THE MAGIC DEPLETION CURSE
INCANTATION: viricaptus
ETYMOLOGY: derived from Latin branch of curse work — 'viri' from the Latin viribus meaning strength, and the Latin 'captus' meaning captured.
ORIGIN: while the origin, as with many ancient curses, is unknown, the first suggested use of the viricaptus spell is during the Battle of Camlann, thought to have occurred some time in the sixth century, when Mordred severely weakened King Arthur and eventually killed him in the battle, which also saw Mordred's own death. It has been suggested that an older version of this curse exists within the Greek or Byzantine tradition — with the common suggested incantation being dunamis klopaios — however viricaptus is a more common form and said to be more powerful.
USAGE: this is a dark curse in any rendition, of that there is no doubt. It relies upon the user's ability and willingness to inflict severe damage upon a victim for their own gain, and at the risk of harming their own magic should the spell go awry. The darkness of the spell and the sheer selfish cruelty of it mean that it is difficult to cast accurately, since the soul's nature resists — as it does with spells such as the cruciatus curse — the damage to another magic soul. Often, it can have the effect of bonding the curse's wielder with their victim and produce unexpected side effects. The viricaptus spell typically focuses on the physical aspects of magic — as it is derived from the physical definition of strength — and therefore leaves space for mental power to grow and mature in opposition to that of the spell's caster. However it must be noted that many victims of this curse have not lived to tell their tale to those of us who study malevolent curses and their effects. Therefore, we cannot be certain of all of the tolls it may take on the body, mind, soul, or magic.
Calla glared at the page. There had been so far little information of use in Hairy Hexes in Sticky Situations and Occluding the Mind in the Modern Age, but she had hoped that Ancient Curses of Mind, Soul, and Blood might turn something a little less dire than this. There was a heavy grunt from Dudley's room and the sound of a punching bag being hit. She glared across the landing and then swallowed the lump in her throat as she reread the entry.
"Many victims of this curse have not lived to tell the tale." Calla squeezed her eyes shut and felt a familiar twinge in her scar, a dull ache spreading through her chest. "Just perfect."
Another grunt from Dudley's room and then a smack. He was entirely oblivious. Entirely safe and cocooned in the Muggle world, sheltered from all of its hardships from his parents who, unfortunately, had never tried to keep anyone else safe from his own violent tendencies. He hit the bag again and Calla leaned back, frustrated, on her bed, tracing patterns on the ceiling with her eyes. She could die from this. She shouldn't have been surprised but the reality of it hit her and the bitterness in her chest curled again, burning against her ribs. She could die because of Voldemort, and because he was back and she had been exposed to him again and she had nothing to use against him. Her magic was especially shit, not that anyone could really compare to him. The new knowledge weighed heavy on her chest and she closed her eyes, almost resigned.
Another thwack from Dudley's room and then she sat up straight. He didn't have magic but he'd been set on terrorising every kid in the town these last few weeks. He was always fighting with someone. Maybe she'd forgotten, somehow, in light of recent events, but once upon a time Dudley hadn't had a punchbag; he'd had her and Harry. But he knew a fair bit about fighting dirty, the muggle way.
It wasn't like he was going to teach her though. He'd much sooner hit her than help her. Even so, she thought to herself, there were probably some form of martial art or self-defense classes at the local leisure centre. She really ought to consider it. Voldemort wouldn't dream of lowering himself to fighting like a muggle, she was sure. Most purebloods had no idea how to throw a decent punch. Neither did she, in fairness. She chewed her lip nervously, considering the idea. It was better than nothing, thought it could still amount to that as well.
Making a small note on a scrap of paper, she turned back to her book with a grimace and started reading on the new page: THE HEART-WRENCHING CURSE.
Xx
The days bled into each other. The ones where she spent most of her time away from Number Four — either wandering the streets with Harry, or with Mairi — stood out a little as colourful lights in an expanse of bored and watery grey. The days got hotter and everyone was restless, but Calla was just tired. Tired of waiting, tired of feeling hopeless, tired of fighting with her brother because she didn't have anyone else to fight, and didn't have any other way.
