CW: Brief mention of genital dysphoria

Refreshed by her time at home, Rhiannon returned to school confident and cheerful. To her surprise, it was Luna who suggested roping Hermione into their plans for a crafts and enchanting club, and together the three of them invited other students into the group and started a proper little club that ran out of a disused Charms classroom. Much to their delight, a large portion of the members were Squib students, including Kellah and Dudley, as well as others from all five houses that Rhiannon hadn’t met before.

Outside of extracurricular activities, the lunar cycle was as inexorable as ever and Rhiannon and Dudley spent the January full moon playing in the snow under the watchful eyes of Hagrid, Minerva and a rotation of their friends. Much to Rhiannon’s delight, Dudley started bringing his own friends along inturnslike she did. It made her anxious that more people knew her secret, but a little anxiety was bearable if the reward was seeing Dudley happy, thriving, and making friends of his own.

Aside from the full moon, the school year stubbornly whiled on, marked by the return of homework and the Quidditch season. Much to Rhiannon’s dismay, not everyone was as excited about the Firebolt as she was – in fact, Hermione was downright suspicious. Despite Rhiannon’s protests that she couldn’t smell anything out of the ordinary on the packaging of the broomstick, she’d ridden it just fine, and how could a man on the run purchase a broomstick like this anyway, Hermione got Madam Hooch and Headmaster McGonagall involved and the broomstick was confiscated to be checked, thoroughly, for any sabotage. After all, they reminded Rhiannon, it wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to harm her through broomstick sabotage. Rhiannon relented begrudgingly and rode one of the newly-purchased team spares in practice instead. The Cleansweep Eight wasn’t as nice as her Firebolt, but it was perfectly serviceable and a far sight better than nothing at all – Rhiannon wasn’t so sullen that she’d have refused to play until she got her own broom back.

Much to Rhiannon’s relief, the first game of the season was a success – no thanks to her. The Cleansweep was a good broom, but it wasn’t a Seeker’s broom, and Oliver pulled her off halfway through and had D’Arcy play Seeker in her place, with the agreement that Rhiannon could resume the position once she had her Firebolt back. The Gryffindor team won the game only because the mixed-house team decided to cut their losses and end the game rather than let Gryffindor score any more points, catching the Snitch themselves to preserve some dignity in light of Gryffindor’s ninety-point lead at the time.

The weekend after their first Quidditch match of the second term was designated a Hogwarts weekend, for students to relax and ease into the new year and new term. Rhiannon had resigned herself to spending the weekend inside, without even Quidditch to divert her, while her friends promised to bring her back gifts and stories of what their peers got up to. That made her feel all the more left out, but Rhiannon didn’t have the heart to tell them – their offer was well-intentioned.

Sitting by herself in the library, Rhiannon pored over a Charms textbook and had resigned herself to sulking the weekend away, when her bad mood was interrupted by none other than the Weasley twins. She was half-tempted to snap at them for disturbing her from her personal storm of bad temper, but relented when she saw that they wore matching expressions of mischief. ”Hoi, sulky pup!” George greeted her with a grin. Rhiannon stuck her tongue out at him, and Fred took the opportunity to ruffle her hair. Giving up, Rhiannon slumped in her chair and

“We have an opportunity for you, see,” Fred continued in his brother’s place, grinning wickedly. “See, we’re the top mischief-makers of this castle. We know every way in and out, top to bottom, all the best places to hide. So we figured it’s time to, pass the torch – so to speak – to someone new, with a real talent for trouble, who just needs a wee aid to learning the best tricks. That, of course, being our favourite bad-tempered puppy dog.” he explained, gesturing to Rhiannon herself as he did so.

Rhiannon cocked her head, a little bewildered. “I-I- I’m no prankster,” she replied hastily, suddenly worried that they wanted to drag her into their plans. She got in enough trouble as it was without searching out more.

“No, not at all! But you do seem to be a bit of a magnet for trouble, and it seems only fair we help you get a bit better at getting out of that trouble, maybe even enjoying yourself while you’re at it,” George reassured her hastily. “And we have the tool for that – the Map.”

