Life at Beauxbâtons flowed gently into routine as summer began to bloom across the lush valleys of the Pyrenees. For Eira, the days passed in a quiet, consistent rhythm. Each morning, she attended her classes with unwavering focus. Outside of lessons, she often retreated to the vast library, her second sanctuary, where rows of ancient books became her companions.
With her flawless memory, Eira absorbed knowledge with uncanny precision—word for word, page by page, spell by spell. She practiced wandwork alone in the Ombrelune garden or wandered the elegant grounds with Fleur, the two of them laughing as they soaked in the soft golden light of summer. Despite her long presence at Beauxbâtons now, Eira kept her circle small. Her interactions with students from Bellefeuille and Papillonlisse remained mostly confined to the classroom. She didn't mind. The solitude suited her.
Sometimes, when the mood struck her, she would slip away into her Animagus form. As a snow owl, she soared above the silver-topped towers and sweeping courtyards of the school, gliding through the wind with silent wings. From above, Beauxbâtons looked like something out of a dream—a palace tucked away in a cradle of magic and sky. Those were the moments she felt truly free.
But freedom had its limits.
With only a week left until the start of exams, the atmosphere across the school shifted. The once-busy gardens, which had been alive with chatter, games, and stolen kisses beneath rose-draped gazebos, fell strangely quiet. Gone were the late-night gatherings, the idle picnics, the whispered laughter in candlelit corridors. In their place came parchment stacks, ink-stained fingers, and sleep-deprived faces.
Panic had set in.
For many, the year's worth of missed readings and forgotten lectures loomed like a thundercloud. And among the most desperate of the desperate was one familiar face.
"Please, Eira," Marin said dramatically, standing in front of her with an expression so pitiful it bordered on theatrical. "If I don't pass the writing test, I'll have to repeat the year."
Eira, sitting cross-legged beneath the shade of a flowering tree, didn't even bother to look up from her book. She snorted. "Go and study, Marin. Like everyone else who didn't waste the whole year chasing skirts."
"But how can you be so cold to your future husband?" Marin clutched at his chest with mock pain. "If I don't graduate, how will we feed our future children? You want them to starve?"
Eira finally looked up, one brow raised. "Oh, shut it, Marin. This is your own fault. You've spent the entire school year flirting with anything that breathes. Why don't you go ask them to help you?"
Marin looked genuinely wounded. "They said they were busy," he mumbled, then quickly added with renewed mischief, "But I'm sure Fleur would help. She's kind, unlike someone."
Eira narrowed her eyes.
For a moment, it looked as though she might hex him on the spot. Instead, she let out a long sigh, muttering something under her breath about idiotic boys and their delusions.
"Fine," she said at last. "I'll mark the chapters and specific lessons you need to memorize. You'll have to do the rest on your own."
Marin's eyes lit up. "You're an angel! Truly, the mother of my—"
"Say another word," Eira cut in sharply, "and I'll make sure you forget how to hold a quill."
Marin saluted her with a grin, then turned on his heel and jogged away, practically skipping like a child on Christmas morning. Eira watched him go, shaking her head.
As he rounded a hedge, she spotted a figure waiting for him behind a tree—an older girl, leaning casually against the bark, twirling a strand of her hair as Marin approached. The two laughed, and he leaned in far too close for it to be about schoolwork.
"That absolute moron," Eira muttered, returning to her book. "All an act to get help—and now that he has it, straight back to his harem."
Still, she kept her word. In the evenings, she sat with Marin under the pale light of the Ombrelune garden's lanterns, pointing out key lessons, summarizing entire chapters, and even quizzing him until he stopped mixing up incantations.
By the time the exam week finally arrived, the pressure had reached its peak. Tension buzzed through the halls of Beauxbâtons like static. Students whispered anxiously in corridors, books clutched to their chests. Some carried bags under their eyes from sleepless nights. Others drank potions to keep their minds alert, and a few had already broken down crying outside the exam rooms.
Even Fleur, usually composed and elegant, had taken to pacing in circles before her practical tests.
As for Eira, she remained calm. She had studied, practiced, and prepared. The exams would come—and she would meet them head-on.
What she hadn't expected, though, was the quiet feeling of amusement she felt watching Marin stumble through his notes, mouthing incantations with a level of intensity he hadn't shown all year.
And somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought:
Well… at least he's trying now.