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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Matching Beards
Later that night, the disused bathroom was filled with the soft bubbling of a cauldron and the low murmur of voices.
Calli sat cross-legged on the cold floor, sleeves rolled up, carefully stirring the potion. Every so often, she added another ingredient with precise movements, her focus unwavering despite the exhaustion weighing heavily on her.
Fred and George paced nearby, tossing around wild theories about the tournament.
"Giants." Fred said decisively.
"Mermaids." George countered.
"Exploding mermaids." Fred amended.
"Gentlemen." Calli cut in quietly.
They turned.
"It's done."
The potion in the cauldron had turned a murky green, faint steam curling from its surface.
Calli leaned back slightly, rubbing her eyes.
"Remember, not too much." She warned as she began bottling it. "Unless you fancy turning into old men before your time."
Fred grinned.
"You are brilliant." He declared, leaning down to peck her cheek.
Calli rolled her eyes but she was smiling.
"I still don't think it's going to work." She said, handing the small bottles to George. "But A for effort."
A yawn slipped out before she could stop it.
She'd been awake for over twenty-four hours now.
Every part of her wanted her bed bad.
But she hadn't been able to say no to them.
"I'll walk you to the dungeons." Fred said immediately.
George smirked, already backing away.
"Goodnight, lovebirds." He added with a wink before disappearing toward Gryffindor Tower.
The castle was quieter now.
Dimly lit corridors, distant echoes of footsteps, the hum of magic settling for the night.
