Content warning: Dysphoria, specific implication of genital dysphoria, internalised transphobia. Then flashbacks, child-abuse, child endangerment, trauma.
Rhiannon was reluctant to admit it, but her health and outlook improved hugely after dropping those three classes. It was a relief not to have to drag herself up to the Divination tower three times a week, and just as much a weight off her shoulders not to have to turn back time just to slog through her Arithmancy homework. And as they eased into the full moon cycle properly, Rhiannon felt the last traces of the time-turner’s irregularities washed away. She and Dudley were only permitted one companion each now as they roamed the highlands, for Hagrid’s comfort. It chafed at Rhiannon having to choose a single friend – she let them rotate for fear of having to play favourites, but Dudley didn’t seem to mind – he only ever brought Ginny along anyway.
Two weeks passed, with Rhiannon settling into her relaxed timetable with relief, while Hermione grew more distant and erratic. Rhiannon worried for her, unable to keep a close eye on her now that they were in different dormitories, and wondered if it might be best for Hermione’s health if Rhiannon were to convince her that she’d be better off with a reduced courseload as well.
The Gryffindor Quidditch team were slated to play against Hufflepuff later that afternoon, being Sunday the 30th of November, and Rhiannon took the time to seek Hermione out for some time together before their match, already dressed in her team robes with her pads, gloves, goggles and spare clothes packed into her bag. To her concern, she found her friend asleep in a corner of the library, her head resting on an open book that, at a glance, looked to be a copy of the Odyssey. She shook Hermione awake gently, then leaped back with a yelp as Hermione’s head shot up and narrowly missed her own. “Huh?” Hermione asked blearily, wiping her eyes and straightening her glasses as she tried to figure out her surroundings.
Rhiannon pulled out a chair for herself and perched in it anxiously. “H-h-h-hhh-how long have you been here?” she asked fretfully.
Hermione sighed and shook her head, still rubbing at her eyes. Rhiannon guessed they were hurting, maybe she wasn’t using enough of the soothing drops Madam Pomfrey had given her to work when time travel was considered. “Dunno,” she muttered sleepily, reaching out to slam her book closed and quickly shove it into her bag. “I think I came down after breakfast? For some light reading,” she added, with a gesture to the book she had now packed into her backpack.
Rhiannon snickered – only Hermione could consider a faithful translation of the Odyssey light reading. “Hermione, it’s midday, I’ve got Quidditch in half an hour,” she informed her friend. Hermione’s eyes went round with panic and she checked her watch, then groaned as she realised Rhiannon was telling the truth.
“Oh no! I was supposed to work on Braille for an hour, and then do my Runes homework!” she wailed, tugging fretfully at the short braids hanging loose around her face. Rhiannon grabbed the other girl’s hands hastily and shook her head – she knew with much more pressure that would lead to hair-tearing, and the last thing Hermione needed in this state of stress was physical pain added in on top.
“Do you have a tangle, or your ring, or something?” Rhiannon suggested, as Hermione’s hands fluttered anxiously in her grip. Hermione shook her head, so Rhiannon took off her own spinny ring and slipped it onto Hermione’s finger gently. Her hands were a little bigger than Rhiannon’s and it only fit on her littlest finger, at the sight of which Hermione managed a smile. As Rhiannon let her hands go, she spread them wide and tilted her head to one side, asking permission. Rhiannon leaned into the hug, comforted by the soft smell of Hermione’s shampoo and the steady feeling of her presence. Night-home-one, Nyx’s instincts murmured in her mind and she smiled and closed her eyes happily.
“It’s... lonely, now. Harder to keep track of stuff.” Hermione admitted quietly, as Rhiannon drew away. “I’m glad you’re not hurting yourself anymore but – I miss you. It was like our secret.”
Rhiannon winced. “Hermione – n-n-n-n-uh-no offence but, you look like hell. It wasn’t good for me because, you know, but I don’t think it’s g-g-good for you either.” she said, trying her best to be tactful and failing miserably. Tact had never been her strongest suit, least of all when she was worried.
