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A fiery pistachio  PV Eris Fawley   Closed 

Eris Fawley. A, by all accounts, awful little girl with no manners. However, an awful little girl that had a mother that knew something extremely interesting. There was some kind of creature that made a drug that stopped the metamorphmagus’ powers from forming. He knew it had to be a creature, and he even had a vague guess on what kind. But it had been slipping through his fingers time, and time again.

The professor was a horrible sight to behold, emanating rage and sending students scurrying away from his long strides. His glare made a older boy blanch, and he heard someone whisper as they pointed to the wands on the inside of his long, heavy coat. There had been a grand total of one student that had not immediately rushed off.

By the time he arrived in the library, word had spread and it was mostly cleared out. Except for that one girl he knew was going to be trouble. The girl he needed the information from. Miss Fawley herself. She was Gryffindor, through and through. But it didn’t matter to him. Kids always ran from him, ever since his second year. A demon, they said. And perhaps they were right. But at least he was a happy demon. A happy demon with a pet butterfly.

His voice was softer than it should have been, and contrasted oddly with his appearance. It didn’t detract from his persona, if anything it lent it a bit of evil smoothness. But it was odd, nonetheless. “Mrs. Fawley? I had a few questions for you, and assuming you have a few answers, we should get this over with passably soon, and I can try my hardest to not have to talk to you again.” It was odd how small she was. A small, troublesome ball of morphing fire. Trouble, in a small nutshell. Like a pistachio.

“You were given drugs as a smaller child, yes? Your mother made them, to stop you from doing whatever freakish thing you do. What creature did she use? What made the ingredients?”

If this worked out, he would have his information and be back in the stables before anyone else decided he was worth talking to. On the bright side, he got to visit the library. It had been forever since he had seen the library.

“If this is a complaint would you mind sending it with an owl? It's easier to ignore."

A fiery pistachio  PV Eris Fawley   Closed 


Eris’s eyes drooped over, her whole body slumped over the ancient book she was studying. Her friends were still off doing whatever prefects and newspaper writers did with their time, but Eris was expecting at least one person to come into the library and talk to her. The school was large, and her group of friends was large enough that they could run into each other, right? Sighing, her eyes scanned the dust covered pages of Hogwarts, A History. Eris had started her journey into the library to finish homework, but had found the old tome about the school more interesting than second year charms could ever be.

Her eyes darted upwards frequently, as Eris stopped to rub at her eyes and nose, and occasionally to brush at the strands of russet hair framing the lines of a sleep deprived face.

Naturally, her eyes were the swirling muddy brown of a brandy glass, left overnight to stay in the sunlight. The girl’s eyes were almond shaped and feline in nature, narrowed and cunning, as if studying everything and everyone around her. While not too small or too large, her eyes were never bloodshot or tired, even after nights spent studying. Dark shadows lingered under the girl’s eyes, especially in the wake of bad nights sleep or terrifying ordeal, but her eyes stayed the same--wide eyed, but quick to narrow at the first sign of danger or challenge.

Her eyes focused in flutters of of assessment, before darting around the room to study everything she could see, almost like she thought there wasn’t enough time to capture everything. Her eyes darted around, unable to stand still and focus on one thing.

Yet if one stopped to stare, they would see eyes deep set into the hallows of her pale face. Most of her emotions could be seen through the swirling brown of burgundies and tawny hues, which were quick to narrow or widen. Easily the most defining trait of an otherwises plain and underweight face, alert eyes were framed by wrinkled eyelids, devoid of any makeup or other defining traits.

There was nobody to stop and stare, however, as Eris’s brow furrowed deeply. Yawning, she closed her eyes for a split moment. When Eris opened her tired eyes a man stood in front of her. Eris frowned tiredly, studying the lines of an older man’s face. The face looked familiar from the Great Hall, but Eris could hardly see the man from her spot on the floor, by the Gryffindor table. Still, she recognized him as a new professor--one of her house, she judged by the memory of a man that looked similar talking to Aurelia in the Common Room when Sorrel Wright had her Common Room Sleepover.

He wasted no time getting into questioning her, in a small whispering lilt of a voice. Eris’s face contorted into sheepishness as he declared himself to be a harold of questioning. This lead straight to a minor feeling of panic, simply because Eris knew there were plenty of things she could get in trouble for or get questioned about. These included, but weren’t limited to her fight with the masked man, midnight escapades with friends or new acquaintances, and the underlying quest for immortality that Max and Eris had taken upon themselves to complete, with or without Dorian Gray. His absence dug a hole into Eris’s side, but she hadn’t lost hope that he was somewhere around the school, just far away and busy with getting good grades.
When the man mentioned her mother and a freakish thing, Eris’s hair turned to a violent crimson hue, and she seemed to grow in stature, pushing herself up onto the table with a furious force that hardly seemed appropriate for a child to take when talking to their senior.

“I don’t know.” Her hands slammed onto the table, as Eris’s scowl deepened, and she looked at her hands and envisioned them as claws, digging her nails into the table with an expression of anger. “You should not be digging into matters that don’t concern you. My mother is a blood-traitor and I know little about what she did to me as a child. All I know is that she gave me a potion that made me forget about my abilities and suppress it. I don’t know anything about what was in it, and if you want to know so damn much, you can go find her. If you do, send her a letter from me.”

i punched a wall and cried. BAM BAM BAM!
Eris Fawley:
Strength: 6 //Agility: 10 //Control: 9 //Stamina: 10

A fiery pistachio  PV Eris Fawley   Closed 

He supposed that reaction was to be expected. The lashing out and anger of a creatures with no manners. Why was everyone in this school like this? Every student he had talked to so far had been obstinate, not at all repentant. Annoying. Still, as he watched the tiny metamorphmagus grow in size, he couldn’t help but wonder, just a little. Those eyes gave away far too much, narrowing and widening as they did. They reminded him of something, although for the life of him he didn’t know what.

