What's written in () is translation of French to English, if you read this chapter in French than there is no need to read it.
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The following day, Ted and his father sat across from each other in a quaint café, a small metal table between them. Ted, wearing a black T‑shirt and silk pants (meticulously crafted by hand to resemble casual wear), was having a croissant and a cup of cappuccino. His father, engrossed in a French newspaper, held a small espresso in his other hand. He was clad in his customary all‑black suit, a choice he rarely deviated from.
Observing the neat, dark‑gray cobblestone streets, Ted sipped his coffee slowly, glancing at the Eiffel Tower that stood erect in the distance. Paris bustled with life around them as people hurriedly passed by on foot or bicycles, and the aroma of freshly baked bread wafted through the air.
The scene evoked memories of Ted's first visit to Diagon Alley — a sense of similarity yet profound differences. The streets were just as busy, and people walked in both directions. Yet those people wore very different clothing and mainly spoke French. Once in a while, he could hear a passing group speak other languages as they looked at the Eiffel Tower in awe.
The sun was just starting to rise, illuminating the paths. Yet it felt so different — a lot warmer and more fitting for summer, accompanied by a refreshing spring breeze. It was very different from the coldness of early morning at the start of spring in London.
Taking a deep breath, Ted turned to his father, who remained aloof, engrossed in the newspaper, flipping pages without lifting his head.
« Quand est votre réunion ? » (When is your meeting?) Ted asked, his voice devoid of emotion, half‑expecting the response; his natural English accent could barely be noticed.
« Bientôt » (Soon), Cassius replied, not lifting his head from the paper. He took a sip from his cup, only to realize it was already empty, and sighed as he flipped to the next page.
« Des plans pour la journée ? » (Any plans for the day?) Cassius inquired monotonously, lacking any genuine interest in the response; his French sounded as natural as the Parisians' themselves.
« Mazarine, et peut‑être le Louvre si j'ai le temps. » (Mazarine, and maybe the Louvre if I have the time.) Ted replied briefly, earning a fleeting glance from Cassius's impassive gaze.
Simultaneously, a black Jaguar pulled up next to them, and a young man opened the back seat, silently indicating he was ready.
« Je serai à l'hôtel à minuit. » (I will be back at the hotel by midnight.) Cassius stated, standing up and heading toward the car. He left a fifty‑euro bill for the coffee and a generous tip.
As the car drove off, Cassius glanced at Ted through the tinted window. It was the typical interaction between them, mirroring the dynamics Cassius had shared with his own father.
"Showing emotions is showing weakness. And you never show weakness, even when you are weak." These words had been instilled in him since childhood. The only time he showed vulnerability—his emotions—was after he lost what he loved most. He had never believed she just died without reason and had been searching for an answer for years… unfortunately, to no avail.
Nodding at the driver, who immediately started his report, Cassius listened to the description of the twenty bodyguards assigned to follow Ted, ensuring his safety.
The team consisted of former commandos and MI6 operatives who had previously safeguarded him in London. However, Ted consistently eluded their vigilant eyes as he walked the same streets. Though frustrating, Cassius had grown to accept it. Even when he vanished, Ted always returned unharmed.
The report took some time, covering the recurrent challenges the security team faced. Nevertheless, Cassius remained attentive. He wouldn't tolerate any negligence when it came to his son's safety. Over the years, numerous attempts had been made on Ted's life, driven by greed and vengeance. From the "Doctor" when Ted was three to the sniper when he was eight, all aimed to harm Cassius through his son.
Greed and vengeance were potent motives, fueling many of his enemies.
Ted, on the other hand, watched as the car disappeared into the Parisian traffic before turning his attention back to his croissant. The flaky layers melted in his mouth, the buttery goodness providing a brief distraction. He pondered the conversation with his father — or lack thereof.
