I’m Only A Defense Against The Dark Arts Professor

Chapter 103: Poor Miss Delacour

He believed that if Madame Maxime and Professor Dumbledore were to meet against each other on the premise that no one could use magic, even Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t be able to defeat her.

“Thanks for your concern, ma’am. But with Professor Forrest around, I think I’ll be safe throughout the trip.” Harry said.

Madame Maxime nodded, “At noon, you can go to the hall and try our Provencal Fish Soup. I always think the food that our school’s house elves make is not bad. I’m going to handle some business first. I wish you all have a good day here.”

Seeing her leaving, Harry whispered close to Sherlock’s ear, “I think she might be related to Hagrid.”

Sherlock tapped Harry’s head again, “I told you to stop talking about others behind their backs and don’t make fun of other people, especially when we’re a guest to them.”

They continued to hang out in Beauxbatons, meeting a student who stayed at school and chatted with them for a while about life at school. From their words, it could be known that the atmosphere of this school was stricter than that of Hogwarts.

The previous Hogwarts atmosphere was not as relaxed as it is now. It was only after Dumbledore became the principal that the atmosphere became more relaxed.

At noon, they tasted the fish soup Madame Maxime recommended in the hall. Harry and Sherlock are not used to eating soup, so they prefer to eat toast here. But the taste is good, and there is nothing wrong with it.

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

Sherlock’s tour in France was improvised. For example, he decided to come to Beauxbatons when he was in Caen. As for their next trip, they listened to Andrea, who gave them a recommendation.

“Beside the Muggle town of Saint-Gotthard, at the foot of the Pyrenees, there is a wizard town called Aspe. There are French, Portuguese, Spanish, and some African wizards there. You can go to the bar; their wines and steaks are good there.”

Getting back into the car and walking north along the Pyrenees, Sherlock took Harry to the wizarding town named Aspe. It looks more lively than Hogsmeade here. The reason is that the Pyrenees are on the border of Spain and France, and they are not very far from Africa.

Therefore, not only French wizards but also wizards from neighboring countries gather in this town, which has the most people in Europe.

Harry couldn’t help but be amazed, “I’m surprised that there are several African wizards here.”

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

“They’re all French?” Harry asked.

Sherlock motioned him to keep quiet, “It’s normal. The pure-blood concept of wizards in France is not as strong as the people in the UK. Half-blood wizards and Muggle-born wizards account for a very large population here. However, the proportion of dark-skinned people in French Muggle society is increasing year by year. So don’t assume that if there were a dark-skinned colored wizard and think they’re African wizards.”

Harry nodded, and followed Sherlock on the streets. It is very lively here. It should be the most important place for wizards in southern Europe. Harry bought a lot of things along the way.

Sherlock doesn’t have to pay Harry in the wizarding world. According to the information, Harry’s ancestors started a shampoo company, and the wealth left for him was much thicker than Sherlock’s vault.

Just when the shopkeeper is pestering Sherlock in a potions shop by buying the love potion, Harry seems to have noticed something. After Sherlock gets rid of the shopkeeper, he notices Harry’s strangeness. He looks at him and finds that he is looking at a young girl. That witch has long, bright silver-white hair, delicate facial features, and skin that is whiter than snow. Most importantly, she exudes a fascinating feeling.

He knocked his head and woke him up, “Hey, are you drooling?”

Harry’s face flushed, and he rushed to wipe the corners of his mouth, only to find that nothing was on them.

“Professor!” Harry said resentfully.

“If I don’t wake you up, your drool will come out,” Sherlock said, grabbing his collar and carrying him away. That girl has a problem. She might have a bloodline of some special creature, or she will not exude that kind of feeling unconsciously. I advise you to get your mind straight.”

As evening approached, the sky was slowly getting dark. Sherlock took Harry to the bar recommended by Andrea and walked in. The Warm Bar, like its name, has a warm atmosphere inside. The yellow lights and soft music make the whole bar look very stylish.

Sherlock and Harry found an empty seat by the window, 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 to refuse. The last time he tasted a sip of red wine, he spat it out. This was completely different from the grape juice he imagined. Sherlock asked for a glass of orange juice. As Andrea said before, the steak here was good. Both Harry and Sherlock were very satisfied with it.

When they were halfway through their meal, Harry touched Sherlock’s arm and motioned him to look in front of the bar. The silver-haired girl they had just seen on the street pushed the door and walked in.

She was not alone and was accompanied by a young wizard about the same as Sherlock. Sherlock just glanced, turned his head, tapped Harry’s plate with his fork, and reminded him.

“Eat your meal, and don’t look around blindly.”

“She should be a student from Beauxbatons.” Although Harry turned his attention back to the steak, he was still thinking of the 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.

Harry gestured to Sherlock with his eyes, and Sherlock looked in the direction his eyes pointed. Sure enough, on the sleeve of the girl’s robe, he saw the logo of the Beauxbatons.

Sherlock shrugged at him, indicating that they had to act natural. After eating, they ordered an additional baked snail and two bowls of onion soup.

“Where are we going next, Professor?” Harry asked.

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

“Well, we will go north. If we continue south, we can reach Spain. We will circle around Switzerland and go to Lyon, Geneva, and Interlaken. We will take a tour of the town and finally go to Paris.”

“Do we have enough time for it?”

“Of course, as long as we get to Flamel’s place in Paris by August, we have time.”

While they were chatting, a somewhat arrogant voice suddenly sounded and asked in English with a heavy French accent.

“You’re going to find Mr. Nicholas Flamel, too?” Sherlock and Harry turned to look at the person who had interrupted; it was the silver-haired girl.

Harry heard her take the initiative to talk and couldn’t wait to answer immediately. But after seeing Sherlock’s gaze, he lowered his head.

Sherlock used his eyes to persuade Harry to step off and looked at the girl expressionlessly, “Excuse me?”

She raised her head, “Oh, Flour Delacour, a sixth grader from Beauxbatons.”

Sherlock nodded, “I see; indeed, we’re going to Paris to find Nicholas Flamel.”

“Excuse me.” 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.

Fleur continued to explain, “I’m going to visit him soon, and I heard from Madame Maxime that he seems to have something good to give 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 eating onion soup.

“Sorry, Miss Delacour. We have something to do first.” Sherlock glanced at the goblin walking towards the fireplace. I suggest you check if you are missing something important, and I wish you good luck later.”

Saying that Sherlock dragged Harry out of the bar with a confused face. Before Harry left, he looked at the girl named Fleur.

“Professor, did you just say that sincerely to Miss Delacour?” Harry asked after leaving the bar.

Sherlock replied, “That girl didn’t even know that someone stole something. Of course, I wish her good luck in the future.”

Harry could only mourn for Fleur in private. She had just lost something and was jinxed by Sherlock. What an unfortunate girl.

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