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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."

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

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.