Chapter 53: Chapter 52
Placing an order was incredibly simple. All it took was a tap on the chosen menu item, and moments later, the plate would appear in front of you. Interestingly, there were no alcoholic beverages on the menu, which made sense. Alcohol isn't exactly conducive when addressing significant, complex problems where technical details outweigh the nuances of social interaction—even between two rational wizards.
I chose something simple, as did the Minister and his companion.
"By the way, Monsieur Jody," the Minister of Magic began, "allow me to introduce André Livon. He is the head of the Department of Education."
"Pleasure to meet you," I said, extending my hand. Livon shook it enthusiastically—so much so that, for a moment, I feared he might pull my arm off.
Thankfully, he didn't.
"Likewise," Livon said with a smile. "I've heard much about you, learned from others... and now I'm genuinely glad to meet you in person."
"Well then," the Minister said, transitioning quickly, "let's not beat around the bush. You're probably already aware of the death of Olympe Maxime, the headmistress of Beauxbatons."
"I knew her personally and was recently informed of her tragic passing," I replied. "She was a remarkable witch. I sincerely hope her killer is brought to justice."
"The Ministry is working diligently on that," Antoine said with a sigh. "Olympe's death has left a significant void—both in the heart of France and in our educational system. We're aware of your exceptional expertise in two disciplines and that you're close to mastering a third. Your contributions to the defeat of the demon and the anomaly are well-recognized. For these reasons, the French Ministry of Magic would like to offer you a contract to serve as the interim headmaster of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic."
"Hmm," I said, considering the offer. I had anticipated something like this—Dumbledore had forewarned me. Still, I didn't expect them to be so direct. I thought they'd probe my potential interest and suitability before making an outright offer. Their haste suggests urgency—likely an effort to quickly fill the power vacuum left by Olympe's death and to stabilize certain political interests. I suspect it's more about the latter.
Accepting such a position, especially at the request of one political faction, carries implications. It could benefit some parties while alienating others. But does it benefit me? That's the question I need to answer.
Within the school, I'd likely have some support. Fleur Delacour is still a student there, and I'm not sure if her younger sister has enrolled yet or is about to. Staying on good terms with Fleur could prove advantageous. She might rally some of her peers or friends to my side, which could be invaluable.
Although Beauxbatons isn't as ancient as Hogwarts, it harbors its own unique mysteries. Its wealth of knowledge, particularly in the informational realm, is a major draw. Nicolas Flamel spent over six decades teaching Potions and Alchemy there, and I'm eager to explore any works he may have left behind.
Overall, the advantages seem to outweigh the disadvantages. Besides, I'm curious about what it would be like to serve as a headmaster. Who knows? Someday, I might even open my own magical school. Why not?
"It's a very appealing offer," I finally said. "What are the terms of the contract?"
"Upon signing, you'll begin familiarizing yourself with the school's affairs immediately," the Minister explained. "You'll have help, as Madame Maxime had capable aides. The contract is for a year and a half, during which time we'll search for a permanent headmaster. Your responsibilities will include maintaining the school's high standards, integrating demonology into the curriculum, and upholding Beauxbatons' international reputation."
"Will I also need to oversee the Triwizard Tournament?" I asked.
"Yes," the Minister confirmed, unfazed by my question. "You'll receive a salary of 250 Galleons per month, along with access to the school's resources and facilities. I trust this will suit you."
"That sounds reasonable," I said thoughtfully. "If I accept, what obstacles might I encounter?"
"The primary group likely to cause trouble will be French wizard nationalists," André said with a heavy sigh, his tone making it clear this was no small issue. "They might challenge you to duels in an effort to discredit you as both a wizard and a headmaster."
"Duels, eh?" I smirked slightly. "That could be entertaining. Let them know I won't be holding back."
"I'll make sure they're informed," the Minister said, entirely serious. "Other challenges might surface, but it's difficult to predict at this stage since we haven't made any formal announcements about Maxime's replacement. I imagine many will be surprised."
