After Charms class ended, Eira stepped out with her books in hand, heading toward the Great Hall for lunch. The corridors were buzzing with voices, feet shuffling in every direction. As she descended the marble staircase, a familiar voice called her na.
"Eira!"
She turned and spotted Ginny Weasley weaving through the crowd. Eira’s lips curved into a smile. When Ginny reached her, the two hugged briefly—sothing that turned more than a few heads.
"It’s good to see you, Ginny," Eira said warmly. "How are you?"
Ginny grinned. "I’m good. How about you? Honestly, I was surprised when you went to Slytherin, you know."
Eira tilted her head, amused. "Oh? And what house did you think I belonged to?"
"Well—" Ginny’s grin widened. "I thought Gryffindor, obviously. You know, with how courageous you are."
Eira chuckled. "Apparently, the Sorting Hat thought I was more ambitious than courageous."
Ginny giggled. "Don’t worry about it. We’re still in the sa school. And—well, tell —what do you know about the Triwizard Tournant? You’re one of the governors of the school. You must know sothing."
Eira shook her head with a small smile. "Honestly, it’s just as Professor Dumbledore said. Three champions, one from each school. They’ll compete in three tasks throughout the year. That’s all there is."
Ginny sighed dramatically. "So no inside secrets? Figures." Then her tone shifted, quieter. "Anyway, were you all right at the Quidditch World Cup final? Dad told us what happened."
Eira’s brow arched. "He did?"
Ginny leaned closer, whispering. "He said you killed seven of them. Saved a bunch of Muggles."
Eira exhaled through her nose. "I only defended myself. They attacked first. I didn’t want to play hero or anything. I was just passing by there, and then I ca across them, and they started the fight. So I fought them." Her tone was even, controlled—almost too neat, as if rehearsed. She kept carefully hidden the real reason she had thrown herself into the fray: Fleur. The thought of anyone laying a hand on her girlfriend was enough to shatter her restraint, but that part of the story would remain hers alone.
Ginny’s expression softened, though there was still a spark of admiration in her eyes. "Well, first of all, I’m glad you’re fine. Second, you did a great job. Honestly, most people wouldn’t have stood a chance. My dad told more about it, actually."
Eira turned her head slightly, listening.
"In the newspaper," Ginny went on, lowering her voice a little as they passed a group of Ravenclaws, "they just said the attackers were a bunch of drunk thugs. But Dad said that’s not true. He overheard things at the Ministry—apparently Fudge is trying to cover it up. Said they were dangerous people, possibly Death Eaters, but the Minister doesn’t want to spread panic."
"And anyway," Ginny added with a snort, "if they were really just drunk thugs, then remind never to go drinking in Knockturn Alley. If that’s how thugs fight when they’ve had too much, I’d hate to see them sober."
Eira gave a short laugh, shaking her head as they reached the doors of the Great Hall. "You’re ridiculous."
"Ridiculously right," Ginny said cheerfully, pushing the door open.
Eira gave her a side glance, amused. Ginny burst into laughter, which made Eira shake her head as the two walked side by side, chatting easily. Their laughter caught the attention of passing students. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor, talking openly like friends—it wasn’t common, and it earned them more than a few bewildered looks.
Eira asked, "Where’s Hermione? I haven’t seen her all day."
"Oh, they had Herbology this morning," Ginny replied. "She’ll be along soon—probably cleaning herself up. You know how she is."
"Why not just use a cleaning charm?" Eira asked, half-serious.
Ginny shrugged with a smirk. "She’s Muggle-born. Still clings to her habits. Honestly, I think she actually prefers soap and water."
Eira chuckled. "Fair enough. See you later then, Ginny.
Ginny smiled and headed toward the Gryffindor table, only to be t with Ron glaring daggers at her. She waved innocently and plopped down beside him, ignoring his mutters.
The mont she sat, Ron leaned closer, his voice low but cutting.
"What exactly were you talking about with that girl? Didn’t I tell you before not to associate with her? She’s a Slytherin through and through—one of those brooding types who’ll grow into a dark wizard one day. Mark my words, Ginny. It’s in her blood."
Ginny let out an exaggerated sigh and tilted her head.
"Oh, here we go again. Ron Weasley, expert in predicting people’s futures." She smirked. "Tell , do you use crystal balls now? Or just that big, empty head of yours?"
Ron’s ears turned red, but he pressed on stubbornly.
"You think I’m joking, but I’m not. I can see it plain as day. People like her—Slytherins with their pride and their secrets—they always end up the sa. You’re too naïve to notice it, Ginny, but I won’t let you walk headfirst into trouble."
Ginny’s eyes narrowed, her tone sharp with defiance.
"Don’t talk about her like that. She’s my friend. And who do you think you are, anyway? You can barely keep your own life together, but sohow you think you’re qualified to tell who I can and can’t be friends with?"
Ron spluttered, his face flushing even more. "I’m your brother, that’s who. I’m trying to protect you!"
