Summary: In what could only be described as an act of God, Sirius manages to convince Dumbledore to let him take Harry out of the country for his summer vacation before Fifth Year. To just get away from the dangers of Britain and see the world in peace, even if it's only for a couple months. A nice trip to Paris, perhaps a day or two in Beijing? How about Rome, Uganda, or Brazil? With magic and adventure hidden around every corner, what wonders await, especially when your name is Harry James Potter.


Harry Potter and the World of Magic

~ Chapter Two ~

Peaceful slumber.

A simple pleasure, but one Harry had been deprived of due to the Triwizard Tournament's disastrous ending. Since then, he had been plagued with nightmares, reliving the horrors of that fateful night… Cedric's death, the pain of being tortured under the Cruciatus Curse, his desperate escape with Cedric's corpse under spellfire, and of course, Voldemort's return… It had reached a point where Harry had actually begun to dread going to sleep, knowing what was coming.

But now… No more. Now, Harry slept in peace. Every night since their arrival to Paris has been peaceful, and today was no exception. As his eyes fluttered open and took in the now familiar French Renaissance décor of his bedroom, Harry couldn't help but smile. Slowly, he propped himself up against the headrest and stretched, relishing the feel of the warm Parisian morning air as his mind wandered back over the past few days.

He and Sirius had been in France's capital for five days now and frankly, Harry was having the time of his life! From standing atop the Eiffel Tower, to walking through the galleries at the Louvre, to attending a service at Notre Dame (as a respectful non-Catholic)… All the things he had seen and experienced already were beyond words. And of course, Harry did not restrict himself to just visiting Paris's more iconic sites. Whenever Léon or Raquel couldn't act as guides, he and Sirius would explore on their own, discovering many of the city's fine offerings that were waiting to be found among the city's streets. It was clear they were only just beginning to scratch the surface of Paris's unique culture, and to think, they hadn't even seen the magical parts yet!

When he was not out exploring the city, Harry would return to Léon's penthouse, located in the heart of the lively Latin Quarters. Decorated with both a modern and historic feel, the two-story apartment was absolutely stunning and filled with dozens of famous paintings, sculptures, and relics. Even the guest room Harry was staying in had a few priceless pieces of art. But underneath the luxuriousness, the penthouse was also warm and inviting. These feelings enveloped Harry, bringing with them a sense of comfort and belonging unlike any place he had stayed before outside of Hogwarts. No doubt, Sirius's presence played a large part in that feeling, but still, in just a couple days, Léon's apartment had become a second home to him.

And he loved it.

Feeling the urge to partake in the view, Harry climbed out of bed, slipped on his glasses, and walked out onto his room's balcony. There, he gazed out upon the already busy streets of Paris and sighed in contentment. The smell of freshly baked loaves and pastries, tinged with the typical smell of cigarette smoke, wafted through the air from a nearby bakery, one Harry had visited several times already. He could also hear the chatter of people bustling about below, his enchanted earrings, a gift from Sirius, automatically translating the local language to English, before a resounding chime rang in the distance.

It was 7 o'clock.

'Better get moving,' he thought, quickly going about his morning routine. Today, Léon was taking them to see Versailles and there was no way he was missing that.

Within five minutes, Harry was washed up and dressed. He dashed downstairs to the kitchen, a greeting on his lips… only to find, much to his surprise, Sirius, already awake, dressed, and leafing through a newspaper. And their host was nowhere to be found.

"Morning, Sirius."

"Morning, kiddo," the man greeted jovially, handing his godson a cup of coffee. "Sleep well?"

"Like a log. I swear there's some kind of sleeping spell on the bed."

"Well, Léon is a squib. You never know."

"Where is Léon? I thought he was coming with us today."

"Something came up," Sirius answered, finishing off his coffee with a loud satisfied belch. Clearly, a decade in Azkaban Prison hadn't done much for his manners. "He and Raquel apparently have to meet with a "mutual acquaintance in 'their' line of work". Léon didn't say what it was about, but he made it sound kinda shady."

Harry just gave his godfather a skeptical look, clearly not believing that their friendly, charismatic host would do anything illegal, even though, admittedly, the man was extraordinarily tight-lipped about what he did for a living. And this was hardly the first time this kind of thing had come up between them.

"Hey, don't give me that. I'm just telling you what I was told and what I think of it."

"You have to admit that's pretty hard to believe."

A haunted look passed over Sirius's face at this comment, aging his face decades as the years in Azkaban made themselves apparent. "Never judge a book by its cover, Harry… You know I learned that the hard way." It didn't need to be said who the Marauder was talking about. He quickly shook it off though. "Anyways, it's just going to be you and me today!"

"I take it we're not going to Versailles?"

"Nope. It'd be more fun with Léon anyways. He has a friend who works there and would give us a private tour."

"Wow, really?"

"Yeah. Léon's pretty well connected."

"So where are we going?"

"To the Musée d'Orsay. I heard it's an amazing place that people have to see."

Harry's eyes widened, his lips sputtering uselessly as he stared at his godfather in open mouth shock. Sirius…? At a museum? To look at art? Willingly?!

This did not compute.

Seeing Harry's dumbfounded look, Sirius asked, "What?"

"You? Go to a museum?"

"Yes… Is there something wrong with that?"

"Impossible."

"Wha-?"

"There's no way a man-child like you could ever appreciate art and history!"

"Oi!" Sirius looked genuinely insulted. "I'll have you know that James and I visited many museums during our travels and I enjoyed each and every one of them!"

"Nope. Don't believe you."

"Oh, c'mon! I was with you when we went to the Louvre! Isn't that proof enough?"

"And within the first ten minutes, you were chatting up the docent in an attempt to get into her pants."

"She was a solid nine, kiddo… Maybe higher. How could I not?" Sirius argued back, despite knowing he wasn't helping his case. "But that's beside the point. I've even done some research into the place!"

"Really?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow. "What for?"

"I'll have you know that there is a certain artist I like! I wanted to see if any of his pieces were there."

"… That's even more unbelievable."

"Wha-Oh, come on!"

"Yeah, no. Still don't believe you."

"I'm not lying! I'll even prove it to you!"

"Oh really? How?"

"Those pieces I wanted to see… They were painted by Gustave Courbet. The one I really wanted to see features a couple of stags fighting. I may not know where they are in the museum, but they're supposed to be permanent fixtures there. I'll bet you a galleon that they're there!"

Wow, he really did make it sound like he was interested in this place. And yet, Harry still had his doubts. This was Sirius Black after all… There's no way the prank-happy Marauder would ever find art interesting. "Deal."

~ Scene Break ~

'Bugger, Sirius wasn't joking,' Harry thought as he walked around the magnificent Musee D'Orsay. As soon as he and Sirius had entered, they split up, and of course, the teen just so happened to stumble upon the Gustave Courbet Gallery. And low and behold, there before him was the painting Sirius had described. 'Now I owe him a galleon… And I just know that mangy mutt is never going to let me live this down.' Shaking his head, Harry resumed his exploration, figuring he could worry about it later. He eventually found himself in another gallery, this one focusing on post impressionist paintings and soon found himself admiring the works of Cézanne, Gauguin, Seurat, and Van Gogh.

