Hogwarts Reimagined

As it turned out, Rhiannon’s new companion was a Pel’s Fishing Owl, found scattered across the continent of Africa. Some very grumpy enquiries made by an indignant Luna to the Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley informed them that this particular owl had been picked up in Malawi along with a handful of others and imported to England as a novel curiosity, the others had been adopted but this one had sat in the shop for quite some time. No wonder she was grumpy.

Following Rhiannon’s impression of the owsl as a firebrand or sunbeam, she, Luna and Dudley hunted through stories and language books for the areas in which Pel’s Fishing Owls were found and eventually came up with the name Chiphadzuwa, ‘the sun’ – or Chip for short. That seemed to please the owl, who was rather like a cat in that she was very certain of what she wanted and Merlin help anyone who got in her way. She had three perches to choose from – one beside Dudley’s bed in the Slytherin third-year dormitory, one beside Rhiannon’s bed in Hufflepuff, and another in Remus’ suite; and she could come and go at night as she pleased. While Chip was far from her natural habitat, she was certainly not the only exotic owl present at Hogwarts and Rhiannon doubted there would be any harm in letting her fish as she pleased – if the merfolk complained she might have to restrict outdoor time, but that was a later problem.

But Chiphadzuwa could not distract Rhiannon forever, even if now she could send letters to Sirius more easily and that definitely helped her keep from bottling up her worries. Now she and the other Champions had Remus’ keys, they trained on the course almost every afternoon and slowly but surely, Rhiannon grew a grim sort of confidence in her own abilities as she began to consisntently match up to her older peers even with the course’s difficulty turned up to maximum, and her skill in the Summoning Charm so consistent that she could locate and target her friends’ belongings no matter where they hid them around the castle.

Still, there was only so much time to practice – three weeks wasn’t a lot of time by any measure, and all too soon the 24^th of November was upon them. With only two days until the time of the turn, there weren’t enough truly filthy words in the English language to describe how wretched Rhiannon felt and for the first time she seriously considered learning another language just to be able to complain more effectively. The weather didn’t even have the decency to be properly wintry – outside it was bitterly cold but cloudy, rainy and dismally windswept, exhausting to traipse through compared to the fresh, dry cold of true winter. So it was a rather miserable afternoon indeed that greeted Rhiannon as she trudged sullenly through the castle, her fireproofed robes, second-favourite boots and wand stowed safely in a backpack so that she could change before the task rather than wait around in sodden clothes.

A sick, apprehensive hush hung heavy over the castle as Rhiannon traipsed through the corridors, crowds of students staring at her from every corner and whispering amongst themselves as she passed them. It seemed that finally even those who disliked Rhiannon had come face to face with the very real possibility that she could die in a matter of hours – at least as far as they knew, ignorant of the hours of training and planning Rhiannon had put in to prepare for this task. Even Rhiannon’s friends were less than helpful as they accompanied her, near-silent in their own fear for her life, but she at least appreciated the physical protection from prying eyes her pack provided.

All too soon, Rhiannon reached the outer door of the castle where Hagrid and Headmaster McGonagall waited for her, both dressed in heavy rainproof outer-robes. Rhiannon’s friends mobbed her with a round of hugs, none of them willing to part with her until the very last moment, and as usual it was Hermione who hung on the longest, joined by Luna when the crowd had loosened a little. “Don’t you dare die on me, Rhiannon Black, or – or I’ll kill you,” Hermione growled fiercely, her mouth practically right against Rhiannon’s ear and careless of how little sense the statement made as tears ran freely down her round cheeks and dripped into the necks of both their robes.

“I’ll, keep her from killing you,” Luna murmured, and for a long moment the three of them comforted eachother, three foreheads pressed together with eyes shut tightly before Luna firmly peeled Hermione away from Rhiannon’s much-smaller frame limb by limb and held her in a tight hug so that Rhiannon might catch her breath. “You know I’m frightened for you, I don’t need to tell you that so... go and, I believe the phrase is, knock their fucking socks off.”

Rhiannon stared, unsure which was more incongruous – Luna using a distinctly nonmagical expression, or Luna swearing. Then she caught sight of the little upward quirk on their lips and grinned, seeing the ploy for what it was – a mischievous distraction intended to shock her out of her funk. And it worked, of course it did – Luna always knew the right thing to say. “Merlin I love you both,” she breathed, and seized both Luna and Hermione in a brief, fierce hug. “I-I’m-m-m-m-m- I’m g-g-g-g-oing t’ come back t’ you, I promise.”

The implications of her words could wait ‘til later, Rhiannon decided, she was as good as drunk with the impending danger and luckily neither of them pressed for more – Hermione was in no condition to do so and Luna’s focus was clearly on caring for Hermione, which reassured Rhiannon – as Luna was the only one of Rhiannon’s pack who had ever seen her face death on purpose, xe knew best how capable she was, which made xir directive that she go and knock their fucking socks off all the more genuine. And Rhiannon was determined to make xir proud, make them all proud.

“S-s-ssee you on the other side, or, however it is,” Rhiannon stammered, fixing a fragile but not false smile onto her face. And with that awkward farewell, she turned and slipped one tiny hand into Hagrid’s as a wave of Minerva’s wand opened the great outer doors and then the three of them stepped out into the blustery rain. The doors swung closed with a very final-sounding slam and Rhiannon couldn’t keep back a shiver – this felt very much like a point of no return.

