Café Holiday ️ ️

Innsbruck was an interesting place, in Harry's opinion, definitely not like any of the places he'd visited before. It was lucky then, that he'd finally left Britain in February, just after the Olympic Games had ended, otherwise he might not have bothered traveling to such an isolated city. Already he'd been congratulated by several residents who thought visiting after the Games had finished, when all the horrible crowds had left and returned the place to its more peaceful state, was a brilliant move on his part.

The fact that he was believed to be one of the profitable annual skiers the town had been hoping wouldn't be driven away by the Games crowds, and that he was a quiet sort of person himself, didn't hurt either. Because he'd also heard a number of locals complaining about the over-excessive crowds and how much they wished all the Games drunks and stragglers would just go away.

He couldn't imagine how overwhelming it must have been during the actual Games, streets crowded over their intended capacity, snow trampled into mud everywhere, and the cheers echoing off every building and mountain until the noise drove you mad. He'd head plenty of horror stories from the frazzled locals, cleaning up and settling back into their normal lives, and the leisurely pace they seemed accustomed to suited Harry perfectly. But whatever, Innsbruck was still an interesting place, and Harry was glad he'd come.

So, for about a week, Harry would stroll along the Inn River, admiring the colorful buildings, and stopping at what was quickly becoming his favorite cafe in possibly all Europe, mainly because-in the dead of winter-it served up hot chocolate with an espresso shot, outside where Harry could sit by a fire, wrapped in furs. Not a lot of cafes served anything outside in winter, or had such soft, warm fur on hand for its customers. Though, considering its location in the Alps, it made sense for the cafe to be prepared to continue on with business no matter the weather.

Harry's appreciation for a hot drink in cold snow and warm fur was shared by at least one other tourist staying in the wintry city while most others left. Every day that week since Harry first found the little cafe with its fire pit and fur covered chairs, one other man had brought his own drink outside to wrap up and sit across from him until Harry finished his cocoa and left. Every day, he showed up, placed his order and went back out to claim a spot by the fire, and by the time his drink was brought out, that man would be settled across from him with a cup cradled in his hands.

Harry was pretty certain the man didn't actually like being outside, because the first two days he had seen the man seated inside the cafe, straight black suit, shiny black shoes, and a black fedora tilted low over his brow. The man had been lounging at a small table near the back and watching everyone who came in.

That first time, Harry had unintentionally met the man's eyes and found himself frozen, feeling as if he'd accidentally met the gaze of a tiger. It was actually the reason Harry had taken his drink right back outside and sat down at the fire pit. The fact that the arrangement turned out to be so enjoyable was merely a stroke of luck.

The next day, he saw the man again, sitting forward and watching the door when Harry came in. He'd carefully avoided looking at the man, ordered his drink as quickly as he could, and when Harry went outside again, the man followed. Harry had just made himself comfortable under one of the white fur blankets, when the man sat down across the pit and wrapped a dark brown fur around his shoulders. Harry had blinked at him in surprise, and the man had raised his cup with a smirk, then sat back and stared into the fire, and that had been it.

The man joined Harry every day since, but never spoke to him, and Harry did his best to ignore him. It was weird, but Harry figured maybe the man just hadn't considered sitting outside in the snow with a fur, and, once he'd tried it, had decided he liked it just as Harry had.

Or at least, that was what Harry convinced himself had happened. After six days sitting across from the silent man, Harry was finally forced to acknowledge that he was the only reason the man was outside.

Harry was sipping the last bit of his hot chocolate, and wondered if he should get another just so he could sit by the fire, under the fur, a little longer, when the man in the black suit finally did speak to him.

"So why is it always a mocaccino?" the man asked as he sat forward and placed his cup on the edge of the fire-pit. "Do you not like coffee?"

"Without chocolate?" Harry said, too startled to even think about not replying. "Nope. Too bitter for me." He kept his cup in his hands and watched the man questioningly. After six days of silence, he was unprepared for anything the man might have said, nevermind questioning his preferred drink.

"Hmm," the man smirked. "Maybe you need to develop your palate more. A good espresso is too flavorful to be described as bitter."

"I suppose, but I still prefer it with chocolate."

"Cute." The man leaned back in his chair to stare at Harry from under the brim of his hat.

Harry flushed. "Excuse me?"

