"He hates her."
"No he doesn't, not really.
She just makes him feel things that he's claimed don't exist."
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When Slughorn puts Callisto McAdams and Regulus Black in his potions class together, he unknowingly functions as a match maker...
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"SO...WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE THIS LATE?" Callisto asks, her voice low, almost playful, though her curiosity is genuine.
Remus Lupin shrugs, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Doing some school stuff... the usual." His tone is easy, casual, and to Callisto's surprise, she finds herself smiling back. It's the first time in ages that she feels at ease in the presence of another student. There's something about Remus—his quiet confidence, maybe, or the way he carries himself—that makes him feel like the safest person she's ever met at Hogwarts.
Callisto glances at the clock by the window, the hands inching toward midnight. She sighs, shaking her head.
"And what are you doing here? It'll be midnight in half an hour." Remus asks curiously.
Callisto sighs, starting to help Remus to put the books onto the shelves.
"Studying for Potions?" Remus adds, eyeing her books with mild amusement.
Callisto exhales dramatically, running a hand through her hair. "I wish. Slughorn gave us a project to work on in pairs until winter break." She says the words like it's a curse, and a soft laugh escapes her.
"Where's your partner, then?" Remus asks, raising an eyebrow as he takes the last book from her hands and places it on a top shelf that's just out of reach for Callisto. He's taller than her, but not in a way that feels threatening.
Callisto smirks dryly, shaking her head. "Probably off with his stupid friends, plotting ways to make my life a living hell."
Remus looks at her, then glances around the empty library before following her lead as she heads toward the door. "Who are you working with, exactly?" He catches up with her.
Her feet slow, her fingers grazing the edges of the bookshelves. "Your best friend's little brother."
She doesn't look up to see the expression on Remus's face, but she feels his gaze shift as he falls into step beside her. They walk out of the library, taking the corridor that leads to the Gryffindor tower.
"Wait—" Remus's voice falters. "James doesn't have a younger brother."
Callisto halts in her tracks, confusion knitting her brows. "What do you mean? I am talking about Regulus Black."
Remus stops too, and they stand there, the silence stretching between them. His eyes narrow in thought before he lets out a soft, embarrassed laugh. "Oh... right. I totally forgot about that." He runs a hand through his hair, a sheepish look on his face. "Does he leave all the work to you?"
"You could say that." Callisto's voice hardens as she says it, frustration creeping into her tone. "I don't even think he's said a single word to me since Slughorn paired us up. Feels like this is going to turn into a solo project, and not by choice." They start walking again, reaching the stairs leading up to the Gryffindor common room.
"Well, I can help if you like," Remus offers, his voice steady and genuine.
Callisto stops walking, blinking up at him, taken aback. She knew of Remus, of course—he was one of the Gryffindor boys, famous for being part of that group of friends. But they'd never really spoken before. To her surprise, though, he doesn't seem like one of the arrogant types who might make her feel like an outsider. Quite the opposite, actually. Remus seems... well, nice. Kind, even.
Her gaze flickers over his face. There's a scar, fresh and red, slashing across his cheek, and she wonders how it happened. Similar marks run along his neck and arms, disappearing under his sleeves. A fight? Her mind races with questions, but she pushes them down, not wanting to pry.
"That would be great," she says, her voice awkward as she tries to process the unexpected offer. It's hard for her to accept kindness—it's rare, and she's not used to it.
Remus gives her a soft, almost sad smile, his eyes meeting hers for a moment that feels like it lasts too long. But then, as though sensing her discomfort, he steps back, breaking the tension.
"I think you should head to bed," he suggests, his tone calm, his smile still lingering in his eyes. "If you need help, you can always come find me. Anytime."
Callisto nods, the weight of his kindness settling into her chest. She doesn't know what to say. It's too much, too quickly. So instead, she just says, "Good night, Remus Lupin."
"Good night, Callisto McAdams." His voice is warm, and as she walks away, she finds herself stealing a quick glance back at him, but he's already gone, slipping up the stairs as if he was never there at all.
The quiet corridor feels colder now, emptier somehow, and Callisto starts walking back toward the dungeons, her mind still whirling. She spent the entire day in the library working on Regulus's and her project—mostly because she couldn't bear to be in her common room with Carrow and Crouch lurking around. At least the library was a sanctuary. Nobody would dare venture in there after hours, right?
She doesn't notice the small piece of parchment until it's almost too late.
A tiny scrap of paper flutters toward her, landing softly at her feet. At first, she thinks it's just a trick of the light, but when she bends down to pick it up, she sees the faint, sparkly edges of the paper, and her heart skips a beat. It's charmed. Callisto frowns, opening it quickly.
The handwriting is messy, rushed. Her eyes scan the words:
Don't go to the common room until midnight. Carrow and Crouch are waiting there for you.
E.R.
Callisto's stomach twists with a mix of dread and something else—surprise, maybe. She'd known Carrow and Crouch weren't finished with her yet. She'd been waiting for this, even expecting it. But what she doesn't understand is the note.
E.R.?
Who the hell is E.R.?
Before she can dwell on it, footsteps and voices echo down the hall, closer now. Panic surges through her chest as she quickly steps into the nearest room, closing the door behind her. Her heart thunders as she listens—Lily Evans and another boy are on patrol, and they almost caught her. If they did, she'd be in serious trouble.
She holds her breath, waiting until the voices fade, then slides down the door, exhausted. Her fingers curl around the scrap of parchment, and she mutters to herself, "Stupid curfew. And stupid Carrow and Crouch."
She feels the weight of it all—a day spent in hiding, a night of silence and danger. "I don't even know the time."
"If you want to know exactly, it's a quarter to twelve."