As he stood before Vincent van Gogh's The Church at Auvers, he couldn't help but notice that the man standing beside him was silently laughing at the painting, as if there was something incredibly funny about it. Unable to quell his curiosity, he asked, "Excuse me, sir, but what's so funny?"

"Hm?" the man turned to face him. "Oh, sorry. It's nothing. I was just looking for the face of evil… heh, heh…"

'American…' Harry thought upon hearing him speak. The man appeared to be of at least partial Asian descent, sporting short dark-brown hair, brown eyes, and glasses. His casual attire of black slacks, a beige dress shirt, and a waistcoat went well in accenting his broad shoulders and lean build. But all this came secondary to the man's unusual response. "The face of evil?"

The man laughed again. "I take it you've never seen Doctor Who?"

Harry shook his head. "Is that a TV show?"

"Mhm… I'm surprised you've never heard of it."

"What do you mean?"

"It's British. You should watch it sometime."

"Honey?"

Startled, Harry turned to see a beautiful young woman walk up to them, her grey eyes lighting up upon seeing the man standing beside him. Similarly, she was garbed in an elegant, yet casual attire, consisting of a lovely white dress and blazer that complimented her fair skin, long chestnut blond hair, and slim petite frame. A broad-brimmed hat and purse could be seen clutched in her hands as she gave a gorgeous smile to the man standing beside him.

"There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you. What were you-" She stopped upon seeing the painting they had been looking at. "Really?"

"Sorry, sweetheart," the man laughed. "Couldn't resist."

"You did this last time."

"And?"

"You are disrespecting Van Gogh's work."

"What?! I am not!"

"Yes, you are."

"How?!"

"This is the Musée d'Orsay, where the masterpieces of some of the most famous artists in history can be found. And instead of properly appreciating Vincent van Gogh's work, skill, and era, you're here making Doctor Who jokes!"

"Fine…" the man conceded, pouting horrendously.

The woman rolled her eyes. "Goose."

He grinned. "Yes, I know. But I'm your goose."

Unable to resist the tender, if somewhat goofy, but loving smile directed at her, the woman just sighed as she wrapped her arms around his waist. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Love me?" he asked, an absolutely ridiculous puppy-dog look on his face as he held her close.

"Oh, stop that. Of course I love you, you silly goose."

"Love you too, sweetheart," the man chuckled, before remembering that they actually had company. Laughing in embarrassment, he quickly apologized to the thoroughly amused Englishman. "Sorry about that. We tend to get wrapped up in our own little world sometimes. My name is Derek and this is my lovely fiancé, Deirdre."

"I'm Harry," the wizard replied, feeling surprisingly at ease around the American couple. "Nice to meet you."

"And you as well. I hope my fiancé wasn't disturbing you or anything. He's a little obsessed with Doctor Who and enjoys finding references to it in anything he sees," Deirdre said, shooting the man a withering look. Derek just grinned cheekily back. "Anyways, are you here by yourself?"

"No," the wizard answered, looking around the room for his man-child of a godfather. "I'm actually here with my godfather. No bloody clue where he is though."

"Would you like some help finding him?" Derek asked, already looking around the gallery for someone he didn't even know, let alone what he looked like.

"Sure-No, wait… I think that's him over there. Sirius!"

"Harry!" Sirius replied, a broad smile on his face as he drew near. "You saw the paintings, right?! Hah!"

"Yes, yes, you were right, I was wrong. No need to rub it in…"

"Kid, it's my job as your godfather to rub it in."

"You could at least do that when we're not out in public!"

"And where would the fun be in that?!"

"You're impossible."

"That's my middle name! Well, actually, it's Orion, but either way, don't wear it out."

"Can you please be serious for just one moment?!"

"First, I am Sirius. Don't wear that name out either. Second, I'm preparing you. All this teasing… It's going to be a hundred times worse once you get a girlfriend."

"Somebody kill me now…"

"Later, kiddo. Introduce me to your friends, first. You're being very rude."

Shaking his head in exasperation, Harry looked at the decidedly amused American couple. Talk about a reversal of roles… "Derek, Deirdre, this is my man-child of a godfather, Sirius. As you can see, I can't take him anywhere without him making a fool out of himself… and me."

"No respect," Sirius muttered, before extending his hand. "Nice to meet you."

Smiling, Deirdre shook the man's hand. "It's a pleasure. As Harry has already said, I'm Deirdre and this is Derek, my fiancé."

"Hey," the Asian-American man greeted with a smile. "I hope you're enjoying yourself here."

"That I am!" Sirius replied jovially. "I hope my disrespectful brat of a godson wasn't causing the two of you any trouble."

"Not at all," Deirdre replied. "If anything, I should be the one apologizing for my fiancé's attempts to corrupt Harry into watching Doctor Who." It was clear to both Englishmen that the woman had said this more than once.

"Doctor Who? What's that?"

"It's a British TV show."

"Huh. Never heard of it. Is it any good?"

Derek's eyes immediately lit up in glee and before anyone could blink, he was standing beside Sirius with an arm wrapped around his shoulders and leading him to who knows where. "My friend, allow me to educate you in the absolute wonders of the Doctor." And so, Sirius Black, escaped convict of Azkaban, godfather of the Boy-Who-Lived, and Marauder, was taught the madness of Doctor Who.

And the world trembled.

"I should not have said anything," Deirdre muttered, watching in exasperated fondness. "Knowing my fiancé, I'm sure those two are going to be at it for a while." Switching her attention to the bemused teenager, she smiled and said, "Why don't we look around a little more while those two chat?"

Seeing that Sirius was really enjoying his conversation with Derek if the occasional uproarious laughter was any indication, Harry just nodded before heading into the next gallery with his new companion. They spent the next half hour or so admiring the various masterpieces on display in relative silence. It was at one of Pierre-Auguste Renoir's most famous works did Deirdre finally speak. "The Dance at Le Moulin de la Galette… This piece is one of my favorites."

Harry nodded, amazed at how the piece seemed almost alive with movement and with dance. If he didn't know better, he would swear the painting was magical. "I can only imagine the amount of skill Renoir put into this."

"It's not just about his skill, Harry. Anyone can put paint onto a canvas… What's so incredible about this painting is his vision! This is a snapshot of daily life back in the late 1800s. You can see people from all walks of life, each with their own expressions and gestures, as if they all have a story to tell. But at the same time, their forms… the whole image is somewhat blurred. And this was by choice. His use of brushstrokes and choice of colors makes this piece seem like a glimpse of something you're walking by, an impression if you will…"

The amount of passion and insight Deirdre showed left Harry at a complete loss for words. After all, what could he possibly say to that? He had only just recently developed an appreciation for art… And to be honest, even after everything she had just said, Harry still didn't quite see what Deirdre was telling him.

