AN: Dear Sugarcube12 from here on Scribblehub – a petty criticism rooted in transphobia is not a review, and your ‘review’ belonged in the comments section. However, you chose to place it in the reviews section for the purpose of bringing my story down. “I don’t like fanfictions that aren’t true to the source material” – oh, help. No fanfiction is true to the source material. Each contains changes and derivations from source based on the author’s observations or preferences. And if you don’t like something, that just means it’s not for you – because you aren’t always someone’s target audience. You suggest that only trans people being attracted to my story is somehow a bad thing? They’re my target audience! This is a story about a trans girl, by a trans person, for trans people! My story’s not about gender, god, and if you got turned off in the first chapter, well, I remember what my first chapter was and the only deviation from canon there was that Harry is a girl. It’s not about gender, it’s about a girl growing up as a war begins around her. Not every story about girls or about trans people is about gender, mine sure as shit isn’t, but sure- you hold onto that transphobia of yours. I’m sure it’ll get you real far. In the meantime, just remember – you aren’t everyone’s target audience, that is normal, and that is okay. It doesn’t make the work lesser because the author chose to target a group you’re not part of. No derivative fiction is true to source, and to claim it’s only true if the deviation from source is one you like? Yeah, that’s the transphobia I’m talking about.

Unfortunately, Rhiannon hadn’t counted on how archaic the views of magical British people were, not just the laws, and many of her magic-born peers were dismissive of the S.P.E.A.R initiative at best – if not outright demeaning towards her and her friends for organising it. Granted, that was her peers, not her circle of actual friends, but Rhiannon was used to being fairly well liked by the other students and it irked her that so many had been holding such disgusting, outdated views when they were smiling and greeting her in the hallways. Now, they were unpleasant – and they weren’t straightforward with their disapproval, either. No, they took to hiding Rhiannon’s possessions all around the castle and that grated on her nerves – Rhiannon liked her personal space, and she knew at least one of her roommates had to be in on it. Probably Lisa Turpin, by the snickers, though it could be Basil Crane. Or both of them, she thought with a wry shrug. Wouldn’t be too surprised – her popularity had taken a nosedive.

Still, it was depressing to be treated like dirt by her own peers, and to Rhiannon in particular, it was a sad preview of what her life would be like when they eventually found out she was a werewolf. Professor Lupin did his best to be there for Rhiannon, but he was busy with classes, so she instead borrowed Faye’s owl to send a letter to Sirius. Her godfather, her maybe-soon adopted father, always had answers when it came to trouble with her peers. Maybe because in terms of what memories he still had, his teenage years weren’t all that long ago.

Hey, Dad, Rhiannon wrote impulsively. Then she frowned, rebuked herself, and scratched out the Dad, replacing it with her godfather’s name instead. They were taking things slowly, feeling eachother out – she didn’t need her werewolf pack mentality jumping in the middle of it all.

Stuff’s weird at school. Classes are mostly great – had a hiccup in Herbology but that’s fine otherwise. We’ve got new teachers! There’s this auror, Tonks, they’re taking Defence along with Remus; and a new Transfiguration instructor, Professor Barron. She’s great, I actually managed to turn my beetles into buttons in the first lesson! And, Professor Moody. He’s... something. I like the material, it’s really cool to think about the ethics and uses of potions. But he sucks. I know that’s childish, but he really sucks. He doesn’t let me or Neville use the tablet to talk in class – I can’t talk much in the mask I’ve got to wear to, well, avoid dying, and you know Neville can’t talk easily. So if my mid-year report says “Capable but quiet in class, should speak up more,” it’s his fault.

At least I’m gonna get great marks this year! I know I have to set reasonable goals, but I want to get as many Outstanding O.W.Ls as I can next year. Ideally as many as Hermione but, we’re definitely not in competition or anything.

