Content warning - References to past animal attack, trauma, panic, exposure to subject of phobia

From then on, afternoon training became a part of their regular routine and Rhiannon found herself getting to know her fellow champions more closely, even the reticent Viktor Krum who, as it turned out, was just shy rather than surly as he had previously appeared. The three older champions assessed Rhiannon’s skillset, which was better than most others her age given what she had been through, but given the irregularity of their Defence curriculum before last year that wasn’t saying a whole lot, and they had three years on her regardless.

Fleur’s talent was in direct effect charms – entrancements and the like, and illusions; Cedric had a more traditional education in duelling and self-defence, while Viktor proved to be a clever and capable strategist with an eye for using his environment against opponents – be they duelling dummies or other champions. However, despite their different approaches, all three older champions came to a firm conclusion – it was time for Rhiannon to learn to cast nonverbally, because right now that was the most glaring life or death skill that they had and she did not.

Much to Rhiannon’s distaste, nonverbal spellcasting was hard – harder than she’d expected, given she saw Neville do it every day. It required a lot of focus, and sometimes Rhiannon just didn’t have that. But unlike specific spells – each of her three peers usually set a spell they would work on until Rhiannon had it down, starting with Disillusionment – Fleur’s pick; the Confundus charm, and Krum’s suggestion of the Smokescreen charm – unlike all of these, nonverbal spellcasting was something Rhiannon could work on in her own time, and so it became a common sight to find Rhiannon curled up in a cosy nook of the Hufflepuff common room attempting to levitate various items – first a feather, then a pen, then a book – without speaking; and slowly but surely she was making progress. This would greatly broaden the spells available to her in a crisis situation, Rhiannon thought, grimly recalling her scramble for spells she could actually pronounce when facing the werewolves that late July night in 2002. Maybe now she could actually disarm someone without tripping over the incantation.

Academic progress was halted, however, when three days after the Weighing of the Wands, Rita’s article appeared in the Daily Prophet. It was on the very front page, preceded by the very worst photograph possible – that of Cedric catching Rhiannon, rendered in full colour with Rhiannon’s photographic self blushing and hiding her face perhaps even more embarrassingly than she had done at the time. Thankfully, the camera had not caught her eyes, there was no flash – but that was was only a small mercy, given the content of the article. Oh, Rita was quick to disprove anyone’s theories that Rhiannon had entered the tournament as a stunt for attention – but now she was being painted as some kind of tragic child on a doomed but heroic quest to change the world, and maybe keep from dying in the meantime.

Everywhere Rhiannon went, her own mortified face flashed back at her from countless newspapers, and while there was a marked improvement in the amount of people who actually believed her – there were only about thirty badges still in use, from the same little group of people determined to think the worst of her no matter what - but now she was treated with this aggravating combination of pity and hero-worship that made her skin crawl. It was almost better when more people thought the worst of her – better that than some kind of hero, something she’d never live up to.

Rather than try to be somebody’s hero, Rhiannon knuckled down and did her best to fly under the radar while she learned as much as she could from her more experienced peers. And once she got the hang of it, nonverbal spellcasting was an invaluable asset to her – finally, after years of trying she could manage to disarm her opponent every single time, no stutters no catching, nothing. Disillusionment was a tricky concept to wrap her mind around, but eventually Rhiannon had the knack for that too. Now she had a good camouflage trick down and she didn’t have to speak, she was picking up spells like Stunning, Banishing, Impediments and Flares – she felt better armed, sometimes even like she might present a legitimate threat to whatever she faced in the first challenge. Danger had never been comfortable before, but now – it was like armour.

Study aside, there was nothing Rhiannon could do as the full moon inevitably caught up with her at the end of October. For the first two nights all was as it had been the month before, but on the third night, that of the 30th, there was a little hitch. The school had planned a Halloween feast, on the Saturday night instead of the Sunday so that they weren’t tired for classes the next morning, but the moon rose earlier every night this time of year and Rhiannon didn’t want to risk getting stuck inside. So she and Dudley trudged down to Hagrid’s cabin a little earlier than usual and without the other weres, as Remus had gone home for some time off with Sirius and Cassandre had told them bluntly that they were being paranoid and elected to join the party. Cassandre didn’t have the same problems they did – if she had to leave early there was no danger in explaining why.

Rhiannon and Dudley, on the other paw, were still in the proverbial closet and that meant a cold soggy walk through the mud down to Hagrid’s hut in grey twilight. At least Minerva had promised to leave them some feast food there, Rhiannon grumbled to herself as she slipped in the mud for the umpteenth time.

“We could come out, you know. It’d mean less of this crap,” Dudley suggested half-heartedly.

Rhiannon scowled sideways at him as she picked herself up and blasted the mud off her cane with a non-verbally-cast jet of water from her wand. “I w-w-as – I was outed once already. This time, I’m not movin’ ‘til I’m ready.

