A/N: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and her associates. Please support the official release.
Room of Requirement
Harry and Hermione worked in complete silence as they got everything ready for the ritual. Not a word had been spoken between them since they left the Great Hall earlier that evening, as neither felt much of a need for conversation. They both knew what lay ahead. What their next move was to be. The only thing that mattered now was getting there.
Harry did not want to dwell on any potential negative outcomes of the ritual. He only had a vague understanding of what it was supposed to do in the first place, so scaring himself by imagining worst-case scenarios would not be productive in the slightest.
According to the book, the ritual would break down his magical core and reconstruct it into something new. Something stronger. The part that worried him the most was that the reconstruction process would momentarily strip him of his ability to perform magic, as it worked to reshape his core. In other words, he would essentially cease to be a wizard, if only for a short moment.
If something goes wrong during this ritual… I may end up as a squib.
The thought of that terrified him more than he cared to admit.
"Harry…" Hermione suddenly said, dragging him back to the present.
"Yes, Hermione?" he answered, turning to look at his beloved.
"Are you sure about this?"
Her voice was firm, and Harry could see the determination burning in her tear-stained eyes. Normally, this question might have caused him to sigh in annoyance, as he knew full well how much she objected to this course of action. But for some reason… looking at her now, Harry came to realize that this time was different. She was no longer looking to dissuade him from this path or convince him it was foolish.
This time, she was simply looking for confirmation. The last bit of closure she needed to accept that this was the way. So whatever Harry chose to say next would undoubtedly be her final answer.
"… Yes," he nodded after a moment of nerve-wracking silence. "We are doing this."
"I see… Then I'll do everything in my power to help you," she breathed in response, closing her eyes for just a moment before proceeding with her preparation work. No more words were needed to convince her now. Hermione had finally come to accept his choice.
A monumental wave of relief flooded his body at the thought, and yet… a small part of him wished she would have tried harder to stop him.
I'm gonna look like such a fucking idiot if this doesn't work.
They resumed their work in silence, finishing up the last of the preparations with grim determination. Everything had to be perfect for this to work. A Pewter cauldron, retrieved from the trunk in Harry's room. One vial of Unicorn's Blood, purchased in Knockturn Alley. A bezoar and a strand of Abraxan hair collected from Snape's personal storeroom. And finally, a crude yet sharp iron knife from the Kitchens.
"Alright… I think… I think we're ready," Hermione nodded, inspecting the cauldron one last time in order to make sure that they were not missing anything. "Now, all that's left to do is… is…"
"Perform the ritual," Harry finished, doing his best to sound confident, but failing drastically.
"Yeah…" Hermione responded, letting out a shaky breath before turning to face him. "You ready?"
"No," Harry laughed. "But what choice do I have?"
"Well, you could just… not do it."
"I think we both know that's not an option," he replied with a sad smile. "Not anymore, at least. The Triwizard Tournament… I'm not strong enough to participate as I am now. I need something to level the playing field between me and the other Champions. If I can't do that… then I'll probably die."
A sound halfway between a sigh and a whimper escaped Hermione's lips.
"I don't want you to get hurt," she breathed after taking a couple of seconds to regain her composure. "So if this will help us avoid that, then… I'm with you every step of the way."
"Thank you, Hermione," Harry nodded. "You have no idea how much that means to me."
"Just… promise me you'll be careful, alright?" she asked, her chocolate-colored eyes teeming with worry.
"Of course," he replied. "You think I want to die young?"
"Judging by the way you continually throw yourself into danger; yes."
"… Alright, I see your point."
The two shared a smile at that, before the deafening silence returned to take its rightful place.
"Hermione?" Harry finally asked, his face taking on a more serious look as he moved to close the distance between them.
"Yes?"
"I… I…"
"You… what?"
Oh, come on Harry… Just say the fucking words…
"I love you," he whispered, a very faint blush coloring his cheeks. He had said something to the same effect in the past, but never those exact words, and never in such a heartfelt way.
"O-Oh…" she stammered, taken aback by the sudden confession. A multitude of emotions flashed across her features, her facial expression shifting between shock, happiness, reluctance, disbelief and bewilderment before finally settling on embarrassed exhilaration. "I… I love you too, Harry."
Her eyes were gentle, filled with a softness he had never encountered before, and soon, an overwhelming wave of passion overcame him. He had spent well over a thousand days with Hermione now, and her presence in his life had become a matter of course. Something he took for granted, a thing of certainty.
