Hogwarts Reimagined

Content warning - being put on the spot, use of homophobic slur (single instance), harm done to an animal

In the immediate aftermath of Colin Creevey’s Petrification, the Hogwarts student body was understandably frightened. Students drew closer together, and the school became a threatening place to anyone who did not fit in. Rhiannon was one such, but she refused to be cowed by the stares and whispers of the other students – she knew who her friends were, and all that mattered was keeping them safe.

Colin had become included in that. When Rhiannon recovered her vision and the use of both her arms, she spoke to his roommates and collected the completed photographs he had intended to send to his father. She sat in a chair beside Colin’s bed while Wolf Speaker read itself to the both of them, and wrote a letter to his father. She explained that Colin had been hurt at school, but she was going to look out for him and that the school nurse was nice and very competent and he would be on the mend as soon as they had the remedy.

The role of a protective figure felt comfortable for Rhiannon to step into. It put all her personal worries to rest, and brought a calm and resolute sort of focus with it. She only remembered to protect herself and her own secret because they affected Dudley too. She wouldn’t have even noticed anything was wrong with the photographs at all had Hermione not been studying with her in the hospital one afternoon while she looked through them, and pointed it out.

“Rhi, look – that photo from the start of term,” Hermione pointed out suddenly, cutting through Rhiannon’s distant focus. Rhi inspected it more closely, but wasn’t quite sure what Hermione meant and she shrugged. Hermione rolled her eyes affectionately, and reached over to tap the photo with the end of her pen. “Look at your eyes.” she added.

Now that Hermione had pointed it out, Rhiannon could see the issue. Her pupils reflected the camera flash back, yellow-centered instead of black, and she remembered Luna’s comment fondly from the first time they met. “I don’t think it would be very nice to be a wolf in here... Wow, your eyes are reflective! That’s really neat...” Luna’s voice was as familiar to her as her own or Hermione’s by now, she could recall it instinctively. Those words had been her first clue they might be friends.

“I, don’t want to take the photo out,” Rhiannon said, a little unnerved as her lamp-eyed self smiled back at her from the photograph. “Can we fix it?”

Apparently they could fix it, but the how was a little tricky and it stretched the limits of Rhiannon and Hermione’s shared knowledge. Eventually they brought the issue to Professor McGonagall. It seemed more Professor Flitwick’s area of expertise, but Professor McGonagall was the only formal Hogwarts teacher who knew of Rhiannon’s lycanthropy and for the time being they wanted to keep it that way.

Professor McGonagall was a little frazzled when they found her, but she was happy enough to instruct Rhiannon and Hermione on how to fix the photograph and any others that they might face in future. Rhiannon inquired whether it would be possible to just fix her eyes so they didn’t reflect like that. Professor McGonagall was horrified, and made the both of them promise never to try something like that.

“The reflection is because the fundamental structure of your eyes is different to what it was, and that structure is integral to them functioning how they should. Such a spell could cloud your vision for a time or cause you pain at best, at worst you could permanently damage your physical eyes. Promise me you won’t try that. If dark days came and you really had to hide yourself in such a way, I would show you myself. Until then, the both of you, promise me.” Professor McGonagall insisted, her face set in serious lines. Both Hermione and Rhiannon gave their word, shaken, and once they had resolved the matter of the photograph and sent it along with the letter and the other pictures to Colin’s father, they were tasked to read up on the dangers of personal transfiguration.

The topic was a sobering one, and Rhiannon understood a little better why they hadn’t just been able to fix the damage that persisted in her brain, as well as the simpler matter she had asked about to begin with. True transfiguration rather than just glamour required an understanding of the subject in both its states at the atomic level. Making such a transfiguration hold permanently was even more complex and required methods of spell anchoring that were still being researched. Rhiannon sighed – she had harboured wishful thoughts of transfiguring her body, but her research had thoroughly quashed those. It wasn’t that she was particularly unhappy – nowadays her dysphoria was mostly a low-lying discomfort that faded into the background. She just wished for something else. She saw the changes in the older boys around the school and she feared them, and on recalling Madam Pomfrey’s offer of assistance she resolved to work up the nerve to ask when she could. There was no harm in more information, even if she wasn’t so sure she wanted to change the body she had become used to.

