When the foreign delegations had gone on ahead, Headmaster McGonagall motioned for the Hogwarts students to turn and follow on inside while she and her staff – at least, those who were not helping the merfolk - brought up the rear. When the last had crossed the threshold, the doors closed behind them with a creak and a crunch, and the students traipsed quietly down the hallway to the Great Hall, where they then separated into their five formal groups and settled themselves at their tables. There were already foreign students seated in small groups along all five tables, and Rhiannon found herself sandwiched on the near end of the Hufflepuff table between Padma and Harry, with a group of Beauxbatons students to their left.

Now that they were closer, Rhiannon was more certain that she could smell nonhumans – but unfamiliar ones. Two of the three beside them were certainly something other than human, but not ‘wolves either, and Rhiannon felt it would probably be rude to ask them outright at the public dining tables. One of them almost looked a little like Rhiannon herself, short, tawny-skinned and dark-haired, the sleeves of their pale blue uniform rolled up to show forearms heavily striped with scars from what looked to be claws; though they were stocky where Rhiannon was just skinny. Still, Rhiannon was sure she caught a flash of tapetum lucidum in the candlelight, before the Beauxbatons student hastily averted their head.

Their companion, on the other hand, wasn’t even trying to blend in. He was even paler-skinned than Draco Malfoy, his eyes narrow, slit-pupilled and pale blue; and his hair the colourless silver-white one might expect from someone sixty years older. But that wasn’t even what stood out most. As Rhiannon tilted her head back and forth curiously, something flickered in the corner of her eye, vanishing every time she tried to look at it directly. Thoughtfully, she turned her gaze away and tried her best to take note of the shift in her peripheral vision instead, and once she seized on it, she gasped aloud in wonder. The boy had horns, pale and curling like a ram’s back under his ears which, in Rhiannon’s periphery, were visibly pointed. Not a werewolf for certain... but what was he? The world of nonhumans was clearly a lot bigger than Rhiannon had thought it.

The white-haired boy caught her staring and grinned, revealing unusually pointed teeth against his rosebud lips – he was pretty, too, and Rhiannon had to be honest with herself that she wasn’t just staring because he looked so unusual. “I only bite if you ask nicely,” the boy drawled, his accent an odd mixture of what sounded like Irish, and French.

Rhiannon spluttered and turned scarlet while Harry burst out laughing, but she was saved from responding by a rustle of motion and a throat-clearing cough from Headmaster Minerva. “Now, before we begin, there are a handful of announcements. Our foreign students will be sharing your dormitories, so if you are in fourth year or above please do be ready for some extra companions for the year – and you will make them welcome, or I’ll want to know why.” she informed them all sternly. Rhiannon flushed and met the sharp-toothed boy’s gaze with a sheepish smile, and made a point of not flinching back from the candlelight so that if he were looking, he would see the reflective glow in her eyes. She’d seen through his glamour, it seemed only fair... and being nice to the nonhuman students probably had to start with being honest to them.

To Rhiannon’s surprise, it wasn’t the horned boy who responded, it was his dark-haired companion. They grinned, revealing short, sharp teeth, and raised a hand to rearrange their thick hair so that their ears showed through – small, furred and rounded, flicking delicately to catch or shrink from every sound in the hall. A wildcat’s ears. “So you’re not so prickly after all, wolf-girl,” they teased, but Rhiannon noted they kept their voice low – no one beyond the two of them, the horned boy and Harry would be able to hear the exchange. “A little hint, from someone who’s been doing it for years... it’s easier, to get on with others like us, if you aren’t trying so hard to pretend we aren’t the same.”

Rhiannon bit her lip. The wildcat student was right. Despite how much healthier she was than Remus, she was in the same position and in some ways, worse off. Her status as a werewolf was a secret and it isolated her even from her would-be friends and allies. “I don’t think I’m ready, to be brave like that,” she whispered. “I can’t, help anyone, if I’m just trying to avoid getting yelled at, I can’t – I can’t screw this up, I’ve only got one shot at making the right kind of difference.”

