After making peace with Frédéric, life at the Millefeuille Manor finally fell into place, and I could now fully admit to myself that I felt incredibly comfortable in the sunny manor of my French relatives — sometimes even more so than at home or anywhere else.
Of course, at Malfoy Manor, I felt more at ease, but despite always being busy when I was home, I desperately missed simple human interaction with other teenagers like myself. The solitary, majestic manor and the not-so-numerous family didn't create that lively, warm bustle that reigned here. The house was my fortress, but this fortress had one major flaw — my father, who had recently become a constant source of worry for me. But enough — let's not dwell on the negative.
In the last week, Frédéric, as if trying to make up for lost time, spent almost all his time with Louis and me. We even went to Rue Mirabelle once; the guys wanted to show me a side of it that a group of girls couldn't, and they succeeded. With the girls, over these almost one and a half months, we managed to visit the Allée des Lanternes de Cristal a full three times, and once they showed me the capital of magical France — Rue Mirabelle, which was truly beautiful, but in a completely different way.
If the Allée des Lanternes de Cristal resembled a neat, almost toy-like town with its tidy facades, cozy cafes, and an atmosphere of perpetual festivity, then Rue Mirabelle was the epicenter of bustling life. Here, there were majestic buildings of grey carved stone with stained-glass windows where the sun played, and working life was in full swing. All the threads of governance for magical France, all the business and everything most important converged here. No, of course, there were plenty of entertainments here too, sometimes ones that could pale even the emotions from that divine soufflé. Well, maybe not quite, but I think the point is clear. I adore that damn soufflé…
On Rue Mirabelle, you could meet hundreds of wizards from other countries, watch street performances by illusionists whose magical tricks made you tremble, or visit a dubious tent offering to "experience the charms of ancient druids." And that's not mentioning all the tourist traps like creating live photos on the spot with a huge price tag. There was also a large magical marketplace, a stadium, the Alchemists' Guild, and several other guilds. The center of magical France itself, though not as sterilely clean and white as the Allée des Lanternes de Cristal, possessed the incomparable charm of a capital, full of activity and opportunities.
In general, Céline's friends, and she herself, didn't hesitate to tell me details and show me hidden corners, as they had grown fond of my company. I tried to leave the best impression and perhaps even slightly overdid it with gallantry and wit, because one beautiful Veela started looking at me with undisguised interest, which made me not know where to look. Hmm…
Louis and Frédéric, on the other hand, showed me things more interesting than simple little shops. That's how we visited the initial part of the local marketplace, where in one inconspicuous shop with darkened windows, smelling of dust, I acquired some of the things that would have been confiscated in Britain without a word.
I didn't even hesitate to go to the local branch of Gringotts, where the goblins were no friendlier than the British ones, and I spent a substantial amount on farewell gifts and, of course, souvenirs for my classmates and family. Farewell gifts — to leave something to remind them of me, and souvenirs — to appease my gloomy compatriots.
With the guys, we also walked through some of the less friendly streets of Rue Mirabelle, where the shadows seemed denser and passersby hid their faces under hoods. Honestly, it was like stepping into my native Knockturn Alley. There, I managed to acquire, through a chain of dubious individuals, interesting types of paralyzing poisons and one special, colorless, odorless poison that could easily kill a person. Honestly, I can't think of a use for it yet, but better to have it. Thankfully, there was plenty of space in the black satchel.
The main thing I bought, however, were in-depth treatises on Occlumency and even Legilimency, bound in the rough leather of some magical creature.
I didn't forget to buy all the latest books on alchemy, as well as various spellbooks, where I sometimes found unique French spells, like that same Pulsarté. I bought everything in duplicate — for my personal library, and also to replenish the family library with new items. Of course, it was all in French, but no matter. There was nothing top-secret or rare there, but it was better to have all this in the family library than not. In short, I went on a shopping spree bigger than my first visit to the Allée des Lanternes de Cristal.
Amusingly, in almost a month and a half here, there had been so little rain that I even started missing the weather back home. However, despite my strange love for rain, I didn't like being under its streams, preferring to sip tea and look out the window at the blurred landscape.
That's why, despite everything said earlier, the beautiful sunny weather of Provence suited me perfectly. Deep down, I didn't want to return to our gloomy, ever-fog-shrouded Albion. Of course, Britain also has sunny days, and then the well-kept, majestic garden of our mansion gains its own charm, but it still pales before this riot of colors, aromas, and magical harmony of the Millefeuille garden.
What can you do, Herbology is one of the solid sources of income for this family, along with import-export logistics and, of course, the network of elite boutiques "Fleur de Magie," scattered across three magical districts of France, with one proud branch in America and one in Spain.
