After Remus' well-intentioned intervention and odd if understandable misconceptions, Harry delighted in his shopping trip, just as he'd known that he would.
The outdoor market, hidden inside what looked like a solid and established brick Old Port b uilding, welcomed him into it with the riotous colours of many magical auras, glittering lightin an array of dazzling hues that would have blinded Harry's eyes six months ago. Now, the spellweave of the muggle-repellents and space-expanding charms interlaced with the cheerfully vibrant magic of enchanted advertisements, ever-clean shop windows, waving mannequins and more.
Some long-lasting enchanted held a lattice-like spellweave in the sky above the market, because that oppressive heat was milder and much more enjoyable here - maybe the rain would be lighter too. In this heat, at any rate, the throbbing tension in Harry's temples appreciated the runework.
Taking his first step into the bustling Marché Magique and eyeing up the ancient shops and temporary wooden stalls, Harry found the bright colours felt homey and comforting to him now, in contrast to the bland emptiness of muggle spaces he was once used to.
Then, after Remus charmed Harry's hair a sandy-coloured blond and let the notice-me-not spell fade away, Harry could step into the open market and take in more of the details.
The place still smelt like ocean breeze and old stone – fresh fish were for sale close to Harry's left as he entered, which seemed both odd and obvious to him, having not seen such a sight in Britain before – but the voices of cheerful shoppers filled the space and drifted upward into the open air in a manner that made it obvious this market was truly outside, not in a well-charmed building.
The joy of having a temporary goal and direction aside, Harry found himself digging into his mokeskin pouch for his camera a few steps later to take a cheeky handful of photographs despite everything: the boldly coloured stall sunshades, colourful potions ingredients growing rampant in pots and up the crooked colonnades, and merrily flapping flags that advertised confectioneries and patisseries and cafes were so terribly picturesque Harry simply had to take evidence back to Hermione and Neville.
He wasn't even too embarrassed when Remus, having lagged a few steps behind him, chuckled at the look of wide-eyed wonder on his face. Harry did, however, remember that he had come here for a reason beyond just tourism and took a mere few moments to orient himself and find the closest bookstore.
First things first, of course.
His feet fell on cobblestone with a long-missed rhythm of confidence, which would last maybe an hour if he dragged it out.
The first shop took a few minutes, but only because Harry bought a whole raft of Beauxbaton's textbooks with generous abandon. After a truly impressive pile of Bezants were handed over to pay, their little gold pile gleaming on the counter-top for a mere instant before being swept away, Remus' eyebrows recovered their usual position and the French books were pushed into the well-expanded bag that Harry had brought with him for this purchase.
Harry took a careful moment to get his accent as best as he could. "I am afraid of…missing out," he told the shopkeep in his very best French.
"English, hein?" the matronly woman eyed him, her surprise at his largesse shifting into a look of understanding and then mild approval. "'Ogwarts, is it? I suppose you could do worse."
It was much quicker to then post his few letters – Crow was refusing to take Harry's post at the moment, due to Harry's recent propensity for life-threatening encounters, so International Owl Post it was – most of which were to tell his friends that he was fine, of course he was fine, there was no need to worry.
Direction lapsing with the major chores done, Harry and Remus gave themselves a bit of time to browse.
There was no need to worry about Potter Spotters or remnant Death Eaters disguised as he was this far out of Britain, so Harry stopped twitching at the occasional glance from passing teenage witches relatively quickly.
The next few shopkeepers, and a few interested customers once they heard Harry's earnest attempts at French, all revealed themselves to be kindly amused with his faltering attempts at conversation but were willing to take their time to correct his pronunciation…and additionally suggested improvements to his posture, clothing choice and hairstyle in overly familiar but well-meant gestures that made Harry feel like he was some small, adorable animal in a petting zoo.
"It's not the poor child's fault he was born English," one grey-haired grandmother spoke over his shoulder while she fussed with his hair.
"At least he's making the effort now he can," someone replied back, simultaneously tugging Harry's robes straight, as far as he could tell.
Remus, the traitor, had somehow drifted away from Harry and was apparently entirely absorbed in browsing the basket of Niffler's Fancy an apothecary had displayed in his window, avoiding the critical discussion entirely.
Finally, having politely explained that he simply couldn't afford to buy even one French-style summer robe after his recent purchases, Harry escaped to join Remus in browsing – and finally buying – a pistachio and jasmine gelato that chilled his lips with a pleasant tingle and cooled Harry off even further. The whole experience was so generally pleasant that Harry didn't even mind when Remus cut their trip short to apparate him back to their beachside resort, and he could retain his good humour even when Sirius threw his retaliatory tantrum at them for sneaking out together.
