PART II: SECOND YEAR
Chapter 1:
Contrary to what Severus Snape expected of his daughter's nature, she elected to stand by him on Platform 9 ¾ rather than board early or greet her friends. When the last few students began to filter into the train, and Calista still stood stock-still beside him, he pressed a gentle hand between her shoulders.
"The summer holidays are officially over, Calista. Missing the train back to school isn't going to change that, I'm afraid."
"I know." Calista took hold of her school bag. Her trunk and the carrier containing her cat had already been loaded onto the train by porters fifteen minutes prior, but she had yet to join them.
Something in her dejected tone caused Severus pause, but the train was about to leave and took precedence over it for the moment.
"Go on," Severus bade her, propelling her forward a few paces. "I shall see you at school. If something is bothering you, we will discuss it later."
"Nothing's bothering me," Calista said coolly, slinging her bag over her shoulder and dashing toward the train. "You worry too much," she called, an afterthought.
Which may have been true, but it wasn't as if he didn't have good reason to. She had a sociopathic mother that was evidently able to mentally attack her in her sleep, a perpetually defensive demeanour, and a habit of getting herself into trouble.
On top of all that, he was fairly certain that she had lied when she said that nothing was bothering her. He sincerely hoped that whatever it was, it wasn't going to lead to her being harmed or killed. It was probably too much to hope for that it wouldn't land her in detention, but he decided to hope for that as well, despite the odds.
Severus sighed and checked his watch. If he Apparated to the edge of the castle grounds now, he would just barely have enough time to get his lesson plans for the first week of classes in order before the feast began.
It was quite a long walk to the castle, once he had been let in at the grounds gate, but he didn't mind. It was a warm, late-summer afternoon and he allowed himself to mull things over during the course of the journey.
He had thus far managed to keep Calista from meeting anyone who might recognize her as Bellatrix's child, but he feared their days of secrecy were drawing to a close. He was in touch, at least casually, with several of his old colleagues from Voldemort's inner circle.
Most of his old colleagues were spoken to out of necessity only, and rarely at that, and to these people it was easy enough to simply neglect to mention that he was raising a daughter. However, there were others to whom he knew he would have to introduce Calista soon, or risk arousing suspicion as to why he had not done so already.
He worried most about Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. He was their son's godfather, and yet they had never met his daughter. They had learned of her existence of late, but so far he had always managed to have an excuse not to bring Calista when he visited. He was not in such close contact with them since the Dark Lord's downfall that it was strange that he had neglected to mention her before, but now that he had, they wanted to meet her.
This last time, he had gone while she had been spending the week at her friend Emily Yaxley's, a venture which he had initially seen as low-risk, because he had never known Adonus Yaxley very well, although he had been friendly with Adonus' sister, Ferada, in school. As far as he knew, Ferada and Adonus had gone their separate ways shortly before they'd left school.
No, it was definitely the Malfoys he was concerned about. Lucius might not recognize the child, but Narcissa surely would; after all, she was Calista's aunt by blood. If Bellatrix had allowed anyone to meet Calista when she was young, it surely would have been Narcissa.
And what would he do if Narcissa did recognize Calista? Feign ignorance as to who the child's mother was? In the unlikely even that the Wizarding Child Services Division of the Ministry ever did grant custody to a father without disclosing who the child's mother had been, Narcissa knew him too well to believe that he'd taken so many bedmates he honestly couldn't guess which one had carried his child.
In fact, he had always assumed that Narcissa believed Calista Lestrange to be dead, for his summation of her character was such that she would surely have offered to take her sister's child in once she resurfaced from the clutches of the Order of the Phoenix. And yet, when pressed during his most recent visit with the Malfoys, he had disclosed her given name, because he couldn't see a way to escape the question without arousing suspicion.
Neither Lucius or Narcissa had reacted to hearing her name, and it unsettled him almost as much as it might have if they had reacted. Was he really so fortunate that even Narcissa had not known her niece's name? Had enough time passed since Calista's initial disappearance that they had missed the association? Or were the Malfoys simply having him on, letting him think he had slipped her true identity past them?
