Kapitel 43: 26
Year 3, Chapter 3
Calista managed, as she settled into the first week of classes, to mostly avoid Olivia, by sitting far away from her in class, and leaving her dormitory early in the morning, and waiting until late to go to bed at night. At mealtimes, she either sat with Kim and the other seventh years, or, more often, with Sofia and Eva, the first years that had taken to attaching themselves to her whenever they had a chance. She wondered if this was what she had done to Kim, two years ago. Was she still doing it now?
In Potions, she sat next to George Spratt, and tried her best to ignore the way he smelled. She supposed it was worth it, to not be within earshot or sabotage range of Olivia and Portia. That didn't stop the two of them from shooting her nasty looks, but Calista could handle that; she glared back, as venomously as she knew how.
Olivia was obnoxious in Transfiguration, but Calista knew to expect it by now. She really was the best in their class, and she made quite a show out of it. Calista wasn't supposed to actually try any of the third year spells yet, but she did still have to write the essays and study the material. In class, they were studying Animagi, which did not require any actual spellcasting on the part of the students, and Olivia had asked loudly how one might apply to become an Animagus. Professor McGonagall had told her she could begin the training in her sixth year, if she made it into the N.E.W.T. level classes, and if her application was approved by the Ministry.
Calista knew the chances of her making it into McGonagall's N.E.W.T. classes were astronomically low, but even if she did, she could imagine the response she'd receive from the Ministry if she ever thought to apply to be an Animagus. Dear Miss Snape, she thought the letter would say, We regret to inform you that your mother is an evil bitch, and therefore, you cannot become an Animagus. It hadn't even happened, at this point wasn't even a remote possibility, but thinking about it still made her angry. She glared at the back of Olivia's perfectly coiffed blonde head, and realised at the end of the lesson that she had forgotten to take any notes on the lecture.
Being tutored by Percy was not nearly as enjoyable as Calista had hoped. She'd liked studying with him before last year's exams, and expected much the same from their peer tutoring sessions. What she had not realised was that Percy took the charge of tutoring very seriously, and there was none of their usual friendly dynamic. Instead, Percy was bossy, uptight, and absolutely perfectionist. She found that she was leaving their study sessions in a foul temper, and she wondered if she had made the right choice in requesting him as a tutor.
That was the reason why it came as something of a relief when Marcus approached her in the common room one evening, while she was looking through her Arithmancy book in preparation for the next day's lesson. She expected him to suggest they study together, as they had last year, when he slid into the chair opposite her at one of the study tables in the common room. She had already opened her mouth to offer to go and get her Transfiguration book, when he'd opened with a very unexpected line.
"You look like a girl this year. What's going on with that?"
Calista closed her mouth, and narrowed her expression reflexively into a glare.
"I am a girl," she said, crossly.
Marcus laughed easily. "At least you still sound the same. I said you look like a girl, not a goblin. It's not a bad thing."
"My aunt really likes shopping. She made me get all this stuff," she said, still defensive.
Marus shrugged, as if it wasn't really important, which made Calista wonder why he had bothered to bring it up in the first place.
"You got the ruler spell," he said, "I was really happy for you when I saw you got it, I know you hated that one."
"Oh, I still hate it," she said, "I can't stand the sight of pencils anymore. But at least now I can stop staring at one for three hours a week, trying to get it to change."
"I think badgering is going to be my least favourite," Marcus said, "I turned my mouse into a platypus by mistake. McGonagall couldn't even figure out where I went wrong, it was so bad."
"Those aren't even close."
"I know," he said, "It gets worse, though - this was in my regular class, right? Everyone else is working on turning a guinea-whatsit, a bird thing, into a guinea pig, and I'm sitting there trying to turn my mouse into a badger, which everyone else got past ages ago-"
"I know how that feels, believe me."
"So I wind up with this platypus sitting right on top of my textbook, and it just sort of blinks at me. And then McGonagall comes over, and she's really pissed off, wants to know how I managed to muck it up that badly, so I told her I got the big tail mixed up with the big bill-"
"Hang on, what?"
"Yeah," Marcus said, "Apparently, I was thinking of a beaver the whole time."
Calista laughed. "And you wound up with a platypus?"
