The Artist and the snake Pv Finished

If there was one thing he abhorred above others, it was a bully.

A tyrant, a tormentor, a ruffian, a harasser- whatever you wanted to call it, whatever label you gave it, it was still just someone who hid behind their power to intimidate people who might not have been as fortunate as they were, in multiple aspects. Money, influence, physical strength, intellect, an advantage gained through methods generally frowned upon... whatever it was, they would use it to strong-arm people into doing their well being.

Then, of course, that raised the question- was Elijah a bully? He didn't like to think so. He didn't kick people when they were down- yes, he manipulated people into doing things that he wanted, but usually never more than once. He paid people back when they helped him out, and had never sought out a position of power in any way, shape, or form. Thus, he never really considered himself to be a bully. That didn't mean, however, that other people were as 'kind' and 'considerate' as he was.

Take, for instance, this kid. Well, not a kid per se, but still a legal child. He was a fifth or sixth year, big and burly, with biceps the size of Elijah's head, and far more physically intimidating than anyone else Elijah had ever encountered before. And, unfortunately, he had something rather valuable to Elijah in those disgustingly grubby paws of his.

"Sir, I do, in good counsel, advise you to hand that necklace back," Elijah said, trying to keeping his voice steady as he reached for his necklace. The boy sneered, raising it even further above Elijah's head with a cackle. The necklace itself had snapped when Elijah was speed-walking across the grounds, and the older boy had swooped it up before Elijah could bend down to pick it up, and had been taunting him with it for a while, now. 

When the boy refused to hand the necklace over, as Elijah had known he would, he bit his lower lip, and finally tried just a simple, "Please?"

"Not so full of pretty words now, are you, pretty boy?" the older boy laughed, swinging the jade pendant back and forth above his head. Elijah let out a frustrated sigh, licking his dry lips in exhaustion. Really, what was there to be done about this?

He had only ever heard the words "pretty boy" once in his entire life, and it hadn't been in a good way. Sucking his cheeks in, he stumbled backward, staring at the older student in shock. His sister had told him to never say that to anyone, ever- she had said that it regarded situations that he couldn't even begin to understand. And now, here he was, listening to it come out of an older student's mouth- a student who clearly understood the weight of the words that he had just said.

"I am not a pretty boy!" Elijah snapped defensively, the closest he had ever been to showing any signs of anger in his entire life. He would've said something worse, much worse, when a heavily accented voice punctured through the air, preventing an action that would've resulted in very bad consequences, for both him and the bully.

The girl who approached looked odd, indeed. The tips hair seemed to want to match her irises, which he could see were such a light shade of grey, they nearly appeared to be silver. She was his height but seemed much older, cracking her knuckles and boldly standing up to the older boy- something he never would've done in a million years, even if you paid him to. That seemed to be all she needed to do, as the older student scoffed and tossed the necklace into the air as if he were bored of them already. Elijah scrambled to pick the necklace off of the muddy ground, wiping the mud off the pendant with the sleeves of his robes. It would be a pain to clean the dirt out of his robes, but the necklace was far more important.

The older boy sauntered away, whistling jauntily as he met up with his own friends, and Elijah turned to his Ravenclaw savior, thankful that the boy was gone. "Thank you... I don't think you know how much that meant to me," he said softly, knotting the red strands of the necklace tightly and pulling it over his neck. Instead of tucking it under his shirt like he normally did to hide it, he left it out, the pale green and vivid red bright against the black of his school robes. "That was... that was incredible." 

Touching the pendant with his fingers for just a brief moment, his hand extended out to her for a handshake. "I'm Elijah. What's your name?" 

She would be one of the rare ones to meet Elijah and have him introduce himself first. If you helped him, if you did him a favour, he always gave you special treatment. He firmly believed that what people did was much more important than what people said, which was rather odd, considering that he used words more than he did actions. But, Eri would still be one of the few people to meet Elijah in a genuinely good mood- and that, within itself, was quite a miracle.

She threw around words like they were nothing, like they were worthless and that they didn't mean anything- that much was obvious. Insults were hard to take back, especially if was directed in such a manner meant to sting so deeply. While he normally detested people who didn't quite understand the weight words could have, something about Eri's boldness made him smile and step back a little bit. He wouldn't say that he admired Eri, per se, but she seemed to know that the words she tossed from her mouth could be backed up by her actions for absolute certain. 

When she spoke of fights, she spoke of them like they were an old friend she was proud to know. Elijah couldn't recall a single instance where he couldn't use words to soothe whatever wounds had been opened, whether it be by him or by someone else. It had simply never happened, and he intended to keep it that way. He was, by no means, a violent person, although Eri hardly seemed disturbed by the thought of a potential fight. Thankfully, the boy didn't seem to care much about them anymore, throwing nary a glance in their direction.

Her voice wasn't unpleasant to listen to, he'd give her that much. You'd expect such a foreign accent to clash so harshly with the soft throes of the British accent, but instead, it only seemed to enhance it. It was far better than someone of the American accents that seemed so out of place here, and combined with the overall 'spunk' of her vibe, it made her seem like a cool, older girl that one couldn't help but be slightly terrified of. He was glad that he had managed to get into her good books, rather than land himself on her bad side.