So, he just settled for a nod and tried looking at the painting more closely.

"Tell me, do you have a favorite piece here?"

"Err… I don't remember its name, but there was this one huge painting of some stags in a forest. Sirius and I both really liked that one," Harry said, remembering how the painting just seemed to call out to him. Probably because his father could turn into the subject of the piece.

"That would be Gustave Courbet's Spring, Stags Fighting. It's another one of my favorites, though I'm personally partial to the Impressionist Gallery."

"I didn't get a chance to see much of that, unfortunately. We got here kind of late."

"Well, you definitely have to come back then."

"You've been here before, then?"

"Yes, once. Derek and I were brought here as a college graduation present from his parents," the beautiful young woman responded. She glanced at Harry. "I take it this is your first time to Paris… And maybe your first time outside your country too?"

Harry's eyes widened. "How'd you know?"

"You have that same look of wonder Derek and I had when we first visited Paris."

"Oh…"

"No need to be embarrassed. It's good to see things with new eyes. Being in a new country is a lot to take in."

"Yeah. There's just so much to see and do."

"I know how you feel, but try not to rush things, Harry. I promise you'll enjoy your visit here more if you take the time to really experience and appreciate Paris's culture, people, and history. This applies to any place you might visit," Deirdre said, before noticing that her fiancé and Harry's godfather were approaching. "It looks like they're finally finished. About time."

"Harry!" Sirius ran up to his godson, a look of wonder on his face. "When we get back to England, you and I are having a Doctor Who marathon! The things Derek told me, it's… It's incredible. The Doctor… Time and space… Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey…" He trailed off.

Harry sweatdropped and looked at Deirdre helplessly. Her response was not very encouraging, unfortunately.

"Huh, that's worse than usual."

"Uh, is he going to be alright?"

"I'm not sure…" Deirdre muttered, glaring at the culprit.

Derek just smiled innocently. "He was very receptive to my teachings."

"The TARDIS…" Sirius whispered. "Sonic screwdriver…"

"Clearly," Deirdre remarked dryly before glancing at Harry and jerking her head toward his godfather, "Smack him. He's faking it."

"Yikes! OK, OK! I'll stop!" Sirius surrendered, cowering in mock fear as his godson raised his hand. "No need to get so violent."

"Well, if you continue to act like an idiot…" Harry gripped, smacking his godfather on the shoulder anyways.

"Again, it's part of the job description," Sirius chirped, ignoring the cloud of misery that appeared over his godson's head. "Anyways, Derek was telling me that you two are only staying here for a little while longer?"

"Yes, only another day or two," Deirdre answered. "There's more to France than just Paris. We intend on visiting the countryside and a few other cities before moving on."

"Moving on?" Harry asked. "What do you mean?"

"We're taking the rest of the year to see as much of the world as possible, and France was our first stop. Derek here got lucky with an investment he made on the stock market and made quite a bit of money."

"Sounds nice," Sirius said approvingly. "There's no harm in seeing the world and enjoying yourselves a bit before settling down."

"Our sentiments exactly."

"What about you?" Derek asked, looking at Sirius. "Have you been here before?"

"This is my second time in Paris, actually, but it's been almost two decades since then. Harry and I will be here for another week or so before heading off to our next destination."

"Seems like you two are doing the same thing we are."

The Marauder just smiled mysteriously. "In a manner of speaking."

A series of gongs suddenly sounded throughout the museum, drawing the group's attention. "Is it six already? Jeez, where did the time go…" Derek muttered, before turning to his fiancé. "We should get going, sweetheart. Our reservations are in a hour and it's on the other side of the city."

"Right." Turning to face the two Englishmen, Deirdre smiled. "Sorry about this, but we have to go."

"It's alright. We have an appointment to keep ourselves," Sirius answered, shaking their hands. "It was a pleasure meeting both of you. And thank you for keeping Harry company while your fiancé was telling me about Doctor Who."

"It was my pleasure."

"Oh, before you go," Sirius called, having a thought. "Do either of you have any recommendations for the city? You've been here more recently than I have."

"Hmm… I'd definitely recommend going to the Marché aux Puces de Saint-Ouen in the 18th Arrondissement. It's Europe's largest flea market and you'll find a lot of interesting things there."

"You should also see the Catacombs," Derek piped in. "Personally, I think it's extremely creepy, but it is a large part of Paris's history. Definitely not for the faint of heart though, so I'm not sure if it'd be appropriate for you, Harry. Anyways, have a nice day! Hopefully, we'll cross paths again!"

"Bye!"

'Bugger…' As the two Englishmen waved goodbye to their new friends, Harry couldn't help but curse. He knew right there and then that he could not leave Paris without first visiting the Catacombs now. Though he did not know it, Derek had just inadvertently challenged his mettle as a Gryffindor in front of another fellow lion. A side glance at his godfather, who unsurprisingly had a superior grin on his face, confirmed that the gauntlet had well and truly been thrown. 'Looks like I'll be visiting the Catacombs of Paris tonight… I just know this is going to end badly.'

~Scene Break~

"Bonjour!" a smiling middle-aged woman greeted, striding up to a group. "Welcome to the Catacombes de Paris! My name is Clarice and I'll be your guide today."

Harry smiled, his earlier trepidation forgotten and replaced with the now familiar excitement of experiencing something foreign and new. Finding the Catacombs had, surprisingly, been rather tricky. The entrance was located in a tangled eight-way intersection and had it not been for the line of tourists waiting to enter, Harry was sure he would have never found it! He was also lucky that today was Thursday and thus, they had late night tours going on.

Best to get this done, else Sirius would never stop teasing him until he did.

Soon, the wizard had joined a tour group and, after a few minutes of waiting, Clarice arrived, signaling the start of the tour!

"Before we begin, I'd like to take the time and lay out some ground rules. Rule number one: please do not touch anything in the Catacombs. Everything on display is centuries old and very fragile. Touching them, even slightly, can cause irreparable damage so please watch where you step and don't touch anything! Rule number two…" And as Clarice went over each rule, Harry noticed one person, a portly man that bore an eerie resemblance to his uncle, adopting a rather ugly look. He was clearly displeased with the 'No Touching' rule.

'I'd better keep an eye on him,' Harry thought, before returning his attention to the tour guide, who was just finishing up.

"-And that should be it. C'mon, let's start the tour!"

Taking his first steps through the doors into the Catacombes de Paris was something Harry would never forget. Winding hallways, massive monuments, and ancient relics made entirely of bones, skulls, and stone… Harry knew his eyes were probably the size of dinner plates as he took in the incredible, if not somewhat disturbing, sight. Truly, the pictures and stories did not do this place justice. And Derek was right about it being creepy.

