Harry Potter with Technology System-Chapter 395: Château Flamel

Petunia greeted them with a nod, slipping her arm through Perenelle's without hesitation. The older witch accepted the gesture easily, and the two of them started chatting as they walked ahead, leaving Harry and Nicolas to trail behind them like a pair of helpless escorts.

Harry wasn't surprised. This wasn't Petunia's first time at the Flamel estate. While he'd been stuck at Hogwarts, she and Perenelle had been exchanging letters through a device he and Nicolas had been tinkering with—something that worked like a more secure and efficient version of a mirror communication system. From what he could tell, the two had developed a habit of discussing everything from magical theory to whether or not some of the Ministry's laws were outdated nonsense.

"You know, I had a very nice system for avoiding social events before you and your aunt started turning up uninvited," Nicolas said, glancing at Harry as they followed the women toward the entrance.

Harry smirked. "You're centuries old and still haven't figured out how to say no to people?"

Nicolas sighed dramatically. "I did once, about a hundred years ago. Perenelle still hasn't let me forget it."

"That's a shame," Harry said. "Sounds like you were onto something."

As soon as they reached the entrance hall, a house-elf appeared with a quiet pop, bowing low before them.

"Master Nicolas, Master Harry, Mistress Petunia, Mistress Perenelle," the elf greeted. "The usual rooms have been prepared. Dinner will be served shortly."

Petunia waved a hand. "No need to fuss over us."

The elf merely bowed again and vanished.

Harry set his bag down near the entrance, scanning the familiar surroundings. The last time he'd been here, he and Nicolas had been deep in a discussion about blood magic and the more inconvenient aspects of ancient runework. From the way Nicolas was eyeing him now, he was expecting Harry to dive right back into it.

He wasn't wrong.

"How much do you know about what went wrong with the ritual?" Harry asked, wasting no time.

Perenelle let out a quiet hum, finally turning to face him. "You did something to interfere, didn't you?"

Harry nodded. "Offered the blood willingly instead of having it taken by force."

Nicolas grinned. "Oh, that's cruel. I approve."

Petunia raised a brow at him, unimpressed.

Nicolas cleared his throat. "Er, I mean, very clever. No, that wasn't just clever, Harry. That was artistry."

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Harry exhaled through his nose. "It worked at first. The ritual hesitated, but then Dudley—idiot that he is—offered his own blood. Since he shares my mum's blood, and he did it willingly, I guess the magic forced it into place. It still wasn't perfect, though. Voldemort's back, but not at full strength."

Nicolas hummed, tapping his fingers against the edge of a nearby table. "Fascinating. And risky."

Harry shrugged. "Not like I planned for Dudley to show up."

"That part was an unfortunate surprise," Nicolas agreed, his tone light, but the sharp look in his eyes made it clear he was already analyzing every angle. "You did manage to throw the ritual off, though. I imagine he isn't pleased about that."

Harry snorted. "Hardly. He expected to come back at full power. Instead, he got... something else. His magic's unstable. His casting isn't as smooth as it should be. It's like his body exists, but the spellwork tying him together didn't fully settle. Not enough to cripple him, but enough that it matters."

Perenelle, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke. "A flaw in the foundation can bring down even the strongest structure."

"Yeah, well, I would rather not wait around for the building to collapse on me," Harry said.

As they sat down for dinner, Nicolas glanced at Harry and asked, "So, what's next for you?"

Harry set his fork down, thinking for a moment. "I was planning to visit South America with Selena," he said. "Last year, I already ditched her once. Probably should fix that."

Nicolas chuckled. "Wise decision. You'd rather face a dragon than an annoyed spell-crafter."

Perenelle smirked as she poured herself a glass of wine. "If she hasn't hexed you by now, she must like you."

Petunia, who had been listening, gave him a look. "And how exactly are you getting to South America?"

Harry leaned back in his chair, "Planes. Portkeys are a pain, Floo doesn't work for long distances, and a broom isn't practical at all. If I had to pick, I would rather take a wooden ship than any magical option."

Nicolas and Perenelle both nodded as if this was the most reasonable thing in the world. Unlike most British pure-bloods, they had seen the rise of technology and were open to it. Nicolas, in particular, had been fascinated by science for centuries. He had once told Harry that Isaac Newton had been obsessed with alchemy, and from the way he spoke, it was clear they had known each other personally.

"The magical world's stubborn rejection of modern technology is as amusing as it is frustrating," Nicolas said. "You'd think after watching Muggles invent machines that can fly, break the sound barrier, and even leave the planet, wizards might show a little interest."

"They won't," Harry said. "Too much pride."

Perenelle gave Nicolas a pointed look. "It's not as if you didn't make the same mistakes when you were younger."

Nicolas sighed. "Yes, yes, I remember. 'There is wisdom in knowing when to let go of old ways.'" He waved a hand. "But in my defense, I was already centuries ahead of my time. It's not my fault the rest of the world had to catch up."

Petunia sipped her tea, unimpressed. "I don't see you building airplanes in the backyard."

Harry smirked. "Give him a decade."

Nicolas looked entirely too pleased with the idea. "Don't tempt me."

Perenelle smiled dangerously. "You do remember what happened the last time you tried combining magical enchantments with mechanical engineering?"

Nicolas waved a hand. "Oh, come now. The explosion was hardly my fault."

Petunia rolled her eyes and turned to Harry. "Where exactly in South America are you going?"

Harry thought for a moment before answering, "Probably Chichén Itzá. Selena and Professor Goshawk have been researching the connection between ancient civilizations, trying to figure out if all old spells came from a single source. They think the pyramids—since they have the same shape all over the world—might give them some insight. Obviously, the standard explanation is that pyramids are just the most stable structure, but there's still the question of why so many magical and non-magical civilizations built them. And since China doesn't let anyone study the White Pyramids, they're focusing on the Mesoamerican ones for now."

Perenelle hummed, tapping her fingers lightly on the table. "Interesting theory. Many early spells were created out of necessity, so similarities between civilizations wouldn't be surprising. But if there's a common source... that's a different matter entirely."

Petunia gave him a look.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, Auntie, I'll be careful."

"That would be a first."

"Would it?"

Petunia sighed, deciding not to argue.

After dinner, Harry excused himself and went to his room. He had a few things to prepare before leaving. His trunk was already organized, but he added a few more essentials—extra potion supplies, a couple of enchanted items, and enough Muggle money to avoid unnecessary interactions with the local wizarding authorities.

Hedwig hooted from her perch. "And where do I fit in this?"

"You'll be staying here," Harry said, fastening a small pouch inside his robe.

She fluffed up her feathers in clear protest. "Unacceptable."

Harry sighed. "You hate hot weather."

"That's beside the point."

He ignored her and turned to Crookshanks, who stretched lazily on the bed, tail flicking. The half-Kneazle yawned, unimpressed. "I'm not coming either, am I?"

"Not unless you've suddenly developed a love for tropical heat and jungle wildlife."

Crookshanks sniffed. "Enjoy being eaten by a jaguar."

Harry patted his head. "I'll do my best to avoid that."

Packing finished, he set his trunk aside and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The last few weeks had been exhausting. Voldemort's resurrection had thrown the wizarding world into chaos, and while the Ministry scrambled to look competent, Harry had other things to focus on.

Harry sat in his room, his gaze shifting between the three objects on the desk in front of him—the Cup, the Diadem, and the Diary. With himself included, that made four Horcruxes.

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