Thirteen
“To Miss Granger, wishing you a speedy recovery, from your concerned teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League and five times winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award.” Reese read aloud, fighting a grin. "Interesting that you sleep with this under your pillow—"
"Oh, stop, stop!" Hermione admonished, snatching the Get Well card back as her cheeks flamed red. "It was a kind gesture!"
Dismissing the lingering smirk that tugged at the corner of her lips, Reese banished any left traces of amusement as she retrieved a voluminous stack of meticulously organized parchment from the depths of her bookbag, dropping it at the foot of Hermione's hospital bed. "This last week's worth of class notes for Charms, Transfiguration, and History of Magic."
Hermione sighed in relief, rifling through the notes critically. "Thank Merlin for you!"
Post-break, a flurry of hearsay regarding the vanishing of Hermione Granger circulated, stemming from the misguided belief that she had fallen prey to an attack. Hermione, who had very much not been attacked, requested that Reese make her a copy of her class notes. Hermione's reasoning stemmed from her discernment that the notes taken by Ron and Harry lacked the thoroughness required for her comprehensive understanding. Meanwhile, the telltale signs of her recent Polyjuice Potion misadventure were gradually waning. The thin layer of fur that had clung to her cheeks was dissipating, and her eyes, which had temporarily transformed into a vibrant shade, were gradually returning to their familiar brown hue.
Reese had insisted on spending her afternoons doing homework with her, which Hermione was reluctant to admit that she actually enjoyed.
Lacey, fueled by her perennial enthusiasm, embarked on an exhaustive recitation, painstakingly cataloging every gift she had received for Christmas, each one thoughtfully chosen to satiate her ardent love for Quidditch. Her animated descriptions resonated through the room, her voice brimming with giddiness as she recounted the assortment of broom accessories, team jerseys, and Quidditch-themed memorabilia that had found their way into her possession. Meanwhile, Lavender embarked on her own veritable monologue, regaling her captive audience with a vivid account of her holiday escapades. With meticulous precision, she unpacked her trunk, unveiling a kaleidoscope of vibrant, boldly-patterned garments that had been bestowed upon her by her adoring family. Her wrists tinkled melodically, adorned with a newfound collection of chunky bracelets, while her lustrous locks were adorned with an array of shiny ribbons that would gracefully accentuate her coiffure throughout the remaining days of January.
As the anticipation of Reese's upcoming birthday lingered in the air, so too existed a simultaneous foreboding undercurrent brought forth by the presence of the following full moon, casting an ominous shadow over her the January sky. Despite this, Reese made valiant efforts to maintain a buoyant disposition in the aftermath of winter break, for she knew all too well that her characteristic acerbic temperament only served to exacerbate the excruciating agony of her transformations.
As she entered her dormitory on Friday night, Reese's eyes fell upon Scabbers, Ron's dreadful little rat, perched upon her desk, hemmed in by Dean and Ron, who were brandishing their wands.
“Gross, vermin in my dorm," Reese cried patronizingly, "Oh, and a rat."
Dean and Ron's jaws dropped in offense as the little creature began to scurry around in circles. “Very funny,” Dean said, gesturing her over, “Come here and help me.”
Reese reached their spot across the room and peered between them, hands clasped behind her back as she hummed in feigned curiosity. "Hm, what are we doing?"
"Trying to turn him neon," Dean's head tilted in contemplation down at a sloppy list of unsuccessful charms they had scribbled out on crumpled parchment.
"What!" Ron protested, "You said we were trying to make him live longer!"
"Let me try," Reese pushed between them, raising her wand as the rat's eyes bulged in fear. Luckily for the rodent, Lacey came barging in before Reese could open her mouth to mutter an incantation.
"Good evening, my friends!" She greeted them cheerfully, tugging her disheveled brown hair out of a sweaty ponytail. She looked between the three of them in turn, nodding to each one curtly, "Reese. Dean. Fred."
"Ron," Ron corrected in annoyed exasperation, prompting Dean to snicker.
