Today Casanova deserved the first interest from listeners at the lecture. He showed the young people Concealing charms, and how cleverly its could hide ink inside an ordinary sheet of paper. The first successes were not long in coming, since autumn is the time of secrets and love messages. Casanova recalled his youth and shared what he himself needed first of all in student times.

In the meanwhile, the Headmaster Black wandered around as if by chance, and show up wherever Giacomo went during the break. Then, wished to see him after class. He spoke French, but remained a prim Englishman. It was a little painful to hear your own language used for decoration, like roses that being cut off and put in a vase. It was raining outside, and Giacomo remembered with sadness, how Beauxbatons was now: golden, clear, slightly cool... He also thought of his native Italy and masked balls. Black seemed unwilling to share his joy with his students and refused to prepare the festivale. Even a little one. He was convinced that it would corrupt the pupils and they would get out of control.

There were so many older teachers... They were all could be compared Casanova's parents and grandparents; he was the only young teacher. However, he caught the shy looks of the undergrads, but it was not very flattering, despite the fact that some girls their age in Italy and France could be married already.

But what will the night promise? The Headmaster finally announced that he was going to bed, аnd, as if on cue, the whole castle became empty. The students scattered to their four living rooms. Ah, Beauxbatons was not so... Within its walls, a lot of interesting things happened under the tender gaze of the moon.

Alone, Giacomo went outside, the rain has just ended, the air was mysterious and fresh. He remembered, that Black was showing him animal paddocks, and wanted to explore night creatures, such as Mooncalfs, that feed on wood fuel. How strange that sounds!
He approached the fence and saw animals frolicking in the moonlight, rolling in the grass like children. That touched him and made him smile.

Casanova didn't hear the steps approaching, absorbed in his thoughts and the contemplation of a funny scene. It’s like he woke from a dream, when an unfamiliar voice sounded so close. That timbre was so soft and calm that it didn't interrupt, but rather, intriguingly complemented the melody of the simple night orchestra. The only person, who could sound like that, it's someone who’s well disposed to your presence, and that cheered Giacomo up a bit.
The young teacher raised his head from his crossed arms, which in turn rested on the fence, straightened up and pushed off to greet the stranger as  appropriately, and see him better.

"Both of them," after a slight pause, he responded with a clear French accent, catching the interlocutor's eye, which immediately recognized. Details of appearance can be forgotten, but not the overall impression, not gestures... So, they have met, but where and under what circumstances? The day was like a merry-go-round, a lot mixed up, and yet... he's definitely not the professor, because Black introduced Giacomo to everyone. Maybe someone’s son or brother who came here to stay? Anyway, nice company is provided.
"And I don't regretted, because these creatures are amusant," he pointed to a funny spotted herd. Mooncalfs began to climb to their big feet one by one, and run towards.

Gazing down, Casanova turned attention to the gloves, apparently intended for work.
"Oh, so you care for creatures?" He was looking from wizard to the Mooncalfs.
At that moment, the young man’s hand was released from the glove, and Casanova joyfully accepted this sign of friendship, already knowing he was dealing with Professor Hovin’s assistant. It was the only way to explain everything.

Giacomo waiting a little for Maxwell calls the last name, but this did not happen. Does this mean that they can immediately call each other by first name, like friends? He hesitated, and then said,
"Giacomo... Giacomo Casanova."
In Italy it would be rude to shorten the distance in communication without demand, so the wizard suggested a choice just in case, and waited again for the reaction.

"You have earned their trust, haven’t you?" In the moonlight, his eyes flashing blue and playful sparks. Then the brighter lights came on, and it wasn’t just the Frenchman’s good mood.
"Be careful, there’s a fairy behind you. She loves you or has a plan, one of two things." Actually, there was something bizarre going on behind Maxwell. Casanova glanced over monsieur’s shoulder, and the fairy, laughing, slipped away one way or the other, forcing herself to search.

Just Max? There was something sad about the joke. Is that British humor? Casanova had not yet had time to get into all the customs of the Angleterre, to understand this correctly, so he saved his wit for another occasion and replied warmly and softly:
"just Giaco," with gently releasing Max's palm from his hands.
After the formalities were discarded, he felt that breathing became much easier, and the playful mood already swells his soul's sails. How can you not feed the Mooncalfs under these circumstances?

