They moved to the grand dining hall, where a luxurious French feast awaited them. The table was full of delicacies, but it was the creamy, spiced soup—France's signature magical dish—that lingered on Eira's tongue.
As they ate, Monsieur Delacour leaned forward. "So, Eira. I heard you're the heiress of the White family. And I heard about your visit to the British Ministry of Magic—with Fleur, no less. You spoke so confidently, even among those ancient wizards. Remarkable for someone so young."
Eira gave a modest nod. "Thank you, sir. It was an emergency, and someone had to speak. I was fortunate Fleur was there too."
Apolline smiled proudly at her daughter. "It's good she was. Experiences like that will help her grow. One day, she and Gabrielle will lead this family. Exposure to the real world is essential."
Monsieur Delacour added, "I had proposed a business deal with the British Ministry to import our Magical Carpets. Elijah supported it, but the pureblood families blocked it. Said it was 'too Muggle.'"
Eira responded, "Yes, sir. The British Ministry still holds tightly to its traditions. And the broomstick manufacturers have significant influence. Carpets are more comfortable and practical—but also a threat to their profits. That's why the ban remains."
Apolline sighed. "No more business talk, dear. Tonight is for celebration."
Monsieur Delacour laughed. "You're right, you're right. When I start on politics, I can't stop!"
Just then, Gabrielle piped up, "You know, Fleur still hasn't brought home a boyfriend. Aren't you going to say something?"
"Gabrielle!" Fleur snapped. "This isn't the time."
Gabrielle stuck out her tongue. "I'll tell Mum and Dad—again!"
Monsieur Delacour chuckled. "Gabrielle, be kind, or no bicycle for you."
"You've said that for four years!" she pouted. "Buy it already!"
Fleur rolled her eyes. "She can't have it—if the Ministry finds out she rides a bicycle, they won't let her into Beauxbâtons."
"Stop lying!" Gabrielle huffed.
The whole table erupted in laughter.
Later that evening, after warm conversation and full stomachs, Monsieur and Madame Delacour retired to their chambers. Gabrielle, sleepily grumbling, shuffled off to bed.
In the guest room, Eira stood. "It's getting late. I should be going."
"Stay," Fleur offered. "We have plenty of rooms."
"Thank you," Eira said, "but maybe next time. Let's return to school together in ten days. I'll come here, and we can take the Portkey from your place."
Fleur smiled. "Definitely."
Eira walked to the Floo fireplace. "Goodbye, Fleur. Send me letters, alright?"
"Goodbye, little bunny," Fleur replied with a grin.
Eira threw down the powder and called, "White Manor, Paris." The green flames rose and carried her away.
Fleur stood staring at the fireplace long after the flames died. Behind her, a gentle voice spoke.
"She's lovely," Apolline said.
Fleur turned. "What is it, Mum? Why are you smiling like that?"
"I'm just happy you've finally found a real friend. Especially a girl."
"It wasn't as hard for me as it was for you," Fleur said quietly.
Apolline's smile faded into something softer. "Every girl at school hated me—for being half-Veela. The only person who saw me as more than a beauty was your father. I chose him. I see now, you've chosen someone too."
Fleur nodded. "She's a good girl. I finally have someone to trust. To laugh with, like normal girls do."
"Eira is smart," Apolline said. "Her insight in business, her mind—it's rare. Learn from her, just as she'll learn from you. Veela live long lives. You'll need such people with you. Choose your companions wisely."
Fleur looked away, thoughtful.
"You are the next heir of this family," Apolline whispered. "After me. After your father. You and your sister."
"Don't talk like that," Fleur said. "You're both still young."
Apolline laughed. "When did I say I was dying? Don't worry. You won't get rid of us until we're 200—maybe 300!"
They laughed together, then climbed the stairs, side by side.