people love an ingénue

Defence Against the Dark Arts, a class that Reese once found intriguing and enlightening, now suffered under the weight of their new professor's excessive self-aggrandizement. Lockhart, with his impeccable robes and an overabundance of self-portraits plastered across the classroom, emanated an air of narcissism that was hard to ignore.

"Are those new robes he has?" Lavender whispered with admiration from beside Reese at their desk that sat at the front of the room. Reese simply shrugged, and Lockhart turned to face back toward them, wand in hand.

"Morning, students," Lockhart greeted with an overly jovial tone, his self-assured smile beaming from every direction of the room. "A reminder of who I am—though I'm sure you need no refresher of my achievements—Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award—but I don't talk about that. A pleasure to see all of your bright faces today!"

Reese's gaze shifted to the classroom behind her, observing a scene of lethargy and disinterest. Half of her classmates seemed to have succumbed to sleep, their heads pillowed on their arms, while the others blinked dully at the chalkboard. Suppressing a grin, Reese redirected her attention towards their eccentric teacher, bracing herself for what promised to be an eventful and potentially exasperating class.

Lockhart's eager applause hung suspended in the air, his expectant smile faltering as the anticipated chorus of laughter failed to materialize. Undeterred, he pressed on, his voice dripping with an artificial enthusiasm that contrasted sharply with the lackluster response.

"Harry!" Lockhart's voice reverberated through the classroom, commanding the attention of all who hadn't succumbed to the drowsy clutches of sleep. The gazes of the students converged on Harry, who sat beside Ron Weasley, wide-eyed and bewildered. His mouth opened and closed in a feeble attempt to find the right words, stumbling under the weight of their collective scrutiny.

"Actually, I—"

Before Harry could form a coherent response, the heavy silence was shattered by the swing of the portrait door, revealing two tardy students slipping into the room, their arrival a welcome diversion.

Lockhart's attention swiftly shifted, his voice now tinged with mild annoyance. "Ah, you're late, Mister, um—"

"Neville, sir, sorry." Neville Longbottom's weak smile betrayed his embarrassment, cheeks flushing as the newfound attention washed over him. Meanwhile, Lacey, the second tardy student, hurried past Neville, rushing to claim her seat beside Hermione.

"And I'm Lacey," she interjected, as if her lack of recognition was a trivial oversight. Nonchalantly dropping her bookbag at the foot of her chair, she settled in with an air of self-assurance.

"Yes, yes, I know," Lockhart dismissed her with a careless wave of his hand, his attention already shifting elsewhere. Harry visibly slumped lower in his seat, the burden of the spotlight momentarily lifted, allowing him a sigh of relief.

Professor Lockhart's voice droned on, each word dripping with self-importance as he regaled the class with tales of his supposed heroics. With exaggerated flourishes of his arms and theatrical hand gestures, he painted a vivid portrait of his glorious achievements, all the while showing little interest in the actual subject matter of the class—everyone was quick to pack up and leave when finally dismissed. Dean and Seamus were shaking with mirthful laughter for the entire period, and Reese was quick to crumple up her parchment that was handed out by Lockhart—am absurd list of fifty-four questions about Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite things—and toss it in the paper waste bin on the way out.

Reese fell into step beside Lacey, Hermione, and Harry as she swung her bookbag over her shoulder. Harry peered past Lacey to look at her with a smile, "Reese! Hi, I heard about the Quidditch trials. I'm sorry to hear about the hospital wing."

Reese's heart did a double thump at the mention of it, and she glanced toward Hermione to find that she had a guilty smile on her face. Reese sighed and shrugged with an air of indifference. "It's alright, it was—a misunderstanding."

Skepticism etched across Hermione's features, her disbelief evident, but Reese paid it no mind. As they stepped out of the classroom, a sudden burst of blinding light jolted through the air, assaulting their senses. Blinking away the disorienting fog, Reese's vision gradually cleared, revealing the source of the intrusion—a wide-eyed Colin Creevey, sporting a sizable muggle camera around his neck.

The camera, an alien contraption amidst the wizarding world, seemed to dwarf Colin's frame as he excitedly fiddled with its settings. The disoriented quartet blinked back the lingering spots in their eyes, their brows furrowing with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity.

