“You get the fact that we’re eleven, right?” Quince hissed.
The Gryffindors were something of an odd sight as they hurried down to the Great Hall for lunch. Corinne had hushed them in astronomy theory, and all through Herbology they hadn’t had a chance to talk without being overheard. Now Quince was letting out a full morning’s meditation on Minerva’s announcement.
“Our classmates don’t commit murder. We’re eleven!” Quince, who was nearly a foot taller than Minerva, was bending down to whisper angrily, yet was talking loud enough that passing students turned their heads in alarm. Behind them, Corinne looked horribly embarrassed and kept her head down.
“I know!” Minerva snapped in response as Quince made another face at her, his grey eyes shockingly wide.
“Eleven year olds don’t kill anyone,” Quince threw his hands in the air, nearly dropping One Thousand Magical Herb and Fungi as he did so. “Much less adult wizards, who, if I might add, were some of St. Mungo’s best and knew a thing or two about dueling on top of being healers.”
“I know, but -“ Minerva tried to cut in, but Quince wasn’t done.
“And,” he sighed exasperated, “Alphard couldn’t have just left the castle in the middle of the day without anyone noticing and gone all the way to Manchester like it was nothing!”
“But someone did notice!” Minerva practically shouted. “That other kid, the second year, Rosier.”
“I’m surprised Rosier wasn’t helping him do it…” muttered Damion, who had been walking silently on Quince’s other side.
“Aww come on,” Quince moaned, running a hand through his short cropped blonde hair. “You guys can’t be buying this?”
“Well,” Corinne was trying very hard to look authoritative, but the whole subject seemed to unnerve her. Her green eyes were darting furtively between her friends, unsure who to side with. “If Minerva’s telling the truth about what she heard, what else could it mean?”
“Bloody anything!” shouted Quince, which caused several third year Hufflepuffs to jump as they passed through the door to the Great Hall. “They could have been talking about a different article in the paper, or a pet rabbit, or his mother’s split pea soup. You could have misheard a few words and misinterpreted the whole thing. Or they could be playing a prank on you. You said Alphard saw you?” he turned to Minerva, and she nodded. “Well if he just realized you overhead he’d committed murder, I feel like he would have done something more than walk away.”
“Well…” Minerva didn’t really have a response, and chewed her lip. “I don’t think they were acting. And it just, well, I don’t see how they could have been talking about anything else.”
“Clearly your imagination isn’t big enough,” Quince slammed his textbook down on the table as they sat in the Great Hall.
Though they tried to continue the debate, Corinne continuously shushed them and jerked her head in the direction of every nearby or passing student. Eventually, Minerva gave up and said nothing as Quince hissed “Eleven,” once more, before attacking his lunch as if it had killed the wizarding couple.
They had Defense Against the Dark Arts after lunch, with none other than the Slytherins.
Minerva chose a seat near the back of the classroom, where she could clearly see Alphard several desks in front of her. He was seated with Clara Burg and Rhea Brunwin, fellow Slytherins. But, from what Minerva could tell by staring at the curly black hair on the back of his head, he was paying no attention to the girls. Instead, he was watching Tom Riddle, who was laughing at a particularly funny joke either Avery or Lestrange had just told.
Corinne and Quince seated themselves on either side of Minerva. Corinne pretended to be playing with the strands of her light brown hair that were falling out of her braid. Yet Minerva was fairly sure she was studying her. Both of her friends seemed concerned she was liable to do something crazy at any moment, and Minerva refused to acknowledge either of them.
As she pulled out her books, the elderly Professor Merrythought called them all to attention. To Minerva’s delight, the first topic of the class was the incident from the Prophet that morning.
“I’m assuming most of you have heard by now,” Merrythought said as she paced in front of the students. “But two very fine wizards were killed yesterday.”
Any murmurs that had continued after the call to attention immediately fell silent. Uncomfortable with the solemn topic eyes found various places to stare at. The stone floor, covered with dust and worn smooth. Or the paintings on the wall, which winked back with little grins. Out the windows was a favorite, where the forest looked tranquil in the autumn sun. Even the hem of Professor Merrythought’s sea blue robes were preferable to meeting the eyes of another student. Minerva however, kept her stare fixated on Alphard, analyzing his reaction.