If he had been public about gaining custody of her from the beginning, it might have been easier. Of course he would be expected to seek her out and retain custody of her after Bellatrix had been imprisoned, when his suspicions about having fathered her were validated. Now, he had to contend with the years he had kept her secret from Bellatrix's former acquaintances.
Back then, he recalled that he had been so appalled by the wretched state of body and mind that he had found Calista in that he had not dared to share her with anyone but Albus Dumbledore. Aside from his nearly obsessive fear early on that she would never be able to recover from the way Bellatrix had begun raising her, there was the damage Calista could have done to his reputation at the time.
A crucial element to gaining Calista's trust had been confiding in her that he was not supportive of Bellatrix's views, and in turn, the Dark Lord's. If she had somehow revealed that truth to Lucius Malfoy, he very well might have been killed. At the very least, he would be in grave danger should the Dark Lord ever return.
She had come far enough in her recovery that Severus believed she would be able to handle an encounter with some of her mother's old friends, and she was quite likely accomplished enough in Occlumency to successfully hide his secrets; not from the Dark Lord, certainly, or even from Lucius if he chose to dig far enough, but the chances of that were slim. Lucius had no reason to mistrust him, and even less reason to think that a twelve-year-old girl would be hiding anything through Occlumency.
He would expect Lucius or even Narcissa to perform a cursory glance at the surface of her mind, but he was confident in Calista's ability to resist collapsing to so minor a breach. Truth be told, it was part of the reason that he had made her lessons so much more rigorous. He couldn't keep her secluded from his acquaintances much longer, and it was imperative for both of them that she could keep certain secrets from them.
Perhaps he could simply tell the Malfoys something close to the truth: that he had located Calista, learned that she had been poorly treated by Bellatrix, and decided that she was better off separated from any part of her old life. It could play out in his favour, but it all depended on how close Bellatrix and Narcissa had remained during the final years before the former was imprisoned.
He couldn't see Narcissa condoning outright child abuse, so he had to assume that she had never been aware of the extremity of Bellatrix's parenting methods. Still, he would be left in the precarious situation of needing to explain enough to convince Narcissa that he had been justified in keeping her parentage secret without explaining enough to expose any of Calista's weak points.
He certainly didn't want any of his old acquaintances to know about the makeshift Dark Mark carved into Calista's back, because he still didn't understand the full implications of it. As for the rest of her traumatic memories, as it stood now they were little more than weapons against her, and what father would arm anyone with that kind of arsenal against his child? Perhaps some day, when she had truly come to terms with her dark past, she would be able to remember without regressing, but she was still young, and only so far down the road towards recovery.
There was the slightest chance that he would be able to avoid discussing Bellatrix altogether, however. Calista truly favoured him far more in looks, though her cheekbones were higher and her face even more angular.
Bellatrix must have had a reason for generally having kept Calista away from other people. Maybe she had seen Severus' mark on her even then and really had hidden her even from her sister. Narcissa had never really made a secret out of her affection for Severus at school; perhaps Bellatrix had feared that Narcissa would make the connection and spill the proverbial beans.
It was a matter that he had considered at length before, and as he considered it again during his walk across the castle grounds, he found his mind turning in the same circles over and over again. There was no other way to find out, in the end, than to introduce Calista to the Malfoys on his next visit, and hope that he was sufficiently prepared for whichever set of circumstances arose.
o-o-o-o
Calista boarded the train far more reluctantly than she believed she'd let on to her father. He had guessed wrong when he'd assumed she'd wanted the summer break to continue. She was actually looking forward to resuming her classes, but before she could she had to face the train ride.
She had come to believe, for a few glorious days in the summer, that she finally had a true friend at Hogwarts. She had hoped that she and Emily would stand together against Olivia and Portia, but those hopes had been dashed nearly as soon as they'd managed to take hold.
She felt like a fool in retrospect; how could she ever have believed that gutless Emily would stand up to the self-declared princess of Slytherin House? She was angry at herself for ever believing that things could change, and disgusted with herself that she knew, even now, she wouldn't tell anyone what kind of neighbourhood Emily lived in.
