Chapter 104: Pitiful Miss Delacour
Chapter 104: Pitiful Miss Delacour
Harry was marveling at the Headmistress's impressive stature.
He believed that if Madame Maxime and Professor Dumbledore were to have a one-on-one fight without magic, even three Professor Dumbledores wouldn't stand a chance against her.
"Thank you for your concern, Madame, but with Professor Forrest around, we've been perfectly safe on our journey", Harry said.
Madame Maxime nodded, as if she had other matters to attend to.
"Feel free to try the Provençal fish stew in the Great Hall at noon. Our house-elves' cooking is quite good. I have some official duties to attend to, but I hope you enjoy your time at the school."
As she walked away, Harry leaned in close to Sherlock's ear and whispered,
"I think she might be related to Hagrid!"
Sherlock promptly flicked Harry's forehead, causing him to clutch his head and wail in pain.
"I've told you not to gossip about others behind their backs, and don't make fun of their unique features. It's very disrespectful."
Harry, being the obedient student he was, took Sherlock's reprimand to heart.
They continued to wander around Beauxbatons, and along the way, they met a student who was staying on campus. They chatted for a while about life at the school.
From her words, it was clear that the atmosphere at Beauxbatons was more serious than at Hogwarts, with more rules and regulations.
Or perhaps it was that Hogwarts wasn't always as relaxed as it is now. The school's atmosphere only became more laid-back after Dumbledore became Headmaster.
At noon, they went to the Great Hall to try the Provençal fish stew that Madame Maxime had recommended.
Harry and Sherlock didn't particularly enjoy the stew; they preferred the toast, which was well-cooked and delicious, earning high praise from the Chosen One, Mr. Potter.
After lunch, they sat in the garden for a while to digest their meal before getting up to leave Beauxbatons.
Sherlock's itinerary in France was mostly spontaneous.
For example, the decision to visit Beauxbatons was made while they were in Caen.
For their next destination, they followed the advice of the Head of Housekeeping, Garral, who had let them into Beauxbatons.
"At the foot of the Pyrenees, there's a Muggle town called Saint-Gaudens. Near it is a wizarding village named Aspe. It's a hub for wizards from France, Portugal, Spain, and even some African countries. You can visit the Warmth Bar; their wine and steak are excellent."
They climbed back into their flying car and headed north along the Pyrenees, following Sherlock's lead to the wizarding village of Aspe.
The place was even more bustling than Hogsmeade.
This was mainly because the Pyrenees are at the border between Spain and France, and it's not far from Africa across the Mediterranean.
So, in addition to French wizards, wizards from neighboring countries also gathered in this village to socialize, making it the most vibrant magical commercial district in southern Europe.
Seeing that about one in five people on the street were of African descent, Harry couldn't help but remark,
"There are quite a few African wizards here."
Sherlock patted his shoulder and gestured for him to listen carefully to the African wizards speaking. Harry then realized that most of them were speaking French.
"They're French!" Harry exclaimed with wide eyes.
Sherlock made a shushing gesture, signaling for him to lower his voice.
"Quite normal. The concept of pure blood isn't as strong in France as it is in Britain. Half-blood and Muggle-born wizards make up a significant portion of the French wizarding population. The increasing number of black people in the Muggle world has naturally had an impact on the wizarding world. So don't assume every black wizard you see is of African descent."
Harry nodded, half-understanding, and followed Sherlock as they wandered the bustling streets of Aspe.
The place was indeed lively, arguably the main hub for wizards in southern Europe. Harry bought quite a few interesting items as they strolled along the streets.
In the wizarding world, Sherlock didn't need to pay for Harry. By wizarding standards, Harry's ancestors had owned a shampoo company, leaving him a fortune that far exceeded Sherlock's personal stash, making him a wealthy young man.
While Sherlock was being pestered by a shop owner trying to sell him an Amortentia Antidote, Harry suddenly seemed to have a significant discovery. He stared intently in one direction, his eyes wide, and his entire body went still.
The shop owner, noticing Harry's odd behavior, followed his gaze and saw that he was looking at a young witch.
The witch had a beautiful silver-white mane of hair, delicate features, and skin as white as snow. Most importantly, she exuded a captivating aura.
The experienced Sherlock wasn't charmed by the witch. He squinted and nudged the dazed Harry to snap him out of it.
"Hey, hey, hey, your drool is almost reaching your chest."
