The kitchen smelled of melted butter and seared meat, with a faint, savoury char hanging in the air. A heavy cast-iron pan sat atop the gas stove, its handle radiating steady warmth. Blue flames licked at the iron base with a low hiss.
Jane stood at the counter, her knife rhythmically crunching through a loaf of bread to produce thick, crusty slices. Jack leaned against the fridge with his arms crossed, watching the pan with quiet focus, his black hair streaked with white catching the overhead light.
Nimue pulled out a heavy wooden chair, the legs scraping against the floor, and climbed onto the seat. The cold of the wood seeped through her trousers, but she didn't mind as she patted the spot beside her in a silent invitation. Cinder settled comfortably in the shadows beneath her chair, his russet tail curling around her ankle like a warm silk muff.
"Assieds-toi, grande sœur."
(Sit, big sister.)
Fleur sat down, her cream-coloured jumper catching the soft winter light that filtered through the window. She pulled her chair closer to the table until her knees tucked neatly under the edge.
Jane brought the pan over and slid the contents onto a large wooden board. Three steaks, their edges charred and centres a tender pink, rested beside a mound of mashed potatoes streaked with melted butter. A pile of browned, glistening sausages filled the remaining space, steam rising in thick clouds.
Margaux took the seat opposite her niece. She unbuttoned her long black coat and draped it over the back of her chair before smiling at Jane.
"Ça sent bon, Jane. Tu as toujours cuisiné comme ça?"
(That smells good, Jane. Have you always cooked like this?)
Jane carried the bread over and set it in the middle of the table. "Non. J'ai appris après mon mariage."
(No. I learned after my marriage.)
Saoirse dropped into the last empty chair, reaching for a sausage before anyone else had even served themselves. She bit into it with a satisfied hum. Margaux watched her with raised eyebrows but didn't say a word.
Nimue picked up her fork and stabbed a piece of steak, dragging it onto her plate before reaching for the mashed potatoes. The silver serving spoon was heavy, and her wrist wobbled, spilling a bit of potato onto the table. She didn't care. She scooped again, more carefully this time, and dumped the mound beside the meat.
Fleur watched her. "Tu manges toujours autant?"
(Do you always eat that much?)
"Oui. Je grandis."
(Yes. I'm growing.)
Jane passed the plate of sausages toward their guest. "Mange, s'il te plaît. Tu es trop mince."
(Eat, please. You are too thin.)
Fleur looked at the sausages, then glanced toward her aunt. Margaux shrugged and took one for herself. Following her lead, Fleur took one and placed it neatly on the edge of her plate.
For a while, the only sounds were the scrape of knives on ceramic and the soft clink of glasses. Outside the window above the sink, the grey December sky hung low and heavy over the landscape. Somewhere in the distance, a woman called out a name that Nimue couldn't quite catch through the glass.
Jane set her fork down and looked across the table at Fleur. Her green eyes were calm and measuring. "Fleur, tu as quel âge?"
(Fleur, how old are you?)
"Sept ans."
(Seven years old.)
Jane's head tilted as she reached for her water glass. "Sept. Bientôt l'âge pour Beauxbâtons."
(Seven. Soon the age for Beauxbatons.)
"Dans quatre ans," Fleur replied. (In four years.)
"Oui." Jane set the glass back down. "As-tu déjà pensé à ta maison? Celle que tu aimerais rejoindre?"
(Yes. Have you thought about your house? The one you would like to join?)
Fleur set her knife down, her blue eyes drifting toward the window before settling on Margaux. Her aunt gave a small, encouraging shrug. Fleur pushed a piece of potato across her plate with the tip of her fork, her movements hesitant.
"Je ne suis pas sûre," she said quietly. "Mais j'espère... Papillonlisse."
(I'm not sure. But I hope... Papillonlisse.)
Jane's mouth curved into a faint smile. Beside her, Margaux nodded once, slow and certain.
"Papillonlisse," Jane repeated. "C'est une bonne maison pour toi, je pense."
(Papillonlisse. That's a good house for you, I think.)
"La meilleure," Margaux added, spearing a piece of sausage. (The best.)
Fleur looked up, and a flicker of relief crossed her face. "Tu crois?" (You think?)
"Je le sais."
(I know it.)
Nimue chewed her steak while watching the exchange, her green eyes moving from face to face. She swallowed and set her fork down before looking at her companion. "Grande sœur."
