When they awoke the next morning, the prospect of the horror that awaited them outdoors was no easier for Rhiannon, Dudley and their friends to face. But at least they had eachother, a small comfort as they washed the soot from their skin and the mud from beneath their nails in the grey morning light. The six of them barely spoke to eachother or the rest, as Fred, George, Sirius and Remus awoke and began to move about the tent, but dressed in silence and ate their meager rations of a few muesli bars and cookies in the same.

Some time later, Arthur Weasley returned to them, his cloak torn and stained with blood, ash and other leavings of the battlefield. His thin face was drawn and pale, and his hands trembled at his sides as he stooped to enter the tent. “Ah – morning, everyone. I’ve arranged a portkey out of here at eleven for you, back to the Rookery – there’s a perimeter being set up there, it’s not safe to be wandering the countryside so the rest of you should stay there until I fetch you this evening.” he told them, before he was cut off by a yawn. He drooped as he settled into a chair, barely noticing as Remus took his tattered cloak from his shoulders.
“Where’s Bill and Charlie?” George asked, as he rummaged through the cupboards for something more to eat.

Arthur sighed and shook his head. “Charlie’s putting out fires in camp three, Bill’s trying to help get curses off some of the victims. Bloody mess, all of it,” he replied wearily. He took a muesli bar from George with a grateful nod and picked at it listlessly.

Sirius worried at the hem of his shirt, his face twisted in an anxious expression. “I should be out there, helping,” he murmured fretfully, pacing back and forth until Remus took him by the shoulders and pulled him into a firm hug.

Arthur shook his head again, and dusted off his shirt as he stood. “Not a chance. I... I don’t trust anyone else to take care of the kids. Not in this mess. And you, well... you spent twelve years in prison, Sirius. Let the rest of us fight while you recover.”

Sirius grumbled to himself, but Rhiannon could see he knew Arthur was right as he disentangled himself from Remus’ arms and puttered across the tent to where what remained of their belongings lay scattered across the floor. “You’re right, as usual,” he said, as he flicked his wand back and forth and coaxed the clothes and books and loose bits of memorabilia back into the bags they had left piled at the sides of the tent interior. “Come on, kids, help me pack up. Remy, can you Send to Xen, tell him we’ll be back around eleven? I bet he’ll be a mess with all this change.”

“Will do,” Remus replied softly, a little delayed – he had been staring into space, hollow-eyed and trembling. He padded off into the separate cubicle they’d been using for changing, and soft mutters indicated to Rhiannon he was casting a Sending spell of some kind, as Sirius had asked. Sirius beckoned the rest of them and they stumbled sluggishly into action, gathering the rest of their scattered belongings from around the tent. Rhiannon felt the lack of her wand as if it were a missing limb – she felt helpless. She hadn’t been helpless in a long time, she’d fought fiercely even on that night of fire and blood in 2002. But now, without her wand and so far from the full moon, she had to rely on Remus, Sirius and the adult Weasleys for protection. And that grated on her. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust them, or even really begrudged their care for her. She just hated to rely on it, without any way to defend herself.

“Is – is this how you feel, all the time?” Rhiannon asked Dudley miserably, as they stuffed clothes back into bags.

Ginny reached over and squeezed Rhiannon’s hand, a sad smile on her face. “For him? Nah. But I get it. I was so scared at first. But you’ll get your wand back and it’ll be fine again.” she replied in Dudley’s place, her smile twisting bitterly at the end. Rhiannon cringed, mortified at her own insensitivity. She’d get her wand back and be just as she was before. Ginny had to learn a whole new kind of magic, figuring it all out herself without the aid of academic texts such as Rhiannon and other ordinary mages had. And here Rhiannon was feeling diminished just without her wand.

“I’m sorry,” Rhiannon mumbled, embarrassed. Ginny laughed, and while it was still a wry, jaded sort of sound, she didn’t sound bitter as she had before.

“Don’t be,” Ginny reassured her gently. “Of course you’re freaked, you’ve had to look out for yourself for this long,”

Dudley ruffled Rhiannon’s hair and laughed when she snapped at him, snatching his hand away just before her teeth connected with it. He lurched away and edged over to Ginny instead. “That’s my girl, always getting right to the heart of it,” he told her with a grin, as he pulled her into a hug, each easily comfortable in the other’s presence. Ginny squeaked and swatted him, which devolved into a playful tussle as Rhiannon edged away awkwardly.

