Paris was the City of Lights, a city of culture and wonder, but Harry Potter could only scowl at the beauty before him. Seeing tourists milling from one coffee shop to another with their face-breaking smiles just reminded Harry how little sleep he had gotten this past week. He fixed his frown into a less-threatening bored expression that he hoped would pass unnoticed.
Jasper Beck was the name of the dark wizard that had dragged him from London to the heart of Paris in an infuriating chase through Europe. Harry turned the name over in his head, though after repeating it countless times to reactivate the tracker charm he knew it as well as his own. Beck was as malicious as they came. He took glee in picking his torture victims at random and actively hunted in new areas for the thrill of it. It was only after he killed five that Harry managed to track him down.
Then he slipped through his fingers in an alley in Essex.
The shame of letting Beck escape burned under his skin. Harry had spent this last year as an Auror proving that he was competent not because he was the Chosen One but because he got his assignments done. Now this assignment was threatening to hurl him back into the eyes of the skeptics and naysayers.
Harry crouched, pretending to tie his shoe, only to bring out his wand from his coat pocket. The tip burned a bright orange that signaled Beck was within five miles of him. Harry waved it until the glow brightened when pointed to one particular place: the Louvre square.
His steps quickened. The faster he got Beck back to London the faster he would be back home.
Tourists milled on the vast expanse outside the museum. Harry marveled at the Louvre Pyramid smack dab in the center of it all, then promptly began to walk around. Through the translator spell Harry renewed before leaving the hotel he caught snippets of conversations. He had his ears perked for anything that sounded magical. While Beck had been gallivanting around Italy Harry had caught him communicating through a mirror with someone in Paris about arranging accommodations of some sort. The fact that Beck had stayed in Paris for two days now told him that things weren't panning out well for him. Harry hoped to cash in on that inconvenience.
Conversations came in and out of focus, half from tourists that he couldn't understand. Realizing that his tourist façade was slipping Harry got out the book of Paris sights he had bought yesterday and flipped to a random page, pretending to read. He relaxed the tension from his shoulders and loosened his stride until his boots weren't so loud. Harry snuck a peek at his wand, but its glow merely stayed bright. Beck was in the area. Exactly where was the question.
The people around the courtyard proved useless. Harry found himself drawing closer to conversations involving black cats and ladybugs— Beck's signature was transfiguring his victims into animals when he grew bored of their pleas— only to draw back when the context proved to be too weird, even by wizarding standards. Superheroes? Parisians loved their comic books, it seemed.
When Harry ended up under the same lamppost where he had taken his book out he let himself be guided to the nearest entrance of the museum: the Porte des Lions. If Beck wasn't outside then among the exhibitions was his next best bet.
Sun turned to shadow, and tourists were louder than ever when crammed into one building. Harry picked his way to the front. "One admission?" the man at the information desk asked, his English coming out stilted and robotic through Harry's translation spell.
Harry put on a smile and fished out his fake London ID. "Oui," he said, because the spell only worked one way. The thought of constantly renewing two translation spells on top of the tracker charm brought on the beginnings of a headache.
The man gave his fake ID a cursory glance and gave it back. "I guess the English like the Louvre on Mondays," he joked, still in French.
Harry latched onto that little nugget of information and grinned back, resisting the urge to cast a look at his wand. Instead he melded into the throng of tourists, letting himself be led through an exhibition of African and Asian art. When his wand didn't glow any brighter Harry exited the exhibition and walked the hallways of the ground floor.
The art was beautiful, he concluded. Magic was wonderful and truly revolutionary, but the imperfect yet perfect strokes of oil on canvas and the chips in the statues were something truly unique that spells couldn't replicate. Enchanted portraits back home were perfect. They captured the essence of the person and left little to the imagination. After a decade in the wizarding world it had become rather dull to look at.
Harry wandered from one hall to another, book in one hand, the other hovering over his coat pocket. When the familiar chill of magic ghosted up his spine he surreptitiously checked the tracker charm by making a show of looking at the hall map. His wand glowed fiercely when he turned towards the staircase leading to the 1st floor. With practiced ease Harry maneuvered through the crowds of tourists making their way up.
This new floor was twice as crowded. Tourists clumped together and headed for one particular piece: the Mona Lisa. Harry only had to stumble along a couple of feet to spot the attraction he had come to see.
