Chapter 231: Obscurus Pickaninny
The wrought iron fence gate twisted into a flower branch shape opened, with exquisite and gorgeous fairies fluttering on both sides of the road. Melvin felt this was not like a banquet, but attending some grand ceremony—even the Knightly Order award ceremony for Merlin wouldn’t be this luxurious.
This was on the Seine River bank in the suburbs of Paris. The Rocher old house remained mysteriously majestic, with bright and gorgeous lights shining through every window. House-elves in neat clothes led the way, taking Melvin all the way to the main hall, where important guests were entertained.
Deep red velvet carpet, walls hung with the Rosier family crest, various candlesticks carved with gold as the main material, inlaid with blue and green gemstones, fully displaying the luxury of an old wizarding family.
The French Ministry of Magic was established relatively late, and there was no similar organization like the Wizarding Council before that. Each wizarding family and Beauxbatons maintained order, but without formulating overly rigid legal rules. After the Secrecy Law was introduced, its enforcement wasn’t so rigid either. Although internal factional struggles were frequent, there were no serious violent disturbances, and no Dark Lord inciting war.
The last disturbance was caused by Grindelwald, but the situation was contained on a small scale with almost no ripples. The stable and relaxed development environment allowed wizarding families to accumulate considerable wealth.
The restaurant was very spacious. The long dining table had candlestick bases positioned against the walls on both sides, with house-elves hiding in the shadows, ready for instructions at any time. Mrs. Rosier sat at the head, wearing a solemn and dignified gown, the curve of her mouth seeming carefully designed.
This banquet was more grand than the last one, with a longer dining table and even more abundant dishes.
“Professor Levent, congratulations on receiving the Gallantry Award.”
Mrs. Rosier said with a smile, raising her glass in toast. The wine in the glass cup swayed, the platter surface was spotless as new—she hadn’t eaten anything.
“It’s nothing. The Ministry of Magic’s award ceremony is in November, and Hogwarts has no holiday, so I probably won’t be able to attend.” Melvin’s voice echoed in the restaurant, causing the candlelight to flicker slightly.
Kristin and Mr. Rosier exchanged a glance—one shrugged, the other sighed. The atmosphere at the dining table seemed to return to that night. These two were background supporting roles while the hosts and guests chatted.
As part of the hosting family, Kristin was also forced to change into an elegant green satin gown, draped with a thin shawl of chiffon gauze trimmed with lace. The candlelight on her was like a maiden in an oil painting brushed with a faint layer of warm color.
Mrs. Rosier took a sip of wine: “Because of this capture operation, the Rosier family also benefited. If Professor Levent is willing, we can apply to hold the award ceremony in advance.”
Melvin raised an eyebrow: “All Saints’ Day award ceremony—isn’t that the longstanding tradition?”
Mrs. Rosier smiled proudly: “In fact, the award time is not strictly specified.”
With the Purifiers dark wizard captured, the New Salem bribed officials surfacing, and the Ministry of Magic’s factional struggle coming to an end, the Rosier family’s spokesperson successfully rose to power, further increasing their influence. She indeed had the ability to advance the award ceremony.
“Sounds good.” Melvin nodded, “But changing past traditions—there should be considerable resistance, right?”
“We need to win over some centrist wizards before the vote—not too difficult.”
“Just an award ceremony—is it worth such a price?”
“Not worth it to others, but Professor Levent is different. I believe you can see our efforts.”
Mrs. Rosier hinted at something. Seeing Melvin’s probing expression, she timely brought up business, “The content we discussed last time has great prospects for production, but before that, we need to introduce projection mirrors to France. We Rosiers are reliable partners.”
After the hasty parting from the last banquet, she had several exchanges with Vida, who was very optimistic about the projection mirror business prospects and hinted at the profits in Budapest without giving specific figures, only saying they could establish a Rosier branch in Hungary.
“Why bring up business again? Isn’t the banquet to thank the professor?” Kristin glanced at her mother.
Her pretty brows furrowed slightly. Last time it was to convince the family to send help, using the projection mirror business to hint and induce, but the case investigation was over, and the Rosier family had gained enough profit. She didn’t want to extract more value from Melvin—she couldn’t say why.
