The sun hung lazily in the Italian sky, casting long, warm shadows over the cobbled streets of the open-air market. Vendors called out in melodic Italian, offering their wares to the bustling crowd. The air was thick with the scents of fresh herbs, ripe fruits, and the mouthwatering aroma of baked goods. It was a far cry from the dreariness of London, and that was exactly how Hariel Potter liked it. A complete change from everything that she had grown up knowing and experiencing over her entire lifespan.
She strolled through the market, her steps unhurried as she took in the sights and sounds. The last few years had been a whirlwind, to say the least. Defeating Voldemort had come at a steep price—too many friends lost, too many nightmares that followed her even into the light of day. After the war, she had left England, leaving behind the world that had demanded so much from her.
Italy had called to her, its warm embrace a stark contrast to the cold memories of her past. Here, she was not the Girl Who Lived. Here, she was simply Hariel, a woman with no ties, no burdens, and no one who knew of her past. But even in this peaceful haven, there was an itch she couldn’t quite scratch, a sense of unease that settled in the back of her mind.
She paused at a fabric stall, her fingers brushing over the soft silks and delicate lace. The vendor, an elderly woman with a warm smile, began to speak rapidly in Italian, praising the quality of her goods. Hariel smiled back, nodding politely as she considered purchasing a length of deep green fabric. It reminded her of the Slytherin colors, a part of her life she had long since made peace with.
As she reached out to touch the fabric, her senses prickled—a familiar feeling, one that had saved her life more than once during the war. She remained calm, her hand still on the fabric, but her eyes flickered slightly, catching the reflection in the polished metal of a nearby display.
A man in a suit, dark and inconspicuous, was watching her from a distance. She would have dismissed him as just another passerby, but something about his stance, the way his eyes tracked her every movement, set her instincts on high alert.
It wasn’t just him. Another man, dressed similarly, was lingering near a fruit stall, his gaze occasionally darting in her direction. And then, as she subtly turned her head, she spotted two more, all positioned strategically around her.
A trap.
Hariel let out a breath, feigning interest in the fabric as her mind raced. Why now? Why here? She hadn’t used magic in weeks, hadn’t done anything to draw attention to herself. It didn’t make sense.
She leaned forward as if to touch the fabric before a voice began whispering loud enough for her to hear but not for anyone else to pick up, “Don’t look now, but behind you and to the left, you have four men following you. They started following you from the moment you entered the market.”
The voice, low and smooth, cut through her thoughts like a knife. She hadn’t noticed anyone approach, but there he was, standing right beside her as if he had been there the whole time. He was dressed in a sharp, tailored suit that screamed money and danger, a fedora perched on his head at a jaunty angle, and his dark eyes gleamed with amusement.
She stiffened slightly, not out of fear, but because of the raw power she could feel radiating from him. This was no ordinary man. He was someone who was used to command, to control—and she wasn’t sure if that made him a friend or foe.
Without turning her head, she replied just as quietly, “They’re not following me. They’re following you.”
He chuckled, a low, dangerous sound that sent a shiver down her spine. “Well, well, how observant of you. And here I thought I was just here to enjoy the market.”
“Maybe you are,” she said, her tone even, “but they’re not.”
He turned his head slightly, just enough to confirm what she had told him. The men, now aware that they had been spotted, were moving in, their postures shifting from casual to predatory. The situation was rapidly escalating, and Hariel could feel the tension in the air thickening.
“So, what’s the plan?” she asked, her voice calm despite the adrenaline beginning to course through her veins.
“The plan,” he said, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “is to get out of here without attracting too much attention. Wouldn’t want to ruin a perfectly good market day, now would we?”
Hariel couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at her lips. “You’ve got a lot of confidence, haven’t you?”
He glanced at her, and for the first time, she saw something flicker in his eyes—interest, perhaps. “When you’re the best, confidence isn’t a problem.”
“Best at what?” she asked, though she had a suspicion she already knew.
“Everything,” he replied smoothly, tipping his hat slightly as he began to move. “Stay close.”
And she did, slipping into step beside him as they weaved through the market. The men behind them weren’t subtle—they had abandoned any pretense of blending in, now focused solely on their targets. The market was busy, filled with people who were blissfully unaware of the tension that hung in the air like a storm cloud, but Hariel knew that could change in an instant.
“Who are they?” she asked quietly as they rounded a corner, the noise of the market dulling slightly.
