The next morning, Eira stirred in the Slytherin dormitory. Her privacy curtains were drawn, but pale light of the candles bled through the edges. She pushed them back and glanced at the clock on the wall. Half past six.
Swinging her legs over the bed, she gathered her bath supplies—shampoo, towel, robe, toothbrush, toothpaste. Unlike most wizards, she brushed her teeth the Muggle way. Wizards usually swirled potions in their mouths; most didn't even bother. The taste was vile, too. 'Honestly, why not add a bit of mint?`
As she stepped down, movement caught her eye. Daphne Greengrass was already awake.
"Good morning, Daphne," Eira said.
"Good morning, Lady White," Daphne replied automatically.
"Call me by my name. We're students here," Eira corrected gently.
Daphne nodded, lips parting as if to say something—then a loud noise broke the moment. Both girls turned. The culprit was obvious: Tracey Davis, fast asleep, and blissfully unaware she had just passed gas.(she farted 😁)
Daphne bit her lip, shoulders shaking. Eira raised a brow. "We'd better not speak of this again."
That only made Daphne choke back harder laughter. Eira slipped out of the dorm, closing the door behind her. From the other side, muffled giggles burst free. Eira smiled and shook her head before heading toward the bathroom."So, the stone-faced Greengrass does laugh," Eira murmured, amused.
After a long, refreshing bath, she padded back in her bathrobe. Daphne was sitting primly on her bed, while the other girls still snored.
"Not waking them?" Eira asked, glancing at Pansy and Tracey.
"They'll whine all day if I do," Daphne said flatly. "I don't have the energy to endure that."
Eira chuckled, then dressed in light clothes, pulled on her black Hogwarts uniform, and finished with a faint spray of rose perfume. And took her white colored wand and stuffed it in her uniform, she left the dormitory.
The Slytherin common room buzzed with idle talk—older students discussing about their summer holidays or speculating about the Triwizard Tournament. Eira passed without pause and made her way towards the Great Hall.
By the time she arrived, breakfast was well underway. Students streamed in; plates filled and refilled themselves. She sat at the Slytherin table, where boiled eggs, honeyed toast, and milk appeared instantly. She murmured a quiet thanks, knowing well it was the house-elves' doing—though most students assumed it was pure magic.
Eira broke a piece of toast, spreading a thin layer of honey across it, watching the golden sheen catch the morning light. Beside her plate sat a glass of milk, still faintly cool from the pitcher, and two boiled eggs waiting to be peeled. She ate slowly, unhurried, her movements measured as she let her gaze drift over the hall.
The Great Hall pulsed with its usual morning rhythm—students leaning close in conversation, bursts of laughter echoing against the high stone walls, the occasional flutter of owl wings from the rafters. The Ravenclaw table was dotted with students already bent over books, their breakfast half-forgotten, while the Gryffindors laughed loud enough to be heard across the hall. The Hufflepuffs lingered in easy companionship, while her fellow Slytherins were quieter, their voices low and clipped, glances sharp and meaningful.
Above them, the enchanted ceiling mirrored a pale morning sky, streaked with soft gold and silver light, as though dawn had been trapped beneath the great arches.
A movement at her side drew Eira's attention. She turned just as a small figure slid neatly into the space beside her. Golden hair shimmered like sunlight in water, and a pair of clear, bright blue eyes regarded her with quiet warmth.
Astoria Greengrass sat down with effortless poise, placing a folded napkin across her lap before lifting her gaze.
"Good morning, Eira," she greeted, her voice soft and melodic.
"Good morning, Astoria," Eira replied with a small smile, shifting slightly to give the younger girl room at the table.
After ordering her breakfast, Astoria tilted her head. "How was your first night at Hogwarts? Very different from Beauxbâtons?"
"It was," Eira said warmly. "At Beauxbâtons, our dormitories are nestled in a garden. Here, we're underground."
"You don't like it?"
