Howl of the Pitch
As November unfurled its wintry embrace, the ambient air grew frigid, seeping into their lungs with a biting chill. Their exhalations materialized in ethereal wisps, a testament to the frost-kissed atmosphere. Stepping outside, their senses were immediately enlivened by the briskness that nipped at their cheeks, leaving a rosy tinge in its wake. Each blade of grass, once vibrant and verdant, now lay dormant beneath a delicate mantle of frost, glistening like a crystalline tapestry.
Yet, with the onset of the new month came the commencement of the Quidditch season. The inaugural match, a clash of rival houses Gryffindor and Slytherin, was scheduled to take place on the first Saturday of November. Lacey, consumed by an intoxicating blend of enthusiasm and fervor, implored her companions to rise at ungodly hours, braving the biting cold in a quest to claim the most coveted seats.
As they ascended to the stands, Lacey propelled herself with unbridled enthusiasm toward a front-row seat, her exuberance palpable in her every movement. Lavender and Reese, weariness clinging to their every step, followed in her wake, their energy subdued by the early hour and the chill in the air.
"Lacey, is this really necessary?" Reese asked, clutching her own sweater to find warmth. "The only people here are those Hufflepuffs—and they're just here to finish up their signs."
"I agree," Lavender sighed, "It's so early!"
"Look, there're some people—" Reese followed Lacey's outstretched finger, directing her gaze downward where a procession of Gryffindors and Slytherins descended upon the stadium, branching off into their respective sections. Among the sea of students, her eyes caught sight of Hermione, her steps imbued with a sense of spirited enthusiasm, accompanied by Ron, their camaraderie evident in their synchronized movements.
"Hey, Mione," Lacey gushed, nudging Ron out of the way. Reese grinned at his dubious expression.
"Are you ready to win?" Dean's voice rang out from behind Lavender, who was preoccupied with adjusting her jumper sleeves. "Touchdown!"
Lacey emitted a disapproving grunt and moved away from him, clearly unimpressed with his lack of Quidditch knowledge. Dean just snickered and draped a Gryffindor scarf around Reese's shoulders. "School spirit!"
Reese raised her gaze and beheld the grandeur of the now crowded stands, teeming with eager spectators. The piercing blast of Madam Hooch's silver whistle reverberated through the stadium, serving as a catalyst for the ascent of fifteen brooms that soared into the sky. The brooms, pulsating with an intense energy akin to a swarm of bees, painted a vibrant tapestry against the clear sky.
"Look! There's Harry!" Ron cried, pointing to the Seeker boy in the sky. He looked ready to hurl just as a Bludger shot past his head.
Lee Jordan, adorned with the responsibility of delivering the match commentary, found himself under the watchful gaze of Professor McGonagall, who scrutinized his performance strictly.
"And Angelina Johnson snatches the Quaffle, the great—and very attractive—Gryffindor Chaser!"
"Jordan!" McGonagall snapped.
"Oops, sorry, Professor."
Dean and Reese couldn't help but stifle their laughter, earning a scolding glance from Hermione, who disapproved of their levity. The Quaffle danced through the air, swiftly transitioning between players, creating a mesmerizing back-and-forth rhythm. It began with Alicia Spinnet's skilled pass, followed by a swift interception by Slytherin captain Marcus Flint. However, their momentum was short-lived as Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor keeper, seized the opportunity and claimed possession. The Quaffle then found its way to the capable hands of Katie Bell. Suddenly, the game took an unexpected turn when Flint was struck by a malicious Bludger to the back of his head, forcing Adrian Pucey to assume leadership in his absence.
"Oh—but not for long, nice Bludger shot at Pucey by, uh, one of the Weasley twins. Can't tell which. Oi, a nasty Slytherin Bludger shot at Gryffindor Chaser Bell—"
"Yes!" Lacey cried out as the Bludger struck the Gryffindor Chaser's back.
"Lacey, sit down! That's your own team!" Lavender hissed, pulling her arm down to the seat.
"Oh, right!"
"...Come, on now, Angelina—Slytherin Keeper Bletchley dives for it and—too slow—Gryffindor scores!"
The stands erupted in a cacophony of applause, the collective fervor of the spectators resonating through the air, except for the resolute Slytherin contingent. Amidst the commotion, Reese felt a peculiar presence overhead, and as she craned her neck upward, her view obscured by a pair of oversized binoculars, she encountered the towering figure of Hagrid, his massive frame occupying her field of vision.
