There Must Be a Reason... (Professor Holmes)

Subject: There Must Be a Reason... (Professor Holmes) Sun Jan 21, 2018 9:00 am

Elenore had hoped, in truth, that the only thing wrong with her potion would be that the base was too weak. Perhaps the simple, clear base potion had not been the best idea, but surely the base couldn't make too much of a difference? Perhaps the potion wouldn't be quite as strong as it could potentially be, but Elenore was hopeful for her grade letter.

Which had been her mistake.

The letter that had come through from Mycroft had started on a high, with a ten out of ten for her technique, Elenore's lips had been brought up in to a smile. Mycroft's words were still critical, which made the which wonder why he'd put a ten if he did not believe her technique to be perfect, but she waved away the thought, much too happy with the ten to worry further in that area.

But as Elenore moved to the effectiveness of the potion, she took in the score and her stomach plummeted. A sickening feeling fell in to place as she read through Professor Holmes' words. A love that was too weak? No, the professor was mistaken, how could he believe the love she and her Grandmere shared was weak? The Hufflepuff shook her head as she read through, not believing that much for a second.

Creativity was even worse, and Elenore brought a shaking hand to her mouth to hold everything in.

Dreadful.

There had to be a mistake... Elenore Clement was good in this subject, she'd never failed a Potions test. Yes, that was what this was. Which was precisely why the youngest Clement wrote to the professor, asking him for a meeting after classes on Friday. Elenore had explained why she wanted the meeting, because Merlin knew she did not wish for any confusion to arise after the situation over the summer.

Professor Holmes had written back, agreeing to the meeting, and so, on the Friday afternoon, Elenore made her way along to the Potions classroom to speak to the man. After all, this could all be cleared up, if you asked the question, couldn't it?

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Mycroft Holmes considered himself a fair grader. He graded without being swayed by a single individual but rather the end product of their creation. So as he graded this time around, he was admittedly surprised when he found himself hesitating on his grades for Elenore Clement.

The girl was just that, a girl. She was nice to his sister, and a good egg all together, but he found himself pausing his quill on the scroll when he graded her outcome. Should he have given her a dreadful? No, technically he should have given her a troll, thus had changed his grading from a 9 to a 10 on technique because he figured at least she'd start with something positive? The real mystery in all of this was the pause.

It was the owl that he received that reminded him of that. Elenore reminded him very much of his sister. If there was something she did not understand, she made sure to want to discuss it. And so the grade had been the subject at hand. In fact she had made it very clear in her message much to his amusement.

Nonetheless, he waited for her in his office in the promised time with two cups of tea hoping it would soothe her senses. As for him, he had not yet smoked a cigarette as he had promised Clarinda. Leaning back he looked at the phial of the girl's potion at the corner of his desk. He knew this would be a hard afternoon.

Elenore's heart was pounding by the time she'd arrived at Professor Holmes' classroom door. She stole herself one short moment, collecting herself, pulling the mask of a lady in to place, before her hand came up ever so carefully to knock upon the door. Three short raps of her knuckles to announce her presence, neither rushed, or too loud, definitely leaving it clear of who stood behind the closed door.

For a moment or two there was nothing, until finally she heard her Professor's voice welcoming her in to the room.

Opening the door with due care, Elenore let herself in to the room, before carefully closing the door back in place. "Bonne après-midi," Elenore greeted the male, giving a small smile to the professor as she took in the room. Tea... Elenore didn't know why Mycroft had put out tea, but she counted that as a bad omen in that moment.

Still, it did not show in the witch's features as she waited to be invited to sit, and then did so. A few moments to correctly sit herself in place, back straight, ankles neatly tucked together, and her chin held up high, because she would not allow it to be known that she was ready to break with Mycroft's recent letter. Which, Elenore took from her bag a moment later, and laid it upon the desk between herself and Professor Holmes.

"Professor," Elenore started, her eyes managing to settle on the older male's in that moment. "I wish to discuss the grade you have given me. I..." Elenore paused, knowing that this was verging on impertinent, Professor Holmes knew his subject. "I believed very much in the fact I had created a potion that met your criteria, and yet... your letter seems to denote that I haven't. I was hoping you might be able to explain where I went astray?"

So far as Elenore was concerned, the potion had smelt exactly as intended. Of the woman who loved her most in the world, and it encompassed, in Elenore's mind the familial love of a doting Grandmere, and her granddaughter. Surely she couldn't have been as wrong as the professor's letter suggested?

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From the moment Elenore entered his office he could simply feel the anxiety reverberating from her. Mycroft simply raised his brow and waited for her to take a seat and sit himself down. He slid the tea cup to her as he tried to simulate a safe environment. He knew he was not the most...visibly caring person. He had been told often, especially by his sister that he could often times seem too blasé or uncaring. But he would try not just because it was Elenore but rather to anyone that sought to speak with him.

