As it turned out, there was to be no Hogsmeade visit before Easter, so she had to wait another five weeks before she had another opportunity to see him again. They had all decided to go home for the holidays as the number of unexplained deaths of Muggles had risen sharply and panic was beginning to spread through the castle; especially those with Muggle parents. They were eager to talk to Sirius, wanting to find out the latest news and any leads they had on Voldemort's whereabouts. They had stopped using the fire in the Gryffindor common room to talk to Sirius and Lupin after they were warned that the fires in the castle could be being watched by Death Eaters undercover in the Ministry. They had also grown wary with their post, preferring now to either talk face to face or use magic to sent important letters straight to Grimmauld Place in a burst of flame.
The tension in the castle was palpable; even the teachers seemed to be on edge, especially Snape. According to what they had overheard, Voldemort and his Death Eaters were fully convinced that Snape was acting as a double-agent for them at Hogwarts. They had discerned that his mission was becoming increasingly dangerous and, from the hurried conversations that they had caught snippets of, it seemed that Voldemort was planning something; planning his great assault on Dumbledore, the Order and, more particularly, Harry and Kathryn.
They had also noticed increased security measures in the castle. Every night, on the stroke of midnight, the giant portcullis was lowered over the doors to the Entrance Hall. The doors themselves were actually locked too, having remained permanently unlocked in the past. It was a feat to watch. Kathryn had stood before them one evening as Filch and Snape had overseen their closure. What had looked like strengthening supports on the doors turned to form bars whilst, in the space they left, a second set of bars rose out of the wood and also turned to secure the entrance. No more night time visits to Hagrid, she had thought as she watched. The last time such measures as this had been taken was in the time of Sirius' escape from Azkaban. He had broken into the castle and tried to get into the Gryffindor common room, so she had been told. The school had therefore gone onto a high state of alert and the entire school had spent the night in sleeping bags on the floor of the Great Hall whilst the school was searched.
It was almost a relief when the holidays came and they were on the train back to London. They did not complain about the new measures; understanding only too well the need for good protection from Voldemort, but Kathryn did have some reservations although she did not voice them. 'What if the Death Eaters were already in the castle?' she had thought, listening to her iPod on the journey down. It was common knowledge to the Order that he was a Death Eater but, to the rest of the Wizarding world, he was a respectable gentleman. The thought 'what happens to me if he ends up locked in the castle?' had also popped into her head. She was extremely worried about what would happen should the Death Eaters ever breech the castle.
The four of them had already devised the plan of evacuating the school to the Room of Requirement, which they would wish to be Death Eater proof, before helping the teachers' take them on. This was also a worry for the inevitable stand-off between good and evil. They all knew that it would one day come and, from what they had overheard, it seemed like it would be coming soon. What would she do when she found herself locking wands with him? Would he think 'to hell with it' and try to kill her? Or, would he tactfully miss? She had yet to find out.
When they reached Kings Cross, they headed quickly for Grimmauld Place where they had a serious conversation with Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, Mr and Mrs Weasley, Mundungus, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Moody around the large table in the basement kitchen.
"They're getting more daring." Kathryn stated, poring over the latest article in the Evening Prophet.
"They always were daring." Moody growled, his magical blue eye spinning in its socket. "They're just warming up."
"I know."
"I heard them, when he came back," Harry spoke about the night in fourth year when Voldemort had returned, "they were all raring to go. Lucius Malfoy said he was ready for a spot of Muggle-torture."
"Ah yes." Mad-Eye's voice sounded very ominous. "He's good at that is old Lucius. He's got a huge mansion where no one can hear them scream." Kathryn shuddered, imagining what horrors lay in the cellars of the Malfoys home; what could have been done to her. She saw Hermione and Mrs Weasley's faces pale as he said this. "You wouldn't want to see what I have. He was very good at making them suffer."