Have you heard about the tournament? Headmaster McGonagall – did you hear they’re trans I’ve never been so happy – didn’t seem happy about it, so I guess it’s a big deal. There’s going to be what, 100 students total from these two other schools arriving next week. Apparently Beauxbatons is nonhuman-friendly so we might get some more werewolves for the year. Or, probably will. It’s statistically likely, we’re one of the most common kinds of nonhumans. So if you or Remus have any tips on sharing territory, that’d be great. Or, have some random werewolf friends I could practice with. I’ve never actually met any other werewolves. I’m definitely not freaking out. Help.

Your god-daughter in panic,

Rhiannon

That seemed good enough. Sirius always said her bluntness made him laugh. So Rhiannon folded the letter up and taped it closed, then tapped it with her wand and muttered the Shrinking Charm so that it would fit into the leather pouch that she buckled onto Faye’s owl Una’s leg. But Una was a pet, not just a delivery service, and she resented being treated like a tool the way many other Hogwarts students treated their owls, so Rhiannon took time to scratch under the owl’s beak and wings before releasing her into the grey autumn sky with a wry smile on her face. She was kidding herself, calling him her godfather – Nyx-brain said he and Remus were Dad and Da, she just had to reign in those instincts for their benefit because this taking things slow, it was for Remus and Sirius just as much as it was for her and Dudley. All four of them had healing and learning of their own to do.

_____________________________________________________________________

While Rhiannon waited for Sirius’ return letter, there were classes to work on and S.P.E.A.R. kept her busy. Support was spotty amongst their peers, but Nina – who had been named S.P.E.A.R. Treasurer, she was surprisingly good with money and figures once Hermione had a template for her to work in – had suggested a new initiative in which students would ‘tip’ the elves by leaving money on their plates before they vanished. It wasn’t a great solution – most students had fairly limited allowances, and while some parents had already agreed to give extra allowances for plan, it didn’t solve the core problem – that fair pay shouldn’t be down to the generosity of others, it should be guaranteed by the system.

Nina agreed, she’d only suggested it as a stopgap measure. And if nothing else, planning for the start of the initiative – which they intended to start on the night of the 25^th, when the foreign students arrived – kept Rhiannon’s overactive mind occupied while she waited for Sirius’ letter to arrive.

At last, Una returned with Sirius’ reply in the little pouch on her leg, and more concerningly, blood splattered on her chest. That at least was explained when Rhiannon re-enlarged Sirius’ letter, and she couldn’t help but giggle at how it began.

Dear Rhiannon, the letter read, and then there was a section flecked with more blood before it continued.

First of all, next time you send me a message by a pet owl, tell me! They’re fussy creatures, tell me where she likes a scratch so I don’t pay in blood trying to find it!

Rhiannon couldn’t help giggling, and she reached out to tickle Una’s cheek affectionately. “Did you bite my godfather, fussy girl?” she cooed, as the owl flapped and ruffled her feathers. “You really shouldn’t bite people, it’s rude,” she scolded halfheartedly, knowing there was no point in trying to reform the stubborn owl’s behaviour as she returned to reading the letter.

Glad you’re doing well in classes, I’m sorry to hear about the Herbology hiccup – Remus was really embarrassed, he’s thinking he should’ve told you but he forgot and you know his memory’s a bit holey. And you got the hang of beetles to buttons? You’re doing great – I usually took a bit to learn different new transfigurations too, I’m glad you’ve got a teacher who’s got it making sense more quickly.

And tell Tonks I say hello! They’re my favourite cousin, I didn’t realise they made the force – no wonder they’re taking some time off from the Ministry, must be a conflict of interest after my case got cleared.

Weird about Moody, that doesn’t seem like him – you know, with his eye and his leg, he’s always been pretty good about other people’s tools and adaptations. I’m sorry to hear he’s so hard on you – need me to talk to Minerva? They could overrule him so you can at least speak up, but I get if you don’t feel like doing that in his class if he’s hostile. If you feel like he marks your work unfairly, take it to McGonagall, they make sure a third party reviews any marks he gives you.

