A heart beneath the mark

23. Part

I didn't go to breakfast the next morning.
I didn't feel like pretending. Pretending to laugh, pretending to chew, pretending to be human. The thought of sitting at the Ravenclaw table, surrounded by the hum of conversations and clinking cutlery, made my stomach twist.
Instead, I sat in the empty dormitory with my knees drawn up to my chest, Callum's words from the library echoing faintly in my head: I know what it's like to feel like everything's heavy and no one notices. So I notice.
I'd barely known him for ten minutes, and somehow he'd seen more of me than Mattheo had managed to say out loud in weeks.
Or maybe Mattheo had seen it, too—and that's what scared him.
God, I hated that he still had this power over me. Even now. Even after everything he said. After every cruel word, after the way he looked at me like I was just a stupid girl who got too close to the fire.
I still wanted to know if he was hurting too.
And I hated that. I hated myself for that.

⸻

By midday, I finally forced myself out of the dorm and into the quiet corners of the castle. Not to see anyone. Just to move. Just to feel like I still existed somewhere outside the ache in my chest.
I wandered aimlessly at first—through the empty Defense corridor, past the Divination tower, into a tucked-away nook by the Astronomy stairwell. I ended up in the greenhouse courtyard, where winter had begun to bite into the stone, the fountain frozen over at the edges.
That's where Callum found me again.
He didn't say anything at first. Just walked over and sat on the stone bench across from me, his bag sliding from his shoulder.
I looked up, startled.
"I'm not stalking you," he said quickly, holding up his hands. "I just... saw you from the greenhouse window. You looked kind of... hollow."
I gave a soft, humorless laugh. "That's probably accurate."
He tilted his head. "Mind if I sit?"
"You already are."
He smiled a little. "Fair enough."
We sat in silence. The good kind. The kind that didn't press on you like a weight. I found myself watching the way his fingers tapped against his knee, rhythmic, as if keeping time with thoughts he didn't speak.
"You okay?" he asked eventually.
I shook my head.
He nodded like he'd expected that. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"I don't even know where to start."
"I'm not in a rush."
So I told him. Not everything. Just enough. Enough for him to understand that someone had gotten inside my head and torn something out on the way out. Enough for him to know that I'd trusted someone who'd made me feel seen—only to have him slam every door shut the moment I stepped through.
"He said I wasn't special," I whispered, barely able to form the words.
Callum's jaw tightened. "Then he's a bloody coward."
That startled me.
He ran a hand through his dark curls. "People say that kind of thing when they're scared. When they're trying to convince themselves they don't care because caring means vulnerability. And some people would rather cut their own throat than admit they care."
I blinked. "Is that personal experience?"
He gave a short laugh. "Let's just say... I know how it feels to be someone's almost."
His voice softened on that last word, and for a second, we weren't just two classmates in an empty courtyard. We were two people with bruises in places no one could see.
"You don't seem like the type who gets pushed aside easily," I murmured.
Callum looked down, a sad little smile tugging at his lips. "Neither do you."

⸻

By the time we stood to leave, the sun had dipped lower in the sky. I didn't feel better exactly. But I felt lighter. A little more stable on my feet.
He walked me back toward the Ravenclaw tower, hands stuffed in his coat pockets, our shoulders just barely brushing. He didn't say anything when we stopped at the spiral staircase. Just looked at me like he saw something I hadn't recognized in myself for weeks.
"Try to sleep tonight," he said quietly. "Even if it's only for a few hours."
"I'll try."
"And Hannah?"
"Yeah?"
He hesitated. "You didn't deserve what he did to you."
The words hit harder than I expected. Not because I hadn't heard them before—but because, for once, I believed them.
"Thank you," I whispered.
Then he was gone.

⸻

That night, I stood by the window again.
The letter was still hidden beneath my bed, pressed between pages of a book I hadn't touched since that day. I hadn't read it again. I didn't think I could. Not yet.
Cho came over after curfew with a blanket and a bowl of chocolate-dipped strawberries from the kitchens. She didn't say much, just curled up beside me and placed her head on my shoulder.
I leaned into her without thinking.
For the first time since everything broke, I didn't feel like I was drowning.
And yet, as my eyes drifted to the night sky, a single thought kept whispering at the edge of my mind:
What if Mattheo regrets it, too?
It was poison.
But it was also hope.
And I wasn't ready to let either one go.