OK, not a continuation. Just something I wanted to write.
I have tried multiple time to put this off, dad agreeing that his precious daughter should not be fuddled by the travesty that is the public education system, but we are vetoed by da and Uncle Mycroft; so, here I find myself, standing in a horrid school uniform outside of a building that made me wish for my old primary school. At least that one had colored bricks; this structure was nothing but gray and white limestone and I hated it already.
"Da, do I have to go? I'm sure dad can keep tutoring me in everything! I don't think I'll like it here." I ask, for what must be the tenth time this morning, trying my best 'Holmes-puppy' look on the soldier.
But da's blue eyes shut me down. "Enough Stella, you'll be fine and no, you cannot spend the rest of your school years locked away in Baker Street. It will be okay sweetheart; you'll make friends quicker than you think love. Now, you have your mobile, but only use it in emergencies, alright."
I give a sad nod before he pulls me into the building, dad trailing after us, his eyes taking in the building. "I agree with Stella, John; she shou-" Whatever dad was going to say was cut off when da glares back at him, forcing the detective to only stew in silence as we make our way to the headmistress' office, which we reached moment after.
"Ah, Dr. Watson, Mr. Holmes, there you are; just in time for Stella to receive her schedule and head to her homeroom." Mrs. Dawson, a woman of her mid-50's and graying-red hair, was like a muggle version of Professor McGonagall; minus the cat transformations of course.
The sounds of the building bled into my ears, causing my nerves to increase until dad's hand settles on my shoulder, his lips next to my ear. "It will be alright poppet, just get through today and when you get home, we'll go over the course work, see where we need to go from there. Remember, anyone who tries to belittle you is just another Anderson."
This brings a small chuckle from my throat and lets me push the nervousness away. "Thanks dad, I'll see you after school then."
Mrs. Dawson leads me towards a flight of stairs, heading upward while she chatted about my homeroom teacher and how she thinks I'll enjoy the accelerated programs that I had tested into the week before; I ignore her briefly to turn back, seeing the dads still standing by her office. Da waves me off while dad simply inclines his head, his inky black locks hiding his eyes before he turns away.
"Now, after homeroom, you have Mathematics for your first block, Chemistry for the second, your lunch hour, than World History and French in the afternoon. You will receive your books from the teachers and you can choose to leave them here or take them home, but if they are damaged in anyway, you will have to pay to replace them, is that understood?"
"Yes Mrs. Dawson."
She nodded before opening the first door off the second floor landing, the influx of student voices flowing out.
"Excuse me, Mr. Morris, I apologize for interrupting, but I have your new student."
Mrs. Dawson pushes me in, where there were suddenly twenty sets of eyes glued on my form; the tremors were threatening to burst out, but I pushed them down when the man who must be Mr. Morris calls me forward.
"Class, please say hello to Stella Holmes, the newest addition to our school." He says when I'm finally next to him; it took everything in my willpower not to flinch when he touches my shoulder.
There were quiet greetings that filtered through out the room. "Hello." My voice thankfully does not warble. I sit down at the nearest table, one of the other occupants, a pleasant boy by the name of David, starting a conversation that included my class schedule.
"Oh, I don't have math, but it's write next to my French Lit course, so I'll show you there. Can't help with the Chemistry part, sorry." Thanking him, I fall silent again, watching the room around me.
My first class passes by without incident and with help from the math teacher, I make it to Chemistry without getting lost; this building has nothing on Hogwarts. The teacher, Mrs. Davis, hands me the book after introducing me to the class. "Go ahead and sit where you like my dear, we still have time before class will begin."
I turn back towards the rows of black lab tables, seeing the several sets of eyes watching my every move; goodness, this feels like Potions all over again. One of the closest tables is almost full, all girls, but when I move to sit in the empty seat, a brunette girl snorts before slamming her bag onto it; her friends all snicker as I'm forced to move past until I'm close to the back of the room, sitting at an empty table.
Well, it's empty for all of ten seconds before another girl sits down at my side.
"Don't mind her, she's just a bitch: her name is Lucille, by the way, best avoid her and her little minions." A very distinct Scottish accent rolled out of the girl's mouth, while she glared at brunette at the front of the room. The girl had bright red hair, deeper than the Weasley clans, that was spilling down her back in heavy curls and has bright, almost pale, blue eyes that lit up her face.
"Thanks, I'll do that."
The girl turned back towards me, smirking. "Me name's Cadence McReynolds, welcome to our humble school."
I can't stop the giggle that pours out; she reminds me of the twins, figures I would find another quirky redhead. "Pleasure, I'm Stella, but I guess you already knew that."
She extends her hand and I slid my fingers into her, Cadence making an exaggerated show of pumping our joined hands up and down in greeting. When she finally releases my hand, she turns to the text book on the table in front of us, poking it with a random test tube before placing the empty glass tube upside down on it.
"So, chemistry, any good?"
I can only grin at the redhead, as this was advanced Chemistry; if all my classes have people like her in them, I think I can make it through public school actually.
A/N: Ok, so I guess while I don't have more full on stories for Stella, I have like, a million side events that occur in her life. Haha, ok, going to bed now.