Vignettes of an Ex-Witch: France

1993 February ~~~

The next morning dawned in his shared apartment, Bastien pulled back blackout curtains, blinking against the light filtering in, more like blazing across his face, here came the first Joan accursed decision of the day, roll over and sleep, or face the day. Sitting up he glanced around at the sized room, desk a mess of his own papers, an old teacup left out from a few days before after a long night of economic statistics. Why hadn't he done it earlier? Just the usual wix affliction. 

“Ursa, I need a strong espresso.” He rubbed sleep from his eyes, only realizing he’d slept without a shirt after the crack of apparition announced the entrance of his house elf, she took one look at him before pointedly turning her head to look out the window, small espresso held in a dainty blue and yellow cup. “Young Master must remember to wear clothes, it is unbecoming, especially when Young Master shares an apartment with a witch from a good family.” She glared at him, wrinkling her nose, shoving the cup closer to him, daring the wizard to talk back, big green eyes alight with fury, her ears tilted back in irritation.

“Of course, Ursa, I’ll put one on before I leave the room. You can bring my breakfast out to the front table.” He grumbled, nursing the strong coffee, fingers carefully grasping the cup handle.

Yanking on a random polo shirt, he stumbled out of the room in his sleep trousers, leaving the espresso cup sitting in the teacup still placed on his desk, hoping the house elf would take the hint so he didn’t have to bother with it. Walking down the narrow hallway from the far room, Bastien came out into the living area right next to the kitchen. The curtains let in the light from the left side windows, and the small square table had enough space for four, if you crammed it for space, however only two chairs were set up on either side at the moment. A Persian rug at the foot sat near the windows, and a nice sofa on the far side placed against a richly colored wall.

The chair closest to him sat empty in wait, but Tris sat across from him. His breakfast, one croissant and a danbing already sat on the table, he slid into the seat, pulling his outer robe tighter around his waist, tousling thick hair which stood up every which way. Chopsticks flew into his hand as he began cutting the egg crepe into bite sized pieces.

“Are you doing homework this early? You’ve got to be crazy, Tris, what’re you working on?” He mumbled around a mouthful.

She raised her eyes, rich blue, to meet his. “Editing my research on the Legal History of Werewolf Rights in the modern French period, Manon and I both took that class last year, and it’s acting as one of my final papers, but it needs a lot of work.” 

He nodded in response, “I think you need a break, it's only ten, far too early for this.” He scratched his head a bit, shoving another bite in his mouth.

Pulling long hair around an ear, she shook her head, “Early morning is the best time for it. Then I can go to dueling practice in the afternoon,” she grinned, a chipped tooth briefly visible, the nose ring winking in the light, she always kept it glamored at school and work, he only saw it when they all went out or when she sat at home .

“How about we head to Manon’s instead.” Bastien shoved another bite into his mouth, reaching towards her coffee, she whacked his hand with the feather of her quill, and he jerked it back into range lest she try to use the pointed end next time.

“And here I thought you, Bastien, meant to stay in yesterday.” Tris asked, making a few marks as she levitated her espresso to her lips, the dull porcelain too pale against her skin. Her own pastries sat untouched on the table, bought from the bakery down the road before they sold out early.

“I never see you with those so early, did you spend the night somewhere else and bring them back on the way?” He indicated the pastries on the table, almost always the first to sell out down the street.

“It did happen that way, the date wasn’t bad, but the witch didn’t have much of a personality aside from watching dueling groups.” Bastien choked on another bite of breakfast. 

“Aren’t you just as obsessed?!” His fingers silently reached for her coffee once more, if he called Ursa for another espresso the elf might just take his head off or report about his eating habits to his parents again, but Tris’ eyes took the movement in.

“Don’t even think about it. Now did you go somewhere last night too or not?” She snatched the coffee and downed it in one swig, the cup vanishing to the sink, already washing itself. To her, “washing” meant “rinse until clean”, if Bastien’s mother had seen her do it, the tongue lashing would’ve been severe. Having a roommate a bit messier than himself left Bastien much happier about the state of his room, he knew for sure they matched much better than his group of Licence Professionnelle roommates back in the day, the state of that apartment made him shudder in embarrassment about his younger self’s decisions. 