"Fantastic practice today, let me tell you all about it when I'm out!" Lacey exclaimed, throwing a towel over her shoulder as she disappeared into the bathroom. Dean and Ron made sure their groans of dread were well heard, but they were drowned out by the muffled sound of the shower faucet running.
Reese wrinkled her nose disdainfully at the rat and commented, "Why are you two in here doing this? You know how Lavender feels about that rat. And Hermione. And all of us."
Ron began to reason with a shrug as Scabbers began to squeak angrily, "He's not that bad—“
You and Hermione have all the advanced spell books. Thought you wouldn't mind." Dean explained casually.
Ron interjected, "Though we could hardly read yours, with all the writings you have in there—“
"No, I don't mind," Reese concluded coolly, disregarding Ron's comment. "Just get that thing out of here. Lavender will be back soon."
Dean began to snicker, "Yeah, and last time she saw him, she tried whacking him away with a shoe."
Ron required no further explanation as he gingerly picked up his pet and deposited him in the pocket of his jumper. As he passed Reese and Dean, nearly stumbling over her the crate of records that sat at the end of her bed, Lavender glided past the hallway leading to their dorm and paused at the door.
"Reesey! And—" Lavender frowned, brows pinching in skepticism. "What are you boys doing in here? This isn't your room!"
"We were just leaving," Dean assured casually. Lavender looked to Ron, and he clutched his jumper pocket protectively as Scabbers wriggled and squirmed inside.
"Ronald! How are you?" Lavender enthused, rushing beside him. He smiled weakly, painfully awkward and visibly uncomfortable.
"Er—fine. I was just going to—"
"I'll come with you! Come along. Ronald." She insisted jovially, ushering him out of the dorm with her. When they reached the door to exit, Ron looked over his shoulder at Reese and Dean, who were grinning madly.
"But—“ Ron stammered.
"Bye, Ronald!" Dean and Reese cooed in unison, waving flirtatiously with fluttering fingers. Ron's eyebrows sunk in unamused resignation as the two disappeared into the common room.
Her birthday progressed the next day in much the same way as the last one had, except for the wary fact that the next full moon was in just a few days. Her stomach had been tumultuous and her head had been seized by excruciating pains for the duration of the week, which necessitated her to take hurried breaks even for the most minimal of walks between classes, as a result of the intense soreness that lingered deep within her bones. Nonetheless, Reese maintained a resilient demeanor, refraining from expressing any undue distress.
Tied to each corner of her four-poster bed that Reese discovered upon waking up late that morning, were multicolored balloons supplied by Lacey. Along with a scribbled note, that read, “happy birthday, Roo! i wish i could sing you awake this morning, but i had to leave for early morning quidditch practice! love you! P.S sorry the balloons are droopy, i blew them up myself.”
Lavender was first to verbally greet her that morning, however—giving Reese a big kiss on both cheeks before stuffing a flower crown on her head, insisting that she keep it on all day in order to “look presentable enough to be thirteen.” Reese obliged, humoring Lavender, albeit enduring the discomfort of the prickly rose thorns pressing into her scalp throughout the day.
“Morning, Lupin.” Theodore Nott greeted her with all the enthusiasm of a depressed sloth as they neared the Great Hall, barely looking up from the cuff of his sleeve he was messing with. They had coincidentally intercepted each other on the way to breakfast, and when he glanced upward finally, his face stretched into a cocky grin. “Oh, well pardon me, I meant Princess Lupin. My apologies for not curtsying, but there are far too many plebeians around." He then topped off his greeting with a cheeky flick of a flower on her crown, adding insult to injury.
“Ha.” Reese said dryly as they entered the bustling room.
“Of course, I got you a better present.” Theo insisted unconvincingly, pausing in place. “Er…” he muttered, digging through the inner pocket of his robes, “Here’s a galleon.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
“See you in Potions!”
