Typical Disclaimers Apply

A/N: Hello! Welcome to the prequel to the Esme Slain fics! If you haven't read them then you can either start with this one or with But You're My Best Friend! If you have read them, then you should know that this starts in her seventh year of Hogwarts and doesn't encompass her childhood whatsoever. If you don't like OC fics, than I would recommend you go read something else. If you don't like OC fics and you flame this, then I will be forced to laugh at you because you obviously don't know how to follow directions. However, if you do like OC fics and you do review, then you will win a special place in my heart (hint, hint!).

You know your life is sad when you dream about Potions. Of course, those dreams may not be so sad if you're a Potions Master, in which case your life is sad in general and whatever you dream about isn't going to change that; or if you're studying for a major Potions test or have just finished a three-foot essay on the proper usages of Draught of the Living Dead, then it's perfectly acceptable to dream about Potions. But when you're seventeen, it's summer, and the only thing on your mind is how to make the perfect Polyjuice Potion, then there is only one word for your life: sad.

Even so, Esme Slain wouldn't have defined her life as sad. It certainly wasn't normal, but it typically didn't focus around Potions. She had a social life. She had friends, and a (somewhat strange) family life. There was no logical reason why every dream she had this summer involved her, alone in the dungeon, feverishly adding ingredients to a bubbling cauldron while Professor Snape chastised her from over her shoulder.

Perhaps it was the first symptom of an upcoming mental breakdown.

Her dream was disrupted just as she was adding lacewing flies and Snape was calling her useless; a loud shriek had completely filled the entire space around her, including any space between her ears where dreams could reside.

"He's here!" a squealing mass of red hair and freckles screamed, her whole body nearly going into convulsions. Of all of her foster siblings, Ginny Weasley had to be Esme's favorite, mainly because she was the only one who had mastered chewing with her mouth closed. But still, she wasn't perfect like Bill, brash like Charlie, annoyingly intelligent like Percy, loud like the twins or...well, Ron was rather nice too, but he wasn't a girl, and was thus fairly odd and rather foreign. If not for their six year age difference, Ginny and Esme would have been best friends; even so, she made a fine little sister.

But no matter how fine the little sister or how awful the dream, nothing could justify getting up before noon during the summer. Nothing.

"...and you'd better be down there soon if you want any breakfast," Ginny was saying. "Mum's in a right state. The boys took the car to get Harry and he's sitting right in our kitchen! He is right in our kitchen just eating his porridge so come on get down there before he leaves!" finished Ginny, squealing and shaking Esme's shoulders. Esme reached out and smacked her sister with a pillow. "Fine, then. I'll tell Mum you don't want any brekkie." She flounced out of the room just seconds before Esme pushed her covers off and ran after her.

The breakfast table was only slightly more uproarious than usual. Fred and George were wolfing down slices of toast as though they hadn't been fed in months. Ron, too, was eating like a starving man, although he was making an effort to converse with the skinny dark-haired boy to his left. Molly and Ginny were watching over the whole scene, Molly scornful, and Ginny blushing so hard Esme feared her head might explode.

When she stepped into the kitchen, Molly's frown relaxed slightly, turning into more of a tired grimace than anything else. "Good morning, dear," she said kindly. "Harry, you know Esme, don't you?" Harry looked up and must have been trying to smile, but a mouth full of food sort of ruins the effect. "She's our oldest daughter."

"Foster daughter," Esme quickly corrected, tugging on her chin-length black hair for reference. "I'm not just some genetic dysfunction."

"And yet Mum still likes you better than us," George said cheerfully, his plate finally empty of food.

"Mum likes the ghoul better than you two."

Molly rolled her eyes, but didn't offer any solace towards the twins farther than, "Go de-gnome the garden."

"Now, I trust you two enough to spend this on books and only books," said Molly as she handed a very small bag of coins to Esme and Percy. "I mean it. Neither of you needs new robes, and the letters said your Potions ingredients should be covered by Professor Snape. Meet us at the Leaky Cauldron by three. Don't get food unless you absolutely need it. And be safe."

"Mum?" Ron called. "We can't find Harry."

Molly turned about, grumbling and pushing her hands through her red hair. Esme turned to Percy. "It's almost like she doesn't trust us, eh?"

"Doesn't trust you is more like it," muttered Percy, stuffing his hands into his pockets and moving ahead.

"Pardon?"

"Don't play dumb. You get in nearly as much trouble as Fred and George, but you barely get any blame for it."

"Please, anyone could have sold those third years firewhiskey. I had nothing to do with it." Percy rolled his eyes and walked ahead. "Look, if you're going to be like this just take half the money and go get your books. I'm going to find Tonks."

Luckily, Tonks wasn't that hard to find. Bright blue hair has that fortunate aspect to it. "So, I'm guessing you're still studying Potions?" asked Tonks, after leaning in for a quick hug.

"Yeah. The new book doesn't exactly inspire confidence though," said Esme as the two worked their way through the crowds to Flourish and Blotts.

"Ah, yes, Horrifically Difficult and Nearly Impossible Potions for the Advanced and Masochistic Potioneer. Who even thinks up a title like that?"

"Apparently," Esme glanced down at her book list, "Diurnius Wilter."

"Another one to add to our list of authors taking revenge on the world because of their name."

The two continued giggling all the way to Flourish and Blotts, where, upon entrance, the giggling promptly stopped. Standing at the back of the store was quite possibly the prettiest grown man Esme had ever seen. He had shiny hair, obnoxiously white teeth, and blue eyes that could, rather accurately, be compared to the sky. Or something else very, very, blue. And, like all pretty grown men do, he was talking about himself.

He also seemed to have his arm around an adolescent boy. Not that that wasn't weird or anything.

"Yes, my dearest friends," the pretty man was saying, "I am pleased and proud to announce that I, Gilderoy Lockhart, the man with the most beautiful smile in the wizarding world, will be taking the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, the only institution deemed beautiful enough for me, Gilderoy Lockhart."

Esme could feel her jaw drop as Tonks whispered, "Snape isn't going to like this."

"Snape doesn't like anything."

"True. Guess this explains all the Lockhart books." Esme nodded grimly in agreement. "It shouldn't be too bad," Tonks said consolingly. "We always manage to make things interesting." She paused for a second. "Do you have any plans for this year? Because the only thing I can think of is—"

"First degree murder?" finished Esme, smiling wickedly.

"Exactly."

A/N: Should I continue? Or was it preferable without prequel?