Book 1: In Search of Lost Memories
Chapter 4: Bordeaux
Angèlique's Home, Landes, France, August 1st, 1936
When he arrived at Angèlique's, the house was silent. She was sitting in the kitchen, holding a cup of tea with another steeping by her side. Without turning her head to acknowledge him, she nodded towards the spare cup in invitation. Harry sat down, embracing it with both hands. The warmth felt cozy.
"Before you say anything, I must apologize," she began, looking at a point in the distance. "I should have asked your opinion before volunteering to take care of you. I was as bad as the Ministry, deciding things on your behalf without consulting you."
"I wouldn't go that far," Harry murmured, shifting in the chair.
"I want what's best for you, Harry," Angèlique finally met his gaze, and the intense gleam in her eyes made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, forcing him to look away. "Truthfully, even the people in this village that don't care for you don't wish bad things on you. They just want you to not be their problem. Very few people would ever wish ill on a child, regardless of circumstance."
She took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes. "The people who built and rule this world wanted to make it work for you. They wanted it to be comfortable and cozy, inviting and prosperous. And they failed. We all failed. And we will fail you still. Many times," her voice shook slightly, making Harry cringe. It felt wrong to see Angèlique so vulnerable after what she had done for him. It was like watching an old man weep. "I want you to remember that, Harry. Remember that, when I disappoint you. Remember that I truly want the best for you, always."
The house fell into a deep, uncomfortable silence until he nodded once, timidly. Just like that, the tension disappeared, and Angèlique smiled sincerely.
"Then you should drink your tea before it gets cold. We'll grab your things from the Tessiers when you're done."
When they made their way to the Tessier household, his now former caretakers didn't seem to know what to do with him. To his credit, Robert didn't gloat or boast about his departure, simply wanting to be done with Harry. Monique wouldn't look him in the eye, her shame almost tangible. Harry briefly wondered whether losing the argument with her husband hurt her more than his departure, before setting the thought aside. Despite everything, he was grateful to the woman.
It was Amèlie who seemed most affected by the news. As he gathered the few things he had left behind and said his goodbyes to Monique, Harry saw their daughter sending sullen glances his way. But whenever he tried to face her, she would pout and look away, refusing to swallow her pride.
"I wonder what would happen if I stayed there," Harry spoke softly as he and Angèlique went back to her house.
"If is the longest word in the French language, Harry," Angèlique said with a meaningful look. "It casts a shadow over all of us. Try not to think about it too much."
They stayed in thoughtful silence. When they arrived, she turned to him and spoke softly. "I'll show you to your room."
He followed her up to the second floor, which led to a narrow corridor with four doors.
"The room at the end of the corridor is mine. The one by the right is a bathroom," Angèlique said, pointing to each room in turn. "The one on the far left is your room. This one," she pointed to the final door, the one that separated his room from the bathroom, and warned him, "is off-limits. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Great," she nodded. "Go ahead, then. Rest for a bit, Harry. I'll call you in an hour for lunch."
It was a simple room with the same style of wooden furniture she used on the floor below, albeit in a lighter, cozier shade of brown. A chest was at the foot of the bed for him to store his things. On the wall opposite the bed were a half-filled bookshelf, a cupboard, and a work desk. A window offered a nice view of her garden and the forest surrounding Landes.
Harry laid down on the soft mattress and closed his eyes. After what felt like only a minute, Angèlique called him, interrupting his rest.
Champs d'Huon, Bordeaux, France, August 2nd, 1936
"Harry, while we're in Bordeaux, or when you go to Beauxbatons, never call me by my surname," she instructed him. "Call me Angèlique."
"Sure, but why?"
"My surname is notorious," she explained with a guarded look. "I don't want the attention, and it'll be more comfortable for you."
Before he could figure out what to think about the explanation, she caught him by the hand, threw a fistful of Floo powder into the fireplace, and stepped into the cool green flames.
They landed on the inside of a building. In the room was a man covering himself with a blanket and supporting his head against the fireplace. The roar of their arrival woke him up with a start, and he sent a contemptuous look their way that Angèlique reflected back coolly.
"Hold on tight, Harry," she told him. "We're about to make a brief foray into the Muggle world."
