╰┈➤ ❝ [𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝑇𝑊𝐸𝐿𝑉𝐸] ❞ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
⁺⤾·˚.⃗. [ ᴜɴsᴘᴏᴋᴇɴ ɪɴᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ] 𑁍ࠜೄ ･ﾟˊˎ
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The Corridor
( October, 1993. )

                       𝓐s Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way down the long, echoing corridor, the conversation was dominated by Hermione's characteristic eagerness. She was speaking animatedly, her words tumbling out quickly as she voiced her disappointment.

"I can't believe the lesson was cut short," Hermione lamented, clearly irritated by the abrupt end to their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. "We had barely scratched the surface with the boggart! I mean, it was just getting to the interesting part, and then—" Her voice trailed off as she waved a hand in frustration, her eyes bright with both annoyance and anticipation for the rest of the lesson she hadn't been able to finish.

Ron, on the other hand, was less enthused, and his voice carried a hint of exasperation. "Easy for you to say, Mione. You didn't have your biggest fear revealed to the whole bloody class." He slung his bag over his shoulder, scowling as he mumbled under his breath, "Now everyone knows I'm scared of spiders."

Hermione, ever the practical one, shot him a sympathetic look. "Oh, come on, Ron. You handled it fine," she said with a soft chuckle, but it was clear she was trying to ease his discomfort. "Honestly, it was hilarious when it started skating around. No one's going to judge you for it."

Ron flushed a deep red, looking down at his shoes as if to escape the conversation. "Yeah, well," he muttered, kicking at the stone floor. "I'll never live that down. Reckon Malfoy will be a right git bout' it."

Hermione rolled her eyes, about to launch into her usual passionate discussion about the merits of overcoming fear when an unexpected voice cut through the air, soft yet startling enough to halt them in their tracks.

"Potter."

The suddenness of the voice made them all spin around in unison. Standing a few paces behind them was Esme Lestrange, her figure tense and rigid. Unlike her usual composed and enigmatic presence, she now appeared flustered, her cheeks flushed with either embarrassment or something else Harry couldn't place. She fidgeted with the sleeve of her robes, fingers tugging absently at the fabric, a small sign of the nervous energy she was trying—unsuccessfully—to hide.

Harry blinked at her, surprised to see her addressing him. "Esme?" His voice was slightly uncertain, as though he was questioning whether he had heard her right. He instinctively took a step toward her, though not entirely sure what to do or say.

Esme's eyes flickered up to meet his briefly before she dropped her gaze, her posture stiffening. "Harry," she repeated, her voice quiet but clear. She seemed almost... out of place in this moment, her usual self-assuredness absent. She caught Harry's eye for another awkward second, and both of them just stood there, the weight of the silence between them becoming heavier with each passing second. There was an undeniable tension in the air, thick enough to feel suffocating, neither knowing exactly how to bridge the gap.

The tension stretched on, and it became apparent that neither of them was going to speak first. Harry shuffled on his feet, his hands jammed into his pockets.

It was Ron, however, who broke the silence, completely unaware of the emotional complexity of the situation. With his usual lack of subtlety, he held his hands out in an exaggerated gesture. "And I'm Ron." he declared loudly, trying to make light of the uncomfortable pause. His goofy grin and awkward demeanor were meant to ease the strain, but instead, it only added to the awkwardness of the moment.

Hermione, ever the more perceptive one, gave him an elbow to the side with a quiet exhale, her face flushed in embarrassment at Ron's antics. "Honestly, Ronald," she murmured, shaking her head at his obliviousness.

Esme briefly glanced at Ron, a tiny hint of amusement flickering in her eyes, though she quickly suppressed it. Still, she couldn't help but let her lips twitch upward for just a fraction of a second, though it was gone before anyone could fully register it.

Hermione, ever the one to smooth over awkward moments, turned to Esme with a kind but somewhat distracted smile. "We were just heading to the library, right Ron?" She made a small, subtle gesture with her hand toward Ron, urging him to pick up the conversation. "We'll see you later, Harry."

Ron blinked in confusion, trying to catch up to what Hermione was saying. "We were?" he asked, looking at her blankly for a moment. Then, with a sudden jolt of realization, he responded with a clumsy, "Oh, right, we were." He shot Esme a quick, half-hearted wave before following Hermione down the hall, leaving the two of them alone.

The sounds of the students continuing down the corridor faded, and the silence between Esme and Harry was palpable. Neither of them moved at first, the heavy stillness settling over them like a thick fog. Esme shifted on her feet, her arms instinctively wrapping around herself as she nervously tugged at her sleeve once again. She glanced up at Harry but quickly looked away, feeling the weight of his gaze on her.

Harry stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to say, his hands tucked deep into his pockets as he shifted from one foot to the other. He tried to ignore the way his heart seemed to race in his chest, as though this simple conversation was anything but simple.

For what seemed like an eternity, neither of them spoke, both seemingly caught in an invisible web of uncertainty. Their eyes met again, but this time, it wasn't as fleeting as before. They both held each other's gaze for a moment, the tension between them growing more pronounced.

Esme finally broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. "I—" she faltered, the words catching in her throat. What was she doing? Why was she standing here in front of Harry like this? She couldn't tell him about the vision—Professor Trelawney had strongly advised against it. And yet, an inexplicable pull had brought her here, the overwhelming need to warn him gnawing at her resolve.

She swallowed hard, pushing down the urge to blurt out what she had seen. Instead, she latched onto the next thought that came to her mind. "Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?" The words tumbled out, surprising even herself.

If she couldn't warn him outright, the least she could do was try to stay close, to keep an eye on him, and maybe protect him from whatever danger lay ahead. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Harry blinked, caught off guard by her question. Just earlier, he had told Hermione how he wanted to get to know Esme better, and now here she was, reaching out to him? Was this fate? Had the universe finally decided to give him a break?

But his excitement was short-lived. He remembered, with a pang of irritation, that he couldn't go. As much as he wanted to, he was stuck at Hogwarts this weekend—because of his uncle's refusal to sign the blasted permission slip.

Suddenly Harry regretted turning his aunt into a giant balloon.

His heart sank as he replied, "I can't. I don't have a permission slip."

Esme hesitated, her shoulders sagging slightly as her voice dropped. "Oh..." she murmured, clearly unsure how to respond.

Harry, not wanting the conversation to end on such a disappointed note, quickly added, "But I'll find a way there."

Her brows furrowed, and she shook her head slightly. "I don't want you breaking the rules," she said firmly, her voice soft but resolute.

Harry smirked, a glint of mischief in his green eyes. "It's my specialty," he said with a casual shrug.

Esme blinked, momentarily stunned by his confidence. "That's... not exactly reassuring," she replied, though her tone softened slightly, betraying a flicker of amusement.

"Don't worry," Harry said with a grin, "I'll manage."

Esme gave a small nod, her nerves still apparent in the way her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her robe. "Okay," she said softly. "Well, then... I'll see you there."

Harry's grin widened, the excitement in his expression unmistakable. "Brilliant," he replied, his voice carrying an enthusiasm that made her cheeks flush slightly.

She offered him a shy smile before stepping back, unsure of what else to say. As she turned to leave, she could feel his gaze lingering on her, and for a brief moment, a faint sense of hope replaced the anxiety twisting in her chest.