Hogwarts Reimagined

Cw: injury, recent scarring, brief memories of injury and child abuse, discussion (nondetailed) of child abuse, poisoning (everyone is fine!), vomit

As anyone could have predicted, settling in at the Rookery – the Lovegoods’ home in very rural Dorset – came in a series of ups and downs. Hagrid’s familiar presence eased the adjustment a great deal, and Rhiannon was delighted when he left for a few hours and returned with her very own, very disgruntled cat in her now slightly-too-small carrier along with an overstuffed suitcase that turned out to contain Rhiannon’s belongings that had been taken from her when she’d been sent back to the Dursleys’.

Having Calypso and her own clothes and possessions back made settling much easier, but Rhiannon was still sick and anxious as the day of her birthday arrived only a few days after she’d come to the Rookery. Nothing much was really made of it, it was all too soon, and Rhiannon expected that to be the end of the matter. So she was pleasantly startled when Luna asked at tea on the fourth if she wanted to invite those friends who lived nearby over later in the week for the smallest of small, belated birthday parties.
Hesitantly, Rhiannon agreed. She was starting to improve, a little, slowly; but more than that she missed her friends fiercely having not had a chance to say good-bye at the end of the school year. Both Luna and Xenophilius beamed, and promised they’d keep her in the loop but wanted to keep it a surprise.

So on Wednesday August 7^th, Rhiannon woke late to find the house decorated with streamers and fanciful banners patterned with magical plants and animals she didn’t recognise. She could hear Xenophilius Lovegood clunking around in the kitchen somewhere, and Luna and Dudley were already awake and sitting on the couch playing with the pale patch-coated Kneazle-kitten Luna had talked their father into adopting from Hagrid.

Rhiannon heard a rusty gra-aaow from somewhere around her feet and laughed, bending down to pet Callie who clearly thought herself neglected. She tried to pick Callie up but the cat was heavier than she remembered and her injured left shoulder gave out, sending Callie tumbling to the floor. The cat flattened her ears and meowed plaintively before she turned away, her plumy tail raised dismissively, and trotted over to the couch where she leaped into Dudley’s lap and curled up.

Feeling a little guilty, Rhiannon wandered over to her cousin and Luna and perched on the end of the couch beside them. Dudley offered a hug but she declined, instead taking the scrap of ribbon from him and teasing Luna’s cat - Cheshire – with it. The little blue, cream and white patched cat, the smallest of the litter, rolled over and waved his paws in the air flailing for the ribbon, to the three’s endless amusement.

Eventually their playtime was interrupted by Luna’s father, who carried one plate and levitated three more out of the kitchen. With a flourish of his wand, the three floating plates sailed across the room to land in each of their laps, Xenophilius following in their wake to sit in an armchair across from them.
On each of the plates was a generous serving of freshly-made pancakes, served with crushed summer berries, a small measure of fluffy whipped cream and a sliced half of lemon. Rhiannon stared at the plate before her, not entirely sure how to process that it was all hers. She’d only had pancakes once before at Hogwarts, being as they were fairly time-consuming to make – they were food for a special treat, really.

Slowly, the occasion sank in and the corners of Rhi’s weary mouth pricked up with the smallest of smiles. They’d gone to all this effort for her and despite her understandable caution, she was touched. She intended to eat slowly and savour it all but was surprised at her own hunger and all too soon the plate was empty.

Luckily there were seconds, and Rhiannon ate those more slowly. By the time she finished, Cheshire had fallen asleep upside down in the gap between the couch cushions as only a three-month-old kitten could, and the patchy blue tortoiseshell purred and twitched his paws in his sleep while Rhiannon absent-mindedly stroked his belly.