Mrs. Rosier wanted to say more, but Kristin had already taken over the conversation, turning to topics unrelated to interests and business:
“Melvin, I’m about to take over as Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, but I’m still unfamiliar with teaching work. Do you have any experience in this area?”
“Not really experience—I substituted for a few Defence Against the Dark Arts classes. I can share my thoughts.” Melvin smiled, casually glancing at the Rosier couple nearby, “Two years ago when I first arrived at Hogwarts, Professor Quirrell left early, so the Deputy Headmaster had me handle the lower years’ practical examination, resulting in the entire class failing.”
“Everyone failed?” Kristin’s eyes lit up, immediately curious.
“At that time…”
Mrs. Rosier listened to their worthless conversation, swirling the glass cup to release the wine’s aroma. Her eyes, the same blue as Kristin’s, closed slightly, concealing her inner thoughts.
Although normal banquets didn’t discuss business, before leaving, Melvin still left Wright’s contact information, letting them negotiate with the Magic Mirror Club themselves.
……
Night gradually deepened. Kristin was in her room flipping through the lesson plan and guidebook left by Melvin. The lesson plan was for Muggle Studies class, and the guidebook was also Muggle books titled 《Fear’s Gift to You》, mainly about how to protect oneself in dangerous scenarios and extreme environments.
Page after page, Melvin was a Muggle Studies professor who didn’t limit himself to past textbooks in class. He didn’t stick to fragmented knowledge; his teaching aimed to broaden students’ horizons and inspire thinking. The goal wasn’t the Wizarding Level Exam, but something more long-term.
The more she flipped through these lesson plans, the clearer that thought became perceivable from the scattered phrases.
Carefully flipping through, it felt like she had attended a few Muggle Studies classes herself, and her impression of Muggles unconsciously changed.
Natural science is completely different from alchemy, but some research methods are universal. Social science is even more wondrous, nearly exploring the laws of mind and humanity. How did Melvin view the relationship between Muggles and wizards? Kristin grew increasingly curious.
If she took over as Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, what should she teach the students?
Knowledge from books to cope with exams, or thinking habits for facing various dangerous situations?
The quill in Kristin’s hand paused, ink blot spreading, her thoughts drifting far away.
Seven hundred miles away in Hungary, Aunt Vida and Abnercy should be reviewing the ledger, calculating recent profits, perhaps even arguing—one hot-tempered, the other patient.
Melvin had shown his iron armor shield several times before her eyes, able to stop dark wizards, block out-of-control fire dragons, and withstand combined Obscurus assaults. It seemed as long as he cast the spell, all crises and difficulties could be resolved effortlessly.
Sitting behind the desk, Kristin thought for a long time, then lowered her head to start writing her own lesson plan.
Inspired by the Muggle Studies professor, exploring new Defence Against the Dark Arts teaching philosophy.
……
“Esteemed Gallantry Award recipient, Mr. Levent, I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.” Graves said seriously.
Melvin still carried a faint wine scent. Walking out of the wrought iron fence gate, he immediately saw Graves waiting by the roadside. He was wearing the French Ministry of Magic Auror uniform, with the Woolworth Building badge on his chest, staring eagerly at Melvin.
Melvin hadn’t expected Graves to be guarding here, looking puzzled: “Waiting for me outside Rosier Manor in the middle of the night—is there some emergency? Or some big shot looking for me? Why not have a house-elf notify directly?”
Graves showed a 「you know」 smile, and Melvin frowned in disgust.
“Someone does want to see you, but not a big shot—a death row prisoner.” Graves smiled awkwardly, “The dominant force in that Obscurus, the boy whose frontal lobe wasn’t removed—Pickaninny.”
“He wants to see me?”
“Let’s walk and talk…”
Graves and Melvin walked side by side on the streets by the Seine River bank, their figures flickering in the shadows under the night curtain amid faint air tremors.
“The other two New Salem cultist groups hiding in Paris have been captured and imprisoned in the French Ministry of Magic prison. Tonight, Aurors are conducting urgent interrogations. Many crimes need external testimony. Pickaninny has intact memory and clear thinking, and he’s not a Purifier—the best witness choice.”