“I’ll, uh – just – thanks,” Rhiannon stammered awkwardly, shuffling away so that she might give them space, privately a little amused - clearly she’d been so caught up in her own silly dance of feelings that she had overlooked anyone else’s, and their lives had moved on unbeknownst to her. It comforted her that Dudley and Ginny had grown so close. They’d been friends already since their first year and grown closer still since Ginny had lost most of her magic. It was embarrassing to have overlooked it, but she could weather a little blow to her pride – it was far better knowing that two of her favourite people in the world were happy together.

It took them all a good couple of hours to pack up all of their belongings and secure all of the tent furnishings. Remus and Sirius offered them sense-dampening jinxes, which Hermione accepted but the others refused, Rhiannon in particular. What lay outside was the aftermath of the Death Eaters’ crimes. By nature of her very being, the lightning scar on her face, she was an opponent to them and their master. And to oppose them effectively, she felt, she had to be aware of those crimes, not wilfully blind to them. So with her belongings packed into a bag slung over her back, Hermione and Luna’s hands clasped tightly in each of hers, Rhiannon took a deep, shuddering breath and followed Sirius out of the tent.

Outside was, as she had expected it to be, the image of a warzone. The ground, sodden from the flooding, was scorched and cracked, scarred as if by cannon-fire in several places. Smoke still drifted from burning tents, and everywhere Rhiannon looked, people were gathered in sorrowful clusters, their sobs weighing heavy on the smoky air. Blood soaked the ground, the torn tents, every breath felt stained with it and Rhiannon knew without having to look that there had been deaths. Bodies – they had to be bodies by the size – lay in a line along the walkway that led out of the campsite, covered by cloths to hide their wounds and their faces, mourners gathered around them while still more flocked from all corners of the campsite.

Perhaps worse than the bodies, even than the mourners, were the empty-faced survivors. Most were children, hollow-eyed and bloodied, most bearing terrible wounds as teal-robed Ministry workers hurried back and forth trying to settle them and get everyone’s names. “Roberts! Diego Roberts, anyone seen him?” a harried-looking woman with blond hair called anxiously, and Rhiannon’s heart sank. Roberts – the manager of campground one, he’d been a Muggle. Of course he’d been targeted. She had no idea he’d had children, or even a wife... they’d all been targeted. The Ministry woman had hold of an olive-skinned boy of about seven, the mangled remnant of one arm strapped to his chest by bloodied bandages as she knelt to speak with him.

“They... children,” Rhiannon whispered hoarsely, turning tear-filled eyes on Luna. She’d seen enough injuries to be able to imagine the kind of wounds that lay under his bandages – and they were not the kind one got from a glancing, one-off hit.

Luna shook his head miserably. “They were torturing the Robertses,” she replied, their voice hollow and broken-sounding. “In front of everyone... I-I- I’m surprised any of them survived.”

Rhiannon caught sight of a flash of silver-blond hair amongst the crowd of displaced youths, and her heart sank. Draco. Of course the Ministry had him, his father was in either custody or hiding. She drifted towards him, but Hermione pulled her back, shaking her head firmly. “’Mione’s right, we – we can’t get involved,” Luna murmured. “We’re on thin enough ice as it is, what with being so close to the cast point and your wand being the one used, if anyone sees you talking to him the press’ll have a field day and drag your name into whatever’s about to happen with him and his dad. And that might put him in danger.”

Rhiannon grumbled softly, but she knew Luna was right. The Malfoys were a well-known family, but they kept themselves out of the public eye. Draco had evidence that could land his father in Azkaban for life, and his father no doubt knew that. There’d be a case for him to take Lucius down, or for Lucius to win him back, whichever way it turned out and for Rhiannon to draw attention to that... no, Luna was right, it would get too vicious, and quickly, if she got involved.

So with that knowledge heavy in her chest, Rhiannon could only bow her head and turn shamefaced away from the dead, the mourners and the lost as their collected party of Weasleys and friends hobbled past, Remus bringing up the rear. All were on guard, from the Ministry workers with their drawn wands to the children huddled together behind them, and the small clusters of untouched families who hurried by with their eyes lowered as the Weasleys did. Even for those who had escaped the attack unwounded seemed broken somehow, isolated. For years, Voldemort had wanted to resume his war on the wizarding world of the British Isles and for years, only Rhiannon and her friends had felt the extent of his forays. Maybe the war had never really ended, because this? Looked a hell of a lot like war.

