Chapter 235: Embracing Girls
The ballet performance was coming to an end, the orchestra shifting from lively to somber, cool-toned lights enveloping the stage, simple tombstones adorned with flowers and vines, props dry ice billowing white mist, ghosts appearing to add a touch of mystery.
The lights above the audience seating brightened, the spectators in the stalls withdrawing from the performance, leaning back in their chairs to exhale and whisper to those beside them.
Judging by the applause during the curtain call, it was a spectacular performance, with the dancers and music leaving a deep impression.
“Are you planning to bring the ballet to the projection mirror for screening? Adapt it or screen the original version directly?”
Melvin, seated in the back row, asked, “The Wizarding World doesn’t seem to have professional dancers. Veela might learn it, but I recommend cooperating with the theater troupe. Their orchestral music, choreography, positioning, and stage setup have all been continuously refined.”
“My mother’s idea is to advance both plans simultaneously: in the short term, directly extract performances from memories to play; long-term, hire Veela to learn dance and music, and adapt the story to better fit a wizard background.”
Melvin nodded, watching the actors exit the stage in an orderly manner: “According to the rules set by the Magic Mirror Club, directly screening Muggle moving picture content requires their consent and obtaining copyright permission through proper channels.”
“Copyright…” Kristin repeated the somewhat unfamiliar term.
“The exclusive rights that Muggle World creators have over their literary, artistic, and technological works, to protect them from unauthorized use by others. The Magic Mirror Club established copyright rules in its early days, prohibiting wizards from casually profiting off Muggle moving pictures.”
Melvin explained, “If the Rocher family needs it, I can introduce you to a Disney executive. They have a lot of experience in copyright management.”
“Can she help the Rocher family obtain authorization from the theater troupe?”
Kristin frowned: “What I mean is, a Wizarding World wizard negotiating with a Muggle theater troupe’s ballet—if something goes wrong during talks, it could lead to large-scale magic exposure, seriously violating the Secrecy Law.”
“Need to disguise identity, set up a shell company…” Melvin smiled, “That’s why I said you need experienced professionals.”
“Is she a witch working in the Muggle World?”
“She’s a Muggle, my assistant from when I worked at the theater…”
Melvin stood to leave with the others, but suddenly paused. He saw a wizard newspaper on a front-row seat, apparently left behind by Mr. Delacour, who had been too engrossed.
The theater emptied, Fleur and Gabrielle exiting hand in hand to avoid getting separated.
Ahead were their parents, also holding hands and cuddling, occasionally whispering in each other’s ears, reminiscing about young dating days. They were middle-aged wizards in their forties, yet still as clingy as young couples, unconcerned about corrupting the children.
“Was the ballet good?” Fleur asked Gabrielle, looking down.
The little girl’s eyes were dazed; she nodded then shook her head. Understandably so—a child under six wouldn’t grasp a love story. She probably just liked the neat, gorgeous dances but couldn’t follow the plot at all, sitting blankly for hours.
Fleur ruffled the girl’s hair: “I get it. Next time they can date alone. We’ll stay home reading storybooks, playing with Caramel, and you can use my wand to learn a few simple spells.”
Gabrielle beamed an angelic smile, swinging her sister’s hand back and forth: “We can also read the newspaper.”
“Newspaper?”
Fleur paused, recalling Father had bought a newspaper on the way, stuffing it in his sleeve to bring into the theater. Before the show, to pass time, Gabrielle had peeked at it. Turning to look at their parents ahead, she shook their joined hands nonstop—his sleeve was empty, not looking stuffed with a newspaper.
Where’s the newspaper?
Fleur’s eyes widened.
She hurriedly called a halt to the romantic middle-aged couple’s date; the family anxiously hopped about like rabbits.
“Don’t worry, don’t worry. They haven’t started cleaning the theater yet. We can still go back now.” Mrs. Delacour hurried back.
Mr. Delacour, sweating profusely, followed. Leaving a wizard newspaper in a Muggle theater—if it caused big news, he’d be hauled to the Ministry of Magic tribunal tomorrow: “Merlin above, violating the Secrecy Law causing magic exposure starts with three years.”
“And you’re still close to Veela, suspected of foreign interference causing chaos—usually a heavy sentence, probably five years…”
“Fleur, no need to remind me about this.”
The family pushed against the crowd to head back. Halfway there, two young spectators called to them—a man and a woman, faces unclear in the dim lights. The man stood by with a smile in his eyes; the woman asked in a Paris accent: “Sir, did you leave something behind?”
“Yes, yes.”
His pounding heart made Mr. Delacour’s voice excited.
“This newspaper, right?”
The wizard newspaper, rolled up and handed over—its paper and ink very different from Muggle newspapers. Fortunately rolled, only half a page of text exposed; the moving photographs inside weren’t revealed.
Mr. Delacour thanked them profusely while taking it, but his gaze couldn’t help glancing at the young man—the slight curve of his smile was unsettling.
“Um…” Mr. Delacour wanted to ask if they’d unrolled it, but he couldn’t be sure; asking rashly would be too suspicious.
As he struggled internally, Fleur beside him suddenly exclaimed in delight: “Professor Rocher, you’re here for the ballet too!”
Kristin nodded and smiled at Fleur: “My friend and I came to scout it out, sitting right behind you. Didn’t want to disturb your viewing, so no greeting. Be more careful in the Muggle World next time—don’t leave magical items behind. Defence Against the Dark Arts covered similar cases.”
“Won’t happen again. Thank you so much, Professor Rocher.”
“…”
While teacher and students exchanged greetings, Mr. Delacour was dumbfounded but finally relieved—at least no tribunal, no casting Obliviate on strangers.
Watching Kristin bid farewell to the Delacour family, Melvin chuckled lightly: “Not introducing me?”
