Thursday's lunch buzzed with noise, but Rigel barely heard any of it. His first flying lesson was later that day. Across the table, he could hear Malfoy muttering some idiocy about his flying skills, and Rigel knew for a fact that he was lying, having caught his gaze several times.
Daphne Greengrass leaned forward, curiosity bright in her eyes."So what about you, Black? How good are you on a broom?"
"Never flown," Rigel said simply. "I've had other priorities. Spells. Duelling. Actual work."
Theo Nott blinked. "A pure-blood who's never flown? That's mad."
Malfoy pounced on it instantly."Oh, of course he says that. Embarrassing, isn't it, Black? At least the mudbloods won't make you feel too lonely when you fall off your broom."He smirked, pleased with himself.
Rigel looked up, calm as stone."Believe what you like. Your opinion matters as much as your skills very little."
A flush rose on Malfoy's face. He huffed and stalked off.
Daphne let out a soft, impressed breath. "That's twice now you've shut him up."
Theo grinned. "He deserved it. I'm Theo Nott, by the way."He held out a hand.
Rigel shook it polite, precise, distant.
"Daphne Greengrass," she added. Rigel gave her hand a brief, traditional kiss, the gesture practiced and old-fashioned enough to make her blink.
Then Blaise finally spoke. "Blaise Zabini."
There was a pause a deliberate one before he added quietly, "It's an honor, Serpico."
Daphne and Theo exchanged a look.
"Serpico?" Daphne asked. "Why that, exactly?"
Blaise shrugged slightly, but the respect in his tone didn't waver."In Italy, people say it's unwise to provoke a Serpico. Old families earn old reputations. His more than most."
Daphne's expression shifted curiosity turning into something sharper."Explains the attitude," she murmured.
Theo let out a low whistle. "No wonder he carries himself like that."
Rigel allowed himself a faint smile the kind that didn't reach his eyes.
"Flying lesson's soon," he said, rising smoothly. "I'd rather not waste time."
The three followed, falling naturally into step beside him not because he pulled them in, but because Slytherins always drift toward gravity when they see it.
And Rigel had gravity in spades.
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Rigel took his place among the Slytherins. He caught Hermione's gaze and offered a brief nod only to meet a cold, distant look in return.
He blinked, confused. What had he done to earn that frost? She used to smile when she saw him.
And then, as he stood there with a faintly stupid expression, the truth hit him like lightning: he'd barely spoken to her in two weeks. Of course she was angry.
Not ideal.But he'd deal with it later. Right now wasn't the moment to get sentimental his first flying lesson was seconds away, and he had no desire to end up flailing around like some idiot clinging to the Knight Bus for dear life.
At that moment, Madam Hooch arrived. She called out, "Can everyone hear me?" and waited as the low murmur of students died down, blending with the soft rustle of leaves in the wind and the faint chirping of birds.
She continued, "I'm Madam Hooch, and I'm going to teach you the art of flying. Perhaps just perhaps you might even aspire to become a professional in this beautiful sport called Quidditch one day. But for now, form two lines."
With that, she placed a broom in front of each student.
Rigel's eyes lingered on the one in front of him. It looked worn, its wood scarred and slightly faded, yet meticulously cared for, a testament to the dedication poured into keeping it in perfect condition for the students.
Madam Hooch's voice cut through his admiration. "Extend your hand over the broom and say Up! with conviction. You must be certain it will answer your call."
Rigel did exactly that, his voice calm but commanding. In an instant, the broom shot into his hand with a soft woooosh, as if it had been waiting for him all along. A thrill ran through him, an almost tangible spark of excitement, fueling his anticipation for the moment he could truly ride it.
"Now, mount it," Madam Hooch continued, her sharp eyes scanning the students. "Keep your feet firmly on the ground until you hear the whistle. Then lift off slowly, just a few feet at first."
Rigel swung his leg over the broom, settling into a careful crouch, feeling the rough wood beneath his palms. The anticipation coiled inside him like a spring, his senses sharpening as he felt every grain of the broom's surface, the quiet potential of flight.
He glanced around at the others, some hesitant, some daring, and allowed himself a faint smirk. This was new. This was thrilling. And something deep inside told him that he would enjoy this broom.
But, as is often the way with anything good in life, the moment was not to last. A sudden, panicked shout cut through the air. Longbottom, whose butterfingers nerves had completely betrayed him, had lost control of his broom and shot skyward, arms flailing, as if trying to proclaim: To infinity… and beyond!
"Help! I'm going..... somebody, do something!"
Students scattered, ducking as Neville shot upward like a cork from a bottle. Rigel arched a brow, unimpressed. Most first-years panicked. Longbottom elevated it to an art form.
