February 12th, 1895 - Near the Art Classroom

“Oh, no…” her whisper is soft, disbelieving as she recounts. The number does not change. “…oh no, no—”

Her feet took flight before her brain could catch up, her panicking, fluttering heart giving them wings; she was out the common room door in a few strides, thoughts picking up pace with her feet like she’s riffling rapidly through the pages in a paperback, trying to remember where—

Oh, she stops, pivots, and takes another hallway. The room near the art classroom – where the same-name club had held a small meeting; she must have left one of her journals there.

By the time she retraced her path all the way down from the Ravenclaw tower, her breathing was rushed and her cheeks a touch flushed – though whether it was from her frenzied hurry through the corridors or her own panic is anyone’s guess (even hers). When she reached the classroom in question, she halted herself with a hand on the door frame…

Please, she thought, taking a moment, unsure if whether she was hoping her journal would still be there, full-stop, or also that no one had found it; maybe both. Her finger tips turned white at either prospect, giving herself another moment to catch her breath.

Steeling herself, she stepped the threshold with a click of her shoes—

And found only one of her wishes fulfilled.

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