The Order of the Black Cat

by xWolfx93

During his first year at Hogwarts, Harry befriends Daphne Greengrass and encounters Jingles, a magical cat. Their revelations help Harry see the world isn't just black and white and give him what he always wanted: a family. Together, they form a secret society to better the wizarding world. The OC will be a brotherly figure to Harry. No SI. This is a longfic.

33. A True Slytherin

Chapter 33 - A True Slytherin

In the imposing halls of Black Castle, a sense of urgency swelled like an undercurrent, filling every crevice and corner. The days succeeding the Quidditch World Cup were frenzied, each one marked by the grim faces of Daily Prophet reporters, their voices frozen in ink alongside the haunting images of the Dark Mark.

Walburga Black, the formidable matriarch, convened a solemn assembly within the castle's cavernous drawing room. The air was thick with the musty scent of antique furniture and the lingering aroma of old parchment. "You're all forbidden from stepping foot outside the castle grounds," Walburga pronounced, her voice laden with an authority that betrayed no argument. Her eyes, usually stone-like in their resolve, flickered just a shade softer as they met those of her grandson Rigel.

For Harry, the walls of Black Castle had become a psychological maze, every turn a reminder of a reality he wasn't ready to face. The fact that he had killed a man, albeit a Death Eater, gnawed at him incessantly. His friends, alongside Sirius and Remus, had done their best to bolster his faltering spirit. "It was us or him, Harry," Rigel had reassured him, the earnestness in his blue eyes offering Harry a modicum of solace.

In the midst of this emotional turbulence, an owl arrived. It swooped gracefully through an open window, its feathers a stark contrast against the dark interiors. Rigel detached the Ministry-sealed letter from its leg. "OWL exams set for the 21st of August," he read, completely unfazed. Sirius laughed warmly, ruffling his son's black hair. "After thirteen years in Hogwarts, those examiners don't stand a chance against you, lad," he quipped.

As the dawn of the 21st graced Black Castle, its beams slipping through the age-old curtains, Rigel dressed in robes that matched the sombre mood. Beside him, Sirius was a blend of parental pride and friendly complicity. Before stepping into the emerald flames of the Floo Network, Rigel pulled Daphne close for a quick, yet soulful kiss. "Till later," he whispered, a private promise suspended in the air.

Then came Harry, who received from Rigel a hug charged brotherly love. "Knock 'em dead," Harry said, the encouragement tinged with an emotion deeper than mere words could express.

The faces of Daphne, Tracey, Hermione, and Neville formed a tableau of mixed emotions as they stood around the hearth. "Good luck," they called out in unison as Sirius cast the Floo powder into the fire. A whirl of green flames danced momentarily, and then Rigel and Sirius were gone, leaving behind a room perfumed with the acrid smell of burnt ash and unspoken hopes.

For the remainder of that day, Harry and his friends sought refuge in the quieter chambers of Black Castle. They compared notes on spells, discussed the approaching school year, and occasionally let their laughter rise above the weight of their recent experiences. For a brief moment, the memories of the Quidditch World Cup seemed distant, as though locked away in some dark vault, allowing them to relish the fragile but precious harmony of the present.

~~~o~~~

The atmosphere of Harry's room was one of subdued camaraderie. The aroma of old books blended seamlessly with the fading scent of burnt incense. Harry sat on a plush armchair, the Tales of Beedle the Bard sprawled open in his hands. He thumbed through its worn pages, seeking solace in the simplicity of wizarding fairy tales.

Hermione, ever the inquisitive bibliophile, looked over from her own pile of books. "What's that you're reading, Harry?" she asked, her brows knitting in mild intrigue.

Harry glanced up, his eyes meeting hers. "This? It was in my room when I moved in here. Tales of Beedle the Bard—wizarding children's stories. There's one in particular, about three brothers, that I find... captivating."

Hermione's eyes sparkled, as if the words themselves were imbued with magic. "Wizarding fairy tales? Can I borrow it sometime?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry replied, passing her the weathered book. Its spine creaked gently as Hermione opened it, the very sound carrying echoes of countless bedtime stories.

Just then, Kreacher materialised, his presence announced by a sharp popping sound that startled the room's occupants. "Master Harry, Master Rigel has returned," the house-elf informed them, his words underscored by a mix of loyalty and deference.

The atmosphere in the room electrified instantly. Abandoning books and conversations, the friends leapt to their feet and dashed through the castle's ornate hallways. They arrived at the grand sitting room, a sanctuary of emerald-hued upholstery and dark mahogany furniture, just as Rigel and Sirius were settling in. The steam from freshly brewed tea swirled in the air, like ephemeral wraiths celebrating a homecoming.

"How did it go?" Harry questioned eagerly, his eyes almost desperate for good news.

With a grin, Rigel motioned to a parchment on an elegant side table. "Passed every single one," he announced. His eyes met Daphne's, and she quickly read through the parchment. The scores were impressive: Outstanding in most subjects, albeit with a more humble Acceptable in Herbology, Astronomy, and History of Magic, and an Exceeds Expectations in Potions.

Daphne beamed, her eyes softening with affection. She leaned in, capturing Rigel's lips in a tender kiss. "You did wonderfully," she murmured, her voice barely rising above a whisper but resonating with love.

Just as they were basking in this moment of shared achievement and familial warmth, Kreacher popped back in. "Dinner is ready," he announced, his tone uncharacteristically buoyant.

And so, with a harmonious air of contentment surrounding them, the friends made their way to the dining hall.

~~~o~~~

The atmosphere in the grand sitting room had begun to mellow as the mantle clock signalled bedtime with a harmonious chime. One by one, the friends bid their goodnights and drifted toward their respective chambers. Tracey, however, lingered like an enchanting note in a fading melody.

With calculated casualness, she sidled up to Harry. Her brown eyes met his green ones, scrutinising them for a moment before she spoke. "I'll be cashing in the debt of your bet with Daphne tomorrow," she said, her voice dipped in a blend of flirtation and mischief. "Nine a.m. sharp. In my room."

Harry could only gulp, feeling a heat rise in his cheeks. The implication of her words loomed in the air, palpable as the castle's old magic. Why had he agreed to that stupid bet in the first place? Tracey, with her roguish charm and cheeky demeanour, was the last person he'd want to owe. He could only imagine the elaborate scenarios she'd concocted to embarrass him. Yet, he knew there was no shirking this obligation. "Alright," he said, "I'll be there."

Her eyes twinkled like stars in the night sky, her lips curling into a grin. "Sweet dreams, Harry," she cooed. "Hope you can get some sleep." With that, she shot him a flirtatious wink and sashayed away, her footsteps soft against the plush carpet as she disappeared into the labyrinthine corridors of Black Castle.

Harry was left standing there, his mind a tempest of anticipation and dread. He finally moved, his feet mechanically carrying him back to his room. He prepared for bed in a near-automated fashion, the weight of the coming day clouding his thoughts. As he lay in his bed, enveloped by the familiar darkness of his chamber, the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains, his mind couldn't help but wander. Just how far would Tracey go in her teasing?

