Eventually, and thankfully with only a little further teasing, the two of them reached the usually-empty Charms classroom that today had been reserved for the Weighing of the Wands. Being a werewolf, Rhiannon could hear chatter from inside drifting down the hall as they approached, and the fine hair on the back of her neck began to prickle with discomfort. That wasn’t just teachers and the other champions in there, there were a whole lot of people with equipment, all talking over eachother and dragging what sounded like desks around the room, setting up a cacophony that had Rhiannon covering her ears and flinching as she approached. Remus’ hand on her shoulder was steadying, but the din was daunting nonetheless and Rhiannon had to dredge up every spare dram of courage to keep her head held high and her gait steady as they entered the room together.

“Rhiannon! It’s good to see you up and about. Have you seen their silly bloody badges yet? I’ve been trying to get them to knock it off all bloody morning,” Cedric greeted her before lapsing into weary grumbling, as Rhiannon limped over to join the little huddle of Champions.

Rhiannon snorted. “T-t-tell them they need to go back to Charms, the enchanting’s all wonky, it’ll wear out in a couple weeks,” she retorted with a wry smile.

“Maybe I’ll set Esther on them... you heard her last night, she can’t stand infighting,” Cedric mused, his lips quirking up at the sides in the tiniest smile at the thought.

Fleur grinned mischievously. “She sounds fearsome... I don’t suppose she’s single? If I can’t have that delightful assistant professor, I should find somebody interesting while I’m here,” she quipped, which set the rest of them to cackling. Even Krum, hunch-shouldered and perpetually scowl-faced, cracked a smile.

“I think so – but as far as I know, she’s straight,” Cedric replied with a shrug, taking Fleur’s mischief at face value.

Fleur adopted an exaggeratedly sad expression and wiped away an invisible tear. “Now, that is a tragedy indeed... if it’s true. I will ask.” she said decisively.

“All this gossip is just lovely, lovely! So nice to get an insight into student life,” a blonde woman cooed, sweeping into the conversation all of a sudden. Rhiannon hadn’t noticed her before and she jumped, startled by the intrusion, and had to remind herself she was in public to keep from growling. The woman was older, perhaps in her early forties, and dressed more modernly than most did in the wizarding world, closer to Muggle styles than the usual robes and cloaks,. Her flaxen hair was cut quite short and had clearly been artfully curled in a curious way to frame her face, though were faint reddish traces at the roots that suggested her usual colour might have been closer to Nina’s brilliant auburn; and beneath those curls she wore elaborate makeup with flaring black wings lining her almost-crystalline blue eyes that Rhiannon desperately wanted to imitate – if a little more quietly.

Clearly the blonde woman picked up on the cautious, unwelcoming air of the four champions and backed off a little, though there was still a definite insistent energy to her. “Sorry, sorry – it’s just so exciting, the drama of it all – the first Triwizard Tournament in years and none other than Rhiannon Potter, our very own Girl Who Lived, is in the thick of it! And the way you three banded together to support her, just marvelous stuff, my readers are going to love it.”

“Readers?” Krum asked, frowning suspiciously.

“Oh – oh I should have led with that, my apologies again. My name is Rita Skeeter, I’m a reporter for the Daily Prophet. Since it’s such a sensational turn of events, I wanted to get a little bit from each of you and especially our youngest Champion – for a bit of colour and all that.” the blonde woman, Rita, explained smoothly.

Minerva, overhearing, drifted over with a disapproving scowl on her face. “Rita, you are here to cover the Tournament, I gave no permission for individual interviews,” she grumbled.

“Oh, Minnie, don’t be like that – I just want the world to get to know our Champions a little better; such lovely characters, all of you! And with all these dreadful things being said about young Rhiannon, I thought, why not give her a chance to tell her side? Clear it all up?” Rita suggested, spreading her beautifully-manicured hands wide in a placating gesture.

Rhiannon wrinkled her nose. She didn’t trust this Rita, and she’d seen reporters in action after Lockhart was proven a fraud and then again when Sirius was found to be innocent... but at the same time, those experiences and that cynicism might give her some advantage in dealing with Rita. The reporter clearly had her own agenda – but didn’t everybody? So long as Rhiannon was careful and aware, it didn’t seem like such a bad idea – better to speak to someone before they jumped on the ‘Rhiannon Potter is an attention-seeking trainwreck’ bandwagon, surely?

“Um – h-h-hhhh- Headmaster, McGonagall... if it’s alright, she kinda has a point. People’re, s-s-s-s-saying a lot of nasty stuff, I’d – I’d like to kinda, say my own bit, if that’s alright,” Rhiannon stammered, wilting under Minerva’s scowl even though it was not directed at her. “I’m sick ‘f people makin’ up stories about me and me not bein’ able to say anything about it.”

Minerva frowned, but her severe expression softened and she shook her head tiredly. “Ach... very well, I suppose. Set up in the corner o’er there, should be quiet enough while everyone else is having their wands weighed. After all that’s done, Rita, you can speak to the other Champions and get a few group pictures, but that’s all. Clear?” she told the reporter firmly.

