Snow fell in endless spirals across the valley, silent and soft as breath. The mountains beyond were white specters in the distance, their peaks half hidden by drifting clouds. The forests were still, their branches heavy under frost. In the midst of that frozen landscape, the White Manor stood tall, its dark stone walls gleaming faintly because of the light of the falling snow which made the night visible to the naked eye. The windows of the manor glowed a warm amber, a promise of life and warmth in this frozen forest.
With a sharp crack, Emma Apparated just beyond the wrought-iron gates. The sound echoed like a small thunderclap against the stillness. She stood there for a moment, her dark cloak billowing lightly in the wind, eyes lifting to the White manor's familiar silhouette.
Even from a distance, she could see the lamplight flickering behind the windows. A faint smile touched her lips.
Snow crunched beneath her boots as she walked through the gate and up the long stone path. The gardens lay heavy under snow frost; branches bowed, fountains frozen into crystalline shapes. The scent of pine and old smoke lingered faintly in the air. It was late — nearer to midnight than evening — but the manor felt eerily quiet.
By the time she reached the grand front steps, the heavy double doors had already opened. A small figure stood there, bowing deeply — a house-elf wrapped in a scarf much too large for him.
"Welcome home, Miss Bloom," the elf squeaked, voice trembling with delight.
Emma laughed softly, brushing snow from her shoulders. "Thank you, Ludi. Is Isabella still awake?"
The elf's enormous eyes grew round as silver coins. "Awake? Oh yes, my lady is waiting in the dining hall, she is. Ludi told her not to, Ludi did — said it was late, said the mistress would be tired — but she just looked at Ludi and said, 'Bring more wine.'" He wrung his little hands nervously. "Ludi thinks maybe she's cross. Just a little."
[ "cross" = angry/grumpy.]
"I imagine she is." Emma unclasped her cloak and handed it to him. "Thank you, Ludi. You may go rest after this."
"Oh no, no rest for Ludi till my ladies are both happy!" the elf chirped proudly, disappearing into the hallway.
Emma smiled faintly and started toward the dining room. Her boots left faint, wet prints on the marble floor. The corridors were dimly lit, the chandeliers low, shadows and lights dancing across the hanging portraits and paintings of the house. It smelled faintly of firewood, candle wax, and cinnamon — a comforting scent she had missed during her exhausting trip of the day.
As she neared the dining room, she heard the faint clink of glass and the crackle of flames. She paused at the threshold for a heartbeat, adjusting the collar of her blouse, smoothing a loose strand of hair. Then she stepped inside.
The sight that greeted her stole the breath from her lungs and painted a helpless smile across her face in the very same heartbeat.
Isabella sat at the long dining table, a half-empty wine glass in her hand, her gaze sharp as the edge of a blade. The emerald-black silk of her gown shimmered like oil under the light, revealing the elegant lines of her neck and her breasts. Her dark hair was pinned loosely, and Her lips were painted black, her favorite shade, curved into something between annoyance and relief.
"You are late," Isabella said, her voice smooth and cold, though her expression softened almost imperceptibly. "I have been waiting since afternoon. The snow has fallen twice over, the fire has burned down multiple times, and only now you come home."
Emma set her gloves on the table and smiled, the picture of calm. "You always were impatient with time."
Isabella arched an eyebrow. "Or perhaps I'm simply impatient with you." She rose slightly from her chair, tilting her head. "Where were you, Emma? Or should I ask — with whom?"
Emma blinked, a laugh escaping her before she could stop it. "You think I have someone else?"
"I don't think. I know how charming you are." Isabella's tone sharpened, though her lips trembled with the beginnings of a smile. "Tell me, which daring bitch seduced you? Who was bold enough to take my fiancée's time and leave me here with only wine for company?"
Emma crossed the distance between them, slow and deliberate , her boots clicking softly against the marble. When she reached Isabella, she leaned down, cupping Isabella's face in her hands. "No one," she murmured. "Only my work."
Then, with a gaze that burned like midnight embers, she claimed Isabella's mouth—those black-lacquered lips searing against hers in a kiss that tasted of forbidden wine and uncontrolled lust.
The tension in Isabella's body broke like thawing ice. She melted into Emma's touch, her fingers tightening around the front of her shirt. For a long moment, the world was silent again —only the fire crackling softly as a witness.
When they finally pulled apart, Isabella's cheeks were flushed, her dark eyes luminous. "You always know how to silence my anger," she said softly, her breath still uneven.
Emma smiled. "That's a useful skill in diplomacy."
"I prefer to call it manipulation," Isabella teased, brushing her fingers along Emma's neck. "But I forgive you. For now."
"Then perhaps," Emma said, pulling out a chair, "you'll let me join you for dinner before you put me on trial."
Isabella sighed with theatrical grace. "Sit, before it grows cold. I cooked everything myself. Even the Yorkshire pudding, though it nearly set the kitchen ablaze."
The table before them was a feast — silver platters gleaming under candlelight. There were roasted pheasant glazed with honey and herbs, steaming bowls of bouillabaisse scented with saffron, buttered potatoes dusted with thyme, and a tall jug of mulled wine that perfumed the air with clove and orange. A delicate balance of French and English magic infused the dishes — the pheasant still warm though it had cooled, the soup shimmering faintly with enchantment to stay perfect.
Emma inhaled the scent and smiled, sliding into her seat. "You always outdo yourself."
"I always do," Isabella replied in agreement, voice low as velvet dragged across steel, "but tonight, when I have you sprawled across my sheets, gasping my name into the dark, every tremor of your body will tell me the effort was worth it."
Emma's fork froze halfway to her lips, the honeyed pheasant forgotten. A hot flush raced from her throat to the tips of her ears, pooling low in her belly like the mulled wine she hadn't yet tasted. She set the silver down with a delicate clink that sounded too loud in the sudden hush between them.
The mistress watched her over the rim of her goblet, black lips curved in a slow, predatory smile that promised every word would be kept before dawn.
Emma swallowed, the saffron-scented steam curling against her cheek like a caress. "Then I hope," she murmured, voice husky, "you'll make me earn every drop of this feast twice over… once on my tongue, and once on my knees."
They continued to eat in comfortable silence for a time, the kind that existed only between people who knew one another too well. Finally, Isabella set her fork down and regarded Emma with a look that was half curiosity, half accusation.
"So," she said. "Where did you disappear to, really?"
Emma took a slow sip of wine. "You heard about the cargo ship from the Americas?"
Isabella's eyes narrowed. "The one carrying contraband magical materials? It wasn't due for another few days."
"Yes. The schedule changed. I received an urgent message from Azeal at dawn. We couldn't risk the cargo reaching port."
"You didn't." Isabella leaned forward, excitement flickering through her tone. "Tell me you didn't intercept it yourself."
"I did it with the help of the White family's people." Emma set her glass down, a smirk ghosting her lips. "I was waiting at the lighthouse until the ship crossed into English waters. Then I Apparated aboard, confirmed the materials, and destroyed the shipment."
Isabella blinked, then laughed — a deep, delighted sound. "You mean to tell me you went on a date with destruction without me?"
"I didn't have time to call," Emma replied, feigning apology. "Between the meeting with Minister Fudge in the morning and Azeal's alert, there was barely time to plan. But next time, I promise you the front row."
"Oh, next time?" Isabella said, smiling wickedly. "Are you planning another romantic night among smugglers?"
"Of course," Emma said, her smirk matching hers. "I thought you might enjoy it."
Isabella stood, circling the table to pour more wine for them both. "I adore how you think violence is a love language," she murmured, setting the glass before Emma.
"It's the only one our enemies understand."
Their laughter filled the room again, echoing off marble and portraits. But beneath the humor, there was always the undercurrent — power, danger, and loyalty woven tight between them.
After a while, Isabella's tone softened. "What's next, then? You rarely stop at one victory."
Emma's eyes glinted. "Azeal will go after the remaining ships. I've already instructed them to informed several Ministers anonymously — they'll think it's an internal smuggling case. The pure-blood families will suspect one another just like we have planned."
"Sexy," Isabella murmured. "And cruel. Just how I like it."
Emma reached across the table, brushing her fingers over Isabella's hand. "In a few days, the papers will be full of chaos. And we'll be one step closer to what Eira wanted."
At that name, Isabella's smile faltered slightly. She looked down at their joined hands. "I wish she were here," she said quietly. "The manor feels emptier without her."
Emma squeezed her hand. "She's dancing with Fleur Delacour at the Yule Ball as we speak. Probably charming the French girl out of her stockings."
Isabella laughed, low and wicked. "That's my girl. Though if she breaks Delacour's heart, we'll have an international incident of our own."
"She deserves a little joy," Emma said.
For a moment, they both sat in silence. The fire crackled softly, while snow drifted from the clouded sky, its delicate flakes visible against the tall windows. It was rare for either of them to be quiet, and rarer still to discover such profound peace within it.
Then Isabella looked up, her expression shifting once more. Playfulness returned like a flicker of flame, laced with a lustful tone as she spoke. "Enough talk of politics and students. Eat, my love. You will need your strength."
Emma raised a brow. "For what?"
"For surviving the rest of the night," Isabella replied, her voice dropping lower and silkier. She rose slowly and circled behind Emma's chair, her fingertips trailing lightly along Emma's shoulders. Descending further, she cupped Emma's breasts, teasing her nipples with deliberate squeezes that drew a soft moan from Emma's lips. Isabella's breath warmed her ear as she whispered, "I have already dismissed the servants. The manor belongs to us tonight. No one will hear your screams, my love."
Emma moaned again under the teasing touch. She turned her head slightly toward Isabella and asked, "All of them?"
"All of them," Isabella confirmed, her smile dangerously seductive. "You know I refuse to let anyone interrupt us while I bend you to my will and you cry out in ecstasy. No other soul shall ever behold your naked, sacred body."
Emma blushed deeply, her voice laced with impatience. "You are torturing me with these words."
"It is your punishment," Isabella murmured, leaning closer until her lips brushed Emma's. "For leaving me alone all day on Christmas."
Emma gazed into her face, then lost herself in those beautiful blue eyes, alight with embodied lust. "What if I am too tired to make love to you?"
"Eat first," Isabella whispered, claiming Emma's mouth in a lingering kiss before returning to her seat. She settled gracefully, savoring her wine while her gaze devoured her lover with unbridled desire. Emma resumed her meal, each bite prepared by Isabella's own hands.
Outside, the snow thickened, falling in soft white veils across the valley. Inside, the candles burned lower, casting golden light along the stone walls and their flushed skin.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Scotland - Hogwarts Grounds
Snow had stopped falling, leaving the garden of Hogwarts blanketed in a soft white glow. The lamplight shimmered faintly across the frozen ground. On a bench near the edge of the courtyard, two girls sat close together, their breath misting in the cold. Fleur leaned against Eira, her hand slipping into hers, and for a while neither spoke. The silence was peaceful, broken only by the faint music still drifting from the Great Hall.
Eira turned to her, smiling. Fleur's hair sparkled with frost and the faint light made her eyes look like liquid silver. Their faces were close—too close for words—and when Fleur leaned in, Eira met her halfway. Their lips brushed, and then the world disappeared for a moment.
The laughter of another couple startled them both. Fleur pulled back just slightly, blinking as two students strolled hand in hand down the snowy path, giggling softly as they disappeared into the trees.
"Well," Fleur murmured, watching them, "looks like we aren't the only ones hiding out here and making out."
Eira chuckled, still holding her. "Apparently not."
Fleur's eyes caught something glinting beside her. "Ah, my drink," she said, looking at the goblet she had brought from the Yule Ball. The liquid inside was frozen solid. She poked it with a finger and frowned. "Now it's just ice. Typical."
Eira laughed quietly. "You were the one who brought it out here. What did you expect?"
"I expected it to stay warm for me," Fleur said dramatically, scraping the rim with her nail. "Maybe I should charm it next time."
Eira smiled, watching her lover's childish expression. Fleur noticed the look and raised an eyebrow. "What? Why are you staring at me like that? Do I look like a monkey?"
Eira laughed again, softly this time. "I was wondering how I managed to make you mine."
Fleur's lips curved in a smug smile. "Ah, so you finally realized it. Well, my dear Eira, you should know that you're lucky to have a beautiful girlfriend like me. Many girls and boys would kill for this honor."
Eira rolled her eyes. "You're the embodiment of narcissism."
"Yes," Fleur said proudly, "and I love it."
Eira could not help smiling at her lover's self-confidence. "You are," she admitted.
Fleur's voice softened as she leaned closer. "Sometimes I wonder the same thing, you know. How I got to have you." Her tone was gentler now, the teasing gone. "But then I think, who cares? What matters is that you're mine, for the rest of your life."
Eira took her hand, her voice low. "You really have a way with words to make me seduced."
She was about to say more when a sound reached them—the crunch of snow under heavy boots. They froze, listening.
"That voice," Fleur whispered. "Isn't it that ugly professor's voice?"
Eira pressed a finger gently to Fleur's lips. "Shh."
The rough growl of Professor Moody's voice carried through the air. "I'll be keeping an eye on you, Karkaroff. Don't think for a second I've forgotten what you were, or what you've done. I'll be watching you every moment you're in this castle."
From another direction came an accented, irritated voice—Karkaroff's. "You can watch all you want, Moody. I am not afraid of your threats. You and your paranoia, always thinking the worst."
There was a pause, the sound of crunching snow, and then Karkaroff barked, "Viktor! Where have you been? I have been searching for you. Didn't I tell you to stay away from her? Who knows what she might be doing—extracting information about our school perhaps!"
A deep, quiet voice replied in Bulgarian—Viktor Krum's—his tone respectful but firm. The words were impossible to understand from their hiding spot. Fleur tilted her head, trying to listen.
Then another voice joined in, female this time, speaking English with a clear accent. "What was your headmaster talking about? He looked so angry."
Krum's rough voice replied in his slow English, "Nothing. He just tell me to go inside… have fun."
The girl giggled. "Then let's go dance once more before the ball ends."
Their footsteps faded into the distance, and Moody's low growl rumbled once more. "You'd best watch yourself, Karkaroff. Some of us haven't forgotten what you really are. Retired or not, I could still take down ten of you with one eye tied behind my back—and I haven't forgotten the slaughter at Haxie Village."
Then the sound of Moody's uneven steps faded too, leaving only the wind.
Fleur turned to Eira, whispering, "Well, it seems our professor isn't very fond of Durmstrang's headmaster."
Eira smiled faintly. "No, it seems not."
Fleur crossed her arms. "Ugly people don't like other ugly people."
Eira sighed, shaking her head. "You and your obsession with beauty."
Fleur grinned. "You can't deny it's true."
Eira laughed under her breath, then remembered something. "Did you find out about the clue to the second task?"
Fleur's eyes brightened. "Ah, that bloody golden egg," she said. "Yes, after some time Madame Maxime helped me. We discovered it needed to be taken underwater. When we opened it there, the horrible screaming changed into the song of merpeople. The voice was beautiful."
Eira leaned forward, listening.
"They sang about something precious," Fleur continued. "Something we must find in the lake. Madame Maxime thinks the second task is about retrieving an important thing from the black lake within a limited time. Maybe one hour."
Eira nodded. "You're right. The champions will dive into the Black Lake and bring back their most precious treasure. It will be guarded by magical water creatures and merpeople."
Fleur sighed with relief. "Finally, someone confirms what I thought. I was beginning to doubt myself."
"Don't worry," Eira said gently. "There's still two months left. You'll figure it out."
Fleur smiled. "Come, my drink has frozen. Let's go back to the Great Hall."
Eira stood and brushed snow off her dress. "All right. Let's go."
They walked hand in hand back through the courtyard. All around them, couples wandered beneath the trees, laughing softly, stealing kisses before returning to the hall. The night was filled with music and laughter and the faint shimmer of frost in the air.
