Disclaimer: Not mine, hers. *points at Rowling*
Alert! There be Shounen Ai in this here story.
Pickled Brains: While I was plotting Harebrained Heritage's next chapter, this, along with another plot-bunny, bit me quite harshly in the ass. So I had to write it or risk losing a cheek.
As is, this is my first attempt at actual boy-love instead of outright smutty slash. The majority of the fluff that my other fic's should have had, well, t'was all dumped in here. Not that there is that much fluff in my head to begin with as you'll soon realize.
The place was cosy and private, though the hints of wealth were all too apparent to Harry's eyes. He was led through a wide, lushly decorated hallway that still seemed to exude homeliness and welcome, though by the look of the magic permeating the place, the effect was not achieved without some supernatural help.
Following the petite hostess, they passed door after door, which was what made this place so different than other restaurants; instead of one room filled with tables, the space had been divided into individual, private parlours, dining rooms, bars and booths. It had been successful because they catered to any and all needs, and though Harry himself had never had the time to visit, Hermione had been rather descriptive about the charming establishment.
As things stood, he still regretted having missed that birthday party, especially after being told the biggest room in this place, The Bewitched Doorway, had been decorated into a replica of the Gryffindor Common Room.
He had seen the pictures and the thing looked plenty accurate.
The hostess finally stopped and opened one of the many doors for him, though he didn't enter immediately, preferring to observe the seamless way that the wizard-space had been spelled and how perfectly it fitted with the enchantments of the surrounding rooms.
He'd have to inquire about who had done the spell work at a later time; the thing was almost flawless to his eyes, and he was fascinated by how well the extra spaces melded with one another.
Murmuring a quiet 'Thank you,' he made his way inside and was not too surprised at finding such an elegant setting; a table for two in an arched, circular chamber where light entered though the stained glass windows and coloured both the marble floor and the white tabletop in warm autumn hues, which reflected even more brightly from the silver tableware.
In a sweep of billowing sleeves, windswept hair and formfitting robes, Harry Potter admired the place and served himself a glass of red wine while he waited.
The request for his presence had been extremely polite and completely vague, but it was not something he was just able to disregard. Not that he would have declined the invitation anyways. His line of work was always changing and always engaging, and if his expertise was needed, well, his current host had already attracted his curiosity enough that the mention of the life debt had been completely unnecessary.
Sitting down gracefully, he enjoyed the sound of trickling water coming from somewhere in the room, since it helped him relax quite easily.
It was fortuitous that his schedule was particularly light at the moment, even if the start of summer brought with it certain opportunities the rest of the seasons didn't offer. Then again, there were always unique happenings and prospects in each one of the seasons, it was just that Harry enjoyed the ones from summer the most.
Putting down his drink when the door opened once more, he stood up, his expression curious as Narcissa Malfoy swept into the room.
She was exactly the same as the last time he had seen her after the battle at Hogwarts, better even, now that the stress of war had passed and the Dark Lord wasn't holding her family hostage. Still, the lines of worry around her eyes and mouth were all too evident to his sharp eyesight.
"Mrs. Malfoy," he greeted her with a shallow bow, waving his hand toward the seat in front of him and using his magic to push the chair forward once she was ready to be seated. You couldn't say that magic didn't help one to be a gentleman after all.
He sat down and offered her some wine while they observed the pleasantries.
Why she had invited him was completely unknown to him; she had just called on the life debt that he owed her while explaining that she desperately (though that wasn't the wording she used) needed his help (which again, was just his correct interpretation of her missive) with a problem that only someone of his talents could be able to solve.
The grudging way in which she had written this pointed to something that he had understood from between the lines: he was her last chance and only hope.
For what? Well, that was what they were here to discuss.
He kept his manners perfect as they ordered their meal from the enchanted menus and he chatted with her about nonsensical things all throughout. He asked about Draco and Lucius (and wasn't he proud that he kept the contempt from his voice and the sneer from his face?), while she inquired about his friends and godson (and how much she knew about Teddy was quite surprising, truth be told).
In short, they walked on eggshells while they ate and skirted around the topics that they knew would make things uncomfortable. Not to mention that all of his subtle questions about whatever the cause for this little soirée were deftly redirected.
Truly, his curiosity only rose during their lunch and it wasn't until they retired towards a relaxed little alcove on the side of the room, one with a big window that looked out towards a beautiful meadow, and sat down into elegant armchairs where hot tea sat waiting on a low table, that she breached the subject.
