Rain has something inherently magical about it, despite its perfectly natural origins. Behind the closed windowpanes, heaven’s tears pattered down and raced each other along the glass like galloping horses on English lawn. Usually, Lorenzo liked watching the dark clouds gather and ready themselves to unleash their downpour. Their dark mass dulled the world, making it shimmer less brightly with color, exactly how the young Italian prefered it. Today, though, Lorenzo felt slightly differently about the weather. With his shoulders slumped, the not-yet-enrolled boy stood in 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐬. The unbearable cold feeling of wet clothes pressed against his skin. His black hair lay damp across his forehead, clinging to his face. Each strand behaved like a sleepy animal, pressing against his brows and temples as if trying to snuggle off exhaustion. Meanwhile, the books joined the discomfort‘s ranks. They were stacked up around him as though they intended to confine him even further. At least it was quiet; only a few older children—whom Lorenzo assumed were Hogwarts students—stood here and there around corners and at the counter to pay for their books. Quietly, he let his lower lip slip between his upper teeth, bit down on it softly, and released it as flushed pink and swollen. At least it distracted him a little from the stiff feeling the cold had draped over his hands like a curse. With a breath, Lorenzo finally pulled the list from his coat pocket. A drop from his hair fell onto the paper, smudging the water-soluble ink.

1x ℋℴℊ𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓈, 𝒜 ℋ𝒾𝓈𝓉ℴ𝓇𝓎

With attentive blue eyes, he shifted his gaze from the paper to the shelf beside him. It stood just inside shop‘s entrance area, towering to the left of the door. The schoolbooks starting with H were arranged along the lower section, stacked row upon row up to the ceiling. Like a small army of educational envoys, the leather-bound volumes pressed together. In his childish eyes they clearly were lined up like soldiers, respectable and courageous to teach the yet uneducated. His breath trembled faintly as he slipped the ruined note back into the clammy pocket of his coat and let his eyes roam over the soldier‘s badges. Each spine had meticulously the title stamped into leather. In the middle section, the Hogwarts textbooks began. He was suddenly grateful he had written the note himself. At least this way he could be sure it was Hogwarts, A History he needed, not Hogwarts: A Historium and neither Hogwarts: A Historical Mystery. His fingers were already starting to curl into his sleeves. The wet texture pressed itself under his fingernails when, at long last, the desired book fell into his line of sight. A row higher up, a few copies still seemed to be waiting for a new owner. Meanwhile A gap lower down still sang the lament of purchased books with the chorus: You were too late, Lorenzo. Why did you only come to this shop at the end of August?. The unspoken question seemed intent on scolding him from above, casting stern leather-bound eyes down at him from the gap. At least his father wasn’t here to join in. The elder Vincenti was at the bank, attending to business matters while Lorenzo had set off alone to handle the last errands for his start at Hogwarts.

There was no choice left but to claim one of the books from the upper row. While considering how to approach this problem, he cast a quick glance toward the counter. The shopkeeper was no longer there, neither assisting customers nor lingering nearby with his back turned and busy hands.
Lorenzo’s shoulders tried to regain some semblance of poise, a practiced confidence he didn’t quite feel, even as he turned his gaze back to the coveted book. Somehow, he would manage it alone. A mere bit of extra height should hardly deter a future Vincenti wizard!
The child looked around. Two crates lingered nearby, stacked half-diagonally atop each other, dusty and suspiciously left open as if they were waiting for something. Perhaps it was to support him in this. The cold hands grasped the edge. He pushed and pulled, using his hip to wedge the two boxes firmly against the shelf. Studying them, the trembling fingers were placed on the top crate and gave it a tentative tap. Lorenzo couldn’t have described precisely the reason, but the dull, hollow sound whispered that it was empty to his ears. Even so, Lorenzo didn’t deliberate long about his plan. May it be immature hope driving him or ignorant determination, fueled. Schooled by private tutors, he based his solution on a rough understanding of statics and physics—trusting that if he placed his feet near the corners, the edges would hold.