Rhiannon leaned heavily on Hagrid’s arm as they walked, sheltered somewhat from the rain by a translucent blue-lilac umbrella of glimmering magic that Minerva had conjured from her wand-tip to cover the three of them, but there was no escape from the mud as the three of them padded the familiar track into the Forbidden Forest. Rhiannon recognised their route as near that which Hagrid had taken to show her the dragons at the full moon, and though the rain dampened the smells of the world around them she could still catch the heavy, earthy scent of charcoal and smoke that had sunk into the ground and the sodden trees.

They reached the clearing that had held the dragons in their cages, but it stood empty now, just an open wound upon the forest scattered with the scars of fire and talons as the only reminder of what it had once contained – to anyone without a werewolf’s nose, that was. Rhiannon could smell the dragons still, their scents hot, dry and totally alien, far different from any reptile than even the Basilisk had been – mineral and ancient somehow, more like a volcano than an animal.

Deeper into the scarred forest, Hagrid and Minerva led Rhiannon on until the ground began to grow rocky underfoot and slope steadily upward, further than Rhiannon had ever been into the enormous reserve that surrounded Hogwarts Castle. Up and up they climbed and Rhiannon had to lean more on Hagrid’s arm for strength, the ground was too uneven for her on two legs alone. But pain and difficulty aside, even she could not deny the sheer beauty of the landscape below them as they made their way out onto a ridgeline and the view opened up to reveal the full brilliance of the mountains, highlands and valleys of the Cairngorms, hillsides stained violet with the last of the heather to flower before winter and the wan autumn sun gleaming off the great black mirror of the Lake in the distance.

Minerva chuckled softly and ruffled Rhiannon’s hair as the small werewolf gasped aloud and paused to take it all in. “We’ll make a Scot of you yet,” she quipped wryly, and privately Rhiannon thought the Headmaster might just be right – for all the fear and danger she faced, there was something about this landscape that got into her blood and brought with it a grounding strength and certainty – this was her land, its’ wildness a match for the wolf in her, the wolf whose courage and ferocity she needed to draw upon now most of all.

The land was not unscarred, however, and Rhiannon’s heart filled with dread as she caught sight of their destination. High above the wounded forest, a great enclosure of some kind towered into the sky – Rhiannon could see only the wrought bars of the structure as the base was concealed by the mountain they had still yet to climb, yet instinctively she knew – this was it, this was their arena, and even at this distance it inspired fear. She hugged her free arm to her chest, shaking leaflike in the chill late autumn breeze, and Hagrid squeezed her hand gently.

“You’re gonna nail this, kid, I know yeh can,” Hagrid reassured Rhiannon softly. “They ain’t seen what Rhi Potter brings t’ the table yet.”

Rhiannon blinked, startled – it was a strange thing how quickly she had adjusted to her new name, Potter already felt jarring on her ears. “Uh – Black,” she corrected him haltingly. “Rhiannon, Black – that is.”

Hagrid’s face brightened, his black eyes gleaming in his quietly joyful sort of way. “Oh, that’s wonderful tha’ is – Remus ‘n Sirius’re good sorts, ‘m glad they’re takin’ care of yeh and it’s gotta feel pretty good to make it official like that.”

Minerva made a wry sort of harrumph sound, part approval, part wry teasing. She’d known of their family situation for some time, and had promptly updated Rhiannon and Dudley’s names in the school records as soon as she had been told. “That it must – but I’m not sure it’s so easy to say who’s been better for whom, young Remus has come a long way since meeting our two wolf pups and it is good to see our Sirius laughing again again,” she agreed, smiling to herself in a proud, motherly sort of manner. It was then that Rhiannon recalled Minerva to be a full twenty-five to thirty years older than her dads – old enough to have seen them in a motherly light when they attended the school, and her affection for this informal side of the Headmaster only grew – she supposed that made Minerva a sort of grandparent, and that was a nice thought.

Hagrid chuckled. “I though’ teachers weren’ s’posed t’ have favourites?” he teased Minerva, who snorted and made a light-hearted but rude gesture with one hand.

“Of course we aren’t,” Minerva agreed with a wry shrug. “But it’s harder with the ones who don’t have real families of their own, whose home is this school – it makes them a bit like our children, even when they leave.”

Rhiannon grinned toothily. “P-p-p-p-p-pity you’re a cat Animagus, y-y-you sound kinda like a parent-y wolf,” she quipped, joining in the teasing – Minerva was usually so distanced by the barriers of school protocol and a teacher student relationship, it was a rare privilege to instead joke and laugh with her like pack as Rhiannon considered her to be.

Minerva huffed and drew her cloak closer around herself, protection from the indignity as much as the rain. “I’ll have you know cats are very good mothers given half the chance,” she retorted, but there was no real heat to her words – instead, she seemed almost sad, or perhaps wistful was a better word. Perhaps she had wanted to have children of her own and been unable to, Rhiannon considered – and decided she would drop that line of teasing so as to keep from being insensitive any further.

“So, any hint on what they’ve g-g-g-got ‘s facin’?” Rhiannon asked, affecting a mischievous grin – both she and they knew it was dragons, but it might be amusing to see how much she could actually get Minerva to say – and if nothing else, her impertinence would serve to distract Minerva from that strange, quiet grief.

Minerva stared for a moment, and fell behind a few paces before she recovered and caught up with them again. “Ah, mallaich, lass – don’t get me like that right now, I’ve been reassuring myself for weeks that you’d be alright because you knew what was coming,” she grumbled. “You and I both know it’s dragons, any more’n that and I’d be breaking enough rules to risk my position here at Hogwarts.”