There, near the benches at the far wall, was Beck. Despite the dress shirt and slacks he was wearing Harry recognized the crude haircut he had given himself back in Italy in an attempt to lose him. Beck had his back towards Harry, the uneven brown hair sticking up at the nape of his neck and the sides of his head. He was talking to a man just as well-dressed but equally as shifty. Both of their shoulders were hunched to deflect prying eyes.
Harry clutched his book tighter and ran through his plan. If he could manage to sneak close enough he could Stupefy them with the muggles none the wiser. After that it would be a simple message to the Parisian wizards he had met on his first day. They weren't much for backup, but they seemed adamant in collecting the wizards. Something was better than nothing, Harry supposed.
He picked his way through the floor, this time reaching into his pocket to grip his wand. Tourists walked around him, most crowding around the Mona Lisa and paying no mind to the British man with a weapon in his pocket.
"You're going to need more money than that, Jasper, if you want to get out of the country." The French man, even through his stilted translation, sounded smug. Harry had a clue as to whom the money was going to go to.
"Seriously, Marcel? More than what I have right now?" Beck grumbled in translated French. He lowered his voice and leaned in; Harry took the chance to get closer, using a clump of statues to hide behind.
Marcel humorlessly chuckled, and his eyebrows shot to his blonde hair in feigned surprise. "Your situation isn't cheap. If you want my help then you're going to need more money than that."
Beck muttered something else. Harry pretended to consult a plaque of a display a couple of feet from them, and he shifted so that his left ear could catch more of the conversation.
"Can I help you, sir?" A man came to his side at a brisk pace.
Harry turned a bit quicker than a normal person browsing a museum would. He took in the man's uniform, name tag, and the strained smile of professionalism. The curator's eyes flickered to Harry's pocket. Harry cursed himself for not being as discreet as he could have. "Just looking around," he said in a near whisper, hoping that Beck was too far to hear it.
The curator pursed his lips and reverted to shaky English. "If you need help then pleases don't hesitate to ask." A slight narrowing of the eyes that only Harry's Auror training managed to detect. "Were you interested in any specific collection?" A practiced phrase, no doubt.
Harry now wished the Parisian wizards hadn't ben so stingy with their help; a distraction would be pretty nice right now. "No, really, just looking around."
"Are you British?" The question was definitely louder. Harry raised a placating hand, but the man did not lower his voice any. "If you're British then you would like the collection brought in last week."
"I'm sorry, but…" Harry chanced a look behind him.
He made eye contact with an equally shocked Beck.
Harry whipped out his wand, but Beck and Marcel were already up and running down the stairs. Harry shoved past the curator and followed. Landing on the ground floor Beck threw a blast that knocked down a statue. Harry tumbled out of the way, only to hit a couple backed up against the wall.
He rolled to his feet and into a run before they had a chance to scream. "Sorry," he said in passing.
If there was going to be a fight it couldn't take place in a museum crowded with muggles.
Beck and Marcel ran past the entrance and outside. When Harry stumbled into the courtyard he was pleasantly surprised that people were already running away, though some stayed on the sidelines with their phones out.
"Stay clear!" he told everybody because at this point there wasn't much need to stay inconspicuous.
A flash of light from his peripheral, and Harry ducked to avoid a curse that hit the side of the building. Harry aimed a Jelly Legs jinx. Beck blocked it with a counter-jinx and fired his own back. Harry dove to the side.
"Just give it up, Beck," Harry yelled. He stood up and aimed his wand, squaring his shoulders and spreading his stance for optimal balance.
Then the sound of a distant explosion shook the ground, and the sky behind the Louvre Pyramid became tinted with red. Air became riddled with a strange magic that made Harry's wand vibrate in his grip.
Beck moved to attack, but Marcel gripped his arm. He looked from the tinted sky back to Harry with a conniving smirk. "Why fight when you can run?" Mirth filled his accented words.
Harry lurched forward, but Marcel muttered a French spell that blanketed the area in smoke. Thick and suffocating Harry waved his hand, straining to see the two figures. He saw them, Marcel pulling Beck along towards the source of the explosion.
The more blocks they passed the greater the thrum of magic Harry could feel running along his nerves. French spells gone awry? Another Auror battle? However the closer they got— and why was Marcel leading them there in the first place?— the more Harry doubted it was as simple as that. Overturned cars and blown-in windows were steadily becoming the new Paris.
Another explosion. Parisians brushed past them in what Harry could only describe as controlled chaos. There was little screaming, no crying, but their footsteps still beat with the mad dash for safety. Harry shoved past them and tried to take aim at the two wizards just ahead of him. Beck trailed along, eyes flicking from Harry to the sky. He was just as lost as he was.
