Her name was Datura Stramonium Lactucarium that much he knows. He thought that they met upon fate or destiny, but now he knows that it was not so.

He was walking back to his home after his stroll when she happened to stumble upon him about two months after the Weasley's kicked him out of their shabby house saying something along the lines that he was a threat, though not in those words. He was fumbling through his pockets looking for something.

"Hey you!" a voice called out to him weakly.

He didn't sense any danger coming from her so he turned to her. And all he did was look at her neutrally; he was starting to get tired of being Harry Potter. She was younger than him, thinner, her hair a platinum blonde, ice blue eyes, there were some small cuts and bruises on her, and her cheeks were flushed. Somehow, she reminded him of his old Death Eater enemy back at Hogwarts. She wore her hair in two high pigtails, a horizontal striped black and red tank top, blue jeans, and wore black boots.

She took this as a sign that he acknowledged her. "I was wondering if you knew where a hospital is at. If you don't that's fine…or not"

He kept his face neutral as he watched her. After another moment of watching her, he knew why she wanted a hospital. Then with his hand still in his pocket, he found a small box.

"Please sir," she said kindly. She swayed in her spot.

All he did was point behind him and turned back to where he was headed. He removed the small carton and shook it. A small rattling sound came from it and he beamed at it. He took out the last cigarette and lit it with ecstasy before his face went stoic again.

"Thank you," she said gratefully and walked towards that direction. She thought he was leading her towards the hospital as she followed him.

He felt someone following him and was prepared to attack, but something in his mind (or was it heart?) that stopped him. He was about to pull out his wand the moment someone grabbed him around the middle.

"Bloody hell! You know what? I'll just take you there myself. I already pointed the direction there since it is about some odd blocks there, but you'll live. Honestly…hey are you okay?" Harry asked at first irritated, but then realized that she might be in a lot more serious condition than he thought.

She started to slide down and Harry quickly lifted her off her feet and carried her. She nuzzled closer to his chest as her fever rose. When she closed her eyes all she can hear were his steady footsteps and his unfaltering heartbeat.

"Might as well take her home," Harry said to himself still carrying the girl.

"Why would an imbecile like you do that? Imagine what people would say if they caught you sneaking an unknown child into your home. Oh the scandal!" a second voice, much more softly said with a touch of overdramatic shock.

"You already know what I'm going to do, plus I have no intention of doing that…to her," Harry said rolling his eyes.

He kept walking until he reached a lonely house (rather fairly large cottage guarded by a wrought-iron fence) and walked through the opened gate. Harry set the young girl on one of the guest bed rooms, since those were the only rooms in the house that wasn't covered with wizarding stuff and boxes. For the next hours as he watched her, he semi-expertly gave her the correct potions to lower her fever and cleaned and bandaged up the cuts.

She woke up to a red and orange room. She looked around and saw that the window was open, letting the bright orb in the sky set into night. She felt much better knowing that she was in his home and that he took care of her. She stretched and could not find her savior in the room.

The young girl tiptoed out of bed and into the hallway. She walked with a slight tilt leaning this way and that because of how she was suppose to have more bed rest rather than walking around looking for the owner. To her it looked like the her room was home to a clean freak, but as she passed the other rooms in the house that weren't for guests the rooms were littered with scrolls, feathers, trinkets, orange pill bottles, paintings that moved with it's lovely red haired and black haired couple smiling and waving at her, books lay scattered on the floor, and there were a number of opened and unopened boxes lying everywhere. This house just seemed to be a haven to a homeless person who hides their goods here.

She tripped on a stray pill bottle and would have fallen over more boxes if it weren't for the roll of cellophane to prevent that. Unfortunately for her, Harry hasn't come back to check on her.

"What a terrible host," she muttered as she dusted herself off.

She walked around some more until she found the kitchen. A figure was hunched up over the table that is typically used to eat on, but instead was used to polish a broomstick.

"You have to realize, Harry, that all you have is me. Oh, and of course two of my personal servants. More like golems, but they do serve their purposes well…" a strange voice whispered. It sounded more like a snake hissing, than actual talking.

"Don't you eat?" she asked him.

He quickly grabbed the broom and was about to attack her with it.

"What? Are you going to hit me with a broom? Tacky," she muttered.

Harry gently set the broom back on the table and said sheepishly, "Sorry. I didn't realize you were awake. Hungry?"

