A/N: Yes, a second prologue. And short. Terribly sorry.

Disclaimer: Don't own HP, Paris or any of its landmarks, the Barrowdowns, or Pumas.

*~*Second Prologue*~*

It was the very last week in August, and Isabelle and Paneknofret were sitting on the stone benches of Pont Neuf, discussing the various preparations still to be made before their departure—not the least of which was feeding their goldfish, Iarminuialwen Novwilwarinewen Vortellumawen (Bob for short), whom they had bought after spending an entire day on barrowdowns.com.

We need more sunblock, suggested Isabelle.

Paneknofret agreed, and added: And we still need someone to feed Bob.

She stiffened up as she felt another vampiric presence coming up the bridge towards them. A very strong other vampiric presence. A moment later, her mind nearly flew out her ears at the exuberant telepathic message:

DUDES! HI!

Paneknofret stood up. Only one vampire was that strong and happy at the same time.

said Isabelle.

Egyptian for Queenie.' It's the first of our line come to visit. I told you she was a happy child.

A shortish, pretty girl of about sixteen with reddish-gold hair came up over the curve of the bridge and waved enthusiastically. She wore a long loose skirt and a white t-shirt, and hot pink Pumas. She was evidently quite old: her skin was a ghostly white; even the freckles that had once graced her snub nose had gone. She lookedcutesy. Isabelle looked at her doubtfully.

That's the Queen?

The red-haired vampire smiled at her. No, honey, not Queen. I'm just the Mother. I was middle class, she announced proudly. She and Paneknofret high-fived, laughing.

Must. Must. Isabelle repeated to herself. In history it's always the middle class that makes a difference and makes a country move, Paneknofret invariably said. Isabelle had learned to admit it, but she seriously wasn't looking forward to having someone constantly reminded Paneknofret that she'd been a noble.

The Mother and Paneknofret were talking gaily (Where were you during la Révolution Française? In India; where were you during the American one?) as Isabelle stood respectfully aside and listened. Apparently, the Queen merely wanted to see Paris again. And she wanted somewhere to stay.

I really don't mean to intrude, but would it be possible for me to use your space in the catacombs during daylight? the Queen asked.

Hon, actually, Isabelle and I have to be away for most of this year, and I'll tell you what, you can stay in our apartment provided that you Bob.

Bob. Our goldfish.

Oh. Okay. The Queen turned to Isabelle. So this is your aristocrat fledgling?

Yes, this is Isabelle. She was a noblewoman, but she's still cool.

Pleased to meet you, Isabelle said, starting (barely) to warm up to the exuberant Queen.

Hello, doll! the Queen exclaimed, crushing Isabelle in a hug and kissing her on both cheeks. So you're going to Hogwarts this year?

Yes. We're hoping it'll actually be interesting.

Oh, that place is always interesting—it's just a scream; it's like the Talamasca. Except that it exists. But they're just as badly informed. The Queen started laughing.

Come on, back to our apartment; you have to meet the fish and talk to us, and in a week you'll have Paris all to yourself, Paneknofret interrupted, grabbing the Queen and Isabelle by the arm and heading back towards the Île de la Cité.

Well, glad we have that figured out, Isabelle said under her breath. Now all we need is more sunblock.

A/N: Read and review, and flames will be used to roast the evil goddamn plotbunnies that are still roaming around in Godforsaken and Lantarmiel's backyards. We don't get it; they didn't die, they didn't evolve, they're still just evil goddamn plotbunnies.