Note: You guys. HBO went there, huh? A reboot. Well, to be honest I don't know how I feel about it... I mean, the only thing I would change would be that Epilogue. Do I want them to obliterate that last DH pages into oblivion? Yes, I do. Will they? No. So. Will I watch it? Yes.
Before talking about the chapter I wanted to say that if any of you want to send me Private Messages I'm totally fine with receiving them, okay?
Now, the chapter: Harry's time in Italy will be divided in three chapters. This is the first part of it. There are some phrases in Italian and I'm giving the translation right after because for me it doesn't make sense reading it in Italian and then having to scroll all the way down to the final note to see the translation.
And I'm excited for you to see this bit of Harry's life.
Hope you enjoy!
December 22th, 2005
D'Angelo Villa
He arrived yesterday night. But Harry couldn't bring himself to head directly to the Villa, so, he went to one of his friends' house to spend the night. And while they talked about his new life and what's been happening in Rome, at the Ministero and with the Aurors, he tried to prepare himself to deal with what he might find at the Villa.
But even so, he knows it wasn't enough. Nothing can prepare him for this.
Taking a deep breath, Harry enters the grounds. The wards recognize him immediately and he calculates that he has about two minutes before someone comes to him. He bets it will be his mother.
As he walks inside, it's impossible not to be taken by memories. It's been almost two months since he left for England and even if it doesn't seem much, Harry feels like he's been away for more than that, like it's been at least six months. Mostly because since he arrived in London things have been undoubtedly crazy and intense.
He watches the birds flying around the trees, the enormous yard extending itself in front and around him. Maybe the Villa is smaller than Riddle Manor, but it's still incredibly big.
He remembers running on these grounds for a good part of his childhood. Remembers climbing these trees and jumping off of them directly to land on a broom in a reckless move. His mother used to yell at him for this but he never stopped, he only got wilder. Harry also remembers the many campfires he used to enjoy with his friends while having a good time and training magic… mostly being teenagers.
He stops for a second.
At the far end of the yard he can see the magical floating love seat. The place where he first kissed Chiara. When they were both thirteen and extremely inexperienced. Only two friends trying to understand what the fuss was all about. It was a nice kiss. Chaste. Exploratory. Unforgettable.
"Anch'io ricordo il nostro bacio ogni volta che guardo quell divanetto." ["I also remember our kiss every time I look at that love seat."]
A voice says from behind him. Chiara.
He shakes his head and snorts a laugh. Unbelievable.
"I thought I would at least get a few days without seeing you, but," He looks at his watch, "It lasted not a whole of two minutes."
Harry turns to her. Chiara's beauty is something to behold. It's obvious and intimidating. Her blond hair is shiny and beautiful, her mouth is small, delicate, but it suits her perfect nose, angled face and striking black as the deepest darkness eyes.
She walks slowly to him. She doesn't look different from the last time they saw each other. And he'd forgotten how she's able to shake his very own foundations.
And since his mind is a traitor, he's already comparing her to Hermione. And it's a bit unfair because… Hermione wins in every aspect.
"So, no Italian?" She asks in a perfect English. "Are you a snotty British now? Already?"
"Maybe." He narrows his eyes at her. She stops very close to him. Chiara is a little taller than Hermione, almost Harry's own height. "What are you doing here?" He asks, impatient.
"Want me gone? I was just visiting Matteo." She opens a tight smile. "I'm helping him with the whole campaign for Ministro." She takes another step to him. "Something you should be doing for your grandfather."
He sets his jaw. "He can handle things himself." It's all he says.
"What are you doing here, then, amore?"
Harry snorts at the loving word. They used to call each other like that when they were together. "None of your business." He says sharply. "By the way, shouldn't you be with Carlo?" He spits the name. The man he caught her cheating him with.
"You know I have nothing with Carlo, Harry."
"Really? You almost fooled me when I caught you riding his-"
"No need for this." She cuts him. "It happened and I hope we can leave that behind us."
And she moves to him.
So fast that when he realizes, her arms are already around his neck, her mouth close to his. He doesn't hug her back, though. Harry pockets his hands instead, rolling his eyes.
"What do you want, Chiara?"
He can feel her breath on his face. So familiar. "Don't you know? I want you, Harry. I never stopped wanting you. We're soulmates."
