In the morning when they went down to Herbology, most of the Slytherins were already waiting outside, huddled together by the greenhouse. Malfoy looked up and burst into a smirk as Calla approached, and she frowned, looking around confusedly. "What are they-"
Her eyes fell on Malfoy's chest, where a large red-lettered badge sat. She frowned further at it, getting closer, and felt her stomach drop.
Support Cedric Diggory - The True Hogwarts Champion!
"Rude," said Padma, glaring at the group of Slytherins.
"What d'you think, Potter?" Malfoy crowed, smirking.
She shrugged her shoulders, determined to ignore him. "Bit of a waste of time if you ask me."
"Oh, that's not all they do," Malfoy said, grinning proudly as he pushed the badge and it swirled, replaced by another message, one which glowed green.
THE POTTERS STINK
She didn't know whether she could laugh or not, just stared in bewilderment. "Very clever, Draco," said Daphne flatly, stepping forward. She laughed. "It's good to know your humour hasn't changed since we were eight."
"Want one, Greengrass?" He held a badge out to her, eyes shining.
Daphne scoffed. "I'd rather not, thanks. It's a bit immature."
"The Potters stink," Lisa said, as she and Michael both arrived together. "Really?" She wrinkled her nose and glanced at Calla. "I could have come up with something much better."
Calla rolled her eyes. "It's good to know you both care," she said, and Isobel laughed.
She tried to ignore them throughout the Herbology lesson, but it was difficult when Malfoy and Parkinson kept flashing their stupid badges every chance they got, with Daphne muttering how she was furious with them and Theodore and Padma telling her to ignore them and Isobel saying they weren't even inventive. "I just want this all to be over," she told them as they went to History of Magic afterwards, trying to dodge Crabbe and Goyle who were wearing their badges very smugly.
"I know," said Padma placidly.
By the time it came to Transfiguration, Calla was in an even worse mood and couldn't concentrate at all on turning her guinea pig into a guinea fowl. It gave a very concerned sort of squeak any time she tried to point her wand at it, and at one point climbed onto her, stopping her from even attempting a spell. "I don't know what it's doing!" she told a stern looking Professor McGonagall, who simply sighed, put another guinea pig onto the table and told her to keep trying.
She'd just had one guinea pig stand up on its hind legs and squeal at her when there was a knock at the door and a dreamy voice called in, "Hello? Is this Transfiguration?"
Luna Lovegood skipped into the room, looking rather dazed. "Ah, it is. Good! Professor Moody didn't enjoy me disrupting his lesson earlier. He was in an awfully bad mood, I think the nargles may be getting to him."
"What can I do for you, Miss Lovegood?" asked McGonagall crisply.
"I've been told to find Calla Potter."
Calla startled, and her guinea pig took the chance to scuttle off her desk and land on a disgruntled Isobel's lap. She glanced up at McGonagall, whose mouth thinned. "By whom?"
"Mr Bagman. They said they're taking photos, but I'm not allowed to stay and see. It's an awful shame, cameras make such great nesting places for dixilies and I thought I might catch sight of a few."
Hannah and Zach both laughed on the other side of the classroom, heads bent together to hide their giggles. Daphne rolled her eyes, and gave Calla a look. Calla looked to McGonagall, who nodded. "You may take your bags with you, Miss Potter, if you do not return before the end of the lesson."
"Thanks, Professor," Calla said, though dread seeped into her stomach. They were going to be taking photos? Of her? Padma gave her a sympathetic look as she left the classroom, joining Luna Lovegood, who seemed to dance down the hallways.
"This is all very exciting, isn't it?" Luna asked dreamily, her blonde hair swishing around her.
"The Tournament?"
"I head there might be an Erumpent set on the loose for one of the tasks. People say they're very dangerous creatures, but daddy says they're just misunderstood."
It sounded like how Hagrid talked about dragons. Or any animal, really. "I've never heard of an erumpent," Calla said curiously.
"Most people say they don't exist, but daddy and I know they do. We'll find one one day."
Calla smiled despite herself. She did like Luna, even if she was a little strange at times. "This is the right door," Luna told her a minute or so later. "Tell me if you see any Dixily nests, will you?"
