The girl was taller than the average person by at least three heads. She had extremely sharp eyebrows, giving her a very dignified appearance.
After being scolded by the tall girl, the fanatical crowd finally calmed down a little. They retreated from the railing, still reluctant to take their eyes off Hoffa, as if hoping he would perform a grand Thunderbird transformation.
Once the students dispersed, the tall girl approached Don Quixote and said discontentedly, "Professor, today is not a rehearsal day. The external situation is already extremely tense. It's one thing for you to go out alone, but if the headmaster finds out you brought someone along..."
"A nightingale does not stop singing because of the flames of war, Olim."
Don Quixote interrupted her, saying, "However, it's fortunate that you came to take those students away. This Hogwarts student is even more popular than I imagined."
Saying that, he pushed Hoffa towards the girl, who was three heads taller than him, and introduced, "This is Hoffa, the legendary student of Hogwarts. This is Olim, Beauxbatons' finest prefect."
Hoffa's mouth opened in surprise. Her stature was certainly iconic. Without a doubt, she was the future headmistress of Beauxbatons. So, she was around the same age as him?
"So this is Hoffa Bach?"
Olim stared at Hoffa without blinking, pursed her lips, and snorted, "Doesn't look that special. Not handsome, and no golden eyes."
The girl beside Don Quixote pouted unhappily at Olim's words, clearly taking it as an insult to their taste.
Hoffa, however, felt a wave of relief.
"Thank you, thank you."
He quickly raised his hand in gratitude. Finally, someone had spoken objectively after all this time.
Olim was amused by his reaction. Covering her mouth, she said, "You're quite self-aware, at least not swept away by Beauxbatons' enthusiasm."
Don Quixote said, "Olim, I have some matters to attend to. Take Hoffa for a tour around the school and help him get familiar with Beauxbatons. We'll meet at dinner."
"Uh, alright."
Olim probably hadn't expected to be assigned as the welcoming committee. She straightened her school robe and hair, trying to appear more dignified.
"Girls, let's go. We still have to rehearse for the banquet."
Don Quixote led the group of girls away from the fountain.
Watching his back, Olim muttered discontentedly, "Old flirt."
After slandering the professor, she bent down to look at Hoffa, extending her hand. "Now that you're in the school, don't carry a sword around. You'll scare the students."
Hoffa thought for a moment, prioritizing the mission, and handed the cross sword to Olim. Due to her giant bloodline, Olim's towering height made Hoffa's sword look like a small dagger in her hand.
"You're quite unusual. I haven't heard of a wizard using a sword in years. Where's your wand?" Olim asked.
Hoffa thought of his wand, which was busy spinning the world.
"It has a mind of its own," Hoffa replied. "I can't control it."
Olim was taken aback, pursed her lips, and muttered, "Losing your wand and making it sound so poetic... Well, for a wizard like you, turning into a Thunderbird is probably enough. Wand or not, it's about the same."
The two walked into the main building of Beauxbatons via the stairs. The school was bustling with students reading in the courtyard, practicing wand movements, and tropical birds and cats flying and roaming freely through the halls. Even the paintings on the walls depicted lively gatherings and parties.
Compared to Hogwarts' paintings, Beauxbatons' artwork was bolder and more expressive, often featuring voluptuous young women and matrons in minimal clothing. As Hoffa passed by, they struck alluring poses and beckoned to him.
Accustomed to the strict rules under Dippet's administration, Hoffa found the sight too artistic to bear. He turned his head away, but enthusiastic students chattered excitedly about him, pointing and whispering like canaries observing an owl.
"What's wrong with your students?"
After a group of students passed, Hoffa asked uneasily. "I haven't done anything. Even if I did, it was at Hogwarts. Why are your students welcoming me like this?"
Olim scratched her head awkwardly. "Someone at our school wrote a novel about you, circulating among the students... mostly girls."
Hoffa was stunned. Who had so much time on their hands? If they included his nightmares, he'd rather not live anymore.
Despite her stern appearance, Olim's gossip-loving nature flared up. She leaned in and whispered, "Your story with that girl is all the rage among the female students. Her family is one of our oldest. The Delacour name appears most frequently on our Quidditch Cup. If she approves of you, I think..."
Hoffa's legs nearly gave out.
Olim quickly steadied him. "What's wrong?"
"Can we not talk about this?" Hoffa squeezed out through clenched teeth.
"Oh, sorry. I forgot—it's all Grindelwald's fault, right?" Olim encouraged. "We believe in you, Hoffa. You'll defeat Grindelwald!"
Hoffa didn't reply. Olim probably thought Aglaea was dead, killed by Grindelwald. But for Hoffa, he could no longer blame Grindelwald. The only person he could blame was himself, and the guilt nearly suffocated him.