Hermione bristled and drew away from Rhiannon. “Are you saying I’m not good enough?” she snapped, an angry glint flickering in her slightly cloudy dark eyes.
Rhiannon put her head in her hands, half-wanting to throw something at her friend. She’d forgotten how obstinate Hermione could be, and it was a silly thing to forget because it was how she herself had gotten into this mess! “Hermione, if anyone could do it, it’d be you! But no-one can!” she flared back angrily. “Look, you can’t stop rubbing your eyes, yo-y-y-you’re falling asleep in the library, you’re barely eating and I can see you’ve lost w-w-weight – damnit, I’m worried about you! Come on, I tried it too, if any-yy-y-y-one knows how hard it is it’s me!”
Hermione sighed and abruptly stopped rubbing her eyes, though her hands twitched as she laid them flat on the desk. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, a flush rising in her cheeks to bring a russet tint to her deep umber skin. “That wasn’t fair. Look, my marks are fine, we’re a third of the way through the year – just let me stick out the year. I’ll go get extra eye-drops off Madam Pomfrey and get her to check my glasses again – just let me do it, I can do it, please.”
Rhiannon frowned, shaking her head more in resignation than any particular disagreement. “I’m-m-m-mm- I’m your friend, not your mother – you don’t need my permission for anything, I just – don’t like to see you hurting yourself. Please be careful.” she replied, meeting Hermione’s gaze for a brief moment as she spoke.
Hermione snickered softly. “You are a bit of a mama wolf, though,” she teased. She tucked her loose braids back behind her ears and shook her head wearily. “I promise I’ll be more careful. Now, come on, I want to see you kick Hufflepuff’s butts.”
Rhiannon laughed openly, though she was careful not to get overconfident herself. Madam Pince shot them both a glare, and Rhiannon helped Hermione pack up the rest of her belongings so they could leave before they were forcibly removed. “I-i-i-i-i- I don’t want to kick them too h-h-h-hard, Ginny’s been playing really well this season,” she demurred, feeling a flush of friendly pride in the younger girl’s success. “Who knows, maybe they’ll be kicking us – she’s already making Hogwarts his-sss-sss-ss-s-tory being the first Squib on a House team, she’s stubborn and good enough to be the first Squib on a Cup-w-w-winning team too.”
Hermione grinned, and held Rhiannon’s free hand in a loose, comfortable grip as the two of them made their way out to the Quidditch stadium. Rhiannon winced and leaned into the shelter her taller, heavier friend made, providing some small respite from the wind. Despite being a mostly clear day it was freezing cold, the grass crunched and squelched underfoot and a biting breeze still hadn’t quite blown off the heavy fog that had blanketed the castle grounds since the night before. The breeze carried the remnants of rain with it, flinging stinging droplets into the faces of both girls.
Hermione switched from holding Rhiannon’s hand to resting her arm around the smaller girl’s shoulders, letting her heavy cloak cover them both for more comfort. Rhiannon snuggled closer, slinging an arm around Hermione’s waist as they walked, enjoying the comforting scent of her closest friend in a way that she had missed all year, and Hermione giggled as Rhiannon’s messy hair was blown into her face. “Don’t you ever tie this up?” she asked, shifting her arm to pin the thick, curly mass down somewhat.
Rhiannon shuddered at the thought. “And have my h-h-h-head stretched all day? Plus I’d be cold – it’s warm under here!” she replied, with a goofily coquettish toss of her head.
Hermione cackled out loud at that, though it turned into a groan of sympathy as she massaged her own head with her free hand. “I got used to it, it’s easier than having all my hair loose, but I remember being such a pain when Mum and Dad did my hair as a kid,” she agreed with a wry smile. Then she shivered as the wind picked up, and used it as an excuse to snuggle closer to Rhiannon. “But you’re right, it is cold – wish I’d remembered a scarf. I think I’d like to be a werewolf just for the extra body heat!”
Rhiannon snorted, though internally she was a little disturbed. Even though she’d grown more comfortable with being a werewolf herself, even though she found herself enjoying it at times – she couldn’t imagine wanting to become one. But she didn’t want to start that argument with her friend; Hermione had never seen the monster that Rhiannon feared and she knew such an argument would only turn bitter. She was enjoying the comfort of her friend’s presence too much to ruin it now.
