What they decided to do, what they had to do, was a movement. They came up with the name together – The Society for the Promotion of Elven Autonomy and Rights. S.P.E.A.R. Hermione was right – Rhiannon had power, even if it wasn’t something she’d gained on her own merit. It wasn’t something she wanted, but it was something she could use, that they could both use.

Their plan was a simple one. McGonagall had even given them the idea herself. Under magical law, any person entered into a contract was granted personhood by the law. Their goal was employment contracts for the Hogwarts elves. Freedom from the Elfbind, wages, clothing, medical care and time off – those were what they wanted for those they represented. The same as any human employee. It made them both sick to think that such a simple idea was so radical to wizarding society. Rhiannon had known wizarding society was archaic since soon after she had entered it, but slavery was unthinkable. There was little they could do to change it all, all at once... but they’d not budge on this.

Eventually, the bell for eleven-thirty rang, signalling that they’d run right through their first break working and thinking. It was time for Divination, the first of their elective classes, though they had each discovered that the other was taking the same Time-Turner-assisted extended programme. They packed their books into their bags and checked out a copy each of the text Minerva had recommended they look into, and set off on the long, long, long trek to the very top of the school. Of course Divination was in the most aggravating location possible. Why would anything be easy? There were even more stairs than the trip up to Gryffindor Tower.

At last, they reached the top. Crowded up there were about twenty-five students, including some they recognised – Lavender, Neville, Heather and Ron from Rhiannon’s own house, Parvati in Miremark colours, Daphne, Faye and Tracey in Slytherin green, Emilia Moon and Draco Malfoy in Ravenclaw blue, the latter looking surprisingly quiet and withdrawn without his usual circle. Clearly elective classes were mixed rather than being two entire house groups like their core classes, and Rhiannon felt a surge of comforting reassurance at having all her friends with her again, even if it was tempered by the worry Draco brought.

With Daphne was a boy who looked almost identical to her, from his tawny olive skin to long blond hair tied half-up in a ponytail, to his rounded rectangular gold-rimmed spectacles. Even the shadows under his eyes were similar. He waved shyly to Rhiannon and Hermione and straightened the collar of his uniform shirt. “Hey,” he murmured, without meeting their gazes.

Rhiannon cocked her head curiously, looking askance to Daphne. Daphne smiled and squeezed the shy boy’s hand, shaking her head in exasperation. “This is my brother, Matei. He’s been allowed to attend this year with the new rules, but it’s all pretty new.” she explained.

“You twins?” Ron asked, to a nod from Matei and Daphne. He shrugged, looking a little bewildered. “You look practically identical, but that’s not how it works, right? You’re a boy so you’ve got to be fraternal twins.”

At that, Matei giggled, and Daphne’s little smile turned wry. “We are identical twins, silly. You’re friends with the Girl Who Lived, shouldn’t you know about trans people?” Matei said, speaking up for the first time. Ron flushed, looking immediately chastened, as Rhiannon snorted with laughter and kicked him lightly in the shin. That only made Matei and Daphne laugh harder.

“I’m sorry,” Ron mumbled. He was coloured red right to his eartips, his wavy hair partially covering his face as he looked down at his feet. “You’re right, that was dumb.”

Ron was saved from further embarrassment by the creak of hinges, as a trap door swung open above them. There was a soft clicking sound, as from it descended a silvery rope-and-plank ladder. Rhiannon groaned as she saw it, there was no way she was strong enough to climb that. Not with a weak shoulder. Even without it, how many teenagers could have pulled themselves up eight feet of unsupported rope ladder without struggle? Not many, she realised, as she watched her classmates groan and fight to get up the ladder. A seed of resentment set itself deep in her gut, as she waited for her own turn. This wasn’t fair on anyone. How would Althea Kingsward, a second-year girl in Gryffindor this year who used a charmed kind of flying variant of wheelchair as a mobility aid, get up, when even regular teenagers struggled? It wasn’t fair.

Rhiannon turned to Ron, her face twisted in worry. “I – I can’t – Ron I can’t get up that,” she whispered, jerking her head towards the ladder. “M-m-m-muh-my shoulder’s wrecked, I can’t get up.”

Ron turned his gaze from where he had been scowling up at the rope ladder himself. “I’m gonna struggle too,” he grumbled. “But I think I can help... hmmmm... No, we can’t levitate you, you’ll just bash your head. Um... what about, like how you get on a horse, I’ll hoick you up.” he suggested, miming the movement as he did so.