Graves’s explanatory voice blended into the night mist: “Mr. Bonnel asked me to persuade Pickaninny. I spent an afternoon with that Obscurus in the special prison. He showed no sign of yielding until I mentioned the little girl we met at Père Lachaise Cemetery—Bastard.”
“I combined their common confessions and fabricated the events. That Bastard appeared above the Louvre Museum, delaying their encirclement of the Granger family, then escaped when no one was paying attention, hasn’t appeared since, whereabouts unknown. None of the captured cultists this time include this girl.”
The two hurried along Paris’s main road, approaching the French Ministry of Magic: “He seems to have realized you deliberately let that girl go and requested to see you alone.”
“So why agree to a death row prisoner’s request?” Melvin glanced at him coolly.
“Mainly because he seems pitiful.” Graves sighed, “A child not yet ten, life hasn’t even started, no memories worth cherishing. Learning of his death sentence, he showed no expression and even said the Ministry of Magic prison treats them well—good food and drink.”
Melvin sighed too, thinking of such a little wizard who should have become a first-year student at Ilvermorny, sitting in a classroom. Pity welled up in his heart.
Arriving at Fürstenberg Square, they took the departure birdcage elevator into the Ministry of Magic. Graves was already familiar with the way, leading Melvin to the special prison on the lowest level.
A spherical room, walls covered with mercury-like liquid, heavy in texture, slow in flow.
The Woolworth Building’s death chamber was arranged with this potion. Any magic power touching the liquid would dissipate, any creature touching it would be submerged, extracting beautiful memories from the mind to form the potion that annihilates the body.
The boy was trapped on the central platform, like a castaway sailor on an isolated island. The collar had been removed, but his hands and ankles were shackled with brass chains, runes faintly visible.
After the Aurors cleaned him up and changed him into prisoner clothes, his body was much cleaner. No faint stench at his nose tip anymore, and with daily food and clean water, he thought this place was pretty good.
“Graves said you wanted to see me.” Melvin spoke to him through the observation window, looking at the gaunt boy with those empty, lifeless eyes, “What should I call you?”
Focus appeared in the boy’s eyes: “Pic… Pickaninny.”
The cultists called him Pickaninny, meaning little bastard. He had no name of his own—perhaps his mother gave him one, called it when he was asleep, but he couldn’t remember anymore.
Melvin paused, not using that name: “Sir, do you need something from me?”
“Bastard…”
Pickaninny looked up to meet Melvin’s eyes, but long-term slave conditioning made him instinctively avoid others’ gazes. Melvin’s arrival reminded him of that day’s events.
In that sky filled with thick fog and leaden clouds, he as the Obscurus was engulfed in flames, as if back to when he first entered New Salem. The once indestructible Obscurus power turned to fuel. He could only flee in panic amid flames and fog, but the sky was enclosed by invisible iron walls. He could only wail and roar in terror amid the heat waves, letting the flames consume him.
The boy felt the burning pain return, his body trembling a few times. He took deep breaths to calm down, then asked like reciting a prayer: “Wizard, your magic cage is indestructible, your magic flames burn everything. Bastard had no chance of escape, but they have no news of Bastard… Bastard is safe, right?”
Melvin was silent for a moment, not answering: “Her name now is Bastien.”
As the slave in the Obscurus most adept at gauging the master’s thoughts, Pickaninny naturally learned to interpret meaning, getting the answer from Melvin’s response. Joy appeared in his eyes.
“Bastien… Bastien…” Pickaninny whispered, complex emotions intertwining on his face.
“French name, meaning a respected person.” Melvin looked at the boy coolly, “Are you and Bastien friends?”
The boy shook his head: “We just came from the same orphanage, barely spoke. After becoming an Obscurus, we were transferred to Texas, hiding there, then brought to this city.”
“Then why do you care about her?”
“Nothing, just want to confirm that slaves like us can have a good ending too.”
With the final question answered, Pickaninny fully relaxed, sitting on the floor in the room. The flowing silver potion illuminated the scars on his body. Looking at the blurry reflection on the ceiling, he began talking about how the Purifiers trained Obscuri.
