Harry Potter: The Last Heiress of The White Family

Eira continued her shopping in the heart of the Allée des Merveilles, the enchanting French equivalent of Diagon Alley. Her next destination was L'Herboristerie Magique, a fragrant apothecary famed for rare herbs and alchemical ingredients used in Beauxbatons' advanced curriculum. The shelves were lined with dried blossoms, bottled roots, and potions that shimmered faintly under the shop's warm, golden light.

She carefully selected her supplies:

• Moonflower essence – used in Magical Perfumery, known to create calming or charismatic scents.

• Fleur-de-lis root – a key ingredient in potions that enhance grace and elegance.

• Crystallized phoenix tears – a rare and potent component reserved for healing elixirs of the highest level.

• A charmed vial set with silver stoppers that preserved even the most delicate ingredients from decay or magical interference.

From there, Eira strolled to La Boutique des Étoiles, a sleek general supplies shop whose name sparkled above its doorway in glittering charm-letters. Inside, she found:

• A Plume de Lumière, a glowing quill that wrote in shimmering ink—ideal for Charms assignments.

• An Enchanted Mirror, small and handheld, perfect for practicing spells of etiquette, such as perfecting posture or summoning a practiced smile.

• A Star-Charmed Satchel, which expanded magically to carry far more than it appeared, without adding weight.

Though she already had a pouch with extended space, Eira purchased the satchel out of caution—it never hurt to have multiple storage options. Between the satchel, her enchanted pouch, and the System's inventory, she now had three distinct places to store her belongings.

As she glanced at the pet shop across the way, she paused thoughtfully. Not this year, she decided. It was her first term, and she would be adjusting to a new school, new classmates, and a new life. She didn't want a pet to suffer from her inexperience or neglect, no matter how much she longed for one.

And now, all that remained—the most important of all her school supplies—was her wand.

She turned to her house-elf with a spark of excitement in her voice.

"Lolly, let's go to the wand shop. I want to get my wand soon!"

Lolly clapped her tiny hands together with joy.

"Lolly will help young lady find her wand. Lolly is very happy and honored to witness this moment!"

The elf led her down a narrow alley shaded by green trees and lined with vine-covered magical lodges. At its end stood a single shop, elegant and humble, nestled like a secret.

On the door, in swirling golden script, it read:

"Franchis ce seuil, où les baguettes sculptent l'étoffe des rêves."

(Cross this threshold, where wands carve the fabric of dreams.)

Above the door hung a carved sign:

Monsieur Bisset's Baguettes Magiques.

Eira stepped inside.

The interior was unlike any shop she'd visited. Bright and airy, it shimmered with quiet magic. Velvet cushions displayed elegant wands beneath crystal chandeliers. Wooden shelves bore boxes etched with floral patterns and ancient runes. The air smelled of polished wood and soothing lavender.

She walked slowly, her eyes wide, pausing before a set of wands in a display case. One wand, violet in hue and threaded with silver, drew her attention. She reached toward it—but just as her fingers were about to brush the glass , a calm voice spoke in French from behind a nearby shelf.

"Je ne pense pas que ce soit une bonne idée de toucher à celles-ci…"

(I don't think it's a good idea to touch those…)

A tall, bald man stepped into view, sporting a curled mustache and purple robes trimmed in silver.

"Those are the most ancient wands crafted by my ancestors," he continued in a warm, if slightly amused tone. "Each of them represents a masterpiece—meant for display only, not for use."

Eira quickly withdrew her hand and turned toward him, offering a small bow of apology.

"Hello, Monsieur Bisset. I hope I didn't offend you or disrespect your ancestors' work."

The wandmaker's serious face softened into a smile.

"Oh, don't worry. Every year, children try to touch those. If I were offended so easily, I wouldn't display them at all." He stepped closer. "Now then, what is your name, young lady?"

"Eira White," she answered. "I'll be attending Beauxbatons this year."

At this, Monsieur Bisset raised an eyebrow.

"White? Ah… You must be the granddaughter of that little Elijah."

Eira blinked in surprise. Little Elijah? She had never heard anyone refer to her dignified grandfather in such a way. It was both amusing and disarming.

"Yes," she said, trying not to laugh. "Elijah White is my grandfather."

Bisset's smile twisted into something between amusement and disapproval.

"That mouthy boy broke more wands than I care to count. He was banned from Gregorovitch's shop. Ollivander had enough of him. I banned him from here a decade ago. I hear he goes to Beauvais in America now. Tsk. A Lord of an ancient house, yet his worst enemy is… his wand."

Eira didn't know whether to laugh or be embarrassed. Her grandfather, feared and respected in the magical world, undone by… wands?

But Bisset's mood shifted as he looked her over with his discerning eye.

"I hope you're not like him," he said, his voice gentler. "Now, which hand do you write with?"

"My right," Eira replied, raising her dominant hand.

Monsieur Bisset nodded and retrieved a wand from a velvet-lined box.

"Try this: vine wood, eleven inches, Veela hair core. Light, graceful, suited for elegant magic, Let's see how she responds."

 Eira took the wand carefully, a flutter of anticipation in her chest. But as her fingers wrapped around it, she felt nothing . Not even a spark. She frowned and handed it back.

"It doesn't seem to like me."

Monsieur Bisset nodded and murmured something to himself in French, too quietly for her to catch. He disappeared to the back of the shop. Moments later, he returned with another, smaller box. Inside was a wand of pure white wood, slender and elegant, with no visible ornamentation.

"Rosewood," he said. "Ten inches. Slightly smaller than average, but finely balanced. The core is a Lunechat whisker."

Eira blinked.

"Lunechat?"

"A magical feline from the Pyrenees. Its whiskers glow faintly under moonlight. Very rare. Their magic is subtle—intuitive. Spells cast with this core produce a silvery luminescence. Try it."

The moment Eira's fingers curled around the wand's smooth handle, she felt it. A quiet hum, a soft thrill that traveled up her arm and settled into her chest like warm moonlight.

The wand responded—not with a bang, but with a shimmer of silver that danced like moon dust in the air.

Monsieur Bisset smiled.

"You've found your companion, Mademoiselle White. Take good care of her. She is elegant and rare—and far too precious to be shattered like your grandfather's poor victims."

Eira held the wand close, still in awe.

"Thank you, Monsieur. I promise—I'll cherish her."

After paying for the wand, Eira stepped back into the sunlight, wand in hand and heart still fluttering.

"Lolly," she said with satisfaction, "let's go. I've got everything now. All we have to do is wait for school to begin."

The house-elf bowed.

"As you order, young lady. We'll take the fireplace home to the manor."

Together, they disappeared into the shadows of the alley, leaving the wonder of the Allée des Merveilles behind .