Hogwarts Reimagined

As expected, Rhiannon was not at her best for Quidditch practice that weekend, though the subsequent transformations started to become more an inconvenient part of her routine life than the source of fear they had been before the September solstice. She stubbornly struggled through regular classes so as to not arouse suspicion, and only the Weasleys noticed anything was wrong at Quidditch practice.

Soon came October, bringing with it rain, mud and misery. The first game of the season on the 6^th was a wretched one with few spectators, though as it was a new moon Rhiannon was at her peak health-wise and performed far better in the rain compared to both her team-mates and the opposing Ravenclaw players. Even at new moon she had a better eye for perceiving and differentiating motion than a regular human did, and she found herself having to hold back lest she bring unwelcome questions or accusations of cheating.

Holding back was fundamentally anathema to Rhiannon, she had found a competitive spirit in joining the team last year and now this year brought a new desire to prove herself as capable as anyone else. She hadn’t expected to be too capable. She had expected to struggle to keep up, not to run the risk of doing too well, especially with the significant advantage Slytherin had with their new brooms.

Unsure of what to do, Rhiannon brought her problems to the twins who were her closest friends on the team. As expected they teased her initially, but sobered when they saw how worried she was. It was Fred who had the solution – “Why don’t you swap it up? We need to train spare Seekers anyway, you should ask Wood to join in the Chaser rotation – for a challenge, like.”

Rhiannon worried about how Oliver would take the request given Slytherin’s advantage with new broomsticks, but surprisingly he was accommodating. So she started playing practices as Chaser occasionally while the team trained her friend Faye Dunbarr as Seeker substitute. Rhi played her regular position of Seeker against Hufflepuff on the 13^th, and did so again on the 20^th – that was the day before the full moon, when she least needed an additional handicap, and in addition it was their first match against Slytherin with their new brooms and they didn’t want to risk anything given they were already at a disadvantage. She would start playing Chaser in occasional games come November instead.

Outside of Quidditch, Rhiannon had her regular life to attend to. For the most part that was classes, but she made a point of checking in on Dudley and Luna every so often too and they all collaborated on work for their less satisfying classes – History, Defence and Potions, mostly. Dudley was very secretive about his own independent work, Rhiannon suspected he wasn’t very confident in it yet and no wonder – he was the first such wizard at Hogwarts in who knew how long, and while she hadn’t seen such personally she suspected some of Dudley’s peers weren’t so kind about it. But aside from classes and her friends, a significant part of Rhiannon’s regular routine was the full moon transformation and before she knew it the week of the October full moon was upon her. She was more exhausted than anxious going into it and even that was eased by the prospect of the freedom of those five nights. “Some Halloween,” was Dudley’s dry remark on the third night, making Rhiannon cackle. It really had been a year for that – happy birthday Rhiannon, here’s some lycanthropy. Also the full moon’s just before Hallowe’en, have a cliche – for a treat.

Returning from the first night of the full moon they ran into an immediate problem – the mud. Caretaker Filch was furious when he caught them early in the morning, and while being accompanied by Hagrid kept them out of any real trouble they certainly didn’t want a repeat of the offence – especially because like Hagrid, Filch couldn’t just cast a spell to magic the mud away. So Rhiannon was taken aside by Professor Flitwick for some private lessons on cleaning charms and instruction to use them before returning to the castle at dawn.

After that, they had little issue. Just as in September, Rhiannon even found herself beginning to enjoy the freedom it brought, and it felt almost exciting to sneak out of the castle five nights a month. Their special secret. Normally she would have minded the dirt and the rain and the overload of information, in wolfshape it was what she needed – and her brain needed that time in wolfshape as a release. She’d charm the mud and bugs off them and they’d slip back into the castle around dawn leaving no-one the wiser.

Tonight was the 25^th of October, a Friday, and the last night of the cycle. The skies had cleared on the Wednesday and remained clear for the Thursday, but that night the rain had returned with a will and Rhiannon shivered as she listened to it beating against the walls of Gryffindor tower from where she sat curled up under a blanket in front of the common room fire. She heard the Astronomy Tower clock strike seven, the bell toll reverberating through the stone of the castle, and gathered her backpack, boots and cane with a sigh. She was both weary at the idea of another turn, and cautiously eager at the prospect of all the mud and leaves to roll in and the things to chase and the time to run.

