Bonds that Tie. PV Eris Fawley Closed

Humans were creatures of habit, and Eris was no different. Her life had been turned upside down in the course of a few months, and there had been a time where the thoughts of chaos and fear had overwhelmed everything that she cared about. Every single thing was stared at through the lens of fear, even the friendships established and the classes taken. Her grades had slipped and Eris had slowly distanced herself from her friends, afraid that they wouldn't understand the emotional turmoil that she felt so deeply in every fiber of her pint-sized being.

She was scared and Gryffindors weren't supposed to be scared, were they? No. They weren't, and Eris refused to let the world know just how scared she was. She wasn't weak, and she had vowed to never be weak again. She had been weak when she was stuck on the streets of London, curling up in Hyde Park to live her life, even when it hadn't seemed worth anything. She would not be weak again, not in a world full of magic, friendships, and adventure.

Her resolve to not show the pain lingering under her skin had made Eris start to travel around the castle at night, instead of dwelling in the common room. After last year, she had started sitting further away from the fireplace in the gryffindor common room, unable to look at the flames without feeling phantom pain on her face and arms. She did not want to remark on why that was, so Eris had simply started to slip out and walk around.

Curfew wasn't for a few more hours every night that Eris took her adventure, and dinner would be served in an hour. Then she would return to walking around the castle, but for now, a strange habit had overtaken the red-headed girl. She had stumbled on the dungeons one night and noticed the silent potions professor. From then on, she had enjoyed his patience silence without having to answer questions. The bubbling sound of cauldrons and their liquid sloshing within was soothing in a sense and tugged at some far-off memory that Eris couldn't quite access. It tugged at the strings of her heart, whispering to remember something untold and unheard about, some reminder of childhood in London that had been forgotten with the rest of the turmoil occurring after Eris' disaster of a tenth birthday party. Exploding cake tended to take presence in one's thoughts.

For a child so talkative and impulsive, in that room, Eris hardly spoke. Rather, she flipped through the potion professor's books, filling her mind with potions, spells, and knowledge that fascinated her. She wasn't a smart child, and although she could have used the time to study and get better at potions or suck up to the professor, Eris found herself doing none of the above. There was a time where she might have worried about her grades or wanted so desperately to speak, but today did not seem to be like that. It seemed improper to speak, to ruin the soft simmer of the potions and interrupt the sounds of potions boiling with a loud voice.

She grew to like the silent professor, and his reassuring presence more than Eris would dare admit. Sighing, she moved through the room again and paused. Her roaming eyes caught a book about Nagal family history, and the child moved forward with a sharp attention to the book. Forgetting her place and how rude it might seem to grab someone's personal belongings, Eris grabbed the book.

Frowning, she briefly remembered the name from her grandfather's lessons. The Nagal family was another ancient pureblood line that had somehow survived, and beyond that, Eris' mind went blank on the other things about the family she knew. Her grandfather had kept her lesson about families he deemed unimportant or not detrimental to Eris' education short and brief, but still expected her to know every word of his lesson and be able to recite it back. Eris supposed she was grateful for the lesson at the moment if it meant uncovering a hidden gem just lying around in plain sight.

The book was lying around. He wouldn't care if she took it, plus, he would actually have to talk to tell her off and Eris felt like the professor was mute at this point. Besides for his lessons, which he had to talk in. As a pureblood, she felt the need to know more about the world she was in. Eris used to care little for pureblood culture, but her grandfather's lectures on the importance of making alliances with other pureblood families and learning about the dwindling race had finally gotten to Eris' head.

She had to admit that she was finding the lore of the wizarding world to be fascinating. Purebloods seemed like princesses and princes, going through their lives with cunning, deceit and arranged marriages. There was a certain undertone of insanity and a definite theme of superiority, and Eris didn't understand if it was appropriate to act upon her grandfather's words or if she should keep the obvious superiority hidden.

Rosie was a muggle born, but she was still a witch. Though, because Eris was a pure-blood, did that make her a better witch? Eris wasn't sure, but her grandfather had deemed friendship with Muggle-borns to be a capital one sin, so Eris hadn't mentioned Rosie or their friendship to her family. There was something special about the small Hufflepuff, and Eris had promised never to hurt her again.

Done with her little tangent, Eris folded open the book with a backward glance at the professor. Her first question to the man caused Eris to wince a little, as it broke the beautiful silence, but it was the question she had taken to asking every single pureblood she ran across.

A question derived from hopefulness and loneliness, but mostly, a question that Eris had never yet found the answer to. "Do you know anything about the Rowle family?" She asked softly, flipping through the book.

