people love an ingénue

A collective gasp of horror echoed through the corridor as their eyes fell upon the macabre tableau before them. Suspended by her tail from the unforgiving grasp of the torch bracket, the feline form dangled lifelessly, a ghastly spectacle that sent shivers racing down their spines. Its once-vibrant fur now matted and disheveled, the creature exuded an air of otherworldly menace.

The cat's piercing gaze, akin to the predatory intensity of a hawk, remained frozen in a haunting tableau. Wide and unblinking, those eyes seemed to possess an uncanny ability to penetrate the souls of all who dared to meet its unwavering stare. Each observer found themselves ensnared in an unyielding hold, as if the feline's gaze had the power to strip away their pretenses and lay bare their innermost fears and vulnerabilities.

Yet, the terror did not end with the cat's grotesque display. High above, emblazoned upon the wall, crimson letters loomed large and foreboding. Their glossy sheen caught the flickering firelight, casting a haunting reflection that danced upon the worn cobblestone floor. Each character seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy, their presence a harbinger of impending doom that cast a pall of unease upon the hall.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN REOPENED.

ENEMIES OF THE HIER, BEWARE.

Argus Filch's accusing finger jutted forth like a vengeful dagger, his voice slicing through the air, charged with fury and anguish. "You murdered her! I'll kill you! I'll—" Each word lashed out with a venomous intensity, resounding through the hall like a chilling echo of malice.

The tension hung heavy, gripping the onlookers in its suffocating embrace, when the clamor of hurried footsteps disrupted the volatile scene. A group of teachers, propelled by urgency, surged forward, led by the venerable presence of Dumbledore himself. In his wake, a tide of authority and calmness cascaded through the hall, dissipating the tempest of emotions that had engulfed them all.

Dumbledore, with an aura of unwavering command, closed the distance with measured steps. His eyes, pools of wisdom and concern, shifted from the immobilized cat to the trio standing resolutely amidst the crowd. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, their faces etched in stoic determination, held their ground, a steadfast island amidst a sea of bewildered gazes.

A voice tinged with compassion and resolve cut through the charged atmosphere, carrying a weight of responsibility. "You three," Dumbledore beckoned, his words a lifeline in the chaos, "come with me."

Gilderoy Lockhart was quick to volunteer his own office, as it was closest. Dumbledore bid him a swift note of gratitude before the four of them, along with Filch, made their way through the parting crowd and disappeared up the stairs. Snape, McGonagall, and a giddy Gilderoy followed closely behind.

In the wake of the haunting incident, the halls of Hogwarts became cloaked in an atmosphere of fear and persecution for Hermione, Colin Creevey, and numerous Muggle-born students who found themselves caught in the crosshairs of Slytherin hostility. Like a suffocating shroud, their tormentors singled them out, their actions fueled by prejudice and a twisted sense of superiority. Reese managed to persuade the likes of Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott to back down. However, the festering presence of pureblood supremacists remained, an insidious force spreading their toxic ideology like a contagion, infecting the corridors of Hogwarts with their vile beliefs. The echoes of fear and prejudice reverberated through the walls, casting a shadow upon the very essence of unity and acceptance that Hogwarts had, supposedly, long stood for.

Lavender's astuteness in perceiving the nuances of the atmosphere was, as always, woefully lacking. Her well-intentioned but misguided gesture to style Hermione's hair each morning, in the improbable event of her being petrified, showcased her lack of understanding. Unfazed by Hermione's unwavering refusal, Lavender's persistence knew no bounds. She even ventured to inquire of Reese, seeking the whereabouts of her cherished Sleakeazy's Hair Potion. Reese chose to feign ignorance, evading the probing question with practiced ease.

Ginny Weasley, often relegated to the periphery of Reese's attention, was a figure that only occasionally captured her notice, usually during reluctantly shared study sessions where mutual friends acted as the binding force. In those moments, Ginny's presence became an unavoidable reality, but one that held little fascination for Reese. Ginny's quick tongue and unwavering spirit, her readiness to defend herself and her family against the sneering comments of Malfoy and his ilk, had always been a defining aspect of her character. Yet now, a profound unease seemed to have settled upon her, shrouding her in disarray.

Once a master of witty comebacks, Ginny's usual retorts had faltered, replaced by a deep-seated disquiet that seemed to cling to her every word. Her usually vibrant spirit was now eclipsed, as if buried beneath layers of unseen turmoil. Reese couldn't help but notice the telltale blush that colored Ginny's cheeks, an occurrence that had become strangely intertwined with Harry's presence. And whenever discussions veered towards the recent events, Ginny would hastily retreat, concocting excuses to escape the conversation.