She claimed to not know what went in the potion, and went on to call her own mother a blood-traitor. It seemed fitting, anyway, considering what the girl had gone through. Still, that was no way to respond to a professor. He was doing research, she should comply. She would comply, or be forced. Metamorphmagi were powerful, sure. But that only went so far. It was only so useful. And at her age? She was nothing. Who cared about her past, this was the present and she would listen.

Who did care about her past? The daily prophet hadn’t exactly offered sympathies, just a good story. People had worried about the girl on the paper, not the actual girl. And now what was she? Some tiny pistachio with a lot of anger issues. He began to give a lecture, still in that calm tone of voice. There happened to be a chick in his pocket, and he was loathe to wake it.

“What School do you go to? Who runs the School? Who’s in charge, and who should you respect? The professors. It’s my job to keep you safe, you could return the favor with a little respect now and again.”

But he wasn’t one to talk. This girl had been here longer than he had. Griffith didn’t run the School, that was Ackerley. She went to Hogwarts, not the Griffith academy for gifted youngsters. But still, she should show respect to the professors. After all, hadn’t they guided the student body through the latest crisis?

No, that had been a student. The masked man had been defeated by students. Without help from the professors. Had she even received any help? He didn’t know, he couldn’t know. His hard, rigid face started softening. What did she remind him of? It was there, on the tip of his tongue. But he could not place his finger. On it.

“No. You are right, at that. I suppose I have no right to your respect, or your answers. Yet. But manners, manners would be nice. You are in Gryffindor, please act like it.”

Now, that wasn’t right. He didn’t sound like that, he never sounded like that. Why was he trying a miserable attempt at being a decent human instead of placing her in detention for a month? And then it hit him. The eyes that widened and narrowed along with her mood, the flaming red hair and the aggression. He knew exactly what she reminded him of.

She reminded him of his dragon.

His voice softened considerably before he continued, after a pause. The kind voice he reserved for his creatures. Respectful, disarmed. If a hippogriff didn’t take offense at this, neither would the pistachio. Probably.

“Ms. Fawley. Please describe Gryffindor to me.”

“If this is a complaint would you mind sending it with an owl? It's easier to ignore."

A fiery pistachio  PV Eris Fawley   Closed 


Once she started talking, Eris never stopped. She was like a bomb, once gone off and oh, how she went off. Leaning back in her chair, and pushing her feet up against the ground below her, Eris let out a roar of laughter. "Respect?" The 12 year old asked impishly, in the voice of a sullen child who considered herself above the law and above the world, high off righteousness and justice that had long since been denied to her. "Respect is something earned," The child replied, in the voice of one reciting a text, before her own vocabulary and personality grew with each word. "Do you think I should show respect to the same professors who watched Dorian carry meinto the hospital wing with burns and cuts from a masked figure who nearly flayed me alive? Or should I show respect to the professors who let my friends get pushed into the walls, beaten up by menacing figures, and let the same person who did all this stay at the school?

Her speech went on, even as Eris's voice began to wobble Truthfully, nobody listened to her eager rants about the state of the school and the depth of her own pain. It felt so good to finally let it out, even if she was just talking to a batty new professor, who wouldn't understand or listen to her side of the story that had traversed around the school as rumors. A dark figure, a dark stalker, someone who had hurt the children. Nobody stopped to ask Eris what she knew about the figure, but Eris knew about the real story, or at least, as much of it as she could.

Biting down either a bitter remark or an onslaught of tears, Eris plowed forward, taking on a snarky tone that her grandmother had so often taken during pureblood gatherings over the summer.

"No, I didn't think so. And I won't show respect to the man who comes up to me and calls my abilities freakish."

She watched his face soften with an incredulous look. Slowly shrinking in size and stature, until a small girl with frizzy red hair, plain brown eyes, and the frame of a half starved child stood in front of him, similar to the face he had seen before the abrupt change in appearance. More apparent now that she wasn't in another form, there was a vast array of small burn marks do of her failure in protecting the school, but they didn't make the girl look any less fierce. Just like her height meant nothing when faced with the impossible swagger and impossible rage that was Eris Fawley.

Shrinking into her seat, Eris's glower was still strong, as she watched the lines of thetting the child's face. Eris had refused to get rid of the scars completely, wanting to be reminded of the night and her failure to stand up to the man and her failure to save the school.

Eris sighed, watching the man's face turn from frown lines into a peaceful look, and she merrily beamed. She was a Gryffindor. There was no other house for Eris, and nothing she loved more than the rumors of gryffindors being angry and violent. They were all true, naturally, but Eris prided herself on the aggression that made her gain friendship with Max and Dorian, and what had made her a dangerous figure to oppose on the fields of the school.

"Gryffindor? Well, Gryffindor is the feeling of soaring on a broom without knowing if you'll land or not. It feels like freedom, friendship, and's great. I can't describe it right at all. It's the best house, and it feels like a family. Which I guess I wouldn't really know about, since my own family is weird and estranged...but yeah."

i punched a wall and cried. BAM BAM BAM!
Eris Fawley:
Strength: 6 //Agility: 10 //Control: 9 //Stamina: 10

A fiery pistachio  PV Eris Fawley   Closed 

He was still talking calmly, quietly. It was the perfect voice for angry situations. It didn’t sound pretentious, or condescending. It sounded calm. And soft. It was a practiced voice, a necessary one. He was going to teach how to speak the way he did in class, if he ever got around to it. It was essential, in his mind, for whatever or whoever you were talking to to know that you were not a threat. Or at least, that you were peaceful. That you respected them, even if you were talking to a mouse. Everything wants respect.

