Chapter 6: A Trip Upstream

Garonne River, France, September 1st, 1936

The inside of the Beauxbatons ship was disappointingly mundane, running far closer to the subdued normalcy of Landes than the raucous atmosphere of the Champs d'Huon.

A large part of the student corps was speaking Spanish, and they were significantly more subdued than their French-speaking counterparts. Most of them looked any combination of grim, mournful, scared, and tense. Some of them looked relieved to the point of actual tears, and Harry suddenly remembered there was a civil war going on in Spain.

He looked for a window seat, wanting a nice view of the river. After finding an unoccupied row and securing his place, he struggled to fit his belongings in the overhead compartment. Laughter emerged from behind him, and his burden was lifted instantly, to the great relief of his rapidly tiring arms.

"Let me help you with that," a handsome older teenager greeted him with a smile, a wand pointed at his luggage, serenely conducting it to its place.

"Thank you," Harry responded with a thankful grin. The boy smiled further, nodded, and walked away with his friends. From his seat, Harry began people-watching.

There were so many students entering the boat that he briefly feared that there wouldn't be enough seats for all of them. Some students wore pins with their national flag on their lapels, some looked timorous and hesitant in the middle of the growing noise, and some added discreet trinkets, embroideries, and other small touches to their uniforms in acts of quiet rebellion.

His observation was interrupted by a shaky, hesitant cough. When he turned his head to see where it came from, he saw a shaky, hesitant smile to match. A boy who seemed to be about his age was looking at him, clutching a leather satchel in front of his body like it was a shield. He stood with a slightly hunched back, deep tension lines in the forehead, and a way about his posture that made him seem ready to jump back at any second. Most telling of how nervous he felt were his brown eyes, which darted around Harry but had difficulty finding a comfortable place to rest. A tremulous voice completed the package as he pointed to the seat next to the one where Harry sat.

"D-do you mind I sit here?" He asked meekly.

"Feel free," Harry said. The boy nodded thankfully before sitting down quickly, as though there was a queue of people behind him ravenously staring at his seat. He fumbled with the satchel for a bit before resting it on his lap, the books inside threatening to burst out.

"My name is Pierre Beson," the nervous boy introduced himself by offering a quaking hand. Harry took it. "I am new to this."

"I'm a new student too."

"No, no, no," the boy rushed out, each word ringing faster and more urgently than the previous. "I'm new to all of this," he waved at the rest of the ship. Then he spoke in a whisper. "I am new to magic."

"Oh, so your parents aren't wizards?"

"They aren't," Pierre confirmed, though the nonchalance with which Harry seemed to take the information seemed to disappoint the boy slightly. He considered Harry for a moment before commenting. "Are your parents wizards?"

"They were."

"What do you mean, 'were'?" He asked, confused. A specter of fear flashed in his eyes. "Do people lose their magic when they get old?"

Harry, who was growing a bit frustrated with the line of inquiry, made the acid comment before thinking about it. "Only when they die."

Pierre's face grew fainter and redder at the same time, as he sputtered. Harry blanched slightly, regretting the comment. Before Harry could apologize, Pierre opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, but words did not come out, just a guttural, low-pitched, and mortified sound.

"I-I am s-so, so sorry," Pierre insisted, after finally regaining his speech. Harry, unprepared to see the boy spiral out of control, took the chance to calm him down.

"It's fine. You couldn't have known," he spoke, as soothingly as possible. "Let's start again, okay? I'm Harry Potter."

"I am Pierre Beson," the other boy reintroduced himself with a smile that quickly morphed into a grimace. "B-but of course, you knew that already."

Harry nodded carefully, failing to think of something that wouldn't set the boy's anxiety off.

"Your name… are you English?" Pierre asked after a while, with a curious inflection. Harry couldn't help but grin sardonically. Everyone seemed to ask that question to him.

"I am."

"I thought there was a school in Britain," Pierre frowned, confused. "I read something about that."

"There is, but my guardian is French, so I live nearby here, in a place called Landes," Harry explained. There was no need to volunteer his situation to a stranger. "Are you excited about school?"

As though Harry's question was a spell, Pierre's anxiety vanished. His smile became wide and earnest, his posture straightened, and those lines of tension that dotted his expression disappeared, leaving behind just ecstasy.

