Man of Archives

The first country I wanted to visit was France, and the reason for that was the news that swept across the magical world: Nicolas Flamel had peacefully passed away. This was truly extraordinary news, as Flamel had long been one of the pillars holding the magical world together. His death marked the end of an era. No other topic could dominate the front pages.

 

That’s why I chose France as the first destination for my travels. The chance to witness an event like the funeral of the oldest wizard, a name known by everyone from children to the elderly, was invaluable. I learned that the funeral would take place in the commune of Les Baux-de-Provence, with the burial to be held at Château des Baux.

 

Les Baux-de-Provence is located in the southeast of France on the rocky ridge of the Alpilles. It is one of France’s small magical villages, founded in the 10th century. According to legend, this was the base of Emperor Otto II’s battle mages during the Holy Roman Empire.

 

After the funeral, I plan to take a short trip through southern France, finishing in Paris — unless something else interesting comes up, of course. With these thoughts in mind, I began my preparations. I needed to brush up on the French language because, to blend in with other wizards in France, I had to speak the local tongue.

 

For wizards, learning languages isn’t much of a hassle. There are many potions and self-study guides that can reduce learning time by dozens or even hundreds of hours. And for those skilled in mental magic, the process is even quicker. In fact, a wizard’s proficiency in mental magic is often measured by how many languages they speak. For example, Headmaster Dumbledore, one of the strongest known mental wizards, can fluently communicate in the merfolk language, which is notoriously complex in both lexicon and grammar.

 

So, learning French wasn’t a significant challenge for me. While I didn’t speak it like a native, I could understand what others were saying and ask simple questions.

 

As a wizard of legal age setting out on a world tour, I followed tradition by informing all the wizards I knew. It’s customary to notify everyone when you embark on the path of self-discovery to become an experienced wizard. I received replies filled with advice and well wishes, as expected. This, too, is part of the tradition. By the same custom, I had only a week to set out on my journey.

 

After packing my things, I said goodbye to my parents and made sure to call Tamara and Maggie. They were quite sad we wouldn’t see each other for a while. I advised them to keep working hard and take care of themselves, promising that we’d meet again soon.

 

Early in the morning, I Apparated to a small magical village near the town of Dover. There, I pulled a broom from my traveler’s bag. Classic.

 

"Heading out on a journey?" came an elderly voice just as I was about to take off.

 

Behind me stood a short, old, slightly hunched wizard with an incredibly long beard. He wore small black-framed glasses. In his hand, he held a broom, even older than mine. He was dressed rather formally, which didn’t quite fit the fact that we were standing by the ocean. But, that’s his choice.

 

"Yes," I nodded. "You are too, I see?"

 

"Of course, Mr. Jody," he chuckled. "I never thought I’d meet the young genius of Transfiguration here, of all places, and not at some grand reception."

 

"What can you do?" I replied calmly.

 

"Right," the old man agreed. "The name’s Xander Burke."

 

"Nice to meet you," I nodded again. "Are you headed anywhere specific?"

 

"The same place as you," the old man chuckled again. "To France."

 

"And how do you know?" I asked.

 

"The earth is full of rumors," he answered cryptically, then chuckled once more. "But honestly… I saw it in the tea leaves."

 

"I see."

 

I wasn’t going to judge him for that. Divination is a well-known subject at Hogwarts. Many consider it useless, and I tend to agree. It’s a subject suited for those with the rare and specific gift. I don’t have it. I can try to predict situations, but only based on statistical knowledge and math, not some innate gift. The results would, of course, differ.

 

"Well, shall we?"

 

Xander had already mounted his broom, ready to take off. I lifted off the ground and soared into the sky, quickly gaining altitude. The wind stung my eyes, but I had special goggles to protect them. Fear wasn’t an issue—flying in bird form had eliminated that long ago, leaving only a deep appreciation for the height and the thrill of flight.

 

The old man kept pace. I leveled my flight and slightly reduced my speed, waiting for Mr. Burke to catch up and fly alongside me. I didn’t have to wait long.

