people love an ingénue

"I'm passing this around. Any students that wish to remain here at Hogwarts during the forthcoming holiday, sign your names, and pass it to your neighbor." McGonagall instructed, the paper surfing its way across the Gryffindor table.

"Careful, Lacey!" Lavender squealed, intercepting the parchment as it was fumbled by the clumsy girl, snatching the list from her sticky hands. "You nearly dropped it in the pumpkin juice!"

"Oops, sorry!"

"Are you staying over the break?" Dean's question hung in the air, seeking an answer from anyone willing to respond. Reese nodded in affirmation, her gaze fixed on Lacey as she swiftly inscribed her name onto the list with determined strokes of the quill.

"You are, Lace?" She inquired, peeking across the table to see Lacey’s upside-down signature. She nodded in determination.

"I am not returning home to wear stupid sweaters with my brother and sing Christmas carols!" Lacey declared, voice filled with conviction. 

Dean couldn't contain his amusement, his hand clamping over his mouth to stifle his laughter. "You have to sing Christmas carols?"

Reese shot a warning glance and he subsided. 

"Lacey, do your parents even know you intend to stay?"

She mumbled, "No."

Lavender rolled her eyes dramatically. "They'll think you've gone missing!"

Lacey thought for a moment, lips twisting in contemplation before she conclusively deduced, “They’ll get over it. Besides, I’m right here!”

"What about you, Reese? Are you staying?" Dean inquired, eliciting a shrug from the reticent girl over Lacey's incoherent grumbling.

Truthfully, despite the deep longing she harbored for her father's company, a practical consensus was reached that remaining at Hogwarts to observe the full moon would be more pragmatic than returning home. Medical attention was more readily available here under Pomfrey, who was versed in virtually every magical healing spell known to wizard-kind.

"My father is away visiting my grandmother," Reese stated, concealing the truth with a certain degree of finesse. "It would have been... dull."

Taking the list from Dean as he waved it in her face, Reese appended her signature to the document with a measure of caution, taking pains not to betray any indications of dishonesty. "And your mum?" Lavender probed as she plucked a piece of fruit from Lacey's plate, making Lacey swat her away and prompting a weak reply from Reese.

"She's unavailable," Reese made up lamely.

"Hey, Lace, do you know if Dad—" A blond boy nonchalantly strolled over to their table, his sun-kissed hair cascading over his forehead and his yellow tie loosely draped around his neck. He paused when he saw the list and caught it from Reese’s hands before she could blink.

"Ugh, Lacey, quit doing this." he reprimanded, swiftly obliterating her name from the list with purposeful strokes of the quill once he’d spotted it. Lacey emitted an exultant yet disbelieving shriek, her eyes transfixed on the vacant space where her signature once proudly resided.

"Ernie! I hate you!"

"You're not staying over break," he affirmed, sinking his teeth into a succulent apple and deftly returning the revised roster to Reese's possession with a half-heartedly apologetic glance her way.

"I don't get it," she said as they watched Lacey’s brother retreat back to the Hufflepuff table and resume his spot beside Hannah Abbott. "I thought you and your brother got along."

"Yeah, we did. But now that I'm a Gryffindor and he's not, we are on opposing sides!"

"Please, that's ridiculous—"

"He's the rival, Reese! He's who we will be competing with in Quidditch next year! He's the competition!"

"We?"

"Y'know," Dean began from beside her, "You could get Fred and George to train you for Quidditch. They're on the team, and I think they'd do it. For a price, of course."

Reese couldn't help but snort in response, "You think I want to play Quidditch?"

"Excuse me!" Lacey interjected harshly, "Of course you're playing Quidditch! I can't try out next year alone!"

"Lacey," Reese's voice was laced with resignation, "I'm not athletic. Farthest thing from it, actually. I am not playing Quidditch."

Lacey's frustration boiled over as she slammed her fist onto the table, drawing amused snickers from Dean. "Reese," she declared forcefully, causing heads to turn their way, "I swear, you will try out for the Quidditch team with me. I am not doing it alone, so don't even try to get out of it!" 