“I did, Manon sent over a patronus asking to meet at the bar.” 

“Oh really?” She set a drying spell on the edited paper before rolling the scroll up, finished with enough for the day. Conjuring another espresso to the table. “I barely saw her at all outside of classes this week, she looked like she needed more sleep, don’t tell her I said that, she’ll rip my head off.” Tris said as she put the parchment in a bag at her feet, pulling the breakfast closer to her to munch on it, a few rings adorning her fingers, she’d mentioned last year she had a bad habit of purchasing jewelry whenever she went abroad, he idly wondered what she’d change to when she ran out of fingers, go to necklaces and more earrings?

“Manon was so sloshed she couldn’t remember the name of the pub.” Bastien chuckled, finishing up the danbing in front of him, and vanishing the chopsticks to their place in the kitchen, already sparkling clean reaching for the croissant. 

Tris burst out laughing, nearly choking on her pain au chocolate; “No way, before my birthday last week I’d have never known she could get that drunk.”

“Kid you not, she told me to go to the, and I quote, ‘one with the pas mal parties on Tuesdays, and the head on the wall.’” Tris leaned forward, slapping the table with her hand as she chuckled, trying to keep crumbs from falling off the table. “If you got time later this morning, Manon wanted help cleaning their apartment, and getting rid of the alcohol.”

Tris nodded in agreement, long blonde hair tucked safely away from any stray food bits around an ear, scratching an insect bite on her arm from a trip abroad last week. “Henri come too? Sure he’d love to take all that off her hands.”

“Manon asked for him too, probably thought about it for that very reason.” Tris pulled her holly wand from her deep pocket, sending off an iguana patronus climbing through the closed window to alert their other friend as she started on a second pastry. “When’re you headed back to stay with your parents in Paris?” she asked.

“I’ve already got a different apartment with Pauline and her step sister locked in for July, so I’m moving out around then. You?”

“Staying in the area for a bit, got a side job here that lasts all summer, and I’m TAing for Professor Barbier.” He raised an eyebrow at that one.

“The one who asked us to meet and discuss final papers at 5 am on a Thursday? That Professor Barbier?” Half the meeting times last year with that professor met at un-Joan-ly hours, or on a Saturday afternoon for five hours straight, Bastien let out a sigh of relief when they finally finished that twenty-two foot essay for her, turning to Tris, “That woman is scarier than a banshee, if I had to meet her at five am for an essay discussion I’d have no choice but to transfer to get my Masters in Romania.”

Bastien nodded, he pointed with long fingers at the rest of her espresso, raising an eyebrow, Tris shook her head pushing it towards him, he reached forward to finish off the remains in the demitasse. Tris waved her wand tying her hair in a neat braid, standing to go back to her room, she whacked him on the shoulder as she walked to the first door in the hallway, moving aside a dueling sword leaning against a wall before entering the second bedroom. The sword fell back across the doorway blocking the ease of entrance.

Before meeting Tris, Bastien had only seen swords like those in a few museums, or on trips to Japan where an uncle wormed his way into one of their wix sects. But after hearing Tris talk about them nonstop in the beginning of a class the previous year, the wizard learned she spent her time learning the mostly non-magical art, successfully converting a few to her “cause”.  Since then she’d begged the university to start a sword fighting club, and every morning he woke to see it tilted across the entranceway to her door, moving it back and forth each time she went in and out. Bastien asked her about it when they first became roommates and she just said she’d been doing it for a while, it acted as a catch, if anyone else she didn’t authorize moved it, the charm would wake her up. Bastien nodded “That’s definitely one fool proof way to keep yourself safe,” before grabbing a croissant from his plate.

“I’ll be ready in fifteen.” She called before closing the door behind her, dueling sword falling back into place like a barricade. 

