Ministry of Magic, London – VIP Entrance
The black carriage came to a smooth halt before a modest stone building tucked discreetly beside the main façade of the Ministry of Magic. Reserved exclusively for visiting foreign delegates and select pure-blood families, the VIP entrance bore no elaborate ornamentation—only quiet authority.
The carriage door opened with a soft creak, and Emma Bloom stepped down first, her posture rigid with protocol. Eira White followed gracefully, her green eyes scanning the familiar entrance. Clad in an elegantly tailored robe of midnight blue, her presence exuded power honed with discipline.
As the two witches approached the door, the Ministry's doormen straightened. Upon recognizing Eira, they bowed with immediate reverence.
"Welcome, Lady White," they intoned in unison.
Eira gave a polite nod before entering. The door swung open into a wide, gilded corridor that led directly into the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic—a grand underground hall built on the eighth level. Dominating the center stood the famed Fountain of Magical Brethren, its golden figures—wizard, witch, centaur, goblin, and house-elf—gleaming beneath enchanted lights, jets of shimmering water symbolizing the delicate harmony of magical society.
The Atrium buzzed with orchestrated chaos: Ministry officials hurried past in formal robes, enchanted paper memos swooped through the air like origami birds, and the sound of muffled conversations echoed under the high, charmed ceiling. Without pause, Eira and Emma made their way to the lifts at the far end.
Their destination was Level One—the topmost floor, housing the Minister for Magic's office and his key administrative staff. The elevator hummed as it ascended, the brass grate rattling softly with motion. When they arrived, they stepped out and passed through a wide corridor flanked by offices, until they stood before a large, double-doored room.
In the center of the door hung a grand, framed portrait of Minister Cornelius Fudge. He was grinning, tipping his hat at anyone who passed—a smug, somewhat self-important expression captured in perfect magical motion.
Eira tilted her head and smirked. "I think our Minister may have grown a little… narcissistic."
Emma arched a brow. "I couldn't say, my lady. I didn't know him a year ago, so I can't judge the difference."
Eira chuckled softly. "Then let's go see for ourselves."
Emma stepped forward and knocked crisply. A few seconds later, the door swung open, revealing a Ministry aide in forest-green robes. Upon seeing Eira, he bowed respectfully.
"Lady White. The Minister is expecting you."
"Lead the way, please," Eira replied with cool composure.
They entered a well-appointed antechamber—clearly the secretary's domain—before proceeding to the inner office. The Minister's chamber was stately, if a little too crowded with accolades and portraits of himself in various triumphant poses. Behind a wide oak desk sat Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, rising to his feet as they entered.
"Ah, Lady White!" he said warmly. "It's a pleasure to finally see you again. I regret not attending you after the funeral—I couldn't find the time amidst… everything. But Miss Bloom has kept us in touch."
Eira dipped into a slight curtsy. "It's good to see you too, Minister. After my grandfather's passing, I've been busy managing family affairs."
Fudge nodded sagely. "Yes, yes… these transitions are never easy. Speaking from personal experience, the burden of leadership always finds us early." He gestured to the young man standing beside him. "May I introduce my son—Reginald Cornelius Fudge. He graduated from Hogwarts eight years ago, top of his class, Outstanding in all his N.E.W.T.s."
Reginald stepped forward with a politician's smile and extended his hand. He was the mirror image of his father, though with more hair and a less confident air.
"It's an honor to meet you, Lady White," he said. "I've heard much about you."
Before Eira could react, Emma stepped in smoothly and took Reginald's hand with a firm shake—well aware of Eira's aversion to casual touch, particularly from strangers older than herself.
"The honor is mine, Mr. Fudge," Eira replied with a composed nod.
Cornelius cleared his throat and motioned for them to sit. "Please, let's talk."
Eira took the chair opposite his desk, Emma beside her.
"I'll be direct, Minister," Eira said. "I'm here on two matters, both important. I'll be brief—your time is valuable, and I respect the difficulty of governing a magical nation."
Fudge gave a smug chuckle, his chest puffing slightly. "For the Matriarch of the White family, I always have time. Your family's support has been instrumental to my administration."
Eira inclined her head, her tone measured but firm. "Thank you. First—have you heard of the Trévér family in France?"
Fudge blinked, caught off-guard. "Of course. We've had various contracts with them. Some British pure-blood families also conduct business with them. Why?"
"They've become… problematic. I request that you cancel all contracts with the Trévérs immediately, and that you prohibit trade with them from British parties."
The Minister hesitated, dabbing his brow with a handkerchief. "Lady White, I must be frank. That would be quite costly. We'd lose assets, and contract terminations will incur heavy fines."
"The White family will cover the cost," Eira replied coolly. "What matters is that the Trévérs are severed from this country's economy."
Fudge swallowed hard. "Even so… many pure-blood families will protest. They may accuse me of overreach—"
"You are the Minister of Magic," Eira cut in. "You represent all British witches and wizards, not a few entitled families. If they challenge your authority, let them. The White family stands behind you. You've proven yourself a capable leader. Show them you're not afraid to act."
Her words, both flattery and subtle challenge, had the intended effect. Fudge straightened his shoulders and smiled with forced confidence.
"Of course, Lady White. British families will always come first—especially over some… French ones."
Eira's lips curled in satisfaction. "Excellent. Now for the second matter. I will be returning to Beauxbâtons this year. There are unresolved issues that require my attention. While I'm away, Emma Bloom will serve as Acting Matriarch in my stead."
Fudge nodded readily. "Miss Bloom and I have spoken in several meetings. I find her quite capable. You needn't worry—your family's affairs will be respected."
Eira rose to her feet. "Thank you, Minister. Before I go—please accept an additional donation of twenty thousand Galleons from the White family to support your next public project."
For a brief moment, Fudge's expression lit up as though she had handed him a golden crown. "That's exceedingly generous! With your support, the Ministry has achieved so much—and we'll do even more. Rest assured, Lady White, your interests are safe in Britain."
The syrup in his voice was unmistakable now—each word dripping with gratitude and political calculation.
Eira gave a graceful nod. "It was good to see you, Minister. I shall take my leave."
"Until next time, Lady White," he said, bowing slightly as she and Emma departed.
Once the door had closed, the smile dropped from Fudge's face. He turned to his son with a withering glare.
"I brought you here to impress that girl," he hissed. "And you stood there like a tongue-tied troll! You said nothing—nothing! Couldn't even offer an opinion!"
Reginald looked helpless. "But Dad… she was talking about French families and politics. What was I supposed to say?"
Fudge smacked his forehead in exasperation. "Merlin help me. Do you have any idea who she is? She's the golden goose of Britain! The next Lord of the White family will be whoever marries her. Every old family is trying to match their sons—or cousins, or nephews—with her. I gave you a chance, and you wasted it!"
He stepped closer, eyes gleaming with ambition. "If you manage to court and seduce her, to marry her, then everything will be ours. No more Dumbledore. No more opposition. She's your ticket to real power."
Reginald blinked, uncertain. "So… you want me to chase after her? Now?"
"Yes, now! Find her. Invite her for tea dinner whatever it takes. Win her favor. Go!"
Without another word, Reginald bolted toward the corridor, his father's ambitions pushing him faster than his own feet could manage.