“Crystal!” Rita quipped cheerfully. She reached for Rhiannon’s arm, but only the tips of her crimson acrylic nails scraped against Rhiannon’s school jersey as the girl flinched away, a barely-audible growl rising in her throat. “Oops, sorry love, just a habit – if you’d follow me, we can set up in the corner so you can get off your feet. What’s the story there, anywhere? You’re a bit young for needing a cane like that,”

Out of the corner of her eye, Rhiannon caught sight of a worried Minerva stepping after them, one arm outstretched and her mouth open as if she’d been going to say something. She turned her head to look more clearly, but seeing Rhiannon watching Minerva straightened up and put her scowl back on. Whatever warning she’d meant to give would have to be shortened at such a distance, but still Rhiannon heard her whisper across the room, too low for anyone but a werewolf to hear – “Be careful.”

Shaken by that, Rhiannon took a moment to register what Rita had said, and when she recalled it, she bristled irritably. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that line – people seemed to have this weird idea that mobility aids were only for adults, and elderly ones at that. She knew at least two others in the castle who used enchanted wheelchairs, and another four who needed canes, crutches or both. “Uh – genetic disorder,” she lied with a shrug. It was a familiar lie by now, and a ready made excuse for Dudley’s similar symptoms – and given Minerva’s warning, she wasn’t letting the werewolf secret anywhere near the reporter. “We- w-w-we think my mum’s side had it. It’s more, annoyin’ than anything- ‘specially when others give me the whole, ‘you’re too young’ bit,” she added pointedly.

Rita chuckled and retrieved a pair of chairs from against the wall, setting one down for herself and then scooting the other across the floor with one pointy-toed, leather-booted foot. “Fair enough, fair enough – and as a reporter, I’d really prefer to be original with my lines of questioning,” she quipped with a wry smile.

At that, Rhiannon couldn’t help but snicker to herself. She’d read a few of Rita’s articles in passing, or listened to Hermione read them grumpily under her breath. If Rita was original, it was in that she was first to an interesting piece of gossip – certainly not original in her thinking. But perhaps that was unfair – more original thinkers ended up in the Quibbler and paid less than half as well, and she supposed Rita had to pay her rent first. Not that it made her trust the woman any more, but she could muster a cynical sort of sympathy for her position – even if she disliked it, and would work against her if she had to.

Rita arched an eyebrow and rummaged in her handbag, coming up with a sturdy notepad, a pot of ink and a pair of quills, one a nice but ordinary striped black and brown, the other a rather more unusual acid green in colour. The ordinary quill she tucked behind one ear, while the green one and the notepad were set to hovering, poised in midair to take notes, by a flick of Rita’s fingers.

“I hope you don’t mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill – little invention of mine, I just find it so distracting to be taking notes while I’m getting to know somebody, you know? Helps me find a flow better,” Rita explained with a bright smile.

Rhiannon side-eyed the quill and pad, suspended in the air with a haze of emerald sparkles as it began to take notes on her appearance and demeanour – evidently, the tool worked more off Rita’s thought process than anything she said, a clever piece of enchanting – perhaps there was a device on Rita’s person that created the link? Yes, there she could see it, one of Rita’s earrings held a glassy bauble that glowed the same green as the sparks, some kind of neural link enchantment – that really was clever, she’d have to remember to tell Hermione, perhaps they could adapt the idea for Neville. Then she realised Rita was staring at her and flushed, embarrassed by her lapse in attention. “Uh, sorry – got distracted, y-y-y-you invented that? That’s, really clever enchanting, it’s some k-k-k-kinda, neural link, right? I know there’s been a bit’ve research on them but they’re s-s-so finicky to get exactly right, risk of brain damage if messed up, all that,” she stammered, words spilling out in her enthusiasm.

To Rhiannon’s surprise, Rita actually blushed – a more genuine expression than she’d seen on the older woman so far. “Yes, actually – I dabbled in enchanting at Hogwarts and a little after, but it doesn’t exactly pay the bills. I think you’re the first person to comment on how it works – clearly your reputation as one of the brightest witches of your age is not unearned!” she agreed with a grin and a raised eyebrow.

Rhiannon wrinkled her nose at that. “Eh – that’s Hermione, I just-t-t-t like to read,” she demurred with an uncomfortable shrug. She stuck out enough as the Girl Who Lived, the last thing she needed was a reputation as some kind of prodigy on top of that.

“So eager to deflect credit! You know, I’ve heard some of what they’re saying about you, but you really don’t seem the type at all.” Rita mused, sharing an exasperated eyeroll with Rhiannon.

“That’s what I’ve been telling everyone!” Rhiannon cried, a little louder than she’d meant to. “Oops. Sorry, it’s just been... really silly, did everyone forget how to use their eyes when the cup spat my name or something?”

Rita sighed and tapped a nail against her chin, squinting at her levitating notepad as she did so. Something must have gone wrong, for she took the plain quill from behind her ear and uncapped the ink bottle, and made what looked to be a few corrections before blowing on the green enchanted quill in much the same way someone might scold a cat. “Bah, give me a second... right, it’s sorted itself out, good. Back to it... well, that’s the sort of thing you get when you’re a girl. It’s not fair, not right, but it is the way of things and people get upset when they see a girl getting something they’d like, regardless of how that girl actually feels about it, you know?”

