Hogwarts Reimagined

When Rhiannon awoke the next morning and traipsed down to breakfast, she found Madam Hooch waiting for her with a distinct wrapped package in hand. “We checked for curses. Extensively. Packaging, handle, even the care kit – there’s nothing unusual on it save for the fact that it’s a Firebolt given as an anonymous Christmas gift. So, here you go. Your broom.” Madam Hooch grumbled, and reluctantly handed over the parcel. Rhiannon stared down at the wrapped broomstick in her hands and bounced on the balls of her feet, unable to contain her excitement.

“I-h-h-h-h – I can really h-have it back?” Rhiannon asked, and let out a little squeak. Madam Hooch sighed, but the corners of her mouth tilted up in the smallest of smiles.

“There’s no formal rule against it, but I am going to insist that you resume wearing your safety harness until I’m satisfied that you’re used to it. A fall at the speeds that broom can reach would easily be lethal. Now, off you go – better put that back in your room before breakfast, yes?” the Flight instructor suggested, and shooed Rhiannon back out of the hall.

Rhiannon practically scampered upstairs to stow her broomstick, fizzing with excitement at the prospect of using it in the coming Quidditch match that weekend. She ducked past any questions on her way to the dormitory and hastily stowed her broom under her bed before hurrying back downstairs to eat and greet her friends.

The return of the Firebolt was a delight to the whole Gryffindor team, leading Oliver to schedule an extra practice in celebration. As it turned out, that extra practice time was a godsend, as much to Rhiannon’s embarrassment, she was not as immediately used to the Firebolt as she had hoped after so long riding the spare Cleansweep, and the mandated safety harness came in handy more than once. But after several hours of practice Rhiannon was finally feeling in sync with her new temperamental steed, and the team went into their game on Sunday the 1^st of February with high spirits. Much to the Gryffindors’ embarrassment, they won the match only by a close margin – having a single Firebolt put whoever rode it well out of time with the rest of the game and it was a difficult adjustment between practice and real play.

Their next match on the 8th went a lot better, though still a little rocky, leaving them cautiously excited for the match scheduled for the 15^th. Being the day after Valentines’ Day, the whole school regularly turned out to support any teams playing and turned the whole day into something of an occasion. Gryffindor were slated to play against an informal team, but they’d learned by now not to let that make them overconfident, and all too soon Rhiannon, flustered by yet another weekend of mortifying Valentines’ messages and not-too-subtle hints dropped from students of all genders around her age, found herself flying out of the team rooms beneath the stadium and out into the pitch airspace, the chill breeze stinging her cheeks even as she averted her eyes to avoid the bright mid-morning sunlight.

The informal team they faced, calling themselves the Hogwarts Hellhounds, were the highest-ranked non-House team in the tournament, and Rhiannon was more than a little sluggish following the full moon, but with the Firebolt making up for the odd delayed reaction the Gryffindor team quickly drew ahead and Rhiannon ran interference with glee throughout the match, patiently biding her time until Gryffindor had scored enough points that she’d be happy to end the game.

In fact, the only hitch in the game came from a handful of malicious spectators, rather than any full-moon drowsiness or trouble with the new broom. As she circled the pitch like a watchful hawk, Rhiannon’s attention was caught by something strange and out of place.

Three black-cloaked figures hovered, brooding and sullen, at the edge of the pitch. They were close to the ground, not swooping at anyone the way Dementors did but, Dementors they appeared to be, at least by shape. Rhiannon felt none of the choking fear she did with Dementors and, filled with confidence, she drew her wand from the belt sheath she wore over her Quidditch robes, and let her happiest memory wash over her. “Expecto patronum!” she spat, filled with soaring happiness from the mingled memories of Hermione and Luna, and unleashed a whirling shapeless mass of silver light that blasted towards the Dementors.

But Dementors did not stumble. Dementors did not fall, their robes did not tangle or trip them. Rhiannon’s spell revealed them for what they were, as they fought their way free of their oversized cloaks, their Hovering charms knocked from under them. Three students, their uniforms accented in three different colours – yellow, green and purple. Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe, Blaise Zabini; all Draco Malfoy’s former cronies but, as was the theme that year, he was nowhere to be seen.

As Rhiannon hovered before them, flushed with victory and anger, Headmaster McGonagall came down from the stands in a swirl of green robes, almost crackling with fury. “You thought to sabotage the Gryffindor Seeker, in imitating something so fearful and dangerous?” she hissed, wand drawn, as she ruthlessly whipped the oversized cloaks away from the three would-be saboteurs. “Such a display of cheating, and not even for your own house! No, this was a pitiful attempt at bullying, shame on the three of you. You will leave the pitch at once. Report to Argus, he will have work for you until I see fit to arrange proper detentions.”

