Early in the morning, when the first rays of the sun had barely touched the windowsill, Victor sat on his bed, frozen in a lotus position. He was trying with all his might to drive away intrusive thoughts and completely clear his mind of excess noise.
Ever since Nicholas, after conducting a series of examinations, informed him that he had found no trace of an Obscurus or even a grain of dark energy within him, Victor had decided to heed Perenelle's advice and take up meditation.
After half an hour of fruitless struggle, he let out a heavy sigh. His shoulders slumped helplessly, and his head fell to his chest.
— Ha-a-ah... Curse it, — he muttered, opening one eye. — How do people even manage to think of nothing? It's a paradox! Even when I sincerely try to think of nothing, I end up thinking about the fact that I'm not supposed to be thinking about anything.
Getting out of bed, he wandered into the kitchen, where Perenelle was already busy setting the table. Just as his fingers reached for a golden, glazed éclair, Perenelle gave his hand a light but firm swat.
— Be patient for a moment, — she said sternly, but with a smile. — Today we won't be having breakfast alone.
— We're having guests? — Victor raised his eyebrows in curiosity.
— Yes. Today, Olympe Maxime, the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, will be visiting us. We need to discuss the curriculum for the coming year.
Victor nodded. While she was arranging the cutlery, he stealthily slipped over to the stove and began brewing himself some coffee. However, Perenelle, walking into the kitchen, immediately snatched the steaming mug away.
— No, Victor. You are still too young to drink coffee.
The boy gave her the most pitiful, pleading look he was capable of.
— Oh, please... I haven't had a bracing cup of coffee in over a week.
Perenelle looked at his miserable expression, her heart softened, and with a short sigh, she returned the mug.
— Hee-hee-hee, thank you! — he beamed.
She only shook her head, watching the bliss with which he took his first sip.
— So, how is the meditation coming along? — she asked.
— Don't even ask, — he grumbled into his mug. — My brain simply doesn't know how to turn off.
Perenelle smiled understandingly:
— Meditating doesn't mean thinking of nothing. You're just filling your head with the wrong things. I'm sure it's either alchemy or some other nonsense in there.
— It's not nonsense at all, — Victor pouted.
She chuckled and affectionately ruffled his hair.
— Alright, thinker. Go wake up Nick instead; Maxime will be here soon.
— I don't want to, — Victor clipped. — Let Missy wake him.
— Are you still mad at him?
— I'm not mad, I'm furious! I wanted to forge that sword myself. It was my project! Who gave him the right to forge it while I was sleeping?
— But the sword turned out exactly as you wanted, — Perenelle reminded him.
— Yes! — Victor nodded.
— Then what's wrong?
— Everything is wrong! I won't be considered a true master unless I forge my own sword by striking a thousand blows with a hammer. He created it using magic—that doesn't even count as forging. There was no actual forging involved!
Perenelle couldn't help but laugh:
— You know, you are so difficult to understand sometimes. One minute you reason like an adult, and the next, you act like a perfectly ordinary, temperamental child.
Victor frowned. Being reminded that he was a child always stung him to the quick.
When Madame Maxime arrived, the Flamels' house seemed to grow smaller—her figure was that imposing. Perenelle gave her guest a warm embrace, and the Headmistress, noticing a strange face at the table, raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
— This is Victor, our guest, — Perenelle introduced him politely.
Victor stood up and gave a short nod, observing the formalities.
— Pleasure to meet you, Madame Maxime.
— A mutual acquaintance asked us to look after the child, — added Nicholas, intentionally emphasizing the last word and shooting Victor a mocking glance. Victor didn't react to the jab; he completely ignored Nicholas, acting as if he didn't even exist.
Over breakfast, the conversation quickly turned to Beauxbatons' affairs. Maxime pulled out folders containing the personal files of future first-years, but her face darkened over one of them. She spoke of a girl they simply couldn't get into the school. Her family had turned out to be fanatically religious.
— It is hopeless, — Maxime sighed. — As soon as our professors mention magic, the parents fly into a rage. They scream about the devil's work, start praying... We have to wipe their memories and leave empty-handed.
— And what about her now? — asked Flamel, setting down his cup.
