The silent living room felt as if time itself had frozen.
The woman who had once been the family's banner, the former head of the Rosiers, had spoken such words—shock and a sense of betrayal rippled through the room.
The Rosiers didn't want to believe her threat, yet they had no choice but to believe it. Human beings can do anything when driven to desperation—let alone an elderly woman nearing the end of her life, especially one who had once followed Grindelwald.
They could hear clearly that Vinda wasn't just saying this to scare them. If they so much as laid a finger on Esmeralda Twist, Vinda truly would choose mutual destruction, dragging the entire Rosier family down with her as a funeral offering for the Twists.
After a long time, Thierry Rosier broke the silence. He said, "I think you all understand what Vinda means. She just wants her granddaughter to come home. The rest… you decide for yourselves."
The old man let out a deep sigh. Life felt exhausting; being born into the Rosier family was even more exhausting. Not everyone was Dumbledore. This era no longer belonged to Vinda, and it wasn't Thierry's era anymore either.
Alan Rosier and his son Vincent Rosier made no comment.
They neither agreed nor expressed any intention of recalling the people they had sent to Britain.
No one knew what the father and son were thinking now—whether they had been intimidated by Vinda's words or whether they were contemplating something else.
The people sitting along the long table also remained silent. Between two evils—letting the child return or risking total destruction—they chose the lesser: letting the child return.
Of course, letting the child return was all they would accept. They would never acknowledge that child as a Rosier again. That was their bottom line.
Unlike the deathly silence inside the grand manor's sitting room, the coastline of Calais was filled with laughter and cheerful voices. Vinda Rosier stood at the shore, gazing across the sea toward Britain.
That was the Britain the first Dark Lord had never set foot in—the Britain where Eda now lived, and the Britain where Louis had died.
The beach was noisy, so the house-elf Agnès waved her hand and cast a spell to block out the Muggles' laughter and chatter. The salty sea breeze brushed lightly past them, leaving only the sound of waves in their ears.
"At your age, you shouldn't be standing in the sea wind for so long," said the white-haired elder, Thierry Rosier, slowly walking over. "You're no longer the young girl you once were."
"I just haven't looked at the sea for a long time," Vinda replied softly. "But Thierry, discussing a woman's age is a very ungentlemanly thing to do—even if that woman is your cousin."
Thierry stepped closer and stood beside her. With a small chuckle, he continued, "Then may I ask how long it has been since my cousin last crossed to the other side?"
"For as many years as Eda has been alive," Vinda said. The last time she had gone to Britain was to bring home Louis's remains. His death had been so sudden that he left not a single word behind—only his cold, lifeless body.
Thierry knew he had touched upon Vinda's deepest sorrow, but he still needed to ask. He said, "Back then, Louis left no clues at all. How did you find the child?"
"A coincidence," Vinda said. "Or perhaps… an accident."
"An accident?" Thierry could hardly believe it.
If Louis hadn't sent Vinda a letter when the child was born, she wouldn't have even known she'd become a grandmother. All these years with no news whatsoever, not a single clue—and the child was found simply because of an accident?
"Yes, it was just that much of a coincidence," Vinda said with a smile. Even on her aged face, one could still faintly see the beauty of the former Rose of France.
She continued, "At first, I only heard about her from someone in another pure-blood family. I simply found it odd that Dumbledore would speak up for a child."
"And then?" Thierry asked. At this moment he was like a child eager to hear the next part of a story, just like when he used to cling to his cousin's side for bedtime tales.
"Then I learned her name—Esmeralda," Vinda said. "I began to remember that girl from the orphanage."
Thierry didn't understand why a name would catch Vinda's attention. Was it because of Dumbledore? After all, Vinda never liked Dumbledore.
"This name comes from a Muggle novel—one Louis loved before he left home," Vinda explained. "The heroine of the book was named Esmeralda."
Thierry nodded and continued, "But just a name isn't enough to draw such a conclusion, is it?" He didn't understand why Louis would like a Muggle novel, but he knew that a name in a book didn't mean anything by itself.
"Exactly. A name means nothing, so I didn't pay much attention to the child at first. Later, an old acquaintance of mine happened to see a photo of a girl while visiting her own friend," Vinda continued. "She didn't make a fuss. Instead, she wrote to me, saying she had seen a child whose eyes and brows looked very much like Louis's."
"And this child who resembles Louis just happens to be Esmeralda, right?" Thierry suddenly understood.
Two pieces of information, overlapping by sheer chance—only then was Vinda able to find the child. If either clue had been missing, she might never have found her. Could the world really be this coincidental?
Vinda turned to look at Thierry. "Unbelievable, isn't it? That such coincidences could exist?"
Seeing her cousin nod, she went on, "I couldn't believe it either. I was terrified that behind this hope would be nothing but despair."
Esmeralda was born in the autumn of 1977, and now it was already 1993. Trying to find a child whose name and appearance were both unknown, in a world so vast—that sort of difficulty required no imagination to understand.
After searching for so many years with no progress, for the child to appear almost miraculously—Vinda sometimes wondered if she was dreaming.
"You know, Thierry, someone like me… I still have a few friends who look out for one another. With their help, I was finally able to confirm that she really is Louis's child," Vinda said, her voice trembling with excitement. She had carried that joy in her heart ever since.
"This isn't a dream—it truly happened. Heaven cruelly took everything from me, yet in the last years of my life, it returned my most precious treasure," Vinda continued. Tears slipped from her clouded eyes.
Thierry took out a handkerchief and handed it to his cousin. He gently patted her back and asked, "What do you plan to do? Will you bring her back yourself?"
"I'm not allowed to leave France whenever I please, and I have other matters to deal with," Vinda said. "Thierry, I can trust you, can't I?"
If one were to ask who in the current Rosier family Vinda cared about most, the answer would undoubtedly be Thierry. And if one were to ask whom she could trust—again, the answer would be Thierry.
The family meeting in Calais today had been revealed to her by him.
"I would be delighted to help. I myself want to meet this child who's said to be even more exceptional than Louis," Thierry said, giving a gentlemanly bow. "Just don't be jealous of me—because I'll meet little Eda before you do."
...
On the other side of the Channel, Eda was wandering aimlessly down Charing Cross Road.
She had just finished a long, exhausting day, finally rid of the humiliation of being stared at like an exhibit.
At that moment, a strange woman was quietly tailing her—following her down the long street, around a corner, until finally stopping in a small alley. She had no choice but to stop, because Eda had bound her.
Seeing Eda's wand still pointed at her, the stranger quickly blurted, "Hey! Easy, easy, Twist! I'm Tonks—Tonks from Hufflepuff!"
As she spoke, her appearance shifted, and Eda finally recognized the witch before her—Nymphadora Tonks.
"What are you doing here? And why were you following me?" Eda didn't lower her wand. She didn't trust Tonks.
"For you, of course," Tonks said, struggling unsuccessfully against the bindings. "Didn't you notice? Someone's tailing you again."
Read 12 Chapters ahead:
Patreon.com/Dragonel