It was almost seven by the time the train arrived at the Hogsmeade station, and Hermione had to rouse Rhiannon from a doze as it ground to a halt. Calypso growled and whined to be woken from her doze, and clawed at Rhiannon’s robes through the bars as Rhiannon carried her off the train. Just ahead, Draco slowed and stared at something in the distance, and his face looked haunted as Rhiannon drifted forward to take his arm. “Hey, hey -what is it?” she asked him softly.

Draco turned to her, his pale blue-grey eyes foggy with tears as he stared down at Rhiannon in a way that told her he wasn’t seeing her, not really. “The thestrals, drawing the carriages,” he murmured. “I’d only seen pictures, but now-”

“Now it’s a bit too real?” Rhiannon replied, her heart cold and aching in her chest. She’d believed him when he had told her what happened, anyone would have. But it hurt to see it confirmed again, just another reminder that they lived in a tenuous peace. Draco nodded slowly, and Rhiannon had to tug him along with her into a carriage as he drifted back into a reverie. He came out of it long enough to climb into the carriage, but soon fell back into his own personal dark cloud, the silent one in the crowded carriage of six – him, Rhiannon, Luna, Hermione, Neville and Nina.

“I can see them too,” Luna murmured, squeezing Draco’s hand for a brief moment. “They’re sort of beautiful, especially when they move – like a mixture of horse and dragon.”

“Feels like a bloody curse,” Draco murmured, slurring his words a little. He still seemed out of it, his speech clumsier than usual, but it seemed a good sign he was speaking if nothing else.

There was nothing any of them could say to reassure him, though. If nothing else, he’d been cursed with a terrible father, just as Rhiannon had been cursed by a prophecy made before her birth, and all of them by the war that didn’t seem quite over. And gradually the rest of them fell silent to dwell on that, quiet in the darkness as the carriage rolled on up the cobbled road from the village to the castle.

By the time they arrived at the castle, Draco was a little more present and managed to get out of the carriage by himself. The rest of them followed and they joined the massive crowd of students making their way slowly through the front gates of the castle. When Rhiannon and her small crowd of friends reached the door to the Entrance Hall, they were greeted by Peeves, who shot out of the stone wall above the door armed with a bucket of water balloons. “HA! Ickle magicians, in for a big year! A big, big year! And they don’t even know it! Got to give a proper Hogwarts welcome!” he cackled, as he launched an all-out assault of water on the students gathered below. The crowd dissolved into shrieks and shouts of protest, cats howling furiously and owls screeching as their cages were soaked in moments.

Rhiannon hissed and shrank from the water, but it was too late – her clothes were already sodden, and Merlin only knew how much was in her hair. Peeves swooped closer, chortling evilly, and Rhiannon threw up her hands vainly to fend him off. “Peeves, shit – no, lea’ me ‘lone,” she slurred, too startled by the whole event to put her words together neatly. “I c-c-c-c-c-can’t smell l-l-l-like w-wet dog, shit – what’s the drying charm, shit,”

Peeves immediately turned and lobbed the water balloon in his hand into the crowd, before he drifted closer and patted her hair, his expression something like sorrowful. “Oh no, no – the wolf pups,” he murmured, rapping one spectral finger against Rhiannon’s spectacles. “Peeves makes fun, chaos, embarrass thems with the bad attitudes. Meant only to start a little havoc for a big new year – not hurt the little students, not the ones with things to lose.”

Rhiannon managed a crooked smile, touched despite the mayhem. “Yeah, I – I get it-t-t – you wanna punch up and all that,” she snarked back at the poltergeist. “But you’ve soaked my hair and- ah!” she yelped, startled, as the poltergeist’s scarlet, citrine and silver form whirled around her, sparking with magic as he cackled with glee.

When he stopped his mischievous little dance, Peeves stopped and spread his hands wide. “Aha! Fixed!” he exclaimed. Rhiannon touched her hair curiously, and couldn’t quite help the laughter that bubbled up inside and spilled out of her mouth. Dried, her hair certainly was – there was still a lingering whiff of wet dog, but an ordinary human probably wouldn’t be able to smell it in passing. The matter wasn’t so much the moisture, now, it was the state it had been left in. Curly hair didn’t like being blow-dried, which was roughly what Peeves had done to it. But he was already whirling away and Rhiannon couldn’t help laughing as he left – messy hair was a prank, a silly one, and it wouldn’t screw up her secret. As she watched, Peeves darted back and forth through the crowd, whirling some students up and drying them too, seemingly at random – so that Rhiannon wouldn’t stand out, she guessed, which showed a remarkable level of consideration from the mischievous spirit. As she watched, she saw Dudley was one of those caught up in the whirl and Rhiannon laughed aloud again. In his own capricious way, Peeves was looking out for them both, and she couldn’t be too angry with him as she rejoined her friends and helped them straighten their clothes and dry off as best they could.

