The night before passed in soft warmth and quiet laughter, but by the time dawn crept into the Paris manor, pale light spilling through the long curtains, the household was hushed again.
Eira stirred first. Her lashes fluttered, catching the faint golden glow of morning, and she became aware of the weight pressed against her side. Fleur's head lay nestled just beneath her chin, silver-blonde hair tumbling freely across Eira's chest like a silken blanket. One of Fleur's arms was draped over her waist, holding her tightly, as if in sleep she refused to let her go.
For a long moment, Eira didn't move. She simply lay there, listening to the steady rhythm of Fleur's breathing, watching the faint rise and fall of her shoulders. A rare and fleeting peace settled over her, bringing an involuntary smile to her lips. Her gaze, however, soon trailed downward—Fleur had fallen asleep with nothing but a towel, and at some point in the night it had slipped away, leaving her bare body completely naked.
Eira's cheeks warmed instantly. This girl… she just slept beside me like this, without the slightest shame. What if I lose control? What if— She let out a small sigh, torn between embarrassment and the undeniable beauty before her. Carefully, almost reluctantly, she pulled the blanket up to cover Fleur's body, hiding her from view even though part of her wished she didn't have to.
Still, as she tucked the cover gently around her, Eira's heart softened. In this quiet morning, nothing mattered more than the warmth of the girl resting peacefully in her arms.
Fleur stirred not long after, her lips brushing unintentionally against Eira's collarbone as she shifted. A soft hum left her throat before her eyes blinked open, hazy with sleep.
"You're awake already," she murmured, her voice still thick with dreams.
"I've been awake for a while," Eira admitted, brushing her fingers lightly through Fleur's hair. "You were comfortable. I didn't want to move."
Fleur's lips curled in a drowsy smile. "Good. Stay my pillow a little longer."
Eira chuckled, kissing her lips softly. "Only a little. We have to prepare. Today, we must return to England."
At that, Fleur gave a soft sigh of reluctance and buried her face deeper into Eira's chest. "Then five minutes more."
"Three," Eira bargained, though her arms only tightened around her.
*************
By the time they had risen, washed, and begun dressing, a knock came at the door. When Eira answered, Isabella stood waiting in the hall, her black obsidian hair neatly pinned back, her bearing every bit the noblewoman she had been raised to be—though softened now by the glow she carried whenever Emma lingered near.
"Eira," Isabella said, voice gentle but firm, "are we going back to England today?"
Eira fastened the clasp on her robes and nodded. "Yes, Aunt. We leave this afternoon. Tomorrow is the hearing of Sirius Black, and I must be present."
A flicker of concern passed over Isabella's face. She stepped inside, lowering her voice as though unwilling to disturb Fleur still combing out her hair in the background. "The political climate in Britain… will it be dangerous for you?"
"Not dangerous," Eira replied, calm but resolute. "Complicated, perhaps. But I can handle it." She smiled faintly. "Besides, I won't be alone."
Her aunt studied her a moment longer before her features softened. "You remind me more of your mother every day."
Before Eira could answer, light footsteps approached, and Emma appeared, carrying a stack of papers. She looked ready to give a formal report, but Isabella caught her by the wrist and pulled her close instead.
"My wife has been working too hard again," Isabella teased, sliding her arm around Emma's waist.
Emma's face flushed instantly. "I—I told you, Isabella, you're my wife."
"No, no," Isabella countered with mock sternness, tilting her head proudly. "I declared it first. That makes you mine."
Emma's composure faltered completely as her blush deepened. "You're impossible to beat," she muttered, though her hand slipped naturally into Isabella's, squeezing gently.
Watching them, Fleur gave a soft laugh under her breath, and Eira shook her head, amused. "I see the two of you are already married in spirit, if not in law."
"Exactly," Isabella said with satisfaction, kissing the top of Emma's head.
Emma made a small protesting sound but didn't move away. The scene was so sweet, so domestic, that it made Eira smile from happiness and sweetness that she felt.
*****************
By lunchtime, the household had settled into a rhythm of preparation. Emma and Isabella packed diligently while Fleur and Eira shared a quiet meal in the dining hall. Emma appeared not long after, carrying a tray with a pair of steaming pastéis de nata—Portuguese custard tarts, golden and fragrant.
"Special for today," Emma said, placing them on the table. She offered one to Isabella first, who accepted it with a smile and leaned up to kiss her cheek. Then Emma set one in front of Eira, and another before Fleur.
