Harry Evans: Memoirs of a well-lived Death (SI)

2 weeks after the start of summer vacation -/- South of France

"Did you get the clothes and the sandals?" Harry hissed as he slid into the seaside changing cabin and suspiciously looked through the slit on the side to double-check that they hadn't been followed. Nothing but sand, sea and sand. Coming to the most deserted part of the beach had been a good idea.

"You think I'm an idiot, of course, I got them, bottom of the laundry basket, gross, but worth it. The question is, you got the money and the vials?" Is what Penny replied, pointing to the pile of dirty clothes on the little bench in the cabin.

"Who do you take me for, some idiot, this whole operation was my idea," Harry retorted angrily, making Penny roll her eyes.

"We wouldn't be here if it weren't for my potions."

"We wouldn't be here if it weren't for my skills," Harry retorted as he ran a hand over the dirty laundry, slowly but surely cleaning it with his magic.

"Can you do it any faster, we only have half a day?" Penny urged him on.

"You do it then if it's so easy. Am I ever this annoying when you're making Potions?"

"Always."

"Oh shut it! Also, I'm done," Harry said as he triumphantly pointed at the now clean pile of laundry before he started rummaging through it by hand and sorting it into female and male.

"Can't believe your amazing wandless magic is cleaning," Penny muttered as she unceremoniously slipped out of her white summer dress. She had a swimming suit underneath and at this point, it wasn't something Harry hadn't seen before anyway, but he was still impressed by the lack of any hesitation. The girl in the cabin put on the overly large yellow monstrosity that Aunt Petunia liked to wear to the beach before putting her hands inside and removing her top underneath it; the bottom stayed since its size was adjustable with some strings.

Harry took off his shirt, his pants, and his underwear, all while facing away from Penny. "Do you really have to moon me?" she complained as he put on his uncle's shorts and looped in the belt, before buttoning himself up.

"It's an ass, get over it, some of us don't have adjustable bikinis, also, why are you looking?" Harry retorted. It was a testament to how much of a fuck Penny didn't give as she just huffed. They'd been in France for a few days now and it was only today that they'd managed to slip out of a trip to another small town with another awesome church in a neighbouring region famous for its cuisine. Harry didn't have the heart to tell his uncle that every single region in France referred to itself as a 'region gastronomique,' even the ones that shouldn't, like Alsace, and that the description didn't really mean anything.

"So are we doing this or not?" Penny asked and pulled him from his thoughts.

"Of course we are, we've come too far, trained too hard, and talked to so many annoying French children. It's time to do this," Harry said, pumping himself up. He pulled a vial of ageing potion from the backpack he'd brought and shot it like only a former university student could.

He retched at the taste. If the language tonic had been bear shit, then the ageing potion tasted exactly how an old dead person over the age of 100 smelled like.

Tears came to his eyes and he desperately scrambled for the water bottle he'd brought with him only for it to slip out of his grasp as his fingers started elongating along with his arm. He fell to the ground on all fours as his brows shifted to cover his eyes before the latter popped past the former and his joints started cracking.

The whole transformation took only a few seconds, but it felt like it had been an hour of someone tickling his asshole. He shakily righted himself with the help of Penny, who'd taken him under the shoulders. It must have looked comical with how tiny she was now. Harry chuckled weakly at the 12-year-old girl who now barely came up to his abs and was looking up at him in wonder.

"How do I look?" he asked, suddenly fearful that he'd gone too far with the ways her pupils were widening. Penny blushed, looked down at her feet and refused to meet his eyes

Harry pulled a mirror from the backpack and looked at himself. The mirror obviously couldn't measure how tall he was, but he felt like he was just a bit under 1.80 metres. He looked lanky, which made sense considering how he wasn't really into sports, but used his brain a lot, which definitely fucked with one's usage of calories. His face… Well, he definitely looked older. Around 24, if he had to judge? Same short mop of red hair that he liked to think was stylish, but probably just looked unkempt. An androgynous face greeted him below the red, the smoothness of a woman's features paired with the jaw, nose and brows of a man. He didn't really know how he felt about his body, still, even-aged up, but objectively he looked passable. A seven, maybe an eight out of ten if the person judging liked their men to be a bit feminine and thin.

The eyes? They'd stayed the same, vibrant green, soul-piercing. "Ehhh, eight out of ten," he ended up saying before glancing again at Penny, just in time to see her dropping to the floor, an empty vial falling alongside her. Harry leaned back and watched as her body shifted, grew and adapted, leaving behind a woman. His blood froze in his veins as he saw what kind of woman when Penny stood up.