The cat-eared Beauxbatons student snorted derisively. Rhiannon flinched and stared, and they shook their head, already wearing a tired smile. “I’m sorry, but – that’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. You don’t have to be some kind of spokesperson starting out, or even at all. I’m not the Indian Ambassador to Beauxbatons just because my grandparents are from there. What makes you special?”

Rhiannon grimaced. She liked the wildcat student’s refreshing honesty, and for anyone else it would have been an arrogant hangup. But she wasn’t anyone else, she was Rhiannon Potter, and that meant her every action was scrutinised. Rather than snap back – it wasn’t this student’s fault she hadn’t recognised her, perhaps the fact she was Rhiannon Potter and not Harry wasn’t as well known outside of Britain – Rhiannon pushed aside the messy locks of her fringe, revealing the branching near-white scar that stood out starkly in her sandy brown skin.

The wildcat student gasped, and their curiously yellow-centered brown eyes softened in sympathy. “Oh... oh you’re him. Or her, I suppose, that’s... wow. I’m sorry – no wonder,” they murmured.

Harry, who had been silent through their exchange, turned a barbed grin on the foreign student. “Yeah, she’s Rhiannon Potter, I’m Harry, sorry for the mixup,” they replied. Their tone seemed light-hearted, but Rhiannon didn’t miss the cautious, calculating gleam in their violet eyes or the tension in the set of their shoulders.

The Beauxbatons student put their hands up hastily. “Oh, no, no, that’s not it, easy – I’m genderqueer,” they explained quickly. “I was just surprised – no wonder you’re so anxious about how to come out, with that kind of scrutiny on you. My name’s Savita, and this guy’s Brynmor – Bryn. I’m a werelion, but I use some potions so I can keep my ears and tail, it’s too weird not having that. Had to cook up a different one for tonight, so I could hide them under my hair. Bryn’s fair folk, I know you spotted the horns through the glamour. Beauxbatons has a bit of a weird culture around nonhumans, but at least we can be mostly out, we don’t usually cover up back home – Madame Maxime warned us it might be different here so we were just being cautious. But, you’re one of us, so – you should hang out some time, you and any of your friends that know. Even if you can’t be out yet, you shouldn’t have to be all on your own.”

Rhiannon let go of a sigh she didn’t even know she was holding, and felt herself relax more than she had in weeks since learning they’d have visitors. “Yeah, I... I’d like that,” she replied quietly, and gradually allowed herself a smile. “I’ve, n-n-n-n-n-never actually met other nonhumans, ‘cept for my brother and my godfather. Godfather-in-law? Dad. Near enough.”

Savita grimaced. “Really? Merde, you must’ve been so nervous, I know I was when I started school, and even then my family’s pretty big so I knew a bit. Um – what year are you in, I might know if there’s any of ours rooming with you – we have a kind of ‘freaks’ club at school, we all know eachother.”

“Fourth,” Harry replied for Rhiannon with a shrug. “If there’s nonhumans in our room, they’ll want to watch out for Lisa and Basil, they’re dicks to people who stick out and that’s even without knowing what Rhi is.”

Rhiannon grumbled to herself, thinking about the roommates who liked to hide her belongings. As if she couldn’t smell them in her chest and know. As if she didn’t know who’d hung her training bra on the bannister post. “Yeah, if they can jinx your stuff so nobody can get in it, they might want to think about doing that,” she added, with a wry smile back at Harry. She knew perfectly well that they’d gotten detention twice this term already for fighting those two on her behalf, but she also knew there was no point in challenging them over it. Harry didn’t respond well to ultimatums.

Savita wrinkled their nose. “Really? That’s childish. Um, fourth-years, Hufflepuff... I think you’ve got Cassandre, and you might have Audrey too, plus I think three regular humans? Wait, no, Audrey’s in with the sixth-years, you’ve got Aurélien. He thinks it’s really funny to turn his head right around – owl Veela, he’s got extra neck bones, it’s so weird but he’s a laugh – or, a hoot, I suppose. Sandie’s a werewolf too, go easy on her, she startles easy and her English is awful so she might not be able to explain why she’s so freaked out.”

