It was a life-size replica of a Basilisk. The scales shimmered iridescent green, and the whole thing was shaped like a train rolling through the park. The Delacour family wouldn't have blinked at a fake, but Veela blood picks up on that kind of creature vibe like a sixth sense. Feeling the real Basilisk aura coming off the train gave them chills down their spines.
Still, nobody could look away. Every wizard in sight was floored, like a real Basilisk was slithering past, yellow eyes glowing with death, foul breath hissing from its jaws.
The train's "neck" had an open door. Steel-like scales glinted coldly. Inside, the cabin was spotless. The ticket taker's cheerful shouts cut through the fear.
The Delacours boarded with half-believing, half-dazed expressions, touring the park in a dream.
"I legit thought it was real. My knees almost gave out…" a wizard whispered nearby.
Fleur forgot all about the potion-laced candies from earlier. She stared at the scales from her seat, feeling like a storybook hero riding a deadly magical beast into adventure.
Like a knight!
While wizards and Muggles were still processing the shock, the Basilisk train glided between stops. Fairy-tale signs stood outside the theater. The restaurant counter displayed wildly shaped candies. Clothing-store windows showed mannequins in gorgeous gowns.
Gabrielle pressed her face to the window, eyes sparkling at the dresses.
Mr. Delacour didn't know where to start. His wife and daughters were women—clothes shopping was a safe bet.
The family of four hopped off at the clothing store. It was nearly empty. They figured wizard families didn't know Muggle fairy tales yet.
The Delacours didn't either. They were about to leave when the Muggle family from the candy shop walked in. After the candy-store bonding, the Muggle girl treated Gabrielle like a friend. No shyness—she grabbed Gabrielle's hand and dragged her to try on dresses.
Gabrielle was all in.
The Muggle couple knew the drill. They spun Gabrielle around and picked out a stack of outfits, treating her like a living doll.
First, she stepped out as Snow White. Then Cinderella in glass slippers. Then Aurora from Sleeping Beauty, Ariel from The Little Mermaid, Belle from Beauty and the Beast, Jasmine from Aladdin… but she circled back to Snow White.
Bright yellow ankle-length skirt, velvet bodice with pale blue stripes, iconic puff sleeves dotted with red teardrop patterns.
The Muggle girl explained softly: "That's for blood and the red apple."
Gabrielle twirled in front of the mirror, eyes dancing with delight. Her inner princess was wide awake. The dress and shoes were tricky—she wobbled a bit, cheeks flushed with adorable effort.
Fleur went rogue and picked Belle's blue-and-white village dress. She'd worn plenty of gowns—even Beauxbatons' powder-blue uniform looked elegant on her. With her silver hair in a low ponytail tied with a blue ribbon bow, she looked effortlessly radiant.
Everyday charm with a glow-up.
She stared at her reflection—peak teenage sparkle, skin glowing, eyes bright.
Mr. and Mrs. Delacour shared a look. Worth it. Their romantic getaway was gone, but a family of four was just as sweet.
"You pick something too," Mr. Delacour said eagerly.
Apolline snorted. "Nice try."
The girls wore their dresses to the theater. The show? Snow White. Same old story: jealous queen, princess flees to the dwarves' cottage, poisoned apple, prince's kiss, happily ever after.
But this theater leaned hard into magic.
The Magic Mirror was real. A shadowy figure flickered inside, voice shrill and cruel, egging on the queen. Pure dark wizard energy.
The Seven Dwarfs? Actual free elves—not house-elves—living wild in the forest, working hard, singing their hearts out.
The witch cast spells with real incantations and wand flicks. To Muggles, it was flair. To wizards? Legit magic.
And that shiny red poison apple—plump, fragrant, gorgeous.
The props, sets, lighting—uncannily real. Kids stared, wide-eyed.
Mr. Delacour couldn't tell if this was for wizards or Muggles, but a few hours in, he'd learned half a dozen classic Muggle fairy tales. Pretty fun.
Night fell.
Leaving the park, Mr. Delacour held his wife's hand, the few hairs on his head swaying in the breeze, grinning. Up ahead, Gabrielle chattered to Fleur about the show.
No little girl resists a princess story.
The warm vibe shattered when they spotted a Shadow Mirror promo poster.
Mr. Delacour sped up, fake-urging the girls along, hoping Gabrielle couldn't read yet. Too late—she recognized the picture.
A Rosier employee explained patiently: "Buy a Shadow Mirror now and get recordings of all the shows. Watch the princesses at home!"
Mr. Delacour eyed the price, then Gabrielle's sparkling eyes. The Delacour vault just took a hit.
…
Late July. A light rain cooled Paris.
Clouds drifted over Père Lachaise Cemetery.
