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Hogwarts Express
( September 1993. )

                                 𝓚ing's Cross Station was bustling with Muggle travelers rushing to catch their trains, none of them aware of the hidden world that lay just beyond a solid brick barrier between platforms nine and ten. Esme stood with Draco and the Malfoys-her family-amidst the swirl of steam and clamor. She held the handle of her trunk tightly, and beside her, Draco lounged, feigning boredom, as though arriving at the station was simply another tedious obligation. But Esme knew him well-he was as excited to return to Hogwarts as she was.

Narcissa hovered near the pair, regal and poised even in the midst of the noisy crowd. She wore immaculate black robes and a soft, protective expression, directing most of her attention toward Esme. The station's chaos never suited Narcissa's refined tastes, and yet here she was, as ever, making sure both children made it onto the train without issue. Esme's stomach fluttered at the thought of leaving the security of home behind-especially after the unsettling talk of Sirius Black-but Hogwarts beckoned, a familiar sanctuary of corridors, classrooms, and magic waiting to unfold for another year.

"I've packed you extra quills and parchment," Narcissa said softly, adjusting Esme's collar. There was a tenderness in her voice that rarely showed itself in public. "And don't forget to write. Let me know you've settled in."

"Yes, Mum," Esme replied, smiling despite herself. Her voice was low to keep the exchange private, but the affection in that single word-Mum-was clear. Narcissa had raised her as her own, and despite the tangled Lestrange name she carried, Esme's heart belonged here, with the woman who had cared for her all these years.

Draco rolled his eyes, pretending not to care about the fuss. "Honestly, Mother," he drawled, "you act like we're not going to see you again at Christmas."

Narcissa fixed Draco with a knowing look. "One day, you'll appreciate my fussing, Draco. Until then, you'll tolerate it. Now, mind that you and Esme board together. I don't want either of you wandering off alone." Her gaze darted meaningfully toward Esme, as if to say, Be careful.

Esme understood the unspoken concern. Sirius Black's escape had cast a shadow over everyone's thoughts, and though Narcissa didn't voice it, Esme knew she worried. The idea that a dangerous man could be roaming free-perhaps even near the school-was enough to set anyone on edge.

Lucius stood a short distance away, conversing quietly with a Ministry acquaintance while a house-elf struggled with Draco's trunk. He offered neither complaint nor assistance; such menial tasks were beneath him. When he was finished with his conversation, he approached them, his silver-headed cane tapping gently against the pavement. "You'll do well to keep your heads down this year," he said, his voice smooth and measured. "No trouble. Focus on your studies." His eyes flicked briefly to Esme, the words loaded with unspoken caution.

"Of course, Father," Draco replied, straightening slightly. Esme nodded as well, though she felt a familiar knot tighten in her stomach under Lucius's gaze. She and Draco may have grown up side by side, but Lucius's reminders never let her forget the expectations placed upon them.

With that, Narcissa guided them toward the barrier. "Go on," she encouraged, giving Esme's hand a gentle squeeze. "Remember, write if you need anything. And take care of each other." She aimed that last part at Draco, who only inclined his head in acknowledgment.

Esme stepped forward, pushing her trolley alongside Draco's. They caught each other's eyes-his were steady, a bit mischievous even, as if to say Here we go again. Esme managed a small smile. In the crowd's hustle, they walked briskly toward the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten and, with a practiced motion, slipped through it without pause.

On the other side awaited the scarlet steam engine of the Hogwarts Express, its whistle echoing across the platform of witches, wizards, and excited chatter. Bright owls hooted from their cages, and parents fussed over their children's robes and trunks. Even in the midst of this magical bedlam, Esme felt a strange comfort wash over her. Beyond this train ride lay Hogwarts: the sorting hat's songs, the moving staircases, the library that smelled of ancient parchment, and lessons that stretched her understanding of magic and herself.

"I hope we get a decent compartment," Draco said, scanning the crowd for familiar faces-friends to impress, rivals to mock. "And that Potter and his lot don't try anything foolish."

Esme didn't respond. She was thinking about Sirius Black, and what secrets still hovered unresolved in her mind. But the sound of the whistle and the promise of a new term pulled her forward. Whatever the mysteries waiting ahead, she would face them at Hogwarts-with Draco beside her, and Narcissa's care not so far behind.

"Come on," she said to Draco, a determined note in her voice. "Let's find our seats."

