Chapter One: First Kiss
In which Ellen and Callan discover the effects of inebriation.
"The sound of a kiss is not so loud as that of a cannon, but its echo lasts a great deal longer."
-Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
They kiss twice before leaving the sanctuary of Hogwarts. The first time is after Gryffindor win the Quidditch Cup in their sixth year. The very atmosphere is intoxicating to Ellen – Quidditch isn't so popular at Beauxbatons, and she's never experienced house loyalty and the intense joys and sorrows that come with it before. Add some Firewhisky, probably smuggled in illicitly and distributed by Jack Hewer, and she is positively, uncharacteristically giddy. She's pretty smashed and it's about one in the morning, so she thinks she might wander up towards the Ravenclaw tower in search of her boyfriend, a one Philip Culpepper. In retrospect, she realises that he was probably asleep, but the thought doesn't occur to her at the time. It comes as somewhat of a surprise then, to round a corner and come face to face with Callan Urquhart. He's leaning against a wall by an open window, smoking a cigarette, and his expression, when he finally deigns to see who's interrupted his solitude, is nothing short of bitter. She's too drunk to care though, and so she just comes to a standstill in the otherwise deserted corridor.
'Why aren't you at the party?' she asks, her voice cold even as her judgement is softened by the vast amounts of alcohol she has imbibed.
He shrugs and retorts, 'Why aren't you?'
She nods, conceding his point. 'Boyfriend. Lovely, lovely... lovely boyfriend.'
It's at that point he realises just how drunk she is, but bloody fuck she looks gorgeous tonight as well. She has on a boy's jumper, Gryffindor, so evidently not Philip's, and he suddenly has this almost irresistible urge to tear whoever's it is from limb to limb, and he doesn't even know why. She's got shorts on too, but they're so tiny the jumper practically engulfs them, and he can practically see her long, long legs in their entirety. She sways towards him slightly, doe-eyes limpid and appealing. He almost – stupidly, irrationally, pointlessly – expects her to declare her love for him, but instead, she slurs happily, 'You're not lovely.'
He's drunk too, he knows he is, and this combined inebriation the only explanation either of them can come up with for the events that then unfold. In the morning, she can't remember if he came on to her, or vice versa, and truth be told, neither can he. At that moment in time though, it doesn't matter, because somehow, miraculously, his hands are on her hips and her lips are on his. Her arms curl around his neck, pulling their bodies yet closer together, and oh, this is perfection, just for the time being. It isn't really, of course, it's just an explosion of half-realised feelings and teenage hormones and lust and alcohol. Mostly alcohol. His hands snake down lower and her leg hooks around his. They break apart when they can no longer breathe and she bites her lip before she steps away again. It makes him want to kiss her again, but she's looking at him with an eyebrow raised, suddenly sobered, and before he can say anything, she's turning and walking away, hips swaying. He notes, with some satisfaction, that she's going back to the Gryffindor tower though, boyfriend apparently forgotten.
In the morning, they tacitly agree never to mention it again. She comes into breakfast with her hands entwined with Philip's, and she looks directly at him but says nothing. He, in turn, turns to the random girl next to him – years later, Ellen remembers thinking, 'she's blonde, she would be blonde' quite angrily at the time – winks flirtatiously, and whispers something in her air. For some reason that's beyond irritating, Ellen wants to know what it is. Why should she care? She doesn't. Right.
Time goes by, and they slip back into normality all too quickly. No-one knows they kissed, no-one suspects anything. Their bickering returns with vigour, just another mundane element of school life. No one is more or less exasperated than they have ever been by it. Nothing changes, no-one jumps out dramatically to shriek 'I know what you did!' And yet, for a little while at least, both of them feel like everything should change, like people should look at them differently, like the other should make the first move and initiate a truce. Neither of them do – nothing changes.