Rhiannon winced in sympathy. “I – I th-th-think your English is better than mine,” she quipped wryly. “I, I dunno, stupid pack brain is getting all prickly thinking about another werewolf in my room, but... I don’t want to be a bitch to someone new like that.”

Savita shrugged easily. “English is my... third language? No, fourth, but I’m a bit rusty in Hindi. There’s a lot of relation between French and English, learning this after that was dead easy – and there’s no weird gendering.” they replied with a grin. “And, as for the pack brain – well, bluntly, no. You don’t. I get it too, any were of a territorial species will. But we can’t piss on walls and growl at eachother, we have to figure out how to coexist. I’ll tell Sandie we talked, that’ll make things easier, but she’s like my little sister so, I know you’re a kid and all but, be decent to her.” they finished firmly, a warning growl rising in their throat.

Rhiannon flushed, embarrassed just at the thought she’d been so territorial earlier, and held up her hands quickly in a gesture of surrender. Harry cackled, and Savita cracked a smile, just in time for the hollow crash like a recorded gong that rang throughout the hall, the signal that preceded dinner. She had entirely tuned out all the rest of Minerva’s announcements, and now it was time for their food to arrive. Rhiannon flinched and covered her ears to protect them from the high-pitched shriek of the enchantment filling the plates with food, and her stomach roiled unpleasantly at the smells that combined with the ozone stink of transportation magic.

Typically, Hogwarts meals consisted of traditional British fare, roast meats and vegetables with gravy, pies and quiches, savoury puddings, everything within the albeit rather limited spectrum of British – and in that, mostly English – food traditions. This year was a little different. Rhiannon wasn’t exactly experienced when it came to food from other cultures, but she was fairly sure she recognised dishes from France and north-eastern Europe – that made sense, given where their visitors were from. Navigating all of it required a lot of surreptitious sniffing, as nobody had bothered to label which had what ingredients, and the last thing Rhiannon felt like doing was fleeing the hall in search of a bathroom with so many new people watching.

Dinner took longer than usual, with all the back and forth conversation. Apparently many of Rhiannon’s peers had been under the mistaken impression that Durmstrang was located in the far north, in Scandinavia or Siberia – never mind that those two places were nowhere near eachother either – and the Durmstrang students seemed to get a laugh out of correcting them. “We came here in a ship,” one boy pointed out from a way down the table. “And not the sort of ship you can sail that far north. I knew Durmstrang were, secretive, is that it? Yes – secretive about the location, but really – this is something else.”

After dinner, desserts were served and much to Rhiannon’s surprise she found herself enjoying the crowd who, by now, had settled into quiet, harmonious chatter. Usually formal feasts were exhausting with so many conversation snippets within her hearing, but the mixture of languages helped to assuage that – Rhiannon spoke only English, so she simply wasn’t able to listen in on many of the conversations, something she simply couldn’t help doing with her oversensitive hearing. But finally it was almost time for bed, and Rhiannon was grateful for Savita’s reassurance about Cassandre as she waited uncomfortable for the signal they could leave. It prickled on her senses, that faint but certain impression of another werewolf, and Rhiannon couldn’t keep the hair from prickling on her arms as she sat, arms crossed and fidgeting in her seat.

“You could learn to speak French,” Padma suggested wryly – Rhiannon had been a poor student in their brief course on languages before the foreign students arrived. “No, don’t look at me like that – maybe it would help you get on with the new students, bond over how bad you both are at your second language,”

Rhiannon burst out laughing at that. “I – I-I-I-I-I-I-Iii – I think I’ll stick to beetle mishaps, thanks – n-n-n-no need to expand the list of things I’m bad at,” she replied, still laughing. That wasn’t entirely fair to her, to be truthful. Under Professor Barron’s tutelage, Rhiannon was fast becoming one of the best students in their Transfiguration class, and the beetle mishap she referred to had been more an accident born of her newfound competence than a lack of such, as she had finally got the hang of button to beetle Transfigurations and forgotten that a properly formed beetle might fly when startled – and that beetles so large were also quite heavy projectiles in flight.