Her question was both expected and unwelcome. He had hoped that she wouldn't inquire after his possessions, but that was just too much to ask, wasn't it? His fingers brushing over the cool, green stone, the awkward silence lingering in the air between them, he finally said, "It's a... it's a cultural symbol. It's supposed to ward off evil and bad luck." That much wasn't a lie- his guardian that hung around his neck was carved out of pure jade, and the guardians were worn to protect the people from the evil spirits that supposedly haunted them. He wasn't quite sure why that was part of their culture, but it was there, and he would embrace wholeheartedly as he did with everything else.

"Were you... doing something, Miss?" he asked, gesturing to her bag. He had seen her in his peripheral sitting at the base of a tree, although he had no idea as to what she had been doing before she had approached him. If she had been doing homework, or something even more important, he would certainly have to apologize for interrupting her... if only he could've stood up for himself. He would have avoided this whole mess, and maybe Eri wouldn't have been so rudely interrupted from whatever surely important thing she must have been doing.

She seemed to catch on to what he had originally thought to be an internal grimace, showing a level of insight and observation that he hadn't realized she had. Interesting, the way she seemed to be able to read his thoughts- surely, she couldn't be a Legilimens? They were incredibly rare, he knew, so he doubted that she had mastered the art of Legilimency. Strange, though, the way the words she chose seemed to echo his own thoughts almost verbatim. He would chalk it up to coincidence for now, then.

Her story, however brief it may have been, told quite a bit about her. Firstly, it showed that she had friends- close friends, at that. Something that Elijah never had and had never wanted, to be sure, and yet he knew that others craved it. Most children craved someone who would blindly follow them, no matter what, and craved the type of loyalty better suited to dogs than other children. Elijah had never wanted that. Being close to people meant opening yourself up, and if those people ever had the slightest inclination to bring you harm, you were totally screwed.

Of course, there was also the obvious little nugget that she was from Ukraine. Ukraine, not Russia. To many, there wasn't much of a difference between the two besides geographical location. To him, it made a world of a difference- it was like confusing Northern China with Southern China, or California with New York or Texas. It was two different worlds, entirely, and he was almost positive that Eri felt the same way. Ukraine was a country he didn't know much of, other than its language was fairly similar and related to Russian and Romanian. Maybe he could learn something new besides being able to stand up for oneself from Eri, after all.

So she was an artist. 一个艺术家. Une artiste. Una artista. En konstnär. Arlunydd. However you wanted to say it, in whatever language you wanted, they would be able to communicate in their own language. Through music, through dance, through paintings, through drawings... Artists had their own little world and their own little language that was universal, no matter what tongue you spoke. Art was its own language that not even Google Translate could quite understand.

And nerves. What nerves did she speak of? Anxiety? ADHD? Just plain old stress and tension from school work? There was a hidden, darker meaning behind her words, and it was a hole that Elijah didn't want to stick his head into. He could understand where she was coming from, however- any hobbies of any sort were common prescriptions for people who had anxieties or fidgeting of any sort.

Turning the conversation to a brighter topic, he asked, "Can I see some of your drawings?" He knew that a lot of artists were touchy about people seeing their work, those who drew and painted especially, so he made sure to be kind and soft about it. His tone clearly suggested that he wouldn't be offended if she didn't want to show him, and he made sure to soften his expression to completely sell it.

A twisted expression cast its shadow over Eri's face, one torn between closing off and not showing him her art, or opening herself up to a near stranger. He could understand her conflict entirely, as it was evident that she was proud of her skills, and wasn't all too bad at drawing. The downside was, of course, how personal her drawings would be- all good artists poured every last bit of their soul into their artworks, as he did into his models, however impersonal they may seem on the surface. Showing other people your art was like exposing them to your soul, peeling back your skin layer by layer.

And he was honored that she trusted him enough to let him see.

The boy in her sketchbook bore some vague resemblance to her, although he looked older and wore canary-lined robes rather than Eri's blue. "Your brother," he repeated softly, his eyes taking in the drawing critically, although his expression visibly softened. The love and care put into the drawing was evident and unmistakable, even to a person as closed-off and emotionless as Elijah. "It's a very good drawing," he added honestly, very much in awe of her talent.

Those who could wield graphite and resin in such a manner astounded him. Creating visuals and artwork out of such crude and basic materials was a whole other skill within itself that he wasn't quite sure he would ever understand. There must be some sort of magic artists possess in the very tips of their fingers, flowing and ebbing through and onto their mediums they worked with, fueled by their heart and imagination. They held a certain kind of creative genius that couldn't be rivaled by any computer in the Muggle world, a certain brand of magic surpassing that of the wizarding race. Art was a language that everyone spoke, whether it was through sight or sound or touch. Anyone could partake in the creation of it, and its destruction was a blow to all of humanity.

Art really was quite amazing, wasn't it?

"Do you draw portraits normally, then?" He never thought that he'd ever have to strike up small talk about art, of all things, and yet here he was, chatting with a second year about her artwork. He hardly even talked with his sister about art, let alone other actual students and his vast assortment of vague friends and alliances. He did, however, genuinely want to at least get a general sense of who Eri was and her interests and such, as one would expect from someone who had just gotten saved by her. 

Whether she knew it or not, and whether she liked it or not, Elijah would be forever grateful for what she had done that day, and would find every opportunity possible to pay her back for it. He had never liked the feeling of being indebted to someone, even family, and this was just a matter of pride and honour to him. She might've insisted that no repayment be needed, but she probably wouldn't realize that it was happening in the first place.

Below the surface. Subtle. Unnoticed. That had Elijah written all over it.