From Hogwarts to Strixhaven.

Chapter 145 Paris Opera House

The bow broke through the mist, splashing white waves. A cruise ship was crossing the English Channel and heading to France across the sea.

After enjoying a farewell cake from Professor Sprout in the staff room, Ivy and Dumbledore came to Diagon Alley from the fireplace of Hogwarts the next day.

They were going to head to the Muggle world from here, which was Charing Cross Road in London, outside the Leaky Cauldron.

After buying the tickets at the port, Dumbledore and Ivy, wearing long suits and calfskin shoes, became the most eye-catching people on the cruise ship.

No fool except an insurance salesman or a government servant would wear stuffy long sleeves in July in England.

As powerful wizards, Ivy and Dumbledore obviously had no such concerns. Even fire that could melt metal could be controlled by their magic, so why would they be afraid of the July sun?
The journey was only two hours long, so Ivy and Dumbledore chose to sit in the water bar at the bow.

The British favourites are beer, as well as other refreshing drinks including tea bags and freshly ground coffee.

But the two wizards' choices were different. As an old wizard who had lived for more than a hundred years, Dumbledore was obviously the type who was willing to accept new things.

So he picked up the transparent glass, stared at the bubbles that kept rising in the glass and asked, "The sound of these little bubbles breaking is really pleasant. What is it called, Ivy?"

"Sprite." Ivy put two slices of frozen lemon in his glass, "Lemon Sprite."

"Wonderful! Wonderful taste!" Dumbledore followed suit, taking a sip first, then taking a big gulp. "It's a bit like beer, but there's no alcohol that's harmful to health... Taking a sip against the salty sea breeze is really refreshing... Hiccup - oh! So interesting! I've decided, Ivy, this is the password for the new semester, Lemon Sprite!"

"As long as you are happy." What else could Ivy say?

In addition to lemon Sprite, Ivy also ordered two breakfasts, a whole wheat sandwich and a bacon fried egg.

Dumbledore took two bites with great interest, then sighed silently. It seemed that he didn't like all the things that belonged to Muggles.

"I still miss the craftsmanship of the house-elf more." The old man had good living habits, except for his hobby of eating sweets, so he ate up his breakfast.

"After crossing the sea, the ship will go directly up the Seine to Paris," Ivy said. "Where are we going to visit Nicolas Flamel?"

"In Paris!" Dumbledore reached into his pocket and pulled out two things that looked like tickets. "Paris Opera! My old friend sent two tickets with this letter. He invited us to watch the opera."

Although Ivy has a pure old Union Jack London accent in this life, he still has no chance to participate in so-called elegant activities such as concerts. He doesn't even know the difference between opera and Peking opera.

"So, the Paris Opera House is a place belonging to the wizarding world?" Ivy asked uncertainly. Since the British Ministry of Magic was built under Whitehall, it was nothing special for French wizards to take over the Paris Opera House.

"Of course not." Dumbledore seemed to be wondering why he would ask such a question. "That is a Muggle place. We only went there because Nico is an opera lover."

Think about it, who doesn't have a hobby after living for more than 20 years? Unlike the stinking Seine River 90 years later, the water of the Seine River in the s was still very clear, and the people walking along the river looked lazy, as if they had nothing in a hurry to do.

Apart from becoming the focus of everyone's attention, the two wizards from Britain did not encounter any trouble.

The Paris Opera House is a magnificent place. Its facade adopts a very classical Baroque style. Ivy has seen many such architectural styles on the streets of London more than a hundred years ago. However, those old buildings in London look more weathered. After all, the smog brought by industrialization always shrouds the port city, so it is not surprising that the stone walls are corroded.

In Ivy's opinion, the Baroque-style facade seemed to be divided into three parts. The top part was a symmetrical triangular arch with two gilded sculptures sitting on the arch, which looked like goddesses holding harps.

The middle part is a bunch of marble carved columns. The style of the columns looks similar to the Greek and Roman style, but is more refined. Thanks to the overall huge size, the columns are still very imposing.

At the very bottom were arched doorways. There were a large number of them. Ivy counted them carefully and found a magical number - seven.

"It's nice to see you, my old friend." A voice that sounded more vicissitudes than Dumbledore, but still energetic, made Ivy retract his gaze.

He was an old man who wrapped himself in white. He wore a white suit, revealing the white shirt underneath, and he was not wearing a tie. His hair and beard were all white, and his skin was as pale as if he had not seen the sun for many years.

Apart from his two deep blue eyes, it is hard to find any other color in him.

When Dumbledore met him, he did not hug him, but shook his hand very carefully, as if Nicolas Flamel was a piece of glass that was already full of cracks.

"So, you are the Mr. Doom who ate my Philosopher's Stone as jelly beans?" Nicolas Flamel greeted Ivy in English very considerately.

But before Ivy could answer, he asked worriedly, "I'm sure the Philosopher's Stone isn't some jelly bean. You don't have a stomachache, do you, Mr. Doom?"

"No. Thank you for your concern." Ivy was unsure of Nicolas Flamel's attitude, so he answered the question cautiously.

"He is nothing like you, Dumbledore," Nicolas Flamel said, pointing at Ivy. "You were much more rude than he was."

"You misunderstood, Nico." Dumbledore pulled Nicolas Flamel's arm. "Although Ivy is my student,... in fact, we are more like partners."

"Another Grindelwald?" Nicolas Flamel turned and smiled at Ivy. "Then I must be respectful to you. I still remember clearly what happened to Dumbledore's last partner in Paris."

Ivy didn't want to dwell on the topic any further. He asked, "When does the opera start?"

"Can't wait? Right?" Nicolas Flamel's smile grew even wider. "What you British people have choreographed is actually a musical, which is quite different from an ordinary opera. The performance won't start until the evening, so we can eat something first."

(End of this chapter)