Rhiannon whiled away the remainder of the night with Luna, while Hermione taught Tee the girls’ part of the dances she’d figured out and danced the boys’ steps herself as she had been doing with Rhiannon. Towards the end of the night Minerva called for the students’ attention to present the Gryffindor Quidditch team with the Quidditch cup, and to announce the winners of the House Cup. Rhiannon had forgotten all about that, so focused on Hermione, Luna and then Tee, but after a brief moment of scrambling through her memory she cheered for Hufflepuff house along with the rest of the school as their prefects stepped forward to accept the Cup. And when they were finally shooed off to bed and Rhiannon sat painstakingly undoing her hair and removing her makeup, that Tee was the happiest she’d ever seen her since they first met. No wonder she had been so odd about the idea of Rhiannon, a fellow mage, being transgender, if she’d had those underlying questions the whole time.

The next morning when she awoke, Rhiannon found the dormitory rife with furious whispers. She heard Sirius’ name mentioned and considered intensifying her auditory jinxes, until she heard a second name – Remus – along with a word she dreaded hearing in almost every context. Werewolf.

Suddenly set afire with fear, Rhiannon dressed hurriedly, threw her belongings haphazardly into her suitcase along with her disgruntled cat in her haste and, leaving the lid open on her bed rather than remove the now-hissing tortoiseshell feline, scurried off downstairs.

As she rushed through the corridors, Rhiannon gradually picked up scattered pieces of the story and rage began to mingle with her fear as she tracked a path towards Remus’ classroom. Someone had gone to the Prophet and outed Remus as a werewolf, someone at the school who claimed to have provided proof of their assertion. They’d claimed to have revealed this out of concern for the students of the school, but Rhiannon wasn’t fooled – there was only one person at the school who could have such proof, and Severus Snape had never shown a lick of concern for student safety. So by the time she got there she was positively steaming with rage, and she broke a hinge of the classroom door without meaning to as she flung it open and stormed inside ready to beg Remus to stay or offer to claw Snape on his behalf, she wasn’t sure which.

Sirius flinched and fell off the edge of the desk he had been on as Rhiannon stormed in. Remus startled and caught him, but his brown eyes were wide with sudden fear at her appearance. Guiltily, Rhiannon stopped and took a deep breath to compose herself, then took in the situation. Remus’ belongings were divided into piles on two sides of the room, one much smaller than the other – a single suitcase with a few loose books and other items sitting on top of it. The rest of the items he had collected through his year at the school were being piled into crates on the other side of the room, and with a sinking feeling Rhiannon recognised what he was doing – prioritising what to keep and what to discard. He was leaving.

“No, n-non-n-n-no, you can’t leave!” Rhiannon cried, and flung herself at Remus for a desperate hug, clinging on around his waist a little like a koala. Eventually he pried her loose and stood her back on her own feet, shaking his head already with a sad smile on his face.

“Rhiannon, I must. Ill-intended as he may be, Severus is also right – yes, make no mistake, I know who went to the press. It changes nothing. I forgot my wolfsbane potion and transformed around humans trapped in a closed space with me. Anything could have happened, anyone could have been hurt or even killed, Pettigrew could have escaped. And now that the world knows, the parents will fear for their children’s safety here.”

Rhiannon’s eyes filled up with tears and she shook her head, stamping her foot a little for emphasis. “Y-y-y-y-you’re the best Defence teacher we’ve ever had! Ever!” she insisted, turning to Sirius for help. “Tell him, tell him he can’t-t-t-t leave!”

But Sirius too shook his head, gesturing to the mostly-packed belongings scattered around the classroom. “Rhiannon, legally speaking, any fellow employee or client – in this case the parents and students - has the right to insist that a werewolf be removed from their position ‘for the safety of others’. Remus could fight it but... we’re just, tired. The hate mail will start to pile up, there’ll be whispers in every hall, he doesn’t deserve to have to stand against that. It’s his choice.” he told her wearily.

Rhiannon couldn’t quite put into words how wrong that was, how many students she knew would stand with him against this – how much they and he both would be losing if he left. So instead, she said nothing. She just shook her head again, turned on her heel and fled from the classroom, across the castle and up to the Headmaster’s office.

Minerva, dressed in a green tartan dressing gown and fuzzy slippers, looked up sleepily from her desk as Rhiannon raced up the steps and skidded to a halt inside her office, panting from the exertion, her knees and ankles shrieking with pain. “Goodness, Rhiannon, what is it? Here, sit down, sit down, breathe, take a biscuit,” she said firmly, gesturing to one of the armchairs in front of her desk and then the round aluminium tin that always contained biscuits of some kind.

