...and who are you?

He knew her.

He definitely knew her.

But who was she?

Redheads weren't that common...especially if they had figures like that.

It wasn't his fault his mind often drifted towards the hornier side of things. He was, after all, only a man. And they had feelings too.

He glanced down at his shabby clothes, and was suddenly aware of how much he must resemble a drunk, who had been sleeping out on the pavement for the past two nights.

It's funny how a woman can do that to you. Make you remember there is such a thing as hygiene. And that not everyone enjoys smelling your armpits from nine miles away.

His guitar was loosely held in his hands, and a worn hat lay on the floor, a few five pence pieces lying in it. That was what he had to show for a day's work. Twenty-five pence. He scuffed the hat with his foot. A pound coin slid out of a crease and he smiled. One pound twenty-five pence. Better.

Clearing his throat as he saw the woman start to walk his way, he strummed a chord and began to sing, tapping his foot to the music. He blatantly tried to catch her eye as she drew closer, and closer still. When she was merely a few feet away, his breath caught in his throat.

She was gorgeous.

She had smoky green eyes and flawless, porcelain skin. Her red hair hung in lazy curls around her heart shaped face, but it still wasn't enough for him to remember. Her name. What was her name?

His mind drifted back to seven years ago, when he was eighteen, just leaving school. She had definitely been at his school, he knew she had. They had probably come into contact there as well. Even though he was a busker on London's streets and she was a well-to-do lady, pushing a baby along in a pram.

Damn. She was taken. Well, she might be swayed. Especially by a man of his visage. For you see, under all the stubble and dirt James Potter thought he was an extremely handsome man. He felt that he had features that were carved by angels, and yes he wasn't bad-looking, but he wasn't what they would call drop dead gorgeous either. It was just his physique that gave the appearance that he was strong, and slightly overprotective, that many women found attractive.

He didn't really mind.

As she passed right before his eyes, he raised his voice and began to strum his guitar louder. She stopped and turned to look at him, her lips parting slightly in what could have been shock, disgust or an unsavoury mixture of both. She gave him the once-over, before scrutinising him further. At this degree of attention from this woman, James stopped singing and looked at her back. It was then he had a bold vision down memory lane. Her necklace.

The entwined initials; L.E.

The chain he had tried so many times to get her to remove, but she never would for some reason unbeknownst to him.

Even when he used to declare his undying love for her, she would scoff at him and walk away. He had always known she would do well. But then again, he had thought the same for himself.

It was so easy for him to form the words to a song, but right now he was speechless. James felt a flurry in his heart.

He bowed his head and muttered the name, "Lily?"

She continued to stare, "James? Is that you?"

"Maybe..."

"Well?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Who else has hair like that?"

He managed to produce a sheepish grin, "I thought you went to live in...somewhere else..."

"I did. But I came back to visit."

"Ah."

"Yeah. So, you've changed."

"Sort of..."

"Excuse me?"

"What? Just because you're rich, and have kids and you're happily married-"

"I'm in debt, fighting over the legal right to keep my daughter and I'm filing for divorce."

"But you look-"

"It's a cover, James, you jackass. You obviously haven't changed, judging-"

"No! I just-"

"Leave it, James."

"Lily! Please can't we just be friends?"

"Hmm," here she pretended to think, "no."

"Please?"

"NO!"

"Look at me. I'm desperate. I could use a friend."

"You just met me here on the street. I'm a stranger to you."

"No you're not. I recognised your necklace. You made an impact on me."

"Yeah. Sure."

"Friends?"

"No, I meant-"

"Friends."

James beamed at her, before grabbing a wad of paper from the pocket of his leather jacket, and scribbling down a number. He winked at her.

"Call me."

She groaned at him and walked off without looking back.

He watched her silhouette fade, and picked up his guitar.

"This one's for Lily."