On the first morning, Fleur arrived at the nursery before breakfast. Morwenna was still in bed, curled around Vert with Cinder at her feet. The fire had burned low overnight, leaving the room cool and quiet.
Fleur knocked once and then opened the door without waiting for an answer. She stood in the doorway, her silver-blonde hair loose around her shoulders and her feet bare.
"You sleep late," Fleur said.
Morwenna blinked at her, still heavy with sleep. "You are in my room."
"I am staying here for three days."
Fleur crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, causing the mattress to dip. Cinder lifted his head, sniffed her hand, and went back to sleep with his tail draped over her knee. "What do you want to do today?" Fleur asked.
Morwenna didn't have an answer yet. She was still waking up, her hair was tangled, and a crease from the pillow marked her cheek.
Fleur reached out and smoothed the skin with her thumb. "You have a line here," she noted softly.
Morwenna's face went warm. She sat up and pushed her hair back. "I need to get dressed."
"I will wait."
The three days passed in a blur of small, quiet moments. Morning light filtered through the nursery curtains. Fleur already dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for Morwenna to wake while Cinder curled between them.
They ate breakfast in the morning room. Jane put out bread, jam, and tea. Fleur poured milk into Morwenna's cup without being asked. Morwenna watched her hands, the way her fingers wrapped around the ceramic, how she set the cup down exactly where Morwenna could reach it.
They walked through the portrait gallery, where Fleur stopped in front of the old woman with white hair.
The portrait looked back with discerning eyes. "You are the French girl," the old woman said.
Fleur inclined her head. "I'm Fleur."
The old woman's mouth curved into a small smile. "I know."
Morwenna tugged at Fleur's sleeve, and they kept walking. They visited the greenhouses where, although Lucien wasn't there, the plants were thriving. Fleur touched the leaves of a plant that folded when brushed, her fingers light and curious.
Morwenna showed her a seedling she had been watching, though it hadn't opened yet. "Maybe tomorrow," she said. "Maybe the day after."
Fleur nodded as if she understood the importance of the wait.
They sat in the conservatory where Morwenna played the piano. She stuck to simple songs, scales, and the melody Jane had taught her years ago. Fleur sat beside her on the bench, close enough that their shoulders touched, and simply listened.
When Fleur tried the keys herself, her fingers found the right notes. Morwenna watched her hands move.
"You are staring," Fleur said.
"You are pretty when you play."
Fleur's ears went pink, and her fingers stumbled over the next few notes.
They held hands constantly—walking down corridors, sitting at meals, and standing in doorways while waiting for the adults to finish their business.
Morwenna's palm grew accustomed to the warmth of Fleur's, and her fingers learned the exact spaces between Fleur's own. She stopped noticing when it happened; her hand simply reached for Fleur's without a second thought.
Fleur noticed, and her mouth curved every time their fingers linked.
In Paris, it had been Morwenna who reached out first, who held on and refused to let go. Now Fleur stayed close. She touched Morwenna's shoulder when she passed, pulled her toward the window to show her a bird on the sill.
Morwenna's past-life self was almost thirty. She knew what this bond looked like, what it could become. That knowledge didn't stop the awkwardness. She felt too old for the way her stomach flipped when Fleur smiled, yet far too young to do anything about it.
She let Fleur lead.
They spent an afternoon in the library where Fleur pulled books from the shelves at random, reading passages aloud in French. Morwenna understood most of it now. Her ears had caught up to her reading level.
Fleur read a story about a girl who followed a white bird into the woods, and when she finished, Morwenna spoke up. "That's my book."
"This is your library. All the books are yours."
"That one especially. My grandmother gave it to me."
Fleur closed the book and held it close. "Then I will read it to you again tomorrow."
Fleur showed her how to fold paper into birds with precise wings, her warm hands guiding Morwenna's fingers through the creases. She braided Morwenna's hair, working through the black and white strands slowly before tying the end with a blue ribbon—the same one from Paris. Morwenna touched the ribbon.