Besides the obvious, most people knew little about the Rowle family. Only that Jane had gone insane, and that was all that Eris herself knew. Clasping her hands together, Eris turned away from the book for a second to meet the eyes of the professor, a timid expression on her normally excitable or passionate face.

It took a lot out of Eris to ask about her family when the whole world seemed to want to forget and when she seemed to be judged just for having Jane Rowle as a mother. What Jane had done wasn't Eris' fault, but sometimes she felt like it was Eris' fault for being born and causing her father such trouble.

If Bella and Eris weren't born, it could have just been a charge of kidnapping on Jane's part, but the whole world seemed even more shocked and horrified by the fact that Jane had forced her husband to have children. It was a capital offense and being that offense was enough to make Eris want to punch her mother in the face.

Anton had dealt with many people over his lifetime. There had been war stories. From when he was the Gryffindor's age, the pressure from his family was already starting to sink onto his shoulders. Harry Potter was someone he had once spoken to. He had spoken to children in schools near and far, teaching them what he knew. He had met beautifully crafted men and women from all over the world, skilled in alchemy, herbology, and other forms of potion making. It didn't surprise him that stereotypes weren't always followed. He could, on a long moment, remember Neville Longbottom, a boy in Gryffindor who was too cowardly to do much. Anton couldn't remember much from his school days, but he could remember some.

So, as he sat there and brewed his potion, he had no qualms with quietly observing the second year. He had seen her oft in his class; lingering in the back of the seats, an attempt of a lost face. At one point, Anton knew how it felt to be sought out but unobserved. Professor Slughorn was someone who gave only those as the most skilled interest. At one point in his own Hogwarts career, Anton's desperation of studying Alchemy under the professor had allowed his admission to the Slug Club. He wondered if this was what it felt like, all those years ago; but instead of being a student, he was the teacher.

It was a curious moment when he watched the young girl pull off the Nagal book off the shelf. He had thought he had put it high enough that grubby fingers couldn't find it, but clearly he was wrong. Not many would be interested in the book, anyways. The tattered, leather cover looked old and partially faded, so much that the name on the spine, Nagal, in beautiful cursive that almost matched Anton's normal handwriting couldn't be seen. Inside, each and every page had a different line, a different part of the long standing tree. It held the whole family, his paternal side, at least. He knew his mother had her line, too.

The book was relatively old. He hadn't picked it up in... ten years? He couldn't remember how long it sat at the bottom of his trunk in a new Gringott's account, hidden away from his family. He tried to think about it as he set the spoon he was using in his brew to the side and flicked his wand. The spoon moved idly, a slow, constant stirring around the cauldron. This particular brew would need the constant stirring that Anton himself didn't have much patience for.

He was going to go collect more ingredients for the next part, purposely letting the girl do as she wished, when he heard her speak. Was it the first time she spoke? He couldn't remember. He had a lot of things to do, and most times, most children's words went in one ear and out the other. Children were petty. They talked too much and tried to get attention from adults when they could be studying. Perhaps it was why he didn't mind the Gryffindor. He rose an eyebrow, though. The Rowle family...?

He knew the family well. Or, at one point, he did. He could remember fond days of a little boy with bright eyes following him around, with three little girls toddling behind him. Anton, as much as he was the oldest, would find himself annoyed that the boy didn't give him any space. Nicky. His heart sunk. He couldn't save his cousin, could just watch as he laid there, in the hall of Hogwarts. Third year. A Gryffindor boy alongside another Gryffindor closer to Anton's own age, Colin Creevey.

The idea wiggled into his head, and the pain momentarily across his face before he stepped towards the Gryffindor. He shut the book in her hands before she could open it further. He probably startled her without meaning to, but it wasn't like he was angry. Actually, he was far from it, and his face showed everything going on in his head.

"I've never met a Gryffindor that was so interested in knowledge," the alchemist said simply. It was a lie. He had brushed shoulders alongside Hermione Granger at points. His fingers kept the book closed, pondering for a long moment, "But before I answer your question, I need you to answer one of mine," he wasn't going to budge. "I've seen you in my classes, but I've yet to put names to faces. Which name is yours?"

If anything, his voice was quiet, calm, focused; it wasn't angry or mean. He wanted information, and it would be obvious that he'd give her information in return once his question was answered.

