Chapter Text
Harry pushed open the door to his favourite coffee shop, a tinkling bell announced his arrival. He was greeted by the familiar sight of the owner, who wanted everyone to call her Tonks, behind the counter.
The walls were adorned with different artworks and photographs. Potted plants of all shapes and sizes dotted the space, lending a touch of greenery to the cosy interior. Sunlight streamed in through the large windows, casting warm patches of light onto the wooden tables and mismatched chairs.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped Harry as he made his way to his usual spot by the corner window. He exchanged greetings with the regulars scattered around the café, their laughter and chatter adding to the lively ambiance.
Settling into his seat, Harry couldn't help but smile. This little café was his sanctuary – a haven of comfort and familiarity in the midst of the city's chaos.
His steaming Pumpkin Spice Latte sat on the table in front of him, and short while later his attention was fully absorbed by the book cradled in his hands.
From his peripheral vision, he caught glimpses of the other regulars, each engrossed in their own activities. The air hummed with the buzz of conversation, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the occasional clink of coffee cups. A well-known pop song played softly in the background, its catchy melody weaving through the lively atmosphere.
Lost in the pages of his book, Harry reached for his mug, taking a sip of his hot drink. The doorbell jingled and a group of people could be heard entering the café. Harry ignored the increasing noise and put his cup back down.
In the blink of an eye, chaos erupted. A voice cried out and the sound of gunfire rang out. With a jolt, Harry dropped his book, distraught, and threw himself behind the large houseplant that stood in the corner directly behind his table. His heart hammered against his ribcage, each beat echoing in his ears. Tremors wracked his entire body, his muscles tense with the primal urge to flee, yet anchored in place by fear.
His mind raced, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions colliding with dizzying intensity. What was happening?
The screaming didn't cease, nor did the rhythmic gunshots. Harry heard a child crying and a woman screaming hysterically.
The green-eyed boy folded in on himself and placed his head between his knees. His arms wrapped around his legs, he pressed himself into a tight ball. It was as if his body was no longer under his control. He was trembling incessantly and his ears were buzzing.
After a while, the noise gradually diminished until the entire shop fell silent. The silence was overwhelming. To Harry it was more unsettling than the chaos that had previously reigned. His ears still rang from the hail of gunshots and screams that filled the air just seconds before. Fear of the unknown perpetrators cursed through his veins.
Eventually, the black-haired man could hear muffled sobs and harsh voices. Carefully he raised his head from its protective position and peered over the edge of the pot into the room. He needed to know what happened and if he was still in danger.
It was carnage. Windows were destroyed, the pictures on the wall were either perforated or covered in blood splatters. Even the numerous plants had a reddish sheen, as if they had been sprinkled with red paint. Tables and chairs had been knocked over. The entire floor was covered in red puddles and bloody shoe prints. It smelled of iron. Harry was convinced he would never be able to forget that particular odor again.
Guests who had been happily enjoying their coffee with their friends and relatives moments earlier were now lying where they had fallen, covered in blood and motionless. Their body’s shattered by senseless violence. A stark contrast to the vibrant energy that had once filled the room. Quiet hysterical sobs fell from Harry's lips.
Amidst this gruesome spectacle, there stood a group of individuals dressed in black tactical gear. They wore strange ornate silver masks and black hoods. Their attire was stained with blood and Harry could recognise firearms in their hands. The young man slapped a hand over his mouth in horror and ducked behind the potted plant again.
A jolt went through him as he tried to suppress his horror. Tears streamed down his cheeks and he struggled to keep his sobs as quiet as possible. He dared not move, barely breathing terrified of being caught.
"What do we have here?"
Harry flinched, his eyes widening in shock, and looked up into the direction of the deep male voice. Green eyes met terrifying red ones. The rest of the face was covered by a beautifully crafted emerald green mask. One side was splashed in red.