Harry's face turned beet red as he frantically wiped his mouth, only to find it completely dry.
"You tricked me, Professor!" Harry said, sounding aggrieved.
"If I don't wake you up now, you'll really start drooling", Sherlock said, grabbing Harry by the collar and pulling him away. "That girl is suspicious. She must have some special magical creature blood in her, or she wouldn't be unconsciously giving off that aura. I suggest you snap out of it."
As evening approached, the sky grew darker. Sherlock led Harry to the Warmth Bar that Old Witch Garral had recommended and walked inside.
The Warmth Bar lived up to its name, with a warm and cozy atmosphere. The soft yellow lighting and gentle music made the entire bar feel very inviting.
Sherlock and Harry found an empty seat by the window and ordered two steaks and a bottle of red wine.
"Do you want to try it this time?" Sherlock asked, uncorking the wine and gesturing to Harry.
Harry shook his head vigorously. The last time in Saumur, he took a sip of red wine and ended up spitting it out. It was nothing like the grape juice he had imagined.
Sherlock ordered him an orange juice instead. As Garral had said, the steaks here were indeed excellent, and both Harry and Sherlock were quite satisfied.
Halfway through their meal, Harry tapped Sherlock's arm and pointed toward the bar's entrance.
The silver-haired girl they had seen on the street was now walking in, accompanied by a young male wizard who seemed very attentive and was about Sherlock's age.
Sherlock glanced at her, then turned back to his meal, tapping Harry's plate with his fork as a reminder.
"Finish your food and don't stare."
"She's probably a Beauxbatons student", Harry said, though his attention was clearly still on the girl.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"How do you know?"
As they talked, the girl and the young wizard took the last empty seats next to them.
Harry nodded toward her, and Sherlock followed his gaze. Sure enough, he saw the Beauxbatons emblem on the girl's robe sleeve: two golden wands crossed in an X.
Sherlock shrugged, signaling Harry to focus on his meal.
After eating so much delicious food in France, Sherlock and Harry's appetites had grown. One steak each was no longer enough, so they ordered an additional plate of escargot and two bowls of onion soup.
"Where are we heading next, Professor?" Harry asked, chewing on a snail.
Sherlock took out the map of France he had been carrying and studied their travel route.
"Next, we'll head north. If we keep going south, we'll end up in Spain. We'll loop around from the northeast, passing through Lyon and Geneva, then visit the Interkennan town before finally heading to Paris."
"Will we have enough time?"
"Of course. We just need to reach Nicolas Flamel's residence in Paris before August. Until then, we can visit wherever we like."
As they chatted, a voice with a proud but pleasant tone, heavy with a French accent, interrupted.
"Are you also planning to visit Nicolas Flamel?"
Sherlock and Harry turned to see the silver-haired girl.
Harry, eager to join the conversation, was about to respond but hesitated when he caught Sherlock's gaze and instead lowered his head to drink his onion soup.
Sherlock, with a neutral expression, looked at the girl.
"May I ask who you are?"
The girl lifted her head, revealing her long, pale neck.
"Fleur Delacour, a sixth-year student at Beauxbatons."
Sherlock nodded.
"We are indeed going to Paris to visit Nicolas Flamel, as invited by an elder."
"Excuse me, sir, madam, sorry, excuse me!"
A goblin in a gray robe hurried past their tables, accidentally bumping into Fleur's chair.
Sherlock frowned slightly but said nothing.
Fleur, undeterred, continued excitedly.
"I'm also planning to visit Nicolas Flamel. Madame Maxime mentioned that he has something valuable to give away."
At this, Sherlock stood up, putting on his coat and pulling Harry, who was pretending to drink his soup but was actually eavesdropping, to his feet.
"Sorry, Miss Delacour, we have something to attend to", Sherlock said, glancing at the goblin who was quickly approaching the fireplace. "Before we leave, I suggest you check if you've lost anything important. Good luck."
With that, Sherlock dragged the bewildered Harry out of the bar.
As they left, Harry glanced back at Fleur with a look of pity.
"Professor, were you really wishing her good luck?"
After leaving the bar, Harry followed Sherlock and asked.
Sherlock pursed his lips.
"That poor girl had something stolen without even realizing it. Of course, I genuinely hope she has better luck from now on."
Harry silently mourned for Fleur in his heart.
Losing something and being cursed—what a pitiful girl.
(End of Chapter)
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