“Isn't quite the same watching from the hut, is it now?” he remarked, as Ron and Hermione shuffled to accommodate his frame. “Any sign of the Snitch?” Hagrid inquired.
Ron shook his ginger head just before it was spotted, glistening spitefully in the sunlight. Just as the radiant orb broke free from its concealment, its metallic surface gleaming with an almost malevolent allure under the sunlight, both Harry and the Slytherin Seeker, Terence Higgs, instinctively propelled themselves into a synchronized descent. The players below, momentarily suspended in awe, halted their respective endeavors, their gazes fixated on the mesmerizing chase unfolding before them.
A symphony of exultant cries erupted from their throats, reverberating through the crisp air as a collective wave of exhilaration engulfed the Gryffindor supporters. Their fervent cheers reverberated like thunder, each voice an instrument harmonizing in unison. With bated breath, they witnessed their valiant Gryffindor Seeker, propelled by sheer determination, hurtling through the ethereal expanse of the sky. Neck and neck they soared, the Gryffindor and Slytherin Seekers locked in a breathtaking race, their movements a blur of skill and agility. And then, in an instant that seemed to defy the laws of time, a resounding impact reverberated through the stadium, punctuating the pulsating atmosphere with an emphatic—BAM!
"Ouch!" Dean winced, his features contorting with a mixture of frustration and disbelief, mirroring the collective reaction of the indignant Gryffindors surrounding them. The Snitch, once tantalizingly close, abruptly veered away, its golden glimmer fading into the distance. Amidst the cacophony of the outraged crowd, a sinister plot unfolded before their eyes. Marcus Flint, the Slytherin captain, unleashed a deliberate act of obstruction, a calculated maneuver to impede Harry's flight path. In a heart-wrenching spectacle, Harry's body convulsed in mid-air, spiraling uncontrollably, his equilibrium shattered by the malicious intent of his opponent. A collective gasp escaped the lips of the onlookers, their expressions twisted with concern and apprehension. Hermione, unable to bear witness to the unfolding calamity, instinctively shielded her eyes, her voice caught in a startled yelp.
Dean’s voice reverberated in the tumultuous surroundings, “Red card, red card! Get him outta here!”
Ron retorted acerbically, “This isn't football! We don't know what a red card is!”
Hagrid dissented, “They ought to send him off, ’Arry could’ve died!”
Lee Jordan interjected, “After that obvious foul play by the revolting piece of cheat, Marcus Flint—”
"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall's rebuke brought his commentary to an abrupt end.
"Sorry, penalty to Gryffindor, Spinnet will take it. Easy, Gryffindor is back in possession."
"Look," With a sweeping gesture, Reese directed their attention to Harry, who was caught in a harrowing display of aerial acrobatics. His broomstick swayed precariously, his attempts to regain control proving futile. The once-graceful flight now resembled a desperate struggle against unseen forces, as Harry fought to maintain a steady course amidst the chaos of the match. "What's he doing?"
"Oi, what's goin' on with ’Arry’s broom?" Hagrid shouted gruffly. Hermione and Ron exchanged wary looks.
A collective gasp rippled through the spectators as Harry's broomstick, gripped tightly by his hand, was yanked abruptly upwards. His body swung perilously, suspended in mid-air with only a single hand keeping him from plummeting to the ground. The scene unfolded in surreal slow motion, each second stretching out with palpable tension, as onlookers held their breath, their eyes wide with alarm and disbelief at the precarious predicament of the young Seeker.
"Bloody hell!"
"What is he doing?
"He's gonna fall!"
Silence descended upon the stadium, the deafening roar of the crowd replaced by an eerie hush. All eyes were fixed upon the suspended figure of Harry, his face etched with determination and desperation. Every muscle in his body strained against the forces pulling him downward, his fingers clenched tightly around the broomstick as if his life depended on it. The intensity of the moment was palpable, as spectators held their collective breath, their hearts pounding in their chests. The air seemed thick with anticipation, the outcome hanging in the balance as Harry fought to maintain his tenuous grip, defying gravity's merciless grasp.
"Look, over there!" Dean nudged Reese and they looked at the Slytherin stands, where commotion erupted and bright blue flames were sparking from Snape's robes. "He's back up!"
