Hogwarts Reimagined

Content warning - Dementors. Flashbacks, trauma relating to: child abuse, neglect, starvation, injury. Self-injury (unintentional)

As he had promised, Professor Lupin apologised to the class. Profusely and at length. But an apology alone was not enough for the hurt he had caused. He had opened this particular can of worms unawares and now, it was his responsibility to help each student put it away for themselves – to simply shove it aside and carry on would only hurt them more. He worked with students one on one, in pairs and in small groups with Madam Pomfrey’s guidance and assistance, counselling them and encouraging them in his gentle, patient way. Fear wasn’t an easy thing to put away, and it would be wrong of him to neglect their recovery when the need for it was his fault. And he never once questioned a student, any student, about their fear – not Rhiannon or any of the others. That was good – it wasn’t his place, and it spoke well of him that he knew it.

Outside of classes, their first Hogsmeade outing was planned for the first weekend of October. Xenophilius had signed Rhiannon’s permission slip for her and she gathered with her other third-year friends in the Great Hall, waiting for someone to come and give them permission to leave as they chattered about the things they planned to do. Dudley was terribly jealous and made her promise to check out the sweet shop Honeydukes on his behalf, as he’d heard it had a whole section of sweets catered to nonhuman and varied other food sensitive needs. Rhiannon, on the other hand, was more in Hermione’s camp. There was a lot of history in Hogsmeade, the first wizarding civilisation created by the Normans after they took over Scotland. Centuries worth of old hurts, old blood and old secrets.

Headmaster McGonagall herself arrived after a short while, carrying a clipboard and quill and muttering to herself, followed by the caretaker Argus Filch. “Alright, give over your permission slips if you didn’t send them in earlier. Rhiannon, Longbottom and a few others, already got yours. Alright, hand ‘em in and then you can head on down to the village. Stick together, no-one goes off alone, follow myself and Argus until you reach the village – if you bugger him around, I will hear about it and there will be trouble. There’s a checkpoint at the main gate that I can’t do scat about, so be prepared. And remember – these visits are a privilege. Should your behaviour reflect poorly on the school, you will lose that privilege. Now, those of you with permission, you get on. Those without, stick here.” she explained curtly, and shooed the students off, collecting permission slips from those who had brought them late as she did so.

Flanked by Hermione, Ron and several of her other friends – Lavender, Kellah, Aeden, Neville and Heather, among others – Rhiannon made her way down the roughly cobbled path that led from the castle to the distant wall that marked the end of the Hogwarts grounds. She shivered and huddled into Ron’s side as already she felt the creeping influence of the Dementors guarding the gateway. Cold, right in her bones, clawing at her worst memories.

“Don’t you think you’ll be going back to that freakshow school, boy,” Aunt Petunia spat venomously, as Rhiannon covered her ears and quailed. “There’s a place for you at St. Brutus’ Reform Home come September, just you wait.” And Uncle Vernon too, the sound of his fist connecting with flesh repeating over and over in her ears. “What were the rules for tonight, hmm? No noise. No damn noise. IS THAT SUCH A BIG ASK?” Dudley’s muffled yelp as Uncle Vernon beat him, then Uncle Vernon’s attention turned on Rhiannon, the memories of him looming over her as she shrank and cowered... “Nobody – not a giant, not some freakish filth gnome, tells me what to do in my own HOUSE!” he bellowed, as Rhiannon whimpered and covered her ears more tightly, her stomach rolling with discomfort.

It wasn’t real. She’d got away – they both had. But the memories got only stronger, the pressure in Rhiannon’s head more painful as they drew nearer to the Dementors. Ron and Hermione were half-carrying her now as she sagged and stumbled between them. “’Can do it... can do it... I’ll be fine, just get me past,” she mumbled in response to Ron’s suggestion that they turn back. Memories of luminous eyes flickered behind her closed lids, she could smell smoke and something was wrong with her skin... The sounds were too loud, too loud – but they weren’t real sounds. Her real hearing was strangely dulled as her senses were swamped with screaming voices upon reaching the checkpoint, and suddenly she was falling. Her knees and palms struck the cobbled path and she was cold, freezing cold – she was seven years old again, bleeding and sobbing, her hands and knees scraped by the bark of the tree she cowered in as Aunt Marge’s dog barked and growled below. Growling... no, she was the one growling, she was trapped in the second-floor bathroom more wolf than girl and she scratched at her ears and her face as the phantom discomfort of an imaginary turn flooded over her.