"You prefer sweet things," the man said with another smirk. "Cute."

Harry stared at him for a minute, rather taken aback, then frowned. "Right, well, not that it's any of your business," he said as he got up. He turned to let the fur fall into the chair. When he turned around, the man had also stood up, leaving his fur behind, and somehow not shivering in his black suit even as tiny snowflakes dusted his shoulders.

"I didn't mean to offend you," the man said. He stared at Harry intently, like he did that first day when Harry met his gaze and all but fled.

Harry realized suddenly, that every day the man had sat across from him, he hadn't once looked up at him, keeping his eyes on the fire. Maybe the man knew how intimidating his gaze was. If Harry had had to sit under such intense scrutiny, he might have stopped coming to the cafe at all.

"It's still not any of your business what I like to drink," Harry said with a frown.

"I was just trying to make conversation."

"After a week of silence?" Harry asked incredulously.

The man's gaze grew hotter. "Did you want me to speak to you?"

"I-," Harry blinked. "No! I mean-I don't even know you."

"Could I talk to you tomorrow?" the man asked instead. He lowered his chin, so Harry couldn't quite meet his eyes under the man's hat brim, but he could still feel them burning on his skin.

"I might not be here tomorrow," Harry said hesitantly.

"Where might you be?"

"I donno. I might leave."

The man didn't say anything for a long minute, the shadow under his hat completely cutting off his eyes until Harry wasn't even sure they were open. He was about to walk away, feeling the long pause was getting too awkward, when the man called out to him softly.

"Do I bother you?"

"What?" Harry turned to him with a confused look. "Er… no?"

"But you don't want me to talk to you," the man said stiffly.

"No-I just don't understand why you are now," Harry said quickly. "You didn't this whole week, I just… why do you want to talk to me?"

The man looked up at him, his face expressionless and Harry felt a shiver go down his spine. Then a smirk curled the edge of his lips, but for some reason that expression worried Harry more than the blank look had.

"You're cute, who wouldn't want to talk to you?" The man straightened so his hips thrust out and brought his hands up to hook elegantly from his pockets. He stared at Harry with such heat that it seemed to overtake the fire-pit between them, brushing against Harry's skin and making him blush.

"I-you!" Harry stepped back. He knew he was stuttering like a schoolboy, but dear Merlin, it had been a while since anyone flirted with him so shamelessly! He really hadn't been expecting an encounter like this in such a quiet town. "If you only want to talk to me for that, then I liked you better when you were silent!"

"Oh?" The man tilted his head, eyes glinting. "But it doesn't bother you?"

"I just said-!" he started, but the man stepped forward so quickly, Harry didn't have time to do more than blink before the man stopped right in front of him. The man was now between Harry and the fire pit, but Harry thought that his shivers were more a reaction to the man's face leaning down toward him, narrowed eyes dark and intent, than from the loss of heat.

"No, I don't bother you," the man said lowly. "You're embarrassed, but it doesn't really bother you for me to talk to you like this." He straightened, gazing down at Harry with a contemplative look while Harry spluttered. "If I'd talked to you from the beginning, would you like me now?"

"What!" Harry's eyes widened. This man was incredible. It wasn't just that Innsbruck had been so relaxed during his visit, it was that Harry had been left alone for so long, he'd stopped expecting anyone to take notice of him like this. "I-you… you're very forward, aren't you?" he said faintly.

The man grinned suddenly. "You like it."

"No I don't!" Harry argued reflexively.

"You do," the man said firmly. He was strangely satisfied by this, and Harry's reaction-to simply shake his head in a kind of dazed wonderment-only made him more smug. "So, would you like me to talk to you tomorrow?" he asked, smirk now bearing a warmth that went straight through Harry's chest and down to his toes.

"I-I won't be here tomorrow," Harry said stiffly. He looked to the side, staring out at the snowy street, so he missed it when the man's smirk fell away and a chillingly blank expression came over his face.

"Because I talked to you," the man said flatly. Harry barely stopped himself from flinching at the empty tone the man used.

"No, I just… I've just been here too long," Harry said slowly. He glanced briefly at the man's face and did flinch, not because he was frightened, but because he realized that somehow he'd hurt the man's feelings and he had no idea why. "I just...wanted to see more, and I've been here a week already, so that's long enough, and there's other places I wanted to go, and-"

"What other places?" the man interrupted.