"Of course!" He exclaimed, filled to the brim with joy. "It's magic! Literal magic! I've dreamed of magic all my life, and I'm going to learn it! Actual magic," he laughed delightedly. "I still find it hard to believe, but look at that!" He pointed to a student who was lazily guiding his suitcases with twirls of his wand. "Real magic! It's like I'm still dreaming, sometimes. I woke up every day since that visit thinking it was all a dream."

His last words were spoken in almost hypnotic wonderment, in a deeply infatuated tone. Harry couldn't help but be slightly more excited about the school himself, after hearing Pierre speak. Before they could continue talking, two people approached.

The first was a girl their age with smooth black hair that tumbled down her shoulders messily, as though the strands were folding over one another in competition to see which would grow the longest. She was thin, but with a round, childish face, atop which sat a pair of softly angled eyebrows. However, her most striking feature was her eyes, which shone brightly violet. Beyond the unusual color, they seem to swirl like a mysterious potion being stirred in a cauldron, brightening and deepening in unpredictable half-turns. It made for a captivating sight, and Harry thought those eyes would only fit comfortably in a witch's or wizard's face. Her voice cut him off from staring for too much longer.

"Can I sit between you two?" She asked in a clear voice that carried an ocean of frustration. Pierre seemed terrified by their sudden arrival, his energetic spike in enthusiasm completely gone. She carried on with an explanation before Harry could agree or disagree, nodding towards the boy wearing a devious grin standing next to her. "I need to stay away from this idiot."

The aforementioned idiot just laughed. He was tanned, short, and stocky, about as close to cylindrical as someone could get at their age without being fat. He had the makings of a naturally large man about him, with a similar frame to a much younger Robert Tessier. His eyes were also brown but dulled and muddy, which stood in stark contrast to the friendly face full of freckles that seemed to be made for laughter and revelry.

"C'mon, Violet!" He called to her, a wicked grin erasing all the benevolence and friendliness his face afforded him. "We're friends."

"You're a pest, is what you are," she snapped back, which encouraged him to grin ever wider.

"Are you sure?" He asked languidly. "What would our parents say about that language?"

"My name is not Violet!" She glared heatedly at him before turning back to Harry with almost placid exasperation. "Do you mind?"

"Feel free," he shrugged. She sat down, turning her body towards the window to ignore her companion, who took the seat next to the still-petrified Pierre.

"My name is Claire," she introduced herself at the same time her friend cried out "Violet!"

"Harry," he nodded before pointing to Pierre, who was so still he could pass for a statue. "And that is Pierre."

"Hello," he said in a high-pitched voice. Claire looked at him with a frown, confused by his nervousness, before nodding slowly and turning back to Harry.

"And I am Alexander, the Great," the boy sitting on the far side of Pierre claimed with a beaming smile. Claire rolled her eyes and turned herself even further towards the window. Harry saw some dejection in Alexander for a beat before the other boy took notice of his staring and lightened up, dragging Pierre into a tentative conversation.

"You're lucky to get a window seat. You'll get a nice view," Claire told Harry.

He glanced out of the window. For now, he could see some industrial parts of Bordeaux, with that busy port on the horizon. "I hope so. You can switch with me later if you want."

"No, it's fine," she dismissed it. "I can always go to the galleries."

"Oh, so that's why they're there."

"You didn't know?" She asked, surprised. "The boat ride is famous. A lot of people stop on the riverside to see it go by. They like the porpoises."

"Porpoises? You mean like dolphins?"

"Yeah," she nodded, looking at him curiously. "So you don't know. Are you a Muggleborn?"

"No," Harry shook his head. "Just never heard of them."

"Well, I'll keep it a surprise," she smiled playfully, and he grinned back. Then she sunk her head back into her seat and sighed in a tired, almost self-indulgent way, as if the act could erase some of her exhaustion. "I wish I could just take the Floo to Bagnères."

"Aren't you excited about the dolphins?"

"Porpoises," she corrected him with her eyes closed before opening them into a half-lidded gaze. "I've seen them before. If it were up to me, I would take the Floo and be done with this trip. I could still be in bed."