Fortunately, applause from the lively Beauxbatons courtyard shifted his attention. Olim led him to the source, where students walked on stilts, juggled balls, danced, and breathed fire. The crowd cheered with each impressive feat.
Even in peacetime, Hogwarts had never hosted such a spectacle. Hoffa asked, "What are they doing? No classes?"
Olim smiled. "You're just in time. In three days, it's Beauxbatons' centennial celebration, held once every hundred years. Many prominent wizards will attend. The students are rehearsing for the event."
Hoffa realized why Nicolas Flamel had told him to seek help if needed. Flamel had likely been invited, given that he funded the fountain outside.
"How is it?" Olim asked proudly. "Isn't it livelier than Hogwarts?"
Thinking of the desolate Hogwarts, Hoffa's eyes darkened. He asked, "Has Beauxbatons' magic power not waned?"
Olim replied, "It's better than Hogwarts. When the magic decline began, Headmaster Pierre implemented a full lockdown. No student was allowed outside. In hindsight, it was a wise decision. Hogwarts is in shambles, and other wizarding communities have suffered greatly, but Beauxbatons remains intact."
Hoffa was puzzled. "The magic decline hasn't affected Beauxbatons at all?"
Olim's expression grew serious. "It has. Some young wizards can't use their wands. They often fall asleep in class, in the common room—anywhere. Every time they wake up, they're more drained, their magic damaged, and their personalities darker."
Hoffa noticed the courtyard's lush plants had silently withered. The Nightmare God's influence seeped through Beauxbatons' gates, eroding the wizarding world.
"When can I see Headmaster Pierre?"
"Tonight. He hosts a banquet every evening with teachers and prefects. I'm sure he'll invite you."
Hoffa sighed in relief. Meeting the person in charge was enough for now.
However, this was good news for Hoffa.
One Transfiguration professor was already enough for him to handle.
Fortunately, Langlac's torment didn't last long. Soon, an old man, supported by Don Quixote, slowly entered the hall. He was about the same age as Dumbledore but much shorter. He had a neatly combed slicked-back hairstyle, an upward-curled white mustache, and carried a sapphire-encrusted cane. His eyes sparkled with vitality, making him appear full of energy.
Hoffa's eyes lit up when he saw him. He immediately apologized to Langlac and stepped forward. Even without an introduction, he could tell from the man's demeanor that this was Jean Pierre, the current headmaster of Beauxbatons.
Seeing Hoffa, dressed in a black hunting suit, approaching, Pierre happily pushed Don Quixote aside, spread his arms wide, and exclaimed, "Ah, look who's here!"
After spending some time in France, Hoffa had become accustomed to their enthusiasm. He embraced Pierre and exchanged cheek kisses before saying, "It is an honor to meet you, esteemed Headmaster."
"Look at that! No wonder Fatiel took a liking to him," Pierre remarked to the surrounding professors. "See? So polite, so refined."
At this, the previously indifferent teachers finally broke into warm smiles, agreeing with Pierre and greeting Hoffa with compliments such as "a promising young talent" and "living up to his reputation."
Hoffa had no interest in pleasantries. His mind was preoccupied with Dumbledore's mission, and meeting Pierre only made him more eager to understand his stance.
"Come, have a seat."
Pierre gestured to a seat next to his deputy.
Hoffa hesitated, feeling that he shouldn't sit in such a prominent place. But given the urgency of the situation, he didn't argue and took his seat.
As soon as he sat down, he leaned over and lowered his voice. "Headmaster, I have a letter from Mr. Dumbledore."
Pierre raised an eyebrow but did not respond. Instead, he straightened up and said to Don Quixote, "Have the house-elves serve the meal. Our guest has traveled a long way; he mustn't go hungry. Let him enjoy some of our homeland's finest cuisine."
Don Quixote nodded elegantly, then clapped his hands. Immediately, a group of house-elves dressed in maid uniforms flew in. Unlike Hogwarts' house-elves, Beauxbatons' elves were adorably small, with shimmering wings on their backs, making them seem almost ethereal.
In no time, the table was filled with an exquisite array of dishes. The golden lids were lifted, revealing a lavish spread—smoked bream, oysters, sole, pan-seared foie gras, onion soup—just the appetizers alone were overwhelming. And the main course had yet to arrive.
"Come, have a taste," Pierre urged enthusiastically.
Looking at the dazzling display of food before him, Hoffa felt a chill run down his spine. He dared not eat. The memories of his nightmares constantly reminded him of the hidden horrors behind such exquisite meals. But with Pierre watching him closely, he had no choice but to force himself to cut a small piece of meat, put it in his mouth, pretend to chew, and swallow it whole.
