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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Foreign Visitors Arrive
By the time they reached double Transfiguration, Calli was barely holding it together.
The lack of sleep hit her all at once.
Like a freight train.
Her head dipped slightly, resting against her hand as Professor McGonagall instructed them to transfigure their raccoons into lunch bags.
The classroom was quiet, focused.
Calli's eyes fluttered.
"Calli... Calli."
A nudge.
She blinked awake.
"Huh?"
Fred was leaning slightly toward her, trying not to be obvious.
"You fell asleep." He whispered, barely moving his lips.
Calli straightened immediately, blinking hard, trying to refocus.
Too late.
"Miss Nott."
Calli froze.
Professor McGonagall stood at their table, lips pressed into a thin line.
"I asked you to transfigure your raccoon into a lunch bag." She said crisply. "Not a matchbox."
Calli glanced down.
Sure enough, a perfectly neat little matchbox sat where her raccoon had been.
"Impressive." McGonagall continued. "But not what was asked."
A few students snickered.
Calli nodded quickly, sitting up straighter, forcing herself awake. She flicked her wand again, this time, the matchbox shifted smoothly, reshaping itself into a proper lunch bag.
Clean.
Precise.
Effortless.
"Better." McGonagall said, already moving on.
Fred leaned closer, staring at her like she'd just performed something extraordinary.
"Brilliant." He muttered. "Half asleep and still better than half the class."
"Yes, Mr. Weasley." McGonagall said without turning around.
Fred jolted upright.
Calli almost smiled.
Across the room, George clearly couldn't contain himself any longer. His hand shot up.
"Professor, how are the champions chosen?"
The entire class stilled.
Heads turned.
Even Calli looked up, interest flickering through her exhaustion.
