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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Cedric the Brave
The days that followed blurred together.
Calli moved through them like a ghost of herself.
Numb.
The castle had changed.
Whispers followed Harry down corridors.
Students huddled in corners, speaking in hushed tones.
No one knew the full truth.
Not really.
Only fragments.
Rumors.
"Something went wrong in the maze."
"I heard it was an accident."
"No, it was dark magic-"
Calli walked past them without slowing.
Her jaw tight.
Her fingers curling slightly at her sides.
How could they not know?
How could Cornelius Fudge choose to not believe it?
Why would Harry lie?
He wouldn't.
He didn't.
Fred didn't let her disappear.
Not once.
She'd barely touched her food at breakfast one morning, pushing it around her plate without really seeing it until Fred slid onto the bench beside her.
Said nothing.
Just nudged a piece of toast onto her plate.
Closer.
She didn't react.
So he tore off a piece himself, dipped it in jam, and held it out to her.
"Eat."
Calli glanced at him.
He didn't smile.
Didn't joke.
Just waited.
She exhaled softly and took it.
That was enough for him.
He stayed there the whole meal anyway.
Lucy checked on her differently.
Louder.
More defiant.
"They're all idiots." She muttered one afternoon as they walked back from class hinting at the Ministry officials. "Every single one of them."