Whispers among the gossip-hungry suggested that Ginny had been seen emerging from the girls' lavatory with tear-stained cheeks, a revelation divulged by Lavender in hushed tones. However, Hermione, ever the voice of reason, admonished against idle speculation and urged everyone to respect Ginny's privacy. Ron, ever protective of his sister, dismissed the concerns as mere empathy for Mrs Norris due to Ginny's love for cats. Nonetheless, the enigma of Ginny's withdrawn demeanor lingered, shrouded in the unspoken, as the truth eluded all those who pondered it.

Reese was lounging in an armchair, working on her three-foot long composition on 'The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards' that evening as Hermione was engrossed in a book on one of the cushy sofas. It wasn't unprecedented for Hermione to be submerged in reading material, but recently, it seemed to be her sole pursuit. She scarcely had a moment to correct Lacey's linguistic mistakes or inquire about Reese's enigmatic disappearances, which had coincided with another challenging full moon that had left Hermione vexed.

Lacey had just finished her assignment after spending a solid thirty minutes with Reese in the common room, a studying record for Lacey, and writing with large bubble letters to fill the space. Hermione had already completed hers—it was four and a half feet long with tiny handwriting—but, strict in her intellectual rigor, she was unyielding in Lacey's assessment, chiding Lacey for her procrastination and insisting that she take responsibility for her own academic progress. ("You've had nearly two weeks to finish it!" Hermione chided.)

In the midst of the interminable lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1298, a rare flicker of life emanated from the otherwise monotonous Professor Binns. His spectral form, draped in ethereal robes, momentarily broke free from its timeless inertia to cast a gaze toward Hermione, who sat at the edge of her seat, her hand raised with an air of impatience.

The spectral gaze of Professor Binns, fixed upon Hermione, appeared almost bemused by her audacity to disrupt the ceaseless flow of historical drudgery. With a voice that seemed to echo from distant realms, he summoned her forth "Yes, Miss Granger."

Dean was sitting beside Reese at their table by the window. She fiddled with the end of her quill while his gaze drifted, fixated on the world outside the window, mouth hanging open in a suspended state of reverie.

"I was wondering if you knew anything about the Chamber of Secrets," Hermione stated clearly. Dean jolted out of his trance, Neville's arm slipped from the side of his desk, and Lavender lifted her head from her arms.

Professor Binns, initially resistant to deviating from his dry recitation of historical events, hesitated in the face of Hermione's persistence. The specter of knowledge flickered within his incorporeal form, briefly casting a wavering light upon the sea of attentive students.

"I don't discuss things such as myths and legends," he droned, his spectral voice carrying the weight of countless forgotten tales. "This class is History of Magic, a realm of rigid facts and tangible records. Now, as we were discussing before—"

Undeterred by the dismissive response, Hermione pressed forward, her voice steady and resolute. "Please, Professor, legends often find their roots in fragments of truth, do they not? They offer insights into the hidden corridors of history."

Binns, caught off guard by Hermione's unwavering conviction, paused, his bony fingers releasing their feeble grip on the diminutive white chalk. A rasp emanated from his throat as he cleared it, the sound akin to the rustling of ancient parchment. "I... suppose they do, yes," he conceded, his ghostly form visibly acknowledging the presence of the gray areas that bridged fact and fiction.

Every student was watching Professor Binns intently, latching on to every word he spoke for something of substance, something to quench their evergrowing curiosity on the crisis that had been plaguing the school since September.

As the discussion unfolded, the students were enraptured, clinging to every word with a fervor that bordered on obsession. They yearned for knowledge, for truth, for answers.

And his words provided just that; As Professor Binns continued to unravel the hidden threads of history, the students remained captivated, their minds consumed by a thirst for knowledge that bordered on obsession. With each carefully chosen word, he wove a narrative tapestry that transported them back in time, revealing the origins of their beloved Hogwarts.

In hushed tones, Binns recounted the tale of the four illustrious founders, those paragons of magical prowess who had forged the very foundations of the ancient castle over a millennium ago. With reverence in his voice, he described an era shrouded in fear and prejudice, when the common populace regarded magic with suspicion and those gifted with extraordinary abilities faced persecution for their deviations from the norm.

Their minds, hungry for answers, absorbed the revelations like a healing balm, finding solace in the illumination of long-veiled truths. The professor delved deeper, guiding them through the harmonious collaboration of the founders, their shared vision of nurturing magical potential in the youth of their time. Yet, like cracks appearing in an otherwise flawless facade, a schism began to manifest between Salazar Slytherin and his counterparts.