"They both live in the water, right? It's all really confusing. There are way too many animals."
"Don't you take Care of Magical Creatures?"
"Yeah," he said, "It's my best class, after Divination. But we never talk about regular animals."
Calista raised her eyebrows. "Your best class is Divination? Are you a Seer, then?"
Marcus guffawed. "Yeah, right. Nah, Trelawny's easy. You just have to make up something that sounds horrible, and she laps it right up. I scored top marks last year by telling her I was going to die in a horrible broomstick accident."
"Ugh," she said, wrinkling her nose. "I don't even want to think about horrible broomstick accidents. I have to take stupid Flying on Friday."
"Come on, it's going to be loads of fun. I'd take it every year if I could, but once you pass they don't let you take it anymore."
"You can take mine for me," she said.
"It's not even like a real class," he said, wistfully, "It's basically like a break. The only bad part was having to use the school brooms, 'cause they wouldn't let me bring mine, my first year."
"Well," she said, "I'd rather take another class. I'd rather sit in Divination and predict my own death, than take Flying, especially since I'm going to be stuck with all the first years. I can't think of anything more humiliating."
"Sometimes they let you out before six weeks, if you're really good," he told her, "I could show you a few tricks, get you out faster."
"No, thank you," Calista said quickly. "I don't want to spend any more time on a broomstick than I absolutely have to. It's just so boring."
If he practised with her, she knew he'd figure out the real reason she didn't want to fly, and she'd rather do almost anything than admit to Marcus Flint that she was afraid of flying.
He shrugged. "Well, let me know if you change your mind. I guess I should go, I have an essay for Divination already. I think I'll be poisoned this week, because of Mars, or something."
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Calista almost thought she was in the wrong class, when she stepped into the Arithmancy classroom, and saw a sea of blue-trimmed robes. Then, in the far corner, she spotted Vincent Pryce, a Slytherin boy in the same year as her, and then she looked more carefully. The classroom was quite full, with more than thirty students, when a typical class had only ten or twenty. It was true that more than half this class were Ravenclaws - she suspected that every single one in her year was in this class - but there were clusters of other students, too. There were a fair number of Hufflepuffs, and a handful of Gryffindors.
It looked like she and Vincent were the only Slytherins, though. She was actually surprised not to see Emily Yaxley, because it seemed like just the sort of class the other girl would really like.
She looked around for Percy, and saw him sitting in the front row, with Penelope and Amelia. There was still an empty seat on the other side of Amelia, and Calista took it.
"Hey," Amelia said, catching her eye, and then nodding behind them, at the classroom in general. "So who do you think is going to drop? Percy's betting on Yvette Plummer - she's the Hufflepuff over there, with the big earrings - but he wants to make sure we all know how juvenile we're all being."
Calista smirked. "I can't believe he even bet on anyone."
"He wasn't going to," Amelia said, "But once Penny picked Isaac Waters - he's the Gryffindor with his robes buttoned crooked - he reluctantly joined in."
"Right," Calista said, looking around carefully. "Who'd you pick, then?"
"Er," Amelia said, "That Slytherin boy. Victor something."
"Vincent," Calista said, frowning. "Why him?"
"Honestly? He just has that look about him, like he's about to start drooling any minute now. That, and he went right for the back of the class. Never a good sign."
"Funny, how you pick the one Slytherin in the class."
"Uh," Amelia said, "Maybe I should've picked you instead, don't you know the difference between one and two? You're in this class, too."
She scowled. "You know what I meant."
"Come on, don't be a Percy about it, we picked a Gryffindor too, and you don't see him making faces about it."
"I-"
Calista was interrupted by the teacher walking into the classroom. Chatter had been going on, filling the room with a general hum, but Professor Vector frowned sternly at them, and in a matter of seconds it was utterly quiet.
"Welcome to Arithmancy," she said, in a brusque, loud voice that carried to the very back of the crowded classroom. "There will be absolutely no nonsense in this classroom, or you will be asked to leave. Arithmancy is a very nuanced subject, that will require your complete concentration, and if you are not willing to give it, you may leave the classroom now."
No one did.