Rhiannon looked up at the trap door high above them, and then down at Ron with a critical eye. He was taller than last year, and he was muscled, albeit in a lanky, wiry kind of way, but he was also a thirteen year old boy – could he really help her jump all that way? Ron noticed her disbelieving glance and snorted. “Rhiannon, you’re looking way better than before but you’re still sixty pounds tops. I think I can leg you up to a trap door.” he replied with a wryly amused snort.

Rhiannon scowled, and looked down at her own skinny frame and slightly too-long skirt that hung over her knobbly knees. Ron did have a bit of a point, it wouldn’t be like lifting Aeden or Parvati, or even someone little but stocky like Faye. She sighed and relented, then giggled to herself. “Nobody tosses a dwarf,” she muttered, and tightened the straps on her backpack. She set her cane on the ground and turned a cautious smile on Ron. “Pass it up t’ me? If-if-if-iffffff-ffff-if you help me, can probably spring off alright, i’s on’y my shoulder that’s bust.” she suggested, slurring her words a little. The Dursleys would beat her if they heard her speaking like that. They’d call it common, lazy. But her new friends, her new family – they didn’t care. They knew it was just what was easiest for her.

Ron grinned. “Well, good thing you’re not a dwarf – that Gimli guy looks heavy,” he replied with a snicker, recognising the muttered line. He nudged the cane aside and set his feet in a wide stance, bending his knees and holding his hands out in a low stirrup formation for Rhiannon. She braced herself with a hand on his shoulder and stepped into his hand, wishing her boots were cleaner as she bent her own knees and readied herself. She clenched and released her hands at her sides, preparing for the dull aching drag on her shoulder when she caught hold of the opening at the top. Then she looked up at Ron, who smiled reassuringly at her. “Alright, on three.” he said with a nod, making sure she’d heard properly. Rhiannon nodded stiffly herself, anxious and tense.

“Loosen up or you’ll have the flight arc of a boulder, c’mon,” Ron teased her. Rhiannon cracked a smile at that, and Ron breathed a sigh of relief. “Alright. One, two, three!”

With that, he hoisted Rhiannon up and she sprang out of his hand, leaping straight for the hole in the ceiling. She’d expected to need to grab the lip of the hole, risking injury to drag herself the rest of the way up, but she’d misjudged her own strength – she’d not had much chance to test it. Instead of clawing desperately to catch stone, Rhiannon sailed right clear of it, up into a classroom. She threw her weight backwards and landed clumsily on one knee, panting and startled. “Whoa,” she whispered, shaking and trying to catch her breath. Dimly she registered that her classmates were staring, and she flushed uncomfortably and hid her gaze.

“Damn, Potter, no wonder you play two positions for the Quidditch team,” someone said. Rhiannon glanced up, startled, and found the sharp-jawed, bright-smiling face of Aeden Finnegan. He held out a hand that Rhiannon gratefully accepted, and helped her to her feet and over to a chair across a small table from Hermione. “Still, suppose it’s only fair what with, what is it you got, Ellie Danvers syndrome, with your fucky joints?”

Rhiannon snickered – she’d forgotten that was her cover. “El-el-el-Ehlers-Danlos,” she corrected him with a wry smile. That was the excuse they’d made for herself and Dudley’s condition, as the day-to-day physical symptoms of her lycanthropy manifested similarly to the genetic illness in question, from the skin issues to the loose, hyperextensible joints, ease of injury and tendency for heavy scarring. “Thanks for the hand,” she added.

Aeden shrugged and waved a hand, as he turned away towards his own chair. “No big. You should try that in Quidditch sometime, could be a real show-stopper move,” he commented, and settled into his chair. Ron, puffing and red-faced, flopped into the third chair beside Rhiannon and Hermione, and that was the end of that.

Now, Rhiannon had the time to look around the classroom – if it could be called that. It seemed more like an attic or a very old-fashioned tea-shop. Instead of regular desks and chairs as in every other class, Rhiannon and her classmates were seated in an array of mismatched armchairs in groups of two or three, set around small round tables. The whole classroom was tinted rosy purplish, the walls papered in a weird brocade sort of pattern. At the head of the classroom was a tall stone fireplace burning with reddish pink-tinted flames, a large old-fashioned copper kettle hanging over the flames. To add to the effect, the many lamps set around the room were shrouded with red scarves. Ordinarily the low, red light would have been pleasant on Rhiannon’s eyes, but the room was stiflingly hot and the air felt heavy, somehow. Something, either the kettle or the fire itself, filled the room with a thick, sickly herbal sort of perfume and the light coming in through the closed windows was hazy with smoke.

