Chapter 220: Seeking Help From School
The ice cream truck not far away rang its bell, delaying the food service, which didn’t match the price, but fortunately the taste was very good. Mr. Granger held ice cream for the family of three and shouted from afar:
“Hermione, come eat ice cream! I also bought crepes!”
Hearing the sound, the girl and the witch turned back to look at the same time.
On the open space next to the ice cream truck, the middle-aged dentist smiled at them, tall and thin, slightly balding, his gaze locked on the little witch, raising the ice cream and crepe in his hand.
The freshly made pancakes steamed with heat, the ice cream cream glistened in the sunlight, and the pink strawberry jam sparkled temptingly.
Hermione saw the sweat on her father’s forehead and quickly replied crisply: “Got it, coming right over.”
“No rush, your mother is still picking out postcards.” The middle-aged dentist nodded with a smile.
Hermione looked at the little girl’s bright blue eyes and pursed her lips: “I’m going to find my mom and dad. You should go find your parents too, and have them take you to the magic show.”
She instructed her worriedly a couple of times, sighed, turned around, and trotted toward the dentist, her messy curls bouncing.
“Slow down, no rush.” Mr. Granger handed over the ice cream, then pulled out a small wooden spoon. The shop assistant had grabbed spoons casually—five wooden spoons for three ice creams, with cute strawberry patterns on them.
The little witch looked down at the ice cream. In a few seconds, she suddenly seemed to make a decision, took the ice cream box and another crepe, and ran back.
Coming back in front of the little girl, Hermione handed over the ice cream and pancake, her face lighting up with a bright smile: “For you. It’s not candy, but it’s sweet too. This weather is perfect for ice cream.”
The ice cream steamed with white vapor, and the sweet scent of jam wafted into her nose, making saliva flow uncontrollably.
The skinny girl stood stunned in place, looking up at the witch, her bright blue eyes full of confusion.
“Consider it a welcome gift from me.” Hermione handed the ice cream box to her, hesitated, then reached out to ruffle her messy hair before turning and running toward the dentist not far away.
“Dad, give me another spoon. I want to try your chocolate flavor.”
“Didn’t you used to love strawberry the most? How could you bear to give it to someone else?”
“I want to try something different today.”
“Want me to queue up and buy another one?”
“No need, it’s so hot. Let’s take a cab back to the hotel early.”
Hermione tugged at the dentist’s sleeve as they walked back, not mentioning the girl’s situation, because she didn’t know either.
The dentist shook his head with a light laugh, letting the little witch pull him along. He knew how much his daughter loved strawberry flavor, and since both parents were dentists, chances to enjoy sweets so freely were rare.
“Alright, tonight back at the hotel for the buffet, how about we order another ice cream?”
“Then this time I want strawberry!”
“Yes, strawberry.”
……
The father and daughter’s figures headed toward the street artist’s stall. The dentist’s wife had also picked out a postcard she liked, paid, took her mint ice cream, and upon learning her daughter had given hers to a stranger girl she’d just met, she didn’t scold her but smiled and shared her mint one.
Once the family of three’s backs disappeared around the corner, the little girl holding the ice cream looked down, her gaze falling on her dusty fingers. She quickly adjusted her posture, worried about dirtying the ice cream.
She carefully held the spoon, scooped a small bit into her mouth, and let it melt gently. Her bright blue eyes sparkled.
“Mmm… so cold, and sweet.”
Cheers erupted nearby again as another child went up to assist in the performance, pulling candy from the hat.
The little girl snapped back to reality, pursed her lips. This time she wasn’t envious of them. Holding the ice cream box, she moved away from the crowd and soon found an empty step to sit on.
The wooden spoon with strawberry patterns kept moving. Besides distant clamor and wind, there were occasional rustling sounds. The girl carefully scraped the paper box clean with the spoon; the dry skin on her lips was moistened by cream and jam.
The sweet taste wafted out.
