✔ᵉⁿᵍˡⁱˢʰ Stuck in the Past [Grindelwald]✔

22

One thing that Gillian missed, and only now appreciated, were the mundane to-go mugs. These stupid cups, had become something so commonplace, hardly worth mentioning and actually, no longer imagine doing without. For the environment, not exactly the best but the alternatives came little by little and long on the way. Thus, the morning tea, on the way to the French Ministry of Magic, was cancelled. And with that, it was a wonderful start to the day.

New start meant as well to adapt in a certain way and to inform what was the current state of affairs. Was, literally, and for Gillian, is, meant. Despite the past weeks, months, it simply did not become easier, Geschehens and what would still happen in the future, completely apart. Certain things, large or rather formative events, there it was easy but not with smaller ones. Or, if there was just a year difference between something. For Gill these were, far past events however for the wizards, witches as well as humans here, much was not too far back or it would stand to them only before. A headache guarantee of all this here, gave to one hundred percent.

The longer Gill was on the otherwise quiet streets of Paris on the way, it became increasingly louder and louder today. Not loud, in the sense of disturbing noises like construction work or shouting people, but, someone was simply causing a disturbance. But as long as it didn't or wouldn't affect her, she couldn't care less what was going on. Death eaters could be it badly, accordingly, not her problem.

Fulfilling the typical cliché of France, croissants for breakfast and almost lunch, respectively, Gillian strolled through the well-packed streets and after two blocks, at an intersection, stopped as if rooted to the spot.

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A small matter of mentioning from Dumbledore's side that Scamander was not allowed to leave the country would have been nice to know in advance. So far, Hunter had assumed to apparate and not have to take a stupid portkey. He couldn't even remember the last time he had used a portkey, and it had probably been several years ago.

The magical world of France was similarly hidden as it was in London. Here, however, it was not a brick wall whose bricks shifted to reveal the entrance, but a female figure sitting on a concrete block. Through the concrete block, Newt, an astonished Jacob and Hunter, reached the other side of Paris.

Barely arriving in the magical world, Scamander was already spraying golden dust around the area and instructed one of his creatures to do some searching. Snorting, Hunter put his hands in his pockets, took one look around, and slowly trotted after the two, because Scamander had obviously found what he was looking for. It was babysitting adults.

Babysitting meant paying attention, though, but Hunter stopped when he reached the end of the street and looked up into the face of a white-haired witch who seemed as surprised to see him here as he was to see her.