Huff… huff…
Rigel staggered forward, his breath ragged, chest burning. At last he had reached the edge of an urban street. The storm had passed only a short while ago, leaving the air sharp and cold, damp against his skin.
Every step sent pain lancing through him. His body was covered in small cuts and bruises, each one screaming now that the madness and fire had faded. He could feel his strength unraveling, his grip on consciousness slipping with every heartbeat.
The world blurred at the edges. The last thing his eyes caught before darkness claimed him was the figure of an old man standing under the dim glow of a streetlamp.
And then, Rigel collapsed.
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I was cleaning the front of my gym before opening, like I did every morning. Storm left puddles everywhere, so I was out with my mop and bucket. Place never looked spotless, not with its peeling posters and sagging ropes, but I kept it decent. It had soul, and that mattered.
Sixty odd years of mornings just like this. Skipping ropes and gloves on heavy bags were my background music, even when the lads hadn't shown up yet. Didn't fight much myself, not in the big leagues anyway. Amateur boxer back in the '50s too short, too slow, but I loved the game. Still do. That's why I never left.
I bent down to wring out the mop, and that's when I heard it. Steps. Not the quick kind, not confident. These were dragging, uneven.
I turned, frowning.
There, coming out of the misty street, was a boy. Couldn't have been more than three. Skinny as a stray, clothes torn, bruises and cuts all over. He swayed, eyes dull like the life had already gone out of him.
And then he dropped. Just crumpled right there on the wet pavement.
For a second I froze, mop still in hand, heart thumping in my chest. Then instinct took over.
"Jesus, kid…" I muttered, tossing the mop aside as I hurried over.
Then I saw her.
A snake, her head rose as I stepped closer, tongue flicking, eyes locked on mine. I froze, heart pounding. The snake's body was looped protectively around the boy's chest, muscles coiled, ready to strike.
For a long moment, neither of us moved.
Then she hissed low, deliberate, not like any snake I'd ever heard. Her tongue flicked once more before she slowly unwound herself, slipping aside just enough for me to reach the boy.
I let out a shaky breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Smart girl," I murmured, half to her, half to myself.
Carefully, I bent down and gathered the boy into my arms. He was light as a feather, far too light, his skin clammy with fever and pain. His little head lolled against my chest.
The snake slid up after me, silent as a shadow, keeping pace as though making sure I did right by him.
I got the boy inside the gym. He was soaked through, shivering, clothes torn and bloody. First thing I did was take him upstairs no way he'd get better if I left him down there on the cold floor.
Upstairs in the flat, I laid him down and started changing him into something dry and warm. While pulling off the rags he was wearing, something fell out a strange little stick, and a silver locket.
I picked them up, weighing whether to take a closer look. But the snake never left his side lifted her head and hissed at me. Her eyes were fixed sharp on my hand, like a warning.
"Alright, alright," I muttered, and set them carefully on the table.
So I carried on instead. Finished undressing him, cleaned him up as best I could, and bandaged every cut I found. He was light as a feather, too thin for a lad his age. When I was done, I tucked him into the bed, pulling the blanket up tight. At last, he seemed to breathe easier.
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It was noon. Pale light filtered through the curtains, falling across Rigel's resting face. He seemed asleep until he suddenly jolted awake..
He lay still for a moment, taking in his surroundings. A sober room: a closet, a desk by the window, a single chair. From downstairs came the faint thud of footsteps and the sound of something heavy being moved. Mrs. Hiss was nowhere in sight.
And then the weight of it struck him this wasn't a nightmare. It was reality. A cruel, merciless reality.
Just then the door creaked open. An old man, grey-haired and well into his sixties, stepped inside.
"Hey lad, you're finally awake," the man said, voice rough but kind. "Give me a moment and I'll bring you some food. Once your belly's full, you can tell me your story if you're up to it."
He was almost out the door when he added over his shoulder, "Ah, I'm George Mallon. Georgie's fine too."
George returned with a tray of food. As he set it down in front of Rigel, his eyes took in the boy's small frame: messy black hair, a little nose that tilted upward, and the most striking feature his eyes. A green unlike any George had ever seen, with a steel-gray rim around the iris. Any wizard would immediately recognize it as the same color associated with the Killing Curse.
Rigel's small fingers hovered over the food, reluctant at first. He picked at it, still scanning the room, every shadow and corner alert.
Then his gaze lifted to George. Those green eyes with the steel-gray rim Rigel's own inherited mark locked on the older man. Almost instinctively, he reached out with his mind, probing lightly. Not to harm, not to steal thoughts, but to check intentions, to see if this man was truly safe.
George noticed the glance but didn't flinch. He felt the weight of the boy's gaze, something curious and calculating in it, yet free of malice. A small nod passed between them silent acknowledgment.
Rigel finally settled, picking at the food in silence, but his eyes never fully left George. The check was done, and for the first time, he allowed himself the faintest sense of safety.
As soon as Rigel finished eating, George leaned back slightly and asked with a small chuckle, "So, boy… do you have a name?"
In a quiet, careful voice, Rigel replied, "Black… Rigel Serpico-Black, old man."
George squinted, shaking his head with a grin. "George. Georgie. Even Gramps. But not old man, brat."
Rigel kept his face perfectly still, head tilted slightly. "What's the problem? You're old… old man," he added, a low, chilling chuckle escaping, khhhk-hekkk… sending a shiver down George's spine.
In that instant, George realized: this boy wasn't entirely normal.
"Right," George said carefully, masking his unease. "So, Rigel… where are your parents? Do you know how I could contact them? An address, a phone number?"
Rigel's face softened momentarily, twisting into a sad, pained expression. In a weak, almost anguished voice he whispered,"No… th… they're dead…
George froze. The boy had just hissed in the middle of his sentence, like a snake slithering through words. He stood there, stunned, before finding his voice, trembling slightly:"Mrs. Hiss? Are you… talking?"
Before he could get an answer, the snake glided into the room, cutting him off her presence silent, yet commanding.
Mrs. Hiss coiled around Rigel's ankles, her eyes sharp and alert. He didn't need to question her loyalty, his mother's familiar would never abandon him unless death itself intervened. That knowledge brought him a quiet, steady comfort.
Rigel knelt slightly, letting a hand brush along her smooth scales.
The hiss that came back was approving, protective, almost like a nod. Rigel's shoulders relaxed for the first time since George had found him, and a faint, hidden sigh escaped him.
George watched cautiously, realizing that this bond was more than companionship it was a lifeline for the boy.
Rigel straightened, still letting Mrs. Hiss remain close. His green eyes flicked toward George. "Thank you… for giving her food, George."
George's face softened, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You're welcome, lad. Just take your time. We'll figure things out together."
Some minutes later, George stood and stretched. "Rest some more. The bath is at the end of the corridor on the right, and there are some clothes in the closet. Your… strange stick and locket are in the desk case. We'll decide what to do when you wake up." With that, he left the room.
Rigel didn't respond, only gave a small nod.
Once the door closed, he turned to Mrs. Hiss.
the snake hissed softly.
Rigel lay back in the bed, closing his eyes and opening his mind, hoping for good dreams. The soft weight of Mrs. Hiss coiled gently beside him was the only reassurance he allowed himself. Outside, the distant sounds of the city drifted up through the window, dull and unthreatening for once.
For the first time in a long while, his thoughts could wander without the shadow of fire, pain, or cruelty pressing down. He let himself drift, careful to hold the memory of safety close, even if only for a few hours.
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