Ren felt a sharp pain spread across her forehead. For a brief second, she couldn't breathe—it was as if someone's invisible hands were wrapped around her throat, squeezing tight. Her chest constricted, air refused to move, and panic jolted her awake. She gasped and sat up abruptly, her heart hammering.
It took her a moment to realize where she was. Not a battlefield. Not a nightmare. Just the dusty, dimly lit classroom of History of Magic. She blinked, staring at the familiar sight of parchment stacks, floating chalk dust, and Professor Binns' monotonous voice echoing through the stale air.
Apparently, she had fallen asleep—and hit her head on the edge of the desk while at it.
The ghostly professor was still droning on about the third goblin rebellion of 1612, his words slipping through the room like a dull chant that even the walls seemed tired of hearing. Ren rubbed her forehead, wincing, and glanced around.
Almost every student was half-asleep. Heads lolled, quills dangled midair, and even the enchanted candles flickered lazily as if bored to death. Only a few diligent nerds, those rare, stuck up souls were still scribbling notes as if their lives depended on it. Ren sighed and slouched in her seat.
Her bench mate, a Ravenclaw fourth year with an oddly round face, had an abnormally gigantic snot bubble ballooning from his nostril. His eyes were fixed straight ahead on the chalkboard, but his unmoving expression made it obvious he was asleep. The snot inflated with a soft pop every few seconds, making him look like a sleeping toad with a bad habit.
Ren frowned. She had no idea how someone could sleep that confidently in front of a ghost professor even though she had done the exact thing moments ago.
Her gaze dropped to her own textbook. It was old, cracked along the spine, and smelled faintly of mildew. The cover was frayed at the corners, the ink faded into a grayish ghost of its former self. She couldn't shake the suspicion that it might've belonged to Professor Binns before he died.
Bored out of her mind, she began flipping absently through the yellowed pages. Her fingers stopped when they brushed over an illustration of a pale figure with fangs. The title above it read Beings of the Night.
Her stomach tensed.
Without thinking, she slammed the book shut.
The sudden sound reverberated through the silent classroom like an explosion. Half the class jolted awake, some yelping, others pretending they'd been awake all along. Even the ghost professor blinked, as if the noise had briefly dragged him back to the land of the living.
"Damn, who was that? So loud, disturbing the class," she muttered under her breath, trying to play innocent.
Professor Binns' translucent head turned with agonizing slowness. His expression remained as blank as ever, but his foggy eyes found her immediately.
"Miss Kazuki," he said, his voice a raspy whisper that somehow carried across the room. "Did you have a question?"
Ren stared back at him, wide-eyed. For a long second, she considered pretending she'd gone deaf. But then, under the stares of her classmates, she muttered, "No, sir."
The ghost studied her for an unnervingly long moment, as though he could see through the lie, before floating back toward the blackboard.
Ren exhaled quietly and slumped in her seat.
From the back of the room, a groan echoed. "How many more hours to go?"
It was Sirius Black, sprawled lazily in his chair, poking James Potter in the ribs with his quill.
James rolled his eyes and pulled out his enchanted pocket watch, which had no visible clock hands. But with a quick click at its sides, the miniature face transformed into a replica of the Hogwarts clock tower. "Five more minutes," James muttered, sounding defeated.
"Bloody hell," Sirius sighed dramatically, running a hand through his hair. "Five minutes in here feels like a year in Azkaban."
"How would you know that?" Remus mumbled from beside them, his hand moving automatically across his parchment even as his eyelids drooped.
Before anyone could respond, the bell boomed through the stone halls. The spell of sleep broke instantly.
The students erupted into motion, a storm of robes and books and noise. They burst out of the classroom like a swarm of locusts released into the wild.
Ren hurriedly gathered her things her battered books, her quills, her faded satchel and made for the door. Her hair, cut unevenly just above her shoulders, fell across her face as she moved, half-hiding the dull crimson hue of her eyes. She walked briskly, determined not to miss lunch.
As James Potter strode past, his leg caught hers at the doorway. He stumbled, arms flailing, nearly face-planting into the corridor floor. It would've been poetic justice if he had—but Sirius grabbed him by the sleeve just in time, saving him from complete humiliation.
"Uh sorry," she muttered, already trying to disappear before he could react.
James straightened, looking deeply offended. "Who the hell is that? I don't even remember seeing her before."
Sirius smirked, clapping him on the back and pointing at her robes. "She's a Gryffindor. We'll see her plenty."
James scowled, muttering something about being ambushed by first years, though Ren was clearly not one.
By the time she reached the Great Hall, the air was filled with the warm, mouthwatering scent of roasted meat, baked bread, and pumpkin pasties. Golden light from the enchanted ceiling bathed the long tables, where students laughed and chatted freely.
Ren slipped quietly to the far end of the Gryffindor table. Isolated, unnoticed, peaceful. She wasn't one for crowds or conversations, yet.
A steaming plate appeared before her, filled with braised chicken glistening in gravy. Her stomach growled, betraying her. She picked up her fork, finally ready to enjoy one small piece of comfort.
"Hey! You!"
She froze mid-bite.
Across the table stood James Potter, pointing directly at her, his tone half-accusation, half-curiosity. "You're a Gryffindor, but how come I didn't know you?"
Ren blinked.
The rest of his gang, Sirius, Remus, and Peter, slid into seats across from her like they owned the table. Peter gave her a shy wave, his face awkwardly friendly, which only made her wonder how he managed to end up with them.
"I don't know you either," Ren lied flatly, stabbing her chicken.
It wasn't true, of course. Everyone knew James Potter. Even those who didn't want to. She'd spent her first three years at Hogwarts drifting in and out, barely noticed, spending more time in the infirmary or back home alone than in any social circle. To people like James, she might as well have been invisible.
Sirius burst into laughter, nearly choking on his pumpkin juice. "She got you, mate!" he said between gasps, elbowing James in the ribs.
James glared at him, then turned the same glare on Ren. It was a mix of irritation and disbelief as though no one had ever dared talk back to him like that.
Ren met his stare for half a second, her expression unreadable, then looked back down at her plate. She didn't owe him an explanation.
But as the laughter at the table grew louder, a faint pit formed in her chest. She pretended not to care, chewing quietly, eyes fixed on her food. Yet inside, the truth stung more than she liked to admit.
She'd wanted this year to be different. To blend in. To finally make friends.
And in less than an hour, she'd already managed to trip the most popular student in Gryffindor and insult him in front of everyone.
So much for fitting in.
She pushed her plate away slightly, appetite fading, and focused on the meaningless chatter around her, the jokes, the gossip, the easy camaraderie that seemed to belong to everyone but her.
Somewhere above, the enchanted ceiling shifted into twilight. The sky darkened to shades of violet, and Ren's reflection shimmered faintly in the goblet beside, her tired eyes, a faint bruise on her forehead, the faint cross shaped scar on her right cheek and a look she couldn't quite name.
Invisible again.
Only this time, she almost preferred it.