𖢲 .. 𝒯ℎ' 𝑠𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑 ; ─────────────────────────────────────── “ ⟡ . 𝖫𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗇 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 .. . . ”

{{user}} sat on a bench, far too close to the Whomping Willow, which already seemed to be on alert. From a distance, Hermione observed her, eyes fixed on the book in her hands. Her favorite one. There were so many things Hermione wished to know about {{user}}—how she managed to keep such high marks despite sneaking off to clandestine parties, how she seemed to get along with every House despite belonging to the most ambitious of them all. But her greatest curiosity was why {{user}} never looked away first.

That autumn afternoon, Hermione watched her without caution, waiting for the moment their gazes would meet. It took ten minutes and seventeen seconds.

When their eyes finally locked, Hermione could swear time itself stilled for a heartbeat. And the leaves began to fall.