The Quiet Kind Of Beauty -Marauder Era

Chapter 9

A scream tore at Clara's chest but died in her throat, unable to escape. Staring at the swirls on her back made her brain whirl, thinking of every possible thing that could've made them. Could it be a scratch? They were too precise and solid to be an accident though. Marker? No one had ever seen her back exposed. Question after question, answer after answer; she was getting nowhere. It could be a prank, she thought. The pumpkin juice at lunch did taste a little funny. James and Sirius, she sighed.

~*~
"Take them off,"

Sirius look up from his pillow drowsily. "Take what off?" He questioned. Clara switched her weight to her other foot impatiently, tugging at her washed hair.

"Those marks. Take them off," She repeated, tugging at the cardigan draped around her in annoyance.

Sirius looked thoroughly confused as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, "What marks?"

"Just give me the antidote!" She exploded, thrusting her hand out, "I don't have the time for your games, Sirius! "

"I would if I knew what the bloody hell you were talking about!" He snapped back.

Clara forced a deep breath and counted to ten. Calm down, she told herself, or he won't tell you anything.

"I'm talking about the prank you and James are playing on me," She said slowly, calmly.

"But we aren't playing a prank on you, Clara," He said innocently. Annoyance pecked at her chest.

"Sirius, I'm really not in the mood," She said through gritted teeth, waving her hand in his face. "Just give the cure to me."

"But I don't know what you're talking about!" He exclaimed.

"I'm talking about these!" She yelled, pulling the thin cardigan off her back and pointing at the dark marks on her back.

Sirius stared at the pale skin and the contrasting marks, the heat rushing to his face. Apparently Clara realized that she still had her dark purple tank top on, because the skin around her neck turned a deep shade of red. Hastily, she pulled the cardigan back on, turning back to face Sirius, who's heart was racing. He was as equally as red as her.

"That," She said, her voice sounded strained, "is what I'm talking about. And now I'd like the antidote," She stared determinedly at Sirius' worn down shoes, concentrating on the streak of red against the dirty white.

"We," Sirius cleared his throat, "we didn't do that,"

"You didn't?" She repeated, her head snapped up, her round eyes widening a fraction. This was the first time, Sirius noticed, that she had left her hair open in a long time. Sirius shook his head firmly.

"The lines are too solid for it to be drawn on. Even a spell wouldn't have made them that complete," He said.

"But then what are they?" Clara muttered, grabbing something small and circular off of the bed on her left. She paced to the door and back, playing with the small object in her hands as she thought.

"Maybe it's a scr-"

"A scratch? I've already thought about that. They're too solid and exact," She murmured, chewing on her lip.

Sirius rubbed his face tiredly, breathing deeply.

"I'll figure it out," Clara said, noticing his fatigue. "You should eat dinner and then get some sleep," She added softly. She played with the hem of her shirt for a bit, contemplating whether or not to tell him about the marriage proposal.