“Now,” Merrythought continued, clasping her hands behind her back. “We all grieve for this tragic loss, but from this we must learn the harsh reminder that those who practice the Dark Arts are dangerous. And, while I don’t think any of you have your lives at risk,” she smiled reassuringly around the room, adding creases to her finely wrinkled face. “The skills we study here will certainly prove useful if you are ever encountered with such threats.”
Minerva watched as Alphard scratched his quill lazily the cover of his book. There didn’t seem to be any ink on it, and she couldn’t make out the pattern he was tracing. Beside him, Clara and Rhea looked practically terrified by Merrythought’s words. “Does she think the killer will go after someone else?” Clara whispered. Minerva strained to hear, especially as Merrythought was now explaining the possible dangers one might encounter on a daily basis.
“Oh, he will…” Alphard grunted, flicking a fly off his notebook with the tip of his quill. Minerva stiffened at his comment, which caused Quince to size her up again, as if she might jump up and attack the Slytherin. She felt very inclined to do so for a moment, until she noticed something else. Tom, up in the front of the classroom, had just very obviously turned back to look at Alphard.
The two boys stared at each other for a moment. They were very similar, both with startlingly dark eyes and black hair. Only Tom’s was combed and sleek, whereas Alphard’s curled haphazardly around his head. There was something in Tom’s expression that Minerva tried to read. Was it annoyance? Resentment? Respect? But before she could decide, he turned away as Merrythought instructed them to open their books.
While the lesson progressed, Minerva did her best to take notes. Which meant they turned out better than either Quince or Corinne’s. But between each of Merrythought’s points, Minerva contemplated events.
There was something off about Alphard, that much she was sure of, and not just because Dorea had warned her about him. He favored hanging out with Rosier, a second year, or even older Slytherins on occasion, including many other Blacks. In fact, he seemed quite popular among many of the elder students in his house. But as she searched her memory, she couldn’t think of ever seeing Alphard spend much time with Tom, or the other boys in his year for that matter. Why? She felt like there was an answer in that look between the two, but she couldn’t sort it out. Was it hatred, or grudging respect? Either way, it gave her a nagging suspicion that Tom was somehow caught up in this too. He knew something. Why else would he have stared directly at Alphard when everyone else was pretending to be decidedly uninterested in Merrythought’s words?
Minerva was so wrapped up in her own musings that she didn’t notice the class was over until Corinne tapped her lightly on the shoulder. Shaking herself slightly, she gathered up her notes (a spotless point by point outline of the entire class period), and told her friends she’d catch up with them. While the other students filed out, Minerva packed her things, unintentionally taking long enough that she was still there when someone entered the classroom.
For a moment, she stared at the man. He was rather large, with slicked back hair and spectacles. It wasn’t until he spoke that Minerva recognized him as the gamekeeper; Ogg.
“Galatea, do you have a moment?” His deep voice was unmistakable.
Professor Merrythought looked up from her desk, brushing wisps of grey hair out of her face. “Of course!” she smiled.
Not wanting to be a part of any further accidental eves dropping, Minerva hurried to stuff her quills in her bag and leave the room. But Ogg did not wait until she was gone, and she heard part of what was said.
“I’ve got Jarveys running crazy all over the forest,” he sighed, sounding very tired. “I was wondering if you’d be able to lend a hand gathering them up? Some of the normal stunning spells don’t seem to be working.”
“Jarveys? What’s got them all excited?” Merrythought looked far more excited about the prospect of a magical creature than she had been about the lesson.
“Looks like there was a fire near there den a few weeks ago, ‘round about the first day of term. No idea what caused it, but it didn’t spread far.” Ogg shrugged his large shoulders, and adjusted his spectacles.
Finally getting the last sheet of parchment into her bag, Minerva hurried out the room - and ran straight into Tom Riddle.
“Oh!” She clutched at her bag, trying not to spill it. “Sorry.”
Riddle just stared at her, with his oddly dark eyes. So she stared back. If she was being honest with herself, the kid gave her the creeps. And it wasn’t just the dark features, she had black hair too. No, there was something in his smiles. Something… off.
He smirked slightly. “Apologies, I was just waiting to ask Professor Merrythought a question about the lesson.”
Minerva nodded, and hurried down the hall, glancing behind her at Tom as she did. He remained outside the door, out of sight, clearly listening to the conversation.