And she kisses him. His mind stops for a second. Kissing Chiara is almost like breathing to him. Automatic. Something he used to do so much that it became natural.
Part of him missed her. Part of him hates her. And another part might still be in love with her.
He steps back, scowling and taking her arms off of him.
She pouts.
"Come on, Harry. I know you miss me. Or are you telling me you already found someone else?" She scoffs.
He narrows his eyes and walks past her. "Have a nice day!" He waves to her, then he flips her off.
Chiara laughs loudly. "I love you, Harry D'Angelo! Even if you don't believe me!" She screams at the top of her lungs and even if he wants her gone, Harry smiles while he shakes his head.
Chiara is crazy.
And this was just a sample of what to expect for the next ten days.
He exhales heavily, stepping inside the mansion. It looks the same, but it feels different somehow, like he doesn't quite belong there anymore. He strides through the countless living areas. All french windows wide open to welcome the day and its sunlight. There's a gentle, yet freezing, breeze in the air and Harry can smell oranges. He smiles. His mother has a plantation of oranges that she loves more than herself. And Harry used to love hugging her and smelling those oranges in her hands and very being. Till this day when he smells an orange he feels protected.
"Look who's home!"
He turns to look at the entrance of a simple study. His mother's.
And she's there, beaming at him.
Harry feels his heart swelling and he runs to her. She squeals in delight when they embrace tightly. It's a safe landing. Her hug is the place he used to go after exhausting himself at the training sessions his grandfather used to put him through. His mother is the safe landing that gave him courage to be who he is. And even if she's not his birth mother, deep down he knows Lily Evans is glad he had such luck.
Bianca pulls away and looks at him with a scrutiny only a mother is capable of. "You look so thin! And so pale!" She clicks her tongue. "Aren't there any food or sun in London?" She chuckles, mocking him. Then she hugs him again, kissing his cheek. "My Harry, I missed you, son. Come, lets brew some coffee and talk."
He hugs her, one of his arms around her shoulders while they walk to the kitchen. "I missed you, mom." He kisses her cheek. "You look good!" She smiles at the compliment. "How's dad?"
She clicks her tongue. "Ah, you know your father." She waves a hand. "He's always here and there and nowhere. But at least he… stopped with the gambling." She gives him a pointed look. "Your grandfather practically made him, though."
Harry raises an eyebrow. "And how is nonnino?" He swallows hard. "Running for Ministro, huh?"
Bianca scoffs. "I hope you know I don't agree with any of it."
"I know." He says softly.
"Especially now that you're there, Harry, your grandfather is playing with fire."
They finally reach the kitchen and he settles himself on his usual stool while Bianca proceeds to brew the coffee. He thanks the heavens while he watches her taking those fresh grains and griding them at the machine for a fresh and strong espresso.
"Tom Riddle already questioned me about nonnino's plans." He says nonchalantly.
His mother grunts. "See? That's what I'm talking about. Idiotic ideas. And for what? Honestly." She pours the coffee in silence and Harry watches the grounds outside. The Quidditch field is there. And the pool. And everything else. The same. But not quite.
"Do you think he's gonna win?"
"Of course he will, Harry. Do you think your grandfather would even run for this if he doubted his victory?" She puts the cup of coffee in front of him and sits by his side with hers. "Do you want to eat something? There's-"
"No, no. The coffee is fine."
"You need to eat."
"I'm fine, mom." He smiles and sips on the coffee - bliss - and she sighs.
"Did you bump into Chiara on her way out?"
Harry snorts. "Of course I did. I bet she was waiting for me."
Bianca makes a face. "She's here every day, so, maybe it's for the best that you already encountered each other. How was it? From what I hear she wants you back."
He shrugs. "Okay. No big deal. I have many things to think about and Chiara is not one of them."
"Harry, Harry," Her tone is playful, "Don't tell me you found someone else." She opens her mouth and moves on the stool to look at his face. "Oh, you did!" She almost yells. "Who is she? And why am I only hearing about this now?"
He sips on his coffee. His mind on Hermione.
"There's no one." He says, schooling his face to a neutral expression. Bianca doesn't buy it, though.
"Okay, fine, you don't want to talk about her. Fine." But she's smiling as she says this. "I just wish you to be happy, son."
"I know, mom." They smile fondly to each other.
"So," A third voice comes from Harry's back and he turns on his stool. "You are here." It's Matteo.
