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The Magic behind Dandelions and Bows

By Milarqui

Romance / Action

Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, Harry Potter, Castle, Once Upon A Time, El Internado or anything else. I might own something in the future, when I write my own books, but for the moment nothing.

Prologue

My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am sixteen years old. I am five feet seven. I weigh one hundred and twenty-two pounds. My hair is long and black. My eyes are gray. I have olive skin. I live with my mother and my sister Prim in District Twelve, in the Seam, where the coal miners live. I am the main provider for my family. I hunt, I fight, I trade.

I have been doing this for five years. Almost. Ever since my father died in the mines, I have had to. Mom fell in a depression after Dad died, and was pretty much unable to take care of Prim and me. I hate her for doing this. For leaving Prim and me alone. She did nothing for us.

Dad was a miner. And a hunter. He was the one that taught me most I know about hunting, and many other things. Important things. If it were not for what he did, the three of us would have died.

I hunt. I use a bow and arrows. They were Dad's, but now they are mine. He had left them at the forest a couple of days before dying, so I pretty much inherited them. It took me some time before I was able to use them both. Now, I can easily kill a squirrel or a rabbit from fifteen meters by shooting it into the eye. I do it that way because it kills them instantly – it prevents them from running away –, it makes no holes in the skin – an intact skin is worth a lot more than one with holes – and it does not touch any internal organs beyond the brain – so the meat does not get contaminated by their inner foulness.

I fight. I fight for my life and that of my family. Learning how to use the bow was hard. Learning how to throw a knife was hard, too. But hunger is a powerful teacher. Mine, Prim's and Mom's. They both relied, and still rely, on what I could hunt and forage in the forest, and what I could get through other means. So, I go into the woods and break the law daily, because not only it allows me to feed my family, but also because many others like the meat I provide.

I trade. A squirrel can sell for a bread loaf, two if it is big enough. A turkey can get me enough vegetables for a few days. Half of the deer I killed a few years ago helped me to get Lady, my sister's goat, which provides us with milk, wool and, every year, we manage to get an extra by getting her to stud. Most of this, of course, is done in the underground market, which we call the Hob. Fortunately, the Peacekeepers are not utter bastards, and they allow the people of the Seam to trade there, as long as we are not too obvious. A few of them are actually among our best clients, like Cray, the Head Peacekeeper, or Darius.

There are few people I can consider myself close to, apart from my sister. One of them is Madge Undersee, the Mayor's daughter. Even though she is considered part of the Merchants, she is not like all those other Merchant girls who would not know the difference between a maple tree and a pine tree. I met her when I was trying to find a buyer for a bucket of wild strawberries I had found at the forest. She loves them, so she has become another great client, and a friend. She sits with me at lunchtime, we speak about things, and every year, she gets as many strawberries as I can find.

Another is my best friend, the older brother I never had. Gale Hawthorne. Two years older than me, with dark hair and eyes that point out he is Seam, too. His father died in the same accident Dad did. His mother was able to recover from her depression and find a job, but in exchange he has three siblings (Rory, Vick and Posy), which means he has to hunt for five people. We met when I was twelve and hunting on my own. I had found a rabbit in one of his snares, and he thought I was going to steal it, but we became good partners very soon. Hunting and foraging was easier with a partner, and we divided everything we got in half.

And then... there is Peeta Mellark. He is my age. His blond hair and blue eyes place him as a Merchant, just like Mom was before meeting Dad. His family has a bakery. His father, Mr Mellark, is one of the nicest people I have ever met, and he loves the taste of squirrel, so he is one of our clients, and I suspect that what he gives us as payment is far more than what the squirrel's are actually worth. How he married that witch that calls herself Mrs Mellark, I have no idea. Peeta also has two elder brothers, Marko and Rye. I have only seen them a few times, but they do have some fame, particularly Rye, who has won the wrestling tournament several times. The last time, though, I think he only won because Peeta let him.

But there is more to Peeta than just those things. He is special. To me, at least.

We have been in the same class since we were five. However, we hardly spoke to each other, as we each had our own circle of friends. Until five years ago, that is. Now, we do speak sometimes when we meet. That happens, mostly, when I am at the bakery to trade with Peeta's father and he is working there. However, we say little. It feels... unnecessary to share things aloud. Instead, we just look at each other. I do not know why, but one look into those hypnotizing blue eyes of his, one gesture, one shrug, tells me how he is. And then, he smiles, and I need to look away so that he does not see me blush, and to calm the strange feeling of butterflies in my stomach.

