A cool breeze blew across the Black Lake, bringing with it a sense of change. What had been a gentle breeze moments before had transformed into the biting chill that sinks into the bones of early December winds.
The midday sun still lingered above the shore and the meadows, its light pale and fading. In the distance the crows cawed as half-dry leaves rustled softly, their sound carried along with the damp scent of dying grass.
At the edge of a large tree's shade, Rigel lay stretched out on a blanket, wrapped in a warm cloak, a spare folded beside him. Before him lay carefully arranged delicacies, awaiting the guests who would soon arrive.
That's a really brilliant idea, Rig." Hermione's annoyed voice came from behind him. "Who in their right mind plans a picnic in December?"
Rigel turned with a half-smile on his lips. "I never said I was sane."
A light laugh came from beside Hermione. "Susan, does this crazy guy amuse you?"
"No, Hermione," Susan said, chuckling softly. "Your interactions do."
"Then, my ladies," Rigel said, gesturing toward the blanket, "now that I've been honored with your presence, I'd say we can start lunch."
Hermione and Susan settled down on the blanket. As they did, Rigel said, "Alright, just one last self-invitation and we can begin."
A hiss slipped from his lips.
Etheline slid out from beneath Rigel's clothes and curled herself onto his lap.
"Well, enjoy your meal, girls," Rigel said, retrieving a chicken leg and offering it to Etheline.
Lunch unfolded without effort. Conversation drifted from topic to topic, laughter cutting through the cold as Rigel translated the girls' questions and comments into soft hisses, and Etheline's replies back into words.
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Later, while Hermione and Susan debated holiday plans, Rigel leaned back slightly, fingers moving in slow, familiar patterns along Etheline's scales. A low, rhythmic hiss answered him, not unlike a cat's purr, as he hummed under his breath.
"Hey, Rig, can I cuddle Etheline for a moment?" Hermione asked, slightly embarrassed.
Rigel was silent for a moment, then raised his head in Hermione's direction as if awaken from a trhought. "It's not up to me, but if Ethel doesn't mind, I don't see why not."
The white snake lifted her head, tongue flicking in approval before sliding toward Hermione, coiling on her legs and resting comfortably on her lap.
Seeing Hermione calmly and fearlessly petting Etheline, Susan couldn't resist her curiosity. "What's it like to pet her? Does she… react if she doesn't like something, or does she just tolerate it because of you?"
Rigel, with a half-smile and his usual chilling chuckle, replied, "No, Ethel's just a sweetheart. She loves being petted and cuddled....or at least by those connected to me." He let a moment of silence hang, then added, "But mind you, if she sees anyone as a threat to herself or me, she won't hesitate to bite… so don't worry. I'm sure she'd love to be petted by you."
A soft hiss slipped from Etheline.she said while tilting her small head toward Hermione.
Susan, eyes full of confusion, looked at Rigel. "What did she say?"
"Nothing much," Rigel replied lightly. "Just that she wants Hermione to finish first."
A moment later, Hermione stopped petting Etheline and let her move away. The snake slid toward Susan, coiling into her lap, and Susan immediately began to stroke her scales.
"Whoa… this is completely different from what I expected," Susan said. "It almost feels like skin, just a little cooler."
From the side, Rigel added with a small remark, "Not bad, eh."
Hermione glanced back at him. "So, Rig, what are your plans for this summer?"
Rigel thought for a moment before answering. "I wouldn't mind finally going home. I haven't been back since I was three.." He hesitated, then added, "As for the rest, I don't know. I'll probably ask Gramps if he has other plans in mind."
Hermione looked at him, confused. "But… don't you live in London? I mean, are you just going back to the gym for the holidays?"
Rigel smiled, something nostalgic softening his expression. "No. I mean my house. The Serpico family home, in Italy. I haven't been back in a long time."
He paused, the moment stretching with a quiet hint of melancholy, then added, "Maybe one day, if you and your family ever wanted to visit Italy, I could host you. Or… if we ever decided to take a holiday together."
He turned to Susan. "The same goes for you. Just not yet. The place needs work. No one's lived there for years."
Hermione smiled. "Thanks, Rig. I'll tell my dad he'll appreciate it, especially coming from you." She glanced to the side, masking the faint blush on her cheeks.