"How much influence would I have over the school and its policies?" I asked.
"You'd have the same authority as any other headmaster," André replied. "However, since this is a temporary position, I wouldn't advise initiating any significant projects or policy changes."
"And what about demonology?" I inquired.
"That's more complex," he admitted. "The Department of Education will establish the groundwork. Your role will be to integrate the materials into the curriculum gradually." He hesitated for a moment, as if suddenly remembering something. "Oh, and one more thing! I understand you're English, but it would be ideal if Beauxbatons didn't finish last."
"If I become headmaster, I'll address that," I said confidently. After all, if one of my students won a competition like the Triwizard Tournament, it might spark some resentment among English wizards. However, the goodwill and respect I'd earn from the French would more than make up for it. In the long run, positioning myself as a wizard unbiased by national loyalties could yield significant advantages.
"Splendid," the Minister said, visibly pleased that the discussion was proceeding smoothly, with no disputes over the contract. "Is there anything else you'd like to discuss about the terms?"
I paused to consider.
"What would an ideal headmaster of Beauxbatons look like?" I asked. The question made both wizards pause, their expressions contemplative. While I couldn't read their minds, I suspected they were considering similar factors.
"An ideal headmaster would be an excellent teacher, a powerful wizard, and possess a big heart," André finally said. Though I suspected he was mentally adding traits like being easily influenced by external forces, devoid of personal ambitions for power, and politically aligned with the government.
"I see," I nodded. "That makes sense. I hope I meet those expectations."
The remainder of our conversation, while not particularly significant, was enjoyable. Engaging with intelligent wizards is always a pleasant experience.
"When will we finalize the contract?" I asked.
"I'll send you an invitation," the Minister replied. "I believe the formalities will take about a week, two at most."
"Excellent."
The wizards excused themselves since there was nothing further to discuss. I didn't remain alone for long, however. Just as I began to relax, Cornelius Fudge, the British Minister of Magic, seated himself across from me.
Cornelius Fudge carried himself with the self-assuredness of a high-ranking official—which, of course, he was. As the leader of the strongest magical nation, home to one of the world's finest magical schools, and overseen by the most powerful wizard of our time, his confidence and pomp seemed inevitable. Yet, I was acutely aware that Fudge's authority was conditional—he only played first fiddle in Britain's government for as long as Dumbledore allowed it. When your country boasts a wizard capable of defeating you and your entire security detail without breaking a sweat, deference becomes a necessity. And when that wizard also has widespread public support and influence over the lower levels of government, he becomes practically untouchable.
"Mister Jody," Fudge greeted me calmly, his tone composed, "I've finally had the pleasure of meeting you."
"Mister Fudge," I replied with equal politeness. "It's a pleasure to meet you as well. How are you?"
"Not bad, not bad, thank you," the wizard nodded, picking up the menu the French Minister of Magic had been holding earlier. He scanned it leisurely before placing his order. "I've seen depictions of the demons you fought, and I must say, I'm impressed by your abilities. Of course, the other wizards performed admirably as well, but you were the star, defeating one of the monsters."
"Thank you," I said with a polite smile. Praise is always welcome, even when it comes from someone whose rise to power is shrouded in intrigue. Thanks to Agent Zero's memories, I knew all too well how Fudge had climbed to the top—a journey paved with deceit, bribery, betrayals, and countless small and large intrigues. "How can I help you?"
"You're quite extraordinary, young man," Fudge began, pausing briefly as his order arrived. A juicy steak with an enticing side dish was placed in front of him. He took a bite of the meat, closed his eyes in pleasure, and then speared another piece with his fork. "Delicious! Have you tried the local meat yet?"
"Not yet," I said, shaking my head.
"You know, Timothy—may I call you by your first name?"
I nodded.
"Well, Timothy, the magical world is like a large village, especially at the Ministry level," he said, leaning slightly forward. "Sometimes, problems are solved simply by talking to someone from your own village. Other times, talking only complicates matters."
"I see," I replied, leaning back slightly, intrigued by where he was going.