Dudley held up his hands, then winced and immediately put them down so he could lead more heavily on his cane. “Ow, fuck, fuck, fuckitty, fuck, fuck - that was stupid – ah, you were saying... no, no I get it, I do, it’s just... it sucks, you know?”

Rhiannon shrugged, and wordlessly stepped behind Dudley to his other side so that he could lean on her good shoulder. “Yeah, it does suck. Living stealth, it – sucks, but now? With the tournament? Thi-s-s-s-s-sss- is just, the worst, p-p-p-p-p-possible time, I was thinking of maybe coming out this year but then, all this happened. You know?”

Dudley grimaced. “Yeah, yeah I do. After what that Rita lady wrote – yikes, even I don’t really want to come out with her hanging around. So we just, knuckle down, try and hide it for another year? Because it’s getting really hard. Look, look at this – my ears are actually pointed now, just a little bit, and my teeth too, have you noticed it? And I think the hair on my back is darker, the little bit on my front is pretty much white, it’s so weird.”

Rhiannon frowned, and pulled up the sleeve of her by-now rather worn and faded dressing gown. Huh. Sure enough, the hair on the inside of her wrist was a sort of gold colour while that on the outside of her arm was jet black, thick and wiry. A questing hand confirmed what Dudley had said – yes indeed, her ears were pointed. Not exactly enough to poke out from under her thick mane of hair, but easily a match for Arwen or Legolas’. Teeth – yep, ouch, those were sharp alright.

“Well, I noticed now,” Rhiannon grumbled, more perturbed than she would let on to her brother. She spent a good deal of time trying not to pay attention to her body and it’s changes – and it bothered her that it had done something she wasn’t expecting. At least she was on Madam Pomfrey’s potions now, she’d be starting a puberty she much preferred. She had a distinct Adam’s apple and a sharper jaw than she might have liked, and it seemed body hair was a persistent werewolf trait she was never going to get rid of – but it didn’t seem to be progressing any further, at least, and now that she was on Madam Pomfrey’s werewolf-friendly estrogen-enhancing potion it wouldn’t change any more. Rhiannon felt her teeth again and scowled – the sharp jaw might not soften out if the teeth were a werewolf thing, it was probably to accomodate them.

Dudley noticed her mutinous self-examination and snickered. “Yeah, the teeth are a fun one – I left a couple of marks on Ginny without meaning to before I figured out I probably can’t bite how she likes, they’re surprisingly sharp,” he drawled.

Rhiannon blushed and swatted her brother, mortified. “Hey! I did not need to know! Gross!” she spluttered, her face heating uncomfortably in the chilly autumn breeze.

Dudley cackled gleefully and elbowed her back. “Oh come on, like you haven’t thought about doing that to Hermione? Or Luna – I bet they’d squeak and wiggle and you’d love that,” he teased. “Hey, if you can’t come out this year, you should ask them out, you know you don’t have to make a choice or anything if they’re both into it – this isn’t Twilight or some other crappy straight romance novel.”

Rhiannon snickered. “And who’re you, ragging on ‘crappy straight romances’?” she quipped with a wry grin. Not that she was usually one to pry, but well, that wasn’t the sort of thing straight people ever said – crappy chick romances, maybe, the hate for Twilight was universal, but the wording jumped out at her.

Dudley flushed, and unlike Rhiannon, that was visible on his pale skin even in the poor lighting. “Ginny’s questioning, she thinks he might be genderfluid or something so, guess that makes me queer too if I’m dating a guy sometimes,” he replied with a shrug. Then he grimaced, and laughed out loud, the sound ringing through the heavy twilight air. “Oh wow, if D- if, Vernon, could have heard that, it’d be worse than the beating when I came home from school in a flower crown.”

Rhiannon smiled, soberly this time at the mention of their mutual trauma, and slipped her hand into Dudley’s as they walked together down the long muddy hill. “I didn’t know that, b-b-b-b-but, wow. You know, y-y-y-y-you really w-w-were just-t-t-t the worst – you’ve come a long way, if you’re supporting your, girlfriend-boyfriend-d-d-d-d-d-datefriend, even admitting it probably makes you queer too, that’s pretty big of you even compared to g-g-uys who, weren’t like that as a kid.”

Dudley turned his head and eyed her sideways for a moment, then patted his gut wryly and smirked. “Well, I’ve got the body for it, may as well drag the rest of it up to match, right?” he joked.

Rhiannon blinked, it took a moment for her to process the joke, and then she glared at Dudley and shoved him lightly – or at least, she’d intended to shove him lightly. Instead, she sent Dudley reeling and he reached out to catch her for balance, but she was far too light in comparison and the both of them went sprawling in the mud, swearing up a storm and spitting in disgust.

