EDIT A/N (June 20): Translations provided upon request of a reviewer. Sorry, guys, I've been in French Immersion my entire life and when I originally wrote this, it was for a friend who also speaks French. Didn't occur to me to put translations. I've put it in for the longer phrases: the basic French vocabulary or single words that are close enough to their English counterparts (such as 'famille puriste' in the previous chapter - 'Purist family') I didn't bother. So things like 'oui', 'non', 'Maman', 'Papa'... those aren't translated. Also, sentences that are repeated in English by the character haven't been translated, didn't see the point in it. This is mostly done by Mairead.
Chapter 2: The Battle For A Child
Hôpital magical de Paris, December 13, 1962:
Mairead sighed as she gently brushed her fingers through Jacques' hair. It was so silky, so jet-black once it was cleaned. It seemed to her like it simply could not be straightened, no matter what people did.
Jacques seemed quite content just to sit there, in her lap, and let her comb through his hair. He was starting to get a little wiggly, though, acting a little more like the four-year-old that he was – he had just turned four last week.
It still sickened her to think of what this little boy had gone through in his short life. How his parents hadn't appreciated what a little gem they had, choosing instead to treat him like a source of anger, and taking out that anger on him.
He had such a wonderful smile, Mairead thought fondly as Jacques twisted around to look at her, the tiniest of smiles on his face. And such big hazel eyes, with such long lashes… he might've been the cutest little boy on this earth, Mairead decided as she gave him a hug. He was just so warm and cuddly, she could hold him and hug him all day.
"You are so adorable," she whispered to him. He didn't speak a word of English, they'd discovered early on. He didn't understand a word she said to him, but she hoped he could hear the love in her voice and that it would start to heal his wounded heart.
"Mairead, how are you doing?" William asked quietly as he came in, face tired and clothes rumpled. Wearily, he sank down onto the bed next to her, giving her a perfunctory kiss.
"We're fine, William," Mairead replied. "You ought to go back home and sleep for a while."
"Mairead, you've been here for a month straight," William pointed out. "Come back to the Consulate with me."
"One more night won't hurt me, William," Mairead said gently. "The Healers said he can be released tomorrow."
"Parisian Magical Child Protective Services is letting us foster him for the duration," William said tiredly. "But I think the Consulate isn't quite liking that we've landed one of France's most prominent wizarding figures in jail. I suspect they'll be sending us back to England soon."
"But Jacques can't come back to England with us, he's not English," Mairead said desperately. "We can't leave him here, William, we can't."
"I thought you'd gotten attached to him," William sighed, lying back onto the mattress and pillow. "Mairead, do you realize how complicated it is to have an international adoption? And when they've got plenty of French families willing to take him, we'd have to go to court. This could drag on for months, even a year or two."
Mairead felt the beginning of tears pricking at her eyes. "William, we've been waiting for thirty-two years for a child. You don't think another year matters? We have the money to stay here until everything is finished, you know we do."
"Oh, Mairead…" William sat up. "I know how you feel. But what happens if we go through all of that, only to have them tell us no? We've got a lot of disadvantages against us, darling. Our age, for one. Most couples our age are starting to think of grandkids, not kids. My position with the Consulates. Your illness. Nationalities."
"Don't make me give him up, William," Mairead said tearfully. "Not you. Let the courts, if you will, but don't you dare make me give him up."
"Sirius, be gentle with the lad, would you?" Walburga sighed wearily as she set down Regulus. Sirius had immediately bee-lined for Mairead when the Blacks had arrived at the Consulate. Jacques was still rather gun-shy, choosing to hide himself behind Mairead's legs and wrapping himself into the skirts of her robes. He was peeking out curiously at the new arrivals, though Sirius' sheer exuberance seemed to be intimidating him for the moment.
"Won't you come out and play?" Sirius asked cheerfully. "I don't bite. Least, not people I don't know. I've bitten my brother from time to time, but he deserved it every time."
