A week after Halloween, the air around Beauxbâtons had grown crisp and golden. The last of the amber leaves clung to the trees like sleepy thoughts, drifting lazily in the autumn breeze. It was a weekend, and the Château grounds had a soft hush to them—students scattered in small groups, soaking in the weekend sun.
Eira and Ana strolled through the enchanted gardens of Beauxbâtons, their cloaks wrapped loosely around their shoulders. The lavender bushes whispered in the wind, and the marble fountains gurgled gently nearby.
As they walked along the pebbled path, Eira slowed down slightly, glancing toward Ana with a hesitant look.
"I… want to ask you something," she began softly. "I hope it doesn't make you uncomfortable."
Ana turned her head, giving a small, reassuring smile. "Sure, sure. You can ask anything."
Eira nodded and looked ahead. "It's about your hand…"
Ana froze for the briefest second—just long enough for Eira to notice. But then, without a word, Ana resumed walking, her pace unchanged.
Seeing no sign of discomfort on her friend's face, Eira continued gently, "I was just wondering… couldn't you, or anyone, go to a healing center? To, I don't know… regrow it?"
Ana let out a soft sigh, folding her remaining arm across her chest. "No," she said quietly. "Unfortunately, I can't. It was severed by black magic when I was young. That kind of wound… it can't be undone. Even if it weren't cursed, regrowing a limb is almost impossible. It's not like healing a broken bone. It takes… so many Galleons, and pain—excruciating pain. Even the risk of death. It's only done in the rarest cases, and only when part of the limb still remains."
Eira frowned, puzzled. "But… when we first met, you told me you were born that way."
Ana stiffened slightly, then laughed, a little too quickly. "Oh? Did I? I must've said it wrong. I was a bit emotional back then—probably didn't think before speaking." Her tone was light, but her eyes avoided Eira's.
Eira nodded slowly, still confused. Maybe she just didn't want to tell me she was cursed. That she was hurt by dark magic… The thought gave her a strange, heavy feeling.
Changing the subject, she asked, "So… what does your mother do? I mean, her job?"
Ana brightened. "She runs a tavern—not far from here, actually. When I'm not at school, I help her out."
Eira smiled. "Oh, if that's the case, I'd love to come with you sometime!"
Ana grinned, her eyes twinkling. "Of course. Sooner than you think, actually."
Eira chuckled. "Alright, alright. I hope you invite me soon. I want to see it."
"You'll like it. Though… you're a rich girl. You probably haven't been to little taverns like ours—places where us common folks gather."
They both laughed as they reached the edge of the garden, where a massive oak tree stretched its limbs toward the sky. Its roots curled over the earth like sleeping serpents.
Ana pointed. "Look! There's a box under the tree. Let's see what it is."
Eira followed her gaze and saw a small wooden box nestled at the base of the trunk. It looked old—worn but oddly pristine, as if it had been placed there intentionally.
Ana knelt beside it, reaching for the lid.
"Wait!" Eira said quickly. "It could be a prank. Some students hide joke spells in boxes like that—smoke bombs, jinxes…"
Ana just waved her hand. "Don't worry. Come, sit with me. My mother always said that in the Muggle world, people find boxes with treasure maps or secret diaries. Who knows—maybe we'll find something magical."
Eira hesitated, then sat beside her.
Ana carefully lifted the lid. "Look… look what I found!"
She held up a folded piece of parchment, yellowed with age.
Eira leaned in and reached out, brushing her fingers against the edge of the paper. But the moment her skin made contact, the world spun.
The garden blurred, the colors melting into one another like wet paint. Eira barely had time to gasp before her vision went white—
—and then everything went black.
⸻
Far away, in the headmistress's office, Madame Maxime was enjoying her usual afternoon tea. The room was warmly lit, and she was comfortably curled in her reading chair, lost in a romance novel—a tale about a beast and a man who fell in love, and the tragic consequences brought upon them by the man's unkind family.
She sighed wistfully, murmuring, "How romantic…"
Just then, the heavy oak door creaked open.
Professor Voclain entered, her face pale and drawn.
Maxime looked up, surprised. "Voclain? What brings you here at this hour? You look… troubled."
Professor Voclain stepped forward quickly. "Olympe… she's gone."
Maxime blinked. "Gone? Who?"
"Eira. She's not in the school. I can't sense her magical signature anywhere."
Madame Maxime's brow furrowed as she set the book aside and rose from her chair.
"That's impossible. Have you checked her dormitory?"
"Yes. I went myself. No one was there."
"Then perhaps she's in the library? Or with friends?"
"I thought the same. I checked the library, asked the staff, and even questioned the prefects. No one's seen her since this noon ."
Maxime walked to the balcony door and opened it, drawing her wand. With a swift motion, she sent a glowing, silver patronus soaring across the sky.
"She must be somewhere in the castle," Maxime murmured, though a note of doubt crept into her voice.
Professor Voclain wrung her hands. "What if something's happened to her?"
"Calm yourself," Maxime said firmly. "She's a smart girl. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation."
As they waited, the door opened again.
Fleur Delacour entered briskly. "Madame Maxime, you sent for me?"
"Yes. I asked you to search the Ombrelune wing for Eira. Any sign of her?"
Fleur shook her head. "No. I asked around. The last time anyone saw her was with Ana—Anastasia."
Maxime's expression darkened. "And you? Did you speak with her today?"
"Yes, this morning. We had breakfast together. She didn't say anything about leaving."
"She isn't anywhere in the school," Voclain said, her voice thin. "She's just… gone."
Fleur's eyes widened. "But that's not possible. No student can leave the grounds without a portkey or staff approval."
Maxime's voice sharpened. "Inform all the prefects. I want every corner of the castle searched. And don't speak of this to anyone. Not yet. We'll keep it quiet as long as we can."
Voclain swallowed. "Should we inform Elijah?"
Maxime paused, her gaze heavy on the swirling tea she had abandoned.
"If she's still within the grounds, we'll find her. But if not…" She looked up, her voice low. "If not, then yes. We will inform the French Ministry of Magic. And Elijah… he has the right to know."
She stared out the tall windows, the fading light casting long shadows on the stone floor.
"I only hope," she whispered, "that she's still within these walls."
The three women stood in silence, the weight of uncertainty pressing heavily around them.