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⁺⤾·˚.⃗. [ ᴀ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇ's ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ] 𑁍ࠜೄ ･ﾟˊˎ
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The Slytherin Girl's Dormitory
( September, 1993. )

𝓔sme entered the Slytherin dormitory with a quiet air of detachment, her trunk levitating behind her. The room was dimly lit, its emerald curtains swaying slightly from the drafts of the dungeon corridors. She took in her surroundings briefly, noting the same silver and green decor she had grown accustomed to over the years.

Her roommates were already in various stages of unpacking.

Pansy Parkinson sat cross-legged on her bed, chatting animatedly with Daphne Greengrass, who was carefully arranging her collection of hair products on the dresser. Hestia Carrow was perched on her bed, flipping through a glossy Quidditch magazine, while Millicent Bulstrode wrestled with her trunk, muttering under her breath as she tried to close the lid on a pile of robes spilling out.

Esme quietly approached her bed in the far corner, away from the chatter. The corner was slightly darker, something she didn't mind—it provided a bit of privacy. She lowered her trunk with a flick of her wand and began to unpack, methodically folding her robes and placing them in the dresser.

"Honestly, Hestia," Pansy said, tossing a pillow onto her bed, "you're not even looking at the articles. You're just staring at that Chaser from Puddlemere United."

"Can you blame me?" Hestia replied with a smirk, holding up the magazine to display a moving picture of the grinning Quidditch player.

Daphne giggled, shaking her head. "You're hopeless."

Millicent grunted in frustration and finally gave up on her trunk, slamming the lid shut. "If I didn't know better, I'd think my mum jinxed this thing just to annoy me."

Esme didn't join in on the conversation. Instead, she focused on unpacking her books, running her fingers along the spines as she placed them on the shelf beside her bed. Her movements were deliberate, almost meditative.

"Are you just going to sit there silently all year, Lestrange?" Pansy suddenly asked, her tone sharp but not entirely unfriendly.

Esme looked up, meeting Pansy's gaze briefly before glancing back at her trunk. "Perhaps."

Pansy rolled her eyes but didn't press further. She turned her attention back to Daphne, launching into a discussion about what shade of nail polish would go best with the Slytherin uniform.

Hestia, however, tilted her head curiously. "You've been quiet, even for you. What's on your mind, Esme?"

Esme hesitated for a moment, then shrugged lightly. "Nothing of importance."

"Typical," Millicent muttered, though there was no malice in her tone.

The chatter continued around her, the voices of her roommates blending into the background as Esme finished unpacking. She placed the last item—a framed photo of herself with the Malfoy's, a family portrait.

Esme stared at the photo for a moment. Her thoughts drifted to the Great Hall earlier that evening, to Harry Potter's glances and Draco's reaction. It wasn't the first time he had stared at her, though she wasn't sure what Potter's interest in her could possibly mean.

Suddenly, she noticed Pansy's gaze fixating on something on her nightstand. Before Esme could even process it, Pansy flew across the room with an almost unsettling amount of energy and flopped dramatically onto Esme's bed.

Pansy propped herself up on her elbows, a grin spreading across her face as she eyed Esme, clearly amused by something.

Esme, still not used to Pansy's sudden movements, blinked in shock. She had been about to place a book on the shelf, but now her attention was fixed on Pansy, who was staring at the framed portrait on her nightstand—one of Esme with the Malfoys. The familiar image of her younger self, with Draco by her side and Narcissa and Lucius standing close, made Esme feel a bit exposed.

"So," Pansy began, her voice dripping with curiosity, "how was your summer? You and Draco get up to anything particular?"

Esme fought to keep her composure, already anticipating Pansy's usual pushiness. She knew what this was about—Pansy wanted an excuse to talk about Draco. The underlying tone in her voice was more about probing for details than actually caring about Esme's summer.

Esme took a deep breath, trying to suppress the slight discomfort building inside her. She was good at hiding it, at least on the outside. "Well, the Malfoys hosted a summer ball, so that was fun," she said, sounding almost neutral. "Narcissa let me help decorate."

Pansy immediately scoffed, the playful teasing in her tone returning. "Decorating is for house-elves," she remarked dismissively.

Esme flinched involuntarily at Pansy's words, a small pang of sadness tightening in her chest. The mention of house-elves made her think of Dobby—the house-elf who had once been part of their household. Esme felt the emptiness of his absence deeply.

Dobby had been more than just an elf to Esme. He had been a friend, a kindred spirit. Though she understood that he was free now, no longer bound to servitude, the absence of his gentle presence left a hole in her heart. It had been a painful change for both her and Draco, though neither of them would ever admit it aloud. They didn't talk about it. Not since Dobby had left, and not since he had been freed by Harry Potter.

Her voice came out sharper than she had intended. "We don't have a house-elf anymore."

Millicent, who had been quietly sitting on the other side of the room, raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah, didn't Harry Potter like... free him or something?" she snorted with laughter.

Esme didn't say anything at first, her thoughts clouded by the reminder of Dobby's absence. She hated the way Millicent found amusement in it, and it only added to the sharp sting of loss that was always with her.

Pansy groaned, shaking her head. "Wasn't his place to do. God, what a joke. Harry Potter," she muttered, her disdain for the Gryffindor evident in her voice.

Esme blinked, the words sinking in. Her mind briefly flashed to the events surrounding Dobby's freedom. While Harry had been the one to free him, Esme never thought of it as something Harry had done to them. She didn't think it was a "bad thing." It was a necessary thing. Dobby deserved to be free.

"You sound like Draco," Esme said, almost without thinking. The words slipped out, and she immediately regretted them, not wanting to make things awkward.

Pansy's eyes brightened at the mention of Draco's name, clearly pleased by the comparison. "Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?" she said with a wide smile.

Esme hesitated, glancing at the portrait on her nightstand again, her fingers brushing over the frame. "Sure," she replied softly, her voice carrying a hint of indifference.

She wasn't sure if it was a good thing, but it was a familiar thing, and right now, that was all that mattered. The conversation had started to feel a little too uncomfortable for her liking, and she was silently grateful when Millicent spoke up, changing the subject to something lighter. For now, though, Pansy's relentless curiosity about Draco was something she would have to endure, one remark at a time.