"As to your plan." Lupin tactfully changed the subject. "We have our own plans should the Hogwarts grounds be breached, but, all the same; your idea is a good one. Mind you," Sirius cut him off mid sentence.
"It takes more than walls to stop Death Eaters."
"And you do not know if any of them know about it." Kathryn felt a stab of guilt as Lupin said this; Lucius Malfoy definitely knew the Room of Requirement existed.
"What about Voldemort, you must have some idea where he's hiding out?" Ron asked them.
"All we can say is that he seems to continuously move about." Tonks informed them.
"So, no surprises there." Hermione said dryly.
This conversation went on for a long time, until Kathryn announced that she had to go and pack. When questioned about why, she told them that one of her friends, Marie-Eve, was in England for a few days and she wanted to see her. This did cause slight uproar, especially with Moody who began to rant that she couldn't just up it and leave when there were Death Eaters running loose. She dismissed his complaint, reminding him that she was perfectly competent and was not going to let Voldemort put her off from going out.
It was with the same conviction that she left Grimmauld Place the next morning, a bag slung over her shoulder and heading for the tube; promising to be back in four days. She took an express train out of London to Reading, travelling as inconspicuously as possible, before apparating from Reading to the lane leading to the Malfoy estate. Everything was beginning to grow beautiful after winter. Droves of Daffodils lined the verges, waving in the slight breeze. She was surprised to find the wrought iron gates locked as she reached them; the iron snakes twisted together to form the lock. Unperturbed, she threw her bag over the iron points of the fence and, sticking her wand in her back pocket, pulled herself over with ease.
The locking of the gates had, however, made her suspicious and, as soon as she was over she grabbed her bag and hid herself in the trees at the edge. Walking further into the shadows, she concealed her bag in a bush and, without the slightest problem, transformed into her Animagus form. From then on, she prowled through the trees, keeping her eyes fixed on the house. Daring to chance it, she broke her cover and padded out across the lawns towards the house. She could see shapes moving through the windows and, as she got close enough, she could make out the forms of people she recognised as Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband Rodolphus, Antonin Dolohov, Crabbe and Goyle senior and Avery. She was very glad that she hadn't just wandered up the drive as she was going to.
From the upstairs window, Malfoy spotted her standing on the lawn and smiled for a fleeting moment. Kathryn only waited for another half an hour or so, staying half concealed in the trees, before they left the house and headed away. She was very tempted to leap out and attack them as the group walked up the drive. However, knowing that they would probably just kill her and be done, she stayed hidden; only transforming back into her normal self once they had apparated and Lucius Malfoy stood at his front door waiting.
"I'll not ask!" she said, smiling at him as she reached his front step. In response he kissed her, pulling her over the threshold and shutting the door. He wasted no time in dragging her up the stairs whilst pulling off as many of her clothes as possible. She didn't complain, her skin on fire; desperate for his touch. She spent most of the afternoon wandering the gardens with him; again finding her unicorn and, to her great surprise, actually reaching the stage where it let her sit on its back. Later that night, after having enjoyed one of the nicest meals she had ever eaten outside of Hogwarts, she lay beside him; lost in thought. She was thinking of the way he touched her, which was becoming something close to reverence. She spent the next two days in the same idyllic state where she did nothing but relax; completely removed from the ongoing troubles yet with one of the most dangerous men in the Wizarding world.
This idyll, however, was ruined on the day before she had to leave. It was early evening, about five o'clock, and she had gone for a walk across the meadow land that bordered his manor. She was dressed only in a thin white dress that she had found in a wardrobe and put on despite the dark clouds that were heading their way. As she looked out over the beauty of the Sailsbury Plains, the breeze rippling through her hair and making the dress float out behind her, she could see and owl approaching carrying what looked like a newspaper. Giving a small whistle, it flew to her instead of heading straight for the house as it usually did. It circled above her, dropping the folded paper into her outstretched arms, before flying off again. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance as the owl disappeared.
