Content warning - intentional misgendering, racism regarding names

This time when Rhiannon awoke, it was to a sullen headache but thankfully no more restraints. Her mouth was dry and sour, but this time when she reached for a glass of water she found one without difficulty – though it tasted as if it had been there for some time. She shifted Calypso off her chest and pushed herself upright, wincing as her joints protested. She must have bruised things when she fell on the train... she had fallen, hadn’t she? It worried her that she didn’t quite remember, but she didn’t try too hard either – she didn’t want to remember most of that experience.

“Good, you’re up, I was wondering whether to wake you. Breakfast?” Madam Pomfrey asked, from somewhere several metres away.

Rhiannon opened her eyes at that and rubbed them groggily, taking a moment to adjust to them working again. They didn’t quite focus properly after an episode and everything was too sharp and too bright. Rhiannon groaned and closed her eyes again, the quiet dark was easier on her headache. Then the second part of Madam Pomfrey’s statement registered with her, and her stomach growled in answer as she realised she hadn’t eaten in... well, who knew how long, given she’d thrown up everything she ate the day before. “Y-yes – please -” she replied, tripping over her words in eagerness. She reached out as if she could pull food towards herself faster with a gesture.

Madam Pomfrey laughed, and pressed a tray into Rhiannon’s waiting hands. “Eggs, sausages, hash browns and bacon – I removed the tomatoes, it’s no good for you. And some Pepper-Up Potion, to shake off the last of yesterday and the sedative.” she explained.

Rhiannon sat the tray on her lap and felt around it, peering through the tiniest crack in her eyelids at what was in front of her. Madam Pomfrey sighed, and held out her hand, rubbing her fingers together so that Rhiannon could hear roughly where it was. “Pass your glasses, they’re on the table there – I’ll do something to them that’ll help, I expect it’s a little like the after-effect of a migraine.” she said.

Obediently, Rhiannon felt around on the bedside table for her glasses and passed them to Madam Pomfrey, who tapped her wand to them with a faint click and muttered something, presumably an incantation. Then she handed them back to Rhiannon, who fixed them on her slightly hooked nose with a curious frown. Very cautiously, she opened her eyes and sighed in relief. Madam Pomfrey had used a charm to tint the glass in her gold wire-framed spectacles so that she might have some relief from the intense brightness in her faulty vision. “Th-th-th-thhhh-hhhh-thank, you,” she said through clumsy lips, she was too hungry to think straight. Now mostly sighted, however, she noticed that there was not one potion bottle but two beside a glass of what smelled like orange juice. She held it up and tilted her head curiously, not trusting herself to ask about it without stammering.

Madam Pomfrey, to Rhiannon’s surprise, smiled broadly and clapped her hands in excitement. “Oh, sorry,” she said, as Rhiannon hastily covered her ears. “I’m just excited. That’s your a ‘blocker’, so to speak – scientifically, it’s a type of androgen antagonist, I modified a more common-use anti-androgen potion known as the ‘Androgen Arrestor’ but it doesn’t really have it’s own name. You don’t have to take it now if you’re not ready, that’s quite alright – I just wanted to show you, as we got it finished over the holidays. Little bit of complex chemistry in that, having to take altered physiology into account, but it’ll do the trick – any puberty you have been experiencing so far should be halted immediately, though it will not be undone.” she explained.

Rhiannon stared down at the little bottle in her hand. The liquid inside was translucent and pale green, completely innocent looking. She lifted a hand to her throat, where the very beginnings of an ‘apple’ was forming, and then to her upper lip which prickled stubbornly with dark hairs.She didn’t want to think of her body’s changes any further than that – and this potion could stop them. She remembered with a shudder her accident in February. That had been a sort of exaggerated preview of puberty, and it had cemented her certainty – she didn’t want that. Maybe some girls would be okay with that, but she wasn’t. She looked up at Madam Pomfrey, biting her lip as she considered her words in advance. “I – c-c-c-an-can-can’t j-just take this f-ffffff-for-forever, can I?” she asked, a rhetorical question to which Madam Pomfrey shook her head.

