A Table for Two PV Eldred Grayswell End

Spoken: #75001d Clothes: Casual Untidy / bruised face

It was the day after the incident with Kostas, and Eldred still felt tense and partially next to himself. A purple bruise extended from his jaw to his cheek, and despite the lack of swelling, it felt incredibly uncomfortable to wear. The usually neat and well-dressed boy was not wearing a vest or the closed school cloak as usual. Instead, he had settled for just a white shirt and a half-knotted tie. The cloak hung open, down from his shoulders. If someone didn’t know him, they might think he had been swapped with a messy, evil twin. His hair hung partly in his face, and the layers of his secrely ‘wild hairstyle,’ which his mother had enthusiastically cut for him, were clearly visible.

Had he been less battered, he would have spent an hour, as he usually did, taming his hair in the morning! Unfortunately for his otherwise neat appearance, the mood to put in that effort had vanished, when he‘d seen the bruising in the mirror‘s reflection.

Yesterday it had been worse - red, swollen, and painful. Thanks to the visit to Hogwarts' Hospital Wing, both the swelling and the symptoms of an incoming flu had vanished. Now only the irritable mood and discoloration remained as artifacts of what had happened the day before.

What was the point of making himself look neat today anyways? Eldred had imagined others would focus even more on how out of place the bruise was, if he had walked out of the Gryffindor Dormitory looking elegant and tidy with any other body part. According to this logic, his mood seemed justified, even if Eldred still tried to keep it in check.

With calm steps, he entered the Great Hall. He sighed tiredly and scanned the tables with students. Biefly, the Gryffindor Student scanned to see if he could spot Kostas. The 12-year-old wasn’t afraid of him, but he still didn’t want to encounter him just yet. Since they both belonged to the same House it inevitably meant that he preferred sitting at another table. Whether this idea was allowed or not, didn’t cross his mind.

At the entrance, Eldred paused for a moment, thinking about which House table to choose instead. His thoughts raced through all the things he intended to do—and all the students he wanted to talk to. The list whizzed through names, linnéa, Quentin and ideas such as Homework and Project until it stopped at Syrah’s ; like a moth to a lightbulb.

His features softened immediately. The strange blonde was so unnaturally interesting that the thought of their conversations and the plan he‘d thought up pushed all his worries into the limbo of the back of his mind.
For over a week, Eldred had been communicating with his parents about possibilities to access the restricted section of Hogwart‘s Library. The owl was almost annoyed by how many letters he sent and received on the same days. His father was thrilled by his interest in ‘Mythical Books,’ and his mother had always had a thing for troublemakers. Of course, she would find it hilarious if her son followed in his father‘s footsteps.

His gray eyes turned toward the Slytherin table. The girl he was looking for was sitting there so perfectly herself, that the sight made the corners of his mouth curve upward. A smile lingered on his face, even though the bruise began to slightly ache rom the motion. She was sitting at the end of the table, where fewer students were seated. Instead, the number of books around her made up for their absence.

With an almost relaxed expression on the bruised face, he strolled over. While walking, he briefly looked at her messy bun and the beautiful blonde strands of hair that had unraveled from it. What a beautiful color, he thought to himself , and silently sat down next to her. For a moment, he just wanted to examine the view. With Syrah‘s profile over the book, she was exactly how Eldred remembered her: perfectly mysterious, in the good kind of way.

At the thought, he almost chuckled, but with his first breath, the bruise began to burn, and forced him to stop. Instead, Eldred rested his arms on the table and eyed at her surrounding books. “I do think it’s indeed worth your time. I had a great idea about how we could look for a book on Nordic runes,” he replied in a soft, quiet voice so as to not draw the attention of the other students. His gray eyes shifted back to Syrah.

Syrah barely glanced up when Eldred sat down beside her, but she noticed everything, the messier hair, the loosened tie, the slight stiffness in the way he moved. It wasn’t until she lifted her cup of tea that she actually looked at him, and her fingers tightened slightly around the handle.

The bruise on his face was impossible to ignore. Dark purple, spreading from his jaw to his cheekbone.