And I always know if he is near. As if I can hear him, but without the sound. It just... happens. No matter where I am or what I am doing, I know. If I am at school, I know if he has arrived before or after me. At the canteen, I can pinpoint the exact moment in which he enters. I do not even need to knock on the door to know if he is working in the bakery or if he is at home.

At first, it was confusing. Feeling that strange pull was something that really felt weird. I do not know why it happens, but I have a theory. I feel it because... he saved my life, twice over.

I can still remember as if it had just happened. Dad had died a few months before. Mum just sat on the bed she had shared with Dad for years, and she was still catatonic. We had run out of the little money the Capitol had given us, and I was still five weeks away from being able to sign up for tesserae, which would have given us enough grain and oil for a year. We were down to drinking mint tea, and I knew we needed food. That was why I braved the trashcans behind the houses in the Merchant part of District 12. Anything I could find there that was eatable, I could still bring something out of it.

When I went behind the bakery, I saw that their cans were empty, and that was when Mrs Mellark saw me. She shouted at me to stay away from their house, and then she came inside. I lost all hope, and decided to take refuge under an apple tree. I had surrendered already. I was actually hoping to die then and there, in the backyard of the bakery, because I knew I could not bear to go back home and see Prim and Mom waste away in front of me.

Then, I heard a slap. Mrs Mellark shouted again. Even through the walls, I could hear her berate and insult someone for being a waste of space and for ruining some bread by throwing it into the fire, and then shouted to whomever had done that to go outside and throw the burned bread to the pigs.

The back door opened, and that was the first time I really saw Peeta Mellark. He was carrying two large golden loaves of bread. I was hugging my knees, and my eyes were blurry from tears, but I could still see him walk towards me. I did not know why.

When he was near, I looked up to him, and that was the first time I saw his blue eyes. His cheek was red, from the slap his mother had given him. He crouched next to me, and gave me a small, sad smile.

"I know it's not a lot, but I hope it's enough," he said, and then, he carefully put the loaves (which were only just a bit black in some places, not as bad as Mrs Mellark had said) between my arms, so that they did not fall to the muddy ground.

I was so surprised by his generosity, that I was unable to thank him before he left. I knew then what had happened. He had thrown the bread into the fire deliberately. He had risked being beaten by his mother. And all of that, just because he wanted to give me that bread.

That was the first part of how Peeta Mellark, with his kind soul and his blue eyes, saved my life and that of my family. Those two loaves of bread were the first solid thing Mom, Prim and I had eaten in days, and it was all thanks to him. And every time I see a bread loaf, I remember how his reddened cheek showed what he had risked for me.

The next day, at school, I tried to speak with him. I wanted to thank him for what he had done. But I was unable to do it. I felt so self-conscious that I could not even approach him. But then, he looked at me. His blue eyes looked into mine, and I could not look away until a few moments later, embarrassed. That was when I saw a dandelion. The first of the year. That made me think of the time I spent with my father in the woods, and I realized how I could provide for my family. I picked the dandelion, blew on it, and I looked again at Peeta. I thanked him in my mind. He only smiled, and I knew what he was trying to say. You are welcome. I did it for you. And I would do it again.

That was how Peeta saved me a second time. That is why, when I think of Peeta, I also think of dandelions. They are hope. The hope that things can get better.

As I became older, Peeta would often feature in my dreams. In some of them, we are together, near a wheat field, and the wind is blowing on the dandelions. He is lying on the ground, my head is on his shoulder and his arm is around me. We do not speak, but we just need to look at each other to tell each other everything we want to know. At least, that is what happens in those dreams.

In other dreams, which became more common as I grew older, I only know he is there with me, but details are confusing. I only know that I wake from them panting and with a strange need to... touch myself. The thing I am glad about those dreams is that I do not wake Prim up, because it would be embarrassing to attempt to explain to her that I had a sexual dream about being with Peeta. Just another thing I never speak about, unlike others, such as Madge, who confessed me that she had dreamed about being with Gale.

