Ok, here we go with the new chapter! I'm glad I could translate it before starting college again...

I'm surprised by the number of people who faved and followed! Thank you, I'm happy you're enjoying your Rescribo experience :)

RESCRIBO — December 1936

"Time is the longest distance between two places."

Tennessee Williams, The Glass Menagerie

Grimmauld Place was silent, all its inhabitants sleeping upstairs or on the ground floor – anywhere they could find a spot, really.

Hermione came downstairs to get herself a glass of water, awoken by Ron's snoring. She preferred to let him sleep peacefully, knowing a big mission awaited him in the following days. She didn't know what – one of the essential rule of the Order of the Phoenix, since Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody's death, was to never disclose one's mission, even to close family members such as wife or husband.

She was surprised to find Fleur in the poorly lit living-room, curled up against the armrest of the sofa, a book on her laps. She didn't hear her coming.

Hermione softly called her name and Fleur looked up, a slight smile upon her lips. She lost most of her snobbish ways after Bill was attacked. She softened up, winning Hermione's and Ginny's sympathies. Oh, they still found ways to anger each others. But Fleur could count Hermione among her small circle of friends without having to think twice.

"You can't sleep, Hermione?"

Her pronunciation improved, her thick French accent only showing up when she spoke too quickly or was overwhelmed. She could thank Harry and Hermione for the linguistic lessons they agreed to exchange, late at night, when sleep eluded them. Both of them learnt Fleur's language in the hope of easing the homesickness that sometimes got to the older woman, a picture of the young Gabrielle always in a pocket near her heart.

Hermione smiled back and took a sit besides her. She pointed the book and asked, "What are you reading?"

"A novel written by Thomas Durand. Premier souffle," she grinned. "It reminds me of Beauxbâtons..."

Intrigued, Hermione read the summary but quickly got bored. A fantasy novel. Not her cup of tea. Seeing her disdainful look, Fleur scowled before shrugging. She was too exhausted to start bickering. She got back to her reading, forgetting the world around her to better melt into a universe where wars were long buried and magic was blossoming freely. She was interrupted once again by Hermione. "I never heard of him. Durand," she tested the word. "Is he French?"

Fleur nodded and put her book on the armrest. Hermione instantly recognised her look and bit back a moan. It was the look saying "I'm going to explain you something and you'll listen, then thank me." She was surprised in the end to find the unexpected lesson interesting.

"Do you know that Durand is a fairly common name in France? It's a bit like your John Doe! You know that I'm really interested in names' etymology to better understand where people come from and their origins..."

Hermione wanted to retort it was no wonder considering the meaning of the name Delacour, but kept quiet. She really liked that one time when Fleur did a whole lecture on what a delightful name 'Hermione' was and how her parents saw right.

"Of course," the blonde continued, "it comes from the same root as the verb durer – which means 'to last'," she said as if not knowing such a thing was absurd. "In a nutshell, it describes someone who's obstinate. Back in the day, they often translated it by 'the one who must last.' Interesting how names can define a person, right?" she finished, chin raised, before going back for the last time to her reading, completely ignoring Hermione.

The latter just shook her head, amused. She'd stock this piece of information in a corner of her mind, sure to forget about it one day.

Hermione stayed some more time besides Fleur before standing up and leaving to find her glass of water and then got back to Ron.

It was going to be a long night.

xox

They need three days to make the cottage a liveable place. Hermione, being the only one possessing a usable wand, did most of the work, casting spells here and there while Harry repaired the exterior of their new home. The far away memory of their fifteens spent scrubbing up and down the Noble and Most Ancient Black House's ancestral abode comes to them. But Shore Cottage, despite its many years without being lived in, proves to be rather comfortable. They're not surprised to come upon an enchanted crockery washing itself, nor are they astonished when the doors refuse to open up as long as the wizard and witch don't tickle the handle. In and of itself, the cottage is much more welcoming than Number Twelve Grimmauld Place ever was.

They take advantage of the newly reconfigured space to melt the unusable and too old coins. In the end, they decide to only keep two distinct series – one from Sesterces and another from Maravedis – and as promised, Hermione indeed knows a Fusion spell that does the trick and few hours later, gold, silver, and bronze bars find their way back in the bottomless purse.

