Hogwarts Reimagined

Content warning: Child abuse and neglect, misgendering, self harm (Dobby), a lot of yelling, threats, physical abuse

You may recall what transpired at the end of Rhiannon’s story last. How she was returned without warning to the Dursley house, with no possibility of escape and no hope for the future. But she was not entirely alone – she found a surprising ally in the cousin who had once bullied her. So while the house seemed to be walled with fear rather than brick and plaster, there was one tiny bright spot, one shallow gleam of hope. And for someone in a situation that seems hopeless, sometimes, that is enough.

As June drew to an end, Rhiannon and her cousin grew closer. More than once, Rhiannon was sure she would have given up without him there. They talked mostly through the hole in the closet wall – as it turned out, that had been from Uncle Vernon’s fist. Rhi wasn’t sure what she had expected when she left – if she was being honest, she hadn’t thought of it at all. But Dudley was only the golden boy by comparison. Without a comparison... the Dursleys needed a new scapegoat. And he was nearest. So he had been pulled from the boarding program at Smeltings and enrolled in its’ day program, to come home every night under his parents’ watchful eyes.

The days took up a certain monotony. Rhiannon started to read out loud to her cousin at night through the wall, stories from the Faraway Tree. She wouldn’t have known what day it was had it not been for him. Her birthday drew nearer as a sort of nebulous nothing date, looming while at the same time – it brought nothing with it. Only another year older.

But something broke the routine. It was the tenth of July, on a sweltering afternoon, and her aunt and uncle had planned a dinner party with some important guests. As had been reiterated, a business deal for Vernon’s firm hinged on this meeting going well – and so the two of them were to stay upstairs, making no noise, and pretending they didn’t exist. This wasn’t unusual to either of them by this point, so they huddled together in their opposing cupboards quietly sharing the Faraway Tree after their meagre dinner of marmite toast. And it would have continued this way into nothing important, had a very strange guest not invited themself into the Dursley house with a sharp crack.

The stranger was all of two feet tall. They had bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls and batlike ears, and they wore a garment of what looked to be a pillow-case, filthy and barely recognisable. They bowed, so low their long thin nose touched the floor. “Harry Potter!” said the intruder in a high-pitched, thin voice.

Rhiannon shook her head and waved her hands. “Ssh, sssh, p-please,” she whispered desperately. On the other side of the wall Dudley was absolutely silent. There had been some muttering from downstairs at the crack and a holler from Uncle Vernon to pipe down, but no further commentary – and Rhiannon had to keep it that way.

“W-wh-who are you?” she asked, seeing little else to do.

“Dobby, sire. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf,” said the creature.

Rhiannon winced, shaking her head to clear the wrong term from her hearing. “Oh. U-um. I d-d-don’t want to be rude or anything s-since you’ve clearly come a long way but um. I-it’s Rhiannon. And t-this isn’t a great time for me to have an – elf – in my b-bedroom.” she stammered.

The elf hung his head. “N-not that I’m not pleased to meet you!” Rhiannon added hurriedly, “but, i-is there any particular reason you’re here? A-and, it’s miss. Please. Sorry.”

Dobby’s great green eyes welled up with tears. “Sorry? Sorry, as if Dobby was an equal?” he whispered. He fell face-first on the carpet and kissed Rhiannon’s feet. She shrank back, shaking her head, holding out her hands desperately trying to placate the poor creature.

“I’m s-s-sorry, I didn’t mean to o-offend you or anything, please sit down – here, I have some water but it’s not much,” Rhiannon stammered, her heart rate climbing as Dobby sobbed louder.
“Offend Dobby!” choked the elf, his tone incredulous. “Dobby has never – never been asked to sit down – offered sustenance – not by a wizard-”

The elf’s protests descended into hysterical sobs, and he clung to Rhiannon’s leg as she sat back down inside the wardrobe. “What’s going on?” Dudley asked through the wall, and she shook her head. “N-n-no idea. Sorry – he’s obviously from the m-m-magical world but...” she replied, bewildered. “D-dobby, where did you come from? T-this must be very out of your way – is there a reason you’re here?” Rhi repeated her earlier question, returning her attention to the elf.

