Harry Potter's : Fantastic Beasts Guide

"He's in France."

Nico leaned forward, his face nearly pressed against the smooth surface of the crystal ball as he intently studied the shifting image within.

"Can you determine the exact location?" David asked, watching alongside him. To his eyes, Newt's figure was barely discernible amidst the swirling mist.

"Exact location..." Nico murmured, running a delicate, bony hand over the transparent sphere. Inside, the white fog churned violently before gradually settling, forming the outline of a grand stone structure.

A generous arch.

"They should be in Paris," Nico confirmed. "I can't pinpoint anything more specific. But one day, they will return here—this place, the Arc de Triomphe. You might consider waiting for them there."

"Thank you," David said sincerely.

"Think nothing of it." Nico leaned back, a tired smile on his lips. The act of scrying had clearly drained him, his fragile frame betraying the exhaustion that weighed upon him.

David steadied him, guiding him gently back to the sofa. For a moment, silence settled over the room.

"Mr. Flamel..." David began hesitantly, his gaze fixed on the floor, words failing him.

"Don't grieve for us." Nico, reading his thoughts, smiled. He cast a fleeting glance at Perenelle before adding, "Death is merely another form of existence. We have experienced all we wish to in this world. It is time for us to embrace another."

"But—"

"No." Nico slowly lifted a frail hand, stopping David before he could protest. "Let us go in peace. Don't attempt to change our fate, and don't involve anyone else."

David hesitated, his brows furrowing deeply.

"This is my last wish," Nico said softly. "Will you honor it?"

David swallowed hard before giving a slow nod. "I understand..."

"Good." Nico let out a relieved breath before turning his head towards the stairs. He inhaled deeply and called out, "Phil, bring down the gift I prepared for David."

His voice, though strained, carried warmth. With a soft pop, a house-elf appeared, bowing low before Nico. In its small hands was a polished wooden box.

"Here, give it to him," Nico instructed.

Phil nodded, shuffling forward and extending the box towards David.

"Thank you," David said, accepting it. It was not particularly large, yet it carried a surprising weight.

Nico's eyes twinkled with excitement. "Go on, open it."

David unlatched the golden clasp and lifted the lid. His eyes widened in shock.

Inside, lying still at the bottom, was a vivid red-and-blue toy truck.

"How is it? Not bad, right?" Nico asked with a mischievous grin.

"It's incredible!" David marveled.

Nico chuckled. "It's not just a toy. Point your wand at it and say, 'Autobots, transform!'"

Curious, David did as he was told. "Autobots, transform!"

A mechanical whirring sound filled the air as the truck shifted, unfolding into a humanoid form. A deep, resonant voice rumbled through the room:

"I am Optimus Prime."

David's breath hitched, his scalp tingling in amazement. His eyes locked onto the Transformer before him.

"It understands simple commands," Nico explained. "If you want it to return to its vehicle form, just say, 'Autobots, transform! Let's roll!'"

David followed the instruction, and the robot effortlessly morphed back into a truck. He bowed deeply. "Thank you."

"This is my last gift to you," Nico said lightly. "Now go. If you wait any longer, you'll miss Newt."

With a heavy heart, David bid farewell to the Flamels and stepped out of the courtyard. Jason placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Don't dwell on it too much. They've lived a long and fulfilling life, on their own terms."

David nodded, suppressing the sorrow welling in his chest.

"Where to next? How do we get to Paris?" Jason asked.

"Smuggling," David answered, glancing westward.

He knew the routes well—his grandfather had taken him through them many times. The trio ventured into the dense forest, moving quickly through familiar paths.

After some time, Jason frowned. "David, are you sure we're on the right path?"

"Positive," David assured him. "Just ahead."

As they approached a towering tree, its massive roots sprawling in tangled patterns across the forest floor, a small voice greeted them.

"Welcome."

A diminutive wizard emerged from a hollow within the tree, his black robes barely concealing a thick, scruffy beard that nearly brushed the ground.

"Where to?"

"Paris," David answered.

"Thirty Galleons."

David fished out the coins without hesitation. He was well-versed in the process.

But before he could finish, the wizard suddenly stopped him. He peered up at Jason and Anna, his eyes narrowing in recognition. A moment later, he scurried into the tree hole.

"What's his deal?" Jason muttered. "You think he—"

"Relax," David interrupted. "If he reported us, he'd be exposing his own business. But… he's probably about to charge extra."

Sure enough, the wizard returned moments later, holding two sheets of parchment.

"Fifty Galleons."

"What?!" Jason barked.

"You're very wanted criminals," the wizard said, grinning. "Helping you comes with risk. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to fly to Paris yourselves?"

