The cold wind swept through the gardens and slipped between the trees with the grace of an ancient visitor, stirring leaves, hair, and thoughts alike. It was precisely because of this wind that he saw her. At first, she was nothing more than a solitary figure sitting some distance away. Hogwarts was full of students who walked in groups, laughed in groups, and seemed incapable of remaining alone for more than ten minutes. Yet this girl stood apart, surrounded by a calm that seemed to belong to her. Not because he wanted to interrupt her, but because curiosity had always been stronger than her. Her grandfather used to say that people were like books placed on shelves. Some immediately showed their covers for all to read, while others remained closed, waiting for the right reader. From where she stood, Stelle watched as she carefully arranged her materials. There was something almost ceremonial about her movements. It wasn't the nervous haste of someone who had to finish a task, nor the usual distraction of students. She seemed more like someone preparing for an important conversation. Only this conversation would be with paper.
She liked that. Because she, too, understood that kind of language. Letters and painting had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember. She had learned early on that some emotions found easier paths through ink than through words. Perhaps that's why she immediately recognized that concentrated expression that appeared on the faces of those about to create something. The wind stirred some of her golden curls as she watched from afar. Then the girl began to paint. It wasn't a spectacular gesture. There were no magical flashes or anything extraordinary. And yet, Stelle felt that the entire landscape seemed to arrange itself around that moment. The brush descended onto the surface with the confidence of someone who knew exactly the path to follow.
It reminded her of swallows. Sometimes she saw them from the window of her grandparents' farm. Small creatures that seemed to know exactly where to go even when the sky was covered in clouds. Stelle smiled slightly. She had always admired people capable of turning feelings into something tangible. Some did it through songs. Others through words. This girl seemed to do it through colors. For a few moments she stood observing in silence, allowing the scene to exist uninterrupted. The air smelled of damp earth and grass freshly brushed by the wind. In the distance, she could hear the scattered voices of other students, but they seemed to belong to a different world. Finally, Stelle approached slowly. Not with the impulsive enthusiasm that sometimes characterized her, but with the caution of someone approaching a skittish animal in the woods. When she was close enough, she tilted her head slightly to contemplate the work that was beginning to take shape.
"I think the sky is a little jealous," she said softly, an amused smile playing on her lips. "It's been trying to get attention all morning, and yet you're the one creating something more interesting." The remark was made without malice, almost as if she were sharing a secret with the breeze itself. Then she was silent for a few seconds.
"Would you mind if I sit with you?"
