It was deep in the night, and Rigel waited near the Trophy Room while humming in a soft voice "MMH-mmh-mmh… MMH-mmh-mmh-mmh… MMH-mmh-mmh… MMH-mmh-mmh… MMH-mmh-mmh… MMHDA!". Around midnight, he finally heard footsteps, four sets, judging by the soft echo off the flagstones. He exhaled softly, almost amused."So they actually came… and together, no less."
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Harry and Ron crept through the dim corridors with Hermione trailing behind, still fuming that she hadn't managed to talk them out of this idiocy, and Neville, freshly released from the infirmary, having forgotten the common room password, he'd simply tagged along when he saw the others leaving, since the Fat Lady had left her portrait.
They were steps away from the Trophy Room when a voice slid out of the darkness.
"Malfoy, you neglected to appoint a referee for the duel."
Ron nearly jumped out of his skin. "Aaaaaah....Bloody hell!"
Hermione immediately hushed him. "Keep your voice down, or someone will discover we're out of bed after curfew!"
Ron shot Hermione an annoyed glare before turning back to Rigel. "What's another Slytherin doing here? Malfoy brought backup, did he?"
Rigel didn't bother answering immediately. He simply looked at Ron with a trace of amusement, then shifted his attention to Harry."So, Potter… clever of you to think about to bring a referee." His eyes drifted briefly to Neville, then back to Ron. "Relax. I'm not here for Malfoy. Since he never appointed a referee, I get the honor. Though, judging by your friend's brilliant plan, it seems I didn't had to rush."
His gaze slid to Hermione."And let me guess Granger tried to talk some sense into you?"
Ron and Harry traded matching guilty looks at that.
Hermione was left speechless by Rigel's conclusion completely wrong, of course but that wasn't what unsettled her. What struck her was the glimpse of who he had become: the effortless way he navigated wizarding customs, the confidence, the distance. He felt far older than the boy she'd played with for years… and far further from her.
What stung most was how he'd addressed her. Granger.Like any other student.Like they were strangers.Like the moments they'd shared before Hogwarts didn't matter the moment the Hat placed them in different houses.
The realization hit harder than she wanted to admit.
But beneath the hurt, a small, stubborn spark of hope refused to die.He wouldn't ignore me for no reason… There has to be an explanation. Something I don't know yet.
With that thought fragile, desperate, but hers she forced herself to breathe, to steady the sharp ache in her chest, and to cling to the possibility that their friendship wasn't entirely gone.
Harry, flustered by the accusation, started, "No..... I didn't....."But he never got the chance to finish.
A low, rasping voice drifted down the corridor:
"Mrs. Norris… did you sniff out some students wandering about after hours?"
Rigel went rigid. The color drained from his face just enough to betray the trouble. Under his breath, barely audible, he muttered,
He pivoted toward the Gryffindors. "Run?"
Harry and Ron shared one quick, silent look a perfect blend of panic and agreement.
"Run!" Ron hissed, already sprinting after Harry.
They tore through the corridor like a hunted pack, robes snapping at their heels, torchlight smearing across the walls as the shadows stretched and warped with every frantic turn. Their footsteps hammered against the stone loud, panicked, impossible to hide. Neville was already wheezing, barely keeping upright, looking one stumble away from collapsing entirely.
They skidded around a sharp bend and slammed straight into the last creature anyone wanted to meet at midnight.
Peeves hung upside down in midair, grinning ear to ear like a gremlin waiting for a disaster to happen. His eyes gleamed with unholy delight.
"Ohhh, what do we have here?" he cackled, flipping upright with a snap. "Naughty, naughty children sneaking about… Filchy-witchy will love this!"
And with a shriek of laughter that rattled the armor on the walls, Peeves shot off down the corridor at full speed, howling for Filch like a demented alarm bell.
In a desperate last attempt to escape, hearing the caretaker's footsteps drawing closer, Hermione whipped out her wand. "Alohomora!". The nearest door clicked open, and the group rushed inside, slamming it shut behind them.
