Twinkling Stars Resurrected
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Kiara stares, detached, at the VHS playing. Her ears are ringing loudly and it filters out the sound of forgotten laughs and the twinkling noise that time-worn smiles make. She has trouble comprehending what this means: Of course, as she knew, she was loved.
But she loved, too.
Even as a baby, it's obvious on the tape that her parents were going to be her heroes. The tiny girl with a toothless grin occasionally glances at the camera, her wide, dark eyes brimming with curiosity. Kiara's eyes never changed.
With an especially shrill giggle, the little baby on the small television screen seems to point at Kiara and gives a devious smile.
The tape goes black and staticky.
"What is it?" her mother asks, in French.
Another voice that sounds like her father says, "Nothing, cherie. Something went strange with the camera."
"Can you fix it?"
"I can fix everything," her father teases.
"Euh, Leon. You are so full of yourself."
The TV fills with light again, and Kiara's mother is the main subject now. She looks tired, but so happy that Kiara almost doesn't recognize the woman. She remembers that look only once before, when her parents had rushed to the hospital after she had woken up—but she hadn't understood how important it was at the time. And when they all realized the terrible situation at hand, she never saw her mother smile again.
It's only now that she realizes how tragic this is. Her mother's laugh was so beautiful.
The little baby is lifted from the crib, and she rests quietly against her mother's chest. It is difficult for Kiara to process that she is the baby. Her mother waves to the camera and kisses the baby's head over and over with grandiose, loud smooches.
"Kiara LeClerc, say hello to the world," her father states proudly from behind the camera. "We made that, Hanna."
"Uh-huh."
"I love you."
"I know," her mother deadpans.
Then her parents laugh, and the baby wiggles.
For five years, Kiara has put her love on hold. She has kept her family at a distance. She became exactly how she wanted people to see her: A vague girl who spends more time staring up at the stars than anything else, and doesn't even believe in making wishes.
She can't handle this right now. Nine-thirty strikes on the library clock, but she makes no move to leave. Her heart beats hard in her throat. It's setting in—the exact fear she's kept bottled up: To remember such a beautiful life before her accident is to mourn everything she's lost. Her chest begins to constrict, and all of a sudden it's like she's back in the hospital, connected to tubes and wires and needles, existing between life and death and all things wonderful. Gasping for breath, Kiara claws at her chest and kicks Albus's contraption out of desperation to stop the tape. The TV snaps off.
Kiara curls into a ball in the corner of the room and cries until there is nothing left. Her skin is taut with tears, and her nose is rubbed red as she sniffles into her sleeve. She's too frightened to sleep tonight, convinced that she may never wake up again.
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"Hello, Scorpius," Kiara says from the curtain.
He sits up in the bed with some effort and leans his head back against the wall, offering her a little grin that feels foreign on his lips. Not even a day before, he questioned if he would ever smile again. But last night the merpeople had told Finley that the 'three-legged cat boy' had passed out on the shore of the lake, with his bloody hand dipped in the water. Finley, ever a good prefect and a great friend, had helped Scorpius stumble all the way to Nurse Abbott. Then he'd stayed by his side until the sun came up.
Prefects and Headboys and girls always have annoyed Scorpius. But he supposes Finley has been nothing but kind to him.
"I just saw Fin," Kiara says. "He said you were fully recovered and can take visitors. You are looking great."
"Thanks, Kiara."
Scorpius takes a long look at the peculiar girl. Her hair, though never brushed to begin with, looks even more tangled than usual. Her face is sickly pale, and she has dark bags under her eyes. He reckons he looks just as bad.
"Didn't you sleep at all last night?"
"I had a few things on my mind. I am glad to see you—it resolves one of my worries. May I sit next to you?"
He's always surprised by Kiara's straightforwardness. She never shies away from honesty, never backs down from what she wants, and she takes every new development in stride. Upon the infirmary bed he scoots over, and Kiara sits beside him with both her feet on the ground and her hand resting atop his. It makes his heart beat slower. He feels comfortable with her here, knowing that whatever she thinks of him she'll make clear.