Tousled blond hair framing two blue eyes one could have likened to sapphires on a bad day. A cherubic face and a body that was feminine the same way his own wasn't manly.

"How do I look, Harry?" the woman asked in a raspy voice, causing Harry to close his eyes and clench his fists.

"You look great," he managed to squeeze out, getting a grunt of concern for his efforts.

"Everything alright?" she asked and he almost wanted to confess to everything. A second or two passed before he answered.¨

"My eyes hurt a bit, I think I might need glasses when I'm older."

"A mediwitch can fix that. Anyway, we should get going." Penny said and Harry heard her gathering up the clothes and potion vials. He heard her open the door when she was done. The callousness of the act is what woke him up from his stupor. She would have never done much of anything without making sure that he was alright if there was any indication that he wasn't. Penny wasn't her and never would be. Penny was a child, who he somehow clicked with in terms of friendship.

He opened his eyes and followed her, seeing the outline of her bikini through the dress before tearing his eyes away. She looked 25, but she wasn't, it wasn't appropriate. He blinked at the sun as they traversed the dunes, in the middle of which had laid the changing cabin they'd used for their purposes. His eyes actually hurt, he noted, he'd have to start wearing sunglasses more regularly as he got older. Apparently, his body was more sensitive now.

It was a long walk back to their actual purpose, but it had been a big risk, what they'd done. Neither of them knew much about French magical regulations, even if they could speak the language now. In all honesty, they probably could have taken the potion in the house the Dursleys had rented, but they hadn't wanted to risk setting off some muggle-proximity alarms.

In the future, Harry would just go pass by the French Ministry of Magic and ask them about their regulations. The issue was, he didn't know where it was. His annoyance helped him comprehend a bit of the rhetoric that Grindelwald and then subsequently Voldemort had peddled. Why did they have to hide, just because muggles were too dumb and violent to co-exist with their magical counterparts? It was, indeed, in some ways unfair.

If the worlds weren't split he wouldn't have to wonder where the ministry of magic was, about the regulations, nor would he have to worry about hiding the potion effect at all. Pulling his attention out of his thoughts Harry noted a certain unpleasantness he hadn't really planned for. The closer they got to civilization, as they traversed the beaches and neared Saint Maximes town square, the more looks Penny was getting.

Not necessarily the kind of looks a 12-year-old girl should be getting, no matter the age of her current body. By the awkward fidgeting she was doing with her hands as she took slightly awkward strides, she also noticed that something was different. Harry caught up to her and unceremoniously took her hand in his, the male gazes immediately lessened but didn't disappear entirely.

"You're going to be a very beautiful woman when you grow up," he said to her as she looked at him with surprised eyes, "but I don't think that's something we want to deal with right now, so how about we just pretend we're a couple. That way most people will leave us alone," he proposed, causing the woman by his side to blush and look away from him.

"Alright," she said quietly and squeezed his hand. They walked the streets of Saint Maxime unmolested from that point onwards, hand in hand, both mostly focused on their own thoughts and how they felt in their bodies, rather than on any sort of conversation. They'd been on vacation together for a while now and despite how interesting Penny was, she was still 12 years old and not someone Harry considered the most riveting conversationalist for topics like philosophy, religion and adult life. She would get there in time and he would wait for her, but until then she would just be a normal friend, not a confidante, or an equal.

Harry sighed happily as he noticed something. He was also getting different looks. Not necessarily good ones, because he was dressed like a moron in his uncle's big clothes. But there was a lack of something that he enjoyed, a fear that he, as a stupid child, would jump in front of a car, or trip and fall into something, or scream really loudly. It was just people looking at him and stereotyping him as a walking fashion disaster.

"It's really beautiful, so different from where I grew up," Penny said eventually as they started nearing their destination. Harry looked around at her words. The quintessential French town on the Mediterranean coast.

Supple architecture in soft yellow with red-clay rooftops. Stone walkways through fancifully winding streets full of restaurants, shops and old grandmas sitting and chatting with anyone willing to sit down with them. The salty summer breeze and the glistening blue of the sea. Olive, pine and lemon trees. Tomatoes and grapes growing in gardens. He sighed.

"It's the Mediterranean experience, sun, sea, food and relaxation," he said as he glanced at Penny, who was also looking at him, the sea behind her serving as a backdrop to her own blue eyes.

"Most people I know have never left the country unless it was for the Quidditch World Cup. They're missing out."

"Considering wizards can travel more easily than muggles, I find that a bit odd."

"It's community, region, heritage, it's sticking to what you know," Penny explained with a shrug. "I never even considered going somewhere else for the summer until you offered."

