24. Aftermath
"Professor Dumbledore said you could take as much time as you needed," Susanna reminded her daughter two weeks after the girl had returned home from Hogwarts.
"I know," Callie said. "And I did. I can't sit around this house anymore, I need something to do."
Susanna understood that, but said, "You know you can come back it you need to."
"I know," Callie said. The two were in the sitting room waiting for Dumbledore, who was going to bring Callie back to the castle. "Are you going to be all right?" Callie asked after a moment.
"I'll be fine," Susanna said. "Rather looking forward to getting back to work. Like you said, gotta have something to do."
The two sat in silence for a while, and Callie's eyes drifted to a floral arrangement that had been displayed at her father's funeral. She'd picked this one out herself, insisting on white roses, which she'd once read were a symbol of respect.
Sighing, she rose to her feet and paced the room, suddenly antsy. "Bloody hell, where is he?" she said.
"Relax, I'm sure he'll be here any moment," her mother said.
"I can't relax," the girl replied. "I hate waiting."
Thankfully, green flames appeared in the fireplace shortly after, and Dumbledore stepped into the room. "Good evening, Dr. Warbeck, Calista," he greeted.
"Professor Dumbledore," Susanna replied, rising to her feet to shake his hand. "Good to see you again, sir."
"Likewise," the man said. "Though I wish it could be under different circumstances. How are you, my dear?"
Susanna sighed. "Hanging in there," she said. "The flowers you sent were absolutely beautiful. I appreciated that." The headmaster had sent a royal blue arrangement, which had also been displayed at the funeral.
Taking the woman's hand in both of his, Dumbledore said, "Once again, I'm so sorry for your loss, Doctor. If there's anything at all I can do for you, please, let me know."
"Thank you, sir," she replied. "Just take good care of my daughter."
"You have my word," he said, smiling. Then to Callie, he asked, "Are you sure you're ready?"
"Yes," Callie said, nodding. She went up to her mother, who pulled her in for a tight hug.
"Write to me often," Susanna said. "Twice a week, if you've got the time."
"I will. I love you."
"I love you, too." The woman let go of her daughter, desperately trying to hold back her tears. But she didn't want to make this harder than it already was. "Be good."
"After you," Dumbledore said, gesturing for Callie to go ahead. On the fireplace mantle was what any non-magical visitors might've thought was an urn for human ashes. Inside, however, was Floo powder. Callie grabbed a handful.
"Where are we going?" she asked Dumbledore.
"Hogwarts headmaster's office," he said.
She stepped into the fireplace and repeated his words, dropping the powder. Seconds later she was back in his office. He stepped out from the flames a moment later.
"Welcome back," he said quietly. "Your classmates are in the Great Hall having dinner. You're welcome to join if you'd like."
"That's all right, I just ate," Callie said. "May I go down to the dungeons, sir?"
"Certainly," Dumbledore said. "I would like a moment or two first, if you don't mind." He gestured for her to join him at a little sitting area off to the side. Callie took a seat, and the man began, "I was a bit surprised when I received your owl stating you'd like to return so soon."
When he didn't go on, Callie said, "Well... I do have a lot of schoolwork to catch up on."
"I explained to your mother that we could've arranged for your books and assignments to be sent," he said. "I'd have even had a staff member come to your home to proctor your exams."
"Yeah, she told me," Callie said. "But I just..." Dumbledore waited for her to go on, but she didn't know how to explain.
"I suppose a distraction was in order?" he asked. "Change of scenery, perhaps?"
Callie nodded. "Yes, sir," she said. "Something like that."
"I see," the man said, studying her. "Callie, my door is always open to those who need someone to talk to. Professor McGonagall is also quite a good listener, and most compassionate, if you'd prefer a female confidant."
"Thank you, sir. I appreciate that."
"Is there anything you'd like to discuss at the moment? Anything at all?"
Callie shook her head. "No. Not at the moment, sir."
He gave it a few seconds, waiting to see if she'd change her mind, and then smiled kindly, placing a comforting hand on her arm. "You're welcome to take a few days to yourself if you'd like," he said. "I can excuse you from classes for the week."
