Chapter 222: Rocher In Paris
Late at night, Fürstenberg Square.
Staff from all departments had already clocked out and left. No wizards handled business at night. The underground Ministry of Magic was quiet again, with the fire extinguished and lights dimmed. Melvin and others sat around the round table, with several stacks of thick envelopes on the table, all with identical letterhead formats.
The cover page had the same content: 「Headmistress Olympe Maxime（ Recipient of the Order of Merlin, Chief Wizard of the French Wizarding Association, French Representative to the International Confederation of Wizards）」
Apart from differences in names and salutations, the rest of the content was completely identical: 「We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Enclosed is a list of required books and items. The term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by July 31st…」
The “immediately” that Kristin mentioned took longer than expected, but no one showed any impatience. The stack of letters on the table was the result she brought back. Without any evidence or Ministry approval, she alone convinced Madame Maxime and obtained student information for the coming years.
This soon-to-be-permanent Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor was very reliable.
“I have obtained Madame Maxime’s permission to represent Beauxbatons in this operation. After the incident is resolved, the Ministry must provide a positive explanation.”
A witch with delicate features sat at the side of the round table, her tone flat, expression calm, yet her words carried authority.
“That’s only right.” Mr. Bonnel from the Auror Office nodded, raising no objections.
“Madame Maxime asked me to relay to the Ministry that she takes this incident very seriously. She had me prepare and print these letters in advance, even at the cost of leaking student address information, not for any other reason, but because she doesn’t want the Cabal’s old affairs to repeat, doesn’t want students who should attend Beauxbatons to be absent. Do you understand?” Kristin emphasized again.
Her words stunned Bonnel for a moment. He lowered his head, silently looking at the names on those letters, recalling the scene thirty years ago when he received his own admission letter.
He still remembered the information on the letter when he received it, like a brand new world opening its doors before him, the contents of fairy tale storybooks becoming reality. Every time he saw a similar envelope, he thought of his days at Beauxbatons, recalling that heartfelt joy.
Over these years, factional struggles in the Ministry had grown increasingly intense, relations with ancient wizarding families more complex. Only Beauxbatons remained the same Beauxbatons, uninvolved in the vortex of power and fame and fortune, purely considering the little wizards.
Hearing Kristin’s relay, Graves and Bonnel felt some emotion. The recent graduate intern was uneasy. The round table fell quiet.
Only Melvin couldn’t understand French. Sitting in his seat, he observed Kristin and noticed that this Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor still retained some Auror professional habits: decisive actions, crisp decisions, though her expression was a bit cold.
Melvin suddenly wanted to laugh. Beauxbatons students probably thought she was a strict professor.
Kristin pretended not to notice his smile, looking straight ahead as she separated a large portion of the envelopes on the table and handed them to Bonnel: “No matter what changes the Ministry is going through, it should fulfill its duties to protect France’s wizarding residents.”
“I’ll try to mobilize personnel from the Auror Office…” Bonnel glanced at the silent intern beside him, “and other idle wizards. Screen these students within two days.”
He paused briefly, looking at the remaining envelopes: “What about the rest?”
“The remaining ones will be handled by the Rosier family.” Kristin’s tone was flat.
“The Auror Office will remember the Rozier family’s help.”
Surprise flashed in Bonnel’s eyes, but he said nothing more, picked up the envelopes, stood up, and left hurriedly, taking the bewildered intern with him.
Kristin turned to the other Auror: “Mr. Graves, the factional struggles in the French Ministry of Magic are very complex. Mr. Bonnel may face obstacles mobilizing personnel. I hope you can act alongside Mr. Bonnel, providing support from the side in the capacity of the International Confederation of Wizards and the American Ministry of Magic.”
“Ah, oh, alright.”
Graves was still a bit slow to react. This witch’s arrival had suddenly clarified the previously sluggish case details. Bonnel no longer procrastinated, and the actions were methodical.
Were magic school professors all this outstanding now?
