"The Akalika Charms Technique Seminar?"
Owen stared blankly at the invitation in his hand. "This is the 386th annual seminar?"
Dumbledore chuckled. "No, the '386th' refers to the year 386 of the association. This time, it's being held in America. The professors at school are all extremely busy, so you will represent Hogwarts."
The first half of that sentence was true. The Hogwarts professors were busy—incredibly busy. Each Head of House was responsible for teaching seven years of students in their respective subjects. Aside from weekends, they only had two half-days off during the week, and even then, they had to answer questions from eager young students.
But the second half of that sentence? That was a huge problem.
"Me? A student representing Hogwarts? Headmaster, isn't that... inappropriate?"
"No. There is no one more suitable than you."
Technically, that was true. Owen's classes could be covered by the professors, but Owen definitely couldn't cover for them. He hadn't even read the textbooks for the sixth and seventh-year curriculum yet.
"Alright. When do I leave?"
"Before Halloween."
Owen froze. He looked up sharply, staring deep into Dumbledore's eyes. "Headmaster, if you didn't want my help, you could have just said so. There's no need to ship me off to America, is there?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Mr. Corlett, whatever do you mean?"
"Headmaster..." Owen chose his words carefully. "I know Professor Quirrell. I attended his Muggle Studies classes before. The current Professor Quirrell is absolutely not the same person."
Dumbledore sighed deeply. "I know. Last year, I approved his application for a sabbatical. He went abroad to prepare for his new post, and when he returned... he was like this. We suspect..."
"There's nothing to suspect. I can clearly sense two completely distinct magical signatures on Quirrell."
Dumbledore couldn't sit still anymore. He stood up and walked over to the boy. "Mr. Corlett... are you certain?"
"Of course. I was certain a long time ago. That's why I haven't attended a single Defense Against the Dark Arts class. I was afraid I might do something impulsive."
Dumbledore smiled and gave the young wizard a gentle hug. "You've done well, Mr. Corlett. But you still need to go to America. It would be wonderful if you could return by Christmas."
"Alright."
As Owen packed his things and prepared to leave, he discovered that there was no Floo Network connection between Britain and America. To get there, he had three options: fly a broomstick (no thanks), Apparate all the way (exhausting), or travel the Muggle way.
Owen chose an airplane.
When he appeared at the airport dressed in his vintage aristocratic attire, he certainly drew attention. He boarded the plane, sat down, and had a peaceful ten-hour flight.
Upon landing in a completely unfamiliar place, the young wizard calmly unfolded a piece of paper, stood on the sidewalk, and waved his wand.
SCREECH!!!
A taxi skidded to a halt in front of him, sparks flying from the tires. "Good evening, sir! Happy to be of service!"
Owen's mouth twitched. But on second thought, a taxi had to be better than the Knight Bus, right? No matter how crazy the driver was, at least the interior space would be smaller than a double-decker bus, so less bouncing around... right?
Wrong.
As soon as he got in, he realized his mistake. Good grief, Undetectable Extension Charm!
It looked like a five-seater taxi from the outside, but the inside had been expanded to hold thirty seats. It was no smaller than the Knight Bus back in Britain!
By the time he arrived at his destination, the young wizard's face was pale green. He stumbled out of the car, spotted a trash can, and practically flew towards it.
BLERGH!!!
He could handle Apparition. He could handle Phoenix travel. But who would have thought that even after leaving the country, he still couldn't escape the wizarding world's version of Fast and Furious?
After recovering slightly, he finally looked at the venue. He had to admit, compared to the "dirty, chaotic, and broken" aesthetic common in British wizarding locations, this environment was much nicer. It looked like... a hotel?
The hotel only had fifteen floors listed, but the gathering was on the seventeenth floor. Starting from the sixteenth floor, Muggle-Repelling Charms were in effect. Without magic, you couldn't even see the top two floors.
Owen entered the elevator and saw the button for the 17th floor. When the doors opened, the corner of his mouth twitched again.
Wizards. Definitely wizards.
The wizards on this floor weren't wearing robes or pointy hats that threatened to poke the sky, but their fashion sense... well, it was distinct from normal Muggles.
Sweater vests over sweaters. Shorts worn over long trousers. It was everywhere. If a Muggle accidentally wandered in here, they'd flee immediately, thinking they had stumbled into a psychiatric ward.
"My dear, are you... lost?"
A remarkably tall woman spotted the young wizard and approached with a friendly demeanor. Owen nodded politely. "No, ma'am. I am here representing Hogwarts. My name is Owen Corlett."
The chatter in the room instantly died down. Everyone looked at the young wizard. Their eyes gleamed with curiosity, especially when they took in his vintage aristocratic outfit.
"Wonderful! My dear, you've finally arrived. Now, please, take off your magic suppressors."
Owen paused, tilting his head as he looked up at the towering woman. "You are..."
"My dear, I am Olympe Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. I was invited by Dumbledore to help solve your little problem. As you know, giant magic..."
She couldn't finish her sentence. The moment she said her name, Owen knew who she was. With swift movements, he removed the suppressors. His unleashed magic swept through the room like a gale.
"My... heavens!"
Seeing the boy's magic flare up like a visible flame, the wizards in the room dropped their jaws.
Even the giant Headmistress, standing closest to him, was speechless as she watched the magical 'flame' rise almost to her own height.
The wild surge of magic didn't make Owen uncomfortable. On the contrary, it felt great. At the very least, the motion sickness from the taxi ride vanished instantly.
"Alright, dear. Put the suppressors back on, quickly."
Once Owen put them back on, the magical flame disappeared, and he returned to being just a handsome young wizard.
"Marvelous, Mr. Corlett. I have an experiment that has been stalled due to a lack of sufficient magical power. Would you be willing to help me complete it?"
A witch covered in various 'gadgets' stepped forward and smiled at him. "My name is Sickleworth Ralvado. Have you heard of me, Mr. Corlett?"
Heard of her? Of course he had!
The young wizard's eyes lit up. Master Nicolas Flamel had once said that if he hadn't accidentally created the Philosopher's Stone, the title of the greatest Alchemist of the century would belong to Sickleworth Ralvado.
"It is an honor to meet you, ma'am. Of course I've heard your name. Master Flamel spoke of you."
"Nicolas... Is he well?"
A grin tugged at the corner of Owen's mouth as he recalled the garden-turned-racetrack back at the Flamel residence. "He is very happy right now."
Two elderly people, with a combined age of nearly fourteen hundred years, racing wheelchairs in the garden every day... yeah, they were happy. Last time they wrote, they mentioned expanding the track to twenty kilometers...