Binns' words painted a vivid picture of a man who believed fervently that the wonders of magic should be guarded jealously within the confines of pure-blood lineage. Slytherin held Muggle-borns in deep mistrust, viewing them as unreliable custodians of their enchanted heritage. The seeds of the eternal rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor were sown in those early days, its roots delving into the very bedrock of the school.

In the presence of their spectral professor, the students absorbed the weight of history, its complexities and contradictions laid bare before them. The deep-seated animosity that had culminated in the creation of the Chamber of Secrets unfurled like a scroll of ancient parchment, its contents etched with the indelible ink of ideological conflict. The stark contrast between the founders' beliefs cast a flickering light upon their intertwined destinies, casting shadows of both understanding and uncertainty upon the minds of those who listened.

Yet, even as Professor Binns reluctantly succumbed to the students' uncharacteristic fervor, he remained steadfast in his dismissal of what he deemed sensational and utterly ludicrous tales. Nevertheless, their unquenchable curiosity, coupled with their earnestness, compelled the spectral historian to delve into the forbidden recesses of Hogwarts' history.

His voice, usually dry and monotonous, took on an almost wise quality as he continued to unveil the legends surrounding the Chamber of Secrets. The room became enveloped in an unsettling stillness, as if the very air held its breath, hanging onto each word like a whisper from the past.

"The Chamber of Secrets," Professor Binns intoned, "is said to have been constructed by Salazar Slytherin himself, a clandestine sanctuary hidden deep within the bowels of the castle—an enigmatic chamber that remained a secret even from his fellow founders. Legend has it that the Chamber was sealed, its entrance locked, until such time as his true heir emerged, capable of unlocking its ancient secrets and unleashing its dread upon those deemed unworthy of the magical arts."

His words echoed ominously, reverberating within the hollow chamber of the classroom. The once eager faces of the students were now frozen in a collective solemnity, their expressions devoid of their usual spark. The revelation of the chamber's existence, its purpose steeped in darkness, left them unsettled and yearning for more, their unspoken desire for further revelations etched upon their faces.

Yet, as if sensing their hunger for further knowledge, Professor Binns dismissed their dumbfounded expressions with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It's all made-up nonsense, of course. A mere tale meant to frighten you. The school had been searched many, many times. There is no such evidence of any secret chamber in the castle."

Hermione's hand was raised once more, "Sorry, sir, but what do you mean when you say the 'horror within' the Chamber?"

Binns, however, exhaled with a hint of impatience, his spectral form showing signs of agitation. "The 'horror within' the Chamber," he began, his voice tinged with an air of skepticism, "is believed to be some form of monstrous creature—an entity of unimaginable power and darkness. According to the legends, only the true heir of Slytherin possesses the ability to control and command this abomination."

His words hung in the air, lingering with an air of uncertainty. The students exchanged wary glances, their thoughts swirling with a mixture of intrigue and doubt. Was there truly a fearsome creature lurking within the hidden recesses of Hogwarts? Or was it merely an elaborate fabrication, a concoction of fantastical tales spun by a bygone era?

Seeking to quell their rising uncertainty, Binns added with a touch of finality, "Rest assured, students, there is no such monster, and the Chamber itself is nothing more than a figment of imagination. These are nothing but nonsensical stories, bereft of any factual foundation."

"They don't really think Harry is Slytherin's heir, do they?" Reese asked unsurely as she walked alongside Dean after their lesson. They were descending the stairs from the Gryffindor common room after dropping off their bags so they wouldn't have to drag them to dinner.

Dean let out a weary sigh, his gaze fixed ahead as if searching for answers within the castle's ancient stones. "I dunno. Colin says that his dormmates think so, along with that one Hufflepuff friend of Ernie's—forgot his name. I think it's a bit rubbish. What relation does Harry have to Slytherin House?"

Reese added, "Besides Voldemort."

As the infamous name escaped her lips, Dean's eyes bore a flicker of disquiet. The mention of the Dark Lord's name carried a peculiar weight, a whisper of unease in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. Though Dean, as a Muggle-born, did not share the same ancestral ties to the wizarding world's dark history, the very fabric of the castle had taught him the delicate balance between secrecy and truth.

Reese gave him the same look he gave her, "What was it Hermione said? 'Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself.'"

Dean raised his eyebrows with a grin as they turned into a corridor on the ground floor. "Quoting Hermione now? You must truly be an intellect."