As they toured the vast ossuary, Harry and his group listened in on the guide's dialogue of its ancient history. "Originally, the Catacombs were just a series of tunnels, caverns, and quarries that were used after the surface cemeteries became overfilled. Over the course of many years, the site was continuously renovated until it became what it is today. Researchers now estimate that the remains of over six million people reside here and that there may be more of the Catacombs that may have been hidden! In fact, some have speculated that-excuse me, sir!" The tour group suddenly stopped at their guide's cry and noticed that she was glaring at someone at the back. Turning, Harry saw that the portly man he noticed earlier was just inches away from touching one of the skulls lining the walls. "Please remember that we do not allow the touching of anything in the Catacombs."

The portly man instantly turned red, furious and clearly embarrassed at being caught. He mumbled/sputtered an excuse, but Clarice wasn't having any of it. "I understand your curiosity, sir, but please keep in mind that the rules are there for a reason. If you attempt to touch anything here again, I will have to ask you to leave."

The man nodded, though Harry and the rest of the group could tell that he was not happy at being told what to do.

Satisfied, Clarice continued the tour.

Eventually, they reached a large chamber decorated with twin columns and a shallow basin that rested atop a pedestal in the room's center. Skulls and femurs lined the walls and strange writings decorated the stone above it. But what caught everyone's attention was the air… It felt tense and held a degree of stifling power that bore down upon them… Something was different about this chamber. The question though, was what?

Thankfully, their tour guide was ready to explain.

"This chamber is known as the Crypt of the Sepulchral Lamp. I am sure many of you have seen pictures of this place, but let me tell you a bit of history. The Sepulchral Lamp is one of the oldest artifacts in the Catacombs, and was constantly lit by the quarrymen to create a draft for ventilation. This allowed-"

Unfortunately, by this point, Harry had stopped listening. Because as interesting as all this was, there was something about the chamber that tugged at his mind. It tingled against his senses, telling him that there was more here than meets the eye. It didn't help that there was also a whisper floating through the walls and in the air, a hiss that was just barely audible, demanding his attention, as if it was trying to speak to him…

~ ONLY THOSE TRUE OF BLOOD, POWER, AND FAITH CAN DISCOVER THAT WHICH IS HIDDEN HERE ~

Harry blinked. 'What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?' Worse, looking around, it was clear that he was the only one in their group who heard those words, making him wonder if it was something magical.

Should he ask the tour guide?

Unfortunately, before he could make a decision, a loud commotion drew his attention.

"And that's that!" Clarice finished, a smile on her face. "So, any questions-SIR!" It was the same man again, but this time, he had actually reached out to pick up the bowl atop the pedestal. "This is your last warning, sir! If you attempt to touch anything in the Catacombs again, you will be removed from the premises and reported to the police! Am I understood?!"

The scowl on his face was ugly, and for a moment, Harry feared the man would physically assault the guide for stopping him. But thankfully, he backed down and nodded sourly.

Casting one final glare at the rude tourist, Clarice gestured for the tour to continue. "Let's move on."

Just as Harry was about to depart with the tour group, a chance glance back had him leaping to action as he saw the portly man once again attempting to touch the walls of the chamber. "What the bloody hell are you doing?!" he hissed, grabbing the man's wrist just before he touched the skull. "We're not supposed to touch anything!"

The man scowled. "You think I care? If I want to touch something, then there's nothing you or that French bitch can do to stop me! Now, get out of my way!" he snapped, yanking back his wrist and shoving Harry aside.

The sudden violence caught the wizard completely off guard. He stumbled back and hit the stone pedestal in the room's center as the obnoxious bastard ran after the group.

Now, let's take a second to pause here.

Under normal circumstances, the security cameras monitoring the Catacombs would have seen everything. The police would have been called, the offender arrested or fined, and the victim checked, thanked, and maybe offered a free private tour.

But this is Harry Potter.

Fate's Bitch, Whipping Boy, and All-Around Punching Bag. And as a Potter, everyone knows just how much Murphy loves the English Wizard… Like a rabid fangirl on steroids and Amortentia.

So instead of vigilant security, the cameras that day were turned off due to repairs and malfunctions. Harry also ended up hitting the pedestal at an angle, his arm scratching the corner and leaving a cut deep enough to draw blood. And of course, as he fell, a single flick of blood drawn from the wound flew into the air and landed in the basin. In that instance, the stone bowl ignited with an eerie blue flame and one of the walls opened.

And naturally, Harry tumbled through with the wall closing behind him.

Did his life suck, or what?

~Scene Break~

Pitch blackness surrounded him. The air was stale, rotten, and musty. Skulls and bones decorated the walls while corpses littered the floor, not that Harry could actually see any of this in the darkness (something he was actually thankful for)… All in all, pretty grim-looking picture. Add into the equation magic and the fact that he was the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, well…

"Why does this ALWAYS happen to me?!"

Seriously though, besides himself or some hot female archeologist with handguns, who else would end up in this kind of situation, trapped in a dark, dusty passage in the Catacombs of Paris that had, until now, been previously unknown and undiscovered? He just couldn't catch a break, could he?

He was supposed to be on vacation, dammit!

Okay… Deep breaths… First things first: Check to see if his body was still in working order. Because really, with magic and falling through a strange doorway/portal, one can never be too careful.

Legs?

Yup, still had legs. Good.

Arms?

Hands?

Fingers, lots of fingers…

So far, so good…

Eyes and ears? Yes, got two of each.

Nose… Mouth… Check!

Scar?

Damn, still there.

Hair? He couldn't see the color, but at least he wasn't bald, so that's good… wait! Why is it so long? "Bloody hell, did I just go through a gender-bender?!" His hand immediately went south. "No… I'm not a girl! Sweet Merlin, I need a haircut!"

He could breathe, meaning that his lungs were fine. Stomach all good, though a little empty. Kidneys… no way of checking the color on that. His heart was still beatin-Wait, was that four beats?!

BA-BUMP.

No, only two. Good.

No need for a second heart.

Okay, so everything was in working order and intact. Now to figure out just how in Merlin's name he was going to get out of here. Naturally, with his infamous Potter Luck, the wall he originally came through was inaccessible now. Every unlocking charm and counter-spell he knew failed and he was too far underground for the cellphone Léon had given him to work… Meaning he now had but one choice… To face the long, dark mysteries of the Catacombes de Paris.

But first, some light. Good thing he remembered to bring his wand. The past couple years of murder attempts, attacks, and chaos had ensured that Harry would never go anywhere without it.

Mad-Eye would be so proud.

"Lumos."

Good. Now he had light. Taking a moment to steel himself, Harry cautiously began creeping down the darkened corridor. Left, right, then right again… The passageway twisted and turned in seemingly random intervals with no discernable pattern. It was maddening and Harry couldn't help but wonder if he was really making any kind of progress or just going around in circles! Thrice, he took a wrong turn and wound up in a dead end!

