At the entrance of the Ombrelune's Hall stood Madame Laurent, the tall, immaculate head of dormitory affairs, her sharp eyes missing nothing. As each student passed, she handed out the week's timetables, rolled neatly and tied with a ribbon the color of their year group.
"White ribbon," she said as Eira approached, her tone brisk but not unkind. "Third-year. Keep it safe, mademoiselle."
Eira took the scroll and untied the ribbon as she moved through the crowd of students gathered to collect their timetables. She made her way toward the Ombrelune girls' dormitory hall, where breakfast was already laid out and Fleur was waiting. Settling into her seat, she unrolled the parchment and scanned the neat script.
First period — Ancient Runes.
She had just reached her seat when Fleur leaned in from across the table, her gaze flicking to the parchment in Eira's hand. "Ancient Runes first thing on a Monday," Fleur remarked, her voice laced with that lazy amusement that always made Eira wary—it usually meant whatever she was about to say was either very funny or very serious. "Good luck with that class."
Eira looked up from the timetable. "Why? Is it difficult?"
Fleur's lips curved in a smirk. "Oh, I think it's best if you… experience it yourself." She reached for a croissant, tore it open, and added lightly, "Some things are more fun when you discover them the hard way."
Eira frowned, but Fleur said nothing more. She wasn't sure if it was meant as a warning or a game.
After breakfast, Eira gathered her books — a heavy leather-bound volume titled Foundations of Magical Script, a thinner dictionary of rune forms, and her new holster for her wand. She left Ombrelune's high-ceilinged dormitory hall, stepping out into the crisp morning air.
The path to the château wound through the manicured gardens, past hedges clipped into fantastical shapes — winged horses, dolphins, even a dragon that seemed to exhale mist into the cool air. Beyond the gardens stretched a green expanse where students in their sky blue uniforms were crossing toward their own classes, voices echoing in the open air.
Château loomed ahead, a vision of pale stone and gleaming spires. Its walls caught the morning light, and its many tall windows reflected the sky. The great oak doors were already open, the scent of waxed wood and parchment drifting out to meet her.
Inside, the main corridor was a polished artery of marble and chandeliers, portraits watching from gilded frames as students passed. Some portraits whispered greetings; others merely observed with dignified silence.
The Ancient Runes classroom lay in the east wing, behind a heavy door of dark oak carved with the shapes of runes themselves — some smooth, some jagged, some curling like vines. The hinges groaned slightly as Eira pushed it open.
The room was unlike any she had seen before. Rows of stone benches descended toward a wide central floor, where a chalkboard of black slate stood between two towering bookcases. The walls were carved with runes that seemed to shimmer faintly in the light of floating candles overhead.
And at the center, speaking with a small group of early-arriving students, stood the professor.
He was tall, dressed in a long coat of deep midnight blue that caught the light in subtle sheens. His hair was black, slicked back neatly, and his skin was pale enough that it almost glowed. But it was his eyes — a shade too dark to be ordinary brown, glinting with a depth that spoke of centuries — that caught Eira's attention.
"Ah," he said, turning as the rest of the class entered. His voice was smooth, every syllable deliberate. "Good morning. Welcome to Runes Anciennes. I am Professor Valentin Dain, and I have been teaching this subject at Beauxbatons for… longer than you have been alive. Much longer."
There was a ripple of quiet laughter at that, though a few students exchanged glances — the kind that meant Is he serious?
He smiled faintly, revealing the barest glimpse of sharpness in his teeth. "Yes, I am a vampire. And yes, that means I have had… considerable time to master my craft. You may relax. I do not drink from students."
That earned a few more uneasy chuckles. Dain stepped forward, his presence commanding but not oppressive to frighten the students. "Ancient Runes," he began, "is not merely a subject of translation. It is the study of the language in which magic itself was once spoken, carved, and bound. Before wands, before incantations, there were symbols — marks etched in stone, bone, and wood to channel the forces of the world."
He gestured to the chalkboard, where he wrote in a flowing, old-fashioned script: Elder Futhark.
"This," he said, "is one of the oldest known rune systems. You will find references to it in Spellman's Syllabary, The Ancient Art of Enchantment, and of course, Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms by Bathilda Bagshot. If you do not yet own these books, I suggest you… remedy that. Quickly."
The chalk clicked softly as he drew the first three runes: ᚠ (Fehu), ᚢ (Uruz), and ᚦ (Thurisaz).
"These," Dain said, "are your first task. Memorize their forms, their sounds, their meanings. Fehu — wealth, cattle, abundance. Uruz — strength, wildness, untamed power. Thurisaz — thorn, giant, protection and danger alike. Write them until your hand knows them without thought."
Eira studied the symbols, her mind already tracing the lines, locking them in place. Her perfect memory drank them in like water.
"You may believe," Dain continued, "that memorizing runes is the hard part. For some, it is. For others —" here his eyes flicked briefly toward some students, though they couldn't be sure why — "the true challenge is what comes after. A rune without magic is a word without voice. To make it live, you must feed it power, intention, and precision."
He began to walk among the rows of stone benches, his presence like a slow-moving shadow. "Vampires," he said, almost conversationally, "value precision above all. We have… long lives. We do not waste them on carelessness. Runes demand the same of you. One misplaced stroke, and your meaning changes entirely. The rune for 'protection' may become one for 'binding' — or worse, 'harm.'"
He returned to the front, picked up a smooth river stone from the desk, and traced Fehu upon it with his wand tip. The rune flared briefly gold, then sank into the stone's surface as if it had always been there.
"This stone," Dain said, holding it up, "is now imbued with a simple charm for prosperity. Harmless, unless you consider the possibility of an excess of cows a danger."
A few students laughed; Eira smiled faintly. She was already sketching the runes in her notebook, the shapes crisp and exact. The meanings lined themselves up neatly in her mind, as though she had always known them.
For the next half hour, Dain moved between lecture and demonstration. He spoke of rune stones found in the ruins of wizard settlements predating Hogwarts, of Norse witches who inscribed their longboats with Thurisaz to ward off sea monsters, of goblin craftsmen who still used Uruz in forging enchanted weapons. He quoted from Runes of Power by Professor Bede Blackthorn and gave them reading assignments for the week.
When they began their first exercise — carving the three runes into small clay tablets with fine chisels — Eira found the task almost meditative. The lines came easily to her hand; the angles felt natural. She noticed other students pausing to compare their work, but hers matched the textbook illustration perfectly.
"Very good," Dain said when he passed her bench, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "Your memory serves you well. We shall see how it serves you when we reach the stage of imbuement."
The class ended with the ringing of a silver bell that echoed faintly against the carved walls. Dain dismissed them with a final note: "Bring your tablets next time. And your concentration. Both will be tested."
As Eira gathered her books, she caught Fleur's eye in the corridor outside. Fleur raised an eyebrow in silent question.
"Well?" she asked as they began to walk toward the next class.
Eira hesitated, then allowed herself a small smile. "It wasn't so bad."
Fleur's smirk returned, slow and knowing. "Give it time, princess. He may be a vampire, but he's a master of his craft… so, give it time."