Chapter 213: Mr. Graves Is A Lucky Star
There are outdoor cafés along the pedestrian street, the air filled with the aroma of coffee, milk, and chocolate. Orange-yellow lights reflect on the river surface, pedestrians’ shadows also reflected on the river surface, ripples and light blending together swaying, shadowy and indistinct.
“Beauty and the Beast? That’s fake too. Wizards can turn into lions, there’s a magic called Animagus, but they can’t walk or speak after transforming, let alone put on a love story.” Melvin said with a light chuckle.
Claire walking beside him had a melancholic expression, occasionally letting out regretful long sighs.
While Melvin demystified the magic in Andersen’s Fairy Tales, he handed francs to the café’s shop assistant. The mysterious aura of magic and wizards in her impression gradually shattered. Claire felt her work might be affected; those previously praised creative plans had relied greatly on her firm belief in magic.
Colleagues all praised her imagination for its fantastical color, but only she knew that magic and wizards really existed.
Melvin took the coffee handed over by the shop assistant, sniffed the rich aroma, and glanced at his downcast assistant miss: “The wizarding world has fairy tales too. I happen to know a story about French witch Lisette Lapin and an Animagus.”
Claire blinked her eyes: “You’re not going to make up a story on the spot to comfort me, are you?”
“What are you thinking? 《Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump》, a classic story circulated in the wizarding world for a thousand years.” Melvin gave her a sidelong glance and began recounting a chapter from 《Poet Peabody Story Collection》, “Once upon a time, in a far, far away place, there lived a foolish Muggle king.”
“Wait! What does Muggle mean?”
“Just ordinary people who can’t do magic.”
Melvin took a sip of coffee, it was undrinkably bad: “The king believed magic could only be mastered by the most noble person, and he was that most noble person, so he sent out armies to hunt wizards while recruiting private magic tutors…”
《Cackling Stump》’s content is actually very simple: the king hired a con artist to teach him magic. When the con artist revealed his tricks while scamming for money, to save his own head, he had to find a way to cover it up. By chance, he found a real witch and threatened her to cooperate in rounding out the lie.
Stupid king, cunning con artist, and the witch Babbitty watching the show— the three parties caused a series of troubles. The sly con artist broke his promise midway and betrayed the witch; the king sent soldiers to pursue the witch.
“Babbitty ran to a low hedge, and suddenly disappeared. When the king, the con artist, and all the courtiers arrived, they only saw an old tree stump with hunting dogs barking and scratching around it, so they all thought the witch had turned into the stump, but actually she had turned into a rabbit hiding inside…”
No matter how they chopped with knives or axes, even when the stump was nearly splintered to bits, the king and con artist could still hear Babbitty’s cackling laughter. The witch claimed she had cursed the king, so any harm to a wizard would double back on the king, making his remaining life worse than death.
Having witnessed the wonder of magic, the king immediately knelt in fright and begged for mercy, promising to call off the pursuit of wizards and erect a pure gold statue of Babbitty in the castle.
“At the end of the story, when the ashamed king and nobles returned to the palace, that stump was still cackling behind them. When the courtyard was empty, a plump long-whiskered old rabbit emerged, grabbed its wand in its mouth, and hopped away.”
Melvin shook the coffee in his paper cup, the aroma wafting out.
“It does sound like a fairy tale, mixed with warnings and educational meaning.” Claire nodded thoughtfully, took a sip of coffee without changing expression, “Perfect some details, do good character development and shaping, and it could totally be made into a movie.”
Melvin listened to his assistant miss’s muttering, feeling quite pleased. Not yet reinstated and already assigning herself work— truly touching for a boss.
“But what does this have to do with France?”
“It’s said to be modeled after the deeds of the famous French witch Lapin.”
While speaking, Melvin looked for a trash can: “Early 15th century, she was sentenced for practicing witchcraft in Paris, but on the eve of execution, she turned into a rabbit and escaped through the gaps in the window railings. Later, someone saw a big white rabbit sitting in a cauldron with raised sails, drifting across the English Channel to become magic advisor to Henry VI.”
“Now we have the historical background too…” Claire muttered.
In the night, various vehicles traveled on the road, headlights and streetlights reflected on the water surface, brightly lit.
