CHECK YES JULIET ▷ JAMES POTTER [1]

𝟎𝟖. 𝐌𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆

(08 : THESE HOT DAYS IS THE . . .
MAD BLOOD STIRRING)

✧࿐ ཾ✧

     "PROTEGO!" SCREAMED JAMES, YANKING JULIET under the table in the process.

     Shards of glass bounced off the protection spell whilst a group of Ravenclaws near the window suffered the brunt of the explosion. The group of four were badly cut up and Juliet blanched at the sight — she was never fond of blood. Knowing this, she subconsciously squeezed Potter's hand under the table and desperately tried to quiet her frantic mind. Despite the explosion being over, echoes of screams and pleas could be heard from outside.

     Something was wrong.

     "We need to go," she breathed. "Find shelter or — or something. There's no way we'll be able to make it to the carriages without being seen."

    Even in his state of shock, James was prepared and kept a tight hold of his wand. "Without being seen by who? What's going on?"

    "I'm not sure." The girl avoided his gaze, only for her suspicions to be confirmed as she looked towards where the windows were. Outside, people were running from men in familiar masks. "I think it's an attack from him, or at least his followers. Those masks — it's their thing now."

    "Oh how lovely — Old Voldy decided uniform was the one thing they were missing. You know, as opposed to a moral compass or the like," grumbled James.

    "Next time he's round mine for tea, I'll bring that up, yeah?" Juliet stiffened at the realisation meeting Voldemort might be her reality soon. "Now, come on! We're sitting ducks here." She attempted to pull him with her to flee, but he fought against her hold and she ultimately released him when a loud bang startled her.

     The Gryffindor was aghast at the suggestion they leave. "We can't hide," he insisted. "Someone needs to get a message to Dumbledore an—and we're sixth years. It's us who need to fight because Godric knows how well a third year will cope with the tickling charm! We can't leave these kids to — to? Merlin, what are they going to do? Torture them? It's not like their blood status is written on their foreheads."

     "We're children, not soldiers," she hissed. "You really want to know what they'll do? They'll kill them. Fear makes people weak, James. How many fifteen year olds do you think will crack when it's the difference between their death or a mud—muggleborn's?" Pressing her hands to her temples, she continued, "This is what I meant before. It's almost like you want to die. Flitwick will already have sent word, he was the Hogsmeade chaperone today."