The announcement came late in the evening, echoing through the stadium grounds with enchanted amplification:
"Attention, witches and wizards! Due to unforeseen technical issues with the protective enchantments on the pitch, the Quidditch World Cup Final has been postponed by one day. The match will now take place tomorrow evening. All tickets remain valid. We thank you for your patience and understanding."
Groans and shouts rippled across the campsites, though many quickly turned back to their food, drink, and games. No one would truly leave—not after traveling halfway across the world for the World Cup. The air buzzed with equal parts frustration and festivity.
Eira glanced at Emma as the crowd around them reacted. "So… one more day of waiting?"
Emma's mouth quirked into a half-smile. "Patience, My lady. Consider it an extra day of festivities. And besides, our tent is already waiting."
*******************
The White family servants had already prepared their accommodations near the VIP section of the grounds. From the outside, the tent looked modest, though still elegant—its canvas was cream-colored with silver embroidery of the White crest near the entrance. Lanterns hung on hooks outside, glowing with soft blue flames that lit the grass around it.
But the moment they stepped inside, Eria saw the interior of the tent and was surprised.
The space expanded into a vast, luxurious interior. High, vaulted ceilings stretched above, enchanted to show a soft night sky filled with stars. Rugs woven with intricate runes covered the floors, muffling footsteps. Chandeliers floated in midair, dripping with candlelight that never seemed to burn down.
To the right, a long dining table was already set, steaming dishes arranged in gleaming platters: roast duck, herbed potatoes, enchanted soups that stirred themselves, baskets of bread kept magically warm. To the left, several doors branched into private rooms, each with four-poster beds, wardrobes, and writing desks—an entire manor disguised as a simple campsite tent.
Fleur spun slowly on the spot, her face lit with wonder. "Magnifique… this is better than my own home."
Isabella laughed softly. "I told Emma she overdid it, but she just smiled and said she wanted everyone to have a fun and fulfilling time here."
Emma merely shrugged, entirely unbothered. "We are Whites. We do not camp like peasants."
Eira chuckled, shaking her head at the remark. She had to admit, the tent was extraordinarily luxurious—perhaps a touch extravagant—but she kept her thoughts to herself. Criticizing Emma would be ungrateful, and after all, the effort had clearly been made with care.
****************
They gathered at the dining table, where the food replenished itself as if anticipating their appetites. Eira sat between Fleur and Emma, while Isabella poured wine and juice into delicate crystal goblets. Conversation flowed easily—about the spectacle of the encampment, about Fleur's disbelief at the number of international families gathered, about the anticipation for tomorrow's match.
Fleur sliced a piece of roasted duck, glancing at Eira with a teasing smile. "If Ireland wins, you must admit French teams are still better."
Eira grinned. "That makes no sense at all , they only lost to French team with luck."
"Logic does not matter in Quidditch," Fleur replied loftily. "A win is win."
Emma smirked at their banter. "And financial foresight."
Isabella groaned dramatically. "Not everything is about numbers, Emma."
"Everything is numbers," Emma retorted. "This Cup has already generated trade negotiations worth more than ten tournaments combined. Do you know what that means for our family's position?"
"More work for you," Isabella said dryly, but her smile was fond.
***********
Halfway through the meal, the tent flap stirred. A tall figure stooped inside, elegant and commanding: Madame Maxime. She wore midnight-blue robes trimmed with silver, her hair pulled back neatly, her presence filling the room with natural authority.
"Bonsoir," she greeted, her deep voice warm. "How lovely to see you all here."
"Madame Maxime!" Fleur stood quickly, her eyes lighting up. "You are here too?"
"But of course," Maxime said with a smile, moving toward the table. "An event like this, I could not possibly miss." She glanced at Eira, Emma, and Isabella with polite nods. "And it is good to see the White family gathered together."
Emma rose slightly in acknowledgment, offering her a seat. "Please, join us. There is plenty to eat."
Maxime accepted gracefully, folding her height into one of the enchanted chairs that expanded to accommodate her.
She turned her gaze toward Fleur, her expression softening. "Ma chère, you have been away from your family for nearly a month and a half. They are missing you dearly."
Fleur hesitated, lowering her eyes. "I know… I will go back with you tomorrow night. After the match. School begins soon too, and I should be with them."
Maxime nodded approvingly. "That is wise. But do not look so downhearted, child." Her gaze flicked briefly to Eira before returning to Fleur. "You will see each other again soon enough. Hogwarts is not so far."