"Thank you, sir, but that's not necessary," Callie replied. "Like you said, I could use a distraction."
"As you wish," he said, patting her arm before rising to his feet. "See to it you get a good night's rest."
Callie stood and made her way towards the door, spotting the fully-grown phoenix as she went. She stopped to give the bird a pet.
"Callie?" Dumbledore called out, and she turned to face him. "Have you ever heard the expression, 'This too shall pass'?"
The man was no fool. As calm and composed as she'd tried to appear, he could tell how much pain she was in. "Yes, I have," she said. "Thank you, sir."
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Knock, knock, knock.
"Yes?" Snape called out from behind the door. Callie opened it up and came to stand before his desk. "Warbeck," he greeted in his usual emotionless tone. "How was your first day back?"
"Fine, sir," she replied, taking her usual seat at the desk he'd set up for her months ago.
Giving her a puzzled look, he asked, "What are you doing?"
As though it should've been obvious, she replied, "I've come for detention." He simply stared at her. "Every night until I can learn to keep my mouth shut," she reminded him. "Right?"
He then dropped his eyes to some papers spread out on his desk, as though he were suddenly unwilling, or unable, to meet her gaze. "I think you've suffered enough," he said. "So long as you can keep yourself out of trouble and watch the sass, you're free to go."
She hesitated before standing. "Thank you, sir," she said, and made to leave.
As her hand touched the doorknob, he called out, "I'm sorry." She turned back to him, somewhat stunned, but still, he kept his eyes set on his work.
"Thank you, sir," she repeated in a soft voice, before stepping out into the corridor.
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She sat in Potions two weeks later, staring off into the distance. This was a hard lesson to get through, as it was all lecture, no hands-on brewing. Listening to Snape drone on and on wasn't as stimulating or distracting as she'd have liked, so instead she kept her mind occupied by naming all the plants she could think of. Devil's snare, mandrakes, gillyweed...
"Warbeck!"
The potions master startled her out of her thoughts, making her jump.
"Are you even listening to me?" he asked.
Honestly, she had no idea what he'd been talking about, and she didn't have either the energy or inclination to fake her way through it.
"No, sir," she said, sitting up straighter in her seat. "I wasn't. I'm sorry."
She could feel the tension in the room as her classmates waited for the man to lash out. But he kept his composure as he said, "If you can't be bothered to pay attention in my class then feel free to leave."
She almost did. Not to spite him, but simply because her head wasn't in it, and he'd probably be happy to be rid of her anyway.
However, she just didn't care to get up and make a whole thing of it. "No, sir," she said, shaking her head slightly. "I'll stay - I'll pay attention."
He kept his eyes on her a moment longer, before continuing.
It only took ten minutes before she found her mind wandering again, and refocused her thoughts. Venomous tentacula, fluxweed, puffapods...
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She'd been neglecting her friends something fierce. On her first Monday back, she'd had Care of Magical Creatures with Neville, Hermione, and all the others. Hagrid had greeted with her a supportive pat on the back - probably not meaning to make her knees buckle with the strength of it - and said, "I 'eard abou' yer pa. Sorry, lass."
Hermione gave her a hesitant hug. Harry offered a sympathetic look and said sadly, "Welcome to the club." Neville could barely look at her.
"McGonagall told me what happened right after you left," he said.
"Sorry I ruined Hogsmeade," Callie said.
"Don't worry about it. I'm sorry."
After that, Callie didn't say much as they worked, and she didn't join the Gryffindor table at dinner. Nor did she speak a word at the Slytherin table, though she was quite grateful that no one there spoke to her either. In fact, her housemates had seemed to develop some sense of decency while she'd been away, because not only did they stop with the snide comments and antagonism, but some of them had even offered their condolences when she'd returned. Daphne, Theo Nott... even Pansy.
"I'm sorry," she'd said when the girls came up to the dormitory on Callie's first night back. She'd had the tone of a small child who'd been made to say it by her mum, but the fact that she'd said it at all was something.
