During lunch, Hermione would always glance at Vincent, intentionally or unintentionally.
The castle and part of the land in Beauxbatons were funded by Nicolas Flamel and Perenelle when they were young.
The magnificent fountain on campus is also named after them.
Holding seven seats on the Hogwarts School Board Member makes him a definite chairman of the board.
There are only three magic schools in Europe, and he has very close ties with two of them.
The more she thought about it, the more she felt the gap was widening infinitely, so she finished her lunch and went to find Vincent.
"I want to learn Nonverbal spells and Wandless Magic!"
Vincent, who nearly dropped the cupcake, shook his head stiffly.
Hypnosis may quickly produce Nonverbal spells, but without experiencing a true near-death state, it is impossible to use Wandless Magic in advance during a critical moment.
Magic is idealistic; the soul, body, and spirit are all indispensable.
Hermione hasn't even reached the threshold for these three things yet, so even if she were taught, she wouldn't be able to learn them.
"What about the Patronus Charm?" she asked cautiously.
"If this doesn't work either—"
"Okay." Vincent recalled when she first enrolled.
Despite her remaining pride being shattered time and time again, she was always able to muster the courage to ask him for help.
"Can I come too?" Daphne, who had come over quietly, had the same stubbornness on her face.
"Of course you can."
Although being friends with such people can be stressful, that stress will eventually turn into motivation for progress.
There is only one History of Magic class in the afternoon.
As usual, I'm out.
Knockturn Alley.
Compared to the adjacent and bustling Diagon Alley, this place is like a dark and gloomy alley.
All the wizards who appeared here covered their faces completely, and the few who did show their faces were all recognized as dangerous figures.
Shayne Patel, the Night Wraith who walks in the darkness and uses magic to toy with the souls of others, can barely be considered a middle-class individual.
Disorder and chaos are synonymous with Knockturn Alley; law and morality have no effect here.
Whoever has no bottom line will live a more comfortable life.
After careful disguise, Madam Zabini stopped in front of a bar decorated with bones and whose sign seemed to be written in blood.
The building is called "Half-Girl," and its open front door is covered with smooth, light-colored leather.
She tightened her tattered cloak, which was covered in dust, slightly.
The long hemline wrapped around her two slender, beautiful legs, leaving an indistinct black trail on the ground.
"Welcome, sir." The bar owner was a strange old man with only a few strands of hair and two teeth left.
Besides the oddly shaped bottles, the wine cabinet behind him also contains many skulls of various shapes.
Several of them are clearly human.
"Do you know anything about the Night Wraith?" Madam Zabini's voice was quite hoarse, making it impossible to tell her gender.
"Not at the moment." The shopkeeper picked up a Gold Galleons she had placed on the bar.
"Any news about the Wayne family?"
"10 Galleon".
Madam Zabini immediately put down a small handful of food, saying, "I want to know everything!"
A few minutes later, she walked out of the bar.
His expression beneath the cloak was incredibly gloomy.
The new manager of the Gwent store in Diagon Alley is actually living at Wayne's house.
The former store manager was an unfathomable vampire, but the current manager is a ruthless character with a bad temper.
The regulars at the Half-Girl Pub recently made a bet after drinking:
Whoever manages to steal an Emerald Card from the Black Swan Wizard Card House will be the first to enjoy the next batch of "goods".
She didn't care what the "goods" were; she only cared that no wizard succeeded, and then shifted her focus to the colored cards in Gwent.
The new store manager doesn't seem very bright, but any spell he casts is incredibly powerful.
The Stunning Spell can break 6 ribs?
The Disarming Spell can shatter an entire arm bone?
I can't go to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, and those seriously injured haven't shown up recently.
Dealing with such a ruthless person isn't difficult; the challenge lies in how to avoid being discovered by the Ministry of Magic.
Please, a true dark wizard?
If anything unexpected happens, she definitely won't be able to escape.
Then there's only one goal left.
You were on a business trip to the Middle East? They kidnapped you and your goods!
Southwest Asia, near the southeastern border of Turkey.
Five yellow Off-road Vehicle drove into the vast desert one after another.
Judging from the rough welding marks, they all had thick steel plates installed.
"H? zl? parkyeri (Stop the car)!" A piercing shout came from the loudspeaker outside the border checkpoint's watchtower.
Four soldiers set up their rifles, as if ready to fire at any moment.
The Off-road Vehicle at the front stopped, and the ones behind it did the same.
"Inmek (Get off the bus)!"
A burly officer wearing sunglasses poked his head out of the watchtower.
The doors of five cars opened, and 20 even larger, burly men wearing sunglasses stepped out.
The officer above frowned deeply.
White people, and they were professionally trained.
He raised the wired microphone again and spoke in a relatively gentle tone, though not fluently, in English:
"What country are you from, and where are you going?"
The man in the back seat of the first Off-road Vehicle took off his sunglasses, raised his hands, and walked at the front.
"We are from the UK and we are here to do some small business."
"UK? The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland?"
"Yes."
The officer looked at the blond, blue-eyed burly man below with a puzzled expression.
Based on the depth of the tire tracks, even if the vehicle has been fitted with a steel plate, the weight of the goods is estimated to be considerable.
Do you have travel documents?
"Certainly."
A soldier went down and brought the documents back up.
The signature and seal belong to a general and are valid until July of this year.
He glanced at the name column. "Mr. Wayne, you may leave now."
Crossing the border leads to Yinlak.
To be able to come to such a place, and with the tacit approval of a general.
Although they knew perfectly well what the goods were, the lowly officer didn't dare to search them.
He gestured for the soldiers to lower their guns, then personally delivered the documents back.
"Thank you." Eric put on his sunglasses, smiled, and turned to get back into his car.
Five Off-road Vehicle drove through the checkpoint one after another.
Before sunset, they left the desert and came to the plains.
They were all well-trained former special forces members and quickly found a suitable mountain spot to spend the night.
Set up a campfire and open the cans.
Eric was really missing the Turkish kebab he had yesterday.
"Captain, the oatmeal porridge is ready!"
He finished the canned food in a few bites, then filled the empty can with oatmeal porridge.
The conditions were a bit difficult, but at least we were able to get through without any obstacles.
Türkiye's economy has been struggling in recent years, with workers going on strike one after another.
The Mafia is becoming increasingly brazen, and the military is interfering in politics under the pretext of preventing the spread of organized crime.
If this continues, inflation is bound to occur.
As for finance...
Forget it, I'll just stick to selling small commodities.
Amidst a dozen expectant gazes, Eric downed the cereal in one gulp.
He clicked his tongue. "Hunt, you've gone too far with the seasoning!"
"That's impossible." Hunt scooped a spoonful into the pot.
It was both salty and sweet, and my tongue went numb.
"Hey, should I add some more water?"
Those who hadn't yet tasted the oatmeal porridge looked at him with particularly unfriendly eyes.
Hunt unscrewed a bottle of mineral water and said, "What kind of eyes do you lazybones have?"
Even the worst I cook is better than Melvin made in Bulgaria last week!
The gaze shifted to the tall man Melvin.
He gave Hunt a universally accepted hand gesture, "Are you out of your mind? You were the one who patted your chest and guaranteed you could cook this rubbish!"
Hunt politely returned the same gesture, "At least it's edible, unlike you who boiled it into a lake!"
Eric shook his head and smiled wryly.
The first few deals went too smoothly; it seems I need to find something tough to mess with.