Rhiannon’s grin broadened and she lurched sideways to squish the tall, stern Headmaster in a reckless hug. “I know,” she replied cheerfully. “Just wanted t’ change the sub-b-b- bah- subject,”

Minerva grumbled under her breath, something about impertinent pups who were more trouble than they ought to be, but Rhiannon could hear the smile in her voice all the same and that was a comfort to her as they trekked the rest of the way up the mountains.

Just before they reached the cloudline, the terrain flattened out and Rhiannon’s heart skipped a beat as she finally saw the arena in full. Beneath the towering cage walls that kept the crowd passably safe from their dragons, the arena floor was a massive circular expanse of treacherous rocks and ravines. A great chasm some fifty feet deep and twenty or so across encircled the entire plateau, further separating the arena from the crowd – there would be no-one jumping in to rescue her. And on the far side of the arena stood a large rocky nest of sorts, set a few feet above the irregular surface of the arena so that its’ contents would be sheltered from the Champions.

Rhiannon’s heart sank as she took in the arena layout, knowing her suspicions had been right – the dragons’ being nesting mothers was integral to the challenge, and that meant dragon eggs or perhaps even hatchlings to work around. Innocents. But she wasn’t allowed to dwell on it for long, as Minerva laid a hand on her shoulder and gently steered her attention down from the arena to the dull purple canvas tent that waited at its’ base, emblazoned with the logo of the ICW. A seriousness crept over Rhiannon now and she abandoned all her earlier pretence at lightheartedness, forcing herself to breathe deeply as she leaned on her cane and stared down the hillside at the tent. There was no mistaking it, that was the competitors’ tent and the white one beside it could only be a medical setup – this was real, and it was happening now.

“You’re to go on in there with the other Champions,” Minerva eventually told her, her voice frighteningly thin and breathy and her face gray with fear. Rhiannon found herself in the rather strange position of setting aside her own terror to reassure her teacher, and she wrapped her arms around the Headmaster in an impulsive hug.

“I’v-v-v-v-vv-v-v-vvve – I’ve got a plan, my stuff’s f-f-f-f-firep-p-proofed and I’ve bin practicin’ with Fleur an’ the others all month. I think I’ve g-g-got this, Professor,” Rhiannon told Minerva with a cautious smile as she pulled away. “I – I won’t, pretend ‘m not scared, I’m terrified, but – ‘s not the same, assumption I was gonna die as before, I think I can do this.”

And in reassuring Minerva, Rhiannon managed to fill herself with a quiet, cautious sort of confidence – not in the outcome, but in her abilities. She had trained hard and stood almost on equal ground with her older peers, and she had planned for weeks about how to counter her debilitating fear of fire. She might not do very well, but she could survive this – and that was the important part.

Minerva’s lips creased and turned down at the corners, there was a distinctly sorrowful cast to her pale eyes as she shook her head. “You’re a brave lass, Rhiannon Black, and a strong one. Don’t mind me, I’m just a queer old bird... I just wish you didn’t have to be, is all.” she told Rhiannon quietly. “You go and you show that dragon what a Hogwarts werewolf brings to the table, a’right? The school’s rootin’ for you, most of it anyhow.”

Rhiannon grinned fiercely, showing sharp-pointed teeth, and straightened up to her full not-quite-five-feet of height. “D-d-damn fucking right I will,” she replied, proud that her voice trembled only slightly. She hugged Minerva again and then Hagrid, a last goodbye, before she set her shoulders, nodded stiffly to them both and set off carefully down the hillside toward the Champions’ tent. The terrain was a little difficult, scattered rocks didn’t lend themselves well to safe navigation with a cane, but she managed to pick her way through it until she was pushing her way through the heavy canvas flap of the tent.

Inside was a haze of nervous energy as the other three Champions waited for her arrival. Fleur was huddled on a bench with her wings out, feathers clattering together as she hugged herself with them and trembled, while both the boys paced back fretfully. For what was almost certainly the first time in her life, Rhiannon was a calming influence as she crossed the tent and took Fleur’s shaking hands until the older girl looked up from where she had been sitting hunched with her head between her knees.

“Hey, c’mon – we’ve got this,” Rhiannon reminded the three of them, as Cedric and Viktor stopped pacing and joined the huddle with the girls. “It’s d-d-d-dragons. That’s scary, but – they’re animals, y-you can read them and predict them, it’s not like – not like they’ve giv’n us, I d-d-dunno, terrifyin’ magic combat automatons or whate’er.”

Fleur chuckled darkly, though her face still had a distinctly grey cast and Rhiannon wondered if perhaps she was too nervous to put her feathers away. A powerful wave of anxiety washed over her and Rhiannon stumbled back, sick to her stomach and overwhelmed by the sensation – this wasn’t her worry, she’d worked that out on the hike up here, this was something else and she sank to the floor, trembling and hugging her knees to her chest. There was a clamour of feathers and Fleur lurched from her chair and caught hold of Rhiannon’s hands, a little too quickly as her sharp talons scraped Rhiannon’s shins in the gesture. A plaintive cry buzzed in the older girl’s throat and she shook her head sharply. “No, no, no, I’m sorry – I’m leaking magic everywhere, I can’t – I can’t, aaaaaaaaaack!” she shrieked, a muted sound of complete panicking frustration.

Rhiannon took deep, shuddering breaths and forced herself to think through the alien panic. It wasn’t hers, it was leaking magic. And she’d handled much worse magic than that. “Y-y-y-y-y-you can pull it back in, it’s your magic,” Rhiannon replied shakily – she could push through the effects of Fleur’s leaking emotions, but only barely.