"I will assign homework every week," she said, "And if you cannot complete it in time, do not bother coming back. I won't waste my time teaching anyone who isn't willing to commit to the level of work I expect you to do. Your homework should take you, on average, four to six hours to complete. If you finish it quicker than that, you should go back and check your work, because you've likely done it wrong."
Someone at the back of the class was getting up. Professor Vector paused, and watched the student. Heads turned, looking to see who it was.
It was the Gryffindor, the one Penelope had bet on. He tried to sidle out, unnoticed, but his chair had scraped against the floor when he got up.
"I should tell you," Professor Vector said, "That I have placed a charm at the threshold of this classroom. Anyone who walks out without a pass before the lesson is over will have their name wiped from my class register."
"Thanks, Professor," the boy said, defiantly, though his face was turning pink. "Saves me a trip to the Headmaster's office to drop it, then."
Professor Vector nodded, unconcerned, as the boy took his leave. "Is there anyone else?" she asked, "Before we waste any more time?"
If anyone else wanted to leave, none of them dared. The professor returned to her lecture.
"Now, as we've established how much work this class will be, let me establish its value to you more plainly. You will not be casting many spells in this classroom, nor will you be handling plants or animals. You will not learn any new incantations from me. What you will learn is how to pick apart the world around you, to discern patterns in everything from the most ordinary to the most extraordinary of phenomena. If you want to understand why the leaves of a Wiggenweld plant grow in a precise pattern, or why every hippogriff has precisely the same number of feathers, you are in the correct classroom. If you know the paths of the planets, but you want to know precisely how and why they occur, then you are in the correct classroom. If you want to be able to make educated predictions about the future, instead of guesses based on the remains of your meal, or the way your hands look, then you are in the correct classroom."
She looked around at them, as if judging their potential, and then she began to pace along the front of the classroom.
"More importantly, if you want to adapt a spell to suit your purposes, or even create a new spell, you will gain the tools you need in this classroom. Magic is a precise art, though it may not seem so to your as yet untrained eyes. If you truly want to master it, then you must understand exactly how it works. You must know the difference between simply waving your wand, and rotating it a precise number of degrees on a particular axis. This is where you will learn all of that, if you are willing to work hard."
After that, she had lectured about the mathematical formulas that could be used to predict the movement of celestial bodies, and had assigned them to read fifty pages in the text, and draw a chart of precisely where all the planets and moons in their solar system would be on a certain date in the future, and list the formulas they had used to solve it.
When the bell rang, signalling the end of class, Penelope smiled at the rest of them, as they gathered their things and exited the classroom. "I won the first round," she said, "Who do we think will go next?"
"I'm staying with my original bet," Amelia said, and Percy nodded, indicating he would as well.
"Very well," Penelope said, "I'll take… hm, how about John Baggins? He looked like he was going to faint when Professor Vector said how much homework we would have."
"Your pick, Calista," Amelia said, "We decided we're just going to keep picking until the first Hogsmeade weekend, and whoever's got the most rounds won by then gets all the butterbeer they can drink in an hour paid for by the rest of us."
"That is not what we agreed on," Penelope said, "We agreed on lunch."
"Right, well, if I win, I'm having butterbeer for lunch."
"We'll see about that."
Amelia shrugged, unconcerned. "I guess so. Go on, Calista, who's your choice?"
"I don't know… Lucinda Banks, I guess."
"Really?" Penelope said, raising her eyebrows, "A Ravenclaw? Well, it's your loss, then. We almost never drop classes."
"She always has this faraway look in her eyes, like she's not really paying attention."
"It's true," Amelia agreed, "But she does well on exams, anyway. I think it all seeps in there, somehow."
"What if more than one person drops?" Calista asked, "Do we all get points?"
"If the ones we pick all dropped," Penelope said, "Which may well happen. No one really has the fortitude to quit right in front of Professor Vector - well, except Isaac, of course - so they'll all wait until later to go and drop the class."
"Well, six hours of homework," Calista grumbled, "I might drop the class."
"Me, too," Amelia agreed, rolling her eyes, but both of them knew that neither of them was serious. "You want to work on it together? Maybe it'll go faster."
"We really shouldn't," Penelope said, "Professor Vector didn't say we could work in pairs."
"She didn't say we couldn't, either," Calista pointed out.
