"Big brother, Gabrielle missed you so much."
The sweet, soft little girl's affection worked like a balm, easing Wayne's exhaustion from all-nighters. Stroking her silky hair—identical to Fleur's—he smiled gently.
"I missed Gabrielle, too."
"Really?" Her large eyes shimmered with sudden tears. "But sister has that magic book to see you, and Gabrielle doesn't!"
Wayne's gaze shifted to Fleur, who flushed and looked away. They'd agreed to keep the communication diary secret to avoid upsetting the child, yet Fleur had apparently boasted about it at home.
Reading her chagrin, Wayne sighed before explaining, "I prepared one for you long ago. The book your sister has was meant for you."
Both sisters' eyes widened.
"Sister!" Gabrielle planted small hands on her hips. "Give back my present!"
"Wayne..." Now it was Fleur's turn to pout, her silver-blue eyes speaking volumes.
He shot her a reassuring glance before patiently telling Gabrielle, "Fleur's just safeguarding it. You can only use the book after learning magic."
"Really?" The child blinked in confusion.
"Of course. Once you're ready, Fleur will give it to you. Right, Fleur?"
"Naturally." Comprehension dawned on Fleur. Between their tag-team reassurances, Gabrielle soon brightened, rewarding Wayne with another hug.
"I knew big brother wouldn't favour that old hag."
"Gabrielle!" Fleur shrieked as the giggling girl buried herself in Wayne's arms.
...
Children tire easily. After a brief play, Gabrielle dozed off. Wayne carried her to the guest room's velvet bed before joining Fleur outside.
Basking in sunlight, Fleur asked, "Any plans today?"
"Nothing pressing," Wayne shook his head. "Was supposed to research spells with Nicolas tonight, but that'll wait."
"Then, shall we visit La Place Cachée? Last time you left in such haste, I couldn't show you around properly." Fleur extended the invitation. The young lady's makeup today was clearly carefully done, dressed in a chic designer ensemble with a noble-style hat adorned by a single Augurey feather.
Her delicate hand, clad in lace gloves, extended before him. Wayne bowed with perfect gentlemanly grace.
"Of course, my pleasure."
With that, he took Fleur's hand and stepped forward. In an instant, they had left the manor grounds before Apparating to their destination.
Fleur stared at the young man in astonishment.
She'd been side-along Apparated before, but there had always been discomfort. Even Madame Maxime couldn't achieve the effortless transition Wayne had just demonstrated. It was as if they'd simply stepped through a doorway - so natural it required barely any conscious effort.
"Why is your Apparition different from others?" Fleur asked curiously.
"Because I practice harder," Wayne replied as they walked along the bustling street. "With enough training, one can gradually adapt to Apparition. Each jump becomes smoother until eventually it can even be used mid-combat."
"How much must one practice daily?"
"Well..." Wayne sounded uncertain. "Once or twice a month?"
With his Gardevoir and Ho-Oh around, he hardly needed to Apparate himself. Besides, Hogwarts Castle had anti-Apparition wards - even once or twice monthly was an exaggeration.
Fleur lowered her head slightly, feeling as if she was witnessing the famous Palace of Versailles being constructed before her eyes.
'Once or twice a month? That counted as practice?'
"You're just here to mock me," Fleur huffed, giving the boy an indignant shove.
Wayne looked at her in surprise. "After all this time, haven't you grown accustomed to being outshone?"
Fleur fell silent.
His words reminded her of some rather unpleasant memories.
Initially, Fleur had been competitive, secretly trying to surpass Wayne.
Powerful spellcasting might come from abundant magical power - natural talent for spellwork.
But knowledge required time to accumulate, surely? Back then, Wayne had only entered the wizarding world for a year. In terms of knowledge reserves, Fleur believed she should have been far superior.
Yet after several exchanges, she'd been thoroughly humbled.
Whether in Charms or Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts or Transfiguration - every subject left her utterly convinced. What began as deliberate nitpicking evolved into Wayne tutoring her instead.
"Come on." Fleur tugged the boy's arm, decisively changing the subject.
Such a perfect person... why did he have to open his mouth?
...
Compared to Diagon Alley, Paris's magical quarter matched its liveliness while boasting distinctive local flair.
Where Diagon Alley had but a handful of wizarding apparel shops, here they occupied half the district - hat boutiques, formalwear stores, bespoke tailors and ready-made clothing outlets, each with their own specialities.
