Chapter 227: Dark Clouds Loom
The thick fog weather led to few passengers, and it was understandable that the museum was a bit deserted, but at some point, the South Wing Denon Wing became eerily silent, with even the staff members nowhere to be seen.
Bright lights shone on the exhibition hall floor, and the stunningly beautiful Veela mother and daughter exchanged a glance, finding it somewhat amusing to see the sheepdog rolling on the ground acting spoiled.
“Caramel really met those people here yesterday?”
Mr. Delacour muttered in surprise, “Père Lachaise Cemetery, Louvre Museum, their sightseeing itinerary is exactly the same as ours, maybe we should go up and say hello, perhaps we’ll run into them later.”
This was a short and plump middle-aged wizard with a sharp little black mustache, not particularly handsome, and his voice was rather low: “I also want to ask them what exactly they did to Caramel, scaring her so much that she couldn’t eat dinner.”
“Father, Caramel didn’t lose her appetite for dinner, she ate too much, her belly is full of hot dogs.”
The beautifully stunning daughter Fleur said helplessly, “And we don’t even know who they are. What if we suddenly go over to say hello and cause trouble?”
The Delacour family was usually busy with school and work, and it was rare for them to get together during summer vacation, but since the parents didn’t have enough holiday time, the family didn’t plan any long trips and only intended to stroll around Paris and its surroundings, but yesterday they encountered something strange at Père Lachaise Cemetery.
The tail-dog Caramel got lost for two hours while out for a walk, and when she returned, her state was very odd; first she whined and clung to her mother, and after recovering, she circled around Gabrielle, refusing to leave her side, as if worried about Gabrielle.
The Delacour family didn’t pay too much attention, thinking Caramel had just played too excitedly and was acting a bit unusually.
It wasn’t until dinnertime at home that Caramel still lay at Gabrielle’s feet refusing to leave, and this abnormal behavior caught the whole family’s attention; after all, Caramel was a gluttonous tail-dog who usually buried her whole body in the dog bowl at dinner, but tonight she was completely uninterested and had no appetite.
Mother Apolline Delacour and Gabrielle’s hearts tightened, they couldn’t care about dinner anymore and gathered around Caramel to check and question her.
Wizards generally couldn’t understand dog language, but their family had Veela blood, naturally close to animals, and Caramel was smart enough, whining and gesturing with actions, so they could figure out what she meant through guessing.
After half an hour of fussing, they barely pieced together Caramel’s experience:
While wandering in the cemetery, she encountered another little companion barking for help, helping two wizards search for something, which led her following the scent all the way to the wasteland, where she encountered very terrifying magic.
“Winds were blowing everywhere, nearly sweeping the dog up into the sky.”
Fleur still remembered Caramel’s flailing gestures, her puppy eyes wide round, not looking frightened but rather comical, and after learning she skipped dinner because she was stuffed with hot dogs, the comical feeling became even funnier.
Caramel returned to her normal appetite this morning, and the Delacour family proceeded with their plan to visit the Louvre Museum; the thick fog obstructing visibility couldn’t stop wizards.
“Since we ran into them at the Louvre, if there’s a chance to meet, let’s get acquainted.”
Apolline Delacour said; this witch had waterfall-like golden hair, and though she already had two children, her half-Veela blood kept her beautiful and youthful, smiling elegantly and gently, “Maybe that wizard discovered Caramel was a tail-dog and teased her with magic, then treated her to hot dogs as apology afterward.”
“Better not, Paris hasn’t been peaceful these days, this thick fog is clearly released by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to facilitate movement. Dear, remember the patrol from a while ago?”
Mrs. Delacour nodded, stroking the sheepdog Caramel’s dog head: “They said there are cultist dark wizards hiding in Paris.”
“Purifiers from Texas in America, cruel and ruthless, backed by some power; a friend at the Ministry of Magic told me some officials accepted their bribes, deliberately obstructing the investigation, which offended the young lady of the Rocher family, leading to a full purge.” Mr. Delacour shook his head and sighed, “We’d better not casually greet strange wizards.”