Essentially, they sold all sorts of things there, starting from magical and non-magical perfumes, ending with cosmetics and accessories. Moreover, they sold both magical analogues — capable, for example, of changing eye color for an hour — and simple ones, but of impeccable quality. Most of the cosmetics, naturally, were potions and elixirs of their own production, various alchemical concoctions… but natural magical components were also part of the assortment.
I knew all this thanks to Céline, who, with shining eyes, gave me a personal tour of the main branch on Rue Mirabelle, proudly showing off the display cases and telling me about each product. Moreover, the Millefeuilles, like all self-respecting wealthy families, had extensive business in the Muggle world — the same network of boutiques, just under a different name, in greater numbers, and, naturally, for Muggles.
So, among the interesting things, the only thing they didn't show me was their famous plantation of magical plants, but even so, I was more than satisfied. Although… no, I completely forgot to visit Muggle Paris! I've always dreamed of it, and in the hustle and bustle, I forgot, and now there are barely any days left. Maybe I can persuade someone to go with me on the last day off? If not, I'll console myself with the thought that I'm definitely not here for the last time.
If I were a bit older, I think they would have taken me to all their enterprises and shown me France much more extensively, but even so, it turned out more than fine. I suppose I had a fantastic summer vacation, but the last days needed to be devoted not to outings but to genuine communication with the Millefeuille family.
I want to soak up this atmosphere as fully as possible, and leave the warmest and most advantageous impression. But enough thoughts, better to concentrate on the game, because the old man just took my rook with his bishop, and now he had a noticeable advantage. However, the position of my pieces was set up in my favorite, flexible, and cunning manner, so it wasn't a given that I'd lose. It's a pity I don't know the names of all these positions and openings…
"It's good that you made peace with Frédéric," old Alain suddenly broke our tense silence out of nowhere. It was strange, considering we had literally discussed this just ten minutes ago. "But soon you'll leave, and I'm curious about what you've decided regarding my granddaughter." He leaned back in his chair, and his hands rested on the armrests. His usually warm gaze was now akin to that of a bird of prey.
"Grandfather Alain, you've already asked about this," I parried carefully.
By the way, he himself insisted I call him that.
Interestingly, he sometimes treated me even more tenderly than his own grandchildren, and if at first I thought his kindness was just a subtle form of manipulation, I now understood: in his old age, he had shed some of his cunning games and behaved like an ordinary grandfather craving simple family warmth, not the ruthless schemer and businessman my father had described before my departure.
"And then you answered that you didn't know," his tenacious, calm gaze, like that of an old crocodile basking in the sun, pierced me. That's what distinguished him from a simple old man. The ability to switch from good-naturedness to icy perceptiveness in an instant. "Despite my affection for you, don't forget, boy, that she is my blood. My granddaughter, and I am still Alain de Millefeuille. The head of this family."
"How could I forget," I smirked, but everything inside tightened. But I didn't avert my gaze to the board, pretending to think about my move. No, I continued to look into his cold eyes. My thoughts raced, searching for the right answer. "My father gave me time to decide, and the Malfoy family will give a final answer later, as you agreed."
Yes, I still hadn't decided anything about Céline… We tried to avoid the topic, and in my memory, we never spoke openly about the fact that I was essentially here for a viewing. At most — light hints, glances that lingered a little longer than necessary, letting each other know we were aware of the true purpose of my visit. But there were no romantic feelings… although…
To be honest, she was very sweet and, most importantly, interesting. There was definitely mutual liking between us.
"I know that already," the old man waved off my diplomatic evasions. "Tell me what you really think about such a prospect. Although no…" He slowly ran his hand over the carved wooden king piece. "Better explain to an old man why you bought so much time from your father? It won't change anything. And don't lie about 'time to think.' I haven't lived this long to believe in fairy tales."
"I don't think I can tell you that…" I began, watching as his eyebrows slowly rose, and a shadow of displeasure lurked at the corners of his mouth. "Not because I don't trust you, but because… I'm afraid you might talk me out of it. And I can't back out of this foolishness."
The old man pondered my words, his gaze lost somewhere over my shoulder. He wasn't even looking at the board, having forgotten the game.
"I see… Knowing you, boy, I don't think you're planning to run away or harm your family or mine. But I am concerned about the fate of a potential alliance."
"Your move, Grandfather Alain," I gently reminded, pointing to the board. Trying to catch my breath, I added, "I'd like to reassure you by saying that Céline is a wonderful girl and we get along splendidly. That's the absolute truth, and she is a delightful flower to me that I would never harm under any circumstances."
"Empty words," Lord Millefeuille grumbled hoarsely, though his gaze softened a bit. Although he probably wasn't that worried about his granddaughter. The alliance was what concerned him — I mustn't forget who I was talking to.
"I wouldn't say so. Céline is extraordinary in her beauty, but she impresses me more with her mind, which is more valuable than mere beauty. However, she lives for alchemy and herbology, and her heart seems already completely occupied by science."
