My entry piece for the Great Maze Challenge.
The black haired man perched atop the rooftop, the brittle tiles creaking beneath his feet as he shifted to readjust his balance.
Cologne spread out before him, the buildings crawling with speckled lights across the dark night as he peered out into the city. He was once again attempting to spot the abnormal flashes of lights in the streets that would suggest his overbearing followers had caught up with him.
Harry Potter had moved away from England four years before when the war ended. The pressure, fame and the glaring spaces where people he used to love weren't anymore were driving him to become a recluse. It was Andromeda who suggested leaving; and she was also the one who insisted he take his young godson with him.
He had moved first to Paris, where he had settled down in a small apartment with Teddy and gotten a job in a restaurant. He finally was away from the gushing public which had followed him since he first entered the magical world, and he was loving it.
The personal space he had managed to finally obtain felt wonderful, and he was free to dote upon his godson and not worry about rabid fans chasing him down the street as he tried to do his shopping.
Alas, it wasn't meant to be. Slowly but surely he started to notice an increase in English people around him; coming into his restaurant and checking into the hotels around his flat. His time in Paris came to an end when he got caught up in a mob of people attempting to get his autograph, or a piece of his hair, or a kiss from his lips.
His adoring public had followed him to the continent.
He fled once again, grabbing only his confused godson the young metamorph's favourite teddy bear. They followed him to Spain, and then Italy, and then Russia, and now finally he was seeing the increasing magical population in Cologne. Today a peculiarly dressed old English man had entered the fish shop he was working in and asked for a magical strain of trout; one which helped cure itchiness when mixed in a certain potion.
Harry had replied in negative, forced the old man out of the shop and closed early. He would probably be fired for the stunt, but as he had to leave anyway it didn't matter so much.
He sighed as he saw the slight flashes of unnatural lights across the closest streets; clear signs of magical people doing their work.
He sighed as strains of baroque style music played into the night from a nearly street artist, and he slipped down into the window to once again pack his bags. Maybe he would have more luck evading his stalkers in Canada.