Before she could enjoy the crepe, footsteps approached from afar—seemingly patrolling security. Before they got close, a breeze suddenly whipped up on the steps, carrying faint mist rising from the ground toward the sky.
Under the clear sky, a lone cloud floated, following behind a taxi.
In mid-air, crepe crumbs drifted down, drawing playful pigeons chasing after them.
……
Lunchtime.
Melvin stood under the tree shade, holding a hot dog from a roadside stall. Nearby, the young snake bid a reluctant farewell to the sheepdog.
After all, getting caught in a wizard conflict while investigating counted as work injury from severe fright. Leaving the cemetery wasteland, they found a hot dog stall. Graves emptied his wallet of francs to buy hot dogs to soothe the sheepdog.
The puppy still trembling on the grassland quickly regained vitality after eating its fill, tongue out, tail wagging, huffing as it circled the two.
No sign at all of its earlier terror.
Having soothed the temporarily conscripted sheepdog, it was time to part. Yurm and the sheepdog, this temporary duo, bid reluctant goodbyes, woofing back and forth.
“Think positive—that Obscurus girl has a kind heart and won’t destroy Paris.” Melvin turned to Graves beside him. For the past half hour, he’d been sighing.
“Yeah, the Obscurus girl won’t, but there’s still a group of cultists and dark wizards unaccounted for.” Graves looked dejected.
He suddenly believed that vague prophecy: whenever Barrybone descendants appeared in the wizarding world, a prominent wizard family would decline.
Hundreds of years ago, Bartholomew weakened the Twelve Trees family. Decades ago, Mary Barrybone should have toppled the Graves family, but his parents stopped it. Now, Second Salem and Barrybone had set fate’s gears turning again.
If seers and prophets could see the future, such a curse prophecy wasn’t so absurd, right?
“Activating a Portkey in mid-air hurricane—even if they reach the destination, how many cultists would survive? Maybe none landed intact, bodies smashed from the sky, worse than the corpses we saw at the appraisal center this morning.” Melvin comforted.
“But Second Salem and the Purifiers aren’t just this group. This was only one wave of cultists who escaped from Waco’s Carmel Mountain. Federal Bureau intel says three waves escaped total…” Graves sighed again.
Melvin frowned slightly and looked into his eyes: “You’re not telling me there are two more Obscuri like that, are you?”
“Carmel Mountain was a cult base. They built a church and took in many orphans.”
“And then?”
“All three waves of escaping cultists took kids with them.”
Melvin sucked in a breath. The French roadside stall’s hot sauce was Mexican import, extra spicy. He looked at Graves’s pale, dejected face and analyzed methodically: “New York fifty years ago wasn’t huge, so one Obscurus wrecked half the city. Paris is different—much larger. Even two Obscuri could wreck at most half.”
Graves wasn’t comforted, forcing a bitter smile: “Don’t joke, Melvin. Paris is truly in peril.”
Melvin swallowed the last bite of hot dog, wiping his mouth with the merchant’s complimentary paper napkin: “Then hurry back and notify the French Ministry of Magic. Searching all Paris or even France for cultists—we’d run our legs off.”
“But… they…”
Graves hesitated. The French Ministry of Magic clearly wanted to hush it up. Their recent investigation was perfunctory—those French wizards just wanted to brush it off. Without Woolworth Building’s International Confederation of Wizards approval, they probably wouldn’t have formed a patrol team.
“Don’t overthink it.” Melvin chuckled softly. “If they didn’t want you investigating, how’d you get that intel?”
“You mean Mr. Bonnel!” Graves perked up.
“I learned one thing at the British Ministry of Magic: not all officials sit on the same side.” Melvin tossed the napkin back in the bin and patted Mr. Graves’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s report at Fürstenberg Square.”
……
Half an hour later, French Ministry of Magic.
Bonnel sat inside his office desk, expressionless, but his tightly clenched fist betrayed his emotions.
“Mr. Bonnel, look on the bright side. At least we detected the Obscurus early. The Ministry can prepare in advance.” Graves sat next to Melvin, recounting the case details in halting French. “If it erupts into disturbance, we can respond immediately.”
