Callidora Nott has always known exactly what is expected of her.
As the daughter of one of Britain's oldest pure-blood families, her future has already been carefully planned; alliances, power, and a life shaped by tradition she never chose. At home...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
P for Pureblood not Prefect, Obviously
Callidora Nott arrived at King's Cross earlier than usual, long before her father and Theo were due to appear. She had told them she needed to report early for Prefect duties, which, thankfully, had been enough to satisfy her father without further questioning.
The truth was she simply couldn't bear standing beside him on the platform, waiting for the train while he reminded her to behave, to represent the Nott name properly, and most importantly to stay away from the Weasleys.
Her trunk was already loaded onto the train, Artemis settled comfortably inside her carrier. After changing into her uniform, Calli carefully pinned the silver and green Prefect badge onto her robes. The metal gleamed brightly against the dark fabric.
For a moment she stared at it.
A Prefect.
She stepped back onto the platform, scanning for nervous first years who might need help.
As she was helping a small boy lift his trunk up the step of the train, a familiar voice rang out across the platform.
"Calli!"
"Over here!"
She turned and immediately spotted the bright red cluster of the Weasley family.
Her face broke into a genuine smile as she hurried over, only to be engulfed in a chaotic group hug the moment she arrived.
"Oh my, congratulations dear!" Mrs. Weasley beamed, clapping her hands together as she noticed the Prefect badge on Calli's robes. "A Prefect! How wonderful!"
Before Calli could respond, Percy stepped forward, adjusting his own badge importantly.
"Come to the Prefects' carriage after the train departs." He instructed in a pompous tone before marching away again without waiting for a reply.
Ginny rolled her eyes.
"He's Head Boy now."
Fred snorted.
"More like Humongous-Head Boy."
"Fred, George!" Mrs. Weasley warned sharply.
But despite the scolding, her smile lingered fondly.
Then her eyes dropped briefly to Calli's wrist.
A dark bruise wrapped around it, finger-shaped.
Her smile faltered for the briefest second.
Calli instinctively tugged down the sleeve of her robe.
Mrs. Weasley's eyes flicked toward the entrance of the platform where the other pure-blood families often appeared. Understanding flashed across her face, quick, quiet, and deeply troubled.
