Chapter 29 - Beauxbatons

When Ava arrived at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, night had already blanketed the sky, and the towering palace shimmered under the moonlight like a jewel carved from marble and magic. The massive powder-blue carriage that had brought her faded into the distance behind her, drawn by Abraxan horses that pawed the ground with silken grace before taking flight once more.

Madame Maxime, statuesque and regal even in her traveling cloak, ushered Ava through the gilded entryway. The corridors were quiet, the only sound the soft click of Maxime's heels on polished marble and the echo of Ava's own hesitant steps. Most students were tucked away in their dormitories, dreaming under enchanted drapes and tapestries.

They reached a grand set of double doors, which swung open without a sound. Ava stepped into a room that took her breath away. It didn't feel like an office and instead felt like a drawing room from a fairy tale.

The walls were swathed in deep maroon damask, warmed by soft golden sconces flickering gently like candlelight. Ornate crown molding framed the ceiling, and in its center, a massive crystal chandelier hung suspended like a constellation of glass stars. The air was thick with the scent of something floral and heady, an old perfume that clung to the velvet furnishings. Paintings lined the walls: a couple tangled in an intimate meadow kiss, a woman twirling a curl of hair by a firelit bed.

The only thing that resembled an office at all was the grand ivory desk in the center of the room, stacked with parchment, quills, and a single, steaming teacup.

Ava removed her travel hat, smoothing her hair self-consciously, and perched on a white chaise lounge near the door. Maxime glided to the desk and gathered several parchments before sweeping over to her.

"Ah, voilà," she said, voice low and melodic. "'Ere is your schedule for ze remainder of ze term. Professor Dumbly-dorr and I made sure zat you 'ave ze same classes you were taking at 'Ogwarts." She handed Ava the parchment with a knowing look. "You will find zis transition easier if somezings remain familiar, non?"

Ava scanned the schedule and nodded. "Thank you, Professor."

Maxime continued, "'Also… ze Ministry 'as asked zat you go by a different name while you are 'ere. Ze school knows you as Clarice Dumont. Zey believe it best for your safety."

"Clarice Dumont…" Ava echoed softly. The name felt strange in her mouth, like trying on someone else's skin.

"You are among friends 'ere, Mademoiselle Dumont," Maxime said gently, reading the tightness in Ava's jaw. "But ze danger is real. 'Ogwarts may not be as safe as we once believed."

Ava looked back down at the schedule, her heart heavy. A new school. A new name. A new identity. What else would she have to give up?

As if sensing the storm in her silence, Maxime softened. "Iz zere… somezing wrong?" She lowered herself onto the edge of the chaise. "It iz not too late, you know. If you change your mind, we can arrange for you to return to 'Ogwarts."

Ava shook her head. "No. I just need some time to take it all in. I'll be alright."

"Très bien," Maxime said, standing. "I 'ave arranged for your roommate to escort you to your dormitory."

She rang a silver bell, its delicate chime dancing through the room. The door opened seconds later, and in walked a girl who looked like she'd stepped out of a Botticelli painting. Her olive-toned skin glowed under the soft light, and her hair fell in thick, dark waves past her waist. She moved like liquid silk.

"Clarice, zis is your roommate, Mademoiselle Moreau," Maxime said.

The girl curtsied gracefully. "Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Je m'appelle Isabella. Je suis ravie de vous rencontrer!"

Ava blinked, caught off guard by the rush of French. Isabella laughed gently. "Ah! Forgive me. I forgot you are not from 'ere. I am Isabella, and I am 'appy to 'ave you as my roommate!"

"Merci beaucoup," Ava said awkwardly, earning a warm smile in return.

After exchanging goodbyes with Maxime, Ava followed Isabella out into the quiet hallway.

"'Ow do you like ze palace so far?" Isabella asked, her voice melodic and accented.

"Palace?" Ava asked, looking at her in confusion..

Isabella giggled. "But of course! Zis is not a school, Clarice. Zis is Beauxbatons! We do not 'ave dusty suits of armor and angry staircases like 'Ogwarts."

