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Chapter 66: Eiffel Tower.
🕑 Added 2025-04-08 20:57:30 +0000 UTC[P]-[W]-[M]
Jonathan Grey
[P]-[W]-[M]
Finding Regulus’ body didn’t take long. I only sent a minute or so scanning the bodies in the lake to find him, then we left like we were never there, earning myself a few extra SP for my troubles. While not much, it reminded me of the time I got the same amount of points for ‘making the Dursleys pay for their treatment of Harry’, which didn’t really make sense because retrieving the body was much more difficult. I even went as far as repairing the body to fix the damages the Inferi did.
[Return Regulus Black’s remains to a member of House Black]
[+250 SP]
I came to a recurring conclusion, doing something that wouldn’t change the big picture in the grand scheme of things doesn’t earn many points, regardless of difficulty. That will have to stand until I’m proven otherwise.
Leaving Sirius and Remus to sort out funeral arrangements, myself and the Flamels had a good night’s rest before we left Britain the next day via Portkey. As much as I wanted to just fly or use my ship, I actually wanted some people to know my movements, people like Voldy, who I had no doubt was making moves in the shadows. I wanted him to know exactly where to find me, and if he’s feeling brave enough, come and fight me.
A pull of an international Portkey later, the three of us dropped into a smooth, marble-floored room littered with enchanted clocks for different time zones, security wards, and language charms humming faintly in the air. That reminded me, I had looked into the translation charms before, but it was like a bad version of Google Translate in my past life. While I could have improved on them for my own purposes, I had already learned those languages before Hogwarts, so I put those thoughts aside.
Flanked by Nicolas and Perenelle, we stepped out of our designated circle, placed the Eiffel Tower souvenir in a basket with the sign ‘Please Leave Your Designated Portkey Object Here’ before approaching the registration desk. As we walked, there were a few more Portkeys dropping others off in their own little circles, families mostly, and by the looks of it, they were here on holiday.
The sharp-dressed witch behind the desk looked away from a couple she had just dealt with as they thanked her, giving us her entire attention. “Nom et passeport, s'il vous plaît?”
I handed over my Wizarding Passport, only the enchantments on it differed from a Muggle passport. My picture, unlike others, was almost completely still, though. Not because it wasn’t enchanted, but because I was bored and decided to just take it with the bored expression I was already rocking. Perenelle may not have known it was called a resting-bitch-face, but she said it was adorable and reminded her of her husband’s, who incidentally had the same expression. I think it was just her praising our ability to sit still and not talk about magic, though.
Nicolas and Perenelle passed their passports as well — marked with the names Henry and Elaine Farage, with pictures to match their transfigured face, similar to Grindelwald’s method of transfiguring his features in the Fantastic Beasts movies. With practiced ease, the witch flipped them open, muttered a verification charm which washed over us and the passport, before giving them each a thunk of her official stamp. “Bienvenue à Paris. Profitez de votre séjour.”
The lax security had me mentally reeling. I would have thought the fact that Grindelwald masqueraded as an Auror all those decades ago would have prompted Wizards to put checks in place to prevent that, but apparently not. Truly, the stupidity of some government officials, Muggle or otherwise, will never stop surprising me. I was almost 90% sure it was cost-related too, so that some people could keep the money for themselves.
With passports in hand, the three of us gave her polite smiles and thanks before exiting the Parisian International Portkey Hall, stepping out into a sun-drenched Parisian street buzzing with Muggle activity. While they didn’t check our bags or suitcases, which were all shrunken, at least the verification charm covered that. Well, sort of. They couldn’t get through the Wards someone on the Flamels level could create, let alone my own. At least it was a step in the right direction, if only a very small step.
As they reached the curb, I hailed a taxi with a small wave, sending a sidelong glance at the couple. “So… how do you two have legal Wizarding Passports under completely different names?”
Perenelle smirked. “Approved by the French Minister himself, Monsieur Delacour. Every few years, we rotate identities. For ‘safety,’ of course.”She said, though her tone suggested safety was only one small reason among many. “Each Minister is sworn to secrecy and the secret is put under Fidelius,” she added, brushing a lock of transfigured hair behind her ear. “Nothing about us leaks, under certain conditions of course. You know the basics, like becoming a Dark Lord or Lady and all that.”
