Author’s Notes:
Thank you, Amber0_o/The_Mystic for betaing!
Once again, I don’t own Harry Potter…
été à Paris
Dudley had spent most of the morning in his room, avoiding both his parents and the wizards. After his father’s last blow-up, he didn’t want to get him angry by being around Dedalus or Hestia.
“Are we ready to leave? We have a lot of shopping to do and I can’t make heads or tails of this Muggle money,” Dedalus called, turning over a fifty franc banknote in his hands. He was wearing black Muggle jeans, a silk purple shirt, white boots, and a matching white top hat.
As appalled as he was by Dedalus’ outfit (after all, he was still a Dursley), Dudley had to stifle a laugh at his mother’s reaction. Her eyes seemed to be bursting out of her head and her lips were tightly pursed in an effort to hold back a nasty comment.
She looked somewhat relieved when she saw Hestia, who knew more about dressing like a Muggle, in blue jeans, a white blouse, and sandals. The Dursleys and their wizard escorts left the apartment and walked a few blocks to a convenience store.
The only other time Dudley had been to Paris was when he was fourteen. His family only took vacations during the winter because they never knew how long Harry would stay over the summer. His mum had taken them to the Eiffel Tower, shopping on the Champs-Elysees, and other tourist spots in dreadful negative ten degree weather. He much preferred Paris in the summertime.
They turned left onto a large street filled with storefronts and parked cars. There weren’t many people out at this time, but those they passed gave Dedalus strange looks.
They turned into the convenience store at the corner and Dedalus looked around in interest. “Where is that light coming from?” he asked, pointing to the ceiling.
“What?” asked Dudley, also looking up at the ceiling.
“The Muggles didn’t charm them to produce light; are there candles in there?” asked Dedalus curiously.
“No,” said Dudley, smiling, “they’re light bulbs.”
“Light bulbs?”
“Yeah, don’t wizards have light bulbs?”
“No. I don’t even know what a light bulb is.”
“It’s…umm…kind of a thing and it makes light…with electricity,” said Dudley awkwardly, realizing he had no idea how to explain what a light bulb is.
“What’s electricity?”
“Er…it powers things…with plugs.” Dudley couldn’t believe he was explaining something as basic as electricity.
“Fascinating!” Dedalus exclaimed, as he wandered down the frozen food aisle. Dudley suddenly realized he was alone and blocking the door, so he ran after Dedalus.
Dedalus had pulled out a box of microwaveable chicken fingers and was reading the directions on the back. “Can you believe it only takes five minutes to cook this?” he asked, waving the box in the air enthusiastically.
“Er…yeah,” said Dudley, “What happened to my parents and Hestia?”
“They’re probably getting stuff from the list.” Dedalus started pulling random items from the shelves and inspecting them, before he lost interest and asked Dudley, “Why do you think your parents have such a problem with wizards?”
The bluntness of the question caught Dudley off-guard. He had had no reason to disagree with his parents, until Harry saved his life. His parents had it so ingrained in his mind that wizards, magic, and wands were a part of his life that should be kept a secret that he never questioned it. He too started to dislike magic, distancing himself further from Harry.
Dedalus brought Dudley out of his thoughts. “I had thought maybe your mother and Lily would have been close; they were only two years apart, and Lily was a marvelous witch.”
“They never told me anything about her. In fact, Harry always got into trouble if he asked about his parents,” Dudley reflected. “I think they’re just afraid of wizards, because they were used to their normal life without wizards or magic before Harry came along. They just don’t want anyone to find out.”
“There are wizards who feel the same way about Muggles,” Dedalus said, deciding to tell Dudley the reason for the war. “Some have taken it to an extreme level, though.”
“What do you mean?”
Dedalus told Dudley about Voldemort and his followers’ belief that only wizards with magical blood should be allowed to practice magic, but that most wizards knew that blood status doesn’t matter. He was starting to tell him about Voldemort’s rise to power in the first war, when Hestia and Dudley’s parents turned down their aisle.
“There you two are! Your father’s been an absolute nightmare, talking about how us wizards are going to corrupt you,” Hestia said sarcastically.
“Oh, just go ahead and shout it to the world!” Vernon hissed.
“In case you haven’t noticed, everyone in this country speaks French.”
“The man at the deli knew English! What if he heard you?”
“Yes, I’m sure he heard me at the opposite end of the store,” said Hestia, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Plus, if I remember correctly, ten minutes ago you were complaining because he didn’t know the word ham. I highly doubt he knows what wizard means.”
“Stop saying that word!” Mr. Dursley said, and it was obvious that it was taking a lot of effort for him to keep his voice down. Hestia smirked, and Vernon took a calming breath and turned to Dudley, who thus far had been quiet. “Why did you run off with him?”
“You disappeared, so I didn’t know where to go,” said Dudley cautiously. His parents had never accused him of doing anything wrong before. In fact, they usually made excuses for him when he did things wrong.
“You should have found us,” said Vernon.
“Oh, give it a rest,” Hestia drawled, “We just need a few more things and we can leave.”
They continued in silence, with only Hestia’s questions for Petunia about Muggle products until they got to the check-out line. Dudley couldn’t help but feel uneasy at the prospect that You-Know-Who hates Muggles. It had never occurred to him that wizards might not like Muggles, because he had always been so afraid of them. There are a lot of people on the Muggle-born side, at least, and Harry’s one of them, Dudley thought.