Ava chuckled despite herself.

"Dinner is serenaded by wood nymph choirs. Ze ceilings are enchanted with starlight. At Noël, we dance under falling snow inside ze ballroom. It is très jolie!" Isabella swept her arms wide as they passed arched windows glowing softly with moonlight.

Ava let herself be swept up in the girl's enthusiasm, though her mind still lingered on everything she'd left behind. Fred. Angelina. Hogwarts. Her entire world felt a thousand miles away. A new name, a new bed, a new school… Was she still Ava at all?

"My birthday's next week," she murmured suddenly, more to herself than to Isabella.

"Ah, zen we must celebrate!" Isabella beamed, throwing an arm gently around Ava's shoulders.

Ava nodded, offering a small smile as they stopped in front of a tall door painted a soft cream color.

"'Ere we are," Isabella said, unlocking it with a gentle flick of her wand. "Welcome 'ome."

Ava stepped inside and took a deep breath. The room smelled of fresh linens and rosewater. A gilded mirror hung over each bed, and delicate lace curtains framed a window overlooking the sprawling gardens below. A little desk was already prepared for her, parchment and quills set out with meticulous care.

Ava didn't say anything for a moment. She simply stood there, letting the weight of her decision settle on her shoulders like a winter coat. But as Isabella chatted cheerfully behind her, pointing out where she kept extra robes or which charms professor to avoid before her morning tea, Ava thought, for the first time in a long while, that maybe she could learn to breathe here.

Maybe.

But it wouldn't be easy.

And it would never be the same.


The rest of the term passed more quickly than Ava expected. One moment she was unpacking in a new dorm room under a false name, and the next, spring light was filtering through the stained-glass windows, signaling the end of term.

At Beauxbatons, Ava felt like a ghost in passing, there, but not seen. She attended all her classes, kept her head down, and buried herself in her studies, far more focused than most of her peers. While other students gathered in glittering common spaces or gossiped between classes, she was often found with her nose in a book, or tucked away in the library's sun-drenched alcoves.

Potions, in particular, had been a very different experience than it had been at Hogwarts. Gone was the cold, clipped voice of Professor Snape and the dank dungeon classroom. In his place stood Madame Beauchamp, a statuesque, part-Veela woman with waist-length blonde hair and a voice as smooth as silk. If not for the fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, Ava would've mistaken her for a student. Most of the boys in class could barely concentrate, too enchanted by her effortless grace to focus on anything else.

Most of the boys… except one.

Marcell Delauer, a quiet boy from northern France, never seemed fazed by Madame Beauchamp's beauty or the other girls' attention. He had sharp, intelligent eyes and a calm demeanor that Ava found oddly comforting. They'd been partnered early in the term and had remained lab partners since. He was different from Fred. Different from Oliver. There was no edge of flirtation, no underlying tension. Just easy companionship.

Marcell was only slightly taller than Ava, his frame slender, almost delicate, with dark brown hair that brushed just below his ears. He was objectively handsome, something many of the girls had noticed, but he seemed entirely uninterested in the attention. He paid more mind to potions ingredients than passing glances.

"Can you pass me ze belladonna?" Marcell asked one afternoon, his eyes focused as he measured wormwood into their cauldron.

"Here," Ava said, handing over the dried plant. She peered down at the bubbling mixture. "Once you add that, it should turn a fluorescent purple."

Marcell nodded, added the belladonna, and stirred. A moment later, the potion glowed a brilliant, shimmering violet.

Ava smiled. "Looks like we got it right."

Marcell grinned. "We make a great team."

Madame Beauchamp, gliding between tables like a dancer, stopped at their station. She peered into their cauldron and gave a delighted gasp.

"Brilliant!" she announced, her voice echoing across the room. "Zis, mes élèves, is a perfect Beautifying Potion. Regardez! Monsieur Delauer and Mademoiselle Dumont 'ave done it again–c'est magnifique!"