And, in this case, the person he was talking to deserved some. Deserved a lot, for that matter. She was 12, a second year, and had gone through all that. That honestly sounded horrible to him, that a little girl would get scarred like that. She looked small again, And he could see the scars. He hated scars. Scars reminded him of things that had happened. Horrible things. Scars stayed with you, forever. He could deal with his own, but it broke his heart when he saw it on creatures. When he saw it on a little girl.

Her voice began to wobble as he recounted the things that had happened to her, the things the professors hadn’t helped with. It was the shaky frightened roar of a creature without a place. And he knew it all too well. All bark, no bite.

“Oh, and is being freakish such a bad thing? The freaks go down in the history books, Ms. Fawley. The freaks are the different, the new. I'll have you know I never bother with the ordinary. I said what I meant, and I meant what I said. But it seems to me you may have misinterpreted that. I’m a bit of a freak myself, if I’m being honest. Which I seldom am, at that. I talk to butterflies.

But talking about me being an old loon, and you being a freak isn’t going to do anything but shove dirt under rugs. How about I calm down, and you can tell me as much as you want to. Go ahead and scream if you’ve a mind. Cry, laugh or whatever. I’ll sit here, and listen. We’ll move on from there.”

She gave a young girl’s attempt at Gryffindor, at the idea of Gryffindor, what it meant to her. It was idealistic and simple, but strangely unmarred. The scars of her mind and body not reaching her heart, not yet. They would eventually, he knew. But not if he helped now, not if he stepped in. Did something. Gave her something to wipe away the scars, or at least stop them from growing bigger.

But one thing he did not understand, was why the professors had done nothing? What had they been doing, why had they not been helping? He suspected strongly that they had all simply left, leaving behind empty places and no one brave enough to fill them, save some authentic weeaboo, a blind child an adult child, professor jensen and some other equally useless blunders.

It didn’t surprise him at all, but it did make him more than a little disappointed. At least Professor Wright would have, in his mind, done something. He would have to bring that up with her later. There was the sleepover planned, anyway. She would no doubt be there, if nowhere else.
He decided to go ahead and ask a question, to get her started.

“Why didn’t they do anything?”

“If this is a complaint would you mind sending it with an owl? It's easier to ignore."

A fiery pistachio  PV Eris Fawley   Closed 

Eris’s frown turned into a faint giggle, her eyes widening and her face turning eager at the mention of butterflies and talking to them. Did the butterflies talk back to the man? Her fascination was short winded though, as Eris listened to the man call himself a loon. Being loony wasn’t a good thing, but she could tell his words were meant to be soothing to the troubled young metamorphmagus, whose hair was currently a glum shade of blue. Whenever had her hair changed color? Eris had no idea, and hadn’t noticed the glum change of shade, preoccupied with tapping the bottom of her sneakers against the rugged floor of the dusty library. For every tap, the girl focused less and less on the trepidation coursing through her body, spirling with the anxiety and muffled panic that always lingered under her skin after the night with the Masked Figure.

When he told her that she could cry, Eris blinked incredulously, foot stopping its frantic stomping on the rugged carpet, which was slowly getting more and more worn from the abuse that Eris and other students continuously inflicted on the floor. The girl’s eyes widened again, as Eris debated the merits of screaming in the library. The annoying librarian, who Eris had already fought with on multiple occasions, would come to yell at her and be shocked by the fact that Eris was with a professor and couldn’t get in trouble for the disruption of screaming loudly.

Naturally, when one wanted to scream loudly, it sounded weak and course. When Eris opened her mouth, a small whisp of a scream came out like a rasping cough. “Aaaaahhh.” The girl tried, before letting out another laugh, deciding that she enjoyed this professor more than the ones who had came before him. He seemed different, more course, more angry, and more prone to violence.

That was always a good thing when talking to someone. A stubborn lift of the chin was all it took for Eris’s hair to regain it’s pink and red luster, and she ran her hands down the scratchy skin on her arm, that was made by the burns. Her burn marks were faint enough to look just like darker skin patches, considering they had almost been healed before Eris regained consciousness and faintly slapped a nurse’s hand and wand away. She had wanted scars, because some part of her comic book addled mind knew that scars were a way to remember and a way to look stronger. All heroes had scars, but so did all the villains. Eris wasn’t a villain though, was she?

The girl refused to believe that, foot stopping its rapid shaking completely, as the professor asked why the school hadn’t done anything. An impish smile grew in size, as Eris leaned forward, but faded as she debated the question in the drudges of her anger addled adolescence brain. There wasn’t much she could say, but the stubbornness and brashness that controlled Eris’s life prevented her from understanding that and simply stating that the professors tried their bests.

She felt no such wisdom, and was not a ravenclaw. Or even a smart gryffindor. Sure, Eris did well in class, but she was angry. Angry enough that nothing mattered besides her anger. Grades were irrelevant, as was detention. Friends were still important, just a tad less so until the pain of last year was finally brought to justice and the evil plaguing the magical world was caught for good.