Muggle cultural influences permeated the wizarding world here, creating an atmosphere brimming with romance and fashion.
As an elegant witch, Fleur knew these shops intimately. She intended to outfit Wayne with several new ensembles, thoroughly disdainful of what she considered the British Isles' provincial tastes.
At first, Wayne held up well, as shopping with a beautiful girl was inherently pleasant. But by the third boutique, something felt amiss.
All he wanted now was to find a place to sit down and rest for half an hour.
But seeing Fleur's still-enthusiastic expression, he could only grit his teeth and continue playing the role of a clothes hanger, changing outfit after outfit.
By the end, he simply couldn't take it anymore and resorted to fighting magic with magic—each time they entered a shop, he pushed Fleur out and recommended various styles of clothing to her.
Thus, Fleur became the one trying on clothes, and Wayne finally got a chance to catch his breath.
It wasn't physical exhaustion but mental tedium and boredom.
It wasn't until evening that the two returned to Nicolas's estate.
After sharing a meal with the little girl and Fleur, he was promptly dragged by Nicolas into the Chamber of Secrets to translate spells.
...
A week later.
The spacious room was littered with parchment covered in all sorts of miscellaneous notes.
Nicolas Flamel sat in a chair, examining the fruits of their labour.
"I finally believe this spell must have some connection to Merlin—it might even have been created by him."
"Perhaps the rumours about the Greengrass family are also true."
Nicolas shook his head with a self-deprecating smile.
He had never believed such rumours before. Pure-blood families often fabricated outrageous ancestors to glorify their lineage.
He had assumed the Greengrass family was no different.
"Just because it uses the language of the Sirens, isn't that a bit too hasty?"
Wayne studied the parchment in his hand. The spell had been translated into modern script, presenting no reading difficulties.
Not only that, but Nicolas Flamel had also taken the opportunity to cram ancient Latin and ancient Greek Ionian dialects into him—essential tools for studying ancient magic.
By the time they finished translating these two spells, Wayne's talent had already allowed him to master the Nightmare Curse and the Dreamstalker Curse completely.
For now, he couldn't see anything particularly special about them.
In fact, with some effort, he could even create a simple curse like the Nightmare Curse himself, and it wouldn't take too long.
"Do you know Merlin's identity?" Nicolas asked with a chuckle.
The young man before him was far more talented, but centuries of experience and accumulated knowledge couldn't be quantified—nor bridged in just a few years.
In this world, when it came to knowledge, even Dumbledore couldn't rival Nicolas Flamel.
Dumbledore wasn't a pure scholar. He had too many burdens and wounds, never devoting all his energy to learning.
Besides, compared to Nicolas Flamel, Dumbledore was just a child over a hundred years old.
"Of course. Merlin was a hybrid of human and incubus. What does that have to do with this?" Wayne looked at the old man, puzzled.
Incubus were magical creatures that had once existed but went extinct long ago.
"I once captured a nightmare for research," Nicolas said. "The logic behind these two spells closely resembles a nightmare's innate abilities. Combined with the use of Siren language, there's a ninety per cent chance these were created by Merlin."
With that, the old man immediately lay down on the nearby bed and urged, "Quick, try the spell's effects. We might discover more."
"Use the Nightmare Curse on you?" Wayne shook his head. "No, let's just find some Dark Wizard to use as a test subject instead."
"It's just a nightmare. I've had countless ones over these past few centuries," Nicolas said dismissively. "Come on, I want to experience it. My sleep quality has been too good lately—I haven't dreamed in ages."
Under his persistent insistence, Wayne finally agreed.
First, he deftly cast a Bewitched Sleep Charm on the old man, followed by the Nightmare and Dreamstalker Curses.
Instantly, Wayne felt a peculiar connection form between himself and Nicolas. Closing his eyes, a vivid scene unfolded before him.
A grim-faced old wizard stood over Nicolas, who had fallen to the ground, raising his wand with a furious roar: "Not talented enough? You're just selfish! Stingy, afraid I'll surpass you!"
"Samuel," Nicolas Flamel appeared much younger in the dream than he did now, his expression sorrowful. "I've never kept secrets from you. But some things are beyond your grasp. Even if I told you how to make the Philosopher's Stone, it would only invite others' greed."
