Brooklyn's summer at her grandparents' house was both better and worse than the previous one. Better, because this time she had an escape—letters. Nearly every day, an owl would swoop in through the window of her small, stuffy room with a note or package from Fred, George, Angelina, or Lee. And, unlike the summer before, she had finally worked up the courage to write back regularly. They exchanged everything from jokes to updates on their lives, talking endlessly about Quidditch and the upcoming year at Hogwarts.
The twins, in particular, were relentless in their letters. They wrote about their latest pranks on Percy, updates on their flying sessions with Lee and Angelina, and even their excitement about Ron finally starting at Hogwarts.
"You'll love Ron," George had written once. "He's scrawny, a bit whiny sometimes, but he's our little brother, so he has to be great, right? Just wait until you see him try to fly a broom. It's equal parts hilarious and painful to watch."
Fred added in a separate letter, "Mum says he's excited to start, but honestly, I think he's terrified. Feel free to tease him about that."
Brooklyn couldn't help but laugh at their antics. She wrote back often, teasing them about Percy, suggesting plays for the Quidditch season, and—when she felt bold enough—joking that when she met him last year, Ron wasn't as "whiny" as they claimed.
Angelina's letters were more focused on Quidditch. She couldn't stop talking about how they were going to dominate this season now that the "Crimson Terrors" were more experienced and ready to challenge the older players.
"Bailey's already excited for us to crush Slytherin again," Angelina wrote in one letter. "She says if Fred and George can stop aiming Bludgers at each other and focus on the other team, we might actually have a shot at the Cup this year. And if you don't score at least a hundred goals, Brooklyn, she said she would be very disappointed."
Even Lee joined in on the fun, sharing stories about his summer with his family and how he was preparing his commentary for the new Quidditch season. "Brooklyn, I'm warning you now, if you fall off your broom again this year, I'm going to make it the headline of every Hogwarts story. 'Mclair the Magnificent takes a tumble—again!' I'm already working on the details."
Despite the fun and warmth these letters brought, Brooklyn's summer wasn't without its frustrations. Her grandparents, strict as always, kept her on a tight leash. They didn't let her visit her friends, even when she begged to spend just one day at the Burrow or fly with Angelina. The answer was always the same: "You're staying here. Your friends will have plenty of time to see you at school."
Fred and George, in particular, were furious when they learned this. "What do you mean they won't let you come?" George wrote angrily. "That's ridiculous. Angelina's been over here twice already, and Lee practically lives here during the summer. Mum even said we could set up a match if you came. This isn't fair."
Fred's letter was even more blunt: "Tell your grandparents we'll come kidnap you if we have to. No one keeps a Crimson Terror grounded. It's basically against the law."
Brooklyn couldn't help but smile at their outrage, though it stung knowing she couldn't join in their fun. Her grandparents didn't understand—or maybe didn't care—how much she missed her friends. The only thing that kept her spirits up was imagining how they'd all react when they were finally reunited at King's Cross.
Still, the letters weren't just about Quidditch and pranks. By the end of July, a new topic had taken over their correspondence: Harry Potter.
"Have you heard the rumors?" Angelina wrote one day. "People are saying Harry Potter might be coming to Hogwarts this year. Can you imagine? The Harry Potter in our school?"
Brooklyn had been skeptical at first. She'd grown up hearing stories about the Boy Who Lived, but the idea of him actually attending Hogwarts felt surreal. She wrote back, "I'll believe it when I see it. Do you think he's just going to walk in wearing a glowing sign that says, 'It's me, Harry Potter'? Maybe he'll show up with a lightning bolt fireworks display over his head."
Fred and George, of course, had their own theories. "What if he's completely boring?" George wondered in one letter. "Like, what if he's just a normal kid who happens to have a scar?"
Fred added: "Or worse, what if he's stuck-up? 'I'm Harry Potter, bow before me!' If he tries that, we'll just have to knock him down a peg or two."
Brooklyn couldn't help but laugh, imagining the chaos the twins would unleash if the Boy Who Lived turned out to be anything less than extraordinary.