Rhiannon snorted derisively. “Don’t I ever,” she grumbled resentfully. “But I’ve had enough drama f-f-f-f-for ten lives, thanks. I hate this, I hate this whole stupid Tournament, the bloody binding, all of it – so people acting like this, ‘s just, a slap in th’ face on top of it.”

“I can imagine,” Rita agreed with a surprisingly genuine grimace. “Still, there’s people in your corner. That Hermione you mentioned, your godfather, and you seem close with that Professor Lupin, no? It’s not a traditional support system but it’s certainly a heartwarming picture, and surely there’s a lot of stories there.”

Rhiannon bit her lip, unsure what she could say about Sirius and Remus. Sure, the year was 2004, but Britain’s sodomy laws had only been abolished in 1967 and there was still a lot of hate and disinformation, worldwide, in the wake of the AIDs crisis. Then she remembered that they’d done a radio appearance together in the summer holidays and been relatively open about their relationship then. She supposed they’d be alright with her explaining things.

“Well, y-y-y-ou, you probably know Sirius Black’s my godfather. Um, Remus, P-p-p-p-professor Lupin, that is, ‘s his partner. And it’s kind of a slow over time thing but, we’re w-w-w-orking towards a formal adoption f’r me and my brother, D-d-dudley, so he’s like, b-basical-l-l-l-l-l-l-ly my dad.” Rhiannon explained clumsily. Talking about her family always made her misplace words, it was so new to her that it felt strange and uncomfortable, almost like a transgression, to let anyone else in.

But there was no judgment in Rita’s face – in fact, her blue eyes had a distinctly misty cast to them as she monitored the frantically-scribbling green quill. “Oh that’s just beautiful, so lovely... a real pull on the heart-strings, that. The Girl Who Lived, we all know how you were orphaned... and then to be kept away from your second chance at a family by Sirius Black’s wrongful imprisonment, hoooo, that’s a big thing. I can imagine you’re feeling a lot of resentment with the Ministry right now, am I right? You’re a fiesty kid, Quidditch player – aren’t you angry about this, not just sad?”

Rhiannon let out a huff of breath and shrugged, twisting her hands together in her lap and biting her lip as she considered what she could say. Despite her reservations, Rita was being pleasant and asking questions in unexpected good faith, she might as well be relatively honest herself. “’course I am,” she replied with a wry grimace. “But I can, whack a Bludger, I c-c-c-c’nnnnn’t-t-t, I can’t, exactly, whack Mr. Crouch or the stupid Goblet or whatever else ‘s nearest. There’s nowhere to put it, like? Nothing I can do excep’ focus on, surviving it I guess.”

“Priorities, priorities,” Rita agreed affably, scribbling out a few more corrections on her pad as she did so. “But is making a change, taking on the Ministry, anywhere on those priorities? I mean with your history and the social power you’ve got, anyone’s going to be wondering about it.”

Rhiannon sucked in a sharp breath between her teeth, taken aback by Rita’s frank line of questioning. Why did she want to know that – what was her agenda? The last thing she needed was to be painted as some kind of threat to the Ministry. So she took some time to consider her response, drumming her nails on the head of her cane as she did so. “Well... don’t m-m-m-m-most p-people want to change something ‘bout the world?” she replied carefully. “I mean, t-t-t-the, the Tournament, it d-d-does seem to be a bigger issue than just, me being in it, an’ I know plenty of people weren’t happy it w’s brought back – danger and all that like, sure I’m kinda, better at some stuff cos I faced the Chamber an’ that but... you don’t wanna, throw kids at my life, you know? That’s, it doesn’t... it doesn’t seem, like a good way of making people. We’re not fighting a war anymore but, it’s kinda like people think we could be any time and...” she trailed off, embarrassed as she realised she’d let on a little more of her true feelings than she’d meant to.

Then Rhiannon had a sudden brain wave – she could use this, divert Rita’s attention from the idea of ‘Rhiannon Potter is a wild card’ to perhaps some publicity for S.P.E.A.R. “Uh, sorry f’r that... What I mean is... there’s, a lot of things to want to change. Me gettin’ stuck in ‘n Unbreakable Vow I didn’ make is jus’ one example there’s, how Re- how p-p-p-Professor Lupin got treated after he w- after, p-p-people found out he was a w-w-werewolf you know, or, or, elf slavery, centaur reservations, nonhuman medical care, equal marriage stuff – whether it’s gay or, or my dads, or whoever, you know? And that’s just the m-m-magic-c-c sssssssss-stuff, there’s so m-m-m-much m-more, in general.” she rambled, making a mess of the words as she got more excited. “But, m-m-m-m-me ‘n H-h-h-er-er-er-er-H’mione an’ our friends, we, started this thing um, S.P.E.A.R – like SPEAR – the Society for the Promotion of Elven Autonomy and Rights. I mean, I’m only here talkin’ t-t-to you b’cause an elf saved me ‘n Dudley from my- fr’m his- from, the Dursleys. An’ Dobby’s free now, and he gets paid and stuff but, most, aren’t. And that’s really fucked up ‘cos, chattel slavery w’s outlawed in 1833 an’ eliminated completely by 1843, it’s, k-k-k-k-indd- kind of a d-d-double standard, if that’s only for humans.”

