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Gryffindor Common Room
( October, 1993. )

                       𝓣he Gryffindor common room was bustling with life, as it always was in the evening. The warm glow of the fireplace bathed the room in a golden hue, the crackling logs providing a comforting background noise. Students lounged on armchairs and sofas, laughter and chatter echoing off the high, rounded ceiling.

A group of third-years were attempting to charm a set of enchanted gobstones to move on their own, much to the irritation of a prefect trying to enforce some semblance of order.

The smell of butterbeer and chocolate frogs lingered faintly in the air, a testament to the recent influx of Honeydukes treats smuggled in by Fred and George Weasley.

Hermione stepped through the portrait hole, her bag slung over her shoulder, and surveyed the room. Her gaze immediately fell on Harry and Ron, who were hunched over a game of wizard's chess at one of the tables near the fireplace. Ron's face was lit with a gleeful grin as he moved his rook, which promptly smashed Harry's knight to pieces with a dramatic clatter.

"Ha! Check!" Ron declared, leaning back triumphantly.

Harry groaned, glaring at the board. "How do you keep doing that?"

Hermione approached, her expression carrying a mix of exasperation and amusement. "Harry," she said, drawing their attention, "you'll never guess who I just studied with."

Ron barely glanced up, already moving his queen with practiced ease. "Let me guess. A Ravenclaw? You always love studying with Ravenclaws."

Hermione gave him a pointed look, folding her arms. "Now why would I feel the need to bring that up? Obviously, it's someone important."

Harry raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Alright, alright. Out with it."

She paused, as if for dramatic effect, then said, "Esmeralda Lestrange."

Both boys froze. Harry looked up sharply, concern flashing across his face. "Esme? Really? Is she alright? You know, after Malfoy getting hurt and all."

Ron, on the other hand, rolled his eyes. "Malfoy deserved it."

Harry shot him a look. "Never said he didn't. I wasn't asking about him, I was asking about her."

Hermione nodded, her expression thoughtful. "She seemed upset, that's why I talked to her in the first place. I have to say, Harry, I think you were right about her. She surprised me, which is hard to do."

Ron frowned, setting his chess piece down. "How so?"

Hermione hesitated, as if trying to find the right words. "Well, like Harry said. There's more to her than meets the eye. She was actually very kind. Kind of odd, but kind."

Ron smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Well, you're kinda odd, so I suppose you're two peas in a pod now."

Harry chuckled. "We're all a bit weird. Esme's just honest about it." He glanced at Hermione, a teasing grin spreading across his face. "But wait, what was that? I was what?"

Hermione sighed, exasperated, though there was a faint smile tugging at her lips. "You were right, Harry."

Harry's grin widened. "Usually am."

Hermione rolled her eyes and dropped into a chair beside them, watching their game unfold. Harry, now emboldened by the conversation, moved his bishop in what he hoped was a strategic move, though Ron's knowing smirk suggested otherwise.

As the game continued, the trio settled into their familiar rhythm, the warmth of the common room wrapping around them like a blanket.

Harry fidgeted with a chess piece, his ears turning pink as he glanced nervously at Hermione. "So..." he cleared his voice, "did you two talk about me at all?" he asked, his voice awkward and hesitant.

Hermione sighed, giving him an exasperated look. "No, not everything is about Harry Potter, you know."

"I know, I know," Harry said quickly, running a hand through his hair. "I just—earlier in class, when we were riding Buckbeak together. It was just so brilliant. She's so brilliant."

Ron snorted, barely suppressing a laugh. "Blimey, mate. You've had a crush on this girl since the second you laid eyes on her in first year, and you've had what, five conversations these last few years?"

Harry's face reddened further, but he straightened in his chair defensively. "Eight, actually. And hopefully counting."

Ron smirked, leaning back in his seat. "Oh, my bad, Casanova."

"Shut it, Ron," Hermione cut in, rolling her eyes. She turned to Harry with a small smile. "If you'd like, I can talk to her about you. See what she says."

Harry's eyes widened in panic. "No! You can't do that. Then she'll think I like her."

Ron raised an eyebrow, looking incredulous. "You do like her."

"Yeah, but she can't know that!" Harry said, his voice growing more flustered.

Ron burst into laughter. "How is it that you've faced a basilisk but are afraid of a girl?"

Harry crossed his arms, glaring at him. "The basilisk wasn't nearly as terrifying. And you're one to talk! When was the last time you spoke to a girl? Hermione doesn't count—no offense."

"None taken," Hermione said dryly, flipping a page in her book.

Ron opened his mouth to retort but seemed to reconsider, his ears turning red. Instead, he muttered, "At least I don't need someone else to do my talking for me."

Hermione slammed her book shut, the sound echoing through the common room. "You're both utterly ridiculous," she snapped, her tone sharp enough to cut through the tension.

Harry and Ron turned to her, startled.

"Harry," Hermione said, her voice firm but not unkind, "you barely even know Esme. Neither do I, neither does Ron—none of us really do. So if you think you like her, then why don't you start by actually getting to know her? Properly."

Harry's face flushed, but he straightened his posture, as if determined to defend himself. "I do know her. I know she likes her tea with mint, she prefers toast over scones, she eats her eggs sunny side up, she loves bugs—specifically beetles and spiders, which most people would find weird, but she doesn't care—and she's amazing at drawing, even though she doesn't think so. And," he added, his voice softening slightly, "she's absolutely bonkers over magical creatures."

Ron stared at him, eyebrows raised. "That's... totally not creepy at all."

Hermione shot Ron a disapproving look but sighed. "Those are just things you've observed, Harry. It's sweet, but it's not the same as actually talking to her. If you want to understand her—really understand her—you need to have proper conversations. Learn what she's thinking, not just what she's doing."

Harry leaned back in his chair, looking both frustrated and uncertain. "I've tried talking to her, Hermione. But every time, I'm just so bloody awkward."

Ron snorted. "You? Awkward? Who'd have guessed?"

Harry shot him a glare. "I don't see you rushing off to have a heart-to-heart with her either, mate."

"That's because I'm not the one with the hopeless crush on her," Ron retorted. "And while we're on the subject, are we just going to ignore the fact that this is basically Malfoy's sister we're talking about? He'd murder you, Harry. Probably hex you into next week."

Harry shrugged, his jaw tightening. "Malfoy's already after me enough as it is. Plus, I don't really give a shit what that bloody git thinks."

Hermione, despite herself, smirked slightly. "Well, I don't think Esme's anything like Draco. At least, I don't think so. She seems... different. And I'm very perceptive."

Ron rolled his eyes. "And so humble."

"Shut up, Ron," Hermione said, though there was no real bite to her tone. She turned back to Harry, her expression softening. "Look, Harry. You don't have to be perfect when you talk to her. Just... be honest. You've always been better at that than you think."

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's just hard, Hermione. She's so—so brilliant, and I don't want to mess it up."

Ron grinned. "Well, you're off to a great start with the whole 'awkward and bumbling' approach."

"Ron," Hermione warned, shooting him a glare.

"What? I'm just saying!" Ron said defensively. "Look, Harry, just be yourself. If she doesn't like that, then she's not worth the trouble, is she?"

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yeah... maybe you're right."

"Of course I'm right," Ron said, leaning back smugly.

Hermione huffed, crossing her arms. "Honestly, you two are hopeless." Hermione sighed, shaking her head but smiling despite herself.

Harry leaned back in his chair, a small spark of determination glinting in his eyes. "Alright," he said, mostly to himself. "I'll talk to her. Properly."