Fleur turned to face her.
"Je peux aller à l'école avec toi?"
(Can I go to school with you?)
The question caught everyone off guard. Jane's hand stopped mid-reach for the bread, and Jack paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. Even Saoirse looked up from her third sausage, her eyebrows raised.
Jane turned to her daughter, her mouth opening and then closing as she blinked. Under the table, her hand found Jack's thigh and delivered a sharp pinch.
Jack's expression flattened. He didn't make a sound, but his jaw tightened and his fingers curled hard around the handle of his fork.
"Morwenna," Jane said, her voice carefully controlled. "Tu ne peux pas." (You can't.)
"Pourquoi?"
(Why?)
Saoirse wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and leaned forward. "Parce que tu es née en Grande-Bretagne, petit monstre. Ta première école, c'est Poudlard. C'est là que vont les sorciers et sorcières britanniques."
(Because you were born in Britain, little monster. Your first option is Hogwarts. That's where British witches and wizards go.)
Nimue looked at Saoirse, then back at Fleur, her brow furrowing. "Fleur est née en France."
(Fleur was born in France.)
"Oui," Saoirse said. "Donc elle va à Beauxbâtons. C'est l'école française."
(Yes. So she goes to Beauxbatons. It's the French school.)
Nimue fell silent for a moment as she picked up a piece of bread and tore it in half with her small fingers. "Alors je peux, si je veux?"
(So I can, if I want to?)
Jack rubbed his thigh under the table, his voice remaining steady despite the lingering sting. "Techniquement, tu peux. Tu pourrais choisir d'aller à Beauxbâtons. Mais tu dois quand même aller à Poudlard."
(Technically, you can. You could choose to go to Beauxbatons. But you still must attend Hogwarts.)
Nimue frowned. "Pourquoi?"
Jack set his fork down and turned to face his daughter, his gaze sharpening. "La famille Keith est basée en Grande-Bretagne. La plupart de nos alliés et de notre famille proche sont là-bas. Tu es notre enfant unique." He paused, choosing his words. "Un jour, tu hériteras de ma position comme chef de famille. Ce sera très difficile pour toi si tu n'es pas proche des autres familles britanniques."
(The Keith family is based in Britain. Most of our allies and close family are there. You are our only child. One day, you will inherit my position as Head of House. It will be very hard for you to do that if you aren't close with the other families in Britain.)
Nimue stared at him, her green eyes wide and unblinking. "Chef de famille?"
"Oui. Un jour. Dans très longtemps."
(Yes. One day. A long time from now.)
She looked down at her plate, where the steak was slowly getting cold. She picked up her fork and stabbed a piece of potato. "Je réfléchirai." (I will think about it.)
Jane exhaled slowly. Under the table, she pinched Jack's thigh one more time before letting go.
The conversation shifted naturally as Margaux reached for the bread basket and pulled out a piece of crusty baguette. "Alors, parle-moi de Poudlard," she said, looking toward Jack. "Je n'y ai jamais mis les pieds. C'est vrai qu'il y a un château qui bouge?"
(So, tell me about Hogwarts. I have never set foot there. Is it's true there's a castle that moves?)
Jack tore a piece of bread and leaned back in his chair. "Il ne bouge pas. Les escaliers, oui. Ils changent de direction selon l'heure, ou parfois juste parce qu'ils en ont envie."
(It doesn't move. The stairs do. They change direction depending on the time of day, or sometimes just because they feel like it.)
"Les escaliers ont des sentiments?" Margaux asked with a laugh.
(The stairs have feelings?)
"Apparemment."
(Apparently.)
Margaux shook her head, her laughter bright in the warm kitchen. Jane picked up her own fork but then set it down again. "Nimue. Tu veux savoir comment Poudlard répartit ses élèves?"
(Nimue. Do you want to know how Hogwarts sorts its students?)
Nimue turned to her mother. "Répartit?"
(Sorts?)
"Les met dans des maisons. Comme à Beauxbâtons."
(Puts them into houses. Like Beauxbatons.)
Nimue nodded, her white hair shifting against her shoulders. "Dis-moi." (Tell me.)
Jack leaned back and crossed his arms. "À Poudlard, c'est un chapeau qui fait la répartition. Un vieux chapeau, porté par les fondateurs il y a mille ans. Les élèves défilent un par un, et le chapeau annonce le nom de la maison à laquelle ils appartiennent."
