Hogwarts Reimagined

At last Ginny coughed awkwardly and the two men sprang apart as if burned, both flushing scarlet. “So uh – nice to know our favourite teacher’s not gonna be homophobic and all but, can someone please explain what’s going on? ‘Cos as far as the rest of us know, he,” and here she waved irritably in Sirius’ direction, “is a mass murderer.”

Sirius and Remus’ faces fell, and Rhiannon winced. Ginny was many things – talented, driven, a brilliant Quidditch player. But tactful wasn’t one of them. Rhiannon wrinkled her nose and growled reproachfully at her younger friend, and heard Dudley do the same. Ordinarily she might have simply shushed Ginny, but talking felt... heavy, harder than it usually was and so she resorted to simpler communication. She was interrupted from her musing by a soft gasp, and as Rhiannon watched Sirius’ hollow eyes widened, taking in the expressions on their faces, then he turned his own horrified gaze on Remus. “Remus, no... you didn’t... and her? James and Lily’s daughter?” he whispered, taking an involuntary step back and looking on Remus for that moment as if instead of the man he had kissed so fiercely, a monster stood in his place.

Remus sagged as if he’d been punched in the gut, and Rhiannon’s eyes blurred with a sudden wash of tears as her secondhand sense of Remus’ horror and guilt overwhelmed her. There was a scuffle of movement, and from the moment she took to rub her eyes clear she was too slow to stop Ron as they leaned forward with a grimace of pain and yanked the pillow from under their injured leg, and threw it straight at Sirius’ head. Sirius himself was too startled to move, so the heavy mouldered pillow struck him directly in the face and fell to the floor with a solid whump, leaving Sirius staggering for balance. “I don’t care what you are with Professor Lupin, but you don’t get to assume that! He’s done nothing but help Rhiannon all year!” they spat, a red flush of anger chasing some of the sickly greyness from their wan face.

Now Rhiannon turned her growl on Sirius Black instead, and slipped out of Hermione’s supportive embrace to limp closer to the two men, squinting against the ray of light that was just visible through a crack in the boarded up window behind them. “He – he didn’t,” she growled, struggling to form the words. “We- we’ve been... ‘mione, help,” she stammered, before giving up completely and turning the story over to Hermione.

Hermione stepped forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with Rhiannon, slipping an arm around her waist to support her. “Rhiannon and Dudley have been werewolves since our second year, long before any of us met Professor Lupin. The rest of us only formally learned about him being a werewolf recently. I don’t know the full situation but... look at him, turning someone’s his worst fear and you just assumed that.” she explained, turning the full force of her calm rationale on Sirius.

Unsurprisingly, the thin man was thoroughly cowed and he turned back to take Remus by the shoulders, gently shaking him until the shorter man looked up at him. “I’m sorry, I really am. That wasn’t right of me.” he murmured, biting his lip even as Remus managed a wan smile and a shake of his head.

Dudley coughed and scuffed a foot in the dust. “No, it wasn’t, but there is still the pressing question of why we aren’t calling the Ministry to arrest you. I’m assuming there’s more to the story, but could someone please explain it because right now I’m pretty bloody confused.”

Sirius snorted, his cracked lips turning up in a crooked smile even as he bobbed fretfully from foot to foot. He gestured to something on the floor beside the bed Ron was lying on, hidden from view as they had come in the door. Rhiannon frowned and limped over to look more closely. On the floor was a heavy cage of what looked like iron or steel with no door or latch anywhere she could see. The base of it was a solid metal plate, and inside was none other than Ron’s pet rat – ‘Scabbers’ or, very likely, Peter Pettigrew. But that wasn’t even the strangest thing. Lying on his side, curled protectively around the cage, was a distinctive sandy orange-furred longhair cat with a very recognisable squashed face. Hermione’s cat, Crookshanks.

Rhiannon turned to face Sirius and spread her hands wide, clearly asking for an explanation. Sirius grinned and shrugged, wringing his hands as he did so, his smile not quite reaching his dull eyes. “Smart cat, that. I’ve always been able to talk to some animals – mammals mostly, and only if they’re smart enough. He talks about how much he likes his owner, even pointed you out a couple times when we followed you all on full moons,” he said with a nod to Hermione. Hermione bristled and he put his hands up, shaking his head. “Yeah, I suppose that doesn’t help my case, uh... sorry, give me a minute it’s... been a long time since I talked to other people. Long story short... I never betrayed the Potters. I couldn’t have, wouldn’t even then but... Re-Ra- Rhiannon, is it? Sorry, I’ve... never said it out loud, I just saw the article in the paper, I- I didn’t... I didn’t kill your parents. He did.” he finished, gesturing at ‘Scabbers’ in his cage.