Ava flushed as a few students turned to glance at their table, whispers flitting through the room like paper on a breeze. She ducked her head and focused on gathering her things, but she could feel the attention lingering, eyes darting between her and Marcell, curious, speculative.

Marcell, seemingly unfazed, gave her an easy pat on the back, his hand warm and reassuring through the fabric of her robes. "Perfect timing again," he said with a grin as he packed away his notes. "We really do make a great team."

As the class began to empty, Ava slung her satchel over her shoulder and fell into step beside him. The marble corridors echoed with the sharp click of polished shoes and the occasional laughter of students heading to lunch.

"You're a fantastic partner," Marcell said as they rounded a corner. "I haven't brewed a single bad potion since you arrived."

Ava laughed under her breath, the sound soft and genuine. "Well, you're not too bad yourself."

As they passed the grand staircase, a group of girls stood by the balustrade, their uniforms impeccable, their hair perfectly styled. One of them, Mariella, a fourth-year with impossibly glossy curls and a well-known reputation for flirting, giggled and gave Marcell a slow, deliberate wink.

Ava nudged him lightly with her elbow. "Mariella just winked at you."

Marcell followed her gaze with mild interest, then turned back ahead with a casual shrug."She is… how do you say… not really my type."

Ava raised a brow, half teasing. "No?"

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his tone softer now, more deliberate. "Non. I prefer people who do not care if others are watching." A small, almost secretive smile tugged at his lips before he looked away again.

Ava blinked, momentarily thrown. She hadn't expected that. There was something in the way he said it. More subtle, not a declaration, but not meaningless either. Her chest tightened. Not unpleasantly. But not comfortably either.

She cleared her throat. "So... what do you think's for lunch today?" she asked, shifting the topic with a forced ease.

Marcell didn't miss a beat. "Ah, hopefully, something less terrible than ze stew from yesterday." He grinned. "If not, I may stage a rebellion."

Ava gave a quiet laugh, grateful for the way he let the moment pass. As they stepped into the soft, gilded glow of the dining hall, she kept her smile in place and pushed down the dull ache in her chest.

Isabella was already seated at their usual table, her posture effortlessly graceful as she waved them over with the kind of charm Ava would never quite manage. Sunlight poured in through the enchanted glass ceiling above, illuminating the silver serving trays and bowls of fresh fruit laid out in perfect symmetry.

"There you are! I 'ave been waiting for you!" Isabella beamed, her curls bouncing as she waved Ava over.

Ava slipped into the seat beside Isabella while Marcell settled onto her other side. The Beauxbatons dining hall was nothing short of breathtaking, more like a ballroom than a place to eat. The vaulted ceiling shimmered with enchanted skylight, casting a soft golden glow over long, polished ivory tables. Crystal goblets sparkled in the candlelight, and the air was perfumed with lavender and roasting meats. Garlands of enchanted silk roses bloomed along the pillars, and from the rafters, a choir of wood nymphs hovered delicately, their lullaby-like harmonies lacing through the hall like a breeze.

Plates filled themselves with elegant portions of veal en croûte, herbed potatoes, and delicate lavender-glazed carrots. Silver serving dishes brimmed with fresh pastries, poached pears, and creamy camembert. Compared to Hogwarts, where the meals were hearty, loud, and often chaotic, dinner here felt like a formal gala Ava hadn't quite dressed for.

She found herself staring down at her plate, a fork in hand but unmoving. Her thoughts wandered, she imagined how Fred would scoff at the dainty food or how George would try to coax one of the wood nymphs into helping with a prank. Lee would probably call the dining hall "a cursed tea party" and dramatically faint into his soup. Even Alicia and Katie would poke fun at how serious everything seemed here.

She smiled faintly at the memory until a light nudge against her arm made her turn.

Marcell was leaning slightly toward her, eyebrows raised in amusement. "You were a million kilometers away," he said softly. "Lost in thought?"

Ava shook her again and flushed. "Sorry. Just… thinking."

"About summer?" Isabella asked eagerly, already mid-story as Ava returned to the present.

"Well, I am going to ze Riviera with my famille," Isabella gushed, delicately slicing a piece of roasted duck and dabbing the corner of her mouth with a monogrammed cloth napkin. "And zen we are going to ze opera... in ze Americas! I am told it is très chic."

She swirled her wine-colored juice in its goblet and turned to Marcell, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Et toi, Marcell?"

Marcell gave a casual shrug, sipping his sparkling water. "My family is going to ze Quidditch World Cup. We 'ave box seats."

Ava's eyes widened. "Really? That's incredible! I'm so jealous."

She couldn't help but think of Fred and George talking animatedly about the Cup earlier that year. They had been so hopeful that Ireland would take it. Her chest ached unexpectedly, and she tried to blink away the sting of memory. She hadn't spoken to Fred since that last day on the cliff. Lupin had written, saying he'd sent letters, but Ava told him not to forward them. She couldn't bear to read words filled with hurt or worse…indifference.

She hadn't written to Angelina either. She didn't really know why. The guilt was heavy, and her regret about leaving Hogwarts still gnawed at her. But she'd made her choice.

Marcell's voice cut through her thoughts. "You look sad. I deedn't know you wanted to go so badly. But do not worry. I was going to invite you and your family to come. I asked mon père last week and he said it would be fine to bring someone along."

Ava blinked. "Wait–really? You'd want me to come?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Isabella flinch, but the other girl kept her smile in place, smoothing the edge of her napkin.

"I mean…" Ava hesitated. "Could Isabella come too?"

Isabella's smile grew at once as she looked hopefully at Marcell.

Marcell glanced between the two girls before nodding. "Mais bien sûr. I would like you both to come. So, what do you say, Clarice?"

He reached out and took her hand gently, giving her a mock-sad pout.

Ava laughed softly and squeezed his hand. "I'd love to. I just have to ask Lupin… my…uh…" She paused, unsure of how to label him. Father still felt like a word too heavy to say aloud. "I'm sure he'll say yes."

Lupin's letters had become a treasured part of her weeks. With each one, he included a photo of her mother, often one Ava had never seen before, along with some small story or detail he loved about her. Ava kept the letters and photos hidden beneath her pillow in a small album she'd started on her first week at Beauxbatons. Every night, she flipped through them, imagining a world where her mother still lived, where everything had turned out differently.

Isabella tilted her head. "Zis Lupin… he is your papa, no?"

Ava nodded faintly, her eyes dropping to her plate. "Yeah… he is."

Isabella had always been curious, almost too curious, about why Ava had transferred schools so suddenly, and why she used a different name here. No matter what Ava said, Isabella never seemed entirely convinced.

"An' how are ze boys in England?" Isabella added, changing the subject. "I 'ear zey are very… bold… compared to ours."

Ava managed a faint smile, stirring her soup. "They're definitely different."

Her shoulders sagged a little, and the moment quieted.

Marcell leaned a little closer. "Oui, but ze boys 'ere aren't so bad either. Not a single one caught your eye?" he teased, light but curious. "No one back 'ome you miss?"

Ava hesitated, then shook her head. "No. And… no. I don't have anyone."

The wood nymphs finished their song, the soft applause from the dining hall echoing off the gold-trimmed walls. Ava stood, her chair scraping lightly against the marble floor.

"I need to stop by the library before bed. I'll see you both at finals."

Before either could respond, she turned quickly and walked away.


The library was quiet, wrapped in a serene, almost sacred stillness. The scent of old parchment and pressed lavender hung in the air, comforting and familiar. Gentle floating candles drifted lazily beneath the high, arched ceiling, casting pools of warm light across rows of polished mahogany shelves. Shadows danced along the spines of ancient volumes. Some were stitched in velvet, others bound in cracked leather, their gilded titles glimmering faintly as Ava passed.

Ava slipped through the aisles, her footsteps hushed by the plush indigo rug beneath her shoes. Her eyes flicked toward the upper balconies lined with iron railings and stained-glass windows, where moonlight spilled through in soft ribbons, mingling with the flicker of candlelight.

