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Chapter Text

The house on the hill stood abandoned, haunted by shadows and rumour, overlooking the village far below. Once it had been a monument to pride, the home of a lesser noble family, but now there was only one left who loved it – and none left to love him. And slowly he too was fading, unable to keep the manor house to its former glory.

In fact, the man’s life was almost empty save for the antitheses to love – distrust, dislike, even fear. When the former inhabitants of the house were brutally murdered fifty years ago, the lonely man had been the prime suspect as a discontented servant of the house, but nothing had ever come of it legally and now the youth of the village had taken to harassing him for their own petty amusement.

That night, the lonely man – Frank by name, formerly a gardener in service to the old family - was tending to his affairs in the small, run-down cottage he did his best to keep neatly at the edge of the hilltop estate, when he saw a light on inside the dilapidated manor. Thinking it must be the village boys here on a dare again, he grumbled to himself and retrieved a gnarled walking cane from the coathooks beside the door before setting off up the hill towards the house.

To Frank’s surprise, there were no shouts of laughter, no overdramatic stage whispers of teenage boys telling scary stories as he had expected by the flickering firelight in the windows. Instead, as he hobbled into the house, he heard adult voices – one high-pitched and coldly domineering, the other quaking and servile. He might have thought them squatters, with the fire in the living room, had their conversation not been so strange, and he crept closer to the golden slash of light carved into the wood floor by the open doorway, curious despite himself to hear their conversation better.

“There is a little more in the bottle, my Lord, if you are hungry,” said one of them, the one with the beseeching, servile tone.

“Later,” replied the other, his voice high-pitched for a man and cold like a sudden Arctic gale. “Move me closer to the fire, Peter, it brings me strength.”

There was a scraping noise, as Frank saw through the gap in the hinges of the door that a chair was pushed across the floor by a short man with thin, balding hair and tattered clothing that hung loose on his body, as if he had once carried more weight. That must be the servile one, Frank guessed, as he turned his right ear – the good one – to the door, better to hear with.

“Where is Nagini?” the frost-voiced man asked, his tone growing weaker and whisper-thin in the dark.

“I – I don’t know, m-m-my Lord,” the servile man stammered fearfully. “She – she set out to explore the house earlier, I believe...”

“You will milk her again before we retire, Peter,” the cold-voiced man told his servant – the short man, Frank presumed, and apparently named Peter. “I will need feeding in the night. The journey has... tired me, greatly.”

This was all very strange, and Frank shook his head and cleaned his bad ear with a finger before putting the good one back to the door to listen, just as the servant – Peter – began to speak again.

“My Lord,” he began, clearly anxious to be questioning his master. “May I ask – how long are we to stay here?”

“A week,” the master replied, with just a trace of irritation audibly creeping into his crepe-paper-thin voice, so thin and weak it was as if he were not quite real. Or not quite alive. “Perhaps longer,” he continued, as Frank shook off his discomfort and told himself he was being childish. “This place is moderately comfortable, and the plan cannot proceed yet. It would be foolish to act before the Quidditch World Cup is over.”

Now Frank was bewildered, as well as more than a little spooked. He was quite sure he was only deaf in one ear, and yet he had heard the frost-paper-voiced man say the word “Quidditch” – not really a word at all – quite seriously, as if it meant something.

“I – I beg pardon, my lord,” the man named Peter apologised, a soft whispering sound of cloth indicating that perhaps he bowed or otherwise humbled himself. “The – the Quidditch World Cup, my Lord? I – forgive me, but I do not understand, why should the Cup be of any concern?”

“Because, fool” the master snarled, his thin voice no stronger in his anger but somehow still carrying an edge of danger, weakness and all. “At this very moment wizards are pouring into the country from all over the world, and every butter-fingered boffin from the Ministry of Magic will be on guard, alert for any signs of unusual activity, checking and double checking identities... they will be obsessed with security lest anything go wrong. So for now, we wait.”

Frank had long passed from bewildered into positively baffled, half-convinced he’d fallen asleep in his chair and was hallucinating the whole conversation. Ministry of Magic, wizards... either this was all a dream, or they were speaking in code, he decided. And if they were speaking in code, that made them criminals or spies – dangerous.

“My Lord is determined, then?” Peter asked quietly.

“Certainly I am determined, Peter,” the as-yet unseen master replied with a menacing hiss.

The master’s derisive treatment of his servant’s name hung in the air, an uncomfortable pause, until Peter began to speak again. “It – it could be done without Harry Potter, my Lord -” the servant stammered, his words tumbling from him in a rush as clearly he feared to challenge the unseen man. “He is well-protected, watched at all hours – it would be difficult to get close.”

Once again there was a pause, though instead of hanging insidiously in the air the servant’s voice dissipated, leaving only the echo that quickly faded under the almost physical, pressing sensation of the master’s growing ire. “Without Harry Potter? I see...” he breathed, and Frank shuddered at the very tangible feeling that his ominous whisper left in its wake.

“M-my Lord, I do not say this out of concern for the boy!” Peter yelped, almost as if he expected to be struck for his insolence. “It is only – since it’s not his blood you need – perhaps it would be better to return to strength and then finish him? It – it is not as if you have any shortage of enemies, finding a suitable replacement now that he is... tainted, should not be difficult.”

There was a hissing growl then, low and dry as the breeze that rattled through the open windows. “I could,” the man addressed as Lord murmured, but it did not sound as if he was considering the suggestion – no, he was gathering himself like a snake before striking. “It was a blow, to learn his blood would be denied to me. But if I must sacrifice building my rebirth from his very flesh... I will not sacrifice the satisfaction I will gain from seeing him quail before me, quiver and sob with terror at my very presence. If I cannot build my resurrection from his blood, I will christen it with his fear.”

“But – but my Lord,” Peter pleaded. “I could find you another – you know I can disguise myself competently... I am your most loyal, most devoted servant but I fear I am not your most able... If something were to happen and there was only me...”

“Stop,” the other man hissed, cutting off his servant’s pleas as effectively as if he had shouted. “Your devotion is no love, your loyalty self-serving – you are a coward and your begging reveals it. Oh, you tend me dutifully, but I see every expression of disgust, feel your every flinch – regretting that you ever returned to me. Would you even come back, Peter, were you to leave and seek another for me?”

“My- my Lord!” Peter protested. “I – I have no desire to leave you, your health is my only wish-”

“You lie,” came the hissed voice, full of reproach. “Do not pretend to be more than you are, Peter Pettigrew. You are a craven, and you are of use to me as what you are – sneaking, scraping, servile. No, I need you here. Who else would milk Nagini? How else would I survive, when I need feeding every few hours?”

“But my Lord – you seem so much stronger now,” Peter replied.

“Liar,” the snake-voiced man murmured, though there was little disappointment in it – it seemed he expected such things from this man. “I may have a hold in the physical world once again, but I am still weak and you know this. Were you to leave even for a day I would once again lose what little health I have managed to regain under your fumbling ministrations! Now, silence, worm, and do not question me further.”

Peter Pettigrew’s spluttered protests fell quiet at once, and for a long moment Frank, frozen in aching fear, could hear only the crackling of the fire. Then the man who had not named himself spoke again, more measured as if his outburst had sapped his strength. “I have my reasons for wanting the boy. Some of my own followers even believed me defeated at his infant hand – without breaking his spirit, there is no guarantee I can sway their fickle fidelities my way. I have waited thirteen years now – a little longer does not matter now. All I need from you now, Peter, is a little patience and courage – courage you will find, unless you wish to feel the full wrath of Lord Voldemort turned upon you instead?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Peter replied sullenly. “But I must – I must speak, the plan, it is – Bertha Jorkins’ disappearance, it can’t go unnoticed forever and if we proceed, if we murder-”

“If?” the other voice replied, silky-smooth like the blade of a well-wrought knife. “If we proceed, if? If you follow the plan, Peter, the Ministry need never know that anyone has died. And you will do so quietly and without fuss. Come, Peter, take heart! One more death and our path to Harry Potter is clear. I would hardly ask you to do such a thing alone. By that time, my truly most faithful servant will have returned.”

“I am a faithful servant,” Peter muttered, with just a trace of petulance.

“Peter, I need someone with brains, whose devotion is to me and not themself – and you fill neither requirement,” the other voice retorted sharply.

“I found you,” Peter said, definitely sulky now. “I was the one who found you, not – not him, I brought you Bertha Jorkins, you wouldn’t have him without me,”

“That is true,” the steel-smooth voice whispered, sounding drily amused by the thought. “Brilliance I had not expected you to possess and yet so disappointing as it faded, as truth be told you had no idea what use she could be when you found her.”

“I – I thought she’d be useful,” Peter protested weakly.
“Liar – again, Peter, you’ve lost your manners in my absence,” the voice said, cruel amusement even more prominent now as he taunted his servant. “I will not deny that her information was crucial, for without it I could not have formed our plan, and for that you will have your reward for bringing me what I needed – even if it was done unwitting. I will allow you to perform an essential task for me... yes, one that many of my followers would give their right hands for...”

“R-really, my Lord? What-” Peter stammered, terror chasing the sullenness from his voice.
“Oh yes,” the other man drawled, as if something about his own turn of phrase had amused him further. “But it would spoil the surprise to tell you now, and we can’t have that... worry not, Peter. You will have the honour of being as useful as Bertha Jorkins was.”

“You – you’re going to kill me too?” Peter squeaked, his voice a painful sort of mixture between hoarse and high-pitched.

“Peter, Peter, Peter,” the cold-voiced man mocked him softly, “why would I kill you? I killed Bertha because I had to. She was fit for little better after my questioning, quite useless... besides, it would have been terribly awkward had she gone back to the Ministry with the news she had met you on her holiday – Aurors and their pet Dementors, magic-seers... no, no. You would have been more useful to me had you escaped before the Ministry knew you were alive, but little matter... No, Bertha had to die. Loose ends, can’t have them.”

Peter muttered something just as Frank leaned away to clean his ears again, too quiet for him to hear. The other man laughed a mirthless laugh, and cold enough to make the summer night feel chilly along with it. “We could have modified her memory? Honestly, Peter, I wonder how you ever finished school,” he drawled mockingly. “Just as I broke the charms on her memory, any powerful wizard could do the same had we let her go. It would be an insult to her memory, Peter, should we not use what she gave us...”

Out in the corridor, Frank’s sweaty hand slipped from his walking cane and it clattered to the ground, sickeningly loud in the tense quiet filled only by the crackling fire and rattling windows. His knee, never the same since he’d fallen while trying to mend his roof twenty years back, crunched and gave out, sending him sprawling to the dusty floorboards with the wind knocked from his lungs. He trembled, ill with fear, thoughts racing in a mind that had refused to slow with age. These men talked of murder so casually, implied kidnapping – that Harry Potter, whoever he was, he was in danger - and now they knew he’d overheard them...

“Peter, do open the door... Nagini has a guest for us,” the cold-voiced man told his servant, so casual that it took a few moments for Peter to respond. But Frank missed whatever Peter said as he struggled for breath and turned over onto his back, dragged himself backward with aching hands curled into claws by age as something terribly long and heavy slithered its’ way onto his chest, driving what little air he’d managed to drag back into his lungs from them again as it weighed him down. It was so hard to hold his head up, so hard to get even a glimpse of it, but finally he managed to back into a wall and push himself up against it just far enough that he came eye to eye with an impossibly large snake. Not even like the enormous constrictor snakes you might see in a zoo, this was unnatural. Its olive-green head was much the same size as his own, though of course flatter, and each malevolent yellow-green eye was longer from side to side than any of his fingers.

“Dinner, Nagini,” the cold-voiced man said almost sweetly, and Frank struggled away but there was no escaping the inexorable weight of the great snake as its’ head drew back, weaving slightly in the air as it assessed him and then, baring its’ great jaws, struck before he could do so much as scream, its terribly long fangs sinking into his neck while the short figure of presumably Peter, shadowed against the firelight, watched them from the doorway. There was nothing Frank Bryce could do for Harry Potter now, whoever he was, and as he lay dying of the venom his last thoughts were of his wife, dead too young. He’d be with her again, now. A green light flared brightly through his closing lids and then he was no more.

_____________________________________________________________________

Far far away, in a narrow bed in the upstairs room of a Suffolk townhouse, a teenage girl awoke sweating in the dark, her heart racing with terror as she struggled to place where she was, whether this was real or another dream. She clenched her hands into fists until she smelled blood – real. Slowly, weak with exhaustion, she rolled out of bed and padded across the room and opened her door as quietly as she could, though it still creaked a little and she cursed it – she wasn’t used to the layout of this house yet, all her muscle memory was wrong. Down the stairs, skipping the creaky step – only the creaky step was in the wrong place and she stepped on it so loudly she winced, then padding barefoot across the kitchen floor in search of the cupboard. A beam of moonlight filtering through one of the kitchen windows lit up the dining room clock and she groaned softly – four-thirty in the morning. Too late to get back to sleep, too early to do anything decent. She bumped face first into the pantry door, forgetting it opened with a strange folding mechanism as she fumbled after a glass, and finally tiptoed to the tap and began to run herself some water.

“Can’t sleep?” a man’s voice asked, sleepy with concern. The girl yelped and startled, dropping her glass into the sink where the water spilled out down the drain. It took a moment to recognise his face, the dream still crowding her senses, but the moonlight helped her place the rounded angles of his face and the luminous eyes, reflective in the low light but usually the same deep brown as her own, and Lavender breathed a sigh of relief.

“Dad, I’ve told you about sneaking up on me,” she grumbled, but didn’t resist as he pulled her into a hug. “Bloody wolf-paws, can never hear you now. What are you doing up at this hour anyway?”

Lavender’s father grumbled, a low sound that echoed in his chest under her ear, and she felt his muscles shift as he shrugged. “It’s almost full moon. So close it feels like if I just ran enough, thought about it hard enough, it’d push the change over... but it never does, so I can’t bloody sleep with all the useless energy it’s giving me,” he explained. “Biology’s my excuse – what’s yours?”

Lavender extricated herself from the hug and rubbed her eyes, trying to chase away the edge of a headache that brewed behind them. It wasn’t the first time she’d had strange dreams, sometimes they even intruded into her waking hours – the worst had been at the end of her third year where countless visions of possible futures and choices had woken her and then flashed through her mind for hours, intersecting with the present until she’d wanted to scream with pain – had her body been her own, she might have. Other times, like this, they were single events so clear it was as if they were happening right that moment – and deep in her gut Lavender knew that was the case, even if her rational mind said that was ridiculous. But while she knew it, she wasn’t sure how to convey so to anyone else.

The best thing she could do was tell part of the truth – too much and she’d be seeing St. Mungos’ psych ward a lot more personally than she had when they’d visited her mother after the suicide attempt. “Weird dream,” Lavender replied, as she returned to filling her glass. She gulped down the water, luke-warm from the pipes but in that moment the best thing she’d tasted in years, grounding her wandering consciousness in her body more firmly. “Think I’ll shower, shake off the rest of it, then... I don’t know, if you can’t sleep and I can’t sleep and I suppose Mum can’t sleep, we could all watch a movie? Not like you’d have to worry about waking me up now.” she joked wryly.

Luke Brown laughed and shook his head. “Good idea, but fair warning – your mum had the same idea, moon’s had her up since about two so she got in the shower. Lucky thing this place came with a bigger hot water cylinder but...”

“The shower’s gonna be full of hair,” Lavender groaned, and she put her glass back down on the bench before she stomped over to the bathroom door from behind which she could, now she was a little less spacey, hear the faint sounds of the shower. “Muuuuuuum! Leave some hot water for me!” she hollered through the door, and burst into laughter when her mother responded with an indignant yap.

“I’ll be out soon!” came Jessamine Brown’s voice through the door, muffled by the water. Truth be told Lavender didn’t like leaving her mother alone behind a locked door, not since her father had taken her straight from the train station to the St. Mungo’s psychiatric ward, but her mother’s voice was lively enough that it eased some of her worry.

Lavender grumbled to herself and fetched another glass of water, then rifled for the not-very-secret diary she kept behind the bookshelf, in which she’d taken to keeping notes about her dreams and visions and very stubborn weird feelings. A pen was clipped to the cover for ease of access, and Lavender flopped down at the dining room table to write while she waited for the shower to be free. Sometimes her visions were true, sometimes not – and only by piecing them together, forming a broader picture, could they be useful. Could she be useful. She had a responsibility to be.

_____________________________________________________________________

On the other side of the country, another teenage girl awoke from the terrible dream, gasping for breath as her stomach surged with nausea and her lightning scar burned as if carved anew. She opened her eyes – ordinarily appearing green, though everything looked a little greyish to her with the full moon approaching, and groaned despairingly at finding only blackness. Even breathing aggravated her stomach and she stumbled from the bed and out of the room purely on muscle memory, her very blood fizzing with nerves as she crashed into the bathroom and threw up bile until her stomach ached and her throat was raw.

“Rhiannon?” a soft voice asked, and cool fingers brushed Rhiannon’s sweat-matted hair from her too-warm cheeks. Luna, as familiar and refreshing as a hillside stream. Rhiannon leaned into their hand with a soft whine, until Luna sighed and shifted, xir free hand taking hold of one of Rhiannon’s and gently urging her to stand. Rhiannon stumbled as she did so, and she must have looked blank because Luna cupped both her cheeks in vir hands and closed Rhiannon’s useless eyes with his thumbs. “Come on, I’ll help you downstairs. Get some water then a shower, and maybe you’ll feel a bit better,” she suggested. Fae flushed the toilet, a painfully loud sound in the echoey space of the bathroom, and gently led Rhiannon out and down the stairs, then settled her onto the corner of a couch, where a cat’s collar jingled softly as it shook itself and then padded into her lap with a yawn and a stretch – Rhiannon wasn’t quite sure which cat it was at first, all three were long-haired, but a closer inspection with her nose told her it was Dudley’s cat Hope and she snuggled the sleepy feline closer while Luna retrieved some water.

It was hard to remember any specific details of the dream, so bad was the pain in her head, and when Luna brought Rhiannon the water she gulped it down so eagerly that it spilled all over her face – and unfortunately, onto the cat. Hope made a startled sort of mrrrp? sound but didn’t shift from Rhiannon’s lap, and Rhiannon dimly remembered Dudley complaining that she followed him into the shower at school.

“I’ll be back in a moment, alright?” Luna told Rhiannon quietly, squeezing her shoulder as she passed by on the way to the bathroom, Rhiannon would’ve flicked an ear had she had the correct sort – it was sometimes hard to remember what shape her body was, this close to the full moon – and cocked her head as she heard the sudden hiss-splash of the shower turning on. Luna returned and reached down over Rhiannon’s shoulder to tickle Hope’s chin before she picked up the cat who miaowed piteously, and deposited her on the floor.

“C’mon, Rhi. You need a shower – clear your head, wash off whatever’s bothering you,” he murmured, and led Rhiannon into the downstairs bathroom where ze left her to her own devices, knowing how sensitive Rhiannon was about her body and even moreso when unable to see it herself. Rhiannon felt her way across the metre or so of space to the shower and collapsed onto the chair Luna had kindly set in there for her use – after Dudley’s bad hip had given out and he’d fallen over in the shower sometime last year, the Lovegoods had invested in a collection of mobility aids for the two werewolf children and right now all Rhiannon could do was stare blankly at where she guessed the ceiling to be, leaning back against the chair with her arms limp at her sides and legs crooked before her. It was almost as if she weren’t quite in her own body, foggy and distant in the aftermath of the dream, and the rhythm of the water splashing over her lulled her into a half-way sleeping state of semi-consciousness that her aching mind welcomed.

Chapter Text

When Rhiannon had recovered enough from her vision to remember it, she then couldn’t shake the worry it had left her with as the full moon approached . The Ministry were out scouring the countryside for Peter Pettigrew, but if her vision was right they wouldn’t find him. They were looking in all the wrong places - h e’d already rejoined his master. It was a miserable change of pace, going from fearing that Voldemort planned to ruin her life again to knowing it, and Rhiannon’s growing anxiety soon confined her to her bedroom - a familiar constant place where she could control every element and know who came in or out. She couldn’t explain properly to her foster-family, Dudley or even Remus and Sirius, what frightened her so badly when she understood it so little herself. It wasn’t as if she believed in visions, least of all her own, but after last year she just couldn’t lose the gnawing certainty that this one mattered.

T he Lovegoods, Dudley, Remus and Sirius were sympathetic. So endlessly patient with her that Rhiannon felt like screaming in frustration, why wouldn’t they just – tell her to be normal, force her out of her room, give her an actual reason to be angry with them? And with herself? But no. They tried to coax her outside for the full moon and managed for all of about five minutes before Rhiannon shot back inside and curled up in her wardrobe with all her coats on top of her. Xenophilius had even patiently mended the clothes she’d put tooth-holes in. She had absolutely no reason to be so short with them, but this wasn’t a rational thing, this was fear, and so it continued to be a pervasive presence through the holidays.

Just as the full moon subsided, Rhiannon, Dudley and Luna received their Hogwarts letters by owl. Rhiannon wasn’t all that sure she wanted to go back to Hogwarts – she wanted to pull all the sheets off her bed and curl up under it growling if anyone dared approach. But Luna nudged her to at least read it, and eventually she compromised and let Luna into her wardrobe-den to read it with her.

T o Rhiannon’s surprise, the letter stated that this year she would be in Hufflepuff house. That was something... if any of the Hogwarts common rooms felt cozy and safe, it was that one. But it was also New and therefore Frightening, and wouldn’t smell like her at all – at least the Gryffindor common room kept some traces of familiar scents over the breaks. After feedback last year Minerva had also included a note of the letter-recipient’s dorm-mates so they could prepare themselves accordingly, and Luna wouldn’t let Rhiannon discard the matter outright until she’d at least read who her dorm-mates would be.

Basil Crane – she didn’t like him, he was all too eager with sharp words. Hannah Abbott was nice if not one of Rhiannon’s close friends, and Harry Pace’s name brought a smile to her face – that would be welcome, if she ever felt up to leaving her bedroom. Kiley Jamison – eh, she didn’t really know him. Rhiannon screwed up her face in disgust at Lisa Turpin’s name – she’d held a grudge ever since Luna had named her as one of the people who hid xir belongings. Mairi Callister, another maybe – her younger sister was nice but she didn’t know Mairi very well. Padma Rao – excellent , another friend. Samfeyo Berry had been nice if distant last year, and she didn’t know Sapphire Blackhorn at all. A mixed bunch. And none of them were Hermione.

“I know and like maybe – four of these people,” Rhiannon complained, waving the letter at Luna to accentuate her disgust. “Where’s Dudley this year?”

“He’s in Slytherin with Ginny but, isn’t Harry your friend? And you wouldn’t see Hermione, or me, or Tee or Neville if you didn’t come back to school, we’d all be too busy to visit,” Luna wheedled. “I wonder if Tee decided on a name yet,” xe mused as she flicked through the rest of the letter, skipping past the supplies list and general welcome-back spiel, until he found something worthy of more interest. Vir face lit up with a grin, and ze shoved the small note at Rhiannon for her inspection.

Dear Rhiannon , it read. We discussed some time ago that it would take time for me to formulate the rest of your hormone treatment, and you could stay on the blocker while I worked. I’ve had some time to work on the matter and borrowed some ideas from colleagues of mine in the medical profession, and long story short I believe I have an estrogen potion ready for your use in the new school year. Should you decide to continue with our medical treatment plan, I can simply arrange to have this delivered to your bedside every morning, along with your regular blocker. Yours, Madam Pomfrey.

Slowly, a cautious smile spread over Rhiannon’s face as she read the letter over once more to be certain. On a practical level, if she stayed at home she was sure Madam Pomfrey could probably send her foster-father the recipe, but... their petition had convinced the governors to allow Remus to return to the school, and now the news she could continue the medical avenue of her transition easily if she returned to school... And Luna was right too. Even if she wasn’t in the same house as Hermione, Neville, Lavender or Tee anymore, they couldn’t exactly skip school to come and visit her.

So, begrudgingly, Rhiannon agreed to emerge from her wardrobe-den and start getting ready for the coming school year. The next time Sirius and Remus offered to take her and Dudley for lunch she agreed, and slowly she worked to squash her fears – she wasn’t going to get left behind just because she was scared . She and Dudley even spent an afternoon at Sirius’ family’s old house that he was trying to clear out for himself and Remus to use, with room for herself and Dudley too should they decide to move. That was in itself an education – Rhiannon had never felt so much latent dark magic in one place and had to promptly run and be sick when they entered. No wonder Sirius and Remus were trying to clean it. The endeavour was a surprisingly enjoyable one despite Rhiannon losing eyesight from all the dark magic about fifteen minutes in, she was still perfectly capable of evicting Doxies – small, spiteful insectoid fairies with venomous bites and a penchant for poisoning food – by smell and sound and took a certain vicious satisfaction in banishing unfriendly creatures from what she was already starting to think of as ‘her’ territory simply by virtue of the activity.

S lowly, the month of July wore away and it was Rhiannon’s fourteenth birthday all too quickly. To her surprise there was little fuss made for it – in part due to the full moon cycle that came on top of it, but she’d have expected at least Tee to walk over for a visit. Instead, Xenophilius and Remus prepared a nice meal and the household plus Remus and Sirius ate a picnic dinner outside before the sun set, then Xenophilius and Luna left the four canines to gambol about on the lawn yipping and bounding around gleefully, even Remus growing bolder along with them. Sirius’ Animagus shape was that of an enormous black wolfhound, a form he took to keep up with the three werewolves. He still looked a little thin and worn, but far better than he had only a few months ago, and the smell of sickness was gone. Even Remus had a brightness back in his too-human eyes that gave them all hope.

The lack of celebration for Rhiannon’s birthday was explained when a letter arrived shortly after the end of the full moon cycle.

Hey, Rhi , it read in violet ink – Rhiannon would have been able to tell then and there who had sent the letter even without her smell clinging to it or the name on the envelope.

First thing – I decided on Niniane as a name after all. I tried some others but I like that one. Mum and Dad call me Nina so I suppose that works too. Fred and George are still stuck on Ninny & Ginny and I think I even saw Percy snicker at that, but that’s probably because he thinks I’m a freak for being trans now. Ginny hit him with a chopping board.

Enough about Percy – he moved out, the chopping board got fixed. Mum’s always wanted a daughter and now she has two, she’s mad happy about the whole thing – don’t know why I was so worried. Sorry we didn’t come for your birthday/ s , we were kinda busy sorting the second thing. Happy late birthday Rhi and Dudley, I promise I still got you stuff.

Second thing – who wants to go see the Quidditch World Cup final? It’s Ireland vs Bulgaria, and Dad told me to tell you he’s able to get tickets for all of you who want to come (he also says to tell you yes, Mr Black & Professor Lupin, that includes you before you ask). I really hope you can all come, Bill & Charlie even got time off work to come and watch so everyone but Mum and Percy are coming , it’s going to be a blast.

Hope to see you all soon,

Niniane (Ninny, apparently)

Rhiannon was already beaming by the time she finished the letter, wholeheartedly amused at the mental image of Ginny, barely two inches taller than Rhiannon who hadn’t quite hit five feet tall herself, hitting the very severe Percy with a chopping board so hard it broke, if she was interpreting the letter correctly. And the Quidditch World Cup... her brows creased with anxiety. She wanted to go so badly that, had she had four legs, she would have been scampering around the kitchen with a wagging tail. But she was frightened again. Hogwarts was a known, familiar, secure location and even that had taken time to work up to considering. The Quidditch Cup? She had no idea where that would even be held , what if Voldemort came for her there? Dimly she remembered something from the dream about that, but she’d been in so much pain after that her memories of it were fragmented and unreliable.

“Rhi, you alright?” Dudley asked her, leaning forward with his elbows propped on his knees. Rhiannon shook her head and held out the letter to him, then retreated back into the couch with her knees hugged up to her chest. Cheshire, perched on the arm of the couch beside her, miaowed disapprovingly and prodded at her shoulder until she relaxed and tugged the bossy creature into her lap.

“Yes, you are bossy,” Rhiannon murmured into the cat’s ear, tickling his chin as she did so – it relaxed her somewhat. Then she looked up at Dudley, though not quite meeting his gaze, and grimaced. “N-no, not – not exactly. Read it, it’s – Nina, Tee’s Nina n-n-n-now, she’s inviting us all to the Quidditch World Cup and- and I really want to go b-b-b-but I only jus-s-s-t started going outs-s-s-side again and- I don’t want to miss out ‘cos of stupid anxiety,” she stammered, letting out a frustrated whine at how hard it always was to talk. She almost wanted a tablet like they’d made for Neville sometimes.

L una, ensconced on Rhiannon’s other side, patted her arm gently to get her attention and then managed a small, reassuring smile once she was looking. “Why don’t you write Nina back, say you’ve been having a bad time with anxiety and safety and stuff, and ask if her Dad can tell us what the plans would be for your safety there?” he suggested. “I wouldn’t mind going if you are, it might be fun to take notes – I can be a sort of field reporter for the Quibbler and well, I was thinking of trying out for the house team this year. You know, to make some of my own friends. It might be good to go.”

Dudley bounced in his seat, and Rhiannon managed a wan grin. “Yes, Nina said Ginny’s going,” she teased him. His cheeks flushed scarlet and he hid his face in a pillow, disturbing Rhiannon’s own black-and-ginger cat who’d been napping there. Then she considered Luna’s suggestion and twisted her ring back and forth anxiously. It wasn’t a bad idea – Mr. Weasley worked in the Ministry, he’d be aware of the general concern for her safety.

Sirius got a wistful sort of smile on his face. “You know, James and I were supposed to go to the Quidditch World Cup forever ago, right as we were finishing school, but we never got to go with everything that happened. I think you’d enjoy it, so long as you muffled your ears – you’re used to being up in the air, it’s terribly loud in the stands.” he suggested.

Rhiannon shot upright, remembering a crucial part of the letter she’d neglected to mention. “Oh! N-n-n-n-ni-Nina said you two can come too, if you want!” she exclaimed.

Sirius perked up, for all the world like a puppy whose owner had just mentioned walk, while Remus grumbled quietly and hugged his arms closer to his chest. “Don’t like Quidditch,” he muttered. “’s too bloody loud, too many people,”

Sirius swatted him gently on the arm, then pulled him into a sideways hug. “You said the same thing about Live Aid, and remember how much fun you had?” he teased his partner. “Besides, you don’t have to come, it’s just an offer.”

Remus spluttered indignantly, and Rhiannon giggled – she knew he didn’t like leaving Sirius alone after everything, especially as he was just starting to let his wolf instincts filter back in. “ And stay at your house by myself, with only that portrait of your mum for company? No thanks – it’s about as friendly as a hydra cave in there,” Remus retorted. “I’ll just, learn sign language really quickly since I’ll apparently not have the use of my ears for several days.”

“I’ll – I’ll owl Nina back and ask, it’s – it’s probably possible to leave partway through if it gets too much, go back to wherever we’re sleeping,” Rhiannon suggested. She did want to go, and she hoped fervently Mr. Weasley would be able to reassure her enough to do so.

A s it turned out, Mr. Weasley had already considered the matter of security and was happy to write back to Rhiannon in extensive detail about the wards placed on their campsite and tent, along with everything else. He seemed most pleased that Remus and Sirius were interested in coming along, and wrote that if she replied with a firm decision to go with them, he’d come by and pick them all up on the 15 ^th of August.

That was in... Rhiannon did the maths in her head and nearly fell off the couch as she realised how close that was. “That’s – a week and a half away!” she exclaimed, waving the letter at Xenophilius as he poked his head out of the kitchen to see what the matter was. “He – it’s – I wanna go, it’s on the fifteenth!”

Xeno philius grinned and puttered over to the table, quickly scrawling a note that Rhiannon guessed was for Remus and Sirius. “Well, I’ll tell your godfather and his partner, they can look after you for the tournament. I’m going to stay here, look after the cats and the house, I’ll go fetch your Hogwarts supplies if you leave your lists where I can find them, change the colours on your uniforms – that sort of thing. Now, go on, go start packing! The last thing I need is you three in a flap on the last day because you can’t find your socks.” he told her, shooing her out of the living room.

Rhiannon cackled and nudged Calypso off her lap, then took off upstairs, ignoring the pain that always rose up from daring to move faster than a hobble, yelling as she went. “Dudley! Luna! We’re going!” she hollered, knocking against the walls with her cane by mistake in her enthusiasm. “We gotta pack our STUFF!”

Chapter Text

Over the next week and a half Rhiannon, Dudley and Luna all managed to get most of their belongings together, so by the time the 15^th of August rolled around they were all ready and raring to go. They slept on the couches in the living room the night before and talked until it was late, and by the next morning they were all soundly asleep when someone knocked on the door at an ungodly hour.

Rhiannon shot upright, disturbing Cheshire and Hope who were curled up together on her stomach, and fumbled for her glasses to avoid tripping over her own cat who had taken up residence on the floor in front of the couch, then staggered to the door trying to avoid tripping over anything else. It really was too bloody early for this, she grumbled internally – it wasn’t even light out yet! “Yeah?” she asked grumpily as she opened the door.

Outside the door stood a mad pack of Weasleys, far too awake for the pre-dawn hour and all bouncing on the balls of their feet in the brisk air – it might have been summer, but England was never very warm and certainly not before the sun came up. Rhiannon just blinked at them owlishly, not quite putting the pieces together, and half-considered telling them to come back later before slamming the door. Then all at once she remembered what day it was, and a broad grin spread over her face as she limped back out of the way of the door and let them in. “Oi! Dudley, Luna!” she called. Luna grumbled and turned over in his sleep, Dudley’s nose twitched. They both tended to be terribly heavy sleepers, and Rhiannon sighed wearily.

It was time for desperate measures. She limped over to the couch and flopped down on top of Dudley, tickling him and prodding him around the face and neck as he snored and twitched, being all of the annoying little sister she’d never gotten to be until he woke up all at once and his forehead smacked into hers as he shot upright. “Ow!” he wheezed, rubbing his face sleepily as Rhiannon toppled off the couch and hid the floor heavily. “Wha- Rhiannon, jesus!” he protested. Then he realised they had company, and shoved his blankets off hurriedly and sat up, blinking furiously as if that would wake him faster.

“Still not forgiven,” Dudley told Rhiannon grumpily, as the Weasleys fell about laughing and Rhiannon picked herself up off the floor with her hair in disarray. “Why am I awake? Why are you awake – what bloody time even is it? I don’t even care, it’s too bloody early,”

“It’s just about exactly four,” Ginny supplied helpfully, snickering to herself. “Has anybody ever told you your leg twitches when you’re sleeping?”

Dudley flushed and puffed up a little indignantly. “Well I’m sorry my leg twitches, all the bone and nerves in my hip did get crushed you know,” he retorted sharply.

Ginny blushed deeply and shook her head hurriedly, waving her hands for emphasis. “No, no – not that leg! It’s the other leg, I meant it was – like the dog thing, it’s cute – goddamnit, I’m sorry, I forgot,” she spluttered, mortified.

Luna stretched and yawned as they sat up, awoken by the chatter. Clearly ze’d heard the last few bits of conversation, because ve turned to Dudley and blinked sleepily. “I agree it’s much too early for me, but aren’t you werewolves crepuscular?” she asked curiously.

Dudley seized a pillow from the couch and lobbed it across the room, striking Luna squarely in the chest as he scowled at xem. “For the record, I do know what that means but it’s also too bloody early for science talk,” he told faer crankily. “It’s not gonna be even near dawn for another hour yet so thanks but no – we’re also functional carnivores and need our rest.”

Mr. Weasley snorted to himself, clearly amused. “Well, as interesting as this is – and truly, I’d love to pick it up at a later time – are you ready to go, or do you need to get changed? Because we’ve got maybe another hour and a half to make that Portkey, your godfathers are meeting us there.” he told them all.

Rhiannon looked down at herself – a t-shirt and jeans, with a pair of boots by the front door and the leather jacket Sirius had given her for her birthday hung over the arm of the couch, she remembered they’d all slept in their clothes to make things easier. “Y-yeah we’re good,” she replied. “Just, can someone chuck me my shoes? By the door there,” she asked, then as George grabbed her boots she put her hands up with a wince. “N-n-n-no, don’t actually chuck them, that’s – please jus-s-s-st pass them over,” she added hastily. George cackled and mimed lobbing the footwear across the room before he crossed the room himself to hand them over, while Luna and Dudley got themselves ready. Rhiannon grimaced as she caught a glimpse of herself in the polished metal of a button, realising that in her sleep her mental hold on the glamours had come off. All the Weasleys knew perfectly well what she looked like first thing in the morning, but she couldn’t say the same of the thousands who would be at the Quidditch Cup.

“And, uh – gimme a minute in the bathroom,” Rhiannon added awkwardly. Niniane shoved herself out from behind her brothers, and Rhiannon had to repress a laugh on seeing her friend’s hair done in two childish braided pigtails.

“Not, a, word,” Nina told Rhiannon firmly, though she herself couldn’t quite hide her smile. “I’ve roomed with you long enough to know the spells, lemme do it, it’s faster,”

Rhiannon nodded cautious agreement, and Nina withdrew a familiar deep brown wand with an almost black grain, one Rhiannon hadn’t seen in quite some time. “Is that..?” she asked, genuinely curious.

Nina laughed, genuinely amused as she settled herself on the edge of the couch. “My old wand? Oh yeah. It was Ginny’s idea to try using it again, she remembered old Ollivander asking me if I was sure it was working for me. Funny enough, it works just fine, and we did some reading – black walnut doesn’t like working for owners who’re lying to themselves. Even an inanimate object knew!” she explained, still snickering. Rhiannon giggled, until Nina took her firmly by the chin. “Don’t wanna put your eye out, hold still,” she grumbled.

Rhiannon felt the familiar cool sensation as the magic spread over her skin, and she shook herself as Nina leaned away to give her space. It was a little uncomfortable, like wearing a second skin over her own, and Rhiannon couldn’t help longing for the day she didn’t need the glamours anymore.

“Alright, now we’re good to go,” Nina told her father cheerfully. Dudley lurched to his feet and windmilled a little before finding his balance, always a difficult endeavour – as he had so bluntly told Ginny, the bite he had sustained in the attack had done a lot of damage to his pelvis and femur so he had a lot more trouble walking on two legs than Rhiannon or Remus did.

And with that, the mad pack of Weasleys picked up their Lovegood companions and they left the house in a manner not unlike a hurricane moving on, with Arthur and the twins setting a brisk pace over the moorlands. Dudley, who had struggled enough just to get on two feet let alone speed-walk across uneven terrain, was soon lagging behind and even at nearly new moon Rhiannon herself was having trouble. “Could-d-d-d-d-dn’t we just, ‘ave t-t-taken the Portkey from our house?” she panted.

Arthur, a few paces ahead, looked utterly scandalised as she drew level with him. “Just – take – a Portkey? Do you even know the sort of fines they impose for unregistered Portkeys? No, I suppose you don’t – just, don’t mention that in public. Or at all, preferably. Never know who’d dob you in to the Ministry for that.” he cautioned her.

Rhiannon growled irritably, she’d forgotten it was technically illegal. Well, definitely illegal. Which made her foster-father a regular petty criminal. Pffffff. Still... “Al-l-l-l-l-right but, Dudley can’t keep up,” she replied with an anxious look back at her brother. “That leg p-p-p-p-p-pret-t-t-t-ty much doesn’t touch the ground when he’s on four legs, there’s got t’ be a better way,”

Mr. Weasley held up his hand for a halt and Dudley promptly collapsed to the ground in exhaustion. Mr. Weasley looked over the rest of them and clearly came to a conclusion, already shaking his head as he considered them. “Fred and George don’t have their Apparition licenses, and Bill and Charlie are meeting us at the campsite, I can’t just... no, that’s right, Amos failed his Side-Along... well, Dudley, how much do you like your dignity?” he asked, turning to the panting teenager.

Dudley pushed himself off the ground long enough to glare at Mr. Weasley, before he flopped back down again with a groan as his shoulder gave out. “How dignified do I look now?” he asked, his voice muffled by the grass. Ginny snorted and patted his shoulder sympathetically.

“Well in that case, I suppose levitation would work – it’ll just look rather silly if you’re bobbing along in the air beside us.” Mr. Weasley offered apologetically.

Dudley rolled over onto his back and propped himself up on his elbows. “Silly beats pain,” he grunted, the faintest edge of a high-pitched whine just audible in his breath to Rhiannon’s sensitive hearing.

“Er, very well. I – apologise in advance,” Mr. Weasley said. “Levicorpus,”

With that incantation, Dudley was jerked up into the air and bobbed at about an adult’s chest height, as if seated on the air itself. It did look ridiculous, just as Mr. Weasley had suggested, but after the initial shock the ease in Dudley’s demeanour was painfully obvious. Mr. Weasley sighed and shook his head. “I’m terribly sorry. I’ve only ever seen you sort of, managing I suppose, I guess I forgot that would change over harder terrain,” he apologised. “Would it be possible to get, I don’t know, I’ve seen sort of wheelchairs that operate on similar magical technology to broomsticks? I mean, if it’s that hard to walk – I can see how it’d be much easier on four legs but on two, well, the human – or humanish – body isn’t exactly well-designed.”

Both Dudley and Rhiannon laughed at that, at first in genuine amusement at Arthur’s astute point about the human body but then tiredly, at the naivety of his question. “Mr. Weasley, sir... Those cost a lot of money. Easily five times the cost of Rhiannon’s Firebolt unless you can get it funded – which I won’t, because I can technically walk. And in terms of the magical world, I also kind of don’t exist. Legally Rhiannon’s vault at Gringotts is registered to her, not to me, she’s not obliged to help me – she just does because, family. There might be enough money in the vault for that, maybe, but Rhi couldn’t even take out a transaction of that size ‘til she’s seventeen without parental consent – parental, mind, Xen doesn’t count because the Ministry would decide he was exploiting us for the money. So yeah, I’d love one of those wheelchairs but, you know.” he explained, gesturing irritably with his hands as he spoke.

Mr. Weasley reddened, his eartips turning scarlet just as Nina’s did when she was angry. “It costs – that much – for a basic necessity?” he spluttered. “I mean, you know we’re not exactly well off but – how can you charge for something like that?”

“Very easily, ap-p-p-p-parently,” Rhiannon grumbled. “You know it cos-s-s-s-sts – about three times as much to get ‘mione’s books in Braille? And it’s easily a hundred p-p-p-pounds for when she needs a probing cane. If p-p-p-people c-can’t live with-h-h- without something, th-the people know they’ll pay m-m-more for it so... you know.” she said with a jaded shrug.

Mr. Weasley spluttered angrily about that as they walked, while the younger Weasleys were a little more familiar with the ridiculous state of what Hermione had gotten them all sardonically calling the ‘cripple tax’ and grumbled along with Dudley and Rhiannon. A bit of cathartic complaining got the time going quicker, and the sun had begun to rise by the time they reached the top of a hill clearly marked out by magic. At the very crest of the hill was the mankiest old boot Rhiannon had ever laid eyes on, it even smelled used and she wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“S-so as-needed Portkeys are illegal, but b-b-b-biohazards aren’t?” Rhiannon complained, though not loud enough anyone outside their little huddle could have heard her. Dudley began to laugh so hard he sneezed, while Luna cackled and hugged Rhiannon around the waist, lifting her off her feet a few inches while their chest and arms shook with mirth. “Oi! Put- put me down! I’m short, not a toddler,” she protested, swatting at their arms ineffectively. Eventually Luna relented and Rhiannon almost fell over as she regained her footing, which only set Luna, her brother and the Weasleys off laughing again.

“Good to see you all in such high spirits,” a low voice said by way of greeting, and Rhiannon whirled around, instinctively raising her hands to defend herself before she recognised if not the speaker then at least his companion.

“Amos,” Mr. Weasley replied, his voice uncharacteristically tense.

While the adults were occupied with their very formal human rituals of mutual dislike, Niniane leaned over behind Luna to whisper in Rhiannon’s ear. “He works in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, so he can be a real prick about werewolves. Don’t say anything off.” she hissed. Rhiannon grimaced and struggled to restrain a growl – that would be the very definition of off.

Cedric was far more welcoming than his father, and strode forward to shake Rhiannon’s hand before tugging her into a hug. “Hey, Potter,” he greeted her with a grin. “Heard you’re in Hufflepuff this year – can’t wait to try you out for the Quidditch team, I’ve always been better at Chasing anyway.”

Rhiannon blushed and stammered awkwardly, while the twins snickered – Fred at least had been witness to her mortifying crush on Cedric Diggory more than once. “I- I – that- yeah, th-t-t-that – would be cool,” she managed, barely meeting his eyes – such a warm shade of brown in the early morning sunlight – for a moment as she shuffled her feet and fidgeted in place.

“Potter, Harry Potter?” Amos Diggory asked, diverted from his discussion with Mr. Weasley by the sound of Rhiannon’s surname.

Rhiannon’s heart sank, but she pulled herself up firmly – she had a way to handle this. “No – I’m Rhiannon P-p-potter, sir, p’raps you’re thinking of-f-f Harry Pace? They’re m-my friend, easy mis-s-s-stake,” she replied, a little mischievous smirk curling up the corners of her mouth. “And- and there’s my brother D-d-d-Dudley, and Luna, who’s – my – we live together.”

Amos Diggory blinked, baffled, before he seemed to remember and muttered to himself about ‘kids these days, changing names like clothes’ or some such. At Rhiannon’s mention of Dudley, he seemed to finally notice the teenager bobbing about in midair and snorted to himself. “Dudley, hm? Perhaps you could use the exercise, lad, then you wouldn’t need the lift... You getting soft, Arthur? It was a right hike out here but I mean, if we can all manage it, then...”

Rhiannon had already been on edge when Nina told her that Amos where worked, but now she understood Mr. Weasley’s stiff dislike intimately. Hatred wasn’t an unfamiliar concept to her, but this wasn’t even that – it was just plain distaste. She didn’t like how he spoke to her, to her brother, even to Mr. Weasley and she drew herself up to her full five feet of height, quivering with repressed irritation. “Th-that’s not very polite, sir,” she told him sharply. “My b-b-b-brother’s got an injury tha-a-a-a-at n-never healed right, y-you can’t always see stuff.”

Some of the wind went out of Amos Diggory’s sails, and Arthur let Dudley float back to the ground where Ginny and George steadied him – evidently he’d forgotten to undo the levitation charm. Cedric looked embarrassed by his father and leaned in to shake Dudley’s hand as well, shaking his head. “Yeah, Dudley’s been in Hufflepuff for a couple years, Dad,” he told his father reproachfully. “He’s got a terrible limp, have to help with the stairs sometimes,”

Amos Diggory peered more closely at Dudley, and Rhiannon thought she saw the light of suspicion in his hawkish brown gaze. “That’s some injury for a kid, how’d you do it?” he inquired. Dudley looked very much as if trapped in headlights, and for once it was Rhiannon’s turn to rescue him.

“Uh, bad fall - w's when we got, rescued, by Hagrid 'n stuff, July 2002,” she stammered hastily, wilting a little under Amos Diggory’s scrutiny. “We, h-had it pretty b-bad before we got put with Xen, see?” she added, rolling up her sleeve a little to show one of the many silver-pinkish dog-bite scars on her forearm – Rhiannon always let them through the glamours since they were so old and easily explained. “So we ran away, an' it got pretty bad f'r a bit before they found us.”

Amos harrumphed, clearly dissatisfied, but he didn’t question them further. As Rhiannon turned away to grumble to Ginny and her brother, there was a sharp crack and two figures Apparated into the empty space beside Arthur Weasley and Amos Diggory, startling them. As the light cleared, Sirius waved jauntily to them while Remus cautiously took in their companions and scowled when his gaze fell on Amos. Sirius’ smile turned brittle around the edges and he adjusted his grip on Remus’ arm pointedly. “Arthur, thanks for inviting us,” he greeted Mr. Weasley with a smile. “And... Amos, good day. Taking a break from arresting werewolves working bar jobs?”

Amos bristled, and he would have flown at Sirius then and there had Remus not firmly stepped between them, the faintest trace of a growl rumbling in his chest. “Sirius, knock it off,” he told his partner firmly. “I appreciate you defending my honour and all, but it’s really not the time or place.”

Sirius grumbled, but Remus was unrelenting and the two of them eventually retreated, putting the rest of the Weasleys between them and the Diggorys. By now Cedric looked supremely uncomfortable, and Rhiannon couldn’t help wondering – if that was the field his father worked in, did he already know about her? He’d certainly have a base knowledge of what lycanthropy looked like outside of the transformation... and going by the expression on his face and his body language, he didn’t exactly approve of his father’s profession. In fact, he looked a little like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole, and she couldn’t help but feel a little bad for him stuck on the edge of the conflict.

“S-s-s-so uh, that b-biohazard’s our Portkey, right?” Rhiannon asked rhetorically, jabbing her cane in the direction of the mouldering boot. “It’s-s-s-ssss- it’s g-g-g-got to be f-f-five thirty now or a moment off, d’ – d’we w-w-want to all, grab it or however it works?”

Cedric turned a grateful smile on her and nodded. “Yeah, we all have to be holding it when it’s time to leave and that’s in... yeah, a minute. Oi! Everyone grab on!” he said, pitching his voice louder to carry over the muttering and bickering of their mixed group. “Yes, it’s disgusting, but pick a bit and hold on tight, if you can’t reach hold onto the person next to you and that’ll be good enough.”

Rhiannon found herself smushed up under Cedric’s arm as everyone converged on the mouldy boot, and while she’d had a good grip on the boot at first, she was squashed out by the twins and eventually ended up with her toes barely touching the ground, wriggling to stay balanced. Cedric sighed, and looped his arm through hers. “You’re a Hufflepuff, you’re kinda my responsibility too now – prefect and all that. Hang on tight and make sure you’ve got a deep breath. Alright, everyone got a hold?” he said, then again pitched the question to the rest of the group. Not everyone did, and they hurriedly re-sorted themselves so everyone was holding either the boot or another person nearer the boot. Rhiannon wrinkled her nose as the faint smell of ozone portal magic, previously dampened by the very used stench of the boot, intensified and she felt her muscles tense in anticipation of the pull. She couldn’t quite predict it as accurately as one of her foster-father’s portkeys but she was ready enough as the biting smell drowned out the rest of her senses, the very air seemed to crackle with energy, and then all of them were whirling through the in-between-space.

It felt as if they were trapped in the airless whirling colour haze for hours, though Rhiannon knew it was only moments until they were spat out onto the grey-shaded, rolling hillsides of what Rhiannon recognised belatedly to be the Dartmoor National Park. Rhiannon picked herself up out of the pile of people and began to laugh helplessly. “This is – less than a hundred kilometres away!” she exclaimed, giggling as she helped Dudley to his feet. “All-l-l-l- all that fuss, and we’re j-just in the next county over!”

Dudley groaned and shook out his bad leg, his knee clunking around nastily as he did so. “Can we drive next time? Please?” he begged Mr. Weasley, who just looked plain embarrassed.

“I’m going to be honest here, my grasp of geography isn’t brilliant. So I knew the final was being held in the region of Dartmoor, but where that is in relation to where we live, well, not my field of expertise.” Mr Weasley replied, embarrassed. “You’re right – if there’s a next time, we can just drive – well, as many of us as fit in the car can.”

The rest of their group picked themselves up in bits, and Cedric waved an awkward farewell as he hurried off to catch up with his father, who left without even a cursory good-bye. Mr. Weasley, Sirius and Remus all sighed with relief as he left, and Mr. Weasley turned to the rest of the group. “Alright, I’ve got everyone’s entry tickets. We’ve got two tents, one for us adults so we can actually get some sleep and one for you lot, and we’ve got to sign in so there’s a register of everyone here before they’ll let us into the campground. Line for that starts... over there.” he explained, wilting a little as he saw the end of the line just a short way ahead of them, stretching over a low hillock and down out of sight.

Ginny grimaced, then looked up at the sky. “Sure you don’t want to just, go home? That’s a hell of a line and I’m pretty sure it’s going to piss down tomorrow.” she commented. Dudley rubbed his bad hip grumpily and nodded agreement, and even Rhiannon noticed a sullen ache in her shoulder.

Mr. Weasley sighed. “If it ‘pisses down’, as you so delightfully called it, we’ll just prop the campsite up a little higher, the tents are already Impervius’ed,” he replied, raising an eyebrow at Ginny’s language. “We’ve got the site for the Cup, they won’t charge us extra if it gets budged over a day or so.”

They stood in the line for a good two hours, inching forward slowly, until the sun had risen fully and finally the Weasley crowd huddled around a pop-up desk tended by two wizards dressed in Muggle attire, although inexpertly – one was wearing a wonderfully tailored suit about two hundred years out of date, the other a linen shirt and kilt with a length of tartan cloth over his chest. “Arthur!” the kilted wizard greeted Mr. Weasley enthusiastically, though both of them looked decidedly worn already. “Sprouted some extra ones, did ye? Yeah, portkey in the box o’er there, you know the drill.” he told Mr. Weasley cheerfully.

Mr. Weasley sighed in a long-suffering sort of way and lobbed the mouldy boot under the pop-up table as he shook his head. “Basil, you always say that whenever I’ve got my kids’ friends with me,” he grumbled, though unlike with Amos Diggory it seemed good-humoured. “No, this is Luna Lovegood, Dudley Dursley and Rhiannon Potter, along with my own friends Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, they’ll be camping with us. Which will be... where, exactly?”

The wizard in the tailored suit stared at Rhiannon until she shrank back behind the comfortingly solid wall that was the twins, while the kilted wizard – Basil – carried right on with his task after a brief pause and moment of uncomfortable staring as well. “Oh, that. Weasleys... First field about a quarter mile that way,,” he told Arthur, gesturing back over his shoulder. “Grounds’ manager by the name o’ Mr. Roberts – chap’s a Muggle so go easy on ‘im, mask yer magic on the site, you know the drill. He’ll have your site number t’ hand. Oh and, keep yer werewolf on a leash,” he added, with a sideways scowl at Remus. Sirius growled and Arthur’s ears flushed a telltale red, but nobody did more than glare – if they were to rock the boat here, Remus could be in serious trouble.

“It’s new moon tomorrow, Basil,” Arthur told his colleague scathingly, as he scribbled in the registration sheet and accepted a handful of papers in return. “Open a calendar sometime. Be seeing you,” he finished, and beckoned the small herd of Weasleys both biological and honorary on as they set off in the direction Basil had indicated.

Rhiannon longed for her four-legged form as she limped across the hillside with the rest of the Weasleys. Dartmoor was a beautiful region, just the sort of place she’d have loved to run across as a wolf, but here in human shape she felt clumsy and couldn’t quite keep from tripping on the uneven ground every few steps. By the time they reached their campsite she was worn-out and crabby from exertion, and thoroughly ready to nap – it was a good thing the game wasn’t until tomorrow. Finally, they reached the camp-ground – isolated by tall hedges from several others along the narrow gravel road, presumably a single campground had been too small so they’d had to take over several for the Cup. There was a faded red gazebo-type tent set up at the entrance to the camping ground itself, and an olive-skinned man was napping in a camp chair just inside. At a glance Rhiannon guessed him to be either Muggle-born or a Muggle simply by his state of dress, which would make him the aforementioned Mr. Roberts.

Mr. Weasley stepped forward, evidently planning to attempt to wake the man quietly, when a clamour rose up around the entrance to the campsite and an elderly wizard stomped out the gate wearing a flowery nightgown that flapped around his shins in the breeze. He was barefoot, and a very harried-looking man in Ministry teal robes strode after him. “Archie, you know the rules about dress code,” he told the elderly man in a snappish sort of tone, startling the sleeping Mr. Roberts from his armchair.

“Muggles wear these!” the elderly wizard, evidently Archie, protested obstinately. “I wear robes at home, I’m going t’ wear robes here thankyou very much and if this is the nearest you’ve got, that’s what I’ll wear!”

The elderly nightgowned wizard and the harried Ministry worker carried on past them while Rhiannon snickered to herself, amused, but by now Mr. Roberts – at least, who they presumed to be Mr. Roberts – had awoken from his nap and he looked a little bewildered as he startled into wakefulness. “Oh, there’s more of you,” he said in a weary tone. “Too early for so many sign-ins... real weird it is, I barely ever get visitors and now the place is booked out? And all seem to know eachother, it’s like one big party in there... Ah, nevermind, what’s your-”

Mr. Roberts was cut off as another wizard in Ministry teal popped up from behind the tent and levelled his wand at the Muggle man’s forehead. “Obliviate!” he incanted sharply. Mr. Roberts’ eyes slid out of focus and Rhiannon recognised the incantation as that to modify a person’s memory. Mr. Roberts looked decidedly dazed as he handed over a map to the campsite, and Rhiannon exchanged perturbed looks with her godfathers and the younger Weasleys behind Mr. Weasley’s back. On some level Rhiannon supposed she’d always known wizards modified the memories of their nonmagical neighbours to keep the great secret of magic’s existence, but it just seemed so wrong, invasive on a fundamental level, and she shuddered as George pulled her away and into the campground itself.

All too soon, Rhiannon’s discomfort at the casual invasion of somebody’s mind was overridden by the sheer welter of noise and colour inside the camp-ground. No wonder they were having to modify memories to keep the secret, if this was what was inside. The tents were a riot of colour, green white and gold on one side, green white and red on the other, and everywhere were symbols of the teams – unfamiliar creatures Rhiannon didn’t have the attention span to recognise, moving images of the players hung all around, greenery growing wild over some tents and at one point Rhiannon even bumped into an enormous black horse with golden eyes. It snorted disdainfully at her and carried on its way through the camp, seemingly unattended, and Rhiannon stumbled in circles only kept on track by Luna’s grasp in an effort to simultaneously take all of it in and keep it from overwhelming her entirely.

“Rhi,” Luna said in Rhiannon’s ear, startlingly loud, and Rhiannon blinked owlishly as she realised her friend had been trying to get her attention for some time. “You’re twitching, do you need me to put your ear jinx on?”

Rhiannon nodded mutely, and immediately relaxed a little as the clamour around her dimmed to a more manageable level. She’d obviously forgotten to dull her senses that morning, and suspected she’d pay the price with a headache by the end of the day.

“We’re here,” Mr Weasley announced, gesturing grandly to where two plain, triangular canvas tents stood side by side on an unadorned strip of grass, which stood out amongst its’ heavily decorated neighbours. Rhiannon raised an eyebrow, wondering how they’d all fit, until she remembered wizards could extend spaces beyond what their exteriors appeared capable of.

A tall man of perhaps twenty or twenty-one, with long ginger hair tied loosely into a ponytail that fell over one shoulder and dark brown eyes like Ginny’s, though more similar in shape to Nina’s, stooped as he left one of the tents and grinned broadly as he caught sight of them. “Dad! Ah, all of you, it’s great to see you!” he greeted them enthusiastically, and strode forward to sweep each member of his family – for he had to be a Weasley – into a hug one by one. When he got to Niniane he ruffled her hair and tweaked her nose, beaming. “Glad you figured yourself out, little sis,” he added, before he turned and gestured to Rhiannon and the other non-Weasleys.

“I’m William, but everyone calls me Bill,” he told them, striding forward to shake Remus and Sirius’ hands in greeting. “Charlie’s off chasing somebody’s Crup that got loose, he’ll be back later. Fred, George, get outta there – you’re in with the adults. No, not ‘cos you are one – so we can stop you blowing the place up.” he added, gesturing to the twins who had begun to creep off into the other tent. “You younger lot are in the other tent, and we know you’re not total idiots without their influence so you’ll probably not set fire to anything unless Nina decides to make toast. Go on, sort your stuff out, settle in and whatever – we’ll come give you the heads-up if there’s any emergencies or changes.”

Nina stuck her tongue out at her older brother and lunged to swat him on the arm, but he darted away and she very nearly fell flat, stumbling clumsily instead while the others laughed. Bill shooed her away, and she found her footing again and beckoned the others to follow as she let the way into the other tent that Bill had indicated was theirs to use.

The inside was more marvelous than Rhiannon could have imagined – more like a cozy, comfortable several-roomed apartment than a tent, with a kitchenette and a door that presumably led to the bathroom. She wrinkled her nose, taking in the smells – a bit musty, but not major, that wasn’t what had drawn her attention. No, she’d found a familiar scent amongst the welter of dust and animal scents, and her face split in a broad grin as she realised who it was.

A head with coily black hair done in braids poked out of the bathroom, and Rhiannon’s heart leapt as she recognised the slightly-crooked smile and the smudged gold-rimmed glasses – Hermione. Hermione squealed and dashed out of the bathroom towards them, hands flapping excitedly. In her excitement, Hermione forgot to slow and knocked Rhiannon and Luna flat to the ground in a bear-hug, positively vibrating with happiness even as the other two wheezed for breath amid their other friends’ gales of laughter. Hermione pulled Rhiannon into a sitting position and squashed her firmly in a hug, both girls’ glasses knocked askew and neither caring.
“N-n-n-obody told me you were coming!” Rhiannon exclaimed, still hugging Hermione tightly. “I – I can’t-t-t-t b-believe I almost missed a chance to see you!”

Chapter Text

Now much more relaxed after learning of Hermione’s presence, Rhiannon eventually settled in for a nap on the stretcher and sleeping bag that had been laid out for her, and didn’t wake again until sometime around midday, at which time she, Niniane, Luna and Hermione – Ginny and Dudley were nowhere to be found - set off to wander the camp-ground and take in the sights some more. They spotted a few people they recognised from Hogwarts – Aeden and Aislinn Finnegan with a red-headed young boy of perhaps ten or eleven and a sandy-haired woman who must have been their mother; Percy Weasley trailing around after a stern-faced balding man in charcoal robes; Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet who were all camping together and who dragged the three younger teenagers into conversation with them about tomorrow’s match for several hours; and many others. But far more numerous than those they recognised were those they didn’t, and Rhiannon was confronted with the sheer size and diversity of the wizarding world for the first time.

At one point they drifted past a patch of Bulgarian tents, several of which had the moving face of a dark-haired, olive-skinned scowling youth with heavy eyebrows and an intense sort of air about him. Rhiannon guessed him to be perhaps one of Bulgaria’s players, a guess that turned out to be correct as Nina sighed and swooned a little over him. “That’s Viktor Krum,” she explained to the others, a little starry-eyed. “Youngest international player in generations, Bulgaria hadn’t got to the final in decades until they brought him on. He’s bloody incredible in the air, real master.”

“Sounds like you fancy him,” Luna remarked in an off-hand sort of way, then startled as Nina spluttered loudly and flushed a brilliant scarlet right to the tips of her ears.

“Nina, you know that just confirms it right?” Hermione told her, shaking her head as Nina tried to hide her face in her hands. But Nina could not be convinced that a crush was such a harmless thing to have, and eventually they dropped the subject and carried on wandering until late afternoon, at which time they retreated back to the tent to read and rest. By then Dudley and Ginny had returned, and were remarkably shifty about where they’d been earlier, but Arthur diverted them all from the interrogation with the announcement that it was time to cook dinner.

“Dad, we’ve got an oven in here,” Ginny protested, but Mr. Weasley would not be moved and the teenagers were all dragged outside to make a rudimentary dinner over the campfire, which had not in fact been started. Mr. Weasley insisted on starting it without magic – for security, he said, but Rhiannon guessed he was just excited to try it ‘the Muggle way’ – but had neglected to bring matches or a lighter. Hermione came to the rescue as she so often did, apparently having attended Girl Scouts right up until she started Hogwarts, and while Fred surreptitiously held off the rain with a muttered charm, she got a friction fire started and helped Mr. Weasley organise food for them all – damper bread, potatoes and sausages in tinfoil and other simple campfire fare that Rhiannon thoroughly enjoyed.

When she awoke the next morning and wandered outside yawning and stretching with plans of an early walk to clear her head, Rhiannon lost her balance and slid straight down to the foot of the hill that had definitely not been beneath the tent the night before. The ground was slick and muddy under the foot or so of floodwater, and what little of Rhiannon hadn’t gotten wet from the fall was soaked in seconds by the torrential rain pouring from the iron-grey sky.

“Don’t bother!” a voice Rhiannon belatedly recognised as Bill’s shouted from back up at the tent. “We had to terraform the whole place in the night just to keep it from flooding, game’s rained off! There’s some boardgames and snacks in there, go in and get dry!”

Rhiannon had to claw her way back up the steep slope on all fours, and when she reached the top she could see all over the camp-ground that just about every tent in the place was lifted up in a similar manner, leaving the floodwater to flow through the valleys carved between them. She shuddered, imagining the headache they’d have in explaining that to the muggle camp-ground owner, Mr. Roberts. More likely they’d just Obliviate him again. With a sigh she stooped and padded back into the tent, dripping mud and water with every step.

Ginny awoke with a groan and a yawn, wrinkling her nose as she sat up. “God, what’s that smell- Rhi, what the fuck? You’re bloody filthy, get out!” she spluttered, gesturing at the small pond Rhiannon had dripped onto the wooden floor and the flecks of mud that sprayed the tent walls from where she’d shaken herself. “Ugh, no, now I’m gonna have to get Charlie to come clean it up... why are you still inside? How are you that dirty?”

Rhiannon winced, suddenly acutely aware of the mud still clinging to her skin and how her thin cotton pajamas clung to her bony frame, leaving very little to the imagination in a way that made her skin crawl. “Place f-f-f-f-flood-d-d-d-d-ded in the night, I fell right down in it, sorry,” she replied. “Uh, don’t go outside. Just, d-don’t bother.”

Ginny flopped back into bed with a sigh. “There’s a shower in the bathroom, it’s got enough water for emergencies – this qualifies. I’ll pass some of your clothes in in a bit so you don’t track mud over here to get them.” she said. “I’m gonna assume the game’s rained off if it’s flood weather so... board-games day. Great,” she added, with a sardonic emphasis on ‘great’ that told Rhiannon she in fact found the prospect deathly boring.

Despite Ginny’s dour attitude and many mutterings about having told them the weather would be bad, a day inside wasn’t so bad. Bill’s mention of boardgames didn’t quite do the hoard in the cupboard justice, and they all managed to keep themselves occupied for most of the day while Fred and George took up residence in a corner of the tent to experiment with something they called ‘Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes’ without the inconvenient supervision of the grownups. After that, the tent began to smell distinctly like chemicals, sweets and manure, an unpleasant concoction of aromas that after a few hours drove everyone else outside.

“Them and their bloody Wheezes,” Niniane grumbled, casting an eye back at the tent as they all shivered in the rain outside. “Brilliant? Yeah, probably. Difficult to live with? Oh you bet.”

“What’s W-w-w-weasley’s w-wizz-z-z-fuckit you know what I’m ass-s-s-s-s-sking about,” Rhiannon asked, giving up on the name – the repeating consonsants threw her right off. Nina and Ginny both groaned in unison, and Ginny covered her face with her hands in despair.

“It’s this joke shop they want to start,” Nina explained when Ginny seemed unwilling to fill in. “Honestly, they’ve got good ideas for it and it’s something they’d be good at, but it’s a bloody nightmare when they’re experimenting with stuff in the house – and as you just found out, the tent.”

Rhiannon wrinkled her nose in disgust – a joke shop certainly explained the rather distinct smell of manure. “Guess we’d better go h-h-h-hide with your Dad and them,” she replied, casting a baleful eye back at the tent – Charlie had spent a good quarter of an hour drawing wet werewolf scent out of the floor alone.

Going carefully so as to avoid a tumble like Rhiannon had taken early that morning, the six of them trekked across the narrow space that connected their tent with the other, and flung themselves inside out of the still-pouring rain. Sirius and Remus, curled up in a beanbag together, looked up in surprise while Bill and Charlie just groaned. “Let me guess, the twins stunk you out of the tent?” Charlie asked, clearly already knowing the answer. “We’ve got books, settle in and we’ll help you un-stink the place before you go to bed.”

Arthur looked up from his book, his brows drawing together sharply. “You know, when I said they could experiment anywhere but in here, I did not expect them to drive you all out of your tent. I feel as if perhaps I should have been more specific. My apologies,” he said with a wince.

Rhiannon, Hermione and Luna settled in a corner with some of Charlie’s books on Magizoology, while Ginny and Dudley curled up together – remarkably comfortable in eachother’s space Rhiannon thought curiously – with a book of wizarding fairytales to pass the rest of the afternoon. As promised, Charlie helped them clear the twins and their experiments’ smells from the tent before evening fell, and they had a simple dinner of eggs and toast – despite Bill’s teasing Nina was actually a perfectly adequate cook so long as she paid attention, it was Ginny who couldn’t be trusted with so much as buttering toast unsupervised – before falling into their beds to sleep.

The next day, the rain had lightened somewhat – enough that the flooding had died down but it was certainly not what anyone could honestly call dry – and apparently that was enough for the Quidditch officials, because the match was back on. Remus, Sirius and Bill helped the teenagers enchant their cloaks to repel water, and once again Rhiannon was subjected to a protective charm on her hair lest she give herself away by the distinct smell of wet dog. Remus banned Sirius from cooking as they made breakfast in the teenagers’ larger tent, and at eleven it was time to get into the stands.

Mr. Weasley, Bill, Charlie, Remus and Sirius took on a bit of a long-suffering air as they herded the younger members of their party through the camp-ground and down the winding rural road that led to the Quidditch stadium. Rhiannon had thought she was prepared, but used to the size of the Hogwarts Quidditch stadium she was taken well aback by the sheer magnitude of the one constructed to house the World Cup. Its towers alone were visible well before the rest of it drew into view, and it was a good half hour’s walk before they reached the gates.

The stadium was enclosed by a tall wrought iron fence, and scattered all around on the soggy grass were tents and stalls selling all manner of things – food, trinkets, magical artifacts of many kinds. Rhiannon might have likened it to a fair, but in all honesty she’d never been to one of those either. As it was she was fascinated by the sheer number of things on display all around them, her twitching nose filled with the delicious smells of fried food, and it was only Luna’s firm grip on her wrist that kept her from wandering off and getting entirely lost.

Eventually they all reached the tunnel into the stadium itself, and Arthur let them stop to browse the wares while he negotiated their registration. Rhiannon hadn’t come prepared, so with Sirius’ permission she spent some of her money on a scarf striped in green white and gold and a pot of green face-paint before her attention was stolen by other, stranger things laid out for sale and she drifted over to look closer while her friends each bought their own Ireland-supporting regalia – and in Nina’s case, a tiny moving figure of Viktor Krum who stomped across her palm leaning on a broomstick turned twigs-up like a staff.

A wicker basket of what appeared to be binoculars caught Rhiannon’s eye, and she peered closer to look at the sign hanging on the front. OMNICULARS, it read in bold letters, and proceeded to list their features – extreme zoom, player tracking, play-by-play explanations and rewind. Rhiannon hadn’t the faintest clue how such a thing could work, she just knew she wanted one. Or, well, not one, she decided, as she looked over her friends who’d already spent their money on team colours. Six would about do it. Then she did the mental mathematics – that was sixty Galleons, all that remained of what she had with her, and Xenophilius was going to kill her. But it would be worth it.

“Uh, s-sis-s-six p-pairs p-p-p-p-please,” Rhiannon stammered, as she emptied her purse onto the table. Nina grabbed her elbow and shook her head, but Rhiannon was unmoved and she managed an impish grin. “Call it an extra birthday present. My dad was rich, now he’s dead, I may as well share what he left me with you lot.” she told Nina firmly.

Hermione blinked, clearly taken aback by Rhiannon’s frank statement. “Doesn’t it – bother you – to just, say it like that?” she asked.

Rhiannon shrugged and shook her head as she packed the six pairs of omniculars into her backpack – nobody had any free hands, she could pass them out up in the stands. “Why? They’re dead, no poin-t-t-t-t-t d-d-d-d-dancing around it. You all’re my family now, so I share my stuff.” she replied casually. Then she tilted her head and thought about it a bit more. “Uh, not my food though. Food is separate.”

Luna snickered and leaned over to straighten Hermione’s green, white and gold beanie where the wind had knocked it askew. “Rhiannon, you eat anything that falls on the floor, most of the time nobody but you is thinking about sharing your food,” he teased her wryly.

Ginny groaned and edged away from Dudley playfully. “Merlin, is that a werewolf thing? ‘cos this guy’s the same! It’s like he’s never heard of the five-second rule!” she replied, giggling as Dudley caught her arm and began to tickle her, growling playfully.

Mr. Weasley looked a little harried as he cleared his throat loudly, perhaps he had done so several times already without their noticing. “If we could all get a move on into the stands? The game’s to start at twelve and we’re running out of time,” he told them all, trying to gather the disparate group of teenagers together. Then, once he had them, he and Remus shooed them onwards into the tunnel which led into the stadium. Rhiannon had expected it to be big, but this was something else and she gazed around open-mouthed as she turned in clumsy circles trying to take it all in.

“Seats a hundred thousand,” came a mischievously smug voice from beside them and Rhiannon jumped, only settling when she took in the figure before her. He was about five foot ten and somewhere in his mid-forties, still certainly wiry with muscle but softened by years off the field, as by the way he carried himself he’d almost certainly been an athlete. His face was rounded, with a rather weak chin and he kept himself clean-shaven as if trying to cling to his youth, though he could have rather improved his looks with the addition of a small beard; and the lines carved around his pale grey eyes and thin mouth told Rhiannon that he liked to smile, though perhaps not always honestly.

“Ah, Ludo!” Arthur said, and strode forward to shake the shorter man’s hand. “Everyone, this is Ludovic – Ludo - Bagman. Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, former Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps and the English national Quidditch team – and also the commentator for this afternoon’s match.” he explained to Rhiannon, Hermione and Dudley, the magical-born members of their party seemed to recognise the man – in fact, Sirius was positively bristling with dislike at the sight of him.

“Arthur!” the man, Ludo, cried, greeting him with equal enthusiasm. “No need to flatter me, my Beating days are long behind me. Best leave that to the young folks. Fancy a flutter on the match?”

“Oh, no Ludo, you know I don’t gamble,” Arthur replied wearily, as if this were a conversation he’d had many times before. “And I’ve really got to get everyone up to our seats...”

But Ludo would not be diverted, and Rhiannon felt like sinking into the soggy ground as he zeroed in on her. “Well, well, well! If it’s not Rhiannon Potter – a right budding Quidditch star herself! Go on, lass, what d’you think could happen?”

Rhiannon shook her head, her words vanishing as so often they did when she was put in the spotlight, and she retreated back into the wall of Weasleys who closed around her. “Rhi doesn’t like bein’ pestered, she’s fourteen, leave her be,” George told Ludo grumpily.

Fred chimed in with a sideways look at his brother. “Gotta be sixteen to make any sort of formal bet, didn’t you write that law?” he added, as he fished around in his pockets. “Now on the other hand, we’ve been sixteen for months, so... thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles and three Knuts that, ah... Ireland win, but Krum gets the Snitch.” he finished decisively.

George grinned, clearly in on the idea with his brother, while Mr. Weasley spluttered furiously.

“Boys! That’s all your savings, your mother’s going to kill me!” he protested, but the twins would not be deterred as they handed over their money to a beaming Ludo Bagman.

“Oooh, Krum gets the Snitch but Ireland win... long shot that, serious odds. Uh, lad, I think you need your wand though,” he added, gesturing awkwardly to the wand George had deposited on top of his clipboard along with the money. Fred and George shared a brief glance, and Ludo awkwardly shifted his clipboard to one hand so that he could return the wand. In his hand, it changed from wood to a rubber chicken, which squawked loudly and pecked at his hand while he yelled with shock and dropped it, the clipboard and the assorted coins all over the muddy grass.

“Ah, see what you’ve done, boys?” Arthur chastised them, but Ludo held up a hand, his startled spluttering changing to wheezing laughter.

“Oh, that’s bloody brilliant that – haven’t seen one that convincing in years, well done lads. I’ll make it an even fifty Galleons for the additional prank,” he told them, as he retrieved his own wand and summoned the scattered coins back into his hand, whereupon he then stowed them safely in his pocket. “I’d pay five Galleons for that in a shop, easily, very clever work,” he added, and patted them each on the shoulder in a rather patronising sort of way before he tipped a nonexistent hat to the whole group and gestured past them to the pitch. “Best be getting on with my job, though. Enjoy the match!” he told them, and then began to hurry away.

Arthur sighed, and Remus patted Sirius’ arm in what was clearly intended to be a comforting gesture but only served to make the tall, thin man bristle more. “Oh, don’t try to placate me Moony, you know why I don’t like the man,” he grumbled, though there was little heat in it.

Still growling and casting sideways looks across at the commentator’s box, Sirius fell into step with the others and guided them up through the winding walkways of the stadium, surreptitiously aiding Dudley when Ginny’s shoulder wasn’t quite enough. “How’d you get these seats, Arthur?” he asked, panting a little, as they stopped for a break about three-quarters of the way up.

“Ah – Ludo, actually,” Mr. Weasley confessed, with a wince as Sirius growled darkly. “He got hold of good tickets for just about anyone at the Ministry who wanted to go, said we had to make a good showing of supporting Ireland in the final since our governments seceded and all that. Still had to pay him a bit but, nothing like it would have been otherwise.”

Rhiannon peered down into the stadium, amazed by how high they were – and that they still hadn’t arrived at their seats yet. “S-so, where are we actually s-s-s-sitt-t-t-ting?” she asked, as they all moved off again.

Mr. Weasley bounced excitedly for a few steps, gesturing up with one hand. “Oh – great seats, we’re in the top box and that’s on an angle to the Irish-scoring goalposts.” he replied cheerfully. “Just a few more levels to go.”

Groaning and complaining, they all managed to haul themselves up to the prime boxes of the stadium – not at the very top, mind, those were cheap seats given you couldn’t see the goalposts so well, about 2/3 of the way up and clearly indicated as better than all the other seats in the stadium by the gold-trimmed, Impervious navy velvet covers surrounding each box. Inside were perhaps twenty or thirty comfortable chairs in rows, most of which were occupied, and Rhiannon guessed that their group would take up the last spaces. Most of the others inside were dressed in Ministry teal or teal-edged charcoal, and Rhiannon squashed down a growl as she recognised several by scent before sight.

There, seated in the front row of the box, were several figures Rhiannon knew at once. Two in particular had her heart sinking into her shoes – sleek-haired, smirking Lucius Malfoy and the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge. With them was a tall woman with hooded eyes and striking silvered blonde hair pinned into an elegant updo, wearing an expression of disgust as she looked over the motley pack of Weasleys and their friends; and beside her, a thin, sullen figure who elicited more mixed emotions – Draco Malfoy, his silver-blond hair longer than it had been when last Rhiannon saw him, barely hiding shadows on his face and neck that, if she was not mistaken, looked to be fading bruises.

“Hey, Potter,” Draco greeted her with a tentative sort of smile, and nodded to the rest of her companions. “Mr. Weasley, all of you. Looking forward to the match?”

He tried to hide it, but Draco was not quite fast enough to muffle the hiss of pain that escaped from between his teeth as the woman beside him – presumably his mother – dug her nails into his arm. She smiled pleasantly, but to the three werewolves facing her it came across more as a territorial baring of teeth – back off, she was telling them. Rhiannon sniffed derisively and curled her lip – she had every right to be here, thanks all the same.

“Yeah, I am,” Rhiannon replied, meeting the hard eyes of Draco’s parents and the Minister himself in turn. She despised eye contact, but in wolves and humans alike it was a gesture of confidence – and right now, that was what she needed to portray. She wouldn’t be bullied out by a few scowls, and she wouldn’t let them punish Draco in front of her either. “N-n-nice to see you here, before school starts and all. What house d-d-d-did you get put in this year?”

At her innocent question, Rhiannon saw Draco relax a little and let go of a withheld breath, there was a soft rustle of cloth as his mother released his arm, still smiling that brittle smile. Draco immediately shifted an inch or so away from her, perhaps not even consciously, and hugged his arms around his chest. “Ravenclaw again,” he replied, casting an anxious glance sideways at his father. “I like the common room – the seniors change the enchanted ceiling every year, and there’s a whole library up there, it’s great.”

Lucius Malfoy sniffed derisively but refrained from commenting, turning his attention instead to Arthur. He had this way of looking people over from top to toe, his expression slowly darkening so that the target of his disdain knew he found them lacking, and while it had lost much of its effect on Rhiannon, the same was not as true of Mr. Weasley. He wilted a little and his pale blue eyes darted from side to side while he chewed anxiously on his lower lip and fiddled with his hem. “Surprised to see you here, Arthur. I hope your wife is well – she has quite the left hook on her.” he sneered, drawing a simpering titter from Draco’s mother – Rhiannon couldn’t quite recall her name. Cornelius Fudge looked a little scandalised, and Lucius waved away his concern with an insincere smile.

Arthur, on the other hand, looked positively furious and Rhiannon could see his hands trembling at his sides as he struggled not to clench them into fists. A low growl rose from Remus, setting a greyish tinge of fear in the Minister’s cheeks, and with a sigh Sirius stepped forward to take command of the situation. “If you don’t quite mind, we’ll take our seats, since it’s quite clear there’s no resolving our mutual loathing, I’d prefer that it not interfere with enjoying a perfectly good Quidditch match – if that’s alright with you, Lord Malfoy?” he drawled, a teasing glint in his eye.

Lucius Malfoy sniffed, clearly dissatisfied – and if anything, a little put-out by Sirius’ presence. “Lord Black – now there’s a surprise... and the other mutt too, of course, you always did come as a matched set,” he hissed, as Sirius passed him with his head held high. Sirius’ pale, prematurely lined skin reddened with the temper he held back, but he did not respond verbally as he led the Weasleys and the rest past the Malfoys and up a couple of rows to where they had a row to themselves and three seats in the row below – which would put whoever sat in them almost behind Draco, though luckily enough not the rest of his group – they were to the other side.

“So, do we draw lots for the hot seats?” Bill asked, casting an eye down at the three seats on the end of the second row. Charlie snorted, and Nina shook her head with a sigh.

“Nah, Draco’s not so bad since Hermione whacked some sense into him,” she replied. “Actually wished Gin a happy birthday this year, I think maybe he feels guilty about how bad her first year went.”

Dudley grimaced, and wrinkled his nose. “He smells – stressed, fearful,” he added, scowling down at Draco Malfoy’s mother. “Something’s not right with him and his mum, probably dad too. I’ll go too, you too Gin?” he suggested.

Ginny managed a wan smile. “Yeah. Like Nina said, he’s... been kind of nice, almost, lately. Don’t get me wrong, his dad still gives me the shivers after first year, but, maybe if we’re sitting there his parents won’t be able to do anything.” she replied.

With that, Nina, Dudley and Ginny settled themselves in the three lower seats, and the rest of the Weasley party filed into the third row up. Rhiannon was sandwiched between Luna and Hermione, and she noticed something peculiar as she found her way to her seat. In the row behind her was a small figure she almost mistook for an old friend – but no, he wouldn’t be here, Dobby was free and a paid employee at Hogwarts. Her stomach churned as she realised this was another house elf, quivering with fright, their eyes firmly closed and their knobbly fingers knotted in the hem of the ratty pillow-case they wore as a makeshift dress.

“H-hey, are- are you alright?” Rhiannon asked, turning as she took her seat so she could still talk to the elf freely. “What’s your name?”

The elf opened their eyes and immediately gulped, then fixed them firmly on Rhiannon’s face – Rhiannon guessed by their body language that the elf was afraid of the height, and her discomfort only grew – elves could not disobey an order from their master, and if this elf was up here it was likely on an order from their family, since the rough clothing marked them as enslaved. “This one’s name is Winky, m-m-miss,” the elf replied in a high-pitched voice. “It – it does not matter whether this one is alright, m-m-miss, M-master ordered it to keep His seat for him and so it does.”

Rhiannon’s heart wrenched in her chest, recognising the same patterns of speech that Dobby had used when she first met him. The Elfbind disallowed them from recognising any of their own identifying characteristics in speech save for their name, which in truth was a human-given and often insulting thing rather than the names their kind had once used. Not only was the enslaved elf not permitted to refer to themself using any sort of gendered identifiers – gender was for humans, and they were not such by the Elfbind’s strict rules – they were also prevented from referring to themself as a person at all. Because by wizarding law, personhood required humanity, and the Elfbind was an expression of wizarding law in its purest heavy-handed cruelty.

“Who – ‘s – who’s your master, Winky? And – that’s a question, not an order to tell me,” Rhiannon asked, feeling Hermione’s hand trembling in hers. Behind her she could dimly hear advertisements blaring across the pitch airspace but she gave them little thought – Winky was her main concern, now.

Winky shook their head, ears flapping – unlike Dobby’s they were a little folded at the tips and unscarred, which gave Rhiannon some small hope that their master was kinder than the Malfoys had been to Dobby – or perhaps Winky simply followed orders more closely out of fear or some twisted loyalty. “Mister Crouch, misses,” they replied, with an anxious nod to Luna and Hermione also. Luna grimaced at the honorific and Winky looked as if they had been struck. “Oh, I am sorry miss – no, that’s wrong, wrong, all wrong – this one is sorry, very sorry, what might this one call you instead? So as to be respectful, see – it’s not seemly for this one to simply, address wizards like anyone else.”

“Mx is fine,” Luna replied uncomfortably, one hand fluttering against the chair between him and Rhiannon. “Although, we are like everyone else, mostly everyone here is a magic-user of some sort.”

Winky clapped their long-fingered hands over their ears, and Rhiannon noticed that oddly they had four fingers on each hand instead of five. There was no scarring or stump so she guessed it was a quirk of birth, and wondered if all elves had it and she simply hadn’t noticed on Dobby, or if only some like Winky did. “No, no – no, not allowed to talk like that,” Winky murmured, rocking and slapping their hands against the sides of their head. Clearly they felt the need to punish themself, but perhaps their master had forbidden them from doing so in public.

“We’re sorry, Winky. Would it be easier if we didn’t talk to you anymore?” Hermione asked, her voice trembling. Rhiannon squeezed her hand tightly, sympathising with her friend’s complete discomfort and distress. The elf couldn’t even ask them to stop the conversation – they weren’t allowed to ask wizards for anything, and every possible punishment for the future that Winky was tallying up, they were at least partially responsible for. Winky nodded fervently, then resumed slapping their head quietly, eyes once again tight shut.

The three teenagers turned away, profoundly disturbed. Hermione was visibly the worst affected, chewing on her knuckles and rocking in her seat with tears and sweat staining her glasses where they touched her cheeks. “That’s...” she whispered, shuddering. Luna squeezed her hand and Rhiannon squished herself up in her chair so that she pressed against Hermione’s other side.

“Slavery,” Luna agreed heavily. “Chattel slavery. Outlawed in Britain since 1833 – unless you aren’t human, in which case it’s free game.”

“They used to say Black people weren’t proper humans,” Hermione hissed, her voice choked with rage. “They – they c-c-can always shift th-th-th- the g-goal-post, if it suits them.”

“T-t-technically, it’d be legal to enslave me,” Rhiannon replied, more a growl than a whisper as she felt anger welling up in her throat. “I – I know we came up w-w-w-w-with the idea for S.P.E.A.R. last year a-and it – d-d-didn’t r-really go anywhere, but – maybe this year, I – I think we should d-d-d-do something.”

What Rhiannon didn’t say was that she was the Girl Who Lived – she had social power she could bring to bear, although she had little practice in wielding it. She had dipped her toes in the water that summer, guiding the article put out to counter the misinformation about lycanthropy that sprang up from Snape outing Remus. Even without revealing her own lycanthropy, the platform of the Girl Who Lived was a strong one to lend to any campaign, and didn’t that give her a responsibility to use it?

Hermione squeezed her hand tightly and nodded, clearly unable to speak. Luna grinned mischievously. “I can send plans to Dad and have him copy them out, we can put things all over school when we’ve got a solid idea of what we’re doing,” ze suggested.

“Hey, pipe down you lot, the match is starting!” someone a few rows behind them complained, shaming the three into silence. Rhiannon suddenly remembered the Omniculars and fetched her backpack from under her seat, retrieved her own and those for Luna and Hermione, then nudged Dudley with her foot and handed the bag down to him so he could get his own and those for Niniane and Ginny. Rhiannon held them to her eyes, grimacing as she mashed the rims of her glasses into her cheeks and brows, twiddling the zoom knob and sweeping from side to side until – there, a stir of movement on the grass far below.

Now she had her target, Rhiannon could zoom in and she watched through the Omniculars in awe as an enormous flare of red sparkles spread out across the pitch below them. As it dissipated, the sparks left figures in their wake – a hundred or more beautiful women, all tall and stately, their hair silver and impossibly long as they glided, rather than walked, out onto the pitch. Rhythmic music with a strangely electric, blood-stirring current running under it began to play through the stadium speakers, and as Rhiannon watched, red-faced and unsure whether she wanted desperately to be them or kiss them, the women on the pitch far below began to dance, singing something high and dangerous-sounding that floated up to Rhiannon with her sensitive ears so high above. Distantly she realised she was on her feet and clamouring towards the front of the box, Hermione and Luna just in step with her and in fact most of the inhabitants of the box all crowding for the best view. Rhiannon saw George stripping of his shirt from the corner of her eye, but her body was consumed with a need to get closer, to get to these women and tell them how they affected her, profess her devotion, she had to... perhaps she could fly, surely it was possible...

All of a sudden, the heady rush the dancing women had brought on was cut off along with her hearing in general. Rhiannon spluttered and rounded on the person who’d cast the spell, fully ready to claw at them for interrupting her, but deflated when she found Charlie. He smiled wryly and gestured back to her seat – some ten feet away, she was almost to the front of the box; and to Rhiannon’s further embarrassment she found that parts of her body other than her mind had responded to the seductive appearance of the dancers, creating a mortifying tent in her jeans. Rhiannon hunched and shuffled back to her seat, then set her backpack on her lap and hugged her stomach, wishing desperately for it all to stop – the desire, the racing thoughts, the nausea at her own body’s functions, all of it.

Slowly, the rest of those who had been affected settled back into their seats around Rhiannon, embarrassed to have been seen by those who were not. Hermione wouldn’t meet Rhiannon’s gaze and Luna flushed so dark he appeared purple. Something was clearly settled, and Charlie Weasley modified the spell he’d cast over them all – everyone in the box, an impressive feat - so that only the music was filtered out. “Sorry about the spell – those are veela. It’s... not exactly their fault, it’s just their nature, but bringing them here constitutes a distraction foul – and a violation of international trafficking law. Don’t look at the pitch for the next few minutes until I’ve solved this.. bah, nevermind, of course you will... Excuse me, I’ll be back, I have to go and speak with whoever’s running this bloody circus,” he explained briefly, and threw up a glittering blue curtain of magic that obscured their view of the pitch, before disappearing down the stairs.

At that, Sirius began to laugh, letting Remus lean on his shoulder as they made their way back to their seats. “Well, I suppose that’s one way of everyone clearing up their own interests!” he crowed, still cackling to himself. Arthur Weasley looked askance at him, and Sirius shook his head wearily. “Purebloods, honestly, no practical knowledge,” he grumbled, though his smile made it clear he wasn’t serious. “Veela affect anyone interested in their gender – male Veela affect people interested in men, female Veela the same. It’s commonly thought female Veela entrap men and male ones women, but it’s got nothing to do with their target’s gender, it’s their sexuality. And Charlie’s right – it’s not something they’re doing on purpose, it’s a sort of natural aura, but whoever told them to dance like that chose the pattern specifically to magnify it.”

Rhiannon flushed, but then she recalled something else Charlie had said – international trafficking law. “They – they’re n-n-not h-here willingly, are they?” she murmured, feeling a sick anger well up in her stomach. “Th-they’d not dress like that, d-d-d-dance like that, un-unlesss-s-s-s someone was-s-s forcing them.”

Luna shrugged. “There are people who do such things of their own volition,” xe replied cautiously. “But no, they likely are not. Veela are commonly trafficked for sex and entertainment trading because of their natural aura, my father’s been involved with campaigning for their rights for some time, puts out information in the Quibbler sometimes, that sort of thing.”

Hermione put her face in her hands, an ugly crunching sound suggesting she’d broken her glasses in doing so, and by the shaking of her shoulders she was crying with exhausted anger. Rhiannon hugged her tightly but she too felt hopeless – there was just so much wrong, all at once. How could three people so small as they were hope to fix it?

Chapter Text

Some time later Charlie Weasley returned and lifted the spell he’d left on their ears, looking as if he’d sprinted the height of the stadium to get there. “Alright, got that bloody mess sorted,” he grumbled, and brought down the sparkling screen he’d left across the front of the box with another cursory wave of his wand. “It’s safe to look now, the Irish are bringing out their mascots next.”

Rhiannon realised suddenly that she’d dropped her Omniculars in her rush to see the Veela, and her cheeks flushed a deeper scarlet as Fred passed them along the row to her with a snort of amusement. As she looked again, the Veela had changed somehow. They were no longer dancing, no longer smiling and singing – instead, they formed an intimidating wall against one side of the pitch. And they no longer appeared human, either. Each was feathered across their back, arms and upper cheekbones, their hair brighter and coarser somehow, tangled across their shoulders as from their backs spread great pale wings, the feathers angled like a hawk’s. Each Veela’s face had changed too, their eyes a mixture of shades from yellow through brown to red, while sharp, elongated teeth were visible over their painted lips and smooth horns in a wide variety of shapes and sizes extended from their foreheads. To Rhiannon, fundamentally no longer human herself, they were still beautiful – inhumanly so, but a wilder sort of beauty that warned others not to touch rather than drawing them in.

Charlie resumed his seat, grinning broadly as Rhiannon looked over at him. “They refused to leave. Said they wanted to flip things around, intimidate rather than entrap – a show of Veela pride, so to speak.” he explained. “This is one of the biggest and most public displays of Veela trafficking in recent history, so they want to make a statement about it.” he told them, ignoring the Minister’s angry splutters of protest. “Now, the Irish mascots on the other hand, well... take a look.”

Cautious after the Veela, Rhiannon raised the Omniculars to her eyes again and peered through them, then gasped aloud in wonder at the sight. Across the other long side of the pitch, fifty or more great black horses pranced into place, tossing their heads and rearing proudly before the crowd. They could have been mistaken for ordinary horses save for two defining features – the fierce gold of their eyes, more like in colour to a hawk’s than a horse’s, and that none wore a bridle or in fact allowed any handlers near them. They gave off an air of pride and of a playful kind of wickedness, and Rhiannon recognised them by that in a heartbeat – púca. Irish spirits of mischief and disharmony that liked to take the form of golden-eyed black creatures, Hagrid and Remus had both covered them in their classes.

Charlie cackled gleefully and Rhiannon looked over at him, a brow raised curiously. “Ah – ha, well that certainly settles any accusations of magical interference!” he chortled, clearly greatly entertained. “I wonder how they got them all here – oh that’s brilliant, they probably just asked them ‘hey want to come radiate mischief for a few hours’ and all the wee wretches signed on! Púca are highly intelligent, see, easily as much as a person or more – you couldn’t get that many here without their cooperation, oh that’s bloody beautiful.”

Rhiannon couldn’t help herself – the idea was just too funny, especially as compared to the Veela. Technically, the dissonant aura of the púca constituted magical interference too but if both sides were doing it, it would probably slide, and Rhiannon giggled helplessly at the thought of a bunch of Irish magical government officials going out, looking for púca and asking them if they’d like to come and wreak a bit of havoc. Ha. Luna, Dudley, Nina and Ginny were all laughing too, while Hermione was still silent and shaking with unease at Rhiannon’s side and several of the Ministry workers looked quite put-out by the stunt. Rhiannon raised her Omniculars to her eyes again and peered out onto the pitch, where the Púca were now cantering around the edges, teasing the Veela – who flapped their wings and shrieked territorially, though neither seemed to be truly angered – disrupting the lower stands and in general wreaking mostly-harmless havoc on the pitch. Pitch officials in dark rust-orange robes tried to clear them off the field and back to their side of the stadium, which the púca seemingly took as an invitation for a game of chase.

It took a good fifteen minutes or so for the pitch to be cleared, but finally they were ready to start and Rhiannon bounced eagerly on the edge of her seat as a whistle-blast sounded throughout the stadium and fourteen players, half in red and white, half in green and gold, shot from beneath the stadium and out into the airspace above the pitch. They circled eachother not unlike Rhiannon and her teammates would a rival team at school, but even this early on Rhiannon could tell their brooms were better than the ones usually seen in school matches, their riders steadier. The commentator must have been calling out each player’s names as Rhiannon’s companions and others in the box roared their approval, but Rhiannon herself had muffled her ears some time prior and only dimly knew the surnames of the players in question – for Ireland there was Ryan, Connolly, Quigley, Mullet, Troy, Moran and Lynch; and for Bulgaria there was Zograf, Vulchanov, Volkov, Dimitrov, Ivanova, Levski and of course, Viktor Krum – the only one of all fourteen players she recognised by sight.

Rhiannon found the knob on her Omniculars that indicated each player’s name as they soared past, but she had to admit to some sympathy with Nina’s feelings for Viktor – the man was an excellent flier and, she couldn’t help noticing, strikingly handsome even with his scowl. He looked rather like a hawk, with his long black hair tied in a knot and shaven at the sides, his nose a stern hook. In fairness, some might consider that a fault, but he flew like a hawk too – commanding and intent in his every movement, and Rhiannon watched him in rapt attention as the teams lined up across the centre of the pitch.

Another whistle blast and the match erupted into action, players arrowing off in all directions to avoid the Bludgers as they rocketed skywards on release. Then the Chasers gravitated to eachother like magnets, all jostling for possession of the Quaffle – currently in Moran’s possession but not for long, as Levski and Ivanova pinned her between them and Dimitrov rammed her from underneath in pincer-type play Rhiannon had used herself, before the Quaffle was then again snatched by Mullet, who shot off towards the goalposts – straight into the solid wall formed by Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters. It was thrilling – Rhiannon had never so much as watched a national league game before this, her only experience with Quidditch was school matches and they couldn’t come close to the rate of possession changes and frantic back-and-forth play that was on display here.

Ireland were the first to score, as Troy stole the Quaffle back from Levski and sprinted back to the hoops before the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, quite knew what was happening. Rhiannon marvelled at the way the players could keep their heads in such a fast-paced game, hardly able to keep up herself, but she kept away from the slow-play knob on the Omniculars for fear of missing the action as it happened. Hermione was struggling, peering so intently into her Omniculars that she squashed her cracked glasses into her face.