"Wow, this looks great! Hey, Lacey Macmillan, I think you may have blinked..."

"Wha—What just happened?" Lacey stammered cluelessly, hands over her face.

Hermione's patience wore thin, her voice tinged with exasperation while Harry continued to rub his eyes. "Colin, we've discussed this before. No unauthorized photography!"

"Sorry! Harry, do you want a copy? These are great candids!" The mousy boy was still peering down at his camera with fascination. Hermione tugged Reese along and past the group of students, and she could vaguely hear Harry fumble for a response.

"Sorry about that," Hermione began with uncharacteristic small talk. "He's a big fan of Harry, I advised him not to flash his camera in his face without warning, but he didn't listen."

Reese shifted her bag from one aching shoulder to the other. "It's fine."

Hermione continued. "A bit annoying, really, since I already had to scold Ron for the flying car incident—"

"The what?"

Hermione's voice carried a hint of exasperation as she delved into the peculiarities of Ron's escapade. Reese listened attentively, her weary shoulders protesting the weight of her bag, "Ron stole his father's flying car to get to Hogwarts. That's why he wasn't on the train!"

"Flying car? Those exist?"

"Well, one did. Until they crashed it into the Whomping Willow." Hermione eyed Reese sideways, nearly condescending, "You know what that is, don't you?"

Reese cleared her throat as the flurry of students in the hallway escalated with each opening classroom door. "What do you mean?" 

"Nevermind," Hermione waved a hand. "It's that massive tree located on the grounds of Hogwarts. It swings its limbs with great force and violence—it's very uncommon but dangerous. Rare but perilous. It's ridiculous that they have it here, at a school, where students could get injured by it!"

Reese nodded along with an attempt at casual agreement, coughing awkwardly, "Right, yeah, of course." On the other hand, without the tree's hasty and thoughtless violence towards those who approached it, anyone could access that little house she was forced to reside in.

As they approached the Great Hall, a moment of silence settled between Reese and Hermione. In that brief lull, Hermione's skepticism loomed over Reese like an unwelcome shadow. She regarded her friend with a mix of curiosity and doubt.

"Have you been feeling alright?" Hermione questioned. Reese looked at her in bemusement.

"What? Yeah, I'm fine," she replied, her voice betraying a touch of defensiveness. She quickly shifted her attention, scanning the corridor for a way to divert the conversation.

Undeterred by Reese's response, Hermione pressed on. "Are you sure? You've been spending an awful lot of time in the Hospital Wing, and I don't want to see you disappear again because of your ailments. What are your ailments—"

Before Reese could respond, a welcome interruption came in the form of Lavender's enthusiastic voice. She called out to them, rescuing Reese from Hermione's skeptical scrutiny. "Reese!"

"Lavender!" Reese greeted with relief, grateful for the timely distraction. Hermione sighed in exasperation, momentarily thwarted in her quest for answers, as Lavender rushed to their side.

"Lavender," Hermione acknowledged, her skepticism still lingering beneath the surface. Lavender's presence offered a respite from the mounting tension, allowing Reese to breathe a little easier.

Excitedly, Lavender shared her news. "I just walked with Ronald!" she exclaimed, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. She glanced at Reese and added as an afterthought, "And Lacey and Harry, I suppose, but also Ron!"

"That's, uh..." Reese glanced cautiously at Hermione, unsure if she should congratulate or console Lavender. "Great?"

Lavender continued, undeterred by Reese's lukewarm response. "But you know who else was there?" she asked, her voice bubbling with anticipation. Reese shook her head, curiosity piqued.

"Ginny!" Lavender revealed, her excitement evident. Reese struggled to contain her indifference, her focus already shifting to her bookbag. With practiced ease, she unzipped it and retrieved a book, hoping to find solace in its pages.

"Fascinating." Reese murmured, her voice laced with a touch of sarcasm.

"She was acting a bit strange, though." She noted, and Hermione's eyebrows shot up.

"How so?" Hermione questioned, head tilting in curiosity.

"I don't know, she was quiet. Uncharacteristically so, and she kept rifling through her little notebook."