Mairead laughed and knelt down, bringing Jacques around to the front gently. "Jacques doesn't know English, Sirius, so he won't understand you," she said.
"Well, that's all right," Sirius replied. "You don't need to talk to play."
"Don't be rough with him, Sirius," Walburga warned when Sirius caught Jacques' hand eagerly and Jacques jumped momentarily, frightened eyes looking at Mairead.
"C'est correct, Jacques, il veut jouer," (It's all right, Jacques, he wants to play) Mairead assured him gently. "Vas-t-en, bonhomme. Je serais tout près." (Go ahead, bonhomme (let's call this a term of endearment, for lack of better translation). I'll be nearby.)
Jacques hesitated and then he whispered to her, "Est-ce que je peux courir?" (Can I run?)
Mairead smiled and laughed. "Oui, oui, vas courir." (Yes, yes, go run.)
Jacques gave her that million-dollar smile of his again and he took off with Sirius.
"Mrs. Potter," the French lawyer said confidently, with a slight smirk on his face as Mairead sat up on the witness stand. "I wonder if you might answer a few questions for me."
"Certainly, that's what I'm up here for," Mairead replied with a small smile to the undercurrent of titters.
"Now, according to our records, you are approaching your fifties, correct?"
"Yes, I'm 49," Mairead replied.
"You know, when my parents were 49, my wife and I were expecting our first child. Most women your age are waiting for grandchildren, not wanting to raise a little boy. What makes you think that you are capable of properly caring for this little one?"
"It's funny. Nobody seems to ask people that question if they're having the baby themselves," Mairead commented. "Perhaps if we did, there should be a lot less children in Jacques' position, yes?"
"Doubtless though that may be true, Mrs. Potter, I asked you a question. You're not a young woman, Mrs. Potter, and if I read your records correctly, you also were diagnosed with Ceara's Malady a number of years ago?"
"Yes, that's true," Mairead replied.
"Why would you even consider taking in Jacques-Antoine? How could you promise him a mother for his life, knowing that you could die at any time?"
Mairead paused. "Sir, you mentioned you had a child?"
"Yes, I have three," the lawyer replied, a tone of confusion in his voice.
"And you can swear to your children that you'll be there for their lives? You, too, sir, can die at any time."
December 2, 1963:
"Jacques! Jacques, come have your snack, sweetheart," Mairead called, smiling as the little boy came scrambling into the kitchen and up into his chair. "There you are."
"Maman?" Jacques asked, taking a bite of his apple slice.
"Yes, sweetheart?" Mairead asked, feeling the same thrill that she always had when he called her 'Maman': Mummy.
"Maman, you come with me? Demain?" he questioned. The poor boy – he'd been trying so hard to learn his English this year, and he certainly had improved, but he was still so far behind other boys his age and often reverted back to French when he didn't know the English vocabulary or was overemotional.
Mairead sighed and combed her fingers through his hair again. "Yes, I'll come with you tomorrow. Mais quand ils te parlent, tu dois aller tout seul. I'll wait for you when it's done." (French: But when they're talking to you, you have to go by yourself.)
"Mais je veux pas aller tout seul, Maman," (But I don't want to go by myself, Maman) Jacques protested. "Come with me."
"I can't, sweetheart, I'm sorry," Mairead said softly, taking him into her arms when she caught the beginnings of tears in his eyes. "I'll be right there when you're done."
"Come with me," Jacques begged, burying his face into her shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Jacques, I can't," she whispered again.
"Madame, we need to take him into the courtroom now," the bailiff said gently. Jacques disappeared behind Mairead's skirts again, clinging desperately to her.
"Jacques," Mairead chided gently. Jacques shook his head.
"Non, non, je veux pas," (No, no, I don't want to) Jacques whimpered. "Disez-les que je ne viens pas." (Tell them that I'm not coming)
"Madame…" the bailiff repeated uneasily.
