“Dumbledore and Filch make sense, but Professor Snape…”
Lorin’s pale face showed a trace of perplexity, though he didn’t dwell on it.
Since he was home, he would go in and take a look first.
He pushed open the main door of the Montmorency estate.
The heavy, bespoke marble doors made not a single sound.
Taking off his white-gold leather boots, he slipped into house slippers.
Removing his white-gold, luxurious wizard robes, he changed into silver-white loungewear.
Without calling a butler, Lorin stepped lightly into the living room.
His father, Croke de Montmorency, was leaning back on the sofa, discussing something with several impeccably dressed members of the Paris upper class.
As for his mother, she was likely in the kitchen experimenting with her favorite blood-nourishing recipes, or out shopping on the Champs-Élysées with other noblewomen.
Lorin leaned quietly against the doorframe of the living room, silently watching his father converse with politicians and nobles without making a sound.
“Croke, if you ask me, that piece of land in the Sixth Arrondissement shouldn’t have a subway line built on it.”
“Andrew, your head really has been eaten away by American politicians!
We shouldn’t only care about the interests of those fellows!”
“By the way, Croke, since when did your Montmorency family have such a handsome young man around?”
A nobleman with curly silver-white hair pointed jestingly toward where Lorin was standing.
“What young man, Casal?
You know I’m not like those repulsive perverts in England.”
Croke frowned, but still looked over in the direction Casal was pointing.
“Lorin!”
“Father.”
Lorin smiled and nodded, a faint, almost imperceptible flush surfacing on his pale face.
Whatever the case, his parents in this world had taken care of him with utmost devotion since his transmigration.
As one of the most prominent noblewomen in all of Paris, his mother experimented with various blood-nourishing dishes every day for the sake of his health.
She had even spared no expense to hire over a dozen top Chinese chefs to customize his daily diet.
His father, as a hereditary Montmorency noble, had directly used his aristocratic privileges to reserve an abundant supply of blood matching Lorin’s blood type.
It was precisely through his parents’ painstaking care that Lorin had managed to survive long enough to enter Beauxbatons, where he could finally slow down the speed at which his blood was drained.
Lorin’s body was like a pool of water.
In the past, his output exceeded his input, naturally requiring massive blood replenishments to sustain his life.
Now, Lorin had invented a hybrid spell combining variations of the Shield Charm and the Binding Curse, infused with elements of the Body-Bind Curse.
This successfully maintained a fragile balance between his blood loss and production!
His body’s blood-producing capability could barely keep pace with the rate of loss, granting Lorin a few more years to live.
However, as his bodily functions began to age in a few years, he would ultimately still die young from this blood loss…
Which was precisely why Lorin had set his sights on Hogwarts!
Fleur was currently in her third year and would enter her fourth next term.
Three years from now, Fleur would be in her seventh year, and Harry would be in his fourth…
Wouldn’t that be the Triwizard Tournament?!
And this year, Harry was entering his first year, and Hogwarts had a Philosopher’s Stone…
Indeed, that was Lorin’s goal!
He had parents to repay, Fleur waiting for him, and the secrets of magic reaching out to him…
He had reasons why he had to live.
Not just one, but many.
“We’ll talk another day.
I have something to say to my son.”
Croke looked impassively at the Paris elites on the sofa, though the slight tightening of his arms betrayed his inner tension.
“What enviable father-son affection!
In my son’s eyes, I’m practically Satan…”
“Haha, kind father Croke, then we shall meet another day.”
“Does young Lorin have a wife yet?
It’s high time the Montmorency family arranged the next generation’s marriage!”
“Stop teasing!
Look how nervous Croke is—he even forgot to call Butler Raynt.
Hahaha!”
…
Several nobles and politicians bade farewell to Croke with chuckles.
Soon, only the father and son, Croke and Lorin, remained in the living room.
“Graduated?”
As a father, despite loving his child deeply, Croke still didn’t know how to initiate a conversation.
Perhaps this was why fathers and children were rarely as intimate as mothers and children.
“Yes.”
Lorin nodded, and silence fell over the living room once more.
“Ah, Young Master Lorin, you’ve returned?”
Hearing the news, Butler Raynt quickly entered the living room and helped Lorin sit down.
At the same time, he replaced the coffee cups on the table for Lorin and Croke, pouring two fresh cups of brewed Ceylon black tea.
“Young Master Lorin, how long will you be able to stay this time?”
Butler Raynt asked in a very relaxed tone.
After pouring the tea, he bowed slightly and stood beside the sofa.
Croke’s eyes lit up upon hearing this, looking tensely at Lorin.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to leave in less than a month.”
Lorin took a sip of tea with a deliberately somber expression, making both Butler Raynt’s and Croke’s hearts clench.
But soon, a smile reappeared on his face.
“I’ll probably leave for a day or two and then come back, so I can stay for another month.”
“Ah, haha, Young Master is as humorous as ever.
Is there something you need to attend to?”
Butler Raynt kept the atmosphere warm, continuing to chat with Lorin.
Lorin was long accustomed to this.
His father was talkative around anyone else, but whenever he faced his own son, he often struggled to find topics.
Butler Raynt, on the other hand, understood his master intimately, always managing to ask the very questions Croke wished to ask.
“Raynt, help me take these to the kitchen.”
The voice of his mother, Breya de Montmorency, drifted in from the entrance.
“By the way, do we have any news on when my favorite little Lorin baby will be back?”
“Madame Breya, you’ve returned just in time.
Master Croke and Young Master Lorin are both in the living room.”
“What would I talk to that old man about?
Having another little brother or sister for Lorin?”
Breya muttered, but her hands suddenly froze as she was changing her shoes.
“Old Raynt, what did you say?”
“Young Master Lorin and Master Croke are both in the living room.”
Raynt deliberately rephrased his words, naturally taking the dress and shoes Breya had changed out of, handing them to a maid to take to the laundry room later.
“Oh!”
Breya’s squeal instantly echoed through the entire Montmorency estate.
Slipping quickly into her house slippers, she sprinted into the living room.
As for noble etiquette?
To heaven with it!
“Oh, my darling little Lorin!”
Breya didn’t even cast a glance at Croke, throwing her arms tightly around Lorin.
Her slender, white right hand continuously caressed Lorin’s face.
Though veins bulged on her hand from the intensity of her movement, the touch resting on Lorin’s face was incomparably gentle, without the slightest trace of harsh force.
“You’ve grown thin again, my Lorin baby.”
Breya’s eyes grew slightly red as she softly pressed a kiss onto Lorin’s forehead.
“Don’t worry, Mum.
I’m doing great.”