Hermione's mind engaged in a diplomatic reasoning, weaving together a tapestry of possibilities. Her voice carried a tone of intellectual speculation as she sought to unravel the enigma before them. "But don't you think, Lavender, that Ginny's behavior could simply be attributed to nervousness? After all, it is her first year at Hogwarts. And she is the seventh of her siblings in her family to attend. Perhaps she is just feeling the pressure of following in the footsteps of her older brothers."

Lavender emitted a weary sigh, her shoulders slumping in contemplation. "Yes, I suppose. She was super blushy."

A flicker of amusement danced across Hermione's features, dispelling the seriousness that had momentarily enveloped her. She shook her head with gentle mirth, dissolving any lingering concerns. "Oh, that's just because she was with Harry! Don't worry, Lavender, this isn't strange at all."

Lavender shrugged, conceding to Hermione's reassurance. "If you say so," she replied, her gaze now turning to Reese, who had been absentmindedly thumbing through the pages of her book during their conversation. Curiosity gleamed in Lavender's eyes as she sought to engage Reese in their discourse. "Anyway, what were you two discussing before I joined you?"

Hermione's countenance shifted, her skepticism returning with a swift grace. Her gaze shifted from Lavender to Reese, her voice adopting a subtly challenging tone. "She was just about to answer me about my inquiry, right, Reese?"

Attempting to appear nonchalant, Reese put forth her best facade of casual indifference, though she suspected its authenticity was dubious. "I'd discuss it over lunch, Mione," she replied, lifting her eyes from the pages of her book to scan the bustling corridor leading to the Great Hall. Her gaze briefly snagged on a group of Slytherins making their way towards the entryway, their presence impossible to ignore, "but Blaise and I need to discuss our Potions assignment, and he's annoyingly critical." As if summoned by Reese's words, Blaise Zabini turned his gaze in their direction, his expression marred by an air of disinterest. "And you know how strict Snape is with our marks."

Hermione's brows drew together. "Well—yes, but I—"

Reese hastily severed her connection with Lavender and Hermione, their lingering gazes offering no solace for her hastily concocted excuse. She maneuvered through the throng of students, skillfully navigating the corridors in an attempt to evade Hermione's piercing scrutiny. With hurried steps, she closed the distance between herself and Blaise, dismissing the presence of his Housemates who loitered nearby.

"Morning, Blaise," Reese greeted him, her voice betraying a hint of restlessness as she fell into step beside him. The weight of her hasty excuse-making still clung to her conscience, leaving her breathless and anxious. "Hungry?"

Blaise emitted a resigned sigh, his response teetering on the edge of a groan, though Reese knew he didn't entirely despise her company—she was certain of it. "Morning, Lupin."

"Good to see you. How have you been?" Reese inquired, attempting to divert the conversation away from her own abrupt departure.

"You just saw me in Potions," Blaise retorted, his dark, meticulously sculpted eyebrow arching in a display of mild amusement. "What's going on with you?"

Reese offered a vague smile, her fingers deftly reopening the book she held in her hands as they continued their journey into the bustling Great Hall. "You, sir, are my alibi," she stated cryptically, her words shrouded in intrigue and mystery.

"Interesting," Blaise replied with equal enigma, "And are you sure you want to be following me right now? I don't think my companions would be a fan of yours."

Reese grinned without looking up, "Companions? You can't even say friends?" and though she couldn't see it, she could feel Blaise's eye roll from her right side.

She continued to follow absentmindedly, sitting, unbeknownst to Blaise's friends, at the Slytherin table with her nose in her nearly-completed novel. When she swung her bag off her shoulder and glanced around, she found three other boys occupying the neighboring seats, one of which eyed the two of them in intrigue.

"Zabini, aren't you going to introduce me?"

Blaise looked between her and the boy, offering an offhanded introduction. "This is Reese. Reese, this is Nott."

"Reese," the boy called Nott echoed ponderingly as if testing her name out on his tongue, "Cool scars. Badass."

Reese nodded jerkily, inwardly rather startled by the feedback. "Right. Cheers."

"What was your last name again?"

"Lupin."

