In a dank basement in Paris and well stocked with wine danced twelve beautiful women in two straight lines.
Ramona could not believe she'd never done a line dance before. Especially seeing as, according to her brand new Parisian friends, it was all the rage in American discos these days. Her eyes followed the hips of the girl in front of her as she tried to replicate the movement precisely. Yes, she probably looked like an idiot in between all of the tall, willowy French girls with their daring smiles and crooked, come hither fingers but….The music was loud, the air was thick, and Ramona was having the time of her life.
LONDON HEATHROW AIRPORT, 18 HOURS EARLIER
"There are so many ways that this can go wrong." Kate Hannagan muttered to herself as she struggled both to keep up with her traveling companion and tow her bags through the heavy crowds of the London Heathrow airport. Ahead of her, Ramona Dursley was practically floating through the swarms of people, her single olive green duffle slung across her breast as if it weighed nothing, the morning sun catching her blonde hair just so. Kate huffed and tugged roughly at her rolling suitcase in order to get it around a rather ill placed table and chairs. Why was it that after 19+ hours of travel, two layovers and a turbulence-laden flight across the Atlantic Ramona Dursley looked like she belonged on a travel brochure? Kate herself was in desperate need of a shower and a change of clothes. Standing in the customs line had made her painfully aware of how disgusting she looked.
"Hey Ramona can we just pause for a minute?" Kate called ahead.
"Katie we need to hurry or else I'll miss my train!" Ramona glanced over her shoulder. "And besides, that boy is probably waiting for you already. Well, me, I mean."
Together the girls passed through the security checkpoint and into the baggage claim area.
"Just one minute Ramona. I just need one minute of your undivided attention."
Perhaps it was Kate's tone, or the way her hair was frizzing, or maybe it was the wrinkled state of her attire that gave her companion pause. Ramona stopped in front of a miraculously unoccupied bench and turned to face her dearest friend.
Beautiful, wild Ramona looked exactly at home in the hustle and bustle of the airport. She looked like a world traveler, the heroine of an indy drama, the subject of an instagram account dedicated to bohemian chicks and sightseeing. It was, perhaps, the most infuriating sight Kate had ever seen and she wanted nothing more than to grab Ramona Dursley by the arms and shake her until she understood just exactly what happened to young, attractive, girls traveling alone in foreign countries. But as she looked at her closest friend she came to the conclusion that there was nothing she could do to stop what was about to take place. There wasn't a force strong enough in the world to blow Ramona off course. Kate had had a speech prepared, had worked it over in her head on the flight over, but now all of those perfectly rehearsed words were gone. So instead of attempting to reason with her, Kate instead chose to play responsible yet supportive.
"Ramona I want you to promise me that you will text at least once. I want you to promise me that you absolutely will not go to anyone's apartment and that you will not split a cab with anyone ever. Be so careful. Please."
Ramona smiled softly and tugged on Kate's ponytail, "I promise."
"And swear to me that you will not drink anything that you did not open yourself."
"Yes."
"And for the love of god, do not walk into ill lit spaces alone—"
"I solemnly swear that I will not die in Paris."
Kate felt her eyes roll despite the wide smile that was beginning to spread across her cheeks. She pushed lightly at Ramona's shoulder. "I love you, Mona Lisa."
"I love you too Katie." Ramona's hands fiddled with the strap of her duffle. She had maybe another 10 minutes before she had to be on the train platform. Something was going to go wrong. She could feel it. "Just remember, please. Remember everything we talked about." Kate nodded, "There should be a guy here to pick you up. He's going to drive you to a house on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole and—"
Kate sighed and interrupted, knowing that Ramona would be devastated if she missed her train. "—I know, I know, alright? Catch a ride to Ottery St. Catchpole, make my presence known, and then ride home with my brother, who already has a near approximation of the address at which he is to pick me up. And above all else don't even think—"
"Don't even think of setting foot in the house. And no matter what, don't let anyone tell you the secret. If they even start to talk about family business or funny stuff or oddities or anything—"
"I shut them down." Kate once again rolled her eyes, "I know. I know. And I promise that I will only talk about the most boring topics ever during the car ride."
Ramona's smile returned full force. "How on earth did I get so lucky?"
"Don't be a sap, you've got a train to catch." Kate pulled her dearest friend into an embrace, "There are adventures to be had and cities to conquer."
"And there's a rather boring looking guy holding a rather exciting looking sign with my name on it staring directly at us," Kate could feel Ramona's wicked grin despite still being wrapped up in her arms. "Go get 'em tiger." She whispered, and then she was gone.
Sarah sighed. It was just like Ramona June Dursley to make life as exciting as possible. This poor family had no idea what they were in for.
PAIRIS, PRESENT
Ramona couldn't help but laugh as a burley man swept her off of her feet and in a wide circle. She had never in her life felt so out of control, so alive. All around her people were dancing, laughing. This was not the sweaty grinding that dominated school dances back in Montana, this was lightness, this was joy, this was art.
