The South of France

September 1996

Saint-Tropez was a stunning place: all blue-green water and sparkling sunlight, with buildings in palettes of warm cream to peach, topped with terracotta roofs. There were occasional splashes of teal, lilac, pink, red, and green, the weather was mild, and life moved in a different way. It was idyllic.

Adrian had been born near the city in late January 1978 and lived the first four years of his life at his grandparents' chateau outside of Gassin with the rest of his family, yet he only had a couple of faded flashes of memory from those first four years. He could vaguely remember playing with his grandfather's now-deceased Great Pyrenees, Jules, who had soft white fur and a gentle temperament… and he could sort of remember seeing the way the sun sparkled off the Mediterranean on a trip to the sea, while ten-year-old Atticus held his hand as he waded into the water. Of course, he had other, clearer memories from visiting in the summers as a child and teen. But his absolute earliest memories were of southern France, not northern England, and for some reason, that stuck with Adrian and he felt it formed some small part of his identity.

He took a portkey from le Ministère des Affaires Magiques in Paris to a designated Ministrère arrival point in Saint-Tropez, and then he Apparated from Saint-Tropez to a lane outside of Gassin that would take him to his grandparents' chateau. When he appeared, he was relieved to see his grandfather waiting at the end of the drive that led to the chateau itself, which was nestled between two hills and surrounded by trees and protective charms, hidden from passerby and muggles.

Adrien Cyrille Giraudon was 81 but still tall and slender, with thick silver hair and a kind smile. He took his grandson's hand and gave him a one-armed hug. "It is good to see you, mon petit-fils. We are so glad you've come to visit!"

"It's good to see you too, Papi. How is Mamet?"

"We are both well. She was ecstatic when we received your letter. Your trunks arrived this morning and she had the elves take them up to the blue suite for you. How long will you be with us?"

"…I was hoping I could stay two or three weeks at the least. If it's not inconvenient."

His grandfather chuckled. "You, Adrian, are never an inconvenience. Your brother, perhaps…" His eyes sparkled like the Mediterranean, belying the joke about Atticus. "But never you. We are glad you're spending some time with us this summer."

The chateau itself was a quaint, historic two-story structure of pale yellow, with cream-colored quoins on the corners. There were no trees adjacent to the house, so it was bathed in warm morning sunlight. The peachy pea-gravel drive circled to the front doors, with a lovely fountain bubbling in the center of the turn, the water droplets cascading down like diamonds. Pink clematis and lilac climbed up one front corner of the building, creating a splash of vibrant color. The gardens that spread out and around were bordered by fruit trees and planters overflowing with annual flowers.

Adrian's grandmother stepped out as they approached. Unlike her husband, she was English. Adrian knew his grandparents had met on a summer holiday in the late 1930's and married just as the war was erupting in Europe. Adrian's mother was their only child, born at the end of the hostilities in 1945. Of course, back then, the Giraudons lived in the English countryside; it was safer. In fact, it was only after Cyrille's parents — Adrian's great-grandparents — had passed away that Cyrille and Mildred moved to southern France to inherit the Giraudon family chateau, which was after their daughter had come of age and was out of Hogwarts. Alania had moved with them, and it was in Monte Carlo that she had been scouted by a fashion designer. She was incredibly beautiful, after all.

Mildred Josephine Blishwick Giraudon was perhaps not quite as fashionable as her eccentric, stunning daughter, but she was still styled to perfection in white linen pedal-pushers, sandals, and a pale yellow chiffon top. Her white hair was pulled into a chignon at the nape of her neck.

She smiled and kissed Adrian's cheek. "Welcome, lovey. We're so happy to see you. What brings you to southern France?"

Adrian hesitated. Dumbledore had not given him orders to talk to his grandparents about the war, but he felt it might be a good idea. However, broaching the subject seemed a lot harder now that he was here. How did he tell them he had agreed to be an invisible member of the Order of the Phoenix when he hadn't even told his parents, yet?

At his hesitation, Cyrille raised an eyebrow. "Adrian?"

"I just… needed to get out of England a bit," Adrian faltered.

His grandmother's eyes clouded. She understood the politics of the house system at Hogwarts better than Cyrille, who had attended Beauxbatons. Pursing her lips, she said knowingly, "Let me guess. Slytherins?"

