The next morning, Rhiannon awoke late, a bit after eight o’ clock. She still had a throbbing headache and her vision was crackly and dim around the edges, but for the most part she was back to normal. She had fallen asleep with the diary under her pillow and shuddered when she touched it, stowing it in her trunk when she collected her uniform for the day. On Saturdays they only had one class, Herbology, for the two hours between the first break and lunch, so despite waking late she was still in plenty of time for the rest of the day’s activities. She had missed breakfast, however, so she padded downstairs to fetch some toast from the kitchenette that was tucked in under the boys’ dormitory stairs. It didn’t have much, and anything extra was labeled by its’ owner, but there were supplies for anyone who had missed breakfast like Rhiannon had.

As Rhiannon puttered around in the secluded nook of the common room, someone came up behind her and set their hand gently on her shoulder. She stiffened and would have whirled and hit them had she not recognised the scent, and breathed a sigh of relief. Ron. “I’m gonna put a bell on you,” she threatened him, still trembling. “You’re as bad as a cat doing that, and t-t-t-t-too big for it to be cute.”

Ron wilted, and Rhiannon realised she’d been a little harsh. “S-s-s-sorry,” she stuttered. “I know you j-ust wanted to ch-ch-ch-hhhhhh-check on me. ‘m fine now, promise.”

At that, Ron sighed with relief, though his expression turned grumpy. “You know better ‘bout talking to things when you can’t see where they keep their brains,” he scolded her. Rhiannon rolled her eyes, his glare deepened. “Rhi, I’m serious!” he snapped. “You should see some’ve the stuff that gets confiscated. Cursed books you can never put down, ones that make you speak limericks forever – and that’s the light stuff! You could’ve been hurt.”

Rhiannon ignored him resolutely as she fished her toast out of the toaster – it had taken some time for her to adjust to the thing given it wasn’t plugged in and had no visible knobs – and resolutely set about buttering it and spreading jam on it. Ron continued to chastise her as they settled down at a table, she paid him little attention as she ate her breakfast in a comfortable nook of armchairs and a couch against the girls’ dormitory stairs. “It knew things, alright?” she snapped, interrupting Ron’s tirade. “I-i-i-i-i- I don’t trust it either, but Ginny’s been with that thing all year and I’ve got to figure out what it’s been doing to her. And Ron – it knew about the Chamber. It wanted me to think it was Hagrid’s fault.”

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a blaring siren that had them both covering their ears, followed by an outburst of laughter from the Gryffindors scattered around the common room. Rhiannon got up and took her now-empty plate back to the kitchenette, taking the opportunity to get a better look at what had happened as she did so. There was a crowd of Gryffindors gathered around the bottom of the girls’ staircase, and she turned back from rinsing her plate to watch as it thinned out, revealing a pair of mortified Weasleys sprawled on the ground. They picked themselves up and dusted themselves off once the crowd had relented enough for them to do so, and looked remarkably shame-faced as they drifted over to Rhiannon and a boggle-eyed Ron.

“Wh-wh-wh-at was that?” Rhiannon asked a little crossly. “You’ve left off the noise pranks in the common room since you figured out it bugged s-s-s-some of us, why go back now?”

Fred hung his head, George covered his face and groaned. “We forgot about the jinx on the stairs,” George explained, flushing to his eartips just as Ron usually did.

“The... jinx?” Rhiannon asked with a frown.

“Yeah,” Fred mumbled, just as red-faced as George. “You know, the one on the girls’ stairs. Turns into a slide and makes a hell of a noise if any boys try to get up it, we were about half-way up before it activated and whoomp, back down to the floor we went.”

Rhiannon blinked, a little confused by that – but, wait, no, she did know what they meant, Nomi Eun had explained it on her first night in the dormitory. She’d been so anxious it would reject her and think she was a boy, but it seemed the jinx ward worked on internal identity rather than perceived status. “Why’d you bother, anyway?” she asked the twins.

George scowled. “We were gonna prank the fourth-year girls, get Allie back for putting a sticking hex on my broom last month.” he replied. Rhiannon snorted – she remembered that, he hadn’t noticed until the practice concluded and he couldn’t unseat himself from the broom.

After a little more chatter the Weasley twins wandered away, dusting themselves off, and Rhiannon and Ron settled in to go over the class material from Thursday, when they’d last had Herbology, so that they’d be ready for their class after eleven.

