So Long, Daisy May
"Hey, Parvati, look, I can fit a whole muffin in my mouth!" Seamus declared, a twinkle of pride in his eyes as he snatched the platter and thrust it in front of him. With a swift hand motion, he swatted away Reese's hopeful attempt to grab a muffin, beating her to it.
Unfazed by Seamus's claim, Dean leaped into the fray, his mouth already brimming with muffins as he mumbled through the pastry-packed abyss, "I can fit two!" His words emerged muffled and garbled, barely comprehensible. "Or one and a half..."
Parvati had briefly looked away from Reese and their previous conversation to bemusedly watch the two eager boys stuff their faces with muffins, before slowly turning back to Reese. "My sister loves that book!" Parvati claimed, sliding the closed novel on the table towards herself as she read off the cover. She returned it just as quickly, still taking, "Padma was always more into books than I, being a Ravenclaw, and all."
"Yeah, I—" Reese cut herself off when Dean began choking on the one-and-a-half muffins he had stuffed in his mouth. Seamus's eyes widened in alarm, his attempts to speak stifled by his own muffin-filled predicament.
Hermione, ever the quick thinker, sighed impatiently and raised her wand. "Anapneo!" With a flick of her wrist and a muttered incantation, the muffins that were on the brink of crumbling in Dean's mouth vanished from his airway, leaving him stunned and clutching his throat in disbelief.
"Aw, come on, Hermione." Reese couldn't help but interject, mock disappointment coloring her voice, "You could've left them!"
Hermione rolled her eyes, a faint smile tugging at her lips, "I believe preserving their ability to breathe outweighs the entertainment value. We aim to avoid suffocations so early in the morning."
"I don't think near-death experiences will prove to impress her much, gentlemen." Reese let out a mock sigh, her hand gently patting Dean's shoulder. "You may have to come up with a plan B."
He rolled his eyes, pressing his grinning lips together. "It was Seamus's idea!"
"Mmm!" Seamus objected, eyes still wide as he frantically pointed to his still-full mouth. Dean had poked his cheek in a comical attempt at expelling the food from Seamus's mouth as Reese and Parvati exchanged judgmentally amused glances.
During the upcoming Easter holidays, the second-years found themselves faced with the task of deciding which classes they would take in the following term. Unfortunately, they had to keep their core classes, because, given the first opportunity, Reese would have dropped Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts in a heartbeat.
Amidst the limitations, Reese seized the opportunity to explore new academic horizons. She opted for Ancient Runes, recognizing her affinity for the subject and her less-than-stellar mathematical skills that made Arithmancy less appealing. With a hint of spontaneity, she made her choices for the remaining classes without too much caution. A large chunk of them, Reese and Dean had agreed to take together—If the classes ended up being rubbish, they'd at least have each other to endure it with.
Dean, not knowing a single detail about any of these new classes having been raised Muggle-born, chose his esteemed lessons by closing his eyes and jabbing his wand at the parchment, circling whichever subject he landed on. Reese hadn't the energy to judge.
Potions still in order, Reese found herself persevering through Potions class amidst a sea of Slytherins. As the sands of time flowed onward, Reese's journey matured, and the once imposing aura of the Slytherins began to dim, like a fading shadow at sunrise. The fierce intimidation they once emanated gradually transformed into a sense of familiarity, a sentiment that took root within Reese's life, like a delicate sprout breaking through the soil. They began to grow on her, figuratively speaking, namely Blaise and Theo.
Gone were the days when Reese quivered in the face of their collective might. The metamorphosis from a timid first-year to a seasoned student had granted her the gift of perspective. No longer did the formidable aura of the Slytherins envelop her in an impenetrable shroud of apprehension. Instead, it dissipated, revealing the multi-dimensional nature of these individuals. Reese had still received off-handed glares from their other Slytherin peers, of course, but it mattered very little to her. Daphne Greengrass, who Theo had been in the noble pursuit of since the beginning of the year, exuded an especially irascible disposition when confronted with Reese's Gryffindor presence. Luckily, Reese hadn't yet agreed to visit the Slytherin common room, sparing herself from confronting Daphne's, and the other Slytherin's, prickliness head-on.