What she would give to have Katie see her now, in the midst of all these strangers, sweating and breathless and completely at the mercy of the music!
Actually it was probably best that Katie wasn't present to witness the arm snaked around her waist, the tickle of breath on the back of her neck, bodies pressed in to hers on all sides. Best not to worry her.
ABOARD A EUROSTAR TRAIN,16 HOURS EARLIER
If there was one thing Ramona prided herself on, it was that she knew how to dress for any occasion. That was the thought running through her mind as she clutched the sink of the minuscule bathroom during a particularly turbulent turn. Around her the train gave a light shudder and then righted itself, instantly returning to the website advertised "smooth, peaceful travel". Thank goodness.
Her relief was reflected back to her in the form of a single large, if a bit dingy, mirror that dominated the wall above the sink. Ramona gave herself one final inspection as she struggled with the soap dispenser and faucet. The costume change from International-traveler to reveler in the City of Lights was a subtle one, but she was confident that she had pulled it off. Gone was the button down, collared shirt that tucked sensibly into her skirt; in its place was a black tank top. The long, red, bohemian skirt remained, but sandals replaced hiking boots. Makeup that was impractical for a lengthy flight was applied, and hair was released from its utilitarian bun. It was, Ramona reflected as she tussled with what was supposed to be a hand dryer but was obviously now a useless wall fixture, all rather dramatic: the costume change and journey by train to Paris.
Unauthorized journey by train to Paris.
Ramona almost felt guilty about that part. The fact that she should be with her family and not on a train was eating at the back of her mind. She knew that Arthur was excited to meet the magical Potter family, and logically she knew that her parents would do everything that they could to protect him and Wes and Hilly, to keep them all safe, happy and comfortable but still… Worst possible scenarios were whizzing through her head. Scenarios in which Cousin Harry found justification to take Arty away from them, whisk him away from his muggle family and their bad influence. Scenarios in which Arthur was taught that his muggle family were bad, that they were wrong, that they didn't love him and couldn't understand him. Scenarios that would never happen but which she couldn't help but worry about. Dudley and Sarah Dursley would do their best, but when it came down to it, both of them would be trying to smooth things over with the Potter family, and would avoid stirring up trouble.
Stirring up trouble was, on the other hand, Ramona Dursley's specialty.
She held her gaze with the mirror for a moment more and then shook her head as though to clear away unwanted worries. Tonight was not about stirring up trouble, and it was not about old family feuds. It was about having fun, exploring Paris, the city of life, city of love, city of possibilities. With that she exited the bathroom and picked her way back to her seat, now more mindful of the sticky sections of aisle floor than she had been in her hiking boots.
There was now, Ramona realized upon approach, a trio of what appeared to be university students occupying the set of seats she had previously had to herself. She considered, briefly, finding a different, unoccupied space and abandoning the water bottle she had left behind to guard her chair. But that was not adventurous, and therefore not in the spirit of what she was attempting to do. Ramona squared her shoulders and thought brave thoughts.
"Bonjour,"
The trio of students barely shifted in their seats to eye her. Their joking halted and for a moment it appeared that they intended to freeze her out. Then one of the men smiled "Bonjour!" and gestured to her original chair, now empty save for a sad water bottle.
Ramona tried to keep her smile from being awkward and took the seat "Je m'appelle Ramona," she said, and then took a swig of water. She didn't know enough French to tell them that she'd been sitting here before, but she thought that drinking assuredly from the water bottle that she'd left behind would show them that this was, in fact, her seat and that she wasn't being intentionally creepy.
"Je m'appelle Claude, il est Henry, et elle est Magdalene," Claude pointed each out in turn. Henry and Magdalene line each gave a little wave.
"Comment allez-vous?" Ramona responded. She was running through her minuscule French vocabulary rather fast, and soon there would be nothing more she could say.
Claude's eyebrows came together in brief confusion and then he smiled. "Non, non." He shook his head. "Ca vas?" He smiled and gestured to himself and his companions, a sort of circular 'all of us are together' that included her.
"Ah" Ramona nodded, understanding his meaning. Informal. Got it. "Ca vas?"
It was the girl, Magdalene that responded this time "Ca vas bien, et toi?"
"Tres bien" Ramona nodded. And that was the end of her conversational French.
Her new traveling companions seemed to realize this almost immediately. "You are English, then?" Claude said, his own English almost comically nasally.
Ramona shook her head, relieved that she wasn't about to spend the next half hour in painfully awkward silence. "American."
"Ah," Claude nodded, "Your accent is very good. Almost unnoticeable."
"Thanks, I think."
"An American taking the train from London to Paris. What do you plan on doing in the city?" Magdalene leaned forward, her elbows propped on dainty knees, her chin positioned on knuckles just so, her eyebrows artfully cocked.
Ramona gave a half shrug, " I have no definite plans. I just want to see the city. Get a feel for it."