With those lingering thoughts twining through his consciousness, Harry drifted off into an uneasy sleep, as if sliding into a world woven from the very threads of his uncertainties.

~~~o~~~

Morning light streamed through the gaps in the heavy drapes, casting a warm golden hue across Harry's bedroom. His eyes flickered open, adjusting to the light as the ancient clock on his bedside table softly chimed 6 a.m. For a long moment, he simply lay there, enveloped in the plush sheets, his thoughts swirling like a tempestuous ocean.

His mind, unbidden, wandered to Tracey. Her cheeky grin, her expressive eyes, and her penchant for mischief. He couldn't deny a certain...enjoyment of her teasing. It was strange, a peculiar blend of annoyance and attraction. And then, there was that game of truth or dare three weeks ago—the image of her audaciously revealing her breasts was still vivid in his memory. And just a few days ago, her bath prank. She nearly revealed herself fully back then. He couldn't forget these images in his head; they remained sharp and clear.

Shaking his head as if to clear away the fog of his thoughts, he finally pushed himself up. The clock now displayed 7 a.m. He began his morning routine at a sluggish pace, brushing his teeth while staring into the mirror, as if expecting his reflection to offer some sage advice. Then, he dressed himself in casual summer clothes: a simple t-shirt and shorts.

Harry whiled away the remaining time by thumbing through some of the old tomes that sat on his bookshelf. Unlike the Muggle books he had read in the past, these were imbued with an intrinsic sense of wonder—magical sketches and flowing script filled their ancient pages.

Finally, the clock's hands pointed to 8:55 a.m. With a resigned sigh, Harry rose to his feet and left his room. The castle's corridors were a labyrinth, but he knew them well by now. He navigated through the maze until he reached the guest wing where Tracey's room was situated. His hand hovered over the door for a second before he knocked, his knuckles barely grazing the wood.

"Come in, Harry!" Tracey's voice bubbled through the door, inviting yet laced with a playful undertone.

Swallowing hard, Harry turned the doorknob and pushed the door open, bracing himself for whatever whirlwind of teasing awaited him on the other side.

The moment Harry stepped into Tracey's room, his eyes widened in stunned disbelief, his breath catching. There Tracey lay on her bed, face down, her back exposed to the summer morning air that gently wafted through the windows. The towel she wore was positioned just so—calculated for maximum impact. It barely covered the curve of her buttocks, leaving little to the imagination, and from his angle, he could see the sides of her breasts peeking out. The soft, morning light that spilled through the curtains bathed her in a warm glow, rendering her almost ethereal. His cheeks flushed as he realised how carefully—how artfully—she'd arranged herself, evidently determined to unnerve him.

"Hello, Harry," Tracey greeted him, her voice a syrupy blend of sweetness and innocence.

"Uh, h-hello," Harry stammered, still unable to look away.

"I thought I'd get ready for the massage in advance," she explained. "You wouldn't want to be here while I changed, now would you?"

Harry's gaze lingered on the curves that were so provocatively displayed, his mind spinning like a wheel out of control, his heart pounding like a drum.

"Harry?" Tracey snapped, yanking him out of his reverie. "The massage? Back and neck, and make it good."

"I—I've never done this before. I don't think it'll be, um, good," Harry replied, timidly.

She smirked, flipping her hair to one side. "There's a first time for everything, Harry. Now get to it, or I might just add another area to your to-do list."

The implied threat sent a flush across his face. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he positioned himself by the side of the bed. His hands, slightly trembling, hovered over her back for a moment before descending. With a gentle touch, he began to knead the muscles along her spine, tracing a path upwards to her neck. His fingers worked carefully, mimicking what he imagined a proper massage would feel like. Soon enough, his hands grew more confident, massaging her shoulders, pressing down on knots and tension points, circling around her neck and then back down again.

"Ah, yes, Harry, exactly like that," Tracey cooed, her voice tinged with satisfaction. Harry paused for a moment, hearing a moan escape her lips—deliberate and exaggerated. He wasn't an expert, but he couldn't believe she was actually enjoying it that much. Then again, with Tracey, one could never be sure.

"Don't stop now," Tracey's voice came, husky and laced with a kind of satisfaction that sent a shiver down Harry's spine.

Harry's cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of crimson, his pulse quickened, and a feeling of arousal began to form. Her tone, combined with the moans she had been letting out, made him question his own skills. Was he actually good at this? Could he possibly be eliciting such genuine responses from her?

His hands, now slightly trembling, resumed their work, kneading her muscles with renewed focus. Tracey's continued moans filled the air, and Harry was left teetering on the edge of doubt and disbelief. Were those sounds of pleasure exaggerated? He hoped so. But then again, did he really? His mind became a foggy mess of conflicting thoughts and burgeoning fantasies as his hands moved almost mechanically over her skin.

Just then, Tracey shifted her body ever so slightly, and Harry's heart lurched. The towel that barely covered her seemed to slide precariously, threatening to reveal even more. Was she just getting comfortable, or was this another calculated move designed to drive him insane? With Tracey, the line between intent and happenstance was impossible to discern.

After what felt like an eternity to Harry, Tracey finally broke the silence. "I'm satisfied," she declared, her voice tinged with a smugness that was impossible to miss.

In one fluid motion, she grabbed another towel from the bedside table, sitting up and draping it over her body. Her eyes met Harry's, and for a moment they were locked in a silent, charged exchange. Then her gaze dropped downwards, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. Following her eyes, Harry looked down and realised, to his absolute horror, that his arousal was visibly evident.

"I was going to ask if you enjoyed it," she chuckled, "but I see that's unnecessary. You know, massaging my butt is still on the table if you're interested."

Before Harry could stammer out a response, the familiar crack of Kreacher's apparition filled the room. "Breakfast is ready, Master Harry," the old house-elf declared, eyes averted in a polite semblance of ignoring the situation.

Relief washed over Harry like a tidal wave. "Oh, Kreacher, you've never been more welcome." He thought to himself.

With another pop, Kreacher disappeared. Tracey sighed, her expression a blend of disappointment and amusement. "Well, that felt really good; we'll have to do it again sometime. If you don't want to watch me get dressed, I suggest you leave. I'm dropping this towel and dressing for breakfast in five seconds."

Harry needed no second bidding. He darted out of her room faster than anyone could utter the word "Quidditch," his face flushed and his heart pounding, yet oddly grateful for the sanctuary that a house-elf and a breakfast table could offer.

~~~o~~~

After a hearty breakfast of traditional English fare, Walburga rose from her seat at the head of the table. "I have an announcement of some significance," she began, her voice layered with an imperiousness that commanded the attention of everyone in the room. "This year, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament."

She proceeded to explain the general idea behind the Tournament: a magical contest held between three major European schools of wizardry—Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. Each school was represented by a single Champion, and they competed in three magical tasks.

"And let me be perfectly clear," Walburga continued, her gaze piercing through each of them, "You lot—especially you, Rigel, and you, Daphne, and certainly you, Harry—are far above such trivial pursuits. I don't want to hear even a murmur about any of you entering. The Blacks don't stoop to perform for others."

Nods of assent travelled around the table. Harry, for his part, had no desire to enter a competition that would likely see him face mortal peril. He already had enough "eternal glory" as the Boy Who Lived, and he found it nothing short of a curse. But as his eyes darted around, he noticed Rigel's face. Though the young Black heir nodded along with the rest, a glint of something—that indefinable spark of curiosity—lit up his eyes.

The remainder of the day was bittersweet, tinged with the awareness that it was the last they'd all spend together at Black Castle for a while. Tracey, Neville, and Hermione would be leaving, and it would be a week until they would all be reunited for the Hogwarts Express on the first of September. They spent the hours absorbed in various activities, from board games to aimless strolls in the castle grounds, all while trying to make the most of their remaining time together.

As evening descended upon the castle, the atmosphere turned sombre. Though they knew they would be seeing each other again in just a week's time, goodbyes were exchanged with a heavy heart. Being sequestered in the comforting confines of Black Castle had fostered a sense of unity and friendship among them, and the thought of being apart, even briefly, weighed heavily on them all.

"So long, everyone," Harry said, his voice tinged with a sad finality as he hugged each of his friends.

"See you soon, Harry," Hermione replied, her voice wistful.

"We'll all be back together before you know it," Neville assured him, though his own eyes were misty.

"And Harry," Tracey added, locking eyes with him one last time, "don't forget our little arrangement for next time."

Harry's cheeks coloured instantly, his words stumbling over each other. "Arrangement? We didn't—uh—make any arrangement for next time."

Tracey merely stuck her tongue out cheekily, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Well, we'll just have to see about that, won't we?"