Reese's gaze returned a playful retort to Dean's jocular remark as they ambled into the hallowed sanctuary of the Great Hall. The tepid attendance of the students left the air awash with a quietude that echoed throughout the room. Not many students had yet arrived, and there were only a handful of Gryffindors from each year seated. Dean and Reese sat in their usual spot, and Reese's eyes wandered to the lone figure of Ginny Weasley, perched in muted contemplation, flanked by the playful twins who were, in their inimitable style, embroiled in some capricious mischief.

Ginny's forlorn visage was transfixed on the table, her fingers coiled tight around the pages of her journal, as if clasping onto it for dear life. Dean cast a curious glance at the desolate first-year before turning his gaze towards Reese, silently communicating his concern. Despite Reese's vehemently shaking her head in dismissal, it seemed Dean could not help but feel a sense of responsibility towards the anguished Ginny.

"Evening, Ginny. How are you?" With measured caution, Dean slid down the bench, beckoning Reese to follow suit, and gently inclined his head towards the crestfallen Ginny. His voice, a mellifluous lilt of tenderness, was permeated with a palpable concern, as if treading on eggshells. He was annoyingly kind, and Reese almost wished she had shared this quality with him when she found it difficult to offer a smile to Ginny as well.

Yet, Ginny's countenance remained unyielding, refusing to betray the faintest hint of gratitude. Her eyes, glinting with an unyielding resolve, pierced through Dean's gaze, directed towards Reese with an intensity that could cleave steel. Her retort, laced with a raw bitterness, slashed through the air like a serrated blade, leaving behind a trail of lingering hostility. "Leave me alone."

Reese's expression mirrored Ginny's hostility, baffled by the inexplicable acrimony emanating from the younger student. "I didn't sayanything—"

"I don't want to talk to you—"

Dean looked between the two of them nervously, "Er—okay, maybe we should just—Sorry, Ginny.”

Ginny and Reese locked eyes, their glares like fiery arrows of disdain that met in a clash of wills. But it was Reese who finally relented, breaking the lingering tension as she turned away, her back now facing Ginny's simmering fury. An exasperated huff escaped her lips, carrying with it a sense of frustration and resignation.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think it'd go that way—I didn't know you guys were, I don't know, not friends..." Dean chewed the inside of his cheek, and Reese eyed him skeptically.

"Lavender complains about it all the time, of course you knew—" 

"Okay, yes, but I didn't think you hated each other! What did you do that was so terrible?"

"Nothing!" Reese insisted. "We just, er, disagree about some things. Most things. Mostly all things."

Dean's curiosity burned like a flickering flame, prompting him to lean closer, his head inclined downward in an attempt to catch every whispered syllable. His genuine concern etched across his features as he pressed for more information. "Meaning?"

Reese reached across the table to pluck a roll from the freshly baked basket of them, her frustration apparent as she buttered the roll with more force than necessary.

She spoke swiftly and casually in short, efficient sentences with the air of not minding a thing. "I overheard her. She was discussing something with somebody else. That something happened to be me—"

Reese chewed hesitantly, swallowing as she contemplated telling Dean what exactly Ginny said in the library that day. It would help Dean grasp Reese's perspective, but could anyone ever truly? Reese could feel the weight of her history, the legacy of slights and jabs that had shaped her worldview, threatening to overwhelm her. She knew that Dean could never really understand, that the hurt she carried with her could never be fully explained. The bitter taste of resentment lingered on her tongue, as she considered the futility of trying to make someone see what they refused to acknowledge. The words that had been hurled at her throughout her childhood, like a barrage of arrows that never ceased, had chipped away at her sense of self-worth, leaving her bitterly unafraid and quietly selective amongst those she met. The words of truth Ginny spoke were nothing Reese hadn't heard before from the ages five to twelve; snidely hushed comments often received from both children and adults as she grew. It wasn't the end of the world, but there was no way to reverse actions taken.

Reese was hell-bent on avoiding the garnering of sympathy, as well. Dean was the nicest boy she knew, and unlike Blaise or Theo, who would readily take sides, Dean would urge Reese to find common ground with her adversary, Ginny, through civil discourse. Dean's gentle demeanor belied a ferocity reserved only for the protection of those close to his heart, making him an unlikely advocate for Reese to reciprocate Ginny's mistreatment.

Reese cleared her throat, "And, uh, then Lavender tried to get us to be friends. It didn't work out."

Dean groaned, covering his face as his voice was muffled under his hands. "Reese,"

"It's really not as terrible as you guys think it is." Reese insisted logically with an air off indifference. "Everyone has people they don't like. You and Theo aren't particularly polite to each other."