Rhiannon, now dizzy with pain and struggling for breath, sank into the offered chair and pried the lid off the biscuit tin. Inside were a number of shortbread-like biscuits stuck together with jam, the upper layer having a little heart-shaped window in the top to show the jam underneath, and dimly she remembered something from not too long ago. She held up the biscuit to Minerva with a curious tilt of her head, wry amusement beginning to chase away the worst of her distress. “Jam-m-m-m-m-my Dodger?” she asked, suddenly understanding where Dudley’s spur-of-the-moment nickname had come from.

Startled, Minerva burst out laughing. “It’s what I had in my pocket at the time!” she replied, amused. “I’m a cat person, I don’t know how to name dogs – let alone werewolves. But I know you didn’t come in to ask about my sweet tooth. What’s really bothering you?” she added, settling herself as she turned the question back to Rhiannon.

Rhiannon sobered, remembering again the quiet, resigned misery she’d seen in Remus and Sirius alike, the rumours flying through the halls. Minerva must not have left her office yet or she’d already know. “It’s R-r-r-e- Prof-f-f-f-fessor Lupin,” she stammered, switching at the last moment to use Remus’ professional title as she remembered that she was still technically his student. “Someone w-w-w-w-with-t-t-h-th-thhh- with proof, outed him. To the Prophet. Ev-v-v-v-v-err-r-r-yone knows. There- there’s only one person who’d do that, you know-w-w-w there is. He’s leaving, you- you have to get him to stay, please! He’s the best teacher we’ve ever had for Defence, he gets all of us –” she trailed off, choked with tears.

Minerva’s face, already serious, lost the last traces of any mirth as her lips pressed into a thin line and her severe black brows drew together. Despite the tartan wool dressing gown and the fluffy slippers, she cut an intimidating figure and her hands trembled atop the desk as if she fought to keep from clenching her fists. “Severus,” she growled, more than a little hint of cat creeping into her voice in her anger. “And Professor Lupin is leaving, you say? No, no, that’s not right – excuse me. Are you alright to walk?” she asked. Rhiannon nodded dutifully, and Minerva stood abruptly, drawing her dressing gown tighter around herself as she did so. “Very well. Come with me, perhaps together we may convince him to stay. And Severus, I will deal with in due course – once the immediate emergency is resolved.”

With Rhiannon trailing in tow, Minerva McGonagall swept from her office and strode briskly through the halls, re-tracing Rhiannon’s steps back to the Defence classroom. Whenever they passed a whispering cluster of students Minerva’s scowl darkened, and by the time they reached the classroom itself she was trembling with fury. “Remus, Sirius – if I may have a moment?” she greeted them both, her voice shaking as she kept to a neutral tone.

Remus sighed and gave up trying to squash a book into the suitcase in the small ‘keep’ pile, retreating to perch on top of a desk beside Sirius. “Minerva. I assume you’ve heard. Which means you should also have heard that my mind is made up.” he told her firmly.

Minerva shook her head and held up a hand, clearly waving aside the insistence. “I understand that, and at the end of the day it is your choice. But answer me one thing – are you comfortable here?” she asked him pointedly.

Remus spluttered and puffed up. “I mean- there’s – no! I could have hurt someone, Minerva! It’s not safe!” he protested. Sirius tightened his arm around Remus’ waist and the smaller man lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

Minerva sighed and settled heavily into a classroom chair, gesturing wearily for Rhiannon to do the same. “Remus, that isn’t what I asked,” she replied gently. “I want to know if you feel safe here, or at least safer, like you can get better. If you like teaching, and living in the castle again.” she replied gently.

Remus’ face fell, and he knotted his hands together in his lap as almost unconsciously he leaned his head into Sirius’ shoulder while he thought. Eventually he sighed and turned tortured brown eyes on the Headmaster, his posture utterly dejected. “You know I love it,” he said miserably. “It’s the best my life has been in twelve years. It hurts so much to give it up but I have to, for their safety.”

