Voldemort himself would mark him as his equal. He chose you, not Neville.
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Sirius had never kept him waiting before... Sirius had risked everything, always, to see Harry, to help him...
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Beynimize misafir olan övgüler :)
Aiden had called him cute yesterday. Obviously, Aiden had only said that to be a supportive friend, but it wouldn’t leave Harvard’s brain.
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I had pushed him too far. He was dangerous like this: full of lust and rage.
bebeklerim
lockwood. after four months, his proximity was shocking; shocking too how familiar and unfamiliar he was, all at the same time. he was standing on the dowdy little landing in his long dark coat, his right hand still hovering by the bell. his hair, as ever, flopped to one side over his brow; his eyes sparkled at me between the fronds. as i met his gaze, he smiled and that smile was a world away from the 100-gigawatt version you saw in the papers. it was warm but somehow hesitant, as if it hadn't recently been used. it was the smile i'd hazily imagined a hundred times, only now it was real, solid, meant just for me. he wore the same old coat with the same old claw marks from the night we'd opened mrs Barrett's tomb. the suit was new though - charcoal-grey with the thinnest purple stripe, always, it was elegant, stylish and slightly too tight for him. i even recognized the tie - it was one i'd given him year ago, after the case of the christmas corpse. so he still had that, still liked to wear it...
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And strange it was to see him pass With a step so light and gay, And strange it was to see him look So wistfully at the day, And strange it was to think that he Had such a debt to pay.
Colborne nods vaguely. Then his expression changes, shifts, brow furrowing. “Do you blame Shakespeare for any of it?” The question is so unlikely, so nonsensical coming from such a sensible man, that I can’t suppress a smile. “I blame him for all of it,” I say.
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I walk down the dock and Colborne follows, one step behind. I know I owe him a new ending for our old story, but I find it unexpectedly difficult to continue. Up until Christmas, we could pretend that we were mostly all right—or that we would be, someday.
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“We can’t exactly stop them, but once they realize it’s just a dock and there’s nothing to see, they lose interest. We have more of a problem with people stealing stuff that used to be yours.” This has never occurred to me, and I stare at him. “Like what?” He shrugs. “Old books, costume pieces, the photo of your class in the hall behind the theatre. We got that one back, but not before someone scratched your face out.” He sees the confusion in my expression and adds, “It’s not all bad. I still get letters trying to convince me that you’re innocent.” “Yeah,” I say. “I get those, too.” “Are you convinced yet?” “No. I know better.”
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