“’Mione, gimme those,” Rhiannon told her with a sigh, wincing as she saw the frames flex. The last thing her friend needed was glass in her eyes, she was already going blind without help. Hermione didn’t seem to hear, and Rhiannon remembered she’d hexed her ears right when Bagman had begun shouting. Rhiannon reached out and squeezed her friend’s hand twice, feeling a little guilty as Hermione jumped and would have dropped her Omniculars had they not been held on a cord around her neck. Her glasses were, as Rhiannon had guessed, cracked and bent, and Rhiannon reached across to take them gently from her friend’s nose.

“I’ll fix it,” Rhiannon mouthed, and retrieved her wand from her cane to do just that. “Reparo,” she muttered, feeling the vibration of her own voice more than she heard anything under the oppressive weight of the sensory jinxes. She felt a little swell of pride as the bent brass frames flexed and straightened themselves, and the cracks in the thick glass sealed as if breaking in reverse. The spell had been a difficult one to learn, combining Transfiguration theories with regular charmwork, but Rhiannon had had plenty of time to study in the safety of her wardrobe-den earlier in the holidays and finally mastered it enough to be of use.

Then she remembered the Minister was about five metres away and winced, mortified by her casual disregard for the laws on underage magic. Certainly, those cases were only ever actually penalised when the underage mage in question was Muggle-born or otherwise living away from wizarding society, but... Rhiannon was not so sure she was popular at the Ministry, and if she did get picked up for underage magic... it would be all too easy for the files from the Department for the Care of Unaccompanied Magical Minors to be brought in, and everything to blow up in her face.

Hastily Rhiannon stowed her wand back in her cane and stowed the whole lot under her chair again, then quickly wiped the last traces of dust from the lenses and turned back to Hermione, biting her lip anxiously. She wasn’t sure she should dare. She firmly tamped down her nerves and reached out cautiously to place Hermione’s glasses back on her nose, gently smoothing a fleck of dust or glass from her friend’s nose as she did so. Hermione’s lips parted and at this close range Rhiannon could see the deep rusty undertones of her skin turn crimson, her full lower lip was pulled behind slightly crooked teeth, and Rhiannon wondered for a giddy moment if Hermione might kiss her. Then, still blushing furiously and murmuring something neither of them could hear, Hermione covered her face with her hands and turned away, leaving Rhiannon red-faced and with her heart fluttering to return her attention to the match.

It took some time for Rhiannon to catch back up with the match, and by now Ireland had pulled well ahead in points, with Dimitrov in possession of the Quaffle and haring up the pitch, desperate to try and make up the score. But no – there was Moran again, swooping in from above to snatch it from his hands and – yes, another ten points for Ireland, putting them at... Rhiannon swung her Omniculars to focus on the scoreboard and couldn’t help cheering aloud at the score – seventy to ten! If Ireland kept this sort of lead, even catching the Snitch wouldn’t win Bulgaria the match.

The Veela and Púca taunted eachother around the edges of the pitch, amusing the crowd, but Rhiannon’s attention was on Viktor Krum as the match wore on. Several times she herself saw the Snitch fluttering on the outskirts of the game, but the few times the other players saw it, Krum managed to fend Lynch off until the Snitch had vanished. He was tall for a Seeker and solidly built, but just as other solid Seekers Rhiannon had played against – like Cedric Diggory, a daydreaming little part of her mind reminded her unhelpfully – it gave him a weight and momentum advantage against the lighter Irish Seeker. There were only three women in the match – Ivanova, Moran and Mullet – and none of them remotely the smallest playing. Anyone who might have argued they had a disadvantage would’ve been laughed off the pitch. Speaking of...

“Zograf – excessive use of elbows there! Ooh, that’s right Mullet, you tell him... no, back off there, let the ref handle it!” Ludo Bagman shouted – Rhiannon had lifted the jinxes on her ears enough that she could hear his commentary occasionally, if not consistently. She didn’t like having to dull her senses all the time, going almost deaf made her feel disoriented and disconnected. She snickered, watching as the Irish Chaser Mullet flipped the Bulgarian Keeper a rude gesture and sailed away. The game was paused for a moment while the referee – a small, thin man with skin a similar deep shade to Hermione’s, a clean-shaven head and black robes edged in gold – conferred with the two players involved in the foul, which was referred to as ‘cobbing’ in the Quidditch ruleset.

“Penalty awarded to Ireland following the Bulgarian Keeper’s foul on Mullet! Ooh, look at them go, Mullet’s going straight for the hoops – ooh and at the last moment a pass! And it’s on to Moran, who – YES, she scores! That’s one-twenty to forty favouring Ireland!” Ludo Bagman cheered, as the Irish section of the stands erupted in applause, and Rhiannon’s vision was obscured by a wall of human bodies as many in the box leapt to their feet and cheered the team on.

Rhiannon stayed seated – standing or not, she was too short to see either way unless she stood on her chair – and that folded up unless there was weight on the outer edge, not exactly the safest standing position. She sighed and waited for everyone to get the exuberance out of their system, and when she could see again, her heart leapt into her throat – there was Krum plummeting in a steep dive for the ground with Lynch hot on his tail. What she couldn’t see was the Snitch, not even through the Omniculars, but with broad-shouldered Krum in his way the Irish Seeker didn’t have a chance of seeing the move for what it was – a feint.

Rhiannon chewed her lip anxiously, perched on the edge of her seat in anticipation as the two Seekers drew dangerously near the ground. At the last moment Krum hauled his broomstick out of the plunging dive and shot off upwards, but Lynch, lacking the weight to do as Krum had, ploughed straight into the ground and tumbled nose-over-tail off his broom to lie face-down in the grass. The crowd murmured anxiously and a whistle-blast sounded for a pause in the game, while a team of wizards in pale-green-and-white striped robes hurried onto the pitch to examine the Irish Seeker.

“And it’s time-out for now, while trained medics examine Irish Seeker Aidan Lynch, after opposing Seeker Viktor Krum pulls off a picture-perfect Wronski Feint! Don’t try it at home, folks – the Wronski Feint is a dangerous diversive manoeuvre that many of the most skilled players still can’t pull off! It takes a certain weight to alter your broom’s momentum like that, as well as the excellent timing all players have at this level – well done Krum, using what you’ve got over your opponent! Ooh and look there, folks, that’s Lynch – back on his feet!” Bagman announced, bouncing in place in his excitement as Rhiannon swung her Omniculars over in his direction.

Far below, seen through the magnifying device, Aidan Lynch staggered to his feet leaning on his broomstick for support, clearly winded. But he grinned broadly and waved to the crowd, even flipped Krum a playfully rude hand gesture as he mounted his broom again, and a whistle blast signalled the game to resume as he soared into the air. The Veela roared, whether in support of him or defiance was unsure – they didn’t seem to be particularly supportive of their home team given how they’d come to be here themselves – and the púca snorted and screamed their own approval – Rhiannon had never quite appreciated how loud horses, or magical tricksters shaped like horses, could be.

Gradually the game wore on from mid-morning, through mid-day and afternoon into the early evening, with any attempts at the Snitch blocked. That was new to Rhiannon – at school, games had a time limit, they had to fit two or even three into the one day and if a game surpassed two hours it went to a tiebreaker. Here, that was clearly not the case. “Oh, longest game went on for... three months, I think,” George informed Rhiannon cheerfully when she asked. She groaned and flopped back in her chair, for once beginning to grow bored with the whole idea of Quidditch. Then, through her Omniculars, Rhiannon caught a glint of gold and her heart leapt as instead of blocking Lynch, Krum arrowed off in pursuit of it. The score was 510-350 in Ireland’s favour, and it looked like Krum wanted to cut their losses before the gap grew any larger. Lynch lurched after him but Rhiannon was fairly sure from the wobbly way he flew he’d suffered a head injury in that crash, he was much too slow to catch Viktor as he streaked towards the ground. Immediately Rhiannon shook off the cobwebs of her boredom and leaned forward in her seat, already getting the sense that this was it.

Viktor Krum pulled out of the steep dive and shot along the pitch, so close to the ground his toes could have touched it, until he skidded to a halt and raised something glittering aloft in his fist, and Rhiannon cheered along with Nina and her friends as she saw that what he held was indeed the Golden Snitch, its crumpled wings fluttering limply against his fingers.

“And Viktor Krum cuts Bulgaria’s losses, ending the game at 510-400 to Ireland!” Bagman bellowed, but Rhiannon was barely paying him any attention. Once again, Aidan Lynch had failed to pull out of the dive and this time he lay unmoving, spread-eagled in the grass. She caught a brief glance of him before the green-and-white robed medics crowded around him and hid him from view.

“Good lord, Bulgaria catches the Snitch, but Ireland win! I don’t think any of us were expecting that!” Bagman carried on, and Rhiannon remembered the twins’ bet on that very outcome with absolute glee, though that was soon diffused into concern as she caught sight of the medics loading Lynch onto a stretcher. “Ooh, tough run there Lynch – should’ve given the game over to your spare!”

And indeed, Fred and George were hopping up and down cheering down the row from Rhiannon, and she herself pulled Hermione into a sideways hug, clinging to the taller girl as an anchor amid the jostling crowd. Even Hermione couldn’t stand against their fervour entirely, as Sirius, Remus and the older Weasleys caught them both by the hands and, laughing, towed them along in the flow of the celebrating crowd, down into the stands and then out, cheering all the way back down the road to the camping grounds. Rhiannon hardly minded being barely able to hear – it wasn’t like the rest of them could hear eachother either, in all the celebratory din – and she let herself get caught up, dancing around and cheering and in general just having fun, a normal teenager at a normal celebration with people who were like family to her. Eventually they settled down enough to share a campfire dinner, and then the adults chased them off to bed – or at least to their own tent, as the celebrations outside turned rowdier and the long day began to wear them down. Rather than settle into separate stretchers, they all curled up together in their sleeping bags to watch the Lord of the Rings again on Hermione’s very heavy, clunky laptop. And just like the first time she’d read the book, Rhiannon fell asleep before Aragorn and the hobbits even reached Rivendell.

Chapter Text

Late that night, Rhiannon awoke in the dark tent. Her friends still breathed deeply, indicating they’d likely been asleep for a good couple of hours or more – but something was off. She wasn’t quite sure what, but she’d been woken by something, and for lack of anything better to do she wrinkled her nose and took in a deep lungful of air. Almost immediately she began to cough, and a cold, leaden weight settled through her bones and blood as she recognised the scent. Smoke. Smoke, everywhere, thick and cloying, it was as if she were surrounded by its source.

Rhiannon turned to wake her friends, struggling to fight down the blind panic that fizzed in her gut, and in her rush she collided with Dudley who awoke suddenly, his crooked nose twitching and amber-brown eyes wide and fearful. “That’s – that’s not campfire smoke,” he whispered, his voice a little fuzzy with sleep. He rolled over and began to prod Ginny, while Rhiannon tore herself free of her sleeping bag and shook Luna’s shoulder fiercely.

“Rhi?” Luna murmured, interrupted by a yawn as they woke. “Wha’s goin’ on?”

Rhiannon shook her head, she had no idea – all she knew was that it was wrong. She gestured to Dudley and moved on to Hermione, asleep with her head on Luna’s stomach. Hermione tended to be a heavy sleeper, and for a ridiculous moment Rhiannon strongly considered licking her awake, before Hermione finally grumbled her way into consciousness. She didn’t even get as far as questioning, though, and went very stiff and still as she drew her first wakeful breaths in. “Oh, god – that’s not normal smoke,” she whispered, and Rhiannon lurched back to let her sit upright as everyone now fumbled into wakefulness and disentangled themselves from their sleeping bags, either picking up on the situation themselves or informed of it by a more functional Dudley.

Someone put a hand on Rhiannon’s shoulder as she stood, swinging anxiously from side to side and wringing her hands in a completely disoriented state of unresolvable fear, and in her terror Rhiannon whirled to face them, striking them in the chest as she would an attacker by simple reflex.

“Oof – Merlin, Rhiannon, I’m sorry,” Remus gasped, as he was sent sprawling onto the threadbare carpeted floor. Rhiannon blinked owlishly, and it took a moment to register who he even was before it all flooded back to her and she shrank from him, guilty and embarrassed. Behind him she could identify Sirius, Mr. Weasley and the twins in the entrance along with the rest, but Bill and Charlie were nowhere to be seen.

“Good, you’re all awake – of course you are, wolf noses. Everyone, get up, shoes on, get out. Heads down and follow me.” Remus told them all as Rhiannon slunk forward to huddle under his arm, his voice pitched low and soft in the night-time quiet, but fragile with a strong undercurrent of fear.

“What’s going on? I woke up and smelled smoke,” Dudley asked, his voice tight with nerves as he struggled to pull his boots on. Ginny, now awake and ready, swatted his shoulder gently and he gave up in the fruitless task to let her help.

“We’re not sure,” Arthur whispered back. “Something’s wrong – fires over in camp two, marchers spreading this way, chanting. Amos thinks it’s just rowdy Irish fans but my gut tells me otherwise, same with your godfathers here. Bill and Charlie are off trying to warn others, get a suppression team together.”

There was a scream from outside, and Sirius flinched, half-covering his face with his hands. Remus edged away from Rhiannon to comfort him, and the teenagers shared an anxious glance – even the human ones could sense the genuine terror in their caretakers’ manner, and that frightened them, so used to seeing adults as strong and unmoving. They finished getting ready as quickly as they could, still clad in pyjamas but with coats or cloaks about their shoulders for warmth.

“Sirius, Remus, boys,” Arthur addressed the twins along with the two adults, encompassing the group in a gesture. “I need you to look after everyone else, I trust you to take it seriously. Get out of the camp-ground and into the woods, get to a stream – any source of water, really. Go quiet and careful, ground’s still soaked and slippery, keep your heads down and whatever you do, whatever you see, do not engage. Stay together, stay out of sight. Clear?” he told them, all of the group flinching as the sounds drifting from outside grew wilder, more frightening. Screams and shouts, laughter – but not the laughter of a celebrating party, and under it all a sick rhythmic chant... Arthur was right and something had gone terribly wrong. Rhiannon’s nose twitched and a numbness began to spread through her veins as she caught a deep lungful of fresh smoke, carried straight through the open doorway on the wind. Dudley was right – it was different, even the choking smoke of the forest fire had smelled clean while this was... filthy, polluting, dragging her under with clawed hands.

Arthur hurried from the tent, leaving Sirius, Remus and the twins to shepherd the six younger teenagers. Outside the night sky was heavy with smoke and lit by scattered firelight, looking like some war-scene from the Lord of the Rings, and Rhiannon stumbled as she tried to follow on after the others, her instinctive terror growing from so deep a root in herself that it knocked her consciousness off-kilter.

Someone caught her hand, waved theirs in front of her face, but Rhiannon could barely breathe let alone respond, she wasn’t really in her body, she was running like a scared pup, and even that nudge startled her. She clapped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes closed as tears poured from them, too-quick shallow breaths stinging her lungs though felt at a distance as she dragged in smoky air.

“It’s no use, you know how she is about fire,” Dudley said, his hushed whisper echoing from somewhere nearby, but Rhiannon heard him only distantly and barely recognised the voice as she shook and sobbed and fought against the firm grip on her wrists. “You know her usual jinxes, there’s one we can use on her eyes as well, you add totalus for this – shut up, George, I can’t cast spells but I’m fairly sure I know more about these ones than you do. Hermione, can you do it?”

There was a rustle of movement, and someone spoke in a low voice. Rhiannon saw a flash of green-and-violet light for a brief moment, before three of her senses were snuffed entirely. She was alone, in the dark – no. No, not alone, someone had her hand and she forced herself to ground from that, anchored to her body by the warm hand in hers. They stumbled along, and Rhiannon had to hope they were quiet because she had no sense of sight or sound. Eventually, they must have reached the forest, as warm hands motioned for Rhiannon to stop before she collided with anyone. Her vision was returned to her, as was about half of her hearing, and she shook herself in disgust. By no means could she be considered fine or well, but she was at least only sniffling quietly now and a little dissociated – a far cry from what she saw on the faces of her friends around her.

“Wha- wh- what was it?” Rhiannon asked them, her voice a rough croak that sounded too loud in the dim woodland.

Sirius shook his head, visibly rattled, and Remus answered for him. “Death Eaters – or people that used to be,” he said grimly, with an anxious look at the teenagers. “Nothing they should have had to see. It’s... well, maybe you learned about the Ku Klux Klan in school... think, one of their rallies. They’ve all got drunk and gone marching, setting things on fire, people... I’m sorry. I... You’ll probably see the aftermath when it’s safe for us to leave, but for now... we’ve got to find somewhere to hide, and keep an ear out for help or for trouble. Hermione left the nasiminus totalus in place, it all stinks of smoke – wind’s blowing straight through the camp-ground and out into the forest, and we need you as sharp as we can manage... I’m sorry, I really am.”

Rhiannon’s heart lurched and she thought she might be sick. She’d learned only the ‘age appropriate’ material about the KKK in school given she’d been eleven when she finished with Muggle school, but being an avid reader, she’d found the rest in the library. If that was what was happening here then... It felt as if she were swamped in a rising tide of blood, the smell hot in her nostrils despite being entirely imagined, images of dead bodies hung and torn scattered across her mind. That was what happened when the KKK got drunk – and these ones were Death Eaters instead. They had magic, not just knives, guns, ropes and torches.

Since she had come to Hogwarts, Rhiannon had been relatively aware that prior to the event that orphaned her, the magical world of the British Isles had been gripped by war and terror. She’d even been terrorised herself by the man responsible for all that darkness and fear. But this was the first time she truly got a sense of what that might have been like, an inkling of how fragile that decade of peace had been – how fragile it was now, with Peter Pettigrew loose and seeking to revive Voldemort. Maybe the Death Eaters knew and were celebrating his impending resurrection, maybe they were simply drunk and throwing their weight around, but either way this was the first time the war had felt real to her. Like it could reach out and touch her, pull her headlong into its deadly chaos. And for all the fear Rhiannon had suffered in her life, she’d never felt fear like that.

Hermione huddled between Rhiannon and a glassy-eyed Luna, shaking and crying silently, tears flooding down cheeks smudged with soot. Niniane stood ash-faced and still, staring into nothingness with the twins on either side, while Ginny turned her face into Dudley’s shoulder so that nobody might see her cry, and Dudley himself rested his face in her hair while his shoulders shook with silent sobs. Rhiannon had no idea how to comfort them, not having seen what they did, all she could do was offer the comfort of her presence and touch to Hermione in the dark forest while her mind began to wander, seeking out information about the horror they’d left behind them. Firelight coloured the night sky even with the camp-ground concealed behind a ridge, the scrubby trees of the thin forest stood like scorched skeletons against the hellish red-orange.

Something was out of place, and even with her dulled hearing and lack of olfactory input Rhiannon caught the faint sound of someone’s out-of-place footsteps hurrying from somewhere behind them, and she whirled to face them, a growl already rising in her chest, her lips already curling back as she sought for who might be approaching them. In that moment her wand was the furthest thing from her mind – Rhiannon would have torn an enemy apart with her bare hands before she let them touch her family. But she recognised the figure, his hair greyish in the tainted moonlight, face streaked with soot, hands and clothes spattered with something that, had Rhiannon still had a sense of smell, she would have recognised as blood. His grey-blue eyes were wild and white-rimmed as he ran full-tilt into the trees, and even with dulled hearing Rhiannon heard the panicked rasp of his breath, catching in his chest as he skidded to a halt before them.

“Malfoy?” Dudley asked, raising his head from Ginny’s hair and curling his lip at the blond youth. “What’re you doing? Would’ve thought you’d be right up in it, or at least safe from them.”

Draco growled, sounding almost feral with fear, and he cast an anxious look back over his shoulder. “Leave the thinking to those better qualified,” he spat, though the venom in his voice wasn’t really aimed at Dudley. No, he’d been truly terrified by whatever he’d seen in the fire-torn campground as well. And Rhiannon didn’t need her sense of smell to guess that the blood – now he was closer, she could recognise it as blood – on his clothes wasn’t his.

Rhiannon put a hand out, gesturing for Dudley to calm, and left Hermione to Luna’s quiet comforting as she approached Draco, as carefully as she might have done a cornered dog. “You – y-y-y-your father,” she said, hardly even needing to ask. If it was former Death Eaters terrorising the camps, his father must have been involved – oh, he’d been acquitted at the end of the first war, claiming he’d been under the Imperius curse, but Rhiannon didn’t believe that for a moment. “He’s out there, isn’t he?”

Draco shook his head, but it wasn’t a denial – it seemed more that he wished he could deny it. “He – he had his wand, he was hurting her – he – he told me to run and I did, and I turned back, there was this awful red flash and – he killed someone, right in front of me. He wasn’t t-t-t-t-telling me to run so I’d be safe.” he whispered hoarsely, and something in his pale eyes looked broken, almost dead even. Perhaps his innocence – if he’d had any left. Perhaps his belief.

“He just didn’t want you to see what he’d do,” Remus finished grimly, shaking his head. “Best not be wandering alone – either someone’ll see you and assume you’re with your father, or there’ll be some Death Eater too drunk to tell who you are. Stick with us – assuming you’re alright travelling with a werewolf, that is.” he added, with a bitter jab as an afterthought. Rhiannon winced – she’d forgotten to tell Remus that Draco had been alright so far since their confrontation at the end of the previous school year.

Draco shook his head and snorted, sounding wryly amused despite himself. “I- I’m b-beginning to realise werewolves are preferable to Death Eaters,” he replied. “Uh – unless you’re both. Greyback, he’s -”

“Nothing like us,” Dudley cut him off sharply. Had he been in his lupine shape, his hackles would’ve been bristling as he glared at Draco, but he cast an anxious eye back at a cowering Remus – he wasn’t being defensive just for his own sake, but for the most vulnerable member of their pack. “He – he takes an animal, and makes it a monster, it’s fucked up, we’re – we’re nothing alike.”

Draco shook his head and let out a pent-up breath. “Takes an animal and makes it a monster, that’s – yeah, I think that’s – maybe the best way I’ve heard him described. They’re good at making monsters.” he replied quietly, as he fell into step with the small party moving deeper into the woods. There was no question in anyone’s mind about who he meant by ‘they’.

This time it was Sirius who motioned them to a halt deeper in the woods, tilting his head back and forth anxiously. In the holidays they’d spent together, Rhiannon had learned his hearing was almost as sensitive as hers thanks to bleedthrough of traits from his Animagus shape – and his hearing was untouched by audiminus like hers was. “What is it, Sirius?” Remus whispered, clearly concerned for his partner. Sirius shook his head and closed his eyes, then carried on trying to find whatever sound had caught his attention. Then, moments later, his eyes flew open and he whirled around, pointing through the brush toward where now Rhiannon too could hear a soft dragging sound, like unwilling feet through leaf-litter, accompanied by oddly high-pitched grunts of exertion.

Rhiannon limped forward, a little slower and weaker than usual without the cane she’d left behind in her hurry but determined to find the source of the sound. Dudley was hot on her heels, and Sirius had shaken off Remus’ concerned embrace to follow them both. Rhiannon growled softly, frustrated at the slow going, and felt for her wand she’d stuck in the waistband of her pyjama pants, intending to remove the nasiminus and audiminus jinxes, but to her horror she found nothing but cotton and elastic. She stopped so suddenly Dudley ran into her back and the pair of them went sprawling, and she was so panicked she almost bit him in fury at the sudden touch. Her wand, her wand, the comforting conduit that channeled power like a deep river – but it wasn’t in the leaves, and it wasn’t in her pyjamas, it hadn’t fallen into her underwear or even her boots – it was just gone. Her throat began to choke up, breath coming too fast and stinging her lungs with smoke she couldn’t smell as panic overtook her. She didn’t have her wand, she didn’t have her claws – she was defenceless against the terrorists rampaging and setting fires less than a kilometre from them – and that meant one less person to defend her pack.

A heavy hand settled on her shoulder, and this time Rhiannon did bite it by reflex, frustratingly blunt teeth meeting on muscle and fat over bone. Its owner swore and prodded their thumb firmly into the hinge of her jaw, forcing Rhiannon to release their wrist, and belatedly Rhiannon realised the owner of the offending hand was Dudley. He flicked his hand, liquid falling free into the leaves with a soft chorus of wet spattering sounds, and she felt a surge of guilt – she’d drawn blood. “Christ, Rhi,” he hissed. “Settle the fuck down, you’re gonna jump out your own skin in a second, it’s just me. What’s wrong?”

Rhiannon shook her head, staring wide-eyed at him, her eyes wandering somewhere around his forehead unable to focus on anything in particular. She held up her empty hands, then shook her pyjama shirt to indicate that nothing fell out of it, and Dudley swore again. “Your wand?” he asked, to which she nodded wordlessly. “Shit. Shit, shit – not good – wait, sssssh, look – over there,” he whispered, pointing suddenly through the trees on an angle to where they’d been heading. In her panic, Rhiannon had entirely forgotten why she’d set off with him and Sirius in the first place, but the sight of the small figure just visible to her in the dim light reminded her.

With a low growl, Rhiannon scrambled to her feet and set off again, doggedly blazing a track through the scattered undergrowth and spindly trees toward the little figure. It was difficult to make out details in the moonlight, tainted with smoke as it was, but as Rhiannon drew closer she recognised the figure as a house elf – and at closer range still, one she had met before. Winky was forcing themself to walk onward into the forest, though some invisible force held them back and it was that battle against the binding magic that created the odd dragging sound Rhiannon had heard earlier.

“W-winky!” Rhiannon gasped, but the house elf carried on dragging themself onwards.

“No – no – there is bad, bad, bad wizards about – bad wizards – people high in the air, blood, biting flames, shriekings – no, no, this one must hide,” Winky muttered, flapping their hands anxiously – it looked as if they were physically having to claw their way forward through thei air.

“Why can’t it walk?” Dudley whispered to Rhiannon, as the house-elf continued hauling themself away. “What – what even is it?”

Rhiannon growled and bared her teeth, wordless still and unable to express how much it upset her to have Winky dehumanised the way they did themself all the time. Sirius shook his head and swatted her lightly, clearly indicating she should back down. He opened and closed his mouth several times, his throat bobbing as he struggled for words. “H-house, elf,” he replied hoarsely. Distantly, Rhiannon realised that was the first time she’d heard him speak all night. “They, must not – have asked p-permis-sion to hide. Magic holding ‘em back.”

Sirius’ speech was stilted and strained, much as it had been the night they’d first met him, but Dudley seemed to get the message clearly enough and he shook his head in disgust.

“That’s... all kinds of fucked up,” he murmured. “Should we – I don’t know, help them somehow?”

Sirius shook his head. “Can’t,” he replied shortly. “G-got to look after you lot first. Let’s – get – back.” he added, and gestured for the two of them to follow as he padded back through the trees, hunch-backed and with his head swinging from side to side as he tracked scents and sounds much like they usually would. As a result, he was again the first one to notice something off and he halted so quickly that the two werewolves almost slid into his back again. He held up his hand for silence, and Rhiannon saw his hands curl into claws, saw the tension spread through his shoulders and spine, and as a stroke of moonlight illuminated the side of his face in sharp relief, she saw the horrified disbelief on his face. “N-no,” he whispered hoarsely. “Yo- you’re d-dead.”

Rhiannon didn’t have time to ask him what he meant, as he whirled and knocked the two of them sideways and behind a larger tree with a strength she didn’t know he possessed. Through the sparse trees she saw what had caught his attention, and as Sirius’ rough, too-quick breaths echoed in her ears she watched as a figure, silhouetted black against the firelight behind the ridge on which he stood, draw something from his pocket and point it skyward. A great bellow echoed through the scrubby forest, “MORSMORDRE!”, and as Rhiannon watched in horror green smoke billowed from what she now knew to be a wand and spilled upward into the sky, forming a shape just visible to her through the thin trees – but she would have recognised it from her books anyway as a symbol that had not been cast in thirteen years. The Dark Mark, Voldemort’s sigil.

Chapter Text

As the two young werewolves stared skyward in horror, Sirius came alive with panic. “No – no – they’re going to be here, they’re here – they’re here!” he hissed, but rather than incoherent babbling it did seem like he had a genuine point as he turned frantically back and forth, his aristocratic nose twitching. Suddenly he stopped, and Rhiannon lowered her gaze to look, bewildered. He had gone tense, his stiff muscles trembling and his dark eyes wide with fear as he searched for some scent or sound on the air.

Then, quick as spitting flame, Sirius turned that terrified gaze on Rhiannon and Dudley, the brief moment in which their eyes met bringing with it a searing pain as she felt some of his terror. “Get down,” he hissed, and he lunged at them both, knocking them bodily to the ground as a crackling light flashed past overhead. Sirius levelled his wand on Rhiannon’s face and muttered something she didn’t quite catch, and all of a sudden it was like the light went out of the world, leaving Rhiannon sprawled on the ground and fumbling in a greyish fog like a flipped turtle.

“Si- Sirius? Wha-?” Rhiannon gasped, fumbling blindly in the dark for her companions. She found Dudley’s solid form, but he dragged her back to the ground as something whizzed by too close over their heads and Rhiannon’s mouth connected with the sodden leaf-litter. She growled, spat and wriggled against Dudley’s grip, impatient and growing fearful in the clouded darkness as footsteps crowded closer, voices she didn’t recognise muttered and hissed to one another.

“Hands in the air, any wands on the ground,” a harsh voice ordered them sharply. Rhiannon wasn’t quite sure which way was up, but she didn’t have a wand, and she did her best to look non-threatening – not that she was sure she looked very threatening to begin with, being a skinny fourteen-year-old in pink cotton pyjamas with mud on her face and in her hair.

“Hold up, Barty,” another voice said, and Rhiannon’s skin prickled as she recognised it – Amos Diggory. She didn’t exactly like the man, but he at least knew her, sort of. “That’s Potter and her cousin, they’re kids – they’d never be able to cast it.”

“That might be so, but – he’s not a child,” the first man said grimly, the man Amos had referred to as Barty. Rhiannon felt a chill in her blood, and fought to keep her panic under control as she realised that this ‘Barty’ meant Sirius. No – no, they couldn’t, he’d just been freed... “You there, raise your head so we can see you.”

Presumably Sirius did so, and several gasps echoed from around them – they had Rhiannon, Dudley and Sirius surrounded. “Sirius Black,” ‘Barty’ said, a note of triumph in his voice. “Caught at the scene of the crime!”

“Hey, hold up,” Dudley spoke up, and had he been in his favoured form he would have been bristling with irritation. “What crime? You mean the Dark Mark? ‘cos that was up on the hill, and I know you can check wands to see what they’ve cast. You can’t just pin this on Sirius – again.”

Sirius tried to shush him, as the people encircling the three of them spluttered angrily. Rhiannon admired her cousin’s readiness to defend Sirius, his refusal to be shamed into silence, and while it might get them into trouble... he wasn’t wrong. It would look very, very bad for the Ministry to wrongfully accuse Sirius a second time, especially with the election next year. And it might help their case to remind the Ministry of that.

“Very well, ah – Black, your wand.” the harsh-voiced man demanded, and as presumably Sirius complied, he took it with a hiss of irritation and examined it. “Prior incantato,” he murmured, and there was a soft crackle and swish as the wand emitted a hot sort of light that Rhiannon could feel, rather than see. “Well, that’s certainly not the Dark Mark... in fact, I don’t think I know that one. Amos?”

Amos Diggory muttered to himself, and his clothes rustled as Rhiannon guessed he peered closer. “That’s... yes, I think so. That’s a wicked little charm that conceals the tapetum lucidum in a werewolf’s eyes, I’ve seen it a few times. Care to explain, Black?” he asked sharply. Rhiannon gulped, and hoped desperately that he wasn’t looking at her, sure her fear must show on her face.

“My – my partner is a werewolf,” Sirius replied shortly, with just the slightest catch in his voice on the lie. “We saw someone in the woods and I cast the charm on him so his eyes wouldn’t light up if they looked our way, these two were lagging behind so I went back to get them and we ended up separated when the Mark went up.”

“Plausible,” Amos told his companions with a sigh. “His – partner – is Remus Lupin. If he’s telling the truth, Lupin should be somewhere nearby – along with the rest of the Weasleys, I’m presuming.”

“Amos! Barty!” someone called through the woods, and Rhiannon’s spirits lifted as she recognised Arthur Weasley’s voice. “Thank God we found you – Barty, we found your elf in the bushes up the ridge, she’s been Stunned, there’s a wand near her – we already checked, it’s the one that cast the Mark.”

“Winky?” ‘Barty’, the harsh-voiced man asked, taken aback. Rhiannon prickled now with a more focused dislike – so this was Winky’s master, ‘Master Crouch’, who had asked them to save him a seat and never showed up, who hadn’t even given her permission to hide in the attack! And Barty Crouch, that rang a bell... that would make him the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement who had sentenced Sirius the first time, she’d read about it. No wonder Sirius’ breaths rasped and trembled in his chest. He didn’t have that power now, he’d been disgraced, but... he still had a certain threatening air about him.

“Winky, yes,” said a fourth voice, one Rhiannon belatedly recognised to belong to Ludo Bagman. “Here – like Arthur said, she’s Stunned, I don’t know whose wand this is.”

“That’s Rhiannon’s,” Dudley chimed in, and Rhiannon felt a frisson of fear. Her missing wand – had cast the Dark Mark? “She lost it earlier, can we have it back?”

“It’s evidence, young man,” Barty Crouch told him coldly. “If that wand indeed cast the Dark Mark, its owner is implicated again. Perhaps h- she threw it aside once she cast the Mark.”

“We heard an incantation up on the hill, we were nowhere near it!” Dudley retorted in frustration. “She dropped it ages ago, probably when we were fleeing the camp, someone must have picked it up and used it, we don’t even know how to cast the Dark Mark – she’s Rhiannon fucking Potter, for fucks’ sake!”

“Language, boy,” Crouch warned him sternly, and Rhiannon had to restrain herself from growling. “There’s also the matter of my elf – set it there, please, Ludovic – yes, ah... rennervate,” he muttered. Rhiannon recognised the incantation as a sort of wizarding equivalent of smelling salts – a universal waking charm that would work against most common causes of unconsciousness.

“Master! Master, this one so sorry, he-” Winky stammered, but they fell silent with a miserable gulp as presumably Mr. Crouch gestured for silence.

“Elf, do you know who I am?” Amos Diggory asked Winky sternly. “I am the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. You were found with a wand – already a crime – and the wand which cast an illegal symbol of terrorists, no less. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“W-w-winky isn’t doing it, sir!” Winky stammered, their voice wet with tears and mucus. “Winky is not knowing how! This one only – only picked wand up, sir, to return it to its owner.”

Rhiannon’s heart twinged in sympathy. It was illegal for any nonhuman creature to carry a wand – technically, it wasn’t even legal for Rhiannon herself to have one but Winky as a house-elf would be punished much more harshly by that law. “Um – m-m-m-m-m-mister Crouch, mister Diggory, s-sirs, she c-c-c-couldn’t have c-cast it,” Rhiannon stammered, turning her mostly-sightless gaze on where she hoped he was standing. “T-the voice was low, loud – W-w-w-w-winky’s squeaky. And it was-s-s-s-sn’t me, n-n-n-nobody h-hatesss-s-s Voldem-m-m-m-mort m-more than me. Nobody.”

“Be that as it may, Mist- Miss Potter, this elf was found with the guilty wand in its hand.” Amos Diggory replied coldly. His voice echoed from a little further to the right than where Rhiannon had guessed him to be and she winced, kicking herself internally – she couldn’t give herself away but it was so much harder to pinpoint without sight when she didn’t have her nose either.

“S-s-so they Stunned themself too?” Rhiannon snapped back, feeling her temper rising. “It – it’s obvious what-t-t h-happened – Winky g-g-got close to who- whoever-rr-r c-cast it, they Stunned Winky and d-dropped my wand when they ran. They – W- Winky probably didn’t even see who it w-was!”

Someone put a hand on Rhiannon’s arm to calm her, and Rhiannon very nearly bit them before realising it was Sirius. “Easy,” he whispered, so quietly she doubted their human companions could hear. “He can make life very, very difficult for you, they both can.”

“Rhiannon is probably right,” Mr. Weasley spoke up, sounding anxious – all of the Ministry wizards here outranked him significantly. “Ludo can point you back to where we found her, there might be someone else’s footprints. It’s... well, it’s not exactly well-known how to cast it, is it? Where could Winky have learned it? Unless you’re suggesting Mr. Crouch is...”

“Yes, Amos – what are you suggesting?” Barty Crouch asked, his voice clipped and frosty. “That I routinely teach Dark Magic to my servants? You know what I lost as well as anyone else.”

“Oh – oh no, Mr. Crouch, my apologies – I only wish to find and punish the culprit, like you,” Mr. Diggory backtracked hastily, sounding highly uncomfortable.

“Well, the culprit is certainly not my elf. You, you, go with Ludo and Amos to find a trail. Winky, to me. This means clothes,” Mr. Crouch told the elf firmly. There was a rustle of his cloak that told Rhiannon he had turned away, and Winky let out a pitiful whimper at the threat as presumably they trailed after him – Rhiannon didn’t need eyes to imagine how the elf looked in that moment, her fear and misery were tangible in the heavy night air.

“No, she didn’t -” Dudley protested weakly, but he was shushed into silence as Crouch, Bagman and several of the other Ministry workers departed, their footsteps crunching loudly in the leaves. Sirius breathed a heavy sigh of relief, and

“Dawlish, can you, Whitsage and Silverthorn fan out and fetch Remus Lupin and the rest of the kids?” Arthur Weasley asked meekly, his voice ringing hollow in the wake of Crouch’s bad-tempered departure. “I sent them into the woods together to keep safe, if these three are here the rest must be out here somewhere.”

“Sure thing, Arthur,” Dawlish replied, sounding equally disconcerted by Barty Crouch’s manner. Rhiannon sympathised – she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about aurors overall, but it reassured her that this particular one was here, he’d been nice to her in the past and to her werewolf self too, so that made him at least cautiously safe in her books.

“Thanks,” Mr. Weasley replied. “Ah, Amos – I’ll be back on patrol as soon as I can manage,” he added apologetically. “I just need to get everyone back to our tent and ward the area so they’ll be safe – Dawlish, cast me a Sending when you find the rest and I’ll come fetch you,”

“Keep an eye out,” Dawlish cautioned Arthur. “We mostly cleared ground two but there’s some fires and scattered rioters still, medics crawling all over looking for casualties. I’ll send for Kingsley and Shacklebolt to head over and guard your lot til morning, it’s a hellscape in there.”

“Much appreciated,” Arthur replied wearily. A rustle of cloth suggested that he beckoned to Rhiannon and the rest of them, but he must have quickly realised the children couldn’t see as Rhiannon swung her head around in his direction in search of the movement. “Uh, Rhiannon lass, over here,” Arthur added, and for an embarrassing moment Rhiannon struggled to triangulate where he was. She took a couple of clumsy steps towards where she thought his voice had come from, until someone – Dudley she thought – pulled her back by the arm, and someone else coughed awkwardly.

“Ah, if you’re tied up here I’ll be back to rounding up Death Eaters, I heard Greyback and some of his fanatics are over in campground six, see you soon Arthur. Potter, I’ll make sure you get your wand back, we just need to look for prints and magical signatures first,” Amos told them. Rhiannon got the distinct sense he’d noticed her misdirection and cursed herself as he Disapparated with a surprisingly soft crack.

Arthur breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “That was a bloody mess,” he muttered. “I didn’t see either of your eyes flash, Sirius, I’m assuming you jinxed them?”

“Yeah,” Sirius agreed after a brief pause, his voice sounding strained. “Heard the – the Mark get, cast, figured we’d ha-ave Ministry down on us.”

“Good, quick thinking, if Amos had found out there’s no way we’d have got out of that without a formal accusation.” Arthur replied, and his footsteps squelched softly in the damp leaf-litter as he made his way nearer to them. He coughed softly and Rhiannon startled, having been unaware he was so close. “Ah, sorry – I, wanted to let you know I was here,” he apologised, as he took her gently by a shoulder and tilted her face up to get a better look at her eyes. Something, perhaps the tip of a wand, lifted her glasses out of the way and Rhiannon couldn’t quite stifle a giggle at the tickling sensation of having them placed in her hair in such a way.

“Finite incantatem,” Arthur muttered, and Rhiannon heard Sirius’ raspy voice as an echo of the same phrase, presumably as he lifted the jinx on Dudley. “Alright, that’ll free you up to see, but you’ve got to keep your eyes on the ground or on the back of whoever’s in front of you, don’t want your eyes giving you away. Rhiannon, can you handle the fire or do we need to put the minimiser jinxes back on?”

Rhiannon shook her head, gritting her teeth – no, she could handle it. She’d been blind enough that night. Arthur sighed, and patted her shoulder, then held out his arm for her to take it. “Stick close to me, eyes on the ground, don’t try to think about any of it. I’d Apparate you back but if Dawlish has aurors setting up a defense perimeter around the tent, I probably can’t, so it’s shanks’ pony for us.” he told them, the briskness that Rhiannon by now knew was his anxiety coming through strongly in his reedy voice. She nodded, and kept her eyes fixed firmly on the ground as he led her and Sirius, who was assisting Dudley, back through the forest the way they’d come.

Finite incantatem was a nearly-universal counterspell, and it had removed the nasiminus jinx along with the one that concealed the tapetum lucidum of Rhiannon’s eyes. As they drew nearer the edge of the woods, the pervasive scent of smoke – thick and stinking as they had noted much earlier, not clean-smelling like woodsmoke or thin like torch-flame – grew stronger, until Rhiannon was choking on it and Arthur had to pull them to a halt. “Shit, it’s worse out here than before, hold on,” he muttered. “Ah, masks. Do you mind if I conjure one for you? It’ll just go over your mouth and nose.

Again Rhiannon nodded numbly, and Arthur turned her again to face him. “Operculum,” he said clearly, and with a soft whoosh not unlike the times she had seen incarcerous cast, a cloth mask was conjured into existence around her lower face. It was really more of a bandanna than a mask, a simple cloth tied at the back, and as Rhiannon inspected it cautiously she heard Arthur repeat the charm on himself and their companions. “Apologies, I’m too rattled to conjure something better – requires focus and all that – but that cloth should help a bit, just until we get to the tent. Mundare aerem – that should keep the air clean as it goes in. Alright. Don’t touch anything, don’t look too closely, just follow me and keep your heads down, got it?”

Rhiannon and Dudley nodded dutifully, and the four of them set off up the hill again towards the camp-ground. When they reached it, Rhiannon couldn’t help herself and let out a cry of horror at what she saw. Arthur and the Ministry workers had been right – it was like a war-zone, burned tents and torn picket fences everywhere. Even with the filtering mask the air was heavy, reeking of smoke, spilled alcohol, blood and worse things – heavy, organic reeks that Rhiannon recognised from her brother’s infrequent attempts at hunting. The insides of an animal, parts that should never see light... she had to breathe shallowly, her stomach roiling and her whole body flooded with cold fear. Shock, she told herself, but thinking happened at a distance as if she were examining someone else’s body instead of her own. Her body moved woodenly along beside Arthur, dimly she knew she saw torn earth at her feet, but the world was washed in a bloody haze of smoke and death that her senses shied away from. The chants and cheers she had heard earlier were replaced by broken sobs and screams, gasping breaths of the dying or grieving, and it was all Rhiannon could do to keep moving forwards rather than simply fall to her knees and cry with them.

“Hoi, you there, Arthur!” a rough voice greeted them, and Rhiannon reminded herself just in time not to look up as a man strode towards them, lit wand raised as he inspected them all. “Merlin, you’re alright. Dawlish Sent us word to get over here, we were in the area anyway. This field’s mostly clear anyway, just a few stragglers, but we couldn’t risk it – this many drunk Death Eaters out, they’d consider Rhi Potter a right fine target, already had one bloody buffoon try to hex the tent – fuckin’ Thorfinn Rowle again, the prick, that’s three charges this year already... Ah, nevermind, you don’t want t’ hear about that – Shacklebolt booked ‘im anyway.”

“Thanks, Kingsley,” Arthur replied wearily. He began to lead Rhiannon up the hill toward the tent, but the man – Kingsley Arthur had called him, a stocky man dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt buttoned incorrectly, with tousled brown hair and a surprisingly youthful face who, perhaps late thirties to early forties, vaguely reminiscent of someone else Rhiannon knew but she couldn’t place it – put his arm out to stop them.

“Sorry, mate, you know the drill. Have to check you all, the site and the tent before you can go in, ‘case you’re not you and you’re a distraction.” Kingsley replied.

Arthur bristled. “Ah, bloody hell Nick,” he protested. “It’s pretty clearly us, don’t make me have the kids out in this hellscape any longer than I’ve got to.”

Kingsley – clearly his surname, now that Arthur addressed him more familiarly – winced, but held his ground. “’s protocol and all. I know it seems like nonsense but I’ve seen three of you this evening already. If you aren’t you, you’re the best bloody actor so far, the last one was a right egg and tried to keep me busy while ‘is mate sneaked a bomb in the back.” he replied firmly. “Now... ah, finite incantatem... Meteolojinx recanto...” he began to mutter to himself, draping magic around the four of them and flinging it out across the camp-site in barely-visible wisps. The hair on Rhiannon’s arms prickled and as she raised her arms to rub them, she caught sight of the tangled web of scars that criss-crossed her skin from under the short sleeves of her pyjama shirt right down to the backs of her hands. Now she wasn’t just cold, she was afraid – the charms she used to glamour herself were among the kinds an intruder might use to hide their identity, and they were stripped away just the same. But Kingsley didn’t seem to notice, still muttering to himself as he paced back and forth before them.

“Homenum revelio,” Kingsley said finally, and Rhiannon had to turn away suddenly as Arthur Weasley began to glow a brilliant yellow. Sirius and the auror Kingsley himself were lit up in much the same way, but Rhiannon knew the game was up now as she realised the purpose of the spell – to reveal any hidden human presence. Desperately she tried to hide behind Arthur as Kingsley poked his head into the tent, but it was no use and he caught sight of her as he turned back toward them. “Well that’s th- oh, that’s very odd...” he began, before interrupting himself as he peered more closely at Rhiannon and Dudley, most conspicuously not glowing. He lit his wand with a murmur, and this time Rhiannon wasn’t quick enough to avert her gaze, the light leaving afterimages in her vision – and her eyes leaving a very particular image in his.

Arthur tugged Rhiannon close to him, protective now as her scars were illuminated in harsh relief by the yellow glow of the revelio charm. “Don’t – she’s just a child and he doesn’t even have a wand, it’s not breaking the Doctrine,” he began, almost pleading, but the casually-dressed auror held up a hand for him to stop.

“No, it’s not,” Kingsley replied calmly. Then the corners of his mouth quirked up into the tiniest wry smile, chasing a little of the hollowness from his weary face. “And since none of you are anything but what you seem to be, nor are any laws being broken, it’s nothing to do with my department. They won’t hear a thing from me but that I met you, checked you and let you into the tent.” he added, and even through her eyelashes Rhiannon could see as he bowed briefly to her, an oddly formal sort of gesture for the situation. “The duty I was assigned was to keep Miss Potter safe, and I intend to do that.”

With that, Rhiannon managed to place the familiar face at last – Kingsley, as in Bliss Kingsley, her Quidditch team-mate from last year and Fred Weasley’s sort-of girlfriend. This must be her father, or a similarly close relative. And it warmed her, even in the horror that surrounded them, to have found an ally within the Ministry. To her surprise, she found tears, welling up in her eyes and then spilling down her grimy cheeks, so worn out from all the horror and tension of the night that even that small show of support was overwhelming. Nick Kingsley knelt down and steadied the trembling teenage girl with a hand on her shoulder, his sooty face patient and kind. “I mean it, kid. Me ‘n Kingsley – Shacklebolt, that is, the higher-ups thought it was real funny to put Nick Kingsley with Kingsley Shacklebolt and we just sorta ended up stayin’ together after my training year was up – we’re here to protect you. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve failed at that if I keep you alive for the night but endanger you straight after. Now, c’mon, let’s get you settled in for the night and Dawlish’ll be back with your friends soon.” he told her quietly. Rhiannon nodded numbly and let Kingsley take her by the arm and lead her gently into the tent. She was already dressed in pyjamas, all she had to do was unlace her boots and crawl back into her stretcher bed to sleep.

But sleep didn’t come even with Sirius asleep by the door, and Rhiannon lay awake in the dark, breathing shallowly through a burned throat, keen ears alert for any sound, attuned even to the rough breaths of the two aurors standing guard outside. It was hard to tell time in the red-grey darkness, but Rhiannon guessed it was perhaps an hour before she heard footsteps, different than the two aurors’ quiet pacing, footsteps of several new people squelching and crackling in the sodden grass and burned mud outside. She took a deep breath in, coughing weakly on the smoke as she did so, but even with that token discomfort she recognised the mingled scents of her pack. Remus, Hermione, Luna, Fred, George, Nina and Ginny – all of them, safe.

Rhiannon's eyes, stinging from smoke and tears began to water again and she dragged herself free of her sleeping bag and staggered to the door, coughing and sobbing in equal measure as her packmates passed through the entrance. Nothing was right with the world, it felt as if nothing ever could be again after what had happened, but at least here in this small corner of it she had her pack together again. She hugged them each in turn, a tangle of motion and sensation, and she let herself be swept up with them as they made their way into the tent until at last her closest friends could go no further and they sank to the ground in a heap, sobbing brokenly until those sobs evened into shallow breaths that grew deeper, and the six of them – for Dudley had joined them as well and refused to let go of Ginny – fell asleep together on the floor, unconsciousness a welcome doorway that each of their minds fled through willingly to escape the horror the night had brought.

Chapter Text

When they awoke the next morning, the prospect of the horror that awaited them outdoors was no easier for Rhiannon, Dudley and their friends to face. But at least they had eachother, a small comfort as they washed the soot from their skin and the mud from beneath their nails in the grey morning light. The six of them barely spoke to eachother or the rest, as Fred, George, Sirius and Remus awoke and began to move about the tent, but dressed in silence and ate their meager rations of a few muesli bars and cookies in the same.

Some time later, Arthur Weasley returned to them, his cloak torn and stained with blood, ash and other leavings of the battlefield. His thin face was drawn and pale, and his hands trembled at his sides as he stooped to enter the tent. “Ah – morning, everyone. I’ve arranged a portkey out of here at eleven for you, back to the Rookery – there’s a perimeter being set up there, it’s not safe to be wandering the countryside so the rest of you should stay there until I fetch you this evening.” he told them, before he was cut off by a yawn. He drooped as he settled into a chair, barely noticing as Remus took his tattered cloak from his shoulders.
“Where’s Bill and Charlie?” George asked, as he rummaged through the cupboards for something more to eat.

Arthur sighed and shook his head. “Charlie’s putting out fires in camp three, Bill’s trying to help get curses off some of the victims. Bloody mess, all of it,” he replied wearily. He took a muesli bar from George with a grateful nod and picked at it listlessly.

Sirius worried at the hem of his shirt, his face twisted in an anxious expression. “I should be out there, helping,” he murmured fretfully, pacing back and forth until Remus took him by the shoulders and pulled him into a firm hug.

Arthur shook his head again, and dusted off his shirt as he stood. “Not a chance. I... I don’t trust anyone else to take care of the kids. Not in this mess. And you, well... you spent twelve years in prison, Sirius. Let the rest of us fight while you recover.”

Sirius grumbled to himself, but Rhiannon could see he knew Arthur was right as he disentangled himself from Remus’ arms and puttered across the tent to where what remained of their belongings lay scattered across the floor. “You’re right, as usual,” he said, as he flicked his wand back and forth and coaxed the clothes and books and loose bits of memorabilia back into the bags they had left piled at the sides of the tent interior. “Come on, kids, help me pack up. Remy, can you Send to Xen, tell him we’ll be back around eleven? I bet he’ll be a mess with all this change.”

“Will do,” Remus replied softly, a little delayed – he had been staring into space, hollow-eyed and trembling. He padded off into the separate cubicle they’d been using for changing, and soft mutters indicated to Rhiannon he was casting a Sending spell of some kind, as Sirius had asked. Sirius beckoned the rest of them and they stumbled sluggishly into action, gathering the rest of their scattered belongings from around the tent. Rhiannon felt the lack of her wand as if it were a missing limb – she felt helpless. She hadn’t been helpless in a long time, she’d fought fiercely even on that night of fire and blood in 2002. But now, without her wand and so far from the full moon, she had to rely on Remus, Sirius and the adult Weasleys for protection. And that grated on her. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust them, or even really begrudged their care for her. She just hated to rely on it, without any way to defend herself.

“Is – is this how you feel, all the time?” Rhiannon asked Dudley miserably, as they stuffed clothes back into bags.

Ginny reached over and squeezed Rhiannon’s hand, a sad smile on her face. “For him? Nah. But I get it. I was so scared at first. But you’ll get your wand back and it’ll be fine again.” she replied in Dudley’s place, her smile twisting bitterly at the end. Rhiannon cringed, mortified at her own insensitivity. She’d get her wand back and be just as she was before. Ginny had to learn a whole new kind of magic, figuring it all out herself without the aid of academic texts such as Rhiannon and other ordinary mages had. And here Rhiannon was feeling diminished just without her wand.

“I’m sorry,” Rhiannon mumbled, embarrassed. Ginny laughed, and while it was still a wry, jaded sort of sound, she didn’t sound bitter as she had before.

“Don’t be,” Ginny reassured her gently. “Of course you’re freaked, you’ve had to look out for yourself for this long,”

Dudley ruffled Rhiannon’s hair and laughed when she snapped at him, snatching his hand away just before her teeth connected with it. He lurched away and edged over to Ginny instead. “That’s my girl, always getting right to the heart of it,” he told her with a grin, as he pulled her into a hug, each easily comfortable in the other’s presence. Ginny squeaked and swatted him, which devolved into a playful tussle as Rhiannon edged away awkwardly.

“I’ll, uh – just – thanks,” Rhiannon stammered awkwardly, shuffling away so that she might give them space, privately a little amused - clearly she’d been so caught up in her own silly dance of feelings that she had overlooked anyone else’s, and their lives had moved on unbeknownst to her. It comforted her that Dudley and Ginny had grown so close. They’d been friends already since their first year and grown closer still since Ginny had lost most of her magic. It was embarrassing to have overlooked it, but she could weather a little blow to her pride – it was far better knowing that two of her favourite people in the world were happy together.

It took them all a good couple of hours to pack up all of their belongings and secure all of the tent furnishings. Remus and Sirius offered them sense-dampening jinxes, which Hermione accepted but the others refused, Rhiannon in particular. What lay outside was the aftermath of the Death Eaters’ crimes. By nature of her very being, the lightning scar on her face, she was an opponent to them and their master. And to oppose them effectively, she felt, she had to be aware of those crimes, not wilfully blind to them. So with her belongings packed into a bag slung over her back, Hermione and Luna’s hands clasped tightly in each of hers, Rhiannon took a deep, shuddering breath and followed Sirius out of the tent.

Outside was, as she had expected it to be, the image of a warzone. The ground, sodden from the flooding, was scorched and cracked, scarred as if by cannon-fire in several places. Smoke still drifted from burning tents, and everywhere Rhiannon looked, people were gathered in sorrowful clusters, their sobs weighing heavy on the smoky air. Blood soaked the ground, the torn tents, every breath felt stained with it and Rhiannon knew without having to look that there had been deaths. Bodies – they had to be bodies by the size – lay in a line along the walkway that led out of the campsite, covered by cloths to hide their wounds and their faces, mourners gathered around them while still more flocked from all corners of the campsite.

Perhaps worse than the bodies, even than the mourners, were the empty-faced survivors. Most were children, hollow-eyed and bloodied, most bearing terrible wounds as teal-robed Ministry workers hurried back and forth trying to settle them and get everyone’s names. “Roberts! Diego Roberts, anyone seen him?” a harried-looking woman with blond hair called anxiously, and Rhiannon’s heart sank. Roberts – the manager of campground one, he’d been a Muggle. Of course he’d been targeted. She had no idea he’d had children, or even a wife... they’d all been targeted. The Ministry woman had hold of an olive-skinned boy of about seven, the mangled remnant of one arm strapped to his chest by bloodied bandages as she knelt to speak with him.

“They... children,” Rhiannon whispered hoarsely, turning tear-filled eyes on Luna. She’d seen enough injuries to be able to imagine the kind of wounds that lay under his bandages – and they were not the kind one got from a glancing, one-off hit.

Luna shook his head miserably. “They were torturing the Robertses,” she replied, their voice hollow and broken-sounding. “In front of everyone... I-I- I’m surprised any of them survived.”

Rhiannon caught sight of a flash of silver-blond hair amongst the crowd of displaced youths, and her heart sank. Draco. Of course the Ministry had him, his father was in either custody or hiding. She drifted towards him, but Hermione pulled her back, shaking her head firmly. “’Mione’s right, we – we can’t get involved,” Luna murmured. “We’re on thin enough ice as it is, what with being so close to the cast point and your wand being the one used, if anyone sees you talking to him the press’ll have a field day and drag your name into whatever’s about to happen with him and his dad. And that might put him in danger.”

Rhiannon grumbled softly, but she knew Luna was right. The Malfoys were a well-known family, but they kept themselves out of the public eye. Draco had evidence that could land his father in Azkaban for life, and his father no doubt knew that. There’d be a case for him to take Lucius down, or for Lucius to win him back, whichever way it turned out and for Rhiannon to draw attention to that... no, Luna was right, it would get too vicious, and quickly, if she got involved.

So with that knowledge heavy in her chest, Rhiannon could only bow her head and turn shamefaced away from the dead, the mourners and the lost as their collected party of Weasleys and friends hobbled past, Remus bringing up the rear. All were on guard, from the Ministry workers with their drawn wands to the children huddled together behind them, and the small clusters of untouched families who hurried by with their eyes lowered as the Weasleys did. Even for those who had escaped the attack unwounded seemed broken somehow, isolated. For years, Voldemort had wanted to resume his war on the wizarding world of the British Isles and for years, only Rhiannon and her friends had felt the extent of his forays. Maybe the war had never really ended, because this? Looked a hell of a lot like war.

Arthur Weasley led them on for several miles, past intermittent Ministry sentries and several groups of adult mages who looked to be held for questioning, and more Ministry-dressed mages who hurried back and forth around pillars, their exact nature unable to be identified as they were covered in a cloaking spell and it appeared the wizards were trying to take them down. Tokens of triumph, or statements, left by the Death Eaters perhaps. As they carried on further, the Ministry wizards threw up cloaking spells to hide their work but one was too slow, and Rhiannon caught a glimpse before the shield was fully in place. A small body, young, mangled and hung on a post with a sign around their neck. Magic-thief, it read. They’d killed the child just for being magical and born to Muggle parents, and Rhiannon struggled to hold back a wave of vomit that welled up in her throat at the sight.

“Why’s it so far off?” Dudley grumbled, casting an eye over at Rhiannon as she stumbled back into Hermione’s outstretched arm. She managed a wan smile, recognising his complaint for what it was – a distraction, one that occupied her fragile mind enough as they left the body on its post behind. “Wouldn’t it be more secure if it was closer? I mean, if we’re thinking about safety, all this travel has Rhi exposed.”

Arthur nodded and favoured Dudley with a brief, tense smile. “That is true. But with so much tension still in the camps, it’s impossible to properly defend any location that’s near to them. It’s a risk, but we’re travelling between secured locations and the Ministry have eyes on us the whole way.” he replied, gesturing furtively to the teal-robed auror who stood on guard at the intermittent posts that Rhiannon realised were checkpoints. Of course they were watching – any Death Eaters still roaming would love to get their hands on the Girl Who Lived. What a boost to their cause her death would bring.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop,” Luna whispered, and elbowed Rhiannon sharply. “You can’t – dwell on it, like. Try get a song stuck in your head, or run through a lot of different random ideas ‘til you lose the bad ones, just – don’t stew on it, alright?”

Rhiannon shook her head. “They – they tried to bomb our tent, Lune,” she murmured miserably. “Just ‘cos I was-s-s-ss-s s-s-staying there. And all I do is h-hide from it.” It was too hard to explain, why that upset her, but it felt wrong that she was the face of Voldemort’s defeat and did nothing with that. Like she had a responsibility to fight that she wasn’t living up to. “I’m – I’m s-s-s-s- I’m s-supposed to do something!” she wailed, flapping her hands about in frustration.

“Do what?” George asked sharply, swinging an arm over Luna’s shoulder as he leaned into their conversation with Rhiannon. “Something about the Death Eaters, stand up to them? Because that’s crazy thinking,” he told her bluntly. Rhiannon wilted, and George sighed. “Seriously, Rhi. You’re fourteen. Maybe when you’re an adult, but right now – all you can do about it is live. You don’t have some kinda responsibility to be a child soldier just ‘cause of what happened when you were a baby.”

“But – but I do,” Rhiannon replied miserably, ignoring Hermione’s protesting squeeze. “I’m the face of res-s-s-ss-s-ssisisis-sting him, I can’t just – let everyone else fight, and use my name, and n-n-n-n-not help.”

“Is S.P.E.A.R. not a kind of helping?” Luna asked pointedly. “I mean, we’ve printed a lot of campaign materials already, we’ve got goals and actions planned, that petition for Professor Lupin’s reinstatement went great. The Death Eaters want pureblood supremacy, yeah, but also very human supremacy – which we are fighting, however we can. You can’t just oppose things, you’ve gotta fight for things too. And you’re doing that.”

George grinned, genuine despite the weariness in his frame. “Smart one you’ve got there, Rhi,” he replied, ruffling Luna’s hair as he disentangled himself from the sideways embrace and stood upright. “They’re right. There’s more in a war than just fighting against things, you’ve gotta keep people living, not just surviving. And you’re doing that already.” he told Rhiannon firmly.

Rhiannon managed a tiny smile, and looked up at George for a moment. “That’s what you ‘n Fred do, isn’ it?” she asked, stumbling clumsily over the phrases. “With, the jokes ‘n stuff, you’re... smart, like that.”

George’s face fell, and he nodded slowly. “Yeah, I – I suppose it is. Damnit, you blew my whole ‘careless jokester’ thing, ya nosey little shit,” he grumbled, feigning irritation as he mussed Rhiannon’s hair affectionately.

Luna snorted, an uncharacteristically snarky sort of sound, and ze elbowed George as she shook their head in exasperation. “You got fantastic marks on your O.W.Ls last year, I think you blew the ‘careless jokester’ thing yourself,” he retorted wryly.

George cackled, and that caught Fred’s attention. He leaned over Hermione’s shoulder after taking a quick moment to check she was okay with it, and prodded his brother until the other redhead looked over at him with a scowl. “I only got two O.W.Ls, you got the whole set – blondie’s right, jig’s been up for ages,” Fred teased his brother. George made a rude gesture and the two split off from Rhiannon, Luna and Hermione to tussle and swat at eachother playfully, while the younger teenagers laughed at their antics despite the pall of despair that hung over them all.

Soon the group drew near to a circle of armed mages in Ministry robes and riot armour, standing guard around something on the ground that positively hummed with magical energy. Rhiannon wrinkled her nose and grimaced at the strong scent of ozone that permeated the damp air – portal magic.

“Arthur, Black,” one of the mages greeted Arthur and Sirius stiffly. She didn’t even give Remus a second glance, and Rhiannon immediately decided she didn’t like the woman, who was a few inches taller than Arthur Weasley, green-eyed and stern-faced, her features surprisingly delicate in contrast to her ill-tempered expression and her hair a medium brown striped with silver and tied back in a bun. “Security checks, we have to verify your identity,” she told them all brusquely. “Wands first, hand them over.”

“I- I d-d-d-d-don’t have one,” Rhiannon stammered as she spoke up. “It’s-s-s-s-s – It’s in f-f-for evidence.”

“Harry Potter?” the teal-robed woman asked, and Rhiannon’s sense of dislike was confirmed.

“It’s Rhiannon,” Dudley replied hotly, but the Ministry woman held up a hand to silence him.

“Legally, it is Harry Potter and I deal in matters of the law.” she replied firmly. “My name is Diana Prentiss, second-in-command under Rufus Scrimgeour of the Auror Office. Please form a line, pass your wands to the front. If any of you do not have one, please do as Mr. Potter did and just sing out. Other than that, please be quiet and wait for me to finish.”

Rhiannon bristled, and she saw Dudley and Ginny do the same. “Um, we don’t have wands either,” Ginny told the auror – Diana – uncomfortably. “Dudley and I, we’re Squibs. In fact, he’s probably not even in the magical registry – being a muggle-born Squib.”

Auror Diana sniffed, her slightly turned-up nose wrinkling irritably. “Oh, right – that one. No, he’s not in the full registry, but we have information in the Department for the Care of Unaccompanied Magical Minorson his identity, enough that we could confirm with a few questions after I get the information.”

Rhiannon and Dudley shared a panicked glance – the Department for the Care of Unaccompanied Magical Minors knew they were werewolves, or at least suspected. Any questions they could use to identify him would risk uncovering the rest of his identity. But Diana Prentiss cared nothing for their expressions of panic, as she turned aside and muttered something that cast a silvery form into the air, a form that solidified into that of a bird of prey – a hawk, Rhiannon guessed from the wings. “Diana Prentiss, second-in-command of the Auror Office. I need intake and background records on Dudley Dursley and his relationship with Harry Potter to confirm his identity, as a matter of safety around the Quidditch World Cup incident. Get it to me as soon as possible, thankyou,” she rattled off briskly, then turned back to the rest of the group and brushed a lock of silvered brown hair from her eyes as the hawk flapped its’ wings and took off, vanishing into the air before it got more than a few metres from them. “Alright. That’s a request straight to the Department of Unaccompanied Magical Minors, I’ll have the file from them soon. Stay to the back, by the time everyone else is through I should have the files I need for you” she told Dudley, her tone as uncompromisingly brisk as it had been the whole time.

Dudley slunk to the back, scowling, and Rhiannon looked askance to Hermione and Luna, who immediately shooed her off towards him with matching sighs. Rhiannon dropped back to Dudley’s side, where she let him lean on her shoulder for support – standing still was just as much a bother to his damaged hip as walking could be, either standing directly on the weak limb or overworking the intact one. “She’s a bitch,” Rhiannon reassured him softly. “Tying wand ownership to – to personhood, or whatever, it’s – it’s-s-s-s-s-s bullshit.”

“Thought you of all people’d know not to call someone a bitch like it’s a bad thing?” Dudley asked. Rhiannon blinked owlishly at him as his lips curled up, clearly in on some joke she’d missed. “You know, cos you’re a,” he trailed off and mimed barking with one hand. Rhiannon stared for another moment and then burst out laughing, an undignified snorting cackle that rang out too loud in the solemn quiet of the morning.

“Pffffff- Rhi, ssssh, you’re getting on the ministry lady’s nerves,” Dudley hissed, unable to stop himself from chortling along with her. Eventuallythey fell quiet and mostly traded looks and shrugs amongst themselves and the wider group as slowly their friends were inspected and passed through the circle of guards. Finally, it was Rhiannon’s turn, and she shuffled unwillingly toward Diana Prentiss, her eyes flicking furtively from side to side.

“Harry Potter,” the Ministry witch addressed her imperiously, and Rhiannon had to fight back the urge to growl. “How, precisely, did you defeat the basilisk at the end of your second year at Hogwarts?”

“It’s Rhiannon,” Rhi grumbled, more for posterity than for any hope of convincing the narrow-minded woman. “And – and-d-d-d – an’ I want t-t-to go after Dudley.”

“Master Potter-” the auror Diana began, but she was interrupted by a soft hiss and a curiously echoing growl – a growl that luckily covered Rhiannon’s own as she bristled with irritation at the insistence on an incorrect title – that preceded the arrival of a waist-height, prowling silver creature which popped into existence a few metres away and padded imperiously over to circle around Diana and Rhiannon, a heavy file clasped in its mouth. As it drew closer its’ form solidified, and Rhiannon wasn’t quite sure but she thought it might be a lion – having only been to the zoo once in her life, it was a little hard to tell and there were a lot of big cats in the world. It dropped the file into Diana Prentiss’ hands with the air of something restraining the urge to bite and backed away, raising its’ head and tufted tail in a way that Nyx’s instincts said was rude – but if anyone deserved rudeness, it was this auror.

“The information on Dudley Dursley and Rhiannon Potter’s case, compliments of June Brooknell, senior case manager,” the lion – lioness, more likely, as it didn’t have a mane - said in a voice Rhiannon dimly recognised. It took her a moment to place the name, but she eventually recognised it as the woman who had tested Dudley for magic in 2002. She worked for the Department of Unaccompanied Magical Minors, perhaps she was their case manager or some such thing. And she’d been kind that day, despite presumably knowing their nature. Maybe, just maybe, this would go alright.

“Oh, very well, answer the question and then stand there and wait,” Diana Prentiss snapped, gesturing irritably at Rhiannon. Rhiannon stared blankly, and the auror sighed, clearly losing her patience. “The question – how, precisely, did you defeat the basilisk at the end of your second year?”

Rhiannon flushed and bit her lip, thinking it through. She’d been blind, which didn’t help her testimony, but it was a sensible question – only she, Luna, Minerva and a very small handful of Ministry officials would be privy to that knowledge. Provided she could remember it clearly. “I – I, uh – D-d-d-dumbledore’s phoenix Fawkes, he b-b-b-brought me the Sorting Hat and I p-p-pulled the Sword of Gryffindor out of-f-ff-f it. I was b-b-blind, so Luna directed m-e-e-e and, and I gave xem m-my wand c-c-cos he’d lost hers, and w-we killed it together – I didn’t what spell ze cast but it knocked it back off me af-f-fter I stabbed it in the mouth. I got bit by it, in-n my left shoulder – see, the scar?” she stammered, pulling her shirt down to show the ugly, puckered scar in the muscle beside her shoulder just above her armpit, the lasting mark the Basilisk had left even after death. “The – the, Fawkes, he saved me. Phoenix tears. And he carried me and Luna and Ginny out.”

Diana Prentiss looked down her short nose at Rhiannon and sniffed, though she was unable to express any more disapproval than that in front of Arthur, Sirius and her colleagues. “Yes, yes, very well, that lines up with the report, and not many would know about the scar. Without your wand, that is the best we can manage.” she replied tersely. “Now, Master Dursley, if you’d just wait while I review your file for an identifying question.”

Dudley fidgeted anxiously beside Rhiannon as the brusque auror flipped through the file she’d been given. “This isn’t much... really, I will have to speak with that Department, their reports need to be more thorough,” Diana complained as she pored over the pages, and the teenage werewolves breathed a shared sigh of relief. If there had been any information about the werewolf attack in the report, it must have been removed, and while Rhiannon wasn’t much for praying she sent a silent thankyou to whichever kind deity must have blessed them with a case worker such as June Brooknell. She snickered, recalling the particular little reiteration of her correct name in the brief message June had sent back as well. Their secret was safe for now, but if this whole experience had proved anything, it was the insecurity of that safety. This wouldn’t last forever, and this year, with their friends, Rhiannon knew she and Dudley would have to start thinking about how to break the information to the wizarding world.

“Really, a very incomplete file, Miss Brooknell will be hearing from me,” Diana grumbled, as she flipped the file closed and turned back to Rhiannon and Dudley. “With what I have... who was your temporary carer directly after you ran away with Master Potter from your parents’ house?” she asked Dudley, tilting her head to one side in a manner not unlike that of her hawk Patronus as she waited for his response.

“Rhiannon and I stayed with a neighbour, Mrs Figg, who used to look after Rhi for my – my parents,” Dudley replied haltingly, his usually confident pattern of speech crumbling into an almost-stutter at the mention of Vernon and Petunia Dursley – at being made to claim them as his parents, reminded of it. “We stayed with her for a week, from the tenth of July until we ran away again on the nineteenth ‘cos it sounded like she was going to call the foster people and – and they’ve never done anything before, it’s always made it worse, so – yeah.”

Rhiannon squeezed her brother’s hand and leaned into his shoulder as he faced down the auror stubbornly. “And where did you go after that?” Diana asked him, wearing an expression of innocence that didn’t quite suit the sharp lines of her weather-tanned face. She was fishing for information – that period was where the discrepancy in the files lay.

Dudley took a deep, anxious breath and fiddled with his bracelet as he looked to Rhiannon for a way to explain it. She shook her head almost imperceptibly – she couldn’t speak for him, it’d weaken his case. “We – we went out the back window and caught the bus into Guildford,” he explained hesitantly. “Then we got into Leatherhead, and we were going to carry on to London but it was getting kinda late so we jumped on one that got us to Dorking and hid out in the park there. I slipped and busted my leg, and Rhi set off her Trace trying to bandage it, so the Ministry picked us up again on the twenty-fourth or maybe early on the twenty-fifth, it was pretty late and I fogged out for most of it after the fall.”

None of that was technically a lie. But it was sparse on the details around the accident, and Diana must have thought the same as she scowled down at Dudley. “That does all line up with what’s written here, and the travel route helps confirm it... Very well, you may go.” she told them both, and stepped aside to allow Rhiannon and Dudley past her into the circle formed by the Ministry mages.

On the ground was a circle of rope that had been threaded through the handles of their bags, and Arthur scurried back and forth trying to make sure there was enough space for everyone. Some of the anxiety drained from his posture as he caught sight of Rhiannon and Dudley, and he beckoned them closer. “Rhi, Dudley – I’m sorry about all that, glad you made it. I won’t be coming with you, I’m rostered on for cleanup and containment duty as soon as you’re home. The Portkey will take you all back to the Rookery – yes, you too, Fred and George, no arguments. It was easiest to secure one location first, and there’s more space at the Rookery, so you may have to spend the night if they’ve not finished securing our house by evening – priorities and all that, but children of Ministry workers are targets so I want to know you’re safe, alright? Xenophilius knows to expect you, and there’ll be a few Aurors stationed around the house – pretty sure it’s Dawlish, Nick and Kingsley, if there’s anyone else it’s who they picked so it shouldn’t be too much trouble.” he explained hurriedly, pressing the rope into both their hands as he spoke. “Portkey’s due to leave any moment now, so long as we... oh right, paratus,” he muttered, and the rope flared blue as he spoke the incantation.

“Be safe, all of you – I’ll check up throughout the day!” Arthur told them all, hurriedly kissing the top of Nina’s head and then Ginny’s cheek as he stepped away to give them space. The rope Portkey, now activated, pulsed in their hands, each pulse coming quicker and stronger as time ran out on them. Rhiannon began to take a breath, but that was snatched from her lungs as the pulsing ceased abruptly and she was yanked through space along with the Weasleys and her foster-family, through a grey space patched with flickering images and sensations too many to decipher until finally, they all spilled out the other end of their rift onto the tufty grass that lay all around the Rookery tower.

This time, Rhiannon took her breath without interruption, the weight of her friends who’d ended up sprawled on top of her more comforting than uncomfortable. Hermione’s springy hair tickled her face, Luna’s arm was slung over her back and Rhiannon herself was sprawled over top of her brother. She crawled free and collapsed in the grass, taking in the familiar smells and sensations as gradually her breath began to come too fast and traitorous tears welled up in her eyes. Her weary hands curled into claws in the grass as she began to cry, worn-out gasping sobs that drew the attention of the others, but she was deaf to their reassurances as she was overwhelmed by all of it – how much danger they’d been in, and the sheer relief that they were no longer. She was home. They were all home – they were safe. And for the first time in quite a while, she was able to appreciate just how valuable – and how tenuous – that safety was.

Chapter Text

As Arthur had warned they might, the Weasleys did indeed have to stay the night at the Rookery. With Xenophilius’ help they all gathered spare mattresses and bedding from the attic, and set them up in a great wide array on the living room floor, taking comfort in the closeness. All were still rattled after the horror of the attack, and even after the Weasleys were able to go home – much to Dudley’s disappointment – the remaining two weeks of the holidays were tense ones. Remus and Sirius had to return to Sirius’ house in London, which left the Lovegoods, Rhiannon and Dudley to rattle around inside a too-empty house alone, all of them anxious and continuously looking over their shoulders for the next threat. The aurors were pleasant enough, but having them so close only served to reinforce how fragile their safety was.

Rhiannon half-expected she would be terrified at the prospect of returning to school. After all, what better place than Hogwarts for the Death Eaters to target? But after last year, she had first-hand experience of how difficult it actually was for someone to break in and get what they wanted in there – and here at home, all she had to do was stew on the experience. Hogwarts promised distractions, as well as safety.

That wasn’t to say the three students weren’t anxious at all, though. Under advice from Madam Pomfrey, Xenophilius treated all three of them with small doses of Calming Draught and regular Dreamless Sleep potions, as they woke screaming and disoriented from nightmares any night they slept without them. Rhiannon found herself constantly smelling smoke where there was none, and jumping at even pictures of fire. But the distraction Hogwarts promised was an alluring one – to be too busy to think, that was a dream for all three of them. So by the night of the 28^th their belongings were packed, and on the 29^th Remus and Sirius arrived early in the morning to collect them.

The 29^th of August was an inconvenient night on all fronts. First, it wasn’t September yet, and that was bothersome. The days didn’t line up nicely, which was irritating to Rhiannon who liked things to be a bit more ordered. Second, it was the day before the full moon cycle peaked, and that meant both Rhiannon and Dudley were colourblind, foggy, and cranky from the restlessness and pain.

But worries, pain and brain-fog aside, it was almost pleasant to be pulled through space into the hidden area of Euston Station set aside for such a purpose. They were much too early for the train, so it was unusually peaceful on the platform as they passed through the barrier and handed off their cases to the porter, leaving the three students with only a backpack each and three cat-cases to take care of.

“Thought you all could use a treat before the train,” Remus explained to them with a shrug. “I’d guess you probably haven’t looked around the platform much, right? Xen’s usually late and stressed, so we figured we’d take over for him this time. There’s this cafe a bit further down, we could get you all some good breakfast before we get on the Express, I know you two pups’ll be hungry with the moon – I sure am.”

Rhiannon’s stomach growled loudly and she flushed behind her decoy glasses, mortified. “Yeah, uh – I could eat,” she mumbled, while Luna and Dudley cackled.

“Can I have coffee?” Dudley asked eagerly. “Xen doesn’t let us have it at home.”

Remus spluttered indignantly and Sirius patted him on the back until he stopped coughing. “Yeah, that’s, uh – no.” Sirius told Dudley firmly, though he couldn’t quite keep a smile from his face. “You know what chocolate does, yeah? Caffeine’s much the same, but worse – werewolves can’t really handle stimulants of any kind. No, Dudley, you can’t have white chocolate either, the issue with chocolate is theobromine – another stimulant.”

Dudley drooped, and Rhiannon could almost see his wolf form laid over top of his current form in the shared body language, could almost picture his tail brushing the floor and his ears lying flat. “Oh, yeah, I – forgot,” he replied dejectedly. Luna giggled and reached over to ruffle his hair.

“Didn’t you study all that for Herbology last time you got anaphylaxis in class?” Luna asked him with a grin.

Dudley groaned and slapped the palm of his hand against his forehead, his freckled cheeks flushing scarlet. “Yeah. Yeah, I definitely did,” he replied with a sigh. “Bloody idiot, I totally forgot it all. My head’s all muddled.”

Remus grinned and clapped Dudley on the shoulder, then turned to Sirius with his mouth comically agape. “You read up on all that? I could swear you didn’t used to know it,” he commented, swatting Sirius’ arm playfully as they walked.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Yes, Remus, I have on occasion opened a book,” he retorted. It sounded like the latest instalment in a very old playful argument, and that was comforting to Rhiannon somehow, her and Dudley being included in it. “In all seriousness, I get some of the bleedthrough myself so I read up on the specifics. Not as bad usually but, I’m pretty wobbly after Azkaban and the whole on-the-run thing so I’ve got to be a bit more careful.” he explained with a shrug.

Remus ruffled Sirius’ long hair affectionately and pressed a kiss to his temple with a sad smile. “Guess we’ve both got to start taking better care of ourselves,” he replied, taking Sirius’ hand in his as they walked.

Almost unconsciously, Rhiannon slipped her hand into Luna’s and Dudley snickered to himself at the sight. Rhiannon went to pull her hand away but Luna held it tighter and the two of them shared a tiny smile like a secret. Luna coughed and chewed xir lip, clearly musing over something, and Rhiannon cocked her head curiously. “Everything alright?” she murmured.

Luna shrugged. “Just, finding the words,” he replied slowly. “It’s, uh. You know how usually you and the others switch up pronouns and stuff? If you could, maybe do it less, like... sometimes I feel like that works, other times – it’s more solid, like? I don’t know how to explain it.” she replied.

Rhiannon nodded and squeezed Luna’s hand reassuringly. “Sure, I get what you mean – Hermione probably knows more about it, but, yeah. Should I just, ask which ones work each day?” she asked.

Luna grinned and bounced a few steps before settling. “Yeah, that – I’d like that,” they replied. “I’ll figure out something neater, maybe a button or something when we get to school and I can get at Professor Flitwick’s enchanting laboratory. But, uh – if you could use he for me, today, I’d like that.” he finished, his free hand twisting anxiously in the hem of his loose shirt.

Rhiannon’s smile spread until it nearly matched Luna’s and she nodded. “Sure, that’s easy enough,” she replied, still grinning.

“Hey, lovebirds, looks like we’re here,” Dudley told them with a crooked grin, as he elbowed Rhiannon gently to get her attention. He gestured to the cafe that stood before them, a slightly untidy little nook set into the brick wall of the station. The doors stood open to catch the breeze, and a faded rainbow flag hung in one window as the five of them crowded inside. Inside, the place smelled of pastry, cooking sausage and spices thick in the warm air. It was heavenly, and had Rhiannon had a tail it would have been wagging as she towed Luna over into a seat beside the window.

The five of them settled in for a late breakfast, chatting and laughing and managing to forget their shared anxieties for a time. But before long, the station – and by extension the small hole-in-the-wall cafe – grew crowded and the five of them, werewolves, a dog Animagus and an autistic human alike, had to cover their ears for protection from the shrill blast as the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station. Rhiannon helped Dudley from his seat, and the five of them plus three indignant caged cats made their way reluctantly to the crowded edge of the platform. And for the first time, in all her time at Hogwarts, Rhiannon was leaving something behind as she prepared to get on the train. She’d never been homesick before. But the thought of leaving Sirius behind, with nothing to do but clean up his awful house by himself with no one to help – it seemed near enough to homesickness to her. And it hurt.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry, don’t cry,” Sirius whispered, as Rhiannon crumpled into his arms, crying and trembling. “I can Floo over on weekends to visit, and you can come back for holidays and that. You just remind Remus to look after himself for me, yeah?”

Rhiannon sniffled and nodded hesitantly as Sirius gently untangled her arms from around his waist and held her at arms’ length. “But – b- but wh-who’s going to look after you?” she whispered. She didn’t feel fourteen, maybe because she’d never really gotten a chance to be anything but more grown up than she should be. She just felt like a child, hurt at the thought of leaving the family she’d only just found. It had only been two months since Sirius’ name was cleared, that wasn’t enough time.

Sirius sighed and shook his head, and pulled Rhiannon into another wordless hug. “It’s good of you to worry, but I’m a grown-up. I can take care of myself. And if I forget, Molly Weasley comes over once a week to hound me about buying groceries, she’ll remind me. You just head off to school, maybe they’ve invented a spell for getting my damn mum off the wall you can come back and teach me.”

Rhiannon giggled and begrudgingly disentangled herself from Sirius for a second time, and Remus patted her shoulder as she drifted back to stand beside him, Luna and Dudley. “I will owl you reminding you to eat until I’m satisfied you remember what a fork is,” he threatened Sirius with a mock-ferocious scowl. Sirius pulled him into an embrace and then a kiss, and the three teenagers awkwardly shuffled their feet.

The men were interrupted by a loud whistle-blast from the train and leapt apart like teenagers caught kissing in a corridor, each straightening their clothes and flushing crimson to the tips of their ears. “Ah, you’d best not be late – since it took so much effort to get the job back in the first place,” Sirius muttered bashfully. He and Remus exchanged a last, brief kiss, before Remus pulled away and took a hesitant step towards the train.

“Come on Rhi, Dudley, Luna,” Remus said, and gestured to the train. Dudley nearly flattened Sirius with a last impulsive hug before they squeezed past Remus onto the train, and as Rhiannon looked back over one shoulder she saw that Remus and Sirius’ hands remained joined even as Remus stepped onto the train, only broken when Sirius teetered on the very edge of the platform and could reach no further. Rhiannon, Dudley and Luna clattered down the hallway until they found two empty compartments across from eachother. Rhiannon herself flopped wearily into a corner and then Luna beside her side, while Dudley perched on the edge of his seat in the other compartment and bounced his cane against his leg, clearly waiting impatiently for something.

Despite Dudley’s impatience, the train was rather slow to fill, and as Rhiannon peered out the window she could see why. No more than two or three were allowed through at a time, and while the security was informal at most, it was still some change from the usual torrent of students that flooded the Hogwarts Express every year.

Eventually their friends began to drift down the aisle and settled into seats around Rhiannon, Dudley and Luna. Parvati and Padma Rao were first, unusually quiet and wary, and their younger brother Abhi little more than a shadow as he slunk into a seat in Dudley’s compartment. Then the Weasleys, at the sight of whom Dudley leapt to his feet and embraced Ginny enthusiastically, before sharing an impulsive kiss. Fred and George wolf-whistled and cackled, and Ginny flushed scarlet as she and Dudley settled back into the compartment together.

“When did that happen?” Nina asked them, still laughing as she settled into the carriage compartment beside Luna.

Ginny snorted and tore a page out of her sketchbook, wadded it up and lobbed it at her sister in disgust. “For being so nosy, you don’t notice much, do you?” she retorted drily. “We started going out at the dance last term, but it’s been uh – kind of a thing since earlier that year.”

Dudley flushed and slumped in his seat, looking very much as if he wanted to disappear into the floor, but Ginny slung an arm around his waist and kissed his cheek affectionately. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, I know you don’t think much of yourself. You know I still think you’re a catch, wolf boy.”

Rhiannon grinned, and reached over Luna to retrieve the discarded sketch Ginny had thrown at Nina. Upon unrolling it, she found a partial sketch of a wolf in sparse detail, the shape clearly defined and some shading begun around the head. “Why did you chuck this? It could’ve been really good,” she asked Ginny curiously.

Ginny groaned, and tossed her sketchbook across the carriage to Rhiannon who caught it with a start, almost dropping it as the train began to move with a rumble and a shriek. “Because I can’t bloody draw anything else!” she replied, sounding exasperated with herself. And indeed, as Rhiannon leafed through the pages, the book was filled with little else but wolves – herself, Dudley, even Remus curled up in Sirius’ lap as he had been on that night in May, each drawn in beautiful detail, each page protected with tissue paper.

“I mean, they’re very good – the anatomy’s near on perfect,” Luna told Ginny, peering over Rhiannon’s shoulder at the book. “There’s not really any point in trying to draw something else if that’s what your brain is stuck on, it’ll just come out a mess.”

“And don’t I know it,” Ginny complained, reaching out to take the book as Rhiannon passed it back. “I tried to make some sketches for my Creatures homework and they came out all hideous. Granaian winged horse? Nope, it’s got four paws and sharp teeth now.”

Rhiannon, Nina, Parvati and the rest of them cackled, before Dudley interrupted them with an awkward cough. “I was pretty surprised, honestly,” Dudley admitted shyly, gesturing to the book. “I thought it was kind of one-sided before I saw all that. Like, I didn’t really think of what we all looked like out there at night, I just kind of lived it, but she made it all so beautiful.”

Rhiannon didn’t really have a name for the feeling that welled up in her chest – joy, delight hope, but none of it was quite right, and she squealed and wiggled in her seat as the feelings grew too much for her to contain. Luna squeezed her hand and the two of them shared a smile. “It is beautiful, when we’re all out there – I’ve thought that since the first time Rhi let me see her,” Luna agreed, fiddling with his hands as he spoke. “All the writing on werewolves talks about how awful and vicious it is, how much pain there is – and that’s a part too but, it feels like nobody sees the beautiful parts too – the things Ginny draws. That could change minds, if anyone saw that book.”

Ginny shrugged uncomfortably. “We’re whispering across a train carriage at eachother about this. There’s a lot of minds to change and most of them don’t want to, there’s a lot more to do before my book’s going to be any help.” she replied. Rhiannon winced – Ginny was right. Everyone in both compartments knew of their secret, but they certainly weren’t being careful enough – and at the same time, the fact they had to be careful at all proved Ginny’s point. Pictures alone would just be lost amid dissension, they had to do more if they wanted to make any actual change.

Rhiannon was interrupted from her thoughts as the train once again screeched to a halt, this time at Kings’ Cross Station. Once again, students filtered onto the train in small groups, but finally the one Rhiannon waited for arrived and she nearly dislocated her knee as she sprang from her seat to greet Hermione with a bear-hug. “Oof – easy, Rhi, I cant breathe!” she spluttered, mortified. Rhiannon relented, and they settled back down in the now nearly-full compartment, Luna on one side and Hermione on the other.

“Sorry, just – I missed you,” Rhiannon muttered, blushing. “It’s just been a w-w-w-w-weird few weeks, is all. Weird feelings.”

They all sobered, and Hermione shook her head sadly. “Weird is one word for it. The worst kind of weird.” she replied quietly.

Padma bit her lip and crossed her arms over her chest, sinking back against the seat. “That’s an understatement,” she murmured. “Aeden’s not starting term until later, his little brother died from his burns after the attack.”

Luna drew in a sharp breath, his eyes wide behind the violet lenses of his spectacles. “Cillian? Merlin, I had no idea,” he whispered, horrified. Rhiannon bit her fist, remembering the mischievous red-headed boy who she’d met at the Quidditch World Cup, laughing with his mother and tugging on his older sister’s hair. He’d been ten or eleven, maybe even ready to start Hogwarts that year. But instead, he was dead, like so many others from that night.

As Rhiannon dwelled on the matter, there came a quiet knock at the door of the compartment and a familiar fair-haired boy stood there, wringing his hands anxious at his sides. Draco Malfoy. He seemed thinner somehow, his face shadowed and his posture stooped, hunched somehow as if trying to make himself smaller. “Um – hello. Would it be alright if – if I sat with you?” he asked, his voice soft and husky, entirely lacking the bravado he had put on over the three years before.

Nina bristled, but Rhiannon glared at her until she lapsed back into her seat in silence. “Sure,” Rhiannon answered him, keeping her voice intentionally level. She did not fully trust Draco, of course she didn’t. And there had been no news of Lucius Malfoy’s arrest, which painted Draco in a strange light. But she could not turn him away, or even bring herself to ask the question that weighed on her mind – why he had not turned his father in. Because she’d seen the look he wore on his face many times, in the mirror and in the eyes of her cousin. Whatever might have happened, he had been hurt as much as any other.

Draco managed a tiny smile and perched on the edge of the bench in the compartment with Rhiannon, Luna, Hermione, Nina and Parvati. “Um. Thankyou,” he replied, in little more than a whisper.

While Nina had been cowed to silence, and Hermione, Luna and Dudley were perceptive enough not to bother him, Ginny was neither and she glared at Draco across the aisle of the carriage. “Thought you were starting to do better. How come your old man’s still free, then? You could’ve had him in jail.” she asked him pointedly.

Dudley growled at Ginny, and would have flattened his ears had he been in his wolfish shape. “Hey, that’s – that’s not fair, knock it off,” he told her sharply.

Ginny flushed angrily, but did not withdraw her comment, and Parvati’s brows drew together in a suspicious line. “Your father was one of the Death Eaters in the attack?” she inquired pointedly. “Ginny’s got a point, if you’re on our side but you saw something – why keep it to yourself?”

An ugly red flush had spread up Draco’s neck from Ginny’s first accusatory jab, and now he was red right to the tips of his ears. Rhiannon winced, and went to speak up on his behalf, but Draco held up a trembling hand and shook his head. “No, if they want to know, let them,” he replied quietly. “You want to know why my father’s still free? Because he threatened to kill people if I said a word. I saw him torture and kill a five-year-old girl right in front of me, so you’ll excuse me for believing him. Maybe it was the coward’s option, I don’t know. All I know is he told me people would die if I spoke, and I believed him, because I live with the fucking monster. Is that enough for you?” he hissed, tears running down his face as his chest heaved with too-quick breaths. He had not shouted. In fact, his voice had barely been raised above a whisper for fear of anyone outside their two compartments hearing. But it had carried all the same, his grief and anger clear, leaving not a single dry eye in its wake.

With that, Rhiannon’s distrust was assuaged. Draco had hinted on the night of the attack that he’d seen his father do something horrific, so awful he’d barely been able to speak about it. She cursed herself for holding that distrust in the first place – she too had seen how vicious Lucius Malfoy could be, and she wasn’t the one who lived with the man.

“I believe him, if- if that’s anything,” Rhiannon whispered hoarsely, her voice too harsh in the silence Draco had left in his wake.

Parvati shook her head and covered her face with her hands, while Ginny stood and crossed the aisle of the train carefully. She took Draco’s hands and pulled him to his feet, where she folded him into a hug. “I’m sorry. Rhiannon’s right – and I shouldn’t have pushed you like that, anyone can see you’re upset. I guess I just, wanted answers more than I wanted to be kind.”

Draco pushed her away and sat back down, shaking his head as he did so. “And don’t you deserve answers?” he asked them tiredly. “People died, kids died – I heard about Aeden’s brother, the Roberts kids are still fighting and those are the two that lived. And my – my father, he’s one of those responsible for it, of course you wanted to know why I let the fuck get off.”

Padma growled and twisted her pen in her hands in frustration. “The Ministry’s awful about that kind of thing. They’re weak to threats – sad thing is, whoever your father threatened, he could probably have pulled it off. No system for sending secure messages, no witness protection, nada.” she grumbled. “I mean honestly, give five senior students a couple of hours and they could have the basis of a better system than the Ministry has now.”

Hermione snorted derisively. “You’re not wrong. I mean, the nonmagical government is a mess of its’ own but even they have points over the Ministry on that.” she replied irritably. “Next time I’m bored, someone get me some legislation to go over, I might even make a dent in it. Mum’s a lawyer, I know the way they talk, if I poked hard enough they might actually update some of it. Getting them to move beyond modernising into actually fixing things, though? Might be a bit beyond me.”

Luna shrugged and grinned, although his expression was more wry than mirthful. “Hey, give it a few years. Hermione Ndiaye-Granger, Minister for Magic – has a nice ring to it. You could fix things then.”

Hermione yelped and reached over Rhiannon to swat at Luna. “Oh, God no!” she retorted, sounding horrified. “Me, in charge? Please, as if they’d listen to a- a woman – let alone a Black one. No, it’d be a bloody mess, I’d get more done without the fancy hat.”

Nina crowed and pointed across the compartment at Hermione with a grin. “Ah, but you admit it! You admit you could get shit done!”

Hermione rolled her eyes and aimed a lazy kick across the compartment floor at Nina’s ankles. “So could a particularly determined squirrel with a stick,” she grumbled, but there was a telltale flush in her cheeks, a reddening in the undertones of her umber skin – she was touched by her friends’ faith.

They all talked back and forth as the train ride wore on, and the light outside brightened from morning into midday and then dimmed as the train crossed the border into Scotland and afternoon crept up on them. They took turns guarding eachothers’ belongings while they changed into their school robes in small groups, the colours of each revealing where they’d been sorted that year. To everyone’s surprise, Hermione had been put in Slytherin along with Parvati, Dudley and Ginny, while Rhiannon already knew Padma was in Hufflepuff with her, Luna was in Gryffindor – of all places – with Neville, and Draco was with the Greengrass twins, Faye and Emilia in Ravenclaw, and Nina in Miremark with Sally-Anne, Tracey, Eloise and Susan Bones. To Rhiannon’s tired, moon-shaded gaze, the riot of colour amongst the two carriages was a little overwhelming, but in the best way – representing all five colours of Hogwarts, all the virtues the school strove for, right there in only some of her friends. And that was a happy thought to dwell on, as the train puttered onwards and they drew ever nearer to the school. She decided then, even if this year was a bad one, she could get through it. How could she not, with a family like them?

Chapter Text

It was almost seven by the time the train arrived at the Hogsmeade station, and Hermione had to rouse Rhiannon from a doze as it ground to a halt. Calypso growled and whined to be woken from her doze, and clawed at Rhiannon’s robes through the bars as Rhiannon carried her off the train. Just ahead, Draco slowed and stared at something in the distance, and his face looked haunted as Rhiannon drifted forward to take his arm. “Hey, hey -what is it?” she asked him softly.

Draco turned to her, his pale blue-grey eyes foggy with tears as he stared down at Rhiannon in a way that told her he wasn’t seeing her, not really. “The thestrals, drawing the carriages,” he murmured. “I’d only seen pictures, but now-”

“Now it’s a bit too real?” Rhiannon replied, her heart cold and aching in her chest. She’d believed him when he had told her what happened, anyone would have. But it hurt to see it confirmed again, just another reminder that they lived in a tenuous peace. Draco nodded slowly, and Rhiannon had to tug him along with her into a carriage as he drifted back into a reverie. He came out of it long enough to climb into the carriage, but soon fell back into his own personal dark cloud, the silent one in the crowded carriage of six – him, Rhiannon, Luna, Hermione, Neville and Nina.

“I can see them too,” Luna murmured, squeezing Draco’s hand for a brief moment. “They’re sort of beautiful, especially when they move – like a mixture of horse and dragon.”

“Feels like a bloody curse,” Draco murmured, slurring his words a little. He still seemed out of it, his speech clumsier than usual, but it seemed a good sign he was speaking if nothing else.

There was nothing any of them could say to reassure him, though. If nothing else, he’d been cursed with a terrible father, just as Rhiannon had been cursed by a prophecy made before her birth, and all of them by the war that didn’t seem quite over. And gradually the rest of them fell silent to dwell on that, quiet in the darkness as the carriage rolled on up the cobbled road from the village to the castle.

By the time they arrived at the castle, Draco was a little more presentand managed to get out of the carriage by himself. The rest of them followed and they joined the massive crowd of students making their way slowly through the front gates of the castle. When Rhiannon and her small crowd of friends reached the door to the Entrance Hall, they were greeted by Peeves, who shot out of the stone wall above the door armed with a bucket of water balloons. “HA! Ickle magicians, in for a big year! A big, big year! And they don’t even know it! Got to give a proper Hogwarts welcome!” he cackled, as he launched an all-out assault of water on the students gathered below. The crowd dissolved into shrieks and shouts of protest, cats howling furiously and owls screeching as their cages were soaked in moments.

