January Sixteenth
The week unfolded beneath a relentless deluge of rain, as if the very skies wept torrents of sorrow upon the ancient grounds of Hogwarts. The icy tendrils of January's chill wrapped around the castle, urging students to seek solace within the comforting embrace of the crackling fireplace.
Amidst the gloom, however, came Reese’s twelfth birthday: January 16th. Dad had sent her a parcel that contained copies of books he had read when he was in his first year at Hogwarts, and a handful of Mars Bars.
"Happy birthday!" Dean exclaimed, his face lit up with genuine delight, as Reese entered the bustling Great Hall for breakfast. The aroma of freshly baked pastries mingled with the lively chatter of students, creating an atmosphere charged with anticipation. "How does it feel to be twelve?"
She shrugged nonchalantly, "About the same."
Dean's grin widened mischievously, "Well, not to spook you, but Lacey fully intends to sing to you in every single class."
"Excellent. You better not encourage that."
But Dean was not done, and with a lyrical cadence to his voice, he added, "Ah, you didn't let me finish." he sang cheerily "I fully intend to sing with her." His words resonated with a cheerful melody, infusing the air with a sense of joy and mirth.
As predicted, Lacey sang out her birthday wishes to Reese in every class that day, enlisting the support of her fellow Gryffindors in the process. Amidst the musical fanfare, Reese found herself oscillating between amusement and embarrassment. She spent most of breakfast hiding her face in her hands and avoiding eye contact with everyone.
"Psst," Ron whispered from behind her as they settled into their seats for Charms class. The room hummed with anticipation, desks arranged neatly in rows, and textbooks neatly stacked. "It's your birthday, right? Happy birthday."
"What?" Lavender's voice, filled with astonishment, pierced through the air, capturing the attention of those nearby. "It's your birthday?"
"Yes!" Lacey, unable to contain her exuberance, joined the conversation. Her voice reverberated through the room, drawing the curious glances of their classmates. "Oh, can we please sing? Please!"
Yes!" Flitwick clapped at the same time Reese abruptly said "No."
"Happy birthday to you!" Undeterred by her protest, Lacey, fueled by the infectious enthusiasm of her fellow Gryffindors, raised her voice. In a chorus of jubilant celebration, Dean, Lavender, and some of the other Gryffindors joined in, their voices blending harmoniously in the time-honored tradition of a birthday serenade. The rhythmic melody of "Happy Birthday to You" swelled in the air, accompanied by the laughter and cheers of their peers.
Reese buried her face in her hands at the chanting students and snickering Slytherins. Even the typically composed Hermione couldn't suppress a smile, her amusement momentarily betraying her stoic demeanor.
Transfiguration proceeded just the same—Professor McGonagall didn't sing, but her lips quirked up at the synchronous squealing of the first years.
Reese found herself ensnared within the humdrum confines of the Potions class, yearning desperately for a respite from Lacey's ceaseless serenades. She prayed fervently that Lacey's vocal cords were too worn out to break into a song, for the mere thought of another boisterous performance made Reese tremble. The weight of the room seemed to bear down on her, exacerbated by the disapproving gaze of Snape, their austere Potions professor. His dark eyes, like twin orbs of unyielding judgment, surveyed the classroom with an intensity that amplified the tension in the air. Each passing moment fueled Reese's trepidation, for she knew all too well that any disruption would only serve to further entice Snape's ire. The sinister chuckles emanating from the group of Slytherins nestled in the distant recesses of the room only fueled her distress, their pleasure derived from witnessing her torment.
Lacey, undeterred by the looming repercussions, remained resolute in her pursuit of spreading joy, unfazed by the potential consequences that hung heavy in the air. "It's Reese's birthday today, you know." Lacey had declared. Snape glowered at her, but she didn't seem to notice. She could hardly get the first word out before he abruptly shut her up. "Happy—"
"Be quiet, you incessant girl," he spat. The Slytherins that sat near Reese in the back couldn't seem to suppress their chortles. "There will be no singing in my classroom. I will not hear another word of it."
"Happy birthday, Lupin," Blaise Zabini, positioned by Reese's side, seized the opportunity to interject, his voice dripping with rough sarcasm as he aimed his words at her. "Maybe if you'd ttop trying to make an enemy out of our Professor, you'll live to see the next one."
"I didn't do anything," she hissed, "I never said I askedfor the singing."
"Maybe you should get some more tolerable friends," Blaise, embodying a demeanor that begged for a retaliatory strike, shrugged callously, his nonchalant gesture exuding an air of arrogance that bordered on the edge of provocation. The temptation to respond with a well-placed blow grew stronger, fueled by his insufferable demeanor.