Eris had read too many comics books to believe that this chapter of the story was truly over. This was the calm before the storm, and she would not be swept away in the waves to come. “They didn’t do anything because they don’t care. Nobody cares, and nobody stops to listen. The professors are too busy flirting with each other to care about me and my friends don’t care either, because they’re too busy and that’s okay really--it just kinda hurt. You know, nobody visited me in the Hospital Wing. Not a single person, and nobody asked about the marks on my arms. Nobody at this school cares about anything besides themselves, and I guess that’s just the price we have to pay for having so much cool stuff like magic. Can’t have too much good in one place, or whatever stuff parents like to say.

i punched a wall and cried. BAM BAM BAM!
Eris Fawley:
Strength: 6 //Agility: 10 //Control: 9 //Stamina: 10

A fiery pistachio  PV Eris Fawley   Closed 

This girl’s mood swings were ridiculous. Ranging from glum and sad to giggling to angry. He was used to it, but not so much in people. He was used to this from creatures. It was why you had to sound calm, and constant. You had to be their constant in the storm of feelings that made so many magical creatures unapproachable for most wizards.

To his surprise, and delight, the girl did try to scream, after tapping her feet on the floor for a bit and thinking it over. Probably deciding whether or not this professor was even worth listening to. When she did scream, it was pathetic. Still loud enough to make the librarian glare over at them, but hardly anything.

Professor Griffith glared back at the Librarian, who decided it was probably best to pretend that it was time for a bathroom break and scuttle out. Either because she knew that the Professor was busy and didn’t want to disturb him, or because she was actually scared, he didn’t know. But at least she had left. That may make the little girl a bit less uncomfortable. Or more so, in the unlikely case that she and the librarian were close.

“So first off, I’m stopping to listen right now, so you better amend that statement before I bop you over the head with a book for lying to a Professor. But seriously.

It’s a people thing. The second you pick up a baby creature, and look at it and know that there are no complications with it, that if you love it it’ll love you back with the biggest heart you’ve ever seen you’ll realize that you can have as much happiness as you want to. You just have to find it. Think about it, if everyone is trying to be happy, they aren’t going to worry about you, are they? Everyone looks out for themselves, and it leaves those that actually care behind in the dust.

You have to spend some time away from that, alright? Come and visit me sometime if you want to talk. I’m not happy, and I’m okay with not being happy. Makes me less selfish. Grumpier, but less selfish.

I’m not going to pretend I care about you. I hate everyone, and you are very much included in that category. But if you ever feel like you need… Oh, never mind. Just forget about it. If you try and come talk to me now and again, I’ll try to care, okay?

And just to be clear on this, to be absolutely clear on this. If you ever get beaten up and scarred again, if you ever have a complaint. If the faculty ignores you and throws you aside you will come directly to the stables and you will pull on the cord until your hands fall off. I will come, and I will fix it. And if I can’t fix it, then I’ll fail alongside you, but I do not fail easily.

And also, I have to say, considering all that stuff you’ve gone through, you have the weakest roar I have ever heard. I have seen a moth whisper louder than whatever the heck that was. It sounded like a sick hufflepuff trying to hold in a sneeze. Now, listen. THIS is a ROAR!

The professor had said the last word with a gigantic roar that reverberated throughout the library. He could be constant, but the man had a commanding, massive voice when he needed it. Just in case some upstart creature was trying to challenge him for dominance. Griffith looked expectantly down at the girl with a smile.

“Unless you think the sorting hat got it wrong, little girl, put in a bit more lion and a bit less puffle. I could ask Lear for a house change, if you’d feel more comfortable there.”

He seemed to catch his joking smile and stopped, struggling to pull a mean scowl. It ended up looking more exaggerated and less actually menacing. He would stop the scars from spreading, and maybe even give this girl a few decent years in Hogwarts.


“If this is a complaint would you mind sending it with an owl? It's easier to ignore."

A fiery pistachio  PV Eris Fawley   Closed 


Watching the scowling little figure of the vulture-like librarian scuttle out of the library, Eris didn’t know whether to feel afraid or happy. Her mother might have been horrible, but she had always warned Eris about being alone with strange people! Not that Eris had ever heed that advice when she was living on the streets and had spent her days gossiping with other children and using the money of adults to survive. Still, one could never be so safe at Hogwarts with adults they didn’t know in a place that was basically haunted, for lack of better words and lack of trust in the staff and student body.

Said girl in the student body was sitting next to the new professor, small body turned towards the man sitting next to her. Her brows furrowed at the professor’s threat to bop her over the head with a book, as Eris’s hands went upwards to protect her head but thought better of it. Hands halfway in the air, she lowered them carefully and placed her hands on top of the table, brushing her knuckles against the solid wood table with a flurry of emotions running through her head, it took all of Eris’s willpower to keep her face vacant, which was rare for her.

Listening to what he had to say with an expression of befuddlement quickly dawning over her features instead of the vacancy she had been aiming for, the child paid close mind to the words he was saying. It seemed stupid to have to find happiness herself, because she thought that people were supposed to do that. Eris Fawley had been born in a chaotic family, full of half-truths and even more insane lies. She had never found out what made her happy, because what made her happy was other people. Visiting the park and talking to other children made her happy and her sister made her happy. Yet, those people who made her happy would leave her in the dust? Eyes wide, Eris nodded her head in sheepish understanding, wondering why people left others in the dust to be happy. Opening her mouth to say something, Eris closed it, as the man kept on talking, a spark of passion rising in his voice.

He wasn’t happy? Her face turned from confusion to sadness, as Eris pondered. She wasn’t happy either, but she didn’t want to end up like the grumpy man in front of her. Even though he could talk to butterflies, which was a win win. She wondered if he could talk to birds too, like that one princess that Bella had liked. Whatever her name was didn’t matter, as Eris shoved away the irrelevant name of a forgotten princess and stared at the man with a sombering expression that she seldom had.