He stared with his owl-like dark circles and chased after them, figuring he’d have to stay up all night again, asking Bonnel for some Pepperup Potions—the Ministry-supplied kind.
Only two people remained in the room. Melvin couldn’t help but smile: “Long time no see.”
Was this the time for catching up?
Kristin looked at the smile in the young professor’s eyes, pursed her lips, and relayed the content of the brief meeting earlier, from Madame Maxime’s instructions to the screening plans of Bonnel and Graves, and her final promise that the Rosier family would provide assistance.
Melvin listened to her account and asked curiously: “Why is a cunning bureaucratic wizard like Bonnel willing to follow your arrangements?”
“They’re not my arrangements; they’re Madame Maxime of Beauxbatons’ arrangements… and the Rozier family’s wishes.”
Kristin quickly glossed over these unsavory details, looked up into his pitch-black eyes, “Just as I asked Mr. Graves to support Mr. Bonnel earlier, Professor Levent, I also need your help.”
“Does this involve me too?”
Melvin was stunned for a moment.
“I need you to come home with me, to the Rozier family’s mansion.”
……
The night gradually deepened.
The stars and moon in the sky were too far away; their pale glow couldn’t compare to the lights along both banks of the Seine River. The neon lights along the shore reflected in the water, shimmering like a swaying galaxy when flowing.
In the hotel’s apartment-style suite.
The service and amenities matched the high price. The suite Mr. Granger booked had several bedrooms. Adding one more girl suddenly wasn’t crowded. In the Grangers’ bedroom, the main light was off, with only a bedside nightlight illuminating, so the couple could talk at night without fumbling in the dark.
Lying on the soft bed, the fatigue accumulated from a day of shopping surged from her bones, making her not want to move a finger.
Mr. Granger asked weakly: “How’s that child?”
Mrs. Granger had a face mask on, her lips barely moving when speaking: “She got a set of pajamas from the front desk, changed out of that short-sleeved shirt after washing up, and looked like a normal kid after drying her hair.”
Mr. Granger slumped on the pillow: “That’s not what I meant. I mean her background—who’s child is she?”
“I asked…”
Mrs. Granger sighed: “The child is too young, never been to school, even her language skills are underdeveloped. She doesn’t know anything when asked, only remembers her own name, calls her former guardians ‘master,’ doesn’t remember where she used to live, doesn’t remember how she got to Paris. She just followed Hermione on the street all the way.”
“Followed?” Mr. Granger sat up in shock, ignoring his sore limbs. “Several miles, even a taxi takes an hour. How did she follow?”
“Someone must have brought her.”
Mrs. Granger glanced at him sidelong, helpless at her husband’s foolishness. “A child’s brain isn’t fully developed, plus long-term malnutrition, her usual awareness is fuzzy, short-term memory unclear. She thinks someone bringing her here was her following.”
Neither suspected the child had ulterior motives or was some ill-intentioned bad person. A six- or seven-year-old, skinny and frail, speech unclear, mostly quiet. After washing up, she sat on the sofa, face full of restraint, awkwardness, and unease.
Room service ordered midnight snacks. The child couldn’t take her eyes off the desserts and snacks.
Her deep blue eyes blinked and blinked, like an abandoned cub. Could such a child be a bad child?
“Brought here…”
Mr. Granger frowned, his slightly balding head reflecting light. “They must have seen Hermione sharing ice cream with her during the day, thought our family was well-off, and the child was kind, so delivered her to our home, hoping we’d adopt her.”
Mrs. Granger thought the same and couldn’t help complaining: “What kind of relatives are they! Even if abandoning, not like this. What if criminals abducted her, or they grabbed her for human experiments… Tomorrow morning, we’ll call the police. They must be punished!”
“An American girl specially brought to France to abandon—maybe they’re illegal immigrants. Calling the police won’t yield results?”
Mrs. Granger sighed: “Then what do we do?”
