I guess I know who I'm shipping now...
The spaghetti is now learning to travel in coordination, if not straight lines. But I think Alan Rickman owes me a forfeit.
The sheet-draped mirror in the back of the Ministry’s Unknown Objects room was at least a century old. Harry lifted the dusty cloth, ignoring Undersecretary Trickle’s drone about provenance.
As he gazed into the misty glass, it cleared; unsurprisingly, the face looking back wasn’t his own.
But the witch seemed oddly familiar. Raven hair, eyes as green as his, an imperious nose…
He saw the realisation hit her at the same time. A tiny smile flickered across the proud mouth, and then she was gone.
Harry lowered the sheet gently. “It’s an alternate reality,” he said, and stepped away.
the impossible span of dreams
The sheet-draped mirror in the back of the Ministry’s Unknown Objects room was at least a century old. Harry lifted the dusty cloth, ignoring Undersecretary Trickle’s drone about provenance.
As he gazed into the misty glass, it cleared; unsurprisingly, the face looking back wasn’t his own.
But the witch seemed oddly familiar. Raven hair, eyes as green as his, an imperious nose…
He saw the realisation hit her at the same time. A tiny smile flickered across the proud mouth, and then she was gone.
Harry lowered the sheet gently. “It’s an alternate reality,” he said, and stepped away.
the impossible span of dreams