Sure enough, Harry's tenacity had prevailed as he regained control of his broom. With a renewed sense of determination, he accelerated towards the lower end of the sandy Quidditch field, a streak of Gryffindor red slicing through the crisp air. The audience's anticipation grew palpable, their eyes fixed on the courageous young Seeker as he descended with lightning speed, his focus unwavering. The wind whipped through Harry's hair, his emerald eyes locked onto the golden glimmer that danced and evaded his grasp. The tension heightened, the atmosphere electric, as everyone held their breath, captivated by the thrilling pursuit unfolding before them.
"He's gonna be sick..." Reese winced at the green-faced Harry Potter doubled over on the ground. There was a period of anticipating silence, then—
"I've got the Snitch! I've got the Snitch!" Harry, amidst the cacophony of jubilant cheers, retrieved the elusive golden ball from his own mouth, the source of his discomfiture. The deafening reverberations of exultation reverberated through the air, enveloping Reese's senses in a tumultuous wave of sound. While the clamor threatened to overwhelm her, a radiant smile illuminated her face, creasing it with a giddy delight that mirrored the collective euphoria surrounding her. The resounding roar of the crowd, unified in their celebration, echoed in her ears, its sheer magnitude vibrating through her being. In that moment, Reese experienced an electric surge of exhilaration, uplifted by the infectious jubilance of those around her. Hope blossomed within her chest, its presence growing ever stronger, as Lacey, brimming with excitement, hopped exuberantly, tugging at Reese's arm in a gesture of shared elation. Dean, too, joined in the chorus of whistles and cheers, his contagious enthusiasm radiating from him. In that instance, Reese felt an indescribable sense of belonging—she was finally a part of something.
"What a wild way to start the season," As they made their way back to the dormitories, Lacey's enthusiasm spilled forth unabated, her words flowing like a bubbling brook. The exhilaration of the triumphant victory still coursed through their veins, a radiant warmth that contrasted the lingering tinge of animosity hanging in the air. The echoes of spiteful taunts and derisive insults from the defeated Slytherins reverberated, casting a shadow over the exultant atmosphere. Amongst the slurs and jibes, a peculiar epithet emerged, as Harry was bestowed with the peculiar title of 'Snitch Throat'. The sheer absurdity of the name struck Reese and Dean, evoking an eruption of irrepressible giggles that punctuated the air with their mirthful amusement. "But I would have caught the Snitch with my hands if I were on the team." Lacey concluded. "And ten times faster!"
"Watch it, Gryffindor," a voice sneered. Engrossed in Lacey's animated recollections, Reese's attention was momentarily diverted from her surroundings, rendering her oblivious to the imminent collision that awaited her. She hadn't noticed a sour-faced blond boy running right into her—or, at least, she ran into him. Blaise Zabini stood drastically taller at his side, appearing bored.
"Er, excuse me—" Reese blurted, her eyes momentarily blinking in rapid succession as she regained her equilibrium.
"You're not excused." The blond boy spat.
"That isn't what I meant." She said distastefully, shoulders squaring in defense.
"Careful," Blaise drawled, "She gets into fights."
Reese grumbled something incoherent when he shot a whimsical wink at her. His effortless charm stood in stark contrast to Malfoy's confrontational stance, and as the atmosphere grew more tense, Dean stepped forward, attempting to defuse the situation. However, Malfoy persisted in his aggression, his eyes fixated on Reese with a malevolent gaze, oozing animosity.
The sour blond boy curled his lips into a contemptuous sneer, his expression dripping with disdain. "Get out of my way."
"Excuse me," Reese said agitatedly, "Who are you?"
Amidst the tension, Blaise couldn't contain his amusement, muffling his snickers into his shoulder while the boy seethed with anger, his words stumbling out in a spluttering frenzy. "Who am I? Who am I?"
Reese waited expectantly, rocking on her heels.
"I'm Draco Malfoy!" he snarled after her awaiting silence, and Lacey instinctively took cover behind Dean, evading the intensity of his withering stare. Yet, Malfoy's sneering retort served only to further stoke her defiance.
"Could you move, Draco Malfoy?"
"No—"
"I reckon someone's still bitter about their devastating loss—devastating for you, at least." Reese frowned, "Maybe you ought to get some better players."
He muttered cryptic remarks under his breath and shoved past her roughly. Blaise saluted her. "Long time no see, Lupin."
"Not long enough."
