Harry didn't immediately realise he was being followed.
At first the feeling was too faint, almost imperceptible — more intuition than certainty — but as he moved further from the scene of the incident, it didn't fade. Instead it sharpened, making him slow his pace every now and then and pay closer attention to what was happening around him.
He didn't look back.
Not yet.
If it was just nerves, turning around would only give him away. And if someone really was following him, it was better to be sure first before doing anything about it.
The city was changing gradually. Wide streets gave way to quieter neighbourhoods, where the flow of people thinned and the noise slowly died down, finally allowing him to focus on the thoughts that had been drowning in all the bustle before.
And those thoughts, honestly, were fairly grim.
He'd ended up in a world he didn't understand, surrounded by people with abilities that bore no resemblance to magic, with no money, no wand, and — most irritating of all — almost no reliable access to his own power.
As he walked, Harry carefully tried to reach for his magic without raising his hand, without doing anything that might draw attention. The response came, but weakly and diffusely, as if he were trying to reach something through a thick wall of water.
A second.
Another.
And the sensation was gone.
"Wonderful," he muttered under his breath.
If it stayed like this, any serious problem would very quickly become a disaster.
He turned a corner and slowed, as if simply trying to work out which way to go next, though what he was actually interested in was something else entirely. Across the street was a shop window that reflected part of the road behind him, and that was enough to check the unpleasant feeling without turning around directly.
Harry scanned the glass.
A couple of passers-by.
A woman with shopping bags.
A teenager with headphones.
And a tall, lean man who was keeping slightly apart from the others and clearly didn't look like an accidental feature of the landscape.
At first glance there was nothing remarkable about him. Ordinary clothes, an unremarkable face, even his posture — despite his height — seemed more uncertain than threatening. But something about the impression still snagged. The gaze was too attentive. The stillness too deliberate.
Harry looked away from the window and pretended to be far more interested in the sign above the door.
"Right," he thought. "Not imagining it, then."
He kept walking, now consciously varying his route, turning down streets he had no real reason to take, and slowing his pace a couple of times just enough to check whether the distance would hold.
It held.
The man kept following.
Not intrusively.
Not quickly.
But too consistently for it to be coincidence.
"Brilliant," Harry said quietly. "Now I'm being tailed on top of everything else."
He walked a little further and stopped at a drinks machine, pretending to puzzle over the labels — which, in fairness, wasn't entirely an act. He used the reflective surface again and confirmed what he already knew.
The same man.
The same attentive gaze.
And that same strange mixture of weariness and composure that Harry couldn't quite account for yet.
Run?
He could.
But it would be stupid.
If this was simple surveillance, trying to slip away would only confirm whatever suspicions they had. And if it was something more serious, running in his current magical state would be nothing short of absurd.
That left only one thing.
Harry turned around.
"Are you planning on following me all the way?" he asked calmly, though inside he was already fully on guard.
The man stopped and blinked, as if he hadn't expected to be addressed so directly.
"Ah," he said after a brief pause. "So you did notice."
It came out almost... sheepish.
Not like someone who'd been caught, but like someone who'd just realised they hadn't handled the task particularly gracefully.
Harry narrowed his eyes.
"It wasn't especially difficult."
"Yes, well," the man gave a small cough into his fist and glanced away, as if momentarily losing the thread of the conversation. "I could have been more... subtle."
A pause.
"Probably."
Harry blinked.
That was not quite the reaction he'd been expecting.
The man looked at him more carefully, and this time allowed himself a small smile — tired as it was.
The smile wasn't broad or performed, but there was something surprisingly warm in it, almost reassuring, as if he were trying to show that he meant no harm, even if the situation looked plainly odd.
"I apologise, young man," he said, steadier now. "I didn't mean to alarm you."
Young man.
Harry raised an eyebrow, just slightly.
"You have a very strange way of not doing that."
"A fair point," the man acknowledged with unexpected seriousness, then coughed again, quieter this time. "Ahem. It's just... you drew attention."
"By existing, or by nearly getting hit by a car?" Harry asked drily.
To his surprise, the man gave a brief, quiet laugh.
"Both, I'd imagine."
For a few seconds they simply looked at each other, and the longer the silence stretched, the stranger the general impression became. The stranger didn't look dangerous in the conventional sense, but calling him harmless would have been foolish. Beneath that weary exterior, there was something else — something very composed, very steady, and, perhaps, very powerful.
