Chapitre 10: 10. A Moment of Connection
They lingered in the warm light of the dining room, the quiet companionship settling over them like a gentle embrace. For Harry, it was a moment of pure kindness, something he'd never known—a memory that he felt would stay with him long after he left Avalon. And for Arthur, it was a small but important step toward healing, a reminder that here, even within Avalon's mystical walls, he could find connection, comfort, and perhaps, eventually, peace.
As the last of their shared meal faded into memory, Arthur leaned forward, his expression warm. "So, Harry," he said, resting his arms on the table, "how's your stay in Avalon so far?"
Harry's face brightened at the question, and with an eagerness that was both innocent and genuine, he began recounting every detail. He spoke about his room, describing the clean, soft bed that made him feel as though he were floating, the fitting pajamas that felt like a second skin, and even the quiet, soothing bath he'd enjoyed earlier. His words tumbled out in a stream of excitement, and though each detail might seem ordinary for any other child, to Harry, they were luxuries he'd never experienced before.
Arthur chuckled, feeling a quiet happiness seeing the child so at ease, basking in the joy of simply being himself. But as he listened, a small pang of understanding tugged at him; he knew, perhaps better than most, that Harry was anything but ordinary—even among other young wizards, Harry's path would be one filled with challenges and responsibilities that most would never face. Still, at this moment, it was heartwarming to see Harry enjoy the simple pleasure of being a child.
As Harry continued to ramble, his excitement brought him to a new topic. He leaned in, his eyes wide with wonder. "Arthur," he said, his voice hushed with awe, "the bookshelf in my room—it's full of books on magic! They're real, aren't they? Not just some strange novels or tricks?"
Arthur smiled, seeing the earnest look in Harry's eyes. "Of course, Harry," he replied. "Those books are as real as the Felix Felicis potion I showed you earlier."
At the mention of the potion, Harry's face lit up, a gleam of recognition and delight in his expression. He remembered seeing the golden liquid, the "Liquid Luck," and had even read about it in one of the books on his shelf. But his joy was soon tempered as his face fell slightly, his brow creasing in frustration.
Arthur caught the change, his brows drawing together with concern. "What's the matter, Harry?" he asked gently.
Harry hesitated, glancing down at the table. "Well, if those books are real… then why can't I make any of the spells work? I read them carefully, but nothing happens."
Arthur's eyes softened with understanding, and he leaned back, arms folded thoughtfully. "What kind of book were you trying to practice from?"
Harry squirmed slightly, feeling the faintest twinge of embarrassment. "A book on wandless spells…"
Arthur chuckled, unable to hold back his amusement. "Harry, wandless spells require a bit of finesse," he said, a playful glint in his eyes. "Did you check the back of the book? They usually list an estimated time for learning wandless magic."
Harry's face flushed, and he shot back indignantly, "Who puts important information like that at the back of the book?"
Arthur laughed, reaching across the table to ruffle Harry's hair. "It's okay, Harry. Wandless magic is tricky. The magic you used at the zoo—that was wandless, too, and it happened because of a burst of emotion."
Harry looked up, eyes widening. The memory of the zoo incident—the snake, the glass vanishing—flashed through his mind. "So… I really did do magic, then?"
Arthur nodded, his expression softening. "You did, even if it was accidental. Magic tends to appear when we need it most, but it can take time and practice to control. It's all part of learning, and for now, you're right where you need to be."
Harry looked at Arthur with newfound admiration. Arthur hadn't been there at the zoo, yet he knew about it. The realization sank in—this place, Avalon, was special, but Arthur, too, was remarkable in a way Harry couldn't quite understand. This was more than just an ordinary hotel. And Arthur was far more than just a concierge.
Standing up with a small yawn, Harry smiled, his eyelids heavy. "Good night, Arthur," he said, his voice soft but filled with genuine warmth.
"Good night, Harry," Arthur replied, watching as Harry made his way back to the elevator. There was a sense of quiet pride in him as he watched Harry go. Once the elevator doors closed, Arthur turned back toward the front desk, where his wand and spellbook awaited him. The night stretched ahead, and he was eager to dive into his own studies, each spells a step toward understanding the magical world that Harry had come from.
