Apache grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and tossed it into the small fireplace. Soon, a fiery head appeared in the flames.
"This is the Paris Carriage Headquarters, Carriage No. 7. Please state your purpose," a gentle female voice emanated from the fire.
Glancing nervously at the door behind him, Apache lowered his voice and eagerly whispered to the customer service witch, "The two fugitives being hunted by the Ministry of Magic, they're on our carriage. Right now!"
The customer service witch froze in surprise before hurriedly asking, "Are you certain?"
"Absolutely certain!"
The other side hesitated for a moment before saying, "I'll contact the Ministry of Magic immediately and have them connect to your fireplace through the Floo Network."
The fire disappeared. Apache anxiously waited for two minutes before the flames roared to life again. This time, it wasn't the customer service witch but a middle-aged man. His steady voice spoke, "This is Auror Odome from the Ministry of Magic. Who are you?"
Apache's hands trembled with excitement. "Auror, sir, I'm the ticket collector Apache. Right next to me is—"
Odome cut him off impatiently. "Your headquarters told us you spotted the fugitives we've issued a warrant for—"
"Yes, yes, Auror, sir!" Apache blurted out, his voice trembling with enthusiasm. "I matched them to the photos in the newspaper—it's definitely them. A young man and woman, probably a couple. They—"
"Are the fugitives on your carriage right now?" Odome interrupted again. "Answer yes or no!"
"Yes."
"Can they hear this conversation? Yes or no."
"No! There's a door between us—"
"Where are you taking them?"
"To Lyon Avenue."
"Which specific location or building?"
"They didn't say. They just told us to stop when they reached the destination."
Odome paused for a moment before asking, "Where is your carriage now?"
"We just passed Place Vendôme," the driver, Russell, interjected like a living GPS. "We'll reach the Tuileries Garden in two minutes, the Petite Arc de Triomphe in five minutes, the Jeu de Paume National Gallery in ten minutes, and the Louvre in fifteen minutes. If you send Aurors now, they can Apparate to the next intersection and—"
"No," Odome interrupted firmly. "Don't stop the carriage or slow down. Continue directly to Lyon Avenue. We'll dispatch Aurors to set up an ambush there. We have our own plan."
"But, Auror, sir—" Apache began to protest.
"No buts. They're just young wizards, not dangerous at all. Don't be afraid!" Odome said in a stern tone.
Hearing the severity in Odome's voice, Apache shrank back slightly, but he couldn't help grumbling internally: Didn't you say they were dangerous in the newspapers?
Now they're being called "just young wizards"? Who are you trying to fool?
"I want you to keep an eye on them and avoid doing anything suspicious," Odome instructed cautiously. "If Stark and the girl attempt to Apparate, follow them—"
"But, sir, I don't know how to Apparate. I never got my license."
"…Then just act normal! This line will stay open. Keep us updated at all times."
"Understood," Apache replied shakily before nervously asking, "Auror, sir, about the reward mentioned in the news…"
"As long as we catch them, you'll get every Knut of it!" Odome snapped impatiently.
Once Odome stepped away from the fireplace, he turned to the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Crigen, who wore a cold expression that briefly softened into a satisfied smile.
"Finally, some news on Stark," Crigen murmured. "It wasn't in vain that I pushed for a nationwide warrant against a Merlin Medal recipient, even under immense pressure.
"Especially since the target is a British wizard."
To put it bluntly, if this operation failed, Crigen's political career would be over. After all, Stark wasn't an ordinary wizard but a prodigy with a reputation in Britain and even internationally, and only fourteen years old, no less.
But if they could recover Scamander's case and successfully convict the young British wizard, Crigen's prestige would soar domestically. Becoming the next Minister of Magic wouldn't be out of reach.
"Sir, why don't we intercept Stark directly at one of the intersections the carriage will pass?" Odome hesitated before asking.
"That ticket collector is clearly an idiot. I'm worried he'll tip Stark off and make him Apparate with the girl," Crigen replied.
