Harry Potter: The Last Heiress of The White Family

It was the 31st of August.

Eira White stood at the threshold of her future, heart fluttering with excitement and curiosity. Today marked the start of her journey to becoming a full-fledged witch. Her belongings had already been neatly packed: books, robes, quills, inkpots, and all the supplies listed in the school letter. Beyond the essentials, she had carefully selected a few personal items— room decorations, daily comforts and stored them within her System Space, a magical storage only she could access.

Dressed in a presentable outfit with her white hair neatly combed back, she made her way to the grand Atrium of White Mansion only Paris , where her grandfather Elijah awaited. The tall, silver-haired patriarch was seated in an ornate high-backed chair, as regal and composed as always.

As Eira approached, he stood and regarded her with sharp, thoughtful eyes.

"Did you take everything you needed?" he asked. "Clothes, school uniforms, books?"

"Yes, Grandfather. I'm ready," Eira replied confidently.

Elijah gave a small nod of approval, then added, "If you ever need anything, send me a letter. In case of an emergency, you can speak with Headmistress Olympe Maxime. I've already written to her, informing her of your arrival . There's nothing to worry about."

"Thank you, Grandfather. I will."

To her surprise, Elijah reached out and patted her head gently—a gesture so rare and tender that had Cecile witnessed it, he might have fainted from shock.

Then Elijah's voice grew firmer, laced with a tone of duty and pride.

"Remember, you'll be representing the White family at that school. You'll meet many children of noble bloodlines. Never forget who you are—and never bow to any of them. You are of nobler stock than all of them combined. Keep your grades exemplary. Excel in your studies. Dominate your classes. I expect no less."

Eira stood straighter, a gleam of determination in her green eyes. "I will represent our family with honor. I promise not to bring shame to our name."

Elijah smiled slightly. "I know you won't. You're not like Damien or Cecile. You're better than both."

Without another word, Eira withdrew a silver pen-shaped Door Key from her pocket. As she held it up, Elijah said, "Activate it now. It's time. Goodbye, Eira."

"Goodbye, Grandfather. Thank you."

With a final nod, she activated the key.

Light enveloped her.

⸻

Eira felt her body lighten, the world twisting into streams of color. The sensation was neither painful nor pleasant—just strange. She closed her eyes against the dizzying hues that blurred past her vision. Moments later, she landed on something soft.

Opening her eyes, she found herself lying in a room completely empty, save for thick padded blankets covering the entire floor. She sat up, brushing off imaginary dust, and murmured, "Oh," she muttered to herself, blinking. "They made this room for teleportation arrivals. How thoughtful… The soft flooring must be to prevent injuries for students new to door key travel. Quite convenient."

She stood, smoothed her clothes, and walked to the door. Beyond it stretched a long hallway filled with murmuring students, most around her age. Excitement buzzed in the air, though many faces held nervous expressions. The languages around her were varied—Italian, Spanish, German, Russian, and French. She heard no English, but a few groups chatted in familiar-sounding French.

Following the crowd down the hallway, Eira soon reached a checkpoint where two stern-looking witches stood examining each student.

When her turn came, the woman before her said curtly in French, "Your wand, admission letter, and the door key you used, please."

Eira understood immediately and handed them over. The witch examined the letter, then tapped her wand with a spell, verifying its authenticity. After inspecting the Door Key and deeming all acceptable, she returned only the wand.

"You may go to the room on the left. There, you'll receive your uniform." woman said.

"But I already have my uniforms," Eira replied politely, a little confused.

"If you read the admission letter carefully," the witch replied briskly, "you'll see it mentions a ceremonial welcome uniform for first-years. It's tradition."

"Ah, I understand now. Thank you."

She made her way into the room on the left, 

Inside the room, a tall man stood by a shelf filled with folded clothes.

"Name?" he asked.

"Eira White."

The man quickly pulled out a neatly folded uniform in a shade of sky-blue, embroidered with a small name tag.

"If there are any issues with the size, let us know. We'll adjust it," he said, handing it over.

Eira nodded, thanked him, and headed into the nearby changing area.

Eira took the uniform into the changing room. She admired the craftsmanship—the fine fabric, the elegant design. It resembled a typical school uniform, but with a few notable distinctions. A stylized fleur-de-lis, the symbol of purity and renewal, was elegantly imprinted on the chest. She slipped into the new outfit and turned to the mirror.

Eira admired her reflection in the mirror. A small, dignified girl with white hair like fresh snowfall and striking forest-green eyes smiled back. She looked—finally—like a real student of magic.

She took out a small bottle of Moonflower Essence perfume and sprayed a gentle mist on her neck and the inside of her sleeve. The scent was calming and graceful.

After storing her regular clothes back into her System Space, she stepped out.

"You can proceed through that door," the uniform assistant gestured. "From there, you'll board the carriages."

"Merci," she said softly.

⸻

Outside, she found herself in a wide, breathtaking garden at dusk. Pale-blue carriages lined the gravel path, each drawn by mighty, winged Abraxan horses—huge, powerful creatures that snorted impatiently, their coats gleaming like polished marble.

As she approached, one of the carriage doors opened for her of its own accord. She climbed aboard, finding a seat among a group of other students—twelve in total. The interior was beautiful, but strangely silent. No one spoke.

Eira gave a soft smile and spoke in French. "Bonsoir à tous."

("Good evening, everyone.")

To break the tension, Eira smiled and asked in French. "Do you know when we'll be leaving for the school?"

No one replied immediately, but after a pause, one boy answered her earlier question about departure.

"My mother said the horses will take off at 6 p.m.," he said in accented French. "So we've still got ten minutes."

"Thank you," Eira replied, sitting down beside him. "Your accent is different—where are you from?"

"Switzerland," he said cheerfully. "I wanted to go to Ilvermorny in the U.S., but my mum insisted I come here since it's closer to home. You?"

"Britain," she replied. "My family made the choice for me as well."

He laughed. "That's such a bummer."

Their laughter lightened the atmosphere, and soon they were talking easily—about the school, the uniforms, the professors they'd heard about.

Outside the carriage windows, other students were boarding as well. Some of the pale-blue carriages had already taken to the sky. Then, with a barely noticeable motion, their own carriage began to move. Slowly, gracefully, it rolled forward—then lifted into the air.

Eira glanced out the window, marveling at the view below. The carriages soared over the lush countryside, gradually making their way toward the distant mountains, their slopes blanketed in thick, ancient forests.

Despite the height, the ride was perfectly smooth. It felt like floating in a bubble of calm