Chapter 2:

warnings: scenes and mentions of violence/organized crime activity

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a big thank you and warm welcome to drippingmoonwax for being my beta! thank you for dealing with my rambles :)

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It wasn't the best place to start off her search, but in terms of familiarity, nothing really beat England in her books.

"More tea, miss?" a young waitress asked, raising a pot in her hands.

"Yes, please, that would be wonderful," Harry beamed, waiting until her cup was completely filled before she dumped a pile of sugar cubes in as well.

She settled into her padded seat, toying with a fork between her fingers. There was a soft patter of rain against the windows next to her, spilling from the dark clouds above.

"Ah, London," Harry took a bite of treacle tart, before sighing deeply into her hand. "Dreary as always."

It was an oddly tranquil moment. The muddled chatter within the cafe faded into the background and tiny streams of water trickled down the cobblestone streets outside.

Yes, there's no place like home, Harry thought generously, quietly sipping her tea.

Now, where to next? The idea of something supernatural existing in this world was too tantalizing to ignore.

Italy, perhaps? It was a terrible idea, considering how it seemed the center of all things horrid, but Harry didn't have many options in the first place.

Before the subject could be examined further, she was interrupted by a figure that stomped to her table.

"You," the figure, now identified as perhaps a woman, said accusingly in Italian. Bright red eyes flashed manically - it was a strangely familiar sight. "Are you trying to make things difficult for me?"

Harry blinked slowly.

"Oh no," she then said, in English. Silently, she wondered how even away from the country, Italy had a way of worming into her life. "So sorry. I don't speak that language."

The woman reared her head back and slammed a hand onto the table with a dull smack. Several eyes turned their way.

"You are a terrible liar," she declared stoutly, glancing around her before grudgingly taking the seat across from Harry. Her accent was rather thick, jumping over every vowel. "Your country may try to protect you, but I can find anything."

Harry blinked again.

"My country," she repeated slowly. "Protecting me?"

That, Harry decidedly thought, wasn't quite right. After all, Harry had only lived on this planet for a total of six weeks - definitely not enough time to get a visa, let alone a citizenship.

The woman hissed something inaudible that sounded impressively derogatory.

"Look, you, you airheaded bimbo," the woman finally said, giving up on English to return to her Italian roots. "I searched nearly all of Europe searching for you, just to say thank you - and now we're going to pretend like nothing happened?"

"Thank me," Harry repeated again, dumbly, giving a poor impression of a simple, English-speaking citizen.

A moment later, like tiny locks clicking in place, a single memory wormed its way into her mind.

"Oh!" she said, smiling. "I remember now. We met in that prison."

The one prison with the lackluster sanitary codes and that terrible, terrible hitman. No wonder those eyes had seemed so familiar - they had a sort of fierceness that was difficult to misplace.

"I didn't recognize you there," Harry said, switching easily to Italian. "You got a haircut, didn't you? It looks good."

Perhaps it was the sudden change in language, or Harry's own terrible skill at staying on task, but the woman (from that awful time in Rome) raised a hand to her silvery white hair.

As if realizing what she had just done, the woman scowled, her gaunt features pulling together to appear even sharper.

"Don't try to change the subject," she seethed, the strands of her hair brushing along her jawline. "I knew you were pretending - you're awful at it."

Harry gave an unhelpful smile. "Why, I'm not too sure what you mean."

And then, with an equally unhelpful nod, she stood, placing a thick wad of cash to pay for the bill before walking away.

"Wait! Where are you going?" the woman hissed, hurriedly rising to her feet to follow in Harry's footsteps. "I wasn't done with you!"

Exiting the cafe, Harry stepped out into the solemn streets of London, pulling out an umbrella from thin air to avoid the pouring rain. She reached out a hand anyways, relishing the cold droplets hitting her skin.

"I said wait!" the woman stormed out of the cafe doors, snapping Harry out of her reverie.

Not a moment later, the woman abruptly stopped at Harry's side. She squinted at the clear umbrella printed with cartoon turtles and said, rather suspiciously, "You didn't have that before."

Suitably impressed, Harry gave her most winning smile. "Perhaps."

And proceeded to walk down the streets.

"Hey!"

The sound of feet violently splashing into water had Harry turn back once more.

"You really should go back inside," she noted, watching as the woman breathed heavily, with puffs of warm air, silver hair sticking to her face from the rain. "You might get sick."

That sounded vaguely appropriate, right? Or had this world successfully cured the common cold? It was doubtful, but Harry still held hope she would come across a world medically advanced enough to achieve it.

"No." the woman spat out. "I'm not leaving you until everything is repaid!"

Harry hummed, staring at those fierce, manic eyes, and found the sight nostalgic.

"Well then," Harry said, presenting another umbrella out of thin air, much to the woman's visible surprise. She smiled. "Consider it repaid. You're welcome by the way."

The woman hastily took a step back. Her vibrant red eyes trained on the umbrella - clear like Harry's, but plastered with yellow rubber ducks instead. "How - "

Harry's smile widened.

