SIX
' northern downpour '

☾⋆₊✧

OCTOBER
1993

CALISTA had been feeling strange for the past while.

She had started to adjust to the routine of school— waking up every morning, eating delicious food, taking thousands of steps every day just to get to her lessons, socializing, studying, and eating more food. Her clothes still fit her as loosely as before but she felt as though she had more energy, and one evening Lavender Brown commented on the fact that her face didn't look as ghastly as it had compared to her first day in the castle.

She and Hermione got along well, especially for the fact that Calista took her studies more seriously than others. When they didn't have lessons— which was only in the evenings or on weekends for Hermione— the two girls would roam around the castle finding new places to study in. The library didn't last very long since uttering one word louder than at a faint whisper would get them kicked out, but the common room, the courtyard, and sometimes the grounds served well otherwise. Hermione never stopped studying, there was always something new, and she had to have been taking over the required amount of electives. Callie wasn't sure how that could be possible given the timings and schedules. There was no way someone could be in two places at once.

Most of the Gryffindors she knew she also got along with, and she enjoyed the quieter company of Neville when Hermione began to break down over her homework or if Seamus began recounting an outlandish, obviously made-up encounter. She saw Harry and Ron loads as well, but the quidditch season had just begun and Harry was their team's seeker, so it was mainly only in the lessons they shared.

Divination was a bore as they spent hours in Trelawney's stifling tower room, deciphering lop-sided shapes and symbols that apparently held significance. As Lavender and Parvati congregated with Trelawney for the entirety of their work periods, Hermione would attempt the assigned work while Ron slept and Harry and Callie used their parchment to play noughts and crosses or categories if they got tired of the former. When the Professor did circle around she was as creepy as ever, enormous eyes filling with tears when she looked at Harry.

Care of Magical Creatures wasn't much fun. After the action-packed first class, it had become extremely dull. Every lesson since the first with the Hippogriff was spent learning how to look after Flobberworms, which had to be some of the most boring creatures in existence. Professor Hagrid didn't seem very confident in his teaching, which did not help his case after the Hippogriff incident.

The other classes were all mainly decent. Callie seemed to know what she was doing, though not every test or assignment earned her Hermione level praise. Her best class, surprisingly enough, was with the teacher she disliked the most. Potions seemed to be her strong suit and Snape definitely hated every minute of it.

Not to mention that the story of the Boggart assuming Snape's shape, and the way that Neville had dressed it in his grandmother's clothes, had travelled through the school like wildfire. Snape didn't seem to find it funny. His eyes flashed menacingly at the very mention of Callie's father's name, and he was bullying poor Neville like there was no tomorrow.

Finally, there was Defence. Callie couldn't lie when she said that it was the one she enjoyed the most. The next lessons they had were just as interesting as the last; they studied Red Caps to water Kappas, and the rest that Dad had planned seemed just as exciting.

It was most of the other students' favourite subject as well. Remus was earning high praise and he deserved every single ounce of it. Only the Slytherins seemed to have criticisms; the shabby state of his robes.

So everything seemed manageable. Yet what was making her feel so strange?

She had gotten over the Boggart incident rather quickly— or so she told herself. Seeing the creature take the form of Dad's biggest fear, which was Callie's own death, had been disturbing, to say the least. It had stayed with her, lurking at the edges of her thoughts when she least expected it. What did it mean for her father to live with that image buried in his mind? How often did he think about it, and how often was he having a bad day because she was in his thoughts?

The part that had really gnawed at her was that he hadn't mentioned it afterwards. No reassuring words, no late-night knock on the dormitory door, no fatherly hug to brush away the lingering unease. Nothing. Not even the five other dinners they had spent together since. It wasn't like him to just leave her to deal with it on her own— or at least, it hadn't been before they'd come to Hogwarts.

But maybe that was what their life was, now.

On 30th September, it was the Lupin's first night at Hogwarts during the full moon. Callie said she would see her dad off before he retreated for the night, wherever he was going now for his transformations. She assumed he'd be in the forbidden forest or maybe some place else close by where he was isolated but comforted. She hadn't asked, though, nor had he told her. She thought perhaps it was better this way.

They were in his office, the dim candlelight casting long shadows across the cluttered shelves and papers. Callie perched on the edge of his desk, watching him as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face.

"You've drank the Wolfsbane every day now for the last week, yea?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry.

"Correct." Remus replied, his tone dry. He grimaced as if just the memory of the potion was enough to make him shudder, "I forgot how nasty it tastes."