Calla had no idea what a Dixily nest may look like, but she gave Luna her word anyway, and slipped quietly inside the room. It was a fairly small classroom, and most of the desks had been pushed to the edges of the room so that there was plenty of free space in the middle. Someone had set up three of the desks in front of a blackboard, covered in a long stream of velvet, with five chairs behind it. Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking amicable to a witch in magenta robes. Calla recognised her from Sirius' trial: Rita Skeeter.
Krum stood moodily on his own in a corner of the room, seeming to be sulking about something. Cedric and Fleur stood chatting by a wall, seeming very cheerful; Fleur's hair kept catching the light when she tossed her head back, and it seemed a gorgeous shade of silver. Calla stood awkwardly on her own, trying to see Harry, but he didn't appear to have arrived yet. She lingered in the doorway for a moment, hoping someone would tell her what to do, feeling more and more nervous as her eyes darted around the room. Eventually, Cedric caught her eye, and nodded to beckon her over.
Breathing a small sigh of relief, she headed over, trying to smile. "Ah," Fleur said, "I did not hear you come in."
Calla smiled awkwardly, shrugging her shoulders. She didn't really know what to say. "Fleur and I were just talking about Skeeter's robes," Cedric said. "Bit extravagant, don't you think?"
She glanced over and smiled, at the various pieces of jewellery and gems that adorned her, and the bright fabric. "A little," she agreed, smiling half heartedly.
"I am not a fan of her fingernails," said Fleur. "They are too long and they do not suit her."
"Oh, Calla!" Bagman's voice called suddenly, as he got to his feet. Calla turned awkwardly. "Didn't see you there, my girl, you crept up on us all! Now you needn't worry, this is nothing much, just the Wand Weighing ceremony! The rest of the judges will be here in a moment, and your brother, wherever he's gotten to."
"What's the... Wand Weighing ceremony?" Calla asked as politely as she could through her nerves.
"Just to check your wands are all fully functional," Bagman told her cheerily. Calla glanced at her pocket, where the wand's tip was just poking out. "Make sure they've no problems, you know, since they'll be your most important tools in the tasks to follow. The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there's going to be a photo shoot after. This is Rita Skeeter, she's going to be doing a little piece on the Tournament."
"Hardly a little piece, Ludo," purred Skeeter, standing up. Her eyes went to the door as someone knocked, and Harry poked his head around. Calla smiled warmly at him. "And what perfect timing."
"Ah, Harry, there you are! The fifth champion!" Fleur flicked her hair in an irritated sort of way as Bagman bustled over, explaining what was happening to Harry. Calla lingered awkwardly, feeling Skeeter's eyes flick from her to her brother and back again.
"Ludo, I wondered if I might have a little interview with Harry and Calla here, before we begin?" she asked, her eyes glinting excitedly. "The youngest two champions... It'll add a bit of flavour to the whole thing..."
Calla looked worriedly at Harry. Having photos taken was bad enough but she really didn't want to be interviewed by Rita Skeeter. "Won't we be starting soon?" she asked Bagman quickly.
"Oh, we can wait a moment, Dumbledore's still upstairs! If-"
"Lovely!" Skeeter declared, and hauled both of them away out of the room, along the corridor a little. "We don't want to be in there with all that noise now do we?"
"Guess not," said Calla quietly, as Skeeter opened a door and pulled them inside. She stared around. "Um..."
"This is a broom cupboard," Harry said.
"Yes, it's nice and cozy, isn't it?" Skeeter said, shutting the door and settling herself on top of an upturned bucket. Calla and Harry exchanged bewildered looks as she pushed them down onto two cardboard boxes opposite her.
With a snap, she opened her handbag and let half a dozen candles float out, which she lit with a flick of her wand. "You won't mind, Harry, Calla, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to the two of you normally."
"A what?" Harry asked, taking the words right out of Calla's mouth. Skeeter's grin only widened as she opened her crocodile skin handbag once more and brought out a long quill, acid green, and a long roll of parchment which she stretched out on the crate between them. She put the tip of the green quill in her mouth for a moment - Calla stared at her, wondering absently how unhygienic that might be - and then smiled as she placed it upright on the parchment, where it seemed to stand of its own accord, poised to start writing.
