Harry Potter: The Last Heiress of The White Family

The Grand Hall was silent, the kind of stillness that buzzed with anticipation. All eyes were on the gleaming mirror standing at the center of the platform—the Miroir de l'Étoile Première—a marvel of magical alchemy, tall and elegant, reflecting more than mere images. It shimmered faintly with arcane enchantments, and among the first years assembled near the front, Eira White stood quietly, lost in thought.

She stood silently, observing the tall, ornate structure ahead—Le Miroir de l'Étoile Première—an alchemical marvel crafted with such delicate enchantments that even seasoned wizards would have considered it a masterpiece. What fascinated Eira most wasn't just its elegance or the way it softly pulsed with star-like light, but the fact that it revealed the name of each student in delicate silver script. Once called, the student would approach, and upon standing before the mirror, The brilliant star would lighten and shift in color—each hue revealing the house to which they belonged.

Student after student was called, each stepping forward nervously and then hurrying off to join their new house tables after their fate had been sealed by the mirror's starlight.

Then a familiar name appeared.

Marin Lefèvre.

Eira blinked. Of course—him. The blue-haired boy from the bookstore. She watched as he strolled up to the mirror, his usual self-assured gait a little more hesitant now. He stood for a few moments, hands shoved into his robes, before the star glowed a luminous silver.

Ombrelune.

Marin turned, looking almost bashful for a moment, before heading to the Ombrelune table. But as soon as he sat down, the shyness evaporated. He leaned over toward a pretty, older girl and began chatting animatedly—rather flirtatiously, in fact.

Eira narrowed her eyes and muttered to herself, "He'll grow into a playboy. I'm sure of it."

Moments later, her own name unfurled across the glass in elegant script:

Eira White.

She drew in a slow breath and stepped forward. Her reflection greeted her—calm, composed, with the great hall stretching out behind her in flickers of chandeliers lights and anticipation.

At the staff table, a striking older woman with raven-black hair watched her closely. Her features were beautiful, though time had left its subtle traces. Still, behind those ageless dark eyes, something intense lingered—an expression unreadable, carved into a face of serene control. Eira held her gaze for a heartbeat before returning her focus to the mirror.

She waited.

Then, the star lighten—radiant silver, casting its pale glow over the floor.

Ombrelune.

Eira raised her eyebrows, then allowed a small smile to creep onto her lips. So… Ombrelune. Ambitious, intelligent, and seekers of deeper magic. That's what the Mirror sees in me. Interesting.

She turned and made her way to the Ombrelune table. A few older students offered warm smiles and polite greetings. One young woman, poised and elegant, leaned toward her with a graceful nod.

"Bonsoir," she said. "My name is Mai Saint-Clair, of the noble family Saint-Clair. Welcome to Beauxbatons. I've heard you're from the British White family."

Eira nodded. "Thank you. Yes, I am a member of White family."

Mai's brows lifted ever so slightly with polite interest and tilted her head. "How did you choose Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts?"

Before Eira could answer, a new voice cut in—a boy's, mocking and sharp.

"Oh, come on," he scoffed. "That old junkyard? Once, the British were arrogant enough to brag about it. But now? Even Uagadou in Uganda is better." He chuckled obnoxiously. "What do you think, English girl? Do you agree?"

Eira turned to him calmly. He was broad-shouldered with messy blond hair and an annoying smirk plastered on his face.

She replied coolly, "And how exactly do you know Hogwarts has declined? Have you studied there? Or is it just your childish bias that leads you to call a thousand-year-old institution—the birthplace of the magical school system—a joke?"

The boy's smirk faltered. "Relax. It was just a joke, English girl."

Mai rolled her eyes. "Go away, Trever. Stop harassing the new students."

Trever shrugged and turned, walking off with a lazy grin. "See you around, English girl."

Eira ignored him. Mai leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. "You don't need to worry about him. He doesn't get along with his father—who happens to be British. So he hates anything to do with Britain."

Eira gave a small shrug. "Everyone is entitled to their opinion. I don't waste energy on people I don't know."

Mai smiled, amused. "Just… don't tell him I told you about his relationship with his father ."

"Sure, sure," Eira said with a smirk.

A sudden hush fell across the hall as music began to play. Heads turned toward the stage, where six pairs of students stepped into formation. The dance began—graceful, mesmerizing.

The students were dressed in opulent robes of shimmering blues, silvers, and moonlight hues. As they moved, their wands traced ribbons of light and color through the air. Spells and visual illusions wove around their bodies sparkling petals, glowing stars, delicate arcs of silver mist. The synchronization of movement and magic was breathtaking.

Eira leaned forward, captivated. The girls moved with uncanny flexibility, their bodies arching in elegant, spell-casting forms that felt almost otherworldly. Their gestures conjured illusions of butterflies, constellations, and enchanted flowers that bloomed and vanished in bursts of soft color.

When the final note played, the room erupted into applause.

Madame Maxime stepped onto the stage, towering and resplendent in her embroidered robes.

"I hope you enjoyed the performance," she said in her rich, resonant voice. "Your senior students have worked hard to welcome you. I hope one day you will do the same for the next generation."

She smiled warmly.

"And now… let the feast begin."

The great doors of the hall opened with a flourish. Dozens of enchanted serving tables floated in, each carrying lavish dishes. With a flick and shimmer, the meals soared from the platters and landed gracefully in front of the students—no spellcasting required.

Eira's eyes widened slightly as she watched the meal appear at their table served without a single hand lifted, guided solely by pure magic and effortless elegance.

⸻

Coq au Vin Magique

Chicken braised in red wine, with mushrooms, onions, and enchanted bacon. The potion-laced sauce shimmered violet and released a gentle warmth that lingered pleasantly on the tongue.

Filet de Poisson à la Sauce Beurre Blanc Lumineuse

A tender fillet of white fish, draped in a buttery, lemon-scented sauce that glowed softly with pearlescent light. Around it, vegetables had been sculpted to resemble miniature French châteaux, complete with tiny turrets.

⸻

Eira picked up her fork with quiet delight. After the long journey, the fragrant magic-infused cuisine was a welcome comfort. With the flickering candlelight, elegant table settings, and soft music echoing in the hall, 

She began to eat.