"What... is that?" Reese asked cautiously, tilting her head at the heaping pile of chicken wings that were arranged in a sloppy tower in front of Lacey once she’d reached the Gryffindor table.
"The finest breakfast cuisine Hogwarts has to offer." Seamus declared with a grin.
I asked her to get rid of that monstrosity." Lavender informed, annoyed, "But she insisted."
"It's a grease dome." Dean answered thoughtfully, head tilted as he examined the pile.
"No," Lacey prompted. "It's Macmillan tradition! You have to eat as many wings as your age." She beamed as she explained. "Go on, give it a try."
“She can’t handle that, she’s practically ancient.” Dean said, dragging the plate towards himself instead. “I, on the other hand—“
“Always a gentleman, Dean.” Lavender said with a flick of her hair. She turned to look at Reese, patting the seat beside her excitedly. “Reesey! Sit next to me, sit next to me!”
Just like last year, Lacey was adamant on singing to Reese during every single class. The denizens of Slytherin House, however, were entrenched in their customary hostility, directing incendiary glances at Reese each time Lacey burst into song. Once again, some of their professors encouraged the singing, most condoned it, while one vehemently, unequivocally abhorred it.
“Shut up, Macmillan. Ten points from you.” Professor Snape sneered menacingly.
“Thank Merlin…” Theo grumbled, uncovering his ears as Lacey’s chirping came to a reluctant halt. Blaise, on the other hand, was smirking with unwavering amusement.
“But—“ Lacey began to reason, making Snape shoot her a glare. “But Birthdays are supposed to be fun! And thirteen is a big number, wouldn’t you say?” Lacey rambled through Snape’s growing animosity. “I mean, that’s a lot of chicken wings—“
“Twenty points from Gryffindor.”
“Come on!”
In consideration of Lacey and Lavender's infectious exuberance for the occasion, Reese suppressed the visible manifestations of her excruciating physical discomfort as much as possible. She knew she couldn’t endure another class, especially after the way Professor McGonagall had looked at her with heavy concern and skepticism in Transfiguration when Reese had once failed to harness her grimaces. She often had to excuse herself so she could properly mend to her aching in private, in order to not worry her friends.
It wasn't until she found herself slumped against a stall in a girls' lavatory, her head resting on the wall and the flower crown slipping from her head, that she finally resolved to conclude the day and retreat to her dormitory.
On the way through a desolate corridor, however, her shoulder was slammed into by a little tearful figure scurrying past, retreating from the abandoned girl’s bathroom. Reese cursed beneath her breath in disgruntled reaction and whirled to face the red-haired culprit. “Weasley?”
Ginny finally focused her otherworldly gaze upon Reese’s face, stopping her swift pursuit in order to turn and face her. “What—“ Ginny hiccuped, “What do you want?”
“Me?” Reese blurted. “I didn’t slam into you, did I? What are you doing?” The customary animosity towards the girl Reese harbored had dissolved into that of wary concern. Ginny’s hands were practically trembling and were, for once, not occupied by her little black diary.
“Nothing.” Weasley sniffed again, steadfastly avoiding eye contact as she made haste in changing the subject. “What are you doing?”
Reese was reticent to share her afflictions even with her closest friends, so the thought of confiding in Ginny Weasley, a first-year who had thus far proven to be nothing but irritable and ill-tempered during their brief acquaintanceship, was entirely out of the question.
“Nothing.” Reese stated definitively.
With a nod that was both sharp and succinct, Ginny replied, "Fine." It was a tacit agreement, an unspoken understanding between them: one could have their secrets, as long as they didn’t infringe on the other’s. They could concur with this one thing.
Reese nodded, too. “Fine.”
She found herself inexplicably drawn to the common room during its quietest moments, when the vibrant hubbub of daily life had momentarily ceased. It was in these rare pockets of silence that the true character of the room was laid bare, its every detail exposed to the discerning eye. The flickering flames of the candelabras cast soft, dancing shadows on the walls, while the steady crackle of the fireplace provided a soothing undercurrent of sound. When she forced herself up the stairs and pushed the heavy door to her dormitory open, a smile crept its way across her face.