"One moment, monsieur," Mairead sighed, kneeling down to face Jacques. "I'm going to be waiting right outside, Jacques. Here." She had thought this might happen, so she was prepared. Mairead took out a boxed Chocolate Frog and smiled when she saw Jacques' eyes light up. "You can have it when you're finished. Quand tu es fini, Jacques. But here, you hold onto the card, okay?" She gave him the card and Jacques took it, slipping it into one of his pockets. "Now go with monsieur here." This time, Jacques nodded and let the bailiff lead him away. Biting her lower lip, Mairead took up her position by the doors to the courtroom, where she could hear some of the women on the jury coo about 'le mignon petit bonhomme' (the cute little boy) as the door closed resolutely. Her poor little Jacques, he was still so small, and so easily intimidated. He was far too young to be going on the witness stand. But at least William was in there: should it be too much, he would be right there to run to.
"Maman, fini!" (Maman, finished!) Jacques announced eagerly as he dashed out of the courtroom, to the laughs of the people inside. "Now my chocolate?"
Mairead laughed and caught him as he launched himself at her. "That's good, Jacques," she said, giving him the chocolate as promised and lifted him up into her arms. Kissing his cheek, she asked, "Was it terribly frightening? Effrayant?"
Jacques nodded, but then tried to shake his head at the same time. "Je suis un bien gros gars, Maman." (I'm a very big boy, Maman)
Mairead smiled and loosened his tie. "I know, but even les bien gros gars get frightened."
Through a mouthful of chocolate, Jacques replied, "I was, un petit peu. Ils sont tous grands, et moi je suis tout petit. And he was very loud and angry." (French: ... a little bit. They're all big, and I'm very little)
"You're very brave to have done that, you know," Mairead told him. "Très courageux."
"Mais la carte," Jacques said, pulling out the Chocolate Frog card from his pocket. Mairead could see where the poor little lad had been so scared he had worried away at the corners. "L'homme sur la carte, il a l'air gentil. Il a resté là pendant tous les questions." (But the card... the man on the card, he looks nice. He stayed there during all the questions)
Mairead took the card from his sweaty, sticky little-boy palm, looking at the picture. A jovial, white-haired man waved from the frame, gentle smile and laughing eyes behind his half-moon glasses.
"Who that, Maman?" Jacques asked.
Mairead smiled. "That's Albus Dumbledore, sweetheart. Le directeur à l'école magical anglais." (The headmaster of the English magic school)
"Est-ce qu'il est vraiment gentil, Maman?" (Is he really nice, Maman?)
"Oh, yes, sweetheart," Mairead affirmed. "Papa sees him sometimes, when we're in England for work. He taught Papa when he was in school."
"Teach me too?" Jacques asked innocently.
Mairead passed Jacques' sleeping form to William as he stopped pacing around the room momentarily. Having been relieved of her load, Mairead collapsed onto the couch. "Merlin, this must be what labour feels like," she sighed, pain shooting up her back: her back had been her achy area lately, and carrying Jacques all day today hadn't helped either. "All the waiting."
William sighed as well, resettling Jacques more comfortably against his chest. "I don't know how we'll handle it if we lose," he murmured, watching the little boy's peaceful expression. "I don't know how he'll take it if we lose."
The door opening woke up Jacques, who jumped instinctively and then calmed, cuddling closer to William.
The Irish lawyer who had argued their case stepped in. He smiled at them and then said, "The jury's reached a decision." He shuffled around in his briefcase for a moment for a paper, which he then read. "We, the jury, find in favour of William Michael and Mairead Ailish Potter. Let it be recorded that they are now full guardians of minor Jacques-Antoine Louis David Philippe Christophe des Perreaults-de-Champagne, with all the privileges and responsibilities associated."
"What mean?" Jacques asked drowsily, reaching for Mairead. Mairead took him from William, saying with tears in her eyes,
"That means that you can stay with Papa and I forever."
"Oh," Jacques yawned, settling his little head onto her shoulder. "D'accord." (Okay)