Rhiannon felt a hot flood of fury as she turned her gaze back on the rat in the cage. She’d been right, but knowing so hurt. That someone, her godfather – legally obligated to care for her in case of her parents’ death – had been wrongfully imprisoned for so long, it more than hurt. Had Pettigrew framed anyone else, she could have been safe even with her parents dead, but in one fell swoop he’d stolen her parents and her chance at a happy childhood. He’d wronged her and Sirius alike in such a personal way that it burned, a sickening tide of flame surging up from her gut and flooding through her body until it choked her and she fell to her knees, clinging to the top of the cage with trembling hands. “T-t-turn him ba-a-a-a-a-ac-k-k-k-k,” she choked, almost spitting her words as she leaned on the cage for balance.

Remus limped over and put a hand on her shoulder, Rhiannon flinched and struck him solidly in the chest with her forearm before she realised who it was. She pushed herself up off the cage and collapsed onto the end of the bed, just barely managing to avoid Ron’s leg. “T-t-t-urn him b-b-b-b-back,” she repeated, tears flooding unheeded down her face. “I – I- I want – to see him. Show him what he did to me.”

This time, when Remus put a hand on her shoulder, Rhiannon managed to squash her startle response down to a twitch, and she looked up at him wordlessly, pleading with eyes that couldn’t quite meet his. He grimaced, clearly moments from tears himself, and Sirius drifted over to stand beside him in support. “Reh- Rhiannon, damnit, I’m sorry- I’m out of practice- I’ll turn the bastard back, but he doesn’t care what his actions did to you. I - I convinced your parents to change the Secret Keepers at the last moment, it was in the will but... nobody else knew, the Min-is-try never checked, by th’ time I fig-ur-red out he was a traitor... I got there first that night, found you in the ashes with that bloody gash on your face... He was there, I tracked his-s-s-s scent, he did nothing. Some friend.” he explained, stumbling and struggling over the sentences as he spoke, gradually growing steadier but clearly still unaccustomed to human speech.

Remus stilled, and he looked up at Sirius with a despairing sort of understanding on his face. “And that’s how he framed you, wasn’t it? I know the story, that you were there first and turned Rhiannon over to Rubeus, but then they say you hunted down Peter and... they were right, weren’t they, but not about why. You knew he’d as good as killed him, you went to confront him and he killed a dozen people to frame you instead.” he whispered.

Sirius nodded dully, shuddering. “Th-th-they, there was so much blood, he, h-h-h – he hit them with some sort of ra-di-al explosion spell... I don’t remember, it blew out my ears and there was so much blood, all over me, in my mouth...” he trailed off, turning his face to hide in Remus’ neck as his voice broke.

Rhiannon felt sick, disgusted even at breathing the same air as the man who could do something so vile just to cover his own tracks – like his evil was a pollution, creeping into her body through the shared air. It was almost worse that they’d been collateral damage, just a means to an end. “Show him t-t-t-o me,” she growled, her voice harsh and rasping in her throat. She kicked the cage to demonstrate her point, the same acidic rage flooding throughout her body, she couldn’t bear another moment more without forcing him to share it. He deserved worse.

Sirius nodded, and reluctantly detached himself from Remus’ side. He collected the seven wands he’d stolen from them, dropped everywhere when Remus had rushed to greet him, and returned them to their owners save for Ron’s. “I’m sorry for my treatment of you and for stealing your wand but, I need to borrow this for another moment,” he apologised with a grimace. Ron, looking decidedly dazed by now, slumped back against the headboard and waved their hand limply, indicating they didn’t mind. “I’ll expand the cage, Remus, if you use the Homorphus charm?” he suggested, levelling the borrowed wand at the cage.

Remus nodded, and with a few mutters and flickers of light, the cage began to shriek and twist horribly as it expanded. A yellow-green beam of light shot from Remus’ wand and enveloped the rat, and Rhiannon turned away as it was forced through a transformation not unlike the one she went through five nights a month, but much shorter and quieter, until in place of the rat she could hear a human’s hurried breathing and smell the stink of his fear intensified now as it flooded from a larger form. Slowly, trembling with bitter rage, Rhiannon took hold of the bedpost to steady herself and turned back to face what was now a man in the cage.

The first thing Rhiannon noticed was that he was short, perhaps level with Dudley’s five feet and four inches, and poorly clad in filthy, torn wizard’s robes. His nose was thin with a round tip that twitched as he cast around the unforgiving faces in the room, desperate for an exit that didn’t exist. His eyes were pale and watery, his untidy dirty blond hair already thinning and greying despite being of an age with Remus and Sirius in their early thirties, and he had a weak chin that trembled pitifully. He didn’t look like a mass murderer. But neither had the shade of Lord Voldemort that came from the diary.

