Hogwarts Reimagined

The start-of-term feast ran shorter than usual, as the whole school had been set awry by the announcement and drifted off to bed early. Rhiannon slipped up and set off with the Gryffindor students, getting as far as the stairs before Padma caught up to her and she realised her mistake with a laugh. That remedied, she set off downstairs with the rest of the Hufflepuffs toward their common room. She’d never really been in before, although she’d walked Dudley back enough times to know where it was, and honestly – she hadn’t expected a mostly-underground room to be so pleasant.

The common room was large, round and mostly subterranean, save for a scarce handful of feet that protruded enough ground – enough for windows that lit the room from three sides but were too high for Rhiannon to see out of, a taller student might have seen that they were directly level with the foot of the castle and the grass of the hillside. Where Gryffindor and Ravenclaw’s common rooms were in a tower, Hufflepuff’s was more the inverse, and a spiral staircase at the centre of the common room led down to a second level on which the dormitories were located.

Rhiannon had expected to be uncomfortable or even claustrophobic, but she could see why Dudley liked this place. There were plants everywhere, comfortable reading nooks – it felt more like a den than Gryffindor’s common room had, and that was reassuring to the teenage werewolf, especially with the uncertain outlook on the year. Too tired for conversation or looking around, she padded downstairs and searched for the door labeled four, remembering only belatedly that she was no longer a third-year.

The room inside was almost identical to the rooms Rhiannon knew from Gryffindor, save for a different colour scheme and the lack of outdoor windows. In place of those windows, there were potted plants hanging on the walls, and a table near the door held glass bowls, potting soil and tools Rhiannon guessed from her Herbology lessons that one might use to set up a terrarium of their own. Luna and Neville would love this place, she thought idly, as she gently scooted her sleeping cat to one side of the bed the creature had clearly claimed for them both and sat down on the edge to get ready for bed. If she’d needed anything to feel prepared for this year, it was a safe place to sleep, and she smiled to herself as she pulled the curtains closed and curled up in bed beside her cat.

The next morning, Rhiannon awoke early – and a good thing too, as the timetable which had been delivered to her bedside along with her medication potions – a blocker, the new estrogen equivalent, and the anxiety-managing potion Xenophilius had used since the attack – read that on Mondays, she had Transfiguration class at 8, though luckily that was followed by a free period before Charms at ten. So it was with a yawn and a grumpy expression that she stumbled out of bed and made for the showers.

After a shower Rhiannon changed quickly and padded upstairs, still yawning and aching with every step, in search of breakfast, her faithful cat at her heels – perhaps Calypso had some Kneazle ancestry too, because she seemed to be well aware of which classes she was allowed to share with her mistress. Unlike the night before, there was no separation of houses enforced at the breakfast table and Rhiannon quickly found her friends seated together at the far end of one in a corner. “Morning, Rhi!” Nina greeted her with a grin. Then she made a wry face, and held up something small and puffy in one hand – an animal? Maybe. Rhiannon wasn’t quite sure, and on top of the full moon her glasses were of no use so she could barely see it. It smelled like an animal, at least.

“Your friggin’ god-dad sent me this ball of feathers and it won’t leave,” Nina complained, as she held the creature up for Rhiannon’s inspection. As Rhiannon peered closer, she could see it was an owl, of some sort – very very small, smaller than she’d ever seen in person but from what she knew of Luna’s books she guessed it to be perhaps an elf owl, or maybe a northern saw-whet.

“It’s an owl, Nin, they kinda imprint onto their owners, it’s part of the magic,” Ginny told her sister drily across the table. “And he’s adorable, isn’t he? Yes, isn’t he just​?” she cooed, giggling in a way quite of character as compared to her usual stoicism and snark as the little owl turned its’ head to her and clacked its’ beak in a manner Rhiannon could only interpret as happiness.

Nina sighed. “Yeah, Sirius sent me this whole – apology letter for getting rid of Scabbers or whatever,” she replied wearily. “As if I care – he was kind ‘f a shit pet, and that was before he turned out to be a mass murderer in disguise, bloody hell. But, he doesn’t seem to care about that so, uh, huzzah – I have an owl now. Not that he can deliver anything further than like, Hogsmeade.”