Jason seethed, but David sighed, pulling out the extra payment. "Forget it, we need to move fast."

With a triumphant smile, the wizard polished an iron barrel and gestured for them to enter. The trio climbed inside, and in an instant, they were whisked away.

The next moment, they stood beneath a dimly lit bridge.

"Welcome to France," Anna announced grandly.

David glanced at his companions, suddenly realizing how much of an advantage they had—both Jason and Anna were native French speakers.

"Guess I'll be relying on you two here," he said.

Jason grinned. "No problem. So, do we head straight to the Arc de Triomphe or explore first?"

"We wait for my grandfather," David decided. "We can't risk missing him."

"Alright then! Let's go."

Navigating the streets with ease, Jason led them towards their destination. As they approached the Arc de Triomphe, its grand structure loomed before them. The intricate stone reliefs, narrating tales of France's past, stood proudly upon the towering pillars.

Tourists bustled about, taking photographs, oblivious to the three watchful figures scanning the area.

Newt Scamander was nowhere to be seen.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the trio set up camp nearby. David took the first watch, eyes trained on the monument's grand archways. But when the night deepened, Jason shook him awake.

"David, wake up. There's movement outside."

Still groggy, David sat up. "Is it my grandfather?"

Jason shook his head. "No. But whoever they are, they're up to something."

Something was very, very wrong.

A group of seven or eight wizards gathered near the base of the Arc de Triomphe, their figures shifting uneasily in the dim light. One of them, positioned at the front, raised his wand. A faint glow flickered at its tip, casting eerie shadows across the stone. The others encircled him, their eyes darting around warily, as if expecting to be watched.

David, concealed in the darkness with Jason, furrowed his brow. "What are they doing? Some kind of religious ritual?" he whispered.

"I have no idea," Jason admitted, his voice hushed with uncertainty.

David's eyes narrowed. "Should we get closer? This might have something to do with my grandfather."

Jason hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Alright. Can you cast a Disillusionment Charm?"

"Of course," David murmured. As he waved his wand over himself, his body shimmered and vanished into the night.

Jason let out a low whistle. "Impressive." With a flick of his own wand, he disappeared as well.

"Let's move."

Stealthily, they advanced toward the Arc de Triomphe. David placed his steps carefully, ensuring he made no noise. As they drew closer, he was able to study the mysterious figures more clearly. Though their appearances varied—some tall, some short, some stocky, others gaunt—they all shared a striking similarity. Their faces were pale and drawn, their eyes sunken with exhaustion, and their hair was unkempt, as if they had endured relentless hardship.

Werewolves.

The realization struck David instantly. Their expressions mirrored those of the werewolves he and Tariq had once captured. His fingers tightened around his wand.

Just then, the lead wizard completed his incantation. A deep, grinding sound echoed through the air as the stone reliefs adorning the gatepost stirred to life. The sculpted figures stretched, stepping aside as if relinquishing their duty as sentinels. Beneath them, the ground trembled. The stone platform split apart, revealing a hidden stairway that spiraled downward into darkness.

"Come on," the lead wizard commanded. "Let's see how many make it through this time."

One by one, they descended into the unknown.

David held his breath, waiting until the last of them had disappeared before slipping in behind them. He moved carefully, his presence masked by the lingering shadows. As soon as he crossed the threshold, the statues shifted back into place with a dull thud, sealing the entrance behind him.

Yet, the corridor ahead was not as dark as he expected. Dim oil lamps flickered along the walls, their golden light illuminating elaborate carvings and aged portraits. The craftsmanship was undeniably exquisite, but the space itself had been neglected. Dirt and debris littered the stone floor, dark stains clung to the walls, and a heavy, acrid stench filled the air.

David wrinkled his nose. Whoever has been using this place certainly hasn't been maintaining it.

The procession of wizards continued ahead, silent and heavy-footed, as if reluctant to proceed further. David trailed behind, his pulse quickening with each step.

After what felt like minutes, the staircase ended. The tunnel branched into a corridor similar to the one below—except this one had doors lining both sides.

A voice broke the silence. "Check the rooms."

At the command, the wizards split off, pushing open doors and peering inside.

David edged closer, careful to remain unseen. As he passed the first room, he froze.

Inside, under the dim glow of candlelight, stood four iron cages. Each held a wizard, their bodies weak and frail, their breath labored. Their appearances mirrored those of the group outside—pale, exhausted, sickly.

David's stomach clenched.

Are they infecting them?

His grip on his wand tightened as a cold wave of realization settled over him.

This scene—it was exactly as John had once described.