The rising sun cast its reddish glow across Hogwarts' main courtyard, the cold air biting into the bones of anyone unlucky enough to be outdoors. A chill wind carried the scent of snow and dying grass. Through it all, a lone boy ran, his breath misting, skin steaming faintly in the frigid air.
Rigel pushed through his morning routine as always, unconcerned by the Yule celebrations. No pain, no gain, as Georgie used to say. The frost was deadly, but he didn't slow, didn't relent. Discipline had no calendar, no holiday.
With the end of his training, Rigel returned to the warmth of the otherwise empty Slytherin common room, where only seven Slytherins remained at Hogwarts: himself, three seventh-year students, and three fifth-years, all there to study and take advantage of the vast library.
He strode to his room to refresh himself. Once done, he moved with his usual poise, his school uniform discarded in favor of something more comfortable: black sneakers, blue jeans, and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
The Yule tree stood to the side of the room, a small pile of gifts beneath it, most of them left untouched.
Rigel approached and, in a swift motion, sat down before them. For the next twenty minutes, he went through the pile. A good portion turned out to be nothing more than failed attempts at pranking him.
Three unmarked packages contained only simple sweets.
Then came the Twins' gift: a box containing a smaller box, which held another smaller box, and so on for a total of fourteen.
At the very end, he found a single piece of paper wit "Prank Immunity for One Year" written on it.
Then came the gifts he was most excited for: Hermione's, Susan's, and one from Arcturus.
He started with a rectangular package wrapped in gold and red paper, a small tag attached. On it was written, "Merry Christmas, for Rig, by Hermione."
As soon as he finished reading, a small smile graced his lips. He unwrapped it, only for that smile to vanish, replaced by playful scorn as he read the title of the book he had received: "How to Make Male Friends for Dummies."
Rigel, in a whisper to himself,
The gift tag read, in a slightly clumsy hand: "For Rigel, from Susan."
He carefully removed the wrapping, revealing a dark oak wooden box, a silver inscription marking the shop's name. Resting on top was a small letter, which he picked up.
Merry Yuletide holidays,
I hope your stay at Hogwarts for the feast is going well. I'll be honest, I didn't really know what to get you at first, but then I remembered your little hobbies and asked my aunt for advice. I think I found the perfect gift for you.
Now you can write a letter from time to time… you know.
Anyway, happy Yule, Rig.
Then Rigel opened the box, revealing a beautiful pair of black dueling gloves, reinforced with metal over the knuckles, a small snake carved along the upper side.
He quickly lifted them and tried them on. The gloves, slightly too large at first, adjusted themselves to fit his hands perfectly.
A smile spread across Rigel's face.... unnatural, unsettling. Half of it resembled the wonder of a child seeing snow for the first time, the other half something far darker, the kind of smile one might expect from Bellatrix Lestrange. The sight sent a chill down the spine of a passing seventh-year.
Rigel couldn't resist the hiss that slipped from his lips,
Now it was time to open the last of his gifts. A black wrapping covered what seemed to be a small box. There was no name, nothing but a tag bearing the Black family crest.
Rigel opened it with care, after checking for any curses or hexes. With the wrapping folded neatly at his side, he was left with a black leather case and a letter.
He opened the case first. Inside lay a pocket watch, its black-gold structure worn by time, the Black family crest engraved on the cover.
With a slight tremor in his hand, Rigel opened it. Inside, along the dial, were the words "Toujours Pur." The hands were shaped like wands, and the crown was fashioned as a skull.
He took a slow breath, then reached for the letter.
In neat calligraphy, it read:
This watch was your father's, and his father's before him. Before that, it was mine, as it had been my father's before me. Now it is yours, Rigel, as it will one day be your son's.
You do not follow the traditional ways of the Black family. Know this: I am sure your father would be proud of you, regardless of your ideology. You follow our creed of "Toujours Pur" in your own way, as you have always remained true to yourself.
So, Merry Christmas, as you insist on calling it, grandson. And try not to make too many enemies… at least for the remainder of the year.
A single tear fell from Rigel's eye.
Moments later, he rose, gathering the various wrappings before heading to his room to retrieve a gilet fitted with a pocket for his new watch, along with a cloak.
Then he made his way toward breakfast, a feral, prideful smile adorning his face.