“We’re already here, let’s at least look from afar.”
“Better not, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Rocher family are both hunting people; if it’s really him, it could bring unnecessary trouble.” Fleur paused suddenly, frowning slightly as she looked toward the sky outside the door, “Father, Mother, is it my imagination, or is the fog outside getting thicker, and the color a bit blackish…”
“I think the color is blackish too, did the Aurors releasing the thick fog change shifts?”
The family looked up toward the door.
The originally pure white water mist was now mixed with a trace of lead gray, like clouds brewing a storm, thick enough to almost solidify, hovering in the low sky as if ready to press down at any moment. The tail-dog lying on the floor flipped over and stood up, vigilantly staring at the thick fog outside, pacing anxiously around the family, growling uneasily.
“Caramel says there’s a familiar scent in that fog too.”
Mr. Delacour looked puzzled, “What’s going on? Weren’t the wizards Caramel met yesterday inside the exhibition hall? How is there scent outside too? Could it be Aurors from the Ministry of Magic?”
“That’s definitely not thick fog released by Aurors, no, it’s not thick fog at all.”
Mrs. Delacour gripped her husband’s arm tightly, her Veela wild instincts screaming in alarm; that wasn’t fog at all, but a beast—a dangerous beast approaching normally!
“Those are the dark wizards hiding in Paris, they’re here for the people in the exhibition hall…” She took a deep breath, “We’re really in trouble, we need to leave here quickly.”
Mr. Delacour immediately drew his wand to apparate away with his family, but paused before leaving, “Wait, we can’t just leave like this, we need to warn that wizard in the venue.”
……
“In ancient Egypt, slaves were their private property, could be bought and sold foreigners, war captives, or relatives of criminals; in any case, their lives were miserable, hauling stones during the day to build temples and pyramids, doing chores at night, and not even sleeping well.”
Hermione kept a straight face as she explained the tragic plight of slaves to Bastien.
“Could they eat candy then?” Bastien’s focus was peculiar.
“No candy, no steak, nothing, just some black bread and kitchen scraps soup, rotten spoiled food that would give you diarrhea if you ate too much.” Hermione wanted to correct the little girl’s mindset, thinking Bastien had suffered inhumane treatment before, no formal education, and been fed wrong ideas by her relatives.
Bastien had just said she was the Granger family’s slave, and as long as there was good food, warm fitting clothing, being a slave wasn’t bad at all.
Hermione’s head spun with anger: “You’re no one’s slave, there are no slaves anymore, you’re your own master; no matter how good the conditions, it’s not worth giving up your dignity and freedom.”
“Dignity and freedom.”
Bastien tilted her head, recalling the scene at the graveyard yesterday; she heard what her former master said and suddenly didn’t want to listen to him anymore.
Hermione saw the girl’s thoughtful expression and struck Professor Levent’s pose for lecturing on reason, about to say something philosophical when an envelope suddenly floated over and landed in her hand.
A museum-provided stationery envelope with no signature or postage stamp.
Hermione pulled out the letter from inside; it had no information either, just a few lines of scribbled English with spelling errors that didn’t affect reading:
「Leave as soon as possible! Dark wizards from Salem are approaching, they’re here for your sister. They possess unimaginable power; if necessary, seek help from the Ministry of Magic and the Rocher family.」
Hermione first looked around, feeling baffled—who wrote this, who were the Purifier dark wizards, what relation did they have—then suddenly realized something and looked down at the little girl: “Bastien, have you heard the name Salem?”
Bastien nodded: “I used to live there.”
Anger rose in Hermione’s heart; no wonder there were still people keeping slaves in the new century—those ruthless dark wizards brainwashed children this way, unable to tolerate their slaves escaping, chasing after in fury.
After anger came chill; cultist dark wizards were clearly not something a little witch like her could handle.
Hermione’s thoughts were in turmoil, questions surging.
