seen from Canada
seen from Singapore
seen from China
seen from Indonesia
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Indonesia
seen from Poland
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Thailand
seen from Bangladesh
seen from India
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
Love doesn't die until someone asks the question.
Excerpt:
“Auror Potter, you understand that the reason you keep being ordered back to see me – by Minister Granger-Weasley I might add – is because I’m required to assess your mental fitness for duty, don’t you?”
I nod.
“That requires your cooperation. And I can promise you that unlike my predecessors, I’m not simply going to rubber stamp your paperwork.”
In a lonely greenhouse, Holly tends the mistletoe. Her only joy is the dear friend who comes to visit once a year: a friend who encourages Holly to fight for her own freedom.
Excerpt:
She remembers all now, a faint pink blush gathering at the ends of the flaps of her ears, how he would come with a loud crack as she tended the best of the branches, and count a few golden coins into her hands. She always wanted to give him a good deal, she said, on the splendid decorations grown in her master’s greenhouse, but he shook off her protests with a smile and said it was his master’s money, regardless, and they did not deserve to be cut a deal, oh no. And then he winced as if it was painful to speak such, but maintained control. Indeed, she was quite scandalized, but did not think to be angered, for she liked him so dearly. And so she would walk with him, slowly in relishing the moment, their hands near to touching, speaking of small, gentle things. He would choose the finest piece of magical mistletoe and test it, letting it grow and weave through his outstretched fingers. And she would trim it with her delicate silver shears and feel warm inside at his lovely smile, the thin crooked teeth like miniature piano keys, the folds of skin making way for his eyes to crinkle with pleasure. Even his skin was fine, and she longed to touch it. She knew that to any of her family, they were just two foolish little creatures in a house of glass with the stars trickling in through a fine layer of silver frost. But for Holly, those quiet moments were everything.
On Christmas morning the wolf breakfasted alone.
he wasn't gone.
Excerpt:
“It’s fine. I’m fine.” She paused slightly. “Do you know this man?” she asked, holding the picture out to him.
If this year he was impressive, then next year he will be extraordinary.
Excerpt:
So far, he’s received eight books, a vial of Felix Felicis and a box of expensive truffles Slughorn had pressed on him that morning. His friends, he thinks, have no originality, no creativity beyond their dull, ordinary lives. He knows they can’t help it – not everyone can be exceptional, after all, and no one can be quite as good as him – but it annoys him all the same. Of course, he doesn’t mind the presents: the books are at least passably interesting, the truffles already half-eaten. The Felix Felicis still drips occasionally, shards of glass embedded in the plaster from where he’d hurled it against the wall. He does not need a potion, even one for luck. He would create his own luck, if he ever needed it, and he never needs it. The semi-circles on his palms are still there, pale now; evidence of his fury at the insinuation that he needs assistance. He has never needed assistance. He will never need assistance.
