"𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙖𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙮"
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IN WHICH ~ Jupiter Cassiopeia Lestrange thought she could escape her family's dark legacy at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but in her second year, Tom Riddle's diar...
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"Anyone who takes the time to be kind is beautiful."
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"Mrs. Weasley, you're quite, quite sure no owls have arrived this morning?" Hermione's voice trembled slightly as she paced the narrow kitchen of the Burrow, her hands wringing together as if she could somehow squeeze her anxiety away. Her brow was furrowed, lips pressed tightly as she moved from the wooden table to the stove and back again, glancing every few seconds towards the window.
"Yes, dear, I'd have noticed," Mrs. Weasley replied with a patient smile, stirring a large pot of bubbling porridge. Her tone was calm, but her eyes flickered with a hint of amusement. "But it's barely nine, Hermione. There's still plenty of time..."
"I know I messed up Ancient Runes," Hermione muttered feverishly, her pacing increasing. She stared down at her feet as if replaying the exam in her mind. "I definitely made at least one serious mistranslation... And the Defense Against the Dark Arts practical was no good at all. I thought Transfiguration went all right at the time, but looking back—"
"Hermione, will you shut up?" Ron's voice cut through the kitchen like a knife, sharp and strained. He stood by the window, hands shoved into his pockets, his face flushed. "You're not the only one who's nervous!" His shoulders were hunched, tension rolling off him. "And when you've got your eleven 'Outstanding' OWLs, you can rub it in our faces, okay?"
"Don't, don't, don't!" Hermione cried, flapping her hands as if to swat away the very idea. Her face had gone pale, and her eyes wide in horror. "I know I've failed everything!"
Harry, who had been leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, spoke up quietly, his voice heavy with uncertainty. "What happens if we fail?"
The room seemed to hold its breath, but it was Hermione, once again, who answered. Her voice was small but still carried that familiar note of authority. "We... we discuss our options with our Head of House. I asked Professor McGonagall at the end of last term."
Harry visibly paled, his hand running nervously through his already tousled hair. Jupiter, sitting calmly at the wooden kitchen table, caught the change in his expression. Her dark eyes softened as she leaned forward slightly, her arms still crossed casually.
"You won't fail, Harry," she said in a low, reassuring tone, watching as his eyes darted towards her, full of worry. "All you might fail is Divination and History of Magic, but those don't really matter, do they?"
"At Beauxbatons," Fleur Delacour's voice chimed in smoothly from across the room, breaking the tension. She was sitting with perfect posture beside Bill, her silver-blonde hair gleaming in the morning sunlight that filtered through the window. "We 'ad a different way of doing things. I think eet was better. We sat our examinations after six years of study, not five, and then—"
