TEN
' harmony hall '

☾⋆₊✧

JANUARY
1994

WHEN Callie finally returned to the Gryffindor common room the day after Yule, it was again silent, though there felt as if something in the air were amiss.

Harry and Ron were sitting by the fireplace, and the moment Callie walked in, their heads shot up, their faces a mix of caution and relief.

It was as though a weight had been lifted at the sight of her, and they rushed over to greet their friend.

"Where's Hermione?" Callie asked after many worried questions were thrown at her, her eyes darting around the common room.

Harry and Ron shared a look, shifting uncomfortably.

"We're not talking to her right now," Ron muttered.

"How come?"

"Harry was sent a Firebolt for Christmas. The Firebolt," Ron said, his voice sharp with emphasis.

"Wow, Harry, congrats!" Calista exclaimed as Harry grinned at her. "But... what is that?"

"It's only the best broomstick in the world!" Ron burst out, his frustration momentarily forgotten.

"Really, Callie, you should have seen it," Harry added, though his tone was less enthusiastic than it should have been.

"Should have?" she repeated.

He and Ron then proceeded to explain how Hermione had gone to Professor McGonagall, voicing her concerns about where the broomstick had come from. After all, not many people would send something like that to Harry, and those who would have likely couldn't afford it. There was no letter, no card... nothing. So, under the assumption that the Firebolt had been sent by Sirius Black himself, Professor McGonagall had confiscated it to be stripped down and checked for any jinxes they assumed might have been placed.

"I think she was only trying to look out for you... but you're allowed to be upset," Callie offered carefully. Harry and Ron both nodded, satisfied with her answer. Then she added, "You should go have a talk, though."

Harry let out a groan, sinking further into the armchair. "I don't want to talk to her right now."

"Yeah, she went behind our backs, Callie," Ron added, scowling. "How would you feel if your best friend didn't trust you enough to handle a broomstick?"

Callie crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "I'd feel pretty lucky if my best friend was smart enough to care whether or not my new broom exploded under me mid-flight."

Ron opened his mouth to retort, but Harry beat him to it. "It's not going to explode, Callie."

"You hope it won't," she shot back, sitting down on the arm of Harry's chair. "Look, I'm not saying she didn't overstep—because she did. But you lot are miserable without her, and I'm sure she's miserable without you. I'm just saying, maybe a conversation wouldn't kill you."

Ron muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like 'easy for you to say,' but Harry didn't respond. He just stared into the fire, his expression unreadable.

Boys. So stubborn.

Then, as if he'd just remembered something important, Ron exclaimed, "Oh, right—my mum's sent you a jumper, Callie!"

Callie blinked, caught off guard. "She has?"

"Yeah, it's sort of her thing," Ron explained with a shrug. "She wasn't sure what kind of food you like or what you can eat—I told her you never turn anything down at breakfast or dinner, though, so maybe there's something good in there..."

Callie's cheeks warmed slightly. Ron Weasley had mentioned her in his letters back home?

She reached for the box and pulled out the jumper. It was large, though that was never a problem for her, and made of thick, cozy wool. The crimson red knit was soft beneath her fingertips, with a bold gold 'C' proudly stitched into the middle. Attached to the bottom of the box was a small envelope. As Harry and Ron began discussing something else, Callie opened the letter, beaming. Mrs. Weasley had written;

Dear Calista,

I hope you don't mind me sending along a jumper this year—it's something I do for all of my children and their friends. Ron says you've only just joined Gryffindor this term, and I wanted to make sure you felt included in the family traditions.

It isn't much, but there's plenty of warmth in it, I promise. I've also sent along a little tin of shortbread. Ron says you're a great eater, and that made me smile—good food does wonders for the soul.

I hope you're settling in at Hogwarts and that you know you've got people looking out for you now.

With love,
Molly Weasley

Callie's fingers lingered on the parchment as a strange, tight feeling grew in her chest. She swallowed hard, blinking quickly before she let any tears slip out. She couldn't remember the last time someone who wasn't her dad had written her something so kind, let alone made her something with their own hands.

"Your mum's lovely, Ron," she said softly, clutching the jumper close to her chest as she smiled.

Ron grinned, a bit of pink creeping up his ears. "Yeah, she's the best."

Harry, watching Callie with a knowing look, gave a small smile of his own. "It suits you, Callie. You'll be warm all winter."

Callie looked between the two of them, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks. "Thanks, guys," she said quietly, running her thumb over the gold 'C.'

Once the moon had come out completely, she bid goodnight to Harry and Ron and returned to her dorm, which she could say she missed. The room was dark besides the faint glow of the candles, and every bed, except for hers and Hermione's were empty, as their other roommates had all gone home for the holidays.

Her own bed looked just as she had left it—tidy, with the curtains drawn back. But something was different. Right in the centre of her duvet sat a wrapped box, tied with shimmering gold ribbon.

Curious, she crouched down, pulling her wand from her boot just in case. "Lumos," she whispered, and the tip of her wand glowed softly. She reached out to examine the box, turning it over for any sign of who might have left it, but there was no note or clue to its origin.

