chapter 2: komorebi (n.) the sunlight that filters through the leaves of trees

Dear Harry HARRY JAMES POTTER

What hare-brained scheme have you gotten up to now, YOU IDIOT? Molly floo-ed us a few nights ago saying that Ginny had gone and locked herself in her room at the Burrow, so the next day Ron goes looking for you at the Auror Corps and Macmillan tells us you've gone ON HOLIDAY? And then Ogden tells us YOU QUIT? AND THEN WE BOTH COME HOME TO A LETTER IN YOUR STUPID CHICKENSCRATCH ON THE DINING TABLE? 'Dear 'Mione and Ron, going abroad, don't look for me, will be back for Victoire's birthday' WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON, HARRY POTTER?

I broke my quill writing that by the way – you owe me a replacement now.

Where the hell have you gone? I know things between Ginny and you weren't the best, but don't you think you're overreacting a little?

Molly's furious by the way, she wanted to send you half-a-dozen Howlers but we talked her down in the end. Ron is also angry very upset, but it's more because you upset his sister than the fact that you two broke up. I don't understand why you broke up with her, mind you, she was smitten and yes, maybe you guys were going through a rough patch but there's always couples counselling! And self-help books! Trudy from Accounting recommends 'Lovelda's Love Lexicon for Lifeless Liasons and Low-key Lovers'. She says it's quite a long read, and the author does love her alliterations, but worth it.

I don't understand why you would ruin a perfectly good relationship. Ginny told me you were spending so much time out the house that for whatever little time she had at home off Quidditch seasons, you were never there anyways. Relationships don't work like that! Of course, you would find maintaining it tough if you never saw each other properly! I know you mean well, what with your job in the Corps and helping out Kingsley and looking after Teddy, but you need to cut some of these things out if you want to have a healthy relationship! Well, I suppose you did cut them out in the end since you're no longer here.

Ginny's gone on tour anyway, George went to collect her stuff from your place yesterday (why does he have your spare and we don't?). How long do you think you'll be away for? Will you be back for the next Wizengamot session? Have you nominated proxies for your seats?

Also, WHERE ARE YOU?

Lots of ire from being kept out of the loop,

Hermione (and Ron).

The magical district in France – cour des Rêves – was located in Paris. He'd taken the Eurostar train from London, under the English Channel, and had gotten off at the train station in Paris, with little more than a new muggle Passport (Gringotts forged, of course), a bundle of clothes, a few magical and muggle guidebooks, a disposable Kodak camera, Tonk's travel plans and his wallet in his backpack and his wand in a wrist holster.

He'd bought himself a cup of tea at a stall by the platform, clutching his Goblin-issued English to French book of phrases and vocabulary like a lifeline

"Tea…er, see-voo-play…?" 'S'il vous plait' was please, wasn't it? He hoped he'd said it decently.

"…un thé?"

"…eh, whee." How was 'oui' supposed to sound like whee anyways? French was such a complicated language!

"au lait?"

"…um, whee?" He could see the checkout girl cringing at his accent, oh Merlin what if he was accidently saying a swear word? What the bloody hell was 'olay'? Was she asking him about shampoo?

"C'est deux euros vingt-cinq." Thank god the till displayed prices, French was too bloody fast.

"…mwons veet, je swee de-so-lay." Where was Fleur when you needed her? Or Hermione for that matter – oh right, back in Britain. 'Moins vite' – that was slowly right? He was 'désolé' for forcing her to listen to him butcher her language, 'désolé' times a thousand.

His French was awful. He had to keep flicking through the book, whilst rummaging through his wallet for euros and cents mixed in with British Pound Sterling. The poor girl behind the counter had smiled pityingly at what was clearly some idiot tourist, coming to their country without learning the language.

Still, he was trying right? That had to count?

After his embarrassing venture at speaking French he'd clutched his too-milky tea and set about looking for the magical district at long last. His magical guidebook of Europe had said there was an entrance in the Catacombs in Paris, which sounded faintly ominous. The book had a fairly clear description of the place, apparently "a bustling centre of activity, famous for its Faerie Statue 'La Statue de courage féerique' and a gathering places for magicals from across all of France", which was all very well and nice but it didn't say how to get to the entrance or even get to the Catacombs.

