A Guide On Peonies PV Eldred Grayswell FIN

Spoken: #610000 Clothes: School Uniform

What is the best thing to do when a plant is slowly dying? Eldred hadn’t even owned it for a month, and the petals were already curling into brown clumbs.
He was horrified when he woke up in the morning. The cool sunlight had been streaming through the glass onto his flower, showing him nothing but cruel death and decay. His breath had got caught in his throat. Immediately a wave of shame had washed over him, and the boy decided to make his first real visit to the library!

The only problem was, that he had been walking through the aisles for some time and still hadn’t found the book he was looking for. He didn’t want to ask the librarian about a Guide on Peonies. Eldred wanted to figure it out on his own, and if he couldn’t, maybe he would find a book on a similar plant. There must be related flowers! Perhaps one about roses could help him as well.

Lost in thought, he walked up the library stairs, to where the many shelves stood far away from the fireplaces, and small desks had nestled between each of them. The windows were tall and large, letting the light illuminate the dust in the air. By now, the light was no longer blue and gray but warm, which lifted his spirits a little. Now all that remained was to find the right book.

Eldred continued walking. He looked into every gap between the shelves, hoping to spot a book with something flower-related on its spine. His gray eyes moved quickly and rhythmically from one to the next, then he walked a little, looked at the books again, and continued. He was almost ready to give up when he saw it.
It lay perfectly in a pile of others. At first, he didn’t even notice that a student was sitting, encased in her books. He could see the word ‚Peonies‘ already. It urged him to take a step toward the pile and the student.

Eldred‘s head was slightly lowered, and his steps were quiet, not wanting to startle her. "Excuse me, please. May I disturb you for a moment?" he asked, only now shifting his gaze down at her as he spoke. Her scarf barely covered her red nose. Her ghostly presence and long pale-blonde hair seemed as confusing and beautiful as smooth white gold, spread out like ocean waves. Eldred, on the other hand, looked like he always did. His uniform was perfectly straight and neat, and his dark brown hair was perfectly arranged, half tucked behind his ears with a few strands that had wandered into his face.

Syrah looked up slowly, her expression blank as her blue eyes met his. For a moment, she simply stared, as if she were trying to place his face or determine if he was even real. People didn’t usually approach her, especially not with that polite, almost hesitant tone.

She blinked, finally processing his words. “...What do you want?” Her voice was as flat as her expression, though there was no hostility in it. Just bluntness. She followed his gaze to the pile of books beside her, her fingers reflexively brushing over the spine of the one on top. The book on peonies.

Ah. He wanted the book.

Syrah’s head tilted slightly. “Peonies?” she asked, though it was more of a statement. Her eyes flicked back to his, noting the neatness of his uniform, the pristine arrangement of his hair. He looked like he’d walked straight out of a painting—perfect and polished.

She pushed the book toward him without ceremony. “Take it. I don’t need it.” She glanced at the book briefly then narrowed her eyes at the boy “Your plant’s dying?”

There was no mockery in her voice, no judgment. Just blunt observation. She looked back down at her book, fingers tracing absent patterns along the edge of the pages. “I don’t know anything about peonies.” A pause, then, “But you should check the roots. Sometimes they rot.”

Spoken: #610000 Clothes: School Uniform

He was familiar with bluntness in people, observational skills, and the many stories about Slytherins from his father. However, this level of it felt like a diamond in front of his eyes, shimmering of interest! It suprised him that this behavior came from the pale girl. His calm expression broke for a moment of confusion, and he took the book with a confident "Thank you" from his lips.

He quietly listened to her hint about the roots. The boy had no knowledge of plants and didn't know that they could rot. Internally, he noted the idea and nodded, even though she couldn't see him. Her gaze was on the book in front of her, and her pale fingers traced the pages, following a pattern that Eldred couldn’t clearly see from where he stood.

His fingers lay firmly on the book, pressing it against his chest.
There was nothing more to say from his side. Nontheless, Eldred felt as though he was glued to the floor. With attentive gray eyes, he watched the girl’s focused posture. The way her hair moved and captured the rays of the sun mirrored a uniquiness to behold. Mixed with the somewhat strange manners in which she spoke, it was the more emphasized.

It sparked curiosity. She attracted it as much as what she was ...reading? He wasn’t sure if she was trying to decipher it or already absorbing the informations in it.
"Thank you, I'll look for roots in the book. You're right with your observations" he replied in a calm tone, still watching her fingers. "May I ask, can you read that, or are you trying to..?"

Syrah’s fingers paused, hovering just above the page as his question hung in the quiet air. Her pale brows knit together, and she didn’t respond immediately. Instead, her thumb ran slowly along the edge of the paper, catching on its rough texture.

“I’m trying to,” she answered finally, her voice as flat as ever. “It’s not English or Romanian. Not anything I recognize, really.”

She shifted slightly, the fabric of her scarf brushing against the worn pages. “I thought I’d figure it out eventually,” she continued, almost to herself. “Patterns, symbols, something.”

