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Anna was prompt in sending the details of the trip to Christine. There weren't many. Just when and where the portkey was going to take them to the little town where Nicolas Flamel grew up. The location and shared costs of the cottage they were renting for their stay. And the day they were planning to go to the famous alchemist's first workshop.

As for anything else the trip might entail, Anna said they'd 'go with the flow'. Decide the rest when they got there. Be spontaneous.

Because that always worked out so well for them in the past.

Christine would've pointed that out if they'd been face to face. But since they were communicating by letter, she didn't bother. Just told Anna that she'd be there and that she'd cleared the trip with her family. In fact, they were more excited for her than she was herself. And they assured her they didn't need her to help around the shop at all.

Which is how Christine found herself in a run-down park - well, it used to be a park, now it was just a collection of overgrown and withered greenery - in an inconspicuous neighbourhood in London looking for a broken tea pot. They shouldn't have let Francis in charge of setting up the portkey. Really. A broken tea pot? How in the hell were they supposed to find that by the deadline in a park this big?

"The Department of Magical Transportation really loves fucking with people, don't they?" Trish grumbled as the two of them tried to search through the underbrush with rucksacks slung over their backs.

"For those poor bastards in the Portkey Office, I'm sure it's their greatest pleasure in life," Christine agreed as she kicked around her, hoping to hit the damn thing, and find it without toppling herself over from the weight imbalance.

Unfortunately, she had no luck in that effort.

Trish laughed and stood up straight to take a break from their search. Stretching out her back with a groan as something popped back into place.

"Just our luck that Francis thinks this is the most fun she's ever had. We shouldn't have made friends of these crazy people."

"Yeah, that really wasn't the best choice either of us ever made," Christine sighed and peeked around a tree stump, hoping the ministry workers got lazy and dumped it somewhere obvious. They hadn't. Cunts. "But there's no getting away from them now."

They looked around in companionable silence for another few minutes. Then Christine gave up and whipped out her wand. Trish looked at her questioningly. Even though they were all of age now, they weren't supposed to do magic in the muggle world. And while it was well known that Christine had a strident hatred for rules, she was normally level-headed enough to refrain from doing anything that would get her dragged in front of the Wizengamot.

"Screw it," she said to herself, and with a flick of her wand, summoned the portkey.

A chipped, dirty porcelain tea pot with a duckling pattern zoomed towards them from further into the park. It flew into Christine's hand and she caught it easily. She shrugged at Trish, who was still giving her that unimpressed, slightly worried, look.

"Nobody ever comes here until after dark. There's no way any of us'll be seen. Hardly a violation of the Statute of Secrecy at all," she explained and let herself flop down onto the stump so she could rest her legs. Shrugged off her rucksack.

Trish was still looking at her, but now she just seemed confused.

"Why would anyone come to a park after dark?" she asked with clear bewilderment.

"Never mind, muggle thing," Christine deflected easily. Luckily, that answer seemed to satisfy Trish.

Sometimes, Christine forgot just how sheltered and naive all of her friends could be. They were so clever and shrewd that it was often hard to believe they couldn't recognise a prime dealing space when they saw it. But, everyone at Hogwarts had been like that.

She checked her watch and smiled indulgently, "We've still got half an hour before this thing's ready to go. I think we can let the others have their fun for another while."

Trish set herself down next to her delicately and rested her bag by their feet, "I don't see why not. I'm tired of getting filthy for nothing."

Christine laughed, but she agreed wholeheartedly. She had no issue with getting her hands dirty. In fact, she found it pretty enjoyable more often than not. But only when it served a purpose. Getting absolutely destroyed with mud and dead plants when she could just summon what she wanted wasn't her idea of fun.

"Speaking of muggle things," Trish began with an air that made it clear that whatever Trish was getting at, it was important to her. So, Christine perked up, and rose enough from her lounging position that she could look Trish in the eye.

"When we get back, I want your help with something."

"Sure," Christine agreed easily. Trish had done so much for her over the years that Christine felt any hesitation to repay the favour would be shameful, "Mind if I ask why?"

"Course not," Trish replied with a grin, and a hopeful, determined look in her eyes, "I've got a business idea. I want to create a purely magical residential area in London. Prices in Diagon Alley are outrageous, and Knockturn Alley is just plain dangerous. I think it'll be pretty easy to carve out a niche."

Christine nodded along with Trish's plan. Her friend was right, it was a brilliant idea. And she realised why Trish would need her help, specifically, to make it a success.

"And I know London a lot better than you do," she concluded and it was Trish's turn to nod, "Especially the parts of muggle London you could take over without people getting too suspicious."

"And, you know, I want to make sure I don't end up buying in the middle of their version of Knockturn Alley."

"That too," Christine agreed with a laugh, "But tell me, is asking me for help all part of you lot's plan to get me to do something with my life?"

Christine could see that Trish's grin took on a slightly guilty look, but didn't fade away. That was all the answer Christine needed. She sighed at the knowledge against her. Unsurprising, but not a very welcome circumstance.

"I know we're crowding you. But we're worried. It's just so strange, seeing you without a direction. Throwing every job offer you get in the fire," Trish told her, unabashed about her scheming about Christine.

Christine was annoyed, but she couldn't ignore how her friend's collective concern for her was touching.

"I don't want a job," Christine decided to confess, before this became A Thing, "I want a passion. Like you, Tonks, and Charlie have. I'll figure it out, eventually. No need for all this fuss."

"Alright, I'll lay off, as long as you help me corner the wizarding real estate market."

"Deal," they shook on it and went to gather the others so they weren't late for the portkey.

Christine was, admittedly, not the biggest fan of travelling by portkey. Or a fan of it at all. She'd only done it once, and that was enough. She'd rather avoid it whenever possible. But, though she was loathe to admit it, a portkey was the most convenient way to travel such a long distance in a large group like theirs.

So, when the duckling covered tea pot started glowing, she sucked it up and grabbed it along with her friends. And she didn't complain as the terrible sensation began, of some sort of hook being shoved into her abdomen and dragging her away in the direction of southern France.

Even if it was bloody fucking awful.

A/N - The title of this chapter, 'Aren't You Having Fun?' is in French, and I don't speak French, at all. I was absolutely terrible at it in school. But since they were heading to France, I thought it'd be fun to give it a French title. I did my best with the translation, but there's a high likelihood I got it wrong. If I did, and you speak French, feel free to let me know, and maybe send me a correct translation.