Carefully, she untied the ribbon and peeled away the wrapping paper. Inside, she found three distinct gifts nestled together:

The first was a book, its cover worn and familiar—The Tales of Beedle the Bard. A note slipped between the pages read in Hermione's neat handwriting: "In case you haven't read it yet. It's a must. - Hermione"

The second was a small pouch of chocolate frogs and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, obviously from Ron. A scrap of parchment inside simply read: "You'll need these for emergencies. Don't eat the black ones." - Ron

The third gift was from Harry—a delicate charm shaped like a seashell, intricately detailed as though it had been plucked straight from the shore. Its silvery surface shimmered faintly in the candlelight, and when she held it up to her ear, she swore she could hear the faint sound of waves crashing.

On the back of the charm, she noticed an inscription in Harry's familiar handwriting, carefully etched: "For Calista, so you'll always have the sea close by."

Her chest tightened, warmth spreading through her as she held the charm in her hands, feeling for the first time in a long while that she was truly seen, truly part of something.

"Calista, you're back!"

Callie turned to see Hermione standing in the doorway, her hair a frizzy mess, textbooks slipping from an overstuffed bag. She looked like she hadn't slept in days.

Hermione hurried across the room, and the girls embraced tightly, the hug a silent comfort neither realized they needed so badly.

"I was so worried, so were Ron and Harry—we had no idea where you might've gone," Hermione said, her words tumbling out in a rush.

"You got my letter, didn't you?" Callie asked, pulling back slightly.

"Yes, but—"

"I was fine then, and I'm fine now. Just a quick cold, my uncle and I."

Hermione hesitated, her concern still etched across her face. "Did you hear about what happened?"

Callie nodded. "They'll come around eventually. They just have to be dramatic about it first."

"I'm glad I have you," Hermione said, her voice soft but sincere. "No one else besides them, especially none of the other girls, have ever understood me like you have."

Callie gave her shoulder a squeeze. "I've never had much company either," she admitted. "I don't think there's a better fit out there for two girls our age."

Hermione smiled, but tilted her head. "I'm glad to hear that but... what about at Ilvermorny? You never talk about it much."

The question caught Callie off guard. She hesitated, then shook her head. "Hermione, I..." Callie started, her voice faltering.

Hermione straightened up, concerned now. "Callie, what is it?"

Callie took a deep breath and then reached forward, clasping Hermione's hands in her own. She pulled her gently toward the bed, sitting down beside her.

"I have to tell you something," Callie said, her tone hushed and serious. Her gaze locked with Hermione's, filled with both determination and unease. "But you have to promise not to repeat it."

Hermione's eyes widened slightly, but she nodded. "Callie, if something's going on—"

"It's nothing that McGonagall isn't already aware of," Callie interrupted, her voice firm, though a slight tremor betrayed her nerves.

Hermione relaxed just a fraction, her grip on Callie's hands tightening in reassurance. "In that case?" she asked gently, her curiosity tinged with concern, ready to listen.

"I'm not from Ilvermorny," Callie admitted, her voice steady but tinged with an undercurrent of apprehension. "I never went to school abroad, and I'm not a transfer. None of that is the truth."

Hermione's jaw dropped slightly. "What? I—why did you—how—?" she stammered, her confusion evident as she tried to piece together Callie's words.

Callie sighed, her fingers tightening around Hermione's. "It's all for good reason," she explained earnestly. "Me, my family, our story—it's much more complicated than that. Much."

Hermione's expression flickered between surprise and skepticism. "Are—are you a spy? Is your name even Calista?"

"Yes, Hermione!" Callie interrupted, a hint of exasperation slipping into her tone. "My name is Calista Lupin, and I'm a witch, just like you are." She leaned closer, her gaze imploring Hermione to believe her. "It's just..."

Hermione's brows furrowed as she processed Callie's words. Her gaze flicked over Callie's features as though searching for pieces of a puzzle she hadn't realized she was solving. Then her eyes widened, and she gasped softly.

"Lupin," she murmured, almost to herself. "Professor Lupin isn't your uncle, is he? He's your father."

Callie gave a small nod, her heart pounding as the truth hung between them.

"But you've called him your uncle to everyone else." Hermione's voice was tinged with understanding now.

"It was safer that way," Callie admitted, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I've had to lie about a lot of things to protect us both. I'm not proud of it. If you're angry, I get it."

Hermione blinked, her lips pressing together before she spoke. "No, I can't be angry with you for that. But I don't understand. Why do you two have to hide?"

Callie hesitated, then said quietly, "We're in danger, Hermione."

"From?"

Taking a deep breath, Callie launched into everything she had learned herself over the past few days—the truth about her mother, about Sirius Black, and the tangled web of secrets that bound their lives. She spoke quickly but carefully, explaining how her father had tried to shield her, how Sirius was not only after Harry but potentially after her too, and how the connection between them all was far more complicated than anyone realized.

By the time she finished, Hermione was staring at her with wide eyes, her hands near trembling.

"Yeah," Callie said, letting out a shaky breath. "It's... a lot."

"Does anyone else know?" Hermione asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Callie shook her head. "No one but the staff and my healer back home." She hesitated, then added firmly, "It's important you don't tell anyone. Not only would we—and you—be in danger, but Dad..." She cringed. "He'd be so mad."