The next few days were filled peacefully with sunbathing, reading, and studying or doing homework near the beach.
Accompanied constantly by Crow and Crookshanks together or alternatively, Harry finished off the last of his summer homework and went on to read his new French books while flopping around on a beach towel or lounging on his deck chair in the sun. He only interrupted his peaceful lazing around to pander to his godfather's occasionally energetic impulses: every time Sirius impulsively called, "Last one in the water is a slimy git!" "Five sickles I can get a blush from that pretty muggle girl!" or, "The wizard who wins 'best sand castle' gets to choose which bar we go to tonight!", Harry would slide his bookmark between the pages and drag himself up to join the chaos.
He got thrown into waist-deep water, taught to swim, practised French apologies for embarrassing relatives, built multistory sandcastles in the style of Hogwarts, and turned over in the sun to even out his tan every time his godfather insisted. The sunlit hours stretched out with no deadlines ahead of him.
When filling his time included pretending not to notice when Remus nicked his camera to take photos of Sirius throwing sand at him, or ignoring the flash just as Harry was splashed by a water balloon from nowhere…well. When Harry was back at school, Sirius would need the reminder of their good times together, wouldn't he?
…and while odd, it felt kind of nice to be making memories with family like this.
Then the aimless days passed just as fast as Harry had been afraid they would, and the very temporary private escape at Le Chateau du Soleil came to its inevitable conclusion far too soon. Harry's last afternoon at the wizarding resort seemed to arrive before he could blink.
Even just before sundown, the golden sun that was low in the sky was still hot and bright. The breeze was cheerful if intermittent, and the waters of the Gulf of Lion were a bright, brilliant blue that positively glittered in the light. Below where Harry lounged on his resort's wooden upper deck, a throng of tourists still sunbathed on white sand, their voices barely floating up to his ears when the wind was just right.
"I think," he stated clearly into the afternoon heat, "I feel a little bit odd."
"A 'little bit'?!" Sirius scoffed at him from a seat to his right. "It's bloody roasting, is what it is!"
As if the thought had stimulated him, Sirius promptly rolled up from the beach chair he was lounging in to fumble around for his wand – an ebony and dragon-heartstring thing that never failed to bring ease to his worry-lines – no doubt on a quest for a cooling charm; as he did so, his sweaty back detached from the surface it had stuck to with a slurp. Shirtless and clad only in pale linen shorts, Sirius' scars and prison tattoos were proudly on display and stood out starkly against his pale skin in the bright afternoon sun.
Harry ran his eyes over Sirius' figure while he fidgetted – he was growing a bit of a paunch but healthier than ever, nothing else new to report – before putting the thought from his mind. Instead, as his godfather fussed about in his search for comfort, Harry took advantage of the pause to stretch and shrug his shoulders carelessly. Then, with all the languid poise of a lazy teenager, he reached out to the floating tray on his left and grabbed hold of his ever-full goblet. It was sheer crystal, and held a sky-blue liquid that clinked with unmelting ice.
The condensation that had just begun to soften the little orange umbrella that wobbled near the rim chilled Harry's fingers as he grasped the thing and he felt the long icy sensation travel down his throat and into his chest with a sigh.
"I guess this is my last day of rest," he mused, and his godfather automatically scoffed so hard that he started to cough.
Meanwhile, Remus was lounging on his own reclined deck chair at the end of the trio a few feet away, looking significantly cooler than either of his companions despite his neatly buttoned turquoise Hawaiian shirt with yellow pineapples - borrowed from Sirius, of course - because of his position in the shade. Looking oddly refreshed, Remus wore the garish thing with surprising style, pulling the bright colours off easily and shamelessly; the book was apparently so good that he'd forgotten what he was wearing.
Remus raised his eyes at the noise, dragging his gaze away from the red hardcover that lay open on his raised knees.
"Now, now, Harry. There's no need to rub your point in; Sirius never wanted only a few days with you before you leave."
"What he said," Sirius recovered to jab a finger Remus' way.
"But," Remus continued benignly, his passivity born from years of Sirius' drama, or so Harry had begun to assume. "Padfoot, I don't think you actually heard Harry's previous point, so it wouldn't hurt to pay him a little more attention either. Either way, if you're uncomfortable, move back under the umbrella."
"Can't," Sirius told Remus shortly. "I need to sit here in the sun so I can get a tan; the bloody British stand out here like little white lighthouses. It's frankly embarrassing."
"I don't think burning is the way to go," Remus mumbled, then paused to raise his head from the to glance over Sirius to the teenage wizard. "Harry? Join me where it's cooler? Crookshanks?"
