Progenis Mater

Chapter III: Shopping Sprees, Bonbons, & Unfamiliar Towns

By: Saadie

Summary: Yet another "Harry-has-other-living-relatives" story, only not magical relatives, we've done that to death. This is a story of Harry and his life if his rather distant and curious muggle relatives had intervened.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I'm pretty sure you can tell by the dismal Latin in the title. My friend in Latin classes just gave me a weird look so I'm pretty sure it's weird or something. Anyone you don't recognize is either an OC of mine or a really obscure character only mentioned briefly in a blurb.

Standard A/N: None of my stories are beta-d, I'm not actively looking but if anyone ever offers :). Until then, ya'll just have to put up with my atrocious grammar!

Harry spent the last week of first grade in a constant daze, trapped within a daydream that his Aunt Petunia would regard as a nightmare.

Ever since that lady who claimed to be his aunt's cousin had appeared, Harry had fell asleep every night imagining how the rest of his family was like. They'd all be beautiful or handsome, Harry had decided, kind and loving and giving and polar opposites to everything the Dursleys were like. He dreamt that the lady, although he'd secretly taken to calling him Auntie Lucia in his head, would come back and find him and take him away to live with her.

In his current state nothing else mattered. He'd been backhanded by Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia has aimed two frying pans at his head just this week alone. Dudley had picked up on his parents' increasingly foul mood and even gone as far as to rip Harry's pictures up in front of the teacher. He'd gotten in trouble for that but Dudley had told his parents that Harry had ripped them himself and blamed Dudley instead – Aunt Petunia was glad for the ready-made excuse to send him straight into his cupboard for the day. But none of it had put even a dent in Harry's good mood at knowing that he was going to meet the rest of his family, family he still couldn't believe he had, in just a few days.

After that visit, Aunt Petunia had sat Uncle Vernon down and told him about her cousin visiting. Uncle Vernon had gone purple in the face, just a shade away from asphyxiation, and ranted for almost an hour, breaking out the whiskey and drinking himself into a stupor while complaining about "good-for-nothing broads thinking they're so important" and how none of Aunt Petunia's family "understood what it meant to earn their own keep like any good self-respecting and hardworking British man did".

In the end he had puffed up his chest and told Aunt Petunia that he was simply too important to leave work for an entire week and that he wasn't going to waste his vacation leave to visit her pompous relatives even if he could. He had concluded by announcing that they should come back as soon as possible, hinting that Aunt Petunia should try to "lose" the freak along the way, so he could take Aunt Petunia and Dudley on a 'real vacation'. Aunt Petunia had seemed none too pleased that she had to go alone with her son and the freak but could say nothing as Vernon had passed out on the dining room table, ridiculously intoxicated, just moments after his declaration.

Harry found himself consumed half by his thoughts and half by Aunt Petunia's sudden shopping frenzy. She had pulled out all the savings she had hoarded away to "properly outfit her precious Diddykins" and herself of course. To Harry's eternal surprise, Aunt Petunia had even gotten him a few sets on new clothes. Granted they were nowhere as grand or as good quality as Dudley and Aunt Petunia's, but they were the first and only clothes that Harry had ever been given that hadn't been Dudley's first. At his wide-eyed look, Aunt Petunia's face had twisted into a grimace at the reminder that she was wasting money on that little freak, but told him in no uncertain terms that he only got to keep the clothes for as long as he stayed quiet.

He was not to tell anyone about living in the cupboard under the stairs.

He was not to tell them about not having meals or being locked in for days.

He was not to tell them he cooked and cleaned for the Dursleys.

He was not to tell anyone that these were his first new clothes.

He was especially not to tell anyone that Uncle Vernon beat him sometimes; really beat on him when he was drunk, not the occasional slapping around he did when he was sober.

The list had gone on and on and Harry had nodded, still wide-eyed with wonder at his new possessions. A tiny voice in his mind though was constantly whispering to him that it was well worth the risk of losing his new possessions if he could stay with Auntie Lucia and the rest of his family.

So caught up was he in the haze of frantic packing and the increasingly foul moods of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon that Harry hadn't even fully register that the week was over and that they were on their way to see the rest of his family until he was outfitted in a clean blue t-shirt and khakis (both of which actually fit!) and sitting on a train across from Dudley who was throwing a huge tantrum. Aunt Petunia had pleaded incessantly with Dudley in babied tones while the various people in their carriage cast annoyed looks at the chubby child screaming his head off and kicking his mother repeatedly. From the looks of their faces, they weren't very impressed with Aunt Petunia's parenting skills either.