 

My broom wasn’t the latest model. It was a Comet-220, last released in 1985. Comfortable, safe, and relatively fast for transportation, Comet brooms are also quite reliable. At Hogwarts, they use Comet-260s. That’s what I flew when I was at the Malfoys’.

 

Reaching French territory would take about an hour. Between the French magical village and the English one lay the Channel, but the distance between them was only about sixty miles.

 

We landed slowly on a small platform. None of the French wizards took notice of us, as they see this several times a day. It was no longer new to them. There were plenty of signs in English, just as we have them in French back home.

 

Arriving wizards needed to register at a small reception point that had clearly seen better days. The roof, slightly askew, was held up by magic; the welcome sign was faded; and the windows were a bit grimy. Not the best first impression.

 

"After you," I said, letting Xander go first.

 

Inside, the building didn’t differ much from what I saw outside. Perhaps the presence of a drunken fool added some color to the scene. But no… this was a strange human specimen. It wasn’t easy to tell what it was.

 

"Bonjour," he croaked grumpily. It really did sound as if a frog had sat in a chair and tried to speak. I wonder what caused that? A curse, perhaps?

 

"Bonjour," Xander greeted warmly.

 

He quickly introduced himself, then introduced me, and explained the purpose of our visit to France. The Registration Gendarme — that was his title — slowly filled out two forms and stamped them with the seal of the French Ministry of Magic. The seal bore the motto: “Spells. Sorcery. Magic.”

 

We had to pay two sickles for everything, a small sum for both Xander and me. Tucking the form with the seal away, I hurried outside. The old man followed.

 

"That guy’s always like that," my companion sighed with mild regret.

 

"You know him?"

 

"Yes," Xander nodded. "He was once young too, filled with dreams, hopes, and ambitions. But, as they say, love shot him in the knee."

 

"Cursed by a woman?" I asked.

 

It seemed I was right. His condition was indeed the result of a curse.

 

"By several women," Xander replied. "Their curses mixed, creating this unexpected effect."

 

"Any positive side effects?" I inquired.

 

"Yes," he nodded. "He can control frogs. They call him the Frog King."

 

"Hmm," was all I could manage in response.

 

"That’s life," Xander agreed. "What are your plans now? I’m staying here for a few days, waiting for some acquaintances before heading to Flamel’s funeral."

 

"I’m going to Paris," I said after a moment’s thought. "Then to Lyon, and finally to the funeral."

 

"Lyon is a beautiful city," he said immediately. "It’s had its ups and downs. Rich history. Well, I wish you luck, and perhaps we’ll meet again."

 

"Of course, Mr. Burke," I nodded. "I’m sure we will."

 

Though I hadn’t known this wizard long, he left a pleasant impression. It could have been deceptive, but I didn’t think that was the case. And if it was, then his level of mental magic was far higher than mine.

 

There are several ways to get to Paris. One way is to use the Floo Network. You’d need to pay a small fee for a single use. There’s also a multi-use ticket, popular among weaker wizards and Squibs. We have something similar back home, though I’ve never needed it since I can Apparate.

 

Apparition is another common method of travel. I could purchase the coordinates for Paris and Apparate there as often as needed. Another option is to fly by broom, though it would take nearly a day, and there’s always the risk of being spotted by Muggle technology. That’s much trickier and sometimes even punishable. However, crossing oceans and large bodies of water doesn’t count as breaking the rules.

 

Once in Paris, I could get the coordinates myself. With that in mind, I headed straight to one of the public Floo Network locations. There wasn’t much of a queue since not many people travel between countries, although the crowd could grow with the influx of visitors for Flamel’s funeral.

 

"Where to?" a young Frenchman asked as I entered the building filled with fireplaces.

 

"Paris," I answered.

 

He nodded and stepped aside, allowing me to enter the large fireplace. He handed me a jar of Floo powder. Grabbing a handful, I waited.

 

"Furstenberg Square, fireplace," he paused for a moment, checking his wristwatch, which I hadn’t noticed before. "Fireplace number four."

 

In the next moment, I threw the powder and felt the space around me twist, propelling me forward. Outlines of other fireplaces flashed by, but everything moved so fast that it was impossible to see anything clearly. A second later, my feet hit a soft yet firm surface, kicking up a bit of dust.

