faderift | open (like hermione's heart)

"Oh, no - you're not!" she rushes to say, completely mortified now. Look at her, stuffing her foot in her mouth over here. "If anything I'm the one disturbing you - so sorry. It's just, you were an unfamiliar face."

It not unease, exactly. It's more curiosity, and the knowledge that she can't very well be asking people whether they're elves.

"And this book is dull."

Fifi opens her mouth to answer, but pauses and shakes her head-- she's not being disturbed, she came in after, etc-- and it's clear that this girl is too sincere to need fucking with, so friendliness wins out.

"What's it about?" she asks, nodding toward the book.

She doesn't need to look back down to answer that. She would know, she picked it out of the many books in this library. "Orlesian history. The author claims it's a comprehensive account, but I'm calling that a bluff."

"Ooh."

Perching her hip against the table, Fifi clicks her tongue. "Heavy reading. What do you find lacking?"

"Well," she starts, deep breath - get ready for a ramble, Fifi. "It's incredibly human-centric, and it sanitises anything that has to do with the treatment of elves, or the Exhalted Marches, or the civil wars. It's a..." A pause here, as she tries to put her frustration with the book into words: "It feels like it's more of a 'oh, Orlais is so amazing and it has always been' account of past events than history."

It's like the author's having a written wank over the superiority of Orlesian humans, but she's not going to say it like that.

Rambles don't bother her. Fifi smiles a little, leaning back to listen-- it's not the worst takeaway, and makes her glad she can't read the book to be frustrated by it.

"That is often the case, I'm afraid," she supplies, "at best, the ugly history is hidden, swept under the rug. At worst, it's left out in plain view, and we are all simply commanded not to look at it."

"I'm all too familiar with that message," she mutters, with some bitterness. "Somewhere in the middle of those extremes, we perpetuate some of the worst stereotypes and prejudices learned from history and call them normal."

A quiet look, tired, but there's a small glimmer of affection in the set of Fifi's smile. It's nice to have it said aloud, no less by someone else.

"Your world has its own, I take it," she remarks gently.

A grim little look at this, the tiredness in Hermione's expression almost in mirror.

"Of course it does," she replies, her voice soft. "There was a widespread belief that people who have not been born in a magic-wielding family, whose bloodline is just mages after mages after mages, are inferior. It got twisted to a worse version, that they were stealing their magic from the others - the deserving and pure - and that they were dangerous.

"To say nothing of what the common prejudices were against elves and werewolves and other magical creatures."

Fifi cants her head, narrowing her eyes slightly-- mages being against mages sounds like an ugly situation indeed, not that she's one to know much about any of it.

"Then magic is commonplace?" Maybe the Vints get up to things like that-- but something else has captured her attention. "What are your elves like?"

She shakes her head at the first question. "It isn't - it feels like it is, but there are no more mages there than there might be in Thedas. Maybe fewer. We don't put our mages in Circles and assign them Templars to control them, but..."

She pauses. What are her elves like? She thinks of Dobby, braver than anyone alive, and of Kreacher, and of the nameless elves she tried to free from the Hogwarts kitchens...

"Smaller," she says. "Significantly smaller." She bites the inside of her cheek, a frown appearing on her brow. Why is she trying to paint this in a good light? The way elves are treated in her world is simply dreadful, and hiding it benefits no-one. She just wants one person, a single damned person for once in her life, who hears it and gets as outraged as she did. "They're not thought of as equal to mages, and they're not known to non-mages. It's awful."

Mincing words aside, Fifi can tell by Hermione's expression that the answer is Not Good, but she listens patiently and straight-faced until a particular statement catches her attention. Brow wrinkling slightly, she asks: "there are no elf mages?"
A pause, then, "...how are they not known to non-mages, if they're not mages themselves?" what are they, animals,

"They're considered magical creatures," she admits with a murmur. It doesn't speak about the level of shame she thinks the wizarding society at large should feel for how they treat House Elves.

"But they do cast spells, all of them do, they just - honestly, it's all rather dreadful."