“H-h-how come you could get up, last night?” Rhiannon asked Ron quietly. Ron blinked and his face paled under his heavy blanket of freckles. “If it’s supposed to only let girls up? I guess that w-was why P-p-p-Parvati was so surprised.”

Ron shrugged uncomfortably and pushed his hair out of his face – it really had gotten too long, and he didn’t tie it up like others did so it was always in the way. “Dunno,” he mumbled. “Guess it just, recognised I was helping you. ‘s not like I’m a girl or anything – not, that there’s anything wrong with being a girl -” he covered hastily, as Rhiannon scowled at him for his resentful tone on the word. “I’m just not one. And hey – we were arguing, before they showed up, don’t try and dodge it now,”

Rhiannon shrugged, not entirely convinced, but she was more considerate than others might have been and didn’t want to make an issue of it. Maybe Ron was right and the stairs had sensed he was helping her, or maybe he was questioning things – which was more likely. If that was the case, it would do only harm to press him about it – Rhiannon quailed internally at the thought of someone putting her on the spot to ask about transgender identity even now. Ron would tell her in his own time. So she relented, and bickered good-naturedly with him some more as the colour returned to his face and his unease dispersed. Ron was loath to accept any information from the enchanted diary at all, but he agreed they may as well visit Hagrid and ask – even though he clearly wasn’t the culprit, maybe he could tell them more about Tom Riddle and the Chamber. Soon it was time for class, and they arranged to sneak out of the castle to visit him during lunchtime, after Herbology.

Herbology class was tense. They all wore earmuffs and heavy muffling charms combined to safely fertilise the mandrakes, a task they all by now had a personal stake in – until the mandrakes were ready, their friends remained frozen. Even the Slytherins that shared that class with Gryffindor were grim and quiet, likely sensing that Professor Sprout would have no patience for any misbehaviour.

After Herbology, Rhiannon and Ron slipped away from their peers and out a side door, through the curtain wall around the Herbology greenhouses and gardens, and out onto the hillside that surrounded the castle. They could see the distant edges of the forest, and set off on a trek around the walls of the castle, then down the hill to Hagrid’s cabin when it came into view. But when they reached it, instead of simply striding up and knocking on the door as they usually did, Rhiannon pulled Ron to one side and crouched behind a row of bushes as she caught sight of a small crowd of people.

Hagrid stood at the foot of the stair to his cabin, facing a man who wore pinstriped wizards’ robes under a plain black cloak, with a lime-green bowler hat. With him was another wizard in deep teal robes with a close-clipped grey beard that Rhiannon didn’t recognise, though by the gold pin on his robe’s breast she supposed he was probably a Ministry employee of some kind. “That’s the Minister for Magic! That’s Cornelius Fudge!” Ron hissed, pointing to the bowler-hatted wizard and Rhiannon stared first at him and then at the stripe-robed man who addressed Hagrid.

“Good evening, Rubeus,” said the Minister for Magic, in a pompous voice that was too thin for the manner he affected with it. “Where’s Albus? I did send for him as well.”

Hagrid shrugged, though he was clearly tense under the disaffected gesture. “He’s not my employer, so he’s no need to attend t’ me – I’m here under Ministry contract attending t’ those kids, remember?” he replied, a thread of irritation running under his words.

Fudge grimaced and nodded. “Of course, of course,” he replied. “Nasty business, that was – and this too... but you must understand – four attacks, three on students. Three Muggle-borns and a pureblood Petrified, her family are furious. Things have gone much too far, it’s time for the Ministry to act.”

“I never,” Hagrid said, his voice low and frightened. Rhiannon could hear him trying to keep his temper on a tight leash.

The Minister for Magic shook his head and cut Hagrid off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m afraid your word isn’t enough,” he replied. “I’ll need you to come with me. Not a punishment, just a – precaution, shall we say, get the angry letters off my desk.”

Hagrid shivered and shook his head, backing away from Fudge until his back rammed into the hand-rail of the few stairs. “Take me – where?” he asked, an uncharacteristically hesitant note creeping into his voice. He must have seen something in the Minister’s face that Rhiannon missed, because his own expression darkened into one of horror and fury. “Azkaban? Not Azkaban, not as a precaution!” he exclaimed, losing the thread of his temper just for a moment.

“I’m afraid so, Rubeus – you have to understand, you’re the only connection we have, and the Ministry can’t be seen to be doing nothing while a pureblood girl is Petrified and three other children besides.” Cornelius Fudge replied, wringing his hands regretfully.