"See Penny, that's why I asked Calista and not you," Amelia said.
Percy and Penelope both cast them disapproving looks. Calista caught Amelia's eye, and nodded emphatically, and both girls grinned.
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Flying lessons were every bit as awful as Calista expected them to be. She stood resolutely, as far away from her assigned broomstick as she could manage without appearing ridiculous, and listened to Madam Hooch lecture them on broom safety.
When she instructed them to put their hands out, and call the broomsicks up, Calista stuck hers out halfheartedly.
"Up!" Every voice but Calista's said.
Calista said, "Come here, I guess," but the broomstick knew as plainly as she did that she didn't really mean it.
"No no no," Madam Hooch said, holding her own hand out in demonstration. "Like this: 'Up!' You've got to really mean it."
"Up," Calista said, flatly.
"No," Madam Hooch said again, and she reached for Calista's arm to straighten it. Calista started, leaping back, and then she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. She had gotten a lot better, but still, sometimes, being touched unexpectedly gave her a fright.
"Fine, up, up up!" she growled, to make the instructor leave her alone.
Her broom flew up in the blink of an eye, and knocked into her arm with such a force that it caused her to wince, and stumble backwards.
"Ow!" she said, rubbing her elbow. "My broom is broken. Either that, or it's just evil."
"Nonsense," Madam Hooch said, as a couple of Gryffindor first years snickered. "You were just a little too enthusiastic, is all. You need to be firm, but you don't need to yell."
Finally, with the entire class watching, all of their broomsticks waiting aloft, she managed to get hers to come up without injuring her further.
Madam Hooch instructed them how to mount their brooms. Calista shook her head.
"No way," she said, "This thing just attacked me, I'm not about to climb on top of it."
"Well, you'll be in class with me until you do," Madam Hooch said, "So you might as well get it over with."
The Gryffindors were laughing again. Calista shot them a dark look, narrowing her eyes in what she hoped was a dangerous-looking fashion. They didn't stop, but at least they tried to be more subtle about it.
A distance away, on the grass, she saw a handful of green-clad students carrying broomsticks towards the nearby Quidditch pitch, and she stood very still, hoping they wouldn't see her. She could make out the familiar forms of Kim, Conor, Marcus, and several other students she didn't know quite as well. Of course the entire Slytherin Quidditch team would be walking by, just as she was in possibly the most humiliating lesson she'd ever had. She looked away from them, staring resolutely at her broomstick, and threw her leg over it cautiously.
The broomstick was cross with her though, or else she had done something wrong, because it started to try and buck her off, and she nearly lost her balance getting back off the thing.
"Oy, Snapelet!" an incredibly loud shout rent the air; Calista groaned, and looked up. Kim was waving to her widely, and then she saw Conor and Marcus look over too, and then all three of them were waving. She ignored them.
"Don't ignore me," Kim yelled, as if she had read Calista's mind, "Not going anywhere until you wave back!"
Calista rolled her eyes, and jerked a wave back at Kim. She hoped Kim could see how annoyed she was, all the way over there. Judging by the way she threw her head back and laughed, she could.
"As soon as you're finished socialising," Madam Hooch said, and now she looked as annoyed as Calista felt, "Try and mount your broom again. This time, try not to be angry. Your broom will register your moods and react to them."
It took her six more tried before her broom would stop actively trying to throw her off, and even then, by the end of the lesson, she was the only one who had utterly refused to leave the ground. She wasn't even sure if it was the broomstick's choice or her own, but her feet remained solidly planted in the grass.
When the lesson was over, she aimed another glare at the snickering Gryffindors, but it wasn't just them anymore. Even Alex Sykes, the Slytherin boy who had sat with Sofia and Eva on the first night of term, was chuckling, as he cast a look in her direction.
She didn't know which prospect she relished least: actually getting on a broomstick and flying, or being stuck in Flying class for the rest of her school years, because she couldn't. She decided to go to the Quidditch pitch, and watch the Slytherin team's practise. Maybe she could pick something useful up from watching them fly.
When she got there, though, it looked like they had just finished. Kim and Conor were already walking away, at the other end of the pitch, and the rest of the team were just sort of milling around. She was about to leave, when Marcus came out of the locker room, his broom slung over his shoulder. He had changed back into his regular robes, and his hair was wet.
