章 56: Chapter 55
"So?" I asked the two young men brought to me by the deans of their faculties. "Let's hear it."
The boys exchanged glances but chose to maintain their silence. I kept a steady gaze on them, carefully gauging their emotions. They were visibly uncomfortable—likely because they found themselves standing before me. The cause of their quarrel now seemed trivial. Problems often shrink in importance when aired in the director's office.
"Don't want to talk?" I asked. "Fine, I'll say it for you. Emil and Emil… got into a fight over Emilia. So? I get it—you're young, eager to 'cross swords.' But wouldn't it be better to settle this in a bathroom or a bed?"
Both boys turned as red as boiled lobsters. Sure, the remark was sharp and provocative, but why not tease them a little? The opportunity had presented itself, and I wasn't about to let it pass.
"Still silent?" I continued. "Alright, next question. Does Emilia even want to date either of you? Maybe she likes someone else... or perhaps someone entirely different? Never mind."
The boys braced themselves for punishment, but I had something else in mind.
"Here, these are for you," I said, handing each of them a hat transfigured to look like a rooster's head—one red, the other black. The hats tied neatly under the chin to stay in place.
They immediately began avoiding eye contact, visibly embarrassed, and—against all logic—put the hats on. Not that I had told them to. Perhaps they assumed this was their punishment and decided to wear them until they vanished.
"The hats will disappear in two days," I informed them. Still, I hadn't said they had to wear them. "You're dismissed."
"Yes, Director," they mumbled, avoiding eye contact with me, their teachers, and each other.
The boys left, accompanied by their teachers, who seemed stunned by the unusual punishment but didn't dare question it. At dinner, the two stood out spectacularly among their peers, still wearing the hats.
"Director," my deputy, Denad, approached me. "Isn't this a bit much? They come from rather ancient magical families."
"I didn't make them wear the hats," I replied. "I merely gave them the hats. What they choose to do with them is entirely up to them. If they want to wear them, let them."
"Understood," the deputy said.
By the next day, the hats were gone. It seemed someone had clued them in that wearing them wasn't mandatory. A pity—I'd have enjoyed seeing them parade around a bit longer. I'm sure the other students would've appreciated the spectacle as well.
Meanwhile, my experiments were progressing—slowly but steadily. Successfully isolating a single atom from others was already a significant milestone. The next step was figuring out how to transform that atom into something else.
The idea struck me after studying one of Flamel's books, which detailed an intermediate step in creating the Philosopher's Stone: the mechanism for transmuting any metal into gold. My attempts to replicate this involved isolating a hydrogen atom from a water molecule and transforming it into something else, but the process proved highly energy-intensive. The best I could achieve with my current energy capacity was converting a hydrogen atom into an oxygen atom. Beyond that, the energy requirements increased exponentially—far beyond what I could supply. This raised the question of where the Philosopher's Stone drew the energy for its transmutations.
After extensive research, I uncovered an intriguing journal entry in which Nicolas Flamel suggested that a fully "extracted" human soul could release enormous amounts of energy. This discovery prompted me to delve deeper into Flamel's writings on the subject of souls.
To my surprise, he had written an entire book on the topic, though only the first two chapters were available in Sharmbaton's archives. It felt like discovering a goldmine. While further information on soul manipulation was scarce in digital records, I suspected that a visit to Flamel's estate might unveil more advanced knowledge and grant me access to his private research.
In addition, I tested a transmutation spell derived from the magic of the Draenei. Using it, I successfully converted a single hydrogen atom into a gold atom. The spell served as an effective workaround. Building on this, I combined the magic of this world with Draenei magic. By extracting pure hydrogen from one liter of water, "chanting," and performing the transmutation, I could convert each hydrogen atom into gold. From one kilogram of water, I produced two kilograms of pure gold, forged into an ingot.
To verify my results, I decided to consult the goblins. I Apparated to Paris, where, as a well-known and respected figure, I was promptly greeted by a mid-level clerk who escorted me to a private room for discussions.
Soon, a higher-ranking goblin entered.
"Director Jody," he greeted me, his tone cordial. "A pleasure to finally meet you. My name is Alphonse, and I'll be your temporary manager today. How may the bank assist you?"
"Pleased to meet you, Monsieur Alphonse," I replied with a nod. "I recently received payment for a job in gold. I was assured it's pure, but I'd like to have it verified."
I placed the two-kilogram gold ingot on the table, immediately capturing the goblin's attention. Without hesitation, he picked it up and began his examination. He tapped it with his claws, sniffed it, licked it, and handled it in every conceivable way—a preliminary inspection, I presumed.