Madam Hooch barked, "Come down at once!" already sprinting beneath Neville's rising path, but the broom wasn't listening to anyone. Neville soared past treetop height, wobbling violently before veering toward one of the castle roofs, before gravity finally reminded him of its rules.
Fortunately, he landed on the roof itself but the contorted expression on his face suggested he had broken something in the process.
Rigel, noticing the professor's hesitation and the very real chance that any spell she cast might hit Neville instead didn't waste another second. He kicked off the ground, shooting upward on a broom that wobbled like it wanted to buck him off. He aimed straight for Neville who, unfortunately, had already crashed onto the roof just as Rigel lifted off.
Before Neville could topple over the edge… Rigel dove and caught him mid-fall.
It wasn't elegant. It wasn't skill. It was timing absurd, stupid timing but it worked. He caught Neville by the back of his robes just as gravity tried to finish the job, nearly yanking them both off the broom.
"Hold on," Rigel murmured, his tone calm but commanding, "I've got you."
The wind whipped around them, but Rigel's control was getting better the more he get used to flying, guiding Neville back toward the ground safely, the danger averted in a single, precise intervention.
Madam Hooch stood frozen for a heartbeat, chest rising sharply with the adrenaline she'd been trying to suppress. Her eyes tracked Rigel's stance how he'd adjusted mid-dive, how he'd kept both boys balanced despite nearly eating dirt himself.
For a moment, she simply stared. The boy should've been a beginner barely able to hover yet he had just pulled off a save that most second-years would've botched. It wasn't graceful, and it sure as hell wasn't textbook, but it was decisive.
Around them, the other students stood frozen, their faces split between awe, envy, and the dawning realization that Rigel Black was not normal.
Hooch exhaled slowly, still rattled. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen someone adapt that fast on a broom. Not in a first-year class. Not in any class.
Madam Hooch's voice cracked across the pitch like a thunderclap."Black! What in Merlin's name did you think you were doing? You could've killed yourself!"
Rigel didn't flinch. His tone stayed level, almost irritatingly controlled."With respect, Professor, Longbottom was about to fall. I wasn't going to watch him break his neck."
Hooch's jaw clenched, but she didn't argue. She crouched beside Neville, checked the angle of his trembling wrist, and let out a tight breath.
"He needs the infirmary," she said sharply. Then she straightened, sweeping the class with a glare strong enough to nail them to the ground."I am escorting Mr. Longbottom to Madam Pomfrey. If anyone and I mean anyone tries to get off the ground while I'm gone, I will personally see to it you never touch a broom again."
She turned back to Rigel, eyes narrowing not angry, but appraising."And Black… next time, you wait for my orders. But…" a reluctant exhale, "ten points to Slytherin. Quick thinking. You kept a classmate alive."
Then she marched off, dragging Neville's broom behind her.
With that, she strode off toward the infirmary, robes snapping behind her. Rigel watched her go, face unreadable… though the thin curl at the corner of his mouth betrayed a quiet, controlled satisfaction.
The moment she was out of earshot, the pitch exploded.
The Gryffindors clustered together, whispering like they'd just witnessed a dragon attack.
"Did you see that ?""Neville almost died!""He caught him! On a school broom!"
Even Harry looked rattled, impressed despite himself, while Ron just kept muttering, "Bloody hell," like a stuck record.
Hermione stared at Rigel for a heartbeat too long shock first, fear second… and then that stubborn little wall slammed back down the moment she realized he wasn't even scratched.
Typical.
On the Slytherin side, Theo leaned toward Daphne, eyes still wide."That was… actually insane. I mean first time on a broom?"It sounded like praise forced out at wandpoint.
Daphne didn't bother hiding her interest."Insane, yes," she murmured, gaze following Rigel as he stepped off the broom with irritating grace. "But he didn't look bothered. Or surprised."Her smirk deepened."Almost like he expected to pull it off."
Blaise Zabini, who had kept a cool mask through the entire chaos, let it slip just enough for a real reaction."Most first years can't even sit straight," he muttered. "Black flies like he skipped the 'beginner' part."
The edge of admiration was there quiet, but impossible to miss.
Rigel walked back to his place without hurry, posture steady, expression unreadable. No swagger, no chest-puffing, just controlled steps and a tiny exhale that wasn't victory just relief the disaster was over.
He gave a curt nod to the Slytherins who stared at him, then fixed his eyes on the remaining brooms as if nothing extraordinary had happened at all.
To him, it was simple:he'd acted, it had worked, and that was enough.
No praise needed. No fuss tolerated.
