Sylvia Callis was a bitch. That came as a surprise to few. Except maybe Hermione. Hermione liked her. Hermione would like her. She thought she was misunderstood maybe. Or maybe she just liked strange people. She always came to her defense, saying she could be "a little much, sometimes." Though others would describe her as "too much." Too serious, too opinionated, too fucking strange -- and not in an endearing way. In a way that made you feel uncomfortable or laugh out of awkwardness. Very few knew how to act around her, especially when she had one of her episodes. She was known to throw the occasional drink in a face, swipe the occasional cauldron over in class, and spit the occasional obscenity in a professor's face. Even her own brother didn't like her. He probably didn't even love her. Sylvia Callis was a handful.
Fred didn't like her.
In fact, he had decided, in their first year, that he despised her. Despised is a strong word and he meant every bit of it when he told her to her face.
"I fucking despise you." His mother would've slapped him into next Sunday if she had heard him say those words at the age of twelve.
Little Sylvia Callis, with her tangly black hair and face full of angry orange freckles and big bug eyes shrugged. She sniffed and turned around, the heels of her ill-fitting mary janes clacking as she walked away. Sylvia Callis was told she was despised by the most liked boy in her class and she just walked away.
To be fair, Fred had come to terms with the fact that he had overreacted. All she had done was call his pet rat ugly. Still, when it came out that Scabbers was You-Know-Who's second in command in animagus form at the end of their fifth year, she personally asked Fred for an apology.
"You're kidding right?" He scoffed from down the breakfast table.
Her emotion never changed. Or at least her facial expression never did. She always looked a little startled, like a deer or a rabbit or some other animal of prey, but there was a hardness behind those eyes, something that made others want to stop smiling. Sylvia didn't smile.
"No."
Fred could have apologized for the harsh words whenever he liked. It was four years ago anyway. It was stupid for him to get so upset over such petty children's words. But it was the fact that Sylvia asked him for one. Four years later. With deadly seriousness.
"I'm serious, you should apologize." Her eyes were so big that it startled him when she blinked. Slowly, like a reptile.
George laughed awkwardly from beside him. Thank god. Thank god for George because then the rest of those listening in on the conversation released the tension with quick chuckles, dismissing her in what was always excused as "just Sylvie being Sylvie."
And now, he watched from the couch in the Gryffindor common room as she entered from behind the Fat Lady, her little burrowing owl perched atop her shoulder. She walked right through the room, not oblivious to the presence of others, just not paying any attention to those who weren't worthy of it. Sylvia walked with purpose like no other, but with hardly any noise, as the heels of her black loafers were worn down from the many years wear.
"There goes callous Callis," Lee murmured from the opposite couch. It was a dumb nickname, but they couldn't find a word that rhymed with Sylvia.
Fred huffed out a laugh into the palm of his hand as he turned to the game of wizard's chess between them, calling out a short command before his queen's side knight pulled out its little ebony sword and beheaded Lee's rook.
Lee scowled and pushed up off the couch, "I don't wanna play anymore."
"Afraid I'll dismember your queen?" Fred placed his hands behind his head and leaned back into the softened leather couch.
Lee scoffed, "Yeah sure. Come on, I wanna get a good seat for dinner."
They got the bad seats at dinner. Ron and Harry sat on the side of the table that opened into the walkway of the Great Hall. And it was Ron and Harry who got front row seats to the Beauxbatons buxom show. Blue silk and little butterflies and sparrows nearly dragged the boys right off the bench.
The Durmstrang show was just as entertaining, though much more funny. Fire blew this way and that and Ron ogled over Krum. Fred and George leaned down the table in unison to chant, "Krum, Krum, Krum" in a low howl at their little brother, just as a clap of thunder erupted from the false sky above them. Across from Fred, a drop of rain fell into Sylvia's soup. She scowled down at her bowl with a look of disappointment, scrunching her nose up before giving that slow reptilian blink and turning to the entrance of the Great Hall. Amused at her strange reaction, he followed her gaze, as did everyone else. There was a man Fred recognized standing there, inching his way around the perimeter of the Hall. "Grizzly" was a kind word to describe him. It must've been the false eye, swinging wildly in its metal socket. He pulled out his wand and aimed it straight up at the ceiling, calming the sky to a serene navy dotted with little stars.
"That's Mad-Eye Moody!" Ron said in a less-than-hushed tone.
Fred watched as the wizard took a hefty swig from a flask and guffawed. Next to him, George was snickering as well, "Nice."
They nearly missed Crouch's next announcement, his hands clasping and unclasping at his sides, "The Ministry has concluded that for their own safety, no student under the age of seventeen should be allowed to put forth their name for the Triwizard Tournament. This decision is fi--"
Fred and George were right on top of each other, their voices the only ones heard over the rumble of disappointed gasps and murmurs. Angelina grinned from beside George, as did many of the other Gryffindor sixth-years. But they were quickly silenced by Dumbledore's booming voice.
"SILENCE!"
They silenced. But only to turn to each other and talk in hushed voices as the headmaster continued, warning about just how deadly the tasks would be.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Aging potion?"