I have sworn that I would never marry, nor have children. I do not want to go through what Mom did when Dad died, and I do not want to subject my children to the hell of the Reaping and the Hunger Games. But the few times I am able to sit and just stop thinking, I daydream of a house, of a little blond boy with gray eyes and a dark-haired girl with blue eyes, of Peeta surrounding me with his arms and kissing me. But that is just a daydream. I cannot think about it becoming real. I intend to go on with my life as I swore to. Those dreams will be kept for when I need to escape into my mind.

And then, there is one big secret. One that I have shared with no one. Neither Gale, with whom I share almost everything (my dreams with Peeta, being, of course, not part of it), nor Prim, know. Mom would have known, but I am not sure if she stopped remembering that after the shock of Dad's death. Only Dad knew, and that was because he was the one who told me.

It is something I cannot talk about. Something that is far more riskier than the fact that I illegally hunt out of District 12 on a daily basis, and yet it has been a life-saver in so many occasions.

Dad told me the secret when I was eight. It was a Sunday, the only day of the week he did not have to go down into the mines. We were out in the forest, and I had climbed to a tree. I did not know it, but one of the branches was quite rotten, even if it did not show in the outside. It was not too high, but high enough to be a problem if it broke. Which happened a few seconds after I stepped on it.

I fell. I was scared. And, suddenly, while in fell, I was floating like a leaf.

Dad caught me in the air, and he was surprised at what he had seen. I feared for a second he would be angry, but then he sat down on a trunk and sat me in his lap, and told me a story.

Before the Rebellion, before the Dark Days, things were a lot different. There were many more people around than there are now. People were free, and few lacked from anything.

Among those people, there were some that could do some things. Extraordinary things. Like making things float, turn invisible or heal someone waving their hands, or just by thinking. They were called sorcerers. They were less than the people that could not do it, barely one in every thousand, but they were still part of the world. Only a few non-sorcerers knew about their existence, but they were still part of society.

And, just like the others, they fought and died in the nuclear wars before the Dark Days. The survivors spread through the Districts, which were among the few places that had survived the war. Many of them would join the Rebellion, to fight against the Capitol's tyranny, and died as well. Since then, they were so few that they had pretty much become isolated. They had become part of the people, and lost sight of each other. So they had turned to each person teaching those of their children that could be sorcerers or sorceresses.

Dad was one. His mother, Grandma Ashpet, had taught him everything he knew, which she had learned from her father. We were part of a line of people that had descended from some important sorcerer family from many years ago, but their name had been lost in time. And now, it turned out that I could, too, do the same extraordinary things.

They became useful. While I know how to hunt, how to walk in silence, how to gut an animal without using my special abilities, I use them for many things. Dad taught me the steps of how to control my abilities, and how to make them do what I need.

One thing I learned really fast was how to mask my scent. Mighty useful when I was going out hunting, because a change of wind would make any animal run away before I was able to kill it. Heating myself was great when it was winter, both when I am hunting and when I am sleeping. Making myself noiseless was another thing I practiced a lot. When I was hunting without Gale, I also tried to become invisible, but the most I managed was to camouflage myself. I could also cut down tree logs or reach things far easier than if I did not have my abilities. And a week before my fifteenth birthday I found a way to increase the size of the food rations we ate, something that I could also use to increase the number of berries I managed to collect. I had to be careful, lest I get caught, but there were no problems at all.

And that is my life in summary.

My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am sixteen years old. I am five feet seven. I weigh one hundred and twenty-two pounds. My hair is long and black. My eyes are gray. I have olive skin. I live in District Twelve. And I am a sorceress.