Rhiannon pushed her cat off her lap, stood and adjusted her grip on her cane, then returned the book she had been reading to a shelf against the wall and tiptoed as best she could out of the common room. “Good hunting, dear,” the portrait whispered conspiratorially as she swung it closed, and Rhiannon startled. She turned wide eyes on the pink-clad witch in the painting, caught off guard. The witch put a finger to her lips and winked. “Now now, it’s safe with me – there’s no-one else around. Never let it be said Eglantine Gryffindor couldn’t keep a secret. Just wanted to wish you well – it’s a hard road, the one you’re on.” she said kindly.

Rhiannon smiled shyly. “Th-th-at’s your name? Eglantine Gryffindor?” she asked. The red-haired woman in the portrait nodded, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. “Oh yes. It’s why I guard the tower, after all. Have done for oh... five, six hundred years? Yes, thereabouts. Terrible name, my father was very traditional about names – my friends called me.... Tina, I think. Yes, Tina.” she replied, pausing every so often as she struggled to recall precise details. “Why - why does everyone call you the Fat Lady, then? If you’re descended from Gryffindor, doesn’t that make you important?” asked Rhiannon.

The portrait of Eglantine Gryffindor laughed, holding a hand to her chest as she did so. “Oh, dear, dear... why do you think they call me the Fat Lady?” she teased. Rhiannon flushed, and mumbled something about not wanting to be rude. “I was only Tina Gryffindor in life, and you may call me that if you wish. But I’m perfectly content to be the Fat Lady and be remembered only for my passwords and my singing voice, and not something my ancestor did.” the Fat Lady replied, leaning forward as if she would have bopped Rhiannon gently on the nose through the painting. “Now, hurry on, don’t waste any more time talking to me – you have the moon to race, don’t you?” the portrait added, and Rhiannon jumped again, casting an eye out the window worriedly. The last of the light was nearly gone.

“Y-y-y-y-e-yes, sorry, thankyou – Madam Tina, miss,” Rhiannon stammered, swinging her backpack back onto her shoulder from where it had slipped down and began the long trip down from the seventh floor as fast as she could, her ankles protesting and threatening to slide out of place the whole way.

Rhiannon bumped into Dudley as she reached the third floor. Her cousin wore a long yellow-and-black striped scarf over his grey school jersey and a pair of black track pants, something Rhi was a little surprised to see as normally he didn’t bother with proper clothes on full moon nights. “You’re late, I was coming to get you!” he puffed, rearranging his scarf and leaning on the rail of the landing they stood on.

“S-s-s-o-sorry,” Rhiannon panted, equally out of breath having tumbled the last of the way down the staircase to the third floor – she had bumped into Dudley in the most literal sense. “Got caught with the portrait, wh-wha-what’s with the, y’know,” she gestured vaguely at his clothes. Dudley sighed. “And you’re the one who’s been here the year before!” he teased her as they walked, feigning exasperation. “It’s the Halloween feast tonight – Professor Sprout said a Friday was a better day for it, and the moon’s apparently auspicious or... something like that, wizardy waffle stuff. Auspicious, ha,” he snorted. “But yeah, that’s why no-one’s around – didn’t want to get caught by anyone leaving early, bit hard to explain pyjamas to a feast. Didn’t you notice everyone was gone?”

Rhiannon blinked and shook her head. “I was reading,” she offered by way of explanation. Dudley snickered. “Alice in Wonderland, by any chance?” he asked. She stared at him. “You know, because you were in a hole- oh, never mind,” he sighed, seeing she didn’t get the joke. They hurried painfully down another flight of stairs to the second floor and made their way through the hallways, still chatting quietly – they could feel the moon’s influence, they had enough time but none extra.

“Oh, Myrtle must be h-h-h-having a good day,” Rhiannon commented as they passed through an older section of the second floor. Dudley shrugged, and made a noise that indicated he didn’t understand why she’d brought it up. “There’s no water on the floor through here, it’s usually flooded – Myrtle, the ghost, she breaks the plumbing in the girls’ bathroom over here when she’s upset – which is, most’ve the time,” Rhi explained with a shrug. Of course Dudley wouldn’t know – he didn’t use the girls’ bathroom.

Dudley nodded absently, and they paused to lean against the wall for a quick breather. Rhiannon rested her forehead against the cold stone wall, breathing heavily. Had her ears not been so sharp, the sound of her breath would have covered it – a dry sliding sound somewhere in the walls above them. Rip, tear... kill, kill, kill... she heard, just as she had a month before. She stared wide-eyed ahead as whatever it was slipped down until it was level with them, moving away. “D-d-dud-ley, can you hear-?” she asked. Her cousin’s brows were drawn together, he scowled and pressed his ear against the wall but whatever it was, it was moving away from them and down, down, deeper into the castle. “I heard something,” he replied. Rhiannon shook herself, and picked up her cane from where she had knocked it to the ground.

