CHECK YES JULIET ▷ JAMES POTTER [1]

𝟔𝟏. 𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐄

(61 : FOR THERE NEVER WAS A . . .
STORY OF MORE WOE)

(THE EPILOGUE)

✧࿐ ཾ✧

LITTLE WHINGING, AUGUST 1993

HARRY POTTER HAD RUN AWAY, WHICH wasn't the smartest decision in hindsight. Just behind Magnolia Crescent, there was an abandoned park, so the boy begrudgingly lugged his trunk beside a rusting swing set and sat down on it with a huff. He needed time to think — with no muggle money and both of his friends abroad, he had nowhere to go.

     After swinging back and forth for a few minutes, grumbling the entire time, a new emotion consumed him: panic. He was stranded, alone, in a dark neighbourhood and had effectively broken the law by using underage magic to blow up his Aunt Marge. Harry cursed his own impulsiveness as the strangest sensation prickled at the back of his neck and made him feel like someone was watching him.

     "Hello?" Harry — rather foolishly — called into the night, kicking off the swing and clutching his wand at his side.

     There was a violent rustling sound from a nearby bush, then the headlamps from a passing car flooded the play park with light and caused the boy to almost trip over his own two feet as he yelped in horror. A large black dog stood no more than six feet away from him, its head cocked. Hesitant, Harry slowly stepped back, putting some distance between him and the possible stray. In return, the dog tried to move closer, only for the animal to scamper when its ears perked up at the sound of footsteps.

     Harry strained to hear whatever the dog had, but the sound of his own heart was simply deafening. And that was when he saw her. Even with his glasses, he was forced to squint at the sight of a determined young woman — presumably in her early thirties — approaching him. With striking red hair, piercing blue eyes and sharp cheekbones, she was rather intimidating at first glance. When Harry failed to identify a clear escape route, he summoned all of his Gryffindor courage and braced himself for the worst, a spell on the tip of his tongue as a precaution.

     "You're thirteen," the woman stated with a knowing eye roll, surprising the teenager as she took a seat on the second swing. "What are you going to do? Tickle me to death?"

      "You're a witch," Harry observed, not yet letting his guard down.

     Amused, her lips twitched upwards. "Very astute, I see," she commented dryly. "Yes, I'm a witch, but I much prefer to be called Juliet. Juliet Fawley."

     "Er, Harry Potter," he replied, staring doubtfully at the older woman when she offered a hand for him to shake. After a moment of silent debate, he took her hand and weakly shook it, his green eyes snagging on her wrist. A small pair of stag antlers had been tattooed over a whitish scar. He felt he was being rude by staring, but it struck him as odd that the design wasn't moving like most magical tattoos did.