It was a similarly warm day when she, as usual, visited Mairi in the early afternoon and then went back with short-lived merriment to Number Four only to find three familiar figures clustered in the middle of Privet Drive, looking up and down the road warily. Cold seeped back into her, cold memories and cold thoughts.
She widened her eyes, hardly daring to believe it and not entirely sure she wanted to. Then the blonde girl in the middle turned her head and she knew. Still half in shock at the sight of them, she took a moment to come to her senses. "Daphne?"
All three of them turned to stare, and she saw Padma grin, and then they were rushing forward to engulf her in a great hug, beaming. She staggered back in surprise, feeling their arms around her. It felt odd. "Calla," Daphne said, squeezing her so hard she thought she might burst. "You're alright?"
"Yeah," she said, smiling confusedly. Why on earth had they come here? Why did they have to be here, be here now? "Yeah, I'm alright - as alright as I can be, I guess. Why - why, what are you lot all doing here?"
"We came to see you," Padma explained, and Calla nodded, somewhat numb, as the warmth she'd felt earlier dissipated. "And Harry, if he's about. We haven't heard word from Ron and Hermione all summer, and it's not like Hermione not to at least send a postcard of wherever she is, and we've only got bits and pieces of news but it couldn't be put in letters - that's what Mum said - and we missed you."
"I'm Muggle knowledge," Isobel said, though she was grinning. "Otherwise Daphne would have shown up dress like it's the 50s."
Calla laughed but it didn't sound like her own laugh. This felt absurd. Other wizards in Privet Drive. It felt like a long time since that had happened, even though it hadn't really been all that long. "Yeah," she breathed, "the Dursleys would have lost it. Harry's inside I think, but..." She trailed off, biting her lip. "It's probably be better if you wait outside for a minute. Aunt Petunia won't like to let you all in the house."
"Your neighbours are staring," Padma whispered as they made their way back down the street nearer to Number Four.
"Ignore them," Calla muttered back, eyes going to the short old lady squinting out of the window of Number Ten. "They're not used to me having friends and they probably think you're all hooligans."
Daphne looked down at herself with a pout. "Well, I know I certainly don't look like a hooligan, thank you very much."
Rolling her eyes, Calla made up the path and let herself in the house just as Dudley came stomping down the stairs. She didn't bother giving him a warning, just slunk past him and made up the stairs to her and Harry's room. She took a breath outside, leaning against the wall. Her warmth and cheer from earlier had dissipated, replaced with worry as to why they were really there, and what they had to say. Had something happened that the Prophet and the Muggle news hadn't reported?
She told herself to calm down, squeezing her eyes shut. They had to hear what the girls had to say but, God, as much as she wanted to see them, she knew where the conversation would go. She didn't want to go there - but she knew Harry would. Tentatively, she pushed open the door and pushed away her nerves. Her brother was sprawled out on his bed, combing the Muggle newspaper back to front in search of a story, his persistent frown still lingering on his face.
"Hey," she said with a forced grin, hanging in the doorway. "Want to see something great?"
"I'm busy, Calla," Harry sighed in response, turning the page. "There's nothing that can be linked to Voldemort in here, I'm trying but I can't find out anything and-"
"Daphne, Padma and Isobel are outside."
As if on cue, there was a very Dudley-like yell and the sound of a door slamming. Both Calla and Harry looked at each other in alarm as they heard Aunt Petunia shriek and then begin to coo over her son. "Run," Calla said, and they both sprinted down the stairs, Harry struggling to grab his shoes as they flung themselves out the door.
"Hiya, Harry!" Daphne chirped too sweetly.
"What did you do?" Calla asked sharply, running quickly as Harry fumbled to get his trainers on, much to number seven's curiosity.
"Waggled my fingers at him a bit," Daphne said with a wicked grin. "Seemed to do the trick. Then I told him I was your friend from Hogwarts and well, he didn't like that."