The great orange kneazle sunbathing by Harry's feet didn't even twitch, so Remus' eyes turned to Harry, who exhaled the cool air that had come with drinking his chilly blue drink, even as he popped it back on the tray to return to his new first-year text, Manuel de Métamorphose à l'Usage des Débutants and the French dictionary by his hip. "Maybe later, I guess? I told Kreacher I'd spend lots of time in the sun while I was away, so I'd better keep my promise."
"Evil little gremlin."
"Now, Sirius—"
Harry's grin was wry. "C'mon, you know I like him. And you can't deny he's done great things to have our Secret Sanctuary looking so fantastic. And he was brilliant last term, in the Tournament."
Sirius grumbled. "Still can't believe you didn't involve me in that. You're too bloody independent for your own good, Crowley, and that nutty house elf enables you."
Harry's own leather-bound textbook dropped three inches so Harry could peer over its edge. "You, Sirius? Complaining about both hair-brained schemes and avoiding adult supervision? You hypocrite, you!"
"Point to Harry," Remus muttered absently, having returned to his reading and already deep in the throes of its charms.
"Oh, shush you."
Harry waited a beat before picking up his book again and finding the line he'd been on, tongue stuck out in concentration. Sirius rolled over to sprawl on his front. Crookshanks' ears twitched in the sticky heat.
The deck settled down into quiet rest again, with only the regular wash of waves, distant chatter of foreign tourists, and the occasional scritch of a turning page to break the stillness.
"I still can't believe you are studying. In French," Sirius broke the peaceful silence sometime later as he drained the last dregs of his bubbly purple cocktail and slammed the glass down onto his armrest so the enchanted ice cubes rattled.
The intense blue of the Marseille afternoon was barely beginning to shift into the pale blushing colours of early evening and the crowds on the beach below them were beginning to thin. Their drinks had been refilled, a generous platter of snacks and fruit now hovered next to Sirius as the only floating tray, and the shadows of the wooden railing were beginning to lengthen on their sea-facing deck.
At some point, Crow had returned from his afternoon flight and was now perched near Harry's shoulder as he lay on his back.
"Let's talk about your 'camp'," Harry's godfather continued, causing Harry to raise his eyes warily and Remus to close his book with a barely heard rasp. Crookshanks' ears twitched where he still lay, apparently sleeping.
"My quidditch training camp?" Harry clarified, hiding a sigh behind a long blink of his eyes and the book still held up before his face. "I…be my guest, I suppose."
"I'm still in two minds about it," his godfather warned, index finger pointed rudely at Harry's forehead. "Your father would be delighted that your talent's been recognised, but I still think it's sacrilege to work so hard in your holidays."
On Sirius' left, after taking a long moment to drag himself into a slouched upright sit, the other wizard sighed. "We've talked about this, Padfoot."
"I've half a mind to owl away now and cancel the whole thing," Sirius continued.
"Harry leaves tomorrow morning."
"I know, but still. It's not too late yet, and I won't even miss the money."
Harry bit his lip.
Remus bit back something probably scathing. "Sirius..."
Taking a moment to gather his breath and sink a tad deeper into what was now his habitual occlumency practice, Harry also closed his book and crisply placed it on the floor at his side, neatly on top of the well-used dictionary and well out of the way.
"No, no. If Sirius feels this way, I think we should talk it out now," the boy wizard finally offered. "I'd rather not have this conversation in front of my guide tomorrow morning. Let's hear what you have to say."
"Thank you," Sirius said, the aristocratic arrogance of the Black family seeping through his usual lazy posture. "It's unhealthy to be working so hard all the time, Harry. I'm not happy with how you seem to be pushing yourself in your break. I think you should cancel this foreign practice thing of yours and spend a month focusing on more rest, relaxation and insistent idleness. I'm thinking of locking your books away too, the better for the proper attitude development."
"…What?"
On either side of him, Harry and Remus exchanged a silent glance. The afternoon seemed to shift into evening all of a sudden, the sun having found a few streaky clouds just above the horizon to inch behind. Perhaps there was a wind shift, or the colours of the sky were beginning to shift from that cloudless, brilliant blue to the dazzling oranges and pinks of evening.
Sirius didn't notice. Harry had the horrible feeling that the wizard was about to slide into one of his increasingly rare but disturbing emotional outbursts and carefully moved his goblet of fresh juice out from between them to join his books on his other side.
Remus spoke carefully. "I would like to remind you that Harry has been looking forward to this for months and months, Sirius."
Harry nodded. "Mr Lloyd-Elliot and the McGonagall have been working hard, preparing everything for this for ages," he added quickly, the words slipping easily off his tongue.
