A week into the new term at Beauxbâtons, Eira now stood before the ornate door of Madame Maxime's office. The air around her was impossibly warm for the season, perfumed with the scent of blooming flowers. Despite the thick winter snow blanketing the rest of the château, the rooftop garden where the Headmistress kept her office—was alive with greenery and spring blossoms. Magic. Herbology, specifically. The enchantments here defied the bitter cold of the world outside.
Eira raised a hand and knocked. The door, covered in vines that shimmered faintly with life, creaked open a moment later.
Madame Maxime stepped out, a warm smile gracing her tall figure. "Go on in," she said gently. "Your guest is waiting for you. I'll be outside."
Eira gave a silent nod and stepped inside.
The office was serene and sunlit, filled with potted plants and subtle floral magic. Seated near the hearth, her back straight and posture composed, was Isabella Voclain. But the moment she saw Eira, she rose from her seat with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Eira dipped her head respectfully. "It's good to see you, Minister Voclain."
At that, Isabella's smile faltered slightly, and she looked almost… wounded. "Please," she said softly, "call me Aunt. I know I haven't earned that right. I failed you. But still… I hope you can."
There was a beat of silence.
Eira glanced at her—at those hopeful, pleading eyes that mirrored faint traces of her late mother's. She let out a quiet sigh. "Aunt… it's good to see you."
That was all it took. Isabella's eyes welled up with tears. She stepped forward and embraced Eira tightly, her composure breaking. "You look so much like Maria," she whispered. "I'm so sorry I didn't come for you. I'm sorry for ignoring you all this time. I've been a coward—selfish and pathetic. I didn't even ask after the only daughter of my little sister…"
Eira awkwardly patted her back. "It's okay… Aunt. Really, it's not that bad. I grew up fine—well, mostly fine. I'm here now, and I understand. Maybe you had your own struggles. I get it. I'm not saying I didn't need you, or that it wouldn't have been nice if you were there… but at least we're talking now."
Isabella broke down further, her voice shaking. "You sound so much like her. Merlin, I miss her. I miss her teasing me, our fights over who had the better fake wand when we were little… I miss Maria."
Eira found herself quietly stunned. The last time she had seen Isabella Voclain, she had been every inch the dignified Minister: stern, brilliant, formidable. But here she was now, crying like a child, pouring her heart out.
Wait a minute, Eira thought, half amused. Why am I the one comforting her? Shouldn't she be the one comforting me, the abandoned orphan?
Still, she smiled faintly and stayed silent.
Eventually, they both sat down, Isabella wiping her tears, clearly embarrassed. "It's been a long time since I cried. Forgive me," she said, trying to regain composure. "Seeing you just… overwhelmed me."
Eira smiled. "You don't have to apologize. You're human too. If you didn't have emotions, that would be concerning."
Isabella chuckled through a lingering sniffle. "Perhaps. But I have to keep mine in check. Especially in politics." She paused, then her expression darkened. "Tell me the truth. Have the Trévérs harmed you in any way? If they've even breathed in your direction, I swear to you—I'll bring their entire line down, even if it means my resignation."
Eira raised her hands gently. "No, no, nothing like that. After my… warning, they've kept their distance. No attacks on me or the family."
"And the White family?" Isabella asked cautiously.
Eira hesitated, then replied, "We're holding steady. But what about the Voclains? I mean… with the current power dynamics?"
Isabella's lips twisted into something between a sneer and a bitter smile. "The Voclain estate is under Maximilian's control. I never married, so I remained part of the family by name, not by authority. Whatever he does is his responsibility. As long as there's no danger to our immediate safety, I keep my distance. But enough of that—what I really wanted to say is: I'm proud of you."
Eira blinked.
"I'm truly proud of you, Eira," Isabella continued. "You've done an incredible job as the Matriarch of the White family. It's about time our world had a strong woman leading the magical community. When I retire, maybe I'll come work for you, eh?" She laughed lightly. "Be your assistant."
Eira grinned. "You're always welcome, Aunt. I'd be honored to have someone with your experience by my side. Honestly, Emma—my assistant and friend—deserves the real credit. If it weren't for her, the family might've been devoured by now by all those pure-blood vultures."
Isabella tilted her head. "Do you trust her? I mean… do you know who she really is? Her past? Where she came from?"
Eira nodded without hesitation. "I trust her with my life. She knew my mother—Maria helped her when she was a child, gave her the funds to live and study. When she was finally free, she came to repay that kindness by helping me. Grandfather even signed a magical contract with her. So yes, I trust her."
Isabella leaned back, eyes misty. "That sounds like Maria. Always helping some lost child. Then I'm glad you're not alone."
They spent the rest of the afternoon talking—about Maria's childhood misadventures, the tangled affairs of the White and Voclain families, and the quiet storms brewing in the magical world.
Eventually, Isabella stood and pulled Eira into a final embrace.
"If anyone ever hurts you—anyone—you come to me. I'll handle it. Promise me."
"I promise, Aunt. And… thank you."
Isabella gave her a proud, tearful smile. "Goodbye, dear."
With that, she stepped into the fireplace and vanished in a swirl of green flame, bound for the Ministry.
Eira watched the embers settle, then turned and made her way back down to the dormitories. Her heart felt a little lighter, the shadows of the past a little less sharp.