A/N: Hi everyone. This story is something I cooked up with my buddy Cripple AKA Cadmean is Canon over at the Flowerpot server. It is a story I haven't seen anyone else try, so I figured it might as well be me. Also, my thanks to DavidtheAthenai, for his undying support, and everyone on the Flowerpot Discord server, you guys are awesome.
A/N#2: Many thanks also to L3dpen AKA Ledpen for his custom-drawn ficpic, it's brilliant!
A/N#3: For those who got an update alert, sorry about that. I just re-uploaded an improved version of my prologue. Also, and most importantly, please join me in thanking Darkened Void for his outstanding beta work on this beast of a prologue. Without his input, I'd have left in all those tiny but horrifying mistakes. If you're interested in reading some quality writing, please do find your way to his profile and read up on his mighty interesting and brand new story - The Shadow of Death.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the HP universe or the mentioned brand names in this story, they belong to the appropriate entities that brought them into this world.
Well then, please enjoy.
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Prologue
April 28th, 1986
Tours de Corse, Corsica, Territorial Collectivity of France
The air in the tent was charged, the heavy humidity coming from the coast clinging to the skin of those inhabiting it. The revving of engines and the yelling of mechanics could be heard from outside the worn cloth structure. A singular loud French accented voice could be heard calling for the next participants of the time trial. From the number being called, she could easily tell they still had a decent amount of time before they had to make their way to the time trial.
For the time being, however, Lily paced across the carpet that covered the uneven ground underneath it. Huffing, she raised a hand to her forehead to massage the pounding headache that didn't seem like it would release her from its torturous grip.
On the bed next to her sat the tense form of James Potter, his eyes cast down with his hands on his knees in an effort to support his exhausted body. His eyes, while they appeared closed, followed his wife's moving feet, tracking the constant movement that had an effect akin to the hypnotic sway of a pendulum. Her pacing, as agitated as it was, caused him to lull into a light slumber many times in the few minutes they had been awaiting the looming trial.
Their discussion, or rather their one-sided heated argument, was one they'd had many times before and would continue to remain an issue for the foreseeable future.
Sighing to himself, he finally raised his head to look at his agitated wife, her stride being the only barrier preventing her from breaking down and unleashing another wave of fury at him. Her red hair hung loosely and waved back and forth behind her head as she continued to pace the space of the tent, her hands fiddling before her and playing with the golden wedding band.
He swallowed at the tell-tale sign but otherwise remained absolutely silent, afraid to even make the smallest sound that would signal the next round of their talk, as she'd put it.
Eyeing the space to his right, he let his glance travel along the camping furniture, taking in the various personal items that had accompanied the couple for many years now since their decision to begin their career in muggle motorsport together.
Lily, as a muggleborn, had a head start in her racing career, having begun her training as a racing driver as early as her 4th birthday. Her late parents, her father especially, had supported her interest in motorsports right from the start and continued to do so even when she'd received her invitation to Hogwarts when she had turned just 11. How she had managed to do so well at Hogwarts - so well in fact that Albus Dumbledore himself dubbed her the 'smartest witch of her age' - while also pursuing her motorsport aspirations just as successfully, still impressed him.
He had only taken to muggle machinery upon discovering Sirius' flying motorcycle and taking an interest in its ability to allow for the noisiest of escape tactics after pranks had been successfully executed.
The mischief the Marauders had caused without getting caught on that machine had encouraged him to find ways to make the motorcycle more effective in the future. More weight, more speed, and more everything was needed for each passing prank. With each time his abilities and skills as a mechanic and wizard proved to be to the detriment of the boys' victims.
James smiled to himself at the memory of their past excursions. Sirius and himself scheming, Remus' development of spells that would best execute said schemes and little, brittle Peter who would only happily join them in Professor McGonagall's detentions, despite having had very little involvement in the planning of each prank.
"What are you smiling about?" he suddenly heard his wife ask dangerously.
Turning his head back to her fuming eyes, his smile collapsed instantly, restoring the previously flat line it had maintained for the duration of their argument.
"It was nothing. I just remembered a joke Harry told me not too long ago," he lied.
At the mention of their young son, Lily dropped her arms from her chest. Without another word, she turned away to pace the length of the tent again - only this time she did so more slowly.
Mentioning Harry may have been a cheap shot, but it was his only shield against his already steaming wife. They loved their son dearly but with Lily that love took on an entirely more intense meaning.
Perhaps it was because he was their only child, or maybe it was because he had yet to perform one ounce of accidental magic that made her so very protective of him. He couldn't tell when it had started to become this overbearing infatuation between his son and his wife, but he could tell that if they continued to remain unclear on the future for their son, the relationship between himself and his wife would sour beyond redemption.
Most children that possessed magic immediately produced feats of accidental magic, signaling to most parents that they had to make arrangements to protect the child, not only from itself but also from those who didn't know about magic.
When Harry had not produced magic in his first few months, James and Lily had thought it was their son being better at controlling sudden magical outbursts. He used to believe that Harry may have been a prodigy in the making.
That belief had first emerged five-and-a-half years ago, but still Harry hadn't produced any magic thus far. The early praises of self-control soon made way for mixed feelings and lastly, for ever-present worry and fear, resulting in the growing frequency of loud conversations between himself and his distraught wife.
Soon a word wormed its way into the heads of the concerned parents as they continued to watch their son grow taller with each passing year - squib.
It was a short and harmless when written on paper, but it carried the stigma of all that was considered 'poor breeding' within the magical society. Some countries treated their magically inept members less harshly but in the British magical society the inability to use magic was viewed with disdain. This derision extended to the parents as much as the child.
James couldn't deny that the word being levied at his family caused him more grief than his son's actual deserving of that title. It was due to the love he held for his only son that he accepted the harsh words from his wife. However, he could not ignore the sting in his chest each time she'd cursed the magical world for calling their son that. It was still, after all, the world he had been raised in.
Upon asking his friends and mentors for advice, they too could only shrug and try to hide their pity for the youngest member of the Potter family.
It happens, my boy. Even to the best of us. The old, bearded wizard had tried to comfort the couple, but his usually comforting gaze had held only sorrow and pity.
His friends Remus, Sirius and Peter could only agree and did the best they could by playing the roles of doting uncles to the boy who'd one day realize he'd been denied a gift that his family and friends took for granted.
Magic was as kind as it was cruel - as most things that belonged to nature were. It didn't discriminate, nor did it consciously choose whom to bless with the gift of the craft. It just acted on a balance that was indiscernible to magicals and muggles in equal measure, leaving parents to either celebrate or mourn its choice.
Another child would receive Harry's blessing in his stead and that was final. No bribery and no blackmail would ever change that. Ever.
"He'll be six this year, James." Lily suddenly spoke, pulling James from his thoughts.
Blinking at her, his eyesight cleared to see a calm demeanor gazing back at him expectantly. Her green eyes still held a semblance of their redness but the colour of her skin and wildness of her hair had normalized again.
James nodded at her, confirming her statement. He didn't know what else was left to say on the matter. They had a decision to make and each time they tried to decide, they'd only ended up cursing at each other, trying to place fault where none could be found. It hadn't been up to any of them.
Yes, it was true that magically purer families had a higher chance of conceiving magically abled children, but the chances weren't much higher than children conceived between parents of mixed heritage. Statistics on that weren't released to the public, but James had been allowed to look at the Unspeakables' studies on the matter.