"Protect ?" Ginny scoffed. "From what? Having a mind of my own? Honestly, Ron, the way you talk you’d think you were Dad giving a lecture. Except Dad doesn’t go around making a fool of himself over chess boards or drooling after girls who won’t give him the ti of day."
That hit its mark. Ron gaped at her, indignant, but Ginny only leaned back with a smug smile.
anwhile, Eira crossed to the Slytherin table and sat. A mont later, Tracey Davis slid into the seat beside her.
"Where were you?" Tracey demanded, poking at a bread roll. "We could’ve gone to class together. But when I looked for you, you were already there."
Eira smirked. "After breakfast, I went back to the dorm to grab my books. That’s why."
Tracey huffed, then brightened. "Anyway, what do you have after lunch?"
"Runes," Eira replied. "What about you?"
"Nothing," Tracey said cheerfully.
"You don’t have Runes?"
Tracey scoffed. "Ugh, no. That class is for nerds. Symbols and squiggly lines? No thanks." She leaned closer, stage-whispering. "I’d rather hex my quill and let it write my essays for ."
Eira’s lips twitched.
The clock struck noon, and in a blink, the tables filled with food and drink. Plates of roast chicken, fresh bread, bowls of potatoes, and jugs of pumpkin juice appeared. Students eagerly reached across one another, and the low buzz of chatter filled the hall.
Eira had just begun eating when a familiar drawling voice cut through the noise.
"Well, well," Draco Malfoy said smoothly as he approached. Pansy Parkinson trailed behind him, chattering in vain while Draco ignored her. His grey eyes fixed firmly on Eira. "Hello, Eira."
Eira looked up. "Hello, Draco."
Draco’s smile widened. He sat down directly across from her, leaning casually on the table. "You were brilliant in Charms today. The way you handled that incantation—flawless. Even Professor Flitwick couldn’t hide how impressed he was."
Tracey raised her brows, whispering loudly, "rlin’s beard, Draco giving complints. The world’s ending."
Eira gave Draco a polite smile. "Thank you."
"Of course," Draco pressed on, eager. "Not that I’m surprised. With your talent, you could probably outdo half the seventh-years. Honestly, I’ve been aning to ask if you’d like to practice together soti. My father insists dueling is a skill every proper wizard should perfect—"
Pansy cut in sharply. "Draco, really. She doesn’t need your help." Her voice dripped with irritation as her eyes narrowed at Eira.
Tracey coughed into her goblet and mumbled. "Jealousy, table for one."
Draco shot Pansy an annoyed look. "I was just being polite." Then, to Eira, "Ignore her. She’s always in a mood."
Pansy’s cheeks flushed pink. "I am not!"
Eira, choosing diplomacy, simply sipped her pumpkin juice, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Ginny, from across the hall, spotted the interaction and leaned toward Hermione, who had just slipped onto the bench beside her at the Gryffindor table. Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
"Look at that," she whispered, tilting her head toward the Slytherin table. "Seems like Draco’s finally found his crush—or maybe even his future wife. See how he’s talking to Eira? Complinting her in that ridiculous tone, like he’s trying to court her. Honestly, it’s pathetic. He barely knows her, but he’s already bootlicking like a lovesick puppy."
Hermione followed Ginny’s gaze, her lips twitching as she caught sight of Draco leaning in with forced charm, Eira answering politely but clearly uninterested.
Ginny smirked. "Well... maybe it’s a good thing. At least if he’s busy chasing Eira, he won’t have ti to obsess over Harry anymore."
At that, Hermione turned sharply, eyes narrowing as she nudged Ginny in the side. "Wait a mont. Did you just say you’d rather sacrifice Eira—your friend—so that Malfoy will leave Harry alone?"
Ginny froze. "No! I didn’t an it like that—"
Hermione tilted her head knowingly. "Oh, I think you did. You’re hoping Malfoy’s distraction keeps his attention off Harry... so Harry’s attention might stay a little more free for you."
Ginny’s cheeks flushed red instantly. "That’s not what I ant at all!" she sputtered, grabbing her goblet and nearly spilling pumpkin juice in her rush to hide behind it.
Hermione only shook her head, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "Exactly what you ant. Word for word."
Ginny groaned, face burning, while Hermione looked far too pleased with herself.
Back at the Slytherin table, Tracey leaned on her elbow, watching Draco with a mischievous glint. "So, Draco, what’s next? Gonna recite poetry? Or compare her hair to the silver of moonlight?"
Draco ignored her, focusing stubbornly on Eira. "Actually, Eira, did you hear about the new brooms being released next year? Father’s already arranged for to test one. I could—"
"Of course you could," Pansy snapped before he could finish.
Eira let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. The hall around them buzzed with chatter, laughter, and clattering cutlery, but at that table, the small drama between Draco’s attempts and Pansy’s glare played out like a scene from a play.
Tracey leaned closer to Eira and muttered just loud enough for Draco to hear, "Careful. If he keeps this up, he’ll write you sonnets by Christmas."
Eira’s lips curved. "I’ll keep that in mind."
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