Harry gulps. As he knew, no preparation in the world would suffice. He feels like a child in Matteo's presence, his whole posture changing to one of submission, and as much as he tried fighting this, it is his natural response to the man who raised him and taught everything he knows. Who pushed him to his limits and turned him into a lethal man.
"Nonnino." He says faintly.
Matteo looks the same. Harry doesn't know what he was expecting, though, not even two months went by.
"At my study, Harry." It's the only thing Matteo says before exiting the kitchen, his golden cane hitting the floor strongly and in rhythm with his steps.
Harry scrunches his whole face. Bianca sighs. "You two." She says. "I'm kinda of sick of all of this, Harry. You should leave this revenge behind, come back home, go back to being Head Auror and working with your grandfather!"
Harry understands her concern, but he shakes his head and finishes his coffee swiftly, then he kisses Bianca's forehead. "I love you, mamma." He smiles and darts out of the kitchen.
He tries being as confident as Hermione each time he saw her steeling herself before talking with Riddle and as he strides to Matteo's huge study at the second floor, he realizes he wished Hermione could be there. But he scoffs at himself.
An impossible wish.
Silence.
Deadly silence.
Harry crosses one leg over the other, clearing his throat and waiting. He won't speak first. No. If his grandfather wants to play this game, he will play it. Harry knows it's a test. One of many Matteo used to do. He wants to see if Harry is patient enough not to break the silence, if he's able of holding his ground and waiting for as long as it takes.
Matteo is not even looking at him from across his desk. The older man is reading something while making a few notes on whatever it is more important than his own grandson.
Harry glances at his watch. It's been an entire hour.
And finally, Matteo raises his eyes from his notes and leans back on the chair, his eyes on Harry now. "Why are you here?" It's what he asks. Such warm words.
"I heard you're running for Ministro."
"You heard right. Who told you? Hermione Riddle?" Harry opens and closes his mouth. The clear insinuation on Matteo's tone- "You think I don't have eyes and ears in London, Harry? I got word that you're pretty close to your enemy's daughter." Harry purses his lips.
"Naturally, she's my boss. But this is not about her." He feels a lion roaring inside his chest. Matteo has no right to talk about Hermione. He doesn't know her. And Harry won't have it. "This is about you wanting to be Ministro. Why now, grandfather?"
"I don't appreciate your tone, Harry. And I don't need to explain myself to you. I'm running because I want to."
Harry purses his lips. "You know what I hear wherever I go in London? I hear about my grandfather's opinion on Blood Supremacy or how he hates everything the British Ministry represents. Not to mention his not so hidden hatred towards Tom Riddle and his family-"
"How dare you criticize me? After everything? Why do you think I hate the Riddles, Harry? You, more than anyone else should also be hating them with the most ardent ire! But, apparently, from what I'm hearing you're throwing your revenge in the trash because of some pair of good legs!"
"Don't talk about her!" He raises from his chair, a finger pointing to his grandfather. He's breathing hard. All his anger directed to the man in front of him. "Leave Hermione out of this." He says in a low voice.
Matteo laughs, mockingly. "I never mentioned Miss Riddle." Harry opens and closes his mouth. Shit. "Don't tell me you're in love with her. Please, I raised you to be better than this."
He purses his lips. And sits back down. He takes a few deep breaths. "I don't wanna fight." Harry raises both hands. "I came to spend the Holidays and to be here when the results come in."
"What Tom Riddle will think about you being by my side when they announce my victory?"
"He won't like it."
"Good. Then I'm glad you're here, Harry." Then, for the first time, Matteo's expression changes to a softer one, one that reminds Harry the loving grandfather he used to be. "Seriously, Harry. Be careful with Hermione Riddle. She's dangerous. She's a Riddle."
Harry swallows hard. "I know. I'm not an idiot and I'm not in love with her."
Matteo nods, his eyes narrow. "Since you're staying, I do hope we talk properly. I-" He clears his throat, coughing a bit, "I want to leave our misunderstandings behind us. I talked to Chiara."
Harry sighs. Then he stands from his chair. "We'll talk. But not now." Without another word, he moves out of the study.
He needs to vent. And he knows exactly what he wants to do. Flying never sounded better.
