SEMPER FORTIS

"Always Courageous"

Chapter Five: Gryffindors

Rigel Malfoy woke up the morning following the conversation in Snape's office with a new outlook on things. Her mother's words felt like a release of some kind, like she was a caged owl and the door had just been thrown open to the great wide world.

You can still make me proud. It felt like permission, almost.

To do what, she wasn't completely certain, but Narcissa's words had made it clear that there was no going back. She was here now, and would remain with the Gryffindors — so she may as well settle in. Rigel was a Gryffindor. This was her house now, and these were her housemates for the next seven years. Life would be a lot more tolerable if she found a way to get along with them.

(The first step of solving that problem, she figured, was to stop thinking of the others as the Gryffindors — complete with derogatory mental tone of voice — but the habit was so deeply ingrained into her mind that it was much more difficult than she had expected it to be.)

The problem here, of course, was that — by nature of her name or by nature of her thus far sparkling demeanor, who could really say — none of those housemates wanted anything to do with her. It was rather difficult to lay the foundations for peaceful coexistence (she wasn't optimistic enough to expect actual friendship) when all of her housemates seemed inclined toward keeping up the vaguely hostile silent treatment Rigel had spent their first week at Hogwarts establishing. An older witch might have recognized that she only had herself to blame for that, but at eleven, it only served to make Rigel even more frustrated than before.

Over the course of that weekend, as she began to pay more attention to them, she'd found that each of the other Gryffindor first years — and, amusingly, a few of the older students as well — could be sorted into one of three categories based on their response to Rigel's sudden shift in personality.

First, there was the group that actively antagonized her. This was not the largest group, but it was by far the most irritating to deal with. The identical Weasleys fell into this category, because she knew for certain they were responsible for the dungbomb that had exploded inside her book bag after lunch that Saturday, when she made the mistake of sitting a few places closer to them than she ever had before. Weasley junior sometimes fell into this category when he was feeling particularly brave, as well as a couple of others, like the boy who seemed to have a knack for starting fires, but their antagonism was restricted to muttering and ugly faces… mostly when her back was turned, and she assumed that they thought she could not hear him. Someone really ought to tell them their voices carried louder than they thought they did, before they landed themselves in detention one day, but it certainly wasn't going to be her.

The second group was by far the largest, and this was the group that seemed to have taken up ignoring Rigel's entire existence like it was a new kind of team sport. The morning following that fireplace chat, she'd walked into the Great Hall with a new confidence, and seated herself closer to the middle of the Gryffindor table instead of going to the corner like she always had before. The students near that spot had shuffled sideways to make room for her — along with a wide bubble of empty space around her — like they'd been magically compelled to do so. Rigel had spent that meal, and every one since then, surrounded by other children who refused to even look her in the face. Most of the upper years of Gryffindor were like this, after they'd given her the initial disapproving looks. Her dorm mates were even more stoic; Brown and Patil gave her a wide berth, and even Granger was very obviously going to a great deal of effort to restrain herself from commenting on anything Rigel did near her. Potter fell in this group too, although Rigel had seen him watching her curiously out of the corner of her eye, when she seemed like she wasn't paying attention to him. What the boy who lived was thinking, she had no idea; they hadn't spoken to one another even once since their encounter on the first night.

And the final group of Gryffindors was really more like… Gryffindor, singular. Longbottom was in a class all on his own when it came to his reaction to Rigel, for he acted like he'd been shocked if he got within ten feet of her. On the Monday of their second week at Hogwarts, she'd set her books down next to him in History of Magic and muttered a short hello, and the boy had shot up and off of his stool so fast that it, too, had gone flying away from her. Still thinking the nervous boy was the most approachable of her new housemates, she'd tried again at dinnertime that evening. This time, the boy had startled so badly he'd fallen backward in a heap on the stone floor of the Great Hall. His flailing limbs had sent several other students' plates and goblets into their laps, and so Rigel's reward for this attempt at civility was glares from half of the Gryffindor table while the other three tables laughed openly at the spectacle.