While Rhiannon spent much of her time with her friends or buried in work, she could not entirely ignore the guarded atmosphere that Hogwarts took on since the second attack. Luna’s roommates were worse to them than ever, Ginny came and went like a ghost, even the even-keeled Dudley was worn around the edges, and Rhiannon worried for those friends she couldn’t keep an eye on every day. The first-years all round but particularly the Gryffindors were shaken by the attack on one of their peers, and as Rhiannon spent some time in the hospital wing she saw first-hand how many needed assistance with panic attacks and night terrors and upset stomachs, and many other symptoms of people under stress their bodies couldn’t take. And even for Rhiannon, the weekly Quidditch matches lost their appeal. There were more important things to be doing, suddenly it all seemed very trivial and Rhiannon struggled to stay motivated for anything that made up her regular routine.

So it was that a week before the full moon, the school was suddenly papered with navy and turquoise flyers advertising a ‘Duelling Club’. Rhiannon was passingly interested, but the date listed was November the 22^nd at 6pm, too late an hour given that was the third night of the full moon. So she made excuses to her friends, and harboured only a few regrets as she slunk out of the castle those nights.

It was almost a little disturbing how familiar the change had become. Rhiannon was still not as steady or as confident as Dudley was in wolf-shape, but the pain didn’t frighten her anymore and she realised belatedly one night that it would be a wrench to give up their night-time outings through the edges of the Forbidden Forest and out across the highlands on which Hogwarts stood. She was starting to like the idea of being a werewolf, complicated and often painful as it was, but it would be some time before she could admit that in as many words to herself.

So Rhiannon was only a little disappointed when she heard that the duelling club’s meeting had been fantastic. According to Faye and Ron it was run by Professors Flitwick and Snape, and Flitwick had kept Snape from being too terrible to any of them. Because it was a voluntary extracurricular rather than a formal class, they couldn’t lose points for doing poorly – a good thing too, Faye remarked, as Ron’s wand had zapped him several times in practice and spewed smoke all over his opponent, Dean.

“Maybe you need to take it to the wandmaker in Hogsmeade, get it looked at – I’m sure you’d get permission, there’s obviously something wrong,” was Hermione’s contribution as they talked. She hadn’t attended the Duelling Club meeting, but she’d seen enough of Ron’s mishaps in class to have some idea of what had happened.

Ron refused, and the issue was mostly dropped aside from the odd snarky comment whenever the wand backfired or miscast. And after hearing so much praise of the Duelling Club, even Rhiannon and Hermione managed to put aside their disinterest in combative magic in favour of cautious excitement as flyers went up around the school announcing a second meeting. This was to be scheduled for the sixth of november, a week before the school holidays – to ‘bolster student morale’ over the winter period, the flyer said in brilliant gold.

The sixth was two days after the new moon – the best possible time for it to have been set in terms of Rhiannon’s health. Dudley turned down their offer to attend – “A spell-slinging club? No thanks. I’m going to stay in and study Myra Goldthorn’s Potions as Applied to Spellcraft.” was his cheerfully blunt response, while Luna was glad of a chance to get away from his yearmates. Xe had taken to sleeping on a couch downstairs in the main common room, and while some Ravenclaws in the upper years supported her staunchly faer yearmates still delighted in hiding hir belongings and jinxing Luna as e walked through corridors. Professor Flitwick and the prefects had intervened, of course, but there was little that could be really done when Luna’s belongings were stuck in the same room as those bullying students, and Luna himself had nowhere else to sleep but within their reach.

“I’m alright, really. My things will come back, they always do. I think they like me more than the rafters.” Luna replied peacefully, one afternoon when he and Rhiannon were going over practicals of charmwork. The solidly-built blonde smiled tiredly, and pushed a lock of messy hair out of their face. “But I wouldn’t mind a break. Sure, I’ll come with you – we could practice together.”

That was a cheering prospect – and it meant Hermione could work with Ron and his troublesome wand, rather than someone more liable to get hurt or lose their temper. Rhiannon then went to ask Ginny if she would like to come with them too, but as usual the redhead was nowhere to be found. Still, Rhiannon was gratified to see her Slytherin friends looking alright, and no longer camped in the hallway – apparently the password had been changed at last. Tracey and Daphne weren’t interested, but Heather was happy to join them and a chatty, smiling blonde girl named Hayley Callister said she’d pass the message on to Ginny too, apparently they were roommates.