“No, unfortunately not. Puberty is a necessary, albeit unpleasant, part of growing up, it’s required for your body to reach adult levels of function. Myself and Pomona are working already on an estrogen potion for you, but it’s a little more complicated than simply blocking a group of hormones so it will take some time, and I will need your co-operation on matters such as blood tests to ensure the potion’s suitability for your physiology. You turned thirteen recently, did you not? Good – in wizarding law, that stands as the age of consent for medical and magical matters albeit thankfully not sexual, they were badgered into fixing that a while ago now... I’m distracting myself. With your permission I will inform your guardian, but his consent is not required as you are fit to consent if you wish, once given the full information of course.” Madam Pomfrey explained, to which Rhiannon blinked. Informed consent was something she’d vaguely heard about, it was a favourite subject of her foster father, so it did make some sense.

“Wh-what are the r-r-isks?” Rhiannon asked carefully, mentally kicking herself as even at her slow rate of speech she tripped over the initial consonants – always a sticking spot. Madam Pomfrey smiled and reached out to pat her hand comfortingly, shaking her head – no matter.

“As with any medication, there are risks – which I gather you already knew. It is not advisable to eliminate androgens entirely, as thinking of them as ‘male’ hormones is erroneous. Everyone has androgens, just as everyone has estrogens, and they are both required for normal bodily function. I understand they may present a source of dysphoria because of the ingrained idea of them as ‘male’ hormones, but I cannot in good conscience let you damage your physical health in pursuit of an unattainable ideal. Do you understand?” she asked, to which Rhiannon nodded. She looked down at her hands, long-fingered and their backs bony, freckled and webbed with scars. It comforted her, the knowledge that everyone had the same hormones in different amounts – that the sexual differences weren’t as major as her dysphoria made them seem.

Madam Pomfrey smiled, evidently seeing some of Rhiannon’s inner thought train on her face. “We humans are not a very dimorphic species at all, and most of our differences are socially constructed rather than biological. That might help, or it might not – I don’t know.” she said. Rhiannon grinned and shrugged, to which Madam Pomfrey’s smile turned wry. “Now, risks. Please don’t giggle or hide, it makes it harder and I do have to get through this list.” she said, and pulled a slip of parchement from a pocket of her apron. She frowned at it and then retrieved a pair of spectacles from her own pocket, squinting at the parchment to read it.

“Right, says here – don’t you giggle, Miss – decreased sex drive, erectile dysfunction, increased risk of depression – ha, always a funny one given the risk of depression for those who need it, without it! Anyway. Reduced facial and body hair growth, liver injury and dysfunction of liver enzymes – this is something we’ll check in for, alright? I know what to look for. Possible growth of breast tissue and tenderness, weight gain – probably not entirely a bad thing, in your case... hot flashes and... that looks like it. You notice anything else, you come straight to me. Clear?” Madam Pomfrey instructed her, as Rhiannon forced herself to keep a straight face as she fidgeted uncomfortably.

“I- I- I’d like to, start it. If I can. Now. Um – please.” Rhiannon said jerkily, turning the bottle over in her hand as she waited for permission. Madam Pomfrey beamed and nodded, and Rhiannon almost dropped the bottle as she bounced in place and waved her hands about excitedly. She winced and set the bottle down, as in doing so she’d aggravated the sore, raw skin around her neck and behind her ears. Silently, Madam Pomfrey took a pot of cream from her apron and moved to set it on Rhiannon’s bedside table, with a stern look at Rhiannon as she did so.

“If it happens again, you come to me for more of that, and a chat. It’s not uncommmon in werewolves, and something I have worried about already – it was as part of reliving the memory, wasn’t it? It doesn’t go beyond this, in any case. Nothing sharp, nothing dangerous. I don’t have eyes in the back of my head, but you can’t hide that sort of thing from me, dear. Your health is my concern – all of it, physical and mental. So if you ever feel like doing that to yourself on purpose, you come straight to me, even if it is two in the morning. Nod, and tell me you understand. Good. Now, that’s enough of the heavy stuff – I’ll leave the rest for your teachers to cover. Timetable will be in your dormitory along with the rest of your things, clean clothes are in the bedside drawer, leave your dirty ones in the basket beside the bed and I’ll get them washed. I’ll have an elf leave that potion with some water on your bed-side table in the mornings. All right?” Madam Pomfrey said. Her manner was always a little brisk, but it was reassuring in some way – Rhiannon was never under any illusions about the nurse’s opinions or state of mind.