Harry sat as still and quietly as he possibly could; it would be good practice for later. Surely his relatives would see that he was well-mannered child and not the unholy terror his relatives proclaimed he was to anyone who would listen. Then, when they found out about how Aunt Petunia was lying to them, they would whisk him away to live in a fairytale castle and he would stay with Auntie Lucia and live happily ever after. Surely they had to take him in once they found out the truth. But he had to prove to them that he was good and worthy of being taken in.

After an hour he felt stiff all over from his new goal but was reluctant to relax. Even the continued screams and frantic shushing and pleas of his cousin and aunt weren't enough to deter him from this new experience. This was it. The start of a magical journey, everything he had ever hoped for. His dream of being whisked away from the Dursleys, from Privet Drive and all the horrors of suburban Surrey, was about to be realized. You can do this, Harry. He told himself, eyes staring fiercely at the vibrant trees just a shade darker than his own brilliant eyes. You can do this, prove that you're not a freak and they'll take you away and nothing Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon or even Dudley ever said will matter anymore.

"Grandpère," Lucia gave a slight, demure curtsey as she slipped into the study, "you asked for me?"

"Ah, Lucille, my darling child, come sit by me," the elderly man called, waving her over with a fond smile.

She beamed at him and moved swiftly to settle into the leather seat beside him. He reached to clasp her smaller hand in his, holding it tenderly – of all his great-grandchildren, Lucille was his secret favourite. She reminded him so much of his darling, departed wife and she had been one of the few of his grandchildren who kept close to him even as she aged. While many of his grandchildren cared for and respected him, Lucille had always gone beyond that, loving him and retaining that childish wonder she had when she first met him when he was still younger and strong.

Now the strength in his bones had long since fled but his family still remained. He counted himself lucky, as he gave her hand an affectionate squeeze, that so many of his descendants were still there to keep him company. "Did you speak to Perrine, my dear? How has that wayward child of mine been?"

Lucia gave a slight sigh and donned a rueful smile, "I did, Grandpère, and she is still the same. Bitter and most unwilling to associate with us. I always blamed that husband of her's for instilling ridiculous ideas in her head. It has now changed, only gotten worse. Oh, Grandpère! He can barely provide for her properly, Perrine has aged so from the constant stress! I only hope that young Dudley is nothing like his father," she wrinkled her nose slightly, "Dudley, what a horrid name."

He gave a slight laugh and patted her hand, "Now, now, Lucille, perhaps it is not as bad as you make it to be. I will judge for myself when I see her. Has she agreed to come visit?"

"Yes, Grandpère, she was difficult but I persuaded her in the end."

"Good, good, did she have any news of Liliane?" he asked.

Lucia fell silent, features morose. "My dear child, what is wrong?" he prodded gently.

She answered in a small voice, "Perrine said that Liliane was killed in a car crash along with James, Grandpère. They died five years ago and she never told us."

He gasped, squeezing her hand tightly in his. Liliane had been a brilliant and happy child, one who laughed constantly with enough affection for everyone and a smile to light up any room. When she had married James Potter, he could still remember the happy glow in her eyes and the radiant smile she had when she announced that she was pregnant. To hear that his pretty little flower had left the world before he had and that Perrine had kept it from the rest of the family filled him with despair and anger. "And the child, Lucille? What of their child?" he asked urgently.

"Please, Grandpère, calm! It's not good for your heart! Henri is fine; I did not see him or Dudley when I visited but Perrine will bring both boys with her when she comes," soothed Lucia, silently cursing Petunia in her mind for making her the bearer of such terrible news, "You'll see them both then. I'm sure Henri will be a delightful child, just like Liliane. They'll be here within the week."

What could have been a continuous train ride, Petunia deliberately broke into several shorter trips. Yes, it was slightly more expensive to stay overnight in different towns but she preferred to take her time and familiarize herself with the French culture once more before arriving at Le Chalet; she refused to be caught off-guard by her obnoxious relatives again!