Arthur Weasley led them on for several miles, past intermittent Ministry sentries and several groups of adult mages who looked to be held for questioning, and more Ministry-dressed mages who hurried back and forth around pillars, their exact nature unable to be identified as they were covered in a cloaking spell and it appeared the wizards were trying to take them down. Tokens of triumph, or statements, left by the Death Eaters perhaps. As they carried on further, the Ministry wizards threw up cloaking spells to hide their work but one was too slow, and Rhiannon caught a glimpse before the shield was fully in place. A small body, young, mangled and hung on a post with a sign around their neck. Magic-thief, it read. They’d killed the child just for being magical and born to Muggle parents, and Rhiannon struggled to hold back a wave of vomit that welled up in her throat at the sight.

“Why’s it so far off?” Dudley grumbled, casting an eye over at Rhiannon as she stumbled back into Hermione’s outstretched arm. She managed a wan smile, recognising his complaint for what it was – a distraction, one that occupied her fragile mind enough as they left the body on its post behind. “Wouldn’t it be more secure if it was closer? I mean, if we’re thinking about safety, all this travel has Rhi exposed.”

Arthur nodded and favoured Dudley with a brief, tense smile. “That is true. But with so much tension still in the camps, it’s impossible to properly defend any location that’s near to them. It’s a risk, but we’re travelling between secured locations and the Ministry have eyes on us the whole way.” he replied, gesturing furtively to the teal-robed auror who stood on guard at the intermittent posts that Rhiannon realised were checkpoints. Of course they were watching – any Death Eaters still roaming would love to get their hands on the Girl Who Lived. What a boost to their cause her death would bring.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop,” Luna whispered, and elbowed Rhiannon sharply. “You can’t – dwell on it, like. Try get a song stuck in your head, or run through a lot of different random ideas ‘til you lose the bad ones, just – don’t stew on it, alright?”

Rhiannon shook her head. “They – they tried to bomb our tent, Lune,” she murmured miserably. “Just ‘cos I was-s-s-ss-s s-s-staying there. And all I do is h-hide from it.” It was too hard to explain, why that upset her, but it felt wrong that she was the face of Voldemort’s defeat and did nothing with that. Like she had a responsibility to fight that she wasn’t living up to. “I’m – I’m s-s-s-s- I’m s-supposed to do something!” she wailed, flapping her hands about in frustration.

“Do what?” George asked sharply, swinging an arm over Luna’s shoulder as he leaned into their conversation with Rhiannon. “Something about the Death Eaters, stand up to them? Because that’s crazy thinking,” he told her bluntly. Rhiannon wilted, and George sighed. “Seriously, Rhi. You’re fourteen. Maybe when you’re an adult, but right now – all you can do about it is live. You don’t have some kinda responsibility to be a child soldier just ‘cause of what happened when you were a baby.”

“But – but I do,” Rhiannon replied miserably, ignoring Hermione’s protesting squeeze. “I’m the face of res-s-s-ss-s-ssisisis-sting him, I can’t just – let everyone else fight, and use my name, and n-n-n-n-not help.”

“Is S.P.E.A.R. not a kind of helping?” Luna asked pointedly. “I mean, we’ve printed a lot of campaign materials already, we’ve got goals and actions planned, that petition for Professor Lupin’s reinstatement went great. The Death Eaters want pureblood supremacy, yeah, but also very human supremacy – which we are fighting, however we can. You can’t just oppose things, you’ve gotta fight for things too. And you’re doing that.”

George grinned, genuine despite the weariness in his frame. “Smart one you’ve got there, Rhi,” he replied, ruffling Luna’s hair as he disentangled himself from the sideways embrace and stood upright. “They’re right. There’s more in a war than just fighting against things, you’ve gotta keep people living, not just surviving. And you’re doing that already.” he told Rhiannon firmly.

Rhiannon managed a tiny smile, and looked up at George for a moment. “That’s what you ‘n Fred do, isn’ it?” she asked, stumbling clumsily over the phrases. “With, the jokes ‘n stuff, you’re... smart, like that.”

George’s face fell, and he nodded slowly. “Yeah, I – I suppose it is. Damnit, you blew my whole ‘careless jokester’ thing, ya nosey little shit,” he grumbled, feigning irritation as he mussed Rhiannon’s hair affectionately.

Luna snorted, an uncharacteristically snarky sort of sound, and ze elbowed George as she shook their head in exasperation. “You got fantastic marks on your O.W.Ls last year, I think you blew the ‘careless jokester’ thing yourself,” he retorted wryly.

