â : Finding your character wearing their clothes (heh)
â : Finding your character wearing their clothes
Aside from the cold and sharp wind that bit through her jumpers and chilled her bones, she couldnât get past the blatant ploy by corporate Britain to get people to put themselves in debt buying supposedly necessary gifts to give their loved ones in a half-arsed effort to show them that they cared.Â
Growing up, Christmas wasnât ever celebrated in the way sheâd heard her friends discuss; there was no ceiling-high tree (due to her allergies) and no cornucopia of holiday biscuits smelling up her home (due to her mumâs constant dieting). Christmas simply meant a time where she wasnât forced to go to school, but instead could hang out with Avery at his home while her mum got knee-walking drunk with whatever boyfriend sheâd snagged that year. It wasnât the sort of thing anyone would write stories of, but she was happy to continue her life never giving a second thought to tinsel or carols or bleeding gingerbread houses.
Because of this, she couldnât, for the life of her, figure out why sheâd agreed to attend the yearly McKinnon Christmas fete. Truly, she needed to look into lobotomies the moment she made it back to the castle.
The night wasnât a complete bore, much to her relief. Thereâd been the terrible rendition of âDeck the Hallsâ hashed out on the piano by who Calista could only assume was a drunken McKinnon uncle, and sheâd taken immense pleasure out of watching Magnus shove Marlene out of the way when heâd noticed her and Mulloy standing under some mistletoe their mum had hung.
From her spot in the corner, she observed the usual suspects from Gryffindor Tower mingle and joke and tell what had to be completely made up storiesâ truly she found the majority of the things that came out of Potterâs mouth to be completely asinine. Her eyes flittered over the facesâ some familiar, most notâ before landing onâ wait, why was her Art Professor here? And wearing what had to be, hands down, the foulest Christmas jumper sheâd ever seen? She watched as Marcas clapped a hand on Wynnâs shoulder, laughing at said hideous jumper, before turning on her heel and heading towards the back of the house.
âDonât know why you thought this was a good idea. This isâ itâs positively bizarreâ, she thought to herself. âLike one of those dreams where nothing makes sense, but youâre the only one to realize that.â
Snagging two beer bottles from the kitchen (one for now, and one for when the first was finished), she hurried up the back staircase that lead to the second level of the McKinnon home. Pausing a moment, she struggled to remember which door led to Marleneâs room. Naturally, it was the last door she tried. Muttering profanities to herself, she pushed open the door as she took a drink of her beer, before nearly spatting at the sight in front of her.
After several quiet moments, she managed to eek out, âLupin,â before pausing for another long second. âWhyâ in the hell are you wearing my shirt?â
As she spoke, Remusâs eyes trailed down to his own chest, frowning before looking back at her and clearing his throat. âThoughtâ ahâ thought this was Siriusâs shirt,â he explained.Â
When she offered nothing in return, he continued. âSpilt my eggnog on myself and came up here looking for something clean,â he said, his fingers fidgeting at the hem of the shirt, clearly uncomfortable.
âIt was,â she finally answered. âSiriusâs shirt, I mean.â Seeing his eyebrows furrow further, she rolled her eyes and took another drink.
ââs not what you think. Didnât take it with me after some shag or anything like that. We went through a phase of going out together, completely platonic of course, and just like you, I spilled an embarrassing, disgusting drink down my front. He let me borrow that shirt and I suppose I never gave it back. Seems only fitting you get it now,â she finished.
The silence between them sent small, uncomfortable jolts through her stomach. With no idea what else to do, she stepped further into the room and sat on Marleneâs bed, toeing her shoes off and reaching for a magazine on the ground.
âYou done with the party?â Remus asked, staring between her and the noise floating up from downstairs.
Giving him a sheepish smile, she shrugged. âItâs not really my thingâ hanging around a bunch of people that donât particularly care whether Iâm there or not. Sort of the Christmas spirit, yeah? Feigned camaraderie?â
Calista flipped through the magazine, searching for something more interesting than â10 Quidditch Moves that Translate to the Bedroomâ when the felt the bed shift below her. Glancing over the top of the magazine, she arched an eyebrow at the now-seated Lupin.
âI-- ah-- I understand. Not liking parties, I mean. For completely different reasons, but,â he seemed to struggle to find the right words. âSometimes, I am not a fan of large crowds in small settings,â he managed finally.
Considering her options (the most and least agreeable being she go into the middle of the party and use the fireplace to floo back to the castle), Calista eventually leaned down back towards the carpet. Righting herself, she handed her second beer over to Remus before sitting up further and setting the magazine by her side.
âGlad to hear you are less of a ponce than your mates, Lupin,â she said through a smile, tipping her beer towards him so their glass necks âclinkedâ.