Rhiannon began to nod, then frowned. “An – elf?” she asked, wrinkling her brows.

Madam Pomfrey had begun to turn away, and she turned back looking a little impatient. Rhiannon felt guilty for keeping her from her work so long. “Yes – house elves, you know.” she replied stiffly.

Rhiannon’s frown deepened. “H-h-h-h-Hogwarts has elves?” she asked, to which she received a terse nod. She remembered the state Dobby had been in, and the inhumane spell that bound him to a wizard’s will. Then she remembered the arrangement Dobby had made with the Headmaster, and she brightened. “Are they free? You know, like Dobby.”

Madam Pomfrey frowned herself, evidently casting around for the name. “Dobby... Dobby... ah, yes! Bright little chap, never have to tell him a thing twice about the medicines. He’s really very helpful, thinks for himself, and he reads too – very good with the kids, especially the juniors. But no – the rest aren’t. There’s a little – contingent – of freed elves, Minerva’s pet project for the decade or so, but the majority are bound to the school’s governors. Why?” she explained, then asked.

Rhiannon shook her head, her frown deepening to a bitter scowl. If the nurse had to ask why, then she wasn’t going to understand the answer. “N-n-n-nothing,” she lied hastily. “T-thanks,” she added, and with that turned her attention to her breakfast, which was now a little cold though she was too hungry to mind it much.

After she’d finished her breakfast, Rhiannon took her first dose of the blocker potion. She shrugged, and shook out her arms which had begun to fall asleep. She’d expected to feel – different, somehow, like – well, like magic. That was a childish expectation, she realised, but it still hurt a little to put it to rest. Magic was still bound by the rules of the universe, and in this case they were those of biology. She couldn’t rush this – puberty took what, almost a decade for anyone else? So she’d just have to be patient. With a sigh, she pulled the curtains closed around her bed and quickly changed into clean school robes. She discarded the dirty set that she’d slept in with a scowl, realising ‘having it cleaned’ probably meant foisting the task on an unpaid elf. Then, dressed, she retrieved her cane from beside the bed and picked up her cat, carrying the fuzzy grumpy creature in one arm against her chest and letting her drape her front end over Rhiannon’s shoulder in her favourite position. Thus readied, she set off on the long trek upstairs to the Gryffindor Tower.

Inside the common room, the changes weren’t immediately visible. The vast array of couches, tables, desks and bookshelves was the same as ever. The lion tapestry looked a little more worn than it had before. Someone had replaced the curtains over the great window, someone else was burning toast in the kitchenette. All in all – nothing out of the ordinary. Rhiannon slunk past the older students and headed upstairs, and it was there that she found the real changes. Her jaw dropped, to see the wall gone from between the girls’ and boys’ sides of the dormitory. And there was no girls’ or boys’ side – there were only seven rooms, where once there had been seven on each side. Rhiannon’s bewildered expression gradually spread into a broad grin, as she realised the simple elegance of Headmaster McGonagall’s solution.

Boys and girls were divided so they didn’t ‘fraternise’. But that was a silly rule, when plenty of girls liked girls, plenty of boys liked boys, and some people were neither a boy nor a girl. Rhiannon was a little discomforted at the idea of sharing a room with boys, but she reassured herself that the beds had curtains she could pull closed for privacy, and she knew most of the girls in her year anyway – she’d have some allies if she had any trouble. This way, even closeted students were accomodated, and they didn’t have to out themselves to receive that accomodation. Students like Luna and Ellery didn’t have to sleep on couches or lonely in a token third gender dormitory. Rhiannon was under no illusions that there’d be complaints about the changes, but she shrugged and smiled to herself, quietly pleased with it all.

“Rhiannon!” someone cried out, and Rhiannon brightened as she recognised the familiar voice of Ron Weasley. Her private grin brightened, as she realised he’d have to find a new way of figuring himself out, now that he couldn’t sneak up and down enchanted stairs. She was disrupted from that train of thought as Ron himself bounded up before her. Now they weren’t huddled on a train, she could see just how long his hair had gotten – it was well past his shoulders now, a riotous mess of ginger curls. She noticed with a pang the pale holly wand protruding from his pocket as he bobbed from foot to foot in front of her, and forced a smile. “You’re all right?” Ron added, his hands restless at his sides.

