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The Great Hall
( October, 1993. )

                                            𝓓uring study hall, the Great Hall carried a different energy. The four long house tables stretched out beneath the enchanted ceiling, which mirrored the stormy gray skies outside. The faint patter of rain above was muted but persistent, adding a soothing backdrop to the murmur of voices and the occasional scrape of quills against parchment.

At the Gryffindor table, students clustered together in loose groups. Some were bent over their books, furiously scribbling notes, while others whispered in hushed tones, sharing bits of gossip or laughing over inside jokes. Near the end of the table, Fred and George Weasley were not-so-subtly enchanting a paper airplane to zoom past their classmates, who ducked and glared at them.

The Hufflepuff table was slightly more subdued. A group of third years passed around a heavy Herbology textbook, while a pair of sixth years quietly debated potion theory. Over at Ravenclaw, the atmosphere was one of near silence, broken only by the occasional turning of pages or the scratch of quills.

The Slytherin table, however, was noticeably more aloof. A cluster of older students sat near the center, their heads bent in quiet discussion, while others leaned back in their chairs, casually observing the room.

Above it all, the floating candles cast a warm, flickering light over the scene, illuminating the tables and reflecting off the polished wood floors. It was the kind of atmosphere that made even the most reluctant students feel the weight of their assignments—or, at the very least, the pressure to appear as though they were working.

The occasional sound of parchment being crumpled, a cough, or a whispered exclamation punctuated the air, but for the most part, the hall hummed with quiet purpose. It was a strange blend of productivity and distraction, with everyone finding their own way to pass the time.

Pansy leaned closer to Draco, her expression one of exaggerated concern. "Does it hurt terribly, Draco?" she cooed, her hand hovering near his injured arm.

Draco tilted his chin up, relishing the attention. "It comes and it goes," he said dramatically, as though recounting a harrowing ordeal. "Still, I consider myself lucky. According to Madam Pomfrey, another minute or two, and I, uh—could've lost my arm." He paused, as if the weight of this revelation required gravity. "Couldn't possibly do any homework for weeks."

Esme and Blaise exchanged exasperated glances, both rolling their eyes in unison.

Blaise leaned over and muttered to Theodore, "You'd think he faced a Hungarian Horntail instead of an overgrown bird."

Esme stifled a laugh, though her smirk betrayed her amusement. Draco either didn't notice or chose to ignore them, continuing to bask in Pansy's overly dramatic sympathies.

Suddenly, the Great Hall erupted.

"He's been sighted! He's been sighted!" Seamus Finnigan's voice rang out from the Gryffindor table, cutting through the usual hum of chatter.

Every head turned toward him, including those at the Slytherin table.

"Who?" Ron's voice carried over the sudden hush.

"Sirius Black!" Seamus declared, his voice full of the drama the moment demanded.

The words sent a ripple through the hall. Esme and Draco snapped their heads toward the Gryffindor table simultaneously, their expressions alarmed for entirely different reasons.

"Dufftown? That's not far from here," Hermione said, her tone tight with concern.

Esme's stomach churned uncomfortably at Hermione's words. Her thoughts reeled as an image flickered in her mind: the memory of Divination class, of the vision she had seen when her fingers brushed Harry's teacup. The flash of a shadowy dog, the cold, and an overwhelming sense of dread. She swallowed hard and made a mental note to seek out Professor Trelawney later. Perhaps the cryptic Divination teacher could help her make sense of it.

"You don't think he'd come to Hogwarts, do you?" Neville asked nervously, his voice quavering. "With dementors at every entrance?"

At the Slytherin table, Blaise leaned forward, intrigued. Even Pansy had momentarily forgotten about Draco's supposed peril and was now hanging onto every word from the Gryffindor table.

Seamus, emboldened by the attention, scoffed. "Dementors! He's already slipped past them once, hasn't he? Who's to say he won't do it again?"

The hall buzzed with whispers, speculation flying from table to table like a game of wizarding telephone.

Draco smirked, leaning back in his seat. "If Black does show up, he'll probably go for Potter first," he said loudly, ensuring his voice carried. "Make it easier for the rest of us."

Esme frowned at the remark but said nothing.

She tried to focus on the scene unfolding in the hall, but her thoughts kept circling back to that vision. Something about it felt important—urgent, even—and the churning in her stomach told her this wasn't the last time Sirius Black would come up in conversation.

Esme hastily started to shove her books into her bag, drawing a few curious glances.

Draco raised an eyebrow, his tone bordering on irritation. "Where are you going? Study hall doesn't end for another half hour."

Esme hesitated for only a moment before responding, her voice even and deliberate. "I need to speak to Professor Trelawney about a homework assignment."

Draco scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh. "You'd think with the amount of time you spend studying, you'd have it all sorted by now."

Esme didn't dignify that with a response, instead adjusting her robes and gathering her things. She could feel Pansy's sharp eyes on her but didn't meet her gaze.

"Fine, go. But don't expect me to defend you when Snape notices you're not here," Draco added smugly, earning a chuckle from Goyle.

