Callidora ☆ Fred Weasley

[chapter 140]

"I still cannot believe Montague is captain." Stella said, shaking her head.

They had barely finished breakfast when Montague himself had stopped beside the Slytherin table to inform Calli that Quidditch tryouts would be held next evening at six o'clock.

"I moved the date." He had mumbled, refusing to properly meet her eyes. "Because... er... your detention."

He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.

He was scared of her.

Good, Calli thought.

At least someone had some sense.

Currently, though, she was focused on finishing the last of her lamb chops.

"Remember." Stella said as Calli stood to leave the Great Hall. "Stay calm."

Lucy pointed a warning finger at her.

"And don't earn another detention."

Calli gave an innocent nod.

"I make no promises."

"Calli."

"Kidding."

"Mostly."

Lucy sighed.

"I hate it when you say 'mostly.'"

Calli had barely reached the marble staircase when she spotted a familiar messy head of black hair weaving through the crowd.

"Harry!" She called. "Harry, wait up!"

He stopped and turned.

"Calli. Hi." He offered an apologetic smile. "Can't talk. I've got detention."

"So do I."

Harry blinked.

"You?"

"We're detention buddies."

That seemed to surprise him more than he'd expected.

"What did you do?"

Calli shrugged as if it were nothing.

"Told her Cedric's death wasn't an accident."

Harry's expression immediately softened.

"And questioned the Ministry."

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

"Don't take this the wrong way." He admitted as they started walking together. "But I'm glad I'm not alone."

"I shall suffer with you."

Neither of them spoke for a few moments as they climbed to the third floor.

Calli glanced sideways at him.

"I've actually been meaning to talk to you."

Harry looked over.

"About-"

A sickly sweet voice drifted through the closed office door.

"Come in."

Harry grimaced.

"So much for that."

Calli pushed the door open.

Over six years at Hogwarts she had seen classrooms transformed in every imaginable way.

Nothing, and she truly meant nothing, had prepared her for Dolores Umbridge's office.

Every piece of furniture was covered with embroidered lace. Frilly doilies rested beneath porcelain ornaments. Vases overflowing with dried flowers crowded every available surface. The walls were lined with decorative plates, each one displaying an animated kitten that blinked, stretched, purred or chased butterflies around its tiny painted frame.