The Star Hall still echoed in Eira's ears—the sound of Madame Maxime's parting words, the rustle of enchanted banners retreating into the marble ceiling, and the murmur of students spilling out into corridors. The end of the year had come with the same mixture of triumph and melancholy she had experienced before, yet this time it weighed differently. This time, she felt as though she was leaving more than just a school.
Her dormitory awaited, quiet in the hush that follows a great departure. The Ombrelune common hall was nearly deserted, trunks and suitcases already carried off by students , laughter and chatter retreating down the staircases. Eira stepped into her room and shut the door behind her. The click echoed with finality.
She drew a long breath.
The bed was stripped bare, the sheets neatly folded at the foot as per Beauxbâtons custom. Her belongings were scattered across the mattress in piles: folded robes, stacks of parchment, quills, half-empty ink bottles, and the neat arrangement of books that had carried her through three demanding years. Each item felt strangely heavy as she touched it, as though every quill had absorbed the feelings of late-night studying, every cloak the laughter of Fleur brushing lint from her shoulder.
Her enchanted pouch bag lay open on the bed, ready to swallow her life at Beauxbâtons. One by one she packed, tucking robes into folds of magic, sliding textbooks into its endless depths. She lingered over a few—her well-worn Potions notes, a Defense Against the Dark Arts primer annotated by Emma's advice, the slim volume of French poetry Fleur had shyly lent her at Christmas. That one she placed last, her fingers brushing the cover almost reverently.
When the final drawer closed and the pouch sealed with a whisper, she let her gaze roam the dormitory.
The room had been hers for this year. The arched windows had watched over her through storms and summer sun alike. The polished floors had borne witness to Fleur sneaking in to braid her hair before exams, to her endless chatter and gossip, to quiet hours spent alone, guarding her secrets like precious jewels.
Her throat tightened.
She stepped away quickly, before memory pinned her down. Out into the Ombrelune stairwell she went, her footsteps slow and deliberate on the spiral descent. She reached the first floor landing, where the corridor split in several directions. For a moment she stood still, staring at the familiar walls.
The first-year corridor beckoned to her like a ghost. She had not walked it in months, but now, on her last day, she could not resist.
Her shoes clicked softly against the stone as she wandered past the doors she once called her own. The corridor smelled faintly of polished wood and lilac—just as it had three years ago when she first stepped through with wide eyes and guarded heart. She remembered how foreign it all had felt then, the strange elegance of the French academy, the weight of stares on the English girl who carried the burden of House White.
At the end of the hall stood the door to the first-year bath chambers.
She paused there, her hand hovering against the wood. A smile tugged at her lips. The very first morning of her in this school , so long ago, when she had padded nervously to the bath and found Fleur Delacour emerging—hair damp, skin flushed from the steam, wrapped in nothing but a towel. Eira had been eleven , clumsy and startled, her heart jolting in ways she did not yet understand. But she remembered the warmth that spread through her chest, the way Fleur didn't even look at her when she was standing in front of her here flushed face , didn't even acknowledge her presence just ignored her and passed by at that time.
Her very first crush, born from that moment.
Eira laughed under her breath and shook her head. Time had a cruel, beautiful way of weaving threads. What began with that fleeting glimpse had grown into something profound, something that now made her chest ache at the thought of leaving.
She touched the door lightly, then drew back. Enough. Memory was sweet, but too much of it could hurt. She turned and walked on, retracing her steps to the Ombrelune dorm hall one last time.
The great carved doors stood open, revealing the lounge where she had spent countless evenings. Armchairs by the fireplace, tapestries enchanted with shifting lunar phases, the carved silver owl above the mantle—all of it glowed faintly in the afternoon light. She walked slowly, committing every corner to memory. Her gaze lingered, as though willing her mind to engrave the sight forever.
Finally, she stepped through the archway into the Ombrelune garden.
The garden was alive with its familiar beauty: silver-leafed trees rustling in the breeze, fountains catching the sun in crystalline arcs, flowers glowing faintly with nocturnal charm even in daylight. She turned back once more, looking at the dorm hall from the outside. The building stood proud and serene, its white stone walls etched with centuries of history.
