Chapter 1: Foreshadowed

We both shouldn't have lied that day. Maybe it was something about the blues that accompanied summer's end. Maybe it was all of the last minute shoppers in Diagon Alley, buzzing around too much to even notice if we lied or not to one another. In any case, we did lie.

And now I'm in a lot of shit.

My name is Amy Evelyn Potter. My mother, Evelyn Martin, died while she was giving birth to me. She was sixteen years old. My dad is James Sirius Potter, son of the famous Harry Potter. He drinks a lot. He could have had a decent career in Quidditch, but they threw him off the team because of his drinking problem and his temper. He denies this, but everyone know it's true. Now he teaches Quidditch for Beginners – a crash Quidditch course for adults. It was more like a leisure course, but it paid his bills.

I guess I could have grown up bitter that my dad had never looked me in the eye, that I had pretty much been raised by my aunt and uncle, and that I trusted no one except them and my cousin Aiden. But I didn't care. It made me tough. It made me real. It made me down to Earth. And I can't complain. I really should be thanking him.

Now I'm two days away from being seventeen, last minute shopping for my last year at Hogwarts. I loved last minute shopping. Everyone was in a rush, and it wasn't like I needed anything brand new or anything, so it was easy for me. And it was a plus that the name Potter got me faster service than most. Although, Granddad Harry would frown on that.

I was in the Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, taking my sweet time, when I saw one of the most attractive guys I'd seen in a long time. So I did what came naturally to me. I put on some lip gloss and sat down beside him, ordering a chocolate ice cream for the both of us.

He looked at me with such surprise that I couldn't help but smirk at him.

"What, are you expecting someone?" I asked. He shook his head. "What's your name?" I asked him, raising an eyebrow.

"Rider Achai," he said. His name was poetic. His hair was such a dark brown color, it looked so good falling over his bronze face and sharp features. His eyes were black as night. "And who are you?"

"Jean," I lied. I was used to it. The name Potter scared people away. And after all, this was just a game I liked to play. "Jean Adler."

"Well it's nice to meet you Jean," he said, "but um – what exactly is it that you want?"

"It's just – well you look new around here, and I like getting to know other good looking people," I said, winking at him. If he wasn't surprised before, he was now.

"Aren't I supposed to be doing the flirting?" he asked, smirking slightly.

"Well that depends on if you want to take me out for a drink," I said easily. "Ice cream bores me, to be completely honest."

"How old are you?" he asked me.

"Twenty," I said, smiling. He looked to be around twenty two, so I felt like that was about right.

"You look really young," he said suspiciously. I shrugged.

"I get that often," I said in response.

"What do you do?"

"I write," I said. That was honest. I do write. "And you?"

"Um – well I got a new job, and I'm not really supposed to say yet, but you know what, I would like to take you out for a drink. How's The Three Broomsticks? I'm new here so I heard that's good." I knew that everyone would recognize me there, so I shook my head.

"Hog's Head is a bit quieter. You can't even hear yourself think in the Broomsticks," I said, smiling. He shrugged. We went inside, and as I expected, it was empty, save a few veiled witches in one corner. But there were always a few veiled witches in the corner.

We didn't even get to the drinks before we were both in the Hog's Head's reasonably clean bathroom counter-top, with the door locked, and making out. He refused to go farther, despite me clawing at his shirt, and he kept telling me to take it easy. His phone rang about fifteen minutes later, bringing us both out of our lust. He sighed and pushed off of me, looking at me apologetically before answering his phone. I adjusted my skirt and blouse as he said hello, turning on the off-white tiled counter-top to check my reflection. I reapplied my lip gloss and watched Rider on the phone. He was intently listening to someone I could hear slightly. It was a woman's voice, and she sounded urgent. The look on his face though, slowly turned from intent to exasperated. He was a handsome man, I caught myself thinking. He looked different from most of them men around here too. He looked more exotic. I would have put my money on Spanish, but that wasn't it either. Both he and his name were very unique.

"Okay, I'll be there soon. Try not to have a heart attack. Drink a martini or something," he said on the phone before snapping it closed. He looked at his phone with slight disgust.

"You know, life was so much easier when these stupid things didn't interrupt kisses with a beautiful girl so you can listen to your mother go on about the stupidest things." I raised an eyebrow and pushed myself off of the counter-top.

"Thanks for the compliment," I said, "and you shouldn't talk about your Mum like that. I'm sure she means well." He rolled his eyes.

"She means too well," he said. "Listen, I've got to go, but we should keep in touch. Here, I'll give you my cell?"

He kept out his hand, but I looked at it warily.

"You know," I said after a moment. He had already pulled his hand back, looking confused. "I'm sure that if we were meant to meet again, we would." He grinned at me.

"So you're a hit and quit it kind of girl?" he asked. I winked. He shook his head, smirking, and kissed me on the lips once more, with a tenderness that startled me, before swinging open the bathroom door. He stood in the frame for a second, turning to look at me. "I hope that we are."

"What?" I asked.

"Meant to meet again."