The next morning, Eira rose early from her bed, the soft golden light of dawn peeking through the curtains. Still wrapped in sleep’s haze, she padded quietly across the dormitory and into the bathroom. A warm shower chased away the last traces of drowsiness, and after brushing her teeth, she returned to her room to check the day’s titable.
Charms class.
She gathered her textbook, a clean notebook, and her favorite quill, then slipped them into her satchel. With her hair still slightly damp, she made her way out of the dormitory and down to the Ombrelune Hall. Breakfast was a near replica of the day before—elegant and enchanted, plates gliding gently to the tables without the aid of a single server.
After the al, the first-years assembled once more, following the prefects out of the Hall toward their class. As they walked along the polished stone corridors, Marin caught up to her with a grin.
"Good morning, Eira," he said cheerfully.
"Good morning to you," she replied with a teasing smirk. "I hope you didn’t try to break into the Ombrelune girls’ dorm last night."
Marin rolled his eyes, hands stuffed into his robe pockets. "Of course I didn’t. But I’ll find a way eventually."
Eira gave him a look.
"Anyway," he went on, "what did the Headmistress want from you yesterday? It’s not every day a first-year is summoned to the Headmistress’s office. Unless..." he grinned, "...you did sothing terribly wicked?"
"Nothing wicked," Eira said plainly. "She just wanted to introduce to a senior. It’s... a family thing."
Marin narrowed his eyes. "A senior? Who was this person? Was he male? If so, introduce to him—I need to have a few words with him."
Eira raised a brow. "Oh? And what exactly would you like to make clear?"
"That he shouldn’t have any thoughts about you," Marin said without hesitation. "That’s what I want to make clear."
Eira stifled a laugh, her lips twitching with amusent. This boy has all the energy of a clingy little brother, she thought.
"The senior," she said with a mockingly slow tone, "was Fleur. Fleur Delacour."
Marin stopped in his tracks, eyes going wide. "Wait. You an that Fleur? The one with Veela blood?"
Eira gave a smug nod.
"rlin’s beard, you’re so lucky To be introduced to that hot chick !" he exclaid. "You have to introduce to her after class. After all she’ll be your sister-in-law one day."
Eira couldn’t hold it in—she burst out laughing. "First of all," she said, catching her breath, "it’s incredibly rude to call a girl a ’chick.’ Second, no—I am absolutely not introducing you to her so you can start flirting and make her life even more difficult. She’s already dealing with enough admirers."
Marin slumped, shoulders sagging dramatically. "Oh, co on. You’re supposed to help your friend find his future wife. And here you are—crushing a great love before it even begins."
Eira looked at him and laughed again, more softly this ti. He really did resemble a sad puppy who’d just been scolded for chasing after sothing too big for him.
⸻
They eventually reached the château’s main academic wing, where the prefect led them up the wide staircase to the second floor. There, in a large classroom with wooden benches and long tables, the students filed in and took their seats. Soon after, students from the other two houses arrived, each guided in by their own prefect.
The room buzzed with quiet chatter until the door creaked open.
A man stepped inside, leaning heavily on a carved cane. He moved with the slow, unsteady gait of soone who had once been strong but now bore the weight of years and past injuries. Yet, when he smiled, there was sothing lively in his eyes—mischievous, even.
"Oh!" he exclaid, spreading his arms. "That look! I love that curious spark on your faces. Brings joy, it does, to see young witches and wizards eager to dive into one of the most essential subjects in magical history."
He tapped the cane against the floor, eyes gleaming. "Charms are the foundation of it all! Without charms, there’d be no magical enchantnts, no protective wards, no levitation spells—none of those ’fancy’ tricks you all dream of."
He continued in a ramble, full of excitent and strange taphors, until a student raised their hand.
"Um, professor," the student asked, "you haven’t introduced yourself."
The man blinked, then smacked his forehead with a theatrical groan.
"Ah—how rude of ! You see, I used to be quite famous, so I got used to people recognizing on sight. Everywhere I went: ’Oh, it’s him!’ But fa... it wears you out, you know? So I stepped back. Left it all behind. Now I’m just a humble professor in a quiet château."
He gave a half-bow. "My na is Eric Chamberlain. Once the most famous duelist in Europe—the champion, undefeated for seven years straight. But then... love ca calling."
He paused dramatically.
"I left the ring for her. Gave it all up. But the girl... she left , you see. She said I wasn’t the sa without the fire, the passion, the trophies. So I tried to return. One last duel. Thought I could win her back."
His expression soured.
"But I was beaten. By a little imp. A filthy, half-blooded goblin with a wand too big for his hands! An unfair defeat, I say!"
He slamd his cane down with a dramatic thud, startling a few students. Then he sighed and began pacing slowly again.
Eira watched him from her seat, eyebrows raised, unsure whether to laugh or be concerned. She leaned slightly toward Marin and whispered, "Oh dear. Let’s hope we actually learn sothing in this class... because so far, it sounds like we’ve enrolled in Theater Studies."
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