Chapter 177: Beauxbatons
At Nicolas Flamel's Home.
Ryan had been conducting experiments all the way on his journey from Britain to France. Since he was in the neighborhood, he stopped by to visit his teacher, report on his experimental results, and ask for a critique.
"Muggles also attract surrounding magical particles when they get emotional?"
"I feel it's possible," Nicolas Flamel mused. "After all, young wizards, before they enroll, almost all experience bouts of accidental magic due to emotional distress. They unconsciously release magic that makes their wishes come true. For example, falling from a tall building in extreme terror and suddenly floating... As you concluded, emotion is a key, a shortcut, to controlling magic on a spiritual level."
Flamel offered another idea. "But could there be another possibility? Don't forget Squibs—people who have magic but cannot cast spells. I imagine their affinity for magic is far greater than that of a Muggle, who has none. So, could it be that the magic you left in the alchemical inscription, while converting the Muggle's ingested calories, fat, and sugar into what you call 'crude magic,' is simply resonating with the ambient magic, causing the external magical disturbance?"
"There's a possibility," Ryan conceded. "But I also observed this same magical disturbance around test subjects without the inscription, though the magnitude was very small, and there was no way to convert that disturbance into power." Ryan explained that he had already run a control group, and his conclusion remained that even Muggles cause magical disturbances when highly emotional.
"Then you should go observe the condition of Squibs," Flamel suggested. "It would be a good thing for your research." As an excellent alchemist and a legendary wizard, curiosity was an essential trait.
"Hogwarts Castle does have one... our caretaker, Mr. Filch," Ryan said helplessly. "It's just that my relationship with him isn't great." He knew that no amount of bridge-building would work with the man who hated all talented young wizards—unless, of course, Ryan could somehow make him successfully cast a spell. If that happened, the caretaker would instantly become Ryan's most loyal, sycophantic fan.
"Even if your relationship was good, it wouldn't be enough," Nicolas said, approaching the problem with a researcher's rigor. "A single case proves nothing."
Perenelle, who had been listening quietly, spoke up. "Why not go and see Madame Maxime? As the current Headmistress of Beauxbatons and an important figure in the French magical world, she certainly has the ability to find Squibs for you. Then you would have plenty of subjects for observation."
Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.
Nestled in the Pyrenees mountains, Beauxbatons was strikingly different from the mysterious air of Hogwarts Castle. Its main building was a magnificent, palace-like château.
This splendid French palace had stood for over seven hundred years, nurturing generations of outstanding wizards. Today, its most famous alumnus had returned.
The three of them stood by the magical fountain—named after Nicolas Flamel and his wife, Perenelle—admiring the view, which was a world away from Hogwarts. In the formal gardens, bushes and trees were meticulously trimmed into spheres, cubes, and other shapes, like living green sculptures. The garden was cleverly designed with small, shaded alcoves formed by trees, providing places for students to rest and relax.
At the end of the garden stood the palace itself, a sight so grand it made Ryan feel that the Versailles he had seen in the Muggle world was a mere imitation. This was the true pinnacle of French style.
"Luxurious," was his one-word evaluation.
"Because of my influence, Beauxbatons has a high proportion of alchemists, and alchemists are never short of money," Nicolas Flamel reminisced. "Over the centuries, the school was built up to look like this. Six hundred years ago, it wasn't nearly this magnificent. Without such grandeur, one cannot command solemnity. Without such splendor, one cannot command prestige."
The three of them had arrived without any concealment, and Madame Maxime, as the Headmistress, had naturally sensed their arrival. She came out of her office and, looking down at the garden, her tense expression relaxed. She had originally sensed someone ignoring the school's powerful wards and entering directly, and had feared it was an intruder.
But upon seeing who it was, Maxime breathed a sigh of relief. Ah, it was just the old, old, old, old, old, old, old, old senior, returning to his alma mater for a visit.
"Mr. Flamel, Mrs. Perenelle, you've returned without any notice! We would have prepared a proper welcome," she said, gliding toward the trio. "Is there some business you have at Beauxbatons?"
"Let me introduce you," Nicolas said, patting Ryan on the back. "This is my student, Ryan Welles. He's practically half a member of Beauxbatons himself."
Ryan stepped forward and extended his hand. If this were a social occasion with an ordinary witch, he might have bowed slightly. But now, forget bowing, he had to raise his hand practically over his head.
"A pleasure, Madame Maxime."
He wasn't lying. He really did have to look up to her.
Madame Maxime bent down to shake the young man's hand. She had always believed no one was worthy of being Nicolas Flamel's student. Anyone who could earn his personal recognition would have to be the greatest wizard of their generation. It wasn't just her; the entire student body of Beauxbatons felt the same.
So, when Flamel had asked her to gather information on Ryan Welles, Maxime had assumed he was just taking an interest in the rising star, just as he had with Dumbledore decades ago. But then the rumors had started, claiming Flamel had taken a Hogwarts student as his personal apprentice.
Maxime hadn't believed it. All of Beauxbatons hadn't believed it. Even if the wizard in question was Ryan Welles.
She shook his hand. "I had heard the rumors, of course. I assumed they were false, but I never expected..."
"Never expected the Professor would actually take a personal disciple, an heir to his legacy," Ryan said, finally lowering his arm. Holding it diagonally upwards like that for so long had been... awkward. He wanted to experience intense emotions, sure, but this probably wasn't the time to deploy a 'Leaky Cauldron Speech' level of theatrics.
"Indeed," Maxime said, her smile a little tight. "I hope I will see the special quality that convinced him." She knew Nicolas had his reasons, and that Ryan must possess some impressive ability, but she just couldn't quite accept it.
After all, as the Headmistress of a great school, to have your own supreme grand-elder choose a disciple from another school as his successor, while so few from your own school had ever even received his praise...
Even before this, the young men who had earned this grand-elder's approval had also been geniuses from other schools—Dumbledore, the "Holy Son" of Hogwarts, and Grindelwald, the outcast from Durmstrang.
Madame Maxime felt like she was about to snap. Beauxbatons had plenty of excellent students, too!
For example... Fleur.
And... Fleur.
And also... Fleur Delacour.
Maxime racked her brain for a list of presentable students, only to realize, tragically, that she was about the only one.
In contrast, she was constantly hearing the names of Hogwarts students, mentioned in passing by respected French elders, high-ranking Ministry officials, and French pure-blood families.
For example, Vaisey Selwyn.
For example, George and Fred Weasley.
For example, Pablo Pierce.
For example, Harry Potter.
And for example, the one standing right in front of her, Ryan Welles.
Maxime: ...This game is trash. The devs have no concept of faction balance.
~~~
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