"Never mind them," Sirius dismissed, one hand waving their words away. "I've been rereading some of the old letters that I had Madam Pomfrey send me while you were still in the Hospital Wing, Harry, and—"
"Things have changed since then," Remus cautiously interrupted, eyes on Sirius' face.
Harry dismissed his words with a shrug. "Who cares about that? That was all ages ago."
"She's been very concerned about your stability," Sirius continued inexorably. "I'm finding it difficult to believe that these 'coaches' and 'observers' at camp will be able to keep a proper eye on your wellbeing."
After another awkward pause, Remus looked away from Harry's minute shrug and told Sirius with forced cheerfulness, "It's very responsible of you to worry about that, but…Actually, Harry was just telling me this morning – weren't you, Harry? – that one of his biggest concerns now is a lack of direction in his future. I've been thinking about it, and I think this Quidditch camp is a real opportunity for Harry to make some connecti—"
"We've no idea how reliable any of their supposed 'supervision' will be," Sirius continued a bit louder. Harry acknowledged his one-track mind with a sinking in his chest and a tightening, clenching of his jaw.
"Well," Remus pursed his lips, "even including the annual pro-club trials, this Quidditch camp is the premier spot that professional scouts draw their future members from."
"And remember all that research I had Mr Lloyd-Elliot send you?" Harry added. "Other sources agree it's all legitimate, safe and effective training."
Unfortunately, from the look of Sirius' increasing frown lines and the slow rising of his shoulders, Sirius was not convinced.
Remus paused long enough for Harry to swallow before tentatively offering, "If it's Harry's health you're concerned about, they do claim to have six fully trained Healers on site."
"Six!" Sirius scoffed.
"Way more than Hogwarts," Harry added helpfully.
"But," Sirius continued, his voice rising further, "instead of fourteen teenagers playing at once and a bunch of teachers watching, there'll be over a hundred in the air, almost all day every day. Playing faster and harder than Harry ever has. Who can guarantee Harry will get the attention he needs?"
"Hullo, you magnificent beast," he added, as Crookshanks rose at the sound of his voice to pad from Harry's feet to wander towards Sirius' chair. "It's your attitude that Harry should adopt, don't you think?"
"I'm fine now," Harry reminded the world. Again. "And if I slept as much as Crookshanks, there'd be something wrong with me."
The ever-patient Remus resettled his body as the air temperature seemed to drop a half-degree, and let his voice soften into an understanding tone. "You both have very good points, of course, but do remember that Madam Pomfrey did let Harry leave the Hospital Wing and clear him for all holiday activities. I think we should encourage him in this, Padfoot. This could help him move on from the trauma of his confrontation."
Harry nodded rapidly. "…Oh, yeah. The trauma's been rough. Got to sweat it all out, you know?"
The shadows were deeper now on Sirius face as his lips pursed tightly and he shook his head, even as he scooted down in his chair so his trailing hand could reach out to tickle Crookshanks' head. "Look. It's all very well for a normal kid – young adult, whatever – to go to one of these training digs, and I'm sure I'm all very proud of Crowley and all, but the fact remains I not—argh! Gods. Ergh."
A blur of bright fur leapt from the deck floor and onto Sirius' reclined chest. Though silent, Harry thought he could feel the whump as Crookshanks landed on Sirius' rib cage.
"Gerroff! My nipple, my beautiful nipple!"
Harry's next words, already formed on the tip of his tongue, faded away under the distinct image of Sirius' torso spouting a huge, fuzzy orange monster demanding everyone's complete attention.
"That's m—meep!" Hands fluttering like a trapped bird's wings, Sirius' voice cracked, skipping up an octave for an instant while Remus and Harry took a beat to interpret the sudden sight.
Harry's eyes widened, dry. "…Crookshanks?"
Crookshanks appeared to be stepping firmly all over Sirius' chest. There might have been the faintest hint of claws?
From behind Harry, the forgotten Crow barked out a raucous bird laugh that had Harry also twitching before the black crow exploded into a loud fluttering and winged his way over to Sirius' snack platter, adding insult to apparent injury as he proceeded to steal food from it in a rapidly efficient manner. Unfortunately for Sirius, this seemed to inspire Crookshanks to step harder on the delicate…squished nipple…in question, or so Harry assumed from the further tone change in Sirius' already pained snivels.
"I don't think Crookshanks is very happy with you," Remus remarked idly and at Sirius' wide eyes and wheezed scoff, the better-clothed man visibly decided against interfering. "Bet you wish you were wearing a shirt now," the wizard added.
"Shurrup! Ngargh!"