Rita blinked, clearly taken aback by Rhiannon’s outpouring of fervour and information. “You know, I never actually thought about it like that, it’s just, how it’s always been. Don’t they like to work? I mean, I’ve only ever seen them frightened of being freed.” she mused.

Rhiannon scowled and would have flattened her ears, had they been the right shape – maybe Savita was onto something with the ear and tail potions. “O-o-o-o-o-on’y cos, being freed, it’s a death sentence. They’ve got n-n-n-n-o-o-o – no rights no, ways to provide for themselves, but can’t just up and leave c-c-c-cos of th’ whole, Statute of Secrecy. An’ their own folks won’t t-t-t-t-t-take them in cos, they’d get beaten by their own owners, it keeps them all divided. I mean, of course they l-l-l-l-l-like to work, they’re, busy people, but – the Elfbind, slavery, it’s ex-ex-ex-ex-ex-exploiting that, you know?” she explained. “Um, m-m-m-most freed elves in the UK at least, they get employed here at H-h-h-hogwarts. Min-m- Headmaster, McGonagall, she’s been doing that for ages, there’s posters up in safe havens like the Leaky Cauldron for ‘em. And they get leave and healthcare and accommodation and pay ‘n stuff, same as ev’ryone else. ‘couple other places do it too, I know the Irish school of magic only has free elves but um – even here, at Hogwarts, most of ‘em aren’t free. I mean there’s hundreds, more’n the students, and maybe a hundred and fifty free? But they’re bound t’ the school governors so, this whole place, basically runs on slave labour. With S.P.E.A.R. we’re, kinda campaigning to get people to tip them in the meantime for, meals an’ dorm cleanin’ an’ stuff, and that’s really taken off especially with th’ exchange students pitchin’ in but um, we want t’, take it to the governors an’ get them freed, and some accommodations for their families, that kinda thing.”

Rita’s quill scrabbled back and forth across the note-paper so fast Rhiannon was half worried it might start a little fire, as the reporter’s gaze darted between her notes and her subject. “That’s... wow, when I asked about taking on the Ministry, I wasn’t expecting you to have a whole plan already!” she joked, grinning broadly. “Honestly, I’m impressed – you seem a bright, ambitious young lass, it’s a real shame this whole tournament’s been slammed down on you in the middle of your work, isn’t it? I gotta say, you’ve given me a lot of content with your goals, your supports, your frustration with the Ministry about this, thanks for all that. But if it’s alright, before we finish up, I want to hear about you – how you’re feeling, and how you’re coping, is that alright?”

Rhiannon grimaced and took a deep breath, steadying herself on the armrests of the chair. There was no point dancing around Rita’s agenda anymore, it couldn’t hurt her position any to be honest about her feelings – she’d said a whole lot already. “I... um... I’m not, doing great. I mean, everyone else, they’re legally ad-d-d-d-d-dults in the magic world, I’m... I’m just, a kid. And I’m tryna, put on a brave face, keep my head high, show no weakness, but... that ship’s already sailed. I just, broke, when my name came out and um, my da, Remus, he had to shake a bit of sense into me ‘cos right now... I’m, not even sure I’ll live through it. ‘til like half ‘n hour ago, didn’ have any hope of that either.” she admitted, digging her nails into the carved whorls of the chair to try and anchor herself. “I’m scared, and angry, an’ a whole lot of things, and I think – I think, the other Champions are too. But, they’ve got my back. And I’ve got my friends, an’ my family so... it’s kind of one step at a time over here b-b-b-b-but, at least I’m not on my own in that, right?”

Rita sniffed, clearly genuinely touched despite her jaded air – though Rhiannon did get the sense she was playing it up a little. Over Rita’s shoulder she could see Minerva watching the two of them like a poised wildcat, edging closer and closer as they talked. Evidently Rita could sense that their time was up, and she collected her floating notebook as Minerva strode over to them, fixing a bright smile back on her face. “Thank you so much for your honesty – that note at the end, that’s, beautiful. You’ve given me a lot to work with – and a lot to think about, certainly, but I’d better let you go before your Headmaster has my quill to decorate the Sorting Hat.”

“You’re damn right I would,” Minerva growled, and she reached out to rest her hand firmly on Rhiannon’s shoulder in a protective, almost possessive sort of way – her Animagus form might have been a cat, but Minerva McGonagall was the mother wolf of that school and nobody, nobody, touched her pups. “Time’s up in any case, Mr. Ollivander has to evaluate Rhiannon’s wand now – she’s got enough challenges ahead without going into this mess with a faulty wand.”