No – no! That wasn’t the target!

This was a different voice, sibilant like the first but higher, colder, louder; so loud Rhiannon covered her ears. Dudley shook his head. “You hear something,” he said. That wasn’t a question – it was obvious. He helped Rhi to her feet and she wiped a spot of saliva from her cheek. She nodded shakily, and Dudley checked his watch. He swore. “Shit – Rhi, we have to move, we’ve got fifteen minutes tops,” he hissed.

Galvanised into action, Rhiannon set off at a rushed limp through the last of the hallways and down another set of stairs to the first floor. They hobbled through the maze of corridors and gradually they began to widen out. Rhi barely looked at her surroundings, she knew the way by muscle memory now and so was startled when instead of the dry sound of soft shoes on stone, her foot splashed instead. She looked down, then groaned.

“Guess your Myrtle-ghost found a different bathroom this time,” Dudley said, and Rhiannon nodded glumly. She slowed and placed each foot carefully, not wanting to slip and cause a fuss so close to the Great Hall. Dudley grabbed her arm as they reached a brighter-lit part of the corridor just before the Great Hall door and she jolted to a halt, staring at him. Shakily he pointed across the wide hallway, and slowly Rhiannon looked up.

There, daubed on the wall that separated them from the Great Hall, two-foot high words gleamed wetly in the flickering light cast by torches set on brackets either side.
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
The words sprawled along the hallway, sloping down the further to the right they went as if whoever wrote it had grown tired. Rhiannon sniffed – through the smells of old smoke and dust was something else, worse, acrid. Not blood – the words looked it, but she could tell by the smell it was paint though there were faint traces of blood-scent as there always was with so many human beings around. That was ordinary, this was worse – fear. The hallway stank of it, and it set Rhiannon’s nerves to fizzing with anxiety. She clutched Dudley’s arm with her free one, but his attention was on something else and he edged nearer to the words.

“Something’s – there, in the middle,” he murmured, nodding to where a third torch-bracket stood empty in between the two that stood either side of the ominous message. Something hung from it, something that smelled – Rhiannon could only describe it as wrong, but it was the source of the fear scent. Dudley peered closer, then jolted back in alarm and this time it was Rhiannon’s turn to catch him. “We have to get out of here – something’s not right, we can’t be here -” he said, turning to hurry away outside.

Rhiannon peered closer at what had Dudley so spooked, and as she recognised it she staggered back against the wall, clutching her mouth as she fought the urge to vomit. Mrs. Norris, the caretaker Filch’s cantankerous orange-eyed tortoiseshell-and-white cat, was hung by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, those angry amber eyes wide and staring, but she smelled only of urine and terror – Rhiannon knew instinctively that she would have recognised a death-scent. She pulled her jersey over her mouth and breathed deeply, trying to cover the reek with her own scent, trying to get enough air – nothing. “Rhiannon!” Dudley called out fearfully, and she turned blindly to run towards him, but it was too late. A great door creaked open down the hallway from them, light spilled out and feet sounded like thunder in the now too-small stone space. Students spilled out into the corridor and Rhiannon covered her ears against the noise as they all chattered the meaningless happy talk of well-fed people, then she shrank as she felt their energy change. The chatter, bustle and clamour died to be replaced by whispers and then by silence. Rhiannon stood with her back to the wall across the hall from the cat, facing a crowd of students between her and the way outside. Dudley was trapped on the other side of the crowd, unwilling to leave her but unable to get through

There was a shuffling and a murmur in the still crowd as someone else pushed their way through. “Enemies of the Heir, beware! You’ll be next, Mudbloods!” they cried, and Rhiannon dimly recognised Draco Malfoy. He had been, over the last few weeks, in turns almost fearful of her and then exaggeratedly brash, just as he was being now. His voice shook and cracked as he pitched it too high over the gathering, and Rhiannon could see his hands balled up into fists at his sides. He planted one on his hip to conceal its’ trembling and his face flushed as the crowd parted around him, then he strode forward and affected a grin that trembled at the edges as he jabbed his free hand at the hanging cat. “You’ll be next!” he repeated.