Eira felt a tug in her chest at the words, though she managed a smile toward Fleur, whose fingers brushed against hers under the table.
As Emma rose to bring more snacks—plates of sugared almonds and delicate pastries—Maxime's eyes drifted to Isabella.
"Madame Voclain," she said warmly. "It has been a long time since I last saw you. How have you been keeping? These past months, you seem to have vanished from society altogether."
Isabella smiled faintly, glancing toward Emma. "I no longer go by that name. I am Isabella Bloom now."
Maxime blinked. For a moment, she looked between the two women, then her eyes widened. "What? You two—you two—"
Her composure cracked, her words stumbling as realization dawned.
Eira laughed softly, filling in the silence. "Yes, they got engaged."
Maxime's deep laugh filled the tent, booming and genuine. "At last! I was wondering when Isabella would stop burying herself in politics long enough to notice what was right in front of her. Isabella, you always rejected suitors at school, and even after—never married. Now it all makes sense."
Isabella flushed, though her smile was radiant as she glanced at Emma. "Yes. I finally found her. A few weeks ago, during this summer holiday, I proposed… and she said yes."
Maxime clapped her hands together. "Félicitations! But why have you not announced it? You could have held the grandest engagement party at the Hôtel de Merveille. The Alley would have been buzzing for months."
Isabella shook her head firmly. "No. I wanted it quiet, between family. I have no patience for journalists and gossipmongers. Let them think what they want—I know what matters."
Maxime's stern features softened into a smile. "Then I am truly delighted that you finally found someone to share life with—that is the greatest joy."
Emma, uncharacteristically bashful, busied herself arranging the pastries, though the small upward curve of her lips betrayed her pride.
******************
The conversation turned lighter after that—small talk about the match, Fleur's upcoming school year, even Eira's progress in her studies. But eventually, Maxime rose, smoothing her robes.
"I must go. Many friends and acquaintances expect me tonight. But after the match, I will return to France. Fleur, if you wish to come with me, be ready."
Fleur nodded obediently. "Of course, Madame Maxime. I will."
Maxime inclined her head to the table once more, her towering figure retreating as she left into the night.
***************
Later, the tent grew quiet. Emma and Isabella retired to their room, soft laughter trailing after them as they closed the door.
Eira and Fleur lay together in one of the smaller rooms, the canopy above them enchanted to shimmer with twinkling starlight. In the quiet darkness, they whispered softly, their voices barely above a murmur, sharing laughter, secrets, and gentle teasing as they spoke.
"I will miss you, my love," Fleur admitted softly, her accent thickening with emotion. "Even if it's only for a little while, I won't be able to bear being away from you."
Eira reached out, brushing her lips gently against Fleur's. "Don't worry. It won't be long. And we can send letters every day if we want."
Fleur smiled, resting her head against Eira's shoulder. "I'll hold you to that. And don't you dare look at any girl at Hogwarts."
Eira chuckled, teasing lightly. "Easy, girl. Who said I'd even be looking?"
Fleur's voice sharpened with mock dissatisfaction. "Oh, come on! With that beautiful face of yours, I'm sure there'll be plenty of girls—and boys—floating around you."
"Oh, don't worry," Eira laughed. "I don't think the girls there would be into girls. I can't say anything about the boys, but the girls? Certainly not."
"And how do you know that?" Fleur challenged, rolling her eyes. "Do you think we're some special exception? No, my love. There are plenty of girls who enjoy relationships with other girls."
Eira shrugged with a grin. "Well, don't worry—I still don't know any of them. Besides, who would even catch my eye when I already have you, right up to my standards?"
Fleur rolled her eyes again. "And what about that big-teeth girl you exchange letters with every now and then?"
Eira blinked, confused at first, then realization struck. She laughed. "Oh, you mean Hermione! Don't say that—she's a good girl and a friend."
Fleur smirked. "Oh, now she's a 'good girl.' Next thing, you'll be telling me I have to accept her as your side chick."
"How vulgar!" Eira laughed, shaking her head. "You speak like those Muggle boys."
"Humph," Fleur huffed, though her smile betrayed her.
Eira leaned forward, her face close to Fleur's, and kissed her with a slow, deliberate intensity. Fleur responded immediately, their lips meeting in a long, lingering embrace that said everything words could not.
Eventually, they drifted into sleep, arms wrapped tightly around each other, as the lanterns in the tent flickered softly—casting their quiet world in gentle shades of silver and gold.