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1 SEPTEMBER, 1990

     HAZEL EYES, peering curiously through the window to the station below.

     Fair hands, gripping tightly to the leather handles of a worn-down trunk in excitement.

     Shiny hair, blowing wildly in the gusts of wind coursing through the open window.

     Claire Brewer, young and naive, sat straight up in the cushioned compartment seat, small feet bouncing against the floor in anticipation.

     She unhooked a finger from her tight grip on the trunk and began mindlessly tapping the handle, her large, bright eyes scanning the crowd of parents and families who stood on the platform, all wishing their children good fortune for the school year ahead.

     Amidst the sea of faces, she finally found the two she was looking for. One grey-haired man and one grey-haired woman, both standing and staring kindly up at her. Their beloved Claire, off to her fourth year of school.

     She could hear their last words as she climbed onto the train echoing in her head as she met their gentle glances.

     "This year, promise me you'll stay in your classes." That was her grandmother, always so studious, always so punctual. She was the one who reigned in Claire's free and wild spirit, helped to restrain it, kept it from getting her into trouble.

     "Oh, let her alone, Tina. I gave her the trunk for a reason." That was her grandfather, always the adventurer. He told her stories of his journeys around the world, and encouraged her to pursue what she loved. Education to him was merely a stepping stone in life; if it wasn't necessary in what he wanted to do, then her grandfather was content with leaving it behind him.

      Her grandmother raised a hand to wave good-bye, and her grandfather followed suit, giving her a pointed look as he did.

     Claire recognized that look. She'd seen it nearly every time she'd been caught in the midst of a mischievous act, her grandmother's typically pale face soaked with red, hands waving in the air in disappointment and frustration. Not three steps behind her would be Grandfather, giving Claire that amused, knowing look. I know what you did, it always seemed to tell her. That was clever, but be careful. You ought not get caught again.

     Her grandfather smiled knowingly from where he stood on the platform below; he knew that Claire understood what he meant in that look. Claire looked back down at the trunk gripped tightly in her hands. One of the latches had popped open. She quickly snapped it back shut before returning her gaze to the platform.

     The space where her grandparents had stood was now empty, replaced instead by the shadows of other parents and siblings stretched across the rough wooden floor.

❊

     The dormitory was quiet. That was unusual. Most days the common room overflowed with the noise of rambunctious first years, eager to explore everything their new school offered; excited third years, awaiting their first year of brand new electives to indulge in; anxious fifth years, already fretting over the O.W.L. exams that still remained months away; and impatient seventh years, conflicted over the welcoming embrace of home at Hogwarts while awaiting the end of the year where they'll finally be freed into the open world.

     Yet the faded yellow walls were bare of any notes and papers that normally covered them, and the black sofas and cushions sat idle and alone around the glowing fireplaces.

     There was, of course, a perfect explanation for why the Hufflepuff common room was absent of any other children: that night was the welcoming feast, marking the beginning of the term, down in the Great Hall. New first years were being Sorted, and Claire was sure to see plenty of new little Hufflepuffs bounding up through the doors in a few hours; until then, she was happy to sit alone in the common room.

     Ever since her second year, Claire avoided the welcoming feast like the plague. While all of the other Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Slytherins all swarmed into the Great Hall, Claire slipped away, easily unnoticed by the enormous crowd. She'd find any unoccupied corner of the school, anywhere she could hide to avoid the large masses of people all together there. It was simply too much, too overwhelming for the first night back.

     This year, she hid away in the common room. An hour or so had passed, however, and Claire was beginning to feel the urge to slip away elsewhere. She was antsy, always flitting from one thing to another, never comfortable in any one place for very long.

     Her black-booted foot tapped its heel against the wooden floor nervously. Her eyes flickered back and forth from the fireplace in the corner to the hall that led to the dormitories. Finally, she pushed herself up from where she sat in silence, padding down to her room. The dormitory hall began with the first years at the top, and at the end of the hall, a large spiral staircase led down to the rest of the dormitories. She descended the stairs, four levels down where she and her fellow fifth years slept.