Minerva’s grey-green eyes glistened with what looked suspiciously like tears. She shook her head and straightened her shoulders, her lips pressing into a firm line. “Remus. We haven’t had a good Defence teacher in forty years or more. If I took a petition to the students right now, some would have worries or questions – but overwhelmingly, I believe they would ask for you to stay. Aside from a blip with the Boggart earlier in the year – which you more than made up for afterwards - you have been a reassuring constant in their lives, especially with the Dementors’ presence we’ve all had to suffer through. You taught a collection of twelve, thirteen and fourteen-year-olds to cast Patronuses, all with some degree of success, one of the youngest has, I am told, recently produced a corporeal Patronus in entirety. You are a valuable asset to the castle, you are good for my students, and so I am asking you again – please, please stay. Whether you stay or go Severus will be punished, but I would rather the students not lose a good teacher because of the petty viciousness of another.” she entreated him.

As Rhiannon watched, heart full of bittersweet affection as Minerva listed concisely all the ways he had affected their lives that year, Remus sighed and all the fight flooded out of his body leaving him small, tired and slumped against Sirius’ shoulder. “Minerva, I’m afraid,” he replied softly. “Legally, anyone has the right to object to my employment here. I don’t know how to fight it. I don’t think I have the energy to fight it.”

A slow smile spread across Rhiannon’s face, as suddenly an idea occurred to her. They’d been planning to campaign for elven employment rights in the coming year... would it really be much of a stretch to champion Remus’ case? “T-t-t-t-t-echnic-c-c-ally speaking – shouldn’t the peop-p-p-p-p-p-ple who’re around you most get the most say?” she piped up. “There’s- uh... roughly seventy students in each hous-s-s-s-se, five houses... that’s probably a bit under three hundred and fifty students. We could run a petition, Luna and Dudley could help design it, run it up on our foster-dad’s press and send it out once we’re done. You- you know your students, you t-t-t-t-taught us about werewolves a bit after that awful lesson S-s-s-n- Profess-s-s-s-sor Snape did, you saw how many got it. You know there’d be a majority who vote yes.”

Minerva beamed and slapped her palm on the table, the sound making Sirius flinch. She winced and calmed herself. “My apologies. Yes, that would be a loophole... any single person has the right to object to his presence, but a strong majority supporting it would be enough to carry our own case for keeping him on... And if you would consent, Remus, it might be worthwhile to have Xenophilius run a counter-article. You wouldn’t even had to speak for it if you didn’t feel comfortable, just correcting the popular misinformation around werewolves – especially as that affects several of our students too. Certainly, appearing in the Quibbler, it would have less sway than the Prophet both as an independent media outlet and with its’, ah, reputation for oddity but... I think it would be convincing enough that at least some peoples’ fears would be assuaged. You’re a good teacher Remus, the exam results speak to that and unless they are prepared to present an equally-competent replacement that alone will silence many naysayers.” Minerva suggested, an undercurrent of excitement growing in her voice.

Even Remus couldn’t quite repress a hopeful smile. “You’d do that? Fight for me to stay?” he asked, shaking his head in a dazed sort of disbelief. “I suppose... if you’re ready to do all that, then... I shouldn’t be the stumbling block. It could happen to anyone else, anyone who doesn’t have the support I do, and... I suppose that gives me a sort of responsibility to do something, since I can. I’d like to stay. I had a lot of plans for next year anyway, it – it would be a shame to have to set them aside.” he replied, biting his lip as he considered the mess he’d made of his classroom. “Though... I rather think I’m going to have to unpack, aren’t I.”

At that, Rhiannon was suddenly reminded of what day it was. “And I have to pack!” she yelped, getting up so quickly she bashed her hip on the underside of the desk. “Ow, ow, ow, ow,” she hissed, hopping rather than walking to the door as pain flared up in her hip. Still swearing and muttering to herself, she fled from the classroom and back up the many flights of stairs to Gryffindor tower.

By now it was almost nine in the morning, and the Hogwarts Express left at ten. Rhiannon packed the rest of her belongings in a flurry of activity, chased her disgruntled cat around the tower for a good ten minutes and finished getting ready just in time to join the rush of students trailing out of the castle to the Thestral-drawn carriages – while Rhiannon couldn’t see the dragonlike horses, she could certainly smell them as she clambered into a carriage along with Tee, Lavender and Kellah. And then, all too soon it felt like, she was squished in between Luna and Hermione in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express, the doors open as she and her friends chatted back and forth across the compartments.

“Oh, Mum’s going to have kittens,” Ginny groaned, having heard of her sister’s coming out only that morning. “She’s always wanted a daughter, you know how silly she is about me – the tears when I cut my hair!”

