Moonlight and Merriment
In the midst of the bustling student body, Hermione emerged as a steadfast companion, illuminating their shared path through the labyrinthine corridors of academia. With her astute intellect and unwavering dedication, Hermione served as an intellectual beacon, guiding Reese through the intricacies of their classes.
In the hallowed halls of the castle, Hermione's encyclopedic knowledge seemed boundless. Every corridor, every portrait, and every staircase held no secrets from her inquisitive mind. With unwavering precision, she led them through the twists and turns of the castle's architecture, effortlessly navigating the myriad pathways that connected their classrooms and common room.
In the midst of her time spent among her fellow Gryffindors, Reese had gleaned glimpses into the intricacies of their lives. These newfound insights had woven intricate threads of understanding within her perception, illuminating the diverse tapestry of their backgrounds and aspirations.
Dean's family circumstances had unveiled themselves, revealing a heartfelt connection to his muggle mother, whom he cherished with a devotion that transcended his own self-interest. The absence of knowledge regarding his father's magical lineage left Reese contemplating the notion of being unequivocally Muggle-born. Did such uncertainty render one's heritage any less significant? The question lingered in her mind, a testament to the complexities of bloodlines and the multifaceted nature of identity.
Ron Weasley, with his endearing mix of affection and exasperation, had confided his sentiments regarding the intricate dynamics within his bustling family. Amidst the laughter and camaraderie that bound the Weasley siblings, Ron navigated the intricacies of being one among many, each vying for attention and affection. Bill, the eldest, had forged a path in Egypt, working within the storied walls of Gringotts Bank. Charlie, the second eldest, pursued a passion for dragons in the distant lands of Romania, immersing himself in the rigorous training and care of these majestic creatures.
Percy, albeit briefly encountered, exuded an air of unyielding seriousness. His disposition seemed burdened by a lack of levity, locked within the confines of responsibility. Reese couldn't help but wonder about the intricacies of his inner world, the reasons behind his perpetual solemnity.
The mischievous duo of Fred and George, their Gryffindor spirit shining brightly, left an indelible mark on Reese's perception. These two audacious souls, relentless in their pursuit of mischief and laughter, embodied the quintessential Gryffindor spirit. As Beaters on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, they reveled in the thrill of the sport, infusing their antics with a sense of spirited rebellion. Their dreams of opening a prank shop, once their NEWTs had been conquered, ignited a flicker of uncertainty within Ron.
Lastly, there was Ginny, the sole daughter amidst a sea of boisterous brothers. As Reese contemplated the dynamics of siblinghood, she marveled at the unique experiences Ginny must navigate as the lone girl among six rambunctious siblings. The bond they shared, forged through the ebbs and flows of siblinghood, remained a marvel to Reese, an uncharted territory she yearned to comprehend.
Within the confines of their shared dormitory, Reese found herself traversing the intricate terrain of her three dormmates' distinct personalities. Though their interactions were often brief, a prevailing sense of camaraderie and understanding underscored their bond.
Lacey, possessed of an indomitable spirit, seized any opportunity to voice her impassioned grievances. Her words spilled forth like a rushing river, carrying the weight of her frustrations. It was her Hufflepuff brother, Ernie Macmillan, who held the center of her ruminations. Their separation due to the sorting ceremony, an unavoidable consequence of Hogwarts' tradition, seemed to cast a shadow over their shared dreams. Lacey mourned the shattered vision of playing side by side in the sacred realm of Quidditch, their aspirations now consigned to divergent paths. Reese listened intently, her mind weaving through the intricate strands of siblinghood dynamics, attempting to unravel the intricate tapestry of expectations and ambitions that fueled Lacey's impassioned resolve.
Hermione's studious nature was a constant source of inspiration for Reese. Her unwavering focus and relentless work ethic served as a shining example, leaving a deep impression on her. Reese observed with admiration as Hermione delved into her books and pored over her notes, her deep concentration evident in the furrow of her brow and the intensity of her gaze. Beyond her scholarly pursuits, Reese caught glimpses of Hermione's multifaceted character. Beneath her serious exterior, she detected moments of warmth and kindness that revealed Hermione's compassionate nature. Reese appreciated these glimpses, recognizing that Hermione's intellectual brilliance was complemented by a genuine empathy for others.
Lavender, a whimsical soul with stars in her eyes, seemed perpetually enchanted by the enchanting realm of young love. Her conversations danced with an air of anticipation, as if she were embarking on a delightful journey to explore the delicate nuances of romantic connections. Amidst the tender age of eleven, Lavender reveled in the whimsy of selecting potential suitors from among their male counterparts, her heart aflutter with fluttering butterflies and dreams of fairy-tale romance. Reese observed her friend's innocent fascination with a mix of amusement and curiosity, marveling at the beauty of youthful infatuation and the fragile realm of burgeoning affections.
"Boys? Plural? What, do you not believe in the concept of monogamy?" Reese replied as Lavender was adjusting her hair in the reflection of her spoon from across the table.
"Of course, I have to keep my options open, silly." Lavender insisted with unwavering confidence.
She stared in contemplation as the blonde put down the spoon and began retying the purple ribbons in her hair. Reese couldn't help but be struck by Lavender's self-assurance. She had never encountered someone so certain of themselves, and yet, she couldn't quite bring herself to trust her. Lavender's self-assurance seemed to radiate from within, painting her interactions with an air of certainty that Reese found both admirable and unfamiliar.
Reese's circle of companions was sparse at best, as she often found herself meandering the hallways or retreating to a quiet corner of the library. Reese found solace in her own solitary wanderings, often venturing through the winding hallways or seeking refuge in the hushed corners of the library. Amid the bustling corridors and animated conversations, she felt a sense of detachment, preferring the embrace of her own thoughts over the clamor of companionship. She had discovered a hidden haven, a spacious ledge beneath a grand window overlooking the Slytherin dungeons, which swiftly claimed the title of her favorite hiding place. Within the embrace of its quietude, Reese could briefly escape the relentless apprehension that plagued her interactions.
It was as if she couldn't near a living soul without being afraid they'd know her secret by one fleeting glance—even the ghosts made her uneasy. The watchful gaze of Professor McGonagall, an ever-present sentinel, intensified her wariness, reminding her of the need for caution and discretion. With her stern demeanor and vigilant eyes, the professor kept Reese perpetually on guard, amplifying the undercurrent of tension that threaded through her daily existence. And then there was Hermione, a force of relentless determination and acute perception. Her focused determination and razor-sharp attention to detail made Reese instinctively wary. Normally, Reese would have avoided her at all costs.
But lately, something had shifted. During classes, Hermione or Ron would bombard Reese with questions about a Nicholas Flamel, as if she had any idea who that was. Hermione's tenacity eventually led her to discover a Famous Witches and Wizards Card that Reese had been using as a bookmark, and scolded Reese for not showing her sooner—as if Reese knew it was somehow significant.
On that serene Sunday, Reese sought solace within the hallowed walls of the Gryffindor common room. The allure of the great outdoors had enticed most students to revel in the embrace of the sun-drenched air, savoring the last vestiges of summer before the imminent arrival of autumn. The stillness was only disrupted by the sound of pages turning as she delved deeper into her book.
"Hey, Reese," Dean's voice echoed through the quiet common room, breaking the spell of solitude that had enveloped her. From the stairs, he bounded down with an exuberance that matched the warmth of the sun outside. "Fancy venturing down to the Great Hall? It's deserted today, and I can't seem to find anyone."
Reese flashed him a playful smile, her eyes glimmering with a hint of mischief. "Ah, I see I was your first choice then," she teased, her voice laced with gentle sarcasm. "How kind of you to seek my esteemed company."
He expelled a lighthearted laugh, eyes dancing with mirth, "Oh, come off it."
With a nod of agreement, Dean allowed Reese to savor the final pages of her chapter before embarking on their journey. As they descended the seven floors, the castle's corridors remained eerily devoid of life, their footsteps echoing in the quietude. The only spectral presence they encountered was Nearly Headless Nick, who floated by in a state of melancholic lamentation, bemoaning the Headless Hunt. Or lack thereof.
"Why won't they let him join?" Dean asked as they settled at the Gryffindor table, a chessboard appearing between them. "He's headless enough, isn't he?"
"I suppose they prefer their headless companions to have a clean and decisive decapitation," she remarked with a hint of amusement.
"Gross!"
