Days bled into each other too quickly.
The Ministry.
Corridors that all began to look the same. Careful steps, measured words, eyes always watching. Trying quietly and patiently to get closer to the Department of Mysteries, only to find the door guarded every time. Different people. Same result.
No entry.
No mistakes allowed.
Then the Manor.
Training.
If it could even be called that anymore.
It was no longer about refinement. No longer about skill.
It was endurance.
The drawing room felt colder that day.
Calli noticed it immediately.
And then she noticed him.
A man stood across from her, tall, broad-shouldered, his presence heavy in a way that felt almost deliberate. There was something crude about him, something less controlled than the others. A thin black mustache sat above a mouth that looked like it smiled too easily at the wrong things.
Her father stood beside him.
Pleased.
"Macnair..." Cantankerus said, almost conversationally. "Has been asked to assess you."
Calli didn't move.
Didn't speak.
"The Dark Lord wishes to ensure I am not being lenient."
For a split second, something almost like laughter flickered in her chest.
Lenient.
If they thought that, they didn't know her father at all.
Macnair stepped forward.
Slow.
Measured.
Looking her over like she was something to be tested. Something to be broken open just to see what was inside.
"Well then girl." He said, voice rough, almost amused. "Let's see what you can do."
She didn't have her wand.
Of course she didn't.
She never did, not here, not for this.
The first curse came without warning.
Calli reacted on instinct.
A shield snapped into place, wandless, sharp and precise. The impact hit hard, forcing her back a step, the force vibrating up her arms.
She held it.
Another.
Faster this time.
Then another.
Macnair didn't pace himself.
Didn't test.
He attacked.
Curses thrown like they cost him nothing, like they were as natural as breathing. There was no elegance to it, no restraint, just force, repetition, pressure.
Relentless.
Calli's shield held.
It always did.
That was what she was best at.
What she had been shaped into.
But it wasn't enough.
Not like this.
YOU ARE READING
Callidora ☆ Fred Weasley
FanfictionCallidora 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...