Harry noted that it was already noon, but didn't comment on it. "Why didn't you?"

"Because it's not up to me," she grumbled. "My parents don't care, but they were away on business, so I spent the week at Alexander's house, and his parents insisted on us riding the boat."

"The older students seem happy to be here," Harry shrugged.

"Well, if I'm here, I might as well see how the trip looks from the inside," Claire then looked at a nearby group of jeering teenagers and frowned slightly. "The students are louder than I thought they would be."

"If you want to sleep, I can wake you up when the boat starts the trip," he proposed, noticing how tired she looked, but she shook her head.

"We're leaving soon," she pointed out before taking a look at an old, damaged pocket watch. Her eyebrows arched up in surprise. "Actually, we're leaving right now."

After she made that statement, a man dressed in an immaculate, well-tailored suit covered by a knee-length open robe entered through a door at the very front of the deck. He had a trimmed mustache with its edges curled slightly upwards, as well as a patch of white hairs forming a fuller goatee on his chin. The students fell silent the moment he entered. Some conversations lingered in hushed whispers, but those too died down when faced with the man's warning glares. When the entire hall fell silent, the man began speaking.

"Welcome to another year at Beauxbatons. While we are not in Bagnères yet, let alone within the chateau, you are still wearing the school uniform. Therefore, we expect you all to behave according to the dignity afforded to all students from our fine institution," his voice was calm but weighed with meaning and importance.

"What does that even mean?" Claire whispered. Harry shrugged, not knowing the answer himself.

"Refrain from using magic while we are in the vicinity of Bordeaux, and don't allow any pets to exit this deck to wander about outside," the man instructed them with poorly hidden annoyance. "I will not go to the French government to explain to them that we need to alter the memories of hundreds of sailors again because someone," he threw a glare at a group of students who flinched, "decided to conjure a fireworks display just so their owl could fly through it."

Harry snorted, trying to imagine that. He wasn't the only one, as soft laughing began to ring across the boat before dying under the man's stern gaze.

"To those of you who do not know me, I am Professor Blanchard, though very few of you will ever attend classes with me. More information will be provided once we arrive at Bagnères, but for now, all you must know is that I am the representative of the school through this voyage up the Garonne." He smiled, his teeth so straight and white that they seemed artificial. "It's a great privilege. Please enjoy yourselves. If any of you encounter any trouble on the trip, I will be in my office," he pointed at the door through which he had entered.

Before turning away, he raised a single finger, and keeping a keen eye on his watch, he spoke. "The trip should begin… now!"

On cue, the boat jolted forwards with a tumble, as that massive wheel propelled it against the stream. Blanchard looked immensely pleased with himself and smiled before leaving behind that door.

An obedient silence lasted for a few seconds before a student whooped happily, with others soon joining in. A few hats were thrown up in celebration, including Alexander's. Harry and Claire witnessed the whole thing in bewilderment while Pierre clasped his hat hesitantly, pondering if he should throw it. It stayed in his hands.

Harry turned his face to watch the window and watched Bordeaux float by.

The ship gained traction in the following hours, going much faster than Harry thought possible with only that sternwheel powering it, but he still wished it was speedier. It still took hours for them to reach their first stop, a small town called Lamagistère. There was nothing notable about that first leg of the trip other than the occasional outline of a village on the riverbed, which never failed to make the students halt their conversations to stare for a few seconds.

Alexander managed to talk the entire time, burning through Pierre's willingness to withstand his ceaseless extroversion. Harry tried to join in the conversation to help the nervous Muggleborn on a few occasions, but Alexander ignored him faultlessly each time.

"What is up with you today?" Claire demanded once she noticed it. Alexander grumbled a wordless excuse. "I asked you a question, Alex."

The nickname pleased the boy, but he refused to give a straight answer. "It's nothing, Violet."

Frustrated, Claire set her jaw and turned her back to Alexander, facing the window and pretending to be enraptured by the view outside, despite being right in the middle of a never-ending ocean of vineyards in the French countryside.

A brief, sorry sadness passed through Alexander's face before he found cause to continue his siege of Pierre's attention. Harry silently sent an apology to the latter and also looked away.