 

Following protocol, I stepped out of the fireplace and immediately bumped into a short woman wearing a peculiar hat. Floating near her was a large book with a small quill that occasionally dipped into a similarly floating inkwell.

 

"Name?" she asked in French.

 

"Timothy Jody," I responded.

 

The quill began swiftly writing in the book.

 

"Place your wand on the scales," she instructed, pointing to a small set of scales I hadn’t noticed before. "Perfect."

 

The quill made additional notes in the book.

 

"You can take it," she said. I immediately tucked my wand away, disliking the feeling of emptiness in my hand. Without a wand, a great deal of magic would be inaccessible to me. It’s a very unpleasant feeling, I must say.

 

"Thank you," I nodded to her.

 

With that, I was free to go, so I stepped out of the large corridor and found myself on a bustling magical avenue, crowded with wizards. Furstenberg Square is the main magical street in France and a popular destination for wizards from all over continental Europe. The variety here is much greater than in Diagon Alley, where non-English wizarding goods are considered rare.

 

"Good day, young man," greeted a dwarf wizard I hadn’t noticed before. "I see it’s your first day in Paris. Perhaps Little Jar-Luc could show you around?"

 

"Good day," I nodded. "Yes, this is my first time in France."

 

"Oh," he exclaimed. "Then allow me to assist you. Little Jar-Luc, the perfect guide! Furstenberg Square is my home, and who better than me to tell you all about this wonderful place?"

 

"And how much will this cost?" I asked.

 

"Oh, nothing," he replied. But before I could rejoice, he added, "Just one Sickle per hour."

 

Not a bad price, I thought. I wondered if he made enough to live on this way, or if there was more to it. I wasn’t sure.

 

"Alright, lead the way and tell me more," I nodded and tossed him a Sickle from my pocket.

 

"You won’t be disappointed," he said quickly.

 

Little Jar-Luc began by explaining the significance of Furstenberg Square. It was interesting to learn that the square was much larger than most people imagined. I’d describe it as more of a district, with dozens of blocks of houses and streets weaving between them. The district has its own sectors, each occupied by wizard immigrants from different countries. There’s a large Turkish area, followed by an African one. Several European neighborhoods come next, where wizards from various countries live. There’s even a magical peoples’ quarter, where many sentient magical creatures reside. After that, he told me about the unique goods available in each area.

 

We strolled around the square, occasionally stopping at interesting historical monuments. Each time we paused, the dwarf would immediately launch into a fascinating story about that particular monument.

 

The first hour flew by. I paid for a few more hours without hesitation. Jar-Luc turned out to be a knowledgeable guide and an engaging storyteller, always quick to explain anything unclear.

 

The next topic he discussed at length was the general rules of France, knowledge of which makes life much easier for any tourist. The most important rule he mentioned was that wands aren’t limited to humans; other races can possess and use them as well. For example, Veela are considered equal members of French wizarding society and can do everything that any other wizard can. The laws are also more lenient toward goblins than in England, largely because here, there was less competition for power. Yes, there had been wars, but they weren’t as bloody.

 

We stopped at a local café for a bite to eat. The dwarf didn’t ask me to pay for him, but I was in such a good mood that I did. He thanked me profusely and began explaining things in even greater detail.

 

"I’ve learned so much," I said when I realized it was time to wrap things up. "Thanks for the fascinating tour. Just one last question."

 

"Yes?" he asked, practically jumping in excitement.

 

"Could you recommend a decent hotel for travelers?"

 

His tone shifted slightly, becoming more joyful and excited. Although he had been cheerful the entire time, there was now an added enthusiasm, as if he was genuinely thrilled. How intriguing…

 

"I know of a great place," he replied eagerly. "A small hotel called ‘Chez Jupel.’"

 

"Is it really good?"

 

"I swear by my short stature," he answered quickly.

 

Honestly, I wouldn’t make such oaths myself. At least not in that way. But that’s his choice to make.

 

"Alright, lead the way," I decided, trusting him to take me to the hotel. From the outside, it looked quite nice—clean, well-kept, with a small garden shielding the entrance from curious eyes. Several statues stood nearby, radiating magic, suggesting they weren’t merely decorative.

