Chapter 3: 3
Tired as he was, Severus found he could barely sleep that night himself. He was caught up in his own flood of powerful emotions, similar in nature, if not in content, to Calista's.
He felt anger, at whatever and whoever had hurt Calista so badly; now that he had touched her emotions, he understood that something catastrophic had happened to her, though without reading her memories he could do little more than guess at precisely what it was. There was a tangled mess of something else, too; He felt all at once closer to the child and further disconnected.
Her silences, her wary gaze - these things he could only guess at the meanings of. But the emotions she'd unwittingly shared with him that night, those were clear, those were things he could comprehend and identify with, things he could at least try to communicate with her about.
But that was where the distance came into play. He had felt compelled, when he felt the waves of her fear and anger, to try and comfort her, but she'd shut him out, yet again. He was beginning to suspect it was more than fear; perhaps she simply didn't like him.
And that was where, he realised, that his own pull of sadness came from; he found that he actually wanted her to like him, to trust him, now more than ever. Of course he had wanted, all along, to have some kind of relationship with her, but now, something had changed.
Something had happened to him when he'd touched her mind, for that brief moment. He had felt her surface emotions, certainly, but there had been something else about that moment; something in her mind that he couldn't quite identify, but that felt incredibly familiar. He felt, in that instant, a connection to her.
There was something about the feel of her mind that reminded him, powerfully, of himself. It wasn't so much that they shared the same emotions, because that wasn't quite true. It was that they felt their emotions in the same way; the same things went together in both of their minds. Fear, hurt… and bitterness, defiance. She had his charged, defensive spirit, if he were to put a fine point on it.
And all of that made him want to help her, to connect with her. There was more to her than those wild emotions he had felt; there had to be. The darkness he felt inside of her was at odds with the child she was, and he wanted for her to be able to be that child. He wanted her to feel safe, to smile. He wanted her to feel… loved.
But precisely how was he going to accomplish that when he himself had no idea exactly what that felt like? He had loved, but had never been loved, not truly, in return. His own parents had set no example. How could he give his child something that he couldn't even comprehend?
He felt something shift in him, that night. In his heart, Calista went from being a child he shared blood with that he wanted to help, to being, truly, his daughter. Once he had felt the similarities between them, he found it natural, suddenly, to think of her that way. It became more imperative to him than ever before to convince her that he could be trusted.
But he'd tried telling her that he wouldn't hurt her, that she was safe with him, and she evidently didn't believe him. If only he could enter her mind, could show her exactly how he felt about her, how badly he wanted to help her. He didn't know the words that would make her listen, and even though legilimency seemed like an ideal solution to their communication disconnect, he sensed that it would do his cause more harm than good, at least currently.
If she couldn't even stand to be in the same room with him most of the time, how could he expect that she would allow him to enter her mind? She would likely view any intrusion as an attack, even if he only meant to show her that he meant well. She was too fragile, too raw, beneath her mask of indifference to him.
He would have to wait, find some other way to earn her trust before he could know anything else about her.
Since he didn't sleep that night at all, he rose much earlier than he was prone to do, a dull headache pounding at his temples from the lack of sleep.
He needed coffee, or perhaps a very strong tea, and then he needed to find some way to approach Calista, but as he entered the small hearth room that held a fireplace for cooking, and a small wooden table with two chairs, he froze. Calista was already in the room, and he watched her from the doorway, as silent as he could be.
Calista had dragged one of the wooden chairs over to the narrow worktop next to the fireplace, and was standing on its seat. She had an earthenware mug on the counter, and was pouring an aromatic black liquid into it.
The liquid steamed and hissed as it filled the cup, and he caught a strong smell of coffee. He watched, holding his silence, as she stepped down from the chair with the mug held carefully between her two hands, and set it gently on the table. Severus slipped further back into the shadows to avoid being discovered.
She returned to the chair, and leaned it against herself as she slowly pulled it back to the table. She held the chair a tiny bit off the floor, so it wouldn't make a sound, and he saw her pale face turn pink with the effort of holding up the chair, which probably weighed almost as much as she did.
Once she had returned the chair to its proper place, she approached the work-top, and standing on tiptoes, removed the now-empty carafe, washed it and dried it, and then put it back exactly where he usually kept it.
Finally, when the room looked exactly as it had before, save for the mug and the girl, she climbed into the chair and reached for the mug. Even though the liquid was still steaming and must have been quite hot, she sipped at it quickly, and had drained the mug in a matter of moments.
As soon as it was gone, she washed the mug and put it away, and wiped the tabletop off with the end of her sleeve. Then she looked slowly around the room, as if taking inventory of its contents.
When her eyes swept by the doorway in which Severus stood, he stepped quietly backwards, and retreated into his study. He had learned by now that approaching Calista when she thought she was alone would only send her bolting from the room, and he might not catch sight of her again all day.
It occurred to Severus that Calista was far too young to be drinking coffee, and that she must have been drinking it for quite some time to be taking it black and without sugar, not to mention scalding hot. How had she acquired that particular habit?