Esme simply turned and walked away, her pace steady as she exited the Great Hall. Only when she was out of Draco's sight did she let out a small sigh, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. She wasn't sure why she had lied—perhaps to avoid Draco's questions or the other's scrutiny—but she knew one thing for certain: she needed answers.

Her footsteps echoed softly as she climbed the spiral staircase toward the North Tower, the memory of her vision in Divination class playing on a loop in her mind.

Once she got there, Esme hesitated at the door to the Divination classroom, its distinct scent of burning incense wafting through the crack. She raised her hand and knocked gently. The door creaked open on its own, revealing the dimly lit room with its draped fabrics and glowing crystal balls.

"Professor?" Esme called, stepping inside cautiously.

From the adjoining office, Professor Trelawney appeared in a swish of colorful scarves and clinking beads, her eyes magnified by her thick, round glasses. She looked as though she'd been deep in contemplation—or perhaps simply lost in one of her eccentric musings.

"Ah, Miss Lestrange!" Trelawney exclaimed, her voice dreamy yet somehow piercing. She peered at Esme, her gaze flicking briefly to her bandaged hand. "How's your hand, my dear?"

Esme glanced at her hand, flexing her fingers slightly. "Better. Healing," she said, though her tone betrayed the fact that the injury wasn't why she was there. She hesitated, unsure how to broach the subject, but finally decided to dive in. "Actually, about that. I wanted to talk to you about why I dropped the teacup in the first place."

Trelawney tilted her head, her large glasses glinting in the flickering candlelight. "Well, I suppose you saw something, didn't you?"

Esme's eyes widened slightly, startled by the accuracy of the question. "Yes," she admitted cautiously. "How'd you know?"

Trelawney gave a faint, enigmatic smile, her many bracelets jingling as she gestured for Esme to sit at one of the low tables. "The Sight has a way of revealing itself in moments of great emotional or spiritual resonance," she explained, settling herself across from Esme. "You, Miss Lestrange, are more attuned to the unseen world than you might realize. Now..." She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tell me what you saw."

Esme swallowed, her thoughts racing as she tried to piece together the fragments of her vision. "It was... a dog. Black fur, piercing eyes. It felt... ominous. And there was a sense of... urgency, like something bad was going to happen."

Trelawney's expression turned grave, her lips pressing into a thin line. "The Grim," she murmured, almost to herself. "A symbol of death, often misunderstood, though rarely misplaced."

Esme frowned, the churn in her stomach returning. "But it wasn't just the dog," she said, her voice quieter now. "There was a shadowy figure, and— Proffesor I think it was Sirius Black I saw."

At that, Trelawney stiffened slightly, her usually airy demeanor sharpening for a moment. "Sirius Black..." she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "The stars have been restless of late. And now this..."

Esme leaned forward, her nerves prickling. "What does it mean, Professor? Why did I see it?"

Trelawney sighed, shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts. "Sometimes, the Sight shows us fragments—threads in the great tapestry of fate. Your vision may be a warning, or it may simply be a reflection of the turbulence surrounding you." She fixed Esme with an intense gaze, her magnified eyes searching. "But I can say this, Miss Lestrange: the threads of your life are more entangled with this than you realize. Pay attention. Watch closely."

Esme sat back, her mind whirling. She didn't fully understand what Trelawney meant, but one thing was clear—her vision wasn't something she could ignore.

Esme's voice came out hesitant, almost trembling as the words left her lips. "You don't think that Harry Potter is in danger, do you?"

Professor Trelawney's expression grew even more solemn, and for a moment, the dreamy haze that usually surrounded her seemed to dissipate. She leaned back in her chair, the candlelight casting long shadows across her face.

"Danger..." Trelawney began, her voice soft but laced with a hint of dread. "Mr. Potter has always walked a perilous path. His destiny is entwined with forces far greater than most can comprehend. But your vision..." She trailed off, her gaze growing distant, as though searching for answers in the ether.

Esme leaned forward, her hands gripping the edge of the table. "Professor, if he's in danger, someone has to warn him. We can't just—"

Trelawney held up a hand to stop her, her many rings glinting in the flickering light. "Visions are tricky things, my dear. To act on them without full understanding can often do more harm than good."

"But—" Esme started, her voice rising slightly in frustration, before Trelawney cut her off again.

"Harry Potter's life has always been one of risk, Miss Lestrange. The Grim... Sirius Black... these are threads in a much larger tapestry." She fixed Esme with a piercing look, her voice unusually steady. "You may not be able to prevent the dangers that lie ahead. But you can choose how you respond to them. Watch, listen, and when the time comes... trust your instincts."

Esme felt a chill creep up her spine, her heart sinking at the vague and cryptic response. She hated the idea of standing by and doing nothing, especially when the uneasy feeling in her gut wouldn't go away. But she nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Okay."

Trelawney smiled faintly, her usual ethereal air returning. "Good, good. Now, off you go, my dear. The future rarely waits for us to catch up."

Esme rose from her seat, her mind still racing with questions. As she made her way out of the classroom and into the dimly lit corridor, she couldn't shake the weight of Trelawney's words—or the gnawing sense that something terrible was on the horizon.