Yet, he did not want it to be that way. He wanted to treasure each and every moment with her, treat every second like it could be their last. Stand next to her as her equal until their time in this life was up, until death claimed them both and returned them to the darkness from whence they came.
The intensity of this wish would naturally dwindle, but in that moment, in that fragment of a second, Harry wanted nothing more than her. Her, her and only her, until the end of time.
He loved Hermione Granger with all his heart, and he was tired of pretending otherwise.
Placing his arms around her back, he pulled her in close and planted his lips on hers. It was not a kiss of desire or wild need, but rather, love. Pure, unadulterated love. And it broke down his walls to the point where a singular tear leaked from his eye.
Hermione noticed it as soon as they broke apart.
"Why are you crying?" she smiled, stroking the side of his face with a loving hand.
"I'm not, I just got something in my eye," he retorted drily, earning himself a light giggle.
"Yeah, okay. Whatever you say, tough guy."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
Another kiss followed, and then… she withdrew, taking a couple of wistful steps away from him.
"Do it now. Before I lose my nerve and stop you," she breathed.
"Alright then," he nodded, before moving over to the cauldron in the middle of the room.
This is it, he thought to himself as he picked up the crude iron knife resting on its side. All or nothing.
"Watch over me, Hermione. But if something goes wrong, save yourself. There is no need for both of us to die here," he said, turning to look at her one last time.
"You don't get to say that," she refused. "Not after telling me you love me. We do this together, or not at all."
"… Very well. I'm sorry for trying to save your life."
"You're forgiven. Now get going already. I can't stand this pain much longer."
A grim smile fixed itself on his face at her words.
"Yes, ma'am."
And then… he plunged the knife deep into his chest.
?
Harry "looked" around himself, though with no eyes to see nor a physical body to move, it would perhaps be more accurate to say that he "sensed" his surroundings. Vague impressions of a dull, grey landscape filled his mind. Conflicted, he tried his best to visualize a location fit for his needs, causing his view to distort and change until it locked in on a crude imitation of an empty room.
Inside this makeshift, incorporeal place of his own making, he could see three objects of equal size, floating next to one another in a row. There was nothing else of note in the void, and so he drifted towards them, coming to a stop a few meters away. An eerie sense of foreboding filled his mind, and a sudden realization dawned on him:
He was looking at three different aspects of himself. Three central pieces that made up the fabric of his soul. It was all very abstract and difficult to comprehend, but for some reason, he felt absolutely certain about this otherwise nonsensical observation.
Inspecting the three pieces with nonexistent eyes, he quickly came to understand that they were all wildly different in nature.
The first piece resembled a black-haired, green-eyed boy with a scar the shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead. That piece represented himself. The thing he called his personality, combined with other people's perception of him.
The second piece was much different. A writhing mass of dark energy, it was in a state of constant evolution, shifting and changing with every second that passed. At its core, Harry sensed a deep, almost primal anger, like a violent thunderstorm that was mere moments away from breaking out.
The Obscurus, he realized. It makes up one-third of who I am.
The third and final piece, however, was something else entirely. At first glance, it looked to be some kind of slimy, tar-like blob of death, a pitch-black being made up of Dark magic and twisted intentions. Touching it with his senses felt almost sickening, and made him want to retreat as far away from it as possible.
That thing is not right. It doesn't belong here. So why is it a part of my soul? And what even is it?
As Harry contemplated these questions, a thin tendril of crimson liquid suddenly appeared in front of him, floating calmly through the dreamscape. Confusion seeped into his mind, as he did not recognize the foreign object.
What the…?
As he watched, the tendril slowly started enveloping the third fragment, the tar-like blob reacting strongly to its sudden imprisonment. It shook and shifted with wild abandon, silently screaming out in opposition of this crimson invader.
And then, the thread of liquid (which Harry suspected was blood) stopped. Having wrapped itself tightly around the black, inky piece, it remained silent for a few seconds, before…
It squeezed down with an enormous pressure.
The blob trapped within its grasp bulged violently under the sudden force, and this time, Harry could hear it cry out in anger and panic. At the same time, an intense pressure started building somewhere in Harry's core, growing in tandem with the ever-tightening grasp of the crimson thread.