Her eyes were caught immediately by the large headline reading 'THE DARK MARK – YOU KNOW WHO STRIKES AGAIN!' The thunder rumbled again, even closer than last time, whilst large drops of rain began to fall. She opened the paper to read more before heading back to the house and she caught sight of the image beneath the headline.
Her heart skipped several beats and the blood drained from her face faster than a Niffler could find gold. The thunder sounded for a third time; now directly above her. In the photograph the Dark Mark was hovering silently above a house that she recognised all too well. Her world seemed to close in on her and she heard a rushing sound in her ears. Her hand shook as they clutched at the paper, the pages crinkling under the force of her grip, and soon her entire body was shaking. Above her, the heavens opened and large drops of rain began to rush down; soaking both her and the paper. At the same time, uncontrollable tears began to stream down her face and sobs of sheer despair wracked through her body. The house above which the Dark Mark hovered was the home of her foster parents in France.
Looking out from the window of his study, he could see her standing stock still on the meadow and was wondering why on earth she was not coming in when it was raining so heavily. He watched her for a few minutes more, up until the point where he saw her legs buckle and she toppled to the ground. He bolted for the door, not even bothering to pull on a cloak, and ran through the house and out into the grounds towards her. Out on the meadow she was lying in a heap, mud staining her dress with the paper clutched to her chest, howling in grief; the tears mixing with rainwater on her cheeks.
When he reached her, she was still there sobbing, her face colourless and her entire body convulsing. Not knowing what else to do, he lifted her up into his arms and carried her back to the house; mud staining his shirt as she cried uncontrollably into his shoulder. Soaked to the skin, he carried her straight upstairs and wrapped her in a blanket. Lying her down on the bed, he removed the paper from her desperate clutch whilst she cried into the pillows. He saw the headline, the picture and the words 'France' and 'Potter' but was still at a loss to understand why she was so distraught. He quickly changed out of his mud-stained clothes and sat beside her as she sobbed; only leaving her side to fetch a cup of tea.
When he returned she seemed to have calmed down, her sobbing had stopped but now she was just lying there staring into space and not acknowledging that he was even there. She was close to catatonic and, over the three hours that she lay there, every time he checked on her she had not moved once. Leaving her alone for a little while, he gave into the pangs of hunger that tugged at his stomach and went downstairs to have some dinner. He sat in the large dining room alone, toying with his food and staring at the vacant place next to him.
It was now that she had decided to appear. Still wearing the mud-stained white dress, she wandered aimlessly down the stairs and towards the dining room. The misery inside her had been replaced by anger; a deep, resentful fury that flared inside her like fire. Rain was still drumming against the windows and, every so often, a flash of lightning lit up the black clouds. He did not notice her silently enter through the open doors and only realised she was there when she was standing but a few feet in front of him. Immediately he stood up and was at her side in seconds, his hand on her cheek.
"Don't touch me." She said in a cold, harsh voice that was most unlike her. He moved away, disturbed by the edge in her voice.
"Would you like something to eat?" he asked, not really knowing what to say. She moved forwards a little more, coming to stand behind her chair at the table. Her hand curled round the stem of a wine glass, trembling slightly as she did so.
"You did it." She spoke softly. "You did it!" she screamed, hurling the glass at him. He ducked this and it shattered against the stone fireplace.
"Did what?" he was genuinely puzzled.
"You killed them!" she screamed, picking up the china plate before her and throwing it forcefully at him. She again missed; the fine, bone china cracking off the mantelpiece and smashing into small chips.
"Killed who?" the small side-plate came flying his way, followed by his empty wine glass; the floor around him now a mess of glass and china shards.
"My foster parents, that's who!" she shrieked, her voice cracking slightly. "Is that what you were planning the day I arrived? Planning how best to ruin my life? No, wait, you've already done that."