With this thought lodged firmly in his mind, he forced himself to stop noticing the chill that had long since conquered his back. The boy climbed onto the heavy, full lower crate. Like a staircase far too tall for a kid his size, he tackled the gap with stern determination.
It was shaking. Lorenzo immediately braced himself with one hand against the shelf as soon as his foot landed on the edge. The other followed, planting itself on the opposite corner- He had to stand at a diagonal just to keep his balance. Yet his knees—still stiff from the rain—trembled. It was one of those moments when a child realizes an idea isn’t going nearly as well as planned. Additional to that a plan takes more than a small spark of inspiration and blind trust in one’s own joints! Especially when this trust had never existed in the first place. Rigid and shivering, he teetered like an inelegant acrobat whose spine was trying to impersonate a monarch. Lorenzo tipped his head back slightly, eyes climbing to his target: the book. The child stretched one hand toward it, curled his fingers around the spine, and gave a tug. Like the last soldier dug in to defend the fort, it didn’t budge an inch.

“Please…” he whispered, frustration pooling in his eyes as he pulled harder.

In a desperate attempt to free it, he let the spine dance a shimmy, when all of sudden his foot moved along. It shifted inward, onto the upper surface of the empty box. The weight under his foot vanished like an alarm bell warning him he was about to fall. The entire leg crashed down in the very same instant. Lorenzo lost his balance, sucking in a sharp gasp as his eyes flew wide. As he toppled backward, he clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for the impact.

Summer had flown by in the blink of an eye. It felt like it was just yesterday he'd last been to London, eating sundaes with Carina and then off to commit crimes with Aleks in one of the most posh areas of London. The memory still made him roll his eyes, more than a month later. It had gotten a bit too close to being caught by the police for Aiden's liking. Aleks might be able to avoid the law, being a pureblood without a social security number, but Aiden was not. He would have to suffer the consequences if police found him. Though, he supposed it would be more suspicious to not have a number, if they had gotten caught.

Of course, at mere twelve and a half years old, he didn't have much to worry about. They didn't even keep a criminal record at that age. But to his still under-developed brain, he couldn't rationalize that far. They'd gotten out unscathed in the end, except for his friends trousers. That had been the last time he'd heard from... well, anyone. No letters. No calls (figured). No nothing. Aiden convinced himself he didn't care, but somewhere, deep, deep down, he wondered if he would be returning to any friends at all. The thought made him feel sick.

To avoid feeling something, Aiden had occupied himself to the point where he didn't have the time to think about anyone else. Unless he kept himself busy, he would start to think too much. It was also a means to avoid his aunt asking questions. Of course, not thinking didn't last forever.

Since early july, Aiden had spent most of his day at his aunt Caroline's home, helping out with yard work and playing soccer with the neighboring kids. Muggle, of course, but he didn't mind. Most of his childhood had been muggle. It was technically his home now too, after his mother passed away many years ago, but he was struggling to feel at home anywhere. His mom was dead, his father a deadbeat fucker, and he hadn't heard words from his so-called friends in more than a month. What was he supposed to feel?

Absolutely nothing, though not even Aiden believed himself.

There was still a few days left of summer for some, but not for Aiden. He was leaving for Hogwarts tomorrow- a few days too early. Aunt Caroline's work had required her to pack her bags and leave for the States within a day, and since Aiden couldn't be left alone at home, he had to return to school. Living with his dad- even for a few days- was not an option. It was not a terrible fate; He quite liked the scottish highlands, if only because of the friends he'd made there. If they still were friends, that was.

Caroline dropped him off at Diagon Alley, hugged and kissed him goodbye, before faring farewell for the next upcoming months. Until Christmas. Aiden swallowed hard behind the stoic expression. As much as he didn't want to admit it, and considering how easy it was for him to cut people out of his life, goodbyes- those that mattered- were difficult.

Alone, Aiden browsed the familar shops with his supply list ready in hand; This time looking for items for his second year. Not much of a shopper in general, Aiden was happy that it wasn't nearly as long as it had been last year. He needed new, plain black robes after growing a few centimetres over the year, but other than that he was mainly looking for books listed on the new curriculum. With Madam Malkin's out of the way, his final stop was Flourish and Blotts. Going in with the purpose to look for books- and avoid the rain- Aiden was quickly side-tracked.

