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DESPITE HER ATTEMPTS to disprove the colorless title, the students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry couldn't have elected a more ill-fitting label for Esther King. The moment she was sorted into Hufflepuff, she had been swept aside into the nagging stereotype of unabashed meekness. Throughout her six years at the school, she had been seemingly viewed as a delicate infant of sorts. Esther upheld a heated disagreement with her reputation, as she, personally, considered herself rather outspoken; however, it appeared that the outdated behavioral impression of the Hufflepuff house had washed away any opportunity she had to prove her peers exorbitantly wrong. Esther wasn't alone in the struggle for reestablishment, as her housemates accompanied her in acquiring daily assumptions of frailty. Esther wasn't burdened by unfiltered fury in reference to the situation, she merely longed for the day when she could tie her shoes without someone expecting her to tumble over as she did so. Esther King was incontestably not bashful, and her attitude would not be deterred by the thoughtless expectations of her contemporaries. It wasn't until fiery leaves twirled off their swaying branches, rekindling their affair with the drowsy October grass, that Esther's contrasts were noticed.
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The classroom brimmed with humidity and ceaseless complaints. The dark stone walls bore the stains of past failures, some of which had the potential of fatality, given the subject. A symphony of frustrated cries harmonized with the occasional detonation of a cauldron, the strenuous brewing process causing several students to regret their pursuit of Advanced Potions. "Your recipe must be followed with acute precision. The Draught of Living Death is an exceptionally tricky brew!" Professor Slughorn instructed, a hint of amusement in his eyes. Esther stirred her concoction, observing her classmates' poor efforts in cutting their Sopophorous beans. Wielding her knife, she furrowed her eyebrows in momentary thought. Turning the blade to the side, she crushed the bean with ease, her lips curling upward slightly. From the desk of Severus Snape, a look of perplexity sailed toward Esther. She gave a small shrug, turning her attention to the approach of Professor Slughorn. He surveyed the potion as Esther attempted to read his aura. "Good gracious, Miss King. It's spectacular!" Slughorn boomed. Esther glowed with pride, glancing back in Severus' direction. He observed her with narrowed eyes and a quill in hand, scratching something down in his Potions book. Esther was alight with self-satisfaction as she departed from the dungeon, a small skip brightening her step. An arm hooked with her own, and a familiar voice greeted her. "Well, you look quite chuffed." Esther's younger sister, Ivy, said cheerfully. In one hand, Ivy carried a stack of schoolbooks- which belonged to Esther the previous year. The other hand secured a half-eaten apple. Esther gave a small shrug, "Potions went my way today." "Does Potions ever not go your way?" Ivy snickered. Esther chuckled, watching the stone floor rolling along with her quick steps. The sisters continued through the busy halls, conversation flowing easily. Other than the occasional trivial spat- which is to be expected between siblings- the pair had always clicked rather effortlessly. A quiet grace seemed to illuminate Ivy King's footsteps, wherever they might take her. Chocolate curls cascaded down her shoulders, bouncing as they went, framing the fiasco of freckles highlighted by ceaseless joy. As always, Ivy's laughter echoed through the corridor upon the retelling of the comical portions of Esther's day. The callous surface beneath their feet surrendered to the abrupt crunch of crimson leaves blanketing the courtyard. Various cliques occupied the clearing, palavering, studying, and- in the case of James Potter and his assemblage of incendiaries- partaking in blatant delinquency. Esther surveyed the rowdy gathering of Gryffindors as she settled onto one of several concrete benches. She repeatedly ran her fingertips over an aggravating snag in her jumper as her dark eyes followed the Quaffle- undoubtedly embezzled from the Quidditch pitch- through the autumnal air, and directly into the hands of Sirius Black. A dimple shown in his left cheek as he fired an acerbic dictum, along with the ball, bullishly at James. Despite the brisk breeze stirring up the scarves of countless students, Sirius' raven waves had begun to cling to his forehead. "You'll be sweating like that when exams roll around, too," Remus Lupin mused from behind his textbook, "You'd think homework gives you a rash, the way you avoid it." The words barely escaped his lips before the Quaffle soared toward his head. A minute smirk danced across Esther's lips as their banter continuously amplified, emblazoned by Sirius' rather vivid swearing. Though Esther King and Sirius Black had yet to pursue a formal introduction, they were acquainted through assumption. Esther's father, Russell King, had an exceedingly negative opinion of Sirius' relatives; throughout his years as an acutely successful Auror, Mr. King had stumbled upon strictly the most unpleasant branches of the Black family tree. If reputation proved genuine, and the purity of one's magical bloodline held greater urgency than common civility, Esther would be deemed repulsive in the eyes of Sirius Black.
"It's gonna be a good game tomorrow, Gryffindor taking on Slytherin..." Ivy said, seizing Esther's thoughts back to reality, "Are you going?" "Hufflepuff isn't playing." Esther shook her head, earning a giggle from her sister. "Neither is Ravenclaw," Ivy stated, her uniform proudly embroidered in cobalt and bronze threads. "You should still come, to support the Gryffies if nothing else." Esther elected that the topic was far too fresh to commit to, seeing as she may very well decide to be tucked in to bed by eight-thirty the next evening. In order to flip the subject without the objection of her sister, Esther began to ask chicane questions about Astronomy. Ivy was still elaborating the origin stories of the constellations long after the courtyard had cleared, and the rolling hilltops had enveloped an exhausted sun.
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The harmonic crackle seeping from the fireplace lulled the Hufflepuff common room into unclouded serenity. Warmth overlaid the honey-washed atmosphere, and peppermint steam tickled Esther's nostrils as she sipped her tea ardently. She examined the circular room affectionately- from the monumental portrait of Helga Hufflepuff, all the way down to the chipped chess boards on the aged side-tables. Sinking further into the plush, mustard yellow armchair, Esther was certain that further contentment was unachievable. Suddenly, a small tap at the window plucked her from peace. Her eyebrows knitted together as she craned her neck to peer out the distant glass. Her gaze was met by the colossal eyes of an unfamiliar Spectacled owl, a poorly torn piece of parchment clamped within its beak. Esther's crocheted socks met the cobblestone and within a few steps, the bulky bird was permitted entry. She fished a biscuit from the tin on the windowsill, exchanging the treat for the owl's burden. Esther unfolded the parchment curiously, revealing a scratchy cursive script:
