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... protest. Tree-lined asphalt whipped beneath the headlights, and the night air rushed past the side mirrors. She’d driven thirty straight minutes south of the city, not slowing once. Sighting a rusted highway sign half hidden by vines—she eased up and rolled to a stop on the shoulder.

Gravel crunched beneath the tires. The engine ticked in the sudden quiet.

She cut the lights, killed the ignition, and stepped out. Cool air hit her face, and for a moment she just breathed. She cou ...

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The most unlike Slytherin.

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