"That's different," Dean insisted quickly. "Nott is a Slytherin, and hates all of us."

"That's not true," Reese retorted nonchalantly, gesturing dismissively.

"Well, it's not true for you." Dean acknowledged. "They don't absolutely terrorize you."

"Most of them do, just not the ones I like." Reese corrected, "Malfoy and his goons don't love me very much. Haven't you heard I've been unanimously dubbed 'Loony Lupin'? Very creative."

Dean's grin broadened, "Ah, yes, I may have heard that in Potions once or twice. Hermione and I are 'Mudblood', and the rest of our row consists of 'Weaslebee', 'Scarhead', and 'the annoying one with the purple ribbons in her hair'."

Reese nodded, consumed with chortles, "We have quite the role-call."

Lavender, her footsteps imbued with an effervescent lightness, traversed the expanse that separated the Ravenclaw table from their enclave, a testament to her innate grace. Reese, a beacon of warmth and welcome, extended her hand in a gentle wave, heralding Lavender's arrival. As Lavender gracefully settled herself across from them, a radiant aura enveloped their gathering, infusing the scene with a newfound vitality.

Dean carried on with his words, his voice brimming with disdain. "That's just Malfoy, though. You know, Ron is convinced he's the heir of Slytherin."

Reese's eyebrows shot up. "Malfoy is hardly capable of lifting his broomstick. He couldn't be responsible for all this."

"Hey, guys! Hey, Ginny! Are you guys mingling?" Lavender asked, knowing good and well that Reese and Ginny didn't appear on speaking terms in the slightest and appeared visibly miffed at the implication. Dean abstained from further intervention, as Reese and Ginny, in unison, replied with a resounding "No."

Undeterred by their initial refusal, Lavender's vivacious spirit shone through as she insisted, her tone brimming with effervescent cheerfulness, "Well, come over here, then! Here, have some food," Lavender insisted. Though reluctant at first, Ginny relented, casting a quick glance at her brothers before settling into her seat beside Lavender.

As Lavender turned back to Reese and Dean, who had resumed their conversation, she suddenly slapped the table in a moment of realization. "Oh! You're talking about Draco Malfoy? You know, Ronald thinks—"

"We know,” Dean interjected, his brow furrowing in contemplation. Turning his gaze toward Lavender, he questioned, "How did you know his suspicion?"

Lavender shared his skepticism. "How did you know?"

"I share a dorm with him, Lavender." He reminded her. Lavender's eyebrows nearly got caught in her hair as she nodded once.

"Oh, right, I forgot." Lavender folded her hands primly. "I heard them in the library."

"You hate the library." Reese reflected, making Dean nod in agreement and Lavender shrug.

"Lacey made me go with her to find Quidditch Through the Ages, and she promised that I could practice one new makeup look on her if I helped." Lavender informed airily, "Anyway, I overheard Ronald talking with Hermione and Harry."

"Ah, so you eavesdropped." Dean, now at ease, seized the opportunity to heap a generous portion of creamy mashed potatoes onto his plate. "Well, why didn't you just say that?"

Lavender, slightly indignant, huffed in offense. "Reese eavesdrops all the time. She always knows stuff about people, why don't you scold her?"

Reese interjected in defense. It was mere luck that no one bothered to properly survey their surroundings before discussing sensitive material. Most things she knew concerning others came from Blaise, anyway; he was the one who truly knew everything about everyone. Even the paintings shared information with him.

"I don't eavesdrop, people just speak of incriminating things when I happen to be nearby. I can't control what my ears pick up!"

Ginny raised her eyebrows disbelievingly, "Oh, sure—"

"We are veering off topic," Lavender cut in, "They were talking about how it would make the most sense for Draco to be the heir; how his father was certainly evil enough, and they come from a pureblood family."

"I don't know, it makes sense." Dean said warily, "I mean, who hates Muggle-borns more than he does?"

Reese chewed her lip, demeanor hesitant. "Voldemort does."

Ginny, Lavender, and Dean all winced at the sound of the name. Dean responded first, "He could never get into the school. It's too protected, and Dumbledore would never let it happen."

Reese shook her head, "It happened last year. It could happen again."

Ginny sighed in frustration. "How could you say that?"

"How could I not? Vol—as long as You-Know-Who is alive, he won't leave Hogwarts alone. We have to consider the possibility."

"No. No." Ginny shook her head vigorously.

"He couldn't possibly get into the school unseen." Lavender added, her voice less enthusiastic than it once had been.

