His eyes keep resting on me – and only on me – as he approaches us like a wolf that will leave no trace of sheep.

The long, black coat swings along with every confident stride and I'm quite aware of Vivian pulling her shoulders back in utmost nervosity beside me as the stranger heads straight for me.

But I hold his gaze. Darkly intent, almost defiantly – until a cryptic smile creeps across his face.

"Well, look at that," he says under his breath, tilting his head to finally glare at Vivian, then Gini. "Have you been hiding a prodigy from me?"

Vivian places her hands on my shoulders, as though she tried to protect me, Gini also straightens up, Shirley, on the other hand, just whispers, "Is this your visitor?"

"Yes, it's just a little too early," Vivian replies in an attempt at quiet protest as her guest still eyes me with greatest interest.

"Too early," he hums, nodding – even if it seems like a warning. "Did you have better things to do?"

"Gellert – of course not," Vivian is quick to reply.

"Gut!" He muses at Gini and smiles. "How are you, my dear?"

"Fine," she claims.

"Gut?"

She nods yet again.

"That's nice to hear," he fibs, clearly putting little effort to it. "And what about you?" he suddenly asks me, now, however, with an undeniable spark of interest. "How old are you?" he adds, leaning down towards me.

For a brief moment there, a jingling pendant on his watch chain catches my eye – a triangulum with a circle and a vertical in the middle.

This is no ordinary jewellery.
It has a meaning.

"He's only eleven years old," Vivian replies for me and wants to hide how nervous she is with all her might. But even I notice.

Yet this answer seems to amuse him. "Soon to be at Hogwarts, then ..."

"For sure, yes," she confirms.

"Those lights ..." he then almost whispers, looking back at me. "Was that all?"

"He's only just discovering –"

"Vivian," he mumbles with a vague smile, "let the boy speak for himself. So, my son – is that all?"

Like a lion on the prowl, surrounded by tall grass, he eyes me as I nod, it's raw intuition.

And it makes him grin. "Hardly. There's darkness in you that's to serve you yet." He straightens up, turning to Vivian. "He'd be better off attending classes in Durmstrang. But I'm sure Albus will take good care of him nevertheless."

"What's he talking about?" Shirley whispers to Gini. "Who's Albus? What's Durmstrang?" She's startled to say the least when their eccentric guest let's his gaze wander and linger upon her.

"None of our business, my dove," Jim only mumbles with a benevolent smile. "No further questions, sir."

"Curiosity makes the world go round," he ponders. Unexpectedly friendly, he says to Shirley, "But you wouldn't understand, my dear. Faye, isn't it?"

After a moment of hesitation, she suggests, "Why don't you call me Shirley."

"Faye," he repeats, "the darkness that surrounds you will not serve you, I'm afraid. You can't run from it forever, child. A shame, given your effortless grace and beauty ..."

She blinks a few times, then forces a friendly face. "Sir, I don't know what you mean ..."

"I'm afraid you do."

"Oh, well ..." Vivian clears her throat. "How rude of me anyway – would you like something to drink, Gellert? Or something to eat?" She points to the stairs behind us. "Because otherwise ... everything's ready upstairs. We could go straight to –"

"But of course, enough small talk," he purrs. "After you, children."

Vivian gives me a look that's probably meant to be a signal for me to get out of here as quickly as possible, Gini all but smiles, as though it was a goodbye, then they go ahead.

We won't see each other for years.

But as the lights flicker again that day, on and off, and this time due to him, he turns around to me one last time, at the foot of the stairs, and winks.

Mischief in his mimic, darkness surrounding him. We may share a thing or two ...

"Scary guy," Shirley whispers to Jim and me once we're alone again. "Was that you again, Tom? With the lights?"

Jim shakes his head. "No, not this time. Shirley, you'd better never talk about it. Vivian knows what she's doing. Gini is a prime example of how still waters run deep. But we, you and me ... We'd better not ask too much, yeah? I've never been comfortable with him either ..."

"Do you hear that?" I ask, quite alarmed. "In the street?"

Jim concentrates, Shirley initially freezes, but then she hurries out of the main room through the back door.

"What?" Jim asks – he can't hear that well anymore. Yet just in time we are all alone, right before two policemen begin their inspection visit.

"James," one of them calls out as he pushes the velvet curtain aside, "almost no guests, eh?"

"Well," Jim wanly mumbles, "afternoon – not exactly my peak business time."

"Fair enough," one of them agrees before eyeing the place at length. "You're all alone?" he asks. "No … girlfriends?"

"Looks like it, doesn't it?"