"Calista," Marcus said, jogging over to her. "How was Flying class? It was brilliant, right?"
"It was completely awful. I hate it."
"Come on," he said, "How can it be that bad?"
"The stupid broom attacked me."
"Oh, well, the school brooms," Marcus said, waving his hand dismissively, "That's why, they're rubbish. Here, try mine out."
"Uhm, no thanks."
But Marcus was already taking his broom off his shoulder, and he had it levitating right next to them. He nodded his head at her expectantly.
"No way," she said, "Flying is… boring. I don't want to do it."
"Boring?" Marcus shook his head. "Then you're definitely doing it wrong. Come on, I've been trying to get you on the Quidditch pitch for two years. Now you're here, and I'm not leaving until you fly."
"I guess you'll be here forever then," she said, "But I'm off. Dinnertime."
She started to walk away, but Marcus caught her elbow, grinning.
"No way. Look, it can't hurt, right? You want to get out of flying class sooner rather than later, don't you? Show me how you fly, and I'll teach you how to do it better, and then you don't have to take any more lessons."
"I don't fly. And I don't want to start."
"You could be a natural," he said, "You don't even know, if you don't try."
"And you could be immune to poisons," she shot back, "But I'm not asking you to try drinking one to find out."
He laughed. She scowled.
"If you've really never flown before," he said, reasonably, "You're probably going to fall the first time. Would you rather do that in front of me, or in front of the entire first year class?"
"I'd rather not fall at all."
"Yeah, well, I'd rather not keep melting cauldrons," he said, "And - weird - it seems like we can help each other with those things. Convenient, huh?"
Calista sighed. Around them, daylight was just beginning to fade. "You're not allowed to laugh at me," she said.
"Laugh at you? That'd be rich, wouldn't it? I'm the one who doesn't know the difference between a badger and a platypus."
She cracked a smile. She couldn't help it.
"Fine," she said, taking a breath and squaring her shoulders. She braced herself as she climbed tentatively onto the broomstick, but this one didn't try to buck her off. She looked at Marcus. "Now what?"
"Tilt the handle up a bit," he said, "To get off the ground. And lean forward, it helps you balance better."
She followed his instruction, trying her best to look as if she were simply bored, and not terrified. She leaned forward, and tilted the handle up - and the broom jerked upward, lifting her feet off the ground.
She panicked, and gripped the broomstick for dear life, heart pounding. She forgot to even worry about what her face looked like. "Okay," she yelled, "okay, I'm done. How do I get down?"
She was perhaps fifteen feet above the ground; the broom was carrying her slowly forward, which she did not like.
"Okay," Marcus said, and to his credit, he sounded quite calm, and not at all like he was going to laugh, even though she must have looked ridiculous, shoulders hunched, clutching onto the broomstick that was barely even moving. "You can't - you have to sit up, and push your weight forward a bit. Tilt the handle down, but slowly, or you'll crash.
She tried to follow his instructions, but as soon as the broom started to swing downwards, she panicked again and forgot what she was supposed to do, clutching the handle awkwardly again.
"Sit up," he reminded her, "You can tilt it slower, if you want. You're almost there, and then you can get down."
She finally managed to land the broomstick; when her feet touched solid ground again, she was as pale as a ghost and shaking like a leaf.
Before she could dismount, she felt Marcus settle onto the broomstick behind her.
"Okay, so you're not a natural," he said, as his arms came around her, and he placed his hands on the handle of the broomstick, just in front of hers.
"What are you doing?" she asked, testily. She wanted to walk away from the Quidditch pitch, collapse into her bed, and never even think about flying again. She would just have to tell her father, and anyone else that thought to make her learn, that she was simply not going to do it.
"You should have just told me you were scared," Marcus said, near her ear, as he lifted off from the ground. "I would have gone up with you."
"What are you doing?" she repeated, hearing her own panic clearly.
"If being scared is all you remember about flying," he said, as they began a slow circle around the pitch, only a bit higher than Calista had just been, "You'll never have a reason to learn, will you?"
"I don't want a reason to learn," she said, crouching low and keeping as much of her body in contact with the broomstick as possible, as if that would keep her from falling. "I hate this. Bring me back down."