"It has been awhile since I have seen you," Kiara says quietly. "Since Hogsmeade."
"I still have some of that candy from Honeydukes left."
"Not I," Kiara giggles. "I have a sweet tooth."
Scorpius, still exhausted from the day before, pushes himself to dig deeper. This is only the beginning of his requiem. If he wants to be a different—no, a better person, he will need to kill off his old self and be reborn through the ashes. If it's through the fire he needs to go, so be it.
"Kiara . . ."
"Yes, Scorpius?"
"Why do you speak to me? I've never been nice to you."
She reflects for a moment. But not much time passes before she says, "I am familiar with a certain pain that you carry. I do not know yours, and you do not know mine. But I can tell it is the same. That makes us kindred spirits."
"How so?"
"The ways you have attempted to torment me has always reminded me of myself. You couldn't ever get to me, because we were always on the same plane. I find that we view things in a parallel manner. We both think we are being real—and maybe we are. But the truth is, we are hiding behind our cold natures to protect our hearts from something even more bitter than ourselves."
"People like you, though."
She smiles at him. "That is very kind of you to say. But I have even less friends than you. And I will not pretend I do not understand why that is: The universe only returns what it is given."
"It sounds like you've thought a lot about this."
"Oh, yes. I have thought a lot about you."
Scorpius adjusts his body to look at her more directly. She leans back on her hands, and stares up at the ceiling.
"You fancy me?"
She rolls her eyes. "You would like that."
"Maybe, a bit. Depending on the circumstances."
"Which circumstance? Depending on if Rose rejects you?"
Although her comment shocks him, he can't help but grin. "My god, Kiara. You seem to get off on ruining a moment, don't you?"
"I may as well stay one step ahead of you, and your stupid mouth."
"My stupid mouth? Your stupid mouth is what makes me say stupid things."
"Scorpius, you are so stupid."
She holds his hand again, as though they've been friends all their lives. There's something about their interaction that feels deeper than romance. It's more like a bond that neither of them have to work for. It simply exists, in the same way that stars don't choose whom they're closest to.
"I have pictured a relationship with you since our date at Hogsmeade, and I have already ended it. Well, we ended it. It was mutual, you see."
He finds that he isn't surprised. He says, "Go on, then."
"It was nice for awhile, was it not?"
"Very nice."
"And we've learned so much from each other."
Scorpius pauses, realizing with a start that this is true. Kiara has been a catalyst since the morning he saw her and the snake in that lonely tower, and he'd dropped his quill. At the time it had seemed such a small moment. He'd all but forgotten it, really. But if it hadn't happened, he never would have bumped into Rose outside the tower. He never would have rekindled his friendship with Albus, who had obviously taken an interest in the girl. He might have taken longer to question his relationship with Emmalee.
And maybe the quiet student, afraid of magic, never would have cared to begin with if Scorpius hadn't become such a controversial character in her life.
"Yes," he says simply. "We have."
"I have been waiting to speak to you. I have learned that you are an artist."
Panic begins to build at the base of his ribs, but he swallows it down as best he can and tells his muscles to relax.
"Where did you hear that?" he asks cautiously.
"A little bird told me."
"Unfair. Who was it?"
Kiara ignores him. "I have never met an artist in the magic realm," she says. "I know they exist, because I have seen the portraits and landscapes and all. But I am a little starstruck, sitting beside you and thinking about it."
"You don't even know if I'm any good. I could be absolute rubbish, and you're just stroking my ego."
"I trust my informant," she teases. "They said you are incredible. Maybe you can show me some—"
"Cory, what are you doing with her?"
His eyes snap up and he sees Emmalee at the slit in the curtain. Her arms are crossed and she has murder in her eyes.
"What are you doing here, Emma? I thought you weren't speaking to me."
"I figured I could give you one more chance. I didn't know I would be walking in on this."