When he was satisfied, he retrieved several artifacts and murmured incantations over them.
"The initial inspection is complete," Alphonse declared, setting the ingot down.
As expected, this was only the first stage of verification.
"I can confirm this is not leprechaun gold," he continued. "I'll now fetch the necessary tools and proceed to the second level of testing."
True to his word, within five minutes of silence, a young goblin entered the room carrying a large chest. He placed it on the table and stepped back to stand against the wall. With a deft motion, Alphonse opened the chest, revealing an assortment of tools, artifacts, and even test tubes.
The goblin proceeded with the next stage of testing, which lasted another thirty minutes. Finally, as he applied the last reagent, he spoke to the young goblin in their language—a tongue I, unfortunately, didn't understand. Judging by his demeanor, however, Alphonse seemed quite excited.
The young goblin returned about ten minutes later, carrying a smaller box, which he handed to Alphonse.
"Now I'll conduct the third and final test," Alphonse announced. "After this, I'll be able to provide a definitive answer and evaluation."
"Excellent. Take your time—I'm in no hurry."
The third stage of testing took a full hour, involving various intricate magical rituals that I couldn't comprehend. This, I assumed, was goblin magic. When the process was complete, Alphonse meticulously closed the chests and boxes and handed them to the young goblin, who promptly exited the room, leaving the two of us alone.
"Well, Director," Alphonse began with a satisfied expression. "I can confirm that this is two kilograms of the purest gold. I performed extensive tests, as you saw, and none indicated any forgery. Not even millennium-aging or rejuvenation tests had any effect. I must say, this is exceptional. May I ask where you acquired such pure gold?"
"Oh, it was payment for a job," I replied casually.
"The bank is prepared to purchase this ingot at a rate of four thousand Galleons per kilogram," Alphonse offered. "However, if the 'client' you mentioned doesn't exist and this is your own creation, we would be willing to purchase the method from you—for any price you name."
"Thank you," I nodded, "but for now, I'm only interested in selling this two-kilogram ingot."
"Very well," Alphonse said. "Shall we transfer the funds to your account at Gringotts, or would you prefer to open a separate account at our branch?"
After a moment's thought, I replied, "I think I'll open a new account at your branch."
"Excellent," Alphonse said with a satisfied smile. "This won't take long."
Fifteen minutes later, I left with a new checkbook for this branch of the bank. My account now held 8,000 Galleons. Money was good, but it wasn't the most important thing. What truly mattered was the knowledge that I could now produce gold by the tens of kilograms without worry. Even the millions of Galleons waiting for me in England felt insignificant now—I could simply conjure wealth at will. Wonderful.
Satisfied, I returned to the school. Upon arrival, I found a letter from the Minister waiting for me, inviting me to a meeting with the head of the gendarmerie to discuss my proposal in greater detail. It seemed André had successfully conveyed the value of my contributions in the fight against demons.
The letter was pragmatic, asking for my availability—a welcome change from the usual demands such meetings entailed. I replied immediately, sending my response via one of the school's owls. As I sealed the letter and glanced out the window, I noticed dark clouds rolling in. A storm was brewing, its heavy rain and winds sure to arrive soon.
And I wasn't wrong. By evening, the school was engulfed in a tempest of lightning, gusting winds, and sharp, slanted rain. The weather confined the students indoors. Tomorrow's Quidditch quarterfinals seemed unlikely unless I intervened with a bit of weather-altering magic.
Later that evening, Fleur visited me. She seemed to expect a pleasant evening of chatting and companionship—or perhaps a continuation of her romantic advances. But I had other plans.
"Director," she greeted me in a sultry tone as she entered. "You called for me?"
"Come in, Fleur," I said with a nod. "How have you been?"
"Great," she said, plopping onto the couch. Her skirt rode up slightly, revealing a hint of bare skin. "And you?"
"Busy, as always," I replied. "But let's not talk about that. I wanted to discuss something important with you."
"Oh?" She perked up, sitting straighter.
"Next year, Beauxbatons will participate in the Triwizard Tournament," I began. "It'll be held at Hogwarts. I believe you have the best chance in the school to be chosen as our champion."
"That's very flattering," she said with a warm smile.
"Which is why I'd like to offer to make you one of my students," I continued.
"Another one?" she asked, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Who's the first?"
"Hermione Granger," I replied. "You wouldn't know her. She's in her third year at Hogwarts. If you agree, you'll meet her this summer."