I can do magic.

~~~MDB~~~MDB~~~MDB~~~MDB~~~MDB~~~

My name is Peeta Mellark. I am sixteen years old. I am five feet ten. I weigh one hundred and forty-five pounds. My hair is short and blond. My eyes are blue. My skin is fair. I live with my parents and my older brothers in District Twelve, in the Merchant section, away from the coal miners. I work at my family's bakery. I bake, I paint, I trade.

I have been doing this since I was five. Dad's bakery is one of the few in the entire district, so he is always busy, and he needs the whole family to work there. My mother hates it, though. And she hates me. I have never known why, but she does. Any mistake I make, it does not matter how little, is rewarded with a slap, a rolling pin hit or even a beating.

Dad, however, is so nice that it balances things out. He is the one that has taught me everything I know about the trade. And also about other things. Important things. If it were not for him, I would have not found what I like doing.

I bake. I like working with flour, water and yeast. I have to wake up early every day, but it is worth it, if only to see how the loaves of bread grow while they are in the oven. It was hard to train and practice, but now I can bake pretty much anything Dad sells.

I paint. I normally decorate cakes and cookies. Even if my mother does not like to admit it, I am the best in my family at decorating. However, I prefer to use it to draw and paint on paper. Sometimes, I get some colors, but I mostly use drawing coal. I draw portraits of most of my family, mostly from memory, or landscapes, but my favorite are the portraits I make of... well, someone.

I trade. My father puts me many times on the counter to sell. He says that I am the one that can sell most things, and easier, than the rest of the family. That my personality is the most genial. I do not know about that – Rye is certainly more outgoing than me, at least – but I still do it. I like to talk with the customers. And, sometimes, they will buy some extra cookies or buns without me even mentioning them. But, to be honest, I prefer the trade with the ones that barter nearly every day with us.

I am quite popular at school, because the girls say I am handsome, and the boys are impressed with my being part of the wrestling team. However, there is only one person I feel companionship with, and that is Delly Cartwright. We have been friends since we were little, and she is like a little sister to me. In fact, if anyone asks her, she will say I am her older brother in everything but blood. Her parents own the shoe shop, and they are good friends with mine. At least, with Dad.

But then, there is someone else. Katniss Everdeen. The girl I love. She is my age. Her black hair, olive skin and gray eyes point her status as a Seam girl. She hunts, and trades a lot with us. Dad loves how squirrel meat tastes, and so do I, so he makes sure to buy a few when she and her friend Gale Hawthorne come around. I do not know whether they are together or not, as in boyfriend and girlfriend, but they are quite friendly. Makes me jealous. I never say anything about it.

But I know there is more to Katniss Everdeen than just that.

We have been in the same class since we were five. However, I have never gathered the courage to go to her and talk. Until five years ago. Now, when we meet in the school's corridors, and especially at the bakery when she comes to sell, we sit and we look at each other. We hardly speak: it is unnecessary. Instead, we just look at each other. Just one look into those mesmerizing gray eyes of hers tell me more than enough about her. I cannot avoid smiling at her, and she always looks away, blushing. I do not know what that means, but I can hope.

And I always know when she is near. As if I can smell her, but without the smell. It just... happens. No matter the place or the time, I know it. I know whether she will be in the classroom when I open the door or if I will have to wait to see her again. I know the exact place in which she is sitting in the canteen before I open the door. I know the moment she will knock on the backdoor to the bakery.

It was confusing at first, but I soon realized that it was a blessing. Because her mere presence always lifts my spirits.

I have twice fallen in love with her.

The first was when I was five. Before I even knew what love truly was. It was my first school day. My father had brought me there, and then he pointed me to a little girl with two black braids and olive skin, dressed in a red plaid dress

"See that little girl?" he said. "I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner."

"A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?" I asked. In my five-year-old mind, it seemed normal that someone would prefer Dad to someone else. Particularly, considering my mother, who even then mistreated me and my brothers.

"Because when he sings... even the birds stop to listen."

I did not understand it... until a few moments later. One of the teachers asked if someone knew the Valley Song. The little girl with the two black braids and olive skin raised her hand, and stood in front of everyone.

When she sang, the birds stopped to listen.

And I knew I was a goner. I knew Katniss Everdeen would forever be the only girl I would love.

The second time was when I was eleven.

I was working in the bakery when some noise began to be heard from the backyard. My mother looked out of the window and she shouted at whoever was outside to stay away from our house. I looked outside, and I saw her, the girl I was in love with, shivering and moving towards the apple tree we have in there.

Seeing her look so fragile, so... broken, when I knew she was strong, broke me. It caused me physical pain, knowing that Katniss Everdeen was so hungry that she was going through trashcans to find something to eat.

