The morning of July 31st dawned with the kind of perfect California sunshine that seemed designed to showcase the Black estate at its most welcoming. The sprawling grounds had been transformed overnight by an army of house-elves working under Sirius's enthusiastic direction, turning what had already been an impressive property into something that looked like it belonged in a magazine spread about "Homes Where Extraordinary People Live Extraordinary Lives."
Hercules stood on the main balcony, his enhanced senses cataloging the organized chaos below as final preparations were made for what promised to be the most significant gathering of his new life. Even in casual clothes—dark jeans and a white linen shirt that emphasized his transformed physique—there was something distinctly regal about the way he carried himself, like someone who had finally grown into power that had always been his by right.
"You know, pup," Sirius called from the patio below, where he was directing the placement of additional seating with the kind of manic enthusiasm that suggested he was channeling thirteen years of repressed party-planning energy, "I'm starting to think we might have gone slightly overboard with the preparations."
Hercules looked down at the scene below and had to admit his father had a point. The back garden now featured enough seating to accommodate a small wedding, three separate dining areas configured for different conversation groupings, a full outdoor bar that looked like it had been imported from an exclusive resort, and what appeared to be a professional sound system designed to provide ambient music without overwhelming anyone with supernatural hearing.
"Slightly overboard?" Hercules called back with amusement that carried clearly in his deeper voice. "Dad, you've essentially created an outdoor palace. I'm pretty sure the seating arrangements alone could host a diplomatic summit."
"We're entertaining the Weasleys, the Lovegoods, the Bones family, AND the Addams family," Sirius replied with the kind of logic that would have been unassailable if it weren't completely insane. "That's representatives from some of the most interesting families in both British and American magical society. If we're going to do this, we're going to do it properly."
From the kitchen came the sounds of Remus coordinating what appeared to be a catering operation of military precision. His voice drifted through the open windows as he consulted with house-elves about dietary requirements: "...Mrs. Weasley will undoubtedly want to contribute something to the meal preparation, so we need to have ingredients available for her specialties... Luna Lovegood mentioned that her father has specific preferences regarding food preparation methods... and I have no idea what the Addams family considers appropriate cuisine, but I suspect it's nothing like what the rest of us would expect..."
Andromeda appeared on the balcony beside Hercules, carrying her ever-present medical bag and wearing the expression of someone who had spent the morning preparing for every conceivable emergency that might arise when supernatural families gathered in large numbers.
"How are you feeling about all this?" she asked, settling beside him with the graceful efficiency that characterized all her movements. "Excited? Nervous? Overwhelmed by the prospect of managing this many different family dynamics simultaneously?"
Hercules considered the question seriously. "All of the above, actually," he said with the kind of honesty that had become easier since his transformation. "I'm excited to see the Weasleys again, to meet Luna and her father properly, to see if Amelia Bones lives up to Dad's obvious romantic nostalgia. But I'm also nervous about whether everyone will get along, whether the Addams family will find our other guests interesting or tedious, whether I'll be able to manage my enhanced senses with this many people around..."
He paused, his serpentine eyes reflecting the morning sunlight as he watched a pair of hawks circling overhead. "Mostly, though, I'm grateful. This time last year, my birthday was something I dreaded—another reminder of how alone I was, how little I mattered to the people who were supposed to care about me. Now..."
He gestured toward the bustling preparation below, where Sirius was now debating flower arrangements with house-elves while Tonks helped Remus coordinate magical cooling charms for the various food stations.
"Now I'm surrounded by people who chose to be here, who want to celebrate with me, who've organized their schedules and traveled internationally just to spend time with me. It's overwhelming in the best possible way."
"Nervous about anything specific?" Andromeda asked with the kind of gentle probing that characterized her bedside manner. "Beyond the general social anxiety that comes with hosting multiple families who've never met each other?"
Hercules was quiet for a moment, his enhanced hearing picking up the sound of Ted reviewing legal documents in the study—probably backup plans for various contingencies—and Tonks practicing her Metamorphmagus abilities in her room, her appearance shifting rapidly as she prepared for meeting new people.
"I keep thinking about Luna's comment in her letter," he said finally. "About how she can see the Wrackspurts around Ministry officials, the confusion-inducing creatures around Dumbledore's office. If she's right, if there really are magical influences affecting people's thinking about my situation..."