"You can't add something to make it more tolerable? How about sugar?" she suggested, her brows knitting together in a hopeful expression.

"Unfortunately not," he said with a small, wry smile. "Renders it useless. And I don't think Professor Snape would take kindly to me altering his carefully brewed—"

"I'll have a word with him," Callie interrupted, her lips curling into a mock-stern expression, her hands on her hips.

"Look at you," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Doing the parenting now."

"Someone's got to take care of you," she said, crossing her arms with a playfully exaggerated air of authority.

"I take care of me. Of us," he countered softly, his voice carrying a quiet reassurance that made her pause.

"Not forever," she muttered, the lightheartedness fading from her voice. Her gaze dropped to her lap, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. Before Remus could ask her to explain, she quickly straightened and forced a small smile. "You best be on your way then," she said, her tone deliberately light, though it didn't entirely mask the shadow of unease in her eyes.

He sighed, standing and pulling his worn cloak around his shoulders. "I'll be back in the morning."

Callie stood on her toes as he bent down, her arms lightly encircling his neck as she pressed a soft kiss to the rough grey stubble on his cheek.

"Goodnight, Dad," she whispered, her voice barely audible, as though saying it too loud might break something fragile between them.

"Goodnight, love," he replied, his hand brushing her hair gently before stepping back. "And don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

She watched him go, the door creaking softly as it closed behind him. The room felt colder and emptier in his absence, the weight in her chest growing heavier. The candlelight flickered, and as Callie lingered, staring at the empty space where her father had stood, she couldn't shake the sense that something was about to change— something that neither of them would be able to control.

On her way back to the dormitories, she heard someone call her name.

"Calista?"

She turned to see Harry, his robes slightly damp from what must have been an intense Quidditch practice.

"Oh, hi, Harry."

Fred was trailing a few steps behind Harry, clearly in high spirits. As he passed Callie, he gave her a playful pinch on the arm. "Don't miss me too much, Lupin," he teased with a grin before jogging ahead, leaving her rolling her eyes. Git.

"Where are you coming from?" Harry asked, falling into step beside her.

"Pomfrey's," she replied quickly, forcing a casual shrug. "That time of month."

"Oh." Harry's brow furrowed briefly, and he hesitated before asking, "Anything new?"

"Not really," she said, shifting her bag to her other shoulder. "Same old checkup."

The words left a sour taste in her mouth. She hated lying, especially to Harry, who'd been nothing but kind to her since she arrived at Hogwarts. But what was she supposed to say? Oh, I was just saying goodbye to my dad before he locks himself in a secluded part of the castle to turn into a raging werewolf for the night. That'd go over well.

"Right," Harry said, clearly trying to be polite but unsure how to continue. "Well... if you ever need someone to walk you back or anything—"

"Thanks," she cut him off with a small smile, guilt tightening her chest. "That's really nice of you, but I'm fine."

"Okay, cool," Harry said, looking a little relieved.

They walked in silence for a moment, and Callie felt the weight of her lie settle uncomfortably. She hated keeping secrets, especially from her new friends. But she also knew the truth wasn't something she could just hand over.

"How was practice?" she asked, steering the conversation into safer waters.

Harry brightened immediately. "Good. Wood's on us about the Cup, as usual, but I think we actually have a shot this year."

"That's great," she said, genuinely glad for him. "I'll have to come watch sometime."

"You should," Harry said, his grin more natural now. "It's always better with more Gryffindors cheering us on."

They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, which was already open— Fred must have given the password on his way in. Harry gestured for Callie to step through first.

"I don't know much about it, though. Quidditch," she admitted as they climbed into the common room. "My dad—" She hesitated, catching herself before she could say too much. "My parents aren't too keen on sports of any kind."

Harry nodded, his expression understanding. "That's alright. It's not for everyone. But it's kind of hard to avoid at Hogwarts. You'll probably pick up a few things just being here."

"Yeah, I suppose," she said with a small laugh, even though the thought of attending a match felt overwhelming. Crowds and noise weren't exactly her idea of fun, especially after the typical exhausting days she had.

Harry tilted his head, studying her curiously. "You don't sound too excited about it."

"It's not that," Callie said quickly, waving a hand. "I just... I guess I've never really given it a chance." She rubbed at her arm awkwardly. "Maybe you'll have to teach me a thing or two."

"Deal," Harry replied excitedly, his grin returning. "Just don't expect me to go easy on you."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Callie replied, her smile faint but genuine.

