Happy times are always fleeting.
For most of the next half-month, Lorin was dragged along by Breya, keeping her company whenever she wanted to go shopping.
Of course, most of the time, Breya used him as a personal mannequin, constantly having him try on various high-end luxury brands.
In the mornings and evenings, as well as on sunny afternoons, Lorin would slip out his Two-Way Mirror to share sweet, intimate words with Fleur.
At Lorin’s level, simply reading and studying was like a cup of rich black tea—it might leave one in a contemplative mood, but it offered little actual improvement.
So Lorin simply let his mother drag him around.
They went to Alsace, strolled along the Champs-Élysées, holidayed in Provence…
Lorin even did something unprecedented: he proactively took Breya to Venice to try out some tourist activities.
And no, it definitely wasn’t to scout out spots for a future trip with Fleur.
In short, the past half-month could be summarized as Lorin’s travels with his aristocratic mother.
As for his father…
The international situation had been highly chaotic lately, with even signs of an impending economic crisis.
Croke was so busy every day that he was practically invisible.
Asking Croke to accompany Breya shopping would be harder than untangling the special red thread connecting Dumbledore and Grindelwald…
Until July twentieth arrived.
“Lorin, darling.”
Fleur’s delicate nose twitched slightly, her deep blue eyes filled with profound worry.
“I heard Madame Maxime say that Severus Snape is not a good person…”
“He once…”
“Don’t worry, Fleur, my love.” Lorin smiled, his pale face showing not a trace of concern for the future.
“I know plenty about Professor Snape.
Rest assured.”
“Alright, but you must be careful.
If my ring breaks, I will have Mother go to Hogwarts and demand answers from Dumbledore!”
“Haha, it’s wonderful to have you, Fleur.”
“You’re being sentimental again!”
“Just speaking from the heart.”
“Can you come back to Brittany with me for Christmas, darling?”
“What is it, Fleur?”
“My parents want to meet you.”
Lorin fell silent for a moment, a hint of madness flashing deep within his eyes.
It seemed he absolutely had to obtain the Philosopher’s Stone…
Lorin spoke, his voice sounding slightly raspy.
“Alright.
I’ve been wanting to see the magnificent coastline of northern France anyway.”
“Mm-hmm!
You won’t be disappointed, darling.
There are also mysterious Celtic ruins.”
“Haha…”
Closing the Two-Way Mirror, he ended his daily morning chat with Fleur.
Pushing open his bedroom door, he saw his mother, Breya, passing by.
She wore an elegant, luxurious black Chanel gown, its hem sweeping gracefully across the doorway.
“Oh, up so early today, my baby Lorin?”
“Yes, I have an appointment with Professor Dumbledore at Hogwarts today.” Lorin winked at Breya and headed straight into the bathroom.
After washing up and eating breakfast, under Breya’s slightly reddened eyes, Lorin returned to his room to change into a relatively low-key set of wizarding robes.
The black satin robes exuded an undeniable sense of luxury despite their understated design.
The solar crest on the chest proudly displayed the identity of the Montmorency family.
Its tailored fit, combined with Lorin’s model-like build, his pale aristocratic aura, and his divinely sculpted features, made the robes transcend the aesthetic boundaries of both Muggles and wizards.
“Little Lorin is still so careless.”
Breya tried to take a deep breath, but her nose was stuffed.
With a thick, stuffy voice, she fussed over Lorin’s collar for a moment.
“Your collar needs to be straight.
You must look proper, baby Lorin.”
Looking down at his collar, which was already as straight as physically possible, Lorin opened his mouth but ultimately didn’t argue.
“I know, Mother.”
“Don’t just say you know, you must actually do it, baby Lorin.” Breya gave Lorin’s cheek one last caress, a proper, elegant smile gracing her face.
That is, if one ignored the trace of moisture beneath her left eye.
“Don’t worry, Mother.
If all goes well, I might even be back in time for dinner.”
“Yes, you must stay safe.”
“Remember to speak English once you reach England.
Those English bulls don’t speak French…”
“Oh, and absolutely do not eat random food on the British Isles.
It’s practically inedible…”
“Your constitution is weak, so don’t overindulge in steak, and eat sweets in moderation.
Outside desserts are unhealthy—especially at Hogwarts, where they say the sugar content is always a lethal dose…”
…
“Goodbye, Mother.”
After patiently listening to Breya’s nagging—no, her caring admonitions—without a hint of annoyance, Lorin smiled, pressed his cheek against Breya’s, and stepped out of the Montmorency estate’s gates.
Apparating…
Looking at the tightly shut gates before him, Lorin shook his head helplessly.
The English concept of time was as irritatingly disrespectful as ever.
He had chosen to Apparate rather than use Floo powder solely because he wanted to arrive for his interview looking neat and presentable.
Whether he was hired or not, it was a matter of basic respect.
Considering the distance from the Hogwarts gates to the Headmaster’s office, Lorin had intentionally set off half an hour early to avoid any embarrassing tardiness.
The gates of Hogwarts were not as magnificent as those of Beauxbatons; by comparison, they could even be described as quite shabby.
Yet, looking through the simple, half-open gates, Lorin did not feel the slightest trace of contempt.
The dense network of magical threads meant that even an ant crawling inside would be easily detected by Headmaster Dumbledore.
“Oh, Merlin’s beard!
Is that Mr.
Montmorency?”
“It is.
And you must be Professor McGonagall?”
“You’ve heard of me, Mr.
Montmorency?”
“Your fame precedes you, Professor.
There was no need to ask around.”
“Beauxbatons students certainly have a way with words.” Professor McGonagall’s stern expression softened as she swept an approving gaze over Lorin.
“Incredible, Mr.
Montmorency.
Dressed like this, one could easily mistake you for a professor applicant.”
“Far from it, Professor McGonagall.
I am merely an ordinary Beauxbatons graduate.”
“You may call me Minerva.
We might very well be colleagues soon.
Headmistress Maxime speaks highly of you, she even…”
“She flatters me, Minerva.” Lorin maintained his polite smile, though he arched his left eyebrow slightly.
“But surely you aren’t going to make me stand out here to talk?”
“Oh, by Merlin, my apologies.
Please, come in, Mr.
Montmorency.” Professor McGonagall offered an apologetic smile and stepped aside, gesturing for Lorin to walk with her toward the Headmaster’s office.
“No, not at all.
I simply enjoyed our conversation so much that I lost track of time.” Lorin turned his head, his bright, dark eyes flashing.
“Besides, you can just call me Lorin.
As you said, we may be colleagues soon.”
“Very well, Lorin.
This way, please.” Professor McGonagall smiled warmly, guiding Lorin toward the Headmaster’s office…