The Yaxleys resided far up north, not far from the Scottish border, in a grand Tudor-style manor that seemed to sit as though it were miles away from anywhere. Falestone Manor was the kind of place that seemed perpetually caught in a bygone era, hidden away from the world's bustle. It felt, in some ways, like a different time altogether.
"Miss Eleanor Seymour," came the announcement in the grand, but echoing, entrance hall of the manor, as the old house-elf, Eleanor, emerged from the fireplace with a loudpop.
Eleanor quickly straightened her emerald green robes, smoothing them down with a little too much haste, before running a hand through her dark hair. She had hoped her appearance was suitably elegant and respectable – not a bit out of place in such a lofty house.
"Ah, Miss Seymour," came a voice, cool and measured.
Berenice's father, Mr. Corban Yaxley, stepped out from a side hallway. His pale grey eyes were as cold as marble, and his long, platinum blond hair was tied back in a neat ponytail that fell down the middle of his back. He was dressed in dark, perfectly tailored robes that matched the severity of his gaze.
"Welcome to Falestone Manor, Miss Seymour," he said, extending a hand in greeting. "My family is most pleased that you could join us for the Quidditch World Cup."
Eleanor accepted the handshake, her grip firm but polite. "Thank you, Mr. Yaxley, for the kind invitation. Berenice told me how excited she was about the tickets you managed to obtain."
He nodded, his lips curling slightly at the mention of the tickets. "Yes, very good tickets indeed. The Yaxley name carries some weight at the Ministry, you see. I managed to secure seats in a box reserved for only the most distinguished of families within the Wizarding World."
Eleanor cast her eyes down, as if to hide the flicker of discomfort that crept up at the reminder of the world in which Berenice's family moved.
"Come, Miss Seymour," he said, turning toward the drawing room. "My family is enjoying tea in the sitting room."
As they walked down the grand hallway, Eleanor caught sight of several portraits of stern-faced Yaxley ancestors. Their painted eyes seemed to follow her as she passed, scrutinising her every step.
The sitting room was warmly lit, a fire crackling merrily in the hearth. There, Eleanor was greeted by Berenice's mother, Isabeau Fonteyre, a woman whose elegance was unmistakable. The youngest daughter of one of France's oldest wizarding families, Isabeau's mahogany hair fell just past her shoulders in a classic Parisienne bob, and her light blue eyes sparkled with a warmth that was all too rare among the more reserved members of the Pureblood circles.
"Ma chère Eleanor," she exclaimed, getting up swiftly to kiss both of Eleanor's cheeks. Her French accent was soft, only slightly detectable. "How are your 'olidays? Is your mother well?"
With a flourish, she guided Eleanor to a plush armchair. "Would you care for some tea, chèrie?"
"Yes, thank you, ma'am," Eleanor replied, settling herself as Isabeau filled her cup. "My mother is doing quite well. She sends her thanks for your thoughtful invitation."
Berenice, sitting next to Eleanor, watched her father with a careful eye, her gaze flicking from him to her mother as though awaiting something.
"I must be off," Mr. Yaxley announced suddenly, his voice as businesslike as ever. "A meeting with the head of Magical Law Enforcement cannot wait."
"But, mon chèri, Eleanor just arrived," protested Isabeau, a frown creasing her delicate features.
"I know, darling," Corban replied, his tone unwavering. "But Amelia Bones will not be kept waiting."
Isabeau huffed, but her objections were futile. Corban pressed a kiss to her hand, then gave a curt nod to both Berenice and Eleanor before exiting the room.
As the door clicked shut behind him, the atmosphere in the room seemed to lighten instantly. Berenice's posture relaxed, and a wide grin spread across her face.
"Did Adrian tell you that his mother managed to get us tickets to the same box as my father's?" she blurted out, her eyes alight with excitement. "He said we'll have the best view of the stadium – second only to the Prime Minister!"
"No, Pucey didn't mention that," Eleanor replied, sipping her tea thoughtfully. It was strong and needed a touch of sugar. "But I'm sure I'll hear from him soon enough."
Berenice gave a shrug, unconcerned. "Oh well. Do you want to practice some Quidditch later? I really want to make the team now that Flint's finally graduated."
Eleanor raised an eyebrow. "Even with Malfoy as captain?"
Berenice smirked. "Still. Adrian says I'd make a great Chaser."
Eleanor shook her head, smirking as well. "Of course he did."
"What do you mean by that?" Berenice asked, her tone a touch suspicious.
"Nothing, Bunny," Eleanor quickly changed the subject, eager to steer them away from the topic. "Did you manage to pass all your OWLs?"
Berenice immediately perked up at the shift in conversation. "Yes, except for History of Magic," she exclaimed, rolling her eyes dramatically. "I'm not going to bother with that class again – it was so dreadfully boring!"
They spent a good deal of time discussing which subjects they'd choose for their NEWTs, and after a bit of convincing, Eleanor found herself out in the sprawling garden behind Falestone Manor, broom in hand, ready for some practice.