As Harry rode the elevator back up to his room, he could feel the glow of excitement lingering. The books, the spells, the shared meal—it had all felt like a glimpse into a world he had always been meant to belong to. Once in his room, he set his still-broken glasses on the nightstand, looking down at them with renewed determination.
"Alright," he murmured to himself, picking up The Art of Wandless Magic from the small pile on his bedside table. He flipped through the pages, rereading the section on the Mending Charm. If he'd done wandless magic once before, even by accident, then he could learn to do it again—he just needed to try harder, focus longer.
With a slow breath, he placed his hands over his glasses and whispered, "Reparo." A faint warmth flowed through his hands, and he thought he saw the tiniest flicker of magic, though the glasses remained stubbornly cracked. Even so, he felt a surge of hope. He would keep practicing, pushing himself a little each day. Someday, he'd be able to make magic happen on purpose, and he'd prove to himself that he was truly a part of this world.
0~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~0
Meanwhile, at Number Four, Privet Drive, a different sort of preparation was underway. Vernon Dursley stuffed bags into the boot of his car with a scowl, muttering under his breath as he glanced over his shoulder. The morning sun cast long shadows over the quiet suburban street, but inside the Dursley household, things were anything but calm.
Petunia was pacing the front hallway, her mouth pressed into a thin line as she glanced anxiously at the door. "Vernon, will you hurry up? We don't have all day!" she snapped, wringing her hands.
"Calm down, Petunia," Vernon grumbled, slamming the boot shut. "The boy's probably off somewhere causing trouble. He'll come back soon enough, I'm sure."
Petunia's face twisted with worry. "Vernon, you don't understand. Those… those people will come looking for him. They left him with us under specific instructions. We promised to keep him safe!"
Vernon's expression soured, but Petunia's words seemed to get through to him. He gave a reluctant sigh, his eyes darting nervously around as if expecting an owl to swoop down at any moment. "Fine," he muttered. "But why are we running off to that dreary lighthouse of all places?"
"It's isolated," Petunia replied, her voice tight. "They'll have a harder time finding us there, and it'll give us time to think about what to do."
Dudley wandered into the hallway, stuffing the last of his breakfast into his mouth, completely unbothered by the chaos around him. He mumbled something about being hungry again, his eyes blank with disinterest.
Petunia shot him an exasperated look, but the urgency in her expression remained. She didn't want to search for Harry, didn't want to risk the questions or the trouble his disappearance would bring. Yet there was a growing fear that the wizards would come looking for answers, and she had no intention of facing them unprepared.
They piled into the car, Dudley whining about wanting more food, while Vernon muttered under his breath about how inconvenient it all was. With a final glance at the house, Petunia closed the door, and the car pulled out of the driveway, leaving Number Four, Privet Drive, eerily quiet in their wake.
0~~~~~~~0
Back in his room, Harry sat cross-legged on the bed, his eyes fixed on his broken glasses lying before him. Despite the warm glow from the dinner with Arthur and the calm that Avalon seemed to exude, he felt a gnawing frustration mixed with determination. He'd tried several times to mend the glasses, but each attempt had ended with only a faint flicker of warmth, the cracks stubbornly remaining.
His eyelids felt heavy, and he stifled a yawn. Every muscle in his body begged for rest, but he couldn't shake the desire to try just one more time. "Alright," he whispered to himself, squaring his shoulders. "One last time."
He picked up the glasses, his hands trembling slightly from both weariness and concentration. Closing his eyes, he took a slow breath and centered himself, recalling the instructions he'd read in The Art of Wandless Magic. He focused on the feeling of fixing, of the cracks sealing, the lenses smoothing, and the glasses becoming whole once more.
"Reparo," he murmured, pouring everything he had left into the charm.
A warm surge pulsed through his hands, stronger than before. When he opened his eyes, he blinked in surprise—the cracks had vanished, the lenses clear and pristine. A grin spread across his face as he held the mended glasses up to the light, feeling a quiet pride he hadn't felt in a long time. He'd done it—magic, his magic, without a wand.
But before he could fully process his success, a wave of exhaustion washed over him, pulling at his eyelids with an undeniable weight. He barely had time to lay back on the bed before sleep overtook him, his mind drifting into a peaceful slumber, the glasses still clutched in his hand.