Fleur took a deep, shuddering breath and somehow pulled the magic of her emotions back beneath her skin. Rhiannon could feel the difference immediately, the air was lighter on her lungs, and she squeezed Fleur’s hands in the best imitation of reassurance she could manage. “I’m so sorry everyone, I’m sorry – it’s Veela magic, my emotions – leak, sort of, when they are particularly strong,” Fleur stammered, and Rhiannon could still feel the tremor in the older girl’s thin hands.

Viktor grinned in a lopsided sort of manner. “It’s quite alright – there are a number of vily at Durmstrang, I am not unaccustomed to loose emotions. Exam time is something of a nightmare,” he replied affably. “We are about to fight for our lives – I think stress is to be expected.”

Cedric, on the other hand, grimaced, and Rhiannon couldn’t help worrying that perhaps his problem was with Fleur’s inhuman nature. “That’s powerful magic though, stronger than most Veela I’ve met – are you a Legilimens of some sort? Either way, come on, let’s all – sit down, take a few breaths, get our heads in the game – if you hit the dragon with that? I think that might be powerful enough to affect them and I do not want to see one of my new mates getting killed, those feathers look pretty flammable,” he suggested, and he and Viktor settled on the ground with Fleur and Rhiannon in a loose sort of circle. “I know meditating seems like nonsense, but it really helps me before a big game – maybe it’ll help you all. Rhi, don’t bother trying to clear your mind, I know you it’ll all just fill up again. Instead, try to think of as much as possible, the best things you can all at once until it blanks out, alright?”

Rhiannon’s worries were thoroughly assuaged by that – not entirely, there was very different stigma on werewolves in Britain as opposed to other nonhumans and being kind to Fleur didn’t necessarily mean he would be kind to Rhiannon once he knew – but it was something. And his advice was helpful too, she realised – Remus had once tried to get her to meditate, but it had frustrated her to tears and then Dudley’s bad hip had popped out so there were two sobbing werewolves on the floor of the Rookery. Clearing her mind was impossible. But this trick? She tried it, summoning every possible happy thought and memory all at once – Sirius and Remus offering to push the adoption ahead now, the first time Dudley called her his sister, meeting Hermione and coming out for the first time, cooking with her and Danjuma, Luna’s fingers in her fur that first full moon after Dudley had been Petrified – and dreams too, plans for the future, everything all at once until her mind was blissfully overcrowded and she felt that sense of peace she had needed so desperately. Then, one by one, Rhiannon could find her worries and put them neatly back in the worry-boxes, on the worry-shelf, where they belonged. Her skills, her plans for the tournament – those were the only boxes she left open. That was all she needed right now.

“Thank-you for that, Cedric,” Fleur said, her voice calmer now and loud enough to startle Rhiannon from her state of peace perhaps twenty, thirty minutes later. “I was so nervous I forgot – my grande-maman taught me to control my magic like that when I was very small. I am not a – Legilimens, did you say? Not exactly, but I am a stronger empath than most vily – something about the gifts from my father’s side mixing with my vily abilities, so I have had to work harder to keep them in.”

Viktor winced. “That must be difficult – I know many of the young vily girls at school have had, ah – trouble with their abilities. I hope you did not have the same,” he replied.

Fleur curled her lip, her elongated lower teeth showing along with her disgust. “Oh, I did,” she said with a weary sigh. “For a while I thought it was my fault. But I have learned I cannot make anyone feel anything, I can only exacerbate what is already there, and I am much better controlled now. It is part of why I am as – open, as I am, so that I am targeted instead of the younger ones who cannot protect themselves the same,” she admitted with a wry, disgusted grimace.

Rhiannon screwed up her face, horrified – Savita and Cassandre had hinted that Fleur had been treated sickeningly by adults who used her gifts as an excuse, but it was still a harsh thing to hear her talk about. “I’m sorry, I uh – dunno, what to say to that,” Rhiannon mumbled.

Fleur shrugged. “It does tend to bring a conversation down, I am sorry. But thank-you, Cedric, for this – I think my head is, ah, in the game now.”

Cedric grinned lopsidedly. “No worries, really – I do it myself before big games, I used to get really bad panic attacks as a kid and when I first started at Hogwarts and it, kinda helped me not freeze when I got in the air, uh – honestly, I was on the edge of one before you even got here,” he replied with an uncomfortable shrug.

Viktor shook his head and swore under his breath. “Likewise – I, almost got cut from the natonal team right after they signed me on, they had me see a Healer and I take medicine for it now, but... this is making it all come back,” he agreed.

“N-n-n-nice to know I’m not the only one constantly on the brink of a nervous breakdown,” Rhiannon quipped, followed by a fragile smile. It meant more than she could say that the others were so ready to share their own struggles with their mental health, when they were so much more outwardly normal-appearing than she was. They didn’t have to say anything.

Fleur shook her head and pulled Rhiannon into a sideways hug. “You never are. I have had to take anxiety medication since I was ten and look, I am the pretty girl everyone stares at. You never know. And you are never alone.” she replied quietly, extending a wing to encircle Rhiannon in a protective gesture.

A quiet cough interrupted their discussion and Rhiannon looked up, startled, to see Mr Crouch standing there in his formal Ministry robes, purplish-grey to Rhiannon’s eyes though she knew them to be teal, having clearly been standing for some time. “I apologise for the interruption, champions, but it is time each of you chose your challenger,” he addressed them in his usual clipped tones.

The other champions stood, and Fleur helped Rhiannon to do the same before they settled into a tight, distrustful semicircle and faced the robed officiant. “Choose?” Cedric asked Mr Crouch cautiously.