Narcissa gave a deep sigh and seemed to deflate in front of his very eyes. It surprised him more than he could have ever imagined, and he felt a flash of concern for the woman that had saved his life that fateful day. Still, he remained silent and simply tilted his head in inquiry.
"I imagine you are interested as to why I have called on you?" she asked without further preamble, and Harry could clearly see how weary she was. Whatever her current problems, they had her overwrought. How she could hold her emotions in when this was the case, he didn't rightly know, but then, purebloods held themselves to quite the rigorous set of standards.
"I am." A plain answer.
She took a few moments to seemingly gather her thoughts as she sipped at her tea, "There is a certain practice within the Malfoy family that isn't very well known," she began, and Harry suddenly knew that she was doing this without the Malfoy men knowing. How he knew, he couldn't say, but then, he doubted that Lucius or Draco would approve of Harry Potter, of all people, knowing anything about the Malfoy family; especially some of their more obscure practices.
He leaned backwards idly, looking at the older witch though lazy, discerning green eyes.
"The Malfoy's have always been a very wealthy family with a longstanding heritage," she explained, though he didn't know where she was going with this, "Because of this, certain precautions have become tradition within the family, not only to protect their wealth, but their bloodline."
She paused and looked at him sincerely, "I need your vow, Mr. Potter, that what I'm about to tell you does not get repeated, under any circumstances, and I call on the life that you owe me to make it so."
Harry could feel the magic in her words, the barely hidden desperation in her tone. This, he knew, was something that had to do directly with her family and even though he was her last resort, it didn't mean that she would take any risks even if it was for their sakes. He respected her all the more for it as well; it was for her family that she had betrayed Voldemort to help him; it was in her family that all of her loyalty and love was.
And if there was anything that Harry could respect, it was just that, "You have it," he told her, and the magic took hold. While not an unbreakable vow, it was still something that he would not betray.
The relief in her posture was evident and her cup rattled when she picked it up, "To secure the Malfoy bloodline," she continued as if she hadn't invoked the magic that bound them, "it is necessary, even required, for the current Head of the Family to produce two sons, at the very least," and Harry abruptly understood.
"The first born would be the Malfoy heir, while the second would be sent away to another country to be raised in a branch of the family, unknowing of his complete heritage so that he would not plot against the heir, and would not know of his true place unless the heir had perished," her lips twisted slightly, and knowing her regard for her family, Harry knew that it would have been hard for her to part with her own son. No wonder Draco was as spoilt as he was; she was overcompensating. "That way," she explained, "If something were to happen to the firstborn, the Malfoy line would still have a clear successor."
"And something has happened to him, the second son, which is why you requested my assistance," he told her slowly and conjured a silky handkerchief for her when he saw how glassy her eyes were.
She thanked him and in a rush, perhaps because of the understanding in his voice, she tried to explain the situation, "It happened more than a month ago, I don't know how or why, since my son doesn't want to speak about it, or what they did to him, but someone did something—" she wiped her eyes and hiccupped, "No one can get near him, he was cursed or bewitched, and every time someone gets near the boy, either male or female, they, they. . .lose control of themselves an— and try to force themselves on him," he watched, horrified and angry and outraged in her sons behalf as she almost broke down in front of him.
In a flash, Harry was in front of her, holding her hands and thinking furiously as she continued speaking. Force themselves on the boy? Had that already happened? Had her son been, well, raped?
He stilled his mind and listened, but hoped that his thoughts were incorrect.
"Even I can't get close, nor his father or anyone else. The healers don't know what to do, the curse breakers know even less; the potion masters are stumped and every other specialist in every other field has been equally unsuccessful. And the worse thing of all is that Draco is getting married next week," she squeezed his hands so hard that he had doubts that they wouldn't need medical attention themselves.
Still, he had known of Malfoy Junior's wedding, seeing as it was the high-society event of the year, but he didn't know what that had to do with anything. And besides, what kind of magic could do the things she was describing? Not that any of those so-called specialists would be able to do much without getting close to the boy.
"I understand, Mrs. Malfoy, and I'll help in any way that I can," he promised, and the hope in her bright eyes was more than enough for him to know that this was the right thing to do, "Still, what I don't understand is how you thought of me for this," which was true enough; though highly sought after for any number of projects and jobs, only a few people knew why that was.