The rest of the china crashed to the floor along with the vase of flowers that was sat on the mantelpiece above the fire. She was advancing on him now, rage burning in her eyes, paying no mind to the shards of glass that dug into her feet as she walked. She tried to launch herself at him, her hands balled into fists, but instead she more collapsed onto him; her energy suddenly disappearing. He clutched her wrists as she tried in vain to hit him; her fists flailing futilely against his chest. He held on until she gave up and slumped against his chest; dissolving once more into sobs, stamping her feet in anger and frustration, only to cause herself more pain as she drove more glass and china remnants into her feet.
Once she had calmed back down again, he scooped her up and carried her back upstairs as she was now unable to walk. She did not protest as, instead of laying her down to rest, he carried her into the bathroom where she heard him turn on the shower. Conjuring a chair from mid-air, he sat her on his knee and, before she could resist, shoved her feet under the icy, strong jet of water. The house was again filled with the sound of her screams as water cleaned out the many wounds that peppered the soles of her feet. Then, brushing away the tears that had flooded her eyes from the pain, he pulled the dress up over her head and threw it in a nearby bin.
Wrapping her in a white bathrobe, he carried her back into the bedroom and set her down on the bed. Here, he placed a towel beneath her feet whilst she lay down and, carefully began to extract the shining fragments of glass and china that were now embedded in her feet. It took quite a while, thanks to the many minute fragments there were, and how many cuts there were to heal. Once he was done she saw him fold up the fragments into the now bloodstained towel and heard the crash of them being thrown into a bin. She curled her toes, checking to see if everything was still working properly. A twinge of pain flashed across her face as the skin around the newly healed lesions stretched. She hadn't moved at all when he returned, still lying on her back and gazing up at the hangings. He sat next to her on the bed; his shirt splashed with water from the shower and stained with small flecks of blood.
She was aware of him stacking pillows against the headboard but she paid no attention to him; instead closing her eyes and willing herself not to cry. At least, that was until she felt a pair of hands pulling her into a sitting position. Whilst he had been gone, he had taken the time to quickly read the front page of the Evening Prophet and had gathered most of what had happened from it.
"Right," his voice was soft, caring almost, "what has happened?" he asked, knowing that it would be best for her to say it herself.
"They're dead. The people I lived with for fourteen years; the people who loved me like I was their own daughter and never let me go without anything are dead."
"You're sure?" he wanted to know for certain.
"I lived in that house for fourteen years." Her voice grew slightly more forceful. "I think I'll know my own house." She pronounced this in her unfaltering French. "Une grande maison dans la campagne au sud de Paris. Tranquille mais proche a la capitale." She described it, the memories bringing a tear to the corner of her eye. "I was like their own daughter to them, they never had children." Her voice was hollow as if she had no more energy left and her eyes were red from crying earlier.
"I didn't know, that's the honest truth, I didn't know that they were going to do this." He held her close, feeling truly sorry.
"It's partially my fault, I never kept where I lived a secret, never asked friends back in France not to tell; I just never thought that anything here would affect them." A tear rolled silently down her cheek.
"I wouldn't have been able to stop them anyway."
"It's not your fault, it isn't really anybody's." Her eyelids were beginning to get heavy. "I have to go home. I'll have to go to France." He could hear the fatigue in her voice.
"In the morning." He stood and pulled the covers over her, passing her a pair of her dark blue pyjamas which he helped her to pull on. "You can't go home in this state!" he smiled, running his thumb over her puffy red eyes. She smiled back at him, closing her eyes and falling asleep quickly, completely drained. He lay next to her later that night, running his hands through her hair as she slept in the crook of his arm, her head resting against his chest. For the first time ever, he felt a pang of guilt for the pain his fellow Death Eaters had caused; regretting that it had caused someone he had grown to adore so much agony.