With that, the three scurried off. Had they been dogs, their tails would have been tucked between their legs and their ears flat with misery as they fled Minerva’s wrath, though that faded as she turned to Rhiannon. “Truly a magnificent defense, young Miss Potter, where ever did you learn to cast a Patronus? Imperfect it may have been, it was still, truly... brilliant, truly brilliant, and in a student your age... Do you need time to collect yourself?”

Rhiannon shook her head, flushing crimson in the still-wintry air. “N-nnnn-nh-no, I-I can play,” she stammered, more flustered by the praise than concerned by the attempted sabotage. “U-u-u-umm-mmm- Re- P-professor Lupin taught me, uh – Luna can do it better, he taught a b-b-b-unch of us.”

Minerva smiled to herself and shook her head, amused. “Then Hogwarts is blessed by not one but many young mages talented beyond their years. Good luck – get back up in the air and I’ll call to continue.” she replied, and shooed Rhiannon away. She went gladly, the chill breeze draining the colour from her cheeks as she returned to her post, surveying the game and occasionally running interference.

Still riding the high of her victory over the would-be-Dementors, Rhiannon beat the Hellhounds’ Seeker Anahera Matautia to the Snitch with moments to spare, marking the Gryffindor team’s first solid win in some time. The stands erupted with cheers, and Rhiannon was suffused with a proud sort of warmth. Minerva had been right, at the start of the year – splitting houses up, allowing others to compete, it all made for better sportsmanship between the teams and she was the first to offer the younger opposing Seeker her congratulations on a brilliant game.

After the match, the Gryffindor team and their supporters, including former teammates now in other houses, drifted back to the common room to celebrate. Ron was distinctly uncomfortable with all eyes on them – they had scored several stellar goals and found themselves the centre of attention along with Rhiannon, flushing and awkwardly ducking away from the shower of compliments directed at them by the rest of the house.

Rather than suffer more unwanted attention, Ron claimed they wanted to tell Scabbers about the victory and hurried off upstairs. Not two minutes passed before a distinctly Weasleyish scream echoed downstairs, and Rhiannon bolted upstairs ignoring the pain in her knees to see what had happened to Ron.

The covers were thrown back on their bed in disarray, with Ron seated at the foot of the bed crying softly and hugging themself as on the sheets was what, to Rhiannon’s keen nose, could only be Scabbers’ blood. The sheets themselves were covered in cat hair, but nothing about that was particularly incriminating – Rhiannon had a cat, as did Sally-Anne, and cats belonging to the older and younger Gryffindors alike could get in and out of the dormitory as they pleased.

“H-he must have gotten out of his cage, and one of the cats...” Ron sniffled, as Rhiannon sat down and pulled them into a sideways hug, hardly minding as their tears stained her shirt. “He’s been so droopy all- all year, I wanted to cheer him up – he always perks up when I talk to him,”

Rhiannon did her best to make some semblance of reassurance, deciding that now was not the best time to point out that Ron usually didn’t seem to like the rat at all and complained about him whenever possible. “I- I’m sorry,” she mumbled ineffectually.

Ron sniffled and sat up, wiping the tears from their face. “No, it’s – it’s not your fault. Cats eat rats – hell, so do owls. And he was a pretty sorry old rat. He was just my rat, you know?”

Rhiannon comforted Ron as best she could, but it was clear they were going to be mopey for some time yet. With their permission she eventually returned to the chaotic gathering downstairs, feeling more than a little guilty that she didn’t know how to help Ron.

Despite the windows being open, the common room was hot, stuffy and a little unpleasant with so many people packed into it, and Rhiannon immediately began to regret coming back downstairs at all. Seeing her discomfort, Fred Weasley sidled over and slung an arm round her shoulders, his long hair tickling her face. “Oy, morons! We’re blessed with the best possible weather for a Scotland winter and you all want to hang out in here? Let’s go outside, ya clowns!” he bellowed, giving Rhiannon just enough time to plug her ears. As the well-wishers gradually began to filter out of the common room, Fred turned back to Rhiannon with a grin. “It’s unusually sunny, we could make a proper picnic out of it or somethin’. Invite your girlfriend, or the other one – what’s their name, Luna? Or both. Both? Both is good,” he suggested with a snicker.

Rhiannon blinked, not understanding the reference, which only amused Fred more. “Don’t – don’t worry about it, it’s a Muggle thing,” he replied. “But seriously – go ask them, it’s practically still Valentines’ for god’s sake, you’ve been tiptoeing around all year and it’s getting painful watching you,” he added, and with probably a little more force than intended he took Rhiannon by the shoulders and shoved her in the direction of where Luna and Hermione were seated, looking more than a little awkward together in one of the many book nooks in the common room.

