A fiery pistachio PV Eris Fawley Closed

What an interesting girl. She claimed that only hufflepuffs give good hugs and handshakes as some sort of defense, rapidly thrown up with childish logic. He had always supposed himself to hate children and adults, people in general really. He had taken this job as a means to exploit Hogwarts’ wards and runes for his own safety. To be fair, he wasn’t going to simply loaf about pretending to do a job to get protection. He had been planning to be a good professor, and was still planning on being one. Just, he was going to do it without liking anyone. He was going to keep them all away. But he couldn’t help thinking that there was no way he hated kids. He was a bit dense, sure. But the professor was far from stupid. There was that daft slytherin girl he had helped. Why had he helped her, anyway? Looking at this little Gryffindor, this little dragon in front of him he couldn’t help thinking of the slytherin, and feeling it might have been because he liked the hoodie wearing brat, just a little.

So that was two kids he had decided to not hate. That had to mean something, didn’t it? Someone who hated everyone wouldn’t just decide to like two of the few kids he had actually met. Adult, though. He hated adults. They had done nothing but cross him all his life, since Hogwarts. You didn’t just erase a lifetime of pain like that. But there was that one slytherin head of house that might have actually cared about a phoenix. Cared enough to act. That was rare, extremely rare. He had made sure she got mad enough to stop caring, it had been a fairly easy task. But he couldn’t help but admire her, just a little. And he felt bad for his own head of house, Ms. Wright. She had a beautiful bird that had died, and his heart went out to her so much farther than he thought it should reasonably go. Just thinking about it made him want to hug the little girl in front of him, made him want to give physical affection to something, and make something the the messed up world around him just a little bit better.

The tall man still wore a large grin, although his eyes softened considerably during his internal monologue, brought on perhaps by how simple the little girl was. Or perhaps, how simply complex. He couldn’t really put to words what a little girl made him think of, or why she made him think of those things. He just knew that it happened, and that she did. That was plenty. His light blue eyes lost their morose nature as soon as Eris shook her head, however, and his mind was brought back to things far more pleasant. Such as how the little girl seemed to think that being small allowed her to kick his stomach. She could reach his gut with her hands, sure, but those little legs? Not likely.

“You can barely reach my fat gut with your hands, forget kicking! You’ll have to grow at least another 20 feet before you come close. Best you could do is stab my ankles like that mouse from Narnia.”

He patted his stomach to demonstrate exactly how fat his gut was, and puffed out as much as he could to emphasize the point, although there quite simply wasn’t any. Working with creatures all his life had given the man muscles to spare, and more calluses than he knew what to do with. Still, he was wearing a heavy leather coat that obscured his form more or less completely. And calling yourself fat was classic humor, funny whether if you were a scarecrow in a hay famine or a Kruppy with no impulse control locked in a room full of dog treats.

“Oh, please. You couldn’t hide under a box in a room with no lights if your life depended on it. I swear your hair is so bright it glows. It’s like a very cool, very obvious flag. Everyone probably had their eyes closed.”

Eris didn't understand professors or the possible lack of hate that he felt towards her. It wasn't like she had the man as a teacher, anyways. All his mannerisms and actions were new to her, as this was their first meeting. It was his first year as a teacher and Eris' second year as a student, but the two seemed to be in desperate need of friendship. Eris had seen the weathered professor from far away, and up close, he was just as strange and distant as he seemed at the professor's table in the great hall.

How ironic that the two's conversation had started with a subject that was dangerous to brooch and even more uncomfortable every time the name was brought up. How on earth did one think about their estranged mother and the issues of being poisoned by someone who you thought you could care about? The fact that the man had started off their conversation with such a rude question was insulting, yet the memory of the stern professor that had been so aloof and rude at the start of their conversation was stark in contrast to the man talking about children's books and joking around with Eris like a fellow child.

Eris couldn't remember much of her early life, but the rare fleeting moments of lucidity often were traced in hues of sardonic colors that she could hardly place a color too, much less a name. Of course, she remembered the normal moments of her childhood. The moments etched with simplicity and laughter, and the stories told of gods of old and superheroes who had the power to make the world a better place. The memories of being a young child were gone, covered by the fuzzy haze of potion usage and colors that darted through her mind. Maybe they were the colors that Eris' hair had turned, but the fact of the matter was that Eris would never know exactly what happened when she was young.

That was just another thing that Jane Rowle had taken away from Eris. Another long sentence in the long list of things that Eris felt the need to ask her mother about if they were ever to meet again. Although, Eris wasn't sure if she could control her temper long enough to see her mother again. For now, it wasn't the time to dwell on her messed up family situation. Curling her hands around the strands of hair that fell into her face, Eris shook her head adamantly and let the hair fall out of her face again.

Hands folding on the table, Eris blinked up at the professor. "Is that a challenge?" The young metamorphamagus asked, attempting to will herself to grow taller. Shaking her head, Eris stopped trying to transform as she let out a loud giggle at the fact that the professor was pretending to be fat.