He gave her a wry smile. "I know what you're thinking, Mamet. Would have been easier if I'd allowed the Sorting Hat to put me elsewhere. But that would have been difficult in other ways, too."

"You could have picked Ravenclaw," she chided gently, looping her arm in his and leading him to the front door.

It was a long-standing joke between them; Mildred had been a Ravenclaw during her time at Hogwarts in the 1930's. She'd always said that she'd had no idea how to react when her daughter was sorted into Slytherin. It had come as a bit of a surprise, though she didn't love Alania less.

"If I had chosen differently," Adrian said thoughtfully, "I would not have picked Ravenclaw."

"Oh?" His grandmother paused just inside the front entry and looked up at him curiously. "How interesting…! That will make for a fascinating conversation at dinner. But first, you need to freshen up and rest. The elves have prepared the blue suite — likely your Papi already told you —"

"I did," Cyrille replied behind them.

"— and I made sure they've drawn a hot bath for you too, love."

"Thank you, Mamet. That sounds…" He swallowed. It sounded perfect, really, but what came out was, "…really nice."

"Of course, dear. Ah, Didier," she added, as a male house elf appeared. "Would you take Master Adrian upstairs, please?" Turning back to Adrian, she added, "Dinner is at six. That gives you three hours to rest. Don't be late?"

He smiled. "I won't."

The suite she had arranged for his stay was pale cornflower blue with accents in gold and royal blue, and Adrian was a tad relieved to see a color other than Slytherin green for a change. As promised, two house elves had drawn a hot bath in the large ensuite, which featured a copper tub in addition to a modern shower. He couldn't remember when he'd last had a bath like this — the prefects' bath at Hogwarts was more of a pool instead of a bath, but something about resting in a copper tub was far more relaxing.

The house elves put some fresh towels under a warming charm while Adrian stripped out of his clothes. They took those from him for cleaning and he politely asked if they would leave him alone for a while. They agreed, and he finally relaxed into the steaming water that was magically charmed to remain hot. Merlin, but it felt good. He had showered at Atticus's place, but this was entirely different. He let his shoulders drop and sank into the water up to his neck, resting his head on the back of the tub and closing his eyes against the dim, flickering baubles on the ceiling. There was so much in his head that he hardly knew what to sort through first: his missions for Dumbledore, his reluctant and annoying partnership with Towler, the deep ache in his chest for Alicia, the sadness that invariably followed when he remembered the reasons it was too dangerous for the two of them to be together right now.

But the next thing he knew, he was slowly waking up and he realized he had drifted to sleep in the antique copper tub. The water was still hot, and steam had filled the room. Startled, he blinked blearily and sat up a bit. How long had he been asleep?

He must have needed the rest if he'd fallen asleep in the bath. He'd never done that before. Or maybe it was just the different lifestyle of southern France compared to England; the fact that he was removed from the war for a bit, safe for the moment, hidden from the Death Eaters by rolling hills, tall trees, and his grandfather's fig, olive, almond, and lemon orchards. He could smell lavender and suddenly noticed an antique pitcher full of it on the marble counter. His eyes lingered on the tall purple springs and he smiled. That was probably why he drifted off to sleep in the bath. His grandmother knew him better than he knew himself sometimes. She knew just by his letter that he needed to rest his soul.

If only it were really as easy as taking a bath, he thought, as he briefly submerged beneath the surface of the water to get completely wet. Alicia's face kept playing in his mind. Merlin, but he'd like to show her this place one day. She would love it here.

Another thing Adrian preferred about the Mediterranean region was the food. It was always lighter and different than English food, and his grandparents' kitchen elves were fantastic at their duties. However, the good food did not change the topic of conversation at dinner, and his grandmother was determined to pick up right where they left off.

"So," she began, as soon as the elves served them. "You would have gone to Gryffindor had you chosen differently?"

Adrian gave her a small smile. "I almost did. The Sorting Hat took a long while with me. I seriously thought about Gryffindor."

"Yet you picked Slytherin."

"Self-preservation."

"Which, I assume," his grandfather said thoughtfully, "is why you are visiting us, is it not?"

Adrian shrugged. "Truthfully, I had actually planned to stay in England. But Professor Dumbledore was the one who insisted I leave the country for a month or so. And you both know I can't stay more than a few days with Atticus without going mad."