For a moment, Scorpius is embarrassed. He suddenly feels that he is doing something wrong. But Kiara tightens her grasp around his hand, and he squeezes hers back. She came here to support him, and that is all. Emmalee came to demean him—she was never looking for redemption. He finally sees that clearly now.
"We aren't doing anything, Emma. I don't want 'another chance' with you anyway."
"You're dead to me, Cory," Emmalee spits out as she turns to leave. To Kiara she raises an eyebrow and says, like a threat, "I'm telling Albus. Bye, asshole."
"OK. I'll see you tonight at the match," Scorpius says indifferently.
Kiara looks as though she has some choice words about Emmalee, but she keeps her opinions to herself. He's never heard her talk about people like the other students and him like to—and maybe that's why she knows more about everyone than anyone else. They're silent after she leaves. Kiara crosses her legs and leans over her thighs, resting her face in her hands and staring sideways at him inquisitively.
"So, your drawings?"
"Forget that. I want to gossip. What's going on with you and Albus?" he teases, but his heart does a weird skipping routine that he doesn't expect.
"I am not sure what Emmalee thinks she is talking about. But I admit . . . he makes me feel . . . different."
"You seem more reserved than usual about this."
She chews her lip. "I am worried I may jinx it. I have never . . . had feelings like this for someone. Plus, Albus . . . I mean, have you met him?" She shakes her head with a small smile. "I have all the time in the world to figure out how I feel, because that boy will never make the first move."
"Does he like you?"
"Sometimes I do hope so. It is hard to tell, though. He is so nice to everyone."
"I haven't heard about it, but that doesn't mean anything. He's practical with his emotions. Albus was in love with a Muggle girl at the age of nine for three years. He thought she was ready for the truth about the magic realm, and that he's a wizard—so he told her. The girl, through no real fault of her own, just couldn't keep it secret. Albus's own father had to Obliviate her memory of him. I haven't ever seen Albus fall for anyone since."
Kiara looks nothing but curious. "What was the girl's name?"
"Aurora."
"Like la belle au bois dormant? Sleeping Beauty?"
"What is 'Sleeping Beauty'?"
"It is nothing," Kiara says. "An old French folklore. Did you ever meet her?"
"Not once. Albus went across the Atlantic with his father when he was young—Ministry business with the Americans. Albus met her at a park, he'd said. They were penpals only, when he came back, but he loved her. As far as I know, she wasn't ever real. I mean, I've met some Americans—I'm not quite convinced she existed, because she sounded lovely."
"You do not like Americans?"
"I didn't say that. . . . It's the tourists, I suppose."
"You may not realize how many nice people you pass in London, who do not strike your stereotypes as American but are."
Scorpius scoffs. Despite their blooming friendship, they still disagree on everything. "Yeah, sure. You're right. Anyway, the Ministry collected all their letters and burned them. Albus has never much enjoyed that department, but right before our third-year is when it really solidified."
Scorpius scratches his neck.
"I've said too much, haven't I? I always envied how Albus is able to take bad experiences and remember only the good parts. Everything is a lesson, for him. He was never resentful or spiteful. I doubt he's afraid to fall in love with you, or anything like that. . . . If that's what you want, I mean. I think he's just forgotten how."
"I would like to change the subject."
"OK."
"What will you do when you leave Hogwarts?"
"I don't know," he tells her honestly. "Whatever I'm told to, I suppose."
Kiara looks forlorn, and stares at the floor. She fiddles with the hem of her skirt. "I wish someone could tell me what to do," she says.
"Really? I wish I had a choice."
Kiara tuts. "'Choice' is an illusion when both options are dreadful."
"You're looking at it all wrong. You ought to spend more time around Albus."
"I think you are looking at it all wrong," she argues. "What do you mean, that you have no choice? You come back to Hogwarts, bloody and battered. Is it not obvious that whatever is happening to you, you should be running in the opposite direction of it?"
"You don't understand at all, Kiara," Scorpius says hotly, and defensive. "You don't know anything about me."
He pulls himself out of the bed and lifts his shirt up to examine his body. His abdomen is only lightly bruised now. What was a nice moment with Kiara has turned sour, as they once again butt heads over differing opinions.