“A map?” Rhiannon asked, curiously. “I t-t-th-thought Hogwarts was Unplottt-t-t-tttttt-t-a-a-a-able.”

Fred shrugged. “Yup, sure is. You couldn’t mark its’ location on a map of Scotland. But there’s nothing to stop you making a map of the castle and grounds... aside from it being a bloody great maze, of course. Either way, this is a different kind of map. Come with us, we’ll show you, but we can’t do it here,” he urged, with a sideways glance over at the librarian who watched them all with her ever-present scowl.

Curious in spite of herself, Rhiannon packed away her belongings and returned the textbook to the shelf, then followed the twins out of the library and down a side corridor, unsure where they were leading her. It wasn’t so strange now to see them in different colours, George in Ravenclaw blue and wearing a pair of wire-framed spectacles; and Fred in red and gold, his hair much longer now than his brother’s, wavy, shaven-sided and tied back in a ponytail that swept his shoulders. Rhiannon’s worried hope at the beginning of the year had come to truth, being separated had let them find their own individual strengths and identities, and grow into them. It had been a good thing after all.

They came to a halt beside a cast bronze statue of a hunch-backed, one-eyed witch wearing old-fashioned robes and leaning on an intricately-wrought staff. “Quick, behind here,” George hissed, and he muttered something too low for Rhiannon to hear and pulled her into an alcove that opened up behind the statue along with his brother. Rhiannon shuddered and braced herself for the claustrophobia of the space, but much to her surprise and relief, the alcove opened into a comfortable nook, wide and high-ceilinged enough for Rhiannon to stand being closed in there with two others. And from there, the nook led into a tunnel, twisting out of sight. Fred tapped the statue and it slid and rotated back to render the alcove closed to any who wished to enter from the castle.

“Now, here,” Fred said, rummaging through his pockets and finally coming up with a scrap of folded parchment. “This is the secret to our success, and for you, perhaps a secret to some peace and quiet. Or, better yet, some fun – and a way out of the castle.”

Rhiannon gaped at him and his brother as they grinned at her, obviously enjoying having kept her in suspense. “That’s – a bit of-ff-ffff- parchment, isn’ it?” she asked him, non-plussed. Maybe this was all just some elaborate prank – she wouldn’t put it past the twins.

Fred clutched his chest as if her words wounded him, while George affected an offended expression. “Just a bit of parchment?” George repeated, horrified. “That , is the cleverest bit of enchanting we’ve ever come across! Shows every bit of the castle as it moves, even shows where people are. It showed you by your real name weeks before you told us. And it shows all the secret passages through and out of the castle, and how to access them.”

“Now,” Fred continued on, spreading the parchment out, “let’s show you how it works. You open it like this, tap it with your wand and say I solemnly swear that I am up to no good. Believe it or not, didn’t take us all that long to figure that one out.” he said, and as he spoke the words spidery black ink spread out across the parchment to form, as he had said, a complete map of the castle and grounds, with little named markers for each inhabitant. “There’s secret passages marked too. Seven lead out of the castle in all. Now, Filch knows about those four, so they’re no good unless he’s down for the count or you have a distraction, but good to know about in a pinch. Don’t bother with that one behind the mirror on the fourth floor, it’s totally caved in – supports came down last winter. And this one here’s no good either, comes up right under the Whomping Willow. So this tunnel we’re in now, that’s your best bet for sneaking out. Comes out in the Honeydukes basement, the staff usually ignore any students coming up that way, but best to use that cloak of yours in any case – since you’re not really supposed to be in Hogsmeade, right?” George advised her.

Rhiannon shrugged. “I’ve got permission,” she retorted. “My foster-dad signed the slip, I just have – issues – with the Dementors at the gate. And I hate that cloak anyway. Feels like solid oil.” she added, grumbling.

Fred snickered. “Yeah, even Ron didn’t like the thing, did he? Still, better be safe and all – having permission helps, but people might ask how you got there and next thing you know, another tunnel’s useless. Now, off you pop – go surprise my brother, and your girlfriend!” he teased.