“Remus! Sirius!” the caged man, Peter Pettigrew, cried, sniffling as tears spilled from his eyes and his lower lip trembled. Ron, their eyelids fluttering, shot bolt upright and lurched away from the cage to the far side of the bed, letting out a soft groan of agony as presumably they jolted their injured leg. “And you... you must be James and Lily’s... daughter? Yes, daughter, I remember.” he added, reaching through the bars to touch Rhiannon before a low growl had him retracting it hurriedly.

Ron shook their head, looking ill as they stared at Peter Pettigrew. “You slept in my bed, you saw me naked, you sick bastard,” they whispered. “All that time, you pretended to be a pet, hiding in my family while he rotted in prison for you!”

Rhiannon’s stomach turned, disgust piling on top of the fury already simmering there, and she gripped her wand tighter. With a mutter, she let the glamours on her scars fall away and she leaned forward until her nose touched the bars of the cage, her eyes gleaming in the dim light while Peter Pettigrew himself scrabbled away until his back pressed up against the far side of the cage. Rhiannon bared her teeth in a snarl and clutched the bars of the cage, not caring that she shook it – even revelling in Pettigrew’s fear at her hidden strength. He deserved it. He’d done this, all of it, every scar was his doing – right from the first one she’d ever borne.

“Yes,” Rhiannon growled, as Pettigrew gasped for breath in his fear. “Their orphaned daughter. Their t-t-t-t-traumatised daughter, scarred daughter, bro-o-o-o-k-k-k-ken daughter. You did this. Ten years of it. Look at me, look, you c-c-c-ow-w-w-w-w-www-ard, you did all this.”

Gently, Remus unfurled Rhiannon’s fingers from the bars of the cage and helped her sit back down on the bed, ignoring her growls of protest. At an unseen signal from him, Hermione padded over and joined her on the end of the bed, holding her tightly as Rhiannon shook with tears of impotent rage.

But they weren’t finished. Seeing how affected Rhiannon was, Dudley slipped out from under Ginny’s arm and stomped over to stand beside Sirius in front of the cage, stiff-legged with fury just like a wolf would be. “She’s right,” he snarled, slapping a palm against the side of the cage for emphasis. “My parents abused her for our whole lives because of you. They turned me into a bully, used me against her, because you gave her parents’ locations to a fucking war criminal. And you just, greet Professor Lupin and someone who served your prison sentence, like you’re still friends?”

Sirius clapped Dudley lightly on the shoulder and grinned, shaking his head with what looked almost like an expression of pride in his eyes. His smile wasn’t a pleasant expression, more one of vindicated triumph, but the affection he showed towards Dudley seemed to be genuine enough. “He’s destroyed a lot of lives, and he’ll answer for it,” he agreed with a growl. “I wanted to kill him, keep him from hurting anyone else... but after what they put me through in Azkaban... I want that for him. If anyone deserves it, he does.”

Pettigrew’s colourless eyes widened and darted about as he searched desperately for a way out, stinking of terror and muttering under his breath, turning frantically in circles now patting every inch of the cage’s surface. “Not Azkaban, not there... not there, don’t deserve it...” he muttered over and over, audible only to those in the room who had sensitive hearing. Suddenly, he seized hold of the boards over the window that the cage stood against, alternately bashing and prying at the dry, rotting wood. Remus swore and lunged forward to stop him, but as he reached through the bars of the cage to grip the short man’s shoulders he froze, then staggered backwards as if he’d been struck, twitching and groaning.

A sudden icy certainty doused the simmering rage in Rhiannon’s gut, and she tried to avert her gaze but it was too late. Brilliant rays of moonlight washed over her face, growing wider with each moment as Pettigrew clawed more and more rotting boards from the window. Dimly, Rhiannon heard Sirius begin to swear, and she herself scrabbled off the bed and into a corner, as far away from the incapacitated Ron as she could manage while unable to get downstairs. The moonlight froze her blood, stole her breath as she curled up desperately in the corner, her spine already beginning to twitch and crack. She clenched her hands into fists – better to pierce her pads than claw herself in a panic, she reminded herself, but those thoughts came as if from a great distance. Promise me you’ll remember your potion, she’d been warned. Rhiannon hugged her arms to her chest, desperately forcing them to stay arm-shaped in a futile effort to fight off the change, to give her friends more time to get free.

“You, fire-hair, moon-eyes, get out of here. They don’t have their wolfsbane, do they?” Sirius asked, already shaking his head. Rhiannon heard that much in her moonstruck haze, felt the guilt and terror threaten to overwhelm her as with every breath she drew in she was reminded of Remus’ years of incarceration here. “Didn’t think so, can’t smell it. One of you get them, the other, we need the Headmaster or I’m a dead man. Dead-er, even. Lock the door behind you, there’s a bolt on the outside.” Sirius added, singling out Ginny and Luna with a gesture Rhiannon just barely caught as she fought to stay conscious, a low groan forcing its way from her throat even as she shook her head so violently she knocked it against the wall. The unexpected additional pain and the smell of blood brought at least a little clarity back and Rhiannon forced herself to breathe deeply and evenly. She had to hold on, she had to stay sane.