So at five p.m on the sixth, Rhiannon joined the little herd of her wider friend group – Sally-Anne joined them from Hufflepuff, as well as Morag from Ravenclaw, while Emilia and Padma had bowed out – and they trailed together through the ground floor corridors to the Great Hall, murmuring amongst themselves about what they might face. Surprisingly for once, Ginny had joined them, though she was a little quiet and fretful. Rhiannon put that down to the stress of the internal conflict in Slytherin house, though she couldn’t entirely remove the younger girl from her mental collection of worries.

“Flitwick was fantastic last time – d’you know he was a duelling champion when he was younger? Even Snape looked like he was enjoying himself,” Morag chattered as they entered the Great Hall. There were no teachers present yet, and the Hall had been transformed for the evening’s activities. The long dining tables and benches were nowhere to be found, and in the space they left a long wooden stage had been constructed. It was about three metres wide and ran almost the length of the hall from the far end to near the door. Above them the enchanted ceiling was velvet blue-black with the barest sliver of a moon, scattered with faint stars, and the room itself was lit by thousands of candles that floated in midair and never seemed to drip wax or need replacement.

Aside from Rhiannon and her friends, it seemed like a good two thirds or more of the Hogwarts student body had decided to attend. That made sense, she supposed – they were frightened. Even if one couldn’t actively duel the threat they faced, learning how brought a certain kind of comfort with it – probably a false one, but it was better than the sheer terror of the weeks directly following Colin’s Petrification. The room was full but not too crowded, and thankfully some charm kept the air moving so that it did not grow hot and stale with so many. Still, Rhiannon kept close to the wall with her friends where she could see and not be nudged.

A groan rippled through the crowd, and Rhiannon strained to see what the issue was. “What? What’s going on?” she asked her taller friends plaintively – Ron and Luna were a full head taller than her, though she had grown a full inch in the last few months. Luna stood on their toes and peered over the shoulders of those around them, frowning. Hermione giggled softly as Rhiannon tried to do the same, bobbing back and forth trying to find a clear spot.

“Would you like me to conjure a box?” Hermione asked innocently. The much-smaller Rhiannon only came up to her chin. Rhiannon scowled, but couldn’t keep her expression serious for long and burst out giggling along with her friend, until she realised Luna was staring at them and waiting for them to finish.

“I can see the use of a box, but I could just tell you,” Luna said mildly, and they quieted down to let him speak. “It’s Lockhart.” xe added, their ordinarily placid expression turning uncharacteristically sour.

Rhiannon and Hermione stared at their friend, Ron nodded confirmation and scowled. “Standing on the stage there, with Snape – hell, pipe down or we’ll be in for it, looks like he’s about to start,” Ron whispered to them. Rhiannon slumped against the wall and scowled at the back of Faye’s head, unable to see anything.

“Th-that box, might be nice about now,” Rhiannon whispered. Hermione grinned and her shoulders twitched as she held back more giggles. Quietly she withdrew her wand from her pocket, and Rhiannon stepped closer to Ron to make more space. Hermione’s face crinkled up in concentration and she mouthed the words of something, then discarded the idea, shook her head. “Arca,” she whispered, and a flurry of sparks sprang from the tip of her wand and flowed down to the floor before them, where they gradually shaped the basic structure of a sturdy wooden crate, both its outer shape and internal supports. With another flick of Hermione’s applewood wand the sparks quivered and solidified, and then a sturdy wooden crate popped into existence on the floor before them. It dislodged a faint puff of dust, and Hermione held out a hand to Rhiannon with a slightly embarrassed but proud grin.

“Your box, princess?” Hermione teased. Rhiannon rolled her eyes and took Hermione’s hand to steady herself as she climbed up atop the box, hearing Lockhart begin to pontificate and introduce himself as she did so. She rolled her eyes and shifted her hand to Hermione’s shoulder for balance. She wished she was not so polite, and so anxious – she would much rather leave now she knew who was in charge.

