House: Ravenclaw

Position: HoH

Category: Drabble

Prompt: [Location] Montmartre, Paris

Word Count (excluding header): 1458

Beta: Mia

AN: I did a bit of research for this story and it reflects the time period of the 1920s in Montmartre. Sacré-Cœur was consecrated in 1919. The original Moulin Rouge burned down in 1915 but was reopened in 1921. Josephine Baker debuted her banana skirt in 1927 and it's one of the most famous images of the time period. I took a bit of writer's liberty and moved her forward in the timeline. The title translates to "the crazy years".

Trigger warning: References to nudity and prostitution, but nothing explicit.

Theseus crash-landed in a narrow, French Ministry-approved alleyway across the street from the recently completed Basilica of the Sacré-Cœur. No matter how many times he traveled by Portkey, either for work or for pleasure, he never got the hang of landing.

Dusting off his traveling cloak, he stepped out in the bustling district of Montmartre. Artists lined the busy streets, painting landscapes, still lifes, and portraits. Fashionable socialites strutted through the streets, eager to be seen amongst the bohemians. A tall, beautiful woman sauntered down the street wearing little more than a stir of pearls and a skirt made of bananas. Jazz poured out of cafés, and, on every street corner, poets proclaimed the vital necessity of beauty, truth, freedom, and love.

On any other day, he might have stopped into one of the many bistros to enjoy the sights and sounds. Today, however, there was something else that demanded his attention. Or, rather, someone.

Theseus hurried up the crowded street to the crown jewel of the Montmartre's Bohemian community. The Moulin Rouge had been restored to its former glory following a devastating fire. Stars from around the world flocked to the Red Windmill, attracting adoring audiences. Theseus wasn't interested in those famous faces. In fact, it was a nameless background dancer that drew him to Paris.

"Bonjour Monsieur," greeted the door man.

"Hello, sir," Theseus replied.

"Ah," the doorman said, "English. How may I help you? The doors open at 10 tonight."

"I'm here to see one of the dancers."

The doorman gave Theseus a slimy smile. "You can make arrangements to see one of the dancers once the club opens at 10. The starting rate for the backup girls is—"

Theseus cut him off. "—No. No, nothing like that. I know her. She's English you see. I need to speak with her."

The doorman laughed rudely at him. "That's what they all say. You can have your time with her if you show up with the money tonight."

Theseus scowled. "I don't have time for this." Quicker than lightning, he withdrew his wand and cast, "Confundus!"

The doorman's eyes glazed over as the slippery grin slipped from his face.

"Thank you," Theseus said as he slipped past. He cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and hurried into the foyer of the grand club. Surreptitiously, he slid behind the stage curtains and hastened through the winding hallways until he found the door he was looking for.

"Alohomora."

"I'm still getting ready, Yvette," called the room's only occupant as Theseus slipped in the door.

He cleared his throat and announced, "I'm not Yvette."

Leta Lestrange let out a startled scream as she abruptly stood from her vanity. Her wand was withdrawn and pointed at the intruder in an instant. She wore a dark red, silk and lace robe that hung dangerously low on her shoulders. Her face was half done up with seductive lipstick and rouge, and her hair was twisted into curlers.

Theseus held his arms up and declared, "I mean you know harm, Leta. I'm—"

"—Theseus Scamander. I know," Leta replied, though she didn't drop her wand. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," he said, "to convince you to come home." Theseus shook his head. "Is there somewhere else we can talk?"

"I'm perfectly fine here. You can leave," Leta retorted haughtily before sauntering back to her vanity and laid her wand upon the polished surface.

"Leta," Theseus appealed, "it's about Newt. Please. You owe it to him."

Leta's gaze met his in the mirror. Her eyes were guarded and sharp. "What do you know about it? It's not like you and Newt were ever close."

"He's gone traipsing all over the world, claiming he's doing research for his book. I haven't heard from him in nearly six months," Theseus explained.

Leta's head whipped around. "What makes you think I've heard from him?"

