I was jolted from my thoughts by a slap, even my head jerked to the side. I looked around the tastefully decorated room with unfocused eyes. Lots of soft, light wooden furniture with light-colored upholstery, lots of subtle patterns on the surfaces, light-colored carpets, and huge windows overlooking the lush garden. I look at the nervous, frowning woman in confusion.

— What's wrong with you? You haven't reacted to anything for ten minutes... .... — The woman stared at my face.

— I realized how the machine worked. — I wasn't thinking about what I was saying, my mind was still trying to piece together the new information and pin down hopes and fantasies, especially the rampant ones. If my suspicions are at least partially correct, mages go through the "underside" of matter, making pinpoint punctures through reality. Or they create short-lived folds of matter, pass through them, and then space-matter returns to its original state. But how does this happen? I suspect it requires massive amounts of pure energy. Then there must be another way. or ways, right? What if magic... Another slap in the face.

— What is wrong with you?! — There was a note of alarm in the woman's voice. — Apparition doesn't work on mages like that!

— I apologize, — she said, running her hand over her face as if to wash away a heavy coating. — Just a minute more... — and without waiting for an answer, I take out a notebook and a pen and start to write down my thoughts and assumptions.

— Are you going to answer me now? — the woman almost growls in irritation.

— This is my "madness". — Seeing the strange look, I decided to explain, just in case. — According to my theory, every person gifted with magic is somehow abnormal, insane, crazy, if you will. It can be something vivid, noticeable, or quite insignificant. You have witnessed it. I apologize for worrying you. — A quick bow.

— Hmm. — The woman gave me a stern look, narrowed her eyes, then smiled broadly, walked over and took me under her elbow. — Young man, we just need to talk to you over a cup of hot tea. .....

I was ushered into a cozy room, and for the first time in both my lives, I found myself talking for hours on philosophical and cultural topics, with a touch of art. Madame Dunois turned out to be an amazingly intelligent woman, educated and well-read, and it was a pleasure to talk with her.

I refused to invent "masks" and models of behavior as in Russia — I am not of that kind of mind and character, I am not a spy and I am not a trickster. I love the truth, honesty, and I can't stand betrayal. To be honest, I am even a little envious of one of my friends — a chess champion — more cunning and schemer I have never seen in my life. I'm more simple, and I can't keep "masks" for long, and if that's the case, what's the point of them?

 So I was myself in the conversation, did not hesitate to show that something I do not understand or do not know, I spoke my mind.

And at the end, when Lucy's second daughter Laura returned from work, who turned out to be the pretty girl who had met me in the reception room in Dover, we laughed openly or even raised our voices slightly in conversation, but not out of aggression — expression. I even spilled my tea in the heat of the moment, and without a second thought, so as not to dirty the carpet, vaporized it in the air.

Laura was drinking tea at the time, so the poor thing choked, and when she coughed, she looked at me with square eyes and then at her mother, from whom she narrowed her eyes smugly, like a fed-up cat. But to my delight, the subject was not pursued.

Especially since, according to the canon, wandless, non-verbal magic could be trained, and there was no mention of any special talents. Over the years, I've learned and seen enough miracles to last me a few lifetimes, and I recently realized how "political" the Harry Potter books were.

 I'm very curious about what really went on there, because both the movie and the book show the magical world through the eyes of the main character — a Muggle with a wand and not really good at magic. I do not consider the talent of self-castration by rubbing with a broomstick to be worthy of respect.

In Japan, for example, there was a way to fly in ancient times, and even comfortably: the mystical house. In fact, there were spirits that looked like a flying house, a wagon with fire wheels, even paper kites. However, magicians copied the idea, and some amateurs now travel this way.

The Chinese use paper dragons and birds. But the European love of self-castration is incomprehensible to me. Have they not heard of the fabulous Baba Yaga? The cleverest witch flew around in a stupa without having accidental orgasms while flying! I guess Europeans are perverts.

But I digress. After Laura arrived, and she was a very friendly and quiet girl, the conversation shifted easily to the Dunois family, or rather the old thoroughbred family. Lucy herself was the only daughter of the previous generation, so her husband was part of the Dunois clan, with Lucy having the upper hand in the family.

Gently but firmly, as far as I could tell from the disclaimers and jokes. She and her husband have five kids. The eldest is Anjelica, now twenty, and a student in the Potions Guild. She is followed by Laura, eighteen, who practices under her mother. Next is Paul, seventeen, who is studying at the Beauxbaton.

The last twins are Victor and Milena, thirteen years old, also studying at Beauxbatons. At the moment the whole family, except the head and Laura, under the leadership of the father — Ludovic, is vacationing in St. Tropez, in the family villa, which is a family tradition. It is connected with some local magic festival, where quite a few different people gather.

By the way, in the canon France was only mentioned in the context of "exists", i.e. it was not said what happens there, how people live and so on. So I can tell you what I've learned.

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