He was tired of the lies and secrets kept hidden from him by those who he had wanted to trust, but knew deep within that he would never be able to, all but for a few of them. Yet those same lies and secrets were not so well hidden that he couldn't f...
A/N:Just as a friendly heads up; this is the last chapter for the first part of the 'Choices Trilogy' and therefore; after posted...I will be working on another of my already posted works before beginning the first chapter of the second book to the series.
I may decide to finish several other stories before I post any new ones; to give me time to clearly plan out the chapters and ensure the flow of them goes where I want it to and how I desire it to be. It will give me time to build up a store of chapters to work with while I post others to the stories I already have.
I already have a clear idea of how I want it to begin and where I would like to see it go to; to be able to grow with it, but all the other ideas for later chapters are a bit...mashed together; like a huge and confusing collage of mismatched pictures that don't make any sort-of sense for the ideas they correspond to.
So, I will work on my other stories for the meantime while giving my creative muses some time to sort out all of the details.
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(Part of the Malfoy Garden)
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(The Fountain)
After Lucius spent some time alone in the garden to clear his mind and to reminisce on more peaceful times; times of levity in-between the first war and the now starting point of the next war, in order to focus on all of the tasks that he had ahead of him, he pondered how badly the magical community would be deteriorated to by the atrocities to come.
Lucius remembered well how his father had spoken of Grindelwald with both fear and with a small amount of respect; though a very different sort of respect than that of what he had given to his lord. For the man had tried to do what many dark wizards and witches had aspired to, and until his lord came to being and began his path; Grindelwald had achieved the most results.
Lucius recalled the stories of the buildings in Diagon Alley looking like nothing more than rubble or deteriorated ruins. He remembered how his father told him stories of the smells of smoke, fire, ash, and flesh amid the cobblestone streets; both in the muggle world and their own.
