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Potter and I went from wanting to rip out each other’s throats to this, without a single hint of hesitation. He went from being absolutely disgusted by my presence, to absorbing every ounce of my being in the matter of seconds. He was going a million miles a minute, and all I could do was linger behind him and try to keep up.
“Merlin, Vic, I wish you didn’t have to be in love with me.” He said softly as he began twirling a lock of my hair in between his fingers.
“Believe me, Potter, I wish for the same exact thing every single day.” I responded in a whisper.
Chapter Eighteen Masks and Magical Sprites
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Tom Felton on the beach in Miami, Florida on December 28, 2011