"Oh! I heard they’re fuelled by wood? Is that true?"
Giacomo looked at the unsightly grey-brown granules, he had received from the pouch, with distrust. The animals were jumping eagerly, reminding through their wild movements with head the nestlings in the nest, "Do they eat this?"
He shrugged his shoulders and threw the handful for animals pleasure.
"Look, what a pandemonium began! It’s time to give them names, what do you think? Come on, let’s go, don’t yawn', otherwise we’ll get it all mixed up! Well... The lighter one is Milk, darker (I see it’s brown?) - Croissant, blue - Blueberry. Now it’s your turn!"

When the fodder ran out, Casanova shook the crumbs from his hands and asked:
"So, we’re done here. You said there’s someone more interesting?"

And then a tiny nymph, like a precious stone, glimmered on his chest.
"I’ve never had a live fairy brooch! How strange... I have to fix it and introduce it into French fashion!" muttered Casanova, looking at his new accessory, which was clinge with the velvet button of "la camisole", "She's better than any work of art, master-made. Even a custom-made one. Do you agree, mademoiselle? What’s your name?"
The fairy was chanted something in a strange language, confusing Giacomo.
"Ow... Either way, we still need some women’s company, but maybe we should get a phrasebook."

They walked along the cobbled path that surrounded Hogwarts, which led straight to the stables. The light inside the building was burning, but something was wrong...
"We’re not in time? They are empty," said Casanova, looking through the gate grate, "Well, if there are no horses, can we fly on the broomsticks?"

"Of course, I've heard of Thestrals. At Beauxbatons they teach horse riding very well, including mentioning non-standard animals in theoretical lessons, although the main emphasis, of course, is on horses. Let me remember," Casanova didn't need much time, quickly continuing, "They are carnivorous beasts, invisible unless... Are you saying they're here?" - His eyes widened, pointing at empty stalls, "But they're nearly impossible to tame. Who handles them? Madame Howin or you?"

"Judging by the dexterity and precision of your movements, I can deduce you've seen death," Giacomo murmured softly, his face turning serious, yet filled with undisguised curiosity, "Do they resemble death?"
He swallowed, hearing a tomb-like snort as if a horse from an elite stable of a native French school had risen from a sacred grave at night. Peering closer, he noticed how the thin straw bedding crushed beneath somebody's feet, how it smells of damp forest earth and moss...

"Me? Afraid?" the Frenchman instantly perked up and raised his chin, there was a challenge in his eyes, "You've nearly insulted me! Surely I ride!"
He drew a wand from under "la camisole" and uttered his first spell of the entire meeting. A swarm of sparks shot from its tip, decorating another Thestral's body with weightless particles, reminiscent of magical flower pollen, making it clearly visible. The fairy clapped tiny hands and giggled, nearly falling off the button, but held on with the help of her wings.
Casanova blew off the remnants of glitter from his wand and smiled mischievously. What he did with the Infernal Horse was a simple trick, used by many at Beauxbatons for entertainment.
"On him! You haven't forgotten what I was talking about, have you? You seem shocked. As am I... I've seen them in books, but," the young teacher swept his hand over the creature's bare skin, touching the protruding cervical vertebrae, where a mane would be on ordinary horses, "This is something else entirely. I think you understand what I mean?"

"So, are you a skilled rider? Why don't you give full lessons? Seems your knowledge would be enough," he grasped the bony withers, vaulted up, and swung a leg over the back, settling in atop, "Good thing they won't be trotting on solid ground," Giacomo concluded, trying to get comfortable on the sharp spine. It's not so easy when you're used to the smooth and soft backs of Arabian horses.
"If I fall and die, I'll see him before death," he joked darkly, reflexively searching for reins, which of course weren't there, "Where are we flying to?"

"Thank you, too. It was my first time riding a thestral," Casanova spoke with enthusiasm, his face glowing from within, much like his tiny companion, the fairy, with whom he'd braved the dangers of the flight. The little living brooch was unwilling to part with him and darted under his «la camisole», glowing near his heart.

"Agate and I became fast friends from the very first moments," he glanced briefly at the still-visible stallion, who snorted contentedly in response.

The young teacher had, after all, overslept the start of his first class, but the students forgave him this lapse the moment they saw the fairy. Everyone was enchanted by the unusual bond between the wizard and the willful forest creature, and they bombarded him with questions about how to get one of their own. The fairy, hearing everything, sent them vague signals, which could be interpreted in any number of ways.

