[P]-[W]-[M]
La Place Cachée
[P]-[W]-[M]
The sun filtered lazily between the old magical rooftops as the young prodigy and the ancient Alchemist couple leisurely strolled through the cobbled main street of one of the many hidden magical parts of the city. They were only a few turns away from Café Abringer, where charm-laced lanterns and warm pastry smells floated in the air.
Then a shout and crackle of violent green light shot past from the mouth of a dark alley, magically charmed to directly contrast the sunlight of the midday sun. The newly elevated Lord Grey didn't even flinch as the Killing Curse came flying. He simply tilted his shoulder, just enough to let the [Avada Kedavra] sail past, ignoring the sickly green bolt to strike a nearby wall and blasting it apart in a violent spray of stone and dust.
Screams erupted as witches and wizards scattered, running from the blast in a flurry of startled robes and fallen groceries. Café tables were overturned. Children were snatched up by panicked parents. None seemed to be able to find their wand in the panic, almost as if their panic had forced their minds to forget the years of basic magical education they had all received.
Lord Grey came to a slow stop. By his side, the 'Farages' had already drawn their wands with a quiet grace, standing poised like seasoned duelists. They regarded the seven hooded attackers now stepping out from alley and shadowed corners with a detached, almost parental disapproval — like teachers addressing misbehaving students.
One of the masked figures sneered, raising his wand. "There's no escape. Just hand over the boy, and no one gets hurt. No need to risk your life for some uppity mudblood, yeah?"
Another, emboldened, added with a sinister smile, "Yeah. Try to save him again, and you two will be the ones dying in his place, ya cunts!"
The corner of the boy's lip quirked up ever so slightly as he tilted his head, almost amused. "You thought that missed curse was due to my companion's intervention?"
From behind them, the leader's voice cut through their arrogance like a whip. "Shut your mouths, you fucking idiots! Kill them! Now! Before the Aurors show up!"
The next moment saw a volley of blue flashes, red bolts, and blazing hexes unleashed from several wands. But they met graceful precision in response. In a breath, Perenelle flicked her wand upward, catching a curse mid-flight before transfiguring chunks of broken stone into enchanted foxes of flint, which leapt at two attackers, biting and clawing their flesh.
Nicolas deflected two more curses and stomped his foot. A cluster of sharp-edged sparrows erupted from the debris at his feet, darting through the air like sentient razors and forcing three more to their knees in agony.
Meanwhile, John stood motionless with a blank expression, watching as the leader's second Killing Curse sped toward him. With a flick of his fingers, he suspended the green death spell mid-air, leaving it hanging motionless before him. The leader was too slow to react to the words the boy said, barely above a whisper..
"Zun haal viik."
The next thing he knew, his wand flew from his hand like it had been yanked by an invisible force, or an especially strong disarming charm, forcing him to stagger back.
With no change in expression, the young Lord pointed his wand to the ground beneath the man, charming the cobblestones beneath him to melt and reshape, dragging the leader's body downward until only his arms and head remained above ground as it solidified.
Eyes wide, the thug had some of his mental faculties return as his brain finally realised what had just transpired, only able to grumble and thrash his hands around.
The rest of the attackers had suffered a similar fate — the 'Farages' had pinned and fused their own opponents in the floor, frozen in enchanted stone with only their scratched, cut-up and bruised heads still visible, surrounded by the conjured beasts that had taken them down. As the cries of the defeated died down, Mr 'Farage' stepped up beside the young, both of them now standing over the half-submerged leader, whose head and arms still flailed uselessly from the stone floor.
Mr 'Farage' shook his head slowly, sighing through his nose with quiet disdain. "Mon dieu, I didn't realise the British produced such… poor criminals nowadays. So embarrassing."
The boy rolled his eyes. "They could be American, you know. Or just learned English from a Brit — it would explain the accent."
Mr 'Farage' raised a brow, glancing sidelong at John. "One of them, just before my transfigured badger tackled him, called me a 'fuckin' wanker' and strung together a few impressively British obscenities. To my knowledge only your lot do that."
