Alphonse Alain Travert, or rather, Harry Elder, stepped out of the limousine with almost feline grace. A bag draped itself across his back, and a shock of blond hair fell across stunning cobalt blue eyes. He walked forward with a confident grin as he basked in the hot August sun. If one looked very closely and were sensitive to magic, they might notice a faint shimmer about his body- but at the current temperature 40° C, one could easily pass it off as a heat wave.
His eyes, intelligent and perceptive, swept the grounds- the vibrant green grass, small fountain, gardens- and he caught the sweeping curtain on the third floor and a flash of brown hair. Turning, he raised one lightly tanned hand to the limo and didn't bother to watch it go. Just before he reached the stairs, the elegant white doors opened to reveal Claude Bonhomme, dressed in voluminous sky-blue dress robes.
"Alphonse!" Claude greeted, smiling. "Bonjour. Come in, come in."
The man ushered Harry inside, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder. A servant behind them waved a wand and the doors drifted shut. Another servant, this a young woman, stepped forward to take his bag.
"Merci," Harry said with a slight bow of his head. The girl, blushing, took the bag and hurried away. Harry turned to look at his employer. "Good morning, uncle."
He flashed the small signet ring on his middle finger, letting the older man recognize that it was truly Harry and not an imposter. Claude nodded his head almost imperceptibly. He turned to the servant who had opened the door.
In fast paced French, Claude requested that his daughters be brought down- however, just as the servant turned to walk towards the grand staircase just beyond the entryway, a teen appeared at the top of the steps.
"Papa? Quel était ce bruit?" the girl called- Alix, Harry realized. She quickly hurried down the steps, passing the servant. Her dark blue eyes latched onto Harry almost immediately.
"Your cousin, Alphonse," Claude said, in English. The girl's eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms across her chest, tilting her head to get the dark strands of hair out of her eyes.
"I have no cousin named Alphonse," she said in somewhat-accented English.
"You do," said Claude, patting Harry's shoulder. "Vous faites."
"Alix? Que se passe-t-il?" another girl called, her voice almost musical. "Avice dit qu'il y avait un garçon?"
"C'est exact," Harry said loudly, watching curiously as a girl nearly identical to Alix joined them in the entryway. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun. "It is nice to meet you. You must be Amélie and Alix."
"English?" Amélie asked. "What is a English boy to do here?"
"Je suis votre cousin, Alphonse Travert. Call me Al," Harry said, smiling at the girls.
"C'est impossible," Alix said stubbornly, shaking her head.
"Mon enfant," said Claude, drawing the three teens' attention. "Alphonse's mother was my cousin. She and husband moved to England before you were born."
"Then why is he here?" Amélie asked. Harry averted his eyes, letting a dark shadow cast across his face.
Patting Harry's shoulder gently, Claude said, "His parents have died. He is staying with us until he comes of age this summer."
The twins' eyes widened before softening in sympathy. Amélie stepped forward and offered, "Our mother has died too."
Harry nodded, accepting the words for what they were- an expression of understanding.
The sound of footsteps alerted the small group to the impending arrival of the youngest of the Bonhomme girls- Catalina.
"Papa, j'étais occupé. Désolé-" She spotted Harry, freezing in her tracks. "C'est le garçon?"
"Oui," Claude said. "Votre cousin, Alphonse, fils de mon cousin."
"It is nice to meet you," Harry said, taking her hand and kissing it. Catalina smiled at him, a strand of hair falling in front of blue eyes so dark they nearly appeared black.
"And you as good," Catalina said. "Well?"
"Well," Harry corrected mildly. Catalina smiled warmly in response.
With that, they transitioned into French as the group wandered up the stairs.
"Your room is at the end of the hallway," said Claude, gesturing towards the vanilla-colored door appearing to be tightly shut. "Supper is at 8, servants will offer breakfast at 8 in the morning, and lunch is usually served at noon. If you require a servant to help you unpack, ring them."
"Thank you," Harry said, ducking his head. He shot a charming smile at the girls standing a bit down the hall. "I look forward to seeing you at supper then."
"Well then," said Claude, turning to go back downstairs. "Goodbye."
Harry just gave a short little wave and bowed slightly to the girls. "See you later."
"Want help?" Catalina asked curiously, tilting her head so that brown hair fell into her dark eyes.
"I'm alright, thanks," Harry said, shrugging. "I'll see you later?'
"Alright," Alix said, grabbing her sisters' hands and marching towards her bedroom. "See you."
"Alix?" Catalina yelped as she was spun around. "What-"
"Meeting," Alix said shortly as Amélie sighed and accepted her fate.
Harry raised an eyebrow and walked into his room, shaking his head at the antics of the sisters.
The room was a soft, creamy blue. One large window, this in a gold-tinted cream, adorned the far wall as white, thin curtains fluttered against the opened pane. A huge ornate bed dominated one corner of the room, a small mountain of pillows spilling across the headboard. On a coffee table near the bed sat Harry's bags.
"Home sweet home," he muttered. With a flick of his wrist, his wand slid smoothly into his hand and he swirled it once in the air; nothing.
Evidently, Claude had not found it necessary to magically bug Harry's room. Naive, but helpful for Harry, he supposed.