During their walks in the gardens, Fleur asked the names of flowers Morwenna had never thought to name. She stopped at the rose bushes to touch the petals and knelt by the hedge to examine a spiderweb wet with dew.
The roses were in full bloom and the lavender was thick with bees. Fleur picked a small purple flower and tucked it behind Morwenna's ear, making Morwenna's own ears go red, though she didn't remove it.
At the lake, they sat on the stone wall and watched the grey, still water. "You came here as a child, right? You tell me before." Fleur remarked.
"I still am a child."
Fleur looked at her, and something moved behind her blue eyes. "I know."
They snuggled on the sofa in the morning room while Jane read nearby. Fleur's arm was around Morwenna's shoulders, and Morwenna's head rested against Fleur's chest, where she could hear a steady, slightly fast heartbeat.
"You are comfortable," Fleur said.
"Don't talk. I'm counting."
"Counting what?"
"Your heartbeat."
Fleur went quiet, and her arm tightened around Morwenna.
On the third morning, Morwenna woke before Fleur arrived. She lay in bed and watched the ceiling while the grey morning light filtered through the curtains. Fleur would leave today. Morwenna pressed her face into her pillow.
Fleur came and sat on the edge of the bed. She looked at Morwenna's face.
"You knew I was leaving today," Fleur said.
"Yes."
"Did you sleep?"
"No."
Fleur lay down on the bed beside Morwenna, on top of the quilt, facing her. "Three days is not enough."
"It's what your mother said."
"I know."
They lay there together as Cinder shifted to make room and Vert remained trapped between them. Fleur touched Morwenna's cheek.
"I was scared when you didn't write back," she admitted. "I thought you were angry, or sick, or that you had forgotten me."
Morwenna's throat tightened. "I was sick."
"I know that now. But I didn't know then." Fleur smoothed Morwenna's hair back from her face. "When I saw you at the ball, standing there with your green dress and your strange eyes, I thought: She is alive. She is still here."
Morwenna couldn't find the words to respond.
"I won't let you forget me again," Fleur said firmly. "I will write every week. I will visit. You will come to France. We will see each other."
Morwenna nodded, and Fleur pulled her close. Morwenna pressed her face into Fleur's shoulder, breathing in the scent of flowers that clung to the soft fabric. They stayed like that until Jane knocked on the door to announce that Fleur's parents were ready.
The Delacours gathered in the entrance hall. Philippe held the bags. Apolline talked to Jane near the Floo. Fleur stood with Morwenna near the fountain. "Write to me," Fleur insisted.
"I will."
"Not just one letter. Every week."
"Every week."
Fleur looked at her with a searching gaze. "You said that before, but you didn't write."
Morwenna held her gaze steadily. "I will write this time. Not like last time. I promise."
Fleur studied her, then nodded. She reached out and touched the locket around Morwenna's neck, the one with her photograph inside. "Wear it," Fleur said. "Always."
"Always."
Fleur pulled her into a tight hug that lasted longer than the other goodbyes. Her chin rested on top of Morwenna's head while Morwenna wrapped her arms around Fleur's waist and breathed in the scent of her.
"You promise?" Fleur murmured.
"I promise."
Fleur squeezed her once more before letting go and walking to the Floo. Philippe went first, followed by Apolline. Fleur looked back once, her sea-blue eyes bright, and stepped into the green flames.
The fire roared, then settled. The hall was empty. Morwenna stood with her hand on the locket.
Jane came up beside her. "She will come back."
"I know." But Morwenna kept her hand on the silver pendant anyway.
. . .
The French family returned in two waves.
Morwenna stood at the bottom of the stairs with Cinder at her feet as Celestine touched her face. "We will wait for your visit," Celestine said. "Didn't you want to see the moon room and the lake?"
Morwenna nodded.
Lucien smiled at her. "We have already prepared a room for you in France," he said.
Morwenna's eyes went red, and she simply nodded again as Luelle pulled her into a hug.
