When the Flamels appeared in the grand foyer of Beauxbatons, hundreds of eyes turned toward them. The hum of voices died down for a moment, replaced by whispers. Adele was still gripping her brother's hand tightly, waiting for the dizziness from the Apparition to subside.
— Dear Nicolas! Perenelle! — Madame Maxime, towering over the crowd, majestically made her way toward them and pulled Perenelle into a hug. — My dear, youth suits you. You look simply wonderful.
Perenelle laughed melodically, hugging her back:
— And to whom does it not suit, my dear Olympe?
Madame Maxime shifted her gaze downward to Victor's sister.
— And this charming beauty must be Adele? My child, have you never regretted trading the refinement of my school for some boy?
— Ahem! — Victor cleared his throat demonstratively, drawing attention to himself. An ironic half-smile played on his lips. — That "boy" is actually here too, Madame. It's a pleasure to see you again.
— Hello, Victor. Believe me, you are difficult to miss, — Maxime graced him with a benevolent smile.
— Mr. and Mrs. Flamel, good evening! What an honor! — a venerable wizard in gold-embroidered robes immediately pushed his way toward them.
In the blink of an eye, a dense ring of high-ranking officials and aristocrats formed around Nicolas and Perenelle. The air filled with the rustle of expensive fabrics and fake, polite laughter. Victor quickly grew bored of standing in that environment. He carefully tugged Adele by the hand, leading her away.
— Let's go, — he whispered. — I think I saw a table with snacks over there.
They slipped away from the social bustle toward a long table that was literally groaning under the weight of exquisite desserts. On the edge of a high, carved chair sat a charming girl of about seven or eight. She was neatly eating an eclair, amusingly dangling her legs in the air.
— Would you mind if we kept you company? — Victor smiled softly, sitting down beside her.
The girl froze, carefully studying him with her huge eyes the color of the spring sky, and then politely nodded. Adele, watching the crowd still swarming around the Flamels, shook her head in bewilderment:
— Why does everyone want to greet them so desperately?
Victor chose the most appetizing piece of cake and carefully transferred it to his sister's saucer.
— I think you haven't fully realized yet how great the fame of the Flamel family truly is, — he answered quietly. — Nicolas is not just a great alchemist. In essence, he is the very founder of Beauxbatons.
The little girl stopped dangling her legs and looked at Adele with genuine astonishment:
— Are you not from Beauxbatons?
Victor turned to her slowly, raising an eyebrow:
— What makes you think that?
The girl felt a bit embarrassed for having overheard their conversation and added more quietly:
— It's just that every student in this school knows who Mr. Flamel is. It's... like not knowing the Headmaster's name.
Victor couldn't help but smile at her childish spontaneity.
— Well, you're right. Let me introduce ourselves: Victor and Adele Moss, students of the British School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—Hogwarts.
The girl beamed and politely bowed her head like a true little lady:
— It is a pleasure to meet you! I am Gabrielle Delacour, a future student of Beauxbatons.
At that moment, a group of senior students in elegant, soft-blue robes approached the table with a fluid, almost flying gait. Leading them was a girl of dazzling beauty. Her platinum hair shone in the light of the magical lamps, and every movement was imbued with innate grace.
— Gabrielle, come, it's time for you to take your seat. The performance is about to begin, — she said, but suddenly stopped, locking eyes with Victor.
Fleur froze. Her Veela essence, usually accustomed to dominating, suddenly fluttered. The presence of this young man felt like something frighteningly powerful. The magical vibrations emanating from Victor pressed against her heritage like a heavy wave, causing her instincts to signal danger.
Gabrielle, noticing her sister's strange trance, hastened to diffuse the situation:
— Fleur, meet them! This is Victor and Adele, they came to us from Hogwarts itself!
It took Fleur a few seconds to pull herself together. She finally found her voice and introduced herself politely, not taking her intrigued but deeply wary gaze off Victor:
— Fleur Delacour. A pleasure to meet guests from Britain.
