The breakfast courtyard at the Flamel Château was almost offensively peaceful.
Sunlight spilled lazily over enchanted teacups. The air smelled of honeyed brioche and lilac blossoms, and hummingbirds made entirely of glass fluttered through the ivy trellises as if unaware that nature wasn't supposed to come in stained crystal.
Hermione was quiet. The kind of quiet that involved not looking at me directly.
Gabrielle, on the other hand, had made herself quite comfortable beside me. She now rested her arms on the table and occasionally tilted her head just far enough to bump my elbow whenever I stopped spreading jam on my toast.
Fleur looked entirely composed across from us, sipping her tea like she'd never caused anyone an existential crisis with a smile. Perenelle poured more tea into Emma's teacup, while Dan tried to discreetly take a photo of a croissant refolding itself.
Flamel, as ever, was quietly watching.
And then, just before I could make a clever remark about jam's philosophical implications, he chuckled.
That's all.
Not a skeptical eyebrow raise. Not a lecture. Just a chuckle.
I smiled.
And my mind went backward.
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The fire had burned low, casting long shadows across the room. Flamel had remained seated after our initial conversation, fingers steepled and gaze fixed somewhere between my face and the memory of everything I'd told him.
Then he spoke.
"In your letter," he said slowly, "you mentioned something about storing what should not be stored."
"I did," I replied, sipping my coffee.
"What did you mean by that?"
"I meant it exactly as it sounds."
"You mean metaphorically?"
"I mean literally."
He blinked.
"You're saying you can... store things. Dangerous things?"
"Not just dangerous," I said. "Ridiculous. Inconvenient. Pillow-related."
"Explain."
I shrugged. "I have a space. A pocket, I guess. I can put things there. They don't age. They don't change. They just... wait."
"Magic?"
"I think so."
He leaned forward, interest overtaking his skepticism.
"May I see it?"
"Sure."
I stood, walked to the corner, and pulled from thin air a loaf of bread I'd taken from dinner two nights ago.
It was warm.
Flamel's eyebrows nearly detached from his face.
"That should be impossible."
"Agreed."
"Do it again."
So I did. A quill. A teacup. A book.
"None of these are enchanted?"
"Nope."
"No runes? No sigils?"
"Just storage."
"And you say time... doesn't move there?"
"Right."
"Show me something perishable."
I pulled out a strawberry tart.
"It's from yesterday's tea," I said.
"It looks like it's from this morning."
"It smells like it too."
He inspected it with reverence. Then he cast four different preservation and decay detection charms in rapid succession.
All of them returned blank.
"Sky," he said quietly, "do you understand what this is?"
"Convenient?"
"This is unheard of."
"Should I be worried?"
"No. But you should be discreet. Extremely."
"Already am."
"Does anyone else know?"
"Hermione suspects. But she thinks I'm just very fast with pockets."
"Keep it that way. Tell no one else."
"Understood."
He leaned forward, eyes dancing with fascination. "Sky," he said softly, "what you've shown me tonight is something no tome or theory has ever hinted at. I've studied dimensional translocation for over four centuries, and yet this... this is something else entirely."
He paused, eyes narrowing in focused thought. "There were no magical fluctuations when you retrieved those objects—not even ambient trace. This isn't magic. At least, not any kind we know."
That made me blink. "Wait—what?"
"No flux. No disturbance. Nothing for a wand or a ward to catch. That may be why no one has ever noticed. Or caught you."
I leaned back, the realization hitting harder than expected. "Huh. That... actually explains a lot."
"I figured it was a little odd," I said, sipping my coffee. "But I mostly use it for snacks."
"And it's just you who can access it?"
"Only me," I confirmed. "I've never tested it with anyone else—and I don't plan to."
Flamel nodded approvingly. "Good. Keep it that way. Let's not tempt fate before we understand what fate is tempted by."
He stood and began pacing slowly, hands clasped behind his back. "We'll study it carefully, methodically. But we do it quietly. Promise me you won't mention this to anyone."
"You have my word," I said. "Though... when Hermione finishes learning Occlumency, I do plan to tell her."
He paused, then tilted his head, visibly hesitant. "That's a significant risk. Are you certain she's the right person to share this with?"
"I trust no one more," I said simply.
He studied me for a beat, then gave a small nod. "Then waiting until she can shield her mind—yes. That is foresight I can appreciate."
"She already is. But I know you'd prefer... contingencies."
"Precisely."
He turned back toward me with a quiet smile. "Then I believe we've only just begun, mon garçon."
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Dan leaned forward, coffee in hand. "So what's the plan today? Any sightseeing? Maybe a dragon or two?"
Jean-Claude chuckled as he folded a napkin with surgical precision. "No dragons, I'm afraid. But we do have something arguably more dangerous."
"Shopping," Fleur supplied helpfully. "And sweets. Possibly at the same time."
"We've arranged a full outing through La Place Cachée," Apolline added. "The market district has expanded this summer with new seasonal vendors. And a few returning favorites."
Gabrielle perked up at that, her expression lighting just a little.
"There is one who sells floating pastries that follow you home," she said quietly.
"Sounds like my kind of problem," I said.
Emma clapped her hands, clearly delighted. "It sounds magical. Thank you both for organizing this."
Perenelle entered just long enough to adjust Gabrielle's scarf and refill Dan's mug. "Do enjoy yourselves," she said. "La Place has many temptations—some more charming than others."
"That's an oddly specific warning," I noted.
"Oh, don't worry," she added, smiling faintly.
Jean-Claude added. "You'll see the finest artisan vendors, historic enchantment houses, and—if time allows—a tailor that refuses to serve anyone with poor posture."
"That's oddly specific," I said.
"He's very committed to his craft," Apolline offered, amused.
"And he once tried to hex a hunchbacked noble," Fleur murmured.
"It was in the papers," Gabrielle added quietly.
Emma clapped her hands. "That sounds absolutely delightful! And Fleur, Gabrielle—thank you both so much for taking the time."
"It is our pleasure," Fleur said with a courteous nod.
Gabrielle giggled softly.
Nicholas raised his cup from the balcony with a smirk. "Spend wisely. Or at least, creatively."