Rhiannon hissed and shrank from the water, but it was too late – her clothes were already sodden, and Merlin only knew how much was in her hair. Peeves swooped closer, chortling evilly, and Rhiannon threw up her hands vainly to fend him off. “Peeves, shit – no, lea’ me ‘lone,” she slurred, too startled by the whole event to put her words together neatly. “I c-c-c-c-c-can’t smell l-l-l-like w-wet dog, shit – what’s the drying charm, shit,”

Peeves immediately turned and lobbed the water balloon in his hand into the crowd, before he drifted closer and patted her hair, his expression something like sorrowful. “Oh no, no – the wolf pups,” he murmured, rapping one spectral finger against Rhiannon’s spectacles. “Peeves makes fun, chaos, embarrass thems with the bad attitudes. Meant only to start a little havoc for a big new year – not hurt the little students, not the ones with things to lose.”

Rhiannon managed a crooked smile, touched despite the mayhem. “Yeah, I – I get it-t-t – you wanna punch up and all that,” she snarked back at the poltergeist. “But you’ve soaked my hair and- ah!” she yelped, startled, as the poltergeist’s scarlet, citrine and silver form whirled around her, sparking with magic as he cackled with glee.

When he stopped his mischievous little dance, Peeves stopped and spread his hands wide. “Aha! Fixed!” he exclaimed. Rhiannon touched her hair curiously, and couldn’t quite help the laughter that bubbled up inside and spilled out of her mouth. Dried, her hair certainly was – there was still a lingering whiff of wet dog, but an ordinary human probably wouldn’t be able to smell it in passing. The matter wasn’t so much the moisture, now, it was the state it had been left in. Curly hair didn’t like being blow-dried, which was roughly what Peeves had done to it. But he was already whirling away and Rhiannon couldn’t help laughing as he left – messy hair was a prank, a silly one, and it wouldn’t screw up her secret. As she watched, Peeves darted back and forth through the crowd, whirling some students up and drying them too, seemingly at random – so that Rhiannon wouldn’t stand out, she guessed, which showed a remarkable level of consideration from the mischievous spirit. As she watched, she saw Dudley was one of those caught up in the whirl and Rhiannon laughed aloud again. In his own capricious way, Peeves was looking out for them both, and she couldn’t be too angry with him as she rejoined her friends and helped them straighten their clothes and dry off as best they could.

Eventually, the last of the Hogwarts students entered the Entrance Hall and deposited their pets in their various travel cages to one side of the entrance, then carried on into the hall. Rhiannon helped Hermione dry out her hair as best she could, but it was hard to manage it while walking and they had to separate all too soon into their separate houses – usually they were allowed to sit wherever they liked but at formal dinners like this, the house separation was enforced and Rhiannon slunk off to the Hufflepuff table with a sigh and some scattered farewells.

Cedric greeted Rhiannon with a grin, and a cheer went up the length of the Hufflepuff table. “We got Potter!” one of the seniors cheered, a stunning Black girl with wavy hair and a pin on the collar of her cloak that marked her as a Head Student. Rhiannon blushed, mortified, and her new House-mates laughed good-naturedly.

“Pity there’s no Quidditch this year, we could’ve kicked ass out there this year,” Cedric complained. The table grumbled, and there were a few gasps of shock – no Quidditch? That hadn’t happened in years. But when some of the seniors went to ask, Cedric only laughed it off. “No, no, I’ve said too much already – just, shut up, teach’ll tell you all eventually.”

Cedric was interrupted by a polite cough from the head of the hall, where Minerva McGonagall stood, a very familiar orange-cushioned stool just before her. “Yes, yes, there’s a lot to be said before we start the year,” she told them with an impish grin, her voice magically amplified to carry throughout the hall. “But before all is explained, let’s welcome our new students into the school so that they might sit down, yes?”

A current of laughter rippled across the hall, and gradually the established students fell quiet and turned their attention to the first years. “Alright, first-years, you may talk quietly amongst eachother. Figure out eachothers’ names, you’ll be called up in alphabetically by your surnames. The Sorting Hat’s still grumpy about the new house and hasn’t made up a song for us in protest so, Ackerley, Stewart? Come on up.”

Stewart Ackerley was a stocky boy with a mop of curly blondish-brown hair and a robe that looked as if he hadn’t been sure how to fasten it when he put it on. That made him Muggle-born or raised like one, and Rhiannon made a mental note to cheer for him regardless of what house he was put in. That turned out to be Ravenclaw, and Rhiannon grinned at the eleven year-old’s delighted expression, then added her voice to those calling his name – as he was a Muggle-born or otherwise new to the wizarding world, there weren’t enough of them.

After Stewart Ackerley came Constance Ambrose, a tall girl with thick brown hair done in two braids. She was sorted promptly into Slytherin, and after her came Corey Armstrong; another newcomer to the wizarding world who was sorted into Gryffindor. The list carried on as it always did, and try as she might Rhiannon struggled to pay attention to them all. Some did stay out – Blinne Callister had two older sisters that Rhiannon knew, Ginny’s friend Hailey and Rhiannon’s new roommate Mairi. Dennis Creevey looked much like his brother Colin if a little taller and brown-eyed where Colin’s eyes were blue, with the same shy, frantic demeanour. And Lyra Fawley rang a bell as well – yes, Lavender had said her mother was a Fawley, that probably made Lyra her cousin or something. But her attention drifted, until one name stood out and echoed in a sudden silence across the hall.

Finnegan, Cillian. As whispers began to spread throughout the hall, questioning whether there’d been some mistake, Headmaster Minerva again held up a hand for silence. “Yes, I expect many of you have heard by now. Cillian Finnegan was meant to begin his education at Hogwarts this year but instead, his life was stolen. I do not wish to dwell on it, but it felt to me a disservice to strike his name from the list prepared for the Sorting when he would have been here otherwise.” she explained, her magically-amplified voice trembling as it always did when she held back her emotions. “I never mean to bring politics into school, but this affected peoples’ lives. Took people’s lives. And I can’t fix that, or even what led to it. But what I can affect is this school and I... sorry, give me a moment,” she trailed off, her voice breaking with suppressed tears.

With an undignified sniff and a weary sigh, the Headmaster straightened her robes, wiped off her face and smiled sadly as she carried on. “All of you were born in wartime or just after it. And this attack tells us the peace we have is fragile. As Headmaster of this school it is my role and that of my staff to keep you safe, all of you. I... I, never mind, it’s too hard. Our school nurse is Madam Pomfrey, and she can be found most hours for help with both physiological and psychological issues. My door is also open, as are those of your heads of house. And, ah – with that, we carry on with the Sorting. Frazier, Annika, come on up.”

Rhiannon bit her lip and looked around the hall, and everywhere she saw faces with expressions that mirrored her own feelings – fear, confusion, a sort of hollow grief. None of them quite knew what to feel, and Rhiannon drifted back into her own head as the Sorting carried on without further incident.

After the Sorting, Rhiannon was roused from her introspection by Padma in the seat beside her. “Hey, Rhiannon, Headmaster McGonagall’s got something to say,” she whispered. It was curious how similar she was to her sister, who Rhiannon had shared a room with for two years, and yet so different it kept catching Rhiannon unawares. Her voice was slightly lower pitched and soft where Parvati’s tended to be loud and energetic, and her accent had more of a trace of their parents’ Indian one which Rhiannon hadn’t heard in Parvati’s since first year. Her mannerisms were different, too – she fiddled with her hands and flinched from loud sounds, very much a wallflower compared to her life-of-the-party sister. And Rhiannon felt a little guilty that she’d not paid much attention to Padma before. Maybe this year would be a good chance to get to know different people better, her included.

Rhiannon coughed and managed an awkward smile in Padma’s direction. “Ah – thanks, I’d d-d-drift-t-t-t-ted off,” she stammered. And there she’d been, doing it again thinking about Padma, she chuckled and brushed hair out of her eyes to hide the flush that crept over her cheeks. Maybe thinking too much wasn’t good for a person.

As Padma had stated, Minerva was indeed standing at the owl-winged podium waiting for the attention of the students. She coughed and smiled tensely when the hall finally fell silent and enough of the students for her satisfaction had their eyes on her. “Thankyou, students. Now, we have several staff changes and matters to explain. First, that Professor Lupin will be returning to the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts master, in spite of last year’s incident. And, in light of that event, former Professor Severus Snape’s employment here has concluded. We do not tolerate bullying or infighting, from students or staff. Professor Vector will replace him as Head of Slytherin House, but that still leaves us short a Potionsmaster. Which brings us to introducing our first new staff-member for the year, former Auror Alastor Moody, and your new Potionsmaster, please make him feel suitably welcome.” she announced, and gestured down the hallway to where an unfamiliar figure stood silhouetted against the lights of the hallway.

There was a solid clump of wood against the floor, and the figure began to stride forward down the aisle between the tables. The man was of average height but broad-shouldered like a rugby player and dressed like a bounty hunter from one of Dudley’s Western comics, wearing an overcoat made from what looked to be leather and cut in an old-fashioned style over a dusty red vest and slacks that fitted poorly over his amputated leg – which had been replaced with a simple wooden peg, clearly the source of the sound from earlier, and he walked with a sturdy cane on the same side as the peg leg. His grizzled, pale-skinned face was a mess of scars, even compared to what Rhiannon saw every day in the mirror. The ear that his hair – a mix of sandy-blond and grey – was tucked behind was tattered and notched in several places almost like an alley-cat’s. His nose had a chip taken out of one side, part of a web of scars over the left side of his face that had also taken the eye on that side. He had replaced it with an evidently magical prosthetic one, its’ iris a pale silver-grey that Rhiannon guessed might be blue to someone with ordinary colour vision. It was slightly larger than his usual eye – which was black or dark brown – and held into his eye socket with a harness of sorts. Overall, he looked intimidating – not as if he meant to, just as if fear was something he wore like armour.

Alastor Moody bowed stiffly and took the hand Minerva offered for help up the scarce handful of steps onto the raised dais where the faculty sat. Facing the students, he looked more like some kind of wild animal in headlights – not a deer, he was much too big but perhaps a bear or some such – than a bounty hunter. He bowed again, stiffly, and shuffle-thumped his way to the end of the faculty table where he perched next to Hagrid, oddly restless and ill-at-ease for someone so large – although in fairness, even he appeared diminutive beside Hagrid.

Clearly Minerva had expected the students to give some sort of welcome or cheer, but instead, the hall was strangely quiet for a feast day, the silence only broken by whispers and rumour. “I thought the Aurors dropped him for being all paranoid!” Lisa Turpin hissed, and Rhiannon fought the urge to kick her under the table – the last thing she needed was to have to explain how she’d broken someone’s shin.

“I heard he embarrassed himself just a week ago, called the Aurors out thinking he was being watched and got fined for his charmed dustbins, he’d set them up as attack sentries or something!” Mandy Brocklehurst sniped from the Miremark table two rows over.

“Hey, watch it – that guy’s a bloody legend!” And that was Nina, ever ready to defend if she thought someone was being set upon unfairly. “Pretty much all the Death Eaters in Azkaban? That was him. He lost his job over Sirius Black’s case the first time, said he didn’t believe he was a Death Eater, nobody believed him. If anyone knows about Defence Against the Dark Arts, it’s gotta be him.”

Headmaster McGonagall coughed politely, but with her amplified voice it echoed throughout the hall. “Yes, you’re quite right, Professor Moody has had a colourful career with the Ministry of Magic – and one that should be respected. But he is only the first of our new staff to welcome tonight. It may not have occurred to you all, but Hogwarts simply does not have enough teachers to function as it needs to. Over time we will be taking on additional professors, while the current staff will remain as directing heads of their subjects. So far we’ve found one such new hire, on loan from the Ministry of Magic to ease Professor Lupin in teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. Please welcome your new Assistant Professor, Tonks.”

After Moody, the students weren’t quite sure what to expect – but even without him, they could never have expected Tonks. They were dressed in a style similar to Professor Moody’s but with a lot more colour and flair, an electric blue vest worn over a cream shirt with the top few buttons undone and a maroon overcoat cut perfectly to fit, snug around their shoulders. Their skin was freckled and coloured a deep olive-tan, warm and rusty-coloured from time outdoors but Rhiannon guessed it would probably be a similar colour to hers the rest of the time, and their eyes were a sharp gold-brown like a hawk’s. Their nose was hawkish too, in a way that some might consider a flaw but this Tonks clearly didn’t think so, and it gave them a fierce, otherworldly sort of look like some kind of warlike elf – if elves usually went about with bubblegum-pink hair swept back in a half-up style and accented with electric blue streaks. A slow, cautious smile spread across Rhiannon’s lips as she noted the rainbow flag tucked into a side pocket of the new assistant teacher’s overcoat – though in fairness, she might have guessed they were queer anyway. Moody was intimidating, and she wasn’t sure how Potions class was going to go. But Tonks? Tonks was cool.

“Hey, ‘warts!” Tonks greeted the students briefly. “Don’t call me a girl, yes my name’s Tonks, don’t push my buttons and we’ll have a great year!” they added, and with a grin and a jaunty wave, flipping their pink hair out of their face, they stepped up onto the dais and sauntered across to the other empty seat at the faculty table, this one beside Professor Lupin. Remus looked smaller, thinner, more drab than ever beside his larger-than-life assistant, but Rhiannon could see Minerva’s reasoning. She knew what most other Hogwarts students didn’t, that the teachers had to turn time back to make up all their classes, and as a werewolf, Remus suffered the most from that. And even if he wasn’t turning time back, he was still healing, recovering from the hurt he’d inflicted on himself to hide that lycanthropy. Maybe an energetic star-of-the-show type like Tonks would be good for him, help pick up the slack in the face-to-face teaching time so he could rest.

This time Minerva McGonagall did not cough, or draw attention through any sound or motion. But attention drew back to her all the same, and gradually the hall fell quiet once again. “And, ah – I apologise for all the grandstanding, I really would like to let you get on with your tea but unfortunately, there’s a lot to get through tonight, and I have a last member of faculty to introduce tonight.” she explainedwith a wry smile.

Rhiannon tilted her head curiously, and looked back to the entranceway in search of the new person the Headmaster had mentioned, and around her, she heard the whisper of others doing the same. Minerva laughed, her voice still amplified so it carried through the hall. “No, not exactly. Not like that.” she told them, wearing a crooked smile as she spoke. She took a deep breath, steadying herself on the podium as she prepared to speak. “No, I would… like to introduce myself. I know you all know me as Headmaster McGonagall, and some from before as Deputy Headmistress. And for those from that time, you might have wondered about the change when I took the reins. Well, reintroducing myself, it’s part of that. It’s… difficult, and I apologise. As a woman of my time, I never had the option to be anything but a woman, and now with some holding womanhood as this pure ideal, it feels as if I am betraying them to want to be something else, even in the smallest way. So I was Mistress of Transfiguration for many years, and Deputy Headmistress for some more, but when the time came to take charge by myself, I wished to reflect the part of myself that – is not womanly, that could be something else, now that times are changing and I have the freedom to do so. Thus, Headmaster.” she said, ending her short speech with an awkward sort of bow.

The school was shocked into near-silence, broken only by a few whispered jeers that were swiftly shamed into silence, much to Rhiannon’s satisfaction. Then, Alicia Spinnet threw her arms in the air and cheered loudly. “THE MAC’S ONE OF US!” she hollered, provoking a round of enthusiastic cries and congratulations from perhaps half or a little less of the student body – including all of Rhiannon’s friends, and Rhiannon herself.

Minerva McGonagall actually blushed, she looked almost shy up there on stage as the supportive students whistled and hushed the few dissenters still foolish enough to speak up. “Ah – thankyou. I appreciate all of your support. Now, that’s all of the, pleasant matters, and on to the final announcement before dinner – yes, I promise, we’re almost there.” she began, drumming one hand on the side of the podium as if impatient with herself. “Now, some of you from wizarding families may have already heard whispers, others may not. It is my… dubious pleasure, to confirm those whispers. The year-long Quidditch league tournament is indeed cancelled, and Quidditch captains have only honorary status this year. This is because this year, Hogwarts has been designated the host school of the Triwizard Tournament.” she continued, and now Rhiannon recognised that restless energy not as impatience, but unease. Something had rattled the stern, strong-willed teacher – and it didn’t take much to guess that the aforementioned Tournament was involved.

“Now, be warned,” Minerva told them sharply, holding up a hand for silence as the hall erupted in whispers. “The Tournament is dangerous. Not your regular, run-of-the-mill danger from ill-tempered Redcaps or an off-course Bludger – and this is why I warn you, because you think yourselves used to danger. The Triwizard Tournament has historically had a high death toll, in fact Mr. Binns is going to cover history of the Tournament for our first few weeks so that you are all better informed on the matter. In light of past dangers, tournament entry has been restricted to those who will be over the age of seventeen by the fourth of October – no, seventeen, not sixteen, if you’re of the age of consent but still a minor I am unfortunately still very responsible for your safety and any harm that may come to you is my responsibility as Headmaster of this school.” she carried on, glaring sternly down the tables at several sixteen year-olds who would not quite turn seventeen in time, including Fred and George Weasley. Rhiannon shivered, and across the table she saw Harry looking unsettled – being from a magical family, maybe they knew more.

“Secondly, this is the Triwizard Tournament – three champions. That is, one from each school,” Minerva continued with a sigh. “This means that, as the host school, Hogwarts will be receiving roughly fifty representatives each from two of our fellow wizarding schools, Beauxbatons Academy in France and Durmstrang Institute on the coast of the Black Sea in Romania. They will be arriving on the 25^th of September and you will be expected to be on your best behaviour for their arrival, and in addition to your classwork you will learn basic greetings in French, Romanian, Bulgarian and Russian to show our guests that you have made an effort. Finally - do not feel compelled to compete. Do not let your friends pressure you into entering. Because if your name is chosen, there is no withdrawal. Entering a name other than your own into the Tournament may very well result in expulsion. And with that warning – dig in.” she finished, and clapped her hands twice.

With a harsh snap and the sharp smell of portalling magic, the traditional English feast was delivered to their plates, but Rhiannon didn’t miss the weariness in Minerva’s frame as she sagged against the podium, attention finally taken from her. And that weighed on Rhiannon’s mind even as she set upon the food with vigour. The last time she’d seen Minerva McGonagall so unnerved, Ginny Weasley had been less than an hour from death. If this Triwizard was serious enough to provoke that sort of unease from her, then perhaps this year was going to be stranger than Rhiannon had thought.

Chapter Text

The start-of-term feast ran shorter than usual, as the whole school had been set awry by the announcement and drifted off to bed early. Rhiannon slipped up and set off with the Gryffindor students, getting as far as the stairs before Padma caught up to her and she realised her mistake with a laugh. That remedied, she set off downstairs with the rest of the Hufflepuffs toward their common room. She’d never really been in before, although she’d walked Dudley back enough times to know where it was, and honestly – she hadn’t expected a mostly-underground room to be so pleasant.

The common room was large, round and mostly subterranean, save for a scarce handful of feet that protruded enough ground – enough for windows that lit the room from three sides but were too high for Rhiannon to see out of, a taller student might have seen that they were directly level with the foot of the castle and the grass of the hillside. Where Gryffindor and Ravenclaw’s common rooms were in a tower, Hufflepuff’s was more the inverse, and a spiral staircase at the centre of the common room led down to a second level on which the dormitories were located.

Rhiannon had expected to be uncomfortable or even claustrophobic, but she could see why Dudley liked this place. There were plants everywhere, comfortable reading nooks – it felt more like a den than Gryffindor’s common room had, and that was reassuring to the teenage werewolf, especially with the uncertain outlook on the year. Too tired for conversation or looking around, she padded downstairs and searched for the door labeled four, remembering only belatedly that she was no longer a third-year.

The room inside was almost identical to the rooms Rhiannon knew from Gryffindor, save for a different colour scheme and the lack of outdoor windows. In place of those windows, there were potted plants hanging on the walls, and a table near the door held glass bowls, potting soil and tools Rhiannon guessed from her Herbology lessons that one might use to set up a terrarium of their own. Luna and Neville would love this place, she thought idly, as she gently scooted her sleeping cat to one side of the bed the creature had clearly claimed for them both and sat down on the edge to get ready for bed. If she’d needed anything to feel prepared for this year, it was a safe place to sleep, and she smiled to herself as she pulled the curtains closed and curled up in bed beside her cat.

The next morning, Rhiannon awoke early – and a good thing too, as the timetable which had been delivered to her bedside along with her medication potions – a blocker, the new estrogen equivalent, and the anxiety-managing potion Xenophilius had used since the attack – read that on Mondays, she had Transfiguration class at 8, though luckily that was followed by a free period before Charms at ten. So it was with a yawn and a grumpy expression that she stumbled out of bed and made for the showers.

After a shower Rhiannon changed quickly and padded upstairs, still yawning and aching with every step, in search of breakfast, her faithful cat at her heels – perhaps Calypso had some Kneazle ancestry too, because she seemed to be well aware of which classes she was allowed to share with her mistress. Unlike the night before, there was no separation of houses enforced at the breakfast table and Rhiannon quickly found her friends seated together at the far end of one in a corner. “Morning, Rhi!” Nina greeted her with a grin. Then she made a wry face, and held up something small and puffy in one hand – an animal? Maybe. Rhiannon wasn’t quite sure, and on top of the full moon her glasses were of no use so she could barely see it. It smelled like an animal, at least.

“Your friggin’ god-dad sent me this ball of feathers and it won’t leave,” Nina complained, as she held the creature up for Rhiannon’s inspection. As Rhiannon peered closer, she could see it was an owl, of some sort – very very small, smaller than she’d ever seen in person but from what she knew of Luna’s books she guessed it to be perhaps an elf owl, or maybe a northern saw-whet.

“It’s an owl, Nin, they kinda imprint onto their owners, it’s part of the magic,” Ginny told her sister drily across the table. “And he’s adorable, isn’t he? Yes, isn’t he just?” she cooed, giggling in a way quite of character as compared to her usual stoicism and snark as the little owl turned its’ head to her and clacked its’ beak in a manner Rhiannon could only interpret as happiness.

Nina sighed. “Yeah, Sirius sent me this whole – apology letter for getting rid of Scabbers or whatever,” she replied wearily. “As if I care – he was kind ‘f a shit pet, and that was before he turned out to be a mass murderer in disguise, bloody hell. But, he doesn’t seem to care about that so, uh, huzzah – I have an owl now. Not that he can deliver anything further than like, Hogsmeade.”

Luna padded over and perched on the edge of a bench beside Padma. “He’s an elf owl,” they informed Nina politely. “Very endangered species from the United States of America, wizards have put some effort into conservation partly for the novelty of them. You’d best take care of him, there’s only about, ah… fifteen thousand of them left? Maybe a little less.”

Rhiannon grinned, and reached out under the table to squeeze Luna’s hand briefly. “Morning,” she greeted him cheerfully. “Any specific way you’re feeling today?”

Luna cocked vir head curiously. “Hungry?” xe replied with a shrug. Rhiannon snorted with laughter and Luna sighed as she finally got what her friend had meant. “Oh, that – he and him are still fine today, thanks,” he added, his pale cheeks colouring with a faint flush.

Nina’s little owl squawked impatiently and flapped its’ wings, clamouring for their attention, and Nina begrudgingly scratched under its’ chin until it settled. Luna cooed and reached over the table, wiggling his fingers so that the owl could nip at them playfully. “You’ve got to give him a name – it’s a bonding moment. He’s offended you haven’t done it yet.” he informed Nina with a grin.

Nina glared at the owl. “It took me bloody months to figure out my own name, let alone one for a bloody pet,” she grumbled, but her voice was soft as she scratched the diminutive owl’s cheek.

Ginny snickered. “God, you overthink,” she retorted. “It’s an owl, just give it a name, it doesn’t even have to make sense! Like, I don’t know, Isidore, or – or Freckle, or Pigwidgeon.”

At the last name, the owl clacked his beak and bounced on Nina’s finger, chittering happily and fluffing its’ feathers loudly. “No, no, that’s a stupid name,” Nina groaned, and held the owl up to eye level. “Don’t tell me you wanna be Pigwidgeon.”

The owl squawked, and Ginny cackled. Nina promptly lobbed her napkin across the table at her sister, scowling indignantly, while the owl – who had clearly decided his name was to be Pigwidgeon – hopped off her finger and bounced back and forth in front of them both, clacking his beak gleefully. “Awww, he likes it!” Ginny cooed, snickering at the little owl’s antics. “Who’s a clever little Pig, huh? He is!”

Luna giggled, and held out a finger for Pigwidgeon to climb on. The owl immediately scuttled up his arm and into his unruly flaxen hair, where he vanished among the pale waves. “Uh… I guess he wants to hang out with me? I’ll give him back when, ah – ow! When he wants to get out of my hair, he’s pretty lodged in there,” he said ruefully.

Rhiannon snickered, and reached over the table for some toast. She checked her watch – quarter to eight – and immediately began buttering it hurriedly. Transfiguration was at eight, and even though she was still in a private class, she knew Minerva wouldn’t tolerate any tardiness. After butter went jam, and she shoveled the toast down as quickly as possible, followed by a glass of milk, and by then it was five minutes until class started and time to get moving. She, Hermione, Padma and several of their other friends from Hufflepuff, Slytherin and Gryffindor who took Transfiguration with the Headmaster instead of the main class set off upstairs from the Hall, accompanied by an assortment of pets as Minerva permitted them in their class so long as they were quiet – and not even an animal would dare disobey Minerva McGonagall.

When they arrived at the Headmaster’s open office, however, the fourth-year students were met with something unexpected – company. Minerva sat at her desk, but beside her in a spare chair was an unfamiliar woman. She was unusually short, Rhiannon guessed she might be of a similar stature to Professor Flitwick when standing, her hair was cut short around her face, wavy and black shot through with steel threads, and her eyes were a sharp blue standing out in her olive skin. Immediately, Rhiannon got the impression that this woman was not one to mess with, and she bowed awkwardly in place as she and her friends crowded into the office.

“Ah, my fourth-years, fantastic,” Minerva greeted them with a smile. “This is your new Transfiguration instructor, Professor Barron. I would have introduced her at the feast last night, but things were a little uncertain with regards to confirming her availability.” she explained. “I’ll let you all get acquainted, and you can use the wider office space today but from now your regular classes will be held in the Transfiguration wing as Professor Dumbledore’s classes are.”

Professor Barron favoured the students with a smile. “I’m delighted to be working with you all,” she told them, her voice surprisingly soft and shy for such an imposing figure. “I am new to teaching, so this will be a learning experience for us all, and I’m delighted your Headmaster has given me the opportunity to work here.” she added, and with a flicker of blue sparks dancing around her fingers from some wandless magic, stood from her chair and stepped elegantly down to the floor – the sparks seemed to provide a brief ability to walk on the air below her too-tall chair – and then carried on across the office to the slightly lower level where Headmaster McGonagall usually held class, already set up with a board and scattered chairs. Rhiannon settled herself between Padma and Hermione and took out her textbook, note-taking pad and pen, eager to see how Professor Barron intended to cover the topics they would work on for that year.

Professor Barron turned out to be a cautious but competent instructor, well-versed in anatomical structure and physics and with a talent for explaining the difficult concepts concisely. Her lesson was thoroughly enjoyable, and Rhiannon thought that perhaps her Transfiguration marks might pick up that year as a result of the changed teaching style – not that McGonagall was a bad teacher, as such, she was just a little too busy for the attention to detail that Professor Barron brought.

After Transfiguration they had a free period and then Charms, where Professor Flitwick ran them through plans for the curriculum next year, which included a month-long section on self-defence and emergency spells but mainly focused on increasing precision and distance in their spellcasting rather than learning new magic. He also offered an extra class, once a week on Saturday afternoons, for students who wanted to learn to apply their Charms knowledge and expand into enchanting, which Rhiannon immediately signed up for.

The morning break was a welcome reprieve, especially with Rhiannon’s friends all in different houses and classes. Hermione was excited to hear that Flitwick was offering an Enchanting class, and she and Neville made plans to sign up for it when they eventually had Charms class themselves. From there they got distracted planning improvements to Neville’s communication tablet, perhaps a way to make it easier to carry and use.

Soon the break was up, and it was time to get back to class – this time Herbology with the Miremarks and some Gryffindors. Rhiannon sat herself in the back with Neville, they worked well together – she could answer quicker than he could, while he was better at note-taking and analysing than she was. But today, the lesson was Bubotubers and Rhiannon had a much bigger problem than her inattention to get around.

As soon as she entered the greenhouse, Rhiannon felt – off, somehow, her throat constricted and her head aching. And that only worsened when the practical segment of the lesson began, siphoning the reeking raw sap from the plant’s pustules into stoppered vials. The plant was a pulsating menace of a thing, with a nasty predisposition for spitting its’ sap into the faces of those who attempted to harvest it – all of the students wore face-shields, but as the lesson wore on Rhiannon struggled more and more to do so much as stopper her vials. Her face shield was fogged with sap and the skin revealed by the gaps in her protective clothing stung with blisters, something Madam Pomfrey had warned them about and that she’d planned to tend to after the lesson. The pain didn’t matter – she was used to pain and discomfort, and had initially blamed the tightness in her throat to be a reaction of her oversensitive body to the harsh chemical smell that permeated the greenhouse.

That was, until her vision began to dim. Rhiannon realised something was wrong then, but it was too late – her mind and movements were sluggish, she couldn’t force words through her constricting throat and as Rhiannon tried to turn to Neville and warn him, she was struck with a wave of sickening weakness and toppled from her stool, gasping for breath through a rapidly-closing throat.

“Rhi! Someone- help-” Neville gasped, his voice slurred as he forced himself to speak, but Rhiannon could barely see as she lay on the floor like a flipped turtle, hands and feet twitching ineffectually. Someone laid hands on Rhiannon’s shoulders and helped her into a sitting position, but it didn’t help and she nearly slapped her rescuer as she clawed at her neck for breath that wouldn’t come. Snapping, clawing and gasping, Rhiannon was dragged into unconsciousness even as someone lifted her from the floor.

When she awoke, Rhiannon was lying on a bed beneath all-too-familiar scratchy sheets, and she groaned. The Hospital Wing on her first day, again . She opened her mouth to speak and coughed, gagging as air struck her still-raw throat. “ Fuck-sake,” she wheezed, irritated and too worn out to open her eyes, and reached out with a trembling hand to where she guessed a glass of water lay on the table beside the bed. But of course, as was the theme with today, she struck it sideways and swept the glass off the table, where it splashed all over the sheets and then smashed onto the floor. Rhiannon spat and leapt from the bed in disgust, but the chain of disaster continued as her legs tangled in the bed-sheets and she fell face-first, caught just in time by her elbows, on the hard stone floor of the Hospital Wing with a grunt and a wheezing curse at the sudden flare of pain.

“Ah – Rhiannon, slow down there!” Madam Pomfrey warned her, her shoes clicking on the floor as she hurried across the room. Rhiannon opened her eyes to a blurry field of vision, but in all honesty she was used to that around the full moon period – she spent a lot of time pretending she could see more than she could. All she could see now was a blurry greyish shape as Madam Pomfrey knelt before her and took her hands, casting a wandless spell of healing with a whisper that eased the ache in Rhiannon’s elbows where they had struck the floor. “You’ve had a severe allergic reaction, it’s called anaphylaxis. I’ve eased the immediate symptoms restricting your breathing but you’ll still be weak, I’ve sent a note to your professors to get you out of class for the rest of the day so that you can recover.” she explained, gently helping Rhiannon to her feet.

“Allergy?” Rhiannon rasped, bewildered. “I ‘on’t – have, allergies?” As far as she knew, allergies had only been an excuse they used for her werewolf sensitivities, and they’d never caused something like that.

Madam Pomfrey nodded, or at least Rhiannon guessed she did as the nurse helped her back into bed. “That is true – that’s not exactly the case. In a human, such a reaction is typically caused by an allergy, an anomalous reaction to a particular thing, and more rarely by poisoning. In you, I would guess that it’s part of the bleedthrough effect – perhaps Bubotuber fumes are toxic to dogs and wolves, and thus to you. We’ll have to do more research on toxicity, as clearly it affects more than just what you eat, but it is also possible that your reaction could be a side effect of your enhanced sense of smell – Bubotuber fumes are unhealthy enough for humans, not unlike breathing in petrol fumes, for you it would be worse.”

Rhiannon just flopped back in the bed and groaned, and Madam Pomfrey pressed a new glass of water into her hands which she drank greedily, ignoring the urge to gag as it ran over raw skin. “But – I like Herbology,” she protested weakly. “It- it m-akes-s-s-s s-s-sense, it’s all practical, it’s-s-s- even outside, sort of.”

Madam Pomfrey sighed and drummed her fingers on the table while she hovered beside Rhiannon’s bedside. “Then that rules out option one, dropping the class. Which leaves us with option two – finding a way to cope with it. I have some specialty masks for other students with allergies or sensitivities, for use in Potions and Herbology. I can charm them to filter out the irritants so you’re breathing clear air, but you’ll need to reapply the charm weekly – I can teach it to you – and make sure you take the mask apart and clean the physical filters nightly. It will be annoying, but effective. Will you be alright with that?” she asked.

Rhiannon wrinkled her nose at the thought of wearing a mask, she hated even shower water on her face let alone something physical. But it was a better option than dropping a class she liked. “I... yeah, I’ll deal,” she grumbled. Then a thought struck her – she had wolfish sensitivities. That included touch, not just things she ate or breathed in, and she had noticed she’d come away from Herbology class itchy on several occasions. “C-c-c-c-an I get some gloves, too? Thin ones, so I can still hand-d-d-d-dle stuff like I can with bare hands, but so I don’t get itchy stuff.”

Madam Pomfrey nodded, and a scratching sound suggested to Rhiannon that she was writing notes for herself. “Absolutely – I should have thought of that myself. There’s a second spell I can teach you for warding your clothing, including the gloves – that’s a reapply-daily task. And I can leave you and your cousin each with a tube of antihistamine cream that should ease and heal the itching wherever something sneaks through.” she replied, still scratching out notes. “I’ll make sure to get a mask and some gloves for your cousin too, you’re both very lucky we didn’t run into this issue earlier really.”

Rhiannon rolled her eyes and sighed wearily. “Hey, maybe next year I can try to st-t-t-ay out-t of the Hospital Wing for my first week,” she drawled, and let her eyes fall closed. “If I’ve got no class, I’m gonna take a nap, somebody wake me when there’s food,”

And with that, Rhiannon curled up on her side in bed and drifted back to sleep. The full moon was that very night, she had been exhausted and uncomfortable long before the anaphylaxis attack, now she was just plain worn out. The year before, she might have fought to go back to class, but this year she was going to take free rest breaks where she could get them.

Chapter Text

Rhiannon woke late, having missed lunch entirely, with barely enough time to shovel down her dinner before she had to practically flee the castle to make it to Hagrid’s cabin in time. Dudley, Remus and Hagrid were already gathered outside when she finally arrived, some of their friends arrayed around on the grass waiting for her – Hermione, Luna, Nina, Neville and Lavender, along with Hailey, Ginny and Alain – some of Dudley’s friends. “ Rhiannon!” Lavender cried, rushing forward to hug her fiercely. “I heard what happened in Herbology, are you alright?”

H ermione approached more cautiously, anxiously wringing her hands and bobbing from foot to foot, keeping her distance as if afraid she might knock Rhiannon down with a breath, and Rhiannon laughed as she extricated herself from Lavender’s embrace. “I’m fine,” she replied, and dragged Hermione into a reassuring hug. “Just, stupid ‘wolf stuff, we s-s-sort-t-t-t-ted it, prob’ly won’t even happen again.”

D udley made a dissatisfied noise and limped over, leaning heavily on his cane to support himself. “Wolf stuff hasn’t put you in the hospital wing in ages, what happened?” he asked her anxiously.

Rhiannon made a face and scuffed her foot in the ground, taking Dudley’s arm and helping him back to a seat on the ground. “Si’ down , dumbass,” she grumbled at him as he hissed with pain. “Don’t go getting up for me, I’m fine, was jus’ a bit’ve stupid poisoning, Bubotuber’s even worse f’r wolves than humans. Oh, yeah, speaking of – Madam Pomfrey’s gonna send you a mask for Herbology and Potions, so you don’t get the same thing.”

R emus grimaced, and Rhiannon settled down beside him rather than let him get up as well. “You hadn’t thought about poisoning except for things you can’t eat, right?” he asked, at which Rhiannon nodded glumly, and Remus sighed wearily. “ I should... really put together some kind of guide or something so this doesn’t keep happening. Now that I’ve got Tonks, I might have some free time for it.”

H agrid tossed a tuft of grass at the werewolf professor and scowled. “Sirius’d have me hide if I let you take on extra work, settle down. I’ll try and do something – it might be useful if we ever get any other werewolf kids,” he mused aloud.

R hiannon wrinkled her nose and shivered, suddenly uncomfortable. She’d never actually considered what might happen if Hogwarts took on other werewolves – or other werefolk, not that she’d met any except werewolves. She thought of this as her space, her territory – and she wasn’t sure she wanted to share it.

D udley, always able to read her emotions, elbowed her and grinned. “Hey, get over yourself – I’m the oldest, isn’t it my territory? There’s what, fifty each coming from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, statistically it’s likely there’ll be at least one were in a hundred students. This is probably the last full moon we get to ourselves so, get over yourself and enjoy it!”

Rhiannon growled and stuck her tongue out at Dudley, but she knew her brother was right. In fact, she and Hermione had read up on the two schools that would be arriving for the Tournament, and Beauxbatons in particular was known for its’ acceptance of nonhuman students. There would almost certainly be other werefolk arriving with the Triwizard schools later in the month.

S o Rhiannon set her shoulders and made up her mind to enjoy the full moon. And she did – Remus’ fur was even starting to grow back though he still looked an ungainly mess, while Ginny had brought her broomstick and skimmed along the grass having stolen a stick from Dudley, cackling madly and whooping as he raced to catch up on his three good legs, and Hermione and Luna padded along at a more sedate pace either side of Rhiannon, Neville and Luna chatting about the ecology of the highlands as they walked. And that was their routine for the five days of peace the full moon offered, before they had to return to the regular grind of classes.

C lasses, once Rhiannon could return without needing to fall asleep halfway through, were a mixed lot. The mask helped things in Herbology, and in Potions – at least, it would have, if Professor Moody wasn’t making things so tense. Rhiannon couldn’t talk through her mask, and he was inconsiderate about letting her use other methods of communication. In fact, that was true for others in the class, including Neville, and the both of them, despite being very competent in the class, were struggling to show their talents when the teacher refused to let them speak the way they needed to.

“Just take off your mask to speak,” Moody had suggested, never mind that the fumes of the Doxycide they were brewing would induce an anaphylactic shock in about five minutes. Yeah, not so much. So Rhiannon stayed quiet, and her contributions to class were made in the form of her homework only.

At least the class was interesting, even if it was inaccessible. Being unable to speak gave Rhiannon a lot of time to listen. And Moody’s material was fascinating – he covered the ethics and social context around the uses of various potions, as well as just the methods with which to make them.

Th at week, beginning with Monday 13 ^th , Moody was covering the branch of brews commonly referred to as love potions . Rhiannon could already see the ethical quandaries with them, but for all her irritation with the Professor, she had to admit – he was meticulous in his detail about their side effects, illegalities and exact natures. She’d had no idea, but apparently most love potions had effects that lingered on any children born while a parent was under their effects – similar to fetal alcohol syndrome, it affected decision-making, emotional processing and learning, with exact effects differing from case to case and potion to potion.

B ut, more interesting were the ethical and consensual uses, historically documented in relation to love potions. Key amongst those were their use in keeping lovers separated by distance – slavery, forced relocation, wartime and all the other ways human society invented to cause hurt – connected. And that idea stayed with Rhiannon through class and well into the rest of her week. She had expected to have ethical quandaries about love potions, she’d liked that Moody was teaching only the theory and not the making of them. But she hadn’t expected to like any part of the topic, especially with her dislike of the instructor. Honestly, that was almost romantic, genuinely touching, and Rhiannon could imagine so many uses for these potions in recent history let alone the historical context Moody had been educating them about. Maybe her parents might have even used it, had they not been forced to hide instead of fight on the front lines.

R hiannon always tended to brood, and it was natural in the midst of her complex feelings for Luna and Hermione that she would fixate on something of that nature – both romantic and sad. She was good at sad. But the rest of her classes didn’t allow for sad – especially not Defense Against the Dark Arts.

It felt a little disloyal to admit, but Tonks – just Tonks, no title no first name, was a great Defense teacher. Not necessarily better than Remus, but, they were good. And classes with them, when Remus’ schedule didn’t line up or he was recovering from the full moon, they were fun and informative and creative. They had started the year with a focus on stealth, camouflage and surveillance as elements of Defense – you didn’t need to defend yourself with a shield if you could avoid the attack entirely. As it turned out, Tonks was a Metamorphmagus – they could change their physical appearance at will, which certainly gave them an unfair advantage so far as camouflage went. But aside from the odd mischievous prank, Tonks did know a lot more than just metamorphmagery and built a curriculum that the class took on with enthusiasm – warding sparks of various colours, hex deflection and counter-curses, Disillusionment and various kinds of detection charms, to begin with.

D efence was great. And it was a good thing too because Creatures, usually one of Rhiannon’s favourite classes, was not . No, Hagrid had some weird new creatures, and usually Rhiannon – being a weird creature herself – was all for weird new things, but the ‘Blast-Ended Skrewts’ as he called them, were just plain unpleasant. Granted, many creatures that Rhiannon rather liked had the potential to be unpleasant, including dragons, hippogriffs and, well, werewolves. But the Skrewts were something else entirely. They were weird, insectile creatures, a little like a crab, a little like a scorpion, with blobby carapaces that hadn’t quite hardened yet. One end had a stinger, the other spat fire, or something like it – it certainly burned like fire, and right through Rhiannon’s gloves. So they were babysitting awful little scorpion-crabs that spat fire hot enough to burn through dragonskin at this age, and could inflict wasp-like stings with their other end, that had a clearly Hagrid-administered name and no known behavioural patterns.

Rhiannon could handle a testy moonborn wolf pup with a thorn in its’ pad, or a n Abraxan having a bad day, or even a particularly bitchy cluster of fairies. She knew how to handle those. But the Skrewts just bugged her, to put it bluntly, and she grumped her way through every day in which she had to interact with the clicky, fire-spitting little bastards. So it was a good thing that Hermione and Luna were around to distract her with plans for S.P.E.A.R. Overseas laws on elven employment rights were quite different, and Britain was one of the few nations left that still protected the Elfbind. France had destroyed theirs almost three hundred years ago, and Romania about fifty. So the students arriving from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were all potential allies. It was the S.P.E.A.R team’s fervent hope s that the exchange students would be horrified by the state of magical Britain’s civil rights laws and ally with their effort to change things, but that needed an awareness campaign – and one that could be read in at least four different languages.

S o, to distract from near-daily burns and the irritating texture of the soothing cream, Rhiannon pitched in with Luna and Hermione to rally their other friends – beginning with Nina, Lavender, Kellah, Neville, Parvati and Padma – and translate the materials they had already put together, and expand to a greater focus on how archaic and out of touch Britain’s laws were as compared to the rest of the world. And honestly, it was frustrating, but it was enjoyab le to be making a difference with a measurable goal. Thanks to exchange students from two foreign schools and a major sporting event, the year was going to be up in the air – never something Rhiannon enjoyed. But S.P.E.A.R was something solid to hold onto, and hold on Rhiannon was planning to do. Maybe she couldn’t be some child soldier for a resistance – but she could sure do this with the power she’d been handed.

Chapter Text

U nfortunately, Rhiannon hadn’t counted on how archaic the views of magical British people were, not just the laws, and many of her magic-born peers were dismissive of the S.P.E.A.R initiative at best – if not outright demeaning towards her and her friends for organising it. Granted, that was her peers , not her circle of actual friends, but Rhiannon was used to being fairly well liked by the other students and it irked her that so many had been holding such disgusting , outdated views when they were smiling and greeting her in the hallways. Now, they were unpleasant – and they weren’t straightforward with their disapproval, either. No, they took to hiding Rhiannon’s possessions all around the castle and that grated on her nerves – Rhiannon liked her personal space, and she knew at least one of her roommates had to be in on it. Probably Lisa Turpin, by the snickers, though it could be Basil Crane. Or both of them, she thought with a wry shrug. Wouldn’t be too surprised – her popularity had taken a nosedive.

S till, it was depressing to be treated like dirt by her own peers, and to Rhiannon in particular, it was a sad preview of what her life would be like when they eventually found out she was a werewolf. Professor Lupin did his best to be there for Rhiannon, but he was busy with classes, so she instead borrowed Faye’s owl to send a letter to Sirius. Her godfather, her maybe-soon adopted father, always had answers when it came to trouble with her peers. Maybe because in terms of what memor ies he still had , his teenage years weren’t all that long ago.

Hey, Dad , Rhiannon wrote impulsively. Then she frowned, rebuked herself, and scratched out the Dad , replacing it with her godfather’s name instead. They were taking things slowly, feeling eachother out – she didn’t need her werewolf pack mentality jumping in the middle of it all.

S tuff’s weird at school. Classes are mostly great – had a hiccup in Herbology bu t that’s fine otherwise. We’ve got new teachers! There’s this auror, Tonks, they’re taking Defence along with Remus; and a new Transfiguration instructor , Professor Barron. She’s great, I actually managed to turn my beetles into buttons in the first lesson! And, Professor Moody. He’s... something. I like the material, it’s really cool to think about the ethics and uses of potions. But he sucks. I know that’s childish, but he really sucks. He doesn’t let me or Neville use the tablet to talk in class – I can’t talk much in the mask I’ve got to wear to, well, avoid dying, and you know Neville can’t talk easily. So if my mid-year report says “Capable but quiet in class, should speak up more,” it’s his fault.

A t least I’m gonna get great marks this yea r! I know I have to set reasonable goals, but I want to get as many Outstanding O.W.Ls as I can next year. Ideally as many as Hermione but, we’re definitely not in competition or anything.

H ave you heard about the tournament? Headmaster McGonagall – did you hear they’re trans I’ ve never been so happy – didn’t seem happy about it, so I guess it’s a big deal. There’s going to be what, 100 students total from these two other schools arriving next week . Apparently Beauxbatons is nonhuman-friendly so we might get some more werewolves for the year. Or, probably will. It’s statistically likely, we’re one of the most common kinds of nonhuma ns. So if you or Remus have any tips on sharing territory, that’d be great. Or, have some random werewolf friends I could practice with. I’ve never actually met any other werewolves. I’m definitely not freaking out. Help.

Y our god-daughter in panic,

Rhiannon

That seemed good enough. Sirius always said her bluntness made him laugh. So Rhiannon folded the letter up and taped it closed, then tapped it with her wand and muttered the Shrinking Charm so that it would fit into the leather pouch that she buckled onto Faye’s owl Una’s leg. But Una was a pet, not just a delivery service, and she resented being treated like a tool the way many other Hogwarts students treated their owls, so Rhiannon took time to scratch under the owl’s beak and wings before releasing her into the grey autumn sky with a wry smile on her face. She was kidding herself, calling him her godfather – Nyx-brain said he and Remus were Dad and Da , she just had to reign in those instincts for their benefit because this taking things slow, it was for Remus and Sirius just as much as it was for her and Dudley. All four of them had healing and learning of their own to do.

_____________________________________________________________________

While Rhiannon waited for Sirius’ return letter, there were classes to work on and S.P.E.A.R. kept her busy. Support was spotty amongst their peers, but Nina – who had been named S.P.E.A.R. Treasurer, she was surprisingly good with money and figures once Hermione had a template for her to work in – had suggested a new initiative in which students would ‘tip’ the elves by leaving money on their plates before they vanished. It wasn’t a great solution – most students had fairly limited allowances, and while some parents had already agreed to give extra allowances for plan, it didn’t solve the core problem – that fair pay shouldn’t be down to the generosity of others, it should be guaranteed by the system.

Nina agreed, she’d only suggested it as a stopgap measure. And if nothing else, planning for the start of the initiative – which they intended to start on the night of the 25^th, when the foreign students arrived – kept Rhiannon’s overactive mind occupied while she waited for Sirius’ letter to arrive.

At last, Una returned with Sirius’ reply in the little pouch on her leg, and more concerningly, blood splattered on her chest. That at least was explained when Rhiannon re-enlarged Sirius’ letter, and she couldn’t help but giggle at how it began.

Dear Rhiannon, the letter read, and then there was a section flecked with more blood before it continued.

First of all, next time you send me a message by a pet owl, tell me! They’re fussy creatures, tell me where she likes a scratch so I don’t pay in blood trying to find it!

Rhiannon couldn’t help giggling, and she reached out to tickle Una’s cheek affectionately. “Did you bite my godfather, fussy girl?” she cooed, as the owl flapped and ruffled her feathers. “You really shouldn’t bite people, it’s rude,” she scolded halfheartedly, knowing there was no point in trying to reform the stubborn owl’s behaviour as she returned to reading the letter.

Glad you’re doing well in classes, I’m sorry to hear about the Herbology hiccup – Remus was really embarrassed, he’s thinking he should’ve told you but he forgot and you know his memory’s a bit holey. And you got the hang of beetles to buttons? You’re doing great – I usually took a bit to learn different new transfigurations too, I’m glad you’ve got a teacher who’s got it making sense more quickly.

And tell Tonks I say hello! They’re my favourite cousin, I didn’t realise they made the force – no wonder they’re taking some time off from the Ministry, must be a conflict of interest after my case got cleared.

Weird about Moody, that doesn’t seem like him – you know, with his eye and his leg, he’s always been pretty good about other people’s tools and adaptations. I’m sorry to hear he’s so hard on you – need me to talk to Minerva? They could overrule him so you can at least speak up, but I get if you don’t feel like doing that in his class if he’s hostile. If you feel like he marks your work unfairly, take it to McGonagall, they can make sure a third party reviews any marks he gives you.

As for the Tournament, well... there’s a lot there. Long history. Last time it was held was 1792, and three of the judges were injured, so it was cancelled from then out. There have been a couple attempts to resurrect it but nothing’s actually gotten to this stage with travel plans in place because well, it was a bloody mess. In the most literal sense – there’s recorded years where all three contestants died. If they’re bringing it back, it’s because somehow the danger outweighs the benefits to them. My guess, they want to push this through to look good to the international magical community – our Ministry took a bit of a popularity hit after I was formally declared innocent. So they’re not thinking about the good of the students – because make no mistake, this Tournament’s no good for you all. They’ll have pretty tight security but with people coming in for it, you’re at risk, so keep your head down and if anyone gives you a weird vibe you go to Remus or Minerva, because after the World Cup you may well still be a target for Death Eaters and they might use the Tournament arrivals to get at you.

That’s all I can think of with the tournament. As for other werewolves, well, you know Remus was always so ashamed of his lycanthropy. So that’s kept him pretty separate from the community. Other nonhumans are kind of divided into three groups. There’s those who are ashamed of themselves and try to assimilate, like Remus, or keep to themselves, and they don’t really have a connection to the community as a result. There’s those that are proud of their nature, however it came about, and they’re the heart of the usual community. And then there’s the kind like Greyback, or the werewolves that bit you.
These are mostly turned weres and vampires, and other kinds of nonhumans who originated as human. They take the beast and use it to carry out their darkest desires. Honestly, they’re kind of fundamentally still human in that way, it’s like they twist the beast to fit human wants. And they take up some dark corners of the nonhuman communities, suck in people who’re jaded or angry. You probably won’t find anyone like that in the new students, don’t worry but, it is something to watch out for when you’re navigating the wider nonhuman community. It’s part of why Remus is scared to try and engage with it, he’s had some bad experiences with them from the war. So all of that, it makes it hard for nonhumans that are isolated from the community to get in where it’s safe.

All of this is saying, we don’t have any werewolf friends you can practice on, sorry. But talk to Remus – he’s feeling a lot of the same anxieties but has even less experience with his instincts than you two do. The three of you can figure it out together, just think before you act and be careful. And maybe tell Nyx you all need to be polite because humans have rules even if wolves don’t. Oh wow, I went on a bit of a ramble here, my apologies, I guess I’m missing you now that you’re at school more than I’d expected. Maybe I’ve got wolf-brain taking over a bit too.

Your equally stressed dogfather,

Sirius

Rhiannon cackled out loud at the last line – her godfather, or dogfather as it were, wasn’t above a silly pun. She couldn’t help but be disappointed that he didn’t magically have a solution, but what he’d said about the divided nature of the nonhuman community made sense. She’d experienced the worst parts of it first-hand, it was how she’d become a werewolf in the first place – so she had to take Sirius’ advice and just go slowly, because any other werefolk could be in the same position she was with not knowing about the community. They’d all just have to figure out the new situation themselves – Rhiannon and Dudley wouldn’t be the only ones struggling. So long as they were patient and careful, they and the hypothetical new nonhumans could figure out their boundaries.

And Rhiannon shared that realisation with Dudley, and he with Remus, and the three of them realised they were all stressing about something they couldn’t control. They couldn't plan any more for any nonhumans because there were so many different kinds, and each were their own individual people. They’d just have to settle the rest when the exchange students arrived.

Which, as it happened, would be the Saturday of the following week. Late in the afternoon, Headmaster Minerva lined all five houses up at the large, flat courtyard beside the docks used for the boats the first-year students travelled in on their first journey to Hogwarts. The courtyard was large enough that even with all of Hogwarts’ students – roughly three hundred and fifty of them, give or take a little - there was still plenty of room before them and to either side, even with the flower-bushes that had mysteriously sprouted in neat rows around the edges of the court; and the hour was late enough that the last rays of sun setting over the lake were at the perfect angle to be thoroughly blinding.

Out of the corner of Rhiannon’s eye she caught sight of Nina fidgeting awkwardly with the collar of her shirt – the Headmaster had insisted they all be dressed in proper uniform with good turnout for their guests and for Nina, that meant learning how to actually tie her uniform tie – she wore a mishmosh of the boys’ uniform shirt and tie with a girls’ uniform skirt and socks, and had been sort of draping her tie around her neck and hoping nobody noticed for her entire first three years of school.

“Why’s nothing happening?” Nina whispered to Rhiannon, leaning across the gap between their ordered Houses. Rhiannon snickered – her friend had never been the patient sit-and-wait sort but in all fairness, neither was Rhiannon herself, and she knew the long, standing wait would be sapping Dudley’s energy levels and usual cheer.

“I dunno, they’re coming a long way,” Rhiannon whispered back, ignoring the older Hufflepuffs and Miremarks who glared at them both. If they wanted everyone to sit still, they should’ve conjured chairs. “Do Portkeys even work that far?”

“No, it’s-” Nina began to reply, when she was interrupted by an ominous sucking sound that silenced the entire crowd. Slowly, the sucking sound crescendoed into a howling roar that had Rhiannon clutching her ears and reeling back as if the sound were a physical force. Spray from the lake splashed over the crowd, soaking them all, and Rhiannon peered through water-splattered glasses as what appeared to be a whirlpool formed in the lake, widening into a screaming maw that sent water flying in all directions. Strangest of all, as it sucked in lakewater and debris, Rhiannon caught sight of something emerging from the clearly-magical maelstrom that had opened in the loch. A long, slender spar with something flapping weakly from it – was that a flag? It was hard to tell at this distance, she thought it might be red with perhaps something gold on it but the flag was sodden and clung to the spar even in the strong wind of the autumn afternoon.

Slowly, the strange pole continued to rise free of the great maelstrom, lengthening into what Rhiannon in her little experience guessed to be a mast, a great tall mast of an old-fashioned sailing ship with its’ sails sodden and bound up with ropes to the cross-spars. The first mast was the tallest, but two more emerged as Rhiannon watched with growing awe. By now the hulking form of a massive old-style sailing ship was becoming visible, the whirlpool still spraying lakewater as the ship rose from its’ depths until all at once, it was as if the whirlpool and the portal it no doubt held within lost patience and simply spat the ship out, along with unfathomable gallons of water and truly indescribable muck scooped up out of the lake. The ship was spat out about a metre above the water, where it gently sank back to the water level as the maelstrom sealed with a hollow pop – however, the ship was the only thing which descended gently. All of the displaced water and lake-life rained down onto the Hogwarts gathering in a great filthy torrent, wriggling fish and sodden plants scattered everywhere as the students came to life with their disgust, the lines suddenly disrupted as they all shook lakeweed, fish and bugs off of themselves, everyone instantly soaked with murky, faintly salt-tasting water.

A few rows over – Miremark house were lined up in the centre with Hufflepuff and Slytherin to either side, and Gryffindor to the far side of Hufflepuff with Ravenclaw on the other far side – Rhiannon caught sight of Dudley spluttering and shaking himself, something like a fish with legs hanging out of his mouth, and she couldn’t help it – even soaked, stinking of lake water and wet dog, her hair slicked to her face, she burst out laughing helplessly.

The thing wiggled, and Dudley seemed to realise its’ presence as others stopped and turned to stare at him. He opened his mouth, letting the thing drop free, and it bounced where it fell to the stones. Then, to everyone’s amusement, it righted itself and scuttled away on too-long legs that stuck out from its’ otherwise fishlike body, while Dudley spat and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Uh, instinct,” he muttered by way of an explanation, still spitting and wiping his mouth furiously as a red flush traveled up his neck and over his sodden face. “Oh, you have no idea how disgusting that was, pfeughhh – the slime!”

Rhiannon snickered and sighed, then began to rearrange her clothes and hair back into some semblance of order. Clearly, there’d been no point in Minerva’s attempts to have them all be orderly, and Rhiannon stifled a grimace as she brushed her hair out of her face – already she could detect the very distinct wet dog odour that her hair always gave off when it got wet, and mingled with the lake-water, well... Rhiannon wasn’t surprised to notice her housemates wrinkling their noses and edging away. Not that they smelled any better, she grumbled to herself – all their soaps and skin products, shampoos, the remnants of food, their pets and what they’d washed their clothes with – she could smell all of it, and the plastic flower-and-fruit smells were the worst. Maybe humans just needed to get used to weird smells, she thought grumpily – a whiff of sweat was far more bearable that all this.

Someone pressed something round and odd-textured into Rhiannon’s hand and she jumped, startled by the contact, but it was only Lavender. Her blonde friend had crossed over from the Gryffindor line, and by Rhiannon’s best guess the thing she’d pressed into her hand was a spray-bottle of perfume. It didn’t smell as fake as the other clamouring scents, and it had a lower musky scent in it that Rhiannon found interesting, but she still wrinkled her nose and tried to hand it back.

“Yeah, no, you’re soaked. Put the perfume on, you smell of dog, I can fix it better when we get inside but for now, we’re going to be standing here for a bit,” Lavender told her firmly, and at Rhiannon’s bewildered shrug she directed the shorter girl to spray the perfume on each inside wrist, with another light spray below and behind each ear.

Now Rhiannon felt like she was walking in a smoky flower-scented cloud, and it disoriented her. She shook her head, grimaced and handed the bottle back with a frown. “How’d you even know to bring that – wasn’t that a Christmas present from your mum? I – I m-m-mean, I’d think you’d be too scared of breaking it to carry it around all the time.” she asked curiously.

Lavender shrugged and tucked the bottle back into her pocket. “I had a feeling, I guess,” she replied evasively. That was unusual too – Lavender was always direct with Rhiannon. Unusual enough that Rhiannon didn’t want to pry – if Lavender was hiding something, she probably just wanted to think about it some more before she talked about it. “Um – look, the Headmaster wants us to line back up, I’ll fix your hair inside,” she added, and stepped back into the crowd of Gryffindors to Rhiannon’s left.

Just as Lavender had said, Headmaster McGonagall was indeed calling for their attention and Rhiannon gaped as she finally looked properly at the ship that slowly drew closer to the docks behind Minerva. It was truly enormous – something like the ships of the line in Xenophilius’ books, ancient and somehow haunted-looking, like its’ very fibres were held together and preserved with complex magics, giving it a weird shuttered glow. The sails were deep red, faded and patched with sun and salt damage, so the scarlet uniforms of the students standing aboard its’ deck looked even brighter.

There were perhaps a hundred of them or maybe a little less, and at the foot of a plank that extended on its’ own was a steel-haired man in perhaps his late forties to early fifties, dressed in a robe similar to those of the students but coloured white instead and edged in purple. Perhaps he thought the colour scheme made him look like a Roman noble, but to Rhiannon it just emphasised the yellowish, unhealthy cast to his skin. There were dark circles beneath his eyes that rivaled Remus’, and he wore his facial hair trimmed into a neat moustache and goatee to hide the thinness of his lips. At least his hairline wasn’t receding, but the way the curls fell drew Rhiannon’s attention to his eyes – and that was where her dislike settled. There was something off about his expression, the smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and while Rhiannon was more forgiving than most of difficulty with facial expressions, this was something else – a dishonesty, belying every grand gesture and gracious smile he favoured the Hogwarts crowd with. No, Rhiannon didn’t like this man at all, and she’d not even learned his name.

“Hogwarts students, let’s all give our best welcomes, lake-weed and all, to the students of the Durmstrang Institute and their headmaster, Igor Karkaroff,” Minerva introduced them all, sketching a shallow bow over the foreign Headmaster’s hand as he insisted on taking hers. That clearly rankled him, and Rhiannon snickered – Minerva had stolen his role as the man of the introduction. But as the Durmstrang students filtered off the ship, Rhiannon’s suspicious gaze was drawn instead by a familiar hawkish profile, hunch-shouldered and scowling in red school robes. Nina had said he was the youngest international Seeker in a long time...

Nina leaned across from the Miremark line and gripped Rhiannon’s hand so hard her nails left marks, her face even paler than usual under her thick coat of freckles. “Rhi, tell me you’re seeing who I’m seeing,” she whispered, her voice cracking with the effort of keeping it quiet. “That can’t be Viktor Krum.”

Chapter Text

Distance vision wasn’t Rhiannon’s strong suit, but as one of the shorter students she’d been placed near the front of the Hufflepuff column and didn’t have to peer past taller students to see that yes, indeed, the hawk-profiled young man with the shaven-sided ponytail, his red robes edged with silver, standing just a few paces behind the white-robed headmaster was indeed Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker. It made some sense, Rhiannon supposed with a shrug – she’d heard Durmstrang was on the Black Sea which bordered Bulgaria, among numerous other countries – but she hadn’t quite expected an international Quidditch player to still be attending school.

Still, it mattered little. As Rhiannon leaned over to reply, she was dissuaded by a hideous screeching cacophony that rose from the lake, rivalling the whirlpool’s roar for volume but far higher in pitch, sending Rhiannon reeling again and covering her ears in pain. She could barely see, the din was so disorienting, but she could just make out what looked like an enormous grey-green wave that rose out of the lake and moved slowly, deliberately toward the shore. No – not a wave, Rhiannon corrected herself, squinting at the lake – a great line of people of some kind moving across the lake-surface towards the docks. They appeared to be the source of the terrible cacophony, wielding their voices like weapons directed at the Durmstrang and Hogwarts groups alike.
While Rhiannon had no idea what the lake-people were, it seemed Minerva did, and she motioned for the Durmstrang students and faculty to move back, along with the Hogwarts body, while she turned to face the oncoming line with her arms spread wide to show she was unarmed. Rhiannon couldn’t hear what she said, but evidently she said something, because the cacophonous din eased and the lake-people lowered their weapons – a mix of spears, staves, tridents and some that looked more like shepherd’s crooks – into more casual positions. They hovered on the water’s surface by some strange magic of their own, their skin a mixture of brown, black, green, blue and even dull purple, muted tones all touched with an iridescence like mother of pearl, and gills pulsed beneath each one’s jaw. How they were breathing air, Rhiannon did not know, but this was her first real introduction to a wholly non-human culture and it fascinated her.

“Merfolk of Loch Dubh,” Minerva addressed the throng – and immediately Rhiannon understood what was going on. She hadn’t known there was a merfolk civilisation in the Black Lake, but if there was, they were angry – a sudden whirlpool, especially one as large as this had been – must have wreaked havoc underwater. “I was given no warning of this event, only that our visitors would be arriving here. Had I known-” and here she glared at the Durmstrang Headmaster, before continuing in her even-toned address. “Had I known, I would have insisted they travel in a more considerate manner. I imagine you are here because of the underwater damage. How can we help to rectify the situation?”

One merperson, taller than the others with skin of a deep, silvery night-fern green, steely-coloured hair – at least it looked to be hair, but it might have been fins, done in braids or locs of some kind; and wearing a necklace that looked to be made of teeth that marked them out from their companions, bowed their head stiffly to Minerva in what appeared to be a sign of grudging respect. “I am Speaker Talori. The water-storm, it tore up homes. Many are injured, our flocks dispersed or dead, our gardens destroyed. As things stand, we have no sources of food and no shelter, let alone treatment for our wounded. Wizards did this – you should help us fix it.” they replied, their voice low-pitched and gravelly with an accent somewhat similar to a very old form of Scottish as they spoke, as well-spoken in English as Minerva was. An open mouth revealed pointed teeth like a shark’s, which made their mastery of English all the more impressive.

“I can only imagine the damage the maelstrom caused, and you are right – wizards caused it. Durmstrang faculty, you’re there in black, yes? Wonderful. Step forward, all of you. Along with my colleagues, you will be setting up a treatment camp on the shore and in the shallows for the merfolk injured by your travel. Argus, if you could take a message to the kitchen elves for extra food, we can set up a makeshift kitchen here on the docks so that Speaker Talori’s people are fed tonight. Tomorrow and onwards, we will go into the lake and work alongside the merfolk to rebuild their homes, re-plant their fields and re-gather their flocks. Clear?” Minerva told the Durmstrang staff firmly. They bristled and grumbled amongst themselves, but there was no arguing with Minerva McGonagall, and it was a reasonable solution – they had wands that allowed them fine control of a wide range of magic, they could fix what they had damaged in a matter of days.

“This is a fair solution, provided you keep your word... you must understand our caution, but merfolk concerns have had little weight at Hogwarts in previous years,” Talori replied gravely. They turned back to their people and conferred with two other merfolk, one whose skin was so deep a purple as to be almost black and the other a pale greyish-green. Their clothes were simple but clearly well-made and sturdy, cloth of fibres stripped from some kind of lake plant woven into loose-fitting shirts held close to the skin by straps that looked to be made of something like leather but perhaps made from cured plants rather than animal hide, and their weapons clearly had origins as tools rather than being designed for fighting, well-worn with use. Their owners were well-muscled, but even with their wholly unfamiliar body language Rhiannon got the impression that these were farmers, not fighters. And the whirlpool had just torn up their livelihoods.

The merfolk muttered amongst themselves, and at last Talori turned away from the huddle to address the rest of their people and Minerva at once, their hand clasped with that of the purple-black-skinned merperson who, by their body language, Rhiannon guessed might be Talori’s partner. “I will leave my trusted Keeper Muirgheal here with you and your people to coordinate matters of emergency stations while I and my warriors gather the weak and wounded. She is my equal, and my people will defer to her as they do me – and protect her the same.” Talori told Minerva at last, gesturing with their clasped hand – evidently Keeper Muirgheal was their purple-skinned partner. With a last stiff nod to Minerva and the staff of both Hogwarts and Durmstrang, Talori released their partner’s hand and the two touched noses in an affectionate way, before they and their contingent of followers turned and made their way into deeper water, slowly descending by way of their magic until they were deep enough to dive, the last sight of them being a scattered flash of iridescent tail fins in the last rays of sunlight.

Minerva sighed gustily, and gestured for Professors Flitwick and Tonks, along with about half of the Durmstrang faculty to head off along the shoreline towards a low, sloping pebbled bank that would be easy to bring the injured merfolk up on, while the purple-skinned Keeper followed them along the shoreline at a distance, speaking to them in a similar accent to Talori though too distant for Rhiannon to hear. The Durmstrang Headmaster, now that the tense engagement had concluded, turned to Minerva, his face red and posture furious. “You may be principal of the host school, but you can’t simply – assign my staff as you see fit!” Headmaster Karkaroff snapped angrily.

Minerva held up a hand for silence, and whatever further protest Karkaroff meant to make was cut short. “You are guests here, at my school and in this country. Lochs safe from human encroachment are already rare, and even fewer are still suitable for merfolk habitation. Speaker Talori’s people are one of very few groups of Scottish freshwater merfolk that still live, and I take our treaty with them seriously. You told us where you would arrive, but not in what manner, and the manner you chose was profoundly irresponsible and damaging to an entire hidden town of people. Since you caused this damage, your people will help remedy it – unless you would prefer I report you to the International Confederation of Wizards for improper communication of travel plans, and damage done to the environment of your hosts including harm to a community under their protection. Clear?” she told him coldly. Rhiannon had heard that tone before, levelled on Dumbledore and the Minister for Magic alike. Karkaroff had the strength of will of neither, and he quailed under Minerva’s frosty glare, slinking back into place at the head of the remaining Durmstrang staff members.

“With that settled,” Minerva continued, dusting off her robes and turning to face the Hogwarts students, “we are going to take ourselves a way back up the hill and assemble outside the castle gates to await our guests from Beauxbatons. Everyone, please take the time to clean yourselves up and straighten your uniforms, ask your older housemates if you’re not sure of the right spells.” she instructed them all, and flapped her hands at the student body in a shooing sort of motion, indicating for them all to move off in the direction she’d indicated.

The Durmstrang students stood together in a stiff sort of huddle, marked out from the Hogwarts crowd as much by their comparative cleanliness as by their red uniforms, and Minerva clearly realised she’d neglected to tell them where to stand. “Ah – Durmstrang students, form up behind our Hogwarts students there on the hill in front of the castle,” she added, and the red-robed students shuffled off along with the Hogwarts ones, red robes intermingling among the black. Rhiannon sniffed and wrinkled her nose – she thought she could smell other nonhumans, but the environment was such a mess of new smells, her nose was assailed with the salt reek off the Durmstrang students’ clothes, that she couldn’t pick out anyone in particular. And that set her on edge, leaving her itchy and irritable as she limped up the hill with her yellow-and-black-robed housemates.

Someone touched Rhiannon’s hand, and she startled, before realising it was only Lavender. “Hey, easy, it’s just me,” Lavender reassured her softly. “Let me clean you up, then can you get the muck off the back of my robes? I can’t reach.”

Rhiannon shivered and nodded, hugging her robes close to protect from the chill wind blowing off the lake. Normally she’d be resistant to the cold, werewolves ran hotter than humans did, but she was soaked and the wind cut her right to the skin. Lavender drew her pale firwood wand and surrounded them both with a whirling curtain of warm air that dried them in moments. Rhiannon’s hair was now a mess, of course, and Lavender sighed and approached with her wand raised. “Exporrigo,” she murmured, running her wand gently across the curly mess that was Rhiannon’s hair. Rhiannon sighed and closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of Lavender’s gentle fingers in her hair. It wasn’t romantic, not the way it was with Hermione or Luna, but she was a pack creature and she enjoyed the mutual grooming aspect of it, it was comforting. Grounding.

Some time later, when the Hogwarts student body had mostly cleaned themselves up and Rhiannon’s hair was free of the smell of dog, Headmaster Minerva coughed and motioned for them to form back up into their ordered rows, with Durmstrang forming another behind them. Just distantly, on the very edge of her dulled hearing, Rhiannon caught wind of a strange thrumming sound. Not an approaching hurricane like the sound of the whirlpool, this was a more natural sound – though Rhiannon couldn’t quite pick out what it was.

“What is that, a bird?” Harry Pace, who was standing a row behind Rhiannon, asked, and pointed up over her shoulder to where a black speck was barely visible against the rapidly darkening sky.

Rhiannon snorted. “Yeah, no – giant avifauna are functionally extinct, there’s no way they’d be allowed to use them for transport,” she replied drily. But Harry was half-right, she thought – that sound was wingbeats, just made by something larger than Rhiannon had ever encountered in person.

“Looks more like a house,” Padma mused, as the speck drew closer, and in all honesty Rhiannon envied her friend’s distance vision because all she could see was a smudge.

“Whatever it is, the Mac’ll have our hides if we’re all out of line again,” Sapphire Blackhorn commented. She was one of Rhiannon’s roommates that she didn’t know quite so well, heavy-set and soft-spoken despite being fairly tall for fourteen, and it seemed her fear of being punished by the Headmaster had overridden her shyness for a moment, long enough for her to speak up.

Cedric, several rows behind them, coughed and waited for their attention. “Sapphire’s got a point – Beauxbatons have a reputation for being a little particular about etiquette, so get back in your lines and hush, we can chat all we like at the feast after,” he ordered them. It was a testament to Hufflepuff House’s respect of him that they did actually fall silent, and shuffled back into their neat lines with eyes fixed on the sky as the bird-house-smudge, whatever it was, drew nearer in the twilight.

The first thing Rhiannon recognised after the wingbeats, being too shortsighted to make out the nature of it by shape, was a smell, one she was intimately familiar with as it clung to the heavy, scratchy blankets she’d long used for comfort. Horse. Magical, odd somehow, but the smell was certainly equine in nature. Now, Rhiannon could guess what the smudge was, and why Padma had thought it could be a house – it was something, maybe a carriage, drawn by winged horses. Probably Abraxans, being the largest they’d be most able to provide power for something that housed a hundred students within.

As the Beauxbatons unit drew closer, Rhiannon could now see that she was right. The ‘house-thing’ was indeed a carriage, enormous, powder-blue with gold trimmings and presumably magically extended on the inside as the Weasleys’ tents at the Quidditch World Cup had been. It was drawn by a great team of winged horses – Abraxans by the size, just as Rhiannon had guessed; harnessed in seven rows of three horses each. Several were golden with pale manes and tails, as was the perfect ideal for breeders of the species, but many were pale cream with pink skin, red and orange chestnuts or even patched and spotted with white. A few were bay, one was black, there were several greys – evidently they had been chosen for their strength, rather to match as was more traditional. Rhiannon wasn’t particularly good with prey animals, especially those so large as Abraxans, but she had some experience with them and it wasn’t hard to see the beauty in the great winged beasts, powerful muscles rippling under their sleek coats, batlike, leathery wings flexing and arching as they stooped in the sky and prepared to land.

And land they did, in a thunder of hooves that shook the hillside and sent dust and clods of grass flying. The carriage must have been supported by magic to touch down behind them, but magic was still best operated within the bounds of physics and the horses took around a hundred metres or so to slow safely with the carriage bound behind them. When they halted, the edge of the carriage was roughly level with the Hogwarts student body with the train of horses assembled in a line out before them, all stamping and shaking their heads and flicking their tails impatiently.

The carriage door creaked open and from it emerged a woman in stately charcoal high-collared robes embroidered in a colour only shades lighter than the base fabric so they glistened in the fading light, who, as she unfolded herself to her full height, stood taller even than Hagrid. Against her formally colourless garb, the unfamiliar woman’s hair glowed a deep rich auburn and her eyes, set under stern brows, were a clever dark brown. This could only be the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, and as far as first impressions went, this woman commanded a lot more attention than Headmaster Karkaroff had. Her students were dressed neatly in a much more formal, old-fashioned uniform than the Hogwarts robes, and Rhiannon felt distinctly scruffy as they filed out of the carriage and formed a neat set of rows behind their principal.

“Welcome, Headmistress Maxime,” Minerva greeted the tall woman with a much more genuine bow than she had afforded Karkaroff, stepping forward for a slightly mismatched handshake. “For all my misgivings about this tournament, I am delighted to share our school with our overseas magical kin. I hope that Beauxbatons in particular will help guide our school into a new age of acceptance and diversity.”

The Beauxbatons Headmistress, Maxime as she had been called, smiled a crooked smile and bowed politely over their clasped hands. “Laying it on a little thick, Minerva?” Rhiannon heard her whisper, too low to be heard by a regular human, and she snickered to herself.

“Oh, hush, it might be a bit thick but it’s a fair point, you are the only one of our three schools with inclusive policies,” Minerva whispered back, again inaudible to anyone with ordinary hearing, before she straightened up and gestured expansively to the students of all three schools. “Now, I’m sure you’re all sick of standing around out here, it’s getting dark so why don’t you all get on inside for the feast. Students from Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, I assume your teachers have informed you prior which Hogwarts house you will be staying with for your time here. We’ve made room for you at the five house tables, and I expect our students to make you welcome – on pain of detention.” she announced, followed by a little ripple of laughter at her wry joke. The Hogwarts students were all well aware of Headmaster McGonagall’s expectations, and the punishments for falling short of them – which would be made all the more embarrassing by the fact that they were really very simple and reasonable expectations.

Minerva adjusted her grip on her wand and loosed a fluttering yellow orb of light that sailed across the students’ heads towards the castle, and from behind them there was a thunderous grinding sound as the great entrance doors creaked open under the power of the Headmaster’s spell. In a movement that had been drilled into them for a solid week, the Hogwarts students all turned as one to face the castle and split down the middle of the Miremark column, creating a neat pathway that their guests could walk through once the Durmstrang students had entered.

Evidently Minerva gave them some sort of signal, for the red-clad Durmstrang teenagers turned and filed into the castle – not half as neatly as the Hogwarts students’ lines, but Rhiannon supposed they hadn’t been drilled in it. She wondered why she cared about that sort of petty one-upmanship and decided it was probably because with their scruffy uniforms, it was nice that they had something over the other schools. She liked her pack to be strong – and while she didn’t normally think of the whole school as her pack, they were a little that way in this particular instance.

Now that the Beauxbatons students had arrived and everyone was drying out, Rhiannon couldn’t help at least trying to search for other nonhumans. She inhaled deeply, and sneezed almost immediately, then wrinkled her nose in irri t ation. The perfume Lavender had used to conceal her wet dog smell also foiled her senses – there might be other nonhumans out there, she thought she could catch a hint of animalian smells, but the pleasant fruit-and-musk scent thoroughly prevented her from finding anything more specific. Perhaps that had been Lavender’s intention, she thought grumpily – she couldn’t growl at any nonhumans she couldn’t find, and Lavender must have known she wouldn’t risk growling on suspicion. No, Rhiannon decided with a sigh as she watched the Beauxbatons students file inside in neat lines, she’d just have to wait and see who ended up in her dormitory room and sort things out from there. She was fourteen, not four. She’d resisted the silly urges to urinate on the walls thus far, however much she felt like a wolf she had to behave like a person, and that meant smiles, not growling. New people were always scary, she reminded herself, but most of them were potential new friends. Why should she view other nonhumans any differently?

Chapter Text

When the foreign delegations had gone on ahead, Headmaster McGonagall motioned for the Hogwarts students to turn and follow on inside while she and her staff – at least, those who were not helping the merfolk - brought up the rear. When the last had crossed the threshold, the doors closed behind them with a creak and a crunch, and the students traipsed quietly down the hallway to the Great Hall, where they then separated into their five formal groups and settled themselves at their tables. There were already foreign students seated in small groups along all five tables, and Rhiannon found herself sandwiched on the near end of the Hufflepuff table between Padma and Harry, with a group of Beauxbatons students to their left.

Now that they were closer, Rhiannon was more certain that she could smell nonhumans – but unfamiliar ones. Two of the three beside them were certainly something other than human, but not ‘wolves either, and Rhiannon felt it would probably be rude to ask them outright at the public dining tables. One of them almost looked a little like Rhiannon herself, short, tawny-skinned and dark-haired, the sleeves of their pale blue uniform rolled up to show forearms heavily striped with scars from what looked to be claws; though they were stocky where Rhiannon was just skinny. Still, Rhiannon was sure she caught a flash of tapetum lucidum in the candlelight, before the Beauxbatons student hastily averted their head.

Their companion, on the other hand, wasn’t even trying to blend in. He was even paler-skinned than Draco Malfoy, his eyes narrow, slit-pupilled and pale blue; and his hair the colourless silver-white one might expect from someone sixty years older. But that wasn’t even what stood out most. As Rhiannon tilted her head back and forth curiously, something flickered in the corner of her eye, vanishing every time she tried to look at it directly. Thoughtfully, she turned her gaze away and tried her best to take note of the shift in her peripheral vision instead, and once she seized on it, she gasped aloud in wonder. The boy had horns, pale and curling like a ram’s back under his ears which, in Rhiannon’s periphery, were visibly pointed. Not a werewolf for certain... but what was he? The world of nonhumans was clearly a lot bigger than Rhiannon had thought it.

The white-haired boy caught her staring and grinned, revealing unusually pointed teeth against his rosebud lips – he was pretty, too, and Rhiannon had to be honest with herself that she wasn’t just staring because he looked so unusual. “I only bite if you ask nicely,” the boy drawled, his accent an odd mixture of what sounded like Irish, and French.

Rhiannon spluttered and turned scarlet while Harry burst out laughing, but she was saved from responding by a rustle of motion and a throat-clearing cough from Headmaster Minerva. “Now, before we begin, there are a handful of announcements. Our foreign students will be sharing your dormitories, so if you are in fourth year or above please do be ready for some extra companions for the year – and you will make them welcome, or I’ll want to know why.” she informed them all sternly. Rhiannon flushed and met the sharp-toothed boy’s gaze with a sheepish smile, and made a point of not flinching back from the candlelight so that if he were looking, he would see the reflective glow in her eyes. She’d seen through his glamour, it seemed only fair... and being nice to the nonhuman students probably had to start with being honest to them.

To Rhiannon’s surprise, it wasn’t the horned boy who responded, it was his dark-haired companion. They grinned, revealing short, sharp teeth, and raised a hand to rearrange their thick hair so that their ears showed through – small, furred and rounded, flicking delicately to catch or shrink from every sound in the hall. A wildcat’s ears. “So you’re not so prickly after all, wolf-girl,” they teased, but Rhiannon noted they kept their voice low – no one beyond the two of them, the horned boy and Harry would be able to hear the exchange. “A little hint, from someone who’s been doing it for years... it’s easier, to get on with others like us, if you aren’t trying so hard to pretend we aren’t the same.”

Rhiannon bit her lip. The wildcat student was right. Despite how much healthier she was than Remus, she was in the same position and in some ways, worse off. Her status as a werewolf was a secret and it isolated her even from her would-be friends and allies. “I don’t think I’m ready, to be brave like that,” she whispered. “I can’t, help anyone, if I’m just trying to avoid getting yelled at, I can’t – I can’t screw this up, I’ve only got one shot at making the right kind of difference.”

The cat-eared Beauxbatons student snorted derisively. Rhiannon flinched and stared, and they shook their head, already wearing a tired smile. “I’m sorry, but – that’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. You don’t have to be some kind of spokesperson starting out, or even at all. I’m not the Indian Ambassador to Beauxbatons just because my grandparents are from there. What makes you special?”

Rhiannon grimaced. She liked the wildcat student’s refreshing honesty, and for anyone else it would have been an arrogant hangup. But she wasn’t anyone else, she was Rhiannon Potter, and that meant her every action was scrutinised. Rather than snap back – it wasn’t this student’s fault she hadn’t recognised her, perhaps the fact she was Rhiannon Potter and not Harry wasn’t as well known outside of Britain – Rhiannon pushed aside the messy locks of her fringe, revealing the branching near-white scar that stood out starkly in her sandy brown skin.

The wildcat student gasped, and their curiously yellow-centered brown eyes softened in sympathy. “Oh... oh you’re him. Or her, I suppose, that’s... wow. I’m sorry – no wonder,” they murmured.

Harry, who had been silent through their exchange, turned a barbed grin on the foreign student. “Yeah, she’s Rhiannon Potter, I’m Harry, sorry for the mixup,” they replied. Their tone seemed light-hearted, but Rhiannon didn’t miss the cautious, calculating gleam in their violet eyes or the tension in the set of their shoulders.

The Beauxbatons student put their hands up hastily. “Oh, no, no, that’s not it, easy – I’m genderqueer,” they explained quickly. “I was just surprised – no wonder you’re so anxious about how to come out, with that kind of scrutiny on you. My name’s Savita, and this guy’s Brynmor – Bryn. I’m a werelion, but I use some potions so I can keep my ears and tail, it’s too weird not having that. Had to cook up a different one for tonight, so I could hide them under my hair. Bryn’s fair folk, I know you spotted the horns through the glamour. Beauxbatons has a bit of a weird culture around nonhumans, but at least we can be mostly out, we don’t usually cover up back home – Madame Maxime warned us it might be different here so we were just being cautious. But, you’re one of us, so – you should hang out some time, you and any of your friends that know. Even if you can’t be out yet, you shouldn’t have to be all on your own.”

Rhiannon let go of a sigh she didn’t even know she was holding, and felt herself relax more than she had in weeks since learning they’d have visitors. “Yeah, I... I’d like that,” she replied quietly, and gradually allowed herself a smile. “I’ve, n-n-n-n-n-never actually met other nonhumans, ‘cept for my brother and my godfather. Godfather-in-law? Dad. Near enough.”

Savita grimaced. “Really? Merde, you must’ve been so nervous, I know I was when I started school, and even then my family’s pretty big so I knew a bit. Um – what year are you in, I might know if there’s any of ours rooming with you – we have a kind of ‘freaks’ club at school, we all know eachother.”

“Fourth,” Harry replied for Rhiannon with a shrug. “If there’s nonhumans in our room, they’ll want to watch out for Lisa and Basil, they’re dicks to people who stick out and that’s even without knowing what Rhi is.”

Rhiannon grumbled to herself, thinking about the roommates who liked to hide her belongings. As if she couldn’t smell them in her chest and know. As if she didn’t know who’d hung her training bra on the bannister post. “Yeah, if they can jinx your stuff so nobody can get in it, they might want to think about doing that,” she added, with a wry smile back at Harry. She knew perfectly well that they’d gotten detention twice this term already for fighting those two on her behalf, but she also knew there was no point in challenging them over it. Harry didn’t respond well to ultimatums.

Savita wrinkled their nose. “Really? That’s childish. Um, fourth-years, Hufflepuff... I think you’ve got Cassandre, and you might have Audrey too, plus I think three regular humans? Wait, no, Audrey’s in with the sixth-years, you’ve got Aurélien. He thinks it’s really funny to turn his head right around – owl Veela, he’s got extra neck bones, it’s so weird but he’s a laugh – or, a hoot, I suppose. Sandie’s a werewolf too, go easy on her, she startles easy and her English is awful so she might not be able to explain why she’s so freaked out.”

Rhiannon winced in sympathy. “I – I th-th-think your English is better than mine,” she quipped wryly. “I, I dunno, stupid pack brain is getting all prickly thinking about another werewolf in my room, but... I don’t want to be a bitch to someone new like that.”

Savita shrugged easily. “English is my... third language? No, fourth, but I’m a bit rusty in Hindi. There’s a lot of relation between French and English, learning this after that was dead easy – and there’s no weird gendering.” they replied with a grin. “And, as for the pack brain – well, bluntly, no. You don’t. I get it too, any were of a territorial species will. But we can’t piss on walls and growl at eachother, we have to figure out how to coexist. I’ll tell Sandie we talked, that’ll make things easier, but she’s like my little sister so, I know you’re a kid and all but, be decent to her.” they finished firmly, a warning growl rising in their throat.

Rhiannon flushed, embarrassed just at the thought she’d been so territorial earlier, and held up her hands quickly in a gesture of surrender. Harry cackled, and Savita cracked a smile, just in time for the hollow crash like a recorded gong that rang throughout the hall, the signal that preceded dinner. She had entirely tuned out all the rest of Minerva’s announcements, and now it was time for their food to arrive. Rhiannon flinched and covered her ears to protect them from the high-pitched shriek of the enchantment filling the plates with food, and her stomach roiled unpleasantly at the smells that combined with the ozone stink of transportation magic.

Typically, Hogwarts meals consisted of traditional British fare, roast meats and vegetables with gravy, pies and quiches, savoury puddings, everything within the albeit rather limited spectrum of British – and in that, mostly English – food traditions. This year was a little different. Rhiannon wasn’t exactly experienced when it came to food from other cultures, but she was fairly sure she recognised dishes from France and north-eastern Europe – that made sense, given where their visitors were from. Navigating all of it required a lot of surreptitious sniffing, as nobody had bothered to label which had what ingredients, and the last thing Rhiannon felt like doing was fleeing the hall in search of a bathroom with so many new people watching.

Dinner took longer than usual, with all the back and forth conversation. Apparently many of Rhiannon’s peers had been under the mistaken impression that Durmstrang was located in the far north, in Scandinavia or Siberia – never mind that those two places were nowhere near eachother either – and the Durmstrang students seemed to get a laugh out of correcting them. “We came here in a ship,” one boy pointed out from a way down the table. “And not the sort of ship you can sail that far north. I knew Durmstrang were, secretive, is that it? Yes – secretive about the location, but really – this is something else.”

After dinner, desserts were served and much to Rhiannon’s surprise she found herself enjoying the crowd who, by now, had settled into quiet, harmonious chatter. Usually formal feasts were exhausting with so many conversation snippets within her hearing, but the mixture of languages helped to assuage that – Rhiannon spoke only English, so she simply wasn’t able to listen in on many of the conversations, something she simply couldn’t help doing with her oversensitive hearing. But finally it was almost time for bed, and Rhiannon was grateful for Savita’s reassurance about Cassandre as she waited uncomfortable for the signal they could leave. It prickled on her senses, that faint but certain impression of another werewolf, and Rhiannon couldn’t keep the hair from prickling on her arms as she sat, arms crossed and fidgeting in her seat.

“You could learn to speak French,” Padma suggested wryly – Rhiannon had been a poor student in their brief course on languages before the foreign students arrived. “No, don’t look at me like that – maybe it would help you get on with the new students, bond over how bad you both are at your second language,”

Rhiannon burst out laughing at that. “I – I-I-I-I-I-I-Iii – I think I’ll stick to beetle mishaps, thanks – n-n-n-no need to expand the list of things I’m bad at,” she replied, still laughing. That wasn’t entirely fair to her, to be truthful. Under Professor Barron’s tutelage, Rhiannon was fast becoming one of the best students in their Transfiguration class, and the beetle mishap she referred to had been more an accident born of her newfound competence than a lack of such, as she had finally got the hang of button to beetle Transfigurations and forgotten that a properly formed beetle might fly when startled – and that beetles so large were also quite heavy projectiles in flight.

“In fairness, it was a pretty impressive mishap,” Harry quipped, taking Rhiannon’s arm to help her down another flight of stairs. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many beetles, that large, and that panicked. Hands down the best Transfiguration lesson yet.”

“I was just experimenting!” Rhiannon yelped, mortified. “I just, wanted to s-s-s-s-s-ssss-see how many I could do at once!”

Hannah, across the table from them, burst out laughing. “And your answer to that was ‘everybody’s spare buttons, all at once?’ I mean, that’s some overachieving,” she teased, but there was no malice in it.

Rhiannon would’ve flattened her ears, had hers been adaptable in that way. Maybe she’d ask Savita for the potions they used to keep their tail and ears, once she had come out. “I didn’t mean to do everyone’s,” she grumbled. “I was just, curious.”

“So, were you curious how they tasted too?” Padma inquired drily.

By now, Rhiannon realised she had no chance of keeping her dignity, and she drooped in her seat. “Honestly – yes,” she admitted ruefully. “And th-t-t-tth-the answer is, not great. But very crunchy. Good to chase. Hey, everyone k-k-k-k-k-kept complaining this has no real-world use, right, but – it’s useful t-t-t-to me! Heh, I can make my own toys now. Didn’t think of that.”

Padma rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. “Honestly, how you’ve kept under cover this long, I don’t know,” she replied with a groan. “You could at least try to blend in.”

Rhiannon shrugged and stuck her tongue out, but she was saved from responding by a short, sharp ting sound, metal on glass or something similar, that silenced the student chatter and drew their eyes to where, at the head of the room, Minerva stood flanked by two wizards from the Ministry that Rhiannon had, in all honesty, entirely failed to notice amongst the Hogwarts faculty, dressed in black with only badges to mark them as Ministry personnel. But now that they were closer, Rhiannon could make out their faces – Ludo Bagman, Arthur’s friend; and Mr Crouch – the man who had fired his elf so cruelly.

“Attention, students. Now that our guests have arrived and we have all finished our meal, there is one final matter before we can all go to bed,” Minerva began, favouring her Ministry companions with a tense, thin-lipped smile. “Every Triwizard Tournament begins with the unveiling of the Goblet of Fire, so that prospective champions may enter. Before I hand things over to our officiants, I would like to remind my own students and our guests that you need not feel pressured to enter. To our guests, you are all here as exchange students – a chance to compete in the Tournament is only secondary, and you are welcome regardless of whether you enter your names. And to all of you, once again – if your name is drawn, there is no possibility of withdrawal, and I urge you to remember that before any of you enter your names. Now, to our officials.” she finished, and stepped back with a grimace so that the two Ministry wizards could share the stand.

The shorter of the two, Ludo Bagman, looked as if he wanted to speak but his taller companion glared and took a position behind the podium, leaving Bagman to stand awkwardly to the side. “As the name implies, three champions are selected to compete in the Triwizard Tournament,” Mr. Crouch began, his tone just as fussy and sharp as Rhiannon remembered, and she curled her lip with dislike. “One student will represent each school, and as is traditional, these competitors will be chosen by a truly impartial selector – the Goblet of Fire. As a historically significant artifact of great magical power, it is ours only by the grace of the British Museum of Magic, and will be layered in protective spells when it is not under guard. Any tampering or damage may incur international consequences. Now, Mr. Filch, the Goblet?”

There was a squeaking sound and Rhiannon turned to see the school caretaker, Argus Filch, pushing an enormous, ornamental box on what sounded like a wheeled trolley before him. No, not a box, Rhiannon revised as Filch drew closer to the front of the hall. A chest. He leaned his shoulder into it and attempted to shift the trolley from under it, until finally Ludo Bagman relented and flicked his wand at the pair of them, levitating the chest off the trolley and setting it neatly on the floor. He gave Filch a cursory nod, and Rhiannon bristled at the way he treated the caretaker like a servant. Filch prickled too, and drew himself upright with a huff, but at a glance from Minerva he deflated and stalked back out of the room, looking for all the world like a very offended cat.

“Now, the Goblet,” Ludo Bagman announced, and rapped his wand on the lid of the chest. It stood as tall as his shoulder, so he had to stretch to reach it. The lid creaked open, and from within rose an enormous goblet easily elbow-height to an average-height adult. In stark comparison to its’ container, the goblet was plain and roughly-carved from an unimpressive grey stone. Its’ only decoration was a carved pattern in a simple ring around the outside of the rim, stylised impressions of unicorns, phoenixes and dragons all dancing together around the outside of the cup – the heraldic icons of all three schools. Rhiannon had been dragged to museums on many school trips, and this cup would have looked entirely unremarkable amongst the many other goblets, chalices and cups all from different eras. Entirely unremarkable except, that was, for the pale blue-white flames that filled it to the brim, spilling over and curling around the rough stem like charmed water.

“Any student who wishes to submit themself as a candidate for the Tournament will place their name in the fire. Submitting someone else’s name carries the severest of penalties, most of all if it is chosen, as there is no withdrawing. Asking someone else to submit your name instead of their own is at best foolhardy, not to mention cheating. The goblet represents a binding magical contract, and once the names are drawn the tournament begins. You will have just under three weeks, until the eleventh of October, to submit your names. Once the champions are chosen, the Tournament will begin in earnest, with the first of three tasks scheduled for the 24^th of November. These tasks will test your knowledge, your creativity, your magical prowess and your daring, so be quite sure you are prepared for the dangers you will face before entering.” Crouch told them all tersely. In another speaker, his words might been ominous, but the thin man’s papery voice managed to suck the life out of everything he said.

By some unspoken signal, Minerva stepped forward and took over the levitation enchantment from Mr. Bagman, whereupon she set the goblet down on the ground and flicked her wand, sending its’ chest sailing across the room, where it settled itself neatly on the floor in a far corner. Then, her steps measured and rhythmic, she set off on a path around the goblet. Sky-blue magic trailed from her wand in a thick cord that settled heavily on the floor and then sank into it, following Minerva’s path around and around until there was a solid wall of warm blue light that almost hid the goblet from view.

“This,” Minerva told them all as she halted beside the shimmering circle, “is an Age Line. It will exclude any under the age of seventeen, save those who will come of age by October 11^th. And while I know many of you are gifted mages, I have many more years of experience than you do – and my spells will not be fooled by such measures as Aging Potions. Should you try to fool the spell, it will backfire.”

With that, the Headmaster turned and strode back to her chair at the faculty table, looking distinctly disgruntled as she went and not even bothering to offer either Crouch or Bagman so much as a nod of acknowledgement. Bagman coughed and winced but he took the opportunity to step up to the stand and continue where Crouch and Minerva had left off.

“The prize for the winner will be thirteen thousand galleons – thirteen being a lucky number for us magical folk, after all, and with the challenges we’ve cooked up for you, you’ll be needing all the luck we have spare!” Bagman announced, and rubbed his hands together with a glee that concerned Rhiannon. Students had died in this competition before, why was an officiant getting so excited? And thirteen thousand galleons... that was a hefty prize, and one that might sway the minds of poorer students who might have otherwise stayed clear of the risky event. Already, from across the hall, Rhiannon could hear eager murmurs. Hogwarts was a fee-paying school for those who could afford it only, and that prize money could be life-changing for all too many of her fellows. Even Minerva’s stern warnings might not dissuade some – and Rhiannon could think of a red-haired pair of twins in particular – from attempting to tamper with the Age Line and enter.

“And with that announcement, consider the Triwizard Tournament formally opened – and the evening meal concluded. Rules for students out of bed at night have been relaxed for the duration of the entry period so that shyer would-be champions may enter without an audience. You are all dismissed.” Mr Crouch told them stiffly.

Rhiannon curled her lip – as far as she was concerned, Mr Crouch didn’t have the authority to dismiss her. But she caught sight of Remus’ stern glare from the faculty table and held her peace, satisfying herself instead with a glare as she stood, fetched her cane and began to limp from the hall.

“Bet you’re upset about that Age Line, hey Potter? Missing out on another chance to have everyone’s attention?” Zacharias Smith, a third-year, sneered as Rhiannon joined the trail of Hufflepuffs leading out of the hall.

“Uh, n-no thanks, I like the whole, al-l-l-l-l-live thing,” Rhiannon grumbled, embarrassment staining her cheeks a dull red-purple. It took some serious projection for these people to think she wanted attention, when she’d spent almost every moment of her time in the waking world hiding from her fame. Thanks to winning the lottery of birth, her parents had left her enough money that she’d never have to work unless she wanted to, so it wasn’t like she was enticed by the prize money either. No, as far as the Triwizard Tournament was concerned, Rhiannon wanted to stay as far away from it as possible.