That was it, Hagrid lost his patience. “Then do something!” he snapped, waving a hand about them. “Search the castle, get a magic-seer in! Don’ just arrest me to get them off yer back, man! Yeh all know perfectly bloody well it’s not me, and it wasn’ me back then either – they had a truthseer at me when I was cleared for that contract with ye’s! The critter I had in th’ box was an Acromantula, and they can do a bunch o’ uncanny things but Petrification ain’t one o’ them – and that, you can read in any damn book same as me.” Hagrid sagged against the doorframe, deflated by the outburst. Cornelius Fudge, on the other hand, was red-faced and looked to be a mixture of fearful and furious.

“I- I- never-” Fudge stuttered, wringing his hands. Hagrid made a noise of disgust, and turned to go back inside. “Now stop right there!” Fudge snapped, and quailed as the angry Hagrid turned back. “You can’t just leave, you’re under investigation!”

Hagrid snorted. “I’ll swear t’ the same before a truthseer. Ye’re a bloody coward, Fudge, tryin’ t’ arrest me rather than do anythin’ real about the attacks.”

Fudge puffed up angrily. “Now see here-” he snapped, but Hagrid cut him off.

“Don’ you start,” he growled. “Th’ ‘evidence’ what got me expelled? That was Tom Riddle’s word, Fudge – an’ you know as well as me what he grew up to. It was him then, and it’s him now, or a servant o’ his. Get a warrant t’ take Dumbledore’s memories o’ the time, you’ll see the same. Hell, yeh can have mine too, ‘s the least I can do – I want this over as much as you.” Hagrid finished.

Fudge opened and closed his mouth, the red flush fading as his face turned grey and his expression deeply uncomfortable. “I- I hadn’t thought of that-” he said weakly, to which Hagrid snorted. “I’ll – go and fetch a memory-worker, and a warrant. My apologies, Rubeus. I will see you later this evening.”

Cornelius Fudge and the teal-robed wizard who had been silent throughout the exchange both turned, Rhiannon covered her ears just in time to escape the ringing crack of their departure. She and Ron emerged from the bush just as Hagrid was turning away from them, and the big man startled.

“Don’ tell me you heard all o’ that?” Hagrid asked, wiping his sweating face. Rhiannon and Ron nodded guiltily, and Hagrid sighed. “Well, come on in then, I’ll get us some tea,” he said, and beckoned them both inside. Confused, the two of them followed, and sat down in the spare armchairs. Fang slunk out from under the dinner table, whining. Rhiannon stiffened, but she had gotten more used to the admittedly not-at-all threatening boarhound in recent months and even ruffled his silky ears as he passed her on his way to seek comfort from Hagrid.

“Sorry boy... ye don’t like the shoutin’, I know, ‘twas terribly inconsiderate,” Hagrid murmured as he stroked the dog’s head. He looked up at Rhiannon and Ron with a grimace. “And you two – what’re yeh doin’ down here? ‘s not safe t’ be out an’ about now.”

Rhiannon shook her head. “We- we found, I found – a diary. It says it belonged to Tom Riddle. It- it show- it showed me, him talking to a man named P-p-p-p-professor Dippet, and then him following someone – you – and finding y-y-y-you in a store-room, with an A-ac-ac-acromantula, in a cupboard. It said y-you were responsible but I know that’s not right, I know Acromantula c-c-c-can’t Petrify and Aragog, he warned us about bad things – what’s going on, Hagrid? I know it’s l-lying but-” she cut herself off, breathing heavily. Tears had sprung to her eyes, she hadn’t realised how frightened by it all she was – it had been pushed aside, only to come up now as she tried to recount it.

Hagrid’s expression darkened and he looked at her intently. “A diary? Tom Riddle’s diary?” he asked her. She nodded, and Hagrid swore. “If it’s his, it’s bad news Rhiannon. He was Tom Riddle when we was at school but – that’s not who he’s known as now. Rhiannon – Tom Riddle is You-Know-Who.”

Rhiannon’s eyes widened, her jaw went slack. “It- what?” she whispered hoarsely. Ron, beside her, had gone very pale and she could see his hands trembling. “V-Vol-Voldemort?”

Hagrid yelped and covered his ears, startling Fang. Ron almost fell out of his chair. “Don’t say it!” Hagrid hissed, clutching a hand to his chest. “It’s bad news, the name, all of it – ‘e was active las’ year with the Stone, yeh can’t tell me it’s not him again now. You take that diary – straight to Professor McGonagall, y’hear?”

