When she was only a few months old, she had been sent to an orphanage. Since that orphanage had barely any proper funding, Eda never received a good education in her early years, let alone any exposure to French.
Her current level of French was the result of just over half a month of study. Usually, Vinda or the house-elf Agnes would speak to Eda in English; on the rare occasions they used French, they spoke slowly, giving Eda plenty of time to process.
But the unfamiliar voice in the room clearly had no intention of accommodating her. He spoke French at a blistering pace, as though he had rented his mouth and was rushing to return it.
All Eda could do was judge from the volume of his voice and the fluctuations in his tone—and the conclusion was that not a single sentence sounded pleasant.
She whispered, "Who's talking?"
"Alain Rosier, that brat Vincent Rosier's father," Henry rolled his eyes dramatically. "The head of the family. Sigh… if only Uncle Louis were the head instead. Then the family would be full of freedom."
"You can always go across the Atlantic and have a look. I'm sure there's plenty of that freedom you like," Eda joked.
"No, that place is absolutely dreadful," Henry said, exerting every ounce of strength to convey his distaste. "I'd rather rot in Paris! Rot in the Catacombs!"
They pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Thierry was sitting on a sofa with his head lowered, silent and motionless, as if he had already fallen asleep. Alain was standing in the center of the living room, roaring furiously, his big beard trembling with every movement of his mouth. Vincent Rosier stood behind him.
Vinda sat on the sofa without saying a word, her gaze full of mockery. The moment she saw Eda, her eyes sparkled. She waved, beckoning her granddaughter to come sit beside her.
But this gesture drew someone's displeasure. Henry—nearly two meters tall and built like a giant—actually started acting spoiled. "Great-aunt, you've changed! You used to like me the most!"
"How old are you, and how old is she?" Vinda replied gently. She pulled Eda to sit beside her, her eyes filled with indescribable joy.
In the room, Alain was still roaring. He did not even spare Eda a glance, acting as though the girl didn't exist at all. Thierry, however, "woke up" and nodded in response to Eda's greeting.
"We, along with other family members, hope you can restrain yourself!" Alain shouted. "Your actions have already harmed the family's vital interests!"
"Vital interests?" Vinda said. "You mean you've lost face."
Her voice wasn't loud, but the sheer force behind it subtly suppressed Alain. Reason had nothing to do with volume—if all that mattered was who could shout the loudest, what would courts and arbitration be for?
Alain took a heavy breath and continued, "We should act like other pure-blood families and expel anyone with ties to Muggles. Louis Rosier is no exception! His name has no right to remain on the family tree!"
"You can try," Vinda said coolly. Even without anger, her presence was intimidating.
Alain choked on his words. After a moment, he managed to continue, "In short, the Rosier family will never allow a filthy half-blood to exist among us!"
"Eda, do you want to change your surname to Rosier?" Vinda didn't decide for her, but instead sought Eda's opinion.
Because she still had some language barriers, Eda only understood parts of the discussion, but Vinda spoke slowly enough that she understood this sentence. She asked, "Grandmother, may I not change it?"
A surname couldn't change a person's essence. Was Rosier supposed to be something noble? If it were Merlin, or Gryffindor, Eda might have actually considered it. Rosier? And what was that supposed to mean?
"Of course," Vinda nodded and continued, "My granddaughter may bear whatever surname she wishes. If she wants to be Twist, she is Twist; if she wants to be Rosier, she is Rosier. No one can stop that."
Alain looked as though he wanted to say more, but Vinda did not give him the chance. She went on, "Even if Eda wished to bear the name Grindelwald, then she would be Esmeralda Grindelwald!"
The moment her words fell, the room went dead silent. One could hear a pin drop—only Alain and Vincent's rough breathing broke the stillness.
Eda looked at her grandmother in astonishment. She knew the Rosier family had connections to Voldemort and to Grindelwald, but she never expected her grandmother to speak that name so casually.
Thinking of how her grandmother had always been single, and that even her father had been adopted, another possibility flashed in Eda's mind.