"She's definitely into me," The conclusion formed within Theo's mind with the unwavering certainty of a master strategist unraveling a complex puzzle. Confidence oozed from his very demeanor, as he effortlessly brushed aside an errant strand of hair, a gesture as casual as a seasoned performer addressing an adoring audience. The weight of his backpack seemed inconsequential as he swung it with an almost choreographed grace over his shoulder, as if every movement was part of a meticulously scripted routine.
The lingering atmosphere of the Potions classroom, dreary and laden with the scent of simmering concoctions, had dissolved with the conclusion of yet another lackluster session. In its wake, Theo's voice rang out like a rallying cry, pulling Reese from the clutches of a stifled yawn. They walked in tandem, step for step, a synchronized pair exiting the realm of Snape.
Theo's monologue, delivered with an earnestness that matched the fervor of a seasoned orator, flowed like a stream of consciousness. Reese, caught in the crosscurrents of her own drowsiness, found herself swept along, her attention snagged by his words. The air was ripe with an unspoken energy, an aura that seemed to envelop Theo, infusing his convictions with an undeniable allure. "She kept looking at me, and she had to turn around to do so since she sits in front of us. Right? Oi!"
Theo waved his hand in front of Reese's drooping eyes, rousing her from her reverie. With a flutter of her lashes, the world shifted into sharper focus, the canvas of her attention reset upon Theo's countenance. There, etched upon his features, lay a fleeting trace of impatience, a well-worn expression in the grand theater of discussing matters concerning Daphne.
"What? Oh, yeah," Reese rejoined the conversation, her words painted in the dry hues of sarcasm. Her tone, akin to a well-versed dramatist delivering a punchline, resounded in the corridor. A touch of irreverence lingered in the air, a flavor that had become a staple in their exchanges. Her words, like shards of wit, seemed to dance upon the invisible strings of their camaraderie.
Theo, his patience stretched thin like an overused prop in a play, emitted a resonant groan, a symphony of exasperation that echoed in the hallway. "You're being sarcastic." The subtle nuance of his irritation, a familiar refrain in the melody of their interactions, painted his countenance with a shadow of vexation. "Again."
"And you're seeking girl advice from me instead of Blaise," Reese volleyed back, her words infused with the same sardonic essence. A sidelong glance, cast with calculated nonchalance, accompanied her retort, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air like a suspended question mark. "Again."
"Oh, Blaise wouldn't want to hear about this," he proclaimed, his voice carrying an air of almost comedic bravado. The hint of a smirk played upon his lips, as if he were unraveling a carefully crafted enigma. "Besides, I suspect he and Daphne had a thing going on at some point. He'd be livid."
Reese, caught in the undertow of Theo's assertion, emitted a choked laugh, her amusement a burst of sound that harmonized with the backdrop of their corridor. Her raised eyebrows, a visual refrain of her intrigue, punctuated the moment. "Wow, you're a little shit-starter."
Theo grinned haughtily, as if flattered by the observation.
"You know, he won't mind," Theo shrugged, his words more of a self-assurance than an attempt to convince Reese. "And Blaise isn't exactly lacking options in the romantic department, if you know what I mean." Theo continued, his voice a canvas upon which a portrait of Blaise's romantic charisma was painted. The implication, drenched in subtle suggestion, stirred the air like a whisper, leaving a trail of insinuation that lingered in Reese's ears.
Reese, her features contorting with a blend of disapproval and mild exasperation, cast a sidelong glance at Theo. The lines etched on her forehead, like a temporary tattoo of her thoughts, painted her sentiments in vivid detail. His attempts to steer the conversation into the realm of Blaise's romantic escapades, while presumably captivating to him, were far from her realm of intrigue. She pressed her lips into a thin line, clapping a hand to his shoulder. "Not interested in the details, mate."
"You're a girl," Theo informed her as if making a great discovery, eyes trained in her direction almost skeptically.
"Astute observation."
"Her and that prick, Pucey, have been all over each other—" Theo's frustration unfurled like a well-worn scroll, his words a litany of vexation that tumbled forth like an overflowing goblet of complaints.
"What a 'Pucey'—" Reese chimed, satiating his rant as she refrained from grinning at her own joke.
"I'm totally better-looking than that guy, right?" He continued absently. His words, carrying a hint of uncertainty, painted a portrait of self-doubt that seemed almost foreign on his typically confident canvas.
