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It had been a full month since Eira arrived in France with her grandfather. During that ti, she had lived in a grand old mansion nestled in the heart of Paris, discreetly tucked between rows of elegant Muggle townhouses. The mansion itself was protected by a powerful Muggle-Banishing Charm, ensuring it remained unseen and untouched by non-magical eyes.

Life in Paris had been different—strange at first, but quickly becoming familiar. Eira spent her days learning French language and history under the guidance of a private tutor arranged by her grandfather, Elijah. Thanks to the photographic mory she had unlocked just months earlier, her progress was remarkable. She absorbed vocabulary and grammar with uncanny speed, though her accent still carried a soft trace of her British roots. Any native witch or wizard could instantly tell she wasn’t from around here, yet even that small flaw only seed to astonish Elijah further. Her efficiency was not just impressive—it was, frankly, abnormal. But Elijah, who rarely handed out praise, had begun to use the word genius when describing her.

Today was an important day.

Accompanied by her ever-loyal house-elf, Lolly, Eira was to visit the fad Allée des rveilles—the French equivalent of Diagon Alley. There, she would purchase her wand and gather her school supplies for her first year at Beauxbâtons Academy of Magic.

They traveled through the Floo Network, landing in a long corridor filled with hundreds of ornate fireplaces—each one flaring with green fla as witches and wizards ca and went. Eira, stepping out of the hearth, looked around in awe. Unlike the smoky, dim entrance of the Leaky Cauldron back in Britain, this place was elegant and gleaming. Marble floors reflected flickering lights from enchanted sconces overhead. Polished brass signs displayed destinations, and the air was filled with the scent of lavender and spellfire.

Turning to Lolly, she said with a smile, "Let’s go, Lolly. You said you’ve been here before?"

The house-elf bowed deeply, her ears twitching with pride. "Indeed, young lady. Lolly was purchased from here by the Lord’s father many decades ago. Lolly has known the Allée des rveilles for years. Lolly will make sure everything is perfect for young lady’s shopping."

Eira gave a small nod of approval and followed her towards the corridor’s exit. The mont she stepped out into the alley proper, her eyes widened with delight.

The Allée des rveilles was a feast for the senses. Pastel-colored stalls lined the street, their awnings flapping gently in the warm breeze. Floating lanterns hovered overhead, casting soft golden light across cobblestones that shimred with a faint enchantnt. Vendors called out in French, selling enchanted croissants that stead with vanilla-sugar charms and glittering trinkets that danced and chid of their own accord. Children darted between stalls, chased by laughing parents, while a group of intoxicated witches stumbled out of a nearby inn, singing a tune that made passing wands flicker in disapproval.

Fashion boutiques and magical hair salons dotted the sides, their windows glowing with vibrant signage, each boasting the latest in enchanted fabrics and wizarding haute couture.

"First stop should be your uniform," Lolly piped up beside her. "Young lady must have proper robes before she buys anything else."

"All right," Eira said. "Lead the way."

The pair wove through the crowd until they reached a refined little shop with ornate windows and polished blue doors. Above it, in delicate swirling letters of silver script, a sign read: Mada Rochelle’s Robes Enchantées.

Eira stepped inside, the air inside scented with fresh linen, lavender, and sothing faintly magical. The shop was filled with floating bolts of fabric, enchanted mannequins that spun slowly to display robes in motion, and shelves of glittering accessories. At the far end, a tall, elegant woman was bent over a worktable, sketching sothing with a wand-tip that left golden light in its wake.

Hearing the bell tinkle, the woman looked up and gasped.

"Oh! What a beautiful young lady we have here," she said warmly, slipping into rapid French. "Co in, co in! You must be here to design your school uniform?"

Eira smiled, her posture perfectly polite. "Yes, Mada. I was instructed to co here to acquire my school robes."

The woman’s eyes sparkled as she stepped closer, her gaze appraising. "Hmm... British, aren’t you? Your French is very good, but there’s a little English in the accent. Charming, really."

"Yes, I am British," Eira replied, a faint blush touching her cheeks. "I’m still new to the language, so it must be easy to tell."

"Very easy," Mada Rochelle said with a playful wink. "But impressive nonetheless. I’d be honored to make a uniform for such a poised little princess. You may call Mada Rochelle. I’m responsible for all the Beauxbâtons uniforms for our young ladies—who, unlike the boys, require sothing a touch more refined."

"Thank you for the complint, Mada Rochelle. I can already tell your craft is a kind of art," Eira replied sincerely.

The older woman laughed, delighted. "That’s the best complint I’ve received since my husband last rembered our anniversary. You’re quite the charr, mademoiselle."

With a flick of her wand, asuring tapes sprang to life and began fluttering around Eira, taking her asurents with clinical precision. Mada Rochelle made small sounds of approval as she jotted down numbers on a floating parchnt.

"Well, you have a perfect figure for the uniform. It will be sky-blue, of course, as per Beauxbâtons standard. And your robes will be tailored with the enchantnts we use for warmth, grace, and flexibility. Simply give your ho address, and I’ll have the finished pieces delivered by owl within two days."

"Thank you, Mada Rochelle. I’ll be waiting for them," Eira said, offering a polite bow of her head. After handling the paynt, she turned to leave.

As she and Lolly stepped back into the sunshine of the Allée des rveilles, the day was still young and full of promise. With robes taken care of, it was ti to explore the rest of the magical street—and find the wand that would, perhaps, choose her.

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