Chapter 100: Aboard The Mont Saint-Michel

Harry's initial surge of enthusiasm had dissipated by minute three of their road trip. His face, drained of color, remained pressed against the handle above the car door. Anxiety bubbled within him, surfacing as an apprehensive query, "PRofessor, have you ever driven a car before?"

Professor Sherlock Forester, now under scrutiny for his driving etiquette, quickly produced a British driver's license, belonging to the original owner. "Of course I have, I've been navigating these contraptions for the last three years. Satisfied?"

"No, no... F-Focus on the road, Professor, please! Watch out for the tree!" The panic in Harry's voice could not be mistaken, to which the Professor replied with a dismissive tap to the brake and the steering wheel received a sharp twist.

And then... the car came to a sputtering stop. The complexity of switching between left and right-hand driving proved to be significantly more difficult than Sherlock had imagined. Navigating the idiosyncrasies of a 90s vehicle as compared to the models three decades later was a task in itself.

With Harry clearly rattled, Sherlock restarted the automobile and offered a reassuring word. "It was a minor misstep. From here on out, we will surely..." The remainder of his sentence was cut short as Harry shot up from his seat so quickly he almost decapitated himself on the ceiling of the car.

"I trust you, Professor! Don't say another word! I have complete faith in you!" His voice held a desperation Harry wasn't even aware he was feeling. At this point, all he wished for was a mundane car ride. He'd spent years cleaning after the Dursleys, hardly filled by their subpar meals, and taking their verbal lashings. Few situations could be grimmer, but he imagined an car crash caused by Sherlock's misplaced confidence would land on that short list.

Upon witnessing Harry's exaggerated concern, Sherlock offered a resigned shrug and continued to acquaint himself with the right-hand drive vehicle.

Upon arrival at the closest shopping center, Sherlock and Harry replenished their snack supply and opted for several well-fitting outfits for Harry, all of which Sherlock insisted upon covering the cost for. Although he was not excessively wealthy in either the magical or the non-magical world, his predecessor was particularly frugal and had saved quite a sum. Sherlock didn't find spending muggle currency burdensome, seeing as he infrequently found opportunities to use it.

After packing the car full of provisions, Harry fired off letters to Ron and Hermione, entrusting Hedwig with their delivery, so his friends would be aware of his current predicament. Meanwhile, Sherlock had meticulously planned out their expedition and soon they were London-bound.

"How are gonna get to France?" now comfortably ensconced in new attire and munching on potato crisps, Harry posed the question. Eyes glued to the road, Sherlock answered, "The underwater tunnel courtesy muggle engineering isn't operational until next year. So, our path leads us to the port in London. From there, we'll cross the sea via a ferry to the city of Caen in Northern France."

(E/N.: Obviously there are no ferries going from London to Caen (because London is not a coastal city lmao), they must've taken the Portsmouth-Caen ferry..)

Magic certainly would've made the journey smoother but Sherlock saw this trip as an opportunity to relax and didn't mind the extended route. Not intending to loiter around in the UK for too long, they continued towards London.

The journey to the port from Devonshire was short, due to its proximity to London. About an hour later, Sherlock stepped out of the car to purchase ferry tickets, and soon they were aboard a French ship named the Mont Saint-Michel. Sailing down the Thames River, crossing the North Sea and navigating through the Dover Strait, they were en route to Caen.

(E/N.: No idea what author is talking about the past few chapters, the title of the Cavendish family is called Duke of Devonshire their estate, however, is in Derbyshire, but even so that's not where MC nor Harry live?? They both live in Surrey which literally borders Greater London, MILES away from both Devonshire and Derbyshire. I'm ranting ik but how hard is it to google that shit? Dude, Caen does not lay across the Dover strait, the Mont Saint-Michel serves the Portsmouth-Caen route, not London and it wasn't even in service until 2002, the Dover strait is part of the english channel not the north sea..... I'll shut up, sorry)

Harry and Sherlock leaned over the patina-railed edge of the ship, squinting against the wind, relishing in the tangy sea air whipping through their hair. Harry had seen the ocean once before, when Vernon had whisked his family away to a stony beach-side cottage, mere days before the start of his first year, in a futile attempt to evade Hagrid's letter delivery. His sentiment then was worlds apart from his joy now. As he watched the ocean blend seamlessly into the backdrop of the sky, Harry found himself quite captivated.

"See that seagull, Harry? Its wing seems slightly damaged, judging by the unsteady flight. Yet, its struggle is inspiring. I'm certain it will retreat to a safe haven shortly," Sherlock mused. Barely three seconds after the words left his lips, the injured bird dove into the turbulent sea with a mournful cry as its last energy reserves ran dry.

Harry paused, stealing a surreptitious glance at his unsuspecting Professor who was poised behind a pair of binoculars, engrossed in the prosperous panorama. The idea crossed his mind that perhaps if Professor Forester was less ill-omened, he might... no, he most certainly would, be jollier.

The mention of sumptuous French cuisine and frolicking on sandy beaches had Sherlock and Harry yearning for their arrival when a friendly voice interrupted their daydreaming. "Sherlock!" Surprised at hearing his name called out, Sherlock looked around in confusion.

