Deek was overthinking things a bit. At present, Poppy always made a conscious effort to guide Harry into accepting the fact that he was a unicorn, while Harry, in turn, avoided ntioning Poppy’s humanoid form, lest he upset her.
Sotis, Harry would even forget that Poppy was actually a seventeen or eighteen-year-old girl…
Besides, patting a unicorn’s foreleg didn’t seem like such a big deal—it was equivalent to patting soone’s arm, after all.
“Oh, right.” Deek said, “Young Master Potter, please allow to excuse myself for a mont.”
“Alright.” Harry nodded, then sat down on the sofa, taking in his surroundings.
The Flal residence was a perfect balance of disorder and organization. Various bottles, jars, cauldrons, and ink-grinding mortars were scattered across the tables in a seemingly haphazard fashion. In one corner of the table sat a massive crystal ball, swirling with nebula-like patterns, an enchanting sight to behold.
“So, this is Nicolas Flal’s house?” Poppy asked softly.
“Yes.” Harry glanced at Poppy and grinned. “Maybe he has a way to fix your problem. But before that, I have so good news for you—I forgot to tell you earlier.”
Poppy blinked in confusion and asked, “What good news?”
“You’re about to beco a school governor.” Harry raised a thumb. “The first unicorn school governor in the history of Hogwarts. Congratulations.”
“Huh?” Poppy’s ears perked up instantly. “School governor? Is that sothing tasty?”
Harry reached out and patted Poppy’s head. She stuck out her tongue mischievously and giggled. “Just lightening the mood… But really, a school governor? Why ?”
“Because I’ve already discussed it with the goblins at Gringotts.” Harry answered succinctly. “It’s part of their compensation—they did, after all, lose sothing of mine. So, what do you say, Poppy? Do you want to be a governor?”
A sudden sense of duty welled up inside Poppy. She nodded in understanding and rubbed her head against Harry’s arm.
“Alright, Harry, I’ll take on this responsibility—”
Just then, Deek returned from outside.
“Young Master Potter.” He stepped forward, followed by three house-elves.
One of them was familiar—Veratia’s house-elf, Luchi.
“Po… Potter, Young Master Potter?”
The mont Luchi saw Harry, she rushed forward, her large eyes brimming with tears.
“A hundred years… A hundred years… Luchi has finally seen you again…”
“Hello, Luchi.” Harry, too, was filled with emotion.
House-elves typically lived two to three hundred years. At around one hundred and thirty to forty years old, both Deek and Luchi were in their pri.
“Young Master Potter,” Deek’s voice was soft, “before Miss Grindelwald left, in her presence as a witness, Luchi and I were married. Look, these are my two children—Ruby and Garnet.”
He gestured for his children to step forward. “Co on, kids, greet the young master.”
“Young Master.” The two little house-elves quickly bowed.
“Hello.” Harry nodded in acknowledgnt.
He felt a little awkward but, knowing house-elf customs, decided not to overthink it.
“Please allow Deek’s family to return to the Potter household, to serve the Master and Mistress.” Luchi said in her sharp voice.
“This… This should depend on Mr. Flal’s decision, shouldn’t it?” Harry asked.
Deek stepped forward at the right mont and said, “Master Flal has no objections. Deek and Luchi were only staying at the Flal residence temporarily. When Young Master Potter and Miss Grindelwald return, we will serve you again…”
“To serve the Master and Mistress is Luchi’s greatest honor.” Luchi chid in.
“Well then.” Harry thought for a mont before saying, “But we’ll have to discuss this again once Veratia returns. Besides, Mr. Flal is very old now, he still needs people around to assist him.”
Before Deek could reply, a deep, aged voice rang out.
“Children,” the voice said, “I have no objections.”
It was Nicolas Flal.
“Mr. Flal.” Harry stood up and bowed respectfully. “It’s been a long ti.”
“Ti is truly a magical force, Harry.” Flal shuffled forward in small steps and extended a hand toward him. “It’s a pleasure to see you—”
“I think I’d better not shake hands.” Harry said hesitantly. “I’d hate to break your bones again…”
After all, the last ti he had t Flal was over a year ago.
That had also been the first ti Harry ever t the legendary alchemist. When they shook hands, Harry hadn’t controlled his strength properly—or rather, he hadn’t used any force at all—yet Flal’s bones had made an audible cracking sound.
They broke.
“Co on, you can’t avoid shaking hands forever.” Flal stretched his withered face into a smile that was both kindly and… strangely eerie.
It was odd how those two expressions could coexist on one face.
Harry reached out and clasped Flal’s hand, only to find that it was no longer as fragile as before.
“This is all thanks to the Bone-Growth Elixir from your Potter family,” Flal said with a smile. “Without it, these old bones of mine wouldn’t even be able to withstand daily activities.”
“Won’t you introduce to this young unicorn lady?” He looked toward Poppy.
Poppy instinctively shrank back. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but she felt as though this wise old man could see right through her.
“She’s my friend, Poppy Sweeting, from Hufflepuff.” Harry introduced her. “She was practicing the Animagus transformation when sothing went wrong—now she can’t change back.”
Because Harry had pushed Poppy forward when introducing her just now, he couldn't see her face properly.
Upon hearing Harry’s words, Poppy’s eyes showed a pleading expression—she was silently begging Mr. Flal not to reveal her secret.
“Oh…”
Mr. Flal noticed Poppy’s gaze. “I see. Well, in all my years, I’ve never seen a Muggle successfully practice magic—you're half an exception.”
He changed the subject. “I know that whenever you and Miss Grindelwald are together, you tend to co up with all sorts of wild ideas, but I strongly advise against trying them.”