Callie couldn't understand her desire to suddenly keep a distance from her friends, or the odd way in which simply sitting silently at her own table made her feel... exposed. Nobody was looking at her or talking about her, not that she could see, but somehow she felt as if she were on display, and it irked her. After a couple of days, she found herself unable to stand it any longer, and stopped coming to dinner.
Breakfast and lunch were simply grabbing a piece of toast or a muffin, and she went to bed starving a few times. Then one day an idea occurred to her.
"Hermione, you've been in the Hogwarts kitchens, right?" she asked the girl during Care of Magical Creatures. Callie knew she'd gone there at least once to visit the house-elves.
"Yes," the Gryffindor replied. "Why?"
"Where are they?"
Hermione told her where they were and how to get in. From that day on, Callie sat amongst the elves to have her dinner, which they were happy to serve to her right in the kitchens.
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She and Neville hadn't hung out since she'd returned. One day he asked if she wanted to go over their Herbology homework, but she said that she had a Muggle Studies test to prepare for. That was a lie, and she knew that he knew she'd have aced any test in that particular subject without even opening the book, but she just didn't want to be around him. Or anyone.
He must have realized that she wanted to be alone, since he didn't push. But on Valentine's Day, he sent her a box of Chocoballs - with a note.
From Neville (so you don't have to wonder this time)
Happy Valentine's Day
She felt like a total bitch avoiding him. But nowadays, being around people inexplicably made her skin crawl. Outside of classes, she spent almost every minute shut up in the dormitory, usually with her bedcurtains pulled shut. The only good thing she had going was that most of her grades had never been better - except for one.
"Could you lend me your History of Magic notes?" she asked Hermione one day, tracking her down in, of course, the library.
Callie herself had never bothered to pay attention during Binns' lectures, nor did she read the text. Everything she needed to know had come from her father. Since year one he'd looked over her syllabus for each term and compiled his own set of notes and references for other sources of information. And he'd done it for this term as well, but Callie couldn't bring herself to open the big five-subject notebook labeled "Cheat Sheet." For the first time since starting at Hogwarts, she'd received a grade of D - for dreadful - on an assignment.
Everything else, however, was straight O's. Except for Herbology, which was an E.
"How are ya, lass?" Professor Sprout asked, pulling Callie aside one day at the end of the period.
"I'm okay," she lied. "Thanks for asking." Again, a lie. Almost every teacher had asked her that a thousand times, and Callie was wishing they'd just let her be.
"Heard you've been sneakin' down into the kitchens at mealtimes," the woman said. "Rest of the staff have been wonderin' where ya are at dinner."
Callie bowed her head sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Professor," she said. "I didn't mean to make trouble, I just-"
"Not to worry, dear," Sprout cut in. "House-elves don't seem to mind. Don't see why it oughta be a problem, if ya prefer to have some time to yourself."
Callie sighed, grateful for the woman's understanding. "Thank you, ma'am," she said.
"Aye. People grieve in different ways," Sprout explained. "Some like to gather 'round others, some need a bit o' space." She reached out to rub Callie's arm supportively. "Take your time, lass. Things'll get better."
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All she'd been doing for three weeks was reading and studying. She barely ever left her bed, let alone the dormitory. One day, Callie decided to get up and move, making her way through the dungeons, up to the ground floor, and out onto the castle grounds. Hardly anybody was out in the winter weather, but she spotted Viktor Krum running laps around the lake. As if on instinct, she started towards him, catching up and keeping pace with the famed athlete.
Nodding to her, the Bulgarian said, "Herminny's sad friend."
"Right," Callie replied. "Mind if I run with you?"
"No," he said through gasps.
This appeared to be a daily ritual for him, and Callie burned off her excess energy jogging alongside the boy every morning for the next week.
The second task of the Triwizard Tournament came on the twenty-fourth, but Callie had no desire to sit through it, hanging back in the Slytherin dungeon instead. Then it was March and another Hogsmeade weekend had arrived.
"Didn't I tell you you're free to go?" Snape asked when he found her heading into the common room that Saturday.
"Thought I was still barred from Hogsmeade?" she said. The detentions were over, but he'd never said she could go into the village.