The hardest part was to set the fireplace to work, but they're quickly reassured when they realise the Potters never took the time to disconnect the Floo Network. In a few wand movements, Hermione secures the Network so that only them – and later Tom – can access it. She then lights a fire with a controlled "Incendio!" and flames burst to live in the hearth. She opens a cupboard next to the fireplace and finds a forgotten old purse. Hermione pulls it out and calls Harry.

"There are at least two handful of Floo Powder left," she says while assessing the contents. "Enough for a trip to the Leaky Cauldron."

The witch and warlock come up to the fire. Harry's the only one knowing how to use Side-Along Apparition since Hermione never managed to achieve the exact control needed.

He grabs a handful of silver Powder and throws it into the fire, watching the flames turn to a vivid green. "I'll go first," he says authoritatively.

It's a reflex since Ron left them: protecting Hermione, his last friend at all costs. At first, the witch was offended and kept arguing she could take care of herself. But she dropped the case when Harry became more withdrawn, finally accepting that the wizard needed to be there for her; needed to know she ran no risk.

He steps into the green hearth, utters his destination and vanishes in a spluttering of flames.

Hermione waits for a minute as usual. If the fire dies, it means imminent danger (it was Fred and George who showed them this little trick, at first just a prank to annoy the people wanting to use the Burrow's fireplace), but if nothing happens, she can follows him. As the fire keeps burning, she finally throws her handful of Powder, steps forward and cries, "Leaky Cauldron!" A blink of the eye later she's face to face with Harry who's already reaching for her hand to help her out.

The pub surprisingly hasn't changed that much. In spite of the candelabrums floating above their head, the room is still in an enjoyable dimness. The tables are pushed against the walls near the windows dotted with finger marks from wandering hands. Despite the likeness, they find it hard to reconnect it with the memory they have of the pub after Diagon Alley was destroyed, closing the access of the Muggle world to the fleeing wizards and witches.

The real difference strikes them when they approach the counter behind which a Tom with barely grey hair – and that was surprising – welcomes them with a grin, glossing a glass between his skilled hands.

The two travellers have a shock. It's the first person from their present they come across in the past. It's not like with Tom Riddle – they never knew him, never shared a friendly talk with him. They need a second to recollect themselves and smile back politely – or at least, Harry tries without much success.

"I never saw you 'round here before," the jolly barman starts. "Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron!"

Unconsciously, Harry holds a hand to his brow to flatten his fringe in an attempt to hide his scar, forgetting for a short moment that here, he is no-one.

"We just moved in, we've been living in France these last years," Hermione offers in a light-hearted tone.

She learnt their Wizard cover by heart while they were isolated at Shore Cottage, and Harry did the same. They can't allow themselves to turn up from no-where and start a life as if everything was normal in a community as secluded as the Wizarding one. Thus they made the most of the knowledge acquired while attending Hogwarts in their fourth year and invented themselves a life as students coming from Beauxbâtons.

"Really! You don't have an accent though," Tom points out as he takes a new glass.

"We lived in London our whole childhood, but our parents decided it would be best for us to be sent to Beauxbâtons for our magical studies. More diversity," Harry explains as he places four Sickles on the counter. "Two butterbeers please."

The barman is quick to execute himself and swiftly puts two uncorked bottles in front of them, adding two glasses as an afterthought when glancing at the two well-clothed strangers.

"Oh, then welcome back I guess!"

Harry nods as thanks and Tom understands his presence is no longer wanted and leaves to cater to his other patrons. Hermione sips her drink – it's been a while since they last sat down around a good drink – discreetly glancing around.

"We have to go to Gringotts before anything else," Harry finally says.

"I hope they won't put us through too much trouble..."

He grunts and finishes his butterbeer. "You're worrying too much. They won't give a shite about knowing where the money comes from as long as we didn't steal it from them."

She plays with her glass, thoughtful. And Harry remembers that she never had the chance to have a vault in the Wizarding Bank because of her Muggle-Born statute, and could only open an account when marrying into a Wizard family. His eyes travels down her arm to land upon her left hand, bared of any ring, and he looks away, feeling ill at ease.

"After that, we'll go straight to Ollivander. Do you think the same wand will choose you?," she ends up asking.

He merely shrugs and Hermione sighs, knowing she won't worm anything out of him. She drinks the remaining of her butterbeer, enjoying the last swallows before getting up, Harry following behind. They bid the barman goodbye and leave the Leaky Cauldron to head towards the brick wall. Hermione opens the way and they're quick to step into Diagon Alley. They're surprised by all the wizards and witches roaming up and down the Alley brimming with life, and they freeze.