Most thought it was because of his expertise in such diverse fields, but for her to have called him for this, she probably knew more than these speculations.
"You can see magic," she answered simply, almost like a question, and his lack of excuses or denial confirmed it further even as the relief at his non-answer was quite obvious. He patted her hands gently as she cried into his conjured handkerchief, not knowing what else to do. Still, for her to cash in the debt he owed her on mere speculation was quite risky. Even more so by only using it so that family secrets wouldn't be repeated by him instead of using it to force his help anyways.
That she would make that risk for her unimportant son (and that left a bitter taste in his mouth) spoke volumes about her once more; who wouldn't want to keep something like a life debt as complete as the one he owed her over his head? Who wouldn't want to have something like that over Harry bloody Potter?
And yet, she only used it to help her family, plain and simple. She wasn't asking or forcing him to do something that she knew he wouldn't do, even.
He had more than a few questions, however, starting with, "Why would Draco's (and didn't saying that name just taste particularly awful?) wedding have anything to do with your other son?" he asked.
When she was able to compose herself, he conjured another handkerchief and sat back on his haunches, watching her critically for a minute before serving her a new cup of tea and returning to his seat. Her answer was something that fit right into the views of the Malfoy family as a whole; "With Draco married, his position within the family is undisputable, and so he will inherit the vast majority of the Malfoy fortune. His brother will only receive a small fraction of it all to support him throughout his life, but it's nothing as significant. However, it won't be enough to care for him in his current situation and when Draco inherits everything—"
"He will leave his brother with the minimum requirement and without the least bit of support," Harry pieced together and watched as Narcissa repressed a sob in confirmation. She knew her son rather well, if she could admit that. If there was anything Malfoy Junior wouldn't want was for any type of competition, family or not. That Lucius would support his first son in this was left unspoken, but clear.
Hopefully the brat wouldn't attempt something more than neglect, though.
He really didn't need to know anything more to decide to help her. Even had she used the life debt he would still do so. Not to mention that he was mighty curious to see what a Malfoy that didn't grow under Lucius' thumb would be like.
"Very well," he stood up and held out his hand to help her in turn; "take me to the boy, Mrs. Malfoy. You can explain the particularities later on, at the moment I need to see things for myself before I commit to anything."
"Yes, yes, of course," she straightened herself out, though the lines of worry would never leave her until she was sure that her son would recover.
They arrived at a summer cottage in the woods after leaving The Bewitched Doorway. Narcissa had guided their apparition and now that they had arrived he could see there was not another human being even close to the area. The protections on the place were not insignificant either.
"This is the Malfoy Hunting Lodge," she told him as they walked from the gates toward the front door, "We had to bring him here from France once we discovered the situation, and even then, he's under the impression that we are only his Aunt and Uncle and have taken him into our care to see if we could find a cure, seeing that we have the most contacts," he could hear the pain in her voice at having to do such a thing as deceive her own son, "He has no hope left, however, and he knows that he will be sent away soon."
"Draco told him so, I presume?" Harry asked, and she only gave him a pained nod. What an insecure, arrogant bastard.
They entered the Lodge and were greeted by a bowing house elf, though Harry didn't have that much time to look around as Narcissa swept upstairs and into a room with him following closely behind.
"Healer Wittle," Mrs. Malfoy greeted a thin elderly woman with greying hair and a stern expression, "how is he?"
"Madam," the healer greeted the blonde woman with a small curtsy, smoothing her robes as she answered, "His condition is unchanged, though he has become more despondent as the days pass."
"Despondent?" he asked, and looked around in case the boy was in the room, but only found a blank wall, a desk and some chairs.
"Oh, yes, excuse me," Narcissa slipped her arm in his as if it were the most natural thing in the world and brought him forward, "this is Mr. Harry Potter. Mr. Potter, this is Healer Wittle, she's in charge of my dear nephews care," and Harry was amazed at the change in her. This wasn't the desperate mother he had been speaking with moments before, but a somewhat distressed aunt who cared for the wellbeing of her nephew.
Well, wasn't that remarkable? Not that he doubted her acting abilities after what she had done in the forbidden forest, of course, but it was still an outstanding change.
The Healer's eyes lit up in recognition and he shook her hand as he exchanged the usual pleasantries, though he was glad when Narcissa sent the woman away shortly after their brief introductions, asking Healer Wittle to do something or other.
