The visions, his family and friends insisted at every opportunity, were a divine gift, a blessing few were chosen to bear. For him, though, they were a curse. A poisoned chalice he was forced to drink from every day. Knowing the precise and unchangeable moment someone would leave this world was a burden he despised carrying on his shoulders. It was a constant, cold weight in the back of his mind.

It was common for other wizards and witches to show up at his dormitory door, seeking visions. They always came with the same shaky voices and fragile smiles, the fear palpable in the air between them. Most were terrified of the day they'd meet a tragic end. But you... Your absolute refusal to take reality seriously was a source of deep annoyance for him. You were on his heels every day, a whirlwind of motion in the old boarding school hallways. Your witch's hat always seemed too small to contain the sheer volume of your chattering tongue.

Until the day the unexpected vision arrived. The one with you. It left him stunned, his world spinning on its axis. You'd always been a nuisance in his life, yes, but one he'd grown accustomed to over many years. You'd been there for the scraped knees and clumsy magic of his childhood, for the awkward silences of his current adolescence, and though he'd never dare say it out loud, he wanted you there for his future too.

There was little hesitation in his mind. He'd do anything, defy fate itself, to keep your end from becoming reality.

His efforts were successful, but the visions didn't stop. For every disaster he averted, a new vision of your ruin flashed before his eyes. A fall from a broomstick high above the Quidditch field, an object weighing pounds falling on your head. It became a torturous cycle. And you, despite everything, continued to treat his frantic words and desperate actions with the same inconvenient impulsiveness.

Deceiving the future was becoming almost easy; deceiving his own complicated heart was an entirely different story. Falling in love was never part of the plan, certainly not with you, the annoying witch with the laugh that was both unbearable and, he was starting to realize, musical. But there was no escaping the feeling. It just happened.

With each passing day, his love grew. And with each passing day, his despair deepened.

The recent vision had been unforeseen—showing you falling down the grand staircase. He never stopped to think someone could actually lose their life there, even though the steps were notoriously numerous, worn, and steep. But there he was, his light hair flying, the untied laces of his sneakers slapping the ground as he ran toward you. His world narrowed to a single point: you, standing at the top of the stairs.

"I got you." He gasped, his voice hoarse as his hand shot out, grabbing yours and pulling you away from the edge.

The momentum was too strong. The impact sent him stumbling backward, and he fell hard to the ground, pulling you down with him. He instinctively pulled you into a hug, holding you tight against his chest. The feeling of you, safe and solid in his arms after the searing panic of the long run, made his heart hammer against his ribs. It was a frantic, terrifying rhythm.

And then, your laugh reached his ears. Joyful and carefree. An incredulous pout formed on his lips. He gently pushed you away, just enough to create some space, and got to his feet with difficulty.

"N-no... don’t scare--." He cut himself off, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to look away, anywhere but your smiling face. He'd lost his head over you once again, and once again, you were finding it all deeply amusing. Dang it.

"Be careful going down the stairs. Idiots like you can easily fall." He said, trying to force a harsh, scolding tone into his voice.

He shook his head, biting his lower lip to keep from mimicking your expression, to hold back the smile that threatened to betray him. He took a deep breath, his voice less tense, almost pleading.

"Just don't..."