Chapter Two
Mister Binnert brought little Harry to a quaint two-story building, with smoke coming out of its chimney. The walls were painted white, with visible wooden support beams. Harry especially liked the roof; for some unfathomable reason, it was covered in straw. One would think that with all the rain during the year the straw would rot, but from what Harry could see, that had not been the case here.
With his hand on Harry's back, the French man led them towards the entrance, bypassing several people waiting outside. He opened the door and beckoned Harry in with a brisk hand gesture. Harry felt uncomfortable, looking at all the people who were in a waiting line to enter the restaurant. He didn't want to just pass in front of them like that, especially in plain sight.
He hesitated, then followed Mister Binnert inside.
Once inside, he was greeted by an old man with clothes just as frilly as Binnert. It seemed to be a popular fashion amongst these people.
"Puis-je prendre votre veste, messire?" the old man asked.
Harry frowned. "I don't understand…" he said, limited by the language barrier and feeling quite intimidated.
At that moment, his guide caught up with him.
"'E wants to hang up your coat for you," translated Binnert.
Harry did not really want to take off his coat, but when the two men just continued waiting with expectant stares directed at him, he gave in.
The old man took out a long stick, and waved it over Harry's coat. Disappointingly, there were no sparks or obvious reactions of any sort from the stick. Harry wondered, rather suddenly, if the whole situation was just a hoax engineered by his relatives. But however mean they could be, they were not malicious enough to do something like this. That was why Harry didn't believe them to want to go through the effort of making up something like this.
Just at that moment, the coat left the old man's hands, hovering in the air for a few seconds in front of Harry's surprised eyes, before speeding out of sight.
Unbelievably impressed, Harry smiled in glee. This was magic, again! Suddenly, this whole trip seemed more worthwhile. These people really had superpowers! It was not some sort of elaborate lie!
"You're going to like it 'ere," announced Binnert. "Zere is more to come."
The old man led them towards a big double door with strange carvings on it representing a horned human with plants growing on him. The doors opened with a flick of the servant's wand, and then came a new room to Harry's sight. It was similar to a living room, though Harry did not quite know why he thought that, as it was not one at all.
There were several low wooden tables with armchairs around each of them, and two enormous fireplaces were against a wall, with impressively high flames dancing in them. The floor was one giant carpet with images of people and animals that were moving. Harry was fascinated.
He tried not to trip as he followed Mister Binnert all the while staring in awe at the place.
"Votre table habituelle, monsieur Binnert," said the old man once they arrived at one of the tables.
Binnert explained to Harry that the old man was saying that that table was for them, just as the old man in question pocketed a thick piece of strange paper that had been on the table, with something written in the middle. Because of the old man's hand, Harry only saw part of the writing, the end of whatever was written on it:
'-ble est reservée'
Harry felt a bit shy in this place. Everyone was eating quietly, drinking quietly and talking quietly and doing everything quietly (he could barely hear the couple a few feet from them as they discussed!). It was like being in a library and being forced to stay silent. Harry allowed himself to sink down in one of the four armchairs placed around the table, looking down at his knees. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. It had been easy to just follow his guide around until now, but considering the fact that they were in some sort of restaurant, they'd have to eat and talk. Harry had no idea of what he was expected to talk about. His social life had never been much, so his experience wasn't worth a lot. He was also terribly afraid of making a big mistake and that suddenly Mister Binnert would realize Harry was nothing special after all, and send him back to the Dursleys.
"We are lucky," said Binnert. "We came just in time to 'ave one of ze best places."
Harry didn't quite have an answer, or anything intelligent to say to that. Was he expected to respond? "That's… good?"
The man laughed. "Yes it iz. I haff not eaten yet and it would haff been annoying if I could not eat in my favourite restaurant. Are you hungry?"
Having eaten a late breakfast not long ago, Harry wasn't particularly hungry. At least, not enough to bother the man about it.
"No thank you."
"In French, we say 'non merci'," Binnert informed him.