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The main doors of the Great Hall opened. The room was decorated to the nines for the festivities, a single wide table set at the center to accommodate all the members of the four houses who had remained.
At the teachers' table, Snape sat with an unusual absence of his usual scorn, while Flitwick exchanged quiet conversation with McGonagall.
Rigel strode straight to the table with his usual poise, then sat near the center, three seats across from Harry and Ron. He gave a small nod to the twins, who were boasting in front of Ron about their new cloaks, made of fine material, with the initials F.W. on Fred's and G.W. on George's.
Once he sat down and took in his surroundings, Rigel turned his attention to the table, laden with delicacies.
Potter was drinking some kind of potion, while Ron questioned his older brothers about a "R.A.S.-B.," recounting how he had received some Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, and Harry had received a set of potions for his health.
Finding nothing else of interest, Rigel began filling his plate. As he did, he almost made eye contact with Snape, who allowed himself a faint, half-hidden smile before returning to his usual impassive expression.
And so, Rigel ate in silence, surrounded by the joyful chaos.
When breakfast was finally over, Rigel rose from his seat and headed to his room to retrieve Hermione's book. Soon after, he made his way to the courtyard, looking for a quiet spot where he could read under the sun.
He found a bench near one of the pillars beneath the covered part of the courtyard. Sitting down, he began to read.
Time passed, and the once-empty courtyard slowly filled with students. Before long, a snowball fight broke out between the twins, Ron, and Harry, with some upper-years siding with the twins against the unlucky duo.
But as fate or some higher entity would have it, Fred threw a snowball at Harry, who, with a surprisingly quick duck, dodged it… only to send it flying straight toward Rigel's head.
"Gred, I think you messed up. You hit the scary one, not little Harry."
Fred gulped. "I know, Forge… and I think we should start getting ready."
Rigel placed the book down on the bench, rose, and brushed the snow from his head and shoulders with a clean movement of his hand, as if dusting off his cloak. Slowly, he turned his head, tilting it slightly to the side, a killer smile forming on his lips that sent shivers down the twins' backs.
"Don't resent me… I didn't start the fight, but I'm ending it."
In a flash, a snowball shot from his hand and struck Fred dead center on the nose.
The moment it hit, Rigel ducked behind the pillar and, using it as cover, started sniping the Gryffindors across the courtyard.
It wasn't long before chaos broke out. Hufflepuff joined in, and soon Ravenclaw followed, turning it into a full clash, the two houses allying against Slytherin and Gryffindor.
Rigel, narrowly dodging a snowball, half-shouted, "Potter! What do you say? Why don't we ally, like our ancestors Salazar and Godric did when they founded this school, and fight side by side against them?"
Harry, who hadn't been expecting to be called out, was left speechless but not the twins, who immediately shouted, "We accept!" before ducking behind a snow trench.
And so Rigel sprinted across the battlefield, trying to reach the Gryffindors, dodging every snowball thrown his way except the last one, which struck the trench just as he vaulted over it and dropped into cover.
Snowball after snowball, enemies fell under Rigel's fire, drawing surprised reactions from the twins.
"Bloody hell, one throw, one hit," Fred started."We're lucky you're not on the Slytherin team," George added.
Rigel cut them off with unwelcome news. "Don't get too comfortable. Next year, I'm trying out for Chaser."
The twins' faces paled. Then, as one: "Blimey! If you join, Wood's going to go bald from nerves you're too damn precise."
"Anyway, we need a plan. There are too many of them. Weasley, any ideas?" Rigel asked, hoping for something to turn the tide only to be met with three voices:
"Which one?"
"The ugly one," Rigel said with a smirk, tossing a knowing glance at the twins.
At that, Fred and George turned to Ron. "Ronniekins, he's asking you."
Ron flushed red with embarrassment and irritation, but pushed through it and began outlining his plan.
And so, between laughter and flying snow, the day passed, until at last it was time for bed for most of the students, at least.
Moonlight filtered through the windows, dust particles dancing in the air as the soft snoring of the living paintings echoed along the hall. An extremely faint breath passed, unheard, unseen, like a demiguise.
Rigel moved across the floor in near silence, almost gliding. His steps made no sound, his shoulders slightly stiff, his eyes darting from place to place as he walked. Every so often, he turned his head and paused, holding still for a moment, as if trying to catch a distant sound.