So he'd wandered around Paris for a few days to see the muggle sites. He'd spent a day hoping on random buses and butchering French asking bus drivers if they would be heading to so-and-so site and either scrambling for change or 'Merci beaucoup, je suis désolé'-ing and practically throwing himself out the bus. It wasn't exactly dignified, but it worked and in a way it was kind of fun, in a heart-pumping-try-not-to-humiliate-yourself-Potter, kind of way.

By sunset, he was standing on the top deck of the Eiffel Tower, watching the cloudless sky blister pink and oranges in everstretching flares, eating a baguette stuffed with cheese and meats and sipping Orangina. There were a few snaps on the film roll inside his Kodak, no doubt, but whether any selfies he'd taken would be blurry or not would have to wait until the photos were developed. He'd taken quite a few photos today, there should be a couple of him in front of the Louvre, the Arc de Triomphe, a few of him lost in the Latin Quarter, and then doubling back to the Notre-Dame Cathedral. He'd even snagged a ride on a tour boat down the Seine.

Say what you want about wizards and witches, but muggles? They were pretty damn magical in their own right too.

Down below, the garden's looked tiny, the people barely the size of his fingernail. Up on the platform, the wind tousling his hair, it was like he was back on his Firebolt, that feeling of aahh after a Wronski Feint.

He got a letter from Hermione later that night, delivered by Pigwidgeon. Harry had only just plopped his bag down in his room, in a little hotel he'd found while wandering after dinner, when the tiny crazy owl had thrown itself through his open window. Pig bounced once on his mattress and then landed with a flop on his feathered chest, after a pause and a twitch, shook himself off and then offered him his crumpled letter dopily.

Harry petted the little thing absently whilst he read it. Hermione had held nothing back, clearly, when writing it. And he wasn't surprised to know the Weasleys were upset. He called reception for a plate of bacon and a hot chocolate for himself ('chocolat chaud' prettily pronounced sho-co-la sho) and filled the sink with a little water for Pig to drink. Only once both of them were sated, did he craft a reply.

Dear Hermione (and Ron),

I'm enjoying my holiday! The weather's been great so far, summer really is the best time to go on vacation!

Sorry about my CHICKENSCRATCH, tell George thanks for looking after the house for me. I've decided I'm going to work on my tan, and stay away from Britain until I've got a healthy glow. It might take days, it might take months, but I'm determined! But don't fear! I shall return for the next Wizengamot for a few days, and pop off again. Proxies have been nominated for my seats in the meantime, (HINT – one will have George's arse on it, guess who has the other one?)

Also, know a translation spell by any chance? Or a way to cheat at learning new languages? Just thought I'd ask.

Lots of love,

Your BFF, H.J.P.

It was a sad fact of life, that when you went through traumatic things with friends (i.e. killing a troll, entering a forbidden corridor, taking care of Blast-ended Skrewts, offing a Dark Lord etcetera, etcetera…) the bond between them and you will be so strong that things seen in normal friendships were fried to a crisp and tossed far, far away.

And yes, maybe he was being a little too vindictive in writing response sure to infuriate his bookish best friend, but maybe if she hadn't felt the need to prescribe a bloody love guide or wax poetic about his not-a-relationship-anymore with Ginny then he wouldn't need to resort to such method. Admittedly, the letter did make it sound like he was drunk, but who cared? He was twenty, his best mates might want to get married, settle down in a house with a white picket fence and two-point-five kids – but not him, no siree.

Okay, so there may have been a liberal amount of alcohol in his hot chocolate.

Early the next morning, having rested well, Pig took off into the bright sky with a crisp white envelope, spelled with the Imperturbable Charm against the elements. The sun had only just begun to peek over the Parisian skyline pushing back the blue shadows of the past night. Harry watched the little owl zip off and away out the window before he turned back to prepare for another day of exploring.

His backpack had been something he'd found in a small shop squeezed in the corner of an alleyway at the far end of Diagon Alley. The place had been dusty and cramped, knickknacks and trinkets strung up on the ceiling with silvery threads and piled up high on shelves against the walls and low hanging tables scattered around the shop front. The old woman running the place had looked even dustier and more eclectic than her shop, long heavy earrings hanging from the lobes of her ears, dark eyes that watched his every move as she fed more of a murky black powder into an incense burner. He'd found the leather knapsack amongst a pile of miscellaneous junk spilling across the wooden floors, selling at three knuts.

