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As the banquet progressed, the Alchemy Masters stopped crowding around Lucien exclusively.
They dispersed, giving the young students who had been watching eagerly from the sidelines a chance to approach.
However, when these students finally plucked up the courage to strike up a conversation, they quickly sensed a subtle disparity.
The alchemists didn't make things difficult for these undeniably excellent students, nor did they look down on them—their attitudes and words were kindly enough. But the feeling... was different.
It was completely unlike the eager, peer-to-peer, and even thirsty-for-talent initiative they had shown toward Lucien just moments ago.
It was a sense of "distance."
A distance that couldn't be easily bridged by personality or conversation skills.
It was an invisible yet very real chasm constructed of status, knowledge, prestige, and seniority.
The students asked respectful questions, and the masters gave polite answers; the students carefully expressed their admiration, and the masters nodded gently in acknowledgment.
Everything was in accordance with etiquette, everything was appropriate, yet everything was... separated by a layer.
No one felt offended, but no one was under the illusion that they had integrated into that circle either.
Meanwhile, one of the central figures of that "circle," Lucien, was standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling window, chatting casually with Beauxbatons' Alchemy Professor, Laurent Rosier.
Their topic shifted from frontier explorations in Alchemy to the differences in teaching styles between Hogwarts and Beauxbatons, and then from the rapid development of Muggle technology to ideas the magical world could borrow from it.
Although Laurent was much older, he treated Lucien entirely as an equal during their conversation, occasionally even revealing a look of contemplation in response to Lucien's viewpoints.
As they chatted, Laurent suddenly changed the subject, his tone as casual as if asking about the weather:
"By the way, are you close with the Rosiers over in Britain?"
The British Rosiers?
Lucien quickly retrieved the relevant information in his mind. The Rosiers, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pure-blood families, had lineages in both Britain and France.
Professor Laurent before him was a member of the French branch.
As for the ones in Britain...
"Not at all," Lucien answered truthfully.
Laurent nodded, giving his evaluation with a flat expression: "Good. They aren't good people."
Lucien was momentarily speechless.
He hadn't expected this professor to be so direct—was he trying to warn him not to have too much to do with the British Rosier family?
But on second thought, Laurent wasn't exactly wronging them.
The British branch of the Rosiers had indeed produced several Death Eaters. The Dark Mark on their arms was the real deal.
But then again...
Lucien silently roasted him in his heart: Didn't the French branch of the Rosiers also produce a famous Acolyte who followed Grindelwald?
That Vinda Rosier held a pretty high status among the Saints.
Of course, he only thought this; he wouldn't actually say it out loud.
...
On the other side of the hall, Nicolas and Madame Maxime stood before the giant magical tapestry, speaking in hushed tones.
The topic somehow shifted to the Fountain of Beauty.
When Maxime mentioned it, there was a hint of amusement in her tone:
"Just because of that 'little experiment' Lucien mentioned, the girls at Beauxbatons now line up every day to scoop water from the Fountain of Beauty. After all, the temptation of becoming beautiful is something few can resist." She paused, then added, "Of course, there are quite a few lads in line, too."
She looked at Lucien, who was talking to someone nearby, her eyes full of appreciation:
"That child is truly astonishing. I really don't know how those unconstrained, creative ideas of his are born."
Hearing the praise for his student, a smile rippled across Nicolas's face, making no attempt to hide his pride:
"Lucien's modification showed true ingenuity. In fact, if looked at in isolation, it could completely be considered a brand-new alchemical creation."
Maxime was about to respond when Nicolas suddenly changed the subject, asking calmly:
"Olympe, do you want Lucien to come to Beauxbatons?"
The question was direct, but Maxime showed no embarrassment at being found out. She admitted it openly: "Yes."
She turned to face Nicolas squarely, her tone sincere:
"Beauxbatons should be more suitable for studying in peace—for Lucien, at least."
The implication was obvious: Hogwarts, with its infiltrating Dark Wizards, rampaging Basilisks, and Defense Against the Dark Arts professors changing faster than one could flip a page, could hardly be called a place for "peaceful study."
Nicolas understood her meaning but didn't pick up on that thread. Instead, he asked:
"What is Lucien's own intention?"
Madame Maxime shook her head, a trace of helplessness in her voice. "He insists on studying at Hogwarts. You know, with Dumbledore there, the charm of that school is indeed unmatched."
Nicolas agreed with this statement considerably.
Albus Dumbledore was a gold standard in himself.
Leaving aside his ability to manage the school, just him sitting in the Headmaster's office elevated Hogwarts' status in the magical world by several notches.
Nicolas looked past the crowd, his gaze landing on Lucien.
The boy was holding a wine glass, listening intently to whatever Laurent was saying. His expression was focused and composed, his eyes holding a calmness that didn't match his age, yet revealing the sharpness of youth in his occasional responses.
Looking at his student, Nicolas's eyes were filled with satisfaction and approval.
Then, he withdrew his gaze and looked at Madame Maxime, asking with a faint, enigmatic smile:
"So, Olympe, do you wish Beauxbatons could also have a 'Dumbledore'?"