By the time August rolled around, the excitement for the new year was palpable. Brooklyn counted down the days until she could leave her grandparents' house and reunite with her friends. Even though she hadn't been able to visit them in person, the steady stream of letters had kept her connected, making her feel like she was still part of the group.
As she packed her trunk for the train, she tucked the stack of letters into her bag. They were a reminder of everything she had to look forward to: Quidditch, pranks, and, most importantly, her friends. Whatever the new year brought—whether it was the Boy Who Lived or just another year of chaos with the Crimson Terrors—Brooklyn knew one thing for sure: she wasn't facing it alone.
The bustling chaos of King's Cross Station was as loud and lively as ever as the Weasleys navigated their way toward Platform 9¾. Fred and George, as usual, were more interested in causing a little mischief than actually getting onto the platform. They spotted a lost boy standing with his trunk, wide-eyed and looking thoroughly out of place.
"First year," Fred muttered to George, nudging his brother with a grin.
George smirked. "Bet you a Galleon he doesn't know how to get through the barrier."
They both approached the boy, who looked up at them nervously. "Need help?" George asked, leaning casually on the boy's trunk.
"I—uh—how do I…?" The boy stammered, pointing at the solid wall between platforms nine and ten.
Fred patted him on the shoulder, trying not to laugh. "Easy as pie. Just run at it straight on. Best not to think about it too much, yeah?"
The boy looked unconvinced, but he squared his shoulders and pushed his trolley toward the wall. With a deep breath, he broke into a run—and vanished.
"See? Told him it was easy," George said with a chuckle. He grabbed his own trolley and turned to Fred. "Race you through?"
"Loser owes me a Chocolate Frog," Fred shot back as they both charged at the barrier.
They burst through the wall, appearing on Platform 9¾ in a swirl of steam and noise. Families were everywhere, loading trunks onto the scarlet Hogwarts Express and saying their goodbyes. The twins were still bickering over who had won their impromptu race when George froze mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open.
"Fred," he said, elbowing his brother hard. "Is that—?"
Fred's gaze followed George's and landed on a tall figure stepping through the crowd. It was Brooklyn.
But…not the Brooklyn they remembered. Over the summer, she had changed. She was taller—much taller—nearly six feet now. Her once-lanky frame had filled out; her shoulders were broader, her curves more pronounced, and her arms hinted at the strength she'd gained from years of Quidditch. Her blonde hair, now lighter from the summer sun, fell in loose waves past her shoulders. She was dressed simply in jeans and a fitted shirt, but somehow, she looked radiant.
"Blimey," Fred muttered, momentarily forgetting how to breathe.
George nodded, swallowing hard. "When did that happen?"
Brooklyn spotted them then, her face breaking into a wide grin as she waved. "Fred! George!"
That was all it took to snap the twins out of their daze. They rushed forward, meeting her halfway as she dragged her trunk behind her.
"Brooklyn!" George exclaimed, grinning but clearly struggling to keep his voice steady. "Look at you! What happened this summer? Did someone hex you into a model or something?"
Brooklyn rolled her eyes, but a faint blush crept up her cheeks. "Oh, shut up, George. I just grew a bit. It's not that big a deal."
"Grew a bit? You're practically a giant now!" Fred added, staring up at her exaggeratedly. "You're taller than us! This is unacceptable."
Brooklyn laughed and swatted his arm. "You're just mad because you can't look down on me anymore."
"I'm mad because I didn't grow with you," Fred shot back, still grinning. "It's a betrayal, really."
The three of them fell into step as they made their way to the train. Brooklyn couldn't help but smile; after a summer apart, it felt good to be back with her best friends. The twins helped her heave her trunk onto the train, bickering over who could lift it higher, and then led her to their family.
The twins were, as usual, making a scene, competing to see who could fit more snacks into their pockets from their mother's ever-prepared stash. Brooklyn was laughing at them when a small, dark-haired boy struggling with his trunk caught her eye.
"Oi, Fred," she said, nudging him. "Look."
Fred and George both turned to see the boy, the same one they had helped before, standing awkwardly near his trolley. He was tiny compared to his enormous trunk, and it looked like he wasn't quite sure what to do with it.