As she entered, her eyes flickered over the small yet impressive display before her: a carefully curated pile of gifts on her bed, each lovingly wrapped and adorned with brightly hued balloons. The vibrant colors of the balloons contrasted sharply with the soft, muted hues of her bedspread, creating a striking tableau that seemed to hum with energy and excitement.
Neatly arranged envelopes sat beside the pile of presents, each one bearing a handwritten note that spoke to the care and thoughtfulness that had gone into their creation. As she traced her fingers over the smooth, creamy paper, she felt a warm surge of gratitude.
Lavender's gift, nestled in a small box, was a handmade beaded bracelet, intricately crafted with light blues, yellows, and pinks. Lacey's gift was a set of quills, fresh and new, the feathers pristine and untouched. Their tips were sharp and ready to capture every thought and idea that Reese would put to paper. And from Dean, Reese received a tantalizing bundle of licorice wands, the sweet aroma wafting out of the package and sending her taste buds into a frenzy.
Finally, wrapped in thick brown paper, Reese was met with the familiar sight of a Oscar Wilde work, its cover pristine and unblemished, its pages waiting to be devoured, and with a little envelope tucked within the chapters. She tore the envelope open and scanned her eyes across the messy scrawl.
Dear Reese,
It is with a sense of awe and wonder that I pen these words to you, for it has come to my attention that you, my beloved daughter, have reached the momentous age of thirteen. How the years have flown by, yet it seems like only yesterday that I held you in my arms for the first time, filled with an indescribable sense of joy and purpose.
As you embark on this new chapter in your life, I am filled with a profound sense of pride in the personyou are becoming. Your inquisitive mind and compassionate heart are the hallmarks of a truly remarkable individual, and I am honored to call you my daughter.
As a member of this family, you are blessed with an inheritance of strength and resilience that has been honed over generations. You possess the same indomitable spirit that has carriedus through some of life's most difficult trials, and I have no doubt that you will rise to meet any challenge that comes your way.
On this, your thirteenth birthday, I wish you a year filled with laughter, love, and endless opportunities to grow and learn. You are a truly remarkable young woman, Reese, and I am honored to be your father.
With all my love,
Dad
🗡🗡🗡
“Stay still,” Lacey admonished, her words infused with exhaustion as she languidly shifted her head from its resting place upon Reese's shoulder. “I’m tired.”
“No, Lacey!” Lavender protested, reaching across the table to nudge Lacey’s limp arm. “Reopen your eyes so I can show you my earrings!”
Lacey emitted a low, resonant groan, her voice laden with fatigue. “Practice ran late last night. ‘M going to sleep.”
“They’re very pretty, Lav.” Reese, in a gesture of placation, assuaged Lavender's enthusiasm. Lavender smiled in agreement as she delicately twirled her dainty, heart-shaped earrings that gracefully hung from her earlobes. Lavender herself was resplendent in a symphony of rosy hues, her attire a harmonious blend of pinks and reds, a vivid manifestation of her complete immersion in the romantically charged ambiance that enveloped the cherished occasion of Valentine's Day.
The school, renowned for its unwavering commitment to celebration, had undergone a remarkable transformation. Its corridors were now bedecked in flamboyant hues, vibrant pink blossoms adorning the walls like an exuberant tapestry. The very atmosphere shimmered with an enchanting aura, as if a sprinkle of stardust had descended upon the space. From the illuminated ceiling, a cascading rain of iridescent pink confetti descended like neon snowflakes, casting a spell of whimsy upon all who ventured within. The ambiance resonated with an undeniable fervor, a visual spectacle that breathed life into the spirit of festivity.
It was an eyesore.
