Harry came to a stop after activating the second portkey that took him to the Flamel home. Harry's portkey had dropped him twenty yards inside a low stone wall. In the distance Harry could see fields; they were standing in a vineyard.
"Harry?"
"Mr. Flamel?" Harry was facing a elderly gentleman that reminded him of the actor Richard Attenbourgh. He had the slightly rounded figure and white hair of an older man but the posture and an energy that made Harry think he was very fit. He wore jeans, a sheepskin coat, over a chamois shirt and a stocking cap.
"Call me Nic, or Oncle Nic if it makes you more comfortable, and I shall call you Harry, alright? Now I'm sure a modern boy like yourself would prefer to be in something other than those robes. So let's get you up to the house and you can get comfortable."
Harry grinned. "Sounds good."
"Was your journey okay?"
"Yes, thanks for setting it up that my processing at customs was expedited."
"Not a problem. I always have people in the French Ministry that are anxious to do me favors. Idiots that they frequently are."
"I can imagine."
"Sorry about the walk, but with our layered wards we don't have magical ways into the manor. It also helps control the feedback and protects the electronics in the house."
"You have electronics?"
"Yes, Nell and I mostly disassociated ourselves from magicals when the separatists got into power three centuries ago. Fools that they were. We are all still human after all. Non-magicals for all they lack magic make up for it in sheer drive and creativity. Living amongst them is what keeps Nell and I young and inventive. Here we are."
They had walked at a fairly fast pace for about eight minutes and they approached a two-story stone manor. They walked in the open gate and were now out of the cold wind that blown across the fields, and through the vineyard. Inside the walls there was a large yard with three sheds, one of which appeared to be made of industrial glass bricks.
"The first shed houses the generator and the cars. The second, some of the farming implements for the vineyard and the fields, and the third one with the glass is my laboratory. We will be spending some time there, mostly mornings. Nell wanted to claim your afternoons for history. I thought evenings could be spent relaxing by watching movies. I've got a Star Wars marathon planned and then you can pick some from our collection."
The house was large, about three times the size of the Dursley's house on Privet Drive. Nic paused and had Harry touch a bronze plate near the front door. "The wards will recognize you as a guest now, so you may enter and exit freely." He said. They went in through the vestibule. Nic shed his heavy boots and put on a pair of house shoes.
Harry pulled out and tapped his trunk and pulled his own from it so he could follow suit. While he had it open he pulled the host and hostess gifts he had brought with him. Then they entered the house proper.
"Nell!"
An older woman, whom Harry thought looked like a petite Helen Mirren, came bustling into the foyer, "Here I am husband, no need to shout, and this must be Harry. Il est beau.(He is handsome.)"
Harry blushed a little. "Merci, Madame, vous êtes très gentille.(You are very kind)."
"Bon(Good), Nic had told me you needed help with your français, but that was very well done."
"A friend at school is fluent and has been tutoring me in exchange for help with transfiguration, but I look forward to working on my fluency while I'm here. This is for you."
The set of cashmere gloves, scarf, and beret were a simple gift, but he hoped a welcome one. He also planned to buy her a silk scarf of her choice in Paris. He then handed Nic the shrunken box of lab equipment he had had Cassandra purchase in London. "For you, sir." Harry had a five year old bottle of Rosemerta's Oak Matured Mead that he would give them on Christmas morning and he hoped to sketch both of them at some point.
Nell opened the hostess gift. "How lovely, the gloves look warm. Merci beaucoup, je n'ai jamais maîtrisé la réalisation de gants.( Thank you very much, I never mastered making gloves)" She watched to see if he understood.
Harry thought hard. The thanks was easy enough, ne jamais meant never, des gants meant gloves. The rest had been to fast for him to match it to words he knew."Maîtrisé?"
"Mastered." she provided.
"la réalisation?"
"Making."
"Nell grew up in the era when women were supposed to have such skills. My parents were horrified when I chose a woman so lacking in such skills as my bride, when they had negotiated a match that was from their view far superior, Margarite had looks, housewifely skills and a sizable dowry-"
"Nic-"
"Yes, my love?"
....
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