Who would've thought? Who could've imagined? Grindelwald, with those thick eyebrows and righteous looks, actually left romantic debts behind!
Many pure-blood families had legacies spanning a thousand years—none of them were to be underestimated. In various books about Grindelwald, many names were deliberately erased, leaving only surnames.
So Eda did not know that her grandmother had once been the person Grindelwald trusted most. Nor did she know that, back at Père Lachaise Cemetery, it was her grandmother who had held that skull.
Vinda's stance was unwavering—just as it had been years ago when she insisted Louis's name remain in the family tree. If the Rosiers dared act blindly, Vinda would not hesitate to stretch her old friends' bones and let them move a little.
Though they were old and far slower than before, that did not stop them from burning fiercely one last time before death.
When force didn't work, Alain switched to a gentler approach. Seeing that threats had failed, he chose to plead.
"Aunt," he said, "you were once the head of this family too. You know better than anyone how difficult it is to lead. It was you who guided the Rosiers to glory back then—can you truly bear to watch your descendants be mocked and humiliated?"
Appeal to sentiment, then to reason. Alain hoped Vinda would choose between her granddaughter and the rest of the clan.
After all, if one calculated it strictly, Louis was adopted. Eda's blood relation to Vinda was no closer than that of any other Rosier.
Would she choose one person or a whole family? Alain hoped Vinda would be rational.
Hand and fist—both are flesh. Most people would struggle to choose, but Vinda answered immediately.
"Clan members?" Vinda said. "When you all plotted behind my back to kill Eda, did any of you remember that Rosier blood flows in her veins as well?"
"Her blood was tainted long ago by her filthy mudblood mother!" Vincent finally snapped, unable to bear seeing his father grovel any longer. He continued, "Vile, inferior blood—half-breed trash!"
"Shut up, Vincent!" Henry—tall as a giant—stood up. "You have no right to speak here!"
Vincent flinched at the killing intent born of Henry's height and build; his momentum faltered, but his mouth remained sharp. He spat out, "Fils de pute—"
Boom!
The curse had barely left his lips when Vincent was sent flying backward. With a loud bang, he slammed into the wall behind him, knocking down the decorations. The collision was brutal; he collapsed onto the carpet, curling up like a boiled shrimp.
The one who acted, of course, was Eda.
Did they really think she couldn't understand just because she spoke slowly, or that she had a good temper?
Besides, fils de pute was the very first "elegant" French phrase she had learned—its meaning was no different from the English "son of a bitch."
After more than ten years of pent-up insults swirling in her chest, denied release by her language barrier, Eda could only choose the ladylike approach—hands first, words later. And truthfully, she preferred action over quarrels: direct, effective.
Eda moved too quickly for anyone to react. She merely flicked her hand, and Vincent was sent flying. Alain Rosier was stunned, and even Vincent—who had been thrown—hadn't processed what happened.
While everyone was still dazed, Eda had already drawn her wand and aimed it at Vincent, who lay sprawled on the carpet.
Crucio~~
"Arrrrrrrggggghhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!"
He began to scream, a heart-rending wail, twisting and curling as his body convulsed violently from side to side.
Only then did everyone snap out of it. Thierry and Henry stared at Eda in shock. They had never imagined Eda could strike so viciously, so decisively. Was she really only sixteen?
Vinda's face blossomed into a smile. This Eda—she loved her!
Yet, in Vinda's eyes, something like distress flickered for an instant. For a child to wield a tormenting curse so fluently at sixteen… she must have suffered greatly.
Alain Rosier immediately pulled out his wand to retaliate, but he barely drew it halfway before he was hurled into the air like Vincent. With the same casual gesture, Eda sent him crashing into the wall by the window.
Eda turned her wand toward Alain Rosier, and her face lit up with a radiant, sun-bright smile.
"And how can I forget about you, Mr Alain? You wanted to see whose the lesser human right? Here, let me show you."
_______
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