Mr Crouch drew a velvet bag from his robes, Rhiannon guessed it might have been purple, and she squinted at it as it moved strangely. Clearly this wasn’t going to be as simple as drawing a name out, she mused, as Mr. Crouch held it out to the four of them for inspection. “Yes, choose. You will each do battle with a ferocious dragon, one of four different kinds – to capture a golden egg, lying amongst the real ones. Now, ladies first,” the official told them, and rattled the bag under Fleur’s nose with a rather final air.

Very tentatively, Fleur held out a hand and reached into the bag. She withdrew with a yelp, startled – with something small and brown-black latched to her finger. “It bit me!” she protested, eyeing the little creature accusatorily. Well, not a creature – not exactly, Rhiannon realised as she scowled at it – it was a tiny, magically animated model of a winged, heavily spiked dragon, a familiar one.

“The Hungarian Horntail,” Mr Crouch announced dramatically, while Fleur growled quietly and struggled to pry the miniature’s jaws open.

“Well, it may be named the Horntail but there are spikes at both ends,” Fleur grumbled as she finally got it loose and set the tiny dragon on her palm, where it stalked back and forth and protested as she tried to take the tag that hung around its’ neck. “This tag reads the number un – I am presuming that this means I am first to compete, no?”

“Indeed, Miss Delacour,” Mr Crouch replied curtly. Being as he had stated ‘ladies’ first’, he should have moved to Rhiannon next but instead he turned to Viktor and offered the bag to him, setting Rhiannon’s thin body hair prickling with irritation.

Viktor grumbled under his breath as well and cast an apologetic look sideways at Rhiannon, but she and he both knew that there would be no point in making a scene. Cautious from Fleur’s experience, he pulled his sleeve over his hand and reached into the bag. He hissed as clearly his catch bit through the fabric, and drew out a small grey figure which he unceremoniously pinched behind the skull like a snake to force its’ jaws open.

“Swedish Shortsnout,” Viktor told them grimly, and all three winced. They’d identified that dragon as a major threat despite its’ sleek, unassuming appearance and the statistic listing it as the dragon with the least fatalities to its’ name per year – which they suspected was because it lived so distantly from human civilisation, thus rendering accurate danger statistics impossible. Viktor would be facing the dragon with the hottest flame-breath of any species, and that was nothing to sniff at. “And it looks like I will be up last. Saving the fireworks show for the end, I suppose?” he quipped darkly.

Mr Crouch winced, but his reactions seemed strangely dramatised – more like a sports announcer than an actual person. “Indeed, indeed – though I have no doubt Bulgaria’s star Seeker will put up a good fight,” he replied wryly. “Now, Master Diggory?”

Cedric scowled at the official and reached into the bag in a hurried motion. He was the first not to get bitten, and drew out a sinuous greenish – though probably more like red to most humans’ sight – miniature from the bag, proudly ruffed almost like a lion and built far differently from most dragons that Rhiannon was familiar with.

“Ooooh, the Chinese Fireball – powerful, and a spellcaster too. What is your place number?” Mr Crouch asked with a nod to the miniature that coiled itself up in Cedric’s palm.

“Second,” Cedric replied tersely, as he gently freed the tiny miniature from the string and tag.

“Then that brings us to young Mast- Miss Potter,” Mr Crouch said finally. Rhiannon had to bite her tongue to keep from rolling her eyes – it was obvious by now that Mr Crouch’s constant slip ups were because he saw her as a boy and had to remind himself every time he spoke of her that she was a boy with special conditions, at least in his mind. That might have wounded a younger Rhiannon, but this Rhiannon had seen how Mr Crouch treated his most loyal servants – she had no great expectations that he might treat her any better, and made a mental note to dig into what had happened to poor Winky.

Rather than reach into a bag with a presumably biting creature, Rhiannon took the bag itself from Mr. Crouch and upended it into her palm, already knowing what she would find – black scales and a striking horned profile, entrancing violet eyes a faded silver to her moon-time vision, a miniature figure of the creature that had so frozen her with fear three weeks past. “The Hebridean Black,” she announced, more for the formality than anything else as all of them had known by now what she would face. “And, I’m up third.”

“Very good, very good. Masters Diggory, Krum and- Miss Rhiannon, you may make yourselves busy here in the tent for now. But Miss Delacour, change clothes if you intend to do so, you have five minutes – the horn will signal that it is time for your bout.” Mr Crouch told them all firmly, before he turned and strode from the tent.

Fleur sagged, caught just in time by Rhiannon and Viktor before she fell, but it felt as if she had been held up by stubbornness and righteous anger alone and now her strings had been cut. “Ay, I am unhurt, get off me,” she grumbled, recovering quickly from the shock. “I have a plan, I will be just fine.”

Rhiannon wasn’t convinced that Fleur was being entirely truthful, but now was not the time to press her on that – as Crouch had just informed them, Fleur had five minutes until her showdown with the Hungarian Horntail. “Well, we’ll be cheering from wherever they let us stand – if anyone’s got the raw p-p-p-p-power t-t-t-to, t’ go up against a dragon and kick it’s ass, it’s gotta be the overcharged Veela, right?” she quipped.

Fleur bared her sharp teeth in a wry, mischievous grin. “Oh yes,” she agreed wryly. “Now, kindly either clear out or turn around, I need to change out of these robes into something better for combat – if it comes to that.”