Berenice, of course, was in her element. She was a natural on a broom, living and breathing Quidditch. Eleanor, on the other hand, wasn't quite as adept, though she wasn't dreadful either. Still, she was no match for Berenice, who was already working on a tricky Porskoff Ploy.
Eleanor, ever the good sport, gave it a go, but after a particularly tricky manoeuvre, she muttered a frustrated groan.
"Can we stop already? I can't feel my legs anymore!" Eleanor complained, her hands on her hips, looking up at the sinking sun.
Berenice huffed, clearly unwilling to stop, but eventually relented. "Fine, fine. At least we get to sleep in tomorrow. Can you imagine what it must be like to wait all day at some dreary Muggle campsite just to watch the match?"
Eleanor shrugged. "I'm not overly concerned with the plight of others, Bunny."
"Of course you're not," Berenice muttered under her breath, leading the way back to the manor.
Dinner that evening was a welcome relief, especially as Isabeau took great pleasure in hearing the latest gossip from British Muggle society, which Eleanor was more than happy to share. It was moments like these, when Isabeau treated her like a friend and not just an outsider, that Eleanor truly appreciated her company.
The question of how someone as kind and warm as Isabeau had ended up with someone like Corban Yaxley—cold, distant, and an ardent believer in Pureblood supremacy—always lingered in the back of Eleanor's mind. But she knew better than to voice such questions, not when Berenice was so fiercely loyal to her father, despite the man's many faults.
The following morning, Eleanor learned that Corban had already left for the campsite to sort out some last-minute arrangements. While waiting for the Portkey, they entertained Berenice's younger brother, Castor, with stories from Hogwarts. Castor was a charming little boy, with his mother's soft features and easy smile.
"Hold on tight, Castor," Berenice urged, as one of the house-elves appeared to announce that the Portkey was about to activate.
Everyone had dressed in impeccable Muggle clothes, with Eleanor's expert help. Isabeau looked chic in a patchwork paisley-print midi skirt and a simple white top, while Berenice wore a floral satin dress that complemented her complexion. Eleanor herself was dressed in a simple white T-shirt and black skinny jeans.
As Isabeau counted down, they all gripped the Portkey tightly, and within moments, they found themselves in a desolate field. But just beyond the hills, the distant sound of thousands of wizards excitedly talking and laughing filled the air.
"14:10 from Falestone Manor," a bored voice announced. "Madam Yaxley, your husband has requested that I escort you to your tent. Madam Malfoy is already awaiting you."
"Thank you, Radford," Isabeau smiled, taking Castor's hand and following the Ministry official as he led them away.
Berenice and Eleanor exchanged knowing glances. No doubt that wherever Narcissa Malfoy was, her son Draco would not be far behind.
"Cissa! You look absolutely splendid," Isabeau exclaimed as they reached their tent, giving Narcissa Malfoy a warm hug. Draco Malfoy stood behind her, his nose wrinkled in disdain.
"Merci beaucoup, Cissa. Eleanor 'elped me choose the perfect outfit. She has wonderful taste," Isabeau said, beaming at her.
"And naturally, who else would know Muggle fashion better?" Draco sneered, earning a sharp look from his mother.
Eleanor clenched her fists, her irritation bubbling just beneath the surface.
"And we're grateful for her advice," Isabeau continued, already smoothing out her dress. "Why don't you girls go and find Adrian Pucey, Berenice? I'm sure Narcissa and I have plenty of catching up to do. Draco, why don't you take Castor around the campsite for a bit?"
Berenice didn't need to be told twice. She practically dragged Eleanor away. "Come on, Nell," she whispered, noticing the murderous expression on her friend's face. It was the same look Eleanor had worn right before she'd hexed poor Davies during Transfiguration.
"That prat," Eleanor muttered under her breath, kicking at a stray clump of grass. "Did you hear what he said?"
"Don't let him get to you, Nell," Berenice advised, her tone firm. "Let's just find Adrian Pucey."
The campsite stretched out before them, a sprawling village of tents from every corner of the globe. Most looked ordinary, though some wizards had added little flourishes – chimneys, bell pulls, weather vanes – that gave them a distinctly magical flair.
As they wandered, they found themselves passing by an old wizard dressed in a flowery nightgown, much to Berenice's amusement.
Eleanor sighed. "Please don't choke on me," she said dryly as Berenice struggled to contain her laughter.
"Oh, there you are. I was looking for you," came a voice from behind them.
It was Adrian Pucey, looking entirely too handsome in a simple green T-shirt that set off his striking eyes.
"What's going on with her?" he asked, gesturing at Berenice, whose shoulders were still shaking with suppressed laughter.
"She saw a wizard in a nightgown," Eleanor explained, pulling Berenice back to her feet. "What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you two," Adrian replied with a grin. "Our families are sitting in the same box, according to my father, and my mother would like to invite you both to dinner."
"Well, that's awfully kind of her," Eleanor said, a smile tugging at her lips.