As they moved toward the armchairs by the fire where Hermione and Ron were sitting, Callie couldn't shake the nagging feeling in her chest. Harry and everyone else she had befriended so far deserved her honesty. They were all kind and understanding. But that wasn't enough for the Lupins; it never would be.

As she scanned the room, Callie noticed the room had a buzz of excitement to it. Harry picked it up as well, asking Hermione and Ron, "What's happened?"

The two had been working on a star chart for Astronomy. "First Hogsmeade weekend," Ron told them, pointing at a notice that had appeared on the battered old noticeboard. "End of October. Hallowe'en."

Fred popped in, "Excellent." He pinched Callie's arm again as he snuck by. "I need to visit Zonko's, I'm nearly out of Stink Pellets."

Callie swatted his hand away as Harry threw himself into one of the empty chairs next to the other two. This didn't seem like good news to him.

It was as if Hermione could read his mind. "Harry, I'm sure you'll be able to go next time," she told him. "They're bound to catch Black soon, he's been sighted once already."

"Black's not fool enough to try anything in Hogsmeade," Ron argued. "Ask McGonagall if you can go this time, Harry, the next one might not be for ages –"

"Ron!'" Hermione scolded. "Harry's supposed to stay in school –"

"He can't be the only third-year left behind. Ask McGonagall, go on, Harry –"

"Yeah, I think I will," Harry decided.

Before Hermione could interject, Ron nodded at Calista. "You got yours signed, right?"

Callie fiddled with her breathing tube. "No, actually, I didn't know we could go to Hogsmeade this year."

"You didn't know?" He sat up in his chair, looking from Harry to Hermione incredulously. "How did she not know?"

Callie frowned at him. "Didn't come up."

Ron grinned at her. "Wait 'till I tell you. Get Professor Lupin to sign the form, I'm sure he's capable."

Crookshanks then leapt lightly onto Hermione's lap. A large, dead spider was dangling from his mouth.

"Does he have to eat that in front of us?" Ron said, scowling.

"Clever Crookshanks, did you catch that all by yourself?" Hermione asked as she gave the top of the cat's head a scratch. Crookshanks slowly chewed up the spider, his yellow eyes fixed insolently on Ron.

"Just keep him over there, that's all," Ron ordered, turning back to his star chart. "I've got Scabbers asleep in my bag."

Callie was near ready to pass out, but her own star chart was still in need of completion. She and Harry both got theirs out of their bags along with their parchment, ink, and quills. She glanced at him just as he did the same, and they shared a grin, as if they'd rather play noughts and crosses.

"You lot can copy mine, if you like," Ron whispered to the two of them as he shoved his finalized chart over to them. Hermione, who disapproved of copying, pursed her lips, but didn't say anything. Crookshanks was still staring unblinkingly at Ron, flicking the end of his bushy tail. Then, without warning, he pounced.

"OY!" Ron roared, seizing his bag as Crookshanks sank four sets of claws deeply into it, and began tearing ferociously. "Get off, you stupid animal!"

Ron tried to pull the bag away from Crookshanks, but Crookshanks clung on, spitting and slashing.

"Ron, don't hurt him!" Hermione squealed. The whole common room was now watching; Ron whirled the bag around, Crookshanks still clinging to it, and Scabbers came flying out of the top.

"Catch that cat!" Ron yelled as Crookshanks freed himself from the remnants of the bag, sprang over the table and chased after the terrified rat Scabbers.

The other Weasley twin, George, made a lunge for Crookshanks but missed; Scabbers streaked through twenty pairs of legs and shot beneath an old chest of drawers. It was a blurry of motion as Ron and Hermione both chased the animals, and Harry, who had tried to back away, nearly fell onto Calista's lap due to the commotion.

"Look at him!" he said furiously to Hermione, dangling Scabbers in front of her. "He's skin and bone! You keep that cat away from him!"

"Crookshanks doesn't understand it's wrong!" Hermione tried, her voice shaking. "All cats chase rats, Ron!"

"There's something funny about that animal!" Ron accused, who was trying to persuade a frantically wiggling Scabbers back into his pocket. "It heard me say that Scabbers was in my bag!"

"Oh, what rubbish. Crookshanks could smell him, Ron, how else d'you think–"

"That cat's got it in for Scabbers! And Scabbers was here first, and he's ill!"

The youngest Weasley boy then marched through the common room and out of sight up the stairs to the boys' dormitories. Hermione followed suite to the other staircase, and the giggling group that had gathered around began to disperse.