While he hadn't told them why he'd been interested in said records, he was confident they'd inferred his reasons with little effort. To them, he was just another disgruntled parent seeking justice for a wrong that was only natural and inevitable.
Lily had never said it out loud, but she'd spent her time blaming herself. He could tell from the way she would stare at herself in the mirror each morning. She'd also rejected the idea of having another child with him, fearing a repeat ordeal.
He made sure to never let her actually believe it. Again, it was and had never been up to them.
Lily still stood opposite from him, her eyes cast down at him, waiting for him to reply to her statement.
"We've skipped nursery and pre-school, thinking he might just accidentally cast magic when we've yet to warn him about it," she said clearly, her hands placed on her hips as she continued, "And soon he'll reach the age where we have to decide to enroll him in a school for muggles."
James nodded and hummed his confirmation again. Lily's eyes grew increasingly impatient at his lack of words and decided to continue regardless.
"I think it's time we've accepted the fact that he may never learn magic," she admitted, a sigh escaping her lips at the words that would follow, "So we may as well hide magic from him altogether."
James' eyes became large and his eyebrows moved to hide in his black mop of wild hair that he shared with his son. Shaking his head at her, he gestured in confusion.
"And how do you imagine we do that? Treat him like an outsider in our own home?" he asked with disbelief in his voice.
Lily shook her head at him. "No, of course not," she replied hotly. "All we have to do is not use magic in his presence. That's it. It's not that hard to do, James. Most parents don't possess magic and neither do their children."
"That's not the same, Lily."
"No, it actually is. We just don't have to use magic for everything we do. I know you're not used to it but I am. I know we can do this." She urged him.
Shaking his head at her more insistently, he crossed his hands in front of him and looked away in contemplation. He didn't like the idea. No, he hated it. A Potter playing as a muggle in his own house? Never.
It was unheard of that a family would knowingly hide magic from their offspring. It had never been done before. When a squib was born, they were stigmatized, yes, but it was still made public and the child learned to live with the burden regardless.
The Daily Prophet would shred them to pieces and label them as heartless and cruel parents who'd willingly toy with their only child. Other families would not only call them names, but would laugh at them and sneer at their boy from afar. They would become a spectacle for the amusement of all the other magical families in their society.
"James, are you listening to me?" His wife's voice broke him from his introspection, her annoyance at being ignored written clearly on her face.
"I am," he provided curtly.
"We can do this." She encouraged him again. How he hated her words and her tone.
Moving his eyes to look at this wife again, he noticed that behind her eyes hid something else other than stubbornness - defeat.
He hadn't stopped to consider that she knew best what society would do to them and still she'd decided to come up with the proposal.
"I know what you're thinking and believe me when I say that I'm sorry," she said meekly, her earlier annoyance seemingly forgotten, "But this is for the best. He'll never know and will grow up to be a normal person, free of the shackles that our society might want to place on him."
"And what if somebody takes it upon themself and tells him? What then?" he asked tiredly, his eyelids suddenly feeling heavy. Raising his hand, he massaged them to push back against the exhaustion.
"For now, we'll keep him with us and make sure he remains perfectly undisturbed by the magical world and its inhabitants. When he grows older, we can perhaps send him to boarding school or abroad where no one knows him. Perhaps we'll all go somewhere where the name Potter doesn't raise any questions." She finally concluded her argument with a hopeful shrug.
At the unmoving face of her husband, Lily bent down to sit on her heels as she grasped his hands in hers. His eyes rose to meet hers, in confusion.
"Do you love our son more than anything in this world?" she asked him seriously, staring into his brown eyes with uncompromising intensity.
Eyeing her again with disbelief, he responded loudly. "Of course I love our son!"
Smiling at him, she nodded happily. "Then that's all that matters, James."
Her conclusion seemed as curt as it seemed absurd, possibly even more so. However, he couldn't deny that in the end, it didn't matter what others thought or said. What mattered was that their son was able to live a full life with the few tools he could pass on to him, sans magic.
He would never be able to teach him to ride a broom nor how to play a game of quidditch. He'd never be able to do the things his own late father had enjoyed sharing with him. Harry would experience an entirely different childhood than his own, but he would be damned if he wouldn't make it a happy one.
"Group B cars, please be advised; the classification time trial will begin in 10 minutes. Repeat. Group B cars at the first main control point in 10 minutes at the latest. Late arrivals will be penalized with extra time. Thank you."
The sudden buzzy announcement coming from the PA system reminded the couple that their talk had extended well beyond their notice of time, forcing them to suddenly rush to collect their things and prepare themselves for their timed performance around the Mediterranean island belonging to France.
Before they left the tent, James grabbed his wife by the arm just as she was about to step through the gap in it. She turned to look at him through her helmet, the padding dulling the outside noise and his voice.
"Thank you," he began, "For this. It gives me hope." He breathed as a weight dropped off his shoulders that he hadn't noticed he'd been carrying all this time for five years.
Eyeing him calmly, Lily's eyes became smaller as her cheeks moved to form a smile in return at his words. Her response was muffled by the helmet, but he could still hear her well enough.
"Thank you," she began, her voice equally thickened in emotion, "For having faith in the three of us."
Her eyes twinkled as she pulled her arm from his loose grip and jogged ahead, leaving him to try and catch up with her as he fumbled with the fire-proof gloves in his hands.
"Now," he heard his wife declare suddenly, "Get your head in the game. There is a race to win."
###
A bit earlier that day...
Harry sat on a make-shift wooden bench - a board placed on two piles of wheels - under the water-proof plane of the team's tent. The mechanics working next to him banged away at the bent metal fenders of his parents' car, sweating profusely as with each swing of their hammer a drop of salty water would fall from their chins onto the plastic cover spread out under them.
The car in front of him, a Ford RS200, with its petite design but huge rear spoiler, looked very different from the other cars he had seen during the event thus far. His father explained that rally racing, especially in Group B, was where manufacturers could produce almost any kind of car they could imagine and stack it up against competitors from across the globe.
Luckily, the British branch of Ford had produced a number of promising rally cars in its history, the current apex specimen being the car that was parked right in front of him.
Letting his eyes travel across the length of the car, Harry studied the design in detail, occasionally catching himself imagining the car flying across dusty roads, the large plumes of dirt drawing a smokey line across the landscape.
"What are you smiling at, little man?" a voice asked from his side.
Shaking himself from out of his vivid daydream, the short boy turned to look for the person who'd just addressed him. Seeing a pair of knees meeting his even gaze, Harry turned his head upward to find a bearded man smiling down at him. The face was a familiar sight within the premises of the tent, belonging to the part-owner and managing director of the team. Harry, however, couldn't quite remember the man's name.
"Caught you dreaming, didn't I?" the man chuckled. "A beauty, isn't she?" He added and turned his gaze to study the subject of the talk.
Harry followed the man's gaze and could only agree with his statement, letting his small head bob up and down excitedly. "She's a ferocious beauty," he corrected.
The man eyed him at that and bent down to ask him why he'd phrased it so specifically.
"My dad told me; she's a beast that tears up all the competition and does so while looking ferocious at the finish line." Harry explained, his voice taking on a tone of somebody who'd stated the obvious.
Still bent down, the man chuckled even louder, drawing the attention of the mechanics working on the car next to the pair. Waving them off, they returned their focus back to their work - swinging hammers and turning wrenches.