Back on the main floor, Arthur leaned against the front desk, his fingers wrapped loosely around the training wand Avalon had provided. The lobby was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the chandelier as he practiced simple charms from The Standard Book of Spells. He'd made modest progress, managing to conjure a faint glow with the Lumos charm and even mastering a basic levitation spell.
A subtle chime sounded in his mind, and Avalon's voice, warm and encouraging, echoed through him.
[System Notification: Concierge Status Update]
Arthur took a deep breath, feeling a small thrill of anticipation as the system window appeared before him, detailing his current progress.
Name: Arthur Peterson
Role: Concierge (Multiversal Hotel Manager)
Level: 3
Core Traits:
Adaptability – 5/10
Hospitality – 6/10
Coordination – 5/10
Resilience – 4/10
Intuition – 3/10
Skills:
Guest Relations – Beginner
Basic Multiverse Navigation – Beginner
Conflict De-escalation – Intermediate
Basic Space Arrangement – Beginner
Basic Cooking – Beginner
Mystical Maintenance – Not Acquired
Magical Skills:
Basic Charms {HP} – Beginner
Current Status:
Physical Condition: Stable
Mental Condition: Happy, Curious
Notable Possessions:
Felix Felicis {HP}
Arthur scanned through the information, a sense of satisfaction settling over him. He noted the new magical skills, feeling the first glimpses of an evolving connection to Harry's world. His gaze lingered on his core traits, noting with quiet determination the areas that would require more work in the days ahead.
Avalon's gentle voice cut into his thoughts. "You've come far already, Arthur, but there is still room to grow. Remember, each guest you serve will reveal a part of you. I'll be here to help you along the way."
Arthur nodded, feeling both grounded and inspired by Avalon's words. The lobby was quiet, a rare moment of stillness in a place that seemed ever-evolving, and Arthur felt a surge of purpose. This sanctuary, Avalon, was becoming a place for his own growth as much as it was for his guests.
After a long evening of practice and the quiet, satisfying rhythm of learning magic, Arthur felt the weight of the day settle over him. Deciding it was time for some rest, he made his way to his quarters, craving the comfort of a hot shower to unwind.
The steam filled the bathroom, curling around him as he scrubbed away the tension and the faint remnants of magic that seemed to cling to him, lingering like a reminder of the progress he'd made. As he finished, he reached for a towel, feeling the warmth of the steam dissipate as he dried off.
He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror and paused, taking in the image that looked back at him. It was still a bit strange, this body that wasn't his own. He touched his face, feeling the unfamiliar contours, the faint lines that told stories he didn't know. It was like standing in front of a stranger who mimicked his every movement.
With a quiet sigh, he leaned closer, almost as though he could connect to whatever soul had once inhabited this body.
"I guess you'll be going on a journey with me, huh?" he murmured, feeling a faint pang of sympathy. "I don't know who you are… or where you've gone. If my soul somehow took over without you knowing, I just want to say… I'm sorry."
The reflection held his gaze, mirroring his expression, as though offering its silent understanding. Arthur chuckled softly, though a trace of sadness lingered in his eyes.
"Even I don't know how this happened," he added, shaking his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "But… let's do our best, okay?"
He raised his hand, palm forward, a small, hopeful gesture to his reflection. His mirror image raised a hand in turn, meeting him as if in a silent agreement. For a moment, he felt a strange connection, a sense of companionship in the quiet solitude.
But just as he held the pose, a flicker of movement caught his eye—the towel around his waist loosened and slipped to the floor, landing in a soft pile at his feet. He blinked, looking down in surprise, then broke into laughter, the sound echoing off the tiled walls.
"Well," he muttered to himself with a grin, "guess modesty might not be my strong suit."
He quickly pulled on his pajamas, glancing one last time at the reflection in the mirror. For a moment, he felt something warm settle inside him, a silent gratitude.
"Thanks," he whispered softly, almost as if saying it to his body itself. The reflection met his gaze, sharing a quiet understanding as he turned off the lights, the soft glow of Avalon's magic a comforting presence as he settled into bed, ready to face whatever the next day would bring.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone