After breakfast, Eira rose from the long table in the Great Hall and slipped outside. The air was sharp and clear, touched with autumn's chill, as she made her way toward the courtyard. She had hoped to visit Fleur at the Beauxbatons carriage, since the night before Fleur had followed Madame Maxime and Eira had not had the chance to congratulate her properly. Today, she was determined not to miss it.
As she crossed the stone steps leading out of the castle, a flash of wings caught her eye. A hawk, its plumage dark and gleaming, cut through the sky with purposeful speed. Eira halted at once. She knew the bird—her family's hawk, a loyal messenger that had flown between White manors in different places in recent years.
The hawk descended gracefully, landing on the back of a bench by the courtyard fountain. Eira smiled faintly and reached out her hand.
"Hello, little one," she murmured, brushing her fingers over its feathers. "What have you brought me?"
The hawk nuzzled against her palm before lifting one claw. A sealed letter clung tightly to its leg. Eira unfastened it, and with a sharp, satisfied cry, the hawk spread its wings and vanished back into the sky.
She sat on the bench, breaking the seal at once. The handwriting inside was Emma's, neat and unmistakable. Eira had sent her a letter only last night, asking why the White family had been chosen as judge for the
Triwizard Tournament. This was her answer.
{ My Lady,
I trust you are well and thriving in your studies.
The matter of your appointment as judge for the Triwizard Tournament requires a fuller explanation. At first, the suggestion came directly from Cornelius Fudge during our meeting two days ago. Outwardly, he framed it as an act of fairness, to ensure that no single involved parties could dominate the competition. Inwardly, his manner betrayed anxiety. He was stiff, cautious, and far too eager for my agreement.
What I have since discovered is this, the Ministry has split into two informal factions. The first continues to rally behind Fudge, loyal to him out of habit or for the benefits he still distributes. The second, smaller but growing, has begun to voice doubts in whispers. This opposition has no clear figurehead, which makes it all the more unusual. There are hints of foreign money and support flowing into their hands. I have reason to believe that certain circles of the American Congress of Wizards are involved. They seek to influence Britain indirectly, and what better way than through a Ministry already riddled with weakness?
Fudge, of course, does not suspect America. In his mind, all roads lead back to Dumbledore. He is convinced that the Headmaster himself is plotting to undermine him. Every gesture, every word from Dumbledore, Fudge interprets as conspiracy. I do not exaggerate when I say he is nearly paranoid.
It is in this context that he turned to the White family. By securing our presence on the Triwizard panel, he hopes to make sure we remain allies. He believes that as long as House White supports him, the opposition will hesitate to act too boldly. He has even offered concessions to ensure our loyalty:
• A reduction of tariffs on all White-owned trade routes between Britain and the Continent.
• A temporary exemption from Ministry levies on potions and alchemical exports.
• Permission to expand our holdings in Knockturn Alley without interference.
• And, most revealing of all, he has quietly ordered the Department of International Magical Cooperation to prioritize White family contracts over competing foreign partners or pure-blood houses.
These are not gifts freely given. They are the desperate bargains of a man trying to keep his head above water.
You will find it amusing, perhaps, that his fear of Dumbledore runs so deep he asked me whether the White family had "observed unusual activity" around Hogwarts. His words, not mine. I answered only what was prudent, of course.
As for your role, my Lady, I agreed to it because it will give you another chance to practice making decisions and exercising judgment. Serving as a judge in this competition is not only an honor for the Hogwarts and the Competition, given all we have contributed to it, but also a chance for you to gain more experience. Each ruling you make will teach you something, and each moment you sit in that chair reminds others that the White family is present, active, and not to be overlooked. It is good for you to be involved here—another quiet way of showing your influence among the pure-blood families of Britain. Some may see it as a competition for the students, but for us, it is also an opportunity. Every appearance, every role, is a small flex that strengthens our standing.
I know that with Fleur Delacour among the champions, I expect you will take far greater delight in this role than Fudge could possibly imagine.
Now, to other matters. We have located a potential resting place of Lady Elisha White's portrait. A house-elf revealed the existence of a sealed chamber in the western wing of the manor. Neither servant nor elf can enter, as the door is bound by ancestral blood. Only a true descendant of the White line can break the seal. I advise you to attempt this when next you return home, as there may be clues about her within that has been hidden for centuries.
Financially, the family prospers beyond expectation. Profits from our vaults in Geneva, Alexandria, and Macau have more than tripled. Even with the expenses of our European holdings, we stand at one of the strongest positions in our history. Should the Ministry collapse into deeper division, House White would be in prime position to lend—or withhold—stability.
For now, I ask only that you enjoy your days at school, and above all, enjoy the time you share with your beloved. Mischief aside, you deserve to take pleasure in the competition and the small delights of youth.
As for matters of state, I will watch closely the shifting moods within the Ministry of Magic. Should anything arise, I will immediately send word, with orders and instructions ready if you require them. You need only attend to your role in the Tournament; I will see to the rest.
If you desire guidance, command it, and I will dictate every step as you wish. Until then, my Lady, consider this both my duty and my honor: you enjoy your time, I will shoulder the burdens.
With unwavering service,
Emma }
Eira put down the letter and took a deep breath as she pondered the information she had received from Emma. Her eyes drifted to the courtyard, where students played and walked about, their laughter and chatter carrying softly through the air. She watched them for a while in quiet thought, letting Emma's words settle in her mind.
She then rose from the bench, the letter clutched lightly in her hand, and began to walk toward the path that led to the Beauxbatons carriage. Her mind turned over the information. Foreign individuals influencing Britain. Fudge growing desperate and paranoid. The White family used as a pillar to keep his crumbling support from falling apart.
Her steps slowed, and that peculiar smile curved her lips. "Finally, something intriguing," she whispered to herself.
For a moment she savored the thrill coursing through her. The thought of hidden factions, of powerful figures moving their pieces in secrecy, filled her with anticipation. Yet just as quickly, she caught herself.
"Honestly, Eira," she murmured under her breath. "Since when did you become like this? You hear of unrest in the Ministry and instead of caution, you feel excitement. You are supposed to be wary of these games, not eager for them."
She shook her head, though the smile never quite left her face. Deep down, she knew why it stirred her. The thought of crossing wits with figures like Dumbledore, or this mysterious opposition leader, awakened a part of her that had always been restless. It was not only about politics. It was the game, the challenge, the chance to prove herself and the White name against worthy opponents.
Her hand tightened on the letter. She did not yet know what shape this conflict would take, but she was certain of one thing. Her family's name would be drawn into it, and whether through Fudge's desperation, Dumbledore's schemes, or the designs of some unknown foreign power, she would not sit idle.
Her eyes lifted to the distant carriage where Fleur would be. For now, politics could wait. She still owed the (her) champion a proper congratulations.