A Bitter Aftertaste
Calli could feel the sting of her nails digging into her palm, but she didn't loosen her grip. Her quill trembled ever so slightly between her fingers, and she forced herself to still it, breathe, and act as if her world had not just come crashing down around her.
She should have known.
The moment she stepped into the classroom, she should have felt it, sensed the sheer, awful, inevitability of this moment.
But she hadn’t.
Not until she heard her name on his lips.
“Callista Malfoy.”
His voice–low, sharp, and precise–had been burned into her skin just nights ago, whispered against her throat, tangled in the dark.
And now, it cut through the air like a knife, cold and professional, as if he hadn’t pressed her against the wall of that dimly lit room in Hogsmeade, as if he hadn’t tasted her, devoured her, left her aching for more.
Her head had snapped up before she could stop herself, before she could steel her expression into something unreadable. And then, the moment their eyes met, she saw it–the realization, the horror, the way his fingers curled slightly against the parchment like he wanted to rip it in two.
The same way she had curled her fingers into his shirt that night.
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The party had been a whirlwind of laughter and music, the warm glow of floating lanterns casting flickering light over the crowded pub. Calli had slipped in unnoticed, just another student looking to escape the weight of expectation for a few blissful hours.
She hadn’t expected to meet him.
He was learning against the bar, dressed in all black, his sharp gaze cutting through the haze of alcohol and bodies. He looked out of place–too intense, too serious for the raucous energy surrounding them.
And that intrigued her.
She had approached him with a smirk, her confidence armor against the unknown.
“You look miserable,” she had teased, swirling the firewhisky in her glass. “Bad day?”
He had barely glanced at her. “You could say that.”
His voice alone had sent a shiver down her spine. Deep, smooth, laced with something dark and tired.
“Well, I happen to be excellent at making people forget bad days,” she had said, tilting her head, letting her hair cascade over her shoulder just so.
That had earned her a glance. And then a look.
A slow, sweeping assessment that sent heat pooling low in her stomach.
“Is that so?” he had murmured, setting his drink down.
And Merlin help her, the way he had said it had sealed her fate.
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Calli swallowed hard, her focus snapping back to the present, to the Potions classroom that had suddenly become her personal hell.
Severus had turned away, acting as though nothing had happened, but she wasn’t fooled.
This was a nightmare.
And it had only just begun.