She wanted to. Ever since Emily had made her offhandedly cruel remark at the end of their sleepover, she had burned with the desire to ruin her, to disclose every humiliating fact about her that she could, and perhaps a few fictions too.
The fact was, Emily had just as much information about Calista that she could as easily betray – and really, Calista knew deep down that it would accomplish nothing to ruin Emily. It wouldn't even really make her feel any better about her own situation, and without even the secret summer friendship with Emily, what did she really have?
"Calista!"
Calista was interrupted from her reverie by the sound of her own name. She recognized Emily's voice, and looked up to see her sometimes-friend waving from the doorway of a compartment several doors down the corridor.
"Hullo, Emily," she replied dully, prepared to walk right past her, but Emily reached out and tugged Calista's elbow. Unable to prevent herself from twitching just a little, she inwardly cursed Emily's apparently newfound habit of grabbing her unexpectedly.
"Come on, we've saved you a space."
Emily guided her into the compartment before relinquishing her hold on Calista's elbow, where she really had no choice but to take a seat or throw a fit. She chose the former initially, but hadn't yet counted the latter out of the running.
"Calista, darling, you simply must tell me all about your summer," Olivia gushed, and even someone with no Occlumency background could have called her welcoming, girlish tone as fabricated.
"It was hot," Calista replied testily, hoping she discovered Olivia's latest game before she fell victim to its punchline.
"That's not what she meant," Portia clarified, from what Calista considered her perch next to the reigning princess herself.
"Thanks, I didn't get that," Calista snarked, debating the virtues of throwing a fit after all. It had to be a better alternative than manoeuvring through the minefield of a conversation that she knew Olivia was gearing up for.
"My summer was great," Emily supplied, throwing herself into the seat next to Calista. "I met Calista in Diagon Alley for ice cream a few weeks ago."
"Ice cream," Olivia said, disdain dripping from her tone, even as she kept a false smile plastered to her face. "How… quaint. I was supposed to go to Switzerland, but Mother was kept too busy at the Ministry."
"Oh," Calista said, too-sweetly, deciding to play along in just as transparent a manner as Olivia was displaying, "And I was certain that you'd gone after all, since I only received one letter from you all summer complaining about how dreadfully bored you were."
"Olivia wrote to you?" Emily asked softly, and then pressed her lips together, glancing at the two girls across the compartment.
"Olivia wrote to me twice," Portia declared, and it was all Calista could do to keep from laughing in her face. She didn't understand why anyone would want a tagalong like Portia, who practically worshipped Olivia. And as far as Calista was concerned, they deserved each other as friends; Olivia was a conniving brat, and Portia was an idiot.
"Oh, well, I was far too busy to write to all of my friends," Olivia said offhandedly, but the damage had been done. Calista saw Emily slink down in her seat a few inches, looking defeated and hurt.
"I'm surprised you didn't find the time to write to Emily," Calista said, "Since you told me in your letter that you had hardly anything to keep you busy. I guess things must have really picked up for you after you wrote."
"Yes," Olivia said stiffly, finally flashing a look of contempt in Calista's direction, "Yes, things did pick up quite a bit after I wrote you."
The look actually reassured Calista. She knew how to react when Olivia hated her. It was when the other girl introduced this false premise of friendship between them that Calista was caught off-guard.
"Anyway," Calista muttered, "I'm off. I think I'll go sit somewhere else."
"Nonsense!" Olivia said, half-rising as if to stop Calista from leaving, "We were just catching up. You haven't yet told me how your summer was, and I know it must have been awfully busy as well, since you never did get around to writing me back."
"Oh, I wasn't really very busy," Calista said, unable to resist the urge to smirk. Really, the set-up had been too easy. "I just didn't feel like writing to you."
Olivia glowered, but to Calista's surprise, she didn't retort. She only replaced her plastic smile and turned to Portia to chat with her instead. Calista frowned to herself, unable to figure out exactly what Olivia's game was. Whatever her reason for wanting to make the appearance of a friendship with Calista, it appeared to very nearly outweigh her pride.
o-o-o-o
When Calista arrived in the Great Hall for the Sorting and the feast, she was presented with the opportunity of a lifetime; to openly snub Olivia Avril.
