Harry Potter: The Last Heiress of The White Family

The next stop on their list was Librairie L'Étoile, a quiet, somewhat hidden bookshop nestled between a wand repair boutique and a café that smelled of cinnamon and roasted hazelnuts. The wooden sign above the door swayed slightly in the breeze, its golden star glinting softly in the afternoon sun.

As Eira stepped inside, a little bell jingled overhead. The scent of old parchment, lavender wax, and a faint trace of dust met her like a gentle wave. The shop stretched deeper than expected, its narrow aisles lined with shelves stacked to the ceiling. Books of every size and subject filled the space—from thick volumes of magical law to slim guides on unicorn care.

But there was no one in sight.

"Bonjour? Il y a quelqu'un? Je suis ici pour acheter des livres scolaires," Eira called out, her voice echoing slightly. (Hello? Is anyone there? I'm here to buy school books,)

For a moment, there was only silence. Then—CRASH!

A loud thud rang out from a nearby aisle. Eira turned sharply just in time to see a boy tumble down from one of the higher shelves, dragging an avalanche of books with him. He landed with a muffled grunt, now buried under a small mountain of leather-bound tomes.

Startled, Eira rushed toward the scene.

"Are you all right, mister? Do you need help?" she asked quickly, kneeling beside the pile.

A muffled voice replied from beneath the mess—still in French, tinged with a sheepish tone.

"Ah non, ça va… je suis habitué à ce bazar. Merde… Toujours pareil quand une cliente arrive. Surtout une fille."(Ah no, I'm fine… I'm used to this mess. Damn… It always happens when a customer arrives—especially a girl.)

He muttered the last part under his breath, but Eira caught it, and a small, amused smile tugged at her lips.

She turned to Lolly, who stood behind her looking unimpressed. "Lolly, could you give him a hand, please?"

"Of course, young lady. Anything you order," the house-elf replied proudly. With a flick of her fingers, the books began to levitate one by one, gently re-shelving themselves.

From under the pile emerged a boy who looked to be around Eira's age—perhaps eleven or twelve. His hair was a striking shade of cerulean blue, tousled wildly, and his eyes matched—bright, curious, and slightly dazed. His cheeks flushed as he stood and dusted himself off, offering her a grateful smile.

But the moment he properly looked at her, his jaw dropped slightly.

"Par Merlin, aie pitié de moi…"

"By Merlin, have mercy on me…" He pressed a hand to his chest. "I think I'm in love."

Before Eira could respond, a hand smacked the back of his head.

"That's the third time this week, Marin!" barked a sharp female voice, rich with a thick French accent. "Stop flirting with every customer who has a pulse. Go help someone or I swear, I'll ground you and confiscate all your precious flowers!"

The boy winced and turned to face the scolding woman, who bore the same bright hair and eyes. His mother, no doubt.

"Oui, maman! But could you not hit me in front of beautiful girls? It ruins a man's charm," he grumbled under his breath.

"Charm?" his mother scoffed. "You were still wetting the bed last year, and now you talk of charm and manhood? Off with you!"

Marin grimaced and shuffled off behind a stack of books, muttering something about dignity.

Eira chuckled to herself, amused by the chaos. The woman, now brushing her apron, turned to her and offered a warm smile.

"I apologize for my son's foolishness. What can I help you with, mademoiselle?"

"No worries," Eira replied. "I'm here to buy schoolbooks—for first-year classes."

"Ah, your first year!" the woman said cheerfully. "I'll get everything you need."

With a graceful flick of her wand, a neat pile of books floated toward the counter and stacked themselves with a satisfying thud.

"These are the standard Beauxbatons first-year texts," she said, pointing them out one by one.

— Les Premiers Charmes: Une Introduction à la Magie Élégante by Élodie Deveraux

— The Art of Magical Etiquette by Madame Vivienne Moreau

— A History of French Magic by Claude Lefèvre

— Métamorphose: Les Bases de la Métamorphose by Emeric Switch

— Potions pour Débutants by Arsène Garnier

— Plantes Magiques pour Jeunes Sorciers by Isabelle Fournier

— Protection Magique: Les Fondations by Claire Beaumont

Eira nodded, inspecting the elegant covers. "Perfect."

She handed over her gold coins and tucked the books into her enchanted pouch, which shimmered briefly as it absorbed the load with no sign of bulging.

"Thank you for your help, madame."

"It is our duty, child," the woman replied warmly.

As Eira turned to leave, a hand appeared in front of her, holding out a single red rose. She looked up to find Marin grinning at her, now clean and only slightly less rumpled than before.

"This is for you, gorgeous lady," he said boldly. "Would you do me the honor of telling me your name?"

Eira blinked, then burst into laughter. The boy's boldness , mixed with his hopeless charm, was too much to ignore. She took the rose from his hand and offered a soft smile.

"Sure. Why not, "young man" My name is Eira White."

Marin's grin widened as if he'd just been told he'd won a hundred Galleons. "Eira White… wow. What does it mean? It sounds beautiful. I bet it has a cool meaning."

Eira tilted her head. "It means Snow."

She gave a playful curtsy and turned to leave. As she walked out of the shop, she heard Marin call after her:

"My name's Marin Lefèvre! I'll be attending Beauxbatons this year too—hope to see you again!"

Eira smiled silently and kept walking.

Back at the doorway, Marin clutched his chest theatrically and murmured to himself, "Snow, huh? Quite a nice meaning…"

Then a voice bellowed from inside the shop.

"MARIN! If I don't see you shelving those spell guides in the next five seconds, I will turn your ass bluer than your hair !"

Marin jerked upright. "Coming, Ma!" he yelped, and vanished into the stacks once again.