All too soon they reached the stadium, and Hermione untangled herself from Rhiannon with a sigh. “I’m going to find Dudley to hug, it’s freezing out here and it’ll only be worse in the stands. You, um, fly well?” she offered, her cheeks flushing from the cold or some hidden emotion. She hugged Rhiannon tightly and then, to Rhiannon’s immense startlement, kissed her lightly on the cheek as they parted. “For – for luck!” Hermione burst out, fidgeting from foot to foot, and then practically fled from her up into the stands, leaving Rhiannon standing utterly bewildered on the soggy, frozen grass.
Her tawny cheeks flushing a deep crimson, Rhiannon hurried into the team room and turned her back to her teammates as she fetched her Quidditch pads and laced them up. It was only then that she realised she’d forgotten something crucial. “Oh no,” she whispered, eyes widening. She wanted the ground to open and swallow her up, as she realised that in her eagerness to find Hermione and then her comfort in her company, she’d left her broomstick behind.
“Forgot something, Potter?” Harry Pace asked, grinning evilly. Rhiannon glared at them, and they burst out laughing. “Don’t worry, I heard you’d gone to pry Hermione out of a book and figured you’d get caught up, I brought it down with my stuff.” they assured Rhiannon, who sagged against the wall in relief.
At that, Fred perked up and turned to Rhiannon with a smirk plastered across his face. She idly noticed he’d grown his hair a little longer and tied it in a knot at the back of his head, leaving the sides shaven as before. “With Hermione – do I smell something brewing there?” he asked, smiling wickedly.
Rhiannon’s blush deepened and she hid her face in her robes. Her broomstick problem was solved, but she still wished the ground would swallow her up, now for a completely different reason. Ron glared at his brother and lobbed his knee-pad across the room, where it whacked Fred in the side of the head. “Ow!” Fred exclaimed, affecting a wounded look. “I was just asking, everyone deserves love and happiness and all that!”
Ron was unmoved, though Bliss, Angelina and Harry all cackled, and Rhiannon even caught Oliver smirking. Traitors, all of them. “They’re friends, leave her be,” Ron told his brother with a scowl. “And hand that pad back, would you?”
Rhiannon settled down on a bench to lace up her knee pads, hiding her face in the cowl of her Quidditch robes as she did so. She’d never really thought of Hermione like that – romantic thoughts and such were still so new to her, and those had been predominantly occupied by Luna for some time, with some extra spared for older students she’d never think of approaching – Sorcha Cho, Cedric Diggory and the likes – and, admittedly, others like Adrianne Pucey or Bliss, though she wasn’t sure if she liked them, or envied their style and confidence more. But evidently Hermione had been thinking of her like that, and Rhiannon shifted in discomfort at the thought. How long? Had she been unfair to her friend without meaning to? Her heart squeezed painfully at that thought, and she rubbed her eyes as she exchanged her glasses for goggles, wiping away tears of panic that sprang to them at the thought of hurting Hermione.
Rhiannon was rescued from her internal conflict by Oliver Wood’s order to form up and mount their brooms, and it was with relief that she shoved her worries to the back of her mind and limped into her place behind Oliver, leaning on her broom as an improvised cane to do so. She steadied her breathing, using it to wash out her usual pre-match jitters and spread a sense of calm, albeit a temporary one, throughout her body instead. Then, astride her broom, she waited for the horn with sensory jinxes already in place, ignoring her team-mates chattering quietly around her. They could chatter afterwards – Hufflepuff were quickly shaping up to be the team to beat this year, and she was determined to do her fair part to help her team. This was Oliver’s final year and he deserved this win. That wasn’t to say Hufflepuff didn’t – if they lost, Rhiannon would cheer Ginny on as much as the next person and more than some, she was just being competitive and at the end of the day, she had friends on every House team.