Calista had entered a little late, since she had been trying to locate her father in the press of people in the Entrance Hall. After a brief and fruitless survey of the crowd, she'd gone in anyway.
As she approached the Slytherin table, she saw Olivia waving at her to take an empty seat next to her. And then, as she had resigned herself to taking it, she saw someone else waving to her form further up the table.
"Snapelet! Oi, Little Snapey, come here and sit with us. We want to know what sort of trouble you got into over the summer!"
It was Kimberly Avery. Calista turned deliberately away from Olivia and the other second-years and squeezed herself into a seat between Peter Boyle and Conor Quinn, two of Kimberly's friends that she had met the previous year.
"So did you try it?" Kimberly asked, grinning at her, "The Exploding Spell?"
Calista thought she caught Ethan Briggs shoot Kimberly a glare, but she couldn't be certain.
"Er, no. Not yet."
"That's allright, there's time yet." Kimberly said, looking to the other sixth-years for support. "Any thing else we need to add to her repertoire before she begins her second year?"
If any of Kimberly's friends replied, it was drowned out by the general roar that arose in the Great Hall as the Sorting Hat was carried out.
A rip near the brim of the hat opened suddenly, and the first-years that were lined up a few yards away from it all gasped in surprise. When Calista saw the sixth-years chuckle, she did the same.
"I'm not a cap you'd put a feather in,
And wear in place of pride,
But I can tell you what's within
Your pretty little mind!
I shall take a look inside your head,
To see where you belong,
I promise there is naught to dread
And I shan't take too long!
If what I see within is bravery,
Courage and succour,
Then I shall send you forthwith to
The House of Gryffindor!
If what I see within is learning,
A mind of wit and awe,
Then you will find your friends in
The House of Ravenclaw!
If what I see within is loyalty,
Kindness, hard work, and love,
Then I'll send you quickly to
The House of Hufflepuff!
If what I see within is cunning,
Pride, drive, and ambition,
Then I know you'll fit well in,
The House of Slytherin!
The Great Hall broke into applause, and McGonagall unrolled the parchment with the names of all of the first years on it. She had just begun calling the first few names when Kimberly leaned in and whispered in Calista's ear.
"Listen, Snapelet, I don't know what you said to your dad at the end of last term, but he's been on my side when it comes to Elyse ever since I asked you to talk to him."
"I really didn't say much," Calista whispered back, feeling another surge of pride at the reminder of the false memory she had planted in her own mind for her father to read.
"Well, whatever you said, it worked. Keep it up, and I'll have your back too, when you need it."
"Thanks," Calista muttered, followed promptly by, "Bloody hell!"
"What?" Kimberly called over the roar of the Hufflepuffs, who had just received a new house member.
Calista shook her head distractedly, and found the staff table with her eyes. Just as she suspected, her father had made it to dinner – and hadn't wasted any time in springing a practical test on her.
She hadn't been expecting a test so soon and was caught completely off-guard. She scrambled to assemble a rudimentary defence, all the while trying desperately not to think about the conversation she'd just been having with Kimberly. Of course, as soon as she told herself not to think about it, it was all that she could think of.
Odd, though. She felt him swipe at her pitiful excuse for a mental barrier, but she didn't feel him picking through any of her surface thoughts once he had breached it. Was he respecting her privacy, or was he simply so good at what he was doing that she couldn't detect him pilfering through her thoughts?
"Ow!" Calista was jarred when Kimberly elbowed her sharply. "Clap," Kimberly hissed, and Calista realised belatedly that Slytherin had just gained a new house member. She clapped along with everyone else, and craned her neck to see who the new addition was.
It was a solid-looking boy who appeared to be a year or two older than Calista rather than a year her junior, with hair in a mousy shade somewhere between blond and brown. He was the first student to be sorted into Slytherin, but they received another similarly built boy with darker hair and a slightly shorter stature a moment later.