Harry also remained watching, his mouth open, as Crookshanks finished turning treading on Sirius' bare chest and, satisfied with the message he'd sent, leapt back off the wizard and onto the floor with a flick of his mighty tail. He stalked back to his place at Harry's bare ankles to headbutt them fondly, his proud purr reminiscent of Uncle Vernon's lawnmower.
"He folded my nipple over!" Sirius squeaked out, his hands still fluttering at his chest as if to put out a fire while his knees were pressed tightly together to…Ah, Harry realised. To protect the only target that might have pained Sirius more. "And then squished it! His claws were out!"
Harry caught that both he and Remus winced in sympathy at the same time, and then the wind seemed to pick up again and that strange, frozen moment passed.
His attention was drawn to Sirius' panting gasps and unmanly whimpers as his injured right nipple apparently returned too slowly to its natural shape.
"I suppose his message got through though," Remus spoke with a wry look.
"Well," Sirius huffed, although his voice was much softer now than it had been, "regardless of anyone else's opinions, I am Harry's godfa—ah." He looked away from Harry at the heavy sound of Crookshanks' tail whacking the wooden deck once, and appeared to reconsider. "It has occurred to me that perhaps I've been a bit too intense about this. Harry is a mature kid, after all. Knows his own body well."
"…True," Remus agreed, his eyes flicking between Sirius' still twitching form and the spot where Crookshanks was now enthusiastically licking at Harry's bare calf, his yellow cat-eyes nevertheless still fixed on Sirius' body.
There was a lull, in which Harry remembered to listen to the slow whoosh of gentle waves on the sandy beach, before Sirius forced two short, stiff chortles out from between his thin lips.
"Haha, just trying to be the one to think of all the angles here," he managed. "Not like I'm an authoritarian or anything."
This time, his bark of harsh laughter had the ring of truth. "Gods, if I'm not the least authoritarian wizard you've all met, I'll eat my hat. I mean, I'm still your godfather though kid, right? Need to do my parenting duties and all that, just checking that you're staying safe and not pushing any limits…"
"Sirius. It was a forty-minute apparition and involved ice cream," Remus warned.
"Which is why I won't bring it up again," Sirius agreed graciously with a flick of his fingers. "I've just been obliged to worry about this camp. Last chance to change your mind…no?"
Harry shook his head.
"Fine, fine, this old man will accept his loss with, um. Not pride nor dignity, I s'pose. But Harry," he continued, his crooked grin fading as his voice grew serious. The image was undermined by the fact that one hand still wafted air towards the injured nipple that Crookshanks had pinched. "The letter you gave me says they're picking you up bright and early tomorrow. I think, just before seven?"
"…Yes?"
"Are you packed?"
Harry blinked. Any tension that remained drained away at the incredibly normal, parental question and Harry took a moment to appreciate the unexpected familial interaction.
Something in the wind shifted, salt wafting to his face, and the scent of distant sunblock and the rattling sound of the resort kitchen opening jolted Harry out of his thoughts.
"Ah. Yes. Of course, always."
It wasn't like he'd been living out of his trunk for four years or anything. Had anyone apart from Hermione and Mrs Weasley that one time ever asked him that?
"Huh." Sirius licked his lips, his warmth filling something in the bottom of Harry's chest. "Spoken to the kitchen about when you need breakfast?"
"Yeah."
"Good, good. Got your broom too? It's all up-do-date on servicing and whatnot?"
This time, Harry's eyebrows rose and he let himself indulge in the…was it spoiling, that Sirius was doing to him now? Spoiling him with care and concern? "I haven't actually. I should do that tonight. My lateral control twigs have been a bit messy for a few months, and I should probably trim the ends of my hazel bristles." He paused. "You know, the ones for fine handling and control."
"With that, you'll be the best flyer at camp. Get multiple offers from all sorts of teams, I'm sure," Sirius beamed.
Over Sirius' right shoulder, Remus also relaxed as the fragile atmosphere settled into something solid. "Good idea, Padfoot. Harry, you should do that before the light goes."
"Yeah, I will."
Sirius' finger rose again. "But not now."
"What?"
"Before you get up and run off," Sirius continued, looking pleased with himself now that he'd done something mature and godfatherly, "I just want to know about the most important instruction they included in this letter and what you're going to do about it. Your wand. Are you going to leave it behind?"
Harry swore. "I forgot about that."
"With your memory?" Remus asked, eyebrow rising quizzically even as he tried to follow this shift in conversation. "Forgot what."
"Blame other goings on," Harry muttered. "Bloody hell. Um."