Dobby’s tears subsided, and he looked up at the sound of Rhiannon’s voice – it hurt her heart to see he almost flinched away from it, expecting her to berate him.

“Oh yes s- miss, miss Potter,” said Dobby earnestly. “Dobby has come to tell you miss... it is difficult, miss... Dobby wonders where to begin,”

Rhiannon shook her head. Gently she lifted the elf upright, he’d bowed and flattened himself to the floor again as he struggled to find the words, and she sat facing him cross-legged on the floor. “I-it’s alright, t-t-take some time to figure it out just... be quiet, please,” she whispered, hoping she sounded reassuring. She hadn’t had a lot of practice at that.

Dobby sat on his knees, palms flat on his bony thighs as he stared at the ground, looking like a very ugly animate doll. At last he managed to control himself, and stared up at Rhiannon with a discomforting expression of watery adoration.

“Y-y-you can’t have met many decent wizards,” said Rhiannon, trying to cheer the little elf up. “There’s some pretty terrible ones, a-a-at least from what I’ve seen.”

Dobby shook his head. Then, all of a sudden, he leapt to his feet and dashed over to the wall, beginning to bang his head furiously against it, shouting all the while. “Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!”

Dudley flinched, and Rhiannon stared in horror. She hesitated for a moment and then lunged for the skinny elf, holding him tightly against her own thin chest as he flailed desperately to get back to the wall. “N-n-no, please, stop, you don’t have to – please stop,” Rhiannon begged, and eventually the elf’s struggles subsided and she judged it safe to let him go.

“Dobby had to punish itself, miss,” said the elf, who had gone slightly cross-eyed. An ugly lump was beginning to show on his dirty forehead. “Dobby almost spoke ill of its family, miss.”

“Your family?” Rhiannon asked slowly, not knowing exactly what Dobby meant, guessing only that the word didn’t mean what it looked like.

“The noble family Dobby serves, miss... Dobby is a house elf – bound to serve one house and one family forever.” said Dobby, his tone matter-of-fact, as if repeating something that everyone should know.

Rhiannon was sick to her stomach. “D-d-do they know y-ou’re here?” she asked hesitantly. Dobby shook his head violently, casting glances back at the wall.

“Oh no, miss, no... Dobby will have to punish itself most grievously for coming to see you, s- miss. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven door for this. If ever they knew, miss...” the elf trailed off, covering his crumpled ears – indeed, burned and bruised at the tips – as he spoke.

“W-w-well that’s, horrible... W-w-won’t they notice, if you have to shut your e-e-ears in the oven d-d-door?” Rhiannon murmured, for lack of anything else to say.

“Oh no miss. Dobby is always having to punish itself for something, miss – Dobby is a very bad house elf. Too wilful, they says, too much thinkings.” Dobby replied hastily, almost as if he was trying to reassure Rhiannon that this was normal. “They lets Dobby get on with it, miss – assume Dobby has had bad thoughts, been talking... Sometimes they reminds Dobby to do extra punishments. For safety, see.”

Rhiannon didn’t ask why the elf didn’t leave – it was so obvious he couldn’t. It would be like asking why she didn’t leave the Dursleys’. Sometimes it felt like she would be shut in this room, let out only for the bathroom, until she died. She reached out a hand and took one of Dobby’s, larger than her own with long calloused fingers. “I-I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I-is there anything anyone can do? I can do? I u-understand you can’t just, n-not do the punishments... they’ll see... but c-can you clean them after? Be careful, p-please,”

Rhiannon almost wished she hadn’t spoken. Far from the quiet reassurance she had intended, Dobby instead burst out sobbing and wailing, incoherent in a mixture of grief and misplaced gratitude. “N-n-no, please – p-please be quiet, if the Dursleys hear – if they know you’re here...” she begged, already seeing her meagre meals vanishing from the foreseeable future.

Dobby covered his mouth with his hands, still shaking but his sobs mercifully muffled. When the elf calmed somewhat he released himself, laying his hands flat on the floor and bending over, breathing deeply just like Rhiannon did when she was overwhelmed. “H-h-harry Potter asks to help Dobby... Dobby has heard of your greatness, miss, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew...”