“You mean, monsters capable of destroying the city are hiding in Paris City Area—and not just one!” Bonnel asked coldly. “Evidence? Where’s the evidence?”
Mr. Graves paused: “We saw it with our own eyes. If you don’t believe us, verify my memory!”
“Mr. Graves, you’ve probably forgotten: the Mr. Lavent beside you isn’t just a Hogwarts professor—he’s the founder of the Magic Mirror Club.” Bonnel narrowed his eyes at him. “Editing memories, piecing together moving pictures… no wizard in the world is better at it.”
Melvin was oblivious, idly surveying the room.
They were in the French Ministry of Magic Auror Office’s meeting room, like a medieval church. The dome hung with tree-shaped chandeliers, each leaf a small crystal lamp. Stained glass depicted legendary stories of French wizards.
“False memory?” Mr. Graves’s eyes widened, clearly not expecting Bonnel’s attitude.
“There are millions of Muggles here, tourists from all over the world. This isn’t the Middle Ages. We can’t mobilize the entire Ministry and recklessly search Paris City based on your baseless claims.”
“Can’t or won’t!” Mr. Graves glared.
Bonnel avoided his burning gaze, silent for a moment, then said to himself: “You need Second Salem’s exact location or solid proof of Obscurus existence for our Director to… have sufficient reason to activate the emergency plan.”
“40 square miles, millions of people—how are two wizards supposed to find them?” Graves laughed angrily. “Wave our wands and say ‘point me’?”
“Directional Spell? Though wizards now use it for simple navigation, records say skilled wizards can use it to find targets in their minds. Legend says witch Lisette de Lapin drifted to Britain that way.”
A dim glint flickered in Bonnel’s eyes. He seemed to have processed the info, his clenched fist relaxing quietly, tone calming: “Mr. Graves, Auror investigations require flexibility. Sometimes a new angle smooths the path to truth.”
“I don’t have time to discuss Auror methods with you now!” Graves waved impatiently.
“Finding hidden cultists in this capital is hard, but locating little wizards—especially pre-enrollment ones—is simpler than you think.”
Bonnel paused, slowly voicing his new idea: “Why not ask Beauxbatons for help?”
“Magic school professors?”
Graves blinked, eyes slightly dazed.
“Not professors—their magic.” Bonnel explained. “Historic schools like Hogwarts and Beauxbatons send dozens or hundreds of admission letters yearly. They have unique ways to pinpoint little wizards’ locations. Ask the Hogwarts professor beside you.”
Graves hesitated. He graduated from Ilvermorny, founded by Irish wizard immigrants. Initially taught by Isolt Sayre and her Muggle husband James Stewart to their adopted son, it later drew more wizards via enrollment.
Only in the last century did it cooperate with the Ministry of Magic to detect pre-school wizards’ locations and send admission letters.
Hearing Graves’s translation, Melvin’s eyes lit up, looking at the Auror captain: “You mean the Book of Admissions and the Quill of Acceptance?”
The Book of Admissions and Quill of Acceptance—magical items left in the tower since the four founders, part of Hogwarts’ system like the Sorting Hat.
Whenever a little wizard shows magical talent on the British mainland, the Quill records their info in the Book, ensuring admission letters reach them precisely. When Harry lived at Dursley’s Home, the address even specified the cupboard under the stairs.
Logically, Obscuri count as pre-school kids showing magical talent. The moment cultists brought them to Paris, Beauxbatons’ magic would notice, record them, and send admission letters at age 11.
With Beauxbatons’ help, they could quickly identify hidden Obscuri in the city.
“How do we contact Beauxbatons? Go to Pyrenees Mountains and try our luck?” Graves quickly raised doubts. “Those legendary magical items from founding—no Ministry approval, why would they lend them?”
“I can’t give approval to requisition Beauxbatons items, but I can write a note for you to try the Fourth Floor Education Office.”
Bonnel said this to Graves, but his gaze was on Melvin.