Telling herself he was probably just overly curious, Minerva ignored it and hurried off towards Dumbledore’s classroom. She didn’t have transfiguration until tomorrow afternoon, but she had decided someone needed to know what she had heard. After very brief consideration, she had decided that someone was Dumbledore.
It appeared he had just finished teaching a class. For when she arrived he was straightening out the room, including several desks that had been broken. Minerva wondered exactly what had been transfigured during class. Dumbledore waved his wand almost lazily and the classroom repaired itself.
“Sir?” She stood timidly at the door, not wanting to enter without permission. What had been confident determination only moments ago was now turning into uncertainty.
“Miss McGonagall,” he smiled amiably. “What can I help you with?”
“Well, sir, I…” All her fears and suspicions seemed stupid suddenly. Maybe Quince had been right.
But Dumbledore was waiting, watching her expectantly. When she muttered a few more unintelligible words, he gestured towards a chair near his desk. “Would you like to sit down?”
In response she simply nodded and trudged up to the front of the classroom. Dropping into a seat framed in a square of sunlight from the windows, she deposited her bag on the floor. Dumbledore returned to his own desk, which was cluttered with books and parchment and a little silver box that belched purple smoke every few seconds.
For a moment, Minerva just breathed. Dumbledore didn’t pressure her to speak, he just sat patiently. It was comforting somehow. A quiet room in the afternoon sun, with a wise wizard, completely ready to hear what she had to say. And just like that she knew everything would be alright. How could it not?
“Well sir,” she began again, looking straight at Dumbledore. “I overheard a conversation this morning, quite accidentally. But it was rather concerning and I wanted to report it to someone. As you’re my Head of House, I assumed it would be most sensible to speak to you.”
“Naturally,” he nodded, scratching his auburn beard. “What did you hear?”
Alternating between looking at Dumbledore, and the peculiar silver box on his desk, she related the conversation. Having gone over it in her head several times since that morning, she knew word for word what had been said. Dumbledore didn’t interrupt her. At one point, he reached into a drawer in his desk, pulled out a chocolate frog card and set it on top of one of his books. Besides that, his attention never once wavered from Minerva.
“Interesting,” he said she finished. “And from that you have summarized that Alphard Black is responsible for the murder of the Taylors?”
Letting her shoulders slump in relief, Minerva nodded. She hadn’t even explained her fears yet, and he had guessed them.
“You do realize of course, that is a very hefty claim to lay against an eleven year old wizard?” He studied her carefully, and she fidgeted.
“I do sir, but…” she wrung her hands in her lap. “Well I guess I shouldn’t be accusing anyone. But I wanted you to know what I had heard.”
“Quite right.” Dumbledore picked up the chocolate frog card from his desk, and began paging through the book under it. Apparently finding something interesting, he tucked the card on a certain page, and closed the book again.
Minerva watched uncomfortably, wondering what to say next. He’d recognized her fears, but didn’t seem to be rushing off to question Alphard. According to Corinne, Dumbledore had many connections in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and could very easily deal with any situation of this sort. Yet instead of addressing what Minerva saw as the issue at hand, he changed the subject smoothly.
“Your progress in Transfiguration class thus far has been very remarkable,” Dumbledore smiled, folding his hands on his desk. “I will investigate whether or not Mr. Black was absent from any of his classes yesterday, or if any other suspicious activity was noted. But since you’re here, I’d like to discuss the possibility of some alternative assignments for you. If that’s alright?” Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at her expectantly.
“Really?” Minerva wanted very much to remind him there was a possible murderer on the loose in the castle, but after he had changed the subject she knew that would be entirely inappropriate. Instead, she tried to muster excitement about alternative assignments for transfiguration… whatever that meant. She imagined Corinne grumbling at this moment, dreading the thought of more schoolwork. But Minerva instead found herself fascinated with the idea of an extra assignment, maybe it would be advanced magic? Transfiguration had been incredibly easy for her thus far.
Her expectations were not disappointed. Dumbledore passed the book he had been paging through across the table towards her. “This text is largely second and third year transfiguration,” he explained. “But it is slightly different than what we teach here at Hogwarts. It is more obscure theory and deals with unconventional magical methods, more similar to alchemy in many ways than standard transfiguration.”
Minerva began to page through the book eagerly, breezing past where the chocolate frog card marked a page and staring fascinated at diagrams. The instructions on how to transfigure liquid water into dirt seemed particularly intriguing.