"Please, Leta. Can we go somewhere to talk?" Theseus pleaded.

Leta nodded. "Can you leave for a minute so that I can get dressed?"

"No," Theseus shook his head. "I have too much training to not recognize a flight risk when I see one. In fact, Accio wand!" He was able to summon her wand easily from the top of the vanity.

She let out a string of French that Theseus didn't bother to translate. He knew the curses she was flinging his way were less than flattering.

Leta quickly dressed, dropping her robe while maintaining eye contact, challenging Theseus to turn away.

He didn't blink.

Thirty minutes later, the pair was settled into a dark corner of a bistro. The waiter had looked personally affronted when they refused one of the street-side tables.

If the matter weren't so important, even Theseus wouldn't have been able to say no to one of the front tables. The bohemian culture of Montmartre was so vibrant, it was nearly irresistible. But for Newt's sake, he'd ignore the call.

"Would you like something to eat?" Theseus offered.

Leta took a small sip of her obscenely expensive wine and said, "No. I'm fine, thank you. Now, what's this about Newt?"

"As I told you earlier, Newt's hasn't been in touch for over six months."

"You were never close," Leta commented. "Perhaps, he just doesn't feel the need to communicate with you."

"Things have changed, Leta. I've been trying to rebuild my relationship with my brother. I care about him and—"

"—Funny how you didn't care about him at all when we were at school. Head Boy and Captain of the Quidditch team couldn't be bothered with his little brother until he got expelled. Even then, you weren't bothered with him. You were angry at the, what was it again," she used finger quotes, "damage he'd done to your reputation."

Theseus snarled, "Yes, well I was an immature child. Let's not forget why it was that Newt was expelled in the first place."

Leta shrunk back in her chair. "I didn't realize that you knew about that."

"I know a lot more," Theseus said. "Newt's expulsion wasn't upheld through the advocacy of Albus Dumbledore alone. I followed the paper trail. One of the Lestrange vaults was closed out at the same time the Hogwarts Board of Governors received an extremely generous anonymous donation."

"Does Newt know?"

"As far as I know, he doesn't. He's still angry with you."

Leta nodded. "He should be angry with me. What makes you think that he'd be in contact with me?"

Theseus sighed. "I didn't really believe that he would have been, but I had to hope. I'm worried about him. Grindelwald is on the loose, and Newt has a tendency to get himself into trouble. I've been keeping tabs on his location through the Ministry's international travel office, and he just booked passage to America on a steamship. I'm worried, Leta."

Leta set down her wine glass. "What can I do to help?"

"Come home, Leta," Theseus said. "Be there when Newt gets back. Maybe he'll see that he has a supportive community and won't feel compelled to disappear for months at a time."

"He won't view my return as a positive thing. If anything, it will push him to leave sooner. No one in England wants me around. That's why I fled to Paris as soon as I could."

"If I was able to rebuild my relationship with my brother, you can too. Newt has the biggest capacity for forgiveness of anyone I've ever known. Please, give him a chance. Come home."

"If Newt expresses even once that he doesn't want me there, I'm gone," Leta promised. "I'll make sure that you won't be able to track me down again."

"That's fair," Theseus admitted. "Thank you, Leta."

"Don't thank me yet," she said as she finished the remainder of her wine. "Drama follows me. You don't know what trouble you're asking for."

"If it helps Newt, I don't suppose I care."

"You say that now, but you don't know," Leta said softly. "But I'll risk it for Newt." She stood from the table. "I've got to return to the Moulin Rouge and give my notice."

"No need," Theseus said. "I left a letter of resignation on your vanity when we left."

"Confident I'd give in so easily?"

Theseus smiled. "My brother wouldn't have taken to you so readily if you didn't have a good heart. Now," he withdrew an Instant Portkey from his cloak, "shall we go?"

When the waiter returned to the dark corner table, he found a pair of chairs, an empty wine glass, and a small pile of francs. He pocketed the extra coins and prepared the table for the next group of dinners who wanted to shy away from the bustle of Montmartre.