By Tuesday morning, Neville Longbottom — who had still yet to speak a word to her — would turn around and flee in the opposite direction any time he saw her approaching in the corridors. By Wednesday, Rigel arrived at breakfast and discovered Longbottom surrounded by the other first-year boys, two of whom — Thomas and Finnigan, she thought she remembered — were glaring at her quite fiercely for a pair of eleven year olds. It actually made her feel a bit begrudgingly impressed… if only they weren't aiming such looks at her. Even Potter, who was sitting between Weasley junior and Longbottom, was looking a bit more hostile than usual, which was oddly discouraging since the two of them had never had trouble before. Rigel felt rather indignant about the whole affair; it wasn't her fault Longbottom was interpreting civility as a threat!

Suffice to say, by the time Thursday morning Transfiguration rolled around that week, Rigel was already in a less-than-stellar mood after so many days of watching other students having fun and making friends while she herself lived in near silence. Unfortunately for her, the class that followed was only destined to make things worse.

The classwork itself, of course, was not a problem. Rigel was actually rather enjoying the work; despite all of the drama and theatrics since her arrival, nothing could take away how overjoyed she was to finally be at Hogwarts and finally doing magic. She'd decided the night before that she was just going to focus on her lessons and her magic, and who cared if she made any friends? It wasn't like she needed those. She was going to learn magic, learn it well, and she'd blow them all right out of the water.

Her resolve had been paying off so far — each of her professors was privately overjoyed by her sudden about-face from the stubborn refusal to participate in lessons, to a seeming desire to be at the top of the class. Unfortunately, the girl's focus had tunneled quite a bit, and she was paying so much attention to her work that she forgot to dedicate a tiny little bit of it to what everyone else was doing around her.

So it was that on that Thursday, having finally transfigured her match into a needle, she was rushing right up to the front of the classroom to present it for Professor McGonagall's inspection, as they had been instructed to do. Hermione Granger, of course, had already perfectly mastered this ability when they'd all attempted it the previous week, in their very first transfiguration lesson. The bushy-haired girl had been assigned extra readings to occupy her time and was bent over her textbook and parchment, dutifully taking notes on the theory for next week's lesson while her classmates tried to catch up with her.

And it was at that moment that Rigel — who was, for once, going about her own business and not even attempting to antagonize anyone — scurried sideways to avoid a foot stuck out in front of her path to trip her. The young witch avoided the sudden obstacle, but collided with another — her elbow connected directly with the muggleborn witch's open inkwell, and the small container was sent rolling. A loud clattering rang out as the pot landed on the desktop, and both Granger and her desk partner Longbottom shrieked and leapt up from their seats to avoid the sudden spray of dark ink.

Rigel froze mid-flail, wide-eyed and just as stunned as the other two students were. Around her, the rest of the classroom was staring at them, and the Professor — who had let out a startled exclamation at the sudden racket — was hurrying towards them with a particularly dragon-like look on her face.

"What is going on here? Miss Granger?" Professor McGonagall demanded.

"My books-" the girl exclaimed, frantically dragging her bag out from under the edge of the desk, where the ink was now dripping onto the floor.

"Malfoy knocked Granger's ink pot over," Finnigan chirped from the desk a few rows away. "She hit it, Professor!"

"What?" Rigel demanded, indignant.

"Is this true, Mister Longbottom?" Professor McGonagall asked, peering very seriously at Granger's deskmate, who was turning tomato red and appeared unable to look directly at her while under the scrutiny of the entire classroom.

"I mean- er, her- her elbow did hit it, professor. I-I think," the boy stammered.

The professor's nostrils flared, and she spun on Rigel with such an intensely disapproving look it made the girl's shoulders square up on instinct; it reminded the girl oddly of her father back home at the manor, when she'd done something he deemed improper for a girl of her status. She was unfortunately familiar with that judgement. Having such a large audience for it was a bit off-putting, though; such things were supposed to be dealt with behind closed doors, in her lived experience.