He squeezed his eyes closed in thought. The sound of Crow scarfing back grapes was distractingly loud.
"I'm not following," Remus offered after a pause. "What's all this then?" He stared between Harry and Sirius while they both scowled and, reading their body language aright, quickly closed and placed aside his book with a quiet crisp snap. "Harry?"
Still scowling, Harry patted himself down for non-existent pockets before remembering, "It's all in…Damn it, I've left the letter back in my room. Basically, the camp wants us to leave our wands behind so we can focus entirely on quidditch. They also claim it's a safety thing, something about keeping the new talents hidden away from…I dunno, professional team fans or something? I didn't get that part."
"It's so you can't give the camp position away," Sirius added helpfully, at the same time Remus let slip a swear word. "No communication in or out. Yeah. Which just goes to show, that perhaps we should cancel Harry's camp after all, hm?"
At his place at Harry's heel, Crookshanks twitched his ears forward and stopped his rough tongue rasping against Harry's salty-encrusted calf to level a yellow-eyed glare at Sirius, who looked away in an almost natural manner.
"I'm just saying. I don't like the idea of you being unarmed, Crowley. Not just after your big showdown, and Death Eaters and sympathisers still being loose and all."
The afternoon sky was shifting rapidly towards true evening now, tending to soft light as opposed to the hot glare of the day, but still nevertheless revealed the shell-shocked look on Remus' lined face. "But, leaving your wand behind? No one ever leaves their wand behind!"
"Oh, right." Harry remembered that wizards and witches shared wands only in the rarest of times, and that leaving your own wand behind, therefore was probably also a never-done thing. Kept in within arms reach all the time, and whatnot.
Sirius grimaced. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and bet that most quidditch wannabes have living parents at home to leave their wands with."
Family would presumably be the only natural exception to that rule, Harry realised, the logic developing rapidly. Not that he would known that from his own experiences or anything.
I bet they have actual homes with long-term bedrooms to store things in too, Harry managed not to say. Perhaps those with parents never needed others to touch their wands at all.
"I mean, it is a camp for underage wizards..." he offered hopefully.
"Well—" Sirius began heatedly before abruptly deflating from his shoulders. "Most teenagers aren't Harry Potter and haven't just publicly fought a Dark Lord with still-living supporters. Maybe that's fine for normal kids, but…I really don't like the idea of you alone, away from us, and unarmed, kiddo."
It was with a languid grace that Remus leant forward in his seat and templed his fingers before his mouth in thought. "I don't suppose we could sneak your wand in, could we? Enchant your holster somehow? I suppose they'll check the trunks, even ones as magnificent as yours."
"I've also got my pouch," Harry added, patting the mokeskin where it still hung just above his breastbone.
"They'll be some kind of way to check," Sirius snorted. "Even a truth spell or enchanted trinket. Harry wouldn't be the only one to think of that. Up your game, Moony."
"Point," Remus acknowledged.
"Besides," Sirius added, glancing back at Harry with a dry roll of his eyes, "since you're so bloody keen to go to this, despite your holiday and whatever, are you really willing to risk losing your spot by being caught flouting the rules like that?"
"I…That's fair."
Crow, who had been sitting on the snack platter, still sneaking grapes from Sirius' food stash, decided that the conversation was well in hand and took off with another loud flutter of wings, secure in the knowledge that Crookshanks remained to supervise Harry as the light faded further towards dusk.
It left one dozing kneazle and three wizards sitting and pondering in focused thought.
"I could—" Fidelius it, Harry began to offer and then realised with a jolt: damn. I've got the Elder Wand too! He wasn't giving that up to just anybody.
Which left two wands he needed to sneak in, and if the camp used a trinket to search for wands, he might be fine, but if it used a truth spell…then Harry was the wand's Secret Keeper, which meant he might still be caught out, which meant…
"Damn. Bollocks. Grrghf." The intensity in his words grew stronger.
Deeply focused, Harry took a moment to switch from chewing at his lower lip to gnawing softly on the nail of his thumb.
"We could argue," he finally tried, shaping the words carefully in his mouth, "that since I can do 'wandless magic' and all…it wouldn't make a difference if I took my wand?"
"…Hrm," Remus looked interested.
"Nah." It was Sirius of all people who shot that idea down. "If they have anyone like Minnie McGonagall there - bless her soul - they'll argue that that's even more reason to leave your wand behind. You'd be 'discouraged from wandless magic' or some such rubbish, but 'held to the same standards as other magi with regards to your wand anyway'. I can already see it."
"Damn."
The trio sat in silence again, worry lines deepening on their foreheads. None of them were happy about Harry being unarmed, the adults because they were worrywarts, but Harry knew how frequently he'd needed to defend himself these past few years and…
Going unarmed was a terrible idea.