"You must know by now that any successful endeavor ensures all parties involved gain something—be it trade, services, or something else."
"That's true," I acknowledged. "Though the fewer parties involved, the greater the profit. Wouldn't you agree?"
"You're still young, lad," Fudge replied dismissively, though he quickly softened his tone. "In business, excluding certain parties can create misunderstandings. Others might not understand why they weren't included in a particular matter, which sets an unfavorable precedent."
"If a third party wasn't included, perhaps they had no rightful place in the matter?" I asked, my mind starting to piece together his implications.
"But the third party might take offense at being omitted…" Fudge trailed off, finishing his steak.
It was clear now—Cornelius Fudge was displeased that I had spoken with the French Minister of Magic without his presence, approval, or even prior notice. I saw no reason why I should have informed him. The discussion wasn't about matters involving the British Ministry; it was a private conversation between myself and the French Ministry.
"Of course," I said agreeably. "But can the third party accept that they had no role to play from the beginning? If not, and they try to interfere, wouldn't that harm them more than anyone else? Don't you think?"
Fudge's expression betrayed a moment of realization—he knew I had understood his veiled warning. The question now was how he would respond. Would he deflect, or press further? From Agent Zero's memories, I knew Cornelius wasn't one to take young wizards' perspectives seriously. Three responses were likely: he could agree with me and let it go, end the conversation with polite disengagement, or try to reassert control. I hoped for the first, but I suspected he'd choose the third. Losing even a shred of authority would sting his ego.
"That's true," Fudge admitted with a sigh. "But what if the third party has extensive resources at their disposal?"
As expected, he chose the third option. A confrontation loomed. I had no desire to continue dancing around the issue with subtext and pretense.
"That only works if one of the other parties isn't capable of burning down all those 'extensive resources,'" I said calmly, meeting Fudge's gaze directly. I caught the flicker of barely suppressed rage in his eyes. Though his thoughts were well-guarded, I knew I could access them if necessary. "After all, who can predict how someone will react to pressure? Very often, the reaction isn't what was intended. Not everyone acts rationally instead of emotionally."
I had made my point—a direct threat, thinly veiled in polite language. To be honest, I dislike conversations like this. If there's an issue, I prefer it to be stated plainly so I can respond in kind, rather than navigating cryptic remarks and crafting equally oblique replies.
"Mister Jody," the Minister exhaled, his voice weighted with an effort to reassert authority. His tone was notably colder now—it had been "Timothy" earlier, but no longer. "In my opinion, it was inappropriate to engage with the French Ministry without going through proper diplomatic channels."
"How amusing," I drawled, leaning back slightly. "I don't recall asking for anyone's opinion."
Fudge's face turned an impressive range of colors—ashen, then pale, then red, like an overripe tomato. Judging by his clenched jaw and white-knuckled fists, it had been a long time since anyone had spoken to him so bluntly. I had clearly underestimated the intensity of his reaction.
"Are you all right, Mister Fudge?" I asked innocently. "Shall I order you some cold water?"
"Thank you," he said tersely, after taking a moment to regain composure. Rising to his feet, he added coolly, "It was a pleasure meeting you. Goodbye."
He didn't bother to include the word "not." Fudge left in anger, radiating unpleasant emotions. I strongly suspected he would try to exact some form of revenge. Let him try. I'm not some helpless pawn, and if he escalates, I'll respond tenfold.
"That was rude," a familiar voice commented from behind me. Turning, I saw Albus Dumbledore, shaking his head with a faint expression of disapproval. "Minister Fudge has a long memory for grudges."
"Let him," I replied evenly. "I'm not made of sugar either."
"And how far are you prepared to go in this confrontation?" Dumbledore asked.
"That depends on how far the Minister is willing to go," I answered.
Albus regarded me for a moment, then nodded, accepting my response.
After that, no one else approached me, and I was able to enjoy a quiet meal and some much-needed rest. The wizards gathered here were an eclectic group, discussing topics ranging from minor issues like broom import regulations to heated debates about introducing demonology into school curricula.
