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...
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Bulgaria Catches the Snitch but Ireland Wins
Callidora Nott pushed through the entrance of the Malfoy tent with her arms full of bright green merchandise.
She had barely stepped inside when a familiar drawling voice cut through the room.
"Well."
Draco Malfoy looked her up and down slowly, eyes lingering on the shamrocks and green ribbons poking out of her arms.
"You look like a leprechaun threw up on you." He said flatly. "And then rolled you around in the rest of the guts for good measure."
Calli didn't even look at him.
She calmly crossed the room, opened her charmed bag, and began dropping in everything she'd bought; rosettes, scarves, the tiny flying Firebolt, the shamrock hat.
Draco waited.
Nothing.
Eventually he scoffed and looked away.
Soon after, it was time to head to the stadium.
They climbed the staircase up to the Top Box, thick purple rugs swallowing the sound of their footsteps.
First Draco.
Then Calli.
Behind her walked Theo.
Then Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.
When they stepped out into the Top Box overlooking the massive stadium of the Quidditch World Cup, they were the last to arrive.
The stadium roared below them, tens of thousands of witches and wizards filling the stands.
Standing near the center of the box was Cornelius Fudge, bustling about and greeting guests.
Lucius approached him smoothly.
"Fudge."
The Minister turned at once, breaking into a broad smile.
"Ah! Lucius!"
They shook hands.
Lucius gestured lightly.
"My wife, Narcissa."
Fudge bowed slightly.
"A pleasure."
"And my son, Draco."
Draco gave a polite nod.
Lucius then gestured behind them.
"And the children of Cantankerus Nott. Callidora and Theodore."
