Disclaimer: I own Amisi and some upcoming characters (Norah, Elinor, Luke, and Joshua). The rest of the characters belong to JK Rowling. The song "As Time Goes By" is from Casablanca. It's short, I know, but it's just the beginning.

The day and age we're living in

Gives cause for apprehension

With speed and new invention

And things like fourth dimension.

Bill sat outside his flat; a glass of what looked like brandy held lightly by his fingertips. In the moonlight the amber liquid shown brightly, illuminating the pensive face of the eldest Weasley brother. As a child everyone used to coo that he looked exactly like his father. It was true, his lanky frame and bright hair were fairly reminiscent of dear old dad but he didn't buy it. Every night his mother tucked him into bed, tears spilling down her plump cheeks. It had been explained, her brothers, killed by the Death Eaters. As she bustled from the room, ready to tuck in the rest of her herd, Bill heard something oddly reminiscent of "Gideon".

As he grew older, he began looking more and more like his deceased uncle. Both were devilishly handsome with a kind of "manly" aura. Truth be told, it became sort of an identity for Bill. What grew from a mother's murmur turned into a full-on obsession, at least for a while. Nothing stayed too extreme with William Weasley though.

He let out a sigh and took a quick sip of his drink. He loved the sound of ice clinking in a glass. It had been a long time since he'd seen a pyramid or stepped into a balmy Egyptian bar. He could still smell it, that inherently foreign smell. He longed for it, for adventure, or well, maybe not just adventure. He wanted it back, his uninhibited escapades, the ones from which he could walk away unscathed. The War, that's all he thought about anymore, the bloody war. That's all anyone thought about anymore. That adventure wasn't the same; he couldn't distance himself from that.

Yet we get a trifle weary
With Mr. Einstein's theory.
So we must get down to earth at times
Relax relieve the tension

He'd moved back to help, never thinking about how far he'd gotten away. The quiet London flat seemed more alien now than Egypt had ever felt. He couldn't get over pasty-skinned woman rushing into the Underground, black umbrellas clutched in their hands. He couldn't get over looking outside and seeing gray, angry rain clouds over-head for the sixth time in a week.

He had to do it though. His mother needed him; that was apparent. He had missed seeing his family. Ron was so much bigger now, and Ginny, well there really wasn't a comparison. No, his place was in England, not in his exotic fairytale; that would have to wait.

He watched as the sun slipped behind the congested skyline and finished his brandy. Laboriously, he struggled up and into his flat, locking the door behind him. The place wasn't as clean as it should have been but he'd been busy. A large pile of papers sat on his desk, taunting him. He really needed to get those forms to… But now wasn't the time.

And no matter what the progress
Or what may yet be proved
The simple facts of life are such
They cannot be removed

He washed his cup and set it back in the cupboard. He ran his hand through his hair distractedly and walked to his bedroom. Maybe he should fire home. He contented himself with tiding up. He'd always been a neat person, though not to the extent of his dear younger brother. As he dusted off his desk he caught sight of the over-turned picture frame, the one that housed the one person who he could almost forget….Amisi.

They say old loves die hard. He considered her his first great love, his only great love. They'd met in Paris on a starlit night. He was boarding a train to Egypt, so was she. He had grabbed a bite to eat at a small café; she was there. She was dark and tan with long black hair that fell down her back in long waves. Her eyes were huge, like vast, dark orbs shining from behind thick lashes. In a word, she was breathtaking.

She dropped a napkin, he picked it up and their hands met. Bill had felt it instantly, a spark the likes of which he couldn't even imagine now. She felt it too and, in a voice like tinkling bells, she whispered, "What's your name." He hadn't heard anything so beautiful in English before.

"Bill, what's yours?" She smiled mysteriously and shook her head. That was not a secret she would tell so quickly. She joined his table and this Bill could remember perfectly, the piano began playing.

You must remember this
A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh.
The fundamental things apply
As time goes by.

After dinner they had boarded the train together, finding two adjoining seats. They talked all the way to their destination. He found that she was an Egyptian native, headed back from Beauxbatons where she was a teacher. What should have taken hours only took a couple of moments, a handful really. These memories Bill carried around with him in his pockets. They stood on the platform together; he snapped a quick photograph and that was the last he'd seen of her. He could still see the rusty bumper of the car as she drove away, out of his life.

'Really', his sensible voice reasoned, 'one train ride does not a true love make'. That was his sensible self; the sentimentalist inside cursed him repeatedly for letting her get away. The last words she said to him as she stepped into the car rang in his head. "Meet me in Paris, look for Amisi." That was it. He had of course contacted Beauxbatons but they had no forwarding address for Amisi Tahri. When and how exactly did she expect him to meet her in Paris?

So he tried with all his might to forget. He hadn't told anyone, not even Charlie or his father in whom he had always confided. He felt foolish and inept, falling in love with a complete stranger without means of contacting her. He couldn't help it; she was embossed on his mind, emblazoned in his memory.

Perhaps the rawness of his wound had opened up the artery more fully than before. Perhaps he was just suddenly aware of his yearning for romance. Whatever it was, he would soon find himself in a situation he had never expected.