Reputation PV Mardella Bram Finished

The moment classes let out for the day, Mardella was off like a shot and out the classroom. She'd been eyeing the glass surface of the Great Lake, silver in the sunlight, all day with buzzing excitement. The past week had been overcast and slightly damp so the moment she'd seen the sun this morning she'd begun making plans. Several people called out to the girl as she dashed down the corridor, jumping down stairs as she went and skidding round corners, her twin braids flying out behind her (or holding on for dear life).

Bursting through the doors, she was hit with the smell of fresh air and spring flowers, and then she was bounding down the sloping path to the open lawn and the Great Lake beyond that. There were a number of people there already, presumably let out of their classes before her own - god knows some professors liked to drag their lectures on - and a few were splashing in the shallows or even paddling further in. Others were content to read or chat on the shores, but Mardella paid them no heed. Stopping by a tree a twenty or so yards from the pebbled shore, she quickly stripped of her jumper, shoes and tights, securing her skirt around her legs by tying the ends and dropped her bag and discarded clothes in a heap by the tree's rooted base.

It was a shame she hadn't quite received her swimming costume from home yet - would have been useful... With that last thought, she raced towards the lapping shore, barefeet kicking up speed across the ground as it transitioned from grass to dirt to pebble beach. There was a figure looking downwards right on the shore, right in her path, Mardella's eyes widened before steering herself a little to the left. Her first step into the water was cool, her toes grasping for purchase on moss-laden stones beneath the surface, but her run carried her further than that, water rushing around her until it coiled above her knees, ripples expanding across the surface. The momentum ceased then, leaving her wobbling and pinwheeling her arms for balance. The initial splashing had gotten water in her face and she wiped a hand carelessly across her eyes, blinking away the droplets.

Oh, the other girl. She span quickly, uncaring of rush of water by her legs and walked a little ways back to shore. The other girl was...soaked. Although she hadn't gotten a face full of water, her legs and skirt were now obviously wet, the grey material darkening to black.

"Oh, sorry!" She said, as her eyes caught on the blue tie and the black hair pinned back neatly. "I didn't see you," It wasn't exactly a lie, because Mardella hadn't seen her until it was nearly too late, her hazel eyes met the other girl's dark ones for a moment and then - oh. The excited smile started to fall. The girl looked familiar, but then of course she did. A man with similar looking features had been plastered all over papers a few years back, cold eyes and smirking lips under screaming headlines.

"S-sorry." Abruptly, the water felt colder now, icy between her toes. "It's Stavrou, right? Sorry."

Phaedra's thoughts were interrupted by another girl jogging into the water like a bat out of hell. Her quick movements in the water caused ripples and splashes to spread over to where Phaedra stood. The Ravenclaw planned on only walking deep enough to where the water reached her mid-calves, but her cautiousness proved pointless as she ended up soaked regardless.

"...It's fine," she stated, her lips pressing into a thin line. Phaedra reached down to take the wet skirt in her hands and wring it free of water as best as she could. It wasn't actually fine, but the girl seemed sincere that it was done on accident. Besides, it was just water, and it was to be expected standing in a lake anyway. She'd dry in no time, with the sun beaming down as much as it was. Phaedra looked back up at the girl, stepping back to put some distance in between them, just in case.

The girl looked familiar, but Phaedra couldn't quite place where she had seen a face similar to hers. She was certain they didn't have any classes together, at least not yet. The Ravenclaw listened as the Gryffindor became even more apologetic. If there was any sudden tension in the air, Phaedra didn't sense it.

"That's right, Phaedra Stavrou. Nice to meet you." She dried her damp hand with her cardigan, holding it out for a handshake. She gave an awkward smile, "Uh, I'm terribly sorry, but I don't know who you are... Who are you?"

"...It's fine,"

Mardella winced inwardly, Stavrou looked a little annoyed as she twisted the wet fabric between her long fingers to let a steady drip of water leak out down her calves and back into the Lake. Well, she supposed she'd be irritated too if some random came and splashed her. She walked a little closer and then stopped, awkwardly, a little ways away when the Ravenclaw girl stepped back, the water still trying to settle once more between them.

Stavrou dried her wet palms on her cardigan, leaving a few tiny silver droplets clinging to the wool fibres.

