The weeks slipped by quietly, filled with sunlight, laughter, and the warmth of companionship. Fleur had not left Eira's side since the summer began, and the manor felt different with her presence—brighter, more alive. They shared late breakfasts on the balcony overlooking the White estate gardens, practiced spells under the afternoon shade of the oaks, and in the evenings, they stayed up too late talking in hushed voices, which resulted intimate moments and sleeping in each other's embrace.
It was during those long, golden days that Eira turned fourteen.
Emma and Isabella had gone abroad on what Isabella jokingly referred to as "business that requires romance," though both Fleur and Eira teased her endlessly, calling it her honeymoon. For nearly a week, the two older women were away, and though Fleur and Eira managed perfectly well without them, their return brought with it something special.
On a warm evening, a small celebration was held in the manor's dining hall. The four of them sat around the long, polished table, though only its center was filled with candles, plates, and a cake that Fleur had insisted on baking herself. Its frosting was uneven, sloping slightly to one side, but the delight in Fleur's eyes when she presented it made it more beautiful than anything a professional baker could have created.
"Happy birthday, Eira," Emma said as she raised her glass of sparkling elderflower wine. Her smile was softer than her usual sharp, calculating expressions—the smile of someone who had found her family again.
Eira's heart warmed. "Thank you… for everything."
Isabella leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. "Fourteen already. I still remember when you looked so small, when I saw you for first time in the ministry."
Eira flushed. "That was just three years ago."
"And now," Fleur added with a mischievous grin, "you are officially old enough to duel me without me going easy on you."
"Ha!" Eira laughed, shaking her head. "As if you ever won a Duel from me."
The evening was filled with laughter, small gifts, and warm candlelight. There was no grand party, no guests from the wider wizarding world—only the four of them, gathered together in a quiet celebration that felt more precious than any lavish banquet.
**************************
The Days After
Summer stretched on. Fleur remained a constant presence, and Emma busied herself with letters, meetings, and estate affairs, though she always found time to join the girls for meals. Isabella seemed determined to live in the light of every moment, dragging Emma out into the countryside or into Paris for evenings that always ended with her returning flushed with happiness and sometimes even drunk.
And then, in the middle of August, excitement swept through the household.
"The Quidditch World Cup," Emma announced one morning at breakfast, sliding a small, ornate object across the table toward Eira. It looked like a twisted, golden key, humming faintly with enchantment."Tomorrow we will attend the finals, as you commanded, my lady. Practically most of the influential figures in the wizarding world will be present at this competition."
Eira's eyes widened. "Oh so it's tomorrow?"
"Of course," Isabella chimed in, reaching for Fleur's plate of fruit and stealing a slice of pear. "Emma made sure we have the best view in the entire stadium."
Emma nodded. "The White family invested heavily in this event. Construction alone took a year, and do you know how much the Ministry of Magic poured into building that stadium?" She raised her brow, already knowing Eira's answer would be no. "Hundreds of thousands of Galleons. It was no small feat."
"And us?" Fleur asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.
"Several thousand," Emma said plainly. "But I expect returns at least fourfold. Sponsorships, concessions, international trading contracts tied to the Cup—it's not simply a game. It's an opportunity."
Eira turned the Portkey over in her hand. It shimmered faintly, as though alive. For all of Emma's talk of investments, her own heart was racing for a different reason: she was about to see the World Cup Final with them.
*****************
Dartmoor
The next day , the four of them gathered in the manor courtyard. Emma held the Portkey carefully. "Everyone touch it. Don't let go until it lands you."
Eira clutched Fleur's hand instinctively as her other fingers brushed the key. Isabella hooked her arm around Emma's. At once, there was a tugging sensation, sharp and irresistible, like being pulled forward by a hook behind her navel. The world twisted, spun, and then—
They landed with a thud on soft grass, stumbling slightly as the Portkey clattered to the earth.
"Merlin's beard," Isabella muttered, brushing dust from her robes. "I will never get used to it, every time it makes me sick."
Eira steadied herself, blinking rapidly. They were standing at the edge of a forest, lanterns glowing faintly in the distance. The air was alive with sound—distant voices, laughter, the faint crackle of magical fireworks that exploded in the sky with bursts of color shaped like broomsticks.
"Welcome to Dartmoor," Emma said with a small smile.
They began walking. The trail wound through the wood, lit by hovering lanterns that bobbed gently in the night breeze. The path was wide, lined with Ministry workers in bright, enchanted vests, ushering families along.
Eira's eyes grew wide as they stepped out of the tree line. Beyond stretched a vast encampment little similar to Allée des Merveilles. Thousands of tents sprawled across the moor, each enchanted to look like a palace, a villa, or a curious hybrid of both. Some had golden spires, others floating balconies; banners of every color and crest flapped proudly in the evening air. Smoke rose from cooking fires, mingling with the scent of roasted meats and spiced pastries.
The chatter of thousands of wizards and witches echoed in the night. Children darted about with miniature broomsticks, adults laughed over drinks, and vendors shouted out their wares—"Omnioculars! Get your Omnioculars here!"—their cries blending with the hum of excitement that seemed to fill the very air.
"Stars above," Fleur whispered, her hand tightening around Eira's. "It's like a city."
Eira could only nod. She had seen gatherings before—political halls, student parties—but nothing like this. This was the wizarding world unbound, joyous, alive.
As they made their way through the encampment, Emma gestured subtly. "Do you see this? This is why we invested. Tens thousands of wizards and witches gathered here, every one of them spending freely. This event binds the international community together—families from Ireland, Bulgaria, France, even America. And our name is tied to it."
Isabella smiled faintly. "You can't help but make everything sound like politics."
Emma smirked. "Because everything is politics specifically here."