Muggle village , on the Outskirts of France—Near the Belgium Border
In a small, long-abandoned village nestled in the misty borderlands between France and Belgium, the silence was suddenly broken by the sharp crack of Apparition. The air trembled as Elijah White stepped onto the cracked cobblestone path, his dark cloak fluttering in the wind. Behind him loomed a towering figure—Madame Olympe Maxime, headmistress of Beauxbâtons Academy.
They moved swiftly and purposefully, toward a weather-worn house at the village's edge. As they walked, Elijah spoke in a low, urgent tone.
"This is the place. The last trace of the badge's magical signature—the White emblem—it came from here. This is where it was activated before it vanished."
Madame Maxime's eyes narrowed, her expression grim. "Search the village," she commanded over her shoulder. "See if anything has been left behind."
At her order, a unit of French Aurors fanned out among the derelict buildings. Elijah and Madame Maxime continued to the house and paused before the door. With a quiet creak, it swung open.
Inside, the house was dimly lit by a single candle, its flame flickering, nearly extinguished. Dust swirled in the air, and the scent of old magic hung thick like fog. Signs of recent activity were scattered—footprints in the dust, scuffed floors, and an overturned chair.
Elijah raised his wand, murmuring a detection spell. As the tip glowed faintly, he turned to Maxime.
"She's been here. Madam Maxime . They brought her to this house, then used a Portkey. Based on the magical residue, they left only a few hours ago."
Maxime's gaze swept the space, her voice low but tense. "Do you still feel the trace of the badge's magic?"
Elijah shook his head. "No. That trace is gone. They've taken her out of the country—whoever they are."
Maxime turned slowly toward the misty outline of the border. "Belgium?"
"Most likely. This close to the frontier, they probably used the Portkey to jump across. If we follow, we might be able to detect the badge again once we're in range."
Maxime nodded firmly. "Then we go. We don't waste a second."
They stepped out of the house. "We're heading into Belgium," Maxime declared to the Aurors.
One of the senior Aurors hesitated. "We can't cross borders illegally. If we do, it could spark diplomatic tension—"
Elijah raised a hand. "If there's trouble, I'll speak with the Belgian Ministry myself."
"And if they see me," Maxime added, her voice a touch colder, "they will not object. As Headmistress of Beauxbâtons, I hold the authority to act in defense of my students."
The Auror gave a reluctant nod. "Understood. One of us will alert the Ministry. The rest of us will accompany you both."
Within seconds, the search party vanished in a flurry of Apparition. The village fell silent once again.
⸻
Elsewhere—Somewhere Along the Coastline
Eira trudged forward, her head still veiled beneath a white cloak, her wrists sore and bound. Each step pressed harder into the dirt path as her captors guided her in the darkness. Though she couldn't see, the change in the air gave her clues: the wind grew damper, salty, and she could now hear the distant crashing of waves.
They were near the sea.
Dangerous, she thought. But also helpful—at least now she had an idea of where she was.
"I swear," she grumbled, "if we walk any longer, my feet are going to fall off."
The tall man laughed—a deep, amused chuckle at her whining. The shorter man sneered.
"Shut up and keep walking," he snapped.
"You're a grumpy little goblin, aren't you?" Eira muttered. "No wonder your own kid probably ran away from home. People like you should really take a parenting class."
The tall man laughed harder. "Oh, she got you good."
"Enough," the short man barked.
"Oh thank you, Mr. Giraffe," Eira added cheekily to the tall one.
"Don't call me that," he growled.
"Then tell me your names," she shot back. "You didn't answer me before. What do I call you? Troll One and Troll Two?"
They ignored her, and minutes later, their journey ended. Eira heard the creak of a wooden door opening. She was led inside and forced to sit.
"Sit down and stay quiet," the short man ordered.
Eira obeyed, quietly calculating. Her mind raced with questions—where was she exactly, how long would they keep her, and most importantly… how would she get out?
"I'm going to sleep," the short man announced. "Tie her hands first. We wait here for one week. After that, the buyer will arrive. He'll take her off our hands."
The tall man chuckled. "A whole week, huh? Just enough time to have a little fun."
"Don't be stupid," the short man hissed. "Sleep. I'm exhausted."
With that, the short man disappeared into the shadows. The tall man turned to Eira. "Lucky you. Just don't wake us, or it'll be… unpleasant."
He tied her wrists tightly, muttered a warning, and finally, silence returned to the room.
Hours passed.
As the sound of snoring filled the space, Eira slowly stirred. Her eyes still covered by the cloak, she began shaking her head, trying to wriggle it free. It took time—several exhausting minutes—but at last the fabric slipped off, and she blinked into the dimness.
They were in a barn, or something like it. Wooden beams, hay scattered across the floor. It looked like an old stable converted into a hideout. She spotted her captors—one curled up on a pile of hay, the other snoring on the opposite side.
"They're asleep," she whispered. "Really asleep. Unbelievable. Did they underestimate me just because I'm eleven?"
She scanned the room. No wand. No chance of casting a spell—yet. She needed something sharp.
Then she saw it—a sickle, lying in the grass near the wall. Heart pounding, she crept over, stepping carefully. But her foot struck a small metal box, creating a loud clank.
She froze.
Nothing. The short man continued to snore, and the tall one just shifted and muttered something unintelligible.
She exhaled slowly, then picked up the sickle. Positioning the rope against the blade, she began the painful process of cutting through the binds.
Minutes dragged on.
Finally, the ropes snapped. She rubbed her sore wrists, then rose. First task: find a wand. She checked the short man—nothing. Then she turned to the tall one. His wand stuck out from his coat pocket.
He was sleeping with a hat over his face.
Eira reached out, inching toward it. As her fingers touched the wand, the man stirred.
"Don't hit me, Mom," he mumbled. "I didn't steal it… the broom was just there…"
Sleep talking. She nearly laughed out loud.
She pulled the wand free and stepped back. Closing her eyes, she whispered, "Glacius."
The freezing spell struck instantly. The tall man let out a muffled "hup!" and froze mid-snore, solid as stone.
Eira turned to the short man. She stepped forward, wand raised—only for his eyes to snap open.
Before he could react, she cried again, "Glacius!"
The blast of frost hit him square in the chest, freezing him with a look of horror etched into his face.
Breathing heavily, Eira stood in the middle of the barn. Both captors immobilized. Both disarmed.
She wasn't out yet—but she was no longer helpless.
Muttering a quick Lumos, she searched the space and soon found the second wand in the short man's inner coat pocket. She tucked it away.
Now she had both wands.