Rolling his eyes, he said, "Oughta get out of these damn dungeons for once. You're whiter than parchment." He paused to take a long look at her. "And your cheekbones are skeletal. Have you been eating?"
"Yes, sir, in the kitchens," she replied. "Professor Sprout said it was all right."
"Did she now?" Another pause. "Your under eyes are practically black. Now that I think about it, Warbeck, you look like absolute hell."
She sighed and said, "Anything else, sir?"
He studied her a moment longer, before saying, "Go to Hogsmeade. Stop trying to make a martyr of yourself."
"I'm not-"
"That's an order. I don't want to see you in this castle the rest of the morning." He turned to walk away.
"Sir, please!"
He stopped in his tracks and turned back to face her.
"Please," she repeated, "don't make me try to... pretend to be..." She trailed off.
"Happy?" he finished.
She remained quiet, looking away from him.
He approached her. "Not used to misery, are you, girl?" he asked. "Haven't learned how to pretend."
She still couldn't look at him, but replied, "No sense in bringing everyone else down, sir."
"How noble," he mused. "Suffering in silence."
"I'm not trying to be noble," she argued. "I just..." But she couldn't explain herself.
He stood staring down at her another moment, before turning away again. "Do what you want," he said. "I don't know why I pretended to give a damn."
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The dark circles under her eyes were the result of not being able to sleep the night before. She had first started getting them after... it happened. She had to be falling-down exhausted before she attempted to set her head on the pillow and close her eyes. Otherwise, she'd have to lie there and wait fifteen, thirty, sometimes sixty minutes or more before sleep came. And in that time, without the distractions, thoughts of her father were unavoidable.
Finally, some time in mid-February, she'd gone to the hospital wing, seeking out Madam Pomfrey.
"Please, ma'am, have you got a sleeping draught I can take? Just a bit?"
Reluctantly, the matron had given her a bottle of purple liquid, telling her to take just one spoonful on rough nights, and no more. Callie had come to rely on the potion every night, to shut her mind off before unwanted thoughts could seep in.
However, she'd finished the bottle two nights ago, and stayed up until six that morning, biding her time with Advanced Potion-Making until she simply couldn't keep her eyes open any longer.
Returning to the hospital wing, she asked the matron for another.
"I gave you a month's worth," the woman said, "it's only been three weeks!"
"I... lent some to a friend," Callie fibbed.
"You're not to go passing it around," Pomfrey said. "Potions like this require authorization for use, especially for the underaged."
"I'm sorry, ma'am," Callie said. "I won't do it again, I promise. Just... please, I need more. Just a bit, half a bottle, even."
Pomfrey studied her and then said, "One more time. Half a bottle. After that, you're going to have to go to St. Mungo's and get a note."
"Thank you, ma'am," Callie said, pocketing the potion.
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The following Monday in Magical Creatures, as they both tried to wrestle an eight-foot-long Blast-Ended Skrewt into submission, Neville begged, "Callie, please, it's been over a month. Talk to me! I miss you."
"There's nothing to talk about, Neville," she snapped at him. "Why can't everybody just leave me alone?" Suddenly the skrewt shot a jet of flame out of its back end, causing both students to jump as it took off toward the forest.
"To hell with this!" Callie said, rising to her feet and storming off toward the castle. She'd held out longer than most of her classmates at least, who refused to go near the cross-bred animals at this point.
Neville ran after her, grabbing her arm to try and stop her. But she shrugged him off, turning on him. "Don't touch me," she warned.
"Why d'you hate me all of a sudden?" he asked. "What did I do?"
"Nothing! You didn't do anything," she said. "Can't I just grieve in peace, for Christ sake?!"
"I'm just trying to be... supportive," he argued.
"Well don't. I don't want anybody's support, it's not gonna bring him back. And it's not gonna change the fact that I missed out on seeing him one last time thanks to that God damn ball!"
Neville gaped at her, and several students from all three schools were staring.
"What are you all looking at?" Callie yelled. "Go stare at Harry or Cedric or Krum, your precious champions! God, I hate this stupid tournament, it's a joke! There are more important things in life."
Hermione came up beside Neville. "Callie..." she said.
