Chapter 289
"Sold out."
Only after finishing the last puff of tobacco in his pipe did the old man finally respond in a hoarse, lazy voice.
"Isn't this one right here?"
Draco casually picked up a random book from the stand, slipped several gleaming gold coins inside it, and handed it back to the old man.
The old man accepted the book and weighed it lightly in his hand.
The wrinkles on his face immediately bunched together into a thoroughly unscrupulous smile.
"Alright, go in."
"Left door. Keep walking straight, slippery guest."
His sharp gaze swept briefly across Fleur and Draco before lazily sinking back into indifference.
He smacked his lips and took another puff from the pipe that should have already been empty.
"Remember to behave yourselves."
"These days haven't been peaceful."
"Yes, sir."
Draco stepped into the shabby kiosk.
Fleur followed closely behind him.
Contrary to expectations—
The iron door made no creaking sound at all.
The hinges were perfectly smooth, without even a trace of rust.
The moment the two entered, the door silently shut behind them.
Beyond the narrow entrance lay an entirely different world.
It resembled the prosperity of the Champs-Élysées outside—
But carried an unmistakably magical atmosphere.
Before them stretched a vast stone-paved avenue whose end could not be seen.
A polished silver sign hung overhead:
Deceiver's Bazaar
Beneath it, smaller words were engraved elegantly:
> Only fools are deceived.
Greed creates fools.
Only wise wizards who know restraint may obtain what they truly desire here.
Despite being a gray market beyond legal protection, this place appeared far cleaner and more orderly than Knockturn Alley.
Green vines climbed along both sides of the street.
Unknown flowers danced gently in the breeze, occasionally scattering fragrant petals through the air.
Several elderly wizards sat beside potted plants reading thick books beneath the sunlight.
They looked less like wizards and more like absent-minded Muggle professors.
French magical society clearly maintained deeper cultural ties with Muggles than Britain did.
Their fascination with philosophy, art, and the meaning of life overlapped heavily.
The more powerful the wizard, the more likely they were to study such subjects deeply.
That was also why this place possessed such an intense artistic atmosphere.
Much like the real Champs-Élysées, wandering performers could be seen everywhere.
Some wore ragged robes while playing bizarre magical instruments.
The most eye-catching performer used a hollowed wand as a horn.
Its twisted magical wood produced a breathtaking melody.
Beside him, another musician beat a white leather drum using his wand as a drumstick, creating a fierce and passionate rhythm.
French wizards had transformed Muggle instruments into something entirely unique.
Further ahead, countless stalls displayed strange magical artifacts that blended craftsmanship with artistry.
One stall sold dancing humanoid music boxes that gracefully twirled across carpets in rhythm with enchanted melodies.
The moment the vendor spoke an incantation, the music stopped and the dolls instantly froze into ordinary toys.
Another stall displayed miniature flying brooms crafted from corn stalks.
Tiny creatures—perhaps house elves or goblins—hovered around them while loudly haggling with customers.
"I've lived here for so long and never knew this place existed."
Fleur's blue eyes sparkled with curiosity.
She crouched in front of a small stall.
Its owner was a kind-looking old witch.
"Beautiful young lady…"
"Would you like to spend two silver Knuts to test your fate with this gentleman?"
The old witch smiled warmly while presenting a strange-looking magical tuber.
"This is an extremely rare root."
"Ordinary roots are used for divining romance and marriage."
"Many astrologers drink root tea before observing the stars to sharpen their intuition."
"But this one…"
She lowered her voice mysteriously.
"If you cut it open, the first letter of your future lover's surname will appear."
Fleur stared skeptically at the seemingly ordinary root.
She had almost become interested—
Until another merchant nearby burst into laughter.
"Old hag, you're scamming people again!"
"How many hallucinogenic potions did you soak that thing in?"
"The moment she cuts it open, she'll probably see her sweetheart's entire full name floating in front of her!"
"What nonsense about initials?"
Fleur immediately lost all interest.
She stood up with visible disgust and quickly walked away.
"Draco?"
She hurried back toward him.
"If you want, you can continue wandering outside."
"I may need some time here."
Draco stood before an old dusty storefront.
Large green potted plants flanked the doorway.
Thick vines wrapped themselves around a silver linden plaque hanging overhead.
Crooked French letters were engraved into it.
"There's nothing worth seeing outside anymore."
Fleur shook her head decisively.
Her enthusiasm for the marketplace had already cooled considerably.
"Safaropos Wand Shop…"
She softly read the sign aloud.
Inside the shop, a tall, broad-shouldered middle-aged man was carefully dusting glass cabinets using a feather duster.
Not magic.
Actual manual cleaning.
He seemed to genuinely enjoy it.
"Rare customers!"
The man laughed heartily the moment he noticed them.
He enthusiastically walked out to greet them.
"Oh?"
"Foreigners."
"As expected."
"Most locals know my reputation and avoid this place."
The man spoke endlessly the instant he noticed their appearance.
Fleur leaned closer toward Draco and muttered softly:
"I finally understand why his business is so terrible."