"Sit up more," he said, and he took one of his own hands off the broomstick, and put it gently to her midsection. "Bring your hands back a bit."
"No way," she said, through gritted teeth. "I'll fall."
"You won't," he said, "I won't let you. Trust me; I'm actually quite good at this, you know."
"I don't care. Bring me down."
Marcus laughed. "You're being such a girl," he teased. "I wouldn't have expected this from you."
She did sit up a bit now, so that she could turn her head and glare at him. In that instant, Marcus shifted his own weight, and used the hand that was on her stomach to adjust hers. He pushed her hands back, closer to her body, and held them in place by putting his own back on the broomstick in front of them.
"Ready?"
"No!"
"Too bad," he said, and tilted the broomstick handle up. They soared higher and faster into the air, and Calista felt her stomach drop.
"Relax your shoulders," he said, raising his voice so she could hear him over the wind, as the broom continued to pick up speed.
Calista thought that was easier said than done; of course he'd said he wouldn't let her fall, but she didn't see how he could really be certain she wouldn't. Even in the near-darkness, she could tell that her knuckles were white from gripping the broomstick as hard as she could.
They made several wide circles, around the outside edge of the Quidditch pitch, and, in infinitesimally small increments, she actually did begin to relax, slightly.
"See?" Marcus said, "It's not so bad."
"Not… not so good, either," she countered, nervously.
"S'okay… we'll just go around like this until you're calm," he said, "Then, I'll show you the fun part."
They circled around a few more times, and then, even though Calista hadn't said she was feeling any better about the whole thing, Marcus shifted his weight again, and suddenly, they were climbing even higher; higher, certainly, than she'd ever wanted to be off the ground.
He cut a turn, leaning to one side, and then they began to descend; they were going very fast now, but at a shallow angle that actually didn't seem so bad. He cut another turn, and started climbing again.
"All right?" he asked her, as he took another turn, started flying downwards again.
"I guess so," she managed, and as they kept flying, it actually became sort of true. They were up very high, and Calista thought they were going very fast, but all of the maneuvers Marcus was executing were done quite smoothly, and he was careful to keep all of their ascents and descents alike fairly shallow, so it never seemed as if they were about to crash.
After a while, it still didn't seem quite like fun to Calista, but it also didn't feel nearly as frightening, either. She felt that she was able to relax, eventually, and stop imagining herself falling off. Marcus' arms were solidly around her shoulders, and it did start to seem highly unlikely that she would fall off.
And then, once her senses were no longer tied up with being afraid, she became acutely aware of the fact that she was very, very close to a boy, and not in a way that she ever had been before. Once she had thought of the fact that his arms were around her, keeping her from falling, she couldn't put it out of her mind. And then, there were his hands right in front of hers, touching them, and the fact that her back was pressed right against him.
Of course, it was just Marcus. She'd sat across a study table from him countless times, walked right next to him in corridors, even had him lead her out of the common room, standing right with him, him holding onto her arm, when Olivia had said something awful, and made her eyes blur with tears she'd rather have died than shed in front of her housemates. She was used to being around him, probably was more comfortable with him than with any other student at Hogwarts.
But she had never been this close, and she found that, somehow, once she had registered it, she couldn't forget it. She felt her cheeks get hot, so that the cool wind suddenly felt good against her skin. She was glad that it was dark now, so he wouldn't happen to see the blush that she knew must be rising to her face. It wasn't, she told herself quite firmly, that she cared about the fact that he was a boy - of course she didn't, why would she? - it was just that it felt strange to be physically that close to anyone. She wished she could go back to being afraid, so she would forget how odd she felt, now.
It would have been easier if he didn't feel so much like a boy, she thought. His chest felt solid where it was leaning against her back, and his arms were strong, even a bit muscular. She felt her heart racing, and she had no idea why.
"Okay," Marcus said, leaning forward, his face near her ear again, "Ready to go back down?"
She nodded emphatically, not trusting her voice to come out normal. What was wrong with her all of a sudden?
He flew to one end of the pitch, and then turned the handle down at a moderate angle, using the length of the pitch to descend, again avoiding a steep angle that might make her feel as if they were crashing, even though she had seen him fly at very steep angles during Quidditch games. They glided to an easy stop, and Marcus hopped off the broom, holding his hand out to help her down, as well.
