Harry Potter: The Last Heiress of The White Family

As they entered the hall, most of the guests in the ballroom turned their heads. A hush fell, quickly replaced by murmurs rippling through the crowd.

"Hey, look, that's the White family."

"See? It's been ages since the Lord of the family showed up at a public event."

"Their influence's only grown after that attack on their manor," one whispered.

Another leaned in. "Look—Cecile White is with them. Wasn't it rumored that he was disowned by his brother?"

"Well," came the reply, "he's the last male heir of the family. They had no choice but to bring him back. He'll likely be the next Lord."

Across the room, a group of girls giggled.

"Go on, girls," one teased. "It's the perfect opportunity to strike gold. Win Cecile's heart, and you're the next Lady White. Besides, he is quite handsome."

Meanwhile, other curious eyes were drawn to the little girl beside Lord White.

"Who's that with the unusual white hair?"

"I don't know. It's the first time I've seen a girl with the family."

Speculations about Eira began to swirl. Rumors buzzed like bees.

Elijah White walked proudly with his granddaughter at his side. As they approached their reserved table, the newly-elected Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, emerged from the crowd with an ingratiating smile.

"Welcome, welcome, Lord White! What an honor it is to have you grace our humble ballroom tonight. I must say, I hadn't expected it, and I'm truly grateful."

Elijah gave a dignified nod. "Thank you, Minister. I simply wished to enjoy the evening with my granddaughter."

At the mention of the girl, Fudge turned his attention toward her. "Oh—hello, hello, young lady! Such a beautiful granddaughter you have, Miss White. How are you, little one? I do hope you enjoy tonight's event."

Eira stood, straightened her back, and gave a refined courtesy—not a deep bow, but enough to be polite. "Thank you for inviting us, Minister Fudge. And thank you for your kind words."

"Yes, yes, of course," Fudge beamed. "May you grow into a fine, powerful witch. Under my administration, your future in the Ministry of Magic will be bright indeed! If you ever face any trouble, just send me a letter. Think of me as your uncle. I'll be there for you."

He was babbling now, groveling in the way only politicians could when trying to gain favor with the powerful.

Notably, he completely ignored Cecile, then turned back to Elijah. "Lord White, I do hope you're enjoying the evening. If you have time later, I would be delighted to speak privately."

Elijah offered a polite smile. "Of course. If my granddaughter isn't too bored, I will make time."

"Excellent, excellent!" Fudge chuckled. "There are… minor matters with the French Ministry I'd love to discuss. Perhaps your wisdom could help build stronger relations."

"We shall talk later," Elijah replied evenly.

Fudge bowed himself away and drifted off to greet other Pureblood dignitaries. Elijah leaned toward his granddaughter.

"Did you see how he behaved, Eira? That man is the Minister of Magic. By law, the most powerful wizard in Britain. And yet… there is one power greater than him—Pureblood families. Watch how he grovels, how familiar he pretends to be. He even tried calling himself your uncle." He gave her a pointed look. "Always be wary of false faces, false promises, and empty vows. Do you understand?"

Eira nodded. "Yes, Grandfather."

"Everyone here is pretending. Every smile hides an agenda. In this world—especially among Purebloods and politicians—no one is truly your friend. And no one is your sworn enemy. You must always think before you speak. Your words carry weight now. And as my heir, your every move will be watched."

"I understand, Grandfather."

Elijah gave a nod of approval, then glanced across the hall, spotting his son deep in conversation with several Purebloods.

At that moment, a man approached with a silver-handled cane, long flowing robes, and gleaming hair.

"Lord White," Lucius Malfoy greeted with a formal bow. "It's a great honor to see you after so long."

Elijah inclined his head. "Lord Malfoy. The honor is mine. How have you been?"

Lucius gestured behind him. "Allow me to introduce my wife, Narcissa Malfoy, and my son, Draco."

Elijah looked to Narcissa. "Yes, I remember Narcissa from years ago, while meeting with Lord Black. You've grown."

Narcissa offered a graceful smile. "Thank you, Uncle. And you haven't changed a bit."

Elijah then turned his gaze on Draco. "Hello, young man."

Draco puffed up his chest. "It's an honor to greet Lord White. I've heard a lot about you from my father."

"Quite an upfront young man," Elijah remarked with cool voice .

Lucius chuckled. "Yes, he's my only son—the next heir to the Malfoy name."

Elijah looked down at Eira. "And this is my granddaughter, Eira White. Tonight is her ballroom debut."

Eira stepped forward, offered a delicate courtesy. "I greet Lord and Lady Malfoy."

Lucius returned the gesture. "I greet the young Lady White."

Narcissa beamed. "What a beautiful little princess you are, Eira. May I call you that?"

"Of course, Lady Malfoy."

"Oh please," Narcissa said warmly, "just call me Auntie."

Eira nodded. "As you wish… Auntie."

Draco then stepped forward, his expression determined. "I greet the young miss of the White family. It's an honor."

He extended his hand toward her. Eira gave another polite courtesy but did not take his hand. "Thank you, young Master Malfoy."

Draco smiled awkwardly, lowering his hand without a word.

