Emerging from the French Ministry of Magic, Sean and his attendants found themselves blinking in the daylight. Under Aldrich's expert guidance, they were led not to a grand Apparition point, but to a discreet location disguised as a mundane Muggle construction site. Once they passed through the shabby hoardings, however, the scene transformed.
They had entered a bustling magical terminus, a sort of grand central station for wizards. The air was filled with the swish of broomsticks taking off and the soft hiss of flying carpets gliding into place. In a far corner, several magnificent winged beasts were being saddled. As each witch or wizard departed, they passed through a shimmering, invisible barrier at the edge of the site, which enveloped them in a faint haze—a mass Disillusionment Charm to conceal their travels from prying Muggle eyes below.
Aldrich guided Sean toward a grand, powder-blue carriage. It was drawn by a pair of Abraxans, winged palominos of truly staggering size, each one as large as an elephant. Their powerful bodies gleamed like polished gold, their manes were spun from pure silver, and their intelligent eyes glowed with a fiery red. Sean recognized the carriage at once; it was the very one used for daily transport to and from Beauxbatons.
The coachman, a portly wizard with a nose as red as a ripe cherry, smacked his lips as they approached. "Ah, the Bulstrode party," he slurred, nodding. "Been waiting for you. Hop in, quickly now. Just need to give the lads their drink, and we'll be off."
With a grunt, the wizard heaved a large oaken barrel from the carriage's side and placed it before the two Abraxans. He began ladling a thick, amber liquid into their trough—single-malt whiskey, by the smell of it—occasionally taking a generous swig for himself. His crimson nose, it seemed, was well earned.
Sean watched the giant horses drink greedily, a curious thought surfacing. "Aldrich," he asked thoughtfully, "what did Abraxans drink before single-malt whiskey was invented? Surely the horses predate the distillery process?"
For the first time since they had met, Aldrich was genuinely stumped. He searched his memory, a vast and well-ordered library of etiquette, history, and family lore, but found the relevant shelf bare.
"My apologies, Young Master," he admitted after a moment. "I do not know the answer to that question."
"Just a passing thought," Sean said with a wave of his hand. "Don't trouble yourself over it."
"To see such profound questions in common phenomena," Aldrich recovered smoothly, his admiring smile snapping back into place. "The Young Master's thoughts are truly beyond the reach of ordinary men."
The three of them climbed into the carriage. The interior was stunningly luxurious, and far, far larger than it had any right to be. An Undetectable Extension Charm had clearly been employed, transforming the space into a comfortable, spacious cabin.
"Aldrich," Sean said, running a hand over the plush velvet seat, "are you familiar with the Undetectable Extension Charm?"
"I am, Young Master," the butler replied. "If you wished to learn, I could procure the relevant texts and..."
"Excellent," Sean cut in, a glint in his eye. "Then let's duel sometime."
Aldrich's polished facade cracked. "I... beg your pardon, Young Master?"
The Beauxbatons Academy of Magic was nestled high in the Pyrenees Mountains of southern France. Sean had tried to imagine it, to build a picture in his mind based on descriptions he'd read, but for all his imaginings, he had drastically underestimated the reality. It was not merely a castle; it was a breathtaking palace of shimmering white stone, a fairytale chateau brought to life. It was surrounded by vast, manicured lawns and formal gardens created through powerful magic, a landscape said to have been personally funded and shaped by Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel, who had spent their student years within its walls.
As their carriage descended through the thin, misty clouds that wreathed the palace, Sean saw boundless grasslands stretching out from the formal gardens. Herds of winged horses—both common breeds and more of the magnificent Abraxans—galloped freely. Every so often, a squadron would take to the air, circling the palace's glittering spires with joyous, neighing calls that echoed through the mountains.
The carriage touched down with barely a jolt at a designated stop behind the main chateau. Awaiting them on the cobblestones were a professor and two students.
As the professor, a stern-looking woman with her hair in a severe bun, started toward them, Sean stepped forward from the carriage to meet her halfway, extending his hand. "Good afternoon, Professor. I am Sean Bulstrode. Thank you for having me. I promise not to be a burden during my stay."
The woman's severe expression softened slightly at his polite and direct manner. "You may call me Professor Morpangsang," she replied, her French accent sharp and clear. "For the next month, I will be responsible for your tutelage. However, as it is the holiday, most of our students and faculty are away. Your studies will be largely self-directed."
"That's perfectly fine," Sean said with an easy smile. "I came primarily to learn about Beauxbatons' history and study some of the unique courses you offer that differ from Hogwarts. Self-study suits me well."
Professor Morpangsang's own smile became a little more genuine. She gestured to the two students standing behind her. "Allow me to introduce two of our finest. This is Barre Garcia, who will be entering his sixth year, and this is Fleur Delacour, who will be entering her fifth."
Barre Garcia was a tall, slender boy with a quiet demeanor and an ordinary face. His robes, though neat, seemed slightly worn, suggesting he might be from a Muggle family. To be singled out by the professor, however, meant he was undoubtedly exceptional.
The other student, Fleur Delacour, was someone Sean recognized by reputation, if not by sight. He had to concede, the descriptions did not do her justice. Seeing her in person was like looking at a masterpiece. A jolt of pure, aesthetic appreciation shot through him at the sight of her exquisitely beautiful features and the silver-gold hair that cascaded over her shoulders. It was a potent, captivating beauty, clearly enhanced by her Veela heritage.
But his mind, honed by discipline, quickly filed the reaction away. The initial amazement faded as swiftly as it had come, and he offered both students a polite, even-handed greeting, making their acquaintance.
He caught a flicker of approval in Professor Morpangsang's eyes as she watched him. Sean's composure had clearly not gone unnoticed. "You must have travelled far," the professor said. "I imagine you have not yet had lunch. Why don't we proceed to the Great Hall and sample some of our local delicacies?"
"I would like that very much. Thank you, Professor."
"It is no trouble. This way."
The corridors of Beauxbatons were impossibly wide and airy, with ceilings so high they seemed to shrink the people walking beneath them into miniatures. The Great Hall itself was a study in elegance. Unlike Hogwarts's four long house tables, the hall was filled with dozens of elegant, circular tables draped in silk. The center of the vast room was an open, polished dance floor, which, the professor explained, was used for performances and balls during the school term.
Now, during the holiday, the hall was quiet and sparsely populated. Professor Morpangsang led them to a table and introduced Sean to several dishes, including a rich bouillabaisse and a delicate, creamy blancmange. Sean sampled them, finding the flavors complex and delicious—decidedly a step up from the fare at Hogwarts.
They ate in a pleasant, quiet atmosphere, the professor inquiring about his studies at Hogwarts. But just as Sean was enjoying the sophisticated conversation, the peace was shattered. A boisterous group of students burst into the Great Hall from an outer courtyard, chasing each other between the tables with loud shouts and raucous laughter, instantly destroying the tranquil ambiance.
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