Still, he kept going and mentioned hating her and everyone else, but he amended his statement and offered some sort of caring. Which was more than anyone else had ever offered. Although he was a strange man, she was also a strange girl, and looking up at the professor, Eris felt less fear than she had in months. She wouldn’t fail alone, or she would have a friend to protect her. That was enough to make her feel content and safe.

A sheepish half-smile made its way to her face, but quickly turned into a withering scowl when he insulted her roar. His own roar made the girl laugh out loud, which was nearly as loud as the roar bouncing off the library walls. Then came the grievous insult of being offered a change in houses to hufflepuff.

Without thinking, Eris shoved herself out of the chair and opened her mouth as wide as possible, Expanding her tiny lungs, the girl let out a scream of a roar. Attempting to sound like the professor. “ROAR!”

Grinning up, she crossed her arms and shook her head at the professor. “I’m not a hufflepuff! YOU can go ask for a house change. Your roar was bad, compared to mine.” She had a feeling this man wouldn’t care if she insulted him...again.

i punched a wall and cried. BAM BAM BAM!
Eris Fawley:
Strength: 6 //Agility: 10 //Control: 9 //Stamina: 10

A fiery pistachio  PV Eris Fawley   Closed 

For most of his rant, or speach, or whatever it was, the girl looked more confused than anything else. He supposed that did make sense. She was only 11 or 12, certainly not old enough to forced to listen to the pessimistic ramblings of a old man. Well, he wasn’t all that old. And he would probably look a lot younger if he ever got around to shaving his beard and getting a haircut. But the wild look suited him. There wasn’t anyone he was trying to look nice for, so he didn’t figure it mattered. Besides, it gave people another reason to dislike him. A nice, easy to justify, superficial reason. People liked those.

She started to smile, which made him a little bit happy. On the one hand, he couldn’t deny that he liked her. She reminded him of a wounded little dragon, the kind that needed help. Needed the kind of help he could give her. But on the other hand she was a little girl, which meant he was sure to run into more trouble than he cared to stumble through. He didn’t like going out of his way for people. But she had already snuck her way into a crack in his heart, and he knew he was going to help her. But that didn’t mean he wasn't going to complain about it. A lot.

When she frowned and gave her best attempt at a roar, he grinned. That was the reaction he was looking for. Directing pent up energy and stress out, not as anxiety and paranoia, but as noise. A good old fashioned scream helped most things to vent. He found it especially helped him when he was done with everything. Screaming helped give you a perspective on things. It gave you a solid footing in reality, and helped you go on about your day with a lot less angst.

His grin only widened when she claimed she wasn’t a hufflepuff, and then told him that not only should he go look for a house change, but that her roar had been better than his. This little girl had gone from being mad, from hating him to joking with him and telling him to go change houses in the span of a few minutes. Just like a creature would. You could make a creature mad at you, but if you apologized and showed them you cared, even just a little bit, they would return the favor. It was one of the many reasons he liked them so much.

“Oh, is that a fact? See, I would go ask for a house change, but the sorting hat already reserved a place for you in hufflepuff, and I don’t think there are any spots left.”

He reached out a hand for a handshake. It wasn’t a huge gesture, but he was fairly confident she would understand.

“But your roar was acceptable, so we might just keep you anyway. Even though you’re a bit small. Generous, right?”

Sometimes, he disagreed with the sorting hat. A lot of times, really. But this time, he agreed with it. He fully and completely thought that it had placed his girl in the right house. In the house she truly did belong to.

“If this is a complaint would you mind sending it with an owl? It's easier to ignore."

A fiery pistachio  PV Eris Fawley   Closed 

As if the sorting hat would place her in hufflepuff! There wasn’t anything really wrong with hufflepuff, besides for the fact that Max didn’t like the house. Rosie was in hufflepuff! Rosie was cool, wasn’t she? Well, she was really cool and Eris had promised not to hurt her. That was important. If Eris switched houses to be in hufflepuff, at least she could talk to Rosie. But no Max or Dorian! She would never want to leave Gryffindor, even if there was a fifth house that was better than all the other houses combined. Gryffindor was her house! All the other houses could wait, because she was never going to leave.

Maybe she would go talk to the sorting hat and tell him that there was no way she could ever be in hufflepuff, although from the sheen in the professor’s eyes, Eris had the inking the weathered man was joking. Which came as an apparent shock. Just a few minutes ago he had been talking about gossiping with butterflies and now he was joking. Maybe this was a friend who could rival her own mood swings, Eris inspected.

How strange that their conversation had started with a question about her mother’s drugs, a topic that was not worth brooching. The reminder of her mother had Eris squirming again, even though the topic had long since been dropped and moved forth to friendly bickering that seemed easy, even if the man in front of her was a reminder of the professors and the pain suffered at the school. He was new to the staff though, and didn’t seem all that evil.

Not at all like the mother she had left behind or the big scary professors like the headmaster. Lear was scary, but that was because he was a hufflepuff. Staring at his unturned hand, Eris blinked once. It seemed a strangely formal gesture for a meeting that had been very informal and reminded her of meeting another classmate. The only time Eris ever shook hands was at pureblood meetings and celebrations, so she vaguely wondered if her hands were sweaty before shaking the man’s hand. Frowning, mildly enchanted by the calluses on his hands, the little girl shook his hand. Keenly aware of the smallness of her hands and her whole body, Eris dropped her hands after a feeble attempt at a hand-shake.