“In fairness, it was a pretty impressive mishap,” Harry quipped, taking Rhiannon’s arm to help her down another flight of stairs. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many beetles, that large, and that panicked. Hands down the best Transfiguration lesson yet.”

“I was just experimenting!” Rhiannon yelped, mortified. “I just, wanted to s-s-s-s-s-ssss-see how many I could do at once!”

Hannah, across the table from them, burst out laughing. “And your answer to that was ‘everybody’s spare buttons, all at once?’ I mean, that’s some overachieving,” she teased, but there was no malice in it.

Rhiannon would’ve flattened her ears, had hers been adaptable in that way. Maybe she’d ask Savita for the potions they used to keep their tail and ears, once she had come out. “I didn’t mean to do everyone’s,” she grumbled. “I was just, curious.”

“So, were you curious how they tasted too?” Padma inquired drily.

By now, Rhiannon realised she had no chance of keeping her dignity, and she drooped in her seat. “Honestly – yes,” she admitted ruefully. “And th-t-t-tth-the answer is, not great. But very crunchy. Good to chase. Hey, everyone k-k-k-k-k-kept complaining this has no real-world use, right, but – it’s useful t-t-t-to me! Heh, I can make my own toys now. Didn’t think of that.”

Padma rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. “Honestly, how you’ve kept under cover this long, I don’t know,” she replied with a groan. “You could at least try to blend in.”

Rhiannon shrugged and stuck her tongue out, but she was saved from responding by a short, sharp ting sound, metal on glass or something similar, that silenced the student chatter and drew their eyes to where, at the head of the room, Minerva stood flanked by two wizards from the Ministry that Rhiannon had, in all honesty, entirely failed to notice amongst the Hogwarts faculty, dressed in black with only badges to mark them as Ministry personnel. But now that they were closer, Rhiannon could make out their faces – Ludo Bagman, Arthur’s friend; and Mr Crouch – the man who had fired his elf so cruelly.

“Attention, students. Now that our guests have arrived and we have all finished our meal, there is one final matter before we can all go to bed,” Minerva began, favouring her Ministry companions with a tense, thin-lipped smile. “Every Triwizard Tournament begins with the unveiling of the Goblet of Fire, so that prospective champions may enter. Before I hand things over to our officiants, I would like to remind my own students and our guests that you need not feel pressured to enter. To our guests, you are all here as exchange students – a chance to compete in the Tournament is only secondary, and you are welcome regardless of whether you enter your names. And to all of you, once again – if your name is drawn, there is no possibility of withdrawal, and I urge you to remember that before any of you enter your names. Now, to our officials.” she finished, and stepped back with a grimace so that the two Ministry wizards could share the stand.

The shorter of the two, Ludo Bagman, looked as if he wanted to speak but his taller companion glared and took a position behind the podium, leaving Bagman to stand awkwardly to the side. “As the name implies, three champions are selected to compete in the Triwizard Tournament,” Mr. Crouch began, his tone just as fussy and sharp as Rhiannon remembered, and she curled her lip with dislike. “One student will represent each school, and as is traditional, these competitors will be chosen by a truly impartial selector – the Goblet of Fire. As a historically significant artifact of great magical power, it is ours only by the grace of the British Museum of Magic, and will be layered in protective spells when it is not under guard. Any tampering or damage may incur international consequences. Now, Mr. Filch, the Goblet?”

There was a squeaking sound and Rhiannon turned to see the school caretaker, Argus Filch, pushing an enormous, ornamental box on what sounded like a wheeled trolley before him. No, not a box, Rhiannon revised as Filch drew closer to the front of the hall. A chest. He leaned his shoulder into it and attempted to shift the trolley from under it, until finally Ludo Bagman relented and flicked his wand at the pair of them, levitating the chest off the trolley and setting it neatly on the floor. He gave Filch a cursory nod, and Rhiannon bristled at the way he treated the caretaker like a servant. Filch prickled too, and drew himself upright with a huff, but at a glance from Minerva he deflated and stalked back out of the room, looking for all the world like a very offended cat.

