The garden of Feywood Heights basked in the shimmering glow of a June afternoon. A symphony of vibrant blooms swayed gently in the breeze, their colors gleaming with an almost otherworldly radiance. Exotic magical flowers mingled with traditional English roses, their petals glistening with dewdrops that never seemed to dry. Enchanted butterflies flitted through the air, leaving trails of glittering light behind them.
Duchess McMahon sat gracefully on a wrought-iron chair beneath an arched trellis of honeysuckle. The vines released a subtle, soothing melody as the wind played through their enchanted leaves. She wore an elegant Ossie Clark summer dress, its flowing chiffon catching the sunlight in waves of pastel hues, paired with a wide-brimmed sunhat. Her Veela blood shone unmistakably in the way her porcelain skin and radiant golden hair transformed the sunlight into a halo, making the world seem dull in comparison. The air hummed softly with the ancient enchantments woven into the land, as if the garden itself were alive, attuned to the presence of its mistress.
Louisa sighed, setting aside the parchment in her hands. The sharp, almost unreadable letters scrawled across it still felt like a slap, and the bolded, underlined words at the bottom— Il faudrait que vous veniez, le plus tôt serait le mieux [1] - demanded urgency she wasn't ready to face. She closed her eyes and drew a steadying breath, but it did little to temper the sting of her mother's cutting tone. No matter how many years had passed or how far she had fled, Étincelle's cold indifference still burned. Returning to her birthplace wasn't just difficult—it was excruciating. The memory of hostile gazes from the Veela covenant, paired with her mother's icy detachment, made her stomach twist. Old wounds, carefully buried, threatened to surface, and Louisa couldn't help but shudder. The past, it seemed, refused to stay buried.
'It's not about me though.' – the witch thought with determination, shaking her head to dispel the growing unease – 'I have my daughter to think of. If going back helps her, I'll endure whatever they throw at me. Discomfort, abuse, humiliation—none of it is new. I've survived before, and I'll survive again.'
"Knut for your thoughts, my Nymph." - Edward whispered, brushing his lips against her cheek.
Louisa lifted her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "I doubt they're worth even that much."
The wizard's brow furrowed as he caught the heaviness in her tone. His gaze drifted to the crumpled parchment in her hands, and he quickly guessed the cause of her mood.
"Does your mother refuse to help?" – the Duke asked, his voice low and tense, though he feigned interest in a nearby rose bush.
"No." – the witch said with a weary shake of her head – "She didn't explain much, but she warned that true fire is extremely dangerous for females. Many who attempt the training don't survive it, and most choose not to take the risk. Those who succeed are always Salamander-types. If Dumbledore's right and Catherine is a Phoenix-type, she's not sure there's any hope."
Edward groaned, trying to mask his frustration for Louisa's sake. "The fact something's difficult doesn't mean it's impossible. Doesn't Étincelle think she could help if we bring Catherine to her?"
"She didn't want to give us false hope." – the Duchess murmured, closing her eyes to hide the brimming tears – "But she did write that we should come as soon as possible. Perhaps the ancient fire magic of the covenant—the magic in Veela blood—could ease the strain on my little girl's body."
"In that case, it's best if we leave right after your birthday." – the wizard said thoughtfully – "It's also plausible to disappear for a while after organising such a big party. We'll spread the rumour that you're visiting your father, and I'll buy airplane tickets for all of us. Forging Muggle papers is much easier than smuggling Catherine through the border with a Portkey. It's too risky."
"Alright" – Louisa agreed half-heartedly.
Edward studied her with concern. "Don't worry, my love!" – he mumbled softly, taking his wife's hand and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of her wrist – "I know this trip will be hard on you, but you're so strong. I have no doubt you'll come back even stronger."
"It's not about me." – the Duchess snapped, her green eyes flashing with frustration – "I'm so anxious about Catherine. First, the demon—now this! I wish she had inherited more of my Veela blood. Maybe then she'd be fine, even with her fire inclination. But genetics can be strange. It seems the Veela heritage fades in the second generation; otherwise, her appearance would be very different."
"Are you disappointed?" – Edward asked quietly, his voice measured – "I still think she's beautiful."
"What? No!" – the exclaimed, her full lips pursing in exasperation – "And of course she's beautiful! When she was little, I was actually relieved she didn't resemble me. Having Veela looks might seem glamorous, but it's a curse—especially with the other powers that come with it. Still, given the circumstances, I can't help but wonder if her body would've been stronger with the fire magic Veelas possess."
"You're overthinking this." – the Duke said patiently – "Even if Catherine had inherited more of your Veela nature, it doesn't mean she'd cope better with true fire. You're half-Veela, and you have no inclination for fire. Besides, I know you avoid using fire spells altogether because you're never sure they'll work."
"That's because I'm inclined to earth." – Louisa retorted, tossing her golden hair over her shoulder – "But just because I can't wield fire properly doesn't mean I don't benefit from my blood's protection. You've seen it yourself—I never get burned by ordinary flames."
"That's true." – Edward admitted – "Though the first time you showed me that, I nearly fainted, imagining what the fire might do to your soft skin."
Louisa chuckled, her green eyes glinting with amusement. "I'll never understand how such an accomplished Occlumens could panic so easily."
"I control my emotions only when I have to." – the wizard replied with a nonchalant shrug – "Living behind Occlumency shields all the time would be miserable, not to mention suspicious. And it's hardly the image I want to present to the other aristocrats. We're safest when they underestimate us—'always keep them guessing,' as Carsilion says."
"Speaking of him," - Louisa said, adjusting the brim of her hat - "I suppose he won't be attending the party?"
"No." – Edward shook his head – "He thinks it's better to show a bit of hostility toward you during such a public event. We can't let the other Houses suspect we're all on the same page. Besides," - he added, lowering his voice - "it gives him the perfect excuse to assist with arranging our trip to France."
"I wish we could just spend my birthday with the people we truly care about—our kids and him. Maybe we could invite Duke Prince too; he seems so lonely these days." – the witch sighed, thinking about all the mental energy she would need to waste in order to appear dashing and carefree during the upcoming party.
Edward smiled fondly at his wife. "I know you have a soft spot for the old man, but he's tougher than you think. And I promise you, once we've successfully introduced our daughter to the world, we'll have exactly the kind of party you want. Not a single person we don't like will be invited."
"It would be so nice!" – Louisa whispered, her gaze drifting dreamily to the clear summer sky.
"Everything will be alright, my Nymph!" – the Duke said, his voice filled with tenderness – "But it's getting too hot out here. Let's head back inside. The children will be arriving in London in about four hours. I'll go pick them up, and we can have a nice family dinner."
"I'll check if we have mint chocolate chip ice-cream." – the witch declared, springing to her feet – "I need to make sure Catherine eats as much as possible before my mother gets the chance to help her."
Edward watched his wife stroll energetically toward the castle, her golden hair glinting in the sunlight. His smile faded as a heavy weight settled in his chest. The weight of Carsilion's note lingered in his thoughts, its warning clear and unyielding when he informed them that Catherine and Greg had left on the Hogwarts Express.
'Don't look too shocked when you see her.' – he had written – 'Her body is already fragile, be careful not to break her spirit too.'
[1] The sooner you come, the better.