"Who were you talking to just now?" she asked him, though she knew exactly whom it belonged to, you can never forget the Dark Lord.

"You. Are you still feverish? Here have some…," Harry went over to the cabinets and realized that they were empty. He only got the house a couple of months ago and he hasn't had time to do much, besides polishing his broom and stacking boxes that really shouldn't be stacked. "I'll treat you out then. There's a good pub down the way. How old are you?"

"Just sixteen and a quarter," she said. She said rudely, "And you are?"

"Technically and truthfully, I should be eighteen, but some unfortunate event has occurred and left me permanently five years older. So I'm twenty-three," Harry said slowly waving his hands around in front of him.

"I'll go with twenty then or twenty-one. I'm not up for pubs. Something more…up class."

"There's a man who sells chips on Dowling Street if you want to grab a bite. Pretty darn good chips too," Harry said thoughtfully. "Though if you want there is that new restaurant near that one building…Do you want to change or not?"

"I don't have any other change of clothes with me. My…uh…family kicked me out today. Then those thugs took my stuff. So I own nothing but the clothes on my back," she said nodding. "We should save this talk over dinner."

"Yes, but once you change your shirt. Here," Harry said. He disappeared between two swinging doors and came back a minute later with a shirt in his hand.

"What is this? XXXL? Are you saying I'm fat?" she asked him glaring at him. She threw the overlarge shirt back at him. "You're not one of those people who use to weigh over 500 pounds and then lost the weight somehow are you?"

"No. I think I've been thin all my life…"

"More like lean and not too shabby looking," she whispered.

"What was that?" Harry asked her. He tossed the shirt across the room.

"Nothing."

"Okay. I have some extra money so we'll go to your fancy restaurant, but after we get you something new to wear," Harry said shaking his head with his hand over his forehead shielding his scar.

"Sounds super. Let's go, I'm starving now," she said.

Though she hardly knew her way around the house, the front door is always where it is suppose to be in every home. Harry let her drag him as he let himself mull over of what he just done. He just took care of a stranger, a muggle no less, and now he's treating her to clothes and dinner. At least he decided to live in muggle London, rather than the wizarding portion.

"I think it'd be faster if we used my bike," Harry said. He locked his door with a key and led the way.

"A bicycle? You've got to be kidding me," she said laughing.

"I have a bicycle if you want to use that, though I don't know how to ride it…" Harry said.

They reached the side of the large cottage and pulled off the tarp that covered Sirius' old motorcycle. Harry took off the three helmets from the seat and offered her one as he put one on his head and the other on the ground. He swung a leg over and started the motorcycle.

"Wow," was all she could say. She put her helmet on and sat behind Harry. "You do have some sort of license, yeah?"

"Nope," Harry said before the motorcycle sped out of the driveway and they went past the gate. He felt her tighten her hold on him. "Do you trust me?"

"We'll see!" she said frightened. She shut her eyes and tried to shut out the sound of the wind passing them quickly. The sound of the gravel and road disappeared; it was as if they were flying! She realized that they stopped and she opened her eyes again. "What happened, stupid?"

"Well typically, I thought red means stop and green means go. Hold on!" Harry said and they were off again.

Harry spent a good hour of waiting for her to choose clothes. When she was finished, she only bought two shirts, three jeans, one beret, one leather jacket, toe socks, and a small bag of sweets.

"Oh I wish my boyfriend would spoil me like this," the shop woman said. "Mind if I borrow yours?"

"Oh, we're not…" Harry said quickly shaking his head.

"Of course we're not!" she said. She whispered to the woman who leaned towards her with great interest, "Officially."

The shop woman only giggled and let them finish paying. She changed into her new clothes and topped her head with the beret since the climate was beginning to get chilly.

"Thanks, chum," she said. She quickly handed Harry the bags so that she can skip back to where they parked. "Aren't you going to change?"

"Why bother? Here," Harry handed her the helmet.

"Because it's cold and all you're wearing is that hoodie and those tacky jeans. And to think that a man with your wealth could at least wear and buy something less tasteless and more moderate."

"I've been out of the loop. Are you holding on? Good," Harry said and he put his foot on the gas pedal.

'Why is she still around me if she doesn't like me?' Harry thought while focusing on the road.

'Because she's young and stupid? Well both of you are. You need the company anyways without me draining your energy. Be nice now,' the hissing voice said inside his head.

'That's rich coming from you,' Harry thought, but no one responded back.