Now she could see Lockhart where he stood on the duelling stage, dressed magnificently as he so often was. Tonight his robes were a deep plum colour that Rhiannon approved of despite herself, though the brocading was not to her taste at all. And beside him stood the one and only Professor Snape in the same plain black work robes he wore every other day, sulking on the edges of Lockhart’s charmed spotlight.

“Gather round, gather round!” Lockhart began, beckoning the students in. “Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!”

Rhiannon snorted – he had used an amplifying charm, it would be impossible not to hear him, and from where she stood his attire was a little hard to miss though with such a crowd, she doubted she had been the only one who had been unable to see.

“Now, I know dear old Flitwick began this club, but when I saw such a worthy endeavour I had to throw my hat in the ring. Help the cause and all. We may face something very frightening, but learning to defend yourselves gives you strength, purpose! For full details on the psychological benefits of self-defense, look for my upcoming book.” Lockhart continued, with a roguish wink at his own self promotion. There were a few snickers amongst the crowd, and more than a few coos and sighs from the older students.

“Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape,” announced Lockhart, with a flourishing gesture to the scowling black-cloaked man. “I’m told he knows a wee bit about duelling himself, and he has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Don’t any of you youngsters worry – you’ll still have your Potions master when I’m through with him!”

“More’s the pity,” Faye muttered. Neville, who stood silently beside Ron, nodded his fervent agreement.

“Maybe they could finish eachother off, wouldn’t that be good,” Ron whispered back, his expression dreamy. Faye snickered, and Hermione shushed them impatiently though even she couldn’t keep a faint grin off her face. They returned their attention to the front of the room, where Lockhart and the scowling Professor Snape now turned to face eachother on the raised walkway. They bowed to eachother with their wands held across their chests, Lockhart with much flourishing while Snape’s bow was barely enough to be polite. Then they uncrossed their wand arms and raised them, holding their wands like swords in front of them.

“As you can see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position,” Lockhart told the eagerly-watching crowd. “Every move is time-honoured tradition, to reject it is to bring shame upon yourself and your families – something to remember, if any of you plan to enter the circles of duelling fame! Now watch.”

Lockhart and Snape both lowered their wands, nodded to eachother once again and turned their backs, then took seven steps away from eachother. “Remember again. The count of steps away is always seven – a number of magic, and forgetting it will earn you a Stunner to the back! This is always the practice in a competitive duel, breaking it is a dishonour and disqualification. In a duel of rivalry, we would take three steps backwards, but we’re all good sports today, right Severus?” Lockhart explained to the crowd, throwing a grin back over his shoulder at Snape. The effect of the gesture was lost as Snape did not move or respond.

“And now – we begin!” Lockhart announced, turning on the spot in a flourish of brocaded violet robes. Wands were raised from where they were held at their owners’ sides. Lockhart handled his with a flourish, while Snape’s draw was fast as a striking snake and just as direct.

“Expelliarmus!” The Potions Professor bellowed. A bolt of scarlet light blasted from his wand and flashed across the few metres between the two men. It struck Lockhart squarely in the chest and the would-be duelling instructor was knocked from his feet to tumble across the duelling stage. He was thrown backward into the wall behind where the faculty dining table ordinarily stood and slid down it to sprawl face-down on the floor.

Some of the attending students cheered, and Rhiannon doubted they were all Slytherin – Lockhart was a very divisive figure, with some starry-eyed student devotees and just as many scowling critics. She was a little disappointed when the professor stood and straightened out his brocaded robes. His wavy hair was disheveled and it stood on end near the back where it was shorter, and there was a dirty smudge on his nose.

“Well, there you have it!” said Lockhart, tottering back down the platform towards Snape and the centre of the room. “The Disarming Charm – excellent, excellent Severus, well-chosen. And as you can see, I’ve lost my wand, can anyone – ah, thankyou Miss Gillespie and may I say your hair is lovely today?- yes. An excellent idea to show them that, Severus, but if you don’t mind my saying, you telegraph movements from your chest – I could see what you were going to do, it was very obvious, I just decided I’d best let you get a hit in – if I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy, but I felt I’d best make it instructive, and all.” Lockhart added on. Rhiannon snorted – to her, it sounded like he was trying to cover wounded pride.