The Hogwarts Express thrummed with life as Esme and Draco made their way down the narrow corridor, peering into compartments. Students called out to friends, dragged trunks into overhead racks, and jockeyed for space. The noise pressed in on Esme's ears, oddly comforting in its own way. In the bustle, it was easy to remain unnoticed, and she preferred it that way.

Draco, however, announced himself with every step. He moved as if the corridor were made for him, tossing nods and haughty smirks at passing housemates. Esme followed just behind, her trunk grumbling lightly on its wheels, her gaze flicking over the crowd. She caught snatches of conversation, half-formed gestures, the flicker of nervous excitement on new students' faces, and the quiet tension among the older ones. As always, Esme quietly collected details, storing them away for later.

Draco slid open a compartment door near the center of the train. Pansy Parkinson looked up immediately, her dark eyes brightening at the sight of Draco. Blaise Zabini lounged by the window, looking exquisitely bored, while Theodore Nott fiddled idly with a quill. Crabbe and Goyle occupied one end of the seat, broad shoulders and blank expressions filling up the space like furniture. The atmosphere was predictably Slytherin: cool self-confidence mixed with subtle suspicion, punctuated by a few sneers for good measure.

"Excellent," Draco drawled, ushering Esme in with a slight incline of his head. "I was wondering where you lot were."

Pansy beamed. "Draco, there you are," she said, then glanced at Esme, the brightness dimming a little in her eyes. "Esme." It was a polite enough greeting, though not warm. Pansy made a habit of speaking to Esme only when necessary. Esme didn't mind-it kept expectations low.

Esme nodded. "Hello," she said, voice quiet. She placed her trunk overhead with Draco's help and sat down at one end of the seat. Settling into a corner gave her a vantage point. The compartment buzzed with chatter as Draco and Pansy began discussing their summers. Zabini offered a smooth comment or two, his eyes half-closed as if the conversation were barely worth staying awake for. Theodore Nott watched the others from beneath lowered lids, occasionally dropping in a sarcastic remark that earned a snicker from Pansy or a confused grunt from Crabbe and Goyle.

Esme listened. It was what she did best. She studied the subtle dynamics: the way Pansy angled her shoulders toward Draco, desperate for his attention; the quick, knowing glance that passed between Zabini and Nott when Draco boasted about his family's latest acquisition; Crabbe's faint attempt to follow the talk only to lose the thread and glance at Goyle for cues. In the background, the train whistle sounded again, and the platform began to fall away as the Express pulled them toward Hogwarts.

"So," Pansy said, turning abruptly toward Esme, perhaps reminded she existed. "Hear anything interesting this summer?" Her tone was sweet but pointed, as if Esme's reticence were a personal challenge.

Esme, lifting her gaze from the window, considered for a moment. She had heard plenty, of course. Rumors about Sirius Black's escape hung in the air like a bad smell. She knew the Malfoys had spoken in hushed tones about it, worried about what his freedom might mean. Esme also knew that Blaise's mother had been entertaining foreign guests-she'd overheard a comment about it at King's Cross. And there were smaller things: whispers of new teachers, odd packages delivered to certain families. But what to share? What mattered?

"Only what everyone knows," Esme said, voice steady and low. "Sirius Black's out. He might be coming after Potter." Her tone carried a bare hint of a shrug.

Crabbe frowned, trying to parse her words. Goyle looked at Draco, as if Draco would provide some definitive response. Pansy's lips twisted into a smug little smile. "Yes, well," she said lightly, "if he does get Potter, good riddance." She laughed, as if hoping Draco would join her.

But Draco just smirked thinly, tapping his fingers on the arm of the seat. Blaise raised a brow at Esme, curious. Theodore hummed and said, "You think he'll actually attempt to breach the castle, Esme?"

Esme blinked at him. Theodore rarely addressed her directly; he was more akin to a shadow, much like herself. Perhaps he appreciated a fellow watcher. She shrugged. "If he's clever enough to break out of Azkaban, he might be clever enough to try anything," she answered plainly. "Maybe he'll fail. Or maybe he'll do something awful. Either way, I doubt it'll end well for someone." Her tone was hollow of any theatrics, just the blunt truth as she saw it.

Pansy sniffed as though offended by the lack of proper fear or admiration in Esme's voice. "Well, I hope he fails. And if he doesn't, at least he's going after Gryffindors." She leaned closer to Draco, batting her eyelashes. "Don't you agree, Draco?"