"Fair enough, I'll give you that. Definitely British." The boy gave a noncommittal shrug, nudging a chunk of charred cobblestone with the toe of his boot. "In our defence, this was probably a probing assault — meant to test my defences, not to actually succeed."
With a chuckle and an amused glint in his eye, Mr 'Farage' said, "Even so, French criminals would have fared much better."
Before the boy could offer a dry rebuttal, the muffled voice of the pinned leader snarled from below. "Release me, you filthy mudblood! Do it now, or face the wrath of the Dark Lord! You think he won't know how to find and kill you?!"
The boy and his guardian stared at him for a long beat with an unreadable expression. Then, without looking away, the boy murmured to the older man, "I take it back, it wasn't a probe. It's a publicity stunt. Spread the word that Voldemort's name is being whispered again. Hype up the terror every time they blow something up or cause any form of unrest. He wins when they head into interrogation or a trial and spill the beans."
The leader froze as a contemplative expression made its way to his face when he realised the boy might have been right. It was the only thing that made sense, especially now that the Dark Lord had his body back and could have just summoned more competent enforcers to kill the boy. Now that he thought about it, it was strange that the Dark Lord had ordered them to spread his name when he himself was staying under the radar, it just didn't add up.
"Very dramatic," Lady 'Farage' muttered dryly as she approached, wand still in hand while she took a few cursory looks around for more danger. She paused, however, eyes drawn to the still-suspended Killing Curse, which the boy had yet to dispel. "How," she asked, both curious and perplexed as she examined the swirling green bolt, "did you manage to encase a Killing Curse in magic? It's one of the few spells known to destroy anything it touches, including magic shields."
Turning toward her, the boy gave her a small, knowing smile. "Technically," he said, "the killing curse isn't a spell that destroys objects. You see, it severs connections — between body and soul, or mind and body. That's why the body remains intact."
That earned a brief, startled glance from the incapacitated thugs but only knowing nods from the 'Farages'.
"It doesn't obliterate. It unhooks." Lady 'Farage' added.
"Exactly," the boy confirmed. "The reason objects explode when they're hit is due to the connection between particles being forced apart. Once a person understands that, they may be able to develop a containment field using a spell designed to reflect all magic. Since I know what it is and how it works… I can block it."
"Fascinating," Mr 'Farage' murmured, staring at the suspended curse in a different light, barely restraining his desire to ask f it was one of the boy's shout spells he had mentioned, like the one he had seen him use to disarm the leader's wand.
Behind them, the leader restarted his struggle, groaning as his arms went back to its flailing. "The Dark Lord will skin you alive for this—!"
"Then he should send someone competent," the boy interrupted, turning slightly toward him as he spoke. "It would at least be less of a bore that way. Amateur."
The thug could do nothing but sneer at the boy, glaring with pure hatred. The brief silence that followed was shattered only by a flick of the boy's wrist which released the suspended Killing Curse, letting it fly harmlessly into the shattered wall behind them, blowing another portion of the wall apart.
Just as the last echoe of the spell faded, a few sharp cracks of [Apparition] signaled the arrival of a squad of Aurors. Navy-blue cloaks billowing as they spread out with their wands drawn, while their sharp eyes scan the surroundings. "Wands on the ground! Now!" The broad-shouldered lead Auror barked in French, with silver streaks in his beard and a golden badge gleaming on his chest.
The boy barely spared them a glance, responding with a calm and disinterested, "...No."
Beside him, Nicolas, still in his Henry Farage disguise, slowly raised his hands in a gesture of peace — even as he smoothly drew a folded leather wallet from within his coat. "Easy now. I'm Henry Farage," he spoke slowly, in smooth French, "and I work directly under Minister Delacour. Those British wand-thugs attacked us unprovoked."
The lead Auror frowned, taking in the scene — seven groaning thugs partially transfigured into the cobblestone street, one of whom was still cursing in muffled English. The transfigured stone-beasts now crumbled into rock that seemed to have come from the wall off to the side, but the scorch marks and residue of high-level magic were unmistakable.