And with that, they parted ways, each carrying a piece of the summer's memories with them, already counting down the days until they could make more.

~~~o~~~

The halls of Black Castle seemed quieter now, echoing the tranquillity that had settled upon its residents. Harry found himself relishing the calm, flanked by his brother Rigel and soon-to-be sister-in-law, Daphne. The days unfolded with Sirius and Remus imparting lessons on duelling, their countenances sharpened by the events at the World Cup. Each wand flick and incantation seemed to carry an unspoken weight, filling the training sessions with a gravity that was hard to ignore.

Over these days, Harry discovered an unparalleled comfort in the presence of Rigel and Daphne. Their conversations were easy, their company unburdening. The absence of blood ties didn't matter; in Harry's eyes, they were family—his closest family, with Sirius not far behind. The castle walls no longer seemed as imposing, its rooms no longer as cavernous. In those moments, Black Castle felt like home.

Kreacher appeared with a soft pop, his eyes betraying a hint of urgency as he looked at Harry, Rigel, and Daphne. "Mistress Walburga requests your presence in the Grand Sitting Room," he intoned, bowing slightly before disappearing. The trio made their way to the Grand Sitting Room, where Walburga awaited them, seated in a high-backed chair that seemed to amplify her natural authority.

"Come, sit. It's time we spoke of politics," she began, her voice heavy with the promise of crucial lessons. "Next summer, you will receive a more formal instruction. But for now, I think it's imperative you have at least a fundamental grasp of your responsibilities."

Turning to Rigel, her eyes narrowed slightly, not out of displeasure but scrutiny. "You, Rigel, are already Lord Black in all but practice. The title technically passed to your father. However, with him renouncing it in your favour, you stand before us as the future of the House of Black. Still, considering you are attending Hogwarts, I strongly recommend that you allow me to act as your Regent until your education is complete."

Rigel looked at his grandmother, his eyes flickering with a smug satisfaction. He didn't have to wait five more agonising months; he was already Lord Black. "I agree, Grandmother. You shall remain my Regent until I finish school."

Walburga gave a satisfied nod toward Rigel, her stern gaze softening for just a moment before turning to Daphne. "Now, you, my dear, aren't officially Lady Black, not until the vows are spoken. However, it's prudent to act as if you already hold the title. Support Rigel both in public and private, advise him, and manage the household. Remember, he may be the face of House Black, but you are its backbone."

Daphne met her gaze, nodding gracefully. "While I don't subscribe to my parents' beliefs, they have nonetheless prepared me for the role of a proper pureblood lady."

Another nod from Walburga, who then swivelled her attention to Harry. "As for you, Harry, Sirius—by virtue of being your guardian—also became your Regent. Don't feel betrayed; he meant to discuss it with you. I advised him to let you three settle in and enjoy the summer first."

This revelation stunned Harry, Rigel, and Daphne alike. Walburga had not struck them as the sort to place their enjoyment over important matters, yet here she was, doing precisely that.

"Sirius is, to put it politely, politically inept," Walburga continued. "I strongly recommend a change of regent. If you'd like, I'm more than capable of filling that role."

Harry pondered for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he weighed his options. "I'd like to speak with Sirius first," he finally said, meeting Walburga's gaze.

Her nod this time was less satisfied, less affirming. Clearly, she had expected a different answer, but it was Harry's decision to make, after all.

Walburga leaned back in her high-backed chair, her piercing gaze refocusing on Harry. "You should consider securing the position of Lady Potter, Harry. A contract akin to what Rigel and Daphne have would be most prudent. It ensures the future of House Potter. I've noticed your camaraderie with Miss Davis; she'd make a suitable candidate, in my opinion."

Harry's face turned a shade of crimson. "I'm not... I'm not quite ready to look for a wife just yet."

Her eyes narrowed, but her voice retained its composure. "I suggest you prepare yourself rather quickly, young man. House Potter is too prestigious to simply let it go extinct."

Her gaze shifted between Harry and Rigel. "Both House Black and House Potter hold substantial political sway. However, we're on opposing sides of the spectrum. House Black is traditionally aligned with Dark families, while House Potter supports the Light. Together, you have the power to influence the course of laws within the Ministry, if you play your cards wisely."

Harry and Rigel exchanged a knowing glance. They were aware of their respective families' political prowess, but the sheer weight of their combined influence had never truly sunk in until now.

Walburga cleared her throat, her tone turning ominous. "With such power comes the expectation that you'll preserve the traditions of our world. Remember that."

Swiftly shifting gears, she then turned to matters of finance. "I don't have access to Potter's finances, so this next topic pertains mainly to Rigel and Daphne." She summoned a stack of files that thudded onto the table in front of them. Rigel and Daphne began skimming through the documents, eyebrows occasionally rising.

The figures confirmed it: the House of Black was wealthy—in layman's terms, filthy rich. But what caught Rigel's eye was a file labelled 'Properties.' His eyes widened as he flipped through it. "Grandmother, it says here that House Black owns numerous properties—houses all across England. Could you elaborate?"

Walburga chuckled softly, meeting Rigel's eyes. "Ah, the properties. A century ago, the main branch of the Black family was much grander, before it was diminished by two wars and a devastating outbreak of dragonpox," she began, her voice tinged with a wistful tone. "These properties were once the home of those who have now passed away." Her gaze shifted between Rigel and Daphne, a subtle but unmistakable emphasis on her next words. "It is your responsibility to repopulate them, a task I hope you will attend to sooner rather than later."

Both Rigel and Daphne blushed, their eyes meeting for a fleeting but meaningful moment, an unspoken promise hanging between them.

Walburga nodded, her eyes scanning the three young faces before her. "Now that you are aware of your status and what is expected of you, we shall delve into the finer details next summer. Particularly, the art of discerning which legislative bills deserve your support." With a curt nod, she dismissed them. "You may go."

Exiting the Grand Sitting Room, the trio walked together in a contemplative silence until Rigel broke it. "Well, that was certainly enlightening," he declared, slipping an arm around Daphne's waist and pulling Harry in with his other arm. "One thing's for sure—no matter what happens, we'll always be together, come what may."

~~~o~~~

In the heart of Black Castle's library, Rigel and Daphne sat surrounded by towering stacks of books, their own array of parchment and quills spread before them on a vast oak table. A mutual vision had lit the fires of imagination in their minds, especially with the Triwizard Tournament looming. The competition wasn't just a test of skill and bravery—it was an unexplored well of opportunity.

Daphne leaned forward, a thoughtful frown on her face. "It's a conundrum, you know. Such grand events – the Tournament, the Quidditch World Cup – and yet, their grandeur is only witnessed by a privileged few."

Rigel nodded, his gaze distant as he envisioned the scope of their idea. "The potential is boundless. What if one could experience these spectacles from The Leaky Cauldron or, Merlin's beard, from the very comfort of their own homes?"

Harry, who had been engrossed in his own book, looked up, intrigued. "What are you two conspiring about?"

The pair exchanged a glance before Daphne, with a hint of excitement, shared, "We're thinking of a way to broadcast magical events to a wider audience. How do Muggles manage it?"

Harry pondered the question for a moment. "Well, they have these things called TVs to watch and cameras to record. But," he hesitated, a shadow crossing his face, "I'm not entirely well-versed in the details. The Dursleys... they never really allowed me much time with the telly. It wasn't something I felt compelled to learn more about, given the circumstances."

The underlying sadness in Harry's tone was palpable. In an instinctive gesture of comfort, both Rigel and Daphne moved closer, wrapping an arm around him, trying to chase away the haunting memories of his time with the Dursleys.

"Thanks," Harry whispered, offering them a weak smile. He then suggested, "Perhaps you should write to Hermione. She's bound to have more insight into the technicalities."

With renewed purpose, Daphne put quill to parchment, penning a detailed inquiry to Hermione about Muggle broadcasting methods. Once sealed and addressed, an owl took flight, disappearing into the dimming horizon.

The very next dawn brought Hermione's response. She described, in her characteristically meticulous style, Muggle marvels like cameras and television broadcasts. As Daphne and Rigel poured over the letter, their enthusiasm bubbled forth.

"Cameras and TVs," Rigel mused aloud, tasting the alien words, the seed of an idea germinating. "With some magical tweaks, we could surely integrate this into our world."

They spent the afternoon sketching an investment plan for a research and development firm. The aim was to create magical equivalents of cameras and TVs, devices that could make events like the Triwizard Tournament viewable in public places. The full dream of broadcasting to homes was for the future, but for now, making the event viewable in places like Diagon Alley would be revolutionary.

"That should do it," Daphne said, looking over their plans one last time before they approached Walburga.

Sitting across from Walburga in her office, lined with ancient tomes and Black family heirlooms, they felt a mixture of excitement and apprehension. After laying out their plans and answering a barrage of questions, Walburga leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

"Very well," she finally said. "It's a gamble, but one that could pay off handsomely. But exercise caution; such ventures can also flop spectacularly."

Both Rigel and Daphne nodded, their hearts pounding in a mix of relief and elation. Walburga's approval was the last obstacle. Now, it was time to set their plan in motion.

They contacted the research and development firm, outlining their project's needs. The transfer of funds was arranged, their hopes now invested in the promise of magical technology to revolutionise the viewing experience for the wizarding community.