Rhiannon shook her head, hugging her knees to her chest. “I-I’m Rhiannon. Not Harry. Not a-anymore, not here.” she mumbled. “W-wh-whatever you’ve heard is... from who... o-oh it’s so typical w-wizards would talk about me being some great h-h-hero, instead of them valuing being a decent p-p-person,” Rhiannon’s protests dissolved into bitterness, and she rested her head forward on her knees in exhaustion.

“Miss Potter – Rhiannon, Potter, is humble and modest,” said Dobby reverently. His great orblike eyes glowed with a fervour that Rhiannon found incredibly discomforting while at once familiar – worshipping the presence of the first person to be kind to them in a long time, maybe ever. She knew that feeling.

“They spoke much of Harry Potter’s triumph over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but miss – Rhiannon – doesn’t speak of it at all,” Dobby continued. Again, Rhiannon shook her head. “N-n-no. Accident. N-nothing special I did.” she mumbled, remembering the way Quirrell – and his master – had been repelled from her that night less than a month ago. Rhi couldn’t even remember what she had done. It wasn’t as if she had outwitted him, out-duelled him – just right place, right circumstances, right time.

“Miss Potter is valiant and bold,” said Dobby worshipfully – to silent protests from Rhiannon herself, but he could not be dissuaded. “Miss Potter has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect Miss Potter, yes, to warn her, even if it must stoke the fire with its hands later – Miss Potter must not go back to Hogwarts.”

Rhiannon stared, sick to her stomach. Her first instinct was to point at the bars on her window, laugh, cry – anything. Hogwarts was a far-off memory.
“I-I-I can’t. I w-w-w-asn’t going b-b-back anyway. See the b-b-bars? They’re g-going to ship me off to a h-h-h-home and everyone will forget about me.” Rhiannon stammered, feeling tears burn her eyes as she struggled to keep her voice steady. “I-I-I don’t think you have anything to w-w-worry about, I’m stuck here.”
Silent sobs wracked her body and Rhiannon pressed back into the wardrobe, hugging her knees to her chest, at once wistful for what Hogwarts had brought her and so unspeakably betrayed by the whole idea of it.

Dobby chewed at the callouses on his fingertips, considering this. It was obvious he hadn’t expected any of this. “W-w-well, if Miss Potter is safe, then...” he mused, and Rhiannon shook her head desperately. “N-n-no!” she exclaimed helplessly, louder than she had intended. There was a break in the conversation downstairs and for a terrible moment Rhiannon thought that she could hear footsteps on the stairs, but there was nothing. She took a deep breath, twisting her hands together, still shaking her head. “N-n-not safe. He said I’d be s-s-safe but I’m not, I’m not -” Rhi cut herself off and hit herself in the temple, trying to refocus herself. Dobby grabbed her wrist, eyes wide and frightened. “Miss mustn’t punish herself! Punishments is for house-elves, miss, not wizards,” Dobby pleaded.

Rhiannon bit her lip, a desperate plan occurring to her. Everything she owned was already in the backpack at the foot of her bed. The Dursleys had been unable to take her wand from her by some magic of its’ own, and it poked into her hip from where it was stuck into the belt of her too-big shorts. “You... I d-d-don’t know w-why but you came to w-w-warn me, right? To keep me safe? But I’m n-not safe. Can you help me? Please. Please, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry but – if you help me, I’ll stay away from Hogwarts. I promise I won’t t-t-t-try to go back.” she stammered, the beginnings of her idea flooding out. She heard Dudley’s breath hitch, and the other boy went very still on the far side of the wall. “A-a-and Dudley. Too. Please. I’m s-s-s-sorry, there’s no one else – but you got in like that.... c-c-c-could you get us out? Just to Fairlands station, we can catch a b-b-bus from there, Dudley has a pass. We’ll go away and we won’t come back and we’ll be safe... Wait – wait – no, no we can’t, it’s too late, no buses this late... Mrs Figg! Yes – we’ll be safe there. Ssame s-s-s-street, number fifteen.”

