The crowd around the Eiffel Tower had only begun to thin as Eira finally reached Fleur. The Veela stood at the center of the commotion, radiating otherworldly charm without even trying. Her silver-blonde hair caught the sunlight like silk, and her soft smile was sending tourists—especially the men—into barely concealed reverie.
Eira sighed, tugging her magical pouch open and drawing out a violet-colored Muggle hat.
"Here," she said, thrusting it toward Fleur with little ceremony.
Fleur blinked. "What's this?"
"A hat. Put it on. Before some Muggle decides to kidnap you just for being pretty."
Fleur arched a brow, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Oh? Don't worry, Eira. No one will take me from you."
Eira rolled her eyes. "It's not like that."
Fleur laughed, brushing her fingers through her hair before slipping the wide-brimmed hat onto her head. The shade of violet suited her perfectly, a rich contrast to her pale features. She tilted her head slightly, checking her reflection in a compact mirror she took out from her pocket subtly.
"Well?" she asked. "Do I look mysterious now? Alluring but unapproachable?"
"Now you just look like a fashionable tourist," Eira muttered, but her lips curled into a smile.
Fleur turned, giving her a once-over. "But you… you cut your hair."
Eira's posture shifted slightly, her hand brushing the short strands at the nape of her neck. "So you saw the newspapers."
Fleur nodded. "They printed a dozen photos. You had such beautiful hair. It was part of you."
Eira's voice was quiet when she replied, "So you think I'm ugly now?"
Fleur's eyes softened, and she stepped a little closer. "No," she said, her voice low and silky. "In every shape, you're beautiful, Eira White. I never said you weren't."
Eira felt heat rising to her cheeks. "Well… I know that," she huffed, turning away slightly.
But Fleur had seen the flicker of a smile on her face. With a playful hum, she hooked her arm around Eira's, and the two of them began walking down the Champs de Mars, blending in at last with the relaxed rhythm of Muggle Paris.
⸻
Their first stop was a small café tucked between rows of flowering trees, its tables shaded by colorful umbrellas. The waiter barely looked twice at them, which Eira found refreshing—though she caught the lingering glance he gave Fleur before handing them the menu.
Fleur sipped her espresso and nibbled at a chocolate croissant, watching Eira with unguarded fondness.
"You really are blending in today," she said. "You look almost… casual."
"Thank you," Eira said, her voice dry. "A high compliment coming from the girl who wore moonlight to a street corner."
Fleur grinned, her eyes crinkling. "Can't help it. My mother says I could wear a burlap sack and still be followed by starstruck eyes."
"She's not wrong."
Eira took a bite of her crepe, the sweetness of strawberries and cream brightening her expression. They lingered there for nearly an hour, letting the time slip by with no urgency. It had been a long while since Eira felt this kind of peace.
They wandered next into a little bookshop with ivy creeping up its windows. Fleur darted between shelves like a curious bird, picking up old poetry books and giggling over antique postcards.
Eira followed, watching her, the warmth in her chest unfamiliar but welcome.
"You'd look good running a bookstore," Eira said absently. "Somewhere quiet. With tea and cats."
Fleur spun around. "You think so?"
"Mm. You'd charm the entire neighborhood, of course. Muggles would line up just to hear your recommendations."
Fleur beamed. "Then I'll keep that as my backup plan. If everything else collapses, I'll open a bookstore and invite you to read poetry with me."
"You're ridiculous."
"And you're grumpy. Which is why we balance each other out," Fleur said breezily.
Eira didn't argue.
⸻
As the sun climbed higher, they strolled along the Seine, pausing at every little bridge. Street musicians played soft jazz, children chased bubbles, and lovers lounged by the riverbanks, reading or sketching or simply existing.
"I missed this," Fleur murmured. "Not Paris. You."
Eira looked away, her fingers tightening slightly on the railing. "I didn't know if I'd come back."
"I did," Fleur said softly. "You had too much unfinished here."
The words hung between them. Eira didn't need to ask what she meant. Fleur wasn't talking only about school.
They sat on the steps of a small plaza, watching pigeons hop between crumbs and sunlight. Eira pulled a bag of sugared almonds from her pouch, offering them wordlessly.