Calista felt a surge of irritation as she watched Olivia welcoming the first years in what she personally felt to be far too enthusiastic a manner. Calista could practically see Olivia taking them all under her wing – which was of course, precisely what she had done with Calista in the beginning – and she doubted she'd have any friends among them once Olivia was finished.
Even given the trio of girls that Calista supposed were certain to become Olivia's newest followers, their house was looking decidedly low on new blood until the final two students, Christopher Warrington and Isabella Zabini, were both sorted into Slytherin, rounding out the number of new Slytherins to a respectable eight.
When the roar of applause for all of the newly sorted students had died down, the Headmaster rose.
"I have several announcements to make before we all tuck in to this fine feast. Firstly, as some of you may have heard, Professor Tolland had an unfortunate encounter this summer with a nest of vampires, and has subsequently decided to retire. We all wish him a speedy recovery and a happy retirement, and hope that he will one day return to Hogwarts to pay us a visit. Professor Septimus Foran will be joining us at Hogwarts this year to take over the responsibility for your education in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Please join me in welcoming him to Hogwarts."
There was a polite smattering of applause, and a few flurries of whispers as the students craned their necks to see the staff table. Professor Foran appeared to be a youngish man with a long brown ponytail and a skeletal build. He lifted one hand in a casual wave to the students as they clapped, but neglected to rise as he was introduced.
"Secondly, I have been asked to remind you that the list of objects that are currently not allowed in the corridors of Hogwarts is available outside Caretaker Filch's office. In addition, first years should note that the forest at the edge of the grounds is expressly off-limits to all students. Finally, congratulations are in order for this year's Head Boy and Head Girl, Mr. William Weasley of Gryffindor and Miss Flora Parsimmon of Hufflepuff, respectively."
Several of the Slytherin students greeted this announcement with hisses of contempt and disapproval, but they were drowned out by deafening applause from the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. The Ravenclaw students clapped politely.
"And now – without further pause, let us eat."
o-o-o-o
Calista woke to the general commotion of her roommates getting ready for their first day of classes. She could hear a great rustling of papers and books, and sat up to find Emily frantically searching through a stack of papers and books on her bedside table.
"I can't find my green quill," she said, catching Calista's eye, "Have you seen it? The one from that set you gave me at Christmastime? We have History of Magic this morning, and I always write the dates in green."
"No," Calista said, reaching her fists to her face and rubbing sleep from her eyes, "We got our timetables?"
"They were slipped under the door," Portia said, wiping her hand across her nose, "Want me to get you yours?"
"No, don't, I'll –," she began, but Portia had already crossed the room to the area in front of the door, where a single sheet of parchment still occupied space on the floor. Portia flipped it over, and took a great deal of time longer on her return route from the door, her eyes roving over the parchment.
"Give it to me, you nosy twit," Calista said, pushing her blankets off and setting her feet on the floor. She made to snatch the parchment from Portia, but the other girl held it aloft, squinting at it a moment longer.
"How come yours looks different? You have extra classes, or something."
"Let me see," Olivia said bossily, reaching her hand out.
"Or you can give it to me, as it's my timetable," Calista snapped. Predictably, Portia handed the parchment over to Olivia instead.
"You've got a class on Saturday," Olivia said, wrinkling her delicate nose, "And an extra one on Thursdays – Oh, Calista, I'm sorry." She sounded anything but.
"What?" Calista said, reaching around Portia to take the parchment from Olivia. This time she succeeded in snatching it from the other girl's hands, and scanned it with her eyes.
She was scheduled for a three-hour class on Saturday mornings with her father, referred to on her timetable only as "Elective Study Program". She nearly chuckled at that, because she knew it must refer to her Occlumency lessons, which she had most certainly not elected to take on Saturday mornings. She supposed it had been written that way in her timetable because Occlumency wasn't officially an offered class at Hogwarts – and that she had been scheduled for it because her father wanted to ensure that she couldn't be assigned a detention in place of her lessons with him this year.
"It's just extra potions with my dad," Calista said, feeling her face heat up. Why was Olivia looking at her with that mingled look of smugness and pity?
"Look at your Thursdays. You've got Remedial Transfiguration."