“Aw, Merlin – that’s it, I need a new dressing gown,” Dudley grumbled disgustedly. “Maybe I’ll ask Molly for one, she always knits us stuff for Christmas and all,”

“You need a new h-h-h-h-h-h-hip,” Rhiannon retorted, but she couldn’t keep the concern out of her voice. “I’m really, r-r-r-r-r-really s-s-s-s-s-ssorry – I didn’t mean to shove you over, are you okay?”

Dudley wheezed a little as he dragged himself into a sitting position, and the hiss sound from between his teeth told Rhiannon he was in pain. “It’s alright, I’m fine – honestly, happens all the time, just ask Ginny, ugh – if only I wasn’t a werewolf, they could just replace the busted fucking thing!” he grumbled and swore, clearly worn out.

Rhiannon shook her head grimly. “You’ve- you’ve gotten, so much worse since the attack, did they even d-d-d-d-d-d-d-do an x-ray? Or, new ones now? It’s gotta be s-s-s-s-s-so fucked in there, you barely even step on it now,”

Dudley snorted and shook his head. “An x-ray? No, that would be sensible – they just tried to heal the bone with some potions and spells and shit. My guess is it didn’t take and it’s breaking again – at least, that’s how it feels, here, help me up,”

Rhiannon dragged herself to her feet and held out her hands for Dudley to take. Ignoring the ache in her own bad shoulder, she set him back on his feet and settled herself in under his arm to support his bad side. “Jesus, that’s – okay c-c-c-on-n-n-n- ffffff- consider this, me putting my feet and your good one down. We are getting you a wheelchair.”

Dudley groaned, but this time it was an almost-delirious sound, like he was dreaming about the possibility. “Look, I know I should be sad about that, like, it’s giving up or something, I should put up more resistance about it, but – you’re right. I basically walk on one leg and a stick, I run on three legs as a wolf, it’d be easier if someone just chopped the bloody thing off – but I’m guessing they won’t do that til I’m an adult and the rest of it’s finished developing or some shit. But I’m not, sad at the idea of being in a wheelchair, I can barely get around as it is and I can run around just fine on a full moon, I’d be way more free than this... except, uh – like we said to Amos. How could we pay for it? You can’t take out a transaction that size, Sirius can’t give a gift of that value without some major questions being asked.” he mused grumpily.

Rhiannon scowled at the ground as the two of them walked, thinking on that particular problem in silence. Then it hit on her – perhaps her problems with the press could be turned to her advantage, and a grin crept onto her face as she realised this. “We as-s-s-s-s-s-sk the p-p-p-public. Rita’s ‘lready sniffin’ round me for drama, we could... well, effectively, play the cripple cousin card. ‘s not pretty, but it’d work – jus’ have t’ get the story straight, I know we’ve messed up a few times. Folks’d be even more likely t’ give if, they heard it was ‘cos of the orphan stuff that we can’t pay.” she suggested with a shrug.

Dudley grinned broadly, he could be as cynical as Rhiannon about the press problem when he wanted. “So, a blatant sympathy ploy?” he drawled sardonically.

Rhiannon snickered. “They’re already t-t-t-t-t-tryn’a play the bloody t-t-t-t-t-tragic hero c-c-crap, may ‘s well get you somethin’ out’ve it,” she retorted. “Now come on, I only look delicate, lean on me ya dipshit.”

With that, they set off again, Rhiannon mostly carrying her brother, and they eventually managed to make it down to Hagrid’s covered in mud and thoroughly over the concept of walking. The sun had almost set by the time they got there, casting the world around them in mysterious shades of gray, but the forest was strangely hushed – as if it had been deserted. Thoroughly perturbed, Rhiannon wrinkled her nose and knocked sharply on Hagrid’s door, eager to get inside and out of the unsettling quiet.

The door swung open almost immediately, releasing the delicious savoury scents of food into the night air – along with something very odd, and much less pleasant. Rhiannon screwed up her face in disgust, and she could hear Dudley gagging beside her. “Oy, Hagrid, what is that?” Dudley wheezed. It was clearly a perfume of some kind, but not a pleasant one – and far too much of it, like Hagrid had bathed in the stuff. In addition, he had somehow managed to slick down his wild hair, damaged from years of brushing, and tied the top half of it into a surprisingly neat tail.

“Uh – some perfumey stuff, think I mixed it up wit’ the hair oil,” Hagrid mumbled sheepishly, and stepped back to allow the both of them inside. “Ey, no, no further, you’re filthy – what happened, you alright?”

Gratefully, the two teenagers limped inside and stood on the mats just inside the doorway while Hagrid closed the door and siphoned the filth off them with his beloved new wand. Now that they were inside Rhiannon could see that Hagrid was dressed strangely too – he had on a very old-fashioned suit made out of some brown material, moleskin or something like it, accented with cream fur more like a Western jacket than a formal suit. “We’re fine,” Rhiannon grumbled as she wiped her glasses off on her now clean pyjama shirt, raising an eyebrow at Hagrid’s strange appearance but deciding not to mention it. “But that, has to go. D-d-d-d-Dudley, he can’t, make it down here in this mud, maybe not ‘t all much longer, we have got to ssss-ss-s-s-s-sort him some wheels.”