A long pause later, the woman swallowed dryly and reached out, fingers slowly curling around the umbrella. Her thin, pale hand grasped the handle tightly, as if afraid it would flee from her hold.

"That's not how it works," the woman finally said, in a rasping voice. "You can't wave away something like that so easily."

"According to you, I actually can," Harry answered back. "All the other women did. Besides, I was on the job."

And wasn't that ironic? It was difficult to pinpoint exactly when the entire world seemed to think she was under the services of some secret agency, but Harry was rapidly arriving to the point of not giving it any more fucks.

The woman remained still, clutching her gifted umbrella, her silver hair drenched and water dripping down her drawn face.

Harry looked out to the empty streets, the monochrome setting only tainted by a pair of brightly colored umbrellas.

In that sudden silence, Harry shoved a hand into the pockets of her cargo pockets. "So, what are you actually here for?"

The woman shifted. And, as if she had anticipated this question from the very start, she said haltingly, "I don't have anywhere else to go."

Harry glanced back at the woman. "And that made you search the continent for me?"

It was a peculiar decision. Harry only had a few possessions - the consequence of being non-permanent in every single way, she supposed. Not much to offer in terms of any sort of security.

"Where else can I go?" the woman bit back, soaked enough her clothes hung over every sharp ridge of her body. "Follow the police? Join another gang? I was stuck there for years. I have no family, no money, no future - "

She stopped, breaking off her sentence before the cracks in her voice could betray her further. With a deep inhale, she finished bitterly, "There's nothing left for me now. If I'm going to live for something, I want it to have meaning."

Harry turned and looked at the woman fully for the very first time.

"Do you even realize what you're asking for?" she asked, curiously. "You're alive and well. Isn't that enough?"

(It would have been enough for Harry, centuries ago.

The idea of still living, of still having the breath in her lungs matter - it was an idyllic, nostalgic memory).

"I need more than that," the woman hissed back. Her short fingernails dug into her skin as she snarled, "You can pretend all you want. I know you care. And I know you won't leave me behind. Isn't that what people like you do?"

Harry allowed her lips to tilt upwards. Contrary to what many people seemed to think, Harry had, indeed, left dozens of people behind for less.

"I don't think you're in the right place," Harry said, perhaps a little too amused over how a plea for help sounded more like a threat. "What do you think I could possibly give you?"

The woman lifted her chin. "Something to do, I guess. You saved my life, so now I'm your responsibility."

Now that didn't sound quite right.

"Shouldn't that be the other way around?" Harry asked.

The woman kept silent, defiance in her eyes.

A smile found its way across Harry's face.

"Well," she said, perhaps showing a few too many teeth. "Who am I to stop the ambitious?"

Turning around, Harry began to walk down the dreary street, sharp raindrops hitting against her umbrella.

A moment later, she glanced back, the same smile on her face. "So? Aren't you coming?"

The woman blinked, frozen in place.

Then, in a moment that extended far too long, she stepped forward, at a stuttering pace, before hurriedly reaching Harry's side.

"You might regret it," Harry told her, as they walked in tandem underneath two bright umbrellas.

The woman snorted. "I doubt it's worse than that hellhole."

Instead of answering, Harry gazed upon the grey, cold rain, and continued on.

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Once they entered the hotel she was staying at, it suddenly occurred to Harry that it had been a very long time since she had last taken care of another living being.

(Unless, did plants count? Did the cactus she had in the previous world count?).

Placing a hand under her chin, Harry peered at the woman standing at the doorway, shivering and sopping wet.

Okay, Harry, she thought consideringly. You've done this before, no biggie. Food, clothes, the basics - how hard could it be?

"The basics," Harry repeated aloud slowly. She glanced down at her empty hands before looking back up. "So… you hungry?"

"I," the woman answered back, teeth chattering. "Would like a shower first. And a change of clothes, if you have any."

Okay, Harry thought, so maybe you're a little rusty.

"Shower is that way," she said, pointing to the door to her right. As the woman shuffled over the carpet floor, Harry tried another time, "... does that mean you're not hungry?"

One hand on the bathroom doorknob, the woman gave a sharp glance.

"Something to eat is fine," she said stiffly, before pointedly looking down at her still wet form. "After I change into something warmer."

Harry shrugged. That was fair.

A few minutes later, once the sound of running water began to fill the room, Harry rolled onto the single bed, arms splayed flat on top of the covers.

She stared at the lights above, the wooden ceiling fan hanging loosely nearby.

Closing her eyes, she breathed in heavily - an action so ingrained from centuries before, it was hard to say if she could train herself out of it.

Outside, the sound of heavy rain continued on.

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That night, as they shared a meal of Indian take-out, Harry tapped a fork thoughtfully to her mouth.

"You need a name," she suddenly said, in realization.

The woman gave her an incredulous look. "What? I already have a name."

Harry took another bite of her meal. "And how was I supposed to know that?"

