Boomerang

by

Padfootzluvr


Disclaimer: I own nothing but Calli..."You Will. You. Will. You? Will. You? Will." belongs to Bright Eyes, "Hide and Seek" is owned by Imogen Heap, and all Harry Potter characters and places you recognize belong to J. K. Rowling.


"Where are we?
What the hell is going on?
Dusk has only just began to fall
Crop circles in the carpet
Sinking feeling...

Spin me 'round again
And rub my eyes
This can't be happening..."
-Imogen Heap

Chapter One:

Crop Circles in the Carpet

Summer 199512 Grimmauld Place

I sort of lied. Before, I mean. I said that Calli and I met when we were twelve. According to my better half, I "technically" met Calli when I was six. That doesn't count, now does it? Not if I don't recall it, it doesn't. I didn't meet meet her until I was twelve...know what I mean? Most likely not, since I am completely and utterly pissed off my arse right now.

I went to find Calli...to apologize. Don't you judge me, don't you dare. I searched all over Number 12, Grimmauld Place, and couldn't find her anywhere. I did find her room, empty as usual. Calli sleeps in my room almost every night, unless we quarreled earlier that day or some other stupid reason to not sleep in my room presented itself...those stupid reasons usually ended up being someone watching us too closely.

So, as per usual, her room was quite devoid of, well, her. Unfortunately (or fortunately, according to certain people), her room was also devoid of all her belongings. It was now just another vacant, but inhabitable, room. I sat on the bed, looking around the empty room, disbelievingly, as the reality hit me (delayed, no doubt by acohol consumption).

She left. She actually left. Sure, we had fought...but we always fought...normally, she didn't leave Grimmauld Place when we fought...she knew I couldn't come after her.

But maybe that's why she left...she knew I couldn't chase her this time...

I had reduced myself to rambling, speaking in nonsensical circles.

I left the room quickly and headed downstairs into the kitchen, where Moony sat immersed in a scroll of parchment, his frown accentuating the premature aging that was a result of either his condition, or stress...or both, perhaps.

He didn't glance up as I entered, nor as I opened a cupboard and grabbed a bottle of firewhiskey, but he spoke right as I was about to leave the kitchen to drink until I couldn't feel anything.

"Calli left, then?"

I didn't answer, I didn't turn around; but I did stop walking. I twisted off the top of the firewhiskey bottle and held it to my lips, but I didn't take a drink quite yet.

"She won't come back unless you give her a reason to," Remus continued. "A real reason. Not just a good fuck."

I scowled and took a drink, turning to him as the amber liquid burned my throat. I spoke, my voice already raspy, a temporary side-effect of the scalding drink, "What reason could I possibly give her to persuade her to stay with me?"

There was a pause as Remus finally looked up from the parchment, and I saw that it was a contract of some sort. I didn't waste any thought on what it might be for, however, as he answered me.

"I'm sure that she is asking herself the same question."

Oh, how extremely encouraging, Moony...

"Well," I began, trying to think up some retort but coming up with none. I took another swig (there really is no other word for it but "swiggin", drinking straight out of a bottle of firewhiskey that is) before continuing, buying me some time to think of something, anything, that could validate my "relationship". I sighed, more or less letting myself just drop into a nearby chair. "Well...that's disheartening."

Remus granted me with a ghost of a smile, and I saw a shadow of the old Remus momentarily before he turned his attention back onto the parchment. "That it is...for you."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" I asked. The manner in which I said this wasn't so hostile as it seems, merely demanding. It still held that nonchalant air that came along with the drink in my hand.

"Well," he began, mimicking my earlier reply. "Well, it could possibly mean that maybe this—this separation, or whatever you may call it—is really better--"

"Bullo--"

"--for Calli," he finished, before my interruption could be completely. I snapped my mouth shut, staring hard at him.

"So," I began, tipping the bottle back again; the loose label fluttered against my fingers as I literally tilted the firewhiskey, bottom's up. I returned the now half empty bottle to the chipped tabletop. "This is the bit where I go all selfless and 'I-love-her-so-much-I-just-want-her-to-be-happy-even-if-I-am-not'?"