 

He led me inside.

 

"Welcome," greeted an attractive woman with large, blue eyes. She pretended not to know the dwarf, but I immediately sensed her happiness. That made me a bit wary, though I didn’t show it. There seemed to be some intrigue at play. I think I even had an idea of what kind—after all, it’s a game for two.

 

"My friend would like a room," the dwarf began confidently. "He’s a great guy, so he deserves a discount."

 

"Oh, really?" she said, feigning surprise. She wasn’t as skilled an actress as the dwarf. "Well, we happen to have a lovely room available for monsieur. A young couple checked out a day early because their plans changed."

 

"And what kind of discount would that be?" I asked.

 

"I think ten percent," she replied.

 

"Ten percent!?" the dwarf jumped in. "It should be at least twenty!"

 

This was part of the game. Watching the exchange more closely, I started to understand the subtle tones and emotional undertones between them. Words can lie, but emotions… they can’t. How fascinating.

 

"Alright," she sighed. "Let’s make it twenty percent."

 

It might have seemed like she was giving the discount reluctantly, but that wasn’t the case at all—I could tell.

 

"And how much will it be?" I asked.

 

"Three Galleons per night," she replied calmly.

 

"Alright, three it is," I agreed.

 

Three Galleons is a fairly modest amount for a hotel of this level. From the decor, I could tell it wasn’t one of the cheaper places. So, maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

 

"Follow me then," she said, motioning for me to follow.

 

"Well," the dwarf began, "thank you for using my services."

 

"Thank you too, for the great tour and all the information about France," I replied with a small smile.

 

I followed the girl. She kept glancing at me with curiosity but didn’t try to strike up a conversation. It seemed she was trying to remain as unnoticed as possible.

 

The room she led me to was on the third floor, in the corner. It had two windows: one facing the square and the other, with a small balcony, facing the next building. It would be easy to climb up and jump inside from there. Everything was falling into place with my theory. But is it correct? That’s the question.

 

"Breakfast starts at seven in the morning," she said. "Have a good evening."

 

"Thank you," I nodded to her.

 

Locking the door, I pulled out my wand. Well then… let’s see how things unfold. First, I cast several standard privacy spells. In most places, this would be enough to convince any wizard that there was nothing of interest in the protected space. But for those who might be curious about what could be inside such a protected space, there were a few surprises — knowledge passed down from a Dutch witch. For example, a flesh-melting spell or just an explosive curse. Those were the harmless ones. She had a few unsettling security spells in her repertoire that required sacrifices, but I didn’t bother with those.

 

Satisfied with the protective spells I cast on the bag I had transfigured from a small pile of dust, I nodded in approval. I didn’t want to place my real belongings under such heavy protection. Nor did I want to stay here. After all, I had a travel tent, which I could comfortably set up on a rooftop somewhere.

 

With ease and complete stealth, I opened the door to the balcony, cast concealment, invisibility, and silence spells on myself, then found the perfect spot on a roof almost directly across from the window and Apparated there.

 

Using all my skill and knowledge of space magic, I made the Apparition nearly soundless. Once on the roof, I allowed myself a small smirk. Now let’s see if my suspicions were correct, or if I was just being paranoid.

 

Darkness gradually filled the sky, and stars began to appear. The night claimed its territory. The first stars twinkled here and there, promising long, warm hours ahead. The moon rose into the sky like a silver disc, its white surface etched with deep canyons and narrow rivers, like a map of unknown lands. On this quiet night, as the stars shone brightly, the moon bathed the sky in its calm light.

 

Feeling relaxed, I dozed off a bit, but it was a light sleep, which allowed me to hear the scream of pain, followed by an explosion that shook several nearby buildings. Slipping out of my tent, I saw a gaping hole in the hotel building. And it was right where my room had been.

 

The neighborhood quickly woke up, trying to make sense of what had just happened and how to deal with it. It seemed I had gone a bit overboard with the spells.

 

In the next moment, an anti-Apparition barrier descended around the hotel. But just before that, French wizards from the local Ministry appeared, clearly not pleased with the situation. Well, who could blame them? I wouldn’t be too happy either if I had to rush to the scene of an explosion.

