Chapter Text
“Looking for stars in your eyes”
(1976, Hogwarts)
For an artist, their art is their soul physically expressed outside the shell where it normally resides — in small moments where only the artist and the art exist. Leona Greengrass was not a great painter, nor did she consider herself a good drawer, but she carried the same feeling.
However, like a torment, this state of mind was often interrupted by creative blocks — moments when the connection between artist and art was broken. And, unfortunately, it was rare to find that spiritual meditation again.
Leona had always loved to paint as flowers love the dawn, but with each passing year, she felt more and more unable to paint.
All her paintings seemed uncertain. All of them made her feel the urge to tear them apart.
She was desperate: her only source of comfort for a life she could not control had abandoned her.
She lay stretched on the floor, surrounded by crumpled papers. In her hand, traces of paint; in her gaze, the emptiness of someone walking to the gallows. She was fixated on a paint stain on the ceiling — the result of her rage throwing paint tubes in all directions.
With tearful eyes, Leona recognized that moment as a new milestone in her life: the beginning of reality. The harsh entry into adulthood.
The beauty was fading from her view of the world, and she was becoming emptier each day.
She did not know how much time had passed while she lay there. Maybe it was night. She wasn’t sure. Her lips were chapped, and her body was too numb from pain to feel anything other than a sense of not belonging.
She raised her head and saw a reddish sky through the window. It must have been six o’clock — the most beautiful time to see the sky. That reminded her she could no longer paint it.
With a flick of her wand, she cleaned the room stained multicolored with acrylic paint. Then she marched, almost robotically, to the common room. It was Saturday, and there was Astronomy class — so all sixth-year students were still at school.
She bumped into someone. By their shape, a boy. By the red tie, from Gryffindor. When she looked up and saw him, she wished she could say he wasn’t the source of her constant gazes.
She would love to say those sandy brown hairs didn’t match those green eyes that fascinated her — eyes that reminded her of a night in the forest: maybe dark, but with eternal depth. Eyes that sometimes seemed incredibly sweet — like the scent of chocolate and coffee their owner exuded.
If someone asked her what came to mind when they said the word “beauty,” she would lie and say “a field of flowers.” But, honestly, her definition of beauty was clear:
Remus John Lupin.
The idiot who monopolized all her thoughts — and didn’t even realize it.
He looked at her with wide eyes. For a moment, Leona noticed that the grass-green eyes had a distinct golden hue in the candlelight, as if they were on fire.
He seemed uncomfortable with her presence. As always.
— Sorry about this... you have paint in your hair.
He whispered the last part, pointing to a now yellow streak in her brown hair, and then headed to the Gryffindor table.
Leona was confused. And irritated. He always caused that in her.
And… he didn’t say her name.
Did he even know it?
Walking to the Slytherin table, she found herself in front of a feast. She chose her usual, acting as if everything was normal.
She was lost in thought when a younger girl whispered near her ear:
— One of the Marauders is looking at you.
Could it be him? She hoped so.
After all:
Potter was obsessed with Evans.
Black was a rabid dog.
Pettigrew was… disgusting.
She gathered courage and turned to look at the Gryffindor table where the Marauders always sat.
Yes. It was him.
Remus Lupin quickly turned his face away. Maybe embarrassed to be caught.
But for a few seconds, their eyes met — like two lovers in love.
That was a clear sign of passion.
She herself spent hours glancing at Lupin from the corner of her eyes during lessons, but never expected it to be anything more than a platonic crush.
But he seemed to like her too.
Later, as she was walking to the dormitories, she heard a voice.
— Greengrass, could you lend me your notes from the last Astronomy class? The full moon observations?
It was strange that Lupin asked this, she thought. Black was also taking Astronomy and got better grades than her. Even if Lupin had missed the observation, there wouldn’t be a shortage of girls giving him their notes.
The question felt more like an interrogation. Like he wanted to know if she really attended the class.
Maybe he was too shy to approach in any other way.
This was a chance. He must be in love. And she, as a good Slytherin, should take advantage of it.
— Sure. How about tomorrow, in Hogsmeade, at Madame Puddifoot’s Tea Shop?
All the boys knew what it meant to be invited to the tea shop.
But Leona played a game Remus couldn’t refuse — unless he wanted to hurt a girl’s feelings “badly.”
She hadn’t invited him on a date. She just told him where to meet to get the notes he’d asked for.
Remus was shy. Leona had the duty to help him show his feelings.
— Yes. I’ll meet you tomorrow in front of the dungeons.
For a few seconds, Leona noticed Remus looking straight into her eyes — as if searching for stars in a night sky.
When he realized she saw, he turned away and joined his friends.
Life, for many, might be like torn papers.
But at that moment, Leona felt life was like a watercolor painting: delicate, vivid, and passionate.
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