Susan hesitated a little. "Thanks, Rigel. I'll tell my aunt. But… are you sure it's appropriate for strangers to visit the Serpico family home? Aren't there… family secrets?"
Hermione's eyes widened. She hadn't realized she'd be visiting a house steeped in magical history.
Rigel let out a slight laugh at her expression. Then, turning to Susan, he said, "Don't worry. There are no secrets that outsiders could get their hands on. And above all, I trust you and Hermione." He paused, letting the words sink in. "Besides, it wouldn't happen anytime soon. Maybe in a couple of years. That still gives me plenty of time to clear out the… more sensitive things."
Between chatter and jokes, time passed, and by around four in the afternoon, the sun began to dip toward the horizon. A chilly breeze swept across the Black Lake, brushing the girls and Etheline.
Hermione shivered. Rigel offered the cloak he'd kept in reserve. "Here, Mione. It should help, at least until we get back to the castle."
She accepted it with a small smile and a quiet "thank you." From the side Etheline slip back under his clothes, returning to her usual perch, coiled around his chest.
After helping the girls to their feet, Rigel began tidying the picnic area. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Susan trembling slightly. Without a second thought, he removed his cloak and draped it around her shoulders before leading them back toward the castle.
Susan froze, almost petrified, the weight of the cloak on her shoulders and a faint blush spreading across her cheeks.
Hermione, noticing Rigel's gesture, paused beside her, a strange glint in her eyes.
Rigel's voice cut through the moment. "So, ladies, are you coming, or shall I wait for you at the front gate?"
At his call, the two recovered, then together with Rigel, they walked back to the castle, finally parting at the entrance, each going their separate way with the cloaks still draped over their shoulders.
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The door to the common room opened, and a wave of hot air, heavy with the scent of burning wood from the fireplace, hit Rigel, bringing a relief from the cold he stubbornly refused to acknowledge.
Once inside, Rigel headed toward the bookshelf, hoping to find something to read to while away the rest of the afternoon.
As he crossed the room, whispers followed him. Low, sharp, just loud enough to be caught if one listened.
"Blood traitor.""Disgrace.""Mudblood lover."
Some students sneered as the words passed between them. Others ignored him entirely, as if he didn't exist at all.
Rigel kept walking, head held high, unmoved by the murmurs around him, thinking only, 'At least they're better company than all of you.'
As soon as he reached the bookshelf, Rigel scanned it for a book that could stave off his boredom.
Once he found one, he extended his hand only for it to be snatched away by a prefect, who left without a word.
He reached for another book, only to have it stolen by another upper-year.
Realizing the futility of trying to find a decent read, he let out a deep breath, fists clenching until his fingers reddened, the tension spreading through his hands, then turned and started handing toward his room.
The weekend passed amid disdain, hidden derision, and the deliberate distancing of Rigel's housemates. It was now clear to all that he wasn't accepted within his own household.
On Monday morning, Rigel sat at the breakfast table, alone. No one ventured near him, leaving the space wide and empty, isolating him further.
At that moment, a black owl glided down, clutching a letter. It dropped the envelope right in front of Rigel before tracing a smooth parabola to land beside him, fixing him with a stare that seemed to say it expected a treat for its work.
Rigel, with a sigh of surrender, took some bacon slices from the table and handed them to the owl, who pecked at them without hesitation.
Once he had retrieved the letter, Rigel checked it for possible pranks or curses. Satisfied that it was safe, he opened it and unfolded the contents.
My dearest Heir and Great-Grandson,
I am writing to inform you that your previously planned return for the Yuletide holiday has been cancelled, as I have matters to attend to that will prevent my presence at home.
Therefore, you will be remaining at Hogwarts for the holidays. To avoid any potential tarnishing of the Black family's reputation, I have taken steps to prepare any gifts you may have already arranged, and to prepare some for any new acquaintances you may encounter.
Now, reluctantly turning to a sadder matter, I inform you that the lead singer of that Muggle band you fancied, Queen, passed away last month.
Yours, as ever,Great-Grandfather Arcturus Black
P.S. Remember to search diligently for a suitable match to continue the bloodline.
Rigel sighed, demoralized and mildly annoyed. With a faint hiss, he muttered,
He left the bench and started heading off in search of her, resigning himself to the fact that he would also need to send a detailed letter back to Gramp.
And so the day began, beautiful in the way only disasters ever are, promising a week just as pleasant.
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