“If you liked being alive so much, why’d you confront a mass murderer?” Zacharias’ roommate Solveig Frederiksen snipped back.

Now, insults, Rhiannon could take. And she was used to them. But that was such a low-hanging fruit even for school bullies that she couldn’t just let it slide. “S-s-s-s-,” she stammered, then took a deep breath and started again. “Sirius B-b-Black was cleared of all charges by a full trial of the Wizengamot, and was never tried at all in the first place,” Rhiannon retorted. Small victories perhaps, but she was proud of herself for managing to say all that coherently. “He’s my godfather, not a murderer. The actual m-m-m-m-m-m-urd-d-d-derer slept in our dormitory, for three years.”

Apparently, the two third-years had no response ready for that, and they sloped away into the crowd leaving Rhiannon to her ill temper. “You know, I see what you mean about some of your peers,” Savita commented drily, pushing their way through the crowd to Rhiannon’s side. Standing, Rhiannon could now see the werelion was only a couple of inches taller than she was herself, although much more physically imposing with their superior muscle and a sort of slinking confidence in their movements. “I suppose bigotry is a universal language.”

Rhiannon shrugged, and managed a lopsided grin. “Good thing ‘fuck off’ is universal too,” she replied wearily.

“Ah – one of the first English words I learned,” another girl chipped in, sidling through the crowd to a position beside Savita as they all made their way downstairs. Her speech was heavily French-accented, and her manner hesitant, but there was a genuinely eager light in the crooked smile on her lips.

Savita snickered. “And one of the most useful. Rhiannon Potter, Cassandre Bellavance,” they introduced the two of them with a friendly gesture.

Rhiannon took another look at the new girl, curious and evaluating. Cassandre, or Sandie as Savita had referred to her previously, was surprisingly tall for someone whose presence was otherwise so delicate, of a similar build to Rhiannon and scarred alike as well, the myriad criss-crossing marks tinted a stark blue-purple in her light fawn skin. Her hair was black, silky and cut in a wing-shape that just brushed her chin, and as they passed a torch, Rhiannon caught sight of the reflection that shone back from her deep brown-black eyes.

This, she recalled, was the werewolf. But, if Rhiannon was honest with herself, she wouldn’t have needed Savita’s forewarning to know that. No, there was something very familiar in the French girl’s energy, her very being. Something that in Dudley and in Remus, although deeper buried there, that made them pack – and in Cassandre, made her at the very least, familiar.

The forewarning was helpful, though, in readying Rhiannon for that familiarity. Without it, she knew herself well enough to know that she might have prickled and growled simply at finding the familiar where she had not expected it. Finding something so intrinsically known in a stranger would be a jarring thing. Would it be like this with every werewolf? Somehow, Rhiannon doubted it – not every werewolf was like her, like them. But Rhiannon trusted her instincts – they were alike, and not just in the animal nature they shared.

“Uh, hi, Cassandre,” Rhiannon stuttered, realising she’d been just staring into space. “Sorry, I’ve – only met two others, and one’s my brother.”

Cassandre’s awkward smile resolved itself into a more genuine one. “It, must be very nice to have a brother who is – um – comment tu es – how you are? Je m’excuse, my English is – not good.”

Rhiannon took a breath, and resolved to be nice. A less threatening presence than Cassandre, she could not think of. “No worse than my French,” she replied affably. “And yeah – it is. I don’t think I could’ve done this on my own, like most do. Like, I guess, you did. I- I’m s-s-s-sorry, I’m bad at the whole New People thing but, I won’t be prickly on purpose just, maybe in the mornings. Takes me a minute to get my bearings and with a new smell, I’ll be... aaaaand I’m rambling.”

Cassandre relaxed and grinned openly. “Fidèle pourrait vous dire – ah, Fidèle, could say about – my first week at Beauxbâtons, I growled at him every morning,” she replied with a giggle. “I forgot he was there and then he called breakfast.”

Savita snickered. “General shape of it is, we get that nonhuman roommates are going to have some teething issues. Just, try to keep the actual teeth out of it, will you?” they suggested.

Cassandre held a hand up quickly, indicating that she wished to speak but hadn’t quite got her words in order. “Ah – unless it’s nuit de pleine lune, in which case – I think the expression is, fair game?” she added. Rhiannon and Savita both cackled at that, and for the first time, the prospect of full moon with new companions was an exciting one, rather than frightening.

The three of them, Padma and Harry having got lost in the crowd, chattered amiably back and forth as they slowly made their way downstairs to the Hufflepuff common room. Cedric and Esther stood by, showing their guests how to open the door, and once they were inside it was the visitors’ turns to be amazed. “You have a whole tree in here?” Savita murmured, gazing around in wonder. “We’re so much closer to the outside than at Beauxbatons, it’s incredible.”

Rhiannon murmured a quiet agreement, but she was interrupted by a yawn. “Yeah, it’s – I was Gryffind-d-d-dor f-f-for three years but, this is – well, I like it in here.”

Cassandre stretched, yawned and groaned as her back, shoulders and elbows clunked in an ugly sort of way – one that Rhiannon was very familiar with. The full moon, as it happened, was only three nights away – no wonder they were both feeling a little worn out and cranky. “It is, nice and all but, I need sleep.” she replied, only to be cut off by another yawn.

“Hear, hear,” Rhiannon groaned. “Follow me, if there’s a spare bed near to mine you can h-h-h-ave it,”

With that, they both said their weary farewells to Savita and set off in search of the fourth-year dormitory. Earlier in the day, there had been only the usual ten beds but now, sixteen had been crammed into the space which Rhiannon suspected had been magically enlarged for the purpose and, as Rhiannon had hoped there might be, there was a spare bed to the side of Harry’s that Cassandre could use – which kept Basil and Lisa safely on the far side of the room. Cassandre flopped straight into the spare bed, while Rhiannon, unable to bear the anxiety of waiting for the room to fill up, grabbed her pyjamas and a towel and limped for the showers.

Luckily, the bathroom was mostly empty and Rhiannon could get ready for bed in peace. She usually preferred a morning shower, but it was certainly easier to sleep when her full moon aches had been eased by hot water. And by the time she had returned, clad in her favourite green cotton pyjamas with kittens on them, everyone else was either in bed or getting ready for it. The shower had given her enough time to calm herself too, at least enough that when she returned to the room to find it full of other nonhuman smells, she didn’t jump out of her skin. Deep breaths, she told herself, deep breaths. A few more of those told her that it wasn’t full of nonhumans – she was just overwhelmed. Aside from Cassandre, she guessed that there were two more, but not of kinds she was familiar with.

One at least was immediately obvious, as he lay chest-down in bed with his head turned around the wrong way grinning a little evilly at Hannah in the bed beside him. Rhiannon recalled that Savita had mentioned a boy who enjoyed such a prank – this must be Aurélien, which would make him an owl veela. The other, Rhiannon couldn’t pick out in all the new students – their scent was so different to all the others, she didn’t have the slightest clue who it might belong to. But thanks to the hot water and the full moon, she was far too tired to act on her prickling discomfort, and rather than put any extra effort into growling and posturing, Rhiannon simply flopped into bed and dragged her complaining cat up the bed to lie on her chest. Now, all she could smell was her own scent and that of her wonderful, soft, warm, cuddly cat.

“Yes, you’re a perfect cuddly girl,” Rhiannon murmured, not even caring that she’d left the curtains standing open as she scratched the cat’s head, watching with half-lidded eyes. Calypso didn’t seem to care that they had six new roommates, so why should she? Sleep was more important. Maybe humans – and werewolves – could stand to learn a lot from cats.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Rhiannon awoke and was almost immediately overwhelmed by the unfamiliar scents. Wolf smell, bird smell, something distinctly rivery, not to mention all the new humans – it was almost enough to send her straight into a panic. Luckily, panic was an old friend to Rhiannon, and she was able to catch herself just as a growl rose in her throat and she found herself propped up on one aching elbow in the four-poster bed. “Morning,” she rasped sleepily, as Padma turned over in bed with a query already on her lips. “Don’ w’rry, ‘m fine,”

“Well you look, and sound, like hell,” Padma retorted, though of course there was no real heat in it. “Unless you want your secret out by lunchtime, best fix your glamours from there.”

Rhiannon groaned and stretched, fumbling around in a fog for the round compact mirror she kept on her bedside, and in a few minutes she had her scars sufficiently glamoured and her hair warded, as it was supposed to be drizzly today. “Morning, or uh – bonjour, Cassandre, did you sleep alright?”

There was a murmur and a rustle as Cassandre looked across the room at Aurélien for help translating. Perks of werewolf hearing – he didn’t need to shout the translation back at her, and after a few moments Cassandre brightened and smiled shyly. “Oui, it is – agréable, ah, nice, in here. And the beds are, good.”

Rhiannon grinned, heartened that the shy older girl seemed to be gradually settling in despite Basil and Lisa’s hostile glares from the far side of the room. “I bet you must be hungry, do you want to meet some of my other friends for breakfast? Don’t worry, they’re nice,” she offered, with a sideways glance over at her hostile roommates. She wasn’t sure how ‘out’ Cassandre wanted to be here at Hogwarts, so it was ix-nay on the erewolf-way until someone said otherwise.

At the suggestion of ‘breakfast’ – with the full moon so very close, Rhiannon’s guess that Cassandre might have been hungry was dead on – and along with Harry, Padma and the rest of their friendlier dorm-mates, Rhiannon and Cassandre made for the Great Hall in search of breakfast.

Serve-yourself dining was messy and impractical, especially with so many varying dining needs, so aside from formal occasions, the system worked a little differently. Rhiannon couldn’t see magic, but she guessed the plates were enchanted and each student could ask for what they wanted, from a set menu folded inside each napkin. A few people stared, but Rhiannon wasn’t passing up sausages, hashbrowns and all the scrambled eggs she could fit on her plate – Cassandre wasn’t the only one hungry and itchy thanks to the impending full moon.

A hungry werewolf days from transformation wasn’t easy to divert from food, but somehow, one Beauxbatons girl managed it. Dressed in a pale blue uniform like all the other French students and wearing a purple sash around her waist, probably to signify that she was staying in Miremark, the girl was beautiful in a way that made the world seem to stop around her. She wasn’t perfect as such – a critic might fixate on her prominently arched, ascetic nose or the odd light yellow-brown of her eyes against her deep fawn skin – but she was stunning, and Rhiannon felt her breath catch in her chest at the sight. Most striking was the curtain of wavy silver-blonde hair that fell around her shoulders to almost waist-length, and as the girl stood from her seat and made her way across the hall to the great blue-glowing goblet that stood before the teachers’ dais, Rhiannon thought as if from a great distance that there was something familiar about that look.

“Who... is that?” Niniane whispered from across the table, and in all honesty Rhiannon wouldn’t have noticed her had Lavender not sharply elbowed her at the same time.

Savita, seated beside Nina, sighed and rolled their eyes, wearing something of an exasperated smile. “That, would be Fleur. Her powers are a bit stronger than most so they sometimes leak, not that she’s not a knockout without it. Even worse, she’s nice.” they replied with a little smile.

“Powers?” Luna asked curiously, still looking sideways at Fleur but their attention was taken now by a new puzzle.

“Yeah, she’s part-veela, and veela have a sort of, desire field. They can flip it to repulsion or, with practice, put off different charms but well, Fleur’s working with more power than most so it’s a little trickier for her to rein in all the time.” Savita explained with a shrug.

Rhiannon shook herself and pointedly looked away lest she be distracted again. “You – ‘d – well, shouldn’t someone, help her? Teach her? It sounds l-l-l-l-l-l-like it could be really dangerous for her.” she asked.

Savita and Cassandre both grimaced, and a look passed between them as evidently they recalled some unpleasant past event. “Yeah, you could say that,” Savita replied with a grimace. “But, there’s not really a lot of information out there on training nonhuman quirks, so... no.”

Rhiannon turned her attention back to Fleur, smiling a little dreamily as she watched the statuesque blonde place her name into the flaming goblet. The flames flickered and glowed green, then gold, then violet, before they returned to their regular periwinkle blue. Fleur turned away and probably would’ve returned to the Miremark table, had Savita not leaned over and waved to her. “What’re you doing?” Rhiannon hissed, suddenly very conscious of how short, thin and untidy she was, how imperfect a girl. If Fleur so much as looked at her, she felt she’d sink into the ground.

Savita rolled their yellow-centered eyes with a sigh. “Introducing you to the girl who started our whole nonhuman club thing? Don’t be such a useless lesbian, she’s nice.” they drawled irritably.

Rhiannon wrinkled her nose and shrank in her seat, but there was no escaping her embarrassment and she slumped down with her chin on the table in defeat.

“Salut Fleur !” Cassandre greeted the striking blonde with a wave and a shy smile. “Comment vas tu ce matin?”

"Ça va, mis à part les anglais lubriques/graveleux. Qui sont tes nouveaux copains ?" Fleur replied with a sigh, settling herself down at the table beside Cassandre and Savita, across from Rhiannon, Lavender and Luna. Niniane, seated to one side of Savita, gasped and spluttered and shrank in her chair, staring openly at Fleur as she did so.

"Certaines anglaises ne valent pas mieux," Savita interjected with a teasing smile back at Niniane – upon whom the joke was lost, being as she spoke no French. “As for our new friends – this is Rhiannon Potter, Niniane, Lavender, Luna, Hermione, Harry, Neville, Parvati, Padma, Dudley and Ginny,” they added, gesturing around to Rhiannon and those of her friends present in turn. “Don’t worry, they’re nice.”

Rhiannon could barely look up at Fleur, but she managed a wobbly smile and a wave so awkward she died a little inside. “At-t-t-t l-least I, try t-t-t-t-to be nice,” she stammered, a scarlet flush spreading down her neck and across her chest, making her uncomfortably warm under her uniform. “I’m, a w-w-w-w-were, wolf. S-s-s-s-sosoos-so sometimes I’m, not.”

“Aww, une louve-garou!” Fleur cooed, and before Rhiannon could flinch away the taller girl reached across the table and patted her hand briefly. “I see how you might ‘ave, how do you say? Clicked, that’s it. Savita might have told you, I’m Fleur, enchantée – ah, it’s, nice to meet you. Welcome to our little club de monstres, we only bite if asked.”

Rhiannon’s blush heated and to her mortification, she felt an uncomfortable stirring in her underwear. There went any chance of scuttling away to escape. “I t-t-t-t-t--t-th-think if I ever bit someone, I’d d-d-d-die inside,” she whispered, already feeling the telltale guilty cringing at the very thought – and the memories of all the near misses she’d had with her friends.

“Oh, no, of course – I didn’t mean literally. I know some independent scientists are working on a, a – médicament, a treatment? For werefolk, to restrict transmission, sort of like how they do for HIV but, it’s a long way off and it’s hard for them to get funding, too many want them to work to ah – turn you back to human instead. The biting thing was, a joke. Probably a poor one.” Fleur apologised with a grimace.

Savita squeezed Cassandre’s hand reassuringly – the tall girl had flinched at Fleur’s joke as well, and something in her dark eyes looked haunted, likely by the same thoughts that plagued Rhiannon. “And in the meantime, that’s why we all look out for eachother, right?” Savita reminded them, with a look over at Rhiannon and Dudley in turn.

Dudley grinned and brushed his hair out of his eyes. “And hey I mean if we did bite someone by accident, more family right? Shit happens and like you said – we look after eachother, when it does.” he interjected with a shrug.

Savita cackled and pointed across the table at Dudley in an exaggerated sort of way. “Now this guy? I like him. Yeah, that’s pretty much how were communities work – I have so many aunts and uncles and cousins and only about half of them are blood.”

Rhiannon honestly hadn’t considered how were families might be different in this way, and it was fascinating to learn more as, now that the ice was broken, she, her friends and the handful of nonhuman Beauxbatons students chatted back and forth until they ran out of breakfast to eat and bundled on outside to mix study with play, something Rhiannon, Hermione, Padma and their other more scholarly friends were eager for as it was a chance to learn from their new older friends. Fleur, Savita and Cassandre, along with Aurélien – the owl veela – and a pretty red-haired girl with antlers who called herself Audrey and apparently lived in Yorkshire when she wasn’t at school.

“Hey, have you seen Maxime?” Audrey asked Fleur a little worriedly, as they lay on the grass filling in diagrams of anatomy. “They were planning to enter their name earlier, I hope they’re alright.”

“Why wouldn’t they be alright?” Padma asked curiously. “I mean, you’re all in your last year, aren’t you?”

Fleur thought on it, then grimaced. “Max is a vampire, that might have... merde, of course, they were sixteen when – I’ve got to go,” she burst out hurriedly, and rushed away from their sunny hillside spot like someone had set a fire under her.

As it turned out, Maxime had indeed had an accident with the Age Line – they had been sixteen and a half when turned into a vampire, and apparently that meant they were sort of frozen, unchanging for the last four years as apparently they’d started Beauxbatons late or some such thing. Initially the officials had insisted on sticking to the rules, but Minerva was the one who had cast the spell and at the end of the day, she could withdraw it as she pleased. Which, she did – much to their displeasure – so that Maxime might be permitted to enter.

The same consideration, however, was not extended to other sixteen year-old would-be entrants which, as any trouble usually did, included the Weasley twins. Fred and George, despite being separated – this year into Miremark and Hufflepuff, respectively – were still up to their favourite pranks and of course, that included attempting entry into the Triwizard Tournament. Which, of course they did – the prize money was a huge attracting factor and it could help the Weasleys immeasurably. But they were under the legal age of majority for wizards, and that firmly ruled them out – they wouldn’t be seventeen until April, by which time two of the challenges would have already passed, legally the school would be in a heap of trouble for letting them in.

“Almost makes you wish Percy was still here,” George grumbled in the common room one evening while Padma checked the spelling on his essay. “I bet we could nudge him into competing, he’s pretty competitive when you get him riled up and he’d secretly love to win that money for the family.”

“Only almost,” Bryn Hendry, a seventh year and one of the twins’ usual friends in mischief, chimed in with a groan. “Remember when he tried to organise all us seniors’ study timetables last year? No thanks.”

There was a chorus of despairing groans from others in the common room who’d been in Gryffindor with Percy at any time, and Rhiannon giggled – even she remembered that, Percy had always been a fan of lecturing the junior students on time management as well – never mind that she and Hermione were two of the best students in their year group and that didn’t come without plenty of hard work studying. But Rhiannon understood the bitter wish – by the simple quirk that was the twins’ date of birth, the whole Weasley family had no chance at that thirteen-thousand-Galleon prize. If only Percy were still at school, indeed.

Despite the spots of prickly bitterness, overall, things settled back into a familiar rhythm much faster than Rhiannon had expected they might – full moon and all. It was a little more crowded than usual, and most were-students turned on their own before joining the group in their animal forms – a whole lot of wolves, several bears, more than a few large cats of several varieties as well as smaller carnivores like foxes and hyenas... predator animals were the most common, though there were a handful of horses and deer of various kinds, as well as several Animagi who had joined their nonhuman friends for a night-time rompand a handful of centaurs – not all of which were half-horse. It was strange, more like a giant campout than a pack roam like Rhiannon was used to but that wasn’t so bad either – Rhiannon had never been on school camp and this was a new kind of fun all of its’ own, meeting other nonhumans without so many of the restrictions a human form put on them. Cassandre in particular seemed so much more free than usual, free from needing to talk to express herself, and restrict that expression to conform – she roamed back and forth between Rhiannon’s little group and a comfortable gathering of her own friends throughout the five nights of moontime.

Moontime was a highlight, as always, and thankfully, the nicer new students were a distraction from the unspoken tension of the Triwizard Tournament. Without that to occupy her, Rhiannon would have burst from frustration andCare of Magical Creatures would have been downright unbearable. The skrewts, as Hagrid called them, were growing fast, and apparently they took issue with predator animals in their territory. Predator animals such as werewolves. And while as a fourth-year Rhiannon didn’t have the foreign students in her classes, their mixed scents gradually began to permeate the castle so that the whole place smelled less overpoweringly human – which befuddled the skrewts’ senses, it seemed, and without that blanket Rhiannon guessed she would have stuck out a lot more visibly in how much more intent the creatures were on targeting her.

With all the new friends, it was no surprise that it grew a little harder to touch base with everyone in their separate houses. Hermione was buried in work in Slytherin house – according to her, Minerva and the Prefects were dropping hints that she’d been earmarked for potential leadership next year and the student leaders had a close eye on everything she did. Ginny and Dudley were, surprisingly, enjoying themselves in Slytherin too – Minerva’s changes were beginning to show effect on the house culture, and the soft green light from the lake window was apparently kind on werewolf eyes for evening study sessions. Luna was in Gryffindor of all places, and finding the changed environment a little uncomfortable, while Nina – well, Nina had been much harder to find than usual, and evasive even when they did catch her for a moment. Rhiannon’s first instinct was to be concerned, but when Rhiannon asked Luna, she grinned mischievously and told Rhiannon to leave it. Well, Rhiannon didn’t like mysteries, but she’d managed to mind her own business for this long – she could manage a little longer.

Between everyday mysteries and settling back into a routine at a much fuller school than usual, the time until the Goblet of Fire chose its’ champions drew near in a manner not unlike having the rug pulled from beneath one’s feet. It felt as if they’d barely gotten to know eachother when all too soon the calendar read the eleventh of October and the school was doused in a haze of fearful anticipation. None of the students were under any illusions, many who entered the Tournament wanted the money to help their families rather than the supposed glory of winning – which meant that all who entered and those close to them were alive with a sick sort of worrying energy, equal parts anxious to be chosen and desperate not to be.

The same was true of students who had been unable to enter their names – they too vibrated with anxiety, bitterness and fear in a sickening wash that left Rhiannon dizzy and jittery as she wandered through her Monday classes in a haze. She knew several of her older friends, a group that had grown significantly since the foreign students’ arrival, had entered the tournament – there was every chance she would know at least one of the competitors, most likely more.

“I just hope nobody got entered as a prank,” Padma groused anxiously as they slogged through their midday Herbology class together, Rhiannon armed as always with her mask and gloves. “Not even the judges can keep track of all the names entered, just the cup.”

“Wouldn’t it be smarter to have to register names with an officiant, and then have that officiant enter names into the Goblet at the end of the day or something?” Hannah, their roommate, asked with a grimace.

“Yeah, but that would be smart – and this is Ministry-run, it’s all on tradition not practicality,” Harry quipped across the bench they worked at, all of them repotting infant Flutterby bushes that they had sprouted from cuttings.

“Doesn’t your Mum work for the Ministry?” Padma asked, bewildered.

Harry snorted, and patted down the dirt in their pot a little too firmly. “Yeah, case in point,” they retorted drily. “All of them, stuck in the mud and proud of it.”

The familiar banter between her friends helped Rhiannon remain grounded, but by the end of the day she was a quivering, nervous wreck and Nina had to half-carry her back from their final class of the day, Creatures. Both of them settled into a corner and doused their burned hands in Murtlap essence, but even the soothing potion that eased the sickening sting could not quite chase the almost electric jitters from Rhiannon’s body.

At least she had Nina – and Hermione, Luna, Ginny, Dudley and Neville, at Nina’s request. They all knew better than to ask why Rhiannon was so upset, it wasn’t like any of them could enter – she was a protective sort, no matter whose name was drawn she would be hurt and worried for them. Their presence was a comfort, and Rhiannon lapsed into silence as she curled up in the centre of their little nest, happy to listen and doze while the others talked quietly or got started on their homework. They had two hours to fill, and all of them knew that left to her own devices, Rhiannon would wear a hole in her floor worrying that time away.

Worry or not, all too soon it was time for dinner, and Rhiannon’s friends would not let her simply fret in silence without eating as she usually did. Being the night on which the Goblet would choose the Triwizard champions, they were expected to sit in their formal house arrangements, but one look at the state Rhiannon was in and Professor Sprout waved Nina, Hermione, Luna, Neville, Ginny and Dudley on into the Hufflepuff seats with a sigh.

“Rhi, you are gonna eat dinner if I have to levitate your spoon back and forth,” Hermione told her firmly. Rhiannon sniffed and giggled, despite her worry – Hermione could always be counted on to shake her gently when she was being what Hermione would call a silly goose. “I know you’re worried, but you can’t support anyone if you’re sick and hungry. Come on, open your mouth grumpy pup.”

Luna reached over and tweaked Rhiannon’s nose, which startled her enough that she opened her mouth to retort, allowing Hermione an opportunity to stick the forkful of roast chicken straight in her open mouth. Rhiannon spluttered, sneezed and scowled at them both, wrinkling her nose as Hermione retracted the fork and placed it back beside Rhiannon’s plate where it belonged, then chewed thoughtfully and sighed, delighted despite herself. “See? It’s fine. There’s not even any garlic in yours.” Luna told her with a wry smile.

“It’s delicious,” Rhiannon admitted with a soft groan, distracted despite herself by the food. Someone who actually knew how to use spices had cooked hers – usually, the lack of garlic was a depressing one given that was the only herb English cooks knew how to use regularly. Cumin, ginger, cinnamon, chili, paprika – basic staples of the Ndiaye-Granger and Lovegood kitchens, for certain, but much less bland than Hogwarts food tended to be. Maybe they were trying to impress the newcomers. Either way, it was delicious and Rhiannon retrieved her fork and dug into the rest of her meal – potatoes, gravy, broccoli and cauliflower with cheese sauce for some token greens. Even werewolves needed to avoid scurvy, Rhiannon supposed glumly as she picked at the vegetables distastefully.

A t least Rhiannon was not alone in her anxious quiet. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students alike, seated in little clusters throughout the house tables, barely said a word even to eachother. The competition isolated them all, each one a little island, and Rhiannon wasn’t sure whether to think it a blessing or curse that dessert was served before the Goblet chose its’ champions, thus prolonging the weary torment.

In any other case, Rhiannon would have skipped desert entirely and gone straight to bed. She couldn’t have chocolate, and didn’t much like ice-cream, all in all there wasn’t a lot of point to the exercise. But Hermione had sniffed out a plate of blackberry and apple pie, and would not be dissuaded from her wheedling until Rhiannon tried a bite.

“We should take some baskets with us next full moon, there’s blackberry bushes all over the moor,” Nina suggested idly through a mouthful of pie, an act which had her roommate Sally-Anne glaring at her in mock disgust.

“You Weasleys and your manners,” Sally-Anne grumbled, as if she hadn’t danced with both the Weasley twins at the ceilidh last year – something Nina knew about, pointed out and laughed at as she lobbed a balled-up napkin across the table at her roommate. Their antics amused Rhiannon, distracted her for long enough that she could drag the spoon to her lips, before a nasty, cynical little voice in her head told her no, don’t be a fool. They’re acting up for your benefit.

B ecause that’s what nice friends do , Rhiannon retorted inwardly , quite aware of the fact she was only talking to herself, and stubbornly carried on eating her pie. Nina was right – they should collect blackberries, they were on good terms with the house elves who, as a mark of trust, would let them cook in the school kitchens if they brought their own ingredients. The thought of that, cooking together and sharing their efforts with their wider friend group, was a pleasant one that comforted her, warming her from the inside just as much as the dessert itself did.

T hat warmth was fortifying, grounding, and it strengthened as on either side, Luna and Hermione each took one of Rhiannon’s hands in a firm grip. “ We’ve got you,” Hermione murmured, to a soft hum of agreement from Luna and they both sort of folded themselves around Rhiannon like a comforting human cloak while she slowly finished her dessert.

A ll too soon, Rhiannon’s plate was bare, all smears of pie filling wiped away in a vain attempt to prolong the meal, and both her companions did their level best to simply squish the tension from the werewolf’s trembling body as the charcoal-robed official Crouch rose stiffly from his chair, his bony fingers clasped around the top of a semi-ornamental cane Rhiannon hadn’t noticed before as he strode forth across the dais to stand before them all. From a holster attached to the belt that fastened his cloak closed, he drew out a thin, twisting wand that reminded Rhiannon of a deformed bone. He whispered something, and the wand began to emit a faint blue glow of a shade that matched the eerily sparkless flames of the Goblet. “ The time for would-be- Champions to submit their names has concluded, and now it is the hour for our Tournament to begin.” he intoned solemnly, and at some wordless signal the nimbus surrounding his wand brightened from blue to a brilliant gold which flared, swelled and burst, sending heatless sparks out across every corner of the room.

The wand-burst was more than a fireworks display – it was a signal of some kind, to the Goblet itself, as its’ flames too brightened to gold and spilled over its rim, sparking and turning green as they hit the floor. The whole hall, with its’ hundreds of students, fell into a trembling silence as slowly, the golden flames dimmed to a simmering red and the goblet stopped dribbling fire. The flames within bubbled and swelled for a few moments, moments that dragged on Rhiannon’s anxious heart, before it spat out a torrent of flame high into the air. Rhiannon flinched and nearly fell from her chair, and Luna’s quick reflexes were all that saved her from sprawling turtle-like on her back in the aisle.

“Hey, easy, easy,” Luna whispered, her voice soft and reassuring while Hermione rubbed circles into Rhiannon’s back, both working to get the frightened werewolf’s racing heart back down. “It’s just spellfire. You’re safe.”

R hiannon grumbled, irritated by her own startle response, a nd settled back into her chair just in time to hear Crouch read out the name on the flame-conjured card. “ Viktor Krumov, Durmstrang, ” he intoned formally. The room erupted into murmurs, and a dark-haired figure cloaked in red stood from among the purple-accented Miremark crowd. It took only a moment to recognise him – Viktor Krum , or Krumov, as the paper stated, he was unmistakeable with his broad shoulders and stooping postur e, and he drew every seeing eye in the hall as he slunk to the foot of the dais, where the officiant Crouch was gesturing.

T his time, Rhiannon was ready as again the Goblets’ contents guttered, swelled and spat out another torrent of crimson fire, and she merely stiffened and trembled in her chair. Torches were bad enough – this was new, startling and stressful. But she ground her teeth together, pressed her sharp nails into the palms of her hands, and remained focused as Crouch read out the second name. “ Fleur Delacour, Beauxbatons.”

Rhiannon’s heart lurched, and she couldn’t quite shake off the frisson of cold fear that flashed through her nervous system as her new friend’s name echoed into the corners of the Great Hall. Unlike the Durmstrang students who had glared jealously at Viktor, the Beauxbatons students were more open with their emotions, and though many cried and swore at the loss of their chances, they still reached out to touch Fleur’s hands, congratulate her in her passing even as Mr Crouch grumbled and tried to silence them. Rhia nnon was too shy, their friendship too new to do the same, but Nyx clamoured in her mind that the Tournament was dangerous , and her friend had to be protected , however possible.

R hiannon was so busy arguing with Nyx and the wash of sensations, impressions and instincts that the wolf forced on her, that she barely noticed as the Goblet spat out a third name. Her breaths were coming short and quick, the hands of her friends – if that was indeed still the correct word for Luna and Hermione – upon her shoulders and chest the only thing keeping Rhiannon grounded at all, and the third name read out came to her as if from a distance. Cedric Diggory.

Now it was official – this Tournament would risk the lives of not one but two of Rhiannon’s friends, and she couldn’t keep the whine from bubbling up in her throat. At least it could be passed off as crying, the hyperventilation broke it up into something more approximately human. But that thought occurred to Rhiannon at a distance only, like a popup on a lagging computer, and she settled into a miserable state in her seat on the bench, stewing in her anxiety. Over the last year, she and Nyx had grown closer in priorities and in nature, and here they were in agreement – this was the worst case scenario. It could only be worse had she befriended Durmstrang students and one of them had been chosen, but with the Freaks Club amongst the Beauxbatons students, Rhiannon had gravitated towards them and neglected getting to know the others.

“Rhi, hey, hey. Come on, wake up – they’re just about to let us go to bed,” Hermione murmured, shaking Rhiannon’s shoulder gently to get her attention through the fog. Rhiannon shook her head and huddled closer to Hermione, locking her arms around her waist, taking comfort from the warmth. Bed meant no Hermione, and no Luna. Just a sleepless night with a cranky cat who despised when her warmth source tossed and turned.

“No, stay,” Rhiannon mumbled sleepily, her throat raw and slick from whining. She coughed wetly and winced in pain at the sensation, but her fog had been cleared away and try as she might, she couldn’t simply fade away again. She couldn’t leave her friends with an unresponsive four and a half feet of bony lump to deal with, and slowly, stiffly, she extricated herself from her clinging embrace and stood, swaying and hugging herself, as others around her stood and began to shuffle off towards the exits.

Suddenly, the flames of the goblet turned gold and began to spill from its’ mouth once more, and even in the midst of her disoriented misery, Rhiannon felt the cold certainty like ice in her gut. The Goblet had already chosen three champions – Viktor Krum, Fleur Delacour and Cedric Diggory, she recanted to herself like a mantra. If it wanted to choose a fourth... something had gone very, very wrong. And the bitter, cynical part that had grown too soon in Rhiannon’s young heart knew, even before a bewildered Mr Crouch read out the final name, what that name would be... because when things went wrong, who was always at the centre?

“Rhiannon Potter,” Mr Crouch read, his voice cracking with disbelief.

Chapter Text

A s the final syllable fell from Mr Crouch’s lips, that ice in Rhiannon’s gut shattered, and flooded throughout her body, amplifying every trace of anxiety, anger, protective worry and sheer blind terror that had been building throughout the day. It didn’t matter how big the Hall was, right now it felt stifling , and every eye in the room was on her. On Rhiannon Potter, the fourth Triwizard champion... now not only were Cedric and Fleur in danger, she was too – and she’d be expected to compete against them!

It was too much, too many different thoughts flashed through Rhiannon’s crowded mind and she couldn’t catch her breath, that ice was melting now, turning her stomach to a poison well and she was too crowded , the room grew smaller and smaller as the students of three schools filled it up with whispers. She had to get out. Hermione and Luna both reached out for her, but even their touch was stifling in this panic and she threw them off, only barely reining her inhuman strength in enough that she didn’t harm them as she freed herself. Then, out, she had to get out. Rhiannon lowered her head, hugged her arms around her chest and fled from the hall, sobbing and coughing as she struggled to get a breath, and her fellow students got out of her way as quickly as they could. Not quite quickly enough – dimly Rhiannon registered that she shoved several of them as she scram bled out from the hall and into the corridor. It was cold, the air heavy and damp and it weighed on her like a sodden cloak. But that was almost grounding in its’ own uncomfortable way, the cold weight felt as if it pressed her wandering, fractured consciousness back into the fragile body it fought to flee.

S uddenly, Rhiannon gagged and curled in on herself, staggering into a nook behind a statue as her stomach violently emptied itself – if her consciousness couldn’t exit her body, it was going to throw everything else out, she thought grimly, as her body hacked and seized without any hope of control. Finally, her aching stomach stilled and Rhiannon dragged herself to her shaking feet, struggling to see as tears streamed down her face. Even in her darkest dreams of the worst case scenario for the tournament, she hadn’t considered this – that she might be forced to enter. She was fourteen, naively she had thought that would protect he r... but no. No, they’d all known since the Death Eater display at the World Cup that the Girl Who Lived was a prime target, she’d been stupid, so stupid to think that she’d be safe.

All Rhiannon could do as that blanket of shame and self-loathing settled over her was stumble a few steps and collapse, hugging the far side of the statue with her forehead pressed to the cold stone as she sobbed her heart out, unseeing, deaf to the world around her, held to the world only by the damp, cold stone and the weight of the chill night air.

T he frightened, heartbroken girl had no idea how long she cried. She had lost any solid sense of time since the moment her name was first read aloud. But eventually someone found her, their body thin and wiry as they tugged Rhiannon into a tight embrace. She took in a deep breath, and wrinkled her nose as she found an unfamiliar scent – meat, old blood and dust, barely masked by a smoky musk-and-fruit perfume. “ Fleur?” Rhiannon croaked, feeling her voice vibrate in her throat more than she actually heard it.

“No, ssssh – don’t try to talk, you’ll be sick again,” Fleur whispered – or at least, it sounded like a whisper, everything was oddly muted and distant in a way that made the whole world feel too close and heavy. Rhiannon nodded, and Fleur hugged her tightly against her bony chest. Dimly, Rhiannon recognised that the older girl was trembling – she hadn’t noticed at first amidst the shaking over her own thin body. “I’m here for you. I know you’re not ready to go back in, but they won’t let everyone go to bed until you have, so come on. Just, lean on me, here.”

R hiannon shook her head, and burrowed further into the stone corner, wiggling out of Fleur’s grasp. She couldn’t go back into the hall. They would all be looking, all of them – and all of them would see her, their Chosen One, weak and broken before them. She was as good as dead, but she still had some vestiges of her pride left – and she didn’t want to be seen this way. “ No,” she whispered hoarsely, stubbornly ignoring Fleur’s warning that she not exert herself despite the roiling of her empty, aching stomach. She coughed, spluttered and choked as she tried to say more – don’t let them see me, I don’t want them to see me , but she couldn’t manage it – just as Fleur had warned, her stomach lurched, clenched and once again hurled forth what little it still contained.

“I know you don’t want to,” Fleur murmured, stroking Rhiannon’s hair as she spoke. As she did so, a soft rippling vibration spread from her fingers and flowed across her body, stilling the shivers in Rhiannon’s bones and the miserable cramps in her gut. “But you’ve got to. Here, let me get that off you... Récurer, that should do it. Nothing I can do for the smell, but you can always shower after – I’ll ask Cassandre to help you, and fend off anyone who might bother you. But for now... you can’t stay here all night. Can you walk?”

R hiannon ground her teeth and nodded, wishing desperately that she had Hermione, or Luna, someone who could understand her without her needing to speak. But she had only Fleur – who would support her staunchly, she just did not have the same ability to read silent communication as someone who had known Rhiannon longer. That meant she had to help herself. “ I- I- Gon-n-n- Gonna try,” she grunted, and between leaning on the statue and on Fleur, she hauled herself to her feet. Almost immediately, she began to sway and regretted her stubbornness as she was forced to lean heavily on Fleur to avoid falling. Maybe she could have managed walking, but not so soon after an episode – she could barely hear, let alone see, and trying to find her way as well as keep her balance was simply impossible.

“I’m going to take that as a no,” Fleur replied drily, taking Rhiannon’s weight easily. “Don’t worry, I didn’t expect you to. If it would be easier, I could simply carry you – you are very small, and even only part-Veela like myself are significantly stronger than most humans.”

R hiannon scowled, rankled at the prospect of being carried like a child – but she was a child, and a sick one. And in a way, to be carried in would reveal less weakness than if she stumbled her way blindly down the aisle, leaning on Fleur for all support – she could keep the true severity of her current condition to herself. “ Fine, I – I- hhhgggh- fine ,” she growled, more irritated with her own weakness than Fleur or anyone else – except perhaps whichever latest nemesis had put her name in the Goblet.

W ith that, Fleur scooped Rhiannon up – an action which seemingly took little effort – and settled her in her surprisingly well-muscled arms. Rhiannon grumbled about it, but eventually Fleur got her comfortable – and it was comfortable being held so close in her fragile state, so fundamentally safe with the older girl, it was as if her arms provided a shield against the confusing clamour of whispers she felt as prickles against her skin more than she heard them. But she could feel Fleur’s tension, the tremors in the tall girl’s muscles, and that told her than the unheard whispers were unkind ones. Fleur was her shield for now, but Rhiannon could feel the weight of suspicion, invasive curiosity and plain dislike outside of this warm embrace. She wasn’t ready to face it, wasn’t ready – she just wanted to run away, to flee into the depths of her mind and hide forever. But she couldn’t. And Rhiannon knew she would pay for it later in exhaustion and misery, but she had to function for now, so she squashed all the scattered fragments of her consciousness back into her form with commendable stubbornness, and began to settle her breathing.

“Ah, Miss Delacour, thankyou,” Minerva McGonagall greeted them, the relief in her voice clearly audible even through the echoey fog that separated Rhiannon from the sounds of the world around.

“It was no trouble, Principale McGonagall,” Fleur replied with an awkward cough – Rhiannon guessed she was unsure how to refer to McGonagall, who preferred neutral descriptors though still used feminine pronouns, as French was an inconvenient language when it came to handling nuances of gender. “I like Rhiannon well enough and it is only right that she have an ally in this room, anyone could see she was surprised and distressed by the selection.”

R hiannon flapped her hands anxiously against Fleur’s chest, suddenly feeling too squished and close in the room full of people she couldn’t see. Fleur hummed softly, a comforting sound deep in her chest. “ All right, don’t worry, I’ll set you down,” she murmured, and her embrace tightened for a moment as she bent and set Rhiannon gently on her feet, though Rhiannon still leaned heavily on her for support to stand,

“She has at least two, allies that is,” Minerva responded grimly, and Rhiannon heard her practical shoes click fuzzily on the stone floor as she approached. “Now, Rhiannon, there is no way I truly believe you asked someone to place your name in the Goblet, but I have to hear it out loud. Did you enter your name, or approach anyone to do so for you?” she asked, her voice weary as she placed what was meant to be a comforting hand on Rhiannon’s thin shoulder.

“NO!” Rhiannon burst out, and tears flowed down her cheeks from burning eyes as she flinched away from the touch, trembling with equal parts fear and fury. She knew Minerva was only doing her job, as gently as she could, but she hated that the job had so little room for kindness in situations like this. “N-n-n-n-hhhhh- no, I-I-I- I never, n-n-n-n-ever wanted-”

F leur squeezed Rhiannon’s shoulder gently and she subsided reluctantly, coughing and sobbing now that the tide had been let forth.

“Well, obviously he is lying!” An angry voice with a noticeable North-Eastern European accent snapped, his voice echoing and repeating uncomfortably in Rhiannon’s struggling ears. Dimly, she recognised the voice as belonging to Headmaster Karkaroff – at least, she thought it did, it would make sense for him to be in here, but it could theoretically be another of his staff, she hadn’t heard any of them speak for very long.

I t was hard to be sure, through the echoes and fog of Rhiannon’s dulled hearing, but she thought she heard the swish of a cloak and guessed that Minerva stood and turned away suddenly. That was confirmed by the sharp intake of breath that preceded a classic McGonagall dressing-down, followed by a soft hiss of breath let out – clearly, the headmaster decided that now wasn’t the time. “Headmaster Karkaroff. Miss Potter is a quiet, respectful student, very capable and, more to the point, honest, as has been proven repeatedly through her time at this school . In addition, her distress is clear to any onlooker and I’ve known this girl for three years now – quite frankly, she’s not this good of an actor. So I request you refrain from any further accusations, and instead turn your attention to what we are going to do about this now,” she snapped, every word bit ten off sharply as she audibly reined in her temper.

“Well, surely she cannot compete – she is only a little girl!” A new voice spoke, one that again Rhiannon took a few moments to place as Madame Maxime, the Headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy. Rhiannon bristled at the woman’s haughty tone, but she could not dismiss the argument however rudely it was made – she was a little girl, a child, however much faster she had been forced to grow up than her peers. Cedric and the other competitors were at least three years her senior; and by the laws of nonmagical Britain she was unable to consent to participating.

“To say nothing of the matter of fairness – Minerva, if Hogwarts is to have two champions then I must insist you allow us to reselect additional competitors from our own school,” Karkaroff chimed in hastily.

“Fairness? Igor, the matter of fairness would be in forcing Rhiannon to compete at all. I quite agree with Olympe – there is no way she may compete. She had no idea her name was placed in the Goblet, she did not give her consent to participate, and to force her to compete would be in violation of her rights and of international law.” Minerva retorted sharply.

“Unfortunately, we have no recourse on that matter,” a fourth voice spoke up, and the thin hair along Rhiannon’s spine prickled in a very tangible expression of her dislike. Mr Crouch, bullier of house elves and avid enforcer of even the most unfair rules. “When a name is selected by the Cup, its’ owner is subject to an effect much like that of the Unbreakable Vow; competitors are bound to compete or die.”

“Mr. Crouch, we are talking about a fourteen year old girl, a child,” Minerva replied, but instead of sharpness now her voice was growing weary and desperation coloured the edges of it. “And because of her unique situation, Miss Potter’s safety is ultimately the responsibility of the Ministry and myself, who have legal guardianship of her. In this position we are effectively in a parental role, forcing this child to compete in a tournament with potentially lethal dangers, in which she is at a severe disadvantage. The return of the Tournament was an incredible controversial decision, and those in support of it were only allowed to go ahead with the firm assurances that all necessary safety precautions would be taken. I enacted an Age Line, as requested, but ultimately the security was the responsibility of yourself and Mr Bagman. You really didn’t think to charm the cup so that it would only accept names submitted by their owner? And this, look at the paper – Rhiannon has been entered as a student of Pentangles Academy, which has been closed for the last fifty years! Something has gone very wrong, Mr Crouch, and this is precisely why I spoke against reinstating the tournament in the first place! I didn’t want it to happen, I didn’t want it in my school, and I will not permit you to endanger my student because of a careless mistake on your part!”

R hiannon shrank back into the protective shield of Fleur’s arms as Minerva McGonagall finally lost her temper. She wasn’t afraid of the headmaster, not really – Minerva was almost like an aunt or grandmother to her. But she was afraid in general, and exhausted, and she couldn’t handle all the noise and anger, even if it was in her support.

Fleur sank to the ground and tugged Rhiannon gently down with her, so that she sat enfolded within the older girl’s arms. There was a soft rustle of movement, of feathers unfolding, and as those feathers brushed her cheek Rhiannon realised that Fleur had let her wings out to shield them both. That noise drew the attention of the arguing adults, and Fleur cleared her throat to draw their attention to her , not just the surely impressive sight of her wings.

“What I can gather from your quarrel is that should Rhiannon withdraw, she will die, but that it was a significant failing of security that her name was able to be entered in the first place. I don’t know what to do about that, I am only a competitor. But I will not duel an opponent who did not enter willingly. If Rhiannon cannot be allowed to withdraw from this competition, I will stand beside her to level the playing field. Is that clear?” Fleur told the room, her voice level – though held close as she was, Rhiannon could feel the tremors in her new friend’s body. Her calm was a facade – a good one, but false nonetheless. Fleur was as angry as anyone else in that room.

With Fleur’s stern claim, the adults once again burst out into noisy argument that had Rhiannon covering her ears in pain, and this time it was the heavy thump of a wooden cane brought down hard on the stone floor that interrupted them. “SHUT IT!” a male voice roared, echoing from the stone walls so disorientingly that Rhiannon could not place its’ owner.

A s ordered, the bickering clamour once again fell into silence , and this time Rhiannon could recognise the speaker as Professor Moody as he spoke up again. “ Right. If anyone has the right to be shouting and crying right now it’s the Potter gi rl – no, don’t look at me like that Karkaroff, this isn’t an advantage for Hogwarts, this is a go at her life. The Champions stand behind her. Can you let that be enough for now, and argue the specifics in your own time? Because I’m pretty sure the best remedy for the awful shock that girl’s had is a good night’s sleep, and you’re all keeping her out of bed. Clearly someone Confunded the Cup, the logical step would be to examine it’s magical signature and any traces left behind, the magical surveillance if it’s still intact – let’s all continue this in an hour once the students have gone to bed. ”

“Awfully informed about how someone might do this, aren’t you, Mad-Eye?” Headmaster Karkaroff commented, his tone scathing – clearly there was some past between them, though Rhiannon hadn’t the energy to puzzle out what it might be. “For all your insistence it’s not to Potter’s benefit, he has got a – knack, for wriggling out of tight corners, perhaps you thought he’d give Hogwarts an edge!”

“It was once my job to think as Dark Wizards do, Igor – as you should well remember,” Professor Moody growled darkly. “And your wild speculations do nothing to divert attention. Make no mistake, this is an attempt on the girl’s life – and the circle of people with both that goal and access to the Goblet.... My eye’s on you, boy.”

“Always putting the mad in Mad-Eye, aren’t you,” Karkaroff sneered, though he sounded put off balance by Moody’s thinly-veiled accusation. “Are you teaching your students to fear assassination too? Mine have told me all about your Potions curriculum – you always were paranoid, then and now.”

“It’s not paranoid when someone’s actually out to get you – or Potter, in this case!” Moody barked, and he thumped his cane on the floor again for emphasis.
“ENOUGH!” Minerva bellowed, not even needing the benefit of an Amplification Charm to cut across them. “Igor, Alastor, bicker on your own time not mine. And Igor – I will thankyou to keep from harassing my staff, his advice was quite sound and he is indeed correct – the best thing we can do for Rhiannon right now is let her rest. Cedric, Rhiannon, you may leave; and Alastor, please make sure any remaining students head off to bed before you assist with the investigation. Now, out.”

I t was perhaps not Minerva’s place to order Karkaroff and Madam Maxime around, but neither complained, and Rhiannon heard the shuffle of feet and robes around her as others filed out of the room. She smelled Cedric’s approach before she heard him, and looked up with sightless eyes to where she guessed he stood as his shoes scuffed on the floor. “ Rhiannon, if it’s alright, I’ d like to escort you back to the common room . Not that you aren’t doing a good job already, Miss Fleur , it’s just – well, I’m the other Hogwarts Champion, and their Prefect. If any of them want to have a go at her, hold me up as the ‘real’ Hogwarts Champion like I was hearing in the hall, I can put a stop to it.” Cedric offered, his voice uncharacteristically uncertain. “And for what it’s worth... I’m with Fleur. I’m not competing against you, you didn’t bloody well ask for this and you’re my mate. I’ve got your back too.”

F leur hummed, a low rattling sound deep in her chest as she considered Cedric’s offer. “ Rhiannon, are you going to be okay with that?” she asked, retracting her wings with a shake of her shoulders. “ I’m happy to walk you back if you’re not.”

R hiannon sighed and shook her head weakly, too tired to really care much either way – some part of her felt dead already, a shadow of a person. “ F-f-f-f- fine,” she whispered, and clumsily reached out a hand in the direction she guessed him to be in. He took her hand firmly and she flinched – he was a little further to the left than she had guessed, just another reminder of how fragile she was like this.

W ith that, Fleur stood, and both she and Cedric helped Rhiannon to her trembling feet. There was no chance of her managing to walk as far as the Hogwarts common room, that fact became immediately clear, so after a silent conferral Rhiannon was again lifted off her feet and settled in Cedric’s arms, her head resting on his shoulder like a pillow. “ It’s alright Rhi, I’ve got you,” Cedric murmured, his voice humming through his bones into Rhiannon’s tired skull, and she nodded sleepily. “See you tomorrow, Fleur. Don’t worry Rhi, we’ll all talk about it later,”

Cedric continued with a quiet sort of narration of their surroundings as he carried Rhiannon through the corridors, and from a distance she vaguely remembered ah, right . This was why she had such a crush on him, even if she’d accepted they would only ever be friends. He was so kind, so safe – she couldn’t help it, tears welled up in her eyes and all too soon she was sobbing helplessly again.

“I- I- I’m s-s-s-sorry,” Rhiannon stammered, gasping for breath through the sobs, which picked up again as Cedric rubbed her back comfortingly. “’m- s-s-such a baby, I-”

“Hey, that’s enough,” Cedric told her, his voice soft but firm nonetheless. “You’ve been through hell in your life and you thought you’d finally gotten a break, you finally got relaxed, and it’s all been tipped out again. Of course you panicked. I’m a Prefect, remember? It’s my job to know stuff like that about people in Hufflepuff. I know, you grew up with boys don’t cry, it makes you weak, even though you’re not a boy it’s hard to shake. It’s alright.”

R hiannon nodded and sniffed tearfully, and Cedric chuckled softly. “Hell, I’ll tell you about my first time on a broom. I was six years old, it was this old thing one of my cousins left in our shed. I’d seen so many Quidditch matches, I thought I knew all about it. Went straight up in the air, fell off and landed on the roof of the house, fell off in a mess of clay tiles and landed three metres below that on the ground.”

“An’ y- y-y-you cried?” Rhiannon slurred sleepily, not really able to reconcile the Cedric she knew with a crying boy falling off a roof.

“You bet I did!” Cedric retorted with a self-deprecating laugh. “My da was furious, said I was bloody lucky I still had my head on. Ma was beside herself, first time I ever saw her have a go at my da – he was going on about the crying, so she rattled off this list of everything I’d broken. Shut him up pretty quick – and you’ve met him, you know that’s hard to do. There’s nothing wrong with crying, you’re hurting, and you’re not a baby for feeling crap about it.”

R hiannon giggled wetly and sniffed, though there was no chance of her tears stopping. Still, Cedric’s reassurance helped her feel less self conscious about it and soon they had reached the cellar through which the Hufflepuff room could be entered, the smell of honey mead still clinging to the barrel as Cedric carried her through it into the warmth of what she could recognise by sound and smell as the Hufflepuff common room.

How little attention she had paid to the common room before, to the smell of the tree – a willow , bitter-scented , its loose leaves and dry catkins now falling through the circular hole in the ceiling – not that she could see it, only hear the soft crunch of feet over leaves on the wooden floor . She wondered idly why it let leaves through, but not the rain – the leaves could certainly still be wet sometimes. And the room itself had been full of conversation before they entered , its’ remnants still echoed from the walls as Rhiannon lifted her head and tilted it from side to side, seeking some idea of what was going on. Some idea as to who her enemies were.

“What, you’re just going to shut up now?” Cedric challenged their housemates, more brash than Rhiannon had ever heard him and trembling with anger every bit as much as Fleur had been. “I heard you all from out in the cellar. Don’t stop on my account, it’s been such an insight hearing what you really think of my friend, Rhiannon, and without even stopping to see how I feel about the whole mess.”

“Sorry, Cedric, but... well, she’s just a cheat. The money doesn’t even matter to her, she just wants an excuse to, get everyone’s sympathy and attention again. Couldn’t get it last year so she’s desperate.” someone, Rhiannon didn’t know who, piped up, sounding almost apologetic in their brutal assessment.

“Well, that’s your assessment, and I feel it merits a solid five points from our House, Vane” Cedric retorted irritably.

“But prefects can’t take House points, can they?” someone else, younger this time, protested.

“Correct, Fletcher, but Head Students can,” a new voice chimed in. By context, that had to be Esther Lilley, the girl who had led the cheers on discovering Rhiannon’s house placement earlier in the year. “Five points from Hufflepuff. I want to win the House Cup as much as you do, but I’ll happily knock off more, anyone want to make it ten? I saw that, Turpin, ten it is. Fifteen? No? Good. Now shut up and go to bed. Idle gossip is lazy, and Hufflepuff is the house of the hard-working – and loyal, Rhiannon is one of our own every bit as much as Cedric.”

C edric sighed and crossed the room to where Rhiannon guessed Esther stood, near the stairs and the tree. “ Thanks for that, Esther,” he told her wearily. “ I was so pissed off I forgot I couldn’t dock points, I really could hear them all the way out there.”

E sther snorted, more of a bitter sound than a genuinely humorous one. “It’s no problem, I’ve been trying to herd them off to bed for a while now, but they wouldn’t go so I just stuck around hoping you’d show up eventually. Thank you for having your head screwed on straight about the whole mess. I’m glad you’ve got her back, it’ll help clear this ‘true Champion’ crap up that much faster.” she replied tiredly. “ Hear that, Potter? We’ve got you, however this turns out.”

R hiannon tried her best to thank Esther, she really did, but she couldn’t make the words come out right – she was just too damn tired. Esther laughed, but not in an unkind way, and patted her shoulder gently. “Yeah, you’re for bed alright. Me too. Night, Potter, Ced.” the older girl told them, and by the sound of it she set off before them down the spiral stairs to the dormitories.

A few paces behind, Cedric did the same, and Rhiannon pried herself off his shoulder in preparation for being set down as they inevitably reached the fourth year dormitory. But Cedric was a gentleman, and he wasn’t about to let Rhiannon suffer the indignity of stumbling through the dormitory in front of all her roommates, some of whom would no doubt be hostile. He set a shoulder to the door and shoved it open, then carried her right in and pulled the curtains partway closed around her bed for some privacy. While Rhiannon’s roommates whispered and gossiped – normally she could have picked up their gossip, but her senses were that far dulled she couldn’t make it out – he let Rhiannon unfold and set her feet on the ground, but before he let her go he hugged her tightly, and when he spoke he sounded close to tears. “I meant it before, Rhi. I’ve got your back. We’re not gonna let you go through this on your own, alright?” he told her softly, and held her for another moment before he helped her sit down on the bed without squashing her cat – not that Calypso seemed to appreciate the courtesy, as she yowled indignantly and padded off to the end of the bed and sat down again with a sniff.

“Th-ang-ffff- th-th-th- thanks,” Rhiannon mumbled sleepily. She didn’t even bother to change out of her robes, just pulled the loose blanket over herself and curled up into a ball, wrinkling her nose at the smell that clung to her. She’d shower in the morning. Anything else was beyond her.

“Any time, Potter,” Cedric told her, and ruffled her hair fondly before he turned away and by the sound of it, hurriedly left the room.

“How’d you con Cedric Diggory into taking your side?” Basil Crane hissed. “It’s not as if you’re a real girl, why’d he be interested in you? Unless he’s a faggot, I suppose, he always was too pretty,”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Crane,” Harry snapped, their cranky voice muffled by sleep.

“Do you English always have to talk so much when you go to sleep?” one of the foreign students, Rhiannon guessed a Durmstrang student by the accent, grumbled sleepily. It sounded as if they might have gone to bed some time before the Hogwarts students, and been woken up by their entry.

“Scottish, but otherwise agreed. Basil, shut up, it’s fucking late,” Mairi chimed in tiredly, and by the sound of things she turned over and perhaps put a pillow over her head.

And that was the end of that. There was some further muffled attempts at bickering, but one of Rhiannon’s friends or the foreign students always hushed it quickly enough, and Calypso crawled back up and into the covers with her mistress. Soon, her purrs drowned out any residual whispering, and Rhiannon settled into an uneasy dozing state, worries flitting idly through her mind – not frantically like earlier, not enough to overwhelm... just enough that she was sure her sleep would not be a restful one. But despite all the risk to her life, the anger, the petty misgendering and bitterness of the night, the last thought that crossed Rhiannon’s conscious mind as she drifted off under the persistent ministrations of her kneading-pawed cat, was that someone would have to tell her family. And they were going to be worried for her.

Chapter Text

Rhiannon awoke in a warm, heavy darkness that blanketed the room and weighed on her lungs. She coughed and wheezed weakly, flailing for her glasses, until her hand caught against fabric and threw open the curtain a short way through which light, harsh and yellow-gold, pierced her dark sanctum. For a moment she was disoriented, the world a blur of hazy purple-and-green dots, shadows and too-bright light, she didn’t know who she was let alone where. Then it hit her, a hammer-blow to the senses that sent her reeling, crawling back beneath the blanket and gasping for breath, the reality of where she was, what had happened. It had haunted her dreams and for a moment upon waking, Rhiannon had thought that to be all it was – a dream. The choice of the goblet, the indecision of the gamemakers, even the tournament itself – all of it.

Reality itself was her prison now, and Rhiannon crawled deeper into her blankets with a pitiful whine and a miserable sigh as she realised she had fallen asleep in smelly clothes, on top of the more comforting duvet. She would have simply rolled over onto her face and pulled the blankets over her head, but there was a rustle from outside and a series of soft thuds as someone got up and crossed the room toward her bed.

“Hey, Rhi,” Harry Pace greeted her softly, and Rhiannon flinched from them with a pathetic growl and a whine. Leave me alone. The world is too big and scary. But sadly, Rhiannon had not learnt the art of silent mind-to-mind communication, and Harry was not dissuaded. “Rhi, it’s nine in the morning, the Mac said I could let you sleep in but, aren’t you hungry? You’ve got to be hungry.”

Normally, the thought of food would have had Rhiannon leaping out of bed, sore joints be damned. But even though her stomach ached and her breath rasped against a dry throat, through a mouth sour with sickness, she could not muster so much as a thread of desire for food. She reached up and fumbled for the pillow, which she promptly slammed down over her head, but Harry was having none of that and took it from her with a disapproving sigh. “No, Rhi, come on. I know you feel like hell, but if I can’t get you out of bed I have to call Madam Pomfrey, come on.” they wheedled.

Rhiannon growled and turned her face into the blankets, she didn’t care about breakfast, and she didn’t care if Harry brought Madam Pomfrey. Madam Pomfrey couldn’t get her out of bed either, she thought mulishly. “Fine, you asked for it,” Harry grumbled, and there was a soft whoosh of clothes as they stepped away. Then, all of a sudden, Rhiannon’s little den was fractured and even hidden in the mattress, her eyes were assailed with light as with a firm, cut-off sssssshhhh sort of sound, Harry drew back the curtains that surrounded her four-poster bed.

There was no hiding from a world that blared brightly through her eyelids, and finally Rhiannon turned over to lie on her back, gasping for air as all of a sudden her thin body was wracked with great choking sobs. “No- n-n-n-no, I d-d-d-don’t, I can’t,” she sobbed, overwhelmed all at once by how big, how frightening the world was now that she was faced by its reality. The refuge of sleep had protected her for a time but that time was up.

“I know you can’t,” Harry murmured, the bed bouncing a little under their weight as they sat down on the bed beside Rhiannon and pulled her unceremoniously into their lap. “That’s what you’ve got friends for. But friends don’t like hugs from vomit-smelling werewolves, so come on, let’s get in the shower, I’ll help you wash out your hair.”

Through her gasps and sobs, Rhiannon got a great lungful of air and in it, the smells of the room. She wrinkled her nose and gagged in disgust – wet dog, vomit, sweat and a little blood, urine – to her mortification, it seemed she had wet herself in the night, and she resolved to leave a galleon on the table for whichever poor elf was assigned to launder the bed. Then she realised that meant she had accepted she would have to get up, and flopped back into Harry’s lap with a groan and a whimper.

“Yeah, you know you stink,” Harry told her good-naturedly, leaning down as they spoke to hug her tightly. “Now, c’mon, I already got your things ready in a shower bag, let’s go clean the both of us up.”

Once upon a time, Rhiannon might have been embarrassed at a friend seeing her naked body. But today, she couldn’t bring herself to care as Harry helped her clean the smell from her body and shampoo her tangled hair until finally, she resembled a person again. Not a healthy, functioning person, but at least a person, and when she emerged from the bathroom with her arm looped through Harry’s for support her hair was sweet-smelling with a protective oil and she was neatly clothed in a fresh uniform ready for class.

The first class – well, the first for Rhiannon, as she’d slept through the morning classes and break besides – was History of Magic. Ordinarily it was a class Rhiannon quite liked, even though the teacher was duller than his own gravedust – she rather enjoyed diverting the lessons with strident disagreements on his teaching methods, bias and additional perspectives on the events he was teaching. But on a low-energy sick day, Rhiannon’s hopes for success in the class were low to begin with, and as she entered the room leaning heavily on Harry’s shoulder by the time they reached the ground floor, she stopped and stared foggily around her at the hostile faces of what felt like almost all her classmates.

What Rhiannon hadn’t expected, what floored her as she walked in, was how fast the petty bullies had moved, having had only a morning to carry out their plans. Any other teacher – at least, any currently employed by Hogwarts whose classes Rhiannon attended – would have ordered they look to the front and remove any non-uniform items, perhaps made a statement about not singling out their classmates or even pointed out that Cedric Diggory openly supported Rhiannon. Professor Binns’ approach to bullying was firm ignorance of any student misbehaviour in his classroom, so she hadn’t exactly counted him among her allies to begin with, but she had not expected at least half the classroom to be smirking, whispering and gesturing to brilliant violet buttons that spelled out in yellow letters – Support Cedric Diggory, a real man and the REAL Hogwarts Champion.

Rhiannon curled her lip – it was a clumsy slogan, a petty jab at her gender yet again, and the blinking of the badges was out of synchronisation which meant the enchanting job was shoddy. But even that little bit of satisfaction didn’t alleviate the fact that that shoddy enchanting job was going to give her a headache, and the prickling of her skin from their hostile stares was going to be pretty bloody irritating if she had to put up with it the whole lesson.

“Sit down, Potter,” Professor Binns droned, his voice as sympathetic as a papercut. Rhiannon curled her lip and lifted her chin, challenging her classmates to say anything further – if they wanted to have a go at her, let them do it openly. But they said nothing, only sat and smirked, and eventually Rhiannon relented with an irritable growl as Harry tugged her into a pair of open seats near the front of the class that Padma and Mairi had saved for them.

“Are you alright? You’ve slept in a couple times around the you-know-what but, never this bad, we were all worried,” Padma whispered anxiously. Rhiannon’s heart wrenched – Padma was a lot more emotionally reserved than her sister, so for her to express worry, well, she must be feeling pretty awful.

“Crap,” Rhiannon replied, after a moment of staring into space and not having noticed she was being spoken to. Even arranging her paper and pens on the desk was an effort, her hands trembled so badly with weariness and tension and it felt like every yellow flash of a Real Hogwarts Champion badge was laughing at her as she fumbled with the stationery. “I – t-hhhh- thanks, for looking after me, though. Makes it, bearable, sort of.”

Harry made a squeaky little sound that Rhiannon guessed to be a wordless expression of overwhelmed affection – her goofy nonbinary friend was a bit of a marshmallow at heart, but they didn’t always manage to express that with words, and she leaned over to hug them around the waist in response.

Professor Binns cleared his throat irritably, and Rhiannon and Harry settled back into their own separate chairs with matching scowls as their ghostly professor launched into his talk on the Goblin Rebellions, the new topic for the first term. This week was covering the very earliest of those, incited by the activity of one Yardley Platt, a Ministry employee of the Department of Mysteries, and serial goblin killer known for his ‘controversial’ research on the use of goblin bodily parts and substances in potionsmaking and alchemy.

Personally, Rhiannon could rather see why the goblins were upset, but the class had always taken a very wizard-centric point of view and apparently that extended to serial killers. On a normal day it would have taken all Rhiannon’s energy not to point out why the rebellions had begun. A goblin family had called for legal action and justice after the father had been killed by Platt, and the Ministry had not just let Platt keep his position and go free – they refused to allow the case even to come before the Wizengamot and laughed the family out of court. In response, young goblins employed in and around the area had burned the court to the ground and rioted, inciting the first open rebellion against wizarding rule in Britain since the tenth century.

Today, Rhiannon just didn’t have the energy to stand up and point any of that out, and as a result, the first quarter hour of class had her seething silently in her chair with only her own notes as a release for her frustration. Every full stop was a little inky hole in the page, and each of Binns’ points was annotated with her irritable corrections.

An interruption arrived not quite twenty minutes into the class, just when Rhiannon was beginning to think there would be no end to Binns’ endlessly boring, bigoted material. But just before she lost the last of her patience, there was a knock at the door, and in peeped the tousled flaxen-blond head of Colin Creevey. “Hey, Professor, sorry – the Headmaster sent me to fetch Rhiannon, something about the Tournament,” he stammered apologetically.

Rhiannon’s stomach dropped into her shoes, and she braced herself against the top of her desk as a wave of nausea hit her. The Tournament. She had done her best to ignore the idea of it since waking, but clearly she could do so no longer. She sighed, and clenched her fists on the table as she straightened up – if anything, this was a crooked blessing. Better she face it now than fret about it for who knew how long. And if the worst case came to pass, and she were forced to compete in this tournament... she’d need all the time she could to prepare for it.

“Well, I suppose, if it’s the Headmaster’s orders...” Professor Binns grumbled, as Rhiannon slid her book, notes and pens back into her backpack and prepared to leave.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Harry whispered anxiously, clearly speaking aloud for their whole little group as Rhiannon stood and straightened out her robes.

“No,” Rhiannon replied with an uncomfortable shrug. “B-b-b- but it’s this or hide until they have to drag me in, and I’ve had, enough of tha-a-at for now.”

With that, Rhiannon squeezed Harry’s hand and edged out from behind the desk, head held stubbornly high. They’d seen her broken the night before. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing that again so soon. She nodded stiffly to Colin and followed him out of the room, but she couldn’t relax until he closed the door behind them. Then, she slumped on her cane and sighed. “I’m glad it’s someone I know coming to fetch me,” she grumbled by way of greeting.

Colin managed a trembling smile and Rhiannon jumped as he slipped his hand into hers. She’d admittedly lost track of him last year, it seemed he had grown more confident since his awful first year and despite the unfortunate circumstances of this meeting, well, that gladdened her. “As if I was letting anyone else do it? You wrote letters to my dad while I was sick, sent him my pictures and everything – I’d, like to think you’re my friend, and I didn’t want somebody with, one of those horrid badges coming to fetch you, make it even worse.” he stammered, rambling a little just as she remembered he did.

“I, ap-p-p-p- I appreciate that,” Rhiannon stuttered, touched by the younger boy’s kindness. She shuddered, thinking of all the yellow-flashing badges in the classroom... true, she was stubbornly pushing through this, but had the messenger been hostile... no, she had to admit it to herself, she might have broken again.

Colin grinned, more brightly this time, and he squeezed her hand tightly. “I know. You know, I used to think you were this, big hero and stuff. And don’t get me wrong, I still really admire you and all but... well, you’re not exactly hard to read, you kind of, broadcast how you’re feeling all over the place. It makes you, less scary, more human, you know?”

Rhiannon couldn’t help herself, she burst out laughing at that. More human... ha. She had only become more expressive, more open, since becoming a werewolf – since losing that humanity, as far as some were concerned. If only she could tell Colin the truth – being muggle-born, he’d almost certainly be kinder on the subject than most regular wizards. But it was hard enough for her closest friends to bear the weight of the secret... no, that wasn’t fair either, Colin was the same age as Ginny and Hayley, if he wanted to know he could. Like he’d said – she had sent letters to his father, they had their own sort of closeness that others didn’t share.

Colin looked over at her curiously, one pale eyebrow raised. “Er – what’s funny?” he inquired, looking a little owlish, and Rhiannon shook her head with a grin and a sigh.

“If – if-if-f-f-f, if, you really want to know... um, it’s a really long story for right now, it’s just a silly thing... uh, ask Nina, if you see her. You’re in the same house, right? Yeah, uh – tell her, I said it’s okay.” she replied. To hell with it, she thought impulsively. She might die, what did it matter.

Colin shrugged, still looking nonplussed. “If you say so. Uh, here, the Headmaster’s in here,” he said, gesturing to the open door of a disused classroom. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Definitely,” Rhiannon agreed with a crooked little smile. She actually meant it, too. If she was going to die, she wanted to keep all the friends she could get. “Thanks for looking out for me. I- I n-n-n- I needed that, today.”

Colin’s smile was sad that time, as he let go of Rhiannon’s hand and turned away. “I know. Figured you might.” he said. Then, as impulsive as Rhiannon had been herself, he lurched forward and hugged her tightly. “Uh... please don’t die. Or try not to, I... I, don’t know any other heroes who’re as cool as you are.” he added, his pale cheeks flushing deeply. Rhiannon squeezed him back until his spine clicked and she let go hurriedly, embarrassed at her lapse in control. She’d forgotten, werewolf hugs were a bit much for most people.

Colin wheezed and spluttered, and reached into his pocket for a greyish plastic device that Rhiannon recognised belatedly as an inhaler. Once he’d used it, he waved in Rhiannon’s general direction and shook his head tiredly. “For future reference, I do actually like my lungs un-squashed, thanks!” he grumbled, though there was no heat in the retort, and they both even managed a brief laugh before Colin turned and hurried away.

Then, Rhiannon was on her own. She grimaced, drew herself upright and straightened her clothes and hair, adjusted her grip on her cane, and limped steadily into the room with her chin set at a stubborn angle. Inside, Minerva McGonagall stood leaning against a desk flanked by Remus, Assistant Professor Tonks and Professors Moody and Flitwick, while Mr Crouch sat perched on a high-backed wooden chair in the far corner of the room. As soon as Remus saw her, he leapt from the chair and crossed the room in a few unsteady bounds to wrap her up in a tight hug.

“Oh, Rhi, I’m so glad to see you standing,” Remus murmured, his voice muffled by Rhiannon’s thick hair as he held he close. “When we heard, I – well, just ask anyone in the east wing of the third floor.”

“You were scared,” Rhiannon murmured woodenly. She was used to being scared for others, protecting them. Having a family who felt that for her, well... she wondered when it would ever stop feeling new and strange.

Remus squeezed her close once more, before he let go and held her at arms’ length, his scarred hands trembling where they gripped her shoulders. “Scared. Yes, that’s, the simplest way of putting it. Something’s gone wrong and it’s my daughter’s name they called out- er, well, that is... oh, forget it, you know what I mean. We’re going to do our best to get you out of this, Rhi, we’ve all got your back,” he murmured, tripping over his words in his clumsy, fervent rush of caring. That warmed Rhiannon, brought strength to her weary, fear-chilled body. She had her friends, her allies in the competition – and she had her family. If anyone could keep her alive – no, help her keep herself alive – it was them.

“Yeah, I, know what you mean,” Rhiannon replied with a fragile smile. “Let’s deal with this.”

Rhiannon took Remus’ hand and together the two of them turned to face the remaining adults. Rhiannon had already accepted her fate as a Triwizard competitor, she was relatively well-informed about how an Unbreakable Oath worked and thus of their chances of wiggling out of this one... but, well, at least she’d be buried by people who loved her. Oh, that was grimmer than she’d meant it to sound. Sound? Was that the right word if one was talking to oneself? Then, if one was talking to oneself, perhaps there were bigger problems than whether ‘sound’ was the correct term.

“Miss Potter?”

Rhiannon blinked, jolted from her circular pondering by a querulous voice, and she fixed her eyes on the tip of Mr Crouch’s nose as she realised it was he who had addressed her. “Uh – s-s-s-sorry, sir, can you rep-p-p-p-peat that?” she stammered, quietly bristling irritably at her own weakness.

“Your hand, Miss Potter. The competitors’ bond is written into your body itself, I need to examine it.” Mr Crouch explained stiffly. Rhiannon wrinkled her nose, but begrudgingly held out her hand so that he might take it. The skin of the elderly man’s palms was papery and dry, sending a shudder up through Rhiannon’s arm, and his grip tightened to a vicelike strength as she tried to jerk her arm away.

“Minerva, Alastor, your assistance please,” Crouch ground out, a tremor running through his hand strongly enough that it made Rhiannon’s ache. Minerva frowned and rose from her chair, crossing the room in a few brisk strides to stand at Rhiannon’s shoulder opposite Remus, while Professor Moody grinned and hobbled over to take Rhiannon’s free hand.

“Apologies for our not properly explaining things, Rhiannon,” Minerva McGonagall supplied quietly, and at a nod of permission from Rhiannon herself, the Headmaster settled her hand on the girl’s thin shoulder, eyeballing Moody sternly as she did so. “Mr Crouch would like to try and sever the competition bond outright, before we discuss anything further. He did mention some of that, though he really should have repeated it after we saw you weren’t attentive.”

Rhiannon shrugged, and Minerva tightened her grip on her shoulder as between the four of them – lawmaker, former enforcer, teacher, student – flowed the complex, tangled threads of a deeply-rooted magic. She could feel it flex, twist and pull away from the older mages as they struggled to unravel it, but it was as if the threads formed a great knot around her heart and lungs, and the harder they tried to unravel it, the tighter the knot at the heart grew until Rhiannon was choking for breath. Then all at once, it was like a bowstring breaking, and as Rhiannon fell to her knees gasping and coughing, the three adults were sent reeling backwards.

Rhiannon felt that morbid certainty settle deep in her gut, felt that knot tie itself tighter around her organs now that it had been let go. She knew even before Minerva opened her mouth that they had failed, and there would be no getting out of this.

“Rhiannon, I’m so sorry, but...” Minerva began, knotting her fingers together anxiously.

Rhiannon growled, and pushed herself off the floor with her cane, facing the array of teachers with Remus once again at her back. “No, don’t say it,” she hissed, raising her eyes to meet each pair before her for a brief, charged moment. “You can’t fix it. I felt the magic recoil, s-s-s-s-same as both’ve you. I’m a Champion, fuck what I want right?”

Mr. Crouch coughed, and drew himself upright with an irritable splutter. “Well, vulgar language aside... yes, that is rather the crux of the matter, unfortunately. Had we tried this last night, before the binding had a chance to embed itself... well, perhaps we might have been successful. It’s too entwined now, any attempts to disentangle or sever the bond will damage critical biological systems – as an Unbreakable Vow is designed to do.”

“A vow I didn’t make,” Rhiannon grumbled resentfully, but that remark was more for posterity than anything else, she knew it didn’t matter who had entered her name at this point.

“Regardless of who made it, it would mean your death to break the binding now,” Crouch replied stiffly.

“Which brings us to the matter of her competing,” Minerva cut across him with a sharp look. “All three fellow Champions have committed to supporting Rhiannon in the tournament. Take that as you will, Mr Crouch, but to Rhiannon at least I hope it will be a reassurance. If you must compete, stand alongside them knowing they have your back, or something like that. I don’t know, it’s all a bloody mess. But, it’s a bloody mess with a lot of official protocols, and the first of those is the Weighing of the Wands, a ceremony scheduled for later this afternoon.”

Rhiannon groaned, and leaned on her cane for support. “If- if-f-ff-f- if there’s gonna be a stupid ceremony, c-c-c-c-can I have a chair? ‘m tired’ve this already,” she grumbled irritably.

Minerva chuckled softly and shook her head ruefully. “I’m sure there’ll be chairs, everyone should be set up already, I believe they’re using the largest of the unused Charms classrooms. We’ll be heading there now, if you would like to follow behind with Remus at an easier pace.”

Rhiannon wrinkled her nose irritably as she glanced around the room, seeing the pity plain on their faces – even Tonks, a teacher she ordinarily quite liked. Poor Rhiannon, the little cripple doomed to this tournament. Only Remus knew that her weakness, her frailty, concealed a strength that could put her on equal footing with the others – were they intending to compete against her. Yes, she decided, she’d much rather follow behind with Remus where she wouldn’t have to endure pitying glances every time she stumbled.

“Yeah I’ll, do that, thanks,” she mumbled, and Minerva squeezed her shoulder with a regretful smile before turning away and leading the other staff from the room. Tonks favoured Rhiannon with a sympathetic grimace in passing, but there wasn’t much the assistant Defense teacher, their hair styled in irregular spikes and coloured an electric blue that matched the badge on their lapel which read ‘he/him’, could do when the surly Professor Moody followed behind them and grumbled something about ‘slower than a one-legged old veteran’ when they stopped to begin with.

When the others had left the room, Remus released a weary sigh and took Rhiannon’s free hand in one of his. “I’m so sorry you have to go through with this, it’s not right,” he growled softly, setting off at a limping pace along the corridor with her.

Rhiannon shrugged, suddenly gripped by a reckless burst of grim humour. “N-n-n-n-nothing you can do about it except... oh, tell da- Sirius, maybe he’d let them put Rhiannon Black on my tombstone.” she retorted drily.

Remus’ stride hitched and Rhiannon hissed with pain as his grip on her hand tightened painfully for a moment. “No, don’t – don’t think like that. You can’t think like that,” he whispered hoarsely, unable to meet her gaze. “I just found you, Sirius... I- d-don’t make us lose you, Rhiannon, not yet. If you believe you’re gonna die, well, in my experience I’ve found people tend to make that happen. You’re a powerful witch, Rhi, and a werewolf besides – and you’re the one who taught me the strength in that. Don’t give up. Please, kiddo, promise me.”

Shaken, Rhiannon backed away and tried to tug her hand free from Remus’ grip, the other hugged tight to her chest. She hadn’t really thought about how her morbid humour could hurt those that cared about her. “I’m... I’m sorry, that was a- a-a-a- a really, stupid think to say,” she muttered, a hot flush rising in her cheeks.

Remus shook his head, and her hand for emphasis. “No, Rhi, I mean it. Don’t, wave it off, apologise for it, whatever... I’m not upset that you said it. I’m upset that, somewhere inside, you mean it. That stuff doesn’t come from nowhere.”

Rhiannon coughed and scrunched the fingers of her free hand in the knitted pattern of her school jumper. He was right, she knew he was right – when her name had come out of that goblet, she’d lost hope for the future. He had never touched on the details, but Rhiannon got the distinct impression that her soon-to-be-adoptive father was all too familiar with that mindset, and she could only guess how awful he must feel seeing that same expectance of death in someone he’d admitted he considered a daughter. “You’re-r-r-r-r-r r-righ’,” she whispered, the r sound tangling her words up and slurring them together – so many emotions were tiring, and she’d only been awake for a couple of hours. “I promise, I’ll, rage against the dying of the light, however it goes. I’ve got, stuff I haven’t done yet.”

Remus grinned, and he pulled Rhiannon into a tight, slightly teary hug. “You’re damn right you do – have you kissed that Hermione properly yet? Or Luna? You know, in my day we might’ve got all angsty about who to choose, but I guess you don’t have to anymore,” he teased.

Rhiannon groaned and wiggled free of the hug, her cheeks once again blazing with heat. “Da! No! I – I-i-i- - I am not talking about kissing with you!” she protested, mortified, and she set off a little too quickly down the hallway again to escape Remus’ gleeful chuckle. His suggestion had lit a stubborn little spark though, because as usual he was right. She hadn’t kissed anyone properly, or gone on a proper date. She’d never learned to ride a bike or to swim, or baked a cake. She had her whole damn life ahead of her, and she was going to fight for it – she’d just forgotten, for a little while, that she could.

Chapter Text

Eventually, and thankfully with only a little further teasing, the two of them reached the usually-empty Charms classroom that today had been reserved for the Weighing of the Wands. Being a werewolf, Rhiannon could hear chatter from inside drifting down the hall as they approached, and the fine hair on the back of her neck began to prickle with discomfort. That wasn’t just teachers and the other champions in there, there were a whole lot of people with equipment, all talking over eachother and dragging what sounded like desks around the room, setting up a cacophony that had Rhiannon covering her ears and flinching as she approached. Remus’ hand on her shoulder was steadying, but the din was daunting nonetheless and Rhiannon had to dredge up every spare dram of courage to keep her head held high and her gait steady as they entered the room together.

“Rhiannon! It’s good to see you up and about. Have you seen their silly bloody badges yet? I’ve been trying to get them to knock it off all bloody morning,” Cedric greeted her before lapsing into weary grumbling, as Rhiannon limped over to join the little huddle of Champions.

Rhiannon snorted. “T-t-tell them they need to go back to Charms, the enchanting’s all wonky, it’ll wear out in a couple weeks,” she retorted with a wry smile.

“Maybe I’ll set Esther on them... you heard her last night, she can’t stand infighting,” Cedric mused, his lips quirking up at the sides in the tiniest smile at the thought.

Fleur grinned mischievously. “She sounds fearsome... I don’t suppose she’s single? If I can’t have that delightful assistant professor, I should find somebody interesting while I’m here,” she quipped, which set the rest of them to cackling. Even Krum, hunch-shouldered and perpetually scowl-faced, cracked a smile.

“I think so – but as far as I know, she’s straight,” Cedric replied with a shrug, taking Fleur’s mischief at face value.

Fleur adopted an exaggeratedly sad expression and wiped away an invisible tear. “Now, that is a tragedy indeed... if it’s true. I will ask.” she said decisively.

“All this gossip is just lovely, lovely! So nice to get an insight into student life,” a blonde woman cooed, sweeping into the conversation all of a sudden. Rhiannon hadn’t noticed her before and she jumped, startled by the intrusion, and had to remind herself she was in public to keep from growling. The woman was older, perhaps in her early forties, and dressed more modernly than most did in the wizarding world, closer to Muggle styles than the usual robes and cloaks,. Her flaxen hair was cut quite short and had clearly been artfully curled in a curious way to frame her face, though were faint reddish traces at the roots that suggested her usual colour might have been closer to Nina’s brilliant auburn; and beneath those curls she wore elaborate makeup with flaring black wings lining her almost-crystalline blue eyes that Rhiannon desperately wanted to imitate – if a little more quietly.

Clearly the blonde woman picked up on the cautious, unwelcoming air of the four champions and backed off a little, though there was still a definite insistent energy to her. “Sorry, sorry – it’s just so exciting, the drama of it all – the first Triwizard Tournament in years and none other than Rhiannon Potter, our very own Girl Who Lived, is in the thick of it! And the way you three banded together to support her, just marvelous stuff, my readers are going to love it.”

“Readers?” Krum asked, frowning suspiciously.

“Oh – oh I should have led with that, my apologies again. My name is Rita Skeeter, I’m a reporter for the Daily Prophet. Since it’s such a sensational turn of events, I wanted to get a little bit from each of you and especially our youngest Champion – for a bit of colour and all that.” the blonde woman, Rita, explained smoothly.

Minerva, overhearing, drifted over with a disapproving scowl on her face. “Rita, you are here to cover the Tournament, I gave no permission for individual interviews,” she grumbled.

“Oh, Minnie, don’t be like that – I just want the world to get to know our Champions a little better; such lovely characters, all of you! And with all these dreadful things being said about young Rhiannon, I thought, why not give her a chance to tell her side? Clear it all up?” Rita suggested, spreading her beautifully-manicured hands wide in a placating gesture.

Rhiannon wrinkled her nose. She didn’t trust this Rita, and she’d seen reporters in action after Lockhart was proven a fraud and then again when Sirius was found to be innocent... but at the same time, those experiences and that cynicism might give her some advantage in dealing with Rita. The reporter clearly had her own agenda – but didn’t everybody? So long as Rhiannon was careful and aware, it didn’t seem like such a bad idea – better to speak to someone before they jumped on the ‘Rhiannon Potter is an attention-seeking trainwreck’ bandwagon, surely?

“Um – h-h-hhhh- Headmaster, McGonagall... if it’s alright, she kinda has a point. People’re, s-s-s-s-saying a lot of nasty stuff, I’d – I’d like to kinda, say my own bit, if that’s alright,” Rhiannon stammered, wilting under Minerva’s scowl even though it was not directed at her. “I’m sick ‘f people makin’ up stories about me and me not bein’ able to say anything about it.”

Minerva frowned, but her severe expression softened and she shook her head tiredly. “Ach... very well, I suppose. Set up in the corner o’er there, should be quiet enough while everyone else is having their wands weighed. After all that’s done, Rita, you can speak to the other Champions and get a few group pictures, but that’s all. Clear?” she told the reporter firmly.

“Crystal!” Rita quipped cheerfully. She reached for Rhiannon’s arm, but only the tips of her crimson acrylic nails scraped against Rhiannon’s school jersey as the girl flinched away, a barely-audible growl rising in her throat. “Oops, sorry love, just a habit – if you’d follow me, we can set up in the corner so you can get off your feet. What’s the story there, anywhere? You’re a bit young for needing a cane like that,”

Out of the corner of her eye, Rhiannon caught sight of a worried Minerva stepping after them, one arm outstretched and her mouth open as if she’d been going to say something. She turned her head to look more clearly, but seeing Rhiannon watching Minerva straightened up and put her scowl back on. Whatever warning she’d meant to give would have to be shortened at such a distance, but still Rhiannon heard her whisper across the room, too low for anyone but a werewolf to hear – “Be careful.”

Shaken by that, Rhiannon took a moment to register what Rita had said, and when she recalled it, she bristled irritably. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that line – people seemed to have this weird idea that mobility aids were only for adults, and elderly ones at that. She knew at least two others in the castle who used enchanted wheelchairs, and another four who needed canes, crutches or both. “Uh – genetic disorder,” she lied with a shrug. It was a familiar lie by now, and a ready made excuse for Dudley’s similar symptoms – and given Minerva’s warning, she wasn’t letting the werewolf secret anywhere near the reporter. “We- w-w-we think my mum’s side had it. It’s more, annoyin’ than anything- ‘specially when others give me the whole, ‘you’re too young’ bit,” she added pointedly.

Rita chuckled and retrieved a pair of chairs from against the wall, setting one down for herself and then scooting the other across the floor with one pointy-toed, leather-booted foot. “Fair enough, fair enough – and as a reporter, I’d really prefer to be original with my lines of questioning,” she quipped with a wry smile.

A t that, Rhiannon couldn’t help but snicker to herself. She’d read a few of Rita’s articles in passing, or listened to Hermione read them grumpily under her breath. If Rita was original, it was in that she was first to an interesting piece of gossip – certainly not original in her thinking . But perhaps that was unfair – more original thinkers ended up in the Quibbler and paid less than half as well, and she supposed Rita had to pay her rent first. Not that it made her trust the woman any more, but she could muster a cynical sort of sympathy for her position – even if she disliked it, and would work against her if she had to .

Rita arched an eyebrow and rummaged in her handbag, coming up with a sturdy notepad, a pot of ink and a pair of quills, one a nice but ordinary striped black and brown, the other a rather more unusual acid green in colour. The ordinary quill she tucked behind one ear, while the green one and the notepad were set to hovering, poised in midair to take notes, by a flick of Rita’s fingers.

“I hope you don’t mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill – little invention of mine, I just find it so distracting to be taking notes while I’m getting to know somebody, you know? Helps me find a flow better,” Rita explained with a bright smile.

R hiannon side-eyed the quill and pad, suspended in the air with a haze of emerald sparkles as it began to take notes on her appearance and demeanour – evidently, the tool worked more off Rita’s thought process than anything she said, a clever piece of enchanting – perhaps there was a device on Rita’s person that created the link? Yes, there she could see it, one of Rita’s earrings held a glassy bauble that glowed the same green as the sparks, some kind of neural link enchantment – that really was clever, she’d have to remember to tell Hermione, perhaps they could adapt the idea for Neville. Then she realised Rita was staring at her and flushed, embarrassed by her lapse in attention. “Uh, sorry – got distracted, y-y-y-you invented that? That’s, really clever enchanting, it’s some k-k-k-kinda, neural link, right? I know there’s been a bit’ve research on them but they’re s-s-so finicky to get exactly right, risk of brain damage if messed up, all that,” she stammered, words spilling out in her enthusiasm.

To Rhiannon’s surprise, Rita actually blushed – a more genuine expression than she’d seen on the older woman so far. “ Yes, actually – I dabbled in enchanting at Hogwarts and a little after, but it doesn’t exactly pay the bills. I think you’re the first person to comment on how it works – clearly your reputation as one of the brightest witches of your age is not unearned!” she agreed with a grin and a raised eyebrow.

R hiannon wrinkled her nose at that. “Eh – that’s Hermione, I just-t-t-t like to read,” she demurred with an uncomfortable shrug. She stuck out enough as the Girl Who Lived, the last thing she needed was a reputation as some kind of prodigy on top of that.

“So eager to deflect credit! You know, I’ve heard some of what they’re saying about you, but you really don’t seem the type at all.” Rita mused, sharing an exasperated eyeroll with Rhiannon.

“That’s what I’ve been telling everyone!” Rhiannon cried, a little louder than she’d meant to. “Oops. Sorry, it’s just been... really silly, did everyone forget how to use their eyes when the cup spat my name or something?”

R ita sighed and tapped a nail against her chin, squinting at her levitating notepad as she did so. Something must have gone wrong, for she took the plain quill from behind her ear and uncapped the ink bottle, and made what looked to be a few corrections before blowing on the green enchanted quill in much the same way someone might scold a cat. “ Bah, give me a second... right, it’s sorted itself out, good. Back to it... well, that’s the sort of thing you get when you’re a girl. It’s not fair, not right, but it is the way of things and people get upset when they see a girl getting something they’d like, regardless of how that girl actually feels about it, you know?”

R hiannon snorted derisively. “Don’t I ever,” she grumbled resentfully. “ But I’ve had enough drama f-f-f-f-for ten lives, thanks. I hate this, I hate this whole stupid Tournament, the bloody binding , all of it – so people acting like this, ‘s just, a slap in th’ face on top of it.”

“I can imagine,” Rita agreed with a surprisingly genuine grimace. “Still, there’s people in your corner. That Hermione you mentioned, your godfather, and you seem close with that Professor Lupin, no? It’s not a traditional support system but it’s certainly a heartwarming picture, and surely there’s a lot of stories there.”

Rhiannon bit her lip, unsure what she could say about Sirius and Remus. Sure, the year was 2004, but Britain’s sodomy laws had only been abolished in 1967 and there was still a lot of hate and disinformation, worldwide, in the wake of the AIDs crisis. Then she remembered that they’d done a radio appearance together in the summer holidays and been relatively open about their relationship then. She supposed they’d be alright with her explaining things.

“Well, y-y-y-ou, you probably know Sirius Black’s my godfather. Um, Remus, P-p-p-p-professor Lupin, that is, ‘s his partner. And it’s kind of a slow over time thing but, we’re w-w-w-orking towards a formal adoption f’r me and my brother, D-d-dudley, so he’s like, b-basical-l-l-l-l-l-l-ly my dad.” Rhiannon explained clumsily. Talking about her family always made her misplace words, it was so new to her that it felt strange and uncomfortable, almost like a transgression, to let anyone else in.

B ut there was no judgment in Rita’s face – in fact, her blue eyes had a distinctly misty cast to them as she monitored the frantically-scribbling green quill. “Oh that’s just beautiful, so lovely... a real pull on the hear t-strings, that. The Girl Who Lived, we all know how you were orphaned... and then to be kept away from your second chance at a family by Sirius Black’s wrongful imprisonment, hoooo , that’s a big thing. I can imagine you’re feeling a lot of resentment with the Ministry right now, am I right? You’re a fiesty kid, Quidditch player – aren’t you angry about this, not just sad?”

R hiannon let out a huff of breath and shrugged, twisting her hands together in her lap and biting her lip as she considered what she could say. Despite her reservations, Rita was being pleasant and asking questions in unexpected good faith, she might as well be relatively honest herself. “’course I am,” she replied with a wry grimace. “But I can, whack a Bludger, I c-c-c-c’nnnnn’t-t-t, I can’t, exactly, whack Mr. Crouch or the stupid Goblet or whatever else ‘s nearest. There’s nowhere to put it, like? Nothing I can do excep’ focus on, surviving it I guess.”

“Priorities, priorities,” Rita agreed affably, scribbling out a few more corrections on her pad as she did so. “But is making a change, taking on the Ministry, anywhere on those priorities? I mean with your history and the social power you’ve got, anyone’s going to be wondering about it.”

R hiannon sucked in a sharp breath between her teeth, taken aback by Rita’s frank line of questioning. Why did she want to know that – what was her agenda? The last thing she needed was to be painted as some kind of threat to the Ministry. So she took some time to consider her response, drumming her nails on the head of her cane as she did so. “Well... don’t m-m-m-m-most p-people want to change something ‘bout the world?” she replied carefully. “ I mean, t-t-t-the, the Tournament, it d-d-does seem to be a bigger issue than just, me being in it, an’ I know plenty of people weren’t happy it w’s brought back – danger and all that like, sure I’m kinda, better at some stuff cos I faced the Chamber an’ that but... you don’t wanna, throw kids at my life, you know? That’s, it doesn’t... it doesn’t seem, like a good way of making people. We’re not fighting a war anymore but, it’s kinda like people think we could be any time and...” she trailed off, embarrassed as she realised she’d let on a little more of her true feelings than she’d meant to.

Then Rhiannon had a sudden brain wave – she could use this, divert Rita’s attention from the idea of ‘Rhiannon Potter is a wild card’ to perhaps some publicity for S.P.E.A.R. “Uh, sorry f’r that... What I mean is... there’s, a lot of things to want to change. Me gettin’ stuck in ‘n Unbreakable Vow I didn’ make is jus’ one example there’s, how Re- how p-p-p-Professor Lupin got treated after he w- after, p-p-people found out he was a w-w-werewolf you know, or, or, elf slavery, centaur reservations, nonhuman medical care, equal marriage stuff – whether it’s gay or, or my dads, or whoever, you know? And that’s just the m-m-magic-c-c sssssssss-stuff, there’s so m-m-m-much m-more, in general.” she rambled, making a mess of the words as she got more excited. “But, m-m-m-m-me ‘n H-h-h-er-er-er-er-H’mione an’ our friends, we, started this thing um, S.P.E.A.R – like SPEAR – the Society for the Promotion of Elven Autonomy and Rights. I mean, I’m only here talkin’ t-t-to you b’cause an elf saved me ‘n Dudley from my- fr’m his- from, the Dursleys. An’ Dobby’s free now, and he gets paid and stuff but, most, aren’t. And that’s really fucked up ‘cos, chattel slavery w’s outlawed in 1833 an’ eliminated completely by 1843, it’s, k-k-k-k-indd- kind of a d-d-double standard, if that’s only for humans.”

R ita blinked, clearly taken aback by Rhiannon’s outpouring of fervour and information. “ You know, I never actually thought about it like that, it’s just, how it’s always been. Don’t they like to work? I mean, I’ve only ever seen them frightened of being freed.” she mused.

Rhiannon scowled and would have flattened her ears, had they been the right shape – maybe Savita was onto something with the ear and tail potions. “O-o-o-o-o-on’y cos, being freed, it’s a death sentence. They’ve got n-n-n-n-o-o-o – no rights no, ways to provide for themselves, but can’t just up and leave c-c-c-cos of th’ whole, Statute of Secrecy. An’ their own folks won’t t-t-t-t-t-take them in cos, they’d get beaten by their own owners, it keeps them all divided. I mean, of course they l-l-l-l-l-like to work, they’re, busy people, but – the Elfbind, slavery, it’s ex-ex-ex-ex-ex-exploiting that, you know?” she explained. “Um, m-m-m-most freed elves in the UK at least, they get employed here at H-h-h-hogwarts. Min-m- Headmaster, McGonagall, she’s been doing that for ages, there’s posters up in safe havens like the Leaky Cauldron for ‘em. And they get leave and healthcare and accommodation and pay ‘n stuff, same as ev’ryone else. ‘couple other places do it too, I know the Irish school of magic only has free elves but um – even here, at Hogwarts, most of ‘em aren’t free. I mean there’s hundreds , more’n the students, and maybe a hundred and fifty free? But they’re bound t’ the school governors so, this whole place, basically runs on slave labour. With S.P.E.A.R. we’re, kinda campaigning to get people to tip them in the meantime for, meals an’ dorm cleanin’ an’ stuff, and that’s really taken off especially with th’ exchange students pitchin’ in but um, we want t’, take it to the governors an’ get them freed, and some accommodations for their families, that kinda thing.”