"What matters most is a good relationship and mutual respect," scratching the bridge of his nose, he finally made a move, shifting his knight. "I recall, in my youth, that was already considered a luxury."
"In my time — too, Grandfather Alain. But my case is an exception to the rule."
"Aren't you afraid, boy, that I'll tell Lucius his son is plotting something?" His voice was quiet, but held a steely firmness.
"It won't change anything. He understands that himself. I think you've studied my character well enough to understand I won't do anything rash, typical of my age. I just… don't like it when someone moves my king for me."
I don't know why I made such a hint, but instinctively my hand reached for the rook. Castling moved my king out from under the potential attack of his bishop and queen, saving me from an inevitable check in the next move. Alain's face twitched — whether from annoyance at miscalculating or something else.
"I like you, Arcturus," he finally said, and warmth returned to his voice. "I think you've already figured that out, considering how much time we've spent together over chess games and conversations. My family accepts you as one of their own. So much so that I'm ready to offer your father to transfer you to Beauxbatons if you wish. You can continue living with us. I've spoken with Céline, and she is thrilled with your progress in alchemy. I think an international school where alchemy is studied in depth would suit you."
A generous offer. Too generous, and one that showed the most loyal attitude towards me.
"I… I would like to say thank you. Sincerely. Your family will always be like kin to me. But you understand yourself… in Britain, so much is determined from the school bench. Networks of connections, alliances, even enmities. The Malfoy heir cannot simply sever all the threads connecting him to Hogwarts."
"You are far too… intelligent for your years, boy," Alain sighed. "Fine. I won't say anything to Lucius. But remember: I would only want to see a wizard as worthy as you beside my granddaughter. Don't disappoint me, for you know the value of such an alliance. And our family would then become truly your own."
"Thank you, Grandfather Alain," I said quietly but with warmth in my voice. And, shifting my gaze to the board where his queen found herself under the aim of my suddenly active rook and bishop, I added, "I appreciate these kind words. And, by the way… check."
Actually, today is an amusing day. Already the third person is asking essentially the same questions. First, Louis, in a friendly manner during training, about Céline and in general about staying with them longer. Then Madame Isabelle over tea, with her characteristic soft but relentless grace, inquired about my "future plans." And now old Alain has laid out this trump card. Which, however, is absolutely logical. But I was completely unprepared to give any promises. Especially considering my own plan on this matter… Oh, how I love plans! And how everyone will hate my plans!
The old man had been unusually serious and even colder than usual since morning, and only now, after our game and my uncertain but honest answer, did he gradually begin to return to his usual, slightly mocking and warm "grandfatherly" persona. Usually, we communicated much more cheerfully and without hidden tricks or veiled threats. But today I felt the difference.
Overall, I'm not naive enough to believe that I'm treated like family just for no reason. But in any case, I've created some warm, interpersonal connections.
Tomorrow, on the penultimate day, I've been summoned for a talk… or rather, Céline and I have. Madame Isabelle, exercising her right as the "matriarch," decided to have a private conversation with us before the farewell dinner, and I had a rough idea of what it would be about. The premonition was heavy, so I needed to talk to Céline before that.
The next day, right before this final act, I had my last farewell lesson in alchemy with Maître Renodier.
His study had its own, special atmosphere, the lack of which I would acutely feel. It was endlessly sad to lose such valuable, concentrated knowledge that he generously poured onto me. Many would give anything valuable to study under such an alchemist.
Mentally, I kept replaying old Alain's offer. Transferring to Beauxbatons… It was so tempting. Sunny Provence instead of the eternally damp Hogwarts, the company of Céline, Louis, Frédéric… and also the connections one could forge with the elite of many European countries. Virtually most of the nobility from Southern Europe;
I'd even say from Western Europe, because Durmstrang and Beauxbatons mainly accepted the magical elite from their parts of the world. Durmstrang — from the eastern part, and Beauxbatons — from the western. But that didn't mean you couldn't go to Durmstrang if you were, say, from Italy; you just had a choice: either go to the state academy of magic, or, if you could afford it — to the international Beauxbatons, the best school in your region, or to Durmstrang, where they might not even accept you, and it would be quite far…
But even if I, forgetting everything and even risking losing the power I had just begun to establish in my house, agreed to stay and even study here for a year on exchange… it would automatically mean only one thing — silent agreement to the engagement. I was no longer as fiercely opposed to this engagement as I had been back then, in winter. Céline was a brilliant match in every sense. But I was determined to show my character, to prove first and foremost to myself that one cannot dictate terms to me with impunity, even if I am just a "child" in their eyes.
I longed to have real power over my own destiny, over the decisions that would define my entire future life. And my main trump card in this game was time. The main thing was that the engagement not be finalized in the next six months, as I had initially agreed with my father. These six months were what I needed to maneuver.