Rhiannon shrugged awkwardly and nodded, and Ron surged forward to hug her tightly, then relaxed his grip as Calypso gra-aarked and wriggled in protest. “I- I didn’t h-h-h-h-hur-t anyone, right?” Rhiannon asked him anxiously.

Ron shook his head, though his expression sobered. “No – no, definitely not, it’s not like you had claws or... I’m just – we’re all just glad you’re alright, it was bad enough for us let alone that... Anyway, c’mon, see our room, it’s great!” he replied, changing the subject a little clumsily. He towed Rhiannon into the dormitory marked with the letter three, and gestured around at the rows of beds – nine in all. She recognised Neville sitting on one – so he hadn’t been moved, that was nice, as well as Aeden Finnegan – another Gryffindor boy from last year. And Lavender Brown waved from where she rummaged in a chest on the other side.

“Wh-who else is there?” Rhiannon asked, gesturing around them to indicate that she meant their roommates.

Ron frowned, obviously trying to remember names. “Um... Ernie, MacMillan – he was in Hufflepuff last year. We’ve also got Sally-Anne and Heather, and two new kids – Samfeyo Berry and Kellah Shahid. She’s cool, really smart.” he replied, pointing to each empty bed as he named their owners. A pretty olive-skinned girl with a dusky rose-coloured scarf looped and tied neatly over her hair poked her head out of the bathroom, wearing a warm smile and straightening round gold-rimmed glasses very like Rhiannon’s own as she looked over at them.

“Talking about me already?” she asked them teasingly. Rhiannon flushed and hid her face in her hands – this girl really was pretty, and she wasn’t so used to being teased that she could handle it with any grace. Worse, she was confident – and Rhiannon always flustered in the face of confidence. She strode over to them and held out her hand to shake Rhiannon’s. Rhiannon returned the gesture a little clumsily, leaning her cane against her hip to free up a hand with a shy and crooked smile. The new girl grinned. “I’m Kellah,” she introduced herself. Her accent was light and melodic, Southern Irish by Rhiannon’s best guess.

“Rhi – Rhiannon,” Rhi replied, struggling to wrangle her disobedient tongue into sufficient order. “It – it’s nice t’ meet you.” she added, genuine albeit a little stiff. “D-d-did you transfer, or-rr-or-rrr s-something?”

Kellah shrugged, her smile turning a little wry. “No, I’m new new. People like me, we, didn’t get to go to school before. I’m a Squib. We thought I didn’t have any magic, that the family had lost it – that was just how it was. But I do after all, don’t I? So it’s my responsibility to learn the boundaries of it, so it can’t hurt anyone.” she replied in a matter-of-fact sort of way.

Rhiannon was taken aback,but she managed an awkward smile. “That – that’s really cool. And – responsible, I guess, magic’s... dangerous, and messy.” she said, shuffing awkwardly from foot to foot as she fumbled for something to say.

Kellah grinned and shook her head, her wry grin turning down at the edges. Rhiannon noticed that despite her confidence and her friendly smile, Kellah didn’t make eye contact and she rubbed her fingers together at her sides, bobbing in a way that Rhiannon recognised as anxious – not a bad sort of anxious, the eager kind. That made her seem more relatable, more like a real person to Rhiannon and she smiled to herself. “It – really is – nice. To meet you.” Rhiannon finished, managing a more steady smile this time. “My br-th- my cousin, he’s like you too. It’s great that Min- McGonagall- is welcoming you in, I wonder how many new students there are...”

Ron snorted with laughter as Rhiannon trailed off, distracted. She blushed and ducked her head as Kellah giggled and grinned at her. “There’s a fair few, years first to fourth. Our classes aren’t quite sorted by year as there’s not enough of us for it that way. So I guess I’ll see your br-th-cousin around,” Kellah explained, with a teasing lilt on Rhiannon’s stumble. She’d almost called Dudley her brother. That was really what he was to her, wasn’t he? It made sense – wolves didn’t make distinctions like cousin, or aunt. There was just the family you found for yourself.

