The emerald flames flared to life in the fireplace of the White Manor's reception hall. A swirl of ash and green light spilled outward, and then Fleur Delacour stepped through gracefully, brushing soot from her pale blue traveling cloak.
"Fleur," Eira breathed, already moving forward.
Fleur barely had time to lift her head before Eira's arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. Their lips met in a brief, breathless kiss, the kind that came less from planning and more from sheer joy of reunion. When they finally drew apart, Fleur's laugh was soft and melodic, her hands still resting on Eira's shoulders.
"You didn't even let me greet you properly," she teased.
"You've already been away from me too long," Eira replied, a smile tugging at her lips.
Before Fleur could answer, a gentle voice came from the doorway. "Ah, so this is the young lady herself."
Eira turned, still holding Fleur's hand, to see Isabella watching them from the dining room entrance. Her smile was warm but edged with playful mischief.
"Welcome, Miss. Delacour. Or—" she tilted her head—"may I call you Fleur?"
Fleur's cheeks flushed slightly, though she smiled with perfect composure. "Yes, of course. You may call me Fleur, aunt."
Isabella's smile softened. "How delightful. You call me 'aunt,' just like Eira does. That pleases me more than you know."
Eira glanced between them, her own face tinged with warmth. "Well, Aunt, Fleur and I were thinking of heading into Allée des Merveilles. I want to say goodbye to my friend before going to Britain."
"Mm, of course." Isabella's eyes shone as she folded her arms. "Go and enjoy yourselves. A date, then? Very well. But do not linger too long—I'm making a proper dinner tonight. Emma will be returning, and I want the two of you back here. I'm cooking everything myself."
Eira grinned. "Then I definitely won't miss it. I can't wait."
Fleur gave Eira's hand a small tug. "Come then, where are we going? You said something about visiting friend, is it Marin?"
"Yes." Eira nodded. "I didn't get to say goodbye when Beauxbâtons ended. I want to at least see him once before I go back to Britain."
"Then let's not waste time," Fleur said with her usual brisk warmth, and together they stepped into the manor's Floo chamber.
Moments later, green flames carried them across the wards and into the bustling heart of wizarding Paris.
*************
The Floo Network center at Allée des Merveilles was alive with energy. Witches and wizards bustled in and out, brushing soot from robes, dragging enchanted suitcases, or vanishing into fireplaces bound for far-off destinations. Fleur tightened her hand around Eira's, her fingers warm and firm.
"Let's find him quickly," she murmured, and together they stepped out into the cobbled street.
The Allée des Merveilles was its usual cacophony of sound and color—street vendors crying their wares, charmed lanterns floating overhead, banners fluttering in every corner. But today it was even more lively than usual. With the Quidditch World Cup semifinals being hosted nearby, shops had refashioned themselves into tourist havens. Flags of every competing nation fluttered proudly in shop windows. Stalls hawked enchanted paints, face charms, self-waving flags, and firework kits tuned to release a team's colors with every pop.
Fleur laughed, tugging Eira slightly closer as a group of young wizards rushed past them waving miniature broomsticks that zoomed about their heads. "Everywhere I go, the Cup follows me. France is obsessed."
"And you aren't?" Eira teased.
Fleur's grin was quick, sly. "I prefer one-on-one duels to chasing a Quaffle."
They walked on, weaving through the crowds until a familiar little bookstore came into view. The sign above its door read Librairie L'Étoile, the letters curling in delicate silver script. Its windows gleamed with polished glass, displaying new shipments of spellbooks and parchment journals.
Eira's chest tightened with a pang of nostalgia as she pushed the door open, the small bell above it chiming softly. The familiar scent of old parchment and books washed over her.
Inside, Marin sat at the counter, nose buried in a thick tome. He was so absorbed that he didn't look up until Eira's voice rang out.
"Well, this is a surprise. The first time I've ever seen you actually reading a book—and looking serious about it. Should I be impressed?"
Marin blinked up, startled, then broke into a wide grin. "Well, well. What do we have here? Mademoiselle Eira White—and her lover."
Eira rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched with amusement.
He closed the book and strode over to them. "How are you? It hasn't even been two days since Beauxbâtons ended. What brings you here? Certainly not books."
Eira's smile faltered slightly, though her voice remained light. "I came to say goodbye."
"Goodbye?" Marin frowned. "Don't tell me… you're going back to Britain already?"
"Yes." Eira nodded softly. "I'll be transferring to Hogwarts."
For a long moment, Marin only stared at her. Then he sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "So it's true. You're really leaving."
"I'll come back to visit," Eira assured him quickly. "And I'll invite you and your mother to Britain someday. You'll see."
Marin's grin returned, though it was a little crooked. "You'd better. Otherwise I'll tell everyone my rich friend abandoned me."
Eira laughed. "You're impossible."
"Where's your mother?" she asked a moment later. "I'd hoped to say goodbye to her too."
"She's in Spain, visiting my grandmother. She always goes at the start of summer." Marin shrugged. "I stayed behind this year. Wanted to watch the quidditch World Cup."
"That sounds like her." Eira smiled. "Give her my regards when she comes back."
"I will."
Meanwhile, Fleur had drifted among the bookshelves, idly running her fingers along the spines. Marin watched her with mock curiosity.
"And what about you, Fleur?" he asked. "What will you do now that your girlfriend is leaving for Britain? Stay here and pine for her?"
Fleur turned sharply, her chin tilted proudly. "Hardly. I will be going with her."
Marin blinked, stunned. "You're transferring too?"
Fleur smirked, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Perhaps. Or perhaps not. It's a secret. Next year you'll find out for yourself."
Marin groaned. "Always so dramatic. Fine, keep your secrets."
The three of them fell into easy conversation, laughter weaving through the air as they reminisced about school days and shared memories. Time slipped by quickly, as it always did.
At last, Eira glanced at the window, where the sky was already deepening with late afternoon light. "We should go. Aunt Isabella is making dinner for us tonight, and Emma will be there too."
Marin's face fell. "So soon?"
"I'll see you again," Eira promised. She stepped forward and pulled him into a firm hug.
He returned it tightly, his voice rougher than usual. "Don't forget me, Eira. Even if you don't need me, remember that I'll always be here. Your friend."
Eira smiled, touched. "Don't be so dramatic. I'm not gone forever. We'll see each other again soon—at the World Cup, if nothing else."
Marin huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Fine. But don't keep me waiting too long."
Fleur and Eira left together, their fingers entwined. At the doorway, Marin stood and lifted a hand in farewell. Eira turned once, waving back with a smile before stepping into the lively street once more.
Side by side, she and Fleur made their way back to the Floo Network, hand in hand, ready to return home.