Chapter Text
The biting wind cut through Renato's clothing, chilling his skin, despite the many layers he was wearing. He stood with his back to a wall, watching the heavy cloud cover pass over on a chilly October evening. He was in Great Britain for a job, spending his nights in Scotland. He never really managed to visit anywhere other than for work-related matters, yet here he was, taking a moment to watch the world go by.
Three teenagers crossed into his field of view, from where Renato was tucked into a side alley. They were nervous, that he could easily see, and talked with hushed voices. They were no threat, although Renato was curious enough that he wished he could hear what the trio were saying, but, alas, it was too quiet. Renato would have to be content with only watching the group. The shortest of the trio briefly hugged the two others, before splitting apart from the rest and disappearing down the dark street. The taller two of three - looking to be male and female - watched the third member of the group for a moment longer, before leaving together in the opposite direction. All cloak and daggers for what was probably just some kids sneaking out. Renato sighed. It was getting too cold for it to be worth people-watching, but he didn’t want to go back to his hotel just yet. It was too plain, too impersonal - despite its lavish fittings - for him to want to spend a significant amount of time there. So, he was here, out in the cold.
Renato wandered down the cobbled streets, thoughts of a trio of teenagers long gone, and found a pub emitting cosy yellow light into the streets, still bustling with life and energy despite the late hour, with laughter and noise and chatter drowning out the faint strains of music being played. He noted the various narrow windows and the heavy oak door, and a chimney emitting wisps of smoke into the frigid air - most likely lit by a fire beneath, Renato observed. He pulled the door open with a small amount of effort and vanished inside - although not without a gust of icy air following him in. The pub wasn’t packed by any means, nor was it particularly empty.
“That ruddy door!” A patron near the exit grumbled and pulled a coat further around their body. It was a little dingy admittedly, compared to the usual bars he haunted, but it’s not like anyone knew exactly which bars he frequented. Scattered about were weathered wooden tables, stained with detritus and empty plates a-plenty, and lots and lots of alcohol. When a gap in the crowd appeared, Renato slipped through, making his way to the bar, trying to not draw too much attention to himself.
The bar was relatively empty, but a slender figure caught his eye - one that he was surprised to recognise from an empty street, minutes before. Messy black hair, back facing Renato, leaning casually against the bar: they were watching the flickering firelight dance across the walls, as the noise of the room swelled and faded in turn with the light. It would seem to the untrained eye that the figure was completely engrossed in the flames, grasping an empty glass of something that Renato couldn’t make out, but he could see hunched shoulders and a tense back, even from where he was standing. Yet, as the figure’s fingers grasped the tall glass, Renato could see an elegance in the movement, not common in this part of the world. He simply had to know more.
The hitman had been described before to hunt his victims, and while this scenario wasn’t normally what people visualised, in this instance it was accurate. Renato strode toward the figure, turning his usual striding gait into a graceful glide and approached.
It was warm in the shabby bar, unlike the air outside, its counters and chairs worn and stained from regular use; while this wasn’t Harry’s usual place to lurk, he supposed that would be an appropriate place for him, with his standing in the world right now. He lingered on the feeling of arms around him, and wondered if today would be the day that he never saw his friends again. He had barely anything on him - some coins, his cloak and wand, all necessary, but all that he needed for tonight. Hermione had her bag and that was enough for him, when they would hopefully see each other the next morning.
The Trio had agreed to split again tonight, as they did most nights they were in civilization, too worried about potential stalkers to remain together. Unfortunately, it made sense strategically, he told his lonely heart - as long as one of them survived, it would be enough. They had even developed a list of exactly who would be brought into the fold if one, or more, fell. It was always hard knowing he was on his own, alone tonight, like most nights these days, but here in this non-magical bar, the loud exclamations of laughter made him feel a little more human. Harry went to take another sip of his whiskey he had ordered, but frowned when he realised his glass was empty.
He was just a muggle in a muggle world tonight.
The hairs on the back of his neck rose. There was someone watching him. Harry stiffened, and squashed, without mercy, the urge to whip his head around, pull his wand out and attack without hesitation, in this very public, non-magical bar. Instead, he turned painfully slowly back to the bar, exaggerating his movements to where it wouldn’t be obvious to the observer that they had been noticed. Harry hailed the bartender for some water, attempting to catch eyes on the person watching him. He was pleasantly buzzed, but not enough that he would forget to be on alert - Harry would never let down his guard after what happened last time. Indeed, Harry could see the person watching him in his periphery. How strange. They didn’t seem like the usual sort that Harry was used to. Expensive clothes of an older style, with a fedora shading his eyes. They had a presence about them - one of a predator.
This one was dangerous, but not one who had the murder of his person in mind. No, this was a hungry stare, one that Harry recognised, and maybe one that he would take advantage of. It had been a while after all…
The kid had seen him, tensing, then turning slowly, with faux casualness. For it was, indeed, a kid, or at least a young adult that turned to side eye him. A young face, but not one that hadn’t seen hardship - one didn’t have eyes like that and have had a happy and joy-filled life. This was someone who was no stranger to how unfair the world was. They were dangerous, and that was delightful. These were eyes that had seen the world burn and were powerless to stop it. They were a vibrant green - a pretty colour, the glassy surface being caught by the light thrown from the flames clustered in the fireplace. Even with the spectacles perched upon the kid’s nose, Renato could see softened features, and a set of supple lips, face not marred by a new - maybe old - scar slashed across their forehead, resembling a lightning strike.