December 26th, 2005
D'Angelo Villa
The sun warms his skin. It's winter, he knows. But being a wizard has its many perks. He casted a heating spell at the pool and on himself. And then Harry stripped down to his trunks and lied on one of the may chaises by the pool. Even with the chilly weather, the sun is out and he can't deny he missed it immensely. It's pretty hard to see the sun in London, and sporadically when it does come out, Harry is locked inside the Ministry.
So, it's been some amazing three days of bathing in the sun, swimming, eating like crazy and enjoying his mother's company.
He saw his father only once - at Christmas dinner - and they had a nice conversation about amenities. But the man looked well and his parents' relationship seemed calmer. Harry even caught them kissing when they thought no one was looking at them. And that brought a sincere smile to his face.
He barely sees his grandfather, though. The man keeps himself locked up inside his study, worried about the election that will happen later today. Harry is sure that after this, Matteo will finally focus on him and what he's been doing in London. Not that Harry owes him any satisfaction, but he intends on sharing a few things. After all… it's his nonnino.
But what's giving Harry life are his many tricks and small revenges on Chiara. He never enjoyed being a prick so much. As his mother said, Chiara is there every day and Harry avoids her like the plague. That doesn't stop her from going after him, and every time he jinxes her with creative spells that has her fuming out of the Villa.
But even so she still yells an 'I love you' to him. Most times in Italian. 'Ti amo, Harry D'Angelo.'
He's not sure how he feels about this, though. He feels something, of course. Chiara is a big part of his life and of who he is, but it's like there's a glass wall between them now, one that allows them to see the other but never really touch, never really get close again.
And he knows it's the broken trust.
If there's something precious to Harry is the way he trusts people. It takes a lot for him to open up and give himself to the other - he imagines this happens because of the way Matteo turned him into a paranoid - and Chiara broke this trust so shatteringly it's almost impossible to put it back together.
That doesn't mean he doesn't miss her, after all, before they got together they were friends. And there are few people in this world that Harry can call his true friends.
He sighs. Even with his sunglasses on he has his eyes closed. He tries relaxing. The silence around the Villa is something to cherish.
But it's hard.
He's been avoiding thinking of Hermione. Of London. Of his revenge.
But when he notices he's already there. The first thing on his mind is her. Of course. Then the mess the Ministry was when Harry left. Then the others and what they might be doing.
And there's one question that he's struggling to keep out of his mind. However, the little demon always finds its way back: Am I in love with her?
The list of people that are making this same question to him keeps growing and finally he's opening up a bit to the reality of it. Mostly because he misses her every hour of every day. But his coin is upstairs, at his bedroom. After the third day he realized she wouldn't get in touch and he gave up on taking the coin everywhere.
Not just that but… it gives him a headache to imagine what happened yesterday at Christmas at Riddle Manor. They surely announced their engagement. Harry swallows the lump on his throat. Is that what she really wants? Will she be happy with Pettigrew?
Maybe.
Harry sits on the chaise, taking off his sunglasses and rubbing both hands on his face and hair. He can't be in love with her. He can't. What would that even mean to him? To everything that he worked so hard for?
He shakes his head to himself, making a face. He's been in love before. Twice. Chiara was not his first love. When they were young, their friendship was more important to both and at fourteen Harry fell in love with a classmate. He dated her for a long while, until the end of school. And then when he entered the Auror training, Chiara by his side, both single at the time… it was practically impossible to resist the exploding love and desire between them.
And Hermione.
He would know if he loved her, wouldn't he? Of course I would. It's not love. It can't be love-
He sniffs the air. And frowns. Harry looks around. There's no one there except him. But… Am I crazy? Is Hermione driving him crazy? Because he would bet a kidney that he just smelled her perfume in the air. So strong as if she were right there by his side.
Which would be impossible.
He tilts his head and turns around on the chaise, his eyes searching the grounds.
The smell is gone, but-
"Looking for something?"
He smiles despite himself and turns back around on the chaise. Chiara is there. In a bikini. He narrows his eyes.
Playing dirty.
For a moment he allows himself to observe her tattoos. One of them is a Golden Snitch on her right side, its wings spread open vertically going all the way down her thigh and up her ribs. He lost count of how many times he kissed that Snitch. The other tattoo he can see with her standing in front of him begins on her left shoulder and goes all the way down her arm: it's her Patronus, a bear, standing on its hind legs and bellowing to his enemies.