Rhiannon flushed and spluttered furiously. “Hermione’s not- we’re just- gah!” she protested, mortified. Fred and George fell about laughing, and Rhiannon turned away to hide her reddened face.

“Better go get your cloak before you spontaneously combust, pup,” George joked. “Oh and, password to get back in here’s dissendium, in case you missed it before. And make sure to wipe the map when you’re not using it, in case someone finds it! Just tap it again and say mischief managed.” he called after her, as Rhiannon practically fled from the alcove and back upstairs to Gryffindor Tower, where she put a jacket on over her shirt and slipped on her knitted gloves, to protect as much of her skin as possible from the sensation of the cloak. Then, with the sleeves of her jacket pulled over her hands, she clumsily stuffed the cloak into her backpack along with her purse, and swung the whole lot onto her back. Then, cane in hand, she set off back downstairs to the bronze witch statue.

“Diss-s-ss-s-end-d-dium,” Rhiannon muttered and, with a grating hiss, the statue slid forward and let her into the passage behind. Another awful scraping sound told her the statue had covered the passage once again, but Rhiannon was already setting off down the passage itself with her cane in one hand and lit wand in the other. The promise of Hogsmeade drew her onwards like a steady lure, and when the map told Rhiannon she was almost there, she stopped and put on her invisibility cloak with a shudder as its slick folds settled over her hair.

“Euch,” Rhiannon grumbled, fiddling with her collar to keep the cloak off her bare skin. It was a necessary discomfort, but she’d never worn it before and immediately understood Ron’s discomfort with it. It elicited a sensation similar to motion sickness, like she wasn’t properly grounded in her body as she moved, invisible except presumably to any who could see the magic itself – and Rhiannon was not one such. But, she felt also strangely gleeful and giggly in her dizzy hidden space, like she wanted to get into mischief, and idle thoughts of surprising her friends drifted into her head as she crept along the passageway. Finally, the tunnel began an upward incline and Rhiannon put out her wandlight as a precaution as she found herself at the end of the tunnel which, to her sensitive nose, smelled to be below a sweet cellar. The twins hadn’t led her wrong, then. It wasn’t so much that she expected them to, more that she was just a little short on trust when it came to pranks and secret passages.

Warm lamplight filtered through gaps around what appeared to be a trap door, dimly lighting the end of the tunnel and revealing a rope-and-plank ladder not unlike the one they had used to get into the Divination classroom. Rhiannon grimaced, and peered up at the trap door. It didn’t look to be locked, but she was several feet too short to reach up and open it – and ladders weren’t her friend. Even if she managed to climb it, she’d not be able to let go and push open what looked to be a fairly heavy slab of wood. No, she needed a spell. Just something to push it... or levitate it! If she targeted the spell on just the outer edge of the door, that could work...

Rhiannon adjusted her grip on her wand, reviewed the incantation in her head, and frowned up at the door. “W- w-w ingardium Leviosa,” she muttered, tripping over the initial consonant as she so often did but managing the rest of it alright. Focused on the outer edge as it was, the spell lifted the door up out of her way with little more than a soft hiss of recently-oiled hinges. With the trap door now open, there was little more than a three foot gap above her head to the cellar. There was no Ron around to hitch her up, but she could probably make it on her own.

Stowing her wand in her sleeve, Rhiannon scowled up at the opening above her, her cane tucked under one arm. She bent her knees, wincing as they cracked horribly, then sprang from the floor in a leap not unlike the one that had landed her on top of Cedric Diggory. Her landing was clumsy, leaving her sprawling in a heap on the floor of the cellar with her cane dug into her ribs, and she quickly scrambled to her feet despite several new bruises so as to not be caught. Once she was safe, Rhiannon limped into a corner to lean against the wall and catch her breath, nursing her aching ribs as she did so. She glared accusingly at the cane as she retrieved it from under her arm, and carefully made sure the cloak covered it as she used it to steady herself. Then, cane in hand, she made her way as stealthily as she could through the cellar and up a set of creaking stairs into the main shop.