     Entering her room, she scanned the large space full of yellow-sheeted beds, their luggage placed neatly by house-elves at the foot of each bed. Hers was directly to her left, right next to the wall where the door was. Perfect. She could slip away in the middle of the night without disturbing anyone.

     Her eyes wandered to the bed next to hers. The luggage tag on the trunk read in detailed script:

     The name wasn't familiar, which caught Claire's attention. Though she didn't talk to others much, she was quite observant, and knew nearly everyone in the castle from the seventh years down to the brand new first years. For there to be a name she didn't recognize... it stuck out to her.

     Retreating from the room, she climbed back up the staircase to the common room, then strode quietly out of the Hufflepuff common room, slipping around the barrels hiding the entrance and sneaking quickly past the doors to the kitchen where the house-elves were busy putting the finishing touches on the feast for that night.

     Her feet padded against the marble floors of the halls with soft thuds as she hurried down the halls. She wasn't sure exactly where she was going, but wherever it was, it was going to be somewhere quiet and isolated. Perhaps the Astronomy Tower. Or the greenhouses. Or even out by the Black Lake. The early September air was still warm in the evenings, so she could easily slip outside for a few hours before she was expected back in the common room for the night.

     The Black Lake, then.

     Rounding the corner to the staircase that led up from the kitchens, she suddenly found herself colliding with a solid form before falling backwards onto the hard floor.

     "Merlin's beard, are you alright?" She heard a boy's voice say from above.

     "What the hell?" Claire muttered, rubbing her lower back. She looked up to see a stocky, older boy, no doubt a seventh year, with tousled red hair and a face and arms coated in freckles. He donned a loose red t-shirt and jeans, his black Hogwarts robes nowhere to be seen. There was a curious glint in his blue eyes, and Claire immediately knew who this was.

     Charlie Weasley, the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and Care of Magical Creatures Professor Kettleburn's prodigy student.

     "Oh. Sorry," Claire muttered, drawing her eyes to the floor. A tense, calloused hand reached down into her line of vision: an offering of assistance. She grabbed Charlie's hand as he pulled her up with ease, no doubt due to his strong, Qudditch-trained muscles.

     "As Prefect, I'm obligated to ask what you're doing outside of the Great Hall," Charlie said. Though his words sounded serious, his tone was playful and curious, as though he already knew the answer.

     "I'm not quite fond of the crowds," Claire replied simply, refusing to meet Charlie's face and the mischievous expression written across it. She looked down at her hand, suddenly realizing it was still nestled within Charlie's before quickly pulling it away. She crossed her arms to hide her hands, uncertain of the situation she had found herself in.

     "Now that I can understand," Charlie said with a laugh, catching Claire by surprise. "Where, exactly, were you headed off to?"

     "The Black Lake." This time, she met Charlie's eyes, which had softened into a look of understanding. A small smile had sprouted onto his lips.

     Charlie's smile grew into a large grin. "Well, I'll just have to accompany you. You're less likely to get in trouble with a Prefect escorting you around. Being a Prefect has its advantages." He whispered the last part as he walked by her, in the opposite direction from where they were to go to get to the Black Lake.

     "Wait...where are you going?" Claire's brow furrowed as she ran softly behind Charlie to keep up with him. The seventh year didn't respond, instead pausing in front of a painting of a bowl of fruit.

     "Well, since you've finally asked, I came down here to get some hot chocolate, and I intend on completing that quest, if you would be so willing to join me," he joked, reaching out to tickle the painted pear that sat in the painted bowl. The pear let out a squeaky giggle, squirming in the bowl before transforming into a solid green doorknob that protruded from the painting.

     Claire smiled, tucking a lock of her golden hair behind her ear. "Sure."

     With that, Charlie swung open the door, and the two of them climbed through into the kitchens.