"Come on, Jim," the other policeman groans. "Why don't you just admit it, this game will have to end sometime ..."

"What are you insinuating?" Jim asks, looking like saint.

"We both know," the man closer to me hushes, "that you're just clever at hiding them. But at some point that's not going to work anymore. At some point you'll all be exposed ..."

"Exposed," Jim growls, "what do you think of me, huh? Do you believe I'd let the boy sit at my counter when I've got ladies of easy virtue working for me? Tommy, tell them – this is a sports bar and nothing else!"

I nod.

"What are you doing here, kid?"

"I'm often spending time here after school," I reply with the very line Jim always asks me to use. "The Irish stew is really good, sir."

The man doesn't quite believe me. "You'd better had your mother cook it for you, boy – and regularly at that, you seem a bit undernourished to me –"

"His mother won't cook him anything," Jim barks. "The lad's an orphan. But he likes to come here because of the peace and quiet. Got it?"

"Peace?" the policeman asks me. "Quiet?"

I nod, and they hate knowing they're right when they can do so little.

"Old Jim, a pleasure to visit," their suspect praises himself. "That should be all there is to it, gentlemen – perhaps you'd like me to bring you to the exit?"

"We'll find our own way out," one of the pair growls as they leave again.

Their voices depart as soon as Shirley sneaks back to the counter.

"Great performance, Tom, very persuasive," she praises me and winks. "You should become an actor."

But when the velvet curtain is ripped open yet again – and frantically – we're all a bit startled. It's only Mrs Cole, though, who's already rushing up to us with an indignant snort.

"Tom! Why are you here again? What were we talking about?"

"Oh, ma'am, just let him be," Shirley sighs. "We're humble people, actually!"

"This is no place for a child!" Mrs Cole gasps, still out of breath. With a snide glance at the revealing clothes in front of her, she puts herself between Shirley and me like my protector, but Jim frowns at once.

"Good to see you, ma'am …" He's unusually serious as he continues, "I wanted to talk to you – yesterday someone was here who probably knows your cook quite well. They say he's prone to violence and takes it out on anyone available, and guess who comes to mind first in an orphanage …"

"What?" Mrs Cole's eyes widen. "Is that true?"

Shirley pouts, saying, "Your children likely don't eat like sparrows for nothing ..."

Mrs Cole is struck with honest horror as she takes me by the shoulders and asks, "Tom, do you know anything about that? You have to be honest, I promise you, I won't be mad –"

"He's afraid of me ..."

She gulps and eyes me, then raises a brow and seems a bit overwhelmed. "Of course he is ... But do you know if it concerns anyone else? Tell me!"

"I don't know," I say. "I hardly ever talk to the others."

Mrs Cole is much too tired, yet she says to Jim, "Thank you, I had a bad feeling about him all the time, I'll send that bastard packing – but nevertheless ..." She looks at me and gestures for me to get up already. "I have a duty of care here, too – I can't have one of my children loitering in the milieu, where the police are hand to hand with clientele ..."

"In the milieu," Shirley repeats, sounding offended by the very idea of it. "Well, if it makes you feel any better – today the school bag is not in front of substances you're addicted to …"

"You've got some nerve," Mrs Cole snaps, "do you have any idea how exhausting it is to care for all these kids –"

"It's all right," Jim reassures them both, "none of us are saints. But you get that cook away from the children or else I do!"

"On my soul, I will," Mrs Cole moans, nodding. She pushes me off the bar stool with gentle firmness. "Now come on – come on! Really, Tom – don't even think about coming back here tomorrow! You'll leave school with the others and be back on time! A professor announced himself earlier, he wants to have a talk with you."

"What, tomorrow?" I'm at once rooted to the spot, this is suspicious. "I never have visitors."

She shrugs. "That's why I thought you'd be pleased!"

"What does he want to talk about?"

"Oh, I don't know either," she whines a bit overwhelmed, pushing me on, "Tom, now move, come!"

I don't move an inch and look up at her. "You're having a neurologist come in, aren't you?"

"Refuse the pills!" Shirley loudly whispers to me, winking. "I know what I'm talking about ..."

"No, for Heaven's sake, Tom, he's not a doctor," Mrs Cole moans, "just a ... professor or something. You'll just have to listen to it, yes?"

"Good luck, Tommy," Shirley says, and I can hear that she's anxious for me.

"Goodbye, Faye." It's the last time I see her sad smile.

Mrs Cole grabs my schoolbag and on the way back to the orphanage she intermittently rants about how she can't go looking for me in town all the time. And how she's going to throw the cook out, and how I'm not supposed to be scary to the professor who's been announced …