One of the young men accompanying Fleur could not hide his jealousy. Seeing how the "Flower of Beauxbatons" was studying the stranger, he frowned and stepped forward, demonstratively puffing out his chest.
— And what are Hogwarts students doing in our school? — he asked haughtily, casting a dismissive glance at Victor.
Victor didn't even turn his head. He continued to leisurely consume his cake, savoring every bite.
— And you are, specifically, who? — he asked lazily, not looking at his interlocutor.
The guy froze with his mouth open at such audacity.
— I am Corin of the noble House of Beaumont! — he proclaimed proudly, straightening up even more. — And I will repeat the question: what are you doing here?
— We came to listen to the music, — Victor answered imperturbably, carefully placing his spoon on the edge of the saucer.
Corin laughed mockingly, exchanging glances with his entourage.
— Oh, well then, welcome! It is unlikely you have ever heard real music at your Hogwarts. I heard you have one single song you sing there with an old hat... Probably a very pathetic spectacle, isn't it?
His friends erupted into collective laughter. Adele, whose eyes began to glitter menacingly, looked at her brother:
— He annoys me.
— Yes, me too, — Victor agreed, finally granting Beaumont a short, sympathetic look.
Hearing this and catching a humiliating look directed at him, Beaumont turned purple. He had already filled his lungs with air for an angry tirade, but at that moment, Perenelle's melodic voice carried across the hall:
— Victor! Adele! Come quickly, the concert is starting!
Victor rose smoothly from his seat, completely ignoring the "noble" Frenchman.
— Let's go, Adele. Gabrielle, it was a pleasure to meet you.
The girl smiled charmingly and waved to them:
— Goodbye!
— How do they know Madame Flamel? — someone whispered behind Beaumont's back.
— It seems they arrived with her... — added another, and a wave of whispers ran through the group of French students.
Beaumont, casting one last malicious look at Victor's back, stepped forward decisively... and at the very same second, crashed face-first onto the parquet floor with a thud. A dull impact resonated. His boots seemed to become part of the floor, stuck fast by an invisible force.
— What the hell?! — he wheezed, trying to tear his feet free, but only floundering helplessly.
— Hahaha! — Gabrielle laughed ringingly, watching his clumsy attempts to get up.
Fleur lingered for a moment. She looked at her sprawled classmate, then shifted her gaze to Victor's receding figure. A flicker of shock passed through her eyes: she had been watching him the whole time, and he hadn't touched his wand.
— Wandless magic at such a young age, — she whispered quietly to herself, surprised.
Perenelle smiled mischievously, glancing at Victor:
— You hadn't even crossed the threshold of the school, and you had already captured the gaze of the greatest beauty of Beauxbatons.
Victor shook his head calmly.
— It wasn't me myself who caught her attention, — he noted. — Her Veela essence sensed something in me. Hmm, I wonder what exactly.
Perenelle frowned almost imperceptibly, considering his words, but did not pursue the topic. When they took their seats in the box, the students were already lined up on stage in shining robes, holding instruments polished to a shine.
— And how long will this last?
— Usually about two hours, — Nicolas chuckled, noticing Victor's suffering expression.
— Two hours... — Victor sighed heavily. — In that case, I think I'll sleep. Wake me up when this torture session is over.
He pressed deeper into the soft upholstery of the armchair, crossed his arms over his chest, and closed his eyes tightly, firmly intending to drift off to sleep. He even placed magical "plugs" in his ears to shut out the noise. But the moment the first stroke of the bow cut through the silence, Victor frowned.
The hall filled with sharp, prickly, piercing chords. The music was not just loud—it became tangible. He didn't hear it so much as feel it: every note vibrated in his body, responding with a strange resonance. After a couple of minutes, he couldn't stand it, opened his eyes, and straightened up slowly, leaning forward.
— What are they performing? — he asked quietly, not taking his eyes off the stage.
— Vivaldi. "The Four Seasons," "Winter," — Perenelle whispered, noticing the expression change in Victor's eyes. She smiled contentedly: it seemed the music had found a path to his heart.