Snape’s scowl looked positively murderous and the corners of his thin mouth turned down sourly. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, because he waved the matter away with another of his bright smiles. “Enough demonstrating. Form up into pairs, if you can’t find a partner make your way closer to the stage. I’ll move amongst you and swap pairs around if I think you’d do better with someone else. Severus, if you wouldn’t mind doing the same on the other side of the room? I’ll give a whistle when it’s time to start. Disarm, and Shield if you know it – but only those until I tell you otherwise. Take turns. Alright, form up!” Lockhart instructed the students, and flapped at them impatiently when no one moved.

Hurriedly, Rhiannon and her friends put themselves into pairs. Rhiannon worked with Luna as they had planned, just as Hermione paired up with Ron. Faye and Neville paired up too, until Sally-Anne decided Faye might be a bit too overenthusiastic for anxious Neville and offered to partner with him instead, so Faye paired up with Morag. Ginny was with the friendly blonde Hayley that Rhiannon had met before and seemed to be doing alright if a little nervous.

Lockhart gave them the signal to begin practicing, and Rhiannon faced off against Luna, going over the shape of the incantation in her head. There weren’t any repeated sounds that would trip her up, but she didn’t like the feeling of the Ls in the middle – they caught and dragged awkwardly. Luna waited patiently while Rhiannon prepared herself, she had to take another quick moment to adjust the charms on her ears and eyes as crimson flared up erratically around them and the sounds of incantations and the charm’s effect itself became overwhelming.

“Alright,” Rhiannon said at last. She held her wand in her left hand despite it not being the dominant one, and her cane in her right. “I’m good.”

Luna grinned, and raised his own wand. “Ladies first,” she teased Rhiannon, who snickered and obliged them.

“Expell-lll-li- damnit, let me try that again, expelliarmus!” Rhiannon stammered and then spat out the incantation – a little too forceful in her frustration, she bowled Luna over with a jet of red spell-light. “I’m sorry!” she blurted out, and hurried over to help her friend up. “I thi- I thi-think I got frustrated with it, I’m sorry!”

Luna brushed hirself off and shook their head. “No worry – nice shot,” fae said cheerfully. “Anyone who surprises you is in for a shock. My turn?” ze suggested, to which Rhiannon nodded. “Alright then,” Luna said, raising their wand. “Expelliarmus!”

A fainter red light blasted from the tip of Luna’s outstretched wand and struck Rhiannon in the chest. It did nothing – she didn’t even have to tighten her grip on her wand. Rhiannon frowned, and shrugged apologetically at Luna. “Maybe – maybe try again? I got it first time, only fair you get more chance to practice,” she suggested.

They practiced back and forth like that for some time, but try as sie might, Luna could not disarm Rhiannon. The red light his wand put out was just as strong as Rhiannon’s first go after a time, but it had little effect – his best strike had Rhiannon’s wand twitch in her grasp, but that was all. And after Rhiannon’s first explosive attempt, it took her more time to get a consistent grasp on the Disarming charm – she actually had a lot more trouble with it than Luna did, and started to worry that the first try was a fluke until Luna reminded her that fluke or not, she’d still produced that magic herself – she’d get back there with some practice.

After they had been practicing for half an hour or so, Lockhart called the club to order. He clapped his hands and cleared his throat to get their attention as they shuffled around in front of him. “Alright, alright – I see some promising duellers here! But some of you are still struggling. Let’s get two who’ve been doing all right up to demonstrate, yes? Let’s see... Mr Diggory, lovely Shield Charm on you too my boy, no wonder they made you Prefect – very talented. And... Mr Wood, I saw some promising stuff from you too. Up you both come.” Lockhart announced, beckoning the older boys forward.

Snape coughed, and when Lockhart looked at him he smiled thinly. “We know Mr Diggory is very talented, and Mr Wood too. Perhaps it would be better to bring up some of the younger students, to show the improvement? It might be a more... achievable standard for us to work for.” he suggested.

Lockhart beamed, and nodded agreeably. “Right you are, Severus – very good thinking. Alright then... let’s see. Miss Potter, I liked that first go of yours, excellent – come on up. And, hmm, perhaps Miss Dunbarr... or... who might you suggest, Severus?” he asked with a frown, looking over the crowd.

Rhiannon’s heart dropped into her shoes, and the crowd shifted away from her. She shrank back behind her taller friends, but to no avail. Lockhart beckoned her forward insistently, while Snape looked her over with a vicious smile.

