Poor Miss Delacour

Harry was marvelling at the headmistress' size.

He believed that if Madam Maxime and Professor Dumbledore were to face off against each other on the premise that no one could use magic, even three Professor Dumbledore would not be her opponent.

"Thanks for your concern ma'am, but with Professor Forrest I was perfectly safe along the way," Harry said.

Madame Maxime nodded as if she had other things to do.

"At noon, you can go to the banquet hall and try Provence fish soup (French mixed fish soup). I always think the culinary skills of our school's house-elves aren't bad. I'm going to handle some official business, I wish the both of you a nice day."

Seeing her leaving, Harry whispered close to Sherlock's ear.

"I think she might be related to Hagrid!"

Sherlock punched the top of Harry's head, causing him to mourn while holding his head.

"I told you to stop talking about others behind their backs and don't make fun of other people's special circumstances, It's not good."

In the face of Sherlock's teaching, Harry was still very honest.

They continued to hang out in Beauxbatons, meeting a student who stayed on campus and chatting with her for a while about life at school.

From her words, it could be heard that the atmosphere of this school was more serious than that of Hogwarts, with only a few more rules.

In other words, the previous Hogwarts was not as relaxed as it is now. It was only after Dumbledore became the headmaster that the atmosphere became more relaxed.

At noon, they tasted the miscellaneous fish soup recommended by Mrs. Maxime in the banquet hall of Beauxbatons.

Harry was not used to drinking such a strong fish flavour

The heat is good, the taste is great, and it was well received by Mr. Potter the boy who lived.

After lunch, they sat in the garden for a while and then got up to leave Beauxbatons.

Sherlock's itinerary in France was improvised.

For example, to come to Beauxbatons, he made the decision when he was in Caen.

As for the next direction, they listened to the advice of Garrel, the general affairs teacher who put them in Beauxbatons.

"Besides the Muggle town called Saint-Goddam at the foot of the Pyrenees, there is a wizard market town called Aspe. There are French, Portuguese, Spanish and some African wizards gathered there. You can go to the warm bar for a stroll. Wander around, the wines and steaks are pretty good there."

Getting back into the flying car and walking north along the Pyrenees, Sherlock took Harry to the wizarding town named Aspe.

It looks more lively than Hogsmeade here.

The main reason is that the Pyrenees are on the border of Spain and France, and if they cross the ocean, they are not very far from Africa.

Therefore, not only French wizards but also wizards from neighbouring countries gather in this small town, which has the most prosperous magical commercial street in southern Europe.

Seeing that about a fifth of the people in the streets were black, Harry couldn't help say.

"There are quite a few African wizards here."

Sherlock patted him on the shoulder and told him to listen carefully to the black wizards before Harry realized that most of them spoke French.

"They're all French!" Harry asked, staring.

Sherlock sat at him with a hissing gesture, motioning him to keep quiet.

"This is normal. The pure-blood concept of wizards in France is not as strong as that in the UK. Their half-blood wizards and Muggle wizards account for a very large proportion. However, the proportion of blacks in French Muggle society is increasing year by year. It's affected a bit. So don't just see a black wizard and think they're African or African American."

Harry nodded vaguely and followed Sherlock on the streets of the wizarding town of Aspe.

It is indeed very lively here. It should be the most important gathering place for wizards in southern Europe. Harry bought a lot of interesting things along the street.

Sherlock wouldn't have to pay Harry in wizarding society.

According to books of prominent families, Harry's ancestors started a potions company, and the property left him was much thicker than Sherlock's small vault, a proper big dog.

Just when Sherlock was being pestered by the shopkeeper in a potions shop to sell him the antidote of a love potion, Harry suddenly seemed to have made a major discovery, widened his eyes in one direction, and his whole body changed.

The shopkeeper Sherlock got rid, noticed Harry's strangeness and looked at him, and found that he was looking at a young wizard girl.

That witch has long bright silver-white hair, delicate facial features, and skin that is whiter than snow. Most importantly, the whole person exudes a fascinating temperament.

The experienced Sherlock was not charmed by the witch. He knocked his eyes blankly, already staring at Harry, and woke him up.

"Hey hey hey, your saliva is going to drip on to your shirt."

Harry's face flushed and he wiped the corners of his mouth in a hurry, only to find that there was nothing on it.

"You lied to me! Professor!" Harry said resentfully.

"If I didnt wake you up again, you would've kept staring." Sherlock said, grabbing the collar of Harry, who was still reluctant to part, and carried him away, "That girl was the problem, she should have the bloodline of some special magical creature, otherwise she wouldn't exude that kind of aura unconsciously, I advise you to stay aware."