Her knock on the door of number twelve Grimmauld Place early the next morning was not met with the excitement it normally would have been. Instead, as the door swung open, she saw anguished faces waiting expectantly. They all looked at her with uncertainty as she stepped inside, no doubt assuming that she was going to crack at any moment. She must have looked a sight; her hair was lifeless and unwashed and her eyes still slightly red and puffy from her crying jag the day before. Mrs Weasley launched herself onto her as soon as she stepped inside the kitchen, followed by Sirius, Harry, Hermione and Ron. All her friends were gathered around the table, including Dumbledore, Hagrid, Professor McGonagall and Snape, all of them looking concerned. In the middle of the table before them was an official looking letter in a black-bordered envelope with the seal of the French Ministry of Magic stamped in the corner. She slit it open and pulled out the single sheet of similarly black-bordered parchment. It contained the official notification of what she already knew. There was also another letter, which she opened and red aloud to the assembled group, translating it directly from the French it was written in.
"It's from their lawyer." She informed them. "I am the sole beneficiary of their will." She replaced the letter back in its envelope. "I need to go to France."
"Arrangements have already been made, Miss Potter." Dumbledore spoke. "You can go whenever you wish."
"Tomorrow." She spoke in a definite tone. "I have to organise the funeral, and sort out the house, not that anyone will want to live in it."
"We're coming too." Harry said as Hermione and Ron nodded. Several others around the group nodded.
"I believe we all are." Dumbledore gave a small smile. "This is, after all, not something you can go through alone."
She barely slept that night, getting up at five in the morning to pack her bag again. She found Sirius already up too; frying lots of bacon and sausages for breakfast.
"How are we getting there?" she asked him, sitting down at the table and pouring herself a cup of tea.
"Portkey. The Office of Magical Transportation has given approval." Sirius informed her, adding more bacon to the already over spilling frying pan.
"That was nice of them. Wouldn't that usually take ages to get approved?"
"Well, Dumbledore had a word and, once Fudge found out that it was for you, it was done."
"Not bad. At least all these posh do's have got me something when I need it!" she smiled weakly, nibbling on the bacon, toast, sausages and beans Sirius placed in front of her.
"You're not going anywhere until you've eaten something." He wagged his finger at her. "I'll bet you haven't eaten since yesterday morning." He was right, after she had gotten back, despite Mrs Weasley's protests; she had shut herself up in her room and started making plans for their trip to France.
The rest of the house was up at six and soon she could hear Mrs Weasley fussing over people's packing to make sure they had packed clean socks. They all trouped downstairs to breakfast where nobody spoke much and then were chivvied back upstairs to change out of their pyjamas and check their packing one final time. They were all ready by nine, standing in the hallway and saying goodbye to Dung who was going to be looking after the house while they were gone. Mrs Weasley did look slightly apprehensive; no doubt worried that Dung would be using the house to store stolen goods. The rest of the party were already waiting on platform nine and three-quarters, the portkey location, when they arrived at half past nine. All were dressed in muted colours and looked sombre.
Dumbledore was holding a bicycle tyre in one wizened hand, apparently a suitable object to transport such a large number of people. Kathryn was the first to take hold, followed by the rest of the party until they were all gathered around in a circle. The tyre glowed blue and a neutral female voice spoke.
"Nine thirty seven portkey to Paris." A swift tug behind the navel followed and they were gone.
They arrived in Paris in seconds, stepping out onto the Parisienne equivalent of platform nine and three-quarters where the French Minister for Magic was waiting to greet them. He greeted Dumbledore first and then turned to Kathryn, kissing her hand and offering her his condolences in his best English. She paid him the same courtesy by politely reminding him that she had spent her childhood in France and was therefore completely capable of speaking their language. He looked slightly taken aback by this but soon recovered his composure and led them to the waiting fleet of black cars outside the station. They transported them to the French version of Diagon Alley; accessed through the back yard of a Brasserie invisible to Muggle eyes. This was apparently just to show them where it was because they did not stop and they soon found their luggage being unloaded at what seemed to be a run down, abandoned building on the banks of the Seine. She could make out people muttering as they walked past; saying to their companions how they wished the Paris council would renovate the eyesore of a building.