Finally, after wandering through the dark hallway for what felt like an eternity, Harry entered a large chamber that was a near perfect replica of the Crypt of the Sepulchral Lamp. The only noticeable difference was, unsurprisingly, the basin atop the pedestal. Ancient runes and symbols decorated the relic as a silver light shined from within its depths, illuminating the entire room and allowing Harry to end his light spell.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what Harry was looking at.

A pensieve.

Which meant that the light from within was likely some wizard's memories. But as curious as he was, Harry knew now wasn't the time or place to just haphazardly look through someone's memories. He needed to find a way out of here first, but, unfortunately, there were no other passageways connected to the room besides the one he had come from… Perhaps, like with how he ended up in this mess, the entrance was hidden or magical? Harry immediately began a thorough inspection of the chamber, his wand flashing with Revealing Charms in hopes of finding secret rooms or entrances, but coming up with nothing.

Cursing, Harry desperately started brainstorming for ideas. What was he supposed to do now?

"Qui êtes-vous? (Who are you?)"

Startled, Harry whirled around and fired a stunning spell, before hitting the deck. Seconds past and with the distinct lack of return spellfire or the sounds of a body crashing onto the ground unconscious, Harry tentatively looked up. And what he saw surprised him.

It was a ghost.

Sporting a full mustache and beard, a quick glance at the ghost's attire dated the spirit sometime in the French Revolution. He also wore atop his head an extravagant feathered cavalier that Harry wouldn't be caught dead wearing (no pun intended). All in all, with the exception of the superior look and derisive sneer on the spirit's face, the ghost appeared harmless, allowing Harry to breathe a sigh of relief.

In that moment, the being spoke again, though in a far more demanding tone. "Vous avez entré le tombeau de Sir Grégoire Roux, le plus grand maître de l'écriture antique à Paris! J'exige de savoir qui vous êtes! (You have entered the tomb of Sir Grégoire Roux, the greatest master of ancient script in Paris! I demand to know who you are!)"

Well now, this could be a problem. While the enchanted earrings Sirius had gotten him could translate the ghost's words, it did not give Harry the ability to respond. Maybe the ghost could speak English? Hopefully? Knowing his luck, probably not, but he could still try. "Err… My name is Harry. Do you speak English?"

"Un Anglais? (An Englishman?)" The ghost's eyes narrowed. "Comment avez-vous entrer dans mon tombeau? (How did you get in my grave?)"

Damn. Looks like Grégoire could only speak French.

"It was an accident."

"Tch… Une histoire probable. Dites-moi, pourquoi êtes-vous ici? (A likely story. Tell me, why are you here?)"

Harry sighed. Of course, the ghost wouldn't believe him. "I swear, it was an accident! I really have no idea how I got here! I just want to find the exit. Do you know where it is?"

"Qu'est-ce? Je ne peux pas vous comprendre, mais vous pouvez me comprendre clairement. Parler français, garçon! (What? I cannot understand you, but you can clearly understand me. Speak French, boy!)"

Dammit, what was he supposed to do?

Léon had taught him a few basic phrases, but that hardly counted as passing, let alone fluent. And his inability to speak French, but still somehow understand it, was clearly angering the lingering spirit. Grégoire probably thought Harry was mocking him.

How was he supposed to explain the situation to the ghost?

Harry racked his brain for ideas, his eyes darting all over the room, looking for something, anything, that could help.

Eventually, his eyes landed on the pensieve.

Maybe…

That could work…

But wait, could a ghost even view another person's memories?

Unfortunately, he would never find out.

Upon seeing what Harry was looking at, Grégoire suddenly became infuriated and began shouting. "Je le savais! Vous êtes ici pour voler mes secrets, n'est-ce pas?! Qui vous a envoyé? Est-ce que voleur bâtard, Lécuyer? (I knew it! You're here to steal my secrets, aren't you?! Who sent you? Was it that thieving bastard, Lécuyer?)" He didn't wait for an answer. "Peu importe. Vous allez mourir pour avoir tenté de me voler et je vais profiter de voir mes serviteurs vous détruisent! (It matters not. You will die for trying to steal from me and I will enjoy seeing my servants destroy you!)" Whirling around, the spirit began chanting in a dark, guttural language that hung heavily in the air, ignoring Harry's attempts to refute his accusations.

It was at this point that Harry paused to consider the words yelled at him. Servants? They were in the freaking Catacombs of Paris! And the man was dead. How in Merlin's name would he call upon-

Oh.

Shit.

Grégoire was a necromancer…

Just his damn luck.

The chamber suddenly lit up as dozens of ancient runes lining the walls activated, pouring necromantic energy into the very earth beneath Harry's feet. The ground began to rumble and shake as if something was trying to reach the surface… And then it happened. Just like out of a horror film, the living dead rose. Animated skeletons pulled themselves free from the walls and decaying corpses crawled out from the ground.

"Tuez-le! (Kill him!)" the dark wizard ordered.

"It's official. Fate, destiny, or whatever higher power up there hates my fucking guts!" Harry cried. "Stupefy!"

With pinpoint accuracy, the magical bolt of crimson energy slammed into its target… and did nothing. "You have got to be kidding me!" Panicked, Harry unleashed a salvo of spells and curses in an attempt to push back the approaching dead, but nothing worked. Blasting Curses could blow their bodies apart if aimed right, but tearing off an arm or leg with the curse wasn't enough to actually stop them. The inferi were already dead… Any physical damage inflicted was superficial and ultimately meant nothing to them. The only thing that could hurt an inferius was…

"Fire! Merlin, I'm stupid!" Harry cursed, berating himself for forgetting Moony's lessons on combating inferi. "Incendio!"

Instantly, the nearest group of inferi burst into flames! Pained screams filled the Catacomb as the dark creatures began scrambling about, desperate to put out the fire burning their bodies, but only succeeding in spreading it among their brethren.

Elated, Harry pressed his advantage.

Blasting apart a skeleton that got a little too close for comfort or burning, Harry whirled around and called forth a wave of white-hot fire. Dozens of inferi were caught in the inferno and those outside the spell's limited range, which Harry inwardly cursed at, were soon assaulted under a barrage of Blasting Curses. But despite this sudden turn of events, the teenager was still at a disadvantage… Every inferius he destroyed was soon replaced with another.

"Bullocks, there's no bloody end to them!" Harry cursed, banishing an inferi into another before setting them both aflame. He could feel himself tiring with each spell he cast and worst yet, they were beginning to push him back...

All too soon, his back touched the wall.

And in that moment, everything went to hell.

The wall behind him suddenly came alive! Skeletal hands grabbed him, ripping at his shirt and tearing into his skin. "ARRGH!" Blood gushed from his shoulder, staining the white bony hand red as its fingers gouged horrid lacerations. Without even thinking, Harry smashed his whole arm into the skeleton, shattering its brittle bones and painfully wrenching out the fingers from his flesh, before pointing his wand at the wall itself.

"Incendio!"