"You could've asked," the woman said, rolling her eyes. "Like any other normal person would."

"A normal person wouldn't stalk someone across the continent," Harry said pointedly, before sitting back smugly, rather satisfied at the accuracy of her remark.

The woman gave a glare and silently, viciously, ate into her food.

After a few moments of silence, she swallowed, taking a deep dreg of water.

"Bianca," the woman finally said, after clearing her throat. "Bianca Pacino."

Harry smiled.

"That's a good name," she told the woman, because names held power. "I'll take good care of it."

The now-named Bianca scrunched her nose.

"And it's Harry," she said. "Harry Potter."

There was an abrupt, brief chill, forcing Bianca to shiver and bring her pajamas closer together. Harry, in turn, gave it no mind.

They finished their meal rather quickly after and, with a brief, wary look flashing across her features, Bianca folded her pale hands together.

"Where will you be going next?" she asked, some sort of careful light placed in her eyes.

Harry hummed thoughtfully. "That's a good question. I'm not too sure yet."

Bianca blinked once. "They haven't given you your next assignment?"

They?

Harry folded her arms and wondered what it would take to convince others that it had been five decades since she last took part in any sort of organization.

(And, if she had any say in it, that would remain the case for as long as Harry Potter lasted).

She leaned back onto her seat and considered her choices, until the sudden reminder of why she hadn't left this entire planet yet occurred to her.

"I need to find out more about that fire," Harry then said aloud, twirling a fork absentmindedly between her fingers. "What did that man call it again? Flames?"

Bianca's red eyes widened. "Flames?"

"That's a dangerous thing to look into," Bianca said warily. "Even for government research."

Harry splayed her arms in a grand gesture. "Consider it a personal project, then."

"Personal project or not," Bianca set down her fork and narrowed her eyes. "That's just looking for trouble."

Clasping her hands together, Harry leaned forward and told Bianca, very seriously, "Don't worry. I never look for trouble."

Bianca threw her hands in the air. "That's not the point, you idiot! You're trying to mess with things that could kill you!"

Harry smiled.

"This isn't some kind of joke," Bianca snapped, crossing her thin arms. She rubbed her arms and kept her eyes straight at the wall behind Harry. "Are you trying to - is this some kind of thing you're trying to pull, to make me go away?"

She raised her chin deftly. "If it is, you'll have to try harder."

Harry tilted her head and wondered, a little idly, if it was exhausting to live so vitally in the moment.

"I'm not trying anything," she then said. It was a hilarious suggestion because Harry hadn't tried at much for a very long time. "Besides - "

Harry let out a wide grin. "Let's say you remind me of someone. I don't do dirty to what's mine."

Bianca paused, a flicker of something moving behind her red eyes. There was something alight in that sight - perhaps she saw past the skin Harry wore or, even better, perhaps she saw a glimpse of him.

"That's… that's fine then," Bianca said, recovering remarkably, and Harry allowed the moment to pass on. "... does that mean you're actually looking into it?"

Harry shrugged, grabbing her empty take-out container and tossing it behind her. It clattered into the rubbish bin with a defeated whoosh. "Why not? I have the time."

Bianca didn't answer for a long time. Then, "I hope you and your superiors know what you're doing."

Harry let out a long laugh at that.

"Sure, sure," she said, waving away the words because, ha! Superiors! No matter which planet she landed on, it didn't take long for its residents to learn that Harry Potter was notoriously horrendous with authority figures. "So, you're still up for coming along?"

Bianca tucked her arms closer together and glared straight into Harry's eyes. "Didn't you hear what I just said? You'll have to try harder to get rid of me."

Personally, Harry thought that was a terrible choice, considering her track record on taking care of living beings (she gave a moment of silence for Harold, her cactus), but at least things would be interesting for a while longer.

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"The topic of Flames is protected under something called the Omerta," Bianca explained, eyes wandering back and forth. "I've only heard about it during my time - during my time there."

"A 'vow of silence,'" Harry said thoughtfully. "How quaint."

Bianca's face shifted. "It's very heavily guarded. Many have died for it."

They sat on the veranda of Harry's hotel room, sharing a pot of tea. Well, Harry was drinking tea - Bianca had taken one look at the teapot before delicately refusing a cup.

Above their heads, a steady drizzle of rain continued to pour onto the clothed covers, creating a soft patter.

"You've picked up on a lot," Harry noted, taking a long dreg of her tea.

Bianca exhaled heavily.

"Omerta covers more than the supernatural," she continued, very pointedly not responding to Harry's words. "All criminal organizations are held under its jurisdiction."

Harry hummed. "And who keeps them in line?"

"I'm not too sure," Bianca said after a pause. "The higher ranking Families might know. What I've heard comes from childhood stories. They mention beings hidden in the shadows, who can drag you into the dark without a sound."

"Hidden beings in the shadows," Harry repeated, appearing appropriately intrigued. Would she have to deal with these creatures if she ventured further?

