Hogwarts Reimagined

Content warning: Discussion of enslavement and the boundaries of such. Traumatic injury. Discussion of fantasy and real-world connected bigotry.

When Rhiannon awoke, it was to a pounding head and an aching arm. The nerves had gone half-dead, and as she opened her eyes and gradually adjusted to the light and her poor vision without her glasses on, she guessed it to have been some time since her fall. She moved her good hand, felt at what she lay on – the coarse hospital blanket. Over top of her was a softer one, weighted and pulled aside so as to not weigh on her boneless arm. Rhi wrinkled her nose and took in a deep breath, then sighed as the acridly clean scents of potions and disinfectant confirmed her location. The hospital wing. And someone must have charmed her clean, there was no trace of mud to be found either by touch or scent,

“You really should have come straight to me, dear,” a warm, motherly but very irritated voice chided her. Rhiannon managed a half-smile – Madam Pomfrey had always been kind to her, if a little less than understanding about sports. “I can mend bones in a moment, but growing them back -” Madam Pomfrey continued, little more than a fuzzy grey-and-white blur visible through the winking sparks and black patches in Rhiannon’s spectacle-less and worn out vision.

“Y-yo-you w-w-will be able too, right?” Rhi stammered, suddenly very frightened. She didn’t want to have her arm like this forever. She needed this arm.

Madam Pomfrey patted Rhiannon’s good hand gently. “Of course I can. But I am a medic, not a miracle worker – it’s going to take time, and it’s going to hurt.” she said frankly. She bent down and something rustled as she retrieved it and pressed it into Rhiannon’s useful hand – by the feel of it, pyjamas. She stood and walked out of Rhiannon’s choppy field of vision, Rhi covered her ears as the nurse pulled the curtains closed around the bed with a metallic clatter.

“Put those on, and I’ll be back with the draught in a few minutes,” said Madam Pomfrey from outside the curtain. Her shoes clicked softly against the hard floor as she walked away, and Rhiannon groaned and sat up. It was a little difficult to throw off the weighted blanket with only one arm, even more so to undress as every twist of her boneless arm made Rhiannon’s stomach turn. But Madam Pomfrey had known Rhiannon would not be comfortable with any assistance in dressing, and Rhiannon was grateful that the issue hadn’t even been raised.

It took more than a few minutes before Rhiannon had wriggled, coaxed and bullied her weary, stinging body into the pyjamas provided for her. At least Madam Pomfrey was aware enough to ask before pulling back the curtains, and rather than some people she did actually give Rhiannon time to answer before doing so. So at last, Rhiannon was clothed in her own fuzzy purple pyjamas and her Quidditch robes and dirty socks were piled as neatly as she could managed one-handed beside her bed. She found her glasses on the bedside table, but putting them on was no use – her eyes refused to focus, and her vision was still fragmented and glittery, so she discarded them again.

“I’m o-okay now, Madam Pomfrey,” she called meekly, and heard the nurse’s approach heralded again by the click-thud of her shoes and the muffled rustle of her skirt or robes – Rhiannon couldn’t tell which, she hadn’t had her glasses on before. The curtains were pulled aside, and this time Rhiannon knew to cover her ears and block out the clatter of the metal curtain rings.

To Rhiannon’s surprise, instead of briskly attending to Rhi as she did the other patients in the wing, Madam Pomfrey drew a small metal-framed chair closer to the bed and seated herself beside Rhiannon. Though Rhiannon couldn’t see it, the nurse’s kind face was wrinkled with worry and faint blurs of movement accompanied her twisting her hands around the ceramic bottle she held in her lap.

“Have you been alright, this year?” Madam Pomfrey asked Rhi carefully, keeping her voice to a hush as there were others in the room. She took out her wand, and with a gesture and a quiet mutter she set the air to gleaming a faint shimmer-pearl around them - that Rhiannon could see, making her wonder if it wasn’t really her eyes that perceived it. “Your dysphoria hasn’t been troubling you, on top of everything else? Don’t worry, no one can hear.”