Reese slouched in her seat and shielded her face, "All right, Lacey. Now please sit down!"

Lacey beamed with satisfaction, her victory evident on her face, as she resumed eating her breakfast.

"I can ask them for you," Dean suggested once his laughter had waned.

"Dean, I don't have any money to pay them with in the first place." She wasn't that disappointed, though. She would have rather paid them to not teach her Quidditch.

With a careless wave of his hand, he said, "Pay them with your services. They're always looking for people to help with their products. They are in much higher demand after one kid got nasty boils from head to toe from testing some gumdrops. Now everyone is steering clear—until they build their merchandise, of course."

Reese chewed on her lip, contemplating the decision, before finally relenting, "Fine, all right, I'll do it."

Lacey's face lit up with joy, and she reached across the table to squeeze Reese's cheeks, exclaiming, "Thank goodness for you!"

"Yeah, yeah.” Reese rolled her eyes,barely concealing a smile, “Are they doing it after the break?"

Dean let out a snort of laughter, shaking his head. "You wish. The twins are staying here over the holiday to work on their projects. S'pose they are more 'in their element' here rather than at home."

"Great," Reese grumbled with rough sarcasm, "Quidditch in the deadly cold. I can't wait."

"Well," Dean shrugged, "You won't be totally alone, I reckon. Harry and Ron are staying, too. Hermione's returning home for the holiday—so they won't be so preoccupied."

She nodded considerably and, as if they had summoned them with the mere utterance of their names, Ron tapped her on the shoulder from behind—Harry was shuffling impatiently just a few paces away.

"Sorry, guys, we need to borrow Reese for a moment." 

She obediently trailed behind Ron as they entered a desolate corridor, the ambient temperature taking a sudden plunge. The frigid air pierced their skin, and the biting mid-December wind whipped against their faces, carrying with it frosty particles that seemed determined to freeze everything in their path.

"We wanted to ask, erm," Ron hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances with Harry. "Since you spend so much time in the library—"

"Hermione mentioned it," Harry interjected, as if to reassure her that they weren't prying into her affairs.

"Right, so we were just wondering if you..." Ron's voice trailed off, and Reese felt her patience wearing thin. "Do you happen to know how to access the restricted section of the library?"

Her jaw slacked and she almost exuded a laugh, "Pfft, no. I wish—that would be cool."

Harry and Ron exchanged wary looks again and she glanced between them with hesitation. "Why—erm, why do you need to get to the restricted section?"

They exclaimed in unison, "Nothing!"

"Is it something that could lose us fifty more points?" Reese grinned. They did not. "Is it... dangerous?"

Their eyes widened and she mirrored them. "Blimey, well, sorry. I don't know how to get into the restricted section. If you do, though, let me know—maybe snag me a few books." She said, only half kidding.

Once they had let her go, Hagrid let them wave their friends off on the Hogwarts Express.

🗡🗡🗡

Once Lavender, Lacey, and Hermione left for winter break, it was the first time Reese got to be alone. Unlike ever before at Hogwarts, she had the entire dorm to herself. The spacious room now belonged entirely to her, a haven of quietude amid the bustling castle.

The next full moon came just on the cusp of Christmas season, kicking off the holiday spirit as she spent it ripping herself apart in a little rotting shack behind the Whomping Willow. 

On Christmas morning, Reese sat amidst a pile of presents, the sole occupant of the dormitory, opening presents by herself, at first, before Ron came knocking on her door and invited her to open gifts with him and Harry in the common room.

"Bloody hell," Ron exclaimed, dropping his box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and spilling them across the floor, as Harry draped a silvery cloak over his body like a cape. The way the cloth snaked across the floor made it appear as if it were woven from water. As if the fabric were imbued with a mystical energy, with an otherworldly hue that held the trio transfixed.

"How?" Harry stared down at himself in disbelief, eyes wide with incredulity.