They had spent the next hour playing Wizard's Chess, and the hour before that, they had spent teaching Dean how to play Wizard's Chess.
"Blimey, is that one yours?" Dean gawked at the giant bird that came swooping through the Great Hall. He shrieked very little-girl-like when it landed on his head.
"He's harmless," Reese reassured him as she untied the envelope from the bird's leg. "See, he likes you."
Dean's eyes bulged in fear as Reese removed the talons from his hair. "That creature does not like me. He's plotting a gruesome murder, I'd say," he declared, frowning.
"Oh, man up, Futz is harmless,"
" Futz ?“
Dean continued to ramble as she tore the letter from the envelope addressed to her and raked her eyes over the messy cursive scrawl.
Reese,
I hope you are enjoying your first few weeks at Hogwarts! I miss you. It's different here at home without you. I’m so proud of you, my Gryffindor. Make sure to focus and enjoy yourself, and do not forget to focus on your studies and find moments of happiness amidst the challenges. You are so wonderful! Keep up the good work!
Also, remember that the next full moon has arrived. Please be safe. Professor McGonagall will show you where to begin when the time comes.
Your courage knows no bounds, my sweet girl.
Love, Dad.
Reese frowned, and, as if on cue, McGonagall tapped a bony finger to her shoulder and the professor's voice, imbued with both authority and concern, beckoned Reese to "take a walk" with her. Reacting swiftly, Reese deftly folded the letter and secreted it away into the depths of her pocket. With a mixture of curiosity and a tinge of trepidation, she yielded to McGonagall's silent guidance, their steps leading them outside into the mysterious embrace of Hogwarts' grounds.
"As you know, the next full moon is quickly approaching, and the time has come," McGonagall's voice resonated softly, their footsteps echoing down the seemingly endless corridor. The professor's words were carefully measured, designed to be heard only by Reese's ears, shielded from the prying attention of passing students.
Reese knew. It had dominated her thoughts for the past three weeks, a relentless presence that loomed over her consciousness. It's all she ever thought about, really. McGonagall didn't await a response.
"This is the place where your father ventured," McGonagall reminisced with a tinge of solemnity. Reese couldn't help but feel irked by the way the professor spoke of him, as if he were no longer among the living. "Rest assured, you will be situated at a sufficient distance from the school grounds, ensuring your safety, yet near enough to make a prompt return when the time comes."
Reese followed McGonagall down a meandering path that led to a colossal tree, the infamous Whomping Willow, exactly as her father had described. The tree emitted a low groan as the wind rustled through its branches, evoking an eerie sense of foreboding. Its twisted limbs quivered in the breeze, as if issuing a warning for her to retreat, and under the dimly lit sky, it assumed a far more menacing presence. When they finally stood before the thick, dark trunk, McGonagall underwent a swift transformation, shrinking and morphing until a yellow-eyed tabby cat occupied her place. The process seemed much faster than hers. Reese wondered if it hurt for her, too.
The agile feline maneuvered deftly between the tree's thrashing branches, evading them with remarkable ease. Reese marveled at the cat's grace as it skillfully navigated the treacherous path. The ancient branches groaned and creaked before gradually coming to a halt, as if obeying some unseen command. Without hesitation, Reese followed the cat, stepping into the narrow passageway that lay beyond.
The dreary little house that sat at the end was littered with cobwebs and spiders. She wondered if the last person that had spent a night here was her father, all those years ago.
As Reese approached McGonagall, the Transfiguration professor had seamlessly transformed back into her human form, regaining her composed demeanor. The young girl's gaze swept across the dilapidated room, the remnants of a forgotten time frozen in the decaying walls and worn-out floor. There was a distinct lack of anything noteworthy to explore—only a meager, threadbare mattress with a haphazardly arranged bundle of sheets atop it, and a corner adorned with a pile of gauze and bandages, serving as a somber reminder of the purpose of this desolate place. Reese wasn't quite sure what she was expecting. Perhaps a cage. Or a muzzle.
"Nurse Pomfrey will be here at the crack of dawn to tend to you and get you back to school before anyone awakens," she paused to look at Reese, eyes sad. Expecting another recounting of her father's achievements, Reese braced herself for a eulogy of accolades and virtues. However, to her surprise, the professor's gaze held only genuine concern and compassion. With a tenderness that threatened to pierce through her defenses, McGonagall reassured Reese of her safety, leaving her on the verge of vulnerability. "You need not worry, my dear. You are in good hands."
