From Hogwarts to Sturhaven

In fact, Xiaoyan has always been the one to cast spells in the secret chamber, but as a mage's pet, it cannot stray too far from its master.

Ivy's destination is France, so a delicate ritual magic is needed to temporarily tether Howling Flame to the land of Hogwarts Castle, allowing it to maintain its identity as a wizard's pet while continuing Ivy's unfinished work at Hogwarts, hundreds or thousands of miles away.

Xiao Yan didn't actually have much to do; his main job was to guard the main gate, perform spellcasting in the secret room, and incidentally act as Nobeta's babysitter.

Fortunately, Xiaoyan already had experience with this matter; it was Hagrid's chosen foster mother.

Speaking of Hagrid, his life has already begun to change.

The Ministry of Magic officials who came to Hogwarts to investigate the Chamber of Secrets hadn't left yet, even though their leader was being driven almost mad by Ivy.

This makes one wonder if it's because the food at Hogwarts is too good, and their work is too easy—Hagrid's physique simply couldn't have disappeared silently from sight. Their job is less about investigating the Chamber of Secrets and more about surveillance combined with relaxation.

Since Umbridge went home on sick leave, these Ministry of Magic civil servants have become increasingly relaxed. Recently, Ivy even found them drinking and playing cards with Hagrid in the cabin!

The following day, at the professors' regular tea party in the faculty lounge, Professor Celticburn shared how Hagrid had won the last penny from the investigators of the locked-room mystery.

Professor McGonagall was delighted to hear this and ate two large slices of carrot cake. It was unclear whether her appetite was whetted by the renovation of the "base" or because the wizards sent by the Ministry of Magic had failed to outwit Hagrid, the gamekeeper of Hogwarts' hunting grounds, in a game of wits.

As the transparent magical chains in the air dissipated, Ivy's ritual officially came to an end.

Next, he was going to see Professor McGonagall and hand over the remaining work of the "Base" to her.

“I’ve heard, Professor Victor.” Professor McGonagall held a cup of tea. This was the greenhouse site Professor Sprout had chosen, and they had brought the tea set and desserts so they could enjoy afternoon tea immediately after their work. As for the table, chairs, and cushions for the tea party, Professor McGonagall, the master of Transfiguration, was responsible for that.

Ivy was there to say goodbye to the Vice-Headmaster and Head of the Hogwarts Office of Personnel; it was time for Professor Victor to finish his mission. When Ivy returned to Hogwarts, he would revert to his original self, including his height, which was no longer that of a child.

“Dumbledore told me he was planning to go on vacation to France,” Professor McGonagall said, her tone laced with undisguised skepticism. “But he didn’t leave me with the paperwork, so I have nothing to complain about.” The professors at the university were unaware that Ivy would be traveling with Dumbledore and assumed he was trying to avoid the letters from the Ministry of Magic.

"It's a real shame that Hogwarts has lost such an excellent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor as you. I imagine Dumbledore is already racking his brains over who to find a new professor?" Professor Sprout asked jokingly.

"Hmph~" Professor McGonagall snorted. "Someone has already accepted his invitation and even sent over a reading list. Can you imagine? Pomona? A whole seven books!"

“Oh! That sounds reasonable, doesn’t it? One book per year?” Professor Sprout picked up a sugar cube from the sugar jar, not quite understanding why Professor McGonagall was suddenly so angry.

Professor McGonagall clearly rolled her eyes: "There are seven books for each grade, including the textbooks for fifth graders and advanced students."

"Isn't that too much? Can the children learn it all?" Professor Sprout was still worried about the quality of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"Giddy Lockhart is going to use his seven novels as teaching materials, and he's even demanding that each year buy seven copies. I don't think he's here to teach at Hogwarts at all, but rather to hold a book signing! Can you imagine? Professor Victor, one of his novels costs three Galleons!" The new school year hasn't even started, and Professor McGonagall is already worrying about Hogwarts' teaching standards. Shouldn't this be the headmaster's responsibility?

“I think Professor Dumbledore has his own ideas.” Ivy could only smile. In any case, he didn’t plan to take Defense Against the Dark Arts next semester, and he didn’t even plan to buy the textbook.

“Yes, Dumbledore always has his own ideas,” Professor McGonagall, perhaps realizing she had complained too much, quickly explained. “Forgive me, Professor Victor, I shouldn’t have said those hurtful things about my new colleague. But as they say, comparison is the thief of joy, and Lockhart is clearly…”

Professor McGonagall shook her head and did not continue.

“Then I can only wish you all the best in getting along with your new colleagues.” Ivy pulled a stack of blueprints from her pocket and placed them on a small table covered with cakes and tea sets. “These are the remaining blueprints for the ‘Base.’ There’s not much left to finish. Since I won’t be at the school afterward, you can just use them as a reference. But promise me, Professor McGonagall, don’t let those people from the Ministry of Magic interfere.”

Professor McGonagall reassured him, "Don't worry, Professor Victor, even in the Ministry of Magic, there are still one or two good people."