(At Hogwarts, a hat does the sorting. An old hat, worn by the founders a thousand years ago. The students line up, one by one, and the hat calls out the name of the house they belong to.)
"Un chapeau?"
"Un vieux chapeau déchiré qui parle. Il s'assoit sur ta tête, regarde dans ton esprit, et décide dans quelle maison tu dois aller."
(An old, ragged, talking hat. It sits on your head, looks inside your mind, and decides which house you belong to.)
Nimue's eyes widened. She looked at Jack, then at Saoirse, and then back at her father. "Il regarde dans ma tête?"
(It looks inside my head?)
"Juste assez pour savoir où tu t'épanouiras le mieux. Il ne vole rien. Il lit seulement ce qui est déjà là."
(Just enough to know where you'll grow best. It doesn't steal anything. It only reads what's already there.)
Nimue pressed her hand to her forehead, as if checking to make sure all her thoughts were still in place. Fleur watched her with a small, fond smile before taking a sip of her water.
"Il y a quatre maisons," Jack explained, holding up his fingers to count them off. "Gryffondor valorise le courage et l'audace. Les braves, les téméraires, parfois les imprudents. La maison des lions."
(There are four houses. Gryffindor values courage and nerve. Brave, bold, sometimes reckless. The house of lions.)
"Imprudents?"
(Reckless?)
"Sauter d'abord, réfléchir après."
(Jumping first, thinking later.)
Saoirse grinned and pointed at herself with her thumb. "Celle-là, c'est la mienne."
(That one is mine.)
Nimue looked at her aunt. "Toi? Gryffondor?"
(You? Gryffindor?)
"Moi. Gryffondor." Saoirse sat up a little straighter. "J'ai grimpé des montagnes où l'air était trop rare pour respirer. J'ai traversé des déserts seule. Je suis allée dans des endroits où d'autres auraient fait demi-tour. Ça, c'est Gryffondor."
(Me. Gryffindor. I climbed mountains where the air was too thin to breathe. I crossed deserts alone. I walked into places where other people would have turned back. That's Gryffindor.)
Nimue tilted her head. "Papa dit que tu es chaotique."
(Papa says you are chaotic.)
Saoirse's grin only widened. "Ton père a raison. Mais je suis aussi courageuse."
(Your father is right. But I am also brave.)
Jack continued the explanation. "Hufflepuff valorise le travail acharné et la loyauté. Loyaux, patients et travailleurs. Ils ne recherchent pas la gloire. Ils se contentent de faire le travail qui doit être fait. Ravenclaw valorise l'intelligence et l'esprit. Intelligents, curieux, attirés par le savoir pour lui-même. La maison des esprits brillants."
(Hufflepuff values hard work and loyalty. Loyal, patient, hardworking. They don't seek glory. They simply do the work that needs doing. Ravenclaw values intelligence and wit. Smart, curious, and drawn to learning for its own sake. The house of the clever.]
"Et Serpentard." Jack paused for a moment. "Valorise l'ambition et la tradition. Ambitieux, traditionalistes, rusés. Ils protègent les leurs et pensent à l'avenir. Ils comprennent que la magie n'est pas seulement un pouvoir, c'est un héritage."
(And Slytherin. Values ambition and tradition. Ambitious, traditional, and cunning. They protect their own and think ahead. They understand that magic isn't just power—it is legacy.)
Nimue looked at him thoughtfully. "Keith?"
"Oui. La plupart des Keith vont à Serpentard. Nous sommes traditionalistes. Nous avons des liens avec les serpents. Ça correspond."
(Yes. Most Keiths go to Slytherin. We are traditionalists. We have connections to serpents. It fits.)
Nimue turned back to Saoirse, her brows drawing together. "Et toi… Gryffondor?"
There was a clear note of disbelief in her voice. "Pas Serpentard?"
Saoirse huffed a quiet laugh, her black hair shifting over her shoulders. "Non."
Nimue kept staring at her, as if waiting for the answer to change or for a joke to be revealed.
"Notre famille a tendance à finir là-bas, je sais," Saoirse went on, a faint grin tugging at her mouth. "Mais le chapeau m'a regardée et a vu quelqu'un qui préférerait grimper une montagne plutôt que de rester assise dans une bibliothèque. Quelqu'un qui préférerait se battre plutôt que de manigancer." She shrugged. "Il m'a mise là où j'appartenais."