“Crookshanks’ girl, I need you here, you’re big enough to be safer than the others and I’m picking they’ll trust you.” Sirius continued, though his voice sounded further and further away with each word. “We can’t move your friend, his leg’s too badly broken for me to mend and he hit his head when I knocked him down. I’ll handle Moony, you help me keep your friends calm and away from him,” he added with a nod to Ron. Rhiannon’s vision was fracturing into shadows and sparks now, the pressure in her head almost unbearable, but she’d done it, she’d held on, help would be coming. It was difficult to keep any sort of awareness or memory now as Rhiannon relented her will-powered grasp on her body and drifted, senseless, somewhere just outside of her form as it broke and reformed itself over and over. With her last fleeting sense of consciousness, Rhiannon forced herself to remember the other time she had gone without Wolfsbane, the calm of lying in the sun with Hermione’s gentle fingers combing through her coat. No one had gotten hurt save her. She had to believe Nyx would remember that.

Nyx raised her head and flattened her ears, disoriented by the position she found herself in. This place was full of old fear, old blood, old misery and it soaked into her bones, setting her on edge. But she was kept from complete senseless panic by the presence of her pack. The night-home-one, warm inside, distant impressions of sunlight and sleep, calling to her in a gentle low voice. ‘Nyx’, over and over in sweet tones – that was her name, the only name she recognised. She didn’t quite understand the idea of names, but it was how two-leggers referred to things, like how she thought of that one as the night-heart-home-one. Lying on an up-thing beside the night-home-one was another she recognised, the careful-worry-one with their curtain of moss-fur spread out around them, stinking of blood and sweat, their heartbeat and breathe too shallow and quick – not scared, sick somehow.

Nyx whined piteously and rolled over, untangling her legs so that she could stand up and as she did she took in the rest of her companions. On the up-thing with the careful-worry-hurt one and the night-heart-home one was a third two-legger, only vaguely familiar, but something – perhaps his body language or some clue in his scent, she wasn’t sure – told Nyx that he was a friend. Not far off to her own side was a strange man-wolf-spider creature, his form speeding her heart and setting her instincts to clamouring in fear, but again he was familiar, and distantly she reminded herself no, she knew this one too, her scent was on him and his on her – that made him pack too, or almost. He was curled up in a ball, rocking and whimpering and barely aware of her presence, and Nyx padded around him cautiously sensing that she could not help him right now, she didn’t know him well enough to help.

A soft clicking, dragging sound drew Nyx’s attention and she swung her head to see another wolf, thick-furred and solid like herself and wholly, comfortingly familiar, pad confidently into the cluttered cave Nyx found herself awake in. His pale ears pricked up and he gave a happy boof of greeting, his tail swaying back and forth like a banner as he trotted over and touched his nose to hers, then smushed their faces together happily.

The presence of her pack-brother steadied Nyx and she voiced a soft whuff, wrinkling her nose at how it sounded in the closed space. She firmly tamped down her instinctive fear of the inside, reminding herself that she was surrounded by pack, and turned her attention to the final inhabitant of the room. Trapped in a contraption of wrought metal that smelled of magic was an unfamiliar man, reeking of urine and terror and gibbering to himself. She curled her lip and let a growl rise in her throat as her hackles spiked up – the only knowledge she had of this rat-piss-man was that she hated him, if not the context for why. Stiff-legged and snarling she advanced across the strange ground towards the trapped-rat-man, again wrinkling her nose - this time at how awful he smelled up close.

The half-familiar-legs-man made a funny sort of snuffling, sneezing sound and Nyx swung her head to peer at him curiously. “Oh, you make a beautiful wolf, kid. If only your mum and dad could see you,” he said. Nyx tilted her head, bewildered by the string of mouth-noises the legs-man made at her, and sneezed diffidently. That seemed to amuse the night-heart-home-one and they held out a rounded paw for Nyx to inspect.

Nyx grumbled at the formality and smushed the top of her head up under the extended fist with an insistent whine. All three two-leggers laughed at that, and the legs-man got carefully to his hind paws. Nyx growled at him and he ducked his head, avoiding her gaze as he did so. Good – he knew how to behave. She grumbled a bit but saw an opportunity in his rudely sudden standing up – now there was room on the up-thing for her, and she ignored the legs-man as she sized up how best to get onto the up-thing without landing on the sick-careful-worry-one or knocking the night-heart-home-one off.

“Nyx!” the night-heart-home-one protested, as Nyx launched herself onto the up-thing and immediately flopped down with her entire front end – head, neck, chest and forepaws – stretched across their lap. Nyx yipped softly and stretched out further, then rolled over and pawed at the night-heart-home-one’s face.

“Hey, gentle,” the night-one scolded her – Nyx understood the tone if not the words; but the night-one scratched Nyx’s chin and her chest anyway, using both hands and making this funny little squeaking noise Nyx could only interpret as very happy as she did so.

Something brushed against Nyx’s side and she went stiff, then all at once she flopped and wiggled until she was upright again and scrambled off the night-heart-home-one’s lap, turning in circles to try and figure out what had touched her. The night-one was beside herself, lying back on the up-thing as her whole body shook with mirth, and finally Nyx identified the source of the surprise touch. The sick-careful-worry one, lying limply on the far side of the up-thing. She lay down flat on her belly and wormed her way forward until her head rested solidly on their chest. Then, as the sick-worry-one lay very still and eyed her warily, Nyx shot to her paws again and shoved her face into the sick-worry-one’s so that they were nose to nose, and growled. Not the kind of growl she had kept for the trapped-rat-piss-man, this was a warning – that wasn’t how you behaved. She didn’t like to be startled. Then, satisfied the sick-worry-one had been suitably warned, she began to investigate them from top to toe, trying to find the source of the sick.

There was blood drying in their long mossy head-fur and one of their hind legs lay at an angle she didn’t like, and Nyx whined as she struggled to decide which was the problem. The careful-worry-one lay too still and limp, their pale hairless skin damp and clammy, and their eyelids were beginning to flutter even as they looked over at her. That wasn’t good, instinctively she knew they shouldn’t sleep. She nosed at their cheek insistently, and when their response was a weak shove she began to lick their face and hair, trying to annoy them into waking back up.

This time, it was the night-home-one who disturbed her with a firm prod in the side, and Nyx swung her head to the side with a whining growl. “Nyx, no,” the night-heart-home-one told her firmly, an edge of panic creeping into her voice. “No, stop,” she insisted, shoving at Nyx’s hip until Nyx ceased her licking and flopped down on the bed with a pitiful little howl. The legs-man padded back across the room and got down on his knees to hold Nyx’s gaze firmly, her pack-brother at his shoulder.

“If you want to be on the bed, you need to behave,” the legs-man told her firmly. Nyx growled and snapped her jaws sulkily, mostly grasping the concept of what he wanted but unwilling to back down to a near-stranger, but the legs-man with the shadow-eyes did not back down either and eventually, with her pack-brother backing the shadow-eyes-man up, Nyx grumbled softly and dropped her head onto the soft padded part of the up-thing. She looked up at the shadow-eyes-legs-man and whined piteously, jerking her head back at where the moss-hair-worry-one lay too still and too pale on the other side of the up-thing. If she wasn’t allowed to help them, was anyone else going to?

“Yeah, I know, you’re worried about ‘im. Me too. We just have to hang on until your mates get back with help, alright?” the shadow-eyes-legs-man told her quietly. Nyx whined, again understanding only his tone and not the words, but she couldn’t quite relax and flopped into the night-heart-home-one’s lap again for comfort as they all waited for help to arrive.

_____________________________________________________________________

Finally, Nyx’s ears pricked up as she heard a loud grating scrape from somewhere below them and footsteps announced the arrival of more people – two-leggers, by the sound. Nyx’s hackles bristled and she leapt off the bed, then bounded out of the room and down the stairs, half-tumbling down the last few and then skidding to a halt in front of the two-leggers who’d entered, relaxing as she recognised each one of them. There was moon-fur-night-birds, already bending down with forepaws extended to Nyx for contact that Nyx happily accepted with a lolling tongue and wagging tail, the big-heart-man with his usually interesting-smelling cover-fur curiously dampened, the fire-inside-girl who had carried death, and a woman Nyx had met only once before, a woman who walked like cats.

The big-heart-man knelt and took something from the pocket of his cover-fur, a sparkling round something filled with greyish liquid that, as the big-heart-man, Nyx recognised with a sinking sensation. That was the bad-stink-taste-drink that put her to sleep, and she wasn’t ready to sleep yet, thank-you very much. She shook her head and backed away until she collided with something soft, solid and furry – her pack-brother, blocking her way back up the stairs. Nyx whined pitifully and growled through firmly closed jaws as the big-heart-man advanced on her with the stink-sleep-drink in hand.

“Lass, if I can give a nest of Kneazles their worm pills I can get you your Wolfsbane, don’t try me,” the big-heart-man warned her sternly. Nyx whined again and tucked her tail between her legs, but her pack-brother wouldn’t let her up the stairs. He wasn’t actively trying to help the big-heart-man either, he was just sort of in the way, and as Nyx prepared to dart away into a side room he leaned forward and grabbed her tail in his mouth.