Rhi, Luna and Dudley sat there in companionable silence with the cats for a while, until there was a knock at the front door. Luna looked up and blinked, their father affected a put-upon expression – though his mouth twitched up at one side in good humour – and got up to check the door. Rhiannon strained to hear as he opened it, surprised to be able to make out the tone of the voices if not what exactly was said. They sounded vaguely familiar and Rhi brightened somewhat and stood up, dusting cat hair off her skirt. She collected Dudley and Luna’s plates, careful of her weak arm in carrying them, and made her way to the kitchen for an excuse to get closer to the front door without appearing nosy.
When she got a little closer, she immediately recognised the voices and almost threw the plates down on the kitchen bench so as to make a beeline for the door, overcome with excitement and a need to see the owner of the incredibly familiar soft voice, a faint scent of old books drifting from them where they stood in the doorway.
Rhiannon stopped and stared, wide-eyed and shaking a metre from where Hermione and her parents stood just inside the doorway talking quietly to Xenophilius. Hermione stood still and trembling, and she twisted her hands in the hems of her shorts. Her deep umber skin had an ashy undertone, her lips were chapped and the two thin braids that hung nearest her face were matted and crumpled at the ends, Rhiannon noticed keenly, as if she’d been chewing them. The other girl probably had – it was a nervous compulsion of hers. Hermione’s hands flew to her mouth and her deep brown eyes welled up with tears as she presumably took in Rhiannon’s battered appearance.

Hermione let her hands fall from her mouth to hang limply at her sides. Someone murmured behind them both but Rhiannon wasn’t listening, her focus was on her friend. Hermione’s hands twitched and clenched into fists, and she finally met Rhiannon’s gaze for a brief moment. “Can I – I’m sorry,” whispered Hermione, lifting her arms and spreading them as if she could have taken flight.

Rhiannon stepped Hermione’s embrace and buried her face in Hermione’s neck, breathing in the familiar indefinable scents that uniquely made Hermione. One of the other girl’s braids pressed into the side of Rhiannon’s face, Hermione was taller than she had been only months ago but she didn’t care and she held her friend tightly in a messy, side-angled embrace so as not to crush her shoulder, for what felt like an age.

Slowly, Rhiannon loosened her grasp and then stepped away, fidgeting awkwardly in place. Her free hand was caught in Hermione’s, unwilling to let go. Someone coughed, and Hermione stepped away from the door and in under Rhiannon’s good arm so that Rhiannon herself could see past. Hermione’s parents stood in the doorway, each bearing gifts. They offered hugs too and Rhiannon was sorely tempted, but the idea of the sensation was wrong – it had been fine from Hermione because that was Hermione, that outweighed anything else. The same was not true of her parents, but they relented understandingly, and the initial awkwardness dissipated somewhat when they left their gifts on the kitchen table and departed, promising to return later.

Rhiannon and Hermione drifted back to the living room and curled up on another of the couches. Calypso opened her eyes and stretched, getting up to immediately come and sit on Hermione and demand scratches. Both girls obliged her, and they sat there together reacquainting with eachother wordlessly for some time until a while later, there was a second knock at the door.

This time Rhiannon got up to check it, less worried than she had been the first time and more impatient to greet whoever was on the other side, feeling oddly tense and trapped in her own skin. It wasn’t as if she’d expected everyone to turn up all at once perfectly on time – that might have been overwhelming, honestly. But waiting to see who would show when she wanted so badly to see all of them, that was almost unbearable.

So it was a fairly high-strung Rhiannon who opened the front door and she blinked up at an unfamiliar old woman dressed in stiff black lace-edged wizarding robes, more formal than Rhiannon had seen even at school. She leaned ever-so-slightly on a ball-topped cane, holding herself upright and stern with an impressive force of will. “I presume you are Rhiannon Potter?” the old woman said. Rhiannon nodded hastily, and the old woman harrumphed to herself as if some suspicion had been confirmed.

“I am Augusta Longbottom, Neville’s grandmother. You may address me as Mistress Longbottom.” the old woman – Mistress Longbottom – said imperiously. Rhiannon shrank at her tone but brightened at the introduction, and peered around for Neville. Madam Longbottom scowled disapprovingly, and shifted her grip on her cane. Stiffly she reached into her handbag – Rhiannon’s eyes widened as the woman’s arm disappeared up to the shoulder inside – and produced a thin package, which she presented to Rhiannon, then snatched her hands back as if she might be burned by the contact. Rhiannon’s heart sank, and she looked down at her bare feet.