But there's one more he can't see. One that covers most part of her back. A lion.
"Not for you, I assure."
She laughs. "Amore. You don't have to look for me since you already know where to find me." She winks at him. "Matteo wanted me to give you this." She purrs and gets closer, a piece of paper in her hands that Harry only notices now. He recognizes it immediately.
The Prophet.
His heart beats faster. There are a billion things that would shock him or make him Portkey back to London in a blink, but what he sees at the front page makes him sick to his stomach.
It's a huge picture of Hermione and Pettigrew. They're hugging. Wide smiles on their faces. Then they kiss. A solitary ring shining on her finger. The headline reads: Riddle Heir to finally tie the knot!
His eyes briefly scan the article below it, but he stops. He doesn't need to read this. And he shouldn't even care.
Harry clears his throat and ignores that knife plunging into his chest.
He looks at Chiara, she's standing bare feet in front of him. He makes a face of confusion. "So?" He says, "Why he wanted me to see this?"
Chiara narrows her eyes. Without saying a word she takes the paper and turns it into ashes with a spell. "There. Who cares about this bitch, right?" She moves closer. "For all I care, London could burst itself into flames with all those Supremacists inside." Her eyes glint. Harry opens a side smile. It's hard to be angry with her. "But what angers me the most is the way that city stole you from me."
He snorts. "You cheated on me, Chiara. No one stole me from you."
She closes her eyes. "Harry. We never got the chance to really talk about what happened that night."
He raises a hand. "I really don't wanna do this."
"Please. You don't have to talk. Just listen to me, please, amore."
Harry gulps. Problem is… he wants to know what she has to say. "Okay, fine." He exhales heavily.
She takes a deep breath. "I was afraid." Chiara wets her lips. "We were about to get married and I panicked. I-" She swallows hard. "You were on that mission, remember?" He nods. "And I missed you so much," She snorts, "So much it was ridiculous. And it hit me how much I leaned on you emotionally. It was hard for me to grasp this. Aside from being the best female Auror this country ever saw, I lead a society for women's rights where I daily tell those broken women how they don't need a man, how they can be their own hero and stuff." She scrunches her face. "I realized I was a lie. Because I didn't want a life without you, I wanted you to be my hero. And the funniest thing, the craziest thing was that… you were. And you loved me so damn much. We loved each other so much that I- I lost it."
He moves, uncomfortable. She summons another chaise to sit in front of him, so close their bare legs touch. And she continues:
"And Carlo appeared that night. When I was at my worst, questioning everything. And you know how he always wanted me-"
"And you simply decided to give him what he wanted." He says bitterly.
"It was not like that." She shakes her head. "We drank a lot and I told him about my insecurities… he took advantage of the moment, said that I deserved way more than just being Harry D'Angelo's wife." Harry looks down at his hands and she takes them in hers. So familiar. "I made a bad decision. I was angry with myself, hating myself." She squeezes his hands. "I had no idea you were going to surprise me." He snorts, shaking his head, but his hands still clasped with hers. "I regretted it immediately, Harry. What happened with us, it wrecked me to the bone."
"Are you saying… you cheated on me because you loved me way too much? Is that it, Chiara? Because, seriously, I shouldn't even be hearing-"
"Noi. Per sempre." ["Us. Forever"]. "That's what we used to say. That our love would be bigger than-"
"But not this. Not this." He tries pulling away and she tugs his hands. She's crying. And Harry notices he is too. "You broke me, Chiara. Completely-"
"Please. Please. Amore. Give me another chance. I can't live without you."
Harry sighs. He doesn't want to give her another chance. He trusted her way too much. And he expected way too much of her. So when she broke this… It was too hard. Too fast… way too much.
He's shaking his head. "No. It's over, Chi."
"No, please. Harry."
And she moves, forcing her way onto his lap, straddling him. It gives him goosebumps. There's too much skin touching. Everywhere. She touches her forehead on his. Harry closes his eyes, silently crying. Her smell invades his senses. She kisses his cheek. Her arms around his neck in a tight embrace, almost hurting.
And he… he hugs her back, his arms around her waist.
He knows Chiara is going to kiss him. And he lets her.
When their lips touch - this time so differently from the day he arrived because he corresponds - he cries harder. He had no idea how much he was holding inside him, all his feelings and anger and hurt. Their tongues meet and she moans softly.