(Would they be any different than what she's seen over the years?)

People will do anything for the sake of knowledge! - was what Hermione would have said, perhaps, in their younger years. It was an inspiring thought.

Later, deep into the night, when Bianca's careful breaths slowed into a calmer rhythm, Harry walked out into the veranda once again.

She sat in one of the offered seats, resting her head on a hand, staring deeply into the two seats across the table.

From one blink to the next, following the lightest of whispers, the phantoms of two people appeared in those very same chairs.

The older woman blinked, the edges of her dark skin pale and wispy, the wrinkles around her eyes sunken.

"Goodness," the woman finally said, her unruly hair tied tightly into a bun. Her voice echoed in strange patterns. "How long has it been now, Harry?"

The phantom next to her snorted, his calloused hands folded together. "Give her a break, 'mione. You know how she feels about calling us back."

"Well, yes, of course I do," Hermione shot back, raising her chin. "I'm just trying to check up on her - something you could do a little better with."

"Me?" Ron leaned into his chair, an affronted finger pointed at himself. The lines along his face creased as he fought a grin. "I'm surprised Harry called you again, considering how much you nagged her last time - "

"Nagged her? What, so caring about a friend is now considered nagging?"

"Yeah, if the friend is an immortal being who can't die - "

"That's a sensitive topic and you know it! - "

Lips curving upwards, Harry crossed her legs, settling deeper into her seat.

(As much as it tried, time could not take everything from Harry).

A few minutes later, the trio sat quietly under the light rainfall.

Hermione paused, calculating eyes taking in Harry's appearance.

"So," she said, very delicately. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, mate," Ron added right after. "You only call us when you're about to lose your mind."

"Ronald!"

"What? Am I wrong?"

Harry smiled, a shorter, quieter smile. "I'm not going to lose my mind just yet."

Hermione cleared her throat once. "Well. Well, that's good then."

"That's great, actually," Ron sent her a thumbs up.

Harry sent a thumbs up back, before sighing heavily, resting her arms on the thin glass table in front of her.

"I don't know," she murmured. How many years would it take before she could find the right words? "This world isn't so bad, I think. Maybe I need some inspiration."

"Inspiration?" Hermione parroted back, suspicion already painted across her features. "Inspiration, like that time you blew up a moon?"

"It was more like an asteroid," Harry tried to say, only for Ron to interrupt, eyes squinted across the dimly lit streets of the city.

"What kind of world is it this time?" he asked. The muted wisps of his appearance did nothing to hide his glee. "An alien civilization? Mythical jungles?"

"London, actually," Harry said, before amending quickly. "Or a London."

"Ah," Ron said, settling back into his seat and nodding sagely. "Equally as dangerous, I see."

"Oh, please," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. She turned to fully face Harry. "Is this what's been bothering you?"

"It's been on my mind," Harry shrugged. "I'm trying to avoid the same old, same old, y'know?"

"The same old is never the same for you, Harry," Hermione smiled wryly. "And I think trying out new things is a wonderful idea!"

Ron coughed loudly. "I don't think you both are on the same page right now."

Sending a glare that could be felt across the metaphysical world, Hermione said, "Either way, I can only imagine how the passage of time must feel for you."

She gave a broad smile. "And despite my own misgivings, I want you to be happy, Harry."

"Here, here," Ron said, raising an invisible cup. His eyes, once a bright blue, were equally as bright as phantom wisps. "Why don't you take your time here? If you haven't left yet, then there's still something worth looking into, right?"

Harry sat in thought, while Hermione sent an approving glance to Ron, before saying, "Maybe you're right."

"I'm always right," Ron said, puffing out his chest.

Her shoulders relaxed slowly - a reminder that she couldn't rely on them for too long - and Harry smiled. "Thanks, guys."

"I did pick someone up," she then noted, gesturing to the room behind her. "I think I'm in charge of her now."

"Her? Like a person?" Hermione asked, only the slightest hint of alarm coloring her voice. "Or like a… a pet?"

"Rest in peace, Harold," Ron said under his breath.

"A person," Harry answered, somewhat affronted at the lack of faith. "I've been doing great so far!"

"Of course you have," Hermione said soothingly. "It's just… maybe you should think it over?"

Harry threw her hands up in the air. "Do what makes you happy, Harry, think it over, Harry - which is it?"

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She began the morning on a lighter step, clearing out the curtains to let the sunlight in.

"Rise and shine!" Harry called, completely ignoring Bianca's groans. "We have a long day ahead of us!"

Bianca peeked out of the covers, her red eyes narrowed considerably. "We do?"

"Well, no," Harry said, after a moment of thought. "Or at least, not yet."

She gave a half-hearted shrug before gesturing to the breakfast spread behind her. "You hungry?"

Bianca stared at the presented food and collapsed back onto the bed, grumbling, "Why is it always food with you?"

Instead of answering, Harry ate a muffin, because, well, what was she supposed to say?