After a tense pause, the Auror gave a clipped nod. "Hold your wands in neutral positions while we confirm," he ordered, stepping forward and summoning the ID from the man's hand with a flick of his wand. "If you make any movements that might indicate you are a threat, you will be cursed!"
Two younger Aurors flanked him, keeping their wands trained on the boy and lady while the lead Auror cast verification charms over the ID to make sure it wasn't a forgery. After a few moments, the spell glowed a soft blue, confirming authenticity.
The lead Auror's posture eased, and a smile tugged at the edge of his mouth. "It looks clean," he said to his team. "Stand down." He strode forward and returned the ID to 'Henry'. "Monsieur Farage, apologies for the rough greeting. We'll still need a report or a brief statement for the records."
"Of course," Nicolas replied with a charming smile, sliding the ID back into his coat. "Though, given the situation, I think it's best we deliver that statement directly to the Minister. Some of the details are now sensitive, seeing that they're not French citizens and all that."
The lead Auror nodded thoughtfully, then glanced back at the immobilised attackers with a scowl. "Don't just stand there!" he barked at the junior Aurors. "Collect their wands, get them unstuck, and behind bars and wards until we're ready for questioning."
"Yes, sir!" The Aurors rushed to obey, carefully placing the wands from the ground-bound criminals in enchanted pouches and retrieving rune-concerned cuffs as they went. As the bustle continued behind them, the lead Auror turned back to Nicolas.
"Very well. I'll escort you to Delacour's office personally," he said, before muttering under his breath with a shake of his head, "Foreigners — always causing trouble."
Nicolas smirked and cast a sidelong glance at John. "Indeed."
John gave a small shrug. "Can't say we don't leave an impression."
With that, John, the Flamels, and the lead Auror turned in place and Disapparated with a sharp crack.
[P]-[W]-[M]
French Ministry of Magic
[P]-[W]-[M]
Upon entering the underground marvel of magic and architecture of the French Ministry of Magic, the trio were led by the lead Auror across the marble-floored reception. Approaching the reception desk, Nicolas gave the receptionist a polite nod as he reached into his coat. "Would you kindly inform the Minister that the Farages are here… and that we were attacked in La Place Cachée only a moment ago?"
The receptionist's brow raised slightly, but her training took over as she gave a brisk nod. "One moment, monsieur."
She turned the dial up on an enchanted phone before speaking to someone on the other side, only turning back just seconds later. "The Minister is expecting you. Please, head through."
With a few thankful nods, they were on their way. As they walked, John took a few glances back at the dial up phone in confusion before turning to Nicolas. "You guys use phones? A good thing by the way — just that I had noticed Witches and Wizards having a strong dislike for muggle creations."
"Honestly, it's mostly Britain," Nicolas shrugged. "Most of the rest of the world has started to broaden their horizons. Not drastically, mind you. But a few smart Muggleborns here and there get funding from me or their rich and well-connected Pure Blood or old money friends, and next thing you know, dial-up phones and electricity in their homes. Not that most of the smart ones even get the latter, with their enchantments having the same, if not better, results."
The young Lord seemed to give that information some deep thought, delving into his thoughts as he cupped his chin and knitted his brow, only to shake his head in exasperation, which only seemed to bring an amused smirk to Nicolas's disguised features.
"But she was still using a quill?" The boy muttered in confusion at the contradiction.
"It's slow progress," the Alchemist shrugged once again before the smirk on his face turned into a cheshire grin, wiggling his brows. "Still better than the Brits though, eh?"
The group made their way through the curving corridor of arched glass and refined wood panelling to the door marked "Monsieur Delacour — Ministre de la Magie". A secretary sat just outside, quill hovering mid-sentence as she looked up to greet them. But before she could say a word, the Minister's door swung open. A tall, sharply dressed man with silver-blond hair and diplomatic poise stepped out, gently ushering a sharply dressed individual out of the room.
"We'll continue this discussion another time," Minister Delacour said politely to his previous guest, receiving a smile and polite goodbye before turning to face the newcomers.