“Associates of mine,” he said, though his tone suggested they were anything but. “Seems they’re unhappy with some of my recent decisions.”
“Decisions that involve me?”
He glanced at her, that same amused glint in his eyes. “No. But it seems they’ll involve you now.”
“Great,” she muttered under her breath, already mentally preparing herself for the worst.
They moved quickly, taking turns down narrow alleys and slipping through side streets until they finally emerged into a quieter part of the city. The buildings here were older, the streets narrower, and the shadows longer. It was the perfect place for a confrontation, and Hariel knew they were running out of time.
“They’re not going to give up, you know,” she said, glancing behind them to see the men still in pursuit.
“They never do,” he replied, his tone almost bored. “But that’s what makes it fun.”
“Fun?” She shot him a look that was half incredulous, half impressed. “You’ve got a strange definition of fun.”
He grinned, a sharp, dangerous thing that made her heart skip a beat. “You’re going to love it.”
They turned another corner, and suddenly, the men were upon them. Hariel barely had time to react before the first one lunged at her, a knife glinting in his hand. But she was quicker, years of training and battle honing her reflexes to a razor’s edge. She sidestepped his attack, using his momentum against him to send him crashing into the wall.
The man in the fedora—Reborn, as she would later learn—was already moving, his hands a blur as he disarmed one of the men and sent him sprawling to the ground. There was a fluidity to his movements, a lethal grace that spoke of years of experience and an unshakeable confidence.
The fight was short, brutal, and efficient. Hariel found herself impressed despite the situation. She was no stranger to combat, but this man—whoever he was—fought like it was an art form.
In less than a minute, the men were either unconscious or incapacitated, and Reborn stood over them with a look of mild annoyance. “Amateurs,” he muttered, dusting off his suit as if the entire ordeal had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
Hariel, catching her breath, looked at him with newfound respect. “You’re good.”
He smirked, adjusting his hat. “I told you. I’m the best.”
“Reborn, right?” she asked, recalling the name she had overheard earlier from one of the men.
He arched an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “So, you’ve heard of me.”
“Who hasn’t?” she replied, her tone light, but there was a serious undertone to her words. “The World’s Greatest Hitman.”
His smirk widened, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, perhaps. “And you are?”
She hesitated for a fraction of a second before deciding there was no harm in telling him. “Hariel Potter.”
Recognition flashed in his eyes, and she knew immediately that he had heard of her as well. “The Girl Who Lived,” he said, his voice laced with intrigue. “I didn’t expect to run into you here.”
“The world’s a small place,” she said with a shrug, though she was keenly aware of the gravity of this encounter. “But I didn’t expect to run into you either.”
“Well,” he said, stepping closer, his gaze intense, “it seems fate has a way of bringing the most interesting people together.”
She met his gaze, unflinching. “Fate or trouble?”
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down her spine. “With me, they’re one and the same.”
“Good to know,” she replied, her voice steady even as her heart raced.
There was a beat of silence between them, charged with an unspoken understanding. Despite the chaos of their meeting, there was something undeniable between them—a connection forged in the heat of battle and the dance of shadows.
Reborn was the first to break the silence, his tone shifting to something more businesslike. “You should go. Those men won’t be the last, and you don’t want to get involved in this.”
Hariel tilted her head slightly, considering his words. She knew he was right—getting involved with the likes of Reborn was dangerous, even for someone like her. But there was something about him, something that drew her in despite the warning bells ringing in her head.
“And what if I want to get involved?” she asked, her voice steady and challenging.
Reborn’s eyes darkened, his expression unreadable. “Then you’d better be prepared for what that means.”
She met his gaze head-on, a determined glint in her eyes. “I’m not afraid of a little trouble.”
A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. “I didn’t think you would be.”
With that, he turned and began to walk away, his steps measured and unhurried. Hariel watched him go, her mind racing with the implications of what had just happened. She knew she should let him go, should stay as far away from him as possible.
But something in her had already made the decision.
Without a second thought, she started after him, her pace quickening until she was walking beside him once more.
“You’re persistent,” he remarked, not bothering to look at her.
“I’ve been called worse,” she replied with a smirk.
He glanced at her then, something akin to respect in his eyes. “Alright, Hariel Potter. Let’s see what you’re made of.”
And with that, the two of them walked into the shadows together, ready to face whatever fate—or trouble—had in store for them.