“Perhaps someone from my own house, so as not to give Gryffindor all the glory. Draco’s first attempts were a little... less exciting than I might have hoped, but he’s shown improvement. Yes, indeed – Malfoy, up you come.” Snape said, beckoning tersely for Malfoy to hurry up.

Rhiannon quivered, and she gripped her cane tighter. Hermione squeezed her elbow, and Rhiannon shook her head frantically but there was no escape. She made her way through the crowd very hesitantly, head down and wishing a hole might open up and swallow her. There was no such luck – all too soon she found herself at the foot of the duelling stage. It wasn’t any great difficulty to exaggerate her trouble with the stairs to disguise her comparative health at the new moon period – she was shaking so badly she almost fell. Lockhart caught her arm as she tripped over the last stair, wrenching her left shoulder. She restrained herself from hitting him with her cane and contented herself with a scowl, then jerked her arm away from him – she didn’t trust him with her limbs, thanks – and limped to the centre of the duelling stage, bad temper masking some of her terror. She could barely see the crowd around her, but their whispers reached her – no specific words, just a crushing tangle, and she shook her head trying to block them out.

That meant she had to face Malfoy instead. She met his gaze frankly for a brief moment, and in that she saw watery blue eyes just as frightened as her own must have been. But as always, Malfoy showed his fear as anger – he’d be no ally on the stage tonight.

“Remember, disarm only. Now, begin – with good sportsmanship, or I will deduct points after all.” Lockhart instructed them. Even Snape agreed with a stiff nod, and the two professors retreated from the stage leaving Rhiannon and Malfoy face to face.

“Scared, Potter?” he taunted her. She shrugged, unwilling to admit her fear if he wouldn’t. They bowed to eachother stiffly, and then turned their backs. Rhiannon counted the steps under her breath, then whirled to face Malfoy.

She was just a second too late – Malfoy must have had a quicker stride than she. “Expelliarmus!” Malfoy cried. His spell was good – the light was brilliant in colour and almost blinding, she felt it in the roots of her nervous system – but for all that, her wand only twitched in her hand. She had to clasp it tighter, but at no point did she feel in any danger of losing her wand.

Rhiannon’s heart sank, and very dimly she remembered fragments of that fire-torn night in the Surrey Hills. The Knockback Jinx hadn’t worked either, and she’d thought at the time maybe she’d simply cast it wrong but... Malfoy hadn’t cast this wrong. She’d put Luna’s lack of success down to just learning, but maybe she was an unfair target to learn on... was it possible she was simply resistant to direct-force spells? If so... this was a very dangerous position to be in.

Draco stared at her, dumbfounded as she resisted his spell. Rhiannon shivered and squared her shoulders. Draco opened his mouth to try again, but she beat him to it. “Expelliarmus!” she exclaimed, and was secretly proud that she managed the incantation without a stammer. The scarlet blast she unleashed was not as forceful as her first had been, but it struck Malfoy’s wand from his hand and left him fumbling in the air for it, swearing up a storm as he did so.

The blond boy finally retrieved his errant wand and turned to face her, his hair now a little disheveled and his expression murderous. “That was a perfectly good spell – she’s cheating, somehow!” he protested, turning to face the onlooking professors.

“I saw much the same effect when you tried it on Mr Zabini, Draco, try harder.” was Professor Snape’s unsympathetic reply.

Draco turned back to Rhiannon, furious. She could see his wand hand shaking, her own itched – but she didn’t know the Shield Charm yet. And it was Draco’s turn – this was a demonstration, not a real duel. Draco’s expression darkened further, and he took a step towards her, drawing his wand back as he did so. “Tarantallegra!” he shrieked at her, and threw a jet of sunrise-pink light from his wand directly at Rhiannon.

Rhiannon tried to dodge, but she was too slow and the spell struck her squarely. She felt it itch in her nervous system, burning a trail from where it had struck her chest down through her body to her legs. Her legs started to jerk in a violent quickstep, she stiffened them and managed to fight off most of the effects of the spell but she was still unsteady on her feet from the twitches and jerks it produced in her knees and ankles.

“Stop, stop! I said disarm only!” Lockhart bellowed from the sidelines.