"It would be impossible." Ginny added firmly. 

"He wouldn't have to, Weasley," Reese reasoned, turning to Dean and Lavender as they sat with contemplative expressions. "It's like what Professor Binns said."

Dean spoke again. "Right, about the monster that could be controlled?"

Lavender waved off the idea dismissively. "He also said it was a myth that was thought up to fool the gullible!"

Reese furrowed her eyebrows thoughtfully. "It couldn't be Malfoy, he wouldn't be able to keep himself from gloating."

"Yeah, I suppose that's true..." Dean agreed. Reese looked over at Ginny, who was stabbing into her vegetables violently, knuckles white at as her nearly-trembling hand clutched her fork.

Dean heaved a sigh, shaking his head as he, too, dug into his meal. “So bleak. You read too many horror novels. Why don’t you try snagging some of Hermione’s history biographies instead?”

”They can be just as bleak.” She hesitated, mind racing a million miles a second with every thrilling possibility. “And Dean, this is real. There’s a real thing on the real loose. Inflicting real danger—“

“I know, Reese.” He frowned in a defeated sort of way, as if accepting their own powerlessness. “I just don’t know what we are supposed to do about it. Now come on, eat something.”

🗡🗡🗡

Reese had made it a point to ensure Hermione never went anywhere unaccompanied. She took to watching people with narrowed, mistrusting eyes when in the presence of Hermione—Reese was determined she would stay untouched by whatever was harming Hogwarts' own during this bleak November. After the first week of being Hermione's makeshift bodyguard, Reese had received several warnings from each of her professors for her tardiness. After walking her to each class, Reese had always only narrowly made it back in time for her own.

After Hermione's insistence that Reese ease up on her protective duties, a compromise was reached. Reese began sharing shifts with Dean, who willingly agreed to assist her in their steadfast mission for their friend's safety. Today, it was Dean's turn to stand guard, while Reese found herself occupied in the common room, lending a helping hand to Lacey with her upcoming Transfiguration test.

Seated on the plush rug by the crackling fireplace, Reese glanced over at Lacey, her frustration evident in her voice. "Lacey, where's your textbook?" she inquired, her own open book turned upside down in her lap.

Lacey peered over, her gaze landing on the mismatched book. "Oh, that one? I didn't bring it."

Exasperation colored Reese's sigh. "That's actually the only one I told you to bring."

Lacey waved her arms in a dismissive gesture. "But look at all these!" she exclaimed, pointing to a towering stack of seven Gilderoy Lockhart textbooks. Reese rolled her eyes.

Reese glanced offhandedly at them. "Those are basically autobiographies. You'll find more information about a subject by asking a rock."

"Ernie'll bring his, I'll just snatch it from him," Lacey nonchalantly proposed, her hand casually braiding the frayed edges of the rug.

"I still don't know why you invited him. You know how the Fat Lady feels about allowing students of other Houses into her common room." Reese reminded her. She had nothing against Ernie, of course, and found that she got along better with him than Lacey did at times. He often stopped by to chat briefly with them when he was passing by, and he wasn't a complete prickhead like some of his friends were.

"He offered! Very enthusiastically, I might add. Very refreshing after weeks of boasting about that rigged Quidditch match!"

Reese fought back a smile. Blaise had taken great pleasure in reminding her of their team's devastating loss, often teasing Dean mercilessly about his Seeking skills whenever they crossed paths. She rolled her eyes in good-natured defiance. "It was not rigged."

"It was, I tell you!" Lacey demanded, just as the portrait door swung open to reveal Dean and Seamus entering, Ernie trailing impatiently behind them.

"Do you know how long I've been standing out there?" Ernie's irritated griping filled the air, the strains of impatience woven into his words. Lacey, her shoulders lifting in a helpless shrug, and Seamus, his grin widening in amusement alongside Dean, witnessed the spectacle before them.

Dean affirmed Ernie's complaint with a nod, his voice laced with a touch of pride. "The Fat Lady wouldn't open up until we got there. You're welcome."

Ernie, however, remained utterly dismissive of Dean's presence, disregarding his words as he coolly settled himself into an armchair that Reese had previously claimed. Her position at the foot of the chair compelled her to scoot aside, a fleeting annoyance crossing her features. Lacey, ever the taskmaster, swiftly intervened, pointing an accusatory finger towards the vacant space beside her.

"No, sit down here!"