It was during one of these pauses that he heard it... a door, somewhere beyond the corner, creaking softly open.
In an instant, he pressed himself against the wall, peering toward the source of the sound. He saw nothing but the door slowly opening, then the faint sound of footsteps retreating into the corridor beyond.
Curiosity piqued, Rigel approached the doorway and slipped inside.
What greeted him was a spacious, abandoned classroom, illuminated only by moonlight that faintly traced the surfaces of dust-covered chairs and desks... and a warmth that felt strangely out of place.
His eyebrows drew together. '
In that moment, his attention shifted.
At the center of the room stood a large golden mirror, its clawed feet gripping the floor as though rooted in place.
Rigel edged closer, each step deliberate, silent. His eyes never left the engraving as he read it, unwilling to risk a glance at the reflective surface too soon.
"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi… strange." One eyebrow rose, a wrinkle forming on his forehead.
He stood still for a few moments before realization struck.
"Desire arta…" He stopped, realizing he was correct but knew he had to read the sentence from the end. Just as he prepared to reverse it, a thought cut through: '' He swallowed hard.
"I show not your face, but your heart's desire." He paused, letting the words sink in, then exhaled slowly. Lucky me... it wasn't cursed.
A shiver ran down his spine.
Rigel finally, almost certain he wouldn't die just by looking, stepped right in front of the mirror. His eyes traced the surface as it slowly morphed. One minute passed, then two, and only then did he murmur, head tilting slightly, "It fits."
Then a faint scent of lemon drops reached his nose. His body froze, muscles taut, and with a sudden, precise movement, he turned toward a chair at the side of the room, wand pointed at the source of the smell. "Reveal yourself... You can't hide from me any longer."
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore appeared in front of the chair, his gaze half-closed, surprise touched his features, a faint smile playing on his lips.
The moment Rigel recognized the headmaster, his shoulders loosened, his breathing fell into a
steady rhythm, and the hard grip of his hand softened, reassured that he wasn't in danger, he sheathed his wand.
"Headmaster, I assume I'm not in trouble for being out of bed?" Rigel asked, a note of hope in his voice, even as he cursed his luck. Of all the people he could have run into, it had to be the worst one.
Dumbledore regarded him with half-lidded eyes and his usual gentle smile. "Oh? You are indeed correct. After all, what could be more wonderful than the curiosity of a child who yearns to explore the unknown?"
Rigel was left perplexed by the question. As simple as it seemed, it carried a hidden meaning still beyond his grasp, one that tugged at his thoughts.
Noticing his expression, Albus interrupted the silence. With a final twinkle in his eye, he said, "Oh, don't worry too much. Everything comes to a head eventually, and rushing things is never the answer. Now, tell me... how are you finding Hogwarts?"
He allowed the question to settle before continuing, "It has been a more eventful school year than usual, especially with the incident on Halloween. But from what I have heard, you handled it admirably."
Rigel steadied himself after two breaths, the second almost a snort, before replying to the headmaster. "Right. No point in rushing things. In any case, I've been enjoying Hogwarts well enough, aside from a few minor disappointments regarding what my ancestor's house has become."
He paused, as if weighing his next words, then continued. "That said, I would like to express my thanks for allowing me to bring Etheline and Tenebris with me. I am aware that students are usually limited to a single pet.... and certainly not snakes.... so you have my gratitude. Consider me indebted."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow slightly, a gentle smile resting on his lips as he continued, "There is no need to feel indebted. It was nothing more than a small concession for a boy."
Then, with a soft twinkle in his blue eyes, his smile shifting into something almost disarming, he went on, "Ah… disappointment. Such a negative emotion, and yet, when cultivated properly, it can give rise to new hope. But setting that aside, have you found your time here fruitful in forming new friendships? I couldn't help but notice you made no mention of such things."
His tone lowered, as though he were about to reveal something of great importance. "Do not forget, Mr. Black, friendship can be as powerful as any spell we cast with our wands... especially the kind that leads us to face danger for one another."
Rigel offered a faint, almost feral smile. "Indeed… what could be more precious than true friendship?"
He let the question hang for a moment, then continued evenly, a hint of mirth in his voice. "A pity that, at times, one must stand against it..... against one's friends, even at the cost of everything they believe in… even their freedom."