Eventually, the last of the Hogwarts students entered the Entrance Hall and deposited their pets in their various travel cages to one side of the entrance, then carried on into the hall. Rhiannon helped Hermione dry out her hair as best she could, but it was hard to manage it while walking and they had to separate all too soon into their separate houses – usually they were allowed to sit wherever they liked but at formal dinners like this, the house separation was enforced and Rhiannon slunk off to the Hufflepuff table with a sigh and some scattered farewells.

Cedric greeted Rhiannon with a grin, and a cheer went up the length of the Hufflepuff table. “We got Potter!” one of the seniors cheered, a stunning Black girl with wavy hair and a pin on the collar of her cloak that marked her as a Head Student. Rhiannon blushed, mortified, and her new House-mates laughed good-naturedly.

“Pity there’s no Quidditch this year, we could’ve kicked ass out there this year,” Cedric complained. The table grumbled, and there were a few gasps of shock – no Quidditch? That hadn’t happened in years. But when some of the seniors went to ask, Cedric only laughed it off. “No, no, I’ve said too much already – just, shut up, teach’ll tell you all eventually.”

Cedric was interrupted by a polite cough from the head of the hall, where Minerva McGonagall stood, a very familiar orange-cushioned stool just before her. “Yes, yes, there’s a lot to be said before we start the year,” she told them with an impish grin, her voice magically amplified to carry throughout the hall. “But before all is explained, let’s welcome our new students into the school so that they might sit down, yes?”

A current of laughter rippled across the hall, and gradually the established students fell quiet and turned their attention to the first years. “Alright, first-years, you may talk quietly amongst eachother. Figure out eachothers’ names, you’ll be called up in alphabetically by your surnames. The Sorting Hat’s still grumpy about the new house and hasn’t made up a song for us in protest so, Ackerley, Stewart? Come on up.”

Stewart Ackerley was a stocky boy with a mop of curly blondish-brown hair and a robe that looked as if he hadn’t been sure how to fasten it when he put it on. That made him Muggle-born or raised like one, and Rhiannon made a mental note to cheer for him regardless of what house he was put in. That turned out to be Ravenclaw, and Rhiannon grinned at the eleven year-old’s delighted expression, then added her voice to those calling his name – as he was a Muggle-born or otherwise new to the wizarding world, there weren’t enough of them.

After Stewart Ackerley came Constance Ambrose, a tall girl with thick brown hair done in two braids. She was sorted promptly into Slytherin, and after her came Corey Armstrong; another newcomer to the wizarding world who was sorted into Gryffindor. The list carried on as it always did, and try as she might Rhiannon struggled to pay attention to them all. Some did stay out – Blinne Callister had two older sisters that Rhiannon knew, Ginny’s friend Hailey and Rhiannon’s new roommate Mairi. Dennis Creevey looked much like his brother Colin if a little taller and brown-eyed where Colin’s eyes were blue, with the same shy, frantic demeanour. And Lyra Fawley rang a bell as well – yes, Lavender had said her mother was a Fawley, that probably made Lyra her cousin or something. But her attention drifted, until one name stood out and echoed in a sudden silence across the hall.

Finnegan, Cillian. As whispers began to spread throughout the hall, questioning whether there’d been some mistake, Headmaster Minerva again held up a hand for silence. “Yes, I expect many of you have heard by now. Cillian Finnegan was meant to begin his education at Hogwarts this year but instead, his life was stolen. I do not wish to dwell on it, but it felt to me a disservice to strike his name from the list prepared for the Sorting when he would have been here otherwise.” she explained, her magically-amplified voice trembling as it always did when she held back her emotions. “I never mean to bring politics into school, but this affected peoples’ lives. Took people’s lives. And I can’t fix that, or even what led to it. But what I can affect is this school and I... sorry, give me a moment,” she trailed off, her voice breaking with suppressed tears.

