SEMPER FORTIS
"Always Courageous"
Chapter One: September 1st
September 1st, 1990 – the worst day in the entire world, Muggle or Wizarding. At least, it was if you were eleven years old - almost - and your name was Rigel Malfoy. It was on this day that the eldest Malfoy child, practically humming with excitement, was abruptly brought back down to Earth by the soul crushing revelation that she would not, in fact, be heading off for Hogwarts that day.
"What do you mean?" The girl demanded. "It's September 1st!"
"It is. And you're not yet eleven, so you're not going." Her father answered.
He never looked up from the Daily Prophet he was reading, but if he had, he would have seen a look of pure indignation upon his daughter's face.
"My eleventh birthday is tomorrow!"
"Rigel," Narcissa hummed chidingly.
"But- but it's not fair, I'm only a day younger tha-"
"It's just the way it works, darling. You'll be the oldest in your year and you'll love it then, you'll see. You'll get to do everything first."
Her mother smiled at her encouragingly, delicately sliding a tray full of sweet tarts toward the girl in an attempt to redirect her attention. For a moment, Rigel deflated. It would be fun to be the eldest, she supposed. And, well, ten wasn't quite old enough not to get distracted by her favorite foods. Until-
"Wait," Rigel gasped, horror washing over her face. "That means I'll be going with Draco. I don't want to be stuck in the same year as him!"
Across the table, the ten year old gave her a smug look.
"Why?" He demanded. "You don't want me to make you look bad in all our lessons?"
"Like you'd ever manage that."
He scoffed.
"I bet a blind doxy would get better marks than you. We should bring one with us and se- AH!"
Draco cut off with a yell as a goblet full of pumpkin juice collided painfully with his face, which was quickly followed by a loud wailing cry that made even Lucius jolt backwards in his chair, wincing. Narcissa rose out of her seat and wrapped the boy up in her arms instantly, making shushing noises as she swept his hair back to inspect the red mark on his forehead.
"Rigel!" Lucius snapped. "Go straight to your room right now, and I don't want to see you out of it for the rest of this day."
"But-"
"Now, Rigel."
"But he started it!" The young witch protested.
"He is a child and you should not have let him get to you. Your behavior has been unbecoming all morning. Throwing food, like some kind of ill born heathen… this alone proves you are not yet ready to go to Hogwarts."
He shook his head rapidly, and pushed away from the table so hard that the silverware rattled.
"Dobby!"
A loud crack echoed, and the house elf in question appeared in the space behind her father.
"Y-yes, master?"
The elf's eyes darted around, taking it all in – the furious girl, the wailing boy, and the pumpkin juice dripping off the edge of the gleaming mahogany table to collect in a puddle on the floor.
"See this girl directly to her room, and then clean this filth up at once."
"Right away, m-master."
The elf bowed hurriedly despite the fact that he was well out of his master's eyesight, since the Malfoy patriarch was already near stomping out of the room.
"Miss Rigel?" The elf asked tentatively, with an almost pleading air to his voice.
She knew why; he didn't want to have to seize her wrist and apparate her there. He also likely didn't want to get caught in the crossfire should the siblings begin fighting again, and it was this fact alone that made Rigel grit her teeth and try to rein her fury back in. Dobby was always kind to her, always sneaking her treats from the kitchen when she got sent to bed without dinner. Making his life harder would be a poor way to repay him, and it wouldn't win her any favors with her father either.
The girl heaved a sigh and turned to follow the visibly relieved elf out of the room. As her foot crossed the threshold into the hallway, the wailing in the room ceased instantly and she risked a peek back around the corner. Draco wasn't crying anymore – was he ever really, she wondered? His eyes weren't red – and he was looking directly at her with a wicked smirk as he curled his fingers around the chocolate frog being offered to him by their mother. As they made eye contact, he lifted an eyebrow at her tauntingly.
Scowling, Rigel whipped back around the corner and stomped after their house elf.
Yes. September 1st, 1990 was the worst day in the entire history of the world, she'd decided.