"Yes," Remus answered simply. He looked like he wanted to say something, but then decided against it and instead went on, "Er, well it would be...If, that is, you were that type of person."

I knew what he was hinting at, I'm not that addled by Azkaban. He was right, too—I'm not the type to go all self-sacrifice on something that wasn't life-and-death. I wanted Calli to be happy, sure. I told him this.

"She isn't happy with you, Sirius," he said, looking me straight in the eye.

I raised an eyebrow, about to retort with some smart-aleck remark like "she sure was happy last night", maybe accompanied by a lewdly suggestive half grin (people don't think I plan those out, but things like that take a moment's pre-cognition), but Remus beat me to it.

"She isn't happy here. Not necessarily with you, of course...I doubt she'd hang around if she didn't receive some pleasure from being with you—no, I don't mean that kind of pleasure, don't be so perverted—but this house...I'm not sure how much longer she—any of us—can take it." With that Remus reached a scarred hand for the bottle that sat in front of me, but I quickly snatched it up and took a drink, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Get your own," I said, taking yet another sip. I was just starting to feel the effects but not enough so that they numbed the...whatever it's called...you know...when you feel like your heart was ripped out then someone took some parchment and started putting little cuts in it and sprinkling them with lemon juice and salt? Yeah...that feeling...I am not so sure that "pain" would be an adequate adjective.

"Come on, Padfoot, it's half full. Share," Remus said, grabbing for the bottle again.

"Nuh-uh, there's not enough for you," I said, clutching the bottle protectively. Remus eyed it sceptically. I glared at him, before jerking my thumb to the cabinet where the liquor was stocked. "Go get your own. They're in there."

"I don't want to open up a whole new bottle when there is an already open one right there!" he exclaimed in that odd, whisper-shouting quiet way that only Remus could.

"Open a new one, I'll finish this one, and then whatever you don't finish of the other bottle I'll drink," I explained, downing half of what was left of my bottle.

Remus didn't attempt to argue with a buzzed Black's logic, so with a sigh he stood and, as I had urged him, brought out a bottle of his own. He also reached into a nearby cupboard for two glasses, but I stopped him with a well-articulated shout of "Nahh!"

"I don't need a glass, Moony," I said, proving my point by finishing off my bottle.

He sent me one of those dark half-grins again, before putting one of the glasses back and pouring the other so that it was over half empty.

I raised an incredulous eyebrow at his small amount of alcohol; Remus was a lightweight, but this wasn't exactly cocktail hour at the Cheshire Cat—he was allowed to drink a little more than a sip.

"Are you sure you can drink all that, Remy?" I asked with faux concern, taking the newly opened bottle from his side of the table.

"I have no desire to become so absolutely slathering drunk that tomorrow someone could open a pub by selling my sweat," he said with a sly grin, taking a small sip of his drink. "Unlike you."

I sort of stared at him, trying to work my mind around what he said but it was no use. Of course I wanted to become completely and utterly pissed out of my mind. It was quite honestly the only way to forget Calli. And even then I wouldn't forget her...I would just conveniently forget the last few hours with her. "Right well..."

"Yeah, go on upstairs," Remus said, his eyes once more transfixed on his contract.

"Yeah, I think I will do that," I said, rising from the table with the bottle in hand. I left the kitchen before returning momentarily to grab a bottle of Bollard's Boggart Brandy, just for some variation.

I left, and made my way upstairs to my bedroom, where I have been for the last few hours, drinking and occasionally perusing through old pictures. I have successfully drunk myself into an almost-stupor, and I have been staring at the same picture of a ball held by the Crouches for the past fifteen minutes or so.

In the foreground of the picture Mr. And Mrs. Potter, James' parents, are pausing mid-dance to watch their son and his companion, in the background, pull at a napkin, atop which a platter of tarts is sitting.

James' companion has blue-black hair, which fell out of the pansy ass ribbon his mother tied it back in hours ago, and he is crouched almost under the tablecloth, whereas James is fully under the table, only his head and forearms showing as he pulls.

On the opposite side of the table, the host's daughter is pushing the platter closer to James, as James' friend supports the tip of the platter on his side to keep it from clattering to the floor.