— She is trapped within four walls, — the Headmistress replied with a heavy sigh. — Her own parents keep her like a prisoner, never letting her out.
Victor listened to this, and something inside him began to boil dangerously. Unpleasant memories resurfaced. His gaze became fixed and cold.
Suddenly, there was a sharp, dry crack. The delicate porcelain cup in Victor's hand gave way—his fingers had squeezed with such force that it shattered into small shards. Tea spilled across the tablecloth, but Victor didn't even flinch, continuing to stare at a single point.
— And what do you intend to do? — he asked in a frighteningly level voice, while Missy hurried to collect the shards and wipe the table.
— Nothing, — Flamel replied simply, without even looking at him. — We will observe from the sidelines. If the situation becomes critical, we will intervene, but not before.
For the first time that morning, Victor looked at Nicholas.
— Observe? The girl is being kept in a cage by crazy fanatics, and you plan to just watch as she slowly goes mad? Why can't she just be taken out of there?
Madame Maxime frowned.
— I did not say she was in a cage; she is simply shut away in her house from the world. And taking her is impossible. There are laws—magical and ministerial. We cannot burst into a home and steal a child. Without the official consent of the parents, we are powerless.
— Powerless, — Victor repeated, a trace of mockery in his voice.
He didn't utter another word for the rest of breakfast. They discussed a few more formalities, after which Madame Maxime politely said her goodbyes and departed.
Victor remained at the table, motionless as a statue, staring at the empty space. Perenelle, noticing his somber face, gave her husband a meaningful look, nodding toward the boy. Nicholas sighed—he realized a serious conversation was unavoidable.
Nicholas sat heavily in the chair opposite Victor and looked at him intently.
— Do you know why we haven't heard of Obscurial children in our world for a long time? — he began, lacing his fingers together.
Victor slowly raised a heavy gaze to him.
— Because alchemy found a way, — Flamel continued. — We learned to block the magical core of such children. We create something like a valve, through which their power flows smoothly, drop by drop, into nature. So don't worry, the girl will be fine.
— Fine? — Victor asked with a smirk. — So she was lucky enough to be born with a unique gift, but because her parents are stuck in the Middle Ages, you're just going to... clip her wings? Make her 'normal' without even asking?
— She is still a child, Victor, — Nicholas said softly but firmly. — She is not in a state or at an age to make decisions for herself. If she can grow up peacefully in that family, one day we will come and show her the world of magic. But if something goes wrong, she will lose her magic, but she will keep her life and continue to live as an ordinary person.
Victor suddenly went quiet, and his usual smile slowly spread across his face. He gave a short nod, seemingly agreeing with Nicholas.
— Right, it doesn't matter, — he tossed out lightly, rising from the table. — In the end, it's none of my business. It's your affair and your headache.
He turned and walked toward the stairs at an unhurried pace. When the sound of his footsteps faded upstairs, Nicholas slumped his shoulders and closed his eyes.
Perenelle came up behind him and placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, feeling how tense his muscles were.
— It's very hard for him right now, Nick, — she said quietly, looking at the cup Missy had restored. — That girl... her situation struck a chord with him.
Flamel nodded silently without opening his eyes.
— Now you need to calm down and trust your wife, — Perenelle whispered.
Nicholas opened his eyes and looked at her, confused.
Suddenly, Missy appeared beside him, hugging Crookshanks.
— Master Mr. Moss has just left the house.
Nicholas jumped up so abruptly that his chair nearly toppled.
— Intercept him immediately and bring him back! — he shouted.
But Perenelle kept a firm hand on his shoulder, pushing him back into the seat.
— No. Let him go.
— Perenelle? — Nicholas looked at her. — What are you doing? Albus made it very clear...
— I remember everything Albus said, — she replied calmly, not breaking eye contact. — But having met this boy personally, I have formed my own opinion of him. Let him go. If he causes trouble, I will handle it myself.
Flamel fought with himself for a few seconds before deciding, as always, to rely entirely on his wife. Relaxing, his gaze fell on the stack of papers left by Madame Maxime.
At the very top lay the sheet with the first-year's personal file. In the "Name" column, written in a clear hand, was: Adele Bernard.