They dined quietly under the rising sun, Bianca taking slow, tiny bites into her eggs and ham.

"Your best bet might be asking around the local bars in Italy," Bianca finally said, swallowing deftly. "A lot of them are affiliated with nearby Families."

Harry bit into a biscuit and tried not to make a face. Ugh, Italy again?

Taking a long, draining chug of juice, she asked, "Does that mean you're still coming with me, potential dangers and all?"

Bianca scowled. "I already told you I - "

There was a moment of silence.

"I already said I would," Bianca said, falling into her seat with a defeated sigh. She muttered quietly, "I don't have anywhere to go either way."

"Fantastic," Harry said, dutifully moving on and summoning a brochure for a local train ride to their new destination. "What do you think about this one? They even serve breakfast in bed!"

Harry cooed at the poorly drawn advertisement. Normally, she'd apparate without a fuss, but Ron had said to take her time.

Bianca stared blankly at the brochure. "I… can't afford these prices."

Harry lowered the papers in her hands and gave a look.

"I've been feeding you for the past two days," she said slowly, because it was becoming apparent that the Italians here were a little too slow on the uptake. "I think a train ticket is well within my budget."

Harry then snorted at her own words. Budget! Ha!

"Besides," she folded the paper gently in half and stared straight into wide, red eyes, a wide smile on her lips. "I said I'd take care of you, didn't I?"

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Two hours into the train ride, Harry stared into the dark ceiling, more than ready to move on to the next novel part of the trip.

"Well, what did you expect?" Bianca asked unsympathetically, looking very comfortable in the narrow bed tucked into the side of the train. "A theme park?"

Harry perked up at the question. "There are theme parks here?"

The idea was tantalizing. Despite her centuries walking through separate worlds, Harry still hadn't figured out the secret to flying. Roller coasters would be her next best option.

Bianca squinted at Harry. "Are you serious? There are theme parks everywhere."

"Everywhere?" Harry repeated, challengingly. "Even in the mafia?"

Bianca paused, opening her mouth, closing it shut, before finally saying, in a quieter voice. "... yes."

Harry clasped her hands together delightedly. She knew exactly where she would be going next.

Groaning, Bianca pulled the covers over her face and decidedly did not say another word.

An agonizing amount of time later, Harry dragged herself off the train, hands outstretched towards the sun.

"At last!" she exclaimed, stretching her centuries-old muscles. It was important to stay fit in her old age. "Sunlight!"

Wearing a pair of sunglasses to hide her dark circles, Bianca snorted, pulling out a suitcase Harry had gifted her. She glanced down at Harry and muttered under her breath, "I don't understand how the government could've hired someone like you."

Considering the unfortunate series of events that led to her actual "job," Harry found it a fair question - the application process to command Death had been far from standard.

Instead of regaling the old tale, Harry shrugged instead. She faced Bianca, the resident of this charming (and hateful) country. "So, where to next?"

Bianca tightened the grip on her suitcase. Her head wandered around the train station and, moments later, her shoulders hunched forward.

"Naples, I suppose," she then said, a sort of finality in her voice. "It's far enough from Vongola territory."

Harry blinked at those words. Vongola, Vongola - where had she heard that name before?

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They arrived in Naples in the early evening. Following her usual routine, Harry picked a hotel by closing her eyes and pointing in a certain direction.

"It's standard procedure," Harry told Bianca, when the woman made an incredulous face. "I'm a person of simple routines."

The remaining hours before dusk were spent in a local restaurant, under Bianca's recommendation.

"Spaghetti e vongole," the waiter announced, placing down a fresh plate of creamy spaghetti, decorated with clams and parsley. "And pasta e fagioli."

Harry non discreetly wiped away any hint of drool.

She hummed delightedly, digging into the dishes with gusto. At a much slower pace, Bianca placed some spaghetti onto a separate plate before chewing carefully.

"You can't visit Naples without trying the seafood," Bianca later explained, as they exited the restaurant. She weaved through the streets with a strange sense of familiarity, ducking past major roads and cutting into the local alleys.

"I love seafood," Harry told her reassuringly, the statement a little too late considering the amount of clams she had just eaten.

After another fifteen minutes of walking, they arrived at a rather well-kept bar, a low-ceiling building with bright lights and quiet, easy music.

"This is one of the more popular hot spots," Bianca said, lingering at the end of the street, eyes trained on the bar. "You might be able to pick up some information, but people won't like that you're asking about Flames."

Harry shoved her hands into her khaki pants, undeterred. She had long since learned that there was some truth even to fairytales.

She began walking under the street lights, before glancing back.

"You can go back to the hotel," Harry said, somewhat aware that Bianca's knowledge around the city had to mean something significant. "You don't have to stay."

It would also be incredibly embarrassing if she failed to keep Bianca past the night - that would be a shorter record than even Harold, and then Harry would have to deal with a precedent.

Bianca raised her chin in what was becoming a familiar fashion. "I should be fine. We're in the inner ring of the city anyways."

