Games of Flame
Callista stormed into her dormitory, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her friends barely glanced up from their lounging spots, unaware of how complicated her life had suddenly become.
Marianne arched an eyebrow. “What’s with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Nothing,” Calli said quickly, dropping onto her bed and yanking the hangings closed around her. “Just a long day.”
Marianne snorted. “That’s vague. Did one of your devoted admirers finally grow a spine and profess their undying love for you?”
She opens the hangings slightly, peering in at Calli.
“Or did that new Potions professor give you a hard time?” She asks, causing Calli’s heart to skip a beat. “He looks scary.”
Calli forced a laugh. “Neither. Just tired.”
The other girls in the room exchanged glances, but Marianne wasn’t convinced. She opened the hangings enough to slide in, sitting on the edge of Callista’s bed.
“Oh, come on, Calli,” she said lowly, pulling the hangings shut around them. “I know you. Something’s up.”
For a brief moment, Callista considered telling her. Just blurting it all out–how she had made the biggest mistake of her life, how her new professor had seen her naked, touched her, kissed her.
How she had thought, for a moment, that she had found someone who wanted her–not the Malfoy name, not the perfect facade she wore, only her–only for it all to crash down in the most humiliating way.
But she couldn’t. Marianne wouldn’t understand.
No one would.
So she plastered on a smirk and tossed a pillow at her friend. “I appreciate the concern, but I promise, it’s nothing.”
Marianne caught the pillow with a skeptical look, but let it go. “Alright, but if you decide to spill, you know where to find me.”
Callista nodded, forcing another smile, and when Marianne finally moved back to her own bed, she let the mask slip. Lying back, she stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on her.
______________________________________________________________________________
A week passed, and the tension hadn’t eased. If anything, it worsened.
Every Potions class was torture.
Severus–Professor Snape–was colder than ice, treating her like any other student, except for the occasional sharp glance when he thought no one was looking. Calli dreaded every moment she spent in that classroom, waiting for the next subtle cruelty, the next reminder that what had happened between them was a mistake.
And then, there was Caleb.
She was sitting at her usual spot in the back when a neatly folded piece of parchment landed on her desk. Callista glanced around before unfolding it beneath the table.
Hogsmeade this weekend? You and me. Like old times.
She didn’t have to look up to know that Caleb Wood was smirking at her from across the room. She could feel his eyes on her, waiting for an answer.
She shouldn’t.
She didn’t even like Caleb.
But Severus’ words still rang in her ears–You mean nothing to me.
So she picked up her quill and, without hesitation, scribbled a single word beneath his message.
Yes.
If Severus thought she meant nothing, then she would prove him right.
Or at least, she would try.