FicWad

Luckily, by the time Christine reached her friends again, they hadn't gotten the French Ministry of Magic called down on them. They had, however, somehow managed to greatly offend an old French woman who owned a stall which advertised homemade preserves.

Christine couldn't understand how it had happened. It couldn't have been over her wears being substandard. Because Christine could tell the look, the gorgeous smell emanating from the place, and the obvious pride the woman took in her creations, that the jams, jellies, and tarts were excellent. And she couldn't honestly come up with another scenario that would make the woman that furious.

But still, Christine was on the hook to settle everything down.

It seemed the jam maker didn't speak much English. And she knew her friends couldn't understand a word of the expletives the woman was hurling at them. So, Christine approached with her most innocent expression and as nonthreatening an air as possible.

When her friends turned to Christine on her approach, the woman decided to turn her attention to her as well. Christine put a stop to the yelling and the panic with a few well-chosen words and a placating gesture.

"I'm very sorry, Madame, that my friends upset you. But they meant no offense, I'm sure," she said to the elderly woman as calmly as she could while sending a glare over her shoulder at the girls.

The shopkeeper settled a little, but she still looked like a rearing dragon about to incinerate her girlfriends. Christine too the opportunity for what it was, and went in for the kill. So to speak.

"I'm sure whatever they said was a misunderstanding. You know how the English can be," she continued with a smile, "They're good girls, really."

The woman huffed and deflated from her rage. She folded her arms huffily and waited for Christine to keep going. Clearly not completely placated by her efforts so far.

"What did they say?" Christine asked gently, hoping to get the route of the problem, which was likely to be the only way to settle the situation once and for all.

"They insulated my work," the woman snapped, sending a glare of her own at the girls standing in a loose huddle behind Christine.

"How? I can see your products are excellent."

That finally got the shopkeeper to let go of her anger. The woman let her arms fall to her sides and the purse of her lips softened to the point it was no longer a death knoll. Christine had been right to try and soothe the pride this woman had in her work, because it was only then that she looked willing to talk to Christine, rather than shout at her.

"They were laughing, and talking about some woman. Kitty, or um, Kit. That was it," she said bitterly, "Speaking of my work like it was nothing."

Oh. That explained it. For a group of people so intelligent and consistently polite, they could be unbelievably tactless. She sighed audibly, and raised a hand to rub at her temple. Of bloody fucking course they'd do something like this.

"I am truly sorry, Madame," Christine told her sincerely, reaching out to pat her arm kindly, and the woman allowed it, "But I am right, they meant you and your work no offense. My name is Kit, I am who my friends were speaking of. I sometimes bake and make jams. Any comparison they made to yours was meant as a compliment, I assure you."

Christine was able to deescalate the situation very quickly after that. Within a few minutes Ms. Degaradant went from a raving enemy to a kindly acquaintance. They left the market with a formidable new acquaintance and two delicious smelling tarts.

"I don't know how you do it, Kit," Emily commented cheerfully as she peeked into the box containing a black cherry tart and sniffing delightedly, "Making mean old ladies fall in love with you. It's a real gift."

"Thanks," Christine said with a grin, "But it's pretty easy to do why you don't insult them before you try and chat them up for free food."

"Point taken," Harrio laughed and slapped Emily's hand away from the box, "No eating that until after dinner, you heathen."

"Ow, you're such a drag."

"Oh, shut up the two of you, you're the ones who insulted the woman in the first place," Anna said with a roll of her eyes, "Stop fighting over the pie and say thanks, already."

"We didn't mean to," Emily argued petulantly, "That lady's wicked crazy."

"No, she's not, she's just sick of tourists talking shit about her and her food," Christine clarified, "You guys were like the fifth group this afternoon to do it."

"Oh great, we were the last straw. Just our luck," Tara grumbled and gave Harrio a light, playful kick to the shin, "You tow have just fantastic timing."

The rest of their day went as well as their morning had. Without any more little hiccups involving suspicious, angry, or offended locals. Thank god. Christine didn't think she'd be able to pull together the necessary politeness to settle another dispute so soon. She was just too damn tired. They'd been walking around all day, and by the time they made it back to the cottage, her feet were starting to kill her.

It had been a good day. In spite of the situation with the baker toward the end of the afternoon. But the morning had been great. And the evening was shaping up to be a tranquil, beautiful night.

Besides, they'd gotten two tarts out of it.

Even so, it was a great relief to finally throw herself onto one of the overstuffed couches in the drawing room. And then be piled upon by Anna and Tara. She laughed and tried to fight them off, but she knew it was a useless effort. They would only move when they wanted to. And they declared they were perfectly comfortable. Christine made a good pillow, even if her elbows were bony as shit.

A/N - I know I've painted the other Slytherin girls to be a bit silly in this and the last chapter, but they're not, and we're going to see that in the rest of the story. But I wanted to show them as being a bit clueless and a little naive when it came to the muggle world. So we could see how different their upbringing was to Christine's.