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I met him in a dress that was trying to kill me.
He was tall, British, and crouched on a sticky clubhouse floor tying my shoe like it was an oath.
I said, “I don’t chase.”
He said, “I’m not asking you to.”
Six months later, he appeared onto London Bridge with a busted face and told me he was a wizard. Auror, technically. Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
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