Wayne forgot he was there to test the spells and slipped straight into spectator mode. Listening to their argument, he roughly pieced together the situation.
This wizard named Samuel had once been Nicolas Flamel's student. Nicolas had taught him for years, but never shared the method of creating the Philosopher's Stone.
Yet Samuel's ambitions went further—he wanted to craft the Stone himself, to become the second alchemy master after Nicolas, gaining endless life and wealth.
Hence, the scene Wayne now witnessed: Samuel feigning a question to catch Nicolas off guard and attack him.
After digesting the drama, Wayne felt no concern for Nicolas. After all, the old man's survival to this day spoke for itself.
He finally remembered his actual task and began observing the dream.
In this state, he had no physical form and wasn't bound to a fixed perspective. With a mere thought, he could move to any corner of the dreamscape.
But the space itself was limited. The observable area extended only to the manor's boundaries—beyond that, everything dissolved into chaos and blur.
Nicolas Flamel was akin to the creator of this world, whereas he was merely an administrator who had usurped access rights.
With a mere thought from Wayne, Nicolas, who had collapsed on the floor, was moved onto a chair nearby.
Strangely enough, both Nicolas and Samuel in the dream simultaneously revealed looks of astonishment.
Nicolas was bewildered—he hadn't even activated his contingency plan yet.
Samuel, meanwhile, was terrified. Hadn't he already knocked Nicolas Flamel's wand away? How could he still Apparate?
Their reactions were so lifelike, utterly unlike people in a dream.
Finding this rather novel, Wayne simply started playing around—one moment slamming Samuel into a wall, the next making Nicolas's body swell several times its size before flattening Samuel with a single punch.
After what felt like an eternity, the dream space abruptly froze, then shattered like a mirror into countless fragments.
Wayne's consciousness returned to his own mind.
Nicolas abruptly sat up in bed with a groan.
"Oww~!"
"Are you alright, old man?" Wayne hurried over to support him.
"Fine, just strained my back." Nicolas expertly downed a potion for osteoporosis before lying back down, his cloudy eyes fixed on Wayne with resignation.
"I asked you to conduct an experiment, not to take it too far."
His mind currently felt as if it had been struck by a sledgehammer—still dazed and utterly drained.
"I forgot for a moment it was just a dream," Wayne admitted sheepishly, scratching his head. "It felt so real, like watching your memories in a Pensieve—except I could alter them freely."
"Yes... far too real." Nicolas murmured at the ceiling.
"To think such a dream was possible... though I suppose it makes sense. This is indeed my most unwillingly recalled nightmare."
"Everyone meets a few scoundrels in their lifetime. At your age, you should've seen through it long ago," Wayne offered gently, noticing Nicolas's melancholy.
"Just reminiscing. The last time I heard the name Samuel... must've been over a century ago."
Nicolas's mood shifted as quickly as it came, and their conversation returned to the Nightmare Curse.
This spell was fascinating.
Normally, when a person wakes, their brain activity patterns change—most dream details fade, sometimes even the entire dream itself.
Yet that recent dream had essentially become a memory for Nicolas.
As vivid as if it had truly happened, remaining crystal clear after waking.
Had Wayne not overstimulated him into abrupt wakefulness, the dream could've continued indefinitely... until the line between dream and reality blurred beyond recognition.
For the first time, Wayne grasped the horror of this spell.
"I excel at killing in dreams" would no longer be an empty boast.
Nicolas wanted to revisit that dream—to see what might unfold if Wayne intervened subtly.
For instance, what would happen if the dream Samuel killed the dream version of himself?
But his energy couldn't sustain further experiments, forcing them to postpone.
While accompanying the old man through the garden, Wayne suddenly recalled a rumour.
"They say Merlin once entered a Slytherin student's dream to study at Hogwarts for a month."
"Could his method be related to this spell?"
Nicolas frowned. Even he found this question difficult to answer, as Merlin belonged to an entirely different echelon of wizards, surpassing any renowned figure in history.
"There's a possibility, but we'd need more evidence and spells created by Merlin." In the end, Nicolas still offered his conjecture.
"Does the Greengrass family have any related records?"
"I'm not entirely sure. I'll ask when we return," Wayne said softly, his mind swirling with thoughts.
If one could truly traverse time and space through dreams, becoming active across different eras, then...
Could he also return to the past and converse with legendary wizards of yore?