 

Two wizards approached me from behind. Turning to face them, I showed my empty hands. My wand wasn’t in them.

 

"Who are you?" the older wizard with gray hair at his temples and a small mustache asked immediately. His companion was younger, but you could tell from his face that he’d endured his share of unpleasant spells.

 

"Timothy Jody," I introduced myself. "Master of the Transfiguration Guild."

 

I presented them with my ring, which seemed to calm them down a bit.

 

"And yes, the room where the explosion happened is mine," I said calmly.

 

"Are you alright?" the older wizard asked. They had lowered their wands, no longer seeing me as a threat.

 

"Thank you, but I’m fine," I replied.

 

"Please come with us," he said.

 

I descended and found myself surrounded by French wizards who didn’t seem too welcoming.

 

"What’s the situation here?" a Frenchman in a blue uniform asked.

 

"Well, he claims it was his room," one of the wizards I met upstairs said, pointing at me. "And he calls himself a master of Transfiguration."

 

"Hmm," the Frenchman frowned at me. I showed him the ring as well. The wizard whistled, and a young man appeared beside him, studying the ring with interest. "Check it."

 

The young man nodded and approached me.

 

"Excuse me," the young man said. "I need to identify your ring."

 

"Go ahead," I shrugged. It wasn’t a problem for me.

 

He quickly pulled out some sort of artifact and pressed it to the ring. After a few moments, text appeared on the shiny surface.

 

"Yes, it’s correct," the wizard nodded. "This is Timothy Jody, a master of the Transfiguration Guild, registered in England."

 

"Understood," the French wizard nodded. "Monsieur Timothy, you say this was your room?"

 

"Yes," I confirmed. "And you are?"

 

"Vivien Lerome," he introduced himself. "Rapid Response Unit. As I understand, you placed some anti-theft wards on your room?"

 

"Yes," I replied. "To be honest, I didn’t expect anyone to try breaking in, but recalling the advice of a certain well-known Auror, Alastor Moody, I decided not to neglect my own security. And the safety of my belongings."

 

"Tch," Vivien clicked his tongue, frowning at the crowd gathering nearby, including several journalists with cameras. "Could you escort us to the room so my team can examine it and assess the damage?"

 

"Of course," I nodded. "Let’s go."

 

As we entered the hotel, I noticed the girl who had shown me to my room. Her face displayed a mixture of fear, mild panic, and even despair. It was all very visible—there was no need for Legilimency.

 

When we reached the right floor, the French wizards had already evacuated all the guests and posted guards outside my room. The door was slightly ajar, which I immediately pointed out. The young man who had checked me earlier quickly made notes in a small notebook bearing the French Ministry’s crest.

 

Pulling out my wand, I began removing the protective and privacy charms. Entering the ruined room first, I immediately felt new knowledge flooding into me as a new section appeared in the Archive. It seemed my ability had activated here as well. I’d sort through the new information later.

 

Lying on the floor was a corpse, its hands torn off and the body burned almost beyond recognition. The only distinguishing feature was its size—it was a dwarf.

 

"How interesting," Vivien drawled. "Very interesting. What do you see, Rem?"

 

"I see a dwarf’s corpse," the young assistant replied. "He has no hands. The face is burned."

 

"Correct," the leader of the French wizards nodded. "What else? Doesn’t that buckle on his belt look familiar?"

 

The young man bent down and examined the charred buckle more closely. Pulling out his wand, he made a few swishes to clear away the soot.

 

"That buckle looks a lot like the symbol of a thief known as Small Dick," he said after a thorough inspection.

 

"It is," Vivien corrected. "That’s Small Dick’s buckle."

 

"Could he just be an imitator?" the younger wizard asked, questioning his senior.

 

"Maybe," Vivien nodded. "But maybe not. We need to investigate further. Monsieur Timothy, do you have any belongings you’d like to retrieve from the room?"

 

"No," I shook my head.

"Excellent," the wizard sighed. "Rem, call in the investigation team. As for you, monsieur, I would ask that you stay with us unless you have urgent business."