"Of course not," Hermione assured her quickly. "But Callie, what about Ron and Harry?"

Calista tilted her head slightly. "What about them?"

"Well, you and Harry are close," Hermione said pointedly. "And Ron may not show it, but he really likes having you around. I don't think it's a good idea to lie to them, too."

Callie hesitated, crossing her arms and glancing away. "I can't tell them. Not yet."

Hermione frowned. "But—"

"And what about you?" Callie interrupted, her voice sharpening slightly. "You're clearly hiding something, taking twenty classes and somehow being in two different places at once."

Hermione froze, her eyes widening briefly. Then, after a long, long pause, she exhaled and gave Callie a sheepish smile.

"All right," she admitted, reaching into her robes and pulling out a delicate gold chain with a small, hourglass-shaped pendant. "You're right. I have been hiding something. This is a Time-Turner."

"A what?" Callie asked, leaning closer to examine the pendant.

"It's a magical device that allows me to go back in time," Hermione explained, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore arranged for me to have it so I could take extra classes. That's how I've been managing to be in two places at once."

Callie's jaw dropped. "You've been time traveling?"

Hermione nodded. "Only a few hours at a time, mind you. It's all very controlled and supervised. But yes."

Callie shook her head in disbelief. "I thought my life was complicated. You're juggling school and the laws of time?"

"It's not as bad as it sounds," Hermione said quickly. "Well, mostly. It does get exhausting sometimes."

"Exhausting? Hermione, this is insane!" Callie exclaimed, though her tone was more awestruck than critical.

Hermione laughed softly. "I suppose it is. But now you know my secret. And, like your situation, it's very important that no one else finds out. McGonagall swore me to secrecy."

"Fair enough," Callie said, still staring at the Time-Turner. "But I've got to admit, that's incredible. I don't think I'd trust myself with something like that."

"Trust me, it's a lot of responsibility," Hermione said, tucking the Time-Turner back into her robes. "But it's worth it. And just like you, I've learned that sometimes keeping things to ourselves is the best way to keep everyone safe."

Callie smiled, though it was soon interrupted by a wide yawn. Hermione let out a soft giggle, shaking her head as she stood and began putting her things away on her side of the room.

But Hermione glanced back at her briefly, her lips parting slightly as if she were about to say something, before she stopped. She seemed to weigh her words carefully, her brow furrowed in thought.

"I just... I want you to know I'm here for you, no matter what," she finally said, her tone deliberate and soft. "You don't have to carry all of this on your own."

Callie nodded. "Thanks, Hermione. That means a lot. It's not easy, you know? It's been me and Dad against the world for as long as I can remember."

Hermione's expression was near unreadable, though a flicker of understanding passed across her face. She squeezed Callie's hand reassuringly.

"I imagine it's been hard," she said carefully, "but your dad's lucky to have you. And so are we." She gave Callie a small smile, one that she'd grown to be fond of in her first four months at the castle.

Callie returned the smile, relief evident in her expression. "Thanks. I guess... I guess it's nice to have people I can trust."

"Night then, Callie," Hermione said softly.

"Night, Hermione," Callie replied, and they left it at that.

☾⋆₊✧

Classes started shortly after the New Year rang in, when everyone had returned back to the castle and had to act as if nothing were wrong again. Sure, on the surface everything was fine, but underneath, Callie felt as if she were carrying the world on her back.

It was hard for her to get a good night's rest anymore. Ever since she'd learned that Sirius Black—Sirius, the man everyone believed wanted Harry dead—was also her uncle, her head had been spinning. It didn't make any sense. Why had no one told her? Why did Remus keep it hidden for so long? She'd tried not to blame him—he always seemed to be holding everything together with threads—but it still hurt.

And now, with Sirius supposedly after them both, she didn't know what to believe. The fear crept in when she least expected it, latching onto her chest like a claw. On top of it all, she was still sick. Still cursed. Still carrying a body that failed her more often than it helped her. Her father's presence at the castle offered some comfort, but she could see the toll it was taking on him—his face drawn, his eyes heavy with whatever secrets he refused to speak aloud. And even though she had her friends, Callie felt more alone than ever.

To top it all off, in the last few days Harry and Ron still weren't talking to Hermione, and she was only getting busier as the new term began. She was spending lots of time in the library when she wasn't in class, so -. At meal times, Callie wasn't sure who to chat with- Harry and Ron at one end, sometimes joined by Neville or Seamus and Dean or the twins, or Hermione, who only ate in the Great Hall for twenty minutes and then was on the move once more. It was exhausting having to balance the friendships- but Harry, and especially Ron, weren't keen on making amends with Hermione yet- so there wasn't much more she could do.

Callie found it a bit difficult at first to keep up with her mix of classes—now she really understood how Hermione felt. The workload was only ramping up and she would only get a few hours a day of free time, mostly devoted to taking naps or quick walks in or out of the castle. She still loved her dad's class, and surprisingly potions, which she still excelled in even through Snape's scrutiny and the jeering remarks Draco made about her and her friends. Divination was again awful, but Care of Magical Creatures wasn't off to a bad start so far.