"Heh, another girl, huh?" Fleur drawled, narrowing her eyes mischievously. "Alright, darling, do you have others too?"
"What?" I asked, momentarily caught off guard. "Huh?"
"Dar-ling, Timothy," she said in a sly tone. "Is there anything else you'd like to share? Hmm?"
"Well…" I hesitated. "Uh, I've never really kept count. You know, I'm definitely not a mathematician."
"Oh, is that so?" she said, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow. "And have you already…?"
"With witches, you mean?"
"I don't care about them," Fleur said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "If you want, I'll bring them to you by the hundreds. It's simple."
An unexpected statement. That sounded... ambiguous? If anyone else had offered to bring me Veela by the hundreds, it might have seemed offensive, given Fleur's heritage. Or perhaps this was the classic magical disdain for those without powers.
"Well, nothing with witches yet," I replied. "And I'd prefer you didn't look down on non-magical folk like that."
"For now," she nodded thoughtfully. "Then I should be the first. And yes, forgive me—I couldn't help myself. But you know, they don't have magic and, by definition, can't be equal to wizards."
"Put yourself in their place, but swap 'Muggles' for Veela," I countered.
She paused, reflecting on the comparison. Many people don't frame the issue like that. "You're right," she finally admitted. "It's unfair to them."
"I'm glad you understand," I said with a nod. "Deal. You'll be the first in that regard."
Honestly, I hadn't expected the conversation to take this turn. At least the resulting arrangement was agreeable. Fleur gave me a satisfied smile and settled back into a relaxed posture.
"As for becoming your student, I agree," she said warmly. "When do we start?"
"First, I'll need to assess your skills," I replied. "We'll do that next weekend, I think."
"Alright," Fleur nodded. "I'll prepare a bit so you're not too disappointed."
She stayed with me a while longer before leaving. I returned to pondering how to create the Panacea and whether there were any alternative paths I could take. Once again, I had to turn to Draenei magic.
As it turned out, they didn't have many purely magical healing spells—but that didn't mean they didn't exist. They did, but they required a different approach—one not purely rooted in magic. The Draenei I absorbed was highly skilled in Shamanism and often used it to enhance her personal power. However, this path wasn't an option for me because, as soon as the Draenei arrived here, all her spirits died instantly. If her spirits had been with her, it would have been much harder to defeat her.
This meant I had to return to the basics and study the Philosopher's Stone again to understand what allowed it to create the Panacea. No matter how much I turned it over or tried to study it, I couldn't make sense of it.
I'd need to explore other avenues and examine the fountain Flamel created.
The next morning greeted me with a torrential downpour. I could tell the students wanted to play and watch the game, so I figured they'd appreciate it if I gave them the chance by clearing the skies and letting the sun warm the earth.
Heading out to the Quidditch field, I drew my wand. With three swishes, a silvery beam shot into the low-hanging clouds, causing them to retreat and form a massive circle around the school. The sun broke through the gap almost instantly, warming the ground.
A wave of heat spread across the field, creating a gentle mist that rose from the grass.
For the students, it was a gift they thoroughly enjoyed. The players were happy to play. The students were happy to watch. The deans and professors were relieved not to have to worry about their students getting into trouble. And I was content, feeling a little boost of positivity from everyone else's joy.
That morning, I received a letter confirming the time for my meeting with the Minister and the head of the Gendarmerie.
When the day of the meeting arrived, I made my way to the Ministry of Magic, where I was scheduled to meet Antoine and the head of the Gendarmerie. A secretary greeted me warmly and escorted me to the meeting room. I didn't have to wait long for the two wizards to arrive, though I would have preferred they were already present.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," I said with a nod. The head of the Gendarmerie was familiar—I had seen him when signing my contract as director.
"Good to see you, Director Jody," the Minister replied. "If you haven't had the pleasure, this is Amadeus Boulangerie, the head of the Gendarmerie."
"Pleasure to meet you," I said, extending my hand. Amadeus shook it firmly and confidently.
"Likewise," he said with a polite nod. "We haven't had the chance to properly acquaint ourselves before, but we'll remedy that now."
"I look forward to it."
"Let's skip the formalities," the Minister said with a sigh, cutting to the chase. "We've been informed by Monsieur André that you might have a way to destroy demons completely, preventing them from regenerating. Is that true?"
"Well, it's too early to make definitive claims," I replied. "We'll need to conduct further tests to confirm."
"It's an artifact, isn't it?" the Minister asked.