"You're worried she might see something alarming when she looks at you?" Andromeda finished with the kind of understanding that came from years of treating patients whose conditions were more complex than their symptoms suggested.
"Exactly. What if my transformation has attracted things I don't know about? What if there are influences I'm not aware of, creatures or magic or... I don't know, side effects that haven't manifested yet?" His voice carried the kind of controlled concern that suggested he'd been thinking about this possibility for a while.
Andromeda reached over and squeezed his shoulder with the kind of maternal comfort that had become natural between them. "Hercules, you've been living with this transformation for months now. If there were dangerous magical influences or harmful creatures attached to your condition, I would have detected them during our medical evaluations, or you would have experienced symptoms, or your behavior would have shown signs of external manipulation."
She gestured toward the activity below, where their chosen family was working together with the kind of comfortable efficiency that spoke of genuine affection and mutual respect.
"Look at how you interact with the people you love. Look at the decisions you've made, the relationships you've built, the way you've handled power and responsibility. Those are the actions of someone whose thinking is clear, whose judgment is sound, whose essential character remains fundamentally decent despite having abilities that could easily be abused."
"Besides," she added with a slight smile, "if Luna Lovegood does notice anything unusual about your magical signature, she'll mention it directly. From what I know about her family, they're not particularly diplomatic about discussing supernatural observations."
Their conversation was interrupted by the distinctive *crack* of Apparition from the front lawn—not just one arrival, but what sounded like an entire delegation appearing simultaneously with the kind of coordinated precision that suggested military training or extensive practice.
"That'll be the Weasleys," Sirius called from below, his voice carrying the kind of excitement that made him sound decades younger. "Right on schedule and in force, just like Molly promised."
Hercules felt his enhanced senses immediately catalog the new arrivals: familiar scents that brought back memories of the Burrow, elevated heart rates that suggested travel excitement mixed with nervousness, and the distinctive magical signatures that belonged to one of the most magically gifted families in Britain. But underneath the familiar patterns, he detected something new—an additional magical presence that felt different, more concentrated, carrying undertones of authority and competence that could only belong to someone accustomed to commanding respect.
"And that's probably Amelia Bones with them," Andromeda observed with the kind of analytical interest that suggested she was looking forward to meeting the woman who had captured Sirius's attention so thoroughly. "This should be interesting."
From the front of the house came the sound of voices—Mrs. Weasley's distinctive maternal tones directing what appeared to be a complex luggage-management operation, Mr. Weasley's fascinated observations about the estate's architectural features, and the familiar sounds of multiple Weasley siblings engaging in good-natured banter about travel arrangements and arrival protocols.
But cutting through the familiar chaos came two voices that Hercules didn't recognize: a young woman with the kind of confident tone that suggested she was accustomed to being taken seriously despite her age, and an older woman whose crisp pronunciation and natural authority made it clear that she was someone important who was trying not to be intimidating.
"Right," Hercules said, straightening with the kind of decisive energy that had once made him legendary for throwing himself into complex situations, "time to be a proper host and welcome our first guests."
He started toward the stairs, then paused as his enhanced hearing picked up something that made him smile with genuine warmth—Hermione's voice, slightly breathless from travel but unmistakably excited, saying something about "architectural integration of magical and mundane design elements" with the kind of intellectual enthusiasm that meant she was already cataloging everything she observed for future research.
"Actually," he said to Andromeda, "I think this is going to be perfect. Everyone I've missed, everyone I've wanted to meet, everyone who's chosen to be part of this new life—all here, all ready to celebrate together."
His serpentine eyes glittered with anticipation as he headed downstairs to greet the first wave of guests, his voice carrying the kind of confidence that came from finally knowing exactly where he belonged.
"Let the festivities begin."
---
The front lawn of the Black estate had been transformed into what appeared to be the staging area for a small-scale invasion by some of the most interesting families in the wizarding world. Trunks, parcels, and what looked like enough presents to supply a small shop were arranged in neat piles while their owners sorted themselves into some semblance of organized arrival protocol.
Hercules stepped onto the front porch and felt his enhanced senses immediately overwhelmed by the sheer complexity of emotional currents radiating from the assembled group. Excitement, nervousness, curiosity, affection, and what felt like barely contained maternal energy were all swirling together in a mixture that would have been overwhelming if it weren't so fundamentally welcome.