The three children are around six, and James' rectangular glasses are continually having to be pushed up his nose to keep from falling.

James' mother, Dorea Potter, is torn between looking worried about the platter falling and laughing at her son and his friends' antics. Her husband, Charlus, is outright laughing and he occasionally runs a hand through his thinning hair.

It's hard not to smile, looking at the picture: that's the night I technically met Calli. She whipped it out of one of her moving boxes when they had bought flat together, years ago, offering it up as evidence to support her version of the tumultuous timeline of our relationship. It would have been a funny picture, if it were of anyone else. But looking at the picture just reminds me of those people I knew who aren't here anymore.

--

December, 1966
Crouch Manor

Sirius turned to James Potter with an exasperated sigh, crossing his arms across his small chest.

"Well, what should we do, then?" he asked frustratedly. So far, their every attempt to wreak havoc on the early Christmas ball was failing miserably, as it seemed that Caspar Crouch and his wife had fool-proofed the entire extravagant affair.

James looked about the room thoughtfully, as though looking for something else to do, when in fact he was thinking how awfully different he and his new friend were. They were similar in many aspects, but their general characters were in fact almost polar opposites. Not that James minded...so many of his friends were just like him, having been raised the same, that it was good to finally have one that was different.

As James' hazel eyes gazed about the massive room, one of the main three in which the enire ball was being held, he noticed a girl around their age in cream-colored dress robes. Her long, dark brown hair looked like it had been plaited, but it was falling out of the cream ribbon, and her eyes were red from crying.

"C'mon," James said, walking ahead without waiting for his friend. Sirius got up from the cherrywood chair that was almost comically oversized for his small frame, and followed the messy black head of hair through the crowded floor.

They finally reached the young girl, whose cheeks were blotched from crying. She was sitting on the cold tile, leaning against the marble wall with dramatically crossed arms and an exaggerated pout, glaring at the back of a tall, thin man with the same dark brown shade of hair as hers.

"Hello," James greeted her cheerfully, interrupting her brooding. "I'm James, this is Sirius. Why're you crying?" He spoke in that frank, tactless way that only those under ten can really get away with.

"My dad said I couldn't go into the dancing hall," she replied with a sniff.

"Who's your dad?" James asked.

"Right there," she replied, pointing to the tall, brunette man. He had turned a bit so they could see his profile: a rather delicate, thin nose, dark eyes, and arched brows. "Caspar Crouch."

The man turned their way fully, apparently having heard his name, and his thin jaw clenched slightly as he appeared to try not to laugh as his daughter glared at him darkly.

"Your parents are throwing this ball?" Sirius asked, speaking up for the first time since coming over to meet this girl.

"Yes. I'm Callista Crouch," the girl said, holding out her small hand to shake. Sirius took it gently, as though afraid of any diseases girls might carry, but when James shook her hand, he grinned broadly.

"Nice to meet you," James said. "You can come over there with us, if you'd like." He pointed across the room to the desserts table. "There are some rather good-looking treats over there that I wanted to try."

Sirius' eyes widened as James invited the girl to keep company with them, and he tried to get his friend to catch his eye to communicate his reluctance to spend the rest of the party in her presence, but James ignored him purposefully, knowing that Sirius didn't want a girl to tag along.

The girl smiled, tears forgotten, and stood up, brushing the pastel dress off delicately. Her large blue eyes lit up as she too spied the desserts laid on the table, and she skipped happily over to them, without waiting for the boys to follow.

James walked after her, and Sirius caught up with the slightly taller boy after a second.

"James," Sirius whined. "Why'd you invite that girl to spend the evening with us?"

"I was just being nice, Sirius," James replied. "She was crying."

Sirius sighed, but in the end the night didn't turn out so bad after all. They had eventually hidden under the table, and had pulled a tray of tarts off the table and sat underneath for a while, as James and Sirius talked about Quidditch. Callista mostly just listened, before yawning and leaving with a quiet "Bye."

Sirius didn't meet her again, officially, for another six years.

Post A/N: So that's it then, the first chapter. It'll be going like that from now on: the first half or so of the chapter will be taking place around 1995, and the second half or more of the chapter will be taking place back when. Review, if you want.