Ron coughed, interrupting Rhiannon’s ruminations. “This is cute an’ all but... we’ve got Transfiguration in fifteen, and McGonagall’s a bear if we’re late, or, worse, it could be someone new.” he said, and jerked his head at the door. “Swap the grumpy fluff for some books and let’s go?” he suggested. Calypso flattened her ears and nuzzled into Rhiannon’s cheek as if rejecting the suggestion, making Rhiannon giggle as the cat’s whiskers tickled her freckled face. With a sigh, Rhiannon limped over to the bed Ron had indicated to be hers and deposited her cat on the blanket folded at the end, feeling her heart wrench a little at the creature’s desperately sad rusty miaaaaow.

“If you come to class, someone’ll turn you into something, and that doesn’t sound very fun,” Rhiannon told the cat in a mock-stern tone, booping her freckly black nose as a final farewell.

“Well you’d know,” Ron muttered under his breath with a smirk, and Rhiannon glared at him and shook her head – not helpful, she had no idea of her new roommates’ views on werewolves and only three of them save for Ron knew about her.

The cat grumbled to herself and curled up in a ball, and Rhiannon turned away and flipped open the trunk at the end of her bed, quickly rummaging through for her backpack and the books she needed for the day – twice as many as usual, she had four classes in the time she usually had two, between the two breaks. In a side pocket of her bag she found a wrought gold amulet set with the covered face of a clock – her Time Turner must have been sent ahead. Thus packed, she rejoined Ron, Kellah and Aeden, as well as Heather Pace who had joined them. Rhiannon stared briefly at Heather’s hair, the brunette had shaved the left side of her head bare and tied the remaining hair in a loose ponytail that hung over her shoulder. It wasn’t a bad look, in fact Rhiannon thought to herself that it looked pretty hot on her much-taller friend – it was more of a startling change than anything else.

“Great, we still got Potter!” Heather said with a grin. “I was hoping you’d still be here, it’s not like I really know the Gryffindors much.”

Rhiannon shrugged. “Oth-oth-oth-tthhh- forfuckssake – other than the P-p-prefects, most got moved s-s-s-o-o-so, so you don’t really need t’ know Gryffindors, per se. You’re as Gryffindor as anyone else this year, right?” she replied, and realised she was staring again, her eyes drawn back to the daring change of hairstyle. “I- I like your hair,” she added shyly.

Heather shrugged, looking unconvinced about Rhiannon’s first statement, but brightening at the second. “Thanks! I, figured some stuff out over the holidays I guess, and wanted to show it.” she replied cheerfully. Then she looked down at her feet, knotting her hands together in front of her – a rare display of anxiety, Heather was also usually very confident. “If- if you could refer to me with they and them, rather than she... that would also be great. I figured if anyone’d get it, it’d be you.”

Rhiannon blinked, then it sunk in and she bounced on the spot, flapping her hands happily. “Oh, neat! Very cool! Thankyou for saying!” she replied, her wobbly smile brightening into a goofy grin though she wasn’t really sure exactly how you were supposed to respond to that – it didn’t feel like words were big enough. She tried to compose herself and mostly succeeded, though that grin remained firmly fixed in place. “Um – can I hug you? I kinda feel like hugging you.” she asked, touched by that little acknowledgement – ‘if anyone’d get it, it’d be you’. Heather sighed with amused exasperation and nodded, and Rhiannon immediately surged forward to hug her friend tightly.

“It’s not a big deal or anything, but- I was thinking of maybe changing my name, is it all good if I talk to you with like, ideas or ones I want to try? I don’t know, nothing feels right when I just say it in my head.” Heather added as Rhiannon stepped away and resumed her happy bobbing from side to side.

Rhiannon nodded eagerly, then a look at Ron’s face told her she really was holding them up. “Yes! Yesyesyeseseysss- But- um – we are really going to be late now,” she replied, trying to squish her excitement back into her person.

Heather deflated a little, and swung their backpack onto their shoulders. “Fair enough – last thing I need is the Mac giving us all a bollocking on our first day,” they agreed with a grin. Ron stared, then burst into laughter along with Aeden while Kellah looked mildly disturbed. Rhiannon shook her head and sighed, amused despite herself.

“Min- McGonagall’s great, really, she probably wouldn’t mind the swearing,” Rhiannon reassured Kellah as they set off for class. “We all respect her, really – we’re just not so, formal about it I guess. No-nuh-nobody does it about the teachers they don’t like.”

