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Harry looks at the board at the front of the class and tries to make sense of the words written down there. He should be able to figure them out. Maths was always his best subject. But even with the knowledge he was in the advanced class back home he can’t figure out what the professor means. Harry picks up his pen and starts to scribble the notes down, maybe uncle Moony will have some time tonight to translate them for him. Not that it’s likely, on most nights he’s too tired to do anything. So Harry will be forced to start up his computer and hope Google translate will understand his scribbles that are always filled with spelling mistakes.
Years ago, mom had mentioned a French class, said that maybe it would be a good thing that Harry and James would learn it. This was just after Uncle Moony and Sirius had moved to Paris, so Moony could get better treatment for his illness. Dad had been so sad back then, refused the lessons, in the hope his best friends would move back to England in the long run. Now, Harry wished his father hadn’t been so stubborn, then maybe Harry wouldn’t be so lost in his new surroundings.
“Monsieur Potter,” professor Laurent starts. Harry looks up from his notes. The professor speeds on, and Harry picks up the words attention and calculer. He thinks the professor wants him to pay attention and calculate the sum on the board or something. But Harry has no idea how to formulate an answer. He can hardly say that his name is Harry and that he doesn’t speak French.
“Je suis désolé, je ne comprends pas,” Harry stutters. Some of the other students start to laugh and the professor shakes his head and Harry doesn’t miss the word incompétent. There is no doubt in his mind what that means. All the teacher think of him like that here, the students too. He’s the new boy that doesn’t even speak their language.
Harry looks back down to his notes and forces his eyes to stay dry. He won’t cry during class. He won’t give them all the satisfaction. No, he leaves the crying for when his uncles are asleep and can’t hear him. Then he lets himself miss his parents, his baby sister, his friends, his good grades, his place on the soccer team. Man, he even misses professor Snape and his detentions. All of it was better than the hell he’s living in now.
The bell rings and Harry hurries to pack up all his things. He wants to get out of this room, out of this school as quickly as he can. He’s on his feet before everyone else and hurries down the corridor. He’s almost at the doors when his backpack is pulled backwards. Harry staggers and comes to a stop. His bag gets pulled from his shoulder.
“Give it back,” Harry demands. The boys around him just laugh.
“Désolé, je ne peux pas te comprendre,” the boy holding Harry’s bag says. He turns the bag upside down and all Harry’s belonging fall to the ground. Harry crouches down and starts to pull all his notes and books towards him. His eyes scanning the floor for that one piece. He spots it and reaches for it, but the bully is faster. He takes the letter and scans it, a smile forming on his face.
“On dirait que sa maman lui a écrit une lettre,” he says. All the other boys laugh.
“Please, just give that back. You can destroy everything I own, kick the shit out of me if you want. But please, give me back that letter.” Harry holds out his hand. He can feel the tears behind his eyes. The thought of them destroying those last words his mother wrote to him is too much. He can’t lose them too. Not after losing everything else he ever cared about.
“Vous ne voulez pas que nous lisions ceci, n'est-ce pas?” the boy says. He folds open the letter and clears his throat. “Dear Harry,” he starts.
Harry drops his head and slowly pushes his books back into his bag. He tries not to listen to the words that his new classmate yells over the laugher of his friends. Words that were meant just for Harry, left in an envelope in his mother's bedside cabinet. Like she had always known that she would leave him so suddenly and way too soon before he would even get the change to tell her. And she had known all along.
“And don’t worry about being gay, we’ve always known,” the boy says. Everyone falls quiet around Harry. Harry doesn’t dare to look up and show them the tears that fall down his cheeks. This was his, and he hadn’t been ready yet for the world to know. He hadn’t even told Ron and Hermione. And now, in just a couple of seconds, it was out there, for the entire world to know.
“Tu es gay?” the boy asks. “Crasseux.”
“Rends-lui la lettre,” another voice says. The French liaised with an English accent. Harry had heard the voice before, the blond boy is in his class. Harry likes to stare at him, it’s a nice distraction when he’s given up on trying to understand a single word in class. His name is Malfoy, and he’s popular, and as fit as can be.
There are some words between the bully and Malfoy. A huff and then footsteps walking away. Harry just stares at the ground, waiting for the hallway to empty. He doesn’t think he will ever see his mothers letter again. Why did he even take it with him to school? He should have just left it at home, safe from prying eyes.
“It’s okay, they’re all gone,” Malfoy says. He kneels down next to Harry and hands him the letter. “I’m sorry they stole this from you.”
Harry takes the letter with shaking hands. He whispers ‘thank you’ and then looks up into Malfoy’s eyes. He’s never seen them up close before. They’re grey and mesmerising. And the smile that sits on Malfoy’s face. Harry wants to look at it for the rest of his life.