“Oh… oh.” Harry nodded stiffly. “Then how did you figure out the letter was from , Mr. Flal?”
“That was a clue Miss Grindelwald left for . She stopped by my alchemy chamber before setting off on her ti-traveling journey.”
Mr. Flal raised his arm stiffly, as if he were a rusted machine, and then, out of thin air, a chair appeared beneath him.
“At the sa ti, she also entrusted with Deek and Luchi…”
“I see.” Harry nodded in understanding.
“And, of course, your handwriting.” Mr. Flal’s expression showed slight disdain. “I don’t believe Miss Grindelwald would have such terrible handwriting. Given that only a handful of people know about my alchemy chamber—Albus doesn’t know Miss Grindelwald; he knows another Grindelwald. As for Newt, let’s not even ntion him—just hearing the na ‘Grindelwald’ makes him physically uncomfortable. That leaves only you.”
“Dumbledore?” Harry asked with interest. “You an Dumbledore knew Grindelwald… as in, Gellert?”
“Of course he knew Gellert. They were friends… And I knew him too.” Mr. Flal didn’t seem particularly pleased as he spoke the na. “Back then, Gellert caused quite the commotion at Père Lachaise Cetery. His Fiendfyre nearly burned all of Paris to ashes.”
Harry tried to recall, but no matter how hard he thought, he just couldn’t connect the image of that eight-year-old cockatoo-like boy with the dark wizard who nearly reduced Paris to cinders.
Just picturing that little kid’s mischievous grin while commanding an inferno to engulf Paris felt utterly surreal.
But… Harry had caught onto sothing interesting—like the fact that Dumbledore and Gellert had once been friends?
“They were friends before they beca enemies?” Harry’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “—I an, Dumbledore and Gellert. What happened that turned them against each other?”
“I rember reading on a Chocolate Frog card that in 1945, Dumbledore defeated Gellert and imprisoned him in Nurngard…”
“You think what’s written on a Chocolate Frog card is the truth?” Mr. Flal said with an amused smile. “To outsiders, that event is considered Albus’s greatest triumph—but for Albus himself, it was the deepest wound of his life… It’s a complicated history, though I must say, it aligns well with the British stereotype.”
At that, Mr. Flal gave Harry a aningful smile.
“…Stereotype?” Harry was stunned.
He ran through every possibility in his mind but couldn’t figure out what stereotype Flal was referring to.
“Stereotype,” Mr. Flal repeated. “A rather modern one—about a hundred years old.”
Harry racked his brain, trying to recall how the French typically viewed the British. He hesitantly guessed, “Bad cooking?”
Then again… even the British themselves acknowledged that, so it wasn’t exactly an unfair slander from the French.
Mr. Flal looked at him like he was an idiot.
Bad cooking? Would bad cooking turn two people into lifelong confidants? Was there sothing wrong with Harry, or with the world itself?
Poppy curled up on the floor, trying to make herself as invisible as possible.
She did not want Mr. Flal to notice her.
“Think again,” Mr. Flal prompted. “A relationship even closer than friendship…”
Sothing clicked—hard—in Harry’s brain.
Under Mr. Flal’s guidance, a rather terrifying possibility surfaced in his mind.
“…Could it be…” He tentatively asked.
He really didn’t want to think about this any further. He had a feeling Veratia wouldn’t be able to handle it…
Just imagine—such an adorable younger brother, with a face that was so soft and pinchable, soone the family was counting on to carry on the Grindelwald bloodline… and then…
Harry suddenly felt that Austria might be dood to suffer the sa fate as Paris all those years ago.
“Welco to another world.” Mr. Flal nodded with a smile.
Harry took a sharp breath. Even though he had already guessed it, he still found it difficult to accept.
“No, no, no, no…”
“Yes,” Mr. Flal said.
“No!” Harry was truly in denial. That little cockatoo-like boy and the white-bearded headmaster…
“Yes.” Mr. Flal kept nodding.
Harry felt like his entire existence was crumbling. He turned around abruptly. “Firewhisky. One glass, Deek.”
He needed alcohol to numb himself.
Sotis, having too good an imagination was not a blessing. By the ti he realized where his thoughts had gone, it was already too late.
“Understood, Master Potter.” Deek swiftly disappeared and soon returned with a glass of Firewhisky.
“I should remind you that underage drinking is prohibited,” Mr. Flal said.
“It’s fine, I’m British.” Harry took a deep swig, hoping the alcohol would erase the thoughts from his mind. “Besides, technically, I’m of age.”
He paced back and forth, glass in hand, but no matter how much he drank, he couldn’t forget what Mr. Flal had just told him.
“So… you’re saying… Professor Dumbledore and Gellert really…”
“Yes.” Mr. Flal smiled.
“And then… they had a falling out?” Harry asked again.
“That’s right.” Mr. Flal nodded.
“…So I…” Harry sighed. His mind was a chaotic ss, as if soone had stuffed an entire nest of Nifflers into his brain.
“So what is it that still surprises you?” Mr. Flal asked with a teasing smile. “It’s quite unexpected—you’re even more old-fashioned than I am.”
“I’m trying to be open-minded, but…” Harry gripped his glass. “I considered every possibility, but I never imagined that one day, the white-bearded headmaster would call Veratia ‘sister.’”
Mr. Flal’s previously amused expression faltered.
He seed to contemplate for a mont, then, with a swiftness unfitting for his age, snatched the glass from Harry’s hands.
Before Harry could even process what had happened, Mr. Flal had already downed more than half of the Firewhisky in a single gulp.
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