Barely one step inside the store, Aidens gaze mindlessly drifted to the first ceiling high bookshelf to the left, where a younger boy was reaching for one of the books on one of the higher shelves. Just out of reach. He caught a glimpse of deep, glowing clear skin at the temple, the angle of a perfectly straight nose. The sweeping curve beneath it ended in a soft, full mouth. He analyzed the profile from an artist perspective (and attraction, of course), how he would begin to draw him, given the chance. Even with his face deep in concentration: captivating.

It wasn't the fact that it looked like he would topple over any minute that made him stop in his tracks- well, that too- but how he seemed to radiate, even inside the glum store. A crease appeared between his brows, confused by his own strange reaction. He hadn't even seen the boys face, yet something about him made him irk to approach... And something else that he couldn't quite put his finger on. It wasn't exactly a pleasant feeling for someone like him who needed full control in all aspects of his life, but it was too strong to ignore.

Consumed by a feeling that- if he allowed himself to reflect that deeply- could be considered yearning, Aiden was already on his way to approach. To say what, he had no idea. Maybe it was simple curiosity to see if the front of his face was just as beautiful. He'd already forgotten that the stunner was struggling to reach a book, enough to warrant approaching, until the perfect ice-breaker presented itself. The boy finally got the book—only to drop it just as quickly as he lost his balance.

Before any lasting damage—or embarrassment—could be done, Aiden swept in smoothly. He caught the book in one hand, and with the other, wrapped his arm around the shorter boy’s waist. "Careful now." Glancing down at him, already wearing one of his signature smirks, Aiden was ready to deliver a teasing—yet accurate—comment, when he froze. Caught with his gaze somewhere between dark blue eyes and his mouth, parted just enough to betray surprise. What the...

He’d seen many pretty girls, even boys, lately—but this was something else entirely. Striking in a way that didn’t feel real. Aiden found himself staring, his usual collected poise slipping without permission.

It felt like an eternity before he finally found his voice. His expression had somewhat returned to normal. "...You don't want to hurt yourself," he said at last, the words landing far less smoothly than intended. "Are you alright?" Shouldn't you be asking yourself that? A traitorous voice inside him said.

In the midst of falling, Lorenzo braced himself for the expected impact. The book slipped free of his fingers and dropped after him. Tension pulled his shoulders tighter against his body as the last scrap of balance deserted his other foot. He tumbled backwards off the boxes, feeling the air-resistance meet damp clothes and body. A sharp breath cut into his lungs, as he steeled himself for pain. Only to land in something warm and startlingly comfortable. Lorenzo instinctively claws a hand into it. A fresh scent, as if a summer meadow was touched by dew, rushed into his nose. For a surreal heartbeat, the Italian almost expected to open his eyes and find himself in heaven—departed from the living plane by a broken neck. Dead after falling off a cardboard box, before he could be sorted and start his life at Hogwarts. It wouldn’t have been the most honorable end, but still worthy of a quietly embarassed acknowledgement. His heart was pounding, pushing forcefully the adrenaline to leave his limbs. It made his shoulders gradually relax, unconsciously pressing closer to the warmth. When all of sudden, like a whip crack, the realization stormed his mind: there was an arm around his waist! It was not a book lodged in his back, since books weren‘t warm. The sensitive Italian could feel someone’s breath near his ear. It ultimately signed and delivered the calamity that someone had caught him and he, indeed, wasn‘t dead.
His lips parted in surprise. Lorenzo’s blue eyes flew open, fixing on the unfamiliar presence above him. The fingers of his left hand curled deeper into something soft. He expected to find the shop owner had caught him, perhaps a worried old lady or the worst possible option: his father with a critical gaze. All fears aside, it was a boy. Instead of a meadow surrounding Lorenzo, the green he saw belonged to blades of grass mirrored in the boy’s eyes—vividly framed by thick black lashes.
Dark hair lay slightly damp over his ears, curling with an effortless confidence across perfectly sun-kissed skin. Lorenzo couldn’t shift his eyes off of him. Without thinking, he pressed closer against the arm, his fingers tightening in the dark fabric, now fully aware it belonged to the other boy.