“Bonjour,” said the lady at the counter, eyeing Dedalus strangely.
“Bonjour!” he said brightly.
“713 francs,” she said as she finished ringing up the groceries.
Dedalus started fumbling around in his pockets and pulled out a stack of bills, which he began flipping through, pulling out notes, and placing them back. Finally, he gave up and looked to Petunia for help. She quickly flipped through the stack and handed the correct amount to the cashier.
As soon as they got out of the store, Hestia stopped at a bus stop bench and took two regular-looking brown bags from inside her purse. On the side, they said Mr. Bailey’s Bottomless Bags; one also said, with cooling charm.
Dedalus and Hestia started pulling items out of the many bags they were given at the grocery and placing them inside these bags, but no matter how many things they put into them, they never filled. Dudley looked into the mysterious bags, but all he could see was darkness; it was like looking into a black hole.
Once they were finished, Hestia turned and looked up and down the street, then said, “I think the café the man at the deli recommended is this way.”
When they walked into the small café, they were greeted by the smell of coffee and croissants. There was a large lunch rush, and after a moment a hassled-looking waitress rushed over to seat them.
She led them to the back of the restaurant where everybody crowded around the small table. Dudley picked up his menu and realized that everything was written in French. Dedalus began reading his, before Hestia cleared her throat to get his attention.
“Oh, of course,” Dedalus said, as he pulled his wand out of his pocket.
“Hide that! This is a Muggle restaurant!” Hestia reprimanded.
Dedalus slid the wand under the table and said “Reddo ut Anglais!”
“Thank you,” said Hestia, and she and Dedalus began reading their menus.
Dudley was surprised when he saw that his menu was now written in English. He was starving, and the sandwich menu seemed like an excellent place to start, but his parents weren’t quite so content.
“What happened?” asked Petunia, whose face was white with shock.
“He performed a language charm on the menus; in case you haven’t noticed, they’re now written in English,” said Hestia sarcastically.
“I guess you don’t have to worry about language problems as much?” asked Dudley.
“It doesn’t work like that. You can only perform the charm if you know both languages already. That’s why Dedalus had to do it; he speaks French.”
“Not very well,” Dedalus said, looking up from his menu, “There are a whole lot of grammar and spelling errors on here.”
Dudley looked down and read, Roast Beef Sandwitch, serves on Rye bread with provolone cheese, tomatoes, and came with house-made sauce. The whole menu had errors like this, but Dudley didn’t mind as long as he could read it.
The waitress came back a few minutes later and Dedalus took their orders. He realized after they had handed the menus back to the waitress that they were still written in English. A hastily performed nonverbal counter-charm returned them to their former French state, albeit with many more grammatical errors.
“That would have been curious if I’d forgotten to change those back!” said Dedalus, looking relieved, after the waitress left.
“That is exactly why you shouldn’t be doing any of that...you know...out in public!” Vernon said in a low but menacing voice.
“And how else do you plan on ordering your meal?” Hestia questioned. “Especially one so large, honestly, it could feed”“
“How about those Chudley Cannons?” Dedalus cut in strategically, smiling nervously.
After a moment of uneasy silence, Hestia leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, surrendering to Dedalus’ change of conversation, while Vernon grunted his lack of approval.
“So, what do you think?” Dedalus continued cautiously, though he realized the Dursleys didn’t know anything about Quidditch; it was too late to change the topic now. “Now that they’ve replaced their seeker, we might actually stand a chance.”
“What are you talking about?” Vernon snapped, leaning across the table threateningly. Dedalus looked sideways at Hestia, who was absentmindedly stirring her tea. She gave him a curious smile “ almost a smirk “ and waited to hear his answer.
“Quidditch...I forgot that you don’t know what it is,” Dedalus said, smiling and looking from Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, to Dudley, to Hestia, and back to Vernon, who was still glaring at him like they were having a staring contest. “It’s a sport, played on brooms, with four balls and six goals. I’ve been told it’s rather like a Muggle sport called football.”
Dedalus continued explaining Quidditch in full detail for the entire lunch hour, stopping only when the waitress came over with their meals and to ask how they were doing. He told them the rules, strategies, and tricks of the game, recounted last years league standings, and explained why this would be the Chudley Cannon’s comeback year.
Vernon had long since drowned out Dedalus’ voice and taken to eating his sandwich much more forcefully than usual, pretending it was Hestia’s head. Petunia listened silently to Dedalus’ description of the game, and decided it was much too violent for table discussion. Hestia spent the time wrapped up in her own thoughts, mostly about the Order meeting that morning.
While Dudley feigned a lack of interest for his parents’ sake, he couldn’t imagine a cooler sport than Quidditch. Dudley pictured himself flying around on a broomstick, hitting the other team with magical Bludgers (because he would, of course, be a Beater), and being cheered on by thousands of fans.
They walked back to the apartment in silence, because Dedalus felt he had bored everyone enough at lunch. But Dudley wanted to learn more about the world which he had blocked out of his life for so long. He only needed to find a time when his father wasn’t around to pick a fight.
Author’s Notes:
Reddo ut means translate to in Latin and Anglais means English in French