"Oh, I do. It's unique. I rather like seeing the Black Lake pressed against the windows. The fish and the shadows of other creatures passing by. I only need time to adapt."
Before Astoria could reply, a commotion burst from the Gryffindor table. Eira turned.
Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter stood nearly nose to nose, bickering so fiercely it looked as though they might kiss out of spite.
"Oi, Potter!" Draco sneered. "Did you stick your head in a Puffskein's nest, or is that mop of yours trying to flee Hogwarts?"
"At least my hair isn't slicked back with enough grease to fry breakfast," Harry shot back.
Ron Weasley snorted. "Yeah, Malfoy, your head's so shiny it could steer ships in a storm."
Draco flicked his wrist dismissively. "Please, Weasley. Your family can't afford shampoo, and it shows. Don't compare my hair to your rat's nest—secondhand, of course."
Slytherins chuckled; Gryffindors bristled.
"You can't even fight your own battles," Draco said silkily, turning back to Harry. "You've always got the Weasel barking at your heels."
Ron's face went scarlet. "Say that again, ferret!"
"Oh, look," Draco smirked, "the charity case speaks. Tell me, Potter, does he follow you around hoping to lick up whatever fame drips off your shoes?"
"Better a Weasley than a Malfoy," Harry retorted coldly. "At least Ron doesn't have to buy friends."
The exchange spiraled—family insults, jabs about robes, quips about fathers. Crabbe and Goyle loomed behind Draco, while Seamus held Ron back from lunging across the table.
By the time Draco purred, "Enjoy the spotlight while it lasts, Potter—some of us don't need tragic backstories to be noticed," the entire hall was watching.
Eira, however, only raised a brow at Astoria. "Are they always this childish?"
Astoria reached for the jug of milk, pouring herself a glass with careful steadiness before taking a sip. She dabbed her lips neatly with the edge of her napkin before speaking.
"I came last year," she began conversationally, her tone light but carrying the sort of observation that came from watching closely. "I was admitted to Hogwarts then. And last year… well, it was the same as this one. Fights, arguments, insults—especially between Potter, Draco, and that Weasley boy. According to Daphne, it's become normal now, almost part of the school itself."
Her blue eyes flicked up toward Eira, a faint amusement in them. "She says since the day they all arrived here, it's been constant. But if you trace it back, most of it started when Potter rejected Draco's offer of friendship. From that moment, things soured. And the more Potter shone in class, on the Quidditch pitch, everywhere… the angrier Draco became."
Astoria gave a small, graceful shrug and took another sip of her milk, entirely unbothered. "From what Daphne says, They're like fire and water—never mix."
Eira peeled one of her boiled eggs slowly, her fingers deliberate. She glanced at Astoria with the barest trace of a smile tugging at her lips.
"So," she said quietly, her voice carrying just enough for Astoria to hear over the general noise of the hall, "it looks like it's all a jealousy issue with Draco."
Astoria hesitated. "Perhaps. But one thing is certain: Potter gets special treatment here. From Dumbledore, from Professor McGonagall. That's why most Slytherins can't stand him."
Eira looked at the little girl sipping her milk and couldn't help but be amused by what she said. She knew a little about Dumbledore showing favoritism toward Potter, but it didn't matter much—after all, the boy was widely regarded as the savior of the wizarding world and the son of the martyr Potter couple. Such attention could be justified. She didn't feel the need to voice this to Astoria; it wasn't her concern.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Gemma Farley approached, holding out a parchment. "Here's your timetable, Eira. Professor Snape prepared it. This will be your fourth-year schedule, including class times, selective courses you've chosen, and the classroom locations throughout the castle. You'll be attending these with the other fourth-year students."
Eira took the timetable, thanking her, and scanned the details. As she saw that this morning she had Charms class. She noted that Charms was taught by Professor Flitwick and the classroom was located on the third floor, in the Charms Corridor. After finishing her breakfast, she rose, gathering her things, and made her way back to her dorm to fetch the required book. The class was set to begin in about forty minutes, and she wanted to be prepared.