When they were alone and an imperturbable charm had sealed the room, Mrs. Malfoy approached the blank wall and tapped it with her wand. His confusion turned into fascination and the wall became completely transparent and he could suddenly see perfectly well into a richly appointed bedroom.
"That, Mr. Potter, is my youngest son, Pictor Malfoy," and as Harry took his eyes away from the charms that allowed for the wall to become transparent, he blinked in surprise.
He had been expecting a young boy that would look like a miniature of Draco or Lucius, and that's certainly not what he found. Pictor Malfoy had to be at least fifteen or sixteen years of age; even sitting cross-legged on the bed as he was, head bent over a large book, Harry could tell that he wasn't as tall as his brother and father.
Where Draco and Lucius Malfoy were tall, broad and square, with harsh pointed features, Pictor was almost the complete opposite, taking more after his mother than anything else; he was slender, with soft features, a slight stature and a lithe build. His eyes, from what Harry could see, were not as narrow as the other male Malfoy's, but big and wide, while his hair was a delicate golden-white hue instead of the cold silver blond he had always related with this family.
"He is completely isolated in that room, and hasn't left it for the whole month he's been here, and only the house elves can get close to him to bring him food and other necessities," the blonde woman explained and Harry could understand her distress; to not even be able to get close to the boy and offer comfort or support during such a harsh situation.
He could only imagine the later realization that she could have forced herself on her own son, and worse, watch as her husband and elder son do the same. Just how traumatizing had that been on the boy?
Still, now was not the time to dawdle. Stepping up to the wall, he focused his sights on the teen, frowning when the multitude of charms and protections, including the ones that made the wall transparent, flashed in his eyesight, making him blink back a bit.
That was quite the conglomeration of magic, to be sure. He gave a side-glance at Mrs. Malfoy; she must truly care to go to such extremes, but then, he had already known that.
She had sought him out after all.
Turning back to the boy, he focused more until all that he could see was the boy and his magic and gasped at what he found, "Great Merlin," he breathed.
"What? What is it Mr. Potter?" Narcissa asked him nervously.
He examined what he was seeing, disbelieving of its complexity. For the life of him he couldn't imagine how something like this could have happened, "Its a Magical mutation of some sort, Mrs. Malfoy, and not a positive one," he explained without taking his eyes from the different aspects of the magic, "there are seven aspects to it, all told, which is why it is so powerful, and it involves more than one branch of wizardry; a potion for sure, an enchantment and a curse; maybe even a bit of intentional, emotion-based sorcery."
"Can you help him?" she asked him.
He frowned and didn't answer directly, "I will need to see his memories of when this happened and ask him how it happened, first. There are aspects of attraction, compulsion and stimulation, which explain why everyone who comes near him wants to jump his bones. However, there are also aspects of control, subjugation and submission woven into the magic. If someone does claim the boy, Mrs. Malfoy, it will make him into a virtual slave to them. The worst part, however, is the last: his magic is the one containing, strengthening and instigating this magical mutation. And the longer he is under its effects the stronger it will become."
When he turned to her, she looked faint, "Who would do such a thing?" she asked.
"I'm not entirely sure that it was intentional, actually, at least not to this level. But to determine that I'll have to examine the succession of events that made the mutation possible in the first place, and more important than that, I'll need to find the base spells and potions that allowed this mutation to happen."
"So you can help him?"
"I can, but—" but he couldn't finish his words as she swept him up in a tight hug of complete gratitude. He gently patted her back, "It will be difficult, Mrs. Malfoy, and it will take time, a lot of time," he explained.
"How much time?" she asked as she pulled back and looked him in the eyes, obviously worried.
"Months, at the very least."
Her eyes dimmed at this news and she looked sadly at the reading young man, "He doesn't have that much time."
He looked at her for a moment, thinking, before he looked over at the depressed teenager in the other room and sighed in defeat when his morals reared their ugly head. Blast him for always doing what was right and not what was easy.
"I will give him as much time as he needs," he told her carefully.
Her sights snapped right back to him, "What?"
"I will be honest with you, Mrs. Malfoy. I don't like your family; your son and husband peculiarly, and if that young man is anything like them I probably won't like him either. But," he lifted his hands in a gesture of silence, "but I will give him a chance."
Hope blossomed in her bright eyes like never before.