Nott's face contorted bitterly. "A Gryffindor? Nevermind, your scars are shit."

Rolling her eyes, Reese brushed off his dismissive comment, while Blaise couldn't help but snicker at the exchange. "She's alright,"

Reese grinned, appreciative of the defense, but still commenting sarcastically, "High praise. Should I swoon?"

"You're lucky I gave you any praise," Blaise countered sassily, making a light-hearted eye roll from Reese ensue. Nott glanced up from his plate, amusement painted on his smug features.

"Lovers' quarrel?"

Reese continued on, disregarding his comment, "I'm scrimmaging with the Weasley twins later this week. Lacey wants me to practice more, and she'll be there, too, with Dean and whoever else she decides to rope in along the way. Care to join?"

Blaise swiftly dismissed the idea, shooting it down without hesitation. "Playing a pointless game of Quidditch with a loud group of Gryffindors? No, thank you." Reese frowned, turning to face Nott across from her.

"What about you, Nott?"

"What?" He looked over once more, unaware of the conversation occurring in front of him.

"Will you join the Quidditch scrimmage?" Reese asked yet again. Nott tilted his head ponderingly.

"And how do you know I'm adept at Quidditch?" He challenged, and Reese shrugged.

"I didn't, we just don't have enough people."

"Don't bother, Theo," Blaise advised wisely. "She's rubbish at Quidditch."

Reese's jaw dropped, her pride wounded. "Excuse me, Zabini, I've gotten much better since I was a first-year. Besides, you don't have to be on my team. I reckon you'd want to be, though, unless you fancy cooperating with Lacey's orders."

"Who's Lacey?" Nott inquired, before pausing and shaking his head. "Wait, no, I don't care."

Reese reached across the table, deftly plucking a treacle toffee from a nearby platter. "Great, I'll see you both there, then."

Hermione, after consulting her timetable—which adorned little hearts outlining all of Lockhart's lessons—deduced that, with Dueling, she would no longer have time to complete her excessive studying during her preferred free periods.

"A Deathday Party," Hermoine repeated, crossing her legs on her bed amidst a sea of open textbooks and scattered parchment that lay in disarray. "A celebration of death. It's rather fascinating, I'd say."

"And Harry is really committing to that?" Reese asked skeptically, peering over Oliver Twist at her from across the room. Hermione nodded.

"They still won't allow Nearly Headless Nick to participate in the Headless Hunt. Harry offered to help in any way he could, and this happened to be that way. I'm not sure I would attend such a bleak event—"`

"Who's 'they'?" Reese inquired curiously. 

"Someone Sir Nicolas refers to as 'Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore'."

Reese hummed with a slow nod, "I see."

"Anyway, the gathering will take place during the Halloween Feast, so—"

As the door swung open, its hinges groaning softly in protest, a whirlwind of movement burst forth, unveiling Lavender in a state of animated fervor. Her cheeks, tinged with a delicate flush, radiated a vibrant warmth, mirroring the spark of excitement dancing in her eyes. With breaths as shallow and rapid as the fluttering wings of a hummingbird, she swiftly darted across the room, her every step an embodiment of buoyant anticipation.

In the midst of this flurry, Crookshanks, the enigmatic feline who had been basking in serene repose upon Hermione's pillow, abruptly came alive. With an agility that belied his languid demeanor, he leaped into action, propelled by an innate instinct, and streaked toward the partially opened door like a streak of shadow brought to life.

"There's a monster in our dorm!" Lavender declared, and Reese's head shot up at such a rate it nearly gave her whiplash.

"What?" She blurted, horror-stricken by the insinuation of what such words might imply.

Hermione's gaze lingered on Reese, her eyes piercing with a mixture of caution and concern. Sensing the urgency of the situation, she rose from her seat with a determined grace, snatching Crookshanks from the floor in a swift and practiced motion. The cat's claws, previously poised for a daring pursuit, retreated begrudgingly as Hermione halted its trajectory. Crookshanks, momentarily thwarted, emitted a low, disgruntled meow, its amber eyes fixated on the little creature that had captured its attention.

