The subsequent voyage on the ferry for Sherlock and the others went very smoothly, and by the evening of that day, they arrived at the French port city of Caen.
This place is located in the Normandy region of France—yes, the very place where the Allied forces landed during World War II.
In the city centre of Caen, Sherlock found a hotel that looked decent enough, parked the car, and then took Harry to a restaurant to enjoy an elegant French meal.
Although the food in France was much better than what they had in Britain, Harry still ate without much appetite.
While they were eating, many pretty Muggle women kept approaching Sherlock to strike up a conversation and ask for his phone number.
Even though Sherlock rejected them every time by saying he did not have a phone, several of them actually hinted that they had phones at home and that their bedrooms were quite large, inviting him to come and take a look.
Watching Sherlock politely decline yet another invitation from a woman who claimed she had accidentally bought an extra movie ticket and wanted to invite a gentleman to watch the film with her,
Harry said sourly, "They really are lonely, aren't they? Are they really that desperate for someone to accompany them swimming, watching movies, and visiting their bedrooms?"(TN: Someone sounds jealous.)
Sherlock rolled his eyes at him.
"You're just a little brat; what do you know?"(TN:Good answer to be fair.)
With Sherlock's outstanding appearance, coupled with the quiet, mysterious aura that naturally emanated from him due to practising magic, he was a walking magnet wherever he went.
They only stayed in Caen for one day; the next day, after visiting the famous local attraction, the Abbaye aux Dames, they drove out of the city.
Before leaving, Sherlock went to a department store and bought a purely mechanical camera to use for taking photos along the way.
Next, they did not head towards Paris, which lies east of Caen, but instead drove south, stopping in every city they passed to taste the local cuisine and enjoy the scenery.
In Le Mans, they watched a car race ("It's not as exciting as a Quidditch match," Harry said disdainfully, watching the cheering crowd), and in Saumur, they tasted wine with a unique flavour (at Harry's constant request, Sherlock let him take a sip, and then he spat it right out).
They went to Bordeaux to eat foie gras and see medieval castles (Harry remarked that none of these castles were as imposing as Hogwarts Castle, but the foie gras tasted really good), and at their final stop in southern France, Toulouse, they visited the Basilica of Saint-Sernin (Sherlock raised the thought-provoking question of why many Wizards also believe in religion, but Harry suggested that thinking about that was not as good as having another bowl of excellent onion soup).(TN: Why does Harry sound spoiled here?)
Finally, they filled the car with petrol, left the city centre of Toulouse, and drove towards the suburbs near the Pyrenees.
"Where are we going next, Professor?" asked Harry, who was incredibly satisfied after drinking three whole bowls of onion soup at lunch.
Sherlock, however, pulled the car over on a small road by the fields and pressed the button on the steering wheel that changed the car's function.
This was the first time since leaving Caen that Harry had seen him prepare to use the car's flying function.
"We are going to fly into the Pyrenees. Once we enter these mountains, we will begin visiting the Wizards of France."
Harry blinked, looking at the towering, majestic mountains in the distance, and asked doubtfully,
"Do French Wizards all like to live in the deep mountains and old forests?"
"Your knowledge is truly narrow, Harry. If Hermione were here, she would definitely know our destination," Sherlock teased.
Harry was unconvinced and guessed blindly.
"We must be going to visit some famous old Wizard who is living in seclusion in these mountains."
Sherlock steered the car into the air and flew towards the high mountains, taking the opportunity to give Harry some general knowledge.
"Do you know how many magic schools there are in Europe?"
Harry thought for a moment and finally shook his head honestly.
"I don't know."
"There are three magic schools in all of Europe: Hogwarts in Britain, Beauxbatons in France, and Durmstrang in Northern Europe. The place we are heading to now is the French magic school—Beauxbatons. However, they are on summer break just like Hogwarts, so I don't know if we can get in for a visit by using Professor Dumbledore's name."
Sherlock had clearly done his homework before coming.
"Nicolas Flamel and his wife, whom we are ultimately visiting on this trip, are famous alumni of Beauxbatons. Later, when the school was expanded, Nicolas Flamel and his wife also helped contribute funds. Beauxbatons even specially built a huge fountain on campus to commemorate them, and the school also has a breathtakingly magnificent manor."
Harry was intrigued by his words; having visited so many Muggle cities along the way, he had almost forgotten that he was a Wizard.
Sherlock flew the car through the Pyrenees for several hours, and finally discovered a prominent complex of French-style buildings in the mountains.