"Hercules!" Hermione's voice cut through the general chaos as she spotted him, and before he could properly brace himself, she had launched into a hug that demonstrated exactly how much she'd missed him. "Oh my god, look at you! You're so... tall! And broad! And your eyes are amazing! Are those actual serpentine pupils? The magical theory implications alone..."
"Breathe, Hermione," Hercules said with gentle amusement, his deeper voice carrying easily as he returned the embrace. "It's wonderful to see you too, but I suspect you're about to hyperventilate from excitement."
"Sorry, it's just..." she stepped back, studying his transformed appearance with the kind of analytical fascination that had made her legendary for research thoroughness, "the physical changes are so much more dramatic than I expected from your letters. And you look... happy. Really, genuinely happy in a way I've never seen before."
"That's because I am happy," he said simply, the truth of it evident in every line of his transformed features. "For the first time in my life, properly happy."
"Hercules!" Mrs. Weasley's voice carried across the lawn with the kind of maternal authority that could penetrate any amount of background noise. She approached with the determined stride of someone who had been rehearsing this reunion for weeks, her expression cycling rapidly between joy at seeing him safe and that particular brand of parental concern that suggested she was planning to thoroughly inspect him for signs of inadequate care.
"Mrs. Weasley," he said warmly, accepting another enthusiastic embrace while noting that his enhanced strength required careful modulation to avoid accidentally crushing his adoptive maternal figure. "Thank you so much for coming. I can't tell you how much it means to have you here."
"Oh, dear," she said, stepping back to study his appearance with the kind of thorough evaluation usually reserved for determining whether vegetables were properly cooked, "look at you! So tall, so... substantial. And those eyes! They're quite striking, though I suppose they take some getting used to."
"The eyes are new," he admitted with a grin that made several of the assembled Weasleys take involuntary steps backward. "Enhanced senses, improved night vision, occasional ability to make people nervous without actually trying. It's been an adjustment."
"And Sirius has been feeding you properly?" Mrs. Weasley continued with the kind of systematic inquiry that suggested she had prepared a comprehensive checklist of parental adequacy markers. "You look healthy, but you're still too thin for my liking. Growing boys need proper nutrition, especially growing boys who've experienced supernatural transformation and the stress of international relocation."
"Molly," came a voice that carried the kind of gentle authority that made everyone on the lawn pause and pay attention, "perhaps we should allow the boy to greet everyone before beginning the comprehensive health assessment?"
Amelia Bones stepped forward with the fluid confidence of someone who had spent decades commanding respect in professional settings, but there was something softer in her expression as she extended her hand to Hercules with genuine warmth.
"Amelia Bones," she said simply, though her voice carried undertones that suggested she was as curious about this meeting as everyone else present. "I've heard a remarkable amount about you, young man. It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."
Hercules accepted the handshake, noting that her grip was firm without being aggressive, confident without being dominating—the kind of professional composure that suggested someone who had mastered the art of being respected rather than feared.
"Ms. Bones," he replied with the kind of formal courtesy that his transformation seemed to have enhanced along with his physical capabilities, "the pleasure is entirely mine. Your reputation precedes you, and everything I've heard suggests that Dad's professional admiration was entirely justified."
He caught the slight flutter in Amelia's composed expression at the mention of Sirius, the barely detectable shift in her magical signature that suggested the attraction was mutual and still very much present after all these years.
"Professional admiration," she repeated with the kind of dry humor that suggested she was perfectly aware of how inadequate that description was for whatever had existed between her and Sirius during their Auror training days. "Is that what we're calling it?"
Before Hercules could formulate a diplomatically appropriate response to that loaded question, a young woman with the kind of confident bearing that suggested she'd inherited her aunt's authority along with her magical abilities approached with evident curiosity.
"Susan Bones," she said with the kind of straightforward introduction that bypassed awkward formal protocols, "and you must be the famous Hercules Black who's been causing such a stir in international magical law circles."
She studied his transformed appearance with intelligent blue eyes that missed absolutely nothing, her expression cycling from curiosity to assessment to what appeared to be approval.
"The serpentine pupils are quite striking," she observed with the kind of casual directness that suggested she was comfortable discussing unusual physical characteristics. "Do they affect your vision significantly? Enhanced night vision, improved depth perception, ability to detect magical auras?"
