It was the 25th of December Christmas Day—and snow was falling gently over Paris. Though the city rarely saw heavy snow, this year was an exception. The sky was draped in white, and snowflakes danced softly across the streets and rooftops.
Eira stirred from sleep, rubbing her eyes before glancing out the tall window of her bedroom. The world outside was blanketed in white. A smile tugged at her lips; snow and winter were her favorite things in the world. Even if it meant enduring the cold, winter always made her feel alive.
A knock came at her door.
"Come in," Eira said softly.
The door opened and her house-elf, Lolly, entered, bowing deeply. "Good morning, young miss," she said in her high-pitched, reverent voice.
Eira turned to her with a warm smile. "Good morning to you too, Lolly. And Merry Christmas."
Lolly's large eyes sparkled as she clasped her hands. "Thank you, young miss! Thank you for bestowing Merry Christmas to this humble servant!"
Eira simply smiled and said nothing.
"The bath has been warmed," Lolly added. "You may take it at your leisure."
"Thank you," Eira replied, and made her way to the bathroom.
The warmth of the bath was soothing, and afterward, she returned to her room to find her Christmas attire already laid out—deep violet robes, rich in color and perfect for the occasion. She dressed, then stood before her mirror. Her snow-white hair framed her pale face, her emerald green eyes reflecting softly back at her. She applied a touch of perfume and descended the stairs toward the dining room, where breakfast awaited.
As she entered the room, her steps faltered.
There he was—that annoying person. Cecil. Seated across from her grandfather, with his usual smugness thinly veiled by a polite smile.
Eira composed herself and approached Elijah first, bowing with perfect etiquette. "Good morning, Grandfather. Merry Christmas."
Elijah looked up, eyes gentle. "Merry Christmas to you too, Eira. Please, sit down."
Eira turned to Cecil briefly. "Good morning, Uncle."
"Good morning to you too, Eira. Long time no see,How are you?, How was school?" he replied with a gracious smile.
Eira sat beside Elijah. "Thank you. I'm good. I had a very eventful school year."
"I'm delighted to hear that," said Cecil. "I was a student at Beauxbâtons too, you know. I quite enjoyed my time there. The dances, the celebrations—beautiful. So, which house were you sorted into?"
"Ombrelune," Eira replied.
Cecil blinked. "Ombrelune? Really? How… surprising. I thought you'd be a Bellefeuille. You know, that house does attract quite a few Muggle-borns." His tone was polite, but the implication sharp.
Eira gave him a smile that didn't reach her eyes and said nothing.
Breakfast was served by the house staff in awkward silence—flaky croissants, fresh fruits, and rich hot chocolate. The quiet lingered, until Cecil, ever the provocateur, spoke again.
"I heard you were kidnapped. I was very worried when I learned about it. I tried to come and search for you, but unfortunately, the journey from England to France took time. By the time I arrived, you were already safe."
At those words, Elijah paused with his fork mid-air, then set it down and turned sharply toward Cecil.
"How do you know she was kidnapped?" he asked, voice firm. "Only a few people knew—myself, Madame Maxime, and the French Ministry."
Cecil didn't miss a beat. "Oh, I have friends in the French Ministry. They told me. That's how I knew."
Elijah stared at him for a long moment, then returned to his meal.
Cecil turned to Eira, clearly waiting for her to elaborate.
"It wasn't that serious," Eira said coolly. "It was just a portkey. I was sent to another country, that's all. Thank you for your concern."
They continued eating, until Elijah finally said, "I'll be going now." Rising, he added, "All the gifts sent by your classmates and professors have been placed near your bed. I've already checked them for any enchantments or curses—they're safe."
"Thank you, Grandfather. I hope I didn't disturb you," Eira replied.
Elijah nodded once before departing.
A long, uncomfortable silence followed. Eira focused on her food, while Cecil seemed to be waiting for something.
Finally, he spoke again.
"You know, I wanted to tell you something, Eira."
Eira glanced up. "Yes, Uncle? If you have something to say, go ahead."
"It's about your mother."
That made her pause. She set her utensils down and looked directly at him. "All of a sudden? That's… surprising."
"Well," Cecil said slowly, "you don't really know much about her, do you? Just what you've seen in photographs."
Eira regarded him curiously. "Sure. Why not. Go ahead."
Cecil's lips curved into a slight smirk. "Did you know she had a family?"
