A/N: Hey all. Once again, sorry about another long wait, and then two updates again. I know this one is short, but it contains turning points for a few different story lines that I felt needed their own chapter. Also, I had a strong incentive to get this done by when I did.

A huge shout out to a reader who helped me fight against a massive case of writer's block. You're awesome.

Now, this is the first of several chapters in this story that will require a big disclaimer: I've never been to France. I'm writing the chapter's title scene purely based on research, and therefore the descriptions are minimal. Sorry about that.

Anyway, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Never been to France, as I said. Oh yeah, and the HP series belongs to Rowling.

Chapter 20: Paris

Ron expected to feel that familiar pang of jealousy upon seeing his wife's first boyfriend, but it never came. It had been a long time now.

Viktor was seated on the couch in Harry's office when they arrived, accompanied by the secretary. Both stood when they entered.

"Harry, it's good to see you." His English sounded only slightly better than Ron remembered.

"You too, Viktor."

They shook hands, and Viktor turned to Ron. "How are things?"

Ron shook the offered hand. "Quite well, thanks."

"What can we do for you?" Harry asked. Ron knew that he was a little bit miffed about the holiday being interrupted for work, which hadn't happened in a long time, despite the nature of their profession. No one could ever doubt Harry's devotion to family.

Viktor gave an audible sigh. "May I sit?"

"Certainly." Harry moved to sit behind his desk, while Ron joined Viktor on the couch.

Viktor rubbed his forehead and began slowly. "There are… problems in Eastern Europe."

"We've heard." Kingsley had been keeping appraised of the developments there, though he had only briefed them that one time during the summer.

"Vorse than they have been in a long time. Very vicious attacks."

"So you're here to ask for our help?" asked Ron.

"I know you have been vatching us. At least come to Helsinki. Let the people know you are there. It vill give them hope, and maybe reduce the attacks ve are facing."

Ron looked at Harry, making sure his brother-in-law knew he was feeling skeptical. The look on Harry's face spoke of similar thoughts.

It was several seconds before Harry spoke up. "We will discuss it with Kingsley, Viktor. That is the best I can offer you at the moment."

"I understand. I am sorry for pulling you avay from your families." He turned to Ron. "How is Hermi…" He stopped, and enunciated her name carefully. "Hermi-o-ne."

"Quite well," Ron replied, wiggling his ring finger just enough that it caught Viktor's attention.

Viktor nodded. "Good." He stood. "I vill send you an owl after the New Year, and avait your reply. Happy holidays."

Harry stood as well. "Happy holidays, Viktor."

Ron remained seated, and Viktor nodded to him on his way out of the office. Once he was gone, Ron looked at Harry.

Harry sat back down in his chair, and returned Ron's look. Neither said anything.

Kingsley appeared in the doorway. "Well, Ron, you did say we would help them because we can."

Ron sighed. They had sent the wrong messenger to get him on board. It had all been fine until Viktor had asked about Hermione.

"We will travel there, Sir, but not until the kids are back at school."

Kingsley nodded. "I had a feeling that would be the case, and would ask nothing else."

Soon they were leaving and returning to the cottage. Hermione cornered them outside, before the rest of the family could even see them. "What did Viktor want?"

Harry told her.

Her brow furrowed. "You're traveling to Finland?

"You make it sound like we'll be sight-seeing."

"It makes sense. Finland has the most affluent magical community in Eastern Europe. Durmstrang's most successful students tend to wind up there."

Harry nodded. "Viktor asked about you, you know."

"Did he?" Her eyebrows rose, and a small smile crossed her face. Ron caught every movement of her facial features, a small knot forming in his stomach. "I hope he's doing well."

"Notwithstanding the rising tide of violent crime sweeping across Eastern Europe, it seems so, yeah."

"James?" He looked up to see his sister standing there. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He couldn't get Michaela out of his head, no matter what else he tried to think about.

"You're lying."

He sighed. "What do you want, Lily?"

She went and sat down beside him. "I want to know why you're upset. You shouldn't be upset. You go to Hogwarts."

He felt the beginnings of a smile at this. "It's got nothing to do with Hogwarts."

"Are the Slytherins bothering you?"

"No." That would certainly make things simpler.

"Good." Her gaze turned distant for a moment, then she focused on him again. "I need to give you your present."

"Huh?" It wasn't her turn to give him a present this year.

She handed him an envelope, which he hadn't noticed she had been holding. "It goes with the one I gave you last year."

He stared at it, trying to figure out what she was talking about. Then he remembered. She had given him an envelope the previous year. He had never opened it. He left it in a drawer, and then forgot about it.

"Merry Christmas," she said, and then got up and walked away.

He looked around to make sure no one else was approaching, and opened the envelope. He unfolded the paper inside to find that it was blank, but cut into the shape of an arch, somewhat flattened on top and widened on the sides.

He had no idea what it was supposed to mean, but it would have something to do with whatever she had given him the previous year. He couldn't believe he had forgotten about it.

Actually he could. He had been quite distracted by… other things.