On a Thursday evening, Callie was in the common room by the fire, finishing her Transfiguration homework for the week, when Harry descended from the boys' staircase. She quickly scribbled one last response before setting her quill on the table and looking up to greet him.

"You seem energetic," she commented with a raised brow.

Harry gave a half-smile. "I've got my first Anti-Dementor lesson with Lupin tonight. Just after eight."

Callie blinked, momentarily surprised. She had been so preoccupied with everything else that she'd completely forgotten her dad had promised Harry to teach him how to ward off Dementors—however he was planning to do that.

"You'd better get a move on, then. I think it's almost time," she pointed out, motioning to the clock on the wall.

"That's the thing, I—" Harry hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You're not nervous, are you?" Callie teased, leaning forward with a smirk. "The bravest boy who ever lived?"

"No! Of course not," Harry replied quickly, his cheeks flushing faintly. "But... I wanted to ask if you would come with me. Professor Lupin suggested it, and I think I'd feel more... prepared if you came along."

Callie tilted her head, surprised by the request. "He suggested I come too?" she asked, her tone light but curious.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, he thought you might be able to... I don't know, help? Or at least keep me from making a total fool of myself."

Callie chuckled softly, though her mind began to race. Of course her dad had suggested it—he always found little ways to nudge her into being more involved. And maybe he also wanted her there because the lesson might involve something challenging, or even dangerous.

"Well," she said, standing up and brushing off her skirt, "if you're asking for moral support, who am I to say no? Besides, I wouldn't miss seeing what uncle Remus has planned for this. Lead the way."

Harry grinned, visibly relieved. Together, they made their way out of the common room and into the quiet corridors of the castle, their footsteps echoing faintly against the stone floor. The chill of the evening air seeped into the hallways, making Callie wrap her arms around herself as they walked.

"You're really not nervous?" she asked, glancing sideways at him.

"Not nervous exactly," Harry said, frowning slightly. "More like... I don't want to mess this up. I keep thinking about the Dementors on the train, how I just... froze. What if it happens again? What if I can't do what I need to do?"

Callie's expression softened. "Harry, you're not going to be perfect right away. That's why you're learning. Besides," she added with a small smile, "My uncle's the best person to teach you. He's seen worse things than Dementors and come out stronger for it."

Harry seemed to mull this over as they turned a corner. "Do you think so?"

"I know so," Callie said firmly. "You're in good hands."

They reached the History of Magic classroom, which is where Dad had arranged for the meeting. It was dark and empty inside, but Calista and Harry both took to lighting up the lamps with their wands as they waited for Remus to show up.

As he entered the classroom, he gave them his usual smile. "Ah, good evening, Harry. And you brought reinforcements. Good."

Callie raised a brow. "Reinforcements?"

"Exactly," Remus said, straightening up and brushing his hands together. "Harry's facing something very challenging tonight. I thought it might help to have a familiar face nearby—someone who understands what he's up against."

Callie wasn't entirely sure if her dad meant Harry's fear of Dementors or something deeper, but she nodded. "All right then. What's the plan?"

He heaved a large packing case onto Professor Binns' desk. "What's that?" Harry asked.

"Another Boggart," Remus answered, stripping off his cloak. "I've been combing the castle ever since Tuesday, and very luckily, I found this one lurking inside Mr Filch's filing cabinet. It's the nearest we'll get to a real Dementor. The Boggart will turn into a Dementor when he sees you, so we'll be able to practise on him. I can store him in my office when we're not using him; there's a cupboard under my desk he'll like."

Callie's eyes widened slightly. "Is that safe?"

"Perfectly," Remus assured her. "As long as Harry keeps his wits about him. And if he struggles, we'll stop immediately."

"OK," Harry responded.

"So " Remus had taken out his own wand, and indicated that Harry should do the same. "The spell I am going to try and teach you is highly advanced magic, Harry—well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level. It is called the Patronus Charm."

"How does it work?" Harry asked, almost hesitantly. The nerves were clearly beginning to catch up to him.

"Well, when it works correctly, it conjures up a Patronus," Remus responded, "which is a kind of Anti-Dementor–a guardian which acts as a shield between you and the Dementor."

"The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the Dementor feeds upon—hope, happiness, the desire to survive—but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the Dementors can't hurt it. But I must warn you, Harry, that the Charm might be too advanced for you. Many qualified wizards have difficulty with it."

"What does a Patronus look like?" Harry wondered.

"Each one is unique to the wizard who conjures it."

"And how do you conjure it?"

"With an incantation, which will work only if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a single, very happy memory."

"Right," Harry responded, swallowing.

Callie found herself casting about for a happy memory. There were a lot of memories she knew she wouldn't touch on, most from recently. Finally, she settled on when Dumbledore had given her official letter to Hogwarts.

"The incantation is this–" Remus cleared his throat, "expecto patronum!"

Harry repeated it under his breath, and Callie found herself doing the same.

"Concentrating hard on your happy memory?"