It suited him well now. It's innards were enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm courtesy of a trip to the nearby trunk makers' shop. He would have done it himself, or otherwise badgered Hermione into it if Ministry regulations on private use of the charm weren't so strict – there had been an incident when curious wizard had wandered onto Charing Cross Road and attempted to pay for a sandwich by sticking his arm elbow-deep into his centimetre thick wallet. The idiot had been heavily fined (because he'd done it himself, been stupid about the Statute and the charm had ceased working during his rummage for change) and Obliviators had had a field day.

The version of the charm he'd asked the owner of the trunk shop to cast was much less powerful, only expanding as required to a maximum of twice the volume it had originally. He'd etched his own amateur feather-light runes into the base of the bag, making the bag heavy enough to be manageable burden between his shoulder blades and stand up to scrutiny if anyone else had to lift it, but not so heavy that there was no need to worry if he decided to splurge on souvenirs.

He slipped on a white short-sleeved shirt and tugged on a pair of dark brown shorts before yawning his way to the bathroom to complete morning ablutions. When he at last stepped out into the sunshine it was just coming up to eight o' clock.

He'd finally given in to temptation and just asked for directions from the girl at reception. Thankfully, the girl had taken pity on him and answered his awful French with lightly accented English. According to the teen, he wasn't too far away from where the tour of the Catacombs started so hopefully he'd be able to find the magical entrance today.

Eventually, he found the tour group after a bit of lost wandering, but he hardly minded. The muggle side of Paris had beautiful landmarks certainly, but there was an underlying enchantment in the dark cobbles on the old streets and the little shops and cafés dotted this way and that. The sky was dappled with white cloud above and the sun was warm on his back when he made his way to the tour checkpoint.

There were a few already waiting as he approached. A couple of teenage girls, laughing and snapping pictures of each other with their phones. There were a few that looked much like he would have done, people in their early twenties chatting, heavy looking backpacks on their shoulders and clunky looking hiking boots.

He stepped forward, "- is this the English Catacombs tour?"

"Yeah," One of the older guys said, an American then, and reached a hand forward to shake. "At least, we hope so!" He gave a chuckle.

"Oh, good, my French is terrible." Harry laughed, "I'm Harry."

"Christian." He said back, cheeks dimpled. And then seemed to remember his surroundings. "Oh, this is Flora," He gestured to a tall dark-skinned, Spanish looking girl. "And Hiroto." A shortish but broad-shouldered guy.

"Nice to meet you." He greeted back to their hello's.

It was several more minutes until the tour guide arrived with the last of the group, a couple, but in that time, Christian and his friends had introduced themselves a little more thoroughly. Christian and Flora were half-siblings, as it turned out, and had just graduated college in the States, Christian in Art and Design and Flora in something maths related. They shared some similar features he supposed, the same skin-tone and a similar face shape, but Flora was at least a head taller than Christian which made it somewhat hilarious considering she was several months younger. Hiroto seemed a little more cautious, shyer, he had said that he was from Japan and just travelling around. He looked athletic, dressed in a blue tank top and dark shorts.

"And what are you doing in Paris, Harry?" Flora asked, as they followed the guide towards the entrance, fixing him a curious look.

"Just travelling like you lot, I guess," He hmmed. "Felt…cramped at home."

"Aah," Christian grinned, "the infamous wanderlust."

And then they descended the stairs into the darkness.

The catacombs itself had a pretty interesting history, if a little dark. Then again, it seemed like the most interesting bits of history tended to be. Originally, it had been a vast network of mines, but once the rich deposits were depleted, the tunnels were abandoned and forgotten, until sometime later when the Parisian cemeteries' mass graves were overflowing and collapsing. The muggle ruler at the time had the ordered for the bodies to be exhumed and moved into the Catacombs. All very interesting, especially when Christian had whispered to their group that the bodies had decomposed mostly and all that remained were fat deposits and bone – the fat which was then used to make candles and soap. Morbid.

