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... scratch of quill on parchment. Severus leaned forward at his desk, his brow deeply furrowed in concentration as he poured his thoughts into the paper before him. He hadn't intended to draw her—hadn't put pencil or charcoal to paper for anyone in years—but the image had surged forth, unbidden, through his fingers. With each deliberate stroke of the charcoal, her likeness materialized, pulling him further into a vivid recollection.
The silver of her eyes had haunted him relentlessly, shim ...
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