Callie let out a deep sigh, brushing a stray chunk of her hair clinging to her forehead. Harry had toppled over and was lying down beside the chair she was in. She let out a giggle at the sight. "What're you doing?"

Harry snorted back, "I've got no clue. Feel free to join, though."

Callie shook her head, and gestured toward their star charts. "I know the carpet is comfortable, but the night's not over yet.

He groaned, and sat back up. "I'm aware."

☾⋆₊✧

The full moon and her father's transformation had been a few nights ago and she hadn't seen him yet, so Callie would make a point of doing so that night after classes. She also had gotten ahold of a copy of the Hogsmeade permission slip, which didn't take much convincing from Ron. She'd heard enough when the words 'sweet shop' had been uttered.

Harry hadn't managed to get his signed, much to everyone's dismay. Callie wasn't sure how McGonagall would have been able to sign it in the first place, given that she had no relation to the boy other than being his teacher and head of house— as far as she knew. But who was she to discourage positive thinking?

Dad seemed tired when she had tracked him down, and occupied at that. He was slouched over a pile of essays with his reading glasses perched crookedly on his nose. Remus greeted her with a small smile when she entered but quickly returned to grading, muttering the occasional disapproving "hmm" or scribbling red marks onto parchment.

"How was the night?" she began, easing into a chair across from him.

"Fine, Cal," he replied, without looking up. "Thank you for asking."

"Fine?" she repeated skeptically. She knew better than to believe that. The full moons were always hard on him no matter what, and she was aware that the Wolfsbane wasn't an automatic cure.

"Yes, fine," he replied, his tone sharper now. He set his quill down for a moment to rub his temples.

Callie bit her lip, the permission slip in her pocket suddenly feeling much heavier. "Well, since you're feeling better—"

"Calista," he interrupted, his voice strained, "can we talk about this later? I have a mountain of work to get through."

"But Dad, it's just—"

"Please," he said, and her mouth immediately closed. She glanced at the essays on his desk, wondering how much of his exhaustion was physical and how much was emotional.

"I just wanted to ask about the Hogsmeade permission slip," she said quietly, pulling the crumpled form from her pocket and smoothing it out on his desk. "A quick signature is all. Then I'll go."

Remus glanced at the paper but didn't touch it.

"It's the village outside of the school?" she reminded him. "My friends are all going 'cept Harry."

"Not this year, Cal," he said firmly, picking his quill back up and pretending to focus on an essay.

She pulled a quick face. "Why not?"

"You know it's not safe right now. Not with—" He stopped himself, his jaw tightening. "I don't want you out there, with a killer on the loose. Other parents might be okay with it, but I'm not."

"You don't think I can handle a trip to a little village with professors and prefects crawling around every corner?" she pressed, suddenly feeling small.

"It's not about handling it," he replied, his voice growing tense. "It's about not taking unnecessary risks."

"What is there to risk? Sirius Black isn't going to hex a bunch of students in the day time, is he? Even if he did, what have I got to do with him?"

"I said no," Remus said abruptly, his voice sharper and louder than he'd intended. "The decision has been made. That's final."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and sharp, before Remus sighed and leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sorry," he said after a moment, his tone softer, regretful. "The transformation had me exhausted, and my mood's been a bit..." He gestured vaguely, searching for the right word. "Frayed. It was better, but... I have to get used to it. The wolfsbane."

Callie's arms crossed, her frustration ebbing just enough to let hurt take its place. "You don't trust me?" she asked, her voice quieter now, tinged with disappointment.

"It's not you I don't trust," Remus replied quickly, looking up at her, his tired eyes filled with sincerity. "You have to believe that, Cal."

She pressed her eyes shut in frustration, then opened them again as she heaved a sigh. "I understand. I'm sorry, I don't want to be a bother.

Remus stood then, taking a cautious step toward her. "Never. You're smart, Cal, and responsible— far more than I give you credit for sometimes. But there are things happening that you don't fully understand, and it's my job to protect you from them. Even if it doesn't feel fair."

She nodded but avoided his gaze, staring down at the permission slip still clutched in her hands. "I thought it would be fun," she mumbled.

"I know," he said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'll sign it next year. Let's just get through this one safely first. Okay?"

"Okay," she whispered, though her heart felt heavy.

"Good." He gave her shoulder a small squeeze, then stepped back. "Why don't you go catch up with your friends? We'll talk more later."