Dobby was silent. For a horrible moment Rhiannon thought he would refuse – it was an incredibly unfair thing to ask of him, of course he would, she was being stupid asking him to put himself in more danger for her.
But instead, the elf nodded. He stared up at Rhiannon with those too-discerning green eyes, and pointed silently to the cupboard. “Miss Potter’s friend is there, yes? Through the wall? Yes. Yes, Dobby can take you both, if keeps Miss Potter safe.” he agreed, his whole body beginning to shake. Rhiannon recognised the panicked introspection in his eyes, thinking of the punishment that would lie ahead – and for her – but she couldn’t bring herself to take any of it back as the prospect of freedom once again stood before her. She stood up and grabbed the tattered backpack that lay on the floor by the bed, shoving what little clothes weren’t already inside into it. “D-d-Dudley, grab your wallet,” she whispered as she returned to Dobby and the wardrobe again. There was a rustling of movement on the other side of the wall as presumably her cousin gathered his own things, what little he could carry too, and then a scraping of plaster as Dobby reached his thin arm through the hole in the wall. “Take my hand, Miss Potter, Miss Potter’s friend, if you might,” he said. Rhiannon did so, then flinched and shrank back against the wall as she heard footsteps on the stairs – for real this time. “U-under the bed!” she hissed, and Dobby scuttled for cover as Uncle Vernon reached the upstairs landing. Rhi expected her door to be flung open at any moment, for Uncle Vernon to throw her against the wall and tell her he’d heard everything. But his heavy footsteps passed her room and instead made their way to Dudley’s door.

Rhiannon heard a hasty rustle and a slam as Dudley stood and presumably closed the wardrobe, hurriedly she crossed the room and did the same. She needn’t have bothered.
“WHAT is all this NOISE?” Uncle Vernon thundered, and even through the wall his voice froze Rhiannon to the spot. “What’s going on up here? Your room is a mess, boy – pick it up, school-bag still on the floor – unacceptable. What were the rules for tonight, hmm? No noise. No damn noise. IS THAT SUCH A BIG ASK?” Vernon carried on.

“WELL?” he asked again, clearly expecting an answer. Dudley’s response was too quiet to hear, but whatever it was it wasn’t to Uncle Vernon’s satisfaction. Words were lost through the wall, but the sound of Uncle Vernon’s fist connecting with some part of her cousin was not.
“And let that be a lesson to you, little tyke,” Uncle Vernon growled as he slammed Dudley’s door. Rhiannon’s heart was in her mouth and she sat on her bed with the Wishing Chair in her hands, backpack returned to the floor. Uncle Vernon’s footsteps passed her door and made their way to the landing, and then hesitated. They stopped, and then drew closer, and suddenly Rhiannon’s door was thrown open. Uncle Vernon loomed against the light from the hallway, Rhiannon’s own room was dark – she read only by a tiny bedside lamp, the main light long since broken.

“And you, freak – what are you up to in here?” Vernon growled menacingly. Rhiannon had no response, she only shook her head frantically. Uncle Vernon didn’t like that. “I ASKED YOU A QUESTION, BOY,” he thundered, and Rhiannon choked on her words. She had nothing. No clever solution. Only panic. “R-r-r-reading,” she mumbled, showing him the book. Uncle Vernon snorted, and turned away. Then he turned back, and suddenly he was in her room, the book in his hands and he himself leaning over her as she flattened herself into the corner of the wall, trying desperately to suppress the tears that threatened to overflow. Tears were weakness.

“Reading,” Uncle Vernon repeated, his voice low and mocking. “READING DOESN’T SOUND LIKE A BULL-WHIP THROUGH A DAMN AMPLIFIER.” he snarled. He slammed the heavy hardback into Rhiannon’s ribs and she groaned – at that, her uncle hit her again. “Tell the truth, boy,” he hissed, and Rhiannon was sure she saw murder in his eyes.

From that, everything happened all at once. There was a rustling sound, and then another deafening crack. Rhiannon’s heart sank – Dobby must have Disapparated. But her fears were unfounded as with a third echoing snap the elf reappeared before her, his hand raised and wide eyes positively popping with fury.

