บท 101: Chapter 101: Beauxbatons Academy of Magic

Their ocean voyage aboard the ferry was quiet and uneventful. As the ruddy hues of late evening hung over the horizon, they disembarked in the ancient French port of Caen. Situated in the historic region of Normandy, which had seen the marauding footsteps of Allied troops during the Second World War, the city radiated a certain robust charm. Having booked a hotel, Sherlock parked the car and took Harry by the arm, leading him through the narrow cobblestone alleyways in search of a quaint restaurant that promised a decadent dinner experience befitting the French cuisine.

As numerous as the culinary delights of France were, Harry found the cuisine a stark contrast compared to the familiar tastes of Britain. When Sherlock was frequently accosted by several charismatic muggle women eager for conversation or to exchange phone numbers, Harry winced. Sherlock declined politely, as always. Even when some hinted at the possibility of more private encounters in their spacious apartments.

It wasn't long before Sherlock was offered yet another invitation. A woman, who had 'accidentally' found herself with an extra cinema ticket, suggested he keep her company.

"How come they're all so lonely? Be it a movie rendezvous, a dip in the pool or a tour through their rooms.." Harry mumbled, his eyebrows knitting together in discomfort.

Sherlock simply looked at him, a knowing twinkle glinting in his eyes. "Harry, you're barely out of your cradle. What could you possibly know about women?"

But it comes as no surprise. With his impeccable features, the air of mystery enveloping him and the inherent charm of a wizard - Sherlock was impossible to overlook. Anywhere he went, he was a flame around which admirers fluttered like moths.

Their sojourn in Caen lasted just for a day. After paying a visit to the renowned Abbey of Women, they departed, their newly acquired mechanical camera filled with shots capturing the city's notable sights.

Their journey took them further away from their final destination of Paris, choosing to take a detour south. Exploring southern France, they halted their travel whenever they chanced upon enticing culinary delicacies or picturesque landscapes.

They watched a car race in Lyon, where Harry dismissively scoffed, "A Quidditch match would offer more excitement than this farce." When they tasted an exotic flavored wine in Somme, Harry barely swallowed a sip before spitting it out. In Bordeaux, they sampled the famed Foie gras and toured some medieval castles. "These don't hold a candle to Hogwarts," lamented Harry, but admitted the Foie gras was exquisite. Their final destination was Toulouse, where they paid a visit to the resplendent St. Sernin church.

Upon their departure from Toulouse, they refueled their vehicle and set off towards the outskirts of the Pyrenees. Harry turned to Sherlock, a satiated sigh escaping him after three helpings of delectable French onion soup. "So, Professor, where are we headed next?"

"We're off to see the Pyrenees" replied Sherlock as he readjusted the settings of the car, preparing it for flight mode. "The moment we're over the mountains, our rendezvous with the magical community of France begins."

Taken aback, Harry responded, "So the wizards of France prefer seclusion, hidden away in the mountains?"

Sherlock chuckled, his hearty laugh echoing in the closed confines of the vehicle. "Oh, Harry, your ignorance is astounding. Hermione would definitely know our destination by now."

Feeling a tad offended, Harry retaliated, "Well, we are clearly going to meet an esteemed wizard residing in this mountain range."

Just as Sherlock tweaked the car's settings for takeoff, he shared a little wisdom with Harry, "Do you know exactly how many magical schools exist across Europe, Harry?"

Harry pondered for a moment before shrugging off the question, "Not a clue."

"There are three to be precise," Sherlock began. "Hogwarts, located in Britain, Beauxbatons here in France, and Durmstrang in the far north of Scandenavia. We are headed to Beauxbatons, since it's also the summer holidays there, I do wonder if they'll let us peek inside under the auspices of Dumbledore's name."

"The renowned wizards -- Nicolas and his wife Perenelle Flamel, whom we aim to visit next, are alumni of Beauxbatons. They were benefactors when the school needed to expand. In a gesture of gratitude, Beauxbatons honored them with a grand fountain at the heart of the campus and a magnificent manor nestled within the school premises."

Harry's interest was piqued, as he envisaged exploring the magical side of France. A few hours later, they spotted an architectural spectacle emblematic of France's culture and heritage tucked away amidst the dense cover of foliage.

Just like Hogwarts, Beauxbatons was hidden from non-magical beings who perceived it as a desolate, overgrown piece of land. The true beauty and essence of the place were only visible to the wizarding world. Forgoing the usual hovering maneuver over Beauxbatons, Sherlock chose to park directly in front of the main entrance of the institution.

As the front gate laid bare the main edifice of Beauxbatons, its vast expanse was striking to the newcomers. At the entrance stood the emblem of Beauxbatons: two glittering wands, their ends crossed and crowned with gleaming stars.

"Although its history is shorter compared to Hogwarts, Beauxbatons has been around for over seven centuries. Besides French students, it also hosts wizards from Spain, Portugal, Luxembourg, Belgium, and the Netherlands," Sherlock enlightened Harry as they walked towards the entrance.

Curiously, Harry enquired, "How do we get inside?"

Upon hearing Harry's query, a hoarse voice rang out from behind the gate, "What brings you to Beauxbatons?"

Exchanging a quick glance, Sherlock replied, "Good day, Madam. I am Professor Sherlock Forester from Hogwarts. This is my student Harry Potter. We were hoping to take a tour of Beauxbatons while visiting France. Would it be possible for us to have a look around?"

"A professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts along with one of his students from Hogwarts? We don't turn away visitors, but to verify your identities, I will need proof." The old woman asked, scrutinizing Sherlock and Harry.

Recognizing that his claims may not hold water with the locals, Sherlock reached into his coat pulling out a teacher's contract issued by Hogwarts. The document offered proof of his identification as well as established his professional credentials.

The gatekeeper, after carefully perusing the contract, ushered them inside with a nod.

"Given that it's the holiday season, there aren't many around. There are only a handful of teachers and students who have stayed back." The gatekeeper introduced herself as Gariel, she was in charge of discipline and student affairs at Beauxbatons.

As they made their way into the vast campus, Harry whispered, "She appears far more pleasant than Filch."

Sherlock gently reprimanded Harry, advising him not to judge people behind their backs.

"Do you need me to guide you around the campus?" Madame Gariel turned around to ask.

Sherlock nonchalantly shrugged off, "That won't be necessary, just tell us where we can't go."

Gariel shook her head, "There are no forbidden areas in Beauxbatons, though you should be careful around the magical creature's breeding area on the west side of the gardens, they can get quite volatile. It's better not to provoke them."

Once inside the massive dining hall of Beauxbatons, Sherlock and Harry left Gariel, anxious to explore the architectural wonder that was Beauxbatons. With his camera in tow, Sherlock positioned Harry in front of the grand Nicolas Flamel fountain, it's large marble basin spraying cool water into the air.

As they marvelled at the grandeur of the manor and explored the lush gardens surrounding Beauxbatons, they encountered a woman nearly as large as Hagrid. Noting her size and authoritative air, Sherlock quickly identified her as Madame Maxime, the current Principal of Beauxbatons.

"A Hogwarts Professor? And Harry Potter?" A quick glance from the imposing figure of Madame Maxime scrutinized their visitor status. "I must say I'm surprised Dumbledore gave you his consent to go wandering off with Britain's little miracle boy."