Ron glared at Rhiannon. “Will you listen to him, if not t’ me?” he asked pointedly. Rhiannon massaged her temples, already feeling another headache coming on. She didn’t like how that thing made her feel. She hadn’t liked it from the moment she smelled it, let alone touched it.

“Yeah, I will – promise,” she replied, shaken. Rhiannon had no experience with the sort of dark magic Voldemort had wielded through his reign of terror except the scar on her forehead, but she was certain that the diary held more of the same.

Hagrid got up to tend the tea, and handed Rhiannon and Ron each a mug. Rhiannon sniffed hers and scowled – usually Hagrid’s tea was strong, herbal mixed with the black. This was anything but.

“Usually you have nice tea, this is just – hot leaf juice!” Rhiannon protested, spluttering as she tried to drink it. It smelled strongly of mint but the taste was disappointingly grey.

Hagrid looked a little embarrassed. “Sorry – just, yeh can’t have regular tea or chamomile, which means you’re stuck with this.” he apologised. Rhiannon scowled down at her cup and wrinkled her nose.

“Isn’t all tea kind’ve just hot leaf juice?” Ron wanted to know as he drank his own. Both Rhiannon and Hagrid stared at him, affronted, until he wilted and held up his free hand in surrender. “Fine – fine, I take it back!”

Hagrid drained his mug with a last gulp and got up to rummage on a small bookshelf behind the table. He frowned and shifted some books around, then finally found what he wanted and returned to his chair with a heavy book on Dark Magic and Monsters. “Jus’ some research,” he explained when they both looked. “It wasn’ Aragog las’ time, and he won’ tell me what it is, but it’s a beast for sure, which means I got to do some readin’. Now let’s get you both back to the castle, yeah? I’ll say you were helpin’ me or somethin’.”

Ron looked down at his hands, then at Hagrid. “Is it true then, you got expelled from Hogwarts?” he asked. Rhiannon glared at him, but Hagrid just sighed.

“Yeah – yeh heard the thing with Fudge. I was convenient t’ pin it on back then, but the Ministry knows full well what I’ve been about back here, and yeh both know it’s not me.” Hagrid replied heavily.

“You’d think they’d have reviewed it, given it was You-Know-Who that got you expelled,” Ron grumbled. Then he perked up a little. “They broke your wand when you were expelled, right? Maybe, when it’s all over, you could get – I don’t know, a pardon. There’s correspondence classes for adults, you could get a new wand and stuff.”

Hagrid stared, then rubbed his beard. “Y’know... I never actually thought ‘bout that,” he mused, as he shooed Ron and Rhiannon the front door and began the trek back to the castle with them. “We got t’ catch ‘em first, o’ course but... I think I’d like t’ be a proper wizard – or as proper as I’m gonna get, anyway.”

That thought was a quietly pleasing one to Rhiannon too – she had suspected since some time after their trip to Ollivanders together that Hagrid was using the pieces of his broken wand concealed inside his ugly pink umbrella. And he was a studious sort of man, for all he was rough-looking – it hurt her inside to think that he’d been denied the chance to do anything real with the knowledge he had.

Hagrid escorted them both to the Gryffindor tower door – no students were allowed outside of class or their common room without adult supervision these days, and left them there. Once inside, Rhiannon and Ron were the subject of scrutiny from a handful of the other girls – apparently they’d heard about Ron getting up the stairs last night. They fended off the uncomfortable questions with Ron’s same excuse from earlier in that day, despite Rhiannon’s suspicion – whatever was going on it was Ron’s business, and he’d tell her when he was ready. Prying would only hurt. And Ron seemed grateful that she didn’t pry, the tension eased out of him as they settled in to a cosy corner to catch up on missed classwork and write letters home. Ron had talked Rhiannon into the practice a few months earlier and now it was comforting, to tell her foster-father what had happened and about her worries. They were still new to eachother but she liked the intelligent, anxious man and their home in the Rookery, and writing letters back was like bringing a little piece of that home into the room with her. That was something she needed now, with Hermione hurt. And when Xenophilius replied, though he often took a few weeks to do so and his replies were as scattered as he was, her worries were eased and seemed easier to bear. He was wise, for all he didn’t mean to be. And for the first time in weeks, Rhiannon’s heart grew a little lighter as she set pen to paper. She even managed a tired smile as she blew on the ink and folded the letter, marking the address carefully on the back. Xenophilius Lovegood would know what to do. She could make it through all this, and Hermione would be all right again if only she could hang on.