Harry didn't really care, but he felt it would be rude to say that, so he pretended to be interested.
"Non merci," repeated Harry dutifully.
Despite how hard it was to speak French, he liked how the foreign words sounded. It was a bit like singing - it sounded very nice, and he liked hearing other people speak the language.
"Bonjour et soyez les bienvenus chez la Vieille Chouette."
Harry raised his head and saw that a very pretty lady had approached the French man and himself. She wore a long sweeping cloak that had to be difficult to navigate in, and it was fastened with an amber brooch. Her long brown hair had been done in a braid, arranged on her head in an elaborate bun. She has holding a leather-bound document that she gave to Mister Binnert.
"She is welcoming us to ze restaurant, which is named Ze Old Owl," translated Binnert, his voice low.
"Deux chocolats chauds, s'il vous plait, avec crème fouettée pour mon compagnon," he said.
Harry would have given anything to understand - he was meeting an unknown language for the first time in his life, and it made him feel a bit unhappy. yes, he'd been in France for a few days already with the Dursleys, but he hadn't interacted with many people, so he didn't feel like he'd had to face the language barrier much until now.
Binnert noticed, because once the lady was gone, he leaned forward to explain: "She iz a waiter, and this" - he held up the document the lady had given him - "iz the menu. I asked her for a hot chocolate for myself, because I do not like tea or coffee. She will be back soon to take our order."
While they waited, Binnert told Harry about magic, how useful it was. He said that Harry's parents had been very powerful wizards, and had been fighting in a war against a dark lord (Harry didn't know what that last part meant, but with the word 'dark', he guessed it was bad) when they were alive. The dark lord had then killed them, and Harry had managed to survive. After that, the dark lord had never been seen again.
Harry wrung his hands thoughtfully. He did not quite understand why this dark lord had not simply killed his parents with a magic spell. It must have been awfully tedious to have to drive a car into theirs just so they would die in a car crash. He opened his mouth to ask, but did not manage to say anything, because the waitress choose that moment to return, carrying something on a serving platter.
"Voilà," she said, placing it on the low table.
The lady listened attentively as Binnert said a few more things to her, then she nodded at him and left. Harry was still staring at what she had laid on the table. There were two mugs of hot chocolate, and the one closest to him had whipped cream on top of it.
Harry had told Mister Binnert that he didn't want anything, so why?...
"Well, look at what she brought you! I thenk she likes you. You will 'ave to say thank you when she comes back."
Harry blinked, feeling strangely warm. These French people were really nice. He had never been treated so well. Back in England, all the neighbours were convinced he was a hooligan, a child delinquent up to no good. The difference in treatment between Surrey and France was quite noticeable.
"Okay."
"You can say 'merci pour tout' to her, so she can understand. It means 'thank you for everything'. I don't think she speaks English."
Mumbling the words to himself, Harry attempted to repeat them correctly, without much success. Binnert sighed.
"Or you can just say 'merci'."
'Merci' was not too long. It was pronounced like the 'me' of the word 'met', followed by the growling 'r' of the French speakers, and then the 'ci', who was said like the word 'see' or 'sea'. Despite how hard it was to say the 'r', Harry's 'merci' was understandable.
"What does it mean, again?" He had already forgotten. He'd been so focused on saying it properly that the meaning of the word itself had slipped out of his mind.
The French man took a sip of his hot chocolate, looking at Harry. "'Merci' means 'thanks'."
-x-x-x-
"What I do not understand," said Binnert as the food was deposited on their table, "is why zey do not protect you, zese British people." He seemed very puzzled.
"Protect me?" Harry parroted, confused. He did not know why he should be 'protected'. In fact, why would there be any danger in the first place?
"Yes. Ze dark lord wanted to kill you with your parents, but it didn't work, and he disappeared. Unfortunately for you, ze dark lord has many servants-"
"What do you mean by 'servant'?"