Rhiannon frowned, and went to shrug. The sensation of her limp arm turning over at her side was too disturbing, she stopped the motion in a hurry and wiggled her good hand non-committally instead. “M-mo-mostly?” she tried, wincing at her stutter. She turned the question over in her head, considering it more closely. “Hon-o-hhh-honestly, I’ve been m-more stressed about, you know, woof. It’s only the la-l-ll-last few weeks I’ve been able to really think about my own skin again instead of the furry one.” she admitted, with a self-deprecating smile.

Madam Pomfrey’s smile was a weary one too, not that Rhiannon would know it by sight – she guessed it from the nurse’s voice. “I should have expected that,” Madam Pomfrey replied wryly. Her blurred features creased again with some unseen motion. “Still... you know you can come to me and ask, yes? You’re coming to the age now, and there are things we can do to help with the changes your body is going to go through. Just think about it – since you’re stuck here for the night.”

Rhiannon grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut. She shook her head and swayed in place, feeling like the movement had knocked something loose. “If it’s alright with you... I’ve already got one kind of change to think about, the only extra one I could f-f-f-it is changing my arm back to normal. Um. Sorry, miss.” she responded flatly, then winced and apologised as she realised she’d been a little rude.

Madam Pomfrey patted Rhiannon’s good hand gently and her smile grew a little wry – just the faintest down-turning of her mouth that Rhiannon could make out. “No, no, it’s alright, the fault is mine – it’s not a good time, I just so rarely get to see you and I didn’t want to pull you away from your studies earlier. We’ll talk about it another time. You take this and rest. There’s some books in the drawer of that table on the right, and your shoes are in the cupboard under them along with some clothes for tomorrow, your friends brought them in. If you’re still awake by dinnertime I’ll find something for you.” she reassured Rhiannon warmly.

With that, Madam Pomfrey fished around in the pockets of the apron she wore over her robes, and retrieved a small glass with lines embossed on the side. She set that on the bedside table she had indicated to Rhiannon and uncorked the ceramic bottle she still held in her lap. From that she measured out a dose of an astringent-smelling red-orange potion, and handed the glass of it to Rhiannon, who scowled at the foggy sunset blob in her hand.

Rhiannon sniffed the potion and recoiled, grimacing. She would have liked to pinch her nostrils, it smelled intensely mineral and clogged her senses. She scowled at the glass a moment longer then hurriedly knocked it back, and immediately doubled over coughing and gagging.

“Tha-that’s, worse than – wolfsbane!” Rhiannon spluttered breathlessly. Vainly she tried to wipe the cloying mineral taste from her mouth, succeeding only in sliming all over her hand and face. She was very lucky that Madam Pomfrey’s protective spell still held, or she would have just unintentionally revealed herself to the other occupants of the hospital wing and in realising that she sobered. Grimacing, she reached over to set the glass upright on the bedside table from where it had fallen, and nodded stiffly to Madam Pomfrey.

“Skele-Gro. You’ll learn to brew it, and other potent remedies, in the O.W.L. curriculum later on, but you’re right – it’s not pleasant. Unfortunately it’s the only thing for this job, and sugar renders it useless. Now, just call if you need me, I won’t be far.” the nurse said dryly. She took the glass from Rhiannon’s bedside and stood, and with a nod to Rhiannon she pulled the curtains closed around the bed so that Rhiannon could rest in peace.

______________________________________________________

Rhiannon tried to listen to a book for a while, but soon after taking the potion her arm began to pulse and stab unpleasantly and she gave up. She settled herself in bed and pulled the weighted blanket up to cover herself, bracing herself to manage the sensation of her useless arm and gritting her teeth against the pain in it as she gripped the glove-like limb and laid it very carefully over top of the weighted blanket. After that, she dozed fitfully – the discomfort was more an annoyance than anything else, and she suspected it would have been a lot more uncomfortable to a regular human who didn’t experience severe pain regularly.

Rhi was indeed awake come dinnertime, and she managed to eat several cheese sandwiches that Madam Pomfrey brought her. She was ravenously hungry, but her stomach twisted uneasily and she doubted she’d be able to manage anything more complicated. After that, she set her book to reading itself quietly – Madam Pomfrey helped her with another area silence charm so that she’d not disturb the other residents of the hospital wing, once she realised Rhiannon couldn’t see properly – and slowly Rhi drifted back into her doze.