"Thanks, Daphne," Harry muttered, having finally yanked his shoes on at the corner of Magnolia Crescent.
"Anytime," she said, bumping shoulders with Calla, who laughed. "I see your Muggles haven't improved much."
"Not really, no. I don't think they can at this point." Calla shrugged. "I guess we're used to it." She decided against telling the girls how they'd locked her out the other night.
They walked for a few minutes before deciding to head into a small cafe for lunch. It was surprisingly pleasant, the five of them getting along well despite Harry and Isobel not knowing each other very much. But the brief reprieve of a casual, cheerful lunch ended when they got outside, wandering back through the streets. They hadn't gotten far before Daphne asked quietly, breaking their casual conversation from earlier, "What have you two heard about the Dark Lord?"
"Nothing," Harry muttered, eyes darkening. "Ron and Hermione aren't telling me anything, and the newspapers are of no use. Not the Prophet or the Muggle papers."
"Told you," Isobel said, with a sharp look to Daphne. "They've not heard any more than I had."
"Why," Calla asked, nerves prickling at the thought of their answer, "has something happened?"
The three girls exchanged glances. "Not really," Padma said slowly, guiding them towards a park bench. "But there are things beginning to happen, we think."
"You should probably sit down," Isobel said, making herself at home on the bench between Padma and Daphne. Calla and Harry sat down on the opposite side, regarding the girls warily.
"Obviously we haven't been able to talk as much as we wanted to," Padma began, with a look to Daphne. "My mum thinks the owl post is being watched, and that's definitely not good news, especially for Daphne, since her dad's in the Ministry and he's meant to be on Fudge's side."
"He said I'm not meant to write any sensitive information to you," Daphne said. "And he's wary about us being friends."
"Why?" Harry asked sharply.
"It's... It's complicated. Dad says we have to keep up the family's position."
"And what does that mean?" Calla felt suddenly rather shaky. "Keep up the family's position?"
"He doesn't want to go against Fudge, not publicly anyway, not until we know what way the wind is blowing. And he won't speak out against anyone that they think might be involved."
Calla had to take a deep breath, to think on her response to that. Harry had no such considerations. "So you're not doing anything?"
"I'm here, aren't I?" Daphne snapped back. "Which is more than I'm sure I can say for Ron or Hermione, isn't it?"
"Daphne," Padma said quietly.
"So," Calla broke in, "What - what way do they think the wind is going to blow?"
Daphne frowned. "At the moment, Fudge is doing a pretty good cover up campaign. He's told everyone the results of the Tournament and said that there was an incident but other than that he's got a strong hold on what's being reported and they're closing the investigation, so the Aurors-"
"I do read the papers."
"Right, of course. Well, then you'll have seen that they're also doing a fairly good job of discrediting the two of you."
"Thanks."
"So far it doesn't look like Fudge will change his stance anytime soon. They've done away with Pettigrew, of course."
"And that's all you know? But people — people need to hear what happened!"
"I know," Daphne said. "This is just what people are telling me, Harry. My parents don't want me to know all of this, and they won't even let me talk to Astoria about what I do know. They don't want to scare her. But... You know how they reacted when I got put in Ravenclaw, and when I became friends with you. They came around to that, and Mum likes you, Calla, she likes you a lot and she believes you, but... Tradition is still important."
"Pureblood tradition, you mean." Harry seemed to be outright glaring at Daphne. Calla felt a hot feeling of anger growing in her chest.
"Well, yes. I'm not saying I agree with it. Look, Mum and Dad are visiting our cousins in Windsor, which is how I got away," Daphne said with a sigh. "Astoria won't tell, but we had to come and talk to you, see if you're alright."
"Well, what do you think?" Harry asked. "Are we alright?"
"Harry," Calla scolded gently, shaking her head. She wasn't happy at what Daphne had said - in fact, she was angry in a rather restless way - but she also didn't want Harry getting into an argument with her.
