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Summary
He muttered the simple spell, the one he had been practising since he was little, one of the first ones he had begged Mother to teach him.
“Vinculum,” he whispered, and the emerald green thread appeared, still tied around his little finger, but lying limp and severed, hanging from his hand, still sparking and emitting a faint shimmering light, but irretrievably broken. Since the Battle of Hogwarts.