"Precisely."
They shook hands quickly above the table, earning two succinct annoyed snorts from Angelina and Alicia.
Sylvia sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, potions textbook open in her lap as she leaned against the foot of the couch. She had taken off her sweater and shoes and placed them in a neat pile next to her, flipping through her book mindlessly. She often found herself alone in the common room. Sometimes a first-year or two would sit on one of the couches, but mostly they were too scared to even come within ten feet of her. She didn't particularly like being alone. But she didn't hate it either. It was just how it was most of the time.
Her solitude didn't last long that night, however. The peacefulness of the crackling fireplace and the little scribbles she made in her notebook were interrupted by nearly the whole of the Gryffindor house bursting through the door, stumbling behind two bearded old men in robes. The students surrounding them were dissolving in and out of fits of laughter as the old men slapped each other around like children. Sylvia straightened her back and craned her neck around to catch a glimpse of them as they rushed up to the boys dormitories.
Only a few kids stayed behind, flopping down onto the couches and armchairs. She took this as her cue to leave and snapped her book shut, slipped back into her shoes, and retrieved her sweater from the ground, giving Hermione a friendly nod as she retreated to the girl's dorms. It wasn't exactly a friendly nod. Sylvia didn't know how to give a friendly nod. The best she could do was keep her face straight and move her chin up and down rigidly, raising her eyebrows. But, nevertheless, Hermione tucked up the corner of her mouth and flicked her hand in a small wave.
She ran into Angelina on the way up the stone stairs, nearly bumping into her and muttering out a small, "'scuse me." But Angelina did something that she wasn't expecting. That completely shocked her, really. She smiled. She smiled and she grabbed her arm. Not in a hostile manner. Not in a way that said "get out of my way". No, it was a kind handle she had around her forearm. And when Sylvia's eyes ran up to meet hers, she looked glad to see her.
"Hey, Sylvie!"
She was confused. It must have been audible in her voice, because when she answered with a skeptical, "Hi Angelina," the other girl showed a row of perfectly white teeth, letting out a beautiful laugh.
"Hey. We're uh, we're kind of throwing a party downstairs tonight if you wanna come."
Sylvia didn't respond. But it was like Angelina understood, "I know that's not really your thing, but you should come. You know since we can't really have any fun with the tournament this year."
She just stood there for a second, eyes drifting back to the slender fingers wrapped tenderly around the crisp white of her dress shirt. She wasn't going to go. She didn't go to parties.
"Okay."
"Great! I'll grab you before," A quick squeeze on her elbow and Angelina disappeared down the stairs, leaving her standing, suspended in the space between the top of the stairs and the door to the girl's dormitories.
Sylvia had never been drunk before. But she figured there was a first time for everything. And it felt oddly liberating.
Where she had previously holed up in her four-poster, curtains drawn tight, doing her best to drown out the sound of voices singing, the thumps of bass notes under her, she was now down there right in the middle of it.
On the side of it actually. She leaned up against the wall, watching a game of spin the bottle force many an unwanted kiss as a fourth-year boy swayed into her, perched up to her left, crooning slurred flirtations into her ear. The mixture of alcohol and music made her hard of hearing, thank god, and she slugged down the drink in her hand, eyes forward.
"Like you're fucking scary as hell, but like," Seamus hiccuped, "I like bad girls, ya know?"
She had to admit, it was a little entertaining.
"No, I don't."
He sputtered out a laugh, jabbing a finger at her shoulder, "See! I mean, most boys can't handle a woman in need of taming, but I consider myself a man--"
"Sylvie!"
Angelina appeared like a beacon of hope before her, and she found herself smiling, pushing off the wall immediately and approaching the girl.
"What was that all about?" She turned her head over her shoulder to see Seamus looking mildly disappointed before finding a pair of third-year girls to bother.
Sylvia shook her head, "Nothing. But thanks for saving me anyways."
The girls shared a friendly glance. She almost couldn't believe how easy it was to smile when her head felt this light, even if it was only a minuscule one.
"Come on," Angelina took ahold of her hand, swinging it slightly as she lead her across the common room and over to the group of sixth and seventh years playing spin the bottle. Her head was too light and her mood was too good to protest, but that didn't liberate her from noticing the obvious glances when she sat in the circle, between Angelina and George.
"Well, well, well, Callis," George raised an eyebrow at her before bumping shoulders, "Good to see you're finally loosening up."
She just tucked her lips in, averting her gaze to the bottle in front of her, then to the group of Gryffindors surrounding it.
"I'll start!" Angelina stated matter of factly, leaning forward onto her knees, supporting herself with a hand on the floor as she took the firewhiskey bottle and flicked her wrist, sending it spinning.
Sylvia felt dizzy just looking at it, and found her head rolling to the side for a moment before she snapped it back up to see who it had landed on. Chris Garland, a handsome seventh-year who was the object of every first-year girl's desire, grinned, flashing a pair of charming dimples before leaning across the circle, closing the distance between himself and Angelina with a quick kiss. A few hoots and hollers broke them apart and Angelina giggled, throwing her middle finger over at Andrew Saxby, who gave her a wolf whistle through crooked teeth. She leaned back into her seat, smiling with her tongue in cheek as she turned to Sylvia beside her, "Your turn, Sylvie,"
Oh.
