Chapter 3: Not Enough
A fresh feeling lifted her steps higher and quicker than usual as she made her way down the dark, narrow corridor to the gate. Dirt and ground pebbles crunched beneath her boots like sand. The walkway had once been a canal: a tributary off a presently nonexistent moat that had surrounded the castle in the days of old. But many years prior to Stella Pendragon's inhabitance of Hogwarts, it had been magically drained into the lake to provide students with a more convenient passage from the dungeons to the west grounds.
Stella had risen that morning with little to no intention of having a conversation with anyone, and somehow she had just exchanged more words with the man she admired than she ever had with any other student at Hogwarts. But could she even call him a man? There was such a boyish curiosity in the way he interrogated her – innocent with some kind of selfish ambition behind the mask. But then, she considered, she could possibly have been imagining it.
As a matter of fact, for all she knew she could have been imagining the entire discussion. It was not uncommon for her to naturally formulate dialogue in her mind between herself and someone she felt strongly about. How many times had she done this with Marauders? Too often to claim sanity. But sanity, who needed such a trait?
Giddy. That was how she felt. Giddy with a kind of self-satisfaction at having gone through an entire conversation with Sirius Black and not having made a fool of herself once. Perhaps he had even liked her. No, impossible. She replayed everything over and over, analyzed his responses, his facial expressions, his body language, the tones in his voice; anything she could grab a hold of and twist to her liking. For an analytical and emotional person who rarely converses with others, a word or two or a passing glance could be enough to consume nearly an hour's worth of thought and feeling. But excessive banters? A complete session of question/answer? It was more than she could handle in that single moment when her fist hauled on the thick chain and sent the gate upward with a deafening crash of iron on stone.
Some squeals of alarm emitted from the darkness far behind her. Mai and Viviane or some Gryffindor girls, most likely. Stella rushed into the crisp fall air, letting the wind lift the golden locks to dance around her beaming face. The burning smell of leaves warmed her insides, and their crunch was satisfying beneath her feat.
Care of Magical Creatures was a fine class to have that morning. It would allow her to think, to dwell on the morning's occurrences around the fine cauldron by that fine window. The fire under the cauldron had not come from her wand, but from his eyes. Did he pierce everyone with that gaze?
She sincerely hoped not.
Approaching the pine grove, she walked swiftly to keep up with her thoughts, and avoided the others descending from the upper levels of the castle via stairs down the hills: rolling hills, dense with the strange weeds in their various hues of jade, and with the shadows of students' robes swaying over the firmament like the wings of owls over wind.
Professor Kettleburn summoned the Ravenclaws and Slytherins toward him with those strong, worn hands that had tamed so many beasts. They filed almost soundlessly into the grove, the ground softened by layers of pine needles, and sat on the various stumps scattered throughout. Stella, naturally, sat on her usual stump; the one at the edge – behind the others. It wasn't very comfortable, but its location proved ideal when it came to avoiding being called upon to answer questions or, worse yet, interacting with an animal in front of the class. Teachers tended to ignore the shadows so long as the shadows didn't ignore them.
'Alright, settle down,' Kettleburn's voice boomed. He strode into a patch of sunlight in the centre of the clearing, hazel eyes scanning the students under a heavy brow. 'Fifth years, yeah? Welcome back. If you don't remember me, they call me Professor Kettleburn. You can too. Now, I run the show. Any questions, comments, concerns, suggestions – you come to me. Got it?' He raised his eyebrows; hands clasped behind his back, and stared around. There were some nods. 'Good job.'
Stella rolled her eyes.
'Hey Professor...' A familiar hand and voice shot into the air.
'Yes, Black?'
'Did you ever find those ashwinder eggs?'
Kettleburn threw his head back in a hearty guffaw. 'Of course! Took me half the summer, but they couldn't just sit there festering, waiting for the opportunity to burn the forest down!'
Regulus Black looked genuinely disappointed.
Sirius Black, as it turned out, was also in low spirits. He was more like his brother than he cared to admit, and a great deal more than the outsider would affirm. Sirius was the rebel, without a doubt; Regulus – the family's boy, the hope in his parents' lives. He was the hope for a continued legacy of genocidal Muggle-haters bent on destroying every last remain of the unworthy from this magical world that they so honoured and cherished. Their cause was strong and moral, and thus according to Mr. and Mrs. Black of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, so was little Regulus.
Sirius dwelled on this often. He hated it, and hated the fact that he hated it. Sometimes the pressure was so intense he wished he weren't different; that he too was blinded by deep-rooted hatred, the kind that swam in the blood of his fathers. What difference could he make anyway? The world was going down as this Dark Lord came to power with the help of his own family.
