Chapter Text
As Harry woke up on the morning of his 7th birthday, he found that he was in a car, shoved against the window between Dudleys many toys ans the car door. He shifted slightly to be able to see out of the window and his eyes blew wide at the sight of what he vaguely recognized as Paris from books he saw at the library.
The library was a nice place, and the nice lady in red glasses always said books were the gateway to knowledge. Harry wondered in passing why he was here, why any of them were there, but quickly dismissed it in favor of looking at the cool shop fronts as they passed them.
Harry gasps quietly when the Effiel Tower comes into view as they round a corner. He hears Vernon tell Petunia some fact about the tower that a small part of Harry registered as wrong but he dismissed it.
Harry shrieks when the car door he was pushed against opens, he tumbles to the sidewalk next to the car, just managing to curl up before he face planted, as 1 or 2 of Dudleys toys spill out after him. A tall man with blonde hair is standing a foot or two away. His light blue jacket covering his shoudlers just shifts in the wind. As he crouched down go help Harry sit up from the ground, he puts the toys back in the car, ans says something Harry doesn't understand, probably French, he thinks.
*slam*
Oh, Harry thinks, the car is leaving.
Oh, Harry thinks as the realization sinks in, the car left.
As the car rounds the corner, he sighs, the sounds of motors fading fast.
Brilliant, I'm stuck
"Bonjour, je me présente: Monsieur Delacour. Ravi de faire votre connaissance*"
Harry's head snaps up, a confused look washes over his face.
"Is that french?"
Harry asks curiously.
"Quoi?**" the tall man says, pausing for a moment as he translates the boys words. "Tu parles anglais?***"
Harry stares at the man, he thinks he recognizes the word anglais as English so he tentatively nods at the man.
"Pardon, my name is Monsieur Delacour, you may call me Mr.Delacour if that ez eazier"
The man says in a heavier french accent than Harry had ever heard, however, the extent of his exposure had been listening to Petunias dramas at 9 pm each night, though he never was allowed to see the screen, always locked away in his cupboard under the stairs.
"O-oh, hi? My name is Harry...sir"
He adds on as a quick afterthought when he realized the man, Mr.Delacour, he corrects, had been formal to him.
"Harry, zat is a vonderful name. How old are you Mister Harry?"
"Oh, I'm 7 sir, its my birthday today sir"
Harry says quietly, hes barely audible over the sound of cars and chattering people on the sidewalks.
"Quoi?*...Oh, your birthdate, how delightful."
"It-It is?" Harry responds, more confused than he started.
"Oui!****" Mr.Delacour responds, "It ez very exziting"
"O-oh, O-ok sir" Harry stutters before grabbing hold of a momentary sliver of courage to ask "Why am I here?"
"Quoi?** your Aunt did not tell you?"
Harry shook his head being careful not to aggravated his neck too bad, it still hurting from the uncomfortable car ride despite being unconscious.
"Quelle horreur!*****" he exclaims "How could they?" Mr.Delacour mutters under his breath in french. "Non, non, this cannot do, come Harry, we shall meet my famillie."
Mr.Delacour firmly yet gently grabs Harry's smaller wrist and leads him towards an large house not far down the road.