Fluer's father most likely. Looks like I’ll have to add another point to the fandom for that one.
With a snort, Nicolas rolled his eyes. “It’s just their way of keeping the golden geese alive, let’s be honest. We fund scholarships, own Beauxbatons, and with our alchemy ties, well — we could mint our own Galleons if we wanted to. The Muggles do the same to the richest in society, especially if they can’t take away their money. They keep them happy so they stay, and by staying they bring money into the local economy.”
I raised a brow in mild amusement. “And I thought I had political pull, I haven't had a conversation like that yet with our minister.”
“Oh, you will soon enough,” Nicolas lazily waved off. “Just you wait for the Ball for your new Bank takes place. You’ll start wanting time to yourself more than you already do soon enough, with all the people wanting to get you to do things for them.” He grumbled with a sigh. “The worst part is when you know they can do it themselves, but want you to do it instead, while also telling you to leave the needy to their own devices.”
So I’ll have to worry about rich asshols more than I do now, yipee.
“Oh, don’t mind him, darling,” Perenelle shook her head in amusement. “He’s just not a people person, as you well know.”
While Nicolas gave her a deadpan look, I sent her a look that simply translated to ‘neither am I’ and left it at that. Just then, a taxi pulled up, idling beside us with a mechanical purr I had almost forgotten after spending so much time in the wizarding world and enchanting my vehicles. My own car’s sounds must have spoiled me to the sound of the cars, because it honestly sounded… ugh. I was definitely spoiling myself with magic, but I hold no regrets.
The driver, a middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed moustache, rolled down the window with an inviting smile and a look that was sizing up how much we were going to tip based on how expensive our clothes were. “Bonjour! Where to?”
“Tour Eiffel, s’il vous plaît,” Nicolas said smoothly as we climbed into the back seat.
As they pulled into the gentle Parisian traffic, the driver glanced into the rearview mirror. “I thought it was your first time in Paris when I saw you. Are you local or do you just speak good French?” He asked in English but with a French accent, probably checking to see if the Flamels were actually English. Which, to be fair, they did look English with how they were dressed.
While the Flamels simply replied with a smile, I nodded. “First time for me. They’re showing me around the best places and such.”
The driver smiled knowingly. “Ah, let me guess — school is out, friends visiting from abroad? We get plenty of that this time of year. Everyone wants to see the Tower at least once.”
“Guilty as charged,” I said with a polite chuckle. “The Farages here are very proud of their homeland.”
Perenelle gave a sly little smile, but said nothing. She had been wanting to show off the school more than anything — she decorated and designed it, after all. ‘It’s a masterpiece even better than Hogwarts,’ ‘Nicolas has no such skill in the art,’ apparently.
As we left the airport, the road was flanked by large terminals, hotels, and commercial buildings, with traffic humming steadily along the motorway. The landscape was open and utilitarian at first, dotted with warehouses, billboards, and distant clusters of trees. As we drew closer to the city, the scenery began to shift, little by little. Modern sprawl — by 90s standards — gave way to Haussmann-style architecture, wrought-iron balconies, and stone facades lined with shuttered windows. The traffic slowed as the roads narrowed, weaving through bustling boulevards, cozy cafés, and flower-draped balconies.
And the scent, good lord, the scent of fresh bread and other baked goods that occasionally waft through the car’s open windows had me feeling hungry even though I had only just eaten less than an hour ago. We then crossed the River Seine using a bridge lined with statues and lanterns, which led us into the heart of Paris. And then, rising gracefully above the rooftops, the Eiffel Tower came into view, while the streets became more refined, with more manicured trees, and well-dressed pedestrians, clearly here on their own vacations.
After paying the driver with a generous Muggle tip courtesy of Perenelle, we stepped out and began weaving through the crowd of tourists, walking toward the Illusions and Muggle-Repelling Charms that shimmered faintly around one particular corner of the plaza, heading straight to a ticket booth no one else seemed to notice.