"I'm glad I convinced you, it's been a blast," he offered, at which Penny smiled, as painfully bright as the sun setting behind her head. Harry looked away.

"Do you always go somewhere in the summer?" she asked as Harry saw the central point of their mission today just down the street.

He thought about her question as they approached 'L'agneux Divin.'

The Dursleys were not international people, which made sense considering they were lower-middle-class citizens in the 20th century.

Harry had come from a different time, a time in which he'd been an avid traveller and if it hadn't been for his untimely leaving, he would have likely seen most of the world before his death. This spirit had been something that he'd pushed for in the Dursleys and only through the expendable income that he generated with Vernon had the final nail been struck. In the last four years, they'd visited Norway, Denmark and Spain. Now France. Petunia and Vernon had needed to warm up to the idea.

Dudley loved it. Harry savoured it. Perhaps it had been because of people like him, that travelling in the future had degraded in quality, but he doubted it. Capitalism, mostly, had led to the rampant commercialization of open and touristic spaces like Saint Maxime. What was now a sleepy paradise with family-owned businesses and charming old blue pick-up trucks, would very likely become an over-crowded over-priced hell-hole of selfie-tourism and diesel exhaust. He gave it less than a decade. It was sad, and Harry was glad that he got the chance to relive the beauty that would be lost soon.

"Every now and again, we go somewhere, I guess," he belatedly answered as they stopped in front of the restaurant Harry had sneakily made a reservation in, for his older siblings, a few days ago. He led them inside and spoke in fluent French to one of the waiters, who was casually smoking a cigarette inside while leaning on the countertop behind which one could smell delicious aromas coming from the kitchen.

"We have a reservation for two, should be under the name Van de Water," he said, at which the waiter lazily exhaled a puff of smoke to his side and gestured with his head to the only table that was still free in the corner of the small traditionally furnished restaurant.

They sat down wearily and continued their conversation in French for a moment. While they hadn't wanted to mix the language learning tonic with the ageing potion for today, they'd been abusing the former for a bit now and had both either quickly re-gained or gained from anew a very high proficiency in the language.

Penny was naturally still not quite as good as him, but she could get by, he just wouldn't ever ask her to write anything, since the language tonic only worked on writing if one practised in such a manner, which they hadn't. They'd just been chatting with French children and adults on the beach every day.

"Your French is very good," the waiter said as he stepped up to the table, apparently done with his cigarette. His gaze lingered on Penny for a second, before he switched to Harry, assuming that the man at the table would take control of the ordering. He wasn't wrong, but not for any misogynistic reason.

"I'll start myself off with a glass of red wine, Merlot if you have it, a local speciality of your discretion if you don't. For the lady, I'll reserve the right to order for her a Kir royal, with extra Kir," he shot off, letting his gaze sweep past the waiter as the man nodded, meaning that they had both of their preferred options. He was wondering, "Your restaurant name is the divine lamb? I'll admit I usually order fish at the seaside, it makes more immediate culinary sense to me. I'm open to suggestions though."

The waiter tilted his head and scratched his stubble. "Well, our waiter, as odd as it sounds, is from Bourgogne, and the honeyed lamb is his speciality. I'd definitely suggest it, it's good to switch up one's palate every now and again, no?" he said plaintively.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the information. "Bourgogne? I'll trust him then, lamb it is. Can I get some snails and a cheese platter to start us off meanwhile, a big baguette if you will. Knowing the region the snail will be drowned in olive oil and it would be a waste to throw it," he said, getting another nod. He turned to Penny, who looked a bit green at the idea of snails. Harry smirked at her and asked. "What would you have for the main?"

Penny looked around, saw there were no mentions, twiddled her thumbs and seemingly just went with the first thing that came to her mind, potentially from the fact that Harry had told her that for today, money was no issue. "You have lobster?" she asked.

"Soup or roast?" the waiter asked with a raised eyebrow and an unsure glance at Harry, who just grinned, he mouthed roast to Penny, who nodded.

"Roast, I'll have a roast, with potatoes."

"I think that's all for the moment," Harry added and the waiter left, but quickly came back with their drinks and two shot glasses of clear liquid, before leaving again.

Penny curiously took the shot glass and brought it up to her nose to sniff it.

"I wouldn't recommend drinking that," Harry told her.

"What is it?"

"It's probably pastis," he said as he sniffed at his own shot-glass, he cringed as the smell of anis assaulted his nostrils.