Mr Ollivander? Rhiannon tilted her head, bewildered – she hadn’t seen Mr. Ollivander, but then again, perhaps she hadn’t looked hard enough – Rita had admittedly been an immediate distraction. Now that she cast her eyes around again, she could see McGonagall was right – there was Ollivander, set up with a number of measuring instruments and tools behind what appeared to be the teacher’s desk. The weighing of the wands... it seemed there was some practicality to the ceremony of it all.

“Oh, very well – thankyou for your time, Miss Potter,” Rita replied with a grumpy glance cast sideways at the Headmaster. Rather than get in the middle of Minerva’s not-unwarranted grievance with the reporter, Rhiannon stood, her knees creaking in protest, and limped across the room to where Cedric, Viktor and Fleur stood huddled to one side of the old wandmaker’s desk.

Fleur grimaced and took Rhiannon’s hand, pulling the small girl into a hug. “Well, that looked like hell,” she said frankly.

Rhiannon snorted, and extricated herself from the hug, her nose wrinkled up with displeasure and her glasses sitting crooked. “You know, not really? I mean, it wasn’t great but... she wasn’t as bad as I’d expected from all her articles.”

Cedric curled his lip. “Yeah, you think – until she makes you into one of those articles,” he drawled sardonically. “I mean, she’s not always wrong – made a right stir in the house a couple years ago when she took a crack at my dad and his work, Mum didn’t know some of the details she dragged up and she was bloody furious at Dad for a while after, but like... she does it to make a stir not, to actually help.”

Rhiannon shrugged. “Yeah, I... kinda guessed that, honestly. But, what’s the worst she can do? Oh, the Girl Who Lived’s got a crusade to change the world for her gay dads and house elves, bloody marvelous – it’s not like any of that’s a secret,” she retorted, throwing her hands in the air in frustration. “I guess I said more’n I meant to, she’s got this kinda, way of keepin’ you talking, but... nothin’ I actually want t’ keep to myself came out, not even most’ve the sob stories.”

If looks could kill, the glare Viktor Krum directed at Rita Skeeter’s back would have left only a sizzling puddle of acrylic. “Reporters. Just scum, they are – and they love child celebrities, come down like ravens on us.”

“Does just not talking to them work?” Rhiannon asked him, more than a little desperately. Since joining the magical world in 2001 she’d gotten better at dealing with her position, but it was never easy. She’d learned to people-please from the Dursleys and the media were starting to bring out the same feelings, would it work better if she just tried to keep her head down and stay clear of them?

Viktor laughed, bitter and mirthless and sounding far too old for an eighteen year-old in that moment. “No – no, don’t do that, then they’ll write about how you’re cold and rude, and you’re a girl, that’s... when someone like me does that, the women still like that. For you – no, that would be... very, very bad.”

Rhiannon bit her lip, Viktor’s words weighing on her heavily. He was right, of course he was. Right now, that scared little girl reputation was the only thing keeping her safe – from Rita and others in the media, from her peers and their parents when her lycanthropy was inevitably discovered. The last thing she needed people to think was that she was cold, or mean – not because she wanted to be some perfect minority or anything, but because she was the most visible werewolf right now and how she acted would blow back on countless people.

Fleur squeezed Rhiannon’s shoulder again and held out her arm so that the little werewolf could snuggle in against her side. She always had a sort of comforting air like protective wings, even with hers hidden, and Rhiannon could close her eyes and take a deep, calming breath – speaking with Rita had drained her, more than she’d noticed at first. “Viktor’s right, it’s vicious – but from what I saw, you seemed to be doing very well. Now, let’s get your wand sorted, I’ll help you over there,” she suggested.

Rhiannon was about to protest, point out that thank-you but she could walk by herself, until Fleur squeezed her shoulder and she fell silent – Fleur needed to tell her something. “Apologies for the secrets and all, but you’re dealing with the press now and it just occurred to me – how much do you use the glamours for?”

Rhiannon wrinkled her nose and shrugged uncomfortably. “Um – everything, I guess? Hang on, I’ll... tempus ostende,” she murmured, and with a soft hiss of receding magic probably undetectable to human ears, she hid the glamours for just a second and looked Fleur full in the face. To her credit, the French girl did not jump or even startle, save for a narrowing of the pupils in her amber eyes, but even so Rhiannon felt more comfortable as the glamours settled back into place.

Fleur’s expression, stiff for just that brief moment of shock, softened, and she nodded slowly. “That explains it. Essentially, you’re putting them on slightly differently each time – a different arrangement of freckles, a slightly different angle on a branch of your lightning scar, the placement of that mole beside your nose – little things that add up to big things, and now you’re dealing with press, you have to be more careful, more consistent or someone’s going to notice and start asking questions. Take Rita Skeeter – she lives to dig out secrets like yours. If she gets suspicious, she’ll find a charm for those terrible spectacles of hers to see right through your glamour, and she’s not the only one.” she explained, holding Rhiannon’s hands tightly.

As Fleur spoke, it was as if a stone settled deep in Rhiannon’s gut – Fleur was right, she hadn’t been careful enough, she didn’t pay close enough attention – and that couldn’t slide any more. She screwed up her face and ran her fingers across her jawline – normally it would be ridged with claw scars, but her illusions provided a tactile deception as well as a visual one. “Is there, um... some way to sort of, fix the spells? Like, a template. So I’m putting on the s-s-s-s-s-same one, each time?” she asked, idly itching an irritating patch of acne that had flared up, and illusions couldn’t hide the itch.