Claire began to doze off to the gentle lulling of the ship. With his only conversation partner asleep, and with nothing but vineyards to look at, Harry turned the other way, overhearing a conversation between Pierre and Alexander.

"So, are you nervous, or are you excited about school? I don't get it anymore." Alexander asked, with a mildly bored voice. "You're a confusing fellow."

"I don't want to fail," Pierre mumbled as he wrung his hands, picking at a scratch wound near the cuticle of his thumb with his middle finger. "I don't want to be a bad student or a weak wizard. I want to be like Professor Blanchard said, a student worthy of the dignity of Beauxbatons."

The last words were spoken in an alien tone, more a recital of the professor's cadence than Pierre's own. Alexander responded to the solemn confession with a snort.

"Lots like you never have to worry about failing at school," he spoke with such confidence and disbelief that the backhanded compliment brought some comfort to Pierre.

After a few more minutes, Blanchard announced that food would be served shortly and asked that everyone return to their seats. Soon after, silver plates with several small portions began descending into their laps.

As Harry bit into it, he couldn't help but miss the food at Landes. The Tessiers would always eat heartily and carried a fondness for homemade cooking, while Angèlique brought recipes from all around the world to her home.

"Cooking is travel for the sedentary," she liked to say whenever she presented Harry with an exotic new option for dinner.

He could tell the food was prepared with care, but it was gone before he felt even half-satiated, and he could only imagine himself gnawing at a chicken thigh.

After feeding themselves, students began leaving their seats. As Harry went to join them, taking care to not wake up Claire, who had fallen asleep immediately after beginning her digestion, he crossed paths with Auguste, whose face lit up.

"How are you liking the trip so far, Harry?" He asked genially.

"It's nothing very exciting," Harry shrugged abashedly, trying not to spoil Auguste's good mood with his response. To his surprise, Auguste laughed in a rapid, raspy burst.

"This first part is always boring," he agreed before offering a secretive smile. "But when we start getting to the mountains, it gets pretty memorable. It's almost like flying a broom, sometimes."

Knowing how much reverence Auguste put into Quidditch, Harry immediately felt more receptive to the rest of the trip. "I look forward to it, then."

"Good lad," Auguste nodded pleasurably before asking something offhandedly. "When we get to Bagnères, tell me who you got as a monitor, yeah?"

Harry agreed despite not knowing what he was talking about, and the older boy went on his way. Seeing from the corner of his eye that Pierre was busying himself with one of the many books in his satchel to avoid talking with Alexander, Harry decided to do the same and picked up a random book from his selection and walked to the nearest gallery, enjoying the tender breeze and the gentle smell of nearby trees.

"That's a good idea," someone commented after they left a town named Valcabrère. Harry was startled, looking around him to find who spoke. It was an older student, a teenager with an adult's face, with slight stubble, and calm, unpreoccupied black eyes. The student seemed amused at having surprised Harry, who had been fairly immersed in his book. "Mind if I steal it?"

Harry wondered what he was on about until he noticed he was pointing at the book in his hands. "Ergh, feel free?" He asked more than he stated. The older boy lazily raised his wand and summoned a book.

Harry looked around, alarmed. In that section of the trip, the Garonne had narrowed from a navigable river to barely more than a wide stream, and the boat was thinning and widening with magic to fit into it. There were houses strewn about the borders of the river that were close enough to them that they could see into the windows whenever they passed by. The first signs of the Pyrenees appeared on the horizon, with tall green mountains flanking them on both sides. "Is it a good idea to use magic now? We're close to land here."

"Well, a summoning charm is mostly harmless," the older boy shrugged indifferently. "Muggles generally find ways to explain away things they don't expect to see to fit their expectations. If they saw me summoning a book, they'd think someone had just thrown it to me from out of their view. Professor Blanchard worries too much."

"If you say so," Harry said, not believing him. Before he could turn his attention back to his book, the teenager addressed him again.

"What's your name?"

"Harry Potter," he responded. The older boy just nodded ponderously. "And you are?" He asked into the ensuing silence.

"Sorry, I get distracted by my thoughts rather easily," he smiled apologetically. "My name is William Thibault. I saw you talking with Auguste earlier. Are you from Landes too?"