"So," Elijah said, turning back to Lucius, "how goes the trade route you were negotiating with the American wizards?"

Lucius's smile dimmed. "Unfortunately, it collapsed. They outright rejected my terms. I told them I would only trade with those of pure magical bloodlines… but you know how muggle-loving they are. They opposed it entirely."

Elijah nodded sagely. "I warned you Americans are cautious when dealing with British wizards, especially in trade. You should've listened."

Lucius gave a small chuckle. "Yes. You were right, as always. I'm now exploring eastern opportunities instead."

As they spoke, Draco stood beside Eira, fidgeting. Lucius noticed.

"Why don't we let the children enjoy themselves while we talk?" he suggested.

Elijah turned to Eira. "Go on. Get to know your peers."

"Yes, Grandfather," Eira said, nodding.

Narcissa added, "Draco, escort Eira ."

"Of course, Mother." Draco grinned. "Let's go, young Lady Eira."

As they walked off, Draco asked awkwardly, "Do you have a flying broom at home?"

Eira blinked. What an odd question for meeting someone for a first time and that someone to be a girl… hmm , He's nervous. "No, I don't."

"You should get one! My father bought me the latest model. It's incredible! You can fly anywhere. Oh—and do you have a favorite Quidditch team? Mine is the Douglas Super 7. Best team in the league!"

"I don't really have any interest in Quidditch," Eira replied calmly.

"Oh. Okay…" Draco trailed off, visibly flustered.

Eira, amused by his discomfort and nervousness , tilted her head. "Have you begun your preparations for Hogwarts yet? Any reading or practice?"

Draco shrugged. "Not really. My father insists I wait until I'm eleven to get my wand. He wants to send me to Durmstrang, but Mother prefers Hogwarts. We haven't decided."

As they walked, they spotted a tall, nervous-looking boy glancing around anxiously. He seemed lost.

"That's Neville Longbottom," Draco whispered with a sneer. "Total idiot. Always forgets everything. A squib, they say. He embarrassed the Longbottom name. But then, they're muggle-lovers too. So I guess he fits right in."

Eira stopped. "You shouldn't speak about someone like that. It's rude to insult others behind their backs."

She stepped forward and addressed the boy gently. "Are you alright? Are you lost?"

The boy startled, then nodded timidly. "I… I lost my gran. I don't know where she is."

Behind her, Draco laughed. "See? I told you. Total idiot."

Eira turned on him sharply. "Mr. Malfoy, I didn't expect this from you. I'm disappointed."

Draco's smile faded. He looked away in shame.

Eira turned back to the boy. "Neville, right?"

He nodded.

"Come. Let's sit. I'm sure your grandmother will find you soon."

They sat beside the refreshments table. Eira handed him a plate of cakes and sweets.

"Eat something. It'll help you feel better."

"Thank you," he whispered, still trembling. "What's your name?"

"I'm Eira White. Nice to meet you."

Neville's eyes widened. "The White family? My gran told me they're one of the most powerful families in Britain."

Eira smiled softly. "So it seems."

They began chatting. Behind them, Draco sat silently, unsure what to say. He listened as Neville spoke about his struggles with memory, the pressure from his uncle to prove himself magically.

Neville had just begun to relax when a stern voice called out.

"Neville! There you are!"

He sprang up. "Gran! I was looking everywhere for you!"

Augusta Longbottom, dignified and severe, strode over. "I was speaking with some families, Neville. You wandered off."

She turned to Eira. "And who might this polite young lady be?"

Eira stood and offered a formal courtesy. "My name is Eira White. It's an honor to meet you, Madam Longbottom."

Augusta arched a brow, then returned the gesture. "The honor is mine, young lady of the White family. Are you here alone?"

"No. My grandfather is here—he's speaking with Lord Malfoy."

Augusta nodded. "Thank you for keeping Neville company."

She turned to her grandson. "Say goodbye to your friend. We're leaving."

Neville looked at Eira . "It was nice to meet you. I'll send you a letter!"

"And I'll write back," Eira promised. "We'll see each other at Hogwarts next year."

Augusta smiled. "What a lovely girl."

And with that, she and Neville departed.

Beside Eira, Draco finally spoke, his tone irritated. "You spent the whole time with that idiot. You were supposed to be with me."

Eira shrugged. "You were silent the entire time. That's not my fault."

Draco clicked his tongue. "Whatever. I'll give you my address. You can visit. We'll fly brooms. I'll write you letters too."

"Sure, why not?"

They began walking again when music filled the hall. Draco looked at her eagerly.

"Would you honor me with a dance, my lady?"

Eira smiled faintly. "I'm sorry, Draco. I'm not a fan of dancing."

"You know," he said, puffing his chest again, "when a gentleman offers a lady his hand, it's an insult to refuse—especially among Purebloods."

"I don't see it that way," Eira replied coolly. "And I won't make myself uncomfortable just to spare someone's ego."

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Draco frozen, stunned.

He stood in silence, her words echoing in his ears. Rejected? He had never been rejected before. He was the golden prince of the Malfoys. And yet he was rejected up right in the face by her—he didn't like how it felt being rejected . Especially… not from her.