Hogwarts: Atypical Slytherin

As the green fire continued to flicker, Miss Albert finally stepped out of the fireplace of the Ministry of Magic alone, oh, or rather, the fireplace of the French Ministry of Magic.

"Miss Clooney Albert?" The entry registrar from the French Ministry of Magic, who spoke with an unskilled English accent, smiled at the dizzy visitor, "Coming to France to visit friends and conduct academic exchanges, is that right?"

She has seen many wizards who perform or travel across countries, but it is rare to set foot on a foreign land alone and at such an age.

The registrar turned the page over and saw, as expected, a power of attorney. Wizards never let go of minor issues of custody. She smiled.

"Yes, ma'am." The girl from England steadied herself while swaying, and raised her head slightly to signal to her. If it weren't for her long hair, she would be dressed more like a man.

There were not many formalities, and Miss Albert quickly bid farewell to the French Ministry of Magic. Magic made everything convenient. When she officially set foot on Paris, the mechanical watch on her wrist had not yet passed a quarter of an hour.

People are still coming and going on the streets of Paris after a long absence. Perhaps because of the school holidays, it is more prosperous than I remember. Except for the sketch painters who are resident here and the statues that have not changed for thousands of years, there are many people coming and going in and out of the streets in the countryside. Children chasing.

certainly! There will be no shortage of women walking hurriedly but taking every step very carefully with their cocker spaniels holding their heads high.

The man leaning at the outer door of the coffee shop has curly black hair and a slight beard. He seems to have no support point in his body. There are invisible white scratches on his denim jacket. He looks like he just came out of the farm. He saw her curious eyes glancing over, raised his eyebrows at her, gave her a bright smile, and a wink.

It made her feel more familiar.

Paris, my mother's hometown, where Miss Albert briefly lived for a while when she was young, is a prosperous city that has not changed much even after so long.

Apart from a certain French beauty who kindly invited her to be a guest at an unknown gathering place, who once helped solve a certain problem but did not completely solve it, and even ate her a lot, she seemed to have no one else to visit. .

So she decided to go to 51 Montmorency Street first.

The former residence of Nicolas Flamel was here. Although he had moved to Devon long ago, many materials and manuscripts were still left in Paris. Of course, little is known about him in Devon. Under layer after layer of matryoshka addresses, he finally managed to avoid the nagging of some hot-blooded young people or robbers with evil intentions in his later years.

Miss Albert put the silver coins that Nicolas Flamel had given her, and according to his instructions, she placed them on the concrete floor in front of the ordinary wooden door, about ten feet away from the closed door, and then carefully directed The silver coins shuttled across the ground, sometimes stagnating, sometimes vibrating, until at a certain moment, the wooden door made a subtle click, and the feeling of being stared at by tens of thousands of eyes disappeared from Clooney's head.

"Sure enough..." Clooney picked up the silver coins that scratched the floor in a mess. There was no damage on them at all, and the engraved magic circle was still shining with a faint white light.

After clearing away nearly a knuckle-thick yellow soil in front of the door, a very complex magic pattern was vaguely revealed: the magic pattern drawn with unknown glitter paint could be seen extending from the door to the inside of the house. , part of it was blocked by the wall.

If someone really insists on breaking in, they may not get any good information.

But unlike what most people imagine, as the only great alchemist in the world who has refined pure gold, Nicoléme’s former home was not splendid, or decorated with gems and pearls, or In a word, it's too plain here.

The few wooden shelves were piled with books with rough surfaces. Some even looked like they were made of straw paper, but they had not become brittle due to the passage of time. In fact, these papers still felt like they were still intact. soft.

This is not normal, because several of them are handwritten manuscripts, and they actually show that they were written more than five hundred years ago today.

If she were a thief eager to make a fortune, she would probably be disappointed here: Nico Flamel did not take away his book inventory, but he was very diligent and took away everything that could be used here - —Not even a drop of lamp oil is left in the lantern, and the candle on the candlestick has long since disappeared, leaving only a layer of dust that is not thin or thick, and some that were stuck in the corner at some point. Traces of wax in corners.

The reason why the oil lamp and the candlestick were left behind was very simple: the oil lamp had a dark hole punctured by something unknown, and the candlestick was burned half of its body by something.

Clooney looked at the tragic situation in front of him speechlessly, and suddenly felt the slightest desire to return to England.

"God..." Clooney's mandible moved restlessly, "He probably won't let me stay here by myself..."

Although the old gentleman protected his books very well, the room that seemed to have been ransacked was obviously not suitable for a living person to live in. Of course, she did not want to open fire in an old house without any modern technology. Rice, after all, she couldn't pay attention to the prosperity of the firewood all the time.