Draco gave a noncommittal shrug. His eyes darted once to Esme's, as if checking her reaction. Esme, composed as ever, only offered him a faint upward tilt of her lips, barely noticeable. They understood each other well enough-Esme knew Draco didn't want to discuss Black openly in front of the others, not after their conversation at the manor. Some things were better left unspoken.

The compartment rattled slightly as the train picked up speed. Outside, London fell behind, and the countryside began to blur into view. Inside, Pansy and Draco's voices rose and fell, Blaise's soft chuckle threaded through the talk, and Theodore occasionally tossed in a remark, half-lidded eyes hiding whatever he truly thought. Crabbe and Goyle punctuated the conversation with their simple laughter or bewildered grunts.

Esme said little, and no one seemed to mind. She preferred it that way. In the swirl of noise, no one paid close attention to her. They never realized how carefully she listened, how her mind pieced together hints and whispers. She was content to watch them-her strange makeshift family, her fellow Slytherins, her classmates who assumed too much and revealed even more in their idle chatter. Whatever lay ahead this year-be it Sirius Black, dangerous rumors, or just the usual Hogwarts politics-Esme would be ready, armed with knowledge and that quiet, unblinking gaze she always possessed.

The scenery beyond the window blurred into fields and rolling hills under a gray, indifferent sky. Inside the compartment, laughter and voices tangled in the warm lamplight. Pansy prattled on about new robes and summer gossip, clearly hoping to impress Draco with her tales of who had done what, and with whom, over the break. Blaise reclined in his seat, occasionally contributing a wry remark that made Theodore smirk. Crabbe and Goyle remained mostly silent, nodding along at intervals.

Esme sat quietly near the window, her fingers absently tracing patterns on the arm of the seat. She watched them-counted the moments of Draco's eye-rolls at Pansy's attempts at flirtation, noted the set of Theodore's shoulders as he leaned in each time Blaise spoke, and observed the way Pansy's face lit up at Draco's faintest glance. No one paid her much mind, except for Draco, who every now and then would shift his gaze her way as if to confirm that she was comfortable and untroubled.

"Honestly, I heard Professor Lupin-that's the new Defense teacher-used to be some sort of vagabond," Pansy said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "A shabby old cloak and cases of chocolate everywhere, can you imagine?"

Blaise smirked. "Better than Lockhart and his endless memoirs."

Theodore snorted, "Low bar."

Esme considered saying something, but in truth, she didn't know much about the new professor. Instead, she turned her eyes to the passing landscape. She never minded being quiet-especially now, as she felt a subtle tension creeping into the train's atmosphere. The lamps above their heads flickered once, then steadied. Blaise frowned at the ceiling; Pansy paused mid-sentence.

Without warning, the Hogwarts Express began to slow. Not a gentle slowing, but a heavy, jarring halt that threw Esme forward and made Crabbe curse under his breath. The corridor outside went quiet, then filled with confused voices. Before anyone could speak, the lights in their compartment sputtered, buzzed, and then went out, plunging them into darkness.

"What the hell-?" Draco's voice was the first to break the silence, sharp and urgent.

A chill crept into the air, as though icy fingers were sliding beneath the door. Esme felt it immediately, a prickle along her skin. The rest sensed it too-Blaise straightened up, Theodore lowered his quill, and Pansy fell silent. Crabbe and Goyle looked to Draco for direction, their breathing audible in the eerie hush.

Esme's eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness, and in the faint, shifting shadows, she saw Draco's shape move. She heard him stand and felt him step closer. She realized, with a small jolt of surprise, that he positioned himself between her and the compartment door, as if by instinct. She didn't need light to recognize his stance-tense and guarded, arms slightly out. It was subtle, but she'd known Draco long enough to understand. He was putting himself between her and whatever was about to appear. He never said it, never would, but at times like these, Draco's protective streak emerged as clearly as any declaration. In that moment, he treated her like blood: a sister worth shielding.

Esme's breath caught slightly, and she exhaled into the silence. She didn't speak-she rarely did-but she steadied herself by the feeling of Draco's presence, comforted by his unspoken care.

Blaise's voice came low and steady, "What's going on out there?"

"Could be something on the tracks," Theodore offered, voice cracking slightly as if trying too hard to sound calm.

Pansy was no longer trying to catch Draco's eye. Instead, she hunched into her seat, arms wrapped around herself. "Why's it so cold?" she whispered.

