The mid-morning sun spilled golden light across the bustling streets of Paris, catching on wrought iron balconies and the pale cream stone of the buildings. The air was warm, the kind of soft summer heat that carried with it the mingled scents of fresh bread from boulangeries and the faint tang of river water from the Seine. The magical quarter — tucked just a few winding turns away from the ordinary city — was humming with life. Carts selling enchanted trinkets jostled with open-air cafés, and witch-run florists displayed blooms that shifted colors with the passing clouds.
Eira walked at an unhurried pace, her robes blending subtly with the fashionable Parisian wizarding style — light, fitted, and just formal enough to mark her as someone of standing. She glanced behind her to see Hermione keeping pace, eyes darting everywhere, drinking in every new sight.
Hermione's curiosity had only intensified since their last outing. This was her first summer in France, and it showed. She was wearing a light cotton dress under a short cloak to ward off the occasional breeze, and her hair was tied back, though still rebelliously frizzy in the humidity. "This place is incredible," Hermione said for what must have been the fourth time. "It feels… freer than Diagon Alley. And less cramped."
Eira smiled faintly. "The magical quarter here was built with aesthetics in mind. They don't cram shops together without thought. The French prefer beauty in everything — even their streets."
They turned a corner, and the crowd thinned slightly as they approached a more refined part of the quarter. A little ahead stood the restaurant where Eira had arranged for them to meet Fleur Delacour. The place was called Le Jardin Enchanté, and it lived up to its name — ivy climbed the pale walls, twinkling with tiny floating lights even in daylight, and the tables in the courtyard were shaded by enchanted cherry blossom trees that bloomed year-round.
Hermione's steps slowed. "Are we meeting someone?"
"Yes," Eira said smoothly. "A friend of mine from Beauxbatons. Fleur Delacour." She glanced at Hermione with a measuring look. "I think you'll find her… memorable."
Hermione opened her mouth to ask what she meant but was cut short as the restaurant's wrought iron gate swung open.
Fleur was already there, seated at an outdoor table with a carafe of sparkling water and a plate of delicate pastries. She stood when she saw Eira, her silvery-blonde hair catching the sunlight like threads of fine metal. Her pale blue eyes flickered to Hermione, coolly assessing, before she smiled — a smile that was pleasant but faintly edged.
"Eira," Fleur greeted warmly in her lightly accented voice, leaning forward to kiss the air near each of Eira's cheeks. "It 'as been too long."
"Fleur," Eira replied with equal warmth. "Allow me to introduce Hermione Granger, visiting from Britain. Hermione, this is Fleur Delacour — a fellow student at Beauxbatons."
Hermione extended her hand politely. "It's nice to meet you."
Fleur shook it lightly, tilting her head. "Oui, it is… interesting to meet you as well." Her eyes lingered for half a heartbeat longer than necessary, then she released Hermione's hand and motioned to the seats.
Eira took the chair between them, a subtle buffer. Fleur poured water into the glasses with graceful precision. "So, Hermione," she said, "Eira tells me you go to 'Ogwarts."
"Hogwarts," Hermione corrected gently. "Yes, I do."
Fleur smiled as if the distinction were unimportant. "And… you enjoy it?"
"Yes," Hermione said, though she felt Fleur's gaze was measuring her more than making conversation. "It's… different from here, I'm sure. Less elegant, perhaps, but still a good school."
"Less elegant?" Fleur's smile sharpened almost imperceptibly. "Ah, yes, zat is one word for it." She turned to Eira. "And you, mon amie, 'ow do you find 'Ogwarts students?"
"They're capable," Eira said, her tone neutral. "Some more than others. Hermione here is among the more capable."
Hermione flushed slightly at the compliment, though Fleur merely sipped her water, eyes unreadable.
A waiter appeared with menus — thick parchment sheets with the day's offerings written in elegant looping script. Fleur ordered salade d'été with charmed petals that released a hint of sweetness when chewed. Eira chose roast duck with rosemary glaze. Hermione, after a moment's hesitation, went for a vegetable tart and a side of magically chilled melon slices.
As they ate, conversation flowed — mostly between Eira and Hermione, with Fleur chiming in here and there, often with a subtle note that hinted at comparison. When Hermione spoke about her studies, Fleur would remark on how Beauxbatons handled the same subject with much more refinement. When Hermione praised the Hogwarts library, Fleur casually mentioned the rare manuscripts in Beauxbatons' private collection.
Still, Fleur's tone never tipped into outright rudeness. It was as if she were testing Hermione, watching how she would react to small jabs. Hermione, for her part, remained polite, though her brows occasionally drew together.
Dessert was ice cream from a street vendor just around the corner. The man's cart was a work of art — painted with swirling galaxies, with scoops of ice cream floating in midair until chosen. Fleur selected lavender-honey, Eira opted for mango flavored with a hint of vanilla, and Hermione tried caramelized pear.
The three of them walked through the cobblestone streets, ice creams in hand, pausing to browse shop windows. Fleur and Eira reminisced briefly about a school event, and Hermione listened, occasionally asking questions. Fleur, sensing the shift of attention toward Hermione, would smoothly redirect conversation to something more familiar to her.
Eventually, they settled into a quieter rhythm. The magical streetlamps had begun to glow faintly, casting golden halos in the warm evening air. Fleur seemed more relaxed, though still subtly attuned to Hermione's presence.
Dinner was at a cozy corner restaurant where enchanted violins played softly in the background. They ordered shared dishes — Fleur insisting on introducing Hermione to a few French magical delicacies: puffed dragonlily petals that shimmered like opals, soup that rearranged itself in the bowl into different patterns between bites, and bread that stayed warm without cooling.
By the time they finished, the sky had deepened into twilight. The streets outside were bathed in the orange and pink of the setting sun, the magic in the air making colors seem richer, almost painted.
As they stepped out of the restaurant, Fleur glanced at the street ahead. "Shall we… walk a little? It is too early to end the evening."
Eira nodded. "A walk sounds good."
Hermione smiled. "I'd like that."
They set off together, the quiet click of their shoes against the cobblestones mingling with the distant hum of evening chatter. Fleur walked on Eira's left, Hermione on her right — and though Fleur still occasionally glanced toward Hermione with that subtle, assessing air, there was a faint, unspoken truce in the summer night air.