"Worst thing to come out of France since William the bastard. Try the drink I ordered you," He suggested, taking his own wine glass in hand and swirling the rich red liquid inside. He watched as Penny mirrored him and couldn't repress a chuckle. "Well, Penny, I'd say we should toast to a successful year at our institute."

The girl nodded and they clanged their glasses together before both taking a sip. While Harry let the red wine run down his throat and leaned back in his chair in contentment, Penny looked like she'd swallowed a lemon, she gently put her glass back down and nudged it to the side. She leaned into him conspiratorially before whispering, making sure no one could hear her. "I think the drink went bad," she said, causing Harry to laugh. He offered her his glass of red wine and took her drink.

"We can switch, mine is fine," he said and they both drank again, the drink was obviously perfect. Very good even. Penny scrunched her face up again.

"Well my dear Penny, let this be a lesson to you, not all things that adults like to drink taste good," he said as the red wine glass, along with the pastis was pushed to his side of the table. The cheese platter soon arrived, as did the snails and Harry ordered a carafe of water for Penny, receiving a queer look from the waiter.

"Is everything all right?" the man asked, glancing at Penny but keeping his focus on Harry, who could only laugh.

"She's trying alcohol for the first time," he said as he spread a cut of chevroux on a slice of baguette. "I wouldn't take it personally."

The French waiter sniffed, looked Penny up and down critically and addressed her. "I have something that might be more suited for, uh, English tastes, free of charge, considering the occasion," the man offered.

Penny shrugged and nodded as she wolfishly shoved cheese and bread down her throat. Ageing potions apparently built an appetite. The waiter left and Harry watched as he stepped behind the bar, taking one brown and one white bottle from the fridge underneath the country.

Harry blinked, huh, that could work, although he was surprised they had Bailey's in a place like this. He offered a snail that he'd fished out of its shell with the prerequisite fork to Penny and watched sadistically as her face turned green at the insinuation before he popped it into his own mouth and chewed the savoury treat, under his schoolmate's look of disgust.¨

He rolled his eyes. "You should keep an open mind, you know, it tastes perfectly good, better than good even."

Penny protectively covered the cheese platter from his view with a mulish look and continued stubbornly sticking to her lane. A frothy white drink was suddenly deposited in front of her, which she eyed suspiciously.

"What is it?" she asked the waiter.

"It's milk with cream liquor."

"You should try it," Harry added to the waiter's expectant look. They both watched with great interest as the blonde woman suspiciously picked up the glass, smelled it, and took a tiny sip, before nodding and taking bigger gulps, finishing the whole thing in five seconds flat. The two men shared a wide-eyed look, before glancing back at the blonde who'd gone back to her cheese.

"C'est pas vrai…" the French waiter murmured as he staggered away from the table.

"It was good, thanks!" Penny shouted after the traumatised man. Harry slowly took another snail from the little platter which they made them in and dunked a bit of bread into the oily remains cloyed with garlic, parsley and salt. He munched on the treat as he realised that at the age that Penny was at… If she indeed acted her actual age, in an adult body.

Well… It would make her adult form seem slightly mentally challenged. He could only helplessly watch as giggles started interspersing the cheese and bread destruction that was Penny. She just shot what was probably 8cl of Bailey's, he realised. It wasn't really a lot of alcohol, maybe one, or two beers worth? But this was her first time drinking.

"Oh, boy," Harry muttered to himself as he realised that he'd potentially made a big mistake. Considering how mature Penny was, which he guessed made sense if she mirrored his behaviour in her interactions with him, he hadn't realised how much of a bad idea giving her ageing potion and alcohol would likely be. He'd just thought it would be rude to go off and get smashed alone, he'd really missed alcohol…

"How come you got to try skipping ahead one year in Charms? Also, you've been reading arithmancy books the entirety of the summer, don't you have any other hobbies?" Penny suddenly asked in garbled English, breadcrumbs in her hair. She seemed angry, or, well, passionate. "I'm way better at Potions than you are at Charms," she said accusingly as she narrowed her eyes at him.

'I'm sorry, L'agneux divin, Saint Maxime, France,' Harry thought in his head as Penny started questioning him about why he got special treatment from the staff. He took a big gulp of his wine and subtly locked eyes with the waiter, who was looking in their direction with an expression usually found on deer just as they were about to be run over. Harry motioned for a bottle of wine and started thinking about how he was going to salvage this situation.

-/-

Hours later, probably not for the first time and definitely not for the last time, two very drunk Brits could be seen swimming naked in the Mediterranean Sea, while singing obnoxiously, what very few people would recognize as the Hogwarts school song.

Harry had never quite cared for national identity, but in that moment he felt unrepentantly English, for better or worse.