“Excuse me? If everyone’s all finished with the rough-and-tumble.” A thin, reedy woman spoke at the head of the classroom. She was seated in a high-backed chair behind a desk, her back to the fireplace as she faced the class. She was garbed in many shawls over her robes, and she peered out from behind the thickest spectacles Rhiannon had ever seen, entirely the wrong shape for her face so that she appeared to be shrunken behind them. She wore many beaded necklaces and bracelets, the latter of which clicked softly on her trembling arms hanging at her sides. “Welcome to Divination. If you’d all – take out your books, please, and flip through to page six. I am Professor Sibyl Trelawney, and we’ll be be beginning our studies with the art of Tasseomancy, or the reading of the twisted webs of our present, past and futures in tea leaves. Many mages, talented though they are in the areas of loud bangs and lightshows, have no gift for this subtler field. I may not be able to teach many of you. But for those of you who feel called, if you work at it, you may be able to learn... if you apply yourselves. You, boy – is your grandmother well?” she asked, interrupting herself to turn to Neville with an imperious sort of air, pointing across the classroom at him.

Neville looked like he wanted to sink into the ground, put on the spot. He shook his head and shrank into his chair, until finally the professor turned her attention from him. “Ah, she’s a stubborn old lady, but take care of her.” she muttered. “You, dear,” she said, nodding to Parvati who sat in a chair just in front of her desk. “Would you be so kind as to pass me the largest silver tea-pot from the wall?”

Parvati, wide-eyed and a little startled, leapt from her chair and scurried over to retrieve the teapot as she’d been asked. The professor smiled, barely visible behind her glasses as the expression was, and returned to her lesson. She took the copper kettle from the fireplace behind her desk and emptied its translucent coppery contents into the silver tea-pot. Then, with it in hand, she set off around the classroom. Her eyes, enlarged by the spectacles, widened as she took in Rhiannon, but she said nothing as she poured tea into Rhiannon’s mug.

“It is your essence, left in the residue, that is what tasseomancy works with – your essence guides the shapes in the leaves, and those shapes are your future. Drink up, center yourselves and continue when you are finished.” Professor Trelawney told them as she returned to her desk. Rhiannon sniffed the tea and wrinkled her nose. It was tea tea, real tea like Hagrid kept. And she couldn’t drink it. She’d like to, but knew a sore stomach was the best case scenario – caffeine, even in seemingly small doses, could trigger seizures and heart arrhythmia. She shoved her cup across the table to Hermione.

“I-i I can’t just tip it out or I’ll lose the leaves, you drink it,” Rhiannon said, when Hermione raised an eyebrow.

Hermione snickered. “But it’s your essence it’s reading!” she replied, her tone surprisingly mocking. It was Rhiannon’s turn to raise an eyebrow, and Hermione sighed. “Sorry, sorry – I just, don’t like the grandstanding, I guess. It’s so woolly. Only some can do it and you’re born with it... ridiculous.” she grumbled.

Ron shrugged. “I mean, that’s how it is, right? It’s the Sight. My aunt Myfanwy managed to predict her own death, and Dad’s always griping about headaches and too many pictures from the winds. It’s just always been like that, stupid or not.” he replied.

Hermione snorted to herself and grabbed Rhiannon’s teacup. “Whatever,” she grumbled, and drained it in a few gulps. She slid the cup back across the table to Rhiannon and returned to musing over her own, emptying it more slowly. “Hot, hothothothothot,” she hissed, fanning herself. Rhiannon giggled, as her friend’s deep tigers-eye skin took on a reddish hue.

“It did come st-s-sssss-t-t-t-ttttt-straight off a fire,” Rhiannon reminded Hermione. Hermione scowled at her, while Ron stifled his snickers in his teacup.

Rhiannon returned to her textbook while her friends bickered, flipping through to the section Professor Trelawney had specified. There were numerous diagrams laid out in the book, shapes to look for or themes and landscapes if there was no particular shape. “Crooked c-c-c-c-c-cross, trials and suffering... tell me something I don’t know. Ron, you take this, I can’t stop smart-assing it, I’ll do yours.” she grumbled, reaching out for his.

Obligingly, Ron slid his cup across the table and exchanged it for Rhiannon’s. Rhiannon peered into his cup. “Ooh, lightning,” she murmured to herself, scanning the pages. “Great change. And here I thought we’d done with that... thanks, cup. What you got?” she asked Ron.

