THERE WAS A LETTER, PALE BLUE, FRINGED AT THE EDGES and no one bothered to look inside for at least four years. The students never paid any attention to the charter, that was stuffed into Hogwarts: A History, which no one at a time for, and most students preferred reading Quidditch Through the Ages anyways. An unknown poet opened the book, looking for some inspiration since all of the right places for inspiration were taken, and there was nothing he could do. His journals were already full of black ink and interesting words that no one bothered to read since he didn't bother to show. Curious, as he always was, he opened the letter.

Dear Professor,

I have a problem with the Sorting. Now, I know that the Sorting Hat means well, but it chose the worst option for me!

He thought about the girl. She seemed like the perfect option for the house. She never appeared to be an option for the other houses, although she never smiled before. Whenever the girl did, it seemed reasonable enough. The slight drip of sarcasm, maybe, or the sardonic smile.

Hufflepuff. Now, I'd be happy with any house, but Hufflepuff? The Sorting Hat is timeworn, so, the Sorting Hat is most malfunctioned. Just a suggestion.

He grinned at the mental picture of the worn-out Sorting Hat, with a crackling voice, and muttering very slowly, "Hufflepuff," to him, before going into a deep slumber.

Now, I know all about Godric Gryffindor and his sorting skills, but don't you think Gryffindor house is a bit flaky anyway? No offense to your house, of course.

Funny how much he agreed with her.

Of course, your eyes will never look at this piece of parchment, and you will never find out about this, it is quite well hidden. While the students might easily find it, this is not something they would be quite interested in, since they are students. No one hardly picks up Hogwarts: A History, but I find it an absorbing read, it is always nice to know about the wizarding world. Most of the students here are already half-bloods and pure-bloods, therefore, they have already acknowledged that the wizarding world is a magical place, why in the world do they need to learn more? And, the letter itself is not that interesting, who would like to learn about the girl hidden in the shadows?

There are always people that wanted to know about the shadows.

I will not expose the house I wanted to be in, because of all those nosy students that will put their fat noses into this letter, and try to eavesdrop.

He felt very offended. The youngest Black was quite dramatic, even though he didn't show it. Most of his classmates thought his elder brother was the drama queen, but they did not know Regulus when something happened. Even as little as a delinquent tripping him over, he would act like he was dying. He always had some theatrical performance whenever something did not go his way, whenever he was little, Sirius was the one that had to calm down the little drama queen, causing Orion to laugh at his boys and Walburga to give the kids "time-out" in the bedroom, which caused a beating. And, from reading those words, the poet sighed massively, causing Ms. Pince to scream at him for a solid four minutes.

Ridiculous.

So, student, good day.

Lots of Annoyance,

Liesel Pendragon.

The poet stashed the light blue envelope into his worn-out bag, finally finding his inspiration. He couldn't wait to write, letting the inspiration run through his veins like his very own blood, letting the girl guide him, to be his muse. No, that sounds a bit odd. The girl was just an inspiration, nothing more.

HE STARTED WRITING.

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IN THE SLYTHERIN common room, as the young poet was scribbling madly on the paper, there was a fifth year Hufflepuff, writing just as furiously as the youngest Black. The poetess was completely absorbed in her writing, tuning out the sounds of the students, walking around the common room, settling in honey coloured wooden chairs, and the smells of herbology plants.

Winifred Shacklebolt, her Ravenclaw friend, jumped onto the couch, screaming," HIYA!"

The students turned around, facing the two girls, and Liesel slapped Winifred softly across her head, and Winifred rubbed her head, scowling at her best friend.

"Winnie, you know that it's my writing phase," she said, putting down her notebook, realizing that she would not be able to finish with her around. Winifred Shacklebolt was loud, energetic, and the laziest Ravenclaw you ever met. The two girls bonded over not fitting into their houses, feeling that the placement was unjust. The two girls were now linked together, the poetess and the artist.

"You seem to have that phase whenever there is a full moon, and the stars are exceedingly bright, and you write, trying to find your path to the stars, finding out where you really belong," she said, standing up and putting her hand to her heart, and had such a sincere look in her brown eyes, it made Ember Ross, a Hufflepuff first year, shed a tear.

No one was listening, however, and this made Winnie upset, so Liesel clapped for her, and Winifred took a bow. The girl was known for showing off, she was exceeding bright, and could do almost anything. She loved competition, so unlike her fellow friend. Liesel was an outsider, hiding in the darkness, but always cheering on her best friend. She never had an ebb of jealousy in her heart; she always liked being in the darkness. It was a nice feeling, no one knowing who you were, no one knowing what you're up too.

YOU COULD CHANGE THE WORLD IF YOU TRIED, NO ONE WOULD KNOW.

