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CHAPTER TWENTY
A TOKEN OF CARING
✧
OF ALL THE PEOPLE SHE EXPECTED TO JOIN HER WHILE SHE STUDIED, SIRIUS BLACK WAS NEAR THE BACK OF THE LIST. Well, he really wouldn't even be on the list if she were to make one, because she didn't consider him someone who would even want to study with her in the first place or go up to her table. Especially now. Maybe in previous years for a little mischief, maybe at the beginning of the year because of Remus, but now...now there was absolutely no reason to.
She burned that already loose bridge, yet there he was. Before her, sitting down, and giving her a look. Not a crooked grin, or the one with the mischievous eye, but darker. Deeper. Solemn. Intense. Staring into her soul and searching into it.
She decided that she didn't like it, so she wasn't going to look at him. Her DADA homework wasn't particularly interesting, it really wasn't her class at all, and absent mindedly doodling roses in the margin of her textbook was the only thing keeping her sane while she tried to do her work.
He sat, staring, not taking out a book or parchment of her own and it was beginning to make her uncomfortable. Many moments had passed and she had yet to welcome him or for him to state his business, and it was silent. Completely silent. And not the nice silence, not the productive one either, but the still one. The creepy one that keeps mumbling in your ear that it's awkward.
"Are you going to continuing looking at me or actually say something?" Morgan finally spoke up in a clipped voice. She didn't spare him another glance as she finished off doodling, trying in vain to comprehend the words in her book.
Sirius blinked, shaking his head and finally glancing away then back at her. "You're fucking with him," he stated, in a low voice she didn't know he was capable of. Always so loud, so careless. "I don't know why, but you're fucking with him."
Morgan almost flinched. She swallowed down the guilt bubbling up in her throat, swallowed the desire to lash out and attack him because that was easy. One swift word and she could get him away from her and out of her business. But it wasn't right. She might be cold, but she wasn't callous.
(Morgan Lee would not be a Greek tragedy.)
"And you think staring at me like a creep will tell you?" she asked him, her eyes meeting his again.
Sirius always spoke with his eyes. They were the windows of his soul, showing the anger and the confusion, the protective nature, the need to understand. Morgan didn't let her eyes tell all. That was a dangerous trait, and the light in her eyes had been burned out long ago. The face – every part of it – had to be stone. So, she was stone.