From Reese’s left, Dean nudged her shoulder, and she followed his gaze to the front of the room. There, a somber and solemn countenance cloaked most of the professors, their expressions devoid of mirth or cheer. However, amidst this sea of stoicism, Professor Lockhart stood out conspicuously, his customary zeal undiminished. Clad in robes of a sickeningly vibrant magenta that mirrored the flamboyant decorations, he exuded an audacious flair. With a flourish of his hands, he commanded the attention of the entire assembly, calling for an immediate hush to descend upon the hall.
With an exuberance that compensated for the palpable absence of enthusiasm among his colleagues, Professor Lockhart pronounced, "A joyous Valentine's Day to all of you, esteemed students!" His voice reverberated with unabashed excitement, a stark contrast to the subdued atmosphere that enveloped the room. "Furthermore, I extend my heartfelt gratitude to the forty-six kind souls who graced me with their thoughtful cards. Inspired by your generosity, I have taken it upon myself to orchestrate a delightful surprise." Lockhart's hands clapped together in a resounding clap, and the majestic doors of the Great Hall swung open to reveal a dozen surly-looking dwarves, donning four expressions, each adorning little golden wings and cradling harps in their hands. “My friendly, card-carrying cupids.”
“Oh, God.” Reese said as she buried her face in her hands, the movement causing Lacey to stir grumpily in her slumber.
“Is he serious?” Dean blurted incredulously as his and Seamus’s shoulders began to shake with laughter.
A pointed remark emanated from Ron, resonating from his position a few bodies away at the table. "You wouldn't happen to be the sender of one of those cards, Hermione?" he quipped. In response, Hermione's attention swiftly shifted, her gaze fixated intently upon the contents nestled within the depths of her bookbag, as if suddenly engrossed by the mysteries concealed within.
“Hey, you! ‘Arry Potter!” Amidst the bustling corridor, a piercing voice disrupted Reese and her companions as they embarked on their journey towards Charms class. Harry slowly stopped in his tracks, as did Reese, Ron, Lacey, and a small clique of first-years including Ginny Weasley who happened to be lingering nearby. Ginny was pink-faced, eyes darting between Harry, Reese, and the approaching dwarf apprehensively. Harry, attempting to mask his utterly impending humiliation, endeavored to compose his features into an appearance of nonchalance as he reluctantly pivoted to face the peculiar messenger.
“I’ve got a musical message to deliver to ‘Arry Potter.” The dwarf, his voice gruff and throaty, announced his purpose with unwavering determination, swinging his harp around threateningly with each stomp in Harry’s direction. Reese took a step back.
Harry's response was swift and resolute, his head shaking vigorously in denial as he hurriedly distanced himself from the impending encounter. "Not here," he interjected firmly with a hushed and panicked whisper.
Ignoring Harry's plea, the dwarf stubbornly persisted, demanding compliance with a forceful tone. "Oi, stay still!" he bellowed, gripping Harry's backpack tightly and forcefully pulling him back into place. The unexpected tug led to an unfortunate consequence—the bag succumbed to the strain with a resounding tear, causing its contents to scatter haphazardly across the cold, stone floor. Reese retrieved the few papers that landed by her feet, as Harry frantically fought to snatch up his parchments and books, his movements filled with an anxious determination to flee in the opposite direction.
Despite Harry's desperate endeavors to escape, his efforts were rendered futile in the face of the dwarf's persistence. With a clearing of his throat, the diminutive messenger burst into song, his voice carrying through the air with surprising clarity and resonance.
Reese didn’t think it could quite get worse, until Draco Malfoy and Percy Weasley arrived at the scene, stubborn in their presence, their unwavering determination evident in their stance. Despite Harry's persistent attempts to break free, his hopes were dashed once again. The dwarf, resolute in his mission, swiftly immobilized Harry by pinning his legs down, causing him to collapse onto the unforgiving floor. With an air of triumph, the dwarf perched himself upon Harry's ankles, effectively trapping him in an undignified predicament. The scene that unfolded was truly a spectacle to behold—an astonished Harry, a backdrop of bewildered friends, inquisitive first-years, and a thoroughly entertained Draco Malfoy flanked by his loyal accomplices, all of them basking in the comedic display before them.