"I live there, yes."

"Interesting," he mumbled before smiling politely. "Welcome to Beauxbatons, then. It's your first year, right?" He added the last question as an afterthought.

"It is."

"Ah, great. Usually, it's easy to know when someone is in their first year. They have this look when they're taking it all in. Even those from magical families can't help it," he then stopped to stare at Harry closely, like a detective looking for clues. "But you seem to be at ease. I wonder why?"

Harry didn't respond, feeling uncomfortable by the inquiry.

"Sorry, I get lost in my thoughts," William repeated himself with a smile, though his curiosity hadn't vanished. "Again, good luck on Beauxbatons, Harry."

That strange interaction ended, as William turned to his book. Not wanting to be in his presence, Harry was about to go back to his seat when he stumbled on Claire, whose bleary-eyed look gave away that she had woken up from a long nap.

"Alexander's got your seat," she told him, bracing herself over the bars of the gallery to look at the incoming mountains.

"Of course he did," Harry sighed.

"I told him that he shouldn't," she frowned. "That if he wanted a good view, he could just go to one of the galleries. But he didn't listen, and then he started pestering me."

"Well, I don't care that much about the seat. I can look at the view from here, anyway."

She nodded, distracted by the mountains. The Garonne began to slowly rise, but the boat, which was comically oversized at this point compared to the river beneath it, kept traveling upwards.

They drifted from the Garonne into another river, and a few minutes later, an announcement was made by Blanchard, and the students inside the boats began to leave their seats to go to the galleries, forcing Claire and Harry against the bars and themselves.

By the time they had made their final stop on the outskirts of a town called Bagnères-de-Luchon, it seemed like the entire student body was in the galleries. The boat found its way to a man-made lake of sorts. It stopped for a moment, then this piercingly loud whistle came from somewhere on the ship's bridge, dazing Harry. Claire, on the other hand, gushed happily.

"They're coming," she said, shaking Harry's shoulder.

"What's coming?"

"The porpoises!"

"I thought you weren't excited about them?"

"Shut up and watch," she told him.

A gurgling sound rippled through the water below them, and the students were divided between excited whispers and shushing. Someone cried over the silence.

"Wave at them!"

Harry hadn't noticed, but small groups of younger children were watching the boat in awe, with their parents standing behind them. Harry remembered Claire saying that she had already seen the porpoises and wondered if she had been there in previous years, a violet-eyed chubby toddler staring at the older students making their way to school. Alongside most of his gallery, he took his hat off and waved it at the children, who waved back at them excitedly.

Then, the porpoises appeared, and everyone's focus shifted to them. They showed up in pairs at first, but soon dozens circled the boat. Every time one of them emerged, someone would cry out in celebration.

After about five minutes, there were hundreds of them swimming so closely together that they looked like a rope. Another whistle echoed in the valley, and the students shifted in anticipation.

"HOLD TIGHTLY," Blanchard bellowed. Instinctively, Harry clutched the metal rail guards in front of him. He was about to ask why they should hold on when the boat rocked with enough force that he would have fallen to the floor if Claire hadn't stopped him. She helped him right himself, and he grabbed the rail with much more vigor. Then, another rocking motion, and his knuckles went white with the effort.

"What the—" His question was cut off by a wordless scream as the boat, creaking with the effort, suddenly started to lift itself from the ground. Harry looked down and couldn't do anything more than gape at the sight of the porpoises swimming through the air, carrying the entire boat on their backs. "What?" He finally asked, in total disbelief.

Claire laughed, yelling happily and still waving her hat to the children below, all of whom watched the boat fly with wonder written on their faces.

"This is so much better from inside the ship," she laughed again, her violet eyes glinting in the afternoon light.

Harry couldn't deny the sentiment. He laughed too, taken by the view and the wind blowing through his hair, as the flying porpoises took the boat to the skies. He felt that magical spark of madness again as they swerved around the mountaintops toward the heart of the Pyrenees. The sights, already picturesque from the Garonne valley, turned into unimaginable wonder. From the skies, the grass and trees made green the only color as far as the eye could see, except for the reflective blue of the many beautiful, pristine lakes.