Yet, Reese's words, laced with a mixture of frustration and disdain, "Says you—friends with Malfoy —"
"Happy birthday to you!" Lacey began to sing as loudly as she could before Snape could yell at her, and Reese groaned and lowered herself in her seat, shielding her eyes from the giggling Slytherins.
"This," she whispered to Blaise who made no effort to conceal his amusement, "this is my nightmare."
Reese endured yet another round of spirited singing during Herbology, as the infectiously vibrant Professor Sprout encouraged Lacey's merry troupe of vocalists, leaving Reese utterly defenseless against their musical onslaught. The melodies reverberated through the greenhouse, filling the air with a bittersweet symphony that only heightened Reese's longing for respite. By the time classes drew to a close, an overwhelming desire to vanish from the presence of Gryffindors, Slytherins, and anyone in between consumed her thoughts.
Dean, seemingly undeterred by the day's boisterous celebrations, shared an enthusiastic tidbit as they ascended the seven floors to their common room. His words swirled with excitement, revealing Lacey's unyielding conviction that the upcoming gathering was solely dedicated to Reese's birthday. "Lacey is thoroughly convinced that the common room party is for you,"
"Oh, Lacey, no —" Reese turned to stare at Lacey, mortified.
"It is for you! What else could they possibly be celebrating?"
"Maybe the recent Quidditch victory?" She replied warningly. Lacey shook her head abruptly and when they entered the common room, the party was, in fact, not for Reese.
She raced up the stairs just as Lacey's receding voice declared, "Guys, it's Reese's birthday!"
Her dormmates had come back up the stairs some time later as Reese crumpled up a Mars Bars wrapper and tossed it into the paper waste bin across the room.
"That almost hit me!" Lavender squealed, holding her chest as if she had nearly suffered a heart attack.
"Did you enjoy your birthday?" Hermione inquired from her space across the room. Lacey looked at Reese with pleading, hopeful eyes. So, she put on her most impressive smile and nodded.
"Best birthday ever."
🗡🗡🗡
The approaching full moon had brought Reese to the infirmary for her first appointment with Pomfrey. The previous few meetings had been skipped by Reese, although she was unsure how many more of these absences she could afford to have. She had ditched Hermione in the library earlier, coming up with an excuse of another detention, and left before being given a stern rebuke. Her frequent vanishing acts had made it increasingly difficult to shake Hermione off her back, but Reese was determined to avoid detection.
"Reese, hello!" Pomfrey enthused when she spotted her trudging into the infirmary.
Pomfrey was still tending to a student—the older Slytherin boy, who Reese vaguely recognized as Urquhart, had suffered a concussion while playing Quidditch, as she heard him whine, and Pomfrey was still mending him up.
"You can head down there, dear, and I'll be with you shortly."
Reese slumped onto the bed, draped in a half-drawn curtain. Pomfrey soon arrived, feeling for any signs of fever on Reese's face. Despite Reese's grimace and reluctance, Pomfrey carried on her examination.
"How have you been feeling?" Pomfrey inquired with a concerned tilt of her head. Reese shrugged listlessly, her gaze drifting upward to the ceiling.
"I'm fine," she muttered.
Pomfrey sighed patiently. "Professor McGonagall will require a detailed report."
"Headaches, I guess," Reese muttered, wringing her hands.
"And how often would you say?"
"Every day," Reese replied.
"What else?" Pomfrey pressed on, delving into the myriad of sensations that assailed Reese's body: aching bones, hyperactive senses, and unrelenting fatigue—all terribly relentless.
This full moon was more severe than the last. Everything hurt more, with a fierce agony that Reese tried to muffle. But despite her best efforts, the sounds of her anguished screams echoed in the night, chasing away all silence. And though she tried to strain them, Reese knew McGonagall and Pomfrey heard her agonistic screaming as they retreated from the shack each night; it was getting hard to look them in the eye the days following every transformation.
The following morning, a knock on the door preceded Pomfrey's entry, a gesture that left Reese wondering if the nurse had heard her whimpering. She hadn't made it to the cot before she collapsed, so when Pomfrey made her open her eyes and roll over on the hardwood floor, it made her ache far more intensely. She wore a troubled frown when she saw Reese’s reddened face and bruised jaw.
After further examination, she paused. "Dear, we have to take you back so I can fix this—these injuries are far more extensive than I thought."
And they were. Once Reese had been, ever so slowly, hauled back to the castle, the rickety hospital bed felt much warmer than ever before. But her respite was short-lived. She winced when she lay on her stomach, a sharp pain shooting through her abdomen, her body protesting against even the slightest movement. Pomfrey's careful inspection revealed the extent of Reese's injuries, and the sustaining of her most severe scar yet: a long, gaping slash from her right shoulder to her left hip.
Each breath felt like a battle, and speaking was a Herculean task.
Reese did not attend classes that day.