NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 246: A Visit
The sun had just begun its climb over the rooftops of Paris when Cael stepped out of his hotel and onto the narrow, cobbled street, his coat lightly swaying in the morning breeze. He had woken early, showered, dressed neatly, and taken the time to charm his hair into some semblance of order. In his pocket, Hermione's letter rested like a promise.
They had agreed to meet at 10 a.m. by the old fountain near Notre-Dame, but Cael, always cautious , had arrived by 9.
The city was still stretching itself awake—the perfume of baking bread drifted from nearby cafés, and the streets sparkled faintly with dew. He sat on a wrought-iron bench across from the fountain, arms resting loosely on his knees, watching the world drift past.
Time moved slowly.
By ten, Cael had stood up, walking a few steps in either direction, scanning the crowd with growing anxiety. But just as he turned, he felt a light tap on his shoulder.
He spun around—and there she was.
Hermione.
For a second, Cael blinked. She looked… different. Taller. Her hair a bit longer, looser than before. Her skin held a warm tint from the summer sun, and though her expression was familiar, there was something subtly grown-up in the way she carried herself.
"You've changed," he said, with a grin. "Long time no see, Hermione."
She returned the smile, eyes sparkling. "You too. What are you doing here, Cael? I nearly fell out of my bed when I saw your owl last night."
"Well…" Cael scratched the back of his neck, glancing toward the fountain. "I came here for something my mother left for me. A… friend of hers was keeping it. Just some old books on runes."
Hermione's smile softened. "You said you found your mother last term. This is about her, isn't it?"
Cael nodded. "Yeah. I came to collect what she left for me."
"I'm glad you did," she said. Then, with a teasing grin: "So, what now? The Eiffel Tower?"
Cael laughed. "I'm sure you've already gone. Probably twice. No need for another cliché."
Hermione mock-pouted. "I only went once."
"Still," he said with a smirk, "I've got something better. Want to see the French version of Diagon Alley?"
Her eyes lit up. "Wait—they have one here?"
"Of course," he said. "It's called Place Cachée. It's beautiful. Come on, I'll show you."
⸻
The taxi took them from the historic quarter to the stylish 9th arrondissement, where elegant shopfronts and fashion houses lined the street. Between a high-end perfume boutique and a couture designer showroom stood a modestly lit fashion shop.
Inside, the saleswoman recognized Cael immediately and led them behind a curtain. With a whispered incantation and a tap of her wand on the floor, a shimmering doorway revealed itself.
They stepped through—and entered a world veiled from Muggle sight.
Hermione gasped.
"Merlin's beard… it's gorgeous."
Place Cachée glittered under a charmed ceiling that mimicked a bright summer sky. Stone pathways wound between floating kiosks, glowing shop signs, and elegant magical boutiques. Enchanted dresses twirled in the windows, books floated lazily on display stands, and perfumes emitted aromatic tendrils that danced through the air.
"It's newer than Diagon Alley," Cael explained, watching her awe. "Only about three hundred years old. It was built for the fashionable magical elite of France. Diagon Alley's older, more traditional. This place… this is flair."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying French wizards have better taste?"
"I'm saying they care more about appearances," Cael said with a grin. "Come on—I know a great place to eat."
⸻
They entered Le Lys de Lune, a magical pub tucked beneath a gently glowing willow tree, its branches weaving through the ceiling like a living chandelier.
A familiar Veela waitress noticed Cael and smiled. "Back again, monsieur? Your usual table?"
"Please," Cael said, then led Hermione to a corner booth.
Hermione leaned in and whispered, "She's a Veela, isn't she? Her features—her hair, her eyes—so ethereal."
Cael nodded. "Yeah. My grandmother was one, actually. That makes me, technically, a quarter Veela."
Hermione gaped. "Really? But… you don't have the hair."
"I take after my mum, and I was just joking I don't know if my grandma was a Veela or not " Cael said with a shrug.
The waitress returned with menus and a charming smile. "What would you like today?"
Cael looked at Hermione. "You have to try the enchanted beef stew. It's their specialty."
Hermione hesitated, then smiled. "Alright. Let's try something magical."
As they began eating, a tall man in dark robes entered the pub and walked directly to their table.
Cael sighed the moment he saw him.
"Well, if it isn't Agent Davoir," Cael muttered dryly. "I was really hoping today wouldn't include Ministry surveillance."
The man smiled faintly. "You remember me. How touching. I feared you might've forgotten."
"I try to forget irritating people," Cael said, glaring. "Why are you here?"
Davoir's eyes flicked to Hermione. "I see you've brought a companion. Girlfriend?"
Cael stiffened, his grip tightening on his fork. "She's a friend. That's all. Say what you need and leave."
"I only came to ask her name," Davoir said casually.
"You're not getting it," Cael snapped.
Davoir smirked. "I'll find out myself, then."
"And this is how France treats its guests?" Cael said, his voice rising. "You treat a visitor like a criminal. I expected better. I thought the French valued honor."
Davoir flushed with anger, his lips pressed thin. But before he could speak, the pub owner—a tall, silver-haired Veela with commanding grace—appeared at their table.
"Agent," she said coldly. "You were warned not to disturb my guests. You are no longer welcome here. Leave. Now."
Davoir hesitated, glaring at Cael, then turned and left without another word.
The Veela turned to Cael and Hermione, her voice softening. "I apologize. He's ambitious. Wants a promotion, so he stalks foreigners for any whiff of scandal. Your meal today is on the house."
Cael stood and bowed slightly. "Thank you. It's not your fault."
⸻
Afterward, Cael and Hermione wandered through the magical alley. They browsed bookstores, where Cael insisted on buying her a few advanced magical manuals.
"I'll pay you back," Hermione protested.
"No need," he said with a shrug. "Consider it a gift."
They bought enchanted scarves, a new set of French wizarding robes for Hermione, and a few playful gifts for Harry and Ron. At one corner, they paused to watch a magical street performer juggle flaming enchanted teacups that meowed when dropped.
The sky was beginning to darken when Hermione glanced at her watch. "I have to go. Mum said to be back by evening."
"I'll take you," Cael offered.
⸻
In front of Hermione's hotel, they paused.
"I wish you could stay longer," she said, a little quieter now.
"I wish I could too," Cael replied. "But I have to take these books back. There's still so much I need to figure out."
Hermione nodded. "I'll be back in fifteen days. Maybe… we could meet again in England?"
Cael smiled. "Write to me when you're back. I'll come get you. You can visit my place—we can practice spells. My home's hooked to the Floo Network."
"Really? That's allowed?"
"It is, if it's registered. I'll sort it out. Don't worry."
Hermione beamed. "Thanks, Cael. I had a wonderful day."
"So did I," he said.
They shared a final wave, and Hermione disappeared into the hotel.
⸻
That evening, back in her room, Hermione collapsed onto her bed with a sigh. Just then, her mother knocked on the door and stepped inside.
"Back already?" her mum asked, removing her heels. "Did your little boyfriend drop you off?"
Hermione groaned, "Mum, he's not my boyfriend."
Her mother grinned. "Sure, sure. So? Where did you two go?"
Hermione smiled despite herself and began to tell her everything—the shops, the food, the spells, the street show, and of course, Place Cachée.
For the first time in a while, her voice was bright and animated.
Her mother listened quietly, watching her daughter glow.
And somewhere else in Paris, Cael sat in silence, old books piled beside him, already planning what to do next.