"Damn first years," George observed with a smirk. "Think we should help him again?"
Brooklyn rolled her eyes. "Don't tease him, just go."
Fred shrugged. "Alright, alright." They approached the boy, leaving Brooklyn trailing
"Need a hand?" Fred asked, already grabbing one side of the trunk.
The boy blinked in surprise but nodded quickly. "Uh—yeah. Thanks."
"Fred, George, lift it together, don't drop the poor kid's stuff," Brooklyn said as she walked over to help guide the trunk.
The boy glanced at her and then back at the twins. "Thanks," he mumbled again, pushing his trolley forward as Fred and George hauled his trunk onto the train.
"No problem," George said, brushing his hands off once they were done. "You've got a sturdy trunk there, mate. First year?"
The boy nodded, looking slightly overwhelmed.
"Thought so. Well, see you on the train," Fred said cheerfully before they all turned to head back to the platform.
Molly Weasley was waiting with a smile and a hand on her hip as they approached. "There you three are! The train's about to leave. Did you actually do something helpful for once?"
"Always helpful, Mum," Fred said, grinning.
"Completely selfless, that's us," George added. Brooklyn snorted.
Molly sighed. "Well, you'd better behave yourselves this year. No blowing up toilets like last time."
"That was a work of art, Mum," Fred protested.
"And it wasn't even technically a toilet," George chimed in. "It was a—"
"Enough," Molly interrupted, shaking her head as she hugged each of them in turn before shooing them toward the train. "Go on, now. And be good."
Once they were aboard, Fred and George leaned out of the window, their matching grins beaming down at their family. Molly stepped closer to kiss each of them goodbye.
Their younger sister, Ginny, stood by their mother, her lower lip trembling. A tear spilled over, and she sniffled loudly. "I want to go!" she cried.
Fred leaned out further, attempting to console her. "Don't, Gin. We'll send you loads of owls."
"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat," George added with a mischievous smirk.
"George!" Molly scolded, her eyes narrowing as she looked up at him.
"Only joking, Mum," George said quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender.
Brooklyn, leaning out the window beside them, laughed at the exchange, earning herself a look from Molly. "And you, young lady, don't you encourage them," Molly said, though there was a fondness in her tone.
Brooklyn grinned innocently. "Who, me? I would never."
Fred snickered. "She's as innocent as we are, Mum."
Molly let out a huff of exasperation but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. "Go on, now, all of you. And behave!"
Once the train was moving, the trio settled into a compartment, laughing about Molly's lecture. George was rummaging through his bag for a snack when Fred suddenly leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station?" Fred asked, looking between Brooklyn and George. "Know who he is?"
Brooklyn frowned. "The first year with the trunk?"
George raised an eyebrow. "What, is he someone famous or something?"
Fred grinned, leaning back dramatically. "Harry Potter."
There was a moment of stunned silence as the name sank in.
Brooklyn's eyes widened. "You're joking."
"Not even a little," Fred said, his grin widening. "When we were helping with his trunk, I saw the scar. You know, the lightning bolt?"
George let out a low whistle. "Blimey. Harry Potter. On the train with us. You think he knows what You-Know-Who looks like?"
Brooklyn smacked George lightly on the arm. "Don't be an idiot."
George winced playfully. "Ow! It was a serious question!"
"Your mother would kill you." Brooklyn reminded him.
"Fine, fine," George muttered, rubbing his arm. "I wasn't really going to ask him."
"You'd better not," Brooklyn said with a smirk. "Or Molly might Apparate right onto the train to deal with you herself."
They all laughed, the excitement of the school year ahead buzzing in the air as they settled in for the journey.
The Sorting Hat's song echoed through the Great Hall, its clever rhymes earning scattered applause from the students. Brooklyn sat with Fred and George at the Gryffindor table, her gaze flickering toward the line of first-years nervously waiting for their turn. Her eyes lingered on Ron, who looked paler than usual as he shuffled forward with the group.
