The sun was gentle that afternoon, diffused behind a veil of thin clouds that painted the sky in pastel blues and grays. Beauxbâtons lay calm under its spring spell, the castle's ivory towers reflecting soft light, and the gardens in full bloom, basking in the soft wind that carried scents of jasmine and wild roses.
For a moment, it felt like the world was not breaking apart because of the tension outside of the school.
Eira walked hand in hand with Fleur Delacour, their pace slow, unrushed, as if they had all the time in the world.
The gardens of Beauxbâtons were terraced, each layer a story of colour. They were walking through one of the higher paths now, where rows of climbing roses intertwined with gentle blue hydrangeas. Fleur's fingers were warm around hers, slightly calloused from her wand grip, yet soft enough that Eira kept holding on, not out of courtesy—but comfort.
"So," Eira said at last, breaking their companionable silence. "Did you finish your OWLs?"
Fleur smiled, her pale hair catching in the breeze like moonlight spun in silk.
"Yes, finally. The exams were held in the Grand Classroom," she said, voice light. "The Ministry sent examiners from Paris—very serious ones—with scrolls, enchanted ink counters, all that. It was… exhausting."
"I believe you," Eira said with a grin. "You looked half-alive last week."
Fleur gave her a mock glare. "Merci, that's very encouraging."
"Well," Eira said, smirking, "you're walking upright again, so I assume you passed."
"Hmm," Fleur hummed, then glanced sideways. "Results will come during the summer holidays."
"That's cruel," Eira said. "Imagine ruining someone's holiday with a letter full of failure."
Fleur laughed. "They do it on purpose, I'm sure. French cruelty."
They walked in silence for a moment again. Their hands remained laced, casually, gently. Fleur didn't let go. Eira didn't seem to notice.
"We only have a month until summer break," Eira said after a while, her voice softer.
"Yes…" Fleur replied, eyes scanning the sun-dappled trees. "It feels like time is speeding up."
"Or we're slowing down," Eira murmured. "Feels nice, doesn't it?"
"It does."
They walked further down the gravel path, past a marble statue of Beauxbâtons' founder, and around a shaded willow tree whose hanging branches formed a curtain of green. The sunlight filtered through them like soft glass, casting moving shadows across their faces.
"So," Fleur said, glancing at her, "is everything alright now?"
"Define 'alright,'" Eira replied, tone dry.
Fleur frowned. "I mean, after… all that happened. My father filed a formal complaint with the Ministry about your hearing."
Eira blinked. "He did?"
"Yes. He wasn't happy. Said it was disgraceful. That France would be shamed in front of Britain and other magical nations. He rarely gets that upset. But I think he genuinely likes you."
"I don't know whether to be flattered or worried," Eira said, giving a short laugh.
"Both," Fleur said brightly. "You scare people, you know."
"I'm twelve."
"You're a twelve-year-old matriarch who made a room full of aristocrats afraid to breathe too loudly," Fleur said, raising a brow. "Even I was a little scared."
Eira turned her head, eyes wide. "You were?"
Fleur grinned. "Maybe. A little. In a good way."
Eira chuckled and looked away, clearly unsure how to take that.
"But really," Fleur continued, "is it over? The threats? The trial?"
Eira grew quiet for a moment before speaking again.
"Well… partially," she said. "Everything is… partially resolved. The noble families won't try anything now. Not openly. They know they can't afford to provoke House White anymore."
Fleur looked relieved. "I'm glad."
Eira tilted her head toward her. "You were worried."
"Of course I was," Fleur said softly, eyes on the path. "I always worry when you go to war alone."
Eira didn't reply to that. Instead, she gently squeezed Fleur's hand.
They continued walking, now heading toward the edge of the gardens where a small, crescent-shaped pond shimmered under the shifting sky. The water was quiet, broken only by the occasional ripple from drifting petals or frogs that stirred beneath lily pads.
Eira sat first, on the stone bench by the pond. Fleur joined her, closer than before.
A comfortable silence settled between them again. The kind that doesn't beg to be filled.
"Did you know," Fleur said suddenly, "that these gardens are older than the school itself?"
"No," Eira said, turning to her. "How do you know that?"
"My grandmother used to study here," Fleur replied. "She said the founder chose this location because of the gardens. Said magic grew strongest where the land was already beautiful."
Eira looked out over the pond. "Maybe that's true for people too."
Fleur tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
"Maybe we grow stronger when we're near beautiful things. When we're not fighting all the time."
Fleur watched her for a long moment.
"You shouldn't always have to be strong, you know."
"I don't have a choice."
"I think you do," Fleur said softly.
Eira didn't answer that.
Instead, she leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees, watching the pond reflect the sky.
And while she was speaking—about politics, or trade routes, or how Emma was sending her updates again—Fleur wasn't listening to the words.
She was watching Eira's lips.
Her pale fingers were resting lightly on the stone bench. And then, gently, Fleur reached out and brushed her pinky against Eira's.
Eira glanced down, then smiled and returned the contact.
Still talking, still unaware.
Fleur leaned in slightly—just enough to be near her. Her hand slowly moved from Eira's to her wrist, then higher—resting lightly against her cheek.
Eira blinked.
"You have something," Fleur whispered.
Eira looked confused.
"On your cheek," Fleur said, brushing nothing away. Her fingers lingered there, soft, tracing.
And then, her thumb moved just slightly.
To the corner of Eira's lips.
Eira tilted her head, lips parting as if to speak—but stopped.
Fleur's eyes were fixed now, unwavering.
And Eira—sweet, bright, and oblivious—only smiled gently.
"You okay?" she asked.
Fleur blinked once. Then withdrew her hand as though waking from a trance.
"Yes. Sorry. I… zoned out."
"Thinking about your exam results?"
Fleur laughed, breathless. "Something like that."
Eira returned to watching the pond, unaware of the flush in Fleur's cheeks or the way her fingers curled in her lap to keep from reaching out again.
And Fleur, still beside her, just watched.
Not speaking. Not touching.
Just watching the girl she admired more than anyone else in the world. The girl who had taken on pure-blood dynasties with steel in her spine and softness in her smile. The girl who had no idea what she was doing to her, and maybe that was what made it so impossible not to fall further.
She leaned back slightly, allowing the moment to pass.