"Oh, er… I don't-uh, Switzerland, I guess?" Harry threw out. He never planned where he went-case in point, Innsbruck had been a spur of the moment decision because of all the news coverage about the Olympics. Where he went next was likely to be chosen based on whatever caught his attention while he packed. "Maybe Brazil?"

The man raised an eyebrow. "Switzerland or Brazil, huh?" He looked away, glancing at the cafe and up at the sky.

"Finland's probably really nice this time of year…"

"In the dead of winter?" The man looked back down at him, face stiff and empty. "Finland?"

Harry winced. "Look, I don't know what you expect from me, but I just-I don't stick around, alright?"

"You think I expect you to stick around?" the man said with a smirk, but there was something sharp about it, different from before. "Just for me, huh?"

Harry had sure messed this up. All he wanted was to try and let the guy down gently, because it was true-he didn't stay, not for anyone. A one night stand was fun, but every person Harry had ever been with seemed to want longer, more, and Harry couldn't give it to them. He always left, so he'd learned to run before anything started. It usually worked just fine, most people didn't have time to get attached if he vanished after one meeting. But the man in the black suit seemed to have become attached after just one week of sitting silently near him for an hour each day.

"I'm not a good person to get close to," Harry said softly. He really didn't want to hurt the man, even knowing nothing about him, he'd still been alright company for all he never said anything. Harry wondered if it would have been easier for them both if the man had tried to talk to him from the start.

He wondered why the man had waited so long, if he was interested. He didn't seem like the shy sort.

"Oh?" The man smirked again, smoother but still with an edge. "I'm not the best sort to get close to either."

Harry didn't know what to say to that.

"Tell me something," the man said suddenly. "If I'd spoken to you that first day, would you have let me, or would you have run away to Switzerland?"

Harry blinked. Well. There wasn't any good way for him to answer that.

"I'm really better off alone," he insisted. "It's nothing against you, I just don't do well with people."

"Alone?" the man asked, incredulous. He seemed honestly surprised, confused even, as if that was the last thing he expected Harry to say. "You?"

"Yeah. Is there something strange about that?" Harry titled his head, trying to figure out why this seemed to upset the man more than saying he was leaving town had.

The man stared at him, long enough that Harry began to shuffle his feet nervously.

"Who made you think you needed to be alone?" the man snarled the question, startling after the long silence.

"Wha-no one!" Harry's spine snapped straight at the accusation. "What business is that of yours?"

The man snorted derisively. "Whoever it was-they're an idiot-"

"I told you-no one!"

"-you shouldn't be running scared from anyone who approaches you for a chat!" the man finished with a glare.

"I am not scared!" Harry said indignantly. "And no one made me believe anything of the sort! I decided I was better off this way!"

The man made a noise of disgust. "You just decided, without any outside influence, that you were better off running to another country anytime someone tried to talk with you?"

Harry flushed. Put like that, it sounded fairly crazy. But it wasn't exactly inaccurate.

"So what happened?" the man asked quietly, eyes glinting from beneath the hat brim. "Someone wouldn't leave you alone? Wouldn't take no for an answer? Chased you? Tried to chain you down?"

"That-" Harry swallowed. This man really was incredible. He hadn't quite figured everything out, but he guessed some of it, and that was more than Harry wanted anyone to know. "That isn't any of your business."

They both fell silent then, the man titled his head down, hand brought up to clutch tightly at the brim of his hat and eyes shadowed. Harry turned away to take his cup inside.

"I'm sorry," was said quietly behind him. Harry sniffed and nodded over his shoulder before continuing.

When he came back out of the cafe, the man was still standing there, gazing at him almost wistfully.

"If I ever see you again, would you let me talk with you?" he asked.

Harry frowned. He doubted that would ever happen. "Sure."

"I won't try to trap you," the man said suddenly. "I won't ask for any more than you're willing to give."

Harry's eyes widened at the intensity of the man's promise, his eyes boring into Harry's and pinning him in place. He couldn't bring himself to do more than nod. The man nodded in return, then turned and strode away. Harry stared after him, fighting a sudden urge to call after him, reach for him, follow, and cling, and beg the man not to leave.

Harry forced his eyes down to the icy cobbles at his feet and breathed out harshly. He was panting like he'd been running and hadn't had a chance to catch his breath. There was a sharp pressure in his chest, as if an iron spike had lodged itself between his ribs to poke at his lungs.