Professor Sprout unfolded a drawing and exclaimed in amazement, "So clear! No wonder you always seem to know where each stone should be placed!"

Ivy used a three-view drawing method. Although he was not familiar with what engineering drawings were, in the magical world, he only needed to assemble the main structure of the building like building blocks. Waterproofing, seepage prevention, and the fastening of building materials could all be handled by magic.

Wizards possess a magical spell called the Permanent Adhesion Charm, which can glue the surfaces of two objects together so tightly that no one can remove them without special magic. Ivy suspects that the crooked buildings in Diagon Alley are a result of this spell.

"Remember to go to the faculty lounge after dinner, Victor," Professor Sprout instructed. "We've prepared a small farewell party for you. Don't rush to refuse; it'll be over soon."

Chapter 144 Paris Opera

The bow of the ship cut through the thin mist, splashing up specks of white spray. A cruise ship was crossing the English Channel, heading towards France on the other side of the sea.

After enjoying a farewell cake from Professor Sprout in the faculty lounge, Ivy and Dumbledore arrived at Diagon Alley the next day from the fireplace at Hogwarts.

They were heading from here to the Muggle world, which is Charing Cross Road in London, just outside the Leaky Cauldron.

After buying their tickets at the port, Dumbledore and Ivy, dressed in long suits and calfskin shoes, became the most eye-catching figures on the cruise ship.

Aside from insurance salesmen and government officials, no fool would wear conservative long sleeves in England in July.

As powerful wizards, Ivy and Dumbledore clearly had no such concerns. They could control even flames capable of melting metal with their magic, so why would they fear the July sun?

The journey was only two hours long, so Ivy and Dumbledore decided to sit for a while at the bar at the bow of the ship.

They offer the British favorite beer, as well as other refreshing drinks, including tea bags and freshly brewed coffee.

But the two wizards made different choices. As an old wizard who had lived for over a hundred years, Dumbledore was clearly the type who was open to new things.

So he picked up the clear glass, stared at the bubbles rising inside, and asked, "The sound of these little bubbles bursting is so pleasant. What's it called, Ivy?"

"Sprite." Ivy put two slices of frozen lemon into her glass. "Lemon Sprite."

"Wonderful! Wonderful taste!" Dumbledore imitated him, first taking a small sip, then taking a big gulp. "It's a bit like beer, but without any harmful alcohol... Taking a sip with the salty sea breeze is so refreshing... Burp... Oh! This is so interesting! I've decided, Ivy, this will be the password for the new term, Lemon Sprite!"

"Whatever makes you happy." What else could Ivy say?

In addition to lemon Sprite, Ivy also ordered two breakfasts: a whole wheat sandwich and a bacon and egg dish.

Dumbledore took a couple of bites with interest, then sighed silently. It seemed that he didn't like everything that belonged to Muggles.

"I still miss the cooking of house-elves more." This old man had good living habits, except for his fondness for sweets, so he still finished his breakfast.

“This ship will cross the sea and then sail upstream along the Seine to Paris,” Ivy said. “Where are we going to visit Nicolas Lemour?”

“Right in Paris!” Dumbledore reached into his pocket and pulled out two things that looked like tickets. “The Paris Opera! My old friend sent two tickets with his letter; he’s inviting us to see the opera.”

Although Ivy speaks fluent, old-fashioned London English with a perfect Union Jack accent, he has never been involved in highbrow activities like concerts. He doesn't even really understand the difference between opera and Peking opera.

"So, the Paris Opera is a place belonging to the magical world?" Ivy asked uncertainly. Since the British Ministry of Magic was built below Whitehall, it wasn't anything special for French wizards to take over the Paris Opera.

“Of course not.” Dumbledore seemed puzzled as to why he would ask such a question. “That’s a Muggle place. We’re only going there because Nico is an opera lover.”

That makes sense when you think about it. Who doesn't have a hobby after living for over six hundred years?

Unlike the Seine that would become foul-smelling thirty years later, the Seine in the 1990s was still very clear, and people strolling along the river looked relaxed, as if they had nothing in a particular hurry to do.

Aside from becoming the center of attention, the two wizards from England did not encounter any difficulties.

The Paris Opera is a magnificent place, with a facade in a rather classical Baroque style. Ivy had seen many buildings in London more than a hundred years ago, but those old buildings in London looked more weathered. After all, the smog from industrialization always shrouded that port city, so it was not surprising that the stone walls were corroded.

In Ivy's view, the Baroque-style facade appears to be divided into three parts, with a symmetrical triangular vault at the top, upon which sit two gilded sculptures that look like goddesses holding harps.

The central section features a group of marble columns, the style of which resembles that of the Greek and Roman periods, but is more refined. Thanks to the overall size, the columns still exude an imposing presence.

At the very bottom are arched doorways, numerous in number. Ivy counted them carefully; it was a magical number—seven.

“It’s so good to see you, my old friend.” A voice that sounded more weathered than Dumbledore’s, yet still full of energy, made Ivy look away.

