AN: New chapter! I don't know if you guys know, but I actually have these chapters already written down. I write chapters for Contrails in my English class every Monday, it's just a matter of typing them all down and posting them on here. This chapter is dedicated to EagleHawk for waiting so patiently for this chapter.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
XxX
Less than a week later, the ship which contained our trio docked in the sea side port of La Rochelle in the French province Poitou-Charentes. The boat ride had been less than thrilling; on the first night Harry almost jumped ship just to get away from the constant rocking motion. Hermione had to chastise him more than once while she herself was a little green around the gills.
The sights and sounds of the town were a welcomed change. All around there were both things that were the same as in London and those that were new. Clichéd couples ran at each other after not seeing the other for who knows how long.
A charlatan stood off to the side selling fake items to the idiots who actually stopped to look at him. Different voices rang out in the air, French mixed with English, as well as several other languages.
The later afternoon sun sank over the gentle waves in the west. After mapping out various Inns and easy looking shop keepers, the trio had to look for an open lot or old abandoned house. This night however, as the moon slowly got higher into the sky, Ron, who was leading the little gang, turned a little to fast and ran right into a patrolling watchman.
Falling upon their fear of all forms of higher, and in this case, better armed opponent, the three circumvented their way from the sudden brush with the law.
Farther in the outskirts of the town, the trio collapsed against a crumbling wall in a quiet alleyway. Crooks, fed up with all the running, crawled out from under Hermione's hat and into Harry's thin arms.
The boy held the tiny cat like he was some great clandestine, like at any moment the ginger cat would vanish, and with him would follow everything that they had brought with them. Slowly, one after another, each teenager drifted into a dreamless sleep there in the alleyway on their first warm night in France.