“I’ve marked a specific spell I’d like for you to attempt, but feel free to look through the whole book. If it interests you, I might replace your regular homework assignments with study in alternate texts such as this. You seem to be mastering the basics without the need for additional practice or research.” Dumbledore was smiling at the look of delight that seemed to have overtaken Minerva as she examined the book. She was certainly no longer struggling with the subject change.
Minerva nodded eagerly. “Oh I’d love that sir, this looks fantastic!”
“Wonderful! Now,” he straightened a few things on his desk. “If you don’t mind, I have some essays to mark.”
“Of course sir!” Minerva stood and headed for the door. Most of her concerns had been pushed away, and she had nearly forgotten why she’d been there in the first place, until Dumbledore stopped her with a last comment
“And Miss McGonagall,” He added before she left. “Thank you for coming to me with your concerns about Mr. Black, it is good to err on the side of caution.”
Minerva nodded, then rushed out of the room, eager to get to Gryffindor tower and show her friends the new book. Dumbledore would know what to do about Alphard. It felt like a weight had been lifted from her chest.
Once she found her friends, they gathered around a table near the fireplace and began to examine the various spells. Most of them were odd and obscure. Everything in class was turning complex objects into other complex objects, but the book seemed to focus on basic elements into other basic elements. Dead leaves into water, water into brick, bricks into ashes. “Well, all you need to do is cast reducto to get that,” muttered Quince as they read over the page.
Minerva was fascinated however, and Corinne seemed to be slightly jealous. “Aren’t these great?” Minerva insisted. “It seems like a mix of transfiguration and alchemy… changing one element into another.”
Marly was absently fiddling with the chocolate frog card that had been marking a page in the book. Basic Pyrotransformation, had been on the page it was marking. How to extinguish flames by transfiguring it’s fuel source. Minerva had glanced over it briefly. Most of the article seemed to discuss how this transformation was essential to master higher level magic which involved controlling flames, based, again, on their fuel source.
“Hey, what card is that?” Damion asked as he wandered over to the table. He’d been playing wizards chess with Atticus Longbottom, who had beaten him soundly.
Marly actually looked at the card for the first time. “Somebody called Allison Taylor,” she muttered.
“Taylor?” Minerva looked up suddenly, brushing her black bangs out of her face. That had been the last name of the murder victims. “What does it say about her?”
Dutifully, Marly began to read it aloud: “First honored for her protection of ancient artifacts and texts during the Siege of Van in 1915, Taylor’s skilled dueling and defensive spells quickly became legendary. Despite this, she always insisted magic was better suited for healing, and spent a number of years working at Saint Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and injuries. It was there that she met her husband and completed several texts on the merits of Aconite, also known as Wolfsbane, in healing potions. Taylor’s research has proven useful in the curing of multiple magical ailments.”
“See?” Quince made a face at Minerva. “And you think an eleven year old just offed that woman and her husband…”
Minerva frowned. She had almost forgotten about the card, and that Dumbledore had pulled it out as she related her tale to him. Clearly, he had meant for her to read it, but why?
“Dumbledore must be telling you it couldn’t have been Alphard,” Marly grinned brightly, almost as if she were responding to Minerva’s thoughts. “You said he gave you this card, right?”
“Well, yeah,” Minerva snatched it back and turned it over several times. A plain old chocolate frog card. She’d seen plenty of them since arriving at Hogwarts. “But if he was trying to tell me it would have been impossible for Alphard to kill them, why didn’t he just say that? He didn’t say anything about the whole murder thing really… just listened and promised to look into it.”
Damion began a musing on conspiracy theories, but Minerva wasn’t listening. She was trying to figure out what the card meant. It had to mean something. She had told Dumbledore her fears about Alphard and he had responded with extra transfiguration work, and a chocolate frog card…
No answer presented itself, despite the fact she couldn’t get it out of her head the rest of the night.
The next day in Transfiguration, she informed Dumbledore she would love the opportunity to study the book he had given her. He said nothing about Alphard however, and she hung back after class to ask.
“Sir?” Minerva questioned, when the room finally emptied. “I was just wondering if you’d had a chance to look into anything with Alphard yet?”
Dumbledore looked up from his desk, and studied her for a moment. “It would seem Mr. Black missed his afternoon classes on Tuesday.” Immediately, Minerva tensed. “However,” Dumbledore continued before she could say anything. “It was an approved absence. For personal reasons he had to visit London, and he was accompanied by the Gamekeeper, Ogg, the whole time.”