Here Rhiannon ran into a problem. Invisible, she certainly was. Intangible, she was not. She startled a Ravenclaw student as she stumbled into them by accident, and though she hurriedly retreated she knocked against the shelves and sent sweets in jars and tins clattering to the floor in doing so. “Shit, shit ,” she muttered, feeling panic rise in her chest. It was too close in here, too warm and crowded with far too many people, and even more stifling under the cloak than it would have been already. Desperate to get free, Rhiannon tucked her head against her chest and her cane under her arm and shoved her way through the crowd to the door, heedless of anyone she crashed into until finally she staggered out into the chill, snowy air.

Free at last, Rhiannon stumbled into an alleyway beside the sweet shop she had just escaped and tore off the cloak, stowing it in her bag as quickly as she could and shaking herself once it was gone. “Nasty, oily rag of a thing,” she grumbled, wiping her hands off on her coat as she did so. Now she could take in Hogsmeade with clear senses. And somewhere in this mess of snow, mud and humanity were some of her closest friends – her pack. Finding them was her first priority, now that she was here.

Rhiannon leaned back against the alley wall and took deep breaths of the cold air, hardly minding the sting in her lungs. There were almost too many scents to sort through, but it wasn’t overwhelming the way it could be at Hogwarts – it was more open here, the air cleaner and sounds far more muted. Instead of being an overload, the diversity was a delight to her sharp senses and Rhiannon found herself smiling at nothing in particular as she began to search for any trace of her friends.

As it happened, Rhiannon’s friends found her first, distracted by the new environment as she was. Ron, Hermione, Lavender and Neville were on their way past when they caught sight of her, and startled Rhiannon from her reverie with a chorus of greetings. “How did you get here?” Ron asked her curiously, echoed by a similar sentiment from Lavender while Neville and Hermione just shrugged and grinned at eachother.

“Eh, I- ha- I had some help,” Rhiannon demurred awkwardly. She didn’t want to bring up the twins specifically unless she had to – they got in enough trouble as it was, better not to drag them into any of hers. “So, uh – w-wh-what do we do here? Is it alright if-f-ff-f I just, join in with you?”

Ron swatted her gently over the ear, while Lavender shook her head despairingly. “Is it alright?” she repeated, amused. “Of course it’s alright, you’re our friend, aren’t you? We were just about to head to the Three Broomsticks for something to eat and yes, it would be perfectly alright if you joined us, we’re going to meet Harry, Matei and some others anyway.” she teased. Rhiannon flushed and hid her face in her hands, while Hermione reached out and tugged Rhiannon to her own side, and then, hand in hand, they walked at an easy pace in step with their friends to a tall, old-fashioned wooden building that was clearly an inn and tavern of sorts. From the amount of Hogwarts students they could see gathered inside, it was clearly a favoured hangout spot.

“You gonna be alright in there, ‘mione, Rhi, Neville?” Ron asked them, gesturing to the crowded tavern. The three looked at eachother, sharing an uncomfortable glance, and Hermione shrugged.

“Probably? We’ve been before, and if Neville and I were alright then Rhi should be good, at least for a little bit.” Hermione replied, to which Rhiannon managed a wry smile and a nod. “We could go for a walk out past the Shrieking Shack afterwards to kinda, shake it off.” she added, her voice pitching up at the end in a question. Rhiannon squeezed her hand gratefully and with that solved, the five of them headed on inside.

Rhiannon was thankful for her sensory jinxes as they walked through the door, as even with them in place she was assailed by light and sound. The room was far larger inside than the exterior would have suggested, which was much the standard with wizarding buildings but to someone who hadn’t grown up around them it was still overwhelming, and there were far more students inside than they had expected. And not just students, either.

“That’s – that’s the Minister!” Lavender hissed, as she and Ron led the group through the packed tavern to a table in the corner where some of their other friends waited. Matei, Harry and Emilia were among some who greeted them, but Rhiannon was struggling to think straight let alone make conversation with the others. Lavender had pointed out the Minister and he took up all of her remaining attention span, him and his companions.