Everything became fire! The entire wall along with Harry's attackers was set ablaze, illuminating the chamber in its orange light. With such an awesome sight, the remaining inferi quickly beat a hasty retreat as their innate fear of fire overruled their master's control.

Harry, not one to miss an opportunity, immediately unleashed everything he had on the walking dead! A hail of Blasting Curses and Fire Charms were sent down upon them, shattering skeletons and burning the zombies to dust. Dozens were destroyed and soon, only a few remained, but each spell cast also taxed at his magical reserves. He was beginning to weaken… And the wound on his shoulder wasn't helping either. With his body shaking in pain and fatigue, Harry could tell that it was only a matter of time before he became too tired to use magic… But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Even though the inferi were withdrawing, Harry knew that the moment he stopped, they would be upon him again. So he fought on, relying on the adrenaline and pain to keep him going.

CRACK!

Whipping around, Harry leapt back just in time to avoid a large section of the burning wall fall away and smash into the ground with earth-shattering force, kicking up a large cloud of smoke and dust. Coughing, Harry quickly banished the dust away, before looking back at the wreckage… only to have his eyes go wide. A hidden passage! Could it be a way out? Should he even risk it? Well, he didn't exactly have many options… The entire chamber was coming down. "Guess I've got no choice!" Harry pointed his wand at the rubble barring his path. "Reducto!"

In a flash of light, the debris was turned to dust and Harry had disappeared down the cleared path as Grégoire the Ghost screamed in anger.

How did this happen?!

Mere moments ago, the intruder had been on the verge of defeat by his summoned inferi. Now, his undead army was in full retreat and his crypt was being burned to ash! And the worst part of all this was that the bastard had somehow found the hidden passageway to his private workshop and its escape route!

None of this was supposed to happen. He was Sir Grégoire Roux, one of the greatest runemasters in France and an inventor of magical curiosities. When he was alive, he created many magical wonders and amassed a mighty fortune selling his wares. He had everything a man could ever want: money, power, and respect… before it was taken from him. His traitorous apprentice, Tristan Lécuyer, tricked him, stole everything he had, and humiliated him on a country-wide scale. He also stole his, as of then, undisclosed greatest invention, the pensieve.

And then, as if to add salt to the wound, the magical world began hailing the traitor as the greatest inventor of the age for his creation! For his pensieve!

Furious, Grégoire swore revenge. He constructed a secret chamber in the Catacombs of Paris as it was being built and spent the next few years hidden there, studying the Dark Arts, gathering followers, and becoming an accomplished necromancer. His goal was to rule all of Magical France and crush his former apprentice in the same way he did to him. But, he got sidetracked… He discovered something. Writings of something ancient… Something that could change everything. But before Grégoire could delve any further… Before he could get his revenge, the French Department of Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE) got to him first. They had gotten wind of what the necromancer was planning and had also discovered the general location of his lair. A full frontal assault was launched and ended with a mortally wounded Grégoire and his few surviving followers sealed in the Catacombs.

Unfortunately, every single one of the survivors had been severely injured, unable to use magic in any meaningful way to save themselves, and within a few short hours, they all succumbed. Only Grégoire returned as a ghost, his spirit far too consumed with revenge to rest peacefully.

And now, just like before, his whole world was burning around him.

Harry didn't pay any of the ghost's frustrations mind as he stagge red down the hallway, clutching his bloody shoulder. He could feel the roaring flames right behind him, filling the air with smoke as they spread and burned everything in their path as they chased after him… and now a locked wooden door was barring his path.

"Seriously?" Harry moaned, trying to open the door but to no avail. "Why can't I just catch a break? … Ah, screw it!" He whipped out his wand and took aim. "Bombarda!" With a deafening boom, the door shattered and Harry dashed inside. A quick Reparo, a blast of icy-cold water, and some reinforcement charms had the room temporarily protected from the spreading fire, but the wizard knew it wouldn't last. The fire was too great to be stopped with such simple magic… Not even the Flame-Freezing Charm would work at this point given the sheer magnitude of the mighty blaze.

But at least for now, he was safe.

Looking around, Harry noticed that he had entered a workshop, a fact made evident by the several finished and unfinished pensieves seen atop a nearby table. Potions, gold, and a set of carving tools could be seen beside them. There were also a number of scrolls and tomes scattered around the room, as if someone had been forced to leave in a hurry. 'Grégoire, no doubt,' Harry thought, his guess confirmed upon spotting a corpse dressed in the same attire the ghost was. 'But why would a Necromancer need a workshop?' Shaking his head, Harry cast aside such thoughts to focus on the immediate problem: finding a way out of here. 'Okay, no doors or passages besides the one I came through… So the way out must be hidden, like it was in the other room,' Harry thought, already searching through the room with revealing charms flashing from his wand. Thankfully, this particular room lacked the decorations the rest of the Catacombs had, making his search much more bearable.

Minutes ticked by and just as he was about to lose hope, he found something. Or more specifically, his nose did.

Pressed close to the southern wall, Harry immediately noticed that the air didn't smell as foul as the rest of the room did. "This must be it," he muttered, running his bloodstained hands over the stone to feel for any hidden keyholes, switches, or buttons. "Bugger, nothing. Hmm… Maybe I can blast it open?" Figuring he had nothing to lose at this point (because really, he didn't), Harry pointed his wand at the wall and cast the strongest Blasting Curse he knew.

An earsplitting explosion filled the room as the spell collided against the stone and kicked up a cloud of dust. Coughing, Harry waved his hand in an attempt to clear the smoke as he looked hopefully at the wall…

Not even a scratch.

"Bugger, I should've known. Alright, Plan B then!" Stashing his wand away, Harry rubbed his hands together and cracked his neck in preparation. He knew he would have to be careful, given his throbbing injury, but at least for now, the endorphins coursing through his veins were suppressing the pain. "Okay, here goes nothing! HURRAAAGGHH!"

With a mighty roar, Harry slammed his hands against the wall and pushed with all his might! Harder and harder, he pushed, his feet slipping against the floor as he fought to push open the hidden door just an inch… But to no avail. Even as the seconds turned into minutes, the door refused to budge, and eventually, Harry was forced to give up.

Sitting heavily on the ground and wincing in pain after straining his injury, the teen glared at the wall as he wracked his brain for ideas. There had to be some way of opening the door. A key? A lever? A pass… word…

Wait…

Didn't this whole mess start with something that only he could hear? But it wasn't like he had said anything in particular before falling through the door. 'Come to think of it, how did I find this place? Wouldn't the French Ministry of Magic have checked the Catacombs for anything magical before it was opened to the public?'

Now, in times of great stress and desperation, a person can make certain leaps and connections they wouldn't otherwise be able to. And this was no exception. The moment Harry realized that the French Ministry would have checked the Catacombs, the teenager also realized that they must not have found anything. This, in turn, meant that there was something about the words he had heard earlier that they couldn't hear, something that only he could understand.

Just like back in Second Year.