Hermione reaches for Harry's hand and tightly squeezes them together, as if to anchor herself.

This is it, she thinks, this is what I want for the future.

And as they go forward, slipping between the wizards and owls, Hermione knows she made the right choice.

xox

Gringotts is as imposing as Harry remembers it. They easily enter and find an open counter where a goblin with a pointed beard seems to be doing his accounting. They go to him and when he notices them, the goblin sets his purse full of jewels on the side and gives them his attention, his intelligent black eyes scanning the witch and wizard. He asks straightaway, a grin showing his little pointy teeth, "How may I help you?"

A golden sign on his desk shows his name – Mecanik. Harry's glad they didn't come across Griphook who was the Potters accountant in their present. It's one thing less to worry about, he thinks with a bit of relief.

Harry steps nearer and puts his bottomless purse on the counter, not missing the creature's greedy look. "We need to open a Wizarding account."

He doesn't need to say anything else. Goblins aren't the kind to meddle with someone else's business when they have a good deal coming to them. Mecanik isn't the exception to the rule. He hastens to open the purse and sets to examine the coins under Hermione's surprised eye.

"He's just making sure the coins aren't forged," Harry whispers to a fascinated Hermione.

His comment wins an amused grunt from the goblin. "You seem to be well informed, mister.."

"Durand."

Mecanik rises a Galleon to his face, turning it several times between his nimble fingers. "Oh, Sesterces? Interesting. It's been a long time since I last saw his coins."

Mecanik sets down the Galleon and goes to scrutinize new coins before closing the purse. He picks a parchment from a hidden drawer under the counter as well as a quill and starts to draw up a contract while speaking, "Your coins are legit. Do you know how much you have in your purse?"

"Something around 10 000 Galleons."

"Exact sum of money?"

The warlock shrugs and Mecanik poses in his writing to give him a baleful glare. "Are you going to stock any magical artefacts?"

Harry shakes his head and Mecanik continues, "The vault 1789 is available. Once you put your gold in there, the calculation of your belongings will be automatically made and we'll be able to know how much you have exactly. To whom should I make the account?"

"Harry and Hermione Durand."

"Your spouse?," asks the goblin, eyes drilling into Hermione's.

"Sister."

Mecanik finishes up the contract in a flourish before presenting it to the two clients. "If you could please sign on the dotted line."

They do as asked and Mecanik takes back the parchment before pulling out a long, slim, black key from a new drawer. He jumps from his seat and makes them follow him. They don't need to take the dangerous cart leading to the guts of the bank, their vault being in the newer floors. They go down a spiral staircase with uneven steps that the goblin jumps without even looking where he puts his feet. Mecanik then leads them to a corridor where four doors fit the wall and opens the first one. A huge empty space spreads in front of them.

"Do you need anything else?," the goblin politely asks, but his annoyed look is strongly dissuading them to hold him back any longer.

But Harry doesn't care and nods. "I need to have gold, silver, and bronze bars melted into new series of coins."

Mecanik suddenly seems more prone to listen and softens his beard with two long fingers, a gleam of satisfaction in his dark eyes. "I see. How much are we talking about?"

Harry exchanges a look with Hermione. He didn't care to calculate the bars, but knowing Hermione, she must have do it.

She turn to Mecanik, chin held high, and answered, "If I remember correctly, 660 pounds of gold, 330 pounds of silver and 1102 pounds of bronze."

A spasm runs through the goblin's fingers, as if he could already feel all the gold in his hands. He smiles largely. "Very well. I'll let you organise yourselves, Griphook is waiting for you outside if you have more questions. Once you're done and upstairs, come find me to my counter and I'll see what goblin is available for your order."

When he hears about the goblin who arrived to guard the vault's entrance, Harry struggles to hold a big sigh. Once again, he thought too quickly. Griphook must be doing his apprenticeship to become an accountant goblin...

Mecanik gives them their key and leaves in a rush. Hermione waits a few minutes before whispering, careful so that Griphook wouldn't overhear them, "Do you have any idea of the gold's price in this time? You'll be twice as rich as before!"