"Oh—yeah–" Harry said, but it seemed like he was rather trying hard to stay focused. "Expecto patrono—no, patronum—sorry—expecto patronum, expecto patronum–"

Something whooshed suddenly out of the end of his wand; it looked like a wisp of silvery gas.

"Did you see that?" Harry said excitedly, and glanced over at Calista. "Something happened!"

"Very good," Remus said, smiling. "Right then—ready to try it on a Dementor?"

"Yes," Harry said, gripping his wand very tightly, and moving into the middle of the deserted classroom.

Remus grasped the lid of the packing case and pulled.

A Dementor rose slowly from the box, its hooded face turned towards Harry, one glistening, scabbed hand gripping its cloak. The lamps around the classroom flickered and went out. The Dementor stepped from the box and started to sweep silently towards Harry, drawing a deep, rattling breath. Callie shivered, folding her arms across her chest.

"Expecto patronum!'" Harry yelled, hands trembling. "Expecto patronum! Expecto–"

But as he lost complete focus, the cold completely taking over his body, his eyes rolled back in his head and he hit the floor with a thud.

Callie rushed over, her hand catching his head before it could bang against the ground. She hadn' even noticed when her dad had stepped in front of the Boggart and it transformed into her grave once more. A few seconds later and Harry had jerked back to life, slowly blinking and realizing what had just happened.

"Sorry," he muttered, as he sat up and cold sweat started trickling down behind his glasses.

"Are you all right?" both Lupins asked at the same time.

"Yes..." Harry replied, leaning against one of the desks after Callie had helped him to his feet.

"Here—" Remus handed him a Chocolate Frog. "Eat this before we try again. I didn't expect you to do it first time. In fact, I would have been astounded if you had."

"It's getting worse," Harry muttered, biting the Frog's head off. "I could hear her louder that time—and him—Voldemort—"

Remus paled. Callie bit at her lip anxiously

"Harry, if you don't want to continue, I will more than understand—" Remus started.

"I do!" Harry said fiercely, stuffing the rest of the Chocolate Frog into his mouth. "I've got to! What if the Dementors turn up at our match against Ravenclaw? I can't afford to fall off again. If we lose this game we've lost the Quidditch Cup!"

"All right then ..." Remus said. "You might want to select another memory, a happy memory, I mean, to concentrate on... that one doesn't seem to have been strong enough..."

Harry took some time to think, and Remus shot Callie a look. She just shook her head. Harry gripped his wand tightly again, and took up his position in the middle of the classroom.

"Ready?" Remus said, gripping the box lid.

"Ready," Harry replied, looking more determined than before.

"Go!" Remus said, pulling off the lid. The room went icily cold and slightly darker once more. The Dementor glided forwards, drawing its rattly breath; one rotting hand was extending towards Harry.

"Expecto patronum!" Harry yelled. "Expecto patronum! Expecto pat–"

His eyes were rolling back into his head once more, and he collapsed so quickly that Callie had no where near enough time to catch him. But she was at his side in an instant, her dad following a couple seconds later.

"Harry! Harry... wake up..." Calista tried as she gently but firmly smacked his face a few times. His eyes opened slowly, and he seemed more confused this time to be lying on the floor.

"I heard my dad," he mumbled. "That's the first time I've ever heard him—he tried to take on Voldemort himself, to give my mum time to run for it..."

He then ducked his head as low as possible, as if trying to hide the emotion from his face from both Callie and Remus. Callie gave him a small pat on the knee.

"You heard James?" Remus asked, in a low voice.

"Yeah..." Harry looked up at him. "Why—you didn't know my dad, did you?"

That was another thing Callie had to keep from Harry. She got up, dusting off her hand, trying to act as if she hadn't heard.

"I—I did, as a matter of fact," Remus replied. "We were friends at Hogwarts. Listen, Harry—perhaps we should leave it here for tonight. This charm is ridiculously advanced... I shouldn't have suggested putting you through this..."

"No!" Harry protested, jumping up to his feet. "I'll have one more go! I'm not thinking of happy enough things, that's what it is... hang on..."

Callie shifted, twiddling with her breathing tube. Her stomach twisted, watching Harry's determination harden into something like desperation. It wasn't just about the spell anymore—he needed this. She could see it in the way his shoulders squared, the way his jaw tightened. She knew what it was like to feel powerless, to be haunted by something you couldn't quite fight. The air in the room was thick with the sound of their breathing and the faint rattle of the case on Remus' desk, like even the Boggart could sense what was coming.

"Ready?" Remus asked, about to pull the lid off of the case for the third time, though he seemed reluctant.

"You've got this, Harry," Callie assured him. "Just concentrate hard."

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry bellowed. "EXPECTO PATRONUM! EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

This time, before the Dementor could inch any closer, it halted, and a huge, silver shadow came bursting out of the end of Harry's wand. It hovered between him and the Dementor, not quite taking shape but effective nonetheless. It pushed the creature back just enough for Remus to quickly yell the Boggart repellent spell, and trap it back into the trunk before all went still.

Harry took a seat, relieved, and Callie hurried next to him. "Good?" he asked her, breathing heavily.

"Good," she replied, and grinned.

"Excellent!" Remus said, striding over to where they sat. "Excellent, Harry! That was definitely a start!"