This was the normal interaction between them, but Ted still held some semblance of hope that something might change. The trip itself was new to him; his father had never offered such a thing in the past, and it was definitely not because they lacked the means…
Sipping once again from his already not‑so‑hot coffee, Ted sighed. He never believed it, but at least for his birthday, he hoped something would be different.
Taking another long breath, he put this behind him and immediately started working on his plan for the day, reminiscing about what things he might come across. Only a few minutes later, just as he finished his coffee, another car, similar to the one that had picked up his dad, stopped at the same place.
From it, a young man with dark skin emerged, opening the back door for Ted with a welcoming gesture. Standing up, Ted passed the driver and entered the front passenger seat, placing his briefcase on the floor.
« Anglais ou français ? Je suis à l'aise avec les deux. » (English or French? I am comfortable with both.) Ted asked as the young driver settled into the driver's seat beside him.
« Alors français, si cela ne vous dérange pas, monsieur. » (Then French, if you don't mind, sir.) the driver answered politely, not minding Ted's age. He had been warned by the agency not to be impolite, as the client today was of the very, very, very rich kind.
« Pas de problème, comment tu t'appelles ? » (No problem, what's your name?) Ted answered. He and his father had spoken only French since they landed. His father said it was a habit he got from his grandfather, who believed you should always speak the language of the natives if you could, as it would give you an advantage when it came to relations.
They might not actually need those relations anymore, given how much they owned, but a habit was a habit, and Ted didn't mind the practice; his French was a little rusty anyway.
« Samuel, » the driver answered as he put on his seatbelt and stepped on the gas.
« D'accord, Samuel, emmène‑moi à la Mazarine, s'il te plaît. » (Sure, Samuel, take me to the Mazarine, please.)
« Pas de problème. » (No problem.) Samuel nodded as they drove off into the Parisian roads.
Around thirty minutes later, the car stopped in front of a large building with clear Roman features, slightly resembling a bank. At its front, written in black, was "Bibliotheca a Fundatore Mazarine" in Latin.
For the next few hours, Ted spent his time in the Mazarine. Being the oldest library in France, it boasted a great collection of ancient books — the kind he loved. But that was definitely not his actual destination. A few years ago, it might have been, but at the moment he had something different in mind and was simply using his time there to locate it.
During those hours, he read various maps, guides, and old journals about life in Paris, using a pair of fast‑reading glasses enchanted with spells that increased concentration, eye movement, and thinking speed for a limited time.
Ted used the glasses to pinpoint his target — another place that, like the Leaky Cauldron, was described in Magical Establishments Through the Ages by Araminta Thistlewick:
Le Chapeau Enchanté. Situated in the heart of Paris, this elegant establishment embodies the sophistication and enchantment that define magical dining in the French capital. Its origins trace back to a pivotal moment during the French Revolution, mirroring the revolutionary spirit that permeated magical France.From clandestine meetings of the rebels in the late 18th century to its current status as one of the top restaurants in the world, Le Chapeau Enchanté invites its patrons into a world where culinary delights and hidden wonders meet, with special dishes that will spin heads.Step through its halls, and you'll find yourself immersed in an atmosphere where magic and elegance converge, leaving an indelible mark on the diverse tapestry of "Le Zéro Arrondissement." The expensive restaurant itself may only serve the rich, but its halls also offer passage to the hidden main district of magical France.
Ted believed he had finally found the street where it would be located, based on a journal by an old French researcher who was thought to be insane. That researcher described various groups of caped and robed people all heading to the same street before they disappeared.
Leaving the library, Ted found the car still waiting outside. Greeting Samuel, he sat in the front seat and told the driver to take him to one of the most notorious places in Paris — the spot where the Bastille once stood. The ride was very short, and only minutes later Ted was standing in the middle of a large, busy square.
In front of him, surrounded by people taking pictures, strolling, or simply sitting and talking, rose a tall, awe‑inspiring column with the greenish hue of weathered bronze, crowned by a gold statue at its peak. After a brief look at the monument, Ted turned to see the car was already gone.
