The air around Beauxbâtons Academy was thick with tension. Exam week had begun.
For most students, it was a time of sleepless nights, frantic note-taking, and silent prayers to Merlin. The once serene halls of the Château were now brimming with anxious energy. The gardens were no longer places of peace and leisure but transformed into impromptu study zones. Students sat on benches, lay sprawled beneath cherry trees, or clustered in corners whispering facts and theories to one another. Even the usually elegant girls from the East Wing had dark circles under their eyes and ink smudges on their robes.
In the grand library, silence reigned, broken only by the flutter of turning pages and the occasional muttered curse. Students from every year filled every table. Books hovered and rotated midair, enchanted to offer visual aids. The professors had doubled their patrols, offering last-minute guidance—and in some cases, calming draughts for the more emotionally volatile students.
Eira sat with her closest friend, Marin , at their usual spot beneath a pergola in the eastern gardens. Marin was chewing the end of his quill, eyes flicking nervously over a study scroll.
"First exam: Potions," He groaned. "Why does it always have to be Potions first? Why not something cheerful? Like Magical Music? Or Magical Creatures, at least?"
Eira chuckled softly. "You say that like we actually have those classes."
Marin groaned dramatically. "Merlin, please—just lend me a sliver of your wisdom. No, actually—your entire brain. You are already dead so after this exam week. I swear, once it's over, I'm going to start worshipping you like those Muggles worship their god or whatever."
He flopped onto the bench beside Eira. "The Board of Exams is full of sadists."
Eira leaned back, her notes already closed and neatly stacked. Unlike the frenzied students around her, she was calm. Focused. If she was nervous, it didn't show.
⸻
The clocktower chimed nine.
Time.
Eira and Marin picked up their things and made their way toward the stone steps leading into the Potions Hall. Inside, rows of cauldrons were already set up, polished to a mirrored shine. Tables held neatly organized ingredients, and brass nameplates marked each student's station.
Standing at the front of the hall, watching everything with cold precision, was René Voclain.
The wife of the former patriarch of the Voclain family—mother of the current one, and Eira's grandmother, René Voclain, now served as Beauxbâtons' most respected and feared Potions Mistress. Once a commanding figure in French magical society, she had retreated into academic seclusion after her husband's death. But since the political debacle at the French Ministry—a sham of a hearing orchestrated by her son Maximilian to cast Eira as a scapegoat—René had kept her distance. Not a word. Not a glance. As though loyalty to family politics now outweighed blood.
In classes, she passed her by without a glance.
No correction. No praise. No criticism. It was as if Eira simply… didn't exist.
Today was no different. René's eyes flicked over the room as she paced between the cauldrons, her hands clasped behind her back. When she passed Eira's station, she didn't stop. Not even a momentary pause.
Eira raised an eyebrow, mildly amused by her grandmother's behavior. Perhaps it was guilt. Or maybe shame—for the actions of her son, and the role she hadn't played to stop them.
"Begin," René Voclain said flatly.
Quills scratched across parchment as students began their written portion. The exam covered the effects and counteragents of various sleeping draughts, brewing theory on Draught of Living Death, and the differences between Dreamless Sleep and Nightshade Drowse. It was dense—but familiar. Eira's quill moved with confident grace, each answer structured, cited, and precise.
When the brewing section began, students were required to make a Tranquil Rest Elixir—a middle-tier sleeping potion that required precision temperature control and an exact cutting of sopophorous beans.
Eira's potion shimmered a soft silvery-blue by the end. Textbook perfect.
She set it beside her parchment and walked calmly to the front, depositing them both into the enchanted submission box.
René Voclain didn't look at her.
⸻
Outside, Marin flopped dramatically onto a bench. "Dead. I am a corpse."
"You say that after every exam," Eira replied, smirking.
"And every time, I mean it!" Marin grinned. "You, though, I saw your potion from across the room. Perfection as always. Meanwhile, mine looked like curdled milk."
"You'll pass," Eira said. "Probably with a flourish."
"Only if the examiner pities me," Marin sighed.
⸻
The next day arrived in a flurry of parchment, whispers, and anticipation. Their second exam: Herbology and Magical Plants, under the tutelage of Professor Lioré, one of the school's kindest and most respected professors.
The written portion came first: identification of rare flowers, properties of venomous vines, and the correct care of whisperleaf and silvergloom bulbs. The questions were challenging but fair. Eira breezed through it with confidence, grateful for the long evenings she'd spent in the greenhouse.
Once the written exam concluded, students were called one by one into Greenhouse Six, a massive domed structure filled with flora from every corner of the magical world. The air was thick with the scent of blooming Everwillows and steaming Flamegrass.
When Eira was called, she stepped in with calm dignity.
Professor Lioré smiled at her warmly. "Miss White. A pleasure as always. You may begin."
He gestured to a circular stone platform at the center of the greenhouse. "Select one plant. Describe its magical properties, uses, dangers, and cultivation process."
Eira stepped forward, her eyes scanning the flora. She chose the Frostpetal Bloom, a rare flower that could lower fevers and counteract certain dark curses.
She explained its harvesting method—only during twilight, the soil conditions it needed, and its application in healing potions. She detailed its risk: if touched too early in its cycle, it could cause necrotic damage.
"Excellent," Professor Lioré said, making a note. "Two more, if you please."
Next, she spoke of the Whisperthorn, a sentient plant that could murmur prophetic dreams, and then the Verdant Veil, whose pollen caused hallucinations but was used in truth-detection rituals.
By the end, Professor Lioré was smiling broadly.
"Outstanding, Miss White. Your knowledge is remarkable."
"Thank you, Professor."
"One request, if I may," he added. "As the matriarch of the White family, I hope you might consider supporting magical botany beyond this school. There is a global effort to preserve endangered magical plants. The Grand Garden of Eden in Patagonia houses the world's largest greenhouse and rarest species. But funding is thin. Families like yours could ensure its survival."
Eira nodded. "You have my word, Professor. I'll speak to my assistant about beginning a donation. Perhaps I can also encourage other families to do the same."
His eyes lit up. "That would mean more than you know."
⸻
Later that afternoon, Eira and Marin met again under their usual tree.
"How'd it go?" Marin asked, sipping from a bottle of chilled pumpkin juice.
"Excellent," Eira said.
"Oh, obviously." Marin rolled his eyes. "You were born for this."
"You're doing well too."
"I nearly sneezed pollen into Professor Lioré's face. But I charmed him with my smile." Marin flipped his hair. "He called me flamboyantly incorrect but enthusiastic."
Eira laughed. "Well, it's honest."
Marin leaned back, stretching. "Only three more exams to go. Then sweet, sweet summer."
"Then what?"
"Oh, you know me," Marin said, twirling his quill. "Holidays in Spain. Flirting with sun-kissed witches . Avoiding marriage proposals from three different cousins."
"Three?"
"Minimum."
Eira shook her head, amused.
"Don't you have summer plans, Eira?" Marin asked.
Eira paused. "Maybe. Something tells me the White family's work won't stop. Not this summer."
Marin looked at her seriously for a moment, then nudged her. "Well, don't forget to live a little. Even matriarchs deserve sun and scandal."
"I'll keep that in mind. And even if I do need some sun, I'm certainly not letting you see me getting sun-kissed, you pervert," Eira said with a teasing smile.
As the afternoon sun dipped behind the Château, and the sounds of birdsong blended with the rustle of turning pages and whispered facts, Beauxbâtons settled into the rhythm of exam season. A week of stress and brilliance had begun for students.