"So where are we going now?" she asked him while holding on him for dear life. Luckily, the beret didn't come off her head as Harry sped down the street.

He didn't answer her for some time until they stopped. Harry kicked the bike stand down and got off leaving the young woman still seated. "Here."

"Here?" She asked and pouted. The restaurant looked more like shack.

"Here. I don't eat here usually, but it looks interesting."

"Maybe because it's an inn?"

"Nope, but this is a restaurant that not many mu…people know about. Come on," Harry said and opened the door for her.

"Impossible," she muttered to herself. She got off from the motorbike and went past Harry. "Wow," she said when she was inside.

"Told you," Harry said watching her.

"Impossible. It just looked like a shabby shack, but the inside it's so huge and elegant! Nice choice, Harry," she said not noticing her mistake.

But Harry did. He went from smiling to frowning the next. He grabbed her wrist roughly and pulled her a little closer to him and whispered, "How do you know my name? I never told you and there was nothing in the house that you could have seen with my name there. You're not a witch or reporter are you?"

"Oh, please, Harry," she said as if it were the funniest thing he said. "I'll tell you once we're eating. I'm starving!"

The server led them to a table for two. Harry quickly pushed her in her seat and roughly pushed it close to the table. When Harry was seated, the waiter handed them their menus. It was relatively quiet if it weren't for the other witches and wizards whispered around Harry and the unknown girl with him, and that she was throwing questions at him which he didn't answer. He only told the waiter what he wanted, handed the waiter his menu, and looked at her.

"What? Do I have something on my face?"

"What's your name?" Harry asked her seriously.

"Don't have one. Even if I did, you'd laugh," she said scoffing.

"Then, I'll just give you a name. Let me introduce myself then," Harry said. He cleared his throat, "Hello. It's nice to meet you, Jezebel. Do you mind if I call you Jessie then because you don't look like a Joey or Bela Lugosi?"

"Stop with this nonsense! My name is Datura Stramonium Lactucarium. Sheesh, I told you it was a stupid name," Datura said.

Harry cocked an eyebrow at her and took a sip from his cup. He watched as his cup slowly filled up again by itself. He said, "You're right. Who in their right mind would name their child that? No offense, Jessie."

"Don't call me that."

"Datura then? No? How about Dat? Tura? Ura? Those don't sound like they fit you, I like Jessie better. Unless you'd like to make up a name for yourself?" Harry suggested.

"Stupid… I –"

"You want me to call you 'Stupid'?" Harry shook his head and looked down. "If it makes you happy…"

"Stop!" she said a little too loudly, several witches and wizards looked their way. "I wasn't finished, stupid, that's you. Go ahead and call me 'Jessie' then," she said angrily.

Harry clapped his hands once. "Oh, good. For a minute there, I thought you didn't know what to call yourself. Thanks."

Their food appeared out of nowhere in front of them.

"So tell me more about you, other than your name," Harry said.

"Well I'm not a witch, but I am. It's complicated, my magic just suddenly came to me a few months ago, but my family was too embarrassed to send their apparently squib of a daughter to Hogwarts or any other wizarding school. I had self-taught myself magic through the books with an old wand when my family wasn't around. So one day they found out, kept the wand, and they kicked me out a week ago I think and you know the rest."

"Bugger that. Is there an ash tray here? Fantastic," Harry said when he didn't find one. He knew her story was a fishy one, but he couldn't put her off yet. It seemed that there was something more to her that meets the eye. He finished his meal and while he waited he wanted a smoke.

"Do you mind?" Datura "Jessie" asked, still trying to finish her food.

"Nope. Should I?" Harry asked. He expertly shook the small carton and one cigarette came out. "Want to smoke a fag?"

"Yes, you should. You can get cancer from that. And no, I don't want one. Disgusting habit."

"Cancer? Well I'm pretty sure they'll find it sooner or later. So tell me about yourself since you seem to know so much about me," Harry said. He lit the cigarette and waved in the air before placing it on his lips.

"Sir, this is a no smoking restaurant," the waiter said looking down at Harry as if he were some sort of dirty farm animal. He gasped when he saw Harry's famous lightning bolt scar. "Dreadfully sorry, Harry Potter sir. I didn't realize…"

"Nah, it is fine. Funny, you would think that since we can do magic we can make the smoke disappear from the area or at least hide the smell of it, right? Sort of like this," Harry said. He pulled out his wand and wordlessly muttered an incantation. The fading smoke over their table disappeared, along with the smell. "Eh? Where'd it all go? It was almost like magic! Can you believe that?"