The horn blared through the air, and Rhiannon was perfectly in time to follow her captain out into the open air, the team forming a neat arrowhead as they circled the pitch. Rhiannon waved to her friends in the stands, and to Ginny, Dean and Cedric on the opposing team. She barely felt the cold, caught up in the adrenalin of the last game of the term as her short cape flapped in the breeze and some scattered drops of rain spattered onto her goggles. Her opponent today was Cedric himself. He was tall for a Seeker, solidly stocky with muscle rather than thin and wiry, but that would give him an advantage in resisting the wind, and give him greater momentum than she could muster in a rush for the Snitch. Had he been a different kind of person, he might have used that superior weight to knock her off her broom in such a chase, but Rhiannon knew Cedric, he was far too much of a gentleman to try a tactic like that. Instead he waved back and grinned, friendly as ever, as the teams lined up down the centre of the pitch. “Nice weather for a match,” he called cheerfully.
Ginny snorted and glared at her captain, though there was no malice in it. “It’s bloody wretched, Diggory, what are you on about?” she grumbled. “Bet it snows next week, or a bit after.”
“And how d’you figure that? You got squibby-senses or something?” Dean joked. Ginny scowled at him, but again she didn’t seem particularly angry – it was nice to see her goofing around with her team-mates. Ron had begun to bristle at Dean’s comment, but a nudge from Harry had him settle down, obviously realising that Ginny was perfectly capable of handling her own battles.
“Maybe I do – or maybe the rest of you are so busy wizarding you’ve forgotten about the simple thing that is paying attention to the weather patterns,” Ginny retorted, flipping Dean a cheerful middle finger with a roll of her eyes. “Squibby-senses, honestly, what do you think I am – one of your comic book girls?”
Dean blushed, his bronze-shaded onyx skin barely showing the tint – it was more visible in his expression as his eyes crinkled up and he looked away, muttering to himself. Rhiannon caught something along the lines of “pretty enoughto be” and snorted to herself, though she doubted his teammates had heard the response.
“Enough banter – do you want to play or not?” Madam Hooch bellowed, and the two teams sharpened up immediately. With a blast of her whistle the balls were launched into play and Rhiannon shot backwards to dodge a bludger as the game began. Rhiannon and Cedric circled eachother in a wide, cautious orbit, each assessing the other’s movements, trying to guess what the other had seen already as the Snitch had long since been lost in the hustle of the game’s beginning.
Deciding to ignore Cedric for a bit, Rhiannon shot into the thick of the game and intercepted a pass intended for Ginny, then barrelled up the field and passed it to Ron. Ginny flipped her off with a good-natured jeer, as Rhiannon soared past cackling gleefully and the bell rang, indicating a Gryffindor goal. “Someone tell Potter to pick a spot – that’s not a Seeker job!” one of the Hufflepuff Beaters complained. Rhiannon stuck her tongue out at him and as she soared overhead, she flipped upside-down so her short cape flapped into the Beater’s face. He swore at her as she sailed away, chortling to herself.
A flash of gold against the stormy grey sky caught Rhiannon’s eye – the Snitch. She didn’t want to catch it this early, it would be stealing the team’s thunder. She cast her eyes around for Cedric and swore, seeing him arrowing after it already. Shit. She kicked her broom into a steep climb, planning to intercept him, but what good would that be? She was too little to body-check him on her broom, unless... a crazy idea occurred to her, inspired by Aeden’s half-joking suggestion from their first Divination class earlier in the term. “You should try that in Quidditch sometime, could be a real show-stopper move”... she couldn’t muster the power to body-check him mounted on her broom, but if she leapt at him – he’d be too disoriented to carry on. Earlier in the year, hampered by weariness and pain, she couldn’t have managed it but now – well, she didn’t want to lose the game this early on. That would be a waste.
Rhiannon braked her broom sharply in midair and watched Cedric draw closer, mentally calculating the power she’d need to make the jump. She hopped up on her broom, balancing in an awkward crouch that made her knees creak in protest, and waited for him.
Then she sprang from her broom and flew through the air, her arms and legs spread wide to catch hold and suddenly there she was, crashing into Cedric and clinging on tight. Rhiannon flushed as she realised dimly that yes, her plan involved sustained bodily contact with Cedric Diggory, and she couldn’t let go – her own broom was who knew how many metres away. Her arms wrapped around his neck, Rhiannon’s senses were smothered in Cedric and her flush of victory deepened into one of utter mortification.