He squeezes her waist, his body reacting naturally to hers.
But when she runs a hand through his hair-
Harry pulls back. "No."
Hermione invades his mind. Her touch, her lips, her laugh, her smell. All of it so different from Chiara's. He grits his teeth. She's getting married, you idiot.
"Who is she?" Chiara asks in a low voice, hurt.
His eyes seek hers. "What?"
"I know you. There's someone else." He shakes his head. "Are you in love with her? Who is she?"
Harry wants to laugh at the fact that Chiara is another person to add to the list of those questioning if he's in love with Hermione.
He tries standing, but Chiara doesn't let him. "Look." She says and he exhales, annoyed, rolling his eyes. "I don't care who she is. You are right. I broke us. I made you go away. But I want to fix this, Harry and I will." The way she looks at him makes him shiver. When Chiara commits herself to something… "Before anything else, I want to properly apologize. I'm sorry about what happened that night. I'm sorry I broke our trust. Sorry I broke us. Can you forgive me?"
"Can you please get off?" He moves his head to the other chaise and she blinks. But goes. Chiara stands and sits back in front of him. He breathes relieved. It's hard thinking with so much skin touching. He waits for her to continue and she brushes her tears away.
"Can you?"
"I don't know. But I do appreciate the fact that you're apologizing."
"I would have done it sooner had you not ignored me for months." He shrugs. She clears her throat. "I won't stop apologizing until the day you find in yourself the will to forgive me. Not just that but I'll do my best to be back in your life, Harry. I don't care what I have to do. I'll write you every day, I'll take a Portkey every day to London, I don't fucking care. Before we were a couple we were friends and, cazzo, I miss my friend." She opens a sincere smile and he smiles with her.
"I miss my friend too." He says in a low voice.
"Good. That's settled, then." She sighs and stands. "Sorry for harassing you." She chuckles. He laughs out loud.
"But what about the fun we're having with all the jinxes and stuff?" He teases.
She opens her mouth, outraged, and smacks his shoulder. "You idiot, I was at the Hospital all day the day before yesterday, the healers couldn't understand why warts kept erupting in my skin." He laughs again.
Chiara shakes her head.
For the first time since he caught her with Carlo he feels a bit lighter. Like a heavy piece of all the anger and sorrow had left him. Harry stands too. And they're pretty close.
He hugs her. She corresponds immediately. "Thank you, for taking care of things here, Chi."
"No problem, amore. Just come back to us as soon as possible, okay?" He closes his eyes. "Non mi piace parlare Inglese." ["I don't like speaking English"]. He chuckles and Chiara steps back. "Ti amo, Harry D'Angelo."
He sets his jaw. He doesn't know how to say these words back to her. But she doesn't look hurt or anything. "Will you be here tomorrow?" He asks.
"Of course."
"We could… play some Quidditch or whatever." He shrugs.
She beams at him. "Are people so bad in London that you wanna lose to me?" She laughs and takes a step away from him. He briefly misses the contact.
She moves to head inside again, but she stops, her eyes on his knee. Harry frowns.
"What?"
Chiara comes to him again, then she circles him and stops behind him, her hands on his left knee then up his ass and then his back. "Why are you concealing it permanently now? Are tattoos a crime in London?" It took her long enough to mention.
He's been hiding it for so long he almost forgot he used to show his enormous tattoo around anywhere he went.
Her hands are still on his back. "I thought it better to cover it up. Tom Riddle is kinda of strict." He mocks the Minister and Chiara snorts.
"It's such a beautiful tattoo. You shouldn't hide it." She gently kisses his shoulder blades and finally moves away. "See you tomorrow?"
He nods. "See you tomorrow."
And he watches while she walks away. The beautiful lion on her back staring at him, roaring. Chiara is such a huge part of his life. He sighs when she's finally out of sight.
Harry lies back on the chaise, fetching his sunglasses and putting them on.
As he looks at the blue sky, his mind doesn't repeat what just happened with Chiara.
No.
He can only think about that picture on the Prophet.
Hermione's smile. Her arms around Pettigrew.
And he hates himself for caring.
December 27th, 2005
D'Angelo Villa
It's raining. Freezing outside. And he hasn't found the will to move from his bed.
Yesterday night they celebrated the election. In a few days they'll know if Matteo is the new Ministro.