"Come on," he said, as she slid off the broom, refusing to take the hand he offered as aid, "You have to admit, that was fun."
"Uhm," she said, refusing to look at him, "I guess, yeah, it was all right."
He took his broomstick, slung it over his shoulder, where it had been when she'd first come to the pitch and run into him. "Only all right? Maybe I should've flown faster, then." He grinned, as easily as always.
"I think we missed dinner," she said, because it seemed like a neutral, safe thing to say.
Marcus checked his watch. It was fairly dark, but there was most of a moon, so he could read the time.
"Yeah, we did," he said, "But I bet we can still go and nick something from the kitchens."
"I'm… not really that hungry," she said hastily, but of course, her stomach chose that moment to growl, loudly.
"Right," Marcus said, starting to walk towards the castle, "Just like you weren't scared to try flying, right? Come on, let's go. I'm bloody starving."
Reluctantly, she matched his pace, walking with him. She thought she could still feel the heat of a blush on her cheeks.
Once they'd gotten inside the castle, they slipped down to the corridor that led to the kitchens. Marcus took his broom off his shoulder, held it out to Calista. "Here, hang on to this for me, and stand guard. I'll sneak in and grab a bunch of stuff for us."
He walked up to the painting of fruit that hung on a nearby wall, and tickled the pear. The portrait swing open, and he disappeared behind it.
Calista tried to clear her mind and school her expression while he was in there, and she had succeeded, she thought, in neutralising her facial expression, and pushing all thoughts about their ride into the back of her mind, safely tucked behind two sets of barriers.
Marcus emerged from the portrait hole, arms laden with whatever he could grab from the kitchens, and nodded towards the far end of the hall. "Now we just have to get to the common room," he said, "Keep an eye out for Filch and his mangy cat, will you?"
He had his arms full with food, so Calista carried the broomstick. She cast it a nasty glare, as if the broomstick were to blame for the strange way she'd felt earlier…
And damn it, once she had thought of it again, she felt the blush rising to her face again. She scowled. This was bloody ridiculous, what the hell was wrong with her? This was only Marcus, for Merlin's sake, the boy who didn't know how much a dash was, who freely admitted to being the thickest student in his class in more than one subject, who only wanted to graduate from Hogwarts so he could join a professional Quidditch team.
The boy who's always been nice to you, even though you thought he reminded you of a troll at first, her brain said to her, sneakily. The boy who stood up for you in front of the whole common room, and keeps trying to help you with Transfiguration, even though he hasn't really got the hang of it himself.
Yeah, she said back, to whatever part of her brain that had come from, Because we're friends. Just regular friends, except he happens to be a boy and I happen to be a girl, and that doesn't have to mean anything special.
Besides, she didn't even like boys, not like that. She didn't. She definitely didn't.
They reached the entrance to the common room. "Salazar," Marcus said, and the wall opened up.
They entered the common room, and Calista wanted to go right back out again, because she immediately spotted Olivia among the handful of students that were scattered around the room. She was sitting in an armchair, reading a book, and she looked up at Calista and Marcus as they entered.
Calista did her best to ignore Olivia, as Marcus piled all the food he had stolen on one of the study tables; an apple started to roll off, and Calista grabbed it in her free hand, and set it down where it wouldn't roll away, before holding Marcus' broom out to him.
"Thanks," he said, taking the broomstick, "I'll just put this away in my room, and I'll be right back - don't eat everything on me, eh?" he teased, on his way out of the common room.
As soon as he had gone, Olivia rose, and strutted over to the table.
"Working on getting fat like Portia, and your little Mudblood friend?" she asked, eyeing the pile of food, and still holding her book in one arm. Her page was marked with what looked like a sheet of newsprint. "I don't think your new boyfriend Marcus would like you much anymore if that happened."
"Sod off," Calista growled, even more fiercely than she would usually have done.
"I wonder if he knows about your other boyfriend, though," Olivia pretended to muse thoughtfully, "That weird little Weasley boy. Do you think he knows, Calista?"