She didn’t ask. Not immediately. He wasn’t her responsibility, and she certainly wasn’t the type to pry.

Instead, she exhaled through her nose, resting her elbow on the table as she turned a page in the book without reading it. “You look like hell,” she muttered, voice quieter than usual. It lacked its usual bite, bordering on something almost… concerned.

But when he mentioned Nordic runes, her focus shifted. Syrah set her book down properly this time, attention sharpening. “If we’re going to get anything worthwhile, it won’t be in the regular section,” she said, pushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “We’ll have to be specific with what we ask the Room for.”

She paused, her gaze flickering back to his bruise. Her fingers twitched slightly against the table, and before she realized it, she started to reach toward his face. But just as quickly, she pulled back, her hand curling into a loose fist on the wooden surface instead.

She picked up her fork and pushed her salmon around her plate. “You should’ve gone back to the Hospital Wing,” she muttered. Then, after a pause, a little softer, “Are you okay?”

Spoken: #75001d Clothes: Casual Untidy / bruised face

Normally, he would have felt uncomfortable hearing a comment about his appearance. He knew he looked terrible that day, thus as an exception it didn’t surprise him that Syrah mentioned it. However, the way she spoke was discreet and surprisingly concerned enough that it had an almost relaxing effect on the 12 year old.

“I asked my parents, and they promised they’d send me a Hogwarts map where my father can mark the approximate location of the room. They said it’s only important to know our priorities when entering it”, he reported to Syrah still in a hushed tone. His eyes shifted to the side, momentarily focusing on the possible breakfast dishes on the long tables. Somehow, he hadn’t had much of an appetite since the incident the day before. It felt like it turned his stomach upside down.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her movement. His gaze returned to the blonde girl and, without judging her, observed how her pale hand approached his face before quickly pulling away before reaching its final destination. It was interesting for Eldred to see that Syrah seemed on the verge of not just allowing physical contact but also actively seeking it. Suddenly, the information Sebastian had told him about Syrah‘s visit at the Kissing Party returned to his mind.
Still, Eldred didn’t want to ask just yet. Instead, he left his gaze fixated on her, quietly observing as she picked up her fork.

The concerned question she asked seemed to stir him emotionally. It hit him differently than usually, feeling the sense of softness mixed into her voice.
The calm student with the relaxed smile lost his peaceful look. Instead, Eldred‘s forehead furrowed into an expression that could almost be interpreted as a tense hurt that still lingered in his bones. “I’m fine... but Syrah, can you do me a favor?”

Eldred slid over the bench. His body smoothly moved until he could feel her leg against his. Whispering, he continued with a rather serious expression, “Stay away from Kostas Woods – Gryffindor. He has black hair, pale skin, dark eyes... I don’t know if you’ve seen him before – but he’s really not a good guy.”

Eldred didn’t know that Kostas had been at Sebastian’s party. Sebastian hadn’t described the dark-haired student well enough for Eldred to have recognized him from his words. The thought of someone like Kostas, possibly getting upset at Syrah’s behavior and going after her, formed a lump of anger in Eldred’s throat. A spark of grim darkness flickered in his silver eyes. “Promise me, please. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Syrah tilted her head slightly, her fork pausing in midair as Eldred’s words sank in. Kostas Woods. Gryffindor. Black hair, pale skin, dark eyes. She pictured him immediately, not because he had left any real impression on her, but because she knew exactly who he was. He had been at Sebastian’s ridiculous little party, lurking in the background, blending in with the other students who had flocked to the event for one reason or another.

But that was all he was to her, background noise. Syrah hadn’t paid him any real thought, nor had she cared enough to remember anything about him beyond the fact that he had been there.

Her fingers curled against the table. That boy had done something to Eldred. That much, she was sure of. And it hadn’t been good.

Syrah sat back, chewing the inside of her cheek as she studied Eldred.

Why did she care?

She wasn’t the kind of person who got involved in things that didn’t concern her. She didn’t have the patience for it, the energy for it. Most people’s problems were just that—their problems.