Who warned them in this way?
What was the Rocher family?
What role did they play in this matter?
How did those dark wizards track them, and why were they fixated on Bastien?
Hermione saw ink marks on the back of the letter paper, flipped it over to find a simple sketch map, the main area being Paris City Area, with prominent arrows marking two locations: one Fürstenberg Square, the other a riverside suburb position.
The traces of French wizards she had always wanted to find appeared in an unexpected way.
But Hermione had no mind to plan visits, whether to the French Ministry of Magic or the mysterious Rocher mansion. An unstoppable unease rose in her heart as she looked up at the window, seeing the gloomy thick fog.
The temperature was rising, the summer morning fog should have dissipated long ago, but this eerie thick fog not only didn’t thin but grew darker, the churning clouds like an abyss, the maiden’s heart sinking continuously.
“Can’t abandon Bastien, can’t implicate Father and Mother.”
In a split second, Hermione made her decision, took a deep breath, and called to her parents discussing mummy-making methods, “Father, Mother, I want to take Bastien to see other exhibition halls, is that okay?”
Her voice trembled unconsciously, though not obviously, perhaps chilled by the misty water.
Mr. Granger looked at his daughter strangely and waved his hand: “Don’t go too far.”
Good thing Father and Mother didn’t notice; Hermione grabbed Bastien and ran outside, no taxis outside so they had to take the subway, unfortunately she hadn’t learned apparition yet, couldn’t make too much noise, couldn’t let the cultists notice her.
The little girl didn’t ask why at all, holding that warm soft hand, dazedly following behind Hermione; she could hear the pounding heartbeat, feel this new master’s panic.
“Hermione, you go back.” Bastien suddenly stopped, saying softly, “I can leave on my own, Pickaninny can only sniff my scent, they won’t find you.”
“Pickaninny?” Hermione was stunned.
Bastien pointed to a mass of lead cloud outside.
Hermione looked in the direction she pointed; the sky’s thick fog and lead clouds weren’t merged into one—the fog was still fog, but three masses of pitch-black clouds loomed at the horizon, pressing over like an impending storm.
“You… can also transform into that state?”
“Mm.” Bastien nodded.
Hermione suddenly recalled many unusual things about her: suddenly appearing in Paris, no relatives or family, able to follow her back to the hotel—she wasn’t some ordinary abandoned child from a family, but a warrior trained by dark wizards.
Hermione looked down silently at Bastien; the little girl’s expression returned to cold indifference, like the street child again, lonely and pitiful watching others claim candy, her small face expressionless with some blankness.
“Don’t worry, Bastien, I won’t abandon you.” Hermione gently pulled her into her arms, her voice calm and resolute.
“We won’t either.”
The middle-aged dentist’s voice sounded in her ear, “Though we can’t do magic, we’re adults, and adults won’t abandon children to face danger alone.”
Hermione felt herself enveloped in a warm embrace—her father and mother; the 13-year-old little witch couldn’t hide her emotions, her voice trembled when lying, alerting her ever-present parents who quietly followed and overheard the latter words.
“……”
Hermione gripped her father, mother, and Bastien’s hands, suddenly feeling there was nothing to fear.
Yes, they were about to face dangerous ruthless cultists, her parents were non-magical Muggles, but she was a witch, her professor was an Ilvermorny graduate genius, her headmaster the world’s most powerful wizard, after holiday she’d return to Hogwarts for school, with Professor Levent’s tutoring every Saturday.
Thinking of all the things ahead to do, she wanted to swing her wand fiercely.
Unnoticed, thick fog enveloped them, as if sealing the entire museum; the lingering thick fog faded, revealing a heavy lead-gray sky; the family was about to find a place to hide when Hermione suddenly realized she couldn’t pull her little hand.
Bastien stood rooted to the spot, looking up at the sky.
Three faces emerged in the clouds: the middle one expressionless, the other two blank and dull, with what seemed like oval wounds on their foreheads.
“They’ve arrived.”
