Harry Potter: The Last Heiress of The White Family Chapter 105: A Return To The Allée Des Merveilles

The morning sun filtered softly through the stained-glass windows of the White family’s Parisian manor, casting mosaic patterns across the grand atrium where Eira stood, dressed in a crisp linen blouse and a pale blue skirt that fluttered gently with the breeze from the enchanted fan overhead. In one gloved hand, she held a neatly folded parchnt—the familiar school letter from Beauxbâtons, listing her required supplies for the upcoming year.

"Lolly," she said, turning to the little house-elf who stood attentively by her side, "shall we go? You’ll guide to the Allée des rveilles again this year, just like last ti."

Lolly bowed deeply, her wide eyes glimring with devotion. "Lolly is always happy to be useful to my lady."

Eira smiled fondly and reached down to take the elf’s small hand. With a faint crack, the two vanished from the marble atrium.

They reappeared monts later in a quiet corridor lined with wrought-iron sconces, their flas flickering in welco. Just ahead lay the arched entrance to the Allée des rveilles—France’s renowned wizarding shopping street, hidden from Muggle eyes yet always teeming with magic and life.

"Apparating really is better," Eira remarked, adjusting the strap of her purse. "Last year we took the Floo Network, didn’t we?"

"Yes, my lady," Lolly replied with a nod. "There was much soot, and the landing was not so graceful."

With a light laugh, Eira stepped forward, heels clicking against the cobblestones as they erged into the vibrant heart of the Alley.

It was exactly as she rembered—a feast for the senses. Pastel-colored stalls lined both sides of the narrow street, their striped awnings fluttering gently in the late sumr breeze. Above them, floating lanterns bobbed lazily in the air, casting warm golden light that shimred on the cobblestones below, which sparkled faintly with old enchantnts. The air was alive with the calls of vendors, their voices weaving French lodies through the scent of sugar and spice.

"Chaussons aux poms enchantés! Pour le cœur et l’esprit!"("Enchanted apple turnovers! For the heart and the mind!")

"Bijoux qui chantent, qui dansent, qui brillent—venez voir!"("Jewels that sing, that dance, that shine—co and see!")

Enchanted croissants stead with vanilla-sugar charms; glittering trinkets danced atop velvet displays. Robed witches strolled past with floating baskets, while young students clutched parchnt lists just like hers. Nothing had changed. It was all as it had been the year before.

"Co on, Lolly," Eira said, her eyes gleaming with fondness. "Let’s go to Mada Rochelle’s Robes Enchantées first. Last year’s robes are too tight—I’ve grown."

Together, they made their way through the crowd toward the boutique she rembered so well. Nestled between a bookshop and a perfury, Robes Enchantées was a refined little shop with polished blue doors and tall windows displaying mannequins in elegantly floating uniforms. Above the entrance, delicate silver script spelled out the na in graceful curves.

As they entered, a soft chi rang, and the scent of lavender and fresh fabric filled the air. Inside, Mada Rochelle—petite, elegant, and unmistakably Parisian—was bent over a swatch of enchanted velvet that shimred between deep navy and plum. The mont she looked up and saw Eira, her eyes widened in delight.

"Oh là là, ma chère! Look how much you’ve grown!" she exclaid, bustling forward with open arms. "And your hair—mon dieu, you’ve styled it differently! It suits you très bien."

Eira smiled at the warm reception. "It’s good to see you, Mada Rochelle. And thank you for the complint."

The older witch grinned, her hands fluttering around Eira’s shoulders as she took in her taller fra and graceful bearing. "And your French—no accent at all anymore. You sound like a proper young French lady now! Co, let asure you. I see already that we’ll need to lengthen the hem. Taller than last year—two uniforms, as before?"

Eira nodded, standing still as the asuring tape sprang to life and twirled around her. Mada Rochelle moved swiftly, muttering notes to herself and snapping her fingers to summon enchanted pins and floating chalk.

When the fittings were finished, Eira glanced toward the door. "You can send them to my address once they’re ready. I’ll receive them before the term starts."

"But of course, dear," Mada Rochelle said, scribbling down the order details. "Go and finish your shopping. I hope I’ll see you again soti soon."

Eira smiled and placed a few Galleons into the paynt tray, adding a small tip. "Until next ti, Mada."

With a final wave, she exited the boutique. Lolly followed close behind, already double-checking the supply list that floated beside her in midair.

The rest of the day unfolded in a whirl of motion and color. They stopped at several shops tucked away down lesser-traveled side streets, each catering to Beauxbâtons students with exacting standards. Eira selected crisp new shirts, soft bed linens in pale rose and cream, and fluffy pillows chard for optimal comfort. At one shop, she browsed a row of pastel-colored potion ingredients—dried starflower, powdered unicorn horn substitute, and vials of glacial springwater—before choosing a sleek new pewter cauldron embossed with a silver crest. At another, she found shampoo that left the hair scented like jasmine and brushing charms that sang gentle lullabies when used at night.

By late afternoon, her bags hovered behind her, neatly organized by Lolly’s silent enchantnts. There was only one thing left on her list—books. And a promise.

"I want to stop by the bookstore," Eira said. "Marin should be working there today."

"Yes, my lady," Lolly replied with a tiny curtsy. "It is on Rue des Livres, just past the fountain."

As they turned toward the lane lined with bookshops, the hum of the Alley faded into the hush of rustling pages and low voices. Eira’s heart lifted with the familiar anticipation of new tos, fresh ink, and the warm smile of a friend waiting behind the counter.

The day had gone exactly as she’d hoped. All was ready for another year at Beauxbâtons—except for the stories still waiting to be written.