Where had that come from? He didn't even know the man's name!

Harry definitely needed to go somewhere new. Somewhere far. Maybe somewhere warmer…. Spain. He'd always wanted to see the Alhambra.

It wasn't as warm in Spain as Harry had thought it would be. Still warmer than Austria, but cold enough to keep his coat, and colder still when it rained, though thankfully that didn't seem to be often. It was also...not what he thought it would be. Which was good, honestly. Harry preferred it when places were different than he expected-it kept everything new and exciting.

Granted, he'd never been to this Granada, so it didn't matter that the city seemed so different to him than what he thought it should be. Just, everything was smaller somehow, darker maybe? Like there was less light, or everything was closer to the ground than it should be. Fewer buildings definitely. Older.

All of which was ridiculous, because the city was crowded with shops and cars and people; it sprawled all over the hills, so much so a person could get lost with one wrong turn. But he couldn't get rid of the feeling because… everything was smaller, darker, lower, and just all around less than what Harry expected. Less than what he remembered.

And that too was good, because Harry was trying to forget, and he couldn't do that if he was constantly reminded of the way things were. Though he did think it was a little unfair that, even feeling smaller, Granada was still so easy to get lost in.

Another thing that surprised Harry, but pleasantly, was the absence of tourists in what he had believed was a prime tourist spot. Of course, the Alhambra was a huge tourist destination-in the summer. In winter, apparently everyone went skiing, which, frankly, if Harry wasn't going to throw himself down a snowy mountain in the Alps, he wasn't doing it in the Sierra Nevadas either.

So Harry once again found himself in a city that should have been much louder and wilder, but was instead peaceful and quiet. Exactly what he needed.

He began another daily routine of solitude that suited him perfectly. In the morning he walked up the mountain to buy a ticket into the Alhambra, and wandered the decorative courtyards and out of season gardens. Then he walked back down the mountain to one of dozens of little eateries for lunch, and afterward he strolled through the city, getting lost until some helpful local pointed him toward his hotel. There he'd eat dinner, retire to his room for the night, and in the morning he started all over again.

The first week of this, Harry was tired and anxious, probably from getting lost so often. But after a while, he relaxed totally, and decided that getting lost was a wonderful way to learn the streets of a new city. It was so enjoyable, in fact, that after a second week of blissfully wandering around the winding streets, Harry wondered if he should try living there.

Of course that meant it was too good to last.

Harry had just settled into a new sandwich place for lunch and was reading the menu on a wall, when someone sat down across the little table from him.

"Well, isn't this a nice surprise."

Harry blinked. The man in the black suit and hat from Innsbruck gave a pleased smirk and leaned back against the wall, propping an arm over his chair back.

"You!" Harry gasped out. The other diners turned to look at them. Harry blushed and leaned forward to continue more quietly. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm on business," he said as he raised a long arm to gesture a waitress over. He cocked an eyebrow at Harry. "What about you? Was Finland too cold?"

Harry frowned but didn't answer as the waitress came over and flirtatiously asked them what they would like. She barely glanced at Harry, clearly more taken with the suited man's charming smile.

"Café solo and the day's menu," the man said, not even looking at her.

"Uh, water and a ham bocadillo," Harry requested.

The woman was obviously trying to catch the man's attention, but he didn't look away from Harry and eventually she left. Harry shook his head and regarded the man curiously.

"So what business do you have here?" he asked.

"You really want to know?"

Harry shrugged. "Just trying to make conversation."

"Oh?" The man lifted an elbow to the table and leaned his head on his hand. The other arm stayed draped over the chair back, so his torso twisted and pulled at the fabric of his jacket, revealing a soft yellow shirt underneath. "So you want to talk to me now?"

"I said I would if we met again," Harry said with a frown. Admittedly, he hadn't thought he would ever have to keep that promise, but that didn't mean he was going to break it.

"Oh?" The man regarded him seriously for a moment, then smirked. He turned around in the chair and held his hand out. "I don't think we ever properly introduced ourselves. Renato Sinclair."

Harry took the man's hand hesitantly. "Harry Potter."

"You're English?" the man, Sinclair asked. He held onto Harry's hand, and his thumb stroked over Harry's fingers, making him flush and pull away before anyone saw. Sinclair let him go with a pleased smirk.