Luna padded over and perched on the edge of a bench beside Padma. “He’s an elf owl,” they informed Nina politely. “Very endangered species from the United States of America, wizards have put some effort into conservation partly for the novelty of them. You’d best take care of him, there’s only about, ah… fifteen thousand of them left? Maybe a little less.”

Rhiannon grinned, and reached out under the table to squeeze Luna’s hand briefly. “Morning,” she greeted him cheerfully. “Any specific way you’re feeling today?”

Luna cocked vir head curiously. “Hungry?” xe replied with a shrug. Rhiannon snorted with laughter and Luna sighed as she finally got what her friend had meant. “Oh, that – he and him are still fine today, thanks,” he added, his pale cheeks colouring with a faint flush.

Nina’s little owl squawked impatiently and flapped its’ wings, clamouring for their attention, and Nina begrudgingly scratched under its’ chin until it settled. Luna cooed and reached over the table, wiggling his fingers so that the owl could nip at them playfully. “You’ve got to give him a name – it’s a bonding moment. He’s offended you haven’t done it yet.” he informed Nina with a grin.

Nina glared at the owl. “It took me bloody months to figure out my own name, let alone one for a bloody pet,” she grumbled, but her voice was soft as she scratched the diminutive owl’s cheek.

Ginny snickered. “God, you overthink,” she retorted. “It’s an owl, just give it a name, it doesn’t even have to make sense! Like, I don’t know, Isidore, or – or Freckle, or Pigwidgeon.”

At the last name, the owl clacked his beak and bounced on Nina’s finger, chittering happily and fluffing its’ feathers loudly. “No, no, that’s a stupid name,” Nina groaned, and held the owl up to eye level. “Don’t tell me you wanna be Pigwidgeon.”

The owl squawked, and Ginny cackled. Nina promptly lobbed her napkin across the table at her sister, scowling indignantly, while the owl – who had clearly decided his name was to be Pigwidgeon – hopped off her finger and bounced back and forth in front of them both, clacking his beak gleefully. “Awww, he likes it!” Ginny cooed, snickering at the little owl’s antics. “Who’s a clever little Pig, huh? He is!”

Luna giggled, and held out a finger for Pigwidgeon to climb on. The owl immediately scuttled up his arm and into his unruly flaxen hair, where he vanished among the pale waves. “Uh… I guess he wants to hang out with me? I’ll give him back when, ah – ow! When he wants to get out of my hair, he’s pretty lodged in there,” he said ruefully.

Rhiannon snickered, and reached over the table for some toast. She checked her watch – quarter to eight – and immediately began buttering it hurriedly. Transfiguration was at eight, and even though she was still in a private class, she knew Minerva wouldn’t tolerate any tardiness. After butter went jam, and she shoveled the toast down as quickly as possible, followed by a glass of milk, and by then it was five minutes until class started and time to get moving. She, Hermione, Padma and several of their other friends from Hufflepuff, Slytherin and Gryffindor who took Transfiguration with the Headmaster instead of the main class set off upstairs from the Hall, accompanied by an assortment of pets as Minerva permitted them in their class so long as they were quiet – and not even an animal would dare disobey Minerva McGonagall.

When they arrived at the Headmaster’s open office, however, the fourth-year students were met with something unexpected – company. Minerva sat at her desk, but beside her in a spare chair was an unfamiliar woman. She was unusually short, Rhiannon guessed she might be of a similar stature to Professor Flitwick when standing, her hair was cut short around her face, wavy and black shot through with steel threads, and her eyes were a sharp blue standing out in her olive skin. Immediately, Rhiannon got the impression that this woman was not one to mess with, and she bowed awkwardly in place as she and her friends crowded into the office.

“Ah, my fourth-years, fantastic,” Minerva greeted them with a smile. “This is your new Transfiguration instructor, Professor Barron. I would have introduced her at the feast last night, but things were a little uncertain with regards to confirming her availability.” she explained. “I’ll let you all get acquainted, and you can use the wider office space today but from now your regular classes will be held in the Transfiguration wing as Professor Dumbledore’s classes are.”

