SEMPER FORTIS

"Always Courageous"

Chapter Thirteen: The Mirror of Erised

Christmas break began in a stilted fashion that year. Rigel didn't know how to feel about it.

For the first time in her life, she would be celebrating the holiday away from home — without the manor and its flawless decorations, without the snow mother pretended not to conjure in the courtyard for herself and Draco to pretend to hate—

And, in fact, without her family at all. Not even one of them.

Draco was boarding the train to take him home to the manor that very morning, while Rigel had — after writing many persuasive letters addressed to Mother and Mother only — been given permission to remain at the castle throughout the break. It had been her own wish, and her own doing, and yet now that the day had finally arrived… Rigel felt an odd surreal feeling every time she saw students lugging their baggage toward the entry hall and was reminded that she would not be doing the same.

Her brother wasn't helping matters, either. Draco had taken up a new habit of walking the long way around the Great Hall each day leading up to the winter break in order to make snotty, overloud remarks about how wonderful Christmas was going to be at home. She couldn't decide who he was aiming the commentary at more, between herself and Harry; she had been surprised that the Boy Who Lived was also not returning home for Christmas, but he'd only shrugged and said he wasn't wanted there, and none of them had dared to bring it up again after Ron changed the subject by loudly announcing that he'd be staying at Hogwarts too. It was different, though, for Ron — he had a warm home waiting to welcome him whenever he chose to come back to it, in the same way that Hermione did. Harry and Rigel were akin, it seemed, in not sharing that same luxury with their friends.

"I do feel so sorry for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home," Draco said loftily as he drifted past, a false look of sympathy plastered onto his face as he glanced back at them over his shoulder.

Rigel's fist clenched around her butter knife. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Harry's shoulders steady and grow tense beside her, obviously having heard the same comment she had, and looking perhaps even more stung by it than she herself was.

Before she could open her mouth to fire off a retort, a hand landed on her own and squeezed it tight.

"Don't," Hermione whispered, eyes wide and pleading. "It's just not worth it, Rigel!"

She exhaled heavily. Let her fingers uncurl from around the silverware.

Hermione was right — he was just begging for attention, and rising to the bait wouldn't earn her anything except perhaps a detention, and then an even more smug Draco would be whisked away on the Hogwarts Express, happier to have gotten one last shot off in the little war between them.

The boy in question drifted off looking sullen and disappointed when all of the Gryffindors ignored him as one and continued their conversations unbothered.

"Well," Rigel muttered around a bite of scone, in an extra snotty imitation of her brother's voice. "I, for one, do feel so very sorry for everyone who has to endure the presence of insufferable gits at home all break. It's going to be so nice and quiet here for a change!"

Harry grinned into his porridge, and Ron snorted into his, and Rigel counted that as a win even though it had made Hermione squeal at the bits of food blown her way.

Later that morning, Rigel found herself in the Great Hall holding onto one of Hermione's bags as the curly-haired witch rifled through the other one, checking one last time to make sure she had everything she needed for the trip back home.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" Hermione said as she straightened up. "I could always write home and tell my parents I need to stay—"

"Absolutely not," Rigel denied. "It'll be fine, Draco's taking all the drama home with him."

It wasn't quite the full truth, but seeing as most of Slytherin house and a significant portion of the castle at large was also leaving for the holidays, it was true that she was going to have far less reason to stress during the break.

It was also true that things were going to be awkward in the tower without Hermione there to soften the edges between Rigel and the boys. In the time between the cursed broomstick and then, Rigel had resolutely refused to become involved in the research they were doing into whatever it was they thought Snape was trying to steal. Even Hermione had become convinced after the Quidditch match, and the tension between Rigel and the others had only thickened. It had made for some awkward times — conversations cut short by her arrival, hushed whispers, and time dominated by research that they didn't even try to involve her in — and in many ways, Rigel had felt more excluded and lonely than she had since before she'd even become friends with Hermione.

But the girl knew that she was right, she knew Snape wasn't as stupid as they thought he was, and she was simply too stubborn to back down or even pretend to be convinced otherwise.

"Just," Hermione said, biting her lip. "Promise me, no fighting?"

Rigel scoffed.

"Please? You don't have to change your mind, just don't fight over it? Oh Rigel please, I don't want you to have a miserable Christmas!"

Too late, the blonde thought sourly.

"Fine," she said instead. "No fighting. Cross my heart and hope to die."

Hermione beamed — she'd been the one to teach Rigel that Muggle saying, and of course was thrilled to hear it repeated — and flung her arms around her friend's shoulders. Rigel jumped slightly in surprise, then brought her arms up in a tentative hold.