Tee blushed, embarrassed. “You know, it was old Aunt Muriel that convinced me to grow it? ‘Cut that boy’s hair, Molly, he looks like a girl!’” she announced loudly, affected a quiveringly imperious tone. “Couldn’t figure out why I liked the idea of that,” she added with a self-deprecating laugh.

Rhiannon giggled. “That’s k-k-k-kind of how I figured it out too, years ago. My uncle said that pretty much once a week, and Aunt Marge did too whenever she came to visit. Aunt Petunia gave me so many terrible haircuts and it just wouldn’t stay short, kept growing back out in hours. I guess m-m-m-m-m-my magic knew what I wanted before I did,” she replied with a grin.

Tee blinked, bewildered. “You mean, you didn’t always know? I’m not, weird for taking ages to figure it out?” she asked shyly.

Rhiannon couldn’t help herself – she laughed outright at that, and many of the others joined in. “God no!” she exclaimed, still giggling. “I’ve read stuff about p-p-p-p-p-people who didn’t know until like, their thirties or ev-v-v-v-v-ven their fifties or more!”

Hermione jumped in at that, always eager to help people understand. “I’m really lucky my family’s always been about sharing information. It’s illegal to be queer in Nigeria, where my Dad’s from, so it’s always been important to him that I knew and understood about queer people so I wasn’t unkind by accident,” she explained. “It’s sort of like – it might bother you forever, if you don’t know. But if you don’t have the words to say what’s wrong, it’s just this contextless ick feeling and it probably gets a bit lost in a whole pile of other icky feelings. Once you’ve got the words, you can understand what’s going on – but you can’t do that if you don’t even know it’s an option. Of course you didn’t know – the magical world is really big on don’t ask don’t tell.”

Luna smiled serenely. “Hermione is right,” they supplied. “I didn’t actually know I was how I am for a while, because I didn’t realise I was supposed to be a girl either. There’s a lot of different ways of coming at it, depending on how much information you have access to.”

Neville, squished between Tee and the door, tugged the tall redhead into a sideways hug, which surprised her. “Ay, and of course, Neville too! I guess that birds of a feather thing really is true,” Tee laughed as she leaned into the short blond’s hug. “And, ah, speaking of that, well... you’re all either like me or mostly get it, so I figured, uh – you helped Rhi pick a name, could you help with mine? I have an, ah – a list, of things we could try out, I just can’t decide.”

Before anyone could respond, the elderly lady with the sweets trolley squeaked her way down the aisle of the train with Fred and George in tow, the trolley attendant quite clearly ignoring them despite their antics, dancing back and forth and trying to swipe items off the cart to no success. “Anything from the trolley, dears?” she asked them serenely, as a box of gum sparked against George’s fingers and forced him to drop it.

Ginny snickered to herself, and gestured to the drinks underneath. “Um – we’ll take that blueberry and lemon ice tea, if that’s alright.” she said, with an evil grin over at her new sister. “Sweet tea for a sweet Tee, or something like that.” she added.

Tee groaned, and Hayley leaned across the compartment to kick her red-headed friend in the shins. “That’s a terrible pun, Gin,” Dudley told her reproachfully. Then he snickered to himself, realising he’d just added onto it. “Oh no, you’ve both got drink names,” he added with a snort.

Patient as ever, the trolley attendant accepted a couple of knuts for Tee’s joke drink as well as orders from the others, blithely ignoring the cross-aisle shenanigans as she worked. Finally it was time for her to move on, and Fred and George gave up on their attempts at theft and flopped into an empty space in the compartment occupied by Ginny, Dudley, Hayley and Lavender. “What’s this – a new addition to the fold? My magic rainbow senses were tingling,” Fred inquired mischievously.

Ginny swatted her brother with her notebook, laughing as she did so. “First of all, bisexuality isn’t a magic superpower – if it was, I’d be better at poetry. And you’d have actually gotten a boyfriend or a girlfriend sometime in the last three years,” she corrected him with a snort. Fred stuck out his tongue at his younger sister, while George cackled. “And second – how do you two nosy gits hear everything? You’re always just, there.” Ginny added mock-irritably.

George shrugged and grinned. “Well, ah – wee thing called the Marauders’ Map, ask your Potter to explain it. It’s been a bit fuzzy on our dear almost-youngest sibling’s name for some time now, so we kept an ear out in case anyone was a dick and needed a thumping about it, and look where we ended up,” he replied cheerfully.