"Can we have another go? Just one more go?"

"Not now," Remus said firmly. "You've had enough for one night. Here—" He handed Harry a large bar of Honeydukes' best chocolate.

"Eat the lot, or Madam Pomfrey will be after my blood. Same time next week?"

Callie watched quietly as Harry agreed, taking a bite of the chocolate her dad handed him. She noticed the way Harry's eyes followed her father as he moved around the room, extinguishing the lamps that had rekindled after the Dementor vanished. Something about Harry's expression shifted, and she could tell he was about to ask a question.

"Professor Lupin?" Harry said suddenly, his tone cautious. "If you knew my dad, you must've known Sirius Black as well."

Her dad froze, turning sharply toward Harry. The change in his demeanour was so quick that it made Callie's heart skip. She leaned forward slightly, unsure of what was about to unfold.

"What gives you that idea?" her father asked, his voice sharper than usual.

Harry hesitated, seeming taken aback by the response. "Nothing—I mean, I just knew they were friends at Hogwarts, too..."

Callie watched her dad's face relax, though not entirely. His features settled into a careful neutrality, the kind he often wore when he didn't want to reveal too much.

"Yes, I knew him," he said shortly, his voice low. "Or I thought I did."

The room felt heavier in that moment, like an unspoken weight lingered between them. Callie opened her mouth to say something, but the words caught in her throat. Her dad turned away, busying himself with tidying up the desk.

"You'd better get off, you two," he said, his tone shifting back to something more casual. "It's getting late."

Harry nodded, though Callie could see the question still lingering in his eyes. She glanced at her father one last time before following Harry out of the room, and she wondered how long it would take before things began to unravel for Harry all by himself, almost in the way it had for her.

☾⋆₊✧

February had come sooner than anyone had expected, but the icy weather showing no sign of relenting. Callie found herself caught in the rhythm of schoolwork, often unable to attend every Anti-Dementor lesson Harry had with her dad. While she wanted to be there for her friend, the demands of her assignments kept her tethered to the common room or library most evenings. Hermione, meanwhile, was so consumed by her endless classes and responsibilities that she barely made time to talk. Callie understood—Hermione was juggling more than anyone else—but it still left her feeling a little isolated.

In the absence of Hermione, Callie spent most of her time with Harry and Ron. Ron, ever vocal, continued to grumble about Hermione reporting the Firebolt, which made Callie roll her eyes more often than not. Harry, however, was consumed by frustration with his progress in the lessons. Each time she joined him, she could see it on his face—the disappointment at how little he'd improved. He'd managed to produce a faint, silvery outline of a Patronus, but it lacked the substance or power to drive the Boggart-Dementor away.

When she wasn't there to witness it, Harry confided in her later about how exhausting it was, both physically and emotionally. Callie could sense the guilt he carried, a guilt he hadn't outright voiced but that she felt in his silences—the longing to hear his parents' voices again, even if it meant facing the terror of the Dementors. Though she tried to comfort him, Callie knew there was little she could say that would make it easier.

Her dad tried to express the same sentiment to him one night in the fourth week of practice. "You're expecting too much of yourself. For a thirteen-year-old wizard, even an indistinct Patronus is a huge achievement. You aren't passing out any more, are you?"

"I thought a Patronus would—charge the Dementors down or something," Harry said dispiritedly. "Make them disappear–"

"The true Patronus does do that," Remus revealed. "But you've achieved a great deal in a very short space of time. If the Dementors put in an appearance at your next Quidditch match, you will be able to keep them at bay long enough to get back to the ground."

"You said it's harder if there are loads of them," Harry said.

"I have complete confidence in you," Remus said with a small, encouraging smile that made Callie feel a flicker of pride for Harry. Her dad rarely doled out compliments, so when he did, they meant something.

"Here—you've earned a drink. Something from the Three Broomsticks, you won't have tried it before—"

Callie perked up, watching as he pulled three bottles from his briefcase.

"Butterbeer!" Harry blurted, his excitement evident. "Yeah, I like that stuff!"

Dad raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharp.

"Oh—Ron and Hermione brought me some back from Hogsmeade," Harry added hastily, clearly backtracking.

"I see," Remus said slowly, though his expression didn't fully soften.

Callie fought the urge to smirk. Her dad was too clever not to notice when someone was fibbing, but he let it slide. She had also told him the same night how she and Harry had snuck out. There were to be no more lies between them; and though he had been furious for some ten minutes, he lightened up eventually. But she was never to do so again, not that she wanted to now that she knew the truth.

"Well—let's drink to a Gryffindor victory against Ravenclaw! Not that I'm supposed to take sides, as a teacher..." he added, glancing at Callie for a moment as if he'd slipped up.

They drank their Butterbeer in silence, and Callie savoured the warmth that spread through her as she sipped. She caught Harry glancing at her dad now and then, like he was working up the courage to say something.

Finally, Harry spoke. "What's under a Dementor's hood?"

Remus lowered his bottle thoughtfully, his expression serious.

"Hmmm... well, the only people who really know are in no condition to tell us. You see, the Dementor only lowers its hood to use its last and worst weapon."