Then his gaze shifted, almost meeting the headmaster's eyes, and with an innocent smile and a disarmingly friendly tone, he added, "Don't you think, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore went still. The twinkle vanished from his eyes, his breath catching for just a moment as his smile faded.
Then, a heartbeat later, he spoke in a quieter, almost saddened tone. "Indeed… there are times when such choices are the right ones, but they are also the most painful."
An instant later, the headmaster's familiar façade returned.
What followed was something few would have understood. To a passionate chess player, someone like Ron, it might have resembled a match between two masters, each move answered with precision, like duelists in a tournament.
The tension in the air was suffocating. No bystander could have guessed what, in a seemingly ordinary conversation, could create such weight.
Rigel's expression shifted, the false warmth fading as his usual cold composure returned. Yet, as the exchange deepened, it slowly gave way to a genuine smile, one born from the sheer difficulty of the challenge.
Dumbledore was not untouched by it either. In all his years as headmaster, it had been a long time since he had engaged in something so demanding… and, in its own way, so enlightening.
And then, in the middle of one such exchange, the impossible happened. Rigel met the headmaster's gaze and, for a brief moment, lost control of himself.
The mental probe came instantly, sharp, precise.... only to be blocked just as quickly and then, unexpectedly, it was returned by Dumbledore.
What had begun as conversation turned into a silent war: Legilimency probing, Occlumency resisting, all beneath calm words and measured tones.
Rigel's smile broke into something almost deranged, lit with genuine amusement. Dumbledore's own curved into a softer, knowing one, yet beneath it lay a spark, a thrill that belonged to a much younger man.
And so the minutes passed, the duel unfolding unseen, until....
Rigel, now amused by the exchange, gave up. "Now, Headmaster… should we stop playing around and ask directly?" He paused, took a deep breath, and continued, "You asked about Halloween. There's nothing hidden, really... or at least nothing hidden to your eyes. Yes, I used dark spells on the troll, but nothing unforgivable." A soft hiss followed:
Before Dumbledore could answer, Rigel cut him off. "And there's no need for the morals on how Dark Arts are bad. There's no inherently bad magic, only bad wizards. I could use an Aguamenti to kill someone just as easily as an Avada Kedavra. So, if we could possibly move on?"
Albus paused, lifting an eyebrow, a flicker of light dancing in his blue eyes. "Very well. But I find your view of the Dark Arts quite intriguing for someone so young. Perhaps, in the future, we'll have the chance to discuss it further. For now, though, after our little exchange, I'm left quite intrigued.... what did you see in the Mirror?"
Rigel, with an amused smirk, began, "Oh, I wouldn't mind a meeting to explore magic further. But, just as a note, not to criticize your presence, perhaps in your office, with a good cup of tea and maybe some candy? That aside…"
A small breath later, his throat now dry, Rigel said, "From what I saw… nothing much. Just the inevitable. Dreams and heart's desires are worthless if you don't make them real." He paused; the air seemed to still. "I saw myself, with a family all mine… and blood, blood at my feet. Now, Headmaster, if you don't mind, I'll take my leave. It's getting late."
Dumbledore inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. As Rigel began to leave, a low murmur escaped him, almost unheard: "Interesting…" Then, with a faint pause, a last question emerged. "I'm also quite curious… how… how did you find me out?"
Rigel smirked, as if about to tell a joke, tilting his head slightly. "Your smell, Headmaster. Like a lemon candy shop blown up. Hard not to find you. Now, if you'll permit me… what do you see in that Mirror?"
Dumbledore froze, dumbfounded for a moment, mouth slightly open. Then a chuckle, more childlike than his age suggested, escaped him. "Really… even the most innocent vice can betray you someday." He recomposed himself, tone softening, almost melancholic. "I see myself with a good pair of woolen socks. You never get enough of them. Good rest, Mr. Black."
Rigel, after a final farewell, headed back through the corridors toward his room, eager to rest until sunrise. Just as he closed the door behind him, he caught an extremely low, hushed voice: "Ten points to Slytherin…" The rest was cut off as the door clicked shut. Step by step, his night's wanderings came to an end, fading into silence as his footsteps carried him deeper into the quiet and warm embrace of his bed.
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