There was a flicker of irritation in her eyes. She was good at deciphering things. She always had been. Books were supposed to be simple. You looked at the words, understood their meaning, and moved on. But this journal was different. It felt like it was deliberately defying her, taunting her with knowledge she couldn’t reach.

She could almost hear it whispering to her, mocking her ignorance. It made her jaw clench, the muscle in her cheek tightening. Syrah hated feeling ignorant.

Her eyes narrowed at the script, the ink’s faded curls and sharp lines dancing just out of her comprehension. “It’s strange. I’ve read books in old Latin, even some runes. This...” She trailed off, tapping a finger on the page. “This one is stubborn.”

Syrah’s expression remained calm, but there was a hint of frustration in the way her fingers clenched the edge of the book. “Why do you care?” She finally looked up at him, her gaze direct and unwavering. “Unless you know what it says?”

She half-hoped he did. But she doubted it. No one else had shown interest in the journal. She had gone through hell, did...unspeakable things to get her hands on it, and she would be damned if she let anyone else take it away.

Her fingers curled protectively around the book’s spine, possessive. She would figure this out, even if it meant tearing the pages apart to decipher every single symbol. She would learn its secrets. She had to. Otherwise, everything she went through would have been for nothing.

Spoken: #610000 Clothes: School Uniform

Eldred tried to observe more of what her fingers were doing on the page from where he stood. He would have liked to step a little closer, but he didn’t feel like he had permission to join her in this nook. The spaces between the shelves were too narrow for just walking in and intruding her space. Standing where he was, he listened to her words. What she was saying sounded captivating and interesting. The fact that a first-grader could read books in ancient Latin made Eldred’s heart do a leap. English and Romanian added to that made the blonde seem very experienced and intelligent in his eyes.

Although her behavior was peculiar, it had its charm. He briefly wondered whether he should leave her alone, not wanting to be rude and stare at her. Suddenly, a flicker of emotion appeared in her eyes, which made the 12-year-old Gryffindor feel as if he were rooted to the ground, giving up all the plans of leaving any time soon.
Was she frustrated? He could imagine how irritating it must have been to try solve a stubborn puzzle. It was only an empathatic guess, since Eldred had never been in such a situation — only people had ever frustrated him. Difficult objects and places had always been a welcome challenge instead.

His face had almost turned into one for poker. It remained calm and focused, even when she unexpectadly lifted her head and asked him a question. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw her fingers move on the book, though he couldn’t make out exactly what she was doing.

“No, I don’t know what it says” Eldred replied, but continued after just a second“—but my father writes books about mysteries and old stories surrounding the magical world. If you don’t mind, I could sit down and take a closer look at the symbols. Maybe I’ve seen something similar before and have an idea or two. He has lots of sketches and notes around our apartment..”

Eldred wasn’t really sure how much his father’s quirky stories would really help. However, he didn’t want to miss the opportunity to take a look at the whole thing, and additionally to it, get to know the fascinating blonde.
Who knows, maybe he really did know something about it or had an idea! His mother liked to say: Four eyes see more than two.

Syrah’s eyes flicked up to meet Eldred’s, her gaze sharp and calculating. She didn’t answer immediately, allowing the silence to stretch between them like a tangible thing. She could feel the weight of his presence, standing there in that awkward limbo—too polite to be intrusive, too curious to leave.

She didn’t particularly care for others lingering too long in her space. She liked her solitude, the quiet of being left to herself, where no one was peering over her shoulder or judging the way she thought. But something about him didn’t annoy her. His offer was oddly... sensible. Maybe he was just trying to be helpful, or maybe he really did think he could help.

Eldred’s words hung in the air, though she didn’t answer immediately. His offer lingered like a puzzle itself. Was it strange to ask for help? She wasn’t used to asking for help—she didn’t even know what help she needed. But still... maybe he could be useful.

After a long pause, she tilted her head slightly, considering him. “You want to look at it?” she asked, her voice indifferent but tinged with a curiosity she didn’t often show.

She didn’t know how, but the idea of having someone who had seen this before—someone who could offer insight into these mysterious symbols—seemed too tempting to let go.

“I don’t mind,” she muttered , her voice soft but deliberate, still unwilling to look at him directly. “But don’t expect it to make much sense. It’s all strange.”

Her fingers hesitated, and with a small exhale, she shifted slightly to the side, making space for him to sit next to her if he wanted. She wasn’t thrilled by the idea of proximity, but it wasn’t the worst. Besides, the book—it was the book, after all, that mattered. It could hold answers. Perhaps he could find something in it she hadn’t.

She gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug. “I suppose four eyes are better than two.”

Spoken: #610000 Clothes: School Uniform

For a brief moment, Eldred's eyelids lowered into an almost too serious, calm expression. He was still friendly and polite. However, he had to concentrate for a moment when she gave him a sharp look. A secretive dominance seemed to flicker briefly in his gray eyes. Under her intelligent gaze, he found himself, just out of stubborness, trying to oppose it.

After the long pause between them, the one question came, to which he already knew a clear answer. It burned in his throat. Her voice had changed for it, but Eldred couldn’t quite place what emotion it sounded like, aside that it was a somewhat livelier tone.