Pressure from family. Pressure built up slowly before it exploded, just like the volcano in Pompeii that the little girl vividly remembered from a small picture book about Rome that had been kept in her flat, in the remnants of an old life now forgotten. How Mount Vesuvius had erupted and exploded upon the poor people that did not deserve its anger. But fire could not be tamed, and pressure built up just like a volcano until the pressure exploded and rained hell upon those who stood in the way. Family was the driving force for pain in Eris’ life, but it was also the driving force for a myriad of other things. She was but a mere child, tiny and unaccustomed to the world, but like every other child, Eris felt the driving force to please her family. Like any other human, she was hardwired towards love and affection. All Eris wanted was for recognition and to get such a thing, she would have to submit to her grandparents whims and the impossible standards they put her up to. Smarts were not something Eris was lacking in, but she did not have the brain of Dorian Gray or the willingness to cheat or bully others into doing her papers. Thus, the pressure of getting grades and pleasing her family seemed to build up and mount in every area of her pathetic existence. She was only twelve, but already, the world felt so heavy and so burdensome. Her tiny shoulders were not accustomed to handling such a weight, but as was the way of the world, or so she thought. The burdens Eris carried would have to be carried by her, for there was nobody else to carry them. The girl held onto that firm belief, choosing to decide that nobody needed to feel the pain she did. Ever a protector and ever a dreamer, all Eris wanted was to be a hero.

With every aching flip of the weathered book, a new trepidation settled in the gut of the pureblood girl peering down at words that marked the history of a bloodline so alike her own. All pureblood lines were the same, in nature, were they not? They were once glorious, and now they were going to fade off the face of the earth. Some wanted to restore purebloods to their rightful place as the overlords, like her grandfather, but there was no remembrance for faces and personalities of the purebloods in the pages upon pages of family trees. Was that what Eris would be subjected to? Would the only thing left of her be a weathered page in an ancient book? Would the wizards of the future gather around and press their fingers up against the worn book, wondering who she was? Eris had dreams of a future. She wanted to be known, she wanted to have her story be told like the heroes she so looked up to. Staring down at the book full of names and histories, dusted and forgotten by even the owner, Eris couldn’t help but shudder vehemently. Resisting the urge to shut down the book and run away, Eris kept turning the pages.

She wasn’t vain, by any standards. Eris’ thoughts just never really strayed towards such deep thoughts. She wasn’t dense either, but Eris had never really thought about such pressing matters as her future besides the typical childlike dream of being something amazing. Her sister had wanted to be a princess, but Eris wanted to be a superhero. There was no real job for being a superhero, so she had settled for being an auror like Harry Potter, who was the closest thing to a real-life superhero the world had ever seen. She had always dreamed of being a hero or being something more than a redhead with a talent for changing her appearance. Eris’ thoughts often strayed towards quidditch, Ben and his crimes against the castle, or what would be served at the dinner time feast, and for the first time in a while, her head was blissfully silent. The background noise of dull hums against her skull had gone out, as Eris’ shoulders drooped and she ran a hand through her hair, removing her hands from the pages for a second to feel the familiar locks of her tangled mane of hair. Another question added to the list of ever growing concerns to keep her up at night, Eris removed her hands from her hair and let out a low growl of a sigh, seemingly trying to control some kind of temper that flared up.

Would she be remembered, and why was it suddenly so important? Snapped out of her reverie by the motion of her fingers being pried away from the book and the soft thud of the book closing, as dust poured through the air, Eris blinked up at the professor. She had never really been up so close to him before, so Eris took the moment to study the professor. He didn’t look very old, but then again, none of the professors really did look old. Perhaps it was because they were young, or maybe, they were vampires. That was an entertaining motion and one that Eris would entertain if not for the tugging sensation in her gut and the book in front of her, which could be an eerie echo of her own future.

Steadying her breathing, Eris returned to reality. The professor was speaking, but her thoughts were racing with every word spoken. He did not seem mad, even though his gesture of suddenly shutting the book could have been taken for aggressive. Eris was on alert but seemed to relax as he kept talking. Her shoulders had tensed when the book was slammed, but they slowly untensed themselves as Eris took an uneasy step away. The professor seemed to be very expressive, and the lines of his face did not betray any explosive anger. She hadn’t seen him at any pureblood functions, but Eris knew the Nagal family. Not very well, but she knew of them. Finally heeding the man’s words, Eris pursed her lips and answered.