That was when I decided to 'trip' and throw two loaves of bread into the fire. I got them out before they got too burned, and I braced myself for what I knew was about to come.

The slap my mother gave me nearly threw me to the ground, but I managed to stand on my feet. I did not pay much attention to what she said, until she ordered me to throw the bread to the pigs, before moving to the front to attend to a customer. This was my chance to help Katniss, to save her, even.

I moved outside, and I saw Katniss still under the apple tree, completely defeated. I nearly cried, because even so young I could see that she was near death. However, I did not, because I had in my hands the thing that could prevent that. I approached her, and knelt next to her. I smiled at Katniss, the smile a bit tainted by the sadness I felt at how she was. I could even see unshod tears in her eyes, but I hoped I would be able to restore the smile in her face.

"I know it's not a lot, but I hope it's enough," I told her, and then, I put the bread between her arms, making sure it would not fall to the muddy ground.

Her look of amazement at what I had done, as if no one had ever been this generous with her, was all the reward I needed, far more than enough to compensate the pain in my face. And when I see an apple, I see her scrawny form, her tearful eyes, and I remember that she was, even then, the most beautiful girl I had ever met.

The next day, I knew the moment she looked at me. I knew she was there, but that she did not feel capable of approaching me. I looked at her, and she stood there for a few seconds, only to look away shyly. Then, she crouched and picked something from the ground. A dandelion. The first of the year. She blew on it, and as the seeds flew away in the wind, she looked at me, and I knew what she wanted to say. Thank you so much. You saved my life. I just smiled at her, telling her that I would do it again at any moment.

That was the second time I fell in love with Katniss. And when I see dandelions, I think of her, of her hopeful eyes. The hope that things can get better.

She has always appeared in my dreams many times, but as I became older and knew more of the world, the dreams changed. My favorite dreams are those in which we are next to a wheat field, with the wind softly blowing on the dandelions. I am lying on the ground, looking at the sky, and she is in my arms. We look at each other, and I see in her what she wants to tell me. That she is happy. That she wants for nothing.

Then, there is the dreams that are faint, but that I know she is in there with me. When I have those dreams, I wake up in need to go to the bathroom to either relief myself of the effect she has in me, or clean myself. At least, I have my own room, so I do not have to stand Rye's jokes over what happens while I am asleep. One thing I always keep to myself, which I do not share even with Delly, even though she knows I love Katniss, because that is the kind of thing one does not share.

Thinking about what might happen in my future is difficult. I know not who will be getting the bakery, but I suspect that Dad is planning for me to get it. Marko and Rye, while they like the bakery, they are not interested in working there forever. I do not know if Katniss would ever accept the idea, but I can imagine her, heavily pregnant, lying on a bed while I kiss her, or looking outside the window at two children, a little blond boy with gray eyes and a dark-haired girl with blue eyes. It is but a pipe dream, though. I know not if she even thinks of me in any way other than gratefulness.

Besides, there is the other secret. One that I have shared with no one. Neither Delly (who knows that I like Katniss, and in fact she adores Katniss and would love to see us together), nor my brothers, nor my mother know of it. Only Dad knows, and that is because he is the one that told me.

It is something I cannot talk about. Something that has helped me more times than I can count on my hands and feet.

Dad told me the secret when I was eight. It was a Sunday, the only day of the week the bakery closes after noon. We were at home, and my mother was angry for some reason I do not know. She decided to take it out on me. She slapped me so hard that I fell down the stairs. I broke my arm and fainted from the pain.

When I woke up, it was to Dad. He looked both worried and relieved at the same time. Somehow. Then, I looked at my arm, and it was perfectly healthy. I did not know how that happened, because my last memory before fainting was the pain in my arm.

My father told me a story.

Before the Rebellion, before the Dark Days, things were a lot different. There were many more people around than there are now. People were free, and few lacked from anything.

Among those people, there were some that could do some things. Extraordinary things. Like making things float, turn invisible or heal someone waving their hands, or just by thinking. They were called sorcerers. They were less than the people that could not do it, barely one in every thousand, but they were still part of the world. Only a few non-sorcerers knew about their existence, but they were still part of society.

And, just like the others, they fought and died in the nuclear wars before the Dark Days. The survivors spread through the Districts, which were among the few places that had survived the war. Many of them would join the Rebellion, to fight against the Capitol's tyranny, and died as well. Since then, they were so few that they had pretty much become isolated. They had become part of the people, and lost sight of each other. So they had turned to each person teaching those of their children that could be sorcerers or sorceresses.

Dad is one. He learned what he knew from his father, who had learned from his mother. We were part of a line of people that had descended from some important sorcerer family from many years ago, but their name had been lost in time. And now, it turned out that I could, too, do the same extraordinary things.