"Yes, I do" he responded in a volume that was appropriate to the solitude of the room. It was quieter, as if they were planning something that not everyone should know about, not even the librarian downstairs. Still, the gryffindor spoke with particular confidence.
Curiosity drove him like a fire in his head, burning away anything that could bring him uncertainty. So close to something as mysterious as she and this book was, he felt he'd never been before to a secret.

The boy immediately began moving when he saw her shifting. With a few smooth steps, he walked between the shelves by passing a stack of books. Eldred placed his Guide on Peonies on the edge of the desk, hoping he wouldn‘t forget about it later. Sitting down next to her, It didn’t bother him that they would occasionally feel their arms or shoulders touch.

To hear the same little motto from his mother, from her now, made him briefly raise his eyebrows. Eldred smiled kindly. "Funny that you say that. I was just thinking the same. My mother says this sometimes, but usually only when my father has misplaced something." the boy commented, now in an even softer tone. It let his voice almost resemble a whisper.

His eyes fixed on the book in front of them. Gently, he placed a hand near it, but did not dare to touch it. He would have liked to feel the material under his skin, flip through the pages, and, like she had earlier, run his fingertips along the runes and its spine — but it wasn’t his.
Something in him forbade him from doing exactly that unless he had explicit permission from the blonde . It must be due to his father’s strange upbringing, who paid attention to too many old courtesy phrases. It had colored off and onto his Son, Eldred.

The boy leaned slightly forward. "Can you flip through it for me? I’ll say stop if something looks familiar. I’ll look at the runes later, maybe the content will give us some clue about the origin of the outside. Sometimes it helps to go from the inside out when it comes to the stranger things in life." he suggested, but didn‘t look into her direction.

Syrah’s eyes flicked over to him, lingering on his face for a heartbeat longer than she meant to. She hadn’t expected him to sit so close, nor had she expected his unwavering confidence. It didn’t annoy her, but it was... unusual. People didn’t typically hold their ground around her. They either shied away or made an effort to put her at ease. He did neither. He simply sat down, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, like he belonged in her space.

Her shoulder brushed his briefly as she leaned forward to the book, and she was hyper-aware of the contact. She almost pulled away instinctively but stopped herself, refusing to give in to discomfort. It was just an arm. Just another person sitting beside her. Nothing more.

Syrah listened to his explanation about his mother. There was a softness in his tone that contrasted with his sharp, serious gaze. She glanced at his hand hovering near the book, fingers curled just slightly, as if he were restraining himself. He’s polite, she realized. Strange. Most people would’ve just grabbed the pages, curious to see for themselves. But he waited.

Her eyes returned to the book, fingers moving to the edge of the pages. “Fine,” she said, her voice indifferent, though a tinge of curiosity slipped through. “If you recognize anything, let me know.”

She began flipping through the pages slowly, her movements precise and controlled, revealing cryptic symbols and scattered notes. Her eyes scanned each page, lingering on particularly complicated sections before turning them. She found herself listening for his reactions, wondering what he would make of it all. Most people couldn’t even read the letters, let alone make sense of them. But something about him seemed sharp, alert—like he was looking beyond the ink.

“I didn’t catch your name,” she said suddenly, her voice low and blunt, eyes still fixed on the book. It wasn’t that she cared all that much, but he was here, in her space, and she figured she should at least know the name of the person trying to unravel her secrets.

Spoken: #610000 Clothes: School Uniform

Eldred decided, he didnt want to spend any moment overthinking this situation. Sometimes, you just have to take things as they are, and physical contact was part of it.
While the two of them sat there, he focused solely on the pages. His eyes wandered in diagonal patterns over the parchment, trying to spot everything all at once, and mentally form a rough picture of the contents.

Her question was answered in passing. In a calm voice, he shared his name and asked for hers “Eldred, Grayswell. What’s your name?” He didn’t look up. Given their proximity, he didn’t want to risk being only an inch away from her face.
So, he continued looking at the task at hand. The symbols were strange. Geometric, but none that he recognized from his mother’s old Potion class books.

But then something caught his eye. Eldred’s brows furrowed, and he bluntly whispered “Wait”.
On the held-up page, there were many more of these runes. It felt as though they were trying to make fun of the Gryffindor. Similar to many languages, but yet none of them, except for one small symbol. He almost missed it, but it was written—almost scrawled—at the bottom of the page.

Eldred lean his head slightly t the side. The tilt created a few more centimeters of distance between them. Slowly, he raised his hand and pointed with his fingertip at the symbol, without touching the page. He wanted to respect the lack of permission.

“It’s Norse,” he explained, deliberately pronouncing the word very clearly. “It stands for knowledge, wisdom, and communication, I believe ... My father once tried to write something about Norse myths. I recognize the rune from an old book that was lying around at home.”
Eldred was a little lost in thought, visible on his face, but his words sounded serious, factual, and calm as they left his mouth. “The stories were really old, nothing modern. I don’t think they are still in use today…”