Their footsteps echoed softly against the worn cobblestones as they strolled beneath the dappled shade of ancient silver-leaf willows. The air was sweet with the scent of blooming jasmines and the distant sound of laughter drifted faintly from the students scattered across Beauxbâtons' sprawling gardens.
Fleur walked beside Eira, carrying a small basket filled with shimmering candied fruits and honey-glazed pastries, delicately spun sugar threads that glittered in the sunlight like strands of spun moonlight. She stole a glance at Eira — the way the light caught her soft waves of hair, the gentle curve of her jawline.
Eira shifted her basket slightly, and Fleur's gaze dropped to the graceful curve of her wrist, the delicate tendons moving beneath pale skin. A small, secret smile touched Fleur's lips.
'Mon dieu, if you only knew what I'm imagining right now.` Fleur's breath caught. 'How those hands could trace every inch of me…'
She bit her lip, tamping down the heat rising in her cheeks. 'Focus, Fleur. You're a lady, after all.`
Fleur's thoughts briefly trailed to the warmth she imagined beneath Eira's sleeves, the silken softness of her skin, the subtle scent of lavender mixed with the faintest trace of smoke from the duel practice earlier. Her pulse quickened at the thought of fingers grazing, tracing, daring to explore.
Stop it, she chastised herself. Not here. Not now. She wouldn't know what to do with a woman who wanted her like this.
"Of all the gardens here," Fleur said lightly, trying to steady her breath and push away the vivid, tangled thoughts swirling in her mind, "this one holds a special place in my heart."
Eira glanced sideways, curiosity lighting her eyes. "Oh? And why's that?"
Fleur's lips curled into a mysterious smile. "Let's say that some memories are planted here, just like the flowers."
She didn't elaborate, but her gaze softened as they passed under a canopy of white jasmine blossoms, their scent mingling with the warmth of the sun. The scent seemed to wrap around her like a lover's embrace, and her mind slipped into a vivid daydream — one where Eira's fingers traced those same jasmine petals, then moved lower, exploring the smooth hollow at the base of her throat…
'Focus, Fleur. You're a lady.`
Eira shifted her basket, and Fleur's eyes caught the faint curve of her wrist — delicate, strong. It was a gesture so innocent, yet Fleur's mind burned with the possibilities it suggested.
"So," Fleur said, voice soft but teasing, "what do you miss most about England?"
Eira's smile was thoughtful. "The quiet. The rain. The endless cups of tea at odd hours."
She laughed lightly. "And the way you French people make manners into an art form. It's like an unspoken language."
Fleur grinned, her French accent curling the words with charm. "Ah, but your manners are like boiled potatoes — practical and necessary, but without flair."
Eira laughed. "And your French elegance?"
"Like a dance of words," Fleur said with a wink, "sometimes graceful, sometimes dangerously flirtatious."
"Dangerously flirtatious, huh?" Eira arched an eyebrow, her smile playful.
"Of course." Fleur's eyes glittered. "Better to seduce with poetry than stare blankly over a cup of tea."
Eira shook her head, amusement bright in her gaze. "Touché."
They wandered deeper into the garden, where the path narrowed between hedges heavy with glistening moonberries that sparkled like tiny stars. A pair of enchanted koi swam lazily in a nearby pond, their scales shimmering with soft blue light. One suddenly leapt, sending a sprinkle of water onto Eira's arm.
Fleur's breath hitched. The cold droplets on Eira's skin sparked a trail of heat in Fleur's chest, a yearning she barely dared acknowledge.
'If only I could reach out and brush that wet skin with my lips…'
Her pulse quickened, and she clenched her fists to stop trembling fingers from reaching too far. Not here. Not now. Be calm.
"Do you ever get lonely here?" Eira asked suddenly, breaking the spell.
Fleur shook her head quickly. "No, never really. I have friends — and now I have you."
The words were simple, but Fleur felt them like a secret vow. Her heart fluttered wildly.
"Good," she murmured.
They settled onto a stone bench surrounded by silver petals drifting lazily from above. Fleur reached into her basket and pulled out a spun-sugar blossom, delicate and shimmering.
"Try this. It's a specialty from the kitchens here."
Eira took the blossom and tasted it, her eyes lighting up at the sweetness. Fleur watched her, the soft flush coloring her cheeks, the way her lips parted ever so slightly…
'If only I could taste them, those lips. I imagine how soft and warm they'd be pressed against mine.'
She swallowed hard, blinking away the flush creeping across her face. Stop this. You are a lady.
"So," Fleur said, laughter threading through her words, "would you believe I once tried to levitate my books in class and instead sent them flying into the fountain?"
Eira laughed outright. "That sounds exactly like you."
Fleur's cheeks warmed further. "They called me La Sirène des Livres after that — the Siren of the Books."
"Fitting," Eira smiled.
Fleur's eyes sparkled. "And what about you? Any embarrassing moments at school you care to share?" She teased.
Eira shook her head, cheeks tinting pink. "No, I think I'll spare you that."
Fleur raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. "Oh, come on. We're friends."
Eira laughed, and the warmth of it sent a delicious shiver through Fleur's spine.
They chatted then about magical creatures — the fiery temper of bowtruckles, the grace of hippocampi, and the rare French flower that bloomed only under the light of a blue moon.
Fleur relished teasing Eira about British creatures, joking about the drab colors and overly serious attitudes of British magical beasts. Eira fired back with tales of the fierce loyalty of British familiars and the stubbornness of their magical plants.
As the sun began to dip lower, casting the garden in golden light, they rose to leave.
Fleur's gaze lingered on Eira, her mind racing with every touch, every glance that passed between them.
'I want to reach out, to brush back her hair, to feel her warmth pressed against me. To whisper all the naughty things I think when I look at her…'
But she stayed silent, elegant, teasing, the perfect Beauxbatons student.
'For now.'