Meanwhile, the elusive rodent darted across the room, a blur of frenetic motion. It skillfully navigated through the maze of discarded clothes, seeking refuge under the protective embrace of dressers. The high-pitched squeaks that accompanied its movements filled the air, reverberating with a mixture of fear and defiance.

Lavender, caught in the whirlwind of chaos, responded with a startled scream. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, she hurled cushions and shoes in a desperate attempt to vanquish the intruder. But her aim faltered, each projectile missing its mark by a comical margin, adding an element of absurdity to the tumultuous scene.

"Scabbers," Hermione corrected matter-of-factly.

"Oh," Reese coughed, careful to evade Hermione's piercing stare as she hunched back over her book, eyes not daring to travel across the page. 

🗡🗡🗡

"I quite vividly recall declining this invitation," Blaise Zabini chided as Reese nudged him along, Theodore Nott in tow. Amidst the backdrop of the great Scottish plains, bathed in the soft glow of autumn, Reese led the way with purposeful strides. The air carried a crisp chill that nipped at their cheeks, a reminder of the changing season. The surrounding trees stood adorned in their majestic autumnal attire, their leaves ablaze with a vibrant symphony of colors - a breathtaking tapestry of amber, rust, and sienna that seemed to set the world aglow.

Theodore, seemingly unfazed by the impending endeavor, let out a nonchalant yawn. "Me too," he murmured, the weariness evident in his voice.

"I love the enthusiasm, gentlemen," Reese remarked wryly, jerking her chin toward the Slytherin locker room. "You are welcome to borrow the Gryffindor brooms, but I'm sure you'd prefer Malfoy's fancy Nimbus 2001's."

Despite their initial reluctance, Blaise and Theodore found themselves trudging through the pitch, their broomsticks gripped tightly in their hands. They joined the cluster of other makeshift players, a motley crew assembled beneath the dreary sky.

Lacey, the self-appointed captain, stepped forward, her voice carrying a confident tone that demanded attention. "I'm glad you all could make it!" she declared, her words ringing out, drawing the gazes of those gathered.

Fred chimed in dry correction, "This was actually supposed to be a private practice—"

"Nonsense!" Lacey waved off casually as the Weasley twins and the Slytherins continued to scowl at each other.

Reese's gaze swept across the circle, taking in the familiar faces of Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, and Ernie Macmillan, each adding their own presence to the scene. The desolate stands housed Lavender, her figure seated amidst the emptiness, while Hermione remained engrossed in Voyages with Vampires, the book opened wide in her lap. Ron sat beside her, his presence offering a sense of companionship, and he was accompanied by his younger sister, who clutched a thick jumper tightly around her, her body nearly trembling against the crisp autumn breeze.

Lacey, balancing on her tiptoes, absentmindedly counted the heads before her. "So with me, that's, er, seven, I think—"

Ernie interrupted, his eyebrows raised in skepticism. "Nine, Lacey."

"Right, yes, nine! Everybody line up!"

Amidst a chorus of obligatory groans, they formed a line, standing shoulder to shoulder in front of Lacey. Reese found herself positioned between Theo and Dean, her broom sinking slightly into the soft dirt as they eagerly awaited their next set of instructions.

"It's like we're in a cattle auction," Seamus whispered, causing Dean to snicker.

"For the best team, I, obviously, will be Chaser, and so with the number of people, we have—er... Ernie?" Lacey turned to look at her brother, who appeared ready to hop on his broomstick and flee far, far away from this horrid nightmare.

Ernie sighed heavily. "Each team gets one Seeker, one Keeper, one Beater, and two Chasers."

"Right!" Lacey clapped her hands eagerly. "I am Chaser number one, George, you can be my Beater," she ordered, pointing promptly at Fred. Fred grinned impishly, winking at the real George, and stepped forward to stand in position behind her.

"Reese, my Keeper. Seamus, you aren't terrible, right?" Seamus opened his mouth to retort but she continued, "You can be my other Chaser. Dean, you can be the Keeper for the other team."

Dean protested, "What! You can't put me against both of my best friends!"