As it turned out, it was like St Mungo's in London and, as they stood before its bleak exterior, a door appeared where the old one was boarded up. Very nonchalantly, they stepped through into the plush reception of a hotel. The Welcome Witch informed them that their accommodation was being provided by the French Ministry of Magic before handing them their gold keys to their rooms. They had an hour or so to settle into their rooms before more cars arrived to take them to the house; situated to the north of the city, in the bordering countryside. The cars seemed to have the same traffic-avoiding qualities of the Ministry cars back in England as, quite spectacularly; they navigated the roundabout round the Arc de Triomphe in seconds. From then on they ran red lights and jumped to the front of queues of cars to get out of the city centre as fast as possible.
She was dreading what lay ahead. She didn't want to go through her foster parents' home, searching for things that she wanted to keep. The previous night she had sat, quill in hand, making a list of things she had to do upon their arrival and any things she needed to remember from the house. She already knew what she was going to keep; all her old Beauxbatons things, her childhood drawings that had once papered the walls, photographs, jewellery and any particularly valuable items of furniture or heirlooms.
They had been a relatively neat family and things were boxed away with labels in the attic if there was no space in the house. This list had taken a long time to compile, despite her having a clear idea of what she had to keep, as thoughts of Lucius Malfoy kept drifting into her mind. She had been trying to decide if she should hold an open funeral or not. If she didn't, she would have to find a plausible excuse to invite him. However, if it was an open funeral, she had no control over who came and it was therefore not her fault if he showed up.
Her heart began to flutter as they got closer and closer to her old home, the cars going ridiculously fast along the winding country lanes. Soon, the large old farmhouse came into view with its slate roof and conical tower that jutted off one of the corners. It looked exactly as it had always done, except that now a sense of foreboding filled her as she drew near. She could have been looking at the picture that had graced the front page of the Evening Prophet apart from the absence of the Dark Mark in the air above.
"Nice house." Ron commented as they turned into the drive. Harry, Ron and Hermione had never visited her old home in France, she had always planned to take them, but they had never had the time. She regretted that they had to visit under these circumstances. She stepped out into the paved front courtyard with its old cast iron fountain that had never worked. Only now, the flagstones were littered with fragments of the thick oak doors that had once stood in the gap that remained. All that remained of her front door were two chunks of wood attached to the hinges. Blocks of sandstone littered the floor, reminders of how the door had been blasted away. She stepped inside the cool, tiled Entrance Hall; her heels clicking off the floor as she followed the trail of destruction the Death Eaters had left behind.
She followed it through into the lounge area. Chunks of stuffing had been ripped from the sofa and chairs had been upended. There were also several large scorch marks on the walls and several panes of smashed glass in the French doors that lead out to the patio and back garden. The kitchen and dining room were relatively unscathed, the damage instead moving upstairs. She could see more scorch marks on the walls and, at intervals, chunks of wall were missing due to the curses her foster father had been firing back in return. Upstairs; the devastation ended again as this was where her foster father had been found. The tiled floor was wet and the sink was ruined, half the washbowl lying on the floor whilst a tap sat in the bottom of the toilet bowl.
"Right." She took a deep breath. "I'll start in my room and mark everything I want to keep." Her voice sounded a bit shaky. "Feel free to have a wander round and look for anything that may be useful." She headed off to the other side of the house, followed by Harry, Ron and Hermione.
"This isn't your room." Ron said as they walked through the door. "It's a library."
"Yes Ron, but watch carefully." She walked over to one of the bookcases that lined the walls and ran her fingers over the leather bound volumes it contained. Apparently finding the one she wanted, she gave it a tug and, as if it were a lever, it swung forwards then back into place. Standing back; the three of them watched in amazement as the entire bookcase swung forward to reveal a circular room inside.
