Parisian Flames

Chapter 1

 Harry knew he should have taken the magical way of entering France instead of the muggle way.

"Hadrian Potter-Black?"

"Yes."

"Traveling from America, but your passport is British?" The Orly passport control man eyed Harry suspiciously over the top of Harry's passport.

"Correct." Harry sighed but not further elaborating. He was going to be late for his meet-up at this rate.

"You are 25?" Antoine the passport man said a little incredulously, eyeing Harry's face.

Harry knew he looked young, younger than he wanted to. After dying and returning during the final battle, Harry seemed to have stopped aging completely. Although only recently in the last couple years that it had begun to become more noticeable.

Harry nodded at Antoine, hoping to move these 20 questions along quickly, time was ticking.

" Bon , we march forward," he said as he flipped through Harry's passport. "You are 166 cm tall, have green eyes and black hair, are 25 years of age, unmarried, and you live in London in England. All correct, oui ?"

"All correct, yes," Harry said a little impatiently.

Antoine cocked an eyebrow at Harry, catching his tone but seeming not to care. He then examined the visa that allowed Harry to act as a courier for Bell & Sons, before moving on to the documents for the aquamanile.

Harry looked around as the documents were inspected. Both Draco and his muggle business partner Damien had given Harry multiple lectures on keeping what he was delivering safe. Draco seemed to get some sick amusement out of listening to a muggle lecture the boy-who-lived.

"Security is your personal responsibility; your security is not the responsibility of the police, or of the government, or any officials. Your first and last line of security is yourself. Be alert and aware of your surroundings. Radiate confidence. Never do anything to indicate that you are prey."

That lecture had Harry bracing himself for someone to start shouting 'Constant Vigilance!' like Moody had once done. Draco still hadn't stopped laughing at him.

Harry eyed the large number of people passing through the airport. The magical way would have been so much easier. But since this job was technically through Draco's muggle partner's side of the business, he wasn't really given much of a choice. Thankfully no one was paying any attention to Harry or the case he held. Somehow this job was more nervewracking than trying to defeat a dark lord. Harry never thought he would be a courier trying to deliver a 600-year-old small golden statue in the shape of a dragon that was worth more than most of Harry's inheritance, but here he was.

Antoine's gaze flickered to the small black heavy-duty plastic case that Harry clutched tightly in his right hand. "Do you have the Inventaire Detaille ?"

"Of course." Harry passed over the sheets of paper describing in French the gold aquamanile. The document was stamped by the San Francisco French consulate and included an appraiser's certificate, as well as a copy of the bill of sale to one Mme. Aurora Deauxville, citizen of France and resident of Paris.

Antoine's finger tapped on the top document. "What is this ... aquamanile?"

Harry shifted the case to his left hand, he had dared not cast a featherlight charm on the expensive object, flexing his right fingers to bring blood flow back into them, while being careful to keep the case out of direct eyesight.

"An aquamanile is a form of ewer, usually made of metal, used for the ritual washing of hands by a priest or other liturgical person. They were very common in medieval times." And still common in the wizarding world.