Behind the booth’s small window, a young wizard in burgundy robes raised a brow. “Enchanté,” he said, before eying the Flamels in a similar manner the taxi driver did when he thought they were English. “Are you here to ascend the Tower or the Portkey Nexus?”
“Ascending the Tower, please,” I gave the man a nod. While I knew there was a portkey room that would take me directly here at a premium price, I wanted to do it the normal way, for the experience and all that.
The wizard returned the nod, pulling out a set of unnecessarily elegant golden-edged tickets from a drawer. “That’ll be seven galleons each — twenty-one in total for the group.”
How going up the Eiffel Tower costs as much as a wand is beyond me. Granted, a Wizard’s first wand is subsidised by the Ministry, but still. That’s crazy.
Reaching into my coat, I retrieved a small enchanted coin pouch from the [Hoard], withdrawing the exact amount and passing it over the counter. The French wizard accepted it without batting an eye and slid the tickets across the polished stone surface. “You’re clear,” he said. “Take the South Pillar Elevator and don’t forget to enjoy the view.”
“Thank you,” I replied along with the Flamels with a polite nod before placing five galleons on the table for the man and pocketing my ticket.
“Oh, Monsieur,” the French wizard said with a smile as he took the coins from the table as we started walking away. “Thank you.”
We easily made our way through the crowd, ignoring the undercover Witches and Wizards standing around — most likely Aurors — and arrived at the base of the south pillar, where a robed ticket master inspected our passes. A small verification charm later, he gave a short bow of acknowledgement and motioned us inside.
The enchanted elevator doors opened with a gentle chime, revealing an immaculately clean interior of polished brass, buttons, and softly glowing magical lanterns. Far more refined than the rickety, soot-stained lifts of the British Ministry. It was embarrassing to be honest. At this point, I was starting to believe Perenelle about Beauxbaton’s and I hadn’t even seen the place yet.
Inside the elevator stood a stoic conductor, clad in dark blue robes and a silver-trimmed cap. He greeted us with a courteous nod before closing the doors with his wand and pressing the button labeled ‘The Summit Witches and Wizards’, not even asking us which floor we would like to go to. I didn’t see the reason for the other buttons if we weren’t going to be asked which floor we would like, but it might just be a French Wizrding thing, I’m sure Wizards from here could find several things us Brits do wrong too.
The elevator began to rise smoothly, and without metallic creaks I remembered from my visit to the Animagus department, enchanted gears earning their worth beneath our feet. But mid-ascent, my gaze drifted off to the side as I felt a subtle shift in the Force prickling at the edge of my senses — like the tug of a thread in a web. Nothing near what I felt when I arrived back here after my visit to the galaxy far far away, but enough to make me quirk a brow at its connection to a certain snake.
A flicker of vision appeared — indistinct shapes, cloaked in light and shadow. A hidden structure… something buried… a door opening. Several ingredients in a bowl large enough to fit a fully grown person, followed by a few orders and an alleyway, and I was almost sure it was Voldy’s hoarse voice. But the vision vanished as quickly as it came.
Beside me, Perenelle noticed the distant look in my eyes. “John?” she asked softly. “Are you alright?”
I blinked once, then shook my head, like I was shaking away unnecessary thoughts. “Nothing serious,” I said, knowing she was already reaching the conclusion that I had a vision based on Dumbledore tattling on me. “Just… an irritation bearing its head.”
Perenelle gave me the knowing look I expected, but didn’t press.
A soft ding announced our arrival as the elevator glided to a stop and the doors opened, revealing a wide, barely populated, observation deck — a circular platform with wide enchanted glass panes giving a panoramic view of Paris. While I was surprised there was barely anyone here, it kind of made sense. The Tower was Muggle mad after all, and most Wizards would see it as beneath them. Not enough to not profit from it by building a whole secret floor and elevator, but just enough to never see a reason to visit.
The conductor bowed slightly. “Bonne journée,” he said. “Enjoy the view.”
“Merci Monsieur,” Nicolas replied as we all gave the man polite nods and stepped out.
It may not have all the high rises and nice hotels and such that future Paris would have, but it was a damn good view.
