The grand eting room slowly began to empty as aides gathered scrolls, inkpots, and official parchnts. Murmured conversations floated through the air like soft currents, punctuated by the occasional laughter of diplomats greeting one another again after years of absence. But at the head of the room, three figures remained seated.
Elijah White leaned comfortably back in his chair, legs crossed, fingers laced as he turned to Isabella Voclain, who had not yet risen.
"I must say, Minister," he said with a faint smile, "this eting went smoother than I expected. Though I’d wager that’s more your doing than Fudge’s."
Isabella nodded and replied . "I find that if you keep your focus on the future, people are more willing to let go of the past." She paused. "You ntioned you’d be staying in France for so ti?"
Elijah nodded. "Yes. The White family has... certain matters to attend to. Political, and personal." His eyes flicked briefly toward Eira, who stood just beside him, her hands folded neatly in front of her. "And my granddaughter could benefit from spending more ti in Beauxbâtons’ territory. It’s a valuable perspective—especially for soone soon to inherit the na."
Isabella turned her eyes to Eira. They were steady and calm, with a touch of warmth . "Indeed," she murmured. "It seems fitting, then, that I speak to her alone for a mont, if you don’t mind."
Elijah’s brow lifted slightly, but he nodded. "Of course. I’ll step out and handle the arrangents for my family matters here."
He gave Eira a reassuring look, then strode out of the chamber, cane tapping lightly on the floor.
As the door clicked shut, silence settled between the two won.
Isabella stood and gestured for Eira to walk with her. Together, they moved to the tall arched window at the edge of the room. Outside, the sun was beginning to lower, casting golden light over the quiet streets of wizarding Paris.
"You have the appearance of soone I used to know Young miss white ," Isabella said quietly.
Eira blinked, unsure what to say. "Familiar face ?"
A faint smile curved Isabella’s lips. "She was quite a spirited girl," she said, her tone warm but brief, leaving the thought unfinished. Her gaze settled on the young girl’s striking green eyes. "You now carry the weight of your family’s legacy. Your presence here in France is vital to strengthening the bond between the British and French wizarding communities. As the future matriarch of the White family, I asked your grandfather to bring you here. The White family serves as the sole bridge between our nations, and today’s agreent, facilitated by Lord White, has reaffird that connection. I trust that, following in your grandfather’s footsteps, you will uphold and nurture this alliance."
Eira lowered her gaze briefly. "Thank you, Minister. I— I only hope to live up to the expectations placed on ."
Isabella studied her for a mont, then stepped slightly closer.
"You are the next heiress of the White family," she said, her voice soft yet firm. "Never lower your head or gaze to anyone ... other people should do that when they stand before you . Whether they acknowledge it or not."
There was a quiet pause between them. The firelight from the wall sconces shimred in Eira’s white -toned hair.
"I wanted to tell you sothing more personal," Isabella added. "I, too, was once a student at Beauxbâtons. I walked those sa marble halls. I wore the silver-trimd blue of Ombrelune."
Eira’s head lifted, a surprised smile forming. "Ombrelune?"
"Yes." Isabella gave a small nod. "The house of intellect, curiosity, and ambition . It doesn’t surprise that it chose you as well."
Eira flushed slightly, then laughed. "It feels like a different world when you’re a student. We talk about howork, magical plants care, magical theory—but sotis, we forget that even Ministers were once students too."
"Oh, I rember it all," Isabella replied warmly. "The way the stars shone through the Grand Star Hall do... the perfu of the frost roses in the courtyard after winter. And yes—even the professors’ dreadful exams." She gave a light chuckle.
Eira relaxed beside her. "Professors still gives those."
"Ah," Isabella said with a sly smile, "then so things never change."
For a mont, the conversation drifted into light-hearted exchanges. They spoke briefly about the Ombrelune Dorm Hall , about magical philosophy, and how the scent of the Beauxbâtons flowers would always signal the beginning of a new day for students .
Then, with gentleness, Isabella reached out and touched Eira’s shoulder.
"If ever you have need of ," she said, her voice low and clear, "whether it is sothing great or small—if you find yourself with questions, concerns, or simply wish to speak—do not hesitate to co to the Ministry. My doors will always be open to you, Eira White."
Eira’s expression faltered, touched by the sincerity. "Thank you... I will rember that."
"I hope you do." Isabella straightened, once again composed and elegant. "Now go. Your grandfather will be waiting."
As Eira turned to leave, Isabella’s smile followed her, warm and lingering. Stepping out of the room, Eira felt the weight of their conversation settle over her. Isabella’s deanor puzzled her. With her grandfather and the British delegates, the Minister had been cold and formal, her words clipped and precise. Yet, with Eira, she was different—warm, familiar, almost like family. The contrast gnawed at her. Why did Isabella speak to her with such ease and affection, as if they shared a long history? Determined to uncover the truth, Eira resolved to investigate whether Isabella had any connection to the White family.
Reviews
All reviews (0)