“Sh- Min- M-m-m-m-mcGonagall, she knows I’m not supposed to be here!” Rhiannon hissed, gesturing anxiously to where the Headmaster sat at the bar with the Minister, her words slurring clumsily together as she struggled to hear herself in the crowded tavern. Ron and Lavender looked over at McGonagall, then back at Rhiannon, sharing a worried grimace.

“Just, quick, get in the corner, Daph’s tall enough that you should be alright behind her,” Harry suggested. “Here, grab a Butterbeer, look inconspicuous. It’s not like you stand out that much at a distance, especially without your cane.”

With Matei and Daphne’s help, Rhiannon squished herself beside them in the far corner of their little gathering. Here she was shielded from view, a little uncomfortably crowded but for the most part it was bearable – she could take a bit of discomfort for her friends. But try as she might, she struggled to stay focused on their conversation, her attention drifting back to Cornelius Fudge and Minerva McGonagall who sat at the bar with a handful of other wizards who, by their robes and stern expressions, looked to be Aurors.

“D-d-do-does the Minister usually come to H-g-g-ho-hogsmeade?” Rhiannon asked, slurring her words as she struggled to hear herself in the crowded tavern. She wasn’t sure exactly where they were in the Highlands, but wherever they were it was still a long way from London.

Ron shook his head, frowning worriedly. “No, not at all. He prefers to, what’s the word – delegate, when it comes to anything outside of London. If he’s here, it’s got to be serious. Or, well, more likely Sirius. Black, that is.” he replied, with a wry snort of amusement at his own accidental play on words.

Rhiannon scowled. “The- the man who broke out’ve prison, where he was without a trial, who nobody’s actually seen but they have the whole place on lockdown and surrounded by bloody monsters for?” she grumbled, tilting her head to listen more closely to the Minister’s conversation. Indeed, she did catch the name Black tossed back and forth a few times in furtive murmurs, as the Minister looked decidedly uncomfortable and the Headmaster increasingly irritable.

“I’m telling you again, Cornelius... no cause to keep the Dementors on the grounds... the effect they’re having on the students!” Rhiannon heard snippets of what was clearly turning into something of a tirade, as Minerva snapped at the Minister in hushed but no less frosty tones. Rhiannon’s scowl darkened, as she wholeheartedly agreed. Sirius’ case, what he may or may not have done – that was one thing. But exposing the several hundred students at the castle to Dementors? She couldn’t think of a justification for that. Certainly not for one man.

Daphne nudged Rhiannon with an elbow, seeing that she was working herself into a temper. “Hey, super-ears, settle down. The Minister’s an idiot, let McGonagall handle him and drink your Butterbeer.” she teased, gesturing to the mugs on the table before them. They had been delivered without Rhiannon noticing, so immersed in the other conversation as she had been.

Rhiannon sniffed the drink curiously and wiped away a trail of foam sliding down the outside of the glass mug, then licked her fingers. Immediately she perked up, enjoying the creamy flavour – not unlike Mrs Weasley’s butterscotch toffee, though with a tangy aftertaste she guessed to be herbs of some kind. “Alright, why’s nobody brought this back for me before?” she asked, gesturing to Ron and Hermione with a mock-accusatory glare.

Her friends looked at eachother guiltily, and Rhiannon laughed and waved off the comment. “’m joking, really – it’s just nice. The drink, and you know – hanging out with you all like a normal person who can handle Dementors.” she added with a shrug.

Matei shuddered. “As if the rest of us can handle Dementors? They have a waystation set up getting into the village, everyone gets a bit of chocolate to ward off the after-effects. Nobody can really handle them. And there’s a bunch’ve others who can’t come to Hogsmeade at all. They’re... something else.” he replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

Rhiannon shrugged sullenly. “Yeah, but, only some of us pass out and try to bite people so... you know.” she retorted. “I’d call that handled.”

Someone kicked her in the shin under the table. “Rhi, you’re being insensitive and it’s understandable but also kind of a pain, so can you shut up and drink your Butterbeer?” Ron said, with a raised eyebrow that suggested he’d been the one who kicked her.