From there, Rhi eventually fell asleep. And she must have slept for some time, because when she woke again the lights had been put out and the hospital wing was quiet. She didn’t mean to, but on waking she moved her arm inadvertently and yelped – it felt now like it was full of splinters where bones should be, and her abused nerves shrieked in protest. Was that what had woken her? She shook her head and shifted her legs, intending to go right back to sleep.

It was on attempting to move her legs that Rhiannon realised it wasn’t the splintering in her arm that had woken her. A light but very definite and very unsteady weight pressed on her shins, and Rhiannon went very stiff and very quiet as she tried to figure out what it might be. She couldn’t see anything useful, and even less from this angle, so she very carefully pushed herself upright with her good arm and drew her knees up to face whatever was there.

Before her, fractured in Rhiannon’s vision and dim in the low light, two great green orbs hung in midair, connected to a less-distinct greyish shadow. Rhiannon’s breath hitched, and her lips trembled as a mostly-buried memory prickled at her. She’d seen those before, in light not unlike this. She’d spoken to their owner – she’d promised him... Rhiannon shivered and pressed her good hand to her mouth, sudden tears springing to her eyes as she realised who this was.

“Dobby?” she whispered, her voice hoarse. It echoed oddly and she tilted her head, then realised Madam Pomfrey must have dropped the area of silence when she’d drifted off. She’d need to keep her voice down.

Smudgy eyelids blinked closed over the great green eyes, and their owner nodded quickly – at least, that was Rhiannon’s best guess as to his action.

“Miss Potter came back to school,” Dobby whispered miserably. “Dobby warned and warned, and Miss promised, and Dobby thought she would be safe.”

Rhiannon’s heart twisted, and tears burned at her weary eyes. She had. She’d broken that promise. If she could see Dobby properly now, she was sure she would see him injured for helping her. She was almost glad she couldn’t see that, and immediately berated herself internally for the selfish thought. “I’m – I’m s-s-s-sorry, Dobby,” she whispered back, equally miserable. “I w-as-was-wasn’t coming back. I-i-i-i-iiii-I wasn’t. But we messed up and we-w-w-e- got hurt and I couldn’t let D-d-ud-dud-ley come here on his own- I forgot, with everyth-thi-thing, I’m sorry,” she finished, her words running together and tangling up as so often they did. Her breath caught again, and now she fought to hold back sobs as she stared at the out-of-focus elf who sat on the bed before her.

Dobby stared back, and then he threw himself down on his face before her. “Ah, how could Dobby not have seen! Of course... of course they sent you here... But Miss Potter is safe now, safe for tonight – Dobby’s Bludger saw to that. Dobby is sorry, Miss, so very sorry to have hurt Miss Potter... but when Master’s son wrote home complaining about having to play against you, Dobby knew you was here and Dobby was frightened, Miss. There are dark happenings here, dark things planned, and started already they are.” the elf confessed tearfully. He kept his voice down, unlike the first time Rhiannon had met him, and by the jerky movements of his head Rhiannon guessed he glanced through the drawn curtains to look around the ward.

Rhi’s heart sank. The little elf had been terribly misguided in his efforts to help her now, but he had very likely saved her life before – even if it had led to her being turned. She was a little surprised to realise she would have chosen the same path even if she had known the result – anything was better than life with the Dursleys, but she hadn’t really consciously realised that included her new state of life.

But that wasn’t enough to assuage her guilt. “I-Iiiii-I really, really – I didn’t agree to come back, I didn’t wa-wa-n-want to – not until Dudley did. I couldn’t t-a-t-t-take that away from h-h-h-hhhhh-im, but I forgot and you had to hurt yourself and I’m so sorry Dobby,” Rhiannon cried softly.

Dobby wiped his face on the grubby pillowcase-smock Rhiannon remembered he wore, and that sparked a question she had wondered about the first time she met him. “W-wh-whhh-why- why do you wear that thing? It’s November, you must be c-c-c-c-cold,” Rhiannon stammered and trailed her words together as she tried to keep her cracking voice to a whisper.