And so, with blueprints and contracts in place, they waited with bated breath, hoping that their venture would be ready in time for the Triwizard Tournament.

~~~o~~~

The air in the room was slightly cooler than Harry had expected, a welcoming respite from the stifling summer heat that seemed to permeate every nook and cranny of Black Castle. The tall windows allowed the soft twilight to filter in, casting long shadows that danced with the flickering flames of the hearth. Sirius was perched on an antique armchair upholstered in dark velvet, its wooden frame carved with intricate designs that told tales of forgotten lore. A book lay forgotten on a side table, its pages bookmarked by a quill.

"Sirius," Harry greeted, his voice tinged with both warmth and trepidation. "How have you been?"

"Harry!" Sirius exclaimed with a bright smile, setting aside the book he hadn't really been reading. "I'm well enough, considering the circumstances. And yourself?"

"I've been all right, a bit overwhelmed with all the changes, though," Harry admitted. After taking a deep breath, he decided to dive right into the subject that had brought him here. "Look, Walburga mentioned that you're my regent for House Potter. She suggested that I consider appointing someone else. I wanted to get your take on it."

Sirius's eyes narrowed for a moment, his posture stiffening as he leaned back in the armchair. A shadow crossed his face as he processed Harry's words. "Ah, my dear mother has been sharing her wisdom, has she?" He let out a rueful chuckle, then turned serious. "Well, she's not entirely wrong, but her advice always comes with caveats."

"Such as?" Harry probed, sensing the gravity in Sirius's tone.

"My Mother has helped us tremendously, and we owe her for that, but it's not beyond her to have ulterior motives," Sirius warned, locking eyes with Harry. "You see, if she ends up casting votes for both the Black and Potter houses in the Wizengamot, she'd wield an enormous amount of influence. She'd nearly control the magical government's legislative body on her own. Worse, she could potentially dissolve alliances that your ancestors worked hard to build or make new ones that serve her interests, not necessarily yours."

Harry looked into Sirius' eyes and saw the concern there. "There's no need to find another Regent, Sirius. You're suitable, and I trust you to manage my affairs until I finish at Hogwarts."

Sirius rose from his chair and enveloped Harry in a hug. The embrace was warm, but Harry felt an undercurrent of tension, a certain strain that dulled the warmth of the gesture. Something was bothering his godfather, though Harry refrained from prying.

Leaving Sirius, Harry made his way to the library where he found Daphne and Rigel engrossed in tattered tomes. A lamp illuminated their faces, casting shadows that danced on the parchment before them.

"What are you guys reading?" Harry inquired, his curiosity piqued.

Rigel glanced up, marking his page with a slip of parchment. "It's a book on Black family magic. Quite intriguing."

"That sounds cool," Harry commented before Daphne interjected.

"So, how did your talk with Sirius go?"

Harry summarised the conversation for them, but couldn't keep from adding, "Sirius seemed tense though, like something's bothering him."

Upon hearing this, Daphne and Rigel shared a quick, almost imperceptible glance. Rigel set the ancient book aside and rose from his chair. "I've been meaning to talk to Dad about something anyway. I'll go find him. See you both at dinner."

Handing Harry the tome he'd been reading, Rigel's footsteps echoed softly on the wooden floor as he left the room, leaving Harry and Daphne in a silence broken only by the soft whisper of turning pages.

Rigel's footsteps halted before his father's door, lightly tapping it before entering. The room was a muted haven, cloaked in the deep blues and greys that reflected Sirius's taste. There was a sense of restrained elegance, from the embroidered drapery to the aged oak furniture. Sirius sat at the edge of the bed, his shoulders slightly slouched, an incongruous figure in an otherwise pristine setting.

"Hey, Dad," Rigel greeted, his voice tinged with youthful cheerfulness.

Sirius looked up, forcing a smile that did little to reach his eyes. "Hey, Rigel."

The subdued greeting wasn't lost on Rigel, who moved closer, concern furrowing his brow. "What's going on? You seem...down."

A chuckle, laced with more bitterness than humour, escaped Sirius's lips. "I wish this summer would never end. I finally have you and Harry back in my life, and soon you'll be leaving again."

His gaze dropped, and his next words were heavy, as if they carried the weight of years of regret. "I failed you both."

"How did you fail us, Dad?" Rigel asked, his own voice imbued with an earnest urgency.

Sirius sighed, a painful sound that echoed in the room's stillness. "I should've been there for you, for both of you. When I saw your...your dead body that night in 1981, I was so blinded by rage, I went straight after Wormtail. I wasn't thinking, I acted out of raw, senseless anger. It gave him the chance to escape, to frame me."

His voice thickened, growing hoarse with emotion. "Then, in Azkaban, I gave up. I thought my life had lost all meaning with you gone. I didn't fight for my innocence. I didn't break out to take care of Harry."

Rigel stepped closer, placing a reassuring hand on his father's shoulder. But before he could offer any words, Sirius continued, "If I had broken free sooner, I might've found out you were alive, hidden away in the form of a cat."

The dam broke, and Sirius's eyes overflowed with tears he'd held back for too long. Rigel moved in, enveloping his father in an embrace that carried both the depth of his understanding and the hope of future amends.

"It wasn't your fault, Dad," Rigel whispered, his words a balm to the older man's soul. "We can't change the past, but we can change our future."

Rigel loosened his grip on his father, stepping back but maintaining the intimacy of the moment. "You know, Dad, I wouldn't trade my current life for anything. I've got an amazing little brother, a strong and caring father, and a betrothed who's as lovely as she is...hot."

A genuine chuckle broke through the tension on Sirius's face. "Lovely and hot, eh? I can't argue with that." He paused, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "So, what brings you here, aside from checking up on your old man?"

"Actually, I wanted to ask you about how you, Peter, and James became Animagi. Do you have any notes or something on the process?"

The ghost of a smile flitted across Sirius's lips. "Ah, yes, I think I have a notebook somewhere filled with our musings and experiments on the subject." He glanced up, his eyes searching Rigel's. "Do you miss being a cat?"

Rigel contemplated the question. "Sort of. I wouldn't want to be an animal full-time anymore, but there are aspects of it that I miss. I thought becoming an Animagus would be a good compromise. Plus, I'm pretty sure Harry and Daphne would get a kick out of it."

Sirius nodded, the spark returning to his eyes. "Sounds like an excellent idea. Speaking of Daphne, Remus and I have been doing a little research on magical bonds, and we think we've figured out what kind of bond you share."

Interest piqued, Rigel asked, "Really? What is it?"

"It appears you two are soulmates, connected by a powerful soul bond. It's why you're so compatible, in all ways, even down to your nearly identical wands. They're practically interchangeable because the core of the bond you share emanates from your very souls."

Soulmates. The word resonated in Rigel's mind, filling him with a sense of profound peace and contentment. That sounded rather nice indeed.

"These bonds are rare," Sirius continued, his voice taking on a reverent tone. "When fully developed, they transform the two soulmates into two halves of a whole. It's an intricate, intimate process."

Rigel felt warmth spread through him, driving away the last remnants of concern and regret. "Thank you, Dad, for looking into this. I think you're right, and I can't wait to share this with Daphne and Harry."

Rigel pulled up a plush chair, its fabric worn from years of family gatherings, next to his father's seat. "Why haven't we talked much this summer?" he ventured, watching as Sirius's eyes shifted from contemplative to a light-hearted gleam.

Sirius chuckled, the sound rich and genuine. "Well, it seemed you were a bit preoccupied with friends, Quidditch, and a certain hot betrothed of yours. I didn't want to interrupt your youthful adventures with the ramblings of an old man."

"But right now," Rigel began, settling into the chair, "I feel like listening to the ramblings of my old man. Specifically, I'd like to know more about my mother. I barely know anything about her."

"Ah, Marlene," Sirius's voice softened, tinged with a nostalgic warmth. "Where to even begin?" His eyes focused on some distant point as he launched into the story of their first meeting—a tale woven around a misguided prank by James that had been aimed at Lily but had inadvertently caught Marlene in the crossfire. "Your mother was fiery, to say the least. After Hogwarts, we had a sort of whirlwind romance. She fell pregnant, and we decided, rather spontaneously, to marry."

"So, I wasn't planned?" Rigel asked, intrigued but not at all disheartened by the revelation.

"Not planned, but very much loved," Sirius assured him, his eyes meeting Rigel's with nothing short of pure affection. "You were an extraordinarily powerful baby, you know. We even had to place a magical lock on you to temper your accidental bursts of magic."

Rigel perked up, his eyes widening at the new information. "A magical lock? That was only removed two years ago."

Sirius frowned thoughtfully. "That makes sense. No one would think to check a cat for magical suppression. Usually, children outgrow their lock naturally. But maybe being in feline form for so long altered your magical development, or perhaps the lock was too robust for a cat to overcome."

"So, Dumbledore really wasn't responsible for it" Rigel thought to himself, as he nodded at his father's explanation.

The room then filled with the easy rhythm of Sirius's voice as he delved into more stories about Marlene—her laugh, her brilliance in spell-craft, her passionate crusades for what she believed was right. The late afternoon light dwindled into twilight, and candles flickered in ornate sconces, casting a warm, golden glow around them.

Time became inconsequential, drifting away like the whispering winds outside the Black ancestral home. But for Rigel and Sirius, it didn't matter. Father and son, they were bound not just by blood, but by a newfound understanding of their shared past. Tonight, they were making up for lost years, each story serving as a stitch in the ever-expanding tapestry of their rekindled relationship. And in that sacred bubble of time, the world outside ceased to matter, their hearts resolute and their souls alight with the simple yet profound joy of family.

~~~o~~~

The following day, the atmosphere in Rigel's room was tinged with an air of expectation. "Harry, Daphne, I've got something to share," Rigel began, his voice tinged with a sense of purpose as he spread an aged notebook on his mahogany desk. The paper inside was yellowed but well-preserved, covered in spidery handwriting. "I talked to my father about how they became Animagi during their years at Hogwarts. He passed this notebook down to me. I was thinking of attempting it myself, and I'd like both of you to join me in this journey."

Harry and Daphne exchanged a glance, and then nodded simultaneously. The proposal was adventurous, perhaps a little daring, but undeniably tempting.

"That's not all," Rigel continued, taking a deep breath. "My father, along with Remus, has looked into the bond Daphne and I share. They suspect it's a soulbond, making us soulmates." He held Daphne's gaze, his eyes filled with emotion. "It seems to make a lot of sense, and I think it's high time we read up on this to understand our bond more deeply."