As the time approached evening, the sky was slowly getting dark. Sherlock took Harry directly to the warm bar recommended by the old witch Garrel and walked in.

The Warm Bar is just like its name. The atmosphere inside is really warm. The warm yellow lights and soft music make the whole bar look very stylish.

Sherlock and Harry found an empty seat by the window and sat down, and asked for two steaks and a bottle of red wine.

"Are you going to try it this time?" Sherlock opened the cork of the red wine and motioned to Harry.

Harry waved his hands again and again to refuse. The last time he tried taking sip of red wine in Saumur, he spit it out. This thing was completely different from the grape juice he imagined.

Sherlock asked him for a glass of orange juice, and as Garrel said, the steak here was really good, and both Harry and Sherlock were very satisfied.

When they were halfway through their meal, Harry suddenly touched Sherlock's arm and motioned him to look in front of the bar.

The silver-haired girl they saw on the street just now pushed the door and walked in.

She was not alone and was accompanied by a young wizard who looked very attentive, about the same as Sherlock.

Sherlock just glanced, turned his head, tapped Harry's plate with his fork, and reminded him.

"Eat your meal, don't look blindly."

"She's supposed to be a student of Beauxbatons." Although Harry turned his attention back to the steak, he was obviously still thinking of the fascinating girl again.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"How did you know?"

While they were talking, the girl and the wizard who was following her came to sit next to them, the last empty seat in the bar.

Harry gestured to Sherlock with his eyes, and Sherlock looked in the direction his eyes pointed, and sure enough, on the sleeve of the girl's robe, he saw the emblem of two golden wands crossed by Beauxbatons.

Sherlock shrugged at him, indicating that he had better eat honestly.

Recently, I have eaten a lot of delicious food in France, and both Sherlock's and Harry's stomachs have been stretched.

One steak per person was no longer enough to satisfy their appetite. After eating, they ordered an additional serving of escargot and two bowls of onion soup.

"Where are we going next? Professor," Harry asked, chewing on the snail.

Sherlock took this time to take out the map of France that he had been carrying and looked at their next travel route.

"Well...then we will go north, and if we continue south, we will reach Spain. We will circle around Switzerland in the northeast, go to Lyon, Geneva, and then go to the small Interkenna. Take a tour of the town and finally go to Paris."

"Do we have enough time?"

"Of course, it's not too late, as long as we get to Nick's place in Paris by August, and until then, we can play anywhere."

While they were chatting, a somewhat arrogant but brisk and pleasant voice suddenly interjected and asked in English with a heavy French accent.

"You're going to visit Mr. Flamel too?"

Sherlock and Harry turned to look at the person who interrupted, it was the silver-haired girl.

Harry heard her take the initiative to talk about the topic, and couldn't wait to answer immediately.

But after seeing Sherlock's gaze, he lowered his head and drank the onion soup with a guilty conscience.

Sherlock used his eyes to persuade Harry to retreat, and he looked at the girl expressionlessly.

"Excuse me?"

The girl raised her head, revealing her slender, snow-white neck.

"Flour Delacour, Beauxbatons sixth grader."

Sherlock nodded.

"We are indeed going to Paris to visit Mr. Flamel."

"Mr. and Miss, I'm sorry!"

At this moment, a goblin in a gray robe passed between the two dining tables, accidentally bumping into Fleur's chair.

Sherlock frowned slightly and looked at the goblin walking past, without making a sound.

Furong continued to say with great interest.

"I'm going to visit Mr. Flamel soon, and I heard from Madame Maxime that he seems to have something good to send out there..."

When she said this, Sherlock had already stood up from his seat. He put on his jacket and picked up Harry who pretended to be drinking onion soup, but actually listened to Fleur with his ears pricked up.

"Sorry Miss Delacour, we have something to go first." While speaking, Sherlock glanced at the goblin who was walking towards the fireplace, "Before I left, I suggest you check if you are missing something important, and I wish you good luck in the end."

Saying that Sherlock dragged Harry out of the bar with a confused face.

Finally, before Harry left, he looked at the girl named Fleur with pity.

"Professor, are you sincere in your blessing to Miss Delacour just now?"

After leaving the bar, Harry asked after Sherlock's ass.

Sherlock pouted.

"That unlucky girl didn't even know that someone stole something. Of course, I sincerely wish her good luck in the future."

Harry could only mourn silently for Fleur in private.

Losing things and being cursed, what a poor girl.

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Editor: #45

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