For Harry, those words meant literally nothing. But she accepted them either way and strolled into the bar, Bianca a mere step behind her.

The dull chatter within the bar silenced as soon as she walked through the door. It was unclear what could have attracted the attention, but Harry chalked it up to criminal paranoia and grabbed a nearby table.

Bianca took the opposite seat and hissed, "I knew I shouldn't have let you go out like that."

Harry looked down at her white button-down, decorated with mini Italian flags, before rearing her head back, affronted.

"This is a modern classic," Harry protested. When would the world understand her genius aesthetic?

"It's horrendous and slightly offensive," Bianca shot back, dragging a hand through her cropped, white hair. "I guess it's my fault. I should have known better."

"To be fair, you did tell me to change," Harry said soothingly, plucking the specials list. "I just ignored you. It's my specialty."

"Your specialty," Bianca repeated flatly, fingers digging into her scalp. Her red eyes flashed across the bar.

Considering the late hour, there were only a handful of patrons in the bar, with a sole bartender wiping the counter in the center of the room.

Instead of responding, Harry made a noise of interest at the appetizer menu - the deep fried zucchini seemed to call to her.

"You want anything?" Harry asked, already rising from her seat.

Bianca scrunched her nose. "You're eating again? And I thought you were gathering information."

Harry took the non-answer as a no. "Why can't I do both?"

She walked off to the counter, placing a single rune under the wooden table, in case someone wanted to try something behind her back. Heavy stares followed her across the room.

"Two frozen margaritas, please," Harry said pleasantly to the bartender. "And a zucchine alla scapece."

The bartender nodded slowly, eyeing her up and down. She hopped onto a stool, an easy smile on her lips.

Minutes later, two clear glasses were placed by her hands and the bartender, a middle-aged man in a freshly pressed uniform, stared at her expectantly.

Utterly unaware of what those expectations may be, Harry leaned forward and asked, charmingly, "What can you tell me about Flames?"

Indiscernible emotions flashed across the man's face. Luckily, Harry had something a little more useful to pick those thoughts apart.

Pieces of memories, of colored flames, of whispered rumors passed along his mind.

"Colored flames?" Harry murmured, playing with the rim of her drink. "How fascinating."

When it was clear this was the most she could find, she waved a hand over the bartender's face. In an instant, he blinked, eyebrows furrowed as he glanced down at the basket of fried zucchini in his hands.

If only I was better at Legilimency, Harry thought mournfully, accepting the food gracefully. She grabbed the drinks and walked back, where both the table and Bianca were still intact.

"For you," Harry declared, placing the margarita in front of Bianca.

Bianca rubbed her forehead, as if a headache was on its way. "I'd say thank you, if you weren't on the job."

"I'm always on the job," Harry joked, in poor taste, because she wasn't wrong.

She popped in a piece of sliced, deep fried zucchini, the salty batter crunching nicely between her teeth.

At that very moment, a hand, well-kept and attached to a luxurious suit, landed gently on their table.

Harry slowly looked up, still chewing on her food.

"What a pleasant surprise," a man, with strands of grey hair, grinned wickedly. His dark eyes were trained solely on Bianca. "To think you were still alive, little lamb."

Bianca remained still in her seat, her pupils dilating, breath cut short.

"I did hear things went south with Gospella," the man continued, inspecting his manicured fingernails with great interest. Behind him, three burly men waited silently. "And you even had the courtesy to return to me!"

He shot forward, a hand roughly grabbing Bianca's chin. Leaning closer, he inspected her thinning cheeks and slyly, he said, "I knew your father raised you right."

Bianca's hands clenched at those words.

"My father," she began, in a trembling whisper, "Wouldn't even bother to spit on your grave."

The man let out a bark of laughter.

"Yes, I think I still have some use for you yet," he said, fingers still wrapped tight around Bianca's face. "Surely you didn't think your family was free of its debt?"

Meanwhile, Harry took another piece of her fried zucchini, already halfway through the basket. It was rude to eat when Bianca was so preoccupied, but the food was near irresistible.

She sipped her margarita - lime and frozen - as the unknown man motioned to his men, his fingernails digging into Bianca's face.

"Take the lamb away," he said, hand still tight around Bianca's face as she jerked away. "Maybe she'll survive the slaughter this time as well."

For the first time during this altercation, while the other men shifted to move, Bianca's eyes darted to Harry, a visceral terror alight in her eyes.

And Harry, inspecting her half-empty glass, smiled with all of her teeth.

She picked up another piece of zucchini and said, "You have five seconds."

The man slowly turned to her, the golden watch around his wrist glinting under the fluorescent light.

He snorted. "What did you say?"

Harry finished off the rest of her zucchini.

"You have five seconds," she then said, wiping her hands on her pants. "Before I do something about that hand."

Harry's eyes followed the fingers still digging into Bianca's skin, a dark red blooming along her face.

The man hacked out another laugh.

