The sun rose, shrouded in thick fog.
Hermione stood by the window, sipping milk and watching the street below.
The hotel was just a short walk from the Louvre, Paris's hottest tourist spot. The fog's impact was obvious: yesterday morning, the streets were packed with cars and people; today, they were quiet and empty. Only a few scattered pedestrians moved through the mist, their figures fading in and out.
A lone tour bus crawled along.
Behind her, Bastienne stuffed her mouth with bread, barely chewing, softening it with milk before swallowing. "Honey on bread, jam on bread, fried eggs with bacon…"
Her appetite was massive, rivaling an adult's.
Bastienne had shown her eating prowess last night, polishing off enough steak, bread, and desserts to feed several people—her stomach barely showing it. So, her breakfast performance didn't shock the Grangers much.
Mrs. Granger was tending to Bastienne, trying to slow her down, while Mr. Granger sat nearby, flipping through their itinerary.
"The hotel manager says the fog's causing low visibility, and Paris has traffic restrictions. The metro's still running, but it's crowded, so they don't recommend going out."
"Traffic restrictions…" Mrs. Granger thought for a moment, then decided, "Let's visit the Louvre, then. No tourists today, and it's not far to walk."
"Fine by me," Mr. Granger said.
"Sounds good," Hermione added.
"Mmm…" Bastienne burped, downing her milk.
The group started packing for the outing. Hermione picked out clothes for Bastienne, measuring her height and waist while she digested quietly. With a quick Transfiguration spell, Hermione adjusted one of her own sundresses to fit, creating a snug, summery outfit for the girl.
Bastienne loved the dress—it smelled like Hermione.
They grabbed a map from the front desk and walked to the Louvre, arriving at the glass pyramid thirty minutes later.
"Phew…" Hermione exhaled. The outdoor fog hadn't cleared, but the museum's exhibit halls were much clearer.
The open-air Napoleon Courtyard and Carrousel Garden were cloaked in mist, nearly invisible. Ahead was the staircase to the Denon Wing, carved in Baroque-style white marble. Renaissance paintings lined the walls, bordered by low glass railings.
The Grangers, being dentists, weren't art buffs. They found the paintings pretty but couldn't offer much analysis, pausing briefly to admire and read the plaques.
Hermione, lacking an artistic streak, found it dull.
Hogwarts' corridors were full of portraits—some decades old, others centuries, preserved by magic to look freshly painted, with crisp lines and vivid colors. The figures moved, talked, and even visited other frames.
By comparison, these paintings felt plain.
Bastienne, trailing Hermione closely, didn't get it either. She'd pause for a few seconds when a painting showed food or cake.
After half an hour of art, they reached the Egyptian exhibit.
The Egyptian section was vast, its artifacts heavily guarded: golden masks, scepters, and jewelry dazzled the eyes. More curious items included rune-carved coffins, mummy wrappings, and ceramic jars for pharaohs' organs.
The Grangers explored eagerly, chatting about ancient Egyptian medicine and whether they had surgical capabilities.
"Cutting off noses, ears, or tongues was for punishment, not healing," Mr. Granger noted.
"Last century's lobotomies were meant to cure, though. Would you call that surgery?" Mrs. Granger countered.
Hermione shook her head. "…"
Medical families were weird like that.
But ancient Egypt did have surgery.
Horemheb, the last pharaoh of Egypt's Eighteenth Dynasty, set brutal laws for soldiers and slaves, including whippings, nose-cutting, ear-slicing, and eye-gouging. Many prisoners survived for years, which, strictly speaking, counted as surgery.
"What's that man with the hook doing? Why's the other guy tied to a rack?" Bastienne tugged Hermione's sleeve.
"He's cutting off a nose. That soldier stole the pharaoh's fruit, so the pharaoh ordered his nose removed as punishment," Hermione said, reading the nearby plaque.
"Wouldn't that kill him? When the wound festers and turns black, oozing yellow pus, he'd die," Bastienne said.
"Not always. Egyptian doctors sterilized their tools and applied crushed herbs to wounds. Only a few unlucky prisoners died from infection—most lived long lives."
"Sounds like the pharaoh was a good guy," Bastienne said softly.
The wall painting showed the pharaoh on a golden throne, wearing a golden mask, his eyes deep and dark. Flanking him were expressionless guards. Below, a priest prepared to slice off a prisoner's nose with a sharp black hook, a clay pot of herbs ready on the ground.
"Bastienne, Horemheb wasn't a good guy. Cutting off a nose was cruel. Even if slaves survived, they lived in lifelong shame and pain. Those harsh laws turned people into slaves, forcing them to obey authority without a thought of rebellion," Hermione explained quietly. "But everyone's equal—no one's born to be anyone's slave."
Bastienne tilted her head, her blue eyes glinting with a strange look.
…
A Border Collie trotted lightly through the fog, its fur and whiskers damp with mist. Crossing the garden, it leaped up marble steps and squeezed through the exhibit hall's glass door. Once the door shut, blocking the fog, the dog stopped and shook itself vigorously.
"Whoosh…"
Water droplets splattered the dry floor, some splashing onto its young owner.
The collie's eyes widened, realizing its mistake. It hurriedly wiped its owner with its paws, even trying to lick the water off, stopping only when pushed away by a small hand. It looked up, flashing a sheepish grin.
The owner was a six-year-old girl with waist-length silver hair and sparkling green eyes. She beamed brightly, patting the dog's head, her eyelashes fluttering—an angelic sight.
"Good doggy, don't let your second tail show," she said, pulling out a small hair tie and braiding the collie's two tails together, like a ponytail.
The dog had two tails, forking like a swallow's. With the tie, its glossy fur blended seamlessly, impossible to spot unless you looked closely.
A Crup, a wizard-bred magical creature, fiercely loyal to wizards but ferocious toward Muggles, capable of eating almost any meat.
If Professor Kettleburn saw a Crup this gentle, he'd probably toss it his own bones as a chew toy and still grin happily.
"Gabrielle, is this where Toffee smelled the scent?" the girl asked.
"Yup!" Gabrielle looked at her parents and sister, her eyes shining. "Toffee's nose is amazing—fog can't stop it."