“I will return for Neville at four.” Mistress Longbottom said finally, and Rhiannon felt a flush of relief. She had begun to fear that the old woman had come to tell her Neville wasn’t allowed to come. Mistress Longbottom ushered Neville out from behind her and with a last disapproving glance at the rambling Rookery she Disapparated.

The crack of the Disapparation still ringing in Rhiannon’s ears she turned her attention to Neville, who stood hunch-shouldered and uncertain before her. Each stared silently at the other, until Neville stumbled forward and hugged Rhiannon. The embrace was light and brief, ghostlike, but he kept hold of her hand and together they returned to the house, Neville carrying the package from his grandmother as Rhiannon’s free hand was the one attached to her injury.

Inside, Xenophilius shooed an owl out of the open window and a few more gifts had been added to what was now a respectable pile on the kitchen table. Rhiannon drifted over so Neville could add his grandmother’s contribution to the pile. The whole environment felt vaguely surreal, and she remembered distantly that trip to the zoo they had taken for Dudley’s eleventh birthday that seemed so long ago. Then, guiltily, she remembered his actual birth-date, June 23^rd. She’d not heard the Dursleys make any special deal of it but admittedly hadn’t been in any state to notice anything of the kind either.

Rhiannon looked over at Dudley who was hunched in the corner of the couch with her cat in his lap. A long, partially-healed scar cut an angry red track from the centre of his chin to a scant inch below his left eye and Rhi winced, touching a hand to the right side of her jaw where the attack had left its own scars on her; three even claw-marks close together cutting across from the edge of her cheek and still covered by a thick gauze pad.
Her heart twisted again, and she crossed the living area to sit on one of the armchairs near Hermione, Neville taking her previous place on the end of the couch near the blissfully-asleep Cheshire. Rhiannon bit her lip and considered her words while the others chattered quietly.

“U-um, Mr Lovegood, sir -” she began awkwardly. Xenophilius looked up from over his spectacles. “It-it-it’s kind of Dudley’s birthday, too. It was a bit ago but his was back when we, um... you know. J-ust, s-seems weird to do only mine.” Rhiannon stammered, wringing her hands anxiously in her lap. Dudley raised his head, a flush rising in his cheeks under the sudden attention from the others. He shook his head, still red in the face, and refused to meet anyone’s eyes.

Xenophilius nodded once sharply and clapped his hands delightedly, a broad grin spreading across his face. “That’s wonderful! I wish we’d known earlier... hang on, I can still fix it, and let me tell Rubeus – wait, no he’s not here, that’s right – Rhiannon, Hagrid says he’s sorry he can’t make it, Ministry work, he’ll bring you something in a couple days and not to worry,” he exclaimed, then trailed off musing, interrupting himself to recite the message in an amusingly disconnected manner, it sounded as if he’d simply repeated Hagrid’s message for Rhiannon from memory precisely as he’d received it. He leapt to his feet and hurried off into the kitchen where he disappeared for a moment. There was a clatter of what sounded like boxes and pots as he rummaged around, and then he re-emerged into the living room holding a large cardboard box. It didn’t seem to be very heavy and he beamed as he crossed the room to place it on the low coffee table in the middle of the lounge. With a flourish of his wand the lid sprang open and he lifted out a handful of somethings from inside.

All of the children, seated, leaned in and peered more closely as Mr Lovegood brandished the brightly-coloured objects, smiling gleefully. “Silent crackers! Had ‘em leftover from Yule, knew I’d find a use for them eventually!” he announced proudly, passing one to each of the kids. Rhiannon tipped it over and inspected the purple, green and white striped cardboard bonbon curiously. She’d never really had much experience with Christmas crackers other than hiding in her cupboard covering her ears when the Dursleys pulled them on Christmas day. Admittedly she was disappointed Hagrid couldn’t be there, but his work was important and she was cheered somewhat at the prospect of whatever Hagrid might bring back for her.