"That sounds like choice to me, Scorpius."
"Kiara, I'm sorry, but you need to zip your gab now."
Scorpius slips his feet into his boots and begins to lace them up. Kiara, ever so stubborn, stands up and faces him.
"You are just afraid to be alone."
He pauses mid-lace and looks up at her. "Is that it, Kiara? You've cracked the whole fucking code then, haven't you? And what of you? There isn't anything that ties you down. You believe in nobody, and you believe in nothing. You have a chance with the best guy I've ever met, but you're going to spend the rest of your miserable life being petty and doing nothing about it. And I know why. Because you're too scared to be happy."
Scorpius stands and attempts to push past her, but Kiara's eyes hold him hostage and he clenches his teeth and stares down his nose at her.
"If anyone is scared to be happy, it is you. You think you can only be an artist if you are a tortured soul, don't you? You are terrified that if you are content, your art will suffer. So you go back to the abuse every time, because it is all you know how to love."
"Shut up."
"You are just like me, Scorpius. You love to be miserable."
"Stop, Kiara."
"And just like me, you will be alone for the rest of your life."
He can't stop himself. She makes him so angry, he doesn't know where else to release the energy without destroying something. Scorpius frames his hands around her cheeks and presses his lips against hers. If there was a single second to regret it, Kiara dispels it from his mind as she pulls his body flush against hers with fistfuls of his shirt.
The backs of Scorpius's knees hit the bed and he turns and tosses Kiara upon it. She grabs him by his shirt collar and pulls him on top of her, immediately locking their lips back together. Scorpius's heart is pounding so hard, it's all he can hear. He can barely think straight, and can't remember how they've gotten in this position together.
What were we talking about? he wonders. All he can think about now is how her fingers are on his belt buckle, and how his hand settles across her soft thigh under her skirt.
Kiara bucks against him and a groan slips past his lips, instantly turning his cheeks pink with his shyness. But she mimes him with soft moans of her own. He doesn't want to look at her—and her eyes are closed. To avoid potential confrontation, he buries his face against her neck. He takes up a small bit of her skin and pinches it between his teeth.
"Scorpius," she gasps.
If she had something to say, she forgets as he digs his fingers under her dark blue tie and begins to loosen it. Kiara reacts by throwing back her head and exposing her long, elegant neck. He rewards her by placing soft, gentle kisses down to her clavicle bone.
"Ah, merde. S-Scorpius," she says again, pushing him up with her fists still clutching his shirt. "What are we doing?"
"Perpetuating our misery, I suppose," he growls.
Their lust obscures all reason. Kiara whimpers, which drives him mad. He holds her wrists down above her head with one hand and starts unbuttoning her top. His tongue traces a pattern along her bottom lip, and she parts her mouth for him.
By accident, their eyes meet.
He freezes, and she does, too.
Still drawing in deep, sensual breaths through her teeth, Kiara seems to be thinking the exact same thing.
"When you thought about us," Scorpius whispers. "Was it anything like this?"
She nods, dumb-founded. It's as though they've both woken from a dream. Then she reinforces this by saying, "It was only like this. We argue, and argue, and argue, and then . . ."
Scorpius considers this. He wonders how terrible it really would be. Couldn't they be happy exploring each others' bodies first, then becoming familiar with their brains along the way? Don't opposites attract? Isn't constant fighting part of loving relationships?
He asks the hard question instead—the one he doesn't really want the answer for: "Were we both still miserable?"
She swallows and the rise and fall of her chest finally slows. After one last shaky breath, she levels out and says, "Yes, Scorpius. Even more so than before."
Scorpius pushes himself off her warm body. While he resecures his trouser belt, she tightens her uniform tie back around her flushed neck. When they look proper once more, Scorpius follows her out of the infirmary and they walk side-by-side with ten minutes until lunch.
"Well, uh, I'll see you at the match tonight, then."
"Uh-huh," Kiara responds vaguely, and they go their separate ways.