The sky had turned from soft gold to a gentle rose-pink as Eira and Fleur left the warmth of the Pont Alexandre III behind. Their footsteps echoed softly on the cobblestones, the hum of the city settling into a serene evening rhythm. Paris at dusk held a kind of magic unlike any other ti—quiet, intimate, and full of whispered promises.
Fleur slid her hand into Eira’s again, the familiar weight comforting. "You know," she said, her voice light but earnest, "I have a lot of things to tell you, a lot of things to do with you, and you with , but unfortunately I’m restricted—I can’t."
Eira smiled, her eyes tracing the delicate curves of Fleur’s profile in the fading light. "Oh, I too want to do many things, but unfortunately family affairs restrict —from traveling to different countries, visiting every single magical shopping center in the world, to witnessing different cultures, especially magical cultures. And I want to go with you, just like today—sharing the most amazing monts with you."
Fleur laughed softly, the sound like a bell tinkling in the still air. "Ah, you are right—I am yours to share."
But she sighed inwardly and thought, For a girl with intellect and wisdom of your caliber, you really are clueless—or you just ignore my signs. But whatever it is, I will still make sure you will be mine.
They stopped for a mont beneath an ancient wrought-iron lamppost, the soft glow casting a halo around them. Eira turned to face Fleur, catching the earnestness shimring in her blue eyes.
"I don’t say it enough," Fleur murmured, "but I really appreciate and love the day Madam Maxi introduced you to . From that mont on, my life has been filled with joy and happiness. Now I am not a lonely girl who’s seen as nothing more than a pretty little doll for people. I really admire you for the person you are."
Eira reached up, brushing a stray curl from Fleur’s cheek. " too. Most of my life I was all alone, but now I know why—it was fate wanting to introduce to one of the most beautiful people, and that was you."
Fleur smiled with a mischievous expression. "Oh, corny."
To this, Eira playfully hit her chest and said, "Shut up, don’t ruin this emotional mont."
In response, she received sweet giggles.
**********
They continued their stroll toward the Jardin des Tuileries, the vast garden sprawling out like a secret waiting to be discovered. The air slled faintly of jasmine and wet earth from a recent sumr rain, the pathways glittering with tiny droplets reflecting the city’s lights.
As they wandered past fountains and sculpted hedges, Eira found herself stealing glances at Fleur—how the soft breeze teased her hair, how her laughter mingled with the gentle splashes of water.
"Do you rember," Fleur asked suddenly, "the first ti we walked here? We were out of our muggle money, then you tried to pickpocket so rich muggle for his money. Oh rlin, that was so cute—how you walked like a little mouse and swiftly snatched his wallet and took his money! Hahaha, that was so funny."
Eira chuckled. "I was terrified. You know, first we were lazy enough not to go get more money, but fortunately for us, we got to see an asshole rich guy, so we just took a little bit of money since I’m sure that amount was nothing in his bank."
Fleur’s eyes twinkled mischievously. "Who would have thought that the esteed head of the White family would steal money from muggles? If those newspaper guys knew about this, they would write things that would be hilarious."
Eira laughed, shaking her head. "Stop it, or I’ll start thinking you’re serious."
Fleur’s smile was sly. "Am I?"
Eira leaned in, whispering, "I don’t know... but I like the idea of us both being criminalized. Hahahahahaha, what a sight to witness."
Their laughter drifted through the garden, weaving around the ancient statues and blooming roses. For a ti, they simply walked, hands intertwined, letting the world fall away.
*********
They stopped at a small, hidden café nestled among plane trees—a place Eira had stumbled upon during her one day of walking on muggle roads. The café was warm and inviting, with wooden tables, wrought-iron chairs, and the soft murmur of other patrons enjoying their evening.
The waiter, a kindly older man with twinkling eyes, recognized Fleur from last sumr and greeted her warmly. "Ah, mademoiselle! Back again? And with the sa company, I see."
Fleur blushed slightly but smiled. "Oui, monsieur. Paris calls us back."
They settled into a corner table, the dim light and cozy atmosphere wrapping around them like a soft shawl. Over steaming cups of rich café au lait and delicate pastries, they shared stories of their families, their dreams, and the small hopes that clung to their hearts.
"You never told about your favorite childhood mory," Eira said softly, her eyes locked on Fleur’s.
Fleur’s gaze softened, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the table. "It was a sumr like this, by the river Loire. My grandmother taught to fish, to watch the stars, and to believe that every mont holds magic if you look for it."
Eira nodded, touched by the tenderness in Fleur’s voice. "That’s beautiful. I want to believe that too."
"You do," Fleur said quietly. "You just need to see it through the right eyes."
Their conversation drifted seamlessly into comfortable silence, broken only by the clink of china and the soft hum of Parisian nightlife.
**********
Leaving the café, they wandered into the Latin Quarter, where narrow streets buzzed with life—artists sketching on corners, street musicians strumming gentle lodies, and the scent of fresh bread mingling with roasted chestnuts.
Fleur paused before a tiny bookshop, its windows glowing softly. "Shall we?" she asked, eyes shining.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old paper and secrets. They browsed the shelves side by side, pulling out volus of poetry and tales of adventure.
Eira found a slim volu of Baudelaire’s poems and read aloud softly, the words weaving a spell around them.
Fleur smiled, leaning closer. "Your voice makes even the darkest verses feel like a love song."
Eira caught Fleur’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Only for you."
*********
As the night deepened, they found themselves beside the Seine again, watching the lights from the boats twinkle like stars on the water. A gentle breeze ruffled their clothes and carried the faint strains of music from a distant café.
Fleur rested her head on Eira’s shoulder, sighing contentedly. "I wish this night could last forever."
Eira’s fingers traced lazy patterns on Fleur’s hand. "Maybe it will. In monts like these, ti seems to stretch—holding us safe."
Fleur lifted her gaze to et Eira’s, her eyes bright and serious. "Eira, do you know how much you an to ?"
Eira smiled softly, her heart full. "More than words can say."
*********
Eventually, the hour grew late, and the city quieted around them. They walked slowly toward the end of the city’s main square, savoring the final monts of their shared day.
At the gates of the city center, Fleur stopped and turned to Eira, her expression tender but resolute.
"I must go now," she said softly, producing a small, enchanted object—the portkey—glimring faintly in her hand.
Eira nodded, understanding but reluctant. "Until we et again."
Fleur smiled warmly, stepping into the circle of magic. In a blink, she was gone—transported away on the shimring thread of the portkey.
Eira stood alone beneath the starry sky, the night wrapping around her like a velvet cloak. She lifted her gaze to where Fleur had vanished, a small, wistful smile touching her lips.
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