Rita’s quill scrabbled back and forth across the note-paper so fast Rhiannon was half worried it might start a little fire, as the reporter’s gaze darted between her notes and her subject. “That’s... wow, when I asked about taking on the Ministry, I wasn’t expecting you to have a whole plan already!” she joked, grinning broadly. “Honestly, I’m impressed – you seem a bright, ambitious young lass, it’s a real shame this whole tournament’s been slammed down on you in the middle of your work, isn’t it? I gotta say, you’ve given me a lot of content with your goals, your supports, your frustration with the Ministry about this, thanks for all that. But if it’s alright, before we finish up, I want to hear about you – how you’re feeling, and how you’re coping, is that alright?”

R hiannon grimaced and took a deep breath, steadying herself on the armrests of the chair. There was no point dancing around Rita’s agenda anymore, it couldn’t hurt her position any to be honest about her feelings – she’d said a whole lot already. “I... um... I’m not, doing great. I mean, everyone else, they’re legally ad-d-d-d-d-dults in the magic world, I’m... I’m just, a kid. And I’m tryna, put on a brave face, keep my head high, show no weakness, but... that ship’s already sailed. I just, broke, when my name came out and um, my da, Remus, he had to shake a bit of sense into me ‘cos right now... I’m, not even sure I’ll live through it. ‘til like half ‘n hour ago, didn’ have any hope of that either.” she admitted, digging her nails into the carved whorls of the chair to try and anchor herself. “I’m scared , and angry, an’ a whole lot of things, and I think – I think, the other Champions are too. But, they’ve got my back. And I’ve got my friends, an’ my family so... it’s kind of one step at a time over here b-b-b-b-but, at least I’m not on my own in that, right?”

R ita sniffed, clearly genuinely touched despite her jaded air – though Rhiannon did get the sense she was playing it up a little. Over Rita’s shoulder she could see Minerva watching the two of them like a poised wildcat, edging closer and closer as they talked. Evidently Rita could sense that their time was up, and she collected her floating notebook as Minerva strode over to them, fixing a bright smile back on her face. “ Thank you so much for your honesty – that note at the end, that’ s, beautiful. You’ve given me a lot to work with – and a lot to think about, certainly, but I’d better let you go before your Headmaster has my quill to decorate the Sorting Hat.”

“You’re damn right I would,” Minerva growled, and she reached out to rest her hand firmly on Rhiannon’s shoulder in a protective, almost possessive sort of way – her Animagus form might have been a cat, but Minerva McGonagall was the mother wolf of that school and nobody, nobody, touched her pups. “Time’s up in any case, Mr. Ollivander has to evaluate Rhiannon’s wand now – she’s got enough challenges ahead without going into this mess with a faulty wand.”

M r Ollivander? Rhiannon tilted her head, bewildered – she hadn’t seen Mr. Ollivander, but then again, perhaps she hadn’t looked hard enough – Rita had admittedly been an immediate distraction. Now that she cast her eyes around again, she could see McGonagall was right – there was Ollivander, set up with a number of measuring instruments and tools behind what appeared to be the teacher’s desk. The weighing of the wands... it seemed there was some practicality to the ceremony of it al l.

“Oh, very well – thankyou for your time, Miss Potter,” Rita replied with a grumpy glance cast sideways at the Headmaster. Rather than get in the middle of Minerva’s not-unwarranted grievance with the reporter, Rhiannon stood, her knees creaking in protest, and limped across the room to where Cedric, Viktor and Fleur stood huddled to one side of the old wandmaker’s desk.

F leur grimaced and took Rhiannon’s hand, pulling the small girl into a hug. “ Well, that looked like hell,” she said frankly.

R hiannon snorted, and extricated herself from the hug, her nose wrinkled up with displeasure and her glasses sitting crooked. “ You know, not really? I mean, it wasn’t great but... she wasn’t as bad as I’d expected from all her articles.”

C edric curled his lip. “Yeah, you think – until she makes you into one of those articles,” he drawled sardonically. “I mean, she’s not always wrong – made a right stir in the house a couple years ago when she took a crack at my dad and his work, Mum didn’t know some of the details she dragged up and she was bloody furious at Dad for a while after, but like... she does it to make a stir not, to actually help.”

R hiannon shrugged. “Yeah, I... kinda guessed that, honestly. But, what’s the worst she can do? Oh, the Girl Who Lived’s got a crusade to change the world for her gay dads and house elves, bloody marvelous – it’s not like any of that’s a secret ,” she retorted, throwing her hands in the air in frustration. “I guess I said more’n I meant to, she’s got this kinda, way of keepin’ you talking, but... nothin’ I actually want t’ keep to myself came out, not even most’ve the sob stories.”

I f looks could kill, the glare Viktor Krum directed at Rita Skeeter’s back would have left only a sizzling puddle of acrylic. “ Reporters. Just scum , they are – an d they love child celebrities, come down like ravens on us.”

“Does just not talking to them work?” Rhiannon asked him, more than a little desperately. Since joining the magical world in 2001 she’d gotten better at dealing with her position, but it was never easy. She’d learned to people-please from the Dursleys and the media were starting to bring out the same feelings, would it work better if she just tried to keep her head down and stay clear of them?

Viktor laughed, bitter and mirthless and sounding far too old for an eighteen year-old in that moment. “ No – no, don’t do that, then they’ll write about how you’re cold and rude, and you’re a girl, that’s... when someone like me does that, the women still like that. For you – no, that would be... very, very bad.”

R hiannon bit her lip, Viktor’s words weighing on her heavily. He was right, of course he was. Right now, that scared little girl reputation was the only thing keeping her safe – from Rita and others in the media, from her peers and their parents when her lycanthropy was inevitably discovered. The last thing she needed people to think was that she was cold, or mean – not because she wanted to be some perfect minority or anything, but because she was the most visible werewolf right now and how she acted would blow back on countless people.

F leur squeezed Rhiannon’s shoulder again and held out her arm so that the little werewolf could snuggle in against her side. She always had a sort of comforting air like protective wings, even with hers hidden, and Rhiannon could close her eyes and take a deep, calming breath – speaking with Rita had drained her, more than she’d noticed at first. “ Viktor’s right, it’s vicious – but from what I saw, you seemed to be doing very well. Now, let’s get your wand sorted, I’ll help you over there,” she suggested.

Rhiannon was about to protest, point out that thank-you but she could walk by herself, until Fleur squeezed her shoulder and she fell silent – Fleur needed to tell her something. “ Apologies for the secret s and all, but you’re dealing with the press now and it just occurred to me – how much do you use the glamours for?”

R hiannon wrinkled her nose and shrugged uncomfortably. “ Um – everything, I guess? Hang on, I’ll... tempus ostende,” she murmured, and with a soft hiss of receding magic probably undetectable to human ears, she hid the glamours for just a second and looked Fleur full in the face. To her credit, the French girl did not jump or even startle, save for a narrowing of the pupils in her amber eyes, but even so Rhiannon felt more comfortable as the glamours settled back in to place.

Fleur’s expression, stiff for just that brief moment of shock, softened, and she nodded slowly. “ That explains it. Essentially, you’re putting them on slightly differently each time – a different arrangement of freckles, a slightly different angle on a branch of your lightning scar, the placement of that mole beside your nose – little things that add up to big things, and now you’re d ealing with press , you have to be more careful, more consistent or someone’s going to notice and start asking questions. Take Rita Skeeter – she lives to dig out secrets like yours. If she gets suspicious, she’ll find a charm for those terrible spectacles of hers to see right through your glamour, and she’s not the only one.” she explained, holding Rhiannon’s hands tightly.

A s Fleur spoke, it was as if a stone settled deep in Rhiannon’s gut – Fleur was right , she hadn’t been careful enough, she didn’t pay close enough attention – and that couldn’t slide any more. She screwed up her face and ran her fingers across her jawline – normally it would be ridged with claw scars, but her illusions provided a tactile deception as well as a visual one. “Is there, um... some way to sort of, fix the spells? Like, a template. So I’m putting on the s-s-s-s-s-same one, each time?” she asked, idly itching an irritating patch of acne that had flared up, and illusions couldn’t hide the itch.

F leur grinned brightly, and for a moment Rhiannon could see through the illusions to the brilliant yellow of her eyes and the distinctive pointed teeth, longer on the lower jaw than the upper, that rested against her upper lip. “Of course – and luckily for you, Veela are masters of illusion – we are a kind of fair folk, after all, and my grandmother was very strict on all of us knowing how to hide ourselves . If they want you for photos I’ll help fix your face and we can set a sort of template binding then, alright?” she reassured Rhiannon gently.

R hiannon nodded, already feeling better about the situation – but Fleur had that way about her, quietly settling everyone’s fears. “ Th-thanks for, for pointing it out – that could’ve been, bad.” she murmured . Then, buoyed by Fleur’s reassurance, she drew herself up to her full height – admittedly just shy of five feet, b ut anything was better than slouching and hiding from the world – and settled herself with a deep breath, turned a quick, wry smile on Fleur and set off across the last few feet to the chair across the desk from a man she hadn’t seen in quite some time.

“Young Miss Potter, it is good to see you – circumstances aside,” the silver-eyed wandmaker greeted her, his words accompanied by a mysterious smile. “I hope your wand has been serving you well?”

R hiannon took her wand from its’ usual slot behind the snake’s head of her cane, and handed it over with a brittle smile of her own. She never quite knew how to handle Mr Ollivander and his too-knowing gaze. “ Um – yes, very. It’s, gotten me through some bad stuff – you’re not going to, change it, are you?” she asked anxiously. Th at wand was like a close friend to her by now, a constant companion through everything she had faced. She was accustomed to its energy and the feel of the handle carvings in her hand, and she’d not like that to change when she was about to face a tournament that had taken lives.

O llivander shook his head, but his gaze was fixed on the wand as he turned it over in his hands, humming curiously to himself. “ Yes, yes, I can see that – it has the feel of a wand very happy with its’ mistress and its’ work. Verdimilious – excellent, excellent – vermillious , very good, the basics all seem to work though it’s definitely a little reluctant for me – not to worry, I suspect that is more an issue of bearer than wand. Still, if you wouldn’t mind a quick demonstration – just a very basic spell, perhaps some sort of simple conjuration?” he suggested, already holding out the wand to her across the desk.

This time, when Rhiannon took back her wand, her hand brushed against the old man’s and it was as if a static shock passed between them, one that set the hairs on the back of her neck to prickling as Mr Ollivander stiffened and met her gaze, silver eyes very wide and the pupils too small as he seemed to stare into her. Disturbed, she hurriedly looked away and pushed back her chair, she needed space to think. Simple charms, conjurations... well, she had a favourite. With that decided, Rhiannon took a deep breath and ran the words of the incantation over in her head, then sat back in her chair and pointed her wand at the ceiling lest she blind the wandmaker. “ Lumos astra ,” she whispered, soft-spoken but confident, and from the tip of her wand spilled forth countless pinpricks of light that decorated the ceiling, a passable replica of the night sky outside that she had spent a great deal of time trying to perfect. Those lights were as much a comfort to her as Fleur had been, like bringing a little piece of her home into the room, and she was almost sorry she had to extinguish them with a whispered “ nox.”

M r Ollivander smiled that cryptic smile and nodded, with the air of someone who had expected that very result. “ Excellent – and a very neat reconstruction, though your Draco is twisted about five degrees counterclockwise.” he commented drily. Rhiannon flushed – five degrees! And she’d cast the spell in front of the one person who would notice. But that did not seem to be of any real interest to Ollivander, and he dusted the table off for a moment before catching Rhiannon’s gaze again, his expression growing serious. “ You’re carrying a heavy burden, Miss Potter, and the secrecy that has protected you is rapidly running out. But I knew when it chose you, that you had found the kind of wand whose power grows with its’ bearer and I can feel from it now, you are much stronger than the wide-eyed, broken-spirited girl I met three years ago. Your truth takes courage, but y ou have the strength to bear that secret into the light, and you have already met those who will stand by your side in doing so.” he told her softly, his voice pitched too softly for any would-be eavesdroppers to overhear them.

R hiannon stared wordlessly at the floor between her knees, silently processing the old wandmaker’s words. There was no mistaking his meaning – somehow, in that brief touch, he had sensed her very nature and recognised it. His words didn’t ring of prophecy, not exactly, but somehow she knew they were the truth – she was running out of time. This tournament would reveal her secret, she was just fighting for that to be later rather than sooner. Shaken, she shoved her wand back into its’ slot on her cane and lurched from her chair, too disturbed by the wandmaker’s uncanny insight to offer him so much as a polite goodbye, but she knew somehow that he watched her leave with that strange, knowing smile of hi s.

S till turning over what Ollivander had said, Rhiannon didn’t look up in time as she approached the small throng of champions and press, and walked directly into Cedric Diggory’s back – she knew it was him at once, some soap or cream he used always smelled distinctly like forest and citrus. She started backwards, her cheeks already flaming, but now her clumsy feel were tangled up in her cane and she was tumbling, flailing helplessly-

Until all of a sudden, she wasn’t. Strong hands caught hold of Rhiannon’s forearms and lifted her back to her feet while her cane carried on falling, the thud rang unpleasantly through the disused classroom and set her teeth on edge. The calluses were familiar, and Rhiannon knew with a sinking feeling of total embarrassment that yet again, Cedric Diggory had rescued he r.

Before she could think to stand or apologise, she heard a sharp ka-click that she recognised immediately, courtesy of Colin Creevey in her second year, and screwed her eyes shut on instinct as a brilliant white light flashed across the room in quick succession to the shutter.

Oh no , Rhiannon thought, cheeks burning even more as she cautiously cracked open one eye. “ Oh, that was just lovely , with our two Hogwarts champions right there... that’s the front page, right there!” the very distinctive voice of Rita Skeeter crowed in delight. Rhiannon groaned and dragged herself to her feet, trying very hard not to think about how muscular Cedric’s arms were as the tendons flexed under her very small hands. Not useful , she growled to herself as her much-beloathed genitals stirred under her skirt. Being a teenager was ridiculous. Ice water, cold showers, wet socks, soggy fur, water in her ears , she brigaded her mind with unpleasant images and sensations until the feeling ceased and she could breathe right again.

“Um – thanks, for the catch,” Rhiannon mumbled, eyes downcast, and she shook herself free of Cedric’s grip and hugged her arms around her chest, trying as hard as she could to shrink in on herself. Think of the time Dudley rolled in dead mink, she told herself firmly, but that only had her thinking about the citrusy musk again and she hugged herself tighter. She was the master of this body, thank you, and it was going to listen.

C edric shook his head, already wearing a bright smile as Rhiannon dared to look up and meet his open gaze for a moment. “Just instinct – Seeker’s reflexes, right? I hope you’re okay, otherwise,” he replied with a shrug.

Do not think about how nice his shoulders are , Rhiannon grumbled to herself, and fixed on a slightly brittle smile. “I’m okay, but uh – that was, a photo, um – I’m not ready for photos, what are we doing?” she trailed off, flapping her free hand anxiously at her side until Fleur caught sight and hurried over to her rescue, while a deeply disapproving Minerva swooped down on Rita as she’d clearly been waiting to do the entire time.

“Ms Skeeter, Rhiannon is legally a child, you cannot simply take her picture as you please!” Minerva rebuked the reporter sharply, bristling with fury, while Fleur shuffled Rhiannon aside and straightened her hair, fussing like an older sister might have.

“Are you alright? Your eyes, with the photos,” Fleur asked, clearly concerned.

“’s’alright, I think I had ‘em closed,” Rhiannon mumbled, rubbing one eye grumpily – that hadn’t stopped the flash blaring right through her eyelids and leaving a bloody great purple smear on her vision.

F leur grimaced. “There is a trick I know for hiding it, but it won’t be pleasant – you will be essentially blind until I lift the spell, will that be all right?” she asked, but they both knew it was a rhetorical question – there was no way the youngest Champion was getting out of photos, if she tried they’d just hound her until they caught her unprepared with her flashing eyes and all.

B ehind them, Rita Skeeter and the Headmaster were still arguing heatedly, but Rhiannon paid them little heed – now armed with a camera, Rita was actively a hazard until she’ d sorted her eyes out. “ Yeah, fine,” she replied with a shrug.

Fleur tapped the handle of her violet-tinged wand against her chin thoughtfully, then smiled brightly. “If it is photos for the newspaper, would you like me to do your makeup? Just glamour of course, I did not think to bring anything with me – quite inconsiderate of them really, to spring a photography session like this when half the subjects are women, no? We can handle fixing your usual glamours properly some other time.” she offered, seemingly excited by the prospect.

O nce again, Rhiannon hadn’t considered that – girls were supposed to be pretty for photos, and she hadn’t had time to do anything. So, a little nervously, she agreed to Fleur’s offer and shuffled back until she found a chair to sit on, while Fleur folded her lanky frame into another and leaned forward, studying Rhiannon’s face with an intensity that once again had her blushing.

“You know, you have very nice skin – no, don’t give me that, scars or not it is very soft, and you have only a little acne, I am very jealous,” Fleur told her, now drumming the handle of her wand against her fingertips as she thought. “First things, ah – you may like to close your eyes, it is not very pleasant,” she warned, to which Rhiannon complied.

“Umbra oculos,” Fleur said firmly. Rhiannon felt a strange shiver pass across her face and it sank into her eyes, itching as it passed, but she fought the urge to scratch it and clenched her fists instead. When the sensation passed, she opened her eyes, and immediately understood why Fleur had recommended she close them at first – it was deeply disorienting to be so thoroughly blinded, she could see only very blurred shapes and no colour at all. Dizzy, she screwed her eyes shut and gripped the edges of the chair, fighting a wave of nausea the sudden blindness brought with it.

“Vile, I know,” Fleur murmured. “I am lucky that my being veela is no secret, any flash from my eyes can simply be charmed away afterwards. Now, sit still and relax your face, okay?”

T he glamours Fleur applied felt soft and ticklish as she set them in place, not unlike the sensation of ordinary makeup brushes, and Rhiannon struggled to sit still as they triggered a tickling itch deep in her cheek. After a few minutes, she felt Fleur lean away, and heard the soft hsssh of her wand being returned to its’ sheath at her belt. “ Keen ears,” Fleur commented drily as Rhiannon tilted her head to catch the sound. “Use that, your nose and the feeling of air when people move to keep steady, I will guide you as best I can but it would be better if it is not let on that you are blinded in this way, oui ?” she instructed.

Rhiannon nodded, and this time prepared for the nauseating fog, opened her eyes. Immediately she could tell they would be of little use, but Fleur’s presence at her shoulder was enough of a guide that with the assistance of her cane, she could make her way across the floor in relative safety. Someone less experienced with episodes of blindness might have had more trouble, she thought wryly to herself – one rare moment where that particular quirk of her brain came into use.

“Miss Potter, Miss Delacour – oh, you look delightful, both of you! My apologies for the sudden photo, it was just too sweet to resist – reporter’s instincts, you must understand, but your headmaster has sworn me to nothing of the sort further, so ah – if you’d all, assemble there, and we can get some pictures of you all together, show the world the faces of the tournament, yes?” Rita chattered, and in the fog behind the reporter Rhiannon picked up the rustle and clatter of others moving, most likely a small camera team of some kind. She didn’t realise Rita had meant ‘assemble there’ as in a place she pointed to, and earned a few concerned hmms in her direction as she stumbled under Fleur’s hurried guidance, but eventually she found her way to the spot on the floor Rita had so helpfully indicated for her – not – and settled into place with Fleur’s steady presence behind her at her left shoulder.

“Yes, very nice – and Mister Diggory, beside Miss Delacour there, and Mister Krum of course if you will stand beside Mister Diggory? Thankyou, lovely,” Rita carried on. This time Rhiannon wasn’t taken by surprise – she wasn’t all wolf brain, she could handle something as mundane as a boy, thankyou very much – and kept herself calm, though she couldn’t help the blood rushing to her cheeks and could only hope that Fleur’s illusions covered it.

A few humming noises, and then the ca-klack sound rang in Rhiannon’s ears, the only prior warning as once again white light flared across the room, whiting out her shadowed vision for a moment and leaving all four champions grumbling. “Oh, that’s very nice, very protective-looking – now, loosen up, make some space all of you, keep that formation but a little less tight knit, you know? You’re not friends, you’re competitors!” Rita urged them.

Fleur made a grumpy sound deep in her throat, and to Rhiannon’s surprise, so did Viktor. However, it was Cedric who spoke for all of them. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not. We are friends, competitors or not, and if you’re taking pictures of us that’s what I’d like to show people,” he replied firmly – that was his Prefect voice, and he wasn’t taking arguments.

Rhiannon guessed Rita might have rolled her eyes, she heard the woman’s bracelets click as she gestured about, and smiled to herself – oh, was that not dramatic enough? But after a moment, the reporter seemed to get over herself and sighed. “Very well, very noble of you. We’ll just get a few more shots of you like this and pick the best one, alright?” she agreed reluctantly, and the four of them settled back into their comfortable position. All three of her peers were a full foot taller than Rhiannon and she felt very small with them, but in a safe kind of way, as they gradually grew more comfortable in eachothers’ presence and started goofing off in the pictures, Cedric fiddling with Viktor’s hair and Fleur suddenly smushing her cheek against Rhiannon’s as the flash went off again, and again, and again.

Finally it was all over, and although still disoriented, Rhiannon couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up and spilled out of her mouth. She hugged Fleur tightly as the older girl dispelled the shadow-eyes jinx and to her surprise, as they left the room, the two boys fell in step with them as well. “ Hey, Potter, we were thinking of finding a spare Defence classroom, team up and practice some duelling spells, defensive stuff – things we know at our level but you might not, you know?” Cedric suggested, to a low hum of agreement from Viktor.

R hiannon shrugged, turning the idea over – she was pretty tired already, but some practice couldn’t hurt and she could use any extra time to sharpen up before the first task, for certain – there was a huge disparity in knowledge between her fellow Champions and herself, and if Rhiannon Potter hungered for anything besides the chocolate she was no longer allowed to eat, it was knowledge.

“Yeah, that sounds – cool, actually,” Rhiannon agreed, trying her best to sound casual and failing miserably, to a chorus of good-natured laughter from the other three. “If I’m stuck in th-th-thisss—s-s-s th-thing, better I at least try and pull my own weight,” she added, and although her smile was a little grim, it was still a genuine one, because these three could reassure her in a way even her closest friends could not – they were facing the same danger as she, and understood fully how frightening and alienating it was to suddenly be thrust up on a pedestal that could kill them at any time. At least this way, working together, they stood the best chance anyone could, and for the first time Rhiannon actually felt the first sparks of confidence, not just hope – a certainty in her own abilities and in the support of her peers, that they were going to fight their way through this.

Chapter Text

From then on, afternoon training became a part of their regular routine and Rhiannon found herself getting to know her fellow champions more closely, even the reticent Viktor Krum who, as it turned out, was just shy rather than surly as he had previously appeared. The three older champions assessed Rhiannon’s skillset, which was better than most others her age given what she had been through, but given the irregularity of their Defence curriculum before last year that wasn’t saying a whole lot, and they had three years on her regardless.

Fleur’s talent was in direct effect charms – entrancements and the like, and illusions; Cedric had a more traditional education in duelling and self-defence, while Viktor proved to be a clever and capable strategist with an eye for using his environment against opponents – be they duelling dummies or other champions. However, despite their different approaches, all three older champions came to a firm conclusion – it was time for Rhiannon to learn to cast nonverbally, because right now that was the most glaring life or death skill that they had and she did not.

Much to Rhiannon’s distaste, nonverbal spellcasting was hard – harder than she’d expected, given she saw Neville do it every day. It required a lot of focus, and sometimes Rhiannon just didn’t have that. But unlike specific spells – each of her three peers usually set a spell they would work on until Rhiannon had it down, starting with Disillusionment – Fleur’s pick; the Confundus charm, and Krum’s suggestion of the Smokescreen charm – unlike all of these, nonverbal spellcasting was something Rhiannon could work on in her own time, and so it became a common sight to find Rhiannon curled up in a cosy nook of the Hufflepuff common room attempting to levitate various items – first a feather, then a pen, then a book – without speaking; and slowly but surely she was making progress. This would greatly broaden the spells available to her in a crisis situation, Rhiannon thought, grimly recalling her scramble for spells she could actually pronounce when facing the werewolves that late July night in 2002. Maybe now she could actually disarm someone without tripping over the incantation.

Academic progress was halted, however, when three days after the Weighing of the Wands, Rita’s article appeared in the Daily Prophet. It was on the very front page, preceded by the very worst photograph possible – that of Cedric catching Rhiannon, rendered in full colour with Rhiannon’s photographic self blushing and hiding her face perhaps even more embarrassingly than she had done at the time. Thankfully, the camera had not caught her eyes, there was no flash – but that was was only a small mercy, given the content of the article. Oh, Rita was quick to disprove anyone’s theories that Rhiannon had entered the tournament as a stunt for attention – but now she was being painted as some kind of tragic child on a doomed but heroic quest to change the world, and maybe keep from dying in the meantime.

Everywhere Rhiannon went, her own mortified face flashed back at her from countless newspapers, and while there was a marked improvement in the amount of people who actually believed her – there were only about thirty badges still in use, from the same little group of people determined to think the worst of her no matter what - but now she was treated with this aggravating combination of pity and hero-worship that made her skin crawl. It was almost better when more people thought the worst of her – better that than some kind of hero, something she’d never live up to.

Rather than try to be somebody’s hero, Rhiannon knuckled down and did her best to fly under the radar while she learned as much as she could from her more experienced peers. And once she got the hang of it, nonverbal spellcasting was an invaluable asset to her – finally, after years of trying she could manage to disarm her opponent every single time, no stutters no catching, nothing. Disillusionment was a tricky concept to wrap her mind around, but eventually Rhiannon had the knack for that too. Now she had a good camouflage trick down and she didn’t have to speak, she was picking up spells like Stunning, Banishing, Impediments and Flares – she felt better armed, sometimes even like she might present a legitimate threat to whatever she faced in the first challenge. Danger had never been comfortable before, but now – it was like armour.

Study aside, there was nothing Rhiannon could do as the full moon inevitably caught up with her at the end of October. For the first two nights all was as it had been the month before, but on the third night, that of the 30th, there was a little hitch. The school had planned a Halloween feast, on the Saturday night instead of the Sunday so that they weren’t tired for classes the next morning, but the moon rose earlier every night this time of year and Rhiannon didn’t want to risk getting stuck inside. So she and Dudley trudged down to Hagrid’s cabin a little earlier than usual and without the other weres, as Remus had gone home for some time off with Sirius and Cassandre had told them bluntly that they were being paranoid and elected to join the party. Cassandre didn’t have the same problems they did – if she had to leave early there was no danger in explaining why.

Rhiannon and Dudley, on the other paw, were still in the proverbial closet and that meant a cold soggy walk through the mud down to Hagrid’s hut in grey twilight. At least Minerva had promised to leave them some feast food there, Rhiannon grumbled to herself as she slipped in the mud for the umpteenth time.

“We could come out, you know. It’d mean less of this crap,” Dudley suggested half-heartedly.

Rhiannon scowled sideways at him as she picked herself up and blasted the mud off her cane with a non-verbally-cast jet of water from her wand. “I w-w-as – I was outed once already. This time, I’m not movin’ ‘til I’m ready.

Dudley held up his hands, then winced and immediately put them down so he could lead more heavily on his cane. “Ow, fuck, fuck, fuckitty, fuck, fuck - that was stupid – ah, you were saying... no, no I get it, I do, it’s just... it sucks, you know?”

Rhiannon shrugged, and wordlessly stepped behind Dudley to his other side so that he could lean on her good shoulder. “Yeah, it does suck. Living stealth, it – sucks, but now? With the tournament? Thi-s-s-s-s-sss- is just, the worst, p-p-p-p-p-possible time, I was thinking of maybe coming out this year but then, all this happened. You know?”

Dudley grimaced. “Yeah, yeah I do. After what that Rita lady wrote – yikes, even I don’t really want to come out with her hanging around. So we just, knuckle down, try and hide it for another year? Because it’s getting really hard. Look, look at this – my ears are actually pointed now, just a little bit, and my teeth too, have you noticed it? And I think the hair on my back is darker, the little bit on my front is pretty much white, it’s so weird.”

Rhiannon frowned, and pulled up the sleeve of her by-now rather worn and faded dressing gown. Huh. Sure enough, the hair on the inside of her wrist was a sort of gold colour while that on the outside of her arm was jet black, thick and wiry. A questing hand confirmed what Dudley had said – yes indeed, her ears were pointed. Not exactly enough to poke out from under her thick mane of hair, but easily a match for Arwen or Legolas’. Teeth – yep, ouch, those were sharp alright.

“Well, I noticed now,” Rhiannon grumbled, more perturbed than she would let on to her brother. She spent a good deal of time trying not to pay attention to her body and it’s changes – and it bothered her that it had done something she wasn’t expecting. At least she was on Madam Pomfrey’s potions now, she’d be starting a puberty she much preferred. She had a distinct Adam’s apple and a sharper jaw than she might have liked, and it seemed body hair was a persistent werewolf trait she was never going to get rid of – but it didn’t seem to be progressing any further, at least, and now that she was on Madam Pomfrey’s werewolf-friendly estrogen-enhancing potion it wouldn’t change any more. Rhiannon felt her teeth again and scowled – the sharp jaw might not soften out if the teeth were a werewolf thing, it was probably to accomodate them.

Dudley noticed her mutinous self-examination and snickered. “Yeah, the teeth are a fun one – I left a couple of marks on Ginny without meaning to before I figured out I probably can’t bite how she likes, they’re surprisingly sharp,” he drawled.

Rhiannon blushed and swatted her brother, mortified. “Hey! I did not need to know! Gross!” she spluttered, her face heating uncomfortably in the chilly autumn breeze.

Dudley cackled gleefully and elbowed her back. “Oh come on, like you haven’t thought about doing that to Hermione? Or Luna – I bet they’d squeak and wiggle and you’d love that,” he teased. “Hey, if you can’t come out this year, you should ask them out, you know you don’t have to make a choice or anything if they’re both into it – this isn’t Twilight or some other crappy straight romance novel.”

Rhiannon snickered. “And who’re you, ragging on ‘crappy straight romances’?” she quipped with a wry grin. Not that she was usually one to pry, but well, that wasn’t the sort of thing straight people ever said – crappy chick romances, maybe, the hate for Twilight was universal, but the wording jumped out at her.

Dudley flushed, and unlike Rhiannon, that was visible on his pale skin even in the poor lighting. “Ginny’s questioning, she thinks he might be genderfluid or something so, guess that makes me queer too if I’m dating a guy sometimes,” he replied with a shrug. Then he grimaced, and laughed out loud, the sound ringing through the heavy twilight air. “Oh wow, if D- if, Vernon, could have heard that, it’d be worse than the beating when I came home from school in a flower crown.”

Rhiannon smiled, soberly this time at the mention of their mutual trauma, and slipped her hand into Dudley’s as they walked together down the long muddy hill. “I didn’t know that, b-b-b-b-but, wow. You know, y-y-y-y-you really w-w-were just-t-t-t the worst – you’ve come a long way, if you’re supporting your, girlfriend-boyfriend-d-d-d-d-d-datefriend, even admitting it probably makes you queer too, that’s pretty big of you even compared to g-g-uys who, weren’t like that as a kid.”

Dudley turned his head and eyed her sideways for a moment, then patted his gut wryly and smirked. “Well, I’ve got the body for it, may as well drag the rest of it up to match, right?” he joked.

Rhiannon blinked, it took a moment for her to process the joke, and then she glared at Dudley and shoved him lightly – or at least, she’d intended to shove him lightly. Instead, she sent Dudley reeling and he reached out to catch her for balance, but she was far too light in comparison and the both of them went sprawling in the mud, swearing up a storm and spitting in disgust.

“Aw, Merlin – that’s it, I need a new dressing gown,” Dudley grumbled disgustedly. “Maybe I’ll ask Molly for one, she always knits us stuff for Christmas and all,”

“You need a new h-h-h-h-h-h-hip,” Rhiannon retorted, but she couldn’t keep the concern out of her voice. “I’m really, r-r-r-r-r-really s-s-s-s-s-ssorry – I didn’t mean to shove you over, are you okay?”

Dudley wheezed a little as he dragged himself into a sitting position, and the hiss sound from between his teeth told Rhiannon he was in pain. “It’s alright, I’m fine – honestly, happens all the time, just ask Ginny, ugh – if only I wasn’t a werewolf, they could just replace the busted fucking thing!” he grumbled and swore, clearly worn out.

Rhiannon shook her head grimly. “You’ve- you’ve gotten, so much worse since the attack, did they even d-d-d-d-d-d-d-do an x-ray? Or, new ones now? It’s gotta be s-s-s-s-s-so fucked in there, you barely even step on it now,”

Dudley snorted and shook his head. “An x-ray? No, that would be sensible – they just tried to heal the bone with some potions and spells and shit. My guess is it didn’t take and it’s breaking again – at least, that’s how it feels, here, help me up,”

Rhiannon dragged herself to her feet and held out her hands for Dudley to take. Ignoring the ache in her own bad shoulder, she set him back on his feet and settled herself in under his arm to support his bad side. “Jesus, that’s – okay c-c-c-on-n-n-n- ffffff- consider this, me putting my feet and your good one down. We are getting you a wheelchair.”

Dudley groaned, but this time it was an almost-delirious sound, like he was dreaming about the possibility. “Look, I know I should be sad about that, like, it’s giving up or something, I should put up more resistance about it, but – you’re right. I basically walk on one leg and a stick, I run on three legs as a wolf, it’d be easier if someone just chopped the bloody thing off – but I’m guessing they won’t do that til I’m an adult and the rest of it’s finished developing or some shit. But I’m not, sad at the idea of being in a wheelchair, I can barely get around as it is and I can run around just fine on a full moon, I’d be way more free than this... except, uh – like we said to Amos. How could we pay for it? You can’t take out a transaction that size, Sirius can’t give a gift of that value without some major questions being asked.” he mused grumpily.

Rhiannon scowled at the ground as the two of them walked, thinking on that particular problem in silence. Then it hit on her – perhaps her problems with the press could be turned to her advantage, and a grin crept onto her face as she realised this. “We as-s-s-s-s-s-sk the p-p-p-public. Rita’s ‘lready sniffin’ round me for drama, we could... well, effectively, play the cripple cousin card. ‘s not pretty, but it’d work – jus’ have t’ get the story straight, I know we’ve messed up a few times. Folks’d be even more likely t’ give if, they heard it was ‘cos of the orphan stuff that we can’t pay.” she suggested with a shrug.

Dudley grinned broadly, he could be as cynical as Rhiannon about the press problem when he wanted. “So, a blatant sympathy ploy?” he drawled sardonically.

Rhiannon snickered. “They’re already t-t-t-t-t-tryn’a play the bloody t-t-t-t-t-tragic hero c-c-crap, may ‘s well get you somethin’ out’ve it,” she retorted. “Now come on, I only look delicate, lean on me ya dipshit.”

With that, they set off again, Rhiannon mostly carrying her brother, and they eventually managed to make it down to Hagrid’s covered in mud and thoroughly over the concept of walking. The sun had almost set by the time they got there, casting the world around them in mysterious shades of gray, but the forest was strangely hushed – as if it had been deserted. Thoroughly perturbed, Rhiannon wrinkled her nose and knocked sharply on Hagrid’s door, eager to get inside and out of the unsettling quiet.

The door swung open almost immediately, releasing the delicious savoury scents of food into the night air – along with something very odd, and much less pleasant. Rhiannon screwed up her face in disgust, and she could hear Dudley gagging beside her. “Oy, Hagrid, what is that?” Dudley wheezed. It was clearly a perfume of some kind, but not a pleasant one – and far too much of it, like Hagrid had bathed in the stuff. In addition, he had somehow managed to slick down his wild hair, damaged from years of brushing, and tied the top half of it into a surprisingly neat tail.

“Uh – some perfumey stuff, think I mixed it up wit’ the hair oil,” Hagrid mumbled sheepishly, and stepped back to allow the both of them inside. “Ey, no, no further, you’re filthy – what happened, you alright?”

Gratefully, the two teenagers limped inside and stood on the mats just inside the doorway while Hagrid closed the door and siphoned the filth off them with his beloved new wand. Now that they were inside Rhiannon could see that Hagrid was dressed strangely too – he had on a very old-fashioned suit made out of some brown material, moleskin or something like it, accented with cream fur more like a Western jacket than a formal suit. “We’re fine,” Rhiannon grumbled as she wiped her glasses off on her now clean pyjama shirt, raising an eyebrow at Hagrid’s strange appearance but deciding not to mention it. “But that, has to go. D-d-d-d-Dudley, he can’t, make it down here in this mud, maybe not ‘t all much longer, we have got to ssss-ss-s-s-s-sort him some wheels.”

Hagrid grimaced and shook his head, grumbling under his breath as he puttered over to the bench and set about activating a gradual heating charm on the three bowls of food set out there. “Wasn’ sure ‘f I should’a said somethin’, but I ‘ave bin noticin’ Dudley uses that leg less ‘n less every moon, ‘s bin worryin’ me jus’, watchin’ it git worse like tha’.”-

“Wouldn’a been any point tellin’,” Dudley replied with a sigh. “I know I need the wheels now, the stick isn’t doin’ enough. It’s just, been a bit ‘f a journey to, accept I need the help, you know? And even more to own up to it.”

Hagrid nodded, still frowning to himself as he set the warming bowls on a tray and carried that over to the round table he used as a dining table – he’d expanded his cabin’s internal dimensions since their regular visits had started in second year, it was more of a real house now with room to serve guests and everything. It was nice, seeing how much he’d improved things for himself since he’d been granted access to magic again – if he’d done all this internal extension work himself, it was a real testament to his talent and knowledge on the subject, something he must have studied long before being able to make it happen. “Well, I’m glad you got there in the end. You got some kinda plan of action – bein’ you kids, thought I’d ask – or just the want? Either way, I’ll help if yeh need it, jus’ tell me how,” he offered, and pulled out the chairs at the table with a quiet scrape. “C’mon, lemme help you over there, give your sister a break,” he added, and held out an arm to Dudley.

With Hagrid’s help, the two werewolves got settled at the table and all three sat down to dinner. “We’ve, kinda got a plan,” Rhiannon replied as she took in the heaped bowl of food before her – traditional Hallows’ Eve fare from all across Europe and filled with werewolf-friendly favourites that must have been made specially for the nonhumans – bone marrow roasted with herbs, black pudding, charred sweetbreads seasoned with what tasted like orange juice and warm spices, and other things that most human students would turn their nose up at. Ordinarily, Rhiannon loved feast food, even if it was harder than usual to find werewolf-safe food – but she did not love when it was all piled up in a bowl all at once, and she picked through it with a scowl on her face.

“Yeah, Rhi suggested we use the whole press mess to help,” Dudley agreed, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a wry smile at Rhiannon’s pickiness. “It’s all gonna touch when you eat it anyway, why’s it matter if it touches on the plate?” he teased, elbowing Rhiannon before digging into his own dinner with gusto.

Rhiannon grumbled and stuck out her tongue, but didn’t dignify his teasing with a response – Dudley knew perfectly well she didn’t like her food in a heap, neither did Hermione, Luna or Neville, and he only occasionally teased them about it. They didn’t have to hurry through dinner, having started early, but Rhiannon still took some time longer than the others to finish her meal. Then they let the next two hours until moonrise slip by more comfortably, sipping fruit tea and nibbling on desserts while curled up in armchairs in front of Hagrid’s fire, until the itch in their veins intensified to a burn which told them it was time to head outside.

Rhiannon shivered underneath the moon, her threadbare dressing gown too tight around her shoulders now as she sat cross-legged on the scratchy but familiar horse blanket that had become hers for transformation nights. The night breeze chilled her but not badly, the fire in her blood kept her warm enough. And as she undressed, Rhiannon felt under her oversensitive finger tips a change. No more was she skin and bone – certainly she was still thin and had become wiry with muscle over the last two years, but now there was just the first hint of softness to her and as she took off the dressing gown, Rhiannon wasn’t quite careful enough and knocked her wrist against her chest – and it hurt. She yelped with pain, startled, and had to remember how to breathe again as it faded.
“You all good over there?” Dudley called, concern sounding clear in his voice.

“F-f-f-f-fine! Think I whacked my boob!” Rhiannon called back, still a little shocked and bewildered. Her boob – there was only the slightest beginnings of swelling, but wow had it hurt – the first noticeable changes of Madam Pomfrey’s potions. She thought back, when had she started them? The thirtieth of August. With today being the thirtieth of October... that was an even two month anniversary and she had boobs, the start of them, her very own. With that realisation, Rhiannon couldn’t help it – she wiggled, flapped her arms and squealed happily, ignoring the sharp ache that brought up in her chest and her brother’s laughter from a ways over in the bushes. Finally, finally she was starting to grow up like other girls. And with all the things that set her apart from the other girls, from other children in general – it was beyond wonderful to experience something normal, something most other girls went through just for once. In this one way at least, Rhiannon could be a normal teenage girl.

Wish as she might, though, Rhiannon was not a normal teenage girl – she was a werewolf, and there was no escaping the pull of the moon as it rose over the trees. It swept her up, stole her away from her body as it twisted, contorted and broke against the rough wool blanket, screams dragged from her throat more by reflex than anything else as Rhiannon’s consciousness was held fast in the moon’s inexorable grip.

Finally it was over, and Rhiannon was released back into her body as it lay sprawled on the blanket, paws and tailtip sodden from thrashing in the wet grass. She swished her tail irritably and dragged herself to her paws, stretched, then stepped delicately off the blanket onto the grass, already wrinkling her nose in disgust at the sensation. Water, fantastic. Wet grass, disgusting. Rhiannon flattened her ears and picked up the edge of the blanket in her mouth and then, dragging it along beside her, padded back to Hagrid’s cabin.

There, Dudley was already waiting for her, seated on the grass with his tail thumping the mud and tongue lolling out in delight as Hagrid scratched his ears. “Heya, Rhiannon, good to see you. Let’s get going, yeah? I’ve got something I wanted to show you both – strictly private and all, but, nobody knows who you are with four paws and a tail.” Hagrid told them both, grinning mischievously.

Rhiannon dropped the blanket and padded over to Hagrid and Dudley, swishing her tail and curling her lip anxiously. Now that she had transformed, the dulling jinxes on her senses had fallen and she could feel the full weight of the unnatural hush upon the forest. It was almost like a bad illusion – like someone had created the image of a forest, the smells, the sound of the light wind in the leaves, but forgotten that real forests were teeming with wildlife, all audible to a sensitive ear. Rationally, Rhiannon knew that the forest was real – but without its’ sounds, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that it didn’t feel real, and that set her hackles prickling as Hagrid led them in. He seemed totally unaffected by the strange quiet, his steps springy and his arms swinging jauntily, he even whistled as he led the two werewolves onwards – but he did not explain himself, and in these shapes, the teenagers couldn’t ask him.

“Oh, I know you’re dying to know what’s going on – don’t worry, it’s safe and all that, jus’ – oh, it’s incredible, I can’t wait t’ show you,” Hagrid told them, and the moonlight that filtered through the trees lit up the bright grin that spread across his face. Rhiannon’s fur still prickled and she wrinkled her nose as strange scents drifted through the forest on the light breeze. The trails of regular forest creatures were far too stale, even the birds’ nests were abandoned and replaced with something she couldn’t place. Something old, something huge – and something burning.

Rhiannon’s fur was already bristling, and as soon as she recognised that scent of smoke, she was tense and ready to flee. Only Dudley’s steady form beside her, his side pressing into hers, kept her from turning tail altogether.

The three of them trekked on deeper into the forest, Rhiannon still trembling in terrified anticipation but managing to keep herself in check. The strange scents intensified, along with those of blood, meat and the all-permeating smoke, but now they were getting closer Rhiannon could tell at least that the strange smells belonged to animals – unfamiliar animals she didn’t have the slightest chance of identifying by smell alone, not with sound dampened so. Now her fear was joined with curiosity – what was Hagrid taking them to? How was this all being kept so secret?

Rhiannon mused on that, her ears twitching warily as they padded onward through the forest, until they came to what she could best describe as a curtain of magic in the trees. Even Dudley skidded to a halt before it, his nose twitching and hackles prickling. Rhiannon’s lip curled and it felt as if the tingling, sharp-clawed anxiety that had plagued her all evening had crystallised into a single source – this wall. She reached out a paw and patted it, growling, and flinched back when she met a faint resistance. Her paw was unharmed. But there were not usually magic walls in her forest, and she didn’t like the change one bit.

“Oh, settle down yeh prickly pups,” Hagrid told them both with a weary sigh. “It’s just a set o’ wards, yeh’ve seen wards before,”

Rhiannon scowled at the barely-tangible curtain and prodded it with her nose this time, still growling distrustfully. It didn’t bite her, it didn’t even feel cold – there was just a soft pressure against her muzzle until it popped like a bubble and her nose passed through. The smells were stronger on the other side, like something wild was caged up in here and despite herself, Rhiannon couldn’t help but be curious. With a flick of her tail, she bunched her muscles and hopped through the barrier.

The other side was a cacophony of sound that had Rhiannon cowering in the underbrush, swamped by the roars and howls echoing from deeper within the warded area of the forest. She had been right that whatever this was was huge – she couldn’t imagine the size of the creature required to make a noise that loud, that deep.

Rhiannon was alone in her panic for a brief terrifying stretch of time, until suddenly something large, heavy and fluffy bounded through and flopped down on top of her. Dudley. His weight was a comforting one, his scent grounding – she wasn’t alone, and no matter how frightening it was, Hagrid wouldn’t have brought them somewhere unsafe. Dudley licked her cheek and rested his chin on her face for a few moments, then rolled off and rested closely beside her with his chin on top of her head. That reassured her, enough that Rhiannon could find her breath again and calm her racing heart as the two of them rested in the undergrowth. She had her brother, and he didn’t seem scared, and she trusted his instincts as much as she did her own.

“Sorry lass – should’a warned yeh, I honestly forgot how loud they can be – hardly notice after all these years. C’mon, it’s totally safe, the handlers should have ‘em well in check – an’ if anyone guesses who yeh are, don’t, nod or wag yeh tails or anythin’, keep it hush.” Hagrid warned them.

Dudley cocked his head, then stood and shook loose leaves from his coat. Rhiannon growled softly and stood up more cautiously, her tail swishing distrustfully. She wished she could jinx her ears, but it was bearable – just. Just as she had been when she jumped through the ward, she was curious about what was hidden here, so she tamped down her fear and set off after Dudley and Hagrid, traveling further on toward the great roars that filtered through the trees, each step bringing them closer and closer until it was all around them, the scent of new smoke acrid amongst the damp forest smells, firelight flickering and reflecting off puddles, rain-slick trunks and sodden leaves.

Rhiannon felt the telltale signs of dissociation and she halted, eyes wide and ears flat with fear, so distracted by the flickering of the distant firelight itself that she entirely missed the tall, stately woman who approached them until she was standing right beside them. She startled, tail bushing up and hackles standing on end, and scuttled back a few feet until she got a hold of herself and recognised the woman – Madam Maxime, dressed warmly with a fur-lined cloak covering her inner robes, and she was shaking Hagrid’s hand and kissing his cheeks in the way Rhiannon had seen many of the other Beauxbatons students do. She snickered, a soft little whuff-whuff-whuff sound – suddenly Hagrid’s perfume mishap and his odd manner of dress made sense.

“Ah – good evenin’, Madame Maxime,” Hagrid managed gruffly, fending off Dudley’s mischievous nip. “Uh, don’ mind the pups ‘ere, they need their walk an’ all that, I jus’... wanted t’ introduce yeh to me favourite part o’ the magical world, now they’re ‘ere.”

“You’re interested in magical conservation, monsieur Hagrid?” Madame Maxime asked, sounding begrudgingly impressed.

“Oh yeah, ‘course – ‘s always fascinated me, I think mos’ wizards need t’ take a bit more int’rest in the world around us, y’know?” Hagrid replied, and offered his arm to Madam Maxime in a surprisingly gallant gesture. Now numbered four, they set off again, the two werewolves padding cautiously after them with their tails twitching and ears flattened in a vain effort to protect against the echoing roars.

It seemed that Madame Maxime and Hagrid had found a common topic of interest, and they carried on chatting about magical ecology as they strolled through the rain-soaked woods with the werewolves trailing a short distance behind. Rhiannon paid little heed to their conversation – her concern was with the sounds drawing slowly closer, the firelight and the way it bounced from surface to surface in the soaked forest, the disconcerting heat that stung her eyes and scorched the dampness from the air if not from the rest of the forest.

The closer they got, the louder the sounds and the drier the air grew, until the very ground itself began to feel dry underpaw, the grass thin and spiky. The forest began to thin out, trees and underbrush growing sparser and less healthy, scorched in places, until Rhiannon nosed her way through the last of the bushes and found herself standing on the edge of a great open clearing splitting the forest like a wound, coldly lit from above by the moon which shone in brightly through the opening in the trees – and by the great fires scattered around it, both of which illuminated the four truly enormous metal enclosures set at a distance from eachother in the wide clearing.

But the great scar upon the forest, the enclosures within it – those were not the most unusual things about the scene before them, as Rhiannon took it all in with wide eyes, bristling fur and a tremor in her limbs. No, what really caught her attention was the inhabitants of the cages. All four were truly huge, scaled creatures with wings, and Rhiannon’s breath rasped in her ears as one of them, mottled brown and gold with a crown of gleaming horns that trailed down its’ spine in a spiked crest right to the tip of one heavily-spiked tail, threw its’ head back and spat a torrent of yellow flame into the night sky. Dragons – no wonder she hadn’t been able to place the scent, this was something she had only ever seen in pictures. One, two, three – four, one for each contestant. This was what Hagrid had brought her to see, she realised, flattening herself to the ground in terror, too frightened to even turn and run. This was the first task.

Someone’s voice, she thought it might be Hagrid’s but was too disoriented and terrified to tell, rang distantly in Rhiannon’s ears – but it tangled up in the dragons’ roars, the crackling fire, the shouts of the handlers trying to calm the dragons who were no doubt distressed by the intruding werewolves. Then there was pain, sharp pain in her spine, and Rhiannon whirled to face it only to be brought up short – her brother had his jaws fastened tightly around her bushed-out tail and he was shaking her gently. She growled, more from the pain than anything else, and as soon as he saw her paying attention, Dudley released his grip. Rhiannon winced, but she limped forward and bumped the top of her head against his cheek – he hadn’t meant to hurt her, just break her out of her panic.

“Aren’t they beau’iful?” Hagrid crowed, gesturing expansively at the clearing. “I mean, I know yeh don’ like fire, Rh- Nyx, but surely even yeh can see how incredible they are? Pictures don’ do ‘em justice,”

Rhiannon curled her lip and growled disbelievingly, and Madame Maxime coughed and placed her hand on Hagrid’s arm in a placating sort of manner. “Eh – there is certainly no denying how fascinating the beasts are but perhaps, give your – ah, louveteaux, your pups, a moment to take it all in? They may be incredible, but they’re also quite a lot – I imagine their hearing is sensitive, no?”

Hagrid coughed, and it was impossible to see in the firelight but Rhiannon guessed he might have blushed, somewhere under his wild beard. “Ahhhhh shit, I wasn’ thinkin’. I’m really sorry, kids – I hones’ly thought yeh’d like ‘em, yeh seemed int’rested in ‘em in class, completely forgot abou’ the ears – can’t relate, hones’ly, mine’s bin goin’ for years, ah... you just, rest o’er here, I’ll jus’, go ‘n talk t’ Charlie an’ yeh can follow on when yer ready. Madame?” he told them, then once again offered his arm to Madame Maxime.

Madame Maxime held up a hand for him to wait, then knelt and reached out a hand to Rhiannon, her eyes lowered. Rhiannon stretched her neck out as far as she could to sniff, then slunk a little closer, her tailtip twitching. The imperious French Headmistress had been a little cold, but never unkind in how she had reacted to Rhiannon’s being chosen, and that made Rhiannon cautiously inclined to like her. She inched closer and bumped her head into the woman’s outstretched palm, then licked her wrist mischievously, and to her delight that elicited a laugh from the red-haired woman. “Yes, little wolves are always mischievous... it is good to see that your fear and hardships have not broken your spirit, Rhiannon Potter. You have many more allies than just your peers, I promise you that. And we will see you through this tournament – even the dragonfire.”

Rhiannon stared up at the impossibly tall woman, her yellow-greenish hazel wolf eyes meeting deep brown, very human ones. Had Madame Maxime known this whole time, or had she guessed somewhere along the way? It didn’t really matter, though – Rhiannon could feel, somehow, that the woman’s support was genuine, and that was a reassuring warmth in her hollow, weary heart. She yipped softly and rubbed her head into Madame Maxime’s palm, closing her eyes and letting the happy little rumble rise up in her throat, actions which elicited a throaty laugh from the statuesque French woman, who scratched Rhiannon’s ears affectionately for a brief moment before she nodded to the two young werewolves and stood, then turned away and set off across the clearing to where Hagrid stood chatting with a group of dragon handlers.

Rhiannon turned to Dudley and cocked her head to one side in a silent question – was he okay? But Dudley rolled his eyes and whuffed softly, then nudged Rhiannon firmly with his head – go on, come and look at what we came here for, you silly goose. She could imagine his affably teasing tone in her head, and her imagined-Dudley was right – she was being a silly goose, or a silly pup at least. Hagrid had brought her here to see the dragons – she should use this opportunity to study them, learn as much about the animals as she could because in a month she would be fighting one of them – and so would her friends. She was getting a sneaky cheat’s preview of the battle ahead, the least she could do was gather information and take it back to the others. Already, she knew one thing she’d have to do – conquer her fear of fire. And that started right now.

With Dudley at her side, Rhiannon felt steadier and more confident, and together the two of them set off slowly across the clearing toward where Hagrid, Madame Maxime and a handful of wizards in gleaming leather-and-scale robes stood talking in front of a cage containing an enormous black-scaled dragon with wide, sweeping horns and an ornate, vaguely spade-shaped tail. Rhiannon shivered as the towering creature bent it’s neck and looked down at her from an impossible height, one luminous eye that looked blue to Rhiannon but she guessed might have actually been purple seeming to almost glow against the deep obsidian of its’ scales as it stared at her. Emberlike flame fluttered in its’ nostrils, flaring and receding with its’ breath, and Rhiannon averted her gaze – this creature was the master of the sky, the forest, wherever it happened to be – she dared not challenge it so openly. The beast huffed, blowing smoke scented strongly like cooked meat over them all, and curled up with its’ tail draped over its nose like an irritable cat.

“A Hebridean Black... Oh, she’s a beauty, I haven’t seen a young one grown up so healthy in years,” Hagrid breathed, gazing upwards in wonder at the huge black dragon. And begrudgingly, Rhiannon couldn’t help but agree – she knew Hebridean Blacks were under serious threat from overcrowding, whole nests of young were often killed when territories overlapped too closely.

“Oh, yeah, she’s from a nest we uplifted after it got attacked maybe three? Nah, two-ish years back, they grow real fast at first – defensive adaptation and all that, since the adults are so territorial they gotta be able to defend ‘emselves,” another voice agreed. Rhiannon frowned – she recognised that voice, and its’ owner, though it took her a moment to place it – Charlie Weasley. Of course – he worked for a major dragon sanctuary in Romania, that must be where the dragons had come from. “Wait, you’ll love this – you remember Fluffy? Yeah, we had him foster her after her dam died from her wounds, he’s around here somewhere – hoi, Fluffy!” Charlie hollered, and Rhiannon had only a moment’s warning to try and vainly cover her ears with her paws before Charlie put two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly.

Fluffy, Fluffy... where did Rhiannon remember that name from, she knew she’d heard it before... oh no. She scrabbled backwards, eyes wide and fur bristling in panic as she recognised the massive shape that bounded out from a lean-to shelter beside the dragon’s enclosure, three pairs of eyes reflecting firelight, three tongues lolling and dripping slobber, three tails wagging in mad delight.

Rhiannon didn’t like dogs – more accurately she was terrified of them, at least when she hadn’t been warned they were going to be there. She fought the urge to run as images of her Aunt Marge’s many awful dogs flashed through her memory, felt the sting of their teeth flare in the old scars that covered her arms and legs. Even knowing the overexuberant dog-monster would only think she meant to play chase, Rhiannon scrabbled backwards and took refuge under her brother who stood stiff-legged and spike-furred, growling distrustfully. They needn’t have worried – the Cerberon, Fluffy, had no interest in them. Instead he made a beeline for Hagrid and bowled him to the ground with an overexcited leap, heavy paws striking the tall man’s shoulders. Now on the ground and thus within reach, all three heads began to lick Hagrid joyfully, seemingly determined to cover every inch of him in slobber.

All of Rhiannon’s fur stood on end in a vain effort to make her tiny – at least for a werewolf – form seem bigger, and even after she recognised Fluffy as the very Cerberon she had helped break out of Hogwarts in her first year, it still took a solid twenty minutes for her to calm down enough that her fur would lie flat and she felt confident enough to crawl out from where she’d been hiding half under Dudley and half in a stunted, leafless bush.

Rhiannon approached Fluffy cautiously, her tail tucked between her legs with the tip swishing against her belly and Dudley just a few paces behind her. Fluffy’s left head swung towards her, the other two being occupied by Hagrid and Madame Maxime’s attentively scratching hands. She whined anxiously, but Fluffy’s three tails were pricked and wiggling with curious, barely-restrained enthusiasm and she padded forward until she was within a foot of the massive dog.

All those years ago, Rhiannon had been almost five inches shorter and still human when she last met the enormous brindled Cerberon, but still somehow he seemed bigger than before – and the improvement in his health was impossible to ignore. When she and her friends had conspired to rescue him, Rhiannon couldn’t have said what colour his coat was, but now it had grown back sleek and shiny, dense hair of mixed golden-brown and black with some white stripes where his wounds had scarred. Cautiously, Rhiannon untucked her tail and pricked her ears, then let out a little yip – a dog’s playful greeting. Fluffy’s whiplike tails swung back and forth, all three pairs of ears pricking up. Rhiannon wanted to greet him, they were old friends in a way even if he had startled her at first, but she was far too small in comparison – Fluffy stood well taller than Hagrid by now, which was no mean feat. Dudley’s comforting weight leaning on her shoulder gave her an idea, and Rhiannon reared up on her hind paws to touch noses with Fluffy, who had stooped as much as he could without kneeling. Dudley groaned, but it was more of a resigned sound than one of actual protest, as Rhiannon stepped up and balanced herself with one paw on his shoulders so that she could touch her nose to one of Fluffy’s.

Fluffy hopped backwards about a foot, startled by the contact and Rhiannon toppled down from her perch, landing face-first in the dust with a yelp of pain as she squashed her bad shoulder. Then suddenly she was deluged in wet and she went very still, every hair on her coat bristling as best it could as something smushed her forcefully into the ground, something very large that covered her entire body – until she realised it was one of Fluffy’s tongues, and he was whining piteously just like Dudley did when he knocked her down by accident, the sound echoing weirdly around the clearing and tripled as it rang from all three mouths, though this time in playful worry rather than pained misery as Rhiannon remembered it, and all at once Rhiannon’s fear of him drained away entirely. She rolled over and batted at the enormous slimy tongue until Fluffy retracted it with a loud shlurp and a pop, then leapt to her paws and took off across the clearing with Dudley in hot pursuit and Fluffy gambolling behind them, over them, into the trees, yipping and howling playfully as they chased eachother like the scruffy adolescent pups they were. The dragons were forgotten entirely, even the Tournament was a distant problem as Rhiannon, Dudley and Fluffy gambolled around the massive clearing together while Hagrid, Madame Maxime and the keepers laughed and threw them tires to play with. Thinking was low on Rhiannon’s list of priorities now, so caught up in their moment, but one certainty settled deep in her chest as vital as the air – these moments, all of this, this was what she lived for. She was going to live it – and she was going to fight to live it.

Chapter Text

Rhiannon came back from the full moon that night thoroughly soaked in dog slobber and sore from playing with a clumsy, eager creature so much larger than she, but truly happy for the first time since her name had come out of the Goblet and determined to stay that way. The first thing she needed was sleep, but after that she went straight to Ravenclaw house to borrow Faye’s owl and send a letter to Sirius telling him everything – the dragons, her alliance with the other Champions, Madame Maxime’s support of her – and to ask for his help. None of the four champions had any experience facing dragons, but Sirius had fought in a war where the opposite side had used them as weapons – if anyone might have an idea how to beat them, especially without hurting them too badly, it would be her ‘dogfather’.

Hey, kiddo, Sirius wrote back the very next day – this time without any blood spatters, clearly he’d been prepared for Una’s antics.

That’s a hell of a first task they’ve set you, Hagrid’s a right good egg for warning you about it. And the day it’s set for, that’s a hell of a thing – the 24^th of November, that’s a full moon, but you know that – good thinking on the fireproofing plans. But you’re going to need to figure out some way around how sore you’re gonna be that day, I’m not gonna watch my kid get torched.

With that in mind, I’m going to come back with Remy next weekend and we can meet up and talk about it all when everyone’s rested. General things to work on before then – dragonscales are pretty much impervious to any spells, whatever you’ve been working on for duelling is no good. Their hearing isn’t much good but their noses are better than yours and they can feel vibrations through the ground. Parseltongue’s no good either, they've strong minds and can just up and say 'no'. Weak points are their mouth, their nostrils and their eyes, or straight in the ear canal if their fins are up – the only bits not covered by scales, everything else will bounce off.

I’m glad the others are on your side – get them in on this, work together and you’ll figure it out. Remember you’ve got a lot to bring to the table too – it sounds like they’ve designed this task to keep you from working together, one dragon per contestant, but that doesn’t keep you from strategising together. Review what kinds of dragon there were, how they behave, figure it out. I’ll see you next weekend to help more personally, alright?

And tell that Fluffy hi from me – he sounds like a pretty neat creature and it’s a breath of fresh air to hear that you’re still squeezing some joy out of life. I love you, kid, I can’t wait to be your dad on paper, and you know Remy feels the same. You know we’re both scared for you, but we’ve got your back even if it means jumping into the damn ring with you. I’ll see you next weekend, alright?

Your soon-to-be-dad,

Sirius

PS: Remus is licking my face and whining, I think that means he misses you.

Rhiannon cried a little on receiving that letter, and she kept it in an inside pocket of her school robes so that it was close to her heart. But Sirius, her dad, was right – she couldn’t freeze, or wallow, not now. She had to tell the others. Fleur probably already knew by now, but she had no idea about the others and they needed to figure out a strategy together. So the very next thing Rhiannon did was call a meeting of her fellow Champions in a secluded courtyard that Tuesday afternoon after classes.

Fleur was the first to arrive, and as Rhiannon had guessed, she already knew about the dragons. “If this is about the task, Madame Maxime already told me,” she murmured as she swept Rhiannon into a tight hug. “No wonder you’re so frightened, that’s a big first task.”

Rhiannon wiggled free of the hug and settled back onto one of the stone benches that stood around the very old, knotted hazel tree in the centre of the little courtyard. “Yeah, ‘xactly – I want t’ talk to the others, strategise, figure out how we’re gonna tackle it but Fleur – it’s not, just the dragons, it’s the fire. I’m... it’s – it-it-it-t-t-t- ‘s not just, fear, it’s... Fleur, there was f-f-f-f-fire, that night, it’s how I got t-t-t-t-turned, I can’t – I, I – I can’t shut down, I, I’ve g-g-g-g-g-got to, find some way to deal with it or I’ll die ‘n front ‘f that dragon, please – there’s three weeks, I have t’, t-t-t-to figure out some way t’ d-d-d-deal with it.” she stammered, clutching Fleur’s hands as the tall girl rushed to comfort her. “There’s f-f-f-four, dragons I mean – th-tha-t-t-t-t, that means they’re ssssss-s-s-s-s-stopping you f-f-f-f-f-fighting my bat-t-t-tles, I – I can’t die, I can’t leave ‘mione and Luna and everyone behind, you’ve got t’ help me figure out how t’ fight.”

Fleur’s face lost any trace of a smile, of hope or reassurance. There was only sick, grim determination and a distinctly haunted cast to her sharp amber eyes. “Merde, you’re right – they’re trying to split us up, they don’t know they’re going to make a bloodbath. Thank – oh, thank whoever that your, er, Hagrid, is it? That he got a tip off, and he brought you along, or this... well, not to criticise your ability, but... with a big, ah – trigger? Something like that... we might have been standing at your funeral in a month’s time instead. And I don’t want to have to bury you, it’d be like... like burying Gabrielle, ma sœur, or – you get the idea.”

Rhiannon swallowed, trying to keep her breathing even through a closing throat. She knew what was at stake, it took every ounce of her stubbornness to keep from fleeing the castle altogether at the thought of facing dragonfire, of dying while those she loved most were forced to watch. “I do,” she agreed miserably. “So we have t’, figure out some way I can survive that fight, on my own.”

“Fight?” Cedric inquired by way of a greeting as he entered the courtyard. “What are we fighting, d’you know something we don’t?”

“Y’ could say that,” Rhiannon replied grimly, with a nod to Viktor as he stooped beneath the archway that led from the castle interior and shuffled into the courtyard a few paces behind Cedric. “Uh, ‘s about the first task, I – I got a look ‘t it. Ced, Viktor – they’ve got us ag-g-g-g-g- fffffucker, we – Ced, we’re ffffighting dragons.”

Cedric’s ruddy complexion turned ashen and he sank onto one of the stone benches, while Viktor staggered in shock, swore under his breath and sagged against the castle wall for support. “Dragons, you’re – you’re serious? Fuck, who am I kidding, you wouldn’t lie about this... Are we all fighting a dragon or, are they splitting us up, do you know? Shit, I’m sorry, I know you’re probably freaked, but – this changes everything, we’ve got to strategise.”

Fleur shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Four dragons. I doubt they would put all those together in a ring, they would rip eachother apart long before they started on us... No, I think we are looking at one on one dragon fights – they have to think of what the crowd will want to see, after all,” she trailed off cynically, her lip curled in disgust.

Viktor pushed his lank hair from his face and lurched across the courtyard to a more secure position one of the stone benches near the three of them. Now they were all seated, they turned in to face the tree so they could better see eachother, and Viktor nodded to Rhiannon by way of an acknowledgement. “Dragons. Did you get a look at what kind, or perhaps how old they are? There is a great deal of variation in behaviour, if we know more we can plan better. I would prefer not to die, I have yet to win a Quidditch World Cup.” he asked them, soft-spoken as always but with a notable clipped tone in his voice that suggested he was just as worried as the rest of them.

Rhiannon thought back to the firelit clearing and to the pictures in her Creatures textbooks. She hadn’t taken a good look at the dragons at first, being too frightened and then distracted by Fluffy, but they had returned to the clearing on the Sunday night and Rhiannon had taken a closer look at their future opponents. She didn’t want to hurt them, frightening as she found them – they were just animals, and they were frightened and confused – understandably, she sympathised with that, which meant that these fights would be wholly unwilling, neither side wishing to fight the other – and they could use that. “They’re n-n-n-n-nesting mothers. All ‘bout the same kind of maturity and size, first clutch apparently – I’d, guess they’ve been chosen like that on purpose. They’re scared, too,” she explained, frowning to herself as she searched for details in her weary brain. “Uh – s’ffice t’ say, they’re huge. I, can’t even describe how big, it hurt my neck just t’ look, but um... one’s a Hebridean Black. They’re native t’ here, but further out around the islands ‘n stuff – big, territorial, kinda like polar bears behaviour wise – don’ even like other Hebridean Blacks around, the one they got w’s rescued as a wee’un when her nest got attacked, so she’s almost three b’t they grow real fast at first. Think she’s the youngest though, um, what else... uh, there’s a brown ‘n gold one, spiky bastard and really ornery, pretty much terrifyin’ at every angle...”

“That sounds like a Hungarian Horntail,” Viktor chimed in, his face twisted into a grimace. “They are certainly terrifying – they are found in Romania too, but Hungary got the credit as they were found there first. I think the only advantage you’ve got is that they’re poor fliers – at least in a situation like this. They can travel well enough, but they have very little agility in the air so they fly mostly to migrate, not to hunt or fight.”

Rhiannon wrinkled her nose. “Well, that’s... probably useful, I just can’t think how yet. The others, uh... there’s a red one, very long body, a mane and a crest of sort of, fin-hair somehow, my distance vision is no good and I... uh, didn’t have my glasses on but I’d guess, Chinese Fireball? Though I know they’re found a lot wider spread than that, an’ there’s other Chinese dragons anyway, but, I don’t know, I’ll get the books out in a bit... uh, the last one, it’s, blue I think, or blue-grey. Swedish Shortsnout, and I r’member that ‘cos I looked it up after it singed the hair off my – nevermind. But uh, blue fire breath, ‘s got the hottest flame of any known dragon species, so... do not mistake the lack of spikes for it bein’ nonthreatening, that thing is spicy,” she finished with a wince. Newt Scamander’s Book of Dragons was in her school backpack and she fished through it until she found the heavy leather tome, just in case anyone had more questions that she couldn’t answer unaided.

“That’s certainly an array of species – it’s going to make it tricky to strategise, each one of those behaves totally differently. The Fireball can even cast spells, they’re as smart as any human. The Shortsnout has incredible proprioception and they’re as dangerous in the air as on the ground, it seems like they think and process in three dimensions as easily as, I don’t know, a shark. And you’re right – if all four are nesting mothers, that’s important – the task probably involves getting something off them.” Cedric mused, scribbling in a notebook as he spoke – plans of attack, angles, shapes, just like he would handle a Quidditch game.

“None of us want to get burnt,” Fleur interjected with a sideways glance at Rhiannon. “Especially as we are facing something called a Fireball, and the dragon with the hottest firebreath in the world. So our first priority must be the Flame-Freezing Charm, no? As a last line of defense, keep us from getting, well, rôtir, before we figure out actually beating the task.”

“Diversions also,” Viktor offered gruffly, and Rhiannon acknowledged him with a nod and a grim smile.

“Perhaps also working without senses,” Rhiannon piped up cautiously. She didn’t want to reveal the depth of her own traumatic pyrophobia, but there was a good reason for all of them to fear fire right now. “In case you get fire-blinded, you’d want t’ be ready. The Shortsnout ‘specially, it’s really bright.”

Cedric nodded and reached across to pat Rhiannon on the shoulder in some mix of reassurance and admiration. “Good idea, I wouldn’t have thought of that – we’d be screwed if we didn’t consider that. In general, dragons have two weaknesses – eyes and mouths, everything else is armoured, but I’m guessing we’re all on the same page of not wanting to orphan a nest of dragons, yeah? But if it comes to it, shoot to kill – we’re talking bombarda or expulso, sagitta, reducto - in the mouth or up the nose, eyes aren’t a good kill point. If you’ve got a bit more distance on it, the Conjunctivitis Curse is good to disable them, keep ‘em from targeting you, but you won’t have any luck Transfiguring it. Impediment, knockback, all useless, they’re way too powerful. Which we’re going to want to work on stealth, reflexes, using the environment – I’ll talk to Hooch, she’ll probably help us set up a training course, but uh – Disillusionment, silencing charms, that kinda shit’s gonna be what we need because we can enchant ourselves just fine.” he rattled off with an awkward shrug. “Uh – Dad’s on the werewolf team now but he used to do general beast management, dragons come up a fair bit, so I learned some stuff,” he explained as they all stared at him.

Rhiannon in particular bristled and shivered uncomfortably. She knew that Amos Diggory worked for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, specifically heading up the Werewolf Capture and Affairs sub-department, but for some reason – probably because she’d had a terrible crush on him since the age of eleven – Rhiannon had never connected that to Cedric in particular, and an uncomfortable weight of a fear she had thought conquered settled in her uneasy stomach. It had never crossed her mind that Cedric might not accept her if he discovered her to be a werewolf. But his father worked in an office who primarily existed to mess up werewolves’ lives – there was a very real possibility that Cedric could view her the same way, and that frightened her in a very visceral way as she listened to him meticulously break down how to kill a dragon if it came to it. She had considered telling the Champions her secret, she needed to figure out how she would navigate the task while incapacitated by the full moon, but now... no. No, she would have to wait and talk to Fleur, and Sirius when he arrived on the weekend.

The four of them settled into an uneasy rhythm, playing a game Fleur called ‘Invisible Tag’ for the purposes of practising their Disillusionment and Silencing charms, as well as stealth, reflexes and tracking something by sound rather than sight. Rhiannon tossed up whether or not to dull her hearing with audiminus, but eventually decided against it – she needed the practice more than she needed to stay hidden.

Afterwards, thoroughly worn out and sore, Rhiannon set off toward the Slytherin common room to visit Hermione, Ginny and Dudley. She leaned heavily on the walls and her cane as she went, and her attention was scattered with fatigue – or else she would have noticed the characteristic drag-thump of Professor Moody’s wooden leg on the stone floors. Instead, Rhiannon was startled by the gruff, imposing man’s sudden appearance and she stumbled back into a wall, eyes stinging in the torchlight and she felt her heart sink with the certainty that she had just revealed herself. “Uh – P-p-p-p-professor M-m-m-oody, nice t’, to see you,” she lied quickly, pasting a fragile smile onto her face. Maybe if she pretended nothing was the matter, he would let it slide.

“No it isn’t, I’m a scary old codger and you’re a terrible liar, Potter,” Moody retorted brusquely. “You want to get better at that – and at hiding those eyes, that startle response is going t’ be a problem for you unless you get it under control.”

Rhiannon bristled irritably – she couldn’t get it under control, it was a startle reflex, the surprise was sort of the whole problem. “Right, fine, you’re a scary old git an’ I was goin’ somewhere, what d’you want?” she asked him crossly – far more disrespect than she’d ordinarily show a teacher but frankly he’d annoyed her and she was too tired to be polite.

Moody chuckled and clapped Rhiannon on the shoulder, grinning laconically. “Good, you’ve got spirit - you’ll need that too. As for what I want, well, probably what you want too – to keep you alive. Dead Potter, bad for everyone’s morale, and we both know the Dark Lord will return – we don’t need everyone mourning some dead figurehead when he does.” he told her quietly, his voice like gravel in a rainstorm as it echoed through the dimly-lit hallway.

Rhiannon shivered and backed away, caught off guard by Moody’s grim, callous assessment of the situation. He wasn’t wrong, but nobody had ever spoken to her like that before, like another jaded adult aware of her own significance to the resistance that would grow when Voldemort came back – because Rhiannon had encountered him too many times to believe the more popular story of his death. “I... I, s-s-s-suppose, that’s a way t’ put it,” she mumbled.

Moody chuckled darkly. “And aware of your own mortality, and your position. That’s good too. You’ve an old head on your shoulders for a fourteen-year-old. Now, c’mon, let’s sit down before something gives out,” he advised, and indicated with his free hand the open door of what looked like an empty Potions classroom.

Rhiannon pulled her school cloak tighter around her shoulders as if it could provide some protection from the disconcertingly sharp professor, and cautiously followed his gesture into the empty classroom where she perched on a desk near the back and eyed him warily. “So, you – you want me to stay alive. And I know I messed up, you saw me eyes.” she stated, watching Moody closely for his reaction.

The professor’s wry smile was as disquieting as the rest of them. “Oh yes. I knew there were werewolves, I make your potions after all. And I’m sure you’ve done the maths by now, the first task falls on next full moon, so you have to come up with a way to get around the mobility troubles, right?” Moody inquired, but it was clear he already knew what the answer was.

“Yeah, I – I was gonna ask my dad an’ Fleur for some help,” Rhiannon agreed cautiously, fiddling with her ring and her bracelet to keep from biting her nails.

Moody frowned and made a disapproving noise under his breath. “This is a competition, Potter. However you’d like it to go, any one of those champions could choose the prize money over you at any moment – you have to rely on yourself. That’s how you’ll get through the task, too – focus on your strengths,” he warned her.

Rhiannon bristled – she didn’t like the insinuation that her new friends, her pack, might betray her. But Moody wasn’t wrong that the prize money – thirteen thousand Galleons, a fortune to anyone – was a factor she hadn’t thought about enough. The other champions were choosing to support Rhiannon instead of working to win the competition for themselves, that could create resentment, even betrayal... she shivered and hugged herself tightly. She didn’t want to doubt them, that felt like a betrayal all of its own... but the crotchety former Auror could well be correct. Betrayal or not, they were probably facing these dragons one on one, and that meant she had to focus on sharpening her own skills – not just on teamwork.

“I don’ – I dunno, what skills I’ve got,” Rhiannon muttered, biting her lip anxiously. Strength and speed, she had those in far greater capacity than a human of her size should – but around the full moon, she simply hurt too much for them to be useful. Quick reflexes were totally negated, and she was certainly clever at the best of the times – but the brain fog the full moon brought on was seriously limiting. “Ev’rything’s, pretty much soup aroun’ then.”

“Yeah, and it makes you a bit of a cripple, I know the drill,” Moody agreed briskly. “But think about it – you’re a Quidditch player, aren’t you? If you’d ditched every full moon, your secret would be out by now.”

“True, but, I can’t take a broom in the arena,” Rhiannon replied with an uncomfortable shrug. “Else it’d be the perfect solution – I c-c-c-c-an fly, lot better’n I can walk ‘round then.”

Moody sighed and rubbed his temples wearily. “Lord, kid, you’re bright but you can be a right space cadet – you’re a witch, aren’t you? They let you have your wand- I’m sure you can figure out the rest. Use your brain – that’ll keep you alive as much as any spells you can think up.” he told her grouchily.

With that, Professor Moody seemed to consider his teacherly wisdom suitably passed on and hauled himself out of his chair and departed without so much as a goodbye, his peg leg and cane clomping noisily on the flagstone floor. Rhiannon stared blankly after him, the gears turning in her head as she put the pieces of Professor Moody’s advice together in her head – she had a wand. The rules of the tournament had been posted all around the castle as advice for students considering entry – and there was no rule against Summoning something from the outside, only against bringing it by hand when entering the task. Special considerations were made for mobility equipment... but if she could Summon her Firebolt into whatever environment they faced in the first task, she needn’t worry about that.

All at once, Rhiannon’s determination was renewed and she sprang from her perch on the desk and hurried off down the corridor toward the Slytherin common room. She needed to practice Summoning spells with Hermione – and to speak with Dudley about preparing a fireproofing solution to soak her beloved broom in in preparation for the task.

Chapter Text

Professor Moody’s warning did little but stress Rhiannon out, so she did her best to shove it to the back of her mind as she and the other Champions trained for the first task. Flame-Freezing Charms, Shield Charms, stealth and killing spells for a last resort, along with Rhiannon’s private revision of the Summoning charm – slowly but surely they were building a solid foundation from which each one of them could throw together a strategy once they knew which dragon they would be facing.

But try as she might to concentrate on the task at hand, Rhiannon’s attention drifted to her fathers’ return at the end of the week and she struggled to focus on anything but the insistent thought of reuniting with her pack. So as soon as the private Enchanting class Flitwick taught concluded late on Saturday afternoon, Rhiannon shoved her belongings into her backpack, said a hurried goodbye to Neville and the rest of her friends in the class followed by a slightly longer goodbye for Hermione, then rushed off through the castle heedless of her joints that very much didn’t appreciate two-legged running, all the way to the third floor, then across to the east wing where Remus’ office and his suite of rooms were located.

By the time Rhiannon arrived at Remus’ office door she was sore and thoroughly out of breath from her run, and she slumped against the wall to rest before knocking on the door. It swung open after only a few short moments and Rhiannon stumbled inside straight into Remus’ waiting arms. “Hey, pup, you’re trembling like you’ve run a mile, you alright?” Remus asked, nudging the door closed behind them as he half-carried her inside. She just squeezed him more tightly, hanging on like a little limpet as he laughed helplessly and dragged her along with him through his office and into the living room and small kitchen that connected to his bedroom.

Once inside, Remus collapsed in a heap on the rug and Rhiannon cuddled up against his side, eyes tightly closed as she burrowed into his woollen jersey. She could feel the heat of a hearthfire on her back and through her hair, but for once it didn’t bother her – she was comfortable here, she felt safe – and it had been some time since she had felt safe, she hadn’t realised she needed it so desperately.

“Can I get in on the hug?” another familiar voice asked, a little plaintive like a lonely puppy’s might sound. Sirius. Rhiannon could hear him behind her, his clothes rustled as he settled down on the rug, and she untangled herself from Remus and threw herself into her other father’s arms, breathing in his familiar scent until all at once she was overwhelmed by it and to her mortification she began to cry, sobbing helplessly against Sirius’ chest as all the overwhelming fear and exhaustion of the last few weeks flooded over her, a reminder that she was still just a child facing something no child ever should. Sirius rocked her gently, humming deep in his chest as he held her tightly, and Remus joined themso that they formed a sort of warm, safe cave for their worn-out almost-daughter.

“We’ve got you, Rhi, let it out,” Sirius mumbled, his chin resting on top of her head, the two men rocking her gently and humming quietly, providing comfort and reassurance as she bawled out the worst of her fears and pain, the deluge of tears providing a release that, despite the indignity of it all, she had desperately needed. It wasn’t healthy to keep so much pain bottled up, she knew that, but for all these weeks since accepting that she had to compete in the tournament Rhiannon had done her best to project a strength and confidence she did not truly feel – and that was truly exhausting.

Eventually Rhiannon had cried herself out and she curled up on the floor with her head on Sirius’ leg, the three of them – fathers and daughter, two wolves and a dog alike – seated on the rug in front of the fire, Sirius and Remus leaning against the couch while Rhiannon lay curled in a ball between them. Remus stroked Rhiannon’s hair, idly tangling his fingers in it as he scratched at the base of her skull in a soothing manner that brought a low rumbling growl-purr to the back of Rhiannon’s throat. “Guess you needed that, hey?” Remus asked, more of a reassurance than a real question as he leaned sideways so that his head rested on Sirius’s shoulder and the rest of him made a comfortable shelter for the little werewolf.

Rhiannon nodded wordlessly, and Sirius gently brushed the hair from her eyes as she sat up and tucked herself in between them with her arms around her knees. “I should’ve seen it back when we first met... you spend so much time being strong, looking after yourself and the others, but there’s nobody to look after you,” Sirius murmured softly.

Rhiannon screwed up her face, a little offended on behalf of her friends. Her throat was all clogged up with snot and her face hurt from crying, she wasn’t going to be able to say much, but she wasn’t going to sit here and not give them the credit they deserved. “H-h-h-h-ey, ‘mione ‘n Luna, N-n-n-nina, Lav’nder, N-n-n-n-eville, even,” she mumbled grumpily,

Remus lightly swatted her hair, the sort of gentle scold a wolf gives their pup and something that might have once startled Rhiannon but now felt more familiar than frightening. “Oi, you know what he meant, grumpy pup. Friends are family for sure, but you’re all kids – you need parents too, and I know Xen does his best but he’s Luna’s dad and I know that keeps you from seeing him as yours, leanin’ on him as you need,”

Rhiannon made a grumpy noise, embarrassed by how transparent she seemed to be, and hugged her knees more tightly to her chest. Sirius chuckled softly and pulled her against his side in a one-armed hug. “Yeah, grumpy pup, you know he’s right,” he teased gently. “And I know we said we’d wait, take it slow on the whole adoption thing but... well, you know we worry, and it just seems like... maybe in a perfect world we could give it years and figure it out as we go but, it seems like maybe you need us right now, and we both want to be here for you, give you that space to be scared, be comforted – to just be a kid, you know?” he explained quietly.

Her heart was too full to put it all into words, all Rhiannon could do was hug Sirius tightly, her eyes squeezed tightly closed, and she wiggled happily as she filled up with feelings she just had to let out somehow. They were both right – her feelings for Luna kept her from seeing Luna’s father Xenophilius as a close parental figure, but with the pressure and danger of the tournament she desperately needed the support of parents. She didn’t know the family situation of the other champions save Cedric, but they were also older – legally, they were adults and while she had looked out for herself most of her life, an adult Rhiannon was not. She couldn’t do this alone, or even with just other children for support – she needed her dads.

“So is that a good wiggle? I’m sorry, I’m new at speaking teenager – or at least, speaking to my own daughter since I’m sort of, new at having one,” Remus asked her, gently teasing as he tickled her under her chin in a fatherly way that made her giggle and slap at them both in playful protest.

Rhiannon grinned and sprawled out across her fathers’ legs, stretching luxuriously as she did so. “I mean, I’m, new at having a dad so, ‘s not like you gotta be p-p-p-perfect, I won’t know th’ difference,” she joked wryly.

Both men sobered, and they shared a solemn glance before turning their attention back to Rhiannon. “Hey, don’t – don’t even joke about that, Rhi. We want to be good dads, not just good by comparison – you deserve so much better than you’ve got out of life so far. But for that to work, you do need to tell us when stuff’s not working – and I know that’s going to be hard and scary, but you can get Dudley to help if you need.” Sirius advised, and for a moment before he shook it away there was a distinctly haunted cast to his still sharp-boned face.

Rhiannon frowned and sat up sharply, so quick she would have caught her head on Remus’ chin had he not lurched back out of the way just in time. “Dudley, that’s – ww-w-w-w-w-w-w-where’s, Dudley? He should, be here for this sort’ve talk, right?” she inquired, suddenly anxious – she couldn’t go making these kinds of decisions on her brother’s behalf, they were a pack and that meant their choices were a package deal.

Again, the two men shared a glance, but this time their expressions were wry rather than haunted and hurt. “I suppose now is a good time to admit that he’s the one who suggested we talk to you about this in the first place – he’s worried about you, we all are, but we didn’t want to overstep and I think that was making us a little less helpful than we wanted to be. He gave us a bit of a hurry up about it, something about ‘aren’t you the adults here’ – with a bit more swearing,” Remus admitted, his lips twisting sideways into a self-deprecating little smile.

At that, all Rhiannon could do was laugh helplessly, falling back into her fathers’ arms. Of course Dudley knew – as if any of them could have got something so important past him, he had a better grip on his lupine instincts than any of them and knew each of their needs better than they did themselves – of all Rhiannon’s friends and peers, Dudley had changed most of all in the last two years. Being turned had come at exactly the right moment in his life and he had embraced lycanthropy with a joy that had eventually taught Rhiannon herself to love their shared wolfish nature, though he was still better at interpreting his new instincts better than she.

Just as she had needed to cry, Rhiannon found a weight lifted from her weary frame and soul alike by the shared laughter, and she felt spent – in the right way this time – as she flopped back against her dads’ shoulders. “Sorry, just – pfffffffffff, of course Dudley noticed before us, ‘s – how he does, isn’t it, I sh’ld stop bein’ surprised by now,” she explained as her fathers looked between eachother and then back at her, clearly baffled by the outburst.

“It’s no worry, really – it’s just like Remus said earlier, we’re new at all this, and this is a situation that would stump anyone, you be however you need,” Sirius assured her quickly. “But if you’re feeling better, do you want to sit up on the couch, brainstorm out how you’re going to tackle the task if you need someone to bounce ideas off? Whatever you need.”

Rhiannon took a deep, steadying breath and stood, trembling a little but determined, then held out her hands and helped her da Remus up off the floor and onto the couch while Sirius sorted himself out. She retrieved her school backpack from where it had been discarded on the floor and rifled through it for the notes she had been making in preparation for the task, then flopped down on the couch between her dads with a weary huff and a slap of papers against her legs.

“Planning t’ fly it,” Rhiannon explained, spreading the papers out across their three laps so that her dads could see her notes in better detail. “Th’t way, the pain’s not ‘n issue. There’s four dragons, kinda loose strategies for each, see – Hebridean Blacks’re reactive, they can lunge any direction so, low ‘n fast; Swedish Shortsnouts’re agile, light, it’d probably fly after me, uh... Chinese f-f-f-f-f-f-f-Fireball, spellcasters so, brushin’ up on shields ‘n camouflage, I’d have t’ out-think that rather’n outfly it; an’ Horntails are big, solid ‘n mean, but not very agile so, I’d need t’ annoy it enough t’ get off the nest n’ grab whate’er they’re making the task object before it turns around. Um – Dudley’s already brewin’ Fireproofing p-p-p-p-p-p-p-Potions, don’t wanna risk damage t’ my broom an’ we’ll soak my robes ‘n stuff in it too – if-f-f-f-f-f- - if I catch fire, i’s-s-s- ‘s all over, I’ll lose my head, so, planning.”

Remus reached an arm across Rhiannon’s back and squeezed her shoulder affectionately. “Good thinking, all of it, really solid strategies and I’m so proud so see you tackling that kind of traumatic trigger head on, you’re exactly on track. I’ve got some advanced training equipment the older students use for the practical segments of their exams – dummies that react and spit out a few spells depending on what you code it for, there’s a few knobs ‘n stuff to tell it which spells you want it to do, moving targets, that kinda crap. If you like, I’ll get some keys made for the four of you so you can use the training course, it’s out by the forest and could be useful to you,” he offered, and had he been his wolfish form Rhiannon suspected her da’s tailtip might have been wagging in his earnest eagerness to help any way he could.

Rhiannon made an anxious little moue and hummed worriedly. “Thanks, th-h-h-h-h—hhhhh- that, I think it’d really help, like... I’ve got all these plans b-b-b-but, I’m just s-s-sss-so worried it’ll come to it and, I’ll freeze, forget what to cast again, I just... I d-d-d-don’t, think I’ll ever feel ready,” she admitted, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to settle her nerves.

Sirius raised an eyebrow and ruffled Rhiannon’s hair affectionately. “Didn’t you get a werewolf with the Pumpkinhead Jinx once you figured out direct affect spells didn’t work? Because that was pretty bloody clever – give yourself some credit, kid, you’ve kicked ass so far,” he replied with a wry grin.

Rhiannon grimaced. “Yeah, an’ if Hagrid hadn’ shown up with th’ Ministry I’d be dead, I just – panicked and forgot everythin’, the p-p-p-p-p-p-p-Pumpkin was, the one thing th’t worked,” she groused worriedly, now fiddling with her bracelet so as to keep from drawing blood from her palms.

Remus sighed and leaned forward, clearly having come to some internal decision. “Rhiannon, you’re one of the best students in your year, practical assessments and all. You are achieving at a level beyond most fifth-years, and I don’t know how to help you see how capable the rest of us know you to be,” he told her firmly. Then something in his eyes lit up, a grin spread across his face and he leapt to his feet too quickly for his worn-out werewolf knees. He would have gone sprawling entirely had Rhiannon not lunged forward to catch him. Her da didn’t seem fazed by his near tumble and laughed aloud, then fumbled to retrieve his wand from the holster on his belt and indicated Rhiannon should fetch her own.

“Here, see – you practically had this last year, stand like that, yes – and think of your happiest moment, the strongest feelings of joy and love, focus everything on them. You know the incantation for the Patronus Charm – have another go at it. If anything can prove your skill to you, it’s that,” Remus directed her eagerly, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

It heartened Rhiannon to see Remus so much healthier and expressive than he had been the year before, and she tamped down the frisson of nerves that fizzed through her veins at his suggestion she retry the charm she hadn’t quite been able to master the year before. Her first instinct was to deny it, she couldn’t fail if she didn’t try – but that wasn’t an attitude she could survive with any longer. She gathered up her strongest memories and feelings of love, joy and protection, the certainty and safety her new parents brought her, and focused intently upon them for a solid minute or so before she adjusted her grip on her wand, then ran the incantation over in her head before she spoke.

“Expecto Patronum.”

From Rhiannon’s outstretched wand sprang a shape formed of blue-silver mist, and she gasped aloud in wonder as she recognised it at once. Shaped by Rhiannon’s own magic, Nyx stood sure-pawed and powerful before the living room fire and Rhiannon fell to her knees, tears of mixed, overwhelming relief and joy and pride streaming down her face as she watched her own wolf-shape trot around the room, every inch achingly and intimatingly familiar from the paler patches of hair that hid her scars to the distinct limp as Nyx favoured her bad shoulder - a much more visible disability on four legs than on two. Her da had been exactly right – she had needed this, needed to prove her own skill to herself – even her Patronus’ shape was a reminder she had desperately needed, that her werewolf nature was a source of strength and protection.

Dimly Rhiannon felt one of her dads rest his hand on her shoulder but she wasn’t paying attention to which, her attention was totally absorbed by her Patronus until Nyx lost interest in inspecting Remus’ living room and padded slowly forward to greet Rhiannon instead, drawing nearer and nearer until they were nose to nose. The brilliant magic was pleasantly cool to the touch and pulsed faintly beneath her cautious fingers, and as Nyx bent her head and touched her forehead to Rhiannon’s it felt as if she received a great transfusion of health, energy and pure refreshment straight into her weary soul.

“I knew you could do it,” Remus whispered as he knelt on the floor beside Rhiannon, the last sparks of blue-white magic glimmering on his face as Nyx’s shape faded back into Rhiannon’s own body. “But I never... I’ve never seen a werewolf whose Patronus is...”

“Whose Patronus is themself,” Rhiannon finished for him, her voice soft and taut, filled to the brim with the depth of emotion the experience had left her feeling. Of course he hadn’t – the idea of accepting his own lycanthropy was so new a concept to him, let alone learning to love it and embrace it the way Rhiannon had.

Remus nodded silently and pulled Rhiannon into a wordless hug, his thin frame trembling with suppressed emotion. “I am... so very glad I met you and your brother, Rhiannon Black,” he murmured into her hair. “I never thought I’d have kids, I don’t know if werewolves can even... that’s not important – what I mean is, of any kids I could’ve had, I’m glad it’s you.”

Rhiannon’s lip trembled and she hugged Remus more tightly. “I’ve, n-n-nev-v-v-v-v-er had parents eith-th-th-th-ther, but, ‘m glad it’s you too.” she stammered. The name, Rhiannon Black – it felt right when her da called her that. She wanted to share a family name with Dudley, but she hadn’t been a Potter for a long time and it didn’t feel as if it were her name to give away, but Black – that could be hers, and hers to share. And just like when she had found the name Rhiannon to begin with, that felt right, and a brilliant grin spread across her face.

“I th-h-h-h- I think, if I’m t-t-t-t-t-to properly bes-s-s-s-s-ssmirch the name of the House of Black in the next task.... I’m going to want those keys, please,” Rhiannon quipped, wryly echoing back the favoured complaint that Sirius’ mother’s portrait had shrieked at them all the last time Rhiannon and Dudley had visited Sirius’ house.

Sirius cackled and seized both his partner and daughter in a fierce hug. “Oh, you’re right, she’d hate it – the House of Black getting attention and it’s from someone who’s not even blood, let alone queer and a nonhuman, that’s bloody beautiful,” he crowed.

Still laughing amongst themselves, the three of them got up and set about putting together an improvised dinner, all three of them laughing, joking and comfortable in eachothers’ presence as they chattered and ate. Rhiannon felt comfortable, safe, protected – all things that she had so badly needed with just over two weeks left until she had to fight a dragon. Now, she felt certain she could make it through – if she fell in the competition she doubted anyone could keep Sirius from fighting his way in to her side.

After dinner, the three of them curled up on the couch to listen to a book Sirius had found wandering London’s bookstores – Inkheart, a story in which worlds could be read to life. Rhiannon was so totally absorbed, she didn’t notice how late it had gotten until suddenly Remus was shaking her into awareness and the clock on the far wall read ten o’clock. “Hey, c’mon, I know there’s no classes tomorrow but you can’t crash here, we’d get in trouble and you’ll be all crackly when you wake up if you sleep on the couch,” he warned her sleepily.

Rhiannon groaned and disentangled herself from her comfy nest in Sirius’ arms, waking her dad as she did so. “Ah, fff- no, it’s ok, don’ worry, don’ get up,” she slurred clumsily, though she stumbled as she stood and would have fallen had her da Remus not caught her by the shoulders.

“No, no, I’m gonna, I got you, a thing,” Sirius grumbled blearily, and he stretched out in all directions just like a sleepy dog before shaking his head to clear it and hauling himself off the couch. Rhiannon blinked, more than a little confused as she watched him stumble off into the bedroom, and her curiosity was not sated any as she heard him fumbling with something that clanked metallically, the dry rustling of a heavy cloth and was that – animal smell? Rhiannon rubbed her eyes and frowned, squinting as her dad limped back into the room carrying what was unmistakeably a very large bird cage in one hand. He set it down on the dining table and Rhiannon hobbled over to peer at it, more curious about why he’d brought such a thing than what was in it – she already had a pet.

“Ah – I know, you’ve got already got pets and that, we can say she’s Remus’ or something and she can stay here if it’s easier, but... I thought it might help, t’ have your own owl – no waiting for a school one to be free or bothering with that cranky Scottish beastie, just send her back to me whenever you need,” Sirius explained, still sounding distinctly fuzzy with sleep. “And she just looked so fed up in the corner of the Menagerie, I couldn’t just leave her there... she’s much too big for being stuck inside, here, have a look,”

With that, Sirius carefully uncovered the bird cage, revealing a truly enormous gingery-brown owl looking distinctly disgruntled at being stuck in a cage – Sirius was right, she really did need more space to stretch her wings. Her back was a deep auburn barred with a darker brown, that barring fading to more of a ginger over the top of her creamier chest feathers, and she peered down at Rhiannon with very large, round black eyes. Unlike most other owls Rhiannon had seen she had no ear tufts as such, she was more generally tufty all over – though that might have been an unfortunate side effect of her lack of space.

“She’s beautiful,” Rhiannon breathed, though she didn’t reach into the cage – birds didn’t appreciate being poked, especially when they’d just been woken up. “Wha- what is she, I’ve nev-v-v-v-v-v-v-er seen anything like her,”

Sirius shrugged, and Rhiannon got the distinct impression that he had seen the owl’s discomfort in the pet shop and not asked any further questions about her attributes. “Dunno, to be honest... Think there was a little card that said she was from somewhere in Africa, but I don’t remember where, they had this dinky little picture and I can’t be fucked squinting at all that,” he groused. “Meant to do this all earlier ‘n let her out for the night, but we sorta crashed out... sorry girl, here, let me get you out of there,” he added, his grumbly voice turning soft and gentle as he took apart the owl’s cage so that she could step out onto his arm. The great gingery creature really was magnificent, especially now that she had space to straighten up and settle her wings more comfortably, and Rhiannon felt a certain admiration and respect for the dignified owl – a fellow hunter, and one who had clearly put up with a whole lot of human nonsense to get here.

“Well, uh – she’s not, a cat so, I won’t hug her, um... I don’t know, I’ve never-r-r-r a-actually handled such a big owl, b-b-b-ut, um... I guess w-w-w-we can see ‘bout finding her some perches an’ she can pick where she wants to stay? No way is she goin’ back in that box,” Rhiannon decided. Cautiously, she reached out with her good arm – she guessed the owl would be far too heavy for the bad one – and held it as steady as she could manage to see if the owl would like to step on.