They became useful. While I know how to do many things without using these new abilities, sometimes they are a great help in anything I attempt to do. Dad taught me the steps of how to control my abilities, and how to make them do what I need.

One of the first things I learned was to change something's weight. Every day, I was expected to lift large, fifty-pound (or heavier) flour bags. I could have used my abilities to make them light as feathers while I carried them, but instead I chose to use it as a way to become fit, making the bags weigh from almost nothing to now, when I can pick a hundred-pound bag, make it weigh a half again and carry it without a problem. Cooling myself is great, especially when it is summer and I am working at the bakery ovens. I also learned to heal myself, which was especially good for when I got hurt in wrestling practice or when my mother decided I had to learn a lesson. Covering my nose to stop smelling awful things was quite good, too. And six months into my fourteenth year, I started to use them to make bread last longer without going stale, which usually meant that we were now able to eat fresher bread at home – my mother decided years ago that we had to eat most of the stale things instead of anything fresh - and, as a welcome addition, now Katniss could enjoy the bread we gave her for far longer. I had to be careful, lest I get caught, but there were no problems at all.

And that is my life in summary.

My name is Peeta Mellark. I am sixteen years old. I am five feet ten. I weigh one hundred and forty-five pounds. My hair is short and blond. My eyes are blue. My skin is fair. I live in District Twelve. And I am a sorcerer.

I can do magic.

A/N: Well, this is the prologue, which I hope you find interesting. I'd love to know your opinion through reviews, of course.

When I read The Hunger Games, it was because my sister recommended them to me, and I was a bit skeptical, but soon I found myself hooked to Suzanne Collins' universe, and damn, it made me feel for the characters and the shitty situations they were in. I just wished that Katniss would get her head out of her arse and realize that, maybe, she could let herself love Peeta (I've been on Peeta Team since almost the beginning), but, well, even if it takes her almost two books to do it, it was worth it.

Given that one of my other favorite universes is Harry Potter, I wondered how it would be if Katniss and Peeta had magic at their disposal. It would probably make their lives easier and more difficult, because on one side they could avoid some problems but, on the other side, they would be unable to use their powers willy-nilly (as I point out in Katniss' attempts to become invisible). The reason I picked both of their fathers to be the ones to tell them about magic is because, for both of them, their fathers are/were the one parent they felt most related to. Can you imagine Peeta's mother actually telling Peeta something that would actually help him? There will be other people that have magical abilities in the story. One or two of them will be surprising, and others will actually make sense.

Other possibility I thought about when writing this would be about Katniss doing what is called "Mental Mind Travel" or a "Peggy Sue" from some point at the end of Mockingjay to the beginning of The Hunger Games. Showing how Katniss has to, once more, face the entire moment that changed everything, while this time actually loving Peeta, could mean that her entire future would change. However, I thought that this project was better. If any of you manages to write a good "Peggy Sue" with Katniss, tell me!

I have no problem in saying that a few THG fics are going to play a bit of influence in this story. One of them is "When The Moon Fell In Love With The Sun" by Mejhiren, which has fast become one of my favorites, because it is delectable, well built and, damn, makes me goosebump when I think about what happens in them. If you have not read it, it is highly recommended.

Those of you who are following Awakening (Once Upon A Time), fear not, chapter 8 is on the move. I am not going to abandon the story, it is far too good to do so.

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PurpleInkling: Hippocrite is spelt hypocrite.Also it is an awesome story! A good one after so long. I was hoping someone would write a good fanficiton playing off what Ron said at the station. You are doing a remarkable job. It would have been interesting if Albus had also ended up in Ravenclaw though that mig...

Maria Appkova: I enjoyed the plot and the idea. and the need to change her awesome idea to save others people in city. and romance in the story involved. just romantic btw her and henri. Good work.

ga1984: I really enjoyed it! Characters were deep and plot was pretty complex. A bit on the violent side but it doesnt detract from the story. Very dark but situations make sense. Ends kinda abruptly and later chapters will need some editing work. I'm assuming there's more in the works?

shawnas26: I knocked it out in one sitting and enjoyed it thoroughly. Thanks for sharing! :) I'll be looking forward to reading the next in the series.

Julia Summers PA: Reading this now. It's fun, hilariously fabulous yet taste of what you desire in a unusual read. I will post an actual review when I am finished. But so far loving the flow and the story seems to keep me drawn

Alex Rushmer: This was not what I expected, but I enjoyed it a lot Malfoy was always one of the characters that I liked a lot, so I like that a lot of this happens between him and Colette. I read the first couple chapters, and I enjoyed your writing style and am excited to see where you take this story. My com...

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