Fleur grinned brightly, and for a moment Rhiannon could see through the illusions to the brilliant yellow of her eyes and the distinctive pointed teeth, longer on the lower jaw than the upper, that rested against her upper lip. “Of course – and luckily for you, Veela are masters of illusion – we are a kind of fair folk, after all, and my grandmother was very strict on all of us knowing how to hide ourselves. If they want you for photos I’ll help fix your face and we can set a sort of template binding then, alright?” she reassured Rhiannon gently.

Rhiannon nodded, already feeling better about the situation – but Fleur had that way about her, quietly settling everyone’s fears. “Th-thanks for, for pointing it out – that could’ve been, bad.” she murmured. Then, buoyed by Fleur’s reassurance, she drew herself up to her full height – admittedly just shy of five feet, but anything was better than slouching and hiding from the world – and settled herself with a deep breath, turned a quick, wry smile on Fleur and set off across the last few feet to the chair across the desk from a man she hadn’t seen in quite some time.

“Young Miss Potter, it is good to see you – circumstances aside,” the silver-eyed wandmaker greeted her, his words accompanied by a mysterious smile. “I hope your wand has been serving you well?”

Rhiannon took her wand from its’ usual slot behind the snake’s head of her cane, and handed it over with a brittle smile of her own. She never quite knew how to handle Mr Ollivander and his too-knowing gaze. “Um – yes, very. It’s, gotten me through some bad stuff – you’re not going to, change it, are you?” she asked anxiously. That wand was like a close friend to her by now, a constant companion through everything she had faced. She was accustomed to its energy and the feel of the handle carvings in her hand, and she’d not like that to change when she was about to face a tournament that had taken lives.

Ollivander shook his head, but his gaze was fixed on the wand as he turned it over in his hands, humming curiously to himself. “Yes, yes, I can see that – it has the feel of a wand very happy with its’ mistress and its’ work. Verdimilious – excellent, excellent – vermillious, very good, the basics all seem to work though it’s definitely a little reluctant for me – not to worry, I suspect that is more an issue of bearer than wand. Still, if you wouldn’t mind a quick demonstration – just a very basic spell, perhaps some sort of simple conjuration?” he suggested, already holding out the wand to her across the desk.

This time, when Rhiannon took back her wand, her hand brushed against the old man’s and it was as if a static shock passed between them, one that set the hairs on the back of her neck to prickling as Mr Ollivander stiffened and met her gaze, silver eyes very wide and the pupils too small as he seemed to stare into her. Disturbed, she hurriedly looked away and pushed back her chair, she needed space to think. Simple charms, conjurations... well, she had a favourite. With that decided, Rhiannon took a deep breath and ran the words of the incantation over in her head, then sat back in her chair and pointed her wand at the ceiling lest she blind the wandmaker. “Lumos astra,” she whispered, soft-spoken but confident, and from the tip of her wand spilled forth countless pinpricks of light that decorated the ceiling, a passable replica of the night sky outside that she had spent a great deal of time trying to perfect. Those lights were as much a comfort to her as Fleur had been, like bringing a little piece of her home into the room, and she was almost sorry she had to extinguish them with a whispered “nox.”

Mr Ollivander smiled that cryptic smile and nodded, with the air of someone who had expected that very result. “Excellent – and a very neat reconstruction, though your Draco is twisted about five degrees counterclockwise.” he commented drily. Rhiannon flushed – five degrees! And she’d cast the spell in front of the one person who would notice. But that did not seem to be of any real interest to Ollivander, and he dusted the table off for a moment before catching Rhiannon’s gaze again, his expression growing serious. “You’re carrying a heavy burden, Miss Potter, and the secrecy that has protected you is rapidly running out. But I knew when it chose you, that you had found the kind of wand whose power grows with its’ bearer and I can feel from it now, you are much stronger than the wide-eyed, broken-spirited girl I met three years ago. Your truth takes courage, but you have the strength to bear that secret into the light, and you have already met those who will stand by your side in doing so.” he told her softly, his voice pitched too softly for any would-be eavesdroppers to overhear them.

Rhiannon stared wordlessly at the floor between her knees, silently processing the old wandmaker’s words. There was no mistaking his meaning – somehow, in that brief touch, he had sensed her very nature and recognised it. His words didn’t ring of prophecy, not exactly, but somehow she knew they were the truth – she was running out of time. This tournament would reveal her secret, she was just fighting for that to be later rather than sooner. Shaken, she shoved her wand back into its’ slot on her cane and lurched from her chair, too disturbed by the wandmaker’s uncanny insight to offer him so much as a polite goodbye, but she knew somehow that he watched her leave with that strange, knowing smile of his.