He had no sense of how quickly the seconds were slipping by. The chill of the rain was forgotten. Warmth unfurled from the place where the arm held him and climbed his spine to settle in his shoulders and neck. In his young, innocently unexperienced age, he had never felt anything similar. Despite years under private tutors, poring over books about friendship, no one had ever mentioned that time would freeze! Lorenzo no longer intended to close his lips. Instead, he searched every edge hidden in those green cliffs of pupils, half-convinced he ought to draw himself a map so he wouldn’t be lost there for hours more.
When the stranger’s voice finally broke the hush “Careful now”, time began to move again, as if the words had unplugged the stuffed hourclock. Probably only a second had passed since Lorenzo had fallen into his arms, and yet the boy felt the memory of hours of admiring. With his wild thoughts in disarray, Lorenzo slowly shifted his weight back onto his own feet. The taller boy turned his head, his mouth curling into a grin, revealing a smile so perfect it kept Lorenzo‘s lips agape.

”Sì”(eng. yes), fell from Lorenzos mouth, as quietly as a hushed sound.

With those green eyes fixed on his blue ones, the warmth of the boy’s arm felt even more tangible beneath the damp fabric of the sleeve. It was as if the other’s body was quietly inviting Lorenzo to wrap his arms around him for a grateful hug, or—entirely inappropriate for two boys—hold his hand. “…You don’t want to hurt yourself,” the taller of the two added, before asking gently if Lorenzo was all right.
At long last, the Italian closed his lips. Lorenzo blinked, only now realizing how dry his eyes had become from staring. He felt almost pitiful—his fingers, like some unruly part of himself, refused to let go of the sleeve. Lorenzo had to swallow, and without meaning to, pressed his shoulder just slightly back against the other boy’s body. Every place where only his own cold and wet clothes clung to his skin seemed to ache for an embrace, as if the curly-haired boy could somehow solve all his troubles with nothing more than closeness.

“Yes, thank you… the credit belongs fully to you,” Lorenzo replied, forcing his brain cells to cooperate.

If only to appear competent enough not to annoy the boy. Of all things today he didn‘t want him to leave. “My name is Lorenzo… what is yours?”, the boy quietly added, attempting to smile as calmly as practiced at home. His fingers rubbed over the sleeve‘s texture, trying to regain a sense of control over his senses.

A word in another language escaped the boys mouth. Despite not speaking the language personally, he knew enough to know that it meant 'yes' in Italian. The first metaphorical puzzle piece to map out exactly who this was. The language meant nothing significant to him, except that it gave the boy some context that he'd been lacking until now. There were still a lot of more things to figure out before he could leave without major regrets later. One more thing that confused him—Aiden was usually never eager to learn more about strangers. Even his relationships with the people he knew were mostly superficial.

Even after the reveal that Aiden - a stranger- had caught him mid fall, the boy remained clutched in his arms, fingers digging into his arm like he was still at risk of falling. Aiden wasn't holding on to him tightly - he could have easily slipped out of his arms - but he remained there. And Aiden was content with him being there for a while longer. Looking into that gorgeous face, the deep blue eyes... a possessive voice crawled its way up his mind. It festered with claw-like fingers and refused to leave, like it had been waiting for the right moment before showing its ugly face. He wanted - needed - him to stay there forever. It was unpleasant. Refusing to acknowledge it for what it was, Aiden ignored it to the best of his abilities.

Caving in to the voice- but still looking all the amount of calm he pretended to be (was, in some cases) - Aiden's restraint slipped and his arm tightened around his waist, holding him close enough that it would require some pull to get away. He hoped he wouldn't try. It pleased him to feel the (assumed) italian boy press his shoulder closer against him. And that he knew English. Not that he needed to understand him if he could just stand here and stare at him forever.

“Yes, thank you… the credit belongs fully to you. My name is Lorenzo… what is yours?”

The voice was as beautiful as the rest of him, luring him in further. The name also further confirmed what he'd already pieced together. Aiden returned his smile, just a tug at the corners of his mouth, but undeniably warm.