"Is there something wrong with that?" Harry asked in annoyance.

Sinclair shrugged placidly. "Your accents' are very good. Your German was perfect, and you even 'e' and 'este' in Spanish."

Harry blinked. He'd learned a number of languages, both magical and muggle, over the years, but translation spells made it so much easier to become fluent that he didn't even think about the language he used, so long as it matched up with the locals.

"I wonder, do you speak Italian just as well?" Sinclair asked. His eyes were lidded over curved lips, and Harry had the feeling he was being played with.

"Non son degno di te, e va bene così," Sinclair whispered, so low Harry could barely hear him.

"What?" he asked, but Sinclair only smiled softly and leaned back, because the waitress was there. She placed a cup of coffee and a plate of salad in front of him. Harry also sat back, frowning, so she could put a glass of water and a sandwich on a plate before him.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" she asked, once more staring adoringly Sinclair.

Sinclair turned to her for the first time and smiled widely. The effect on the waitress was immediate.

"Do you have any desserts with chocolate?" he asked her.

"Oh, yes!" The woman was smiling excitedly back at him. "Would you like that instead of the crema catalana?"

"Please." He smiled up at her again, then turned back to Harry, dismissing her. Harry watched her sigh happily and wander off to another table. "Is something wrong?"

Harry turned back to Sinclair. "No, nothing," he said and he looked down at his food with a frown before picking it up.

They started eating, and though Harry expected to catch the man looking at him, Sinclair stayed focused on his food, while he ended up being the one sneaking glances. By the time they had finished eating, the waitress had brought out Sinclair's main dish of meat cuts in a spicy smelling sauce.

"Would you bring the dessert out now?" Sinclair asked the waitress before she left.

"Oh, yes, of course!" The woman smiled at him and brushed his shoulder with her hand as she passed.

Harry frowned after her while Sinclair watched him.

"Do you want me to stop talking to her?" he asked.

"No, why would I?" Harry turned to frown at him.

"It's only a little flirting, but if you'd rather I stopped..?"

"I don't care who you flirt with," Harry said in annoyance.

Sinclair smirked and raised an eyebrow. "If it did bother you, I could stop."

Harry glared. "Do whatever you want."

"Alright," he said, smirk curling into a smile.

Harry sat back, but didn't have a chance to say any more because the waitress was back with Sinclair's dessert. He ignored the waitress this time, until she walked away with a few hopeful glances that made Harry glare at his table mate.

Sinclair raised an eyebrow at him and slid the plate with a slice of chocolate cake over to him. Harry looked at it in confusion.

"What are you doing?"

"Whatever I want," Sinclair said softly.

Harry frowned at him and looked back down at the cake.

"I'd think you'd be a little happier. Don't you like chocolate?"

"I'm not taking your dessert, and I still don't understand why you're doing this," Harry said in frustration.

"You said to do what I like, and I like you," Sinclair said, and he looked down at his plate and started eating. Harry stared at him, but the man refused to lift his gaze at all.

"I-I'm not staying, you know," Harry whispered.

"I know," Sinclair said between bites. He took a long sip of his coffee before looking up. "This is enough."

Harry couldn't say anything to that, and simply stared at the cake unhappily. It smelled really good too.

"So, where are you off to next?"

"Don't know," Harry said with a shrug. It didn't really matter, so long as it was away from here.

"Well...I hope you find someplace nice."

"Yeah, thanks." Harry sighed. He stood and pulled a couple hundred notes out of his pocket, leaving them on the table.

"You don't have to leave now," Sinclair said, staring at the table.

"I really do," Harry said. He turned and left, not seeing the way Sinclair looked up and watched him walk away, eyes glinting under the shadow of his hat brim.

As soon as Harry got to his room, he packed his few possessions up and was gone. An hour later he was wandering down a street in Amsterdam, heavy coat on again and looking for a decent hotel.

The first week in Amsterdam, Harry was jittery and snappish. He didn't have the excuse of getting lost like in Granada, because it was too cold for Harry to wander aimlessly, so he toured the city mainly along the electric car lines. He began to think that heading north was a bad idea, because every day he had worse and worse headaches, until he couldn't even leave his room. When the hotel sent someone to check on him, he all but bit the poor woman's head off, he was in such a foul mood from the pain.