"If I find him worthy of it, I will take him with me and take all the time necessary to help him. My home is isolated enough, and I think that I could come up with a temporary solution to the problem, at least some way to stop its progression as well as something that will allow him to interact with others; temporarily at first. Still, I will protect him in the meantime," he finished firmly.
"Thank you, Harry Potter," was the only thing she said.
It was enough.
Harry Potter could see magic.
Not too many people knew this, and even those who did didn't fully understand his gift. However, they did understand the basics of it; since he could see magic, it was not only easy for him to understand it, but even easier for him to master it. Since he could see how magic looked and interacted, Harry was able to go above and beyond what most wizards could even do.
And how, do you ask, he gained this ability?
Again, most who know about it know that it came after his defeat of Voldemort, and so they assume, like with his Parseltongue, that it was something that the Dark Lord had passed onto him after dying.
They couldn't have been farther away from the truth.
In reality, while Voldemort's defeat granted Harry a boost in his magic, it wasn't that which gave him his magical sight, but a mutation of that extra magic when, during Auror Training, someone burst his glasses and left him partially blind.
He found that Ginny didn't want a blind boyfriend, not to mention a blind husband, and he was kicked out of Auror Training rather fast because of it (being blind, you dolts, not getting dumped by the she-weasel), even if he was almost finished with it. In short, he discovered who his real friends were at the time, and who weren't.
It took him at least three months to completely recover, mostly thanks to Fawkes appearing one day and crying in his eyes. The magic of the healing tears mixed with the magic of the healing potions and mutated alongside the extra, unused magic that he had gained from Voldemort.
The result? He could see magic like no one had ever seen it before. He had gained perfect eye-sight and his eyes, if possible, were even more striking than ever. In fact, he had to use a spell to dull the perception of his eyes so as not to freak people out.
Don't get him wrong, though, this didn't make him into as powerful a wizard as Voldemort and Dumbledore had been; it just allowed him to understand magic better, which helped him immensely in the next few years.
And while he wasn't powerful, he became versatile.
Truly, it was the best thing that could have happened to him, and he didn't regret it one bit, especially when he visited Ron at the Auror Offices only to find the redhead neck deep in paperwork.
At twenty one years of age, he was a Master in Defence and Charms, and had even become an authority on magically influenced potions. To Master Transfiguration was his next goal.
He had become a jack of all trades because of his skills and now worked as a freelance wizard whose assistance was highly sought after. He loved what he did; the adventures, the travelling and the magic he experienced and learned. He had his pick of jobs and could literally make what he wanted out of his life.
The first thing he did, of course, was kick Ginny out of his flat when the bitch decided that she wanted to be with him again.
He went house hunting the next day.
As it was, it was because of his ability to see magic that Narcissa Malfoy had contacted him (though he was plenty curious about how she found out about it), and it was because of his lifestyle that he was able to help her son as much as he was planning to.
So when he entered the afflicted teenager's room, his magic sight blazing, he did so with more curiosity than caution.
He wasn't noticed at first, though the bracelet around his wrist that Narcissa could use to knock him out should he try anything on her son felt cold against his skin. He approached the boy on silent feet, the long, sweeping sleeves of his robes fluttering behind him.
The blond boy's magic was tight against his skin, but irregular, contaminated. It shifted restlessly, as if waiting or searching for something, and as soon as Harry came to within ten feet of the kid, his magic reached out in tainted tendrils; it swayed alluringly back and forth and Harry could see it flex as it prepared to strike and lure him to do despicable things.
It was a curious thing to look at and he was inspecting the magic more than he was watching the boy, who was gazing at him with wide, frightened eyes.
And then the magic struck and wrapped tightly around him, looking for cracks and finding none, searching for a way in and being blocked. It slithered against his own magic and tried to enter his mind, no doubt to subvert his will and make him do what it wanted.
He had never seen something like it, truth be told, and his finger glowed as he poked a stray strand of it, only to watch it recoil from him.
Finally, Harry waved his hand, conjured a chair in front of the bed and sat down, looking into the anxious, nervous light grey eyes of Pictor Malfoy. He grinned lopsidedly and sprawled comfortably, giving a brief wave at the boy, "Hullo."
The blond looked astonished.
A strand of tainted magic poked at his head and he flicked it with glowing fingers before turning toward the teen who was watching him with entirely too much caution. Then again, Harry was probably the first person to be able to approach the boy in Merlin knew how long.