* * *

Winter had come.

Casanova was hurrying to Forewood as fast as his legs would carry him along the snow-dusted path. He had already broken the rules by leaving the third-year students to their own devices when he was supposed to count them and ceremoniously escort to Hogsmeade for the first time in their lives. "Let this be a lesson in self-discipline for you, Casanova," professor Weasley announced sternly. The other professors, even Headmaster Black, had not objected. The fact was that, Giacomo had continued to demonstrate a carefree attitude toward his responsibilities, and the punctual English had grown tired of it. He not only handled time loosely, but often missed staff meetings, and rumors had begun to circulate about his (society, for now, phrased it delicately) "questionable" romantic escapades. Regarding the last point, Max received the latest news directly from Casanova himself, as they had become quite close over the past few months. Giacomo constantly sought an excuse to show off to his new friend over a bottle of red wine from The Three Broomsticks.

In short, he was supposed to show the young wizards the magical village in all its glory, ensure that no one got lost, and then return everyone safely. A dreadfully responsible and dull affair, which had fallen upon the young teacher so suddenly that he panicked.

He was nearly at the lone stone hut where his best friend liked to spend his time when the door suddenly flew open, and out stepped Professor Sharp, more irritated than usual. Casanova instantly remembered that Sharp had been the most vocal opponent of assigning him the students, and he ducked behind a tall bush. Sharp was a former Auror, so Casanova froze, allowing the cold to embrace him, hoping it would help him blend into the surroundings.

The danger passed. The Potions Master didn’t even glance at the bush. What a stroke of luck! Casanova dashed onward.

"What did he want from you? What happened? You weren’t talking about me, were you? He’s been on edge with me too."
The young man jumped to the fireplace to warm up a little and got straight to the point.
"Anyway, you can tell me on the way. Get dressed, we’re going to Hogsmeade!" He tried to make his face as cheerful and carefree as possible.

“I know. He keeps an Auror badge on his desk — it speaks of a strong attachment to his past,” Casanova said, recalling the rumors circulating among the students. The thought of stepping into the Potions professor’s office and confirming this personally was entirely out of the question. Giacomo felt profoundly uneasy in the domain of the sharp-eyed ex-Auror.

“These are restless times for Britain. No one mentioned that when I was invited here,” he continued grimly, his gaze lingering on the pointed windows of the tower where the Headmaster resided. “ I think that's why Sharp just can't find any peace of mind. But that doesn’t excuse him. Either way, we’re free of him for today, aren’t we?”

Forwood had just realized the kind of excursion he’d been roped into, and it seemed to amuse him. Relief spread across Giacomo's face like a passing breeze.

“We’ll show them the village. Honeydukes, Madam Snelling's Tress Emporium, Three Broomsticks…”

The familiar and beloved names made the crowd of children buzz with excitement, their faces lighting up with joy. Giacomo was glad to see some of them flock around Forwood — it lifted a small weight of responsibility off his shoulders. At that moment, Casanova could’ve sworn he heard a faint cough from above. He looked up — and there she was, Matilda Weasley, staring down at him with an unblinking, owl-like gaze.
Raising his hands in mock surrender along with the children, Giacomo forced a smile to reassure her that everything was under control.
A stern voice rang out:
"Bring them back on time, Casanova — no excuses!"

“Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” the young man whispered hastily amidst the joyful chatter of the children as they left the school grounds.

The walk took about fifteen minutes, and during that time, the students chirped excitedly about the tricks they’d buy at Honeydukes, while the girls chattered about hairstyles and hair colors Madam Snelling might give them. Pink and green seemed to be in fashion at the moment.

"Green — a timeless classic," Giacomo observed with a knowing smile as the group of girls sought his authoritative French insight.

"And here we are," he announced, standing in the heart of the village square.

“Every path here leads somewhere. Follow the signs. Oh, and by the way, the broomstick shop gets something new every season. At The Three Broomsticks, you’re only allowed to drink butterbeer! And stay out of The Hog’s Head Inn — it’s off-limits. Walk in pairs or groups, and don’t stray into narrow alleys.”

“Did I forget anything?” Giacomo turned to his friend, seeking confirmation.