Dobby plucked at the grubby indistinct garment he wore, Rhiannon had to form its shape from memory rather than vision. “This, miss?” he asked, a little bewildered – his tone suggested she should already know. “’tis a mark of the house-elf’s binding, miss. Dobby can only be freed if his masters present it with clothes, see, miss. The family is careful not to pass Dobby even a sock, miss, for then it would be free to leave them forever.” he finished, his tone so flat and matter of fact it tore at Rhiannon’s frayed emotions even more.

Dobby had saved Rhiannon. It may not have turned out the best it could have, but she was alive and she was free. And he spoke of the same freedom without the slightest trace of hope in his voice. It was more than Rhiannon could bear, and the tears that had been burning in her eyes finally fell, trailing down her cheeks to wet the collar of her pyjama shirt.

Her tears had even more of an effect on Dobby. “No, please don’t cry miss,” the elf pleaded with her. “It is just the way things are. Miss Potter has to be safe – Dobby doesn’t blame you, miss, the fault is Dobby’s, it should have checked sooner. You have to leave Hogwarts, miss. Dobby had hopes that Dobby’s Bludger might have sent you home. Home would be safe.” Dobby admitted, wringing his hands in a confusing blur before Rhiannon.

That bit pricked up Rhiannon’s attention. She had harboured a small suspicion since the elf’s appearance, and that confirmed it. “You – sent, the B-b-b-bludger?” she asked, trying very hard to keep any accusatory tone from her voice. Dobby was trying to help, and it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t tell her. He had risked life and limb to help her before, she owed him the benefit of the doubt. “It- it could have killed me. Dobby.”

The elf shook his head frantically. “Not kill, miss!” he protested, shocked. “Never kill! Dobby wants to save Miss Potter’s life! Only maim, or grievously injure – hospital, home, they are safe. Not Hogwarts, not here – you must leave, you must.”

Dobby might have continued further, had he not been interrupted by a clatter of movement from outside of Rhiannon’s curtains. A heavy door was thrown open and crashed against the wall, people breathed heavily and their steps tangled together as they entered the room together. Something clunked against the wall, someone swore. “Get that side Albus, your arms aren’t painted on,” the very familiar, irritable voice of Minerva McGonagall in a temper snapped. Dobby’s green eyes went very wide, and he scuttled forwards on the bed to clutch at Rhiannon’s shirt collar.

“The Chamber of Secrets is open, and you are an enemy of the heir. Go home, Miss Potter, please – please. They can’t have you.” the elf whispered frantically, his thin voice muffled by the movement of the people outside. He released Rhiannon as she went stiff, and peeped furtively out of the gap in the curtains. The indistinct shadows of his ears were suddenly silhouetted against too-bright light, and he quivered with fear. Something crashed loudly, and one of the unseen adults swore again.

Dobby took that opportunity to vanish, the crack of his departure somewhat muffled somehow and what remained of it was concealed by the clamour from the other side of the room. Rhiannon was left alone inside her curtains, tilting her head anxiously to hear what went on around her. She could see a sliver through the gap in the curtains, but it was fragmented, sparkling and at this distance little more than brown shadows. Her other senses were of more use.

The swearing had died down, and Rhiannon could hear as the staff conversed in low whispers. They huddled around one of the beds, though she couldn’t see who they had brought to lie in it. Aside from Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall, the voices Rhiannon could hear belonged to Dumbledore and Professor Snape. All were fearful, concerned – even Snape’s sneering manner had lost most of its bite.

“What happened?” Madam Pomfrey whispered, and Rhiannon saw the shadowy figures shuffle. Maybe Madam Pomfrey bent over whoever lay on the bed, she couldn’t tell.

“Another attack,” Dumbledore replied soberly. Even his voice was lacking its usual measured, trained calm – he was frightened. And that fear carried to Rhiannon. Some irrepressible, vicious part of her was glad he was afraid – he deserved it. He should be afraid. But the more rational side knew that if Albus Dumbledore was afraid, then the danger was very very real. “Minerva found him on the stairs,” Dumbledore finished, and Rhiannon realised in her musing she must have missed part of what he said.