Eventually Fleur was changed and she allowed the other champions back for a last minute hug, stoic and stony-faced, almost-white feathers flecking her cheeks like dapples, standing out brightly against her deep olive skin only a few shades lighter than Rhiannon’s. She was dressed simply in plain linen leggings and a short powder blue tunic belted close to her body with something like a corset, but it looked more like a piece of armour to protect her internal organs against a blow to the gut than any piece of fashionable clothing. The tunic had a section cut from the back to accommodate Fleur’s wings, the tips of which trailed in the dust as they lay folded against her back, and in addition she wore simple leather boots well-worn with use and leather gauntlets that would protect both her hands and forearms in case of a fall or strike. In all, Fleur resembled a Valkyrie more than a schoolgirl – beautiful, angry and above all, dangerous; and Rhiannon’s fears for her friend were assuaged a little at the sight.

All too soon they were torn apart again as a reedy, wavering horn-blast rang out across the arena and its surrounds – the signal that Fleur’s task was about to begin. “Do not wish me good luck. I do not want to win this simply because I was lucky and you were not, we all need that on our side today,” Fleur told the three of them solemnly. “I will not die today, luck or not.”

And with that, Fleur favoured them with a last determined smile and turned away, her wings flared just enough to hold their tips off the ground, and strode out of the tent through the curtained passage to the arena. Rhiannon and the others shared a look and hurried out after her only to stumble back against the tent frame as a heavy gate of steel bars slammed down with a deafening, shrieking crash. Fleur was locked in the arena – the officials had clearly guessed that the champions were close enough to eachother that they might try to rescue one of their own should they be injured. All the remaining three could do now was cling to the bars of the arena wall and peer through as Fleur faced down the enormous brown and gold dragon.

The Hungarian Horntail seemed even larger now than it three weeks ago, every one of its’ many many spikes glinting in the thin sunlight that filtered through the clouds, and though Fleur was well over six feet tall she seemed fragile in comparison, a spindly fragile doll facing down the huge horned beast, and it seemed the crowd saw her the same way – an anxious hush hung over the stands, the place would’ve been silent entirely save for the dull whistle of the wind through the crags and the low roaring hum of the dragon’s breath. But Rhiannon knew she was far from fragile – Fleur might well be the strongest, physically and magically, of the four of them, in fact she hadn’t even drawn her wand as she stood there in the arena.

Just as it had been on the full moon, the Horntail was a crotchety beast, fiercely protective of her nest, and the way she curled her lip as Fleur approached was strangely not unlike the way a wolf did – though on a significantly larger scale, the shape of her head wasn’t that unlike a wolf’s and her body language was broadly very familiar in the same sort of way. Fleur picked up on that and approached slowly and carefully, but to Rhiannon’s rising anxiety her wand remained holstered and her hands were raised and open, perhaps some sort of attempt at communicating to the dragon that she was not a threat.

Rhiannon stumbled backward, distracted from watching as she was overwhelmed by a wave of alien emotions – Fleur’s emotions, she realised dimly, as she staggered back to the gate to keep watch again. She grinned broadly, watching as Fleur wielded her empathic magic with far more control than before – Cedric had been right, if anyone could simply communicate with a dragon, straight up, it would be Fleur.

And to the wonderment of the crowd, Fleur’s magic was working. The spiked crest on the Horntail’s neck began to flatten down and she lowered her great gold-striped head to inspect Fleur more closely.

Viktor cheered softly and clapped Rhiannon on the shoulder, grinning broadly. “Look at her – she is just incredible, is she not? I have never seen any vila so powerful – they say it takes ten wizards to Stun a dragon, but look at this!” he exclaimed, though he still kept his voice hushed and Rhiannon remembered that this particular kind of dragon had sharper hearing than most.

Rhiannon grinned broadly. “I think she’s b-b-b-b-been practicing,” she replied, proud of her friend’s incredible progress. Fleur had never demonstrated this talent save for her panic attack earlier – she’d had no idea just how powerful Fleur was until right now, and it was impossible not to take a little joy in this demonstration of uniquely nonhuman excellence as she watched the dragon shuffle carefully back into her nest.

Dragon pacified – that was half of Fleur’s task over in less than ten minutes, and she’d gotten the most distrustful of the four. Rhiannon, her fellow competitors and the crowd were all tense and hushed, crowding as close to the arena as they could to watch.

Fleur’s wand was still holstered, and with her hands raised and wings folded close against her back the tall blonde advanced slowly toward the dragon and her nest without so much as a growl from the dragon. Across the rocky arena, Rhiannon could just make out Fleur speaking, presumably quiet reassurances to the dragon, and this time she was prepared as another wave of Fleur’s magic washed out across the arena – it wasn’t a force as such, Rhiannon could tell already that Fleur’s magic couldn’t make anyone feel anything that wasn’t already somewhere in the back of their mind somewhere; and focused like this it was more communication than any sort of manipulation.

A great cry went up from the crowd, more hushed than it might have been at a Quidditch game or something, but immediately Rhiannon saw why as she was shaken out of her musings. There was Fleur, looking like some kind of angel with her cream-and-white wings trailing on the ground behind her, one talon-tipped hand resting between the dragon’s nostrils while she used the other to scratch gently under the animal’s chin – a feat made all the more amazing by the fact that Rhiannon had seen the handlers use magic to muzzle the creature before they entered her cage for feeding time.

Then Fleur stepped in under the dragon’s great black wing and into the nest, the Horntail following her with its enormous head so that for a while Fleur vanished from view and the dragon looked more like a very large bird with its’ head tucked away. Rationally Rhiannon knew that the dragon’s body language was totally nonaggressive and would change if its mood did, but on the other, less rational paw, she couldn’t see her friend, her friend was currently concealed underneath a very large dragon with a history of being very touchy and bad-tempered and that was making her very, very anxious.