Harry just managed to stop himself from crying out loud. His heart racing, he backed away, squeezing himself even further into the narrow gap behind the plant. His eyes were firmly fixed on the figure. The red eyes behind the mask flashed with curiosity. It was as though the person was studying him, assessing him in some unfathomable way.
The individual in the mask emitted a low, amused chuckle. He crouched down and cocked his head. Suddenly a gloved hand reached out to grab Harry by the arm. Frightened, Harry tried to dodge, but it didn't work as he was already crouched against the wall.
A large, slender hand wrapped itself around his upper arm and pulled gently.
"Come on, little one. Hide and seek is over." The voice had a reassuring tone to it, but there was also a note of authority. Harry shook his head frantically and another tear rolled down his cheek. He didn't want to know what this terrifying man might do to him if he came out from his hiding place. He didn't want to die.
Frozen with fear, he watched the man in front of him, who sighed in annoyance and reached behind him. When Harry saw his gloved hand re-emerge again, he gasped in panic. His heart was pounding against his chest again, as if it wanted to break out.
The man sitting in a crouch in front of him had pulled a machine gun onto his lap. It was strapped to a belt that was wrapped around the masked man's upper body. Panicked tendrils of fear gripped Harry's heart, squeezing tight as he frantically looked back and forth between the gun and the red eyes. Desperate he attempted to make sense out of this nightmare. What should he do?
"Now, are you coming out of there, sweetie?"
Harry thought he could hear a smirk in his voice. He was visibly trembling as he nodded and attempted to crawl out of the gap. With the help of the firm grip on his arm, he managed to do so. He was immediately grabbed by the shoulders and pulled upwards. On shaky legs, Harry came to a halt and could now see the full extent of the room. His breath coming in shallow gasps as he surveyed what was once his sanctuary. His stomach turned as he spotted a familiar mop of purple hair covered in blood on the floor. A loud sob escaped him and he squeezed his eyes shut.
Suddenly he was caught by a long arm that wound around his shoulders, and in the next moment his face was pressed against a firm torso, covered in a dark armoured vest. The smell of clean laundry, expensive whiskey and perfume that reached his nostrils was overshadowed by iron and smoke.
"Don't look."
The voice sounded close to his ear and a hand moved to the back of Harry’s head. His body shook with sobs, the tears streaming from his eyes, soaking the armoured vest of the person opposite him. The man against whose chest Harry was pressed was at least two heads taller than him and had a well-built, slim figure. The aura he exuded was one of power.
"Boss, we've got them all."
Harry turned away from the chest and caught sight of one of the people in a silver mask. The individual shifted his weight from one foot to the other in a somewhat nervous manner. In one of his hands, he also held a firearm. Clearly, he was afraid of the person he spoke to.
The man holding Harry in his arms spoke with a much colder voice than the one he had used to speak to Harry. "Are you sure about that? I can see someone else who is clearly still breathing." Harry's breath caught in his throat as a cold wave of dread washed over him, sending shivers rippling through his trembling frame. The realization hit him like a sledgehammer – this was it; he was going to die. With a heavy heart, Harry thought, that at least he would see his parents again.
The man in the green mask must have noticed his increased anxiety, because the large hand on the back of Harry's head began to pat him in a soothing way. As if he was trying to lull Harry into a sense of security. Harry could feel the gloved fingers thread through his hair. He shivered.
The silver mask cleared its throat awkwardly. " ‘s just a little girl, sir."
Shocked, Harry’s head whipped up in a flash and he scanned the room. Sure enough, the probably only child who had been in the café was standing next to her dead mother, crying. The small frame was wrecked by sobs. He wanted to run up to the little girl, hold her tight in his arms and tell her that everything would be okay. But the arm still tightly wound around his shoulder stopped him.
An annoyed groan sounded from the apparent leader. It caused the chest, which Harry was pressed against, to rumble. "Idiots. Do I have to do everything myself?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the man reach for his machine gun. Then the world slowed to a cruel, grinding halt.