She nodded again, turning toward the door. Just before leaving, she glanced back at him. He looked older than ever, the weight of his condition and responsibilities etched into his face.

"Take care of yourself, Professor," she said softly, and without waiting for a response, slipped out of the office.

☾⋆₊✧

The first two months of school had flown by, blurring into a routine of classes, assignments, and new experiences. It was nearing the end of October now, and the atmosphere at Hogwarts seemed to shift with the changing season. The days were becoming shorter, the sun dipping below the horizon earlier each evening, painting the castle in hues of gold and crimson before darkness settled in. The nights, long and cold, carried a sharp chill that crept into the draughty corridors and lingered even in the cozy common rooms.

Outside, the grounds were cloaked in a blanket of autumn. The Forbidden Forest rustled with falling leaves, their vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows creating a striking contrast against the dark, gnarled trees. The chill in the air was crisp and biting, making scarves and cloaks a necessity for any trip beyond the castle walls.

Inside the castle, the ambiance mirrored the season. The Great Hall was decorated with floating pumpkins and flickering candles, casting a warm, inviting glow during mealtimes. The scent of roasted chestnuts and spiced apple cider often wafted from the kitchens, and Professor Flitwick had enchanted the suits of armour to hum eerie melodies as Halloween drew nearer. Lessons carried on as usual, but the energy among the students was noticeably different— buzzing with anticipation for the upcoming feast and the stories of ghosts and ghouls that always surfaced this time of year.

On the morning of Hallowe'en, as everyone left the dorms to go eat before heading off to Hogsmeade, Callie was still curled up in bed. She'd been feeling more tired lately— perhaps the initial excitement of starting Hogwarts had worn off, and her illness had decided to remind her of its presence now that she'd settled into a routine. Plus, without permission to visit Hogsmeade, she figured there was no point in rushing to start the day. The idea of staying warm and cocooned under her blankets was far more appealing than wandering the castle alone.

The peace didn't last long. She was startled by a hand shaking her shoulder, firm and insistent.

"Five more minutes, Dad," she mumbled groggily into her pillow, clinging to sleep.

Suddenly, a rush of icy air hit her, and her blankets were whisked away to the edge of her bed. Her eyes shot open to see Hermione standing over her, wand raised and a look of stern determination on her face.

"Get up," Hermione said briskly. "You can't spend the whole day in bed."

Callie groaned, burying her face into her pillow again. "I'm not allowed to go to Hogsmeade, so what's the point?" she muttered, voice muffled.

Hermione crossed her arms. "The point is breakfast is still happening, and you'll feel worse if you skip it. You've been looking pale all week." She hesitated for a moment before adding, "I wish I could stay and keep you company, but Ron and I are heading to Hogsmeade after breakfast. You'll be all right?"

Callie nodded, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, I'll eat later. I don't want to drag anyone down just because I can't go."

Hermione studied her carefully, then softened. "All right. But I'll bring you back some sweets—just a few, mind. I know you can't have too much sugar."

That made Callie smile for real, even if just a little. "Thanks, Hermione. That'd be nice."

"Don't mention it." Hermione reached down, tucking Callie's blankets around her again. "Try to rest, and don't skip lunch, okay?"

Callie nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Hermione laughed and stood, grabbing her bag. "I'll see you later. Enjoy the quiet while it lasts!"

As she left, Callie pulled the blankets closer, shutting her eyes tightly. Sleep soon followed, and she dreamed she was being chased through the forbidden forest by a big, black dog, with eyes she could swear she recognized...

When she finally left the common room, it was mid-afternoon, and the castle felt eerily empty. Most of the third years and older students were surely out at Hogsmeade, leaving the hallways unusually quiet. The faint echoes of her footsteps followed her as she wandered aimlessly, the usual chatter and laughter absent.

She peeked into the Great Hall, hoping to find someone lingering over a late lunch, but it was deserted save for a few house-elves bustling around, cleaning up the remnants of breakfast. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her of her skipped meal, but the sight of the empty tables made her feel lonelier than hungry. She hadn't visited Dad all that much lately— he just seemed too busy for her.

Callie sighed and headed toward the library, thinking perhaps a quiet corner and a book might distract her. But even the library felt desolate, the long rows of books untouched and the chairs vacant. She picked out a random tome and settled at a table by the window, trying to focus on the words, but her mind kept drifting to the students at Hogsmeade, laughing, exploring, and enjoying sweets from Honeydukes. She imagined Hermione with Ron, probably debating over which treats to bring back for her, and felt a pang of envy despite her gratitude.