Melvin suddenly sensed magical creature magic power fluctuations, looked up, and saw several sturdy Thestrals pulling a carriage gliding across the night sky, silver manes flowing with starlight and moonlight glow, two ruby-like eyes, body size nearly matching an elephant, wings spread in gliding display of divine grace.
He was startled; he had visited North America, Britain, and Budapest before, where wizards strictly abided by the Secrecy Law. Even using Muggle-Repelling Charm to shield Muggles, they worried about being captured by technological creations leaving traces— never seen such flaunting.
As expected of a city nearly scorched by Fiendfyre, Paris wizards had a bit of laxness about them.
“What are you looking at?” Claire asked.
“Nothing…”
To avoid his gaze drawing other pedestrians’ attention, Melvin lowered his head and withdrew his sight, but that Enchanted Carriage seemed to notice his stare and followed by descending into the nearby alley.
Shortly after, hurried footsteps approached; four wizards in black robes walked over, gazes sharp as knives. They only glanced at the assistant miss beside him, then stared straight at Melvin.
The middle-aged Auror walked up to Melvin and fired off a string of French in a questioning tone; Claire could hear his words too.
Melvin looked puzzled.
“He’s asking if you’re a wizard?” Claire translated for him.
Hearing this translation, the lead Auror immediately switched languages, asking in a cold hard voice: “Are you a British wizard?”
“Sort of, I’m a Hogwarts professor…”
Melvin paused, suddenly remembering something: he had come to Paris directly via an illegal Portkey, without registering entry with the French Ministry of Magic. In a sense, he was a bona fide smuggler.
“Do you have identification? Show your entry documents.” The middle-aged wizard reached out to him.
“Sigh…”
Melvin sighed; long wandering on the edge of the law, this time the outlaw was going to flip.
The evening breeze blew leisurely, the atmosphere turning somewhat strange. The Aurors subtly shifted, retreating while forming an encirclement, hands reaching toward waist pockets where wands were kept.
Years of team enforcement coordination cultivated experience and tacit understanding, letting them reach consensus without exchange, certain this was an illegal entry Dark Wizard, immediately taking combat measures. Not attacking right away wasn’t fear of resistance, mainly worry he’d take a hostage.
“British Dark Wizard, give up resistance.” The Auror shouted lowly, “Taking a hostage and causing harm is a serious crime, think it over.”
“Taking a hostage?”
Melvin turned his head; Claire narrowed her eyes and made a funny face at him, looking like she was enjoying the show.
It was nearly ten at night now; cooperating with Auror work probably meant getting locked up overnight, trial tribunal tomorrow morning, pay fine and register identity— no matter how you looked, not a good choice… The atmosphere grew tense, a big battle imminent.
At this moment, more footsteps approached, breaking the standoff; that familiar old face squeezed in among them.
From past experience accumulated at the Woolworth Building, Melvin long wandered on the edge of the law. Unexpectedly at this critical flipping moment, that old friend appeared again to bail him out.
“Mr. Bonnel, Melvin, don’t fight, calm down.”
Mr. Graves walked up to Melvin, slowing his tone while speaking, then repeating in French; both sides could hear his admonition clearly.
This middle-aged Auror’s appearance and attire hadn’t changed much, still like last meeting with a few gray-white hairs combed neatly, black ash robe, Ministry of Magic badge pinned to his chest, seemingly on official business dispatched to Paris.
“Mr. Graves, long time no see.”
Melvin couldn’t help smiling, his greeting mixed with sincere gratitude; Mr. Graves was his lucky star, always appearing timely for criminal law issues to resolve his crises.
“I told you to obey every country’s laws!” Mr. Graves walked close, saying fiercely.
The several local French Aurors realized it was a misunderstanding, all dropping alert and relaxing. The middle-aged Auror stepped forward to negotiate with Graves; the two exchanged low French, unclear what they said. The Auror captain occasionally turned to size up Melvin, gaze between wary dangerous Dark Wizard and stupid thief.
While the Auror captain talked with squad members, Graves turned with expressionless face, asking lowly: “Not teaching at Hogwarts, what are you doing in Paris?”