“I’m Eris Fawley.” So used was she to saying her last name that Eris hardly blinked. She was also used to the expressions of shock, fear, or pity on people’s faces when she said her name, so Eris kept her eyes trained on the professor’s face. She attempted to try and detect any emotion from him, eyes darting upwards as she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her squirm. The kind man who had let her stay in his room, without any talking didn’t seem to show much expression besides stoic calmness. His calmness urged Eris to speak, but it also rubbed her the wrong way that he was able to stay so calm. Eris was not used to people being calm and content, not when everything around her was so wild. Eris gave the man a defiant stare. “So an answer for an answer?” Unable to stay quiet, she folded and unfolded her arms again. His calm tone seemed to simmer down the girl’s fire, and the defiant look faded away.

“Why does my name matter anyways? I just asked a question. It doesn’t have to be some kind of crazy question trading party. Do you know about the Rowles?” Eris said, looking down at the book again, as she repeated the question, almost sheepishly. “My mother was a Rowle.” The shock of seeing the book and being reminded of her mortality seemed to make Eris spill and talk more and more. As if a dam had been opened, her mouth wedged open and she kept talking.

“She was Jane Rowle, and my family won’t tell me anything about her. I know it’s a bit of a long shot to be asking you about her, when you don’t even know me, but...I just. I need to know, you know? Was there a reason she went off the deep end or whatever? Why won’t anyone tell me about her or her family? It’s just all so...frustrating.” She looked about to kick something, but sighed. Running a hand through her hair again and reminding herself that she was in front of a professor who knew nothing about her and had the ability to take away house points or spread more rumors, Eris uncrossed her arms and tucked her hands into her robe pockets, cocking her head to the side, as if her outburst was nothing more than a question asked and could be overlooked.

Eris' mother seemed near mythical. Who was she? Had she sprung into existence as an evil tyrant of a mother? Would she be remembered in the pages of the pureblood obituaries, or would she fade out of history? Eris wanted to uphold her memory, even if it was a horrible memory. Not sure where the flood of emotions was coming from, Eris' hands curled into fists in her robes as she tried to steady the beating of her heart, in time with the pounding of her heart and the questions echoing around in the dregs of her brain.

Would they be remembered? Did it matter to be remembered? Did he know her mother? Did anyone know her mother?

Relentless in their cycle around her brain, the ponderings of a childlike brain floated in and out of Eris' head, as she waited for Professor Nagal to speak.

Patience was definitely something that oozed from Anton's persona. Typically, his patience was with potions and alchemy and not with students, but he made an exception when he taught, Hogwarts, his own school, was patient with him as a student. It was the least he could do now, in return. He didn't mind the little Gryffindor poking around. He didn't mind the curious minds, the wandering fingers, the questions most students asked. Asking questions bemused curiosity, and curiosity fueled learning. To the Ravenclaw graduate, that was more important than anything; or, at least, that was what he liked to think.

Children had their own motivations, too; things pushed them to wanting to know more. As a child himself, potions was merely the first stepping stones into what he did now. Healing magic was something he had always been in love with, and so it wasn't any surprise that his future grew into it. His own eyes studied the Gryffindor for a long moment. What were her motivations? What was she so inclined to learn about? What were her intrinsic motivations? What made her tick?

It was something he briefly pondered about as he watched. When he made his obvious and simple point of question for an answer, he rose an eyebrow. Eris. Not the strangest name he's heard at the school, but it was a mute point. "Names are essential if you wish to respect someone, Miss Fawley," Anton replied simply. It was the same collected, confident way he spoke everything. "If one doesn't know your name, how are you to ever expect them to respect you as a witch?" If there was one thing that Anton's father brought into his habits, it was definitely that idea of respect. The more you gave, the more you received, in Anton's opinion.

Before he had time to reply to any of her questions, she was meandering on with her speech. Something she said had caught his attention: Rowle. Jane Rowle. He let her have the family history book back as she spoke, although it wasn't back to her hands. He set it gently on the table and flipped through the book, "I know the Rowle family," he said simply. He thought about the way he worded things. How could he explain what he wanted to, without overstepping boundaries? If her family didn't tell her about their family, then it was no place for him to do so.

He stepped away, allowing her several moments to peruse the book once again before he returned. He pulled over a set of wooden chairs and waved her towards one, "Sit, please, Miss Fawley. I'm not sure how much I can tell you, but I do know about Jane, at least a young Jane. She was in Hogwarts with me a very long time ago, so I can answer some questions." He'd omit the bigger part of things - the relationship they shared through blood alone. He'd need to double check before he brought that up. Or, at least, he'd bring it up later. He wasn't quite sure just yet.

"What questions do you have? I'm sure I can try to answer a few," he said simply. He was being honest. He had already said he could answer some, but he figured her questions might be more daunting. Already, he was trying to wrack his brain to figure out how to get a hold of his maternal linage. She'd probably know more about the Rowles than anything, if he was honest with himself.