She wasn’t all that fond of the idea of shaking hands, and thus, her hand was limp within his grasp. Somehow guessing that the professor would comment upon the limpness of her hand, Eris’ lips curved upwards into a defiant smile, as she stepped backwards, back to the table and the discarded book that she had left behind. “I didn’t give you a good hand-shake because only hufflepuffs give good hugs and handshakes and I’m not a hufflepuff.” Did her logic make any sense? It really didn’t, but the child didn’t care, as her smile grew in size and stature, the pensive girl from before gone to the wind, as Eris glared at him and shook her head, causing hair to fly in every which way.

“I’m not that small! Plus, it’s fun being small. When you’re shorter, you can kick people in their stomach faster.” She nodded sagely, as if giving that information to a professor was a wise idea. She did seem awfully serious, as Eris shook strands of hair out of her face, grin still on her face. “And you can hide easier! Makes winning hide and seek so much easier. I won the Gryffindor hide and seek tag with the other girls because I was short. So Gryffindor needs a short girl!”

She replied, indignantly.

i punched a wall and cried. BAM BAM BAM!
Eris Fawley:
Strength: 6 //Agility: 10 //Control: 9 //Stamina: 10

A fiery pistachio  PV Eris Fawley   Closed 


What an interesting girl. She claimed that only hufflepuffs give good hugs and handshakes as some sort of defense, rapidly thrown up with childish logic. He had always supposed himself to hate children and adults, people in general really. He had taken this job as a means to exploit Hogwarts’ wards and runes for his own safety. To be fair, he wasn’t going to simply loaf about pretending to do a job to get protection. He had been planning to be a good professor, and was still planning on being one. Just, he was going to do it without liking anyone. He was going to keep them all away. But he couldn’t help thinking that there was no way he hated kids. He was a bit dense, sure. But the professor was far from stupid. There was that daft slytherin girl he had helped. Why had he helped her, anyway? Looking at this little Gryffindor, this little dragon in front of him he couldn’t help thinking of the slytherin, and feeling it might have been because he liked the hoodie wearing brat, just a little.

So that was two kids he had decided to not hate. That had to mean something, didn’t it? Someone who hated everyone wouldn’t just decide to like two of the few kids he had actually met. Adult, though. He hated adults. They had done nothing but cross him all his life, since Hogwarts. You didn’t just erase a lifetime of pain like that. But there was that one slytherin head of house that might have actually cared about a phoenix. Cared enough to act. That was rare, extremely rare. He had made sure she got mad enough to stop caring, it had been a fairly easy task. But he couldn’t help but admire her, just a little. And he felt bad for his own head of house, Ms. Wright. She had a beautiful bird that had died, and his heart went out to her so much farther than he thought it should reasonably go. Just thinking about it made him want to hug the little girl in front of him, made him want to give physical affection to something, and make something the the messed up world around him just a little bit better.

The tall man still wore a large grin, although his eyes softened considerably during his internal monologue, brought on perhaps by how simple the little girl was. Or perhaps, how simply complex. He couldn’t really put to words what a little girl made him think of, or why she made him think of those things. He just knew that it happened, and that she did. That was plenty. His light blue eyes lost their morose nature as soon as Eris shook her head, however, and his mind was brought back to things far more pleasant. Such as how the little girl seemed to think that being small allowed her to kick his stomach. She could reach his gut with her hands, sure, but those little legs? Not likely.

“You can barely reach my fat gut with your hands, forget kicking! You’ll have to grow at least another 20 feet before you come close. Best you could do is stab my ankles like that mouse from Narnia.”

He patted his stomach to demonstrate exactly how fat his gut was, and puffed out as much as he could to emphasize the point, although there quite simply wasn’t any. Working with creatures all his life had given the man muscles to spare, and more calluses than he knew what to do with. Still, he was wearing a heavy leather coat that obscured his form more or less completely. And calling yourself fat was classic humor, funny whether if you were a scarecrow in a hay famine or a Kruppy with no impulse control locked in a room full of dog treats.

“Oh, please. You couldn’t hide under a box in a room with no lights if your life depended on it. I swear your hair is so bright it glows. It’s like a very cool, very obvious flag. Everyone probably had their eyes closed.”

“If this is a complaint would you mind sending it with an owl? It's easier to ignore."

A fiery pistachio  PV Eris Fawley   Closed 

Eris didn't understand professors or the possible lack of hate that he felt towards her. It wasn't like she had the man as a teacher, anyways. All his mannerisms and actions were new to her, as this was their first meeting. It was his first year as a teacher and Eris' second year as a student, but the two seemed to be in desperate need of friendship. Eris had seen the weathered professor from far away, and up close, he was just as strange and distant as he seemed at the professor's table in the great hall.

How ironic that the two's conversation had started with a subject that was dangerous to brooch and even more uncomfortable every time the name was brought up. How on earth did one think about their estranged mother and the issues of being poisoned by someone who you thought you could care about? The fact that the man had started off their conversation with such a rude question was insulting, yet the memory of the stern professor that had been so aloof and rude at the start of their conversation was stark in contrast to the man talking about children's books and joking around with Eris like a fellow child.

Eris couldn't remember much of her early life, but the rare fleeting moments of lucidity often were traced in hues of sardonic colors that she could hardly place a color too, much less a name. Of course, she remembered the normal moments of her childhood. The moments etched with simplicity and laughter, and the stories told of gods of old and superheroes who had the power to make the world a better place. The memories of being a young child were gone, covered by the fuzzy haze of potion usage and colors that darted through her mind. Maybe they were the colors that Eris' hair had turned, but the fact of the matter was that Eris would never know exactly what happened when she was young.