Daphne's face blossomed into a radiant smile, her eyes shimmering like twin sapphires.

Harry leaned back in his chair and chuckled softly. "Well, it does make a lot of sense. You two always fit together so perfectly; like two pieces of a magical puzzle."

With mutual agreement reached, the trio turned their focus to the notebook. It was filled with notes, diagrams, and incantations, all written in the unique handwritings of Sirius, James, and even Peter.

For the remaining days of summer, the atmosphere in the room became one of deep concentration. They pored over the notebook, practised meditation exercises, and engaged in profound discussions about magic, bonds, and the greater complexities of life. While the sun arched across the sky and then dipped below the horizon, they remained steadfast in their new mission.

By the time the last day of summer arrived, the trio had made mild progress. The meditation exercises—a vital step in the process of becoming an Animagi—were finally falling into place.

As Rigel was methodically stacking a pile of parchment and ink bottles in his trunk, and Daphne was carefully placing her own spellbooks beside his, the door to their room creaked open. Kreacher, the Black family house-elf, stood in the doorway, his eyes twinkling more than usual. "Master Sirius wishes to speak with young master and mistress in the grand sitting room, he does."

At the same time, in Harry's room where he was contemplating just how to fit his Firebolt into his trunk without bending it, Kreacher appeared as well, repeating the message. Harry laid his broom aside, his curiosity piqued.

Rigel and Daphne exchanged a knowing look, setting down their items, and made their way downstairs. Harry emerged from his room almost simultaneously, and the trio converged as they descended, a sense of expectation filling the air.

Upon entering the grand sitting room, they were greeted by Sirius and Remus, who stood waiting for them. A mixture of warmth and a touch of melancholy coloured their expressions. "I'd rather Christmas holidays came tomorrow," Sirius began, his voice textured like a well-worn tapestry with threads of joy and sadness woven in. "But Remus and I have thought of something to make the separation a tad more bearable."

Sirius reached behind him and produced three elegantly framed mirrors, handing one to each of them. Rigel weighed the mirror in his hand before cheekily remarking, "I must say, Dad, while I've certainly inherited your devilish good looks, I never thought I'd need a mirror to remind me."

Laughter filled the room, and for a moment, the heavy emotional curtain lifted. "These mirrors are not just for admiring yourselves, you know," Sirius responded, grinning. "Simply say the name of the person you wish to speak with, and you'll be connected. Remus and I have one as well, so you can reach us anytime."

Harry looked down at his mirror, his eyes reflecting its intricate details. "This is really thoughtful," he said earnestly, "We will definitely make good use of these."

"Ah, give Remus the credit. His enchanting skills are still as sharp as ever," Sirius added, nodding towards his friend who smiled modestly in return.

The room was filled with hugs, warm and slightly lingering, as if trying to stretch the seconds. "Christmas isn't too far off," each of them whispered almost in a chorus, holding on to the promise of reunion.

Their trunks still open and waiting, the trio retreated back to their respective rooms to resume packing. But there was a different air now—a sense of interconnectedness that the mirrors had bestowed, a magical filament that would stretch and hold no matter the distance.

As the clock in the corridor struck closer to midnight, trunks were finally locked, and the young wizards and witch lay in their beds. Each was lost in thoughts of the term to come, comforted by the weight of the mirrors that lay on their bedside tables, reflecting the dim light of their rooms. Sleep came easier then, with the promise that Hogwarts would see them tomorrow but, until then, they were bound by blood, friendship, and now, a little piece of enchanted glass.

~~~o~~~

September first greeted them with a sky awash in hues of pale orange and rosy pink, as if even the dawn were blushing with excitement for the term ahead. Quickly dressing in their Hogwarts robes, Rigel, Harry, and Daphne made their way down to the dining hall. The scent of sizzling bacon and freshly baked bread filled the air, the aroma wrapping around them like a culinary hug.

As they settled into their seats, sampling a bit of everything from the lavish spread before them, Walburga cleared her throat. "Before you all head off, there's something I'd like to share," she began, her eyes sweeping over them. "I've written to Dumbledore to inform him that I am now Daphne's legal guardian. Sirius, of course, remains as the guardian for both Harry and Rigel. I've also added a little story about Jingles having sadly run away. It's important that if anyone asks, we all stick to that narrative."

Nods of agreement followed her words, etching the story in their minds.

The final bites of breakfast were consumed, dishes vanished away, and it was time. "Off to the platform, then," Sirius said, a twinkle of both delight and nostalgia in his eyes.

They moved as one to the fireplace, floo powder in hand, and vanished in emerald whirlwinds. Emerging into the frenetic energy of Platform 9 3/4, their eyes briefly met Sirius's one last time before they all embraced him in a succession of tight hugs. Promises to write and use the mirrors were exchanged, then they turned to face the scarlet train that would whisk them off to another year of magic and camaraderie.

As they boarded, Remus spoke up. "I have a few things to take care of during the ride, but I'll see you all at the welcoming feast." With a nod and a quick smile, he departed down the corridor, leaving them to their own devices.

Walking through the train, Rigel, Harry, and Daphne finally found an empty compartment near the end of the car. "This looks perfect," Daphne commented as they stowed their luggage and settled into the plush seats.

No sooner had they settled into the comfortable rhythms of shared silence than the door to the compartment slid open. Tracey burst in, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her friends. "Hello, you lot! Missed me?" she quipped, taking a seat next to Daphne.

Moments later, the door slid open again to admit Hermione, whose face broke into a warm smile as she stepped inside. "It's so good to see everyone," she said, taking the seat next to Harry.

The ensemble was completed when Neville walked in, looking more confident than the previous year. "Hey, guys. Ready for another year?" He took his seat next to Hermione, and the compartment felt full in more ways than one.

Chatter filled the air as they caught up, sharing tales and adventures from their summer holidays, from Neville's trips to greenhouses to Tracey's culinary experiments. Each narrative was a small puzzle piece, slotting into place to complete the picture of their time apart.

A knock on the door disrupted their warm conversation. Rigel stood and slid the compartment door open to reveal Astoria, Ginny, and Luna. Astoria darted forward to embrace her sister tightly, while Ginny and Luna greeted everyone with cheery waves.

"Hey, guys," Daphne started, looking a little uneasy. "These compartments are sadly designed for just six people."

Tracey piped up, mischief sparkling in her eyes. "Oh, we could make it work! Daphne could sit on Rigel's lap, Hermione on Neville's, and I could claim Harry's. That way we'd have space for three more!"

Harry, Hermione, and Neville turned varying shades of red and let out a chorus of embarrassed "No!"s, almost in perfect sync.

Tracey let out a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes. "Well, I tried."

Astoria, Ginny, and Luna chuckled. "It's all right," Astoria assured them. "We just wanted to stop by. We'll find another compartment."

Daphne nodded, giving her sister a meaningful look. "I'm really glad you came by, Astoria. We'll make sure we see more of each other during the holidays."

With nods and promises to catch up at the welcoming feast, Astoria, Ginny, and Luna retreated from the compartment, the door sliding shut behind them.

The original group settled back into their seats, the temporary disarray folding back into comforting normalcy. Their circle might have been small, but it was strong, and as the train chugged steadily towards Hogwarts, they knew that a new year of magical challenges and friendship awaited them.

Rigel cleared his throat, a purposeful sound that sliced through the chatter like a knife through butter. All eyes turned to him, conversations abruptly coming to an end. His expression was solemn, his eyes serious. "I have something important to talk about," he began, and the gravity in his voice was enough to command everyone's undivided attention.

"As most of you are aware," he continued, "inter-house friendships are rare at Hogwarts. This isn't just a Slytherin thing. Even in Hufflepuff, a house I know fairly well thanks to my time spent with Tonks, such friendships are looked down upon. And usually, as in our case, forming bonds outside our houses weakens our relationships within them."

He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in before continuing. "I've only got two years at Hogwarts, but I intend to do something about these arbitrary barriers. Houses should be families, not prisons—just as the Heads of House so cheerfully describe them."

Harry was buzzing with questions and ideas, but something in Rigel's demeanour told him to hold his tongue. This was a speech long in the making, and Rigel wasn't finished.

Rigel took another breath, his eyes flicking to each face as if gauging their reactions before he went on. "I also want to address the deeply rooted blood supremacy that's so prevalent, not just at Hogwarts, but in the wizarding world at large. It's not only in Slytherin; you can find it in any house, though usually it's more discreet."

As he spoke, Rigel's voice grew impassioned, the weight of his words lending them an undeniable gravity. "I want to create a world where every individual is judged by their own merits, their own strengths, and their own achievements. Not by their bloodline or what they've inherited."

Finally, he concluded, "I know that changes of this magnitude will take time. That's why it's crucial to start with Hogwarts. The next generations must be free from this bigotry if we are to affect larger societal shifts."

For a moment, the compartment was thick with silence, as if the very air had absorbed the gravitas of Rigel's words. Harry was the first to break it. "I'm fully behind you, Rigel. Couldn't agree more," he said, his voice tinged with a blend of awe and resolve. The sentiment was echoed around the compartment—Tracey, Neville, Hermione—all nodding their assent.

Daphne's eyes met Rigel's, and her expression was one of quiet understanding, almost as if she had known all along. Given their soulmate bond, it wasn't a surprising notion. Yet, her nod was as powerful as any spoken pledge, signifying not just agreement but an unspoken promise to stand by him in the challenges that lay ahead.

"Alright, so how do we start?" Harry asked, his gaze locked onto Rigel's, earnest and searching. "How do we begin to dismantle these barriers between the houses?"

Rigel leaned back into the cushioned seat, his eyes narrowing in deep thought. "The most straightforward way would be to garner sufficient respect within our own house and, if possible, across the entire school. That way, we'd be in a position to enforce these much-needed changes," he paused, then added, "You see, Slytherin has a clear internal hierarchy, a food chain, if you will. If you rise to the top, you can influence the rest. Other houses may not have such a formal structure, but they'd still rally behind a person who has garnered enough respect. I plan on making that climb in Slytherin swiftly; time is of the essence for me. However, as for a concrete plan, I haven't quite sorted that out yet. That's why I wanted all of us to think about it."

As Rigel spoke, Harry's thoughts drifted back to a conversation they had had with Walburga. She had mentioned the Triwizard Tournament and talked about how the champion would earn 'eternal glory.' A light bulb flicked on in Harry's mind. Eternal glory—surely that would give someone enough clout to influence an entire school. And if there was anyone he believed could sweep a competition like that, it was his brother Rigel.

Harry couldn't contain his excitement. "The Triwizard Tournament!" he blurted out. "Rigel, you should enter it. If you won, you'd gain the respect of not just Slytherin, but the whole school. The eternal glory that comes with victory could be the power base you need. And let's be honest, if anyone can win it, you can."

Rigel's eyes went wide for a moment, a look of genuine surprise flashing across his face. Then, it was replaced by a slow, appreciative smile, the kind one gives when they've just been presented with an elegant solution to a complex problem. "Harry, that's absolutely brilliant," he said, his voice tinged with a warmth that conveyed more than mere agreement. "You're right. Winning the tournament would put me, put us, in a position to do some real good. It could very well be the accelerator pedal for the radical changes we want to see, changes that will better the lives of future generations of witches and wizards. It's audacious, but it's the kind of audacious that just might work."

The compartment was heavy with the weight of the words, the atmosphere charged with a shared sense of mission. Then Rigel leaned across the small distance that separated them and ruffled Harry's already untidy hair. It was a small act, but in that moment, it felt monumental—a tactile affirmation of their brotherly bond, and a silent vow to march forward on this challenging yet vital path. Harry felt the touch as a reassurance, a mutual understanding that they were embarking on something incredibly significant, not just for themselves, but for the very future of the wizarding world.

Neville looked at Rigel, his eyebrows furrowed in genuine curiosity. "Why are you so sure you'll be sorted into Slytherin? I mean, the Hat considers a lot of things, doesn't it?"

Rigel chuckled, a soft, knowing sound that seemed to fill the compartment. "Well, if my little impassioned speech just now didn't make it clear, I have one quality in abundance: ambition," he said. "And as for cunning—let's just say I managed to arrange for my cousin Tonks to be on 'guard duty' during the Quidditch World Cup, which is really just a ruse for her to enjoy the match. I think I've got enough of both to make any Slytherin proud."

A shared laughter trickled through the compartment, lightening the mood yet also deepening the sense of unity among them.

Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, the conversation circled back to Rigel's audacious plan—now, unmistakably, their collective mission. They dissected every angle, turning over the idea of the Triwizard Tournament as the quickest route to gaining the influence they'd need. They speculated on the kinds of tasks that might be involved, on how to prepare, and what the risks might be. The dialogue ebbed and flowed, the compartment becoming a think-tank fueled by a common purpose.

Suddenly, the door to their compartment was thrust open. Draco Malfoy strutted in, his signature sneer in place, flanked by his ever-present and dim-witted cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. The coldness in his grey eyes was unmistakable.

"Well, well, Potter," Draco drawled, looking Harry up and down with disdain. "Got lucky with Quidditch last year, didn't you? This year, I'll make sure you won't stand a chance on the pitch."

Then, with a calculated shift in gaze, Draco's eyes locked onto Rigel. "And as for you," he hissed, "think stealing the Black inheritance from me won't have repercussions? Think again."

Harry's temper, always a short fuse when it came to Malfoy's provocations, finally snapped. In a flash, he was on his feet, his wand pointed straight at Malfoy's chest. "I've put up with your jibes and your snide remarks against me, Malfoy," he spat, his green eyes blazing with fury, "but I'll be damned if you think you can threaten my family."

With a swift motion, Harry's wand flicked, sending Draco hurtling back against the wall of the corridor with a thud. Crabbe and Goyle, too stunned to react, could only watch in horror. Without a further word, Harry slammed the compartment door shut, the loud bang echoing their finality against further confrontation.

Rigel let out a slow breath, a glint of pride evident in his eyes. "Harry," he said, clapping him on the shoulder, "it's heartening to see you stand up for what you believe in—especially when it's family. That was awesome."

Harry responded only with a warm smile.

As the Hogwarts Express sped ever closer to its destination and the unexpected interruption was dealt with, the group delved back into strategies and possibilities. For every obstacle presented, a creative solution was offered; for every uncertainty, a commitment to find an answer. And so they continued, this tight-knit circle of friends, bound by a newfound cause. Their words, hopes, and collective aspirations filling the compartment as the countryside whizzed by outside, blurring into a backdrop against which they would all, together, strive to reshape their world.