"All of the above," Hercules replied with genuine appreciation for her straightforward approach. "Plus enhanced hearing, improved reflexes, and occasionally the ability to make people nervous just by looking at them directly."
"Brilliant," Susan said with evident satisfaction. "Someone who can make authority figures nervous just through eye contact has distinct advantages in navigating bureaucratic incompetence."
"Susan," Amelia said with the kind of fond exasperation that suggested this conversation was typical of her niece's social approach, "perhaps we should focus on proper introductions before beginning the tactical assessment of Hercules's supernatural advantages?"
The Weasley family had been following this exchange with the kind of fascinated attention usually reserved for watching particularly dramatic Quidditch matches, but now they surged forward with the characteristic enthusiasm that had made their family legendary for overwhelming newcomers with affection.
"Harry—Hercules—mate!" Ron's voice cracked slightly as he approached, his expression cycling between excitement at seeing his best friend and obvious nervousness about the dramatic physical changes. "Bloody hell, you look... different. Good different! But definitely different."
"Ron," Hercules said warmly, noting that his friend had grown several inches and filled out considerably since their Hogwarts days, "it's wonderful to see you. You look good—healthier, more confident. How've you been?"
"Better since we knew you were safe," Ron replied with the kind of honesty that had always characterized their friendship. "Mum was going mental with worry, and Ginny kept hexing people who suggested you might actually be dangerous. It's been... interesting."
"Where is Ginny?" Hercules asked, scanning the assembled group for the distinctive red hair and fierce personality of the youngest Weasley.
"Here!" came a voice from behind the luggage pile, followed by the emergence of Ginny Weasley looking considerably more mature than when he'd last seen her. At thirteen, she carried herself with the kind of confident grace that suggested she'd inherited the Weasley family's magical gifts along with their stubborn determination to protect people they cared about.
"Hercules Black," she said with evident satisfaction, studying his transformed appearance with the kind of thorough evaluation that suggested she was cataloging every change for future reference. "I have to say, the new name suits you much better than Harry Potter. More... dramatic. More authentic."
She approached without the nervous hesitation that had characterized some of the other greetings, reaching up to hug him with the kind of casual affection that suggested she'd already adjusted to his new identity and appearance.
"The serpentine eyes are gorgeous," she said matter-of-factly, stepping back to study his face with evident appreciation. "Much more interesting than ordinary green. They suit your bone structure perfectly."
"Thank you," Hercules said, genuinely touched by her matter-of-fact acceptance of his transformation. "That's... actually exactly what I needed to hear."
"Well, it's true," she replied with characteristic directness. "You look like someone who's finally grown into who they were always meant to be. It's quite striking, actually."
Fred and George materialized on either side of the conversation with the kind of synchronized precision that had made them legendary for coordinated pranking operations.
"Hercules Black," Fred began with evident approval.
"Definitely an improvement over the old identity," George continued seamlessly.
"More dramatic flair," Fred observed.
"Better suited for someone with your particular talent for spectacular situational management," George concluded.
"Spectacular situational management?" Hercules repeated with amusement. "Is that what we're calling my tendency to end up in mortal peril on a regular basis?"
"Among other things," the twins said in unison, their grins suggesting they had developed extensive theories about his lifestyle choices during his absence.
Mr. Weasley approached with the kind of fascinated curiosity that had made him legendary for his interest in unusual phenomena, magical and mundane alike. His expression carried the sort of intellectual excitement usually reserved for discovering new forms of magical-muggle integration.
"Hercules," he said warmly, "the physical transformation is absolutely remarkable. The magical theory implications alone... I don't suppose you'd be willing to discuss the process? The combination of different magical forces, the stabilization through blood adoption, the ongoing effects on your magical signature?"
"Dad loves a good supernatural mystery," Ron explained with fond exasperation. "He's been reading everything he can find about hybrid magical transformations since Hermione told us about your situation."
"I'd be happy to discuss it," Hercules replied with genuine appreciation for Mr. Weasley's intellectual approach. "Though I should warn you, the process was more instinctive than planned. I'm still figuring out some of the implications myself."
"Even better!" Mr. Weasley said with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for Christmas morning. "Real-time supernatural development is fascinating from a theoretical perspective. The documentation possibilities alone..."