Harry's wand found a new target. "Wingardium Leviosa!" The crushed convertible was lifted then thrown with a flick of his wrist. Beck and Marcel skidded to a stop and backed up as the car tottered in front of them, then slammed back to the ground.
Another blast shook the ground. A voice from overheard yelled out, "I will have you respect the art of gambling, even if I have to beat it into you!" Inhumanely loud it shook Harry's translation spell.
Ignoring the burst of pain at his temples Harry wrenched his head up and saw a figure leap from the building across the street and land effortlessly on top of a lamppost. At first glance he might have been a wizard; the colors were certainly garish enough. However he threw projectiles, not spells, and he wore a form-fitting suit instead of wizarding robes. Spades, clubs, hearts, and diamonds decorated his suit and brought back memories of playing solitaire under the stairs.
The stranger straightened from his crouch. An ashen face underneath a black domino mask looked up and smirked over to something above Harry's head. With a red-gloved hand he tipped his fedora to a foe Harry couldn't see. "Care to gamble those pretty earrings of yours?"
Whoever this person was he radiated an unsettling power that made Harry step back. Definitely not a wizard. Another voice, coming from above him, broke the heavy silence. Again Harry felt his translation spell waver, threatening to break. "Stick to poker chips, Card Master!"
Something red zipped towards Card Master, but he flipped back onto a window ledge and fired two cards from his hands. Harry jumped behind a car as the cards hit the building and the windows above his head shattered. Through the clatter of falling bricks he heard his targets make a break for it. He vaulted over the car and fired a Stupefy that glanced off a lamppost. Harry gritted his teeth and took aim again.
The red thing zipped by on his right, and this time it brought someone with it. Lithe and small she couldn't have been older than fifteen. They locked eyes, Harry gaping all the while. Her suit was a blinding red made tolerable by a pattern of black spots. Behind a spotted mask the girl's blue eyes widened in horror. Then she shook her head, and Harry felt surprisingly strong hands on his shoulders. "You need to run!"
Spells cut through his thoughts, and Harry shrugged her off to cast a Shielding Charm with a sweep of his wand. The girl watched the spells ricochet and vanish into thin air. Ignoring her gobsmacked gaze Harry scowled at the wizards and stood. He was jerked back by a tug on his arm. The girl locked him with a suspicious gaze that crinkled her mask. "Who are you?"
"Found a friend, Ladybug?" Card Master asked from his perch, appraising Harry like a new toy his parents brought home. Cards materialized in his hands, and he flipped one between his fingers, its edges smoking.
Ladybug gripped her weapon— a yo-yo?— when her eyes landed on Harry again. Harry felt an incredible magic around her, good but strange in a way he couldn't put his finger on. "No time to explain," was all he could reply. Confusion set aside for now— though those Parisian conversations about animals suddenly made sense— Harry nodded to the dark wizards. "My job is to arrest those two."
Harry clutched his wand tighter and ran headlong towards Beck and Marcel. They both fired curses. He rolled and felt one nick him in the leg. There was an instance of burning, and it rolled up his thigh to settle there. Harry glared but pushed on. He saw them running down the street.
Above him more explosions; at his back the shattering of glass and walls shook the street. The tell-tale sound of Ladybug's yo-yo broke through the blasts. Harry heard another young voice filled with the same magic weave into his awareness. "Time to fold and give up for good!" A clang of metal, and Card Master went flying back into Harry's line of sight.
Marcel took the opportunity climb on top of a car and shout into the battle raging overhead, "Card Master!" He pointed to Harry with his wand. There was no curse, no jinx, just a spotlight under Card Master's demented gaze. "This one here is in league with Ladybug and Chat Noir. Did you not see how he protected her?"
Harry should have taken the chance to attack, but frankly, he was transfixed by the surge of power that Card Master radiated in his rising anger. The cards in his grip grew a blinding red that bent the air around them with heat. His lips curled into an animalistic sneer that showed nothing but teeth. He saw nothing but Harry. "You dare get in my way?!"
Ladybug and a black figure he could only assume was this Chat Noir landed on the street. Chat Noir began to slink towards Harry protectively. "The fight is with us, not him," Chat Noir shouted and brandished his staff. His black-clad body was taut, ready to leap.
Card Master regarded the two of them. Both hands displayed smoking cards."I'm only playing with the cards fate dealt me." With a flick of his hand he fired.