Her chest constricted. For a wild moment, she thought she might weep. The thought of leaving this place—this sanctuary that had shaped her, tested her, given her Fleur—was almost unbearable.
"No," she whispered fiercely, pressing fingers against her temple. "Not here. Not now."
Occlumency rose like a shield, cool and firm. She focused on her breathing, pushing the tide of emotion down, locking it behind mental barriers. Her eyes cleared.
"Come on, Eira," she murmured to herself. "You're stronger than this. There's no need to get emotional now. It's embarrassing."
She turned away and strode through the garden, heading toward the main courtyard.
The great Beauxbâtons grounds stretched before her. The carriages stood ready, enormous winged Abraxans stamping their hooves and tossing their manes, their coats gleaming gold in the sunlight. Students clustered in small groups, loading the last of their things, saying hurried goodbyes.
And there, waiting by one of the carriages, was Fleur.
Eira's steps quickened unconsciously. Fleur's silver-blonde hair shone in the light, her presence radiant even in the bustle of departure. When Fleur's eyes found hers, a smile spread across her lips, warm and unguarded.
"You're finally here," Fleur said softly as Eira approached.
"Of course." Eira returned the smile.
They climbed into the carriage together and took their seats. The interior smelled faintly of cedar and roses, charmed cushions shifting to cradle them in comfort. Outside, the Abraxans stamped, and with a lurch the carriage lifted into the air, wings beating powerfully as they rose higher and higher above the grounds.
Through the window, Beauxbâtons receded below them.
The château shone in the afternoon sun, its towers gleaming ivory against the rolling green hills. The great gardens stretched like painted tapestries, fountains sparkling like diamonds. The Ombrelune dormitory stood proudly among them, the silver trees swaying gently as if waving farewell.
Eira pressed her forehead to the glass, her chest tight. This had been her home. Her world. And now it slipped away beneath the beating wings of Abraxans.
Her eyes blurred. She hadn't even realized the tears had come until something soft brushed her cheek.
A handkerchief. Fleur's hand, tender, wiping away the tears before they could fall further.
Eira turned her head, startled, and met Fleur's gaze. The concern there nearly undid her.
"I—" she began, her voice unsteady.
Fleur shook her head gently. "It's all right, ma chérie. Don't worry. One day, you can always come back here. This is not the end."
Eira's heart clenched at the kindness in her tone. She gave a watery smile, then reached out impulsively and hugged Fleur tightly, burying her face against her shoulder.
"You're right," she whispered. "It's not the end."
Fleur stroked her back soothingly.
Eira drew back after a moment, her eyes brighter now. "But you know what?" she said, her lips curving in a mischievous smile.
"What?" Fleur asked, bemused.
"I've taken something very precious from Beauxbâtons."
Fleur tilted her head, curiosity lighting her features. "What kind of precious thing?"
Eira leaned in, her voice low and certain. "You."
And before Fleur could respond, she kissed her.
The world narrowed to that moment: Fleur's lips soft against hers, the warmth of her hand slipping into Eira's, the rush of fierce joy in her chest.
When they broke apart, Fleur's cheeks were faintly flushed, but her eyes shone with happiness. She smiled, radiant, and whispered, "I love you."
Eira's answering grin was wide and unguarded. "I love you more than you love me."
Fleur laughed, the sound like music, and leaned in again.
Their whispered giggles filled the carriage, sweet and irrepressible. Across the aisle, a few students rolled their eyes, muttering under their breath at the open display of affection. A boy from Papillonlisse groaned theatrically, slumping against the window as though heartbroken. Two Ombrelune girls exchanged wistful glances, reminded them of being single.
But Eira and Fleur paid them no mind.
The Abraxans carried them steadily toward the horizon, wings beating against the summer sky. Beauxbâtons dwindled behind them, but in Eira's heart, it remained—woven into her memories, bound forever with the girl sitting beside her.
Their destination loomed ahead: the Portkey Center, where each student would disperse to their homeland, their families, their futures.