Someone swore and strong hands dragged Rhiannon backwards as she sobbed and tried to claw at whoever touched her, but they stepped out of reach and left her to cling to Hermione, rocking and moaning quietly. She was hungry, so hungry and so cold, her knees covered in sores that never quite had time to heal, a rib throbbing from where it had been broken as she curled under a lumpy, scratchy duvet in the tiny closet under the stairs. She was twelve and overwhelmed with grief, held back by innumerable hands as she smelled Hermione, knew something was wrong and then she was there in front of her friend’s too-still body in the cramped, solvent-smelling Hospital Wing. Rhiannon squeezed her eyes shut against the pain in her head, her vision long since replaced with the images of her worst memories as she fought the feeling that she would never be happy again, she never deserved to feel alive again, she should just give in...

“How DARE you?”

That was Headmaster McGonagall’s enraged bellow, and it was as much a shock to Rhiannon’s sensitive ears as a gunshot. She dragged herself backwards to escape it, but her elbow gave out with a twist and a flare of pain and she fell flat to the ground, her head smacking against the stones with a sickening whump. White light flared behind Rhiannon’s eyes and she realised dimly that she was screaming again.

“You are to guard the gates, and the students! You have no leave to attack students, faculty – anyone! Now get back to your damn post, or I will have you all removed!”

Then McGonagall’s wiry hands were gripping Rhiannon’s shoulders, shaking her gently to her senses. Rhiannon moaned and shook her head, awash with a dizzy sick feeling. Hermione, Ron and her other friends crowded around but McGonagall ordered them back. “Two of you – Weasley, Ndiaye-Granger? If you’d help me get her back up to the castle, I can escort you both down to Hogsmeade afterwards...” she said, but Rhiannon lost track of the rest as her head lolled and the jolt sent her spinning down into unconsciousness.

_____________________________________________________________________

When Rhiannon came to, her head ached and the first thing she smelled was vomit. Her vision was useless as she had expected, which was almost a blessing – the light would have been too bright for her poor overextended senses. As it was, the soft, scattered rustling, clinking and other assorted noises of the Hospital Wing had her covering her ears in pain and retreating into the scratchy covers of the hospital bed with a piteous whimper.

“Don’t go getting up too fast, you have a minor concussion,” the familiar voice of Madam Pomfrey warned her gently. “You’ll feel nauseous, sleepy and dizzy for a bit – whacked your head pretty hard on the cobbles. I’ve put some balm on all your scrapes, be gentle next time you wash or brush your hair because there’s a couple scabs in there.”

Rhiannon groaned and hid her face in the pillow, wincing as the sore skin around her neck pulled taut – she must have scratched it raw again. “Nuh- I- ‘mione?” she asked clumsily, hating the whine that crept into her slurred tone.

Madam Pomfrey sighed and chuckled. “It was all I could do to shoo Miss Ndiaye-Granger and Master Weasley out of here. You, young lady, are becoming something of a regular. They’ll be back from Hogsmeade soon, I expect, and in all likelihood bearing gifts for you. You just rest, the Headmaster wants to speak with you in any case.” she said, then made a small sound like an audible frown. “There is one thing – is your blocker not working? I hate to ask, but since you’re in here already...”

Rhiannon scowled and rubbed a hand over the prickly fuzz on her upper lip. She shook her head, then put a hand to her temple as the movement made her feel like her brain was sloshing about inside her skull. Madam Pomfrey hummed softly. “Oh – of course!” she exclaimed. “The Time-Turner, you’ve got to be squeezing four extra hours into a day at minimum, and I’d bet you’re doing extra to cover the homework, no? That’ll be affecting it – your potion is for twenty-four hours, not thirty. I’ll prescribe you an extra half-dose to take at dinnertime, that should cover it. Now – rest, your brain was scrambled enough before you whacked it. If you can stomach it, I’ll bring you some lunch in a couple of hours and some balm for that raw skin besides.”