“Adopt her then. Just like having an extra daughter. Back in university, you said we should have two kids later.” Mr. Granger rolled over, hugged his wife’s waist, drowsiness rising, speech slurring. “After Hermione, the clinic’s too busy. Having a high-risk pregnancy now is too dangerous. Adopting a child is fine too.”
“Adoption needs identification too?”
“Back in London, we can handle it. I solve those officials’ tooth troubles; they won’t mind helping with our little trouble.”
“Buying tickets back to London needs identification too!”
“…”
The exhausted dentist had fallen deeply asleep, leaving the dentist wife to worry alone. This made Mrs. Granger indignant. Removing the mask and turning off the light, her movements were a bit forceful, punching the guy twice.
……
In the bedroom next to the suite, two girls hadn’t slept yet.
Hermione had switched from a single bedroom to a double one to look after this girl who was about to become her sister. Wearing the hotel-provided pajamas, she lay on the bed, her head slightly turned on the pillow, looking at the little girl on the adjacent bed.
After washing up and changing, the little girl was pale and thin, her deep blue eyes seeming to glow in the night.
“Hermione?”
“Mm.”
“Hermione.”
“Hm?”
“Nothing, I just wanted to call your name.”
Hermione’s heart softened. She responded gently: “Don’t worry, Little Baci. We won’t abandon you. We’ll always be here.”
“You’re going to raise Bastard.” The little girl said slowly, her voice full of longing.
Hermione’s fair brows furrowed slightly.
Why still using the word “raise”?
Sigh, a seven-year-old who can’t speak normally yet. She probably never received proper education, neither family nor school.
Thinking of this, Hermione sat up, looking at her seriously: “Little Baci, don’t worry. You’re a bit slow now, but it’s okay. Back in London, you can go to school.”
“Go to school…” the little girl repeated.
“Back in London, we can get you identification. I have ways to bring you back to London.” Hermione had thought it through while lying down. “For boarding the plane or ferry, we can use Polyjuice Potion to turn you into my likeness, or Undetectable Extension Charm to hide you, or Transfiguration of Living Beings… Though I can’t do them yet, we can buy them directly at the wizarding market here.”
“…”
The little girl blinked, seemingly not understanding.
A night breeze blew from the Seine River direction, through the gap in the glass window, lifting a corner of the curtain. Outside was the brilliantly lit city and dim starry sky. The commotion was shut out. This midsummer night seemed to etch deeply into their minds.
Hermione pursed her lips and said softly: “I want to give you a new name. Okay?”
“What name?”
“From now on, you’re no longer any Bastard, but Bastien.”
“Bastien?” The little girl tilted her head.
“It’s a French name, meaning a noble person, a respected person…”
Hermione didn’t mention the meaning of that other name again; thinking of it still made her angry. How could anyone name a child that, even if not their own?
“Bastien!” The little girl’s deep blue eyes sparkled.
Strange emotions flowed in her heart, like cool ice cream melting on the tongue, sweet and silky, with steak and macarons filling her belly, warm and comforting, making her feel especially secure.
……
At 11 PM, the luxurious Thestral carriage glided smoothly along the quiet tree-lined road. The night was like tidewater. Melvin looked out the carriage window; the manor by the riverbank loomed in the night at the road’s end.
This was the Rocher family’s old house. In land-scarce Paris, for miles around, only this mansion stood. The heavy copper metal gate opened silently. The Thestrals stepped in daintily, stopping before the low building on the road’s right side.
The entire manor had been pitch black moments ago. The instant the carriage stopped, lights lit up everywhere in the castle. Fairies danced in the streetlights along the road, stretching toward the distant foyer. The carriage door opened, and a house-elf in a white uniform stood ahead.
“Welcome home, Miss Rozier.” The house-elf’s bow seemed practiced a thousand times, even the arc meticulously calculated.
“…”
Melvin glanced at the house-elf, then at the lamp posts along the road, and the fountain in the distant garden, its water glowing. He had visited many wizarding family manors—the Nott family, Grevis Family, Lestrange Family—but none compared to this Rozier family mansion.
Kristin eyed his movements and pursed her lips.