As for the Tournament, well... there’s a lot there. Long history. Last time it was held was 1792, and three of the judges were injured, so it was cancelled from then out. There have been a couple attempts to resurrect it but nothing’s actually gotten to this stage with travel plans in place because well, it was a bloody mess. In the most literal sense – there’s recorded years where all three contestants died. If they’re bringing it back, it’s because somehow the danger outweighs the benefits to them. My guess, they want to push this through to look good to the international magical community – our Ministry took a bit of a popularity hit after I was formally declared innocent. So they’re not thinking about the good of the students – because make no mistake, this Tournament’s no good for you all. They’ll have pretty tight security but with people coming in for it, you’re at risk, so keep your head down and if anyone gives you a weird vibe you go to Remus or Minerva, because after the World Cup you may well still be a target for Death Eaters and they might use the Tournament arrivals to get at you.

That’s all I can think of with the tournament. As for other werewolves, well, you know Remus was always so ashamed of his lycanthropy. So that’s kept him pretty separate from the community. Other nonhumans are kind of divided into three groups. There’s those who are ashamed of themselves and try to assimilate, like Remus, or keep to themselves, and they don’t really have a connection to the community as a result. There’s those that are proud of their nature, however it came about, and they’re the heart of the usual community. And then there’s the kind like Greyback, or the werewolves that bit you.
These are mostly turned weres and vampires, and other kinds of nonhumans who originated as human. They take the beast and use it to carry out their darkest desires. Honestly, they’re kind of fundamentally still human in that way, it’s like they twist the beast to fit human wants. And they take up some dark corners of the nonhuman communities, suck in people who’re jaded or angry. You probably won’t find anyone like that in the new students, don’t worry but, it is something to watch out for when you’re navigating the wider nonhuman community. It’s part of why Remus is scared to try and engage with it, he’s had some bad experiences with them from the war. So all of that, it makes it hard for nonhumans that are isolated from the community to get in where it’s safe.

All of this is saying, we don’t have any werewolf friends you can practice on, sorry. But talk to Remus – he’s feeling a lot of the same anxieties but has even less experience with his instincts than you two do. The three of you can figure it out together, just think before you act and be careful. And maybe tell Nyx you all need to be polite because humans have rules even if wolves don’t. Oh wow, I went on a bit of a ramble here, my apologies, I guess I’m missing you now that you’re at school more than I’d expected. Maybe I’ve got wolf-brain taking over a bit too.

Your equally stressed dogfather,

Sirius

Rhiannon cackled out loud at the last line – her godfather, or dogfather as it were, wasn’t above a silly pun. She couldn’t help but be disappointed that he didn’t magically have a solution, but what he’d said about the divided nature of the nonhuman community made sense. She’d experienced the worst parts of it first-hand, it was how she’d become a werewolf in the first place – so she had to take Sirius’ advice and just go slowly, because any other werefolk could be in the same position she was with not knowing about the community. They’d all just have to figure out the new situation themselves – Rhiannon and Dudley wouldn’t be the only ones struggling. So long as they were patient and careful, they and the hypothetical new nonhumans could figure out their boundaries.

And Rhiannon shared that realisation with Dudley, and he with Remus, and the three of them realised they were all stressing about something they couldn’t control. They couldn't plan any more for any nonhumans because there were so many different kinds, and each were their own individual people. They’d just have to settle the rest when the exchange students arrived.

Which, as it happened, would be the Saturday of the following week. Late in the afternoon, Headmaster Minerva lined all five houses up at the large, flat courtyard beside the docks used for the boats the first-year students travelled in on their first journey to Hogwarts. The courtyard was large enough that even with all of Hogwarts’ students – roughly three hundred and fifty of them, give or take a little - there was still plenty of room before them and to either side, even with the flower-bushes that had mysteriously sprouted in neat rows around the edges of the court; and the hour was late enough that the last rays of sun setting over the lake were at the perfect angle to be thoroughly blinding.

Out of the corner of Rhiannon’s eye she caught sight of Nina fidgeting awkwardly with the collar of her shirt – the Headmaster had insisted they all be dressed in proper uniform with good turnout for their guests and for Nina, that meant learning how to actually tie her uniform tie – she wore a mishmosh of the boys’ uniform shirt and tie with a girls’ uniform skirt and socks, and had been sort of draping her tie around her neck and hoping nobody noticed for her entire first three years of school.