As it happened, the oversized ginger owl did want to step onto her new mistress’ arm, thankyou very much, and once she had found a place on Rhiannon’s forearm she used her beak and claws to very carefully climb up onto the little werewolf’s shoulder, where she now had a comical height advantage – at least in so far as eye level – over Rhiannon. The large owl nibbled Rhiannon’s hair and clacked her beak impatiently as if to say, you promised out, c’mon, let’s go! Rhiannon giggled and gently tickled the owl’s silky chest, then shrugged, careful not to disturb her new charge.

“Guess that settles it,” Rhiannon said decisively, amused by the owl’s persnickety sort of manner. She wondered idly how the owl would get on in a room with cats and considered perhaps warding the perch she intended to find, then took another sideways glance and realised that the only cats large enough to consider tangling with such an owl were part-Kneazle, and thus too smart to try. “Hey, girl? Yeah, don’t worry, I’ll ask Luna what’chu are, we’ll figure out a name for you,” she murmured, and accepted her cane from Remus while he took charge of her school backpack. They made an awkward group, two tall men, a very short girl and an oversized owl, but they managed to make their way out of the room without disturbing Rhiannon’s crotchety orange charge and out into the castle halls, heading for the ground floor so that they might release the owl for a night flight before carrying on to the dungeons so that Rhiannon might go to bed.

Rhiannon leaned back against the castle wall before they set off again, taking deep breaths of the cool night air as she watched her great auburn owl wing her way up into the night sky. Something to do with the sun, she mused sleepily to herself. For the first time in a long time, the mental image of fire in the night was simply beautiful, and not a source of fear. She had her very own grumpy message-delivering companion, now, which meant that even when he was not at Hogwarts Sirius – her dad - was hardly far out of reach, and she had keys to the training ground so that she might face her fear of fire head on. She had cast a Patronus, a difficult feat even for N.E.W.T. students let alone a fourteen year old... tonight had been exactly what she needed and she felt cautiously confident in her prospects for the first task. Some day, when she could put it into words better, she would thank her dads for that, Rhiannon vowed to herself – and Dudley, for seeing that it was exactly what she needed. The Triwizard Tournament did its’ best to isolate the Champions but she wasn’t alone, and it didn’t have to be a death sentence. And that was a reassuring thought.

Chapter Text

As it turned out, Rhiannon’s new companion was a Pel’s Fishing Owl, found scattered across the continent of Africa. Some very grumpy enquiries made by an indignant Luna to the Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley informed them that this particular owl had been picked up in Malawi along with a handful of others and imported to England as a novel curiosity, the others had been adopted but this one had sat in the shop for quite some time. No wonder she was grumpy.

Following Rhiannon’s impression of the owsl as a firebrand or sunbeam, she, Luna and Dudley hunted through stories and language books for the areas in which Pel’s Fishing Owls were found and eventually came up with the name Chiphadzuwa, ‘the sun’ – or Chip for short. That seemed to please the owl, who was rather like a cat in that she was very certain of what she wanted and Merlin help anyone who got in her way. She had three perches to choose from – one beside Dudley’s bed in the Slytherin third-year dormitory, one beside Rhiannon’s bed in Hufflepuff, and another in Remus’ suite; and she could come and go at night as she pleased. While Chip was far from her natural habitat, she was certainly not the only exotic owl present at Hogwarts and Rhiannon doubted there would be any harm in letting her fish as she pleased – if the merfolk complained she might have to restrict outdoor time, but that was a later problem.

But Chiphadzuwa could not distract Rhiannon forever, even if now she could send letters to Sirius more easily and that definitely helped her keep from bottling up her worries. Now she and the other Champions had Remus’ keys, they trained on the course almost every afternoon and slowly but surely, Rhiannon grew a grim sort of confidence in her own abilities as she began to consisntently match up to her older peers even with the course’s difficulty turned up to maximum, and her skill in the Summoning Charm so consistent that she could locate and target her friends’ belongings no matter where they hid them around the castle.

Still, there was only so much time to practice – three weeks wasn’t a lot of time by any measure, and all too soon the 24^th of November was upon them. With only two days until the time of the turn, there weren’t enough truly filthy words in the English language to describe how wretched Rhiannon felt and for the first time she seriously considered learning another language just to be able to complain more effectively. The weather didn’t even have the decency to be properly wintry – outside it was bitterly cold but cloudy, rainy and dismally windswept, exhausting to traipse through compared to the fresh, dry cold of true winter. So it was a rather miserable afternoon indeed that greeted Rhiannon as she trudged sullenly through the castle, her fireproofed robes, second-favourite boots and wand stowed safely in a backpack so that she could change before the task rather than wait around in sodden clothes.

A sick, apprehensive hush hung heavy over the castle as Rhiannon traipsed through the corridors, crowds of students staring at her from every corner and whispering amongst themselves as she passed them. It seemed that finally even those who disliked Rhiannon had come face to face with the very real possibility that she could die in a matter of hours – at least as far as they knew, ignorant of the hours of training and planning Rhiannon had put in to prepare for this task. Even Rhiannon’s friends were less than helpful as they accompanied her, near-silent in their own fear for her life, but she at least appreciated the physical protection from prying eyes her pack provided.

All too soon, Rhiannon reached the outer door of the castle where Hagrid and Headmaster McGonagall waited for her, both dressed in heavy rainproof outer-robes. Rhiannon’s friends mobbed her with a round of hugs, none of them willing to part with her until the very last moment, and as usual it was Hermione who hung on the longest, joined by Luna when the crowd had loosened a little. “Don’t you dare die on me, Rhiannon Black, or – or I’ll kill you,” Hermione growled fiercely, her mouth practically right against Rhiannon’s ear and careless of how little sense the statement made as tears ran freely down her round cheeks and dripped into the necks of both their robes.

“I’ll, keep her from killing you,” Luna murmured, and for a long moment the three of them comforted eachother, three foreheads pressed together with eyes shut tightly before Luna firmly peeled Hermione away from Rhiannon’s much-smaller frame limb by limb and held her in a tight hug so that Rhiannon might catch her breath. “You know I’m frightened for you, I don’t need to tell you that so... go and, I believe the phrase is, knock their fucking socks off.”

Rhiannon stared, unsure which was more incongruous – Luna using a distinctly nonmagical expression, or Luna swearing. Then she caught sight of the little upward quirk on their lips and grinned, seeing the ploy for what it was – a mischievous distraction intended to shock her out of her funk. And it worked, of course it did – Luna always knew the right thing to say. “Merlin I love you both,” she breathed, and seized both Luna and Hermione in a brief, fierce hug. “I-I’m-m-m-m-m- I’m g-g-g-g-oing t’ come back t’ you, I promise.”

The implications of her words could wait ‘til later, Rhiannon decided, she was as good as drunk with the impending danger and luckily neither of them pressed for more – Hermione was in no condition to do so and Luna’s focus was clearly on caring for Hermione, which reassured Rhiannon – as Luna was the only one of Rhiannon’s pack who had ever seen her face death on purpose, xe knew best how capable she was, which made xir directive that she go and knock their fucking socks off all the more genuine. And Rhiannon was determined to make xir proud, make them all proud.

“S-s-ssee you on the other side, or, however it is,” Rhiannon stammered, fixing a fragile but not false smile onto her face. And with that awkward farewell, she turned and slipped one tiny hand into Hagrid’s as a wave of Minerva’s wand opened the great outer doors and then the three of them stepped out into the blustery rain. The doors swung closed with a very final-sounding slam and Rhiannon couldn’t keep back a shiver – this felt very much like a point of no return.

Rhiannon leaned heavily on Hagrid’s arm as they walked, sheltered somewhat from the rain by a translucent blue-lilac umbrella of glimmering magic that Minerva had conjured from her wand-tip to cover the three of them, but there was no escape from the mud as the three of them padded the familiar track into the Forbidden Forest. Rhiannon recognised their route as near that which Hagrid had taken to show her the dragons at the full moon, and though the rain dampened the smells of the world around them she could still catch the heavy, earthy scent of charcoal and smoke that had sunk into the ground and the sodden trees.

They reached the clearing that had held the dragons in their cages, but it stood empty now, just an open wound upon the forest scattered with the scars of fire and talons as the only reminder of what it had once contained – to anyone without a werewolf’s nose, that was. Rhiannon could smell the dragons still, their scents hot, dry and totally alien, far different from any reptile than even the Basilisk had been – mineral and ancient somehow, more like a volcano than an animal.

Deeper into the scarred forest, Hagrid and Minerva led Rhiannon on until the ground began to grow rocky underfoot and slope steadily upward, further than Rhiannon had ever been into the enormous reserve that surrounded Hogwarts Castle. Up and up they climbed and Rhiannon had to lean more on Hagrid’s arm for strength, the ground was too uneven for her on two legs alone. But pain and difficulty aside, even she could not deny the sheer beauty of the landscape below them as they made their way out onto a ridgeline and the view opened up to reveal the full brilliance of the mountains, highlands and valleys of the Cairngorms, hillsides stained violet with the last of the heather to flower before winter and the wan autumn sun gleaming off the great black mirror of the Lake in the distance.

Minerva chuckled softly and ruffled Rhiannon’s hair as the small werewolf gasped aloud and paused to take it all in. “We’ll make a Scot of you yet,” she quipped wryly, and privately Rhiannon thought the Headmaster might just be right – for all the fear and danger she faced, there was something about this landscape that got into her blood and brought with it a grounding strength and certainty – this was her land, its’ wildness a match for the wolf in her, the wolf whose courage and ferocity she needed to draw upon now most of all.

The land was not unscarred, however, and Rhiannon’s heart filled with dread as she caught sight of their destination. High above the wounded forest, a great enclosure of some kind towered into the sky – Rhiannon could see only the wrought bars of the structure as the base was concealed by the mountain they had still yet to climb, yet instinctively she knew – this was it, this was their arena, and even at this distance it inspired fear. She hugged her free arm to her chest, shaking leaflike in the chill late autumn breeze, and Hagrid squeezed her hand gently.

“You’re gonna nail this, kid, I know yeh can,” Hagrid reassured Rhiannon softly. “They ain’t seen what Rhi Potter brings t’ the table yet.”

Rhiannon blinked, startled – it was a strange thing how quickly she had adjusted to her new name, Potter already felt jarring on her ears. “Uh – Black,” she corrected him haltingly. “Rhiannon, Black – that is.”

Hagrid’s face brightened, his black eyes gleaming in his quietly joyful sort of way. “Oh, that’s wonderful tha’ is – Remus ‘n Sirius’re good sorts, ‘m glad they’re takin’ care of yeh and it’s gotta feel pretty good to make it official like that.”

Minerva made a wry sort of harrumph sound, part approval, part wry teasing. She’d known of their family situation for some time, and had promptly updated Rhiannon and Dudley’s names in the school records as soon as she had been told. “That it must – but I’m not sure it’s so easy to say who’s been better for whom, young Remus has come a long way since meeting our two wolf pups and it is good to see our Sirius laughing again again,” she agreed, smiling to herself in a proud, motherly sort of manner. It was then that Rhiannon recalled Minerva to be a full twenty-five to thirty years older than her dads – old enough to have seen them in a motherly light when they attended the school, and her affection for this informal side of the Headmaster only grew – she supposed that made Minerva a sort of grandparent, and that was a nice thought.

Hagrid chuckled. “I though’ teachers weren’ s’posed t’ have favourites?” he teased Minerva, who snorted and made a light-hearted but rude gesture with one hand.

“Of course we aren’t,” Minerva agreed with a wry shrug. “But it’s harder with the ones who don’t have real families of their own, whose home is this school – it makes them a bit like our children, even when they leave.”

Rhiannon grinned toothily. “P-p-p-p-p-pity you’re a cat Animagus, y-y-you sound kinda like a parent-y wolf,” she quipped, joining in the teasing – Minerva was usually so distanced by the barriers of school protocol and a teacher student relationship, it was a rare privilege to instead joke and laugh with her like pack as Rhiannon considered her to be.

Minerva huffed and drew her cloak closer around herself, protection from the indignity as much as the rain. “I’ll have you know cats are very good mothers given half the chance,” she retorted, but there was no real heat to her words – instead, she seemed almost sad, or perhaps wistful was a better word. Perhaps she had wanted to have children of her own and been unable to, Rhiannon considered – and decided she would drop that line of teasing so as to keep from being insensitive any further.

“So, any hint on what they’ve g-g-g-got ‘s facin’?” Rhiannon asked, affecting a mischievous grin – both she and they knew it was dragons, but it might be amusing to see how much she could actually get Minerva to say – and if nothing else, her impertinence would serve to distract Minerva from that strange, quiet grief.

Minerva stared for a moment, and fell behind a few paces before she recovered and caught up with them again. “Ah, mallaich, lass – don’t get me like that right now, I’ve been reassuring myself for weeks that you’d be alright because you knew what was coming,” she grumbled. “You and I both know it’s dragons, any more’n that and I’d be breaking enough rules to risk my position here at Hogwarts.”

Rhiannon’s grin broadened and she lurched sideways to squish the tall, stern Headmaster in a reckless hug. “I know,” she replied cheerfully. “Just wanted t’ change the sub-b-b- bah- subject,”

Minerva grumbled under her breath, something about impertinent pups who were more trouble than they ought to be, but Rhiannon could hear the smile in her voice all the same and that was a comfort to her as they trekked the rest of the way up the mountains.

Just before they reached the cloudline, the terrain flattened out and Rhiannon’s heart skipped a beat as she finally saw the arena in full. Beneath the towering cage walls that kept the crowd passably safe from their dragons, the arena floor was a massive circular expanse of treacherous rocks and ravines. A great chasm some fifty feet deep and twenty or so across encircled the entire plateau, further separating the arena from the crowd – there would be no-one jumping in to rescue her. And on the far side of the arena stood a large rocky nest of sorts, set a few feet above the irregular surface of the arena so that its’ contents would be sheltered from the Champions.

Rhiannon’s heart sank as she took in the arena layout, knowing her suspicions had been right – the dragons’ being nesting mothers was integral to the challenge, and that meant dragon eggs or perhaps even hatchlings to work around. Innocents. But she wasn’t allowed to dwell on it for long, as Minerva laid a hand on her shoulder and gently steered her attention down from the arena to the dull purple canvas tent that waited at its’ base, emblazoned with the logo of the ICW. A seriousness crept over Rhiannon now and she abandoned all her earlier pretence at lightheartedness, forcing herself to breathe deeply as she leaned on her cane and stared down the hillside at the tent. There was no mistaking it, that was the competitors’ tent and the white one beside it could only be a medical setup – this was real, and it was happening now.

“You’re to go on in there with the other Champions,” Minerva eventually told her, her voice frighteningly thin and breathy and her face gray with fear. Rhiannon found herself in the rather strange position of setting aside her own terror to reassure her teacher, and she wrapped her arms around the Headmaster in an impulsive hug.

“I’v-v-v-v-vv-v-v-vvve – I’ve got a plan, my stuff’s f-f-f-f-firep-p-proofed and I’ve bin practicin’ with Fleur an’ the others all month. I think I’ve g-g-got this, Professor,” Rhiannon told Minerva with a cautious smile as she pulled away. “I – I won’t, pretend ‘m not scared, I’m terrified, but – ‘s not the same, assumption I was gonna die as before, I think I can do this.”

And in reassuring Minerva, Rhiannon managed to fill herself with a quiet, cautious sort of confidence – not in the outcome, but in her abilities. She had trained hard and stood almost on equal ground with her older peers, and she had planned for weeks about how to counter her debilitating fear of fire. She might not do very well, but she could survive this – and that was the important part.

Minerva’s lips creased and turned down at the corners, there was a distinctly sorrowful cast to her pale eyes as she shook her head. “You’re a brave lass, Rhiannon Black, and a strong one. Don’t mind me, I’m just a queer old bird... I just wish you didn’t have to be, is all.” she told Rhiannon quietly. “You go and you show that dragon what a Hogwarts werewolf brings to the table, a’right? The school’s rootin’ for you, most of it anyhow.”

Rhiannon grinned fiercely, showing sharp-pointed teeth, and straightened up to her full not-quite-five-feet of height. “D-d-damn fucking right I will,” she replied, proud that her voice trembled only slightly. She hugged Minerva again and then Hagrid, a last goodbye, before she set her shoulders, nodded stiffly to them both and set off carefully down the hillside toward the Champions’ tent. The terrain was a little difficult, scattered rocks didn’t lend themselves well to safe navigation with a cane, but she managed to pick her way through it until she was pushing her way through the heavy canvas flap of the tent.

Inside was a haze of nervous energy as the other three Champions waited for her arrival. Fleur was huddled on a bench with her wings out, feathers clattering together as she hugged herself with them and trembled, while both the boys paced back fretfully. For what was almost certainly the first time in her life, Rhiannon was a calming influence as she crossed the tent and took Fleur’s shaking hands until the older girl looked up from where she had been sitting hunched with her head between her knees.

“Hey, c’mon – we’ve got this,” Rhiannon reminded the three of them, as Cedric and Viktor stopped pacing and joined the huddle with the girls. “It’s d-d-d-dragons. That’s scary, but – they’re animals, y-you can read them and predict them, it’s not like – not like they’ve giv’n us, I d-d-dunno, terrifyin’ magic combat automatons or whate’er.”

Fleur chuckled darkly, though her face still had a distinctly grey cast and Rhiannon wondered if perhaps she was too nervous to put her feathers away. A powerful wave of anxiety washed over her and Rhiannon stumbled back, sick to her stomach and overwhelmed by the sensation – this wasn’t her worry, she’d worked that out on the hike up here, this was something else and she sank to the floor, trembling and hugging her knees to her chest. There was a clamour of feathers and Fleur lurched from her chair and caught hold of Rhiannon’s hands, a little too quickly as her sharp talons scraped Rhiannon’s shins in the gesture. A plaintive cry buzzed in the older girl’s throat and she shook her head sharply. “No, no, no, I’m sorry – I’m leaking magic everywhere, I can’t – I can’t, aaaaaaaaaack!” she shrieked, a muted sound of complete panicking frustration.

Rhiannon took deep, shuddering breaths and forced herself to think through the alien panic. It wasn’t hers, it was leaking magic. And she’d handled much worse magic than that. “Y-y-y-y-y-you can pull it back in, it’s your magic,” Rhiannon replied shakily – she could push through the effects of Fleur’s leaking emotions, but only barely.

Fleur took a deep, shuddering breath and somehow pulled the magic of her emotions back beneath her skin. Rhiannon could feel the difference immediately, the air was lighter on her lungs, and she squeezed Fleur’s hands in the best imitation of reassurance she could manage. “I’m so sorry everyone, I’m sorry – it’s Veela magic, my emotions – leak, sort of, when they are particularly strong,” Fleur stammered, and Rhiannon could still feel the tremor in the older girl’s thin hands.

Viktor grinned in a lopsided sort of manner. “It’s quite alright – there are a number of vily at Durmstrang, I am not unaccustomed to loose emotions. Exam time is something of a nightmare,” he replied affably. “We are about to fight for our lives – I think stress is to be expected.”

Cedric, on the other hand, grimaced, and Rhiannon couldn’t help worrying that perhaps his problem was with Fleur’s inhuman nature. “That’s powerful magic though, stronger than most Veela I’ve met – are you a Legilimens of some sort? Either way, come on, let’s all – sit down, take a few breaths, get our heads in the game – if you hit the dragon with that? I think that might be powerful enough to affect them and I do not want to see one of my new mates getting killed, those feathers look pretty flammable,” he suggested, and he and Viktor settled on the ground with Fleur and Rhiannon in a loose sort of circle. “I know meditating seems like nonsense, but it really helps me before a big game – maybe it’ll help you all. Rhi, don’t bother trying to clear your mind, I know you it’ll all just fill up again. Instead, try to think of as much as possible, the best things you can all at once until it blanks out, alright?”

Rhiannon’s worries were thoroughly assuaged by that – not entirely, there was very different stigma on werewolves in Britain as opposed to other nonhumans and being kind to Fleur didn’t necessarily mean he would be kind to Rhiannon once he knew – but it was something. And his advice was helpful too, she realised – Remus had once tried to get her to meditate, but it had frustrated her to tears and then Dudley’s bad hip had popped out so there were two sobbing werewolves on the floor of the Rookery. Clearing her mind was impossible. But this trick? She tried it, summoning every possible happy thought and memory all at once – Sirius and Remus offering to push the adoption ahead now, the first time Dudley called her his sister, meeting Hermione and coming out for the first time, cooking with her and Danjuma, Luna’s fingers in her fur that first full moon after Dudley had been Petrified – and dreams too, plans for the future, everything all at once until her mind was blissfully overcrowded and she felt that sense of peace she had needed so desperately. Then, one by one, Rhiannon could find her worries and put them neatly back in the worry-boxes, on the worry-shelf, where they belonged. Her skills, her plans for the tournament – those were the only boxes she left open. That was all she needed right now.

“Thank-you for that, Cedric,” Fleur said, her voice calmer now and loud enough to startle Rhiannon from her state of peace perhaps twenty, thirty minutes later. “I was so nervous I forgot – my grande-maman taught me to control my magic like that when I was very small. I am not a – Legilimens, did you say? Not exactly, but I am a stronger empath than most vily – something about the gifts from my father’s side mixing with my vily abilities, so I have had to work harder to keep them in.”

Viktor winced. “That must be difficult – I know many of the young vily girls at school have had, ah – trouble with their abilities. I hope you did not have the same,” he replied.

Fleur curled her lip, her elongated lower teeth showing along with her disgust. “Oh, I did,” she said with a weary sigh. “For a while I thought it was my fault. But I have learned I cannot make anyone feel anything, I can only exacerbate what is already there, and I am much better controlled now. It is part of why I am as – open, as I am, so that I am targeted instead of the younger ones who cannot protect themselves the same,” she admitted with a wry, disgusted grimace.

Rhiannon screwed up her face, horrified – Savita and Cassandre had hinted that Fleur had been treated sickeningly by adults who used her gifts as an excuse, but it was still a harsh thing to hear her talk about. “I’m sorry, I uh – dunno, what to say to that,” Rhiannon mumbled.

Fleur shrugged. “It does tend to bring a conversation down, I am sorry. But thank-you, Cedric, for this – I think my head is, ah, in the game now.”

Cedric grinned lopsidedly. “No worries, really – I do it myself before big games, I used to get really bad panic attacks as a kid and when I first started at Hogwarts and it, kinda helped me not freeze when I got in the air, uh – honestly, I was on the edge of one before you even got here,” he replied with an uncomfortable shrug.

Viktor shook his head and swore under his breath. “Likewise – I, almost got cut from the natonal team right after they signed me on, they had me see a Healer and I take medicine for it now, but... this is making it all come back,” he agreed.

“N-n-n-nice to know I’m not the only one constantly on the brink of a nervous breakdown,” Rhiannon quipped, followed by a fragile smile. It meant more than she could say that the others were so ready to share their own struggles with their mental health, when they were so much more outwardly normal-appearing than she was. They didn’t have to say anything.

Fleur shook her head and pulled Rhiannon into a sideways hug. “You never are. I have had to take anxiety medication since I was ten and look, I am the pretty girl everyone stares at. You never know. And you are never alone.” she replied quietly, extending a wing to encircle Rhiannon in a protective gesture.

A quiet cough interrupted their discussion and Rhiannon looked up, startled, to see Mr Crouch standing there in his formal Ministry robes, purplish-grey to Rhiannon’s eyes though she knew them to be teal, having clearly been standing for some time. “I apologise for the interruption, champions, but it is time each of you chose your challenger,” he addressed them in his usual clipped tones.

The other champions stood, and Fleur helped Rhiannon to do the same before they settled into a tight, distrustful semicircle and faced the robed officiant. “Choose?” Cedric asked Mr Crouch cautiously.

Mr Crouch drew a velvet bag from his robes, Rhiannon guessed it might have been purple, and she squinted at it as it moved strangely. Clearly this wasn’t going to be as simple as drawing a name out, she mused, as Mr. Crouch held it out to the four of them for inspection. “Yes, choose. You will each do battle with a ferocious dragon, one of four different kinds – to capture a golden egg, lying amongst the real ones. Now, ladies first,” the official told them, and rattled the bag under Fleur’s nose with a rather final air.

Very tentatively, Fleur held out a hand and reached into the bag. She withdrew with a yelp, startled – with something small and brown-black latched to her finger. “It bit me!” she protested, eyeing the little creature accusatorily. Well, not a creature – not exactly, Rhiannon realised as she scowled at it – it was a tiny, magically animated model of a winged, heavily spiked dragon, a familiar one.

“The Hungarian Horntail,” Mr Crouch announced dramatically, while Fleur growled quietly and struggled to pry the miniature’s jaws open.

“Well, it may be named the Horntail but there are spikes at both ends,” Fleur grumbled as she finally got it loose and set the tiny dragon on her palm, where it stalked back and forth and protested as she tried to take the tag that hung around its’ neck. “This tag reads the number un – I am presuming that this means I am first to compete, no?”

“Indeed, Miss Delacour,” Mr Crouch replied curtly. Being as he had stated ‘ladies’ first’, he should have moved to Rhiannon next but instead he turned to Viktor and offered the bag to him, setting Rhiannon’s thin body hair prickling with irritation.

Viktor grumbled under his breath as well and cast an apologetic look sideways at Rhiannon, but she and he both knew that there would be no point in making a scene. Cautious from Fleur’s experience, he pulled his sleeve over his hand and reached into the bag. He hissed as clearly his catch bit through the fabric, and drew out a small grey figure which he unceremoniously pinched behind the skull like a snake to force its’ jaws open.

“Swedish Shortsnout,” Viktor told them grimly, and all three winced. They’d identified that dragon as a major threat despite its’ sleek, unassuming appearance and the statistic listing it as the dragon with the least fatalities to its’ name per year – which they suspected was because it lived so distantly from human civilisation, thus rendering accurate danger statistics impossible. Viktor would be facing the dragon with the hottest flame-breath of any species, and that was nothing to sniff at. “And it looks like I will be up last. Saving the fireworks show for the end, I suppose?” he quipped darkly.

Mr Crouch winced, but his reactions seemed strangely dramatised – more like a sports announcer than an actual person. “Indeed, indeed – though I have no doubt Bulgaria’s star Seeker will put up a good fight,” he replied wryly. “Now, Master Diggory?”

Cedric scowled at the official and reached into the bag in a hurried motion. He was the first not to get bitten, and drew out a sinuous greenish – though probably more like red to most humans’ sight – miniature from the bag, proudly ruffed almost like a lion and built far differently from most dragons that Rhiannon was familiar with.

“Ooooh, the Chinese Fireball – powerful, and a spellcaster too. What is your place number?” Mr Crouch asked with a nod to the miniature that coiled itself up in Cedric’s palm.

“Second,” Cedric replied tersely, as he gently freed the tiny miniature from the string and tag.

“Then that brings us to young Mast- Miss Potter,” Mr Crouch said finally. Rhiannon had to bite her tongue to keep from rolling her eyes – it was obvious by now that Mr Crouch’s constant slip ups were because he saw her as a boy and had to remind himself every time he spoke of her that she was a boy with special conditions, at least in his mind. That might have wounded a younger Rhiannon, but this Rhiannon had seen how Mr Crouch treated his most loyal servants – she had no great expectations that he might treat her any better, and made a mental note to dig into what had happened to poor Winky.

Rather than reach into a bag with a presumably biting creature, Rhiannon took the bag itself from Mr. Crouch and upended it into her palm, already knowing what she would find – black scales and a striking horned profile, entrancing violet eyes a faded silver to her moon-time vision, a miniature figure of the creature that had so frozen her with fear three weeks past. “The Hebridean Black,” she announced, more for the formality than anything else as all of them had known by now what she would face. “And, I’m up third.”

“Very good, very good. Masters Diggory, Krum and- Miss Rhiannon, you may make yourselves busy here in the tent for now. But Miss Delacour, change clothes if you intend to do so, you have five minutes – the horn will signal that it is time for your bout.” Mr Crouch told them all firmly, before he turned and strode from the tent.

Fleur sagged, caught just in time by Rhiannon and Viktor before she fell, but it felt as if she had been held up by stubbornness and righteous anger alone and now her strings had been cut. “Ay, I am unhurt, get off me,” she grumbled, recovering quickly from the shock. “I have a plan, I will be just fine.”

Rhiannon wasn’t convinced that Fleur was being entirely truthful, but now was not the time to press her on that – as Crouch had just informed them, Fleur had five minutes until her showdown with the Hungarian Horntail. “Well, we’ll be cheering from wherever they let us stand – if anyone’s got the raw p-p-p-p-power t-t-t-to, t’ go up against a dragon and kick it’s ass, it’s gotta be the overcharged Veela, right?” she quipped.

Fleur bared her sharp teeth in a wry, mischievous grin. “Oh yes,” she agreed wryly. “Now, kindly either clear out or turn around, I need to change out of these robes into something better for combat – if it comes to that.”

Eventually Fleur was changed and she allowed the other champions back for a last minute hug, stoic and stony-faced, almost-white feathers flecking her cheeks like dapples, standing out brightly against her deep olive skin only a few shades lighter than Rhiannon’s. She was dressed simply in plain linen leggings and a short powder blue tunic belted close to her body with something like a corset, but it looked more like a piece of armour to protect her internal organs against a blow to the gut than any piece of fashionable clothing. The tunic had a section cut from the back to accommodate Fleur’s wings, the tips of which trailed in the dust as they lay folded against her back, and in addition she wore simple leather boots well-worn with use and leather gauntlets that would protect both her hands and forearms in case of a fall or strike. In all, Fleur resembled a Valkyrie more than a schoolgirl – beautiful, angry and above all, dangerous; and Rhiannon’s fears for her friend were assuaged a little at the sight.

All too soon they were torn apart again as a reedy, wavering horn-blast rang out across the arena and its surrounds – the signal that Fleur’s task was about to begin. “Do not wish me good luck. I do not want to win this simply because I was lucky and you were not, we all need that on our side today,” Fleur told the three of them solemnly. “I will not die today, luck or not.”

And with that, Fleur favoured them with a last determined smile and turned away, her wings flared just enough to hold their tips off the ground, and strode out of the tent through the curtained passage to the arena. Rhiannon and the others shared a look and hurried out after her only to stumble back against the tent frame as a heavy gate of steel bars slammed down with a deafening, shrieking crash. Fleur was locked in the arena – the officials had clearly guessed that the champions were close enough to eachother that they might try to rescue one of their own should they be injured. All the remaining three could do now was cling to the bars of the arena wall and peer through as Fleur faced down the enormous brown and gold dragon.

The Hungarian Horntail seemed even larger now than it three weeks ago, every one of its’ many many spikes glinting in the thin sunlight that filtered through the clouds, and though Fleur was well over six feet tall she seemed fragile in comparison, a spindly fragile doll facing down the huge horned beast, and it seemed the crowd saw her the same way – an anxious hush hung over the stands, the place would’ve been silent entirely save for the dull whistle of the wind through the crags and the low roaring hum of the dragon’s breath. But Rhiannon knew she was far from fragile – Fleur might well be the strongest, physically and magically, of the four of them, in fact she hadn’t even drawn her wand as she stood there in the arena.

Just as it had been on the full moon, the Horntail was a crotchety beast, fiercely protective of her nest, and the way she curled her lip as Fleur approached was strangely not unlike the way a wolf did – though on a significantly larger scale, the shape of her head wasn’t that unlike a wolf’s and her body language was broadly very familiar in the same sort of way. Fleur picked up on that and approached slowly and carefully, but to Rhiannon’s rising anxiety her wand remained holstered and her hands were raised and open, perhaps some sort of attempt at communicating to the dragon that she was not a threat.

Rhiannon stumbled backward, distracted from watching as she was overwhelmed by a wave of alien emotions – Fleur’s emotions, she realised dimly, as she staggered back to the gate to keep watch again. She grinned broadly, watching as Fleur wielded her empathic magic with far more control than before – Cedric had been right, if anyone could simply communicate with a dragon, straight up, it would be Fleur.

And to the wonderment of the crowd, Fleur’s magic was working. The spiked crest on the Horntail’s neck began to flatten down and she lowered her great gold-striped head to inspect Fleur more closely.

Viktor cheered softly and clapped Rhiannon on the shoulder, grinning broadly. “Look at her – she is just incredible, is she not? I have never seen any vila so powerful – they say it takes ten wizards to Stun a dragon, but look at this!” he exclaimed, though he still kept his voice hushed and Rhiannon remembered that this particular kind of dragon had sharper hearing than most.

Rhiannon grinned broadly. “I think she’s b-b-b-b-been practicing,” she replied, proud of her friend’s incredible progress. Fleur had never demonstrated this talent save for her panic attack earlier – she’d had no idea just how powerful Fleur was until right now, and it was impossible not to take a little joy in this demonstration of uniquely nonhuman excellence as she watched the dragon shuffle carefully back into her nest.

Dragon pacified – that was half of Fleur’s task over in less than ten minutes, and she’d gotten the most distrustful of the four. Rhiannon, her fellow competitors and the crowd were all tense and hushed, crowding as close to the arena as they could to watch.

Fleur’s wand was still holstered, and with her hands raised and wings folded close against her back the tall blonde advanced slowly toward the dragon and her nest without so much as a growl from the dragon. Across the rocky arena, Rhiannon could just make out Fleur speaking, presumably quiet reassurances to the dragon, and this time she was prepared as another wave of Fleur’s magic washed out across the arena – it wasn’t a force as such, Rhiannon could tell already that Fleur’s magic couldn’t make anyone feel anything that wasn’t already somewhere in the back of their mind somewhere; and focused like this it was more communication than any sort of manipulation.

A great cry went up from the crowd, more hushed than it might have been at a Quidditch game or something, but immediately Rhiannon saw why as she was shaken out of her musings. There was Fleur, looking like some kind of angel with her cream-and-white wings trailing on the ground behind her, one talon-tipped hand resting between the dragon’s nostrils while she used the other to scratch gently under the animal’s chin – a feat made all the more amazing by the fact that Rhiannon had seen the handlers use magic to muzzle the creature before they entered her cage for feeding time.

Then Fleur stepped in under the dragon’s great black wing and into the nest, the Horntail following her with its enormous head so that for a while Fleur vanished from view and the dragon looked more like a very large bird with its’ head tucked away. Rationally Rhiannon knew that the dragon’s body language was totally nonaggressive and would change if its mood did, but on the other, less rational paw, she couldn’t see her friend, her friend was currently concealed underneath a very large dragon with a history of being very touchy and bad-tempered and that was making her very, very anxious.

Rhiannon bounced from foot to foot, bobbing anxiously up and down as she struggled to see what was going on – between the rocky arena floor, the gate bars and her height, it was difficult to catch a glimpse and by now she had to rely more on the voice of the crowd to get a bead on things. And then all at once the crowd erupted in cheers, and while she couldn’t see anything useful, Rhiannon knew what must have happened – Fleur had emerged with the golden egg. Yes – yes! There she was, loose hair and blue robes flapping in the light breeze, thin sunlight glinting off the gilded egg tucked under one arm while the other rested across the Horntail’s broad muzzle. Not a scratch on either of them, and Fleur looked like some kind of dragon queen there in the arena, leaning on the dragon that was meant to have been her opponent with a cocky grin directed up at the judges in the stands – that was one big middle finger to the officials, all of it, and Rhiannon couldn’t decide whether she was more proud of Fleur for the move, or terrified of what the officials would pull now they knew just how powerful at least one of the competitors was.

Pride won out, and as Fleur left the dragon and the gate clattered open again, Rhiannon flung herself at her friend for a hug, the two guys piling in on top to make one big hug pile until finally Fleur flapped and spluttered for breath. “Hey! I did not breathe properly for a solid ten minutes in there, get off,” she grumbled, but her smile told them her irritation was only feigned.

“Sorry – we’re just bloody impressed is all, you set the bar real high. This round’s yours for sure, no way can any of us pull that trick off.” Cedric replied, rubbing his hands together anxiously – as Rhiannon recalled, he was up next. “Oh, my dad is gonna be a nightmare, you’re a right hard card to follow and he hates when his golden boy gets showed up, high bloody expectations,” he grumbled anxiously.

Rhiannon snorted, wryly amused by Cedric’s grumbling about his dad – and a little further reassured that hey, if Cedric’s relationship with his father was a little strained, it was less and less likely that her friend was some kind of secret bigot. “We c-c-c-c-could all come me-me-me-me-meet your dad with you, he’s p-p-p-prob’ly less likely to rag on you about being showed up by Fleur if she’s actually, there, looking all badass,” she suggested with an awkward shrug.

Cedric curled his lip and shook his head. “Nuh uh, bad idea,” he replied grumpily. “He doesn’t like nonhumans, and he’ll just say something assholey and then I’ll have to yell at him for being a backwards-thinking fuckwit, and he’s got influence at the Ministry – if he wanted, he could even fuck shit up in the competition for you. No. No way. I’ll just deal with his griping, better than getting my new, badass mate killed.”

Although Rhiannon’s first feeling was irritation and disgust at Cedric’s dad and further confirmation that he was an insufferable bigot with more power than he deserved, it was nice to finally have Cedric himself confirm that he wasn’t. “Yeesh,” she mumbled with an uncomfortable shrug – what else did you say to that? It wasn’t like she was unfamiliar with bigots, including those that could ruin her life or those of her friends. She just didn’t really have the mental bandwidth to actually do anything more than grimace about it.

Cedric wrinkled his nose. “Yeesh is right, the insufferable old git,” he griped under his breath. “Now, I gotta clear off and get changed, I’m up next, and one of you should get the real champion some water.”

With that, Cedric set off back to the tent and Rhiannon trotted after him, parting once they were inside so that Rhiannon could go and find Fleur some water, and Cedric could get changed ready for his fight. Just like before Fleur’s fight, Cedric had five minutes to get ready before the horn blared out, the gate clattered open and he entered the arena, leaving the three of them behind to watch.

The Chinese Fireball was a truly magnificent dragon, crimson-scaled with a crown of spikes and a crest of stiff hair running right the way down its sinuous body. Lightning flickered between the horns on its’ head and in shape it was more like a very long serpent with short legs than the classic western idea of a dragon, coiled around its’ nest rather than settled over it the way the Horntail had. Rhiannon vaguely remembered something in their studying about it being a spellcaster as well as a firebreather, and was very glad she wouldn’t be facing it herself – perhaps that was a disloyal thought, because that meant Cedric had to face it in her place, but he was better at shield spells than she was, no way could she make something strong enough to bounce a dragon’s spell off.

Unlike Fleur, Cedric approached his task in a more traditional manner, wand in hand and using the rocky field for cover from the irate dragon’s fireballs, which it flung from its paws as well as breathing thin yellow jets of flame. He was dressed in simple yellow linen robes with black edging, Quidditch practice robes – they were light, close-fitting and easy to move in, the sensible choice for this task; and like Fleur he wore plain leather boots, bracers and a chest harness with the empty holster of his wand attached to one side.

A gasp went up from the crowd and Rhiannon staggered back from the heat on her face as the dragon lunged and spat fire at Cedric, who took cover behind the tallest rocky outcropping just ahead of the gate. One sleeve was smoking but he seemed otherwise unharmed, though it sounded like he might be swearing under his breath.

“Flame-Freezing Charm, Diggory, we practised this!” Viktor yelled, sounding for all the world like a Quidditch captain encouraging his team.

“Duck, Shield and run for it!” Rhiannon hollered, joining in – this fight was shaping up to be more of a mess than Fleur’s, she should encourage her friend through it.

Cedric showed no sign that he’d heard them, but Rhiannon supposed he was a bit busy trying not to get scorched. Eventually the dragon’s breath ran out and he had a moment to pop up and scuttle to another rock outcropping perhaps ten metres away before the dragon sent another fireball sailing over his head and he ducked back down out of sight – or at least out of sight for Rhiannon, who was far too short to see anything useful.

“Here, get up on my shoulders,” Fleur told Rhiannon, nudging her as she bounced up and down trying to get a proper look. “No, don’t frown like that, I only look fragile and you know it,” she grumbled, and knelt down with her wings spread out so that Rhiannon could climb up without damaging anything, and once up there Rhiannon had a pretty good view of the arena, albeit a blurry one – she could get most details if she focused really hard, but knew she was gonna have a headache from all the focusing by the end of the day.

“C-c-c-c-come on Cedric, you’ve got this!” Rhiannon cheered from her new vantage point atop Fleur’s shoulders. “Distract it!”

Maybe Cedric had heard them or maybe it had been his plan all along, but as Rhiannon watched from her perch he turned around and scrabbled among the rocks for... something, actually Rhiannon had no idea what he was doing until he pointed his wand at a small boulder and it transformed into a dog of middling size, floppy-eared and waggy-tailed with a short coffee-brown coat – a Labrador retriever if Rhiannon had to guess, but she wasn’t much of an expert on dog breeds, just their behaviour.

Unfortunately, Cedric had not planned for the sheer stubborn friendliness of a Labrador retriever, even in the face of a very angry dragon – an intelligent angry dragon who wasn’t going to attack something clearly emoting I am small and fluffy, please love me. It did slither out of its’ nest and chase after the dog, but its’ stiff crest of hair lay flat along its’ spine which suggested it was playful or curious, rather than trying to eat the dog.

The dragon was distracted, albeit not quite how Cedric had probably intended, but he took his chance anyhow and made a run for it across the arena, straight for the nest. The dragon’s long ear-tufts flicked and it turned around to find the source of the clattering sound, and its’ crest and horns spiked straight up again when it noticed Cedric. The dog forgotten, the dragon bounded back across the arena even as Cedric closed on the nest and snatched up the false egg.

“IT’S RIGHT BEHIND YOU, DIGGORY!” Viktor bellowed, giving voice to the panic Rhiannon felt as she watched her friend cheer and celebrate his victory a little too early. “GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE!”

There was no way Cedric hadn’t heard Viktor – unlike the girls, he had the voice of a ship’s captain – the kind that could carry through galestorms, let alone across a rocky arena. He clutched the egg to his chest and scrambled out of the nest, but he was just a little too late – the dragon reared up and ignited a fireball between its forepaws, then quickly flung it after Cedric’s fleeing back.

To the horror of the crowd and the remaining champions alike, the fireball struck Cedric squarely between the shoulders and sent him sprawling, the golden egg tumbling from his grasp as he fell to land face-down in the shale. “GET HIM OUT OF THERE!” Rhiannon howled, hoping desperately that the dragon-handlers were somewhere nearby, there was no way Cedric could fight now and she had half a mind to climb the gate and help him herself.

“We’re doing our best, clear the road,” a familiar voice ordered from behind them, and Rhiannon turned from her perch atop Fleur’s shoulders to see Charlie Weasley and a squadron of handlers all dressed in what looked like specialised flameproof robes, along with two more people in Healers’ white and armed with a folded up stretcher. Hurriedly Rhiannon scrambled down off Fleur’s shoulders so that the three of them could get out of the way as the gate clattered open again and the wranglers and Healers alike crowded into the arena to subdue the dragon and rescue Cedric.

“Come on, Rhiannon, best get changed – you are up next if I recall correctly,” Fleur murmured, shaking Rhiannon’s shoulder gently to rouse her from her anxious stewing. “I can see him breathing, he will be fine, now it is time to focus on you.”

Rhiannon took a deep breath and nodded slowly, clenching and unclenching her fists in an effort to squish the anxiety out of her system. Fleur was right – there was nothing she could do for Cedric except make sure he didn’t come around to find her dead. So, leaning on Fleur’s arm, she limped back into the tent and retrieved her backpack, then set off into the small area that had been set aside for changing.

The small changing area of the tent had a standing washbasin and a long wooden bench, which Rhiannon threw her backpack down on before limping to the basin and splashing cold water on her face, using some more to slick down her hair so she could gather it into a messy ponytail. Robes next – to Rhiannon’s delight they were actually a little small, she had gained weight since the year before and they were too tight around the chest, but a careful engorgio fixed that. Bracers, boots, chest harness, belt – check, check and check, it had all been soaked in Dudley’s fireproofing potions, but one thing nagged at Rhiannon as she got dressed, and it took her until she was finished and looking at herself in the small mirror over the washstand to pin it down – she had last worn these robes in Gryffindor Quidditch practice, they were still red and gold – well, olivey to Rhiannon’s janky full moon vision, but red and gold to anyone else. “Colorvaria,” Rhiannon murmured, and was satisfied as the distinctly cat-sick-green tint that scarlet looked to her around this time was replaced with a clear bright gold, while the trim darkened to an inky hue. Much better, she decided – and it was a show of unity with Cedric, they were both from the same house as well as the same school, after all.

Now all that was left to do was wait until the horn sounded. Rhiannon sat down on the bench and closed her eyes, leaning back against a wooden pole of the tent frame as she reviewed the spells she would need and how to pronounce them. By the time the horn blast rang out through the air, she had shaken off the last of her anxiety and replaced it with the practiced calmness of one who had faced death many times before and won – more the air of a veteran soldier than a fourteen year old girl, and unnerving for that, but it was useful nonetheless.

“I’m not going to die today,” Rhiannon whispered to herself as she stood and took hold of her cane. “I promised them I wouldn’t.”

Chapter Text

With her wand in her left hand and cane in the right, Rhiannon limped across the tent, favouring Fleur and Viktor with a wan smile as she passed them. She left her cane leaning against the tent wall, then pushed her way through the canvas flaps and out into the grey sunlight, wincing as the gate clattered open and then she was in the arena, leaning heavily against the arena wall, staring across the rocky field at the massive black dragon. No, no she couldn’t get bogged down on how big it was, even though it was terrifyingly enormous.... nope. “Accio!” Rhiannon incanted aloud, and immediately wished she hadn’t – the dragon had been idly studying her before but now it was intent, and it lowered its’ head and growled at her, a low, threatening sound full of a power that rattled the very stones of the arena floor. This wasn’t a predator a werewolf could intimidate. Rhiannon was thoroughly outclassed in a way she had never experienced – this animal didn’t see her as an equal predator, she realised as she bowed her head in a vain attempt at submission, it saw her as an insignificant scavenger akin to a fox stealing scraps from a polar bear, and operating more on instinct than anything else she dove for cover behind a boulder, desperate only to escape that terrible violet gaze. This thing was more likely to eat her than accept any attempts at submission.

Rhiannon had at least thought ahead enough to stow her beloved Firebolt outside in the Quidditch broom sheds once she had finished fireproofing it, but it had still been a long enough hike up to the arena that Rhiannon expected it to be a solid five or so minutes before her broom actually turned up, which meant five minutes she had to stay alive and stay mobile on knees she wasn’t sure would support her weight. This fight wasn’t like the others, Rhiannon could feel that already – this dragon wouldn’t sit and wait for her to come within striking range, as far as it was concerned her being in the arena was too close already – in the wild individuals or bonded pairs of this species claimed territories hundreds of square feet in size and defended that massive area ferociously.

The arena floor shook under the dragon’s weight as it prowled towards’ Rhiannon, and she realised she had to make a move or her friends would have to watch the dragon eat her. Where to move, where to move – ultimately it didn’t matter, so long as it was away from the dragon, and Rhiannon scurried away from her hiding position across the arena to a new spot behind a large rocky outcrop at the edge of the chasm that ringed the whole arena save for the bridge to the entrance gate, she could duck over the edge of the cliff if the dragon lunged at her – better bruised than eaten, she decided, and if it really came to it she could probably leap most of the way out again – she’d prefer not to, it would hurt her knees and out her to the crowd, but again – outed was also better than eaten.

A jet of violet-tinged fire seared the air just above Rhiannon’s head and she flattened herself to the ground, cursing her squirrel brain for refusing to stay on task. Nothing to sharpen her up like a trauma trigger, she thought grimly, as once again she darted to a new rocky shelter, skirting around the edge of the central arena platform with the cliff to one side as she counted endless seconds waiting for her broom to arrive. “Finite incantatem,” she muttered, releasing the jinxes on her senses – she couldn’t afford to dull her senses now. And there it was, on the very edge of her hearing, a low buzzing sound that thrummed below the whispers of the crowd, the very familiar sound of a broom approaching at high speed. Her broom.

Now, how to get to it. If she called it right to her hiding place, the dragon would be on her before she got a chance to get airborne... no, Rhiannon had to intercept it. If the broom was coming from the castle, that meant the dragon was between her and it and she had no doubt the Hebridean Black’s reflexes were sharp enough that it would crunch her precious Firebolt in midair before it ever reached her.

With that in mind, Rhiannon set off again, hunched over and using her hands for balance as she scrambled around the platform’s edge, navigating more by hearing than sight so that she could put herself between the dragon and the broom until... there it was, the buzzing was loud enough that it drowned out the crowd on this side of the arena as it whizzed between the bars of the arena wall and sped towards Rhiannon. She crouched, tensing her muscles to spring with her wand clenched in her teeth to leave her hands free, and as it drew near enough she leapt straight up at it, catching the handle in her good hand and hauling herself onboard as the broom immediately took off straight upwards. There was a terrible snap and a concussive blast of air from just feet below her and Rhiannon clung to her broom for dear life as it shot upward, reacting like an extension of her own body to her instinctive need to get the fuck out of there.

Just feet from the space she had previously occupied, the Hebridean Black’s powerful jaws had closed on thin air and now it reared up on its hind paws for a better reach, glaring balefully up at Rhiannon as she circled the arena airspace, surveying the dragon from a safe distance – if anything within a hundred kilometres of this creature could be considered safe, Rhiannon thought grimly as she dodged a gout of fire. Unlike the other two dragons which had been unwilling to leave their nests, this one paced the ground below, growling and snarling up at the werewolf who circled high above the top of the arena fence. To her, that said it didn’t consider her a serious threat to its eggs – enough of a threat to chase off or kill, but not one that required the furious mother to keep a close watch on the nest the way the first two dragons had.

Wait – she could use that, Rhiannon realised, and the first fragments of a plan slowly began to come together in her mind as she circled the arena again, studying the dragon and the terrain for anything she could use. This dragon wasn’t reticent to leave its’ nest – that meant all she had to do was get it to chase her far enough away, then double back on it, not a problem now that she had the Firebolt. There had to be a reason it hadn’t already flown after her already, though, and that could be a hitch in her plan... yes, there, a huge beaten metal shackle that gleamed with magic even from this distance, fastened firmly around one of the great black dragon’s hind ankles. Well, it did make some sense to chain the dragon down, Rhiannon mused grimly – their perch here in the highlands was within flying distance of the dragon’s natural habitat, if it wasn’t restrained it might simply bail on the competition altogether – it wasn’t unheard of for this species to abandon nests.

So, flying was out of the question, Rhiannon thought to herself as she studied the dragon. But climbing... the dragon had six limbs including its wings, and sturdy taloned digits extending from the wrist of each of those wings – that suggested to Rhiannon it was well suited for climbing, which made sense given its rocky natural habitat... yes, it could probably climb the bars if she annoyed it enough, Rhiannon surmised.

Now, annoying other beings on purpose wasn’t Rhiannon’s strong suit, and she took her broom for another circle of the airspace above the arena as she considered the problem. Then it occurred to her with a flash of the obvious – she could speak to snakes, and a Basilisk wasn’t much more closely related to regular snakes than a dragon was, the ability might well work just fine here – she was under no illusions about having any persuasive sway over the dragon using Parseltongue, she wasn’t Fleur, but it might just irritate the dragon enough to give chase if the little scavenger actually talked back in a way it understood.

Rhiannon shook her head and blinked a few times to clear her vision, narrowing her focus in on the dragon’s shovel-horned head and its’ long, sinuous neck... not far from a snake indeed. HEY! Rhiannon bellowed down in Parseltongue, swooping tauntingly closer as she spoke. Yeah, you know what I am – and I’m not leaving, aren’t you going to do something about it? Or are you too slow? Oh, I could fly rings around you, you big ugly brute, come on, she taunted the dragon. It sent a shiver down her spine, being so rude to a creature that could flatten her with a single paw-swipe, but she reminded herself it couldn’t fly – probably – and she could just get out of range if need be. Wolves goaded prey into overextending themselves all the time, she remembered – and while this was a little different, what with her being a short step from the dragon’s natural prey, she supposed the skills should still translate so long as she stayed out of her own head.

The spikes that prickled along the black dragon’s spine stood on end and its’ head shot up, goring horns pointed straight up at Rhiannon and amber fire flaring in its’ nostrils, setting the werewolf’s nerves to prickling in apprehension. How DARE you, hairless little rat-monkey! The dragon roared, words translating in Rhiannon’s mind through the power of her family’s serpent-speech even as the very air rattled with the power of its’ lungs. The sky is my domain, yet one such as you would challenge me? My forebears ate bears when they still roamed this land – yes, and little wolves too, impudent pup, the dragon growled.

It was more instinct than any conscious thought that sent Rhiannon rocketing skyward again as the furious dragon leapt at her, once again missing by mere feet before crashing back to the stones with a crash that almost shook Rhiannon loose from her broom. Oh, you asked for it! The dragon snarled, and crossed the arena in a scant handful of bounds before it began to climb, six limbs making short work of the five hundred feet of bars while Rhiannon climbed ever higher to keep abreast of it, careful not to shoot off too quickly, she didn’t want the dragon losing interest in a menace it could not catch. The crowd below them shrieked and fled from the section of the stand directly beneath the wall that had become the dragon’s climbing frame as the metal shrieked and groaned in protest at the weight. Rhiannon expected the dragon to be jerked back by the chain, but it just climbed after her at an ever increasing pace, roaring its’ fury into the overcast sky and battering Rhiannon with an onslaught of fury until she had to close her mind to the Parseltongue or risk losing consciousness under the sheer mental force.

Somewhere in the back of Rhiannon’s mind she supposed the dragon’s chain must be extendible or it would have fallen by now, but it was hard to care that much about a chain with the largest animal she’d ever met on her tail, she was counting the clack of the dragon’s talons on the bars below her until they stopped and she slowed her ascent, still counting until she judged she had enough distance on the dragon to turn back and ready her wand, grinning toothily at the incensed beast – despite her terror, there was an addictive adrenaline to the experience and Rhiannon had to rein what felt like it could be a dangerous cocky enjoyment of the flight as she swooped down on the dragon again.

Try THIS on for size, ya overgrown inkblot! Rhiannon jeered as she sailed past, and as the dragon swung its’ massive head toward her she drew back her wand and spat out an incantation she had memorised in her weeks of training since learning their task would involve dragons. “INFICIO OCULO!”

Rhiannon shut her ears to Parseltongue as the dragon howled in pain and fury and the sickly smell of pus threatened to choke her, she couldn’t get distracted – the dragon would be fine, the Conjunctivitis Curse wasn’t lethal on an animal of that size and she guessed if it fell its’ instincts would take over and allow it to use its wings as a parachute to land without being injured too badly. Her target now was the nest almost five hundred feet below her and closing rapidly, the wan sunlight glinting off the golden egg nestled among the black ones that gleamed with a faint iridescent sheen.

The first sign of danger was a low roar that buzzed in Rhiannon’s inner ears, then a searing heat on her back as she plummeted downward. Rhiannon looked back and panic clutched at her heart as her vision was filled with a plume of yellow fire so wide it swallowed the sky around her, rapidly bearing down on her even as she accelerated downward. There was no outrunning the fire, only weathering it, and Rhiannon remembered too late that while her robes and broom had been thoroughly fireproofed, her own body had not. “FRIGNIS!” she screamed, throat stripped raw in the instant before she was engulfed by the flames and her daring dive became a barely-controlled free-fall plummet towards the rapidly-nearing stone, every nerve set afire in the most literal way. There was no thinking, her plan was in tatters and all Rhiannon could do was scream in pure animal terror until-

WHAM-

Rhiannon struck the ground hard and was thrown from her broom, winded and gasping for air in her blind panic and pain. She had no idea where she was, only that there was hard stone beneath her torn and bloodied case-paws – no, hands, gloves, she reminded herself distantly, she was wearing gloves – and everything reeked of smoke, blood and raw fear. Every breath was agony, dimly she realised that breathing inside the firestorm must have scorched her lungs and it was only thanks to her Flame-Freezing Charm that she had survived at all. No teenager could hope to enact such a charm powerful enough to render dragonfire truly harmless – but it had kept her alive.

Coughing and wheezing, keening with pain, Rhiannon pushed herself up into a kneeling position, then clapped her hands over her scorched ears, her howl of pain at the sensation of scalding, shredded leather against the blistered skin of her cheeks swallowed up by the crowd far, far above as the stands erupted in a storm of cheers – they must have all been holding their collective breath, waiting to see if she had survived the fall. Well, I did survive, Rhiannon thought mutinously, gathering her scattered wits from where they nested like a flock of particularly errant geese among the spreading fires of that terrible summer night that lived on in her memory. Wits – check, she thought, taking stock of her situation. Her fireproofed robes had saved most of her skin from the worst of the heat – but the worst was a low bar when dealing with dragonfire as she was quickly learning, and she doubted there was any part of her body not at least blistered. The back of her head and neck had borne the brunt of the heat, and Rhiannon identified a new, acrid reek amongst the fear, blood, sweat and general charring around her that she quickly discovered to be burning hair. Over the two years since leaving the Dursleys for good, with the help of a little magic, Rhiannon’s hair had grown into a curly mass that brushed her mid back, but that was ruins now she realised with a childish pang of grief – even the strands that had hung loose over her face were brittle and broken, the back was as good as gone and her scalp and neck alike badly burned. Some of Rhiannon’s wits scrambled out of the mental pen she had built as what was left of her hair fell apart in her investigating hands, the remaining flames crumbled into embers in her palms. Her gloves were ruined – fireproof yes, tear-proof, less so; and she stripped them off and tossed the bloodied leather aside with another low moan as it dragged over her blistered palms. Wand, wand, where was her wand... there, it had been thrown a few metres and she had to crawl to retrieve it, sobbing breathlessly with the pain all the while. “S-ssssss- st-st-st-st-ssss- stinguo,” Rhiannon stammered, finally managing the incantation for the charm that would at least douse any unseen flames still dancing across her skin. She had no way to tell if it had worked – it still felt as if the flames were at her very back and she turned in clumsy circles trying to see, keening in pain all the while, but there was no real fire and she had to conclude that at least until the task was up, she was going to have to live with the pain.

Well, how’s that, brain? Phobia, survived, Rhiannon told herself grimly, but she knew it wasn’t that simple – she was running on adrenaline and survival instincts right now, if anything her fear of fire would likely worsen after this – phobias weren’t rational things, her da Remus had taught her that much. And even now, she doubted her ability to get through this if she saw the fire again, the fence keeping her mind in check was a fragile one and a repeated trigger when she was already in so much pain could well trigger an episode. She couldn’t afford to dissociate now, that would get her killed. And she had promised to survive.

Slowly, trembling in agony and exhaustion alike, Rhiannon set her wand between her teeth and dragged herself to her feet and took stock of where she was. Her beloved Firebolt lay metres away, scraped and chipped from the fall but otherwise unharmed, and she made a mental note to congratulate Dudley on how well his potion had worked. And perhaps the makers of the broom itself, for their work on the enchantments so complex that they had granted a simple object powers near enough to sentience that it had kept her alive in her terrible fall.

Rhiannon knew better than to touch it – undamaged by the heat it might be, but it would probably still be searing to the touch. “D-d-d-d-d-Domum,”she whispered, enchanting her broom so that it might return to the castle, she didn’t want to risk it being left in the arena and damaged during Viktor’s fight. Squinting against the sunlight, Rhiannon peered upwards, following the Firebolt’s departure and surveying where she had landed all at once. Ah. She had landed in the deep gorge around the arena – that explained why she had been left in peace to recover, the dragon probably thought she had died in the fall and the pained roars and thuds from above told her that it was still thoroughly disabled by her Conjunctivitis curse.

Sorry, broom, Rhiannon thought quietly, giving up on speech and summoning the Firebolt back to her with a wordless flick of her wand – she couldn’t climb a hundred feet up a cliff even if she were uninjured, her dismissal had been premature. Then with the Firebolt resting against Rhiannon’s shoulder, she applied a quick episkey to her hands before summoning her ruined gloves back and haphazardly repairing them with the Mending charm. They would still be bin material after this task, but she needed the scant protection they offered for the madcap plan that was beginning to form in her head. Briefly she considered frigus, the Cooling charm she often applied to her clothing to keep from overheating, but decided that it would dull her perception too much for what she planned next.

Finally, Rhiannon was ready, and she climbed stiffly astride her faithful broom. Hugging the handle, she nudged it into a slow, deliberate climb upward until she circled just above the rim of the central platform, surveying the scene. The dragon paced the arena, keeping a noticeable distance from its’ nest, perhaps for fear of squashing the eggs now that its’ eyes had swelled shut. There, Rhiannon decided, and she guided the Firebolt into the clumsiest non-crash-landing of her life, immediately stumbling and falling to all fours as she dismounted. That was okay – this way she could feel the vibration of the dragon’s footfalls through the stone, and she took a few moments to accustom herself to the sensation until she was confident she could keep a safe distance from the dragon using that method. “Now, d-d-d-d-domum, f-f-f-f-f’r real th’s time,” she slurred softly – it just seemed more polite to tell the broom out loud even though she could technically cast the same spell either way, that broom had saved her life and she felt it deserved a little bit of respect.

Rhiannon ran her next incantation over in her head – this one she wanted to cast aloud too, but this time for the crowd, so that they might see what she had planned. “O-o-o-o-o-o-Ocuminus totalus,” she announced as clearly as she could, tripping over the first syllable a little as she carefully brushed the tip of her wand across both eyes. The crowd gasped - it seemed they had some way of hearing whatever the champion in the ring said though Rhiannon couldn’t figure out exactly what and didn’t care to try for the moment.

Satisfied that the crowd knew what she had done, Rhiannon opened her blistered eyelids to an empty black field that enveloped her almost like a familiar, comforting blanket. Her pyrophobia was primarily triggered visually – and this eliminated that threat. Next was the actual stealth part. Silencio, she thought firmly, directing her wand first at her feet, then her hands – she needed them for balance like this and it would be foolish to silence only her foot-steps, then her clothes and finally at her throat. It was uncomfortable, existing without the sound of her breath and the rustle of her clothes to mark her presence in the world, but Rhiannon needed to hide that presence right now and only one of the dragon’s senses had been disabled, she still needed to fool the rest. Then, with her wand clamped between her teeth, Rhiannon set off on what could charitably be called two legs, using her gloved hands for balance as she padded quietly – not quite silently, she had silenced her footfalls but not the scrape of loose rocks against eachother, but if she was careful and slow enough Rhiannon was confident enough that the dragon’s continuing distress would mask the occasional skrr-click of the stones.

Rhiannon took a deep breath into her scorched lungs and sorted through the scents, hunting for the smell of birth-blood that still clung to the live eggs in the nest – ah, there, and among them she could pick out the magic-laden metal tang of her prize, still a significant distance away but within reach as the crowd watched her creep slowly closer and closer. This terrain made for difficult navigation without sight, and several times Rhiannon had to backtrack as she found herself trapped by boulders too tall to risk clambering over in case the dragon still had a little vision and spotted her outlined against the sky. Still, she could taste the magic on the breeze, with every breath a little nearer until – there, that wasn’t a boulder at all but the shell of an egg, so much like stone that Rhiannon had mistaken it for such at first with the limited tactile sensation she could gather through the holes she had rubbed in the fingertips of her gloves just traversing the arena. Carefully she slipped into the nest, and was immediately faced with a new problem – these eggs were easily two or three feet taller than her not-quite-five feet of height. From above she could have picked out the golden egg with relative ease, but Rhiannon didn’t dare lift the curtain on her vision, she could hear the Hebridean Black spouting fire into the air in its fury and that was quite bad enough, the sight would have been unthinkably worse. Instead, Rhiannon took her wand from her mouth, and made ten quick incisions with the Severing charm in the finger-pads of her already-ruined gloves, then stowed it back between her jaws and carried on searching for the golden egg, touch by careful touch, fearful of each soft clink of the stony shells against eachother as she slipped carefully through the real eggs in the nest. Stone, stone – metal, there it was under her fingers, and Rhiannon snatched the egg up in her arms.

But in her haste, Rhiannon neglected to keep quiet and her heart plummeted into her gut as the dragon’s roars stilled and she felt its footfalls grow steady. For a moment she thought she might get away with it, but this dragon was incandescent with fury, a proud creature brought so low by insignificant not-even-prey, and she knew in that instant she had to get out as she felt the tremors of the Hebridean Black’s approach through the earth.

Golden egg tucked under one arm and her wand still clenched in her teeth, Rhiannon scrambled back through the maze of eggs and out of the nest, released the spell on her eyes with only a brief finger-touch on her wand, and took off running across the arena with her now-useful eyes fixed firmly on the terrain and not on the enormous, enraged dragon in the centre of the rocky platform, headed straight for the bridge and the gate that was already beginning to rise.

WOLF-MONKEY! The dragon howled in rage, but it was too late, the rush back to its’ nest had carried it right out of Rhiannon’s path and she couldn’t quite restrain a gleeful little whoop as she pelted toward the bridge, heedless of the pain in her knees and her hips and her everywhere as she closed on the gate. Thirty feet. Twenty feet. Ten, she could hear the dragon whirling around behind her, the rumble of its’ bounding footfalls drawing nearer. Five, the heat of a nearing fireball closing on her back, Rhiannon tore the wand from her mouth and cast the Flame-Freezing charm again almost without thinking even as she put on a last burst of speed. Three feet, two – Rhiannon threw herself to the ground and skidded on blistered elbows through the gateway, hard-packed earth giving way to thin grass, the fireball crashed impotently against the clearly-enchanted arena bars behind her and fizzled out without ever touching Rhiannon.

I beat you, Rhiannon gasped, the whisper of Parseltongue coming easy to her even as she lay winded on the grass, already hearing the Healers and her fellow Champions closing in around her as her vision flickered and began to grow dim as it had so many times before. The wolf-monkey beat you. Remember it, she murmured, one last taunt before her hearing buzzed and grew dull and she rolled over with a giddy smile spreading over her scarred, singed and no doubt soot- and blood-stained face, eyes already closing as the last of her adrenaline faded and gave way to the welcoming dark of unconsciousness.

_____________________________________________________________________

Rhiannon awoke, face-down, to the curious sensation of quick, clever fingers dressing her wounds. As her awareness returned, so did the pain, and she whined softly without meaning to. Almost as soon as she began to whimper, she was awash in cool numbing sensation and the Healer made a soft shushing sound. “Dobby’s most apologies, Miss Black,” came a reedy voice from behind and above her. “Dobby did not wish to cool you until you woke lest it become dangerous.”

“’s fine,” Rhiannon demurred as she opened eyes and blinked – she was hovering a few inches above a makeshift hospital bed, presumably so that she could breathe easily while the Healer worked on her injuries, and dressed in what felt like some kind of hospital gown that could be untied in places for easy access to wounds, currently the back lay open and Rhiannon shivered, feeling uncomfortably exposed. Then the rest of what they had said sunk in, and she stirred in earnest, straining against the restraints of the charm until she realised it was fruitless. “D-d-did y’ say- Dobby?”

Something creaked and there was a soft slap of skin on skin, Rhiannon guessed that Dobby – for it could be no other, she would know that voice anywhere – must have bobbed and clapped his hands in that earnest, genuine manner he had in all his emotions. “Yes indeed, Miss Black! It is Dobby, and while D- while I would be most happy to see your face, I need to finish with your back so if you could please lie still, you are rumpling my dressings.” the elf told her firmly. There was a new confidence to Dobby’s manner, a certainty that could only have come from time being treated like a person and not property, and that affected everything from his manner of speech to the new steadiness of his once-tremulous hands as he worked on Rhiannon’s injured back and neck, using what felt like a mixture of charms and plain medicine until he was satisfied with his work and nimbly adjusted the charms to turn Rhiannon over and tie up the back of her gown, then laid Rhiannon carefully down in the bed and with another flick of his sparking fingertips, adjusted the bed itself to bring Rhiannon into a sitting position.

“’m happy t’ see you, b-b-b-b-but, how are you here?” Rhiannon asked him clumsily, managing a lopsided smile as she finally laid eyes on the little elf who had spent a full year trying to save her life at great risk to his own. He was dressed in a proper set of Healers’ whites with a sash over one shoulder that might have been green but Rhiannon wasn’t certain - it looked grey and so did a lot of things - and he flicked a puff of cool air at Rhiannon as if in gentle admonishment for her question – or perhaps her smiling, her face did feel a right mess.

“Still, please, Miss Black. Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has been learning to give orders, yes – especially when youngsters get into trouble, hmmm. But I suppose it is as good a question as any. When Dobby was freed, see, the kind Headmaster gave him a job at the castle and wages, yes, but suddenly h- I had a life, I could want things. Dobby likes to help, see – my kind always has. But I wanted also to learn things, to help better. There are so many books of great knowledge in the castle, truly it is a wondrous place! And over time, D- I found myself in the Hopsital Wing more and more, first cleaning messes, then reading books in spare time – spare time! - and eventually, wonderful Madam Poppy offers us a real job, a job where Dobby can help peopleand more learning – the two most favourite things! The green is for a trainee, see, but in time Dobby will be a full Healer – the first elf ever, ac-credited by the Hospital of the Saint and all!”

Dobby’s speech was still a little stilted, filled with quirks of grammar and mannerisms unique to elvenkind, perhaps it always would be – but it wasn’t as if Rhiannon was a particularly fine example of linguistic mastery herself and she followed along happily enough as the elf explained his new role within the castle, which he had clearly been bursting with pride to tell somebody new about.

“I’m-m-m-m-m-nnnn- ‘m, really, really happy for you, Dobby,” Rhiannon told him as the elf began to weave charms across her face, humming to himself in a frowny little way as he worked – a perfectionist, she could feel how careful he was with each little spell, and she had some familiarity with the perpetual dissatisfaction of perfectionism herself.

“But it is all thanks to you, Miss Black!” Dobby cried, his green eyes round with dismay in his sharp-boned little face as he wrung his hands and bobbed anxiously. “You gave us this freedom and now Dobby can never repay you, never!”

Tears welled up in Rhiannon’s eyes and she found herself coughing and choking for breath on a throat full of feelings-snot. “If-f-f-f-ff- if anything, Dobby, I owe you- I just gave you back something that should’ve always been yours, y-y-y-y-y-y-yo-yo-u-ou – you saved my life that night, and Dudley’s, you’re why I’ve got a brother and dads now and... oh, I can’t say it-t-t-t-t-t- it all, I just... if, if you want to give me anything – I’d l-l-l-l-l-like, if w-w-w-we could be friends.”

At that, Dobby burst out into noisy sobs and wrung his hands harder – Rhiannon guessed he would have ordinarily thrown himself at her for a hug but was acutely aware of how badly such an action would have hurt Rhiannon in her current state, leaving him torn. “Miss Black, you are a very kind witch, yes – truly a great witch. Dobby – I – would be most proud, most proud to be your friend.” he managed once he had his sobs under control, his long-fingered hands clasped together in earnest formality before him as he spoke.

Rhiannon grinned broadly, heedless of how the expression pulled at her damaged skin even as Dobby flicked more admonishing breeze-puffs at her. “And-and-an-ana-a-aa- bah, and, I’m just ‘s proud t’ be yours. We should, dunno, have a p-p-p-pro-proper catchup some time, without all th’ bandages an’ burn lotion, maybe one Hogsmeade weekend if you’re free – if you’d-d-d-d like, if that’s okay and all,” she suggested with an awkward shrug.

Dobby’s face lit up and he rocked back and forth between the balls and heels of his feet in delight. “Dobby would- I would, very much enjoy that – there is a very nice tea-shop in the village that employs free elves and pays them well, some of Dobby’s friends and their family have work there and he- and I, very much enjoy a visit. They have many teas without stimulants, safe for woof-friends,” he replied, adding on the quick reassurance as he caught the frown growing between Rhiannon’s eyebrows. “Caffeine is not safe for elves either, we are much too small for it.”

Rhiannon wrinkled her nose – she supposed that made sense. As far as she had seen, elves would ordinarily eat and drink in similar proportions to an average human, something about a very quick metabolism, so it made sense that things like stimulants and most likely intoxicants alsowould affect them more. “I’d – I’d like that, tea’s nice an’ I get dizzy in the Three Broomstick fr’m jus’ the fumes on real busy days,” she agreed.

From outside the tent came a deafening crash and a howling roar that sent Rhiannon shooting upright in bed even as Dobby protested and tried to convince her to relax back again. “N-n-n-n-nuh- no! Viktor, I have t’ – have t’ make sure he’s okay, he – I forgot-” Rhiannon stammered, totally unable to form a coherent sentence in her sudden fear and guilt.

“Miss Black, your wounds!” Dobby protested as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, swaying on unsteady feet for a moment before she steadied herself on the edge of the bed. “Miss Black, they will break open, they are only beginning to heal – you are not okay, please sit back down!”

Rhiannon waved off Dobby’s warning and staggered across the medical tent to the entrance, then pushed through the flaps and leaned on the nearest tent pole for balance as her tired eyes were assailed by sunlight which, though pale, was blinding in comparison to the low-lit tent interior and she had to take a moment to get her bearings before she set off again, rounding the side of the tent at a shambling jog until she was up against the bars of the arena wall and clutching them for support, peering through in vain desperation as she searched for her friend.

Viktor darted back and forth in the arena, dressed in black-trimmed red robes of a similar athletic style to his peers but with what looked like a leather breastplate over the top and similarly light armoured shoulder pads. He moved like a bull-fighter, facing off against the sinuous blue-grey dragon Rhiannon remembered to be the Swedish Shortsnout. It was deceptively fine in build despite being easily as long and tall as the Hebridean Black had been, with far larger wings spread in a threat display and its long spade-tipped tail lashing back and forth like a furious cat’s as it paced back and forth across the arena floor between Viktor and its nest.

Now that she was watching, the source of the earlier crash was obvious to Rhiannon – a great arcing crater cut into the arena platform right on the cliff’s edge, like something massive had taken a bite out of the rock itself – or a particularly powerful young wizard had set an explosive charm deep in the stone. Indeed, Rhiannon noticed the Shortsnout was heavily favouring one side and blood flowed freely down its scales from a deep wound on its neck just above the shoulder joint as well as countless tears in the arm and membrane of the wing on the same side – far from fatal, but a serious injury nonetheless and all the more impressive for the fact that dragon scales were impervious to spells and all but the highest-quality weaponry. Now the crater made more sense, and Rhiannon whistled in awe as she realised her foreign friend must have exploded the very stone beneath the dragon.

“Ge-g-g-g-g-ge-e-ge-ge-get around it, Viktor!” Rhiannon yelled, seeing an opening in the dragon’s defense on its wounded side. But Viktor was a Quidditch player – he had seen the same gap and bolted for it, surprisingly quick on his feet for his solid build. The dragon lunged after him, unsteady now it had only three good legs, but Viktor was ready for that too and as Rhiannon watched with her heart in her mouth he turned and blasted a yellow-green jet back over his shoulder that she recognised as the Conjunctivitis Curse, disabling the Shortsnout in the same way she herself had done the Hebridean Black.

The dragon staggered back and pawed vainly at its’ eyes, howling in pain and rage while Viktor scrambled over boulders and skidded across patches of shale as he rushed across the arena to the nest and dove in headlong, rummaging for the golden egg hidden among the others. Head down in the nest, he could not see that the enraged dragon had recovered and advanced on him, and Rhiannon’s own heart was torn with a fear sharper than when she had been trying to outfly a torrent of fire – Viktor couldn’t see, she doubted he could hear either as the crowd clamoured anxiously. “VIKTOR GET OUT OF THERE!” she shrieked desperately, but it was no use – Viktor looked up too late, the golden egg in his arms and both feet firmly planted in the dragon’s nest as it flared its’ wings wide, blocking any escape – his back was to the cliff, there was nowhere to go, and Rhiannon could see the glow in the back of the dragon’s throat as it opened its’ mouth...

Rhiannon squeezed her eyes shut and fell to her knees, clutching the bars above her head for support as she gasped and choked on sobs, keening in shock and terrible grief, certain that when she opened them she would see Viktor’s dead body... but as the brilliant cerulean glare of the flames visible even through her tight-shut eyelids dimmed, the stands to either side of Rhiannon erupted in cheers and exclamations of amazement and she opened her eyes to a truly incredible scene-

Viktor, charred to the waist, his robes alight with dancing flames, swayed but stood fast before the imposing blue-grey dragon. Not only was he alive but he was standing, his wand little more than a smoking stump clutched in one bloodied fist. He staggered and shook his head, visibly disoriented, and though Rhiannon heard the arena gate clatter open she could not bear to look away as Viktor, wandless, no doubt grievously wounded, advanced on the dragon right through its’ own nest, using the eggs around him for balance until he stood defiantly between the Swedish Shortsnout and her own nest.

The dragon bellowed a howling cry of vengeance and lunged at Viktor, jaws spread wide as it prepared to finish him off and once again Rhiannon was certain she was witnessing her friend’s death as he stood firm, hands now empty and spread before him in a fighting stance as the dragon closed on him, its head snaking ever closer until-

“BOMBARDA!”

Viktor’s voice, magically amplified by whatever charm allowed the audience to listen in on the fighting champion’s words, thundered across the mountainside and Rhiannon gaped in wonder, unable to look away as pure yellow-white force and heat traveled through Viktor’s own arms and straight into the dragon’s open mouth. It coughed, choked and staggered back, clawing at its’ throat where Rhiannon could see the glow through the dragon’s very skin, building and building until she couldn’t help but close her eyes against the glare until it burst and spread wide, blazing brilliant yellow even through her closed eyelids a split second before a horrific explosion roared across the mountain, swallowing Rhiannon’s senses so that she had no choice but to fall and writhe in agony, her sensitive ears bleeding and ringing from the sheer concussive force of the magical thunderclap.

Rhiannon lay there, curled in a fetal position and insensate with pain until someone shook her shoulder and she slowly rolled over and uncovered her ears. A cool sensation washed over her face and neck and her hearing began to clear enough to tell her rescuer was Fleur, muttering what sounded like healing spells under her breath until Rhiannon stirred and the older girl caught hold of her shoulders, easing her into a sitting position. “Easy, easy – you have torn everything open, there is blood everywhere, come here – I have to carry you back, that little elf is very worried about you. Tergeo,” she muttered, presumably siphoning blood away from somewhere, which made Rhiannon wonder – what would werewolf blood do to an animal? Could they catch it? No, probably not – Animagi were safe with werewolves in their animal form.

“Is- is-iss-is-is-is-s-sssss-” Rhiannon tried to speak, but a hacking cough bubbled up in her throat and she had to turn over and spit more blood onto the ground, groaning in pain as she did so.

“Not a clue,” Fleur replied tersely, but she was leaking a little bit of magic – Rhiannon could feel her friend’s fear, it was as if she were made of glass with a crack spreading from her core. Fleur was not being cranky or rude on purpose, it was the sort of brusque attitude of someone trying desperately to hold themself together for others while their emotions churned inside. “Come on, lift your arms, I need to get you back to the tent – we can find out what is happening to Viktor in there, he collapsed after the blast and I have not seen him since.”

Trying desperately not to think the worst, Rhiannon raised her arms and begrudgingly allowed Fleur to lift her into her arms and hold her tight against her chest. There, Rhiannon could feel the tremors in the older girl’s muscles and she squeezed her arms as tight around Fleur’s neck as she could, the best imitation of a hug she could manage from this position.

Carrying Rhiannon as easily as she might a small child or a particularly floppy cat, Fleur hurried back to what Rhiannon recognised by the smell to be the medic tent in which she had first awoken. It had smelled clean then, not unlike the school’s Hospital Wing mixed with the fresh scents of grass and mountain air, but now the air inside was soaked in blood and the smells of burnt flesh and hair, setting Rhiannon’s stomach churning, and she groaned in pain as Fleur set her down in a bed so that she could flee the tent, Rhiannon caught the sound of retching from outside and rolled over in bed so that she could curl up and ward off her own surging nausea.

“I will be with you in a moment, Miss Black!” Dobby’s reedy voice called across the tent, the little elf sounded distinctly frazzled. Rhiannon steadied her breathing and strained her ringing ears for any whisper, any hint as to whether her friend would live beyond the next hour – the soft moans of agony told Rhiannon that he was alive, but that told her nothing about whether he would stay that way.

“Dobby, pass the salve – no, the proper numbing one, we need to get his pain level down so that he will lie still,” Madam Pomfrey ordered Dobby in a brisk, professional tone. There was a whisper of fear on the edges of her voice if Rhiannon strained to hear it, something she had not heard from the nurse since the horrible mystery of the Chamber of Secrets.

“Poppy, lying still won’t do all that much – we need Saint Mungo’s, they have the regeneration unit,” a third voice – a light tenor – protested softly.

“Yes, you’re right, of course – but the Floo units large enough to take a stretcher are back at the castle, we can’t Apparate to the castle with him – well, Dobby could, but one attendant will not be enough for the lad in this condition, and it’ll be too tricky to Apparate him, his stretcher and all of us there without proper equipment. No... Dobby, forget the salve, I need you to go ahead to Saint Mungo’s. Tell them we need the Apparition-friendly stretcher and a team of trained medical emergency transport wizards, without delay – here, take my badge, and don’t let them push you around, any extra time is a risk right now,” Madam Pomfrey rattled off firmly.

Rhiannon’s insides grew cold – maybe in part a side effect of the burns, but mostly from fear. From the sounds of it, Viktor was in critical condition and worse, he needed treatment that wasn’t available here. He had beaten the dragon – killed it almost certainly – in a particularly spectacular way, but he could still die here and now, lying in a cold bed outside the arena in the windy highlands. It didn’t seem fair, or right – or a good way to die, if there were such a thing. There was certainly a wrong way to die, a wrong time, only eighteen years old and countless miles from his home, Rhiannon thought bitterly, and she stewed on this and listened in on the Healers’ whispering with rapidly fading attention until despite herself, feeling as if she were betraying her possibly-dying friend, Rhiannon was once again pulled under into the comforting dark of sleep – the first door of the mind.

Chapter Text

The next time Rhiannon awoke it was in the stark cleanliness of the Hospital Wing. Cedric lay in the bed to one side while Fleur dozed in a chair between their beds, however Viktor was nowhere to be seen and as it turned out, would not be returning for at least a day. As Madam Pomfrey explained it, his last desperate attempt to stay alive had also drained his reserves of magical energy almost completely and while that had succeeded in killing the dragon and saving his life that way, it had also stolen the energy his body needed to fuel its vital processes and endangered him in a different way entirely – to say nothing of the damage he had suffered from his burns.

When Viktor did return on the morning of the 28^th, he was a solid mass of bandages right to the waist and wearing an air of depression like a weighted cloak about his shoulders, one that made him seem shrunken, fragile and terribly small despite having survived in such a truly heroic manner. The reason for this quickly became apparent as the day wore on – Viktor’s surviving the fireblast at all had been an incredible testament to his power as a spellcaster, but he had been left far from unscathed by the heat and his eyes, hidden beneath the bandages, were as scarred as the rest of his face and torso; revealed later that day to be lumpy, sunken and a clouded grey with scarring.

“The Healers were not hopeful about my sight,” Viktor relayed to them glumly when he woke in the early afternoon. “I heard them muttering, they say I will be lucky if I keep any light perception at all. It is thanks only to magic that I have a face – who am I to complain if it is a little less pretty than before? It is not as if I have to see the change, in any case.”

That sobered the three other champions considerably. They had been aware from the get go that this tournament was a death match, of course they had been. But they were also young people, and short-sighted – they had forgotten that there was more to lose than a life, and Viktor’s new disability was a frightening reminder of how lucky they had been, and how quickly that luck could run out.

But Rhiannon could not dwell on Viktor forever – the 28^th was also the first night of the full moon, and as the afternoon waned into evening she knew she had a decision to make. Eventually, she decided she was simply too badly injured to leave the Hospital Wing – Madam Pomfrey and Dobby had treated her burns sufficiently that she was scabbed all over her upper back and scalp with the more minor burns elsewhere being almost healed entirely, but she was still very sore and worn out. Both her peers had made at the very least passing comments that suggested they would probably be supportive, and the Hospital Wing had the medicine she would need to dress her wounds when she inevitably tore them open again during the change.

With this in mind, Rhiannon slipped aside with Dudley when he arrived with most of their friends to collect her, and passed on the plan to reveal herself to her fellow competitors provided he did not mind, as it was his secret too. “Rhi, you almost died,” Dudley replied when she told him. “If that isn’t a sign to get on with your life and come out of the closet already, so to speak, I dunno what is. D’you want me and the others to stick around, or just get on with our own thing?”

“Can y-o-o-oo- can y’ stay?” Rhiannon asked, hating the plaintive whine that crept into her voice. Viktor, Fleur and Cedric were great friends, but they weren’t exactly her family yet, and she couldn’t bear the thought of a full moon without her usual pack. Besides, an idea had just occurred to her – Hermione was going blind, and however wry Viktor was being about his new disability Rhiannon could tell he felt lost and alone. Maybe her pack would be good for all of them.

“Sure I can,” Dudley responded, and very carefully leaned in to hug her without smushing the dressiings on her back too badly. “Pack camp-out in the hospital wing, starting now... wait, no, camp-outs need snacks... lemme figure that out, you go talk to the champions, yeah?” he suggested, before limping off to where Ginny was perched on the edge of a bed chatting with Luna and Neville.

Swallowing her anxiety, Rhiannon hobbled back to where Viktor and Cedric lay propped up by pillows in their hospital beds with Fleur keeping watch between them, and sat down on the foot of Cedric’s bed when he motioned he was okay with her doing so. “Um – I’m, sorry to bother you, I’m sure you f-f-f-feel like crap an’ all but, I’ve only got maybe half an hour and I wanted t’ explain myself first,” she began awkwardly. Fleur’s head shot up, yellow eyes narrowed with wariness as evidently she guessed before the others what Rhiannon was about to reveal.

“It is no bother. Please, distract me from feeling terrible,” Viktor responded with a shrug and then a hiss of pain as the motion strained his slowly-healing skin.

“Okay. Um. Sorry, I haven’t... I haven’t, got a lot of experience telling people on purpose, they’ve just sort’ve found it out before... um – I’m, a werewolf. Tonight’s the first night of the full moon, ‘s why I flew in the task – that close to the full moon everything hurts and my joints’re really un-n-n-nr-r-r-re-un-re-li-ab-le, dammit, and um – there’s about half ‘n hour before moon-high and I hurt too bad to go outside for it but I didn’t want to just, spring it on you.” she explained, rambling a little with her nerves. Both young men gasped, Viktor with genuine surprise while Cedric sounded more as if he suddenly understood a whole lot of things that hadn’t made sense before.

“So that’s how you pulled off that jump last year!” Cedric exclaimed, a wide grin spreading across his face as Rhiannon looked anxiously over at him. “No, no, I’m not gonna claim you’re cheating or anything – not like certain family members of mine who’d like to get werewolves formally banned from competing alongside humans in sports – no, that’s just using what you’ve got, and it was brilliant too,” he added hastily, shaking his head and still grinning broadly. “I’m guessing your cousin – sorry, brother - is one too and the story about him breaking his hip in a fall is all dogshit, right?”

Rhiannon grimaced and shrugged uncomfortably, though a wry smile touched her scarred lips. “Well, he did fall – after bein’ tackled and bit by a werewolf – one o’ those human-lookin’ ones, I still have nightmares sometimes. So it’s half true. We fig’red it’d be smarter to stick to half-truths an’ plausible excuses, so I don’t have Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, it’s jus’ that bein’ a werewolf has a lot of the same symptoms if you’re jus’ lookin at the joint and pain stuff. It’s, where the fear of fire comes from too – I found out th’ hard way how resistant werewolves are t’ standard duellin’ spells ‘n’ stuff so I kinda just, chucked everythin’ I could think of at ‘em an’ flagrate sparks caught in the leaves, this was high summer in the Surrey AONB forest park, then I tried to put it out with ventus and well, whoosh, one forest fire for you, nightmares for ever.”

Viktor whistled softly. “No wonder you were so frightened when you told us that the task would involve dragons,” he murmured, low voice cracking in what sounded like pain or sympathy, possibly both. “I hope you know that it makes you all the braver for facing them, not weaker for being afraid in the first place. We were all afraid, and none of us had that solid a reason to be – although I cannot say that is true now, even the idea of torch-heat on my skin makes me afraid.”

Rhiannon shuddered and shook her head hastily – that she could certainly sympathise with, and if she was honest with herself, her reluctance to leave the Hospital Wing was as much for fear of the torch-lined hallways as it was of pain, and she admitted as such to the others. But as she had said earlier, she had less than half an hour before the turn started and that time was quickly swallowed by chatter until her arms began to prickle with lengthening hair and she had to beg out of the conversation and hobble into one of the empty side rooms, knowing them to be soundproof enough that the others would not hear her scream.

The full moon was just visible through a window and for that Rhiannon was thankful, as it took her and held her close, away from the body that writhed and shrieked on the cold stone floor, a brief respite from the pain that haunted every waking moment until her body had changed shape and the moon saw fit to return her to it, coughing and wheezing with the suddenly-returned pain, and when her vision cleared she realised she’d forgotten something very important – that although the door did swing out into the Hospital Wing, she’d closed it for soundproofing – and she couldn’t operate a round handle with paws.

Rhiannon whined and scrabbled at the heavy wooden door, before she remembered the reason she’d come in here – soundproofing, it was going to work against her in this case and she wasn’t sure she could tamp down the claustrophobic panic of being stuck somewhere small that she hadn’t explicitly meant to be, for the time it would take someone to come and find her on their own. Wait – there was one part that wasn’t soundproofed, Rhiannon realised as she nudged the door experimentally. This was a castle and all the fittings were old-fashioned – and if she shoved hard enough, she could rattle the door in its’ frame.

Rhiannon took a few paces back, then reared up and slammed her forepaws into the heavy wooden door, ignoring the fierce ache that flared and travelled up through her forelegs into her shoulders and spine at the impact – it had worked, there was a dull thud as the door shifted an inch or so to slam into the far side of the frame before it slid back into place. Again Rhiannon reared up and shoved the door, then a third time before she had to lie down and take the weight off her bitterly aching forelegs, but by then she caught the sound of hushed, hurried footsteps approaching and a familiar soft scent of old books, ink, dried herbs and coconut hair products wafted under the door – she recognised Hermione even before the door swung open and hauled herself to her paws, whimpering piteously as the door opened too slowly until there was enough space for her head and she barrelled through the gap, flinging the door wide open and sending Hermione sprawling behind it with an involuntary shriek as she lost her balance.

That high-pitched sound of terror stopped Rhiannon cold and she whirled around, piecing together the shapes of the room on the fly and searching for her friend at the same time. There – crumpled against the far wall as the heavy wood door swung closed again. Rhiannon whined anxiously, approaching Hermione more cautiously this time and sniffing at her more-than-friend’s robes for any blood – but no, Hermione was just bruised and she very gently ruffled the thin, bristly fur around Rhiannon’s ears as a sort of reassuring gesture.

“Easy, easy – I’m not hurt, you just startled me and it takes a bit for my vision to focus on new things now so I got scared when I fell. It’s alright, it’s alright, come here – oh wow,” Hermione trailed off thoughtfully, still gently stroking the top of Rhiannon’s head as she bent closer to look more clearly at whatever had caught her attention. “It’s grown back in all white over the scars – or, mostly white I guess, little things like hairs are a bit hard to make out now. It’s kind of pretty, almost – like this really big sign saying ‘look at this incredible girl, she survived dragonfire’,” she rambled, a wistful little smile spreading over the side of her face Rhiannon could make out.

Rhiannon felt a strange pang of loss as it sunk in that what Hermione was describing would affect her human form too. She had expected to lose things to this tournament – what remained of her innocence, perhaps her friendships, even her own life. The colour of her hair seemed such a small thing to lose in comparison but it hurt even so – she’d never gotten to be a pretty girl or even just a girl for very long at all, and this was just one more thing that would set her apart. Maybe it was vain to care so much, but the idea of white hair – or salt and pepper, it wasn’t as if she could see the back of her head to get a better idea of what it might look like than Hermione’s vague description – wasn’t an appealing one at the age of fourteen. Maybe she just wanted to be pretty for once, not brave, not strong, not a survivor – just pretty, an ordinary teenage girl who did ordinary things and maybe even went on dates.

But there was no voicing any of that without a human mouth. All Rhiannon could do was whine and flatten her ears, then wrinkle her muzzle at the unpleasant sensation of scar tissue bunching and shifting. “Don’t give me that look,” Hermione admonished her. Then she laughed and shook her head, her smile turning self-deprecating and wry. “Or do – I want to remember them all when I, you know – when I can’t anymore. You’re so cute when you’re all grumpy like that, I love it.”

I love you. Those three words went unspoken, hanging heavy in the loaded silence and for a rare, brief moment gold-ringed green wolf eyes met clouded human brown before Hermione looked away and hauled herself to her feet. “I... never mind, it’s not important. Let’s get back to the others, Viktor looks just so stuck in that bed I’ve got to rescue him somehow, I’ve mostly got this Braille crap down but I know a bunch of other tricks he can use until his hands heal well enough to read it, too,” Hermione mused.

With that, she set off across the length of the ward with Rhiannon in tow, back to the others at the far end nearest the door to the main corridor outside. Cedric peered at Rhiannon in shameless curiosity and slowly a wide grin formed on his face. “I’m sorry – I’ve just never seen such a little werewolf, Chiara was way bigger,” he explained as she frowned at him and flattened her ears in the best admonition she could manage. “And you’re more wolfy, too – I knew the more human shape was a maladaptive thing, but I’ve still never seen a healthier werewolf except you and... oh my God, you really are tiny, look at that!” he crowed in delight, looking at something over behind Rhiannon.

Rhiannon turned to look for what had caught Cedric’s attention and immediately perked up at the sight of her brother emerging from a different side room with Ginny at his shoulder. The difference in size between the two werewolves really was quite dramatic when they stood together, her head about level with the middle of his shoulder as he crossed the room to stand beside his sister. Dudley wasn’t a tall young man in human form by any means, he had about six inches or so on Rhiannon and Ginny had another two over him – but he was bulkier, solid with fat and thick muscle where Rhiannon was thin and wiry, though she had filled out some with the two past years of reliable access to food she was still little more than a twig by comparison.

“If my hands were not in bandages I would ask to pet you – I’ve always wanted to know what wolf fur feels like,” Viktor commented with a wry shrug and grimace, shifting his bandaged arms uncomfortably – he’d burnt out all the nerve pathways with the way he had channeled that last explosive blast of magic and would take some time to recover, let alone enough to begin learning Braille. That was the risk in using wandless magic, Madam Pomfrey warned them all – even if they learned to control it in the first place, they had to also learn to channel it safely. There was a good reason most wizards chose to use wands or other channeling tools instead of their own arms, and why wand rights were such a fierce topic of contention for the nonhumans who were denied them. Better to burn out the tool than one’s own nerve pathways.

Dudley snuffled and put his paws up on the bed, nosing around in the blankets for a bandaged hand. He slid his nose under and let Viktor’s hand rest on top of his head, panting happily while Ginny prodded his shoulder and scowled at him. “Dudley! Werewolf slobber, open wounds!” she admonished him. Dudley’s tail drooped and he went to move away, but Viktor scratched the werewolf boy’s head and laughed.
“I am blind now – by the measure of most, I am already half a wizard. I do not think being a werewolf would be so bad, perhaps the changed senses might even be a blessing – I mean, that is how you got across the arena when you blinded yourself, is it not?” Viktor inquired.

Rhiannon flattened her ears and slunk back around to her bed, where she put her paws on the mattress and then hopped the rest of the way up, turning around and around until she had made a proper nest out of the blankets and could curl up with her tail over her nose. She didn’t like the thought of anyone else getting turned – the first year was the worst and right in the middle of this tournament would be the worst time for it, that sort of a distraction could get Viktor killed. He’d already come too close to dying once.

Someone’s weight squished the bed down at the end and Rhiannon grumbled softly as that someone reached up and scritched behind her ears, their fingers gentle and mindful of the scarring. “Hey, you’ll match me now,” Luna quipped softly. “It might be a bit strange at first, but I don’t think it’ll look bad – looks like it might come out kinda stripey, most of it’s a mix of black and white but there’s some solid white patches and the odd black spot, it’s kinda cool actually. I know you think it’s ugly, but it’s not – really it’s not. You’re like, the white-haired wonder or something.”

Rhiannon snuffled and curled up tighter in her blanket nest, though she was heartened at least a little by Luna’s reassurances – maybe it would look cool, and if she’d never be pretty she might as well be striking. “Luna’s right – I bet it’ll look incredible. If you like, I can get started brewing some Hair Regrowth potions so you can use them when your scalp’s all healed up,” Hermione suggested, making Rhiannon flinch – she hadn’t noticed Hermione sit down, but now she paid more attention she could hear the breathing and other signature sounds of the others around her – Neville’s persistent asthmatic wheeze, Ginny’s audible grumble-frown, Nina who hummed tunelessly under her breath, Dudley’s snuffling as presumably he settled on or beside Ginny somewhere and Lavender who always sounded stressed even as she flipped through a book of some kind. Her pack, or most of it – they’d all opted for a night in the hospital wing so that they might be together, rather than a fun camp-out in the hills.

“Hey, Rhiannon,” Cedric called quietly across the ward, and Rhiannon pricked up her ears and shifted so that her chin lay in Luna’s lap and she could see the rest of the ward before her, while Hermione hopped up onto the bed behind. “Sorry to disturb you, just – I wanted to reassure you, like, I’m not gonna tell my dad. Pretty sure he still doesn’t know about Chiara either, or she wouldn’t’ve got her job – not the point, but – I’ll keep yours too. He’s still my dad but, I’m not about to give him the opportunity to fuck up your lives. Werewolves still aren’t technically allowed to be enrolled at Hogwarts, and anything you do in the tournament – he could use it to prove you’re dangerous. I’m not gonna give him the chance, I swear.”

“Dangerous?” Viktor scoffed. “As far as I know, I am the one who killed a dragon – Rhiannon had every opportunity to do the same and merely disabled it instead – which got you more points, by the way, cleaner round. Anyone who sees you as dangerous for that, they were never going to see you differently.”