She only recently had begun to realize how much she was missing out on, and how much she actually cared about that.

Unable to sit still any longer, she closed the book and returned it to its shelf, wandering again. She traced her path through the hallways, letting her feet carry her wherever they wanted. Eventually, she found herself outside, the cool October air biting at her cheeks. The grounds were quiet too, save for the occasional bird chirp or the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

As Callie meandered toward the Quidditch pitch, an inexplicable pull made her pause mid-step. It wasn't a sound or a sight— just a feeling, deep and instinctual, tugging at her chest like an unseen thread. Her feet hesitated, then shifted, guiding her away from the pitch and toward the Black Lake.

The air felt different as she approached the water, colder and heavier, carrying with it an undercurrent of something unspoken. Each step felt deliberate, though she wasn't entirely sure why she was walking this way. It was as though her body knew where it needed to go before her mind caught up.

As the lake came into view, so did a lone figure sitting at its edge. The messy mop of black hair was unmistakable, even from a distance. Harry.

Her steps were light but purposeful as she strode forward, until she stood just a few feet behind him. The sight of him against the vast expanse of the lake stirred something deep within her. He looked so small, almost fragile, like a boy carrying far more weight than his years should allow.

"Harry?" she called softly, her voice breaking the quiet but not startling him. He turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder at her with a faint, almost grateful smile.

"Hey, Callie," he said, his voice low, blending with the rustling wind. "What are you doing out here?"

She hesitated, the pull she'd felt moments ago still lingering in her chest. "I... don't know. Just wandering, I guess. What about you?"

"Same," he admitted, turning back to gaze at the water. "No Hogsmeade for me."

"Me neither." She settled beside him, feeling the damp chill of the grass through her robes. "Guess we're both stuck with the castle today."

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the only sounds the gentle lapping of the lake and the occasional whisper of the wind. Callie's eyes drifted to the water, a tinge of familiar comfort falling over her almost immediately.

She then glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eye, noticing how the light played off his glasses and the quiet intensity in his expression. "Do you come out here a lot?"

"Sometimes," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "It's quiet. Gives me time to think."

She nodded, understanding more than she could say. The pull she'd felt earlier began to fade, replaced by a strange, steady warmth that settled in her chest. Whatever it was that had brought her here, she was glad for it. Sitting beside Harry, the silence wasn't lonely— it was... connected, as though the stillness between them spoke volumes neither of them could put into words.

"I used to live by the water," Callie said softly, her gaze fixed on the rippling surface of the Black Lake.

"At Ilvermorny?" Harry asked, his tone curious but gentle.

She shook her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. "No, with my family."

The word "family" felt strange on her tongue, like a poorly worn disguise. She wanted to scoff every time she used it, pretending as if she'd been raised in some picture-perfect household. Pretending as if anyone else had cared for her the way Dad had.

Her voice grew quieter, almost wistful. "It felt... healing, living near the water. Like the waves were washing everything away—fear, pain, anything heavy. Like they could just carry it out to sea." She paused, watching as the sunlight danced across the lake's surface. "The moon controls the tides, y'know," she added, her tone shifting slightly, tinged with a hint of irony. "It's... powerful. Almost too much so sometimes."

Harry glanced at her, frowning slightly as if trying to piece together what she meant. "You miss it, don't you? Living by the water?"

She hesitated, feeling a pang in her chest. Did she? The water had been comforting, sure, but it hadn't erased the memories of sickness or struggle. Still, there was a kind of peace she hadn't realized she'd left behind until now.

"Maybe," she said at last, her voice soft. "But I guess I've learned that it's not where you are that matters. It's who you're with." Her words felt heavier than she intended, and she quickly shifted the focus back to him. "What about you? Do you miss wherever you lived before Hogwarts?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably, picking at a blade of grass near his knee. "I guess I don't really miss it, no. The Dursleys' house, my aunt and uncle and cousin Dudley, it was never... home. It was just a place I stayed." He threw the blade into the water, watching it ripple. "Hogwarts feels more like home than anywhere else ever has."

She tilted her head, studying him as she came to a quiet realization. "Everyone you care about is here."

Harry blinked, as though the thought hadn't occurred to him before. "Yeah," he said softly. "I guess they are."

Before Callie could respond, a tickle at the back of her throat made her cough. It started small, but quickly turned into a fit, her hand flying to her mouth as her shoulders shook. She tried to wave it off, but the suddenness of it startled her. She hadn't had a coughing fit like this in weeks— maybe longer.

