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DADA Classroom
( October, 1993. )

                 𝓣he Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom buzzed with anticipation as the students stood in a loose semicircle, their eyes fixed on the rattling wardrobe at the front of the room. Professor Lupin paced before it with an air of calm confidence, his wand loosely in hand.

"Intriguing, isn't it?" he began, his voice carrying easily over the murmur of the students. "Would anyone like to venture a guess as to what is inside?"

Dean Thomas raised his hand quickly. "That's a boggart, that is," he said.

"Very good, Mr. Thomas," Lupin replied with an approving nod. "Now, can anyone tell me what a boggart looks like?"

Hermione's hand shot up as usual. Without waiting to be called on, she said, "No one knows."

Ron leaned toward Harry and muttered under his breath, "When did she get here?"

Hermione ignored him, continuing, "Boggarts are shape-shifters. They take the form of whatever a person fears most. That's what makes them so-"

"So terrifying," Lupin finished, gesturing to her with a small smile. "Yes, exactly. Luckily for us, a very simple charm exists to repel a boggart. Repeat after me: Riddikulus."

A chorus of voices echoed back, some confident, others uncertain.

"Very good," Lupin encouraged. "A little louder, and very clear. Listen. Riddikulus."

"Riddikulus!" the class repeated, their voices more confident this time.

Draco Malfoy leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. "This class is ridiculous," he muttered, just loud enough for the students around him to hear.

"Very good, Mr. Malfoy," Lupin said without missing a beat, his tone light but pointed. "Now, so much for the easy part. The incantation alone is not enough. What truly finishes a boggart is laughter. You need to force it to take a shape you find amusing. Let me explain. Mr. Longbottom-would you join me, please?"

Neville hesitated, his face turning pink as the entire class turned to look at him.

"Come on, don't be shy," Lupin encouraged, his tone gentle.

Neville shuffled forward, clutching his wand nervously.

"Hello, Neville," Lupin said with a kind smile. "What frightens you most of all?"

Neville stammered something inaudible.

"Sorry?"

"Professor Snape," Neville admitted in a small voice, eliciting a ripple of laughter from the class.

"Professor Snape?" Lupin chuckled. "Yes, frightens all. And I believe you live with your grandmother, do you not?"

Neville nodded quickly, his eyes wide.

"But I don't want the boggart to turn into her either," Neville added hastily.

"Of course not," Lupin said. "Here's what we'll do. Picture your grandmother's clothes-only her clothes-very clearly in your mind. Can you do that?"

Neville nodded again. "She carries a red handbag," he added earnestly.

"Good. We don't need to hear all the details, as long as you see it. Now, when I open the wardrobe, I want you to imagine Professor Snape in those clothes. Can you do that?"

Neville nodded once more, his grip tightening on his wand.

"Excellent. Wand at the ready. One... two... three."

Lupin unlocked the wardrobe, and the door creaked open. A moment later, a towering figure in dark robes and a sneer stepped out: Professor Snape, his presence as menacing as ever. Neville froze for a split second before raising his wand.

"R-Riddikulus!" he stammered.

In an instant, Snape's robes morphed into a green, fur-lined coat, topped with a bird hat and accompanied by a bright red handbag. The class erupted into laughter as the boggart stumbled, looking utterly ridiculous.

"Wonderful, Neville, wonderful!" Lupin exclaimed, clapping his hands. "Incredible work. To the back now. Everyone, form a line!"

The students jostled into place, their excitement building. One by one, they faced the boggart, each transforming it into something laughable.

"Lestrange!" Lupin called after Ron had sent a spider skidding across the floor in roller skates.

Esme stepped forward reluctantly, her wand in hand. Her stomach churned with unease, but she forced herself to remain calm.

"Show us what you see," Lupin said gently, gesturing toward the boggart.

The wardrobe creaked open again, and the boggart shifted, its form becoming more defined. Esme's breath caught in her throat as the image solidified: two figures in dark, hooded robes, their faces obscured by gleaming silver masks. Death Eaters.

No one else seemed to recognize them, but Esme's heart pounded as she stared at the figures.

She knew that blonde hair they both shared.

She knew the way the taller one held himself, the curve of his shoulders.

It was her. And Draco.

She felt frozen, her wand trembling in her hand.

"Lestrange," Lupin prompted softly.

Swallowing hard, Esme raised her wand. "Riddikulus!" she shouted.

The Death Eaters stumbled, their masks suddenly replaced with clown noses and oversized, floppy hats. The class burst into laughter, but Esme's heart continued to race as she stepped back into the line, her mind reeling.

Lupin smiled at her approvingly. "Excellent, Miss Lestrange. Well done."

Esme nodded faintly, her face carefully neutral. But as she returned to her place among the Slytherins, she couldn't shake the image from her mind-or the fear it had stirred deep within her.

Draco's sharp eyes narrowed as he observed Esme, her composed exterior fraying at the edges. He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "Your parents?" he asked, his tone uncharacteristically soft.

Esme shook her head, her gaze darting away before she hesitated and finally met his eyes. "No," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Us."

Draco blinked, stunned. The implication of her words hit him like a weight. His breath caught, and for a moment, the ever-composed Malfoy was at a loss for words.

Before he could respond, a sudden commotion near the front of the room snapped their attention forward.

"Harry!" Professor Lupin's voice rang out sharply as he stepped in front of the trembling Gryffindor.

The boggart in front of Harry had shifted, now resembling a towering dementor, its skeletal hands reaching toward him. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, and an unnatural silence fell over the students as Harry stood frozen, his wand shaking.

Lupin moved swiftly, raising his wand and positioning himself between Harry and the boggart. The dark, cloaked figure warped and twisted until it transformed into a glowing full moon.

The professor's face tightened, his voice firm as he cast, "Riddikulus!"

The moon flickered for a moment before bursting into a balloon, which floated harmlessly to the ground. Lupin quickly waved his wand, forcing the boggart back into the cabinet and locking it securely.

He turned back to the class, his usual calm demeanor returning, though his voice was slightly strained. "Right, well, sorry about that. Uh, that's enough for today. If you'd like to collect your books from the back of the class, that's the end of the lesson. Thank you."

The students groaned in protest, disappointed the lesson had been cut short, but began gathering their belongings.

Draco turned back to Esme, his expression a mixture of confusion and concern. "Hey, let's talk about-"

"No," she interrupted sharply, cutting him off mid-sentence. "I need to talk to Potter."

Draco's brows furrowed, and his tone hardened. "Potter? About what?"

"None of your business, Draco," Esme snapped, her clipped tone leaving no room for argument.

Draco blinked, momentarily taken aback by her sharpness, but before he could muster a reply, she turned on her heel and strode out of the classroom, leaving him standing there in stunned silence.

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

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.

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

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
( October, 1993. )

                         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.