[Giacomo]
[December, 1997, Hogsmeade]
It was a snowy day; even more so in the north where Hogsmeade lied. The village was unusually crowded for it was the almost-traditional weekend preceding Christmas when the students of Hogwars were unleashed upon the tiny shops to buy gifts for their families and friends, and everybody seemed to be enjoying themselves despite the rather controversial stance of the new regime. Or, more likely, because of that: it could have been viewed as one of the rare occasions to let out the steam and ignore politics.
Among the crowd, there was a tall figure moving on with unquestionable confidence. Perhaps he was not his unusual self in the crowd right now, as his winter clothing was not as different from the casual dressing code as his everyday outlook, but still he could not blend into the crowd perfectly. Firstly, there was an aura of confidence and self-awareness which was quite rare among the people of his age; secondly, and more materially, his walking stick with the silvery hawk-head on the top of it was anything but casual. Otherwise, everything you could see of him was his long, black coat with its hood up on his head to defend against the steadily falling snow.
His movement in the crowd was agile and careful: he maintained his speed without clashing into anyone on his way. His dislike of crowded places was a well-known secret; his ability to perfectly handle it was not – and that’s why he wanted to remain as hidden as possible. He liked to keep his skills for himself; in case of emergency, he would likely be able to pull out an unexpected rabbit from the hat to avoid the dire situations. Fortunately, he remained unnoticed and he quickly left the crowded main street in favour of the desolate alleyways. He made up his mind about his destination a long time before he left the castle.
For quite a few years, he strongly disliked The Hog’s Head: the dirty reputation of the pub was almost legendary as it moved on the lips of the Hogwarts’ students. Several stories circulated among the walls of the castle and even though some of them were pretty unbelievable, it was enough to keep him out from this place. As a youngling, he was the cautious type: he knew he was among the strongest of his age, but would be no match for even the weakest adult wizards or witches. Therefore, he avoided the place until he coincidently learnt the identity of the owner. From that point on, he stopped to believe the stories and legends – in fact, he became a regular here, visiting the place at every Hogsmeade-weekend. The solitude of the place was appealing for him: either he came alone or with a friend of his, he could avoid the curious eyes and the ever-disturbing acquaintances from the school.
He entered the building and his blue eyes flashed around, exploring the room. He saw a few familiar faces – nobody he knew, but the regular visitors of the place whom he saw during his previous visits. He also saw someone who might have been from the school but he decided to ignore the guy as he did not want any company at the given moment.
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Greetings, my dear Sir – he said as he approached the bartender. The old, stout man just snorted as a response to that almost-overly-polite greeting.
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I would like a Butterbeer, please. – he continued, but no words was necessary for in almost every case he ordered that drink and the bartender was already busy under the table to prepare it for him. As the older man presented it, the younger took the drink and nodded in appreciation: he did not need to pay for it yet; they agreed on him paying when he is leaving at the end of the day. He never got drunk, not even tipsy in most cases so that method held no danger for the bartender.
He picked up his drink and moved to his favourite table: it was in the corner of the room beside one of the small, dirty windows. He always moved here when he wanted to be alone…