"Someone who had never cared about magical creatures naturally couldn't have known an Occamy's habits. In other words, he had only started learning about them in the past month."
Vaughn picked up a fragment of eggshell and narrowed his eyes slightly. "He endured all that humiliation just to steal an egg?"
Honestly, Vaughn could not understand what Tom's remnant soul, hiding inside the diary, was thinking.
The insane Voldemort was certainly terrifying, but Tom Riddle before he went mad—while he still retained his rationality and caution—was, in some ways, even more troublesome.
Because he was impossible to read!
"Heh, are we going to have another battle of wits from afar?"
Even so, Vaughn did not feel discouraged.
He certainly disliked the unknown, but he had never feared it!
Just as Vaughn collected fragments of Anna the Occamy's eggshell, preparing to investigate why Tom had stolen an egg—
Far away in France, in the Pyrenees, within a valley between Somport Pass and the Garonne River valley, hidden beneath magic and completely invisible to Muggles—
The magnificent Beauxbatons Castle stood between snow-capped mountains and icy lakes.
This was the central Pyrenees, where peaks rose in competition and the mountains were at their tallest and steepest. The valleys formed here therefore possessed a wide variety of climates.
Past noon, when Fleur Delacour rose from bed after her nap, a dense rain was falling from the sky. Yet the distant snowy mountains still reflected the sunlight, gleaming brilliantly gold.
After studying at the castle for five years, she had grown accustomed to the valley's contradictory climate: the Mediterranean-like gentle winds that blew in winter, and the moisture that rose endlessly each spring and autumn before being blocked by the mountains, drifting from the valley toward the ridges like inverted clouds.
She climbed quietly out