It was dark and cool down here, and quiet. The city above their heads seemed miles and miles away, the sun even more so.

Harry wondered what that said about cour des Rêves and the French ministry, that the entrance to the main magical district of France was located in such a place.

Cecile, the tour guide, led them through long tunnels that varied in width and length, some chambers wide enough to hold a party, some they had to hunch their shoulders and squeeze through. Some of the walls were stone, but some walls were just human remains, floor to ceiling. Skulls stared back at him blankly in lines on the wall.

He was half tempted to check his pockets for the Resurrection stone.

Cecile warned them all not to stray too far from the group and not to go past the rope-barriered areas but let them look around a little. There were horror stories of children getting lost in the labyrinth beneath Paris, alone in the dark but for over two million of the long dead.

Flora dragged her brother away to look at some art that freelancers had left on one of the walls, dark skeletal hands clutching the pale flesh hand of a child. It was a haunting image. Perhaps he shouldn't have come to such a place, filled with death, when he couldn't even stand to be in Hogwarts for so long.

"Alright?"

Harry wrenched his eyes away.

There was a girl at his side – he hadn't even noticed her – looking at him with a little concern. Tonks! His mind supplied, and then he blinked. No, it wasn't Tonks. The girl – because she could be no older than sixteen, face still a little childishly round – had pink hair, but it wasn't Tonk's favourite bubblegum shade, more of a deeper rose-pink colour and far longer than Teddy's mother had liked hers. Right, not Tonks. Right.

"You alright?" Not-Tonks asked again when he didn't reply, her English slightly accented – Spanish maybe, or Italian?

"Yeah," He bit his lip, trying to shake off the odd feeling. "Sorry – for the staring - you reminded me of someone I knew."

She laughed, "I thought it was the pink." She gestured vaguely to her head.

He shook his head and opened his mouth to reply.

"Amore mio." Ah, Harry thought as another man appeared by her side, slipping his hand around her wrist, dark haired and looking tense. The girl suddenly looked tense, and the smile on her face looked a little more forced.

"Romeo." She said, looking uncomfortable. "I was just –"

"The guide is going." Her boyfriend said, shortly.

Harry joined the tail end of the group. Christian and his friends were up at the front chatting to the guide as she led them back towards the entrance. It was completely confusing, and if it weren't for the tour route being marked in red rope he was sure he would have gotten lost. All the same, it was highly unlikely the entrance would be in a place that had so many muggles going in and out so… he glance behind him at the darkening tunnels.

The entrance was probably further in.

"Harry?" He heard Christian's voice call.

He'd have to come back later, to explore properly.

"Coming!"

He spent the rest of the day with the three travellers around Paris. They were older than him by a few years, but good company nonetheless. And their French was a lot better than his (they laughed a lot when he told them of his struggles). The group didn't have anything planned for today and Harry's Catacomb exploration could wait until later, so they spent the day cycling down the Seine on hired bikes and laughing in the sunshine.

They were still strangers at the end of the day, sipping wine in a tiny little restaurant near Hiroto's lodgings and eating French cuisine. There were beats of awkward silence and startled laughter at new stories being shared in warm lighting and new friends.

But it's fine, it feels… good.

Harry downed his glass with a cheer.

Tonk's plans were a bit of a marvel to look at. A modern looking leather-bound journal, stained a bright sunny yellow, with bits of the bindings scuffed and a little frayed. It was not filled, not even halfway, only the first twenty or so pages had been written and the book was as thick as his wrist was wide. Some of the pages were wrinkled from water spillage, like they'd been soaked and then left to dry in the sun. Others had mug-bottom stains, big concentric rings and little splashes of old tea.

The Travel Book was what she had called it, her sprawling writing displaying it's title on the first page, obnoxiously large and dotted with little stars and smiley faces and muggle camper vans and the odd inappropriate drawing, just because. It made him laugh though, reading it in the sunshine of the park, a little wistful or melancholy.

There were strips of torn off napkins with scribbled off ideas of where to go next, taped in with scotch tape. The odd lurid orange post-it note, or hundreds of exclamation marks following fanciful ideas of Cairo or the Amazon in bright purple.

It was still very much Nymphadora Tonk's travel plans.

