The Quiet Kind Of Beauty -Marauder Era

Chapter 8

Clara felt another flare of pain, not just through her back, but her entire body, and suddenly she wasn't standing in front of a mirror, but a curtain of blinding white. There was a shrill ringing in her ears accompanied by a delicate sound. Flutter, stop, flap. The rhythmic sound of beating wings. Something tickled her left cheek and she spun around, surprised. Behind her was the same sight as what was in front of her, white. Just white. A single, pure feather had fluttered to her feet, the tips sparkling gold and silver. Clara frowned and reached down, her fingertips brushing the silky surface.

And was pulled back to reality as if someone had turned on a vacuum cleaner and sucked the white of the air. She was standing in the dusty washroom. With a gasp, Clara stumbled backwards blindly. Her back hit a cold stone pillar and she pressed herself against it, her heart pounding. Clara stared at her reflection; she looked the same as always; short, with wide, perplexed, blue-eyes and frizzy hair. She slid her palms down her skirt, wiping off the sweat that had gathered in her clenched palms hastily. I need sleep, she told herself firmly, I'm hallucinating is all. But even as she thought that, her stomach felt weak, as if it was tumbling down an endless hole. Her legs shook uncontrollably. Was it even possible to hallucinate that hard? Her stomach lurched again; there was no need for dinner tonight.

Clara doubled over, clutching her knees, forcing them still. Once she was sure she could walk without tumbling over, Clara slipped out of the bathroom and into the now over-crowded halls. Class had ended about a half hour ago, bringing this school day to an end. Keeping her head low, Clara ducked through the crowd and hurried to the Gryffindor common room.

"Cinnamon," She said quietly once she stood in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady. The plump woman eyed her curiously, but let her in without a word. Clara stood outside for a moment. If she were to step inside the bustling common room now, people, specifically the Marauders and Lily, would notice her. Clara breathed in deeply and pushed herself into the circular room, bolting past everyone. Along the way, she tripped over many outstretched legs, some accidental and some purposely set there to embarrass her. Pretty soon there was barely a foot from her and the stairs leading up to the girls' dormitories, and Clara felt a fleeting moment of hope, she might make it. To her dismay, someone grabbed her right arm gently, but firmly all the same. She was spun around and her eyes were struck by the enchanting look of Sirius' stormy eyes -- and the sincere worry in them.

"Are you okay?" He asked worriedly. Even though the common room was still buzzing, he could feel the attention of most of the house's members eyes on them. No she's not okay, you daft boy, he told himself, just look at her! His eyes scanned her face and realized with a jolt that she was trembling slightly. Her face was pale and sweat gathered on her cheek bones and dotted her forehead, and her eyes, those beautiful eyes of hers, were wide and disoriented.

"Of course I'm okay," She said, curling her fingers on the hem of her skirt anxiously.

Sirius snorted, "That's a lie,"

"And how do you know that?" Clara inquired stubbornly.

"You look like you just saw a Hippogriff get slaughtered," He pointed out. "That and the fact you've bitten your lips to the colour of a ripe apple."

Clara sighed, "Sirius, please, I'm okay. Just... just a little stressed," Clara said wearily.

Sirius made an impatient sound, "Being stressed is your answer to everything nowadays, Clare,"

"It is not!" She said, "And my name is Clara." She snapped. Sirius dropped his grip on her arm, regarding her with a look of disbelief.

"Fine," He said finally, "tell me later then." He spun on his heel without another word and left her standing there alone, more confusion piling onto her shoulders. What had that been about?