She found her usual desk in the farthest corner of the library, nestled beneath a grand, domed windowpane. It was a small alcove of privacy, half-shielded by a towering bookcase and flanked by a reading lamp with a soft amber glow. She eased into the velvet-backed chair with a sigh and dropped her bag onto the table with a soft thud.

With careful fingers, she unlatched the flap and reached inside, pulling free the envelope she'd received that morning. The parchment was worn from handling, the ink slightly smudged where she had thumbed over the return address. It had traveled a long way. Her heart thudded faintly in her chest as she unfolded it, the quiet around her deepening until it felt like the entire library was holding its breath.

Ava,

Thank you for your last letter.
I'm glad the photo made you smile. That's all I ever want.

Things at Hogwarts have calmed down.
Sirius Black is no longer a threat (though he never truly was.)
That's a longer story I'll tell you in person.

Angelina asked about you again in class. She misses you.
I told her I'd pass on the message.
I won't tell you what to do, Ava.
But sometimes, the longer we wait,
the harder it is to go back.

One more thing: I've resigned from the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.
I'll explain why when I pick you up at the end of the term. Enclosed is my new address.

And yes… another photo. I hope this one makes you smile too.

–R

Ava pulled out the photograph carefully, her fingers trembling slightly as the edge of the parchment peeked from the envelope. It slid out with the faintest whisper, and as she turned it over, her breath caught in her throat.

It was a photograph, faded slightly at the corners, but still clear. A candid shot, soft and intimate. She recognized her mother instantly. She lay in a hospital bed, her face pale and dewy with exhaustion, but still achingly beautiful. Her dark curls were tangled across the pillow. One arm was curled protectively around a bundle nestled beside her.

The baby was impossibly tiny, swaddled in a pale blue blanket, her face turned toward her mother's chest. The photo was still, with no moving features like a wizarding portrait, just a still moment, frozen in time.

Ava's throat tightened. She hadn't known this photo existed. It must have been taken quietly by someone standing just out of frame. Someone who'd been there. Her fingers brushed the back of the photograph as she turned it over, and her eyes caught the neat, slanted handwriting scrawled in deep blue ink.

I was there from the beginning. I always will be. –R.

The words hit her like a stone to the chest. She swallowed hard, her thumb tracing the delicate ink. She looked back at the image and let her forehead rest gently against the table's edge, blinking back tears that gathered in her lashes.

"Did she know?" Ava whispered, not even realizing she'd spoken aloud. "Did she know you were there?"


The last day of school had come.

Ava stood outside the grand marble steps of Beauxbatons Palace, her suitcase beside her and the June sun warm on her face. Around her, students spilled out of the castle in waves chattering in French, embracing one another, dashing into the arms of waiting parents. Laughter echoed across the manicured lawns, mingling with the trills of magical birds flitting between the flowering treetops. It was the end of the term, and the world seemed to be basking in relief.

Except Ava.

She checked her watch again. It was five minutes past the arranged time and still, there was no sign of Lupin.

Her fingers curled tightly around the handle of her suitcase. She could hear Isabella laughing behind her as she hugged her older brother. A few feet away, Marcell chatted with another boy from their potions class, his hair windblown and eyes bright. He noticed Ava and gave her a small wave. She returned it weakly.

Her gaze drifted, and her mind wandered to another platform, another time. King's Cross Station. The first day of the semester. She remembered standing there with her luggage, searching the crowd for Anthony. He hadn't come. He never had. Not once had he seen her off or picked her up from school. It had always been Angelina or her uncle Nick. But even then… at least they'd been there.

She blinked against the sting behind her eyes.

I hope they aren't angry with me. I hope they understand why I left.

A sudden voice called out across the courtyard.

"Clarice!"

She looked up and relief swept through her chest.

Lupin was jogging toward her, hair wind-tossed and a little grayer than before, but smiling wide as he reached her. He pulled her into a brief hug and kissed the top of her head. "Sorry, I'm late. I thought dismissal was later than this. Do you have everything?"