"I understand why you wouldn't want to compete with me," Lacey conceded sympathetically, oblivious to the fact that Dean looked as though he was ready to throttle her for the title of Seamus and Reese's best friend. "You can be our Seeker,"

As ill-advised as this decision was, Dean refrained from protesting further, perhaps realizing that it was futile to argue against Lacey's nonsensical ideas. With a shake of her head, Lacey swiftly moved on to forming the second team.

"The two tall ones over here in green," Lacey pointed to Theo and Blaise, who had been talking amongst themselves—multitasking with their occasional snickering at the ridiculousness of them all and Lacey's not-so-bright antics and comments. They both looked over at her disparagingly as she awaited their introduction.

Reese rolled her eyes at the two boys, gesturing vaguely, "The tall one is Blaise, and the one glaring at Ernie is Nott."

Ernie, at the sound of his name, glanced over to the second-years, eyes flicking briefly to the salty Slytherins scowling at his Hufflepuff presence. 

"Blaise, you can be team two's Seeker," Lacey concluded, pointing at Theo. Blaise rolled his eyes, stepping forward as Theo smirked in vague entertainment. Ernie was quickly dubbed Chaser and George—who Lacey thinks is Fred—took on the role of Beater.

"Okay, mount your brooms, people!" Lacey declared, swinging one leg over her broomstick as Ernie cleared his throat loudly. 

"We have four players—"

Lacey gasped, "We have an odd number! Ernie, how could you not tell me this before?" she pointed a finger accusatorily at him, and he held his hands up in defense.

"I shouldn't have to tell you that nine is an odd number!"

"Can we please just get on with this?" Nott groaned, his yawn resonating with exaggerated drama as he buried his face into his shirt collar.

"No! We need another Chaser," Lacey spun around, squinting towards the stands where the four Gryffindors engaged in casual conversation, seemingly disinterested in the prolonged spectacle. Reese remembered from her interactions with the Weasley twins that their sister, Ginny Weasley, possessed impressive Quidditch skills for her age.

Lacey must have been aware of this, as she briskly retrieved her wand from her pocket and, after uttering a brief incantation, raised it to her throat, ensuring her voice boomed with echoing resonance throughout the entire Quidditch pitch.

"GINNY WEASLEY," Lacey's enchanting command echoed through the Quidditch pitch, reverberating with a crystal-clear clarity that seemed to defy the natural acoustics of the stadium. The eight players, caught off guard by the thunderous volume, winced and instinctively covered their ears, their melodramatic complaints blending with the lingering echoes. "YOU ARE OUR CHASER, PLEASE COME DOWN HERE!"

Amidst their pained expressions, Ginny Weasley emerged from the stands, her eyes widened in a mix of surprise and curiosity. The flickering sunlight painted her fiery red hair with a radiant glow as she descended the steps, playfully enduring the good-natured teasing from her brother Ron and the mischievous smirks and eyebrow raises from the Weasley twins.

"How'd she learn how to do that?" Reese questioned skeptically, and Ernie scoffed from where he stood, rolling his eyes at the conjuring memory.

"She uses that infernal spell to summon me whenever I'm in the library. Utterly obnoxious. Madam Pince banned me for a whole month because of it."

Snorts of snide amusement sounded from Blaise and Theo, and Reese shot them a brief look before Ginny began trekking over to the cluster, broomstick dragging through the damp grass.

"Thank you for joining us!" Lacey greeted before leveling her broom in front of herself once more. "Now, everyone, mount your brooms!"

And everyone did. As they ascended on their broomsticks, a subtle transformation unfolded around them. The sky, once shrouded in a cloak of gloomy clouds, gradually cleared, revealing a canvas of cerulean blue. The rays of the sun, filtered through sheer wisps of clouds, now danced upon their faces, casting a warm, ethereal glow upon their features. The sharpness of the sunlight softened, tamed by the interplay of light and shadow, allowing their eyes to adjust without strain. Reese gracefully maneuvered her broom, guiding it to her designated position in front of the defending hoops. The familiar handle of her broomstick rested securely in her hands, the smooth wood offering a reassuring grip, ready to swing the tail of it at any Quaffle that neared her.