With an undignified sniff and a weary sigh, the Headmaster straightened her robes, wiped off her face and smiled sadly as she carried on. “All of you were born in wartime or just after it. And this attack tells us the peace we have is fragile. As Headmaster of this school it is my role and that of my staff to keep you safe, all of you. I... I, never mind, it’s too hard. Our school nurse is Madam Pomfrey, and she can be found most hours for help with both physiological and psychological issues. My door is also open, as are those of your heads of house. And, ah – with that, we carry on with the Sorting. Frazier, Annika, come on up.”

Rhiannon bit her lip and looked around the hall, and everywhere she saw faces with expressions that mirrored her own feelings – fear, confusion, a sort of hollow grief. None of them quite knew what to feel, and Rhiannon drifted back into her own head as the Sorting carried on without further incident.

After the Sorting, Rhiannon was roused from her introspection by Padma in the seat beside her. “Hey, Rhiannon, Headmaster McGonagall’s got something to say,” she whispered. It was curious how similar she was to her sister, who Rhiannon had shared a room with for two years, and yet so different it kept catching Rhiannon unawares. Her voice was slightly lower pitched and soft where Parvati’s tended to be loud and energetic, and her accent had more of a trace of their parents’ Indian one which Rhiannon hadn’t heard in Parvati’s since first year. Her mannerisms were different, too – she fiddled with her hands and flinched from loud sounds, very much a wallflower compared to her life-of-the-party sister. And Rhiannon felt a little guilty that she’d not paid much attention to Padma before. Maybe this year would be a good chance to get to know different people better, her included.

Rhiannon coughed and managed an awkward smile in Padma’s direction. “Ah – thanks, I’d d-d-drift-t-t-t-ted off,” she stammered. And there she’d been, doing it again thinking about Padma, she chuckled and brushed hair out of her eyes to hide the flush that crept over her cheeks. Maybe thinking too much wasn’t good for a person.

As Padma had stated, Minerva was indeed standing at the owl-winged podium waiting for the attention of the students. She coughed and smiled tensely when the hall finally fell silent and enough of the students for her satisfaction had their eyes on her. “Thankyou, students. Now, we have several staff changes and matters to explain. First, that Professor Lupin will be returning to the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts master, in spite of last year’s incident. And, in light of that event, former Professor Severus Snape’s employment here has concluded. We do not tolerate bullying or infighting, from students or staff. Professor Vector will replace him as Head of Slytherin House, but that still leaves us short a Potionsmaster. Which brings us to introducing our first new staff-member for the year, former Auror Alastor Moody, and your new Potionsmaster, please make him feel suitably welcome.” she announced, and gestured down the hallway to where an unfamiliar figure stood silhouetted against the lights of the hallway.

There was a solid clump of wood against the floor, and the figure began to stride forward down the aisle between the tables. The man was of average height but broad-shouldered like a rugby player and dressed like a bounty hunter from one of Dudley’s Western comics, wearing an overcoat made from what looked to be leather and cut in an old-fashioned style over a dusty red vest and slacks that fitted poorly over his amputated leg – which had been replaced with a simple wooden peg, clearly the source of the sound from earlier, and he walked with a sturdy cane on the same side as the peg leg. His grizzled, pale-skinned face was a mess of scars, even compared to what Rhiannon saw every day in the mirror. The ear that his hair – a mix of sandy-blond and grey – was tucked behind was tattered and notched in several places almost like an alley-cat’s. His nose had a chip taken out of one side, part of a web of scars over the left side of his face that had also taken the eye on that side. He had replaced it with an evidently magical prosthetic one, its’ iris a pale silver-grey that Rhiannon guessed might be blue to someone with ordinary colour vision. It was slightly larger than his usual eye – which was black or dark brown – and held into his eye socket with a harness of sorts. Overall, he looked intimidating – not as if he meant to, just as if fear was something he wore like armour.

Alastor Moody bowed stiffly and took the hand Minerva offered for help up the scarce handful of steps onto the raised dais where the faculty sat. Facing the students, he looked more like some kind of wild animal in headlights – not a deer, he was much too big but perhaps a bear or some such – than a bounty hunter. He bowed again, stiffly, and shuffle-thumped his way to the end of the faculty table where he perched next to Hagrid, oddly restless and ill-at-ease for someone so large – although in fairness, even he appeared diminutive beside Hagrid.