"No credit needed. I'm Aiden," he answered warmly. So distracted by Lorenzo's eyes and perfect mouth, he'd forgotten how they ended up in this situation in the fist place, until the book in his hand started to feel heavy. In case Lorenzo himself had forgotten, he raised it up in front of him. "You're shopping for your first year at Hogwarts, I assume? You'll need this back then," he handing the book over to Lorenzo with a slightly amused smile, now when he wasn't falling from makeshift ladders. Normally, watching someone nearly eat dirt from falling from a bookshelf would’ve drawn an eye-roll at best. But when it was Lorenzo tripping over, it was weirdly charming. Especially when it landed him in his arms.

"I'm buying some school supplies too," he added. "For my second year. Do you need help looking for anything else?" A smirk tugged at his lips. "I'd hate to see you injure yourself before term even starts." It would have been a crime to not see him again. Mostly, he was looking for an excuse to stay by his side a little bit longer.

With the weight partially returned to his own frozen feet, it became easier to reclaim some awareness along and for his spine. Still, he kept his posture tilted gently back, leaning into the warmth of the hand behind him. It felt essential—like a blanket draped over a trembling patient, just after anemia had left their veins wanting for substitute fluids. With that same comforting warmth, the stranger replied—his name was Aiden. The syllables rolled across Lorenzo’s tongue in a fleeting daydream, silent to everyone‘s ears. The name was truly a beautiful calling, and on first impression, it fit: modern in sound, yet balanced against the classic curls framing the boy’s features. Lorenzo considered telling him, at the very least in a fleeting remark, but in the same breath, he decided against it. Out of fear of seeming odd, he chose to keep the unspoken compliment folded away, tucked alongside the other noiseless opinions scattered through his mind. There, where those words were stored, that kept being stuck in his throat week in , day out.
Had his rescuer not lifted the book in the very next moment, it likely would’ve been forgotten altogether. Although the young Italian had rushed through the rain to this very shop just to get it, his shopping list simply wasn't as interesting anymore compared to the warm hand. Lorenzo’s gaze drifted to the spine that had looked down on him with arrogant grandiosity only minutes earlier. A subtle, critical tension hinted at the corners of his mouth.
“You’re shopping for your first year at Hogwarts, I assume? You’ll need this back then,” Aiden’s words accompanied the handover. Lorenzo accepted the item, but for it, he had to peel his fingers away from the soft, warmed texture of Aiden’s sleeve. Naturally, that came with the faintest flicker of hesitation, when all he wanted was to hold on. The blue eyed Vincenti heir had already suspected the taller boy was older. The assumption was confirmed when the latter mentioned he too was shopping—though for his second year instead of the first. The information came with the perfect follow-up question: one that extended an invitation to stay together. Lorenzo’s heart gave a relieved little leap. Though the actual feelings tangled beneath it still sat like an unsolved riddle in his rapidly beating chest. A soft heat wanted to cling to his cheeks but the freezing cold and damp clothes hindered it.

“Yes, I am and that would be indeed wonderful, Aiden. I still need to go to 𝓟𝓸𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓮'𝓼 𝓒𝓪𝓾𝓵𝓭𝓻𝓸𝓷 𝓢𝓱𝓸𝓹, but I’m not exactly sure where it is. All those streets are confusing..” Lorenzo explained, outlining his plan for the day. He brushed his fingers across the leathery cover of his new book, trying to reclaim a friendly bond with the villain of his trip. “I’ll just pay for this first—I’ll be right back. Perhaps you can wait outside already.”

It burned against his skin to turn away from the warmth and take the short path toward the counter alone. The moment Aiden’s arm was no longer wrapped around his back, the wet fabric of his coat and shirt struck like a cold lash on a heated surface. It wouldn't even surprise him to hear the hissing noise. The clothes felt clung to him closer and a whole lot damper than before. With his back now turned to Aiden, Lorenzo’s eyes slowly tightened with the initial discomfort. His final step toward the counter was noticeably quicker than the others—a subtle attempt to return sooner to the presence of the boy he’d just met.
The payment went by rather quickly. Lorenzo handed the coins to the shopkeeper and accepted with a quiet nod and a word of gratitude the offer to place the book in a paper bag to shield it partially from the rain. His polite smile returned as well, the kind a well-trained dog might wear while performing its best tricks, even in a foul mood, hungry and kicked.