Cyrille chuckled. "No. You never can."

"Why did Albus insist on you leaving England?" Mildred asked, frowning at him.

His smile faded slightly. "You've heard the Dark Lord is back, I assume."

"Oui," Cyrille murmured. "A terrible thing."

"I assume," Mildred said quietly, "that most Slytherins still side with that odious, evil man. And even if a Slytherin is not an outright Death Eater, they still usually hold to the prejudiced notions of blood purity…"

Adrian nodded. "Very few do not, and those who do not… we keep our views private."

Mildred's expression was unreadable, but her back was straight and rigid and her eyes glittered. "If Albus has sent you here, it means one of two things. Either he believes the Dark Lord wants you for some reason, or… you are helping Albus himself in some way against the Dark Lord."

Cyrille frowned at his wife. "Mieux vaut aider Albus que se ranger du côté du Seigneur des Ténèbres."

Adrian's breath caught. Better to help Albus than to side with the Dark Lord.

"I didn't say otherwise," she retorted. "We all know you, Cy, would have been sorted into Gryffindor."

Cyrille smiled. "En effet." Then, turning to Adrian he said, "You may have been placed in Slytherin, but a part of your heart is in Gryffindor, mon trognon. It always has been and always will be. You get that from me."

Adrian flushed at the assessment; his grandfather was his only relative who might have been in Gryffindor had he attended Hogwarts. He said, "Maybe. But I still picked Slytherin, you know." Then he looked back at his grandmother. "Professor Dumbledore sent me here for two reasons. He does believe the Dark Lord will eventually want to recruit me because I'm skilled at Defense Against the Dark Arts. But I also agreed to help Professor Dumbledore. He trained me in Legilimency and Occlumency this summer, and I spent a month attending society events in England, catching glimpses of people's thoughts."

His grandmother's eyes narrowed. "That was very dangerous."

"Yes. But I was the only person who could do it. Who would question me if I was at such events? I'm a pureblood Slytherin and my family is too wealthy to snub."

"Maybe so, but still…"

"I found four new Death Eaters that way."

The lines around her mouth grew tight. "Do they suspect you entered their minds?"

"I don't think so. One was drunk at the time. I doubt he remembers anything at all." Adrian paused. That was true; he was certain Brutus MacNair had no idea Adrian had seen inside of his head. But he was slightly concerned that Marcus Flint may have realized what happened at Warrington Hall. Slowly, he added, "Well… one person may have realized, but I think I was able to pass it off by pretending to ignore it. I was playing billiards at the time and I just did happen to catch his eye."

His grandmother clenched her hands around her silverware. "So Albus sent you to France to protect you from Death Eaters."

Feeling a sudden wave of concern, he replied, "I can go back to Atticus if you'd like. I don't want to put either of you in danger."

"We aren't in danger," Cyrille replied calmly, before Mildred could answer. "The only protective measure not around the property is a Fidelius Charm, but we could certainly cast that if necessary."

Mildred frowned at Cyrille before turning her attention back to Adrian. "And what of your parents? What do Alania and Alexander have to say about your decisions?"

Adrian braced himself for the fury he was about to unleash, but there was no getting around it. He muttered, "…I haven't told them yet."

Instantly, Mildred's eyes flared and she sat up even straighter. "Adrian Tryus Pucey! Do you mean to tell me that you've signed on as a member of the Order of the Phoenix and you haven't even told your parents?"

He flinched at her words. "I haven't exactly figured out how to tell them yet! But —"

"I don't know if you're aware of it or not," she snapped, cutting him off, "but your father fled Britain over eighteen years ago on Albus's suggestion, to avoid being recruited by the Dark Lord, and to protect Alania, Atticus, and you! Of all people, don't you think Alexander needs to know if this is the path you've chosen? I can only imagine his reaction!"

"Actually," Adrian insisted, "Professor Dumbledore did tell me Father left Britain then because Dumbledore told him to do so. And I will tell Father, I promise. I just need to think of how."

His grandfather's eyes twinkled. "You know, this is not like you, Adrian. Not to have your next five moves planned ahead."