Nyx whirled around, teeth bared to snap at her brother, but he was a solid wall of fluff, fat and muscle and rather than scampering away from her he barged forward, bowling Nyx flat and then grappling her with his forepaws while he mouthed playfully at her scruff and ears. Nyx growled and scrabbled at her brother’s belly with her hind paws, snapping vainly at whatever part of him – his nose, his ruff, his ankles – she could reach.

Suddenly her pack-brother’s weight was lifted clean off and Nyx lunged to her feet in search of him, but was stopped as something caught her firmly around the ribcage. She turned her head to see the big-heart man with one arm around her chest, his other held up warningly in case she tried to bite him. She thrashed, growled and kicked, but it was no use. The big-heart-man’s paws were protected somehow, so it didn’t matter how much she bit him. Eventually, worn out, she sagged in his grip and the big-heart-man took the chance to bundle her in against his chest, using all four of his legs to hold her tight, with her head tucked firmly under his chin. She wriggled and growled as he brought the grey-stink-sleep-drink closer, but there was nothing else she could actually do to resist as he pressed his other paw into the hinge of her jaw, tipped the stink-drink in and then clamped a hand down around her jaws and nose before she could spit it out.

Rhiannon-Nyx groaned, grumbled and shook herself free of Hagrid’s grasp as her regular cacophony of thoughts tumbled back into her head. She glared up at Hagrid and then very deliberately closed her mouth around his wrist, holding his gaze far more confidently than she ever did in her usual shape. Hagrid knew very well how much she hated to be touched without her explicit consent, let alone grabbed or restrained, and while Rhiannon understood why he had thought it necessary, it still felt like a betrayal and she growled again as she let him go and slunk away to stand at Luna’s side.

“I really am sorry, lass,” Minerva told her regretfully. “You looked happy enough that under any other circumstance I’d have let you be, but the Minister’s going to be here in ten minutes and you two both need to be dosed up and out of here before he arrives.”

Rhiannon blinked, still a little sluggish as she tried to process that. The Minister. Oh, no, of course – Sirius and Pettigrew! Rhiannon’s eyes widened and she shook her head firmly before planting her rump on the floor with a thud. She looked up at Minerva and whined plaintively, begging the Headmaster to understand – she couldn’t leave, she didn’t trust the Ministry to treat him fairly.

“Rhiannon, be serious, you can’t stay here with the Minister,” Minerva admonished her, but Rhiannon was unmoved and she tilted her head, still seated on the floor at Luna’s side. Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Rhiannon flicked an ear and then resumed her staring match as she recognised Hermione, who came to stand at her other shoulder across from Luna.

“Well, I suppose... nobody can exactly see who they are if they’re in this shape,” Hagrid suggested, casting a guilty look sideways at Minerva, clearly unwilling to disagree with her even in this case.

Minerva threw her hands in the air, clearly losing patience. “Fine! I’m prepared to argue with Cornelius Fudge, I don’t need to add two, presumably three werewolves to that list,” she replied exasperatedly. “But we still need to get your cousin and our dear Professor Lupin to take their Wolfsbane, on that I will not be moved. Cornelius Fudge is a... clag deireadh, bod ceann, blaigeard... oh I hope none of you speak Gàidhlig... suffice to say the man is, ah, difficult to like. When you don’t have your usual thoughts and understanding to regulate any very-understandable urges to growl or snap at him, well... I’d give him two minutes before he did something offensive.”

On that, Rhiannon agreed – she’d met the Minister briefly and while she neither spoke nor understood Gàidhlig, she was fairly sure she could recognise swearing in any language and agreed completely with the assessment. He was also insufferably pompous and arrogant – two things that would be sure to set off a werewolf, given how much they relied on body language to assess strangers. Rhiannon flicked her tail, letting it thump against the floor as she considered this while Hermione scratched her neck and Luna’s fingers splayed lazily in the dense, velvety fur on top of her head. She was loathe to subject her brother to the same indignity of being force-fed the potion that would return their human consciousness, but at the same time... he would be in for a much worse fate if he so much as curled his lip at the Minister.

Confident that Hagrid and Minerva could wrangle Dudley on their own, Rhiannon nuzzled her head into Luna’s hand and then Hermione’s, stood and trotted back to where Hagrid had dropped the empty Wolfsbane bottle. Delicately, trying her best not to touch it with her tongue, Rhiannon picked the empty bottle up and held it between her teeth, then padded more sedately back to Minerva and jerked her head at the stairs to the upper level with a meaningful glance – or as much of one as she could manage. She didn’t want to expose Remus – well, Moony – to anyone else unless it was absolutely necessary. He was so uncomfortable in his ‘wolf’-shape, he might not even recognise her – much less anyone else.