"Callie?" Harry asked, stepping closer, his brow furrowed in concern. "Are you okay?"

She nodded quickly, even as she struggled to catch her breath. "I'm fine," she croaked between coughs, willing herself to stop.

"You don't sound fine." Harry hesitated, glancing around as if searching for help. "Should I get Madam Pomfrey?"

"No!" she said, her voice rasping as she held up a hand to stop him. The last thing she needed was more fuss or for him to see her weakness. "It's fine. Really. This happens sometimes. Just— give me a second."

Harry watched her, his worry plain on his face. "You sure? You looked like you were going to keel over."

"I'm sure," Callie said firmly, though her voice wavered. She finally managed to catch her breath, the fit subsiding into the occasional soft cough. She straightened up, trying to act like nothing had happened. "See? All better."

Harry didn't look convinced. He studied her for a moment before speaking, his voice quiet but thoughtful. "I get it, you know. Not wanting to make a big deal out of something that's... always there."

Callie tilted her head, curious. "What do you mean?"

Harry hesitated, as if weighing whether to say it aloud. Finally, he reached up and brushed his fringe back, revealing his lightning-bolt scar. "This," he said simply. "It doesn't just sit there looking cool. Sometimes it... burns. Like fire. And I can't do anything about it. I don't know why it happens, but when it does, it's hard to explain to anyone else. So I don't. I just deal with it."

Callie blinked, surprised by his openness. She had never thought about the scar being anything more than a symbol of what had happened to him, a mark of his survival. "Does it still hurt a lot?" she asked quietly.

"Not all the time," Harry admitted, lowering his hand. "Just... during certain occasions. When it does, though, I don't want anyone making a fuss over it. They wouldn't understand anyway. I'd rather just push through and move on, you know?"

Callie nodded slowly, the weight of his words settling over her. She hadn't expected him to understand how she felt, but he did— maybe better than most people could. "Yeah," she murmured. "I know what you mean."

Harry gave her a small, understanding smile. "So, if you ever feel like it's too much... you don't have to say anything. Just know I get it. And I'm here."

Callie felt her chest tighten, a mix of gratitude and guilt. Gratitude for his kindness, and guilt for keeping so much from him. She returned his smile, though it was tinged with something bittersweet. "Thanks, Harry," she said softly. "That means a lot."

"Anytime," he said, and the moment stretched between them, quiet but heavy with unspoken understanding.

Callie sighed and pushed herself to her feet, brushing off her pants and old knitted jumper. "I should probably head back in. They're probably on their way back from Hogsmeade by now..."

Harry stood too, wiping the dirt from his hands. "Most likely. I'll walk back with you."

She smiled, turning back toward the castle. As she straightened out her jumper, she tried her best to ignore the crimson that was now staining the crook of the sleeve she'd coughed into.

☾⋆₊✧

"There you are," Hermione said as she handed Calista a small bag of sweets from Honeydukes. Now dusk, Hermione, Ron, and the rest of the students had just returned to the common room with some of the other Gryffindors, pink-faced from the cold wind and looking as though they'd had the time of their lives.

"Thank you!" Callie exclaimed to Hermione, giving her hand a squeeze. "Had fun?"

Hermione nodded rapidly, taking a seat next to her. She talked nonstop for the next few minutes about the shops, the sights they saw, and the food they'd had.

"There's this amazing place called Honeydukes," she gushed. "It has every sweet you could possibly imagine! Chocolate Frogs, Fizzing Whizzbees, Sugar Quills— you'd love it! And they even have this thing called Pepper Imps that make you breathe fire for a few seconds!"

Callie snorted. "Sounds dangerous."

"Only a little!" Hermione admitted with a grin. "And then there's the Three Broomsticks, where we got butterbeer. It's warm and frothy, kind of butterscotchy, and honestly one of the best things I've ever had. Oh, and Zonko's! It's a joke shop— Fred and George went mad in there, buying all sorts of prank items. Ron had to practically drag them out!"

Callie listened intently, a wistful smile tugging at her lips. She could picture it all— the bustling streets, the cozy little shops, the golden glow of candlelight in the pub's windows.

"It sounds... really nice," she murmured, a pang of longing in her chest.

"It is," Hermione said softly, as if she understood exactly what Callie was feeling. "And next time, you'll be there with us."

Callie raised her hand, crossing her fingers.

