Rook was thinking about Harry Potter.
After the previous night's events, it seemed as though every Hogwarts student had a theory as to how Black had gotten in, but no one seemed to be wondering why. When Rook asked about this, Fred and George had filled her in on the story of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.
Rook realized she had never explicitly asked about Harry's background, but she still felt mildly irritated with Fred and George for not telling her the story.
Harry Potter had defeated one of the most powerful dark wizards in history when he was only an infant. He had grown up an orphan, completely unaware of his past and his magical heritage. He was the only other person to faint on the Hogwarts Express when the dementors boarded the train. As it turned out, Rook and Harry had a lot in more in common than she knew.
And, apparently, Sirius Black, a devoted servant of this so-called "You-Know-Who", was bent on finishing the job his late master had started: killing Harry Potter.
What was it like for him, being surrounded by mystery? Rook, at least, had the boon of anonymity. Harry existed under a spotlight, drawing attention from admirers and adversaries alike, and he seemed to have no shortage of either. How did Harry deal with the fact that someone he didn't even know wanted him dead for something he couldn't even remember?
Rook flipped idly through One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, but she couldn't concentrate. There was still so much about this world that she didn't know. There was so much she needed to learn if she was ever going to figure out who her birth parents were and what had happened to them…
Suddenly Fred appeared around the corner of one of the tall bookshelves. He made a beeline for Rook when he caught sight of her.
"Fred, I'm here to work," she spoke sternly, but couldn't help smiling a little.
"I'm not here to play around," Fred spoke seriously.
Rook frowned. "Is everything okay?"
"I wanted to ask about what you told me last night."
"Last night…?" Rook asked, confused. She thought hard about what all had happened. Her eyes widened. She remembered it like the memory of a dream slipping through her fingers the more she tried to hold on to it. Had she told Fred she was adopted…?
"You said you were adopted."
Oh.
"Did I…?" Rook spoke weakly. "Huh…"
"Why didn't you tell us before?"
Rook didn't meet Fred's eyes as she answered. "I guess a lot of my life before my mom, Olida, adopted me is just… stuff I'd rather forget. Even without meaning to, that stuff just gets pushed to the recesses of my mind, because if it weren't, I… I don't know how I'd get through every day."
Rook stared at her hands as she fidgeted with the ends of her long sleeves, wringing them and tugging on them. She didn't know if what she was saying made any kind of sense to Fred. He was this headstrong yet light-hearted force of nature, whereas she always felt weighed down by her past, known and unknown. In some ways, Rook thought that she and Fred couldn't be more different. But then, sometimes… she had this inexplicable feeling as if he understood her on the most fundamental level without her even having to explain. She finally looked up to see his ruminative brown eyes considering her.
"I sort of know what you mean, but," Fred spoke thoughtfully, "those experiences, they're a part of you, aren't they? I wonder if, one way or another, they'll find ways to resurface."
He wasn't lecturing her; if anything, he had the tone of one theorizing. All the same, Rook knew he was right, and she felt a bit silly. She didn't know how best to navigate any of this. She wanted to uncover the truth about her past, but she was afraid to face it. She needed to strengthen her resolve if she was going to keep searching for answers, and she needed to learn to trust the people closest to her.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before," she said softly.
"Why? Adopted or not, you're still you, and it's not like you did anything wrong by not telling us."
"I'm sorry for my sake," Rook clarified. "I should have known you'd understand."
Fred scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "I can see why you wouldn't have. George and I aren't exactly the friends you turn to when you need to talk about something real."
Rook moved closer to Fred, examining his every freckle intently. He leaned back, looking mildly alarmed. "Hmm…" said Rook. "You know, I've long suspected you and George were actually imaginary. How does a real person have that hair color, or that many freckles?"
Before Fred could answer, they were interrupted by the sound of a prickly Madame Pince clearing her throat pointedly. Their conversation had alerted her to their presence, and she glared at them suspiciously.
"It's almost past curfew, isn't it? I suggest you return to your common room. The library is not a place for socializing." She emphasized the last word with such contempt, and Rook couldn't help blushing with embarrassment. Rook gathered her things, and she and Fred made their way back to Gryffindor Tower.
"Look, I don't want to ask too much since it's a sensitive subject," said Fred as they walked, "but, honestly, I have a lot of questions about—about you and how you got here."
"You and me both," Rook sighed. They stopped outside the common room, which was being guarded by a painting of a short, boisterous knight while the Fat Lady was being restored. "I want to tell you—"
"Challenge me or begone, rampallion!"
Rook looked at the short, excitable knight positioned over the portrait hole. "Challenge you to what, exactly?"
"What else?!" he exclaimed, drawing his overlarge sword clumsily. "Stand and fight!"
"And how does that work, usually?" asked Rook with genuine curiosity. "I mean, you're a painting and all, and I don't have a sword, so do I just poke you? Can your sword even hurt me?"
As the odd little knight stopped to think about Rook's questions, Fred gave him the password and the knight cursed them as the portrait swung forward to allow them inside.