"What's wrong with you?" Calista snapped, "I don't have any boyfriends, and I don't want any, either, so shut your stupid, prissy mouth and leave me alone."
And, of course, Marcus chose that precise moment to return, and Calista felt her face heating up again. She focused her attention on the surface of the table in front of her, trying to block both Marcus and Olivia from her thoughts, and clear her expression.
"Hi Marcus," Olivia said, and Calista could hear the syrup in her voice, "How was Quidditch practise?"
Marcus hesitated. "Er, it was good."
Calista glanced up; Marcus was looking from one of the girls to the other; he seemed to sense that there was something going on between them, but his expression was clouded, as if he couldn't quite figure out what it was.
"Should I… should I go?" he wondered, looking to Calista for confirmation.
"No," both girls said in unison. Calista flashed Olivia a glare, who returned it with one of her own.
"That is," Olivia continued, in the same falsely sweet tone of voice, "I was just leaving, as soon as I give this book to Calista."
She set the book on the table in front of Calista, shoving the apple out of the way as she did so. "I've marked the page I think you should read," Olivia said, leaning close to her; Calista could hear a sinister hiss beneath Olivia's falsely friendly tone.
The blonde girl stalked off, head held high, and Calista chanced a glance at Marcus. He looked utterly confused. "What was that all about?" he asked.
Calista looked down at the cover of the book. It was their first year textbook, The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1. She scowled. "Apparently, Olivia thinks it's hilarious that I'm in r- extra lessons for Transfiguration," she said, "I bet if I open to the page she's marked, it's going to be that blasted ruler spell - wow, how bloody clever of her."
Marcus picked up a few slices of bread and cheese, and made them into a sandwich. He took a big bite, chewed, and swallowed, before replying.
"Don't pay any attention to her," Marcus advised, waving his sandwich around emphatically, "I bet you anything she's just sore because she asked Derek Logan out today, and he told her he fancies Endria Folland. 'Course, everyone fancies Endria, that doesn't mean she'll agree to go out with him."
"Everyone?" Calista echoed, and then was not sure why she had done so.
"Well, most everyone," Marcus amended, taking another bite of his sandwich. He glanced around, as if checking the room for someone in particular. "Ahkint shay-"
He swallowed, and began again, "I can't say I blame them, she's a right stunner, yeah? But-"
Marcus was saying something else, but Calista found she suddenly didn't want to listen anymore. She flipped the cover of Olivia's book open with unnecessary force, and the book fell open to the page Olivia had marked with a sheet of newsprint.
Calista stared at the page, and she felt all of the colour drain from her face; her heart pounded in her chest, and even though she hadn't actually eaten any of the food they'd stolen yet, she felt like she was going to vomit.
Staring up at her, from the page of newsprint Olivia had stuck in the book, was a heavy-lidded, smirking image of her mother's face, holding up a small black sign with the words "Azkaban Prison" and a string of numbers printed on it in white lettering.
She tore her eyes from those of her mother, and forced herself to look at the headline. Bellatrix Lestrange, Two Others Arrested After Brutal Torture of Two Aurors, it read. It was precisely the same article that her father had once shown her, years ago, as proof that Bellatrix wasn't at large anymore, and couldn't come for her, but somehow, the shock of seeing the article now, in this book that Olivia had thrust at her, was far worse than it had been in her father's quarters when she was small.
She grabbed the article, and crumpled it up in one hand, while she slammed the book closed with the other, and leapt off her chair. She managed to glance in Marcus' direction, and saw a question written plainly on his face. She couldn't answer it, couldn't think of anything to say at all.
"Calista?" he said, and his voice seemed somehow faraway to her, unreal, "What's wrong?"
"I - I'm going to bed," she managed, and ran to her dormitory room.
She didn't even look to see if anyone else was in there, before she buried herself under the covers, and hid her head underneath her pillow. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the heat of tears pressing against the insides of her eyelids, but refusing, utterly refusing to let them out.
She forgot about crumpling the article up, until her palm started to itch, and she realised it was still squeezed into her hand. She sat up, and began to tear the article up, into smaller and smaller pieces, until they littered the covers of her bed like sinister, misshapen snowflakes.
Well, that answered one question. Olivia had not been bluffing; she definitely knew who Calista's mother was.
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Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
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