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Sirius is looking rather incredulously at his mother, who is delicately sipping her tea. She sets it down upon its platter and then looks up at him, her chin raised slightly.

'We will be leaving tomorrow. Try not to oversleep.'

He breathes in through his nose and nods. 'Of course, Mother.'

He's standing deep in the sand, staring out at the turquoise ocean. He should be used to the colour by now, he thinks, since it's always turquoise, but it surprises him every time. The River Thames is grey.

He turns, suddenly, intending to go back to the summer house and bother his brother Regulus, but he collides, hard, with someone else.

'Faites attention,' he sneers, in French. The someone, a boy, raises one eyebrow at him and offers, in somewhat broken-sounding French, 'J'ai désolée.'

He looks a lot younger than Sirius. His dark-blonde hair is lit up in parts by the sun, and reaches to just below his ears.

'You weren't even supposed to be standing so close to me,' Sirius drawls, in English now, and the boy pauses and looks a bit surprised.

'I wasn't, really,' he says, politely, pointing to the ocean behind Sirius. 'You're just in the best spot to see the sunrise in. I was about to go home.'

And he does just this, before Sirius can say or ask anything of him. He disappears out of sight and Sirius scowls when Kreacher shows his ugly, wrinkled face from around a nearby umbrella, telling him in clipped tones that Mistress wants him home.

Sirius has forgotten all about the boy, what with the swimming and the studying Monsieur Gagnon insist he does (''E 'as strangé "D", Madame,' he tells Mother on Wednesday, and Sirius isn't allowed dinner unless he can say Didon dîna dit-on du dos dodu de dix dodus dindons fifteen times without fault).

So when he does meet him again, when the Blacks are having dinner in the most expensive restaurant in the city, it takes him a minute or two to realise that the small boy standing at his table, with a carefully pressed white shirt and a formal black tie, is, in fact, someone he's met before.

There's a much larger man standing next to him, telling Mother that their foie gras is the best in France, and the wine bottle the boy is holding looks too large for him. Regulus catches his eye across the table, and Sirius raises one eyebrow back.

Then, in a flash, it's happened.

The expensive bottle has toppled over, right onto Sirius's most expensive robes, red seeping into grey fabric, and the large man is apologising profusely, offering to buy a new one and the most extravagant dinner, sur le compte de la maison, Madame.

He can see Mother's tightened lips, but Father, his grey eyes staring hard at the small boy, says he'll accept, as long as they rid themselves of this incompetent help.

'- oui, oui, monsieur,' the large man is saying, glaring at the small boy, who is a bit paler, but otherwise staring straight into Sirius's eyes.

Regulus calmly pushes his wand back in his robe pocket, and Sirius excuses himself, making his way towards the restrooms at the back of the restaurant.

The nasty stain at the front is gone when he emerges ten minutes later, and as he makes his way back, he spots a large, open stone door to his left he hadn't seen before. He can hear shouting, and curiosity gets the better of him.

There's a bit of a gap in between the door and the fancy red curtain, and he pushes himself in it, pleased now that he has a clear view of the small alley behind the restaurant.

The large man from earlier is shouting at the boy, who is still dressed in his white shirt, although now, it is splattered with food and –

'- une honte pour cet établissement!' the man shouts, and he lifts his hand and strikes the boy across the face, hard. Sirius can see his knuckles on the boy's cheek, long after the large man has stormed past him, looking cross. The boy is standing stock-still, his head facing the stone wall at his side.

'I'm sorry,' Sirius says, pushing back the curtain and stepping out onto the doorstep.

'No, you're not,' the boy says. It doesn't sound accusing or condescending; it sounds just like it is – a fact. The boy turns back to face him, and Sirius can see a slight swelling under his eye. His lip is bleeding.

'You won't be able to work here, anymore,' Sirius says, matter-of-factly, and the boy bends to collect his clothes from where they've fallen onto the ground before straightening again.

Then, the boy looks at him, much like he'd done in the restaurant. His mouth is open, and it looks like he's about to say something.

Sirius stares at him expectantly, but the boy only nods once before he disappears into the quiet evening.

This time, Sirius doesn't so easily forget about him.

Author's Note: Right, so. I started work on this story in 2008, because "Toujours Pur" was stuck in my head and all of a sudden, I imagined beachy, chalky holidays in the southern part of France and Sirius absolutely hating it. The rest of the story got pieced together from there. The chapters are short, and there's only six of them, which I will be uploading in the course of the week.

My French really wouldn't have been as good with the aid of LJ user septentrion1970, who helped me with most of the grammar and translations. Translations will be offered at the end of each chapter.

Translations
- Faites attention: watch it.
- J'ai désolée: Remus botches up his apology. He says "I have sorry".
- Didon dîna dit-on du dos dodu de dix dodus dindons: this translates, very roughly, to "Didon dined, it is said, on ten fat turkeys".
- Sur le compte de la maison, Madame: on the house.
- Oui, oui, monsieur: yes, yes, sir.
- Une honte pour cet établissement: a disgrace to this restaurant.