The caller, a youth in his late twenties, sported sunglasses, a shirt, shorts, and a loosely knotted tie - the standard attire of a wizard attempting to blend into muggle society. Meanwhile, Sherlock spotted a wooden stick peeking out from the young man's pocket; a wand, to be exact.

"We meet again, Sherlock! Never thought I'd bump into you here. What a stroke of luck!" The young wizard strolled up to Sherlock, shaking his hand vigorously while wearing an effervescent smile. Sherlock blinked at him, his memory failing to produce any recollections from the original owner's archives. Tentatively, Sherlock asked, "Sorry but you are?"

Unfazed by the lack of recognition, the young man replied, "Can't place me, can you? Well, we cooperated briefly a couple of years ago at the ministry. You were truly of great assistance," introducing himself, "Allow me to reintroduce myself. I'm Oliver Green from the Obliviator Headquarters at the Ministry of Magic."

Despite his thorough familiarity with the previous owner's diary, Sherlock didn't remember meeting Oliver. Realizing this must have been a trifling matter in the eyes of the original owner, Sherlock offered an apologetic smile, "I'm sorry, I don't have any recollections of such, but it's nice to meet you."

Ever the enthusiast, Oliver brushed it off, "No worries. You were quite the saving grace at the time. You resigned before I had the opportunity to express my gratitude. I heard from the Daily Prophet a few months back that you now hold a position at Hogwarts as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor? That you annihilated the monster in the Chamber of Secrets last term? Unsurprising, you leave your mark wherever you go." A familiar face to the wizarding world thanks to the Daily Prophet, Sherlock was quite the talk of the town.

"Just doing my duty to protect the students."

"You've become much more approachable than before. That's splendid news."

As their conversation progressed, Oliver was infused with renewed energy, his gaze shifting between Sherlock and Harry. "Is this your nephew? Where are you heading?"

Once Harry was introduced, Oliver was visibly amazed but maintained his politeness, refraining from the usual inquisitiveness about the lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead.

"I'm on a ministry assignment myself. Apparently, a muggle had managed to infiltrate The Headless Hunt's gathering in Kent and witnessed the entire event." (E/N.: perfect explanation as to why he's on a ferry to France)

Curiosity piqued, Sherlock listened intently as Oliver unfolded his mission expeditions. "As of late, Arthur's been over the moon. He clinched the Galleon Grand Prize in the Daily Prophet's annual draw. His plan is to take a few days off and embark on a trip to Egypt with his family to visit his eldest son."

Harry gained insights into Ron's current affairs from him. Oliver seemed to hold Arthur in high regard, referring to him with real fondness. "Did you two embark on this journey in a muggle car?" Oliver asked, to which Sherlock affirmed, "Yea we rented one from a muggle auto rental service."

"Can I give it an inspection? I've always been intrigued by muggle machinery," Oliver requested, not surprisingly.

Having engaged in a thoughtful conversation aboard the ship, Sherlock felt no apprehension granting him this minor indulgence.

Sherlock and Harry led Oliver to their leased Ford sedan. The sight of it made Oliver visibly excited as he clambered inside. "This machine is so fascinating! Sometimes, you can't help but admire muggle's inventiveness. Without the aid of magic, they've created marvels that could rival its effects. Unlike the stagnation of alchemy in the wizarding world, muggle technology is always evolving.

"Their imagination does have its limitations though. Why haven't they designed flying cars yet?" With a smirk, Oliver glanced back at Sherlock, "Are you planning to maneuver this car through France?"

Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly, "Unless unforeseen circumstances arise, we do intend to..."

Cutting him off mid-sentence in a deceptively calm tone, Harry interjected, "Yes! Unless unforeseen circumstances arise, we intend to use this car for transportation!"

Glancing at Harry in annoyance, Sherlock swatted at Harry's unruly hair. "Manners, Harry! Cutting in while someone is speaking is considered rude."

Suppressing a wince, Harry held back any complaints as he mentally congratulated himself on his timely intervention or they'd unquestionably be switching to alternate forms of transportation in no time.

Looking at the car with keen interest, Oliver proposed, "Although convenient for travel, muggle transportation just lacks the magical charm. I could assist you with modifying it, Sherlock. A few minor tweaks and it'll be transformed into a marvel!"

Caught off guard, Sherlock hesitated, "I think..."

"Don't fret! Even Arthur acquired his modification techniques from me. He had followed my instructions when modifying a flying car at home, only for his son to fly it straight into Hogwarts last year. Needless to say, the Ministry of Magic was not pleased when they got wind of it, and deducted three months of his wages. But trust me, my skills overshadow his!" while talking, Oliver began to work on the Ford sedan. The car groaned under his wand's touch.

Finding themselves as mere spectators with little say in the matter, Harry and Sherlock exchanged defeated glances. Harry couldn't help but wonder if this was the ramification of not successfully intercepting Sherlock's prediction earlier on. Regardless of Oliver's prowess in vehicle modifications, the result of his labor could hardly be referred to as a Ford sedan anymore.

As noon approached, Sherlock, alongside Harry, decided to grab some lunch at the ship's restaurant, even extending an invitation to Oliver. However, he was so engrossed in perfecting his work of art that he declined.