Disclaimer: I don't own anything that J.K. Rowling owns. Unless you have a bone to pick about the original characters, I'd prefer it if you refrain from filing lawsuits.

Euthanasia Chapter One: The Beginning of the End

The Marauders had no reason to like her. She was a strange creature, introverted and soft-spoken, with a knack for carrying the quirkiest of conversation. But conversation with her was rare.

For five years she had worn the same tied peasant blouse, the same grey arm warmers, the same black, lace-up boots, and, most notably, the same ruffled skirt. It strongly resembled a poorly kept antique from the Victorian Era, its lace shredded in layers, crinkled. Perhaps it had once been white. Now it was an impure shade, stained, and darkened in the crevices, especially at the bottom. Strands of it trailed behind her when she walked.

'It was my grandmother, Epona's,' she explained to a brave young Hufflepuff two weeks into their first term, who had summoned the nerve to approach her and ask the question everyone wanted an answer to.

'Well, why do you wear it?' asked a snobbish Slytherin girl with a disapproving glance below Stella's waist.

She blinked. 'Why are eagles not chickens?'

The Slytherin raised an eyebrow, but Stella simply smiled and presented her with a wildflower off the ground before skipping merrily away, golden locks bouncing around her waist.

An occurrence such as this was not common, as the students had a tendency to avoid her. Teachers, on the other hand, enjoyed her peculiar wit and genial manner. The relationship between Professor Flitwick and her was particularly unusual. They would often discourse right in the middle of Charms, then laugh uproariously at a joke the other students never failed to miss entirely.

None of them liked her.

But none of them knew her either.

Sirius Black had been watching her for a long time, five years actually...and never really decided whether he liked her or not. In class, he watched her deft fingers twirl her wand, then her dozen miss-matched necklaces jingle and gleam when she cast a spell. And she would turn her round, glassy owl eyes to meet his dark, intense ones. He would look quickly away, but she would not lift her blank gaze until he was thoroughly uncomfortable.

It was a fine fall day; the air was crisp and carried the scent of leaves on a soft breeze. The sky was fair – neither a cloud nor a sun visible. The fifth years were embarking in the carriages for Hogwarts.

Almost.

She had caught his eye again. Another year of catching eyes.

But this time was different. This time...this time she did something Sirius had never thought, yet always feared would happen.

She approached him.

'This one, let's go!' barked Sirius to James, Remus, and Peter. He walked hastily toward the empty carriage, motioning for them to follow, trying not to appear desperately hurried. But she drew closer with every bold step...the clunk of her boots on the platform echoed in his head...

Still walking, Sirius glanced over his shoulder on the pretence of making sure the Marauders were behind him, and found, to his horror, that she was nowhere in sight.

'I'm curious,' came an unfamiliar voice from directly in front of him, 'as to why you find me so interesting.'

Sirius had almost run into her; she had come out of nowhere. Ignoring her question, he asked thickly, 'Did you just...?'

'I can't Apparate,' she replied dryly.

'You're fast.'

'Thanks?' She sighed and asked her question again.

Not wanting to be seen conversing with Stella Pendragon for too long, he was quick with his response.

'I don't.' There was a pause. 'And stop staring at me in class,' he added bitterly, half-hoping his words would hurt her.

But Stella Pendragon threw her head back and laughed loudly as Sirius gaped in bewilderment, her fair face twisted in a manic grin. Sirius couldn't take it – he dashed away, throwing a disgusted look back at her for the people watching.

'Nutter, that one,' he muttered to his followers as he boarded the carriage.

'I'm amazed you survived the encounter,' said James.

In the Great Hall, various students approached Sirius throughout the course of the feast to ask him what had happened with him and Stella. To each he told a different story, and to each he spread mirth, causing the Gryffindor table to be alive with breathless laughter, red faces, and simple talk.

Stella sat alone at the Ravencaw table, hiding behind a curtain of dirty blond hair that fell to the bench. She gnawed on a chicken leg as she eavesdropped on the local conversation, and focused on keeping her eyes averted. Not this year, she told herself. Not another year's round of thoughts wasted on Sirius Black. But out of an overwhelming curiosity, she eventually lifted her stare to Sirius two tables away, and watched him revel in his popularity. She had grown skilled at this kind of multi- tasking, which came in useful when watching Marauders. She knew a lot about them, probably more than they knew themselves. She had studied their behaviour, their development, their relationship: putting their puzzle together – using information, mostly within conversation, as her pieces. It was a sort of hobby to her. Stella liked to read books, write stories, ride horses, sing, play piano, and study the stars, but observing people proved to be her favourite pastime of all, especially with the Marauders so conveniently located in most of her classes.

Sirius Black was, without a doubt, her favourite. His temerity and fierce intelligence enthralled her day after day. She admired his cleverness, quick wit, and courageous and energetic spirit. It didn't hurt that he was easy on the eyes; with dark, handsome features, and a face of haughty nobility: pronounced cheekbones and jaw line, a strong nose, deep- set eyes, black and fathomless, and full lips constantly twisted into a smirk.

Something boiled inside her as she watched him now: talking, laughing, drinking, talking. It was something she didn't want to stifle. Part of her hoped she wouldn't look at her, for then she would have to look away, but the other part wanted him to meet her gaze.
Pathetic wishes, she told herself.

'She probably fancies you,' said James through a mouthful of pudding.

