The room was elegantly decorated.
"Professor, I didn't expect to run into you here."
Lucien looked at the energetic old man in front of him, dressed in a crisp white robe.
After taking the Revitalizing Draught, Nicolas Flamel no longer looked like someone weighed down by several centuries of age. Now, he looked—at most—like a wizard in his early hundreds, which honestly didn't even count as particularly old.
"The airship was drifting along, and I just happened to wander over here," Nicolas said cheerfully, holding half a bottle of fizzing ice-cold Butter-Coke. "Didn't expect to see you in the middle of nowhere. Isn't Christmas coming up?"
Lucien had been on his way to another Norwegian Ridgeback nesting ground when he spotted the familiar silhouette of the floating ship on the horizon. Naturally, he stopped by to say hello.
"I'm tracking Norwegian Ridgebacks."
Nicolas nodded, not asking for details.
He slurped a huge mouthful of the Butter-Coke through the straw and let out a loud, satisfied burp.
"Ah… I haven't eaten and drunk whatever I wanted in ages. No wonder Albus is obsessed with sweets."
Settling into a more comfortable position, he asked with interest:
"So, anything new at Hogwarts this term? I've been floating around up in the sky, not exactly up-to-date on the news."
Lucien picked out the major events and filled him in.
Nicolas chuckled at first. But the moment the story reached the Chamber of Secrets, the basilisk, the attacks, and Lucien's involvement, the legendary alchemist slowly sat upright.
He waited a beat after Lucien finished, then spoke carefully:
"Lucien… don't you think Hogwarts is getting a little too… lively? Last year was a rogue dark wizard sneaking in. This year it's a thousand-year-old basilisk."
"Have you considered transferring to Beauxbatons? It's quite easy to arrange."
Nicolas was genuinely baffled.
It wasn't that basilisk attacks or dark wizards shocked him—he'd lived six centuries; he'd seen everything.
But this was a school. A place where students were supposed to learn. And Dumbledore was there—Hogwarts was supposedly the safest place in Britain…
Two years in a row with disasters of that scale? Nicolas was not thrilled about his last remaining student dealing with that kind of excitement every day.
Beauxbatons, on the other hand, he knew well. Nothing that catastrophic happened every year. Their Defense Against the Dark Arts job wasn't cursed, no dangerous characters constantly slipping inside.
And with his influence in the French wizarding world, arranging a transfer for Lucien would be as simple as saying the word.
"Thank you, Professor," Lucien replied politely, "but I'm used to Hogwarts. Besides, Headmaster Dumbledore mentioned that next term Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang are holding a Tri-School Exchange Tournament at Beauxbatons anyway. I can check the place out then."
Nicolas saw Lucien truly had no intention of transferring and nodded.
"Alright. As long as it's your choice. If you run into any trouble, just write to me."
He paused, suddenly remembering something.
"By the way, have they confirmed the events for this exchange tournament?"
A perfectly normal question—except it reminded Lucien of his earlier conversation with Dumbledore. His expression turned a little strange.
After a moment, he answered:
"According to the Headmaster… the event Beauxbatons suggested is Alchemy."
Nicolas' hand froze mid-sip. Slowly, he set the bottle down.
"Albus wants you to represent Hogwarts in an alchemy competition?"
Lucien didn't even get the chance to respond. Nicolas had already read his expression.
"Mhm. Let me guess—he thinks having my student go to Beauxbatons and win their alchemy competition would be… entertaining?"
Lucien could only stare. He hadn't expected Nicolas to guess it all instantly.
And now he didn't know whether nodding or shaking his head would be less awkward.
Honestly… was there some kind of unspoken telepathic bond between legendary wizards over a certain age?