Humans aren't meant to live in cubicles all day. Mine is small, but at least I'm at the end of the row. I have an amazing amount of space, about four and a half feet by four feet. Its cozy and I have tons of pictures all over the walls. My pictures and my I Pod are the two things that make doing time at NRC cable company a little easier to handle. I hate being here every day... I tend to end up bearing the brunt of everyone's frustrations. I want to write, but living in New York City isn't the place you want to live and try to survive as a starving artist. This job just pays the bills until I finish my book. A girl does have to have some fun, so I work two jobs and my second job is my fun one.

My fun job is over in the Village, at this great little boutique full of music, leather and angst. Hot Topic can't even hold a candle to the edge in The Burrow. This store has everything, and it's my favorite place in the world to be, except maybe the library. I have a great place right above the shop, and its huge when compared to other apartments in the city. It is also the reason I work here. I get to hang out in one of my favorite shops for a few hours two or three nights a week and every Saturday, and I get my rent for free. It is certainly a fair trade off, after all who doesn't want to spend hours with friends that seem more like family, laugh, listen to music and have an amazing place to curl up and write when its quiet? This store has truely become a home since I moved to the city. It's also the place where everything in my life turned upside down.

Everythings started off like a normal enough night, as I walked through the door. The business suit came off, the sneakers came on and the music was turned up. Jacki, the owner (and one of my best friends) always said it's a good thing that I am the one that lives above the store; otherwise we'd never hear the end of the complaints on the nights that I work. I just smirked at her and went to change out some of the CD's. It had been a rough day, and I was feeling just a little too mellow for Linkin Park tonight. I added Muse, Blue October and my sweet surprise for the night, some Whomping Willows and Draco and the Malfoys. Tonight was going to wrock.

I love New York in the spring. There are just enough tourists to keep us on our toes and laughing, and the weather is amazing. Tonight was no exception. The music was pounding through the speakers, and we had a fair amount of customers. I was putting away some boots I had pulled out for a customer when someone came up behind me and whispered "Quidditch? You don't look the type".

I turned around startled to find myself staring into a pair of the most gorgeous green eyes I had ever seen. We were so close, our noses were practically touching. As I took a step back, I noticed impossibly messy raven colored hair, and a slight scar peeking out from under the guys' bangs. I looked at him again, certain I knew him, but completely unsure from where.

"I… I… I'm sorry?" I stammered at him.

"Quidditch!" He whispered at me fiercely.

Quidditch? HUH? Oh… my tattoo.

I have a Golden Snitch tattooed on my right ankle, but what does he mean I don't look the type? I swore under my breath. I was used to people not understanding my obsession with all things Harry Potter, but come on. I didn't even know this person, and besides that, who was he to say anything to me about it anyway?

"Um, yeah. Quidditch." I replied. "I have an unhealthy obsession with all things Harry Potter, so what?"

As he stood there blushing, staring at me, a cute little red head came over. She was dressed in black with a pair of boots that would make any girl in this place green with envy. Then it struck me. Why I thought I knew this smirking, green eyed, raven haired piece of jail bait in front of me. Why this cute red head who looked at him so adoringly made me feel like an over protective sister. He looked exactly like what I thought Harry Potter should look like. More so even than Daniel Radcliff could ever pull off.

"You know me?" He stammered. "I thought this was a muggle shop".

HUH? Muggle shop? I must have hit my head last night and didn't realize it. Okay. Someone is playing a trick on me… and I don't think it's funny. Not at all.

"Muggle shop?" I growled at him. "Sure… it's a muggle shop, you're the amazing Harry Potter, and I'm some weird squib who's parents did a memory charm on and shipped of to the States."

"Why don't you make your purchases and leave?" I stated, while still glaring at him. "Just make sure the clowns that put you up to this pay you enough for this fabulous joke".

Ignoring the shock and confusion on my two customers faces, I turned to my boss Jacki and told her I would be back later. I ran upstairs to my apartment, slamming the door and stood there shaking as I tried to control my tears.

Little did I know it was only the beginning.