And Harry doesn't know what to expect from this. The conversation with his grandfather is overdue and he needs to share a few things and set some boundaries.
But he just lacks the strength to do it.
Harry yawns and stretches on the bed, mumbling to himself. "I'm behaving like Crookshanks." He even misses the damn cat-
"Who's Crookshanks?"
He looks at the bedroom's entrance. Of course Chiara is there, leaning on the wall. Smiling.
"A cat."
"Do you have a cat now? Because you know," She walks further inside, her eyes mischievous. "We always liked dogs better."
"Not my cat."
She sits on the bed, her eyes on his bare torso. "Whose then?"
"Doesn't matter."
She scoffs.
"Fine. Get up!" She claps her hands. "We're meeting everyone!"
He grunts. "I really feel like staying in bed today."
"No fucking way! Get up!" She shamelessly slaps his butt and laughs at his outraged face. "Get ready, I'll meet you downstairs in twenty minutes." And with a wink she leaves him there.
Harry rolls his eyes, but sits on the bed, rubbing his face. He knows he's like this because of the engagement of hell. He scrunches his whole face. And then decides he needs a distraction. Gathering their friends is the best one he can think of.
So, sighing, he stands to get ready.
Quadrato Magico
He laughs loudly and downs another beer. He missed his friends.
And they're all there. Flavio, - his best friend whose house he crashed on the night he arrived - Mario, Anna, Leonardo, Clara and Chiara.
Harry resisted venturing into the Wizarding community at first because everyone knows who he is, but Chiara insisted and he eventually gave in. And he doesn't regret his decision. Yes, everyone knows him, and yes, he rolls his eyes when he gets those knowing looks, but he can't deny they're having the best time.
He lost count on how many beers he already had and even how long they've been there.
However, not thinking about all his problems and only enjoying some memories, catching up and drinking until he forgets everything is exactly what he needed. And he thanks Chiara for that.
And he missed speaking Italian. He missed it a lot.
He missed the natural freedom wizards have in Italy. Missed the way people are not always looking over their shoulders waiting for a crazy Minister to change his mind whenever he feels like it and maybe condemning your whole family without reason. Not to mention how the fact of having Muggleborns, Half-Bloods and Purebloods living in relative peace makes him dizzy with relief.
They even went into Muggle Rome and enjoyed the city. Harry smoke a few cigarettes and had the best gelato of his life. Even in winter. Who cares?
And as the day went by, he couldn't help noticing how Chiara is getting closer and closer. How her hand is always seeking some part of his body to touch when she laughs, how her eyes seek his constantly, how she wets her lips when doing so.
When he met her at the entrance of the Villa for them to go, she immediately noticed he had lifted the charm on his tattoo. Even wearing his sweater, some ink was visible on both his wrists. And she touched it, mesmerized, with glistening eyes.
He also missed seeing his tattoo. He feels complete with it.
Harry laughs again at the story Mario and Anna - a married couple with two kids - are telling. Apparently having kids is the worst and best decision someone can make and they are just as tired as they're over the moon with their little brats.
Chiara touches him again.
But this time her hand lingers on his forearm. It's been a while since he got rid of his sweater and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, so he can feel the warmth from her palm. Harry gives her a not so friendly side glance. She looks down before retrieving her hand.
He sighs. Chiara looks beautiful. But he can't recall a time when she didn't. The dress she's wearing flatters her very much and he wished he could say his mind didn't wander to the body underneath it. He knows every dimple on her body. Every little imperfection.
He knows all of her. Or maybe he doesn't. He never imagined she would cheat on him.
Harry grits his teeth.
It would be too easy for Chiara to win him back if he opened himself to it, but-
He frowns. And his heart beats faster.
The coin in his pocket. It's as cold as ice. Hermione.
Harry debated whether he should take the coin with him after he got dressed. He stared at it for a whole minute and with a groan he slid it into his pocket…
He stands, using the washroom as excuse. No one bothers questioning him. The only one that narrows her eyes is Chiara.
He finds his way around the wizarding pub and enters the surprisingly empty washroom.
Harry leans on a wall. There's no way of knowing what she's saying, and at the same time that he yearns for it, he dreads it. So, with a shaky breath, he takes the coin:
Can we meet?
Meet? Is she crazy? Has something urgent happened? He answers:
Are you okay?
He frowns. What if she's hurt? What if Pettigrew-
I am.