Hermione’s face lit up and she reached over the gap between the chairs to

grab at the cracker eagerly. “I’ve never pulled one of these before!” she exclaimed, and a brief moment of clumsy fumbling ensued in which neither she nor Rhiannon could quite figure out how to make the cracker work, then all at once they figured it out and the cracker broke apart. A vibration ran up Rhiannon’s hand as it broke apart and she shivered at the unfamiliar sensation, but as promised it was silent.

From the cracker billowed a cloud of blue smoke. Rhiannon coughed and spluttered and something metallic clanked dully within it. Xenophilius leaned over and cleared the smoke with a quiet wind charm, revealing a small tiara sitting just off the edge of the rug, having fallen from the cracker.

Rhiannon bent over and stiffly retrieved the tiara from the floor. She turned it over in her hands, unwanted tears springing to her eyes and blurring her vision. The tiara was some yellow metal mimicking gold in its’ appearance, delicately wrought and studded with small cut crystals or glass coloured to resemble peridots and emeralds. Rhiannon hugged it to her chest and beamed at the others. “I-it’s really pretty,” she whispered, looking at it again. Feeling a little silly she put it on, where it rested not uncomfortably in her thick hair. Then she hugged herself and grinned widely, and wiggled in place for a moment, too overcome with joy to keep it all inside.

The others all shared smiles and Rhiannon felt a little squashed under the torrent of compliments as her friends showered her in them. Something nagged at her though, someone was missing, and she bit her lip and gradually grew quiet in her seat. Eventually the others noticed. Xenophilius quietly excused himself to the kitchen to work, and Rhiannon’s friends grew quiet.

“He – he’s not coming, is he,” Rhiannon asked quietly, her voice very small and sad. Hermione reached out to hold her hand, she squeezed it once gently before letting go. “Don’t know,” she replied simply. She shook her head. “Haven’t really heard from him much.”
The tears welled up in Rhiannon’s eyes fell free and her lip trembled. “He probably h-h-hates me now,” she murmured. Hermione shook her head adamantly and took Rhiannon’s hand again. “He probably doesn’t know anything to hate you about. Mum and Dad didn’t even tell me until you gave them permission.” she replied. But Rhiannon couldn’t shake her worry, the new fear that had set in telling her she had become something awful and it was only a matter of time until everyone found out. There was no way to voice anything like that so she shoved it down, determined not to bring down the mood of gathering.

It was a little late for that and the conversation had fallen away. Rhiannon blinked and scrubbed away her tears, wincing as she bumped the wounds on her cheek. She cast around for something to break the growing awkward silence. Her eyes roamed the roam and eventually alit on the wand Neville was twisting awkwardly between his hands in his lap. “H-hey Neville, is tha-that a new wand?” she asked, admittedly not the most graceful of topic changes but nobody called her on it.

More by good luck than good management, her clumsy attempt at a subject shift struck gold and Neville brightened immediately. He held the wand out for inspection, grinning widely. Then he fished a notebook out of the small bag he’d brought and scrawled in it for a bit, passing the note around to Rhiannon when he finished.

Birthday gift from Grams. She pretended to be mad about the Stone thing but she wasn’t really. I think she was proud. We put Dad’s wand away and got this one.

Rhiannon managed a fragile half-smile as she read the short message. She knew Neville had been using his father’s wand for some time, remembered their Easter holiday last year, how he’d somewhat implied that his grandmother held him up as an extension of his father, and despite her inner turmoil she was incredibly glad that Neville had finally begun to establish himself as his own person.

Rhi would have got up and hugged Neville, she was already leaning forward to move, when she stopped and tilted her head. Curiously she sniffed the air more by instinct than any particular conscious will. She stood and half-ran to the door, no mean feat given the stiffness in her joints and the bruises still working their way from her muscles, but she had to know.