Rhiannon thought about retaliating, but realised with a sigh that he was right. She hadn’t meant to be insensitive, but Ron and Matei were both right – being able to get past didn’t mean they were fine with the Dementors, and it was unfair of her to suggest that. She reached for a handful of hot chips from the basket in the middle of the table, and contented herself with her mug of Butterbeer. Soon, the last remnants of her sullen ill temper dissolved into a comfortable warmth, and the clamour of the crowded tavern didn’t seem to bother her so much. She’d long since lost track of her friends’ conversation, let alone anyone else’s, but that didn’t really matter – everything just seemed funnier somehow, and she found herself giggling helplessly as she managed to bash herself in the nose with the upper rim of the now-empty glass.

Her friends peered at her curiously, though to Rhiannon they appeared fuzzy, as if seen through a liquid haze. “Rhi, are you alright?” Hermione asked – at least, Rhiannon was mostly sure it was Hermione, it was a little hard to tell voices apart. Rhiannon flinched back as a hand was suddenly waved in front of her face, and suddenly she was falling backwards into-

Matei and Neville, seated either side of her, caught hold of the chair just in time to stop her fall. Harry frowned and leaned over the table to peer at her more closely, then grinned and relaxed back into his chair. “She’s fine, just ah – honestly, I forgot Butterbeer had any alcohol content at all, it’s got to be one percent or less... Must be the bleedthrough again, same way she can’t do chocolate right?” they asked.

Lavender made a small noise of concern, leaning across Faye to look at Rhiannon more closely. “She’s drunk? Off what was it, two glasses of Butterbeer? Oh, nobody’s going to believe that, we’re going to be in so much trouble – we have got to get her out of here before Madame Rosmerta or worse, McGonagall, notices!” she hissed, gesturing over to where the Headmaster was still deep in conversation with the Minister, Aurors and barkeeper. Rhiannon blinked owlishly, perplexed. She didn’t feel drunk. Just nice and comfortable and... spinny? Or maybe the room was moving. She wouldn’t put that past wizarding architecture.

Ron groaned. “You’re right – and imagine if it was Snape that caught us? C’mon, let’s get her outside – maybe she’ll sober up out in the cold.” he suggested, gesturing to the door as he did so.

Rhiannon grumbled and shrank back into her chair, half-heartedly resisting as her friends lifted her up and marched her out the door. It was warm in there, why were they dragging her out into the snow and wind? She longed for her own fur coat and steady paws, as she slipped on an icy patch and went crashing down into a snowdrift along with Harry and Ron. Defeated, she flopped back in the snow and giggled as that sent loose snow flying all over her disgruntled friends.

“Rhi, you’re not a puppy, get out of there!” Daphne protested, then nudged Rhiannon with her boot. This provoked a growl from the werewolf in question, who then proceeded to dig herself further into the snow, flicking clumps of the sodden substance all over her friends as she did so.

Hermione giggled. “This is basically just February all over again, you can’t reason with the wolf brain,” she told Daphne. Then, carefully pulling her sleeves over her hands so as to not come into contact with the snow, she knelt down and stretched out a hand to Rhiannon. “C’mon, Rhi, you’re getting your robes all soaked. You’re gonna sober up and freeze out here. Let’s go see the Shrieking Shack before Ron tears his own hair out.” she suggested, struggling to restrain a laugh. Rhi grumbled softly, but crawled out of her snow-nest on all fours and padded over to shove her face into Hermione’s shoulder. “No, you’ve got to get up and walk there, your joints are gonna hurt if you try that, come on.”

Rhiannon whined in protest, but with Hermione’s help she got to her unwilling feet and traipsed down the road with the rest of her friends. “You know, there’s a whole lot of local superstitions about the Shrieking Shack. The most popular is that it’s haunted, but there are some other theories about trapped beasts or even people locked up. Hell of a thing, this close to Hogwarts – they don’t like to talk about it but I guess the basilisk was just the biggest and nastiest dark secret that got covered up.” Matei said with a grimace. Rhiannon wrinkled her nose and growled softly, while Hermione looked as if she might like to do the same.

