The morning light on December 20th glinted through the arched windows of the dormitories, its pale winter rays casting long shadows across the floor of Ombrelune's Dorm Hall . The château stirred with a quiet energy, as students prepared for their departure—returning home for the Christmas holidays. Footsteps echoed in the corridors, mixed with laughter, last-minute shouts, and the rustling of enchanted garments being packed away.
Eira stood by her window, watching snow fall lightly over the forested grounds below. It had snowed gently through the night, dusting the mountains and turrets in pristine white. In the courtyard, Abraxan-drawn carriages waited, their sleek, powerful bodies gleaming beneath enchanted warming charms that kept the beasts calm and the passengers comfortable.
Unlike many of her classmates, Eira had no trunk to lug down the staircase. Instead, her wand tapped her wardrobe once, and her belongings folded and flew into her leather-bound magical pouch. The small satchel—black, silver-trimmed, and no bigger than a book—opened wide like a bottomless well, swallowing her robes, books, stationery, winter boots, and even a few sweet pastries she had stashed away from the last night's meal.
She gave one last look around her dormitory, lingering a second longer at the arched window where the frost curled like lace around the corners of the glass. Then she slung the pouch over her shoulder and stepped out.
The school's main foyer was filled with a soft din. Students from all three houses gathered in their traveling cloaks, chatting in different languages, laughter rising here and there, and some exchanging small wrapped gifts or letters.
Outside, under the grand archway of the gates, the line of carriages waited. The Abraxans pawed the snowy ground with elegant impatience, steam rising from their nostrils like smoke from chimneys. Eira joined the queue beside Fleur and Marin, who were engaged in a spirited discussion about whether the train ride to the Delacour villa would be delayed by snowfall.
Marin, still buttoning his cloak, looked at Eira. "You're not taking a trunk either?"
"No need," she replied, patting her pouch. "Everything's in here."
"Typical White elegance," he teased. "Rich people shit."
They were soon ushered toward the carriages, the footmen helping younger students up and securing the doors with a tap of their wands. As the first carriages began to roll away, lifted subtly by enchantments, the thrum of hooves against snow echoed like a winter drumbeat.
The ride to the Portkey Platform—located several miles beyond the school's protective wards—was beautiful in its silence. The snow-laden pines lined the paths like sentinels, their branches weighed with frost, while distant mountains shimmered under winter's veil. Icicles hung like crystal daggers from the branches, catching rays of afternoon sun and scattering them in dazzling hues of blue and gold.
When they finally arrived at the Portkey Hub, a circular clearing shielded by large iron gates and surrounded by glowing runes, Eira stepped down and followed the stream of students to where various Ministry officials waited. Magical borders were no light matter—even for a holiday.
Portkeys of all kinds were being distributed. A girl from Greece clutched a spinning silver lyre; a boy from Norway held what looked like a Viking brooch. All were keyed to activate at the same moment.
Fleur and Eira walked together, shoulder to shoulder. Fleur's Portkey was a delicate porcelain pendant shaped like a snowflake, while Eira held a familiar, fountain-pen-shaped one—dark mahogany, with a silver clip that glinted in the light.
They stood facing each other now, in the final moments before departure. Around them, students gathered in clusters, holding onto their Portkeys and saying goodbyes.
Fleur's expression was warm. "You'll write to me, won't you?"
"I will," Eira replied, a soft smile playing on her lips. "And you better write back."
Fleur chuckled. "My mother always insists that we take the holidays as a time for reflection. You'll have to tell me what you end up reflecting on."
"I already know what I'll be reflecting on," Eira said, half-joking, half-true. "Responsibility. Restraint. And maybe how to stop Marin from flirting with danger."
From a short distance away, Marin called out, "I heard that!"
Fleur laughed, and for a moment, the crisp wind carried only the sound of joy and the rustle of snow-covered trees.
As the Ministry official began the countdown—"Trois… deux… un…"—Fleur reached out, squeezing Eira's hand once, firmly. Then, a brilliant pull swept Eira away, and the forested mountains of Beauxbâtons vanished.
—
The next moment, she landed with a soft crunch onto the cobbled stone path leading to her cottage in the city of Paris.
It was just as she used it like last year.
This year, the method of teleportation had changed, making the experience noticeably different from the previous one. Yet, despite the shift, Eira found herself once again standing in the familiar cottage nestled in the heart of Paris. She walked to the window and looked outside. Snow was gently falling over the city, blanketing the streets in soft white. Muggles bustled along the walkways, bundled in coats and scarves, while children played in the open squares—some building snowmen, others chasing one another with snowballs, their laughter echoing through the crisp winter air.
As Eira gazed out the window, a soft smile touched her lips. The muggles below moved through their lives unaware, bundled in coats and scarves, their footsteps muffled by the falling snow. Children played with joyful abandon in the open square—laughing, tumbling, building snowmen, and hurling snowballs in a flurry of white. It was a picture of warmth and life, despite the winter chill.
She turned from the window and called out, as she always did.
"Lolly?"
Silence.
She waited—just a few seconds. No crack of Apparition, no soft voice, no presence at all. She frowned slightly, her voice a touch louder this time.
"Lolly?"
Still nothing. The cottage remained still and quiet, as if no one else had ever been there.
Confusion furrowed her brow. This was… unusual. In all the years she had known her, Lolly had never failed to appear the moment she was summoned. Never once.
"Lolly!" she called again, now with concern threaded into her voice.
But the silence held. No answer. No rustle of movement. No familiar pop of magic. It was the first time Lolly had failed to respond—and the unfamiliar absence filled the little cottage with a cold that had nothing to do with the snow outside.
Worried now, Eira crossed the room and opened her magical pouch. She withdrew warm, unassuming muggle clothing—a thick wool coat, gloves, and a scarf—then dressed quickly. Without another moment of hesitation, she stepped outside.
Paris was still cloaked in its winter charm. Storefronts glittered with frost and soft lights, and distant bells rang from a nearby church tower. But Eira barely noticed. She looked up and down the street, quickly realizing that she was farther from her family home than she'd expected—much farther.
With a sigh, she made her way to the nearest bus stop. It had been years since she'd taken a muggle bus, but today she didn't have a choice.
Lolly was still not answering. And that, more than the cold or the distance, unsettled her the most.