"Testing… My name is Rita Skeeter, writing for the Daily Prophet."
The moment she'd started to speak, the quill had started scribbling down on the scroll of parchment. Calla stared at it, transfixed, and until she saw what was written wondered for a moment if she could get one to take her History of Magic notes for her.
Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, whose savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations-
"Lovely," Skeeter said again, tearing the top of the parchment off, crumpling it up and tossing it carelessly into her handbag. She leaned forward with a spark of something like excitement in her eyes. "So, Harry, Calla... what made the two of you decide to enter the Tournament together?"
"Er," Harry started, then his eyes flickered to the quill distractedly. Calla followed his gaze. An ugly scar disfigures each of the Potter children's otherwise charming faces, hidden half-heartedly behind Calla Potter's hair, as a souvenir of their tragic past reflected in their eyes-
"Just ignore the quill, my lovelies," Rita Skeeter, said, and Calla snapped out of it, looking back at the report before her with a nervous smile. She rubbed her fingers together nervously, eyes darting around the tiny broom cupboard. "Now - why did you two decide to enter the Tournament?"
"We didn't," Harry said quickly. "We've neither of us any idea how our names got into the goblet of fire. We didn't put them in there."
Skeeter raised an eyebrow disbelievingly, smirking. "Come now, Harry, there's no need to be scared of getting in trouble. What say you, Calla?"
She blinked, startled. "Well... We didn't. I - I don't really know what else you want us to say, Miss."
"Oh, now," Skeeter said with that same fake smile. "We all know you shouldn't have entered, but don't you worry about all that." She leaned forward with another smile, stretching even broader across our faces. "Everyone loves a rebel. And the two of you... Do you two have a score to settle with one another?"
"A score?" Calla asked blankly, glancing at Harry. "No."
"Oh, come on. Brother and sister, both in the same year, rival houses, both intelligent... and famous... Which one of you has something to prove?" She looked at Calla. "How does it feel being in the shadow of the Boy-Who-Lived?"
Calla just stared at her. "I mean, it feels fine?" She didn't really want all the attention Harry always got, and it hadn't bothered her since the very start of first year. "He's my brother, it doesn't really matter. And - and we didn't enter, either."
"And how do you feel about the tasks ahead?" Skeeter went on, ignoring Calla's last words. "I hear you've struggled before with practical exams, do you think this will affect your prospects?"
"Excuse me?" Her stomach felt like it was sinking. "Who told you-"
"And you, Harry? Are you confident? Excited? Nervous?"
"Er, yeah," Harry said, eyes darting awkwardly to Calla, who couldn't do much except stare at Rita Skeeter. Who did she think she was? "I hadn't really thought about it, but... Yeah, I suppose I am quite nervous."
"Champions have died in the past, haven't they?" Skeeter said, sounding horribly excited about the question. "Have you thought about that at all?"
"Well... they say it's going to be a lot safer this year," said Harry.
"Yeah," Calla put in half-heartedly, but Skeeter was already starting to speak, too, and her quill flew rapidly across the parchment.
"Of course, the two of you have looked death in the face before, haven't you?" she said, watching them closely. Calla squirmed under her gaze, memories surfacing of her second year and the Basilisk and Tom Riddle... Her stomach seemed to take a tumble and she squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a pressure against the side of her head. Not now, she thought. "How would you say that's affected you? Your trauma? Do you think that's what might have made you so keen to prove yourselves? Or to prove yourselves to one another? Do you feel like you need to compete against each other? Do you think perhaps you were tempted to enter the Triwizard Tournament because-"
"We didn't enter," said Harry irritably.
"Of course you didn't," Skeeter said, sounding like she was smirking again. "Calla, do you feel like you need to best your brother in this Tournament, prove you're not just his little sister?"
"No," she said firmly, shaking her head.
"Can you remember your parents at all?" Calla's eyes flew open and she tightened her fist.
"No," Harry said, which was a lie for both of them. But neither liked to think about the one memory they did have.
"How do you think they'd feel if they knew you were competing in the Triwizard Tournament? Proud? Worried? Angry?"