Once lunch concluded, everyone gradually made their way back to the hall—not all at once, of course, but in small, scattered groups. I didn't bother trying to decipher whether there was any hidden significance to these groupings.
The next session began with a nearly thirty-minute address from Dumbledore. He eloquently outlined the importance of including demonology in school curricula and proposed a practical framework for its implementation. Afterward, representatives from various countries were given the floor. France, as the nation most affected by recent events, was emphatically in favor of the proposal. Germany, Britain, and several others followed with their support. The debate continued for another three hours before a vote was held. The majority voted in favor of the initiative, and plans for coordinating efforts at the Ministry and departmental levels began to take shape.
A few countries abstained, but none of the major players capable of influencing international policy were among them. Consequently, their opinions held little weight. I couldn't help but wonder if some of these nations had their own equivalents of the Department of Mysteries, where they likely stored classified materials on demonology.
After the session, the French Minister of Magic sent me a note containing coordinates for a meeting, a date, and a polite wish for a pleasant day.
For now, I had no plans for the two weeks leading up to my meeting with Antoine. However, I had a strong feeling many wizards would want to speak with or meet me before then.
The evening session of the Confederation concluded with a dinner that gradually evolved into a lively party. Staying for the event gave me the opportunity to meet wizards from various countries. Most of the introductions were with deputy ministers, department heads, or Ministers of Magic themselves. The ministers were particularly eager to get to know me better, likely with the intent of exploring future collaborations or strengthening alliances. A few nations seemed to avoid me altogether, which I found odd, though I wasn't overly concerned with their reasons.
Rita Skeeter made an attempt to corner me, but a bit of strategic magic and quick maneuvering ensured I avoided an unwanted encounter. Overall, the evening was productive, yielding connections both in quantity and quality.
The venue offered accommodations for distinguished attendees, but no one chose to stay. Most were eager to return home, aided by the convenience of magical transportation—Apparition and the Floo Network made the process nearly effortless.
I decided to return to the cave. Now that I had memorized the location of the International Confederation of Wizards' headquarters, teleporting there would be simple. The cave remained unchanged from how I had left it in the morning.
Skipping dinner, I set up a bed and, with a wave of my wand, transformed the stone ceiling into transparent glass. The snow covering it melted away, revealing a breathtaking view of the night sky. I lay back, hands behind my head, and admired the stars.
The stars shimmered with an ethereal glow, weaving intricate patterns like gemstones recounting ancient legends. Beyond their beauty, they held mystical power; certain magical creatures could foresee the future by observing them. I, however, had never excelled in divination. On a night like this, ordinary artifact creation wouldn't be ideal—but crafting artifacts destined to become legendary? That was a different story.
As sleep crept in, I restored the stone ceiling with another wave of my wand and allowed myself to drift into slumber.
The next few days were spent in the cave and its surrounding areas. I dedicated time to practicing both wand and wandless magic while maintaining communication with Nymphadora, Isolde, Hermione, and Fleur. I sent Hermione and Fleur communication mirrors, which they were thrilled to receive.
Nymphadora and Isolde were still feeling the aftershocks of the demon attack, despite staying in England during the crisis. They faced challenges such as dealing with an influx of refugees, many of whom resisted adapting to English laws and traditions. Nymphadora, having recently completed her Auror training, had taken an entry-level position in the department and seemed satisfied with her role. Isolde continued her studies in Charms, occasionally seeking my help when she struggled with a topic.
Hermione reported that Hogwarts was managing, though the Dementors' presence was a significant problem. The situation in Europe had distracted me from Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban. According to Hermione, Black had managed to break into the school and attempted to kill Potter. While I found the act foolish, considering Black's criminal history, what concerned me most was the presence of Dementors at the school. It baffled me that Dumbledore and the Ministry had agreed to their deployment. Bringing such creatures to a school where most students were ill-equipped to defend against them was reckless. If their presence was meant to enhance security, as Hermione suggested, I'd very much like to investigate the thought process behind that decision.
