Closed What magicians don't know

₊⁺⋆ Date: September 15th, 2024| Number of words: 451| Dialogue: #aa5713 ⋆⁺₊

The sound of turning pages filled the air with a constant murmur, accompanied by the occasional scrape of quill against parchment. The library always had that air of suspended calm, as if the words whispered between the stacks were trapped in the air, waiting to be discovered.Stelle rested her elbow on the table, gently turning a quill between her fingers. She wasn't exactly focused on her reading; rather, she let the words pass before her eyes without holding onto any. Her mind was elsewhere.

The rumor had reached her ears before the person.

Aedan. A new name in the castle halls, spoken with the expectation that surrounds newcomers. He wasn't the first to appear out of nowhere, his suitcase full of unfolded books and eyes searching the stone walls for landmarks, but he was the first one, so they said, who had questions about Muggles.

Why was everyone so interested?

She hated the purebloods' ignorance; having Muggle parents wasn't such a big deal. Or at least she didn't feel that way. Yes, there wasn't any magic around them, but that didn't make them stupid. Her mother always said you should never underestimate what you don't know. In her short stay, she'd heard more than one person speak disparagingly about Muggles. It bothered her, but she didn't know how to stop it, and it was actually the last thing many noticed about her when they saw her.

She sighed, resting her chin on her hand as she watched the dust hanging in the air in the light from the window. If there was one thing she could do, it was talk about her experiences. She'd managed to change Harvey's perspective on half-bloods a little when she'd met him. Truthfully, she didn't mind talking about herself, much less with him. Stelle was sitting at one of the library's most secluded tables, next to a window that let in the dim afternoon light. Although she had a book open in front of her, she was barely paying attention to its pages. Instead of reading, she absentmindedly turned her quill between her fingers, letting the ink dry on the nearly blank parchment.

The atmosphere around her was the same as always: the faint creaking of the wooden bookshelves, the murmur of students whispering among themselves, and the distant echo of footsteps on the floor. It was a peaceful space, a refuge from the castle's routine, but at that moment, her mind wandered. Why was she thinking about a stranger anyway? She had come to the library to read about her roots, her family, and the Veela. She took a deep breath and tried to return her attention to the book in front of her.

@Aedan Fitzgerald