Her gaze scanned the vast expanse of the pitch, taking in the details of the terrain. The grass, kissed by morning dew, glistened beneath the weight of their footsteps. Blades of emerald-green swayed in the gentle breeze, their dance an intricate choreography with the rhythm of the game about to unfold. The distant hills, clothed in their autumn tapestry, provided a picturesque backdrop, their slopes adorned with vibrant foliage that whispered of the changing seasons.

Lacey's small silver whistle dangled loosely around her neck, its gleaming surface catching the glimmers of sunlight. With a fluid motion, she raised it to her lips, and a high-pitched, piercing squeal erupted into the air, cutting through the silence like a sharp gust of wind. The shrill sound reverberated across the pitch, marking the official commencement of the eagerly anticipated match.

In an instant, the Chasers sprang into action, their lithe forms gracefully navigating the open expanse of the sky. Blaise and Dean, driven by their competitive spirits, dove with a swift determination, their eyes scanning the vastness above and below for the elusive golden Snitch. Their movements were a captivating dance, each twist and turn an artful display of athleticism and strategy.

Meanwhile, the Weasley twins, Fred and George, brandished their bats with an air of confidence, their gazes fixed on the horizon. The polished wood of their instruments gleamed in the sunlight, reflecting the anticipation that coursed through their veins. Their synchronized movements created an aura of menace, a visual warning to any Bludger that dared to threaten the harmony of the game. With muscles poised to strike, they awaited the unpredictable trajectory of the rogue ball, ready to intercept it with practiced precision.

Lacey, propelled by her unwavering determination, made her first attempt at scoring against Theo. With lightning speed, she directed the Quaffle towards the goal, her agile fingers guiding it with precision. However, Theo, displaying impressive reflexes, deflected the shot with a swift kick, causing the Quaffle to veer off course, narrowly missing the hoop.

Undeterred by her initial near-miss, Lacey's resolve burned even brighter. She refused to let the setback dampen her spirit. Once again, she seized an opportunity, her eyes fixed on the target. With an expert flick of her wrist, she propelled the Quaffle forward, the smooth leather sphere slicing through the air with purpose. This time, her efforts bore fruit as the Quaffle soared past Theo's outstretched hands, finding its mark and scoring a point for her team.

Amidst the flurry of action, Ginny found herself skillfully maneuvering her broom, evading the relentless assault of a Bludger. Her senses sharp and instincts honed, she deftly swerved and twisted, her body leaning into every calculated turn. However, in a momentary lapse of concentration, a rogue Bludger whizzed dangerously close to her, its menacing presence a reminder of the chaotic nature of the game.

"Oi!" Ginny snapped, her head ducking low, "Fred, we're on the same bloody team!"

"That's George!" Lacey corrected through puffs of chilled air as she zoomed across the pitch. It was, in fact, not George, but Ginny simply rolled her eyes and tightened her grip as she flew. 

Ginny may be an attitude-stricken, headache-inducing first-year, but when it came to Quidditch, she knew what she was doing. With a mix of audacity and skill, she deftly intercepted a fast-moving Quaffle that was hurtling towards Lacey, clutching it securely beneath her arm. Determination blazed in her eyes as she swiftly navigated the open sky, her sights locked on the rings that Reese valiantly defended.

Reese faced the blazing girl head-on, and as the Quaffle heavily shot toward the hoops, Reese reached one fist out and knocked it back, nearly hitting Ginny in the shoulder. The three Gryffindors cheered her on in the stands, while Lacey squealed in approval, clapping her hands in excitement.

Blaise and Theo whooped obnoxiously as well at Reese's successful block, Their boisterous celebration, however, drew a disapproving scowl from Ernie. "Don't cheer for her, she's on the opposing team!"

Lacey's relentless assault on Theo's hoops continued with unwavering persistence, as she executed four more daring attempts. Her skillful maneuvers and precise aim proved fruitful, resulting in two successful scores that sent ripples of excitement from her team through the air. Reese carefully countered three shots made by both Ernie and Ginny, and fortuitously avoided a Bludger aimed by George. Dangerously, with each shot Ginny missed, she only grew more determined to score on Reese—and this time, Ginny flew strong on her left flank, eyes fierce and cheeks flushed as she shot the Quaffle with great strength and speed.

