For the first time in months, Harriet decided to step out up her little cottage and into the real world.
She hasn't done so - the headlines and articles flashing across newspapers around the globe had quickly dissuaded her of the idea. It was miraculous for the news to be still circulating after months - but when the British wanted to make something big, it usually happened.
It was just a short trip to Paris - or not so short in actual distance - by floo travel. It was neat, because one of the many privileges of belonging to a noble (and extremely dark) house was that no one ever dared to register your floo address. (No one wanted to be on the receiving end of the wrath of a powerful family with connections upon connections. Especially if the family in question was well-known for being absolutely and absurdly dark and quite willing to demonstrate their skill.)
And though there would be no hitches in the traveling part, there was still the fear of being mobbed and kidnapped back to Britain.
Even if she was not going to step foot in the magical district without being covered by layers of illusions.
Especially since the Delacours were atrociously influential in any part of France, and the heiress was married to Bill.
So, for the sake of her not being kidnapped, she plastered on the illusion of a redheaded hazel eyed teenager over herself, and completed it with a generous dash of freckles. A dress was dug out of the closet, fumbled on somehow, and a pair of sandals discovered from underneath the bed.
She wasn't sure when she'd actually acquired such superfluous items, but they worked perfectly fine for the situation. (Because Harriet Potter wouldn't have been caught dead in a dress, or any footwear that weren't sneakers, tennis shoes, or combat boots.)
During the process of changing from socially unacceptable clothes to the actually fashionable (in her opinion, not that it was exactly accurate), she wondered why there was a dress there in the first place. Among the sweatshirts and jeans which looked like they had seen better days.
Harriet shrugged. She didn't exactly care, it was there, so it was there.
And when she turned to look at herself in the floor-length mirror, she couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.
There was no way she would've recognized the girl standing in mirror as herself if she hadn't known better. Because Harriet Potter didn't have straight red hair down to her shoulder blades, hazel eyes which actually wasn't her most noticeable feature, or worn a white sun dress which ended just above her knees. (Imagine dueling Moldyshorts in a dress.)
She knew quite a few people who would've loved to see (and blackmail) her in a dress. But she tried to be separate from that part of her life now, and having to watch her friends die was quite an incentive. (Teddy didn't count. He was just an adorable color-changing puffball that she was planning to kidnap off the Hogwarts Express.)
Harriet rolled her eyes at herself, snatched the expandable purse on the table, patted the small leather bag hanging around her neck for a resurrection stone, and hurled a handful of floo powder at the fireplace before shouting out what she hoped was the correct pronunciation for Paris in French.
(French people were weird. Their language was weirder, and she was going to buy one of those ridiculously expensive linguistic pensieve memories the first chance she gets. Hopefully without being recognized and then mobbed.)
The Potter luck was a terrible, cursed thing that deserved to be stomped to pieces, burnt to ashes, and then tossed into the deepest pits of hell. And then fed to Moldyshorts as dinner.
It was also the moment that taught Harriet to never walk around without a full dose of liquid luck.
Even with her illusion covered self, completely new style of clothing, and basically looking like a misplaced American tourist, she tumbled headfirst into trouble. Or rather, trouble landed headfirst into her in the form of a blond Italian (Probably. He could be French.).
A blond Italian with hair resembling a pile of seaweed, sky blue eyes, and the ability to trip over a speck of dust (or just nothing at all).
It went somewhat along the lines of being bowled over, hearing the offender letting out a rather colorful string of Italian - thanks Merlin that those memories worked - and then getting tugged up and around a sharp corner.
"Mi dispiace, mi dispiace, mi dispiace!" The blond rambled hysterically, and Harriet pulled him up as he almost tripped. "I shouldn't have taken you with me! Now you're in danger too!"
Harriet stared blankly at the hysteric blond, thinking it was a bit too late to be saying that. Sighing, Harriet shoved into an alleyway, ignoring his frantic flailing.
Her hand reached out to slap itself over the his mouth as he started to ramble hysterically, and she ignored his muffled protests as a tendril of her consciousness reached for the minds of their pursuers.
Their minds were completely unguarded, almost inviting with the way they were completely unaware of her existence. She remembered the way the alley was before they'd arrived, the cracks in brick walls, the mouse scurrying away from their previous footsteps, and the sound of footsteps echoing faintly but fading away. The image slid easily into their minds, and the men ran on, unaware of the people who stood a scant few meters from them, chasing after footsteps they will never find.
A flicker of something akin to pride blossomed in her chest as she watched their figures disappear and their voices dim, even as she held her breath. Suspicious bulky men dressed in black bristling with firearms and completed with sunglasses and overly fancy watches. (She wondered who they could be, dressed in such inconspicuous clothing.)
The logical part of her mind wondered just who on earth was the klutzy Italian staring at her with wide eyes, but it didn't last long. It was quickly and painfully squashed when he started to remind her of a kicked puppy, complete with the pathetic eyes and the whimpering.
She hauled the man to a quaint little cafe two blocks over, gave him no chance to talk, and ordered a ridiculous amount of sweets and pastries. Then proceeded to dump the bill on him. There was no way she was paying for anything, and she rolled her eyes as she heard a high-pitched shriek emit from the cafe.
She regretted ever helping the man as she slammed her door in his face. (How he could find her in an undiscovered and uncharted part of France she would never know.)
Harriet stared. And stared. Then she slammed the door, eliciting a yelp from the blond standing outside as his foot was crushed.