"Oh."
Before she could let her thoughts get to her about how she was suddenly regretting this greatly, she poured the rest of her drink down her throat, tossing the empty cup behind her before she shifted to sit on her knees. Leaning forward, the sticky bottle of firewhiskey between the pads of her fingers, she twisted her wrist to the right, swallowed, and spun it counter clockwise.
It spun for ages. Ages and ages of just spinning. And when it finally stopped, she couldn't take her eyes off of it. She couldn't bare to see who she was about to disappoint.
"Freddie!" George leaned over, looking across Sylvia and Angelina. There, his twin sat, eyes glued to the bottle.
She couldn't blink. Her eyes felt like they were being pulled by little invisible threads to look over to her right, past Angelina, who leaned back to pull her legs up against her chest. She smiled, but solemnly.
Fred's eyes widened, but not with surprise, not with disbelief. He rolled them slightly before sighing and leaning forward onto his hand, meeting Sylvia's wide stare, "Alright, come on then."
She didn't know what to do. She wanted to just up and leave and go back to her room where she was safe from this mortification. But her body went into autopilot and she leaned over, placing the quickest peck on the corner of Fred's mouth before sitting back into her seat, eyes back on the bottle as George laughed from beside her. She drowned out everything else that was happening around her, knowing that there were eyes on her, that there were muffled snorts from across the circle, that Lee Jordan was whispering in George's ear next to her, and that he was laughing at whatever he said.
But the game continued. George spun and landed on Kenneth Towler and the two grabbed each other's faces and kissed in mock passion, releasing with synched 'muah's. Laughs were rewarded and Lee went next. He kissed Alicia, much to her dismay. Liza Cherks and Andrew Saxby. Daphne Maldon and Raza Mohamed. Alicia and George (she was much more pleased with this outcome and the two convened in more than an innocent peck). Chris Garland landed on Sylvia, and she did her best to keep her face straight as he gave her a half smile and kissed her shortly. Though it was enough to surprise her when he opened his mouth the slightest bit, pulling away with a devilish smirk. And the circle was small enough that before she knew it, her name was called out once again.
"Jeez twice already," Angelina said from beside her, not making eye contact as she scooted back with a face like stone, the smile on her lips completely devoid of emotion.
Fred sucked in a breath, sighing as he leaned over. He placed his hand on Sylvia's cheek for support and cleared his throat before settling a soft kiss against her mouth. She became suddenly conscious of the way her breath must smell at the moment. Though it lasted less than two seconds, she felt her face burning at the thought of a boy kissing her. More than one boy kissing her. All in one night.
"That's three!" Lee erupted into a fit of laughter from beside George, pointing a finger at Fred's dumbfounded face. For the second time that night, Fred's bottle landed on Sylvia, and due to the rules established before the game began, that meant--
"Alright you two, off to the broom closet!" George pushed Sylvia up off the floor, whose bug eyes blinked in confusion as she stood.
Fred set his jaw and ignored Lee's cackling and Angelina's disappointed stare and George's wink as he stood and walked over to the broom closet by the entrance, stopping outside to turn and watch Sylvia step up behind him. Her hands hung at her sides and she didn't meet his eyes as he looked down at her. So, without a word, he opened the closet door and motioned his hand forward, allowing her to step in.
Inside, there was just enough room for the two of them to stand facing each other, chests nearly touching and hands glued to their sides. He waited for her to say something, but just found her eyes wandering around in the darkness, catching the glint from the light peeking in from the cracks around the doorframe.
"Cozy," he said through a breath, trying his best to defuse the awkwardness.
Her gaze met his then, and he noticed how tall she was. She still stood a good half-foot below him, but she must have been at least five-eight, her chin barely raising to look at him, "Why do you hate me?"
"What?" Fred sputtered out through surprised laughter.
She repeated herself, her voice full of earnestness.
"I don't hate you..." he choked on his words, not knowing what else to say.
"Well you don't like me." Her face remained stoic, but her voice wavered, the alcohol effective in her tone.
Fred shook his head, trying his best to sound convincing, "That's not true." He wasn't lying. He didn't hate her and he didn't not like her, but that didn't mean he liked her, necessarily.
A moment of silence followed. Several moments. Filled with just Fred trying to decipher what was going on behind those still eyes. It may have just been the buzz in his head, but he suddenly thought that Sylvia was actually very pretty. Her bug eyes and the straightness of her nose made him think of a fox, the thick spray of freckles across her nose and cheeks softened the harshness of her stare and made her look like a child, and the tangled mess of waves running over her shoulders gave her some personality. He thought about kissing her again. For real this time. He was drunk anyways.
But just as he broke the stare between them to look at her lips, she turned away, exiting the closet before their seven minutes were up. And Fred was left in the dark, thinking about Sylvia Callis's bug eyes.