Little did they know it was the forbidden floor.
Their gasps faded into the dusty darkness of the room, breaths still unsteady, hearts still pounding. Hermione lowered her wand with trembling fingers, Neville sagged against the nearest wall, and Ron wheezed something that vaguely resembled a prayer of thanks.
Rigel, by contrast, looked like he'd just stepped off a pleasant evening stroll.
His lips curved into a slow, wicked grin, one that didn't belong on an eleven-year-old's face. A low, gravel-edged chuckle slipped out unsettlingly real, utterly amused.
"Ah," he murmured, savoring the adrenaline still humming under his skin. "That was… strangely fun. We should do it again sometime."
The Gryffindor quartet just stared at him, speechless, exchanging bewildered glances as if questioning whether he was serious or completely mad.
Ron mouthed, Is he serious?
Neville whimpered.
Hermione shot Rigel a look halfway between disbelief and betrayal.
Harry's question died on his tongue the moment that wet thud hit his shoulder.
He froze. Everyone did.
A slow, viscous drip slid down Harry's robe, warm and foul-smelling. Then came the growl deep, rumbling, the kind that vibrated in the bones more than the ears.
Harry turned.
Ron paled.
Neville whimpered something that sounded like a final prayer.
Hermione's breath hitched.
And Rigel… Rigel just lifted his gaze with the calm, bone-dry resignation of someone who had expected the night to get worse and was annoyed to be proven right.
The thing looming over them was massive easily filling the space between wall and door. Three heads, each with jaws that could fit a first-year whole, eyed them like a Hungarian Horntail spotting a runaway wizzard. Thick ropes of drool slapped onto the floor with wet smacks. The enchanted candles flickered wildly in the draft of its breath, stretching their shadows like grasping claws.
The left head snarled.
The right head bared its teeth.
The center head inhaled deeply, savoring scent panic, sweat, adrenaline. A perfect midnight snack.
"Brilliant," Ron whispered hoarsely. "We're food."
Rigel clicked his tongue once, irritation flashing over his face like a passing shadow."Of course," he muttered dryly. "Of course it's this room."
The beast took a heavy, earth-shaking step forward.
And the children finally understood just how badly they'd screwed up.
Rigel tilted his head, unfazed, and murmured with genuine curiosity, "What a good boy?"Before anyone could stop him, he actually reached toward one of the massive heads as if to pet it.
Hermione choked on her own breath. "Are you insane?!"She seized him by the arm and wrenched him backward with all the strength her panic could muster. Ron, Harry, and Neville didn't wait they bolted.
Rigel let himself get dragged, laughing under his breath while the Cerberus snarled behind them.
They didn't stop running until they'd hurled themselves through the Fat Lady's portrait. Only once the painting swung shut behind them did they realize, in the chaos, they'd completely abandoned Neville exhausted, breathless, and now stranded outside with no password.
Ron, with Harry and Hermione at his heels, started toward the staircase that split into the two dormitory wings. They slowed at the base of it, finally stopping to catch their breath and talk.
Meanwhile, Rigel, apparently forgotten entirely in the chaos, remained where he stood, quietly taking in the Gryffindor common room.
It was… warm. Disarmingly so.
The place radiated a kind of lived-in comfort: red-and-gold tapestries draped across uneven walls, old portraits dozing in their frames, a scatter of worn armchairs slumped around the hearth. The fire had been banked recently; the faint scent of woodsmoke still clung to the air. It felt like a place meant to be inhabited, laughed in, argued in.
A stark contrast to the cold, curated grandeur of the Slytherin dungeons all polished tradition and aristocratic stiffness.
Rigel found himself taken aback despite every instinct urging him not to be.And then uninvited, unwelcome a long-buried memory surfaced.
He was small again, barely tall enough to reach the edge of the hearth. His mother's arms around him, the crackle of Yule firelight dancing across her face, both of them laughing at something he could no longer fully recall. Warmth. Safety. A moment that had felt eternal.