They eventually scurried through the portrait hole down to the Great Hall, where the feast was just about to start. Callie had not eaten anything all day, and though she wasn't sure what she could stomach, she was set to try a bit of everything. As the tables lit up with food, she was sure she would be able to enjoy it.

Taking a swig of pumpkin juice while the Weasley twins recapped their first trip to Hogsmeade for the year, Callie found her focus wandering. She began to tune out all the noise, simply observing the room around her. At the Slytherin table, Malfoy and his goons were stuffing their faces, though she couldn't blame them. Draco had finally lost the sling a few weeks back, but still acted as though his arm wasn't completely useable. He didn't bother Callie specifically, but always targeted Harry when they were in each other's presence.

As her eyes fell on the teacher's table, a familiar set of eyes was boring right into her. Startled, she nearly choked on her juice at the sight of her father's worried expression that she knew so well. Nothing was wrong, per say, nothing that she couldn't handle— but she could tell from thirty feet away that he could sense something while intensely studying her face. Once he realized she was looking back at him he raised his eyebrows, silently asking if something was amiss. She shook her head slightly, and before he could try anything more, she turned her head away from him. Oh, she was in for it. But she didn't care, she wanted to just enjoy the night with her friends.

The feast finished with an entertainment provided by the Hogwarts ghosts. They popped out of the walls and tables to do a spot of formation gliding; Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had a great success with a re-enactment of his own botched beheading. Dumbledore gave a short dismissal before the students headed back to their dorms. She could still feel her father's gaze, but once she blended into the sea of students, she couldn't sense it anymore.

She, Hermione, Harry, and Ron followed the rest of the Gryffindors along the usual path to Gryffindor Tower, but when they reached the corridor which ended with the portrait of the Fat Lady, they found it jammed with students.

"Why isn't anyone going in?" Ron questioned. Callie couldn't really see over all the taller students in front of her, but she knew something was wrong.

"Let me through, please," came Percy's voice, and he came bustling importantly through the crowd. "What's the hold-up here? You can't all have forgotten the password– excuse me, I'm Head Boy—"

And then a silence fell over the crowd, from the front first, so that a chill seemed to spread down the corridor. They heard Percy say, in a suddenly sharp voice, "Somebody get Professor Dumbledore. Quick."

"What's going on?" Ginny Weasley asked from behind them, but no one this far back had an answer for her.

Next moment, Professor Dumbledore was there, sweeping towards the portrait; the Gryffindors squeezed together to let him through, and Calista and her friend's took the chance to inch forward.

"Oh, my–" Hermione exclaimed, grabbing onto Callie's arm.

The Fat Lady had vanished from her portrait, which had been slashed so viciously that strips of canvas littered the floor; great chunks of it had been torn away completely.

Dumbledore took one quick look at the ruined painting and turned, his eyes sombre, to see Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Dad all hurrying towards him.

"We need to find her," Dumbledore said. "Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr Filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady."

"You'll be lucky!" called a cackling voice.

Peeves, looking delighted, was bobbing over the crowd with an air of mischief.

"What do you mean, Peeves?" Dumbledore asked calmly, and Peeves's grin faded a little. He didn't dare taunt Dumbledore. Instead he adopted an oily voice that was no better than his cackle.

"Ashamed, Your Headship, sir. Doesn't want to be seen. She's a horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees. Crying something dreadful," he explained happily. "Poor thing," he added, unconvincingly.

"Did she say who did it?" Dumbledore responded.

"Oh, yes, Professorhead," Peeves replied, with the air of one cradling a large bombshell in his arms. "He got very angry when she wouldn't let him in, you see." Peeves flipped over, and grinned at Dumbledore from between his own legs. "Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black."

The entire hallway seemed to go cold. Callie's chest tightened as an eerie chill settled over her. She instinctively began to back away, her breath quickening. Her movements were small, cautious— she hoped they went unnoticed. Not that it mattered. At this moment, she didn't care if anyone saw her slip away. All she wanted was to put distance between herself and the oppressive air closing in around her.

She took another step back when a hand suddenly grabbed her wrist, firm but not harsh. Her heart jumped in panic, but before she could react, she was being pulled swiftly and silently into the shadows, swallowed by the darkness.

that was a biggie! longest chapter so far (about 7000 words) and i hope it wasn't too much. lots of plot and tension building in this chapter but callie and harry are growing closer and i love to see it ☺️ they start off so pure and supportive of each other AGH i love them.


uncle sirius is getting closer, winter is coming, and where has callie just gone? we'll see soon...