 

"No, not really," I shrugged. "If you need me to answer any questions, I’m happy to do so."

 

"Great," he exhaled with satisfaction. "How about we get to it right now?"

 

"No problem."

 

We stepped outside and headed toward a small tent that the wizards had already set up. The French investigation team was carefully studying the area, conducting interviews with everyone to gather any information they might need. They weren’t being shy about it, either.

 

The hotel employee who had shown me to the room realized that things weren’t going well for her and tried to flee. But… escaping from an experienced, angry wizard? Not an easy task. She was quickly bound and dragged into the tent without much ceremony.

 

Meanwhile, I was recounting the events to the wizard. They brought us hot tea and placed several plates of various treats on the table.

 

"And what do we have here," the Frenchman drawled as he stood up. "Why were you trying to run, mademoiselle? Are you hiding something?"

 

Vivien didn’t expect her to answer. A small vial of silvery liquid appeared in his hand. Rem, his assistant, immediately handed him a glass of water. The senior wizard poured the liquid into the glass, stirred it, and forced the girl to drink.

 

Resistance was futile, and within a minute, the truth was pouring out of her. Indeed, she had been working with the dwarf I knew, whose real name was René Ollier. Not only was she his accomplice, but his lover as well. René had spotted me as soon as I arrived and immediately began working on me, telling enough of the truth to build trust. Meanwhile, he was studying me, trying to figure out how much they could make off me. Once he realized I had money, I became their target.

 

The realization that they needed to act quickly came almost immediately, so they decided to use an old, well-practiced scheme. The target is brought to a hotel, placed in a convenient room for breaking in, and even more convenient for escaping. But then everything went off-plan. Very off-plan. The result was the death of René Ollier, also known as Small Dick and Little Jar-Luc.

 

"Well then," Vivien said after hearing all the details. "Monsieur Timothy, you are free to go. There are no charges against you. You were within your rights to protect your property. What are your plans now?"

 

"I’ll get some sleep, stroll through the shops, and then head to Lyon," I shared my plans.

 

"Ah, Lyon," the wizard nodded. "It’s a wonderful city. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it."

 

"Thank you," I nodded. "So, I’m free to go?"

 

"Yes," Vivien confirmed. "You’re free to go, monsieur Timothy."

 

Leaving the tent, I took a deep breath. It seemed this whole situation had passed me by, barely grazing me.

 

The wizards had already finished restoring the destroyed floor of the hotel and were cleaning up the remaining debris to ensure the square returned to its usual flow.

 

"Monsieur! Monsieur!" a male voice called out behind me.

 

Turning around, I saw a tall man with glasses hurrying toward me.

 

"Monsieur, my name is Arnaud Joly. I’m the manager of this hotel," he began. "I’m terribly sorry for what happened to you and that one of our staff was involved."

 

I remained silent. Arnaud Joly’s worry became apparent.

 

"And, of course, I’d like to offer you a free upgrade to one of our elite rooms as compensation," he added. "Additionally, we’re prepared to give you a voucher worth five hundred Galleons for shopping at certain stores."

 

"Alright," I drawled. "If you think that’s enough, then let it be so."

 

He seemed to brighten up at that.

 

After about another hour, the Rapid Response Unit wizards left, and the crowd dispersed, realizing that nothing more exciting would happen. I slept peacefully and greeted the morning in a beautiful hotel room on the top floor, with breakfast delivered right to my door.

 

I had already received the voucher, so I could head to the specified shops without delay. One of the stores turned out to be Chanel’s Potionery. Interesting, considering I had known Chanel for its perfumery products.

 

The potionery had two parts. The first part was the shop, offering a wide range of products, from regular perfumes to various beauty potions. The second part consisted of workrooms, where potion masters prepared their wares.

 

As soon as I entered the shop, I was overwhelmed by a variety of scents. For a second, it felt like I might pass out from the sheer number of fragrances. The next thing that startled me was that all the shop’s employees were Veela. And, let’s just say, they could easily pass as models.

 

"Good day, sir," a young Veela greeted me. The charm of these beautiful creatures didn’t affect me, so communicating with them was easy. "Is there something you’re looking for today?"