George cackled, and that caught Fred’s attention. He leaned over Hermione’s shoulder after taking a quick moment to check she was okay with it, and prodded his brother until the other redhead looked over at him with a scowl. “I only got two O.W.Ls, you got the whole set – blondie’s right, jig’s been up for ages,” Fred teased his brother. George made a rude gesture and the two split off from Rhiannon, Luna and Hermione to tussle and swat at eachother playfully, while the younger teenagers laughed at their antics despite the pall of despair that hung over them all.

Soon the group drew near to a circle of armed mages in Ministry robes and riot armour, standing guard around something on the ground that positively hummed with magical energy. Rhiannon wrinkled her nose and grimaced at the strong scent of ozone that permeated the damp air – portal magic.

“Arthur, Black,” one of the mages greeted Arthur and Sirius stiffly. She didn’t even give Remus a second glance, and Rhiannon immediately decided she didn’t like the woman, who was a few inches taller than Arthur Weasley, green-eyed and stern-faced, her features surprisingly delicate in contrast to her ill-tempered expression and her hair a medium brown striped with silver and tied back in a bun. “Security checks, we have to verify your identity,” she told them all brusquely. “Wands first, hand them over.”

“I- I d-d-d-d-don’t have one,” Rhiannon stammered as she spoke up. “It’s-s-s-s-s – It’s in f-f-for evidence.”

“Harry Potter?” the teal-robed woman asked, and Rhiannon’s sense of dislike was confirmed.

“It’s Rhiannon,” Dudley replied hotly, but the Ministry woman held up a hand to silence him.

“Legally, it is Harry Potter and I deal in matters of the law.” she replied firmly. “My name is Diana Prentiss, second-in-command under Rufus Scrimgeour of the Auror Office. Please form a line, pass your wands to the front. If any of you do not have one, please do as Mr. Potter did and just sing out. Other than that, please be quiet and wait for me to finish.”

Rhiannon bristled, and she saw Dudley and Ginny do the same. “Um, we don’t have wands either,” Ginny told the auror – Diana – uncomfortably. “Dudley and I, we’re Squibs. In fact, he’s probably not even in the magical registry – being a muggle-born Squib.”

Auror Diana sniffed, her slightly turned-up nose wrinkling irritably. “Oh, right – that one. No, he’s not in the full registry, but we have information in the Department for the Care of Unaccompanied Magical Minorson his identity, enough that we could confirm with a few questions after I get the information.”

Rhiannon and Dudley shared a panicked glance – the Department for the Care of Unaccompanied Magical Minors knew they were werewolves, or at least suspected. Any questions they could use to identify him would risk uncovering the rest of his identity. But Diana Prentiss cared nothing for their expressions of panic, as she turned aside and muttered something that cast a silvery form into the air, a form that solidified into that of a bird of prey – a hawk, Rhiannon guessed from the wings. “Diana Prentiss, second-in-command of the Auror Office. I need intake and background records on Dudley Dursley and his relationship with Harry Potter to confirm his identity, as a matter of safety around the Quidditch World Cup incident. Get it to me as soon as possible, thankyou,” she rattled off briskly, then turned back to the rest of the group and brushed a lock of silvered brown hair from her eyes as the hawk flapped its’ wings and took off, vanishing into the air before it got more than a few metres from them. “Alright. That’s a request straight to the Department of Unaccompanied Magical Minors, I’ll have the file from them soon. Stay to the back, by the time everyone else is through I should have the files I need for you” she told Dudley, her tone as uncompromisingly brisk as it had been the whole time.

Dudley slunk to the back, scowling, and Rhiannon looked askance to Hermione and Luna, who immediately shooed her off towards him with matching sighs. Rhiannon dropped back to Dudley’s side, where she let him lean on her shoulder for support – standing still was just as much a bother to his damaged hip as walking could be, either standing directly on the weak limb or overworking the intact one. “She’s a bitch,” Rhiannon reassured him softly. “Tying wand ownership to – to personhood, or whatever, it’s – it’s-s-s-s-s-s bullshit.”

“Thought you of all people’d know not to call someone a bitch like it’s a bad thing?” Dudley asked. Rhiannon blinked owlishly at him as his lips curled up, clearly in on some joke she’d missed. “You know, cos you’re a,” he trailed off and mimed barking with one hand. Rhiannon stared for another moment and then burst out laughing, an undignified snorting cackle that rang out too loud in the solemn quiet of the morning.

