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Harry's first introduction to Gentleman Johnny Marcone was in a word, explosive. But considering how their relationship would evolve, that really wasn't much of a surprise.
One of his men had stolen something from Harry, and he was ready to bring fire and brimstone down on the thief's ass.
The golden trail that was Harry's magical tracer lead directly into a small house's backdoor and Harry wasted no time.
The door didn't blow in as much as it crumbled to ash when Harry hit it with a gust of power from his blasting rod.
Strong emotions fed his magic, helped to power it. A truly happy wizard could gather and manipulate sunlight. Something Harry had never been able to accomplish. But rage was a feeling that Harry was intimately familiar with; and at this point he was so infuriated that his magic frothed and boiled just beneath his skin.
The kitchen that he saw before him wasn't large but it held a nook that had two benches and a small table. It had been a well-lit room but when his magic swept into it all of the light bulbs blew at once.
As he stepped through the doorway, feet leaving footprints in what was left of the door, Marcone's only reaction was to put down his glass of water.
His red headed hulk of a bodyguard drew some sort of semiautomatic that Harry sneered at briefly before ignoring both the gun and the man. His eyes focused on the man sitting across from Marcone in an ill-fitting suit and clutching a gym bag. The man, was trying unsuccessfully to dig his way through the seat cushion of the bench that he was cornered in.
"Can I help you Mr….?"
"Give it to me."
Harry ignored Marcone, attention focused and voice a thunder-rumble of threat.
"Mr. Marcone, please, you gotta help me." The smaller man grabbed onto Marcone's shirtsleeve as he begged for protection from the man that currently filled the entrance of the room with his presence.
Black trench-coat moving on invisible eddies of magic, right hand clutching a sturdy club whose sigils gleamed an unholy red, Harry was intimidating enough to make even Marcone's bodyguard flinch with uncertainty. Unsure whether bullets would even touch the man.
Marcone didn't visibly turn a hair. Shaking off the white-knuckled grip of his subordinate John rose from his seat and strode towards the door.
"Hendricks, it seems our business here is completed for the evening."
Harry followed the two men with his eyes until they had exited into the back alley behind the house before turning back towards the unfortunate that Marcone had left to his fate.
Striding forward Harry loomed over the nearly sobbing man still trapped between bench and table his face a frozen rictus that made the man in front of him shriek.
He didn't scream for long.
Pulling the bag away from lax fingers, Harry unzipped the bag to double check it's contents before sliding the skull inside of it out into the dim light of the fading sun.
Tender fingers swept over the bone, checking for damage ending with a gentle caress to the jaw.
"Bob," Harry whispered, all threat gone from his voice. "I thought I'd lost you."
The voice that responded was just as quiet, and just as filled with emotion.
"I'll never leave you Harry. Not if I have a choice."
The shadowed eye sockets were now filled with warm light as Bob gazed at his master.
Turning back towards the corpse of the man that had tried to steal from him, Harry's eyes glowed with a less kind flame.
"Exuro."
As the body burned, Harry stepped through the doorway that he had entered and quietly padded into the darkness, his only friend clutched to his chest.