"Wait, weren't we buying the things for me to go to Beauxbatons?" He asked, confused.
"We are. To ensure safety, the Ministry puts Floo systems around entry points into magical districts, not inside them."
"But in Landes―"
"We can't exactly build a fireplace in the middle of a forest, can we?"
"And who was that man?" He asked, discreetly pointing at the man as he tried to resume his nap.
"A security guard hired by the Ministry."
"I'm guessing he shouldn't have been sleeping, then."
"You guessed correctly," she answered wryly. "If we're invaded again, we're doomed. But never mind that, let's go buy your things."
Harry noticed the emphatic use of the word 'again' and noted it as a subject to be broached later. As they exited the building to enter Bordeaux, Harry tried to take in as much as he could from the cobblestone streets, looking into every café as they passed by, but Angèlique would always push forward, avoiding making eye contact with anyone. Some young men tried to catch her attention but gave up when they saw the trailing Harry walking behind her, with his curious gaze scanning them.
Bordeaux was remarkably sober, except for the cafés, whose boisterous conversations could be heard from the outside. The streets were agitated, but somberly so, in a way that matched the suits worn by the businessmen busily walking about.
Soon, they were in front of a large city gate that stretched high into the sky. Harry craned his neck to see its spiraling top, but the sun was shining too brightly for him to catch any details. Angèlique stepped into its arched entrance and motioned for him to follow her towards a small door on its side.
She opened it and carefully closed it behind her as she entered. They walked down a short flight of stairs before reaching a plateau that led to a pair of brick archways. As Harry crossed the second one, he was hit with a wall of sound and color.
"Welcome to the Champs d'Huon," she said as she swept her arm to showcase an agitated street that stretched into the horizon. Despite being well-lit, it was narrow and crowded, giving it a claustrophobic feel that was heightened by the hundreds of people squeezing by one another.
It could not be more different than the drab atmosphere of the city above.
On either side of the entrance, two Aurors guarded the passage. Angèlique tensed up as she passed by them, but said nothing.
"Stick by my side, and don't let go of my hand," she told him above the crowd's noise. "You can see how packed this place is."
"Couldn't they have made the street wider?" He complained, wringing his nose.
"We're underneath a bridge at the moment," she explained, looking at him over her shoulder. "There's not much space to build."
Harry gave the place a more careful look. The Champs d'Huon looked like a tunnel, with the curved roof above them forming an arch of the same stone as the pavement in Bordeaux above. The shops which flanked the main corridor were either carved from stone or made in simple brick-and-mortar patterns that clashed with the colorful and boisterous witches and wizards passing between them. The place was built some time ago but had since blossomed into a healthy center of commerce, leaving only the simple architecture as a reminder of its humble origins.
The lack of space made the shopkeepers try to attract attention in other ways. Many shops used gaudy colors in their façades, but some were more inventive. One had a small bird singing an opera above their entrance, and another had enchanted the storefront to look like a calm ocean, complete with aromas and sounds.
Harry grinned at the chaos, the kaleidoscopic array of colors and noises surrounding him. That overwhelming but still cozy madness was what he associated with magic, not the weighty sobriety and self-importance of people like Symphorien Marceau.
"You seem to be enjoying this," Angèlique told him with a glimmer in her eye that belied her dry tone.
"It's a beautiful place."
"It is," she agreed solemnly, looking at a café that stretched halfway into the narrow street, forcing people to crowd even further to pass by its tables. "I used to sit there to watch the world pass by, to seek inspiration for characters that I hadn't found in my travels," her eyes turned sad, reminding Harry of the day they met. "It's been a while."
"Why don't you travel again?" He suggested. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow, making him flush slightly. "When I'm at school, I mean."
"No," she shook her head. "I haven't left Landes in a while. It's where I ought to be."
"But you've always traveled so much. Won't it make you sad to stay in one place?" He argued. To his surprise, she smiled a bit, though it was fleeting.
"Often, sadness is meant to be felt, Harry. Now, let's go. We have a lot to do."
