The clearing was thick with the acrid stench of burned wood and scorched earth. Bodies of fallen Death Eaters littered the ground, still smoking from the raw power Eira had unleashed. She stood tall, white hair falling in disarray around her face, wand still in her hand, though her breathing was measured and shallow. The fire in her eyes, however, burned bright and cold.
The silence was broken by a commanding shout.
"Stop right there!"
Dozens of figures emerged from the treeline, wands raised. At their head strode a man with a thin, clipped mustache and a severe face, his posture rigid like a rod of iron. His expression carried no warmth, no hesitation—only the cold certainty of a man used to commanding others.
Barty Crouch Sr.
Eira's gaze locked on him instantly. She recognized that face from the political spheres, the same face that had once condemned wizards without trial to Azkaban in his ruthless pursuit of order.
Behind him, nearly two dozen Aurors spread into formation, robes snapping in the night wind. At his sharp gesture, they fanned out, wands trained on her.
"Seize her immediately!" Crouch barked, his voice like a whipcrack. His wand jabbed toward Eira with authority. "She is with them!"
The Aurors hesitated. Murmurs ran through the line. One of them, a younger wizard with sandy hair, stepped forward uncertainly.
"Mr. Crouch, sir," he said carefully, "that's the Matriarch of the White family…"
"I don't care who she is!" Crouch snapped, his face flushing red with anger. His wand shook with the force of his rigid grip. "I found her here, amidst the wreckage, standing over the dead, her wand still raised! She is evidence enough. Seize her immediately!"
The Aurors still did not move. Another, older one—grizzled, scar across his cheek—spoke up in a low voice.
"With respect, sir… this is the White family. If we lay hands on her without cause, the consequences—"
"I said seize her!" Crouch roared, veins standing out in his forehead. "Do as you're told! Or are you all cowards now, afraid of a girl? She was caught conspiring against the Ministry itself. She stands accused of terrorism!"
Eira raised her wand, green eyes narrowing, and her voice was low and cold.
"Careful, Crouch. Do not point your wand at me. If you do, I will consider it a threat. And you will not win a duel against me tonight."
The Aurors glanced between her and Crouch, the tension coiling like a snake ready to strike.
Crouch sneered, lips curling in contempt. "Shut up, girl. You're caught red-handed, conspiring with terrorists, murdering without sanction. You are no matriarch here—you are a criminal. And you will answer for it!"
Eira tilted her head slightly, her tone still composed though her wand hand was steady as steel.
"Go on, then," she said, her voice strong and unwavering, pride etched across her face. "Let's see which of you has the courage to arrest me—or even accuse me."
Her gaze swept over Barty Crouch Sr. and the line of Aurors standing rigidly behind him. She lifted her chin, unflinching. "Go on. I dare you."
Before the moment could pass, a gurgling cough drew attention. The Death Eater who had claimed to be from the Notts family lay on the ground, maimed—his hand severed, blood pouring from the stump—desperately crawling toward the darkness of the forest. His body was shaking with fear and panic.
Eira's gaze snapped to him. She sneered, voice sharp as a blade.
"And where do you think you are going?"
The man froze, whimpering. In a last, desperate act of defiance, he snatched a wand from the ground with his remaining hand and lifted it but before he could aim, Eira's wand was already in motion. A single, precise flick sent him sprawling, powerless.
"Diffindo."
The curse cut through the air with surgical precision. His throat split open, blood gushed forth, and he collapsed, twitching couple of times before lying still.
Gasps rippled through the Aurors' line.
"You see?!" Crouch thundered, seizing on the moment. He jabbed his wand at her again. "Murder! Right in front of the Ministry! She is guilty!"
Without hesitation, he cast a jet of red light—Stupefy!—straight at her.
Eira barely twitched. Her wand flicked, the spell ricocheted off her shield with a hiss of sparks, dissipating harmlessly into the night sky. She didn't even stagger.
The Aurors behind Crouch did not join him. Not one raised their wand against her. They exchanged uneasy looks, some lowering their wands entirely. They knew. They had seen.
Eira's green eyes gleamed dangerously. She raised her wand slowly, preparing to strike back—
But another voice cut through the chaos.
"Expelliarmus!"
Crouch's wand flew from his hand, spinning through the air before clattering uselessly to the ground.
From the shadows, a tall, regal woman strode forward, her presence commanding the space as naturally as breathing. Long black hair cascaded down her back, her eyes sharp as daggers. Her wand was still raised, aimed directly at Barty Crouch.