Before Adrian could respond, his grandmother said, "Standing up against evil is necessary, but…" Her voice was a mix of irritation and admiration. "You must think about the people around you, who care for you! You cannot go through life alone, Adrian! You've always been thus, always a loner, always by yourself, and that isn't the right way to go about things —!" She broke off and breathed in sharply through her nose.

Well, Dumbledore had essentially told him the same thing over the summer. And now, for whatever reason, Adrian thought of Alicia. His face fell and his heart broke a little. He hadn't particularly liked being alone since he and Alicia had spent so much time together from November through June of the past school year. He missed her terribly, but he didn't want to admit it, either. He hadn't expected to miss her like this. He'd thought it would be easy to walk away, like compartmentalizing everything else in his life. They had agreed, after all. Hell, it had been his idea! They were going to move on as soon as they graduated, because there was no way a Gryffindor half-blood and a Slytherin pureblood could be together the way things currently were! It was only supposed to be a school fancy and nothing more!

His grandfather, always intuitive, tilted his head. "Adrian?"

Adrian shoved the memories aside. "It's nothing. I'll tell Mum and Dad as soon as I can. But in the meantime — Atticus is going to try and recruit French wizards and witches around Paris for Professor Dumbledore. Professor Dumbledore told me to lay low in France for a while, in case anyone suspected me of using Legilimency this summer against them. But when I left Paris to come here, I thought perhaps I could try to recruit some people along the Riviera, if there are any who would be interested. There may not be, I don't know —"

His grandfather sighed. "They call it le problème Britannique," he supplied quietly. "Many wealthy wizards and witches in France do not want to get involved because they do not believe it will affect them. They don't want to anger the Dark Lord and give him reason to come here. He's far away right now, and they don't think there is danger. This in spite of Grindelwald's reign of terror from the 1920's through '45. They are blinded to the possibility that it could happen again because they like the peace they have now. Grindelwald was a long time ago… and people forget easily."

Adrian had expected that, but it still made him frustrated. "I can't say it surprises me. But I still have to give it a try, if I can."

His grandfather nodded solemnly. "Then we will help you however we can."

His grandmother frowned. "Just don't expect much, Adrian. Your grandfather is sadly right."

He swallowed. He wouldn't expect much.

Adrian sighed heavily as he sat down on his bed in the dim evening light of the blue suite. The dinner discussion with his grandparents had taken a lot out of him, but he still had one more thing to do, and it would only wear him down even more. He pulled a small mirror from his pocket — one half of a pair that he had found in storage at his parents' estate — and held it up before him. Reluctantly, he said, "Towler?"

He didn't have to wait long; Towler's face appeared in the mirror less than ten seconds later. "Pucey," he answered warily. "How are things?"

"Is it safe to talk?"

"Yes. It's just me. Karen's visiting her parents."

"I'm outside Saint-Tropez for a while, at my maternal grandparents' estate." He hesitated. "Dumbledore didn't give me orders for this, but my grandparents and I are going to try to speak to some witches and wizards in the area to see if there is any support for the Order down here. I mean, since I'm going to be here for two or three weeks, I might as well try. I hate doing nothing. This is the least I can do, and I'm best suited for it."

Towler frowned. "Except you don't need anyone recognizing you. Do Death Eaters take holidays to the Riviera?" There was something terse in his tone.

"Who knows." Adrian shrugged. "I suspect most of them will stay in Britain right now, unless the Dark Lord sends them to the Eastern Bloc to recruit from those locations. I'll be careful, though. My grandparents know the locals here, and the locals on the Mediterranean aren't likely to support the Dark Lord. The only thing that could get dangerous is if we head over to Monte Carlo at some point. There could possibly be wealthy witches or wizards from Britain on holiday there."

Towler's lip curled. "You're goddamn killing me, Pucey. I have to go to a fucking desk job at Gringotts tomorrow morning, making knuts on the galleon. If you only contacted me to rub in the fact that you're fucking minted and can relax in southern France on some extended holiday —"

"Oh, sod the fuck off. I wasn't trying to rub anything in. I only contacted you because I was told I had to," Adrian snapped. "Rest assured, I don't enjoy chatting with you, Towler."

"That feeling is mutual!"

"But whether I like it or not, I'm going to have to stay here until Professor Dumbledore tells me I can come back. Hopefully sooner than later. I'd rather be in England, you know."