Knowledge was something that could be actively found in many different ways. Knowledge was limitless, but people considered smart had a very specific way of going about things. They seemed to enjoy studying about topics that weren’t even interesting, like math. Eris had never understood the Ravenclaw pursuit of knowledge, but she understood the need for knowledge in that moment. The professor held the key to her salvation or damnation in his brain. He held the key to a past that had been rudely hidden from Eris because of the stability her parents had never possessed. It was unfair, that a near stranger, knew more about Eris’ mother than she did.

In the moment, she couldn’t feel any anger or jealousy about his knowledge. Rather, she felt awe. This man could easily be a messiah for the way Eris was looking up at him. The distrust had faded out of her eyes at the patient nature the Potions professor was oozing out. Most professors were violently rude and angry, insisting that children were harbingers of chaos. It was hard to learn anything under a person who seemed to detest you, and even harder to feel comfortable asking them about insane mothers. The patience soothed Eris, distrust and anger falling away into a rapt expression of awe. Behind the awe was fear, as Eris wondered what horrors this man could know about her mother.

In truth, her mother was a horrible person. There was no denying that. Nothing anyone could say would convince Eris that her mother was good, but every bad guy had a reason why they were bad. Ultron was created, The Joker wanted revenge, and so forth. There had to be some kind of reason for her evil-ness, a reason that could make it okay for Eris to still love the woman who had caused nothing but pain for Eris.

Mothers were supposed to be the person that everyone looked up to and loved. A mother was supposed to be the person that you shared your life with. A person who you shared secrets with, laughed with, cried with, and everything in between. Eris had read enough books to know that. Sometimes, reading too much was bad. You got caught in fantasy worlds, fantasy ambitions, and everything in between. Maybe the love Eris still had for her mother was a fantasy as well.

Eris couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at Anton’s words. Just because she didn’t know someone’s name didn’t mean she respected them any less. Like that superhero thing. How they all had code names! Just because she didn’t know the real name of a superhero didn’t mean she respected them any less. She didn’t voice these concerns though, watching the Professor flip through the book, with an eager expression.

She could not tell that he was undergoing a struggle, but when Anton said he knew of the Rowles, she nearly leapt into the air in excitement. However, fear paralyzed her again. What filthy history did her mother’s side of the family have? They must have a myriad of secrets, and that scared Eris. History was a strange subject, one that often lured children off into dreams. Still, Eris felt a particular fear about finding out about the history of her estranged family. There was no lethargy to be found in her eyes, as Eris obliged and took a seat.

Most of the time, it would be hard to make the young girl listen to instruction. Today, it seemed, was a different matter. Eris’ hair was dark blue, a clear signal of menolcholy or scattering of anxiety related thoughts. Her breath was catching, her thoughts racing, and her heart beating in her chest. Eris watched the professor step away, pulling the book back to her and feverently flipping through the pages. It felt like she was a dying man, waiting for a drink of water.

Sitting on the chair and handing the book back, with an interested expression and a foot shaking, as she was anxiously waiting, Eris felt a jolt of worry at the words he uttered. He had known her mother in school? Was she horrible in school, or was she just a child? Was she just like Eris, afraid and alone in a world full of purebloods and chaos? Maybe she had fought in the battle of Hogwarts? Would the timelines add up? Who cared. This was amazing. The fact that there was a living, breathing, person who knew her mother. A living person who knew and could tell Eris about the world? Her foot still tapping against the floor, Eris jumped up in the seat, attempting to make herself taller and prouder.

Chest puffing out, seemingly attempting to be stronger and more pompous, Eris gave up and exaled a breath. “Oh god, where to start? I just-” Her eyes watered up, as Eris thought intently. There were so many things she wanted to know about her mother. She wanted to know all the details, all the secrets, and everything that had lead to Jane Rowle becoming the monster that had thrown Eris out into the streets and ruined Luca Fawley’s life.

She had seen Luca screaming and pouting, trying to figure out who he was. Trying to remember what life had been like before all the memory potions and spells. There was no word to explain the pain that one felt, being a mistake that had no right to be born, being a child that wasn’t born out of love.

Brushing a strand of hair out of her hair and starting to play with the strands of hair, as a way to calm her down, Eris sighed again. “Well, where do I start? What was she like in school? Was she evil?” She attempted to stop the questions with that, but her heart was thudding in her chest and her voice seemed weaker than usual.