“Pffffff- Rhi, ssssh, you’re getting on the ministry lady’s nerves,” Dudley hissed, unable to stop himself from chortling along with her. Eventuallythey fell quiet and mostly traded looks and shrugs amongst themselves and the wider group as slowly their friends were inspected and passed through the circle of guards. Finally, it was Rhiannon’s turn, and she shuffled unwillingly toward Diana Prentiss, her eyes flicking furtively from side to side.

“Harry Potter,” the Ministry witch addressed her imperiously, and Rhiannon had to fight back the urge to growl. “How, precisely, did you defeat the basilisk at the end of your second year at Hogwarts?”

“It’s Rhiannon,” Rhi grumbled, more for posterity than for any hope of convincing the narrow-minded woman. “And – and-d-d-d – an’ I want t-t-to go after Dudley.”

“Master Potter-” the auror Diana began, but she was interrupted by a soft hiss and a curiously echoing growl – a growl that luckily covered Rhiannon’s own as she bristled with irritation at the insistence on an incorrect title – that preceded the arrival of a waist-height, prowling silver creature which popped into existence a few metres away and padded imperiously over to circle around Diana and Rhiannon, a heavy file clasped in its mouth. As it drew closer its’ form solidified, and Rhiannon wasn’t quite sure but she thought it might be a lion – having only been to the zoo once in her life, it was a little hard to tell and there were a lot of big cats in the world. It dropped the file into Diana Prentiss’ hands with the air of something restraining the urge to bite and backed away, raising its’ head and tufted tail in a way that Nyx’s instincts said was rude – but if anyone deserved rudeness, it was this auror.

“The information on Dudley Dursley and Rhiannon Potter’s case, compliments of June Brooknell, senior case manager,” the lion – lioness, more likely, as it didn’t have a mane - said in a voice Rhiannon dimly recognised. It took her a moment to place the name, but she eventually recognised it as the woman who had tested Dudley for magic in 2002. She worked for the Department of Unaccompanied Magical Minors, perhaps she was their case manager or some such thing. And she’d been kind that day, despite presumably knowing their nature. Maybe, just maybe, this would go alright.

“Oh, very well, answer the question and then stand there and wait,” Diana Prentiss snapped, gesturing irritably at Rhiannon. Rhiannon stared blankly, and the auror sighed, clearly losing her patience. “The question – how, precisely, did you defeat the basilisk at the end of your second year?”

Rhiannon flushed and bit her lip, thinking it through. She’d been blind, which didn’t help her testimony, but it was a sensible question – only she, Luna, Minerva and a very small handful of Ministry officials would be privy to that knowledge. Provided she could remember it clearly. “I – I, uh – D-d-d-dumbledore’s phoenix Fawkes, he b-b-b-brought me the Sorting Hat and I p-p-pulled the Sword of Gryffindor out of-f-ff-f it. I was b-b-blind, so Luna directed m-e-e-e and, and I gave xem m-my wand c-c-cos he’d lost hers, and w-we killed it together – I didn’t what spell ze cast but it knocked it back off me af-f-fter I stabbed it in the mouth. I got bit by it, in-n my left shoulder – see, the scar?” she stammered, pulling her shirt down to show the ugly, puckered scar in the muscle beside her shoulder just above her armpit, the lasting mark the Basilisk had left even after death. “The – the, Fawkes, he saved me. Phoenix tears. And he carried me and Luna and Ginny out.”

Diana Prentiss looked down her short nose at Rhiannon and sniffed, though she was unable to express any more disapproval than that in front of Arthur, Sirius and her colleagues. “Yes, yes, very well, that lines up with the report, and not many would know about the scar. Without your wand, that is the best we can manage.” she replied tersely. “Now, Master Dursley, if you’d just wait while I review your file for an identifying question.”

Dudley fidgeted anxiously beside Rhiannon as the brusque auror flipped through the file she’d been given. “This isn’t much... really, I will have to speak with that Department, their reports need to be more thorough,” Diana complained as she pored over the pages, and the teenage werewolves breathed a shared sigh of relief. If there had been any information about the werewolf attack in the report, it must have been removed, and while Rhiannon wasn’t much for praying she sent a silent thankyou to whichever kind deity must have blessed them with a case worker such as June Brooknell. She snickered, recalling the particular little reiteration of her correct name in the brief message June had sent back as well. Their secret was safe for now, but if this whole experience had proved anything, it was the insecurity of that safety. This wouldn’t last forever, and this year, with their friends, Rhiannon knew she and Dudley would have to start thinking about how to break the information to the wizarding world.