As she passed the hours shut up inside her room - which was somehow now stifling, despite its grand size - this conclusion only grew stronger. This was undoubtedly not helped by the fact that her windows overlooked the grand entry and the hedges over which her brother was flying his broom under the watchful eye of their mother. She'd grown even more furious the instant she saw him rise into the air and flit past her window, which he kept passing frequently - no doubt as a silent way of rubbing her grounding in her face. They hadn't been allowed to fly in almost a week because of the strong winds, but evidently they had gone away today - or he had managed to convince mother to let him fly anyway after all the crying at the dining table.
Either way: he was out flying, and Rigel wasn't allowed to leave her room. He knew how much she loved flying, and she was certain that he kept whipping past her window just so she'd see him having fun without her. After the initial fury of seeing him, she'd whipped around and thrown what father would have described as an immature tantrum; the arithmetic book was snatched off her desk and thrown hard at the door with a thud, followed quickly by the ink well and everything else within reach. After that, she'd thrown herself onto her pristine emerald bedspread, buried her face in the pillows, and screamed.
When the fabric became too stifling, she flopped onto her side and glared up at the soft gray clouds she could see through the windows. A moment later, the dark blur of her brother's silhouette cut across them and hot, angry tears of frustration welled up in her eyes, and she rolled over to face the empty room instead. Yanking the blankets up to cover her head completely, she let herself sink into the overwhelming misery of having her Hogwarts dreams crushed claim her focus until the sobbing finally gave way to sleep. This nap - if it could be called such - lasted until the early afternoon, when she woke up groggy and unhappy with the feeling of unquenched hunger in her stomach. When she saw the time and the lack of platter anywhere in the room, she knew instantly that her father had decided she'd go without lunch, and the scowl returned full force.
With a huff, she rose from the bed and paced restlessly around the room before settling herself on the wide windowsill. It was here that she settled for the rest of the afternoon, whittling hours away by glaring out the window and methodically shredding every bit of scrap parchment she could find until there was a small pile of fragments gathered in front of her.
Her vigil - or silent, unseen protest, for a more accurate naming - was broken only after she'd quietly watched the sun go down and the sky had faded into darkness. When the knock sounded at her door, she perked up immediately in recognition. Dobby was not the only one who knocked; Mother did too, but she never waited for an answer before entering. On the other hand, Draco - and, on the rare occasion that he made an appearance, Father - only ever barged in uninvited.
So she knew what to expect when the door opened, and she was happy for the distraction. Dobby tiptoed into the room a moment after she chirped a greeting, giving the pile of broken objects and the splatter of spilled ink behind the door an anxious side eye as he stepped past it.
"Is it time to go for dinner?" She asked eagerly.
Swinging her legs around to hop to the floor, she froze again when she recognized the tone of voice the elf used in his answer; it was the one he always used when he was giving an answer he knew wasn't the one desired from him.
"Miss Rigel is to eat in her rooms tonight." The elf wrung his hands nervously, looking mournful.
"Of course I am," Rigel growled.
The girl threw herself down into the chair at her desk so roughly it skittered back with a loud squawk that made the elf cringe.
"Master was very clear," he said apologetically.
With a snap of his fingers, a plate with nothing but a mild looking soup and a small piece of bread appeared before her. It wasn't quite the grand welcoming feast she'd been imagining herself eating on this day, but the rumbling of her stomach had her digging in despite the disappointment.
"It's so boring in here, Dobby," She whined in between mouthfuls. "And Draco got to go flying, I saw him! It's like Mother's completely forgotten who ripped Grandmother Rosier's portrait in the ballroom yesterday."
The elf gave a shifty look, glancing sideways like someone might hear him despite the fact that they were clearly alone. When he spoke, his voice was hushed and almost frightened.
"Dobby… Dobby will bring Miss Rigel a game to play," He said, twisting the edge of his pillowcase nervously. Then, with a visible effort to steady his nerves, he continued. "If she will promise not to break anything more while he is gone."
Rigel dropped her spoon with a loud clatter.
"Really?" She said, gleeful at the idea of something to distract her.
"Dobby promises. If Miss Rigel promises," He answered.
His gaze was steady - far more direct than it usually was, and far more confident too. She didn't think she'd ever heard him make a request before, even to her, and it was rather strange to hear. She had no doubt about the truth of his words, though. The only time Dobby had ever let her down was when he was ordered to do so.
"Deal!" She agreed immediately.
With a resolute nod, the elf snapped his fingers and vanished the mess at the door and the waste on her windowsill. Then he disappeared with a sharp popping sound, and Rigel tore into what little remained of her soup with much more excitement than she'd had before.