"That's right, Phedra Stavrou. Nice to meet you."

Phedra Stavrou - Phedra Stavrou - Phedra Stavrou stuck her hand in the air between them. For half a breath, Mardella nearly forgot what to do and then walked forwards, to clumsily shake the other girl's hand. Hopefully her echoing, "You too," wasn't as strange sounding to the a child of the reclusive Stavrou family as it was to her own ears.

Two Death Eaters and - among the folk of the Knockturn - a turncoat too, she though uneasily.

"Uh, I'm terribly sorry, but I don't know who you are... Who are you?"

These aren't the droid you're looking for her mind sprouted - and then bit her lip in annoyance. Right, this was stupid. She took a quick moment to glance properly at the girl she'd soaked. Phedra Stavrou seemed...normal. She didn't look crazy, or one step from hexing anyone, she was even apologising for not knowing who Mardella was! Who even does that? She seemed like a decent kid - and hadn't Mardella herself been worried about prejudice? She took a breath, steeling herself.

"No worries," Her grin this time was more relaxed and open, and she felt her shoulders relax, "I'm Mardella Bram - sorry, I thought I might have have seen your name in the orders - Da works at the Silver Moon? In Knockturn Alley?" It was a bit of lie, but sounded plausible enough to her own ears. No need to bring up the sketchy headlines and the scandals.

Her grip was tight compared to the other girl's, not finding the interaction awkward or unnatural. Most pre-teens wouldn't introduce themselves with a handshake, but it was routine and what Phaedra was raised to do. First impressions, no matter to who, were crucial to her upbringing. Phaedra pulled their hands apart as another group of kids waded into the water a few feet away. The water didn't splash very much this time - these kids were more calm. She looked back to the taller girl as the water stilled again, the kids now farther from the shore.

"Mardella... Bram..." Phaedra trailed on, trying to recollect where she had heard the surname before. The Gryffindor said her father worked in Knockturn Alley, in some place called the Silver Moon. Phaedra knew most of Knockturn Alley like the back of her hand, but Silver Moon was not a frequently visited shop for her, not like the usual sketchy and sinister places her parents liked to spend money at.

Staring at Mardella's features, she took in the brown, unruly hair, hazel eyes, and incredibly tall figure that briefly made Phaedra feel down about her own. She did in fact find tallness to be powerful and appealing. Phaedra quickly realized the similarities of features and snapped two fingers enthusiastically. "You're the daughter of Mr. Bram, the carpenter, correct?" The Ravenclaw wasn't the best at remembering new names, but a face she could always eventually recall. "I remember now, he was the one who crafted my wooden trunk. I think it turned out quite lovely. And you saw correctly - that must have been my father who placed the order. I was only there for pick-up. Um, it should've been right around the time after we all got our letters and supply lists." She failed to mention the small argument that happened between their fathers in Silver Moon Carpentry that day. Whatever it was over (she couldn't even guess - father was always in arguments), she couldn't care less. It was the adults' concern.

"He's your dad, alright," she smiled softly, a hand moving to gesture towards Mardella's own locks. "The hair is similar. You're very pretty."

As far as Phaedra was concerned, this girl was just another witch - different and new, but a fellow witch nonetheless. She only knew very basic things about the Bram family, having been the outlet of her parents' vocal rantings and ravings for so many years. Bloodtraitors and scum, they called families like hers, and if she remembered correctly, she was never even taught of a Bram at Hogwarts. Mardella must be the first, she assumed. Why was that? Her once excited smile slowly faded into knit brows. There was a tense pause, as Phaedra opened her mouth to ask what had just popped into her mind.

"...Is he a squib? Your dad, I mean," Phaedra jumped to conclusion, an eyebrow raising in disbelief. She looked very sorry for the girl, as if it were something shameful. "Your dad could only make my trunk, not enchant it. Or it wasn't a very good charm attempt. Either one," she shrugged. The details of that day escaped her, but she did recall someone else having to add the trunk's extension charm in his stead. No offense was meant, of course; the statement more an ignorant curiosity than purposeful disrespect. If Phaedra wanted to know something, she would never hesitate to ask questions. Sometimes the situation called for remaining silent, but mum and dad weren't here to glare at her for failing to hold her tongue, now were they?

