Twenty-first-century Paris looked very clean, at least unlike the filthy streets of Paris during the Industrial Revolution, let alone before Haussmann's renovation.
The houses near Nicolas Flamel's home were among the few surviving old neighborhoods. Protected by spells, this house had no street number; it was as if it "did not exist."
The restaurant owner and waiters at the mouth of the alley did not know Kemilian. He seemed very nervous after sitting down, as though he was not used to eating with others. Felix, meanwhile, was heartily devouring a sawdust cup ice cream, a privilege reserved for children.
"He should be in school at his age," Kemilian said, looking at Felix. "Who usually teaches him?"
"He will not become a wizard." Severus lit a cigarette, his face stiff. "He will become a warlock."
"He has made such a major decision while still so young?"
Severus smiled. "I never expected you to cook as well as a housewife, but I did not expect you to nag like one either."
Kemilian froze.
"I did not smell smoke in that house," Severus said. "You do not usually eat there, do you?"
Kemilian did not answer.
"And you do not eat at this restaurant either. Like your teacher, do you not need food?"
"I eat elsewhere," Kemilian said irritably. "What does that have to do with you?"
"Not many people know you exist. Many people covet Nicolas Flamel's research, so you are doing the right thing." Severus took a drag from his cigarette. "Too many people want the Sorcerer's Stone."
"He also believes Napoleon will be resurrected," Gong Saiyi said teasingly. "Do you believe it?"
Kemilian's expression was grave.
"How do you think he would do it?" Kemilian asked Severus.
"The Pensieve, and Memory. He could remember the name and face of a