Chapter 1

The young man walked slowly along the Pont Neuf bridge. He was obvious about taking in the sights, like any other tourist among the flock which Paris hosted, at any time of year. "Security by obscurity", he blended into the crowds as just another body, and no one worthy of notice.

He had smiled at learning from his purchased guide book, in English of course, that the "New Bridge" was, in fact, the oldest bridge in Paris, still in existence. It could take him across the river, and it had the option to get off at the "Isle de la Cite", in the middle. That once easily defended island, which had long ago been the entirety of Paris.

Stopping mid-way across, he looked down into a green and inviting little park at the downstream end of the island. From the other side, he had already taken in the Cathedral and some former royal palace buildings, that he planned to visit eventually. Outside of his visit to the magical quarter, to get his money issues sorted, this was the farthest he had ventured from his rented room.

The evening breeze was welcome, Paris' climate being what it is. Since it was the middle of the summer and like a once popular tune, it was "... Paris, in the summer, when it sizzles".

Harry Potter had ditched his relatives home, and his Headmaster's orders, and had decamped to the continent shortly after the Hogwarts Express had arrived in London. He knew the sooner he made his move, the more likely he was to pull off his intentions.

He had no desire being further beaten and abused on the old man's twinkly say-so. He was long gone before any alarm could be raised among his so-called guards. He had made sure all the tracking charms on himself, and his belongings had been removed inside a popular men's room in King's Cross, and transferred to random men who had needed the facilities. Let that confuse the ensuing "Hunt for Harry."

He had also changed into clothes which fit him properly, and covered his scar with ladies makeup. An effective enough disguise, when the eventual searchers would be looking for a "ratty dressed boy, with a scar".

His planning had simply taken him on a train trip to Folkstone, where he had previously learned he could catch another train, through the "chunnel" to Paris, and disappear. By not taking a train that was scheduled to leave England, he was making it harder on those who would try to follow him, since it could as easily have been ANY train, when it wasn't the "Paris express".

He had with him enough money on him to last several days, living in a cheap student's hostel, and eating decent meals, until he could get to Gringotts Paris, and get cash out his trust vault. He had been squirreling away money for this escape for over a year; and he had been gently quizzing Hermione, as just casual conversation, about her family visits to Europe during the previous summers.

He had quietly acquired his knowledge of how to get to Paris quickly, with millions of people to disappear among. Not one portrait or elf had seen or heard anything worth reporting to the old goat molester.

He chose to get himself to Gingrotts on his first morning in the city, before any Order watchers could be posted by any systematic, and efficient, attempt to find him. Staking out the bank, in cities he might be in would be a good way to locate him, charmed or not. He was successful in getting both ready cash and a 'bank bag' which could withdraw funds from his trust account without coming to the bank in person again.

Of course he could have left Paris as soon as his money situation was dealt with. Hamburg, Prague, Milan, Zurich, Naples, all of them had large populations and also magical quarters he could use. Monaco had drawn his attention as a possibility, too. But something kept him in Paris for now, a gentle tug on his magic, as if he needed to be here, at least for a while.

Walking down the ancient stonework stairs built into the bridge, he found his way into the park. There an empty bench beckoned, where he could sit and let the breeze over the river cool his body and his mind. It was certainly a beautiful little park, one of the gems hidden about the town. The drooping willow tree branches swayed in the breeze that followed along the waterway.

Harry sat content for some time, as the moon rose to cause gleams upon the water. That tug he had felt on his magic had led him here, and now he was at peace, as he had not been for ... well, ever.

When he had entered the park his eye had been caught by a small marker, which he could not fully translate, his French being poor at best, and his translation charm not working on print. There had been a picture of a Knight in mail, with a white surcoat, displaying a red cross. Heroic looking.

"Soon" the breeze seemed to whisper in his ear, "soon".

Exactly what it was about ghosts that an alert wizard could feel, as they approached, was not something he had ever found words to describe. Like the 'sixth sense' feeling of being watched, it was something that had no exact description.

Out of the misty moonlight, here, alone in the park with him, Harry beheld the life-sized form of the old Knight on the marker slowly take form. Even if there had been non-magical people around, the ghost would not have attracted attention, unless someone chanced to walk through him.

His beard was as white as Dumbeldore's, though nowhere near as long. He carried neither sword nor shield, which struck Harry as a bit odd.

"Welcome wizard" he said in a dialect of English, old, and odd to the ear, but at least understandable. "You seek the tools to end your Enemy, who tries again and again to take your life. We have been tasked to help you learn those things you will need to accomplish your goals. I have been waiting for you, here where I died, nearly 700 years to bring you to our teachers who can instruct you."

Harry stood and gave a slight bow to the Knight, not knowing if this was proper or not, as none of the ghosts of Hogwarts, except perhaps the Bloody Baron, might have had such presence. Harry felt tendrils of magic, even more than the Hogwarts ghosts tended to have about them.

"How may I address you, Sir Knight?"

"In our language, my name was rendered as Jacques de Molay in life, and you may call me Jacques, as one wizard to another."