“Why’s nothing happening?” Nina whispered to Rhiannon, leaning across the gap between their ordered Houses. Rhiannon snickered – her friend had never been the patient sit-and-wait sort but in all fairness, neither was Rhiannon herself, and she knew the long, standing wait would be sapping Dudley’s energy levels and usual cheer.

“I dunno, they’re coming a long way,” Rhiannon whispered back, ignoring the older Hufflepuffs and Miremarks who glared at them both. If they wanted everyone to sit still, they should’ve conjured chairs. “Do Portkeys even work that far?”

“No, it’s-” Nina began to reply, when she was interrupted by an ominous sucking sound that silenced the entire crowd. Slowly, the sucking sound crescendoed into a howling roar that had Rhiannon clutching her ears and reeling back as if the sound were a physical force. Spray from the lake splashed over the crowd, soaking them all, and Rhiannon peered through water-splattered glasses as what appeared to be a whirlpool formed in the lake, widening into a screaming maw that sent water flying in all directions. Strangest of all, as it sucked in lakewater and debris, Rhiannon caught sight of something emerging from the clearly-magical maelstrom that had opened in the loch. A long, slender spar with something flapping weakly from it – was that a flag? It was hard to tell at this distance, she thought it might be red with perhaps something gold on it but the flag was sodden and clung to the spar even in the strong wind of the autumn afternoon.

Slowly, the strange pole continued to rise free of the great maelstrom, lengthening into what Rhiannon in her little experience guessed to be a mast, a great tall mast of an old-fashioned sailing ship with its’ sails sodden and bound up with ropes to the cross-spars. The first mast was the tallest, but two more emerged as Rhiannon watched with growing awe. By now the hulking form of a massive old-style sailing ship was becoming visible, the whirlpool still spraying lakewater as the ship rose from its’ depths until all at once, it was as if the whirlpool and the portal it no doubt held within lost patience and simply spat the ship out, along with unfathomable gallons of water and truly indescribable muck scooped up out of the lake. The ship was spat out about a metre above the water, where it gently sank back to the water level – however, it was the only thing that descended gently. All of the displaced water and lake-life rained down onto the Hogwarts gathering in a great filthy torrent, wriggling fish and sodden plants scattered everywhere as the students came to life with their disgust, the lines suddenly disrupted as they all shook lakeweed, fish and bugs off of themselves, everyone instantly soaked with murky, faintly salt-tasting water.

A few rows over – Miremark house were lined up in the centre with Hufflepuff and Slytherin to either side, and Gryffindor to the far side of Hufflepuff with Ravenclaw on the other far side – Rhiannon caught sight of Dudley spluttering and shaking himself, something like a fish with legs hanging out of his mouth, and she couldn’t help it – even soaked, stinking of lake water and wet dog, her hair slicked to her face, she burst out laughing helplessly.

The thing wiggled, and Dudley seemed to realise its’ presence as others stopped and turned to stare at him. He opened his mouth, letting the thing drop free, and it bounced where it fell to the stones. Then, to everyone’s amusement, it righted itself and scuttled away on too-long legs that stuck out from its’ otherwise fishlike body, while Dudley spat and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Uh, instinct,” he muttered by way of an explanation, still spitting and wiping his mouth furiously as a red flush traveled up his neck and over his sodden face. “Oh, you have no idea how disgusting that was, pfeughhh – the slime!”

Rhiannon snickered and sighed, then began to rearrange her clothes and hair back into some semblance of order. Clearly, there’d been no point in Minerva’s attempts to have them all be orderly, and Rhiannon stifled a grimace as she brushed her hair out of her face – already she could detect the very distinct wet dog odour that her hair always gave off when it got wet, and mingled with the lake-water, well... Rhiannon wasn’t surprised to notice her housemates wrinkling their noses and edging away. Not that they smelled any better, she grumbled to herself – all their soaps and skin products, shampoos, the remnants of food, their pets and what they’d washed their clothes with – she could smell all of it, and the plastic flower-and-fruit smells were the worst. Maybe humans just needed to get used to weird smells, she thought grumpily – a whiff of sweat was far more bearable that all this.