“There was a box of sweets on the stairs with him. I think he was trying to get up here to visit Miss Potter.” Professor McGonagall filled in quietly, her voice somber. “He was at the game earlier, I think that fall of Rhiannon’s was quite a shock for him... didn’t even raise his camera, when he’s usually glued to the thing.”

“His camera.” That was Professor Snape now, his sharp voice cutting across the others’ concerned murmuring. “Perhaps the boy managed to capture whoever – whatever – attacked him?”

Rhiannon shifted in her bed to lie back down, her heart in her mouth. She couldn’t see who it was, but that was enough. His camera... when she spent her life dodging that thing between classes. The first human victim of the Chamber of Secrets was Colin Creevey.

Colin Creevey, the overbearing but innocent eleven-year-old boy who had been so excited to introduce her to his father, even in picture form. Who thought so little of himself that he found it inconceivable she might want to be his friend. She remembered what he’d said of his father – a milkman. So, non-magical. His mother wasn’t involved. So his upbringing was completely nonmagical, like Hermione’s. Dirty blood – not enough of a wizard. Their theory about the Chamber was if not now confirmed, then at least supported. And overpowering the fear humming in Rhiannon’s veins was anger, pure and simple.

Of the almost three hundred students here at Hogwarts, they chose an eleven year old boy who just wanted to send pictures to his dad. That was their idea of the wrong kind of wizard? Not a man who bullied his students to tears, not a girl who took Luna’s shoes and hung them up out of reach throughout the castle, not the woman who insisted her students all lie on their backs on hard wood to stare at the stars or the fifth-year boy who would hex a younger student as he walked past because they thought he was gay. Rhiannon saw those people every day. She was even their target, sometimes. But they weren’t the wrong kind of wizard? She couldn’t be just frightened, not facing this – because it was again, a familiar kind of danger even if it wore a new face. All that was left to her was fury. And she resolved to keep an ear to the ground, because no-one, no bigot like that, was going to touch her cousin or her Hermione. And she wasn’t going to leave Colin to lie frozen there on his own until the mandrakes matured either.

Seething quietly as she was, Rhiannon missed the rest of the conversation amongst the staff. Instead, her senses were assailed with a thick, acrid stink that choked up the room – burning, electrical burning, like when Dudley had microwaved a handful of cutlery when he and Rhiannon were eight or nine. But there was no crackling of fire, no change in the light – just the smoke.

“Melted,” whispered Madam Pomfrey wonderingly. “All melted – ruined, all of it.”

“Does this mean what I think it does, Albus?” Professor McGonagall asked urgently, sharp-voiced in her fear.

Rhiannon couldn’t see it, but Albus Dumbledore’s manner would be etched into her mind forever. She could picture him nodding, clasping his hands together somberly. Maybe even a frown might crease his face.

“It means,” said Dumbledore, his low voice uncharacteristically rough, “that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open once again.”

Someone breathed in sharply, then swore – that marked them as Minerva McGonagall. “But it wasn’t who they punished, we know it wasn’t, it was-” she said, to be cut off sharply by one of the others – presumably Dumbledore, no one else would dare.

“Indeed. So our question now is not who – we know who. The question is how.” Dumbledore replied quietly. Rhiannon listened, mystified and cold with fear-edged fury, as the staff talked amongst themselves and settled Colin into the hospital bed as best they could. Then they left Madam Pomfrey there, to sigh quietly and put out the lights.

“Good night, Rhiannon.” Madam Pomfrey said quietly, and Rhiannon jolted. The nurse laughed softly. “You’re too quiet – you make more noise in your sleep tossing and groaning. If you’re meaning to feign sleep again, at least do it believably. Sweet dreams, dear.” she said, her tone good-natured but still fragile with worry, and Rhiannon flushed.

“Go-g-g-o-goo-od night, Madam Pomfrey.” she whispered meekly back. She could almost hear a smile in the nurse’s breath, and felt at least faintly reassured as as she settled herself back in her bed properly. Madam Pomfrey was formidable, and the hospital wing enclosed both physically and magically. Nothing would be getting in there. And so Rhiannon could relax some, and it was little time after she closed her eyes that she once again fell asleep.