“And what a leap! Rhiannon Potter, third-year and Seeker for as many years, pulls off an incredible flying jump to divert Hufflepuff Seeker Cedric Diggory from the Snitch!” Lee Jordan hollered, waving excitedly from the top box. Rhiannon, flushed with adrenalin and embarrassment, scooted away from Cedric to give him some more space, though she still kept a grip on his shoulders for balance. “Oh hey, things heating up over there! Come on, Diggory, get the girl back to her broom and get on with the game!” Lee teased them.
Cedric chuckled. “The guy has a point – if only one,” he joked. “Neat tackle, wow – didn’t know you had that in you.” he added, leaning closer as he peered over Rhiannon’s shoulder to steer his broom closer to where hers floated in midair.
Rhiannon ducked her head, mortified. She could feel his voice, the vibration of it deep in his chest, and to her mortification her body – the part of it she always tried to ignore – responded to it. Panic gripped her and she realised she’d have to move to get on to her own broom – he’d see, he’d hate her, he’d be disgusted. Why, why now – it had never done this to her before! Tears welled up in her eyes and she shook her head to clear them, shivering in sudden anxiety.
Cedric coughed softly, drawing her attention. “Rhi, it’s fine. I know I’m not exactly top student, but I’m not slow either. I know you have a thing for me – I had the biggest crush on Priscilla Clearwater when I was in second-year, I do kinda get it, it’s – I dunno, natural. You’re thirteen, body’s doing weird shit and your brain’s up to even weirder than that. If- if it’s any consolation, it’s real awkward for everyone, though I know it’s worse for you. Now, c’mon, hop off – if you stay close to me and turn it, nobody else will see anything, and I’ll close my eyes too. Just hang on my shoulder and you’ll be fine.” he told her patiently.
Rhiannon felt a warm surge, comfort she thought – but it only made her problem worse, and she felt like crying. “Easy now,” Cedric said, and he reached out to pull her broom alongside his. Then, pointedly keeping his gaze on her face and no lower, he helped her onto her Nimbus with a smile. “It’s alright. Just take some deep breaths, focus on the cold and the rain, it’ll go away. You’ll be alright.” he added, and patted her on the shoulder before soaring away.
Rhiannon’s breath hitched with pain as she settled herself onto her broom, something in her back compressed and she hissed softly with pain, her breath coming in shallow gasps through the sensation. Must have banged my tailbone, she thought, though she wasn’t quite convinced – the pain was higher, like her vertebrae were pressing together in a painful cramp. She forced herself to breathe deeply, focusing on the sensation of cold to push down the pain, the biting wind and the rain it threw into her face as Cedric had instructed and to her immense relief, the shameful pressure beneath her robes abated and gradually, so did the cramp in her spine. She shook herself, wincing with discomfort as she shrugged off the last traces of the feeling, and forced her head back into the game.
As the game wore on, Rhiannon lost track of time and soon the sky was darkening as the afternoon grew late. Even she, usually unaffected by the cold as she was, was tiring and eager for the game to end. It had been hours, the points were close but Gryffindor had a solid lead, she just wanted it to be over so she could shower and go hug her cat in peace. Maybe head up to the Astronomy Tower and stargaze with Luna. But the longer the game wore on, the more numb and weary Rhiannon became. It was like the cold ate into her bones, sank deep into her insides leaving numbness in its wake. Numbness, and bitter misery, her worst memories all welling up as her skin crawled with the memory of her body’s response to Cedric. “Really, my boy, it was very irresponsible of you to get a cat, especially in light of your dear aunt’s allergy. Your cat – Calypso, was it? Yes, Calypso, will be sent home with Miss Granger... clothes better suited to a young girl, should be with a young girl...” Dumbledore’s voice, the scene that haunted her nightmares as over and over again she fought the Ministry aide’s grip, fought her aunt and uncle, beat her fists against the shower wall until they bled... then, huddled in that narrow single bed with the thin broken-springed mattress, the Wishing Chair clutched in trembling hands. “And you, freak – what are you up to in here?... I ASKED YOU A QUESTION, BOY...” Uncle Vernon bellowing, his face red with rage in her memories, a red that flickered and yellowed and turned to flames, Dudley’s scream cut off as he fell to the forest floor.