Professor Barron favoured the students with a smile. “I’m delighted to be working with you all,” she told them, her voice surprisingly soft and shy for such an imposing figure. “I am new to teaching, so this will be a learning experience for us all, and I’m delighted your Headmaster has given me the opportunity to work here.” she added, and with a flicker of blue sparks dancing around her fingers from some wandless magic, stood from her chair and stepped elegantly down to the floor – the sparks seemed to provide a brief ability to walk on the air below her too-tall chair – and then carried on across the office to the slightly lower level where Headmaster McGonagall usually held class, already set up with a board and scattered chairs. Rhiannon settled herself between Padma and Hermione and took out her textbook, note-taking pad and pen, eager to see how Professor Barron intended to cover the topics they would work on for that year.

Professor Barron turned out to be a cautious but competent instructor, well-versed in anatomical structure and physics and with a talent for explaining the difficult concepts concisely. Her lesson was thoroughly enjoyable, and Rhiannon thought that perhaps her Transfiguration marks might pick up that year as a result of the changed teaching style – not that McGonagall was a bad teacher, as such, she was just a little too busy for the attention to detail that Professor Barron brought.

After Transfiguration they had a free period and then Charms, where Professor Flitwick ran them through plans for the curriculum next year, which included a month-long section on self-defence and emergency spells but mainly focused on increasing precision and distance in their spellcasting rather than learning new magic. He also offered an extra class, once a week on Saturday afternoons, for students who wanted to learn to apply their Charms knowledge and expand into enchanting, which Rhiannon immediately signed up for.

The morning break was a welcome reprieve, especially with Rhiannon’s friends all in different houses and classes. Hermione was excited to hear that Flitwick was offering an Enchanting class, and she and Neville made plans to sign up for it when they eventually had Charms class themselves. From there they got distracted planning improvements to Neville’s communication tablet, perhaps a way to make it easier to carry and use.

Soon the break was up, and it was time to get back to class – this time Herbology with the Miremarks and some Gryffindors. Rhiannon sat herself in the back with Neville, they worked well together – she could answer quicker than he could, while he was better at note-taking and analysing than she was. But today, the lesson was Bubotubers and Rhiannon had a much bigger problem than her inattention to get around.

As soon as she entered the greenhouse, Rhiannon felt – off, somehow, her throat constricted and her head aching. And that only worsened when the practical segment of the lesson began, siphoning the reeking raw sap from the plant’s pustules into stoppered vials. The plant was a pulsating menace of a thing, with a nasty predisposition for spitting its’ sap into the faces of those who attempted to harvest it – all of the students wore face-shields, but as the lesson wore on Rhiannon struggled more and more to do so much as stopper her vials. Her face shield was fogged with sap and the skin revealed by the gaps in her protective clothing stung with blisters, something Madam Pomfrey had warned them about and that she’d planned to tend to after the lesson. The pain didn’t matter – she was used to pain and discomfort, and had initially blamed the tightness in her throat to be a reaction of her oversensitive body to the harsh chemical smell that permeated the greenhouse.

That was, until her vision began to dim. Rhiannon realised something was wrong then, but it was too late – her mind and movements were sluggish, she couldn’t force words through her constricting throat and as Rhiannon tried to turn to Neville and warn him, she was struck with a wave of sickening weakness and toppled from her stool, gasping for breath through a rapidly-closing throat.

“Rhi! Someone- help-” Neville gasped, his voice slurred as he forced himself to speak, but Rhiannon could barely see as she lay on the floor like a flipped turtle, hands and feet twitching ineffectually. Someone laid hands on Rhiannon’s shoulders and helped her into a sitting position, but it didn’t help and she nearly slapped her rescuer as she clawed at her neck for breath that wouldn’t come. Snapping, clawing and gasping, Rhiannon was dragged into unconsciousness even as someone lifted her from the floor.

When she awoke, Rhiannon was lying on a bed beneath all-too-familiar scratchy sheets, and she groaned. The Hospital Wing on her first day, again. She opened her mouth to speak and coughed, gagging as air struck her still-raw throat. “Fuck-sake,” she wheezed, irritated and too worn out to open her eyes, and reached out with a trembling hand to where she guessed a glass of water lay on the table beside the bed. But of course, as was the theme with today, she struck it sideways and swept the glass off the table, where it splashed all over the sheets and then smashed onto the floor. Rhiannon spat and leapt from the bed in disgust, but the chain of disaster continued as her legs tangled in the bed-sheets and she fell face-first, caught just in time by her elbows, on the hard stone floor of the Hospital Wing with a grunt and a wheezing curse at the sudden flare of pain.