Ava glanced at her trunk. "Yeah… I'm ready."

He lifted the bag with ease. "Then let's get going."

As they turned, Ava caught sight of Isabella and Marcell still waving from across the lawn. She offered them a smile, though her heart already felt a strange ache of parting. In two months, they'd see each other again at the World Cup… but it still felt like a goodbye.


The train ride north was smooth and unhurried, the countryside blurring into rolling hills and flowering fields as Ava and Lupin sat side by side in a quiet corner of the carriage. The low rumble of the tracks provided a calming rhythm as Ava filled the space between them with stories of Beauxbatons.

The ferry ride, by contrast, was less romantic than Beauxbatons had prepared her for. They boarded a magical passenger vessel docked at the northern port. The ship was small but elegant and was enchanted for swift travel across the channel. The deck was made of polished teak, slick with salt mist, and the lanterns hanging along the railings swayed gently with the motion of the sea. The sky was darkening as the ship pulled away from the coast, the last glow of the sunset turning the water to molten pewter.

Ava and Lupin were led to their modest cabin–a snug little space with two narrow bunks, clean white linens, and a circular porthole window that opened just enough to let in the briny sea air.

She dropped her bag to the floor and collapsed onto the edge of her bunk with a soft sigh, brushing her hair from her face. The rocking of the boat beneath her was gentle, almost soothing.

"It feels strange to be going back," she murmured, staring at the woodgrain of the cabin floor.

Lupin leaned against the doorframe for a moment, then stepped further into the room and cleared his throat. His voice, usually calm and measured, carried a hesitation that made her look up.

"Ava…"

Something in the way he said her name made her sit straighter, her eyes searching his face.

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you for some time now," he said quietly.

She blinked, her heart giving a small, nervous kick. "Is it about why you left Hogwarts?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he turned toward the porthole, his gaze drifting out to the sea. The moon was beginning to rise, casting long glimmers across the water.

"Yes," he said at last. "That's part of it."

Ava's stomach knotted. The fading light painted his features in shadows, and for a fleeting second, she thought he looked older than she remembered, tired in a way she hadn't noticed before.

"Is it…" she swallowed, voice low, "something bad?"

"It's something you deserve to know."

Ava swallowed. The silence between them pressed in like a fog, thick and suffocating. The gentle creak of the ship, the distant call of gulls, the lapping of water against the hull, all of it faded into the background as her thoughts spiraled.

Her eyes drifted to the small cabin window, the dark horizon blurring into waves. But her mind was far away, back in the woods. Back to that awful, frantic day last term. The fear. The confusion. Fred's hand in hers. The image of Lupin, pale and trembling, wounds half-healed and something wild in his eyes.

"Is it about what happened in the forest?" she asked quietly. "When Fred and I found you?"

Lupin didn't answer at first. His shoulders rose and fell with a slow, deliberate breath. Then he nodded, his jaw tightening. "Yes."

Ava turned to face him, her brow knit. "I thought you were attacked or something… Did someone hurt you?" Her heart quickened and her face paled. "Is the school in danger?"

He gave a hollow, almost bitter laugh. "No. I wasn't attacked. No one hurt me. No one at school is in danger."

He paused, and in that moment, something shifted in his expression, like a mask slipping. His voice was quiet but steady, solemn with something deeper than fear.

"I'm the danger, Ava."

Her heart skipped. A chill raced down her spine. "What are you talking about?" she said, a little sharper now, panic threading through the confusion. "You told me Sirius Black wasn't a threat."

"He isn't," Lupin said gently, meeting her eyes with a kind of sorrow that made her stomach twist. "He never was."

He turned to her fully now, his knees angled toward her, and in the dim golden light of the lantern above their bunks, she could see the truth in his face, etched in the lines of exhaustion and regret, in the tremble just beneath his calm.

"But I…"

A long silence passed, heavy and humming.

Then, finally, the words came.

"I am a werewolf."