With a huff, she loaded the boy's arms with dresses from the department store, smiling in what she believed to be a winning manner at the sales assistant who introduced yet another stylish dress to the horse-faced woman. The dress itself was tasteful but the entirely wrong cut for Petunia's figure. Nevertheless, by the time he was done, she was convinced that no one's figure had ever been so suited to such a lovely dress and she left the shop laden with bags that she was quick to shove towards her nephew.

Her precious Dudders ought to be awake by now, she'll go up to the hotel room and collect him now and then she could all stop for a nice lunch before boarding the one-o'clock train. Bustling through the crowd, she was careful to keep a firm grip on the boy's shoulder. It wouldn't do to lose him now or all times.

Harry sat quietly on his chair and hiding his face beneath unruly hair as Dudley's whining for a third helping of dessert got louder and louder. Aunt Petunia was cooing at Dudley, promising that he could have something off the cart on the train later but that they had to leave now or they were going to be late. The patrons around them were shooting incredulous looks at the mother and child while the waiters struggled to hide looks of disgust behind perfectly polite veneers as they eyed the mess they would have to clean up after the pudgy child left their fine establishment.

After much over-done coaxing, with Harry following quietly behind the whole time, they finally managed to board the train and Harry was given permission to wander the different compartments on the condition that he didn't make a nuisance of himself after loading the last of Aunt Petunia's bags onto the racks. "We'll be there in five hours, boy, and you know where our compartment is. Just be back here before we have to get off to help carry the luggage and keep out of my hair!" Aunt Petunia had whispered quickly into his ear and then, to Harry's eternal surprise, she shoved five Euros into his hand and pushed him towards the door of the compartment.

Staring wide-eyed at the large sum of money in his hands, Harry carefully tucked it into his pocket and went exploring. Perhaps, Harry thought, he could buy some sweets and eat them before Dudley saw. The desserts in the restaurant had looked delightful but when the waitress had asked Aunt Petunia what "the charming little green-eyed boy" would like, Aunt Petunia had told them he wasn't to have anything on account of numerous cavities. The waitress had shot him a sympathetic smile and he had watched jealously as Dudley consumed a large crepe heaped with three different flavours of ice-cream and topped with an obscene amount of whipped cream and chocolate sauce along with a delicious looking super-sized strawberry parfait.

It was a miracle Dudley hadn't thrown up the copious amounts of sugar.

Creeping along quietly, Harry scurried by several adults who smiled indulgently at the young boy exploring the carts, wide eyes taking in every new detail that was presented to him. When he was passing through a compartment, an old lady's bag tumbled off the seat and spilled its contents onto the ground. Without much thought, Harry hurried over to help right the bag and replace the items inside. The old woman had beamed at him and pressed a handful of sweets she called "bonbons" into his hand and patted the seat beside her invitingly. It was a strange sight; an old lady chattering happily in French to a young boy while he responded in English. Neither knew the other language but carried on with their conversation regardless. By the end of their conversation though, Harry had learnt that 'Je m'appelle' meant 'my names is' and how to say, in slightly accented French, how old he was, his favourite colour, that he was from Surrey, England and how to count to twenty.

The old lady, whose name was Annette, waved goodbye to him cheerfully as she got off at her stop and left him to his own devices once again after one last pat on his head. Armed with bonbons and five whole Euros, Harry continued his journey towards the end of the train. When he happened across the restaurant, Harry had shyly asked for a strawberry-lemonade. The server, enamoured by the young man, waved Harry off as he tried to pay with his five Euros, insisting that it was on the house. Harry had tried to insist and then failing, beamed his thanks at the kind young lady, his missing front tooth only serving to make her coo over his further.

He spoke with her for a little while, telling her that he was on his way with his aunt and cousin to visit his other aunt that he never knew he had. The server watched, bemused, as the little boy gesticulated and regaled her in how his mysterious new aunt had looked like a fairytale princess and ventured, shyly, that he thinks her name was Lucia and that he hopes she'll like him. She feels her heart break a little at the thought that this charming little boy would be so insecure as to wonder whether or not his own relatives would dislike him. Perhaps, she decided, his family wasn't the warmest or maybe he's been bullied at school.

"Come along, boy! And don't drop anything!" screeched Aunt Petunia as they finally get off the train. Dudley was grumbling unhappily at having to wake up from his nap and walk of all things and Harry was quick to hurry behind his Aunt while staying out of his cousin's reach.