Post-rain air was fresh and damp—grass and faint earth mixed in a pleasant way. Tourists strolled slowly; some sat on the wet grass, clothes be damned. Pets bounded around, thrilled.
Two young wizards passed through the circular arch into the catacombs, following the downward spiral corridor.
One looked around, curious. The other was calm—this wasn't his first time.
Gray-brown stone walls, chipped and ancient. Air thick. Century-old stone coffins, sunken graves. The Lestrange family tomb.
After half an hour, they reached the underground rotunda—where Grindelwald once rallied, trying to burn Paris with Fiendfyre.
Melvin climbed the uneven steps, searching for traces of Grindelwald and the Pureblood Party. Nothing. Decades and anonymous wizard upkeep had erased the scorch marks.
Last stop before leaving Paris. Melvin wasn't in a rush. He sat on a ledge and flipped through the newspaper Christine brought.
Christine sat beside him, patient, studying the chamber like she was replaying Aunt Vida's stories. Barely a sound.
Headlines screamed:
"BASILISK! BASILISK! BASILISK! ROSIER'S MONEY-MAKER!"
"Suspected Breach of Secrecy: Magic Park Open to Muggles"
"Government Collusion: Ministry Still Silent"
"Magical Mirrors: Shadow Mirrors Selling Like Hotcakes—Out-of-Towners Paying Premium"
All about Shadow Mirrors and the Magic Park.
Shadow Mirrors had Britain and Romania as precedent. French reporters griped about the price but accepted the tech.
The park? Reporter Rita Skeeter's French counterpart had some standards—no Animagus bug spying, no digging into the tri-party partnership.
But some connected the dots: Basilisk, mirrors, Muggle-friendly vibe. The park screamed involvement from that Mirror Club founder and the Muggle Studies professor.
Combined revenue? Tens of millions. The tech shift from mirrors, the future hinted by the park—wizards were watching Melvin. In two weeks, invitations piled up.
This wasn't just French wizarding news. It was the Statute of Secrecy loosening.
"The park's running smooth," Melvin said, folding the paper. "Twenty thousand visitors in two weeks—mostly Muggles, but seventy to eighty thousand wizards. Ticket split alone is millions. Had to open a Gringotts vault under Paris."
"Rosier recoups investment by November. Claire got a board commendation—promotion and raise by year-end."
He grinned. "This is just the start. Word spreads slow. By All Saints' in November, Christmas in December, latest next summer—visitor boom."
Christine nodded. Profit didn't excite her—Mom's ventures always paid off.
"Mixing wizard and Muggle guests—should we tweak that?" she asked suddenly. "A few incidents this month. Wizards and Muggles see the park differently. Some got jumpy, pulled wands—nearly exposed magic."
"The Basilisk train, right?"
"Yeah…"
She smiled faintly, remembering. "Wizards saw the Basilisk and freaked—drew wands to attack. Muggles thought it was a show, chased them begging to see the 'prop wands' and buy replicas."
Melvin leaned back on his hands, exhaling. "That's the point."
"What point?"
"A bridge. Between Muggle society and the wizarding world. Started with local Paris wizards and Disney Muggle tourists. As word spreads, more from everywhere get drawn in." His voice dropped. "The walls come down quietly."
"Will it work? Kids adapt fast—little wizards and Muggle friends play together fine. But adults…" Christine frowned. "France isn't pureblood central, but it was the Pureblood Party's birthplace. Plenty of grown wizards hate Muggles. Once they hear the park mixes crowds, they won't buy tickets for their kids."
"They'll still watch Shadow Mirror shows, won't they?" Melvin smiled.
"You mean…"
"In a few years, film a series. Wizard kid and Muggle kid meet at the park, become best friends. Spin-offs: little wizard in Muggle cities, Muggle kid stumbles into wizard world. Change sneaks in quiet. Their kids will seek Muggles out themselves."
He tapped the paper. Front page: two kids arm-in-arm, beaming—one wizard, one Muggle. "When the old purebloods fade, when the new generation grows up—that's the new century."
Christine stared at him for two seconds, silently hoping for that future. Then: "When do you leave Paris?"
"This weekend. Bastian's condition needs handling. Back in London, big planning. Plus…" He gestured at an imaginary stack. "Hotel drawer's overflowing with invitations. Word's out—wizards want in on mirrors, Ministry wants park talks. Even the elusive Minister sent his assistant—wants dinner."
Christine was quiet, then soft: "When do we meet again?"
"Not long."
Thinking of the Goblet of Fire, a faint smile crossed his face. He stood, brushed off his pants. "Come on. Tomb's a bust. Walk the park with me—one last goodbye."
She didn't ask why he smiled. Just stood and followed him out.
They strolled a quiet park path under post-rain sunshine. Leaves dripped. Deep green grass bloomed with tiny white flowers.