April 14, morning.
Rigel sat at the table with Arcturus. Breakfast was a silent ritual, marked by the clink of silverware, the scent of black tea, and the rustle of the Daily Prophet's pages.
The door opened quietly: the soft sound of sandals and the rustle of a robe announced Osric's arrival. The house elf approached with measured steps, carrying a silver tray. On it lay a cream-colored envelope sealed with red wax.
"Master Rigel, this letter has arrived for you," he announced respectfully, bowing his head slightly.
Rigel looked up, his green-steel eyes falling on the unmistakable seal: the large H surrounded by the animals of the four houses.Arcturus watched over the rim of the newspaper, a shadow of pride and nostalgia crossing his gaze.
Rigel slit the envelope and unfolded the parchment. His sharp eyes scanned the elegant handwriting:
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and WizardryHeadmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards)
Dear Mr Serpico-Black
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Your's sincerely, Minerva McGonagallDeputy Headmistress
On the second page, the detailed list of requirements awaited:
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Requirements for First-Year Students
Uniform
Three sets of plain work robes (black)
One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)All clothing should carry name tags.
Course Books
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
Other Equipment
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set of glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set of brass scales
Students may also bring an owl, a cat, or a toad.
Parents are reminded that first-years are not allowed to bring their own broomstick
Rigel whit a faint smile touched his face: that day, his birthday, also marked the beginning of his true story.
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It was later in the day, just before lunch, when Arcturus and Rigel arrived at Gringotts. They walked straight to the counter, Arcturus silent at his side, letting Rigel take the lead.
Without a word of introduction, Rigel's cold, eerie voice cut through the hall:"I desire to withdraw from my vault."
The goblin behind the counter froze, fingers hovering mid-air. Centuries of dealing with wizards had taught him caution, but this tone… it was sharp, commanding, almost unnatural.
"Your vault…?" the goblin asked cautiously, peering at Rigel.
The goblin's gaze flicked to Arcturus, then back to the boy. "And… who are you, exactly?" His voice was low, carefully measured.
"Rigel Serpico-Black, head of House Serpico," he said, his voice steady, carrying an unyielding weight. "And, as I already mentioned, I'm here to withdraw from my vault."
Arcturus remained silent behind him, his presence secondary, a shadow compared to the weight of the Serpico name.
The goblin froze, fingers suspended mid-gesture. "Can you prove your identity? And do you have the key?"
Rigel said nothing. A faint, knowing smirk curved his lips as he lifted his hand, displaying the signet ring gleaming on his middle finger a symbol of the Serpico legacy. From his pocket, he produced the heavy iron vault key and held it before the clerk.
The goblin's gaze flicked between ring and key, and for a moment, the centuries of protocol and caution collided with the undeniable authority in Rigel's bearing. Respect and perhaps a touch of fear washed over his features.
With a measured, almost resigned nod, the goblin stepped aside, acknowledging that no hesitation would be tolerated before the head of Serpico.
Time passed. Rigel returned from the vault, the heavy key cool in his hand. He walked up to Arcturus and, casual as if discussing the weather, said "I recovered what we came for. We could go, Gramp."
He turned then to the goblin at the counter. A deranged smile crept across his face the sort of smile that made the air feel colder. "May your enemies die in agonizing pain," he intoned, voice low and steady "while their blood and gold dry. And may your vault be filled with gold as your enemies perish."
The words fell like a curse. The goblin stood frozen, eyes wide, fingers clenched on the ledger. Around them the hall's usual murmur seemed to dim; even the distant clink of coins sounded thin. Rigel merely nodded once, pocketed the key, and turned away. Arcturus followed in silence.
Behind them, the goblin remained rooted to his place the phrase echoing in his head, and the memory of those green-steel eyes burning, Rigel's boots echoed lightly against the polished floor as he left Gringotts, the weight of the recovered wealth in his bag barely noticeable compared to the cold thrill in his chest. Arcturus walked silently at his side, a steady shadow to his grandson's unnerving calm.
As they stepped out of Gringotts, Arcturus finally spoke, voice low and gravelly: "Your father would have approved."
Outside, the London air bit at his face, but Rigel paid it no mind. His mind was already moving ahead Ollivander's. The wand. Every detail mattered: the wood, the core, the length. A tool of power, yes, but more importantly, a conduit for his will.