Still turning over what Ollivander had said, Rhiannon didn’t look up in time as she approached the small throng of champions and press, and walked directly into Cedric Diggory’s back – she knew it was him at once, some soap or cream he used always smelled distinctly like forest and citrus. She started backwards, her cheeks already flaming, but now her clumsy feel were tangled up in her cane and she was tumbling, flailing helplessly-

Until all of a sudden, she wasn’t. Strong hands caught hold of Rhiannon’s forearms and lifted her back to her feet while her cane carried on falling, the thud rang unpleasantly through the disused classroom and set her teeth on edge. The calluses were familiar, and Rhiannon knew with a sinking feeling of total embarrassment that yet again, Cedric Diggory had rescued her.

Before she could think to stand or apologise, she heard a sharp ka-click that she recognised immediately, courtesy of Colin Creevey in her second year, and screwed her eyes shut on instinct as a brilliant white light flashed across the room in quick succession to the shutter.

Oh no, Rhiannon thought, cheeks burning even more as she cautiously cracked open one eye. “Oh, that was just lovely, with our two Hogwarts champions right there... that’s the front page, right there!” the very distinctive voice of Rita Skeeter crowed in delight. Rhiannon groaned and dragged herself to her feet, trying very hard not to think about how muscular Cedric’s arms were as the tendons flexed under her very small hands. Not useful, she growled to herself as her much-beloathed genitals stirred under her skirt. Being a teenager was ridiculous. Ice water, cold showers, wet socks, soggy fur, water in her ears, she brigaded her mind with unpleasant images and sensations until the feeling ceased and she could breathe right again.

“Um – thanks, for the catch,” Rhiannon mumbled, eyes downcast, and she shook herself free of Cedric’s grip and hugged her arms around her chest, trying as hard as she could to shrink in on herself. Think of the time Dudley rolled in dead mink, she told herself firmly, but that only had her thinking about the citrusy musk again and she hugged herself tighter. She was the master of this body, thank you, and it was going to listen.

Cedric shook his head, already wearing a bright smile as Rhiannon dared to look up and meet his open gaze for a moment. “Just instinct – Seeker’s reflexes, right? I hope you’re okay, otherwise,” he replied with a shrug.

Do not think about how nice his shoulders are, Rhiannon grumbled to herself, and fixed on a slightly brittle smile. “I’m okay, but uh – that was, a photo, um – I’m not ready for photos, what are we doing?” she trailed off, flapping her free hand anxiously at her side until Fleur caught sight and hurried over to her rescue, while a deeply disapproving Minerva swooped down on Rita as she’d clearly been waiting to do the entire time.

“Ms Skeeter, Rhiannon is legally a child, you cannot simply take her picture as you please!” Minerva rebuked the reporter sharply, bristling with fury, while Fleur shuffled Rhiannon aside and straightened her hair, fussing like an older sister might have.

“Are you alright? Your eyes, with the photos,” Fleur asked, clearly concerned.

“’s’alright, I think I had ‘em closed,” Rhiannon mumbled, rubbing one eye grumpily – that hadn’t stopped the flash blaring right through her eyelids and leaving a bloody great purple smear on her vision.

Fleur grimaced. “There is a trick I know for hiding it, but it won’t be pleasant – you will be essentially blind until I lift the spell, will that be all right?” she asked, but they both knew it was a rhetorical question – there was no way the youngest Champion was getting out of photos, if she tried they’d just hound her until they caught her unprepared with her flashing eyes and all.

Behind them, Rita Skeeter and the Headmaster were still arguing heatedly, but Rhiannon paid them little heed – now armed with a camera, Rita was actively a hazard until she’d sorted her eyes out. “Yeah, fine,” she replied with a shrug.

Fleur tapped the handle of her violet-tinged wand against her chin thoughtfully, then smiled brightly. “If it is photos for the newspaper, would you like me to do your makeup? Just glamour of course, I did not think to bring anything with me – quite inconsiderate of them really, to spring a photography session like this when half the subjects are women, no? We can handle fixing your usual glamours properly some other time.” she offered, seemingly excited by the prospect.

Once again, Rhiannon hadn’t considered that – girls were supposed to be pretty for photos, and she hadn’t had time to do anything. So, a little nervously, she agreed to Fleur’s offer and shuffled back until she found a chair to sit on, while Fleur folded her lanky frame into another and leaned forward, studying Rhiannon’s face with an intensity that once again had her blushing.

“You know, you have very nice skin – no, don’t give me that, scars or not it is very soft, and you have only a little acne, I am very jealous,” Fleur told her, now drumming the handle of her wand against her fingertips as she thought. “First things, ah – you may like to close your eyes, it is not very pleasant,” she warned, to which Rhiannon complied.

“Umbra oculos,” Fleur said firmly. Rhiannon felt a strange shiver pass across her face and it sank into her eyes, itching as it passed, but she fought the urge to scratch it and clenched her fists instead. When the sensation passed, she opened her eyes, and immediately understood why Fleur had recommended she close them at first – it was deeply disorienting to be so thoroughly blinded, she could see only very blurred shapes and no colour at all. Dizzy, she screwed her eyes shut and gripped the edges of the chair, fighting a wave of nausea the sudden blindness brought with it.

“Vile, I know,” Fleur murmured. “I am lucky that my being veela is no secret, any flash from my eyes can simply be charmed away afterwards. Now, sit still and relax your face, okay?”