Hagrid grimaced and shook his head, grumbling under his breath as he puttered over to the bench and set about activating a gradual heating charm on the three bowls of food set out there. “Wasn’ sure ‘f I should’a said somethin’, but I ‘ave bin noticin’ Dudley uses that leg less ‘n less every moon, ‘s bin worryin’ me jus’, watchin’ it git worse like tha’.”-

“Wouldn’a been any point tellin’,” Dudley replied with a sigh. “I know I need the wheels now, the stick isn’t doin’ enough. It’s just, been a bit ‘f a journey to, accept I need the help, you know? And even more to own up to it.”

Hagrid nodded, still frowning to himself as he set the warming bowls on a tray and carried that over to the round table he used as a dining table – he’d expanded his cabin’s internal dimensions since their regular visits had started in second year, it was more of a real house now with room to serve guests and everything. It was nice, seeing how much he’d improved things for himself since he’d been granted access to magic again – if he’d done all this internal extension work himself, it was a real testament to his talent and knowledge on the subject, something he must have studied long before being able to make it happen. “Well, I’m glad you got there in the end. You got some kinda plan of action – bein’ you kids, thought I’d ask – or just the want? Either way, I’ll help if yeh need it, jus’ tell me how,” he offered, and pulled out the chairs at the table with a quiet scrape. “C’mon, lemme help you over there, give your sister a break,” he added, and held out an arm to Dudley.

With Hagrid’s help, the two werewolves got settled at the table and all three sat down to dinner. “We’ve, kinda got a plan,” Rhiannon replied as she took in the heaped bowl of food before her – traditional Hallows’ Eve fare from all across Europe and filled with werewolf-friendly favourites that must have been made specially for the nonhumans – bone marrow roasted with herbs, black pudding, charred sweetbreads seasoned with what tasted like orange juice and warm spices, and other things that most human students would turn their nose up at. Ordinarily, Rhiannon loved feast food, even if it was harder than usual to find werewolf-safe food – but she did not love when it was all piled up in a bowl all at once, and she picked through it with a scowl on her face.

“Yeah, Rhi suggested we use the whole press mess to help,” Dudley agreed, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a wry smile at Rhiannon’s pickiness. “It’s all gonna touch when you eat it anyway, why’s it matter if it touches on the plate?” he teased, elbowing Rhiannon before digging into his own dinner with gusto.

Rhiannon grumbled and stuck out her tongue, but didn’t dignify his teasing with a response – Dudley knew perfectly well she didn’t like her food in a heap, neither did Hermione, Luna or Neville, and he only occasionally teased them about it. They didn’t have to hurry through dinner, having started early, but Rhiannon still took some time longer than the others to finish her meal. Then they let the next two hours until moonrise slip by more comfortably, sipping fruit tea and nibbling on desserts while curled up in armchairs in front of Hagrid’s fire, until the itch in their veins intensified to a burn which told them it was time to head outside.

Rhiannon shivered underneath the moon, her threadbare dressing gown too tight around her shoulders now as she sat cross-legged on the scratchy but familiar horse blanket that had become hers for transformation nights. The night breeze chilled her but not badly, the fire in her blood kept her warm enough. And as she undressed, Rhiannon felt under her oversensitive finger tips a change. No more was she skin and bone – certainly she was still thin and had become wiry with muscle over the last two years, but now there was just the first hint of softness to her and as she took off the dressing gown, Rhiannon wasn’t quite careful enough and knocked her wrist against her chest – and it hurt. She yelped with pain, startled, and had to remember how to breathe again as it faded.
“You all good over there?” Dudley called, concern sounding clear in his voice.

“F-f-f-f-fine! Think I whacked my boob!” Rhiannon called back, still a little shocked and bewildered. Her boob – there was only the slightest beginnings of swelling, but wow had it hurt – the first noticeable changes of Madam Pomfrey’s potions. She thought back, when had she started them? The thirtieth of August. With today being the thirtieth of October... that was an even two month anniversary and she had boobs, the start of them, her very own. With that realisation, Rhiannon couldn’t help it – she wiggled, flapped her arms and squealed happily, ignoring the sharp ache that brought up in her chest and her brother’s laughter from a ways over in the bushes. Finally, finally she was starting to grow up like other girls. And with all the things that set her apart from the other girls, from other children in general – it was beyond wonderful to experience something normal, something most other girls went through just for once. In this one way at least, Rhiannon could be a normal teenage girl.

Wish as she might, though, Rhiannon was not a normal teenage girl – she was a werewolf, and there was no escaping the pull of the moon as it rose over the trees. It swept her up, stole her away from her body as it twisted, contorted and broke against the rough wool blanket, screams dragged from her throat more by reflex than anything else as Rhiannon’s consciousness was held fast in the moon’s inexorable grip.