Kellah shrugged and shook her head, straightening her headscarf over her shoulders as she did so. “I suppose that makes sense,” she agreed. “I’m just – used to formality, and social etiquette rules are sort of – comfortable, in a new situation, I’m used to them. They make me confident. And now they’re all turned on their head.” she added, looking a little forlorn.

Rhiannon smiled and snickered quietly. “I-i-i-i-iiii- I get it, trust me, and you don’t have to join in – Hermione doesn’t, or Luna. We all do respect differently, right? Your way is fine too.” she replied, empathising with the new girl’s uncertainty. “I’ll see you after break? We’ve got double Transfiruation-transfi-guh-ffffff-fuckit, you know what I mean – but we’ve got our option classes in between so, see you then?”

Kellah brightened and nodded eagerly. “Sounds good!” she agreed, sharing a friendly smile with Rhiannon as she turned away. “See you!” she called back over her shoulder, heading off down a different set of stairs to Rhiannon, Ron, Aeden and Lavender along with a solid, handsome Black guy with his hair done in braids and decorated with red-and-gold beads, who Rhiannon guessed to be their other new roommate, what had Ron called him? Samfeyo, that was right.

Rhiannon returned her attention to her roommates’ quiet chatter as they all headed downstairs towards the Transfiguration classrooms, taking time to re-familiarise themselves with the layout of the castle and the timing of the shifting staircases as they did so. Rhiannon wondered idly how the teachers managed with only one for each subject – maybe they used Time Turners themselves. Eventually they found their way to the fourth floor and their class, and slunk in through the half-open door five minutes late.

Rhiannon’s companions settled themselves into empty seats, while Rhiannon had been growing gradually more and more restless. She’d missed the Welcome Feast, and something smelled wrong, a familiar kind of wrong. Electrical smoke, chemical solvents and sour human sweat – an alchemist. A very particular alchemist. She looked up from the floor and froze, seeing him now. Where Minerva McGonagall usually stood at the head of the long classroom was a different figure, robed in vibrant brocaded teal, his long silver-white beard combed and braided at the end, his hands spread wide as he stopped in the middle of whatever he had been telling the class. Albus Dumbledore. There was no use in asking what he was doing here – that much was obvious. As Headmaster, Minerva would no longer have time to teach. But why had he been the one to replace her? A growl rose in Rhiannon’s throat and her free hand trembled at her side, the other clutching her cane in a white-knuckled grip. After everything, every reason to bar him from education altogether, he’d weaselled back in somehow. She didn’t blame Minerva, she was under no illusions that the Ministry and the Board held the real power over hiring and dismissal. But she couldn’t just sit here every day and listen to him call her the wrong name, be patient with his condescension. She couldn’t just accept it.

Someone caught hold of Rhiannon’s arm in a strong grip, and she whirled to face them, dimly aware that the growl still rumbled in her throat. It died, as she recognised the person in question – a much happier recognition. Hermione Ndiaye-Granger, her uniform accented with the warm purple of the new Miremark house, her bronze skin tinged with a grey flush of concern as she met Rhiannon’s gaze for a brief moment. “Rhiannon – you can’t yell at him,” she whispered, shaking her head fervently. “Come on, we’ll just go – you can’t cause a scene, not unless you feel like explaining to everyone why snarling and baring your teeth is your first response.” she hissed, shaking Rhiannon’s arm to make sure the small, angry girl’s attention was on her.

Rhiannon curled her lip, glaring sideways at Dumbledore. “Master Potter, Miss Granger, if you would join the class? We are all waiting for you.” the teal-robed man said, his tone dry. A growl rose again in Rhiannon’s throat and Nyx snarled furiously in her semiconscious mind, her anger on Hermione’s behalf outweighing the irritation at his casual refusal to gender her correctly. Hermione squeezed her arm and shook her head, and Rhiannon swallowed the furious outburst that had trembled on the tip of her tongue.

“It’s Ndiaye-Granger, Professor – and no.” Hermione replied coldly. Her grip on Rhiannon’s arm trembled, and with that she turned sharply around and departed the classroom, towing Rhiannon along with her.

“I could’ve taken him,” Rhiannon grumbled, as Hermione dragged her down the corridor.