Malfoy twirled the Remembrall between his fingers, the smirk on his face stretching into something uglier.
"Did you see him? Pathetic. Maybe if the fat lump squeezed this hard enough, he'd have remembered how not to fall on his arse."
A few Slytherins snickered, but Rigel's mouth twisted into a faint, contemptuous scowl.
Parvati Patil snapped, eyes blazing, "Shut it, Malfoy!"
Pansy Parkinson pounced immediately, her grin razor-thin."Ooh, defending Longbottom now? How precious. Didn't know you had a soft spot for pudgy little crybabies, Parvati."
Rigel's eyes slid toward the bickering girls, his expression flat, almost bored. A faint smirk ghosted across his mouth.
Then Harry's voice cut through the tension. "Give it back, Malfoy!"
Draco held the Remembrall up between two fingers like it was something foul. "You want this, Potter?" His grin twisted. "No. I think I'll drop it somewhere high. Maybe Longbottom can waddle after it."
Without waiting for an answer, Malfoy kicked off the ground, soaring upward with a sharp, arrogant snap of his broom.
Harry didn't wait for permission; he kicked off the ground and shot after Malfoy like a launched arrow. The chase wound through the air in sharp, frantic cuts—Harry pushing his school broom harder than it was ever meant to go.
Malfoy, finally noticing the boy on his tail, twisted in his seat and hurled the Remembrall as far as he could.
Harry reacted instantly.A dive too steep for a first-year.A twist reckless, borderline suicidal.A snatch clean, perfect, almost effortless.
He pulled up just before kissing the grass, landing with the Remembrall clenched in his fist. Gasps rippled through the Gryffindors, followed by excited whispers.
Rigel had watched the entire thing from the edge of the pitch, arms loosely crossed. His expression didn't change much just the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.
Harry had talent. Raw, unpolished, reckless talent.No control, no discipline, no awareness of how stupidly close he'd come to splattering himself.
But still… talent.
And that, to Rigel, was interesting.
At that moment, Professor McGonagall arrived, striding onto the field with her usual fierce energy. Flaring her eyes at Harry.
"Never in all my time at Hogwarts "The words snagged in her throat. Shock, then fury, snapped through her expression like a whip.
"How dare you! You could have broken your neck!"
Parvati Patil, jittery with nerves, tried to leap to Harry's defense. "It wasn't his fault, Professor "
"Quiet, Miss Patil." The rebuke landed like an axe.
Ron, still half-dazed, managed, "But Malfoy "
"That's enough, Mr. Weasley."Her tone made it clear there would be no further discussion. She fixed Harry with a stare that could have carved stone.
"Potter. With me. Now."
Harry swallowed, shot Ron a helpless look, and followed her off the field like a boy walking to his own execution, unsure what sin he'd actually committed.
Rigel watched the Gryffindor retreat without a word, his expression flat as the dust finally settled over the field. The lesson had descended into chaos and theatrics, but what stayed with him wasn't the shouting it was the contrast. His own steadiness. The panic in half the class. The raw talent buried under Harry's recklessness. And the sheer idiocy some students seemed proud of.
Even with McGonagall dragging Potter away, the rush of flight still clung to him clean, sharp, addictive. Control tasted good, and he'd had plenty of it.
One thing was certain: this first flying lesson wouldn't fade quietly into anyone's memory. It had left a mark, whether people wanted to admit it or not.
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It was supper time, and after enduring Etheline's long-winded panic about him "risking his life" in flying class something he knew had been nothing more than a wobble and a lucky grab Rigel finally headed toward the Great Hall, Tenebris gliding at his side like a shadow.
That's when he noticed Malfoy peeling away from the Slytherin table, marching toward the Gryffindors with that self-important strut he mistook for pedigree.
Rigel waited, observing from a distance because someone in this house needed a functioning pair of eyes. Eventually, Tenebris returned.
Rigel's eyebrow rose. A duel? Of course Draco would imitate grown men without understanding a single rule they followed.
Did they at least bother choosing a referee?
Rigel exhaled not tired, just deeply unimpressed. Naturally. A supposed heir to ancient blood, and he can't even recall the basics of a formal duel. His jaw tightened in quiet disdain. If this is what passes for the next generation of pure-blood families, we're circling the drain faster than I thought.
He started walking again, gaze cold. Brilliant. Looks like I'll have to supervise children playing at honor because Draco Malfoy insists on disgracing it.
With one last sigh of annoyance, he made for his quarters. A few hours of rest if he was lucky before cleaning up whatever idiocy Malfoy had just engineered.
Midnight adventure time, he thought dryly. Merlin preserve me.
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