~~~o~~~

The corridor outside the Great Hall held a hushed sense of expectation, as if the very stones sensed the coming pivotal moment. Torchlight flickered along the walls, casting a warm glow that danced upon the faces of those assembled. Among them, Rigel stood with his friends—Daphne, Tracey, Harry, Hermione, and Neville—aware that he would soon be part of the Sorting Ceremony, albeit later than most.

Harry glanced at Rigel, a knowing smile crossing his lips. "Well, best of luck in Slytherin, brother."

Rigel grinned back. "Thanks, Harry."

Hermione and Neville shared their farewells, their faces alight with the warm glow of friendship and the promise of a new year.

As the sound of approaching footsteps and youthful chatter echoed down the corridor, signalling the arrival of the first years, Harry, Hermione, and Neville seized the moment to make a hasty exit into the Great Hall, leaving Rigel with Daphne and Tracey.

Daphne's eyes met Rigel's, softening with affection. "Good luck," she murmured, leaning in for a kiss.

The world seemed to hold its breath as their lips touched, igniting an immediate, electric connection that both had come to crave. Rigel's arms wrapped around Daphne's waist, pulling her body close to his, while her hands eagerly found their way into his hair. Their lips moved in a dance of increasing urgency, tongues mingling, as the rest of the world simply fell away. It was as if time stopped, leaving only this passionate cocoon that they had spun around themselves.

The abrupt exclamations of "Ewww!" from a handful of first-year boys shattered their secluded world. Wide-eyed they stared at the couple, clearly finding the public display a little too much.

Leading the procession of first years, Hagrid chuckled. "Ah, young love," he said, more amused than anything.

Tracey, now pouting heavily, seized the moment to grab Daphne's arm and wrench her away from Rigel. "That's it, I desperately need a boyfriend," she announced dramatically. "Harry better make his move soon."

Daphne chuckled as she allowed herself to be pulled along, throwing Rigel a final, lingering glance before disappearing into the Great Hall.

As the first years settled into their waiting position, Hagrid excused himself to fetch Professor McGonagall. Upon her arrival, she addressed the youngsters in her usual dignified manner before turning to Rigel. "And Mr. Black, you'll be sorted after the first years. Please wait here until you are called."

With the swish of her emerald robes, McGonagall ushered the first years through the grand doors into the Great Hall, leaving Rigel alone in the corridor. Though physically separated from his friends and the girl he was growing deeply fond of, he was buoyed by the sense of imminent transformation—both of the immediate future and the more ambitious changes he hoped to bring to the wizarding world.

Rigel stood just outside the slightly askew doors of the Great Hall, observing the Sorting Ceremony unfold. Each young face radiated a blend of trepidation and excitement as they awaited their turn beneath the Sorting Hat. When the final first-year—a mousy girl with her fingers nervously entwined—was sorted into Ravenclaw, Dumbledore rose from his seat, cleared his throat, and began to speak.

"Students of Hogwarts," he announced, his voice filled with the warmth and authority only he could muster. "Tonight, we have a rather unique occurrence, a break from our cherished tradition, if you will. We are graced with the presence of an older student who will also be sorted. A young man whose journey to Hogwarts has been unlike any other."