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of additional Apparition from the front lawn—this time a more discrete arrival that suggested people who were comfortable with making dramatic entrances when appropriate but preferred subtlety when meeting new people.
"That'll be the Lovegoods," Hermione said with evident excitement, "Luna sent an owl this morning saying they'd arrive after everyone else had a chance to settle in. She said something about 'allowing the social dynamics to stabilize before introducing additional variables,' which is remarkably considerate for Luna."
Two figures materialized near the property's front gate with the kind of casual elegance that suggested they were perfectly comfortable with magical travel but didn't feel the need to make a production of it. Xenophilius Lovegood was immediately recognizable—tall, thin, with the kind of vague expression that suggested his mind was perpetually focused on things that existed just slightly out of phase with ordinary reality. His daughter Luna moved with the distinctive grace that characterized people who were comfortable with being different, her blonde hair catching the afternoon sunlight as she surveyed the assembled gathering with evident satisfaction.
"The Lovegoods have arrived," Luna announced with the kind of dreamy precision that had made her legendary for stating obvious things in ways that somehow made them sound profound. "And everyone looks remarkably well-organized for a gathering of this complexity. Usually when multiple families meet for the first time, there's considerably more social confusion and territorial assessment behavior."
She approached Hercules directly with the kind of confident navigation that suggested she'd already identified him as the central figure despite never having met him in person.
"Hello, Hercules Black," she said with genuine warmth, her distinctive voice carrying notes of curiosity and what sounded like approval. "You look much more settled than I expected for someone who's experienced such dramatic identity reconstruction. The transformation has been remarkably kind to your essential personality structure."
"Hello, Luna," Hercules replied, genuinely curious about what else her unique perspective might reveal. "It's wonderful to finally meet you properly. Your letters have been... illuminating."
"Thank you," she said with evident satisfaction. "Most people find my observations either alarming or incomprehensible, so 'illuminating' is quite a pleasant change."
She studied his face with the kind of focused attention that suggested she was cataloging details that other people wouldn't notice, her pale eyes moving across his transformed features with scientific curiosity.
"The serpentine pupils are quite beautiful," she observed matter-of-factly, "and they're glowing slightly, which suggests that your magical core is more active than most people's. Also, you have approximately seven different species of positive magical creatures following you around, which is unusual for someone with your level of power. Usually powerful wizards attract more predatory magical fauna."
"Seven species of positive magical creatures?" Hercules repeated with genuine curiosity. "What kind of creatures?"
"Oh, the usual collection that gathers around people who use their power responsibly," Luna replied airily. "Protective spirits, beneficial luck elementals, a few small blessing sprites. Nothing dangerous, just magical creatures that are drawn to people who make good ethical decisions despite having abilities that could easily be misused."
Xenophilius Lovegood approached with the kind of vague enthusiasm that suggested he was processing multiple layers of information simultaneously, his distinctive appearance—flowing robes, wild hair, and expression of perpetual curiosity—making him immediately recognizable as someone who had never met a mystery he didn't want to investigate.
"Hercules Black," he said with evident satisfaction, his voice carrying the dreamy precision that suggested he was perfectly lucid but operating on wavelengths that other people couldn't access, "Luna has told me remarkable things about your situation. The Quibbler's readership has been absolutely fascinated by the alternative perspectives on your transformation that we've been able to provide."
"Alternative perspectives?" Hercules asked with genuine curiosity.
"Well, the Prophet has been painting your evolution as some sort of tragic corruption," Xenophilius explained with the kind of cheerful directness that suggested he found such interpretations more amusing than offensive, "but our research suggests that supernatural transformation triggered by extreme emotional circumstances usually represents psychological and magical growth rather than degradation."
"Plus," Luna added with evident satisfaction, "the people writing those articles have quite thick clouds of confusion-inducing creatures around them, which suggests their thinking is being influenced by external sources rather than their own observations."
"Confusion-inducing creatures?" Amelia asked with the kind of sharp professional interest that suggested she was already calculating the legal implications of such a claim.
"Oh yes," Luna replied matter-of-factly. "Wrackspurts, Confusion Wisps, several varieties of Clarity Inhibitors. Quite a collection, actually. Someone has been working very hard to ensure that certain people can't think clearly about Hercules's situation."
The assembled group fell silent as the implications of this observation sank in. If Luna was right—and her track record for seeing things that other people missed was remarkably accurate—then the Ministry's response to Hercules's transformation might not be entirely due to their own incompetence and prejudice.