After all, Binnert was talking about Lords and servants. Harry didn't know any of those in real life, so he figured it was probably some sort of code language that meant something else. After all, one did not really encounter many Lords and their servants nowadays.
"It means those who work for him."
Harry opened his mouth to protest and say that he had not asked for a definition of the word, thank you very much, but Binnert was still talking:
"Now, as I was saying, ze dark lord 'as many of zese servants, people who work for him, that want to do what ze dark lord didn't manage to do." He began gently cutting off a thin slice of salami from the thick sausage, and placed it on a piece of buttered fresh bread.
His eyebrows coming together in a frown, Harry tried to make sense of what had been told. "What did the dark lord not manage to do?"
"He didn't manage to kill you."
"K-kill me?" The prospect seemed horrifying to his childish mind. Connecting such a vague and foreign concept to himself was something he had never done. Death was something that happened to others, not him. Hary had heard of horrible deaths in newspapers or on TV, but never before had he had to face the concept himself.
"Yes, and now the people who work for 'im want revenge, zey want to kill you."
"But why?" Harry's eyes were burning with the beginnings of anger. "I didn't do anything!"
The man set his sandwich down and leaned forward.
"'Arry, zere are many bad men in zis world. I don't know why, but zey exist. And zese British men, who work for ze dark lord, zey are angry at you because zey think it is your fault zat ze dark lord disappeared after killing your parents."
Harry crossed his arms. "But I didn't-"
"Yes," said Binnert, interrupting him, "I know you didn't. But zese men are stupid, bad men. Zat is why I am surprised you live with people zat do not know magic. Zese Dursleys cannot protect you, 'Arry."
Harry's chin trembled. Binnert looked at him, and his eyes softened. He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.
"Don't worry. Now zat we know with who you are, we will protect you. You can stay here in France, where ze bad men can't hurt you. Here in France, you are safe. You can stay here."
That seemed just a bit too good to be true. "I can do that?"
Lips quirking up, Binnert nodded in a solemn manner. "Well, you signed ze letter that invites you to our school of magic. Zat means you are now a student here in France, and will learn to do magic."
Harry's ensuing grin, though shy, could be likened to the brilliance of the sun.
-x-x-x-
They left the restaurant with both their stomachs pleasantly full of delicious food. Since Mister Binnert couldn't do his teleportation trick without making Harry feel sick, they had to find another manner of transportation to make their way to the important place Binnert called 'Ministère'.
So, they headed towards a horse-drawn carriage further along the busy street. It was the only carriage there, with a few passing people looking at it curiously. Harry had never seen a real carriage before, with real horses. He had only ever seen drawings in picture books. This carriage was pretty, all red, with a big shiny sun drawn on the door, just under the window. The wheels were bigger and thinner than car wheels, and seemed to be made of wood and metal. They were glistening with varnish.
A man who had been sitting on a seat outside the carriage, by the front, opened up the door with the sun-motif on it.
Harry stared.
"You can go in," said Binnert, when it became clear that Harry wasn't going to move.
"Can't we just take a car?"
"... No."
"Oh." Harry looked nervously at the winged horses that would be pulling the carriage.
And then he went inside.
The man followed him and sat down on one of the two padded benches.
"Sit down," said the man, "or you might fall over when ze horses start moving."
"What are they? Unicorns?"
Snorting, Binnert shook his head. "No, zey are Chollima, given to le Ministère as a present from Asia. They are ze best."
Harry observed the elegant horses, with their powerful legs and with their great big wings, which instead of coming out of their back like in stories, started by their massive chests, and poked out of the body after the abdomen, near the barrel, extending upwards.
The horses looked strange, abnormal. They were very thin, nearly translucent, and looked like a breeze could blow them away. However, their chests were enormous, all the muscles used for flight stored there as well as all the way down to their flanks. Harry thought that despite how queer they were, they didn't seem to be that frightening.
Then one of them opened its mouth, a cloud of orange smoke came out, and Harry revised his opinion.
He definitely did not like these horses.