Pushing the thoughts away, he got up and went to join his cousins at whatever they were doing.

"So, are you going to tell me why you wanted this book so badly?"

Rose looked up from the book at her mother. "I was just thinking about the Louvre." Albus was surprised by how smoothly she lied.

Aunt Hermione gave her a skeptical look. She had apparated home to retrieve the book after Rose had insisted on seeing it. Albus wondered why this couldn't just wait until they left the cottage and went home for a few days before returning to Hogwarts.

Uncle Ron came up behind his wife. "Our little Rosie asking to see a book? Why do you seem so shocked, Love?"

"Dad…" Rose started to protest the nickname, then thought better of it.

"I'm just questioning the motive for the insistence," Aunt Hermione replied, turning to him.

"Because we never journeyed down bizarre avenues of research when we were their age?" At his wife's raised eyebrow, he added, "Well, you, at least."

"Well, if they're on an adventure, I can only wonder at how the Louvre might be involved."

Albus and Rose exchanged a glance.

"Leave them be, Love."

Aunt Hermione relented. "Be careful with that book, Rose."

"I will, Mum. Thanks." As her parents walked away, she retreated to the room she was sharing with Lily and Lucy. Albus followed.

Rose opened the book and began scanning the table of contents. "It's in here somewhere, I know it."

She began turning the pages quickly, until she was about two-thirds of the way through. "Here it is! It's called the Stultifera Navis, or Ship of—" A knock on the door interrupted her.

It was Aunt Fleur. "Hello," she said brightly, "your mother told me you were looking at a book on the Louvre. I want to show you something."

Albus began to follow immediately. Rose frowned, then followed as well.

Aunt Fleur led them down the stairs and towards the back of the cottage. There, they found a door that they both could have sworn was not normally there.

Inside, they found themselves in a rather magnificent office, filled with colorful décor. Sunlight streamed in through large windows, causing trinkets to sparkle and streams of gold to shine on the blue walls.

"Wow," Rose commented.

Directly opposite the windows was a large painting of the city of Paris. There was considerable movement within the painting, even by the standards of magical artwork.

"Take a closer look," said their aunt, gesturing towards the painting.

They walked up in front of it.

"Now, just imagine you are there."

Albus imagined himself on one of the streets shown in the painting. Suddenly, he felt a sensation not unlike being side-along apparated. He shut his eyes tightly as the colors of the office began to swirl around him.

When he opened his eyes again, he was standing on the street. He looked around, then quickly made for the sidewalk as a car passed by.

Nobody seemed to notice him. People carried on with quiet conversations that he couldn't understand.

He looked closely at the sidewalk beneath his feet. It looked real, not like something that had been painted. Looking back up, he saw two bodies about to collide with his, and didn't have time to get out of the way.

The people walked right through him. It didn't feel like anything. They were simply in front of him and then behind him, and kept walking down the street, not having noticed anything.

People in paintings interacted with people outside of them. This was different.

Looking around again, he noticed for the first time that Rose was nowhere to be seen. Had she not been able to enter the painting? Had she entered in a different place?

Then he felt himself being pulled again, and he shut his eyes. When he opened them, he was standing in front of a large, glass pyramid.

Rose had told him about this. He had made it to the Louvre, somehow.

"Albus!" She was standing behind him. "What took you so long?"

Albus wasn't sure to answer. Suddenly, someone walked right through Rose. "Er…"

"Yeah, I don't think we're really here. Well, we are, obviously, but not really."

"Isn't this a painting?"

She looked around. "Look at the snow. I'm not so sure this is a painting."

Indeed, the snow that had been hastily swept out of the way of tourists looked real enough, and hardly picturesque. "I don't feel cold."

"Well, we're not really here."

"But this is really Paris?"

"I think so. Come on." They began moving towards the massive building that sprawled around the pyramid.

Several more tourists passed through them. That was going to take some getting used to. He wondered if this was what it was like for Nearly-Headless Nick. But ghosts could be seen, usually.

Once inside, they looked around. Rose hesitated for a moment. "I have an idea." She turned to him and grabbed his arm, and then he was being pulled again. He shut his eyes, and opened them to find that they were now in a smaller, significantly less crowded hall.

"We can apparate here?"

"That makes sense, since we're not actually here to hurt ourselves."

Albus shook his head. "This is really complicated."

Rose moved towards one wall. Albus looked over her shoulder.

"That's it!"

Rose nodded. "Yep." She began reading.

Albus studied the painting, which depicted several people in a small boat attempting to engage in activities that clearly could not be safely managed in such a small boat.

"There is also a woodcut by Albrecht Dürer," said Rose, "which was an illustration for a book of the same name. It was critical of the Catholic Church."

Albus had heard of the artist Dürer, but couldn't remember anything about him. "What does that have to do with a chest in Hogwarts?"

Rose shrugged. "I have no idea." She turned to Albus. "I don't think we can really learn anything here. Let's go back." No sooner had she said this than she vanished.

"Wait," said Albus, looking around. With a grimace, he shut his eyes, and willed himself back to the cottage.

When he opened them, he was standing in front of the painting again, beside Rose.

