Harry Potter: The Last Heiress of The White Family

As the grand doors of the White family mansion closed behind her, Eira stepped into the cool, marbled foyer, still carrying the soft scent of herbs and parchment from her day's shopping. Before she could make her way further inside, a familiar voice called out from the hallway.

"Elia?" Her grandfather's tall figure appeared, dressed in a dark travelling cloak, a silver pin gleaming at his collar. Elijah White looked as if he were about to leave, but paused upon seeing her. "So," he asked, adjusting his gloves, "did you get all of your school supplies?"

Eira nodded brightly. "Yes, Grandfather. I did. I even got my wand."

At this, Elijah turned back fully, his interest piqued. "Ah? And what kind of wand chose you?"

"Rosewood," Eira replied without hesitation. "Ten inches. The core is from a Lunechat whisker."

Elijah's brows arched ever so slightly. "Lunechat?" he repeated, the corners of his mouth twitching with curiosity. "Quite an unusual combination. Rosewood speaks of refinement and artistic inclination. The Moon Cat's essence, however…" He paused, as if considering the implications. "Good. Rosewood represents elegance , beauty, curiosity ."

Eira couldn't help but smile under his approving gaze. It felt good to impress him even if just a little.

"Here," Elijah said, reaching into the folds of his cloak. He drew out a crisp letter, sealed in silver wax, and a slim, black object. At first glance, it looked like a simple Muggle pen. "This is your portclé—your door key to Beauxbatons. The pen is the alchemical anchor; the letter holds the instructions for its use, including where and when you'll be transported."

Eira accepted the pen carefully, turning it in her fingers. It looked completely mundane, like something from a stationery shop, but she could feel the gentle thrum of enchantment beneath the surface.

"I thought I'd be going by Abraxan-drawn carriage," she said, puzzled.

Elijah shook his head. "Not at first. Every first-year student is given a door key. Once activated, it will bring you to the countryside in the Pyrenees. From there, the carriages will arrive to bring you to the chateau along with the others."

Understanding dawned, and Eira nodded. "So that's how I'll be arriving… All right. Thank you, Grandfather."

"You have two days," Elijah said, stepping toward the front doors once more. "Rest well and prepare. Beauxbatons is not a place one enters unready."

"I will," Eira promised as he vanished beyond the doors.

⸻

After a light supper and a long, soothing bath, Eira retired to her room. She shed the weight of the day—the crowded markets of the Allée des Merveilles, the lingering excitement of choosing her wand, and the dizzying array of magical perfume ingredients—and changed into soft cotton sleepwear.

Her eyes were drawn almost immediately to the stack of books she'd bought at Librairie L'Étoile. From it, she pulled one bound in sky-blue velvet with silver-gilded pages: "L'Histoire de Beauxbâtons."

She curled up beneath the sheets, propping the book open, and began to read.

⸻

(Beauxbatons Academy of Magic was founded in the late 13th century, around 1290. The school's creation is attributed to Madame Perenelle Élodie Flamel, a renowned enchantress and the wife of famed alchemist Nicolas Flamel, whose work with the Philosopher's Stone brought enduring fame to French wizardry.)

(Seeking to preserve and teach the refined magical arts, Élodie established Beauxbatons in the Pyrenees mountains—a region rich in magical energy due to its ancient ley lines and its proximity to rare magical creatures, such as Abraxans and Fées d'Eau (water fairies). The château itself was built from enchanted stone that shimmered in sunlight, a testament to the school's ethos of beauty, grace, and wisdom.)

Eira's eyes widened. So that was why the school was located in the mountains—it was a nexus of magical energy. And the idea of water fairies shimmering in hidden groves made her heart beat a little faster with wonder.

(The château itself was crafted from enchanted stone that shimmers beneath sunlight, designed to reflect the school's enduring values: beauty, subtlety, and intelligence.)

She turned the page, entranced.

(In its early years, Beauxbatons served as a haven for witches and wizards fleeing persecution during the European witch hunts, offering sanctuary and training in subtle, non-combative magic to avoid Muggle detection. The school's emphasis on elegance reflected in its curriculum of charms, illusions, and magical etiquette was born out of necessity. It set Beauxbatons apart from other schools, like Hogwarts, which focused more on practical and battle-oriented magic.)

Eira paused. That explained the school's graceful aesthetic, the deliberate choreography of its curriculum. It wasn't about being louder or stronger—it was about control, artistry, intention.

She flipped another page.

(By the 15th century, Beauxbâtons had established itself as a premier magical institution. It drew students not only from France, but also from Belgium, Spain, Switzerland, and beyond. This cosmopolitan legacy shaped a distinct culture one proudly French, but internationally aware.)

Eira was struck by the contrast. Hogwarts had felt more like a fortress, a relic of a world at war. But this… this place felt like a secret garden of magic.

(Beauxbatons has long produced extraordinary witches and wizards, particularly in the fields of Enchantment, Alchemy, and the visual magical arts.)

Then came a particularly glowing entry.

(In the 18th century, Headmistress Aurélie Deveraux wove a master enchantment across the chateau, a spell known as Le Voile de Lumière. It rendered the grounds unplottable, invisible to Muggles, and caused the gardens to bloom eternally with magical flora. The castle itself now emits a soft, silvery glow seen only by magical eyes.)

She could picture it now: glowing towers amidst snow-dusted peaks, lantern-lit gardens whispering with flowers that never wilted. A place hidden from the world, yet full of its magic.

Eira paused, absorbing every word. The more she read, the more she felt a fluttering anticipation deep in her chest. She remembered glimpses of Hogwarts from her past life—the ancient stone walls, the vast lake, the surrounding countryside. And now, she was about to enter a new world entirely. A world of French magic, shimmering stone châteaus, and graceful enchantments.

The nervous excitement lingered as she laid the book gently on the bedside table. Curling beneath her blanket, she allowed herself a smile.

With the book still resting beside her, Eira lay back against the pillows, eyes growing heavy. Tomorrow, she would begin to prepare—pack her trunk, reread the instructions, perhaps write in her journal. But for now, she let herself drift to sleep, the image of moonlit carriages soaring over the Pyrenees dancing through her mind.