The first time she meets him he's doing his best to scare her off – which she finds eminently amusing – and he has a girlfriend. Well, no, that's half a lie. It is the first time she meets him, but not the first time she sees him.

Camellia first saw Neil Caffrey, complete in suit and hat, standing out even among the crowd when she first leaves Grand Central station and sees New York – and him – for the first time. He's frantic, upset and she steps towards him – because no one should be alone in their grief – when she spots the bald man with glasses near him, talking to him, the hand on his shoulder, the concern in the man's eyes. A friend, she realises and steps away, leaving them. He would probably rather not be observed when someone that put together loses their composure; he has his friend there with him, she can at least grant him the anonymity he should expect from such a large crowd. Camellia turns away, leaving them, sparing the man a silent thought now and then, reminiscent of her own grief at finding herself here, in another world, a new world, and losing everything.

The second time she meets him he's at a bank and as she moves from a teller by the entrance, to a counter, to a manager's office, she hears him spin one story to one person and then tell a completely different one to a second one – and he's doing it successfully, sounds convincing every time. Camellia isn't sure what to make of it, and ducks her head down as she leaves – for once, not her problem. He doesn't seem aggressive, so she has no qualms about leaving. And, after a year on the run, and growing up hungry with the 'respectable' Dursleys, she has very few qualms about stealing from large institutions – if that's his goal, she'll not be the one standing in his way.

But her first meeting with him is rather different from what she expected and yet not quite as dissimilar as one might have expected. Camellia isn't exactly sure how she ended up where she did – no, that's a lie, she knows exactly how, but it still baffles her.

It's not exactly her scene as pretty much all of her former friends, acquaintances, frenemies and even enemies could have told you. Camellia Lily Potter is not the type of girl to use her money and attend a bachelor's auction – yet that's exactly where she is.

One intrepid reporter, a leak at the bank and suddenly everyone knows that she is rich with a capital 'r'. Naturally this lends itself to people trying to ingratiate themselves with her up to and including other rich women. And, well, her new friends (frenemies, rather, not that she'd let them know that) had been quick-talking and forceful and somehow now she was here in a pretty dress (bought second-hand in a very tiny fit of rebellion) and listening to conceited jerks prattle on about how they were god's gift to womankind and really, she should thank them for the privilege of bidding on them.

Was it really such a surprise that Camellia would tune him out and listen in on what the pretty guy was doing? At first, she'd been appalled, listening to him talk about the thrill of killing little fawns (little Bambi's) and then answering his phone or typing on his phone but then Camellia finally caught on. It was like at the bank, only this time, instead of trying to lure people in, he was pushing them away.

So, she'd waited her turn, and tried to give her own dates at least a small amount of attention. The older guy amused her the most – he'd obviously seen her, thought she was way too young for him and still tried to maintain a conversation but without eye contact and looking extremely uncomfortable.

Alright, so sue her, but Camellia was having a lot more fun than she expected.

And then she met him, watching, intensely amused as he typed away on his phone not appearing to pay her even an iota of attention. Except he obviously became curious as to why she said nothing and then looked surprised at her wide grin.

"Just a moment," he tells her anyway, lifting his finger up to shush her as he pretends to focus on his phone.

Oh, this is hilarious. Camellia giggles slightly behind her hand.

"Sorry, sorry, I can be quiet. Please- continue," she tells him and he puts his phone aside with a slightly furrowed brow. Realising she finally has his focus, Camellia gives him a slightly wicked smile.

"So, who are you after?"

Because this man is clearly after someone in this room, but none of the ladies he's met so far. Someone specific. And he doesn't want any of the other ladies interested in him.

"Tell you what," she says when he just eyes her without telling her a name, "no talking about killing fawns and we're good."

"Really?" He asks disbelievingly and then she realises that obviously she just gave him exactly what he needed to know to make her back off as well. "But they're such easy kills and hunting them-"

Camellia falls serious, smile dropping, cutting him off. "My dad called me Bambi. Then, on October 31st, a man broke into our house, killed my father and then my mother in front of the crib and tried to kill me. So, please, no talking about killing fawns or Bambi."

She knows it's not his fault – or, well, it is, but he had no idea and didn't intend to step into quite such a big mess with his big mouth, except, well, she had asked him politely to back off and even if he needed to scare her away, that was not quite the right method.

He winces visibly, phone going into his jacket pocket but the bell rings before he can apologise. She just shakes her head and gestures for him to move on.

Oh well, it had been fun up until now. The memories are still too fresh – a part of Camellia wonders if maybe they will always be too fresh, for the rest of her life, but dismisses it. The next candidate only gets a half-hearted smile and very little of her attention.

It's not like Camellia has any intention of bidding on anyone here.

Except Mr. Munroe – she will eat his hat if that's his real name – did his job a little too well and the one woman he'd clearly been interested in, wasn't bidding on him. The auction was now at $1,000. Camellia winces sympathetically, remembers all the eyes on her, all the attention and lifts her hand.

"$10,000," she says clearly, and people look surprised but, well, it's going to charity anyway and while she'd normally prefer a thorough investigation of the charity to ensure her money is going where she intends it to (or start her own), she just can't let the poor man stand there and lose face. It's like poor Draco after the war, going from being the Belle of the ball to the outcast.

"Sold," she's told by the enthusiastic man and Camellia smiles and nods when Mr. Munroe sidles up to her.