Winifred sat back down, pleased with herself. "How is my best poet doing? I'm sorry that the muse was gone for a while. I know that you missed your favourite muse," she said, pulling Liesel's cat, Chaplin, underneath the yellow and black couch, and petting the Russian Blue's head, as the cat purred.

Liesel smiled slightly. "I most definitely missed my favourite muse. But, I had the stars as an inspiration."

"Stargazing without stars? Brilliant, Lise. I applaud you," said Winnie, hugging the cat again, Chaplin hissed.

Liesel grabbed Chaplin from Winifred, placing the cat on Liesel's lap. "It's something people should take up. Stargazing without stars. Maybe...darkgazing. You get to admire the darkness since the stars already take up all of the glory."

Winifred wasn't paying much attention; her eyes were focusing on the Herbology plant, with vivid colours and splattered with yellow dots. She finally turned around, facing the girl, and smiled. "Let's go to the Quidditch match."

Liesel looked at her, her face recoiling in horror. "Are you mental? I hate those events!"

Winnie got up, her Ravenclaw sweater slipping off her left shoulder. She extended her hand to Liesel, grinning. "Let's go. You have to show support for your favourite muse."

Liesel looked up from her poem. "Read this," she said, thrusting the paper into Winnie's hand.

"Are you even listening to me?" said Winnie, pulling the parchment to her eyes. Liesel kept on repeating to her that she needed glasses, but she flat right refused.

red.

the colour itself mocked you,

teasing you, forming blush onto your pale cheeks.

making you feel like you ruled the world,

the regal colours draped around you.

it turned its back on you,

making you feel helpless when you see the blood around the room.

Winifred nodded quickly, and offered her hand again, with more force.

Liesel groaned and grabbed her hand, feeling resigned.

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THE QUIDDITCH MATCH was full of students, and some first years taking pictures, the smell of rain (there was a massive downpour that evening) and the Quidditch players, each sporting either a blue uniform or green. Regulus was the Seeker of the Quidditch team, the most important role of them all. He had to catch the Golden Snitch.

If he's honest, he didn't want to play. He was writing about the girl, and was very disturbed when his Captain came running at his door, and screaming at him for not practicing.

He should have known whilst a poet is writing; you should not disturb them.

He examined the stands, looking at Sirius as he smirked at James Potter.

He probably found a new brother now, thought Regulus bitterly.

Then there was the girl who wrote the letter, looking terribly out of place in the thick stands, with a permanent glare on her face.

He walked up to her, hoping that he would not regret it.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

LIESEL sat down on the muddy seats, annoyed at the loud noises around her. The imbeciles were shouting for their favourite team when they didn't even start the match yet.

She never understood how people enjoyed sports. Back when she home, the Pendragons made a great deal out of playing a Muggle sport, called football. They played horribly, and Quidditch was much better suited for the Pendragons. The house was full of Gryffindors, and Liesel was some sort of a shame that she was a Hufflepuff.

At least the girl wasn't in Slytherin.

Going back to reality, she examined the crowds. So many ideas were in her mind, the inspiration rising. If only she had her notebook, this would have gone so much better. She could imagine the Quidditch match, and how she could-

A grinning boy was in front of her, with his Slytherin uniform, and the way his hair was soaking wet, he was causing droplets to fall on her head, and she glared at him. "What do you want?"

The boy didn't stop smiling. "Not very friendly, are we?"

She tried to cover the next seat with her hands, but he sat down next to her, and she crossed her arms, scooting as far as she could from him. "Do you think all Hufflepuffs are nice?"

He crossed his right leg over his left, and she noted how abnormally long his legs were, and how it would be so difficult to run after him. "No, I'm not the type to stereotype others, lo- "

"No nicknames, please..." she lingered on, wondering what his name was.

"Mr. Regulus Black, at your service," he said, bowing, almost touching her toes.

"Well, Mr. Regulus Black, you're not very humorous," she said, dragging her legs up to her chair, and rested her chin on her knees.

"I'm still the best Quidditch player of all time, aren't I?" he said, giving her an arrogant smirk, which was the exact replica of his elder brother.

Black pulled out a very familiar blue letter and smiled, somewhat sheepishly. "I... um... found this in Hogwarts: A History and..."

Liesel snatched the letter from his hands, brushing her soft fingers against his rough, dry ones. She examined the letter relatively fast and gave him withering looks that increased with every sentence.

Regulus waited for her to finish, and when she did, he did not expect her voice to be completely calm. "And, what did you do with it?"

But she never found out about what the youngest Black did with the letter since he had to leave for the Quidditch match. She could only guess, but the word poetry never came into her mind.

He did leave her a note, however, under the envelope, that might explain what the boy did.

She unfolded the note, grinning at how he used cat stationery.