Towler glared. "So you say."

"Have you found anything at the bank yet?"

At that, Towler's face fell slightly and he sighed. "No. Gerald Harper is the Head of Existing Accounts and he's a fucking arse. He's breathing down our necks constantly because Bill and I are Gryffindors. And we're both former Head Boys."

"Harper?" Adrian frowned as he thought back. "I know his son. Grant Harper. He's an arse, too. He was three years below us. He'd be a fifth-year now…"

"I think I remember him. Was he somehow connected to Quidditch?"

"He was the Slytherin reserve Seeker last year. But more importantly, his family heavily favors blood purity, so be careful. If actual Death Eaters or their family members came in the bank, I doubt Harper would let you help them. He wouldn't want to run the risk of you or Bill meeting them because he'll want to ingrate himself with them as much as possible. He makes a comfortable living, but he's not wealthy like… some families." Adrian just managed to not say like my family. "So he's considered further down the ranks in the Slytherin social hierarchy, and he probably resents that. But it also won't stop him from sucking up to the elitists in hopes of earning some favors or saving his own arse."

"I figured as much. It's pretty clear he thinks the Weasleys are blood traitors. Bill is pleasant enough with him, but it's obvious Harper doesn't like Bill. I'm pretty sure he doesn't care for me either. And his having power over two Gryffindors — and two former Head Boys to boot — gives him a bit of an ego."

"Can I be honest?"

"I'd rather you not lie to me."

"I didn't mean it like that," Adrian snapped. "I meant, can I be honest without you getting pissed at me?"

Towler glared. "Fine."

"Your family is far higher up and way more respected than the Weasleys are. Within Slytherin, the Weasleys are well-known as blood traitors and no one would dare be friendly towards them because they wouldn't dare risk their own reputation. But to my knowledge, your father hasn't necessarily been labeled a blood traitor. He's not remotely liked in Slytherin, and neither were you if I'm being bluntly honest, but he is considered a pureblood, and he's so high up at the Ministry that he commands a hell of a lot more respect than Gerald Harper. That means Harper will watch his step around you a bit, because your family holds a better social position than his own. He'll hate every second of it, but he'll be careful just the same. Still… if he catches you rifling through accounts, he'll make your life hell if he doesn't fire you outright."

"Noted." Towler nodded curtly. He hesitated, then said grudgingly, "Thanks, Pucey. It's good to have inside advice like that, even if it pisses me off to hear it."

"I didn't say it was pleasant. But maybe this was one reason Professor Dumbledore wanted us to stay in touch with each other. I know how to navigate Slytherins better than you do. Check in with me in a couple of days, yeah? Let me know how it's going."

"I will." Towler paused. "I suppose Dumbledore would want me to tell you to stay safe."

Adrian twitched. "He'd probably want me to tell you the same."

Instead, Towler rolled his eyes and gave him a two fingered salute. The mirror went black, and Adrian burst out laughing as he fell back on the bed. Merlin, it felt like he hadn't laughed in a long time. Even if he was laughing because Towler was being a fucking arse.

Unfortunately, his grandparents were right: the French witches and wizards on the southern end of the country considered Voldemort "the British problem" and weren't remotely keen to get involved. Adrian had expected it after his grandparents warned him, but it didn't make it any easier to swallow the locals' lack of enthusiasm. He attended various society functions with his grandparents, meeting the wealthy elite to explain what was happening in the United Kingdom, and heard the same remarks over and over: "We'll think about it…" in doubtful tones, or "It's prudent not to get involved, we wouldn't want to make enemies of the Dark Lord ourselves…"

It also didn't help that he was so young. Even with his grandparents at his side and Pucey gold at his back, the locals sometimes just smiled indulgently and treated him like an eleven-year-old instead of a young man. It was infuriating, but there was nothing he could do about it except maintain the aloof expression of haughtiness that had served him well in Slytherin.

During the times he wasn't attending society functions, he found he was losing himself on grandparents' estate: walking the extensive, ruggedly beautiful, wild spaces and finding hidden spots to sit and read. Sometimes his grandfather accompanied him and they would stroll through the orchards; his grandfather checked the olives, almonds, figs, and lemons with a couple of talented French herbologists who worked for him. Adrian enjoyed learning about the plants his grandfather cared for, even the clematis that grew up the one side of the chateau.