"I'm Harry Potter," he easily introduced himself, "and your Aunt Narcissa told me what's happened to you in the hope that I might be able to help," he poked at a particularly active magical wisp, though they didn't really have any effect on him. He frowned playfully and pried a tendril of magic with glowing fingertips, holding on to it as the young Malfoy looked at him as if he were crazy, "did you know that your magic is misbehaving?" he asked, and sent a passive burst of magic through his fingertips, lighting up the writhing, smoky tendril.
The boy gasped, amazed, and scooted closer to the edge of the bed to look at the struggling strand of energy, even as Harry ignored when more of the boy's magic latched onto him, "Is that…?" he trailed off, his voice soft and uncertain of what to say when the tendril faded from view.
Harry just nodded, and his skin glowed lowly as he pushed his magic outward so that the boy could see the multitude of tendrils wrapped around him and coming from him, "Yes. This is your magic and what it does when someone approaches you. It reaches out and tries to take control of them and well, you know," he shrugged.
Pictor's nose wrinkled in disgust, his wide, frowning eyes meeting his in something akin to desperation, "And can you help me, Mr. Potter? Can you . . . can you fix my magic?" His voice wavered ever so slightly.
"I can—" and before he could say anything else, the slim teen simply flew out of his bed and latched onto him, crying in both relief and gratitude (which reminded him rather sharply of how Narcissa had acted only minutes before). His frame shook and Harry wrapped his arms around the boy easily, settling him comfortably on his lap, "There, there. It will take time, true, but we'll find a way to make it right, I promise."
A quiet, "Thank you," was whispered in his ear even as a wet face buried itself on the crook of his neck. He could almost feel the relief radiating from the teen.
He realized that this boy was nothing like the Malfoy's he knew and hated, and as he ignored the teen's magic wrapping around him in thick ribbons, he used the same motions in which he rubbed the teen's back and smoothed down his hair to push questions into the boy's magic using his own.
It was a rather unknown technique that he had developed after watching the magic in veritaserum. Though magic was impersonal by nature and thus couldn't answer or give any personal secrets of the one who wielded it.
The questions were nothing too specific, mind, but enough for Harry to determine that Pictor Malfoy more than deserved his help; he was too pure and innocent not to.
When he was finished, he noted that the sniffling was done and the teenage wizard was now calm once again; his breathing was slow and steady, though he wasn't even close to being asleep. He found it strange, however, how the young wizard remained so close to him after calming down. "Feeling better?" he asked and received a tentative nod, "that's good then. There's loads that we have to do if you're going to be coming with me; like packing."
Pictor moved and he was suddenly nose to nose with the boy, looking into wide startled eyes, "I'll be coming with you?" he asked in a soft whisper. "I'll be staying with you, Mr. Potter?" and by the way the question was asked, and the disbelief and slight awe in his tone, Harry knew that he had stumbled into one of his many admirers.
He didn't groan, however, and his voice was firm when he next spoke. "You will."
"Would you like to stay here then?" Harry asked him in mock-surprise and had to scrunch his own nose when it was tickled by Pictor's flying hair, so vigorous was he shaking his head. "Then that's settled; I'll take care of you while we fix up your magic and you can help me in my job while we do that, you could be me assistant and stuff."
Pictor beamed happily at him and Harry melted right then and there.
It was not difficult to understand why someone would want to claim the boy; he was so pure and innocent and, well, beautiful. Even he could admit that. Still, as he gave a wink to the youngest Malfoy before setting the teen straight and asking where they should start packing, he promised to hunt down the bastard who would dare do such a thing, and castrate him with a dull rubber spoon.
And enchanted rubber spoon, at that; he wouldn't want to be that close to some scumbag's balls when the spoon started chopping, after all.
If it was a girl after the young Malfoy's affection that was responsible for the whole ordeal, well, he knew some rather permanent curses for that case too.
For now, though, it seemed that he was going to have a guest staying over.
So he followed the most logical course of action; he called for Kreacher.
Pickled Brains: What do y'all think? This will be a short five chapter story, I'm predicting, though that could change as it progresses.
I have the second chapter of this written up; much like 'Transcendence,' along with another new story that I'll be uploading pretty soon as well. After that, all of my other fics will be updated, so take your time and enjoy the new chapters as they come out.
Oh! And check out the poll on my profile page. I would really like to know what y'all think!