"Oh yeah?" Eris asked, again, still in the same mindset of one trying to prove her worth. Hair changing to a muted color, the same shade of the professor's own hair, she fixed him with a smirk and another little laugh.

He was enjoying himself, a lot more than he thought he was going to. The welshman had fallen into a trap, and it was certainly not the last time he would repeat the same mistake. The little girl, with her simple ferocity, lacking someone to help her. Not a bit thing, nothing like he would have to do for the slytherin girl. Just a little something. She just needed someone to be there for her if she needed it, needed to know that someone was there. Sometimes, he wondered what the other professors did. They didn’t seem to have a very large presence. To be honest, neither did he. But all together, all combined, you would think that students like this would be getting help.

And besides her needed someone, he couldn’t really lie to himself and say he was only being friendly for her sake. Fun was hard to come by, people you enjoyed being around were extremely hard to find. And he never would have thought to look for a friend in someone so young and inexperienced. He could already feel the fierce, slow smoldering of embers that he felt when he saw something he knew he was going to protect. It was best described as determination, or resolve, and he didn’t always know when it was about to set in, and after it happened, that was it. He was going to protect, come hell or high water.

This little quirk of his had gotten him in so much trouble. It had ruined his life, it had made him friends that he had then lost. It made him who he was, and would define the course of his life from here on out. He knew all of this, and resented the feeling for it. But at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel proud. After all, the feeling of resolve felt powerful, it gave him strength and purpose and filled him with overflowing confidence. He was self aware to know what this meant, but he accepted it wholeheartedly. And he felt safe, just a little bit.

This was hogwarts, it was so well protected not even a rogue moth would be able to infiltrate this place, and even if someone did manage to slip past the wards, it would have to only be a few. He could deal with those without much of a problem. The most dangerous thing that was going to be hanging around in the castle were probably the creatures in his stables, but there was no way he was going to get rid of them. Danger didn’t bother him much, he just preferred to mitigate the immediate threats to his life. And why fight when you could run?

“It could be a challenge, if you’re up for it. 7 years to grow as tall as I am? Or until graduation, whichever comes first.”

He was honestly impressed when the girl’s hair changed color on command, to match his dull brown. He ruefully thought of how powerful she could eventually become with that kind of power. A metamorphmagus was nothing to sneeze at.

“Wow, that was pretty nifty. Now you’ll never have to pay for hair dye again. Can you change your homework to an O with that head of yours, or do you just change hair color?”

Eris let her hair change back to its bright vibrant colour. Her shoulders slumped over, in evident relief. It seemed to take a toll on the small girl to change her hair colour. Which was true. Eris’ metamorphmagus powers were the reason the strange conversation taking place right now had been initiated, for any matter. The conversation had started with a question about her abilities and her mother’s meddling.

Demetra Fawley had worked hard to teach her poor granddaughter the skill that had been adamantly forgotten, hidden behind the layers of potion. Eris still remembered the bitter taste of the potion that had been dumped down her throat through various drinks of differencing taste. Hot chocolate did not hide the taste of belladonna and the other substances used, nor did fizzy drinks like vimto. Perhaps beer or ale could wash out the sour flavour of impending betrayal and hidden powers, but Eris simply wasn’t old enough to drink, nor did she even consider the option of stealing liquor. For all her faults, Eris was a child through and through. Her eyes had not yet been opened to the true expanse of human suffering and the fruitless ways to avoid pain, even though Eris had certainly gone through her own fair share of pain and barbaric cruelty in the short years of her tumultuous life. From street-rat to heiress, she had seen a lot.

To the casual observer, or more clearly, the man sitting near her, Eris seemed pensive. Her eyes were narrowed in thought, and to him, it might have seemed like she was just resting from the effort of the multiple changes to her body that had taken place within the conversation. The more reflexive changes of growing in height and anger leading to red hair must have been tiring, and that was hardly counting the way she had shifted her hair. However, Eris wasn’t tired. She was thinking, lost in the delicate reminders of a fragile live once lived.

Belladonna had been her mother’s favourite flower. Maybe it was for the potency and the danger of the poison that coursed through the violet flower petals. Either way, the name had stuck with Jane Rowle enough that her favorite daughter had been named after the substance used in her errant daughter’s potions. It felt poetic in a sense. Belladonna was the plant used to contain Eris, and Bella was the sister that had been used to calm Eris.

It hurt, thinking about the fact that her sister was still with their mother. Her sister still supported her mother, from what rumours and whispers the witless child could hear from those older than her. Over the summer, her grandparents had hoped to keep such secrets from Eris’ ears. Yet, there was a specialized force of hired hit-wizards and detectives out to find Jane, paid with hefty sums from the combined Fawley and Rowle vaults, considering Eris was the only child, considered pure, in the eyes of the lofty families that had helped Jane inherit her fortune and thus, the money was hers. Or to be more accurate, her grandparents. A 12 year old had no right to a fortune, which while wise, rubbed the careless spirit of Eris in the wrong way. She’d quite like to have her own fortune hidden in the caverns under Gringotts. For any that had gotten close to Jane through the rings of potion cartels and paranoia and lived to to tell the tale would tell blubbering stories of a pale-faced child with a wraith-like form and a wand made of umgoloty wood. Which, inconsequentially, was the prefered wood of the illecit, underground wandmaker that few knew of, but was rumored to be the illusive Justinian Alegory, a man rich off the suffering of muggle-borns and mudbloods, who was eerily refined in his beliefs that the wizarding world would be much better if a tyrannical wizard like Lord Voldemort was still alive to dominate with fear.