"You?" he asked, mockingly, before tightening his grip even further. His nails pierced skin and Bianca cried out in pain. "What are you going to do? This - "

He brought Bianca forward, dragging her out of her chair and to the ground. His other hand dug into her hair and pulled upward, bringing her face into the light, right in front of Harry.

"This," he said again, delightedly, "is mine."

"That can't be right," Harry said, taking another sip of her drink. She raised her glass to Bianca's trembling form. "Your contract ended. That means she's my - "

Harry paused. What was the proper term for someone who followed you across the continent?

"My assistant," she finished. Once this was all over, a serious conversation was needed for the right answer. What did Bianca think she was?

Then, because Harry tired of all this posturing, hurled the drink in her hand straight into the man's face.

The glass shattered instantly, cutting through skin, and the man howled, the alcohol seeping into the open cuts.

Already moving, Harry upended her table and, with the man's grip loosening, summoned Bianca, the woman's body pulled to Harry's side. A heartbeat later, a gunshot fired into the table and the rune underneath it flashed dimly.

Bianca blinked rapidly, breathing harshly, tears in her eyes.

"Stay here," Harry said absentmindedly. Transfiguring a nearby napkin into a blanket, she wrapped it around Bianca's shoulders. Another gunshot slammed into the table and it rattled fiercely.

Harry stood up, dusting off her khaki pants. She walked around the table, ignoring the shots fired her way, and made her way to the same man, who was dabbing a cloth to his cut face.

The man snarled, pulling out a handgun and shutting off the safety lock, "You - "

Rolling her eyes, Harry ducked under his raised arm and twisted her body, the back of her heel striking his face with a satisfying crunch.

More gunshots rapidly followed her way and, grabbing the downed man's gun, Harry turned, firing off at the nearest henchmen.

The bullet found its way into the electrical control board behind him instead, and immediately the lights above began to flicker dangerously. In a matter of moments, the wires above burst apart into flames.

Harry clicked her tongue.

"This is what I get for following the rules of this trigger-happy country," she said, disgusted, before tossing the gun behind her.

A gurgled cough caught her attention. Looking down, Harry met eyes with the man on the floor.

"I'm not interested in what you have to say," she told him rather frankly. For a brief moment, shorter than the passing of a heartbeat, she let him loom over her shoulders, let ancient magic cover her eyes. His face paled to sheer white. "But you should've known better than to mess with what's mine."

And without another word, she stomped into the man's throat, effectively ending his time in this world.

By this point, the patrons of the bar had long since fled the premises. Harry, with a great sigh, got rid of the other henchmen. The fire above was now spreading across the floor and pieces of the roof had begun to fall down.

Dusting off her hands in the empty bar, Harry walked back to her upended table and set it back to its proper place. Her fingers pinched the rune etched into wood, forcibly wiping it away.

On the floor, Bianca shuddered, manic eyes darting everywhere.

Dusting away shards of broken glass, Harry sat down. In response to the rising smoke and flames, the bar's sprinkler system finally sparked to life.

Bianca shivered, the blanket around her shoulders gradually becoming more soaked.

"I," she said hoarsely, "I don't, I don't, I - "

Harry shrugged. "Take your time."

Bianca stared numbly at the scene around her, taking in the sputtering flames, the cascade of water falling from above, the dead bodies strewn across the floor, the crushed windpipe of the man who had touched her before -

In the distance, the sound of sirens rang faintly through the air.

Bianca swallowed, before turning back to Harry.

"Is this," she began, licking her dry lips. "Do you always handle your jobs like this?"

Harry surveyed the room around her, a little puzzled by what Bianca meant by "this."

"I do what I think is appropriate," Harry finally said, hopefully answering the question. She leaned onto a raised knee and let her lips curve upwards. Her eyes landed on the drying blood along Bianca's chin. "And I do believe this was rather appropriate."

Bianca remained silent, eyes as large as the full moon outside.

"Now, let's get out of here," Harry said decidedly, rising to a stand. She offered a hand. "Before the police blame us for this mess."

There was a long pause.

"They wouldn't be wrong," Bianca muttered, but accepted the hand and stumbled to her feet.

Harry walked to the door they had used before - despite the shattered windows that created more openings, she felt this was a more civilized method.

She opened the door, turning the knob, and nearly walked into a whole other individual, forcing Bianca to step over her heels.

And on the other side of the door, wearing another three-piece suit, hand outreached toward the door, stood the last person Harry would ever want to see on this planet.

"Ugh," she said, unable to stop herself.

Face contorting in response, Reborn lowered his arm and said, in the worst imitation of a pleasant voice, "I see you haven't died just yet."

Physically incapable of returning the poor attempt at civility, Harry said, "Seven billion people in this world and somehow, you're everywhere I go."

Reborn had the audacity to appear slightly offended. "Many would consider that a blessing."

Harry wrinkled her nose in response.

Reborn peered over her head and stared flatly at the still burning remains of the bar. "Let me guess. This was you?"

He then gave an accusing look. "I needed this place tonight."