"Have you thought about racing, Harry?" he asked the short boy.
Harry nodded in confirmation. "I have thought about it. Dad asked me whether I'd be interested in driving. He said he'd get me into the junior driver's training regime if I wanted," he began.
"He let me drive on a go-kart circuit back home, by myself, so that I wouldn't feel bothered by other kids. It wasn't as fun as I thought it would be," he explained further.
Letting his gaze return to meet the still silent man, Harry made to ask him something. "Do you find it weird?"
"Find what weird?" the man asked curiously, raising an eyebrow in question.
"That my parents are racing drivers and enjoy it, but I do not?"
Shaking his head at Harry in amusement and raising his hand to pat the boy on the head, he chuckled. "Nonsense, Harry. We all like different things and nothing says we have to like the things our parents, or anyone for that matter, do."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief at that and nodded to himself at the man's answer. He heard him clear his throat and move to sit next to him on the bench, his small, light body shaking at the sudden weight being added to the wooden board.
Crossing his fingers before him, the man opened his mouth again to speak. "Do you already like doing something else other than what your parents are doing now?"
"Yeah, I do," Harry quipped.
"Do you mind telling me?" the man asked politely, eyeing the young boy with a gentle smile.
Harry shook his head at him. "I think…I think I want to become a mechanic or somebody who makes cars better - faster. I like what these guys are doing." he pointed at the mechanics working on the car.
"Ah, I see." The man nodded.
"Is that something that I could do?" Harry asked gingerly.
Looking back at the suddenly shy boy, the man ruffled his wild hair and laughed. "Ha! Of course you can. It's the engineers that design cars and the mechanics who make sure they actually work. Drivers are there to make sure the full potential of the car is pushed to the limits."
Harry smiled brightly at that. "So I can help my parents when I'm older?"
"Sure you can, absolutely! As long as I'm around you'll have a place in our team. I promise," the man said confidently, his warm eyes betraying no lies.
Harry felt courage rising in his chest and a renewed sense of hope pooling in his mind. He considered asking his father for lessons on how to work on cars. Something they'd surely enjoy doing together. So far, the relationship between himself and his parents had been...different.
When he could spy other children and their parents, their relationships looked happy and exciting. The events that stuck out most to his young mind were of parents buying their children ice cream and letting them ride on their fathers' shoulders. Fathers would play the part of the 'noble steed' carrying its valiant knight into battle, each instance he witnessed leaving a festering feeling of envy churning deep in his gut.
As far as Harry could remember, his parents had loved him and cared for him, but their gazes would sometimes take on a look of pity...of disappointment even.
He couldn't say why they acted that way or even what he could have possibly done wrong. They had never deigned to discuss it with him, not even when he had acted up and deserved punishment. Pinpointing a 'why' to an invisible act of 'naughtiness' with only discouraging gazes for punishment left him with little to figure out the answer to his supposed grievance.
If he were to compare his parents, split their interactions between his mother and father, it was clearly his father who looked more disappointed than his mother ever did. She would spend most of her time, when she wasn't racing, teaching him to read and write. Books that she had read as a younger girl were given to him to read, his mother later confirming his attempts at self-education through the odd question.
Father, on the other hand, did little in that regard. Their father-son bond was based on their shared interest in cars. Harry could talk about cars forever, and so could his father. But it was when the topic had grown so exhausting that his father, James, would look at him again with disappointment...sometimes even guilt. The silence that would often follow their bursts of energy during their many animated discussions of cars felt heavier each time it occurred. As of recently, he'd begun avoiding talking to his father altogether.
With the encouragement to pursue the idea of becoming a mechanic, Harry felt an inkling of hope that he could begin to remedy the heaviness of their relationship. Perhaps it would ignite something between them that would push through to his father and enable the older man to bond with him indefinitely.
"Mr. Rickard, there's a problem with the gearbox, and we need your thoughts on it," a mechanic suddenly called from behind the car.
The man next to him, Mr. Rickard, quickly nodded at the mechanic and returned his attention back to Harry still sitting at his side on the make-shift bench.
"I'm sorry, Harry. I've got to deal with this. Even mechanics seem to experience roadblocks. We can talk some more later," he explained to the young boy, patting him on the shoulder before moving off the bench to deal with the urgent matter.
Watching Mr. Rickard's face, it took on a serious mien. Harry nodded at the shrinking form of the man as the latter moved to stand next to a group of mechanics gesturing wildly, shaking their heads in frustration.
Harry couldn't make out what they were talking about as hammers smashing into various metal pieces created a clamor that would allow little else to escape through to his young ears. He could see, however, that the problem seemed serious as hands were being thrown about in frustration their grease-smudged faces growing redder by the minute.
Becoming increasingly concerned at the loud exchange of words before him, Harry raised his palms to cover his painful ears. He soon realized, however, that the shouting match wasn't likely to end soon and considered making himself scarce, opting to go for a walk instead.
Getting off the bench in one fell swoop, he landed on his feet comfortably and marched out onto the dirty gravel, the small rocks under his feet crunching at every step.
Making his way around the large campsite of the sporting event, he could hear different languages blending together in a cacophony of indecipherable words. He could hear English, German, some French and the occasional Italian.
Harry liked the Italian teams because they seemed far more relaxed about everything. When it came to the French teams, or the Germans, they'd always struck him as rushed but seemingly well-functioning. Everything had to be in a specific place, and when it wasn't, naughty words would be slung about sharply and without care for those who were able to overhear them.
The Italian crews reminded him of rocky stars on the telly who were wild but remained experts in what they did. Their Lancia Delta S4 looked like a boring-looking box, but once it was on the road and its engine roared to life, it was truly marvelous to witness.
Harry loved the Ford his parents drove, but he could still be amazed at other cars' awe-inspiring performances.
Dragging his eyes away from the Italian team's tent, he continued to walk along the gravel road until he reached an open area surrounded by a group of tents under the flag of a pouncing lion.
In each of the tents he could see the backside of the hatch-back Peugeot 205 T16, the top of the hatches garnished by a massive wing, meant to stabilize the rear of the lightweight chassis.
Harry could hear the crackly warble of the PA system announce the approaching start of the Group B cars, warning them that the cars had to make their way to the start in the next ten minutes lest they be punished with extra time.
He realized that his parents would be making their way to their car then and would notice his absence. He was sure, however, that they had little time to waste and wouldn't be able to talk to him until after their time trial. His presence was therefore not strictly necessary. Thus, he could continue his little adventure around the camp, looking at the vast variety of colourful racing machines without anyone really taking notice of his prying eyes.
Moving closer to one of the tents, he noticed that it was left abandoned by its team, the high-performance car standing in the center by its lonesome. Carefully approaching it, he let his hands slide tenderly over the satin paint job, the drawn straight lines of the car hid discrete grooves and curves to maximize airflow travelling cleanly across its shape.
To call it an act of French ingenuity was an understatement. It was brilliance that designed and built this car and driving this petite elegant monstrum could only be bliss for any driver. He could only imagine how the car looked as it raced across all the different possible landscapes and surfaces. The rain smashing against the windshield, the gravel slamming against the undercarriage and the kicked-up dust that would cover the fearless bystanders lining the edges of the roads.
Looking back at the Ford being prepped for his parents' drive, he could only shake his head at how much faster the Ford would have to be, to be able to beat a car such as the one his hand was resting on.