The stories had reached Eris’ ears, even while her grandparents tried to protect her from the truth. It was a truth made of assumptions, on Eris’ part, but she was nearly one-hundred percent sure that her sister had gone to the dark side. Although, from the foggy haze of memory, Eris sometimes found herself awake late at night, questioning if her memories of her sister had ever really led her to believe that Bella was anything other than a bitter girl, qwelled by a jealousy for her other sister who had uniquely strange talents.

Softly pushing away the remnants of her darker thoughts, Eris turned towards the Professor. He had proved, had he not, that he wasn’t here just for the information about her mother. In fact, he seemed like an actual amiable person. Who Eris found herself enjoying, strangely enough. Maybe she could try to enjoy herself, for once.

The notion that a professor could make Eris feel safe was laughable, and although she still felt wary, she didn’t regard the stoic man with the eyes of a pupil tutoring with her professor. She viewed him as an equal, possibly a friend. Considering that the conversation they were having was evidently far less troublesome than the ones she had with other adolescents, such as the deprived soul of Ben, the ravenclaw boy responsible for such hellish burns and scars that, while hidden, still lingered under Eris’ skin.

Professor Griffith seemed cordial, so, with an expression evidently more peaceful than usual, Eris offered a cocky smile of assurance. He seemed to be beckoning her to play his game, which was perfectly fine with Eris. Any excuse to hide away from the depression of growing up and aging in such a classic tale of trials and tribulations of adolescent years.

“I highly doubt that I won’t grow to be your size. Even if I don’t grow that tall naturally, I’ll just switch the height. I did it once today. I can do it twice.” She replied, in the exasperated tone of one trying to teach a young child why the sky was blue.

“I already get O’s on my homework. Normally. When I try, but lately, I’m just bored in school. More important things to focus on.”

When people go through their lives, they make choices. The choices are made in the present, at certain hard points in time, but they affect the future. Everyone learns that fact, one way or another, sooner or later. This is why people think before they act, they think of the consequences. But not everyone thinks before they act, some just listen to their gut, and step into the abyss. Some make knee-jerk reactions that can end in a wrecked car, or a a broken bone. But sometimes, when a wizard makes a stupid decision, it not only alters the course of his own life. It also ends the lives of those whose only crime was caring for him.

Griffith had made a choice, long ago. A choice he was proud of for making, and then deeply regretted, but was then fiercely proud of. He had made the choice, and promised himself not to budge from the belief that the choice was the right one. It worked out, in a way. He would not be the man he was if it hadn’t been for that choice. But then, what kind of man was he? He was the kind of man to try his hardest to push everyone away and erect barriers around a heart that was all too soft. That made him nice, if gruff. But he was also the kind of man who would use a School and everyone inside as a shield to defend himself against a personal threat. And he knew exactly what kind of man that made him.

The girl in front of him was young, but she had already made decisions of her own. She would make a lot more before she had any idea what kind of person she was, of who she was going to grow up to become. But he could see a start, he could see a foundation of something. A fiery spirit, the knowledge that a lot of time, you really couldn’t count on anyone aside from yourself. But still the innocent joy that came with being a little girl. The capability to giggle and throw a worm at a boy and not be glared at.

She was a little dragon, and he would help. The welshman didn’t really care how, or with what. He was going to help her, one way or another. And helping was something he took very seriously. It was what he did, after all. He healed creatures, and raised them. This wasn’t much different, if you looked at it from a scientific point of view. A bit harder, sure, but that was to be expected. He wouldn’t be able to constantly watch her, as she had a family of her own that would influence her, probably in directions he wouldn’t exactly approve of. Like tea parties with old people that talked of politics and ministries. A little girl had no place there unless she was interested. And little girls are seldom interested in that kind of thing.

But from a more realistic point of view, this was going to prove nearly impossible. How was he going to get this girl to listen to any of his advice, to come to him if she needed help. He could tell her to all he wanted, it was only going to happen if she honestly trusted him enough to seek out his aid. But what did he know about getting little kids to trust him enough to let him help? He knew squat. So there was his basic fallback, which was actually act nice, and see what happened. Treat the kids with respect.

“But if you stretched yourself to be my size, wouldn’t you be super skinny, like a bean? I think I like you this size more. And you know what’s coolest? You’d be able to ride on a little hippogriff foal, or a big dog, and wouldn’t hurt it, which I think would be pretty awesome. What’s more important that miss whats-er-faces hour long essays? I’ll have you know that the color of tree bark covered in black ink during a snowstorm is very important knowledge.”