She reached the door before the person on the other side had finished knocking and flung it wide open, panting slightly with the exertion. On the other side stood a disheveled and red-faced Ron, a sheen of sweat coating his freckled forehead and a slightly squished parcel tucked under one arm. He curled over forwards and rested his hands on his knees, clearly winded, and it took a moment for him to recover his breath.
As soon as he did so, Rhiannon flung herself into his arms. She let out a soft groan of pain as she crushed her injured shoulder and collarbone but she didn’t care – he was here, everything was right now.
“I - I t-t-hought you weren’t coming,” she whispered tearfully into his shoulder, too relieved to be embarrassed. Ron drew back and held Rhiannon at arms’ length by the shoulders, immediately shifting his grip when she winced. Ron shook his head adamantly, looking her over with a pained gaze. His lip began to tremble and he seized her in another hug. This time Rhiannon wasn’t the only one crying, and the both of them sniffled pathetically for a little while for lack of any real way to make up for all that had happened.

Eventually they drew apart, and Ron shook his head numbly. “Mum told me. Apparently she heard from Dad or something. She didn’t want me to come and wouldn’t say why, we got in a total yelling match and she sorta told me by accident. I skived off chores and hiked over. I’m sorry I didn’t send an owl or something earlier... It doesn’t really seem like the sort of thing you put in a letter, like.” he explained. Rhiannon sniffled a bit more and wiped her damp nose with her sleeve. Wordlessly Ron offered her a clean handkerchief, and when Rhiannon had managed to recompose herself the two of them headed back into the house.

Rhiannon returned to her seat in a hurry with Ron not far behind. Hurriedly she scrubbed the last tears from her eyes and shifted awkwardly in her seat as her friends exchanged stilted conversation, scrambling for scraps of etiquette to fill in where she herself failed.
“U-u-um. Dudley, this is my friend from school, Ron. Ron, Hermione, Neville – my c-c-cousin Dudley. He’s staying here too.” Rhiannon stammered, fiddling with her tiara. For a far-fetched moment she was transported from her own body and felt as if she were some society lady presiding over an awkward tea party.
Rhi was returned to the matter at hand by Ron’s scowl. “Didn’t you say he was kind of a dick to you, Rhi?” Ron interjected bluntly. Rhiannon went red and quiet, she didn’t want to think of that – she and Dudley hadn’t discussed it, their immediate shared hurt had been more important, but Ron wasn’t entirely wrong. Memories of Dudley chasing her as she and Hagrid left number four the first time crowded her consciousness and she squeezed her eyes closed and pressed her fingers into her temples trying to chase them away.

She and Dudley looked at eachother, and Rhiannon wasn’t entirely surprised to see guilt written plainly on her cousin’s scarred face. The scar pulled his lip up a little and Rhiannon’s heart caught painfully. I’m sorry. The message was etched deep in guilt on Rhiannon’s mind, and mirrored as Dudley mouthed the words silently.

Coming to a decision, Rhiannon took a deep breath and ordered her words. “Y-yeah. But it was bad for me and when I was gone, it got bad for him too.” she explained simply. She wouldn’t defend Dudley's actions to her friends, but as they grew closer Rhiannon had begun to remember snippets of their earlier childhood; Dudley inviting Rhiannon to play and being scolded. Dudley trying to sneak Rhiannon some cake from his fifth birthday party. Dudley’s crying face visible through the closed glass door that led from the Dursley house to the garden outside where a seven year-old Rhiannon had huddled up a tree in fear of Aunt Marge’s dog, her legs bleeding from bites. It wasn’t as if he had been born a bully.

Dudley cleared his throat a little awkwardly, breaking the silence. “I was, kind’ve a dick. More than kinda. I went to school and I had this big attitude and it didn’t go great. Stuff got bad at home too and I guess... I learned at school that it was all a bit fucked up, and I got straightened out a bit. You don’t have to like, trust me or anything... but Ha- Rhiannon’s family.” he said, his voice breaking in places though it was clear he had been considering this for some time. He turned to Rhiannon, his face still flushed with shame. “I’m not gonna make excuses, the counsellors said that shifts blame but um... I never said I was sorry. We just shelved it for later and then later again and it kept away in my head and – I’m sorry.”