“WHAT is going on here?” a thunderous Scottish-accented voice cried, and the crowd was unceremoniously divided by a wordless spell to allow Minerva McGonagall through. Her gaze lit on Rhiannon and Dudley and the colour drained from her cheeks, Rhiannon could see her mentally searching for the time and finding too little of it. Behind her, other faculty members forced their way through the milling throngs of students, Rhiannon gripped her cane tightly enough that the stylised scales carved on the handle pressed themselves into her hand. A familiar shuffle-thump rang over the hushed whispering, and a hunched figure hobbled through the crowd leaning on a lamp-bearing staff very similar to Hagrid’s. The caretaker Argus Filch looked over the gathering suspiciously, but before he could tell anyone off his attention was caught by his cat, where she hung on the wall. His grip on his staff slackened and it fell from his hands, the lantern smashing on the floor unheeded and the candle inside falling dark as its’ owner rushed to tend his cat. Tenderly he unhooked her tail from where it had been broken and knotted to the bracket and cradled the stiff body in his arms, breathing raggedly and on the edge of tears. He cast wildly about for some answer, some culprit – and his eyes fell on Rhiannon. Faster than Rhi had expected him to be able to move he lunged across the hallway and shoved her back against the wall with his shoulder given he had no hands free. “You! You, you filthy little freak, you’ve murdered my cat! You’ve killed her – I’ll- I’ll- I’ll kill you!” he shrieked, spittle flying from his mouth.

Rhiannon cowered and shrank, tears springing from her eyes. She slid down the wall to the floor and threw her arms over her head, nose shoved once again into her jersey in a vain attempt to escape the fear stink that swamped her. “S-s-s-he-sh-she’s not dead, not dead, not dead, not- not dead!” she sobbed, but Filch couldn’t hear her.

“That is ENOUGH,” McGonagall bellowed, and Rhiannon looked up tearfully to see the professor drag Filch back with the same spell she had used on the students. “Why weren’t you at the feast?” Filch hissed, looking deranged in his misdirected grieving rage. “What sort of student doesn’t go to the feast?”

“I said, enough,” Minerva snapped, and Filch fell silent. Rhiannon’s heart pounded, it felt as if the entire student body stared at her. Professor McGonagall strode past Filch to Rhiannon’s side, and briskly helped the crying girl up, returning her cane as she did so. “Albus,” she said over her shoulder, and Rhiannon tensed against the instinctive revulsion. But Dumbledore wasn’t here for her, instead he swept past to talk quietly to Filch while Minerva had Rhiannon lean on her, partly shielding the girl from the prying eyes of teenagers. “We have minutes,” Professor McGonagall whispered, and Rhiannon nodded wordlessly. She could already feel it burning in her blood. “She-s-s, she’s not – not dead,” Rhiannon repeated dully, and the professor stiffened. She nodded, and turned again to look over Dumbledore. “He’ll handle this – you, we have to go,” McGonagall replied. She raised her wand in her free hand but the crowd parted with only the threat and the two of them made their way through.

They met with Dudley on the other side, along with a frantic Hagrid. Rhiannon was handed over to him so that McGonagall could return to handle the nightmare scene inside, and seeing the state she was in he simply picked her up and carried her out of the castle, out of the entrance courtyard and onto the hills that led down to his house. “Not – not dead, not dead, n-n-not dead, not,” she murmured, while Hagrid hummed deep in his chest. “I’ll tell her, lass. Breathe.” he replied quietly, and then all at once he was setting her down in his garden and the smells were right and she was safe here.

“Blanket,” Dudley suggested to Hagrid as he took Rhi’s backpack from her and set it down with her cane a short distance away. Hagrid nodded and rummaged in the lean-to shed, withdrawing the same heavy wool blanket they’d used before. “Couldn’t use it for a horse now anyway... best consider it yours,” Hagrid said as he laid it over Rhiannon, his voice soft and reassuring, and he patted her shoulder gently through the blanket as he stood and returned to his cabin as he always did during the transformation itself.

Rhiannon didn’t respond, curled on her side she was, but the weight helped and she would thank Hagrid later, when she could. Gradually she uncurled herself as the electric-fierce energy of the change spread from her blood to her muscles, her bones, and she rolled over to stare up at the moon above them, not so much resigned now as relieved, welcoming the release it promised, and her deep sigh became a groan as the change began in earnest. She squeezed her eyes closed and rolled over again, pushed herself onto hands and knees with her head bowed, then realised she was still dressed and tore frantically at her clothes until they lay in rags and she stood black-furred under the moonlight. She sat down and stared up at the moon, then closed her eyes and howled.

Make me forget. I can be human tomorrow. Tonight is for running.