"Uh—" Reese began, her words poised on the precipice of response before Theo's voice interjected, as if reading her thoughts.
"You're right, he's no competition," Theo concluded, his assertion a decisive decree that seemed to buoy his spirits. His self-assured tone reverberated like a victorious fanfare, punctuating the air with a triumphant cadence. "What would you suggest I do if you were Daphne?" Theo said, finally pausing his rambling to seek her input. How could she provide an answer? She was the least qualified person to discuss matters of choosing between multiple suitors. Reese had never found herself in a situation where two people were vying for her affections. Selecting a suitable partner from a line of options was a conversation he should be having with someone like Lavender, not Reese.
In the aftermath of that eventful Valentine's Day, it appeared that no one's love life had seen any improvement. Theo remained perpetually impatient in his pursuit of Daphne, their supposed mutual interest still hanging in the balance. Lavender, on the other hand, grew increasingly frustrated by Ronald's lack of initiative. As for Ginny, Reese had noticed her distancing herself from Harry in the following months, seemingly avoiding any close proximity to him. Reese couldn't help but connect this shift to the infamous Cupid dwarf incident, a comical misstep in Ginny's attempt to capture Harry's attention. The memory of that humorous yet slightly embarrassing moment lingered in the air, a reminder of the complexities of matters of the heart, and the humiliation that seemed to come with it.
Yet, as the 'Heir of Slytherin' commotion settled into a hushed murmur, Reese couldn't help but notice a subtle change in Ginny's countenance. The ever-present journal, once a steadfast companion, had disappeared from its familiar spot beneath her arm. In its absence, a shift in Ginny's demeanor became evident. The once boisterous and vibrant girl seemed to have undergone a transformation, her timidity now tinged with an edge of frustration. The loss of her journal, a cherished confidante, seemed to have left a void that even her quick wit couldn't quite fill. But Reese wasn't quite invested in how Ginny behaved at all times anyway, really.
Reese, having been granted a reprieve from her duty for most of the week, now stood at the cusp of her turn to accompany Hermione. Hope fluttered within her as she acknowledged Professor Sprout's diligent efforts to nurse the Mandrakes, yearning for the cure that would quell their fears. The elusive figure known as the 'Heir of Slytherin' had yet to manifest their malevolent presence in recent times. It seemed, for a fleeting moment, that tranquility had reclaimed its throne. In the backdrop of this newfound serenity, Reese allowed herself to believe, even if for just a fleeting moment, that the ordeal was finally reaching its conclusion. Yet, as the days marched onward and the calendar pages turned, the tides of fate proved themselves to be unpredictable. May, a month known for its blooms and blossoms, heralded a dreaded return of events.
"You can't be serious," Reese muttered, her voice laden with bitterness, resonating within the expansive Great Hall. Like a skilled navigator, she deftly maneuvered through the maze of Slytherins, her determination acting as a compass that guided her toward the focal point of their collective attention. There, affixed to the noticeboard like a proclamation of cruelty, hung a piece of parchment adorned with messy scrawl. Five names, etched in bold strokes, including those of Dean and Hermione, were accompanied by a trail of numbers and wagers that seemed to mock the gravity of their situation. Reese clenched her jaw in irritation, ripping the paper off the board. Graham Montague and Marcus Flint of the Slytherin Quidditch team were standing smugly in front of her, intercepting her to rip the parchment from her grasp.
"Ah, ah, ah, Loony," Montague's condescending tone floated through the air, his head swaying with an air of mock disapproval as he reclaimed the paper from Reese's grasp. The dismissive gesture, an attempt to silence Reese's dissent, only fueled the fire of her indignation. "Only people that have money to bet are allowed." Flint chimed in, his voice a calculated mix of dryness and detachment. His words landed like a slap, a reminder of the heartlessness that seemed to have infested the very air they breathed.
"You guys are betting on who will be Petrified next?" A torrent of disgust surged within Reese as she narrowed her eyes, her gaze shifting deftly between the damning list and the two individuals who stood as harbingers of callousness. "You're disgusting."
"Don't worry," Flint responded with dry nonchalance, his shrug laden with a sense of detachment, "If you bet on one of your Mudblood friends, you'll win enough money to buy robes that aren't hand-me-downs."
