The soft glow of Lumos cast a pale light on the girl crouched before Eira, illuminating delicate features streaked with tears and fear. As Eira's eyes adjusted to the dimness, something stirred in her memory.
Without thinking, she whispered a name:
"Hermione."
The word slipped from her lips before she could stop it.
Her own voice startled her, and a sudden chill spread through her as she realized what she'd said. Why had she uttered that name? It felt like a fragment of a dream—or a distant echo from another life.
The girl's eyes were red from crying, her trembling body shifting closer as her gaze locked on Eira with raw vulnerability.
Eira's mind raced, memories flickering like broken fragments of stained glass.
A boy with round glasses. A ginger-haired boy, brash yet loyal. A girl—herself—wielding a wand, standing between them.
These images were hazy, as if glimpsed through a veil of fog, but the name "Hermione" brought sudden clarity. The girl before her was more than a stranger—she was part of a story Eira faintly remembered from her previous life. A story etched in books and movies she had long forgotten, memories that the world's will had taken from her. Eira knew the world she had been reincarnated into was from those famous tales, though she couldn't fully recall them. Seeing Hermione here stirred fragmented memories, reminding her that this girl was a key figure in those stories.
And yet, Hermione—lost in her own fear and confusion—seemed unaware that Eira knew her name, a name she shouldn't know since this was their first meeting.
Without hesitation, Eira reached out, gripping Hermione's arm gently but firmly, pulling her to her feet.
"Come on," Eira urged softly, "you don't have to cry."
Hermione's tears spilled freely, but Eira's steady voice soothed her.
"There's nothing to be afraid of here."
With a quick flick of her wand, Eira cast a cleansing charm, Scourgify, sweeping the floor to remove the dried blood and wiping her own hand until not a trace remained.
"See?" Eira said with a faint smile, "Clean as new."
Hermione looked up, her eyes wide. "Really? You don't feel any pain?"
Eira shrugged, flexing her fingers gingerly. "No. What matters now is getting out safely."
She took Hermione's chained hands in hers, murmuring another spell. The chains fell away silently, dropping to the floor with a faint clatter.
"We're free."
Hermione rubbed her wrists, then nodded, a fragile hope rekindling in her eyes.
Eira looked into her face. "How did they get to you? You should have been in the Muggle city, right?"
"Two days ago," Hermione whispered, her voice trembling, "just a few hours before you. I was walking with my parents—my mom wanted to try authentic coq au vin, one of those dishes people come to France for. We were on our way when suddenly, out of nowhere, they grabbed me. I didn't understand why, but everyone around pretended not to see, as if we were invisible. Then I heard them say your name several times in French, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. They teleported me here and left me alone for hours. A little while later, they brought you."
Eira's heart clenched. "I'm so sorry. Because of me, you got caught up in this. I truly didn't mean for that to happen."
Hermione shook her head firmly. "No. It's not your fault. It's okay now. I'm just worried about my parents."
Eira reached out, squeezing Hermione's shoulder. "We'll find them. Or bring you to them. Whatever it takes."
Together, they moved toward a small exit at the back of the cell. Eira gripped her wand tightly as they pushed open the heavy door, revealing a narrow stone staircase leading upward.
They ascended cautiously and emerged into a strange, forgotten place—a ruined castle nestled deep in a vast forest. The walls were cracked and crumbling, vines snaking through broken windows. The air smelled of damp earth and moss, tinged with faint smoke from distant fires.
Beyond the ruins stretched an endless sea of green—thick forests stretching to the horizon.
Eira stepped forward, her eyes scanning the landscape.
"You stay in the room, and I'll lock the door behind you," she said firmly. "That way, if anyone comes to check, you'll at least be safe. I'll go out and see what's happening. I'll make sure no one comes near."
Hermione's voice trembled as she protested, "No, please. Take me with you. I can help."
Eira shook her head gently. "Now's not the time. You have to stay safe. Besides, you don't have a wand, so it's best to stay in the room to avoid getting caught."
She met Hermione's eyes. "I promise, I won't leave you behind."
Reluctantly, Hermione nodded, her shoulders trembling.
Eira turned back to the heavy oak door—but it was locked tight.
Being cautious, she avoided using any spells to open the door, knowing it might alert her captors. That's why she had to find another way to get outside.
With a calm breath, Eira shifted, her form blurring and shimmering. In moments, her human shape melted away, replaced by the graceful white owl she'd practiced becoming.
Hermione watched, awe and wonder shining through her fear.
Eira spread her wings and flew up the narrow staircase to a broken window. The opening was just wide enough for her to slip through.
One last glance back, and Eira, in owl form, soared out into the open air.
The forest canopy stretched before her like a vast emerald ocean. Below, she spotted a group of figures—twelve men, clad in dark robes, patrolling the edges of the ruin. Their faces were obscured beneath hoods, but their stances were alert and guarded.
They spoke quietly in French, their conversations blending into the rustling of leaves.
Eira's sharp eyes noted their positions—six along the eastern wall, four near the collapsed gate, and two at a tower's crumbling base.
Her mind began to weave possibilities, analyzing their strengths and weaknesses.
A plan began to form—a way to free herself, rescue Hermione, and escape.
But before she could act, a shadow of doubt flickered through her thoughts.
Could she risk everything with an impulsive strike? Were there unknown dangers lurking, waiting for a misstep?
She hovered silently, wings beating softly, gathering her resolve.