"Hmm. Thank goodness Bill took the time to explain us Gringott's functioning... The goblins could've become suspicious of the doubloon with the Potters' vaults."

She nods, happy to have escaped the problem, and starts to levitate the money in neat Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts piles before doing the same with the bars. When she's done, Harry takes this time a normal purse and fills it.

"It should lasts us a few months, I put two thousand Galleons in there."

They leave their vault and Griphook leads them back to the counter where they find Mecanik along with another goblin, this one more rough than the one taking care of the clients.

"Ah, Mr. Durand, Miss Durand. Let me present you Denarius, one of our finest blacksmiths. He's the one who will be in charge of your order once you sign the contract."

As he finishes speaking, he slips a parchment towards them. Harry skims through it, confident Hermione will later scrupulously read it.

"Fine. How much will it cost us?"

Mecanik and Denarius exchange a grin full of teeth. Ensues a series of numbers and percentages to which Hermione gives all her attention, asking here and there more precisions. Finally, Denarius signs the contract and Harry follows suit as well as Hermione. Mecanik carefully puts it away before giving them a copy all the while smiling, hands crossed in front of him.

"It's been a pleasure to make business with you, Mr. and Miss Durand. Your order should be ready by next week, an owl will be sent to you."

"Thank you. May the gold keep flowing."

"And may the hammer never stop," answers the goblin.

The two time travellers leave the bank and Hermione wraps an arm around Harry's to keep with him in the crowd, heading down Diagon Alley's south part.

"I'm sure a wand will suit you," she tries to comfort him.

Harry prefers to keep quiet.

xox

The front of the shop is as high and ran down as it was when they were eleven. The writing 'Ollivanders – Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC.' gently sparkles under the sun's rays. A quick glance into the shop front shows an empty room, so Harry apprehensively pushes the door open. The door closes after Hermione and they carefully move around. They hardly make three steps before an Ollivander with silky chestnut hair appears from behind a row of wands rising up the ceiling, a dozen of narrow boxes haphazardly balanced in the cradle of his arms. He comes to a full stop, watching them with big, bright blue eyes over his boxes before giving a startled jump and settles his burden with great care on the only chair of the shop.

"Well, well, well... what a surprise."

Ollivander slowly comes to them, a hand already stretched as if he wanted to grab them and study them.

"It's not often adult wizards come into my shop without having already bought a wand here... I remember each and every one of my clients," he says, pensive. "But perhaps my father sold you your wands?"

"Er... We've been living in France the last few years. We studied there instead of Hogwarts," Hermione explains quickly.

Garrick Ollivander doesn't appear older than them, just into his early twenties. His enthusiasm for wand making is already present, and his appearance is less dishevelled than in the future. Hermione could even say he's elegant in his cobalt robes opened on his pearly white shirt, the sleeves pushed back to his elbows.

He nods and gets his enchanted measuring tape, looking back and forth between the two friends, wordlessly asking who will be first.

Hermione nudges Harry towards the man who turns shining eyes on her.

"I assume you already possess a wand, then."

As she nods, he continues, leaving his tape to hover around the other costumer who tenses when it wraps itself around his head, "What wood and how long? What core was used? Any characteristic?"

A moment of panic strikes the witch speechless. She obviously can't tell him about her wand – he may have already made it, and even though it wasn't the case, Ollivander's the only one in his craft currently using Phoenix, Dragon and Unicorn cores. How a student from Beauxbâtons could've obtained one without coming into his shop?

Then the penny drops and she blurts, "9½'' rosewood, with a Veela hair core. I was told it's rather inflexible."

Maybe it wasn't a good idea given the interested gleam in the warlock's eyes. Fleur's wand had always left him perplexed since, according to him, a Veela's hair is an unpredictable and impracticable component.

Harry, who meanwhile attempted to unsuccessfully escape the measuring tape, stumbles upon the chair overflowing with wands and barely avoids falling on the ground, catching Ollivander's attention who seems to suddenly remember he has a costumer to tend to.

"Have you ever owned a wand, mister..."

"Durand. Yes."

His sharp answer doesn't seem to affect Ollivander who asks, curious, "May I know of its composition and length?"

Harry inhales and keeps his breath in several seconds before saying in a controlled voice, "With all due respect, sir, it's none of your business."

Faced with the categorical tone, the wand maker chooses to let it go – wands, after all, are a sensitive subject – and takes back his tape, an intrigued noise leaving his mouth when he sees the measurements.