"Well, they're here and they've yet to tell us what's actually going on."
"No one's told me hardly anything either," Isobel told him, though it didn't seem to help.
"That's because not much is actually happening," Daphne said with a huff. "Apart from what I've just said. We think Dumbledore's organising something but no one knows the specifics and it's all just speculation. It's not as if anyone's going to let us in on it, even if we — if my parents — did want to. No one's reporting anything, and Dad says there haven't been any reports to the Ministry of anything suspicious, either. It's all quiet. He says we should wait it out and stay quiet, too. There's no sign of the Dark Lord, visibly, to most of the magical world."
"But then what is actually happening?" Harry asked impatiently. "What about Voldemort? What's he up to?"
"Nothing," Padma said. "That's exactly it, like Daphne said, he's not doing anything."
"He's waiting," Calla said grimly, putting two and two together. If even the Ministry hadn't heard anything, this wasn't only a case of them covering things up. Voldemort wasn't giving them anything to report, and he had to be doing that for a reason. "Gathering his forces. He's probably still weakened, it might take him a while to get back to strength and he won't strike while he thinks he's at a disadvantage. Loads of his Death Eaters were missing, that - that night." She shuddered, words sticking in her throat. "By keeping a low profile he can reach out to people to aid him, and he can catch the Ministry unawares when he's ready." She looked at Harry but wouldn't say the words that were on her lips.
Isobel said them for her. "You weren't meant to come out of that graveyard," she said to Harry bluntly. "He doesn't want people to know he's back yet until he's ready. There's been nothing on the muggle news, you know that."
"Great," Harry said. "So basically, you don't know anything."
"Harry," Calla said tersely. But she felt more than a little sick - Harry looked like he was about to yell. Her head ached pre-emptively.
"Well, if that's it then!" He got to his feet.
"Harry, we're trying to help," Padma said crisply. "Sit down." He did not.
"Harry," Calla cautioned again, and he sank into a seat.
"Look we don't know much, but we figured you ought to know what we know at least, since Dumbledore's not allowing Ron and Hermione to tell you anything. We can't do anything about it, but we're working on it."
"Sue and Michael have parents in the ministry," Isobel cut in. "They're finding out everything they can, even though their parents aren't saying very much at all - apparently they're weeding out Dumbledore supporters. They don't believe you, and they're scared to."
"Calla's basically being shown as a raving lunatic," Daphne added, as if Calla needed reminding of that fact. "Which is nonsense, but right now the Prophet will discredit you any way they can and if that's by making people think everything you say comes from you being completely mad, then that's what they'll do. And... People do believe it. My grandfather warned me about you, but I said there's nothing wrong with you. He didn't say much to me after that but I overheard him talking to my parents. Says you want a bit more attention, that you're... Looking for a bit of glory. And no one's much inclined to disagree on that point. After Rita Skeeter's reporting..." She shifted uncomfortably. "It's not really come out of the blue."
Calla felt cold and numb. Hearing it from Daphne felt worse than simply observing it from reading the Daily Prophet. The fact that, yes, people were believing what it said, which she'd honestly thought most wouldn't... She didn't know what to say except, "Okay."
This apparently, was the wrong thing to say. "Okay?" Harry burst out, staring at her. "This isn't okay! No one's telling us anything and you show up and tell us things we could have figured out for ourselves-"
"No you couldn't."
"And you say that - that everyone thinks Calla's a lunatic and I'm, what? A liar? An attention seeker? I don't want attention!"
"You're certainly drawing it right now."
"Daphne!"
"Won't anyone tell us what's actually going on?"
"We've told you all that we know," Daphne told him shortly. "We thought you'd appreciate that."
"We do," Calla said quickly. "It's just... There's nothing we can do, is there, if no one'll listen to us." She was beginning to wish they'd never come to see them, that they'd never had this conversation. The fact that Voldemort was planning something, lying in wait, terrified her even further than she had already been. He could be anywhere, watching, waiting for the right moment to come out and strike. And no one even wanted to prepare. She knew they were scared - she was terrified - but... Ignoring the issue entirely... It shouldn't be up to Daphne and Padma and Isobel to tell them what was happening. It shouldn't be up to Harry to be the one trying to do something about it.