It seemed he had stumbled on something simply by awakening early, because he next day, and the one following it, and for more than a week's worth of days, he rose early, and watched silently from the doorway as Calista followed her morning routine.
She would be up by four in the morning, brewing a strong batch of coffee, and she would leave the room exactly as she had found it by four-thirty. From there, she would usually return to her bedroom, and since he had found her in the grip of a nightmare, she always closed it softly, and spent what appeared to be the whole of the day in there. As if she was punishing him for having discovered her mid-nightmare, she avoided him now more than ever before, not allowing him a single glimpse of her until dinnertime every day, or so she evidently thought.
Mealtimes were as they had always been, for he would be simmering with things he needed to say to her, and needed to hear her say, but she was persistently silent and distant.
Severus was frustrated, and disheartened. Despite his resolve, he wasn't making any progress at all in connecting with her, and in the meantime Calista was growing still thinner and more frail-looking, and she always had dark circles underneath her eyes.
He didn't understand how she could look so tired when she spent most of the day in her room, presumably sleeping, until he had been watching her in the mornings for a little over a month.
One afternoon, he stepped into the small kitchen to make himself some tea. Since it was the middle of the day and Calista would not usually be within sight for a few hours still, he was surprised to find her in the small kitchen, sitting at the little table with yet another mug of coffee.
He forced himself to keep walking as though he hadn't even noticed her, and was surprised yet again when she didn't immediately bolt as he entered the room. He paused at the worktop, willing himself to think of the right thing to say or do so that she'd stay in the room. That was when he noticed that the coffee carafe still had about another cups worth left in it, and he changed his plan.
He turned his head slowly and said, in a soft voice,
"Calista, may if I have some of this, too?"
He was careful to any sort of emotion out of his voice. Perhaps if he acted as though this was a commonplace situation they were in, she would follow suit.
As soon as he spoke, she stiffened and he truly thought she was going to leave the room once more, but as the silence stretched out, she slowly raised her gaze to him. Flight was written all over her, but she stayed.
Finally, she nodded slowly, yes.
Still acting as if this was a normal occurrence, he filled his mug and brought it to the table, sitting across from her.
He wanted to speak to her, to see if he could finally coax a reply, but he didn't want to push his luck just yet, so instead he made a show of focusing on his coffee, even when every sense but his vision was focused on the small girl across the table from him.
Calista did not stay in the room long. She finished her coffee, washed her mug and put it away, and then washed the now-empty carafe and put it carefully away, too. Then, silently, she left the room, and he didn't see her again until dinnertime, which was silent as usual, despite his awkwardly offering her once more to read to her from the book she seemed to enjoy.
The next morning, Severus again forced himself out of bed just after four, and made his way to the kitchen doorway.
He nearly dropped his jaw in shock when he saw that there were two mugs of steaming coffee on the table, and that Calista was already in her chair, her legs drawn up underneath her to keep her bare toes warm.
It only took him a second to compose himself, and he entered the room with a controlled expression, settling at the table as if this was something they did every day. He sipped at his coffee, and restrained himself to only one sentence:
"Thank you for the coffee, Calista."
She didn't reply, but she didn't flee, either; She stayed at the table until both of them had drained their mugs. He didn't dare leave, not when she was willingly sharing the same space with him. After they had sat in silence for a while, she rose from her chair, empty mug in hand. He thought she would wash it quickly and then take her leave, but incredibly, she stepped closer instead of away.
She approached his chair, and he scarcely dared to breathe, for this was the closest that his daughter had ever voluntarily been to him, save for the seconds it had taken him to Apparate them on the first day he had met her. She didn't linger, though; she snatched his mug off the table, then scurried over to the basin with both of their mugs, washing them both and then putting them away.
For the next several days, Severus arose early to find two mugs set at the table. He forced himself not to speak to her much, for on the few days when he did, she would leave the room abruptly, pausing only to wash her mug.
He found it strange that she was so insistent upon leaving the room exactly as she found it, now that he obviously knew what she was up to in the kitchen.
It occurred to him that this careful, tentative alliance with Calista was something like trying to tame a wild animal. He had to be patient and quiet, and she would sit for a little bit longer before she disappeared from sight.
His careful silence paid off sooner than he thought it would. One morning as he finished his coffee, he thought about remaining in the kitchen a little longer, debating the merits of trying, yet again, to initiate a conversation. In the end, he decided that it was more likely to send her fleeing than anything else, and so he rose from the table, and walked down the stone hallway.
He sensed rather than saw that Calista was a few paces behind him, following him like a tiny, silent shadow. He reached a doorway and opened it, revealing a rough stone staircase that descended into darkness.
He lit his wand and turned, thinking to invite Calista to follow him downstairs to the workroom, but as soon as he'd made eye contact, she scurried away. With a heavy sigh, he descended the stairs himself, emerging into his favorite room in the apartment.
In the center of the vast, cavernous room a fireplace stood, waiting to be lit, and on a high table behind it there were several cauldrons in different sizes, and around the room were shelves of potion ingredients in bottles, and even more shelves of books, most of these stained with age and use. There was a very small room off of this main chamber that housed his reserve stores of potions ingredients
It was Saturday, and he had no classes to teach, but there were a few potions the Hospital Wing had sent word they were running low on, so he decided to replenish their stores, settling into the familiar, comforting rhythm of potions-brewing.
