The afternoon at Hogwarts always carried a certain rhythm. After lunch, the castle grew lively again—students stread out of the Great Hall in every direction. So hurried off to class with books tucked under their arms, others lingered in the corridors to chat. A few couples slipped outside to walk by the lake, hand in hand, while laughter echoed from staircases where mischief was clearly brewing. At one point, a pair of second-years dashed past in a panic, with Argus Filch stomping after them, muttering furiously about the racket they’d made.
Eira moved calmly through the crowd, her satchel slung over her shoulder. She wasn’t headed to one of the usual classes everyone else had—her destination was the Ancient Runes classroom. She’d chosen it herself, one of the electives offered from third year onward. Back at Beauxbâtons, she had studied runes under the guidance of a vampire professor, a man whose sharp intellect had left a deep impression on her. Now, at Hogwarts, she was eager to see how the subject was taught here. Would the British approach differ? Would it be stricter, looser, or perhaps more practical? Whatever it was, she wanted to continue, and her excitent quickened her steps as she climbed the stairs.
When she entered the classroom, she found it larger than expected. Wide wooden desks arranged in three neat rows, shelves stacked high with reference books, and a chalkboard already filled with half-faded scrawls of Elder Futhark characters. At the front stood Professor Babbling, a thin witch with cropped brown hair, spectacles perched precariously on her nose, and ink smudges staining her fingertips. She was already shuffling scrolls across her desk.
Students trickled in—so from Ravenclaw, naturally, but also Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and even a few familiar Slytherins. Eira spotted Hermione almost at once, sitting near the middle with her quill already uncapped, parchnt neatly aligned, and an eager light in her eyes.
Eira didn’t hesitate this ti. The mont she spotted Hermione at the table, she went straight to her and slipped onto the bench beside her.
Hermione’s face imdiately brightened. "Well, finally! I was beginning to think I’d never get the chance to see you properly. I was even planning to co to you myself—but, you know how things are. Gryffindor and Slytherin don’t exactly get along. If I had walked up to your table, so of your housemates might have taken it as a provocation."
Eira gave a small, understanding smile. "It’s all right. I know how it is. You’re friends with Harry Potter, after all, and not everyone in my house looks kindly on him. Honestly, so would take any excuse to sneer. So you don’t have to worry. As long as you don’t feel displeased to be friends with ... since I’m a Slytherin."
Hermione rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched into a smile. "Oh, co on. We’ve been friends long before this. I’m not so cheap as to let a silly house rivalry ruin that."
That made Eira giggle, light and quiet. "Then I’m delighted you aren’t."
They sat in a comfortable pause for a mont, smiling at each other in the soft way only true friends did, before Eira tilted her head. "I never asked... during the Quidditch World Cup. Where were you? Were you all right?"
Hermione’s expression sobered, but she nodded. "Yes, I was fine. I was with Harry and Ron. But it was awful, Eira. The Dark wizards—masked, cloaked—stord through the camp, attacking Muggle families, throwing curses everywhere. Everyone was screaming and running. We tried to keep together. Then the Dark Mark was cast in the sky, green and glittering... I’ll never forget the way it looked. Harry was separated from us for a while—his wand was even stolen. We found him after, but it was terrifying. Barty Crouch and others from the Ministry ca, and they were furious. So of them thought Harry had been the one to conjure the Dark Mark because his wand was found at the scene."
Eira frowned, her hand resting briefly on Hermione’s sleeve. "That must have been terrifying. For him. For all of you."
Hermione sighed softly. "It was. I could see how shaken Harry was, even though he tried to hide it. But he’s strong. Stronger than he realizes." She glanced at Eira with a warm smile. "You’d like him, I think. And I’m glad you asked. No one else really does."
Eira’s smile softened further, her voice quiet. "That’s because I care. I’m glad you’re safe, Hermione. Truly."
Hermione looked at her for a long mont, her expression lting into sothing bright and earnest. "And I’m glad you’re here."
Professor Babbling clapped her hands, drawing the room to attention. "Settle down, settle down! Today we begin with the Elder Futhark alphabet. Six and twenty-four symbols, though we will only look at the first row today. Open your Rune Dictionary, page twelve."
The sound of parchnt rustling filled the air. Hermione instantly had her book opened, quill poised. Eira followed suit, though she noticed so students groaning under their breath—especially a pair of Hufflepuff boys at the back. Clearly, they hadn’t volunteered for this elective.
"Fehu," Professor Babbling began, tapping the board where a sharp-edged rune was chalked. "aning cattle, wealth, prosperity. But also movent, energy. Magic is never literal—it’s layered. Now copy it down, practice the strokes. Rune-crafting requires precision."
The scratching of quills began.
Eira leaned toward Hermione. "You look like you’ve been waiting for this class all sumr."
Hermione flushed but grinned. "I have. I read three books on runic magic before term started. It’s fascinating how wizards in Scandinavia inscribed them into charms and wards. Did you know so families still protect their estates with runic barriers?"
"That doesn’t surprise ," Eira said. "Symbols last longer than spells, don’t they?"
Hermione’s eyes sparkled. "Exactly! A wand’s spell fades, but a rune carved into stone can endure centuries. It’s a kind of permanence."
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