A few minutes later Tris, Sebastien, and Henri landed in front of a nearby apartment building, the facade was old, and a nice little gate opened into the closed area, it used to be housing for a wealthy family back in the day, and was repurposed for student life many decades before. They hurried up a set of tight stairs in the center, winding around to the second floor from an area somewhere between the ground floor and the basement area. Bastien moved most quickly, he lived there last year during his first year and knew the secreted staircases and alleyway entrances like the back of his own hand, assuming he wasn’t blindfolded of course. It was on this second floor that he met Manon the first week of their school year, in autumn of 1991, the wix still lived in the same room down the hallway, closest to the stairs on the end. He’d complained about the heat of summer when he visited the west-facing one bedroom apartment, but his friend kept the temperature very cool even in the summer. He reached the door where he stood the night before, and a sharp knock later opened to a tired wix as she let them inside the apartment. 

Her hair, short yet still reminiscent of a bedhead, stuck here and there. “Kill me now, I didn’t make out with a gay wizard at some point did I?” Manon asked blearily, hands grasping a red teacup, dressed for extreme comfort and ease of movement, her wool-socked feet peeking around the pair of long pants. She let go of the cup, rubbing her face as it floated to the saucer hanging before them in the air.

“Nope, that was last year Manon, I’ve never seen your room look this bad, what have you been doing this past week,” Tris said stepping into the entryway, “Good thing, he was an awful kisser” Manon muttered. Henri stepped in after, “I brought chocolate croissants!” He beamed, curly black hair cut short to keep the afro down, single green ear piercing dangling from a left lobe. 

“Godric I regret turning you down when you do things like this,” Manon sighed, walking up to stand right next to the wizard in his personal space, tapping his hip with her own as she snatched the bag from his hands, and they all laughed, it was an old joke. Bastien came in last, closing the door behind him. Not much had changed in the room from last night, a large French press floated, refilling the red teacup in front of Manon before filling a hangman mug floating to Bastien, a green flower cup and saucer to Henri, and a blue porcelain china set to Tris, all full of rich, aromatic coffee.

Henri got distracted by a book cracked open on the table, Autobiography of Isabelle Grancher, “Whachew been reading recently, Manon?”

The wix sat down on the edge of the bed, charming a set of chairs out from nowhere to fill the room for the new occupants, they all sat as Manon cleared a bit more space on the small table for their cups.

“Autobiography of Isabelle Grancher, first witch in France to realize the properties of newt tongues in the production of antibodies to specific cursed artifacts, she had to fight for recognition over her husband’s attempt at a patent for over ten years, and gained it, paving the way for other previously discounted “trophy witches” to fight for their contributions.” 

“Let me borrow it when you’re done,” Henri said, putting it back on the table. “Sure thing.” Manon replied.

A knock on the door, “I didn’t invite anyone else, did you Bastien?” Manon asked, leaning to see the wizard as he stood to open the door. 

“Pauline,” enjoying the look of abject frustration on Manon’s face, “Bastien, really?” He laughed, waving a wand to open the door.

Pauline entered, the newest edition to the group, a bit older and just beginning her Masters in Political Affairs. She did custom order paintings as a side job, and had already worked for years in some governmental bureau or another, her dark brown hair pulled up into a bun, wand stuck straight through it as she leaned against the doorframe in loose trousers.

“You’ve only got yourself to blame Manon for this pigsty.” Pauline never pulled her punches, and accepted a cup of earl grey tea from the wix in a purple mug. The group all finally sat, catching up briefly about their weekend, Tris had started early on some work, Bastien had gone out with old Licence Professionnelle friends the other day, Henri was working on his flesh eating plants seeing if he could increase their properties in the medical field without untoward harm, and Pauline had just returned from a brief weekend trip to Italy. 

A flurry of wand waving later and the bed was made, desk popped open and papers stacked until they could be sorted, various clothing piles gathered together in one spot, and the empty fire whiskey bottle on the floor vanished.

“First thing is first.” Manon mulled over, sitting on the bed she waved her wand, unlocking the lower cupboard where two fire whiskey bottles sat. 

“I’m telling you Bastien,” Manon began to say, he pulled them from her cupboard, struggling with the sticking charm keeping them upright in the off chance they nearly knocked over by someone too drunk to notice and reached back for all manner of muggle drinks as well hidden in the back corner.