“Really, a very incomplete file, Miss Brooknell will be hearing from me,” Diana grumbled, as she flipped the file closed and turned back to Rhiannon and Dudley. “With what I have... who was your temporary carer directly after you ran away with Master Potter from your parents’ house?” she asked Dudley, tilting her head to one side in a manner not unlike that of her hawk Patronus as she waited for his response.

“Rhiannon and I stayed with a neighbour, Mrs Figg, who used to look after Rhi for my – my parents,” Dudley replied haltingly, his usually confident pattern of speech crumbling into an almost-stutter at the mention of Vernon and Petunia Dursley – at being made to claim them as his parents, reminded of it. “We stayed with her for a week, from the tenth of July until we ran away again on the nineteenth ‘cos it sounded like she was going to call the foster people and – and they’ve never done anything before, it’s always made it worse, so – yeah.”

Rhiannon squeezed her brother’s hand and leaned into his shoulder as he faced down the auror stubbornly. “And where did you go after that?” Diana asked him, wearing an expression of innocence that didn’t quite suit the sharp lines of her weather-tanned face. She was fishing for information – that period was where the discrepancy in the files lay.

Dudley took a deep, anxious breath and fiddled with his bracelet as he looked to Rhiannon for a way to explain it. She shook her head almost imperceptibly – she couldn’t speak for him, it’d weaken his case. “We – we went out the back window and caught the bus into Guildford,” he explained hesitantly. “Then we got into Leatherhead, and we were going to carry on to London but it was getting kinda late so we jumped on one that got us to Dorking and hid out in the park there. I slipped and busted my leg, and Rhi set off her Trace trying to bandage it, so the Ministry picked us up again on the twenty-fourth or maybe early on the twenty-fifth, it was pretty late and I fogged out for most of it after the fall.”

None of that was technically a lie. But it was sparse on the details around the accident, and Diana must have thought the same as she scowled down at Dudley. “That does all line up with what’s written here, and the travel route helps confirm it... Very well, you may go.” she told them both, and stepped aside to allow Rhiannon and Dudley past her into the circle formed by the Ministry mages.

On the ground was a circle of rope that had been threaded through the handles of their bags, and Arthur scurried back and forth trying to make sure there was enough space for everyone. Some of the anxiety drained from his posture as he caught sight of Rhiannon and Dudley, and he beckoned them closer. “Rhi, Dudley – I’m sorry about all that, glad you made it. I won’t be coming with you, I’m rostered on for cleanup and containment duty as soon as you’re home. The Portkey will take you all back to the Rookery – yes, you too, Fred and George, no arguments. It was easiest to secure one location first, and there’s more space at the Rookery, so you may have to spend the night if they’ve not finished securing our house by evening – priorities and all that, but children of Ministry workers are targets so I want to know you’re safe, alright? Xenophilius knows to expect you, and there’ll be a few Aurors stationed around the house – pretty sure it’s Dawlish, Nick and Kingsley, if there’s anyone else it’s who they picked so it shouldn’t be too much trouble.” he explained hurriedly, pressing the rope into both their hands as he spoke. “Portkey’s due to leave any moment now, so long as we... oh right, paratus,” he muttered, and the rope flared blue as he spoke the incantation.

“Be safe, all of you – I’ll check up throughout the day!” Arthur told them all, hurriedly kissing the top of Nina’s head and then Ginny’s cheek as he stepped away to give them space. The rope Portkey, now activated, pulsed in their hands, each pulse coming quicker and stronger as time ran out on them. Rhiannon began to take a breath, but that was snatched from her lungs as the pulsing ceased abruptly and she was yanked through space along with the Weasleys and her foster-family, through a grey space patched with flickering images and sensations too many to decipher until finally, they all spilled out the other end of their rift onto the tufty grass that lay all around the Rookery tower.

This time, Rhiannon took her breath without interruption, the weight of her friends who’d ended up sprawled on top of her more comforting than uncomfortable. Hermione’s springy hair tickled her face, Luna’s arm was slung over her back and Rhiannon herself was sprawled over top of her brother. She crawled free and collapsed in the grass, taking in the familiar smells and sensations as gradually her breath began to come too fast and traitorous tears welled up in her eyes. Her weary hands curled into claws in the grass as she began to cry, worn-out gasping sobs that drew the attention of the others, but she was deaf to their reassurances as she was overwhelmed by all of it – how much danger they’d been in, and the sheer relief that they were no longer. She was home. They were all home – they were safe. And for the first time in quite a while, she was able to appreciate just how valuable – and how tenuous – that safety was.