A/N: I know I aimed at posting on Friday but this chapter was hard to get out, I'm still not completely happy with it, so I might rewrite it but its necessary to have this before I get into the scenes I actually want to write. Hopefully its still good for you
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Act II, Chapter 6
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The Slytherin common room was well-lit, bathed in green hues, and surprisingly warm despite the cold stone walls and floors. Alphard led him toward a small group gathered in a spacious alcove, its window overlooking the dark waters of the lake, set apart from the rest of the students.
"You remembered you have family then?"
The words, clipped and laced with disapproval, came from a girl—Walburga, he assumed. She regarded him with a slightly put-out expression, her arms folded tightly across her chest.
Alphard groaned, flopping onto a couch. "Oh, don't start, Walburga."
"He's here, isn't he?" Cygnus added, stretching out in a chair with a lazy smirk.
"Yes, well," Walburga sniffed, "he took his time about it."
"I did not imagine my absence would be so troubling." Rigel replied mildly, glancing around at the group.
Lucretia, who had been perched on the arm of a chair, giggled. "Oh, you have no idea. She's been going on about it since the Welcoming Feast."
Walburga turned to her, affronted. "I have not—"
"You have," Cygnus interjected smoothly.
A girl, another one of his cousins- Cassiopeia maybe?- curled up with a book, peered over the pages. "It was only a little complaining."
A boy, barely eleven, grinned up at Rigel. "You are a bit of a mystery."
Rigel raised an eyebrow, amused. "A mystery?"
"You speak strangely," he declared matter-of-factly, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.
"I think it sounds nice," the girl he assumed was Cassiopeia added, nodding to herself.
Alphard smirked, nudging Rigel's shoulder. "See? They've all been waiting to meet you properly. You're already a favorite."
Rigel, caught somewhere between amused and perplexed, took the open seat Alphard gestured to.
"You're family," she said simply. "It's only natural we wanted to meet you. We look after our own."
"Quite right," Walburga sniffed.
Alphard clapped his hands together decisively. "Introductions? Of course, Rigel already knows Lucretia, Cygnus, and me, but you three—"
"Orion Pollux Black, Scion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Well met, Cousin Rigel!"
The younger boy cut in before Alphard could finish, clearly eager, as if he had rehearsed this moment. He stood tall in front of Rigel, sticking out his hand.
Rigel clasped it, shaking firmly—only for Orion to suddenly hiss in pain, his hand flying to the back of his neck.
"Manners, Orion," Walburga sneered, tucking away her wand. "Alphard hadn't finished yet."
Orion scowled, shrinking into himself, but said nothing.
"Don't be such a bully, Walburga." A girl stepped forward, offering Rigel a warm smile. "I'm Cassiopeia."
Walburga tutted "Do it properly"
Cassiopeia rolled her eyes so hard, Rigel half-expected them to tumble right out of her head. Still, she recited the words "Cassiopeia Arabella Black, Scion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Well met, Cousin Rigel."
She extended her hand for him to kiss, wearing the unmistakable expression of someone enduring a tedious but necessary formality.
Once it was Walburga's turn, she held out her hand imperiously, "Walburga Selene Black, Scion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black." he bent forward to kiss her hand and when he looked up she gave him a pointed look as if to say 'Well?'
He stood up straight, deciding to play along "Rigel Hercule de la Riviere Black, Scion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Well met, Cousin Walburga."
She gave him a satisfied nod and sat back down, Orion gazed up at him, eyes wide "Oh that sounds nothing like how we say your name"
Rigel chuckled, "I know, I don't mind too much."
"Say, Rigel, do you know Riddle?" Lucretia asked suddenly.
The name rang a bell, and for some reason, Rigel's mind flickered to Muggle London—though he was certain he had never been there.
He abandoned that train of thought before it could bring on another headache.
Realizing he had left the silence lingering for too long, he inclined his head. "Who?"
Lucretia hummed. "Huh… because he's been staring at you. It's odd."
Rigel made to glance over, but she caught his wrist, stopping him.
"Quite," Cassiopeia added, her voice thoughtful. "Can't tell what he's thinking, but he's definitely looking this way. He doesn't look too happy, though, I can tell that much."
Walburga sneered. "He's of no consequence, filthy—"
Alphard groaned, holding up a hand. "Please, can we have one night without you going on about Riddle? We've not even been back a week."
"She's smitten," Cassiopeia stage-whispered conspiratorially.
She yelped a second later as a stinging hex hit the back of her neck.
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oOo
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Tom had not expected to find himself so off balance.
He looked towards the far lake-view alcove, where the Blacks had gathered themselves as usual.
Rigel sat among them, fitting perfectly into the picture, his posture relaxed as conversed with them. He watched, his gaze cold, as Orion Black spoke with eager gestures, his excitement barely contained. The others leaned in, familiar, welcoming, as though Rigel had always been one of them. As though he had never been anything but one of them.
Internally, Tom sneered.
Rigel Black.
Not Rigel, the strange, persistent, kind-eyed boy from Muggle London who had— against all reason— intrigued him. Not Rigel, the steady, talkative, open presence that had calmed down his thoughts. No, this was Rigel Black, a boy with a name spoken with reverence among pureblood circles. A boy with the kind of legacy Tom had spent years making up for his lack thereof, clawing for every scrap of recognition.