"Hmm, interesting... A very flexible right arm, callous and slightly curved in hand... You're accustomed to use your wand to excess, am I right?" he asks without waiting for an answer before saying, "Yes, I think I have what you need!"

He goes straight away between the rows and shelves to carefully extract a box he offers Harry.

"Try this one. 8¾" acacia wood, Dragon heartstring. Everything is in the flexibility."

Harry takes it with an unsure hand. He closes his fingers around the handle and the wand vibrates before stopping, as if to express its displeasure. Ollivander furrows his brows.

"How curious, I could've sworn that... Or perhaps another kind of wood... Yes, yes, that must be it."

He disappears and comes back with a dusty box. He blows on it, nearly making his customer choke on the grey cloud.

The wand is longer than the previous one and its dark wood melts nicely into the handle carved with circulars shapes.

"This is one of my first creations," Garrick says with an obvious affection. "12'' pine wood, Unicorn hair. Slightly rigid, but excellent for Charm works and defence."

With a firmer hand, Harry grasps the wand. This time, nothing happens, and only a few seconds pass before Ollivander takes it back and goes to wander between the rows, a puzzled look on his face.

"Unbelievable! Ah, here we goes..."

He strides back and urges the wizard to try the new wand. This one is made of deep red melting into a delicate shade of orange on the rounded handle.

"15¾" red oak wood, Dragon heartstring. It tends to cast spells before they are finished, but nothing a bit of training can't correct. Perfect for duelling."

The wand is warm in his hand and gives a slight hum, but nothing more. This is by far the best reaction, but it doesn't suit Ollivander who takes back the wand, puts it in its box and pushes it back in its shelf. He seems lost in thoughts and is miles away from the excited man who took Harry as a challenge the first time around.

Finally, he makes a sudden about-turn and gives Harry a long look.

"Tell me about you, Mr. Durand."

His customer purses his lips, clearly reluctant, and Ollivander hurries to explain himself, "Your measurements seem to disagree with your personality. It's rare I make this much mistakes when selecting components. Clearly, you've changed since childhood; this is also why it's easier for a youth to find their wand than it is for an adult."

Silence falls down on the shop. Ollivander is ready to drop the matter and go through all his wands, but Hermione stops him by uttering in a small voice, "He was a shy but loyal boy. He enjoyed the pranks played on him..."

Ollivander scrutinises both of them.

"Really?," he whispers. "How interesting... And his current personality?"

"Still as loyal as ever. And loving," she utters while looking at Harry, "Strong, but fair."

As she doesn't ad anything else, reticent to talk more than necessary about her friend, Ollivander thinks for a moment before darting behind his counter where another row of shelves awaits him. He rummages through the lower shelves, inches only above the floor.

"Do you know that the wood, as much as the core, plays an essential role in the making of a wand? Each wood has a unique attribute, this is why it's so arduous to find a way to incorporate the core without cancelling the wood's properties. Of course, once the two are combined, we get the perfect element and a unique wand for each witch and wizard, in harmony with their magic."

He retrieves a box and shows it to Harry.

"You're a complex man, Mr. Durand. I don't think this will be the one, but it'll help me to adjust my research. Try it. 10½" spruce wood, Unicorn hair. Surprisingly swishy. This kind of wand requires a firm hand, but once the right partner is found, it can produce spectacular effects."

Sparkles sprout from the tip of the wand in a wiz similar to fireworks, and Harry startles and nearly drops the wand. Ollivander takes it right from his hands to puts another one in the weak grip.

"I see, I see! That's more like it! Try this one," he carries on with drive, ready to finally take on the challenge. "12½" pear wood, Dragon heartstring. Slightly bendy but very sturdy! I never saw one in the hand of a Dark Wizard."

Curious about the choice of the golden wand, Harry twirls it between his fingers. A flash comes out and blows off a piece of counter. Ollivander whisks it from his hands and runs to find another box before coming back, looking a bit hesitant.

"I never would've thought about suggesting this choice, but after all... Contrary to the others, this wand was made recently, only a few months ago. 11'' holly wood, Phoenix feather. Nice and supple!"

He hands it to Harry who can't breath.

"Few wands are made with this core, but this feather was willingly given by the phoenix which it comes from... Go ahead, try it."

