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He does not yet know what he is. A boy alone in labyrinthine libraries, corridors swallowed by shadow, and towers that twist impossibly into the night, Severus drifts through the world like a candle guttering in a storm. His thoughts shout in the silence; his mind is a thing of cold brilliance that unsettles even the air around him.
Drawn to him as though by a force older than houses or bloodlines, the kind-hearted, the ambitious, the dangerous gather at his edges. He asks nothing. He commands nothing. And yet loyalty coils like smoke, influence spreads like ivy across stone, lives bend and shatter quietly around him. Shadows echo his presence, and the world seems to lean, ever so slightly, toward him.
He walks through halls where footsteps answer before they are made, through windows that catch moonlight like silver knives, past doors that close with unseen hands. Each breath carries the weight of inevitability; each thought, the tremor of fates in motion. He does not yet know the power he carries. He only knows that the air grows heavier, colder, darker, wherever he treads.
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Reads like ai
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40
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This is incredible. One of my new favourite fics.
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32
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Work was paused on chapter 42 on 2/28/26