Rhiannon eased herself into a more comfortable position in the bed and nodded stiffly, then rubbed her eyes and pulled the blankets up so that she could nap in peace. Madam Pomfrey departed, and Rhiannon fell into a fitful dozing state, unable to quite fall asleep or get comfortable. Her cat Calypso arrived some time later to ease her lonely discomfort, and some time afterwards the Headmaster herself turned up, heralded by the soft click of her sensible shoes on the stone floor.

“Good to see you looking better, Rhiannon,” McGonagall greeted her warmly, sitting down in a chair to the side of Rhiannon’s bed with a creak of springs. “I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news but... given this extreme reaction, I cannot condone any further attempts to visit Hogsmeade. Perhaps... yes, perhaps it is for the better. Stay here, stay safe – recover.”

Rhiannon pushed herself upright, a protest already springing to her lips. No Hogsmeade visits – none? But she’d promised Dudley she’d get him something, and there were so many things she wanted to see, and to do, there. And Minerva didn’t even seem disappointed – concerned, yes, sorry, but not sorry that Rhiannon could go – only sorry for what had happened. Frustration bubbled up in Rhiannon’s gut, frustration at her own helplessness and at the whole ridiculous situation. Because that was what it was, wasn’t it? The stories said Sirius Black was after her, and Minerva believed that story – or at least half-believed it, or considered it worth worrying about. She was trying to protect Rhiannon, from a danger that might not even exist.

“Th-th-th-thi-sssssss- BAH! Aagh, this- is – is-is-ssss- this- is about Sirius Black, isn’t it?” Rhiannon stammered helplessly, finally spitting out the words in a clumsy, furious flood. “You’re – you-you- faaaaagh! You’re just trying to protect me again.”

Minerva spluttered and reached out to clasp Rhiannon’s hands in hers. “Is that so bad? You’ve been through – so, very much, in such a short life. Isn’t it natural for me, being an adult in a position of power, to want to save you from any more?” she asked softly.

Rhiannon growled and pulled her hands free, shaking her head angrily and ignoring the dizziness the motion brought as she did so. “Yes!” she snapped. “As-as-as-as-ssss- ‘s if Sirius Black is going t’ show up – here? In – in the biggest wizarding-only community in Britain? There’s got t’ be another way through, just – stop trying t’ look after me.” she slurred clumsily, her speech made untidier by her anger.

Minerva sighed, and by the rustle of robes and hair Rhiannon guessed the woman leaned forward and rested her face in her hands. Her speech was a little muffled when she spoke next. “Rhiannon – you are capable, competent – no-one knows that more than I. And you aren’t just a child anymore – you’re growing up. But you are my responsibility, and more than that – I worry that Sirius Black or the Dementors pursuing him could be a danger to the rest of the school if your presence in the open draws him near. Many of the students react poorly to the Dementors, some as badly as you, but Dementors are a danger to all in this school – as would be Sirius Black. You must understand, Rhiannon – he killed fifteen people just because they were in the way.” she replied quietly.

“Allegedly,” Rhiannon retorted, tripping over the difficult L’s. “There was – th- th- was- no trial. N-n-n-n-n-no investigation.”

Minerva sighed again, and took Rhiannon’s hands in her grasp. This time, Rhiannon did not wrench them away. “Just as you say. Whether he is guilty or not, though – the Sirius Black that I knew, that I taught, was a reckless boy. He has grown into a reckless man, made only worse by twelve years in a prison existence worse than death. If by chance he is innocent, he may very well cause harm without meaning to in the effort to prove that innocence. Innocent or guilty, he is still dangerous to you and to my school and the Dementors on his tail even more so.” she explained.

Rhiannon took one hand from Minerva’s grasp and used it to rub her eyes wearily. The Headmaster made a point. Whether Rhiannon liked it or not, she was a powerful symbol to the wizarding world, and had an even more intimate connection to Sirius Black himself – that of family. At worst, he was a murderer determined to finish what he started. At best, an innocent man and a survivor of a horrific human rights crime, desperate to prove himself before he was sent back to a prison worth than a death sentence. Minerva was right – he was a risk, and to prove his innocence he would need to find Rhiannon. Either way he would seek her out, and that put her peers at risk. This wasn’t just about her, or her pride. She sighed, and rested her forehead in her free hand. “Fine,” she mumbled wearily. “I can- get in some extra Quidditch practice, I guess.”

