The smell of printer ink still lingered in the air, mingling with the rich, roasted scent of French coffee. A wide desk dominated the center of the office, cluttered with an old-school boxy computer and a white cradle for a mobile phone.
Cool air streamed from a vent, nudging a mechanical wind chime on the desk into a gentle spin. The cleverly balanced rods moved like a perpetual motion machine, endlessly turning.
The former assistant, now a corporate executive, had abruptly canceled her entire schedule just to clear the office for an unannounced visitor.
A coffee machine hummed in the corner, brewing two fresh cups for the guest. Claire had grown used to the bitter, slightly burnt taste of French coffee, sipping it without a flinch, even picking up on its faint, unique aroma.
Melvin, on the other hand, still couldn't stomach it. This cup was only marginally better than hot Americano.
An assistant buzzed through the intercom, and Claire answered with a string of polite, meaningless filler words. She'd gotten word that morning about Melvin's request for VIP tickets for his students. Without asking why, she'd agreed, arranging for park staff to personally escort them—top-tier treatment.
Now, the two sat chatting in her office. The Granger family was off enjoying the park, and Claire still didn't know why Melvin cared so much about them. But when her assistant reported on the six-year-old girl, noting how the family doted on her, Claire guessed this trip might be a terminally ill child's final wish.
"It's a weekday, so the park's less crowded than on weekends," Claire said. "The theater manager said they just finished exploring Sleeping Beauty's Castle. They're having a blast and are now riding the horse-drawn streetcar. Tonight, they can watch the fireworks from the best spot."
"No need to keep tabs," Melvin said softly. "They won't ask for much. The girl's frail and can't handle too many attractions."
Claire's eyes flickered. So, she was sick.
She took a sip of coffee. "That night the wizard cops took you away—everything sorted out?"
"Mr. Graves is a friend," Melvin said, setting down his cup. "He needed my help with something and used that as an excuse. Kept me a few days, but it's all resolved now. I'm here to talk about the magical theme park."
"I was just about to bring that up," Claire said, a playful edge to her voice. "You dangled this big idea in front of me that night, got me all excited, then vanished. Rude. But I'm a dutiful assistant—well, former assistant. I've already brainstormed some fun projects. With real magic, we can turn wild ideas into reality. No matter how quirky wizards' tastes are, I'm confident we can make them fall in love with a magical theme park."
"I've got faith in you," Melvin said with a nod. "But I'm not so sure about myself. I've been thinking, before we dive into building a full-on magical park, maybe we should test the waters. See how the market reacts."
"You're eyeing Disney, aren't you?" Claire teased.
"Claire, you're a seasoned exec now," Melvin said, pausing. "As Disney's creative director, you're in charge of new projects. So, I'm wondering if we could bring real magic into Disneyland."
Claire's eyes lit up, though her tone stayed playful. "What, you don't want to pay me a salary, so you're making me a partner?"
"Exactly, my not-so-loyal former assistant."
"Is it legal?" Claire asked, sipping her coffee, excitement tempered with caution. "I mean, wizard government laws. You mentioned some secrecy statute last time. Sounded pretty strict."
"A week ago, the timing wasn't right," Melvin admitted, shrugging. "But now? No worries. I did a big favor for the French Ministry of Magic recently. They owe me one. As long as we technically respect the Statute of Secrecy, we can push the boundaries a bit."
"Sounds like you back at the Gershwin Theater," Claire said with a smirk.
"Everything I did at the Gershwin was aboveboard," Melvin shot back, correcting her accusation. He picked up his coffee, gave it a slight shake, and it transformed into butterbeer. "Back to the magical park. The Ministry here won't meddle, and I've connected with a wealthy wizard family. Their business spans all sorts of fields, and they know how to hire skilled wizards to bring ideas to life."
"Can we keep it under wraps from the other park staff?"
"The wizarding world has ways of handling that."
Claire's mind raced. This project felt feasible—promising, even. A real magical theme park, backed by her leadership, could draw crowds like never before. It'd be a glittering addition to her resume. But more than that, it could usher in a new era for wizard-Muggle relations—a historic, almost mythical achievement. Maybe one day a street would be named after her, with "Saint" tacked on the front.
They hashed out the details of the magical park until night fell.
Outside, the sound of fireworks echoed from the castle. Both looked up, drawn to the huge floor-to-ceiling windows offering a sweeping view of half the park.
They paused their work talk, silently watching the fireworks bloom over the castle.
Melvin had never really stopped to enjoy something like this. Magic could do incredible things, but there was a unique charm to Muggle-made fireworks.
Claire, meanwhile, thought of the sick little girl. Disneyland saw cases like hers every year, but as a young executive, knowing such a young life might be watching her last fireworks show tugged at her heart.
Brilliant sparks shot upward, like reverse meteors, exploding above the princess's castle into hundreds of shimmering streams, lighting up the entire park.
Amid the dazzling display, Melvin spotted an odd orange glow—not the metallic flare of fireworks but something like a magical marker. He'd seen it before, a year ago in the Forbidden Forest, when he'd taught students a warning spell. This was likely Hermione's doing, casting an orange spark instead of red to add a touch of color to the show.
Melvin tilted his head. "Want to meet two young witches?"
---
The fireworks' muffled booms filled the air.
They were standing just in front of Sleeping Beauty's Castle, not far from the park's central hub, with a clear view of the sky. As the Granger family reached the platform, the fireworks wove together in a dazzling tapestry.
