The exam week at Beauxbâtons continued its relentless march. With Potions, Herbology, Charms, and History behind them, the next set of challenges brought with them equal amounts of anxiety and adrenaline. The fifth day began early, the château still half-draped in morning mist as students quietly shuffled through the halls, textbooks in hand, incantations murmured under breath, and eyes wide with determination—or dread.
The first exam of the day was Magical Defense. A subject both revered and feared by students, especially because of the man who taught it—Professor Gabriel Vaillant.
Vaillant was a former duelist, tall and broad-shouldered with an ever-immaculate black cloak, always buttoned up to his chin. His hair was dark-gray despite his youth, and his eyes were like frozen mirrors—cold and unreadable. Though he rarely smiled, he had the reputation of being one of the most effective professors at Beauxbâtons. His expectations were high, his methods exact, and his feedback brutal.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom had been completely transformed for the exam. The usual desks were replaced with a stone-paved dueling platform, and around it, a circular row of stands where professors and observers sat to monitor performance.
The exam was divided into two parts: a written portion and a practical one.
The Written Exam
The written section was a comprehensive essay on the laws and etiquette of magical dueling. Students were asked to explain the historical basis of dueling traditions in magical Europe, the Three Rules of Magical Engagement, and the Five Recognized Illegal Moves in formal duels. Eira, sitting in the front row, dipped her quill into her inkwell and began writing with fluid grace. Her handwriting was elegant, her points precise.
She referenced the Treaty of Lucerne, which codified magical duels in 1435, and even included a detailed breakdown of the infamous French-German Wand Duel of 1759. As she signed her name at the bottom of the parchment, she exhaled softly, knowing that her performance was not just adequate—it was exceptional.
The Practical Exam
Professor Vaillant stood near the platform, flanked by three alchemical puppets. These metallic constructs—vaguely humanoid, with reinforced joints and glowing enchantments—stood silent, awaiting their turn.
"Each student," Vaillant intoned, his voice echoing across the chamber, "will engage in a short duel against a single puppet. You will be judged on your power, creativity, control, and defensive reflexes."
One by one, students were called forward. When Eira's name was announced, the room fell quiet.
She stepped into the circle, her hair tied back, wand held in her left hand. The puppet opposite her whirred to life, its arms rising, glowing sigils floating above its shoulders. A pulse of magic marked the start of the match.
Eira didn't chant. Her wand flicked smoothly as she cast a Splaremoss—a high-impact concussive blast—striking the puppet square in the chest and sending it back three feet.
It retaliated with a spinning barrage of magical bolts. Eira sidestepped, graceful and unreadable, and countered with a Portego, creating a temporary barrier that shimmered blue and absorbed the impact before vanishing like mist.
The puppet lunged. Eira twirled her wand in a tight motion and cast Finitorum, breaking its charging momentum. Then, with a cold gleam in her eye, she raised her hand and transfigured a nearby piece of stone into sharp flying disks, commanding them to crash into the puppet's joints.
The duel lasted less than three minutes.
When the puppet was finally disabled, sparks flying from its chest, Vaillant gave her a single nod. That was his version of applause.
Her performance today mirrored the duel between Maximilian and Charles. She had clearly studied their techniques—every movement, every spell. It was as if that brutal day had become her lesson, and she had learned more than anyone realized.
⸻
That afternoon came the long-dreaded Metaphoresis exam—more commonly known as Transfiguration.
The Transfiguration Hall was one of the most stunning parts of Beauxbâtons. Its windows stretched floor to ceiling, the walls adorned with past students' successful transformations magically preserved as monuments to talent and precision.
Professor Lysandra Corvielle stood near the center of the circular room, her violet eyes scanning the sea of students.
She was a tall woman with porcelain skin and dark hair always swept into an elegant braid. Her robes were deep plum, embroidered with silver runes. She was respected not just for her knowledge but for the elegance of her execution—a witch of immense talent and refined power.
"Today's exam," she said, her voice calm but commanding, "is the application of the Vera Verto spell. You are to transfigure this creature—" she motioned to the cages filled with small, magical puff-creatures with colorful fur "—into an object of your choosing. The elegance, detail, and stability of your transformation will determine your score."
Eira waited patiently until it was her turn. When she approached the cage, a small, golden-furred creature blinked up at her, its tail curled around its feet.
Raising her wand, Eira inhaled. Then, with a smooth, silent flick, she began her casting transformation.
"Vera Verto"
The creature shimmered, glowing brightly as its shape began to morph. First into marble, then stone, then into defined shapes. The structure expanded upward, growing spires, arched windows, and curving balconies.
Gasps filled the room.
Within moments, a perfect miniature replica of the Beauxbâtons château stood on the desk before her—down to the carvings above the windows, the enchanted lanterns by the front doors, even the tiny wrought-iron gate that led to the inner courtyard.
Professor Corvielle walked over slowly, her boots clicking against the polished floors.
She circled the transformation once. Then twice.
Then she looked Eira in the eyes.
"You will not need to complete the written exam," she said simply.
Eira blinked. "Pardon?"
"You've already earned full marks."
A pause.
"I've taught here for twenty-three years. I've never seen a second-year produce this level of detail and stability. Congratulations, Miss White."
Eira bowed her head politely, suppressing the smile tugging at her lips.
Behind her, Marin groaned aloud.
"Unfair!" he muttered dramatically. "Do you know how hard the written Transfiguration exam is?"
Eira shot him a playful smile. "Try turning your lizard into a chandelier next time instead of a broom with fangs."
Marin flailed his arms. "It was supposed to be artistic!"
⸻
By the time the day ended, students were lounging across the gardens and marble benches with exhaustion etched into their faces. Some lay with scrolls draped over their eyes, others munched on enchanted lemon scones, and a few brave souls even dipped their feet in the enchanted pond.
Marin sprawled beside Eira on the grass, his tie half undone and a half-eaten éclair in his hand.
"Well," he sighed, "another day of being dramatically overshadowed by the Matriarch of House White."
Eira elbowed him. "You did great."
"I turned my puff into a spoon. It turned back and bit me. That's not 'great.' That's just tragic."
Eira laughed, leaning back on her elbows and looking up at the pale blue sky.
Tomorrow would bring the final exam. The most stressful one for her.
But for now, she allowed herself a moment of peace—surrounded by soft grass, friendly banter, and the distant scent of wild lavender drifting through the warm spring air.