"I've read about those," Reese mused, her gaze fixed on Harry Potter's seemingly floating head, her face twisted in deep contemplation. "Invisibility cloaks are really rare, who gave you that?"

Ron was already scrounging around on the floor for a tag as Reese spoke, his hands darting between the scattered beans until he sprung up, triumphantly clutching a slip of parchment. With eager anticipation, he skimmed the words written on it. "It doesn't say who it's from!" he continued to read, "Harry, this belonged to your dad?"

"What?" Harry blurted, bewildered, peering down at the note. “‘Use it well’?”

Ron and Harry exchanged wide-eyed glances, their faces mirroring their shared bewilderment. Reese observed their expressions and didn't need to exchange a word to grasp their unspoken realization. They had stumbled upon their opportunity—the means to access the restricted section of the library.

Harry's eyes widened with a flicker of surprise as he discerned the melodious sound of cheerful skipping drawing nearer. Swiftly, he deftly concealed the crumpled cloak, its gossamer folds tucked away from prying eyes. And then, with a dramatic flourish, the dormitory door swung open, and in an effervescent burst of vivacity, the Weasley twins burst into the room. Their presence radiated an irresistible energy, an aura of playful mischief that effortlessly dispelled any lingering doubts or fears that might have gripped them.

The two mischievous figures adorned matching knitted sweaters, meticulously crafted with care and adorned with distinctive letters. One sweater proudly displayed a bold yellow G, while its counterpart boasted an elegant F. Ron, with a hint of discontentment, begrudgingly slipped into his own garment, his murmurs of disapproval highlighting his distaste for the ‘rubbish maroon’ hue that adorned the fabric.

"You know, Ronnie, I'd wager that Reese would cherish the sweater much more than you if you want to keep blubbering. You share the same initial, after all." George shot a wink at her just as Fred subsided his snickering.

"Speaking of Lupin," Fred sauntered around the sofa, swinging an arm around the Lupin in question. "We heard you're interested in taking lessons from the experts."

"I hope you don't mean you," A grin tugged at Reese's lips as he clutched his heart, feigning a melodramatic moan of pain.

"Ouch, Reese! Of course, we mean ourselves. We'll gladly share our knowledgable skills, and all we need in return is your expertise and brilliant pranking mind."

She almost laughed at that. Exactly what brilliant pranking mind?

“You got lucky,” George waved a hand casually. “That boy Dean is quite the negotiator.”

“You want to play Quidditch?” Ron blurted, and she shrugged.

”Against my will. Lacey's making me.”

“I want to play, too,” Ron continued as if she hadn’t uttered a word. “It’s too bad first years aren’t allowed.”

Harry shuffled awkwardly next to him. “Lacey's still cross with me about that,” he admitted, “She’s always glowering at me during classes.”

During breakfast, Reese found herself caught in a web of perplexity as she contemplated her unlikely involvement in Quidditch lessons, despite her innate aversion to sports. She engaged in a futile attempt to rationalize her decision, seeking to explain why she was willingly subjecting herself to such athletic endeavors when her lack of athleticism was all too evident. (“Oh, come off it, Ron, at least she'll be spared the wrath of Lacey,” Fred teased, “Unlike Harry.”), and the rest of it trying to convince the twins to not have them practice in the blistering cold. Her efforts to dissuade the twins proved to be in vain, as they remained resolute in their decision.

As disappointed as she had been that she wasn’t able to spend Christmas with her father, Reese was having enough fun at Hogwarts to try and distract herself from it. Her lips were a quivering purple and her cheeks were flushed a deep red by the end of her brutal snowball fight against Harry, Ron, and the twins—that she had admittedly lost. 

By the time they got to the Christmas feast, they were utterly famished. With only a handful of students remaining at Hogwarts during the holiday, they were all gathered at a single table, which appeared sparsely populated in comparison to its usual bustling state. However, even with the reduced numbers, the grandeur of the feast remained undiminished. The long table was adorned with an array of delectable dishes, each one meticulously prepared and presented with the utmost care, showcasing the culinary prowess of the Hogwarts house-elves. The sight of the sumptuous spread sparked a renewed sense of anticipation, as they eagerly took their seats, ready to indulge in the feast and savor the flavors of the holiday season.