That was just another thing that Jane Rowle had taken away from Eris. Another long sentence in the long list of things that Eris felt the need to ask her mother about if they were ever to meet again. Although, Eris wasn't sure if she could control her temper long enough to see her mother again. For now, it wasn't the time to dwell on her messed up family situation. Curling her hands around the strands of hair that fell into her face, Eris shook her head adamantly and let the hair fall out of her face again.

Hands folding on the table, Eris blinked up at the professor. "Is that a challenge?" The young metamorphamagus asked, attempting to will herself to grow taller. Shaking her head, Eris stopped trying to transform as she let out a loud giggle at the fact that the professor was pretending to be fat.

"Oh yeah?" Eris asked, again, still in the same mindset of one trying to prove her worth. Hair changing to a muted color, the same shade of the professor's own hair, she fixed him with a smirk and another little laugh.

i punched a wall and cried. BAM BAM BAM!
Eris Fawley:
Strength: 6 //Agility: 10 //Control: 9 //Stamina: 10

A fiery pistachio  PV Eris Fawley   Closed 

He was enjoying himself, a lot more than he thought he was going to. The welshman had fallen into a trap, and it was certainly not the last time he would repeat the same mistake. The little girl, with her simple ferocity, lacking someone to help her. Not a bit thing, nothing like he would have to do for the slytherin girl. Just a little something. She just needed someone to be there for her if she needed it, needed to know that someone was there. Sometimes, he wondered what the other professors did. They didn’t seem to have a very large presence. To be honest, neither did he. But all together, all combined, you would think that students like this would be getting help.

And besides her needed someone, he couldn’t really lie to himself and say he was only being friendly for her sake. Fun was hard to come by, people you enjoyed being around were extremely hard to find. And he never would have thought to look for a friend in someone so young and inexperienced. He could already feel the fierce, slow smoldering of embers that he felt when he saw something he knew he was going to protect. It was best described as determination, or resolve, and he didn’t always know when it was about to set in, and after it happened, that was it. He was going to protect, come hell or high water.

This little quirk of his had gotten him in so much trouble. It had ruined his life, it had made him friends that he had then lost. It made him who he was, and would define the course of his life from here on out. He knew all of this, and resented the feeling for it. But at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel proud. After all, the feeling of resolve felt powerful, it gave him strength and purpose and filled him with overflowing confidence. He was self aware to know what this meant, but he accepted it wholeheartedly. And he felt safe, just a little bit.

This was hogwarts, it was so well protected not even a rogue moth would be able to infiltrate this place, and even if someone did manage to slip past the wards, it would have to only be a few. He could deal with those without much of a problem. The most dangerous thing that was going to be hanging around in the castle were probably the creatures in his stables, but there was no way he was going to get rid of them. Danger didn’t bother him much, he just preferred to mitigate the immediate threats to his life. And why fight when you could run?

“It could be a challenge, if you’re up for it. 7 years to grow as tall as I am? Or until graduation, whichever comes first.”

He was honestly impressed when the girl’s hair changed color on command, to match his dull brown. He ruefully thought of how powerful she could eventually become with that kind of power. A metamorphmagus was nothing to sneeze at.

“Wow, that was pretty nifty. Now you’ll never have to pay for hair dye again. Can you change your homework to an O with that head of yours, or do you just change hair color?”

“If this is a complaint would you mind sending it with an owl? It's easier to ignore."

A fiery pistachio  PV Eris Fawley   Closed 

Eris let her hair change back to its bright vibrant colour. Her shoulders slumped over, in evident relief. It seemed to take a toll on the small girl to change her hair colour. Which was true. Eris’ metamorphmagus powers were the reason the strange conversation taking place right now had been initiated, for any matter. The conversation had started with a question about her abilities and her mother’s meddling.

Demetra Fawley had worked hard to teach her poor granddaughter the skill that had been adamantly forgotten, hidden behind the layers of potion. Eris still remembered the bitter taste of the potion that had been dumped down her throat through various drinks of differencing taste. Hot chocolate did not hide the taste of belladonna and the other substances used, nor did fizzy drinks like vimto. Perhaps beer or ale could wash out the sour flavour of impending betrayal and hidden powers, but Eris simply wasn’t old enough to drink, nor did she even consider the option of stealing liquor. For all her faults, Eris was a child through and through. Her eyes had not yet been opened to the true expanse of human suffering and the fruitless ways to avoid pain, even though Eris had certainly gone through her own fair share of pain and barbaric cruelty in the short years of her tumultuous life. From street-rat to heiress, she had seen a lot.

To the casual observer, or more clearly, the man sitting near her, Eris seemed pensive. Her eyes were narrowed in thought, and to him, it might have seemed like she was just resting from the effort of the multiple changes to her body that had taken place within the conversation. The more reflexive changes of growing in height and anger leading to red hair must have been tiring, and that was hardly counting the way she had shifted her hair. However, Eris wasn’t tired. She was thinking, lost in the delicate reminders of a fragile live once lived.

Belladonna had been her mother’s favourite flower. Maybe it was for the potency and the danger of the poison that coursed through the violet flower petals. Either way, the name had stuck with Jane Rowle enough that her favorite daughter had been named after the substance used in her errant daughter’s potions. It felt poetic in a sense. Belladonna was the plant used to contain Eris, and Bella was the sister that had been used to calm Eris.