Harry silently cursed the part of Voldemort that seemed to make him more like the spirit than himself. He hoped he wouldn't go bald soon.

"I'm sorry, sir," the waiter apologized. He added as if trying to redeem himself, "My, I must say I have read your latest novel and find it superb. Especially the part where you faced off the dragon in the first task."

"No need to be sorry. I'll just not smoke next time. That is if I eat here again…" Harry said imitating Snape's deadpanned voice. He ignored the comment about his novel.

Since Harry didn't actually finish his schooling at Hogwarts because he was away finding the remaining Horcrux and Voldemort, he could not hold a place in the Auror ways. Headmistress Minerva McGonagall had tried to give him an alternative way of finishing his education there when he was checked out the hospital ward in Hogwarts, but Harry was bombarded by the press and wizard officials trying to confirm that Voldemort is dead, even then he could not find any time to do anything.

He decided to spend his time writing about the seven years he had spent at Hogwarts in both the wizarding world as his memoirs and in the muggle world as fiction in a third person view. Both sides found his stories to be remarkable and he made quite a considerable amount of money from the first four years. He only finished with the last three years after he recovered from his fall and memories, he had left out a few details about the ending in the seventh seeing as how the world would does not need to know. So from his inheritance and novels, he had enough money to last a couple of generations before the well dried up. He was thinking about going straight to the Auror in charge or joining the British Quidditch team, but the events that happened next would prevent him so.

He saw the waiter visibly pale and Harry quickly said, "Just kidding!"

"Oh, Merlin! You've almost had me going there Mister Potter," the waiter said holding a hand to his chest.

"Yeah, well it looks like she's done and I'm done so we must be going now," Harry said.

"What? I'm not done yet!" Jessie protested.

"Here, this should cover for the meal, your tip, and a little extra for the house elves. Adieu," Harry said. It looked like he just put a small sack of pure golden coins on the table before grabbing the young woman and dashed towards the motorbike. "I guess since the jig is up, you don't mind if I did this."

"Do what?" she asked him but she felt an unfamiliar feeling as if something hooked around her navel and pulled her towards them. She retched beside them when it was over.

"I don't think that part was supposed to happen, but we're home! Feel free to stay as long as you want and do as you want here, as long as you ask me. So you know where you're room is? Good. Then, I'll see you in the morning!" Harry said. He had guided the motorcycle back to its place on the side and unlocked the door so that they could enter. He left her with the door opened as he disappeared into one of the rooms.

"Idiot," Datura "Jessie" muttered and closed the door behind her.

The next two months were a blur for Harry as with each passing moment he seemed to be more and more intoxicated about her. There was something odd about the young woman, but every time he thought about it his mind would go fuzzy. Harry taught Jessie how to do some simple spells with the wand he bought her. She taught him how to relieve the stresses of previous ordeals...in the bed, tables littered with paper, and the swimming pool to name a few.

He had finally proposed to her while they were swimming in his backyard pond that he created, a month and a half from when he encountered her. The whole wizarding world knew that the Boy-Who-Lived would be marrying to a witch who no one even knew. Owls and magical folk bombarded them for the weeks after that. The press wanted interviews and the people wanted invitations. Rita Skeeter and Luna Lovegood were the only two reporters allowed to the private wedding inside while any other reporter and uninvited people had to wait outside, they would be surprised of what would come falling on top of them.

The Weasley's and Hermione had thought that he was barking mad to be a boy at his age to marry a stranger and they found it to be a joke! Harry had sent them numerous owls and had personally came to check on them to see if they got the invitation, but each time they wouldn't even open the door for him, letting him just stand there.

Then the day of the wedding, Harry was missing his best man, Ron, but luckily Remus was there to help. Harry had a strange feeling that the older wizard was there out of pity than love. He tried to smile, but it faltered as he felt something inside him slowly break off as he realized this. The only person in the world who has shown him something close to love was Jessie, but that would all prove to be false as shards of coloured glass pierced him to the very core of his being.

"Wake up, Captain Jack Sparrow," that silky voice said. It sounded so familiar, if only he could place where!

"Wake up?" he asked. The image cracked and the darkness swallowed him whole.

"Of course, my good man, because you have a meeting at the gallows! See you there!" That was it! The voice belonged to that lying Har-