The Quidditch pitch stretched wide and open beneath a fading September sky, the light soft, golden, familiar in a way that made everything else feel distant.
Calli's broom lay discarded a few feet away, her bat beside it, forgotten. Across from her, Fred dropped his own with a careless ease, hair windswept, cheeks flushed from practice.
He grinned at her like nothing in the world was wrong.
"My lady." He said, bowing dramatically, reaching into the bag he'd stashed earlier and pulling out two cold bottles of butterbeer.
Calli let out a quiet breath that almost felt like a laugh as she took one, their fingers brushing briefly.
Normal.
They sat on the grass, shoulders touching, then leaning, easy and unspoken. A breeze moved through the pitch, cool against her skin, grounding. Safe.
They talked about nothing.
Small things. Useless things. The way they always did when the world wasn't pressing in on them.
Calli let herself sink into it.
Just for a moment.
Fred shifted closer.
She felt it before she saw it.
His hand came up, fingers warm as they caught her chin gently, turning her toward him. There was no hesitation in him. There never was.
Calli's breath softened as he leaned in.
The kiss was familiar.
Easy.
And it broke something open in her chest she hadn't realized she'd been holding closed.
She exhaled into it, her hand curling lightly into his sleeve, anchoring herself there, in him, in this.
The explosion tore through the air.
Heat.
Sound.
Violence where there hadn't been any.
Calli jerked back instinctively, her head snapping toward the stands.
The wood was already burning, flames climbing too fast, too high, unnatural in the way they consumed everything at once.
Smoke curled into the sky.
The world shifted.
"Traitor."
Her father's voice.
Loud.
Unavoidable.
It echoed across the pitch, cutting through everything else.
Calli's stomach dropped.
He stood at the edge of the field.
Not alone.
At least twenty figures behind him, cloaked, masked. Death Eaters.
Calli's hand tightened in Fred's sleeve.
No.
"Avada-"
She woke before the word finished.
Calli jolted upright in bed, breath catching sharply in her throat, her heart racing so fast it almost hurt. The room was dark, too quiet, the silence pressing in after the chaos of the dream.
Her hand flew to her forehead, wiping away the thin layer of sweat.
For a second, she didn't move.
Didn't think.
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...