He was an old man who had dressed himself in white. He wore a white suit, revealing a white shirt underneath, and he wasn't wearing a tie. His hair and beard were all white, and his skin was as pale as if he hadn't seen the sun for many years.

Apart from his two deep blue eyes, it was hard to find any other color on him.

When Dumbledore met him, he did not hug him, but shook hands with him very carefully, as if Nicolas Flamel were a glass dish that was already full of cracks.

"So, you're the Mr. Doom who ate my Philosopher's Stone like a candy?" Nicole Flamel greeted Ivy thoughtfully in English.

Before Ivy could answer, he asked worriedly, "I'm pretty sure the Philosopher's Stone isn't some kind of candy. You don't have an upset stomach, do you, Mr. Doom?"

"No. Thank you for your concern." Ivy wasn't sure what Nicolas Lemaître's attitude was, so she answered the question cautiously.

“He’s nothing like you, Dumbledore,” Nicolas Flamel said, pointing at Ivy. “You were far more rude than him back then.”

“You’ve misunderstood, Nico.” Dumbledore pulled Nico Lemaître’s arm. “Although Ivy is my student, we’re more like business partners.”

“Another Grindelwald?” Nicolas Lemaître turned to Ivy and smiled. “Then I’ll have to be more respectful to you. I still remember clearly what Dumbledore’s last business partner did in Paris.”

Ivy didn't intend to dwell on the topic any longer; instead, he asked, "When does the opera start?"

"Can't wait? Right?" Nicolas Flamel's smile widened. "What you British have put together is actually a musical, quite different from a regular opera. The performance doesn't start until the evening, so we can have something to eat first."

Chapter 145 Casual Chat in the Restaurant

The restaurant that Nicolas Lemaître chose looked quite sophisticated. Ivy couldn't understand the words on the sign, but the restaurant's logo was a silver shield with a stone tower in the middle, which looked like a castle in chess.

Dumbledore clearly speaks French, but to accommodate Ivy, who is not entirely English, Nicolas Flamel insisted on speaking to the two in English.

He explained that the restaurant's most famous dish was duck, and for every duck sold, they would ostentatiously hand out a numbered card to the customer. Ivy saw some famous Muggle figures on the wall leading to the elevator, but there was probably only one that the old wizard, the young wizard, and the alchemist all recognized: the Queen of England.

"Do you see that table?" Nicolas Lemaître asked.

Following the alchemist's trembling finger, one could see a table in the hall, its tableware luxurious. While the silver cutlery was slightly inferior to the gold utensils of Hogwarts, all the glasses were crystal. In Ivy's eyes, they were all carved from natural crystal, requiring no further steps to serve as the casting material for the 8th-circle spell "Collapse Reality" (which requires a crystal prism).

“To commemorate the three warmongers, the Muggles have specially protected the place where they ate.” Nicolas Flamel shook his head, seemingly unable to understand this practice. “As far as I know, Muggles seem to have some kind of special magic when it comes to killing each other. Compared to them, the wizards’ wars are like children playing house.”

If we're talking about killing efficiency, modern weapons are definitely faster.

Ivy acknowledged this; after all, even the most terrifying spell of wizards—the Killing Curse—could only take one life, and even for Ivy herself, it would only chain a dozen or so targets at most. But Muggle automatic weapons only needed to empty a single magazine to take down a large number of unsuspecting ordinary people.

This wouldn't justify Ivy using modern automatic weapons; he suspected that if those bullets hit him, they might only cost him 2-16 health points. Because in the D&D universe, automatic weapons do exist, and these so-called high-tech products aren't inherently superior to melee weapons. An automatic rifle's damage roll is 2d8, while a two-handed greatsword's is 2d6. Although the maximum damage is four points higher, it doesn't create a qualitative difference.

However, Ivy wasn't foolish enough to take a few bullets herself. Although the magical rules of this world had undergone some strange changes since Ivy's arrival, it didn't mean the physical rules had changed in the same way. Ivy had no intention of using her own flesh and blood to challenge Sir Isaac Newton's coffin lid for the time being.

Of all the known cuisines in the world, French cuisine has one of the most elaborate serving procedures and uses a wide variety of cutlery. Different dishes require different knives and forks. But Ivy is an Englishman all his life and doesn't understand French, so he doesn't need to care about the opinions of those around him.

An amusing incident occurred while ordering. Nicolas Lemaître ran his finger across the menu item by item, muttering repeatedly, "I don't want this, this, or this, but I'll have one of everything else."

The waiter who took the order spoke English, so Ivy understood his advice: "Sir, these aren't cheap at all!"

“Haha, don’t worry, I’ve never had to worry about money or time in my life,” Nicolas Flamel laughed. “People like us have no shortage of patience.”

“That’s wonderful,” the waiter praised. “You’re so old, yet you’re so open-minded.”

Judging from his tone, it was as if he knew that Nicolas Flamel, who had lived for over six hundred years, was about to die. The Philosopher's Stone had disappeared from this world, and from then on, the legendary alchemist bid farewell to endless gold and longevity, and was about to officially embark on the path to death.