Clearly Minerva had expected the students to give some sort of welcome or cheer, but instead, the hall was strangely quiet for a feast day, the silence only broken by whispers and rumour. “I thought the Aurors dropped him for being all paranoid!” Lisa Turpin hissed, and Rhiannon fought the urge to kick her under the table – the last thing she needed was to have to explain how she’d broken someone’s shin.

“I heard he embarrassed himself just a week ago, called the Aurors out thinking he was being watched and got fined for his charmed dustbins, he’d set them up as attack sentries or something!” Mandy Brocklehurst sniped from the Miremark table two rows over.

“Hey, watch it – that guy’s a bloody legend!” And that was Nina, ever ready to defend if she thought someone was being set upon unfairly. “Pretty much all the Death Eaters in Azkaban? That was him. He lost his job over Sirius Black’s case the first time, said he didn’t believe he was a Death Eater, nobody believed him. If anyone knows about Defence Against the Dark Arts, it’s gotta be him.”

Headmaster McGonagall coughed politely, but with her amplified voice it echoed throughout the hall. “Yes, you’re quite right, Professor Moody has had a colourful career with the Ministry of Magic – and one that should be respected. But he is only the first of our new staff to welcome tonight. It may not have occurred to you all, but Hogwarts simply does not have enough teachers to function as it needs to. Over time we will be taking on additional professors, while the current staff will remain as directing heads of their subjects. So far we’ve found one such new hire, on loan from the Ministry of Magic to ease Professor Lupin in teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. Please welcome your new Assistant Professor, Tonks.”

After Moody, the students weren’t quite sure what to expect – but even without him, they could never have expected Tonks. They were dressed in a style similar to Professor Moody’s but with a lot more colour and flair, an electric blue vest worn over a cream shirt with the top few buttons undone and a maroon overcoat cut perfectly to fit, snug around their shoulders. Their skin was freckled and coloured a deep olive-tan, warm and rusty-coloured from time outdoors but Rhiannon guessed it would probably be a similar colour to hers the rest of the time, and their eyes were a sharp gold-brown like a hawk’s. Their nose was hawkish too, in a way that some might consider a flaw but this Tonks clearly didn’t think so, and it gave them a fierce, otherworldly sort of look like some kind of warlike elf – if elves usually went about with bubblegum-pink hair swept back in a half-up style and accented with electric blue streaks. A slow, cautious smile spread across Rhiannon’s lips as she noted the rainbow flag tucked into a side pocket of the new assistant teacher’s overcoat – though in fairness, she might have guessed they were queer anyway. Moody was intimidating, and she wasn’t sure how Potions class was going to go. But Tonks? Tonks was cool.

“Hey, ‘warts!” Tonks greeted the students briefly. “Don’t call me a girl, yes my name’s Tonks, don’t push my buttons and we’ll have a great year!” they added, and with a grin and a jaunty wave, flipping their pink hair out of their face, they stepped up onto the dais and sauntered across to the other empty seat at the faculty table, this one beside Professor Lupin. Remus looked smaller, thinner, more drab than ever beside his larger-than-life assistant, but Rhiannon could see Minerva’s reasoning. She knew what most other Hogwarts students didn’t, that the teachers had to turn time back to make up all their classes, and as a werewolf, Remus suffered the most from that. And even if he wasn’t turning time back, he was still healing, recovering from the hurt he’d inflicted on himself to hide that lycanthropy. Maybe an energetic star-of-the-show type like Tonks would be good for him, help pick up the slack in the face-to-face teaching time so he could rest.

This time Minerva McGonagall did not cough, or draw attention through any sound or motion. But attention drew back to her all the same, and gradually the hall fell quiet once again. “And, ah – I apologise for all the grandstanding, I really would like to let you get on with your tea but unfortunately, there’s a lot to get through tonight, and I have a last member of faculty to introduce tonight.” she explained with a wry smile.