“Already did—I said you’re the Hogwarts professor, Melvin Levent, who’s recently risen to fame. But they just had me pass on greetings, no intention of coming over.”
At this, Kristin looked puzzled: “Not sure if it’s my imagination, but mentioning the museum incident, they seemed deliberately distant from you.”
“Maybe just a language barrier.”
Melvin didn’t mind much: “Back to the ballet adaptation—the ghosts’ revenge on the unfaithful is clever, making them dance nonstop to stave off death. Perfectly matches the dancing feet curse effect.”
The young witch nodded, like a student seeking after-class help, turning to ask: “But how do ghosts cast a spell?”
Melvin’s gaze fell on her shoulder, seeing a few strands of hair on her fair, graceful neck. He paused briefly: “Change it to pets kept by the ghosts. In southern Italy’s Taranto, there’s a poisonous spider called the tarantula—those bitten dance frantically until death.”
“…”
On Paris streets at night, streetlights one after another, older ones dimmer, shadows and light spots crisscrossing the ground.
A rustling sound threaded through the dim night sky. Melvin looked up to see a low-flying dark shadow approaching—an owl with sharp eyes, staring straight at Melvin, flapping wings to land before him.
“Mail for me?” Melvin was surprised.
He took it from the owl’s beak—a short note in familiar handwriting:
「Professor! Bastien needs help.」
……
Late at night, in the hotel luxury suite.
The elegantly decorated bedroom lit only by a sidelight, the crystal chandelier overhead dim and unlit. The girl lay weakly in bed, brows faintly furrowed even in sleep, a thin blanket over her rising and falling evenly with her breath.
Melvin stood by the carpeted bed, a few feet from the Obscurus girl. At the doorway behind him not far, a head peeked out—Hermione and her parents were outside, not entering to avoid disturbing Bastien, who had just fallen asleep.
After the message, Melvin parted from Kristin and arrived at the hotel in five minutes, briefly learned the recent situation, then began examining Bastien’s condition.
Such a rare Obscurus case—even St Mungo’s might not treat it, let alone Melvin not being a professional Healer. He could only rely on his keen magic power perception to judge Bastien’s current state.
Examination done, Melvin turned off the sidelight, exited the bedroom and closed the door. The Granger family immediately gathered around.
Hermione was indeed a composed witch, skipping greetings to brief him: “Since two days ago after shopping on Champs-Élysées Avenue, Bastien’s had no appetite. We thought she was just tired and let her rest, but it hasn’t improved.”
Mrs. Granger added: “We suspected food poisoning or heatstroke, but her symptoms don’t match. She’s just unusually weak, weakness without cause.”
Mr. Granger opened his mouth, found nothing to add, sighed regretfully: “At first she could still get out of bed. She was so eager for Disney, but ended up not going.”
Hermione took a deep breath: “Professor, will Bastien… get better?”
“Not very optimistic. Chaotic, powerful magic flows in her body.” Melvin pondered how to explain.
He looked up at the dentist couple nearby, their candle flame eyes full of sorrow. Though not long with the Obscurus girl, their kind nature had built deep affection—they wouldn’t abandon her as a stranger.
“The soul is the source of magic power. Bastien suffered huge psychological trauma in childhood, twisting her soul, alienating her magic into a violent, powerful parasite: the Obscurus.”
Melvin explained in simple terms: “This parasite doesn’t mean the Obscurus is a creature—it drains the witch’s life to grow until out of control, exploding and dissipating the Obscurus host and Obscurus together.”
“Obscurus?”
Hearing the term again, Hermione couldn’t help asking: “Didn’t Bastien transform?”
“Post-transformation, the Obscurus becomes less violent, gentler and controllable, obeying Bastien’s commands.” Melvin sighed, “But also far more powerful, growing faster. Her body can’t bear such strength, hence the weakness.”
Magic power is innate in witches, growing with development—gentle, harmless, subtly extending lifespan. But transformed Obscurus power is entirely different: hard to tame, destructive, even devouring the witch’s life force to grow itself.
Bastien’s purely kind soul changed the Obscurus again, making it less violent—but still too much for a six-year-old’s body.
“Even as an Obscurus host, the other hosts that day were older than her and active freely. Why has Bastien suddenly become so weak?”
“Because Bastien’s power far exceeds theirs.” Melvin said softly.
“Will she get better?”
“Magic power stabilizes after adulthood. If she passes her 17th birthday smoothly, she should recover. However…” Melvin paused, “Obscurus hosts rarely live past ten.”
Creak—the bedroom door cracked open, revealing the girl eavesdropping behind it.
Bastien met their gazes, her bright blue eyes blank and dimming, as if the world lost color in them.
Hermione stepped close, knelt, and hugged her, tears flowing silently. Suddenly so sad—this girl had lived in a cult, finally got a new life, yet a bright future rejected her.
“It’s okay.” Bastien wiped Hermione’s tears with her sleeve.
Hermione was speechless, just holding tight, tears soaking the collar. Though known less than two weeks, she saw Bastien as family—wanted to take her to long-awaited Disney, and at 11, tour Hogwarts.
Her heart ached like gripped; the more Bastien comforted, the more she wanted to cry.
“Don’t worry…” Bastien whispered, “I’ll live to 10, then my 17th birthday, and keep living well.”
Hermione still teared up.
“I mean it—believe me. Professor Levent isn’t an Obscurus host; how does he know? He didn’t even notice me eavesdropping behind the door…”
Hermione showed no sign of stopping; helplessness crossed Bastien’s young face: “Are you going to keep this up? You promised Disney and Hogwarts—how can we go or attend like this?”
Hermione slowly calmed, her shrunken heart filled by some force. She looked up, solemn as a departing knight:
“We’re going to Disney—tomorrow!”
