The end of Term
Harry spent Sunday night at Beauxbatons doing something he would probably get detention, or worse for.
Using his invisibility cloak to sneak into the restricted library off the back of the Defence against the Dark arts classroom. All the books were held into the shelves by locked steel cages, or at the very least chained down.
Harry browsed through the collection. He was looking for means of protecting himself, from vengeful ex-followers of Voldemort, accidents, and homicidal house staff.
Sirius Black's pocketknife opened the lock on the thickest set of bars , behind which the black spellbook had no label. Harry opened it up the title pages was 'Secrets of the Darkest Arts, updated and revised edition' Harry's eyebrows went up. He distinctly remembered reading a book like this once before. But, oddly, not that he'd read it. He found an index and ran his finger down the list. The last thing in the index was 'Methods for avoiding death'. Harry turned to the last section and started skimming. When he read the word Horcrux, he had the strangest feeling that he knew what it meant. And that…. He wished he'd never read the word. And, for no reason that made any sense at all, remembered drinking the very worst cup of tea in his life. It had tasted of dishwater. Harry flicked to the very last pages of the book. On the last page was written three sentences.
'Peaches of immortality' 'Philosophers stone' and 'Or just have a family'
Harry suddenly remembered that Nicholas Flamel, the only known creator of the Philosophers stone had been French, had lived six hundred years, and had died seven years ago. Which meant, Harry realised, closing the rather evil spellbook, that the most likely place for his Alchemy books to be, was here at Beauxbatons. Harry put the book back on the shelf and locked it in, and resolved to go look at his small collection of Chocolate Frog cards. There was one about Flamel, he was sure. Failing that, he could ask Granger.
Monday afternoon, having found that he had a Dumbledore and four Morgan LeFay's, he asked Hermione. Which led to an impromptu trip to the library, and a large biography thumping into his arms.
Raiding the Alchemy classroom that night, Harry found no sign of six hundred year old books in their locked library shelves.
On Tuesday, Hermione, who was a dreadful swot and was doing Alchemy promised to ask the Professor; Harry felt that was pretty good. He wondered afterwards how much better his plans would have gone at Hogwarts if Hermione had been around to do research.
-==0==-
A handsome eagle owl dropped off a letter for Harry at breakfast, in a fat cream envelope, labelled in green ink. 'Harry Potter, Beauxbatons' And the owl avoided dropping it in his food. Harry untied the letter, and offered the owl a forkful of his own breakfast. The owl visibly shuddered and flew off.
Harry opened the letter. The handwriting was unfamiliar but very neat.
'Harry Potter,
I am sorry. I am sorry I hexed you in the bits repeatedly.
I am not proud of what I did.
It is understandable that you dislike me.
My family owe you for the cure you organised for my sister Astoria. She shows no sign of the curse at all, and every day she is healthy is a marvel and a delight. Even if she's becoming a little bratty.
However, with the evidence that you were taking a witch on a date to Pont-le-Baton, we have written to your Steward, and Mr Lupin has agreed that you will need to see a healer to check if you still have that issue. Given that I was going to be forced into servitude to you, that's only reasonable. And in case you were wondering, I don't find the idea of forced bondage at all exciting.
On the other hand my father has found out from the letter of appointment that you got drafted about some of the stupid things I did at Hogwarts, and has taken me to a mind healer.
One of the exercises the healer insists on is writing you this letter. So, I will reiterate, I am sorry.
I'm also extremely annoyed that I can't visit France for three years, the weather was very nice.
I hope that that French witch you were taking to Pont-le-Baton at least snogged you.
I am so sorry.
Sincerely,
Daphne Greengrass.
P.S. Strange chinese witch at Hogwarts, doing first year Astronomy why?'
Harry looked at the letter from Greengrass. Bother. Another trip to the healers, but, not having to deal with Greengrass living at one of his houses would be… well it would be one less thing to deal with. Though the money spent at Viridian looked like money wasted now. Bother.
-==0==-
Harry got a note from Mr Lupin a few days later, and an appointment at a healer's office in Pont-le-Baton, which, Harry thought was the nearest thing to convenient.
He even got an absence slip from Madame Maxime.
Harry opened the door into the healers office; The French healer had a stuffed alligator over his desk.
"Monsieur Potter" said the middle-aged male Healer – a Monsieur Libero, who had a white robe on, and wore a large amulet in the shape of a snake wrapped around a staff.
"Hello" said Harry, closing the door behind him, and heading for the visitors chair.
"Now, your problem we are looking at … witch phobia, yes?" said Monsieur Libero.
Harry nodded "I was diagnosed as witch phobic. It's mostly cleared up."
"Hmm" said Monsieur Libero, standing up. "We will need to perform an experiment."