The taste in his throat made him tense up. He trembled slightly as he set down his utensils and praised, "Exquisite. It's been a long time since I've had such a delicious meal."
"Hahaha! What did I say? Nothing beats the taste of home!"
The house-elves poured wine for everyone, and Pierre raised his glass. "Let us welcome the return of a long-lost traveler. May every wizard find their way back to where they truly belong."
The toast was met with resounding agreement. Everyone in the hall raised their glasses and echoed, "May every wizard find their way back to where they truly belong."
As the wine went down, Hoffa's nerves stretched to their limit. To him, this food and wine were nothing but torture. He only wanted to get through the dinner quickly and discuss business with Pierre.
However, Pierre showed no intention of addressing Hoffa's purpose. Instead, he elegantly cut a piece of foie gras and said, "Some music, Don Quixote."
"Of course, sir."
Don Quixote clapped again.
The house-elves brought out harps and began playing a lively, enchanting melody in the hall.
To Hoffa, the music felt like fire under his seat. He kept thinking of Miranda's smile in his dreams—that sweet yet deadly kiss. Why had he indulged in it so willingly?
Yet, what terrified him most was how these very things—the elegant food, the soft melodies—were now being used to create a lively atmosphere in the hall. The Beauxbatons faculty chatted freely, discussing everything from astronomy to Gringotts, from wand materials to the herb trade, from student achievements to Quidditch matches.
But not a single word about Hoffa's real purpose.
Occasionally, they would ask him trivial questions, like what it felt like to transform into a magical creature or the secret behind wandless casting.
Out of politeness, Hoffa answered each question without hesitation.
After several rounds of drinks, Pierre's face had turned red, and he lounged back in his chair, lazily pointing his cane around, clearly in high spirits. The other professors had loosened up as well, laughing and joking freely.
Seeing that the Headmaster was finally satisfied and the banquet was nearing its end, Hoffa carefully leaned in and asked, "Headmaster, may we discuss Hogwarts now?"
The moment he spoke, Pierre's cheerful expression vanished. His eyes widened, and he tapped his fingers on the table. "You should have come back sooner, Bach. In my opinion, your time at Hogwarts was a complete accident. Had you been in France back then, you would have undoubtedly received an invitation from Beauxbatons."
He sighed. "A few years ago, under Dippet's management, that school was still passable. But now? Sometimes, leadership is everything. A wise decision can save a school, just as a foolish one can destroy it. Wouldn't you agree, Bach?"
"You're absolutely right, Headmaster," Hoffa quickly agreed.
"Hahaha! But as they say, a prodigal son who returns is more valuable than gold. You've endured a lot over the years. I heard you left Hogwarts in your third year and never received a diploma, is that true? That won't do, Bach. If you ever want a job or a promotion, that missing diploma will haunt you."
"I was young and reckless back then, Headmaster," Hoffa said humbly.
"Ah, no worries, no worries. A blessing in disguise." Pierre waved dismissively. "Now that Hogwarts is gone, why not transfer to Beauxbatons? Come to your mother's school, graduate properly, and settle in France. Your mother's spirit would be comforted, and the Delacés family would be proud."
Hoffa lowered his head, but his fists clenched tightly on his lap.
"Exactly, Hoffa," a beautifully made-up female professor chimed in. "You could set an example. If you return to where you truly belong, others will surely follow."
Hoffa lifted his head and met Pierre's gaze.
"Headmaster, Hogwarts has not disappeared," he said softly.
"Ah, with just a handful of people left, it might as well have," Pierre said dismissively. "Don't be fooled—I keep myself well-informed. It's only a matter of time."
Hoffa could bear it no longer. He stood up and bowed deeply. "Headmaster Pierre, I have come to request your help. The existence of Hogwarts is crucial to the survival of the wizarding world. The source of magical depletion lies within Hogwarts itself. We wish to solve this crisis, but Hogwarts is too weak now. Please, Headmaster, send reinforcements to aid us."
Silence.
The once lively table fell into a deathly stillness.
Beauxbatons' faculty exchanged glances.
Some remained motionless, as if frozen.
Even the music stopped.
Only Don Quixote exhaled a smoke ring and watched Hoffa with interest.
Hoffa knew he had broken etiquette, but he had no choice. He couldn't afford to waste time indulging in fine food and soft melodies.
After a long pause, Jean Pierre slowly picked up his napkin, wiped his mouth, and said, "Bach, do you know where a wizard's magic comes from?"
"Please enlighten me, Headmaster."
Pierre leaned back and smirked. "A wizard's magic comes from belief, from imagination. If those are lost, wizards and Muggles are no different..."
(End of Chapter)
Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon
https://patreon.com/Glimmer09