Fifi's expression becomes quite difficult to read, bearing a veneer of attentive interest while something unexpected feels like it's crumbling in the back of her mind.

"Creatures," she repeats, and it's with a bit of a laugh-- the sort of laugh that isn't funny at all, but slightly eases the sting of a sudden wound.
She knows, logically, she has nothing to fear from this girl's world or its people: but somehow, hearing that a universe completely separate from her own can exist and still be so specific in its cruelty toward the thing that she is-- worse, even-- is enough to siphon some of the energy it takes to stand upright.

No, not that hard to read. Nobody would want to hear themselves described as creatures, in this world or someone else's. It's denigrating, and Hermione understands that well enough - there was a whole contingent of wizards and witches who thought muggleborns were worse than creatures.

She has no comfort to offer Fifi other than the understanding nod.

"My world is full of an awful lot of backwards thinking. They're as worthy of your sorrow as the mages of Tevinter. But they deserve your anger, and I'll keep you company in it."

It's a sweet reassurance, and the sincerity in Fifi's smile returns subtly to the corners of her mouth.

"Better yet to save your sorrow for when it's needed," she says gently, "I've heard of more than one Rifter who prefers it here. And things improve, a little at a time, or so it would seem."

"I doubt things improve just through inaction," she murmurs, a little sceptical. "But I mean, it's not a terrible world to fall into, I'll admit. I can't complain." At least she doesn't have to pretend to be someone's suffering aunt for the sake of a cover story. Or a tax collector - that one had been terrible.

Fifi opens her mouth, closes it again, her cheeks pinkening slightly; inaction is exactly what she just proposed, but she wasn't prepared to have that pointed out.

"It is," she says quietly, pausing to find the right words, "paralysis. Or isolation. Speaking up requires great bravery." Her grip tightens on the edge of the table behind her, "bravery some among us have, but are invariably punished for showing."

Her smile grows apologetic. "Desolée. It's been some time since I spoke of such things."

Edited 2025-01-08 23:34 (UTC)

She gives the woman - the elf - a very understanding look. And how - the understanding. Trying to fight for a cause you believe in, when others will not. She does not think often on the betrayal she felt when her friends, and their families, and their families' friends all pretty much patted her on the head and lectured her that oh, Hermione, silly girl, the House Elves want to be slaves.

She looks around them both - the library is all but empty this late - and squares her shoulders. "You can, you know? If you wanted to speak of such things with me, I am happy to listen. And if you choose action, or speaking up, I hope you know I want to be an ally."

There is a small beat, then she leans in to add with a mischevous whisper, "I've got both spells and craft I can help with."

Though her gaze flickers away, and perhaps Fifi's inclination is to leave well enough alone, she forces it back to give Hermione a small nod. Perhaps she will, should the opportunity arise.

That last admission merits a grin as cautious as it is amused: "I'll not be starting any riots," she insists. No spells necessary, hopefully.

There's a soft little laugh, like they have reached an understanding here. "No riots. Scout's honour."

She was never a scout. Don't worry about it.

Relaxing a bit when Hermione laughs, Fifi mirrors her expression-- until she tilts her head, uncertain.

"I thought you were in forces," she remarks quietly.

Edited 2025-01-13 23:15 (UTC)

She has been caught red-handed. "True, I am. But I'm not sure what to call us - force honour?"

She pulls a little face of displeasure at that.

"It's an expression where I come from. The Scouts were this group of young boys who explored the world, nature, society. They would get to do things and learn things, and get badges for it, and they'd be honourable. I suppose there were groups like that for girls, but I don't know... Brownies don't have such lasting power in memory."

She rushes to add, "All to say, I promise no starting riots."

"Oh."

A long silence falls between them as Fifi processes that information: young boys exploring the world, sure. What about wyverns, what kind of a name is brownies, there's too unpack--

She smiles again.

"It's a deal."

open (like hermione's heart)

kill bill sirens respectfully

check vour putain privilege

she has a lot of housekeeping staff friends okay

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gomen I replied to this in my mind but never actually wrote it

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forgive my delay now

you are forgiven

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cw: slavery mentioned

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