Of Starlight and Shadow//A Harry Potter fanfic

between the earth and the sky

"Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."

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The Great Hall buzzed with chatter as breakfast was laid out in its usual grandiose display. Harry chewed on a piece of toast, half-listening as Ron launched into another retelling of Fred and George's flying advice.

"'Show the broom who's boss,' they said. 'Confidence is everything. Don't let it throw you, or it'll never respect you.'"

Ron waved a sausage in the air like a wand, miming a broom taking off. "Not that I need the advice. Natural talent, me."

"Natural talent for falling on your face, maybe," Estella muttered. She was stirring her porridge again, the spoon moving in endless circles though she hadn't taken a single bite.

"Very funny," Ron shot back, but his grin faltered as his eyes flicked to her bandaged hand resting on the edge of the table. "Does it still hurt?"

Estella stiffened, pulling her hand off the table and tucking it into her lap. "It's fine," she said curtly, her tone sharp enough to end the conversation.

"You've barely said anything about it," Ron pressed, lowering his voice. "It looked awful, Stella. What's the big deal? You didn't hold back yelling at me about my potion—"

"I said it's fine," she snapped, sharper this time. Then she sighed, her tone softening slightly as she seemed to regret the outburst. "It's just a burn, okay? Can we drop it?"

Harry couldn't quite explain why Estella had been acting so different lately. Since he'd first met her on the train, she'd been clever, quick to make a cutting remark, and never shy about calling Ron out when he deserved it—which she seemed to think was pretty often. But ever since Potions class and she got that strange burn, she'd seemed... off.

She had been brushing off their questions, hiding her hand, and avoiding them whenever the burn came up. Harry couldn't figure out why it bothered him so much—it wasn't like he really knew her—but it just didn't feel like her. She'd been so quick to call him and Ron idiots for getting lost, and now she was the one refusing to say anything?

It didn't sit right with Harry. Then again, there were a lot of things he didn't understand about her—or this place, or magic in general. It probably wasn't worth overthinking.

Harry's gaze dropped to her lap, where her bandaged hand rested. The wrapping covered most of her fingers, but above it, faint, pale lines curled delicately across her skin, just visible on her exposed knuckles. Birthmarks? They looked intricate, almost deliberate, like tiny spirals or vines. He'd noticed them before, back in Potions, but this was the first time he'd seen them so clearly.

Before he could think to ask, Ron spoke up again.

"Flying lessons today," he said, in an attempt to shift the mood. "Fred and George say it's brilliant—best part of Hogwarts, no contest. They reckon Madam Hooch is strict, but she knows her stuff."

Harry tried to focus on Ron's chatter, but nerves twisted in his stomach. Flying sounded incredible, but what if he was rubbish at it? What if he fell off in front of everyone? The thought made his toast turn to lead in his mouth.

"Think you'll be any good?" Ron asked, oblivious to Harry's inner turmoil. "You've never flown before, right?"

"No," Harry admitted, fiddling with the crust of his toast. "Have you?"

Ron shook his head. "Not really. Mum didn't let us practice—said we'd break our necks. Fred and George used to sneak out, though. Reckon I'll be alright. What about you, Stella?"