Eira didn't move as Emma crossed the ruined drawing room. The witch took one look at the rope, the scorched walls, the shattered glass—and then at the tiny, lifeless body laid on the velvet couch. Her expression tightened, jaw clenched.
But it was Eira's face that shattered her.
Tears streamed down the young girl's cheeks, her eyes red and gleaming with the kind of pain that could not be dulled by time or magic. Grief and rage bled together in her trembling voice.
"I want you to find him for me," she said, her voice low but razor-sharp. "Find Cecil. Now. I don't want him alive."
Emma's chest rose and fell. She said nothing at first. Instead, she moved toward Eira and knelt beside her. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms tightly around her and whispered, "It's okay. It's okay, my lady. I'm here. You're safe. You're not alone."
Eira shook in her arms.
"No, it's not okay," she choked, burying her face in Emma's shoulder. "It's my fault. All of it. I should have killed that bastard long ago. I had the chance. Twice. But I didn't. And now she's—she's gone—"
Her words fractured into sobs. "Because of me."
Emma held her tighter.
"He killed her," Eira said through clenched teeth. "Executed her. Like an animal. Hung her like some criminal. She didn't deserve that—"
"I know," Emma murmured. "I know, Eira."
Eira's hands trembled as they clutched at the fabric of Emma's cloak. "She wasn't just a servant. She was everything to me. She raised me. When no one else was there. When my mother was gone. When I couldn't speak. When I couldn't stand. Lolly—she fed me, talked to me, loved me like I mattered. She was my family. She was like my mother. And now—" her voice cracked again, "—now she's gone."
Emma said nothing, only rocking gently, letting Eira sob until her voice turned hoarse. The quiet stretched on, heavy and hollow, filled only by the echo of grief in that ruined room.
Then, slowly, Eira pulled away. Her eyes were rimmed in red, her face pale, but her voice was no longer broken. It was cold and clear.
"I want you to find him," she said. "Everything. Where he is, who he's with. I want to know it all. No more mercy."
Emma looked at her carefully. "You need to calm down first."
"No!" Eira snapped. "I don't want to calm down. I've calmed down enough. I've listened. I've hesitated. And this is what I got for it!"
Her fist clenched. "Do you know how many chances I had to end him? And I didn't. Because of what? Morals? Fear? Family? None of that matters now. She's gone."
Emma stood, nodding solemnly. "You can have everything you ask for. But not here. It's not safe. The wards were broken. You need to return to England. To the ancestral manor. That's where we can secure you. Where we can regroup. You're not thinking clearly."
Eira looked around the devastated room. Then at Lolly.
Her voice was hollow. "Yes. You're right. Let's go. Let's go now."
She bent down and carefully wrapped Lolly's body in her own cloak. With slow reverence, she lifted the house-elf into her arms—so small, so light now, it made her heart ache all over again.
Emma stepped to the front door. Her wand flicked. The wards of the manor—damaged, shredded, and fragile—responded sluggishly to her command. The castle locked itself behind them with a low groan. Then she reached into her coat and pulled out a silver door key etched with the Bloom name sigil.
Eira held Lolly tightly. "Take us home."
Emma nodded. "Hold on."
In an instant, they vanished.
⸻
The wind was different here.
It was colder, quieter, but not from weather. It was the silence of old magic and older memories.
They stood now at the gates of the White ancestral estate in the English countryside—a towering, stone fortress surrounded by bare hills and frozen earth with forests . The air hummed with enchantments as the old manor recognized its Matriarch.
Snow dusted the ancient hedges and the great fox statues flanking the iron gate. Emma extended her wand and the wards parted before her with a groan, allowing them to step inside.
Eira said nothing. She walked forward, still carrying Lolly, her eyes set on the garden that stretched behind the manor. Not the formal garden near the ballroom—but the one by the ancient birch trees, where she used to walk in secret.
"I want to bury her," Eira said quietly.
Emma's face softened, and she nodded.
"I'll help you."
Together, they walked through the frozen path, their footsteps crunching over snow and frost. Eira stopped beneath the oldest tree—a tall, twisted birch with silver bark and branches like white veins against the sky. She knelt and gently laid Lolly's body on a clean patch of ground.
Emma raised her wand.
With a whisper, the earth parted, soft despite the frost. Roots curled aside. A grave was made.
Eira reached into her pouch and pulled out a small, carved stone—the one Lolly had once placed on her bedside when she was six. The one that hummed with warming charms, used to calm her during night terrors. She laid it gently on Lolly's chest.
"She always stayed," Eira said softly. "Even when I didn't speak. Even when I pushed her away. She never left."
Emma placed a hand on her shoulder.
"I was going to bring her to Beauxbatons," Eira continued. "Once I get the permission of Madam Maxime. I thought she deserved a proper room, a real bed, not just to be hidden behind glamour charms. I thought she'd be happy to be near me there."
"She would have done it all over again," Emma said. "If it meant protecting you."
"I know," Eira whispered.
They lowered her into the earth together. Emma conjured a soft blanket to line the grave. Eira watched every moment, silent tears slipping down her cheeks.
Once the earth was sealed again, Emma flicked her wand and raised a simple white stone marker. Upon it, in fine script, was written:
Lolly
Beloved Guardian of the White Heiress
More Than a Servant— A family.
Eira stood still for a long while. The snow began to fall again, light and delicate, settling on her shoulders and hair. She didn't wipe away her tears. She let them fall.
"I give you permission," she said at last, her voice cold as the wind, steady as stone. "To do whatever it takes to find him. I don't care who stands in the way. I want no rules. No limits."
Emma looked into her eyes. And what she saw there made her answer without hesitation.
"You have my word , my lady," she said. "I will find him. I swear it."
They stood in silence, the wind whispering through the garden, the fresh grave gleaming white beneath the falling snow.