"What? I do not, I'm in Transfiguration on Monday and Wednesday afternoons, same as you…" Then she trailed off. Olivia was right. She did have a block on her timetable on Thursdays set aside for "Remedial Transfiguration", in addition to her regular second-year class.
"Well, McGonagall can stuff it," Calista said loudly, crumpling her timetable up and tossing it aside, "I'm not going to show up to her blasted 'remedial' lesson. I don't need extra lessons."
"Are you sure? The snuffbox you transfigured for exams last year still had a tail." Olivia smirked.
"At least I didn't nearly blow up the Potions classroom," Calista shot back, "Weekly."
"Don't get your knickers in a twist," Olivia huffed, "There's an obvious solution here. You help me in Potions and I'll help you in Transfiguration."
"Don't tell me – wait. What?"
"I didn't do poorly enough to get remedial lessons, evidently," Olivia smirked, and then hastily let it drop and started speaking again in a rush when Calista's eyes narrowed and her mouth opened, "But I'm not exactly the top student in Snape – er, your dad's – class. You can tutor me in Potions, and I'll help you with McGonagall's class."
Spending extra time with the two-timing Olivia was one of the last things Calista wanted to do, but spending the next six years of school in remedial lessons was the very last thing she wanted, so she resigned herself to the compromise.
"Fine," Calista heard herself say, "It's not like either of us has much of a choice."
o-o-o-o
True to her word, Calista skived off her first remedial Transfiguration lesson. She had intended to attend the first lesson, if only to ask Professor McGonagall for permission to study with Olivia instead of actually having to attend future remedial lessons, but as she sidled into the Transfiguration classroom late Thursday afternoon, she glimpsed another student, lounging against the far wall.
It was Marcus Flint, the Quidditch player. As far as Calista could tell, he spent an equal amount of time bashing his head on the Quidditch pitch and trying to get Olivia's attention, neither of which she considered a worthwhile pursuit. Furthermore, he was so obviously (in Calista's eyes) below her academically and intellectually. There was absolutely no way that she would share a remedial class with him if she had any say in the matter.
Marcus caught sight of Calista in the doorway, and grinned sheepishly. "I guess we're in remedial Transfiguration together, aren't we?"
"No," Calista replied, turning smartly on her heel, "We are so not."
She returned to the Slytherin common room as quickly as she could, for fear of running into Professor McGonagall in the corridors. Admittedly, once she had arrived in the common room, she had no idea what she would say if Professor McGonagall sent for her, or asked her later why she hadn't shown up. Maybe she could pretend to be sick.
"Aren't you supposed to be in extra lessons?" Olivia drawled, from a study table across the common room.
"Skived off," Calista announced brazenly, "Saw Marcus Flint in the classroom and figured they must have made a scheduling mistake. There's no way I'm being lumped in with him."
Olivia grinned. "Oh come off it, Calista. He might be as dumb as rocks, but he is kind of cute. And he's great on a broomstick."
Calista lifted her brows, surprised to find herself in a civil conversation with Olivia Avril, of all people. She had forgotten why they'd become friends at the beginning of last year in the first place; she remembered now that at one time, she'd actually enjoyed the back-and-forth conversational banter with Olivia.
"Cute? You really think he's cute?"
"Well, not cute enough for someone like me, but maybe for you or Portia."
"You're joking, right? I don't think he's cute at all; I think he's a right troll."
Olivia snorted delicately. "You're one to be picky about looks, 'Little Snape'."
"You miserable hag –"
"Come off it, Calista. Everyone knows that's what those sixth-years call you. I have to admit, I can see their point – you don't have to look exactly like him, you know."
"What are you talking about?" Calista spat, her face twisted into a scowl. Ah yes, now she remembered why she didn't care much for Olivia.
Olivia rolled her eyes nearly to the back of her blonde head. "You dress all in black robes like him, even at the weekend – you don't seem to wash or brush your hair much, and even when you do, it looks like you haven't, because it's in that same non-style as your dad's – For Merlin's sake, haven't you noticed? Scowling all the time with your face hidden under your hair, you look just like a smaller version of him all the time."
