At last, the time had come to leave for London. I knew we'd be arriving a few weeks early to take care of the purchases listed in the letter, so if everything went well, I could also take the chance to gather some information.
As a child, I had never left France, and certainly not after my parents' deaths. Alphonse never allowed me to leave the country—or go anywhere crowded. He was a strict man, but it wasn't until I was older that I realized he was also fearful. Fearful of losing me. His constant training sessions often clashed with his gentle way of treating me, but the pieces all fit once I learned of his weakness—one he only showed on his deathbed, and one only I ever witnessed.
This farewell was even more painful. The first time I left for my previous academy, I cried almost the entire journey, mostly because of Alphonse and Prik. I hadn't formed any real bond with the others—not like the one I had now. I would have liked to spend more time with them, but I was here for another reason.
After arriving in London, we stayed at a country house. Not as large as my home, but warm and welcoming. You could feel the love in the place by the way everything was still preserved. Even Alphonse wandered from room to room with a somewhat nostalgic smile.
The house's walls were covered with decorative wallpaper—loud and colorful, but hardly tasteful. Its design clashed with the aesthetic of any place it might have been hung. Apparently, Alphonse had inherited his parents' taste, since he was the one who usually bought my clothes. That explained a lot about the outfits I had found when I came back to this time.
After exploring the rooms, we returned to the main living room on the first floor. At its center stood a massive fireplace—or at least it seemed enormous to me at my size.
The walls were lined with various family portraits: wedding photos, pictures of Alphonse in his Hogwarts robes, countless snapshots of different moments. Quite different from my own home, where the only portrait hung above the staircase—a commanding painting of my parents, with me sitting on my mother's lap and my father standing behind us, his hands resting on her shoulders. How wonderful it would have been to have as many family photos as Alphonse's house displayed.
Most of the pictures were of Alphonse at different stages of his life. His parents must have been very proud to show him off all throughout their home. But something stood out from the rest. Above the fireplace was a frame unlike the others. Inside was a photo of a happy couple with a young boy beside them, arms crossed and scowling—that was clearly Alphonse and his parents. But on the other side of the picture was a blackened burn mark, as if the photograph had been damaged on purpose, or barely saved before being consumed completely by fire.
I tried to move closer for a better look. In the mother's hand, right where the photo had burned away, I could just make out a much smaller hand—almost like that of a baby.
"Curious about what used to be on that side of the photo?" Alphonse asked, breaking the silence.
When I turned to him, his nostalgic smile was gone. Any trace of emotion had disappeared in seconds.
He placed a hand on my shoulder and continued.
"It was our first family photo. That day, I remember being furious because I wanted to be the one standing next to Mother… but I wasn't allowed. My parents wanted me beside Father, and beside Mother was Elise—my precious little sister."
He lifted the photo with extreme delicacy before placing it in my hands.
Alphonse had a sister? He had never mentioned that to me before. This was a surprise—even for me, who thought I knew Alphonse better than anyone.
"She was a restless child, rebellious too, and she had moments where she thought she ruled the whole house. But despite those qualities, she was full of joy and love for our parents—and even for me, when she wasn't competing for their attention."
He laughed softly, his face brightening, almost as if he might cry.
"She was intelligent, with better manners than most her age. My lord, you remind me of her. I would have liked for you to meet her. Perhaps she would have cared for you as if you were her own son."
"What happened to her?" I asked, a trace of impatience in my voice.
"Elise was sick. No one realized it, because she was always smiling, always running around the house. By the time we learned of her illness, it was already too late. That was when I discovered there is no magic that can cure every sickness—and no magic that can fill an empty heart."
After those words, Alphonse opened a drawer in one of the tables and pulled out a brown cloth bag tied at the top.
"They must be happy I've come back home, haha," Alphonse said, laughing once more. "Come on, we'll be late. Leave the photo anywhere, and step into the fireplace."
Placing the picture on a small tea table, I did as he instructed and stood in the middle of the hearth.
"All right, it's been a long time since I last did this, so it may feel a little strange at first. Whatever you do, don't move from that spot," he explained, opening the bag and pouring a handful of powder into his palm.
Of course. That explained the enormous fireplace. This was for traveling with Floo Powder—the magical substance that could transport a person from one place to another through the Floo Network, which connected most wizarding homes and buildings.
"Let me explain," Alphonse said. "You must speak clearly. Take the powder and throw it at the fireplace's base. That will send you wherever you name. So be sure to pronounce it properly—Diagon Alley. I'll follow right after you."
He handed me the powder.
I had traveled this way before, but I never liked it. Some part of my clothing always ended up singed. And over time, this method became unsafe—some fireplaces had been cursed to send travelers straight to their deaths.
"Understood?" Alphonse asked.
"Yes, sir."
Throwing down the powder, I shouted "Diagon Alley!" to ensure I wouldn't lose my way. Instantly, green flames roared beneath my feet, and in the blink of an eye, I was standing in another fireplace, in a crowded establishment where people were constantly stepping in and out from different hearths.
Moments later, Alphonse appeared behind me, brushing himself off as a corner of his coat smoked from catching fire.
"Nothing can ever be perfect. How did it go for you?" he asked, quickly checking me over.
"I'm fine. Don't worry."
"Excellent. Congratulations, my lord—your first trip was a complete success." Alphonse smiled like a proud father. "Now then, let's continue. Follow me."
Stepping out onto the main street, we were met with the sight of countless people and children spilling from shops.
"My lord, I present to you the famous DIAGON ALLEY. A place where magic seeps into every corner—even the ones you'd best avoid." Alphonse's grand presentation was somewhat spoiled by being jostled by the crowd.
"So this is where we'll buy everything from the list?"
"That's right, my lord. I'll take you to the finest shops. You deserve nothing less than the best this place has to offer." Alphonse's tone was cheerful—so rare to hear. He sounded almost like a child himself. "So let's begin, my lord."