"In January, this is all snow," Claire told him. The clouds began to obscure some of their views, but that only added to the excitement for the moment when they would part, revealing another memorable landscape, another hidden little village, another mountain. "We're getting close to Bagnères, I think."

They cleared a cluster of lakes and traveled between an imposing pair of peaks. The students began to chant a song Harry did not recognize. Then, the boat began to float downwards gently, and Harry finally saw a city on the margins of a large circular lake, protected by the shade of a large, solitary mountain, with snow still on its summit. The city was cut in half by a large boulevard that led from the lakeside towards a magnificent palace surrounded by gardens.

"Welcome back to Beauxbatons," William yelled over the noise of the song, and the students stopped to cheer and clap. Harry clapped with them, his eyes still fixed on the palace which would be his school for the foreseeable future.

Bagnères, near Massif du Néouvielle, France, September 1st, 1936

The afternoon was in its dying embers when they landed on the lake and the students finally left the viewing gallery to go back to their seats and get their baggage. Harry was certain that for many dozens—if not hundreds—of miles, the people and their villages were preparing to retire for the evening. But Bagnères was an exception to that rule.

The city around Beauxbatons was lit up like a warm bonfire, welcoming and excited to receive the students that were its beating heart. Shopkeepers of all sorts, human or otherwise, stood by that boulevard, peering over one another to look at the boat, the porpoises, and most of all, the students.

When he returned, Alexandre threw him a smug look for having taken his seat which quickly turned sour when he saw that Claire was standing next to him. After some difficulty retrieving his things, with yet another older student helping him out, Harry looked around to figure out what to do. Pierre arrived a little bit later, with an ecstatic smile.

"That was fantastic!" Pierre said, putting a heavy emphasis on the last word. Harry couldn't help but smile.

"It was," he agreed.

"I was so shocked when the dolphins—"

"Porpoises," Claire corrected absently as she checked her bags.

"When the porpoises took off," he beamed. "I almost fell to the ground."

"Harry did fall, but he fell on me," she responded with a small teasing grin. Alexandre frowned irritably but looked away when Claire glanced at him.

"I don't blame you," Pierre said dreamily. "What a sight!"

"Right, don't space out too much," Harry laughed, patting him on the arm. "Get your things, we should be out soon."

"Oh, right!" He replied, stumbling over himself with the response, glancing around and seeing that everyone already had their baggage in hand. He panicked a bit to get his things but managed to do so without any help. Harry hoped he wouldn't give in to his anxiety too much at school.

A few minutes of waiting passed by until Blanchard finally addressed them. "First years, wait in the boat, please. Everyone else, feel free to disembark and wait around the dock. Don't go to Beauxbatons Academy yet."

The older students soon left, and some younger students that had taken the Floo to Bagnères boarded the ship to join their fellow First-Years. After every new student was on-board, Blanchard waved everyone closer and produced a piece of parchment and a quill. "I'll call your names and tell you a number. When you leave the boat, you'll see some senior students carrying plaques with numbers inscribed in them. The person carrying your number is to be your monitor. They'll explain to you what that means."

Naming the first years went quickly. Alexander's surname was Fournier, and he left the boat with a happy step after waiving goodbye to them all, even Harry.

"Claire Tuechievre," Blanchard called out, and some hushed whispering began spreading across the ship. The girl beside him stepped up confidently, with an angry look on her expression that seemed only to heighten the small commotion. "Be quiet!" The Professor barked, enjoying the silence that followed with a small nod before addressing Claire quietly.

Harry wondered what the reaction was all about, but didn't think it wise to ask with Blanchard eyeing them like a hawk. Most students that followed were either French or Spanish, with the odd Dutch or Italian student thrown in, and a few that Harry couldn't place.

"Harry Potter," Blanchard's voice sounded. Some students frowned at his name, wondering what an English boy was doing there with them. Harry ignored their staring as best he could, though he was mindful of them. As he had done with every student, Blanchard spoke the number in a private, almost secretive tone. "You're with group 7." Then, he stopped Harry from leaving immediately with a light touch of the arm and whispered. "Good luck."

Harry wondered if the man knew about his amnesia and couldn't help but feel embittered by it. He stepped out of the ship and looked for his monitor.