It hurt, thinking about the fact that her sister was still with their mother. Her sister still supported her mother, from what rumours and whispers the witless child could hear from those older than her. Over the summer, her grandparents had hoped to keep such secrets from Eris’ ears. Yet, there was a specialized force of hired hit-wizards and detectives out to find Jane, paid with hefty sums from the combined Fawley and Rowle vaults, considering Eris was the only child, considered pure, in the eyes of the lofty families that had helped Jane inherit her fortune and thus, the money was hers. Or to be more accurate, her grandparents. A 12 year old had no right to a fortune, which while wise, rubbed the careless spirit of Eris in the wrong way. She’d quite like to have her own fortune hidden in the caverns under Gringotts. For any that had gotten close to Jane through the rings of potion cartels and paranoia and lived to to tell the tale would tell blubbering stories of a pale-faced child with a wraith-like form and a wand made of umgoloty wood. Which, inconsequentially, was the prefered wood of the illecit, underground wandmaker that few knew of, but was rumored to be the illusive Justinian Alegory, a man rich off the suffering of muggle-borns and mudbloods, who was eerily refined in his beliefs that the wizarding world would be much better if a tyrannical wizard like Lord Voldemort was still alive to dominate with fear.

The stories had reached Eris’ ears, even while her grandparents tried to protect her from the truth. It was a truth made of assumptions, on Eris’ part, but she was nearly one-hundred percent sure that her sister had gone to the dark side. Although, from the foggy haze of memory, Eris sometimes found herself awake late at night, questioning if her memories of her sister had ever really led her to believe that Bella was anything other than a bitter girl, qwelled by a jealousy for her other sister who had uniquely strange talents.

Softly pushing away the remnants of her darker thoughts, Eris turned towards the Professor. He had proved, had he not, that he wasn’t here just for the information about her mother. In fact, he seemed like an actual amiable person. Who Eris found herself enjoying, strangely enough. Maybe she could try to enjoy herself, for once.

The notion that a professor could make Eris feel safe was laughable, and although she still felt wary, she didn’t regard the stoic man with the eyes of a pupil tutoring with her professor. She viewed him as an equal, possibly a friend. Considering that the conversation they were having was evidently far less troublesome than the ones she had with other adolescents, such as the deprived soul of Ben, the ravenclaw boy responsible for such hellish burns and scars that, while hidden, still lingered under Eris’ skin.

Professor Griffith seemed cordial, so, with an expression evidently more peaceful than usual, Eris offered a cocky smile of assurance. He seemed to be beckoning her to play his game, which was perfectly fine with Eris. Any excuse to hide away from the depression of growing up and aging in such a classic tale of trials and tribulations of adolescent years.

“I highly doubt that I won’t grow to be your size. Even if I don’t grow that tall naturally, I’ll just switch the height. I did it once today. I can do it twice.” She replied, in the exasperated tone of one trying to teach a young child why the sky was blue.

“I already get O’s on my homework. Normally. When I try, but lately, I’m just bored in school. More important things to focus on.”

i punched a wall and cried. BAM BAM BAM!
Eris Fawley:
Strength: 6 //Agility: 10 //Control: 9 //Stamina: 10

A fiery pistachio  PV Eris Fawley   Closed 

When people go through their lives, they make choices. The choices are made in the present, at certain hard points in time, but they affect the future. Everyone learns that fact, one way or another, sooner or later. This is why people think before they act, they think of the consequences. But not everyone thinks before they act, some just listen to their gut, and step into the abyss. Some make knee-jerk reactions that can end in a wrecked car, or a a broken bone. But sometimes, when a wizard makes a stupid decision, it not only alters the course of his own life. It also ends the lives of those whose only crime was caring for him.

Griffith had made a choice, long ago. A choice he was proud of for making, and then deeply regretted, but was then fiercely proud of. He had made the choice, and promised himself not to budge from the belief that the choice was the right one. It worked out, in a way. He would not be the man he was if it hadn’t been for that choice. But then, what kind of man was he? He was the kind of man to try his hardest to push everyone away and erect barriers around a heart that was all too soft. That made him nice, if gruff. But he was also the kind of man who would use a School and everyone inside as a shield to defend himself against a personal threat. And he knew exactly what kind of man that made him.

The girl in front of him was young, but she had already made decisions of her own. She would make a lot more before she had any idea what kind of person she was, of who she was going to grow up to become. But he could see a start, he could see a foundation of something. A fiery spirit, the knowledge that a lot of time, you really couldn’t count on anyone aside from yourself. But still the innocent joy that came with being a little girl. The capability to giggle and throw a worm at a boy and not be glared at.

She was a little dragon, and he would help. The welshman didn’t really care how, or with what. He was going to help her, one way or another. And helping was something he took very seriously. It was what he did, after all. He healed creatures, and raised them. This wasn’t much different, if you looked at it from a scientific point of view. A bit harder, sure, but that was to be expected. He wouldn’t be able to constantly watch her, as she had a family of her own that would influence her, probably in directions he wouldn’t exactly approve of. Like tea parties with old people that talked of politics and ministries. A little girl had no place there unless she was interested. And little girls are seldom interested in that kind of thing.

But from a more realistic point of view, this was going to prove nearly impossible. How was he going to get this girl to listen to any of his advice, to come to him if she needed help. He could tell her to all he wanted, it was only going to happen if she honestly trusted him enough to seek out his aid. But what did he know about getting little kids to trust him enough to let him help? He knew squat. So there was his basic fallback, which was actually act nice, and see what happened. Treat the kids with respect.

“But if you stretched yourself to be my size, wouldn’t you be super skinny, like a bean? I think I like you this size more. And you know what’s coolest? You’d be able to ride on a little hippogriff foal, or a big dog, and wouldn’t hurt it, which I think would be pretty awesome. What’s more important that miss whats-er-faces hour long essays? I’ll have you know that the color of tree bark covered in black ink during a snowstorm is very important knowledge.”

“If this is a complaint would you mind sending it with an owl? It's easier to ignore."