In his deep admiration for the Peugeot, Harry didn't notice the light-footed steps approaching him from behind. It was only when he felt the light beating of hot, humid breath against the back of his neck that he became tense and turned slowly to gaze upon the slightly taller body of the person standing so close to him.
###
Fleur stared at the boy's back as he walked around the Peugeot, his hands touching the surface gingerly, his eyes studying every nook and cranny of the car's chassis. He hadn't noticed her sitting in the corner of the tent, her presence hidden by the large refrigerator where her team's drinks were being cooled.
Eying him carefully, she let her ocean blue eyes wash over him, taking in his shorter appearance. Judging from his height, she could already tell that he was a few years younger than herself but not too young to know his way around a car.
His pitch-black hair was a wild mess, pointing into different directions unevenly, reminding her of a bird's nest. At the thought of birds making his head of hair their home, she chuckled into her hand, trying to remain stock still. She wasn't ready to reveal herself to him just yet.
Continuing her observation, Fleur let her eyes travel drown from the back of his head and studied his attire. The t-shirt had the Ford team logo printed on it, indicating that he was perhaps a child of one of the team members. Perhaps he was similar to her, a child born into the sport. Perhaps, even somebody who'd share her passion for it as well.
Almost making a move to finally reveal herself, she halted. Her extended hand that had attempted to touch him receded back to her side. Grasping the hand with her other, she reminded herself that he was a muggle. He may have been somebody who'd share her passion for motorsports and come from a family involved in racing, but a friendship with him would almost certainly be impossible.
Fleur, unlike other witches, was a daughter of the Veela. She couldn't hide her magical nature the way other wizards and witches did and would thus risk exposing herself and her family. Aside from a breach of the Statute of Secrecy, an international magical law, she would possibly expose her Veela nature which could be used against her family - bringing further harm to her kind.
She hadn't yet accidentally transformed or set anything on fire with Veela flames, and her self-control over her normal magical abilities was secure. She wouldn't make a faux pas in that regard, but her mother and father had drilled it into her that she wouldn't have the same liberties that other magical children had. Her short-comings, her mistakes would be laid at the feet of not only herself but at the feet of those who came before her. It would allow the prejudiced to paint all Veela with the same brush.
Shaking her head at her spiraling thoughts, Fleur rid herself of the fearmongering taking place in her mind and returned her focus on the mesmerized boy again. He still stood there, wordlessly gazing at the car, seemingly deep in thought, ignorant of his surroundings and still completely unaware of her presence just a few feet behind him.
Getting off her camping chair, she began moving silently toward him just as her mother did when she stalked toward her father to scare him. Taking slow steps and letting her ears sharpen to listen for any sudden noises, she calmly approached the younger boy, his back still exposed to her.
Almost reaching him, she noticed how his body suddenly grew tense and the hair on his neck stood on end in trepidation. He must have noticed her presence in some way. She was sure she'd been perfectly silent and watched out for obstacles on the floor that would give away her movement, but perhaps she'd made a mistake and had simply not noticed it.
However, it mattered little now, as the boy began to slowly turn around to gaze upon her. His eyes first met her upper chest, an inch below her collarbone, before they began to look up at her and widen in surprise.
Fleur groaned on the inside as the boy remained quiet in astonishment, his eyes still wide and otherwise unmoving.
This reaction was normal for almost all males she encountered, even the youngest ones who hadn't taken an interest in girls. The shocked looks were always their first reaction before they caught themselves and either ran away or remained otherwise silent. This boy wasn't any different.
"Uhm, sorry, I didn't see you there-"
He would just be another person to be overwhelmed by her striking, unusual hair colour and photogenic face.
"If I knew you were there, I would have-"
If only he was a magical child, she could hex him and rattle him out of his stupor, giving her at least the benefit of releasing her frustration on him.
"Uhm, hey?"
Fleur blinked at him in confusion, noticing for the first time that he'd been talking to her. She hadn't even realized he'd moved a step away from her and the car next to him. Eyeing him again, she was finally able to look at his face, having had to look at his backside for the entirety of their presence in the tent.
His vividly emerald-coloured green eyes gazed deeply back into her own blue orbs, his stare unrelenting but not otherwise clouded by her nature. It was disconcerting to her and she was the first to break the short-lived eye contact.
Trying to be polite while also hiding from his intent stare, she made to finally speak, her mastery of the English language a product of her acquaintances within her father's team, Delacour Sport Peugeot, as well as her colleagues in the junior racing leagues.
"Who are you?" She asked first. "I mean, hello, and what are you doing in our tent?"
"I was curious and noticed that nobody was here," he explained with a shrug, "I mean I didn't see you and well, I thought I might use the chance to take a closer look at your Peugeot. I promise, I didn't mean to spy or anything, but I couldn't help myself. I'm sorry."
He looked down at his hands as he apologized to her, his fingers seeming suddenly a lot more interesting than they ever were before.
Fleur studied him again, shocked that he'd not been rendered speechless by her appearance, rather he had simply been silently surprised that another had been in the seemingly empty tent. He'd reacted simply like a person who had not expected somebody to be in their vicinity.
Chuckling to herself, she let a smile form on her lips, as she let her eyes search his. Bending down a slight bit to lower her face to meet his, she let her head tilt to the side, trying to make him feel more comfortable in her presence.
"You still haven't told me your name. May I know it?" she asked, her lips splitting to show white teeth.
"Oh," he uttered, "Right. I'm Harry. Harry Potter and my parents are James and Lily Potter, they drive for the Ford team on the other side of the camp." He pointed with his petite finger into the general direction behind him.
"And do your parents know you're all the way over here?" she asked with a smile that reached her eyes.
At the younger boy's pursed lips and lack of response, she could tell that he'd made his way across the camp without informing anyone of his whereabouts. Deciding against sending him away, in fear of him getting even more lost, Fleur instead decided to host to his interests to better keep an eye on him and ensure he made his way safely back to his parents.
"So you came to look at the deux-cent-cinq?" she asked him pointedly. He nodded earnestly and smiled at the mention of the car that stood parked next to them.
"Yeah, I know I'm not supposed to enter other peoples' tents. Mum and Dad forb…forbidded it, said it is bad manners. But I thought since nobody was around…I just wanted to take a quick peek," he explained self-consciously, his voice mixing between excitement and regret.
"I can understand the feeling," she agreed. "I find it just as exciting to look at these cars. They are…magnifique, are they not, Harry?"
At the mention of his name, he grinned at her in agreement, letting his head bob rapidly but remained otherwise quiet.
"Would you be interested to sit in it?" she asked nonchalantly, as if sitting in a high-powered, purpose-built racing machine would be the most normal thing in the world.
Harry's jaw dropped in response, his green eyes sparkling in excitement before he caught himself again and spoke with a higher pitch than before. "Yes, please! Can I? Yes, yes, yes!"
Righting herself, Fleur nodded at him, and turned toward the car door, opening it confidently. She bent down and quickly arranged the insides of the car, making sure that everything was switched off and secured.
Getting back out of the car, Fleur then extended her hand toward it and invited Harry to sit in it, who'd begun to bounce excitedly at the chance to sit in a car other than his parents' Ford.
However, before he could make his way into the car, a loud clear voice came from the PA speaker that was fixed to one of the poles in the open area outside of the tent. The message brought his short-lived joy to a disappointing end.