Hermione snorted, though the sound was mirthless. “I have no doubt. But he probably tastes terrible, and think of all the questions. We’ll take it to McGonagall, she’ll have a solution – she won’t make you take that class, surely. I just about chewed him out myself when we walked in and saw him.” she replied, and shifted her stern grip to a more comfortable one, her hand in Rhiannon’s. She squeezed Rhiannon’s hand and managed a small, prickly smile when the short girl looked up at her. “I doubt he’s much as a teacher anyway, it’s been what – forty years since he’s done it?”

At that, Rhiannon snorted with laughter. Some of her bad temper dissipated as they made fun of the arrogant old man, enough that she was even smiling faintly as they reached Headmaster McGonagall’s office. Here there was another change – the guarding statue was gone, replaced by a short, wide staircase that led directly up into the office. Clearly Minerva intended to be a Headmaster people could actually reach, and that was reassuring. Hermione squeezed her hand again, and Rhiannon managed another uncertain smile. “C’mon,” Hermione murmured, nodding to the stairs ahead of them.

With Hermione’s assistance and that of her cane, Rhiannon limped up the stairs and into the open expanse of the Headmaster’s office. She steeled herself against the flood of panic at being in that space, but it did not come. Dumbledore’s scent was almost gone, his austere decorations replaced with comfortable armchairs and a blackboard on which it appeared Minerva had been devising a complex contained inner-space spell, presented as tangled equations and diagrams in many-coloured chalk. Minerva’s influence was everywhere, some of the books taken from their shelves and set open on tables, the pillows on the armchairs a little crumpled and the windows propped open to catch the breezes. Someone actually lived and worked in here, and that made it a real place rather than one of her nightmares.

Thus comforted, Rhiannon turned her attention to the tall woman sitting in a comfortable-looking low-backed chair behind the desk, which was now cluttered with papers and the tools of writing and calculation. Minerva McGonagall had obviously been working when they arrived, but now she looked up at them, her face lined with concern. “Rhiannon, Hermione? What is it?” she asked them.

Rhiannon looked to Hermione to speak for them, not trusting herself to speak without growling. “It’s Transfiguration, Prof- Headmaster,” Hermione replied, with an uncomfortable shrug as she spoke. “Rhiannon – and I – we, can’t stay in there. Not with Dumbledore.”

Minerva’s worried expression dissolved, to be replaced with one of regret. She shook her head, and rubbed her eyes tiredly. “I am sorry. Really I am – I should have warned you, as you missed the feast, but even that’s not it... The Board foisted him on me, and all I can do is apologise for it. As Headmaster, my time is reserved for student concerns, management of faculty – there is no space left to teach full-time, and I was not permitted to try. In the best interests of the students, they said. But this presents a conflict. Most students would do well enough with Albus as a teacher, he did teach the subject before he was made Headmaster. And you both are taking so many classes, ordinarily I would be all for the both of you dropping one... but Transfiguration is a core subject, and I worry that you would severely limit your future choices by not taking it. Might I offer an alternative?” she offered, glancing up at the both of them. “And do sit down, girls, you can’t be comfortable there.”

Rhiannon shrugged and pulled out a chair for Hermione in front of the desk before flopping into the other herself with a sigh. Minerva smiled, and leaned forward on the desk. “Truth be told, I miss teaching. So why don’t you continue your studies with me? I have the supplies to teach in here, and you’re both very capable of managing at least partially independently if I am called away, and I’m sure Ingólfur wouldn’t mind assisting.” the Headmaster suggested, gesturing to the blackboard and chairs as she spoke.

Rhiannon and Hermione looked at eachother, sharing hopeful smiles as they did so. Of course McGonagall wouldn’t force them back to the classroom, they’d known that, but they hadn’t expected that she would be so willing to sacrifice her own time to assist them. “We-w-w-w-w-we’d like that,” Rhiannon stammered, tearing her gaze from Hermione’s to glance at the Headmaster.

Minerva smiled and clapped her hands together softly. “Perfect. Now, the both of you have had an unfair shock. Take the time to recover, and adjust for your afternoon classes. You’re both taking the same programme, so you can figure out how you’re going to handle the midday together. If you’re up to study, find Animal Transfigurations: The Theory and a History in the British Isles by Caidhlene Blackhorn in the library, and familiarise yourselves with that – it’s got a lot of the year’s material in it, and the context rather than just the spells which you might both appreciate.” she suggested.