Someone pressed something round and odd-textured into Rhiannon’s hand and she jumped, startled by the contact, but it was only Lavender. Her blonde friend had crossed over from the Gryffindor line, and by Rhiannon’s best guess the thing she’d pressed into her hand was a spray-bottle of perfume. It didn’t smell as fake as the other clamouring scents, and it had a lower musky scent in it that Rhiannon found interesting, but she still wrinkled her nose and tried to hand it back.

“Yeah, no, you’re soaked. Put the perfume on, you smell of dog, I can fix it better when we get inside but for now, we’re going to be standing here for a bit,” Lavender told her firmly, and at Rhiannon’s bewildered shrug she directed the shorter girl to spray the perfume on each inside wrist, with another light spray below and behind each ear.

Now Rhiannon felt like she was walking in a smoky flower-scented cloud, and it disoriented her. She shook her head, grimaced and handed the bottle back with a frown. “How’d you even know to bring that – wasn’t that a Christmas present from your mum? I – I m-m-mean, I’d think you’d be too scared of breaking it to carry it around all the time.” she asked curiously.

Lavender shrugged and tucked the bottle back into her pocket. “I had a feeling, I guess,” she replied evasively. That was unusual too – Lavender was always direct with Rhiannon. Unusual enough that Rhiannon didn’t want to pry – if Lavender was hiding something, she probably just wanted to think about it some more before she talked about it. “Um – look, the Headmaster wants us to line back up, I’ll fix your hair inside,” she added, and stepped back into the crowd of Gryffindors to Rhiannon’s left.

Just as Lavender had said, Headmaster McGonagall was indeed calling for their attention and Rhiannon gaped as she finally looked properly at the ship that slowly drew closer to the docks behind Minerva. It was truly enormous – something like the ships of the line in Xenophilius’ books, ancient and somehow haunted-looking, like its’ very fibres were held together and preserved with complex magics, giving it a weird shuttered glow. The sails were deep red, faded and patched with sun and salt damage, so the scarlet uniforms of the students standing aboard its’ deck looked even brighter.

There were perhaps a hundred of them or maybe a little less, and at the foot of a plank that extended on its’ own was a steel-haired man in perhaps his late forties to early fifties, dressed in a robe similar to those of the students but coloured white instead and edged in purple. Perhaps he thought the colour scheme made him look like a Roman noble, but to Rhiannon it just emphasised the yellowish, unhealthy cast to his skin. There were dark circles beneath his eyes that rivaled Remus’, and he wore his facial hair trimmed into a neat moustache and goatee to hide the thinness of his lips. At least his hairline wasn’t receding, but the way the curls fell drew Rhiannon’s attention to his eyes – and that was where her dislike settled. There was something off about his expression, the smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and while Rhiannon was more forgiving than most of difficulty with facial expressions, this was something else – a dishonesty, belying every grand gesture and gracious smile he favoured the Hogwarts crowd with. No, Rhiannon didn’t like this man at all, and she’d not even learned his name.

“Hogwarts students, let’s all give our best welcomes, lake-weed and all, to the students of the Durmstrang Institute and their headmaster, Igor Karkaroff,” Minerva introduced them all, sketching a shallow bow over the foreign Headmaster’s hand as he insisted on taking hers. That clearly rankled him, and Rhiannon snickered – Minerva had stolen his role as the man of the introduction. But as the Durmstrang students filtered off the ship, Rhiannon’s suspicious gaze was drawn instead by a familiar hawkish profile, hunch-shouldered and scowling in red school robes. Nina had said he was the youngest international Seeker in a long time...

Nina leaned across from the Miremark line and gripped Rhiannon’s hand so hard her nails left marks, her face even paler than usual under her thick coat of freckles. “Rhi, tell me you’re seeing who I’m seeing,” she whispered, her voice cracking with the effort of keeping it quiet. “That can’t be Viktor Krum.”