Tee flushed scarlet and slid down the chair, hiding her face in her jumper – pale purple cotton and borrowed from Luna – as much as she could to escape the teasing. “Did everyone know before I did?” she wailed.

Rhiannon snickered. “Tee, I do have some experience in the matter,” she reminded her friend wryly.

Fred cocked his head, clearly catching on the name after it was used for the second time. “Tee? Is that short for something?” he asked. “I know we’re kind of idiots, it’s how we show affection, but we really do want to support you – and tease you by the right name.”

Tee yelped and pulled her face down into her jumper, or would have had Luna not pulled the jumper itself down firmly. “Please don’t stretch my jumper, I quite like that one,” ze chided her mildly. “If you feel the need to ruin clothing hiding in it, please get your own.”

That set off another round of laughter, which gradually died down enough that Tee could answer Fred’s question. “It’s short for To-Be-Decided,” she explained with a shrug. “Since I’ve got a whole list here and haven’t figured it out yet, but the old one was making me uncomfortable. Speaking of – please help. There’s so many names I like, and Luna helped me narrow it down a bit but I’m still struggling!”

Neville shrugged and frowned, then retrieved his tablet from where it had fallen off his lap and began to scrawl away on its surface. “Why don’t you tell us some that you like, and we can try them out loud and see what feels right? That’s what Hermione suggested when we went looking for Rhiannon’s name,” his tablet said on his behalf, the voice still a little stiff-sounding but a significant improvement on the difficulty verbal speech presented.

Tee retrieved her backpack from where it rested at her feet, rummaged around and eventually retrieved a crumpled piece of paper dotted with purple ink. “I like purple. Purple is a gender-neutral colour,” she said defensively, as George peered across the train aisle to look. Then, once George had retreated, she continued. “I, listed some of my favourite names – Arthurian ones mostly, since Mum had a theme going on. Witches of Avalon, that kind of thing... um – what do you think of Niniane?”

Fred and George looked at each other, considering the matter. Then it was as if a sudden light went on in both their heads and they began to cackle loudly. Eventually, gasping for breath, they subsided while an anxious Tee pestered them for an explanation. “It’s,” George spluttered, gasping for breath. “Niniane, is-”

“NINNY AND GINNY!” Fred cut over his brother with a gleeful cheer.

Tee immediately hid behind her backpack, and the twins leapt up and bowled off down the train aisle still chortling to themselves and refusing to explain the joke to anyone. Rhiannon thought that while Tee looked mortified, she also looked pleased in an embarrassed sort of way, to be included with her younger sister in the teasing, and quietly requested if, yes please, might they call her Niniane for the rest of the train ride.

Chattering amongst her friends, Rhiannon lost track of time through the many hours of the train trip back to London. She sleepily bade Hermione farewell at the Kings’ Cross stop, then curled up against Luna’s shoulder while Niniane scooted across the carriage and talked quietly with Ginny about how to bring the new realisation up with their family, and all too soon it was time to get off at Euston Station.

Xenophilius met them at the platform wearing an anxious smile as he fiddled with the rope he had already looped through the handles of their suitcases. “Ah, Rhiannon, there’s – something we need to talk about, it’s – well, the Ministry are warding the house so we’ll have to Portkey a little distance and walk, and there’ll be check-ins to make sure you’re safe every so often, and-”

Rhiannon cut him off, already feeling a sinking sensation in her stomach as Xenophilius’ demeanour told her something was very, very wrong. “Min-n-n-n-is-istry protection? D-d-d-d-damnit – Dad – what’s going on?”

Xenophilius’ fretful expression turned grim and his eyes darted to either side, clearly checking no one was listening before he pulled Rhiannon, Dudley and Luna closer to speak to them. “It’s Peter Pettigrew,” he told them softly. “He escaped Ministry custody a few streets over just three hours ago.”

Rhiannon stared at her foster-father, feeling deeply sick in the core of her gut as she remembered the fragmented prophecy Nina had passed on from Professor Trelawney. The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant's aid, greater and more terrible than ever he was... The servant will set out to rejoin his master. Prophecy Trelawney had gotten the time wrong, perhaps her prophecy had pertained to the most likely future and they had averted it, Rhiannon was far from an expert on the matter. But one thing had been proven in the trial – Peter Pettigrew was Voldemort’s servant to his core. And if that was true...

“He’s not looking for me,” Rhiannon whispered, horror-struck. “He- he’s going to b-b-b-b-b-bring back Voldemort.”