Rhiannon stumbled to a halt before them and looked down at the floor, already feeling the telltale flush rising in her cheeks. “Uh – I don’t know if you want to but, maybe we could head outs-s-s-i-s-side too?” she stammered, wringing her hands anxiously. “We c-c-could find our own spot, have a – a picnic, or something. Um – Ron and Lavender and stuff can come too, if you like, it doesn’t have to be a- a-a-a- I’m going t’ stop now.”

Luna giggled, and offered a hand to Hermione to help her up. “I think that would be nice. I don’t get to spend a lot of time with you or our friends – you remember, we talked about it a little. Hermione?”

Hermione winced, and looked anxiously between Luna and Rhiannon. “I- I didn’t know you were feeling left out. Sure, we could do that. I’ll go ask the kitchen elves for a picnic basket – it’d be a good chance to bring up our independence petition to them, and I’ve got my purse on me, I can tip them for it.”

Luna grinned and knotted their fingers together as he bobbed in place, quietly Rhiannon resolved to ask Hermione where she had bought the fidget bracelets and rings from and get some for Luna. “That – sounds nice. Rhi, you said Ronald might come? And Lavender – I hope she’s doing better, she looked quite upset the other day. It’d be nice if it was just us, but – perhaps easier if we invited the others along. If you can do that, I’ll go find a picnic blanket and we’ll all meet outside... perhaps on the little hill overlooking the forest? It’ll give us a bit of space from everyone else.”

With that, Rhiannon set off back upstairs to fetch Ron and, leaning on their offered arm to alleviate the pain from the full moon, hobbled out of the castle toward where Luna had suggested they hold their picnic. She and Ron ran into several of their other friends in the corridors and out in the courtyards, including Kellah, Sally-Anne, Neville and most of their other friends in their year group, as well as several from Ginny, Luna and Dudley’s year – Dudley himself, along with Chavi O’Dell, Emrys Affleck, Colin Creevey and Astoria Greengrass. By the time they reached their picnic, the group was rather larger than they had planned, but at least they weren’t boisterous the way the larger gathering was proving to be, so loud that Rhiannon winced and strengthened her auditory jinxes as they passed them.

Luckily, it seemed Hermione had anticipated their party growing and brought enough supplies for all of them. She shrugged sheepishly and beckoned Ron and Rhiannon over to where she and Luna were seated at the very edge of the group, sharing a blanket around their shoulders to ward off the biting breeze – sunny though the day was, it was still definitely winter. A large wicker picnic basket rested off to one side, delicious smells wafting from it as Rhiannon perched awkwardly on the edge of the blanket. The cold didn’t bother her like it did her human friends – in fact, autumn and winter were the only times of year she didn’t have to walk about the castle with Chilling Charms clinging to her uniform.

“Um – now we’re all here, I have a – surprise, kinda thing.” Hermione began awkwardly, and she shuffled forward to take hold of the picnic basket. Lifting the lid with one hand, she took hold of her wand in the other and muttered the incantation for the levitation charm. Out rose a large cake, some kind of carrot cake by the smell – the spices and the cream cheese icing distracted Rhiannon’s nose, and Hermione giggled as Rhiannon realised she’d drifted into a sort of happy reverie.

“It was Luna’s birthday on Friday and I know it’s school, we can’t usually do a lot but – I figured, maybe we could do something today. Don’t worry, I remembered about your uh- allergies, there’s no almonds or macadamias mixed in, just walnuts and hazelnuts, should be alright so long as you only have a little.” Hermione explained bashfully. With another flick of her wand she lit the candles on top, candles Rhiannon hadn’t noticed at first glance but now were all she could see as thirteen tiny flames glowed in the afternoon sun. Flames. Flames spreading through dry leaves, crackling at her feet, flames reflected from a dozen pairs of animal eyes, the smoke biting her nostrils. Dudley screaming and falling, the flames licking at the roots where he fell, half-formed shapes slinking closer...

Dimly, Rhiannon realised someone was shaking her, the coarse fibres of a woollen blanket scratching her cheeks as someone placed it around her shoulders. “Quick, Luna, blow them out – I’m so sorry Rhi, I had no idea.” Hermione murmured.

“That – that night,” Rhiannon stammered, her voice hoarse as gradually her muscles relaxed and her heart rate slowed to a more normal pace – a little slower than a human’s at rest, though it also tended to spike far higher than a human’s would. “That night I- I cast a fire spell. When they attacked, I – I just ran through everything I could think of, there wasn’t much and- the sparks set in the leaves, it w-w-w-w-assss- was summer and it spread, I can’t-” she stammered helplessly, almost babbling now in a helpless effort to explain herself. She was stopped by not one but two pairs of arms, as both Hermione and Luna hugged her tightly.