With shaky fingers, Harry takes the wand. It has a familiar weight in his hand, and he can instantly feel his magic humming under his skin, calling to the wand so they could finally be united. The effect doesn't take long: a burst of gold tangled with red comes out, even larger than the first time, enlightening the shop and painting the walls with reddish and golden sparkles.

Ollivander lets out a cheerful exclamation and applauds.

"Wonderful! Such power! I wasn't expecting such a show... Holly wood and phoenix core don't mix that well, but this wand is just exquisite," he tells them while giving Harry a furtive look he can't begin to understand. "This wand will be perfect for you, I'm sure."

Hermione presses a hand to her mouth, smothering her surprised cry. She's as flabbergasted as Harry, never having thought he would receive the same wand. She feels a jolt of worry when thinking about the future Harry, but chooses to focus on her present friend who watches his wand with great tenderness.

"How much will it be?," he eventually asks in a hoarse voice.

"7 Galleons, please. Do you want me to pack it for you?"

Harry shakes his head and squeezes his wand. "No. I like to have it in my hand. I'm glad it chose me."

The wand maker lifts a brow. "Really, now? It's not often a wizard understands the nuance," he points out thoughtfully.

Harry pays hurriedly the wand maker to avoid any further questioning. Once outside the shop, they finish their shopping (Floo Powder, potions and all sorts of ingredients to take care of their deteriorated health, tailored clothes for them and Tom made by Madam Malkin and finally, a detour to Flourish and Blotts where Hermione gushes over books that had been no longer printed back in their time). Hermione reduces their purchases that she slips in her pocket and they go to a Disapparition area. Harry reaches for her and focuses on their destination; they spun on their heels and vanish in a CRACK.

They put away their newly bought stuff in their rooms and Hermione takes it upon herself to arrange the one Tom will be using before Harry decides to join her.

He stares at her for a while, leaning against the door's frame. She's adjusting the lilac blankets, having already taken care of the rest of the room, presenting a comfortable space with serene colours. Once she's pleased with her work, she sits down and invites Harry to come in.

After a silent moment, she says, "I know this situation is far from pleasant to you... I understand, really. But try and forget what you know about Voldemort and try to get to know Tom. Give him a chance to grow up normally, to become someone good."

For long minutes, Harry doesn't say anything, even though his furrowed brows show how much this is unconceivable. He pulls out his wand from his sleeve and twirls it slowly between his fingers. It's strange to see it with such a smooth and varnished wood.

"I don't know if he can change, Hermione."

"Why do you say that?"

He shrugs. He doesn't want to tell her that even though he's glad to have his wand back, he can't help but be disappointed. Ollivander, the first time, told him its brother was Voldemort's. So what conclusion could he make now that his wand chose him again? Is history doomed to repeat itself?

But Hermione isn't stupid. She spent years at his sides and learnt to understand him with one look, one twitch, one too long sigh. She doesn't excel at it like Ron did, but it's enough to hear what Harry doesn't want to say.

She takes his hand in hers, eyes fastened on the wand, and decides to reveal something that worries her since they started to play with the time line.

"Do you know what Ollivander told me before we left him at Shell Cottage?"

He shrugs again. Garrick Ollivander was a mysterious man, a tad too aware of everything to Harry's taste who always preferred listening to him with only an ear, afraid of what the man could say.

"He told me something I'll always remember."

At this, Harry is all ears. He knows the witch isn't the kind to believe every absurdities that seem to be the founding principles of the Wizarding society. She always was rational, which would also explain her disdain for the Divination art while at Hogwarts.

"Why is that?"

She plays with his fingers, eyes unseeing.

"Because I think it was some sort of warning... It's also why I was reluctant to rewrite the past."

Hermione takes a deep breath and looks straight at him, worried. "Harry, he said... He said that magic never forgets."

It doesn't take more for Harry to understand her anxiousness. The mere fact that his wand chose him again validates the warning. And if what Ollivander said was true, the persons who were the most subjected to their magical waves will feel something is amiss with the "Durand". Which would also explain why the young Garrick seemed more pensive than usual...

There's only one word to describe the spirit Harry's in.

