The green shimmer of the Floo Network faded as Eira stepped into the White Manor. Servants paused in their duties to bow their heads respectfully, and a pair of house-elves hurried out of her path, watching her with wide, cautious eyes. She walked past them in silence, her steps steady as she crossed the familiar halls toward her office. The letter from Dumbledore remained secure in her hands, folded neatly within her robes.
Inside the office, her aunt Isabella sat in the lord's chair as if it were her own, her posture relaxed yet commanding. It was nothing unusual—when Eira was away, either Isabella or Emma governed the House of White in her stead. It was a mark of the trust she placed in both women, and neither had ever betrayed it.
Eira crossed the room and lowered herself into one of the chairs opposite. A house-elf appeared almost instantly, setting a glass of mango juice before her. She lifted it without a word, taking a slow sip as Isabella's sharp gaze remained fixed on her.
"So," Isabella said at last, her voice smooth, "what happened? What was Dumbledore saying?"
"Nothing much," Eira replied, resting the glass in her hand. "It was just a completely useless talk, except for a warning. That was all."
Isabella's eyes narrowed slightly as she leaned back in the chair, her fingers drumming once against the armrest. "So it was a warning, then? For what reason?"
Eira gave a small shrug, lifting the glass again before answering. "Well… he told me to be cautious. Not to behave in Britain the way I did in France. He said politics here are far more complex, especially among the pure-blood families. Basically, he warned me not to be unruly, not to interfere with the Ministry, and just govern quietly like the rest of them. In other words, be a good girl and stay out of the way."
A low laugh slipped from Isabella's lips, warm but edged with irony. "So he wanted to tame you," she said, shaking her head. "His wording was nothing more than a leash disguised as a warning, hm?"
"I suppose it was," Eira replied, folding her hands across the desk. "He worded it as advice, polite and calm, as if offering the perspective of an elder… but it's clear enough. He is asserting his presence, reminding everyone—including myself—that his influence here is considerable. Even if he pretends not to care about the Pureblood families, his very existence is a power that cannot be ignored."
Isabella nodded slowly, folding her hands once more. "Yes… I understand. Here in Britain, Dumbledore is seen as a hero, particularly among the Muggle-borns and Half-bloods. He carries weight, a respect that extends even beyond his position at Hogwarts. But among the Pureblood families? He is an opposition. His presence is a necessity. If he weren't here, unchecked, these families could easily dominate, oppress or entirely overtake the weaker factions. In essence, he is a balancing force—protecting Half-bloods and Muggle-borns, keeping the Purebloods' ambitions in check."
Eira's sharp green eyes gleamed, reflecting a mixture of contemplation and calculation. "And before Dumbledore?" she asked, leaning slightly forward, her hands resting lightly on the desk. "Who protected the Muggle-borns, the ordinary witches and wizards, from the tyranny of the Purebloods?"
Her aunt's expression darkened slightly as she recalled the past. "Before him… not much, honestly. The Ministries were functional, but their influence were limited. There were laws and offices in place, but enforcement was inconsistent. Even now, there are problems, but the Purebloods aren't actively opposing Muggle-borns, not openly. Still… to this day, Muggle-borns aren't fully accepted, even within the Ministry. Half-bloods face similar scrutiny. The only country I know with a broader acceptance is the United States, where Half-bloods and Muggle-borns are more integrated." She paused, shaking her head slightly. "But there's one immutable rule—they despise marriages between wizards and Muggles. If such a union occurs, the couple is exiled. Wands broken. Erased from the wizarding world. Completely."
Eira leaned back in her chair and lifted the mango juice glass, sipping slowly as Isabella's words lingered in her mind. Dumbledore's warning echoed too—caution in Britain, restraint in politics, stay clear of the Ministry, and above all avoid stepping into the tangled affairs of the pure-blood families. Her aunts words about the tension around Muggle-borns and half-bloods, the growing unrest in the Ministry. But Eira found herself caring little for it. That was not her fight, nor her burden. She was not Dumbledore, rushing to shield the powerless.
Her thoughts drifted instead to his office, to the quiet dignity of that place. She recalled the phoenix, perched in stillness, its feathers alive with impossible fire. There had been something majestic in the way it rested, a beauty that needed no words. For a moment she found herself caught by the memory, the bird's presence lingering in her mind like a flame refusing to go out.
She straightened in her seat and turned her gaze toward Isabella. "Do you… know if it's possible to find a phoenix?" she asked, her tone curious but tinged with calculation.
Isabella's brows lifted as she caught the faraway look in her niece's eyes, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "Ooh… so you saw Dumbledore's phoenix? Why? Do you want one?" Her voice was light with amusement, but sharp enough to tease. "Truly, Eira, it's the first time I've seen you behave like a child, desiring a creature simply for admiration or play."
Eira rolled her eyes, a subtle irritation creeping into her expression. "No. It's not that. I mean… if possible, why not? If there is a way to have one, even temporarily—it could be… useful."
Her aunt shook her head slowly. "Impossible. There are only two phoenixes that I know of. One belongs to Dumbledore. The other is with an Australian Quidditch team—they've befriended it with their team. Beyond that, wild phoenixes exist, but they are protected. No wizard is allowed to interfere, approach, or attempt contact without serious risk. Domestication is impossible unless the creature chooses to accept you. Even then, few have ever succeeded."
Eira's lips pressed together, her mind already racing through alternatives. "And Dumbledore?" she asked, curiosity sharpening her tone. "Did he… domesticate it? Or does it merely respond to him?"
Isabella's expression softened, a trace of respect coloring her voice. "From what I know, previous generations of the Dumbledore family had access to phoenixes—sometimes, sometimes not. It appears to be selective, bound by the creature's own will. A phoenix cannot be forced. It must choose. That is one reason the Dumbledore family has held such prominence in Britain—they are intimately linked to these creatures, and the power, symbolism, and influence that comes with them is extraordinary. Even with muggle ancestry at their root, the connection to a phoenix is… invaluable."
Eira nodded slowly, her mind already formulating possibilities, tracing the outlines of her next moves. "Then… is it possible to acquire a phoenix feather, or a trace of its blood? Something, even if minor, from a wild phoenix?"
Isabella regarded her niece, her eyes narrowing slightly at the determination in Eira's gaze. "I can speak with Emma," she said finally, her tone serious. "If there is a way—perhaps through the black market or some discreet channels—we can search. But understand this: it will be costly, dangerous, and… uncertain. Phoenixes are rare, protective, and almost mythical in their disposition. Even a fragment is priceless and fiercely defended."
Eira leaned back, her eyes gleaming with resolve, a faint, calculating smile touching her lips. "It doesn't matter. Cost or the difficulty, "
As she thought to herself. 'it is irrelevant if it proves useful. If it can aid in… awakening or add to my bloodline, then it is worth every effort.'
Isabella sighed, shaking her head but not dismissing her niece's ambition. "Very well. I will consult with Emma and see what can be done."
Eira's fingers tapped lightly against the desk, her thoughts already racing far ahead, entwined with possibilities, strategies, and contingencies. "I understand," she said softly, though the fire in her eyes betrayed her determination. "Still, it will be done. I will hope that you find a way to acquire a piece of the phoenix 🐦🔥."