Parseltongue.

Gregoire must have been a Parselmouth. It was the only explanation that made sense! And since the room he was in appeared to be the man's private workshop, it would make sense that the password to leave would be in Parseltongue as well! Sure, it may be a bit of a gamble, but it was worth a try… right?

"Hessh Hassq-Ssah!"

The room rumbled and shook at his words. The blood Harry had accidentally stained the wall with suddenly seeped into the very stone itself. And slowly, little by little, the hidden door swung open.

Harry almost cried when he saw this.

The nightmare was over.

He was free.

~ Scene Break ~

"Mon dieu, Harry! What happened to you?!"

"It's a long story… Ugh…"

"Help me lay him down, Raquel!" Léon ordered, rolling up his sleeves with a look of grim determination and putting on a pair of rubber gloves. "Sirius, I need you to get me some hot water and towels! Raquel, get me the disinfectant and bandages under the bathroom sink."

"Right!"

"Oui, bien sûr!"

Harry groaned as he was gently laid down with Léon, Sirius, and Raquel fretting over his bloody wounds. It had taken him a good fifteen minutes to return to the surface and unfortunately, by that time, the endorphins suppressing the pain of his injury had dissipated, leaving him in absolute agony. Thankfully, he had emerged down by the banks of the Seine in an area where no one was around to ask uncomfortable questions… Well, at least until he called Sirius and Léon on his prepaid phone.

Unsurprisingly, both his godfather and Léon had a fit upon seeing his injuries. The two immediately took him back to the penthouse for medical attention, where they met up with Raquel, all the while peppering the boy with questions.

"Is he going to be alright?" Sirius asked, hovering worriedly over Léon as he washed the deep lacerations. He could see how much his godson was suffering, even with the medication he had taken, and it made his heart ache.

"Donnez-moi un instant se il vous plaît," the Frenchman muttered, now carefully applying the bandages to his wounded shoulder. "I have to say, Harry, you are very lucky. Had this been even a millimeter deeper, you could have lost the ability to use your arm."

"Lucky me…"

"You really are," Léon said with all seriousness. "You'll have to wear a sling for a while."

"Wonderful," the teen muttered dryly.

"Don't worry, kid. I'll pick up some murtlap essence and dittany tomorrow and you'll be good as new in no time," Sirius assured, mentally berating himself for not thinking of buying said potions back in England. If only he knew some medical or healing magic…

"Murt-what essence? What is zat?" Raquel asked.

"It's a magical solution that helps soothe cuts and injuries, and accelerates the healing process," the Marauder answered, not really paying attention as he was still focused on his godson. "Want to tell us what happened, kid? Did this…? Don't tell me this all happens in the Catacombs?" Sirius asked, feeling a sudden crushing guilt weighing down on him. Had his teasing of his godson been the start of all this?

"Err…"

Seeing Harry hesitate, Sirius scowled. He opened his mouth, ready to reprimand and coax the answers out of his godson, but stopped upon seeing the wizard's sidelong glance at Raquel, the only non-magical in the room. And worse, he had also unconsciously revealed the existence of the magical world to the French woman just seconds earlier. "Bugger."

Thankfully, Léon was quick to assure them both that they could speak freely around his lover. "Harry, Sirius, it's alright. Raquel already knows about magic."

The Englishmen felt their eyes widened, surprise evident all over their faces. It was Harry that spoke first, "She knows about magic? How? Is she a witch? No… She can't be. I was sure she was a muggle!"

"You do not zink I am magical, 'Arry?" the woman asked in a sultry voice, a devious smirk on her face.

"… I'm in too much pain for that to work, Raquel."

She pouted.

"You were right. Raquel is non-magical, but she's known about magic for years," Léon revealed, looking somewhat uncomfortable at where the conversation was going. "Truth is, anyone that deals in our line of business knows about magic, regardless of whether they're a wizard or not."

The two Englishmen frowned. Again, the mystery that was Léon and Raquel's professions reared its head… Just what did these two do for a living? Did they work for the government in some top-secret capacity? Or was Sirius right in his suspicions and they were, in fact, criminals of some sort? Needless to say, it was frustrating not knowing, especially since no matter how many times Harry or Sirius asked, they always refused to divulge even the slightest clue.

And it was clear today would be no different.

"… Fine. But if the French Ministry shows up at your door, it's on you," Sirius relented.

"Of course," Léon said, looking relieved that they didn't question him further. "Now, tell us what happened."

Nodding, Harry launched into his tale. It took a full half hour to explain everything and by the time he finished describing his impromptu adventure through the Catacombs of Paris, his three listeners had their jaws dropped somewhere below sea level.

Léon was the first to recover. "Let me get this straight. I leave you two alone for just one day and because some American inadvertently challenged your "mettle", you somehow end up going through a Tomb Raider-esque adventure in the Catacombes de Paris where you fought off an army of zombies and discovered a treasure of pensieves, gold, and rare books, all of which you left behind to possibly burn from a fire that you started. Am I right?"

"Err… yes?"

Raquel giggled as Léon facepalmed in exasperation. "Oh, give ze boy a rest, Léon. He is not like us. And he was more concerned for his life at ze time."

"I know, I know… Merde, Harry, I don't know whether you have some of the best luck I have ever seen or the worse!"

"Best luck? How'd you figure that? I almost got killed!"

"Harry, do you realize how valuable a pensieve is?" Seeing the wizard shake his head, Léon quickly explained. "Listen, no one knows how to make a pensieve anymore. The art was lost decades ago when its creator died and despite years of research, not one wizard has been able to successfully recreate it. If what you've told me is true, you have literally stumbled upon an incalculable fortune and you just left it all behind!"

"…"

"…"

"… Oh. Well damn." How was he supposed to know that? "Sorry."

Léon just waved him off. "Don't apologize, Harry. As Raquel said, you were trying to escape with your life and treasure would've been the last thing on your mind. Just about anyone would have done the same thing." The Frenchman sighed. "Still, there is a chance that the cache survived the fire… Most magical workshops are warded with fire-protection schemes in case of accidents. If you're willing, Harry, I think we should head back to that escape route tomorrow morning and see if we can't get back inside. Who knows, we could get lucky."

Harry grimaced. He really didn't want to return to the Catacombs. And technically, wouldn't taking everything of value from the workshop be stealing?

His face must've shown his distaste for the idea, because Raquel suddenly piped in, "Zink about it like zis, 'Arry. It iz payback and compensation for everything zat ghost did to you."

Oh.

Well, when it's put like that…

Harry turned to Sirius, who had remained silent since the beginning of his story. He raised a single eyebrow in question, and received a sharp grin from the man in response.

"You don't need to ask me, kiddo. I'm always up for a little mischief. Plus, it serves the bastard right for everything he put you through."

"Well then…" He turned back to Léon. "When do we start?"