A few times, he Apparated to the coast and spent time walking along the sea, staring out across the sparkling water if it was a pretty day… and if it wasn't, watching the white caps and dark clouds instead. Those days felt more like how he felt inside: unsettled, lonely, anxious.

Inevitably, he met a couple of witches here and there, whether at a society function or a club. He tried to enjoy their company for a night, but he always left the next morning feeling hollow and bitter inside. If the day after such encounters coincided with a check-in with Towler, it was particularly bad. Towler could always tell if Adrian was distracted, annoyed, or frustrated.

"Are you listening?" Towler had asked irritably in one such conversation, about a week and a half after Adrian had arrived in Gassin.

"Sorry," Adrian muttered. He had slept with a beautiful woman the night before, whom he'd met at an art gala. She'd had long brown hair and hazel eyes, she'd been tall and slender, and he'd enjoyed sliding her slinky dress off of her when they went back to her place. It had been a one-night stand — Adrian had firmly insisted on that from the start of the encounter — but he had left her apartment afterwards feeling empty. She had been stunning and she'd been great in bed, but still…

Towler rolled his eyes. "That's the look you have when you're thinking about Alicia."

Adrian stiffened. He didn't think Legilimency worked through a fucking two-way magical mirror, but maybe it did. He instantly focused on the blank, black wall in his mind.

"Look," Towler went on in his stubborn fashion. "She lives practically right around the corner from me. I can take the mirror over to her and the two of you can at least talk —"

"No," Adrian snapped. "Professor Dumbledore gave me strict instructions just before I graduated. I am not allowed to tell Alicia what I'm doing."

"You don't have to tell her what you're doing —"

"It's nearly October, Towler. For starters, she and I agreed to end our relationship on June 29th. How do you propose I explain to her why I haven't talked to her since then? What do you suggest I say when she asks me what I've been doing all this time? Attending society functions with the elite? Mingling with the same classmates I told her I hate? Spending a holiday in France while she's helping with the war effort?" Adrian's lip curled. "That'd go over real well, that would."

"Actually, Alicia wasn't allowed to join the Order just yet." Towler pushed his glasses up his nose. "There was a party at the twins' place a couple of weeks ago and she told us. She was kind of bummed about it. Dumbledore apparently asked her to stay in the Healer program. He said there would be plenty of uses for her soon enough, and he wanted her to focus on her studies for right now."

"Which is exactly why Dumbledore doesn't want me to interact with her," Adrian replied, and then abruptly, he was hit full force with blinding clarity.

Of course. It suddenly made perfect sense…!

Dumbledore needed Adrian in society, playing the role he had been groomed for since childhood. Dumbledore needed Alicia in the Healer program, learning how to cure magical injuries for when the war really erupted into pitched battle. At that point, Adrian could become a fighter… but Alicia would remain behind the lines as a Healer, even if she wasn't fully qualified. The Order of the Phoenix probably didn't have any Healers in their forces. Adrian felt his gut cramp sickeningly. But… that would make her a target for the Death Eaters at some point, wouldn't it?

"Pucey? What is it? You look really worried all of a sudden."

"I just realized something." It felt like he couldn't breathe. He tried to center himself. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. "The Order doesn't have any Healers, do they?"

Towler hesitated. "I honestly don't know. Dumbledore doesn't let me attend meetings, remember? I'm just as invisible as you are."

"Can you ask Bill? Please. I need to know. Find out for me."

Perhaps Towler heard the underlying panic in his voice, because he said warily, "I'll ask him tomorrow. Don't think about it too much, okay? Besides, Healers can't really take sides; they have to take an oath, remember? They have to agree to heal anyone, regardless of —" But then Towler suddenly broke off and looked a little panicked as he figured it out, too. "Oh, fuck! The Death Eaters could kidnap a Healer and make them heal their wounded…!"

Adrian felt physically ill. "Just ask Bill —?"

"Okay, okay. I'll contact you as soon as I know something. Take a Dreamless Sleep potion tonight if you have to, for fuck's sake. And I'm going to ask Dumbledore if you can at least talk to Alicia."

The mirror went black.

