Chapter 21.3- Doom Days

“It is magnificent” I complimented before turning to said father, “The wine is lovely, Monsieur Delacour” I said, and the man looked at me before grunting deep in his throat.

“Not one of our best vintages but it is passable” He said, and I nodded, taking the dig at my taste with good humor. After all, what did I really know about magical wine. If he said it wasn’t one of the best, then I would take his word for it even if that essentially meant that a mediocre wine here was better than the best of the non-magical wines.

“I am unfamiliar with magical wine, can you tell me more” I said, after a brief silent pause.

The look Fleur gave me showed that I had been right on the money as the man launched into the most passionate rant that I had ever seen anyone attempt in French.

“Magical wine exists in all sorts of vintages and varieties- even more than what the muggles have to themselves. Every winery and winemaker approaches wine from a different viewpoint, and the Delacour are the finest of them all. We make red, white, and Champagne” He said the last word with emphasis, and I nodded.

“But our finest vintage is flower wine. It was an invention of mine own Great-Grandfather, Pierre Delacour the first, I was named after him as you can tell.”

“How is it made?" I asked, and he smirked before tapping his nose.

“I am afraid that is a family secret. What you must know, however, is that it is the best wine you will ever have. I shall see about procuring a bottle for your purchase. Judging by the necklace that adorns my daughter’s neck, you can most certainly afford it” He said, and I nodded.

“Thank him”, Fleur whispered in my ear.

“There is a waiting list that is years long for purchasing our flower wine.” She said.

“Thank you, Monsieur Delacour, it is indeed a huge honor” I said, only half-fibbing. I had enjoyed wine in my previous life- maybe more than I ought to have- so the opportunity to taste the best of what this world had was an opportunity.

“Bah Wine. What a prissy drink. You must try proper Vodka, Potter. Put some fire in that belly of yours” Karpov cut into the conversation. So he had been following even as we discussed in rapid French, fascinating.

“Vodka, how barbaric. It burns when you swallow it, Monsieur Potter. Don’t let him convince you to try that brew of his. It’s acid by another name” Delacour said before I could even respond to Karpov. His words might have given offense but Karpov just laughed it off. They knew each other. And they knew each other well enough that Delacour had tasted Karpov’s vodka. Fascinating.

“I fear I will be remiss if I do not step in to pledge that sake is known as the drink of the gods for a reason and is indeed superior to all others” Kawaguchi said with a playful sneer.