Rhiannon bounced from foot to foot, bobbing anxiously up and down as she struggled to see what was going on – between the rocky arena floor, the gate bars and her height, it was difficult to catch a glimpse and by now she had to rely more on the voice of the crowd to get a bead on things. And then all at once the crowd erupted in cheers, and while she couldn’t see anything useful, Rhiannon knew what must have happened – Fleur had emerged with the golden egg. Yes – yes! There she was, loose hair and blue robes flapping in the light breeze, thin sunlight glinting off the gilded egg tucked under one arm while the other rested across the Horntail’s broad muzzle. Not a scratch on either of them, and Fleur looked like some kind of dragon queen there in the arena, leaning on the dragon that was meant to have been her opponent with a cocky grin directed up at the judges in the stands – that was one big middle finger to the officials, all of it, and Rhiannon couldn’t decide whether she was more proud of Fleur for the move, or terrified of what the officials would pull now they knew just how powerful at least one of the competitors was.

Pride won out, and as Fleur left the dragon and the gate clattered open again, Rhiannon flung herself at her friend for a hug, the two guys piling in on top to make one big hug pile until finally Fleur flapped and spluttered for breath. “Hey! I did not breathe properly for a solid ten minutes in there, get off,” she grumbled, but her smile told them her irritation was only feigned.

“Sorry – we’re just bloody impressed is all, you set the bar real high. This round’s yours for sure, no way can any of us pull that trick off.” Cedric replied, rubbing his hands together anxiously – as Rhiannon recalled, he was up next. “Oh, my dad is gonna be a nightmare, you’re a right hard card to follow and he hates when his golden boy gets showed up, high bloody expectations,” he grumbled anxiously.

Rhiannon snorted, wryly amused by Cedric’s grumbling about his dad – and a little further reassured that hey, if Cedric’s relationship with his father was a little strained, it was less and less likely that her friend was some kind of secret bigot. “We c-c-c-c-could all come me-me-me-me-meet your dad with you, he’s p-p-p-prob’ly less likely to rag on you about being showed up by Fleur if she’s actually, there, looking all badass,” she suggested with an awkward shrug.

Cedric curled his lip and shook his head. “Nuh uh, bad idea,” he replied grumpily. “He doesn’t like nonhumans, and he’ll just say something assholey and then I’ll have to yell at him for being a backwards-thinking fuckwit, and he’s got influence at the Ministry – if he wanted, he could even fuck shit up in the competition for you. No. No way. I’ll just deal with his griping, better than getting my new, badass mate killed.”

Although Rhiannon’s first feeling was irritation and disgust at Cedric’s dad and further confirmation that he was an insufferable bigot with more power than he deserved, it was nice to finally have Cedric himself confirm that he wasn’t. “Yeesh,” she mumbled with an uncomfortable shrug – what else did you say to that? It wasn’t like she was unfamiliar with bigots, including those that could ruin her life or those of her friends. She just didn’t really have the mental bandwidth to actually do anything more than grimace about it.

Cedric wrinkled his nose. “Yeesh is right, the insufferable old git,” he griped under his breath. “Now, I gotta clear off and get changed, I’m up next, and one of you should get the real champion some water.”

With that, Cedric set off back to the tent and Rhiannon trotted after him, parting once they were inside so that Rhiannon could go and find Fleur some water, and Cedric could get changed ready for his fight. Just like before Fleur’s fight, Cedric had five minutes to get ready before the horn blared out, the gate clattered open and he entered the arena, leaving the three of them behind to watch.

The Chinese Fireball was a truly magnificent dragon, crimson-scaled with a crown of spikes and a crest of stiff hair running right the way down its sinuous body. Lightning flickered between the horns on its’ head and in shape it was more like a very long serpent with short legs than the classic western idea of a dragon, coiled around its’ nest rather than settled over it the way the Horntail had. Rhiannon vaguely remembered something in their studying about it being a spellcaster as well as a firebreather, and was very glad she wouldn’t be facing it herself – perhaps that was a disloyal thought, because that meant Cedric had to face it in her place, but he was better at shield spells than she was, no way could she make something strong enough to bounce a dragon’s spell off.

Unlike Fleur, Cedric approached his task in a more traditional manner, wand in hand and using the rocky field for cover from the irate dragon’s fireballs, which it flung from its paws as well as breathing thin yellow jets of flame. He was dressed in simple yellow linen robes with black edging, Quidditch practice robes – they were light, close-fitting and easy to move in, the sensible choice for this task; and like Fleur he wore plain leather boots, bracers and a chest harness with the empty holster of his wand attached to one side.

A gasp went up from the crowd and Rhiannon staggered back from the heat on her face as the dragon lunged and spat fire at Cedric, who took cover behind the tallest rocky outcropping just ahead of the gate. One sleeve was smoking but he seemed otherwise unharmed, though it sounded like he might be swearing under his breath.

“Flame-Freezing Charm, Diggory, we practised this!” Viktor yelled, sounding for all the world like a Quidditch captain encouraging his team.

“Duck, Shield and run for it!” Rhiannon hollered, joining in – this fight was shaping up to be more of a mess than Fleur’s, she should encourage her friend through it.

Cedric showed no sign that he’d heard them, but Rhiannon supposed he was a bit busy trying not to get scorched. Eventually the dragon’s breath ran out and he had a moment to pop up and scuttle to another rock outcropping perhaps ten metres away before the dragon sent another fireball sailing over his head and he ducked back down out of sight – or at least out of sight for Rhiannon, who was far too short to see anything useful.