“Now, the Goblet,” Ludo Bagman announced, and rapped his wand on the lid of the chest. It stood as tall as his shoulder, so he had to stretch to reach it. The lid creaked open, and from within rose an enormous goblet easily elbow-height to an average-height adult. In stark comparison to its’ container, the goblet was plain and roughly-carved from an unimpressive grey stone. Its’ only decoration was a carved pattern in a simple ring around the outside of the rim, stylised impressions of unicorns, phoenixes and dragons all dancing together around the outside of the cup – the heraldic icons of all three schools. Rhiannon had been dragged to museums on many school trips, and this cup would have looked entirely unremarkable amongst the many other goblets, chalices and cups all from different eras. Entirely unremarkable except, that was, for the pale blue-white flames that filled it to the brim, spilling over and curling around the rough stem like charmed water.

“Any student who wishes to submit themself as a candidate for the Tournament will place their name in the fire. Submitting someone else’s name carries the severest of penalties, most of all if it is chosen, as there is no withdrawing. Asking someone else to submit your name instead of their own is at best foolhardy, not to mention cheating. The goblet represents a binding magical contract, and once the names are drawn the tournament begins. You will have just under three weeks, until the eleventh of October, to submit your names. Once the champions are chosen, the Tournament will begin in earnest, with the first of three tasks scheduled for the 24^th of November. These tasks will test your knowledge, your creativity, your magical prowess and your daring, so be quite sure you are prepared for the dangers you will face before entering.” Crouch told them all tersely. In another speaker, his words might been ominous, but the thin man’s papery voice managed to suck the life out of everything he said.

By some unspoken signal, Minerva stepped forward and took over the levitation enchantment from Mr. Bagman, whereupon she set the goblet down on the ground and flicked her wand, sending its’ chest sailing across the room, where it settled itself neatly on the floor in a far corner. Then, her steps measured and rhythmic, she set off on a path around the goblet. Sky-blue magic trailed from her wand in a thick cord that settled heavily on the floor and then sank into it, following Minerva’s path around and around until there was a solid wall of warm blue light that almost hid the goblet from view.

“This,” Minerva told them all as she halted beside the shimmering circle, “is an Age Line. It will exclude any under the age of seventeen, save those who will come of age by October 11^th. And while I know many of you are gifted mages, I have many more years of experience than you do – and my spells will not be fooled by such measures as Aging Potions. Should you try to fool the spell, it will backfire.”

With that, the Headmaster turned and strode back to her chair at the faculty table, looking distinctly disgruntled as she went and not even bothering to offer either Crouch or Bagman so much as a nod of acknowledgement. Bagman coughed and winced but he took the opportunity to step up to the stand and continue where Crouch and Minerva had left off.

“The prize for the winner will be thirteen thousand galleons – thirteen being a lucky number for us magical folk, after all, and with the challenges we’ve cooked up for you, you’ll be needing all the luck we have spare!” Bagman announced, and rubbed his hands together with a glee that concerned Rhiannon. Students had died in this competition before, why was an officiant getting so excited? And thirteen thousand galleons... that was a hefty prize, and one that might sway the minds of poorer students who might have otherwise stayed clear of the risky event. Already, from across the hall, Rhiannon could hear eager murmurs. Hogwarts was a fee-paying school for those who could afford it only, and that prize money could be life-changing for all too many of her fellows. Even Minerva’s stern warnings might not dissuade some – and Rhiannon could think of a red-haired pair of twins in particular – from attempting to tamper with the Age Line and enter.

“And with that announcement, consider the Triwizard Tournament formally opened – and the evening meal concluded. Rules for students out of bed at night have been relaxed for the duration of the entry period so that shyer would-be champions may enter without an audience. You are all dismissed.” Mr Crouch told them stiffly.

Rhiannon curled her lip – as far as she was concerned, Mr Crouch didn’t have the authority to dismiss her. But she caught sight of Remus’ stern glare from the faculty table and held her peace, satisfying herself instead with a glare as she stood, fetched her cane and began to limp from the hall.

“Bet you’re upset about that Age Line, hey Potter? Missing out on another chance to have everyone’s attention?” Zacharias Smith, a third-year, sneered as Rhiannon joined the trail of Hufflepuffs leading out of the hall.

