CHAPTER ONE
Flower Girl

Antheia Potter had found herself in a world she had never expected to be able to place a foot into. A world she had only visited in her dreams, the dreams she had once held as a young girl. The dreams which were soon replaced with nightmares. Nightmares which were like hurricanes. They would sweep her up and away into an unknown darknesses. 

Realising that both of the people who were in control of her future were now gone, that had been a bitter pill to swallow for the newly seventeen year old. She had lost herself, she had lost her purpose. Who was the saviour of the Wizarding World when there was nothing to save against? When there was no overarching villain where did that leave her?

The short and oversimplified version of that was the village florists. Teapots and Tiger Lilies. 

Antheia had a gift with flowers. Or so that was what the sweet little lady who ran the florists presumed. And Antheia desperately needed the distraction from her own mind. So she chose not to correct the woman. Allowing her to assign the teenaged girl whatever hours she legally could. Anything to get the poor girl out of the home she existed in with her mother's relatives. Anything to get her away from the hateful eyes of her Aunt Petunia and nasty breath of her Uncle Vernon. Not to forget her barely older cousin, who clearly took after his father in looks, Dudley. 

It was how she found herself spending her Thursday afternoon. Just two weeks prior to heading back to school, avoiding the blistering heat of the August sun baring down outside. Her fingers gently pruning away at the roses inside, determined to continue to show their best. Deep brown hair flowing over one shoulder desperately trying to escape from the band she had pulled it back with hours ago. 

A gentle charm of the front door opening would momentarily distract her from her task. Though Antheia paid it no real attention, she would turn to the customer after allowing them a few minutes to look around the store first. Only the footsteps of the customer only seemed to etch closer and closer to the service desk. The one of which was a few feet before her. This wasn't the most common act and therefore, Antheia did turn from her roses to look at her latest customer. Only to wish she had not even got out of bed that morning. 

It was instant that she recognised the teenager stood opposite her. And it was just as instantaneously that she felt that horrible twisted feeling overtake her body once more. The feeling she always seemed to get when she laid eyes upon him. For she knew they both held her responsible for the death of his father, something he would never forget, yet alone forgive her for. And something she had barely become accustomed to. 

Quentin Black was possibly the only person left in the world who truly hated her with a burning passion. Well perhaps he was not the only one, but he was the only one bold enough to make his  feelings known. And with his dark and mysterious look, she felt he was the only person who would be willing to act upon those feelings of hatred against her. And as he stood there in the almost formal wear, she once again felt that overpowering aura he emitted. The one which made you want to submit to him. And she could only wonder just why he had come to search her out. 

It was no secret that he lived in London in one of the many Black family Residences. And yes it was only just under an hour to travel to Surrey and even less when magic was involved. But Antheia knew it was not good news for the teenager to be searching her out. She immediately stopped her actions against the roses, brushing her dirty hands against the apron she wore as part of her uniform. Making an effort to move closer to where he was, praying she continued to show that brazen lack of fear people believed she had. 

Quentin looked down upon the shorter witch as she approached him. Wanting to mock her for clearly gaining none of her fathers height. At barely 5 foot 2 she was not much of a force to be reckoned with. Yet still held herself as so. Her clothes were tired and old, and clearly battered by the amount of mud she played in for work. He couldn't stop the rolling of his eyes as he took her full appearance in. It would appear she truly remained clueless on how to even make best of herself. 

"Never took you for one to dig in mud Potter?" His words were sharp, hateful and had Antheia not been used to this tone of voice she was sure she would have recoiled slightly at them. Only she held eye contact with him instead, for every challenge he gave her she would rise to it. 

"Never took you for leaving the safe sounds of London, we too poor for you here?" Antheia laced her own word with venom waiting for them to have the desired effects upon the boy. Only to feel a little balloon of defeat grow when his expression remained unchanged. 

"I'm not here for joking about." He chose to say no further and it was this time that Antheia rolled her eyes, she had worked that out knowing that there was no way otherwise he would have even chose to search her out if it was not for a desperate matter. 

"No shit." Antheia gathered she would be shortly finishing her shift at work, the pureblood boy never taking the word no for an answer. 

"Come with me."

"Not really feeling it mate, I have stuff to do." But it wouldn't harm her to push his buttons just a little bit first. 

"Do I look like I care about whatever you have to do."

"Wouldn't hurt you to try." Antheia shrugged as she watched the owner of the florist enter the room clearly intrigued by the conversation the pair were having. Antheia turned to look at the older woman, Maggie, with her silver chopped hair thick rimmed glasses and singular hearing aid. The older woman just winked at Antheia clearly seeing things which weren't there between the pair. 

"Come with me Potter, it seems your boss doesn't mind." Quentin's words caused her to look back at him fighting the urge to give him the middle finger just to tick him off. 

"No need to be so pushy Black, give me a minute." Antheia turned once more to look at her boss, Maggie only smiling and giving the girl a wave. And Antheia really wished that the older woman would have just said no.

Quentin weaved his way through the crowds of which had gathered upon the busy town street of Surrey, Antheia blindly following behind. The boy was significantly taller than her which was the only real benefit when he pushed on ahead and she found herself stuck in the large amount of footfall. Plus the outlandishly expensive coat he wore, that stood out like a sore thumb. Enough to the point where she could clearly see him turn and move into a coffee shop. By the time she had caught up to him, he was already seated at the table. Coat draped across the wooden back of the chair seemingly inpatient as he waited for her. Antheia took the seat opposite him, noting that they were in one of the more quieter corners of the shop, the tables around them void of further customers. 

"Are you going to buy me a drink then?" Antheia pushed waiting to see what kind of response she would get, her intent to purposely anger him. Anger him to the point where he would just stand up and leave, because that was what she needed him to do. 

"Hold tight Flower Girl." Quentin responded and Antheia could tell how desperately he wished to hold a finger up to her as to say 'wait'. And the thought of that alone made her blood boil, she had finally gotten away from being dictated on what to do, she wasn't going to allow anyone the smidgin of a chance to do it again to her. 

"Oh sorry." She spoke without any empathy or true remorse in her voice. "What do I owe the pleasure of being graced with your presence, your highness." Her automatic defence mode kicked in, the sarcasm coming in once again to save her throat. Or maybe her feelings, it had never really worked out well for her before. 

"You owe me, and I'm here to bank in that favour." The smirk which graced Quentin's features might have been attractive to some, or maybe to most. But in that moment, to Antheia, it was anything but. And owe him, she didn't owe him anything.

"I don't owe you shit." 

"Aha but you do. After all was it not my father who laid down his life not once but twice for you?" Quentin remained smug and Antheia remained ready to throttle him. That was until she got that pang of guilt once again, because she knew she still blamed herself for everything that had happened that night. For everyone they had lost not just that night but every night since she had survived the curse which was supposed to kill her. Every person who had fought to protect her. And by Merlin she knew he was going to pull on that. And it was working. 

It was working a little too well, because it was almost instantly that a switch flipped in her entire persona. Gone was the overly arrogant saviour of the wizarding world. And sat there instead, was a girl overwhelmed by grief, by responsibility and by remorse.

"How do you wish I pay you back?"

"Clear his name."