Isabella Bloom.
Her voice was a sneer, every syllable dripping with disdain.
"You dare raise your wand against the Matriarch of the White family, Crouch? Tell me—are you declaring family war against us?"
Crouch's face twisted, his fists clenching. "I am maintaining order! I caught her here, with the bodies, killing in cold blood. I have every right—"
"Every right?" Isabella cut him off, stepping forward until she stood between Crouch and Eira. Her wand did not waver. "Yes, just like you had the right to toss Sirius Black into Azkaban without a trial, hm? Is that what you plan to do again? Throw the Matriarch of one of the Sacred Twenty-Nine into a cell without evidence, without truth, without cause? Go on, Crouch. Try it. I dare you. You'll find there are no Crouches left to bury once I'm done with you."
Her mockery sliced into him like a knife. The Aurors shifted uncomfortably.
Crouch's face purpled with rage. "Then why did she kill that man before our very eyes?"
Eira's voice rang out, clear and cold.
"Because he was one of them. A Death Eater. He raised his wand against me, against innocent families. I ended him. That is justice. Not your warped version of order, Crouch—real justice."
Her words hung in the air, heavy but undeniable.
And then came more footsteps and more voices.
The clearing filled with yet more officials.
Cornelius Fudge, waddling forward in his bowler hat, his eyes wide and nervous; beside him, the towering figure of Madame Maxime, her expression thunderous; Kingsley Shacklebolt, wand at the ready; Arthur Weasley, Percy close at his side, both looking shaken; and among them, Harry Potter himself, wide-eyed at the devastation.
"What's happening here?!" Fudge bellowed, trying to seize control of the chaos. "Where are the thugs? The one who disrupted the Cup? Where—"
"They ran," Isabella sneered, cutting across him smoothly. "Thanks to your diligent servant, Barty Crouch. He was too busy accusing the Matriarch of the White family of terrorism to stop the true culprits."
All eyes turned on Crouch. Fudge's face blanched. He rounded on his subordinate, voice rising in fury.
"What the hell do you think you are doing, Crouch?! Accusing her? Have you gone mad? That is Lady White! The Matriarch herself! You dare point your wand at her?"
Crouch stiffened, trying to regain control. "I saw her here. I caught her with the dead. She killed that man in cold blood, without—"
Fudge ignored him, his gaze sweeping to the corpse Eira had felled.
"He was one of them," Eira said simply, her tone icy. She didn't flinch under the scrutiny. "A Death Eater. I punished him for his crimes. For daring to harm the innocent."
Fudge swallowed, then forced a strained smile. "Well… well, thank you, Lady White. For punishing these thugs. Yes. Yes, indeed. We must all thank you." He waved a hand frantically at the Aurors. "You lot! Take these bodies, investigate who they were. The rest of you—go after the survivors. Move!"
The Aurors scrambled to obey, relieved at the reprieve from the impossible choice between Crouch and Eira.
Isabella moved closer to her niece, her tone softening as she turned to her. "What are you doing here alone? Where are Emma and Fleur?"
"They're safe," Eira said, her voice quieter now, exhaustion creeping into her tone. "I left them in the tent. Ward-protected. But Fleur was hurt. They… hurt her. And I…" Her grip on her wand tightened. "I came to kill them."
Isabella's fierce expression softened for a heartbeat. She stepped forward and pulled Eira into a tight embrace.
"It's okay. It's over. You did well."
For the first time since the night began, Eira's composure wavered. The adrenaline drained from her limbs, leaving her heavy, her magic burned low. She leaned into her aunt's strength, her vision swimming.
"Aunt…" she murmured. "The Muggle families they tortured… help them. Heal them. Erase their memories. Give them money to rebuild their lives. They'll be traumatized enough as it is."
"Shh," Isabella whispered. "Not now. We'll see to it later. You've done enough for one night. Come."
She scooped Eira up effortlessly into her arms, ignoring the watching officials. The girl's wand slipped from her slackening fingers, though Isabella caught it deftly.
As Isabella carried her back toward the White family's tent, Madame Maxime was gathering her students, checking for injuries, while Kingsley Shacklebolt conferred with Arthur Weasley in low tones.
Crouch stood seething, fists trembling at his sides, but he said nothing more. Fudge's glare kept him silent.
Cradled in her aunt's arms, safe for the moment, Eira finally let her eyes drift closed, surrendering to the exhaustion of the long, brutal fight.