Reese's eyes rolled skyward, their audacious claims failing to ignite her ire, shoving through to snatch the parchment back once more. Suppressing her seething rage, Reese swallowed the venomous insults that threatened to spill forth, crumpling the parchment into her fists before dropping it at her feet. Montague and Flint made sure to hurl some obscurities at her and she turned around to elbow her way through the sea of Slytherins that surrounded her.
Forcing her gritting jaw to relax and keeping her anger internal, she deftly made her way through the isles of tables. Plopping herself down amidst the sea of green-clad students, Reese allowed her body to meld with the rigid wooden bench. Her presence, a striking contrast to the predominantly silver and green hues, had once elicited curious glances and raised eyebrows. But throughout the year, as her presence grew more customary, the other Slytherins would offer her a usual distasteful sizing and eye-roll before ignoring her existence. It was a fine balance of suppressed animosity, and she focused her attention on the two familiar faces that awaited her.
Theo, as per usual, was discussing something that Blaise couldn't bring himself to care about, as he sat stony and unsmiling, suppressing a yawn or an eyeroll every now and then. As she settled into her place, the conversations at the Slytherin table ebbed and flowed around her. The whispers of ambition and the undercurrents of shared secrets wafted through the air, and when Theo looked away from his food to see her there, he looked relieved to have another, slightly more responsive one of his friends to converse with.
Yet it was not Theo that commanded Reese's unwavering attention as she deposited her bookbag on the ground with an audible thud and took her seat with an assertive slap on the table. The full force of her piercing gaze zeroed in on the exasperatingly nonchalant figure of Blaise Zabini, refusing to waver even for an instant.
"What the hell, Zabini?" Reese's voice cut through the air, laden with a mix of disbelief and reproach. Leaning forward, she locked eyes with the insouciant young man, their faces separated only by the expanse of the table. "You actually bet on who would be Petrified next?"
Theo couldn't help but emit an amused snort, shaking his head. "Damn, who'd you bet on?"
Reese's disapproving gaze flickered to Theo, her expression a silent reprimand. "Don't be a dick, Theo," she retorted, her tone a mix of exasperation and reproach. His response was a mock surrender, his hands raised in a gesture of feigned innocence, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, while Reese turned her attention back to Blaise. "What was the point? You're already bloody loaded."
Blaise, ever the embodiment of cool composure, merely shrugged, his teeth sinking into the succulent flesh of an apple with practiced grace. "A financial opportunity is a financial opportunity, darling," he responded with calculated nonchalance. The implication of his statement lingered in the air, a subtle acknowledgment of his astute business acumen. "And we both know I'll be walking away with a considerable sum of galleons."
"No, we both don't know that." Reese retorted impatiently. "Dean and I walk her to every—"
Theo's interjection, a sarcastic remark punctuated by an eye roll, disrupted the unfolding exchange. His amusement, palpable in the quirk of his lips, added a layer of complexity to the scene. "Oh, smart," he chimed in, his tone dripping with irony, "Protecting one Mudbloo—"
"—Muggle-born, asshole," Reese's sharp interruption sliced through Theo's words, a swift correction that had become a familiar refrain.
Theo's concession was swift, his apology a mere blip in the ongoing exchange. "Sorry—protecting one Muggle-born with another Muggle-born. How do you think that's going to work out?"
After brief contemplation, Reese had ultimately opted for telling Theo to shut up, her gaze now directed at Blaise once more. "Cross your name off that list."
Blaise, exhaling a weary sigh, dipped his apple to the plate, which promptly vanished, replaced by a pristine one. His gaze briefly met Theo's, a fleeting exchange that balanced on the tightrope between amusement and disagreement. "Yes, ma'am," Blaise acquiesced, his voice tinged with a dulled sense of compliance.
Blaise made sure to make a dramatic show of reluctance before finally crossing out his name, and the three had traversed together all the way to the Quidditch Pitch before Reese had finally split off. She didn't know why exactly Blaise and Theo had any interest in the match that Slytherin wasn't partaking in, but when she was told that they planned to prey on the downfall of Gryffindor, she had departed with an eyeroll. She was supposed to be at the match today where the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs would play, as Lacy demanded the presence of all of her friends, but Reese had to find Hermione beforehand.