 

"Not really," I replied. "I have a voucher for Chanel. Maybe you could suggest something for me?"

 

"Wonderful," she nodded, subtly increasing her charm. It was almost unnoticeable, but it would influence anyone who didn’t have a certain level of Occlumency. "We have a wide selection of products. Since you’re shopping for yourself, may I ask what your profession is? What do you do?"

 

"I’m a traveler," I replied. "I’m embarking on a world tour."

 

"Excellent!" she said, trying to force enthusiasm into her voice. Though I sensed reluctance in her emotions. How interesting. Why? Maybe because I wasn’t dressed in the latest fashion or didn’t seem like someone worth her attention? I wasn’t sure…

 

"I can recommend Chanel for the Traveler," she said, pointing to a square bottle containing a pinkish liquid with small sparks of magic. "The scent is composed of several tones and undertones. It gives a feeling of freshness, reminiscent of Alpine peaks. Would you like to try it?"

 

"Go ahead," I nodded.

 

The Veela took the bottle and sprayed it onto a white card bearing the Chanel logo. The surface briefly sparkled with green-silver sparks before fading. She waved the card and handed it to me.

 

I inhaled, trying to sense something new. And indeed, the scent was interesting, as it subtly pressed on the mind, enhancing a sense of positivity.

 

"Not bad," I muttered. "But not for me."

 

"Then perhaps Chanel on the Road?" she suggested, pulling out a bottle shaped like a bubble.

 

Repeating the ritual of spraying the paper, she handed it to me.

 

"What do you think? It’s a fruity base with ginseng and some rare herbs."

 

"Not my style," I replied. The scent was too sharp and not very pleasant to me.

 

"Hmm," she murmured. "How about this? Chanel Long Night?"

 

As soon as she handed me the card with the sprayed liquid, she immediately tried to increase her charm. I inhaled the scent. It was quite good, but I didn’t particularly like it. Her charm didn’t affect me, but leaving that unanswered wouldn’t have been the wisest decision.

 

"Do that again, and I’ll gut you," I said calmly, looking her in the eyes.

 

"What do you mean?" she asked, confused. It seemed she hadn’t yet realized that her charm had no effect on me.

 

"Veela, if you use your charm again," I said quietly, "I’ll consider it an attack. Do we understand each other?"

 

There was a moment of silence as she processed my response. It seemed to take a bit too long for things to click in her head.

 

"Is everything alright?" a more senior Veela approached, the first to realize that the situation was starting to get out of control.

 

"Your employee is using her Veela charm on me," I said calmly.

 

"Oh, I’m sorry," she responded with a smile, adjusting her curls and subtly attempting to use her own charm. As an older Veela, she was more experienced in these matters. "Anabel is still very young, and this is her first week working with us… We’ll definitely address this."

 

Everything she just said was a lie. She subtly increased the pressure of her charm.

 

"I won’t repeat myself," I said evenly to the older Veela. "Don’t test my patience."

 

"Apologies," she stopped using her charm immediately. "It’s reflexive."

 

"Save the spitting for reflexes," I replied gruffly. At that moment, a short man entered the shop, having apparently heard my last remark.

 

"Why so rude, sir?" he asked.

 

"If they hadn’t been using their charm, nothing would have happened."

 

"And who might you be?"

 

"Timothy Jody," I answered. "And you?"

 

He adjusted his dark beard.

 

"Amélie Delacour," he introduced himself. "Aren’t you the young master of Transfiguration from England?"

 

"Perhaps," I replied, showing him my master’s ring.

 

"You know, I’d like to discuss a few matters with you," he said. "But I see now isn’t the best time. When do you have some free time?"

 

"I’m free for most of the day, and after that, I’m heading to Lyon," I answered calmly.

 

"How about we meet and discuss some mutually beneficial matters over lunch?" he suggested.

 

"Alright," I nodded. "Which restaurant?"

 

"La Guardia," he said.

 

I had noticed that restaurant while walking with the dwarf. It looked expensive and fancy.

 

"Alright," I nodded again. "What time?"

 

"Let’s say one o’clock. Does that work?"

 

"Yes."