"Yes," I said with a nod, placing a small ornamental artifact resembling a wand on the table. Its intricate design gave it an impressive appearance, though it was largely decorative.
"May I?" Amadeus asked.
"By all means, Monsieur Boulangerie," I replied. "I should note, however, that no one I know has successfully held this artifact so far."
Amadeus nodded and reached for the artifact. As soon as his fingers touched it, a crackle of static electricity erupted across its surface, forcing him to pull back sharply.
"Ouch," he grunted, shaking his hand. The shock was sharp—enough to deter but not harm. Undeterred, he tried again, but the second and third attempts ended the same way. Finally, the Minister gave it a try, only to be met with the same result.
"It seems I'm the only one who can wield this artifact," I said calmly.
"So it appears," Amadeus replied, though I could see the frustration in his eyes. He clearly wanted to take possession of the artifact for his own purposes. If only they knew this was far more than an enchanted stick—they'd likely lose their minds.
"I think we should test it immediately," Amadeus suggested. "My men have captured a demon and locked it in one of the dungeons."
"Let's proceed."
We descended into the basement, passing several gendarme posts along the way, until we arrived at a reinforced cage. Inside, a demon lay sprawled on the floor. Its wild, darting eyes and low, guttural growl made its hostility clear.
"This demon was captured recently at the cost of two excellent gendarmes," Amadeus explained grimly. "It had already started gathering followers. If we'd known each of its followers was effectively a walking bomb, we wouldn't have let it get so close. But… here we are."
"Do its followers not only become half-demons but gain other 'abilities' as well?" I asked.
"Yes," Amadeus confirmed.
This wasn't something I recalled from the Draenei's memories. According to those, low-ranking demon soldiers were nothing more than cannon fodder, lacking any special abilities. Could the demons be mutating under the influence of this world? Entirely possible—and if true, it posed a far greater challenge for wizards than I'd anticipated.
"Alright," I exhaled. "Let's give it a try."
They unlocked the cage and let me step inside. The demon lay bound in iron, its crazed eyes following my every movement. In my hand, I held my wand, theatrically pressing it to the artifact as though this action were necessary to activate it. It was all for show—the artifact functioned independently, but appearances mattered. Then, with a flick of my wand and the incantation Bombarda, the artifact began to emit a mystical glow.
The demon let out a guttural growl before falling silent. At that moment, I absorbed its soul, feeling a surge of strength ripple through me. A new "package" appeared in my Archive—a mysterious enhancement to my magic and abilities.
"Well," I said, masking my curiosity about what exactly I'd gained. "How will you know if it regenerates?"
"We've found that demons regenerate at the site of their bodies," Amadeus explained. He leaned over the remains, scrutinizing them with a trained eye. "When they resurrect, they're immune to magic and Muggle weapons for about 30 to 40 minutes. Their instinct is to flee and hide, but if you try to stop them, they'll attack anyone in their path. We learned this the hard way—lost four full combat teams trying to contain one."
"That's... troubling," I admitted.
"Deeply," the Minister said grimly. "And we're not alone in this discovery. Every other ministry we've shared data with has faced the same issue."
The wizards present kept a vigilant watch on the demon's remains, their wands ready to act. Minutes passed, but the body didn't stir. No regeneration, no resurrection. A faint glimmer of hope flickered in Amadeus's eyes as he straightened.
"Well," he said at last, his voice tinged with restrained optimism. "It looks like your artifact might truly be the answer."
I nodded, keeping my expression neutral, though inwardly I felt a swell of pride. It seemed I'd just secured myself a new position as the French Ministry of Magic's unofficial demon executioner.
"It's not regenerating," Amadeus finally said, breaking the tense silence. "Keep monitoring it, boys."
"Yes, boss," one of the gendarmes replied, and the group remained on alert.
We returned to the office, where Amadeus began pacing, deep in thought. I waited, curious to see where his musings would lead, as did the Minister. The latter seemed to have questions but held back, letting the head of the Gendarmerie process his thoughts first.
"Monsieur Jody, does your artifact require recharging?" Amadeus eventually asked, pausing mid-stride.
"Yes," I replied, carefully weighing my words. Lying wasn't necessary, but I chose my phrasing with care. "After every ten uses, the artifact requires a week to recharge."
"Understood," Amadeus nodded. "We'll keep monitoring the corpse. If it doesn't regenerate, we'll revisit this conversation."
"Agreed," I said with a nod. "Is there anything else you'd like to discuss?"
"Not for now," the Minister sighed heavily. "The situation with the demons isn't improving. Wizards are dying, and ordinary people are caught in the crossfire."