"I know," Padma said, nodding. "But we're listening."
"And who's listening to you?" she asked before she could stop herself. She shook her head wearily. "This is pointless."
The girls exchanged nervous glances. "We know it's not much," Padma said. "But we'll keep you updated with everything we can find out. I'm sure Dumbledore will see the two of you at some point before Hogwarts, he has to."
"He had better," Calla muttered, and Isobel cracked a grin in her direction.
"I'll get these two out of here," Isobel said softly.
"What?" Harry asked incredulously. Calla could hear his temper rising again. "You're leaving?"
"Well, unless you can contribute something to the conversation that isn't yelling," Daphne said coolly. "Then yes, I do believe that we are."
"You need to know," Padma said quietly. "The Ministry is out to do anything it can to turn the public against you. They don't want the truth out and Fudge does not want to lose power or face - especially not to Dumbledore. Stay on your guard, both of you. You-Know-Who isn't the only one you have to watch out for. Just..." Her eyes lingered on them for a long moment. "Be careful."
She drew Calla in for a fleeting hug. "Stay safe," she whispered in her ear, then pulled away. "Well, we'd better get to the train station. I promised Isobel I'd show her actual London, all the Wizarding places."
"I just wanted to see Number Ten," Isobel muttered to Calla, who laughed. "But Daphne says that's boring."
"I've seen far too many pictures of Downing Street in Muggle Studies."
"So you're off then?" Harry said with an angry edge to his voice. "Just like that?"
"Just like that," Daphne said, surprisingly cold. "Consider that it isn't very safe for me to be seen with you right now."
"Safe? Do you think we're safe to be seen anywhere at all?"
"Harry."
"I'm not going to be yelled at by you," Daphne said boredly. "I told you what I came here to tell you and now I'm going. I'll see you later, Calla."
She turned and strode off to the edge of the park, leaving Calla to stare after her, suddenly wishing she'd come back. After a moment's hesitation, Padma gave a small smile as both she and Isobel traipsed after her. Calla watched them go, uncertain if their visit had been for the better or for the worse. What had it really done? Nothing to reassure her. And she didn't like how Daphne was acting, either.
Harry made a sound like he was about to punch the picnic bench. She decided it was for the worse.
"Come on," she said to him quietly, shaking off her prickly nervous feeling. "We can go get ice cream."
"I don't want ice cream," Harry said shortly. "I want answers. I want to do... Something! Anything to help, to stop him!"
"I know, Harry," Calla said as gently as she could. "I want that too. But for the moment ice cream's the best I can come up with."
Xx
It seemed she was starting to spend more time at Mairi's than at the Dursleys' house. But it was nicer there, less stifling. Andrew and Mairi and Bobby all argued, but there was little of an edge to it. It was a simple sort of love. A family. And Mairi complained that her mother was strict and her dad was annoying, but they were kind, too, and loving, and Calla felt sure that they were the kind of Muggle parents who, if their child did turn out to be magic, would have been alright with it. Mairi's dad liked to make bad jokes and do really awful sleight of hand that Calla tried her best not to judge, and Mairi's mum told stories about everyone she knew and explained them all to Calla until she was crying from laughter.
"They're really not that funny," Mairi said fondly that afternoon - referring to what had been a very entertaining tale about her mum trying to collect eggs from a farm and getting chased by a goose - as they went up to her room.
"They kind of are," said Calla, still grinning. "I think they are."
Mairi clucked her tongue, setting about the tape player. "This is why Mum loves you. Suck up." Calla stuck out her own tongue, giggling. "I swear you're the favourite child now."
"Well, that's new, at least," she quipped, and Mairi smiled wryly.
"Who d'you want on?" she asked.