So, that's why his eyes skipped past [TOP TEN PLACES I MUST GO BEFORE I DIE BUT PREFERABLY ASAP] and the highlighted ramblings and why he picked Paris instead. It wasn't a city on her list, maybe she'd been there before, or maybe it was too close and not adventurous enough – but Harry'd picked the Paris floo before he'd really thought about it.

Something not totally different, but still a little further out of his comfort zone.

He wasn't sure if that made him a coward or an idiot.

He did go back later that night, after having left the travelling trio he'd been out for dinner with. He packed light, not quite sure what the atmosphere would be like once he hopefully found the magical district. The Diagon was relatively still at night, apart from the occasional drunkard stumbling across the cobblestones hollering for the Knightbus. Most of the shops in the Alley were only open during the day, with the exception of the Leaky Cauldron of course. By contrast, Knocturn Alley came alive with callers and hagglers out on foot in attempts to attract patrons exiting from the restaurants, venues and bars of Trivi Alley.

There had been one spectacular time where a group of them working at the DMLE had gathered for dinner in The Doddering Duck and had been leaving when a stale smelling lanky haired man had pounced on Ron's sleeve and proclaiming about a "definitive cure to your distinctive ginger-ness!" And it was lucky that Ron had been more than a little drunk too otherwise, more than the seller's beard might have been forfeit - you didn't approach a member of the DMLE from their blindspot, let alone a member of the HitWizard Squad. And with so many Aurors around, the man had been lucky to get away with a warning and not a cell for the night.

Harry had stopped back at his room for a light overrobe to throw over his muggle attire and then headed back towards the Catacombs. This time of night, in Paris, was pleasantly busy - not the hustle and bustle of tourists and sunshine as it was during the day - but enough that he didn't feel alone walking the streets. It was hard to tell the time, as he'd never really owned a watch and besides, why turn your wrist when you can just say 'Tempus' ?

The summer sky was just beginning to set, early in June though it was, despite the late hour. The warmth in the air made him feel strangely light. Perhaps he was getting lazy with magic at his disposal. He peered through a darkened shop window, an array of finely crafted watches and buttery-smooth leathers spread out from under glass cases.

By the time he arrived at the entrance once more, the sky was bruising and the temperature had dropped a little more, the breeze turning brisk. He'd been walking for a while though, so the coolness of the evening felt good. The entrance was even more nondescript than it had looked in the daylight - a dark green painted outbuilding that jutted out from the side of the museum. Without the queues and crowds of tourists it looked very much like a mere shed or storage holding.

He stopped a few hundred metres before it, turning into a narrow alleyway filled with cigarette ends and overflowing bins, shrugging the overrobe on. The other end of alley seemed to open onto another road so hopefully it wouldn't look too suspicious to muggle cameras if he went in and didn't come out.

Harry fished his wand from its holster, tucked into the waistband of his trousers - what would Moody have said if he saw him now? But it had been too warm for anything more than shorts and a t-shirt today, and it might have been more than suspicious to have a random stick braced against an ankle or a wrist. Even if he'd Concealed it, he'd likely have wandered around Paris very uncomfortably and sporting a very inconsistent shuffle across the pavements.

He circled his wand overhead, wrist moving deftly. Another thing that would have been awkward with an attached wand holster. The familiar cool, slimy sensation of being doused in raw egg, as Ron had often complained, made Harry's nose wrinkle by reflex but no longer caused the toe-curling shudder of ick that it used to, now that he knew the spell so well he didn't even need the incantation.

Mindful of any errant passers-by, he stepped back out between the two buildings and back onto the street, heading for the entrance once more. There was probably a more wizard-friendly entrance to the Catacombs now that he thought about it. Perhaps, French magicals were different - but the British ones could be incredibly silly and unreliable which was why they had gotten rid of the entrance from a telephone box on the high street and the ones down a toilet on the underground and relocated them to simple shop entrances - like the Leaky Cauldron onto the Diagon.

He checked behind him one last time before pressing his wand tip against the lock. It wouldn't do for a passing muggle to spot the door to the Catacombs opening with no-one standing there, after all. There would be a story circling about ghosts before dawn. Behind the door, there was a small click and a series of whirrs. The sshunk of a locking mechanism releasing and then he was slipping through the slight gap and inside.

