𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀 [16+] • dm

01 a hot grey eyed tourist

♕  ODESSA  ♕

EVERYBODY KNEW IAGO LOMBARDI and his family. He was as good as a man could be. And even when we were halfway across the world from where he grew up, the rumours never did bash on my father's name.

"Oh Iago? A marvellous man! He singlehandedly removed a spear from my husband's ass! Such a good man." An old woman had laughed when she told me the story, a bouquet of flowers ruffling in her grubby hands as her chest rumbled with laughter.

"Mr. Lombardi helped me get a stable flow of galleons! He's great." A boy, nearly 28 years of age by now, had come by our house in Italia informing me of all my papa's joyous journeys on helping others.

"Makes food. Good man." Our neighbour had remarked, a grumpy old man with bushy eyebrows covering his eyes.

And with all those claims, I spent the last few months of my life trying desperately to prove them all wrong. Searching and hoping for one person to tell me otherwise and to show that my father was a horrid man.

Because without that proof, I had nothing and no way to understand why, my father, as kind of a man that he was claimed to be, sat rotting in Azkaban.

• • •

IT WAS A SALTY SUMMER WITH POTS of anger boiling in decade old stoves and seeds of burning breaths erupting from the pits of a heat that seemed as though it came from the Great Old Dragon himself.

The serenity of my soul lay lethargically and body lazily plastered under the spread of a wide umbrella. Grains of sand clung to my damp legs as I tossed and turned while nestling into the ground, attempting to find a comfortable enough spot of rest.

My gaze flickered through the printed words of the Domani, a rather popular Muggle newspaper here in Italy.

"An English pureblood famiglia, close friends of mine, will be taking us to London tomorrow for you to be prepared for Hogwarts in September." My mother spoke as she leaned further back into her chair and sighed in content.

I didn't respond. I busied my attention to the newspaper. Fights, money, and exploitation. Sad thing these muggles are but ever so intriguing.

"What is that?" My mother's voice sounded strained and I perched an eyebrow before meeting her gaze. Her sunglasses were pushed into her hair and her glare was scrutinizing on the paper in my hands.

Scoffing, she snatched it out of my hands and threw it as far as she could. It landed with a soft thud a few feet away.

"We are leaving tomorrow, I don't want to see any more of this stupida interest you have in Muggles." She paused and I snapped my gaze down to a pile of sand. "Capisce?"

"My interest in muggles is not stupid. Papa is." My fists clenched as I picked my head up and my mother's jaw tightened.

"You do not say that about your father. He is a good man." After a tense moment of silence, a victorious grin slipped onto her lips.

I furrowed my brows and sighed heavily, digging my toes back into the sand.

"A good man would not be in prison."