~Scene Break~

"Okay, so I need to trace a circle counterclockwise followed by a flick at the end," Harry muttered, checking the spellbook once more just to be safe. He did not want the magic to blow up in his face… again. "Alright, let's see if I can get this to work." He pointed his wand toward the room's opposite wall where several targets had been set up and intoned, "Ignemitta!"

A small fireball, no bigger than a baseball, shot out from his wand and covered the distance between Harry and the target in just a couple seconds. It impacted the edge of the target in an impressive burst of flames, but only left a light scorch mark… Not at all what he had been hoping for.

"Bugger."

"It wasn't bad, kiddo," Sirius commented from his seat.

"I guess, but it's still not up to snuff. The fire isn't hot enough to cause any real damage," Harry grumbled, throwing himself into a nearby chair, only to wince when the movement aggravated his still healing wounds.

It had been two days since Harry's misadventure through the Catacombs, and only a day since he had escorted Sirius and their French hosts to its secret chambers. Thankfully, the workshop had survived the fire like Léon had predicted, so the group wasted no time in stripping the place of everything of value, much to the younger wizard's vindictive glee. By the end of it all, their loot consisted of several dozen completed and uncompleted pensieves, two-hundred and fifty bezants (France's version of the galleon), a set of high quality rune-carving equipment, and about a dozen or so magical tomes and scrolls, all of which were packed up and safely stored in their magical trunks, ready to be divvied up between the four of them… or so Harry had thought.

Much to the teen's surprise, neither Léon nor Raquel wanted any of the treasure. Since they were technically not part of the Wizarding World, possessing even one of the priceless magical artifacts would have led to many uncomfortable and potentially dangerous questions. So instead, they let their British guests keep the loot and took the workshop itself.

Why?

Harry didn't have a bloody clue. But they had already cleaned and furnished the entire place and had even set up an area for their guests to use magic freely (something he was currently taking advantage of). Still, despite their claims that the space would only be used as something akin to a home away from home, Harry couldn't help but think that it had something to do with the workshop being virtually undetectable in just about every conceivable way, be it magical or otherwise. It just screamed suspicious to him.

The more he thought about it, the more Harry wondered if his host and lover really were criminals like Sirius had implied…

Nah!

That's impossible. The two Parisians had been nothing but kind to the two of them. There's no way they'd be criminals! And besides, what kind of crook willingly gives away a hoard of priceless treasure?

It wasn't important anyways. The two Parisians weren't even here right now, having gone to the airport to pick up Léon's sister and her family. Harry and Sirius had decided to spend their day in the Lair (as Sirius had started calling it), allowing the younger wizard to practice many of his combat spells and try a new fire spell he had found (with Léon's help and translation) in one of Grégoire's books, an old duelist manual. Sirius was going through the others and had already deemed half of them as far too dark for Harry to look at.

"Hey, Padfoot. Do you know when Léon and Raquel will be back?"

"I think they said they'd be back by four," the Marauder responded, glancing at his watch. "We should probably head back soon. It's half past three."

"Just give me a few more minutes then. I want… No, I need to get this spell down."

Sirius frowned, but chose not to comment. He couldn't fault his godson for his sudden zealous obsession with fire magic. If he'd been forced to go up against an army of inferi and survived, the escape convict was sure he'd be doing the exact same thing just in case the situation ever occurred again. The only thing he could do was to make sure Harry didn't push himself too much or try spells that were beyond his ability. "I'll give you five more minutes. And don't forget to take your potion afterwards. Your wounds are still healing."

"Right," Harry said, already thinking of all the ways he could improve the spell's power. It was unfortunate that Gregoire's dueling manual had been somewhat lacking in terms of detailed instructions, but thankfully, Harry already knew how to modify the spell. It was something he and his classmates had learned back in their First Year, when they had been taught the Fire-Making Charm. Professor Flitwick had explained that increasing the speed or size of their wand movements would alter the temperature and size of the flames generated, and this generally applied to most basic pyrokinesis magic. "Okay, so speed typically translates to hotter flames, so let's give that a try first." He raised his wand. "Ignemitta!"

This time, Harry felt the difference! Though same in size, the fireball that shot out of his wand was noticeably hotter and a much brighter yellow-orange color than his previous attempt. Within moments, the ball of fire crossed the distance between them and hit the target in a mighty blaze, burning a black scorch mark across its length. Even more impressive were the flickering flames still cackling at its edges.

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Harry laughed, elated at his success as Sirius came over to inspect the target.

"Well, that'll certainly blow any inferi you meet into ash. What'd you do?"

"Sped up the wand movements to increase the temperature." He gestured for Sirius to move. "I'm going to try increasing the size of the fireball now. Get back."

"Fire away," Sirius said once he was a safe distance away.

"Ignemitta!"

BOOM!

"Bloody hell…" With wide eyes, Sirius could only stare at the remains of the burning target in awe. The fireball had been huge! Easily the size of a basketball, if not larger. "What did yo-Harry! Are you alright?!"

"Just… give me a second," the young wizard coughed as he struggled to catch his breath. "I think I used too much magic." Granted, he had already been running low after practicing for so many hours, but to think that modifying and combining the wand movements in such a way would draw on so much more power…

"Here, sit down and drink this," Sirius said, pushing a vial into his godson's hands.

Throwing the potion back, Harry almost threw it right back up at the vile taste that assaulted his tongue. "Oh, blegh! What in the name of Merlin was that? That was terrible!"

"Invigoration Draught. It restores energy."

"Maybe by making them feel sick! Yuck!"

"Oh, suck it up," Sirius laughed, conjuring a glass of water. "Here."

"Thanks…"

"You're welcome. No more spellcasting today, okay? You've done great already."

"Yeah, okay. I don't think I could even cast a levitation charm at this point."

"Good… Now c'mon," Sirius said, pushing his godson toward the door. "Léon and Raquel should be back soon and it'd be impolite not to be there to meet them."

"Alright, let's go."

Fifteen minutes later, the duo made it back to the penthouse, only to hear the muffled sounds of conversation and laughter at the front door. "Looks like they got in early," Sirius said, unlocking the door and stepping inside.

"-known one of them for several years, but we only recently got back in touch a few months ago. He's also-Oh, speak of the devil, looks like they're back. We're in the living room!" Léon called. "C'mon, sœur. Introductions! Harry, Sirius, this is my sister, Jean, her husband, Chris, and their daught-… Harry?"

Harry didn't respond. In fact, the very moment he had stepped into the living room, all noise faded away as his eyes fixated themselves on a very familiar bushy-haired brunette who was staring at him with the exact same gobsmacked expression on his face.

"Harry?"

"Hermione?"


Author's Note: There we have it! Hope you all enjoyed the chapter. For any French speakers out there, my apologies for any and all butchering I may have done to your beautiful language. Feel free to leave a review or DM me with the proper text. I will be sure to fix it and mention you in thanks!

Once again, please feel free to share any legends, folk stories, or ideas you have around the world. Who knows... I might just include it!