“His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,”
Reese couldn’t help but break into a barely-restrained smile.
“His hair is as dark as a blackboard.
I wish he was mine, he’s really divine,
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.”
Summoning his resilience, Harry managed to pull himself up from the floor, mustering a forced laugh that harmonized with the collective amusement shared by those present. Accepting his torn bookbag from Reese, he shook the dwarf away from him. Percy, driven by his innate sense of authority, fervently attempted to restore order by shooing away the assembled crowd, employing threats of deducting House points—and Lacey was still wiping tears of mirth from her eyes as she started down the corridor again.
The hallway began to reverberate once more with escalating commotion, triggered by a new tense exchange between Malfoy and Harry. The tumultuous scene had caused the remaining first-year students to scatter in every direction, seeking refuge from the brewing conflict. However, amidst the chaos, one figure stood rooted in place. It was Ginny, her face flushed with a deep shade of crimson, her cheeks resembling embers on the verge of ignition. The intensity of the situation had rendered her momentarily immobile, her gaze wavering between Harry and Malfoy.
“It was a… noble attempt.” Reese said flatly with a shrug, as the two of them absently watched the quarrel unfold before them. Ginny huffed a deep breath, eyebrows sinking in annoyance as she disregarded the squabble in front of her and whirled on Reese.
“You don’t know if that Valentine was mine!” Ginny's voice carried a heated undertone as she adamantly insisted, her fists tightly clenched at her sides.
It was definitely hers.
“Sure. Could’ve been Myrtle.” Reese retorted, her tone laced with a touch of dry humor.
“Stop making jokes—“
In the midst of the escalating tension, Malfoy seized the opportunity to deliver a cutting remark, his sneer contorting his features. "I don't think Potter was particularly fond of your Valentine, Weasley!" he jeered, aiming his words directly at Ginny. The barb clearly struck a nerve, causing Ginny to instinctively cover her face, her cheeks burning with embarrassment and frustration. Determined to escape the uncomfortable confrontation, she swiftly maneuvered past Malfoy, racing towards her classroom. The door slammed shut behind her, shielding her from further scrutiny and granting her a temporary respite.
In Charms, Harry seemed to recover from his earlier humiliation, now that he was distracted with Malfoy’s harassment and the little black diary he was hunched over. What was it with little black diaries this year?
Hermione, sat beside Reese, renowned for her intellectual prowess, diligently transcribed copious notes onto parchment. Having recently been granted reprieve from the confinements of the Hospital Wing at the onset of February, Hermione held an insatiable eagerness to rekindle her academic rhythm. In the wake of her return, Hermione had remained rather reticent, scarcely exchanging words with her dormmates. Hence, when she abruptly turned towards Reese, her countenance marked by an arresting expression, a sense of unease enveloped Reese, amplifying her apprehension.
With a tone devoid of any emotional inflection, Hermione broke the silence, her words hanging in the air with a sense of gravity. "I never had the chance to give you your birthday present," she stated plainly, her features bearing a solemnity that seemed to cast a veil of doubt over Reese's countenance. The stoic expression etched upon Hermione's face reflected a hint of skepticism, intensifying the air of uncertainty that now enveloped Reese.
“You—you didn’t have to—“
“I know, but I did.” Amidst the dwindling number of students departing the classroom, Hermione delved into the depths of her bag, her fingers deftly navigating its contents. After a brief moment of rummaging, she triumphantly retrieved a small vial, its delicate form housing a mysterious substance that emitted a wispy, smoky trail of an alluring cerulean hue. Without a word, Hermione deposited the vial into the open palm of Reese's hand and promptly turned to leave the classroom, enveloping Reese in dead silence.
Reese delicately turned the vial over in her hand, her fingertips tracing the smooth glass surface. Her gaze fixed upon the scrawled label that adorned the vial, her eyes diligently scanning the carefully penned words.
Wolfsbane.