It still felt strange and wooden and not like herself to hold someone that way, but… it was nice, at the same time. If she closed her eyes and pretended to be someone else doing it.

"Alright," Hermione said, pulling back. "I'll write you over break and tell you everything we do at home, and you have to write me back!"

"I will," she replied dutifully.

"Alright," the other girl repeated; and she looked awkward and nervous again all of a sudden. "Um, I have to tell Harry and Ron something about… about our, er, project—"

"It's fine, go," Rigel rolled her eyes. "I can find the tower again on my own."

Hermione smiled again, catching her in another quick hug — she wondered, sometimes, if the girl knew how conflicted Rigel felt about them, or if she just hugged her more than anyone else by chance? — and then was dashing off, shouting a Happy Christmas! over her shoulder as she went.

Shaking her head, Rigel watched her bags swinging wildly until she was lost in the sea of students. But when she turned to go, it was not Gryffindor Tower she headed toward.

Instead, after a careful scan of the Great Hall confirmed that her target was nowhere in sight, she set up shop leaning against a statue outside the entrance to the dungeons that the Slytherins always used, at just such an angle that she could see anyone coming… but they could not see her.

She didn't have to wait very long before the right person came along. Waif frame, blonde hair far more golden and honey hued than Rigel's own, and perfectly pressed clothes; Daphne Greengrass looked the perfect picture of pureblood heiress poise as she carried her luggage up the final step out of the dungeons.

Rigel leaned lazily out from behind the statue, calling her friend's name out, and she'd be lying if she said she didn't take bitter satisfaction in the very much not poised way Daphne jumped and looked around the corridor.

"Rigel?" the girl called, uncertain.

"Over here," she answered.

The Slytherin looked deeply confused by the time she arrived.

"I have something for you," Rigel said, and she produced a carefully wrapped parcel from the bookbag at her feet. "Happy Christmas."

"Oh," Daphne breathed, taking it gently. "Would you like me to open it before I leave?"

Her expression was schooled, but Rigel could see the undeniable curiosity she was trying not to show. Her own lips twitched into a little grin.

"It's your present, Daphne," she shrugged. "You get to decide where to open it."

The other girl's eyes darted around in an appraising manner — and in the spirit of Christmas, Rigel bit down on the urge to make a snide comment about how she didn't have to worry, there was no one around to see the pair of them being too friendly — and then Daphne bit her lip, finally smiling ever so slightly. The soft silver ribbon gave way easily, leaving the green lid of the box open for Daphne to lift. Rigel watched her intently as she reached in to tug at the soft paper concealing the present inside.

Daphne gasped. Her eyes darted up, wide and startled, and her hand had frozen inside the box.

"Rigel, that's… I— I can't take this," she stammered.

The Malfoy's eyebrows shot up; she'd never heard Daphne Greengrass stutter a single day in their shared lifetimes. If there had been a betting pool on the matter, Rigel would have bet that Daphne had arrived as a baby already speaking in full sentences.

"You can, and you will," Rigel said stubbornly. "It was given freely to me, which makes it mine to give to you."

Daphne raised her hand slowly. There, perched delicately on her fingertips, was the very same emerald and silver brooch that Rigel herself had worn at the start of term — the one that her mother had gifted to her on her twelfth birthday, just before she left for Hogwarts.

The very same one that she and Daphne had fawned over together on the train ride to the castle.

Since she'd finally accepted her sorting into Gryffindor, it had been sitting untouched in Rigel's trunk. She couldn't bring herself to stomach the idea of wearing it now, but for Daphne — the one who had been sorted the way she was supposed to, who had slotted right into Slytherin house seamlessly, who wore the green ties and hair clips and pins every day without question… for her, it would be different.

For Daphne, it would be a beautiful bauble and a source of pride.

For Rigel, it was nothing now but a reminder of her failings.

"But it was your birthday gift from your mother," Daphne said softly.

She was staring down at the brooch reverently, and Rigel knew at once that she'd made the right call in giving it to her rather than just letting it collect dust, forgotten in a trunk.

"Daphne," she said pointedly, and the Slytherin looked right up into her eyes at the serious tone. "We both know I'm never going to wear it."

It would only cause trouble, if she did. Someone would take exception — if not the Gryffindors she'd only barely managed to forge a tentative peace with, then the Slytherins who already hated her on principle, and if not them… then someone closer to home would be upset by it.