“That’s not normal wine,” Pauline commented, she didn’t drink, but pointed to a bottle Bastien held up curiously, he didn’t recognize it either, and he liked his cocktails. “It’s for a drink the muggles call vespers.” Manon begrudgingly replied. Once all, seven (eight?) bottles were clearly on the counter before him Henri took over, vanishing them the back corner of his own cupboard, next to the flesh eating repellent and a pustule inducing concoction in an old fire whiskey bottle, pray he did not mix them up. Coins appeared on Manon’s desk, exact cash.

“Paying for the remnants of my stash? How kind of you Henri.” Manon laughed.

“Come on, it’s a celebration Manon, what’re you missing out on?” Tris asked, pulling her feet up to cross her legs on the bed, leaning into the wix who obligingly leaned back.

“The happy stupor, the thing that turns my brain off, the ideas that go smoothly, the excuses to make out with a witch or wizard or wix without overthinking it, the relaxation, the—” it became obvious Manon had no intention of stopping anytime soon.

“Correction. The hangovers. The money you’ve lost. The need to inebriate to be social.”

“I get it, Tris, I get it. Stop trying to make me into a good person, some days I’m not, alright? ” Manon grumbled, waving her wand as the coffee in their cups vanished, replaced by tea, “Sugar?” She asked, a container hovering in front of Henri, the only one with a massive sweet tooth among them, “Cheers,” he said, putting a substantial spoonful in his chamomile tea. Bastien wrinkled his nose in distaste, he tried to argue that chamomile tasted like dirt and the only good tea was green and black tea but Henri saw no sense, “Green tea is as bitter as flubberworm repellent, I wouldn’t eat that if someone paid me for it.” Bastien left wondering why and under what circumstances his friend ingested flubberworm repellent. Henri never mentioned it again.

Bastien waved a wand, Manon’s whole closet regurgitated the mass of its contents with an audible burp on top of the tall clothes pile; nice clothes, priceless clothes, silk and wool, leather and chiffon… and then the ugliest work shirts anyone present had ever seen, the fabric looked horribly uncomfortable not to mention the color looked like hippogriff vomit; honestly what was wrong with the wix. 

“Alright, let’s get down to business. What’s a keeper, what are you donating to the halls of the ‘Nice Wix Orphanage’?”

“Not those,” Manon waved her wand as all the bras and underwear lounging to raunchy disappeared back into the top drawer, it seemed pleased to be housing such items as the knob of the drawer winked in the light, Tris laughed, “I think some of those were new,” Manon glared at her, “Only because we shopped for them last week, I told you, you definitely are not the one to see me in such great attire.”

“Got it, Boss,” Tris said, pulling all the shirts to the side helping Manon decide between ones to keep and throw, green sweater, keep, green shirt keep, green dress shirt keep, ugliest purple cloak belonging to his mother’s generation, keep, worn Japanese kimono keep, ugly striped sweater made from something that actively waved in the breeze like ants on your skin… keep.

“Guys, go clean the kitchen,” they snapped to attention and rushed to attack the dishes.

“Why, Manon, why? Do you see how worn it is? The damned thing is about to fall apart.” Bastien leaned against the counter, wand drying all the dishes as Henri scrubbed them, looking at the offending pair of dress pants he thought Pauline was completely correct, and desperately tried to incinerate the offending item before Manon noticed.

“I’ve never seen you wear this.” Tris agreed.

“Fine, fine, fine,” a wave later, it disappeared, Bastien narrowed his eyes, “It’s not gone is it?”

“Nope.”

“I will hex you for such insolence, Manon!”

“I’d love to see you try to hex The Boss.” She nearly stood up, finger pointed in his direction in outrage but for the smirk on her face.

Fine he ceded defeat. But this was not over, based on Pauline’s glance to him he felt she at least was in his camp. 

The apartment looked much better than it had previously, the floors gleamed, the counter top sparkling, the one photograph on the wall smiled, and the clock and returned to a sunshiny mellow yellow, shuffling out to a spot for dinner they devoured the cuisine bowls of beef noodle soup all around. Basiten couldn’t keep the grin off his face, he missed the noodle soup his mother made back in Paris, it was a Taiwanese specialty he couldn’t get often at university. 