“No fire,” Luna replied softly. “There’s no fire, I blew it out. I’m sorry Rhi, I wish we’d known.”

Rhiannon shook her head, dully rousing herself from her fearful stupor. “No, it’s- ‘s fine,” she slurred clumsily. “’s y’r birthday, ‘course there’s candles, I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin it.”

“It’s my birthday with my friends.” Luna corrected her firmly. “You can’t ruin something that’s for you too.”

Rhiannon winced, and realised she’d been picking at her nails. She tried to relax as best she could, settling against Hermione’s sturdy shoulder, with Luna leaning against hers in turn. “Still, I- I’m sorry,” she murmured. But Luna, slowly enough that Rhiannon could pull away if she felt claustrophobic, covered her lips with a hand.

“No. That’s what you see when the Dementors get you, isn’t it? And for it to be triggered by something as small as a candle – I don’t, want you feeling like you’re facing a Dementor here, with us. You don’t need to be sorry for that.” Luna replied softly.

Rhiannon made a sad noise in her throat, a puppyish whine, and the both of them hugged her tighter. Ron coughed awkwardly, some torn daisies draped across their hands as Rhiannon looked up at them. “Uh – if you’re okay, sorry just – I know it feels bad when you dwell on stuff, and – I could cut the cake if you’d like some, then hand it out to everyone else? Yeah, after they’ve had some, Morag, it’s Luna’s birthday, let ‘em go first!”

Luna, Rhiannon and Hermione all extricated themselves from the hug pile they’d made, and replaced the blanket so that it lay across all three of their shoulders as they leaned forward eagerly. “Yes please, Ronald – it smells delicious. But, let me help you with that daisy chain, here,” Luna replied, leaning over to take the torn pieces from Ron’s hands. As Ron sliced the cake with a knife from the picnic basket, Luna neatly wove the flowers in with others from the grass beside her. Then, flowers now woven in a delicate crown, he exchanged them for a paper plate laden with a slice of delicious-smelling cake.

A little awkwardly and with Luna’s laughing help, Ron settled the crown on their head where it nested among untidy auburn waves. Two red spots danced high on their cheeks as they threw back their head laughing at some wry comment Lavender made, looking happier than Rhiannon had seen them in a long time – really happy, not just fine. And Rhiannon revelled in the glow that shone off that happiness, a light that drove back the last frost-ferns of her panic attack even before she took the first bite of the deliciously rich, nutty, cinnamon-y cake.

“I like this. Your friends are very nice,” Luna said quietly, wearing a small, genuine smile on zir heart-shaped face – for faer, a broad show of emotion, especially in public. “Hermione and I usually study together, Faye gets my stuff back when Julian and Eva hide it but, it’s nice to meet everyone else. It doesn’t feel so – bah, lonely I guess. Didn’t realise I was ‘til I met you.”

Rhiannon grinned and squeezed Luna’s shoulder where her arm lay over it. “Hey, I’m a wolf,” she replied, whispering the last word so that it didn’t go beyond their little huddle. “You’re all my – pack, I suppose, that’s how Nyx – how I - think of you. Packs aren’t supposed to be lonely, we’re supposed to be family.”

Luna’s smile brightened, finally reaching their eyes as Rhiannon realised tears sparkled there, unshed behind the blue-violet lenses of vir glasses. “Family,” she whispered, his melodic voice a little hoarse. “It’s been just me ‘n Dad, and then you two came along and – I’ve never been good at making friends but you – thankyou. For all of this, it’s – magic. Like I could cast the world’s best Patronus.”

Rhiannon took Luna’s hand and nodded to the wand at their hip with a smile. “Then why don’t you try?” she suggested.

Luna took xir wand from its worn leather pocket and held it in a trembling hand, and Rhiannon closed her own hand over theirs. “Expecto Patronum,” Luna whispered, as together fae and Rhiannon pointed the wand at the sky. And from it erupted a great silver beast, all conversation ceasing as it prowled the sky above them, lean with muscle under a heavy coat marked with striking rosettes, rippling as the cat – for it could only be a great cat – lashed its’ heavy tail and stretched luxuriously before padding over to touch its’ nose to Luna’s forehead. As Luna’s tears finally fell, his smile stretching so wide it pushed her glasses off-balance, the great snow-leopard vanished leaving behind only silver sparkles and the most brilliant, powerful joy any of them had ever witnessed shared between all of them as the others crowded in to congratulate Luna. A pack they were indeed, wolves, cats and silver sparkles alike, all together under the Scottish sky.