"What?!"
The Gryffindor girl shrunk back. Callie reached into her pocket for a gold coin.
"Here," she said, tossing it towards Hermione. "Have a galleon, maybe it'll keep you off my back for a while." With that, she stormed off into the castle, going to an empty classroom and kicking a chair across the floor. Leaning over a desk up front, she took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself.
Once she was slightly more settled, she turned to find Neville leaning against the closed door. She jumped at the sudden sight of him.
"Hex me if you want," he said softly. "Or hit me. Or yell some more. I can take it."
"I'm not gonna hex you." she said. "Or hit you. Can't promise I won't yell, though. Guess it depends what you have to say."
"Give me a minute," he said. "Then you can yell all you want."
She waited for him to go on.
"I can't say I know what it's like, exactly," he said. "I was only a baby when my parents..." He trailed off, then continued. "But... I'm here for you. Whatever you need, even if it's space. I'll back off. I just want you to know that, however long it takes... I'll still be here. I'm not going anywhere. No matter how hard you try to push me away."
She stared at him, feeling a slight twinge of comfort, despite her insistence on not wanting him around at the moment. "I'm sorry," she said. "I-"
"Don't be," he cut in. "You're hurting. I get it."
Fighting back tears, she said, "Would you tell Hermione I'm sorry too? She can keep the galleon."
Neville smirked slightly. "Yeah. I'll tell her." He paused, before asking, "You gonna be all right?"
She nodded, and said, "Yeah, eventually."
He gave her a small smile and said, "See you Friday," turning to leave.
"Neville?" she called out, stopping him.
"Yeah?"
She held his gaze in silence for a moment, then said, "Thanks for the Chocoballs."
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"Snape wants to see you in his office after dinner," Astoria informed her as they crossed paths in the entrance hall one night at the end of March.
"Christ, what now?" Callie said, rolling her eyes as she made her way off to the kitchens.
"Mistress Warbeck," a house-elf named Burt greeted her. "May I get you a pumpkin juice?"
"How 'bout a shot of Firewhisky?" she said, not actually expecting the creature to run off and come back with a glass and a bottle of Ogden's Old.
"Isn't this... illegal?" Callie asked as she sat at the end of the fish-filleting station. You had to be seventeen to order a Firewhisky in a pub.
"No house-elf can refuse his master or mistress's wishes," Burt explained.
"I'm not your mistress."
"Burt answers to all staff and students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, ma'am," the elf explained.
"Even the first-years?"
"Mmm," he said with a nod.
Christ, how degrading to have to answer to children. Hermione was right.
"Thank you, Burt," she said, and the little creature went on his way.
Callie eyed the bottle of amber-colored liquid. She'd never tired anything stronger than wine, and wasn't sure of the effects the whisky would produce. Plus, she was due to face Snape in an hour, and showing up drunk to the man's office wouldn't go over so well.
"What the hell," she said, opening the bottle and pouring herself an ounce. Taking a breath, she held her glass up in the air and said, "Cheers," before downing its contents.
Burned like a son of a bitch on its way down her throat, and she coughed like she had the time her father let her try his pipe. But it left her a little light-headed after ten minutes, and she felt her tense muscles relax for the first time in weeks.
"Wonderful," she said to herself. "Now I'm an alcoholic." Burt brought her chicken and potatoes and she took her time with them, hoping the buzz and slight dizziness would wear off by the time she had to see Snape. Once she felt a little bit more like herself, she stood up.
"As always," she said, addressing the house-elves nearby, "thanks for the eats."
"No need for thanks, Mistress Warbeck," a girl elf named Rosewater said with a smile. "It is but our greatest honor to serve those of Hogwarts."
Callie reached into her pocket, then held out a coin. "Have a galleon."
Stepping back and shaking her head vigorously, Rosewater said, "No, no, no, Mistress Warbeck! A house-elf never accepts coins from her masters!"
"Well, I'll just leave it right here, then," Callie said, setting the coin on the table. "Goodnight, Rosie."
She turned to walk away, paused, then swiped the almost full bottle of Ogden's Old and stashed it in her robes.