They left towards a nearby store painted light blue with golden adornments. Clothes were strewn all about its inside, from very distinctive and colorful robes to casual clothing that would fit nicely in the Muggle world. A woman dressed in a similar motif of blue with gold detailing was running the shop, her hands folded over one another over her stomach in a calm, serene way. She turned to greet the customers announced by the chime over the door when her eyes widened in recognition.
"Angèlique?" She asked, surprised.
"Hello, Louise."
"I didn't expect to see you here again," the woman greeted her warmly, kissing both sides of her face. Then she saw Harry, partially hidden behind Angèlique's frame, and gave her a troubled look. "And who would this be?"
"This is Harry Potter," she introduced them both. Awkwardly, Harry offered his hand, which the storekeeper took while holding back laughter, making him wonder if he had done something wrong.
"English, I'm assuming?" She asked before looking a bit anxiously at Angèlique. "Did you… adopt him?"
"No," she responded in firm denial before softening her voice. "No, I'm just Harry's guardian."
"I see," Louise answered vacantly, looking at her acquaintance with suspicion sewn into her brow. She gave up her unspoken inquiry and offered a polite expression to the young boy. "And what will you be buying today, Harry?"
"My school uniform," he said as firmly as he could, but there was still a lingering question in his voice, some uncertainty creeping in.
"And some casualwear as well," Angèlique added. Harry looked at her surprised, and she explained dryly. "Harry, you have two sets of clothes."
"That is unacceptable," Louise decided with indignant fury, jutting out her chest. "Come with me."
Harry was measured, prodded, and dressed for the following hour, all under Louise's boundless enthusiasm and Angèlique's poorly concealed amusement. The only set of clothes even slightly memorable to him was the Beauxbatons uniform, with the thigh-long overcoat worn over a suit vest and a formal shirt, alongside a pair of pants, all in the same turquoise color, apart from black shoes. A hat completed the look. Harry felt ridiculous in it.
"Oh, lose the frown," Louise admonished him. "You look perfectly handsome."
Harry grumbled complaints under his breath on his way out of the shop. The rest of the trip was uneventful, the stores having all the standard issue materials prepared in golden boxes emblazoned with the school coat of arms.
Beauxbatons required a lot of fiddly, small instruments for specialized jobs. The kits provided some way of ensuring that buying everything wouldn't be exorbitantly expensive, but he still felt a ball of guilt coalescing in the pit of his stomach every time Angèlique would retrieve coins from her purse to buy him things. And the shopping list seemed to be endless.
"Don't worry," she reassured him once she saw him peeking at the price tag for the rather massive Potions kit for first years — 'cauldrons sold separately,' the label advised — and wincing. "You don't need to pay me back. If you did, I would have let the Ministry lend you the money."
"But this is too much," he protested. Angèlique rolled her eyes with exasperation and mild annoyance.
"I knew exactly how much it would cost to take your guardianship," she said bluntly. Before Harry could argue, she continued in an amused tone. "Knowing you'll suffer while trying to manage which pipette to use with each ingredient will be payment enough."
He blinked in confusion before opening the box and peeking at its contents. Inside were four different types of pipettes, and he moaned as Angèlique chuckled.
"Wait, how do I even know what a pipette is?" The realization hit him as the question came from his lips, so he looked as surprised as Angèlique.
"I suppose it can be something from your lost memories," she mused. "That would probably mean you've been through some formal Potions education before."
"I don't remember," he lamented with a frustrated scowl.
"Hogwarts?" She frowned before shaking her head. "No, it can't be. You'd show up in the records, and that's the first place they'd check. Maybe someplace else? A private education?" Her speculations unnerved him, and as she realized he was tensing up, she offered a small apologetic smile. "Don't worry; I'm just speaking with myself."
He nodded shakily.
Harry spent some time looking around, trying to find something to jolt his memory, but nothing came. He could feel a vague sense of familiarity, the echo of a rhyme. But they didn't spend much longer there. Something was agitating Angèlique, and he did not resist when she briskly decided to cut his explorations short.
Tessier Family Home, Landes, France, August 6th, 1936
Harry spent the next few days at the cusp of recollection but to no avail. It felt awful, spending that much time tethering over the edge but never diving in. When the night of the 5th arrived, he had resigned to not remembering anything further.