Minerva patted her hand gently. “Not with that concussion you won’t – rest. I am sorry, truly. It isn’t fair that this burden gets laid at your feet. But I can only alleviate that so much – you are still who you are, and there’s nothing either of us can do to change that. Thankyou, for being understanding of it.” she murmured.

Rhiannon snorted derisively. She’d been more resigned than understanding, in her own opinion, but if the Headmaster wanted to think better of her, she was not in the mood to correct that. She settled back into bed and closed her useless eyes with a sigh, taking her hands from Minerva’s grasp in order to stroke her begging cat. “Sure. Can I nap now? My head is-is-ssss-s killing me.” she said sleepily.

Minerva chuckled and reached over to pat Calypso’s ears. “Absolutely, and I’m sorry to have held off your rest this long. See you in class on Monday.” she finished, and left Rhiannon to her dozing.

_____________________________________________________________________

Once Rhiannon had recovered somewhat, she did as she had suggested and threw her time into Quidditch practice as best she could while not permitted to fly. There was no point in dwelling on Sirius Black, it was better to distract herself with ground drills and strategy planning. This was Oliver Wood’s last year at Hogwarts, he deserved to win that Quidditch Cup, and Rhiannon was determined to do her best to make that happen, but the task was made more difficult by the changes to the houses and to the Quidditch system overall. In addition to losing three players – George Weasley, Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet were no longer in Gryffindor House – the rules of the Quidditch tournament had been changed so that students could form their own teams in addition to the main House teams. That meant not only did they have to find and train three new players, but that they had an unknown number of new opponents to face throughout the year. Rhiannon had already heard that Draco Malfoy had formed his own team, having not made the Ravenclaw House team, and who knew how many others there might be?

Rhiannon worked on her own skills as best she could, but the Gryffindor Team as a whole had to get its new players together and get the team into shape, because their first game was at the end of the month. They had taken on D’Arcy Garnett and Heather as Chasers, but were still down a Beater – possibly two, as Fred didn’t want to play without his brother. They ran an informal practice tryout the second weekend of October, with Rhiannon on the sidelines thanks to her concussion. At his brother’s urging, Ron was trying out for Beater and Rhiannon enjoyed having the time to cheer her friend on, even if her head still ached miserably.

“Alright! Weasley, don’t put the ultimatum on him – either you play or you don’t, don’t make it about someone else,” Oliver Wood told Fred firmly, prodding him in the chest as he did so while Rhiannon watched from the sideline. “And you, Weasley Junior, no pressure – I know you’re good, if you don’t make it I want you in as Chaser, Pace and Garnett can play alternate games.” he added with a nod to Ron. “Ange, you’re watching how this all runs, yeah? I know the Mac has you earmarked for next year’s captain.”

Angelina rolled her eyes and elbowed Oliver good-naturedly. “Yes, Wood, I have been playing Quidditch for the last three years,” she retorted. Oliver gave the signal to mount up, and the six players – Ron, Oliver, Fred, Heather, D’Arcy and Angelina – took off into the cloudy autumn sky.

It become immediately obvious that Ron was not suited to Beating. He was tall and lanky where his brother was solid and stocky – he didn’t have the sheer power needed for the task, however good his reflexes and instincts were, and Rhiannon saw him becoming quickly frustrated. Oliver grounded the team again after about fifteen minutes, and Ron threw his bat on the ground in frustration. “I can’t do this – I’m a shit Beater, and more to the point, damnit Fred it’s not fair to say you’ll only play if you can play with me. The whole house system got shook up, we’ve got as many good Quidditch players as we lost! We have Bliss Kingsley this year, idiot, play with her, I’m out.” he snapped, and stomped off to sit on the sideline bench with Rhiannon.

Angelina punched Fred in the shoulder, glaring. “He’s right, knothead. You don’t see me moping because my girlfriends are playing for Slytherin and Miremark, do you? Why are we trying a green player when we could have someone who’s played that position for two years? The whole reason they did this was to make Quidditch a bit less nepotistic, and I know the Mac’d like it if we took her on – we know Bliss is good.” she reasoned.