That was a bitter draught to swallow, Rhiannon thought as she considered the words of her peers. Cedric was right – she had to consider every action in the tournament and how it looked from now on, it would all matter when she eventually revealed herself and it could blow back on not just her but Dudley also. But Viktor was right too – her safety had to come before that, and anyone who judged her harshly because of it was never going to judge her in good faith to begin with. Not a pleasant thought for a teenager who wanted to be liked and accepted. But one she had to live with.

And as Rhiannon lay on the hospital bed with Luna’s gentle fingers massaging her ears and Hermione’s in the ruff of fur that stuck up along her spine, she mused on the matter and decided that what she had here, in this room with her pack – of which the other three champions were firmly a part by now – if she had this and her dads, it didn’t matter who else liked her or didn’t. She’d fought a dragon and lived – public opinion couldn’t be any worse than dragonfire and she’d face it just the same.

Chapter Text

When the full moon receded, it left Rhiannon’s bond with her fellow champions stronger in its wake. The second task wasn’t until February of the new year, and while they were warned to study the golden eggs they had seized as they contained clues to the next task, something much bigger and scarier loomed up in the immediate future.

The Yule Ball. Headmaster McGonagall took over their Transfiguration class the first Wednesday following the dragon task, and announced that this year, in honour of the visiting schools, the annual Christmas Feast would be replaced by a formal dance. Dance lessons were added to their schedules, to be held every weekday after classes and taught by the five House Heads in the Great Hall. The ball itself was on the winter solstice, which gave them all a little under two months until the event.

For now, Minerva led the first lesson in place of their Transfiguration class. “Miss Weasley, come on up here,” she invited, beckoning to Nina who flushed and sank lower in her seat. Rhiannon grinned and elbowed her off the bench they shared, and eventually Nina shuffled forward to take her place with Minerva in front of the class. “Thankyou, Miss Weasley – I’d like to brush up on my memory of the mens’ steps, it has been some time since I took a woman to a dance,” Minerva toldthe lanky redhead cheerfully. “Now, take my hand here and put your other hand on my waist – my waist, Miss Weasley, I’m not a nun,”

Rhiannon cackled, but jokes and Nina’s discomfort aside, the class was a fun one and she enjoyed herself until Minerva called for her to stay behind after. Then she was all nerves, and she trembled in her seat until the last students left the room and Minerva crossed it to stand before her desk. “Um – I’m not, in t-t-t-t-t-trouble, am I? I know my work’s slipping a bit with the tournament but I’m pretty sure I still handed in all the work Professor Barron set-”

“Hey, no, hold on – you’re not in trouble, it’s nothing like that – and you have maintained a consistent Outstanding grade in your work, a drop from Exceeds Outstanding is hardly cause for concern, especially not with all that’s going on,” the Headmaster held up her hands and stopped Rhiannon’s anxious stammering before she could get any further with it. “I just wanted to give you a heads up that the Champions will lead the first dance of the ball – which means that while bringing a partner is optional for all other students, that is not true for you and your peers. Not that I can foresee any difficulty in finding a partner – I’ve noticed things have changed between you and Miss Hermione, and you’ve always been close with young Luna.”

“I s’pose the rules do say one partner, right?” Rhiannon grumbled, her stomach already tying itself in knots at the thought. She’d asked Hermione to a dance before, Luna too – but this was formal, and that meant more pressure.

“Actually no – your former housemate Angelina is bringing both Katrina and Alicia with her as far as I know. But the beginning dance is led by pairs, so that will be something to think about either way,” Minerva replied. “I wish you good luck in the asking – I know as well as anyone how stressful it can be, and I hope things turn out the best.”

Rhiannon stammered a thankyou and took off out of the classroom before she burst into flames from the sheer embarrassment of it all. She scurried back to the dormitory to hide and consider her options, and kept her worries to herself for the rest of the week.

And for the rest of the week, that was that – until the morning of the next Monday, when an exhausted, elderly owl arrived at the breakfast table with a large package for Nina. Despite being in different houses, Rhiannon and her friends usually sat together at meals anyway and they were all curious to see what had arrived.

Nina unwrapped the package in front of her waiting friends, and out spilled a flood of maroonlinen and cream lace – unmistakeably clothing of some kind. The others all winced, but Nina didn’t seem particularly bothered – her mind was somewhere else entirely and she was totally unaware of her friends’ grimaces as she packed the mess of fabric away into her bag.

“Nina, what’s goin’ on? Anyone could tell you’re distracted,” Rhiannon asked her friend, catching up to her in the hallway when everyone had left the breakfast table.

Nina hunched her shoulders and pulled her cloak tighter around herself as the two of them made tracks down the hallway towards the library for some study before classes started. “I’m just – worried,” she admitted as they settled into beanbags in the library corner, she with a book of fiction and while Rhiannon had a book on dimensional transfiguration and spatial extension enchantments. “I’ve never been to a dance as a girl before, not – not properly.”

Rhiannon shrugged, leafing through her textbook as she considered the problem. “I’ll help any way I can, we can get ready together and do your makeup ‘n stuff, b-b-b-but – there’s no need to stress, not really. It’s just a dance for everyone else, you don’ even have t’ worry about findin’ a partner if you’re not ready – only the Champions have t’ find partners, we’re openin’ the dance.”

Nina grimaced and turned pleading eyes on Rhiannon. “That’s just what I’m worried about – Rhi, Viktor asked me to the dance. I’m going with a champion, so I do have to worry about openin’ the dance and how I look an’ all that!” she exclaimed, wringing her hands anxiously as she spoke.

Rhiannon stared wide-eyed at her friend, the facts suddenly making themselves clear to her. “So all the time you’ve bin missin’ this term, you’ve been hangin’ out with him?” she asked, though it was more a rhetorical question than anything else. “That settles it – there’s no way you can wear whatever that was that your ma sent at breakfast, not if you’re openin’ the dance,”

Nina sighed and flicked at a piece of lace sticking out of the top of her bag. “I know. That’s part of it, I just – didn’t want to be ungrateful, you know? It prob’ly belonged to some great-aunt or whatever, she’s really trying – you know she always wanted a daughter and Ginny was never really that girly so she’s been really excited and supportive with me comin’ out an’ everything, it’s just – a bit much, sometimes,” she replied glumly.

Rhiannon reached over and yanked the backpack out from between Nina’s feet, then pulled out the mess of burgundy fabric and cream lace to examine it critically. It was very clearly an old-fashioned set of womens’ dress robes, and with the right tailoring it could look quite nice – but it would be an unusual look and that wasn’t really something Nina looked very comfortable with.

“Okay, that settles it,” Rhiannon told Nina decisively, a little louder than she’d intended she realised as Madam Pince looked over and shushed them both insistently. “I don’t have anything to wear either, so we’re gonna go to the Headmaster and ask her to let us go to Hogsmeade for a shopping trip. My dads can supervise, I’m sure they won’t mind.”

“I can’t – I don’t have any money for shopping,” Nina protested feebly, but Rhiannon waved her off.

“Call it payment for this horrible thing – there’s no way you can wear it t’ the Ball if you’re goin’ with Viktor, that’s just not fair... but Luna might like it, xe’s a fair hand at sewing and I suppose it’s a good base to make something out of... so I’ll take it, and get you something better, it’s a fair trade,” Rhiannon replied, gesturing as she did so with the lacy dress robes.

A loud bell toll rang through the castle, interrupting any further conversation, and a quick check of the clock on the wall told them both it was time for Transfiguration class. Professor Barron did not tolerate lateness any more than McGonagall ever had, and they both hurried off to class. After class, Rhiannon had a free period while Nina had Defence, and she scurried off to check with the Headmaster about their shopping trip.

“It’s a lovely idea – I’m so glad Miss Weasley is finding herself,” Minerva agreed cheerfully as she signed the permission slip that would allow them both to visit Hogsmeade on an ordinary weekend.

Rhiannon shrugged and grinned wryly. “It’s been difficult, bein’ out as trans with everyone lookin’ at me as the Girl Who Lived, but... maybe I’m a bit arrogant, but... it seems like that’s made things easier f’r other trans students. And that kinda makes all that worth it.”

Minerva smiled and reached across the desk to pat Rhiannon’s hand affectionately. “It’s hardly arrogant – just insightful. You’re very right, of course – it’s never going to be easy being you, but you are making an easier path for others to follow. The truth takes courage, and yours more than most - I’m proud of you for following it. Now, go on and enjoy a day out with your family – you’ve earned it and then some.”

Rhiannon beamed wordlessly and hurried from the room, clutching the permission slip. She sent word with Chip back to her dads with the message that they’d be allowed out that weekend, and once that was finalised she could hardly wait for the weekend to arrive. Her teachers remarked that she was distracted in classes but gave her a free pass as her injuries were still healing, and it felt as if the week dragged by half as quickly as usual until finally Saturday arrived.

Rhiannon had become more of a morning person over the last couple of years, something to do with wolves being crepuscular. As such, she was up bright and early, much to the annoyance of her roommates – and of Nina, who was as far from a morning person as one could get. She ate breakfast quickly and slunk upstairs to her father Remus’ office and rooms, where she settled quietly into an armchair with a cup of some spiced drink Remus called a chai latte, which was a little puzzling given that chai indicated tea and there was no tea in this drink.

“Eh, I think some people make it with tea as well, but most cafes serve it like this, as another caffeine-free option that isn’t hot chocolate,” Remus replied with a shrug. “Funny – your dad used to make the same complaint. His Hindi was terrible but he knew that much.”

Rhiannon snickered – it amused her to think of her father struggling with languages the same way she did, it made him seem more like a person and less like a legendary figure she just happened to be related to. And it was nice to drink something hot, warm and filling the way hot chocolate was – fruit and herbal teas had grown on her, but they just weren’t satisfying in the same way.

“Oh, hang on a second – Sirius got you a gift, he’s taken to haunting the London bookshops in his free time,” Remus called from where he was puttering away in the kitchenette. Rhiannon perked up – gifts, especially books, were always exciting to a child who had grown up getting mouldy socks for presents if she got anything at all.

Remus rummaged in Sirius’ baggage – Sirius was also not a morning person – and eventually found what he was looking for, then crossed the room to hand the book to Rhiannon with a slightly bashful grin. “I know it’s not your birthday, or even properly Christmas yet, but you seemed so miserable healing from all those burns we agreed to just give it to you, distract yourself from all this,” he mumbled.

Rhiannon turned the book over, inspecting the green forest-printed cover curiously. Into The Wild, the title read in neat letters above the rectangular image of an orange cat sitting in a pool of sunlight. “It’s a book about... cats?” she asked, perusing the blurb on the back.

Remus laughed and settled himself down on the couch. “Yeah, Sirius said that jumped out at him – cats that think like people, they have, whatsit – tribes? No, Clans, I think. It’s just muggle fantasy, and maybe a bit childish for your usual, but we figured that might be a good thing – something totally different from our reality, might be a good break from it. He figured, well, there’s no magic and you like animals, so...”

Rhiannon hugged the book to her chest and repressed a squeal of delight so as not to wake Sirius, though she did flap about with her free hand – not nearly as much fun without the accompanying noise, but she had to let the joy out somehow. “It’s fantastic – I don’t care if it’s silly, ‘s just – easier to read, more distraction for less brainpower. Th-th-th-th-th-thanks, Da – I love it,” she stammered happily.

There came a distinctly grumpy mumbling sound and a rustle of blankets from the next room, and Rhiannon turned her head to look as Sirius tromped out of the bedroom wrapped in what looked to be all the covers of the bed. “Please tell me there’s coffee,” he grumbled as he flopped down on the couch and stretched out so that his head rested in Remus’ lap.

Remus swore as his drink spilled everywhere, and he swatted Sirius with a pillow. “Ach – Sirius, you spilled my drink!” he complained, drawing his wand to siphon away the mess. “And no, we don’t keep coffee – you can technically tolerate it but you know it makes your stomach cranky, and the rest of us can’t drink it, so why would we have any?”

“Why do you have to be so sensible at this hour?” Sirius whined, sounding distinctly puppyish as he wrapped himself more tightly in the blankets as he did so.

“You’re the one who got up, Mister Black, we were perfectly happy to let you sleep,” Remus told him, though he didn’t sound seriously upset – just mildly exasperated. A family of werewolves and the next closest thing, they did all tend to be a little clingy and Rhiannon knew that could be draining for any introvert.

“Perfectly happy without me,” Sirius grumbled, but like Remus there was no real upset to be found in his tone – it was just how he showed affection when he was tired. “G’mornin’, Rhi – I’ll be up in a bit.”

“I – I think I’ll go bother Nina again, give you some time to work through the blanket lump phase,” Rhiannon quipped back wryly. Sirius grumbled while Remus snickered and hugged him tightly, and Rhiannon left the room feeling like her heart might burst from joy. She tucked her new book into her backpack and hurried off to try and rouse Nina again.

Eventually everyone was out of bed and ready to move, and they set off for Hogsmeade at a steady walk. Niniane and Rhiannon took the lead while Remus and Sirius hung back, chatting quietly to themselves. Their reasons were totally transparent – they clearly wanted to let Nina and Rhiannon have a proper girls’ day out, and Rhiannon loved them for that.

“Gladrags is just up there, but it’s expensive – are you sure you’re alright taking me there?” Nina asked anxiously as she pointed out the purple-fronted tailor’s shop.

Rhiannon snorted and waved Nina’s anxiety away. “I already told you – yes. You’re opening the ball with a Triwizard Champion, of course I’m alright with it. I have all this stupid money, what’s the point of money if you can’t do nice things for your friends? When I’m older I want to use it to do nice things for everyone,” she replied cheerfully. Beside the tailor’s shop was a smaller green-fronted store half tucked into the alleyway, and its sign caught Rhiannon’s eye – Tarwater’s Tattoo and Piercing Parlour.

Evidently Nina saw it too, and she turned a mischievous grin on Rhiannon. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked, with another sideways glance back at the little shop.

“Get my dads distracted by pretty clothing, and sneak off to get our ears pierced?” Rhiannon whispered back. She cast a surreptitious glance over her shoulder at Remus and Sirius, still totally absorbed in their conversation. It wouldn’t be hard – they’d probably know where she’d gone, but they didn’t seem like they’d mind. She could probably ask permission and get it, but sneaking away just seemed more fun.

The four of them entered Gladrags’ Wizardwear, and immediately Rhiannon felt claustrophobic – the shop was larger on the inside but it was crowded, packed with racks of clothing in a wide array of styles and models on the end of each rack to display some of those styles. Wizarding clothing had a lot more freedom in regards to gender presentation, but there were many styles Rhiannon recognised from Muggle clothing as well. Remus and Sirius were immediately drawn to the corner that was filled with suits, and Rhiannon made a mental note to recommend the shop to Dudley – he’d mentioned something about wanting to take Ginny suit shopping for the ball.

Rhiannon’s dads were thoroughly distracted by tuxedos, and after browsing the dresses and dress robes themselves for a while Rhiannon and Nina took the opportunity to sneak out of the shop and into the piercing parlour next door. Unlike the tailor’s shop it was quiet and cool inside, with artworks hung on the walls displaying examples of tattoos they could do. Rhiannon had never thought about tattoos before, but it struck her as an interesting idea for when she was older – she was badly scarred and that was never going to change, perhaps tattoos would be a fun way of reclaiming her body when she was older.

“Are you lost?”

Rhiannon blinked, startled from her quiet study of the work on the walls by the sharp inquiry from an olive-skinned, dark-eyed woman with short, spiky-cut hair dyed a deep forest green with brighter stripes. “Um – no, we’re looking... Um, d’you do ear piercings?” she asked, self-consciously running a hand through the perhaps two inches of salt and pepper fluff that was now all she had of her hair as the woman looked her over.

“Of course we do – needle piercings only, no guns if that was what you were expecting, we don’t like ‘em. Have a seat, I’ll go and find one of our more experienced piercers, I don’t want to take any chances with your scarring,” the woman replied cheerfully. “My name’s Gwen, by the way. Take this, and this – pens in the cup between the chairs there, we just need you to read through how to care for your piercings and sign the form saying you’ve read and understood and accept the risks inherent in piercing, all that jazz. Be back in a bit!”

Rhiannon and Nina sat down and perused the forms they’d been given, warning them to clean the piercings daily with a solution they’d be given and not to fiddle with them or change them before they’d healed, apparently that would take about three weeks with the aid of the magic-infused salve. Both signed the forms – wizarding law was a little more permissive when it came to consent, and apparently fourteen was just fine for a simple lower earlobe piercing; and eventually another woman with bright-dyed hair – this time a vibrant scarlet – came out from the back room Gwen had gone into and took the forms from them.

“Niniane Weasley and... oh my, Rhiannon P- Black, here in our shop!” the crimson-haired woman announced delightedly, reading their named off the forms as she flicked through them to check everything had been filled in. “My name’s Anaika, you can both come on through,” she added, gesturing to a side room, though not the one she’d come out of.

Rhiannon and Nina frowned at eachother, a little exasperated by the usual fuss over Rhiannon’s presence, but they got up and limped into the side room without complaint. There was no point – Rhiannon couldn’t change what she meant to the wizarding world, she couldn’t stop being a sign of a victory even if she privately believed that victory to have been celebrated too soon.

The side room was small, the walls painted a pale cloudy green and the floor the same scratched but probably good-quality hardwood as in the reception. There was a low window that opened out into the alleyway beside the shop, and a desk with an overstuffed intray in one corner, beside which stood a chair with its back against the wall. In the centre of the room was another chair, vaguely resembling the sort one found in a dentists’ office but older in style and patched in many places.

“Alright, whoever’s up first, take a seat on the chair in the middle here. Niniane, is it? There’s some hairties on the desk there, it’ll be easier for me to work with your hair out of the way.” Anaika told them both cheerfully. “Now, with magic things should heal a lot quicker, you’ll want to see your school nurse if they get infected. They’ll feel hot and sort of throb if that’s the case, but don’t touch them except to clean them – hands have all kinds of germs on them.”

Rhiannon nodded – Madam Pomfrey had told her much the same thing when her burns were healing, and she ran her hands ruefully through the inch or so of black and brown-threaded grey fuzz that had grown back at the thought. “As for you, Rhiannon, they’re going to take a bit longer to heal with the scar tissue you’ve got there, so you might as well pick out a set of earrings you like from that card on my desk there, you’ll be stuck with ‘em until some time after that ball you lot have coming up,” Anaika added, gesturing to a chair beside the desk in the corner.

Nina sat down in the chair at the centre of the room, while Rhiannon limped over to the other chair and sat down, then took the card off the desk and squinted at it curiously. All the earrings were stud-shaped, that was probably easiest to get in at first, but there were a number of different shapes and different-coloured gems in the settings. Eventually she settled on a pair of studs shaped like flowers, with deep green crystals for the petals and clear crystals forming the centre, and by this time Nina was finished and it was her turn to sit in the chair, shivering anxiously as she pointed out the earrings she had chosen.

“Very nice – that green’s going to look so pretty against your skin,” Anaika told her as she dabbed cold alcohol onto Rhiannon’s earlobes to clean them. “Now, scar tissue’s a little tricky to pierce, and I don’t want to hurt you. May I have your permission to magically anesthetise the area?”

Rhiannon nodded, but she appreciated the red-haired woman asking – she had grown sensitive to magic over the last few weeks of being poked and prodded with it, and it always startled her when a spell was cast nearby. “Sensus torpet,” Anaika intoned softly, and a little spark flickered from her fingertips into Rhiannon’s skin, where it settled in both earlobes and burned for a few moments before the whole area grew numb. “There. You might feel a little pinch, but nothing more – no, please don’t turn your head, just sit still there,” she added, her fingers pressing gently into Rhiannon’s jaw when she tried to move.

As promised, there was a very slight pinch, but that was all and very soon it was all over. Anaika released the magical anaesthetic with a muttered finite incantatem, but even after that there was very little pain – Rhiannon’s earlobes felt swollen and a little warm, but that seemed like a normal reaction even if it was an annoying sensation.

“You look so pretty!” Anaika crowed, clapping her hands in delight as she stepped back to study her work. Rhiannon screwed up her face in a wry frown – she was many things, but pretty wasn’t exactly one of them. “No, really – you’ll be quite striking when that silver hair of yours grows back out. We have some potions here that will help it to grow out a fair bit faster, if you’d like.”

Shyly, Rhiannon agreed to the suggestion and she and Nina followed Anaika back out to the reception wearing matching smiles. Nina had chosen a pair of rounded violet studs, and the splash of deep colour glowed prettily against her long copper hair. Rhiannon waved aside her friend’s protests and paid for both their piercings, along with the hair regrowth solution for herself, then after a few more minutes thoughtfully perusing the example tattoos and deciding that yes, she might like one in the future, Rhiannon followed Nina out of the shop and back next door to the tailor.

“So, how are the piercings?” Sirius asked them both with a mischievous smile when they re-entered the tailor shop. Both girls flushed scarlet, and Rhiannon’s dads both cackled uproariously at their expressions. “My ears are almost as good as yours, you know,” Sirius reminded Rhiannon.

“Then why did you let us go!” Rhiannon protested, mortified by it.

Remus grinned and gently brushed aside Rhiannon’s short curls to look at the new earrings. “Very pretty – the colour suits you, and you as well Niniane. As for why... well, Sirius and I certainly snuck out to do all kinds of terrible things when we were at school, we decided you both deserved a bit of normal teenage mischief for once,” he told her cheerfully. “Don’t worry, we’ll smooth things over with Mrs Weasley – I doubt she’ll be too upset.”

Nina groaned. “No, she won’t mind at all – she loves having a new girly daughter to foist her treasures upon, I suppose she’s going to want to give me whatever Prewett heirloom jewellery she’s got left now,” she replied – though her complaints seemed more of the nature of fond exasperation than genuine distress.

Sirius snickered. “Ah, Molly – she always tried to mother us, even in school. We were a few years younger, but she caught on to Remus pretty early on and she’d patch him up whenever he got knocked around on full moons,” he recalled wistfully.

That surprised Rhiannon – Molly had been so awkward about her becoming a werewolf at first. But perhaps knowing a werewolf had made her all the more afraid for her children – trapped in that room on his own, Rhiannon knew her father had hurt himself without truly meaning to and that would have terrified any schoolgirl, especially the one who had tended to those wounds afterwards. In a way it comforted her to realise that Molly Weasley’s initial distrust of her had never been born from any true dislike of werewolves – simply a fear of the blood and hurt such a life naturally brought with it, and a desire to protect her children from something that very often caused one to harm themself.

“Now, we don’t have all day – why don’t we get on with looking for your ball dresses, the both of you?” Remus suggested, nudging Rhiannon out of her musing reverie. “Have you thought at all about what you might like to wear? Style, colour – fashion is more Sirius’ department than mine, but I’m happy to help you look.”

Rhiannon shrugged, and one hand rose to fiddle with her earrings before she remembered she wasn’t supposed to touch them. “I think – something green. It’s my favourite colour,” she replied shyly.

“Then green it is – and something elegant for Nina, I think, you’re so tall – you should make the most of it!” Sirius agreed cheerfully. Nina shrank, hunching her shoulders, but Sirius waved off her awkwardness with a laugh and a smile. “No, don’t hide – boys love tall girls even if they pretend otherwise, or girls if you prefer. Lily was almost your height, she turned everyone’s heads.”

Rhiannon blinked – she’d only ever seen two pictures of her mother, one alone on a stage and the other seated alongside her father, but somehow she’d never imagined her mother to have been the tall one – especially given how diminutive she herself was. “Yes, Lily was certainly the tall one – you definitely got your father’s height. He was a Seeker, you know, and aside from your friends Viktor and Cedric they do rather tend to be short,” Sirius told her. “He was only ever taller than anyone when he turned into that galumphing great deer shape of his.”

Rhiannon giggled, adjusting her mental image of her birth parents as she did so. Aunt Petunia was a couple of inches taller than Uncle Vernon, she remembered now with a flicker of a grimace – it made sense that her sister would have been the same. She wondered, as always, what her life might have been like if her parents had not been betrayed by Peter Pettigrew, if she had grown up with them... but that was not her life, and she had two perfectly wonderful loving fathers and a brother she would never have had in that life. And she would not trade Dudley for anything, she decided with a crooked smile. She had friends and family enough.

Happy with that thought, Rhiannon flicked through the racks of dresses until she had an armful to try on, and she retreated into the changing rooms with her fathers standing guard outside. Most were some shade of green, though she had found one in black and another in purple that she also quite liked the cut of. It was a little tricky to find anything she was comfortable in – she’d had to buy bras for everyday wear but her breasts were still tiny and a dress that showed them in any way would only serve to make her more uncomfortable, to say nothing of the scars she would have to glamour, and she quickly discovered than anything sleek resulted in a very much unwanted bulge. There was one good thing about wizarding fashion, at least – nothing was made out of synthetic fabrics, which meant no unpleasant sensations or static shocks, and Rhiannon’s complaints were more directed at the shape of the dresses than any of the normal frustrations of texture she had with clothing bought in Muggle stores.

It felt as if Rhiannon had tried on every green dress in the store and many more besides, by the time she finally found something she liked. The bodice was a deep green, high-necked as Rhiannon preferred with a handful of flowers embroidered upon the shoulder and waist. There were delicate ruffles like leaves over each shoulder, and slim-fitted sleeves that lightened from a soft green at the shoulders to pale cream at the wrists, and the skirt was full without being fluffy, the deep night-forest hue of the bodice and upper skirt lightening to a warm meadow-grass hue around the hem. It was relatively simple as far as ball dresses went, but that was a benefit in and of itself – with some of the others, Rhiannon had felt almost as if the dress were wearing her rather than the other way around but this... a small smile spread across her face as she looked herself over in the mirror. Simple, but by no means plain – with her friends’ help to do her makeup, and a month of hair growth assisted by the potions she had bought... even with the new scars from the dragonfire, Rhiannon thought that perhaps she might even look beautiful.

“Well, show us then – have you found one?” Sirius inquired from outside, every bit the impatient father. Feeling terribly shy, Rhiannon unlocked the dressing-room door and stepped out into the open, anxiously wringing her hands at her sides as she waited for her fathers’ verdicts.

Rhiannon’s anxiety grew and grew as her fathers remained silent, until Remus took Sirius’ hand and Rhiannon realised there were tears trailing down both men’s cheeks. “Beautiful,” Sirius choked out, sniffling like a sad dog as Remus pulled him into a sideways hug.

Nina poked her head out of her own changing room, and her pupils swallowed up the blue of her eyes as she took in Rhiannon’s appearance.

“You look amazing, Rhi!” Nina exclaimed, stepping out of the dressing room with her hands bunched anxiously in front of her.

Rhiannon blushed, and searched desperately for something else to talk about. “Is that the dress you’re going t’ wear? You look stunning – that sunset colour with your hair and eyes, it’s so pretty,” she replied fervently.

Nina blushed and fidgeted, not looking altogether comfortable in the dress – though Rhiannon had not lied when she told her friend she looked stunning, the sleek cut took advantage of her height and transformed her from gangly to elegant as if by magic itself, and the sunset hue – soft blue at the neck and hem fading through purple to creamy pink through the waist where it was fastened with a gilded belt that offset the mixture of colours – contrasted beautifully with Nina’s wavy copper hair as it tumbled around her shoulders. “D’you think? I like it, but um – it’s sort of, fitted, and that, um – it makes a bulge ‘round my, you know.”

Rhiannon winced sympathetically – Nina didn’t seem to have much of the body dysphoria she got, but she could imagine her friend still felt awkward about having bits stick out where their cis friends did not. “Um – there might be a spell for, you know, tucking it away, Hermione might know something,” she suggested awkwardly.

Sirius grimaced. “Please don’t go experimenting, at least – body magic is delicate. I’d imagine your school nurse would know how to do it – promise me you’ll ask her for help before you try anything, I don’t want you to injure yourselves,” he warned them cautiously.

Both Rhiannon and Nina hurriedly promised they would not try any magic without consulting Madam Pomfrey, and changed back into their regular clothes so that they might pay for their dresses and leave, though they managed to pick up a fair number of other more casual garments, nice shoes and accessories that Sirius was happy to pay for. They stopped at Madam Puddifoot’s teashop for lunch before finally heading back to the castle laden down with bags, and on the way, Rhiannon made up her mind. She had her dress – now she had to ask her partner, and though it made her anxious she knew the time had come to take that next step with Hermione. Luna... that was more complicated, and perhaps she needed to talk with Hermione about that too, but for now...

Rhiannon parted from Nina and scurried back to her dormitory room, where she set her bags away and set more food and clean water out for Chip and Callie, taking time to calm herself as she did so before she left the dormitory. Then, heart in her mouth, she made her way through the lower levels of the castle to the Slytherin common room in the dungeons, where she knocked on the wall and told the first student to pop their head out – Aly Blackwell’s twin sister Hazel, as it happened – that she wanted to speak with Hermione, if she was in. Hazel promised to go and find her, and Rhiannon was left to fret alone in the hallway for what felt like hours until finally the wall slid open again with a horrible scrape and Hermione stepped out into the hallway, feeling her way with her probing cane in the low light of the dungeons.

“Rhiannon, is everything alright? Did you have fun on your shopping trip?” Hermione asked mildly.

Rhiannon swallowed the knot of anxiety in her throat and took a deep breath, putting her words in order in her head. “I – yeah, everything’s alright, I’m... I wanted to know if, if... I wanted t’ ask, if- if you’d want t’ come t’ the ball wi’ me,” she stammered, knotting her hands together in the hem of her sweater. “I like you and, if you still like me, um – I’d like t’ take you as, as my girlfriend.”

Hermione’s breath caught and for a terrible moment Rhiannon thought she was about to refuse. Her probing cane clattered to the ground and she leapt forward, clutching a little clumsily for Rhiannon’s hands until she caught and held them, trembling. “Yes, yesyesyesyes- yes, I’ll be your girlfriend!” Hermione exclaimed fervently, letting go of one of Rhiannon’s hands so that she could flap her own about in eager delight. She stepped forward, and Rhiannon stepped back until her back hit the wall and she could go no further, but for the first time ever she felt excited at the tense sensation of being trapped and stared up at Hermione, wide-eyed in the low light.

And then Hermione’s lips were on hers and her hands in Rhiannon’s short hair. It was clumsy, messy – pure teenaged passion, but all the sweeter for it. Rhiannon wasn’t sure where to put her hands, their glasses got tangled together – but it didn’t matter, she was here with Hermione, her girlfriend, and nothing in the world could take the shine from that.

Chapter Text

Now that Rhiannon had a girlfriend of her own, she understood why Dudley and Ginny were always sneaking off to snog in secret corners. The thousand-year-old castle had countless hidden nooks where teenagers could find privacy, and both girls were so totally wrapped up in eachother that the remaining weeks until the ball seemed to fly by.

Hermione was determined to conceal her outfit from Rhiannon, so when the day finally arrived they got ready separately. Rhiannon, along with Lavender, Niniane, Parvati, Hannah, Mairi, Sally-Anne, Tracey, Eloise, Kellah, Daphne and Emilia all took over a disused Transfiguration classroom to get ready while Hermione stuck with Faye, Susan, Harry, Ginny, Luna, Padma and a handful of others whose preferences lay in more butch fashion rather than the dresses and flowers of the others and the boys got ready somewhere else again, and as six o’clock drew nearer and nearer Rhiannon could hardly sit still for Tracey to do her hair.

Thanks to the aid of the regrowth potions, Rhiannon’s hair had grown out almost to shoulder length, all of it an eye-catching dark-threaded silver just as expected, and instead of trying to tame that mane of wild steel curls, Tracey Davis had braided the sides and left the rest to curl artfully over Rhiannon’s forehead and down her neck in a sort of crest. It wasn’t a traditional style, but Rhiannon wasn’t a traditional girl and against her comparatively simple forest-hued gown, it made for a striking look in the best way possible. A creamy rose tucked into the braids over her right ear completed the look, and now Rhiannon fiddled with her skirts as she perched in a chair, waiting for the bell to toll six.

Finally the bell toll rang through the castle, and Rhiannon sprang to her feet. That was a mistake – with only four days before the full moon, every joint ached and she really ought to be walking with a cane. Someone pressed it into her hand and Rhiannon turned to see Lavender, smiling wryly. “Werewolves, so eager – slow down or you’ll be too sore to dance at all,” the pretty blonde cautioned her.

Rhiannon groaned, frustrated by the delay but she had to admit that Lavender was right – if she didn’t pace herself, she’d be worn out in an hour or less and need to come right back to bed – and that would be a sorry state of affairs for her first proper date ever. She forced herself to walk at a more ordinary pace down the hall, keeping step with her friends.

“S-ssss-sos-so, who are you all taking to the dance?” Rhiannon asked, desperate to end the silence. Her friends let out a collective breath, their nerves eased by the casual distraction of conversation.

“My parents say that I’m too young to date, and I can’t help but agree a bit – it seems like an awful lot of stress,” Kellah replied with a shrug. “Faye’s my escort and my dance partner, but I don’t like her like that and she doesn’t like anyone like that, so we figured we’d stick it out together.”

Lavender smiled wryly. “Pity – I’ll have to tell Morag Faye’s not interested, she’s been hemming and hawing about whether to ask her or not, it’s sort of cute.”

Daphne, who shared a room with Faye and Emilia in Ravenclaw, shook her head and grimaced. “And I’ll give Faye a heads’ up, she’s going to hate that – she just doesn’t like anyone that way, ever, and she gets all stressed about the idea of hurting someone because of it.”

Rhiannon grimaced – although she wasn’t aromantic as such herself, it had taken some time for her to be able to genuinely reciprocate Hermione’s feelings for her and she had spent far too much of that time worrying that she was broken, deficit somehow for needing that time, and that she was hurting Hermione with that brokenness. She could sympathise with Faye’s position.

“Well, I’m going with Matei,” Parvati announced cheerfully. Daphne whistled – clearly her twin had managed to keep that from her despite their sharing a dormitory. “What? Don’t be like that, he’s cute, and he’s not always tryna grope me like some of the boys,” Parvati retorted defensively.

“If he’s cute, does that mean you think I’m cute too?” Daphne quipped wryly – she and Matei were identical, and most compliments on his appearance would logically also apply to her.

“Stop fishing for compliments, Daff, you know I think you’re hot - though you’re not exactly proving my point right now,” Parvati grumbled. “I am bi, you know – Padma’s the straight one, at least as far as I know.”

Daphne cackled, and Emilia swatted her with the small bag she kept her wand, mirror and lipstick in. “Just because you’re not taking anyone, Daff, doesn’t mean you can hassle everyone else about their dates,” she admonished her friend. “I swear she knew Theo was going to ask me before I did. Nosy.”

“Why bother dating when I’m having so much fun watching you all stumble your way through it?” Daphne quipped mischievously. “You know, my little sister’s going with Draco Malfoy. They’ve been engaged since they were five or something disgusting.”

“Aren’t you lot related to the Malfoys?” Sally-Anne asked. Sally-Anne was Muggle-born and thus the tendency of pureblood families to inbreed so often was more foreign to her. Rhiannon had grown a little more cynical – in a small society such as theirs, all the ‘pureblood’ families were somewhat interrelated, but apparently marrying one’s cousins was preferable to marrying non-magical people, Merlin forbid. Rhiannon was rather glad that her mother had been Muggle-born – the Black family tree was more of a family wreath, or perhaps a family argument, and she’d said as much to Sirius when he’d shown her.

Daphne rolled her eyes and mimed vomiting. “Cousins or something, but that’s never stopped us,” she replied with a self-deprecating snicker. “In complete fairness the nonmagical nobility are just as bad, but there’s more of them so it sorta spreads out a bit.”

“Alright, that’s it – I’m only going to marry a Muggle, or another Muggle-born,” Sally-Anne decided with a disgusted grimace. “You purebloods are ridiculous.”

“T-t-t-tell me about it,” Rhiannon agreed wryly. “Sirius showed me the family wreath, ‘s stuck up with an unbreakable stickin’ charm, apparently I was related t’ him even before he adopted me ‘n Dudley. Purebloods, honestly.”

“Good thing Hermione’s Muggle-born then,” Nina quipped mischievously, and this time it was Rhiannon’s turn to chase her friend down the hall flailing at her with a borrowed handbag, red in the face and spluttering indignantly. Nina was much taller, and though she had a slight twist to her spine and usually preferred not to run lest it start to ache, she was a lot less affected by it than Rhiannon was by the full moon right now, so there was no chance Rhiannon would actually catch her, and eventually she was forced to slow down and lean heavily on the wall for support as her knees shrieked their protests.

“We’re just! Dating!” Rhiannon called after Nina as the redhead outpaced her down the hall. “D-d-d-d-d-dod-dodo-dammit, d-d-don’t rush things! You’ll scare ‘Mione off!”

“Who says we’re rushing?” Parvati, one of Hermione’s roommates in Slytherin house, asked innocently. “You might not be thinkin’ of that yet, but who’s to say Hermione isn’t? She’s not one to do things by halves.”

Much as it discomforted her, Rhiannon had a sneaking suspicion that Parvati was right about Hermione, who did things with her whole being or not at all. But Rhiannon had only recently begun to hope for a future again, only just begun to consider a future beyond the Triwizard Tournament. Anything else seemed premature, and too much like pushing her luck. She wanted that future more than words could tell, but to truly imagine it and reach for it – she felt as if that would only push it firmly out of reach. There was no guarantee she would live out the war that she knew to be coming, and a good chance she would not... no, she couldn’t think of a future beyond that. Not yet. It would break her heart to imagine it fully and lose it.

Luckily, the girls reached the Great Hall shortly after the grisly death of their cheerful conversation, and Rhiannon was shaken from her grim musing by the lights and colour of the decorated hall. Perhaps fire was too fresh in everyone’s memories for torches to have been appropriate, and someone had coaxed hundreds of fairies; tiny, prideful, insectlike things that they were, into the hall instead so that the hall might be lit by the globes of pale light that they conjured as easy as breathing. The light was paler, constant rather than flickering, and as they left the hallway and stepped fully into the Great Hall itself Rhiannon felt the tension she always carried in the torchlight finally melt from her thin frame, leaving her giddy and lightheaded in its wake.

“Rhiannon!”

Hermione’s voice rang clearly over the chatter and Rhiannon could not help the gasp of astonishment that escaped her lips at the sight of her. Hermione was dressed differently to most others in the room, wearing loose, dark brown calf-length trousers under a deep amber thigh-length tunic shirt patterned at the hem and neck in a fashion similar to pieces of art that Rhiannon had admired in the Ndiaye-Grangers’ family home. And as far as Rhiannon was concerned, Hermione looked as if she belonged in those pieces of art herself.

Rhiannon hardly noticed that she had broken into a run across the hall, but her knees certainly told her about it as she skidded to a halt. She could hardly think through the pain, and then as it relented her thoughts were stolen away for another reason entirely as Hermione bent down and pulled her into a gentle kiss.

“You know, I never realised just how many terrible sounds kissing makes when I could see the act,” Viktor grumbled. His complaint was good-natured, but Hermione and Rhiannon sprang apart as if they had struck an electric fence.

Someone snickered, and when Rhiannon’s head cleared she realised it was Sorcha Cho, wearing a deep navy gown that contrasted well with the pink stripes in her short hair. Her arm was linked with Cedric’s, evidently they were attending together. “You’re an international Quidditch star, surely you’ve had plenty of cause to make some of these terrible noises yourself?” Sorcha quipped mischievously. “I for one am glad they finally stopped the whole will-they-won’t-they nonsense even if they’re a bit insufferably mushy now, it’s been going on for years.”

“For what it is worth, I have never enjoyed kissing, or – the word, dating,” Viktor replied stiffly, with rather the air of an offended cat about him. “I do not think of people that way. Miss Niniane is delightful, and very beautiful as I recall, but we are friends,” he added, waving a hand in Hermione and Rhiannon’s direction.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione replied with a wince. “We’ll keep any kissing far away from you.”

Viktor shook his head hastily. “No, no, it is not that – I was merely teasing. It is the thought of doing such things myself that I find uncomfortable. Perhaps there is something wrong with me,” he added, sounding a little melancholy at the thought.

Rhiannon shook her head hurriedly, her heart twinging at the despondent tone in her friend’s voice, but before she could step in and reassure him, Nina spoke up, having made her way over to the group of Champions. “All due respect, but people used to think there was something wrong with gay people, just like that. Some still do. I thought that about myself for a while ‘cos I knew I liked boys way before I knew I wasn’t one myself. Hell, we were jus’ talkin’ about a friend of ours like you on our way here. It’s not that common I guess, but it’s not abnormal either, an’ I hate seein’ my friends feel bad about themselves.” she told him firmly.

Nina’s loyalty to her friends had never been in question, but Rhiannon knew perfectly well that her friend had nursed a terrible crush on Viktor Krum for most likely longer than she and Rhiannon had been friends, and so Rhiannon was most impressed with her friend’s maturity in defending him so quickly. It couldn’t be fun to learn that your feelings were unrequited, regardless of the reason for them – just as it was deeply miserable to think that there was something wrong with you, something causing pain to others around you. Perhaps they were good friends for eachother in that way, Rhiannon mused – Nina was perfectly positioned, and equipped with an unusually leveller head about such things than most teenagers, to reassure Viktor that her unrequited feelings were not his fault or his responsibility.

“You, Miss Ninya, are the very best friend,” Viktor replied, soundly distinctly choked up. “This Tournament is a terrible mess of a thing, but I am very glad it gave me the opportunity to meet you.”

“You deserve better friends, then,” Nina replied frankly. That set the rest of them off laughing, Viktor included, and before long their little circle of Champions was completed by the arrival of Fleur, escorted by none other than Esther Lilley. They made a striking pair, Fleur’s gown a shimmering honey-gold that matched her curious eyes while Esther’s was a deep violet, accented by gold beads at the end of each one of the myriad thin braids that kept her curly black hair under tight control.

“I thought you were straight,” Cedric greeted Esther with a raised eyebrow. “That’ll teach me to leave the thinking to those better qualified, I suppose. You look fantastic together.”

Esther grinned, her expression every bit as wry as Cedric’s. “In complete fairness, so did I,” she replied good-naturedly.

“Si- my da, did say that veela have a way of forcing people to acknowledge their own interests,” Rhiannon offered.

Fleur snorted. “Well if you humans were not so repressed,” she countered with a crooked grin and a wink to Rhiannon at the distinction of humans. “It is not as if my kind can make anyone feel anything they are not already feeling, contrary to popular opinion. There’s no forcing going on.”

Esther shrugged. “You’re not wrong,” she replied dryly. “But, in all fairness, I’d been questioning for some time – over the last couple of years Hogwarts has become a lot more accepting of queer students, but it wasn’t that way at all when I started. Until Fleur asked me to the dance, I don’t think I’d really even considered the option of going with a girl, I didn’t think it was allowed.”

Rhiannon grimaced. Dumbledore might not have forbidden same-gender dancing partners, but he certainly wouldn’t have been so welcoming, while now... well, she’d heard rumours that the Headmaster was attending the ball with Professor Sprout as her partner, it was hard to get more welcoming than that. “W-w-w-well, I’m – Cedric’s right, y’ do look nice together, I’m jus’ happy you’re safe t’ be happy too,” she stammered shyly. Esther was Head Girl and informally in charge of day to day student business in Hufflepuff House, Rhiannon admired her but rarely had cause to speak to her directly.

Esther cocked her head, suddenly quite serious. “You do realise you’re the one who made it safe, don’t you? I mean, I know there’s been queer students here as long as there’s been students, I think Ellery Lyons might’ve been my first crush... but you’re the Girl Who Lived, you’ve been everyone’s hero since the war ended. And you’re queer. I’m sure the nonmagical world isn’t perfect either, but the wizarding one... well, it’s pretty archaic, and you, you showed up and insisted it do better and people are actually listening to you.”

Rhiannon flushed and looked away, shuffling her feet in her embarrassment. Of course she was aware – she’d had the same thoughts herself. But it seemed a little self-absorbed to acknowledge that, or at least openly. “I’m just – just, glad I’m not the only one out. It kinda felt like it, at first,” she replied haltingly.

Thankfully Rhiannon was spared further embarrassment by the bright, clear tones of what sounded like a crystal bell ringing out across the hall. The musicians on the far side of the hall had been shuffling around and tuning their instruments, thankfully behind a silencing wall, but now they had fallen still. The bell must have been for the champions, to warn them that the dance was about to begin. They had rehearsed a quadrille, perfect for four champions and their partners, and Rhiannon smiled brightly at Hermione as the taller girl took her hand and all four couples arranged themselves into a diamond shape in the cleared floorspace.

Rhiannon didn’t consider herself much of a dancer most of the time, but she enjoyed this kind of dancing – it had rules and a structure to follow, she didn’t feel pressured to make things up, and she could relax into the rhythm of the dance.

Soon came the cue in the music that signalled the change of partners, and Rhiannon linked arms with Niniane for a moment before she was handed off to Viktor and Niniane joined Hermione. The strict pattern was working for Viktor too, every step rehearsed in advance so that his lack of sight was little problem. They exchanged brief conversation but the signal to change partners again came quickly and Rhiannon was back in front of Hermione. The dance carried on with a handful more partner changes, and then it was Hermione, Rhiannon, Viktor and Niniane’s turn to wait while Cedric, Sorcha, Fleur and Esther danced the same interchanging pattern.

After the champions’ display, the floor was opened up for the rest of the students and the champions decided to take a break. Four tables had been set aside from the larger rest area for their use, so they took advantage of the privacy that allowed to talk for a while.

“That must have ruffled some feathers,” Cedric commented wryly. “A partner-changing dance performed by the champions. Some might see that as a display of unity from us, when they want us to be rivals in this competition.”

Hermione grimaced. “They sold us this whole competition claiming it was for greater international unity between our schools, but they don’t seem to want that at all. The selection process alone causes rivalry, look what happened when Rhi got picked. ” she grumbled.

Everyone made a face at that – the way the school had become so divided in the wake of the champion selections was a sore point for all of them. Then Cedric slapped his hands on his knees and stood, holding out his hand for Sorcha to take as the orchestral strains of a waltz started up behind them. “It’s bullshit for sure. But let’s forget that, just for tonight – it’s a dance, let’s enjoy ourselves for once,” he suggested.

V iktor and Niniane, along with Fleur and Esther, both joined Cedric and Sorcha on the dance floor, leaving Rhiannon and Hermione alone for the first time since arriving at the ball. “Do you-” Hermione began to ask, cut off as Rhiannon said roughly the same thing at the same time. They both laughed, Rhiannon’s olive skin flushing under the iridescent fairy-light while Hermione’s eyes crinkled up at the corners, and tried again.

“Do you want to-” Rhiannon began, just as Hermione spoke once again.

“Should we dance?” Hermione asked. Realising they’d done it again, both girls giggled until Hermione took Rhiannon’s hands and pulled the shorter girl to her feet. “Cedric’s right – let’s just be normal for once, forget all this and just dance,”

“Until my knees give out and we have to remember I’m a werewolf again,” Rhiannon retorted quietly, flexing her knee until it stopped clicking before she followed Hermione onto the dance floor. The waltz had finished by now and the orchestra struck up a quick reel that didn’t agree with Rhiannon’s joints at all, so they kept to the edge of the floor and delighted in just spending time together, regardless of how badly they were dancing.

Rhiannon noted other couples dancing together as they passed eachother on the floor – Dudley and Ginny looked incredible together, both wearing tuxedoes in complementing colours – Dudley’s was white with gold edges, Ginny’s black with green; Parvati and Matei looked giddily happy together, and Faye and Kellah seemed to be enjoying the ball together just as much platonically as any other romantic couples were. Everywhere she looked, her friends’ happy faces shone back at her.

“You with me, Rhi?” Hermione asked, disturbing Rhiannon from her reverie just as she noticed Minerva dancing with Professor Sprout – evidently the rumour had had some degree of truth to it.

“Y-y-yeah, just,” Rhiannon stammered lamely, overcome by a sudden wave of weariness as she realised she’d been on her feet for an hour or more.

“Tired, of course – I should’ve been paying better attention,” Hermione filled in quickly, and as the music faded to a close they slunk out of the ballroom. There were a handful of couples snogging in various nooks outside the Great Hall and through the Entrance Hall, so to get some peace and quiet they snuck outside to the courtyard and settled down on a bench that sat against the wall on the walkway that ran right around the courtyard, sheltered from the light snowfall by a roof while the centre of the courtyard was open to the sky. Sheltered or not it was still freezing outside at night in late December, but Hermione liked the cold for short periods of time and as a werewolf Rhiannon hardly felt it, so it was a good place to rest and regather their energy for the rest of the dance.

R hiannon perched on Hermione’s lap so as to share her excess body heat with the comparatively much colder human, and for a while they were lost in kissing and touching and teasing eachother as teenagers do. It could have been hours or only a handful of moments, but eventually they were interrupted by the soft scuff of shoes on stone and an awkward cough as someone entered the courtyard.

Rhiannon was shocked back to reality, suddenly painfully aware of the stirring beneath her dress and she yelped as she scrabbled away, crossing her legs tightly as she sat back down on the side of the bench. “ Uh – sorry, I’ll find somewhere else-” the newcomer stammered, clearly mortified by the interruption.

Rhiannon straightened her glasses and peered across the courtyard, eventually recognising none other than Luna, fair hair glowing as he was lit from behind by the torchlight of the hallway. He had re-sewn Nina’s maroon dress robes into an old-fashioned tuxedo, the lacing neatly removed and sewn onto the collar and cuffs of the black shirt he wore underneath. Paired with the black shirt and maroon jacket he wore a mid-length grey-violet skirt and tall heeled boots laced up the fronts, and a few violet stripes were dyed in his flaxen hair . Glowing as he was, lit by both fire and moonlight, Rhiannon thought for a reckless moment that he was one of the most beautiful people she had ever seen and immediately felt guilty at the thought.

R hiannon was tired of feeling guilty, and tired of feeling torn. There were still two more Triwizard tasks, either of which could very well kill her, and she refused to spend whatever time she had left on this planet feeling twisted up inside for the sake of her own attraction. She knew others who had more than one partner. And while there was no guarantee either Hermione or Luna would agree to such an arrangement... she’d never know if she didn’t ask. And if either were the sort to reject her entirely for simply asking, she would never feel comfortable or safe in a relationship with them anyway.

“Hey, Luna – it’s alright, d’you – um, gimme a minute, but d-d-d-d-d’you want to join us after that? I just, I need t’ – talk to Hermione, for a sec’n’,” Rhiannon stammered.

Luna nodded silently and leaned against the wall of the courtyard a few metres away from Rhiannon and Hermione’s bench, allowing them just enough space for privacy.

“’mione, I, um – I know we just got t’gether, but I – um... part of why it took me so long to ask is, I had feelings for someone else. Have, feelings, p-p-p-p-p-present t-t-tense,” Rhiannon murmured, twisting her ring and looking down at her shoes anxiously as she tried to put words to the feelings she had tried for so long to untangle. “And it, it d-d-d-doesn’t mean I don’t like you, fully and completely, it’s like – like I feel that, for more than one person at once, an’ every time I see them I feel like I’m letting you and him down simultaneously.”

“And that person is Luna,” Hermione replied quietly. Her tone was even, giving nothing away – but that wasn’t unusual for Hermione and Rhiannon tried not to read into it too much as she nodded a wordless agreement.

S uddenly, Hermione laughed and Rhiannon froze, startled before she looked up and met her girlfriend’s eyes for a brief moment and found only genuine good humour in them. “Sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just – I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you the same thing!” she replied, mirthful tears welling up in her eyes and glinting in the moonlight. “ I felt like I was a bad person or something, having feelings for Luna as well as you, but – well, other people date more than one person at once, don’t they? I mean, we know Angelina, Alicia and Katie but they can’t be the only one s.”

R hiannon couldn’t help it, a laugh bubbled up in her throat and then she and Hermione both were cackling helplessly in the freezing cold while Luna looked on, evidently bewildered. “Er, sorry Luna,” Hermione apologised quickly and beckoned him over. “Do you wanna, or me?” she asked Rhiannon.

“’f’n’ I try, it’ll t-t-t-t-t-take all night,” Rhiannon stuttered and finished with a wry smile.

L una fidgeted on the end of the bench. “Why do I feel like you’re planning some kind of prank? It feels like you’re planning a prank,” he grumbled, fiddling with his lapel in a vain attempt to hide his nerves.

“If you want pranks, ask Ginny, last I heard they were planning to dump frogspawn soap in the Prefects’ bath for New Year’s,” Hermione replied drily. “No, it’s just – damnit, I’m not sure how to put it. Uh. Bluntly it is. Bluntly, I like you, and Rhiannon does too. Which you probably know, ‘cos you’re not stupid and we’re not exactly subtle, it’s just...”

“I’m really, sorry – for not talking to you both to begin with!” Rhiannon burst out, wringing her hands at her sides. “I jus-s-s-s- I just, got all in my head about it, and I know we know other people like this but it took a bit to make the connection between them and my feelings and I’m sorry if I made you feel left out or snubbed at all.”

Luna blinked, sudden tears welling up iridescent behind the coloured lenses of their spectacles. “ Thank-you for the apology. I did feel left out – but I’m used to that. I’m a wallflower. Even Neville... well, I know he didn’t mean it that way and I’m very happy that he’s happy now he’s finally asked Dean out, but, well... I feel like the second choice at best, most of the time, and I don’t know how to fit in with any of your friends except Neville so I’m just sort of, bouncing around on the outside. ”

R hiannon’s heart twisted in her chest. The worst thing was that she had known Luna felt that way, isolated and distant from others his own age. It had always been part of their friendship, and Rhiannon had always gone out of her way to make space for Luna at group events, always set aside time for just the two of them – until she had started dating Hermione. Luna had been a source of feelings that complicated her relationship with Hermione, and rather than address them, she had simply avoided that source – and that wasn’t fair. “ I’m – I’m really sorry. I knew that and I still got in my head about things, and that must’ve hurt you. But I don’t want t’, keep , hurting you, or hiding from feelings just because they’re complicated... I’d, like to be with you. If that’s okay, if – if everyone’s okay with that,” she rambled.

Hermione nodded immediately, but Luna was a little more cautious, and he pursed his violet-painted lips anxiously. “I like you – I like you both , really, and I want t’ say yes, but – I don’t want to feel like a third wheel in my own relationship, like I’m the second choice again . Because to be clear, I like Hermione too, and hypothetically speaking I’m open to the possibility, I just – want to cover it instead of sitting with my feelings until I’m pushed out and we all end up hating eachother, because you did choose her first, and it feels a little like this is only coming up because she agreed to it – I don’t mean that to be jealous, exactly, I just... want you to choose me for my own sake, ” Luna replied carefully.

Rhiannon mulled over her feelings, tapping her painted nails against eachother with a faint clacking sound. She couldn’t rely on Hermione to speak for her, she’d made this mess and she had to clear it up. “ Y-y-y-y-u-yo-you’re right, I did. And that wasn’ all fair, to either of you. I buried my feelings instead ’f dealin’ with ‘em, and... and I don’t really have a way for explaining why I chose her over you without sounding terrible, which is why it took for ages because it felt terrible and wrong and – you were easy to overlook and that’s on me and I’m, I can’t – I can’t explain how sorry I am, I can only... show you that, if – if you’re okay with it. To be clear this isn’t, I dunno, adding you into my relationship with Hermione exactly, it’s, my own relationship with you equal to that one, and you with her if that’s what you want, and things can just... overlap, sort of. You were only a second choice ‘cos I was being an idiot and trying to take the easy way out not ‘cos you ever deserved that, and I don’t want to hurt you like that, ever again . Because I do want to be with you, for your own sake, you’re one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. ”

L una cleared his throat, cutting off any further rambling, and Rhiannon felt ferns of ice begin to close over her heart before the faintest of smiles caught at the corner of Luna’s mouth. “You know, another person might slap you for saying some of those things,” he commented drily. “But I’m not going to get hung up on wording – I hear what you’re trying to say. And if you’re aware of where you, to be blunt, fucked up, and you’re consciously avoiding that moving forward, then... yes. I’d like to be with you, Rhiannon. And you, Hermione – perhaps in time, I don’t know.”

H ermione smiled a little awkwardly and shook her head, but the expression seemed to be more one of confusion than denial. “ I’d like that. And I’m sorry, for being part of pushing you out like that – I’ve been that person before too and it hurts . I’m, new at all this, but... you’re easy to talk to and I’d like to see where it goes. I’m sorry for not forcing the issue sooner, I should’ve . ”

L una smiled so widely his glasses got pushed up over his eyebrows, and wiggled in his seat in a rare expression of genuine, irrepressible joy. “ I feel like kissing you. Should we kiss? I’d like to. How do we do this with three people?” he rambled, fidgeting awkwardly on the end of the bench.

Hermione grinned mischievously and held a hand out, then pulled Luna out of his seat and into her lap. “I don’t know, but I think we have enough time to figure it out,” she whispered, and pulled Luna into a kiss. It was a strange feeling, watching one’s partner kiss somebody else, but it was not jealousy that stirred in Rhiannon’s belly. Still, Luna’s question had merit – how did one manage such an act with three people? But Hermione seemed to have an answer for that too, and reached out a hand to pull Rhiannon closer. When Luna pulled away for a moment Hermione turned her head and pulled Rhiannon into a kiss of their own, and then Rhiannon was kissing Luna, and back and forth it went until finally the two humans were too cold to stay outdoors any longer.

“Shall we go and give Rita Skeeter something to talk about?” Luna suggested, standing and straightening his collar, skirt and hair as he did so.

Rhiannon checked her appearance in her little pocket mirror, and fixed her hair and lipstick with a couple of spells. “ I d-d-d-don’t see why not. I’m not gonna scurry around hiding this in the closet, there’s no room left in there with Nyx ,” she quipped back, gesturing between the three of them to indicate that by this she meant their relationship.

But Professor, when will we ever need to know this? Rhiannon’s classmates had complained when they learned the double-partnered dance modifications. Traditionally they would have been used at dances with uneven sex ratios – far more men than women or vice versa – but here, the steps were of use to Rhiannon, Luna and Hermione so that they could all dance together, and though she could feel eyes leaving scorch trails across her skin as they re-entered the Great Hall, Rhiannon hardly cared, supported on either side by Luna and Hermione. Give them something to talk about indeed, she thought fiercely. What did it matter what Rita would inevitably write, so long as they were happy?

Chapter Text

Rhiannon had expected a scathing Prophet article to be published the day after the Yule Ball. When one was not forthcoming, she expected it the next day, and the next – but eventually Christmas finally arrived and there was no article, and Rhiannon had to put her anxieties aside in favour of culturally mandated holiday excitement.

Remus had stayed at the castle for the Yule Ball, and by the time it had come and gone he was feeling too unwell to Floo home, so Rhiannon and Dudley stayed in the castle with him, Sirius made plans to arrive on Christmas Eve and bring Xenophilius with him and Hermione, Luna and the Weasleys changed their Christmas plans to stay in the castle. Neville left as he always did – he always spent his Christmases with his parents, who he was very cautious and protective about, but Rhiannon gathered they had been hurt somehow in the past war and would never completely recover, and that they wouldn’t do well with a sudden routine change like their son no longer coming to visit.

Aside from the Weasleys, Luna and Hermione, virtually all the Hogwarts students had gone home, leaving the castle populated only by the exchange students and a scant handful of leftover Hogwarts students and faculty. Boxing Day night would be the first full moon transformation so Rhiannon and Dudley both felt pretty terrible by the time Christmas Day dawned, snowing and bitterly cold with the weather forecast to get only worse throughout the day. That thoroughly ruled out Christmas Quidditch. So Rhiannon, Dudley, Luna, Hermione, Ginny and the twins all piled into Remus’ cosy Head of Department suites to open presents and share body heat.

This year, Rhiannon was more excited about the gifts she had got for others than whatever her own presents might have inside. Dudley’s had arrived just in time – after Rhiannon had put a heavily-edited version of their story in the Quibbler they had hit their donation goal pretty quickly, but it had taken a solid month and a half just to make the thing. Technically it wasn’t a total surprise gift, Dudley had had to be involved every step of the way to get the measurements right, but the whole family and their friends were so excited about the damn thing it didn’t matter that they all knew what was in the giant box with the green wrapping.

Dudley knew, and though he’d professed that he could hardly wait to ditch his cane, when they all settled in Remus’ sitting room he changed his tune completely and instead decided to make them all wait, retrieving a gift for Ginny instead. This one Rhiannon recognised too, wrapped up in purple paper identical to one she had made for Luna, and she bounced in her chair in excitement as Ginny took the lead from their boyfriend and unwrapped the package as slowly as possible, cackling at everyone’s exasperated groans, until finally a round green badge about the size of a child’s palm tumbled out of the tissue paper into their lap.

“I know I was bein’ a dork about it, but really, uh – what is it?” Ginny asked, tilting the badge back and forth. Closer inspection revealed a pin on the back – it was all very sturdily made and clearly designed to be attached to clothing, although Rhiannon already knew that – she’d helped Dudley make the thing in Flitwick’s Enchanting club.

“It’s a badge! If you’re feeling like a guy, you just, twist this knob on the back, and – yep, there,” Dudley explained, demonstrating with the badge as he did so. The badge, previously a blank green, turned red and white lettering appeared on it. “So it’s got he/him pronouns and if you feel like going by a different name any time I can reconfigure it to make space for that on top too. There’s also – yep, blue’s for she/her and I left it green for they/them, I can add different ones if you ever feel like changing it up,” Dudley finished, leaning forward in his seat as he took in Ginny’s reaction to the gift that, though he wouldn’t tell anyone, had taken months of very careful handiwork with an engraving tool and more than a little help from Rhiannon and her wand, as Dudley hadn’t quite got the hang of harnessing ambient magic yet. “Do you – d’you like it?”

Ginny let out an excited little squeak and narrowly avoiding impaling Dudley with the spike of the badge as they pulled him into a tight hug. “I love it – no wonder you hid all your work when I asked about what you were doing in Enchanting!” they replied.

Rhiannon fiddled with her hair and got up to retrieve a similar purple-wrapped package from where she had tucked it at the back of the little gift pile beside the fireplace. “And, uh – I guess the surprise’s dead, but – we worked on them together. Merry Yule, Luna,” she added awkwardly, and shoved the package at her girlfriend.

Luna didn’t seem to mind the lack of a surprise, and carefully unwrapped the package to reveal a palm-sized badge identical to Ginny’s. She turned the knob until the badge turned blue, and pinned it to her chest with a shaky grin. “Making Yule gifts, it’s... well, you know we’re not exactly wealthy, so when my mother was alive we’d all make eachother something every year, and now that she’s not... we haven’t done that, not in a while. When we made Neville’s tablet together, that was kind of like it, and this is a bit like it again – it all sort of, adds up and, I’m rambling now.”

Xenophilius, his gangly frame folded up in a small armchair in the corner, looked distinctly teary-eyed at the memory, and Luna got up and flopped down on her father for a comforting hug. There wasn’t a dry eye left in the room and they all took several moments to compose themselves, after which Dudley evidently decided he’d made his family wait long enough and reached out to make grabby hands at the box. “The force!” he spluttered, reaching for humour as he evidently realised he’d only got half a plan here – without active magic, he had no way of summoning that box across the room to him.

“Accio box,” Remus supplied, sounding a little like he had the flu – but it was just full moon symptoms, he always felt them worse than the teenagers did.

The box scooted across the room and shuddered to a stop just before it bumped into Dudley’s feet. Dudley grumbled at the intervention but wasn’t so churlish as to turn down help with something he couldn’t do himself, and quickly set about tearing into the box that they all knew contained his new wheelchair.

Soon the machine was revealed. Made of gleaming wood, it was certainly different in design to a modern self-propelled wheelchair – the wheels themselves were designed to fold up when in flight and there was a knob on one side, but as Dudley quickly discovered its purpose was to camouflage the chair for use in the nonmagical world rather than steering. “I feel really stupid but uh... how do I steer this thing?” Dudley asked, wincing as he shifted position in the seat – the cushioning was fitted specifically so as to best avoid pressure that might cause pain and sores, but some level of pain was Dudley’s usual especially around the full moons.

“If there’s no controls... what I read when we ordered the thing was that it’s based somewhat on a broomstick, so it should be thought and motion directed. Just go easy – I think I remember something about a sensitivity switch, maybe best to keep wheels on the ground until we get out into the hallways,” Sirius suggested. “And I know there’s a harness, don’t let me catch you off the ground without it.”

“I won’t,” Dudley replied quickly, before he muttered under his breath, “let you catch me.”

“DUDLEY Benjamin Black, my ears are as good as yours,” Sirius retorted swiftly, with rather the air of a bristle-hackled dog about him. Dudley cackled, he had only been trying to rile his adoptive father anyway, and after Sirius had beaned Dudley in the face with a small pillow they carried on with the remainder of the gifts.

Rhiannon had been most excited for the enchanted badges and wheelchair, she wasn’t particularly concerned about her own gifts. Still, Mrs Weasley’s Russian fudge, caramel toffee and gingerbread biscuits were as tasty as ever even if she was only allowed a very small amount at a time, and she would never turn down books. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about this year’s Weasley sweater, purple with a very familiar black dragon on the front, but decided pride was probably the reaction her friend’s mother had been looking for – she had outsmarted a dragon and lived to tell the tale after all, a little pride didn’t seem unwarranted. But Sirius took the prize for the most surprising gift – a folding knife with a handle of what felt like old antler that hummed with magic so strong Rhiannon’s fingertips buzzed before she even unwrapped it. The blade and handle both were etched with runes, and Sirius explained that it was enchanted to pick locks and untie knots easily. Dudley was given a similar one, though a little longer and heavier, apparently once belonging to Sirius’ younger brother.

“No offense, Da, but... what am I g-g-gonn-n-n-na do with a knife?” Rhiannon asked, tilting it back and forth before she shrugged and slipped it into her pocket. Maybe she should get a sheath or pocket for it.

Sirius shrugged. “Dunno. It’s a knife. Get into trouble... er, provided that trouble does not involve Hogwarts desks or anybody else’s body unless they are actively attacking you,” he replied, the hasty afterthought added as Remus glared at him from his nest of blankets in the corner of the couch. “There should be a pouch in the wrapping somewhere if you look... unless I put it in a different package, which is also possible. Magically sealed leather, it’ll fit around your wrist and adjust itself to fit so you can get the thing to hand whenever you need it... I dunno, you never know when you’re gonna want a lockpick, and with the two Triwizard tasks still ahead... well, I figured it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that you’d need to undo rope or something quickly.”

Rhiannon decided to shelve the reply that she could use alohomora or the severing charm to pick locks and get out of ropes respectively – Sirius had a point, she still had two Triwizard tasks to beat and it wasn’t unlikely that she might drop her wand or be unable to cast spells verbally for some reason. Besides, Dudley couldn’t cast spells yet even if she’d had some ideas about how he might be able to do so in future. No point reminding him of that.

Christmas soon passed, a quieter day than usual with the bad weather and sick werewolves, but they all enjoyed themselves well enough. Cedric, having left the day after the Yule Ball, arrived at about five that evening in a towering storm of ill-temper that had not quite evaporated by dinnertime and to Rhiannon’s consternation Hagrid did not seem to be present.

Still, between his roles as Groundskeeper, Gamekeeper and Professor of Care of Magical Creatures, Hagrid was a busy man and perhaps one of his creatures was keeping him away for the evening.

But when the moon waxed full the next evening and Rhiannon, Dudley, Remus and the werefolk amongst the exchange students gathered to transform and roam the highlands, Hagrid was once again nowhere to be found and while the lights were on inside his cabin, there was only stale scent outside his door. Something was definitely wrong, but there wasn’t much Rhiannon could do about it in her four-legged shape and she had to tamp down her anxiety ‘til the next day.

The next day, the proverbial storm broke. For an empty castle, it certainly managed to fill up with whispers pretty quickly and Rhiannon was thoroughly irritated by the time she got down to the breakfast table. “F-f-f-f-f-fffff- f-f-fuck sake, what’s the matter with everyone?” Rhiannon complained as she filled up her plate.

Silently Cedric slid a newspaper across the table to her, and Rhiannon lost all interest in eating as she took in the title.

CHEATING, CROSSBREEDS AND CHRISTMAS CONTROVERSY – Rita Skeeter reports.

For a brief terrifying moment Rhiannon thought that her secret had been uncovered, but as she flicked through the article it made only brief mention of her new relationship with Luna as well as Hermione – that would be the cheating, she remarked drily to herself. Scathing, but certainly nothing to merit the whispers and sideways glances. She frowned, and carried on reading – a brief mention of Headmaster McGonagall having taken Professor Sprout to the ball but nothing actually bad to say about them aside from some generally insulting quibbling about the sexualities of those involved...

Rhiannon knocked her cutlery from the table with a clatter as she slammed the paper down on the table and shoved back her chair, fizzing with anger as she finally reached the section of the article that merited the insulting Crossbreeds designation. This author has uncovered one of Hogwarts’ many scandalous secrets – Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys, Grounds and Game and ‘Professor’ of Care of Magical Creatures, is half-giant, son of none other than the giantess Fridwulfa, whose name readers may recognise from the record of You-Know-Who’s inhuman followers from the past war.

“Inhuman – the bitch!” Rhiannon spat, leaning heavily on her cane as she stormed out of the room, muttering angrily to herself as she went. “Af-f-f-f- After what they put m- put Remus through last year!”

“Rhi, I know you want to murder Rita Skeeter and trust me the feeling’s mutual, but it’d be really bad publicity,” Nina interjected, having rushed from the room without Rhiannon’s noticing.

Rhiannon whirled on her friend, too angry for humour. “Bad publicity?” she growled. “It’s happening all over again, l-l-l-l-l-like it doesn’t even matter what my D-d-d-d-da went through last year? Ev-v-v-v-v-eryone rallied around a werewolf, suddenly a half-giant’s so much different? Wiz-z-z-z-zards have short memories and I’m tired.”

Nina backed up quickly, her hands raised in a placating gesture. “Hey, don’t bite my face off! He’s my favourite teacher!” she protested.
Rhiannon grumbled under her breath, not really paying Nina much attention as they made their way up to the Hufflepuff common room, where Rhiannon bundled up in her outdoor clothes and stowed a vial of Wolfsbane in her pocket. Thus equipped, they both turned around and set off up through the castle and then out across the snowy hillside to Hagrid’s cabin.

“Rhi, slow down,” Nina puffed, struggling to keep up despite much longer legs. “I’m not pretending it’s fair or right, but Giants... they are different from werewolves-”

“What, evil?” Rhiannon retorted angrily.

“So help me, Black, stop putting words in my mouth!” Nina snapped, finally roused to anger. “Slow the fuck down and listen before you march in and upset Hagrid even more!”

That got through to Rhiannon and she forced herself to slow down to a pace Nina could match. “Nope. Slower. We are gonna sit down and revise a brief history of Giant-wizard relations before you go anywhere, got it?” Nina told her firmly, and finally Rhiannon slowed to a halt. Nina prodded her firmly in the middle of the chest and Rhiannon toppled backwards, landing with a remarkably bad-tempered huff in the nearby snowdrift, where she lay stiff on her back until Nina poked her and she sat up with a growl.

“Good. Sit up and shut up.” Nina admonished her friend. “Look, wizards and Giants don’t get on. Last... three? Three-ish, anyway, three-ish centuries, wizards rounded them all up and forced them to live on patches of land they allocated across the world. Not fair, not right, and not enough room for humans let alone Giants. They don’t do well all crowded, and a lot of them die over the next three hundred years, so the ones that are left have lost a lot of their skills, language and culture and they are, yes, before you say anything, justifiably upset with wizards by the time we get to the... the whenever the war started, it was. Then You-Know-Who takes over. And he had a lot of human followers especially at the start, all of the Greyback-type werewolves but not the assimilationists or were-pride types... But he wanted a real army, the break castles down kinda army. So he goes to the giants, and promises them freedom if they’ll fight for him. Those that didn’t fight for him were killed by those that did. Every single one of those giants that fought, their faces were everywhere, I mean they’re big like twenty, twenty-five feet tall, can’t miss ‘em, papers everywhere. Every single face, pictures. Every attack they were in, written down, where they were before the war, their families, every single little thing... you get the idea. Once that Skeeter woman got wind Hagrid’s mum was a giant, it would’ve been pretty simple to identify which one through all the bits of paper and pictures and shit, wizards love their paper. There’s... maybe fifteen left in Britain. You-Know-Who, he got so many killed and they got so many wizards killed... pretty much all everyone remembers when you get the word Giant is the war, and digging up his mum’s war record... that ties to people whose parents, siblings, kids, died in the attacks, recent stuff.”

“You had b-b-b-b-better not be about to tell me there’s wrongs on both sides,” Rhiannon growled.

Nina shook her head hastily. “Much as I’d be okay with being a werewolf, I’d prefer not to get bitten today... I’d need a Writ of Transmutation first so my mum didn’t murder you right after. No, more like injustices done by wizards, stacked on top of more injustices, piled up over centuries and culminating in a very recent and very bloody mess that hurt everybody involved except You-Know-Who and his merry band of fucks who actually needed to get dead, and now all the wizards can remember is their wizard friends that got killed and not how the giants joined the war to do the killing in the first place and how maybe You-Know-Who didn’t come outta thin air.”

Rhiannon spluttered and burst out laughing at the inappropriate hilarity of Nina’s style of narration. “I’m sorry, but... merry, b-b-b-band of... pfffhahahahaa- Nina, did you memorise one of Hermione’s talks and add swears in? B-b-b-ecause you sound just like her, except I’ve never known her t' say ‘fuck’ that much,” she choked out, before lapsing into silence as she processed the rest of Nina’s remarkably succinct rundown. It all came back to wizards enacting bullshit upon everybody else and somehow still having the nerve to be the wounded party at the end of it all, and she said as much to Nina.

“Maybe. Possibly. Might’ve been a textbook too, I honestly don’t remember half of what I just said,” Nina retorted frankly. “I just wanted to, explain, why everyone’s in such a mess over the news and I guess the answer was rattling around in there somewhere. ‘sides, aren’t you usually the one that eats textbooks?”

“That was one time!” Rhiannon protested, which set Nina to cackling helplessly.

“I thought that was a pi-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Rhiannon retorted, but the genuine anger had faded out of her tone and she lapsed into laughter alongside her friend before growing serious once again as the actual content of Nina’s spiel played over in her head.

“S-s-s-s-so basically it’s not even about Hagrid at all, it doesn’t matter that he’s two steps off being a war hero, it’s all about human wizard feelings about his mother?” Rhiannon exclaimed, throwing up her hands in exasperation when she finally managed to get her head around it.

Nina shrugged. “Yeah, that’s about the shape of it. Look, Hagrid’s basically been a model citizen – all the sympathy since they found he was wrongfully convicted of somethin’ You-Know-Who did as a teenager is a big mark in his favour. He’s been employed at the most proper wizard-y place outside of the Ministry ever since his expulsion from school, passed his magic exams first time despite years of being banned from carrying a wand, student marks in his class have picked up a solid... off the top of my head says fifty percent but I could be way off base, yeah like a big pickup in class signups, attendance and exam marks since Kettleburn retired, single-handedly started animal therapy programs at St Mungo’sand he volunteers for the Ministry Search and Rescue patrol when he somehow has spare time. But the second wizards can’t pretend he’s just a genetic blip or the product of a magic accident anymore, it doesn’t matter how good his record is. Suddenly he’s not a devoted teacher anymore, he’s at best a reckless idjit or at worst a terrifying danger to students, just for introducing students to animals that are a little more interesting than a Flobberworm... sure we all kinda hate the Skrewts, but they’re scientifically kinda int’resting, and everything aside from them has been great. It doesn’t matter what he does, it’s all gonna get twisted to fit their picture of the Ravening Evil Half-Giant Lurking In Your Child’s School, what would ‘mione call it – confirmation something?” Nina explained.

“Confirmation bias,” Rhiannon supplied helpfully. Then her scowl darkened. “Which is still bullshit, by the way. I mean- sure, I hear you, and I t-t-thi-thi-think I v-v-v-va-vaguely understand the pathway of bullshit logic the bullshit-mongerers have bullshitted their way along... but that doesn’t make it any less-”

“Bullshit?” Nina suggested innocently. “You’re one to talk about adding swear words as punctuation.

“Well I-I-I-I-I-I’m angry and I d-d-d-d-don’t know how else to ex-x-x-press that except with s-s-s-swearing,” Rhiannon grumbled, punching the snow with her gloved fists for emphasis.

“Completely fair, and I’m surprised more students don’t walk out of Binns’ class yelling in frustration. Maybe because he hides all the infuriating details in his droning,” Nina replied mildly. “Now, do you think you’ve worked that temper out enough to be able to go see Hagrid without losing it on him because it’s not his fault and you’re there to support him not vent?”

“I hate when you condescend,” Rhiannon growled, as Nina bounced to her feet and held out her hands to pull Rhiannon up along with her.

“Yeah, you do, but you hate it more when I’m right,” Nina retorted easily, pulling Rhiannon to her feet. Tempers thus thoroughly vented, they set off again down the snowy hill towards Hagrid’s cabin.Just as it had been the night before, the scent outside was stale – even moreso by now, Hagrid had evidently not left his house for days. Maybe he’d been sent an advance copy of the article – it did seem like the sort of spiteful thing Rita would do.

“Hey Hagrid, open up!” Nina yelled, hammering on the door. There was a rustling inside and a muffled growl of what sounded somewhat like rack off.

“Hagrid, we d-d-d-on’t think you’re a monster, open the d-d-damn door!” Rhiannon tried. The rustling from inside drew nearer and she yanked Nina back just as the door swung open and Hagrid peered out, looking very disheveled.

“I don’ mean to be blunt an’ all, but it don’ really matter what you two think. Story’s out now, go away an’ let me pack in peace,” Hagrid told them both firmly. Rhiannon started to reply but Hagrid retracted his head and slammed the door closed again.

Well, pleading wasn’t going to work, Rhiannon mused irritably. She turned the Wolfsbane bottle over in her pocket, and suddenly an idea formed. It was hours until sundown, but it had been Hagrid’s advice to begin with that she carry wolfsbane whenever she went out on full moon days, just in case she got caught out. “Nina, I have an idea, but are you alright sitting here with me if I’ve got no wolfsbane?” she whispered – Hagrid had always had sharp ears, but giants had hearing as good as any werewolf – he’d probably been consciously downplaying just how sharp his had been for years and she didn’t want him to overhear before she had a chance to act.

“I mean, it’s hours ‘til moonrise,” Nina replied with a shrug.

“I need a formal yes or no, in case something actually does happen and they search my memory,” Rhiannon answered tersely.

“Then yes, I don’t care – because it’s hours before you turn anyway, and last time you actually did turn without Wolfsbane near me you were a giant puppy who just wanted to sleep in the sun,” Nina retorted. “You won’t magically infect me by breathing the same air.”

“Technically I could be guilty of endangerment for being in your presence knowing I’m going to turn later and don’t have wolfsbane on me,” Rhiannon replied with a shrug – she’d read most of the bullshit legislation in her free time. “And it is technically possible to transmit it that way, saliva droplet transmission, it’s just not likely.”

“So we just... avoid you whenever you’re sick?” Nina asked curiously.

Rhiannon shrugged. “I generally go to Madam Pomfrey anyway. I can’t catch most human diseases so if I seem to have a cold it could be something really weird... but yeah, I’m supposed to avoid human contact while I’m sick for just that reason. Anyway,” she carried on, retrieving the potion from her pocket. She considered it, grimacing at the memory of the taste, and unstoppered the bottle, then cocked her arm back and hucked it into the treeline. There was a distant tch-ink kind of sound, she guessed it had probably smashed against a tree.

“HAGRID!” Rhiannon bellowed, stomping up to the door. “I know you heard me chuck the Wolfs-s-s-s-s-b-b-bane and so help me, I will-l-l- I w- I w- I will s-s-ssit her on this doorstep until I turn and th-th-th-th-then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your damn house down!”

Nina stared at Rhiannon and then burst out laughing, spluttering and wheezing as she tried to restrain the sound. “Your idea of a scary werewolf is... the Three Little Pigs?” she gasped, tears of mirth rolling down her cheeks.

“W-w-well it-t-t-t- it- it seemed like a good idea at the time, HAGRID, OPEN UP!” Rhiannon replied diffidently before turning her attention back to the door.

This time it was Nina’s turn to pull Rhiannon back as movement sounded from inside and Hagrid peered out again. It didn’t look as if he was planning on slamming the door this time, and he opened it a little wider so they could talk openly. “Of all the stubborn, irresponsible werewolves I’ve met – fine, it’s bloody cold out so come in already,” Hagrid admonished them, finishing with a sigh. He stepped out of the way of the door and gestured for them to come inside.

Nina and Rhiannon filed inside and sat down in two of the three armchairs remaining in front of the hearth. Since Hagrid had received his wand license he had been reconfiguring the internal dimensions of his hut to make more space, it had been about the size of a regular small house in here last time Rhiannon had visited, but it looked as if Hagrid had undone all his dimensional enchantments to leave the space bare for whoever might use it next.

“So, if I can’t get rid o’ yeh, what d’you want?” Hagrid asked them both, his tone brisk and heavy with ill-temper.

“For you to come back and teach, obviously,” Nina replied promptly. “Obviously classes are still out, but – who’d be able to take over the curriculum at this time of year?”

Hagrid grunted and settled himself down in the third armchair, scowling at the fire as he did so. “Everyone hates th’ Skrewts anyway,” he replied gloomily. “Minerva’s bin havin’ enough trouble with the old traditional types complainin’ about ‘er changes, keepin’ me on would be a real hit to ‘er reputation – it could get her fired, an’ damage any future options for a progressive Headmaster to get things done.”

“We all hate the Skrewts,” Rhiannon agreed with feeling. “But... uh, I dunno – we could feed them to the Acromantula, that’d b-b-be scientifically int’resting, and the Ac-c-c-c-crom-mantula would probably love the challenge. Also it’d be kinda cath-th-th-th-artic to see those scorchy fuckers die.”

Hagrid snorted, sounding genuinely amused despite his terrible mood. “Not a stupid idea, but I’ve got to keep a couple – the champion folks want ‘em,” he replied. “Uh – shouldn’a said that. Forget that.”

Rhiannon shuddered. “I will – I’ll never be able to forget that, until this whole thing is over. But – in all s-s-s-seriousness, this happened to Remus last year and we dealt w-w-with it. Why do you have to leave? Maybe Dudley and I should come out, tell everyone just how much you’ve helped.”

Hagrid shook his head hurriedly. “No! No, no, no, bad idea – then it turns into Vicious Giant Trafficks Werewolves Into School, they’d imply I’d done things to you – no, that would just involve you in this mess of wilfully narrow-minded people rather than improving the mess at all... and speaking of werewolves, Rhiannon Black, what the hell were you thinking throwing out your Wolfsbane? That stuff doesn’t grow on trees!”

Rhiannon winced – she’d been allowed to forget how expensive the potion was as she’d never had a problem paying for it. “I guess I was-s-s-s just t-t-tryin’ to a- I was b-b-bettin’ that you wouldn’ just leave a w-werewolf out there on a full moon day knowin’ they had no potion,” she replied with a shrug.

Hagrid grumbled under his breath. “Well, you were right... but it was still reckless, an’ wasteful.”

Rhiannon sighed. “I won’t, I won’t... but you’re a good t-t-teacher, Hagrid, it’d be a waste of that too if you lef-f-f-ft. Not to mention we’d miss you.”

“Please, Hagrid, at least talk t’ Headmaster McGonagall about options before you just leave,” Nina begged him.

Hagrid shook his head firmly. “I’m not puttin’ Minerva in that position. Better t’ jus’ leave, rather’n put her job at risk too.”

Rhiannon groaned. “Hagrid – she’s at risk jus’ f’r havin’ employed you, nobody’s gonna believe she didn’ know, you’re like ten feet tall. If you st-st-st-ss-s-s-ssss-stick around, at least there’s people t’ weather the shitstorm along with you and then it’s easier on ev’ryone, including you,” she wheedled.

Hagrid screwed up his face in a wry frown, but as the silence stretched longer and longer it seemed he had no way of refuting that. “Well... I s’pose I mighta catastrophised just a bit, yeh did get a whole lot o’ support when the same thing happened t’ Remus...” he pondered out loud. “It’s jus’, public sent’ment about Giants, ‘s even worse’n about werewolves and I panicked, yeh know? That Skeeter woman, she sent me the article days b’fore she even published it, warned me to get out before parents showed up with pitchforks.”

Nina snorted derisively. “And that’s Rita Skeeter’s perspective, which should tell you it’s built on a foundation o’ complete shit and best ignored,” she retorted. “You’re a great teacher, I dunno if I’d want to keep going with the subject under anyone else.”

Hagrid’s shoulders slumped. “I s’pose... fine. I’ll stick around and talk t’ Minerva. But if she doesn’ want the trouble, I’m not fightin’ it,” he replied wearily.

“This-s-s- this ‘s the second outing of a teacher in less ‘n six months,” Rhiannon began carefully. “If – I get ‘f you don’t wanna make a big deal or anythin’, but... we’d like to do somethin’ about it, run a support piece maybe – but only if you agree. It just... seems like there’s a big problem with n-n-n-nonhumans not havin’ a right t’ privacy, and we want to do something b’cause this isn’t fair.”

Hagrid held up his hands, already shaking his head. “Okay, slow down, one thing at a time,” he responded quickly. “I appreciate the support, but – rein the horse in a bit, okay?”

“Sorry,” Rhiannon mumbled awkwardly. “I just – there are people that support you, lots of ‘em, and I wanted to... make sure you heard what they’ve got t’ say as well as the nasty stuff.”

Hagrid got up from his chair and filled up a kettle with water, then set it to boiling on the stovetop while he rummaged in a half-packed crate for supplies. Neither Rhiannon or Nina had asked for tea, but Rhiannon knew Hagrid was probably trying to keep busy so as to hide his embarrassment over their show of support.

Once the tea was ready – ginger by the smell of it, which Rhiannon appreciated for the calming effect it had on her nausea, a usual side effect of her full moon pain – Hagrid passed out the cups and sat back down in his armchair with a sigh. “I appreciate th’ support, an’ I’ll think about it – really. I’ve just bin lyin’ about it so long it’s a big adjustment to think of tellin’ the whole world, you know?” he said, by way of a reply to Rhiannon’s earlier suggestion.

“You wouldn’t have t’ say anything,” Nina replied quickly. “The general idea is to show that there’s people on your side, who don’t care that there’s a half-giant teacher at Hogwarts and are upset about how you’re bein’ treated. It’s sad, but people’re more likely to listen to a human about it than you.”

Hagrid grunted. “Not untrue. Jus’ not sure I’m comfortable with bein’ the face o’ some Big Thing, you know? Like I’m not ready for leadin’ some big campaign for nonhuman rights with this, I support you all with that and I’d get behind yeh with yer own campaigns I’m just... not really up for bein’ right at the front o’ one, that’s not me.”

Rhiannon made a face – of course she understood. “I get it – really I do, y’ know I do. And we don’ have to make a b-b-b-big thing about it, we jus’... don’t want t’ take this lyin’ down, you’ve liv-v-v-v- lived here, ever since you got expelled... it’s not right Rita could take that away all ‘t once, and if you want t’ fight that, we’re with you.”

Hagrid’s dark eyes looked distinctly misty and he looked away, wiping his eyes as he took a deep draught of his tea. “I ‘preciate it,” he mumbled, and paused, audibly casting around for something else to focus on. “You two had better finish your tea an’ head back up t’ the castle though,” he said finally. “Can’t stay down ‘ere with me all day, not now yeh chucked yer potion into the trees, I’d feel better if yeh’d pick one up sooner rather’n later.”

Rhiannon frowned for a moment – usually Hagrid kept spare Wolfsbane under the sink around full moons, but she supposed he must have sent it back to the castle when he decided to resign as it was technically the property of the school. “Hagrid, if-f-f-f – if anyone could put a leash on a werewolf, it’d be you,” she replied with a self-deprecating snort. “It’s bloody cold out, c-c-c-can-can’t imagine I’d do anythin’ more’n curl up in front o’ your fire anyway.”

“You could come with us and talk to Minerva about maybe not resigning,” Nina suggested, ever hopeful, and Hagrid threw up his hands in defeat.

“Fine! Never met a stubborner bunch o’ teenagers... I suppose I’d better plan some lessons for the New Year now, if I’m plannin’ on stayin’,” he grumbled mock-resentfully.

Nina snorted. “How best to execute a blast-ended skrewt?” she suggested drily.

“If they’re in the Tournament, that could c-c-c-c-ount ‘s unfair extra practice,” Rhiannon chimed in, grinning.

“I told yeh to forget about that!” Hagrid protested, flushing red at the mention of his least popular creatures. “I could do a thing on dragons if yeh’d be alrigh’ with the reminder, though – lotta people interested in ‘em after that first task.”

Rhiannon was at first unenthused with the idea – the first task had been terrifying and downright traumatic, and she’d rather not think about it ever again. But realistically, that wasn’t healthy or helpful, and it made sense to do a lesson focusing on dragons at a time when more people were thinking about them – make use of something already in their sphere of attention and all that. “I mean, I d-d-don’ love it, jus’... don’ ask me t’ talk about it in class or anythin’. And you should play up jus’ how fuckin’ incredible it was that Viktor survived that blast at all, ‘cos I’ve heard some idiots suggestin’ he must not have done the charm right or somethin’.”

Hagrid spluttered, the embarrassed flush draining from his face as his expression turned horrified instead. “They wha’ now?” he inquired disbelievingly. “He survived the hottest flame of any dragon breed at point blank range, and they’re focusin’ on the fact that he got a bit injured? Boy shoulda’ bin melted, if he hadn’t cast that damn charm in time – and then he killed the thing wandlessly! Not that I’m happy a creature died, it’s awful that it w’s ever in that position, but objectively tha’ fight should be taught as the exemplary standard for Defence, really an incredible feat o’ magical power.”

Nina nodded sympathetically – she’d heard the spiel before and even given similar ones herself. “You’re right, ‘course. But, exhibit A, this is why you’re a great teacher,” she replied, her ever-sunny smile turning a little mischievous as Hagrid groaned, outmaneuvered. “No, really – you pay attention t’ what people are thinkin’ about and if they have the wrong idea you’re quick t’ correct them, especially if it’s hurtin’ someone. Please stick around.”\

“There’s no need t’ butter me up, I already agreed t’ talk to Minerva,” Hagrid muttered under his breath, but his face flushed red under his beard and Rhiannon suspected he was probably touched by Nina’s earnest affection.

They all finished their tea in short order and then set off back up the hill to the castle with Fang bouncing in their wake, the usually dozy dog uncharacteristically sprightly in the brisk, snow-laden air. Rhiannon and Nina both wanted to accompany Hagrid to his meeting with the Headmaster to back him up, but Hagrid was insistent that he was a grown adult who could handle his own problems and didn’t Rhiannon need to go and get another vial of Wolfsbane anyway?

There was no way Rhiannon could go all the way down to the Hufflepuff dorms and common room to retrieve her potion and then get all the way back to the Headmaster’s office, so she had to give up on that one and went to relax in the common room instead. Hermione and Luna showed up later on, and Rhiannon was perfectly content to do virtually nothing for the rest of the day so long as they could spend that time together, but eventually night fell and it was time to make their way out of the castle to transform. Dudley was happier than ever, far more energetic and alert now that he had the use of a wheelchair and he hovered along beside Ginny as they led the way outside, followed by Rhiannon, Luna and Hermione with Nina bringing up the rear.

The six of them parted from the little column of werefolk from the visiting schools and met McGonagall in a side courtyard, and Rhiannon and Dudley split off from their friends so they could transform in private. When they were returned, Rhiannon was surprised to see that Hagrid had joined Minerva and her tail began to wag delightedly as she trotted up to him.

Hagrid laughed and ruffled the fur of her hackles gently as she shoved her nose into his knee. “Oh, you got me – I couldn’t leave, where else could I hang out with werewolves every month?” he joked in a self-deprecating sort of way.

“More accurately, he attempted to offer his resignation and I firmly denied it,” Minerva chimed in with a wry smile. “Now, let’s get a move on, we’re wasting moonlight,” she added, and raised her wand. With a high-pitched shriek of magic that had the werewolves and Hagrid covering their ears in pain she transformed into a sleek swirl-patterned silver tabby cat and with her black-tipped tail held high she trotted across the courtyard and then turned back to look at them as if to say well come on then.

“I should really learn that,” Hagrid grumbled as they all followed Minerva at a brisk pace. “I think I’d make a good bear, meself.”

Rhiannon snorted and pressed her side into Luna’s leg, a low rumble rising in her chest at the tickly sensation of Hermione’s fingers gently scratching the scar tissue on the back of her head. “It’s not a bad idea,” Luna commented thoughtfully, exchanging a glance with Hermione. “I suppose I’d be a snow leopard like my Patronus. It’d be nice to be able to keep up with you more easily, I can tell you have to hold back when we play tag.”

Hermione hummed quietly, it sounded as if she liked the idea too. Having never cast a full Patronus herself, she had no idea what animal she might turn into if she became an Animagus and she, Luna, Ginny and Nina chatted happily about the idea as they walked. The future was a long way from certain, Rhiannon could not entirely push aside her anxieties about the oncoming Tournament, but as always the full moon was a welcome break from regular life stress and by the time the sun rose in the morning Rhiannon was exhausted in the best way possible – worn out, but ready to chase down Hagrid’s persecutors as soon as she’d had a proper nap. Rita Skeeter would come to regret crossing a werewolf.

Chapter Text

When the full moon subsided and classes resumed again, Rhiannon decided she could put off the prospect of the second task no longer and brought the issue up with her fellow champions when they met in a disused Defence classroomafter classes one afternoon.

“They told us the eggs we took were a clue, didn’t they?” Cedric suggested. “Have any of you taken a closer look?”

Rhiannon shook her head – the thing was heavy and so deeply imbued with magic that it made her hands itch, so she had buried it at the bottom of her clothes-chest and not looked at it since.

“I managed to knock it open at one point and it screamed at me,” Viktor interjected grumpily. “I have not been able to open it since, though, it seems to have a hidden catch.”

Fleur reached into her backpack and drew out her own golden egg. “I have been carrying mine around in case something occurred to me. So far, nothing,” she replied, setting the intricate metal device on the table where all four of them could poke and peer at it.

The egg-shaped device had a slightly flattened base so it sat upright on the table without wobbling, and a cluster of leaves centered around a nub at the top made the whole thing bear a resemblance to a large fruit rather than an egg, though on closer inspection the nub was actually the delicately constructed face of an owl.

As the four of them inspected the device and tipped it back and forth curiously, somebody knocked the unseen catch and the device fell open, its round surface splitting into petal-like quarters to reveal a pale crystal of the same shape as the egg itself only smaller, and vibrating as it emitted a high-pitched shriek. Fleur and Rhiannon reeled away, covering their ears and groaning in pain while Cedric fumbled with the caterwauling device and eventually got it closed.

“If you twist the owl-knob at the top, those three leaves turn out of place,which unlocks the petals so they can fall open and let that racket out,” Cedric explained, once the rest of them had recovered from the shock and the din.

“Well, I suppose knowing how t’ unlock the thing is a step forward,” Rhiannon growled, eyeing the device distrustfully. “But, I d-d-dunno ‘bout you, I’m not gettin’ anythin’ useful out of ear-splittin’ shrieking.”

Fleur frowned, the edges of her lips turning down as she studied the now-silent device. “I feel like we need to listen more to get a better idea of what we’re looking for, let alone find it,” she admitted ruefully.

Rhiannon drew her wand and altered the jinxes on her ears in preparation. This clue was intended for a human to be able to solve it, so she modified the jinx to filter out higher frequencies as well as dull the volume in general, and noticed Fleur doing the same out of the corner of her eye. Cedric turned the knob and immediately covered his ears, scowling intently at the egg as it shrieked again, but after a couple of minutes he closed it again so they could talk.

“Anything?” Cedric asked loudly, evidently a little deafened by the sound.

“I think the sound must be the clue – they have just, encrypted it somehow,” Viktor mused, running his fingers over the surface of the device.

That sparked a memory deep in Rhiannon’s mind, and she turned it over in her head a few times. That kind of high-pitched cacophony... she’d heard it before, but it had been the connection to Viktor specifically that had brought the memory to surface. She’d heard it for the first time not long ago... the very day Durmstrang, and thus Viktor, had arrived at the Castle...

“Merfolk!” Rhiannon burst out, rapidly putting the pieces together in her head. “Th-th-th-they c-c-can speak a sort’ve bridge language, remember Speaker Talori when your ship arrived – but I remember that sound before they started speaking, I th-think that might be what Mérish sounds like above water!”

Cedric slapped his palm on the table and swore loudly while the others made sounds of dawning understanding. “I speak... six or so languages, but none of them are Mérish,” Viktor informed them bluntly.

“I c’n barely speak English,” Rhiannon interjected jokingly.

Fleur snickered, but eventually shook her head. “French, Hungarian and English are the extent of my skills, though I can broadly understand a little Spanish and Italian,” she replied.

They all looked at Cedric, who shrugged. “I can, sort of. I’m just more familiar with how it sounds underwater,” he told them, looking embarrassed. “Well – I’m not very good, but I can understand it well enough to make a translation charm work so we can all understand it.”

“Can you cast it now, then?” Rhiannon asked him, eager to pry the egg’s secrets out so she knew what to expect of the rapidly-approaching second task.

Cedric grimaced. “That would be a no. There’s some sort of magical restriction on it – true Mérish just doesn’t carry right outside of water, it’s why they use the bridge language. The different medium messes up all kinds of things, the translation spell wouldn’t be able to understand it.”

Fleur shuddered, and feathers popped out on her neck and shoulders and bristled with discomfort. “I am not a sea hawk. My feathers are not waterproof, and I am a poor swimmer,” she replied with a grimace. “I do not relish the idea of going swimming to translate a shrieking egg machine.”

Cedric beamed. “Then it’s a good thing we don’t have to,” he announced cheerfully. “The Prefects’ Bathroom has a massive tub – more like a small pool – and we can go and figure the clue out in there. It’s not always private but if I book a time on the door I can get us a couple of hours... call it a pool party or something, we deserve the break.”

Rhiannon suddenly realised that she didn’t own a swimming costume, and told Fleur as much with a wince. “There is a Hogsmeade weekend scheduled for this weekend, is there not? I will take you and find something. We can find you new bras at the same time,” Fleur replied, adding the last as a whispered afterthought.