She tapped her feet eagerly onto the mossy stone below, bubbles flowing up to the surface. "But if it was the latter, that would just make him a hedgewizard, wouldn't it?" She didn't even know they could get jobs in wizarding society. Who would want that?

"You're the daughter of Mr. Bram, the carpenter, correct?"

Mardella startled, hazel eyes widening, "Oh - er - yes." She spluttered, that wasn't usually what people called her Da. The Carpenter - huh - it was true, but that wasn't what most people saw first.

"I remember now, he was the one who crafted my wooden trunk. I think it turned out quite lovely. And you saw correctly - that must have been my father who placed the order. I was only there for pick-up. Um, it should've been right around the time after we all got our letters and supply lists."

Oh, so it was true. Perhaps she hadn't made up seeing Stavrou on the order list then. Sometimes it was hard keeping track of who wanted what, and end of the summer hols and Yuletide were the busiest times of year. The tips of her ears flared pink when she registered the compliment. "Ah, I think I must have been helping in the back that day, and didn't see you - you liked it then - the trunk?" She smiled, abruptly very aware that her skirt was bunched up and secured around her thighs, and her white shirt was water spattered and untucked. Mardella hoped she didn't look too awful compared to the pretty Ravenclaw and tried to continue, nonchalantly."I'll tell him you said so. He'll be happy to know." Da took so much pride in his work. It was a shame Master Roscoe would never let him take over the shop, no matter how experienced he was.

"He's your dad, alright, the hair is similar. You're very pretty."

"Oh - thanks," if her ears weren't red earlier, they certainly were now. Acutely, Mardella could feel the bright flush blossoming down her freckled cheekbones, it wasn't quite true as Da was fairly balding at this point and far lighter skinned. She'd got her colouring from Ma mostly - who claimed to be 'somewhat Somalian', whatever that meant - but she supposed she and Da had a similar shade of hair colour. "You're really pretty too!" She rushed to say in return. It was true, the other girl was the very picture of grace, like a doll from a picture book (if not for the fact that Mardella had clumsily splashed her) "I've never met your parents though, do you take after your Ma-mother, or your father?" She asked, curiously and tried to remember if she'd seen Lord and Lady Stavrou before in person.

The Silver Moon was located near the top of Knocturn Alley, down one of side-streets. Master Roscoe, the owner and only worker then, had taken on Da as an apprentice just before her eldest brother Dillon had been born. As Master Roscoe told it, he'd saved their entire family from starving out in the streets since Ma and her family had still been arguing over the Harrow's shop. The whole story was very 'woe is me' and Mardella hated it. Phedra seemed to be aware of something, though perhaps not this part of the Bram reputation.

"...Is he a squib? Your dad, I mean."

Mardella stiffened, water lapping at her calves. A few yards away she could hear the chatter of the other students that had opted to wade the Lake like her. Phedra Stavrou's pretty face melded into a pitying expression - like she couldn't believe anyone could be so unfortunate as to survive without magic. Abruptly, that lump in her throat which had dissipated only moments ago returned.

"Your dad could only make my trunk, not enchant it. Or it wasn't a very good charm attempt. Either one,"

Phedra put, matter-of-factly, and then slowly, like she was drawing it out deliberately - she added:

"But if it was the latter, that would just make him a hedgewizard, wouldn't it?"

Mardella exhaled heavily through her nose, dropping her tense shoulders and unclenching her fists deliberately. "There's nothing wrong with Squibs." She bit out tersely, with the air of someone whose repeated something time-after-time. "But Da can do magic, as can all of the other Bram's before us! We just - Just - " Her voice raised a bit in frustration before cutting itself off. She took a deep breath, hedgewizard or proper wizardfolk - the difference was essentially the letter she had gotten on her birthday. What made her so different from her brothers?

"Bram's just don't need magic to create something beautiful." She said quietly, her cheeks flushed with indignation. "We don't need your pity, Stavrou."

"You're really pretty too!"

"That's very nice of you, thanks." A pale pink color creeped its way onto Phaedra's nose and cheeks and she stood a little straighter, hand reaching up to twirl at a lock of black hair. Her appearance wasn't something she personally regarded often. She sometimes thought herself too plain with her dark colors, almost envying the girls she'd seen around school with bright red hair full of curls. The compliment was noted and genuinely appreciated. 