“Ah – Rhiannon, slow down there!” Madam Pomfrey warned her, her shoes clicking on the floor as she hurried across the room. Rhiannon opened her eyes to a blurry field of vision, but in all honesty she was used to that around the full moon period – she spent a lot of time pretending she could see more than she could. All she could see now was a blurry greyish shape as Madam Pomfrey knelt before her and took her hands, casting a wandless spell of healing with a whisper that eased the ache in Rhiannon’s elbows where they had struck the floor. “You’ve had a severe allergic reaction, it’s called anaphylaxis. I’ve eased the immediate symptoms restricting your breathing but you’ll still be weak, I’ve sent a note to your professors to get you out of class for the rest of the day so that you can recover.” she explained, gently helping Rhiannon to her feet.

“Allergy?” Rhiannon rasped, bewildered. “I ‘on’t – have, allergies?” As far as she knew, allergies had only been an excuse they used for her werewolf sensitivities, and they’d never caused something like that.

Madam Pomfrey nodded, or at least Rhiannon guessed she did as the nurse helped her back into bed. “That is true – that’s not exactly the case. In a human, such a reaction is typically caused by an allergy, an anomalous reaction to a particular thing, and more rarely by poisoning. In you, I would guess that it’s part of the bleedthrough effect – perhaps Bubotuber fumes are toxic to dogs and wolves, and thus to you. We’ll have to do more research on toxicity, as clearly it affects more than just what you eat, but it is also possible that your reaction could be a side effect of your enhanced sense of smell – Bubotuber fumes are unhealthy enough for humans, not unlike breathing in petrol fumes, for you it would be worse.”

Rhiannon just flopped back in the bed and groaned, and Madam Pomfrey pressed a new glass of water into her hands which she drank greedily, ignoring the urge to gag as it ran over raw skin. “But – I like Herbology,” she protested weakly. “It- it m-akes-s-s-s s-s-sense, it’s all practical, it’s-s-s- even outside, sort of.”

Madam Pomfrey sighed and drummed her fingers on the table while she hovered beside Rhiannon’s bedside. “Then that rules out option one, dropping the class. Which leaves us with option two – finding a way to cope with it. I have some specialty masks for other students with allergies or sensitivities, for use in Potions and Herbology. I can charm them to filter out the irritants so you’re breathing clear air, but you’ll need to reapply the charm weekly – I can teach it to you – and make sure you take the mask apart and clean the physical filters nightly. It will be annoying, but effective. Will you be alright with that?” she asked.

Rhiannon wrinkled her nose at the thought of wearing a mask, she hated even shower water on her face let alone something physical. But it was a better option than dropping a class she liked. “I... yeah, I’ll deal,” she grumbled. Then a thought struck her – she had wolfish sensitivities. That included touch, not just things she ate or breathed in, and she had noticed she’d come away from Herbology class itchy on several occasions. “C-c-c-c-an I get some gloves, too? Thin ones, so I can still hand-d-d-d-dle stuff like I can with bare hands, but so I don’t get itchy stuff.”

Madam Pomfrey nodded, and a scratching sound suggested to Rhiannon that she was writing notes for herself. “Absolutely – I should have thought of that myself. There’s a second spell I can teach you for warding your clothing, including the gloves – that’s a reapply-daily task. And I can leave you and your cousin each with a tube of antihistamine cream that should ease and heal the itching wherever something sneaks through.” she replied, still scratching out notes. “I’ll make sure to get a mask and some gloves for your cousin too, you’re both very lucky we didn’t run into this issue earlier really.”

Rhiannon rolled her eyes and sighed wearily. “Hey, maybe next year I can try to st-t-t-ay out-t of the Hospital Wing for my first week,” she drawled, and let her eyes fall closed. “If I’ve got no class, I’m gonna take a nap, somebody wake me when there’s food,”

And with that, Rhiannon curled up on her side in bed and drifted back to sleep. The full moon was that very night, she had been exhausted and uncomfortable long before the anaphylaxis attack, now she was just plain worn out. The year before, she might have fought to go back to class, but this year she was going to take free rest breaks where she could get them.