It was longer than she expected before he returned; long enough that she'd begun pacing aimlessly around the room, fighting the temptation to open the wardrobe and set to work on some of the more uncomfortable robes she was forced to wear at the fancy dinners her parents fussed over so much. When he did return, she was idly twisting a window curtain around itself, and she hastily shook it back into place as soon as she heard the sound of his arrival.
The realization that Dobby had brought her exploding snap cards was a welcome shock. She had no idea where he'd found them; she and Draco had been gifted a deck once and the game had been promptly banned from the manor within the first three hours. It had taken two weeks for their mother to figure out how to regrow Draco's eyebrows, and Rigel had been forbidden from attending Flora and Hestia Carrow's birthday party as punishment, but the sight of her sulking, eyebrow-less brother had been more than worth it.
"Where did you find these?" She demanded. "Father vanished them!"
"Dobby has his ways," the elf said, looking rather proud of himself.
They played six rounds before the elf was summoned away, bickering aimlessly over the cards with a relaxation that the elf never had unless they were alone. Rigel was positive she was the only one in the house he would ever talk back to, even if his version of sass was mild in her book. For her part, it was nice to carry on back and forth with someone without feeling like it was a battle to be won. With Dobby, the chatter was all in the name of having fun.
After he left, Rigel entertained herself by building the tallest tower she could. She had just reached the point of fetching a chair to stand on to add more when a knock sounded at her door. When her mother's voice called her name, she panicked and collapsed the cards, kicking them hastily under the edge of her bed just as the door swung open.
"Rigel?" Her mother repeated.
"Yes?" The girl chirped innocently.
Bemused, Narcissa closed the door softly and stepped into the room. A moment later, she sniffed delicately, glancing around in confusion.
"Why do I smell smoke in here?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I knocked a candle over onto my book earlier. But Dobby put it out, don't worry!" Rigel answered hastily.
Her mother made a small humming sound, then shook her head and seemed to accept it. She took Rigel's hand and led her to the edge of the bed.
"Sit," She hummed. "You've ruined your plaits."
"Sorry," Rigel murmured.
Narcissa settled behind her, so delicate she might as well have been made of air. Rigel would never understand how her mother seemed to do everything so gracefully. Sometimes she would enter a room so quietly no one even noticed her until she spoke. Father said that Rigel had the grace of a drunken hippogriff, and if she wasn't babbling loud enough to give herself away, the footsteps would do it alone.
"Are you still angry?"
"Yes," The girl answered, scowling.
Her mother pulled the ties from her hair gently, and combed her finger through the artificial curls with a tiny shake. A moment later, Rigel felt a hairbrush touch her scalp, and her shoulders relaxed almost against her will.
"The year will pass before you know it, and you'll be off to Hogwarts soon enough. This only gives you extra time to prepare and get ahead of your classmates."
She glared at the bedpost, unconvinced, and didn't respond.
"I've convinced your father to allow a trip to Diagon tomorrow. I heard an interesting tale about a new broomstick at luncheon yesterday. I think I'd quite like to see it put to the test."
With a sharp inhale, Rigel whipped around to stare at her mother with wide eyes.
"Truly?" She demanded.
"Only if you are on your best behavior. No second chances," her mother said sternly. "Your behavior today was completely unacceptable and if you are even slightly out of line tomorrow morning, we will not go. Is that clear?"
"Yes, ma'am!" Rigel chirped, beaming.
A new broom. She could hardly wait for it, she was so excited; her toe tapping rapidly on the floor as her head filled with wondrous visions of what the new broom model could possibly look like. Was it larger than the Cleansweep she'd been learning on, she wondered?
Narcissa's face broke into a small, indulgent smile, and she set the hairbrush down on the bed as she stood.
"Good," her mother said, accepting the promise.
Then she reached slender fingers out and plucked a half-burnt card out from under the edge of the bed, still smoking slightly, and slipped it into a wide-eyed Rigel's hand.
"You still raise your eyebrows when you lie, darling," she hummed, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss onto her daughter's forehead.
POSTED: 12/11/2020
AN: Started writing chapter three of Incendio. Got a paragraph in. Got struck by inspiration to finish this intro instead. Bone apple teeth, y'all.