Ron shivered as they reached the top of the hill that looked out over the Shrieking Shack and its warded grounds. “They really don’t like to talk about all that stuff, wizards that is,” he replied gruffly.

Hermione snorted. “I mean, you had your own wizard Hitler twice over and nobody will even say the second one’s name,” she replied bad-temperedly.

Several of the others, including Daphne and Harry, glared at Hermione. “That’s because saying his name used to total all enchantments and bring a gang of his heavies down on whoever said it,” Faye retorted hotly. “Like, I don’t disagree wizards cover shit up, you know about my mums, but that bit does have a good reason.”

Hermione winced. “Okay, fair but – that has been used to cover him up, you do have to admit it. Like, he was a symptom of a bigger problem, if nobody talks about it then it’s just going to keep festering.” she replied, a light flush of irritation spreading across her cheeks.

Rhiannon interrupted what could have turned into a heated argument by pointedly dropping her chin onto Hermione’s shoulder and whining softly. Hermione sighed and ruffled her hair affectionately. “Okay, you’re right, not the time,” she murmured, and sighed. “Sorry. I mean, I’m still right but, sorry for the yelling.”

Rhiannon growled, as the rest of their friends burst out laughing. “Never change, Hermione,” Harry replied through giggles.

“So, this is what the freak show get up to in their free time?”

A sneering drawl cut through their merriment, and Rhiannon was shoved unceremoniously to the back of their gathering. Faye grabbed for the invisibility cloak and helped drag it over Rhiannon who grumbled and dug herself back into the snow in protest, but complied eventually with being covered in the cloak. Now concealed, she crept around the group to peer out at the rude-voiced hassler. Draco Malfoy. He smelled – worried, stressed. He was on his own too, as was becoming the norm this year. All in all, antagonising them wasn’t a smart move – but he wasn’t thinking of the smart move, only of not losing face. And Rhiannon was just tired of his stubborn pride. So as he faced off against her friends and they snipped back and forth at eachother, Rhiannon slunk forward under the cloak towards Draco.

“Strange to see you without the Queen freak,” Draco jeered, setting a snarl on Rhiannon’s concealed face as she crept closer. “What’s she doing now, holed up in the castle without you – chewing the furniture?”

That was it. Rhiannon didn’t have the patience for Draco’s pitifully transparent shit-stirring at the best of times, and right now she had a lot less patience than usual. She bounded forward, mostly covered by the cloak with her sleeves pulled over her hands, and shoved Draco down into the snow with a solid push on his shoulders. Then, as he flailed and spluttered angrily, Rhiannon leaned forward and growled, low and feral, in the furious boy’s ear. His already-pale face drained of colour and he went very still, moving only to tremble and quiver fearfully.

“You – you bitch, you jinxed me!” Draco hissed. Rhiannon growled and set her nails to his throat, forgetting for the moment that she did not have her usual claws. But it seemed that was enough, as Draco panicked and threw her off. Rhiannon reeled backwards and fell down in the snow, while Draco staggered to his feet clutching at his throat. “I- I’ll see you expelled for this!” he spat, though his voice trembled and a faint tang of blood reached Rhiannon’s sensitive nose. She struggled to untangle herself from the cloak, now revealed at least in part as Draco stared in horror, still frantically backing away now with blood trickling over his fingers. “You – you freak bitch,” he spat, eyes white-rimmed and face pale, before he turned and fled back down the road to Hogsmeade.

Hermione was the first to make her way to Rhiannon’s side and, with her sleeves pulled over her hands, clumsily helped Rhiannon to free herself from the cloak, stow it in her bag and then neaten her clothes. “I’m – I’m not going to pretend that wasn’t funny at first,” she began, wincing at Rhiannon’s hangdog expression. She shrugged uncomfortably and looked at the others for help.

“’Mione’s right, we’re screwed. It’s not like we didn’t enjoy seeing him freaked out, but he saw you – I think, anyway, it was a bit of a mess. We’ve got to get you back to the castle and find you some kind of alibi, quickly.” Ron chimed in, gesturing back to the castle that dominated the skyline behind them.