Ron squinted into Rhiannon’s cup, ignoring Hermione’s skeptical glare. “A – bowler hat, I think. Change in social status, a windfall. Nice – lend me some, would ya?” he replied.

Rhiannon rolled her eyes, suddenly sympathising with Hermione’s views on the subject. “Better as-assssssss-sasssk Hermione,” she replied snidely. “’s her essence, after all.” she drawled.

Suddenly, Professor Trelawney swooped down on their little circle and snatched Rhiannon’s cup away from Ron. “Beginner’s mistake, to look for the happy omens,” she informed them, peering closely at the cup. “That’s not a bowler hat at all, that’s a club, an attack... dear me, girl, this is not a happy cup.”

Hermione snorted. “Cup’s late, that was last year – er, Professor,” she replied. Rhiannon blinked – Hermione, talking back to a teacher?

Professor Trelawney gazed balefully at Hermione for a moment, before she sniffed disdainfully and returned her attention to Rhiannon’s cup. “And the skull... danger in your path. A falcon... you have a deadly enemy.” she continued.

At that, even Ron rolled his eyes. “To be fair, Professor, everyone knows that,” he replied drily. “It’s been what, two years in a row now?”

Professor Trelawney reddened and looked as if she were trying to restrain the urge to snap at them. She sighed in a frustrated sort of way and returned her attention pointedly to the cup, bringing it close to her face to see it better. Suddenly, her breathing hitched and she thrust the cup away from herself, hurriedly slamming it back on the table in front of the three teenagers. Her eyes were wide behind her spectacles and her hands trembled, though she clasped them together in a vain effort to hide it.

“Professor, what is it?” one of their classmates asked, but Professor Trelawney shook her head firmly, setting her many beads and chains to clicking.

“No – no, it’s kinder not to say,” Trelawney replied.

Rhiannon lost her patience. She empathised with the odd, nervous teacher, but she agreed with Hermione – the grandstanding was a bit too much. “You- you’re dying to say, just tell us,” she snapped irritably.

Professor Trelawney drew herself up with a sniff. Clearly, Rhiannon had gotten under her skin, probably assisted by the earlier snarky comments from her friends. “My dear, so skeptical. You are much too preoccupied with the material world, so closed off... and yet, in your cup... My dear, you have – the Grim!” she announced, in a tremulous voice.

Some of Rhiannon’s classmates gasped, while Rhiannon was completely nonplussed. “The... Grim, Professor?” she asked, unable to entirely keep the skepticism from her voice.

“Yes, the Grim, my dear girl!” Professor Trelawney repeated, a little irritably. “The great black spectral dog that haunts ruins and graveyards! The worst omen, the very worst – of death.”

Rhiannon lost her patience entirely at that. “With-withwith-ith- all, due respect, Professor, people thought Augureys were an omen of d-d-d-d-death too. They killed them en-en-en-en-n-nen-ne-e-en masse for it, until they were told different” she snipped back. “And – if it’s a black dog then... probably just Nyx, ‘s fine.”

Hermione hissed softly and kicked Rhiannon in the shin under the table, Rhiannon ignored it. “Nyx?” Professor Trelawney asked, a little disdainful.

Rhiannon shrugged and rolled her eyes, smirking to herself. “Y-ye-yeah, Nyx. She’s – the family dog. Black, fluffy, about the size of a small wolfhound. My f-f-f-f-foster dad rescued her, so she’s kind of tatty-looking,” she replied, determined to be cheerful in her snark about this. Maybe tasseomancy was a real form of magic and this was Hermione’s cup, not hers, but it was much more likely to be Nyx than some made-up monster either way.

“A... household... pet.” Trelawney replied stiffly. One of her eyes twitched, and a vein ticked in her neck just above her many necklaces. “My dear Miss Potter, you really ought to take these things more seriously! You were lucky to survive last year, an omen is – forewarning! Take the warning to heart!”

Rhiannon growled softly and rubbed her face with a hand. “Th-t-th-thanks but, I’m good. Really. I’d rather not ruin my year. Can we just, get on with class?” she replied wearily.

Professor Trelawney sniffed, and rearranged her shawl. “As you like,” she replied sharply, and turned away from the desk. She made her way around the class, peering into other students’ teacups and offering her commentary to some. Rhiannon and her friends turned their attentions back to their own tea cups, exchanging snide commentary. Ron was a lot less skeptical about it than Rhi or Hermione, but for the most part the class wasn’t so bad after its awkward start.