Fred leaned over to her with a cheeky grin. "Ten Galleons says he pukes before he's sorted."
"Shut it, Fred," Brooklyn whispered back, giving him a sharp nudge.
When Professor McGonagall began calling names, the Hall grew quiet, punctuated only by the occasional scrape of cutlery or whispered guesses about where the first-years would land.
"Granger, Hermione," McGonagall called.
A bushy-haired girl stepped forward, practically vibrating with nerves. The Sorting Hat barely touched her head before shouting, "GRYFFINDOR!"
Brooklyn joined in the applause as Hermione hurried to their table. The girl gave a small smile as she sat near the edge, clearly unsure where to look or what to say.
"She looks like she's memorized the entire Hogwarts library already," George whispered to Fred, earning a snort of agreement.
As more names were called, Brooklyn's focus shifted back to Ron, who was fidgeting and biting his lip. She knew that look—he was worried. She nudged Fred again. "He's going to end up with us."
"Bold prediction," Fred said, but his grin softened. "Not a bad one, though."
"Potter, Harry," McGonagall called next, and the Hall fell into stunned silence.
Brooklyn straightened in her seat. Fred and George exchanged a wide-eyed glance before twisting to get a better view. Harry stepped forward hesitantly, looking small under the weight of every gaze in the room.
"Harry Potter," Fred whispered in awe. "Still can't believe that We helped him with his trunk, and he didn't even say!"
"He's eleven," Brooklyn muttered. "Cut him some slack."
The Sorting Hat took longer than expected with Harry, but when it finally bellowed "GRYFFINDOR!" the Gryffindor table erupted in cheers. Fred and George jumped to their feet, pumping their fists.
"WE GOT POTTER!" they chanted in unison, drawing laughter from their table and glares from the Slytherins.
Harry looked flustered as he walked over to join them. He ended up sitting near Hermione, his head low as whispers buzzed around the Hall.
"See, Potter?" Fred called. "You've already got fans."
McGonagall's voice cut through the din. "Weasley, Ronald."
Brooklyn immediately turned her attention back to Ron, who stumbled a little on his way to the stool. The Sorting Hat slipped over his head, hiding his face. Seconds ticked by, and Brooklyn saw him clench the sides of the stool, his knuckles white.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Brooklyn cheered the loudest, standing up as Ron made his way over. She met him halfway, pulling him into a tight hug.
"You'll do great, Ron," she said warmly, squeezing his shoulder before nudging him toward a seat.
Ron looked up at her, slightly red-faced but grinning. "Thanks, Brooklyn."
As they settled in, Brooklyn glanced at Harry, who seemed to be shrinking under the weight of all the stares. Leaning across George, she smiled at the boy.
"Hi, Harry," she said gently. "I'm Brooklyn. It's nice to meet you properly."
Harry looked relieved to have someone talk to him. "Hi," he said quietly.
Fred was already passing Harry a plate of roast potatoes. "Welcome to Gryffindor, mate. We'll look after you."
"Speak for yourself," George added, grinning. "Brooklyn's the real boss around here."
Harry managed a small smile.
George, apparently feeling the need to fill the silence, leaned in closer. "Don't worry, Potter. Brookie's mum is dead too. You're practically family already."
Brooklyn froze. So did Fred.
"GEORGE!" Brooklyn hissed, her voice sharp enough to make several nearby students glance over. Without a second thought, she smacked the back of his head.
"What?" George said, rubbing his head. "It's true!"
"You're an idiot," Brooklyn muttered through gritted teeth, her face flushed. She turned to Harry, who looked stunned and mortified.
"Sorry," she said quickly, her voice softer now. "He has no filter, but he doesn't mean any harm."
Harry gave a small nod, though his gaze dropped to his plate.
Fred jabbed George in the ribs. "Next time, think before you speak, mate."
George muttered something under his breath but wisely kept quiet as the feast continued.
As Dumbledore gave his final announcements and the plates cleared, Brooklyn found herself glancing at Harry again. He looked exhausted but a little less tense than before. She made a mental note to keep an eye on him—and to make George apologize properly later.
