"WhatsApp?"
Fleur repeated the name, puzzled. She still couldn't figure out what it meant. Gabrielle, however, was already curious enough to flip open the notebook.
The first page was a form. It asked for basic information: nickname, gender, age, date of birth, and residential address. In the upper-right corner, there was a rectangular box, obviously meant for a photo.
Gabrielle could understand the form just fine. Her little head bobbed as she scanned it. Finally, she found a quill on the side and picked it up, earnestly filling in each field. When she was done, she looked up at Tom expectantly.
"Big brother, take my picture!"
"No need to go through all that trouble." Tom smiled and tapped her cheek lightly with his wand, then tapped the notebook. In an instant, the adorable little face of the young girl appeared in the photo box, perfectly framed.
"Would you like help too?" Tom turned to Fleur. Blushing slightly, the older girl nodded. She hadn't quite caught what spell he had used.
Once both sisters had completed their entries, a strange linear text appeared at the bottom of the first page. The girls blinked, confused, then looked up at Tom together.
They still had no idea how this thing called "WhatsApp" was supposed to be used.
"Don't be impatient," Tom said with a mischievous glint in his eye. "There's one last step. I call it... Link-up."
"Link-up?"
Fleur's cheeks flushed an even deeper red. Gabrielle didn't think twice, however. She scrambled up onto Tom's lap and pressed her cheek affectionately against his with a playful "You mean like Hook-up?!!"
"Hooking up with big brother!" [ T/N; oniii-chaannn. Hehe ]
"That's not the kind of Link-up I meant..." Tom chuckled, though he clearly enjoyed the gesture. He gave her a little nuzzle in return before gently setting her back down. Then, he picked up his notebook and aligned it with Gabrielle's.
As the two notebooks touched, they emitted a soft glow that shimmered for just a moment before fading away.
Fleur, who had been anxiously overthinking what Tom had meant, finally let out a quiet sigh of relief.
So that's not what he meant...
It wasn't that she wasn't willing—on the contrary—but with Gabrielle still here, she couldn't possibly set a bad example. At the very least, it had to be when no one else was around.
Tom opened both notebooks. On the second page of his own, Gabrielle's profile picture had appeared. With a light tap, the notebook flipped automatically to the third page. He picked up a quill and wrote:
"Gabrielle is the most adorable girl in the world."
At that moment, Gabrielle's notebook glowed—specifically, Tom's profile picture shimmered on her screen. Fleur had a hunch about what was happening and quickly turned to the third page.
Sure enough, Tom's message appeared on Gabrielle's notebook in the exact same handwriting.
"It really works!" Fleur exclaimed, her face glowing with excitement. She picked up both notebooks and inspected them from every angle. "Tom, does this mean even if you go back to Britain, it will still work?"
"Not just Britain," Tom said with confidence. "Even if I go to America next time, there won't be any problems."
He had good reason to be certain. The method he'd used to transfer messages was based on the magical communication logbook created by Nicolas Flamel himself. Distance posed no obstacle.
Gabrielle was overjoyed as well—not just because of the magic, but because Tom had written that she was the most adorable girl in the world. Gleefully, the little girl picked up her quill and scribbled:
"Tom is the tallest and best big brother in the world!"
The identical handwriting appeared instantly on Tom's notebook. The two messages aligned automatically on the page, one per side, each followed by a miniature profile picture of the sender. It was very clear who had written what.
"With this," Tom grinned at Fleur, "no more worrying about the cost or hassle of sending messages, right?"
Fleur's cheeks turned an even brighter shade of red. She grabbed both his hands in hers, her voice trembling with excitement. "Tom, do you realize what you've done? You've changed the world! With this WhatsApp notebook, owl-post will become history! Owls will only be used for parcel delivery!"
Tom smiled softly and gently intertwined his fingers with hers.
"Of course I realize it," he said. "But this is still just a prototype. While it's already practical, there are still plenty of flaws."
"First off, cost. Just to make a few of these notebooks, I had to use quite a lot of my teacher's rare materials. It requires incredibly stable magical storage and display enchantments. Otherwise, the messages would show up garbled or distorted."
"Second, labor. How many of these can I make by myself in a day? Even if I wanted to teach someone else, very few people would be able to learn the process."
Fleur's excitement simmered down a little. She understood.
This was why so many magical artifacts couldn't be mass-produced. It was virtually impossible to industrialize such things. Even with alchemy, every magical engraving contained a wizard's personal understanding of magic.
"No... This WhatsApp notebook is too precious." Fleur stared at the device, suddenly feeling like it was burning hot in her hands. "We should just use owl-post. This kind of treasure should be reserved for people who are more... important to you."
"For ordinary chat, time isn't that big of an issue."
"What are you talking about?" Tom was taken aback by her response. "The entire reason I created the WhatsApp notebook was to stay in touch with you and Gabrielle. If you don't want it anymore, then where am I supposed to find another pair of half-Veela sisters?"
"You're awful, big brother!"
Gabrielle's mood flipped instantly. One moment she had declared Tom the best brother in the world; the next, her pout could've hung a kettle. Her tiny lips were pressed out so far they were practically trembling.
Fleur felt a complicated wave of emotions—touched, but also annoyed. She gave Tom a sharp pinch on the arm.
She had lost count of how many times she had done this recently. This infuriating boy always had a way of stirring up her emotions. One moment she liked him so much it hurt; the next, he had her fuming with rage.
"Okay, okay! I surrender!" Tom yelped playfully. "When I get back, I'll invent a spell or potion that blocks ticklishness. How can someone as perfect as me have a weakness like that?"
"If you really don't want the notebook," he added with a grin, "then let Gabrielle keep one. I'll message her every day. You and I... we can chat once every three days."