"Straight back to your seat, and you will see me after class, Miss Malfoy," the professor ordered.

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Rigel protested.

"Your seat, Miss Malfoy," the professor repeated, nostrils flaring once again. "If I see you leave it even once before this class has been dismissed, it will be detention for the rest of the week."

She didn't believe her, Rigel realized. The professor absolutely did not believe she was telling the truth. A flicker of hurt welled up, somewhere deep below the seething ocean of indignation and righteous fury. She hadn't even done anything wrong, yet here she was being scolded in front of everyone.

It truly did feel like being back home at the manor, facing off against Draco, and Rigel stomped back to her desk in much the same way as she would have stormed back to her room at home. Her fist clenched around the transfigured needle, and she flinched as her fingertip welled up with a tiny dot of blood where it had pricked her.

Behind her, the professor was still talking Granger down from a frantic concern over her school books.

"It's quite alright, Miss Granger," McGonagall comforted. "It looks like this one here is the only that's been stained."

"That one's my favorite," the girl said despairingly.

The older switch smiled softly, waving her wand and vanishing the ink from the tabletop with barely any effort at all.

"Not to worry, Miss Granger. Leave it with me and I'll see that it gets back to you just fine."

Rigel scoffed audibly under her breath, rolling her eyes, and Brown and Patil sent her identical dirty looks from the desk across the aisle.

The rest of Transfiguration passed uneventfully, if you didn't count the ugly looks and whispers sent in Rigel's direction. The girl certainly didn't, since she had placed her head down upon the table she had all to herself, transfigured needle cast aside, and spent the rest of the period attempting to nap the time away. After a while, her search for sleep was successful, and she only woke up when the noise of her classmates leaving the room grew too loud to ignore.

With a sigh, Rigel sat up in her seat, shoving her hair back out of her face as she watched the door close behind the last students. A throat cleared pointedly, and when she turned her head she found the professor sitting at her desk, gesturing at a new chair she'd just conjured into existence before her. It was closer than the desks were, and Rigel had a sinking feeling that she was about to get scolded.

She responded to the tension the same way she always did: by being obnoxious.

"Am I allowed to move now, then?" she said snottily, with a look on her face that was — unbeknownst to her — and eerie imitation of her mother's trademark haughty expressions.

The professor's face took on that same dragon-like expression again, and Rigel elected to move forward before flames arrived to go along with it.

"Sit," the professor said sharply. "Now."

Rigel did. She perched delicately on the chair, legs crossed like a demure pureblooded witch was supposed to do… and then she ruined it by slouching back into the chair, crossing her arms and jutting her chin up in a picture of defiance.

"I do not know what expectations you were raised with, but here at Hogwarts that disrespect must be curtailed immediately. I am aware that you have... had a bit of a shock upon your arrival, and an adjustment period was to be expected. But it is the second week of term, Miss Malfoy. This will not be tolerated moving forward," the professor said sternly. "You do not have to like me or anyone else here, but you must behave with decency even so."

"I didn't knock over the inkwell on purpose," Rigel snapped, neither noticing nor caring how the tone made the older witch's face contort in a displeased way. "I was on my way to show you my needle, like you told us to do, when Finnigan tried to trip me and my elbow hit it when I jumped out of the way. He knows that, he just wanted to get me in trouble!"

And she hadn't, of course, actually seen who the leg stuck in her path belonged to, but she was certain in her belief that Finnigan was to blame. He'd seemed to take a particular dislike for her after Longbottom's extreme reactions to her mere existence had begun.

"Even so-" the professor started.

"You don't believe me," Rigel interrupted sullenly. "You don't like me any more than anyone else in this house does and you think I did it on purpose."

McGonagall fixed her with a stern look.

"You're an intelligent girl. I will be blunt with you, Miss Malfoy: your track record thus far at Hogwarts speaks against you. I am not inclined to take your word at face value, no. However-"

"So you'll assume I'm wrong and give me detention anyway," Rigel said, rolling her eyes.