Rhiannon shrugged, and looked to Hermione who already looked lost in thought, a happy dreamy smile on her round face. “Tha-ttth-t sounds good,” Rhiannon replied for her, offering Minerva a slightly crooked smile. The Headmaster returned the wry expression and gestured that they were free to leave, and this time it was Rhiannon’s turn to tug Hermione out of the room. Hermione blinked, shook herself, and then as they made their way down the hall Rhiannon could tell that her friend had returned to the present.

“So – um – how’s Miremark? The, common room, and stuff.” Rhiannon asked awkwardly, for the sake of making conversation. She couldn’t help the surge of longing, of missing, that came with the question. Hermione was supposed to be with her, in the bed just next to hers, surrounded by faded red curtains, old wood and the friends she had become close with over the last two years of school. Maybe different would be good for them, good for the school – of course it would be good for the school. But she didn’t like it, and she couldn’t help remembering how good it had been before.

Hermione beamed, though her expression quivered around the edges – she must be feeling as disoriented as Rhiannon. “It’s good – really, it is,” she replied, as they took yet another flight of stairs down. “It’s on the ground floor, on the far side. You can see the forest out the window, it’s so close on that side, and the walls are all filled with books. There’s so much history in it, all together so you can find it easier than in the library. And it’s not too bright, like our common room was. There’s a tree growing right up the centre of it, it’s called a wintersweet, and the others said it smells wonderful when it flowers. And the Prefects are great. They got passed over for student leadership before, but McGonagall needed capable people in charge of a whole new house, so we got them. Leila McCloskey, you know, the old Hufflepuff captain? She’s one for the seventh year. And Aeden’s big sister Aislinn, she’s another, in fifth. I really like it.” Hermione replied, as she and Rhiannon reached the library. They settled themselves down in one of the study nooks, and took out their class books – A Guide to Intermediate Transfiguration by Emeric Switch.

Rhiannon struggled to focus on hers, feeling jealous and left out of Hermione’s new joy, all separate from Rhiannon’s own life. That was a bitter feeling and unfair besides, and Rhiannon sought desperately for something, anything, to call her attention away from it. “That’s – great. Really. And- um- did you know, Dobby’s helping in the Hospital Wing? At least, that’s what I got, anyway. He’s, the elf, that helped me last year. Well, tried to help. And I got him freed. But – Madam Pomfrey, she told me, there’s more. Who make our food and, and bring our medicines, and clean our dorms and – they’re all slaves, ‘Mione. Dobby couldn’t even tell me who his masters were, he had to hurt himself, they’re bound somehow.” Rhiannon said, her voice trembling. She knew she was rambling, she didn’t know where she was going with this. She hadn’t meant to change the subject into such a mess. Not when Hermione had been so happy only a moment ago, even if it was a happiness that didn’t include her.

But it was too late for regret. Rhiannon’s mouth had gotten away from her, and Hermione’s turned down at the corners. “Slaves. At Hogwarts.” she replied, her tone suddenly very cold and very angry. Where usually her skin had a warm rosy-gold tone under its’ deep colour, it was now ashy and her eyes were cold and steady as Rhiannon met her gaze. “You’re serious? No, of course you are, you’d never joke about something like this.” she murmured, her sparse brows drawing together in a frown. Hermione could never hide her feelings, so this composure wasn’t hiding – it was a different kind of anger entirely to the kind she ordinarily showed.

“We have to do something. We have to.” Hermione said, startling Rhiannon in the silence that had followed her previous words. “Enslavement of humans, that was abolished, publicly at least, in Britain in 1833. Not perfectly – I won’t start on the prison system or modern laws, but... they aren’t so open about it. This is barbaric.”

Rhiannon nodded miserably, her eyes fixed on her scarred knuckles on the table before her. “B-b-b-buh-buh-bub-but what can we do? N-nuh-no offence but, we’re thirteen. Who’d listen to us?”

Hermione shook her head, her dark eyes flashing with righteous fury. “They’ll listen to you. You’re their Girl Who Lived – especially with Sirius Black out, especially after Lockhart and the Chamber. If you’re involved, they’ll listen. We can do something about this, Rhi. We’ve got to.”

Rhiannon leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table. “So – so we do something. You’re right. What do we do?”