As the headmaster's words filled the air, Rigel pushed open the doors and stepped inside the Great Hall. His walk toward the stool was both calculated and natural, an elegant display of inherent authority. The room hushed, whispers turning into muted gasps, as every eye fell upon him. A silence enveloped the hall, its weightiness tinged with a sense of awe and expectation.

Upon reaching the stool, Professor McGonagall paused and locked eyes with Rigel. In that suspended moment, her gaze seemed to penetrate the very fabric of the room. "Take a seat, Mr. Black."

Instantly, the murmurs that had been on the edge of audible roared into life. The name "Black" was fresh in everyone's minds, not merely because of its notorious association with dark magic, but more recently, thanks to the events surrounding Sirius Black's escape and eventual vindication. There was no mistaking the electric buzz that filled the room; the atmosphere was thick with unspoken questions, judgement, and awe.

Rigel sat, and Professor McGonagall reverently placed the Sorting Hat upon his head. For a heartbeat, an otherworldly silence filled the hall. Then, the hat burst into a startling, resounding laugh.

The laughter echoed like a strum on the strings of a magical lute, filling the hall with an energy that was almost tangible. Faces of students and teachers alike turned towards each other, eyes wide and mouths agape. Never before had the Sorting Hat displayed such mirth during a ceremony. Rigel remained seated, appearing completely unfazed, almost as if he'd expected the hat's reaction all along.

The fabric of the Sorting Hat settled around Rigel's ears, feeling like a well-worn but treasured book. Instantly, the voice he recognised from a past life—one where he had been a feline resident of Hogwarts—echoed in his mind.

"Ah, Rigel Black. When we last spoke, you experienced the world on four legs. Quite a transformation you've undergone, finding your true lineage as a Black," the hat mused, its voice tinged with warm curiosity.

"True," Rigel thought, "our last talk changed everything for Harry, Daphne, and me. Your advice back then brought us here, but we still have a long way to go."

The hat chuckled, a sort of mental rustle that felt comforting. "Ah yes, your memories are vivid, filled with turns of fortune and clever exploits. It does an old hat's heart good to see that you and your companions have navigated out of turbulent waters into something more hopeful. You've embraced your ambition to reshape the wizarding world, a task that's much needed."

"And one I fully intend to see through," Rigel affirmed, "not just through my own will, but with the indispensable aid of Harry, Daphne, and our close-knit circle of friends. The Slytherin house will not remain a place where only the pureblooded can thrive. By next year, you'll have a different kind of choice to make when sorting Muggleborns."

"That would be a welcome change," the hat responded, its tone rich with sincerity. "A more integrated Slytherin could be a powerful force for the betterment of the wizarding world."

The hall outside his mind seemed to still, as if holding its collective breath. Then, in a voice booming and clear, the hat declared, "Slytherin!"

Professor McGonagall lifted the hat from his head. Rigel stood, leaving the stool to take measured steps towards the Slytherin table where Daphne had thoughtfully saved a seat beside her. As he sat, he pulled her into a long, meaningful kiss, sealing his arrival into a new chapter of his life.

Their hands clasped together on the table, showcasing their betrothal rings. Crafted with a blend of gold and silver, the rings were inset with small but impeccably cut emeralds and sapphires, meticulously arranged to depict the Black family crest. The design was elegant, understated but clearly valuable, a reflection of old wealth and newer intentions.

Across the table, Draco Malfoy's face was a storm of unsaid words and unexpressed emotions. He said nothing, but his expression spoke volumes.

Rigel spent the remainder of the feast enjoying the company of Daphne and Tracey, their laughter and conversation a pleasing counterpoint to the feast's sensory tapestry of tastes and aromas. As the evening wore down, Professor Snape approached, his voice a silk-smooth whisper against the dying roar of the hall. "Mr. Black, Miss Greengrass, kindly remain after the feast. I'll escort you to your quarters."

Rigel exchanged a knowing glance with Daphne, and they both gave a curt nod at their Head of House.

~~~o~~~

A few moments earlier, at the Gryffindor table

In the Great Hall, the familiar clatter and hum of voices quieted down as Headmaster Dumbledore rose from his seat, his flowing beard cascading like a silvery waterfall over his ornate robes. His eyes twinkled like twin beacons in the candlelit room.

"Welcome, welcome, to another year at Hogwarts," he announced, casting a spell of attention over the hall. "Before we feast, a few announcements, if you please."

Harry sat flanked by Hermione and Neville, the trio a staple in the Gryffindor community. He leaned back comfortably, already aware of some of the forthcoming revelations thanks to prior conversations with Walburga Black.

First, Dumbledore announced the return of the Yule Ball as a yearly tradition. While the hall erupted into chatter and excitement, Harry merely exchanged a knowing glance with Hermione and Neville. They had been prepared for this, their feet still hurting from all those dancing lessons.

"Secondly," Dumbledore went on, "the Triwizard Tournament shall return, a competition as dangerous as it is exhilarating." A chorus of gasps and eager murmurs swept the hall. Again, Harry, Hermione, and Neville remained unperturbed, having been forewarned.

"More details will follow when the delegations from the other schools arrive," Dumbledore continued. "However, it's essential to note that the champion for each school must be at least 17 years old by the end of October, when the champions will be chosen."

Harry felt a tinge of concern wash over him. Rigel would only turn 17 in January, missing the age requirement by a mere handful of months. The tightened knot of worry settled in the pit of his stomach. But they would discuss it, Harry assured himself. When next they met in the Room of Requirement, they could put their heads together and seek a solution.

However, what Dumbledore revealed next caught even Harry by surprise. "To equip you better for these perilous times, particularly in light of the recent unsettling attack on the Quidditch World Cup, we are introducing a new subject—Duelling."

The Great Hall was immediately awhirl with frenzied conversation, and even Harry was visibly stirred.

"The subject will be taught by none other than Alastor Moody, one of the most esteemed Aurors of our time."

Harry's eyes widened. He'd met Moody once before when he received his Order of Merlin. Back then, Moody, alongside Tonks, had been his guards. He remembered how Tonks had described Moody as her mentor. And if Tonks' impressive duelling skills were any indicator, learning from Moody would be invaluable. Harry felt a thrum of excitement pass through him. The night had offered an unexpected surprise after all, and one that promised to make the year even more intriguing than he'd initially thought.

"So," Harry whispered to Hermione and Neville, eyes gleaming with expectation, "this year just got a lot more interesting, wouldn't you agree?"

Thus, with Dumbledore's announcements leaving a trail of excitement and speculation in their wake, Harry found his mind racing through possibilities and pitfalls. The year ahead was shaping up to be anything but ordinary, laden with potential triumphs and looming complications. And as the chatter in the Great Hall finally settled, making way for the lavish feast, Harry was acutely aware that this term was one that would demand both courage and cunning in measures yet unknown.

~~~o~~~

After the feast – Snape's PoV

With the final traces of the feast dissipating like a fog, Severus Snape's dark eyes fell on Rigel Black and Daphne Greengrass, seated comfortably at the Slytherin table, heads close together in intimate conversation. A simmering cauldron of disdain and suspicion bubbled within him. Of all the houses, why did the boy have to end up in his?

Snape's mind unwillingly cast itself back to his own school days, a chapter of his life he'd rather leave unopened. Sirius Black had been a thorn in his side, a lazy, arrogant bastard who'd made those years unbearable. And now, the irony of his child seated in the house of Slytherin, a house built on cunning and ambition, was not lost on him. Had the boy somehow manipulated the Sorting Hat?

But more pressing concerns nagged at the edges of his consciousness. Just before the start of term, a letter had arrived from Walburga Black, bemoaning the disappearance of the beloved Hogwarts cat, Jingles. Yet, Daphne Greengrass, who had been inexplicably fond of that particular feline, appeared unperturbed. In fact, she seemed elated. And now, with the sudden reappearance of Rigel Black, the son of Sirius, the elements seemed too conveniently arranged to be mere coincidence.

He had seen that cat's memory—the vivid recollection of the night James and Lily Potter had been murdered. Could it be that Jingles was Rigel? The thought coiled around his mind like a snake, unwilling to be dismissed.

Harry Potter had turned out to be a surprising exception. The boy had none of the arrogance Snape had so detested in his father. Perhaps Greengrass's influence had something to do with that, for which he was begrudgingly thankful. Yet Black seemed to be another case altogether.

Drawing a deep breath, Snape activated his Occlumency shields, ensnaring his roiling emotions behind an impenetrable fortress of mental discipline. He began his calculated walk toward Daphne and Rigel.

"Mr. Black, Miss Greengrass," he intoned with icy formality, "I am to escort you to your quarters. Gather your things, we leave at once."

Inside, his emotions may have been in tumult, but his face revealed nothing. Severus Snape had a job to do, and he would do it. But that did not mean he had to like it.

