The Star Hall shimmered that evening in a way Eira had seen just like last year Valentine's night. Great, crystal chandeliers dangled from the high, vaulted ceiling, scattering silver-blue light across the marble floor. Candles floated above the three house tables, their flames glowing pink and white instead of their usual golden hues. The tall windows at the end of the hall reflected the enchanted ceiling—twilight skies filled with faintly glowing stars, as if the night itself had bent closer to watch.
Valentine's night at Beauxbâtons was always a small ceremony, Fleur had told her earlier in the day, but this year it seemed everyone had dressed their finest. Students wore ribbons in their house colors, some exchanged little boxes of sweets, and the faint sound of a harp charmed the air. It was a night of laughter, whispers, and too many eyes darting toward couples who dared to hold hands openly.
Eira, however, hardly noticed the spectacle. Her attention was bound—helplessly, unshakably—to Fleur Delacour.
The two of them sat side by side at Ombrelune's table, their shoulders pressed together in a way that should have been casual, but wasn't. Every brush of Fleur's hand sent a warm ache spiraling up Eira's arm. She tried to keep her composure, smiling politely when Marin cracked a joke across the table, but Fleur's presence beside her was like fire at her skin, constant, undeniable.
Fleur, of course, was fearless. She leaned closer than necessary whenever she spoke, her silvery hair falling over her shoulder and brushing against Eira's cheek. She smiled with the kind of knowing softness that made Eira's breath catch. And whenever Fleur's fingers lingered at her wrist or her hand, the whole world seemed to tilt.
"Everyone is staring," Eira murmured at one point, her eyes darting toward the neighboring tables. She could feel them—glances, whispers, even the stiff silence of some boys who clearly didn't like what they saw.
"Let them," Fleur whispered back, her lips so close that Eira felt the breath against her ear. "Tonight is not about them. Tonight is about us."
Eira blinked at her, stunned again at how simple Fleur could make everything sound. Us. It was a word Eira had never allowed herself to dream of, yet here it was, spoken aloud, undeniable.
When Fleur's hand slid into hers under the table, fingers interlacing firmly, Eira didn't resist. She couldn't. The warmth of Fleur's skin seemed to wrap around her entire body, and her heart raced in her chest.
For a long while they just sat like that, watching the ceremony unfold. Madame Maxime gave a short, elegant speech about friendship and affection being forms of magic themselves, her deep voice carrying across the hushed room. Music followed—soft, stringed instruments weaving delicate melodies. Plates of chocolate-dipped fruit appeared on the tables, and laughter rose again as couples shyly passed pieces back and forth.
But for Eira and Fleur, the rest of the hall had dissolved into haze.
They had turned to face each other, so close their knees touched beneath the table. Their hands stayed linked stubbornly, as though breaking apart was no longer an option. Eira's breath tangled with Fleur's, warm against her lips.
Fleur's eyes shimmered in the gentle candlelight, radiant with uncontainable joy. "I've waited so long for this moment," she whispered, her voice quivering with emotion. "I want to shout to the world that this girl is mine, to proclaim our love for all to hear."
Eira froze, her lips parting.
Fleur's smile turned mischievous, her eyes glinting with playful intent. "I want them to envy me," she murmured, "to see that I've claimed the most beautiful girl, all mine. Right now, I want to kiss you in front of everyone, to mark you with my scent and show the world you're mine."
Before Eira could answer, Fleur leaned closer, and Eira—helpless, breathless—met her halfway. Their lips brushed once, soft, uncertain, then lingered. The taste of Fleur's kiss was sweet, like sugared berries and warmth. Softness that lingered at her mouth, tenderness that made her chest ache.
Eira kissed her back, more firmly now, her heart racing. The world dissolved into the warmth of their lips, the flutter of lashes, and the shared shiver of their breath. Lost in the moment, she forgot they were still in Star Hall, watched by hundreds of students.
As they parted, foreheads still touching, Eira whispered, "You're such a girly girl, you know. Now everyone will be talking about us."
They kissed again, slower, deeper this time. Fleur's lips parted slightly, and Eira followed instinct, tasting her, their tongues brushing tentatively before retreating again. A thrill surged through her, leaving her dizzy.
Around them, whispers flared. Some gasps. A few delighted giggles. And—inevitably—the sharp sound of boys muttering at Papillonlisse's table. One in particular, a tall blond, muttered something crude about Fleur wasting herself.
Eira heard it. Her hand tightened around Fleur's, a protective flash in her chest. But Fleur only smiled against her lips and pulled her closer, answering the insult with another kiss that made the entire hall fall silent.
It was Fleur's declaration. Bold. Unapologetic. And Eira adored her for it.
When they finally parted, both flushed and breathless, Fleur let out a soft laugh. "What's your plan for the rumors and newspapers, mon amour? They'll talk about this endlessly, especially since we did it here. The journalists will have a field day."
Eira rolled her eyes, brushing her thumb gently over Fleur's hand before replying. "Now that it's out in the open, we'll face it together. I don't care about a bunch of journalists' opinions."
Fleur chuckled, her eyes sparkling. "What happened to your hesitation? You could barely kiss me in front of the crowd earlier."
Eira's voice softened, intimate. "I was nervous about showing that kind of closeness in public. It's my first time, you know—first times are always hard."
Fleur rolled her eyes playfully. "You say that like I've been in this situation before."
By now, the hall was in chaos. Some students clapped or cheered, delighted. Others—particularly a handful of boys from Papillonlisse—were visibly furious, muttering protests. A few girls, clearly admirers of Eira, whispered in envious tones. The rumor mill had been lit aflame, and by morning, Eira knew, the entire school would be buzzing.
But in that moment, none of it mattered.
When the ceremony ended and students began drifting back to their dorms, Eira and Fleur walked together hand in hand, ignoring the stares, the whispers, the occasional pointed cough. Fleur's head leaned against Eira's shoulder, and Eira could hardly believe this was real—that Fleur Delacour, dazzling and untouchable, belonged to her.
At the entrance of Ombrelune's dormitory, Fleur pressed one last kiss to her lips. "Bonne nuit, ma chérie," she whispered.
Eira lingered at the door long after Fleur vanished upstairs, her lips still tingling.
That night, back in her dorm room, she couldn't sleep. Her heart was too full, her thoughts too bright. So she took out parchment and quill, lit her lamp, and began to write.
⸻
Dearest Emma,
I hardly know how to begin this letter. Today … everything has changed. Fleur and I—Fleur Delacour, yes—are together now. Truly together. We confessed. We kissed, Emma. I never thought I would write such words to you, but I have to tell someone, and you are the first person I trust.
I don't think you can imagine what it felt like, that first kiss. Soft and sweet and warm, like touching happiness itself. I thought my heart would stop. Or maybe it did, for a moment. And when she kissed me again, I knew. I knew I could never want anything else.
We were in the Star Hall, during the Valentine's ceremony. And yes, half the school saw. There are already whispers, rumors, even protests from boys who admired her. But Fleur didn't care. She kissed me anyway, in front of everyone. Bold and radiant as only she could be.
And Emma… she loves me. She told me she doesn't want to be away from me even for a minute. I promised her she won't have to be. After she graduates, I want her by my side—not just as my companion, but as my equal. My partner.
Perhaps this will sound strange to you, but tonight, I feel invincible. For once, my future feels bright.
With love,
Eira
⸻
When the ink dried, Eira folded the letter, sealed it, and sent it with an owl into the midnight sky. Then she lay in bed, smiling into her pillow, replaying every kiss, every whispered word, every blush on Fleur's face.