Realization dawned on Daphne's face. Her eyebrows pinched slightly, looking very sad, before it smoothed out again.

"She'll notice it's missing," Daphne pointed out, biting her lip in an uncharacteristically open display of concern.

Doubtlessly worried over offending the sitting Lady of House Malfoy, Rigel was sure. The Greengrasses were more reclusive than many of the other great houses — less concerned with charades and politicking than most of their counterparts — but Rigel knew that even they would be angry at their daughter if she caused such an offense, unintentionally or not, and she was certain that the same thing was on Daphne's mind as well.

"Mother won't notice," Rigel dismissed.

It was a lie, of course; Mother always noticed. She noticed everything, and Daphne knew it too by the unimpressed look she sent Rigel's way.

But it wasn't an heirloom; it had been a gift freely given to Rigel, and now freely given to Daphne. Even if she cared that much about it, Mother wouldn't have the grounds to demand it back from the Greengrasses without causing a needless commotion between their families over such a small thing. Mother wasn't that petty… and she would never show her hand so strongly over such a small item, in the grand scheme of things, no matter how unhappy it might make her.

"Besides—" Rigel grinned brightly. "I have to pay you back for completing my chocolate frog card collection!"

"Hardly an equivalent worth," Daphne rebutted, tracing her fingers delicately along the silver filigree edge of the brooch.

"It was to me," she said simply.

Her Slytherin friend looked up and caught her eyes — the seriousness there, the unspoken message that this was about much more than just that chocolate frog card of Godric Gryffindor. And then she nodded in acceptance, clasping her hands firmly around the gift box.

"Thank you, Rigel," she said, and then she smiled; not the forced kind, or the small demure kind one mustered up at an event, but the wide kind that was full of genuine warmth.

Rigel answered with one of her own. As she made her way back to the tower, her thoughts of Mother and the manor and Draco having them both all to himself fell away, and Christmas felt a tiny bit warmer than it had before.

But as had always seemed to be the case: she wasn't allowed to hold onto that bright mood for long before something came along to spoil it. This time, it was the discovery of the mirror in the forgotten room that came along not long after the joy of the holiday.

Christmas Day dawned cool and crisp, a bright blue sky shining above the snowy courtyards outside. And within the castle, within Gryffindor tower, there were three first years sharing the joy of a holiday spent with friends for the very first time.

The boys' dormitory staircase did not turn into a ladder. Rigel thought this was particularly dumb, because girls were just as capable of sneaking into the "wrong" dormitory as boys were — and she would know, since she had just done so — but whoever had designed this part of the castle had obviously been either thickheaded or foolhardy when it came to that detail. Dumb or not, it was a loophole all the same, and she had every intention of exploiting it on the regular from that point on.

Her own dormitory was completely empty on Christmas morning; amongst herself, Hermione, Brown, and Patil, she was the only one who had remained behind at Hogwarts for the winter break. At first, Rigel had thought it would be relaxing to have the dorm all to herself for a change… but in practice she had found the silence stifling. And so, she had found herself testing the staircase — delighted to find that its creator had been stupid enough not to charm both sides — and then flying upward until she had made it to the first year boys' door, where she knocked rather loudly.

She felt rather certain that she was technically breaking a school rule by visiting Ron and Harry in their dorm and she was far beyond caring about that, but she certainly wasn't going to barge in unannounced.

Ron answered the door, looking confused at the knocking, only to go wide-eyed when he saw her standing at the threshold.

"Oi, Harry! Look who's here!"

And then they were grinning and laughing, and the knot in Rigel's chest loosened a little at the realization that they were still happy to see her.

The boys were mid-way through opening presents when she'd arrived, as it turned out. She had already opened all of hers — a wonderful bound journal from Hermione, a set of chocolate frogs from Daphne with a note that read: for the chocolate, not for the cards, and a pair of soft, brown leather flying gloves with Mother's signature on them that made Rigel realize that she had never written and told Mother about her quasi position with the Quidditch team. She hadn't written her at all, actually, ever since that conversation in Snape's office… except to ask for permission to stay behind at school for the break.

"What's this?" Rigel asked, plucking up a lumpy parcel off of Harry's bed.

"Oh no," Ron groaned. "She's gone and made you one too…"

"Who made me what?" Harry laughed.

"Mum," Ron rolled his eyes. "She knits us all sweaters every year. I told her you weren't expecting any presents so she must have made one for you too…"

Harry tore the packaging open, and a lumpy green sweater tumbled out in a soft heap.

Interesting color choice, Rigel thought but knew better than to say.

