Calli found herself standing outside the prefects' bathroom after Quidditch practice.
She was exhausted.
Sticky with sweat, sore from training, and her right hand throbbed relentlessly beneath the glove. The scar Umbridge's quill had carved into her skin had barely begun to heal before the constant grip on her broom had split it open again.
She deserved one peaceful hour.
At least, that was what she told herself.
"Pine fresh." She said to the portrait guarding the entrance.
The door swung open.
She stepped inside.
The prefects' bathroom was just as magnificent as she remembered. A splendid chandelier, filled with hundreds of floating candles, bathed the room in warm golden light. Every surface gleamed white, from the marble floor to the enormous rectangular bath sunk into its centre, large enough to pass for a small swimming pool.
She had rarely used it since her fifth year.
There had never been time.
Training.
Prefect duties.
O.W.L.s.
N.E.W.T.s.
Everything else.
Calli walked to the edge of the bath and flicked her wand.
Instantly, hundreds of golden taps surrounding the pool sprang to life.
Each poured something different.
Some produced steaming water tinted sapphire blue or emerald green. Others released fragrant bubbles, silky foam or sweet-smelling oils that shimmered across the surface. Despite its enormous size, the bath filled astonishingly quickly until gentle steam curled through the air.
She set her wand aside before carefully pulling off her gloves.
The right one caught slightly against the wound.
She winced.
The scar had split again.
Tiny beads of blood welled along the familiar words before disappearing beneath the warm water as she slipped into the bath.
Heat surrounded her immediately.
Her shoulders, tense for what felt like weeks, loosened just enough for her to notice how much they'd been aching.
She let out a long, quiet breath.
With careful fingers, she undid the braid that had held her hair together all day.
Dark strands spilled over her shoulders, dampening almost instantly as they brushed the water.
Across the room, the portrait of the mermaid watched with open curiosity.
When Calli began running her fingers through her hair, the mermaid copied her exactly, smiling faintly at her own reflection as she untangled her long green hair beneath the painted water.
Calli couldn't help the tiny smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth.
It didn't last long.
She looked down at her hand again.
The angry scar stood out starkly against her pale skin, distorted by the ripples surrounding it.
She traced the edge of it lightly with one fingertip.
I must not tell lies.
The words looked almost absurd.
As though she were the one who deserved punishing.
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...