"We have some special tricks up our sleeve for the Slytherins," Fred grinned mischievously from his seat, directly across from Reese. His eyes twinkled with anticipation as he leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "Anyone in particular you'd like us to torment?"

Reese's mind sifted through her memories, searching for any encounters with the cunning members of Slytherin house. Then, a vivid recollection surfaced—the image of Draco Malfoy, his arrogant demeanor on full display after a particularly contentious Quidditch match. She couldn't help but feel a surge of disdain for the haughty young wizard. “That boy Malfoy sure is a tossed, isn’t he?”

"Excellent," George sang, "because we have just the thing to add to his shampoo."

As the boisterous atmosphere of the Christmas feast lingered in the air, Fred and George found themselves fully immersed in their mischievous plotting. Their minds buzzed with ideas and their laughter echoed through the corridors as they made their way back to the Gryffindor common room. Reese, on the other hand, felt a weariness settle upon her. The relentless brainstorming had taken its toll, leaving her with a throbbing headache and a sense of exhaustion that begged for solace and quietude.

Excusing herself with a gentle smile, Reese bid the twins farewell and navigated her way through the castle's corridors. The vibrant energy and animated conversations surrounding her seemed to blur into a distant hum as she focused on finding respite in her own room.

Dean was exuberant in sharing with Reese the details of his holiday break, from the presents he received to the festive decorations adorning his home, even the gifts he managed to purchase for his mother with his limited funds as a twelve-year-old.

"Is that new?" Dean reached over to tug lightly at the blue oval lapis that was strung around a silver chain on her neck.

"Yeah," Reese peered down at the long, dainty necklace before stuffing it under her collar. "It's from my dad—Christmas."

"Mm, I like it. Pretty." He hummed, only half-coherent as he chewed on a cauldron cake.

Reese maintained an air of indifference as the other girls in her dormitory trickled back in with the arrival of January. Hermione, always the diligent scholar, was instantly engrossed in the contents of her newly acquired books, immersing herself in the world of knowledge they held within their pages. Lavender, on the other hand, busied herself with the art of experimentation, her focus directed towards the array of colorful potions and makeup adorning her vanity. As for Lacey, her ecstatic demeanor was impossible to ignore as she ceaselessly boasted about her latest acquisition - a gleaming racing broom, a gift bestowed upon her by her doting parents.

By the time Reese reached the Quidditch pitch to meet with Fred and George with her school-provided broomstick, they had already been hanging idly in the sky. When the latter spotted her, however, they gracefully descended from their elevated perch, landing deftly on the ground, their movements accompanied by the subtle rustling of robes and the soft thud of boots meeting the earth.

"We're prepared to deliver you to Pomfrey once you get brutally injured." Fred grinned teasingly, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"You really think I'll be that bad?" Reese retorted, her own amusement shining through her words.

"Oh, we know you'll be that bad," George chimed in, hopping back onto his broomstick with a fluid motion. "Can you fly, or do we need to teach you that, too?

She rolled her eyes, mounting her own broom, "I can fly. In case you were unaware, Madam Hooch's class is a requirement."

"Ah, yes, the ickle years," George remarked with a reminiscent tone. "Hooch wasn't a fan of us, was she, Georgie?"

"No, she sure wasn't, Freddie," George responded, the memory of their mischievous escapades during their early years of flying lessons still fresh in their minds, eliciting a shared chuckle between the twins.

By the time they took their places in the sky, Reese was still wobbly on her broom, her movements betraying her lack of finesse. As Fred and George directed them to do laps around the Quidditch pitch, she found herself trailing behind, her speed no match for the swift and seamless flight of the twins.

