The days passed quickly, blurring into one another as Hogwarts fell into its restless patterns. Eira spent most of her hours either in the library or in her classrooms, keeping herself buried in work while Fleur endured Madam Maxime's relentless training for the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. Without Fleur beside her, the quiet corners of the castle grew lonelier, but Eira was accustomed to solitude.
Students, fickle in their attention, soon forgot about her confrontation with Professor Snape. The incident became another tale lost to gossip, drowned beneath the excitement and speculation that consumed the school. All eyes turned to the tournament, and with it, the promise of danger and spectacle.
By the twenty-first of November, winter had fully claimed the grounds. The air cut sharp and cold, crisp enough that each breath carried a ghostly cloud. Eira walked alone toward the edges of the Forbidden Forest, her scarf pulled tightly around her throat. Her boots crunched against frost-hardened earth.
A sound pierced the stillness.
It began as a low growl, almost like thunder rolling in the distance. Then it grew—roars, screeches, the sound of chains straining, and the unmistakable crackle of fire. Eira paused, head tilting. Her green eyes narrowed as she adjusted her scarf more snugly, then turned toward the noise.
The closer she drew, the louder it became, until the very ground beneath her feet seemed to tremble. Finally, the trees broke open into a wide clearing.
Her eyes took in the sight without a flicker of surprise.
Dragons.
Four of them, massive and terrible, straining within a wooden enclosure fortified with chains and spellwork. Their bodies dwarfed the handlers around them, each beast rearing up with ferocity that made the earth quiver. Flames erupted from their gaping jaws, scorching the sky above.
A silvery-blue dragon snapped its horned head toward the handlers, snarling as fire danced along its maw. A green-scaled dragon writhed and stamped against the earth, muscles coiling beneath its gleaming hide. A red one, face adorned with a fringe of fine golden spikes, belched mushroom-shaped bursts of fire into the sky. And closest to them all loomed a great black dragon, lizard-like in body, its obsidian scales rippling with every movement.
At least thirty wizards swarmed about, chains in their hands and spells on their lips, trying to control the chaos. The smell of smoke and charred earth clung to the clearing.
Eira stood in silence, her pale features calm, her eyes alight with something that could not quite be called awe. She folded her hands neatly in front of her as if she had been waiting for this scene all along.
Footsteps approached behind her. She turned slightly, her sharp gaze softening the instant she saw who it was.
Emma.
Her assistant bowed low. "I am most delighted to see you, my lady."
Eira's lips curved faintly. "And I am equally pleased to see you, Emma. How have you been? I trust all is well with your wife. I have left no small share of my burdens on the two of you to carry." She added with a teasing lilt, "And I do hope she has not grown too jealous of me."
Emma laughed softly, shaking her head. "Please do not joke about it, my lady. My wife is your aunt. She could never be jealous of you, no matter how hard she tried."
Eira's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Then I shall take that as a relief… though it hardly diminishes the fun of teasing you."
Emma flushed slightly. A brief, rare flicker of warmth softened her expression. "I am well, my lady. Isabella too. She is thriving, and she is happy. Together we have ensured the family prospers. You need not trouble yourself."
Eira's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "It gladdens me to hear that. I trust you have managed everything with your usual diligence… though I suspect you did not need my reminders to do so."
Emma inclined her head gracefully, a touch of fondness in her gaze. "Your concern is always welcome, my lady, even if unnecessary. It is reassuring to know that you still watch over us from afar."
"That is good," Eira said softly, her green eyes thoughtful. "And France? Since we returned, everything has been quiet, yes? Nothing troubling our businesses or… our relationships there?" Her voice carried a faint edge of concern as she added, "And my uncle? Has he made any moves? Any contact with aunt Isabella or anyone else?"
Emma inclined her head calmly. "No, my lady. He remains quietly with his wife and has not reached out to Isabella after their last conversation. There has been no activity from him of note."
Eira exhaled softly, a small relief passing over her features. "That is good… then France remains quiet, as I had hoped. Stability is essential, especially with all that has transpired when we were there."
Emma straightened, the confidence in her posture reflecting the assurance she wished to convey. "There are no disturbances, my lady. The agreement with Minister Bellerose has secured stability. Affairs continue without obstruction. Everything proceeds as it should."
"Excellent." Eira's eyes flicked back to the dragons, the faint reflection of their flames dancing in her irises. "And what of Fudge? Has he revealed those responsible for the Quidditch World Cup attack, as he promised?"
Emma's expression darkened, a shadow of frustration crossing her composed features. She shook her head. "No, my lady. Each time I raised the matter, he deflected. He insists it is unwise to dwell on the past. He dodges the truth. He conceals it deliberately."
"So he buries it," Eira said softly, her voice edged with quiet disapproval.
"Yes," Emma replied, her tone sharpening. "But through my own channels, I discovered fragments. Many of the culprits were dark wizards from Knockturn Alley. The Ministry acted with startling haste. They were either killed outright or sent to Azkaban without interrogation. Too clean and quick. It is clear some families feared that further questions would expose them. I can confirm that Avery, Rosier, and Rookwood were involved. Beyond that, the trail ends."
Eira's gaze narrowed, the green depths of her eyes sharp with curiosity. "And Malfoy? Surely his shadow lingers."