The night sky glowed, clouds painted in vibrant hues, the deep rumbles of explosions stirring the heart.
The four of them stood quietly, gazing upward.
Hermione glanced at Bastian. Faint colored light danced across the girl's pale face, her blue eyes sparkling, reluctant to blink. As the fireworks faded, a trace of regret flickered over her expression.
Suddenly, Hermione felt a surge of impulse. She pulled out her wand, pointed it skyward, and flicked it with purpose.
Whoosh… Bang!
A burst of magical fireworks exploded in the night, orange and less grand than the Muggle display, but this one was for Bastian alone.
Bastian's eyes lit up, a radiant smile breaking across her face. "It's beautiful!"
Two sharp cracks split the quiet night—Apparition. Hermione jumped, thinking her spell had been spotted and French Aurors were coming to nab her. But then she saw who it was and cried out in delight, "Professor Levent!"
"Let me introduce you," Melvin said with a light chuckle. "This is Claire, Disney's vice president. You can thank her for pulling some strings to make today's park visit happen. Claire, this is the Granger family I mentioned…"
Claire, barely in her twenties and still adjusting to her whirlwind rise to executive, didn't carry the usual corporate air. Her youthful, striking look—blonde hair, green eyes—drew curious glances from the group.
She quickly shook off the dizziness of Apparition, greeting Mr. and Mrs. Granger before bending down to study the two girls. "Hermione, Bastian, so nice to meet you…"
"Nice to meet you, too, Miss Raven," Hermione replied confidently, unfazed by the setting.
Bastian, more reserved, hung back half a step behind Hermione. "Hello," she said softly.
"Bastian, thank Miss Raven," Hermione prompted. "She's the reason we got to see such an amazing fireworks show."
"Thank you so much, Miss Raven," Bastian said, looking up slowly but sincerely. "And thank you, Professor Levent."
Hermione couldn't help but smile.
Bastian was doing so much better—not too frail to leave the house anymore. Hermione believed Bastian could keep her promise, make it past her tenth birthday, her seventeenth, and live a long, healthy life.
Melvin suddenly knelt, meeting Bastian's bright blue eyes.
The Horned Serpent's gift kicked in, absorbing stray emotions and magic from others. Here on the open platform, Melvin felt a strange new magic flow into him.
It was as if he and Bastian had formed a connection. This magic was different from the Obscurial Picconi's—lighter, purer. If Picconi's power was the heavy smog of an industrial chimney, Bastian's was like the morning mist in a forest, nearly pure white.
Melvin was caught off guard. Back at Père Lachaise Cemetery, when Yulm broke Bastian's collar to free her, she'd shown little emotion. At the Louvre, when he helped her escape New Salem and the Scourers for good, she'd been calm. But now, just a day at the park and a fireworks show had sparked genuine gratitude.
Bastian seemed to sense it, too, staring into the professor's eyes—deep, dark, yet oddly comforting.
Her pale face flushed, as if her blood was racing after a sprint. Her heartbeat grew loud enough for those nearby to hear.
"Bastian, are you okay?" Hermione asked, noticing first.
Bastian's pupils dilated. "I feel… good. Light…"
Before she could finish, she fainted.
---
The night deepened.
In the hotel suite's bedroom, the young girl lay sleeping, her breathing steady, her usually furrowed brow smoothed out, lost in peaceful dreams.
A small crowd gathered around the bed. Melvin and Hermione stood closest, with Mr. and Mrs. Granger nearby, keeping a respectful distance, watching anxiously without disturbing Bastian.
When Bastian had collapsed in the park, Claire had wanted to rush her to a hospital, but upon learning it was a magical ailment, she could only watch as they Apparated away.
Back at the hotel, the Grangers braced for bad news. They'd been urged to wait outside, but they couldn't bear to, needing to see Bastian for themselves.
After a check by an admittedly non-expert healer, Melvin found that Bastian's condition hadn't worsened. The warped magic within her had stabilized, even showing signs of improvement.
Some of the immense power inside her had, thanks to the Horned Serpent's gift, transferred to Melvin, easing her burden and aiding her recovery.
Hermione, watching Melvin's thoughtful expression, cursed herself for not studying more healing magic. She felt helpless, only able to stand by.
Melvin tucked away his wand and spoke quietly. "One piece of good news, one piece of bad. Which do you want first?"
"No jokes right now, Professor," Hermione said, anxious.
"Bad news, then," Melvin sighed. "Bastian's condition is incredibly complex. Her magic twisted into an Obscurus, then underwent some unknown change. Even Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel together wouldn't figure out the magical mechanics. Current healing spells won't work on her."
The Grangers paled.
"And… the good news?" Hermione asked, voice trembling.
"The good news is she doesn't need Dumbledore or Flamel. Her condition's improving, and I know why."
The family stared at the young professor, stunned. The Grangers exchanged complicated looks—this wasn't the professor they'd expected. Hermione gazed at him, silent but relieved.
"Will she get better?" Hermione whispered.
"It's unclear for now," Melvin said, gesturing for them to step outside. They tiptoed out of the bedroom. "I know why she's improving, but I can't guarantee it'll happen consistently. What happened tonight took a lot of factors aligning, plus a bit of luck."
Bastian's inner power would keep growing, but as a withdrawn girl, she hadn't shown strong magical reactions before—not at the cemetery or the Louvre. There was no guarantee this unexpected transfer could be replicated.
Melvin paused, a sudden thought striking him.
Dementors.
They had a natural ability to steadily drain emotions and soul energy.
---