There was a package of fudge cushioned inside Harry's sweater, and the boy offered her a square of it as Ron tore into his own gift and groaned.

"Every year," he complained. "Every year she makes us sweaters, and mine is always maroon!"

"That's really nice of her," Harry said, and Rigel agreed silently.

In all her life, she'd never had a homemade present of any kind. It was an odd thought, but a nice one too. Presents had always just been something you bought, at home.

There was only one present left after the sweaters, and it caused a great deal more excitement: the mysterious package with the strange note, and the even stranger invisibility cloak that Harry received; something described almost like an heirloom from his father, if the note's sender was telling the truth.

The invisibility cloak was a wonderful thing, a wonderfully rare thing, and Ron and Rigel both were exploding with excitement as they tried to convince Harry exactly how special the item was. For only three children, they were spectacularly noisy, which made it perhaps not surprising when someone else came to investigate the ruckus.

They barely even noticed the arrival in time for Harry to throw the invisibility cloak unceremoniously under his bed.

"What's all the commotion—"

It was one of the Weasley twins in the doorway, wearing a blue sweater with a golden F on it, and he cut off and began laughing uproariously as soon as he caught sight of Rigel sitting cross-legged on Neville Longbottom's four-poster, frozen midway through a story being told primarily with animated arm gestures.

"Oi, Gred, come get a look at this!" the third year cackled.

His twin came bounding along, peeking into the dorm curiously before he caught sight of her and began to laugh just as loudly as his brother.

"Aw, firsties sneaking around," he snickered. "Better not let Perce see you or you'll get an earful!"

"What about me?" called a suspicious voice.

He arrived moments later and, just as the two had predicted, there was a great deal of high-pitched ranting about dormitory rules before the twins seized him by either arm and hauled him back down the hallway. ("They're firsties, what exactly do you think they're getting up to?" one of the twins cackled as they went, and Percy sputtered out mid-rant, looking embarrassed. "It's Christmas, no buzzkills allowed!" crowed the other one.)

"We'd better catch up before he sics McGonagall on us," Ron muttered.

The three of them hurried to do just that, none of them eager to face their head of house's wrath over something so silly.

Breakfast, that morning, tasted better than on any other day before; because it was Christmas, or because Rigel was happy, she couldn't tell you.

The odd little collection of Gryffindors remaining at Hogwarts — Rigel and Harry and the four Weasley boys — spent the rest of Christmas day playing games and telling stories and laughing at the antics of the semi-drunk professors at the feast that evening. When Rigel fell into her four-poster that night, she was so tired and happy from all the festivities that she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

As the days passed after Christmas, things settled back into more of a normal rhythm, but there was still some fun to be had. On one particularly notable morning, a storm had rolled in heavy over the castle, bringing even colder weather than they had already had. The Black Lake outside froze solid, and several feet of snow transformed the grounds into a scene from a painting.

The Weasley twins dragged a reluctant, protesting Percy outside to make an even number, and the Gryffindors spent a while charging through the banks having a snowball fight. Afterward, as the rest of them lay sprawled in the snow exhausted, Rigel watched the twins make bewitched snowballs bounce off the back of Professor Quirrell's turban, and she laughed harder than she ever had before in her life as the odd little man scrambled desperately to avoid them. Percy tried valiantly to look disapproving, but — as she wrote to Hermione in her letter that evening — she'd caught him laughing in surprise before he managed to hide it.

Three days after Christmas, Harry caught Rigel at the foot of the staircase before she could head up to go to bed.

"Meet me back here at midnight," he said, hurriedly. "There's something I want to show you."

"What?" she hissed, but he was already darting away to the boys dormitory.

She met him there, of course, but not without a fierce scowl that did not lessen even as he threw the invisibility cloak over her heard and towed her toward the Fat Lady's portrait.

"What exactly are we doing, Harry?" she demanded.

"I found something when I went out, the night after Christmas," he whispered. "It's this mirror, and it shows my parents! Or, well, my parents to me but something else to Ron, but maybe you can see them too!"

"Ron already knows? He's already been there with you?"

The hurt was unmistakable, and Harry obviously noticed it, shifting awkwardly in the semi-dark. Suddenly, their closeness under the cloak was nearly unbearable.

"I only didn't tell you at first because I went looking for… for our research," Harry said. "And I knew you'd just get mad and I didn't want to argue about it, so…"

Rigel made a disgruntled noise of acknowledgement, and Harry didn't bother speaking again until they arrived at a doorway opposite a suit of armor after several minutes of wandering. The door clicked shut behind them, and Harry let the cloak slip off their shoulders gently.