She could have dismissede his warning, brushed it off like she did with most things that didn’t seem immediately relevant to her. But Eldred was seriouse. And more than that, he was asking her to promise.

So she held his gaze for a long moment before nodding. “Alright,” she said simply.

Not because she was afraid of Kostas Woods. Not because she thought he was a threat.

But because Eldred was asking, and—for some reason—that felt like enough.

Spoken: #75001d Clothes: Casual Untidy / bruised face

The relief was written all over Eldred’s face. The tension that had built up in his gaze disappeared, replaced by the usual polite and attentive eyes. They kept their gaze locked with hers and a relaxed smile began to appear on the bruised face.

Now that this was discussed, his eyes shifted to the blond hair The wild strands hung out of the updoe and Eldred felt the need to compare them yet again internally to white-gold. The boy would have liked to touch one, but daring it would probably be quite strange. Instead, he turned his eyes back to her ice-blue ones and tilted his head.

“Thank you... ..the bun looks good on you,” he commented with a mature confidence when it came to giving compliments. “It looks nice - you look very pretty today.”
Next, he turned his head to gaze to the food on Syrah’s plate. For a moment, he considered whether he should try to fill his stomach, but the thought of Kostas’s Kick made him lose his appetite right away. The memory felt like a curse on his body.

“About my plan. I’ll get the map later this afternoon. I thought maybe we could head to the room tomorrow night at 10 PM? I’ll pick you up in front of the Slytherin dormitory, and we’ll both wear our black cloaks with hoods on our heads. That way, we have a better chance of not being seen.”
Of course, the plan was risky and would break several rules at once, but what would school life be without adventure and risks? Eldred lowered his head and whispered so quietly that it was barely audible. “We have to be incredibly careful. I’ll plan a route we can take through the corridors. If we get caught, then I‘ll just say I’ve convinced you.”

Syrah’s fingers curled slightly around the edge of her plate as she listened, her expression unmoved but her mind already settling into the plan. She was interested in this, she had agreed before, hadn’t she? The idea of sneaking into the restricted section had been her own suggestion just as much as his. She wasn’t the type to back out of something she had already decided on.

But Eldred’s compliment still lingered in the air, and she hated how it made her ears feel warm. It was just words. He was just saying things. It didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t like she looked bad normally, so what did it matter? She swallowed the feeling down and gave him a sidelong glance.

“Obviously,” she muttered in response to his compliment, reaching up as if to adjust her bun. Though she didn’t actually touch it.

She let the moment passe, shifting her focus back to the plan. “10 PM,” she repeated, as if confirming it for herself. “You don’t have to act like we’re plotting a murder, you know.” Her voice was dry, but there was no actual irritation behind it.

Her gaze flickered down to his untouched food, then back to his bruised face. She frowned slightly, but only for a second.“You should eat something,” she said flatly. “Not my problem if you pass out halfway through the plan.”

She didn’t wait for a response, just leaned back in her seat and let the conversation rest. She was going. That was obvious. And Eldred, well, Eldred was Eldred. Always planning, always thinking, always looking like he had something heavier than a book resting on his shoulders.

Syrah let out a quiet sighe through her nose. "10 pm, then."Then, with a small, indifferent shrug, she added, “If you’re too dead to move by then, I’m going without you.”

Spoken: #75001d Clothes: Casual Untidy / bruised face

Eldred's eyes traveled upward and closely observed her pale fingers. They reached for nothing, which surprised him a little. He blinked, somewhat puzzled, but then turned his face back to her eyes. He didn’t want to be rude and ask what this was about.

At the comment that they weren’t planning on killing anyone, the brown-haired student had to grin slightly. A Spark appeared in the sleepy gray eyes. "Not yet, at least" he corrected. Then he slowly placed his hand on the table, next to his full plate, and rested his head on it. Eldred still looked rather tired. In any case, sleepiness returned to his eyes and refused to leave him in peace this morning.