When it finally reached a point where Harry was sure he could not possibly take it any longer, the black ball of tar suddenly popped, exploding into a smoky cloud of incorporeal faces, infernal wails and overwhelming magical power.
As the last remnants of this strange fragment disappeared into non-existence, "Harry" was left feeling strangely hollow, his soul now divided into two rather than three.
Did that crimson thread just… kill a part of my soul?
He didn't get to ponder over this for long, however, as the crimson thread turned its attention towards the second piece: the Obscurus.
What is it doing now?
As he watched, the thread proceeded to do the exact same thing with the Obscurus piece as it had done with the other, tar-like thing, wrapping itself around it tightly before ceasing all movement.
But just as Harry expected it to start squeezing, something… happened. A volatile reaction, taking place between the crimson thread and the Obscurus. The writhing mass of energy started absorbing the thread, pulling it into itself with rhythmic convulsions. The thread tried fighting back, but it was to no avail. The Obscurus was simply stronger than it, and so it was left with no choice but to surrender.
As soon as the thread disappeared beneath the Obscurus' smoke-like surface, it ceased all movement.
For a while, nothing happened.
What the fuck is going on here?
But then… the Obscurus changed color. Shifting from black to dark crimson, it expanded well beyond its normal size, growing to the point where it threatened to absorb the final piece of Harry's soul as well: his personality.
No, no, no… Harry thought as he watched the spectacle unfold in front of him. Not good not good not good not good.
But he was helpless to stop it. There was quite literally nothing he could do in his current state. And so he was forced to watch in shocked silence as the now crimson Obscurus finally overtook his personality, pulling the fragment into itself and convulsing with glee.
A sudden pull on his very being caused Harry to scream out in pain, causing the edges of his vision to turn black. He could feel his mind being torn at the seams, smashed into a million tiny pieces before being reassembled just as rapidly. Nothing made sense anymore. He no longer knew who he was, where he was and what he was. The only thing that mattered was the pain. The horrible, gruesome, dreadful, heinous, appalling, awful pain.
And then, finally… darkness overcame him, and he was no more.
Hermione watched in petrified silence as Harry's body floated a couple of inches above ground in suspended animation. His entire body had gone completely rigid as soon as he stuck the knife into his chest, and blood had poured forth into the cauldron. As it continued to flow, his skin had turned grey and withered, and now, he was left an empty husk of a man, frozen in time as the ritual worked its magic.
Needless to say, Hermione was feeling absolutely terrified. Yet, there was an odd sense of conviction burning in her chest as well. She wanted this to work, and for that, she had to trust that Harry had done his homework before going through with the ritual and impaling himself with a knife.
Long minutes passed as she stared at his unmoving body. But then… something finally started happening inside the cauldron. A crimson light emerged from its depths, and an almost inaudible gasp escaped Harry's lips.
It's… It's happening!
As she watched, a thin stream of blood suddenly started rising from the cauldron, twisting and coiling as it floated through the air, up towards Harry's face. And then, it went inside his nose.
What… What the hell…?
The stream quickly grew in size, and before long, a veritable torrent of blood was flowing back into Harry's body through his nose and mouth. Tendrils broke off from the main flood to enter through his eyes and ears as well, and Hermione had to fight to hold back her gag reflex as she watched the red liquid coat his eyeballs and retract into his skull.
Finally though, the tide slowed, and color started returning to Harry's skin. He came alive again, the withered look disappearing like an illusion as the blood started flowing through his veins once more.
And then… it was over. His body was dropped unceremoniously back down onto the ground, where it remained motionless in a pathetic heap.
Seconds later, Hermione broke free of her trance and sprinted over to it, heart hammering wildly in her chest.
Harry!
Waking up from the ritual was perhaps the single most uncomfortable thing Harry had ever done in his entire life. He was aware of the cracking headache before he so much as opened his eyes, and he could feel his raspy, parched throat sting with each breath he took. Every muscle in his body complained as he shifted around on the ground, his movements sending pangs of agony rippling across his skin.
As he opened his eyes, he came to realize they too were throbbing with pain, almost as if he had burned them somehow.
"Oh thank God, you're alive," a voice suddenly said, before a hand came down to lift his head up and a cold goblet was pressed to his lips. "Here, drink this. It'll make you feel better."
Harry's body acted on impulse as he closed his eyes and happily gulped down the refreshing liquid offered to him. It felt like heaven going down his sore throat.