Across the room, there was a tall, gilded mirror as high as the ceiling, and two clawed feet resting on the stone floor. At the top, it had a carved inscription: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

"Come and look," Harry said. "They're right here!"

He was staring into the mirror, looking possessed. Rigel moved up behind him, peeking curiously, but all she could see was his own reflection — but not, she realized with alarm, her own.

"I only see you, Harry."

"But they're right there!" Harry exclaimed. "How could you not see them?"

He moved to the side, so he was standing out of the mirror's path, and suddenly the image in the glass rippled and changed.

She choked on air at the sight in front of her.

"Harry, I— I see my family," Rigel said, and her voice had gone hoarse.

And it was true, she did: but something about the image just wasn't quite right.

Rigel stepped closer in hurried and uneven steps, reaching a hand toward the mirror with wide eyes like someone who had been entranced. The pale haired girl in the mirror did the same, but when she moved it was smooth and fluid. Her hair was sleek and shiny, her robes perfectly draped. As she watched, a delicate hand landed on the Gryffindor crest of the outer robe she had thrown on before leaving her dorm. It was Mother, she realized distantly, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle out of the girl in the reflection's uniform. Mother smiled.

The not-Rigel shifted, glancing to her side, and there — there was a not-Draco, looking not at all like his normal smug self. Instead, he was grinning wildly, and he had an arm thrown over her shoulder in a carefree, loose kind of manner, like the way the Weasley twins treated their siblings. It was like no interaction they'd ever had before in real life, and she was transfixed by it.

Until her eyes caught on one more thing: following the line of Draco's shoulder over to the left, where it met with another. It was Father, standing behind the children, right next to Mother, just like any other family portrait. But unlike any of their portraits, or even like real life, when Father glanced down and saw Draco's casual behavior… he didn't become angry. Instead, he smiled.

Rigel's stomach soured, and she backpedaled away from the mirror instantly. She didn't know what the thing was, but she knew that it was bad news. It was showing her something that never was, something that never would be—

"What's wrong?" Harry frowned, looking confused.

"We should leave," she said hoarsely. "We're not meant to be here…"

"Since when do you care about that?" the boy retorted, and— okay, fair enough, Rigel thought. "I want to keep looking, it's not like we're hurting anything being here!"

The boy sank down to the floor stubbornly, planting himself on the stone in front of the mirror. The girl followed, but she landed roughly on her knees instead, and the discomfort only spurred her conviction.

"It's lying to you, Harry," she said desperately. "You have to stop looking at it, it's not being honest—"

Before he could answer, a shuffling sound in the back of the room had them both jumping and spinning around.

It was none other than the Headmaster of the school, Albus Dumbledore himself, seated delicately on a desk against the wall next to the door.

"Back again, I see, Harry," the man said.

"Professor, I— I didn't see you, sir!"

Rigel shifted, feeling uncomfortably stuck between the mirror and the professor, neither of which she particularly wanted to spend more time with.

"Strange, isn't it, how nearsighted being invisible can make us?" the man hummed, but he was smiling gently.

Both first years shifted, surprised that he knew about the cloak right away.

"So," the headmaster said, and he slid off the desktop, gliding forward so he could sit delicately on the floor to the side of the two first years. "You, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

"I don't think I would call them delights," Rigel muttered sullenly.

A sharp-edged elbow slammed into her ribs, flung out from Harry's side, and she glared at him out of the corner of her eye; but the headmaster was watching her, looking both knowing and intrigued, like he was surprised by her answer.

"I didn't know it was called that, sir," Harry said hastily.

"But I suspect you've realized now what it does?"

Harry shifted, uncomfortable. Rigel crossed her arms tightly across her chest; it was a cold mockery of a hug, in a way.

"It— well, it shows me and Rigel our families—"

"And it showed your friend Ron himself as the Head Boy, yes?"

The boy jolted, eyes wide.

"How did you know—?"

The headmaster smiled ever so slightly, tapping his nose in a way that made Rigel's proverbial hackles raise. It had the condescending air of an adult who wasn't going to give you any of the answers you wanted, but was going to make sure you knew they had them. She decided, in an instant, that she didn't like Albus Dumbledore.

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," the man said gently, and her head bobbed with the sheer force of her eye roll. "Now, Harry… can you think what the Mirror of Erised is designed to show us?"

Beside her, Harry shook his head.