"Who said I don't want it anymore?" Fleur huffed. She picked up her notebook, ready to press it against Tom's to finalize the link. But he moved faster, lifting his own notebook just out of reach.
"What are you doing?" she asked, confused.
Tom raised an eyebrow, grinning like a devil. "Gabrielle already did Link-up, remember? You, as her big sister, aren't thinking of cutting corners, are you?"
Fleur instantly understood what he meant. Her face flushed hot as fire—part embarrassment, part fury. But seeing his playful expression and knowing he wouldn't give up unless she gave in, she bit her lower lip and finally relented.
She gently embraced Tom, rubbing her cheek against his like a kitten.
"Link-up complete."
That, of course, was Gabrielle's cue to pounce. The little girl playfully covered her eyes with her hands—but the gap between her fingers was wide enough for her big eyes to peek through completely.
"Big sister is being naughty~"
"Gabrielle!"
"Ahh! Big brother, help! Sister's about to transform!"
"If you keep spouting nonsense," Fleur retorted, "we're half-bloods, we don't transform!"
As laughter echoed through the Delacour household, a very different scene unfolded within the walls of Bastille Prison.
A young prison guard was currently passing through a series of checks and enchantments, carrying a meal meant for one of the inmates in the deepest wing of the facility.
After eliminating the Etienne traitor family, Vogel had intentionally kept a low profile. He needed to avoid giving the French Ministry of Magic any openings to act against him. That was why he hadn't immediately visited Vinda Rosier.
But he hadn't been idle either. On Tom's instructions, he had begun a quiet internal purge.
Everyone within their faction had to undergo Veritaserum questioning and Legilimency scans. Sure enough, some were already beginning to rot.
They hadn't turned into foreign pawns like Etienne, but they had abandoned their ideals long ago. They stayed in the faction for personal gain. People like that, Vogel couldn't afford to keep around.
The identity of Grindelwald's student had to remain secret. Any risk of leaks had to be eliminated.
Only after removing all internal threats did Vogel make his way to Bastille, where he came to collect the wand entrusted to Rosier by Grindelwald.
Once he reached the final level, the prison took on a completely different appearance. The upper levels were made of rough stone walls, primitive and cold. Prisoners were kept in filthy cages like animals.
But this deepest level... it was pristine.
The walls were painted white. The enormous space was divided into just four private cells, and only two were currently occupied.
One inmate was a mad potion master who had killed fifty Muggles and used their blood to brew his twisted elixirs. The other...
Vinda Rosier.
To be housed here, you either needed immense political power or unique value.
The potioneer was the latter—arguably one of the most skilled in all of France. The Ministry still needed him to concoct certain advanced brews.
Rosier, on the other hand, belonged to the former category.
The Rosier family, like the Lestranges, originated in France. Over the centuries, their bloodlines spread across Europe. The so-called "Sacred Twenty-Eight" in Britain? Merely a single branch of their extended lineage.
Vinda had become the second-in-command of the Saints. But her family also had high-ranking members in the Ministry. After Grindelwald's downfall, certain arrangements were made. As a result, she had lived relatively comfortably these past years—though she remained confined.
Still, with the man she loved imprisoned, Vinda's spirit had long withered. It no longer mattered to her where she was.
Vogel used the key to open her cell.
It was more like a luxury suite. Over 200 square meters in size, fully furnished with elegant hardwood furniture, a clear reflection of the occupant's noble heritage.
"Vinda?" Vogel called tentatively.
At the far end of the corridor, a door creaked open. A woman with silver hair stepped out. Her posture was graceful. Though age had carved deep lines across her face, one could still imagine her once-unparalleled beauty.
"Who are you?" she asked calmly.
The guards who brought food never dared to address her by name.
"It's me. Vogel."
With a flick of his wand, Vogel dissolved the effects of his Polyjuice Potion. Recognizing her former colleague, Vinda's expression remained impassive.
"Vogel? What a rare visitor. I didn't expect to see you again. But whatever you came here for, I'm afraid I won't be of any help. I no longer care about anything in the outside world."
"If this is just an old friend dropping by to chat, then you're welcome any time."
There was a deep stillness in her voice—a quiet acceptance of the end. Her heart was no longer part of this world.
"You really don't want to leave this place, Vinda?" Vogel asked with a faint smile.
Strictly speaking, he was a generation younger. His father had been her equal. But given their similar ages, their conversations had always been on even ground.
The old woman chuckled softly and moved with a slow dignity to the parlor, settling into a wicker chair that gently swayed as she sat. A teacup floated into her hand, refilled itself with steaming water.
"If I wanted to leave, I would've done so thirty years ago. Why bother waiting till now?"
"Is that so?" Vogel nodded. "Then I won't try to persuade you. Just hand over the wand that Lord Grindelwald entrusted to you. Young Master Riddle needs it to unify the Saints."
"You won't need it anymore. It's only right that his student should wield it."
After confirming Tom's identity, Vogel had begun referring to him as "Young Master"—a signal that he was family.
Vinda, however, suddenly sat bolt upright. The tea spilled down her robes, unnoticed. Her eyes locked onto Vogel's face.
"What did you just say? His student?"
"Vogel, are you joking? When did the Dark Lord take a student? In Nurmengard?!"
Vogel suppressed his grin. Outwardly, he remained calm, even cleaning his ear with a finger.
"Didn't you say you didn't care about the outside world anymore? For your peace and quiet, Vinda, you'd best not ask too many questions."
The old witch raised her hand. A wand zipped through the air and landed neatly in her palm.
"My patience is limited, Vogel. Don't make me ask a second time."