"This is Martin Gaul, your head marshal. Please be advised, we are looking for a young boy. His name is Harry Potter, he is 6 years old, black of hair and has green eyes. He bears a scar on his forehead and wears a Ford team t-shirt. If you see him or happen to have seen him, please approach the closest member of the staff and inform them."
The message was repeated in three other languages, but Harry had already stopped paying attention to what it said. Instead, he played with his hair to cover his forehead.
Fleur listened to the message in French as well to avoid misunderstandings and then turned to look at him more closely. Her searching eyes alerted Harry to what she'd been trying to do and made him raise his hand to his head again.
"It's there. You don't have to check." He admitted to her with an annoyed voice. Disappointed at her confusingly common searching, he turned away from her and began to make his way out of the tent. Fleur stepped up behind him in one big stride and held him by the shoulder.
"Don't leave, stay." At this questioning look, she cleared her throat to elaborate.
"It's quite busy outside, if you go out now, people might not find you at all. Or worse, you might get injured by a car driving around. The driver, at worst, may fail to notice you in time," she explained.
He looked at her and nodded his understanding, moving to sit on a free chair that was close to the car. She moved to join him and sat down on the chair on the other side of the small table separating them.
Sighing at the new complication, he groaned and rubbed at his eyes in frustration. "I almost made it into your car and that silly speaker had to ruin everything."
Feeling pity for the boy who'd shown such adamant interest in the car, she made to hold his hand to comfort him. Upon touching him, she noticed an unexpected coldness to his skin.
Withdrawing her hand with a jump, she rubbed her hands together to combat the chill in her fingers. Harry seemed unperturbed by her actions, having seemingly not noticed their skin touching.
Fleur looked at her hand and noticed that it had turned slightly darker than the rest of her skin. She waited a few moments longer and, thankfully, her skin returned to its usual healthy pink tone.
Her brows scrunched in consternation as she eyed her hand and the place on Harry's arm, she had touched for barely a second. Deciding to try again, she reached out to him, his gaze still turned away from her and focused on the car parked in the center of the tent.
Her finger made contact with his arm - nothing.
Then another finger - still nothing.
Then her entire hand - absolutely nothing happened. The lack of expected chilled skin only furthered her confusion, causing her to become slightly annoyed at finding a question she had no answer to.
Harry turned to look at her hand on his arm and tilted his head at her. "What are you doing?" he asked her, his eyes jumping between their skin touching extremities and her.
Withdrawing her hand again, she smiled wryly at him. She, herself, didn't know what had just happened and let the silence grow awkward between them rather than answer his seemingly simple question.
Saving her from the lengthy silence in the tent, her father Jean walked into the space and eyed the pair in surprise.
"Whom do we have here?" Jean asked his daughter, his eyebrow raised in question.
Getting up quickly from the chair, Fleur rushed toward her father and explained what had happened since Harry's arrival in their tent. She, however, decided against mentioning the odd, unpleasant sensation of Harry's skin. She didn't want to cause her father to worry over something that may just have been her mind playing tricks on her.
After Fleur finished telling her father what transpired, he turned to Harry and smiled kindly at the young boy, the older man surprised at the bright green eyes looking back at him.
"You have your mother's eyes, Harry," the man began, "but that may not save you from her wrath when she comes to pick you up from here." Jean added wryly.
Harry swallowed guiltily and accepted that his fate, in regard to his parents, had been sealed the moment he'd disappeared from the Ford team tent without a word.
Pulling a mobile phone from his bag that was tucked away securely in a corner, Jean typed a number into the large boxy device, the beeping sounds changing with each dial. After a moment of silence, Jean began speaking in French, mentioning the name 'Potter' and 'Harry' a few times along with the word 'Peugeot' mixed into it as well.
Fleur didn't really listen, her mind still busy thinking back on the strange sensation that had passed between the two of them. She only wanted to comfort him and all she got in return was chilling cold.
###
Walking to the team tent with long steps, Lily and James quickly approached the spot where their car was being prepped for the Group B run that was only a few minutes away from beginning.
Upon entering the space, James moved to catch a few of the mechanics mounting the tires and checking the fluid levels of the engine. Their hurried conversation, mostly the barking of orders back and forth between the crew members, was completely dulled out by Lily's helmet, who had chosen to search for her son.
She remembered agreeing with him - telling him in no uncertain words - that he was to remain close to the car where they would come to find him after her and James' talk in the drivers' tent. His absence wasn't unusual as Harry had always been a curious child and frustratingly flexible with his interpretation of parental instructions.
If it were any other place other than here, Lily would have waved it off and moved on with her task. That, however, wasn't the case. The encampment of the race on this island was not exactly the backyard of their home in Godric's Hollow. His disappearance wouldn't be remedied by going on a search for him behind doors and under beds. No, if he got lost here, they'd have to make a larger effort to find him.
Noticing the appearance of James and Lily's friend and fellow shareholder over the team's ownership, Klaus Rikard, Lily made to move toward him, her face's worry still hidden by her helmet.
"Klaus!" she called; her voice's urgency dulled by the helmet.
Hearing his name being called, the pale blonde man with brown eyes, who was not much taller than James himself, twisted his neck to eye the woman.
"There you are," he began instead. "We don't have much time. Get in there and go to the first main control point. We can't afford to get penalized. We are leading the field by mere seconds." His strict and professional demeanour was completely antithetical to the slowly changing atmosphere of the tent, knowledge of the lost child completely lost on him in his rabid pursuit of victory on the track.
Lily nodded at him but raised her hand to stop him from continuing that line of thought.
"Klaus," she began anew, "Have you seen Harry?" she asked, the worry still not evident due to the helmet and her eyes being hidden behind a reflection of the plexiglas eye shield.
Klaus frowned at her and turned around in search of the boy who he'd only just recently been talking to. Seeing an empty make-shift bench by its lonesome to the side of the tent, he let his eyes meet the boy's mother again.
"Harry?" he repeated, his voice growing confused. "I just talked to him. He was right here on the bench, watching the mechanics work on the car."
Lily eyed the man for a few moments and didn't make a move, her eyes averting from his and fogging slightly in contemplation. Making a split-second decision, Lily began undoing the chinstrap of her helmet and removed it, its sudden absence on her head showing her abnormally disheveled hair still statically charged, clung to her face and formed wild bundles.
"What are you doing, Lily, you're up in a few minutes?" The man reminded her, gesturing to his wristwatch in emphasis.
James, who'd finally noticed his wife's unusual display, left the mechanics mid-sentence and moved around the car to stand next to her.
"What's going on?" He asked.
Klaus and Lily turned toward him, having only just noticed his sudden appearance, and explained what had happened.
Tentatively listening to the pair with patience, he couldn't help but feel a sting of worry pain his heart. The thought that his son was nowhere to be found while the very important trial was minutes away from starting, threatened to rip him in two. However, it wouldn't do to lose his cool.
"I'm sure he's fine. He's probably just gone out to play adventure. Maybe he's sitting with another team and watching their work. If anything had happened, they would have announced a lost boy." The words came out calmer than he'd expected, and he almost believed them, had he not said them himself.
She, however, would hear none of it and ignored her husband as she suddenly placed the helmet on the driver seat of the car and began a stomping march out of the tent, leaving a confused James and Klaus behind.
Catching up with his wife a few moments later, James tried to grab her by the arm, only to close his hand around empty air. She had accelerated her steps.
"Lily, what are you doing?" he called again.
Huffing to herself, she didn't stop to talk, instead she pressed on confidently.