Emma hesitated for a fraction, then shook her head. "Not directly as we speculated, my lady. At the time of the incident, he was in the VIP box with the other delegates, the Minister, and Ministry officials. He was not among the attackers themselves." She paused, her voice measured. "Yet several wounded pure-bloods—those responsible for the attack—sought refuge at Malfoy Manor that night. Lucius summoned a healer from St. Mungo's under the pretense that his wife, Narcissa, had been traumatized by the events. In truth, the healer tended to the wounded Dark Wizards, those who crossed paths with you during the attack."
Eira's expression remained calm, but her voice carried quiet steel. "So he did not raise his hand in the attack, but he gave shelter. He offered aid. That is enough." Her eyes lingered on the blue dragon as it snapped at its chains. "It seems our dear Mr Malfoy requires a lesson. What say you, Emma?"
Emma's smile was thin, sharp. "Of course, my lady. Whatever you command."
"Then proceed. Strike discreetly. Undermine the families who were involved. Begin with their trades. Their shops in Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, Knockturn Alley. Anything that cuts their income. Let it be subtle, almost untraceable, but unrelenting. Make them feel the pinch before they can even suspect it is deliberate."
Emma bowed her head. "It will be done. But even so, their vaults are deep. Some could endure generations of ruin before despair sets in. The Malfoys most of all. After House White, they are Britain's wealthiest."
A faint, chilling smile touched Eira's lips, one that did not reach her eyes. "Then ensure their wealth drains faster than it replenishes. No charity, no last-minute windfalls, nothing that could save them. By the next decade, I want them begging. And see to it the White family suffers a touch of loss as well. A few missed profits, a few faltering deals. We must not appear untouched. If we are pristine, if our fortune remains untouched, suspicion will point to us first. We must weave it to look natural, as though fortune simply favors some and forsakes others."
Emma's smirk deepened. "So it appears natural. A clever precaution."
"Precisely," Eira continued, her voice sharpening like a blade. "Their political influence cannot yet be broken. That comes later, with patience. But their fortunes can. And once their coffers bleed dry, we shall pin the ruin on our so-called allies across the sea. The Americans meddle far too much. They dared to bind me with their toys, to make me their puppet. Their manipulations, their cursed artifacts, their whispers, even their romantic lures, all intended to bend me to their will. That ends now. If they wish to interfere, we will turn their interference into the instrument of their own undoing."
Her green eyes narrowed, glinting with calculation. "We shall present the evidence slowly, piece by piece, to the other British families. Let them see, let them comprehend, that the Americans seek to dominate us, to carve out Britain for themselves. Let envy, fear, and resentment take root in every corner of this country. By the time the truth is fully unveiled, the British pure-bloods will be too divided, too angry, and too suspicious to consider friendship with those from across the Atlantic. Their alliances will crumble before they even know it."
Emma hesitated, her brow knitting slightly. "But, my lady, if we take this path, the common wizarding families will suffer most. Their livelihoods depend on these trades. Britain's economy could collapse."
Eira did not flinch. Her voice was calm, measured, and merciless. "Then House White will bear it. We will support the economy ourselves. We alone will be the salvation of wizarding Britain. Do not fear the weight. We are more than capable." She turned to meet Emma's eyes. "Begin these plans once you return to the manor. Move carefully at first, and have them fully in motion by the beginning of the next year. I want to see their misfortune reflected in the Daily Prophet articles. Consult Aunt Isabella as well. With her experience, she will know exactly what to do."
Emma bowed. "As you command."
Eira returned her gaze to the dragons. The black one roared, flames rippling from its throat. The ground quaked beneath its fury.
"Tell me, Emma," Eira said quietly, her green eyes fixed on the dragon. "How was their transfer? Were there complications?"
Emma followed her gaze, her tone careful. "None of significance. With the handlers' aid, the beasts were moved safely. The work was long, conducted under nightfall with layers of concealment. Still, they are all female, each guarding eggs. Their unrest is inevitable. They rage from the journey and from fear for their offspring. Even when restrained, they are dangerous."
Eira's eyes softened with faint intrigue. "And the first task? I have not been told yet. Do you know what it entails?"
Emma nodded, glancing at the dragons as the handlers moved cautiously among them, murmuring spells to calm their agitation. "I have been briefed by Ludo Bagman himself. The task is to retrieve a golden egg. Each champion will face a dragon placed in this clearing, close to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The dragons are positioned carefully, tethered and enchanted to remain within their areas, but clearly capable of attack. The eggs are atop pedestals within the dragons' territory, forcing each champion to approach while avoiding the beast's fire and fury. Bagman made it clear: this is a test of courage, strategy, and skill—not mere strength."
Eira's mouth tightened. "How cruel, to provoke them so."
Emma continued, her tone steady but urgent. "The champions are to be protected. There will be wizards stationed around the perimeter, hidden from view, ready to intervene if things go beyond control. Each dragon has handlers nearby, quietly maintaining the enchantments and calming them as needed. Bagman chose the dragons according to the champions' abilities. The largest and most aggressive are for those he believes most capable, while the smaller, less experienced dragons are for the newer or younger champions. Every detail is calculated."
"There will be ample wizards present to protect the champions," Emma assured her again.
"I hope so," Eira murmured. Her gaze lingered on the dragons, their roars echoing in the clearing. She studied them as though she could read in their chained fury a reflection of power itself—untamed, magnificent, and dangerous.