Following a solid two hours of band practice, Harry's ears were ringing. June was always a loud month, and since he had turned eighteen everything seemed louder. Mister Potter spent most his time a commuter, driving to his meaningless job as a chef at a four star restaurant. He thought that he would never make it across town in the traffic he encountered most days, but playing anagram games helped pass the time. Maybe it was all for play, and he'd just failed to catch on. Maybe it was written in the stars. How should he know, he's given up for now. As he drives home from Ron's place he sees you.