"If this experiment was successful," I began, "then capture ten more demons for me, and I'll dispatch them. We can discuss the terms later. How does that sound?"
"That works for us," the Minister said after exchanging a glance with Amadeus. Both nodded in agreement.
"Then it's a deal."
After leaving the Ministry, I decided not to return to the school immediately but instead to visit Nicolas Flamel's house. Now a national treasure of magical France and a popular tourist destination, the alchemist's home drew visitors from around the world eager to glimpse how the legendary wizard once lived.
Buying a Portkey was straightforward, and soon I found myself standing before Flamel's house.
Nestled in the secluded Alps, the home was unassuming from a distance—stone walls, red-tiled roofs, and a few statues that drew the eye. Yet its simplicity only added to its mystique.
Before entering, I decided to explore the upgrade I'd gained in my Archive. I transfigured a soft chair, placing it in a spot that afforded a stunning view of the landscape—not that the scenery was my primary concern. My focus was on understanding the new ability my Archive had unlocked.
When I accessed the Archive, a surge of knowledge flooded my mind, forcing me to pause and process it. As my thoughts settled, I examined the changes. A new mode had been unlocked: "Connect."
The feature allowed me to link directly to the information space and initiate file compression. This compression significantly reduced the time required to retrieve and process data—millions of times faster than before. Once compressed, the data could be downloaded and decompressed for immediate use. Moreover, the mode included a "Superanalysis" function, enabling me to analyze information during compression, further accelerating retrieval and comprehension.
In essence, this upgrade transformed my ability to acquire and process knowledge, offering an exponential boost to my capabilities.
Refocusing on Flamel's house, I noticed the stone walls were covered in greenery that seemed designed to conceal the fortress-like structure in summer. In winter, a different mechanism likely came into play. The door, heavy and intricate, stood wide open, blending the rustic charm of the house with its air of secrecy.
As I approached, I spotted an elderly wizard seated in a chair just inside. He appeared to be asleep, his wand resting loosely in his lap.
When I crossed a certain threshold, the wizard stirred, blinking himself awake. His hand reflexively gripped his wand as he rubbed his eyes. Seeing I posed no immediate threat, he relaxed slightly, though his gaze remained wary.
"Welcome to the home of the legendary wizard Nicolas Flamel," he said in a monotone, as though weary from repeating the phrase.
"Thank you," I said with a polite nod. He fell silent and returned the gesture.
Like most wizards' homes, the interior was larger than it appeared from the outside. Following the signs, I took a tour along a carefully arranged path showcasing the dining room, kitchen, study, laboratory, and library. A closer inspection, however, revealed that everything was a replica—copies of the original items. The books were blank, and animal parts had been transfigured. The decor was simple yet tasteful, with a faint air of authenticity.
Sitting in one of the chairs, I accessed the local information space. Here, Flamel's works were far more numerous than in Sharmbaton, and each piece was unique. It was clear that after Flamel and his wife passed away, their legacy had been fiercely contested.
For me, the division of his inheritance was immaterial. I had access to his books, records, and everything else I needed. It was time to test the new method. Activating Connect mode, I waited briefly.
Upon entering the information space, I was presented with two options: Superanalysis or Compression. I selected Superanalysis as the first task. My Archive calculated that processing all the information would take 13 days, with an additional five days for compression. Altogether, the process would take 18 days—not bad at all. Once completed, downloading the data would require just three hours.
Afterward, I'd need to decompress the material in my Archive and perform another Superanalysis on it.
Satisfied with the plan, I set the tasks to begin. Superanalysis started immediately, though I wouldn't gain any knowledge until its completion. Exiting the information space, I exhaled deeply. For the first time, I could launch such an extensive process without interruptions or anyone questioning my absence.
Back at the school, I tested whether a similar operation could be conducted there—and it worked. Naturally, the Superanalysis and Compression at the school would take 50 days instead of 18, but time wasn't a pressing concern. This new Connect mode allowed me to initiate such processes across various locations.
The potential this unlocked sent tremors of excitement through me. I had to steady my thoughts and calm my heartbeat with a brief meditation.
Once composed, I accepted that my journey would not be swift. Civilization had generated an overwhelming amount of knowledge. With this in mind, I visited two additional sites: the goblin bank and the Ministry. At both locations, I initiated similar processes. The goblin bank estimated a five-month timeline for Superanalysis and Compression, while the Ministry projected six months. Although lengthy, the wealth of information I'd gain would justify the wait. When I returned to England, I'd replicate the process there—but that could wait.