"Fuck."

xox

When they arrive at the orphanage a few days later, Mrs. Cole is happy to let them sign the last adoption papers and once they pay off the amount requested by the orphanage, she leads them to the large corridor they crossed their first visit. The young Tom awaits them, obediently sitting on a bench, wearing pants made of brown tweed and a small grey woollen jacket, a beanie pushed down his eyebrows on his head, plastering his brown hair on his forehead. He looks tiny, sitting alone in a greyish corridor, eyes locked onto his slowly swinging feet.

"Tom!," Mrs. Cole calls out to him, making him jump. "The Dursleys are here."

The boy quickly stands up, nearly stumbling in his haste. He avoids staring at Harry straight in the eyes, cowed by the tall man, and prefers to focus on the more welcoming face of Hermione. He offers a shy hello to which the woman answers with a quick smile whereas Harry just nods.

"Did you say goodbye to your friends?" Hermione asks quietly.

Tom shrugs.

"I don't really have any..."

Harry keeps himself from groaning and shakes Mrs. Cole's hand, eager to leave the dull building.

"Thank you for all you did, we'll take our leave now."

Harry strides ahead of them and leads the way while Hermione slows down to let Tom catch up with them. The child turns around for the last time, waves hesitantly at Mrs. Cole who waves back, and he turns back, doing his best to keep in track with the adults.

He finally can leave this morose place where nobody wants him. He has some kind of 'family' now, and it's more than he ever hoped to get.

"Where are we going?," he finally asks in a small voice when they're out.

"To our cottage, in Northumberland."

Hearing this, the kid's eyes dramatically widen. He's always been curious and studious, even though the orphanage's women didn't care about his grades as long as he didn't cause any trouble. He knows the United Kingdom map – not by heart, but almost – and he knows Northumberland is in the far north, miles and miles away from London, where they currently are.

Miss Dursley must feel sorry for him as she explains, "The Leaky Cauldron isn't far from here, we'll take Floo Powder to get to Shore Cottage. It's a relatively sure way allowing wizards and witches to travel from a fireplace to another in a blink of an eye!"

"Neat," he whispers, awed.

But as excited as he is, Tom doesn't manage to hide his anxiety when Mr. Dursley disappears in a burst of green flames and it's his turn to enter the burning hearth.

"Don't be afraid, the fire is harmless once you throw the powder in."

She shows him what to do, and Tom complies. As the fire turns emerald green, she reminds him to not mispronounce his destination, or else he'll land in an alien place.

"And be careful when you breathe in to not swallow ashes."

He nods and utters, not so confident, "Shore Cottage!" and he vanishes in a blast of fire.

After a few seconds passed whirling round what seems to be hundreds of chimneys, he's spat out of the hearth and crashes into the wizard waiting for them.

"Sorry, Mr. Dursley," he mutters as he quickly recoils.

A grunt answers him.

An uncomfortable silence falls between them, and Tom finds himself hoping Miss Dursley won't be too long to arrive. He doesn't have anything against Mr. Dursley, but the man makes him ill at ease and doesn't seem to appreciate him much. He's not stupid, he knows Miss Dursley isn't extremely fond of him either, always sure to leave at least an arm distance between them. Her tone is courteous when talking to him, but there's no tenderness there – and after all, why should there be any? They are strangers. But at least, Miss Dursley is more subtle than Mr. Dursley who stares at him with hard eyes, arms tightly crossed against his chest, a sign of rejection.

He's about to open his mouth and say anything to fill the quietness but Mr. Dursley forestalls him, "It's Mr. Durand."

He doesn't have the time to ask why they gave another name to the orphanage (and he can't help but think it's fishy) that the fire behind him blows and he startles when Miss Dursle—Durand comes out.

She looks at them in turn, feeling the tense air in the room, before moving towards Mr. Durand and lacing her am with his.

Tom hunches his shoulders, not daring to look at the two adults who, suddenly, seem as tall and imposing as a prison wall.

It's going to be a long night.

To be continued...

Forgive me the use of "Neat" to replace "awesome". I know neat is US slang, but it's the only old one I know... I have to admit I have greater knowledge of the US slang than the UK one, so, if you could give me some pointers, I'll be happy to fix future mishaps!

Concerning the updates: I'm not sure I'll be able to keep up with them once I start again college... I'll be studying abroad for a year, so it'll be harder for me to follow my course and write fanfictions... I'll try to make time to translate Rescribo, but I think there'll be much more progress in the French version, sorry. Anyway, thank you for reading and have a nice week!

Drop a word on your way out! I'll be happy to reply :)