Ren dragged herself through the Charms corridor, the echo of her own footsteps trailing behind her like a lazy shadow. The morning had already been a blur of incantations and swishes, something about a combination of Summoning Charms and Locking Spells, though she honestly couldn't remember which part was the new lesson and which part was revision. Her mind was too fogged to care. All she knew was that she had managed to pull it off without setting anything on fire, which for her was a solid victory.
She dug a hand into her robe pocket and fished out a crumpled piece of parchment. Her timetable looked like it had survived several duels already. The edges were torn, ink smudged from careless hands, and there was a faint imprint of pumpkin juice from a disastrous breakfast earlier that week. She flattened it against her palm, squinting at the blurred writing.
"Transfiguration," she muttered under her breath with the kind of disgust people usually reserved for expired milk.
Of all subjects, she loathed that one the most, not because she was bad at it, but because Professor McGonagall seemed to have a personal vendetta against her. Every wrong flick of her wand earned her a pointed stare that made her question her existence. Ren had convinced herself that McGonagall secretly enjoyed watching her squirm. Others were far worse, Peter Pettigrew, for instance, who once managed to turn his mouse into a pile of something she highly suspected to be turd but somehow she was always the one getting the lecture.
Thinking of Pettigrew made her wrinkle her nose. He was the sort of boy who made you feel both pity and irritation at once. Nervous as a trait, perpetually sweating, and somehow still part of that ridiculously confident group of Gryffindors. She told herself she wasn't jealous, but the tight knot in her chest disagreed.
Lost in thought, Ren walked straight into something or rather, someone. Something stiff, and unpleasantly clammy.
"Hello, Ren," came the squeaky, hopeful voice she dreaded. "Are you going to Transfigurat—"
Before he could finish, she rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't fall out, brushed off the dusty sleeve that had touched her, and walked right past him. The scent of ink and nerves lingered in the air. Pettigrew stood frozen, watching her go the opposite direction of the Transfiguration classroom.
"Oi, Mate!" Sirius's voice boomed from down the corridor, followed by a heavy slap on Pettigrew's back that nearly knocked him off balance. "Didn't know ghosts could talk now."
Pettigrew squeaked, looking flustered, while James was already watching the retreating figure of Ren, his gaze complex.
"What were you talking about?" he asked, grabbing Pettigrew by the collar.
"Nothing, mate! She just walked off—too much pride, that one," Pettigrew stammered, tugging at his collar.
James nodded slowly, still watching where Ren had gone. Beside him, Remus Lupin frowned, brow creased in confusion. "Who are we talking about again?"
Ren had no plans of enduring another transfiguration lecture. Instead, her feet led her to the pumpkin patches near the gamekeeper's hut. She wasn't entirely sure why she always ended up there, but the place had a quietness that suited her. The air smelled of damp soil and the faint sweetness of ripe pumpkins. Beyond the fence stretched the Forbidden Forest, tall and shadowed, whispering with secrets. Something about its darkness drew her in. It reminded her of home cold, eerie, and honest in its silence.
"Ay, kid! What're yeh doin' out here, eh?"
Ren nearly jumped out of her skin, spinning around to see the massive figure looming behind her. Hagrid, the half-giant, stood with a watering can in one hand and curiosity in his beetle-black eyes.
Ren straightened up quickly, giving him a polite nod. "Just walking." She brushed her bangs out of her face and turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.
"Yeh're the kid what's been havin' trouble with yer magic, aren't yeh? Dumbledore's told me a fair bit 'bout yeh."
Ren froze mid-step. "He did?" she asked softly, half-suspicious, half-intrigued.
"Don' yeh have class 'round this time, eh?" Hagrid asked, one brow raised.
She shook her head without hesitation. "No, only the next hour." She walked over, took the basket from his enormous hand, and began helping him water the pumpkins before he could question further.
"Rubeus Hagrid," he introduced himself cheerfully, puffing up his chest a little. "Keeper o' Keys an' Grounds at Hogwarts."
"I know," she nodded.
"Ren Kazuki," she replied with a half-smile, keeping her focus on the nearest pumpkin. "So, what else did he say about me?"
"Who, Dumbledore? Nah, jus' said there's a youngster needs a bit o' extra help. He don' tell me the fancy details, reckon he knows I ain't good at them clever bluffs."
Hagrid chuckled and reached into his coat, pulling out a chunk of bread that looked like it could double as a weapon. "'Ere, have a bit."
Ren accepted it cautiously and bit into it. It was hard as rock but was flavorful.
"Thanks… for the bread. It's… solid."
"Made it meself," Hagrid said proudly.
"It shows," she muttered under her breath.
The bell rang faintly in the distance, echoing across the grounds, the end of the Transfiguration class she had skipped. Relief spread through her chest. She dusted off her robes and gave Hagrid a small bow. "Later, Hagrid."
By the time the day ended, Ren's brain felt like mashed flobberworms. Every class had been a blur of half-remembered spells and scribbled notes. When she finally found herself in the library, she fell asleep almost instantly, face-first into her book. The sharp thud of her forehead against the desk jolted her awake hours later. Groaning, she dragged herself toward the Gryffindor Tower.
The corridors were empty, too empty. Everyone else was clearly at dinner, which suited her fine. The Fat Lady's portrait eyed her suspiciously as she approached.
"Password?"
"Grata Domum," Ren muttered, rubbing her eyes.
"Sorry?"
"Grata Domum," she repeated, louder this time.
The Fat Lady tilted her head. "That's the old password, dear. Are you sure you belong here?"
Ren froze. Her mind raced. When did they change the password? Was I even here? If I had friends, someone would've told me. The sting of that thought made her chest tighten.
Before she could respond, a soft voice spoke from behind. "Forgot the password?"
She turned. A tall, lean boy stood there, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. His hazel eyes were kind but tired, and faint scars crossed his face like pale threads.
"Yeah," she admitted quietly. She remembered seeing him with James' lot; he was a friend of theirs, though she couldn't quite remember his name. Was it Moany? Uhh... Lupus?
"Remus! Boy, you're always quick to move—" James Potter's voice rang out as he turned the corner, followed closely by Sirius Black. James paused mid-step when he saw Ren standing there. For once, he wasn't scowling, just raising an eyebrow, studying her like she was an unsolved puzzle.
"Pumpkin Pie!" he yelled at the portrait, grinning as it swung open. Sirius slid in beside him, giving Ren a curious glance before the two disappeared inside.
Ren didn't say a word. She slipped past them, heading straight for the girls' dormitory.