"Good Afternoon Miss Clement. How can I help you?"

As her reason for attending his office grew clearer, he knew that he needed to properly explain her error as...carefully as possible. He knew a woman's sensibility and he'd rather not offend it.

"Your potion, aesthetically was fine, but that was just it. The technique was your strongest category simply because you follow through the standard techniques. But...the idea of the potion... was missed. It was not a love potion. It was a nice scented potion, but whatever was put it in, the sentimentality was clearly there but there was no real...clear symbol of love. Does that make sense?"

As Professor Holmes pushed the cup of tea towards her, Elenore considered it for a moment, but her stomach was not settled enough in that moment to manage taking up the offered drink. Still, the witch gave a small, but tight, smile in the Professor's direction for the effort he was obviously trying to make with her in that moment.

As Professor Holmes explained that there hadn't been any real show of love in the potion, Elenore's insides tightened in an excruciatingly painful manner. Had she not been well versed in keeping her facial features in a neutral expression, Professor Holmes would likely have seen the whole spectacle of her pain. As it were, only a glimmer on the pain flashed in her eyes, because she managed to give him a small smile.

"I see..." Elenore replied softly in that moment, looking away from the professor as she worked to collect her thoughts on the situation. There was only one thing left to say to the professor in that moment. One final question in the whole world to make it clear. "Are... Are you suggesting that my potion showed absolutely no sign of love in it's making, professor? No glimmer? At all?"

Because if you didn't find a trace of love in that potion, Professor...

The words didn't even finish in Elenore's mind as her stomach twisted in the most uncomfortable of manners.

If you say no...

Tighter the knot wrung itself inside of Elenore.

Then you confirm the worst of my fears.

Elenore's outward show was one of confidence, as she started to crumble on the inside, outside she was the show of tranquility. Nervous, yes, but not broken.

And Mycroft Holmes would never see her broken, either.

No one would.

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There were moments were he reminded himself of being his father. Often times he found himself to be a bit careless in his tone when he critiqued people. Even in college there were times when he found himself being inconsiderate to people's emotions when they even came to him for help. And this seemed to be one of those times. The heartbreak in her face was very clear and if he was any other person he would have cringed at her expression. The critiques did but mean to cause any harm, but Mycroft realized that perhaps he had been too cold in his words. Clearing his throat he wondered exactly how he could fix it.

"You see..."he began unsure where he was even leading to. "the ingredients that were used were...passable. It was the mixture of them together that found themselves to nullify once they properly bonded into your potion. To be fair...this was a potion just..not one that can be categorized as love."

The pause in between Elenore's question and the professor's answer was answer enough. Had the young witch been of lesser blood, she would likely have told the professor not to answer when he hesitated over his words. But Elenore was a lady, well versed in the world of politeness, etiquette and ensuring you never caused offence.

Which meant as Professor Holmes told her what she had already thought to know in the moment, she didn't try to stop, nor did she try to silence him. The young Hufflepuff merely sat watching as his lips formed their words before her.

"To be fair...this was a potion just..not one that can be categorized as love."

The French witch stopped breathing in that moment, the walls of Professor Holmes' office seemed to close in around her as what he said rattled through her frame. Wounding her in every manner possible as his words sunk in.

Not... categorised as love.

Not... love.

Elenore's features had gone deathly pale in that moment as her body fought to reinstate the steady rhythm of her breathing, but the automatic function of her body had stopped as Elenore's mind went through what Professor Holmes had said on overdrive.

The potion didn't show any kind of love, he'd said.

But... she'd used the deepest affection she knew.

The love of her Grandmere.

Not... love.

"I..." Elenore didn't know what to say as she somehow managed to get to her feet.

"Th-" The French witch started to speak, but it got caught up in one of those hideous sounds that was akin to a sob. It was a dry sob, one where the young witch couldn't breath for fear of letting her emotions go unchecked. Her left arm wrapped itself around her small frame, holding in the pain, the sobs that wished to escape that simply could not be allowed.

"Thank you." She managed, but the sound was very, very strangled, only just managed.

Even Professor Holmes knows it...

Struggling to the door -- Elenore felt like her body was made out of lead in that moment -- the witch managed to open the door just enough to let herself out in to the corridor before another horrible sound left her lips.

That nobody loves a girl like you.

Elenore's right hand moved to her mouth as she hurried along the corridor, eyes downcast as she made a quick exit from Professor Holmes' class. Eyes stinging with the threat of tears that had become all too familiar this term. But Professor Holmes had brought forth a truth Elenore had never allowed herself to think of, never allowed the world to tell her.

Not even Grandmere can love the unlovable person she was. If her own Maman couldn't love her, how had she ever believed Grandmere could?

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