[P]-[W]-[M]
La Place Cachée
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Tucked away in a narrow alleyway veiled by enchantments in La Place Cachée — Paris’s hidden magical district — a low lantern cast flickering light against weathered stone walls as the Eiffel Tower Ascension tickets officer stood with his back to the street. His fingers were tightly clutching a clinking bag of Galleons he had just been handed while a trio of shady, hooded figures stood before him with cloaks drawn high to hide their faces.
“They came through around midday,” the ticket seller said in a hushed tone. “The Grey kid and two others, dressed like Brits, you can’t miss them. They’re headed for Café Abringer — the quiet one near the Arcane Bookhouse.”
The leader of the hooded group, taller than the others, raised his gloved hand to dismiss the man. “You’ve done well lad,” he said coldly with a smooth English accent. “Keep us informed if anything else comes up, and there’ll be more where that came from. You don’t want to find out what will happen if we learn of a betrayal, I promise you that.” He warned.
The informant gave a greedy nod before disappearing into the street with his prize.
The leader turned back to the others, lowering his hood slightly to reveal pale features and sharp eyes filled with cruel intent. “It’s nearly time, lads,” he said with thinly veiled anticipation. “Time to show our worth to the Dark Lord. There can be no room for failure.”
The rest of the group — six in total, each in various degrees of battered robes and poorly wands — nodded in unison. ‘Amateur’, the leader thought as he shook his head in disappointment, only now regretting taking this chance to prove himself before checking who he would be going with..
One of them, a burly man with a rough, gravelly voice, spoke up. “Are we really getting our Dark Marks… just for killing the boy?” he asked in confusion. “We could be attacking the Ministry, or Aurors’ homes, or even Hogwarts. Just one boy seems… I don’t know, too easy, y’know?”
The leader’s gaze turned to the imbecile slowly. “Yes,” he said, wondering where the man must have left his other brain cells, or if he had only just lost his mind. ”That is His will. The boy — Grey — must have interfered with His plans, or he possibly seems unlikely to join. Either way, this is a test. Our test, and I don’t want to fail. I would rather not deal with the Drak Lord’s punishment.”
He leaned in as he lowered his voice to a growl. “But don’t be foolish. He’s not alone. Our informants say he travels with two bodyguards. And just because he’s young… doesn’t mean he’s weak. He completed his education in a year after all, so he knows spells and how to use them.”
The burly one grimaced, but nodded. “Understood. We’ll make it quick. In and out, before the local Aurors catch wind, like you said.”
The leader’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “See that you do. And remember, while we may not have any information on the bodyguards, Dumbledore isn’t the type to give his new golden boy mediocre aid. Especially one so closely tied to the new bank and can heal meledictus, so stay focused.”
“Gotcha boss, we’ll do ‘em in, no problem,” one of them chimed in. “Some no-name protection ain’t gonna stop us. We’ll be eating like kings in a few, you’ll see.”
The leader just… stared in resignation. A part of him wanted to point out that the fact that a person might not be able to find information on high-quality guards might be because they’re Unspeakables in disguise or secret task force members of some kind. But instead, he took a breath, happy in knowing the man who spoke would probably die first, and gave the fool a lazy nod.
[P]-[W]-[M]
“Their arrogance is a key to our victory.”
— Gellert Grindelwald.
[P]-[W]-[M]
Hello There
If I get any French wrong, do forgive me. To those who actually speak it, feel free to tell me if I could have said or phrased something better etc. I’ll probably be butchering other languages as I go, so bear with me as I power through using online translation tools.
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Disclaimer: I own nothing except my OC and original ideas. All credit goes to their respective owners.
[P]-[W]-[M]
Thank you for reading.
As always, stay awesome.
Until next time, Light's out.
Comments
LothWolf
Thanks for the chapter
LothWolf
Does Lord MoldyButt (Voldemort) actually think that theses low tier background character minions could do anything harmful towards John or is he just testing him probing him for information about his abilities but then again with how unstable he is acting I’m starting to think that MoldyButt doesn’t have that type of foresight [ Video with scenes of the lord MoldyButt bad luck scenes when is name is said https://youtu.be/fJ_qXrl_EPI?si=CnOVPN3jFGV9CxSj ]