Unsurprisingly, the Dementors caused numerous issues at Hogwarts—plummeting student morale, suicide attempts, and a sharp rise in nervous breakdowns. To protect Hermione, I taught her the basics of mind shielding and Dementor defense through the mirror. I would have preferred to teach her in person, but the circumstances required compromise.
The teaching staff had undergone significant changes. The new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, Remus Lupin, was reportedly far superior to his predecessors. Hagrid, meanwhile, had taken on the role of Care of Magical Creatures professor. According to Hermione, Lupin's lessons were effective and engaging, but Hagrid encountered difficulties by the fifth class. He introduced students to Hippogriffs, using Potter as an example during the demonstration. Knowing Potter's remarkable knack for survival, I could only applaud Hagrid's instincts in choosing him.
However, things quickly went awry when Draco Malfoy decided to outdo Potter in a contest of daring—and failed spectacularly. A Hippogriff bit off his left arm nearly to the shoulder. Lacking the skills of a healer, Hagrid was unable to save the limb. The aftermath was chaotic, as the arm couldn't be regrown or reattached due to the Hippogriff's magical nature. Now, Hagrid faces a trial, along with the Hippogriff.
Hermione had distanced herself from most of the students and, to my surprise, befriended Daphne Greengrass. Daphne had taken the initiative in forging the friendship, dispelling any lingering doubts or gossip about Hermione. Hermione was relieved to no longer be hassled over being my student. In fact, her association with Daphne afforded her some influence within Slytherin and Ravenclaw. This connection elevated her to an unofficial leadership role among the third-year students across all houses. Even some fourth- and fifth-years began to heed her advice. However, Hermione only leveraged this influence for the first month before growing tired of the attention. What mattered most to me was that she didn't sever her friendships with Potter and Weasley—though I was convinced those two boys would only bring her trouble.
In short, life at Hogwarts was lively for her.
My conversation with Fleur was of a more serious nature. Now in her sixth year at Beauxbatons, she had started contemplating her future. She declared outright that she intended to live with me and assist me in all things. I had expected her infatuation to fade, but it had not. Fleur was also deeply mourning Olympe Maxime's death. The half-giantess had been a frequent visitor to her home and a protective figure, shielding her from bullying by other students. With the headmistress gone and her successor uncertain, Fleur was now experiencing harassment from both students and some teachers.
Things were far from ideal. I didn't reveal to Fleur who the next headmaster would be but reassured her that the situation would improve soon.
After satisfying my need for social interaction, I turned to a task I had been postponing: examining the shelf containing the demon's memories. This preparation took longer than usual because I knew it could take several days. Nevertheless, I proceeded.
When I opened the shelf, my mind was drawn into the demon's memories. To my surprise, there was nothing extraordinary—just battle techniques, a few dozen spells, and little else. Most of the demon's abilities appeared to stem from its physical prowess rather than its magical skills.
Two days later, I surfaced from the memories, feeling as though I had absorbed very little. Yet, my strength had increased slightly, indicating that some benefit had been gained. I concluded that demons possess some of the easiest souls to consume for personal enhancement—a perfectly balanced mix of potency and nourishment. I wouldn't mind consuming more demons to bolster my power further.
With some free time, I resumed training. Alone and undisturbed, I could practice magic freely without the risk of being spotted by Muggles. Though I hadn't yet attempted to replicate the draenei's spell, I planned to focus on it soon. I also needed to investigate the magical fruit Zeus had rewarded me with—a fascinating object I had repeatedly postponed studying.
Before my meeting with Antoine, I refined several intriguing spells from Agent Zero's memories. Though they weren't fully integrated into my arsenal yet, I was confident they would be in the future. Once mastered, I would wield the Unspeakable's spells as naturally as those I had known before consuming his soul.
The day of my meeting with Antoine arrived. I dressed formally in a black ceremonial robe, adorned with two mastery rings, my hair neatly styled, and my face freshly shaven. A wave of my wand sealed the cave, while outside, the winter weather was mild. The sun shone brightly but lacked warmth, and the cold snow sparkled like diamonds. Solitary or clustered tracks of wild animals interrupted the otherwise pristine landscape.