McGonagall looked about ready to hug her to tears, and Reese shuffled in discomfort at the thought. Instead, she folded her hands in front of her, bid Reese goodbye, and locked the door hard. Reese practically choked on the dust that swirled around the room when it slammed shut. She could hear about five clicks, and she wondered if those extra locks had always been there, or if they were a recent, precautionary, circumstantial addition. She desperately hoped it wasn't the latter.
Reese's body convulsed with searing intensity, a symphony of pain coursing through her veins. Each cell seemed to pulsate with a molten heat, as if a torrent of fire raged within her. She fought against the mounting agony, teeth gritted and breath held, determined not to succumb to the primal urges surging through her transforming form. Bones cracked and contorted, elongating and contracting in a chaotic dance of growth and shrinkage. A primal roar threatened to escape her clenched jaws as her once-human hands gave way to formidable claws, their sharpness sinking into the decaying floorboards beneath her. The very essence of her being was in flux, a metamorphosis that defied comprehension. Her skull split and reformed, reshaping her features, while a thick pelt of fur erupted from her ravaged skin, providing a new protective layer.
Time seemed to blur as Reese endured the excruciating metamorphosis, her agonized cries blending with feral hisses that echoed through the desolate room. Every passing minute felt like an eternity, a relentless cycle of torment and transformation. And then, as abruptly as the torment had seized her, it released its grip, leaving Reese standing there in her full, unleashed form.
In that moment of respite, she fought to feel gratitude, directed not only towards the protective measures that kept her confined within the room but also towards the merciful void that shrouded her memories during her transformation. She knew, deep down, that there were horrors hidden within those lost hours, untold tales of destruction and pain. She never wanted to know what she did, what she hurt, what she killed, what she did to herself. She didn't want to remember. She refused to dwell on the potential horrors of what she might have done in her transformed state, burying those memories deep within the recesses of her mind.
As the transformation reached its peak, Reese's mind clouded with a haze of instinctual urges and primal desires. Memories of past transformations were shrouded in a thick fog, an unspoken agreement between her conscious and unconscious mind.
She caught glimpses of moonlit landscapes, the sensation of raw power coursing through her veins, and the taste of the night air mingled with the scent of earth and prey. But they remained fleeting, elusive fragments that slipped through her grasp, refusing to form a coherent narrative.
As the moon's ethereal light waned, Reese's body convulsed once again, this time in reverse. The excruciating pain surged through her as her spine snapped back into its original form, reducing its size with each sickening crack. The transformation back to her human self was a rapid and disorienting process, the metamorphosis that had taken hours condensed into a mere fraction of the time.
Her once animalistic features retreated, reshaping themselves to reflect her eleven-year-old girl form. The fur that had covered her body receded into her skin, replaced by smooth human flesh. Claws retracted, leaving behind the delicate contours of her fingers. The daunting fangs that had protruded from her mouth receded, allowing her lips to reform.
Wrapped in a tattered sheet, she lay on her meager cot, weeping in agony. Suddenly, Madam Pomfrey arrived, ahead of schedule, bearing medical supplies in tow.
"Oh, dear, this is just—" She pressed the back of her warm hands to Reese’s reddened, tear-stained cheeks. "Come, let's get you fixed up."
She handed Reese a small vial containing a bitter potion, its scent wafting through the air with a hint of medicinal potency. With a weak but encouraging smile, Madam Pomfrey guided the girl's trembling hand to hold the vial.
Resolute, Reese brought the vial to her lips and swallowed the potion, her face contorting at its bitter taste.
With meticulous care, Madam Pomfrey then turned her attention to dressing Reese's wounds. Her skilled hands moved gracefully, guided by whispered incantations that carried the power of restoration. The protective cloth she applied to the torn skin seemed to emit a faint glow, as if weaving a shield of gentle magic around the wounds.
Until they reached the school, Pomfrey remained silent. Reese changed out of her tattered clothes and into a hospital gown, concealing her injuries, and was able to arrive to the common room before even the Fat Lady had stirred from her nocturnal respite.