Finally it was over, and Rhiannon was released back into her body as it lay sprawled on the blanket, paws and tailtip sodden from thrashing in the wet grass. She swished her tail irritably and dragged herself to her paws, stretched, then stepped delicately off the blanket onto the grass, already wrinkling her nose in disgust at the sensation. Water, fantastic. Wet grass, disgusting. Rhiannon flattened her ears and picked up the edge of the blanket in her mouth and then, dragging it along beside her, padded back to Hagrid’s cabin.

There, Dudley was already waiting for her, seated on the grass with his tail thumping the mud and tongue lolling out in delight as Hagrid scratched his ears. “Heya, Rhiannon, good to see you. Let’s get going, yeah? I’ve got something I wanted to show you both – strictly private and all, but, nobody knows who you are with four paws and a tail.” Hagrid told them both, grinning mischievously.

Rhiannon dropped the blanket and padded over to Hagrid and Dudley, swishing her tail and curling her lip anxiously. Now that she had transformed, the dulling jinxes on her senses had fallen and she could feel the full weight of the unnatural hush upon the forest. It was almost like a bad illusion – like someone had created the image of a forest, the smells, the sound of the light wind in the leaves, but forgotten that real forests were teeming with wildlife, all audible to a sensitive ear. Rationally, Rhiannon knew that the forest was real – but without its’ sounds, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that it didn’t feel real, and that set her hackles prickling as Hagrid led them in. He seemed totally unaffected by the strange quiet, his steps springy and his arms swinging jauntily, he even whistled as he led the two werewolves onwards – but he did not explain himself, and in these shapes, the teenagers couldn’t ask him.

“Oh, I know you’re dying to know what’s going on – don’t worry, it’s safe and all that, jus’ – oh, it’s incredible, I can’t wait t’ show you,” Hagrid told them, and the moonlight that filtered through the trees lit up the bright grin that spread across his face. Rhiannon’s fur still prickled and she wrinkled her nose as strange scents drifted through the forest on the light breeze. The trails of regular forest creatures were far too stale, even the birds’ nests were abandoned and replaced with something she couldn’t place. Something old, something huge – and something burning.

Rhiannon’s fur was already bristling, and as soon as she recognised that scent of smoke, she was tense and ready to flee. Only Dudley’s steady form beside her, his side pressing into hers, kept her from turning tail altogether.

The three of them trekked on deeper into the forest, Rhiannon still trembling in terrified anticipation but managing to keep herself in check. The strange scents intensified, along with those of blood, meat and the all-permeating smoke, but now they were getting closer Rhiannon could tell at least that the strange smells belonged to animals – unfamiliar animals she didn’t have the slightest chance of identifying by smell alone, not with sound dampened so. Now her fear was joined with curiosity – what was Hagrid taking them to? How was this all being kept so secret?

Rhiannon mused on that, her ears twitching warily as they padded onward through the forest, until they came to what she could best describe as a curtain of magic in the trees. Even Dudley skidded to a halt before it, his nose twitching and hackles prickling. Rhiannon’s lip curled and it felt as if the tingling, sharp-clawed anxiety that had plagued her all evening had crystallised into a single source – this wall. She reached out a paw and patted it, growling, and flinched back when she met a faint resistance. Her paw was unharmed. But there were not usually magic walls in her forest, and she didn’t like the change one bit.

“Oh, settle down yeh prickly pups,” Hagrid told them both with a weary sigh. “It’s just a set o’ wards, yeh’ve seen wards before,”

Rhiannon scowled at the barely-tangible curtain and prodded it with her nose this time, still growling distrustfully. It didn’t bite her, it didn’t even feel cold – there was just a soft pressure against her muzzle until it popped like a bubble and her nose passed through. The smells were stronger on the other side, like something wild was caged up in here and despite herself, Rhiannon couldn’t help but be curious. With a flick of her tail, she bunched her muscles and hopped through the barrier.

The other side was a cacophony of sound that had Rhiannon cowering in the underbrush, swamped by the roars and howls echoing from deeper within the warded area of the forest. She had been right that whatever this was was huge – she couldn’t imagine the size of the creature required to make a noise that loud, that deep.

Rhiannon was alone in her panic for a brief terrifying stretch of time, until suddenly something large, heavy and fluffy bounded through and flopped down on top of her. Dudley. His weight was a comforting one, his scent grounding – she wasn’t alone, and no matter how frightening it was, Hagrid wouldn’t have brought them somewhere unsafe. Dudley licked her cheek and rested his chin on her face for a few moments, then rolled off and rested closely beside her with his chin on top of her head. That reassured her, enough that Rhiannon could find her breath again and calm her racing heart as the two of them rested in the undergrowth. She had her brother, and he didn’t seem scared, and she trusted his instincts as much as she did her own.