"Interrupt me once more, and I will," the professor said, eyes flashing, and the girl bit back her retorts, closing her mouth with a sharp clack.

"However," McGonagall said pointedly. "Having not seen the events myself, I cannot say which version of the story is true. Therefore, you will not be receiving detention. Instead, you will remove the stains from Miss Granger's book yourself, as a learning experience."

"I don't know how to do that," Rigel muttered.

"Which is why you are here. I will show you the spell, and you will practice it on your own time until you are able to return the book to Miss Granger in the condition it was in before this incident. And if this truly was an accident... well then, you've only learned something far ahead of your peers, which shouldn't displease you."

The girl was silent, still feeling mutinous, which didn't seem to impress the professor.

"Or I could assign you a detention after all. Cleaning the owlery floor, perhaps?"

Rigel's lip curled disgustedly.

"I'll learn the spell," she said finally.

"I suspected you might prefer that option," the professor said, looking very faintly amused.

And then she spent the next ten minutes lecturing Rigel on the theory and application of the cleansing spell she was to use on the stains. At the end of this spiel — which had made Rigel wish suddenly for a pause in order to dig her parchment out and take notes — she presented the girl with Granger's thick, ink-splotched book.

Hogwarts: A History, read the cover, and Rigel felt a sudden incredulous thrill as she realized that she and the Muggleborn had the same favorite book. Rigel had read her first copy so many times the bindings had frayed, and mother had bought her a new one as a gift after her meltdown that day she'd realized she would be going to Hogwarts at the same time as Draco.

"I expect to see this returned to Miss Granger within two weeks," Professor McGonagall instructed. "It's a second year charm, but I don't believe it will pose you very much difficulty if you dedicate yourself to your practice. If it does, return to me and we will practice it together. Do you have any questions?"

Rigel shook her head silently, not trusting herself to give a verbal response that was on par with the professor's expectations for respect. She never had been very good at keeping her thoughts to herself; her voice was even worse at giving her feelings away than her face was.

"Very well, then. Off you go. You don't want to miss lunch before your first flying lesson this afternoon," McGonagall said. I'm sure you've already flown at home, but attendance is mandatory. I expect to hear of no further incidents."

The professor's voice was stern, and Rigel had no doubt she'd be getting a long list of detentions if she stepped so much as a toe out of line that afternoon. The lack of trust still rankled a bit, and the girl paused halfway out of her seat in order to face the professor once more.

"I didn't ask for this, you know," she said suddenly.

"Pardon?" the professor, said, looking up from her desk.

Their eyes met, and for the first time since she had been scolded, Rigel didn't look away.

"I didn't ask for this. To be here. That- that hat, it just ignored everything I had to say and it threw me in Gryffindor and everyone here hates me. The friends I had won't talk to me. My brother has apparently decided to pretend he doesn't know me. My parents won't answer my letters," Rigel said. "And everyone assumes I've done something wrong no matter what I do. ButI didn't ask for this."

The professor's face softened. It made Rigel shift uncomfortably, not knowing what to do with that change of pace.

"I am aware of that," she said, after an awkward moment of silence. "This will not be the last time in your life when you end up in a situation that you neither wanted nor chose. Such is the way of life, unfortunately. But it is up to you how you respond to it. You can continue to spiral and lash out, to remain stuck in this rut… or you can find a way to move forward. That choice is yours and yours alone. You get to decide who you are now, Miss Malfoy."

It was silent for a moment, and Rigel looked down, fiddling uncomfortably with the strap of her book bag. She wasn't used to such bare-faced honesty. She turned and fled toward the door, relieved to put space between them, only to pause as McGonagall's voice rang out again.

"Remember," the professor called, back to her usual stern voice. "Two weeks."

AN: Lol this is so late, sorry y'all. I had the first section written for ages and then had some writer's block going. But today is my birthday and I spent the better part of the last 24 hrs in bed sick so I decided to finish it up so I could at least do one fun thing today! Things will be picking up quicker after this chapter. Let me know what you think!

POSTED: 5/5/2021