It was dark inside. Harry stretched his hands out in front of him, feeling for the rope barrier that marked the beginning of the descending stairwell. For a moment he was tempted to light a Lumos but he'd spotted a few security cameras earlier in the day. Mindful of the steps, he gingerly toed his way back down to the Catacombs.

He wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for. He had packed light and left quickly. The brochures the goblins had gave him had been very helpful, he knew about the Fairy statue that he would find the moment he entered and that it was famous for its many tailors and shoemakers that held the majority of the shops. He even knew that there was a portkey only available to purchase from the Paris Branch of Navigem Portkeys to a Magical Reserve in Southern France.

But there was very little information within the brochure as to how to access the magical side of Paris if one was coming from the mundane side.

What little he knew had filtered through Ministry hearsay so it was vague and only to be believed cautiously. Allegedly its entrance was in the Parisian Catacombs. And that you'd know it once you saw it.

Which Harry was a little skeptical about - considering getting into the Diagon required striding up to a normal looking and completely solid wall and tapping a combination of bricks until the brick slid away.

The tunnels were much cooler than it was during the day, where at least there were burning lights and an influx of people. Harry regretted not bring gloves and a scarf. His robe was thin too, not much of a protection from the chilled stone. It was completely dark down here, lit only by a few green exit signs and after moving past the initial tourist routes, even those disappeared.

The light from his wand skittered across nearby stones and then disappeared several feet from where he stood, the tunnels converged in darkness beyond that.

Harry stared. He'd cast enough Lumos in his lifetime to know…that even when it wasn't a lumos maxima it's light should go a little further. The previous chamber, just beyond the furthest point the tour guide earlier had led them to, had skulls decorating the walls, words and script etched into the brick and stone, but his wand-light had functioned normally despite the creepy atmosphere.

He stepped forwards, past the threshold. The air here was stiller - not the spine chilling horror movie type that he expected - but the kind that came from a place undisturbed. Maybe there was some sort of ward up - like the one over the Leaky Cauldron that made the eyes of passersby skip over an uninteresting shop front. There was no way to tell what was occurring in the streets above down here, any sound from above scarcely made it past the first hundred metres or so of tunnels back at the entrance, let alone deeper into the catacombs.

This tunnel had a fine layer of dust coating the walls, the cracking visages of yellowing skull and bone blanketed by spider's threads, interspersed by sections of brick and mortar. Despite the dust on the walls, the floor was strangely unfettered and smooth underfoot. Almost like slabs of river stones under his soles. Perhaps in winter it flooded down here.

The further down he went the dimmer his wand-light went. He eyed it as he continued downwards, and he could tell his current path was a slope, seemingly leading deeper underground. Occasionally he came to junctions, tunnels that merged into this one or split off from it.

"Point me - cour des Rêves." He tried twenty minutes later, nearly face-palming when he remembered the spell existed. Are you a wizard or not? He could hear in Ron's snickering tones.

The wand-light extinguished and began spinning frantically in his palm in the darkness. Harry sighed and lit a lumos again. Well, it was worth a shot, even if it was fruitless. Had they made the district Unplottable? It would certainly explain a lot, but then again, quite paranoid.

He flicked his wand between the two available paths, eyeing the distinct fork in the tunnel with distaste. The wand-light didn't change when pointed towards the left one, but the right side made the already dim light, even dimmer, barely a pinprick of light to see by.

Hmm, a ward against lumos specifically? Made to increase in strength when he went down specific paths? His Point Me spell had gone a little haywire earlier instead of settling to point towards his destination. Or a ward to disrupt magic casting? He frowned.

"Incendio."

A plume of flames shot out of the tip, roaring down the first metre or so of the tunnel on the right. The sparks lit up the walls revealing much of the same dark stone and macabre bones that made up the walls of the catacombs before dissipating.

Not a magic disruption spell - something against lumos specifically? A spell every witch or wizard knew…and would likely try in a dark space?

Nodding resolutely, Harry stepped forwards down the right tunnel, left foot first.

The lumos flickered out.