"Of course," Eira replied dryly. "If she hadn't, she wouldn't have been born."
Cecil's lips twitched at her sarcasm, but he continued unfazed. "She came from a prominent family in France. Not just well-to-do, but respected. Influential. Your mother had… admirers. One in particular, a boy named Antoine. He was her childhood friend, you see. Very close. Blond hair, green eyes. A real charmer."
Eira's jaw tightened. "And?"
"Well," Cecil continued, voice growing silkier, "there was a time—before you were born—when your parents had a falling out. She left Damien for a few days and stayed with Antoine. Just the two of them. Your father went to fetch her, eventually… but one wonders, doesn't one?"
Eira set down her fork slowly, eyes narrowing. "Is there a point to this story, Uncle? Or are you just here to spread gossip about a woman who can no longer defend herself?"
Cecil's smile faded, replaced by a flicker of irritation. "I simply thought you might want to know the full picture."
Eira stared at him for a long second, then sighed. "I've had enough of this bullshit."
Cecil stiffened. "Excuse me? What did you say?"
"I said I've had enough of this bullshit," Eira repeated, her voice sharper now. "This fake uncle-niece act. Your fake politeness. I'm done with the pretentious smiles, the false concern, the constant passive-aggressive jabs at my mother and at me. I've had it."
Cecil looked stunned—but only briefly. A smile tugged at his mouth.
But Eira pressed on, her voice rising, calm yet scathing.
"Since I woke up from that coma, I've always been treated like an outsider in this family. Like a bastard child—your word, not mine. You look at me like I'm a stain on your name. You think I don't notice? You think I'm some stupid eleven-year-old who doesn't understand anything?
"From the moment I met you, you've tried to break my spirit. You want me to worship this family, to feel grateful for being 'taken in.' You want me to feel like I owe you something."
"Easy, Eira," Cecil said quickly. "Calm down. It wasn't meant as disrespect." But at the end of his sentence, he smirked.
Eira's eyes turned cold. "Still pretending, aren't you? You think I don't know you hate me? Because I'm the one who blocked your path to becoming the head of this family. You almost had it—until Grandfather named me the heiress."
Cecil's fingers trembled, but he kept his composure.
"And don't think I don't know it was you who sent those people to kidnap me."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Cecil said sharply. "Don't accuse me. I'm your uncle. I would never—"
"Drop the act," Eira interrupted. "Who else would benefit from my death? You think Grandfather doesn't know? He's simply giving you a chance to redeem yourself—but you keep failing."
Her voice rose, fierce and unwavering.
"You look down on Muggles so much, but you're worse than them. At least Muggles value family. At least the two Muggles who found me in that forest treated me like a human. You? You're not even that. You're a coward. A pathetic, power-hungry coward."
Cecil shot up from his chair, slamming his palms onto the table. "I am your uncle! You will respect me!"
Eira stood as well. "And I am the heiress of the White family! I am the legitimate daughter of this house. You don't get to humiliate me. My mother's honor is not yours to question. And if you ever speak of her that way again, I swear you'll regret it."
Cecil was seething now. His face twisted in fury.
For a moment, silence stretched between them like a drawn wire.
"You want to talk about your legitimacy right ?" he spat. "Your father didn't even acknowledge you, He didn't even love you. He wanted to erase you. To wipe your mother's memories. And send you to a Muggle orphanage!"
He waited, watching her closely for an emotional reaction.
But Eira laughed.
It was cold, cutting, bitter laughter.
"Oh, is that what you were aiming for?" she said once the laughter faded. "An emotional breakdown? Tears? A shattered little girl?"
Her eyes glittered with scorn.
"Do you think I care what that man thought of me?, If you think I'll cry over him, you're more foolish than I thought. He's dead. And even when he was alive, he wasn't brave enough to face me. So no—I won't cry over a coward who ran from his dying wife and his child."
She gave one last sneer and turned to leave.
At the doorway, she found Lolly peeking anxiously around the corner. The little house-elf was trembling, having heard everything.
Eira didn't speak. She walked silently past and climbed the stairs to her room.
Behind her, from the dining room, came a loud crash—the sound of a table being overturned.
Cecil's voice exploded in a furious roar:
"How dare she—how DARE that bitch talk to me like that! Like I'm some worthless worm—how dare she!"
Then silence fell across the White Manor.