"Yes, you're right, I should" he confirmed to the blonde. Eldred had no problem agreeing with others on what they deserved to have acknowledged. He knew Syrah was right with her statement. Her comment about him possibly passing out in the hallway made him exhale sharply in a hint of a chuckle

"Better worry about me not falling on you, if it happens" He nodded in conclusion, then rested his arm back on the table and positioned himself more sensibly. His hand reached for the fork, and Eldred began poking at his food. It was a random attack on the omelet and sausage, even though he moved slowly and precisely, as if he had a strategy somewhere in the back of his mind.

"I'll be there... and have eaten something by then. Maybe just not this..." Eldred‘s face shot up. He immediately scanned the room for something more edible that might bring back his appetite. Giving up, he refocused on his plate just two seconds later and poked another hole in the sausage. "..Can’t the egg turn into tiramisu, or a garlic baguette.." he muttered. "... Is there something you absolutely love to eat?" Eldredturned his gaze to the corner of his eyes - right at Syrah. Somehow he was hoping her favorite dishes could inspire him to try something new this morning.

Syrah watched Eldred assault his food with his fork like he was trying to exorcise it. His muttered complaints about eggs turning into tiramisu or garlic bread made her sigh through her nose.

“I don’t like things that are too sweet,” she said, voice steady, then after a brief pause, added, “except tiramisu. That’s different.”

She didn’t offer an explanation for why that was the exception—she just went back to absentmindedly poking at her own plate. “But if we’re talking real food, my grandma used to make sarmale,” she continued. “It’s Romanian. Cabbage rolls stuffed with meat and rice, slow-cooked forever. Good with sour cream.” Her tone was neutral, almost detached, but the fact that she even mentioned it at all was a miracle itself.

She didn’t explain further, didn’t mention the memories tied to it, the way the smell used to fill the house, or how Baba Zoya always insisted she eat just one more. Instead, she let the words rest and turned her eyes back to Eldred, who still looked half-dead and completely uninterested in his plate.

With a quiet sigh, she pushed herself up from her seat. She didn’t make a show of it, no comments, no remarks, just walked over to the far end of the table where she knew the better food was, grabbed a plate of still: warm bread, some cheese, and a few slices of something that didn’t look like it had been massacred by Eldred’s fork, and dropped it in front of him before sitting back down.

“There,” she said simply, picking up her own fork. “Eat that. Don’t pass out.”

She went back to her own meal, expression unreadable, but the smallest flicker of amusement crossed her face as she added under her breath, “And if you do, I’m not picking you up.”

Spoken: #75001d Clothes: Casual Untidy / bruised face

Eldred listened to her words as quietly as a mouse. He wanted to hear everything and store every single word in the most important part of his brain. This means, she was of Roman descent and liked tiramisu? While she was talking about Sarmale, he decided that at some point, he would invite her to Hogsmeade to enjoy some tiramisu together. Perhaps he could attempt to find Sarmale somewhere and try it, too. The 12-year-old was really curious to know what it tasted like.

While listening, he had stopped stabbing his food. He was too busy concentrating on what she was saying. Only her getting up completely threw him off - Eldred sat there, looking confused. He watched Syrah, surprised, as she moved across the room and came back with a plate, which she placed in front of his. On it was warm bread, cheese, and cold cuts. It was much better than the massacred omelet, he had to admit. "Thank you..."he whispered with a soft tone in his voice.

Eldred appreciated it more than he could express in words. The Gryffindor student with tired eyes pushed his tortured plate aside to an empty spot next to him and pulled the new one closer. Fortunately, no fork was needed for bread, thank Merlin. That already lifted his mood. Additionally, the fact that Syrah had brought it to him made it even better! The thought caused the corners of his mouth to lift into a smile, perfectly suppressing the memory of the kick to his stomach.

Eldred took the bread in his hand and started eating, actually sighing in contentment, as if he were a hungry dog who hadn’t had anything edible in front of him before. After the first bite, the initial paleness finally left his lips. "Thank you, really... ..I think this is exactly what I needed…do you live in Romania, Syrah?", keeping his smile he turned his eyes to her.