"Someone's been magically influencing the people writing about me?" Hercules asked, his voice carrying the kind of controlled intensity that made several of the gathered adults exchange meaningful looks.
"Almost certainly," Luna confirmed with the casual tone usually reserved for discussing weather patterns. "Though I suspect they don't know they're being influenced. That's rather the point of confusion-inducing magic—it makes people think their compromised judgment is actually their natural perspective."
"Well," Sirius's voice carried from the front porch as he emerged to greet their guests, his expression cycling between paternal pride at seeing Hercules surrounded by friends and what appeared to be barely controlled fury at Luna's revelation about magical manipulation, "that explains quite a lot about the Ministry's recent decision-making patterns."
He approached the assembled group with the kind of dangerous grace that reminded everyone present that he'd once been considered one of the most formidable wizards of his generation, his dark eyes already calculating the implications of Luna's observation.
"Welcome to our home," he continued with the kind of warm hospitality that didn't quite mask the underlying threat assessment that was clearly operating in his mind, "all of you. It's wonderful to have you here, and I suspect this gathering is going to be considerably more interesting than any of us anticipated."
Amelia's eyes met his across the assembled group, her expression carrying years of unfinished conversations and the kind of professional curiosity that suggested she was already formulating investigative strategies based on Luna's supernatural observations.
The afternoon sun climbed higher in the cloudless California sky, and Hercules Black—surrounded by friends old and new, family chosen and biological, and allies who understood both the challenges and the beauty of living authentically outside conventional boundaries—felt that familiar warm certainty settle in his chest.
Whatever complexities lay ahead, whatever magical influences were attempting to manipulate public opinion about his transformation, whatever challenges would arise from bringing together so many different families with their own histories and dynamics, he would face them all with people who had chosen to be at his side.
It was, he reflected as Luna began explaining to an fascinated Mr. Weasley about the specific behavioral patterns of Clarity Inhibitor infestations, exactly the kind of situation he'd been hoping for but had never dared believe he could actually achieve.
"Right then," he said to the assembled gathering, his voice carrying the kind of confident authority that made it clear he was prepared to handle whatever came next, "shall we head inside and begin properly celebrating?"
---
The evening shadows were lengthening across the Black estate when the final guests arrived, and their approach was heralded by what could only be described as a controlled supernatural phenomenon. The temperature dropped by several degrees despite the California sunshine, mist began rising from the perfectly manicured lawn without any apparent meteorological cause, and somewhere in the distance, what sounded suspiciously like a pipe organ began playing a melody that was both beautiful and vaguely ominous.
"Well," Sirius observed from the front porch, where the assembled gathering had been enjoying afternoon refreshments and increasingly fascinating conversations about magical creature identification, governmental incompetence, and the practical implications of supernatural transformation, "I believe the Addams family has arrived."
A vintage hearse—pristine black paint gleaming like captured midnight, silver trim that seemed to absorb rather than reflect sunlight, and the kind of elegant design that suggested it had been crafted by someone who understood that death could be beautiful rather than merely inevitable—glided up the estate's main drive with the silent precision of a luxury vehicle designed for people who appreciated both performance and theatrical presentation.
"They travel in a hearse?" Susan asked with evident fascination, watching the approaching vehicle with the kind of curiosity usually reserved for observing exotic animals in their natural habitat.
"The Addams family has always believed that if something is worth doing, it's worth doing with proper dramatic flair," Sirius explained with evident appreciation for their aesthetic choices. "Plus, hearses are remarkably well-built vehicles. Excellent suspension, superior sound dampening, built-in storage for... various purposes."
"Various purposes?" Hermione repeated with the kind of intellectual curiosity that suggested she was already formulating research questions about supernatural family transportation preferences.
"Best not to ask too many specific questions about Addams family logistics," Luna advised with her characteristic dreamy precision. "They're lovely people, but their approach to practical problem-solving sometimes involves methods that make conventional thinkers nervous."
The hearse came to a stop with the kind of perfect precision that suggested the driver had extensive experience with dramatic arrivals, and for a moment, nothing happened. The assembled guests waited with the kind of anticipatory tension usually reserved for watching someone attempt particularly dangerous magic.
Then the doors opened.
---
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