Rhiannon gritted her teeth – they’d learned the common counterspell last year. “Finite in-can-ta-tem,” she muttered. The last word came out slow and stiff because of the difficult number of syllables, but it worked – the hex was released.

Malfoy’s face contorted in rage. “I told you she was cheating!” he yelled to the professors, furious. Professor Snape’s eyes were narrowed and he peered at Rhiannon closely, even Lockhart looked a little suspicious, and Rhiannon shrank under their scrutiny. She turned to leave the stage – this duel was over.

“No you don’t, you cheating faggot!” Malfoy cried after, and she turned back to him with a growl rising low in her throat, her upper lip curling. She didn’t care that her eyes flashed under these lights, she didn’t care – she was sick of this, sick of Malfoy saying whatever he wanted to her, and she strode towards him with her wand raised fully intending to blast him off the stage.

Draco Malfoy’s pale eyes were wide with fear, and he stared at her. She didn’t know what he saw, but whatever it was it was enough that he backed off for the first time she could remember. He fumbled for a stronger grip on his wand and steadied his stance, shaking his head as if to clear it as he faced her, closer this time.

“Serpensortia!” Malfoy spat out, the fear in his eyes turning to reckless stubborn anger. Instead of a jet of light that struck at Rhiannon, the end of Malfoy’s wand exploded with smoke and from it was thrown a long black snake. It fell heavily onto the floor between them and lay there, stunned for a moment, before it drew itself up and swung its’ head back and forth.

Somehow, Rhiannon could sense it was looking for a way out. She knew that look intimately, even if the body language was different – she’d felt that way just minutes before. Someone in the crowd shrieked, the sound was dim though she knew the student onlookers drew back.

“Don’t move, Potter,” Snape cautioned her, a dry smile on his thin face. He seemed to be enjoying Rhiannon’s predicament, as she stood eye to eye with the panicked snake. She felt ten years old again, could almost feel the grimy glass of the London Zoo enclosure against her face. It didn’t matter that this snake’s scales were black while her friend’s had been brown – they were both trapped.

“Allow me!” shouted Lockhart, breaking through Rhiannon’s fascination. He brandished his wand, Rhiannon threw up her hands.

“No – n-n-nnnn- no! It’s frightened!” she begged, but it was no use.

A loud bang shot from the end of Lockhart’s wand, the snake was struck with a jet of yellow light and thrown ten feet into the air. It came down with a loud smack and Rhiannon winced.

“How- how could you!” she spat at Lockhart, but the snake was the more pressing issue. It shook off its daze and swayed, drawing itself upright again. A hood flared around its’ head – cobra, she recognised dimly. Foreign species. It wove back and forth, searching for a way out, and it found one – past a cluster of Hufflepuff students who stood by the door who had drawn nearer the stage, their compassion winning out over instinctive fear of the animal. It slithered towards them, they drew back in fear and it raised its head, collar flaring again as it prepared to strike – they had frightened it too badly, it just wanted out...

Rhiannon wasn’t sure exactly what a skinny four-foot-seven girl could do, but she rushed forward, drawn in by the fear she understood. “No, it’s frightened, get back!” she warned the students as she ran unsteadily – Draco’s jinx still had her nerves itching. “Leave them alone – I won’t let him hurt you again, it’s alright, just settle... I know someone who would love to take care of you, he’s really nice – sssh, it’s okay, they’re just scared too, you’ll be alright... where’d he summon you from, poor thing? You must have had a real fright, I’m sorry.”

Rhiannon talked softly to the snake and slowed her approach. She had stowed her wand back in her cane and placed the cane on the floor now, and kept her hands at her sides. Miraculously, the fire went out of the snake’s body language and it turned slowly to face her. “Ssssh, it’s okay, just settle – we’ll get you to Hagrid,” she murmured. The snake swayed and then, inexplicably, it slumped to the ground, its eyes closed and body language completely docile.

“It’s okay now,” Rhiannon said, her voice a little hoarse – she wasn’t sure why. Snape strode forward, she jumped as she realised he’d come up behind her, and with a complicated gesture of his wand he conjured a great glass terrarium around the snake. Another flick of his wand secured its lid tightly, and he nodded stiffly to Rhiannon. Then, with the snake secured, he rounded on Lockhart and Rhiannon turned to watch in fascinated horror – she’d been on the receiving end of a Snape-issued dressing-down before, it was a frightening experience.