Apparently, Minerva understood, and produced another bottle of Wolfsbane from her pocket with a laugh. “Smart idea – he’s more likely to recognise you than any of us. I’ll ward the stairs once you’re up and let it down once they’re both dosed, alright? Just, howl when you’re clear up there, I know what you sound like,” she suggested. Rhiannon nodded dutifully and spat out the empty bottle, then took the full one from Minerva’s hand with the utmost care. Then, with a sideways glance over at Dudley – who was currently lying on his back with his tail thumping loudly against the floorboards as Ginny scratched his chest and scrunched his ears gently, eliciting a funny sort of purring sound from the creamy-coated werewolf in question – she padded upstairs as quietly as she could manage. A soft crackle-hiss behind her told her that Minerva had barred the upper landing from the stairs down as she had said, and that reassured Rhiannon that at least no-one surprising could barge in on Moony.

Mindful of her body language, with no idea how Moony differed from Remus in his understanding of such things, Rhiannon padded into the bedroom with her tail held low and her gaze trained on the floor, concentrating on her breathing to keep her hackles from spiking from her deep-seated discomfort at Moony’s appearance – the last thing she needed was to appear a threat without meaning to. She needn’t have worried – Moony’s attention was far from her, his ears only flicked in response to the sound of her paws on the dry wood.

Despite the ugliness of Moony’s distorted not-wolf-shape, there was something beautiful and serene about the scene before her, and Rhiannon’s heart warmed as she took in the calm figure of Sirius Black, cross-legged with his back to the wall. Tears ran freely down his grimy cheeks as he cradled Moony’s head in his lap, gently stroking the coarse ridge of hair that ran down his spine as the werewolf himself lay on his side, comfortably sprawled out along the floor. His limbs were still too long, he was still far too thin, but there was a peace about him that Rhiannon wasn’t sure she’d ever seen, even in human form.

“God, Moony, what did you do to yourself,” Sirius whispered tearfully, as he pressed a kiss to the werewolf’s prickly cheek. “You know, their daughter looks almost like you used to. Walks like you did too, once you figured out where to put all your feet.”

Rhiannon went through much of her life feeling out of place, but she had never felt more of an intruder than at that very moment. She whuffed softly and scraped a paw against the dry wooden floor uncomfortably, averting her gaze as if by perceiving the scene she might break it somehow. But Sirius’ haggard face lit up with relief as he saw her, and he smiled the first genuine smile she’d seen from him.

“Rhiannon! I’m assuming you’ve got your head back on straight – or straight enough, thank God. Or, thank your friends, really, but I kinda got into the habit of praying in... well, you know, and it’s a hard habit to kick. I can handle the Wolfsbane, but then we’ve got to get someone up here for your redhead friend, he’s not looking good.” Sirius told her, and wiggled an arm free to take the potion bottle from Rhiannon’s jaws as she padded closer, still trying not to disturb Moony.

Once Sirius had taken the potion, Rhiannon turned away to give them some privacy, her focus now going to Ron. Fizzing with agitation, she padded to the bedside and put her paws up on the covers so she could reach better, nosing all around Ron’s face and neck anxiously. At least they were breathing. But while Nyx had been concerned about the symptoms – clamminess, a racing heart, irregular breathing and dizziness – Rhiannon had the context and theory of mind to be worried about the cause. Between the broken leg – and it had to be badly broken, Rhiannon could smell blood staining the leg of their jeans and marrow exposed – and the bloody gash under their hair, she guessed Ron was in shock and very likely had some kind of head injury – falling asleep was the worst thing for them right now. Whining anxiously, Rhiannon nosed their hair and hands but got no response. Their pulse fluttered like a trapped bird in their wrist, reassuring her that they still lived, but... Rhiannon knew first-hand that alive didn’t mean well.

Peter Pettigrew had by now sunk to the floor of his cage, hugging his knees to his chest and mumbling something to himself, and Rhiannon cast a baleful eye in his direction as she heaved herself off the bed and padded back to where Sirius and now Remus sat, still curled up together, in the corner of the room. “See what I mean?” Sirius asked rhetorically, with a weary grimace. “I’m sorry about that, I really am. Think his foot caught on something while I was running and just snapped. Not my finest hour. I’ll stay up here with Moony, your friend and our mutual enemy, I don’t trust the bastard in here with just Moony. Just give me a heads-up when everyone’s going to come in and I’ll get Moony into the other room up here, yeah?” he asked.

Rhiannon nodded, and padded out of the room. She would’ve gone right back down the stairs again, but the crackle-hiss-snap sound of the barrier stopped her in her tracks and she sat down with a thump just short of it. As Minerva had instructed, she let loose a howl, but to her concern the barrier remained in place. That, presumably, meant Dudley was being uncooperative.

“Rhi, thank the heavens, get down here!” Minerva called up, sounding harried. “I’ll let you through the wall, do not let him up!”