“Here, get up on my shoulders,” Fleur told Rhiannon, nudging her as she bounced up and down trying to get a proper look. “No, don’t frown like that, I only look fragile and you know it,” she grumbled, and knelt down with her wings spread out so that Rhiannon could climb up without damaging anything, and once up there Rhiannon had a pretty good view of the arena, albeit a blurry one – she could get most details if she focused really hard, but knew she was gonna have a headache from all the focusing by the end of the day.

“C-c-c-c-come on Cedric, you’ve got this!” Rhiannon cheered from her new vantage point atop Fleur’s shoulders. “Distract it!”

Maybe Cedric had heard them or maybe it had been his plan all along, but as Rhiannon watched from her perch he turned around and scrabbled among the rocks for... something, actually Rhiannon had no idea what he was doing until he pointed his wand at a small boulder and it transformed into a dog of middling size, floppy-eared and waggy-tailed with a short coffee-brown coat – a Labrador retriever if Rhiannon had to guess, but she wasn’t much of an expert on dog breeds, just their behaviour.

Unfortunately, Cedric had not planned for the sheer stubborn friendliness of a Labrador retriever, even in the face of a very angry dragon – an intelligent angry dragon who wasn’t going to attack something clearly emoting I am small and fluffy, please love me. It did slither out of its’ nest and chase after the dog, but its’ stiff crest of hair lay flat along its’ spine which suggested it was playful or curious, rather than trying to eat the dog.

The dragon was distracted, albeit not quite how Cedric had probably intended, but he took his chance anyhow and made a run for it across the arena, straight for the nest. The dragon’s long ear-tufts flicked and it turned around to find the source of the clattering sound, and its’ crest and horns spiked straight up again when it noticed Cedric. The dog forgotten, the dragon bounded back across the arena even as Cedric closed on the nest and snatched up the false egg.

“IT’S RIGHT BEHIND YOU, DIGGORY!” Viktor bellowed, giving voice to the panic Rhiannon felt as she watched her friend cheer and celebrate his victory a little too early. “GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE!”

There was no way Cedric hadn’t heard Viktor – unlike the girls, he had the voice of a ship’s captain – the kind that could carry through galestorms, let alone across a rocky arena. He clutched the egg to his chest and scrambled out of the nest, but he was just a little too late – the dragon reared up and ignited a fireball between its forepaws, then quickly flung it after Cedric’s fleeing back.

To the horror of the crowd and the remaining champions alike, the fireball struck Cedric squarely between the shoulders and sent him sprawling, the golden egg tumbling from his grasp as he fell to land face-down in the shale. “GET HIM OUT OF THERE!” Rhiannon howled, hoping desperately that the dragon-handlers were somewhere nearby, there was no way Cedric could fight now and she had half a mind to climb the gate and help him herself.

“We’re doing our best, clear the road,” a familiar voice ordered from behind them, and Rhiannon turned from her perch atop Fleur’s shoulders to see Charlie Weasley and a squadron of handlers all dressed in what looked like specialised flameproof robes, along with two more people in Healers’ white and armed with a folded up stretcher. Hurriedly Rhiannon scrambled down off Fleur’s shoulders so that the three of them could get out of the way as the gate clattered open again and the wranglers and Healers alike crowded into the arena to subdue the dragon and rescue Cedric.

“Come on, Rhiannon, best get changed – you are up next if I recall correctly,” Fleur murmured, shaking Rhiannon’s shoulder gently to rouse her from her anxious stewing. “I can see him breathing, he will be fine, now it is time to focus on you.”

Rhiannon took a deep breath and nodded slowly, clenching and unclenching her fists in an effort to squish the anxiety out of her system. Fleur was right – there was nothing she could do for Cedric except make sure he didn’t come around to find her dead. So, leaning on Fleur’s arm, she limped back into the tent and retrieved her backpack, then set off into the small area that had been set aside for changing.

The small changing area of the tent had a standing washbasin and a long wooden bench, which Rhiannon threw her backpack down on before limping to the basin and splashing cold water on her face, using some more to slick down her hair so she could gather it into a messy ponytail. Robes next – to Rhiannon’s delight they were actually a little small, she had gained weight since the year before and they were too tight around the chest, but a careful engorgio fixed that. Bracers, boots, chest harness, belt – check, check and check, it had all been soaked in Dudley’s fireproofing potions, but one thing nagged at Rhiannon as she got dressed, and it took her until she was finished and looking at herself in the small mirror over the washstand to pin it down – she had last worn these robes in Gryffindor Quidditch practice, they were still red and gold – well, olivey to Rhiannon’s janky full moon vision, but red and gold to anyone else. “Colorvaria,” Rhiannon murmured, and was satisfied as the distinctly cat-sick-green tint that scarlet looked to her around this time was replaced with a clear bright gold, while the trim darkened to an inky hue. Much better, she decided – and it was a show of unity with Cedric, they were both from the same house as well as the same school, after all.

Now all that was left to do was wait until the horn sounded. Rhiannon sat down on the bench and closed her eyes, leaning back against a wooden pole of the tent frame as she reviewed the spells she would need and how to pronounce them. By the time the horn blast rang out through the air, she had shaken off the last of her anxiety and replaced it with the practiced calmness of one who had faced death many times before and won – more the air of a veteran soldier than a fourteen year old girl, and unnerving for that, but it was useful nonetheless.

“I’m not going to die today,” Rhiannon whispered to herself as she stood and took hold of her cane. “I promised them I wouldn’t.”