"I'm going to find my son."
"I gathered that, thank you," he said with an annoyed tone.
His wife's ear twitched at that and stopped in her tracks suddenly. James almost ran into her but caught himself in time to sidestep around her halted form, moving then to meet her gaze.
Instead of saying anything to her husband, Lily checked her environment and cast a quick notice-me-not charm over the both of them. With that, the pair would now seem invisible to the muggle eye and leave them undisturbed, unless someone accidentally ran into them. Lily couldn't care less at the moment as she moved her wand to cast a Homenum Revelio spell.
Shaking her head at the pings her charm had sent for every passing muggle, Lily sighed and decided to ask her husband for advice.
"What was the spell you used for your Marauder's Map? The one that told you where somebody was in real time?" She asked, her voice perfectly even.
Frowning at her, he let eyes wander the space behind her, as he tried to remember what she meant.
"I think it was the Homunculus charm that Remus used to create the trackers for the map, but you'd need a number of spells working in concert to really make it function. Using an off the shelf map won't work." He explained, shaking his head at her.
Not taking 'no' for an answer, Lily pushed further. "Then do you have another idea?"
James scratched his head again and considered other possible spells that could be used to track and find their son.
"What about Appare Vestigium? It's the spell they use in the Auror department for fleeing suspects. Perhaps that may help." The sometimes infuriating man could only shrug somewhat hopelessly.
Listening to his idea, Lily considered it before remembering something about that specific spell.
She shook her head dejectedly before explaining to her husband why it wouldn't work on someone like Harry. "That spell would be a brilliant idea," she began before letting her voice drop in disappointment, "But it only covers relatively small areas. We'd have to walk the entirety of the camp to catch a whiff of him. We don't have the time for that."
Her husband couldn't come up with any other viable solutions to find their missing son, which left Lily to sigh loudly. "One would think that a wizard or witch would have come up with a spell to track a specific individual whether they had magic or not." She muttered angrily, her eyes not looking at anything specific.
Shaking her head again, she cancelled the notice-me-not charm after checking that nobody would see them popping out from thin air. She turned instantly and continued to march toward the place she'd wanted to go to before James had made her consider other options.
James followed her without another word but soon reconsidered when he saw where she was going.
"Lily," he called again but she remained silent and continued to march with a single-minded purpose toward a small grouping of older men. He knew what she was about to do, and while he would do the same for his only son, at least one of the two of them had to keep a level head. Their actions not only had consequences for themselves but also for those who worked for and with them.
As soon as Lily reached the group of older men, she cleared her throat to announce her arrival and need to have their attention.
"Excuse me, sirs, but I'm afraid that I have need of that PA system of yours. I'm terribly sorry about the inconvenience, but my son seems to have up and disappeared and a brief announcement might help me find him," she explained calmly, hoping that she didn't seem like the overly worried mother that she was.
One of the men, his eyes hidden behind thickly framed sunglasses, got up and walked around the table to come stand before her, raising his gaze only slightly. Whether that was enough to actually look at her comfortably or not, she couldn't tell, as the eyes were perfectly hidden behind the large shaded lenses.
The man began nodding at her and opened his mouth to speak with a relatively thick French accent, the same voice that had announced the beginning of the Group B time trial a while ago now.
"Your son has gone missing?" he asked politely, the lower part of his face forming a kind smile. She nodded in confirmation while her cheeks reddened at the embarrassment she felt.
"Of course, we will certainly help you find him," he assured her before he eyed the couple's attire. The smile on the man's face flattened and a slight frown appeared instead, worrying her a tiny bit.
"Are you perhaps part of the Ford Group B team that is supposed to line up with the rest of the cars over there?" He pointed with a nod toward the line of cars parked along the road leading to the starting line.
"I'm afraid so, yes," she confirmed with trepidation.
Nodding slightly, the man moved to discuss something with the men behind him, gesturing to the watch on his arm, studying the schedule that lay on the table as well. A few moments later, and following a group of shaking heads, the older man turned back toward Harry's parents.
"Well, I'm sure your son's safety is more important to you than the time trial, and we will certainly help you find him. However, I'm afraid that you will have to accept a time penalty as the schedule can't be changed to accommodate a delay for personal reasons," he explained clearly, leaving no chance for misunderstandings.
James knew that there was no way to avoid a penalty at this point. He realized, however, he didn't care the slightest. The fact nobody had seen Harry, not even the race's organizer, had finally driven the fact home. They needed to find him; the trial be damned. Taking note of Lily vivid nodding, he stepped up to stand next to her, joining her affirmation.
"Thank you, Monsieur Martin, and we accept the time penalty without contestation on our team's behalf," she said with a confident nod.
The man, Monsieur Martin, then asked for Harry's basic physical traits as well as his outerwear and anything extraordinary about his appearance. Lily provided all of the needed information along with a personal photo she'd kept in her left inner breast pocket. The photo, though recent, was worn from the hardships of rally racing and the sweat that would build up over a long day's work.
Accepting the information, Monsieur Martin then walked toward the desk adorned with the microphone that was connected to a larger audio system, its long cables leading to a distributor box that fed the speakers around the larger camp.
He sat down, laying the notes and photo of the boy before him on the desk before pushing down on the button that engaged the microphone, the sound of a shh audible from the speaker that was closest to Lily.
James let sigh escape him, but it wasn't an angry one. He moved closer to his wife and let his hand rest on her shoulder. She didn't shrug it off, though she had considered doing so, and instead let her elbow fold to raise her hand to grasp his on her shoulder.
"This is Martin Gaul, your head marshal. Please be advised, we are looking for a young boy. His name is Harry Potter, he is 6 years old, black of hair and has green eyes. He bears a scar on his forehead and wears a Ford team t-shirt. If you see him or happen to have seen him, please approach the closest member of the staff and inform them."
After repeating the announcement in a few different languages, Monsieur Martin approached the parents and returned the photo of Harry. He also informed them that they could wait here until somebody came forward with information on their son's whereabouts.
Luckily it didn't take long until somebody called to inform them that they'd found their son and that they'd be welcome to come pick him up at their camp.
Lily waited until she learned who had found him and where she would have to go before she almost lurched forward to leave. James could only briefly express his gratitude for the help Monsieur Martin had provided before he too had to run to catch up with her.
###
Harry was the first to notice the pair of people marching toward them and quickly got up from the chair. Fleur, on the other side of the table between them, followed his focused gaze and noticed them as well.
He walked to the outer most part of the tent that was still under the cover of the plastic plane over his head and waited for the two adults with fear marring his features. He'd been naughty and was well aware that he'd get a decent talking-to once his parents would get their worried hands on him.
Fleur moved to stand next to him and hold his smaller hand, for which he was grateful, but she remained otherwise expressionless as they waited for his parents to arrive.
Jean stepped out from behind them and went to greet his parents, who smiled at him and shook his hand. They seemed to know one another well as his mother kissed him on the cheeks and said some French words, her face lined with deep gratitude.
His father eyed him over his mother's shoulder, his face mixed between disappointment and elation. He too turned to thank Fleur's father before trying to move around his wife to make his way over to Harry.
Lily caught him by the hand and halted her husband, who twisted his head to look back at her. The flat gaze the shorter woman gave him reminded Harry of the times his father had decided to go out with his uncle Sirius without having told her beforehand. It meant that she'd be doing the lecturing.