A scraping sound came from the corridor, or perhaps just a shudder of metal. It was impossible to tell. The chill intensified, sinking deeper until Esme felt it in her bones. Her breath came out in visible puffs. She could sense fear crawling through the group-Blaise's confidence faltering, Pansy's bravado draining away, Crabbe and Goyle stiffening on either side like uncertain statues.

Then came the soft rattling of the compartment door handle.

Esme's chest tightened. She'd heard of these creatures, these guardians of Azkaban, in hushed conversations at the manor. Dementors. If Sirius Black had truly escaped, it would make sense the Ministry would send them prowling after him. She said nothing, but her mind leapt to conclusions. Black was out there-and so were they.

Draco's posture shifted, and he reached a hand back slightly, fingertips brushing Esme's sleeve. Not pulling her forward, but letting her know he was there. She pressed her lips together and steadied herself. She didn't scream, didn't whisper. She simply watched. Observed. Listened to her friends' shallow breathing and the scrape of something beyond the door.

The door slid open a crack, and icy darkness seemed to pour in. Esme couldn't see the creature's full form-only a tall, hooded silhouette framed by the faint light of distant wand tips sparking in the corridor. She felt the cold intensify, as if all happiness, all warmth, had fled the train. She heard Pansy whimper softly.

Draco's voice, though not loud, came firm and clear: "Close the door." He sounded braver than Esme felt at that moment. She was grateful for his presence, for the solidity of him.

Then the door slid shut again, as if the thing had drifted on. The chill remained a moment longer, lingering like an unwelcome guest before it gradually receded. The lights flickered overhead, stuttering back into life. Esme shivered, teeth chattering, and when Draco turned to face her, she could see a flash of relief in his eyes at finding her unharmed.

"Everyone all right?" he asked, voice still tight.

Pansy nodded vigorously, hair falling into her face. Theodore swallowed hard. Blaise ran a hand through his hair and forced a smirk, trying to pretend his heart wasn't pounding. Crabbe and Goyle exchanged nervous grunts. Esme simply met Draco's gaze and gave a small nod. She was fine. The moment had passed.

The train's engines rumbled as if coming out of a bad dream, and it began moving again, slowly picking up speed. The warmth returned in increments. Gradually, color came back into their cheeks, and tension ebbed into stunned quiet.

Esme drew a breath, voice soft and steady as she decided to speak: "Dementors," she said, blunt and matter-of-fact. "They're searching for Sirius Black." She didn't embellish or try to reassure. It wasn't in her nature to sugarcoat.

Pansy pressed her lips together, trying to regain some composure. Draco let out a breath through his nose, keeping close to Esme's side. There was no more mocking Potter or boasting about their families in that moment. Whatever little rivalries or petty concerns they'd carried into that compartment, they were now overshadowed by the chill and fear of what lurked beyond.

Esme caught Draco's eye once more, silently conveying her thanks. Words weren't necessary between them. He understood, and in understanding, returned a small nod of acknowledgment before taking his seat again. The Hogwarts Express rattled onward through the countryside, carrying them closer to the castle and whatever challenges the coming year would bring.

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

                           Esme sat quietly at the Slytherin table, nestled between Draco and Pansy, with Daphne Greengrass and Millicent Bulstrode across from her. Blaise, Theodore, Crabbe, and Goyle filled the remaining seats. Laughter and conversation swirled around her, but Esme merely listened, picking at her food. She wasn't particularly interested in the banter, though she occasionally glanced at her peers to feign attentiveness.

Her gaze shifted slightly as she noticed movement from the Gryffindor table. Harry Potter kept turning his head, glancing behind him at their table. She frowned subtly, unsure if he was looking at her or simply distracted by the commotion surrounding them.

Before she could dwell on it, Dumbledore rose from his seat, commanding the room's attention.

"Welcome! Welcome to another year at Hogwarts," he began, his voice carrying easily over the noise. "Now, I'd like to say a few words... before we all become too befuddled by our excellent feast. First, I'm pleased to welcome Professor R.J. Lupin, who's kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Good luck, professor."

Polite applause rippled through the hall, but Esme's attention was drawn back to Harry as Draco suddenly straightened beside her, his expression twisting into a smug sneer.

"Potter," Draco called loudly, drawing the attention of several nearby students. "Is it true you fainted? I mean, you actually fainted?"

Esme inhaled sharply, tension creeping into her shoulders at the confrontation. She didn't speak, her hands tightening slightly on the edge of the table.