"Th-Thank you…" he whispered once he had finished drinking.
"No need to thank me," the voice responded. "I'm just… I'm just happy you're still alive."
Some of his strength was starting to return to him now, and he shifted around to face the unknown person. As soon as his eyes landed on her, recognition shot through his hazy mind like a flare in the night sky.
"H… H-Hermione…" he rasped, before breaking into a violent coughing fit.
"Shh… Don't try to speak. Conserve your energy," she consoled him as she rested his head on her lap.
"Wh… What… What happened?"
"The ritual. You made it. I don't know what it did to you, but you made it, Harry."
Harry… My name.
"I d-did?"
"Yes. Yes, you did. You made it. And you're still alive. Godric, you're still alive…"
A droplet suddenly hit his cheek, causing him to flinch and lift his eyes. Tears were running down Hermione's cheeks, leaving wet trails as they streaked towards her chin and fell off, onto Harry's face.
"I… I don't… feel alive," he croaked, causing Hermione to let out a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh.
"I bet you don't," she smiled through the tears. "The ritual… it was horrible. It did horrible, horrible things to you. But you're alive. And that's all that matters."
"Y-Yeah…" he breathed. "You're right…"
They stayed like that for a while, just sitting there on the floor together, happy to be alive. Then, after what felt like hours, Harry finally pushed himself to his feet.
"Thank you, Hermione. I feel a lot better now," he reassured her, turning around to send her a weak smile.
"Harry!" she gasped in response. "Y-Your eyes!"
"Huh? What? Is something wrong?" he frowned, checking over his body for damages. Apart from the dull, aching pain radiating from every fiber of his being, he felt fine.
"No, your eyes! They're… They're red!"
"Red?"
"Yes, red!"
Shooting a quick glance to his right, he willed a mirror into existence and walked over to it. He noticed the change as soon as his eyes landed on his reflection.
His irises, which had always been a vibrant emerald-green, were now colored deep crimson instead.
"What the fuck?" he stammered, blinking twice just to make sure he wasn't seeing things. "What happened to my eyes?"
"That's what I'd like to know!" Hermione responded.
"This… This can't be right…"
My mother's eyes… Have I truly lost them?
"During the ritual, when your blood… returned to your body, a lot of it entered through your eyes. Maybe… maybe that's what caused the change," Hermione speculated.
"Hmm… Maybe…" Harry muttered. "Actually, no, hold up a second… It entered through my eyes?"
"Yeah, it was… gross," she shuddered. "Really, really gross."
"I bet," Harry grimaced. "I'm glad I was unconscious for that part."
"Probably for the best, yes."
"Still though…" He turned around to look at himself in the mirror once again. "Red eyes? It's kinda… how do I put it… evil-looking?"
"You look like a vampire," Hermione nodded with a wry smile.
"We need to find some way to cover this up. I can't just turn up in the Great Hall with a completely different eye color. People are going to notice immediately," he sighed.
"For sure. Let me see… Do I know any spells for this…?" Hermione mumbled, standing up so she could walk closer to him.
"Uhh, Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"Don't take this the wrong way, but… the thought of you messing with my eyes is a little bit… I dunno, worrying to me."
"Oh, shush. I know what I'm doing," she scoffed, pulling out her wand. "I hope."
"You hope?!"
"Stand still. Colovaria!"
A bright light shot forth from Hermione's now outstretched wand and directly into Harry's eyes, momentarily blinding him.
"Ahh!" he startled, blinking rapidly in an effort to regain his eyesight.
"It worked!" Hermione beamed. "Your eyes look green again! Well, the tone might be a bit off, but nobody is going to notice that!"
"What spell was that?" Harry asked as his vision gradually started returning to him. "I don't think I've ever seen you use it before."
"It's the Color-Changing Charm," she explained. "You can use it to change the color of any target or object of your choosing. Although, I don't believe it has been used on eyes before."
"So you just YOLO-ed it and hoped for the best?" Harry sighed.
"Oh, stop complaining! It worked, didn't it?"
"Well… I suppose…"
"Precisely. So no harm done. Now, onto something much more important: do you feel any different, now that you have regained some of your strength?"
Harry took a moment to really concentrate on his body, trying to sense any differences. And that's when he felt it.
Something was different. He hadn't noticed at first, due to its subtlety, but now that he was really focusing on it, he could feel it clearly. There was something different about his blood.