“Sorry lass – should’a warned yeh, I honestly forgot how loud they can be – hardly notice after all these years. C’mon, it’s totally safe, the handlers should have ‘em well in check – an’ if anyone guesses who yeh are, don’t, nod or wag yeh tails or anythin’, keep it hush.” Hagrid warned them.

Dudley cocked his head, then stood and shook loose leaves from his coat. Rhiannon growled softly and stood up more cautiously, her tail swishing distrustfully. She wished she could jinx her ears, but it was bearable – just. Just as she had been when she jumped through the ward, she was curious about what was hidden here, so she tamped down her fear and set off after Dudley and Hagrid, traveling further on toward the great roars that filtered through the trees, each step bringing them closer and closer until it was all around them, the scent of new smoke acrid amongst the damp forest smells, firelight flickering and reflecting off puddles, rain-slick trunks and sodden leaves.

Rhiannon felt the telltale signs of dissociation and she halted, eyes wide and ears flat with fear, so distracted by the flickering of the distant firelight itself that she entirely missed the tall, stately woman who approached them until she was standing right beside them. She startled, tail bushing up and hackles standing on end, and scuttled back a few feet until she got a hold of herself and recognised the woman – Madam Maxime, dressed warmly with a fur-lined cloak covering her inner robes, and she was shaking Hagrid’s hand and kissing his cheeks in the way Rhiannon had seen many of the other Beauxbatons students do. She snickered, a soft little whuff-whuff-whuff sound – suddenly Hagrid’s perfume mishap and his odd manner of dress made sense.

“Ah – good evenin’, Madame Maxime,” Hagrid managed gruffly, fending off Dudley’s mischievous nip. “Uh, don’ mind the pups ‘ere, they need their walk an’ all that, I jus’... wanted t’ introduce yeh to me favourite part o’ the magical world, now they’re ‘ere.”

“You’re interested in magical conservation, monsieur Hagrid?” Madame Maxime asked, sounding begrudgingly impressed.

“Oh yeah, ‘course – ‘s always fascinated me, I think mos’ wizards need t’ take a bit more int’rest in the world around us, y’know?” Hagrid replied, and offered his arm to Madam Maxime in a surprisingly gallant gesture. Now numbered four, they set off again, the two werewolves padding cautiously after them with their tails twitching and ears flattened in a vain effort to protect against the echoing roars.

It seemed that Madame Maxime and Hagrid had found a common topic of interest, and they carried on chatting about magical ecology as they strolled through the rain-soaked woods with the werewolves trailing a short distance behind. Rhiannon paid little heed to their conversation – her concern was with the sounds drawing slowly closer, the firelight and the way it bounced from surface to surface in the soaked forest, the disconcerting heat that stung her eyes and scorched the dampness from the air if not from the rest of the forest.

The closer they got, the louder the sounds and the drier the air grew, until the very ground itself began to feel dry underpaw, the grass thin and spiky. The forest began to thin out, trees and underbrush growing sparser and less healthy, scorched in places, until Rhiannon nosed her way through the last of the bushes and found herself standing on the edge of a great open clearing splitting the forest like a wound, coldly lit from above by the moon which shone in brightly through the opening in the trees – and by the great fires scattered around it, both of which illuminated the four truly enormous metal enclosures set at a distance from eachother in the wide clearing.

But the great scar upon the forest, the enclosures within it – those were not the most unusual things about the scene before them, as Rhiannon took it all in with wide eyes, bristling fur and a tremor in her limbs. No, what really caught her attention was the inhabitants of the cages. All four were truly huge, scaled creatures with wings, and Rhiannon’s breath rasped in her ears as one of them, mottled brown and gold with a crown of gleaming horns that trailed down its’ spine in a spiked crest right to the tip of one heavily-spiked tail, threw its’ head back and spat a torrent of yellow flame into the night sky. Dragons – no wonder she hadn’t been able to place the scent, this was something she had only ever seen in pictures. One, two, three – four, one for each contestant. This was what Hagrid had brought her to see, she realised, flattening herself to the ground in terror, too frightened to even turn and run. This was the first task.

Someone’s voice, she thought it might be Hagrid’s but was too disoriented and terrified to tell, rang distantly in Rhiannon’s ears – but it tangled up in the dragons’ roars, the crackling fire, the shouts of the handlers trying to calm the dragons who were no doubt distressed by the intruding werewolves. Then there was pain, sharp pain in her spine, and Rhiannon whirled to face it only to be brought up short – her brother had his jaws fastened tightly around her bushed-out tail and he was shaking her gently. She growled, more from the pain than anything else, and as soon as he saw her paying attention, Dudley released his grip. Rhiannon winced, but she limped forward and bumped the top of her head against his cheek – he hadn’t meant to hurt her, just break her out of her panic.

