Minerva McGonagall paced irritably up and down a quarter of the street, passing back and forth before three houses on repeat. Her tail twitched to and fro, her whiskers jerked in time, and all of it expressed her supreme disbelief. A few of the muggle inhabitants had surely noticed the odd behaviour of the cat, which had turned up this morning and lingered in the street all day, most unusually. Few continued to pay her mind though, unbeknownst to them the charms she cast upon herself made it hard for muggles to focus on her for long.
It wasn't until long after the sun went down that her long vigil paid off. With a soft pop a solitary robed figure appeared in the street across from number four. The cat darted toward it, transforming mid stride into a strict woman in similar robes. "What are you thinking Dumbledore?" She bit out by way of greeting.
6 years later
Petunia Dursley was conflicted. Ever since leaving Britain she'd done her best to maintain her house to the standards their new home country demanded. She studied up on all the French recipes, practiced her pronunciations, and on the whole gave none of the neighbours anything to gossip about when they had them round for tea or dinner. It didn't come easy, and at times she was befuddled as to how her life had ended up like this. But when opportunity comes a-knocking, as they say, and this particular opportunity came affixed with a few extra zeros. Opinions of the French as a whole aside, she'd done her best to make this place home and was rather pleased with her successes as they were. Which led her to this very moment, with some strange French woman sitting at her dining room table and talking about some 'special program' for Lilly's boy. On the one hand, she did not want any more attention drawn to him, or her family for that matter, and she had trouble understanding why he of all people had been selected for it. On the other hand the woman had said something about tax benefits, what with Dudders studying abroad back home in England and the Potter boy being taken out of public school should they approve of it.
"I would have to speak with my husband about it." She said by way of deflection, to give herself more time to think. "You said he was referred to you because of behavioral problems?"
She said this resolutely in English. Her rather paltry attempts at French were reserved for the neighbours and wives of Vernon's closer work associates. Those, in short, who's opinions actually matter. It was clear that in Petunia's mind, as this woman was an intruder in her house and far more importantly was here regarding Harry, her opinion did not matter in the slightest.
The woman, to her credit, gave no outward sign that she was offended by Petunia's intentionally off-putting demeanor. She answered in near flawless English that even Vernon would struggle to find something to scoff at.
"Yes as I said, we believe young Potter would be a better fit for this school than the one he currently attends." She had not, in fact, implied at all that Harry's behavior was the reason they were interested in him. But Petunia had immediately come to this conclusion on her own, and the French witch had done nothing to disavow her of this. She reached across the table and took back the emerald folder she'd slid toward the muggle woman when it became clear she had no intention of looking through it. It mattered little, it contained nothing but lies anyway.
"And it won't cost us anything?" Petunia asked again, looking down her haughty nose at the woman. She tried to at least, it was rather difficult when they were both seated.
"Non- no." She corrected herself, using the English denial. "There are scholarships in place to cover it, and as I said, without a child in public schools we can work to have your taxes adjusted accordingly."
"I'll have to discuss it with my husband." Petunia deflected again, but she knew that Vernon would be sold on the decreased tax bill alone. "Will he go and live on campus then? I'll not be carting him into Paris every morning and picking him up in that traffic!" She said waspishly.
"Transportation can be arranged, it is no issue." She said briskly. She was a professional diplomat, a seasoned veteran of the magical French government, and even she found it difficult to contain her distaste for this wretched English woman. It was becoming rather clear she would not be getting an answer during this visit, which was a shame because she did not relish the necessity for a second trip to the Dursley house.
"Very well." She concluded before Petunia could respond, ready to be done with all this. "If I could just see the boy for a second, I have some information for him, and then I'll return next weekend after you've had a chance to discuss things." Petunia looked like she was trying to chew and swallow her own tongue as she warred with herself. She did not want to go and get him, she did not really like the sound of all this. However the potential benefits seemed nice, and she seemed to decide that they outweighed her misgivings. If only just for now, at least. She stood from the little table and gave a jerky nod of the head.
"Alright, wait here then," She said and turned, not to the hall toward the stairs, but rather to the back door out the kitchen. The French witch could see out a garden window, Petunia, crossing the yard. She went to the little shed along the back fence. It was built, like the house, from irregular stone held together with mortar in the style of old medieval cottages, though she knew this suburb was much more recently erected. She assumed it was some sort of playhouse for the children until the door was opened and a scrawny boy with messy hair and ratty clothes far too big for him exited. In the brief moment she could see inside she glimpsed a little bed, barely big enough to fit the room, and a pile of clothes on the ground.
Her pristine demeanor shattered, and she only just managed to get her rage and indignation back under wraps before the two of them entered the kitchen once more. "This woman wants to have a word with you." Petunia barked when the boy was presented before her.
"Bonjour madame." Harry Potter said, in surprisingly adept French, she had not expected it after dealing with this Dursley woman.
"Bonjour, Harry." She responded, switching to French and managing to smile down at him despite her now foul mood. "Je m'appelle Margot Monet." He did not quite meet her eyes, his whole demeanor seemed to radiate meekness, like he was trying to convince you he wasn't actually there. "I was just talking to your aunt here about inviting you to attend our school." She spoke a little faster than perhaps necessary, testing his French out of personal curiosity more than anything. His eyes flicked up to her face, and he seemed to find it acceptably warm and friendly for he finally turned his head up to face her fully. "Would that be something you think you would be interested in?"
The English woman seemed rather put out by all this French being spoken in her kitchen, though Margot got the impression she could at least follow their conversation. The little boy before her nodded hesitantly and she redoubled her warm smile, trying to convey her intentions to the boy through it. Oh she would be having harsh words with the president about this.