Nodding to himself, he crossed the square and turned into one of the streets — Rue Saint‑Antoine, where he believed he would find Le Chapeau Enchanté and also the main French shopping district, the magical equivalent of Diagon Alley: Le Zéro Arrondissement (District Zero).
Walking through Rue Saint‑Antoine, Ted looked at the old buildings all around him. They were all very similar, with blue rooftops and square windows peeking out of them.
It was very different from the main roads in London, where the buildings along the same street would often differ wildly from one another with totally different architectural styles, making this street feel more cohesive than the streets he usually traveled. While some might find it more boring, Ted couldn't help but like the refreshing change of pace.
The street wasn't especially long — only a few hundred meters — but it was packed with people from one end to the other, buzzing with noonday activity. Looking at the restaurants on the street, they were all full to the brim, and one of them even had a not‑so‑short line outside with people waiting, hoping to have the chance to dine.
Having nothing better to do, and needing to search the whole street carefully to actually find the place, Ted started scanning the passing crowd. The spot he sought would be covered with enchantments, so unless he looked at it knowing it was there, it would remain invisible. According to the book, that concealment was part of the defenses set on it during the French Revolution and — as far as he knew — it had never been changed since.
It wasn't really a problem: every witch or wizard who came to France — at least most of them — would either be escorted by a guide from a travel agency or by a local friend. As for the French themselves, they would be introduced to the place by their guardian or teacher, usually upon reaching school age.
The French magical school, Beauxbatons, was considered one of the top schools in Europe and admitted many students from other countries — mainly Spain, Portugal, Italy, Germany, and more from North Africa and across the continent. Although there was a school in Italy considered equal or even better, its admissions required students to fit a strict criterion, meaning almost half of Italian‑born witches and wizards had to study abroad.
The crowd was very generic — much like London during the holidays. Many tourists chose to visit the French capital as a cheap alternative to going to a beach abroad. Paris, like many big cities, was practically its own country, its habits very different from the smaller towns around it.
The people dressed in various ways, giving Ted slight indications of the purpose of their wandering the streets. From the men wearing neat suits in mostly black and blue — obviously working in the city or handling business — to women either carrying a bunch of bags or drifting along storefronts, clearly shopping. Families moved together with their kids, enjoying a vacation; backpackers gazed up at the buildings in wonder, pausing during a longer trip. There were also natives, dressed more casually, walking straight to a particular shop, not looking around much as their eyes stayed fixed on the road, taking none of the surroundings as anything special.
There were colors everywhere, making the street seem even more vibrant than it actually was, and just then, in the depth of the crowd, Ted noticed a group of three young women. All wore capes over short‑sleeved shirts with hoods attached at the back. To anyone not giving them a second look, they seemed like any other women on the street; such clothes, though rare and old‑fashioned, were still worn even today.
But Ted saw the subtle difference only he could detect: the clothes radiated a faint trace of magic, clearly enchanted — just like the women themselves. He didn't need even a heartbeat to decide before he closed the distance, following the trio.
As he drew near, Ted could hear them speak. Their manner of speech was slightly reserved, yet two of them chatted non‑stop about different types of clothes, perfumes, and shoes on the market, while the third mostly listened. One even mentioned Ted's own original potion — the Skin Refresher — which caused a small smile to rise to his lips.
To think even other countries use my potion… He couldn't help but feel a flicker of pride; not just anyone could invent something wanted by many.
The three walked leisurely along the street, their knee‑length skirts blowing slightly in the wind. Only a few minutes later, they turned into a side alley. The alley was narrow, with windows overlooking it from both sides; even a single car would have trouble passing through the old cobblestone lane, which seemed among the oldest he had seen so far.
The alley was nearly empty. Only two men stood at the corner by one wall, wearing what looked like extremely old‑fashioned suits. Both smoked wooden pipes as they conversed in very heavy French accents. Ted could clearly see the signs of magic radiating from them.