How were they supposed to know, Calla wanted to shout. She shook her head silently, glancing to the door and then to Harry desperately, trying to avoid Skeeter's gaze. Her eyes fell to the acid green quill.
Tears fill Harry Potter's startlingly green eyes as our conversation turns to the parents he can barely remember, while Calla Potter squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head, seeming desperate to block out the tormented feelings that are surely haunting her.
"I have NOT got tears in my eyes!" Harry said hotly, and Calla shuddered. "And Cal-"
Before he could get much further, the door of the broom cupboard was pulled open. Calla startled, hands falling sharply to her sides as she looked up to see Dumbledore standing in the doorway.
"Dumbledore!" Skeeter cried delightedly, though the quill and parchment both disappeared from the crate, and her crocodile skin bag was snapped close hastily. "How are you?" she asked, holding out her hand to the headmaster, who did not take it. "I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards' Conference?"
"Enchantingly nasty," said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling. "I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat." Calla smiled slightly, relaxing.
Skeeter didn't look at all abashed, not that Calla would have really expected her to. "I was just making the point that some of your ideas are a little bit old-fashioned, Dumbledore, and that many wizards in the street-"
"I will be delighted to her the reasoning behind the rudeness, Rita," said Dumbledore calmly, with a very courteous bow that Calla didn't think had quite been earned by Skeeter. He even smiled. "But I am afraid we will have to discuss the matter later. The Weighing of the Wands is about to start, and it cannot take place if two of our champions are hidden in a broom cupboard."
Calla and Harry were both very glad to leave, hurrying back into the other classroom. The other three champions were sat in chairs next to the door, and Calla hurried to the seat beside Fleur, who looked at her disapprovingly. "Your hair is messy," she told her, and Calla flushed, scrambling to try and flatten it down. If someone had told her they would be getting photographs taken, then she might have tried some Sleakeazy's this morning, or a bit of makeup, but no. Fleur, of course, looked radiant, with makeup so flawless it was barely recognised as makeup, and she didn't have a single hair out of place. She was gorgeous and Calla couldn't even be jealous. Perks of being part-Veela, she supposed.
She looked away, face still burning as she watched Rita Skeeter take a seat in a corner, bring out the parchment again and stick the Quick-Quotes Quill on it, poised to begin scribbling once more.
"May I introduce Mr Ollivander?" said Dumbledore, taking a chair among Maxime, Karkaroff, Bagman and Crouch. "He will be checking your wands to ensure they are in good condition before the Tournament."
Calla looked around curiously, eyes landing on Mr Ollivander standing quietly and serenely by the window. She still remembered getting her wand that day in Diagon Alley, elder and unicorn hair. Her fingers drifted absently over its curved handle as she recalled Ollivander's words to her... How it was powerful, in the hands of one so tied to the Dark Lord... She shook her head, swallowing as Ollivander spoke.
"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you forward first, please?" said Mr Ollivander, stepping forward in the centre of the room. Fleur swept over to him, holding out her wand, which was dark and colour and had an interestingly carved handle that bent over on itself. Ollivander twirled the wand between his fingers, and a number of pretty pink and gold sparks flew out of the end. He held it up closer to his eyes, squinting as he examined it carefully, turning it over and running his hands along. "Yes," he said quietly, "nine and a half inches... inflexible... rosewood... and containing… dear me..." Calla frowned curiously, leaning forward.
"An 'air from the head of a Veela," Fleur said proudly. "One of my grandmother's."
Harry glanced at Calla as though surprised that she'd been right; she smiled at him.
"Yes," said Mr Ollivander, "yes, I've never used Veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands... however, to each his own, and if this suits you..."
Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, apparently searching for scratches or bumps - Calla's cheeks heated as she recalled taking her frustrations with Summoning Charms out on the edge of the table with it a few days ago, and of frequently tossing her wand back and forth with Daphne in the common room when they were bored of homework - then muttered, "Orchideous!" A bunch of bright purple flowers burst from the wand tip.
"Very well, very well," he said, "it's in fine working order." He scooped up the flowers and handed them over to Fleur along with her wand. "Mr Diggory, you next."
Fleur seemed to glide back to her seat beside Calla, carrying with her a strong, sweet perfume.
"Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?" said Mr Ollivander, very enthusiastically, as Cedric handed over his wand. "Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn... must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches... ash... pleasantly springy. It's in fine condition. You treat it regularly?"
"Polished it last night," said Cedric, grinning.
Calla looked down at her own wand, which she was holding tightly in her hands. She hadn't even known polishing their wands was a thing wizards did. She tried to polish it slyly with a handkerchief; Harry was doing the same, and a series of gold sparks shot out the end, causing Fleur to give him a very patronising look. Mr Ollivander seemed perfectly satisfied with the state of Cedric's wand, sending out a series of smoke rings from the end of it, and then called Krum up to him.
Krum got up, headed in his usual awkward fashion towards Mr Ollivander. He thrust his wand out with a scowl, hands in the pockets of robes, and Calla didn't fail to notice the way his eyes darted around the room, like he was looking for something to distract him or somewhere to go. It was something she often did, too, when she didn't know what else to do. "This is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I'm much mistaken?" Calla wondered how he could know and remember such things as he did. "A fine wand maker, though the styling is never quite what I... However..." He lifted the wand again to his eyes, inspecting it. "Yes... hornbeam and dragon heartstring?" Krum nodded in a sullen manner, slouching further. "Rather thicker than one usually sees... quite rigid... ten and a half inches... Avis!"
There was a very loud blast from the wand, as a whole load of small, brightly twittering birds flew out the end, out the window and into the sunlight. "Good," said Mr Ollivander cheerfully as he handed Krum his wand back. "Ah, now, Miss Potter or Mr Potter? Who will be first?"
They both looked awkwardly at one another, neither wanting to be first. After a few seconds of silent argument, Calla huffed. "I'll come up," she said quietly, getting to her feet and handing over her wand. "Ah, yes," said Ollivander, eyes gleaming. "Yes, yes, I remember this wand well." Calla smiled weakly. "Elder and unicorn hair... a most interesting combination, it has to be said... Inflexible, ten and a half inches, and can be very powerful with the right witch or wizard... How are you faring with it?"
Calla blinked. "Um, alright, I guess?" she said, and Fleur gave her a rather pitying look. "I mean, it's never been that powerful for me."
"Well," said Ollivander. It was all he said for a long moment while he examined her wand, then looked up at her with wide, pale eyes. "There don't appear to be any issues with your wand itself. It is in perfect working order."
He waved it with great flourish and a stream of water came out the end, sparkling in the sunlight, dancing like a river and then solidifying into a pretty, small ice sculpture. He held it back out to her and Calla took it with an awkward sort of a grimace. So all her magic problems really were just her problem, then. Fantastic.
"Thanks," she said, returning to her seat glumly. Harry winced in sympathy as he got up, offering his own wand for the same scrutiny by Olivander, who examined it for a very long few minutes before her declared it satisfactory and sent a fountain of wine spurting out of the end of it.
"Thank you all," said Dumbledore, standing up from between the other judges at their table. "You may go back to your lessons now - or perhaps it would be better to simply go down to dinner, as I believe they are about to end."
Calla saw Harry make to get up and went to follow, before they were caught off by a man coughing in the corner, jumping up from behind a camera. "Photos, Dumbledore, photos!" Bagman cried excitedly, and Calla hid a groan. "All the judges and champions! What do you think, Rita?"
"Er, yes," said Skeeter, eyes flicking from Calla to Harry intently, "let's do those first. And then perhaps some individual shots?"
Calla had never been much of a fan of photographs, nor had Harry, and so she had tried to angle herself to stand near Madam Maxime who could hide her a bit, but Rita Skeeter had hauled her to the front next to Fleur, and then shuffled them so Madam Maxime sat down with everyone crowded around her, and Harry was dragged into the front and Calla tried to shuffle herself away to very little success. Fleur reminded her twice that she ought to brush her hair, despite the fact she did not have a hairbrush with her - God, why didn't she have a hairbrush with her? - and it was very hard to smile seriously when she was already in a mood. It was worse when Rita Skeeter insisted on individual shots, shoving Calla into all sorts of different poses for the camera. It was a great relief when at last they were all free to go, and Calla hurried to grab her bag, cheeks blazing.