"Let me explain, then. If the happiest man on earth were to look into the mirror, it would be as a normal mirror to him. That is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

It shows you what you wish for, Rigel thought to herself.

It was an uncomfortable realization to be confronted by. She'd spent so long now convincing herself that she didn't care what anyone thought of her, up to and including her own flesh and blood, that having a magical object look into her soul and tell her it was a lie felt like a violation. And having a friend, having the bloody headmaster there to witness it… that was mortifying.

"It shows us what we want…" Harry said, realization striking.

"Yes and no," Dumbledore said softly. "The mirror was made to show you nothing more — nothing less — than your heart's deepest, most desperate desire. You who have never known your family, see them standing beside you. Ronald Weasley, a youngest son who has always felt overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them."

"It's a lie," Rigel said venomously.

Dumbledore's gaze shifted, landing on her once more with an evaluating glint.

"Yes," he agreed gently. "Miss Malfoy is correct. The mirror gives neither truth nor knowledge, only a glimpse into the soul. Great men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or have been driven mad, not knowing if what it showed them was real or even possible."

"I… I just wanted to see my parents," Harry whispered quietly.

"I know, Harry," the headmaster smiled sadly. "But the mirror has consumed you these past few days. Tomorrow, I will have it moved to a different part of the castle, and I ask you not to seek it out again intentionally. If you ever do happen to find it, you will now be prepared. You must remember: it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."

Then the headmaster clasped his hands together, smiling more brightly.

"Now, why don't the two of you put that admirable cloak to use again and see yourselves to bed once more?"

Harry clambered up to his feet, offering Rigel a hand as if on instinct. After a brief moment of staring at it, Rigel grasped it and let him pull her onto her own feet. Her limbs felt wooden; like her body had become dull, while her emotions felt frayed and raw and ragged.

"Professor, sir— can I ask you something?" Harry said suddenly.

The professor smiled.

"Obviously, you've just done so… but you may ask me one more thing, yes."

"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

Rigel peeked at him through her hair, curious.

"I?" said the old man. "I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."

The girl snorted, violently rolling her eyes again.

"Liar," she muttered under her breath.

Neither of the two heard her, or at least they pretended not to, and the headmaster rambled on about no one ever giving him socks since he had begun teaching at Hogwarts.

Then they were on their own again, huddled close together under the invisibility cloak as they snuck back to the tower. Neither of them spoke a word the entire journey, silent even as they passed through the portraithole and split paths for their respective staircases.

Harry stopped her before she could leave without bidding him goodnight.

"Rigel," he said suddenly, like it had burst from his chest uninvited. "Why do you see your family in the mirror?"

She stiffened, going rigid again. She felt like she could feel the weight of his emerald eyes, burning into her back.

"I just… I just mean," Harry scrambled. "That my parents are dead, so it makes sense for me to see them? But yours are… yours are alive?"

It was disjointed, but the gist of his message was obvious. Why would they see the same type of image, have the same nature of desire, when only his parents were gone beyond reach, while hers were — most likely — sleeping peacefully in a manor house in Wiltshire at that very moment?

Rigel exhaled heavily. She turned her head, catching his eyes without moving any closer.

"You have an aunt and uncle who raised you, Harry," she said, and her voice was odd; tired, in a way that most twelve-year olds could never sound. "Some people would say that's a family, wouldn't they?"

It wasn't direct— she didn't know how to be direct about this, didn't think she had the language to explain an unspoken wish of her heart that had been laid bare for the world to see by a cursed mirror in a dusty room, but somehow Harry seemed to understand what she meant anyway.

"Oh," he said quietly.

Rigel nodded, charging back up the stairs again with a new purpose to escape this painful conversation before it managed to get even more uncomfortable.

She put distance between them quickly, but even so, she caught the words he directed up the stairs at her fleeing shape: "I'm glad you're here in Gryffindor, Rigel!"

Her fingers gripped the doorknob at the top like it was a lifeline, and when she sobbed for two hours before she hiccupped her way into an uneasy sleep, she was grateful again that her dormitory was empty for the break.

AN: Okay new rule folks, any time I say a chapter is "almost done" and will be posted "soon" you should immediately call in a hit for a sniper to take me out. It's literally never a lie I just always lose all will to write and it's so embarrassing at this point lmfao. Anyway big ups to the unstarted research paper I'm supposed to be turning in later today, my brain really needed that nudge of productivity to... write fic?! 💀 Let me know your thoughts on this chapter please!

Coming up next time: Nicolas Flamel. The Forbidden Forest.

POSTED: 1/23/2022