The three women he followed didn't stop; they gave the men a slight nod and suddenly turned, walking straight into what — for Ted, still fifteen meters away — looked like a solid stone wall. Ted's lips curved up at the sight for a moment before returning to his usual calm, expressionless face. He found it!
Taking a deep breath, he moved only three steps forward when the entire wall before him changed. Previously it had been a simple stone façade like any other on the street, with ordinary windows on its upper floor. Now it shifted into a bright indigo‑blue shopfront, glowing silver letters shining at the top of the door in the sunlight:
"Le Chapeau Enchanté — Est. 1786."
Turning on his heels, Ted walked back into the main street, and a short while later he reached a public restroom he had spotted before. Entering one of the booths, Ted immediately cast a wandless Locking Charm on the door and placed a small black briefcase on the floor.
Opening it, he stepped inside and started climbing down a ladder, finally being swallowed whole by the case — which barely fit his small child stature. Only a few minutes later, another figure climbed out of the briefcase. He was clad in an old‑fashioned black suit: a tailcoat jacket decorated with a cape that hung behind him and a dark‑gray shirt beneath it (similar to Assassin's Creed Unity outfits, though with no assassin gear — just a simple buttoned shirt, longer pants, and leather shoes instead of boots).
He had actually taken those clothes from his father's wardrobe. Cassius and Elara had gone to a Renaissance ball in France a few years back, so the moment he heard about this trip, Ted — remembering a photo of his father in that suit — immediately claimed it.
From the various books he'd read, he knew the French magical society, though still stuck in the past, resembled the late 18th to early 19th century. Wizards there didn't often wear robes but mostly noble‑style suits with capes attached. Ted, who had already outgrown his original robe and long since stopped using it, cut the hood off that robe and attached it to the suit.
Ted looked at the restroom mirror as he put on a pair of silver glasses. He now looked exactly like his headmaster from boarding school. The man was in his early sixties, with graying hair that still retained a little black. He had a square jaw and a small scar on the right side of his forehead, almost hidden by slightly crumpled, aged skin.
Ted had snipped a bit of the headmaster's hair while still at school — he had taken samples from many people, just in case. Polyjuice Potion changes one's appearance to match the person whose DNA is added to the brew, but it fixes that appearance at the exact moment the DNA was taken. If someone collected hair from a twenty‑year‑old and used it when that person was ninety, the drinker would still become the twenty‑year‑old version.
Over the past year, Ted had gathered hair samples from over five hundred people, all tagged and preserved in special compartments inside his briefcase. He'd learned that adopting an unknown identity could come in handy in many situations…
Unfortunately, not many people were skilled enough to brew the potion to a truly effective level, leaving him with only five doses, each good for about four hours. He had brewed it once himself — it was easy for him but consumed a great deal of time — so he used it only when necessary. Otherwise, his errands in Diagon Alley would have been far easier.
Slicking his hair to the side, Ted made a few expressions at the mirror, checking certain things. Some people look odd when showing specific expressions. Most never think about it, but they often avoid certain faces — like a toothy grin — if they dislike how it makes them appear. It isn't deliberate; it's more like a trained reflex.
Someone who always had perfect teeth would probably flash them freely, while others might smile naturally with closed lips or lower their upper lip to hide crooked front teeth. Polyjuice Potion might change someone's muscles, skin, nerves, and teeth to be identical to another person's, but the brain wouldn't change, meaning such reflexes might differ while under the potion. Ted, with his slightly perfectionist streak, would settle for nothing less than a perfect performance.
Looking at his watch — it was a bit past one — he opened the door with a wave of his hand and walked back onto the street, a small smile on his face as he headed toward the alley, not giving the passing crowd a second glance.
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This chapter was originally separated into two parts that were merged and edited(I'm sorry if your comments were deleted as a result.)