Rhiannon didn’t have a response, her eyes again prickling with tears. She nodded silently, meeting Dudley’s gaze, and a quick glance told her nobody else’s eyes were dry either. Ron coughed and rubbed his head, pushing hair off his damp forehead. “Well uh... if it’s good with Rhi then, guess I’m good too,” he mumbled, as near to backing down gracefully as he could manage.

Xenophilius chose that perfect moment to emerge from the kitchen, suspending before him with his wand a home-made cake. He licked his fingers clean as he set it down on the coffee table, and Rhiannon was reminded of the time she’d first met Hagrid – with another pang at his absence, though she reminded herself firmly that he would be back. The cake was even of the same kind, chocolate split into two layers joined with jam, though this one was iced in an abstracted colourful mixture of blue, pink and purple. Happy Birthday Rhiannon was lettered on the top, slightly sloppy cursive in green icing. Rhiannon stifled a giggle as she noticed the rest – Mr Lovegood had obviously hastily amended it, for and Dudley was added underneath and trailed off the edge of the cake.

When Rhiannon had taken in the lovingly albeit unconventionally decorated cake, Xenophilius took out his wand and used a spell Rhiannon recognised as the Severing Charm to divide the cake into relatively even slices, then Summoned a stack of plates – which wobbled alarmingly – from the kitchen, with which to actually serve the cake.

Rhiannon sniffed it, delighting in the rich smells of the chocolate mixing with the jam – raspberry, though she couldn’t spot any seeds and wondered idly if Mr Lovegood had charmed them out. She was a little uncertain of the icing – it looked nice enough but not a great deal like something she’d ordinarily put in her mouth; and lifted the plate up to her face to inspect it more closely. Unconvinced, she licked the icing and immediately recoiled, possessed suddenly of the desire to wipe her tongue off with her hands. The icing was too sweet and thick, and it had an odd stiff texture that disagreed with her completely.
Rhi looked up a little guilty at her reaction, only to see Neville and Hermione quietly separating theirs from the rest of the cake while the others seemed to have no problem. She shared a self-deprecating smile with Hermione, who leaned over and passed Rhiannon a spare cake fork to make the task easier.
The icing situation remedied – it really was pretty, but completely inedible for Rhiannon; she was able to demolish her cake in short order, only really vaguely listening in on her friends as she ate. When Rhi finished she peered at the table longingly, wondering if asking for seconds was appropriate given she’d finished faster than the rest. So she sat and stewed about it quietly for a little moment.

The sensation crept up on her and then it was overwhelming, and suddenly the pleasant taste of the chocolate cake was little more than a memory as Rhi was swamped by a wave of nausea. She swayed in her seat, dizzy, then shoved her chair back and bolted from the room unheeding of her bruised knees’ complaints, only in a rush to make it to the bathroom in time.

Luckily she did, but she was only just in time and lurched over to the toilet, coughing and gagging as her stomach cramped violently but nothing came up. As Rhi’s stomach gradually settled, she stumbled back upright only to step back into someone she hadn’t noticed behind her. As one might expect she flinched, but she was steadied by the hands of the person she’d collided with, then gradually allowed herself to relax as they spoke.

“Dad figured out pretty much immediately what went wrong,” said Luna matter-of-factly, stepping around Rhiannon to rummage in a bathroom cabinet for something or other. Rhi’s stomach clenched again and she whimpered softly, hunching over and hugging herself around the waist in a vain effort to squash the pain.
Luna touched one of her hands gently, then when Rhiannon looked at them they held up a small glass bottle held unstoppered in their hand. “Nearly universal antidote,” they explained simply. Rhiannon held out her hand for the bottle but almost dashed it from Luna’s grasp as her hands shook.
“May I?” Luna asked, and when Rhiannon nodded permission they gently lifted her head up and helped her drink it. Rhiannon broke the contact, leaning on the wall as another dizzy spell washed over her. She lunged for the toilet and miserably puked up what she’d eaten that morning.