He doodled a rough sketch of Stella Pendragon tying a serpent in a knot, though he wasn't sure why. It wasn't like she could help him. Sniggering, he took great amusement in wondering how less like Stella-Pendragon-tying-a-serpent-into-a-knot it could look.
'Mr. Black, what – may I ask – is so humourous about dwarfish characters of the third century?'
'Nothing at all, sir.'
'Exactly.' Professor Gillespie strode over to Sirius's desk and snatched the parchment. He squinted at it over his glasses, holding it close to his face. Then he turned it sideways and did the same; then upside down. Sirius prayed he wouldn't decide it looked like something objectionable.
After tossing it disdainfully back onto the desk, Gillespie turned on a heal and strode back to the front of the room, speaking loudly as he went, 'I cannot comprehend your notes, Mr. Black, but I sure hope you can. I'll be giving a quiz on this material next class. Come prepared to both write and decipher. Homework will entail a full four feet describing the makeup of the language and what the runes can tell us about ancient dwarfish culture in the highlands - due next class for an accuracy grade. I'm not taking late papers.'
A bell tolled in a far-off belfry half an hour later and the students headed downstairs for lunch. Sirius wondered why he had agreed to take Ancient Runes with Moony rather than Divination with Prongs and Wormtail. Maybe there he wouldn't have had an obnoxious teacher.
But then, all teachers tend to be obnoxious when there is a lot on your mind.
'I bet you found that awfully interesting,' Sirius taunted Remus as they made their way down the marble staircase to join the throng chatting in the entrance hall, waiting on friends from other classes to sit with.
Remus snorted. 'Awful? Yes. Interesting? Not so much.'
'Why the hell did we take this stupid class then if even we don't like it?'
'I do like it. I like it when we study runes that suggest some form of intelligence. Dwarfs, as it seems, were incredibly dull, especially when it came to their written language. They should have stayed in the mines where they undoubtedly belonged.'
'Sure, Moony,' Sirius yawned. He had not had much sleep the night before, but he didn't know why.
Stella strolled toward the jagged stone steps that led to the Great Hall high above, running her finger along the ruins as she passed. They protruded from the ground at odd angles and bore strange markings of long ago. Professor Gillespie of Ancient Runes had told her that if she took her textbook and a bit of time and sat in front of them deciphering the characters, she would discover secrets of the castle and grounds long forgotten. Little did he know that she certainly planned on doing this, she just wasn't sure when or how. There was little time for such activity during the daylight hours, plus she didn't want to be seen. But there was also no way for her to sneak out of the castle at night, unless of course she somehow came across an invisibility cloak or something, which was ridiculous to even daydream about. But oh, the possibilities...
The entrance hall was crowded, bustling with chattering students finding their friends and catching up on the latest social and academic happenings of the morning. Stella was still feeling the effects of the Fwooper the students had been assigned to place a Silencing Charm upon. Stella, of course, hadn't been called on, and hadn't used her wand once that period, but like any other students she had heard the bird's song and would have been teetering on the brink of insanity if Regulus Black had not taken a stand and silenced it moments before. He was like Sirius in this way.
While thinking of him, her stomach flip-flopped as he approached, surrounded by his usual horde of friends, and Imogene giggling something in his ear. A pang of jealousy struck her, and she cursed her own emotions. What did it matter? Imogene was simple company, she thought. It's not like he sees anything in her, and clinging to his arm all the time must get irritating. But then, there was his ego to consider. It would take time, persistence, and carefully placed words to persuade him that leeches were actually bad and ugly, and needed to be picked off, or else all blood would be sucked.
He was approaching her, and...and looking at her. She would have to think of something to say, quickly! Imogene was now looking at her too. As were James and Remus, Remus almost sympathetically. Or...or better yet, any second now Sirius will shout something, something she could respond to with a quick quip. Gathering her wits, she...
She panicked, and averted her eyes. No one said anything, but passed awkwardly silent. Moments after, and the two forces were behind one another, Imogene's laughter burst forth and spilled over like froth from beer. Nerves, Stella thought, then smirked at her private jokes. Weak-minded mortal.
Not that she really felt strong-minded or immortal, let alone both. She felt pathetic, lost, a dolt who couldn't handle the simple fact that she just wasn't interesting enough to Sirius Black to make him talk to her in front of his friends. Alright, interesting - maybe when no one else was around. Not cool enough. Better.
Whatever the hell 'cool' was.
