A Guide On Peonies PV Eldred Grayswell FIN

Eldred. Grayswell. The name sank into her mind, but she didn’t let herself dwell on it. She rarely needed to know names. Names were for connections, for people who planned to stick around. But he had asked for hers, and Syrah knew it would be impolite not to answer.

“Syrah,” she murmured, her voice flat and unembellished. “Syrah Vintera.”

Syrah’s fingers froze mid-turn at his words. Norse. Her eyes widened just a fraction, a spark of recognition igniting within them. Suddenly, the symbols on the page weren’t just strange, meaningless shapes, they were familiar. She could see it now, the patterns connecting, the pieces falling into place.

Her lips parted as a memory surfaced. Her mother’s voice, low and serious, reciting something as she scribbled notes into her old, battered journal. Runes of knowledge, ancient and wise, meant to guide and protect. Syrah had been too young to understand then, too distracted by her mother’s furrowed brow and the way her fingers danced over the pages with urgency. But now, sitting here with Eldred, it made sense. Her mother had been writing about Norse runes.

The realization settled in her chest, heavy and strange. She inhaled slowly, grounding herself before her fingers resumed their careful movement, turning the pages with newfound purpose. Her eyes scanned the text, no longer merely curious but searching. And she found them, runes scattered throughout, integrated within spells and diagrams of defensive magic.

Syrah’s gaze softened, just for a moment. So that’s what it was. Her mother hadn’t been hiding anything sinister. She had been studying. Researching. Learning the language of magic meant to protect and defend. A strange warmth unfurled inside her, but Syrah quickly smothered it. This wasn’t the time for sentimentality.

Her fingers traced the runes, careful not to touch the ink directly. “You’re right,” she said, her voice lower, more thoughtful. “It’s Norse. But only some of it.” Her brows knitted together as she moved to the next page. The runes were mixed with other symbols, ones that didn’t match any language she recognized. “This one…” She pointed at a particularly jagged mark near the edge of the page. “I’ve never seen it before.”

Syrah’s eyes flicked toward Eldred, her expression conflicted. She wasn’t used to asking for help. She wasn’t used to needing it. But she couldn’t make sense of this alone. And he knew things, things she didn’t. It was annoying. It was frustrating. But it was also the truth.

She exhaled through her nose, the slightest hint of irritation in her eyes. “Do you know what this one means? Or… do you know any books about old runes? Ones that aren’t in the school’s library?” Her voice was measured, cautious, as if she were testing the weight of each word. "I have searched through all the shelves and I haven't found anything helpful !"

Syrah’s head tilted ever so slightly, her golden hair shifting with the motion. She hadn’t expected him to recognize anything. In fact, she had assumed he’d sit there, stare at the pages, and eventually lose interest. But Eldred’s focus was sharp, unwavering. It made her reconsider him entirely.

Spoken: #610000 Clothes: -

Eldred briefly watched her out of the corners of his eyes. He wanted to resist it, but the shift in emotions that he thought he saw reflected in her gaze was irresistibly fascinating.
The boy wasn’t sure how much of it he was imagining. Maybe he just hoped that within her, a storm of emotions had ignited, so intense that it reached her bluish-gray eyes. Yet, as he looked at her, he didn’t want to delve deeper.

It seemed that this secret was too important to her, hence Eldred refocused, staring at the rune and the pages as she turned them. Finally, her finger landed on a symbol, to which Syrah said she had never seen before. The Gryffindor examined the lines, even the way the material seemed to be pressed into the paper. Perhaps there would be a clue as to how the symbol had been written. Any information would help, the boy thought.
But nothing came to mind.

At her question, asking if he knew any books on ancient runes, Eldred raised one arm and briefly rested his chin on his hand. There, he hid his mouth behind his fingers for a moment. His eyes kept locked on the book while he was obviously thinking about an answer. His eyes darkened as his mind wandered deep into his memory.
He tried to find something, something similar, something related, a word or a quote – anything.

Unfortunately, there was nothing, except for a ridiculous idea his mother once had and told him about. What a wonderful idea indeed, and exactly what he felt he had looked for. The student had to smile. A mischievous, cheeky expression briefly crossed his face, showing an adventurous nature that perhaps did anything to satisfy its own curiosity.