"I've never met your parents though, do you take after your Ma-mother, or your father?"

Phaedra brought a hand to her face and tapped her chin, trying to recall conversations she overheard throughout her childhood. "Well... people say I look like my dad," she replied, her head tilting back slightly in thought. "We're always compared with our hair and eyes, and whatnot. But I think I look like a healthy mix of both of them." Truth was, Phaedra's looks actually did derive mostly from her father; his shapely nose, thick eyebrows, and oval face were all dominating features present in Phaedra. No wonder Mardella was able to recognize her instantly. Such features ran in the Stavrous for centuries.

"There's nothing wrong with Squibs."

Phaedra didn't fail to see the change in Mardella's body language; her nostrils flaring with every heavy exhale and her upper body stiffening. She looked Mardella in the eyes and shook her head.

"I disagree." The words were sour and rudely abrupt. The Ravenclaw girl was very opinionated, and had the know-it-all attitude and chattiness to show for it. Gently tugging at her skirt, she bundled the fabric up roughly and held it up over her knees. She took a couple of slow steps forward to the Gryffindor girl, now within arms length, and came to a sudden stop in front of her. The action may have looked more intimidating from afar, but up close Phaedra's expressions wavered. This was possibly the closest thing to a fight with another student Phaedra had experienced, and she didn't know how to feel about it. "I think it's awfully sad to miss out on magic. If my entire family was capable of magic and I wasn't, I think I'd... I think I'd kill myself," she cried dramatically with all of her preteen glory. The fist holding up her skirt clenched tighter.

"Besides, the magical gene is dominant," she asserted matter-of-factly, shrugging off her previous statement as if it were nothing. "One would have to be seriously unlucky not to possess it from two wizard parents."

"Bram's just don't need magic to create something beautiful. We don't need your pity, Stavrou."

"Well, isn't that the sweetest? I don't recall saying otherwise." The corners of Phaedra's mouth twitched, trying her damnedest not to give an eye roll. What happened? They exchanged pleasantries just a few seconds ago. She didn't say anything offensive, did she? No - that can't be it. She had restrained from using any slurs so far; that's how it worked, right? "And pity? Who said anything about pity? I was just curious about your history, that's all." Both hands shot up in defense, her skirt falling back over her knees.

"I think it's awfully sad to miss out on magic. If my entire family was capable of magic and I wasn't, I think I'd... I think I'd kill myself,"

Mardella reared back, as if struck, staring horrified at the girl before her. Whether it was just a joke gone way too far or her real opinion, it was a horrible thing to think, let alone say aloud. Phedra Stavrou was certainly living up to her family's reputation. It was - it was such a disgusting thing to say. To think that if the girl would have been born unable to use a wand, she would... if there was ever a time to punch a girl - Mardella thought it would be now. And yet, she didn't.

If...if perhaps it was the other way around, that you were the one in the family able to cast spells and do magic and no one else could? What then?

She thought of her brothers at home, and her Da's silence since she'd gotten her letter all those months ago.

Stavrou seemed to take it as permission to continue on, as if her silence was agreement instead of horror, talking of magical genes and probability, like Master Roscoe talked about new strains of mahogany being shipped from the Continent. Mardella managed to gather herself to tell the pureblood that her family didn't need her pity but the other girl shook off the comment dismissively - like she hadn't just spent the past two minutes talking like spell-capable magicfolk were inherently superior.

"And pity? Who said anything about pity? I was just curious about your history, that's all."

"Why?" She said, narrowing her eyes. "Why are you curious about the Bram history? Going to tell me how we should've - should've off'ed ourselves centuries ago?" She crossed her arms over her chest, voice rising.

This was so dumb. This was so - she wanted to scream, Stavrou was making her so angry. Da had warned her, told her she was better off in the shop, putting her carving to use than up here in the castle with all these posh twits who looked down their noses at you - they'd never see a her as a normal person, someone like them. She'd hoped he was exaggerating, because surely, away from their stuffy parents and old fashioned customs, surely they didn't actually believe that bogus? Mardella hated that she was being proved wrong.

The sky was still bright above them, the water still as gorgeous around their feet, but she felt as if the afternoon had been ruined.