The difficult part came in leaving. Rhiannon had managed to get in with help, but getting down was a lot trickier. Ron went ahead and caught Rhiannon at the bottom, but they landed in a tangled heap that left them all bruised and grumpy. Rhiannon growled and dragged herself to her feet, retrieving her cane from where it had fallen a short distance away. “I’ll-l-l-lll catch up to yous, see you in Creatures,” she said, waving off Ron’s concern and returning to Hermione’s side. “Jus’ got t’, check a, thing, with McGonagall.”

Hermione snorted at Rhiannon’s weak excuse and elbowed her, as they separated from the rest of their friends when they reached the seventh floor. Rhiannon frowned and checked her schedule, and Hermione did the same. “Should we do Creatures next and just one turn back to do the morning classes again, or head back now and do them in order?” Hermione mused.

Rhiannon shrugged and frowned, considering the issue. “Better do it in order, so-sosososos-sssso we don’t mix up running into ourselves, getting between the other classes – or worse, bugger up my brain or wolf,” she suggested.

Hermione nodded – the suggestion was a sensible one. They made their way further downstairs and found themselves an empty classroom, near enough to Arts class but not so close to the ground floor as to run the risk of bumping into their friends or themselves after class. Then, together, they counted out the hour precisely on their respective Time-Turners and set them to spinning as each held the other’s free hand. Together they gazed in awe as the shadows from the window shifted before their eyes, Peeves drifted into the room but luckily out of it again, and sounds chattered and spun bizarrely as the world shifted itself inexorably backwards while the two of them stood together unmoved by it, surrounded in a golden light that flared up from the Time-Turners themselves.

Finally, the devices stopped spinning and looked for all the world like a pair of ornate locket-watches. Hermione and Rhiannon grinned, each struggling to restrain the urge to babble about the impossibility of what they’d just done, and impulsively Hermione threw her arms around Rhiannon and hugged her. “I’m so glad you’re doing this too – it’d have been so weird having to hide it from you,” she murmured, as Rhiannon snuggled into the embrace with a happy little whuffling sound as her agreement.

The great tower clock sounded loudly throughout the castle and they sprang apart guiltily, remembering what they were actually there for. Class! They hurried out of the disused classroom and down the corridor, following the maze of hallways to the classroom that had been set aside for the third year students of Magic in the Arts. Rhiannon shivered as they stepped through the door to the classroom, feeling weirdly – confined and sticky, somehow, as if she’d stepped through an invisible curtain.

“Soundproofing,” Hermione explained on seeing Rhiannon’s reaction, and tugged her into a seat. This classroom was set out strangely too – instead of rows of desks, there were three tiers of seats on either side of a long walkway, at the head of which was a podium. It gave the classroom the look of a sort of theatre, rather than a regular classroom, which Rhiannon supposed made sense given the subject material.

“All right, you lot! Books away, ye won’t be needin’ them,” a strident voice rang out from the head of the classroom. A short stocky woman who looked to be in her late twenties, with a mass of curly red hair tied back behind her, strode out of what must have been an office, and took her place at the podium – Rhiannon giggled, from where she was seated at the front she could see the teacher stood on a little stool to see over the imposing wooden object. “I’m Professor Fionnuala Kingshorn, but you all can call me Miss Finn. Professor makes me feel all old and doddery. We’ll not be startin’ on proper practicals for a bit, I need a wee bit o’ time to prepare myself for the sounds of you all murderin’ my recorders, so for now I want ye to pass around the sheets o’ paper on either side o’ the room, pick a pencil out the tub next to them, and write, draw, whatever, the things you’d be most excited to work on in my class. Any questions?”

There were no questions. Miss Finn’s manner was very direct, and rather than being unapproachable she was simply informative enough that nobody felt there was anything left to ask about. At the end of the row, Padma passed a stack of paper to Rhiannon, who took a few sheets for herself and passed the rest on to Hermione and over to Kellah, then took a pencil and did the same with the pot of the rest. With a peaceful smile on her face, Rhiannon began to doodle in emerald-green pencil on her sheet of paper.