The glamours Fleur applied felt soft and ticklish as she set them in place, not unlike the sensation of ordinary makeup brushes, and Rhiannon struggled to sit still as they triggered a tickling itch deep in her cheek. After a few minutes, she felt Fleur lean away, and heard the soft hsssh of her wand being returned to its’ sheath at her belt. “Keen ears,” Fleur commented drily as Rhiannon tilted her head to catch the sound. “Use that, your nose and the feeling of air when people move to keep steady, I will guide you as best I can but it would be better if it is not let on that you are blinded in this way, oui ?” she instructed.

Rhiannon nodded, and this time prepared for the nauseating fog, opened her eyes. Immediately she could tell they would be of little use, but Fleur’s presence at her shoulder was enough of a guide that with the assistance of her cane, she could make her way across the floor in relative safety. Someone less experienced with episodes of blindness might have had more trouble, she thought wryly to herself – one rare moment where that particular quirk of her brain came into use.

“Miss Potter, Miss Delacour – oh, you look delightful, both of you! My apologies for the sudden photo, it was just too sweet to resist – reporter’s instincts, you must understand, but your headmaster has sworn me to nothing of the sort further, so ah – if you’d all, assemble there, and we can get some pictures of you all together, show the world the faces of the tournament, yes?” Rita chattered, and in the fog behind the reporter Rhiannon picked up the rustle and clatter of others moving, most likely a small camera team of some kind. She didn’t realise Rita had meant ‘assemble there’ as in a place she pointed to, and earned a few concerned hmms in her direction as she stumbled under Fleur’s hurried guidance, but eventually she found her way to the spot on the floor Rita had so helpfully indicated for her – not – and settled into place with Fleur’s steady presence behind her at her left shoulder.

“Yes, very nice – and Mister Diggory, beside Miss Delacour there, and Mister Krum of course if you will stand beside Mister Diggory? Thankyou, lovely,” Rita carried on. This time Rhiannon wasn’t taken by surprise – she wasn’t all wolf brain, she could handle something as mundane as a boy, thankyou very much – and kept herself calm, though she couldn’t help the blood rushing to her cheeks and could only hope that Fleur’s illusions covered it.

A few humming noises, and then the ca-klack sound rang in Rhiannon’s ears, the only prior warning as once again white light flared across the room, whiting out her shadowed vision for a moment and leaving all four champions grumbling. “Oh, that’s very nice, very protective-looking – now, loosen up, make some space all of you, keep that formation but a little less tight knit, you know? You’re not friends, you’re competitors!” Rita urged them.

Fleur made a grumpy sound deep in her throat, and to Rhiannon’s surprise, so did Viktor. However, it was Cedric who spoke for all of them. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not. We are friends, competitors or not, and if you’re taking pictures of us that’s what I’d like to show people,” he replied firmly – that was his Prefect voice, and he wasn’t taking arguments.

Rhiannon guessed Rita might have rolled her eyes, she heard the woman’s bracelets click as she gestured about, and smiled to herself – oh, was that not dramatic enough? But after a moment, the reporter seemed to get over herself and sighed. “Very well, very noble of you. We’ll just get a few more shots of you like this and pick the best one, alright?” she agreed reluctantly, and the four of them settled back into their comfortable position. All three of her peers were a full foot taller than Rhiannon and she felt very small with them, but in a safe kind of way, as they gradually grew more comfortable in eachothers’ presence and started goofing off in the pictures, Cedric fiddling with Viktor’s hair and Fleur suddenly smushing her cheek against Rhiannon’s as the flash went off again, and again, and again.

Finally it was all over, and although still disoriented, Rhiannon couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up and spilled out of her mouth. She hugged Fleur tightly as the older girl dispelled the shadow-eyes jinx and to her surprise, as they left the room, the two boys fell in step with them as well. “Hey, Potter, we were thinking of finding a spare Defence classroom, team up and practice some duelling spells, defensive stuff – things we know at our level but you might not, you know?” Cedric suggested, to a low hum of agreement from Viktor.

Rhiannon shrugged, turning the idea over – she was pretty tired already, but some practice couldn’t hurt and she could use any extra time to sharpen up before the first task, for certain – there was a huge disparity in knowledge between her fellow Champions and herself, and if Rhiannon Potter hungered for anything besides the chocolate she was no longer allowed to eat, it was knowledge.

“Yeah, that sounds – cool, actually,” Rhiannon agreed, trying her best to sound casual and failing miserably, to a chorus of good-natured laughter from the other three. “If I’m stuck in th-th-thisss—s-s-s th-thing, better I at least try and pull my own weight,” she added, and although her smile was a little grim, it was still a genuine one, because these three could reassure her in a way even her closest friends could not – they were facing the same danger as she, and understood fully how frightening and alienating it was to suddenly be thrust up on a pedestal that could kill them at any time. At least this way, working together, they stood the best chance anyone could, and for the first time Rhiannon actually felt the first sparks of confidence, not just hope – a certainty in her own abilities and in the support of her peers, that they were going to fight their way through this.