This wasn’t game fatigue, this wasn’t right – something was very, very wrong but that realisation was a dim one through the fog of flashbacks. Rhiannon’s head ached fiercely, dully she felt the urge to vomit but everything was numb, closed, like she was trapped in one of Professor Trelawney’s crystal balls filled only with her trembling, breaking body and the worst memories of her life. Distantly, Rhiannon realised she was numb not only in mind but in body, hands grasping for her – she couldn’t tell if they were real or not, all her senses tangled up in those from her memories – no, no, no... the hands were real, the cold was real, she’d felt it before that night on the train, her breath rasped in her hollow, aching chest in just the same way. They were here, the Dementors were here – but how? She searched for them, but her vision was useless, filled only with her memories that left no room for the present, crushing, like she’d never feel happiness again... like she never deserved it, that she should just submit, break, give in... They were here, she had to fight them... but how? Professor Lupin was going to show her, she couldn’t give in... she had to remember good things, didn’t she? Hermione kissing her cheek for luck, the Valentine’s dance with Luna and stargazing that Easter night at the Rookery... Splashing and howling with Dudley their first full moon at Hogwarts, hugging Ron after he’d run five kilometres to get to her birthday party, playing Quidditch with Ginny after learning she was alright and she still had her spirit, Parvati and Sally-Anne and Tracey helping her get ready for the Valentines’ dance, bonding with Lavender over the other girl’s werewolf family... She had happy memories, but the attempt to combat the Dementors only left her dazed and weakened, and then all of a sudden she was falling, hands slack on the broom’s handle before she slipped loose, tumbling through the air her with her throat tearing from her screams, just like she had that night in the forest fire. One new memory stayed with her as she fell, a new fear borne of new terror – Dementor. But just as it had been that night, she was unconscious long before she hit the ground.
_____________________________________________________________________
When Rhiannon awoke, the first thing she felt was pain. Pain from broken bones halfway healed, pain from an aching head, pain in every joint exposed to the cold. Her skin was raw and scraped, the hospital blankets too rough on it even though she knew she’d be bitterly cold without them. Her throat was raw too, torn inside from screaming, the echoes of those memories that had felled her swirling behind her closed eyelids. She whimpered softly, and someone nearby gasped aloud. She felt a surge of relief at the familiarity and took in a deep breath, the air bringing with it the scents of her friends – her pack. Dudley, Luna, Hermione, Ron, even the Quidditch team – they’d all been here. There were even traces of Neville, Lavender and others she wasn’t as close to. And that breath, that was Hermione’s. She was here. Rhiannon whined again, louder this time, and someone – she guessed Hermione – reached out to rest her hand on Rhiannon’s over the blankets.
“Rhi, thank... well, thank whoever, you’re alright. You fell a hundred feet. Headmaster McGonagall saved you, but there was a bit of a whack when you hit anyway – you can’t just arrest momentum completely, all your innards would shatter... that’s not the point, not the point, I’m rambling, sorry...” Hermione babbled, sounding close to tears. Painfully, Rhiannon reached out from under the covers to take Hermione’s hand in hers. Her joints felt heavy, swollen and clumsy as she reached out, but with a little fumbling she managed to find Hermione. Hermione giggled softly, though the sound was a wet one and she guessed her friend had been crying.
“I’m so glad you’re okay. You should have seen McGonagall, she was livid, she’s sending off to the Minister to have them removed but they’ll probably only have their watches reduced. She put a big ward around the school against them anyway, they can’t get on the grounds.” Hermione whispered. Rhiannon tapped against Hermione’s pulse point three times – I can’t talk. Hermione sighed and her chair creaked as she leaned forward, until her forehead rested on Rhiannon’s shoulder.