It was hours before he finished, bottling the last of his brews carefully. He'd bring them to Madame Pomfrey tomorrow; right now, he was feeling refreshed from the day in his workshop, and was encouraged to try, just once more, to see if Calista wanted him to read to her.
Softly, he climbed the stairs and walked down the hallway to her bedroom. The door was slightly ajar. it was dark in the room as evening began to set in.
Calista was sitting on her bed, in the same place she'd been before, when he'd found her having a nightmare. This time, though, she was awake; he turned her head as light from the hall spilled across the floor of her room. Her eyes were wide and dark; he couldn't make out an expression in them. Her face, though… she looked exhausted, and he was startled to notice a dark trickle of blood running down her chin. Her teeth were pressed into the soft skin of her lower lip, and her hands were curled up tightly as well, fingernails pressing into the thick part of her palms.
All at once, he understood why she always looked so fragile, why there were nearly always dark circles under her eyes. He'd thought that perhaps she slept most of the day, when she was hiding in her room, but now he realised that precisely the opposite appeared to be true; she wasn't sleeping all day. He doubted now that she'd been sleeping much at all.
Of course; the nightmare. Why had he assumed it had been a solitary event? What if she had them all the time? What recourse could the little girl possibly have against them, save for refusing to sleep in the first place?
Severus lit his wand and sent the light to the candelabra that stood in the corner of the small room.
In the thin light, her face looked even paler and more sickly than usual, her eyes looking huge in the tiny face, their deep recesses lined with dark smudges. She looked frankly pitiful, and he could not stand to watch her struggle to stay awake through the night.
Strangely, he felt a hollow sort of relief flood through him; here, at last was something she needed that he decidedly could help her with.
"Come with me, Calista," he said softly, "I can give you something that will make you sleep without dreams."
He could see the struggle in her features as her hesitance to trust him warred with her desperate need to sleep.
Finally, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. He reached out, tentatively, his hand open for her to take. She stared at his hand for a minute, and then shook her head, almost imperceptibly. Still, she followed him as he left the room, all the way down the corridor of his quarters, and out the door, across another small corridor, into his office.
He had a few sleeping draughts of various potencies ready at any given time; sometimes, he had trouble sleeping himself, and sometimes the Hospital Wing needed them.
There was a fairly mild one that would likely keep the dreamer from remembering any of their dreams in the morning, and he knew that this was probably the only thing he had that might be okay to give to a child. He reached for it, and at the last second shifted his aim, taking a smaller bottle filled with a deep purple liquid.
Night Blossom Draught was much stronger stuff. It would knock someone out in less than a minute, and they'd likely sleep twelve hours or more without stirring. It often made the drinker groggy and fuzzy-headed, and it most certainly didn't allow even enough thought for a meaningless dream. In potency, it was second only to a Draught of Living Death.
He knew that Night Blossom was a powerful ingredient that was carefully controlled, and he knew that under normal circumstances, he definitely shouldn't give anything with Night Blossom in it to a child, but he also knew that he had promised his daughter a dreamless sleep, and that she had decided to trust him.
He would not take any chances. He would make good on his promise, because it might be the only chance he got in a long time to show her that he could be trusted.
He unscrewed the bottle's cap and poured just a few drops onto her tongue, roughly a quarter of what he would have given an adult.
As soon as he had screwed the cap back on and replaced the bottle on the shelf, Calista's eyelids began to droop, and she swayed where she stood.
He reached out for her again, watching her as he did so for signs that she would once again dart away from him. Instead, her eyes closed, and he barely had time to grab her to stop her from falling.
She didn't react to his touch at all, so he picked her up carefully, holding her to his shoulder. For a moment, he simply stood still, hardly daring to breathe.
Having children wasn't something he had ever consciously wished for. He'd never had a close relationship with either of his parents, and he never understood precisely what was meant when people spoke about parental bonding.
Now, with the warm weight of his daughter resting on his shoulder, her even breathing tickling his neck, he thought he was beginning to understand. He could think of very little at that very moment that could be as precious as the little girl that slept in his arms, and he closed his eyes, simply holding her for several minutes.
At last, he carried her back to her room and laid her gently on her bed. He watched her a few minutes more, marveling at the change in her features.
She looked so peaceful, her dark hair spread in tangles over the pillow. She breathed evenly, and there was no sign of dreaming at all in her relaxed form. Without her carefully guarded eyes staring back at him, she looked innocent, like the child she was. There was no sign on those features, at this moment, of the fear that weighed heavily on her when she was awake. There was no indication that she had had anything but a normal childhood so far, no sign that she had been hurt or betrayed by those that were supposed to care for her.
It wounded him, to see what she should have been like, had she not been haunted by whatever horrors had already visited her. He felt a resolve strengthening inside of himself, to protect her from being hurt again. He couldn't change what had already happened; but he could keep her safe from this point on, could ensure that no one hurt her again.
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