Where there's a quill, there's a way (Stephen)

Anya sat cross-legged at a table in the Three Broomsticks, scribbling rapidly in her leather bound notebook. She came here often to write, though it was not particularly what would be seen as an ideal spot to write. It was somewhat noisy and it was mostly always crowded, but she didn't mind. She liked to be among others, even though she usually never engaged in conversation while at the Three Broomsticks.

After taking a small sip of the butterbeer that sat atop her table, she examined the piece that she had just written.

"Conceived by Sloth
Born into Anger
Raised from Gluttony
and Placed into a world of Greed.

Fueled by Lust
Riddled with Envy
and Blinded by Pride

Oh, what little Hope we have
In this world that has been
Cursed with Sin's touch.

Oh, how quickly the Box tightens its Grip on Humanity.

Strangling us,
Suffocating us,
Filing us down
Until there is Nothing left.

The Worst Part Is that we have done this to Ourselves.
For we are Pandora,
Looking deep into the box,
Quaking with fear,
Crying "What have I done?""

A chill was suddenly sent down Anya's spine. Her poetry always seemed to surprise her, as if she hadn't known how dark it was until she read through it in its entirety. The part that scared her the most was the fact that she wrote based off of what she knew to be true.

Examining the piece of writing, there was a certain line that had caught Anya off guard.

Blinded by Pride

It reminded her of one night a couple mother before her mother fled their home in Russia. She was around eight years old and her grandmother, Gretta, had come to visit for Christmas. The woman had done nothing but make snide remarks about her son's life choices for the entirety of the holiday. This one particular night;however, had been especially awful. It was the night before the end of Gretta's visit. Anya had been in her bedroom, hugging her knees close to her chest as she listened to the her family's bickering crescendo into a festival of anger in the next room over.

She figured that her parents were unaware of the fact that Anya could hear every word they spoke clear as day. They may not have cared that she had spent the night cowering against her bedroom wall, but she held on to the hope that her parents at least used to care about her, because it's not like they cared nowadays.

"Viktor you are a pureblood Russian wizard. You have so much power and potential and you have thrown it away for what? A bastard child and a fling with a muggle-born American? Did the woman even receive an education in magic?" Gretta had roared.

"My having powers made my parents feel as if they had done something wrong. They were ashamed that they had given birth to such a disgrace. They resented me. I left home as soon as it was legal and we haven't spoken since." Elizabeth responded.

"So you are untrained?" Anya heard footsteps as Gretta paced around the room. "Do you not know how much better you could do than this mudblood?"

Anya could imagine the look on her father's face when Gretta said this. Viktor's face grew tight and his eyes dimmed. She pictured him slightly moving his head back and forth, half in anger and half in disbelief. Viktor had never really agreed with the opinions of his family. He didn't really care much about the blood purity of a person or how a person was raised. This had always worried his parents. They feared that they had raised a soft man and to the Alkaevs, a man who is less than a man is nothing but a disgrace.

Elizabeth was silent, as she usually was in this arguments. Gretta continued to tell Viktor everything that was wrong with his life. The last thing that Anya remembered was Viktor saying, "Your pride will not sway my opinions, mother. I will not conform to the ideals of a family that I want no part in. You need to leave.

Gretta left the next day.
Elizabeth left four months later.

As the memory wrapped up, Anya let out a small sigh. Of all seven of the deadly sins, pride was the hardest to overcome and the most likely to wreak a family..and it had.

With the school year almost over, it wasn't too easy to find a peaceful spot in Hogsmeade. Shops and pubs alike were full of customers, and some of the braver students, probably Gryffindors, were even hanging out by the Shrieking Shack. It almost made Stephen consider going back to Hogwarts, even if no one stayed around during the last few Hogsmeade weekends. To his relief, Anya, a fellow Hufflepuff, had a table to herself in Three Broomsticks, and she seemed to be lost in her poetry again.

Though he and Anya weren't exactly what you'd call good friends, their encounters in Hogwarts were amicable enough. Stephen could tell that in a way, Anya was a similar soul—she seemed shy, and he reckoned her notebook was full of beautifully written poems due to how pensive she often seemed. Still, despite feeling like they were quite similar, they never really had a personal conversation, and Stephen never got to learn the history behind Anya's interest in poetry.

Today, however, seemed like the perfect day to finally make that connection.

Last time Stephen was at the Three Broomsticks, he was with Eun Soo, who never failed to cheer him up and boost his confidence. Talking to Eun Soo reminded him of how great it was to be able to open up around people. To just be yourself and not care what others thought. Clutching his watercolour sketchbook to his chest, he walked past the crowds in Three Broomsticks, aware of the stares he was getting due to his newly dyed light pink hair. Instead of avoiding their stares and looking down at his feet whilst walking, he held his head high and smiled at them.

Soon enough, he reached Anya's table. 'Hey, Anya,' he greeted with a polite smile. 'Mind if I sit here?'

As Anya took what seemed to be the final sip of her butterbeer, she noticed a slightly familiar face trying to get her attention. She recognized the pink-haired boy from around Hogwarts. His name was most likely Stephen and Anya was pretty sure he was also a Hufflepuff.
"Hey Anya. Mind if I sit here?"

The girl nodded. She was not used to people coming up to her. Usually she either had to work up the courage to approach someone, or she would sit alone. (Most of the time she ended up alone).

"I'm not that great of company,"Anya laughed. She wondered why conversation was always so seemingly difficult for her. "What brings you here?" she asked. She figured that the boy had most likely not come here looking for an awkward Anastasiya to talk to.

She fiddled with the cup that had no further reason to be at her table, waiting to see where this would go.