The afternoon sun spilled golden light over the domed windows of Ombrelune Dormitory. When Eira stepped outside with her satchel in hand, the hallways were already buzzing with life. Students hurried to and fro, chattering excitedly, dragging enchanted trunks behind them or levitating them above the marble floor. The scent of early summer mingled with the perfume of magical herbs that had begun to bloom in the garden outside.
She joined the stream of students moving through the Ombrelune's garden toward the grand garden—the place where the great silver-winged Abraxan horses were waiting, harnessed to rows of shimmering blue carriages. The scene felt dreamlike. One by one, students gathered, saying their goodbyes, trading last-minute letters and hugs, laughter echoing across the stone courtyard.
Eira scanned the crowd until her eyes caught sight of a familiar tall figure standing near the edge of the platform—the imposing silhouette of Madame Maxime. And beside her, the unmistakable silver-blonde hair of Fleur Delacour.
As Eira approached, Madame Maxime turned toward her with a warm smile. "Ah, Eira, I was about to ask someone to find you," she said. "I've spoken to your grandfather this morning. Everything is arranged for your return."
Eira gave a polite bow. "Thank you, Madame Maxime."
"If you ever decide to transfer to Hogwarts—though I do hope you choose to stay—I will personally write to Dumbledore. The application will go through both Ministries, and I'll ensure the transition is smooth."
Eira nodded. "I haven't decided yet if I'll return or not… but I truly appreciate your support."
Madame Maxime placed a hand gently on her head, almost maternal. "No need to thank me, ma chère. I am your headmistress—and you will always be a student of Beauxbâtons, no matter where you go. Never forget that."
At this, Fleur chimed in with a mischievous smile. "Don't worry, Madame Maxime, I'll make sure she returns. She cannot leave me here alone. Britain has had her long enough."
Madame Maxime laughed, straightening. "Well, then, you two better be off. The Abraxan carriages are ready to take flight. Until next school year, if fate allows."
Fleur and Eira boarded the nearest carriage. As the creatures neighed and their wings unfurled like silver sails, the carriages lifted gracefully into the afternoon sky.
Back in the garden, Madame Maxime watched them disappear into the clouds. Her expression softened with a hint of melancholy. "I always hate it when the school empties," she murmured. "This place is nothing without its students."
Behind her, footsteps approached. Professor René Voclain, arms crossed behind her back, stood silently, also gazing at the departing silhouettes. Madame Maxime looked sideways at her.
"You know," she said with a raised brow, "your stubbornness surprises even me, René. I told you to speak to her. But instead, you skulk around like a statue."
René said nothing for a long moment. Then quietly: "Isabella already spoke to her. She didn't mention anything about being her aunt."
"She's still just a girl, René. She deserves to know."
"When the time is right, I will tell her myself."
Madame Maxime's tone turned more serious. "You've heard about Elijah?"
She nodded. "I've sent him potions. Something to dull the pain. Perhaps that's why it feels worse."
"I saw his letter." Her voice faltered. "The curse is eating at him faster. There may not be much time."
René Voclain's jaw clenched. "I examined it myself. That curse… it is far beyond healing."
Madame Maxime sighed. "I know. And yet… I still feel sorry for him. A life like that. Pain and loss—always ,he suffered a lot ."
René didn't reply. She turned silently and walked away.
—
A few hours later, the Abraxan carriages descended into a vast, open field nestled in the rolling hills of the Pyrenees. A waiting line of witches stood near the landing zone, each holding a clipboard and a set of enchanted quill-pens.
The students disembarked in waves and were directed toward a stone corridor that led into a spacious teleportation chamber. Inside, familiar witches handed out long, pen-shaped portkeys, enchanted to take each international student to their respective countries.
"This way, this way," one of them called. "Please do not activate the portkeys until you are inside a room. And remember—next year will be filled with many new surprises!"
Eira took her pen and joined Fleur in the hallway.
"You'll write to me, won't you?" Fleur asked.
"Of course I will. And you'll write back."
"Better than that," Fleur said with a grin. "You must come stay with us again. Or—wait—we should go somewhere together this time."
Eira's eyes lit up. "What about Muggle world in France? You said you went once, but never properly visited. We went to London's muggle world . Why not tour Paris next?"
Fleur nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! But you have to set the date."
"I'll send you an owl."
Then, without warning, Fleur pulled her into a tight hug. "I'll miss you, Eira."
Eira laughed softly. "It's just two months. I'm not going off to another continent."
Still, the embrace lingered. Finally, Fleur stepped away and gave one last look before vanishing into her portkey room.
Eira stood for a few moments, watching the others disappear one by one. Then she entered a teleportation chamber, activated her portkey—and with a rush of wind and a pull behind her navel—vanished.
—
When she landed, the familiar scent of cinnamon and old wood welcomed her.
She was back in the quaint little cottage nestled among the Parisian streets. As she caught her breath, she called out, "Lolly?"
There was a crack—and the house elf appeared with a joyful squeak. "Miss! Welcome back! Lolly is very, very glad to see you again!"
Eira grinned. "Me too, Lolly. Can you take me home?"
The elf took her hand, and in an instant, the two vanished again.
They reappeared in the grand living room of the White Manor in Paris. The place was silent.
Eira looked around. "Where's Grandfather? Is he here?"
Lolly shook her head sadly. "Master left. He said he would return in a week."
"Did Uncle Cecil come here while I was gone?"
Lolly nodded hesitantly. "Only once. He and Master argued… loudly. There was shouting, and after Master left, he told Lolly not to disturb him for a week."
Eira frowned. "An argument…? What about?"
Lolly's hands trembled. "Lolly doesn't know. Lolly only heard shouting. Master Cecil stormed out. And Master left not long after."
Thoughts stirred in her mind—serious ones. But she didn't press further.
"Well anyway I'm going to sleep. I'm too tired for dinner. So you don't need to prepare anything for me."
"Yes, Miss," Loli bowed, "Lolly will prepare your bed."
Eira climbed the stairs, unpacked her trunk slowly, and changed out of her Beauxbâtons robes. She returned her pale blue uniform to its place in the wardrobe and ran herself a warm bath. Later, wrapped in soft linens, she collapsed onto her bed and exhaled deeply.
Outside, the Parisian twilight cast long shadows across the floor.
Her first year at Beauxbâtons was over.
She had learned more than she could have imagined—mastered spells and potions, earned the respect of professors, made friends, tasted independence… and confronted betrayal and family secrets.
For the first time in years, she didn't feel alone.
She was no longer just the White family's quiet heiress tucked away in a cold manor. She was Eira White—clever, capable, bold, and rising.