(Our family tends to end up there, I know. But the hat looked at me and saw someone who would rather climb a mountain than sit in a library. Someone who would rather fight than scheme. It put me where I belonged.)
"Et ça ne pose pas de problème?" Nimue asked.
(And that's not a problem?)
"Pour la famille?" Saoirse shook her head. "Non. Père s'y attendait. Avec ce que j'étais enfant, he savait que je pourrais ne pas finir à Serpentard. Ça ne lui a jamais posé problème."
(For the family? No. Father expected it. With what I was like as a child, he knew I might not end up in Slytherin. It never bothered him.)
She shrugged again, fixing her gaze on Nimue. "Le choix de la maison ne définit pas tes priorités. Il montre plutôt le chemin qui te correspond. Celui qui suit ta personnalité, tes valeurs les plus marquées. Celui qui t'aide à devenir la sorcière ou le sorcier que tu veux être, ou celui qui te convient le mieux."
(The choice of house doesn't define your priorities. It shows the path that fits you. The one that follows your personality, your strongest values. The one that helps you become the witch or wizard you want to be, or the one that suits you best.)
Nimue thought about this for a long moment. She nodded slowly and then turned to Jane. "Et les Evans?"
Jane set her fork down and met her daughter's green eyes. "La plupart des Evans vont à Papillonlisse. C'est la maison française de l'élégance et de l'intellect. Le papillon. Nous valorisons la précision, la créativité, et la façon de nous présenter. Comme la plupart des Keith vont à Serpentard. C'est la même chose, juste des noms différents."
(Most Evans go to Papillonlisse. It's the French house of elegance and intellect. The butterfly. We value precision, creativity, and knowing how to present ourselves. Just like most Keith are sorted into Slytherin. It's the same thing, just different names.)
"Comme toi?"
(Like you?)
"Comme moi. Comme ta grand-mère. Comme la plupart de notre lignée."
(Like me. Like your grandmother. Like most of our line.)
Margaux dabbed her mouth with her napkin. "La plupart des Vélanes vont aussi à Papillonlisse."
(Most Veela also go to Papillonlisse.)
Nimue turned to look at her. "Pourquoi?"
Margaux set the napkin aside. "Papillonlisse valorise la grâce, l'intellect et la présence. Les Vélanes portent ces choses naturellement : le charme, le calme, la façon dont ils se déplacent dans une pièce."
(Papillonlisse values grace, intellect, and presence. Veela carry those things naturally: the allure, the composure, the way they move through a room.)
She gestured at Fleur with her chin. "Tu crois qu'elle a appris ça? C'est dans son sang. Papillonlisse est l'endroit où cette magie appartient."
(You think she learned that? It's in her blood. Papillonlisse is where that kind of magic belongs.)
Fleur's cheeks turned pink, and she stared down at her plate. Nimue watched the colour rise in the older girl's face. She didn't say anything, but her eyes softened.
"Leur magie est liée à ça, à la façon dont on les voit, à l'influence discrète qu'ils exercent," Margaux added. "Papillonlisse leur apprend à maîtriser ces traits, à les polir pour qu'ils deviennent délibérés. Une Vélane qui ne contrôle pas son propre charme est dangereuse pour elle-même. Papillonlisse enseigne le contrôle."
(Their magic is bound to it, to how they're seen, to the quiet influence they exert. Papillonlisse teaches them to refine those traits, to polish them into something deliberate. A Veela who can't control her own allure is dangerous to herself. Papillonlisse teaches control.)
Fleur listened quietly, her blue eyes moving between the adults. Margaux continued her explanation. "Il y a trois maisons à Beauxbâtons. Papillonlisse est l'une d'elles. Les autres sont Bellefeuille et Ombrelune."
(There are three houses at Beauxbatons. Papillonlisse is one. The others are Bellefeuille and Ombrelune.)
"Bellefeuille," Jane said, "est pour les cœurs chaleureux. Les loyaux. Ceux qui prennent soin des autres. Les guérisseurs, les herbolistes, ceux qui te nourrissent avant de demander ton nom. "Ta tante et ton oncle du côté de maman, Raphaël et Luelle, sont à Bellefeuille."