Tom had known, even then, that there was something off about Rigel. His mannerisms, his appearance— they had never fully aligned with what Tom had known the muggles of London to be. But Tom had rationalized it. Told himself Rigel was simply foreign, a boy with too much money and too much kindness, someone who lived in a world so untouched by suffering that he could afford to waste his concern on people like Tom.
He had been wrong.
"You're staring."
The lazy drawl cut through his thoughts, and Tom glanced to the side. Abraxas Malfoy was lounging in his chair, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. He followed Tom's line of sight and arched a pale brow.
"Didn't think you'd be so interested in the Blacks," he mused, the words sounding like he meant more than he said.
Tom hummed then spoke, his voice even. "I find it odd how they keep to themselves so."
"Mm. It is strange, isn't it?" Abraxas asked, "But the Blacks are a tight-knit bunch, they're close, Old Blood, influential still, though how they manage to keep that influence while they openly keep everyone that's not their own at arms length is beyond me. Everyone clamors for an in, you know? The only way is through marriage, even then, they're quite selective, would rather marry their own than anyone they consider below their station"
Tom resisted the urge to sigh. Abraxas had a habit of rambling—sometimes useful, when he let slip something of value, but more often than not, inane. Still, Tom endured it.
Because this was what he did. He listened, he learned, he waited.
And then he struck.
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oOo
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The seven of them chatted for a while, trading anecdotes and stories, even Walburga was warming up some more, surprisingly witty and creative if only in a biting sort of way. The conversation moved around to parents and Rigel suddenly realised he had yet to complete and send the letter to his parents. With a quiet excuse, he slipped away from his cousins, making his way back through the corridors and stairs, up to the Owlery.
He tied the letter to the waiting owl's leg, whispering the address as he stroked its feathers before watching it fly off into the night.
A throat cleared behind him.
Rigel turned.
A boy stood in the entrance, his Slytherin robes perfectly in order, his posture composed but casual.
There was something vaguely familiar about him, though Rigel couldn't place why. He gave a polite smile, thinking the boy wanted to write his letter in private and made to leave when the boy smiled, pleasant and untroubled.
He gave a polite nod, thinking the boy wanted to send off his letter in private and made to leave.
"Rigel Black" he greeted, his voice even and somehow familiar, stopping him in his tracks.
Rigel returned the smile, polite but wary. "Yes… and you are?"
The boy's head tilted ever so slightly. "You know who I am."
Rigel stilled. "Ah…" He searched the boy's face, coming up blank. "Have we met before?"
The boy's expression remained unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes. "London."
"Pardon?" his eyebrows scrunched up in confusion.
"What do you think of London?" the boy asked lightly.
Rigel hesitated. "Oh… I have not had the chance to see it properly."
A pause. The boy studied him, gaze expectant. Waiting.
"Nothing else to say?"
Rigel frowned, unease creeping into his chest. "…No."
The boy's lips quirked slightly, but there was no real amusement in it.
"Writing home?" he asked suddenly.
Rigel exhaled carefully. "Yes." He stepped away from the ledge, schooling his face into something neutral. "Though I must leave now—it's almost time for supper. Nice to meet you…?"
The boy did not offer his name.
Instead, he took a slow step forward, peering at him.
"Funny," he mused, tone light, almost thoughtful. "I could've sworn we'd met before."
The air felt heavier.
Rigel's fingers curled at his sides.
"…Excuse me," he murmured, inclining his head before swiftly walking back down the staircase. He didn't look back but he could feel the boy's gaze, burning into his back.
The Great Hall was buzzing with conversation, the cluttering of cutlery and the occasional burst of laughter from the Tables. Rigel took his seat at the Ravenclaw Table, smoothing down his robes unnecessarily. He still felt off, and his skin prickled uncomfortably.
Who was that boy?
The conversation at the table swirled around him, half-heard and distant. He knew he should focus, should let the chatter ground him and be present, but the words from earlier lingered.
"Funny, I could've sworn we'd met before."
He picked up his fork, only to set it down again, staring blankly at his food.
Across from him Genevieve arched a brow "Alright spill"
Rigel blinked, looking up "Pardon?"
"You've been sitting there looking like someone hit you with a Confundus Charm since you got here. What happened?"
Eleanora, sitting beside her, glanced over. "Yeah, we missed you after the House Meeting and suddenly you're acting all strange, did you meet one of the ghosts? Or was it Peeves, he does like to spook new students"
"No, nothing like that- I was just at the Owlery"
Genevieve snorted. "What, did one of the owls attack you? Happens more often than you'd think."
Luke perked up. "Was it one of the big barn owls? Those are ruthless—"
Rigel exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "No. Nothing like that. Just… ran into someone."
Genevieve hummed, resting her chin on her hand. "And?"
He hesitated. For a moment, he considered telling them about the strange boy. But in the end, he decided against it, feeling as if he were blowing the whole thing out of proportion.
So instead, he offered a small, polite smile. "It was nothing. Just a conversation with a funny character"
Genevieve studied him for a moment longer before sighing, clearly not convinced but letting it drop. "Alright. Don't go to bed on an empty stomach, eat something"
Rigel managed a small nod, reaching for his fork again.
And yet, even as he tried to forget what had happened and stay grounded, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it.
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