He chewed the tender meat and groaned in ecstasy, “Joan, I’ve missed this.” 

“Bastien, are you certain you are good, running back home after this?” Tris asked, “Why would you take up such a non-magic habit anyway? You already know you’re perfectly fit enough. Did you sign up to do auror training on the side and fail to tell us?”

“No, I just know if I’d have to run for anything I’d be taken down pretty quickly, the only way I’ll get the motivation I need is if a goblin came around screaming that I’d taken all their gold.”

Manon choked into her soup, a chuckle bursting through her mouth as the rest of the table laughed uproariously.

“Thanks for all the help guys, I’ll make dinner next week for our get together.” Manon said, raising her cup of tea in a cheer. It wasn’t long until the others left one by one to get back to reading the most recent news on the French dueling team, or caring for their plants, or talking up the hot bartender at a spot next door hoping for a good night nearby. Sebastien left last, chatting with the owners for a long while before turning down the road, setting off at a jog in the direction of their university, planning on making a route through campus before returning to his apartment. 

It would’ve been a simple route home, if he hadn’t been knocked over by a wizard turning the corner at lightning speed, it knocked him clear off his feet, hands and arms tangling together as the wizard set off a string of profuse apologies attempting to untangle hands from feet, he ended up stepping on Sebastien’s chest in his attempt to get up too quick. 

“I’m so sorry Monsieur, I didn’t see you there.” He sprung up, dusting hands along Sebastien’s cloak in apology, it was then that Sebastien recognized the git, “Ughhh, noooo. It’s you!” He pointed unabashedly at the taller wizard.

The wizard’s eyes widened, “Oh dear, what did I do to offend you? Have we met before?” He put fingers to his mouth and began to bite on the already bitten quick, pulling out his wand from his cloak, aiming it away from them both down the entrance to the alleyway. 

“You knocked me over last year, running from some people in Misfit Avenue. Myself, and my friend and all my paint cans, new owl, books, bottle full of flesh eating slug repellent, and lacewing fly attracting gel, went all across the whole intersection, paint cans burst, and the paint strolled off en masse attaching itself to the shop windows, they had to close half the shops for a week, I had to pay damages, just to—”

“Oh Joan, kill me now, I am so sorry about that, I remember now.” He kept glancing back the direction he came, slightly crooked wand raised slightly. “You tracked down all the runaway paint didn't you?” 

“Matthias, who the hell are you chatting with, we got to catch them now!” Someone yelled from the edge of the alleyway, it was only then that Sebastien noted the heavy wand fire back and forth; reds, purples, greens, orange, coming ever closer to his position.

“Merde,” Sebastien swore, pulling himself up hastily as though the goblins in Paris finally noticed his family’s perchance for tax evasion, untrue of course, his whole family paid more than their fair share of taxes, but even if such a situation did happen he’d move just as fast. 

Sebastien scrambled up, accidentally knocking into Matthias; the daft oaf had a name now, and he’d remember that, he didn’t just give up grudges, he let them fester into him until he blew up in a friend’s face on a completely unrelated incident… okay so he had some issues, but that wasn’t the point right now, sending both sprawling again. He swore, rolling as far as possible before picking himself up again. Just in time he threw up a shield, curses bouncing off, he stepped back into the street as far as possible, watching as Matthias pulled a cap on his dark brown curls. If Sebsatien were being honest they looked just like— never mind, it was a lame joke, even though it was true, the taller wizard ran back into the fray, “Sorry again!” Was heard as he entered the combat, shouts and hexes flying intermittently. Sebastien backed up against the wall as someone ran past with a box of some wiggling thing of some sort, thankful they didn’t stop to hex him to death, as three wix followed along in pursuit, Matthias last in tow.

Disappearing down the other street, Sebastien resigned himself to fate, no run would be in his future, and apparated home to wash off the muck on his favorite cloak. If he ever ran into that wizard again, all hell would break loose.

~~~