A quiet wind rustled through the trees outside the Ombrelune dormitory hall. Early morning light spilled across the floor of Eira's private room, catching in the edges of her open books and parchment scrolls. The sky beyond the high arched windows was pale gold, clouds thin and motionless, as if the world were holding its breath.
She sat at her desk, hair still slightly damp from the shower, dressed in her simple robes, now slightly rumpled. A single, wax-sealed envelope sat before her, resting on a folded square of pristine British parchment.
She had known the handwriting before she even touched it.
Emma Bloom.
Her assistant and companion. The acting matriarch of the White family while Eira remained in France, out of the political spotlight of Britain but never far from its shadow.
Eira broke the seal and unfolded the letter with quiet anticipation.
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My lady,
I hope this reaches you safely and without interception. I sent it via one of our own house owls, trained to travel long distances and avoid the Ministry's tracking enchantments. Things are changing here—fast, and not for the better.
You need to know: there's been another petrification.
Actually—more than just one. Three students in the last few months . All of them were Muggle-born.
No deaths yet, but that's likely only thanks to the School healer and a few remaining professors who have been guarding the Hogwarts school . Hogwarts's students are tense and Scared.The public doesn't know the reality of it.
The Daily Prophet is calling it "a series of magical mishaps."
The Ministry is calling it "unrelated disciplinary incidents."
And now comes the interesting part: Lucius Malfoy and Cornelius Fudge went directly to Hogwarts. They confronted Dumbledore.
And on the same day , Dumbledore stepped down.
He's gone.
Where? No one knows. Not even His trusted allies know about it , and that terrifies some pure blood families.
Hogwarts, as you know, has always been more than just a school—it's the symbolic heart of British magical society, and in many ways, a center of our political balance. But without Dumbledore, it now feels like a ship without a captain. The castle is vulnerable, exposed.
There's a growing sense of unease. Students are being repeatedly told to be ready for emergency evacuations at a moment's notice. Discussions of temporary closure are no longer whispers—they're becoming formal conversations among the Board. The staff are doing what they can, but without strong leadership, the entire institution feels as though it's teetering on the edge.
Lucius Malfoy has grown noticeably bolder since Dumbledore's removal. His influence is expanding rapidly, and with it, his aggression. I recently met with him—he inquired about your well-being, though the civility was thinly veiled.
During our conversation, he expressed his intention to put forward Severus Snape—currently the Head of Slytherin House and Potions Master—as the new Headmaster of Hogwarts. He made it clear that he expects our vote in favor when the Wizengamot convenes to decide the appointment. The pressure is mounting, and his confidence suggests he already has several key supporters in place.
Also, I want to assure you that… the White estate is stable. No internal or external threats. I've reinforced the wards and made it clear that the Matriarch is still watching even if she's far away.
Your loyal servant ,
Emma
⸻
Eira let the letter settle on the desk, her eyes scanning the last few lines again.
"Petrifications," she murmured aloud. "Muggle-borns. Dumbledore… gone."
Her fingers curled slightly on the wood of her desk.
She had expected trouble from Britain—but not to this extent. This Malfoy guy really was something. He'd managed to oust one of the most powerful wizards of their time, and that in itself was suspicious. Dumbledore was never the type to quietly obey orders, let alone step down like some well-behaved bureaucrat. No—he always has a plan. And Eira knew better than to believe he'd walked away without leaving a few traps or contingencies behind. For now, all she could do was wait and see what the old fox would do next.
She folded the letter neatly, tucked it into the corner of her drawer, and locked it with a soft flick of her wand. Her green eyes rose to the morning light again.
The sound of a newspaper owl tapping against the glass broke her stillness.
She stood and opened the window, letting the sharp morning breeze into the room. The owl, a cream-colored courier bird from the Lueur Magique, dropped the issue onto her windowsill and flew off without a sound.
She took the folded paper and opened it, instantly spotting the bold, black headline:
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DUEL OF HONOR BEING CONSIDERED BETWEEN VOCLAIN AND TRÉVÉR FAMILIES
Tensions rise as French Ministry and ancestral houses prepare to cast judgment on the blood feud's next stage.
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The article sprawled across the page in crisp columns, surrounded by a half-faded sketch of two silhouettes facing off in an arena.
After nearly two months of silence following the attacks in Paris and Versailles, the animosity between the noble houses of Voclain and Trévér has reached a new and dangerous peak. Sources inside the Ministry confirm that Charles Trévér has submitted a formal request for a Duel of Honor to settle the escalating blood feud.
Such duels are rare in modern times—last invoked nearly eighty years ago—and require extensive review by both the Ministry's Department of Magical Law and the Circle of Elders from the Twelve Original Houses.
The Voclain family has not issued an official response, though many speculate that Maximilian Voclain, the family's Lord, may accept the challenge himself or name a proxy.
Eira's eyes narrowed slightly at the name. Maximilian.
She continued reading.
Meanwhile, smaller families with aligned interests have begun to take sides, unofficially or otherwise. The political climate has become increasingly volatile, with the House of Delaroche and Valmont backing Trévér, while the House of Giraud and Martell are rumored to be siding with Voclain.
The Ministry remains officially neutral, though internal discussions suggest they may authorize the duel as a means to prevent further clandestine violence and public collateral damage.
More details to come as the ruling is decided this week.
⸻
Eira folded the newspaper slowly and exhaled.
So it had come to that.
She turned to her side table, where a steaming cup of black tea sat untouched. She picked it up, stared into the swirl of liquid, then took a slow sip.
The taste was bitter—but grounding.
She walked to the window, letting the soft wind kiss her skin. Beyond the hills and forests, war was brewing. Not in headlines and secrets anymore, but in official documents and sanctioned violence.
A Duel of Honor.
It was less about pride now, and more about intent—both families ready to bleed in daylight instead of the shadows.
At last, she was within reach of her goal: the complete destruction of the Trévér family.
If things didn't unfold as she hoped, she'd intervene personally. One way or another, the outcome would be hers to shape.