Back at the school, I decided to revise my routine. Instead of immersing myself in research, I resolved to focus on personal training and development. I had been neglecting this aspect of myself, which wasn't ideal.
Beauxbatons offered excellent facilities for wizard training. Some halls were designated for spell practice by students and teachers, while others were reserved for evening club activities.
Student life at Beauxbatons was vibrant and diverse. Clubs, Quidditch, and academic pursuits filled the students' time. The clubs ranged from purely magical endeavors to hands-on projects, such as enchanted embroidery, knitting, and even blacksmithing. Some clubs focused on practical applications of magic in combat, such as dueling clubs that held competitions to determine their best members.
Time flew, and soon it was time to assess Fleur's skills. She arrived early in the morning, dressed in a practical yet stylish outfit that was perfect for indoor work or outdoor adventures.
"Are you ready, Fleur?" I asked.
"Of course," she replied with a nod. "I've even prepared over the past few days. I want to show you my best."
"Excellent—that will definitely help," I said with a chuckle. She had indeed been diligent, reviewing material from earlier years and practicing spells she had struggled with. The house-elves had dutifully reported her progress to me. "Let's head to the training ground now. Ready?"
"Yes."
I stepped closer and embraced her, spinning us through space as the magic drew us into a pocket of nothingness. A moment later, we landed on a small stone plateau nestled deep in the Alps—a location I had recently discovered. It was the perfect place to test her skills and potential.
"Where are we?" she asked, her gaze darting around with curiosity.
"The Alps," I replied. "But don't worry about that right now. We're here to evaluate your knowledge and abilities."
"Yes, teacher," she said, straightening. "What do you want me to do?"
I conjured a booklet brimming with spells she had studied.
"As you can see, I've prepared this booklet," I explained. "First, I want to assess how well you know the school material."
"Good thing I reviewed it beforehand."
"We'll see," I said with a small smile. "Let's begin."
The first hour was dedicated to assessing her knowledge of Charms. As a Master of Charms, this part was straightforward for me. Fleur performed admirably during the theoretical portion, demonstrating a solid understanding of concepts. However, when we transitioned to practical work, her shortcomings became apparent.
Her lack of consistent casting practice was obvious, particularly in her wand movements, which were hesitant and imprecise.
She realized this almost immediately. A faint blush of embarrassment crept across her face, and I could see the beginnings of panic—on the verge of escalating into a full-blown meltdown. Sensing this, I decided to intervene. Stepping closer, I gently embraced her. She began to relax.
"There's no need to get so worked up," I said softly. "This is exactly why we're here—to help you grow as a witch, to improve your knowledge and refine your magic."
"You're right," she replied, exhaling deeply.
"So, if something doesn't go as planned, don't let it upset you. That's all part of learning."
After this brief reassurance, her performance improved slightly. While she still struggled with some spells, she no longer swung between emotional extremes, maintaining a steadier focus.
From this session, I gathered the following: Fleur had a decent command of certain spells, but they were primarily suited for personal or everyday tasks, not for high-stakes situations. It was clear we needed to revisit the basics of wand control. Her movements—critical for executing high-level spells—were hesitant and imprecise. That needed to change.
During lunch, Fleur's curiosity turned to my teachings with Hermione. She asked about the material my first student was learning and what I expected from her in the future.
"And what do you expect from me?" Fleur asked.
"In the future?"
"Mhm."
"I want you to become an excellent witch and achieve mastery in at least one branch of magic," I said evenly. "And I'll help you with that."
"Becoming a Master…" she murmured thoughtfully. "That sounds intriguing and wonderful, but can I really achieve that?"
"Do you doubt your abilities?" I asked. This could be a concern—wizards who lack confidence in themselves rarely reach extraordinary heights.
"Well… you were already considered a genius at my age," she said. "Many parents compare their children to you."
"And they pressure themselves to achieve even a fraction of what I accomplished," I finished for her. "But, Fleur, my situation is the exception, not the rule. Comparing yourself to me is neither fair nor productive. You're not me. You have your own path, your own methods of magic, and your own understanding of it. Everyone's journey is unique. And besides, if you didn't have something truly special about you, would I even be spending time teaching you?"
Fleur's face softened into a shy smile.
"All right, come here," I said, opening my arms.
She quickly settled onto my lap, seeking comfort. The small gesture worked; she calmed down and was ready to refocus on her training. I was confident that once she achieved her first tangible successes, she would find her own drive to continue learning and exploring magic.
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