With that in mind, the four of them decided to meet up again in the evening of the next Sundayshortly after last class, and Rhiannon and Fleur made plans to visit Hogsmeade together that weekend. Rhiannon had been planning to meet Luna and Hermione for a date at the Three Broomsticks, so she made a mental note to tell them that it would need to be a little later than they had initially agreed. And with those agreements made, they headed off to meet their respective friend groups for dinner.

As agreed, Rhiannon and Fleur met up on Saturday to shop for swimming costumes and underwear. Finding something that wouldn’t set off Rhiannon’s bodily dysphoria was a little difficult, but they eventually found something that worked – black with an iridescent shimmer, high-necked and long-sleeved with a skirt just long enough that Rhiannon wasn’t constantly worrying about the shape of her body. Shopping for bras was a lot more pleasant – the training bras Rhiannon’s dads had bought didn’t quite fit right anymore, and it felt like a little rite of passage to get her first bra with actual fitted cups.

After that Rhiannon’s date with Luna and Hermione went well enough, though the tavern had a number of patrons who had read the disparaging comments in Rita’s article and took it upon themselves to make sure the three teenagers knew that their behaviour was seen and disapproved of. But in all honesty, Rhiannon was used to that attitude by now and didn’t care too much, so she was still in good spirits by the time they had to return to the castle.

On Sunday, Rhiannon found herself pacing and constantly aware that the second task was barely six weeks away. Her friends lured her outside for an informal game of Quidditch over the training yard to pass the time, much to the relief of her cat who was even less patient with the pacing than their roommates, but by the time the sun began to sink Rhiannon was itchy and foul-tempered with nervous impatience as she limped upstairs to meet her peers outside the Prefects’ Bathroom, conscious of the heavy mechanical egg wrapped up in her swimming costume in her backpack as she went.

“You look like someone kicked your cat,” Cedric told Rhiannon frankly when she reached the bathroom. Rhiannon blinked and looked around, briefly wondering if Callie had followed her upstairs before she realised he hadn’t meant it literally and flushed, feeling a little silly.

“Oh, you meant... N-non- no, I just... we’ve got six weeks an’ no idea what we’re up against, no idea what to practice,” Rhiannon replied hastily, twisting her ring back and forth as she fought the urge to bite her nails.Then asoft meep sounded from Rhiannon’s backpack and she twitched, startled. On inspection she found her cat curled around the metal egg, and she just had to stop and stare before she burst out laughing, and by the time she got her breath back under control Fleur and Viktor had arrived on the landing outside the bathroom.

“I feel like you might want to ditch the cat so we can lock the bathroom,” Cedric suggested with a raised eyebrow. “That way we can start making the most productive use of the six weeks we’ve got left... although I have to admit, it bothered me all Christmas that we were basically sitting around doing nothing as February got closer and closer.”

Rhiannon tried to extricate Calypso from her backpack, but the tortoiseshell cat flattened her ears and swiped at her with sheathed claws and she had to give up, setting the pack back on her shoulders with a sigh. “Jus’ lock her in with us and if she whines, so be it... she’s sneaked into the shower while I’m usin’ it b’fore, maybe she’ll like it,” she replied with a shrug. It was something of a testament to how heavy the metal egg device was that her by now rather large cat had managed to stow away in the pack with it without being noticed until now, Rhiannon reflected with a scowl as Cedric gave the door the password – ‘pine fresh’ – and then locked it once all four of them had entered the bathroom.

Cedric hadn’t been exaggerating, the bath really was more like a pool and not even a particularly small one. It looked large enough for all ten prefects, both head students and five Quidditch captains to use the bath together without any crowding, let alone the four Champions. Rhiannon hid in a toilet cubicle to change, an action that required a certain amount of negotiating with Callie to retrieve her swimming costume, but eventually she was changed and she crept out of the cubicle and over to the pool where the other three were already soaking in the water. She set the backpack down on the edge of the pool and slipped into the water, then briefly tried to get the egg out of the backpack before giving up.

“I think Callie owns it now,” Rhiannon told the others with a rueful grimace. There was a loud mraaaaaow from the backpack that she could only interpret as agreement of that statement, and her companions snorted with laughter.

“We have another around here somewhere,” Fleur replied with a shrug. “It would probably be best to check at least two to ensure they contain the same clue, we cannot assume they have given us a level playing field.”

“Th-that was my thought too,” Rhiannon agreed. “Maybe we check th’ others, and do mine last – maybe Callie will’ve given up by then.”

Viktor reached over, fumbled for a moment and then retrieved his own device, which he very carefully then passed to Cedric. Cedric placed the thing underwater and opened it without warning, but the shrieking was muffled underwater and a moment later he shut it off and surfaced, beaming. “Rhi was right – it’s definitely Mérish, I’ll work the translation charm but you’ll have to all hold your breath.

Viktor looked unbothered by the prospect but Fleur made a face and Rhiannon thought she could see the imprints of feathers on her friend’s cheeks, a sure sign she was uncomfortable. Still, they all needed to hear the clue so that as many perspectives as possible were available to solve it, and Fleur eventually acquiesced to the plan.

“Transferendum lingua,” Cedric incanted clearly, before he set his wand back on the side of the pool and with a nod to the others, dove underwater. The other three followed, and Cedric held his fingers up to count down from three. When he had a closed fist again, he undid the catch at the top of the egg device and let it fall open, and at once all of them were transfixed.

The difference between Mérish in air and in water was so pronounced, all four were physically stunned. Instead of shrieking, a beautiful melody radiated from the egg, and once they adjusted to the change they could pick up words, the same rhyme repeating over and over.

Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground,
And while you're searching ponder this;
We've taken what you'll sorely miss,
An hour long you'll have to look,
And to recover what we took,
But past an hour, the prospect's black,
Too late it's gone, it won't come back.

Soon Rhiannon ran out of air and surfaced, followed quickly by Fleur, then Viktor. The sound from below was cut off and then Cedric surfaced, spluttering a little from overexertion. “I don’t know about anybody else, but that sounds surprisingly straightforward,” Cedric announced grimly.

Fleur grimaced and shuddered, feathers erupting fully on her face, then on her neck and shoulders. “I would agree... it is not so much a puzzle as a plain warning. Seek us where our voices sound – the rhyme was originally delivered in Mérish, which only carries underwater.”

“Which could only mean the next task is going to be underwater,” Rhiannon agreed with a groan. “And th-th-th-that’d be bad enough, b-b-b-but I think the rhyme’s language is another clue too. There’s-s-s-s-s – only one place you’re gonna find Merfolk on Hogwarts grounds.”

Cedric swore profusely, his expression turning dark. “I think you’re right – there’s lakes and rivers in the Forest, but Merfolk... the only place deep enough is Loch Dubh. The Black Lake.”

And as the four of them realised what they were facing, another realisation struck Rhiannon as hard as any Bludger, and she let out an involuntary wail of panic.

“I don’t know how to swim!”

_____________________________________________________________________

There was nowhere on the Hogwarts grounds more terrifying, more mysterious than Loch Dubh. It was so deep that a magical freshwater squid of colossal proportions lurked in the depths somewhere, and students were strictly forbidden from even dipping their toes in without teacher supervision, and from what Rhiannon remembered, the merfolk who lived within were none too friendly to interloping wizards – not without good reason of course, but that made for a barrier nonetheless.

And as she had said, Rhiannon had no idea how to swim. As a child, she had been sent to Mrs Figg’s house whenever the family went somewhere fun like the pool or the beach, and swimming lessons had never been a priority at primary school – that was the responsibility of parents. Sure, since becoming a werewolf she’d paddled in the edge of the lake sometimes – but she couldn’t turn in front of everyone, her wolf form would be no use swimming underwater, and even if neither of those things were true, the task was scheduled during the day – the moon would not rise for another four or five hours after the task was completed.
Now that the champions knew the task involved the lake, they had a number of things to work for in their training regimen, and the first of those was learning to swim. Cedric was a passable swimmer, but Viktor was excellent, sailing being a popular pastime at Durmstrang and swimming being a requirement for anyone wanting to sail. So Viktor took charge of teaching the girls to swim, while all four scoured the library in their free time for ideas on how to breathe underwater. Underwater meant underwater, it was unlikely to just be a surface race – the rhyme stated an hour to look, they needed to figure out how to alter their natural abilities for that time.

The immediate obvious solution was Gillyweed, a relatively rare magical herb but native to magic-imbued Scottish lochs, including Loch Dubh. But after the incident in second year with Polyjuice potion – a story that had the three older champions in stitches – Rhiannon had a strong suspicion that Gillyweed would simply not work at best, at worst it could trigger another partial transformation and get her stuck in that halfway state. And she didn’t have a spare month to put up with puppy brain.

For the same reason, Transfiguration – either full or partial – was rejected as well. Viktor decided to pursue research on the topic, curious about perhaps a transfiguration that might enable greater navigation capabilities without sight, but Cedric was happy with his Gillyweed plan and Transfiguration wouldn’t work for either of the girls.

Eventually they came across a dazzlingly simple solution – the Bubble-Head Charm. It didn’t normally last an hour, but if they combined it with something to scrape oxygen from the water the way a fish’s gills did while expelling carbon dioxide from the bubble... it could work, with some modification.

Swimming lessons and spell practice took up the next six weeks. Even the January full moon period was taken up by training – Rhiannon used the time to scope out the lake shore and familiarise herself with the terrain, wading as deep into the water as she could. Luna’s fourteenth birthday arrived two weeks before the task did and they celebrated with a picnic for just the three of them. And once that had passed, they were approaching the task in earnest.

On the twenty-third of February, a Saturday, Rhiannon was traipsing down to the lake for a last swimming lesson before the task when a surprising character pulled her aside before she could get out of the castle. Professor Moody had a sort of furtive air about him, totally unsuited to the gruff, broad-shouldered figure and he looked around for any onlookers before he pulled her into what looked like an old Transfiguration classroom.

“Potter,” Professor Moody greeted her, immediately prickling Rhiannon’s temper.

“Black,” she corrected him irritably.

“Black, then, whatever,” Moody replied sharply. “Have you got a strategy for the task? I assume you know they’re sending you into the Lake.”

“Yes, I-” Rhiannon began, but the Potions Professor didn’t actually wait for her to say anything before he continued.

“Gillyweed. Ask that friend of yours where to get it, the one that doesn’t speak, it’ll work for an hour,” Professor Moody carried on.

Were she a wolf, Rhiannon’s hackles would be bristling with bad temper. She didn’t like the Professor’s manner at all, and she especially didn’t like being talked over. “Ac-ac-ac-ac-ac-actually,” she stammered, finally managing to get a word in edgeways. “I’ve g-g-g-og- I’ve got it sorted. And uh – isn’ it kinda cheatin’ for you t’ be givin’ me t-t-t-tips?”

It occurred to Rhiannon that it was odd Moody had made the suggestion at all. He knew she was a werewolf, and though he was the Potionsmaster, he had once been an auror – which meant that he had achieved top marks in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and should know that transformation magics and werewolves didn’t mix.

“Eh, cheating, cheating... this whole tournament is built on cheating, and not getting caught is an art of its’ own,” Moody replied cryptically. “And... well, good, I suppose. Glad you’ve got it sorted. You’ve a good head on your shoulders, Po- Black.”

And with that Professor Moody patted Rhiannon on the shoulder in a disconcerting sort of way and stumped off, leaving her with more questions than answers. She shook off her discomfort and headed off out of the castle again, determined to take every spare moment she had to prepare for tomorrow’s task. Forget Professor Moody, she had told the truth – she had a plan, and she was going to beat this just as she’d gotten past the dragon.

Chapter Text

The day of the second task dawned blustery and freezing, with heavy sleet beating against the castle walls, and Rhiannon woke to find a little bottle of Pepper-Up Potion sitting among her usual morning medication. She shivered, downed her medication and got dressed, then pocketed the potion, taking comfort from the warmth of the magic it radiated. Being a werewolf, Rhiannon had a higher body temperature than the average human and greater resistance to the cooler extremes of temperature – but Loch Dubh was frozen at the edges, and though she had become accustomed to the chill during Viktor’s swimming lessons, the potion would be a godsend.

Rhiannon sloped out of the dormitory and up the stairs to the common room. She was up early, most of her housemates were still asleep, but there was a small cluster of students huddled around the fireplace.

One of those was Cedric Diggory, and he shoved his armchair back to make space so that Rhiannon could join him. She was a little apprehensive – Cedric’s companions were the five other prefects of their house and Esther Lilley, a head student – but none of them seemed to mind as Rhiannon sat down on the floor beside Cedric’s chair. “Morning, Rhi,” Cedric greeted her with a wry expression. “You sleep at all?”

Wizards paid a little more attention to the movement of celestial bodies than nonmagical folk did, as the shifts influenced the strength and flow of their magic, so Cedric’s question had a second hidden meaning – how are you feeling with that full moon out there. Rhiannon grimaced and cracked her knuckles, provoking a wince from the older students. “Eh, no. Restless,” she replied wearily.

Cedric nodded – even without being a werewolf there was good reason to be restless, and that was a reason he shared. “Me too,” he agreed with a yawn. “Come to breakfast with us? I tried to go earlier but Pitts told me to fuck off, they’re probably ready by now.”

Mouna Demian, the other sixth-year prefect, raised an eyebrow and fiddled with the end of her Hufflepuff-yellow hijab. “Earlier? It’s early enough,” she commented reproachfully. “I feel like we should have to pay the elves if we go and bug them personally, more if it’s outside reasonable hours.”

Cedric flushed. “I put three Galleons in the kitchen jar,” he protested. Half the price of a wand, it was more than the elves would have seen in years – but still little more than a pittance, and they both knew it. S.P.E.A.R’s tip initiative was helping, but it wasn’t enough, and Rhiannon made a mental note of Mouna’s suggestion to pass on to Hermione at their next meeting. “And I apologised. Repeatedly. Now can we please go and get something to eat, I can’t have coffee on an empty stomach – and I need coffee to get through today,” Cedric added impatiently.

Rhiannon groaned wistfully – she had as bad a reaction to coffee as to chocolate, and normally that wasn’t such a burden but she’d barely slept and right now her stimulant intolerance felt like torture. “I could eat,” she agreed, trying not to sound too eager, but her stomach growled as fiercely as she ever could have and with a laugh, the prefects agreed that it was probably late enough that they could find breakfast and they shuffled out of the common room.

The delicious mingled smells of hearty breakfast food wafted through the castle, and Rhiannon had to hold herself back from sniffing the air with every step as they drew closer to the Great Hall. The sunlight filtering through the outer windows was thin and grey, and as they entered the hall itself the enchanted ceiling showed a sky that was much the same, heavy with clouds that warned of snow.

Remus waved a greeting from the faculty table at the front of the hall, looking decidedly worse for wear so close to the moon’s peak, and Rhiannon waved back before she, Cedric and the prefects found their way to a spot at the end of the Hufflepuff table. There were a handful of other students scattered around the hall, but overall the place was uncharacteristically quiet at this hour.

As they sat down at the table, Rhiannon realised all of a sudden that her stomach was in knots, and the smells of breakfast food that had been so appetising only minutes before now threatened to bring up bile in her throat. Cedric looked a little green himself, but he managed a wan smile and nudged Rhiannon’s fork closer to her. “We’ve got to last all day and through the lake, c’mon – you’ll need the fuel,” he said, sounding as if he were trying to convince himself as much as her.

Rhiannon groaned and rested her chin on the table, at eye level with her empty plate as if that would somehow make it less daunting. Rationally, she knew Cedric was right – and as a werewolf she had a faster metabolism than most humans, which meant no skipping meals. And she knew that her hunger would only add to her nausea if she tried to ignore it. But that didn’t make the prospect of eating any more enjoyable and she groaned in dismay as Cedric took her plate and filled it with eggs, hash browns, baked beans, sausages and bacon – all her usual favourites, and exactly the sort of filling fare she’d need to get through an hour in the frozen loch, and exactly the sort of thing liable to make her stomach rebel against her.

“Don’t wanna,” she protested, but a sideways look from Cedric told her that wasn’t going to fly.

“Me either,” Cedric replied frankly. “But if the dragon task taught us anything it’s that what we’re gonna be facing in a few hours will be deadly, we can’t afford to pass out in there.”

Rhiannon grimaced at the thought. After years of having been starved by the Dursleys she was pretty good at working through hunger, but she couldn’t afford that risk today – she couldn’t be a burden on the others, not any more than she already was. Begrudgingly she began to pick at her food, determined to eat all of it, and by the time she’d finished most of it the hall had filled with students. Some small good had come of the dragon challenge, she thought ruefully – the Hufflepuff students who had been cold to her at first now seemed to understand that this wasn’t something she’d have chosen and she smiled and nodded as most of her peers offered her a sheepishly friendly greeting in passing.

Soon, Rhiannon’s friends arrived, but to her consternation Ginny was alone, her brother nowhere in sight. “Everything okay?” she asked the stocky redhead, wondering if they were in a fight.

Ginny frowned and shrugged. “I think so? Honestly I was hoping you’d know more, he didn’t tell me anything – just didn’t come back to the common room last night,” they replied, fiddling with the green button pinned to the lapel of their cloak.

Sally-Anne, perched across the table beside Eloise and Tracey, frowned thoughtfully. “Neither did Nina,” she added, turning her gold pendant, shaped like a six-pointed star, over in her fingers as she considered the matter.

Rhiannon chewed her lip anxiously, her mind filling up with thoughts of the Petrifications in second year until Cedric shifted in his seat and set his plate aside, brows knitting together in consternation. “Actually, come to think of it... A runner came and fetched Sorcha yesterday while we were uh, studying, in the library,” he added.

A cold hand grasped Rhiannon’s guts and squeezed tightly, and the translated words of the Mérish rhyme played back in her head. While you're searching ponder this/We've taken what you'll sorely miss/An hour long you'll have to look/And to recover what we took/But past an hour, the prospect's black/Too late it's gone, it won't come back. Foolishly she had assumed that this meant another object retrieval task like the first. But now she began to think of another possibility, something much worse, and she cursed herself for being so naive.

“It-t-t-t- it’s the task,” Rhiannon burst out, stammering in the sudden rush of anger that flooded over her as she realised what was happening. “Th-th-th-th-th- fuckit- that’s wha’ they took, our friends an’ family – Dudley f’r me, Sorcha f’r you, I-i-i- I gues-s-s-s-s Nina for Viktor – they’ll’ve taken s-s-s-someone for Fleur too. We - we’re not finding things, we’re finding hostages.”

Cedric’s face cycled through a frightening rainbow of colours – first red, then purple, then a sickly greenish colour, until it all drained away and left him pale and shaking, diminished in his seat at the table. “Fleur’s family came to watch, they got in two days ago. She’s got a little sister. I’d bet anything the officials picked her,” he replied, his voice hoarse with rage.

In a grim, pragmatic sort of way, Rhiannon could understand why the tournament officials had taken their loved ones hostage. After the disaster of the first task that left only one of them unscathed, the officials must have been afraid the champions would band together and refuse to compete – and they couldn’t have a pesky thing like solidarity ruining their big international spectacle. Never mind that the Unbreakable Vow binding them into the tournament meant they couldn’t simply abandon the event... well, maybe the officials were worried that the champions would rather risk their own lives by their own choice than in the gladiatorial display of the tournament, and Rhiannon had to admit she’d considered it. Family, though – that had a way of reminding someone what they had to live for.

Now that they knew their families were at stake, there was no chance of rest or relaxation for the champions. Fleur arrived later that morning all feathers and fizzling anxious magic, confirming their suspicions that her sister had been taken hostage, and the four of them rattled around the castle at loose ends together, scaring off any younger student in their path with dark mutterings and crackling magic amplified by stress.

It was almost a relief when the castle clock struck noon and students flooded out of Hogwarts like water down a drain. Down, down, down to the lakeshore, Rhiannon and the other champions watched them go from the top of the hill. There would be another hour before the task started, time enough to make sure everyone had seats – time to hide the hostages in the loch itself, Rhiannon thought darkly.

“Surely they’ll be alright,” Cedric tried to reassure the other champions vainly as they stared down at the loch from the outskirts of the castle. “It’s all filmed and photographed, they wouldn’t get a twelve year-old girl killed in front of that much media.”

“Th-they almost got a f-f-f-ofourteen y’r-old killed, media or no,” Rhiannon replied tersely. She respected Cedric’s attempt to cheer them up, but wasn’t in any sort of mood for the attempt to work. “We can’t-t-t – can’t assume they’ve done anything t’ protect th’ hostages in case we fail. They might’ve, but f’r now – we have t’ take the rhyme at face value. We’ve an hour.”

Fleur nodded tersely. “They will have done something to protect the hostages for that hour, at least – my best guess would be some kind of suspended animation charm, and if my memory serves-”

“It’s the full moon and anything like that is g-g-g-gonna mess with Dudley,” Rhiannon interjected with a groan. “So we need a spare o’ Wolfsbane, assume it’s gonna be like that time I told you about wi’ the Polyjuice – or the Petrification, come t’ think ‘f it.”

“I feel like you two need to write a book,” Cedric drawled wryly. “About how not to werewolf. Just so nobody else has to break things quite the same way you have.”

Rhiannon snorted, amused despite herself. She liked the idea of such a project, and of getting to grow up to do it. “Ginny could illustrate it, their art’s brilliant,” she replied, but her heart twinged as she said so – Ginny made her think of Dudley, and right Dudley’s life was in danger. Then another thought occurred to her and she grabbed Cedric’s arm. “Ced, I’ve got a knife – Yule gift from my Dad. It’s enchanted, can pick locks and unknot ropes with it easy – if we’re rescuin’ hostages, we want it – an’ I doubt the lake floor’s clear either, probably weed forests everywhere, it seems sort’ve stupid to swim with no knife. But it’s back in the dormitory, can y’ help me get down there t’ fetch it?”

Viktor grunted in an affirmative sort of way. “It’s one of the first things they teach in diving classes – we don’t dive without a knife,” he agreed gruffly. “Many spells do not work correctly underwater, including the Severing Charm, and while we are planning to stick together I think it would be safest if we were all armed. We do not know what we will face down there and need to be able to free ourselves if we get split up and tangled.”

Cedric frowned. “I left my pocket knife at home and I’d assume that’s the sort of thing you weren’t allowed to bring on an international trip. I’ll help Rhi down to fetch hers, can you two get three sticks, say about the length of a forearm or a little shorter and as straight and sturdy as you can manage? I can Transfigure those into knives for us when I get back, or you can – I dunno if you know the charm is all, I wasn’t taught it at school.”

Viktor made a wry face. “I am very good at Transfiguration. I think I am quite capable of turning a stick into a diving knife even if I can’t see it,” he replied, his tone a little grumpy. “I am also better acquainted with the kind of knife you will need for this task.”

Cedric’s pale skin flushed red right to the tips of his ears and he ducked his head, fiddling with his robes as he re-ordered his thoughts. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m an idiot,” he responded after a few moments of contemplation.

Viktor grunted and waved a hand, indicating there was no real issue, and with that Cedric and Rhiannon set off into the castle and back to the Hufflepuff common room. The knife Sirius had given Rhiannon for Christmas was where she always kept it, under her pillow, though if she could she would have kept its sheath buckled flat against her forearm at all times. Come to think of it... “Celare,” Rhiannon muttered, and tapped her wand to the scarred leather knife-sheath as she tightened the buckle around her wrist. It shimmered, wobbled and vanished from view. She prodded at it experimentally, and frowned at the sensation – if she focused hard enough she could feel it there still, but the illusion was trying to convince her that there was nothing there. It would probably work on someone who hadn’t seen her work the charm, she mused thoughtfully as she packed her bathing costume and fins into her backpack.

“Hey Ced, can you test this for me?” Rhiannon asked, holding up her arm from where she sat perched on the end of the bed. “Just, grab my wrist.”

Cedric did so, his brows knitting together in confusion. “It’s a wrist. Kinda bony, kinda scarred – what am I testing exactly?” he replied.

Rhiannon grinned brightly and slipped her arm out of his grasp, then stood and stretched out her crackling knees. “Localised con-c-c-onc-concealment charm,” she explained quickly, taking Cedric’s arm and leaning on it heavily as they climbed the stairs again. “It’s the same kinda thing I use on my scars, I figured it wouldn’t be that hard to ad-d-d-d-d-da-da-adapt it t’ hide m’ knife. If I do a bit ‘f readin’, run a couple o’ tests, I could prob’ly figure out a rune to bind the spell to so it stays up while I’m asleep.”

Cedric’s muscles jumped and he made a soft disapproving sort of sound. “Not to get in the way of your budding magical brilliance or anything,” he began, his tone an equal mix of wry humour and caution, “but that doesn’t sound... Healthy, exactly. Whether you’re using it as a tool or a weapon, I dunno... you’re not fighting a war, you’re at school. You’ve got to be able to put it down sometimes.”

Rhiannon smiled, the expression crooked and weary, and she found her thoughts turning to Peter Pettigrew and the dream that had frightened her awake that hot summer night on the first of July, of fire and screams and smoke. Maybe Cedric was right, and she wasn’t a soldier. But something told her that someday soon she might have to become one, and that day was drawing nearer. Maybe her dream had been nonsense – she’d never been any good at Divination – but even if it was... Pettigrew had escaped, that was fact. And someone who did have a gift for Divination had said he intended to bring Voldemort back. Rhiannon had no faith in the Ministry to find him before he succeeded, so for now... for now she was a gladiator bound to a spectacle and if she survived that, it was only a matter of time before she had to fight the real war that was bearing down on them all.

“I’ll take unhealthy o’er dead,” Rhiannon replied shortly, shaking herself free from her dark reverie as they stepped out into the brisk, chilly bluster that howled through the castle towers.

Cedric had no response for that, and an uncomfortable silence grew between them until they reached Fleur and Viktor standing at the crest of the hill overlooking the loch. They had seen barely any other students on their hike through the castle, and now they were outside again Rhiannon could see why. The stands constructed by the lakeside seethed with human activity, and a quick look back at the Astronomy tower clock told them they had only another twenty minutes or so until the challenge began.

Hearing their approach, Viktor turned to them and held out a long knife hilt-first for Cedric to take. It wasn’t a perfect Transfiguration – the shape was accurate, but it didn’t reflect light the way metal usually did and all parts of it were formed from the same slate-coloured material that Rhiannon doubted had any match in the natural world, but as Cedric took it and tested it against his thumb she could tell it certainly functioned like a knife should. The blade was about twelve centimetres long, one side smooth and curving to the tip while the other was serrated along the straight section and with an angled point down to a sharp narrow tip well-suited for sliding through tight-knotted rope. The handle was about the same length as the blade, solid and shaped to fit a hand easily with a short crosspiece formed from the hilt section, and Cedric conjured a scabbard for it from the air around them so that he might secure it more safely.

“You were right – I’d have had no idea what kind of knife to make,” Cedric commented affably as he slid the knife into the conjured scabbard.

Viktor grinned wolfishly. “No, you would not,” he agreed cheerfully. “The point is good for undoing knots and the serrated section can work like a saw if you need it to. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to go and get my friend out of that lake – she hates the cold.”

Rhiannon snorted, amused despite herself as she recalled the time Nina had nearly cooked herself, Rhiannon and Hermione in an attempt to warm them all up. “G-g-go-go-good idea,” she repliedcheerfully, and let go of Cedric’s arm so that she could link arms with Fleur. “I know y’ hate water but – if-f-f- if you don’t make it, one of us will. We’ll get your sister outta there. Nob-b-bo-bo-body gets left behind, you all taught me that,” she murmured.

Fleur managed a wobbly smile and squeezed Rhiannon’s arm affectionately. “Thanks, Rhi,” she replied, her voice hoarse. Feathers prickled along her arms, easily felt through the thin wool of her light coat, and she extended one wing to shelter Rhiannon from the wind as they made their meandering way down the icy hillside toward the lake.

Just as there had been for the first task, there was a large dull purple tent set up beside a smaller white one, and the four champions breathed a collective sigh of relief as they pushed their way into the purple tent and found the interior warm and welcoming. There were armchairs, towels and warm blankets scattered about inside, evidently intended for the champions when they returned from the lake, and on either side of the interior space was a small section divided from the main interior that Rhiannon guessed would be used for changing. With about fifteen minutes left to go, the champions split from eachother and Fleur half carried Rhiannon across the uneven floor to the changing room.

The tent interior was enchanted to be warmer than the world outside, but it wasn’t that warm – there was too much risk of shock if the temperature difference was made any greater. It was a more pleasant temperature to undress in than it would have been outdoors, but not by much, and Rhiannon shivered as she pulled off her clothes and threw on her swimsuit as quickly as she could. There was a full length mirror in the middle of the room that Rhiannon had studiously avoided looking at, but now that she was dressed she stood and took in her appearance.

The swimsuit Fleur had helped Rhiannon choose was flattering, long-sleeved and short-skirted like a dancer’s leotard, black with an iridescent shimmer and scale details in the fabric – it reminded her a little of the Hebridean Black and she found that she liked the idea of wearing something like her enemy’s skin. Her black-threaded silver hair had grown out some more since the Yule Ball with the aid of Hermione’s potions, and now curled around her shoulders in stark contrast to the hematite-toned fabric. Luna was right, Rhiannon reflected a little whimsically – it was a striking look, but not a bad one, and dressed as she was now Rhiannon could almost mistake herself for beautiful. The beauty one saw in a well-wrought blade or a lion on the hunt rather than the kind one would expect in a young woman, but beautiful nonetheless.

“Pssssst!”

A sharp hiss startled Rhiannon from her mirror-gazing reverie. “Wha-? Who’s’ere?” she mumbled, her very tongue feeling thick and clumsy with nerves as the heavy imminent threat of the second task crashed back down onto her shoulders.

There was a rasping, prickling sensation in the air like the edge of a knife when tested against a thumb, and then a sharp zzzzriiiip as a straight rent was torn swiftly through the side of the tent. The torn canvas was pushed aside and Rhiannon had only a moment to step back and gather her thoughts before a tall, dark-skinned figure barreled through the gap and bundled her into a tight hug, followed by an even taller blonde figure who moved at a more sedate pace. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know we just saw you at breakfast but – we couldn’t just let you go into the task without wishing you luck!” Hermione exclaimed, her voice muffled in Rhiannon’s hair.

Fleur spluttered a little indignantly from her spot over in the corner, and Rhiannon flushed with embarrassment as she remembered they were still in a changing room. Hermione sprang away and fiddled with her nails in embarrassment. “You are lucky I was finished dressing,” Fleur grumbled, but her lips were twisted in an affectionately wry smile that suggested she wasn’t as upset as she pretended. She straightened a twisted shoulder-strap on her swimsuit, adjusted her towel and left the room, humming quietly to herself. The message was clear – make the most of it while you can, and Rhiannon intended to do just that.

Luna let the tent flap fall closed and sealed the tear with a whispered reparo, but turned down Rhiannon’s offer of a hug with an uncomfortable shake of xir head. “No, um – no hugs, not today, I’m sorry – I’m too nervous and it makes me want to claw my skin off when I’m like this,” xe murmured apologetically. “But – we did bring you this. Knights carried their lovers’ favours in tournaments, and this is kind of like that, so – here,” xe added hastily. From xir pocket xe drew out a ribbon, deep royal blue satin with a gold stripe down each outer edge.

“We figured, blue and gold are two colours your vision doesn’t mess up even on full moons,” Hermione explained as Luna passed her the ribbon and she gently turned Rhiannon around by the shoulders so that she could use the ribbon to tie the smaller girl’s fluffy mass of curls back in a low ponytail. “It’s not charmed or anything – we considered it but thought they might not let you in the task with a magic item.”

Rhiannon grimaced – she hadn’t actually thought of that, her knife was probably a violation of the rules and she was doubly glad she’d concealed it. But she liked the idea of carrying a favour from her partners – Rita Skeeter was sure to say something nasty about it but it made her smile to think of carrying her partners’ love for her into danger. And a knight was a step up from a gladiator even if the change was only in her imagination. “Thank-you, both of you,” she murmured, turning back to face them and taking one each of their hands in each of her own.

Then it occurred to Rhiannon that she had forgotten to fetch extra Wolfsbane, and the pleasant warmth that had risen in her cheeks drained away abruptly. “Um – I hate t’ cut this short but – we think there’s a good chance whate’er they’ve done t’ the hostages is gonna mess with Dudley,” Rhiannon explained quickly. “Can you tell Mi- Headmaster McGonagall and Hagrid, an’ ask Hagrid to stand by with some Wolfsbane for when we come out? I dunno, it’s just a hunch, but – after secon’ year, no such thing ‘s too careful about werewolf stuff. I don’t know how it’s gonna go, I dunno if we’re gonna be able to keep from gettin’ outed, but – I jus’, want him t’ be safe.”

Lesser people might have pointed out that were Dudley to turn, even partially, the people around him would be in more danger than he himself. But Luna and Hermione were the very best people and made no such comments. “’Course we will,” Luna replied with a tiny smile. “But you need to promise to come back to us. Just like before.” Xir pale grey eyes filled with tears behind the blue-violet lenses of xir glasses and xe stepped forward and pulled Rhiannon into an impulsive, messy, tear-stained kiss. In it was all of their shared grief and fear, as well as the love they had for eachother, and Rhiannon remembered then that her partners had both seen people die, in Luna’s case someone xe loved.

“I’ve got my knife, my wand – and th-th-th-e – the other three champions, we’ve all got eachother’s backs,” Rhiannon tried to reassure them both. “I promise – I’m going to come back.”

“You better come back,” Hermione whispered fiercely, tears spilling out from behind her glasses. “I’m not ready to say goodbye to you yet, Rhiannon Black.”

“Th-th-then- this isn’t goodbye,” Rhiannon replied firmly. A madcap wistful thought floated across her mind, the image of three hands – one pale with blue veins and chewed nails, one deep ochre and criss-crossed with scars and the third a warm umber – bound together with braids of ribbons in an array of rainbow colours. She smiled to herself, and made another promise – she was going to live to see that day for real. “This isn’t goodbye,” she repeated again. “I’ll s-s-s-sss-see you at the finish, an’ we’ll give Rita Skeeter somethin’ to really talk about.”

There wasn’t a lot to say after that, having resolved not to say goodbye. They exchanged kisses and wiped eachother’s tears away, putting off their parting as long as they could, but eventually the bell rang that announced five minutes until the task began and they could procrastinate no longer. Luna cut another hole in the tent wall to let them out, and Rhiannon sealed it behind them with a sigh before she pulled her towel closer around herself and limped out of the changing room into the main tent.

It was more good luck than good management that the scruffy blond official – Ludo Bagman, she recalled belatedly - entered the tent at the same time as Rhiannon did, keeping the other champions from making any embarrassing comments. “Champions, good, you’re all ready,” Bagman addressed them briskly. “I can only hope you all solved the egg puzzle by now and prepared accordingly..?”

The champions all mumbled a begrudging chorus of agreement that yes, they had solved the puzzle, and Bagman clapped his hands together delightedly. “Excellent, excellent, you’re a bright lot alright. Now, as the clue said, you have an hour to complete the task. Points will be deducted for every minute overtime, as well as for injuries as in the previous task. One hostage each, teamwork is technically permitted but not encouraged. You may distract or delay other champions, as this is in part a race, but intentionally lethal methods will face legal consequences... other than that, no holds barred!” he announced briskly.

Rhiannon and Fleur shared a brief moment of eye contact, and Cedric stepped pointedly closer to Viktor in a protective sort of manner, his shoulders hunched and one hand on the knife at his belt. They did not see eachother as rivals, if they ever did – they had a common enemy and right now that was the timer on the task. “We understand,” Viktor spoke for them all. “Let us begin.”

Chapter Text

With that, the champions followed Ludo Bagman out of the tent, huddling together for protection against the cold wind that had picked up outside. They made their way down the pebbly shore to the boardwalk that had been constructed, stretching out into the lake for a good fifty metres or so. Judges, faculty and various Ministry officials were seated in two large towers built either side of the widened platform at the end of the boardwalk; and there were three more towers built in a vaguely circular formation a little further in than the two occupied by officials, presumably for the use of guests who had paid for their tickets while the general student body were seated in the row of stands that stretched to either side of the Champions’ tent along the lakeshore.

The crowd roared as they caught sight of the champions and Rhiannon averted her eyes as many raised their wands and let off sparks or magical fireworks that spelled out the champions’ names, the schools they came from or the countries those schools represented. She would need all of her enhanced senses underwater and didn’t want the spell-recording to announce to the crowd that she had been using sensory jinxes before, so she had removed them in the changing room and now she almost dropped her towel as she rushed to cover her ears.

Beside Rhiannon, Fleur took a deep breath and a wave of calming magical energy washed out of her as she let the breath out again, flowing over all four of the champions before fizzling out. Viktor, on Rhiannon’s other side, hunched his shoulders and made a dissatisfied sort of noise. “Not that I do not appreciate the intention, but please – give me a warning before you leak magic. I have not yet adjusted to feeling it without seeing it happen, and it is rather startling,” he remarked in a brittle tone, prickly in the way that Rhiannon knew to be anxiety.

Fleur grimaced and hugged her arms to her chest, feathers prickling along her arms as she did so. “I am sorry, it was not – I did not mean to, I was just trying to calm myself – I am sorry,” she replied in a rush, trying to smooth her feathers back into her arms as she did so.

Viktor shook his head and swapped places with Rhiannon so he could rest his arm around Fleur’s shoulders in a comforting sort of manner. “I understand. I am not really upset, it merely startled me,” he reassured her. “Let us go and get this over with. You are the woman who put a Hungarian Horntail to sleep single-handed – anything in that lake should be frightened of you.”

Fleur grinned, her sharp canines curving up over her upper lip as she did so and her eyes more yellow than brown, her natural glamours fading as they always did in times of stress. “You know, I think you might be right,” she replied, her tone genuinely bolstered but still brittle around the edges.

Fleur set her chin high and the four of them continued along the boardwalk again. Soon they reached the end, where the judges were seated in the lower section of the tower directly across from them. The position was elevated enough that the champions had to look up to see them, and Rhiannon raised a hand to the ribbon in her hair to remind herself – she was somebody’s knight, not just the judges’ gladiator.

The mutter of an indistinct incantation drifted down to Rhiannon’s ears, and she had just a moment’s warning to cover her ears as Ludo Bagman’s magically amplified voice boomed out across the lakeshore. “CHAMPIONS!” he bellowed, totally oblivious to their pained grimaces. “The Second Task will begin forthwith. Take your places on the circles before you – Fleur Delacour furthest left, then Rhiannon Black, Cedric Diggory and Viktor Krum last, as that is the current ranking. You will all enter the lake when the starting shot is fired in... precisely a minute from now.”

Cedric and Rhiannon exchanged a wry look as the crowd murmured in a dissatisfied sort of way – the Hogwarts crowd had begun to accept Rhiannon as champion alongside Cedric, but for her to be ranked before him was still a sore point to many of them. And she hadn’t expected them to use the correct name – her name was Rhiannon Black only informally, as the adoption was still proceeding through the infinite bureaucracy of the Ministry courts, it was frankly surprising that they weren’t using her entire fully legal name at all, but it still pricked at Rhiannon a little to hear the wrong name – it was like a rejection of the family she had found for herself.

A buzzer sounded and Rhiannon flinched, stepping off her circle for just a moment – but a moment was enough, as a heavy directionless force surged through her small frame and sent her reeling back into her circle, hissing and wheezing for breath and trembling in terror.

“Ah, ah – no early starters, there’s ten seconds to go!” Bagman admonished in his crowing sort of way, and it took everything Rhiannon had not to simply flip him the single-fingered gesture that was universal in rudeness across magical and nonmagical society alike.

Distantly Rhiannon recalled the time she and her brother had blundered into a farmer’s fence on one of their full moon wanders, how it had set Luna and Ginny to hysterics as she and Dudley skittered about the hillside like their tails had been lit afire – an electric shock outside of the starting circles, easily as strong as it had been in the cattle fence. A dirty trick, but... “Thanks, ya p-p-p-pricks,” she hissed under her breath, a vicious smile curling up one side of her mouth. If nothing else – they’d given her a very physical reminder of what she was fighting this for.

After what felt like an age had passed, the buzzer blared out across the lake again and Rhiannon felt the humming pressure of the static field dissipate. A tense murmur rose from the crowd as the champions stayed put, sharing glances and adjusting their grips on their wands rather than trying to race eachother from the platform. “On three?” Cedric inquired, his free hand betraying his nerves as it drifted to the hilt of the knife at his hip.

Viktor grinned, more like a bird of prey than ever and his wand sparking blue at the tip. “No. On four. They are already seeing this as a gesture of defiance, why not make sure they know it?”

Fleur cackled, pointed teeth glinting in the sunlight as she threw her head back and the feathers around her face fanned out a little, almost like a tiny threat display. “Then we will give them a show – one to teach them that our families are off limits,” she said decisively.

Four. Three, languages overlapping as the champions murmured under their breaths. Two, the grey noon light glinting on the loch’s surface. One.

Magic surged around the champions as they dove from the platform, not quite as one but near enough to be impressive. The magic around them all flared so strongly it set Rhiannon’s hair prickling even as it welled up inside of her, freezing her veins and itching to be released. It was a relief to cast the converted Bubble-Head Charm, and by the time it had taken effect the blaze of power had subsided enough that Rhiannon could concentrate.

Beside her, Fleur had cast the same charm while Cedric contorted and groaned as his extremities sprouted fins and his internal organs shifted under the effects of Gillyweed. And to Rhiannon’s other side Viktor underwent the most dramatic transformation of all of them. His very body flickered and twisted in biologic indecision as Viktor exerted his magic and his will upon it, until it solidified into such a mixture of shapes that Rhiannon wasn’t sure whether to be horrified or impressed. Viktor had transformed his body from the shoulders up into that of a shark’s, the lines between human and shark anatomy blurring together in his torso as he kept the use of his human hands but modified them with a distinct fin along the outer side of his forearms and webbing between his fingers. The key feature of the mixed shapes was a distinctly reflective dark stripe that ran the length of his body – the lateral line, a feature of many aquatic species and the reason for Viktor’s choice of transformation, as it would allow him to navigate underwater perhaps even better than his sighted companions, whose vision was already obscured by the murk and weeds.

Deciding that impressed was the better course of action given that Viktor had managed to get two vastly different sets of biology to mesh neatly without any immediate dangers to his health, Rhiannon set about pulling her own fins on. Already she could hear the same melody as from the clue egg echoing weirdly throughout the underwater forest, and even in this alien environment the wolf in her yearned to run towards it. But wolves didn’t do well alone, and the same instincts that urged her to run reminded her that she had friends to protect at her side.

“Fleur? F-fleur, y’alright?” Rhiannon stammered, her voice echoing strangely inside the bubble that provided her with air. Fleur was a bright spot in the deep green of the loch, the sparse light reflecting on her pale hair and feathers as she flailed and twisted beneath the surface. Her skin prickling with fear, Rhiannon dove after her friend, kicking strongly until she reached the panicked Veela. She had to duck under a sweeping wing, then swam in close and caught hold of Fleur’s wrist. “Hey – hey! Slow down, breathe – y’ cast the charm, use it,” she told the older girl firmly.

Fleur’s pulse fluttered in Rhiannon’s grasp and the ridge in her throat bobbed as she swallowed, but her breathing steadied and she managed to still her frantic flapping even if she didn’t seem able to fold her wings away entirely. “Thank-you, Rhiannon. It – I knew it would be difficult. But seeing the rest of you, I keep expecting it to feel like flying - but it is nothing like that at all, and the pressure on my skin – I am so completely out of place down here,” she replied, her voice shaking.

Rhiannon nodded, loosening her grip on Fleur’s wrist as she did so. It sounded almost like sensory overload to her – but then she realised, that had to be a new level of awful for someone who didn’t experience it often. “I hear you – I’m put together for running, not diving. Le-le-le- let’s get our friends and get outta here,”

To the side and below them, Viktor stiffened and cocked his Transfigured head to one side in the water, and Rhiannon caught a trace of the sound moments after he had – the mer-song again, the words more distinct this time though she could not pinpoint where it was coming from – though she was not quite so badly affected as Fleur, the alien environment of the lake was still disorienting and her enhanced senses weren’t helping as much as she had hoped. Viktor, on the other hand, was having no such problems and he pointed the way – south, Rhiannon guessed after a few moments of trying to get her bearings, and down. A long way down.

Once Fleur had oriented herself well enough to let go of Rhiannon’s hand and put her fins on, Cedric joined them and together the four champions dove deeper. Below the surface the loch seemed an oppressive haze of grey murk, any features in it growing fainter as they descended until even Rhiannon, with her excellent night vision, was unsettled.

Suddenly, Fleur yelped and one of her wings crashed into Rhiannon’s side – but as Rhiannon whirled to see what had happened, her friend was already plummeting into the darkness below. The werewolf didn’t hesitate, and with Cedric and Viktor to either side she plunged after Fleur, already extending her wand with a wordless yell.

As they dove, something unseen pressed in on all sides and even Rhiannon couldn’t see what, but it smothered them and slowed their progress to a crawl. “Missiculum champions – wandlight! Now!” Cedric ordered them sharply, his voice cracking with panic.

Something heavy and solid, almost like a steel cable given life, wrapped itself around Rhiannon’s chest and squeezed, her ribs groaning under the pressure – she knew that sensation, though it felt like a lifetime ago. Sulks in the sun... “L-lumos solem!” Rhiannon cried, gasping with relief as the slick vine let go like she’d stung it. “Well, you d-d-do-don’t get much darker ‘n damper than down here,” she muttered, squinting out into the writhing field of recoiling tendrils. Fleur was floating unhindered now some metres below, Rhiannon’s spell had radiated out far enough to repel the vines that caught her – but that wasn’t the only danger. Hidden before by the vines, countless pairs of eyes reflecting in the harsh wandlight turned on the champions as the real danger was revealed.

There were too many creatures to take them all in individually, but Rhiannon assessed the swarm with a hunter’s eye. They were a mixture of greenish shades, small and bulbous, vaguely humanoid in shape but with seven tentacles in place of legs and two hands with three knotty fingers each, the third shorter than the rest and opposable like a human thumb – Rhiannon recognised them almost instantly and bared her own sharp teeth in a snarl as the creatures closed in.

“Ah, fucking grindylows,” Cedric swore, firing off a blast of reddish light at one that was getting too close. “Both ends are awful, don’t let ‘em get hold of you – break their hands if they get ‘em on you, but it’s the tentacles you really want to watch – don’t let them touch you, they’ve a nasty sting.”

Rhiannon grimaced. Alone in a tank, the grindylow Remus had showed her last year hadn’t seemed all that threatening even as he cautioned against their sting and their locking fingers – they were small, physically fragile, she had foolishly thought only an errant child could be at risk. It had been a useful demonstration, but hardly enough preparation for what they faced now – grindylows in their natural environment, all swarming together – now Rhiannon understood how they posed a threat to anyone who crossed their paths.

“Misssss-si-si-Missiculum, Fleur, jus’ keep a Shield Charm up an’ we’ll get t’ you!” Rhiannon called down to her friend.

The pause was slightly too long for comfort, and Rhiannon was beginning to panic when Fleur finally replied, her voice high and sharp with fear. “I can not just keep the Shield charm up, I need the light to keep these weeds off me!”

Rhiannon swore and shook her head, lashing out with the Severing charm at a grindylow that was reaching for her with it’s nasty little grab-hands. She remembered too late that the Severing charm worked pretty much like throwing a knife, and just like a real knife, that didn’t work very well underwater. It did little more than scratch the grindylow and she swore again, kicking upwards out of its reach. Between the vines and the grindylow swarm, the champions were very effectively separated and Fleur was sinking fast.

“Missiculum Viktor – c-c-can y’ clear some space, then follow me after Fleur?” Rhiannon called. “And relashio, fuckers,” she muttered, flinging a blast of superheated water at a pair of grindylows diving after Fleur.

Viktor, with his shark’s head, was unable to respond, but as Rhiannon looked up she caught the high-pitched whine of Transfiguration magic as Viktor altered his shape yet again – this time his entire body was replaced with that of the shark’s, the upper fin of its tail long and trailing behind, the purpose of which was immediately made clear as shark-Viktor whirled in the water and struck into the grindylow swarm with a deadly efficiency.

Satisfied Viktor had the swarm handled, Rhiannon refocused her efforts on Fleur and dove again, her wand extended out ahead with the tip lit to clear the vines. She tried not to think of all the books she had read that cautioned against diving too deep too quickly, and squinted into the grey-black mire in search of – there, a brief flare of gold rayed out into the water before it was replaced by a dimmer blue haze. Fleur was still fighting down there.

Something brushed against Rhiannon’s elbow and she whirled around, her wand-tip already flaring red before she recognised Cedric and let the spell die out – a mistake, as something grabbed her wrist on the other side. The bones in her wrist crunched and ground together and Rhiannon bit back a scream as she tried vainly to shake off the grindylow that had grabbed her and was now reaching out with its horrible prickling tentacles – what to cast, what to cast... Anything was better than nothing, and Rhiannon lashed out with a wordless Severing charm again.

At this close a range, even the water could not dampen the spell’s effect enough and Rhiannon’s panic turned to revulsion as her spell bit into the grindylow’s throat, exposing the severed organs and turning the water cloudy with its’ blood. It was dead in an instant, but those awful locking fingers were still clamped around her wrist and, shaking, Rhiannon had to break each one to get free. By the time she had, more were closing in – it seemed the cloud of blood only served to enrage them further.

“Help me!” Fleur’s voice was high with panic and frighteningly laboured, even carried to them by magic as it was. “The water pressure, the vines – something is not right, I can’t hold on down here-”

“Depulso,” Rhiannon hissed, her wand cutting through the water as she pushed the grindylows back, then lit the tip again before the vines had a chance to crowd in. Fleur was in trouble – where the hell was Viktor? They only had so much time and right now, Fleur had even less than the rest of them.

Just as Rhiannon thought that, the shadows shifted above them and the enormous sinuous shark that was their friend dove through the water towards them. There was a terrifying moment where Rhiannon wondered if Viktor had somehow lost himself in the transformation, if they would have to fight him too – but he cut straight through the swarm of grindylows above them and cleared the rest with a sweep of that enormous trailing fin before the transfiguration melted away and Viktor returned to the half-shape he had begun the task with.

“I am never questioning Transfiguration’s uses in real life again,” Cedric muttered, and with a sideways glance at Rhiannon he dove after Fleur with Viktor trailing behind.

Rhiannon paused only for a moment longer to mend her crushed wrist with a muttered episkey before following them both, eyes fixed on the spell-flares far below them. They were growing slower, further apart – Fleur was wearing out, and as they drew nearer Rhiannon could feel the tangible haze of pain and terror that radiated from below them, growing stronger and stronger as they drew nearer.

At last, they reached Fleur. She was in rough shape – her wings were extended and slowing her badly, with grindylows latched on all over and raised welts where more had grabbed and stung her, and by the way she was moving Rhiannon guessed Fleur had been right – there was something about the water pressure that was affecting her worse than the others. Every sweep of her wand looked pained, bruises bloomed under her skin in places no grindylow had touched, her wings were crumpled and torn and she held her free arm awkwardly against her chest. This close, the radiating pain set Rhiannon’s teeth on edge and she drew her knife, lunging into the swarm that surrounded her friend without a second thought.

Only minutes before, Rhiannon had felt revulsion at the sight of the grindylow she had killed – not exactly by accident, but she certainly hadn’t set out with that in mind. Now... they were in the way and Fleur was still sinking, her wings limp and more bruises rising along her thin arms. There was no time for ideals of nonviolence, and the champions set about breaking up the swarm with ruthless efficiency, each fixed on reaching Fleur before she ran out of fight.

Still, no matter how many grindylows the champions cut aside, the swarm seemed endless and panic began to claw and writhe in Rhiannon’s chest, the bubble charm that gave her breath suddenly claustrophobic. She kept fighting mechanically, but she was beginning to lose hope – until something struck the grindylows in a radial blast, something that threw them out past Rhiannon and Viktor and Cedric as they fought to reach Fleur. That gave Rhiannon hope for a second – until that same blast struck her, sending her and her companions reeling in the water. Sheer agony, crushing and stinging and aching, everything that Fleur’s tormented nervous system felt was thrown out in a raw wave of psychic force, driven by total disorientation and a searing electric sensation under all of it that was intimately, recently familiar to Rhiannon and she watched in horror as in that moment Fleur’s charm winked out and her body began to jerk and twist in the dark water.

For a moment, none of them knew what to do, racked by the unfiltered agony that Fleur was still radiating everywhere. But Rhiannon was used to pain, and she was used to fear. She sheathed her knife, lit her wand again and struck out for Fleur, still terrified and unsure what to do – only that she had to get Fleur out of the water. “Missssss-mi-mi-missiculum Vik-k-k-k-t-t-Viktor, Cedric – I’ll get us out’ve here, you light your wands an’ follow after, it’ll be easier t’ join you again if you’re closer – we can’t get split up again, not n-n-n-now we know what’s down here,” she told them, mustering what little authority she could – and taking some comfort that if Fleur was still leaking magic, she was still alive in there.

“Ascendo!” Rhiannon incanted, seizing Fleur around the waist as her spell rocketed them both upwards. Her joints and lungs ached as the pressure around them relaxed and she shut her eyes against the dizzyingly bright sunlight as her spell spat them both out on the surface of the water. The crowd began to murmur but Rhiannon paid them no mind – all her attention was on Fleur, whose leaking magic had faded as she went frighteningly still in Rhiannon’s arms.

“Sonorus,” Rhiannon whispered, bracing herself against the pain it would cause to her sensitive ears as she ran the words over in her head. “MEDIC! GET ME A MEDIC!” she bellowed, her voice echoing over the lake surface. Satisfied she’d been heard as the stands stirred and muttered, she released the amplifying spell and paddled frantically for the jetty where they’d started the task, the white-robed figures of healers hurrying there from their positions on the lakeshore.

“There’s vines in there – they pulled her deeper an’ I th-th-think the pressure was hurtin’ her somehow – even before she got mobbed by the grindylows, but after that – it w’s all over, we couldn’ get t’ her fast enough an’ I think she had a seizure, it’s – it was bad down there,” Rhiannon babbled, only calming when Madam Pomfrey took her by the shoulders and shook her gently – not that that helped her dizziness at all.

“Hey. Hey, no – look at me. Breathe,” Madam Pomfrey told Rhiannon firmly. “We’ve got your friend now, you’ve done the right thing and we’ll take care of Miss Delacour from here. You’re in rough shape too, you came up too damn fast – I’m calling a bloody intermission on medical grounds, come here – missiculum champions, if you came up with Rhiannon I want you at the starting deck too and I don’t care what the judges say, they are giving me ten minutes or I’ll take them before the Wizengamot.”

There was no arguing with Madam Pomfrey on the warpath, and all Rhiannon could do was sag in the nurse’s grip as she was pulled unresisting from the water, exhausted and fighting unconsciousness as the ache in her joints intensified sharply. Stupid, stupid – Viktor had gone over decompression sickness with them as soon as they had learned the task would involve diving. But as a warm glow of magic slowly seeped into her muscles, Rhiannon could only grin weakly – as far as she knew Fleur was still alive, and she would risk decompression sickness any day for that.

Chapter Text

The officials protested the medical intervention as anyone could have predicted, but Madam Pomfrey was not to be trifled with and under threat of legal action they bowed to her will and the time was paused on the task while the three remaining champions were treated for decompression sickness and the fourth fought for her life. It felt like it was all too soon and yet not soon enough that Rhiannon, Viktor and Cedric were released back into the task – but this time, they knew what awaited them beneath the rippling grey surface.

Back underwater, Rhiannon took a moment to reapply her bubble and filtering charms while Cedric took a new handful of Gillyweed and Viktor once again reshaped himself into the part-shark hybrid form he had used to navigate as well as breathe. Now that they knew to look for it, the champions could see the Devils’ Snare in the depths – every so often it moved against the current, distinguishing it from the more ordinary lakeweed that reached up from the lake floor.

“Missiculum Viktor – we’r-r-r-r- we’re short on time, can you track down th’ song again? We’re gonna want t’ stay high in the water til we’re clear ‘f the Snare though,” Rhiannon murmured.

As before, Viktor was unable to respond verbally, but he turned back and signalled with a hand gesture that he’d heard, and set off through the water. Following, Rhiannon could hear the song now as well – but she certainly couldn’t pinpoint its source as clearly as Viktor could. The words had changed now, chilling all three of them as deeply as the water itself ever could... your time’s half gone, so tarry not, lest what you seek stays here to rot... The message could not have been clearer and they struck out with renewed strength.

Once they had passed the forest of Devils’ Snare masquerading as lakeweed, the champions began to descend into the murky depths of the lake, wands lit and senses alert for new dangers as Viktor tracked the song onwards and the rest of them followed him. Thin, scattered sunlight reflected off of half-seen surfaces below them in passing, but the champions would not be diverted from their task again and soon the distinct signs of civilisation grew visible in the murk. First were the crop-fields, all different kinds of aquatic plants mixed together in deliberately straight cultivated rows, and further on were half-sphere pens of some kind of woven reed inhabited by different kinds of lake-fish, with more Grindylows patrolling around the outside. The champions drew back, all gripping their wands more tightly, but the little tentacled water-demons merely hissed at them as they passed – they seemed well trained in their guard duties.

The village itself loomed out of the murk soon after, low stone structures built in rippling arcs across the lake floor. Navigation was confusing at first, given the lack of anything recognisable as a street, but as the champions drifted up in the water to get a better look they caught sight of some kind of obelisk a few hundred metres ahead, the entire town arrayed around it in loose circles around it.

“Alright, this has to be it,” Cedric said, a purple glow in Rhiannon’s periphery carrying his voice to her. “Do we have, an actual plan? There’s no way they’ve left our kin unguarded.”

Rhiannon grimaced. “Missiculum champions - th-th- I- I’d do a lot for Dudley but, I d-d-don’t want t’ have t’ fight merfolk. ‘s not their fault,” she replied.

Viktor, still half shark, jerked his head toward the obelisk and Rhiannon shivered as she realised the song had changed again. Time’s near gone...

“Nonlethal attacks only, then, and only if we have to. Watch the gills,” Cedric told them firmly. “Let’s end this.”

With that, the three champions struck out for the obelisk. Everyone’s distance vision was limited by the murk, but as they drew nearer they saw their friends bound to stakes set around the obelisk at four points equidistant from the square base of the structure. Rhiannon’s heart twisted – even here in the water Dudley’s bad leg hung crookedly, and the thin girl, tall for her age and with her shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair drifting in the water, that had to be Fleur’s little sister Gabrielle. She had known they were held hostage but seeing them here, all so helpless, it hurt, as badly as it had done to find herself trapped in the tournament to begin with.

Around the obelisk, ten or so merfolk floated in a tight ring inside the circle of captives. They held simple stone-tipped spears and their stances were defensive, but for now they showed no sign of moving as the champions approached their hostages. “If I’m right, we’re really gonna be in f’r it when we get up there... Jus’ don’t hate me, alright? Please?” Rhiannon whispered as she drew her knife and set about cutting Dudley loose.

With Dudley free, Rhiannon linked her arm in his and looked around to check on how her companions were doing. Viktor had reshaped his fins back into arms and was busily sawing at the ropes binding Nina’s ankles, working a little more slowly than the others given he was operating on touch rather than sight, while Cedric held Sorcha against his hip as he swam over to Rhiannon.

“There’s no way we’re leaving her here, right?” Cedric asked, gesturing to Gabrielle with his free hand.

Rhiannon shook her head, her mouth turning down at the corners as she eyed the circle of merfolk. “Missiculum - No way,” she agreed tersely. “H-help Vik, I’ll get Gabrielle. Those merfolk might take issue, an’ we’ll all need t’ get out’ve here fast if they do.”

Cedric grimaced, and tightened his grip on his wand in his free hand. “Just yell for help if you need me,” he replied, and set off around the circle to assist Viktor.

“Incarcerous,” Rhiannon muttered, binding a rope around Dudley’s chest with a trailing end left free. That, she knotted loosely around her own waist. “Just ‘n case,” she told Dudley quietly. With that secured, she looped her arm through his and paddled across to Gabrielle’s stake.

Gabrielle was head and shoulders taller than Rhiannon, but somehow she still seemed so young – unscarred, eyes gently closed as if she were only sleeping. The stasis spell had protected her a little but already Rhiannon saw bruises blooming under her skin the same as Fleur’s. Nyx stirred at the sight – Fleur was pack and that made Gabrielle pack by extension, but even if she hadn’t been... she was an innocent. That was something Rhiannon had lost, and she wouldn’t let it happen to this girl too.

More determined than ever, Rhiannon drew her knife and set to sawing at Gabrielle’s bindings. She was so intent on her task that she let her guard down, and that was when she felt the cold prick of stone as something dug into her shoulder. Rhiannon glanced up, and felt the usual cold discomfort as her eyes met with another’s, but that was quickly replaced by terror as she took in the owner of those sand-yellow eyes – skin leathery and coloured a deep murky blue, sharp teeth bared in a warning growl – a merperson. And that was their spear digging into her shoulder. Shit.

“No – nononono, I – I don’ wanna fight you!” Rhiannon yelped, holding up both hands – wait, that didn’t help, she was holding a knife. Double shit.

“One champion, one hostage,” the merperson told her. Their voice was low and melodic, almost singing each word – even through Cedric’s translation spell it was beautiful. No wonder they hated to speak above water.

“But her sis-s-sis- her sister’s my friend,” Rhiannon protested. “An’ Fleur nearly died getting t’ her - I can’t leave her here, please! We’re stuck-k-k in this t-t-tournament, but them – th-th-th-they’re not, they weren’t-t-t s’posed t’ be involved in this – she’s a kid!”

The merperson shook their head, but they did retract the spear a little. “No, we were told – one champion, one hostage,” they repeated, though Rhiannon was sure she saw a hint of conflict in their expression.

Rhiannon’s heart twisted, and sparkles crowded the edge of her vision – the air in her bubble was growing thin, they were running out of time. “Please – please! You d-d-d-o- y’ don’t have t’ help me, you can even fight us all the way up, just – she’s a child, and Veela – it’s why her sister – I d-d-don’ know what ‘s doing t’ her being down here, please, I can’t leave her here!”

The merperson grimaced, baring their teeth as they did so. “A child... The deal was not for children, but we knew you would do anything to get them back and that made them safer. But a Veela... birds do not belong in the deep. We will not be responsible for a child’s death,” they decided finally, and withdrew the spear. With a motion from them, the other merfolk lowered their own weapons as well.

“We cannot make it easy for you – the deal was struck for resources we sorely need, and we must uphold the remainder of it. But we will not pay for those resources with her life. Take her, we will not strike until she is free,” another of the merpeople said, resting the butt of their spear in the pebbly lake floor.

“Thankyou,” Rhiannon breathed, her voice whispery with emotion as much as the thin air in her bubble. Thin air – that thought refocused her, and she set about sawing at the ropes more intently. “Missiculum champions – dunno if y’ heard all that but we’re in f’r a fight ‘s soon as we get all th’ hostages free. Don’t h-h-h-hurt ‘em, this isn’ their fault,” she murmured into the spell. There was just the last rope around Gabrielle’s waist left, and she didn’t want to cut it until she was sure they were ready.

“Got it,” Cedric replied tersely. “Give us a moment to get to you, the Gillyweed’s wearing off, we all need to stick together – if any one of us gets pulled back down now we’re fucked.”

Rhiannon pulled Dudley closer and looped one arm around his waist, and soon Cedric and Viktor were at her side, their own limp hostages tied to them in much the same manner as she had done with her brother. “Missiculum – Viktor, can y’ take Gabrielle? Jus’ head straight f’r the surface, don’t stop for anything – you’re the strongest s-s-s-s-swimmer and you’ve got more air t’ make it. Ced an’ I, we’ll guard b-be-hind but we need a hand free.”

Viktor nodded, and paddled forward to take Gabrielle by the waist. With a glance at the waiting merfolk, Rhiannon slashed through the last rope and stowed her knife in its sheath in a single quick movement – and that was all she had time for, as the merfolk hissed and closed in.

Rhiannon took her wand in her free hand and brandished it at the merfolk, the image of the dead Grindylows seared in her mind – she had to think before she cast anything, these were people and they were helping her. “Flipendo – Viktor, g-g-get outta here!” she yelled, sending a grey-haired merperson tumbling back through the water.

Viktor, with Sorcha and Gabrielle roped to him, shot up through the water, and with a muttered ascendo Rhiannon and Cedric did the same. The merfolk raced after them, their strong tails propelling them just as fast as the champions’ magic did and their stone-headed spears outstretched as they closed in. “Glacius!” Rhiannon shouted in a panic, then yelped as the resulting ice stopped the merperson cold and sent them plummeting back down. “Nononono – finite!”

Thankfully, the counterspell dissolved the ice in time, and the champions had one less opponent as their ascension charms drove them ever upwards. But the merfolk were still faster under their own power and they began to overtake the champions, their spears crowding them on all sides. One nicked Rhiannon’s cheek and she had to restrain the first three spells that came to mind, eventually settling on degravo and ending it once the merperson it affected had plummeted far enough.

Cedric cast the same spell, taking out another, and for lack of anything better to do Rhiannon reverted to the old faithful Pumpkin-Head charm. That got them down to three, and by now the light was bright enough to be painful – they were nearly there. Rhiannon was so tired, the pain in her joints was blinding – it was the same as before but so much worse, she knew what this was – but it didn’t matter, she just had to make it a little further-

The merfolk dropped away, and that was just enough warning for the struggling champions before their magic threw them clear of the water. Rhiannon was barely present, agony drilling into her bones as she dropped back into the lake, kept afloat only by the remnants of her spell. The bubble-head charm was running painfully short of air and for a terrifying moment Rhiannon couldn’t figure out how to make her brain work enough to undo it, but she managed to free herself in time to hear Cedric’s amplified call for help, to hear the eruption of cheering in the stands – and the whine Dudley let out as the stasis spell fizzled out. Fuck.

“N-n-nonono, stay – almos’ there,” Rhiannon whispered, squeezing her arm tighter around her brother’s chest. “Propello,” she wheezed desperately, pushing them both toward the nearest platform where she could already see white-robed figures gathering – medics, thank God.

Rhiannon cut the spell right before it smashed her against the jetty, but by now even breathing was an effort – her ribs felt like iron constricting agonised lungs and darkness crept in on the edge of her vision and she knew instinctively that she was too weak to pull herself out of the water. Strong hands reached down to take hold of her, another severed the rope that tied her to Dudley and then she was being pulled from the water again, warm magic already flooding through her as the medics set her down on the floating platform.

Revitalised enough by the magic to sit upright, Rhiannon’s first thought was of Dudley. Still aching, she turned her head to look for him – there, just beside her. His eyelids fluttered, and as one of the medics helped him sit upright Rhiannon’s heart clenched as she saw that already the sclerae were turning dark and the irises yellow – subtle enough that she was only seeing it because she knew what to look for, but enough to set a new terror in her. She had been right about the stasis. “Whe-where’s Madam Pomfrey?” she asked weakly, reaching for her brother.

“With Miss Delacour, but don’t worry – we’ll take good care of you both, just lie back,” one of the medics replied, their tone reassuring – but it didn’t work on Rhiannon, they were missing something and if she didn’t act quickly her brother was about to be outed in the most public way possible.

“Then Dobby, or Hagrid – I can-ca-ca-can’t explain but, ‘s important!” Rhiannon stammered. Of course Madam Pomfrey was with Fleur, she was in worse shape than any of them – but how could she get help for her brother without outing them both?

Dudley coughed and spat out a mouthful of water, his foggy gaze sharpening as his mind cleared and he took in the facts of the moment. He’d experienced a partial turn before, and Rhiannon saw on his face that he recognised it happening again. “Shit, is this – of course,” he whispered, his tone turning reproachful. “Stupid, stupid... dammit. I’m sorry, Rhi, I should’ve thought of that, and now...”

“Rhiannon, Dudley!”

The werewolves turned their head in unison at the sound of the familiar bellow to see Hagrid striding down the jetty towards them. “Healers – I’ll help you get ‘em inside, the lad’s got an old injury and he’ll go into shock in the cold here. Give ‘em some time to rest up a bit before they get reporters on their case, yeah?” Hagrid offered, his face creased with worry. Not a bad lie, all things considered – and it would explain why Dudley looked like hell to anyone near enough to listen.

“This is a little unusual, but... he does seem to be struggling. Alright, go ahead,” a green-sashed healer told Hagrid with a frown and a nod.

Dudley grimaced and pulled himself closer to Rhiannon, trying vainly to hide behind her as the hair on his arms thickened and more began to sprout from his face, creeping in from the edges of his hairline. The panicked look he directed at Rhiannon was all yellow-eyed now, his ears growing more pointed and fuzzy under his hair and his knuckles creaking as he balled his free hand into a fist, the other gripping her too tightly. They were out of time. “Get me out of here – please,” he pleaded with Hagrid, sharp teeth protruding over his lower lip as his jaw slowly changed shape.

Hagrid knelt, shielding Dudley and Rhiannon from the crowd’s view as he did so. In his hand was a vial containing a familiar acrid-smelling grey liquid. Dudley grabbed it from him and downed it in a gulp, barely even flinching from the foul taste. Hagrid sighed and his shoulders slumped with relief. “Alright, that’s one problem under control – now for the rest of it,” Hagrid muttered. “Sorry, we don’t have enough time for dignity – I’m gonna have to carry you to the medic tent. Pull your hands in t’ your chest an’ hide your face, there’ll be reporters with cameras.”

Reluctantly Rhiannon let her hand fall from Dudley’s as Hagrid picked him up, and as he stepped away the medics closed in again. The one who had spoken to Hagrid wrapped a horrible crinkling metallic blanket around her shoulders, and the other two held a stretcher between them. “Now, just hold still and we’ll lift you on – I know you can probably do it yourself, but we shouldn’t risk it,” one of the stretcher-bearing healers warned her gently.

Rhiannon grimaced and hunched her shoulders uncomfortably. The pain of what she now knew to be decompression sickness was still burrowing into her bones and joints, and her chest was still constricting – and on top of all that, blood was trickling down into her armpit from the wound left by the merperson’s spear, and she’d done a shoddy job healing her injured wrist. Now she was above water, her own weight seemed unbearable and forcing her various injuries to bear it didn’t seem like a good idea. “Fine,” she mumbled grudgingly, and sat limp so that the healers could more easily move her.

Restraint was a skill, and it was one Rhiannon practiced more intensely than ever as the healers lifted her onto the stretcher and her instincts shrieked at her to bite them and run. The medics seemed aware of how tense she was and tried to touch her as little as possible, but she still hated how vulnerable she felt here, perched numbly as they lifted her from the ground and carried her along the jetty. No matter how hard the medics tried, every step they took jolted the stretcher and thus its occupant, and it was all Rhiannon could do not to whine and growl with every step.

Hagrid’s back was visible a few metres ahead of them, and Rhiannon grounded herself with that. Hagrid had Dudley, and so long as he was moving steadily that meant Dudley was safe. The rest was a blur – the crowd roared and clamoured, cameras clicked and flashed on all sides, Rhiannon kept her eyes down. Same old, same old – except for the searing pain and the looming danger of being publicly outed.

Before long they were safe in the medical tent. Rhiannon’s nails dug into her palms and she bit back a scream as the healers transferred her to a cot, but once she was settled and wrapped up in a borrowed dressing gown her heart rate began to slow and she was able to make out the details of the room more clearly. Viktor, now fully human again, lay on a cot to Rhiannon’s left with a healer working blue magic through his shoulder; while Cedric was seated on the opposite side of the tent with his arm around Sorcha. There was a cluster of medics around two beds in the far corner all muttering amongst themselves, and the curtains were pulled across the other end of the tent where Rhiannon could hear the distinct absence that indicated a silencing spell. “Nina, where’s – d-d-did somethin’ happen?” she blurted out, trying to sit up.

“Hey, hey – I’m right beside you, it’s alright,” Nina replied quickly, her voice resonating from the bed to Rhiannon’s right. “Did you really negotiate to take all four of us? Bloody heroic idiot, I swear – they weren’t gonna leave us down there if you didn’t get us in time, they had backup plans!”

Rhiannon groaned and flopped back in the bed as the healer worked magic through her, chasing out the last of the decompression sickness. Back to a regular level of five-hours-til-moonrise pain, she sat up in bed to glare at Nina. “Nin, I love you, but – with w-w-w-what they put me through? I didn’t t-t-t-t-trust ‘em t’ look after you. And Gabrielle, she – Veela like Fleur, and that was mos’ly why she didn’t – why she got hurt so bad. Bird b-bones, water pressure – it was awful an’ Gabrielle already looked like she w’s getting the same way, even if they had a backup plan – d’you really think they’d’ve thought about nonhumans in it?”

Nina’s face sobered, rusty eyebrows knitting together. “Shit – that’s... I was teasing, but – that must have been terrifying. I’m sorry,” she replied softly. “Hey, uh, Healer, um – how are Gabrielle and Fleur?”

The nearest healer, a tall woman with olive skin, brown eyes and heavily-silvered curly brown hair, turned to them with an apologetic expression on her face. “I’m afraid it’s too early to tell – as your friend put it, Veela bones and water pressure, they’re injured in ways the rest of you aren’t and I’m afraid you can’t see them just yet. I can say neither of them is in immediate danger, though we’ll be taking them both to St. Mungo’s for further assessment,” she explained uncomfortably.

Rhiannon shook her head, cursing the tournament yet again. “And – an’, my brother? Can I see him?” she asked, too tired to hate the plaintive edge in her voice.

The healer’s expression brightened and she nodded, clearly relieved at being able to switch to a more positive subject. “Yes, of course – Madam Pomfrey is occupied with Miss Delacour at present but she did say you could go in – but none of the others, or us – protocol or some such. He’s in the curtained section at the end – do you need help getting there?”

“No,” Rhiannon replied hastily, trying her best not to snap at the healer and not quite succeeding. “No, I’ll – thank you. Sorry, Nin – everyone, I’ll see you later,” she stammered, standing even before she finished speaking. Hobbling across the tent without her cane was an exercise in misery, but she didn’t want to overload her brother with people while he was stuck in wolf-brain.

The silencing charm extended to a metre before the curtain, and Rhiannon felt it as she passed through. The other side was quieter than she would have expected, and the ever-present anxiety started to flood back. “Hey, ‘s Rhi – alright if-f-f-f I c-come in?” she asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet and then immediately regretting it as her tendons shrieked in protest.

“Yeah, not a problem – permittere, come in,” Hagrid’s harried voice emanated from behind the curtain. Cautiously, Rhiannon pushed it aside and limped into the improvised room, flinching from the little electric shock as Hagrid sealed it shut behind her. “Sorry, sorry – just didn’t want t’ risk anyone coming in, guess’m a bit on edge,” Hagrid apologised sheepishly.

Inside was an interesting scene. There was a cot set against the end of the tent, but it was unoccupied. Hagrid, minus his coat, was seated cross-legged on the floor for lack of any half-giant-friendly furniture; while the coat was on the other side of the tent covering a lump that had to be Dudley, but all that was visible of her brother was his fuzzy white tail sticking out one side.

“Ah, fuck,” Rhiannon muttered, crossing the tent and crouching down beside the pile of coat and werewolf. “Hey, Dudley, ‘s me. M-mind if I shift the coat a bit?”

The coat pile made a noncommittal grumbling sound, but the protruding tailtip thumped the tarpaulin at the sound of her voice. Rhiannon reached over and pushed the coat back, sighing as it revealed her brother’s despairing expression. “C’mere, you,” she told him with a sigh, and sat down on the floor beside him.

Dudley pushed himself up off the floor and pulled himself forward a little way, then wrapped his arms tightly around Rhiannon’s waist and flopped back down with his head and torso in her lap. He’d clearly been crying – the tears had left distinct tracks in the pale fur on his face, and his shoulders began to shake again as he hugged her. “I’m so sorry, Rhi – the healers, they definitely saw, and – and I should’ve thought of this when Bagman told us what we were doing for the task. This, it – I’m sorry, I put us both in danger-”

Rhiannon shook her head and rested a hand on Dudley’s shoulder. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t fear how this was going to change her future, but... “Look, after what w-w-we went through t’ get you back, ‘fter what this tournament’s put us all through already... Ma-ma-maybe ‘s time. An’ I’m not, upset, that you f’rgot. I’m beyond upset, that they did this t’ you at all,” she told him quietly. Looking up, she caught Hagrid’s anxious expression and grinned, hardly caring how much she was shaking. “I’m with you. An’ after grindylows an’ Devil’s S-s-s-snare – I think we c’n beat this.”

Chapter Text

The rest of the day was set aside for recovery, never a comfortable process. All of the champions were injured, and mending Rhiannon’s badly-healed broken wrist hurt far more than the original break ever had – and she was the least injured of the three of them. Even the hostages were a bit scraped up, and of course there was Dudley’s situation. The healers clearly knew something, but none of them said anything and they managed to make it back to the castle with a dressing gown and a heavy application of glamours.

Thankfully, with the full moon that night, Dudley didn’t have to stay stuck for long. But monthly nonhuman students’ camp-out was quieter than usual, and Rhiannon kept to the edges of it with her brother and their friends. Fleur was absent altogether – which she had expected, but the way the Beauxbatons students were all so subdued was more worrying.

The next day was worse. Rhiannon was so foggy from the adrenaline crash that she missed all the sideways looks and mutters on the way down to breakfast, and it wasn’t until she sat down at the table and saw her friends’ grim faces that it really sank in. “God – ev-ev-everyone, they know?” she whispered.

Hermione made an angry little squeaking sound and squeezed her hands into fists on the edge of the table, and Luna silently slid a newspaper across to Rhiannon. Right there on the front page... “Fuck – how’d-d-d- it’s such a clear picture, how?” Rhiannon stammered, staring horrorstruck at the photo. A flash of white fur, yellow eyes radiating panic right off the page – Dudley’s half-transformation was captured in full colour and displayed for the entire British wizarding world, and Rhiannon didn’t even have to check the byline to know who was responsible.

“Rita fucking Skeeter,” Rhiannon growled, the rage bubbling up in her gut and clawing its way through her nerves, hot and consuming and vengeful as dragonfire. She looked up and saw that fury mirrored in each of her friends in their own ways – from Nina to Hermione, Luna, Neville, Harry, Faye and more – they were all there in support, but two faces were conspicuously absent. “Wait – Dudley, Ginny – h-has anyone seen them?” she asked. Her stammer crept back as her anxiety rose, but that didn’t replace her rage – only sharpened its edge.

“I saw them in the common room first thing, Dudley said he’d meet us down here,” Parvati replied cautiously. Her expression darkened, and she looked down at the table. “But I haven’t seen them since... Shit, I’m sorry Rhi.”

Tears welled up in Rhiannon’s eyes and she stood up from the table, any thought of breakfast discarded. “I’m gonna g-go f-f-f-find ‘im. I’ll prob’ly be late t’ class,” she announced, trying and failing to keep the anger from her voice as tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’ll just- s-s-see you later,”

With that, Rhiannon turned and fled from the hall, almost tripping on her cane in her haste. The most logical place to start looking had to be the Slytherin common room, so she ignored the ache in her knees and hurried downstairs. Students stared as she passed, muttered amongst themselves, but Rhiannon was too angry to pay them any particular heed.

As it turned out, Dudley was not in the Slytherin common room and according to his roommates Abhi Rao and Astoria Greengrass, he’d left with Ginny almost an hour ago and hadn’t been seen since. He wasn’t in the library, or his usual study haven in the transfiguration courtyard. At last, Rhiannon hobbled down to the kitchen, wondering if perhaps Dudley had chosen to eat breakfast where he wouldn’t be harassed by students with questions raised by Skeeter’s article.

Dudley wasn’t in the kitchen either, and Rhiannon was about to head back to the library in search of a person-finding spell when a soft cough stopped her. On looking down, she saw an elf she didn’t recognise – shorter than average and thin, with fine greying hair that just brushed their shoulders and eyes of a mixture of browns that reminded Rhiannon of a tree cut to show its rings. They wore a simple navy checked dress that had been carefully mended many times, no shoes, and much of their face and arms were marked with old scars that stood out silver against their olive skin. “Miss Black,” they addressed her directly, their manner of speaking calm and precise. “If you are searching for young Master Black, he did come by earlier asking for a packed breakfast along with the youngest Weasley. He didn’t explain why, but put a good ten Galleons in the bowl before we’d even given him a yes or no – enough for everyone on the early shift. A little after that, Wispey saw them both when she was gardening near the road gate. If you don’t mind my saying... it’s a cruel thing, what that reporter’s done to him. I hope your pain passes swiftly.”

Anxiety spread like a constricting grip around Rhiannon’s veins as she put the fragments of information together. The picture they made... if Dudley and Ginny had been to the kitchen some time ago, that meant that they had lied to Abhi and Astoria. And while Dudley was a decent liar, he didn’t do it often – sneaking around wasn’t his style. To start now, that meant he was up to something he knew Rhiannon wouldn’t like. And there was only a small number of things that might be.

“Thankyou,” Rhiannon replied with a heavy sigh, her lips forming the barest of fragile smiles even as her mind raced with horrible possibilities. “F-for the inf’rmation – an’ the hope. It’s... w-w-w-we could use it.”

With that message conveyed, the elf turned back to their work. Rhiannon rummaged in her pockets and turned up a Galleon, nine Sickles and a handful of Knuts, all of which she put into the donation bowl at the door as she left. Dudley had been carrying more than loose change – that said he’d planned something in advance. And something told her he’d come up with that plan the moment he’d heard about the article – which probably meant it was something very, very foolish. “D-d-don’t, don’t say anything you can’t take back,” she whispered, nearly tripping over the stairs as she tried to combine thinking and climbing. The road gate meant they’d gone to Hogsmeade – somewhere students weren’t allowed to go without a permit. Perhaps they’d managed to sneak out early, if the only person to see them go had been an elf – Rhiannon wasn’t going to have the same luck.

“Missiculum Da- Remus Lupin,” Rhiannon muttered, taking the chance to lean against the wall and rest. “D-d-dudley snuck out to Hogsmeade, I’m p-pretty sure he’s up t’ somethin’ stupid. Can you get them to let me out?”

Moments elapsed in silence, and Rhiannon anxiously checked her watch – class hadn’t started yet, but she really should have thought of that first. “Sorry, sorry – I was just sorting things with Argus,” came Remus’ crackly reply in her right ear. “He’s not happy about it, but he’ll let you pass – just, be quick about it. And Rhiannon – be careful. With your words, your temper – be safe, alright?”

Rhiannon grimaced and waved a hand, then remembered he couldn’t see the gesture. “Missiculum Remus L-lupin – I will, I promise,” she replied quickly. With a sigh, she pushed herself off the wall and set off again at a weary trot, through the castle and the gardens until she came to the gate in the curtain wall that guarded the road down to Hogsmeade. Standing in attendance was the caretaker Argus Filch, bundled up against the cold and leaning against the gateway, his expression as cranky as ever.

“Causing trouble as usual, Miss Potter?” Filch asked her – it might have been Rhiannon’s imagination, but he didn’t sound quite as acidic as usual.

“Trying t-t-to fix some trouble,” Rhiannon muttered, shifting her weight anxiously from foot to foot – this was just another delay, and that meant Dudley was getting even further ahead with whatever reckless plan he’d cooked up.

Filch sighed gustily and moved his staff aside, clearing the way through the gate. “Very well... suppose you do have special permission. Just don’t make a lot of noise about it. Don’t want the other students thinking they can head out whenever they like.”

Rhiannon snorted, amused despite the urgency of the situation. “I d-d-don’t usually go out my way t’ make a lot of noise about things. It-t-t just sorta, happens,” she retorted wryly. “See ya later, Mr Filch,” she finished, as she shouldered the gate open and hurried off down the hill.

Outside the shelter of the castle a brisk wind ran tickling fingers across Rhiannon’s scars and tugged on her hair, and the day was still early enough that the gravel road and the grass beside it glittered and crunched with frost under her boots. A beautiful day for a hike, but Rhiannon had no time to spare and she made her way down the road at the fastest pace she could manage without risking injury, cane tucked under her arm to keep it out of the way.

Werewolf endurance or no, it was still a good ten minutes before Rhiannon reached the village. Sore and short of breath, she rested against the signpost at the entrance and took a moment to get her bearings. Outside of a Hogwarts visit day and so early in the morning the village felt – muted, almost mundane, the shops and streets quieter as a handful of early risers went about ordinary business. Rhiannon’s nose led her through the quiet streets, past the regular shops and into the heart of the village. She’d have expected the Three Broomsticks to be empty at this hour, but while the shutters were still closed, the front door was slightly ajar and a low hum of voices emanated from inside.

Carefully, Rhiannon nudged the door open a little farther, begrudgingly grateful – left open, the hinges didn’t creak so much, allowing her to slip into the room unnoticed. As her eyes adjusted to the sparsely-lit gloom of the shuttered tavern, the anxiety that had gripped her all that morning grew claws and spread through her chest, knotting in her throat as she took in the scene before her.

“So you’re saying it’s all true?”

The tables had been shoved to the sides, leaving space for the small crowd that now huddled in a hastily-arranged semicircle of chairs around the centre of the dim taproom, their backs turned to the door and to Rhiannon. The murmuring she had heard from outside lulled for a moment, as one voice rose above the rest to direct their question to the figure seated in a very distinctive wheelchair before them. Don’t cause a scene, don’t cause a scene, Rhiannon repeated over and over, the claws in her throat tightening until they drew blood – she would know that figure anywhere.

“I don’t know what you’ve all been saying, what the rumour mill’s turned up. So I won’t say ‘all’. But, for the story of the day... That one’s true. The picture’s real – I’m a werewolf,” Dudley replied steadily. Just off to the side, Ginny stepped closer and took his hand wordlessly, glaring out at the throng of reporters.

For a moment, the hushed conversation died altogether, the echoes of Dudley’s statement hanging in the stuffy air. Then, all at once, the crowd erupted in uproar, all clamouring over eachother to question Dudley while Rhiannon looked on in horror. Don’t make a scene, don’t make a scene, don’t make a scene, she repeated in a grim mantra, nails digging into her palms.

“How did it happen?” one reporter shouted, only to be hushed as another cried out over them. “Was it Remus Lupin who bit you?”

“Is that why you can do magic? I’ve never heard of a muggle-born Squib,”

“What about the Girl Who Lived? Is she one? Does she know?”

With each question, Dudley’s stoic expression grew more and more strained, and Ginny’s knuckles paled as their grip on his hand tightened. “I was bitten near the end of July, in 2002. Me and Rhiannon, we’d run away together and we ended up ‘round the edges of Dorking for a bit. We got split up, I was finding us a spot to camp and she went looking for food. That’s when I got attacked,” he explained, his voice wavering a little as he tapped one of his chair’s wheels. “Rhi didn’t get back until it was too late. She tried to fight the werewolves off, set off the Trace – I guess the Ministry spotted it was a bunch of fight spells she was casting and sent us rescue party instead’ve a telling-off.”

“So the Ministry knew? And they covered it up? That’s a major breach of the Lycaeus Doctrine – werewolf records are supposed to be public knowledge.”

Dudley’s nostrils flared, and he shook his head firmly. “I don’t know much about how the Ministry works, but I’d guess there’s some clause about kids’ records being kept private, Doctrine or not. Maybe they’d have made it public when I turned seventeen, but I’d guess the Ministry as a wider, thing, didn’t really know about me – just the minors department,” he told them, his air of measured calm beginning to grow thin. “As for the rest... in case it wasn’t clear from the story, it wasn’t Remus. He was nowhere near Surrey when I was bitten. You haven’t heard of a muggle-born Squib because the Hogwarts scrolls didn’t scan for Squibs before last year, but I’m not even the only one at Hogwarts – and we’re still learning what we can do since there’s not a lot of knowledge about Squibs. And Rhiannon... Rhi knew, she’s my best friend – but this isn’t about her and I’m not gonna put words in her mouth.”

As before, there was a moment of quiet punctuated only by the scratching of quills on parchment, longer this time. But this time when the crowd broke out, Dudley made no effort to bring the conference back to order or to answer any of the myriad questions they fired at him too quickly to pick out. Eventually they fell quiet, and Dudley slouched in his chair with a weary sigh. “Alright. I need to get to class,” he said finally, when they all looked to him. “I assume there’s gonna to be questions about letting me stay at Hogwarts, but until I’m actually expelled – I’ve still got my marks to worry about.”

The press grumbled among themselves, but eventually they got the message – Dudley had nothing else to say to them. They began to pack up their equipment, and Rhiannon took the opportunity to slip back out the door and into the street. Seething, she padded around to the back door and sat down on a barrel to wait, leaning back against the wall and listening for any movement from inside.

After a short while, the back door swung open and Dudley wheeled his chair out into the alley with Ginny close behind him, passing right by Rhiannon as they went. She stood, fighting to keep hold of her temper – there was a non-zero chance the reporters might still be nosing around Dudley. “Spatio silenti,” she hissed, steeling herself against the uncomfortable muting of all outside sound – the discomfort was worth it to protect their conversation. “How dare you?”

Ginny whirled around, reaching for his wand by reflex before he recognised Rhiannon. Dudley was a little slower, his chair difficult to manoeuvre in the cramped back street, and his face reddened as he faced her. “It was the right move – you’ve got enough going on, with the Triwizard, the stories Rita’s already spinning about you – I couldn’t let that slip-up with me hurt you too,” he retorted, his shoulders tensing – had he been in wolf form the hair over his hackles would have been prickling, every part of his body language was defensive even from his seated position.

“Th-th- that wasn’t your decision t’ make,” Rhiannon replied. The claws of her earlier anxiety retreated, leaving scars of ice in their wake and her temper froze, leaving her numb as she stared down at him. “I heard what you said. You won’t put words in my mouth – b-but you took them out of it instead. I would’ve stood up with you, if you’d let me.”

Ginny grimaced, wringing his hands together before coming to a decision. “Look, Rhi – you’re my friend, one’ve my best friends. And Dudley, you’re my boyfriend, you know how I feel about you. Me being here, it’ll just make things worse – I’ll see you later,” he said, and squeezed Dudley’s hand before he sidled past his chair and hurried away down the alleyway with a shamefaced glance back and Rhiannon.

Rhiannon crossed her arms and closed her eyes, suddenly drained of energy. “Forget it, it’s done. We can’t make a whole scene about it,” she murmured wearily.

Dudley shook his head, and shifted his chair back a little, lifting his chin in a defiant expression. “No, we can’t. But Rhi – this year’s put you through hell and it hasn’t finished yet. I had the chance to protect you from one more thing, and I’m not gonna apologise for taking it.”

Rhiannon sighed and hunched her shoulders, her patience thoroughly worn out. “Don’t s’pose it occurred t’ you I’ve handled it this far? I – I guessed what might happen when I learned they’d t-t-taken you – and I decided th’ press was nothing next to a dragon, I was ready to get outed with you.”

Dudley threw his hands in the air, then slapped the arm of his chair and set it to hovering. “Like you said – forget it. If you can’t see why someone would want to look after you, I’m not gonna sit here and explain why. And I really do have to get to class – I owe Flitwick an update on my converter project.”

With that, Dudley turned the chair and floated it away, leaving Rhiannon to her increasingly dark mood. She sat there for some time, stewing in frustration, before she regained the energy to stomp back up to the castle, only a little late for Herbology.

Over the next few days, rumours whirled around Hogwarts, fuelled by the Daily Prophet and the smaller newspapers of wizarding Britain. Much as Rhiannon hated to admit it, Dudley’s damage control had been effective at least on a public scale – the press hounded her as always, but their questions were contained to asking her opinions on Dudley and on lycanthropy as a whole. So far she had managed to put them off – she was busy with her classes, with the tournament – but it was disconcerting how willing they were to set aside any suspicion that the Girl Who Lived might share her brother’s condition and simply assume her to be a bystander with an opinion they could exploit.

The storm of rumours couldn’t grow forever, and when it broke even Remus’ experience the year before hadn’t prepared them for the onslaught of bigotry from all sides. Rhiannon was free from suspicion of being a werewolf herself – but she was still the adopted daughter to one and sister to another, and that meant that the hatred still became something their family had to weather together. Dudley, Rhiannon, their parents and closest friends alike made arrangements with Filch to have their mail screened and redirected to deposit boxes in Hogsmeade after a deluge of hate mail and minor curses; Faye, Nina, Ginny and some of the others lost house points almost daily for the fights they got into, and Dudley had to move into a spare room in the teachers’ wing after parents complained about a werewolf among their children. He put on a brave face about it, but he was a social creature who worried what others thought of him at the best of times – anyone who knew him well could see he was struggling, and in all that... Rhiannon’s earlier anger with him couldn’t last. He’d bought her time and peace at the price of his own safety. All she could do now was honour that by using it, and by helping him bear that price however she could.

Several weeks passed, and gradually the worst of the bigotry subsided back to a low level of general disgust. They celebrated Nina’s first birthday as a girl quietly, and just before the start of the Easter holidays Fleur was returned to the Hogwarts hospital wing. The champions rushed to visit her of course, but they were allowed in only under Madam Pomfrey’s insistence that they keep the visit short and quiet – a terrifying callback to Viktor’s state after the dragon challenge.

Settled in a battered wheelchair, Fleur welcomed her friends in with a worn smile. “It is good to see you,” she admitted, adjusting the blanket across her knees. “That task, the lake... I was convinced I was going to die. Thank-you – I don’t know what plans they had for the hostages, but you saved my little sister anyway.”

“Of course – she’s a kid, and she was in the same trouble you were,” Cedric replied, shaking his head. “We guessed it was because you’re avian Veela – it was happening more slowly with her through the stasis spell, but still-”

“It did enough damage to me,” Fleur finished bleakly. “We both had little fractures all over. The healers at your hospital want to publish a document on the effects on avian nonhumans under environment pressure and my parents are furious. Gabrielle is... well, she insists that she consented, and she healed.”

“Consent?” Viktor growled. “It was a dirty trick, bringing those we loved into this – we are bound, they are not.”

Rhiannon snorted – her mood had not brightened since her fight with Dudley. “We – we made it clear we w-w-w-weren’t gonna f-fight eachother, so they had t’ find somethin’ else to m-motivate us,” she responded sourly. “But – you, you’re right – Gabrielle was – she was twelve, she c-couldn’t consent t’ riskin’ her life like that, and what happened to Dudley... We’ve got t’ tell them somehow, that we’re the only targets they get.”

Fleur shrugged, growing tired around the eyes after only a few minutes of company. “I think you told them,” she replied. “They put our families in danger and we abandoned all competition. I doubt that they would use that tactic again – they will try something new to pit us against eachother. We should start training again as soon as possible.”

Madam Pomfrey, seated in the corner, startled and fumbled with her knitting. “Now, hold on Miss Delacour – you were just released from Saint Mungo’s, you’re in no state to be planning anything like intense physical or magical exercise!”

The champions chorused their agreement, but Fleur just sighed and waved their protests aside. “Madam Pomfrey, I was hardly planning to rush back in when I can barely stand,” she countered sharply. “But the healers at Saint Mungo’s have done all they can for me, they told you as much – I was discharged so that I could start to adjust.”

“Adjust?” Cedric interjected warily. “Madam Pomfrey’s got a point – that course Professor Lupin let us use is pretty full-on, if you rush back in too soon... it’d be even worse if you went into the third task injured.”

Fleur laughed, but it was more like a harsh caw than anything truly mirthful and pale feathers grew visible around the edges of her hairline. “Unfortunately, that is the point of the issue,” she replied bitterly. “It is as I said – the healers let me go to adjust. I will be facing the third task injured either way.”

The champions looked at eachother in confusion, slowly turning Fleur’s words over. Eventually, it was Viktor who put it together first. He took in a sharp breath and brushed his fingers over the heavy scarring on his cheek before he spoke, his expression bleak. “So that is two of us now. This tournament promises gold and glory, but it asks a lot of blood,” he murmured darkly. “I suppose we are only lucky that none of us are dead.”

Rhiannon blinked, coming to an understanding just a little behind Viktor. “Y-you mean, you just... won’t get better?” she whispered, horrified. She shouldn’t be surprised by now – they had known going in that those thirteen thousand Galleons were blood money, and she was no stranger to illness and injury that would never fully heal. But it had happened so quickly, and so soon after Viktor’s injury. “Are you – do you feel okay at least? I-I-I – I mean, I get k-kinda, accepting this is norm-m-mal and moving on, but... Madam Pomfrey’s kinda got a point – are you really well enough t’ just jump back into things? Just ‘cos it won’t get b-b-better, doesn’ mean... it could get worse.”

Fleur sighed and slumped into her chair. “I feel awful. I hurt, everywhere, all the time. My skin prickles, I sometimes – cannot feel things. I am weak and tired, my head is all foggy and if I stand for more than moments, I fall down,” she admitted wearily. Her hands shook and a sharp tooth peeked out over her lip as her mouth turned down at the corners. “But this tournament is – we are in it now. I can withdraw and die, or-”

“Or you can fight and only maybe die,” Cedric finished sombrely. “So you train, you try to get used to working within your new limits as quickly as possible. And then you fight. Correct?”

Fleur’s smile was humourless, her eyes hollow. “Correct,” she agreed. “It cannot get much worse than dead.”

Madam Pomfrey choked and swore under her breath, fiddling with her knitting as she struggled for words. “I’m sorry, I just... you sound like we did in the war. Hearing that from kids, it’s... frightening, to say the least,” she explained, her face gray and her lips trembling. “You’re in an impossible position and that means you can’t make the ideal choices right now. I’d like to offer a compromise – you return to training, but you work with myself or a trusted assistant to rehabilitate as safely as possible. It won’t be as slow as I’d like, and it’ll be slower than you’d like – but if you injure yourself, you’ll make the third task that much harder. This is the best way I can think of preventing that.”

“We do not want to bury you, Fleur,” Viktor whispered, knotting his hands together anxiously in his lap.

Fleur reached out and took one of his hands, holding it for a few moments before she had to let go with a pained grimace. “And I do not want to force you to,” she demurred softly. “Very well. Thank-you, Madam Pomfrey. It is a good solution.”

“Then we start tomorrow,” Cedric put in firmly. “Carefully, of course – but we have to assume they’re going to try and split us up for the last task, which means we all have to get stronger on our own. That’s our best shot at surviving this. And we’ve got two months to get there.”