The trip to Bordeaux had helped his spirits a bit. He had something to look forward to in Beauxbatons, though part of him didn't allow him to forget he was there because his family in England didn't claim him.
Harry went to spend the night and the following day with the Tessiers, where Robert greeted him at the door with a scowl someone would use if they saw a dead rat on their front carpet. However, whatever it was that made Angèlique wish to be alone every 6th seemed to mollify him, and he didn't object to Harry's presence in his home beyond the poor welcome.
Monique was happy to see him and kept asking questions about Bordeaux and the things he had bought. Amèlie's face lit up once she saw him, but Robert's decision about keeping them separated while he was present remained firmly in place.
On the morning of the 6th, when her husband and daughter still slept, Monique was in the living room, languidly sipping her morning coffee with a tired expression when Harry left the guest room.
"Good morning," she greeted him with a sleepy smile.
"Good morning," he replied just as tiredly.
"It's good that you woke up before Amèlie. I need to talk with you without her hanging around."
"What is it?"
She gulped down her coffee in one motion, grimacing slightly as the hot liquid burned its way down her throat. After recovering with a short burst of controlled coughs, she nodded for them to walk outside. They stayed in calm silence as Monique struggled to wake up completely. The sun was hitting them gently. The few birds flying around were singing lazily, themselves taken by the easygoing idleness of the idyllic scenery.
They entered the woods before Monique began to talk.
"How are things with Angèlique?"
"They're fine."
"Good. That's good," she answered, nervous. Then she sighed, letting the hesitation fall off her like a coat being shrugged off her shoulders. "Harry, has she spoken to you about what makes her so despondent every sixth day of the month?"
"No," he shook her head. Monique seemed saddened by the news but not surprised.
"If she wants to keep it a secret, that's her choice. But I must tell you that you'll find out sooner or later. And when you do, don't mention it to her. She doesn't like remembering."
"Of course," he agreed immediately. "But how will I find out if she's not going to tell me?"
"I'm guessing she told you not to call her by her surname in public?" She asked back, and his eyes widened. Monique rubbed her eyes in a silent plea for strength. "Yeah, she does that to everyone. Angèlique was something of a cause célèbre a few years ago. People were very divided about it back then, and they still are. I suspect you're going to find out what happened in school, and it's honestly hard not to just tell you about it," she laughed sadly before looking at the horizon. The wind blew by them, bringing the smell of burned, dead pine. He thought about the forest fire and how Monique must have been when she found him. "Harry, people in school will figure out about your amnesia. And that your guardian is Angèlique Froment. Children just have a way to find out about these things. People talk. Landes isn't a big community, but it's well-known because of the forest, and news will spread. I don't imagine the attention will be pleasant."
Harry felt tired, trying to wonder about the implications of that, but a thought emerged from the back of his mind, giving him some solace, even if it was bittersweet. He sent her a sad grin. "I'm not exactly sure why, but something tells me I'm used to it."
"A memory?" She asked, her medical curiosity overcoming the sadness which had dominated their conversation so far and lighting up her eyes. When he hesitantly confirmed, she hummed. "I wonder… I suppose some recovery can only be positive, even if it's not full."
"I—" Harry began to agree before something stopped him. He looked at his foot, nudging a bit of dirt loose with the tip of his shoe. "I don't think so," he spoke quietly, taking a deep breath before allowing his words to spill from his mouth without giving them a second glance. "Sometimes, I think I would be better off if I couldn't remember anything at all," Monique was surprised but didn't interrupt him. "This… I don't even know how to describe it," he complained bitterly with a dry laugh.
"Not knowing anything, and not knowing if you'll ever know anything again, but being really close to remembering something without ever improving, it's just so frustrating. Every day, something is almost there, but it never reaches me and it never goes away. I hate it," he clenched his fists, some angry tears he refused to shed forming in his eyes.
Monique looked at him for a long minute, pondering many different things. How anxiety might have played a role in Harry's psyche, how the memory loss might have affected his personality, and how he refused to cry in her presence since breaking down after the failed mental examination. She shook her thoughts away and focused.
"I want to show you something," she spoke gently. Harry wiped away the tears with his sleeves and nodded. They walked through the woods quietly, the only sounds coming from the occasional crack of a branch under their feet and the distant ruffling of leaves and feathers. After several minutes, she finally spoke again, not diverting her sight from the trees in front of them. "Do you remember what I told you about the forest here in Landes?"