With the book tucked under his arm and on his way back, Lorenzo observed Aiden deliberately through the glass door. Thinking of, the older boy would be starting his second year at Hogwarts—meaning he wouldn’t be in the same class. The thought revealed itself with a faint twist of his lips. Disappointment joined the growing queue of emotions waiting to be unpacked. Somewhere between one breath and the next, he’d already fantasized about sharing a desk with Aiden, doing homework side by side, maybe even whispering about their days in the same dorm room at night.
Instead, he was now stepping out of the shop toward a boy who’d always be a year above him. Aiden—no longer a possible classmate, but a new acquaintance just beyond reach. With a small smile, Lorenzo hoped at the very least they’d end up in the same house. That said, he was nearly certain to end in Ravenclaw. And so, to spare himself the sting of asking and not hearing the blue House in return, Lorenzo left the question unspoken.

“The book has been successfully acquired, and I am, in theory, ready to go wherever you need to go—or wherever I need to go, if that place happens to be the cauldron shop,” Lorenzo announced, adding a polite nod to himself as if to underscore the statement with utmost civility.

His indirect invite to spend more time together was not dismissed, to his may. The Italian boy needed to go to the Cauldron Shop before this shopping trip was over, and Aiden felt he would be stupid to not take him there. If he wasn't there, staking his claim (that he didn't actually have), someone else definitely would. Just the thought of anyone else taking his place - earning that timid and grateful smile for a simple, helpful gesture - pissed him off like nothing else. Not even Sophie from Defense class could have prompted that kind of irritation from him. Though she'd been pretty damn close.

For whatever reason he felt this way about Lorenzo, Aiden couldn't yet tell you, except that he wanted more time to just look at him. Bask in his beauty. Talk too, sure, but the Slytherin wasn't usually known to be much of a talker. Unless it was for a good reason. Lorenzo was a good reason - or at least he suspected he might be worth the extra effort. The accent was quite attractive; His appearance and demure behavior was promising and alluring in a strange way, but he couldn't be sure there was anything more behind that gorgeous face of his. Not yet.

Aiden was yet to find a flaw - a crack in the perfect polish - and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing, or if he should be concerned. He didn't necessarily trust perfection - though who would he be to complain about perfection? As long as no one else could have it, there was no reason to not take as much as he could reach.

Aiden smiled in amusement. His inexperience - even if Aiden's own was nothing worth mentioning when it came to experiences of magical variety - was sweet. "Understandable. It's your first time." He didn’t bother mentioning his own mind-fucked first trip to Diagon Alley, afraid it would ruin his portrayed image as some kind of reliable protector. Getting thrown into the wizarding world after growing up Muggle was wild enough on its own. Technically he'd known of his magical heritage for years, but his mother died way before he ever reached an age were he could begin to harness his magic.

“I’ll just pay for this first—I’ll be right back. Perhaps you can wait outside already.”

Aiden nodded with a teasing smile, "Yes, I'll wait, ready in the rain." Unfortunately he hadn't brought an umbrella with him this time. With zero thought spared for the books he was supposed to buy—the whole reason he’d even come to Flourish and Blotts—Aiden stepped back out onto the street, slipping beneath the eaves and gutters of the shop to keep dry while he waited. It wasn’t until he stood there alone that the forgotten books even crossed his mind. He frowned, realizing that all his plans had quietly rearranged themselves the moment he laid eyes on Lorenzo. There was still time to go back in and get his errands done, technically—but before he could move, Lorenzo had already joined him.

And just like that, Aiden wasn’t thinking about anything else. That should have had alarm signals going off immediately.

"I have most of the items I need (except the books). We'll go wherever you need," Aiden reassured him, already slipping out if his jacket. The next stop was the Cauldron shop, anyway. His jacket was not rain proof, but definitely more tolerant than whatever material Lorenzo's outerwear was made out of. The boy was pretty soaked already, but he didn't have to get even more wet. "Here." Aiden stepped closer and draped an arm around Lorenzo’s shoulders, pulling him in. The younger boy tucked neatly beneath his arm as Aiden raised the jacket over both their heads, shielding them from the rain during the jog to the next shop.