"What a bunch of pricks," Dean's voice carried a hint of weariness as they finally made their way back to Gryffindor Tower. The jubilant scene that greeted them inside was a testament to the collective spirit of celebration. Gryffindors, adorned in their vibrant red and gold regalia, exuded an infectious energy as they swayed to the rhythm of the music that reverberated through the room. The atmosphere was electric, alive with the cheers and laughter of their House mates, who reveled in the triumph of their Quidditch victory.
"To Harry!" The Weasley twins sang and raised their goblets, "The youngest Seeker of the century!"
Everyone cheered for the pink-faced boy.
🗡🗡🗡
It was growing more difficult to keep her secret; everywhere she looked she felt as if her innermost secrets were exposed for all to see. Before Hogwarts, Reese liked being alone. But now, what with McGonagall always watching her and her dismay towards the distance away from her father, Reese made it a point to travel with at least one person by her side; as if, in her supposed solitude, anyone could corner her at any moment to interrogate her. Once content in solitude, she now sought companionship for fear of being cornered by those who sought to unearth her concealed past.
Often she would just walk with Hermione, as she had generally the same schedule as Reese and she always had more than enough to say about herself, making it so Reese wouldn't ever have to spark conversation on her own. Lately, though, Hermione had been drifting more and more away, only ever coming around to furiously scribble notes to herself and whisper about with Harry and Ron. The once familiar strolls they had embarked upon had dwindled, leaving Reese adrift in the sea of her own thoughts. When questioned, Hermione's responses were evasive, and she withdrew into herself, leaving Reese to fend for herself once again.
Reese, grappling with her growing irritability, made a conscious effort to steer clear of engaging in conversations. She understood the importance of maintaining her composure, recognizing that succumbing to her frustrations could risk alienating the few friends she had managed to find in this unfamiliar realm. It was a delicate balance she had to strike, treading carefully to preserve those connections while grappling with her own inner turmoil. In her solitude, she silently resolved to find solace in her own thoughts and navigate the complexities of her current circumstances without letting her frustrations overshadow the fragile bonds she had forged.
The third moon of the school year wasn’t any less vexing than the preceding ones, and Madam Pomfrey's unceasing pestering about checkups and daily antiseptics only exacerbated her mood. Reese invariably declined these offers.
"We'll just patch you up and get you right on up to class, dear."
Reese emitted a faint, noncommittal hum in response, her focus fixed on a distant point as she and Pomfrey occupied a secluded corner of the infirmary. The sting of pain seared through her body as the matron applied the noxious liquid to her open wounds, eliciting a wince from Reese. With each application, Pomfrey offered gentle gestures of comfort—a pat on the shoulder or a soothing stroke of her hair—as if seeking to alleviate not only the physical discomfort but also the emotional weight that accompanied it. Reese's gaze momentarily fixated on the mesmerizing sight of her skin weaving back together, the regenerative process both fascinating and unsettling. Yet, unable to endure the sight for long, she quickly averted her eyes, finding solace in the sanctuary of her own thoughts.
"All done," Pomfrey announced, smiling as she wrapped some cloth around Reese's humerus.
"Can you," Reese began tentatively, "get rid of these?"
Pomfrey's mournful eyes, brimming with a mixture of empathy and sorrow, traced the path of Reese's long, silvery scars before shaking her head. "I'm sorry, dear girl, but I'm afraid not."
"It's fine," Reese muttered. She knew she couldn't, she knew that—she just thought that perhaps the magic was somehow less limited here than it was at home. But now, as she stood, adjusting her robes to conceal the bandages and wounds beneath, she realized that her expectations had been misguided. The magic within these walls could not magically erase the scars that marked her body and soul. She deftly concealed any signs on mending and left the infirmary without another word.
As Reese entered the Great Hall for breakfast, her weary voice betrayed the lingering effects of last night's full moon. Dean, Lavender, Neville, Lacey, and Seamus were already there, eagerly splurging on their hearty meals.
His outstretched hand gently patted the vacant seat next to him, beckoning her to join the lively gathering. "Hey, there you are," he greeted warmly.
"Hi," she croaked, her voice still hoarse from the long hours of last night's full moon.
"Hungry?"