Renato continued forward, smirk cutting his face, suave confidence oozing out of him like spilled honey on a counter; he was no longer attempting to hide his approach. He had been spotted and knew now that it might have ended up being a bad idea to startle the kid. His approach was watched warily, the kid well aware of the predator intruding into his space. “Can I buy you a drink?” Renato said, voice a little husky from the cold weather outside, voice rumbling through his chest.
He was blinked at for a moment, startled by Renato actually speaking to him, but recovered quickly, baring their teeth towards Renato in the lightning quick approximation of a smile. “Ask me what my name is first.” Renato was told, by a singsong voice, their limbs uncurling from their tensed position, like a spider ready to play with its food before devouring it whole. Renato grinned at him; eyes filled with delight at the reciprocation of the game being played.
Without hesitation, Renato reached out and grasped the hand leaning against the bar close to him, pulling it up and brushing his lips across the gently scarred knuckles, “I could not help but be enchanted by your eyes, Diavolino , so much so that I wish to have the name of such a beauty. May I perhaps be granted such a wish?” The figure laughed brightly - a sound Renato doubted was heard by many - and with hand still clasped in his, tugged Renato close, dwarfed by his larger frame.
“I am Harry, he/him, you smooth-tongued gentleman, mayhap I have your name as well?”
“Renato Sinclair, also he/him, at your service, Bellissimo .” There was a breathless pause between the two men, before the now-named Harry made a show of thinking, tapping on his chin with a slender finger.
“If you are at my service, Renato-” He started, in a thoughtful tone, his British (with what seemed to be a hint of Scottish) accent softening the foreign name, “Then I think I require that drink, you mentioned, and a conversation about where you bought such fine garments,” he said, reaching out to grasp the lapels of Renato’s suit jacket with both hands for just a moment.
“Of course, Harry,” Renato almost seemed to purr his name - like a cat who had caught the canary - before leaning down to whisper, in a more serious tone into Harry’s ear, “You are legal, yes? I would not want to get into trouble with any authorities on this trip. Otherwise only talking shall occur, I’m afraid.” He was lying of course about authorities, secure in the knowledge that he would be able to deal with such mundane things easily but had personal standards that he would rather not break. Harry laughed again, slightly rueful, and more genuine this time, withdrawing from where Renato had been feeling his body heat, and pulled out a driver’s licence from a pocket in his jacket, showing Renato that Harry was indeed 18, if only by a few months. Renato was relieved, this really was someone that his instincts just seemed to scream about, and he didn’t want to have to restrain himself to just a conversation.
The kid seemed dangerous, and Renato respected that - despite the too skinny, perhaps even malnourished body, Harry most assuredly had a capability that would suit him well in this world of wars and weapons. If their little chat had led to any violence, well, Renato had his guns on him and flames ready in his soul - there would have been no question of who would end on top, as the common folk say.
“Most excellent, Bellissimo , now about that drink…”
Harry’s ID was fake. Well, kind of. He was 17, which was what the magical world considered to be of majority, even if the non-magical side did not (at least in the UK), but when you have the ability to enchant items, such things become much easier to slip by in a non-magical world. He didn’t feel bad about deceiving the charming Italian - Renato’s homeland apparently, and he had the accent to match, twisting the English language into something Harry could only listen to in his dreams. His ID was magical for a reason, while its magic was easy to spot to someone of magical heritage, to the non-magical onlooker it would simply show what they hoped to see - and for tonight that was apparently for Renato to get to know Harry better, intimately.
Renato, once past the beginning playfulness, was an interesting - unusual - figure. Harry nodded along to the explanation about why Renato’s tailor was superior to all others within the great country of Italy and did try to make a note of the company's name, on the off chance he survived the war. He imagined hot summers, an unknown language, and a rich history to explore something beyond his normal comfort zone. Harry involuntarily let out a wistful sigh as Renato described his homeland, as they sat together at the bar, Renato regaling him with tales from his homeland, Harry occasionally chipping in with his own stories, edited for a non-magical audience.
Oh, Harry was well aware of just who approached him. While he may not know of Renato personally, only those who were both confident in their abilities, and had the experience to back it up, walked with the smug self-assurance that Renato did. Harry had allowed him close, knowing that with magic on his side, any threats could disappear easily with the flick of his wand (and if he was caught without, then all that practice of apparating wandlessly could finally be of use). Someone of Renato’s calibre would never be connected to the ilk that were those that wanted Harry dead, and indeed the magical world under their thumb.
Renato was an unexpected treat to someone who had gotten used to being alone.
With those thoughts swirling through Harry’s mind, he accepted Renato’s offer to accompany him back to where he was staying - not just because it would lead to Harry spending the night in a 5-star hotel - but also because his senses were telling him that he could trust this figure, at least for tonight.
The next morning, Renato stretched languidly in an empty bed, his companion from the previous night not obviously seen. He rose from the warm covers and walked to the combined kitchen-living space that his hotel suite had provided him, its clean white tiles shining bright even with the weak autumnal sun. It had been a good night, better than any of the others that he had spent in this cold and rainy country, mostly due to his companion being quite delightful in not only the conversations that he could carry.
No-one greeted him as he exited the bedroom, the outcome that Renato had expected. The small piece of- was that parchment? How quaint. The small piece of torn parchment left on the marble counters was also expected. What was not expected was it being just a small thank-you note, one that was missing any contact information. It was written in a dreadful chicken scratch that had Renato squinting blearily wondering if that letter was an ‘a’ or an ‘e’. In any case, it was signed by Harry, and Renato slipped it into his chest pocket to have as a keepsake of his time here.
His soul echoed with a lost opportunity, as Renato considered chasing after Harry, something within him demanding that he follow, and hunt him down, to gather answers and information on the slender figure. Renato blinked in the morning light and shrugged the feeling off, walking into the attached bathroom of his hotel suite.