"You want to see the museums, you mean." Henry spoke up for the first time, rather darkly. "The Louvre, The National Modern, The Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame."
"Yes, museums would be nice," Ramona admitted. She recognized that she was on thin ice in this conversation, with Henry at least, "but really I just want to know the people. The life." Please let them see that I'm trying not to be just another tourist. I already failed at speaking French, just give me this.
Henry's eyebrows lifted and Claude continued to smile, but it was the lovely Magdalene who responded first, beaming triumphantly. "It is good that you sat with us then, because we are the people. We are the life. And tonight, we will take you with us!"
And with that, Ramona's destiny was instantly changed, and her fate was sealed.
At least that's what she liked to imagine.
PAIRIS, PRESENT
The basement nightclub was stuffy, the air just on the verge of being suffocating, but it was all Ramona could do to pull herself out of the crowd and away from the dance floor. She had long since lost track of Claude, Magdalene, and Henry but that was, she mused, the way of things.
The four of them had chatted for the remainder of the train ride, and they ate a late dinner together and saw a terribly dubbed action film afterward. Magdalene had practically dragged Ramona to the club afterwards, but two hours into the music and the haze and the trio was nowhere to be seen. Ramona wasn't too cut by this departure though, she had very little in common with the university students and they had been polite enough not to ditch her directly after dinner, after all. She couldn't begrudge them their own lives and plans.
After dancing for so long though, even Ramona had to admit she needed a bit of a break. 'Just a short rest,' she promised the people around her, 'and then I'll be back.' 'Non, non, stay!' Was the phrase repeated, but they let her go anyway and in an instant the hole where she used to be was filled and the dancing continued seamlessly. Ramona shook her head and chuckled lightly to herself before elbowing her way up a very crowded staircase and through the foyer to the front door. The way the nightclub was set up it almost resembled a house party, with no waiting line or bouncer with an access list and so Ramona felt no qualms about walking out the door and into the warm spring night with it's clear, clean air. The man behind the bag check counter gave her a wink as she passed and she winked back, knowing that he was taking good care of her duffle, or at least if he wasn't, that there wasn't much worth stealing inside of it.
The darkness outside the club was a different kind of darkness than inside it and, like a moth to flame, Ramona found herself drawn into the halo of a street lamp just ten paces away from the stoop. A voice inside her head that sounded an awful lot like Katie gave a squeak of protest, but Ramona silenced this internal cry almost immediately. This was Paris, the real Paris, and it was worth it to walk ten paces away from a seedy nightclub to stand under a Parisian street lamp just for the experience. Something giddy rose through her and, as she often had in the past, the feeling overtook Ramona. She lifted her arms, face and palms upward, and spun in a circle, stumbling clumsily at the end. Down the street she heard a few titters and a giggle, but she didn't care. This was the feeling that Ramona had been searching for, and here, under the streetlight, she felt at home.
"Need a smoke there, Tiny Dancer?" a voice called out from the darkness. It was a man, his accent English, his face obscured, but his presence very corporeal.
Ramona leaned against the lamppost, her smile still spread wide over her cheeks despite the man's intrusion into her own private heaven. "No thanks. It's a nasty habit."
"Ummm," the man grunted, and out of the night she saw the end of a cigarette ignite. "An American in Paris, then."
"A bit more rare than an Englishman in Paris, I suppose,"
"Yes well, they haven't made that film yet, have they?" The man chuckled to himself and wandered closer into the light, and at last he was completely visible. "Wouldn't be half as interesting, I imagine. I've been told we're perceived as a dry and ill-humored bunch." He smirked and his brown eyes sparkled in the glow of artificial lighting.
Ramona felt a tingling in her toes. This wasn't just a stranger, this was a boy. A very attractive boy, perhaps just on the edge of being a man. Talking to her under a Parisian streetlight, of all people and places. The details of his face were hard to pin down, but his long, slightly bent nose carved a deep shadow over his cheekbones and his jaw threw sharp definition over his neck and collar. The stubble on his chin may have been a sandy brown but the hair on his head was a loud blue green and Ramona found herself instantly in love with the idea of this boy. Turqoise. That's what the hair was, she realized, and then moments later she remembered that she was staring, and that he had actually said something quite funny. Think, you idiot! Her brain screamed, For god's sake respond so that he doesn't think you're an imbecile! But nothing was coming, and so instead she smiled, and lounged against the lamppost, and secretly mourned the loss of this boy's interest, even if he wasn't quite gone yet.
But instead of leaving, the boy did something wholly unexpected, something shocking. He held out a hand, large and lightly callused, well kept fingernails attached to long fingers and "Would you care to dance?"
His words derailed an already struggling chain of thoughts and for a moment Ramona was too shocked to respond, too shocked to move, too shocked to even pinch herself and – "I'd love to."
She took his hand, and they returned to the basement nightclub in the old house in Paris, well stocked with wine.