"I… I think…" he started, closing his eyes in order to maximize his concentration. "I think my blood has changed. Or, at the very least, the properties of it."
"What?" Hermione asked, clearly confused. "What do you mean by that?"
"I don't know, it's… it's hard to explain," he continued. "It's almost like... I can feel my magic flowing through it."
"Well, try casting a spell then," Hermione proposed. "See if something has changed."
Harry nodded in response and stuck his hand inside his robes to procure his wand. As soon as his fingers made contact with the holly wood…
A searing sensation erupted from his hand, causing him to scream out in agony. Twitching with pain, he took a reeling step backwards in order to retain his balance. It felt like someone had just poured molten lava into his veins, setting every nerve-ending in his body on fire.
"What's going on, Harry?! Talk to me!" Hermione demanded; her eyes filled with worry.
"Argh… Fuck me, that hurt!" he grunted through clenched teeth.
"What happened?!"
"I don't know! As soon as I touched my wand, it felt like my entire body had been set on fire!"
A puzzled expression flew across Hermione's face at his words.
"What? But… that doesn't make any sense!"
"No shit," he groaned, trying his best to stop his hands from shaking. "None of this makes sense to begin with."
"It… It must have something to do with the ritual," Hermione wondered. "You said you could "feel" your magic coursing through your blood, right? Well… try casting a spell wandlessly."
"Uhh… why?"
"Just do it."
"O-Okay then… Here goes nothing, I guess…" he coughed, before holding up one of his hands in front of him. "Stupe-"
But, before he even managed to finish the chant, a blinding red light erupted from his outstretched digits, shooting across the room before splashing harmlessly off the cobblestone wall at the opposite end.
Holy shit!
"What the… Did you see that, Hermione?" he gasped.
"So, I was right…" she muttered to herself, her brain going into overdrive as it analyzed the evidence presented and came to a conclusion. "You're a wandless caster now. And a semi-wordless one, as well."
A couple of seconds passed before Harry's brain was able to catch up with her words.
"Wait… Are you for real? Wandless AND wordless magic? But… But…"
"It's because of the ritual," she nodded. "It reshaped your magical core, changed the way you interact with magic. You're… You're not a normal wizard anymore, Harry."
"Then… What am I?" he asked with a frown.
"I don't know if there's a word for it, but… the closest I can think of is Blood Mage," she declared. "You channel magic directly through your blood now, and not a wand. Think about it: a wand is basically a magical shortcut, right? It helps you draw out magic from your magical core, and project it onto the world. That's what makes it so useful, and also what makes wandless magic so difficult. Without the wand, without the shortcut… it's very hard to channel great amounts of magic."
"O-Okay… I knew that… So, what you're saying, is that-"
"You no longer need that shortcut," she finished. "Since the ritual changed the way you interact with your magical core, you now channel magic directly through your bloodstream, which makes it way easier to cast wandless spells."
"But… But that still doesn't explain why I get burned when I touch my wand."
"That's probably because the magical feedback is too powerful," she explained. "Combined with the magic coursing through your veins, the use of a shortcut such as a wand simply draws out too much magical energy from your core. Your body can't handle it."
"Ahh…" Harry responded, stroking his nonexistent beard. "So in other words, I can't use wands anymore."
"Pretty much," Hermione nodded. "At least not yet. It might be possible for you to train your body to handle the magical strain, but if so, that's probably going to take a lot of time and a lot of patience."
"Makes sense. I guess I'll have to make do with wandless magic for now then," he grinned, eyes gleaming with interest.
"Yes, I think that's your only option… for now. But you should be careful, Harry. Due to the way you channel magic now, there's a very real chance you'll overdo it and end up exhausting your magical core quicker than normal. Put into other words: your spells will be stronger, but require far more magical energy, meaning you'll burn out quicker."
"Oh, yes. I can… I can see that," he coughed, looking slightly bashful.
"And there's also a chance that if you cast too powerful a spell, your body will falter under the weight of the magical energy required to cast it, and you'll simply… implode, or something," she added, causing him to pause with his mouth open.
"That sounds bad," he muttered.
"Yes, we wouldn't want that," she agreed. "Do keep in mind that all of this is pure speculation, though. We don't actually KNOW if this is how things work yet. But, judging by what we've seen so far… it would certainly make the most sense."