Ernie emitted a heavy sigh, the weight of his exasperation reverberating through the room, causing his textbook to collide with the central table in a resounding thud. In an instant, Lacey's previous piqued expression transformed into one of unadulterated delight, her fingers eagerly flipping through the pages of the borrowed book. "Yours is much nicer than mine!"

"That's because I'm not an animal."

In the vibrant ambiance of the common room, the atmosphere pulsated with intermittent bursts of energy. Dean and Seamus engrossed themselves in a spirited game of Exploding Snap, their laughter mingling with the crackling bursts that accompanied each explosive round. Meanwhile, Reese found herself immersed in the world of Beetle Buttons and Rabbit Slippers, skillfully navigating the intricate charms and incantations alongside the Macmillans.

Groups of students traversed the common room with an air of ease, their comings and goings adding a dynamic rhythm to the space. Card games and chess matches materialized and dissipated at various tables scattered throughout, injecting the room with pockets of fervor and concentration. Eventually, Ernie eventually proclaimed a break, collapsing languidly into a nearby seat, while Reese delved ahead to peruse the contents of Vera Verto.

"No, Lacey, the wand movement is diagonally upward, then down and up again. You're doing a violent zigzag."

Lacey's subsequent attempt came perilously close to causing injury, prompting Reese to reach across and delicately lower her friend's wand. "You know what? Let's call it a day for now. We've done enough."

Exhaling a sigh of relief, Lacey dramatically closed the textbook with a resounding snap, before dramatically sprawling herself across the floor, her unruly tresses fanning out against the intricate patterns of the carpet. Both Reese and Ernie took the opportunity to stretch their legs, their movements mirroring one another. Reese's gaze wandered towards one of the spiral staircases, where Lavender and Parvati Patil descended in a flurry of animated conversation, punctuated by effervescent fits of giggles. As the girls disappeared behind the protective veil of the portrait door, Reese and the three boys observed their retreat, momentarily captivated by their presence. Dean, finding a comfortable spot on the sofa beside Reese, sank down with a contented sigh.

"Who was that?" Ernie inquired in a measured tone, suddenly exhibiting a flicker of interest on this otherwise unremarkable evening. Dean, meanwhile, knit his brows in confusion.

"You mean Lavender? Haven't you met her loads of times?" Dean asked, his perplexity evident.

Reese rolled her eyes, vaguely entertained, "He means Parvati. Do you have a crush, Macmillan?" she teased, making Seamus snicker and Ernie shoot him a scowl.

"Oh, yeah, Parvati," Dean nodded in understanding, "She's the prettiest girl in our year! Just don't tell Lavender I said that."

Reese craned her neck to peer sidelong at him, the corners of her mouth quirking up in an impish grin. Dean's eyes widened in response, as he fumbled to offer an explanation for a comment that needed none. "Er—when I'm not looking at you, I meant—"

"No, I meant why don't you just talk to her, you milksop," Reese grinned, nudging his shoulder with hers. Dean scoffed, as if the suggestion were utterly preposterous.

He emitted a disbelieving snort, his laughter laced with incredulity. "Are you barking? Absolutely not."

"I bet I could," Seamus, wearing a self-assured smirk, proudly puffed out his chest, exuding an air of unwavering confidence. Reese turned her attention towards Lacey, expecting to share a moment of amusement, only to discover her peacefully slumbering form sprawled on the floor, her face nestled into the carpet, emitting deep, resonant snores akin to those of a contented beast. 

"What are you insinuating?" Ernie, catching wind of Seamus' remark, snapped back defensively, his voice brimming with indignation as he cast an appraising gaze upon Seamus, his demeanor taking on a boyishly petulant edge that prompted a weary sigh from Reese.

Seamus attempted to reassure, though his conviction rang hollow "Nothing insulting," He claimed unconvincingly, "Just that I could talk to a girl without wussing out."

"I'm not a wuss!" Ernie insisted hotly, rising from his seat in tandem with Seamus.

Reese held her hands out lazily in halting gesture, "Okay, all right, let's not go doing something stupid."

"Girls want a man, not a boy!" Ernie, self-appointed girl guru, informed and Seamus reared his head to stare at him, his brows narrowing as this pointless little quarrel droned onward. Reese dropped her head to the back of the sofa dramatically, simultaneous with Dean as they sighed at the incompetence before them.

"So I'm not manly enough, is that it?" Seamus jerked his chin, crossing his arms. Dean let out a deep groan and buried his face in his hands, while Reese offered a half-hearted pat on his shoulder in sympathy.

Reese leaned forward to rest her head in her hands, feigning interest, "Why don't you have a contest?"