"That was awful," she muttered to Harry once they'd left. "Does my hair really look that bad?"
Harry looked at her and shrugged. "I dunno."
She rolled her eyes. "You're not very helpful."
When they reached the hall, Calla went over to the Ravenclaw Table with Fleur, searching for Daphne and Padma at the other end. "Your friend is over there," Fleur said, pointing to the end of the table where Padma sat on her own, scowling a little at her dinner. Calla frowned.
"See you later," she said quietly to Fleur, and hurried to sit by Padma. "You alright?"
Padma startled out of her thoughts, blinking. "Yeah. Yeah, fine, just thinking about Switching Spells. I didn't get much further in Transfiguration after you left, and it's bothering me."
"You'll get it," Calla assured her, though she frowned, knowing there was something more wrong than just Switching Spells. "Where's Daphne?"
Padma shrugged. "I don't know. She left so quick after Transfiguration, I don't know why." She stabbed a potato aggressively with her fork.
"What happened?" Calla asked mildly.
"Nothing. She was in a bit of a bad mood after you left anyway, and I don't know where she's off to now. Anthony went with her, too." Then she chewed her potato in the manner distinctive of someone who was annoyed and didn't know how else to express it.
"Want to visit Hagrid after dinner?" Calla asked her abruptly, trying to get onto a more cheerful topic. "I have a feeling it'll be nice."
"Yeah." Padma brightened a little. "That would be nice actually, I feel like we haven't properly spoken to him in ages. We can't be long though - you need to practice before the Tournament."
Calla let out a loud groan. "Don't remind me. I swear that was one of the worst hours ever..." And she told Padma all about everything that had happened during the Wand Weighing ceremony, between eating her dinner, at which points Padma made appropriate sounds of annoyance. When she was done, Padma frowned.
"Rita Skeeter covered Sirius' trial, didn't she?"
"Yeah, probably."
Padma made a disgusted sort of sound. "My mum says not to listen to a word that woman says. She wants a story and a bit of gossip and drama and that's all. Parvati likes her, but that's Parvati for you, isn't it?"
"She was still annoying," said Calla. "And her quill was a blatant liar."
"They shouldn't be allowed those things," said Padma. "Journalism should be about the truth, not the scandal." She shook her head, pushing her dinner away. "Let's go then, I'm not that hungry anyway."
But when they got down to Hagrid's cabin, he already had a guest; he was talking amicable to Madam Maxime in his pumpkin patch, with his hair and beard both combed and gelled. "Oh dear," said Padma, staring. "What's he doing?"
Calla saw Hagrid laugh and Madam Maxime lay a hand on his arm. She widened her eyes. "I think they're... flirting?"
"Ew," said Padma faintly. They glanced at each other and Calla held back the giggle that threatened to give them away. "Teachers flirting?"
"Ew," Calla agreed with a giggle, though she grinned as she looked at Hagrid. "He looks happy though. Like a puppy."
"Or a baby dragon," Padma said darkly, and Calla snorted with laughter at the memory.
"Come on," she said, "before he realises we're spying."
"It's not spying if it's unintentional," Padma whispered, getting to her feet.
"I feel like that's a moral debate," Calla said chirpily.
"Or something the eagle might ask about."
"When is spying, spying? When it's spying."
They both laughed again as they headed back towards the school, just about to slip back inside when something brushed past them in gleaming silver furs. Calla startled, turning around as the other person turned too, Karkaroff staring at them. She blinked at him for a moment, frowning as his hand went to his arm, as his lips pressed into a thin, angry line. Then after a long moment, he turned back around, headed swiftly in the direction of the lake. "Do you think he's a bit weird?" Padma asked once they went inside and were out of earshot.
"Karkaroff? A bit, yeah." Calla glanced back outside, but he had long since disappeared. "He gives me the creeps."
"Snape doesn't like him."
"Snape doesn't like anyone though," Calla said, and Padma grinned.
Her smile faded a minute and she looked like she was about to ask something, but faltered. She pursed her lips before asking, "What have you seen lately?"
It took her by surprise, and Calla had to think a moment before she answered. "A lot of things. Mainly... bad."