"But, sir, young wizards can't perform magic outside of school," Odome argued. "He wouldn't risk Apparating in front of the ticket collector as it would leave evidence."
"Except Stark has already used plenty of magic outside of school, including possibly illegally brewing Polyjuice Potion!
"Yes, we all know that, but do we have any evidence?" Crigen asked sharply.
"Stark registered his wand as soon as he arrived in Paris. Did the Wand Permit Office detect any magic use from it?"
"No," Odome admitted, his tone weakening.
"Stark left the hotel with a second-year girl, entered the crime scene where Scamander was attacked, and then vanished without a trace. During the entire process, did anyone actually see him casting magic?"
Odome shamefully shook his head. What Crigen said was true, but that only made the Aurors look even more incompetent.
Being played for fools by an underage wizard, this was a low point for the French Aurors.
"That's why," Crigen said seriously, "you have to analyze a person based on their actions.
"Stark won't leave any evidence for us. I clearly underestimated that boy.
"'The youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin'—I initially thought it was just a stroke of luck. Now I see I was wrong. Terribly wrong."
Odome was stunned; it was the first time he'd ever heard his superior admit a mistake.
"Deploy all Aurors immediately to Lyon Avenue. Our target has never been Stark himself; it's Scamander's case.
"If he's heading there, the case must be there as well.
"We must recover it and secure a conviction against Scamander, or we'll become a laughingstock on the international stage," Crigen commanded.
Just then, another Auror rushed in, speaking quietly. "Sir, there's a problem."
"What happened?" Crigen asked.
"A number of Dementors have been spotted near the northern coastline."
"Dementors?" Crigen frowned. "Why aren't they in Azkaban? What are they doing in France?"
"Currently... we're not sure, but they've already attacked several Muggles," the Auror replied hesitantly.
"What are those British fools doing?" Crigen snapped in frustration.
"First, Scamander and Stark have us running around in circles, and now they've sent Dementors over as well? Do they really think of France as their backyard?
"Expel those Dementors immediately and file a protest with the International Confederation of Wizards. Request sanctions against the incompetent British Ministry of Magic!"
The Auror hesitated for a moment before nodding and leaving, presumably to draft the protest letter.
Odome, however, couldn't help but mutter inwardly:
"If protests worked, there wouldn't have been a Grindelwald or a Voldemort.
And besides, the head of the Confederation is Dumbledore... and he's a bloody Brit himself."
…
The carriage sped down Voltaire Avenue.
William turned his face toward the window, watching the scenery pass by. He caught a glimpse of the iconic façade of the Musée d'Orsay.
As his gaze wandered further, the ancient Luxor Obelisk came into view, marking the Jeu de Paume National Gallery.
Hermione rested her head lightly on William's shoulder, staring out at the passing landscape alongside him.
But her thoughts were elsewhere: If only this carriage could keep going like this forever.
The door to the driver's cabin suddenly opened, startling Hermione. She lifted her head slightly.
Apache quickly shut the door behind him and found a seat. He began fiddling with his radio again.
Hermione scanned the carriage, her expression suddenly tense. She sat up straight, as if something had just dawned on her.
"On Merlin, William!" she turned to him, her face pale.
Apache's eyes nervously darted between the "extremely dangerous" fugitives.
Hermione hesitated for a moment before decisively blurting out in clumsy, five-Knut French:
"William, we… are in the wrong place!"
"Hm?" William looked at her, puzzled.
Hermione grasped William's hand tightly, her eyes gleaming.
"No! We shouldn't be going to Lyon Avenue. We should be going to…"
Hermione faltered, unable to remember the word for the Louvre. Instead, she pointed to the slowly emerging glass pyramid in the distance.
"The Louvre?" William prompted in French.
"Yes, the Louvre!"
"Scamander's case was left in the Louvre!" Hermione declared in her awkward French.
"I swear on the honor of the Ministry of Magic, I'm absolutely certain!"
William frowned. The Ministry of Magic has honor?
Wasn't that as shattered as Fudge's credibility?