For a heartbeat, there was nothing but darkness - cold and encompassing and silent, but for Harry's shallow breaths. He strained his ears to hear for any sounds beyond that but it was quiet around him. There had to be a nicer more friendly entrance, and the moment he found the blasted place he was going to ask for directions to it instead of traipsing down creepy tunnels again.

In the distance, something caught his eye. There was a faint light, not the flickering of candles or sconces, but a steady cool blue pinprick, about a hundred metres or so in the distance. Keeping his back angled to where he thought the walls of the tunnels were, he slowly made his way forward, treading lightly on the balls of his feet. With one arm outstretched to skim along the rough brick and rock, and the other firmly pointing his wand, he closed the distance.

It was a rune, he realised as he got closer. Well, not a rune exactly. It didn't look anything like the shapes in Hermione's textbooks or the type that Ron's brother Bill was interested in either. He bent at the waist to get a better look, his wand still pointed at it warily. The glowing sigil was embedded in face of a wall, seemingly marking a T junction where the path he'd been following split into two. It was larger than he'd first realised, roughly the size of his palm and barely illuminated his hand when he brought it up to examine it. Certainly not large enough to light up the passageways but enough to be a marker?

The shape was made of sharp lines and edges, but where the angled Runes Hogwarts taught seemed to resemble something closer to caveman etchings, this one had far more curves and dashes, curling up stylistically against the natural texture of the stone.

Well, they did say it would be obvious once you saw it. Harry squinted at the strange symbol and wondered if it was obvious enough - wouldn't a signpost have been better? Perhaps a glowing 'Witches and Wizards this way.' Except in French, obviously.

He glance down the two tunnels that branched off from where he stood, and - oh, look - there was a another blue glowy thing down the left passage. Fantastic.

Was it a magical thing to try and incorporate the most convoluted schemes into public systems? Or just something the British had nicked off the French? He followed the designs for a few more minutes, twisting through tunnels in some sort of shitty Easter egg hunt. He almost wanted to turn back. The French magical society couldn't be that far removed from the British, surely magicals were magicals no matter where you went? He had been walking beneath the city for what felt like hours now, the soles of his feet beginning to tire, but he could always just turn back the way he'd come. Why had he even decided to drop by in the first place? He barely set foot out the door on his days off, unless it was to visit people. The last time he'd been to the Diagon, just to relax, had been before the War, it was that long ago. Hogsmeade, he occasionally went to just to buy something strong before he headed up to see McGonagall in the Headmistress' Office, but even then that only happened once a year.

Not to say he was a recluse - he did go out after all - but the Wizarding public still went a bit insane anytime he stopped by the pub for a drink, so he'd taken to frequenting the Muggle side of things for a change of pace instead.

He hoped the French were less fanatical, hopefully they had no idea who Harry Potter was and just thought Voldemort was a cheap British knock-off vol-au-vent. It was as he was having his second thoughts about this whole venture that the tunnel ended abruptly at a wall.

Harry scowled, glancing around him. There was no new sigil glowing on the walls, nor were there any new paths. He eyed the grey layered brick around him suspiciously and poked at a divot with the end of his wand. It was solid beneath the wood, not an illusion like the Platform Entrance at King's Cross.

"Revelio!"

Blue light shot from his wand, enveloping the bare wall before him. There was nothing for a moment, and Harry resisted the urge to groan aloud in frustration. Bloody French Wiz-! And then as the light faded, the glow of new magic spilled into the dark space. It started by his feet, where the seam of the floor and the wall was, a thin thread of light shooting upwards with a barely audible hum, making several 90-degree turn until, with a wary back-step, a large rectangular shape was marked out into the stone.

Scribed within the shape, the glow of careful calligraphy spelled out "Bienvenue à la cour des Rêves".

And with that, the stone fell away from the wall where the glowing blue line had previously cut out the rectangular shape until the whole slab swung open on invisible hinges with no sound, but for Harry's breathing and his racing pulse.

Ah, so here was that signpost.

A/N: i have updated this is not a drill i repeat this is not a drill

Also of u were looking my way for an april fools fic u should look elsewhereeeee
As usual comments if u like mellow Harry 3 and also for suggestions for where you would like to see him travel, im making a list of all your suggestions! Ｏ(≧▽≦)Ｏ