She glared at the expensive italian leather currently acting as a doorstop. Her eyes followed it up to the blue eye that was peeking through the crack.
"Hi?" His voice quivered even as he stood half a head taller than her, and flinched as her glare intensified. Even dressed in a white tuxedo with a navy shirt, he looked like someone had accidentally murdered his puppy. (In less polite words - absolutely pathetic.)
"Who are you and why are you," she stared pointedly at the black-suited men who stood behind him. "Standing on my porch with very suspicious looking men?"
At least the men looked friendly this time, and some were even setting out tents and making firepits. A few waved to her as they saw her staring, and her eyebrows rose above her hairline.
She turned her attention back to the blond as he scratched his head sheepishly, and she couldn't but help but relate to Neville with the action.
Sweet sweet Neville, who taught herbology at Hogwarts, dealing with surprisingly vicious and often carnivorous plants every single day. He would probably be teaching Teddy and his band of miscreants and trying to keep them out of trouble.
He coughed lightly. "Sorry, I guess I never introduced myself," she could swear that she saw sparkles surrounding him, "I'm Bettino Cavallone, and these are my bodyguards." He said as he gestured to the men who had completely taken over her porch.
"I see." She said dryly, lifting an eyebrow. It was obvious that she didn't see, but the man in front of her seemed to be the stereotype for blonds - oblivious, idiotic, and without any common sense.
She slammed the door in his face, and proceeded to ignore the whining and complaints which came from the other side of the door for the next few hours.
She opened the door at sunset again, when the pounding finally stopped and she'd had enough of Mark Twain for a lifetime. Normally people weren't rude enough to camp outside someone's house for an entire night, despite the tents that were being set up.
Or maybe there were people that rude.
Campfires sizzled happily, cups of coffee were being passed around her front yard, and the men were roasting meat over the fires. A few caught her door opening and waved cheerfully at her, while others broke up in raucous laughter at her stunned expression.
And then she found herself being tackled by a head full of blindingly blond hair, and stumbled back a few steps at the force. Sparkles appeared around the man, and his smile was absolutely blinding.
"Come in for dinner then, unless you want to be food for the mosquitoes instead." She resigned herself to dealing with the human equivalent of a puppy for dinner. "And if anyone sets anything on fire, I'll set them on fire."
It was the start of a beautiful, gorgeous friendship, filled with parasitism and sparkles. (She was definitely being harmed, and Bettino just seemed to leech off her energy.)
That summer, Harriet stole Teddy from Andromeda. (Andromeda knew that she had taken him of course, but she had no clue where.)
Both of them changed their appearance to a pair of brown-haired siblings, and proceeded to tour the entirety of France in a month.
They found out that Nice had sunny beaches, and they had snow globes and tan lines to remind them of that fact. Teddy complained the entire time that the Pope was way too rich, with his gigantic palace in Avignon. (He stopped after Harriet reminded him of the Black inheritance.) Water skiing was ridiculously amusing, and Harry laughed herself silly watching Teddy splutter and falling into the Gorge du Verdon. Versailles was the size of Hogwarts two times over, and the Eiffel Tower smelled horrible.
They stuffed their souvenirs into bottomless bags - some postcards here, a t-shirt there, and random tidbits scattered in the mix. Others probably thought it was weird with how light they traveled; only two sport bags between the two of them.
So a month later, it was two exhausted ex-tourists that found themselves arriving back at Harriet's little cottage in Jura, France. The sight that greeted them was one that had became a daily routine over the year.
Men in black suits roasted food over a bonfire, and there were tents set up in a circle on her yard.
Teddy finally picked his jaw off the ground. "I'm hallucinating." he said flatly, pointing at the group of people in front of him. "Please tell me you spiked my food with Uncle George's pixie powder."
Harriet rolled her eyes and tugged Teddy along as she stepped into the clearing. (Damn it, this was her front yard, not a camping site. And especially not a camping site for a bunch of suspiciously dressed men.)
By their looks, they had probably just arrived this morning and found no one home, and decided to wait. (No one had tried to break into her house since the time Bettino was hung upside down, and covered with paint, honey, and feathers. She still had blackmail pictures.)
"HARRIET!" She neatly sidestepped the blond blur that charged at her, and Teddy blinked as he was suddenly lifted up and set on her other side. They turned as one to stare at the blond who'd tripped headfirst into the shrubbery, who'd pulled himself out and stared at them with pleading eyes.
"Where did you go?" Bettino looked on the verge of tears, and Harriet pinned him with a flat look. She was her own person, and she appreciated the liberty of going on vacation without finding a hysteric blond on her doorstep when she returned.
She turned to Teddy. "Do you see this idiot, Teddy? Never become like that. Ever."
"Yes, Aunt Harriet." Teddy nodded resolutely, pinning the man with what Harriet called the 'you-are-so-insignificant-and-beneath-me' look. "Can we go and have dinner now?"
"Of course." Harriet smiled at him as they walked towards the door. "So what do you want to eat?"
Bettino whined as he was ignored, and mumbled something about another one underneath his breath.
Author's Note:
More development coming up later! I have an entire timeline plotted out for this, so hopefully everything will make sense later on.
And can someone please tell me how to write longer chapters? I can never fit in the amount of details which is required for a longer chapter. (Most of the stories I read are fast-paced and ridiculously full of time skips...)
I'm sorry that this chapter is not really edited. I've never taken a formal writing class outside of the required curriculum, and I really don't have much free time with finals and projects...