At that, Hermione bit her lip and grimaced. “I’ve – got an idea for that. If you all do your thing, Rhi and I’ll sneak back in – Madam Pince likes us, we can do inventory or something.” she suggested. As the others all chorused quiet agreement, Rhiannon and Hermione broke off from the anxious gathering and began the trek back through the snow to Honeydukes, the sweet shop with the secret tunnel in its’ basement.

“I’m ass-s-s-s-ssssu-sus-suming that was a complete lie?” Rhiannon asked, tripping over her words as her rapidly fading tipsiness made them harder to handle. Hermione winced again and nodded, wringing her hands anxiously.

“Yeah, um – Madam Pince likes us, but I don’t think we should push our luck... we need to get you a solid alibi. It’s not just your way into Hogsmeade that’s at risk, it’s your secret – and this would be the worst way for it to come out. The full moon’s just been, one turn shouldn’t mess it up too much... I think we should use my Time Turner to go back before we go to Hogsmeade and set up a private lesson with one of the teachers. Lupin, maybe, or – anyone else who’d be alright with a weekend study session.” Hermione explained, bobbing worriedly from foot to foot.

Rhiannon’s head was a lot clearer than it had been earlier, clear enough that she could see the sense in the plan. Still, she wasn’t exactly thrilled by the idea of several extra hours to squeeze into the day, she was worn out and had the beginnings of a headache to boot. She sighed and shrugged, there was nothing for it but to push through – a bit of exhaustion was a far sight easier than what awaited her if Draco went to Snape and the two of them put the pieces together. “Maybe Miss Finn?” she suggested, thinking privately that Remus needed his rest. If she had to fit extra time into the day, she’d much rather spend them learning music – and Miss Finn had promised her singing lessons if they could find a private time – than poring over academics.

Hermione beamed and clapped her hands together, then winced and looked around, afraid someone had seen her behaving in a way she considered ‘odd’. “That sounds like a good idea – and Miss Finn’s pretty patient with weird stuff. Um – we’ll probably both have to fit under the cloak, since I said I’d be going back with you – is that okay?”

Rhiannon blushed, her mind filling up with images of herself and Hermione very close together under the protection of the cloak, her regular attraction augmented by the fading alcoholic haze. Granted, Rhiannon herself didn’t take up a lot of space and she often had to tread carefully to avoid stepping on the hem of the magical garment. They’d definitely fit, but it would be close, and unwillingly Rhiannon thought of the embarrassing way her body had behaved when she’d intercepted Cedric in Quidditch. Hopefully it’ll just sit still, she thought anxiously. It wasn’t like it was a secret, or that Hermione would be unkind... the idea just made her terribly uncomfortable. She took a deep breath and shook out her arms, fixing a crooked smile on her face, and nodded. “Yeah, it’s – we’ll manage. Just, in here and we’ll figure it out – the tunnel’s in Honeydukes.” she said, and led the way into the same alleyway she had used when she emerged from the shop to begin with.

Rhiannon was sure she could see a faint red flush colouring Hermione’s bronze cheeks, and she seemed as uncertain as Rhiannon was about how to go about hiding themselves. They settled on Hermione wearing the cloak with her arm over Rhiannon’s shoulders while the smaller girl remained close at her taller friend’s side. The awkward mechanics of that sorted with much giggling and many apologies, the two of them shuffled off invisibly into the cloying warmth of the shop, nudging their way carefully through the crowd and trying not to panic at the overwhelming crush of sensations weighing on them. Once in the tunnel, both breathed a pent-up sigh of relief and almost sprang apart as they threw off the cloak, and Hermione stowed it in Rhiannon’s backpack without looking at her. She did meet Rhiannon’s gaze for a brief, charged moment as she drew the wrought-gold pocket watch out and gently looped its chain over Rhiannon’s head, and her hands trembled in Rhiannon’s as together they turned the clock face over and, almost nose to nose, were pulled back through the fragmented light and hanging golden clouds of time.