Harry yelled out another Shielding Charm, but the explosion still sent him skittering on his back. For a moment he couldn't catch his breath. Harry sat up and saw Marcel hop down to join Beck, dragging him along. His plan was put into action; it was time to make their escape. Harry struggled to his feet and found clawed hands helping him up.
"Are you alright?" Chat Noir asked him. His eyes, slitted and glowing an otherworldly green, looked him over for any injuries.
Harry rolled an ache from his shoulder, sparing the bell Chat Noir wore around his beck a curious glance. "Fine, fine." There, Beck and Marcel looking for a path that wasn't blocked by debris. He had to get moving.
Card Master fired another card that hit the street and sent pavement raining down on all of them. Chat Noir reacted with inhuman reflexes, adjusting his grip and twirling his staff above them to deflect the worst of it. "Make a run for it!" he yelled above the sound of the hailstorm.
Harry ran with one arm over his head. Beck and Marcel were rounding the corner, weaving around mounds of debris and making themselves nearly untargetable. "Stop!" What else could he say? He was going to lose them, perhaps for good. Harry brought his hand back for another spell, but a burst of cement in front of him sent him flying back. Card Master landed in front of him and pointed one card at his neck.
"Oh no." Anger twisted his sneer into a growl. "You're not getting away that easily."
His card was knocked away with a yo-yo smack. Harry could do nothing else but scramble back to the heroes. His wand was now trained on Card Master.
Ladybug turned to him, her yo-yo returning to her palm. Chat Noir came up beside him and followed Harry's gaze, the leather ears on his head twitching. "Criminals?" he guessed.
"Yeah." Harry gritted his teeth through the burning sting that still lingered in his leg. This wasn't good at all. "Real dangerous blokes."
Chat Noir bit his lip, then turned to Ladybug with a set jaw. He gripped his staff with the strength of a made decision. "Stay here, My Lady. I'll get those criminals back. They can't be allowed to run amok in Paris."
"Chat!" But he already loped away, jumping over one of Card Master's attacks and going down the alleyway Marcel and Beck had taken.
Harry ran after him, wand out and eyes trailing the tip of Chat Noir's leather tail as it rounded the corner. Magic light spilled from the alley entrance. Harry skidded to a stop and saw Chat Noir already jumping out of the way of a spell. Marcel took a step back and aimed again. For the first time since Harry had the misfortune of meeting him there was caution in his eyes.
So these superheroes had a reputation. Good to know.
Chat Noir lowered himself into a defensive stance, balancing on the toes of his boots. Beck drew his wand out. "What are you guys?" Chat Noir exclaimed. "Magicians?"
"Wizards," Harry provided, stopping at his side. "Some of us are better than others."
"Now don't be like that, Potter," Beck quipped with the sugar-sweet tone that turned Harry's stomach. "We should just agree to disagree."
"We're all equals here," Marcel put in. His next condescending smile was directed at Chat Noir, his wand beginning to rise.
This time Harry took his chance. "Expelliarmus!" Marcel's wand flew over his head and went skittering behind Harry.
"Why you little—!" Chat Noir's staff punched him in the stomach, and Marcel stumbled back with a pained grunt. His feet found purchase, only for him to be thrown back when the staff extended.
Beck brandished his wand, but Chat Noir used his staff to vault himself behind him. His staff shortened into a baton that was put up against Beck's throat. "I suggest you come in quietly," Chat Noir suggested. He began to walk back, dragging Beck with him.
A scuffle, but Harry Stupefied Marcel before he had a chance to crawl away. The man fell over with a thump. Harry went over to him, wand already starting the first flick of Incarcerous.
Beck's voice floated from behind him. "Maybe you should learn to keep your hands to yourself, kitty cat."
Harry whipped around— why did he leave a kid alone with Beck?!— but it was too late. Beck managed to twist his wrist from behind his back and aimed his wand directly in Chat Noir's face. A flash of light, a strangled cry, and Beck barreled past. Harry swiped at him but missed.
"Beck!" he yelled. Frustration like he never felt before boiled in his blood, and he thought his wand would break under his white-knuckled grip. Harry tore after him.
Silence made him stop, and, cursing his luck, Harry turned back around.
A very confused black cat stared back.
I have never written Harry Potter fanfiction and only occasionally read it, so I apologize if anything seems too inaccurate. Obviously I'm not following the Harry Potter timeline since it's 2016 but Harry is around 20 here.
This was a quick prompt by /r/fanfiction at reddit, though it turned out longer than I thought. Honestly this was just an excuse to write cat!Chat. I'll have the second part up soon.