I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters: J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction.
Enormous thanks to Glorioux for brilliant editing.
Part 1
Preface
The little mouse soundlessly made its way to the familiar hole in the wall, leading right into the kitchen's cupboard. It was its nightly ritual – a visit to the cupboard. However, today, the annoying creaking of an old bed and laboured panting had distracted the little rodent from its usual routine.
The small creature stopped, turning its black beady eyes towards the source of such commotion, analyzing, determining, and trying to make decision; was it safe to move forward?
There, in the depths of the room, two sweaty young bodies were hopelessly entangled in each other. The dim moonlight lazily licked and caressed their silhouettes. The incoherent whispers were muffled by the creaking of wood and the squeaking of an old mattress.
The little, grey mouse sat and scrunched its nose, thinking. After a minute, the rodent decided that it was perfectly safe to move again. Apparently, no one was paying attention to it. Thus, the small grey shadow continued its journey.
Alas, luck wasn't on little critter's side today. It only managed to cover one foot of its way when a noisy, hoarse whisper forced it to freeze again.
"Shit!" a male voice exclaimed and then pleadingly mumbled, "I am sorry Gin, I didn't mean to. I tried to hold on, honestly. Please Gin, give me a minute and we will try again, please!"
"Try again? Try again! Are you bloody kidding me?" A high and not particularly pleasant female voice answered. "I'll tell you this once, Harry Potter, so listen carefully – you won't be in my bed again until you learn how to last more than three damned minutes... Now, get out, get out from my sight, wanker!"
The dull thud and loud, pained "ouch" surely indicated that someone had been violently pushed onto the floor. The sound startled the grey, little mouse nearly to death, forcing it to run back into its lair with the highest speed its tiny feet allowed, phew!
Obviously, there would be no cheese and cream for the little creature (and neither for Harry Potter) tonight.
Paris, November
The miserably grey and rainy November morning found Harry Potter sitting in a small cafe in Paris. He could not himself comprehend clearly, how exactly he ended up there.
He remembered vaguely how he came home in haze, muttering something about leaving England for good, while packing his backpack. Then, he pictured the Eifel Tower in his head, and now he was in Paris.
But, none of it did really matter for Harry – his life was ruined anyway. He might as well spend the rest of it in Paris, sitting in a small, unidentified cafe.
It was November 30, last day of autumn. The dirty, grey sky was covered with stormy, black clouds. Harry's heavy thoughts were the exact same shade.
The poor lad was slumped in the cold chair, the slightly short trousers revealed his muscular calves and the grey socks, along with the black shoes, that obviously had seen better days. The grey, baggy jumper covered the rest of his body. A nice cup of coffee and appetizing looking pastry stood in front of him.
There was nothing for him in the future, nothing. He was twenty-one years old and completely, utterly ruined. He, Harry Potter, a war hero, the boy-who-lived and won, was, in fact, nothing more than an inadequate, unsuitable male, who just a few hours ago was declared absolutely useless in bed. To his shame, he failed (more than once actually) to satisfy the love of his life. Well..., maybe not really the love of his life, but still – the fact remained. He could not, was unable, to satisfy a girl!
And that was it, a total and complete fiasco, finite. Harry Potter's life was officially over. He was done for it. Ginny would not be silent, and he would go down into the annals of history as the boy-who-was-an-unfit-lover.
"Shit!" growled Harry, throwing his dishevelled head onto his arms. Yup, shit indeed.
A moment later, Harry lifted his head up again. He drew a long, hopeless sigh, took one sip of his coffee and put a piece of pastry in his mouth. Munching the pie, he acknowledged that not everything was bad in his life – at least pastries and coffee were rather nice in Paris. The weather of course was quite shitty, but it was the end of November after all...
He turned his head to look around and unexpectedly was caught up in a soft gaze of the light-blue eyes. For mere seconds Harry just mindlessly basked in their warm and somewhat comforting azure depth. There were no expectations, no accusations in them, only feminine curiosity laced with empathy...
Or was it pity?
At this, Harry remembered that he was positively useless for any female on this lonely, lonely planet and hastily tore his green eyes from the light-blue ones. A dark, gloomy mood enveloped him again, drowning him in its suffocating misery.
No, there was surely no chance for a happy ending for him in this life. Of this, Harry was certain. He had screwed up, majorly and royally so.
Harry drew another heavy sigh, ate the rest of his pastry, drunk the last drops of his coffee and was about to stand up and leave. At this precise moment, he heard someone talking to him.
Harry shifted and met the same blue eyes again; however, now they were much closer to him.
Curiosity took over, and Harry carefully surveyed the woman standing in front of him. She was older than he was; that much was clear. Being only twenty-one, Harry couldn't really identify her age. Maybe in her late twenties – he concluded. She was extremely fashionable, or so to speak, appeared French looking. Her dark hair was covered with a bright red, flowery beret; her full, crimson-red lips accentuated her pale skin and azure eyes dramatically. A soft, lenient smile played upon them, and Harry felt that he couldn't quite pull his eyes from her mouth. There was something enticing in the way her lips were moving.
Moving?
Oh, right! The woman was speaking to him. She was trying to tell him something. Harry's mind, however, was still more than slightly dazed after the previous night's events and obviously wasn't working properly. He couldn't get himself to focus. Somehow, he was easily sidetracked this morning – full crimson lips, light-blue eyes (you know what I mean).
At last and not without an effort, Harry shifted his eyes from woman's lips to her eyes. Slowly her voice made its way to his ears, and Harry began to process what the woman was on about.
"Mister, do you hear me? Boy!" Ah, what a voice. The woman's voice was unexpectedly hoarse and smoky. The mellow, sultry undertones and delicate French accent added a unique and extremely alluring quality to it. Strangely, the voice of this French woman sounded surprisingly pleasant to his ears. Aghh, bugger - Harry was distracted once again.
"Did you hear me, boy?" At this, Harry's brain finally began to function.
"Oh, I am sorry, madam; I had a rather difficult night. Would you please be so kind and say it again?" Harry was genuinely surprised that he managed to vocalize such a lovely phrase.
It was lovely, wasn't it?
"Sure, I was just telling you, the length of your trousers is inappropriately short, darling. One inch higher and you not only will freeze your family jewels in this weather, but you will expose them to the whole Paris. I am not sure if that was your intention." She stopped to check on Harry's reaction, and when he began to shake his head in horror, she continued.
"That is what I thought. Come and see me; you need a few new trousers, boy, and," she gave him a penetrating gaze," if your robes as old as your trousers, then some robes as well."
With that, she handed to a frozen, in complete stupor Harry a small card, and almost turned to leave. At the last second, she paused and gently touched his forehead, moving his unruly hair out of the way. A tip of her finger traced his legendary scar, and the woman smiled softly.
"Come and see me, Harry Potter. I will make it worth your while, believe me." She graciously turned on her heel and left.
Dumbstruck, Harry looked at the small card in his hand, where in elegant cursive was written:
Margot's Pincushion
Wizard's Clothing Atelier
