Kyle, who had been studying the golden symbols on the ceiling, turned toward the voices and noticed two others in the hall, chatting comfortably. The one who had just spoken was McPhail, whom he recognized from the Order of Merlin ceremony at Hogwarts. Beside him sat a strikingly tall witch—though "tall" hardly seemed adequate. Even while seated, she was at least two or three meters in height, making McPhail, himself a tall man, look almost childlike by comparison.
Kyle had only met one person of similar stature: Hagrid. This witch was about the same height but had a very different presence. Unlike Hagrid’s rugged appearance, she had a striking, handsome face, with deep-set dark eyes, a sharp nose, and hair swept back into a neat, glossy bun at the nape of her neck. She wore a splendid peacock-blue satin robe adorned with opulent opals around her neck and on her thick fingers, giving her an elegant, almost regal aura.
As Kyle looked on, she handed two Galleons to McPhail—though in her enormous hand, the coins looked no bigger than soybeans.
“Fleur doesn’t quite grasp the value of the Philosopher’s Stone fragments,” she said in a low, smooth voice. “And solving the clues is also a show of wisdom.”
McPhail chuckled without argument, pocketing the two Galleons with a smug smile.
“Don’t mind her, child. Olympe means no harm,” said a gentle voice beside Kyle. He turned to see an elderly man with a kind smile and flowing white hair. “In fact, we all know that your choice was the right one. After being used as a Portkey, the magic within the fragment will completely dissipate, and it will eventually turn into nothing more than an ordinary stone.”
The elderly man’s attire was quite unorthodox compared to the others. He wore a vibrant light blue floral shirt, bright orange beach shorts, and large brown sunglasses shaped like clam shells. The only thing missing was a water pistol.
“Mr. Nicolas Flamel,” Kyle said, quickly realizing who he was speaking to.
“Oh, I’m glad you recognized me,” Flamel replied with a warm smile, extending his hand. “Just call me Nicolas. Everyone does; it makes me feel so much younger.”
For a man over six hundred years old, the difference between twenty and two hundred must have seemed negligible. Kyle, a bit taken aback, nodded and shook his hand, feeling how frail Nicolas’s grip was—it was like shaking hands with a piece of tofu.
At that moment, the others approached.
“Hello again, my boy!” McPhail greeted him warmly. “Welcome to Paris! This is Nicolas’s former residence. Allow me to introduce Madam Maxime, the headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. She made a special trip from her private estate in the Pyrenees just to meet you.”
Kyle looked up as best he could to meet her gaze. “It’s an honor to meet you, Madam Maxime.”
“Hello, my boy,” she replied with an appraising look. “Have you ever thought about transferring to Beauxbatons?”
Kyle was taken aback by her forthrightness, but after a moment, he shook his head politely. “Hogwarts suits me well, and all my friends are there.”
“What a pity,” Madam Maxime mused, seemingly undeterred. “But they could transfer along with you if they wished…”
“Now, Olympe, that won’t do,” McPhail said disapprovingly. “The boy clearly prefers Hogwarts.”
It was no small thing to attempt poaching Dumbledore’s students, and Madam Maxime seemed to want not just Kyle but his friends as well. With his friendships and their talent, Hogwarts would feel the loss. Dumbledore might even rush to Paris overnight if he heard—and likely bring along Minerva McGonagall to help.
Maxime, unfazed, continued, “It’s ultimately his choice, Dugald.” She looked back at Kyle. “What do you say, my dear? Would you consider transferring? I assure you that Beauxbatons has fine professors and wonderful students. You’d enjoy it.”
Kyle hesitated, trying to think of a polite way to refuse. Hogwarts, after all, had something unique—a Basilisk, a legacy from Salazar Slytherin himself, one of the school’s Founders. Beauxbatons had no such legacy to compare. Why would he ever leave Hogwarts for a mere crystal astrology tower?
"Sorry, I..." Kyle began, only to be interrupted.
“Don’t be so quick to refuse, my boy…” A sly glint sparkled in Madam Maxime’s eyes. “My offer stands until the moment you leave here.”
McPhail suddenly looked exasperated, muttering, “Oh, blast it, how could I forget about the girl with the Veela bloodline? No wonder you brought her along!”
Madam Maxime merely smiled.
Leaning close to Kyle, McPhail whispered, “My boy, did you bring any Baruffio’s Brain Elixir or Awakening Potion?”
“No,” Kyle replied, shaking his head. The potion kit Director Sykes had given him contained a variety of basics, but not those potions. He rarely needed them anyway, so they hadn’t crossed his mind.
“Oh… that’s unfortunate. In that case, maybe we should—”
“Dugald!” Maxime interjected with a smile. “You can’t make decisions for him. And I’m sure even if Dumbledore were here, he wouldn’t refuse such an offer.”
“Well, he’s not here!” McPhail shot back, glancing from Kyle to Maxime’s smiling face and then back again. Scratching his head, he groaned, “By Merlin’s beard, I shouldn’t have come today!”
“Dugald, I have potion ingredients and a cauldron I can lend you, if you’d like,” Nicolas offered with a grin. He had been quietly observing the entire scene, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
McPhail sighed, resigned. “There’s nothing else for it. I just hope we’re not too late…”
Still muttering his regret, he turned to Kyle, his tone serious. “Listen, kid. Until I return, you must stay alert. No matter what happens or what you see, keep your mind clear. It’s crucial.”
With that, he hurried off toward a room at the back of the hall. Maxime made no attempt to stop him, as a young girl had just appeared in the center of the hall as if out of thin air.
She wore the same peacock-blue satin robes as Maxime, and her silver hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall. Her eyes, a striking azure, seemed even more enchanting than the ceiling itself, holding a charm that was almost impossible to ignore.
Maxime’s smile widened as she walked over to the girl, took her hand, and led her to Kyle.
“May I introduce Fleur Delacour, Beauxbatons’s brightest student.”
McPhail, watching from the doorway, groaned and covered his face with his hands, muttering, “It’s over… Albus, forgive me…”
Meanwhile, Nicolas had settled into the best spot to view the scene, a bucket of freshly popped popcorn in hand, clearly prepared for some entertainment.
However, to everyone’s surprise, Kyle showed no sign of being enchanted or dazed. Instead, he extended his hand politely and said, “Nice to meet you. You can call me Kyle.”