Harry didn't like how quickly he was noticing that.
"Who are you?" he asked at last.
The man clearly wanted to answer immediately, but hesitated for a moment, as if weighing how much it was actually worth saying.
"Someone who would rather you didn't get into trouble on your own," he said finally.
Harry crossed his arms.
"That's very vague."
"Yes," the man agreed, without arguing. "That's... one of my weaknesses in conversations of this kind."
That honesty — almost disarming in its directness — threw Harry off rhythm again.
"Are you one of those people in the suits?" he asked, trying a different angle.
Something strange crossed the man's face — an expression that seemed to find the question both mildly amusing and slightly baffling.
"In a manner of speaking," he replied.
"Very thorough answer."
"Thank you," the man said, with complete sincerity — and then, apparently realising how that had sounded, gave a quiet cough and added: "That is... I beg your pardon. I wasn't trying to sound smug."
Harry stared at him for a few seconds, and then, despite himself, let out a short laugh.
Involuntary.
The man seemed to notice, and allowed himself another small, almost cautious smile.
"You're not from here," he said a moment later — but this time the words carried none of the weight of an accusation. It was a calm observation.
Harry tensed inwardly.
"Is it that obvious?"
"To an attentive person — yes," the man replied. "You look at everything around you as if the world ought to explain itself before you'll agree to accept it."
Harry didn't immediately find an answer to that.
It was put too precisely.
"And if I told you it's just been a bad day?"
"Then I'd say you have a very convincing face for a bad day, young man."
And again that calm, almost fatherly mode of address, which somehow irritated him less than it should have.
The man tilted his head slightly, studying him as if trying to assemble the full picture.
"Your ability is unstable," he said at last. "Or at least, you're not yet used to using it in conditions like these."
Harry didn't answer right away.
He didn't like being taken apart so quickly.
"It works," he said eventually.
"Sometimes that's enough," the man agreed, gently. "But not always."
He coughed again, more noticeably this time, and glanced away for a moment as if he didn't want it to draw too much attention. Then he straightened quickly, as if instinctively pulling himself back together.
"Next time," he added, calmer now, "try to assess the situation before you step in. Courage is a fine quality, but recklessness seldom serves you for long."
A pause.
"That's advice, not a reprimand."
"Good to have it clarified," Harry said drily.
"It sometimes helps," the man acknowledged, and there was something almost self-deprecating in his tone. "I don't... always manage to phrase things well."
It was so unlike the expected behaviour of a man who had obviously been watching him for some time that Harry again found his usual guarded response slipping. The stranger was odd. Tired. A little awkward. But he had that rare quality Harry had learned to recognise over the years: sincerity.
Not complete, of course. He was clearly concealing a great deal.
But in the essentials — sincerity.
"If you're done giving advice," Harry said, "I still have problems considerably more pressing."
The man nodded slowly, as if he'd not only heard the words but understood there was something greater behind them.
"Yes," he said quietly. "I see that."
That "I see" landed with unexpected weight.
Without pity.
Without pressure.
Just acknowledgement.
He stepped slightly aside, clearing the way, but without making it a statement.
"I won't keep you, young man," he said. "But do try not to let yourself get to the point where luck is all you have left to rely on."
Harry wanted to come back with something sharp, but instead simply nodded.
Perhaps because it was already too close to the truth.
"Noted."
"Good."
A pause.
The man seemed about to say something else, but again hesitated briefly, as if unsure whether it would be appropriate — and then settled for a short, tired smile.
"Take care of yourself."
It came out simply.
And perhaps that was exactly why it landed.
Harry turned and walked on, not looking back, but almost physically sensing that the conversation had resolved nothing. If anything, the opposite — it left behind a strange feeling of incompleteness, as if this hadn't been a chance encounter at all, but only the beginning of something that didn't yet have a name.
A few minutes later, when the street had returned to its ordinary self, Harry allowed himself to exhale.
"Brilliant," he muttered. "Now I've got a strange, lanky man with a mentor complex keeping tabs on me."
He rubbed his face and looked ahead.
The city carried on as it always had — confident, fast, as if it knew perfectly well what rules it ran by.
Harry curled his fingers, feeling for a moment the faint response of his magic.
Still unstable.
Still maddeningly useless.
But no longer entirely alien.
"Right," he said to himself. "We'll figure it out."
And this time, there was slightly less bewilderment in his voice than before.