My Classmate at Hogwarts is Voldemort

　　 "Extra! Extra!"

　　 Early in the morning, Nelson was sitting at an open-air table in a small restaurant on the street in Paris, adding sugar to the milk tea in one hand, and smashing the croissant on the table with a fork in the other. It was already riddled with holes. The morning here is much more comfortable than in London. Although the haze in the air is still irritating the mucous membranes of people's respiratory tract, there is no fog after all, and at least it looks clear.

After bidding farewell to Newt Scamander last night, Nelson and Tom returned to the room booked in the hidden place, only to find that the hotel’s deserted lobby during the day became a tavern with wizard singers in the evening. , A group of ghosts and zombies writhing on the dance floor with alcoholic beverages—this may be the early embryonic form of nightclubs. The hotel was no longer suitable for a night rest. The two had to leave with a suitcase and went to Paris to find a Muggle hotel. I have to say that as long as the money is in place, Muggle services will be much better than wizards can provide.

Tom saw a pet shop on the side of the road and went to buy rations for Nelson’s cat. That guy became a school bully at Hogwarts. Even the cat food had to be changed every day. So he Let Tom go shopping and order food by himself at the restaurant.

"Sir, do you want a newspaper?" The newsboy was pushing the newspaper against the bustling crowd, and seeing Nelson sitting on the side of the road, he squeezed up, waved the newspaper in his hand, and tried hard to sell it, "The Paris Daily News, The greatest artist of the century was astounded at the entrance of the Paris Opera."

　　 "Give me a copy, thank you." Nelson paid, spread the newspaper on the table, raised the cup, and sprayed a sip of milk tea on it.

There is a part-time translation job in a travel agency in the hidden area. They have a family-renowned translation mantra that allows the subject to understand the native language of the caster in a short time. Nelson bought a copy of the "French One" through Newt’s introduction there. Although the price of the "full week" package is as high as ten gallons, it is still very economical compared to finding a weekly translator-this allows him to master French fluently, including but not limited to listening, speaking, reading, and writing.

　　 He regrets a bit now, if he doesn’t understand French, he won’t see this morning’s news:

　　 "Looking for Pythia: Great Performance Artists Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald First Appear on the Streets of Paris"

　　"?" He took a peek at the surrounding streets and found that there was no one on the road after nine o'clock, so he secretly took the wet newspaper under the table, took out his wand and whispered, "Recover as before."

"Let me see..." Nelson spread the newspaper on the table again, chanting the contents softly, and sprayed another sip of milk tea. "Mr. Gellert Grindelwald and his partner Albus Dumbu Lido is the greatest performance artist I have seen in the past ten years in the industry. They rescued performance art from the incomprehensible madness, and showed us a new kind of art on the streets of Paris in a simple and thought-provoking way. The form of expression combines performance art with political appeal for the first time..."

　　 "Restore as before." He hid the wet newspaper under the table again, thought for a while, and added, "Waterproof and moistureproof."

"Nal? What are you looking at?" Tom suddenly appeared, sat opposite Nelson, and threw a big bag of cat food on the side chair with a "duang" cry, panting and said, "Can you believe it? The owl of the Daily Prophet hid in that pet shop in order to send me a letter in front of Muggles, pretending to be a pet bird."

　　 After all, he dropped a newspaper, picked up his cup of milk tea on the table with just the right temperature and sweetness, and drank it.

　　 "Gnar?" He raised his head and said vaguely with milk tea in it, "Why don't you talk?"

"I...I'm watching your news." With trembling hands, Nelson placed the Paris Journal upright in front of Tom. Tom lowered his head and glanced at the huge photo on the front page of the newspaper. The two were dressed. The young man in the same tartan coat stood at the entrance of a dim alley and looked at the camera. Nelson was wearing a trilby and was talking to the camera with his hands outstretched, while Tom at the back turned his face sideways. Turning his back to the bustling lights on the street outside, hiding his expression deep under the brim of the newsboy hat, facing the statue of the priestess who was naked in the distance, cast a heavy look at worrying about the country and the people. He turned his head to the newspaper, and his voice soon became as melancholy as the eyes in the photo, "What is this? Artist Gellert Grindelwald?"

　　 "This is you, Tom."

"What about you? Are you Albus Dumbledore?" Tom's tone rarely shivered. How could he have seen this kind of battle, "Grindelwald will kill the Muggles of this newspaper! He might even kill everyone in Paris who has read this newspaper! He will definitely kill us! What is this? The deconstruction of traditional theocracy and patriarchy, the yearning for a better future and the appeal for equal rights? How do they Dare to make such a mess!"

