For the Greater Good || Tom Riddle ||

Chapter Thirty-Three: When in Paris

The one other time Gwen had been to Paris, she had been a little girl. There had been a sort of civic harmony in the shining streets, and Gwen's young ears had pricked at the sound of every bonjour, merci, pardon, and bonsoir as they passed by street side cafes flanked by ornate streetlights and flowers pots. Plates of cheese, glasses of wine, and baskets of bread adorned the white clothed tables. Beneath the fickle sun, the sidewalk was flecked with sunlight and dappled with shadows of the great leaning acacias that lined the lane.

Paris had felt like one great big outing—it was the picnic where you sipped French bubbles while you sat on the damp green lawn, the hazy purple sky reflecting twinkly lights. It was the joy of admiring strangers, watching boys burst into laughter with a sparkle in your eyes. It was celebrations by the Seine—fireworks bursting and leaving trails of smoke and memories.

Gwen had watched the Muggles sip their Aperol Spritz, oblivious to the fact that a magical community comprised of witches and wizards shared the city with them. It was the first time she had been somewhere with so many people.

But Nazi occupied Paris was completely different. No flower boxes hung from windows, only flags with swastikas. The Germans for the most part spared Parisians bloody violence as Hitler was apparently fond of the city (except, of course, Parisians who were Jewish), but the other wounds they inflicted in the form of truncated freedoms, greatly reduced food and supplies, an unceasing fear of the unexpected and calamitous, and the simple fact of their inescapable, looming presence did deep damage of a different kind.

There was no one in the street other German soldiers carrying guns and Gwen was weary that the Bedazzlement charm Elphias had casted would somehow wear off and they would suddenly find themselves face down in the street, bleeding onto the cobblestones as they nursed the bullets of Nazi gunshots.

"Where are we going?" Gwen asked as she trailed after Dumbledore.

"To visit another old friend."

They wore long white cloaks with hoods that obscured their faces just in case anyone from the magical community was out and about. Gwen guessed that the only ones that were were Grindelwald's followers. He had seized Paris early on in the decade.

"Unannounced again?" she quipped smartly.

He didn't answer her. He was walking so quickly down the street that Gwen struggled to keep up with him. Elphias also had tagged along on the pilgrimage after he had decided to quickly shut Choo-Choo in his room so her and Radagast couldn't get into a scrap. The party of three turned the corner, nearly colliding with a swarm of Nazi soldiers, and then another corner until they finally came upon an old stone house.

Strange symbols adorned the architecture at 51 rue de Montmorency, but to the Muggle eye, it looked like any other building. The house was at least three stories high with a tall, narrow wooden door. Dumbledore went straight up the steps, but Gwen stopped to admire the building. It looked old. Really old.

Slowly, Elphias made his way up to stand on the porch and Gwen followed suit. There was the sound of glass shattering from inside before the door swung slowly open as if whoever opened it was waiting for an unwelcomed guest to be on the other side. A man with snow white hair, leathery skin, and frail, shaky hands stood in the threshold. He looked like a ghost and like he had seen a few as well.

He looks to be at least four hundred years old...

"Bonjour—Oh, Albus," he said with surprise, his wrinkled face contorting with poorly veiled shock. "Whatever are you doing here? Did I miss your owl?" he asked in a flimsy French accent.

"No, no you didn't. I apologize for dropping by unexpectedly, but it's a bit urgent. May we come in?"

"I didn't get an apology when he stopped by uninvited," Elphias muttered with disdain next to Gwen. The girl didn't try to mask her scoff.