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As he took a sip of his second (Muggle) whiskey, a spark of fire caught Harry's gaze: through the mirror behind the bar, he saw, sitting a few stools down, a rather attractive man around his own age flicking a silver lighter on and off with an easy air about him as he waited for his drink.
Only after he had a dark glass in front of him did the man pull out a cigarette from his jacket, holding it between his lips as he clicked the lighter once more with one hand and lit the tip with a wave of his other hand; no one else around them had noticed anything out of the ordinary, and Harry couldn't very well look away now.
The man slowly took a drag, eyes half-lidded as if it were his first smoke in months, then while exhaling a stream of smoke, he stared intensely right back at Harry through the mirror, his teasing smirk suggesting he'd felt his gaze all along; embarrassed he'd been caught yet thoroughly intrigued, Harry hoped he wasn’t blushing as he gulped down the rest of his drink and walked over.