He held up a wooden spoon "This is a port-key. We will perform the experiment and return."
The portkey was dreadful, and Harry landed in a cloak-room.
Monsieur Libero helped Harry to his feet, looking at Harry with some concern "Hmm. Bad at portkeys." Harry shrugged. It was just one of those things, like floo travel being hellish. Monsieur Libero opened the door into a larger room.
Wherever Harry as expecting to go for a medical experiment, a noisy cabaret with witches stripping to their knickers and gyrating to saxophone music was not it. He swallowed with difficulty.
After buying champagne for a witch who called herself Comfit, who sat on Harry's lap and whispered in his ear, Monsieur Libero, who had a witch sitting on his lap asked in a rather doctor-asking-questions tone "Now Monsieur Potter, are you feeling frightened?"
"No" croaked Harry, who wished Comfit would stop wigging. Or get on with it, one or the other.
"Well, you are cured" said Monsieur Libero. "I'm afraid ladies, Monsieur Potter and I must leave. But, it has been… stimulating."
"You're an old pervert" said the young witch on his lap.
"I'm not dead yet" said Monsieur Libero.
Harry surreptitiously adjusted his pants in the cloakroom before port-keying back to Monsieur Libero's office using the spoon.
Monsieur Libero sat down and started writing a letter
"You are cured, given that your pipes were already working, and you owe sixty-five galleons." said Monsieur Libero.
"That's a lot" said Harry.
"The cover charge of the club, the portkey and the champagne for the ladies" said Monsieur Libero, deadpan. "I will send an official report to your Steward."
Harry handed over most of his galleons. He made a mental note to write to Mr Lupin to get some more sent over. And to make sure his wand was at hand tomorrow morning.
Mr Lupin's letter arrived by tatty brown owl a day later.
'Harry,
Great news from your French Healer.
I'm so pleased you're better. We will be getting another arbitration hearing, and press for money instead of… having a housekeeper. Your mum would have wanted you to treat witches you date with respect, but given that Lily would have had to hide Miss Greengrass's body by now, we can just assume you're going to behave yourself. I don't understand how you got better, but I won't ask.
I do hope the medical procedure to test your um, witch phobia wasn't too unpleasant. I've spent a lot of time in hospitals, and they give me the willies.
Your Steward; who's going to be handing over some decision-making to you when you finish school,
Remus J. Lupin.'
Harry put the letter in his school trunk, and picked up the one from Greengrass. His eye fell on the words 'I don't find the idea of forced bondage at all exciting' and his imagination filled in a picture of Greengrass – he'd seen a lot of semi-naked witches in stockings lately – writhing on a bed, partly restrained by some velvet ropes. He checked his watch; just time for a quick… shower.
...
Fortunately for Harry's shaky grip on reality, Miss Elyna Garnier, who had dirty-blonde hair, blushed when Harry asked, and went to Pont-le-Baton with him. He took her shopping, bought some parchment and ink, some owl treats, and a summer scarf for Elyna. Over lunch, she talked about her family, they lived in rural France and she spent time at home charming the sheep. He did get a kiss goodbye back at Beauxbatons.
Harry went home to Britain in June, with a taste for French pastries, French witches and cafe. He was fairly confident he'd done reasonably in NEWTs; Madam Maxime had graciously got him the English exam papers from the British WEA.
Harry spent a night at the Leaky Cauldron, and the next day, with Mr Lupin, went to Grimmauld place. Where Number twelve was much less dirty and dilapidated than he remembered.
"I've spent time cleaning it up" said Mr Lupin. "It seemed the least I could do."
"Oh no" said Harry "The least you could do would be leave me with the Dursleys, like Professor Dumbledore did."
Everything was fine; nobody was cursing him, Elyna Garnier was thinking about visiting England, which would lead to snogging, and though Harry had some annoying holes in his memory, everything was … fine. There was always next year to investigate alchemy, or go to China looking for peaches of immortality.
Harry got another letter for Greengrass.
'Harry Potter,
Thank you for getting me out of being your housekeeper.
That would have been hellish. We have too much… history to interact comfortably.
Sincerely,
Daphne Greengrass.'
Harry read the letter a second time. And then stuffed it in a desk drawer and decided to never, ever read it again. But not to throw it out; it was evidence that… that Harry could do the right thing. And nobody had died, so there was that.
That night Harry had a very disturbing dream that featured Daphne Greengrass winking at him. Harry woke up sweating, cast cleaning charms on his pyjama pants, and went to the small ensuite bathroom and stared in the mirror. His hair was all over the place. Still, it wasn't a nightmare. And he definitely didn't fancy her; Elyna was very nice and had never hexed him at all. All was well.