“Aren’t they beau’iful?” Hagrid crowed, gesturing expansively at the clearing. “I mean, I know yeh don’ like fire, Rh- Nyx, but surely even yeh can see how incredible they are? Pictures don’ do ‘em justice,”

Rhiannon curled her lip and growled disbelievingly, and Madame Maxime coughed and placed her hand on Hagrid’s arm in a placating sort of manner. “Eh – there is certainly no denying how fascinating the beasts are but perhaps, give your – ah, louveteaux, your pups, a moment to take it all in? They may be incredible, but they’re also quite a lot – I imagine their hearing is sensitive, no?”

Hagrid coughed, and it was impossible to see in the firelight but Rhiannon guessed he might have blushed, somewhere under his wild beard. “Ahhhhh shit, I wasn’ thinkin’. I’m really sorry, kids – I hones’ly thought yeh’d like ‘em, yeh seemed int’rested in ‘em in class, completely forgot abou’ the ears – can’t relate, hones’ly, mine’s bin goin’ for years, ah... you just, rest o’er here, I’ll jus’, go ‘n talk t’ Charlie an’ yeh can follow on when yer ready. Madame?” he told them, then once again offered his arm to Madame Maxime.

Madame Maxime held up a hand for him to wait, then knelt and reached out a hand to Rhiannon, her eyes lowered. Rhiannon stretched her neck out as far as she could to sniff, then slunk a little closer, her tailtip twitching. The imperious French Headmistress had been a little cold, but never unkind in how she had reacted to Rhiannon’s being chosen, and that made Rhiannon cautiously inclined to like her. She inched closer and bumped her head into the woman’s outstretched palm, then licked her wrist mischievously, and to her delight that elicited a laugh from the red-haired woman. “Yes, little wolves are always mischievous... it is good to see that your fear and hardships have not broken your spirit, Rhiannon Potter. You have many more allies than just your peers, I promise you that. And we will see you through this tournament – even the dragonfire.”

Rhiannon stared up at the impossibly tall woman, her yellow-greenish hazel wolf eyes meeting deep brown, very human ones. Had Madame Maxime known this whole time, or had she guessed somewhere along the way? It didn’t really matter, though – Rhiannon could feel, somehow, that the woman’s support was genuine, and that was a reassuring warmth in her hollow, weary heart. She yipped softly and rubbed her head into Madame Maxime’s palm, closing her eyes and letting the happy little rumble rise up in her throat, actions which elicited a throaty laugh from the statuesque French woman, who scratched Rhiannon’s ears affectionately for a brief moment before she nodded to the two young werewolves and stood, then turned away and set off across the clearing to where Hagrid stood chatting with a group of dragon handlers.

Rhiannon turned to Dudley and cocked her head to one side in a silent question – was he okay? But Dudley rolled his eyes and whuffed softly, then nudged Rhiannon firmly with his head – go on, come and look at what we came here for, you silly goose. She could imagine his affably teasing tone in her head, and her imagined-Dudley was right – she was being a silly goose, or a silly pup at least. Hagrid had brought her here to see the dragons – she should use this opportunity to study them, learn as much about the animals as she could because in a month she would be fighting one of them – and so would her friends. She was getting a sneaky cheat’s preview of the battle ahead, the least she could do was gather information and take it back to the others. Already, she knew one thing she’d have to do – conquer her fear of fire. And that started right now.

With Dudley at her side, Rhiannon felt steadier and more confident, and together the two of them set off slowly across the clearing toward where Hagrid, Madame Maxime and a handful of wizards in gleaming leather-and-scale robes stood talking in front of a cage containing an enormous black-scaled dragon with wide, sweeping horns and an ornate, vaguely spade-shaped tail. Rhiannon shivered as the towering creature bent it’s neck and looked down at her from an impossible height, one luminous eye that looked blue to Rhiannon but she guessed might have actually been purple seeming to almost glow against the deep obsidian of its’ scales as it stared at her. Emberlike flame fluttered in its’ nostrils, flaring and receding with its’ breath, and Rhiannon averted her gaze – this creature was the master of the sky, the forest, wherever it happened to be – she dared not challenge it so openly. The beast huffed, blowing smoke scented strongly like cooked meat over them all, and curled up with its’ tail draped over its nose like an irritable cat.

“A Hebridean Black... Oh, she’s a beauty, I haven’t seen a young one grown up so healthy in years,” Hagrid breathed, gazing upwards in wonder at the huge black dragon. And begrudgingly, Rhiannon couldn’t help but agree – she knew Hebridean Blacks were under serious threat from overcrowding, whole nests of young were often killed when territories overlapped too closely.