When Percy and the other fifth-year griffindor prefect began leading the first-years to the dormitories, Brooklyn gave Ron one last reassuring smile before following her year-mates.
Fred fell into step beside her, leaning close. "You're scary when you're mad, you know."
"Good," Brooklyn said. But the corners of her mouth twitched upward.
"Remind me never to cross you."
"Too late."
Fred laughed, and as the Gryffindors made their way to their tower, Brooklyn allowed herself to feel just a little hopeful about the year ahead.
The Gryffindor common room was as lively as ever, full of chatter and laughter as the new first-years trickled in, wide-eyed at their surroundings. Brooklyn led the way, followed closely by Fred and George, with Ron trailing behind her. The crackling fireplace bathed the room in a warm glow, and the cozy armchairs were quickly being claimed by eager students.
"Welcome to paradise, kids," George announced, throwing his arms wide as they entered. "The Gryffindor common room—home to legends, pranksters, and soon-to-be Quidditch champions."
Fred snorted. "Modesty, George. Always modesty."
Before Brooklyn could get a word in, a voice called out from the corner.
"Oi, check this out!"
Lee Jordan was standing near the fireplace, holding a large glass case. Several students leaned in for a better look, their expressions ranging from intrigued to horrified.
"Is that—" Brooklyn started, narrowing her eyes as she approached.
"Yep!" Lee grinned, tilting the case slightly so everyone could see the massive, hairy tarantula inside. "Her name's Ruby. Isn't she brilliant?"
"Idiot," Brooklyn muttered, crossing her arms. "You brought a tarantula to school?"
"What's wrong with Ruby?" Lee asked, feigning offense.
"She's hideous!" Angelina Johnson cut in, wrinkling her nose as she joined them.
"Oi, that's rude," Lee said, cradling the case protectively. "She's beautiful in her own way."
"Beautifully disgusting," Brooklyn shot back, earning a laugh from Angelina. "You'd better not let her escape, Lee. If I find that thing in my dorm, you're done for."
"Same," Angelina said, glaring at him.
"Relax," Lee said with a wink. "Ruby's perfectly harmless… unless you're a bug."
Brooklyn rolled her eyes and turned back to Fred and George, who were now sprawled across one of the couches. She plopped down beside Fred while Angelina took the armchair nearby.
"First-years settled in?" Brooklyn asked, glancing around the room.
Fred nodded. "Ron looked like he was about to pass out, but I think he's fine now."
"He'll be alright," Brooklyn said, leaning back. "But what about Quidditch? When are tryouts?"
"Next week," George said, stretching his legs out onto the table in front of him. "We need a new Seeker, obviously."
"Think McGonagall's losing sleep over Charlie being gone?" Fred asked, grinning.
"Definitely," Angelina said with a laugh. "No one's going to be as good as him."
"True," Brooklyn admitted, though her competitive streak flared at the thought. "But we'll find someone. Maybe another second or third year?"
"Doubt it," Fred said. "Charlie was scouted in his third year. Big shoes to fill."
"Maybe it's a lost cause," George said dramatically. "Gryffindor's glory days are over. All thanks to Charlie and his dragon obsession."
"Shut up," Brooklyn said, tossing a pillow at him. "We've still got a killer team, and we're not losing this year. I'll make sure of it."
"You sound like Oliver Wood," Angelina teased, referring to their Keeper and captain.
"I'll take that as a compliment," Brooklyn replied, smirking.
"Don't get too full of yourself, McClair," Fred said, nudging her with his elbow. "You're only a Chaser. The real stars are the Beaters."
"Stars of what?" Brooklyn quipped. "Knocking people off their brooms?"
"Exactly!" Fred and George said in unison, grinning.
Angelina shook her head. "You're both hopeless."
As the conversation drifted back to strategies for the upcoming season, Brooklyn couldn't help but glance around the common room. The first-years were starting to relax, Harry and Ron among them, and the energy in the air buzzed with excitement for the year ahead.
They might not know who their next Seeker was, but Brooklyn was sure of one thing: Gryffindor was going to put up a fight. And if she had anything to say about it, they were going to win.