Fred drooped, and Oliver shook his head firmly. “Ange and Ron have the right of it – this was a bloody stupid exercise. If you want to play, play – we’d love to have you if you stop sulking, and I bet Bliss will be a fun partner if she agrees to join. You’re going to go find her and invite her to practice, we’ll try this again tomorrow.” he told Fred.

Fred sighed and nodded, and stuck his Beater’s bat into its loop on his belt. “You’re right. I was being an ass. I’m sorry. I’ll go do that.” he replied.

Wood snorted and clapped him on the shoulder, Fred grimaced – it was the one Angelina had punched. “Apologise to your brother on your way out,” he told him, and led the team over to rest on the bench with Rhiannon and Ron. Fred apologised quickly to Ron as he left, and Oliver squeezed Ron’s shoulder good-naturedly. “I meant it, Ron – I still want you on the team, you’re a perfectly good Chaser and I need a fill-in Keeper around. Heather, Darce, you can alternate games because you’re both new, if Ron’s filling in for me you can both play – I’ll be stepping out of games a bit this year to give Ange a chance to practice captaining and so I don’t completely fail my N.E.W.Ts. Cheer up, Ron – I knew it was a dumb idea, but I think your brother needed to actually see it fail to notice that.” he added.

Ron sighed, and Rhiannon squeezed his hand for reassurance. “Thanks, Wood,” he replied grumpily. Rhiannon guessed that he recognised Wood’s point but didn’t want to acknowledge it – she knew he struggled with his own self-esteem and it would take him a while to get over failing like that in public.

“Let’s go clean up and start on our monster homework pile,” Rhiannon suggested, with a nod to Heather as well. “Trelawney wants us noting down all the dreams we have, I think she’s starting us on interpretation of those next week.” she added with a scowl and a roll of her eyes.

Heather snorted, and got to their feet. They helped Ron and Rhiannon to theirs, and with a nod and some brief farewells the three of them left the team to their own devices and set off back to Gryffindor tower. When they were enough of a distance away, Heather looked down at their hands and brushed their fringe out of their eyes. “I – um – I... I found a name I liked,” they mumbled. “But – I wanted to ask you first, in case it’s not okay.”

Rhiannon shrugged and made a bewildered sort of face. “Wh-wh-wh-wh-yy- why would your name be my business? You don’t need my permission or anything, I’m not the Queen of Queerness.”

Heather cackled. “No, that’s Freddie Mercury, may he rest in peace,” they replied, looking to the heavens in an exaggerated sort of way. “No, it’s that – I like, um. Harry. I like the name Harry. For me. But I- I wondered if that would, bother you or something.” they admitted, anxiously knotting their fingers together as they walked.

Rhiannon expected to feel a jolt of discomfort at hearing the name that had once been hers – but there was nothing. A grin spread over her face, and she laughed, both at the idea and the realisation she was free of that particular part of her dysphoria. “That’s – that’s kind of great, actually. Harry P-p-p-p-p-potter? Oh no, y-you must mean Harry Pace, I th-think they’re around here somewhere. Ha!” she finished, still grinning widely. “No, really – have it, it’s nice to ass-s-ss-s-ssss-sociate it with someone else, even better a friend. Nice to meet you, Harry.”

Harry snickered, and Ron’s lips turned up in a wry smile as he held open the castle door for them to get inside. “Okay, I hadn’t thought of that. That’s funny,” Harry replied, still sniggering to themself. “Oh, I’m going to have so much fun with Dumbledore.”

Rhiannon laughed out loud at the thought, so much so that tears sprang to her eyes and she had to put a hand to her head as it began to ache. “Oh, he’s going to be mad,” she wheezed. “Make sure you tell me how it goes – I bet even Min-e-McGonagall will get a laugh out of it.”

Harry hugged Rhiannon suddenly, just a light embrace as Rhiannon was prone to startling. “Thankyou. Really. It’s – nice to feel like me, for once,” they murmured, a flush rising to their cheeks as they stepped away, the pale birthmark over their eye turning faintly purplish.

Rhiannon smiled, and reached out to squeeze Harry’s hand for a brief moment. “Trust me, I-i-i-i-I know the feeling.” she agreed. Ron was conspicuously quiet, and Rhiannon wondered on that as they headed back to the tower. She hoped someday all of her friends would get to feel like themselves.