Jean turned and extended his hand toward the tent, inviting the parents inside to approach the two younger people. Lily nodded politely and began moving toward her son, her usually kind green eyes now stormy and dark with a mix of emotions Harry could scarcely begin to identify.
"Harry," she began seriously, "We've been all around the camp looking for you."
Her tone was strict, the hands placed on her hips cutting a strict figure that made Harry shrink in on himself slightly. Normally pink lips thinned into a barely discernible white line, a not so promising signal of what was to come. But Harry was not one to remain cowed for long. He was his mother's son, after all. Looking up into his mother's eyes, his own green orbs pleading for her to understand and not make a scene in front of his new friend.
"I was bored and walked off for a bit. I thought you and Daddy wouldn't mind if I came back when you finished with your race," he quickly argued, attempting to save himself from suffering embarrassment in front of the strangers who had been nothing but kind to him.
Lily listened to his pleading but didn't let her face soften, despite the fact that his pleading eyes were always able to melt her heart.
"Harry, darling, you've worried us sick. Everyone around the camp had to drop everything and come look for you. You've even imposed on other people's generosity," she lectured to him with a stern voice. She hated punishing her son but she would have hated it more if he learned to get away with careless behavior. James was proof enough of that, at times.
"I didn't think it would cause trouble if I just went for a walk," he muttered, unable to meet her sharp gaze.
James shook his head at his son and bent down to sit on his heels, grasping the young boy's thing arms that reminded him of his own at that age, urging him to raise his gaze to his own.
"Son, you've caused a fair share of trouble today. You won't be getting out of this one with tears and playing cute," he warned him, his tone rougher than he'd intended.
Fleur then moved to step between Harry and his parents, letting an arm come to rest on his shoulder. "He was perfectly polite the entire time. He has been a good boy, I promise you. It was no trouble at all." She hated that the serious speech she'd prepared had come out as little more than nervous babbling, partly an issue borne from English not being her native language.
Lily turned to look at the young girl and gave her a genuine smile. "Thank you, Fleur. I'm sure he's been the perfect gentleman. But I'm afraid this is something that can't be allowed to be repeated. He will have to sit through a proper dressing down for this."
Fleur, unable to rectify Harry's looming reprimand, could do nothing but continue to hold him by the shoulder in silence. She looked over to the side of the face and noticed his downtrodden expression. Intending to comfort him again, she moved her hand to hold him closer to herself.
Suddenly, she pulled her hand away again and took a step back. Lily noticed this exchange and reached for the girl, trying to see what was wrong. Fleur, in her sudden and uncharacteristic nervousness, didn't let her and took another step back.
"Something wrong sweetheart?" Lily inquired worriedly.
Hearing Lily address Fleur directly, Jean moved to stand next to the two of them, Harry still standing a few steps to the side. His green eyes took in the pair's exchange with confusion.
"What's wrong, little sparrow?" he asked his daughter, his eyes worried and his hand reaching for her.
She rubbed the arm that had been on Harry's shoulder just a few moments before, the cold sensation slowly receding again. Once her hand had returned to its usual temperature, she turned to her father and explained what had happened in French.
Jean nodded slowly at his daughter and returned his attention to the Potters standing together now. He cleared his throat and focused on Lily's curious look.
"She says he sometimes feels cold to the touch. She just jumped at the sudden sensation," he explained, gesturing at his own arm's skin.
Harry's mother frowned at that and looked at her son's perfectly adequate attire. Harry feeling cold to the touch? she wondered.
It made no sense to her. He wore a t-shirt, yes, but the weather was hot enough to make her sweat under her overalls. Harry didn't look like somebody who'd been cold enough to shock people.
Shaking her head at the bizarre nature of the encounter between her son and the young girl, Lily felt a hand touch her shoulder. Looking at the arm and then the face it belonged to, she noticed James' pointed finger tapping the glass surface of his wristwatch. Nodding at him quickly, they agreed wordlessly that she had to table the matter as the time was running and their team's position worsened with every passing second.
Moving to lift Harry and carry him in the crook of her arm, Lily stepped back toward Jean, thanking him and her for finding her son before saying goodbye before rushing out with quick steps back toward the Ford team tent.
Harry, still in his mother's arms, turned his head back and gazed over her shoulder at Fleur who still stood next to her father watching the Potter family leave. He raised a small hand and waved at the pair of them as they crossed the crest of the hill and quickly descended down the other side and beyond the Delacours' line of sight.
###
Back at the camp, Lily and James had to apologize profusely to the rest of the team, who'd looked at them in quiet anger. They understood that Lily and James had made the decision that mattered most to them but the entire situation, according to their words, could have been avoided if they'd left Harry at home in England.
Klaus, who liked Harry well enough, finding the young boy to be a kind happy child, couldn't hide his own flat look at the pair but didn't add to the fire of complaints. Instead, he went to calm the team members and urged Harry's parents to rush for the starting line and save what was left of the time trial.
"We can still get something out of this. Even if we don't get a good time in, we can say we tried," he stated quickly.
Lily could only nod at that and rushed to prepare herself, grabbing her helmet and zipping up her overall.
Lily, James, and Klaus were people who didn't believe in lost chances - only in chances not taken. Therefore, he helped Lily into the car and made sure she was securely seated in it.
Starting the engine, Lily let her eyes wander quickly to the side, to look through the protective plexiglass door window at her son, who still looked down at his feet in remorse.
Her heart stung at the sight of sagging shoulders hanging off her boy's small frame. Forcing herself to ignore her maternal instincts, she squeezed her eyes shut and focused on the task that lay ahead.
Engaging the first gear, she let out the clutch some and the car bobbed forward, forcing Lily and James' protected heads bounce against their headrests.
After a number of turns around the camp of the sporting event, they found their way to the starting line, stopping at the red light with a 10-second counter displaying the '10' in clear glowing red.
The head marshal, Monsieur Martin, approached them from the light and opened James' door.
"Have you found your boy safe and sound?" he asked curiously.
James spoke before Lily could, nodding appreciatively at the Frenchman. "Yes, we've found him with Jean Delacour, as your man had said. Thank you again, Monsieur."
"Good, that's good," he began before he checked his watch and the schedule in his hand. James watched the sweat change directions as the man flipped his hand over to look between both.
"The car in front of you was the last to go. That was approximately 5 minutes ago. You will receive a 6-minute penalty to your time. Are we all clear on the 'why'?" he asked specifically, watching both drivers in the car.
"Yes." they answered at the same time, nodding at the man's question.
Monsieur Martin nodded back at them and wished them luck before closing James' door with a loud thud.
Moving her focus back on the car and the road ahead, Lily went through all the lights and pedals, checking for alarms or mechanical failures. Satisfied with the overall condition of the car, Lily gave a thumbs up at the marshal sitting by the timer.
The man then nodded at her and went to type something into his recorder - probably registering their starting time and number.
The heat in her overalls made her sweat profusely, fingers pulling at her collar for at least a small respite from the overbearing heat. Aware that she wasn't permitted to open it, she moved to push open the small square sliding window in her door.
"10-second countdown initiated," James called from beside her.
"Check." she answered without looking, her face still enjoying the cool air coming from the small window.
The air flowing over her face reminded her of Fleur's comment on Harry's temperature.
Why would he feel cold to her touch?
"5 seconds, Lily," James called again.