Adrian paced the room for an hour, raking his hands through his hair, trying to make sense of what Dumbledore was doing. But he knew one thing: even if Dumbledore gave him permission to talk to Alicia, he wouldn't reach out to her just yet. He still had things to do for the Order before he saw her or even talked to her again.

In the end, he called a house elf to him and asked for a Dreamless Sleep potion. There was no way he'd sleep otherwise, and he knew it.

Towler contacted him again the following evening, and Adrian knew from the grim expression on the former Head Boy's face that the news wasn't good.

"The Order doesn't have any official Healers. They're trying to recruit one, and there are a couple who might be interested, but those Healers also don't want to jeopardize their jobs or end up dead."

Adrian sank to the floor and leaned his back against his bed. "So Alicia and Chrysanthe are all they have right now, and they're only in their first term in the program," he whispered.

Towler winced and ignored the comment about Chrysanthe. "You know Alicia's too much of a Gryffindor not to want to be involved in the Order, Pucey."

"I know." He inhaled and tried to bury the gut-wrenching worry. "There's nothing I can do about it, but it still concerns me. Maybe I should try to find a Healer here who would be interested."

"Don't go against Dumbledore's orders any more than you already have. I'm sure he's taking things like that into consideration. He can't tell us or anyone else even a fraction of his plans. That runs too much risk if we were caught."

Adrian sighed. "I know. I just… I hate feeling like…" He trailed off. He didn't even like admitting such things to himself, let alone Towler.

Towler's expression was resigned. "Like you can't do anything?" he said knowingly. "That's how I felt all last year, against Umbridge."

Adrian hesitated. "I know it was hard…"

"Especially because I thought you hated Alicia. I thought you were deliberately making her life difficult."

"I wasn't."

"I know that now." Towler rolled his eyes. "But I didn't then. My point is, it's harder when we don't know all the details. But we can't know all the details in this. We're in the middle of a war and we're not even twenty, yet. Neither of us really know what we're doing, do we? And we both hate it."

Adrian agreed with that, but he didn't say anything.

Towler coughed slightly and went on, "I also asked Dumbledore if you could talk to Alicia. He said he would rather you wait a bit longer, but he did say you could return to England at the end of the month if you'd like. If you do, he wants you to stay at your parents' place and not go anywhere unless it's to meet me, at least until mid-November."

"Lovely." Adrian knew his voice was flat and emotionless. "Just what I want to do: return home and stay at home. I can't talk to the girl I like, I can't leave my parents' villa, but I can talk to a guy I've never liked! Bollocks."

"I'm just the messenger, damn it. And I don't like you, either."

Adrian sighed. "I know. Thanks for telling me."

"Whatever. You're welcome."

The mirror went black and Adrian placed it on the night table. He was getting homesick, he thought. He loved his grandparents, but he missed his mum and dad. It was time he told them what he was doing.

He'd let his grandmother know the following morning that he needed to start preparing to return to England.

Author's Notes:

1. I imagine Adrian's grandmother looking and acting a bit like Vanessa Redgrave's character of Claire Smith in Letters to Juliet.

2. Though it's never stated in the story, Cyrille was sorted into Bellefeuille at Beauxbatons (which, as I understand it, is a mix of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff). According to fandom (which I kinda cringe to use), Bellefeuille house is characterized by the color green and five leaves. Those sorted into Bellefeuille are sensitive to the needs of those around them, good with their hands, prize family above all else, and have a strong relation to nature - which is why Cyrille enjoys Herbology.

3. Cyrille was 6'3" as a young man; at 81, he's probably a tad shorter, maybe 6'2". Adrian is 6'2", and Atticus is 6'3".

4. Papi is a French familiar name for Grandfather; if Atticus and Adrian were in polite company, they would use Grand-père, instead. Likewise, Mamet is a very familiar term for Grandmother, but only in a small coastal region of France - actually, close to, but not including Saint-Tropez...but I really liked it compared to other familiar names for Grandmother. In polite company, they would call her Grand-mère instead of Mamet.

5. The scene with Adrian relaxing in the copper tub bath is a direct pull from the 1995 BBC version of Pride & Prejudice, in which Colin Firth (playing Fitzwilliam Darcy) relaxes in a tub bath.

6. Cyrille calls Adrian mon trognon, which is a pet name for children in France and literally translates to "my fruit core", because he enjoys gardening fruit trees.