“Uh, n-no thanks, I like the whole, al-l-l-l-l-live thing,” Rhiannon grumbled, embarrassment staining her cheeks a dull red-purple. It took some serious projection for these people to think she wanted attention, when she’d spent almost every moment of her time in the waking world hiding from her fame. Thanks to winning the lottery of birth, her parents had left her enough money that she’d never have to work unless she wanted to, so it wasn’t like she was enticed by the prize money either. No, as far as the Triwizard Tournament was concerned, Rhiannon wanted to stay as far away from it as possible.

“If you liked being alive so much, why’d you confront a mass murderer?” Zacharias’ roommate Solveig Frederiksen snipped back.

Now, insults, Rhiannon could take. And she was used to them. But that was such a low-hanging fruit even for school bullies that she couldn’t just let it slide. “S-s-s-s-,” she stammered, then took a deep breath and started again. “Sirius B-b-Black was cleared of all charges by a full trial of the Wizengamot, and was never tried at all in the first place,” Rhiannon retorted. Small victories perhaps, but she was proud of herself for managing to say all that coherently. “He’s my godfather, not a murderer. The actual m-m-m-m-m-m-urd-d-d-derer slept in our dormitory, for three years.”

Apparently, the two third-years had no response ready for that, and they sloped away into the crowd leaving Rhiannon to her ill temper. “You know, I see what you mean about some of your peers,” Savita commented drily, pushing their way through the crowd to Rhiannon’s side. Standing, Rhiannon could now see the werelion was only a couple of inches taller than she was herself, although much more physically imposing with their superior muscle and a sort of slinking confidence in their movements. “I suppose bigotry is a universal language.”

Rhiannon shrugged, and managed a lopsided grin. “Good thing ‘fuck off’ is universal too,” she replied wearily.

“Ah – one of the first English words I learned,” another girl chipped in, sidling through the crowd to a position beside Savita as they all made their way downstairs. Her speech was heavily French-accented, and her manner hesitant, but there was a genuinely eager light in the crooked smile on her lips.

Savita snickered. “And one of the most useful. Rhiannon Potter, Cassandre Bellavance,” they introduced the two of them with a friendly gesture.

Rhiannon took another look at the new girl, curious and evaluating. Cassandre, or Sandie as Savita had referred to her previously, was surprisingly tall for someone whose presence was otherwise so delicate, of a similar build to Rhiannon and scarred alike as well, the myriad criss-crossing marks tinted a stark blue-purple in her light fawn skin. Her hair was black, silky and cut in a wing-shape that just brushed her chin, and as they passed a torch, Rhiannon caught sight of the reflection that shone back from her deep brown-black eyes.

This, she recalled, was the werewolf. But, if Rhiannon was honest with herself, she wouldn’t have needed Savita’s forewarning to know that. No, there was something very familiar in the French girl’s energy, her very being. Something that in Dudley and in Remus, although deeper buried there, that made them pack – and in Cassandre, made her at the very least, familiar.

The forewarning was helpful, though, in readying Rhiannon for that familiarity. Without it, she knew herself well enough to know that she might have prickled and growled simply at finding the familiar where she had not expected it. Finding something so intrinsically known in a stranger would be a jarring thing. Would it be like this with every werewolf? Somehow, Rhiannon doubted it – not every werewolf was like her, like them. But Rhiannon trusted her instincts – they were alike, and not just in the animal nature they shared.

“Uh, hi, Cassandre,” Rhiannon stuttered, realising she’d been just staring into space. “Sorry, I’ve – only met two others, and one’s my brother.”

Cassandre’s awkward smile resolved itself into a more genuine one. “It, must be very nice to have a brother who is – um – comment tu es – how you are? Je m’excuse, my English is – not good.”

Rhiannon took a breath, and resolved to be nice. A less threatening presence than Cassandre, she could not think of. “No worse than my French,” she replied affably. “And yeah – it is. I don’t think I could’ve done this on my own, like most do. Like, I guess, you did. I- I’m s-s-s-sorry, I’m bad at the whole New People thing but, I won’t be prickly on purpose just, maybe in the mornings. Takes me a minute to get my bearings and with a new smell, I’ll be... aaaaand I’m rambling.”