Eldred turned his head toward her and leaned in just a bit closer, still maintaining a polite distance. He placed his arm under the desk and let his gray eyes burn into hers.
“My mother once told me there’s a restricted section in the library,” he began to whisper, speaking the words calmly, “Normally, you’re not supposed to go there... but maybe we could get in anyway. Logically, you won’t get into trouble if no one knows.”

Syrah stared at him, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the parchment. Her expression grew distant, thoughtful. Of course she knew about the restricted section. Every curious student did. But she’d never been bold—or foolish—enough to try sneaking in. The consequences were severe, and she couldn’t afford to risk her spotless record. Yet... she needed answers, and something about Eldred’s proposal was undeniably tempting

“What makes you think we could get in?” she asked, her voice as quiet as his. “It’s not as if they leave the door open and wave us in.”

But even as she questioned him, there was a spark in her expression. A challenge. A test. She wanted to know if Eldred was all talk, or if he truly had a plan. And if he did... well, Syrah wasn’t above bending the rules if it meant being capable to read what was in the journal.

She looked back at the rune, its twisted lines taunting her. The answer was right there, so close she could almost taste it. And yet, the pieces refused to fall into place. It irritated her to no end.

She hesitated, biting the inside of her cheek as she mulled it over. This was insane. Reckless. Stupid. Everything she prided herself on avoiding. But then, if she were the sensible type, she wouldn’t be sitting here trying to decipher a journal that probably doesn't contain anything ground breaking, right?

Syrah sighed, a dramatic, exaggerated sound as she turned her eyes back to him with a faint smirk. “Fine,” she drawled, her voice dripping with reluctant acceptance. “But for the record, if you get us caught, I’ll throw you under the bus so fast your head will spin.”

Spoken: #610000 Clothes: -

“Maybe we won’t get in, but if we don’t try, we won’t know. I’ll ask my mother. I’ll send her an owl” Eldred whispered softly in reply. He kept that confident look in his eyes, as if a solution was already set in stone and standing right before them.
He stared back at her just like that. His eyes were fixed on hers, grayish-blue on grayish-blue. Eldred didn’t want the secret to remain closed before them, and the mystery unsolved. A book full of Nordic, ancient symbols and their fascination, the small waves of her emotions and determination, were only more drive for the gryffindor.

They needed a plan, he knew that. The boy decided he would send a letter to his mother that very night and ask her to repeat everything she knew about the restricted section of hogwart‘s library. His parents were still relatively young and open-minded to silly ideas – even his overly polite father sometimes rolled his eyes and grinned about things he had done as former Slytherin at this school. He would be happy to know that Eldred had met someone from his old House. Maybe he should work that into the conversation to pry more information from his parents?

Eldred kept watching her. His gaze was on her profile as she looked at the book. He quietly waited for her response. When the ‚fine‘ rang in his ears at last, he almost smiled triumphantly.
“Whatever happens -” he reassured her statement, “-it’ll be my fault. I’ll have forced you to come along. I take the full responsibility.”

Syrah didn’t look up right away. Her finger hovered over the rune for a moment before she turned the page with quiet precision.

“Alright,” she said simply.

She didn’t question his confidence, nor did she argue. If he wanted to send a letter, he would. If they wanted answers, they had to start somewhere. Syrah wasn’t one for unnecessary words, and Eldred seemed determined enough for both of them.

After a pause, she added, almost as an afterthought, “Let me know what she says.”

She hadn’t expected to find herself involved in something like this. A week ago, the most interesting thing in her life had been her own studies. Now, there was a book, a mystery, and Eldred with his determination.

Her fingers traced the edge of the page absently, her nails tapping once before she flipped it with deliberate slowness. "If you get expelled, I’m not writing you a letter," she said dryly, tilting her head slightly without looking at him. "Just so you know."

There was a pause before she finally glanced sideways at him, studying his face as if weighing his words. Taking full responsibility. She almost scoffed. As if that ever really worked.

Then, as if the conversation had already concluded, she returned her focus to the book, her mind already shifting between the symbols before her.

FINISHED