The first place Reese intended to look was their dormitory. As she traversed down her next corridor, however, she was intercepted by a certain red-haired first-year, whose presence sent a jolt of surprise through Reese's body. She involuntarily gasped, her hand instinctively clutching her heart, as Ginny Weasley materialized before her.
"Jesus—" The exclamation burst from Reese's lips, carried on a sharp gasp that cut through the air. The initial shock of Ginny's sudden appearance sent a surge of adrenaline through Reese's veins, her heart racing like a galloping stallion. Gradually, her breath steadied, her pulse returning to its rhythmic cadence as her senses adjusted to the unexpected encounter. She took a moment to fully register Ginny's presence, her gaze assessing the young Gryffindor's appearance. Ginny's countenance bore the weight of a hardened resolve, a contemplative expression etched onto her features.
"You scared me. What are you..." The signs of stress, once a constant companion to her tear-streaked face, had shifted. Reese's eyes honed in on the changes, her attention captured by the flicker of intensity that now burned within Ginny's gaze. "...doing?"
"What—What do you want?" Ginny's words erupted, laden with an undercurrent of irritation and suspicion. Her voice carried a sharp edge, a testament to the guarded stance she had adopted. Reese's presence seemed to evoke a reaction that was equal parts defiance and wariness. It was clear that their paths had crossed once too often, their interactions more often than not leading to conflict.
Reese's nonchalant demeanor held steady, her posture relaxed as she rocked on her heels. Her voice, a mirror to her casual stance, was tinged with an air of detachment. "Nothing to do with you, at the moment—"
Ginny's response was swift, her words dripping with a frigid coldness that cut through the indifference Reese had projected. Her posture shifted, a subtle straightening of her form as she met Reese's gaze with unyielding determination. "Oh, I know what you want," she retorted with a cold bite, her voice unwavering. A newfound resolve seemed to have ignited within her, fueling her words. "I want you to leave Hermione alone," she continued, her voice laced with a surprising depth of conviction. "You and your little group of self-appointed protectors are only making things worse."
Reese's eyebrows quirked in response, a mixture of surprise and defiance that danced across her features. The tension between them crackled in the air, their exchange a battleground of words and unspoken intentions. "Oh, yeah? And what's it to you?" Reese's voice carried a tinge of incredulity, her patience wearing thin. "At least we're doing something. What have you done, Weasley? Besides glare at me from behind that journal."
"You and your friend parading around her will only make things more dangerous," Ginny claimed definitively.
"You're wrong, Weasley," the clash of their beliefs reverberated in the air, each word a barb that added to the mounting hostility. "And if you knew what was really going on, you'd realize that. Stay out of this."
Reese's original mission to reach Hermione had been momentarily derailed, her mind still reeling from the heated exchange with Ginny. However, as she resumed her journey, her determination to protect her friend burned even brighter, fueled by the animosity she had just encountered.
Was she truly making things worse, as Ginny had claimed? The question gnawed at Reese's thoughts, a seed of doubt that had been planted. Yet, her unwavering commitment to protecting her friend served as a beacon of clarity. She couldn't afford to second-guess herself now. The path ahead was fraught with uncertainties, but Reese was resolute in her purpose. It was true that she wanted to keep her friend safe, and that's precisely what she intended on doing.
The common room, sparsely populated in the absence of her friends who were drawn to the Quidditch match, seemed to stretch before her. The occasional clusters of students added to the ambiance, their hushed conversations creating pockets of activity within the otherwise tranquil atmosphere.
With a quiet resolve, Reese left the common room, her footsteps carrying her down the familiar corridors. The torchlight flickered against the stone walls, casting intricate patterns that seemed to whisper secrets of the castle's history. The journey to the library was a familiar path, one etched into her memory by countless excursions.
The anticipation that fueled her steps was mirrored in the air around her, an electric charge that seemed to hum with energy. The library's towering oak doors appeared before her, a gateway to knowledge and answers. She pushed them open, the creak of ancient wood a welcome greeting. The scent of old parchment and polished wood enveloped her, a comforting embrace that signaled familiarity. A symphony of scents enveloped her senses, a harmonious blend of aged parchment and polished wood that embraced her like an old friend. The ambient hush of the library's interior was a sanctuary for both seekers of information and lovers of solitude. Reese's presence was but a soft addition to this chorus of quiet pursuit, her steps leading her deeper into the heart of the library's labyrinthine aisles.