Callie felt herself tense, the pleasant warmth from the Butterbeer fading slightly.

"What's that?" Harry asked, his voice quieter now.

"They call it the Dementors' Kiss," Remus said, his tone grave, the corners of his mouth tightening into a slight grimace. "It's what Dementors do to those they wish to destroy utterly. I suppose there must be some kind of mouth under there because they clamp their jaws upon the mouth of the victim and... suck out his soul."

Harry choked on his Butterbeer, and Callie felt her stomach twist at the thought.

"What—they kill –?"

"Oh, no," Remus corrected. "Much worse than that. You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you'll have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no... anything. There's no chance at all of recovery. You'll just—exist. As an empty shell. And your soul is gone forever... lost."

Callie shuddered. The idea of losing one's soul, of existing as a hollow shell, sent a chill down her spine.

Dad took another sip of Butterbeer, then added, "It's the fate that awaits Sirius Black. It was in the Daily Prophet this morning. The Ministry has given the Dementors permission to perform it if they find him."

Callie's eyes darted to Harry, whose face had gone blank for a moment. He seemed to process the words before finally speaking.

"He deserves it," Harry said suddenly, his tone sharp and resolute.

Remus tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "You think so? Do you really think anyone deserves that?"

"Yes," Harry said, his voice firm. "For... for some things..."

Callie stayed quiet, glancing between Harry and her dad. She could see her dad's lips press together briefly, but he didn't say anything further, as if he was weighing whether to press Harry further on his conviction or leave it be. The silence that followed felt heavy, and the three drank the rest of their Butterbeer in silence.

Shortly after they thanked her dad and left the History of Magic classroom, though neither was doing much talking. Callie couldn't help but think of Sirius, and the fate that awaited him once he was caught. If he was caught. There hadn't been any sightings of him as of late, but she suspected he was still out there in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

He had done many bad things, he was truly a bad person... but some part of her felt sorry for what was about to happen, almost as if she cared about him. Which was strange given all he was, and the fact that she had never met him, but... he was still her family. One half of the only family she had left.

As they were going down the stairs, Callie was almost pushed over but grabbed onto the railing at the last minute. Harry had walked headlong into Professor McGonagall halfway up the stairs, nudging Calista with him.

"Do watch where you're going, Potter, Lupin!"

"Sorry, Professor—" they both tried to say, but she lifted her hand.

"I've just been looking for you in the Gryffindor common room, Potter. Well, here it is, we've done everything we could think of, and there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with it at all—you've got a very good friend somewhere..."

Harry's jaw dropped, and Callie couldn't blame him. Professor McGonagall was holding out the Firebolt, gleaming and perfect, as if it hadn't been confiscated and scrutinized for weeks.

"I can have it back?" Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," McGonagall replied, and—was she smiling? She was. Callie blinked at the sight, certain it was rarer than spotting a unicorn in the Forbidden Forest. "I daresay you'll need to get the feel of it before Saturday's match, won't you? And Potter—do try and win, won't you? Or we'll be out of the running for the eighth year in a row, as Professor Snape was kind enough to remind me only last night..."

Callie bit her lip, hiding a smile of her own as Harry stood speechless, clutching the broom like it was a lifeline. As they left McGonagall's office and headed upstairs toward Gryffindor Tower, Harry practically floated beside her, the Firebolt slung over his shoulder like a trophy.

They'd barely rounded a corner when Ron came charging toward them, his grin so wide it looked like it might split his face.

"She gave it to you? Excellent!" Ron exclaimed, his eyes fixed on the Firebolt like it was made of solid gold. "Listen, can I still have a go on it? Tomorrow?"

Harry, clearly dazed with joy, nodded quickly. "Yeah... anything..." Then, his expression shifted, and he glanced sideways at Callie and Ron. "You know what—we should make it up with Hermione. She was only trying to help..."

"It's about time you come around, you know," Callie said, her voice light but pointed, looking directly at Ron.

"Yeah, all right," Ron muttered, his ears turning slightly pink. "She's in the common room now–working, for a change."

Callie let out a relieved sigh. Maybe their endless bickering was finally winding down. Or maybe Harry's Firebolt had temporarily worked a miracle. Either way, it was a start.

As they approached the portrait hole, they were greeted by the unusual sight of Neville Longbottom, standing before Sir Cadogan, his cheeks flushed with frustration.

"I wrote them down," Neville was saying, his voice shaky, "but I must've dropped them somewhere!"

"A likely tale!" Sir Cadogan bellowed, his little sword waving dramatically in the air. "Come clap this loon in irons! He is trying to force entry to the chambers within!"

Callie exchanged a glance with Harry, who looked like he was holding back a laugh.

"Oh, shut up," Ron said irritably, stepping forward as they reached Neville.

"I've lost the passwords!" Neville told them miserably. "I made him tell me what passwords he was going to use this week, because he keeps changing them, and now I don't know what I've done with them!"

"Oddsbodikins," Harry said to Sir Cadogan, who looked extremely disappointed and reluctantly swung forwards to let them into the common room. There was a sudden, excited murmur as every head turned and the next moment, they were surrounded by people exclaiming over Harry's Firebolt.

