The cobblestone streets of Paris had long since emptied of the evening's wanderers, leaving Eira alone beneath the pale glow of gas lamps. The memories of her day with Fleur lingered in her mind like a delicate perfume, sweet and intoxicating, but now a quiet determination settled over her. She needed to return to the White Manor.
The idea of navigating the labyrinth of muggle buses and carriages filled her with a reluctant impatience. No, she would walk to the nearest Floo Network station—an inconspicuous little storefront that served as a magical portal hidden in plain sight.
Her footsteps echoed softly as she moved briskly through the narrow alleys, her linen blouse and jeans blending seamlessly into the city's nighttime shadows. The cool air kissed her cheeks, refreshing after the warm day. Her mind was calm and happy from today's beautiful experience.
********
Ahead, the familiar sign of the small shop came into view. A weathered wooden plaque hung above the door, its letters faded but still legible: "Le Bon Marché". To any ordinary passerby, it was just another muggle convenience store—selling newspapers, stamps, and an assortment of household items. But to those who knew, it was the gateway to the Floo Network.
The shopkeeper stood behind the counter, a middle-aged man with a neat beard and quiet eyes, dressed in the plain clothes of a muggle. But to Eira's trained eyes, there was a subtle aura about him—an old and powerful magic, carefully concealed beneath layers of mundane disguise.
She entered the shop with the practiced ease of someone who had done this many times before. The bell above the door tinkled softly.
"Good evening," she said, her voice calm yet respectful.
The shopkeeper looked up, his eyes meeting hers with a flicker of recognition. "Bonsoir, Mrs. White. I didn't expect to see you tonight."
Eira smiled politely. "I prefer to avoid the muggle traffic. The walk is refreshing, but I'm ready to return."
The man nodded knowingly. "Of course. The network is stable this evening."
********
She moved toward the counter, retrieving her small leather pouch. Inside, coins clinked softly, but as always, she carried mostly galleons—too large and too conspicuous for everyday purchases here. The usual fare for a Floo Network ride was far less than a full galleon, but Eira withdrew a single gold coin and placed it on the counter.
The shopkeeper's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Mrs. White, that's more than enough."
Eira's expression was firm but gentle. "I have no sickles or knuts on me. Besides, consider it a token of gratitude for your service."
His lips curved into a slow, warm smile, the kind that lingered like the glow of a candle in a darkened room, hinting at a hidden truth he wasn't ready to share. "Your generosity hasn't gone unnoticed," he said, his voice smooth and deliberate, each word chosen with care. "Perhaps the newspapers have found you again? Whispers have a way of spreading in this city."
Eira's eyes sharpened, her gaze tightening like a bowstring pulled taut, though her expression remained composed. "The world is smaller than people think," she replied, her tone cool but edged with a quiet intensity. "A single face can cross borders faster than a ship, carried on the breath of gossip and ink."
The shopkeeper nodded, then gestured toward a shadowed corner of the shop where a modest fireplace crackled softly, the flames flickering unnaturally green in the dim light.
"Whenever you're ready," he said.
***********
Eira moved to the hearth, stepping into the green flames without hesitation. The heat licked at her skin, but it was a familiar sensation, one she had experienced countless times. The vibrant fire enveloped her completely, a swirling inferno of emerald light.
"Paris House Manor," she said clearly, her voice steady even as the flames roared around her.
Her body tingled, every nerve alive as the flames consumed her form, transporting her across the city in an instant.
⸻
But then, something went terribly wrong.
Instead of the White Manor's marble halls, Eira stumbled into a void—a suffocating expanse of darkness that pulsed with an unnatural, oppressive silence. No light, no sound, only a heavy weight that seemed to choke the air itself.
Her fingers darted to her sleeve, closing around the smooth wood of her wand. Her fingers closed around her wand, yanking it free as she prepared to cast a shield. But a red jet of Expelliarmus tore through the darkness, ripping the wand from her grasp before she could act.
Panic surged, but she forced a slow breath, her mind racing for a plan. Without her wand, she was exposed, trapped in this unnatural place.
Before she could act, a Glacius charm blasted into her chest, its icy tendrils spreading fast, numbing her limbs and clouding her thoughts. She thrust out a hand, willing a spark of wandless magic to shield her, but her body stiffened as the cold consumed her.
Her vision blurred, the void swallowing her senses. She collapsed, helpless, the creeping frost stealing her breath.
Then—nothing.