The two boys looked at her in intrigue, and she had to conceal her grin with the collar of her jumper. 

"A contest?" Ernie asked, his curiosity piqued. Reese shrugged.

"Sure. And the winner is the—" her amusement could be heard in her voice as she replied with a barely restrained smile, "—manliest."

Seamus clapped a hand on the table while Ernie began rubbing his palms together. "I accept that challenge!" Seamus proclaimed, his voice filled with bravado.

As they both remained looking at Ernie and Seamus, Dean leaned into Reese's shoulder to mutter, "What are you doing?"

"I'm bored."

He smirks, nudging her in the side. "Nice."

"That's not how you do a sit-up, you pathetic excuse for a brother!" Lacey's voice reverberated with authority as she reprimanded Ernie for his lackluster form. With a commanding presence, she hovered over him, pinning his feet down. Seamus was stationed nearby, struggling through his own set of sit-ups as Dean offered words of encouragement to keep him going. The duo had already subjected themselves to an array of physical challenges, from push-ups to jumping contests, and even a spirited game of checkers, before settling on their current spot near the entrance. With Ernie only two sit-ups ahead, the competition between the two boys was heating up, and their determination was palpable.

As the heavy, ornate portrait door swung open with a resounding creak, Reese nimbly leapt aside to evade its formidable sway. There, materializing from the threshold, emerged Ginny Weasley - ever brooding, ever moody. Her form flickered in the open frame as she bade farewell to an unseen companion before pivoting to face the room. Within her grasp, a delicate parcel of Chocoballs ensconced in a swaddling of linen were clutched between her fingers as she let both hands drop to her sides. Ginny paused dumbfoundedly in front of the scene before her, mouth agape as she fumbled for words. "What the—" she began, turning to face Reese, her visage creasing with distaste. "Oh, it's you."

Reese eyed her peculiarly, "Who's out there?"

"I was just talking to Colin Creevey, if you must know everything." Ginny replied in frustration, her arms folding across her chest petulantly.

Reese let a wry smirk grow. "Plans to create a Harry Potter fan club?"

Ginny's cheeks blazed red as she gritted her teeth in vexation. "It must be exhausting being such a git all the time."

"I have fantastic stamina."

"Ernie, stop slowing down, you big lug!" 

"Done! Done! I win!" Seamus proclaimed his triumph with exuberance, his laughter ringing out in a triumphant crescendo as he collapsed onto his back, gasping for breath. Dean celebrated his friend's victory with a vigorous high-five, the force of the impact causing Seamus' limp hand to jolt.

"Congratulations, Seamus Finnigan," Dean said through chortles, "You are the manliest wuss of the two wusses."

Ernie rolled his eyes, pulling his feet from beneath Lacey's clutch to stand up. "Yes, yes, you win. Congratulations."

"What does he win, exactly?" Lacey, ever the one to be a competitive and gracious winner, asked. The four Gryffindors rising from the floor all swiveled their gaze towards Reese. Her lips parted and shut repeatedly, floundering in bewilderment as she glanced around herself cluelessly.

"You get one complimentary Chocoball!" Reese assured jovially, extracting a sweet confection from Ginny's partially revealed napkin, and lofting it with a graceful flick to Seamus, who accepted it with delight and devoured it in haste.

Ginny's jaw dropped, turning to look furiously at Reese. "Lupin! What was that for!"

"I think my fingers slipped, my apologies. Don't lose your head."

"Oh, I ought to smack yours right off your shoulders!"

As the animated eve drew to a close, Lavender remained ignorant of the entire bout that unfolded within the common room regarding her friend, and Reese opted to refrain from divulging the matter at all. This went entirely disregarded, as Lacey babbled incessantly about it while scrubbing her teeth with fierce zeal, still smarting from the defeat suffered by her brother. Hermione perceived the whole episode as absurd, and Seamus beamed with glee over his victorious feat of proving himself. What precisely he proved, Reese couldn't determine, but she extended her felicitations regardless, for which he was appreciative.

Ginny retained her displeasure towards Reese for absconding with her Chocoball and a host of other grievances that Reese adeptly tuned out. Whenever Ginny wasn't sulking in a bathroom or penning her thoughts within her diary or fretfully avoiding Harry, she would glare at Reese or ensure that Reese witnessed her superior marks in classes whenever they were higher than Reese's. Hermione regarded this academic rivalry as 'absolutely nonsensical,' maintaining that grades should be acquired not to vaunt over one's adversaries but to aspire towards self-refinement. The one thing Ginny and Reese could agree on, was that they preferred the former to the latter.