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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Magic Works
Snape's lip curled.
"Ten points from Slytherin." He said coldly.
Calli blinked.
"And twenty from Gryffindor."
Fred scoffed under his breath.
"Not. Another. Word." Snape cut in, eyes flashing.
For a split second, no one moved.
"Out." Snape hissed.
Calli grabbed Fred's hand.
"Run."
They didn't wait.
They bolted.
Back through the courtyard, slipping slightly on the frost, laughter already bubbling up despite themselves as they pushed through the doors into the Entrance Hall and into the Great Hall.
Warmth hit them instantly.
Music.
Voices.
Light.
They didn't stop until they were well inside, near the tables pushed along the walls.
Calli doubled over slightly, breathless.
Laughter burst from her.
Uncontrollable.
Fred leaned against the table, laughing just as hard.
It took a long moment for them to settle.
Calli straightened slowly, still smiling, catching her breath.
Behind her, Fred stepped closer.
Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him.
His chin brushed lightly near her shoulder.
"You're trouble." He murmured.
Calli huffed softly, leaning back into him just slightly.
"You followed me."
"Glad I did."
Her smile softened.
"Whoa, who died?" Calli asked as they passed one of the tables.
Ron and Harry were sitting there, both looking utterly miserable.
No dates in sight.
Calli followed their line of sight; Harry was staring at Cho, who was dancing with Cedric.
Ron, meanwhile, was muttering darkly under his breath.