"ABBA," Calla suggested, precisely because she knew how much Mairi hated them.
She pulled a face. "Sap."
"They're good!"
"Nah. I'm putting on The Cranberries, they're actually decent."
"ABBA mentioned Glasgow. How can you not love them?"
"I'm not even from Glasgow," Mairi muttered, and slipped in a tape. "You're rubbish at geography."
Calla grinned, as the familiar starting notes of I Still Do started up. "I didn't say I thought you were from Glasgow," she said, legs dangling over the edge of Mairi's bed.
"Well, good," Mairi said, and came to lie next to her, staring at the ceiling as the lyrics started, in that low voice Calla loved. "I'd be really offended if you did."
Calla laughed, turning to look at her. The sunlight was streaming through the window and it lit up Mairi's face, making her eyes sparkle. "What?" she asked, a smile playing on her lips as she shielded her eyes.
"Nothing," Calla said quickly. "Just thinking."
"Yeah?" Mairi was looking at her curiously. "You're always thinking."
"As opposed to never thinking?" Calla poked her in the arm and Mairi laughed, her smile warning Calla even more than the sun. Her stomach swooped.
"I think a lot, actually. Bobby's the one you want to worry about."
"Oh, I know." He'd very nearly hit Calla in the face with a football that morning, quite by accident, though he'd said he'd just wanted to give her a fright when she came by the gate, despite Mairi telling him very loudly that it was a terrible idea. "He frightened me out my wits."
Mairi giggled. "He's such an idiot. Although..." She paused, glancing at Calla as though she were uncertain about something. Calla looked back, also quite uncertain about whether or not to move or to speak or whether to just keep looking at Mairi and the sunlight on her honeyed hair. "He was saying the other day, your cousin... He's beaten up a couple of the younger lads. Billy Powell, Reece Jenkins, you know them? Bobby's pals with them. Says he's come close to blows with Dudley, too."
Calla looked away grimly. "I heard. Dudley's a right beast. He's Inter-School Boxing Champion of the South East and his mum and dad make him think he can beat up whoever he wants. Course, they don't know, but even if they did, I don't think they'd stop him." She scowled. "It used to be me and Harry."
"You don't think your aunt and uncle would do anything?" Mairi asked, somewhat surprised. "They're five years younger than him, Bobby and his friends."
Calla shrugged. "They probably wouldn't even believe it. Well, Aunt Petunia wouldn't. Uncle Vernon'd say they had it coming." She shook her head. "Course, you could always get Neighbourhood Watch on the case. That'd terrify Aunt Petunia."
Mairi snorted bitterly. "Your Aunt sounds like a right bat."
Calla laughed. "You don't even know how much of a bat she is." That conjured up a very odd image of Aunt Petunia dressed like Snape, which made Calla laugh even louder. Mairi stared at her, grinning back. "I'm trying to imagine her dressed like a bat," she explained, and Mairi caught between a laugh and a frown.
"I don't think bats have clothes."
"No, but..." She giggled. "I don't know, I'm imagining her with a cape."
"Imagine her as Batman," Mairi said, sitting up suddenly, a wicked grin splitting her face. "Or your Uncle as Superman."
"That's actually horrifying," Calla said, giggling as she tilted her head back. The sun caught in her eyes, making the whole room seem golden and hazy. Mairi was still grinning, as the song drew to a noisy, messy, but still glorious close and the track Sunday started up.
The next thing Calla knew, Mairi was taking her hand and beaming, hauling her up to standing. "This one's my favourite," Mairi was saying, tossing her hair back. It practically shone in the sunlight, and Calla tried very hard to control her heart, which was going incredibly quick. Mairi's hand was still in hers, and her arm felt tingly. There were butterflies in her stomach. This wasn't what she expected. This wasn't... It was like how she used to feel about Zach. She let that sink in, in the few seconds before Mairi dragged her back to reality, spinning Calla under her arm. She turned slowly, surprised, and... Nervous. Her hand felt very sweaty, and she hoped that Mairi didn't mind it, because she quite liked holding Mairi's hand.