The momentary satisfaction and validation that had welled up inside Minerva collapsed. It wasn’t Alphard? No, there had to be something more… “What sort of personal reasons allow you to miss school for an afternoon?” she pressed.
“Miss McGonagall,” Dumbledore frowned slightly. “I would think you’d appreciate your fellow student’s right to privacy. I assure you Mr. Black had entirely legitimate reasons for being gone. The conversation you overheard must have been referring to something else, or, possibly misheard.”
“Alright, thank you sir,” Minerva did her best to respectfully thank him and leave, but inside she was furious. There was a heavy implication in his last comment, misheard. That’s what all her friends thought too, that she was just a bit hard of hearing and didn’t know what was going on. But she knew what she heard. And to be frank, there really weren’t a lot of different ways you could interpret it! Not to mention Alphard’s comment in DADA, implying the murderer would go after someone else.
But Dumbledore didn’t seem concerned by it. And, when the Prophet was dropped in front of her, she saw why.
Wizarding Politics were tense in Europe, where muggles were already causing enough troubles with squabbles over land. And, according to the Prophet, there had been a rash of murders in southern Germany and Czechoslovakia. Most of them political figures, or at least people more important than retired wizard healers in Manchester.
“More conspiracy theories,” Quince sighed, reading over the paper. “Says here, they think there’s some dark wizard behind all of this, stirring up trouble with the muggles too.”
“How so?” Minvera asked curious. She didn’t understand wizarding politics and governments… but she knew a thing or two about muggle geography.
“Well,” Damion pulled out another newspaper. It took Minerva several moments to realize it was a muggle paper. Then she remembered Damion was halfblood - his mother probably followed Muggle events. “Several of the wizards that were killed were trying to help the muggles sort out this squabble over Czechoslovakia and who the territory belongs to. Secretly, of course, but just last week they were saying the German Ministry of Magic was close to reaching an agreement that would stop all this Third Reich expansion and what not. And now half of them are dead. I don’t think Hitler even knew about them… but it certainly makes his job easier.” Damion sighed and pulled out his quill, making marks on the Prophet and the Muggle paper he had.
“What are you doing?” Corinne peered over curiously.
“Trying to compare the stories,” Damion said. “All this muggle and wizard stuff is affecting each other more than either side knows, I’m trying to connect the stories…”
Minerva watched for a few moments, slightly impressed. Damion seemed to have a running notebook that was combining several news sources and explaining events in light of both muggle and wizarding events; something nobody at the Prophet had even bothered to look into, so far as she could tell.
She didn’t understand half of it, most of the news of political turmoil didn’t make it all the way to her village. But it was clear wizards like Dumbledore, with any sort of ties to Magical Law Enforcement and the Ministry, had bigger troubles than suspicious eleven year olds.
Which meant Minerva was going to have to figure things out herself. Rules were rules, and just because something bigger was going on in the world, it didn’t mean Alphard could be involved in suspicious activity without anyone caring. Maybe he hadn’t been the murderer, but he knew something, or was involved in something… or, well, if she was being honest with herself she was still pretty convinced he was guilty.
But she had no proof.
And during Potions class that afternoon, more pieces of the puzzle began to appear, making everything more complicated.
Professor Slughorn was strolling about the room, commenting on everyone’s progress; “Beautiful work there Hornby! Spectacular shade of orange!” or “I’d work on that Skeeter, that might blow up in your face in a minute or two.”
They had potions with the Ravenclaws, and Minerva had chosen to sit next to Aquilo Koren. Her Gryffindor friends seemed suspicious that she was going to accuse someone else of murder, and were watching her very closely from several desks over.
“What did you do to that Kinsey kid?” Aquilo laughed suddenly, and Minerva glanced up from her potion.
“Quince Kinsey?” she asked, confused, tucking her hair behind her ears. “What’s he doing?”
Quince was brewing his potion, but staring fixedly at Minerva. As soon as she met his eyes, Quince pointed at Aquilo with his wand and whispered the words “I think he’s a killer too!”
Glaring, Minerva refocused on her potion. But Aquilo was laughing beside her.
“Dare I even ask?”
“It’s nothing,” Minerva grunted. “They just don’t believe something I told them.”