"I… I do not," Calista said, even though she wasn't really sure if it was true or not, or even if she'd consider it necessarily a bad thing. It had never really occurred to her to give a rat's rear about her appearance. She'd always assumed there wasn't much she could do with it, so why bother trying?
"You totally do," Olivia said, rising from her seat now that Calista didn't look ready to spit venom, "It's fine for him to look like that – he's a man, and a professor, and, well, frankly, he's old. But you're a girl, and you're nearly a teenager, and it's about time you looked halfway presentable, don't you think?"
Calista scowled, and then remembered that Olivia had accused her of scowling behind her hair all the time, and neutralised her expression. "I don't care," she said, deceptively off-hand. "I don't care what I look like."
"That much is obvious," Olivia retorted, but her expression was more pensive than vindictive. "Come here a minute, will you?"
"What? Why? What are you going to do to me?" Calista demanded, as Olivia fingered her wand.
"Help you, if I can. Maybe we can do something with that hair, at least."
"Why should I let you do anything to my hair?"
Olivia laughed. "Honestly, what have you got to lose? Stop being a prat and come here."
Calista stepped closer to Olivia, but put her hand in her pocket to grip her own wand tightly. "If you hex me or something, I'll turn your bogeys into bats and have them attack you."
Olivia stepped in close, the exhale of her derisive laugh fluttering against Calista's neck. "You do that, and I'll turn you into a bat yourself. Hold still."
Calista tensed, half-expecting Olivia to hex her, or kick or, or pull her hair, or something. She did feel a little tug on her hair, and then Olivia muttered a few incantations, pausing here and there to survey her results so far. After a moment, she stepped back.
"Wait right here. Don't go anywhere or look at yourself yet." She was gone before Calista could ask her any questions, dashing down the short corridor to their dormitory. When she emerged, she was holding a tiny bottle, a hairbrush and something shiny and green in her fist.
"What's in the bottle?" Calista asked suspiciously.
"Verity Lawlor's Vivacious Volume Leave-in Conditioner. It's from –"
"A posh shop in London," Calista said in unison with Olivia, who flashed a snide smile.
"Yes, it is. Mother has a contact; she gets an excellent bargain on it. Hold still again…"
Calista's hair flopped down over her face under Olivia's ministrations, and then was carefully brushed back and then parted over her left eyebrow. One of Olivia's incantations must have detangled her hair, because Calista admittedly hadn't brushed it that day, yet Olivia's hairbrush didn't hit any snags. She felt a tiny pinch near her temple, and then cold metal.
Olivia stepped back and surveyed her work. "You definitely need something more," she confided, "Maybe some eye makeup, or a Shrinking Spell on that nose of yours. Still, put on a decent pair of dress robes with some colour in them, and there'd be a marked improvement. Go look."
Still eyeing Olivia warily as she strode past her, Calista went into the lavatory off the common room and braced herself. She didn't like to look in the mirror, because she was always disgusted by what she saw.
Exhaling with the air of someone having delayed the inevitable as long as they possibly can, Calista lifted her face to look into the glass.
Well. That was certainly different. Calista turned her face this way and that. When she caught her nose in profile, she grimaced. Still, overall it was an improvement. Olivia had reduced the length of her hair drastically. It just barely grazed her shoulders now, but it no longer looked tangled and oily. It was shiny and thick-looking, and even moved a little this way and that when she turned her head. Olivia had parted her hair on the left, and clipped that side back with a small, flat green clip.
"What do you think? It won't stay looking like that unless you keep it up every day," Olivia said as she strode into the lavatory behind Calista. "You'll need to get some of that potion, and for Merlin's sake, brush it every day."
"It's… different," Calista said uncertainly.
Olivia huffed. "Of course it is. You look a little bit like a normal human being now instead of a – well, instead of like a smaller version of your father. I still maintain you've got a long way to go, of course. Oh, and you can keep that hair clip now that you've used it. You're welcome, by the way."
"Yeah. Thanks." Calista deadpanned, the word tasting funny in her mouth.
"Of course, you're not going to get away with skiving off McGonagall's class, no matter how good your hair looks."