“Potter, isn’t it?” Malfoy asks.
Harry wipes his sleeve over his face to get rid of the tears. He doesn’t want Malfoy to see him like this. “Yes, but you can call me Harry. I hate the name Potter right now.”
“Just right now? So it’s fine again in say about ten minutes?”
A soft laugh escapes Harry. “Maybe, once the teachers here stop saying it like it’s the same as saying idiot.”
“Yeah, they don’t like it when you can’t speak their language. And they’re not that fond of us British. It took me months to convince them I’m not the enemy even though I spoke perfect French when I started here.”
They both get up and casually walk out of the school. Harry tries not to glance at Malfoy to often, but he can’t help himself. The platinum hairs that sweep up in the wind a little keep catching his eyes.
“I’m Draco, by the way. Draco Malfoy. I’ve been stuck in this country since I was eight. Father’s business took off here and he thought it would be better to stay closer to where his money was coming from.”
“I moved here only two months ago, to live with my uncles, away from it all,” Harry tells him.
“You don’t have to tell me. We still get newspapers from the UK. I’m sorry they wouldn’t let you grieve in peace.”
Harry looks at the ground. “I just wish I could have stayed with my friends. I hardly know my uncles. And don’t get me wrong, I know they love me, but I’m in the way. They promised to teach me French, promised to make sure I would feel at home. And I know they are trying to fit me into their busy schedules. But they’ve always been just the two of them, and I can see that they miss that.”
“Just give them some time, I’m sure it will all work out.” Draco answers.
“I hope so,” Harry says. He looks into the distance and debates if he’s going to take the subway or the bus.
“Why don’t you come over to mine, I can help you with your homework, and maybe teach you some French words in the process.”
Harry shakes his head. “You don’t have to be nice to me just because you know my entire family died.”
Draco laughs and places his hand on Harry’s arm. “Is this how you treat everyone that’s trying to be nice to you? Because that will explain why everyone doesn’t like you.”
“Well, I’m sorry that I’m done with people wanting to be in the inner circle of the famous Harry Potter, the boy that inherited so much money he could buy the entire world. And all I want is give it all away if it would get me my family back. But they’re dead! They’re all dead. And I still don’t know why I had to be the only one to walk away from it all alive. I don’t want to be alive,” Harry sobs.
Two arms fold around him and then Harry finds his face hidden against Draco’s chest. He cries and he doesn’t care anymore. Ever since he woke up in that hospital bed, Ron’s mom sitting at his bedside, her sad face and her gentle words when she tried to explain to Harry that there had been an accident. Ever since that moment he’d wished he’d died with them.
It takes some time before Harry calms down a bit. Without noticing Draco has manoeuvred him closer to a limousine. He gets pushed inside and Draco follows him. “My crazy ride. You’re not the only one with more money than is good for them. Father likes to show off how wealthy we are. So no simple rides for the person that will take over his business one day.”
Harry doesn’t answer. He’s finally said out loud what he’s been thinking for the last three months and Draco is acting like it was nothing.
“I should get home,” he stutters.
Draco looks at him, a stern look on his face. “No, you’re coming with me. We’re going to take a look at the homework we’ve gotten today and we’re going to start with your French lessons. Make sure you’ll be fluent as soon as possible. And once we’ve all done that, you’ll stay over for dinner and then we’ll bring you home. And tomorrow, at school, you’ll come to sit next to me so I can translate for you. I’ll introduce you to the people who are worth hanging out with. And afterwards, you’ll come with me again, or I’ll come to yours, to do our homework. And we’ll keep doing that until you’ve learnt enough French to do it by yourself.”
Harry blinks and can’t help the smile that forms on his face. “You’re worse than Molly,” he says. Draco looks confused for one second and then smiles.
“You have no idea how horrible I can be. I haven’t even started on your looks. We need to do something about those horrible glasses. And that hair, you won’t seduce any boy with a crows nest on your head.”
“And what would you know about seducing boys?” Harry asks.
“More than you, that’s for sure,” Draco answers. Harry’s heart skips a little beat at that confession and he can feel his cheeks heating up.
“Just don’t mention that in front of my father. He’ll go off on one of his little speeches on how it’s all a phase and that I just need the find the right girl. Mother will try to convince him it’s not a phase and then all hell will break loose, again. And I hate it when they fight, so just, well, just don’t say anything about me being gay. And stop looking at me like that, it just makes me want to kiss you, and I don’t think we’re there yet.”
Draco’s cheeks get a little more colour on them and Harry can’t help the massive grin on his face. The boy he’s been dreaming about for weeks just said he wants to kiss him. Maybe France won’t be a total nightmare after all.