Upon hearing Harry's words, Pabi's eyes showed a pleading look—she was begging Mr. Leme not to reveal her secret.
"Oh..." Mr. Leme noticed Pabi's glance, "I see, but in my lifetime, I have never seen anyone succeed in practicing Magic Mage—you count as half."
He changed the subject: "I know that you and Miss Grindelwald always come up with some whimsical ideas when you are together, but I don't recommend you try them."
"Oh... okay." Harry nodded dryly, "Then how did you know the letter sender was me, Mr. Leme?"
"It was a hint left by Miss Grindelwald for me before she set out on her time travel journey, she came to my Alchemy Room."
Mr. Leme's arm rose mechanically like a rusty robot, and then a chair appeared out of thin air beneath him.
"At the same time, she entrusted Dico and Luqi to me..."
"I see." Harry nodded in realization.
"And your handwriting." Mr. Leme showed a somewhat disdainful look, "I don't think Miss Grindelwald would have such terrible handwriting. Given that only a handful of people know my Alchemy Room, Albus isn't acquainted with Miss Grindelwald—he knows another Grindelwald; as for Newt, not to mention, just hearing the name Grindelwald makes him a little queasy, so it's just you left."
"Dumbledore?" Harry asked with interest, "Are you saying Dumbledore knew Grindelwald... knew Gellert?"
"Of course he knew Gellert, they were friends... and I knew him too." Mr. Leme seemed a bit unhappy when mentioning that name: "Back in the day, Gellert made quite a commotion at the Père Lachaise Cemetery, his Fiery Fire almost burned the whole of Paris to ashes."
Harry tried his best to recall, but he really couldn't link the eight-year-old Sunflower Parrot with the Dark Wizard who almost burned down Paris.
Just thinking about that little boy showing an evil smile while commanding the Fiery Fire sweeping across Paris was quite surreal.
However... Harry caught onto certain highlights, like the fact that Dumbledore and Gellert were friends before?
"Were they friends before they were enemies?" Harry's eyes sparkled with a gossipy light: "—I mean Dumbledore and Gellert, what made them become enemies? I remember reading on the Chocolate Frog Card that Dumbledore defeated Gellert in 1945 and imprisoned him in Nimongard..."
"Do you think the pictures on Chocolate Frog Cards are real?" Mr. Leme said with a mischievous smile, "From an outsider's perspective, this event was Albus's glory—but for Albus, this matter is a lifelong pain... It's a complex piece of history, but it also fits the stereotypes of you English people."
As Mr. Leme said this, he gave Harry a meaningful smile.
"Stereotypes?" Harry was stunned.
He ran the possibilities through his mind several times but couldn't figure out what the stereotype could be.
"Stereotypes." Mr. Leme repeated, "Although it's a stereotype that has only developed in recent centuries—a hundred years."
Harry racked his brains and tentatively asked based on the French stereotypes of English people, "Is it bad cooking?"
But... even the English themselves admit to that, it's hardly slander from the French.
Mr. Leme looked at him as if he were an idiot.
Bad cooking? Becoming close friends because of bad cooking? Is there something wrong with you or the world?
Pabi huddled on the ground, trying her best to make herself invisible.
She didn't want Mr. Leme to notice her.
"Think again," Mr. Leme gave a hint, "A relationship closer than friends..."
Harry felt as if something exploded in his brain, and under Mr. Leme's guidance, he thought of a rather frightening possibility.
"Could it be..." he asked tentatively.
He really didn't want to think further; he felt Vivi might not accept it...
Just think about it, such an adorable younger brother, with such a pinchable little face, who they were counting on to continue the Grindelwald family bloodline, and then...
Harry felt that very possibly, the whole of Austria might suffer the same fate as Paris once did.
"Welcome to another world." Mr. Leme nodded with a smile.
Harry gasped, even though he had already speculated, he still found it hard to accept.
"No, no, no, no..."
"Yes." Mr. Leme said.
"No!" Harry really couldn't accept that, such a little Sunflower Parrot, and that Principal White Beard...
"Yes." Mr. Leme continued nodding.
Harry felt unsettled, he quickly turned his head: "Flaming Whiskey, a glass, Dico."
He wanted to numb himself with alcohol.
Sometimes, having too good an imagination isn't a good thing, and by the time he realized what he had been thinking, it was too late.
"Yes, Young Master Potter." Dico disappeared quickly and soon brought him a glass of Flaming Whiskey.
"I must remind you, minors are prohibited from drinking." Mr. Leme reminded.
"No worries, I'm British." Harry took a gulp, attempting to use alcohol to kick the recent thought out of his head, "And I've already come of age, if you count the years."
He paced back and forth with his glass, finding it impossible to forget what Mr. Leme had just said.