After an hour, Rhiannon had managed to fill two sheets of paper with poorly-executed scribbles, fanciful swirly doodles and her messy half-cursive handwriting. The brusque Miss Finn cracked a smile as she handed them in. “Well, ye’re no artist. Good hands though – maybe you’d be better for music, pr’aps a gat or bass? Either way, nice to have you in class, Miss Rhiannon, and you too Miss Ndiaye-Granger” she said, and waved Rhi and Hermione away. Amused and satisfied after the peaceful introduction to the new class, they headed off to Care of Magical Creatures. Outside, in the little wooded clearing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, they found the biggest change to their classes so far. Instead of the slightly mad Professor Kettleburn with his green-and-bronze kilt and interesting magical replacements for missing limbs, they found Hagrid, beaming brightly and with a brand new wire-wrapped wand sticking out of his belt. “Right, class, welcome in!” he greeted them, as Rhiannon and Hermione joined their classmates. Among them were Ron, Lavender, Neville and Padma, as well as Matei, but not Daphne, Heather or Parvati. Rhiannon was disappointed again to see Draco Malfoy, but to her surprise he made no snide comments even though his former cronies Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were in this class with him. In fact, all three boys were rather quiet, and dressed in different house colours.

Rhiannon ignored Hagrid’s teacherly formality and bounced forward out of the throng of students to throw her arms around the big man – or as much as she could manage given their size difference. “Hagrid!” she cried happily. “You – you got your wand license, and teaching! Aaaaa!” she squealed, breaking away to flap about happily, ignoring her classmates’ stares and titters. Hagrid grinned and clapped her on the shoulder, steering her back towards the others as he faced the class.

“Now, yous all might’ve seen me around the grounds, cleanin’ up messes and stuff. I’m Rubeus Hagrid, yer new Professor. I’ve bin coverin’ for ol’ Kettleburn for years now, so with me gettin’ my license, he said ‘e was alright retirin’ now I could take o’er. We’ve got a set curriculum an’ all this year, but Minnie said I could show ye’s somethin’ special for our firs’ class.” Hagrid explained, beaming at the class and gesturing to the woods around them. “Er – anyone w’ sensitive ears, might wanna plug em for a sec, gotta be loud t’ call ‘em.” he added, with a regretful look over at Rhiannon and Hermione. Both girls grimaced, luckily in time with their hands to muffle the ear-splitting whistle Hagrid let out a few moments later.

And then, as the class let their hands drop from their ears, they noticed the strange rustling thunder in the forest around them. Rhiannon tilted her head to listen, as heavy bodies brushed against bark and limbs knocked against fallen branches, turning over leaf litter in their passage. A strange scent met Rhiannon’s nose as she wrinkled it curiously, like a horse almost but – sourer, somehow, mixed with blood and adrenaline like a predator’s. She shrank back, clinging anxiously to Hermione’s hand as from out of the trees came some of the strangest creatures she’d ever seen.

Their forelegs and heads were those of eagles, hawks and falcons – were they different subspecies all mixed together? And as they came closer, Rhiannon saw that they were of all different heights and mixed colours. Their hindquarters were those of horses, which explained that trace in their scent, but they had a bony keelbone the way raptors did. And most wondrous of all, as they slowed their pace and trotted into the dappled light of the clearing, were the many-coloured, mottled wings folded at each animal’s side.

As the class gasped in wonder and fear alike, Hagrid’s broad smile grew only brighter and he clapped his hands to draw the students’ attention. “Hippogriffs!” he announced, almost bouncing with glee. “You’d find ‘em on page fifty o’ yer books – in fact, if ye’d all open ‘em up and turn through to look-”

“How?” the drawling voice piped up. Rhiannon turned with a scowl all ready, expecting the speaker to be her usual rival, but no – Draco Malfoy was silent. Nor was it any of his usual cronies, thoroughly divided as they were. The speaker was instead Michael Corner, a pale dark-haired boy in Ravenclaw colours, and Rhiannon ran her fingers over the furry edges of her own book in her bag at her side with a scowl.

“How?” Hagrid asked Michael with a frown, and the boy rolled his eyes and held up his book, bound closed with not one but two belts. Rhiannon winced at the sight, and Hagrid heaved a great sigh. He looked around the class who, for the most part, looked similarly confused. “Yeh mean t’ tell me, none of ye’s have bin able t’ open ‘em?”

