Beedle bit his lip, stopping a mad fit of giggled and clapped his hands together, holding them to his chest. He spun around and sighed dramatically, looking disappointed at Gwenabwy. Nobody appreciated his music. He usually had to go the Three Broomsticks and play for the poor drunken sods down there to get coin and a good laugh. But honestly, Gwenabwy was just too easy. If she had a happy bone in her body than maybe she would appreciate Beedle’s flying books more. He has yet to find someone at Hogwarts who loves mischief making as he does and if he did, well, then at least he’d have someone to put the blame on.
Pouting, Beedle raised his arms in the air, his wand in hand, and flicked his wand at the books. They fell with a dull thud, colors slowing fading and music getting choppy and far away as if someone was slowly killing the books. “You could’ve asked nicely, Gwenawy. You know what they should call you?” Beedle narrowed his eyes at the girl mockingly. “Gwenabwy the Drainer of Joy.” He nodded with a loud ‘hmph!’ and put his hand on his hips defiantly, scoffing like an upper-class lady.
Gwenabwy crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently. Honestly, Beedle was such a child. She didn’t know how anyone put up with him and his nonsense. Nor did she know how he found the time to come up with these pranks of his. Surely there was a better use of his time than to waste others’? At the very least he could bother someone else for once, and leave Gwenabwy to her research. She was certain that he went out of his way to interrupt her specifically, but for the life of her she couldn’t figure out why he targeted her with such persistence.
She watched the books fall from the air and her arms, and thud to the ground. She refused to so much as look at Beedle while the books returned to their original colours and ceased their music-making. She pulled out her wand gave it a delicate wave. ”Accio,” she said, and the books flew neatly into her arms. Gwenabwy would sooner die than stoop both literally and figuratively to retrieve her books. “I was asking nicely.” She glanced up at last, meeting Beedle’s eyes with an icy glare. “As nicely as is possible, when dealing with a nuisance and a pest. I have long since tired of your impudence, Beedle. ‘Drainer of Joy?’ Is that the best you can do? Be grateful that I have not drained your humours out through your ears.”
Edmond Rostand, Cyrano de Bergerac
Beedle giggled to himself as he pranced down the corridor, his wand raking down the side of stone wall and making a loud ticking noise. He ignored the odd stares and glares from his fellow peers, merely dismissing them as he tossed a glowing gemstone at them, a rainbow of smoke surrounding them (the smoke tasted like sweets. Beedle had finally perfected the potion and now just about anything tasted like candy. He wasn’t complaining). He continued to happily walk down the hall, enjoying the emptiness. It allowed him to do better and bigger pranks on unsuspecting victims.
As he turned a corner, arms swaying back and forth flamboyantly, he stopped eyed the girl reading. Didn’t she look as happy as a box of rocks? Beedle hummed in thought, tapping his chin with his hand, and grinned when he had an idea, quickly slithering off to the side, pressing himself against the wall. As casually as he could, Beedle sneaked closer, his wand between his teeth until he was close enough to the see the young girl’s face. It was Gwenabwy! Beedle giggled in delight and looked down the hall to make sure it was only them. Flexing his fingers, Beedle fell to his knees and tapped his wand on the cold ground, a flicker of light traveling through the cracks and towards the mountains of books (reading, how boring!). They started to float above Gwenabwy’s head as soon as the magic touched them and line themselves up before her, then the happy music began! With each note each book changed a different color; pinks, greens, blues, oranges! Overjoyed, Beedle jumped up and bowed for Gwenabwy. “Thank you, thank you!”
Gwenabwy had mastered the art of tuning out the world around her. But this. This was beyond even her expertise. She had just been in the middle of a particularly interesting passage describing the execution of an ancient queen when the books below her suddenly took flight and began changing colours and making music. Had the books still been resting at her feet, she would certainly have knocked them askew in her shock. As it was, she still gave a little jump and a quiet, though shrill, cry of alarm.
Her surprise quickly turned to anger at the sight of the annoyingly familiar face of Beedle the So-Called Bard. Gwenabwy could think of several far more fitting names for him, none of them flattering, and few of which were appropriate for a lady such as herself to utter. Her nostrils flared as she exhaled angrily and, ignoring Beedle completely, began snatching the books out the air. They wriggled and writhed in her arms, as though trying to leap back into the air. Struggling to keep hold of them, she whirled on Beedle. A lock of her long blonde hair fell into her face, but she did not have a free hand to push it away. “Beedle,” she hissed. Realizing he could not hear her over the noisy, chirpy music still playing, she raised her voice. “Beedle! You- you-,” She bit her tongue before she could say something she would later regret. “I demand that you put my books back to the way they were this instant!”
Gwenabwy had settled herself comfortably on a windowseat in a mostly-empty hallway. The occasional student had walked past her, but she barely nodded in acknowledgement when they did. She was engrossed in the book she held in her slender hands. Several more volumes were stacked at her feet, arranged in such a way that neither her feet nor the feet of passerby would risk knocking them over.
She took solace in her solitude, as being alone meant she had the chance to think. Gwenabwy found great joy and immense pleasure in Roderc’s company, and spent the majority of her time at his side. Being apart from him was far from joyful or pleasurable- indeed, it was almost painful at times. But her mind was also considerably less clear when she was with him, and if she were ever to restore their family, she needed to be as focused as possible. No distractions, no interruptions.
You look like a flier. I haven’t seen you in the skies since you came—- you’re the Peverell girl? I’m Günther. Günther the Violent.
That is because I am- or was. If I had a broomstick, maybe you might have. And yes, I am Gwenabwy Peverell. Pleased to meet you Günther the Violent.