Another flick of my wand cast spells of distraction and anti-Muggle protection, enveloping both the cave and the mountain. While I could have used a more sophisticated concealment charm, it was unnecessary.
Teleporting to the given coordinates was straightforward. I arrived at the entrance of a large building that bore a striking resemblance to the International Confederation of Wizards' headquarters, though it was smaller and decorated with the crest of the French Ministry of Magic.
"Monsieur Timothy Jody?" a man in round, tinted glasses addressed me in French.
"Yes, that's me," I replied with a nod. "And you are?"
"My name is Armand DeBlasio. I am the head of security for this Ministry of Magic countryside residence," he replied. "Minister Antoine is expecting you. Allow me to escort you."
"Thank you," I said, inclining my head in acknowledgment.
DeBlasio opened the gates and gestured for me to enter, falling in step behind me before moving ahead to guide the way. As we passed a large room, I noticed a significant crowd gathered inside.
"What's going on there?" I asked, nodding toward the door.
"Those are newspaper correspondents waiting to see who will be named the new headmaster of Beauxbatons," Armand replied almost immediately. "The Minister and his team have kept their choice so well-guarded that even I wasn't informed until an hour ago."
"Impressive," I remarked with a hint of surprise. "They certainly know how to keep secrets when it matters."
"I must admit," he continued, "I was surprised as well. But let's not dwell on that."
The corridors we walked through were unremarkable—ordinary carpeted hallways, plain walls, and the occasional decorative flower providing the only touch of color to the otherwise subdued setting.
We stopped before a small door, indistinguishable from the others. Armand exhaled and gestured toward it.
"They're waiting for you inside," he said, glancing at his pocket watch. "Although, you might want to wait another five minutes. The Minister wishes to make your entrance more dramatic—he does enjoy theatrics."
"Very well," I nodded. "I'll wait."
Waiting five minutes was simple enough; all I had to do was immerse myself in thoughts of spells, and the time passed quickly.
"Ahem," Armand cleared his throat to catch my attention. "It's time."
"Thank you."
Pushing the door open, I stepped inside.
"And here he is, the man who will serve as the headmaster of Beauxbatons for the next year and a half," the Minister of Magic announced, rising from his seat. "Allow me to introduce the Master of Transfiguration, Charms, and future Master of Battle Magic, Timothy Jody."
I cast a calm gaze around the room, taking in the seated individuals. Among the familiar faces, I noticed André, grinning widely, clearly enjoying the shock etched on his colleagues' faces. Another familiar figure was Amel Delacour, whose peculiar expression suggested he had realized the "battle" he thought he had lost had merely been an orchestrated performance.
"Minister Antoine," I said with a respectful nod as I shook his hand. "Gentlemen. It's a pleasure to meet you all."
"Timothy, have a seat," Antoine gestured toward an empty chair. "So, cabinet, what do you think of my choice?"
"I approve," Amel said without hesitation. "Monsieur Timothy is a worthy wizard—not just for the interim role, but possibly as the permanent headmaster of Beauxbatons."
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," interjected another wizard, clearly less enthusiastic about my appointment. "I understand why the Minister invited Monsieur Timothy Jody, and I don't object to his temporary position. But beyond that? Isn't it premature to make such declarations? And what will people say—that an Englishman is running a French school? This could spark a scandal that lasts for years."
It was clear this man was among those who opposed my appointment. The others, however, showed no outward signs of dissent; if there had been any, it had dissipated swiftly.
"Fair enough," Amel acknowledged. "But I maintain that he will make an excellent headmaster."
"Monsieur," an older woman with striking red glasses addressed me directly. "Do you have any teaching experience?"
"Yes," I replied. "I served as an assistant to Master McGonagall at Hogwarts."
"Thank you," she said with a thoughtful nod. "I also believe Monsieur Jody is well-suited for the role of interim headmaster."