“Hey, uh – Cedric, he caught the Snitch, he didn’t see you were falling. He tried to forfeit the match, but Oliver wouldn’t let him. He’s outside in the hall, he wanted to apologise to you himself.” Ron said, his voice echoing from the other side of her bed. Rhiannon startled, she’d been so caught up in Hermione’s gentle patience that she’d forgotten to listen for others, then laughed wearily as she recognised him. She shook her head and tapped Hermione’s wrist once – no. Hermione translated for her, and Ron sighed, though he didn’t sound disappointed – more weary than anything else.
“That’s fair enough – I’ll tell him to come back another time. He’s just, real guilty is all, because he benefits from you getting hurt... if you’d not been falling, you’d probably have pulled that stunt or something again, right? But there’s another thing, why he’s so upset... It’s, when you fell... you know the wind was picking up through the whole game, and when you fell off, your broom... oh, Rhi, I’m so sorry, I know you loved that thing... Rhi, it blew into the Whomping Willow.” Ron said, his voice breaking.
Ron’s words didn’t have quite the effect he’d expected. “The what?” Hermione asked, bewildered. That didn’t make any particular meaning to the two of them.
“The Whomping Willow! It’s like, Neville’s favourite thing in the whole school. Oh, honestly. It was planted here what... uh, twenty years ago? Basically, it’s a giant, sentient willow tree that’s really really angry. It hits anything that touches it, and uh... your broom definitely touched it. We recovered the pieces, but, there’s not a whole lot left.” Ron explained, audibly frustrated, though Rhiannon knew his anger was only ever a manifestation of his worry. Now she understood what he’d been trying to say, and felt a sullen surge of misery well up in her chest. Her faithful broomstick, given to her in a time when she could still count the gifts she had received in her life on one hand, by a woman who had gone above and beyond to protect her.
Rhiannon felt a sob choking up her throat, and she held out her hands to Ron, pleading for him to understand. He sighed and brought out a heavy bundle that clicked and rattled as he placed it on the bed beside her. Rhiannon felt for it, her eyes still closed as she knew how much sensory overload it would be if they worked when she opened them – though she doubted they would, not yet - not after another knock on the head. She could see faint light in fragmented patches through her closed lids, so faint that she couldn’t even guess what time it was. Her broomstick, that she could tell, and she let the tears fall freely from her eyes as she handled the shards and splinters with almost reverent care. It was such a silly thing to be upset by, in the grand scheme of things. Surely Xenophilius would approve her getting enough money out of her account to buy a new one. But it had been a gift, and it felt like a part of her Hogwarts journey itself was lying shattered on the bed, wrapped in someone’s cloak.
“Alright, you two – no upsetting my patient! Out, out, both of you – I need to keep Rhiannon under observation for the night, you can have her back in the morning, shoo!” Madam Pomfrey told them all firmly, bustling over from wherever she’d been working as Rhiannon curled up on her side and cried over the pieces of her broken broomstick. The nurse stroked Rhiannon’s hair out of her face and sat down on the end of the bed with a weary sigh. “I’ll give you some Draught of Dreamless Sleep, but I’m going to need you to manage a little bit of dinner first, alright?” she added. Rhiannon shook her head and burrowed deeper into the blankets, clutching the bundle of splinters to her chest, and Madam Pomfrey sighed. “Very well, but you will have breakfast. Open up, and then I’ll let you be.” she promised. Numbly Rhiannon propped herself up on one elbow so that Madam Pomfrey could spoon a dose of the draught into her mouth, but she collapsed back into her bed as soon as she had taken it without even a shudder.
Madam Pomfrey straightened the miserable girl’s hair, humming softly to herself as she did so. “All broomsticks break, dear girl. You gave that one a particularly exciting life, so I’m told – and so your time in my wing tells me! But I know it’s not really about the broomstick, it’s what it meant to you. And you can grieve that however you need. But right now what you need is to rest, and let your body heal. Good night, Rhiannon, and sleep well.” she told Rhiannon gently, and patted her cheek as she stood up from the bed. Rhiannon heard her only dimly, already drifting into sleep, but this at least was a restful unconscious untouched by pain or memory. Comforting, just like the night-time was, and she fell into it gladly as a relief from her weariness and hurt.