Link your location to the coin.
He scoffs at her bossiness. Has she completely lost her mind? She can't be serious… but he realizes he doesn't care. It's a chance of seeing her.
He misses her.
And maybe what she has to say is important. He locks the bathroom and, just as she'd instructed him, he links the location to the coin.
As he waits he questions his decision. He's a little drunk. And all his friends are out there. Chiara is out there-
Hermione pops up in front of him.
Beautiful.
She's wearing black trousers, some boots, a loose cobalt blue blouse and a black overcoat. Her hair down in waves. Her eyes that same chocolate brown he likes so much.
He gulps, straightening his back and pocketing his hands. She looks serious. And her eyes immediately go to his exposed forearms.
She's looking at his tattoo.
"Hermione, what's wrong?" He says, his voice a bit hoarse from all the talking and screaming and laughing he already did today.
Not answering him, she looks around. "A bathroom?" She says. Dio. He missed her voice. "At a pub?" Her head tilts to the side. "Enjoying your time here?"
He frowns. "Well, I am. Why?" He makes a face, he's not understanding. But before she answers, he continues, "What the hell is going on?"
Hermione clicks her tongue. "Didn't know you had a tattoo." It's what she says.
Harry crosses his arms. And then… his eyes fall to her hand. The fucking ring is there. He snorts. "What do you want? I'm here with my friends and I would like to go back to them. So, say whatever you want to so we can be done with it."
If his words hurt her she doesn't show it, instead, Hermione walks slowly to him, their eyes locked.
It only dawns on him what's happening when her mouth is already on his. But immediately, Harry brings her closer by the waist, squeezing, his arms closing around her. And her hands are already there on his hair, on his nape.
Their kiss is absolute bliss.
Hermione pulls back. She has a small smile on her lips. "I just wanted to see you." She says in a whisper, her eyes down. Harry kisses her cheek.
He sighs. "How are things in London?" He asks, still holding her close.
"Good. Calm. Which feels more threatening than anything else." He chuckles and she does too.
"Any success in finding out who killed the Muggle or-"
"No." She shakes her head. "Nothing yet."
She kisses him again, slowly and gently.
When she pulls back, she says, "I should go. Don't wanna keep you from your friends." She tries moving from his embrace but Harry stops her.
"No. Why don't you… stay?" He gulps. He's definitely drunk.
"Harry, I can't, I mean, Hermione Riddle can't be seen here, in Rome. With Harry D'Angelo. Grandson of Matteo D'Angelo and all that stuff." She tries again taking a step back. He holds her closer.
"Disguise yourself. With a charm, whatever." He opens a smile and kisses her, excited. "We could stay here a little longer and then go back to the Villa." She could meet his mother, see the place he grew up in, but then- "But you probably can't, right?" He moves back now, his hand reaching hers, lifting it up between them, showing the ring. "Your fiance is certainly waiting." The words are sour on his mouth and he knows his face shows how utterly disgusted he is by it.
Hermione purses her lips. She opens her mouth, but a voice from outside stops her.
"Amore! Stai bene?" ["Are you okay?"]
Harry chews the insides of his cheeks. Hermione is looking at the closed door, her eyes narrow.
"Tutto bene, Chi! Un minuto!" ["Everything is fine! Just a minute!"]
"Allora, dai! Ti aspettiamo!" ["Come on! We're waiting for you!"]
A few seconds go by and just when he's sure Chiara is gone he turns to Hermione.
And widens his eyes.
She's charming herself, changing her appearance. Blond and short hair, blue eyes, sharper features. If he didn't know she's truly Hermione, he wouldn't recognize her at all, but even so, for him is difficult not to see her underneath all the charm.
She's Hermione, after all.
"So?" She says after changing her clothes. Harry gulps, his mouth hanging a bit open at the black dress she's now wearing. It's simple, but provocative. Strapless. She laughs and goes to him, her hand on his jaw, closing his mouth. "I'll take that as a compliment." She winks.
He groans intelligibly things and kisses her. His tongue invading her mouth in a desperate way. He pinches her ass and she bites his lip, chuckling.
Hermione moves away and takes his hand in hers, the ring gone. But Harry stops her for a second. "Are you sure?"
She nods and without a second thought, opens the washroom's door and head out into public with their hands clasped together.
Like a real couple.
(...)