She tried being as nice as her angry little heart could manage, she really did, but the other girl was giving her an attitude now and that wouldn't stand. Phaedra balled her fists as tightly as she could, knuckles turning white and nails digging into her palms. As she took a sharp inhale, she looked quite comical with her shoulders raised up so high, her face reddening at the humiliation of being spoken to in such a way, by anyone, let alone her. Who did this girl think she was? Phaedra thought she needed to be knocked down a peg or two.

"Why? Why are you curious about the Bram history? Going to tell me how we should've - should've off'ed ourselves centuries ago?

"I - I... Well, that most certainly would've saved me the disgrace of having to stand here and talk to you, don't you think?!" she blurted out, the corners of her lips lifting into a sneer. Phaedra had a history of facing verbal abuse - she could dish it right back if she felt insulted enough. She relaxed her shoulders but the contemptuous look remained. Her voice lowered to a tone as sinister as she could muster. "Now, I'd appreciate it if you held your tongue, Bram. Wouldn't want your loved ones to go missing, or for you to go missing... Either one. My family has power and wealth like you wouldn't believe. Dad's not afraid to go to Azkaban again, if need be." That last line wasn't completely true, her father had turned himself in years ago before she was even born, but she secretly feared the man and hoped bragging about her father's record made him seem just as frightening to Mardella. 

Phaedra's little tirade over how she'd react to being born a squib wasn't true either. In reality, she wouldn't ever kill herself - let alone for something like that - but actually being a pure-blood and born with a silver spoon in her mouth caused her to overreact to the mere thought of not having abilities. Phaedra had a warped perception of struggle and consequence, and if she had any idea that this girl was considering punching her, she would have shut up and walked away sooner. The Ravenclaw had a clever mouth, but she couldn't back it up with her fists; she lacked so much physical strength it was laughable. Stupidly, she carried on, assuming she would be safe from retaliation, just like she was her entire life. And besides, she had gotten this far.

"As for your little inquiry about pity earlier, I only give that to those who deserve it, thank you very much. And as far as I'm concerned, Brams don't deserve even a smidgen - If you mingle with filth and betray your kind, you get what you deserve. And you have," she fumed, turning away on one heel to start wading out of the water, her long ponytail whipping dangerously close to Mardella's face. "Your family," Phaedra practically sang over her shoulder to the girl, putting a slight distance between them as she walked, "All penniless and worthless? That's karma well justified. I'll be leaving now." She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her cardigan, nearing closer to the lake's edge.

Mardella bit her lip angrily, feeling her eyes begin to sting as Phedra Stavrou continued to sneer. No! This girl wasn't going to make her cry. Most people weren't so callous to say such things to her face, a sneer and a dismissive glance was typically enough for them, but it was clear Stavrou was a whole different breed of awful.

She snorted, uncaring of the harshness of the noise, "Filth?" She spat back, posture tensing. "I'm not the one throwing threats around. You do remember a war took place over what you're talking about, right?" And which side won.She'd tucked her wand into the waistband of her skirt and even though she didn't know many spells, she wanted to reach for it anyways. If only to get rid of the Ravenclaw's horrid attitude. She kept her hands by her sides, but tense, just in case. "Or don't you know what the Knockturn says about him - a traitor! I don't think you Stavrous are welcome even in Azkaban." There was a small part of Mardella that felt like things were spiralling out of control, that maybe she should back down and just let the other girl win. Her crazy family had probably taught her all sorts of dark spells, and ways to hurt people. She tried not to shiver at the thought of the threat.

But she was tired. Tired of the friends she'd make in Diagon Alley, sneering when they found out where her family worked. Tired of the way customers would talk down to Da, when he did more work than Master Roscoe! Tired of the way they would dust themselves off and wipe their hands with their silk handkerchiefs after they left - as if a Bram had some sort of contagious disease.

"You - you!" Mardella stuttered with anger, face flushing and heart thunderous in her chest, as the other girl turned to leave. Why didn't she have anything witty to say? Why couldn't she snap something vicious back? Her tongue felt like it was made of lead and heavy and knotted in her mouth, jaw clenched so tightly it felt like it would break. Her fist shot up - but it was too late to grab at the flash of dark hair, fingers missing the strands by inches. The other girl moved out of reach.

Chest heaving, the Gryffindor girl snapped to Stavrou's back."That's right - go on, walk away!" Go on, you coward!