The barrier fizzed and grew translucent to allow Rhiannon passage, and hissed shut as she leapt through. Now she could hear the thuds and yips as presumably Dudley bounded around the lower level of the building, and she picked up the pace, treading carefully on the uneven stairs until she reached the ground floor. Which, to put it mildly, was a mess. What little battered furniture there was had been overturned and smashed, there were several liquid splatters on the walls and floor that, at a sniff, Rhiannon found to be Wolfsbane – Hagrid and Minerva must have been running low by now, with so much spilled!

Rhiannon scrabbled backwards to avoid being flattened as Dudley careened past, his tongue lolling out and tail wagging madly as he eluded his would-be captors, while Ginny hared after him shouting and swearing, and Luna lay panting on the floor having evidently given up some time ago. Minerva and Hagrid blockaded the doorways into the rest of the lower floor, limiting where Dudley could get to, but if anything that was only winding him up more. Rhiannon sighed and shook her head, exasperated. Humans, she thought, forgetting that she usually considered herself one of those. They’d unwittingly turned this into Dudley’s favourite game – a game of chase.

Rhiannon barked loudly, once, loud enough that they all stopped and looked. Good. She looked at the humans with as much of a disapproving glare as she could manage. Then since they’d stopped moving, she padded over and nosed insistently at Minerva’s pocket, sniffing exaggeratedly – she could already tell there was something sweet and tasty in there, and if anything could divert her brother from his favourite game it would be food.

Minerva slapped her forehead with her palm and sighed loudly, clearly disappointed in herself. “Of course, food,” she said with a groan. She put her hand in her pocket and fished around for something that crinkled fascinatingly, and Rhiannon sat down and cocked her head curiously as she watched. Despite herself, she was just as interested in whatever was in Minerva’s pocket as Dudley, who scampered across the floor and skidded to a halt, sitting down right at Minerva’s feet beside Rhiannon; and Ginny slid to a stop not far behind, passing a small bottle of Wolfsbane to Minerva before she staggered away and collapsed on the floor, panting and sputtering wearily.

Rhiannon blinked and fidgeted from foot to foot, unable to keep her tail from swishing the floor. She even whimpered a little, and immediately ducked her head – had a wolf been able to blush she would have done so. Minerva laughed, and retrieved what to Rhiannon’s eyes appeared to be a packet of biscuits. She flicked one to Rhiannon, who leapt and caught it in her mouth and proceeded to crunch it happily, hardly caring that she dropped crumbs everywhere from the shortbready, jammy mess; then approached the anxiously whining and wiggling Dudley with a dignified sort of caution.

“Now, you only get one if you take this first,” she told him, holding up the bottle of Wolfsbane along with the biscuit. Dudley growled, then whimpered and flattened his ears, shaking his head and flattening his ears. Hagrid glared at him and rubbed his jaw where a respectable bruise was already forming, Rhiannon guessed he had tried to restrain Dudley the way he had her and failed. She snorted, returning her attention to Dudley whose eyes darted from the biscuit to the Wolfsbane, comically indecisive. But eventually his interest in the sweet won out and he tilted his head back with his mouth open and ears flattened in disgust, clearly permitting them to tip the potion in.

Once he’d been fed the potion, Dudley shuddered with disgust, struggled to swallow several times, but finally managed it – if he didn’t swallow, he didn’t get the biscuit. Then he stood and shook himself, opening and closing his mouth disgustedly in an effort to get the taste out, and finally took the biscuit gently from Minerva’s hand. Everyone in the room shared a collective sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you,” Minerva sighed wearily. “Now everyone’s got their heads back on, allow me to go over it once more. The Minister’s on his way, Rhiannon’s already made it very clear she won’t leave, but nobody is to mention your real names if you’re staying. For the human students, I’d really prefer you remained away from the Minister so he doesn’t get any extra clues as to who our wolves are, perhaps introduce yourselves to Remus and find a spare room? You too Rubeus – in fact, head on up now, I want eyes on Pettigrew and Ronald now it’s safe, you've got the med kit – maybe move Pettigrew into a spare room and we’ll use that, everyone else in with Ronald. Alright, go, go, he’ll be here any minute,” she told them, shooing Hermione, Luna and Ginny off up the stairs.

There was a lot of scuffling and scrabbling upstairs, and Rhiannon very distinctly heard Pettigrew begin to sob as Hagrid dragged his cage along the floor with an unpleasant scrape. “Movin' Pettigrew! There’s an empty room up here we can use!” he called down the stairs as he passed. Dudley trotted on upstairs after him, while Rhiannon remained at Minerva’s side, her ears pricked as a scraping, scuffling sound drifted up to the heavy banded door. She forced herself to restrain a growl and instead stuck close to the Headmaster, mouth firmly closed and ears pricked in preparation as someone’s clothes rustled through the door as they presumably set themselves in order. Then, finally, came a decisively heavy knock that reverberated through the heavy door and out across the dilapidated building. The Minister for Magic had arrived.