Each of my current companions had been to the British Ministry of Magic at least once, but had managed to visit the British Ministry of Magic — a sort of "Hive" from a not-so-consistent movie, only with a local motif. And what a surprise my group's emotions were when they saw the French Office of International Movements. The Aurors were trying to keep a low profile, but they were frankly doing a bad job, not to mention the teenagers. I thought Neville had been here before, but it turned out he'd only traveled to the Netherlands. Yes, the Magical Netherlands, Holland was for Muggles.
So we found ourselves in the image of a classic French palace, with lots of light (artificially lit at the moment by a multitude of magical lamps), beautiful frescoes throughout the huge spherical ceiling, decorative snow-white columns, a gleaming stone floor that sparkled with mirror polish, and... a powerful shield enchantment around the portal platform. A defense so powerful that the wall of translucent milky light seemed to be within reach.
This safety precaution, by the way, remained in place even after the war with Grindewald, for that loathsome blond was fond of such tactics: the bearer of an official or service portal key was tracked down, the artifact seized by any means necessary, a group of fighters gathered and sent to the portal, where a powerful blow was struck. In fact, this is one of the reasons why ALL the magical states of Europe turned against him — they were pissed off by his impudence.
The procedure for identification here had been worked out long ago, so in a minute the shields were lowered and we were led to the guest registration area, which was just a few steps away. I should have seen the Aurors cringe as they were forced to register a second wand, not just the official one, and the eyes they gave me as they chatted sweetly with an acquaintance because I hadn't been registered. Yes, I have an "indulgence" from such bureaucracy — cooperation with the government is serious.
When all this was over and we were finally released, we left the outwardly very ordinary, gray, typical building and went to Butterfly Alley. It is beautiful here even during the day, but at night, the more snow there is (it seems that the temperature is artificially lowered and snow is created here), the more festive it becomes, turning into a wonderful fairy tale that literally takes the breath away from an unprepared person. People froze, excitedly examining the corner of the embodied fairy tale, imbued with magic and miracles.
Lots of "ghostly" lights of various colors, glowing but not illuminating; semi-material illusions of various magical creatures flying/walking/crawling/jumping and so on; everywhere cheerful but not intrusive music and songs sung by people strolling by; a plethora of amazing smells and aromas wafting from every shop, store or establishment, though separated by barriers so the smells don't mix.
We walked slowly forward, looking around (Ron, by the way, had been given a nice robe so he wouldn't stand out or complain, and Harry wore a robe he'd bought for the ball), stopping a few times to sample some of the goodies, and I'd even bought enough to take home to my family.
There was a moment when Ron rushed over to an elderly wizard who was handing out Christmas candy to children with simple illusions. It was Weasley who spoiled the mood for all of us, as only children up to six or seven had run up to the wizard before, and here, imagine, he came up with such a forehead and almost demanded it. In short, after that, our group began to look lopsided, so we didn't want to stay any longer, and the redhead himself continued to act as if it was necessary.
The magical world wasn't that big, and I didn't want to ruin my reputation, so I quietly instructed the Aurors to take the teenagers away and stayed behind. Waiting until they were far away, I stepped into the middle of the alley and began my impromptu routine.
Spreading my arms out to the sides, the non-verbal "aguamenti" summoned a considerable amount of water, which swirled around me in several streams. A turn on its axis and the water turns into a stream of snow. I hear the enthusiastic voices of the people around me, but I don't let them distract me.
I crouched down and the whole mass of snow covered me with a huge snowdrift. For a few seconds the concentration of impatience and expectation built up in the emotional background.
I help myself with movements of hands and fingers, complete the formation, and in the next moment the snowdrift shakes, scattering the rest of the snow to the sides. The audience sees a white and blue oriental dragon with silver horns and a long beard.
The dragon raised its head significantly, shook itself, yawned, and began to rise leisurely into the sky, obeying my gestures. The street was flooded with the excitement and joyful shouts of children, who were held close to me by their parents. The dragon unfurled its rings completely and rose into the sky.
Admittedly, the concentration made me sweat a little as I controlled my creation without interruption. Several complex figures of the flexible body caused more and more screams and cheers, but I was getting tired, so the dragon curved in a wide ring, froze for a moment and exploded, turning into mere snow.
I lowered my hands, letting go of my concentration. An explosion of applause rang out around me. Bowing to the satisfied audience, I followed my group, they should be at the same family cafe by now.
After this performance, people will talk about me, rumors will spread, but no one will remember that I was in a group with an ill-mannered brat. And the prank itself probably won't be remembered for long. Well, I hope so. The main thing now was to make sure the authorities didn't see me as another Grindewald, who also often used gestures to perform magic.
After dinner we went to the hotel. It didn't take long to check in, and it didn't take long to find the rooms (I didn't go to the Aurors' rooms), because they were all the same. I wanted to call it a day, but the teenagers were obviously overexcited, so I decided to do one more thing today. The house-elf tailor was summoned, and Potter and Weasley were measured for full sets of clothes, three per nose.
I offered Neville one as well, but the boy flatly refused, saying that his wardrobe was complete. Well, as they say, it was my business to offer, his to refuse. After the elf's fingers had flicked through the fabric, needles, threads, etc., in front of a particularly enthusiastic Ron, and after half an hour, it had all turned into nice, beautiful, stylish clothes... .... NEW clothes, Ron whimpered.
Tonks, who was sitting there, made a rainbow of her hair to express her emotions. I wanted to give her a gift, but she refused, saying we weren't close enough to accept such gifts, but when offered a date, she replied with the standard "I'll think about it".
Then the teens and one Aurora were introduced to the service of ordering food and drinks to your room using a special little book. You put your wand in a special field, speak the order, and in a short time the house elves bring the ordered food to the table in the living room.
After watching the ensuing dabbling for a while, I waved my hand, gave Nymphadora the through mirror for communication, and left the noisy company.
The Auroras had only been hired to guard the boys, and I didn't need to keep an eye on them, even though Madame Bones had hinted at "extra reinforcements". If I were here now, would I be able to walk with such pleasure?
To enjoy the festive atmosphere around me? That's what I mean. On my way to the Boisselier family, I had time to taste the wonderful cocoa that was being poured just outside a café.