Why would he feel cold to 'her' touch? How would a Veela feel co-
Her eyes widened in shock and her jaw dropped inside her helmet. Looking over to her husband, a spark of inspiration drove her to call out his name.
"James!" The suited woman yelled and began to wave her hand excitedly.
Looking at her in confusion and with narrowed eyes, he waited for her to tell him whatever it was she wanted.
"Harry," she said louder, "I think he can do magic!"
Still not sure what his wife was yelling about, James turned to look at the counter. Seeing that the green light had already been given, he shrieked in panic.
"Lily, Go, Go, Go!"
Noticing his alarm, she followed his gaze and before he could say another word, she floored the pedal and dropped the clutch. The car lurched forward with the grace of a bull stung by a bee, thrashing through the gravel with uncompromising acceleration.
###
The wailing of sirens and the rushing shadows of panicked people roamed through and around the entirety of the camp. Harry wasn't sure what was going on but the faces on the people around him seemed struck with something he'd never seen on somebody else's before.
Seeing Mr. Rickard standing stiffly outside the tent, Harry got off the make-shift bench again and walked toward the unmoving man.
"Mr. Rickard?" he called him, but the man remained unaware of the young boy's presence, continuing to stand motionless and staring into the distance at a rising cloud of black smoke.
"Mr. Rickard, are you alright?" Harry repeated again, pulling at the man's sleeve. The physical stimulus seemed to have done the trick as the man jerked at the touch. Turning to the side with a confused look, he slowly lowered his gaze toward Harry's tiny frame, the man's eyes became heavy. The brown eyes dulled over by wetness.
"Harry…" he began.
Mr. Rikard looked at Harry with what seemed like indecision. The man continued to glance at him gingerly before looking away entirely, suddenly moving toward the mass of people meeting near the marshal's post.
Harry watched him go, confused by the man's sudden change in demeanor. He'd always talked to him, laughed with him, told him jokes and been an all-around joyful man.
Now, he'd been a stranger. Someone else entirely.
Noticing how nobody was left in the tent, leaving him to be by his lonesome, Harry eyed the gravel road behind him. He'd taken that road to find Fleur and the Peugeot. Perhaps he could go see her again.
He considered the idea and remembered his parents' disappointment in his actions from before. However, he reasoned that since they were already on the road, he couldn't possibly disturb anyone again if he went to visit Fleur. Even if his parents would have to come look for him again, they'd know where he would be and wouldn't have to ask anyone for help. Therefore, the punishment from before would remain but another added punishment would be unlikely.
Harry nodded at the train of thought. It felt like a sensible conclusion. Perhaps, he would impress his mother with his line of thinking.
Looking around for people watching him, he made sure that nobody was in fact in his vicinity and began to run toward Fleur's tent.
###
Fleur could hear the emergency sirens in the distance and smell the burned air with her heightened senses. She wasn't sure what was going on but her father's rushed disappearance, along with other team members, indicated that something terrible had happened.
The sound of gravel crunching in the distance alerted her to a person approaching from the hill that led to the wide-open area in front of their tent.
She could see him running quickly, as fast as his short legs allowed, his face reddened by lengthy physical exercise.
Having noticed her expectant appearance, Harry slowed his run to a jog before slowing down to a normal walk. He bent over, resting his hands on his knees as he breathed heavily in front of her. She walked over to him with a bottle of cold water in her hand.
"Here, drink this, it will make you feel better," she said.
Looking at it, he accepted the offering, thanking her before drinking from it. His gulps were greedy, downing the liquid quickly and letting large bubbles of air into the bottle.
His thirst quenched, he wiped his hand over his mouth and returned the plastic bottle back to her. She took it, went back to the tent to fetch a marker to write his name on the bottle and placed the bottle back in the refrigerator.
Walking back to him, she eyed him curiously. "What are you doing here again? Didn't your parents tell you not to run off without them?"
He nodded at her with a smile. "Yeah, they did but they're out on a drive right now and they know where I'll be. Although, I don't know if that will make a difference."
His face suddenly clenched in a frown at this last statement.
"What do you mean?" she asked further, encouraging him to continue.
"Mr. Rickard was all weird, and the entire team up and left me by myself. When my parents come back, they'll have many more people to look for other than me," he explained.
Shaking her head at him, she giggled at his argument, finding it quite amusing how he figured things would turn out.
Looking back at him, she noticed how his eyes fixated on a point behind her. She turned to see what he was staring at, only to smile at him when she let her gaze travel back to him.
"So," she began, drawing his attention to her, "Do you want to try sitting in it again? This time, nobody is around." She saw no harm in dangling a figurative carrot in front of his face.
He jumped up at that and rushed past her toward the car behind her, his body fidgeting by the door as he waited for her to open it for him. Extending her hand in invitation to step inside, Harry raised a leg to cross over the roll bar that lined the side of the bucket seat inside.
Before he could commit to the move, Fleur's father's voice rang through the tent, alarming the two that they were, in fact, not alone after all.
"Oh, not again!" Harry complained with a whine, removing his leg from its position on the metal pipe.
"I'm sorry," Fleur said quickly with pursed lips. "I thought I could get you in this time."
He shrugged at that but didn't let it affect him too much. He just decided to stand there and pout to himself, kicking a piece of gravel across the road and outside the tent.
As Jean neared the tent, he noticed Harry's presence and slowed his steps with trepidation, his face growing apprehensive.
Fleur noticed how her father gazed at Harry, a sense of fear spreading in her chest. She moved to stand next to the shorter boy and placed a hand on his shoulder - the same way as she did when his parents came to pick him up.
As her father approached them and finally bent down to meet Harry without the latter having to twist his neck to look up at him, she could see how her father's jaw clenched, a clear sign that he struggled with what he was about to say.
Harry, still unsure about what was going on, eyed Fleur at his side in question before turning his curious, green orbs to the man who gave him the apprehensive look.
"What's wrong, Mr. Delacour?" he asked him worriedly.
With a heavy breath, Jean cleared his throat and swallowed. "Harry, do you know where your parents are?"
Confused by the question, he tilted his head at the man before him. "They should be back at the camp by now. Or maybe they're still on their way back from their drive."
Jean shook his head lightly at the boy, his face wry with regret. "I'm afraid not, Harry."
The frown on his face deepened at that. "Huh?"
"Harry, I...they...there's been an accident," Jean finally confessed.
"What do you mean, 'there's been an ac-acdissent'?" The boy repeated with a struggle, his voice growing frustrated.
Jean sighed tiredly at him, while glancing briefly at his daughter, whose face drew a picture of realization.
Gazing back at Harry, Jean knew then that he had to make the boy understand. There was no cushion soft enough to prevent the pain that would come from his words, once they'd left his mouth.
"Harry...your parents...they're gone…and they're not coming back."
Whatever Jean had said after that, Harry hadn't registered. All he could hear was an increasingly loud buzz in his ears that dulled the sound of the world around him. He could feel a pair of hot arms wrapped around him but otherwise he couldn't feel anything.
He noticed his legs give out from under him, the gravel pinching at his face and the taste of iron in his mouth. Slowly, his eyes grew heavy. He felt tired. Perhaps he should close his eyes and nap.
Yes, he'd sleep here. Sleep here until his parents would come pick him up. They always did.
End of Prologue
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Hey, thanks for reading it until the end. I hope the premise piqued your interest and encourages you to stick around for the upcoming chapters. If you liked it a or noticed something odd about my writing, leave a review, so that I may learn and improve.
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