“Oh, yeah, she’s from a nest we uplifted after it got attacked maybe three? Nah, two-ish years back, they grow real fast at first – defensive adaptation and all that, since the adults are so territorial they gotta be able to defend ‘emselves,” another voice agreed. Rhiannon frowned – she recognised that voice, and its’ owner, though it took her a moment to place it – Charlie Weasley. Of course – he worked for a major dragon sanctuary in Romania, that must be where the dragons had come from. “Wait, you’ll love this – you remember Fluffy? Yeah, we had him foster her after her dam died from her wounds, he’s around here somewhere – hoi, Fluffy!” Charlie hollered, and Rhiannon had only a moment’s warning to try and vainly cover her ears with her paws before Charlie put two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly.

Fluffy, Fluffy... where did Rhiannon remember that name from, she knew she’d heard it before... oh no. She scrabbled backwards, eyes wide and fur bristling in panic as she recognised the massive shape that bounded out from a lean-to shelter beside the dragon’s enclosure, three pairs of eyes reflecting firelight, three tongues lolling and dripping slobber, three tails wagging in mad delight.

Rhiannon didn’t like dogs – more accurately she was terrified of them, at least when she hadn’t been warned they were going to be there. She fought the urge to run as images of her Aunt Marge’s many awful dogs flashed through her memory, felt the sting of their teeth flare in the old scars that covered her arms and legs. Even knowing the overexuberant dog-monster would only think she meant to play chase, Rhiannon scrabbled backwards and took refuge under her brother who stood stiff-legged and spike-furred, growling distrustfully. They needn’t have worried – the Cerberon, Fluffy, had no interest in them. Instead he made a beeline for Hagrid and bowled him to the ground with an overexcited leap, heavy paws striking the tall man’s shoulders. Now on the ground and thus within reach, all three heads began to lick Hagrid joyfully, seemingly determined to cover every inch of him in slobber.

All of Rhiannon’s fur stood on end in a vain effort to make her tiny – at least for a werewolf – form seem bigger, and even after she recognised Fluffy as the very Cerberon she had helped break out of Hogwarts in her first year, it still took a solid twenty minutes for her to calm down enough that her fur would lie flat and she felt confident enough to crawl out from where she’d been hiding half under Dudley and half in a stunted, leafless bush.

Rhiannon approached Fluffy cautiously, her tail tucked between her legs with the tip swishing against her belly and Dudley just a few paces behind her. Fluffy’s left head swung towards her, the other two being occupied by Hagrid and Madame Maxime’s attentively scratching hands. She whined anxiously, but Fluffy’s three tails were pricked and wiggling with curious, barely-restrained enthusiasm and she padded forward until she was within a foot of the massive dog.

All those years ago, Rhiannon had been almost five inches shorter and still human when she last met the enormous brindled Cerberon, but still somehow he seemed bigger than before – and the improvement in his health was impossible to ignore. When she and her friends had conspired to rescue him, Rhiannon couldn’t have said what colour his coat was, but now it had grown back sleek and shiny, dense hair of mixed golden-brown and black with some white stripes where his wounds had scarred. Cautiously, Rhiannon untucked her tail and pricked her ears, then let out a little yip – a dog’s playful greeting. Fluffy’s whiplike tails swung back and forth, all three pairs of ears pricking up. Rhiannon wanted to greet him, they were old friends in a way even if he had startled her at first, but she was far too small in comparison – Fluffy stood well taller than Hagrid by now, which was no mean feat. Dudley’s comforting weight leaning on her shoulder gave her an idea, and Rhiannon reared up on her hind paws to touch noses with Fluffy, who had stooped as much as he could without kneeling. Dudley groaned, but it was more of a resigned sound than one of actual protest, as Rhiannon stepped up and balanced herself with one paw on his shoulders so that she could touch her nose to one of Fluffy’s.

Fluffy hopped backwards about a foot, startled by the contact and Rhiannon toppled down from her perch, landing face-first in the dust with a yelp of pain as she squashed her bad shoulder. Then suddenly she was deluged in wet and she went very still, every hair on her coat bristling as best it could as something smushed her forcefully into the ground, something very large that covered her entire body – until she realised it was one of Fluffy’s tongues, and he was whining piteously just like Dudley did when he knocked her down by accident, the sound echoing weirdly around the clearing and tripled as it rang from all three mouths, though this time in playful worry rather than pained misery as Rhiannon remembered it, and all at once Rhiannon’s fear of him drained away entirely. She rolled over and batted at the enormous slimy tongue until Fluffy retracted it with a loud shlurp and a pop, then leapt to her paws and took off across the clearing with Dudley in hot pursuit and Fluffy gambolling behind them, over them, into the trees, yipping and howling playfully as they chased eachother like the scruffy adolescent pups they were. The dragons were forgotten entirely, even the Tournament was a distant problem as Rhiannon, Dudley and Fluffy gambolled around the massive clearing together while Hagrid, Madame Maxime and the keepers laughed and threw them tires to play with. Thinking was low on Rhiannon’s list of priorities now, so caught up in their moment, but one certainty settled deep in her chest as vital as the air – these moments, all of this, this was what she lived for. She was going to live it – and she was going to fight to live it.