“You – have you no concept of how to do things? The Laws of Conjuration and Summoning explicitly lay out the Ethics of Summoned Sentients, and I know full well you learned it because you attended Hogwarts the same as I did!” Snape roared. Lockhart’s face was grey and his eyes wide, he shook his head and opened his mouth a few times but no sound came out.

“Very well, since you seem to have no recollection... All of you, listen up, because this applies to you too.” Snape said in a calmer tone, though no less dangerous. He was a little like a snake himself – the real danger wasn’t when he was at his loudest, that was just a threat. “The Ethics of Summoned Sentients apply because we saw clearly it was responding to Miss Potter’s attempts to calm it, and so to strike is against the laws – it is not a mindless construct. Summoned sentients are subject to the same laws as any other animal, for their needs to be met and treated well. This will be reported to Headmaster Dumbledore, fear not – and it will not happen again. Master Diggory, please take that terrarium down to Rubeus’ cabin, instruct Master Filch to come to me if he questions you. Gilderoy, you come with me. The rest of you – out, and to bed.” he snapped, and beckoned the ashy Defence teacher to follow as he swept out of the room.

Rhiannon stared blankly as Lockhart trailed helplessly in the Potionsmaster’s wake. Suddenly the whispers were overwhelming, a tidal wave and she was crushed from all sides. “Hermione? Hermione?” she asked, hating the pleading note in her voice as she turned on the spot looking for her friend.

“Here,” Hermione said, pushing through the crowd and up onto the stage. She retrieved Rhiannon’s discarded cane and nodded to Cedric Diggory as he passed carrying the terrarium with the aid of another older boy. Hermione pressed the cane into Rhiannon’s hand. “What do you need?”

“Out,” Rhiannon whispered hoarsely, pressing into Hermione’s side. Her other friends pushed up onto the stage out of the crowd and surrounded her, providing a physical wall against the whispers as slowly the other students started to drift away. “Help me... out of here,” she whispered again, swaying on her feet.

Ron was at her other arm in an instant, her friends from outside Gryffindor hovered anxiously around her, and carefully Ron and Hermione helped Rhiannon down from the stage and out of the hall.

“That was a filthy trick Malfoy pulled,” Morag growled, to a round of grumbled agreement. “Poor snake, like.” she added, with a sideways glance that Rhiannon only half-caught.

“Neat trick, though,” Heather replied, as they reached the stairs where the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors would separate from their friends whose dormitories were downstairs. “Didn’t know you were a Parselmouth – real lucky you were there or it might have been nasty.”

Rhiannon’s friends murmured uneasily, and shifted. Some seemed concerned by that, but Rhiannon wasn’t really thinking straight. She only noticed that as her friends helped her limp upstairs they were quiet, and those they passed in the hallways drew back or looked away. Ron hugged her briefly when they reached the Gryffindor common room and parted for bed, but he was a little more stiff than usual and seemed unsettled. Neville didn’t seem overly affected and just squeezed her hand before leaving to follow Ron, but Lavender Brown seemed a little warier than she had been in the last few months as she joined Rhiannon, Faye and Hermione on the stairs up to bed.

“Whas- Parselmouth?” Rhiannon grumbled sleepily, overhearing the word again as she passed some older Gryffindors who stopped talking as she walked by them. Lavender looked uneasy, Hermione shook her head.

“Too much to get into tonight. You need sleep – we’ll talk about it tomorrow.” Hermione reassured Rhiannon, and Lavender nodded awkward agreement. She was stiff but wished Rhi and Hermione a good night, and Rhiannon was too exhausted from the aftermath of her fear and anger to protest. She barely remembered to take off her shoes and would have sunk into bed fully clothed had her cat not been curled up on the pillows preventing an easy crash.

Rhiannon groaned, and got up again to rummage in the chest at the end of her bed for her pyjamas. She found them and dropped back onto the bed and yanked the curtains shut, then took her school robes off half-lying down already and once she was wearing pyjamas as she should she scooted her cat out of her way – to a rusty mra-aaaaow of complaint – and sank into bed, asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.