"We need to tackle one mystery at a time, Rook," Fred spoke again once they were in the sparsely-populated common room. "Sir Cadogan's dueling logistics will have to wait."
"It'll all have to wait. I'll tell you more tomorrow—you and George. For now, we should probably get to bed."
The next day, Rook was steeling herself for the upcoming confab with Fred and George. With some difficulty, she rehashed what she knew. She had only been adopted by Olida three years ago, but she had begun living with Olida and Sia two years before that. They were her family, and she had been endlessly grateful for them after the five years she had spent in foster care. The best that could be said about that time in her life was that it wasn't all bad, but that wasn't saying much. To Rook it felt like the foster system was populated by two kinds of people: those with a genuine passion for helping children, and those who sought positions of power over the vulnerable solely so that they could abuse that power. Rook had encountered social workers, foster parents and therapists who made Snape look positively kind and nurturing.
Rook struggled through her first two classes and immediately departed for the library afterward. She had been methodically searching Hogwarts' records since she arrived, for someone who could be her birth mother or father. Her efforts had been fruitless. She didn't know how old they were, or if they had both attended Hogwarts. She didn't even know for sure that either of them had attended. Additionally, Rook herself was plainly mixed-race, though it was not so plain what race she actually was. Being in Texas, most of the social workers, as well as Rook herself, assumed she must be part Latina, but now… now she had no idea. When she flipped through the pages and pages of photographs of former Hogwarts students, was she even looking for someone who looked like her, or perhaps someone who looked more like Sia, with blonde hair and blue eyes?
Rook closed the book in frustration. Every time she looked through these things, she stared at the faces and wondered. Every time she saw at least one person she thought could be her birth parent, but she knew she was just tormenting herself. There had to be a better way, like some kind of magical equivalent to a DNA test, but most of the spells she had found required some kind of personal item, or a more definitive lead than "they might have been at this school once".
Rook was absolutely miserable through Transfiguration that afternoon. She still wasn't sure what exactly she was going to tell Fred and George, but she knew she would feel better once she had a chance to talk to them. She had to keep reminding herself that she wasn't alone in this anymore. She didn't have to keep everything to herself.
After class, Rook was almost immediately intercepted by Stefan Spencer in the corridor.
"I saw you just now, as I was leaving Charms," he explained, matching her pace. "I've been wanting to talk to you. I was really worried when I heard Black had tried to get into your common room. I wanted to check on you when we were all there in the Great Hall, but you were, er, with the Weasleys." Spencer was silent for several moments. It was an uncomfortable silence, but Rook didn't have anything to say.
"I also saw that you, er, you were sleeping next to them," Spencer continued awkwardly. Again, Rook had no idea what to say. It was clear enough that he was jealous, but Rook didn't know where to begin explaining to him that there was no reason to be.
"Yeah, I was," she confirmed blandly.
"So, when you said you weren't ready to date, did you really mean you weren't ready to date me?"
"What? No. I meant what I said, Stefan."
"Do you want to date them?"
Rook couldn't help laughing at this. "What both of them? I don't think any girl in the world would be prepared for that."
"Either of them," Spencer pressed humorlessly.
"No," Rook answered honestly. It was true that she had a crush on George, but it was also true that she had more important things to focus on.
Spencer seemed to relax. Rook, however, still felt tense. Perhaps she was somehow being dishonest by withholding her feelings for George, but she figured it didn't matter. Was she somehow obligated to tell Spencer everything? They weren't even friends a few days ago.
"I'm sorry about the inquisition," Spencer apologized. "I guess I'm still a bit stung from yesterday. I promise I'm not always like this. There's just something about you—" he shut his eyes in exasperation. "There I go again. Sorry, really."
"No, it's okay," Rook assured him. She couldn't help finding him endearing in this nervous state. Before he had always seemed so confident, and maybe even a little conceited. Hearing him stumbling over his words was unexpectedly beguiling. "I have a predisposition for saying too much myself."
"You don't have to worry about that with me," said Spencer. "Now that we're friends, I want to know everything about you."
Rook was suddenly reminded of Fred and George. She had told Fred she would talk to them both today, but she hadn't seen them since breakfast.
"Since we're already here together, do you want to go to the library now?"
She had forgotten about her study session! Rook bit her lip. Maybe it would be better if she got it out of the way before dinner, but walking to the library with Spencer meant she wouldn't have a chance to even check in with Fred and George. Ultimately, it was easier to just go along with him to the library. She would just have to wait until after dinner to talk to her friends.
But she couldn't find them. Her study session with Spencer had run late. Spencer seemed keen on chatting casually during and after, and they were several minutes late to the Great Hall for dinner. Once she was there, Fred and George had either already left or never arrived. Rook bolted down a baked potato and left to search all the usual spots for the twins, but she couldn't find them anywhere. Finally, she returned to the common room, but after waiting restlessly for over an hour, Rook assumed they were either upset with her, avoiding her or both, and she retired to her dormitory dejectedly.