Yet, her purpose remained unfulfilled. Hermione's absence was a glaring void, a puzzle piece that refused to fit into place.
And then, as she ventured further into the library, Reese's steps faltered. Ahead, a hushed murmur of voices reached her ears, drawing her like a siren's call. She quickened her pace, the soft echo of her footsteps carrying her closer to the source.
As the unfolding tableau painted its vivid strokes before Reese's eyes, her heart seemed to momentarily halt in her chest. A convergence of educators had clustered, their expressions etched with the shared burden of concern and a tinge of apprehension. In their midst, a figure lay ensnared in a stillness that defied the vibrancy of life—Hermione, a pillar of intellect, was now rendered captive by an unseen and unforgiving force.
A pang of unease seized Reese, the throb of her heartbeat echoing the disquiet that rippled through the scene. It was a sight that defied the known laws of existence, a paradox that her mind struggled to reconcile. Hermione's features, so often alight with vivacity, were now ensnared in a visage of stunned disbelief, her very essence arrested in a chilling state of suspension. The soft whispers of the teachers' voices seemed to fade into the background as Reese's gaze remained fixed on Hermione's petrified form.
"Is there anything we can do?" One teacher's voice broke through the haze of Reese's thoughts, the words a desperate plea for a solution.
A solemn response followed, a voice weighed down by the reality of limitations. "I fear our options are as elusive as the cause itself."
Her figure lay sprawled upon the ground, a haunting tableau frozen in time. Her once-vibrant features were now rendered in stark stillness, a mask of shock etched upon her face. The light of life had dimmed in her eyes, replaced by an eerie glassiness that seemed to reflect the uncertainty that had befallen her. Her lips, usually animated with intelligence and determination, were now sealed in a frozen line, their usual eloquence silenced.
Reese was lost in her thoughts, contemplating the fragile state of her friend and the mysteries that had led to this chilling consequence. The soft rustle of movement nearby caught her attention, and she looked up to find Professor McGonagall standing before her, her gaze holding a mixture of concern and understanding.
"Miss... Lupin," Professor McGonagall's voice, a symphony of gentle authority, drew Reese's attention away from the petrified figure of her friend. The professor's gaze, a blend of empathy and instruction, met Reese's with unwavering certainty. "I understand your concern, but I'm afraid you must leave the library now."
Reese tore her gaze away from Hermione and met the professor's eyes, her own filled with a mix of hesitation and uncertainty. "Professor, I—"
The professor's response was gentle yet unwavering, a bridge between understanding and necessity. "There is nothing you can do here. Return to your common room."
Reluctance tugged at Reese's heartstrings, the fierce impulse to stand vigil warring against the sobering truth that her presence held no solution in this enigmatic puzzle. With a final, lingering glance at Hermione's petrified form, Reese nodded slowly, turning on her heel.
As she exited the library, the heavy doors closing behind her, Reese's footsteps echoed in the corridor. The weight of helplessness settled upon her shoulders, a burden that seemed to grow with each step. Lost in contemplation, Reese navigated a corner, her thoughts still tethered to her friend's plight, when an announcement pierced the air, blaring through the classrooms and reverbrating through every hallowed corridor.
A voice, commanding and urgent, boomed through the castle walls. "All students are to return to their respective common rooms immediately. I repeat, all students are to return to their respective common rooms immediately."
The voices of other students echoed around her, a chorus of uncertainty that seemed to fill the air.
As twilight descended, casting its ethereal hues upon the Hogwarts castle, Dean's voice cut through the dimly lit common room. "I feel awful," he confessed, the weight of his words carrying a tinge of remorse.
Beside him, Reese sat perched, her fingers absently toying with the laces of her shoes. A furrowed brow bespoke her contemplative state, her thoughts mirroring the dance of shadows that played upon her face, painted by the flickering flames of the fireplace.
"I was supposed to be there sooner," Reese mused aloud, her words accompanied by a sigh that seemed to mingle with the very air around them. The scene outside the windows portrayed the world beyond in shades of indigo and amethyst, a tranquil canvas that belied the turmoil within her. "If it weren't for that..." she recalled with a hint of frustration, the mention of the young Gryffindor a thorn that pricked at her thoughts. If it weren't for that bloody Ginny Weasley.