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CHAPTER FORTY ONE
hidden in plain sight
IT WAS A normal Friday night when a paper airplane flew into her dorm room and settled on her bed. Candles flickered around her, creating a soft glow on her books and parchment. It made the ink shimmer before it dried. Her hair was twisted up, held by her wand. In a fit, an hour before, she twisted and turned her hair and stuck her wand in, so she kept it—knowing that she wouldn't be able to recreate it. Ink stained her hands and the wet black ink threatened to stain her sweater as the fabric draped down from her arm—clearly having belonged to her father before her. The multicolor of her sweater all blended together to create a navy blue that kept her warm as the crisp air clawed at the edges of the shut windows and hissed at the fire that burned. Her eyes darted across her textbook as her bleary eyes started to blend the words together. She blinked, rubbed her eyes and tried to refocus when the airplane flew down and caught on her quilt.
She looked up, gingerly picked up the plane and unfolded it.
She looked over it and groaned. "Oh dear lord. I don't have time for this." She tossed it to the side and looked back at her book. The words were not nearly as clear and she could feel a headache starting to pulse in the base of her neck. She whimpered and flopped back on her bed, her head hitting the pillow behind her. Her sweater covered hands smothered her face as she groaned. "Fuck you, Sirius." Her voice was barely a whisper. She neatly rolled her parchment and placed her school supplies into her bag before swinging her legs over the edge of her bed, slipped her wool socked feet into her converse, tied them and stood up. Her legs wobbled and her back cracked as she did, letting out another groan. Stretching her back, she ran down the stairs, passing drunk girls coming home from a party and those who were staying up to study. She slipped out of the common room door and shivered as the crisp air that she'd kept at bay finally claimed its victim. Rubbing her shoulders, she trekked up to the seventh floor, passing by party goers and their sober friends alike, until she reached the source. She heard the Gryffindor common room before she saw it. Groaning, she nearly turned back around until the urgency in Sirius's letter called her back forward.
She couldn't tell if it was her headache or the music that made her brain pound, but either way, she didn't like it. The minute she entered the sweaty common room, she felt an arm pull her to the side. She didn't see a face, but the shoulder length pitch black locks of curly hair answered the question for her.
"Sirius, what the fuck is—" However, she stopped speaking once she realized he was leading her up to his dorm. The noise was left behind her as it became quieter with every step that she took. Sirius's hand was cold, but warmed up in her own and both of their bodies completely warmed once he opened the door and the heat from the furnace flooded out. The chatter died down as they turned to face him. The familiar faces were deliriously present—Peter laid on top of Aisling, who was reaching for the barely touched bottle of, Remus was on his back across from them and strumming a guitar softly to "Starman" by David Bowie and James was laying on his bed, tossing a golden snitch. It landed in his palm as she walked in behind Sirius.