"Yeah. I agree," he nodded.
"Actually, now that I think about it…" Hermione started, furrowing her eyebrows. "I should probably undergo the ritual as well. Being able to cast powerful wandless magic is a huge boon to our cause, and you managed to survive it, so-"
She was cut off by Harry a second later.
"No. I won't let you."
"Uhh… Come again?"
"I won't let you do it."
A moment of silence passed between them before Hermione fixed him with an annoyed stare. "Why?"
"Because it'll kill you."
"And how do you know that?"
"I just do. Look…" he sighed. "The ritual… it messes with your soul in a very direct way. When I was in there… under the effects of the ritual… I saw myself. The three pieces making up the foundation of my soul."
Hermione listened to his explanation with bated breath and narrowed eyes, processing his words as fast as her brain would allow her to.
"Now, I don't know why my soul was split into three. Ideally, there should only be one, right? Two if you count the Obscurus. Oh, yes, I saw the Obscurus by the way. I guess it was engrained deeper into me than we originally thought, being a part of my very soul and all."
A grimace flashed across Hermione's face, but she gestured for him to continue.
"I don't know what the third piece was, but it was there, even though it clearly shouldn't have been. But when the ritual started… It claimed two of those pieces and absorbed the last one before it had the magical energy it needed to finish transforming my magical core."
A short gasp escaped Hermione's lips.
"Yeah, precisely. So, if you, who probably only has one soul piece, try to undergo the same ritual now… It will most likely drain the magic from your soul before it can complete, thus killing you rather than helping you."
"So… So that's why you won't let me do it, then…" Hermione breathed. "Because it'll kill me… Because my soul isn't divided into three, but rather one or two at best."
"Precisely. If I hadn't been an Obscurial… If I hadn't been able to supply the ritual with the magical energy it needed by sacrificing the Obscurus… Then I would have died," Harry finished.
A tense atmosphere descended upon the room as the two contemplated what could have potentially happened, in a different timeline. Harry… the Boy-Who-Lived… dead, all because of one very Dark ritual. The thought alone was shiver-inducing.
"Well, no use thinking about what-ifs," Harry shrugged. "I'm alive, and, as you said earlier, that's all that matters. For now, I would very much like to take a nap. My body is practically killing me."
"A-Alright. Give me a second," Hermione responded, before closing her eyes. Harry watched in silence as the room around them suddenly started changing, shifting between several different layouts and styles before settling on an imitation of the girl's dorm in Ravenclaw Tower.
"There we go," Hermione nodded, opening her eyes again.
"You've gotten good at that," Harry commented. "Using the Room."
"It's easy once you get the hang of it," she shrugged. "Now we have a bed to sleep on and an oven to discard evidence in."
"You truly are the brightest witch your age, you know that?"
"Why thank you. Now get in bed. You might've survived the ritual, but the hard part is only just beginning. You'll need all your strength to survive the coming year. Tomorrow, we start preparing for the Tournament."
"Yes, ma'am," Harry smiled. Despite his tired mind and aching body, he felt good about what they had been able to accomplish this day. The ritual had done precisely what he had hoped for: provided him with an edge he could use against Lord Voldemort and the other Triwizard Champions. He was now much better equipped to face what lay ahead.
I'll use whatever power I can get my hands on to win this fight, Voldemort. You've taken more than enough from me as is. It's high time I returned the favor. Come hell or high water.
A/N: After two years of build-up, I finally got to write this fucking chapter. And it only took me like, three and a half months! By my standards, that's pretty good!
So, surprise surprise: I missed the deadline. By a LOT. Sorry about that. Life stuff, you know how it is.
This chapter was originally supposed to be a bit longer, but I decided to cut it short due to time limitations and lack of updates. I wanted to give you guys something to read, and, to be completely honest: I think I prefer this condensed version to the extended one.
With this, we are finished with Arc 2 of the story, and will be moving into Arc 3. Shit is really gonna start heating up now, and I hope you're ready for more. I'll try to write chapter 26 faster than I write this one (no promises, you know how it goes with me) but as always, I'm hesitant to set dates. We all saw how badly that went this time lmao.
If you enjoyed the read, please be sure to leave a review. I really want to hear your thoughts on this chapter, as it has been a long time coming. So without further ado, I wish you a happy morning / afternoon / evening / night, and hope to see you again... next time!
-Twisted