After five days of this, Harry was thinking he should go back to Granada, or maybe southern Italy-anywhere warmer, if it would help-when he woke up the sixth day perfectly fine. His head no longer throbbed or ached, and he felt very well rested and almost pleasant. When he went down for breakfast he made a point of apologizing to the hotel manager and the timid maid he'd chased off before.

Everything seemed much brighter and more colorful, and he went out to explore the city via the frozen canals rather than the streets; which he'd wanted to do when he came, but had seemed far too exhausting over the past week when his head felt stuffed with rocks and cotton.

In fact, after a couple days of skating up and down the canals, Harry decided that Amsterdam was one of the nicest cities he'd ever been to. There were a lot more cars and fewer bicycles than he thought there would be, but he put that down to the frigid air. Winter was lasting much longer than usual, temperatures staying well below freezing and keeping the canals rock solid.

Which was lucky for him, but he could tell the locals were anxious for spring to hurry up.

Harry was skating up and down the Keizersgracht canal, enjoying the crisp air and blue skies, when he saw none other than Renato Sinclair skating toward him.

"Oh no," he said under his breath.

"Well, Mr. Potter," Sinclair smirked at him as he slid to a stop, hands leisurely hanging from his coat pockets and posture relaxed even balanced on skates. "Do you prefer snowy weather by any chance?"

"No, Mr. Sinclair, I'm afraid I don't." Harry crossed his arms to regard the man in his black wool coat, black suit pants peaking out from the hem, and black hat rakishly tilted over his brow. "I suppose you're on business here as well?"

Sinclair shrugged with a crooked smile. "I have business all over Europe."

"Yet I never seem to catch you at work."

"I hope you never do," Sinclair reached up to pull his hat low, smirk turning sharp. "It wouldn't be nearly as fun."

"Fun, huh?"

Sinclair looked around at the people skating past them, some twirling and circling around slower skaters. He looked back at Harry with a raised eyebrow. "Isn't that why you came out here?"

Harry huffed. "Well I didn't think I'd see you here."

"If you don't want to see me again, just say so and I'll stay away."

Harry looked at the man in surprise. His hand was still holding the edge of his hat, shadowing his eyes, and his smirk had vanished. He really would leave if Harry asked him to, and they probably wouldn't have anymore 'accidental' run-ins either.

Harry glanced away and remained silent. Sinclair waited a few moments more, holding his breath, then he let out a soft sigh and lowered his arm.

"Well," he said.

"Why do I keep running into you?" Harry muttered, still watching other skaters glide past them.

Sinclair hummed absently, and slid closer, hiding the movement by turning to watch the busy canal as well. They stood there, slowly swaying and shifting gently on their skates, before Sinclair spoke again.

"Ti va da andare a prendere un caffè?" His voice was low and warm, and Harry shivered to hear it so close over the noise of slick ice and rushing cries.

"Do you drink anything other than coffee?" Harry asked.

"I'm hoping to help you improve your palate," Sinclair said with a smirk.

"You're not going to do it with coffee," Harry replied. "I still think it's too bitter."

"If you want some chocolate to sweeten it, I won't stop you."

Harry sighed. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

Sinclair turned into him, warmth seeping through their coats even though Harry thought they were too thick for that. "Tell me all about it over coffee. I owe you cake."

Harry shouldn't be encouraging this, he should leave before Sinclair started to think he had any sort of chance with him. But… They had met three times now. That was supposed to be lucky, and Harry was in such a good mood. He didn't want to ruin it by running.

"Alright then," Harry said before he could change his mind. "But I don't know where any cafes are near here."

"I do." Sinclair leaned down, all that marvelous warmth pouring into Harry and making him sigh. He let the man touch his arm and guide him along the canal to a stair. What was he thinking?

Harry enjoyed having coffee with Sinclair. Enough so that he did it twice. There was just something irresistible about the man. Harry thought it might be how warm he was, his presence, his voice, his eyes when he looked at him. In the cold air of a late winter, that kind of warmth drew Harry in like a cat to a sun soaked stone.

Which was why Harry left immediately after their second coffee date. He went straight to his hotel, packed up, checked out, and went to a bookstore. There he opened a map brochure and picked a random spot with his eyes closed. Then he strode off to an empty alley and apparated to Geneva.