The cobblestone streets of Paris shimmered in the moonlight of the night and the lights of the streets, their surfaces warm from a long summer's day. The air was rich with the mingled scents of freshly baked bread drifting from nearby boulangeries and the faint sweetness of flowering vines curling down from wrought-iron balconies. Eira walked between Hermione and Fleur, their steps unhurried as the crowd ebbed and flowed around them.
Fleur's posture was elegant as always, her silvery-blonde hair catching the light in a way that made passersby turn their heads. Hermione walked beside Eira with an open, curious gaze, still absorbing every sight and sound as though committing them to memory.
They had spent hours wandering the streets—stopping to admire the Seine glinting in the night sky moonlight, peering through the glass fronts of beautiful apothecaries tucked discreetly between Muggle shops, and even sharing a small cone of lavender ice cream from a vendor who operated just outside the city center district's edge.
But now, their paths were beginning to diverge.
They stopped at the corner where a narrow alley branched away toward the hidden courtyard where Fleur's Portkey awaited. The silver-haired girl glanced between them, her blue eyes flicking briefly toward Hermione before settling on Eira.
"Well," Fleur began, her voice smooth but with a faint edge beneath it, "I suppose this is where I take my leave."
Eira nodded, offering her a small smile. "Safe travels back, Fleur."
Fleur's lips curved, though the expression didn't quite reach her eyes. "Merci. It was… pleasant." Her pause before the last word was subtle, but Eira caught it.
Hermione, perhaps less attuned to the nuance, gave Fleur a polite nod. "It was nice meeting you," she said with a small, genuine smile.
Fleur inclined her head in return, her tone soft but cool. "Likewise."
Eira could feel the tension like a faint thread running under the words, but she chose not to address it here. Fleur reached into her satchel, pulling out the small silver Portkey in the shape of an ornate key. She grasped it lightly, and with a last look—lingering a fraction longer on Eira than on Hermione—she gave a nod.
In the blink of an eye, she vanished, leaving only the faint displacement of air in her wake.
Hermione let out a quiet breath. "She's… very striking."
Eira chuckled under her breath. "Yes. Fleur is… Fleur." She left it at that.
They turned back toward the busier streets, the bustle of the city wrapping around them again as they headed toward Hermione's hotel. The walk took them past familiar shopfronts, the conversation shifting to lighter topics—Hermione's excitement over some of the French wizarding treats she had tried, Eira recounting a few humorous stories about her years at Beauxbatons.
As they reached the corner where the hotel stood, Eira slowed. The building loomed ahead—an elegant, historic structure with tall windows framed in carved stone. Hermione's parents were staying here for the remainder of their holiday, and this would be their parting point.
Inside the lobby, the air was cool and scented faintly with polished wood and fresh flowers. Eira accompanied Hermione up the short steps to the main reception area, where Hermione's parents were seated in comfortable armchairs.
"Hello again," Mrs. Granger greeted warmly, rising to her feet. "You must be Eira. Last time, we didn't really get a chance to get to know each other."
Eira inclined her head politely. "Yes, ma'am. I just wanted to make sure Hermione got back safely."
Mr. Granger smiled, offering his hand. "Much appreciated. She's had quite an adventure these last few days."
Hermione gave a sheepish smile. "It's been… amazing, actually."
They chatted for a few minutes, polite exchanges weaving between them. Eira kept her tone warm but brief; she knew this was their family's time now.
Finally, Hermione turned to her, a small crease between her brows. "Can I write to you?"
Eira's smile softened. "Of course. Just send your letters, and I'll receive them. And if you ever need anything—anything at all—you can write to me. If I can help, I will."
Hermione's eyes brightened at that. "Really?"
"Yes," Eira said firmly. "As far as it's possible, I'll help you."
They stood there for a moment, neither seeming entirely ready to say goodbye. Finally, Hermione stepped forward and wrapped her arms briefly around Eira.
"Thank you… for everything," Hermione murmured.
Aira returned the embrace, giving a reassuring squeeze. "It was my pleasure, Hermione."
When they stepped back, Hermione offered her a hopeful smile. "I'll write soon."
"I'll look forward to it,"Eira replied.
With that, Hermione stepped back toward her parents, and Eira gave them a polite nod before turning toward the door.
The city's golden light greeted her again as she stepped outside—and there, leaning casually against a lamppost, was Emma. Her arms were folded, but her eyes, sharp and attentive, softened when they landed on Eira.
"Let's go, Emma," Eira said with a small smile.
Emma fell into step beside her as they walked toward a quieter side street. After a moment, Eira glanced sideways at her. "Did you follow us all day?"
Emma didn't flinch. "Yes, my lady. Since Alina Trévér has been a little…bitch, I had to guard you and make sure you were safe."
Eira's lips curved in amusement and said
. "Thank you."
"That's my job," Emma said simply. "And I'm happy to do it."
They turned into a narrow lane where the noise of the city faded. Emma reached out, taking Eira's hand with the casual familiarity of someone long trusted. A moment later, the world twisted in the familiar compression of Apparition.
When they reappeared, the soft, manicured lawns of the White Manor stretched before them, the elegant building bathed in the soft glow of evening lamps.
The long day caught up to Eira all at once. She slipped off her shoes at the door and made her way upstairs, her limbs pleasantly heavy from the hours of walking and talking.
By the time her head touched the pillow, the sounds of Paris and the faces of her companions were already fading into dreams.