Most of the class shook their heads, and Hagrid sighed sadly. “Well, it’s a good thing ye’re in this class, honestly. It’s jus’ like, a really simple critter. Ye got t’ stroke it, get it t’ like yeh. You’s that haven’t got it open, ye’re not gettin’ near these beauties til yeh got it. You that’ve got it, take a sec to read up on ‘em, an’ then come on o’er and join me when ye’re ready and yeh can meet some of ‘em. Alright, split up, come on now.” he told the class, shooing them apart with his hands like he might a rowdy flock of chickens. Rhiannon, Hermione, Ron and Neville separated from the rest of the class to join a scant handful of others, among them Matei, Lavender and some more surprising faces – Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott. Theodore Rhiannon recognised vaguely from last year, when he’d been one of the group who accosted her and her friends, but dressed in Hufflepuff colours he seemed – brighter, friendlier somehow albeit in a withdrawn kind of way. And he’d been one of the ones to figure out his book on his own, which lent him a bit of additional respect in her eyes. So she favoured him with one of her wobbly smiles, and even extended the same to Draco, though as expected the surly blond didn’t return it.

Hagrid, finished with attending to the larger group of the class who’d not got into their books yet, wandered over to join Rhiannon and the rest who had. “Alrighty. Now, if ye’ve read up a bit, ye’ll know Hippogriffs is real proud. An’ right they should be – aren’ they beautiful?” he asked them. And Rhiannon, now the shock of their appearance was over, could see what he meant. Their coats gleamed in every colour any other horse-creature’s did, black and red and flecked or spotted or patched with white, dappled grey, pale cloudy alabaster and brilliant honey-gold. Their eyes were shades from deep brown, through deep orange-amber into fierce yellow-gold, and their feathers were an incredible variety of blacks and browns through to greys and silvers, cream and golden, necks arched proudly and heads held high. It was a strange, fierce sort of beauty, but, one predator to another, Rhiannon recognised and appreciated it and she saw some of her companions did too.

Hagrid grinned, and gestured to them. “Now, if ye’re polite, yeh can go on an’ meet em. Yeh bow firs’, an’ if they don’ bow back yeh back away. If yeh talk to ‘em, don’ insult em, even backhanded – they can tell both words and tone. I see one whit o’ misbehavin’ out you an’ you’re back with the books lot and in detention besides. Now, who wants t’ go first?” he asked.

Rhiannon’s classmates backed away, leaving her standing alone before Hagrid and the Hippogriffs milling around in the grassy section of the clearing unoccupied by the students. “Rhi, fantastic! A’right, now, you come meet Buckbeak. Remember – let ‘im make the first move, and I’ll keep an eye on yeh.” Hagrid said, and escorted her forward to stand opposite a tall, powerfully built grey hippogriff. His horse flanks and hindquarters were dappled and lighter towards his undersides, his tail and socks almost black. His hawk half was a softer grey, almost cloud-like, barred with fine slate-grey stripes, and his eyes were so brown as to be almost black, though Rhiannon did not meet his gaze directly – it seemed as if it would be rude. She passed her cane to Hagrid and limped forward, alone, to face the creature herself.

About two metres away she fell clumsily to one knee, though the creature did not startle as another might have. Instead he flared his wings and screeched, then snarled, a weird rattling sound from a voicebox shaped not quite like a bird’s as he reared and clattered his wing-feathers threateningly. “Get back, Rhi!” Hagrid hissed to her, but she did not move – any movement now would only make her appear a threat to the magnificent creature, she couldn’t move like Hagrid was asking in any case – she was no speed demon on two feet. She was too stiff to get to her feet without making a mess of it with her arms windmilling everywhere, and at worst – if she backed away now, Buckbeak might take the rest of the class for her pack preparing to attack him – she had been the first up, she was the leader in his eyes. Withdrawal and a secondary attack was a wolf tactic, and there was no mistake – that was what he saw her as.

Instead she bowed her head and laid her hands flat on the ground, letting her other knee fall to the ground as well – submission. Wolves understood it, perhaps a hippogriff might also. Buckbeak approached slowly, that weird rattly growl still resonating in his throat, and Rhiannon prepared herself for an attack. From this angle all she could see was his claws and hooves, and she understood – she was a foreign predator in his territory. She’d had trouble with smaller creatures and their fear of her in classes last year, even the school owls didn’t like her much, let alone the field gnomes and greater creatures of the magical world. This had been a very, very bad idea.

But instead of the shriek that came before he struck her down, there was a soft thud, and Rhiannon dared to look up as the barred and dappled hippogriff fell to one knee before her in a deep bow. Hagrid chuckled, and she glanced back over her shoulder to see him beaming. “Ah, Buckbeak can be a bit dramatic – he’s been with us the longest, wonderful thing. Yes you, you know ye’re beautiful, Beaky. Go on, git up, give ‘im a scratch – he likes it up behind ‘is ear tufts. He’ll be fine with yeh now ‘s long as ye’re respectful.” he told her.