'Indeed,' Imogene intervened, 'and too socially inept to realise how far out of her league you are.' Imogene was the sort of person who delighted in placing people in social 'leagues'.

With a casual wave of his hand Sirius flicked a straight strand of black hair from his eyes. 'If she has a "league".' He snuck a glance at the Ravenclaw table. It took him a while to spot her; she wasn't exactly noticeable. But there they were: the owl eyes flicking downward.

He almost turned and announced she was staring at him again, but instead clamped his mouth shut and looked back at her.

Sadness.

He saw it now. It was buried in every smooth crevice of her face, clinging to every limp strand of hair, etched in each freckle across her nose. He saw it in the way she hunched her shoulders, in her fork as it dully prodded cold potatoes. It was deep within her eyes, past the blank stare, both deep and shallow – the stare. All he had ever seen of her. A stare colourless. Flat.

'Padfoot? Oi, Padfoot!'

'What?'

'You going to eat that?'

'Take it.'

Peter shoved the roll in his face. 'You know,' he said, chewing, 'I bet Stella Pendragon hasn't ev-'

'Shut it, Wormtail,' barked Sirius.

'Yeah, it's dead,' said James.

'You killed it,' chimed Imogene.

There was a bit of silence, and Sirius was glad. He felt as though he had just had some kind of rude awakening, and needed time to let it sink in.

Stella plodded up the marble staircase that night – stuffed and lethargic. People walked past her, talking, laughing, talking. A boy ran into her. She turned and apologised for him being too busy cutting down some girl to watch where he was going. He neither saw nor heard her, let alone give the rightful apology.

There was a group huddled not by, but across the opening to the corridor she had to enter. 'Excuse me,' she tapped a girl on the shoulder. 'Oh, sorry!' the girl said quickly, and shifted about two inches to her left. 'I need to get by,' explained Stella hastily. The girl gave no indication of even hearing her.

Frustrated, Stella backtracked to take another route. She found an empty corridor, and marched down it gratefully, her robes billowing behind her.

'Those sound like Stella Pendragon's boots!' came an all-too familiar voice from the depths of the dark hall.

Stella stifled a groan. 'Accursed waders, my identity is revealed! How doth thou fare in these early days of autumn, Mai of the Aelhaearn?'

'Why do you still talk like that? It's so weird!'

Stella stared at Mai stolidly as she emerged from the darkness, and decided this was not worth responding to. Mai's beady grey eyes were only visible due to the chunks of cheap makeup that lined them, supposedly to enhance their plainness, but Stella thought they would be far lovelier without all the rubbish caked in the sparse lashes, or anywhere for that matter. Mai had dark, curly hair – pulled back much too tightly, and thick eyebrows, never to be plucked.

Stella had nothing to say to fill the silence, so she happily let it sit. If there had to be small talk, she would leave it to Mai. It was Mai's specialty after all.

'Where are you going?' asked Mai.

'The dormitory,' Stella answered shortly.

'Why? It's so early. People are still wandering the halls...'

'Then why don't you go join them?'

Mai shrugged. 'Viviane's being a bitch. She ran off with Dylan and the others.'

'Yeah, real bitchy. Heaven forbid you should be left on your own to amuse yourself. Lucky you found me, right? Now you won't be seen wandering without social interaction. What discomfiture that would be!'

'I know!'

Stella laughed harshly. Trust Mai to miss the point.

'I totally can't amuse myself...I'm like...'

Stella waited, smirking. 'Like what?'

'Huh?'

'Right. I have to go. Farewell, Mai of the Aelhaern. Have a pleasant, sociable ev – '

'Erm – alright...'

Stella walked ahead. Mai was wandering close behind, but they did not speak, as Stella had already said goodbye.

It was...very awkward; at least for Mai.

'Erm...' Mai said loudly.

Stella kept walking, smiling acidly at Mai's discomfort.

'Eh hem!'

Stella turned sharply, her face bursting into a look of surprise. 'Mai! Fancy meeting you here! How have you been?'

Mai gave her a wry, wide-eyed look. 'Fine,' she said thickly. 'Erm, I'm...sort of going in the same direction so...do you think we should walk together?'

Stella pretended to consider this for a moment, then she shook her head, forcing an overly-apologetic look.

She turned and strode back down the hall, humming so as to drown out Mai's protests. Eventually, the girl gave up and left to find attention elsewhere. Stella laughed victoriously.

Sirius would not admit the reason for his excessively wandering eye. He was looking for her, and he alone was the person to know that.

But James Potter was no idiot.

'What's got you so interested in her?'

'In who?'

'Pendragon. And don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about.'

'Well what do you mean by "interested"?'

James laughed. 'I'm not talking about sexually, dimwit! It's just...why do you care?'

'I don't.'

'Padfoot. Shut-up and tell me.'

'I can't do both.'

'Then the latter.'

Sirius sighed. It was no use. 'She looked so...' James raised his eyebrows expectantly. 'She looked so sad tonight...at the banquet.'

'So?'

Sirius hesitated. He couldn't explain what he saw, so why try? James was growing more impatient by the moment. Sirius kept waiting for James's attention to wander, as it usually did when faced with a conversation that wasn't going anywhere. Helpfully, Lily Evans could not have picked a better time to walk by.

With an, 'Oi, Evans!', James was gone. For the first time, Sirius was grateful for this.