The barrel of the gun was pointed at the little girl and without hesitation, long gloved fingers pulled the trigger. Harry heard a scream and immediately his face was pressed against a chest once again. He knew that scream must have come from him. His whole body convulsed with violent tremors and his eyes burned from all the tears. In the deafening silence that followed, there was a roaring in his ears.
In that moment of vulnerability, Harry clung to the steady rhythm of the heartbeat beneath his cheek, a lifeline in the midst of a storm. The warmth of the embrace offered fleeting respite from the icy grip of terror.
"Shhh, it's all right, darling." The hand on the back of his head had started stroking him again.
Harry's body continued to tremble uncontrollably. Unable to form coherent words, Harry remained trapped in his shock. In the icy depths of his mind, the horror scene played out in a relentless loop, each gruesome detail stamped into his consciousness. The little girl's face smashed by bullets and collapsed in a pool of blood and brain matter. Harry felt sick.
A sigh sounded above his head. "I told you not to look." The man sounded patronising. Harry ignored him and squeezed his eyes tighter, hoping to get rid of the image of the dead girl. Unconsciously, the black-haired man pressed his face harder against the other man's torso, in his distress. The rational part of his brain knew that the man was at fault for this terror, but he was also Harry's shield against the gruesome reality.
The hand on the back of his head kept stroking him soothingly.
"Pack up and leave." The green-masked man spoke with a harsh and commanding tone into the room.
The noise around Harry intensified as the group, their movements frantic and urgent, prepared to leave, their voices raised in hurried conversation and their footsteps echoing on the wet floor.
Harry felt the taller man's breath in his hair as he leaned down and spoke quietly to him.
"I'm afraid I have to end our meeting here. The police. I'm sure you understand. But before I go, would you be so kind as to tell me your name, darling?" He sounded friendly with a commanding undertone. Harry stiffened and shook his head tentatively. Two gentle fingers found their way beneath his chin, tilting his head upwards with a determined gentleness that left him feeling exposed and vulnerable. Caught in the grip of the man's unwavering gaze, Harry felt as though he were being stripped bare, his innermost thoughts laid bare for scrutiny beneath the heavy stare of those piercing red eyes.
For a moment, Harry's mind raced with a thousand frantic questions, but one was the loudest. Will this man really let Harry live?
"Maybe that just sounded like a question. It wasn't," he stated, visibly irritated.
Harry wasn't about to reveal his name to this murderer. He clenched his jaw in defiance.
There was an exasperated groan and before Harry could react, he was spun around with startling force, his senses reeling from the abrupt motion.
In a swift and practiced motion, the masked man reached into Harry's trouser pocket, his fingers deftly retrieving the wallet nestled within.
With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Harry watched helplessly as the man rifled through his belongings, his heart pounding in his chest.
And then, with a triumphant flourish, the man produced Harry's ID from the depths of his wallet.
"Harry James Potter… Pleased to meet you." A finger gently stroked Harry's cheek and collected one of the many tears, that Harry had shed. A cold chill washed over him with a creeping sense of dread.
The ID card ended up back in his wallet, which in turn ended up in Harry's trouser pocket again.
The sheer horror of the situation threatened to overwhelm him, a suffocating weight pressing down on his chest with relentless force.
The realization that the psychotic murderer now possessed his name rooted him to the spot.
As the hooded figures departed one by one, the atmosphere in the café shifted from tense to desolate. Apart from Harry and the imposing leader, only two other individuals remained in the shop, their identities concealed behind silver masks that gleamed faintly in the dim light. Positioned near the door they exuded an aura of silent obedience as they waited patiently for their boss to depart.
The large hand of the red-eyed man lingered for a moment longer, a final caress against Harry's hair that sent a shiver coursing down his spine. And then, with a sense of quiet finality, the man strode out of the café with measured confidence, his departure marking the end of this horrific attack.
"Until next time, darling."