"Starving." Despite her lack of energy, Reese's ravenous hunger remained unabated. With a mix of exhaustion and determination, she artfully adorned each quarter of her bread with four different spreads, creating a colorful and indulgent masterpiece. Her choice of toppings elicited laughter from Dean, who couldn't help but find amusement in her inventive and voracious appetite.
"I've never seen anyone fix toast like that," he mused.
She rolled her eyes, "Be quiet, that's how my dad makes it for me."
He smiled, a warm kind, "That sounds nice." before reaching over her plate to snatch a piece.
"Hey!" She swatted his hand, but he was already halfway through. He licked his lips.
"Yum.”
"Ooh," Lacey cried, reaching out from across the table, "let me try!”
"Sure," Reese droned, pushing the plate toward her, "Go right ahead." Seamus and Lacey reached for it and the last piece was given to Lavender, though she ended up spitting it out.
"Ah, we're only playing, Lupin, here you are." Dean dished her some waffles, fruit, and toast with jam and marmalade.
"Have you seen Hermione?" Reese asked absentmindedly to anyone who'd listen, pouring a generous amount of blueberry syrup over her breakfast, the rich and vibrant hue cascading over her plate, pooling around her food.
"Dunno.” Dean said, mouth full.
"I saw them," Neville piped up timidly, "In the library, I think."
Hermione, Ron, and Harry became inseparable denizens of the library, their presence felt within its hallowed halls for the span of an entire week.
🗡🗡🗡
"Okay..." Dean trailed off, flipping open his textbook. "A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot—"
"You're kidding—you're planning to make us read through the whole book?" Lavender immediately objected.
"That does sound like an awful lot," Lacey said with a tired yawn, "We won't get to the Thanksgiving Feast in time at this rate! And I'm starving!"
"Not the whole book, guys," Reese assured, scanning the table of contents. "We're just being tested on the first couple of chapters to see how well we retained what we've learned so far."
Lacey hummed, "I don't get it."
"You want to get to the feast in time, don't you?" Dean drawled.
"Yes!”
"Then let's get to it. The Great Migration Theory; As seen in animal behavior, migration is..."
As they delved deeper into the subject matter, their minds were subjected to a relentless barrage of knowledge. From the majestic realms of ancient Greece and Rome, where gods and goddesses roamed, to the enchanting realms of card games and magical incantations, their intellectual journey knew no bounds. They explored the mysteries of Uno Mas, unraveling its intricate strategies and subtle nuances, while Hocus Pocus beckoned them into a world of mesmerizing illusions and captivating tricks. From the enigmatic Olmec civilization to the Maya, they delved into the rich tapestry of ancient cultures, deciphering the hieroglyphs that adorned forgotten temples and unearthing the secrets of their remarkable achievements.
Lacey's stomach growled with increasing hunger, Lavender succumbed to slumber, Reese's quill hand ached from constant note-taking, and Dean's voice became hoarse with exertion.
"Are you coming?" Dean asked as loudly as he could muster now. Reese thought and shook her head.
"No, I'm just going to go to bed, I think."
"Do you want me to go with you up there? I'm sure I'll be back in time—"
"No, no, go eat. I'll see you guys tomorrow."
"Alright, I'll sneak you some food at the end, in case you get hungry."
On the following day, the sky was ashen and melancholy. Lacey had planned to cajole Dean, Lavender, and Reese into attending yet another Quidditch practice—as if any of them were even on the team in the first place—but Reese was called down to McGonagall's office before the crisp morning air could assail their faces.
"Reese, thank you for being so prompt, do sit down." McGonagall smiled thinly at her. Reese took a seat in the familiar squashy chair.
"I believe it would be prudent for you to meet with Nurse Pomfrey once a week, at the very least, during the two weeks preceding future full moons. She will assess your symptoms and mitigate their severity—"
"I don't have any symptoms." Reese interjected in protest, her alreasy questionable mood quickly depleting.
"I am well aware that you experience chronic headaches and heightened fatigue during the time leading up—'
"Hospital visits over headaches?—"
"This is not my first time with a student of your condition. I am more aware than you think—"
Reese's countenance furrowed, and her tongue wagged faster than her mind. "No, this isn't my first time. You're not the one locked in that house, I am."
"Enough," McGonagall silenced her with a raised hand. An uncomfortable silence ensued, with Reese's palms marked by her nails. "This is non-negotiable."
Before Reese could bemoan her impertinence or feel guilty for her outburst, she left the room without bothering to ensure the door closed silently behind her.