"What about me?"
"You?"
"I... It's stupid." Calla frowned at her questioningly. "I don't know, I just have a bad feeling."
"So do I," Calla confessed quietly. "All the time." Like she was haunted by bad feelings. "It's not just you."
Padma tweaked her lips into a small smile. "I guess that's a little reassuring? I just... Things feel weird. I don't know if you've noticed or not... Daphne's not talking to me as much as she used to. She's talking to Izzy more."
"Is that a bad thing?" Calla asked, confusedly. She hadn't really noticed it much, but now Padma mentioned it, she supposed Daphne had been talking to Isobel more, but they all had.
"I don't know. It's just different. And I just..." She trailed off, something sad in her eyes. Calla smiled weakly.
"Everything's different," Calla said, shaking her head as they arrived at the Tower, and slipped in quickly after one of the sixth years who held the door open for them. "But it could be a worse different, couldn't it?"
"I suppose," Padma said, though she was still frowning. It looked like there was more she wanted to say, but was too afraid to say it. She didn't get the chance anyway; a moment later Terry and Sue had appeared at the stairs.
"We were waiting on you guys," Sue called down. "We're working on Cushioning Charms first, right?"
"Yeah," Calla said, steeling herself. She glanced anxiously at Padma, who nodded tersely. "This'll be interesting."
They worked in the boys' dormitory, which was rather inconvenient due to its size, especially when they were all moving around so much. Calla didn't know where Michael, Mandy and Lisa were, but all of the others were set on helping her, which made her smile. Daphne and Padma acted just as normal around each other, except from when they'd say things Calla couldn't hear and Daphne would seem to exchange a glance with Isobel, or Padma would roll her eyes.
"I don't know what's up with her either," Terry said. "Anthony says she's just worried about her Potions grades."
"She's never been worried about Potions grades," Calla said flatly, frowning over at her friend. "It's one of her best subjects, because she barely needs to try."
"That's what I thought. I said to him that if she was worried then she should stop working with Izzy so much, because Izzy doesn't care at all so long as she gets to do something new every time."
Calla thought back to what Padma had said. "I guess. It's just weird, isn't it?"
Terry shrugged. "Suppose so."
A book went sailing towards his face, pitched by Anthony. Terry and Calla both had to duck out of the way, just in time. "You two! Try and focus!" Sue giggled, and Terry went red.
"We are! You could at least give us a warning before you chuck stuff at us!"
Calla laughed, lifting her wand. "On you go then, Anthony."
He promptly threw another book across the dorm and she had barely time to yell the cushioning incantation before the book clipped her on the shoulder at full force. "Ow!"
"You said to throw it!"
"It's a hardback! What'd you throw a hardback for!"
"Honestly, Goldstein." Daphne shook her head mockingly, and he glared between the others.
"I'm not sure throwing books really maximises the use of the charm," Sue said. "If you get, say, a rock thrown at you, you're not going to have much time to react. You'd be better off learning it on yourself, so you don't get hurt if you fall. Cushioning yourself is more effective than cushioning multiple objects under pressure."
"Tell that to Anthony," Calla muttered, though she grinned at Sue.
"Does this mean we can jump on the beds?" Izzy said.
"No," Terry said flatly. "Absolutely not."
"Why?"
"Because I know that you'll just do everything you can to break mine!"
Izzy huffed. "Fine! We'll jump off the beds."
"Someone's definitely going to get hurt," Padma said, shaking her head, but they did it anyway. It was actually rather fun, though Calla didn't think she made much progress with the charm itself, and at one point a scuffle broke out when Daphne, Isobel and Terry all jumped at the same time and crashed into each other, falling into a heap on the floor. They had to wrap it up when Michael came back in, because he was not pleased by the state of the pillows Isobel and Daphne had started hitting each other with.
"It is one use of cushions," Sue said cheerfully as they went down the stairs. "Just not a very magical one."
"Maybe I can just strap pillows to my body," Calla mused, and though the others laughed, she wasn't completely joking. She had to do better, and soon. The First Task got closer every day, and at the rate, she was not only going to be a laughing stock, but could likely get herself seriously hurt, or worse.