“Nobody hurts Miss Potter,” Dobby said, his voice breaking on her name. Rhiannon choked back a hysterical sob, terrified for the little elf as Uncle Vernon rounded on him and raised his fist. Dobby clutched Rhiannon’s backpack in his grubby hand, and as Uncle Vernon took a swing at him he ducked between the man’s legs and scrabbled up on to the bed to stand in front of Rhiannon, the strangest protector knight anyone could ever have.

“What is this,” Uncle Vernon snarled, a vein pulsing dangerously in his neck. Rhiannon shook her head, petrified with fear. Dobby’s grubby hand closed around her wrist, and the elf faced down Uncle Vernon without flinching. “Nobody hurts Miss Potter,” Dobby repeated, his voice steadier this time. He raised his free hand and Uncle Vernon staggered backwards a step, then shook his head.

“Nobody – not a giant, not some freakish filth gnome, tells me what to do in my own HOUSE!” Uncle Vernon thundered. He lunged for them again and Rhiannon closed her eyes, desperately raising her arms as some vain sort of protection, when there was a fourth shattering crack.

The sensation was a familiar one. Pulled through space, squished and pulled at in equal measure, Rhiannon felt bile rising in her throat. And then just as disorientingly, it was over. They stood outside in the mild July dusk, Rhiannon’s bare feet on concrete. Somebody else took her hand, and Rhiannon opened her teary eyes. They were outside on Privet Drive, near enough that she could hear Uncle Vernon still hollering from the upstairs room of Number Four, but they were instead at number fifteen and Dudley was holding her hand.

Rhiannon tipped her head back to the sky, dizzy and sick and shaken, breathing deeply. Dobby released her wrist and she looked down again, the elf pressed her backpack into her hand. With a nod and a final deafening snap, Dobby vanished. Now they were alone. The two children looked at eachother and, seeing there was nothing else for it, they made their way up to the door of number fifteen, Privet Drive. It was not dissimilar from the Dursleys’ house, only smaller. Together they knocked on the door, irrationally frightened that the Dursleys could hear them out there in the dark.

Of course they couldn’t. They were too far away. But that didn’t stop the crushing terror that they would be caught, discovered – anything.
But nobody came for them. Instead, the door to number fifteen cracked open and Rhiannon saw an eye peering out briefly before it was opened wide, revealing Mrs Figg standing there in a fluffy nightgown. A fat black cat wound around the old woman’s ankles as she stared at them in shock. Then she enveloped them both in a hug, surprisingly strong for someone so small.

“Come in, come in,” Mrs Figg said, ushering the two of them inside. She locked the door behind them and helped them both to the couch, bustling around muttering to herself and fretting. “No need to explain, no need, just sit and rest. I’ll go and get the spare room made up for you – someone will have to take the mattress on the floor but that’s no matter...“ she carried on, and Rhiannon dimly heard a cacophony of clanking from whatever Mrs Figg was doing, but before she could ask there was a mug of what smelled like hot chocolate being pressed into her shaking hands. She opened her mouth to thank their rescuer, but Mrs Figg was already hurrying away still muttering to herself.

The two of them were left alone to drink their hot chocolate while Mrs Figg made up the beds. They still clung tightly to their respective backpacks, afraid to let go, unable to relax. Even when they were ushered through the house and into the spare bedroom, neither had really anything they could say for themselves, and Mrs Figg seemed to notice because she left them alone after that with a reassurance that they would be safe for the night and to call for her if they needed anything.

Rhiannon didn’t have even the energy to undress herself. She fell into bed fully clothed and curled up, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. It had all happened too fast, all at once. She and Dudley had barely exchanged ten words since they had arrived, shellshocked, but her cousin’s hand remained firmly clasped in hers as they lay there, he on the mattress on the floor, she reaching down out of the low trestle bed beside. It felt like letting go would have broken the spell, if they let go they would be transported back to the Dursleys and it would all be over. Dudley had had to pry her backpack from her hands to get into bed at all. But as all exhausted people do, eventually the both of them fell asleep. And for the first night in weeks, they were safe.