Fleur took one, popping it into her mouth. "Do you remember when we first met?"
"You tried to accuse me—of framing you for stealing my boyfriend—and you did it right in front of Madame Maxime," Eira said coolly.
Fleur laughed, leaning her shoulder against Eira's. "Well, of course—most of the time I was called to Madame Maxime's office, it was because of some girl upset over her lover or crush rejecting her. And naturally, she'd blame me. So when I saw you there, I just assumed you were another one of them."
"You were insufferable."
"You loved it."
"…Maybe."
Their arms brushed again. Neither moved away.
⸻
By the time the afternoon turned to golden evening, they found themselves at a Muggle rooftop restaurant. It wasn't posh or enchanted, but the view was breathtaking. The Eiffel Tower gleamed in the distance, and the air was filled with the hum of city life.
They ordered sparkling lemonades and shared a platter of delicate hors d'oeuvres, laughing about how overpriced everything was.
"I can't believe you insisted on paying," Fleur said, sipping through a striped straw. "You're becoming strangely Muggle."
Eira lifted a brow. "You'll survive. Consider it my treat. Besides, life among Muggles is actually quite enjoyable. I mean, just look—they have so many different cultures, people, foods—and it's all delicious. They've created endless ways to entertain themselves. So yeah, if I ever get the chance, I wouldn't mind living among them."
Fleur leaned forward slightly, her expression softening. "You really are different, you know. Most pure-blood families around the world look down on Muggles—see them as uncivilized, unworthy of a wizard's time. Even those who claim to support Muggle relations often carry this quiet sense of superiority. When they say we should protect Muggles, they speak as if they're helpless pets or primitive creatures on the brink of extinction. But you—you're the Matriarch of the most powerful family in Europe, and here you are saying you'd choose to live among them. That's… admirable."
Eira smiled. "Well, your family has quite a fondness for Muggles too—and that's a good thing."
Fleur looked her in the eyes , her expression was more gentler now. "You really are different, you know. Since coming back."
Eira tilted her head. "Is that a bad thing?"
"No," Fleur whispered. "It's beautiful. You're… stronger. Calmer. I think I like this version of you."
"I'm still me," Eira said.
"I know," Fleur replied. "But you're becoming who you were always meant to be."
Silence lingered between them—not awkward, but full. Full of things unsaid, questions unasked, possibilities still brewing.
"I'm glad you're coming back to Beauxbâtons," Fleur said suddenly, her voice barely audible over the music floating from below. "I was worried you wouldn't. After everything."
Eira looked up at the sky. "I wasn't sure either."
"What changed your mind?"
"…You."
Fleur blinked.
"And Maxime," Eira added quickly, flushing. "And Marin. And everything I haven't finished yet. I can't let people like the Trévors—or anyone else—think they've won."
Fleur reached across the table, gently touching Eira's hand. "You don't have to do it alone, you know my family will support you and me too. "
"I know, and I appreciate that with my heart." Eira murmured.
They stayed like that for a while, fingers just barely intertwined, until the waiter returned with the bill and reality broke the spell.
⸻
As night fell, they wandered through Paris one last time, now lit by warm streetlamps and the glow of bakeries still selling evening bread. The crowds thinned, and their laughter grew quieter.
At last, they stood once more beneath the Eiffel Tower, its lights dancing above them.
"Will you be alright on your own?" Eira asked.
Fleur smiled. "I'm a Delacour. We thrive in mystery."
Eira reached into her pouch and produced the same violet hat. She straightened it on Fleur's head, adjusting it gently. "Still. Be careful. Don't enchant any more tourists."
"No promises," Fleur teased, then lowered her voice. "But only if you promise to meet me here again. Someday."
Eira's heart softened. "It's a deal."
Then, with a final shared look—unspoken words shimmering between them—Fleur leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to Eira's cheek.
Eira blinked. "Was that—?"
"A thank-you," Fleur said innocently. "For the not-a-date."
Eira shook her head, flustered and secretly delighted. "You're impossible."
Fleur turned away with a laugh and a wave, disappearing into the crowd with the grace of someone who belonged to every corner of Paris.
And Eira stood still for a long moment, heart fluttering as the lights twinkled above her.