"What are you doing?" she asked, finding her voice hoarse and almost breathless. She didn't know if Mairi had noticed or not, if she could hear her heart beating out of its chest.
"Dancing," Mairi said, and then unexpectedly swung Calla around again, beaming madly. "Come on." She took Calla's other hand and her fingertips tingled again as she smiled nervously, her laugh a little shaky. Mairi pulled her closer and then swung her out again in time to the gentle music, grinning all the while. Her eyes were alight with something almost excited and Calla thought for a moment that her heart had stopped.
The lyrics started, low and gentle, and Calla allowed herself to smile back as Mairi as they swayed a little, and turned her under her arm. She got tangled and grinned at Calla, just as the beat picked up and suddenly they were both spinning, and their hands were together and Calla didn't want to let go.
"You're mad," she whispered to Mairi, who just laughed.
"Dance with me," she said, and spun Calla around so that when she stopped she was basically holding her. Calla felt her cheeks heat as she looked up, caught Mairi's eye, as she saw the pink blush on her cheeks too. Her mouth went dry as she spun out again, holding Mairi by one hand and twirling a little in a circle. "See," Mairi said, grinning. "You're good at it."
She flushed a little, and made Mairi spin under her arm, which she did, and then they were even closer together. It was a lot warmer in the little bedroom, but Calla didn't mind it. It wasn't stiflingly warm like everywhere else seemed to be; it was warm like a nearby fire in the middle of winter, like a blanket to curl up under, like freshly baked bread. The kind of warm that settles in your belly and spreads to every part of you.
She liked it, she realised, as the song was drawing to a close, as she and Mairi both spun away and came back together clumsily, and she swallowed nervously, Mairi linking their fingers together. Her fingertips seemed to tap against the back of Calla's hand, and she was close to her, closer than Calla had realised, and she liked that. She really liked that. It was slightly terrifying but also slightly not. Somehow it felt right. She let her thumb brush over Mairi's hand, as the song faded out and the next started, slow and gentle. Neither girl moved. Calla rather thought she'd never want to move, until Mairi moved that tiniest bit closer and she was suddenly desperate to move closer, too.
They were close enough together that if Calla moved just another few inches closer, their lips would brush. She looked to Mairi, her gentle eyes, and saw the same uncertainty but the same hope in them too. Her breath caught in her throat, and she stepped a little closer, just a little, and Mairi did, too. Their arms fell down, a hand settled gently against Calla's waist, and their lips brushed ever so slightly. Their breath was warm, that same nice warm. Mairi whispered, "Is this okay?" and her voice shook a little.
Calla ran her thumb again along the soft skin on the back of Mairi's hand. "Yeah," she whispered, her own voice shaking a little, too, and she felt that same soft brush of lips against her own. She leaned into their warmth, into Mairi's warmth, and she didn't want to let go. Their hands were gentle against one another, and the kiss was soft. She hadn't had much experience, but it felt nice, and even when they drew apart she found herself wanting more.
Mairi's eyes were wide as she looked down at her. "Sorry," she said quickly, stepping away sharply, "I shouldn't have — that was stupid of me, I'm so-"
Calla took her hands again quickly, stepping closer, her own heart pounding, and Mairi's cheeks flushed as her mouth fell slightly open. Calla smiled shakily, chest fluttering, and then with a soft and reassuring smile, she kissed her again.
She didn't leave for what felt like hours, when her fingers slipped from Mairi's. There were questions between them, uncertainties, and Calla had questions for herself, but she found she didn't mind that. They were nice questions, gentle questions, like how much did she liked it when Mairi squeezed her hand gently and when she kissed her and when Calla brushed up the courage to raise her own hand to hold gently Mairi's cheek.
Her head felt like a mess, but it was a good mess. A warm, gentle mess and a tangle of feelings and sunlight and smiles and she liked it. And she liked Mairi.