"Bring Kreacher over from Britain, or Dobby from Germany? They can deliver things to me after I've passed whatever checks the camp has?"
"But the camps are in a secret location for a reason," Sirius refuted. "And while your elfs should be able to find you, we don't know what wards will be up, or how far they'll have to travel, and who knows what they'll have set up for unwanted visitors bouncing off wards."
Damn didn't seem enough this time so Harry kept silent.
"Although…going back to your previous point, Harry…that does make me think…" Remus finally sat up, spine straight and a burgeoning light of inspiration in his eyes. "Wandless magic, you said. The whole concept is fascinating if you actually look into it. Wands, magic, you know what I mean. If a wizard…The most basic concept, of course, is that a witch or wizard's well of power is not a stagnant force, but–"
"We know this, Moony," Sirius interrupted. "Mother Magic; Will, Wand and Word, et cetera, et cetera."
"Let me finish," Remus tried again. "You've seen – Harry, maybe in your early schooling? – those experiments that adults do? Science 'games' to get children interested in the physical rules that govern the world? Muggles call them physics and biology and chemistry these days?"
The conversation skewed sideways.
"What," Harry blanked.
"Those telly shows for children," Remus appeared to be picking up steam. "Oh, I'm sure you've seen them. Some muggle teacher in a white coat and glasses with special, exciting flasks and science things to play with in order to show children how exciting the world really is. Ah, light, gravity…um…let me think…mass…chemical reactions…"
Harry was forced out of his funk by Remus' dedication to enthusiastic teaching. He tried to remember, but…his memories of muggle primary school were a long time ago and he hadn't done 'science' in…er, too long, anyway. "You're talking about, like…those…shapes, triang—prisms. Prisms that break white light up? Ah, to make rainbows?"
"That type of thing," Remus nodded. "Do you ever recall seeing those muggle children's tricks – don't laugh, Sirius. Daytime television is never the best, and there's always a long wait at the unemployment office – seeing the trick of two containers with liquid at different levels? And without the muggles doing anything except place the straw, liquid can travel up a straw on its own between containers?"
Harry had a vague feeling that someone had once shown him something similar to that. He hadn't been very interested at the time. Who cared that liquid could sometimes travel up straws? In primary school, a lot of Harry's water had come out of the garden hose, and that had been good enough for him at the time.
"Never heard of it," Sirius pronounced.
"Not you, Padfoot. Harry?"
Harry forced his fabulous memory backwards, but…these were very unimportant memories from years and years ago…
Remus' eyes were wide and excited as they stared through Harry. "Maybe the straw was more of a see-through pipe, so you could see the liquid rising. Come on, Harry. You must have seen this. Does this ring any bells for you at all?"
"Water experiments? The liquid…they made it bright colours?" Harry remembered haphazardly. "Red, blue, yellow? And they mix to make, like, green?"
"Brilliant! That's the version I saw too," Remus nodded, excessively excited. "Anyway. Think of your magic like that. There's your well of magic inside you, and it needs to go outside you. So you pick up your wand – the connecting 'straw', in this metaphor – and connect the two 'containers' – which are 'you' and the 'world', just to clarify, and poof," his fingers mimed an explosion. "Magic streams through your wand and into the world as effect and affect."
"…Okay?"
Sirius pursed his lips. "Small container: wizard. Big container: world. Straw is wand. Got it."
"Close enough, now shush. Wandless magic," Remus continued, his eyes alight with scholarly passion. "I mean, I've only thought about this myself, so it's not an academically accepted illustration, but wandless magic means that, get this, Harry…There is no straw."
There was silence for a bit as Sirius and Harry contemplated Remus' description. The distant sounds of holidaying muggles and the growing noises of chatter and clinking in the resort kitchen travelled to their ears in snatches, finally interrupted by Sirius taking a long, sigh and leaning back to grab something from his snack tray, fingers searching.
"There is no straw," Harry repeated.
"Precisely!"
The sound of Crow's wings flapping as he passed overhead travelled to a baffled Harry's ears.
"So…" Harry spoke, Sirius' action spurring him into a response. "While most magic moves from me to the outside world through my wand, with wandless magic…the 'liquid' – magic – travels from one container to the other…without the wand?"
"Precisely."
Well obviously. So there was something Harry wasn't getting.
"So…how does it move? If there's no connection between 'containers'. And what does this have to do with my Quidditch camp?"
He noticed Sirius and Remus share a quick look at that, but considering that half the world was now convinced of his wandless prowess, Harry figured he should know this.