"Technically, until you have proof, anything could've happened," Harry said, tugging Bianca forward. It was clear she had overstayed her welcome in Italy.

"Well," Reborn said, glancing at Bianca before facing her again. It seemed he had many choice words to say.

Instead, he tipped off his fedora, perhaps in an attempt to seem suave, but only served to make Harry regret her decision to not smite him, weeks before. "Try not to burn Naples to the ground tonight."

Yes, Harry reflected, it was poor planning on her part to give mercy to those undeserving. It wasn't too late. She could still smite him now, right where he stood -

The shuffle of feet grabbed her attention. A water-soaked Bianca, white hair sticking to her still gaunt face, shifted in Harry's peripheral vision.

Harry let out a disappointed sigh. The smiting would have to wait another day.

She directed Bianca down the street and made another face. What would it take to be free of the curse of Italy?

.

.

.

They walked back to the hotel, because Harry wasn't sure how the residents of this world responded to apparition.

On the way, they passed by a dumpling food cart and, eagerly, Harry bought several meat buns.

"You want one?" Harry raised a steaming bun in question, already biting into another, a wave of heat filling her mouth.

A myriad of thoughts ran across Bianca's face before, resignedly, she accepted the meat bun.

Harry chewed through the savory pork, the juice of the meat blending with the fresh dough of the bun.

After a few minutes of silent walking, Bianca quietly asked, "Who was that man?"

Harry finished off her bun and vanished its wrapper. "You don't remember? He was with me in Rome."

Bianca took another bite of her food. "I don't remember much of my time there."

"But you remembered me?" Harry asked bemusedly. They entered the hotel's lobby through a set of sliding doors. "Enough to search all of Europe?"

Bianca frowned. "I… don't know. You seemed different. Almost as if…"

Already aware of the direction Bianca's thoughts might be taking her (and the likelihood of her being very, very wrong), Harry entered the hotel room and conjured a fresh pair of pajamas.

Accepting the clothes absentmindedly, Bianca did not say anything for several more minutes.

Finally, after another stretched moment of silence, she turned to Harry, something unsure settling onto her face. "You - you're not actually part of the English government, are you."

Harry smiled. "That's correct."

It was nice to see that some people were quicker on the uptake.

"Then," Bianca began again, haltingly. "Then who are you?"

The better question to ask was, what was Harry?

"I already told you," Harry said instead, patiently. "I'm Harry Potter."

This time, the utter chill that flashed across the air was too great to ignore.

Bianca's eyes widened and in the wake of the slowed moment, Harry waited expectantly.

Then, in the next second, the moment passed, altogether missed and forgotten.

Having experienced these eternities countless times, Harry allowed time to restart, leaving Bianca to blink rapidly.

"I," she said, "Okay. That's fine."

"You can leave, if you want," Harry said, because unlike many others, she didn't ignore the desires of what was hers. She gestured to the open door. "I certainly won't hold it against you."

Bianca glanced at the pajamas in her hands, made of cotton and decorated with silver birds.

"I don't know who you are," Bianca admitted, fingers clenching the clothes tightly. "But you never hesitated to help me."

Like always, she stared straight into Harry's eyes. "That's better than what other places can give me."

Humans, Harry thought, perhaps fondly.

She let those words linger in the air - in the end, Harry Potter had nothing to say in the face of unwarranted courage.

(It was what she had once stood for, after all).

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.

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notes!

- as you can see, there's no way i'm going to fit everything into two chapters, which means "Don't Blink Yet" is officially going to be a multi-chaptered fic, much to my agony.

- this chapter is meant to establish the pacing of the entire fic (which, hopefully, won't be more than a few more chapters) - Bianca was always meant to hold a part in this story, I just didn't expect her to be so prominent here.

- Speaking of Bianca, we were first introduced to her in the previous chapter - i thought it was important to give Harry an anchor to this world, and a way to naturally search for her answers - of course, Bianca's story is not yet over.

- Because of the nature of the chapter, we don't really get to see Reborn, which I'm hoping works okay for you all, since so many of you are eager to see more interactions between him and Harry. However, if I didn't put him in the back burner, it would be harder to dig deeper into Harry's character.

- I'd love to hear your thoughts on Harry, on her relationship with Bianca, and where you think the direction of her relationship with Reborn is going. It's not exactly what many of you anticipated, but I hope it'll be worthwhile in the end.

some more thoughts:

- this fic blew up more than i had expected - i spent the better part of the year trying to decide if I really wanted to continue it. I hope its continuation will be enjoyed just as much as the first chapter, so please stay tuned!

- with the ongoing panic happening in the outside world, please be mindful of your interactions with others, and wash your hands! my tumblr is open for anyone to come and chat, ask for headcanons/questions, or even fic ideas, etc - a lot of you are probably spending a lot more time home, and in this case, it might be fun to interact with my readers (because i'm very, very bad at it lol).

Thank you to everyone who's given their thoughts and love so far!

- SE