"Henry, Elaine," he greeted, eyes shifting quickly to their young companion, purposefully omitting the boy's name even though he knew it, in case it was to remain a secret. "Come in, come in — let's not speak of important matters in the hallway." He turned to the Auror. "Thank you for your service, Commandant, but I'll take it from here."
The Auror hesitated, taking a quick glance at the trio making their way into the office before stepping forward. "Minister, with all due respect, protocol demands a statement with at least one Auror present—"
Delacour gave the Auror a patient smile. "And I thank you for taking your duty seriously, Commandant. But until I know the full scope of what's occurred, I must determine what is and is not classified. However, your cooperation is appreciated."
The Auror gave a reluctant nod. "As you wish, Minister," he said before turning and walking away, boots echoing down the corridor.
As they stepped into the Minister's richly decorated office, Nicolas glanced at John. "Do you think anyone in the British Ministry would've taken their job that seriously? You know, there's a running joke around most Ministries regarding their lack of conduct, and that's after putting aside the country's isolation and stagnation with other matters."
The boy chuckled as he dropped into one of the plush chairs without waiting for the Minister to address him. "Oh, I know one or two even better," he replied. "One of them's even missing an eye and a leg and he'd still put most to shame — very paranoid. Though, I'd have to agree with the stagnation thing. The telephones alone are enough proof of that, and I've only been here a few minutes."
Minister Delacour chuckled lightly as he gestured for the Flamels to sit. With a flick of his wand, the door sealed itself behind them, and a shimmering veil of silence enveloped the room. Once secured, Delacour turned to them, shifting his demeanour to something more relaxed and personal. "Now then… Nicolas. Perenelle. Are you both alright?"
The two Flamels exchanged a look before undoing the physical transmutation hiding their true forms, knowing the Minister would never have mentioned their names if the room wasn't completely secure. Their appearance shifted and skin and bone slowly moved for a moment before reverting to their original deceptively youthful visages.
Nicolas exhaled. "It's a long story, Minister." He smiled sadly. "How much time do you have?"
Delacour interlocked his fingers as he leaned forward, expression now serious. "All day if necessary, you'd better start from the beginning." He said, before his eyes moved to the youngest in the room. "And I take it this is your new apprentice — Seigneur Grey."
"This is indeed Seigneur Grey," the Alchemist smiled proudly, not acknowledging the comment about the boy's apprenticeship. "We would have introduced you when we arrived later tonight for dinner, but… well, I guess unforeseen circumstances changed those plans."
The minister gave Nicolas an understanding nod before addressing the boy. "Its a pleasure, Lord Grey," he said in English with a welcoming smile. "I would normally say 'I hope you are enjoying France' but now I think I would settle with telling you that the unfortunate events that must have occurred are not a true representation of commonplace occurrences in France."
"Eh, don't worry about it," the boy said with a nonchalant shrug. "Technically, it's a British problem, so us Brits should be the ones apologising."
With a confused frown, the Minister tilted his head. "I will admit, I don't see how that would be the case." He then turned to the Flamels as he let out a resigned sigh. "I take it this is going to be a longer story than I initially thought."
The aged Alchemist only rewarded him with a resigned smile.
[P]-[W]-[M]
" I hate Paris. "
— Gellert Grindelwald.
[P]-[W]-[M]
Hello There
The thing about the killing curse is made up, I think. I probably remembered it from another fic. But honestly, it makes a lot of sense in my head. Then again, I'm not a scientist, so take it with a grain of salt. Also, I got sick of trying to translate, so I think I'll be writing the words in English and just saying if they were spoken in another language, it's simpler that way.
[P]-[W]-[M]
Disclaimer: I own nothing except my OC and original ideas. All credit goes to their respective owners.
[P]-[W]-[M]
If you want to support me, join me on Pat reon by searching for Lightest_Reader . Any and all support is appreciated.
Note: All chapters will eventually be posted on public forums.
[P]-[W]-[M]
Thank you for reading.
Special thanks to my patrons.
As always, stay awesome.
Until next time, Light's out.