Rose turned to Aunt Fleur, who was sitting at her desk. "That was amazing!"

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Sort of."

"Excellent." She stood up and swept around her desk towards them. Leaning down, she lowered her voice to conspiratorial tones. "This will be our little secret."

Albus and Rose both nodded.

Marcus knew the Corners' house well by now. He walked through the house he had spent a few weeks of the summer in, remembering all of the details.

Once again, the Corners had invited the Blacks over for the New Year, this time actually on the Eve. Laura had greeted him and Michaela with a smile, but it had quickly faded from her face once the greeting was done.

Now, she stood silently beside her mother, not looking at them. Marcus wondered if she was still upset on James's behalf.

Dinner came and went, followed by dessert, and as the two families waited out the remaining minutes until the new year officially began, Marcus took a moment to sneak upstairs to the guest bedroom he had stayed in.

It looked exactly the same. He walked over and sat on the bed. He remembered the time when Laura had barged in on Pearl's dare.

Moving over to the bathroom, he looked at the mirror.

"Marcus." The face in the mirror watched him approach.

"Hello," Marcus replied. "How are you?"

"Precisely the same as ever. I think the much better question is how are you?"

"I'm well, thanks."

"I'm glad to hear it. Visiting Laura?"

Marcus grimaced at the implication, and shrugged. "It's a family thing."

"Of course it is." The mirror was silent for a moment, then asked, "How much time has passed?"

Marcus's eyebrows shot up at the question. "Since I was last here? Months."

The face gave a slow nod. "I see."

Marcus looked at his watch. "We're just a couple minutes shy of the new year, in fact."

"Another new year? They come so quickly now, don't they?"

Marcus didn't know what to say to that.

"Laura…"

"Does she not visit you anymore?"

"Sometimes I do?" Marcus spun around. She was standing in the doorway. "Every now and then. What are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "Just visiting."

"You should go back downstairs. The countdown starts in a minute."

"I've seen it before."

She frowned. "Don't act jaded. It doesn't become you."

"Jaded?"

"Yes."

"Have you heard of Aerosmith?"

"What?"

"Never mind."

"Go downstairs."

"Is that an order?"

Her frown deepened, and she took a step forward, challenging him. "Does it need to be?"

He glanced at his watch again. 23:59. "Do you want to begin the New Year in an argument?"

"Not particularly." Still, she didn't back down.

Seconds passed. Neither moved.

"Do you miss Pearl?" she asked suddenly.

He was caught off guard by the question, and decided there was no point in lying for her sake. "No."

She looked mildly taken aback. "Well, that was certainly blunt."

"Not a lot of time."

Now she looked at his watch. "So you're not going downstairs?"

"Aren't you?"

More seconds passed while he awaited her answer. She gave none.

Thirty seconds. They both stood there, slowly coming upon the realization that they had doomed themselves to begin the new year in each other's company. Her eyed began to soften.

Twenty seconds. He took a step closer to her, causing her eyebrows to shift slightly. She put a hand up against his chest, and he didn't dare move again.

Ten seconds. The pressure from her hand lessened, and he took another step closer. It was now or never. Leaning in, he pressed his lips against hers.

A second passed before she pulled back and stared at him. Her wide eyes searched his.

The New Year came.

Then she was kissing him, her lips moving anxiously against his. Her arms came across his shoulders, and he wrapped his own around her.

Then she moved her head back, breaking the kiss, and stared at him again.

"Now, that was certainly the fairest moment of them all."

She frowned over his shoulder at the mirror, and pulled away from him. "Happy New Year." With that, she turned and briskly left the room.

On the last evening before returning to school, Dominique and Molly found themselves washing dishes, after losing a bet with Victoire and Lewis.

The other cousins had all left days before, but Uncle Percy and Aunt Audrey were now traveling for the New Year, and Lucy was staying with Lily at Aunt Ginny's house. Molly had decided to remain with Dominique.

"So, what was that letter that found its way to you this morning?" Dominique asked. She had been meaning to ask all day, but there hadn't been a chance.

Her cousin pursed her lips. "Don't ask."

"I'm already asking."

Molly said nothing.

"Was it from Nathan?"

"I wish."

"You certainly do."

"Just drop it."

"Who was it from, then?"

"Dominique…"

"I didn't send you a letter."

Molly gave her a quick glare. "I said drop it."

"You're going to tell me eventually."

"Am not."

"Are too. He can't become your secret boyfriend without me finding out about it."

Molly wrinkled her nose. "Small chance of that."

"Was it a house elf?"

"I— what?"

"Just a guess."

"How do you say 'Just drop it' in French? Will you understand that?"

"Haven't I told you that before?"

"Probably. But drop it."

Dominique fell silent, and turned back to the dishes.

Several seconds passed, and then Molly exclaimed, "I said, drop it!"

Dominique looked at her. "I did."

Their eyes met, and Molly looked confused. "I… you just…"

"Oh." Dominique knew what was happening. It couldn't happen to Molly, too.

Enough was enough. It was time to ask someone about this.