Inside, the Great Hall was still alive with sound. The Weird Sisters were on the stage, playing their final set. Lights twinkled from the enchanted ceiling, reflecting on the crystal chandeliers.
"Two drinks," Fleur said the moment they reached a table, and two glasses appeared. She handed one to Eira. "Here, have some."
Eira accepted it, watching as Fleur took a long sip. "Don't drink too much," she said lightly. "Even if it's not strong, too many will still go to your head."
Fleur waved dismissively. "Don't worry about me." She downed another and ordered a third.
Eira shook her head but smiled all the same. Her eyes wandered over the hall. At a corner table sat Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, both looking completely miserable.
"Look at them," Eira murmured. "They look like they were forced to be here."
Ron's scowl was deep enough to crack stone, and Eira followed his gaze across the dance floor. Hermione was walking toward them, her dress glimmering faintly. She smiled brightly and sat beside them.
"What are you two doing here?" Hermione asked. "Where are your dates? Especially you, Harry. You're a champion."
Harry gave a small shrug. "Parvati's dancing with some Beauxbatons boy."
Hermione sighed. "Well, at least she's having fun." She turned to Ron. "And you? Why do you look so angry?"
Ron refused to look at her. Hermione frowned. "Come on, Ron. Look at Ginny—she's having a great time. Why don't you—"
"I see you found a boyfriend," Ron snapped suddenly, cutting her off. "Didn't even bother to tell us, did you?"
Hermione blinked, confused. "Isaac is not my boyfriend," she said quickly. She glanced toward a Ravenclaw boy talking with his friends near the drinks table and smiled faintly.
"Sure," Ron muttered. "Good for you. But did you forget how they treated Harry? Mocked him because his name came out the Goblet of Fire? You went and danced with one of them."
Hermione sighed. "Ron, Isaac isn't like that. He's kind, and he's smart."
"They're all the same," Ron shot back. "Mocking Harry even now."
Harry stayed silent, staring at the dance floor where Cho Chang and Cedric Diggory moved gracefully together. His eyes were full of quiet envy.
After several minutes of heated argument about their differing views on Issac, Ron kept insisting that Isaac and the rest of his house were mocking Harry, which only served to irritate Hermione further.
Hermione exhaled sharply. "You're impossible," she said, her patience breaking. "You ignored Harry for weeks and didn't believe a word he said. Now you're acting like you care about loyalty? You don't even know Isaac."
Ron flushed with shame but said nothing. Hermione stood abruptly, her chair scraping back. "I'm done with this," she muttered, and walked back to where Isaac stood.
Ron glared after her, muttering under his breath.
Behind them, Eira and Fleur had been listening quietly from a nearby table. Fleur leaned closer, whispering in Eira's ear. "Do you think the redheaded boy has a crush on your friend?"
Eira smiled faintly. "Maybe. Who knows."
"English people are funny," Fleur said.
Eira stood, taking her hand. "Come on. Let's have one last dance."
Fleur gasped as Eira tugged her toward the center of the hall, nearly spilling her drink. The glass vanished before it hit the floor. "You could have warned me," she said, laughing as Eira pulled her in.
Music swelled again, and they joined the crowd. Around them, students twirled and laughed. Even the air seemed warmer, filled with energy and joy.
"How is it?" Eira said, smiling. "It's not so bad right?"
Fleur looked at her with soft eyes. "It's perfect."
They danced together as the Weird Sisters played their final song, their movements effortless, as if the world had shrunk down to just the two of them.
By the time the last note faded, Dumbledore had stepped onto the stage, his hands raised for attention.
"Happy Christmas to all," he said warmly. "And may your nights be full of light and laughter."
Applause filled the hall. The guests began to leave, students returning to their dormitories, visitors heading back to their ships and carriages.
Outside, snow had begun to fall again, soft and silent.
Eira and Fleur stepped out into the cold, still holding hands.
"Good night, my love," Fleur said, her breath visible in the air.
"Good night," Eira replied.
They stood for a moment, watching the snow drift gently down, and then disappeared together into the white.