╰┈➤ ❝ [𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑅𝑇𝐸𝐸𝑁] ❞ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
⁺⤾·˚.⃗.  [ ʙᴏᴏᴋs ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴇᴡɪʟᴅᴇʀᴍᴇɴᴛ ] 𑁍ࠜೄ ･ﾟˊˎ
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The Library
( October, 1993. )

𝓣he library was bathed in soft afternoon light, the sun streaming in through the tall, narrow windows that lined the walls. Dust motes danced lazily in the golden beams, and the faint smell of parchment and ink filled the air. The hum of students flipping through pages and murmuring quietly to one another created a soothing, studious atmosphere. It was the lull between the end of classes and the bustle of dinner, and most students had settled into their respective corners, tackling homework or enjoying a brief moment of quiet.

Harry entered the library, his grin unshakable as he strode past rows of towering bookshelves. His mind was still replaying his conversation with Esme, and though he tried to temper his excitement, he couldn't quite manage it.

As he approached a table near the center of the room, he spotted Ron and Hermione sitting together. Ron looked particularly miserable, his head resting in one hand as he glared at a piece of parchment in front of him.

"I didn't actually think you were serious about us going to the library," Harry heard Ron grumble as he drew closer.

Hermione didn't look up from her book but responded with a curt, "You'll thank me when you pass your exams, Ron."

Harry chuckled softly as he reached them. "Ron do you ever stop complaining?"

Ron looked up, his expression brightening when he saw Harry. "Finally! Someone to save me from this misery. What's got you looking so cheerful, anyway? You're practically glowing."

Hermione glanced up as well, her curiosity piqued.

Ron leaned forward, a sly grin forming. "Wait, this wouldn't have anything to do with Lestrange, would it? She looked completely bewildered earlier."

"Ron, spell bewildered," Hermione said, smirking slightly.

"Shut up," Ron shot back, rolling his eyes.

Harry laughed and pulled out a chair, sitting down with them. "Actually, it does have to do with Esme," he admitted, leaning forward conspiratorially.

Both Ron and Hermione perked up, leaning in as well.

"Well, don't leave us in suspense!" Ron urged. "What happened?"

Harry hesitated for a moment, still processing the encounter himself. "She... asked me if I was going to Hogsmeade this weekend."

Ron's jaw dropped slightly, and Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"She what?" Ron blurted out. "Like, asked you out?"

"No, not exactly," Harry said quickly. "She just asked if I'd be there."

"And what did you say?" Hermione asked, her tone measured but curious.

"I said I couldn't go because I don't have a permission slip," Harry explained. "But I'm going to find a way. I can't miss this."

Ron grinned, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "That's brilliant, mate. But... you sure about her? I mean, she's a Slytherin. They're not exactly known for being trustworthy."

Harry frowned slightly. "She's not like the others, Ron. She's... different. You'd know that if you actually talked to her."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "I think Esme is nice, but I do have to ask—how are you planning to get to Hogsmeade without a permission slip?"

"I'll ask McGonagall to sign it," Harry said confidently.

Hermione blinked at him, clearly trying to choose her words carefully. "Harry, she's not going to sign it. That would be highly inappropriate."

Ron groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "Merlin's beard, Hermione, could you be more of a Debbie Downer?"

"I'm just being realistic," Hermione said sharply. "Harry needs to think this through."

Harry held up his hands to stop the brewing argument. "Look, I'll figure it out. One way or another, I'm going to Hogsmeade. And if I have to break a few rules, so be it."

Ron beamed at him. "That's the spirit, Harry!"

Hermione sighed, clearly unconvinced. "Just... be careful, okay? And don't do anything too stupid."

"I'll be fine," Harry said, his grin returning. He glanced toward the books on their table and smirked. "Now, what are you two working on?"

Ron groaned again, dramatically burying his face in his hands. "Don't ask."

As Hermione launched into an explanation about their latest assignment, Harry leaned back in his chair, his thoughts drifting back to Esme. Whatever it took, he would find a way to see her.

𝓣he Slytherin common room exuded its usual cold, dignified atmosphere as the afternoon settled into early evening. The dim lighting cast long shadows across the ancient stone walls, and the flickering green glow of the enchanted lanterns bathed the room in an eerie, underwater luminescence. Outside the arched, leaded glass windows, the murky depths of the Black Lake shifted, faint outlines of passing creatures visible in the gloom.

Students lounged in small clusters, their low voices creating a murmur that blended with the occasional crackle of the fire in the ornate hearth. The air smelled faintly of parchment, old wood, and the faint tang of damp stone. A few Slytherins worked on assignments, quills scratching against parchment, while others leaned back in leather armchairs, talking idly about the day's lessons or upcoming Quidditch practice.

Draco Malfoy sat with Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy near the fireplace, his usual position of authority marked by the way the others naturally gravitated around him. He wasn't particularly engaged in the conversation, his sharp grey eyes scanning the room as if searching for something—or someone. His boredom evaporated the moment the door creaked open.

Esme entered, her usual shy demeanor tempered by a soft, almost dreamy smile on her lips. Her fingers brushed the strap of her bag, clutching it as though grounding herself, but her expression carried a quiet, unspoken satisfaction.

Draco clocked her the second she stepped through the threshold, his gaze narrowing with the precision of a hawk. Something was different about her—lighter, softer. She wasn't usually one to wear a smile so openly, especially not in the common room, where Slytherin politics and judgment reigned supreme.

Without hesitation, he stood, ignoring Pansy's curious glance, and crossed the room toward Esme. She noticed him almost immediately, her smile faltering slightly as her shoulders tensed.

"Es—" he began, but Esme cut him off before he could finish.

"I'm not telling you about Potter," she said, her voice quiet but firm, her usual shyness replaced with an uncharacteristic edge. "So don't even ask."

Draco blinked, caught off guard. "That's not what I was going to ask about," he said, his tone tinged with a mix of surprise and irritation. "I was going to talk to you about what you said in class."

Esme paused, her fingers tightening briefly around the strap of her bag. "Oh," she murmured, her cheeks flushing faintly as she looked away. "What about it?"

Draco's voice softened, dropping into the familiar, almost protective tone he reserved only for her. "You said it was us," he reminded her, his sharp gaze searching her face for answers. "What did you mean?"

Esme hesitated, her eyes darting toward the room's other occupants. The Slytherins, though preoccupied with their own conversations, could easily be listening. She shook her head slightly and moved toward an empty armchair near the fire. "Not here," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Draco frowned but followed her lead, waiting until she had settled before lowering himself into the chair opposite hers. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his expression serious. "Esme, if something's bothering you—"

"It's not," she interrupted again, though her tone lacked conviction. She glanced at the fire, its greenish glow dancing in her dark eyes. "I just... It doesn't matter, Draco. Forget I said anything."

Draco didn't buy it for a second, but he knew better than to push her when she wasn't ready to talk. With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Fine," he said, his tone lightening just enough to signal a truce. "But about Potter... you'd better be careful. He's trouble, Esme, whether you want to believe it or not."

Esme didn't respond, her gaze still fixed on the fire. The quiet tension between them lingered, unspoken words hanging in the air like the shadows that crept along the walls of the common room.

Finally, Draco stood, brushing off his robes. "We'll talk later," he said, his voice soft but firm. "And don't think you can keep avoiding me."

Esme glanced up, her expression unreadable. "I wouldn't dream of it," she said quietly, the faintest hint of a smile returning to her lips.

Draco gave her one last searching look before turning and walking back to his usual spot, his thoughts still lingering on her cryptic words. Whatever was going on with Esme, he intended to figure it out.