Just like Hogwarts, Beauxbatons is hidden from Muggles. To those without magic, the site appears to be nothing more than a large, overgrown wasteland; only Wizards can see its true appearance.
Sherlock did not fly the car around over Beauxbatons but landed directly in front of the school's main gate.
Getting out of the car, they could see the main building of Beauxbatons through the iron gate: a Great Hall that was only one storey high but covered a vast area.
The doors of the Great Hall faced the entrance to the school. Above them, Sherlock and Harry saw a school crest composed of two crossed golden wands, with three stars emerging from the tip of each wand.
"Although Beauxbatons' history is not as long as Hogwarts', it has still existed for over seven hundred years. Moreover, it does not only recruit students from France; Wizards from Spain, Portugal, Luxembourg, Belgium, and the Netherlands also study here."
Sherlock was educating Harry with relevant knowledge as they walked up to the main gate together. The iron gate was tightly closed, and from the outside, there was not a soul to be seen on campus.
"How are we going to get in?" Harry asked, puzzled.
Sherlock was also studying the gate, checking to see if there was anything like a doorbell.
Just as they were lingering in front of the gates of Beauxbatons, a hoarse, elderly female voice suddenly rang out.
"What are you doing at Beauxbatons?"
Sherlock and the others looked in the direction of the voice and saw an old Witch wearing rose-red robes. Her face was covered with wrinkles, but her back was straight, and she was standing inside the iron gate, looking at them vigilantly.
Sherlock and Harry exchanged a glance, and then Sherlock introduced himself.
"Hello, Madam. I am Sherlock Cavendish, the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and this is my student, Harry Potter. We are travelling in France and specifically wanted to visit Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. I wonder if it would be convenient for us to come in?"
"A Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor and a student from Hogwarts?" The old Witch looked Sherlock and Harry up and down. "Beauxbatons does not refuse visitors, but I need to see something that can prove your identity."
Perhaps it was because Harry's fame as the Boy Who Lived was largely confined to Britain that the French Witch showed no particular reaction to hearing his name.
Sherlock had also been prepared for this.
Under normal circumstances, Wizards do not have things like ID cards.
However, after passing the Apparition test, adult Wizards generally receive an Apparition licence issued by the Ministry of Magic.
This certificate has the Wizard's photo and name printed on it, and it is very difficult to forge or alter.
However, what Sherlock used to prove his identity was the appointment letter issued to him by Hogwarts, which also had his photo and personal information printed on it and could verify his status as a Professor.
After studying the appointment letter Sherlock handed her, the Witch opened the gate of Beauxbatons and let them in.
"It is summer break now, and apart from a few students and teachers who remain at school, there is no one else here." The old Witch's attitude could not be described as friendly, but neither could it be called hostile. "My name is Andree Garrier, and I am the General Affairs Teacher of this school, responsible for managing the students' daily lives and discipline."
Harry, who was following her into Beauxbatons, whispered to Sherlock,
"From what I can tell, she is much better than that old guy Filch."
Sherlock tapped him on the head, admonishing him not to speak ill of others behind their backs.
"Do you need me to guide you around the campus?" the old Witch, Garrier, asked, turning back.
Sherlock shrugged and said,
"No need to trouble you; just tell us where we cannot go."
Garrier shook her head.
"Beauxbatons does not have any restricted areas, but you should be careful near the magical creatures enclosure on the west side of the garden. There are some ill-tempered magical creatures there, and it is best not to provoke them."
After saying goodbye to Garrier in front of the Beauxbatons Great Hall, Sherlock took Harry and began a one-day tour of Beauxbatons.
"I suggest you stand right in the middle of the fountain so that its height can be properly shown."
Sherlock held up the camera, motioning for Harry to stand in the centre, and then took a photo of him with the huge fountain named after Nicolas Flamel.
They then headed to the garden behind the Great Hall. It is said that every year at Christmas, forest nymphs sing serenades while students are dining, and the surroundings are filled with beautiful ice sculptures.
While admiring the Beauxbatons manor, they encountered a Witch who was as tall and broad as Hagrid, resembling a small giantess.
Sherlock recognised her as the current Headmistress of Beauxbatons—Madame Maxime.
"The Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor from Hogwarts?" Madame Maxime looked Sherlock up and down before fixing her gaze on Harry. "I have heard of your name, Harry Potter. I didn't expect Dumbledore to be so at ease letting you travel."