He turned on his heel, his robes billowing behind him like dark wings as he led the pair down the twisting corridors of the dungeon. Behind him, the tinkling laughter and whispered conversations of Black and Greengrass reverberated against the stone walls, each note grating on his nerves. How he detested young love, so carefree and naïve.

He stopped before a large portrait, a gloomy depiction of a wizard wrapped in heavy, tattered robes. The sunken eyes of the figure peered out from beneath the hood, giving the impression of wisdom laced with a touch of malevolence. This was Aethelric the Mysterious, a wizard whose story was shrouded in half-truths and legends.

"Veritas Arcanum," Snape muttered, barely moving his lips.

The portrait swung open with a creak, revealing a hidden door. He gestured for the two lovebirds to enter their quarters.

They stepped into a spacious living room, tastefully decorated with deep-green draperies and dark oak furniture. Several desks were strategically positioned around the room, well-equipped with parchments, quills, and inkpots—everything they would need for their studies.

Beyond the living area were two doors. "On your left," he said, pointing, "is the bedroom. On your right, the bathroom."

The bedroom held a four-poster bed, its hangings a lush emerald green, and a wardrobe carved from dark wood—space aplenty for the clothes and personal effects of two individuals. Their trunks were already there, silently promising the task of unpacking.

The bathroom was nothing less than what one would expect from a place designed for purebloods. A large tub, big enough for two, took up considerable space, flanked by a sink and toilet of gleaming porcelain.

"You are permitted to invite others into your quarters, though I suggest you share the password with care," Snape continued, his voice as smooth and unyielding as polished stone. "If the need arises to change it, consult with me or another professor."

Snape watched as Black and Greengrass briefly explored their new quarters. "There will be an introductory speech for the new students in the Slytherin common room. Considering your status as a new arrival, I expect you to attend," he said, eyeing Black directly.

"Of course, Professor," Black replied politely, gesturing for Daphne to join him as they fell in step behind Snape.

The walk to the common room was short and uneventful. Once they arrived, the first-year students were already there, nervously shifting from one foot to the other as they awaited whatever this new world had in store for them. Standing before them were the Slytherin Prefects and Lucian Bole, this year's Head Boy.

Snape took his position off to the side, his eyes narrowing as he watched the scene unfold. Black and Greengrass stood behind the first years, their presence almost an echo at the back of the room. Snape was particularly interested in Black's reaction to the traditional Slytherin welcome speech, fully expecting an arrogant display in keeping with what he knew of the boy's father.

Bole began, his voice dripping with unspoken superiority. "We are Slytherin, the house of the pure, the ambitious, the cunning. We hold ourselves to higher standards because we are the superior house. You won't find Mudbloods here, and half-bloods are rare. Uphold our reputation, make us proud, and demonstrate that Slytherin is the strongest house at Hogwarts."

He paused to let the words sink in, then continued. "It's no coincidence that we've won the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup more times than any other house. It is by design, by selection, by the excellence that is inherent in each of us."

Just then, Black interrupted, stepping forward. "Excuse me," he said, his voice calm but firm.

Snape's inner monologue snapped to attention: 'Here we go,' he thought. 'The moment where the boy proves he is as insufferable as his father. Let's see what brand of arrogance he wishes to display.'

Black's voice sliced through the air "I believe that Slytherin is the house of the cunning and ambitious, not the pure. There are Muggleborns who've been sorted into other houses, individuals more cunning and ambitious than many in our own house, simply because of existing prejudices."

Bole chuckled, his laugh echoing through the room, drawing more onlookers to the scene. "That's rich, coming from a Black. Your family motto is 'Toujours Pur,' which translates to 'Always Pure,' for those who aren't fluent in French." The laughter swelled, emboldened by Bole's mockery. Draco Malfoy's laugh pierced above the rest, a smug expression on his face.

Black stood his ground. "Ah, the perfect segue into my next point. You think you can judge me, or anyone else, by their bloodline and family inheritance? Most of you probably respected me until I opened my mouth, simply because I am a Black. I don't want you to respect my family name; I want you to respect me."

More laughter rippled through the room, a chorus of ridicule. Bole shook his head disdainfully. "What a shame the current heir of the Black family is to purebloods like us."

"You misunderstand," Black said, his eyes locking onto Bole's. "I don't consider it a shame. I plan to change all of this—to eliminate this rampant bigotry and create a world where people are judged by their own merit. And that transformation begins in this very house."

Amidst the palpable tension and palpable displeasure, Snape stood to the side, inwardly stunned. 'The boy is not at all what I expected,' he thought, his Occlumency barriers momentarily forgotten. Snape had often been scrutinised for being a half-blood, demeaned by those who were clearly not his equals in either intellect or magical prowess, simply because of their pureblood status. To hear Rigel Black, of all people, denounce such prejudice—Snape couldn't help but feel a deep resonance with the sentiments.

Yet as Snape looked around at the faces of his house members, many clouded with scorn or disbelief, he found himself questioning whether Black had the tenacity to follow through. Changing a culture so deeply rooted would require more than brave words. But for the first time, perhaps, Severus Snape considered that the son of Sirius Black might just have the bite to back up his bark.

"Are you the best dueller in the house?" Black's question was direct, his eyes never leaving Bole's.

"We don't hold duelling competitions to find out," Bole replied, a bit of arrogance threading his voice, "but I'm rather confident that I'm one of the best, if not the best."

"Good to know," Black said, before turning his gaze toward Snape. "Professor, may I challenge this noble pureblood to a duel?"

Snape felt a stirring of anticipation. 'Now, we'll see if the boy has any merit. If he truly stands a chance of bringing about the change he so boldly claims,' he thought. Outwardly, he simply nodded. "Duels are allowed within reason. Be warned: Detention will be served if anyone ends up in the hospital wing."

Turning back to Bole, Black asked, "Your name, sir?"

"Lucian Bole," he responded, his chest puffing out a bit with pride.

"I, Rigel Black, formally challenge you, Lucian Bole, to a duel."

Bole's eyes narrowed, but he accepted. "Very well, I accept your challenge."

The gathered Slytherins took a collective step back, making room. Snape waved his wand, and a duelling platform materialised, seeming to rise up from the cold stone floor of the common room. He motioned for both young men to ascend.

Taking their positions at opposite ends of the platform, Black and Bole each drew their wands. Snape glanced over to where Greengrass stood, her younger sister now beside her. Astoria's face was etched with worry, but Daphne was the picture of calm assurance, as if already certain of the duel's outcome. A certainty that Snape, for the first time, found himself nearly sharing. 'Will the boy back up his grand words with equally grand actions?' Snape mused, his eyes flicking back to the duellists. 'We're about to find out.'

They bowed to each other with an air of formality, and Snape began the countdown. "Three, two, one—"

But Bole couldn't wait. Just as Snape mouthed "one," the young man hurled a spell: "Confringo!" The blasting curse. A sadly common dishonourable tactic among Slytherins to gain a slight early advantage.

However, Snape's eyes widened when he saw how Black reacted. With astonishing skill, the boy reflected the curse, sending it flying back towards Bole. The young man was flung across the platform, tumbling to the ground in an ungainly heap. Though he grimaced in pain, he was not unconscious, clutching his wand still in his hand.

Rigel began to walk toward him, each step measured, as a predator closes in on its prey. Snape could almost hear the wheels turning in the boy's mind. He now understood the depth of Greengrass' confidence in her betrothed. Black was far more formidable than Snape had expected, eclipsing even the most skilled students he'd seen in his years at Hogwarts.

Standing over the fallen Bole, Black looked down. "I wonder, was it a lack of honour or a lack of confidence that compelled you to attack early?"

Bole's eyes met Black's, and in them, Snape saw a flicker of fear, a realisation of being completely outmatched. Bole opened his mouth to utter the words, "I give up," but before the sentence was complete, Black cast the Langlock jinx non-verbally. Bole's tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth, silencing him.

"A mighty pureblood like yourself wouldn't give up that easily," Black said. With a fluid movement, he cast a spell that sent a piercing curse slashing across Bole's leg. A scream tore itself from Bole's throat, his face distorted in agony, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"That's enough," Snape's voice was stern as he interjected, raising his wand. "The winner is Rigel Black."

With another wave of his wand, Snape healed Bole's leg and lifted the Langlock jinx. Bole's face, though free from physical injury, bore the marks of humiliation and a shattered ego.

"It's time to retire for the evening," Snape announced, gesturing for a prefect to guide the first-year students to their rooms. "Off you go."

As the crowd dispersed, Rigel approached Snape. "Professor, I apologise for causing such a disturbance on my first day."

Snape looked at the boy, a re-evaluation unfurling in his mind. 'Perhaps,' he thought, 'just perhaps, this one might be different, just as Potter had turned out different. Time, as always, will be the final judge.' "I trust, Mr. Black," Snape finally said, "that this was a lesson as much for you as it was for Mr. Bole. Now, I suggest you also get some rest. You've had quite the introductory evening."