"I really am sorry for earlier," he says, looking earnest and her smile softens.

"I know."

She doesn't say it's alright because it isn't, but she does understand.

"If you're alright with it, I'd rather not have a date," she continues.

His eyebrow rises.

"You spent that amount of money and don't want the date you paid for?"

Camellia winces. "I was coerced into coming here. And I don't believe you can buy people's affection or attention, so I would prefer no date over false attentiveness."

He pauses for a moment, taking a longer look at her this time while her attention is still focussed on the bidding taking place on stage.

"How about dinner with a friend?" He offers and she gives him a side-eye, unsure what his intentions are. Too many have tried to take that route to sneak into her close circle of friends either for information or hoping to hop into her bed once they're better acquainted.

He hesitates before leaning closer, "I have a girlfriend," he confides in her and she blinks in surprise. He shrugs. "I, too, was coerced into being here," he confesses with a charming grin and Camellia laughs.

"Alright then, I'm always up for dinner with a friend," she agrees happily.

Dinner with Neal and Sara is something else. Even for it not being a date, it's the most fun she's had since she came to this dimension. Both Neal and Sara are easy to get along with, navigating the social minefield with a grace Camellia can't help but envy. They switch topics the moment they sense her becoming uncomfortable, make each other – and her – laugh and that's not even talking about the amazing food and drink.

A part of her wants to stay here.

Camellia can't help but think she may be able to build a real friendship with these two people; they're delightful.

But then again, she paid for this date, and the thought won't leave her. It was simple reciprocity and they were charming enough for Camellia to want to make it last, but that one-sided relationship spells nothing but trouble and, frankly, she's had enough of that.

Therefore, when the evening concludes, she is grateful, and she hugs them both, but doesn't offer to return.

She leaves New York behind that very night.

It's taken some time to get used to life here and to be honest, Camellia couldn't precisely pinpoint how she ended up where she has now, but she likes this life.

A small retreat, buying up empty land and a dilapidated farmhouse – well, somehow Camellia ended up creating a shelter for abused horses and dogs (Remus and Hagrid would be so proud, she thinks). It's a money-suck, but she does get a few donations and has managed to find a few lucrative businesses to invest in.

Back before her fifth year, when she'd been hovering around the Black townhouse, moody and angry, a rather amused (and rather drunk) Sirius had joined her and shown her some of the secret spots to hide in for when she wanted to avoid the Weasleys or Hermione. He'd told her a few stories, but the one that still made her smile today was his wavy-handed, loud explanation about how some of the Potters must have gotten very 'close' wink wink, nudge, nudge to Nifflers. She remembered giggling and laughing and asking him how that would even work and he'd just shrugged, said 'magic' and made her laugh all the harder. His reasoning? The Potters often invested in friends and passing acquaintances and the businesses they invested in? Without fail, they succeeded. Sometimes it took a few decades or century to get off the ground, but they always succeeded and with a frankly astounding return rate.

Camellia had laughed. Then the Weasley's shop got off the grounds and her investment paid dividends – boy did it ever pay.

And apparently the dimension she was in made no difference.

Camellia had met with several hundred applicants and funded only a scant thirty of them by the end – but even the ones which hadn't taken off immediately, were on a good trajectory and just the income from the investments alone was enough to keep her animal sanctuary running, employees, Vets, medicine and trainers included, pretty much indefinitely.

The return to New York is more of a surprise, but for all that she loves the dogs and horses around her and has a cordial enough relationship with the people she's hired, they are still her employees and Camellia wants friends.

New York is big enough to make new friends, she decides, and ignores that part of her wants to go back to that magnificent house with June and Neal and Sara and see if they might like to become friends.

Camellia knows she is browsing in the wrong circles, but somehow, she finds herself at an art gallery and staggers at the price of the paintings. Some of them are absolutely beautiful, don't get her wrong, but all she can see is how many horses and dogs she could rescue for one of these.

"Do you ever feel like you have one foot in two worlds but aren't really in either of them?" She asks the beautiful woman who comes up to assist her. The woman has adorable dimples and pulls a slight face before laughing.

"Yes," she admits, "all the time."

Camellia nods. She is rich – this should be her world. But it isn't – neither is the ranch, because in both of them she stands apart, adrift, moored while everyone else moves on around her. Where does she fit in?

"Sorry, I don't think I'll purchase anything today," Camellia admits finally, turning to the patiently waiting woman.

"Not to worry," the woman waves her off. "It's far more fun to admire all of them, anyway."

"Aren't you supposed to try and sell them?" Camellia asks, surprised and the woman laughs.

"Don't worry about it," she repeats. "I don't work here any longer. I just still like dropping by on occasion and today I'm just helping an old friend who has just reappeared and is interested in buying some paintings. My name's Elizabeth Burke, by the way."

"Oh, pleasure to meet you," Camellia says. "I'm Camellia Potter-Black."

"Are you new to the city?"

Camellia offers a wry smile.

"How could you tell? Do I still smell like hay and horse?"

The pretty woman laughs, dimples flashing as she shakes her head.

"No, no. You just had that lost look about you," she says mischievously and Camellia agrees, laughingly.

"Why don't you come by tonight," she offers. "Dinner, with me and my husband – I'm sure we can give you some tips on what to look for and where to go."

"I don't think I ever grew out of the lost little duckling look," Camellia admits bashfully but with a wide grin. "But yes, that would be amazing. I could really use some advice."