Stiffly, Rhiannon got up from her knees and dusted her hands off on her robes. The Hippogriff, Buckbeak, chrrred softly as she limped towards him, and stayed steady as she leaned on his shoulder. Gently she stroked his neck feathers, working her fingers in to straighten them at their roots wherever she found rough spots, and under her touch the strange creature hummed happily. He bowed his head and snaked it around her so that she could reach to scratch behind his eartufts, while she marvelled at the sleek, soft texture of his feathers. Her classmates oohed and gasped in wonder, while Draco Malfoy in particular looked – almost jealous.

“Yeh know, I think he might be righ’ t’ let yeh ride him!” Hagrid exclaimed, but Rhiannon was shaking her head before he finished. She’d prefer to keep all four feet on the ground unless she directly controlled what was lifting her, and she’d tested Buckbeak enough for one day. They had reached a mutual respect – pushing it further wouldn’t be wise, especially not with their respective ideas of territory so tenuous right now.

“I- I- I’d rather not, but um - think, um... D-d-don’t crowd him, but I think he’d be alright to say hi,” Rhiannon suggested to her classmates. Hagrid beamed and nodded to the class.

“She’s righ’. ‘Mione, Ron, you head on forward. Everyone else, split up or into pairs and I’ll help ye’s meet the others. Malfoy, sit tight til I’m done. You too, Nott – no funny business, ol’ Kettleburn told me about yer shenanigans.” Hagrid said, with a scowl at the two boys.

Rhiannon watched as her friends bowed, and Buckbeak did the same in return. Then, with an austere nod, Buckbeak indicated for them to come forward and stroke his feathers. Ron was more hesitant, while Hermione had already seen Rhiannon trying to restrain happy wiggles at the feeling of his feathers and wanted to touch for herself.

“Sorry, Buckbeak,” Hermione whispered, an apology for an excited squeal as she scratched the joints of his wings.

While her friends were acquainting themselves with Buckbeak, Rhiannon’s attention was on Draco Malfoy looking a little pathetic, cross-legged on the ground with his book open in his lap. They’d never got on, but, he hadn’t taken a jab at her this term – there were others who whispered jibes in the hallway, and maybe the year before he might have mocked her to her face for her reaction to the Dementor, but this year – he didn’t seem like he would. Maybe she could be the one to offer an olive branch – the changes this year were about unity, weren’t they? Maybe she could aim for that in her own life too.

“Hey – Draco – why d-d-d-don’t you come here? Just be careful, and bow, an’ watch his reactions.” Rhiannon suggested, beckoning him forward.

Draco looked up, genuinely startled, and closed his book. “Uh – thanks, Potter,” he muttered, getting to his feet without meeting her gaze. He took a few hesitant steps towards Buckbeak, who clacked his beak and flared his wings, looking distrustful. Rhiannon dropped back to stroke the hippogriff’s neck in what she hoped was a comforting manner, as Draco sank to a knee and bowed, as polite as if he were addressing a king. Buckbeak clacked his beak again but folded his wings and bowed in his own time, seeming to relish keeping Draco waiting for his response. Out of the corner of her eye Rhiannon caught Hagrid watching them, but her attention was entirely consumed by Draco as he inched forward with a hand extended. Rhiannon nudged Ron, who stepped back with a grumble and let Draco take his place beside Buckbeak.

The pale boy even had a faint smile on his face as he stroked Buckbeak’s neck, murmuring to himself. “You’re not so bad, are you? Dangerous though... Don’t worry, I won’t forget that... you really are beautiful, aren’t you? Not a feather out of place, not a scratch on that beak of yours.” he whispered, audible only to Rhiannon who stood so close and admittedly had better hearing than most. She smiled to herself, pleasantly surprised by a more human side to the boy who’d been something of a bully the last two years. He even spoke differently to Buckbeak, with the soft trace of Irish in his accent that she’d heard the first time she met him. The part of his accent she’d heard his father tell him to drop.

“Thanks, Potter.” Draco said, more audible this time. Rhiannon looked at him questioningly and he shrugged. “That was pretty cool of you – this, is pretty cool.”

Rhiannon grinned, and stroked Buckbeak’s forehead as the creature nudged against her chest. “It - it is. And you’re welcome.”