“Come on, sir, it’s summer vacation. Can’t a professor travel abroad?” Melvin looked innocent.
Mr. Graves ignored him: “How did you get here?”
“Portkey recommended by a friend.”
“Doesn’t the British Ministry of Magic have legal ways to leave the country?”
“It does, but smuggling is more convenient.”
Mr. Graves felt a headache: “You’ll end up locked in wizard prison sooner or later.”
The several Auror squad members finished talking, lined up on site and turned; that Auror captain relayed the result to Graves, eyeing Melvin and Claire with sidelong glances.
Mr. Graves glanced at Claire, frowning: “They say Claire is a Muggle. Per Secrecy Law regulations, her memory from tonight needs to be obliviated.”
“Doesn’t the Ministry of Magic have diplomatic protocols?” Claire widened her eyes, incredulously asking, “I’m an American Muggle, not a French Muggle. What right do they have to delete my memory?”
How is Miss Raven like Melvin?
Mr. Graves just felt heart-tired: “Melvin, talk to your assistant miss.”
Claire turned her head, warily looking at her former boss. Melvin said nothing, just gave her a look.
That was the signal from Gershwin Theatre days; whenever the theater manager and actors made unreasonable demands, Melvin would give her this look, signaling to agree first, not entangle, he’d find a way to fudge it.
Claire stayed silent, watching as Mr. Graves pulled Melvin into the carriage while the robed Auror approached, drawing a slender wooden stick and pointing the tip at her eyes.
【Obliviate】
Nothing happened, no feeling at all.
Claire blinked, watching the Aurors hurry away, tilted her head, a faint arc rising at her mouth.
Boss is still reliable.
……
Thestral with ruby eyes flapped wings to take off; the wizards in the carriage felt no weightlessness or jolt. Melvin recalled Professor Kettleburn’s Isle of Dragon; the Thestral’s wing flaps slowed, so he knew they had smoothly ascended.
The carriage glided above Paris, destination French Ministry of Magic.
“Coffee or hot chocolate?” Mr. Graves asked. The room they were in was like a parlor or interrogation room; slightly modified, it could be a cell.
“Hot chocolate, I’m not used to Paris coffee.”
Melvin sat in the adjacent seat, curiously scanning around. The carriage interior was modified with Undetectable Extension Charm, spacious, but no extraneous furniture, just a few table and chairs sets— simple and efficient, clearly Ministry of Magic office equipment.
The surrounding Aurors spoke lowly in French among themselves, unalert to Graves. Melvin guessed the two countries’ Aurors were on some joint operation.
“French Ministry of Magic’s entry-exit management is relatively lax. Normally for smuggling travel, they might let you go, but you were unlucky, hitting a martial law period.” Mr. Graves shook his head.
“Martial law?” Melvin asked lowly, “What happened?”
“Isn’t it those Second Salem guys stirring trouble.”
Mr. Graves sighed, “Four months ago, I found a Purifiers outpost in McLennan County, Texas. Deep investigation revealed they were mixed with a group of New Testament cultists; situation thornier than expected— cults, brainwashing, drugs, armed, Muggle politicians, military management…”
“Those keywords sound troublesome.”
Melvin feigned surprise with a sharp intake of cool air, blinking: “But for wizards, it’s fine, right? Turn Wolfsbane Potion into thick fog and spray it in, all down in minutes.”
“That was our initial plan, but no one expected the Muggle government’s FBI also investigating them and striking first.” Mr. Graves unconsciously clenched his fist, “They didn’t expect real wizards hidden inside. First wave of Muggle raiders suffered heavy casualties, sparking larger conflict. Negotiations failed, situation escalated into fiercer all-out firefight.”
“War?”
“War.” Mr. Graves nodded, “Woolworth Building tried contacting the Pentagon, Department of Magical Law Enforcement wanted to dispatch Strikers for magic aid, but some foolish Muggles blocked the aid because their arms deals profited!”
“Mm… very Pentagon.”
“Yes, with their tacit approval, the firefight lasted two months. Muggle cult destroyed, but Second Salem people escaped. We tracked Portkey magic traces, confirming they’re hiding in Paris…”
Mr. Graves extended a hand to Melvin, “Welcome to the investigation team, Melvin!”
“?”