They followed the crowd down a well-worn dirt road into a small, bustling town. People everywhere were calling out to each other in rapid French that sounded like a jumbled of very pretty syllables with very little meaning to Harry. Jostled by the crowd, Harry found himself quickly left behind by Aunt Petunia's longer strides and burdened by the weight of his baggage. After several minutes of walking and still being unable to spot Aunt Petunia, Harry found himself starting to panic. Just then, one of his arms gave out and he dropped two of the bags he had been carrying onto the ground. He struggled not to cry – Aunt Petunia was going to kill him!

A man in his late thirties with a bushy mustache stopped to help him pick them up, raising an eyebrow at how much the young boy was carrying. "Do you need some help, young man?"

At Harry's puzzled look, he chuckled and switched to English, "Ah, not French then, my little friend? Well, no matter, let me help you with that."

Harry was happy to let him help and more than happy that the man could speak English even if his accent was rather thick. "Thank you, mister," he sniffled slightly, "I was getting really tired."

"Ah, it's no trouble at all. Now, what is a fine young man such as yourself doing all alone so far from home, hm?"

"I'm here to visit relatives but I got lost from my Aunt and cousin. Do you think you could help me find them?" and, hoping he wasn't being too forward Harry hurriedly tacked on, "if it's not too much trouble of course, sir."

The man let out a low, pleasant laugh to cover his disapproval at the woman who would leave a young child with so many bags and so callously, "Oh, no trouble, no trouble at all! Now, tell me what does your Aunt look like? Do you know where you're headed to? Perhaps she is waiting for you there."

Harry described Aunt Petunia in the nicest terms possible and then racked his brains for their destination. "I think," he began hesitantly, "it was called the Sha-ley or something," stumbling over the unfamiliar word, "And I think one of my aunts is named Lucia."

The man crouched down and tipped Harry's face upwards into the slowly fading sunlight. "Ah, yes, you have the Leclaire eyes, I'd recognize that brilliant green anywhere. Well then, little one, that's a surprise, I thought I'd met all the Leclaires but evidently not. My name is Alan, little Leclaire, and it just so happens that I work for your family. The place you're looking for is called Le Chalet and I believe the aunt you mentioned is Mademoiselle Lucille, lovely young lady."

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed excitedly, bouncing on his toes "Do you think you could take me there then, Mister Alan?"

"But of course, I doubt they would forgive me otherwise," Alan laughed, "Actually, why don't we call the main house and ask them to send someone down to pick you up? I don't fancy trekking up the hill with so much in my arms, do you?" he asked with a teasing wink.

"Hill?" asked Harry.

Alan chuckled and pointed to the left, "Don't tell me you missed something that big, petit Leclaire."

Following Alan's finger, Harry blushed as he realized, belatedly, that the entire village was situated at the base of a hill. Gaze reaching the top of the hill, he gasped. Was that Le Chalet? Harry had been expecting a large house of some sort, but surely Alan was mistaken!

At the very top of the hill stood several gigantic mansion-like houses in a loose circle, a gorgeous fountain bubbling in the middle of the large courtyard. Squinting, the prescription of his glasses was still far from perfect, Harry was certain that there was even more behind the houses. Excited beyond words, Harry took Alan's hand without much prompting and allowed the smiling man to pull him into a nearby shop where he chatted up the owner and asked to borrow the phone. Harry couldn't take his eyes off the grand site of Le Chalet for more than a few seconds at a time. He was going to live there! Him, Harry Potter, more commonly known as "boy", the "freak" extraordinaire, was going to live in something akin to a modern-day castle!

It didn't matter that Aunt Petunia was going to give him hell for getting left behind. It didn't matter that Dudley would be there with him and pretend to be loveable in front of the rest of their relatives. All that mattered was that he had met the nicest man ever, who was in turn going to bring him to the marvelous houses at the top of the hill and meet with his mysterious relatives that Harry was certain were going to be as different from the Dursleys as a dandelion was from garden roses.

He would give anything to be able to stay here forever. Anything.

AN: I know this is probably the story you all least expected me to update but I had half a chapter lying around for the longest time and decided to just finish it up. Anything in italics means it's in French - I took French up until grade ten and then promptly forgot everything I learned so do forgive me for not trying and any mistakes on what little I put in. Until next time then!

Show some love?

-Saadie