Order Only: Bugger All

Today I snuck Justin out of the house on an important mission. A pilgrimage of sorts.

We went to Jim Morrison's grave. Really we should have gone Friday next, but with Justin along I wanted to avoid the biggest crowds. He’s still quite shy of people. And the site is already staked out by the faithful, so as it was we had to contend with a number of (mostly female) visitors all snapping candids and leaving offerings. Hard to believe it’s been 21 years. The new headstone looks really good, though.

While we were in the area, I took him to the larger wizarding shopping district for some supplies. He refuses to use quill-and-ink, preferring ballpoint pens and mechanical pencils. Still, I got him some to start him on real writing (and more for myself as I’m running low). And I found him a wand and a small cauldron along with a stout knife, a starting kit of phials, a reasonable pair of dragonhide gloves and his textbooks - hard to find in English, but I got a few, and the rest are French.

From there we went to a favourite Boulangerie of mine. And I nearly had a heart attack.

Lucius Malfoy, bold as a jarvey and twice as cheeky, was taking luncheon inside, with a bevy of French wizards and others I could only assume were his staff, or summat. They'd pretty much taken over the whole bistro – nearly everyone there was some kind of official or diplomat. I even spied a few of the badges that the French Aurors wear.

Well, you can guess, I turned Justin right round in a trice and we walked away as calmly as I could manage. My best hope was that no one inside had spotted us before we’d come too close. But before we got three steps, a young man came running out after us. 'M'sieur!' he was shouting at me, over and over.

I ignored it, but the blighter Apparated to catch up and caught my sleeve. Justin got behind me and I felt for my wand. I was cursing a lack of more drastic disguise, too, but since I've been with the Finch-Fletchleys I've not altered my appearance more than I can achieve without major spellwork or Polyjuice. Enough not to look exactly like my wanted posters, in other words, but close enough that I could be my own brother. 'Que voulez-vous?' I asked, as brusquely as I could, figuring if I were as nasty as possible I might scare the kid off.

He then commenced such rapid-fire but poorly-accented French it was hard for me to follow. Eventually I got the gist. The delegation wanted to round up likely families for a photo op for Le Bonhomme, a French version of our Proper Warlock. I expect Malfoy's keeping it out of the Prophet fairly well, but his visit here has met with a lot of protests and there's pressure on the French Ministry to send him and his pureblood policies packing. So it seems they’re manufacturing some propaganda to sell back home about how welcoming the French have been.

Naturally I refused the offer. He stopped me leaving again and asked (rather desperately, I thought) whether I didn't want my son in the papers. I said of course not.

Then he leaned in very close. I swear under other circumstances I’d have thought he was chatting me up. But instead of making an offer I would have been in no mood to accept anyway, he tentatively whispered my name.

My real name.

I whipped out my wand to Obliviate him, but he hissed 'Grim Truth' very quickly and held up his hands to stay mine. He kept saying it: ‘Grim Truth,’ like a password or the equivalent of waving a flag of parlay. He implored me to put the wand away and not to make a scene or draw attention.

I chanced a look over his shoulder. No one else was even watching through the window, much less coming out to intercept us. The chap himself looked pale, like he wanted to check too but didn’t dare make a hash of it. Either he was a good actor or he really was trying to make contact under the noses of his companions. 'It is you,' he said, 'I was sure I was making a fool of myself. But it is, isn't it?'

'What do you really want?' I asked, in English this time.

'To help you,' he said. 'I don't want to go back to England.'

'You can't help me here,' I said, 'and we're not talking about this with your boss only a few yards away.' I took a step back, keeping Justin behind me. The boy had his hand on my belt loops, by the way, and was shaking like a leaf.

'Meet me in the Rue de la Place tomorrow,' the young man said, and I could hear his urgency now. 'I'll come alone.'

'Not on your life,' I told him. 'Ask the French for asylum if you're so keen to stay.'

I grabbed Justin and side-along-Apparated, right back to Dijon. I was promptly extremely sick, too – a combination of the distance, the haste, my passenger, and I don't mind saying, absolute fright.

I think if he were truly loyal to the Ministry, he’d have raised more of a hue and cry once he confirmed he’d found Sirius Black. Still, that doesn’t mean they won’t have it out of him if he tries to stay behind and fails, or gets caught. Or he could be a really, really good actor and I took a foolish chance by letting him know he’d hit the mark.

I don't think he had any idea who the boy is, but if his superiors make him talk, it shan’t take long for them to figure it out. I'm waiting for Aurors to show up any moment, or that blasted Malfoy himself. I feel the instinct to run, but I don't want to leave the household defenceless if the Ministry should decide to take them in custody or at least investigate the place as a possible shelter for me.

Unless I hear a better plan from any of you lot, I'm going to tell Mrs F-F what happened when I see her tonight, leaving Justin out of it best I can. I'll become their faithful pet for a while in case anyone noses about - that way they can honestly say that there’s no one in the house fitting my description.

So, if you don't hear from me for a few days, it's due to lying low. But if you don't hear in a week ... fear the worst.

I feel wretched. All this time successfully evading them and then to get caught out on a ruddy shopping run.