Aquilo nodded knowingly as he sliced up gillyweed roots and dumped them into his cauldron. “I know the feeling,” he brushed his black hair out of his face. “I was telling Olive Hornby earlier how I snuck into part of the forbidden forest and saw all this cool stuff… and she told me I was just making it up!”
Minerva laughed. “Am I going to have to tell on you Aquilo?”
“No,” he huffed. “Ogg caught me before I got very far.”
“Did he give you detention?” Minerva finished adding ingredients to her cauldron and began carefully stirring it.
“Nah, I helped him carry a bunch of huge pumpkin decorations up to the castle… and he told me that was punishment enough.” Aquilo grinned brightly, his pale face lighting up.
“Lucky you,” said Minerva. “Ogg seems alright.”
“To most people at least,” Aquilo was about to stir his potion too many times, and Minerva pointed it out before he continued. “I thought I’m supposed to be the smart one,” Aquilo sighed. “Being a Ravenclaw and all.”
“Oh don’t start the house stereotypes,” Minerva sighed. “No,” she stopped him again. “Three times counter clockwise, then you can add the eel eyes.”
Once his potion was back in hand, and turning the proper shade of orange, Minerva prompted him back to the previous conversation. “So, why do you say Ogg is alright to most people? Did somebody make him angry?”
“Ha!” Aquilo chuckled. “I’ll say. Tuesday night, I was heading to the library, and I passed Ogg in the hall, yelling at one of the Blacks like he’d just blown up a classroom or something.”
“One of the Blacks?” Minerva nearly dropped twice as many eels eyes into her cauldron as she was supposed to. “Which one of them?”
“Huh? I don’t know, half of them look the same, and they’ve all got weird names,” he sighed.
“Was it one in our year?” Minerva pressed.
“Well, he’s younger, but I see him hanging out with second and third years all the time. Even seventh years.”
Aquilo didn’t say anymore and became very fixated on his potion as Professor Slughorn came by to survey their work. He voiced some praise of Minerva’s potion, but she didn’t really listen. Ogg had been yelling at Alphard, it had to have been him. It was the same day even, when he had supposedly escorted him to London.
The moment Slughorn was gone, Minerva interrogated Aquilo. “What did they say, what was he yelling at him about?”
“I don’t really remember,” Aquilo frowned. “I think I heard something like ‘I gave you very specific instructions and you should have listened to me, that was dangerous!’” Aquilo tried to mimic the gamekeeper’s unusually deep voice and grinned at Minerva.
She smiled back, trying to feign impressed amusement at his acting capabilities. “Was that all you heard?”
“Yeah I think so,” Aquilo nodded. “Oh! And I heard Ogg something about Tom Riddle too.” Scratching his head, Aquilo thought for a moment. “Yeah, I think he told Alphard ‘keep an eye on Tom too’, whatever that means,” he laughed slightly. “Tom seems alright, but that Alphard kid gives me the creeps.”
Minerva finished her potion largely in silence, and didn’t even feel properly proud when Slughorn gave her full marks at the end of the class. She was much more excited about the fact it was now the weekend, and she could spend a full two days figuring out what in the world was going on.
But answers didn’t present themselves. And after having already gone to Dumbledore, Minerva didn’t know what else to do. Instead the weekend was over in a flurry of homework and the next school week was underway. The pumpkins Aquilo had helped Ogg move to the great hall were carved out and filled with magical ever-burning flames. Halloween was only a week away and with the extra transfiguration work Dumbledore kept assigning her, Minerva didn’t have much time to pursue murder mysteries.
It simmered in the back of her mind as she sat in her classes. She kept an eye on Alphard when she saw him around the castle, and Tom, for good measure. She was increasingly certain that he was caught up in all this as well. There were no more clues however, nothing more suspicious. No excuse she had to bring up the issue with Dumbledore again.
But something was going on. She was sure of it. She just had to find a way to be sure of what it was.
Author's Notes: woohoo! Got another chapter done. Thank you readers and reviewers, it's really encouraging to hear your thoughts! I'm participating in NaNoWriMo, working on a different original fiction, so I'm not sure how much I'll be updating for the rest of November, but I'll try!
If you have the time to drop a review, I'd love some comments on how you feel the story is progressing. I'm trying to build a mystery, but I've never really written one before so I'm not sure exactly how to do it! Any suggestions or feedback you might have would be greatly appreciated.
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