When she was done Rhiannon stood and looked over at Luna, feeling a little betrayed by the lack of warning. Luna offered her a glass of water and she took it, washing out her mouth and spitting the first mouthful back into the toilet with a resentful scowl at the whole mess. She flushed it, then drained the glass and wiped her mouth on the handtowel.
“Y-you could’ve warned me,” Rhiannon accused, to an impassive shrug. “Would you have taken it if I had?” Luna replied, and Rhiannon had to admit her foster-sibling wasn’t entirely incorrect. Relieved, she noticed Luna held her cracker-gift tiara in one hand, they must have rescued it from wherever it fell somewhere during her mad dash.
“I’m g-going to guess chocolate and w-w-we-weh-werewolves, don’t mix?” asked Rhiannon a little resentfully. Luna nodded, their lips quirking up in a sort of sympathetic smile. “Canine physiological changes. Symptoms usually include nausea and pain initially, can extend to kidney damage, diarrhoea, heart rate increase and potentially seizures. Best treatment is to remove the source of the poisoning and – hang on, I know there’s some in here,” Luna explained and then sidetracked themself to rummage in the cupboards. They came back up with a glass jar of black powder and a spoon. Their tongue poked out of the side of their mouth as they concentrated and measured out the black powder into Rhiannon’s discarded water glass. Then they mixed it with enough water to make the mixture liquid, and handed it back to Rhiannon.

Rhi stared down at the black chalky liquid dubiously. “You, want me to drink... that?” she asked a little apprehensively. Luna nodded patiently. “Charcoal is a chemical sponge, it’ll soak up any leftover toxins.” they explained, then gestured for Rhiannon to drink. Rhi closed her eyes and pinched her nose as the cloying, dusty smell of the charcoal crowded her senses; and hurriedly sculled the liquid in the glass. Immediately she gagged and coughed, grimacing, and wiped the remainder of the liquid from her face. Luna nodded, seeming satisfied, and with a nod and a small smile they returned the tiara and ushered Rhiannon out of the bathroom and back into the main living space.

Rhiannon sank into the armchair she had hurriedly vacated and set her filthy glass on the floor, still grimacing at the aftertaste. Dudley also was a little green in the face and had a little black on one cheek, so Rhiannon could guess he’d had a similar experience – indeed, Mr Lovegood was just closing the jar of charcoal, and a faint smell of vomit hung in the air.

Mr Lovegood was terribly apologetic. “I’m so sorry! I should have thought of it, Luna scolded me. I forgot about the general physiological changes occurring even before the first cycle... hang on, I can still fix this,” he apologised and then mumbled, studying the partly-eaten cake still remaining on the table. Mr Lovegood looked around, then came to a decision. “All right! The lot of you, out! Outside! Take those presents off the table and go enjoy yourselves, and don’t come back until I’ve figured out the equations to transfigure this into something edible!” he ordered, shooing them from the room. Ron supported Rhiannon on her good side while Dudley hobbled out on his own, and Mr Lovegood sent the presents flying from the table after them onto the lawn.

Assisted by Ron, Rhiannon settled down under a tree – a Dirigible Plum according to the small placard – and looked around at her friends. They looked back at her and she felt a hot flush of shame flood up her neck. Nobody was sure what to say. Then, by some unspoken agreement they all shifted closer and enfolded Rhiannon in the gentlest of group hugs.
They remained that way for a long moment, and Rhiannon closed her eyes and affixed it in her mind, a shy smile spreading across her face that remained even after they retreated back into a small circle seated on the grass. Ron reached over and straightened the tiara in her hair, his smile a little shaky but genuine nonetheless.
“Come on, princess – it’s still your birthday. What d’ya say we open some of these?” he asked, nudging one of the wrapped gifts with his foot.

Rhiannon just smiled and tipped her head back to the sky with her eyes closed, taking the time and care to remember every detail of how the whole extended moment looked and sounded and felt, from the warm sensation in her chest brought by Ron’s teasing epithet to the smell of the summer plums and the soft grass under her hands, and the comfort of being surrounded by at least some of the people that she would have named family had she had the words. When she opened them she was still smiling widely, and at Ron’s urging set about opening her gifts though if she were honest, it was the presence of her friends that mattered most.