Cassandre relaxed and grinned openly. “Fidèle pourrait vous dire – ah, Fidèle, could say about – my first week at Beauxbâtons, I growled at him every morning,” she replied with a giggle. “I forgot he was there and then he called breakfast.”

Savita snickered. “General shape of it is, we get that nonhuman roommates are going to have some teething issues. Just, try to keep the actual teeth out of it, will you?” they suggested.

Cassandre held a hand up quickly, indicating that she wished to speak but hadn’t quite got her words in order. “Ah – unless it’s nuit de pleine lune, in which case – I think the expression is, fair game?” she added. Rhiannon and Savita both cackled at that, and for the first time, the prospect of full moon with new companions was an exciting one, rather than frightening.

The three of them, Padma and Harry having got lost in the crowd, chattered amiably back and forth as they slowly made their way downstairs to the Hufflepuff common room. Cedric and Esther stood by, showing their guests how to open the door, and once they were inside it was the visitors’ turns to be amazed. “You have a whole tree in here?” Savita murmured, gazing around in wonder. “We’re so much closer to the outside than at Beauxbatons, it’s incredible.”

Rhiannon murmured a quiet agreement, but she was interrupted by a yawn. “Yeah, it’s – I was Gryffind-d-d-dor f-f-for three years but, this is – well, I like it in here.”

Cassandre stretched, yawned and groaned as her back, shoulders and elbows clunked in an ugly sort of way – one that Rhiannon was very familiar with. The full moon, as it happened, was only three nights away – no wonder they were both feeling a little worn out and cranky. “It is, nice and all but, I need sleep.” she replied, only to be cut off by another yawn.

“Hear, hear,” Rhiannon groaned. “Follow me, if there’s a spare bed near to mine you can h-h-h-ave it,”

With that, they both said their weary farewells to Savita and set off in search of the fourth-year dormitory. Earlier in the day, there had been only the usual ten beds but now, sixteen had been crammed into the space which Rhiannon suspected had been magically enlarged for the purpose and, as Rhiannon had hoped there might be, there was a spare bed to the side of Harry’s that Cassandre could use – which kept Basil and Lisa safely on the far side of the room. Cassandre flopped straight into the spare bed, while Rhiannon, unable to bear the anxiety of waiting for the room to fill up, grabbed her pyjamas and a towel and limped for the showers.

Luckily, the bathroom was mostly empty and Rhiannon could get ready for bed in peace. She usually preferred a morning shower, but it was certainly easier to sleep when her full moon aches had been eased by hot water. And by the time she had returned, clad in her favourite green cotton pyjamas with kittens on them, everyone else was either in bed or getting ready for it. The shower had given her enough time to calm herself too, at least enough that when she returned to the room to find it full of other nonhuman smells, she didn’t jump out of her skin. Deep breaths, she told herself, deep breaths. A few more of those told her that it wasn’t full of nonhumans – she was just overwhelmed. Aside from Cassandre, she guessed that there were two more, but not of kinds she was familiar with.

One at least was immediately obvious, as he lay chest-down in bed with his head turned around the wrong way grinning a little evilly at Hannah in the bed beside him. Rhiannon recalled that Savita had mentioned a boy who enjoyed such a prank – this must be Aurélien, which would make him an owl veela. The other, Rhiannon couldn’t pick out in all the new students – their scent was so different to all the others, she didn’t have the slightest clue who it might belong to. But thanks to the hot water and the full moon, she was far too tired to act on her prickling discomfort, and rather than put any extra effort into growling and posturing, Rhiannon simply flopped into bed and dragged her complaining cat up the bed to lie on her chest. Now, all she could smell was her own scent and that of her wonderful, soft, warm, cuddly cat.

“Yes, you’re a perfect cuddly girl,” Rhiannon murmured, not even caring that she’d left the curtains standing open as she scratched the cat’s head, watching with half-lidded eyes. Calypso didn’t seem to care that they had six new roommates, so why should she? Sleep was more important. Maybe humans – and werewolves – could stand to learn a lot from cats.