After about ten minutes, during which the Firebolt was passed around and admired as if it were a priceless treasure, the crowd began to thin out. Callie lingered by the fire, watching as Harry and Ron's excitement finally started to settle. When the room had mostly cleared, Callie noticed Hermione still at her usual spot, bent over a pile of books and parchment. Unlike the others, she hadn't even glanced their way, keeping her head down and avoiding their eyes entirely.

Harry nudged Ron, and the two of them made their way to Hermione's table. Callie followed a few paces behind, her heart sinking a little at the tense set of Hermione's shoulders. At last, Hermione looked up, her expression carefully neutral.

"I got it back," Harry said, grinning as he held up the Firebolt, his enthusiasm impossible to miss.

Hermione's gaze flickered to the broom for just a moment before returning to Harry's face. "Well—there might have been something wrong with it!" she said, her voice defensive. "I mean, at least you know now that it's safe!"

"See, Hermione?" Ron jumped in, his tone exasperated. "There wasn't anything wrong with it!"

Callie refrained from nudging him in the leg.

"Yeah, I suppose so," Harry said, his grin softening as he tried to meet Hermione halfway. "I'd better put it upstairs—"

"I'll take it!" Ron interrupted quickly, his face lighting up with eagerness. "I've got to give Scabbers his Rat Tonic anyway."

Before Harry or Callie could respond, Ron grabbed the Firebolt, cradling it like it was the most precious thing in the world, and darted up the boys' staircase.

Callie remained by Hermione's side, glancing between her and Harry. The air was still thick with unspoken tension, but at least they were talking again. It was a start.

"Can I sit down, then?" Harry asked Hermione, his tone lighter than before but still tentative.

"I suppose so," Hermione said, sighing as she moved a towering stack of parchment off a nearby chair.

Callie watched the exchange from where she stood nearby, unsure whether to join in or leave them to it. She decided to linger, settling into a seat a little farther from the table but close enough to listen. Her eyes darted over the table, taking in the chaotic mess of books, essays, and notes. Even from her spot, she could make out the title of Hermione's Muggle Studies essay: 'Explain why Muggles Need Electricity.' Next to it was an Arithmancy essay, the ink still shimmering as it dried, and a half-finished Rune translation that Hermione was now meticulously working on.

"How are you getting through all this stuff?" Harry asked, his brows knitting together as he watched her frantically flipping through pages.

"Oh, well—you know—working hard," Hermione replied briskly, briefly sharing a knowing glance with Callie. Her exhaustion was impossible to miss. Callie noted how her friend's eyes were shadowed, her face drawn with fatigue. She looked almost as tired as Dad did after a particularly rough full moon.

"Why don't you just drop a couple of subjects?" Harry suggested, his tone almost pleading as Hermione rummaged through her pile for what seemed to be her Rune dictionary.

"I couldn't do that!" Hermione said, looking scandalized, as if Harry had just suggested she stop breathing.

"Arithmancy looks terrible," Harry muttered, picking up a complicated chart filled with numbers and symbols.

"Oh, no, it's wonderful!" Hermione said eagerly, her face lighting up with genuine passion for the first time in what felt like weeks. "It's my favourite subject! It's–"

Callie couldn't help but smile at Hermione's enthusiasm. Despite the mountain of work, her friend still found joy in learning. But before Hermione could finish her thought, a strangled yell pierced the air, echoing down the boys' staircase.

The entire common room froze, every head turning toward the sound. Callie felt her stomach flip, a sense of foreboding settling over her as hurried footsteps thundered closer and closer. Moments later, Ron burst into view, clutching a bedsheet in one hand and looking utterly frantic.

"LOOK!" he bellowed, his face red with fury as he stormed over to Hermione's table. "LOOK!" He thrust the sheet at Hermione, his movements so forceful that Callie instinctively leaned back in her chair.

"Ron, what–?" Hermione started, her voice edged with alarm.

"SCABBERS!" Ron yelled, shaking the bedsheet in her face. "LOOK! SCABBERS!"

Callie's heart sank as she glanced at the sheet. There was something red smeared across it. Blood. The sight made her stomach churn. Harry and Hermione were staring too, their faces pale.

"What's on the floor?" Harry asked cautiously, his voice breaking the heavy silence.

Ron didn't answer. Instead, he flung something onto Hermione's Rune translation. Hermione and Harry leaned forward, Callie creeping closer out of morbid curiosity. Among the spiky shapes of Hermione's writing were several long, ginger cat hairs.

Hermione's face twisted in confusion, her voice trembling. "N-no..."

"Crookshanks," Callie muttered under her breath, the realization hitting her even before Ron shouted his accusation.

starting off with a big apology—i finished school for the year and thought i was going to be able to jump right back into things, but i was wrong ;/ i have all of POA written out and have for a while now, but i just couldn't get myself to get in this chapter and make any edits/reviews for whatever reason, but i finally did. apologies if this one sucks.

we've reached 5k reads on this book and i'm so happy this many people are reading! i promise you'll be seeing more of callie soon and more often, i just have to get back into the groove of things.

happy MM monday and hope you enjoyed!!!