"I've made sure everything is ready," Emma reported. "Trunks packed, documents sealed, Portkey prepared. Nothing has been forgotten."
Isabella added proudly, "And I've brought everything that mattered to me from France. The rest—the smaller things—can wait."
Emma nodded. "The house-elves can retrieve what's left. Though… they will have to travel carefully."
Eira leaned back slightly, thoughtful. "Yes. The elves cannot Apparate directly across the Channel. They'll need to Disapparate as far as the border between England and France, walk across, then Apparate again to reach the manor. It will take them longer, but it's safe."
Emma inclined her head. "I'll arrange it, my lady."
"Good," Eira said softly. Then her gaze flicked toward Fleur, who had already finished half her tart with a pleased hum. The sight made Eira smile. "Once we've eaten, we leave."
The four of them shared that last Parisian lunch together. Conversation was light, laughter often spilling across the table, and though the air carried the faint weight of departure, the atmosphere was warm, almost homely.
********************
Not long after, the Portkey was set—a polished silver key, glowing faintly with enchantment. In the foyer, Emma checked it twice before handing it to Eira.
"Ready?" Eira asked, glancing at Fleur.
Fleur slipped her hand into hers, fingers entwining without hesitation. "Always."
Eira smiled, lifting the key. The four of them gathered around, touching it. A heartbeat later, the familiar pull of magic seized them, dragging them away from the Paris manor.
The world spun violently, then settled with a sharp tug. Grass cushioned their landing, and Eira's eyes opened to the familiar sight of the White ancestral manor.
It stood proud and solemn in the heart of a vast forest, its white-stone walls rising against the blue sky, ivy climbing the outer walls. The gardens stretched wide, filled with sculpted hedges, flowering trees, and fountains whose water glittered in the sunlight. It was majestic, old and utterly familiar.
Fleur let out a quiet breath, her eyes wide with awe despite having seen it before.
Eira reached for her hand, plucking a small flower from a nearby bush. She slipped it into Fleur's palm with a soft smile. "Let's go. I'm sure you remember it, but come—I'll show you again."
Together, they walked across the gravel path toward the grand entrance.
The doors opened before they could touch them. A house-elf appeared, bowing deeply. His large eyes shimmered with reverence. "Welcome back to your ancestral hall, my ladyship," he said in a solemn voice.
"Thank you," Eira replied warmly. "Is my room prepared?"
"Yes, my lady," the elf said quickly. Then his gaze flickered to Fleur. "I have also prepared a guest chamber."
Eira shook her head gently. "That won't be necessary. She will be living with me."
Fleur's cheeks colored faintly, but her lips curved in a smile. The elf bowed even lower. "As you command, my lady."
****************
Later, once trunks had been taken to their rooms and Emma had begun overseeing the manor's staff, Eira found herself drawn toward the heart of the house—the office that had once belonged to her grandfather, Elijah White.
The room carried the weight of history: shelves of leather-bound tomes, maps pinned to the walls, and a great oak desk that had witnessed the decisions of generations. Now it was hers.
She sank into the Lord's chair, the leather creaking softly beneath her. For a moment, she closed her eyes, feeling the presence of her family lingering in the air.
When she opened them again, Fleur was there, standing in the doorway. Without a word, she crossed the room and slipped gracefully into Eira's lap, settling at her feet before kneeling slightly and tilting her face up. Then, without hesitation, she pressed her lips against Eira's.
Eira blinked, startled. "Fleur—what are you doing? Isn't it uncomfortable down there?"
Fleur only smiled mischievously and kissed her again. "I wanted to test it. They say many assistants do this for their bosses."
Eira's eyes widened before laughter bubbled out of her. "Is that so? Well… next year, when you graduate, I'll take you on as my official personal assistant. Then you can do whatever you like as my beautiful assistant."
Fleur arched a brow, feigning indignation. "Whatever I like?"
"Within reason," Eira teased, brushing a strand of silver hair from her face. "And depending on how well you work. And how well you…" She leaned closer, whispering against her lips. "…please me."
Fleur rolled her eyes, though her cheeks glowed. "Such a cruel boss, to judge me by that."
"Cruel?" Eira echoed with mock offense. "I thought I was being generous."
Fleur laughed, the sound bright and warm, before kissing her again. The office, once a solemn chamber of duty, filled with their quiet laughter and whispers, the weight of legacy momentarily lifted by the simple joy of youth and affection.