"Keep up, Reese!" Fred's voice carried over the wind, a playful taunt laced with amusement. His grin shimmered with a mix of challenge and camaraderie. With effortless grace, he completed two laps while she struggled to complete just one, eventually circling back to fly beside her again. "I thought you said you could fly.

"I never said I was good at it!”

As Reese ascended higher in the vast expanse of the sky, her initial uneasiness on the broom gradually gave way to a newfound sense of confidence and control.

The exhilaration of riding a broom, the wind rushing through her hair and the panoramic view stretching out beneath her, ignited a fire within Reese. The thrill of flight, the sheer freedom and liberation it offered, surged through her veins, setting her heart ablaze with adrenaline. It was an indescribable sensation, a fusion of joy, excitement, and a hint of audacity.

With each swift maneuver, she reveled in the exhilarating dance between broom and sky, her body harmonizing with the magical instrument beneath her. Her worries and doubts melted away, replaced by a sense of pure exhilaration and the desire to explore the limits of her newfound flying prowess

The transition from flying to passing Quaffles proved to be a formidable challenge for Reese, who struggled to find her rhythm in this new aspect of Quidditch. In all honesty, she was abysmal at it, her coordination faltering as she attempted to juggle the demands of staying on her broom while clutching the ball. Every attempt ended in frustration, as the Quaffle slipped from her grip time and time again, eliciting groans of exasperation from Reese.

Fred and George, however, found immense amusement in her struggles. Their laughter echoed through the air as they deftly swooped beneath her, expertly catching the wayward Quaffle before it could crash to the ground. What started as a training exercise had now transformed into a lighthearted game for the mischievous twins. They reveled in the challenge of racing each other to retrieve the fumbled Quaffle, turning Reese's moments of ineptitude into a source of entertainment.

Despite their best efforts and numerous attempts, Reese's performance in various Quidditch positions remained consistently underwhelming. Whether it was chasing the Snitch, seeking out elusive targets, or even taking on the role of a Beater, she seemed to falter at every turn. Her swings with the bat were overly forceful, causing her to lose balance and spin off course in a comical display of incompetence. The twins, unable to contain themselves any longer, erupted into fits of laughter, doubling over with mirth.

"Don't worry, it's wise to leave the Beating to us," Fred declared, a mischievous glint in his eyes mirroring his brother's triumphant smirk. "We don't want you replacing us, now do we?"

George joined in the playful banter, his hand thoughtfully scratching his chin as if he were contemplating a matter of great importance. "I reckon she'd be a smashing Keeper.”

"I reckon you're right, Georgie."

And they were right. Unlike the constant movement and unpredictability of being a Chaser or Beater, as a Keeper, she found solace in holding her ground and guarding the goals with unwavering focus. It became a game of observation, a test of her keen eyes and strategic mind.

Perched between the goalposts, Reese's gaze never wavered as she studied the opposing team's every move. Her eyes darted across the field, capturing every nuance of their formations, analyzing their strategies, and predicting their next move. She became a master of anticipation, able to read the intentions of the opposing Chasers, swiftly positioning herself to intercept their shots with impeccable timing.

After an arduous session of trial and error, where Reese bravely endured the relentless onslaught of Quaffles and collected her fair share of bruises, the trio finally concluded their training for the day—mostly because Marcus Flint, the Slytherin captain, had come storming out and told them to leave ("Get off the pitch, blood-traitors! It's our turn!"). George had even suggested tampering with a certain Slytherin's broomstick before they left.

With a sly smile and a mischievous glint in his eye, Fred devised a plan that played to Reese's advantage. Recognizing her lack of a suspicious track record, which essentially meant she had none, Fred saw an opportunity to employ her as the unsuspecting infiltrator. Although the preparations were swift, Fred took a few precious minutes to go over a crucial spell with Reese, ensuring she was equipped with the necessary knowledge to carry out her clandestine task.

"Brilliant, Lupin, you've done it!"

Reese returned George's high-five as she exited victoriously. "Consider it my first form of payment."