With how angry she felt, the girl almost didn't notice the tugging at her robes until the repugnant man in front of her was holding her wand between his grimy hands. The sleek, hawthorn wood had only ever been held by two people in it's life, its maker and Esmè. It had chosen the Slytherin, and she cherished it above any other material item. In the five years since she had received it from Ollivanders, it had become an extension of herself. When Kalif took it from her, he took more than just a magical stick, he'd stolen a part of her. Losing her position in Quidditch paled in comparison to this. Without her wand, she was barely any better than a mewling muggle. How dare he. The Lancaster girl took another step forward, barely listening to what he had to say, but as multiple thoughts crossed her mind, endless possibilities on how she would act next, how she would make him pay, she realised that none of them ended in her favour. There was nothing she could do. To him. She could, she would reclaim her wand, even if it meant coming back and tearing his office apart, but not now. Even she knew when she had lost. Instead, the girl turned away, unable to stand the vile man's face any further. He'd indicated that it was time for her to leave, and she did so, with a new goal on her mind. Powerless or not, there were other people she would make pay. James Adams. Charlotte Owens. Even that Hemi boy. One by one, she was going to find them and take from them the same thing she had just lost herself.
As the seeress passed through the doorway, the corridor in front of her melted away, it's solid state cascading down into a violent vortex of colour, churning together as her very reality distorted itself. In moments, the scene had changed entirely. No longer was she stood inside the confines of the school castle, another building had taken its place, one she was not familiar with. What she did recognise however, was Kalifs face. That, she could never forget. Except, unlike a mere minute ago, he appeared older. She too, felt different. Taller? Another man stood with him, unrecognisable to her, yet somehow she knew exactly who he was. As her eyes further surveyed the room, she found a third face that she knew, better than the others. Vulcan lay on the cold, stone floor, his usual smirk gone and his eyes open, glassy and unmoving. There was no life there. What was happening? Before she had time to process the situation, to even act, Kalif spoke to the man, who began to walk towards her, his wand raised. She wanted to move, to get away from him as fast as she could, but she could only watch, unable to control her own body. The man spoke and fear wretched her heart, before a flash of green light filled her vision, followed by nothing but darkness.
Esmè blinked, the incredibly vivid vision fading as she returned to the present. She stood in Professor Styx's office once more, staring past the man as his voice rang in her ears. He was only a few feet away, yet somehow sounded distant to her, almost as if listening to him while submerged in water. Her view of him was very much the same, until the girl realised her eyes had filled with tears, not quite ready to start running down her face. The Slytherin had just seen her boyfriend, his life taken from him, followed by her own death, yet now here she was, back to being reprimanded by her head of house. Had it been the future? At times, the girl experienced prophetic dreams, minor flashes of what was to come, but nothing as strong as this. Her teenage outburst had led to a much graver outcome. She'd always seen Styx as unpleasant, but never a murderer. But, she had just witnessed him order her to be killed. As she re-oriented herself with reality, the man's voice cleared. He was telling her that she was banned from Quidditch. She hadn't lost control yet, hadn't lashed out at him. Her hand fell to her side, feeling the familiar warmth of her wand through her robe pocket. It was still there. He had yet to confiscate it. She could try to kill him, before he could do the same to her, or she could try and change what she'd seen. Besides, she wasn't sure if it would work. She wasn't going to risk attempting a killing curse on a man if it simply fizzled.
Still trying to piece together what was real and what wasn't, Esmè realised Styx had finished speaking. She hadn't been listening, an empty feeling had taken a hold of her, but she had already heard it all once before. She had a chance to fix things, to stop the outcome she'd seen from taking place. She drew in a breath, an attempt to calm herself down before she spoke. This time, instead of anger in her voice and energy crackling around her very being, she spoke clearly and devoid of emotion. With so much going on, her heart didn't know what to feel and closed itself off. "I understand, professor. I apologise for what I did, and for letting you down. It won't happen again." She stated, unable to discern any of his facial features as they were lost beneath the watery blur of hot tears she was trying desperately to hold back. She couldn't allow herself to cry in front of this demon. With that said and done, she gave him a small nod of her head and turned, exiting the room for the second, though technically first time. The moment the door closed behind her, the tears finally fell. She didn't know what to do. She wanted to talk to Vulcan, or Lucien, or even Aeon, while another part of her just wanted to go to her dorm and sleep for the rest of the year. She felt drained, lost between what she'd seen had what she could do about it. Slumping into an empty seat inside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Esmè left herself to spend the next hour trying to piece herself back together before she could face the rest of the school once again.