Reese tensed instinctively, reaching one hand out in order to obstruct its path, but as it just lightly slipped past her fingers, Ginny's team earned ten points. A smug grin danced upon Ginny's face as her triumphant gaze lingered on Reese for a fleeting moment, relishing her small victory. Without missing a beat, Ginny swiftly redirected her focus back to the center of the pitch, deftly evading yet another menacing Bludger that whizzed past her, ready to continue the exhilarating match.

Before Reese could make any signal to Dean, Ernie made another swift approach, his sandy hair flowing in the breeze as he aggressively pursued the Quaffle. Despite his precision and determination, he failed to find the mark, and Reese swiftly deflected the Quaffle with a well-timed strike of her broomstick. The successful block elicited grins from Theo, squeals of excitement from Lacey, and a hasty high-five from Seamus as he zipped past. Ginny, on the other hand, let out a particularly loud groan of frustration, while Blaise and Dean raced neck and neck, their determination palpable in the air.

All broomsticks came to a halt, and the collective attention shifted to the Seekers. Blaise and Dean extended their fingers, reaching out to seize the Snitch. Blaise, employing foul play as he forcefully jerked his broom to the side, aimed to knock Dean off course. His maneuver succeeded, granting him a clear path to snatch the golden ball from the air. Seamus let loose a string of colorful curses in his thick Irish accent, while Lacey, Fred, and Dean protested vehemently against Blaise's unsportsmanlike move. The Gryffindors in the stands, apart from a shocked Ron, mustered hesitant applause, their enthusiasm dampened by the unfair conclusion to the match.

Amidst the chorus of protests and heated exchanges, Dean raised his voice, his arms flailing in frustration. "Red flag! Come on, Ref!" His indignation was met with Blaise's smug smirk, his hands confidently off his broomstick as he descended near his fellow Slytherin.

Theo dismissed Dean logically, "This isn't one of your Muggle sports!"

Ernie chimed in, though not pleased with the means of Blaise's success, he was accepting of the ultimate win for his team. "And we don't have a referee."

Lacey interjected, her voice booming above the clamor. "And if we did have a referee, it would be me!" Her assertion was met with skeptical shakes of the head from Ginny and Seamus.

Ernie promptly shut down the idea. "Absolutely not."

Theo waved Lacey off dismissively. "You can't be in the match and dictate it. It would be too biased."

"Conflict of interest," Blaise added, his tone dripping with smugness.

Lacey let out an exasperated groan, and as the ten players descended to the grass, their energy and adrenaline drained by the match, Lacey dramatically tossed her broomstick to the ground in a mixture of exhaustion and frustration.

Hermione, the savior, came over with waters—not enough of them, causing several to bicker about who had to share—and they all sat down in the grass. Blaise and Theo, after taking strategic jabs at Ernie on the way, slumped down beside Reese. She kicked her flask of water toward them, and Blaise snatched it before Nott could even lay his eyes on it.

"Your friends are absolutely rubbish," Theo casually remarked to Reese, prompting Dean to weakly lift his head from the grass.

"We can hear you," Dean grumbled in irritation.

"Yes, that's why I said it," Theo replied, seemingly unperturbed.

Reese pulled herself to a faulty stand and reached to tug both Dean and Lacey to their feet. When she turned to do the same for Blaise and Theo, she found they were already heading back to the locker room. 

"You really aren't so terrible, you know. You're a pretty capable Keeper," Ernie voiced to Reese once the rest of them trailed the two Slytherins back into the castle. Ginny began to walk ahead of the group beside Ron, Hermione, and Lavender. Reese looked at him sideways.

"Thank you," she responded, her voice carrying a mix of gratitude and modesty.

"You have us to thank for that," Fred informed, grinning beside his twin.

"Ah, yes," George confirmed, clapping a hand on Reese's shoulder. "She could barely hold a broomstick when we met her."

"That's not true," Reese insisted defensively. The air in the castle was warm and comfortable, making their cheeks flush from the temperature change, and the Gryffindor common room felt as it always did; warm and welcoming. All was well.

Until the next full moon, of course.