(Bellefeuille is for the warm-hearted. The loyal. The ones who care for others. Healers and herbologists and those who feed you before asking your name. Your aunt and uncle, Raphaël and Luelle, are in Bellefeuille.)
"Et Ombrelune?"
Jane glanced at Jack before looking back at Nimue. "Ombrelune est pour ceux qui marchent dans l'ombre. Les curieux. Ceux qui posent les questions que les autres évitent. Les briseurs de maléfices, les ritualistes, ceux qui étudient ce qui est caché."
(Ombrelune is for those who walk in shadow. The curious ones. The ones who ask questions others avoid. Curse-breakers, ritualists, those who study what's hidden.)
She then leaned forward. "Tu veux savoir comment Beauxbâtons répartit ses élèves?"
(Do you want to know how Beauxbatons sorts its students?)
Nimue and Fleur looked at each other and both nodded eagerly.
"Ça prend trois jours," Jane said. "Les nouveaux élèves parcourent les couloirs, regardent les maisons, mangent avec tout le monde. Ils ne portent pas encore d'insigne de maison. Le troisième soir, ils se tiennent devant le Grand Conseil. Trois portraits, un pour chaque maison. Les portraits leur parlent. Leur disent ce qu'ils voient."
(It takes three days. The new students walk the halls, watch the houses, eat with everyone. They don't wear a house pin yet. On the third evening, they stand before the Grand Conseil. Three portraits, one for each house. The portraits speak to them. Tell them what they see.)
"Et ensuite?"
(And then?)
"Ensuite, l'élève choisit."
(Then the student chooses.)
Nimue blinked. "Choisit?"
"Les portraits conseillent. Ils ne commandent pas." Jane picked up her fork again. "L'élève peut être d'accord avec le premier portrait, ou demander à entendre un autre. Mais à la fin, ils franchissent la porte qu'ils croient être la leur."
(The portraits advise. They don't command. The student can agree with the first portrait, or ask to hear from another. But in the end, they walk through the door they believe is theirs.)
Nimue looked at Fleur. "Et toi, tu veux Papillonlisse."
(And you, you want Papillonlisse.)
Fleur nodded. "Oui."
Nimue reached over and patted Fleur's hand. "C'est bien."
Fleur looked down at the small hand resting on hers, and her mouth curved into a gentle smile.
The rest of the meal felt lighter. Saoirse told a story about a goat that had chased her down a mountain in Switzerland, and Margaux laughed so hard she nearly choked on her bread.
Nimue didn't listen to most of it. She finished her potatoes and pushed her plate slightly toward the centre of the table. Cinder's nose appeared over the edge of the table, sniffing the air.
"Non," Nimue said firmly.
The fox's nose disappeared instantly. Fleur watched this exchange with her fork hovering mid-air. A small sound escaped her, something between a breath and a laugh.
Nimue looked at her. "Quoi?"
(What?)
"Rien," Fleur said.
(Nothing.)
Nimue studied her face for a moment, then nodded and turned back to the table. Jane asked Fleur about her schooling so far, and Fleur described the small private tutor she shared with two other children.
"Il est strict," Fleur said. "Mais il connaît ses sujets."
(He is strict. But he knows his subjects.)
"Strict, c'est bien," Jack said. "Strict veut dire que tu apprends."
(Strict is good. Strict means you are actually learning.)
He asked if the tutor taught French history or magical history, and Fleur explained that she learned both. She preferred the magical lessons because the dates were much easier for her to remember. Saoirse laughed at that, and though Fleur's blush returned, she was clearly smiling.
Nimue finished her steak and pushed her plate away. She was full, and the warmth of the food spread through her stomach. She leaned against Fleur's arm, her head finding the same spot it had earlier in the bedroom. Fleur didn't move away.
When the plates were cleared and the last piece of bread had been eaten, Nimue sat up and looked at her new friend. "Tu veux t'asseoir sur le canapé ou retourner dans ma chambre?"
(Do you want to sit on the sofa or go back to my room?)
Fleur glanced at Margaux, who was busy carrying plates to the sink. Her aunt caught her eye and gave a small, encouraging nod.
"Ta chambre."
Nimue slid off her chair and held out her hand, which Fleur took. They walked down the hallway together, Cinder padding behind them as his claws clicked softly on the parquet floor.