Sirius sat upright. "Ooh, I know! You're the Wandless Wonder, Crowley!"
"Precisely!" Remus' eyes glinted. "You are the connection," Remus' hands darted throw the air, probably trying to express the two containers and straw he'd just described. It just looked like polite hand-wiggling to Harry though. "No, no, stay with me. Consider, perhaps, that the first container, the one where the liquid starts, from which your magic comes, had had to try very hard to slowly change its shape over time and – pay attention Sirius – grow its own 'straw'."
"Okay? That sounds…"
"Impossible, right? Incredibly difficult to do. Imagine a witch or wizard literally changing the – let's switch our metaphors, literally transforming the riverbanks and gulleys that carry their magic flow through sheer dogmatic stubbornness. It's like imaging a wand that does not exist and then creating its effects anyway."
"So," Sirius gave the metaphor a try, "it's like a real wand because the magic works, but not real because…it's all in your head?"
"Yes!" Remus grinned. "Well. No, not at all like that I don't think, but that's good enough for now. See, most wizards can manage a bare moment or two of wandless magic – a tiny, familiar spell, perhaps – before the focus in their mind burns out. Lumos, wingardium leviosa, et cetera. But in this case, we're positing that you've created a long-term straw that's connected to – made within? – your actual container that allows powerful, long-lasting magical conduction."
"That's quite incredible," Harry's eyebrows shot up. "I always assumed it was just a matter of practice that most wizards don't think is worthwhile. Extra will, for example."
"It's more like a reforging of self," Remus sat up, intently. "Requiring both power and practice. Transforming the whole way you work is definitely more trouble than most wizards can fathom."
"Okay?" Harry hazarded. "So?"
"What he said." Sirius leant away from Remus' earnestness, distracted by chasing down the chocolate-covered peanuts on his tray of snacks that Crow hadn't guzzled.
"I'm suggesting," Remus continued patiently, "that we explain that Harry's wandless magic, evidenced by his You-Kn—oh, alright –prowess in defeating Voldemort, shows that Harry has changed as a 'container'. And that he needs his wand to control his magical outbursts."
It had potential, but…
"Claiming I'm doing accidental magic at my age?"
"He haff a poin'," Sirius mumbled, chocolate now coating his teeth. "You'rr doo shome."
"What?"
"You're due some."
Harry's brows rose sceptically. "I'm due for some accidental magic? At…" he calculated quickly, "fifteen-ish?"
"As Sirius so rightly points out, you inherited foreign magic about this time last year," Remus clarified, "and you've just survived Voldemort's 'gauntlet' and a mysterious blood ritual, which is legitimately challenging your magical control. For Quidditch camp, we'll just tell the Quidditch camp that you're even more sensitive and need the real straw back to cope."
"That makes a surprising amount of sense," Harry admitted.
"Moony does that," Sirius interrupted proudly. "A lot of plans come together because of him."
"Okay," Harry clapped his hands, head spinning with dizzying relief now that his worry was gone. "Let's do that then. We'll tell them tomorrow morning that I need my wand for health reasons."
He stood up to go and finally trim his broomstick and escape from the random strangeness of the evening's conversation.
"Er, I didn't ask before Sirius, but are you actually feeling alright? Was your, uh, nipple sunburnt? Did Crookshanks actually hurt you?"
"Nah, he's fine," Remus dismissed. "He's been through far worse. This is nothing to that nipple-twisting hex that Tabitha Swinton put him through back in fourth-year, and she wasn't even the worst of them. If Crookshanks was a pretty witch he would have enjoyed it."
"Ah, she was a good girl, that Tabitha," Sirius grinned fondly.
"…I don't want to know." Harry walked towards the door to their suite, the deck warm against his bare feet.
Three footsteps later, Harry stopped.
"Is it," Harry paused. His short-lived weightlessness at resolving the wand problem disappeared slightly at a new thought. "Is it likely to actually happen? Accidental magic?"
"Well." Not having moved himself, Remus' head wobbled left and right for a few moments as he sat still in the pink glow of evening light. "That's partly what we've been worried about this week, you see? We just don't know."
"You're unprecedented," Sirius explained, then forced a grin. "And you thought being the Wandless-Wonder-Who-Lived was bad."
"Oh blimey," Harry clenched his fists. "They're not calling me that, are they?"
"Not yet," Sirius performed disappointment, shoulders hunched. "But every day's a new day! And who knows, maybe you'll accidentally set fire to a bludger or something at camp! Something exciting is bound to come up around you soon."
Harry swore. "And here I was thinking you were overprotective."
Sirius recoiled. "For shame, Crowley!"
"I know, I know."