"Wow!" Hermione whispered. It was huge; with a wrought iron spiral staircase running up one side leading up and down another level. This level was partitioned off with glass bricks to form a bathroom. They followed her downstairs into a room filled with comfy chairs, bookcases, a desk and a large fireplace.
"It's more than the cupboard under the stairs." Harry commented, casting his eyes round the spectacular space. Kathryn was, meanwhile, marking everything with fiery red crosses to show that she wanted to keep it.
"I thought it was quite cool, not many people have a hidden bedroom!" Kathryn laughed, checking to make sure she hadn't missed anything. "It was also quite a practical safety thing." The three of them followed her up to the topmost level which was where she had slept. Hermione actually squealed when she saw the ceiling.
"It's like Hogwarts!" she cried, pointing above her. She was right. The conical ceiling had been bewitched to mirror the sky outside like in the Great Hall back at Hogwarts.
"Cool." Harry murmured. "This definitely beats the cupboard."
Here, Kathryn quickly packed everything she wanted to keep into an old trunk and marked that with a cross.
She went through the house quickly, evidently not wanting to stay longer than necessary. She also repaired all the holes and scorch marks on the walls as she went, as if trying to erase what had happened. When they got back downstairs, she went through each room as she had done upstairs. Several people pointed out interesting, useful and potentially valuable pieces and they were dutifully marked. A man they assumed to be the lawyer appeared once they were nearly done.
"Everything marked with a cross is to be taken back to my train. Sell the rest and the house. You can put all the money in my vault at Gringotts minus any debts that need to be settled." She told him in perfect French. He nodded before bowing to her and apparating away again.
They finished not long after that, their cars whisking them back to their hotel where many of their party decided to wander off into the city too peruse the shops and see the sights. Kathryn, who had seen the sights many times before, stayed in her room whilst Harry, Ron and Hermione went of with the twins, Sirius, Ginny and Lupin to explore. She set about contacting her foster parents' old friends to tell them the funeral arrangements for the day after next. Her next task was to organise the day itself to make sure everything would run like clockwork. It was due to start at ten thirty in the morning with a service in the cemetery chapel before the burial. The wake was to be held at their hotel; in the downstairs ballroom and was kindly being paid for by the French Ministry of Magic at the request of Cornelius Fudge.
The final thing she did was send of invitations to Fudge, the French Minister for Magic, several of the teachers at Hogwarts, Madame Maxime and a general invitation to all the Hogwarts Governors. That way, she could avoid any uncomfortable situation with having a Death Eater at the funeral of people they had killed. She didn't care what anyone else would think if he showed up; all she wanted was for him to be there. Harry, Ron, Hermione, everyone could protest as much as they wanted; she wouldn't listen.
Once she had finished this, she headed out into the spring sunlight that was bathing the French capital. She did feel at ease here, like she was back home; only this time her return to the streets she knew so well was tinged with pain and loss. She didn't feel as happy as she normally would of as she strolled down the boulevards. She ran into Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Harry on the Champs Elysées; Hermione goggling at the innumerable boutiques and then at the bags Kathryn had acquired in them.
"What?" she asked, noticing Harry eyeing her bags. "You didn't expect me to come to Paris and not go shopping, did you?" she laughed, leading them up to one of the cafés where they sat nibbling pastries.
The next day went like a blur as Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Ginny, Tonks, Sirius, Lupin and several others had insisted that she show them the best places. She traipsed around the city with them following behind her; taking them to all the best places, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, Place de la Concorde and Sacre Coeur where she made them climb the many steps up to the basilica on the hill. It was worth putting up with their complaining to see the looks on their faces when they reached the top and saw the view of the city below. She took them to the best shops that were tucked away in streets off the main boulevards. It felt strange to now, after all this time, be sharing her old life with her brother and best friends. She had never really spoken to them much about her childhood, partially because she was afraid she would be rubbing Harry's nose in the fact that she had a loving pair of foster parents who had done their best to give her everything she needed.