　　 "This may refer to our search for Pythia sculptures."

"I know! But..." Tom's expression was unpredictable, as if he didn't know what to show in this situation. After a while, he shook his head with a wry smile, picked up the "Daily Prophet" and threw it in front of Nelson. "Well, Dumbledore and Grindelwald may be the first people ever to be on the front page of a Muggle and Wizarding newspaper at the same time."

　　 Nelson picked up the newspaper and glanced at it. The front page read impressively, "The Wiesengama Trial Site was attacked, Dumbledore repulsed Grindelwald! 》

"Fortunately, it was dark when I took the photo. I think they should not be able to see my face." Tom patted his chest and comforted himself. Then when he opened the second edition, he saw himself and Nelson standing under the portrait of Napoleon. High-definition handsome face.

　　"..."

"By the way, where is the fireplace from Paris to London?" Tom stood up quickly, looked up at the bright morning sun, picked up the cat food beside him and some things I just bought yesterday and asked, "It's not early. I think I have to go back now."

"The International Floo Network may need to go to the Ministry of Magic. Even if it doesn’t work, you can find the British magic diplomat in France to take you back directly." Nelson also stood up and handed the coat on the back of the chair to his body. I quickly planned my escape route in my mind, "We need to go to Furstenberg Square first, let me see..."

　　He took out a map from his pocket and nodded, "It's in the sixth district, fortunately not far from here."

　　...

Furstenborg Square is a public facility that has been relatively outdated by the times. There are more or less places of this kind in every city. Most of them have the same name in the land where we live. "Parks", "Liberation Park", "Cultural Plaza" or similar names, they were mostly built decades ago, and they are not very popular with modern people with rich entertainment life. The Furstenberg Square is no different from them—the old square floor tiles are covered with small squares, and in the center of the narrow cross-shaped platform is a fountain struggling hard to look at, and four straight and tall trees are planted around it. The trees are not very beautiful. A few birds are hiding in the shade and pecking at the acorns scattered on the ground. The buildings around the square seem to be thoughtful. They are generally low, with a dilapidated gray, surrounding the square. The iron railing on the edge of the curved road also shows a look and feel of interweaving black and rust.

　　 "How do we get in?" Tom raised his eyebrows. "Although the British Ministry of Magic is not high-end, it is at least at the door of a bustling department store."

"It won't be prosperous in a few decades." Nelson walked to a lamp next to the fountain. This lamp was carefully carved. The four tortured goddesses held the hill-like lamp top. Bend down and looked at the inscription on it carefully, "Valas Fountain? It should be here."

　　 The two stood on the side, and the surrounding tree roots swept over and wrapped them tightly to form a birdcage-shaped elevator. They quickly fell and sank to the ground.

　　 "What can I do for you?" While Nelson was studying the elevator shaft through the gaps in the birdcage surrounded by tree roots, UU read www.uukanshu. The twisted roots of com suddenly shrank and retreated. A black-haired witch with high cheekbones was sitting at the front desk facing the two of them, looking at them, while holding a quill pen to record something.

"I want to use the International Floo Network here," Tom took a step forward and explained his intentions. "I am a student at Hogwarts. I will go to Dumbledore’s trial this weekend. Later, because of Grindelwald’s attack and my colleagues. The people scattered and went to the wrong fireplace to hide. I heard that the fireplace of the French Ministry of Magic can be connected to London, and I want to go back from here."

　　 "Excuse me." Seeing that the witch at the front desk brought a thick book to inquire about something, Tom added another sentence.

"It doesn't matter, we have also prepared a plan to deal with this situation." The witch nodded and closed the book. "The office of the Department of International Affairs is downstairs. You can go directly down the stairs on the right and register there. ."

　　 "This gentleman, do you need it too?"

　　 "Thank you, I'm not in a hurry." Nelson declined the witch's kindness, "I came with him."

　　 The administrative efficiency was unexpectedly high. After a while, Tom crawled away from the fireplace of the International Affairs Exchange Department.

"Nelson, we should go back." As Nelson was standing in front of the office and thinking about his escape route, a voice stopped him. He raised his head and happened to meet Andreina who was accompanied by two Ministry of Magic officials. There are shrewd old eyes in the turbidity.

　　 "How are you..."

"Hush—" Andre blinked at him, waited until the two officials had gone away, and said with a smile, "I said, not every saint is wanted, and not every country is wanted. we."