Rhiannon tilted her head curiously, and looked back to the entranceway in search of the new person the Headmaster had mentioned, and around her, she heard the whisper of others doing the same. Minerva laughed, her voice still amplified so it carried through the hall. “No, not exactly. Not like that.” she told them, wearing a crooked smile as she spoke. She took a deep breath, steadying herself on the podium as she prepared to speak. “No, I would… like to introduce myself. I know you all know me as Headmaster McGonagall, and some from before as Deputy Headmistress. And for those from that time, you might have wondered about the change when I took the reins. Well, reintroducing myself, it’s part of that. It’s… difficult, and I apologise. As a woman of my time, I never had the option to be anything but a woman, and now with some holding womanhood as this pure ideal, it feels as if I am betraying them to want to be something else, even in the smallest way. So I was Mistress of Transfiguration for many years, and Deputy Headmistress for some more, but when the time came to take charge by myself, I wished to reflect the part of myself that – is not womanly, that could be something else, now that times are changing and I have the freedom to do so. Thus, Headmaster.” she said, ending her short speech with an awkward sort of bow.

The school was shocked into near-silence, broken only by a few whispered jeers that were swiftly shamed into silence, much to Rhiannon’s satisfaction. Then, Alicia Spinnet threw her arms in the air and cheered loudly. “THE MAC’S ONE OF US!” she hollered, provoking a round of enthusiastic cries and congratulations from perhaps half or a little less of the student body – including all of Rhiannon’s friends, and Rhiannon herself.

Minerva McGonagall actually blushed, she looked almost shy up there on stage as the supportive students whistled and hushed the few dissenters still foolish enough to speak up. “Ah – thankyou. I appreciate all of your support. Now, that’s all of the, pleasant matters, and on to the final announcement before dinner – yes, I promise, we’re almost there.” she began, drumming one hand on the side of the podium as if impatient with herself. “Now, some of you from wizarding families may have already heard whispers, others may not. It is my… dubious pleasure, to confirm those whispers. The year-long Quidditch league tournament is indeed cancelled, and Quidditch captains have only honorary status this year. This is because this year, Hogwarts has been designated the host school of the Triwizard Tournament.” she continued, and now Rhiannon recognised that restless energy not as impatience, but unease. Something had rattled the stern, strong-willed teacher – and it didn’t take much to guess that the aforementioned Tournament was involved.

“Now, be warned,” Minerva told them sharply, holding up a hand for silence as the hall erupted in whispers. “The Tournament is dangerous. Not your regular, run-of-the-mill danger from ill-tempered Redcaps or an off-course Bludger – and this is why I warn you, because you think yourselves used to danger. The Triwizard Tournament has historically had a high death toll, in fact Mr. Binns is going to cover history of the Tournament for our first few weeks so that you are all better informed on the matter. In light of past dangers, tournament entry has been restricted to those who will be over the age of seventeen by the fourth of October – no, seventeen, not sixteen, if you’re of the age of consent but still a minor I am unfortunately still very responsible for your safety and any harm that may come to you is my responsibility as Headmaster of this school.” she carried on, glaring sternly down the tables at several sixteen year-olds who would not quite turn seventeen in time, including Fred and George Weasley. Rhiannon shivered, and across the table she saw Harry looking unsettled – being from a magical family, maybe they knew more.

“Secondly, this is the Triwizard Tournament – three champions. That is, one from each school,” Minerva continued with a sigh. “This means that, as the host school, Hogwarts will be receiving roughly fifty representatives each from two of our fellow wizarding schools, Beauxbatons Academy in France and Durmstrang Institute on the coast of the Black Sea in Romania. They will be arriving on the 25^th of September and you will be expected to be on your best behaviour for their arrival, and in addition to your classwork you will learn basic greetings in French, Romanian, Bulgarian and Russian to show our guests that you have made an effort. Finally - do not feel compelled to compete. Do not let your friends pressure you into entering. Because if your name is chosen, there is no withdrawal. Entering a name other than your own into the Tournament may very well result in expulsion. And with that warning – dig in.” she finished, and clapped her hands twice.

With a harsh snap and the sharp smell of portalling magic, the traditional English feast was delivered to their plates, but Rhiannon didn’t miss the weariness in Minerva’s frame as she sagged against the podium, attention finally taken from her. And that weighed on Rhiannon’s mind even as she set upon the food with vigour. The last time she’d seen Minerva McGonagall so unnerved, Ginny Weasley had been less than an hour from death. If this Triwizard was serious enough to provoke that sort of unease from her, then perhaps this year was going to be stranger than Rhiannon had thought.