At the Gryffindor table, Ron immediately came to Harry's defense, glaring at Draco. "Shove off, Malfoy," he snapped, draping an arm protectively around Harry's shoulders and physically turning him back toward their group.

Draco let out a quiet, derisive laugh, clearly pleased with himself, but Esme remained silent. Her eyes flickered briefly toward Harry before returning to her plate, her appetite entirely gone.

Dumbledore raised his hands slightly, silencing the whispers and chatter that had started to spread through the Great Hall. His expression remained calm, though his words carried a weight that made the room grow still.

"Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher has decided to retire," he continued, "in order to spend more time with his remaining limbs." A smattering of laughter broke out, lightening the mood briefly. "Fortunately, I'm delighted to announce that his place will be taken by none other than our own Rubeus Hagrid."

A round of applause erupted, led enthusiastically by the Gryffindor table. Esme glanced toward Hagrid, who sat beaming at the head table, his massive hands clapping together. She couldn't help but smile faintly at his visible pride.

Dumbledore's tone shifted then, becoming more serious, and the hall fell silent once again. "Finally, on a more disquieting note," he began, "at the request of the Ministry of Magic, Hogwarts will, until further notice, play host to the dementors of Azkaban until such a time as Sirius Black is captured."

A ripple of unease swept through the students. Esme felt a chill creep down her spine at the mention of dementors, her stomach twisting uncomfortably. Around her, the Slytherins exchanged uneasy looks, though Draco simply scoffed under his breath, muttering something about the Ministry's incompetence.

"The dementors will be stationed at every entrance to the grounds," Dumbledore explained. "Now whilst I've been assured that their presence will not disrupt our day-to-day activities, a word of caution: dementors are vicious creatures. They will not distinguish between the one they hunt and the one who gets in their way. Therefore, I must warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you."

Esme's hands clenched slightly in her lap as Dumbledore's words sank in. The idea of those creatures so close sent a shiver through her, and she tried to focus on his voice to steady herself.

"It is not in the nature of a dementor to be forgiving," Dumbledore continued solemnly. Then, his expression softened, and he added with quiet resolve, "But you know, happiness can be found even in the darkest of times if one only remembers to turn on the light."

A hush lingered in the hall as his words hung in the air. Then, gradually, the room returned to life as the students resumed their conversations, the tension easing slightly.

Esme exhaled slowly, glancing once more toward Harry. This time, he didn't look back, his focus fixed firmly on his plate as he spoke quietly to Ron and Hermione. She turned back to her own table, the chatter of her housemates washing over her like static. For now, she remained quiet, mulling over Dumbledore's warning and the unease it stirred within her.

At the Gryffindor table, Hermione leaned over, her voice barely above a whisper but still tinged with exasperation. "Harry, you really ought not to stare at her as often as you do. Draco doesn't like it."

Harry looked up from his plate, his brow furrowing. "I couldn't care less about what Draco Malfoy thinks, Hermione," he said firmly, rather aggressively stabbing a piece of potato with his fork.

Hermione sighed, glancing toward the Slytherin table where Esme Lestrange sat quietly, her demeanor as reserved as ever. "I just don't understand why you bother with Lestrange," she said, shaking her head. "She barely acknowledges you anyway."

Harry set his fork down, leaning back slightly. "She barely acknowledges anyone," he countered. "It's nothing against me personally."

Hermione frowned, clearly unconvinced. "Maybe, but she doesn't seem like someone who wants friends, Harry. You've been trying to get her attention for two years now. Why keep trying?"

Harry shrugged, his gaze flickering to Esme again. She was listening to something Draco was saying, but her expression was distant, as though she wasn't fully engaged. "There's more to her than people think," he said. "I don't know, I just... I think she's different from the rest of them."

Ron, who had been tearing into a drumstick, finally spoke up, his tone brimming with skepticism. "She's always with Malfoy and his lot. That ought to tell you everything you need to know about her, mate."

Harry's jaw tightened, and he shot Ron a pointed look. "Well, Ron, not that you'd understand, but I reckon he's the only family she's got."

Ron blinked, clearly taken aback, and Hermione's expression softened slightly, though her skepticism lingered.

"Family or not, Harry," Hermione said carefully, "that doesn't mean she's someone you should trust. You need to be careful."

Harry didn't respond right away, his gaze fixed on Esme. She might have been sitting with Malfoy, but there was a distance in her, even among her so-called friends. He couldn't explain why, but he felt like there was more to her story-and he wasn't ready to give up just yet.