"You already know my opinion," André chimed in, his grin widening.
"Then, Monsieur Jody, shall we sign the contract? Afterward, I'll introduce you to the press and the broader public."
"Let's do it."
The contract was presented on high-quality parchment, formalizing the agreement between myself and the French Ministry of Magic to appoint me as the interim headmaster of Beauxbatons. As expected, the contract was valid for a year and a half. I carefully examined its contents, which included everything we had discussed during our previous meeting, along with several dozen additional clauses outlining my duties, rights, privileges, and responsibilities. Surprisingly, it contained no prohibitions or restrictions, which struck me as unusual. If I had been on their side, I would have included limitations to define the headmaster's boundaries. Their absence suggested a high level of trust—or a lack of concern.
Following the section regarding my role, the contract detailed the Ministry's obligations: the payment I would receive, the resources they were to provide, and procedures for resolving any conflicts that might arise between us.
After confirming there were no hidden clauses—using magic to be certain—I signed the document. The Minister's signature was already affixed. Once I returned the parchment to him, he tore it cleanly, splitting it into two identical copies. One he handed to me, while the other remained with the Ministry.
"Congratulations, Monsieur Jody," he said warmly. "You are now officially employed by the French Ministry of Magic as the headmaster of Beauxbatons. Let's go. I'll introduce you to the reporters, and then André will brief you on the school's current affairs. He'll also oversee your introduction to the staff, so there's no need to worry."
"All right, let's go."
Accompanied by the entire cabinet of department heads, the Minister led the way to a room filled with the hum of animated conversation. The Minister entered first, addressing the reporters while I waited just outside the door for my cue.
"And now," Antoine proclaimed, his voice carrying above the noise, "allow me to introduce Monsieur Timothy Jody, the interim headmaster of Beauxbatons."
I stepped into the room and was instantly greeted by a barrage of camera flashes. Wizards and witches scrutinized me closely, taking in every detail of my appearance and attire. The attention was palpable.
Antoine extended his hand toward me, and I returned the handshake. The flashes continued as quills scribbled feverishly on parchment, capturing every second of this moment.
"I believe Monsieur Jody may have a few words for you," the Minister suggested.
Though I wasn't entirely prepared, I had anticipated something of the sort. Stepping to a small stand emblazoned with the Ministry of Magic's emblem, I cleared my throat.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I began. "As you know, I am Timothy Jody, a Master of Charms and Transfiguration. I'll keep this brief. My primary goal is to ensure that the education at Beauxbatons not only meets but exceeds expectations. I will dedicate myself fully to the success and growth of the students. If you have any questions, I am happy to answer them."
"Monsieur, Monsieur!" The journalists clamored for attention.
"One at a time," I said, gesturing to a short, plump woman. "You, please."
"Jeanne Lemarque, Le Coq Noir et Blanc," she introduced herself. "What are your plans for the school's curriculum? Do you intend to implement any changes or revoke existing policies?"
"That's a complex question," I replied thoughtfully. "Until I've had the opportunity to evaluate the current state of Beauxbatons' students, I can't make definitive decisions. Next?"
"Vasily Bronza," announced a man with astonishingly long mustaches. "If offered a teaching position at another school, would you accept?"
"I haven't received invitations from other schools," I responded evenly. "So I can't answer that. Next?"
"Bartholomew Wolfang, Livonian Fist. Rumor has it that you're on the verge of becoming a Master of Battle Magic. Can you confirm when the ceremony will take place?"
"Not yet," I admitted. "But the rumors are true—I've received an unofficial assessment of my abilities."
"Will you be teaching Beauxbatons students to fight?" Wolfang asked immediately, cutting off the next journalist before I could respond.
"I can't answer that," I replied firmly.
The questions continued to flow, like gold spilling from a goblin's pockets. Fatigue began to creep in, and it seemed the Minister and his cabinet were also growing weary of standing. Sensing this, the Minister brought the question session to a close and ushered me into another room, where a table had been prepared for a celebratory feast.
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