Harry Potter: How I Met Your Mother
The Right Resort, The Right People

DISCLAIMER: JK Rowling created Harry Potter, its plot, and its surroundings. The world of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, Wizarding World, and Warner Brothers. I don't own them. I do claim possession of my original characters, both the ones in Slytherin House and elsewhere.

This story has no relationship whatsoever to the How I Met Your Mother television show.

This story was written for my own amusement, not for profit. If you are enjoying this work of fiction, please write and post a review.

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I think I told you that my family took a trip to Nice the summer before my sixth year and that we stayed at a Muggle hotel in the Muggle part of the city. I make no bones about it that Grandda Uther and Grandmother Cora chose the where as well as the when we would enjoy our beachside holiday. And looking back, I see no reason why I should regret my parents' choice. If Nice wasn't as lively as Cannes or some of the other French cities along the Mediterranean, it was exciting enough and I'm glad we went there.

Not that we ignored the wizarding resorts along the coast: we simply didn't spend much time in them. My parents and I dropped in, looked around, then left, unless Da was meeting a seller there or he and Mum were meeting some friend or other.

To be fair, the wizarding resorts were worth a look. Back when I was a lad they had street musicians, jugglers, acrobats, and performers that my family found highly entertaining. They still have those, although I've heard tell that because of the increase of wizarding folk carrying Muggle-style electronic camera, the authorities have pressured the street performers to cut back on flashier displays of magic. The wizarding resorts also have nice restaurants, cozy hotels, and pleasant open spaces well-suited to couples in love or simply for strolling. Several of the wizarding resorts also possess pleasant promenades with fine views of the sea, and those are worth visiting, and more than once.

The problem with the wizarding resorts is that while the seaside is very pleasant, the waters are highly dangerous. The first wizards and witches to build seaside resorts were forced to build or relocate their resorts to the less-desirable parts of the French and Italian coastlines, the parts not only off the main roads or tracks but also prone to dangerous undertows and rip-currents. You could stroll near the sea, you could enjoy the sea breezes, you could enjoy the vistas, but you didn't dare swim in it for risk of drowning. Some people did anyway, and every year there were reports in the wizarding press about some unfortunate or other who ignored the warnings imploring them to stay on dry land and were swept away by the dangerous currents.

Which didn't mean that they weren't used by wizarding folk. Quite the contrary, many wizarding families made it a point to visit and stay at wizarding resorts along the Riviera: some to use them as retreats for summers, some because their families had visited for years, others to see them the way that Muggles flock to historic sites on the continent, and others to see and be seen. The majority of the latter were from older, more established wizarding families and would-be social climbers either seeking to join them or seeking to be seen with them. If you stayed at one of those resorts for any length of time you were presumed to be somebody.

In spite of the cachet of staying at wizarding resorts, I didn't like them that much. The dangerous waters were the main reason I fell out of love with them when I was younger, but I found more reasons as I grew older and became more aware of the society I'd grown up in. Most of the reasons had to do with Wizarding history and the aftermath of the tumultuous Twentieth Century. To me, they this air of melancholic nostalgia, a aura of sadness, that their better days were behind them and that they were fated for eventual ruin.

The wizarding resorts were largely built in the early Nineteenth century and became quite popular after the Muggle Napoleonic wars. They were new then and fashionable, and wizards and witches from all over the continent came to visit: some to party, some to relax, some to use them as a base for visiting other sights in the area. Your mother told me that the latter part of this era was called the Belle Epoque.

Their decline began with the rise of Gellert Grindelwald after the First Great Muggle War. The resorts were the targets of two of Grindelwald's terror attacks and more cautious wizarding folk began to decide to take their holidays someplace safer.

But it wasn't the terror attacks that hurt them, it was a combination of the effects of both the Second Great Muggle War and the Wizarding War. The former amplified the hazards of visiting the resorts first through the occupation of the area by the Nazis, then by the destruction and chaos caused by the Allied invasion of southern France in 1944.

But what really hurt them were the losses caused by the Grindelwald War itself. The Grindelwald War killed tens of thousands of wizards and witches. Many of them, not simply those of Grindelwald's followers but also those who followed the light, were the young and idealistic: the ones of childbearing age. The effects were still being felt decades later. While many of the resorts had been repaired and repainted, there was still an atmosphere of sadness, of loss, of mourning for days gone by. Many of the resorts' patrons were either those traditionalists who wanted as little contact with Muggles as possible or the aged wizards and witches who still remembered their glory days.

Their decline didn't stop me from visiting or from wandering around. If I didn't feel like swimming or strolling, the resorts were good for people-watching and for taking notes as to which restaurants I might want to visit later when I had a little more coinage to spare.

The one disadvantage of people-watching is that while you can see who is about and is either seated or ambulatory, you also risk being seen. And so it was that I was spotted by one of Clotilde de Verre's entourage. It took me a moment to recognize her: Pasiphae Stitch, a girl Sorted into Slytherin in my year who later left Hogwarts and then enrolled in one of the smaller schools. I'd wondered what happened to her.

"Oh, look, Camilla!" she exclaimed. "There's that lost puppy who's been following you around! I thought you gave him the boot!"

Both Camilla and I gave her dirty looks.

"Some people don't learn," Camilla replied.

"Actually some people do," I replied. "I've moved on."

"Then what are you doing here, then?" said Pasiphae.

"Seeing the sights, then returning to my lodgings," I replied.

"Seeing where your betters live?" said Clotilde. "It's not like your lot could afford to stay here."

For some reason or other, Miss de Verre's comment had gotten to me. I decided to sit on it.

I was on the verge of turning and walking away from the gaggle of young hags when another voice cut in.

"So Clotilde, who is this?" said an older woman. I turned and saw that it was an older witch named Carinthia Sully. Older, wealthier, reputed to be a gray witch, she moved in many of the same circles as many of the Sacred 28. She'd been in my father's shop a few times and my father had warned me to mind my P's and Q's when talking to her.

"This is Tristan Woodbine," sneered Camilla. "His father's a shopkeeper."

"Woodbine," Madam Sully said thoughtfully. "Antiquities and such. Your father is well?" Clotilde gave the older woman a look. The conversation was drifting away from the direction she'd hoped.

"Yes, ma'am," I said.

"And what brings you here?" she said.

"I'm on holiday with the rest of my family," I said. "I decided to floo in here and see some of the sights."

Madam Sully smiled. She must have thought my reply was acceptable.

For some reason or other, my temper was up and I decided to be daring. "And my father is thinking of producing a mail-order catalogue," I said. "I wanted to sound out Miss de Verre to see if she wanted to be a cover girl. After I asked for her permission and that of her family's permissions, of course."

Clotilde shot me a dirty look. I'd heard that she was unphotogenic. I wondered if Madam Sully knew it too.

Madam Sully's expression tightened and she allowed a brief grin to appear. The old woman must have realized that I wasn't serious. "Thank you for asking, young man, but we don't do trade," she said.

And there was my cue for making my exit, I thought.

"In which case I should depart and take my disappointment with me," I said. "A pleasure to see you, Ma'am." I turned my back and started to walk away. Clotilde was nearing her seventeenth birthday and I hoped her older relative would keep her in check until I flooed away.

I was still close enough to hear Clotilde's reaction. "The impudence!" she fumed. She might or might not have gone for her wand.

"Clotilde!" Madam Sully said sharply. And with that, I knew I'd safely return to Nice. Clotilde wouldn't dare hex me with her older relative present.