"That there's a part of it that is magical. Are you taking me there?" He guessed.
"I am," she confirmed, pointing to a group of hills that made up a small crescent valley, something close to what an impact crater would look like. "We're close to one of those old preserved places, just over there."
They climbed a gentle incline. Over the crest, the landscape changed drastically. The inner part of the hills was much steeper than the outside, making a circular depression over which a person standing on the precipice could see clearly. From that vantage point, Harry saw the forest change, with plants of different sizes and shapes dotting his view. In one corner, a field of knee-high purple and violet flowers bobbed rhythmically from side to side under the shade of tall trees that looked like palms with yellow foliage and dangling triangular fruits instead of coconuts.
Over yonder, black trunks twisted over one another in a far less harmonious manner, competing for sunlight, looking like snakes coiling around someone's arms. From where Harry stood, colorful, dense vegetation hid much that the forest had to show, but he could still see a dirt trail in the cracks between the treetops leading towards a raised gazebo in the small valley's center, the fiery red vines growing around its frame contrasting with the muted brown color underneath.
Harry's surprise increased even further when a familiar trill rang through the air. His head swiveled to look for the sound, and his mouth opened. "Is that a phoenix?"
"Yes," Monique laughed, herself studying the firebird doing happy twirls across the sky. "Phoenix ashes are one of the ingredients Nicholas buys from me most often. I'm convinced that it's for the Philosopher's Stone, but every time I ask, he just fixes me with that damn enigmatic smile of his," she complained, putting one of her hands on her hip and sending the other flying up in annoyed dismay.
Harry was taken by the song and by the beauty of the forest below. Birds flew in circles and twittered around the trilling phoenix, almost like backup vocalists. A tiny monkey-like animal with golden fur and wide amber eyes that popped out of its small head shyly spied both humans, partially concealed by a nearby branch. Something close to a pronghorn but with taller, thinner legs and a much more slender body walked by them, turning its head to fit his disproportionate horns between the trunks. Harry watched the surreal wildlife with amazement, basking in how magical it looked in contrast to the monoculture of the maritime pine that otherwise surrounded Landes.
It was like the Champs d'Huon all over again.
"I can't give you any answers, Harry," Monique spoke, with a strange air of sadness and mourning around her, "but whenever you want to think or just be away from it all, you can go to the house before I leave for work, and I'll walk you here."
He nodded thankfully before sitting on the ground, hugging his legs to his chest and looking at the scenery. His mind was far away, but his eyes continued to examine the forest, greedily consuming its mystical tapestry of color and life. Monique stood guard over him, silently looking at the landscape below, feeling a tide of rising sadness that she tried her best to bottle up.
Time didn't seem to pass for the both of them as they stood there, but eventually, they felt the need to return. Robert was playing with Amèlie when they arrived.
"Where were you? Our daughter was all alone here! I couldn't leave for work before you arrived, or she'd be all alone!" He demanded, ignoring the boy trailing his wife. Amèlie dragged Harry to the garden, using her father's distraction to play with him.
"The woods," she explained in a meek, defeated tone. Robert, expecting angry defiance from his wife, immediately grew concerned. "The magical part."
"What's wrong?" He asked kindly, taking her hand with his own and rubbing it slowly. She closed her eyes and took a shaky breath, and he was surprised to see tears forming when she opened them. He guided her towards the sofa.
"Harry, he—" a surge of emotions cut her voice halfway through the sentence, and she sat down by Robert's side to calm down, trembling slightly. "He sat at the hills, looking at the forest, and he reminded me so much of Phillippe. And I can't—"
She couldn't finish the sentence, a sob forcing its way through and stopping her. She covered her face and suppressed a whine. Robert enveloped her with his arms, bringing her closer to him, trying to console her. He did not see the resemblance between Harry and Phillippe. All Robert could see was the necklace and the fire in which they had found the strange boy. But seeing Monique so distraught affected him deeply, and as he reassured her, Robert was appalled at the pang of sympathy he felt towards the boy he believed to be the harbinger of their destruction.