Christmas holidays had begun.
Since I found Ravenclaw's book in the Room of Requirent, maybe I'll find so galleons, Gilderoy thought as he stepped inside.
Suddenly, a small pile of galleons appeared in front of him.
What was I expecting? Ha! So many people must have used this room before —they probably took all the loot already. Figures.
Still, sothing is better than nothing.
I need a bottomless bag too.
To his luck, a large bag materialized in front of him.
F yes.
After stuffing his actual bag into the bottomless bag, Gilderoy hurried downstairs and knocked on Flitwick's door.
Inside, the small dueling master was already waiting, standing upright in a deep blue dueling robe trimd with intricate gold patterns along the sleeves. A beaded bag hung from his waist.
Must be the luggage. He also has a bottomless bag!
"I just got this authorized from the Departnt of Magical Transportation," Flitwick said, pride flickering in his eyes as he pulled a sock from his desk drawer. "I trust you know what this is?" he added, holding it forward.
"Portkey," Gilderoy breathed, a spark of excitent crossing his face.
"Here, hold this quickly—it's set to activate soon."
Eugghh… please tell wizards don't just grab whatever filth they find and turn it into a Portkey.
God, please tell I don't have to grab soone's crusty, stiffened cum sock just to get to Paris.
Gilderoy hesitated before barely touching the sock with his fingers, as if prolonged contact alone might contaminate him. Its fabric was old, stiff, and deeply wrinkled, enough to make him recoil inwardly.
No sane Muggle would ever pick this up.
Within seconds, a blue glow enveloped the sock. A strange tickling sensation tugged at his navel, as if it were hooked hard, while his vision blurred with distorted colors. Gilderoy and Flitwick's fingers remained stuck to the sock as the Portkey tore through space. For a few terrifying seconds, they felt suspended between here and sowhere else entirely.
When his feet finally t solid ground, Gilderoy stumbled and fell, knees weak from the abrupt landing. Flitwick, standing composed, smirked looking at him. "First ti, Gilderoy?"
"Ehh… yes, sir," he muttered, flushing slightly as he struggled upright.
He looked around. The Portkey had deposited them in a small, deserted courtyard nestled between two tall stone buildings. In front of him stood a statue of a woman, perched atop a smooth pillar. The guard at the entrance scanned their docunts, nodding at Flitwick before stepping aside.
"Co, Gilderoy. The entrance is right here," Flitwick said, gesturing toward the statue.
Gilderoy's eyes widened with recognition and anticipation.
As Flitwick approached the statue, it shifted unexpectedly. The sculpted woman lifted the hem of her skirt with an animated flourish.
Kinky.
He couldn't help praising and grinning at the French love for spectacle—magic made to be seen, not just used.
He followed Flitwick through the stone pillar, stepping into a new world.
The street of Place Cachée opened before him. Warm stone buildings pressed closely together, their roofs curling in playful shapes. The air carried a mixture of scents—sugar, parchnt, and a subtle floral note that teased his senses. Gilderoy felt as if he were seeing magic itself laid bare in the ordinary world.
"Welco to Place Cachée, Gilderoy," Flitwick said, his voice soft but pleased.
Gilderoy hardly noticed him, lost in the swirl of shops, scents, and sounds.
"Why don't we tour Place Cachée before checking in to the hotels?" Flitwick suggested.
Gilderoy eagerly nodded already matching his thoughts.
Thank goodness I took the galleons from ROR before coming here.
Their first stop was Librairie Magillard. The bell over the door chid as they entered, echoing through the tall, curving shelves. Books floated gently above the aisles as if perusing themselves, and the sheer height of the stacks seed impossible.
Spell theory manuals, dueling handbooks called to him. Gilderoy's fingers itched to pull volus from the shelves, but almost every book was in French. His excitent dimd slightly, realizing he wouldn't understand them yet and couldn't afford to buy them. He scanned a few English texts and resigned himself for now.
From there, the sweet aroma of sugar pulled them forward. Confiserie Enchantée de K. Ralle was impossible to ignore. The windows displayed drifting sugar sculptures, chocolates shimring as though enchanted, and carals that humd softly.
Gilderoy's eyes sparkled as he bought far more than he could possibly eat, already setting so aside for Alia.
Flitwick, for his part, gathered a generous collection for the staff at Hogwarts.
I had no idea what happened to the Lockhart family. They never sent him owls—are they even alive? Maybe I should at least send one. Owls were magical; surely the birds would find them.
Next was Pâtisserie Matagot. They stood at the counter like tourists—because, in a sense, they were. Gilderoy tried a layered pastry, each bite cool and flavourful.
The first mouthful hit rich and sweet, exactly what he expected. As he chewed, the flavours began to shift—citrus surfacing, followed by vanilla, then sothing warr and unfamiliar. It wasn't just careful layering; magic was clearly involved, guiding how the flavours blended and revealed themselves instead of colliding all at once.
Mmm.
Quiet appreciation settled in as he ntally praised French witches and wizards for turning magic into sothing this indulgent.
This… this is magic being used right. He savoured the taste, genuinely marveling at how many layers of flavor had been infused into a single pastry.
Flitwick too was enjoying himself, he closed his eyes as he sipped a rich, velvety hot chocolate, committing the experience to mory, a quiet smile on his lips.
After pastries, they wandered into La Jacqueline Nacrée, a jewellery shop of soft velvet and gleaming glass. Gilderoy lingered over the display cases, enchanted pendants and rings catching his eye.
"These aren't ordinary ornants," the shopkeeper said, noticing his interest. He lifted a silver ring from its velvet rest. "This one glows faintly when the wearer is in danger. Nothing dramatic—just enough warning to act."
Gilderoy nodded.
"And the pendant?" he asked, gesturing to a thin chain set with a dull crystal.
"Location anchor," the man replied. "As long as it's worn, it can be traced. Mostly used for family safety or ergency recovery. Ministry-approved."
Gilderoy's gaze shifted to a narrow bracelet etched with simple runes.
"That one doesn't reveal truth," the shopkeeper added before he could ask. "It reacts to emotional stress tied to deception—nervous magic, unstable spellwork. It's unreliable on its own. More a warning than proof."
Gilderoy listened quietly, committing each explanation to mory despite knowing he wouldn't be buying anything today.
They lingered a while longer through Place Cachée, sipping hot chocolate, sampling éclairs and croissants, before Flitwick finally checked the ti.
"Co on," he said, already turning. "Let's get you checked in for the tournant at the Ministry."
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Power Stones Please 💎
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