Not for the first time, Harry wondered how Claude had managed to convince Amélie to attend Hogwarts for at least a month or so while Alix tried for the Triwizard Cup. Catalina was easy- apparently, she was incredibly curious, which Harry, having now met her, was not surprised by. But Amélie- she was the difficult one. Cautious. Careful. She would rather stay home where she understands how things work than try something new. He wondered if Claude had promised her a flying carpet.
Shrugging, Harry continued casting spells and pacing the perimeter of the room, until finally, having cast a complex locking spell, he let his glamours slough off. He had perhaps four hours to kill and at least one of them would be spent studying Hogwarts and Beauxbatons in preparation for the Tournament.
Harry's fingers slowly traced the long, curling letters inscribing his father's name in the cover. He wondered how old Father was when he'd first picked up the book. Wondered if he'd stolen it from Hogwart's library.
Wondered if his father ever even thought about him anymore.
Tired green eyes scanned the age-worn pages as the clock slowly ticked away, a quiet symphony to itself. A dark hand pressed against a chiseled jaw as he yawned, nights of sleeplessness catching up bit by bit. Each bit of information, each map ingrained themselves in his mind until Harry could point out every weakness in the castle's design.
As he swapped to Hogwarts, A History, Harry paused on the section about the Boy Who Lived.
"Edward," Harry muttered, one dark eyebrow raised. Four pictures sat side by side on the annually-updating book. The first was labeled, 'one year old'. A small toddler had his arms wrapped around the baby, head cropped out except for a broad, baby-toothed smile. Idly, he wondered who the kid was. Next to it, labeled, 'first year', was a shot of Edward in Diagon Alley, hair wild and body so thin and small it looked like a strong wind could blow him over. His eyes were full of both caution and wonder. He was hardly the image the papers and books seemed to portray him as. The second was labeled, 'second year' and showed Edward laughing with two other students, and the third Edward a bit older and sadder, talking to a professor.
Though Harry had never said it aloud, he'd always felt a sort of pull towards the 'Boy Who Lived'- a title almost as ridiculous as any of the ones he'd earned of the years. It was silly, but sometimes, when Harry was younger and lonely, he'd have dreams of a red-haired woman and dark haired baby while men shouted jovially in the background.
Most of the dreams were peaceful and happy, but most was not all. Sometimes, he'd dream of Avada Kedavra and screams. Explosions. Fire.
The one time he'd gotten up the courage to ask Father about the nightmares, he'd said that an enemy had attacked a safe house when he was little and that the woman screaming had been his mother, who died shortly after. Immediately after, he'd warned Harry to stay as far away from Dementors as he was capable of, as he was likely to have a strong reaction and risk losing his soul. Harry, somehow, had managed this.
Harry set aside the book, shaking his head. He'd never met Edward Potter, and chances were, he never would. There was no point in pursuing it.
Rolling onto his back, Harry flopped his head onto the pillow, groaning through his teeth. He glanced out the window, letting the air brush across his face. Maybe a walk was what he needed.
Somersaulting to his feet, Harry reapplied the glamours and slipped out the door, intending to head for the garden he'd seen in the plans Claude'd sent him ahead of time. While Harry could never be accused of having a green thumb, something about being in the fresh air amongst nature calmed him like nothing else.
Despite the grandness of the mansion, Harry quickly reached the backdoor, the knobs at the very least plated in gold. He rolled his eyes at the excessive wealth displayed in even the smallest things and pushed open the doors.
The sweet smell of summer rushed him and Harry closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting the breeze tousle his hair. At night neared, the oppressive heat of the French summer had mellowed to a much more comfortable temperature.
Harry began to wander in between both local and exotic plants. While many of the brightest and most beautiful flowers and plants had faded with the rapidly approaching fall, there was a still an admirable collection of blooms.
A sudden movement caught his eyes. Harry turned on his heel, eyes narrowing.
"Oh," he said as he took in the pink and green plants.
They were venus fly traps, like the ones Father cultivated. Father'd had a fascination for carnivorous plants and succulents. As a child, Harry was afraid of the plants- had even had some nightmares, in fact.
Glancing up at the sky, Harry startled to see streaks of yellow and orange. His eyes darted down to his watch and he swore softly. Somehow, it was already almost eight- and dinner would be soon.
As Harry turned away from the garden, he didn't notice the swish of curtains shutting on the second floor.
TRANSLATION:
*note, I know very little French, most of it picked up from friends. After this chapter, the characters will be speaking almost entirely in 'French', aka English, until the Tournament begins- I'll only use French if the characters are speaking English and throw in a French word.
Bonjour- Hello/Good day
Merci- Thank you (formal)
Père- Father
Quel était ce bruit?- What was that noise?
Que se passe-t-il ?- What's going on?
Avice dit qu'il y avait un garçon?- Avice said there was a boy?
C'est exact- That's correct/that's right
Je suis votre cousin- I am your cousin
C'est impossible- That's impossible
Mon enfant- My child
Papa, j'étais occupé. Désolé- Father, I was busy. Sorry-
C'est le garçon?- This is the boy?
Oui- Yes
Votre cousin- Your cousin.
Fils de mon cousin- Son of my cousin