     The Hogwarts kitchens were as massive as the Great Hall, but never nearly as busy. Instead of hundreds of students packed into every inch of every one of the four long tables that stretched down the Great Hall, a few dozens house-elves scurried about, decorating the identically long tables of the kitchens with large platters of turkey, bowls of peas, and pitchers of pumpkin juice.

     "What's your name, by the way?" Charlie asked, leading Claire down the aisle of tables to the fireplaces at back of the kitchens, where several more house-elves were putting the final touches on the preparations for the feast.

     "Claire. Claire Brewer."

     "Nice to meet you, Claire Brewer. I'm-"

     "Charlie Weasley." As soon as Claire had sputtered out the words, she bit her tongue in regret, keeping from embarrassing herself further. Other students usually didn't take it very kindly when they discovered there was a stranger who seemed to know so much about them.

     To Claire's astonishment, however, her outburst was simply met with laughter. Not awkward, uncomfortable laughter, like she was prone to receiving; no, this was an amused laugh, a laugh that seemed to say Right, of course.

     "Would you like a hot chocolate, Claire?" Charlie asked kindly. Claire bounced on the balls of her feet impatiently, nodding her head with a quiet "sure." She was getting that antsy feeling again. She was desperate to get out of the castle and out to the open stretch of beach by the Black Lake.

     Charlie must have noticed her restlessness, for when he asked a nearby house-elf for the hot chocolate, Claire could overhear him muttering to "be quick with it."

     Indeed he was; the house-elf returned in mere seconds with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, both topped with several puffy, white marshmallows. Charlie smiled gratefully as he took the two mugs before thanking the house-elf, who grinned happily back before scampering off to finish his own preparations.

     "So, Claire, what year are you in?" Charlie asked, handing her one of the mugs. She took it with a quiet smile, following him as he led her back out of the kitchens and into the corridors.

     "Fifth year. Hufflepuff."

     Charlie nodded appreciatively. "I've got a brother a year behind you, he's a Gryffindor."

     "Right, Percy. He's..." Claire trailed off, uncertain of how to respond without sounding rude. She cupped her hot chocolate in her hands, tapping her nails against the metal mug as she tried to think of a proper way to word her thoughts.

     "It's alright." Charlie laughed again, opening the door that led out to the greenhouses and, beyond that, the Black Lake. "He is a bit of a prick, if I'm going to be honest."

     Claire laughed softly, walking through the open door and out into the warm evening air that encircled the greenhouses like a soft blanket. A cool breeze blew through the greenhouses, rustling the green leaves of the various plants that sprouted in their pots, ready for students to study and analyze.

     The two walked through the greenhouses before opening the gate that led out to the shores of the Black Lake. As she walked, Claire could feel Charlie behind her. He was close, not uncomfortably close, but protectively close, as though he was ready to jump out to defend them if a threat were to reveal itself. She imagined it was a measure most Prefects took, just in case. No matter the reason, she felt safe with him following closely behind.

     The two of them reached a tree on the beaches of the lake, and Charlie took his seat under the tree, next to the waters. Claire slipped her shoes off, leaving them next sitting next to her new friend, and walked along the shallow coast, letting the waters of the lake lap up onto her bare feet.

     "You're going to get a cold doing that," Charlie commented, a grin stretching across his face.

     "I've got hot chocolate to counter it, I'll be fine," Claire shot back without thinking. As soon as she spoke, she realized what she'd said and her face flushed. She'd never been so dismissive with someone, not even as as joke, as it had been. She looked down at the muddy ground beneath her feet before looking up to meet Charlie's blue eyes, which glinted with amusement. He let out a deep, stomached laugh that shook the hot chocolate inside his mug. Claire smiled back. So he wasn't taken aback by her outburst.

     That was different.

     Claire wasn't used to difference. To change. But that's all that Charlie Weasley was. Difference, change, a new ripple in the waves that broke the tedium of it all. It was the very opposite of her.

     That new discovery brought only one thought to her mind as she hopped along the shoreline, watching Charlie laugh, hot chocolates cupped carefully in their palms:

     Welcome to your demise, Claire Brewer.