Stories by peverell.magic

As they disappeared from the cursed place, Albus couldn't help but take one final look at the scene that would haunt him for years to come—a circle of gray where Death held sway, where not even color could penetrate.

The fate of the wizarding world hung in the balance, and Sirius and Jean-Sebastian were just two individuals among many who would play a pivotal role in the impending struggle.

A single soft shadow coiled through the gleaming silver like the ghost of summer shade—patient, deliberate, quiet as snowfall settling into the dead spaces of a frozen world. It twisted and turned far below the mirror's bright, rippling surface, the way sunlight catches on buried gold at the bottom of a clear river, promising treasure to anyone foolish enough to plunge their hands.

The ash began to bury his legs, enveloping him in its soft, warm embrace. Harry wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his face in them, allowing the world to drift into the distance.

It was on a cold October evening that this story began, an evening that, in the eyes of many people, marked the advent of a new era, an era of great upheavals, although it would affect only a certain category of individuals.