Rigel and Arcturus stepped into the quiet, dimly lit shop. Shelves upon shelves of wands lined the walls, but Rigel's gaze did not wander. He did not need one from the stock he intended something far more precise.
Ollivander's eyes softened for a brief moment, a flicker of memory crossing his features. "Ah… a Mr. Serpico. I remember your mother's wand as if it were yesterday ten and a quarter inches, holly, with a dragon heartstring, and remarkably flexible."
Rigel's green-steel eyes flickered, a faint shadow of recognition or perhaps amusement passing over his face. He said nothing, simply observing, letting the old wandmaker linger on the past.
"I'm here for a wand," Rigel said, his tone calm but edged with command.
"Naturally," Ollivander replied, a small smile forming, "and we shall find the one that suits you..."
"No, Mr. Ollivander," Rigel interrupted, his green-steel eyes locking onto the wandmaker's. "I am not here to choose. I am here to commission a wand. One made to my specifications."
Arcturus's stern features softened just for an instant, pride flickering in his steel-grey eyes; in Rigel he saw not only the heir of Serpico, but proof that the bloodline's brilliance had not dimmed and that perhaps there was still hope for the Black.
Ollivander blinked, his curiosity piqued. "A commission… and the core?"
Rigel's gaze sharpened. "A basilisk fang."
The wandmaker's fingers twitched over the counter, a mix of reverence and concern in his expression. "Such a wand… it will be unlike any I have made before."
"Good" Rigel said softly, a faint, eerie smirk touching his lips. "Then begin."
Ollivander began, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Which is your wand arm?"
Rigel's gaze was steady. "I'm ambidextrous, but I prefer the right."
The wandmaker nodded and began taking careful measurements, the faint hum of magic brushing against the edges of the shop. After a moment, he looked up, voice soft but precise. "I may need a drop of blood… to determine which wood will resonate most harmoniously with you."
Without hesitation, Rigel extended his finger. A small, precise cut appeared, and a drop of blood welled up. "It's done" he said simply.
From his pocket, Rigel withdrew a polished basilisk fang and held it out to Ollivander.
The wandmaker's eyes widened slightly, studying it with a mixture of awe and caution. "Impressive… a formidable choice. This will resonate with remarkable potency."
He studied the drop of blood again for a heartbeat, then nodded almost reverently. "Very well, Mr. Serpico. I shall send an owl to you as soon as your wand is finished."
Rigel's lips curved into a faint smirk, his green-steel eyes reflecting a mixture of patience and anticipation. "Thank you. I can't wait to see it."
With that, he turned to Arcturus, and together they left Ollivander's, heading to collect the other necessary items before returning home.
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It had been a couple of weeks since Rigel had commissioned his wand, and today was the day it was ready. The morning sun cast long, narrow shadows across Diagon Alley as he stepped out, accompanied only by Etheline. The streets buzzed with wizards and witches, but Rigel moved with an effortless calm, his green-steel eyes scanning the familiar storefronts.
When they reached Ollivanders, the narrow shop seemed even quieter than usual. Dust motes danced in the beams of light filtering through the windows, and the scent of polished wood and old magic lingered in the air.
"Mr. Serpico," Ollivander greeted, appearing from the rows of wand boxes as if summoned by the very anticipation in Rigel's stride. "I have it ready for you."
Rigel's lips curved faintly, the familiar smirk hinting at his patience and self-assuredness. "Finally."
Ollivander retrieved a long, gleaming wand from a velvet-lined box, holding it reverently. "Eleven inches, black Ash wood, with a basilisk fang core, as requested. Pliable, yet firm resonant with your own magical signature."
Rigel's fingers closed around it instinctively, and a faint hiss rippled through the wand, like a snake trying to speak to him a remnant of a majestic creature offering its service, even from death. The vibration coursed along his arm, a subtle promise of loyalty and power. A faint smirk curved his lips, followed by a low, unsettling laugh that sent a chill down Ollivander's spine. Without another word, Rigel thanked him, laid down thirty-seven galleons, and added a wand holster and a set of cleaning tools to his purchase.
Then, with the same quiet confidence, he turned and stepped out of the shop. The bell above the door chimed faintly, swallowed almost instantly by the hum of Diagon Alley. Wand in hand, Rigel made his way back home, the anticipation of testing his own personal spells burning cold and bright behind his green-steel eyes.
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