Luelle helped Morwenna braid her hair, and Raphaël read to her from a French history book. Viviane sat with her in the conservatory and asked about the ball, though she didn't push when Morwenna gave short answers.
Elara checked the warding bracelet. It held steady. Eventually, they all departed through the flames, with Elara being the last to leave after a final request for Morwenna to write.
The second wave came three days later. Roxane and Nicholas. Roxane examined Morwenna in the morning room, pressing her palms to her chest, throat, and forehead, her eyes closed. "Your body is healed," she announced. "The recovery is complete."
Nicholas followed her, though he didn't touch Morwenna. He simply sat across from her and watched her breathe with slate-blue eyes. "Your soul has settled," he said. "The integration is stable. You won't have any more trouble from the two lives."
Morwenna thanked them.
Roxane looked at Morwenna. "You will still have bad days. Days when the other life feels closer than this one. That doesn't mean you are regressing. It means you are human."
Then they stepped into the Floo together and vanished.
The manor went quiet, and the weeks that followed settled into a steady rhythm.
Mornings were for theory with Aldric in the library. He taught her about the old families and their alliances, who had stood firm during the war and who had changed sides for convenience. "Names matter," Aldric said. "You need to know who you are dealing with before you deal with them."
Morwenna took notes.
Afternoons were for magic with Jane. They worked on wand movements, incantations, the feel of magic flowing through her channels. Her toy wand glowed when she performed the motions correctly. She wasn't casting real spells. Aldric insisted she wait until her third maturity at age seven. She practised the forms and the angles.
"The foundations matter more than the results," Jane reminded her.
Morwenna explored the vast manor with Cinder, finding attics full of old furniture and storerooms lined with dusty portraits. She learned where the house-elves slept, which portraits were talkative, and how to reach the kitchen for Tilly's biscuits without being seen.
Jack and Aldric included her in family matters. She sorted the morning letters while they explained the context behind the names. Morwenna absorbed it, the Malfoys' difficulties, the Bones family's ambitions in the Wizengamot. She was six, yet she knew of the war and the deaths that were to come. She couldn't stop it yet, but she could prepare.
Jack began bringing her into his study in the afternoons. He worked at his desk while she sat in a leather chair and watched. Sometimes he explained trade agreements or leases for northern properties.
"Why do you have to approve this?" she asked, pointing at a thick stack of documents.
"Because I am Head of the House," Jack replied. "These decisions fall to me. One day, they will fall to you."
Morwenna looked at the papers and then at him. "I don't want your job," she said after a moment. "I will be very busy in the future."
Jack's mouth twitched. "Too bad."
She scowled, but he had already returned to his work.
Aldric took her to the family cemetery on a grey afternoon in May. They walked past the wet, mossy stones until they reached one near the centre. "Your great-great-grandfather," Aldric said. "He was eight hundred and forty years old when he passed."
Morwenna looked at the sharp carving. "What killed him?"
"Nothing killed him. He simply decided he was done. He was tired, and eight centuries is a long time. But he had a choice. That's what our blood gives us—time, and the choice of what to do with it."
Morwenna touched the cold, damp stone. "I don't want to live that long."
"You might change your mind. You have time."
Three months passed. Morwenna learned about the Lethifold line from Seraphina, how the shadows in her blood could be used for concealment. She learned about the Phoenix inheritance from Jack, that the fire was for endurance and rising.
From Jane, she learned about the Dragon's territorial instinct. "The things you claim, you will protect," Jane said. "That is the point."
The summer solstice arrived. Wreaths of flowers hung on the doors. They ate by the lake under a purple sky. Morwenna grew a centimetre. Her hair and eyes remained black, white, red, and silver. She wrote to Fleur every week.
Fleur's letters came back, filled with French and small drawings of birds. Morwenna practised her French and her magic, played with Cinder, sat with Jane in the conservatory. She learned, she grew, she waited.
As summer ended and autumn began, the leaves turned gold and brown, falling in drifts across the gravel drive. Morwenna continued to wait, her hand often resting on the locket Fleur had given her.