And like all good things, it had vanished far too quickly.
The memory slipped away as abruptly as it came. A single tear threatened, but Rigel crushed it down with the practiced ruthlessness of someone who learned early that softness was a luxury. He held it in, jaw tight, the only sign of the fracture within him a faint, fleeting smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
A ghost of a past he refused to mourn.Then, with the tail of his ear, he caught Ron's voice thin, trembling, and failing miserably at sounding brave.
"What do they think they're playing at? Keeping a thing like that locked up in a school!" Ron burst out, louder than anyone should be at this hour fearful, angry, and more than a little shaken.
Hermione cut in, trying very hard to sound composed despite the tremor in her own voice. "You don't use your eyes, do you? Didn't you see what it was standing on?"
Ron whipped around to stare at her, more rattled than before." I wasn't looking at its feet! I was a bit preoccupied with its heads. Or maybe you didn't notice, there were three!"
Hermione huffed, exasperated at their collective lack of awareness."It was standing on a trap door. Which means it wasn't there by accident. It's guarding something."
Harry, still shaken and slightly dazed, a smear of drool from the creature still clinging to his robe, blinked at her. "Guarding something?"
Hermione, exhausted from the hour and the near-death experience, drew herself up with what little dignity she had left. "That's right. Now, if you two don't mind, I'm going to bed before either of you come up with another clever idea to get us killed...or worse, expelled!"
A pointed silence followed right until a quiet cough cut through it.
Rigel, still standing where they'd completely forgotten him, raised a brow. "Now really, Granger.... was it that bad?"
The trio froze mid-step, turning toward Rigel in stiff, mechanical unison like someone had hit pause and rotate at the same time.
Hermione, Harry, and Ron all equally baffled burst out,"What are you doing here?!"
Harry, still staring at him like Rigel had sprouted a second head, added in sheer confusion,"And… how did you even get inside?"
Hermione's eyes narrowed, the first spark of deduction breaking through her exhaustion.She took a cautious step forward.
"Wait… how long were you standing there?"
Rigel blinked at them, looking genuinely confused for half a second before slipping into a faint, theatrical offense.
"What do you mean?" he asked, hand lifting in a small, incredulous gesture. "I was with you. From the moment we bolted, Granger practically dragged me in here."He gave her a pointed look more amused than accusatory.
Then he let his gaze drift around the room, taking in the tapestries and the still-warm hearth with unhurried calm.
"Anyway," he added, tone returning to its usual cool evenness, "your common room isn't bad. Cozy. Very… Gryffindor."
Hermione stared at him, stunned, then buried her face in her hands."I can't believe this… I forgot you were even here. You shouldn't be in the Gryffindor common room please just… go."
Ron, who had recovered just enough to be rude, jabbed a finger toward the portrait hole."Yeah, get out, Snake."
Harry still hadn't fully rejoined reality. He just blinked at Rigel like someone had hit him with a soft, low-budget Petrificus Totalus.
Rigel took it all with a small, unsettling smirk."Alright, alright. I'm leaving."He turned toward the portrait hole, stepped halfway through then paused.
His shoe nudged something on the floor.A small groan rose from the bundle of robes."Mmh…?"
Rigel glanced down, clicking his tongue."Longbottom," he said, voice flat but sharp. "Get inside. A pure-blood has more dignity than sleeping in a corridor."
He waited just long enough to see Neville stumble to his feet and slip into the room half-awake, half-confused before Rigel stepped out into the hallway and let the portrait swing shut behind him.
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Rigel sat on the edge of his bed, the dorm quiet enough to feel hollow.The locket rested in his palm too light for something that pressed on him like a stone.
For a moment, the warmth of the Gryffindor fire flickered behind his eyes.Not the tapestries, not the armchairs just the feeling.A room built for living, not posturing.A warmth he'd once known without understanding it.
He felt the ache rise, quiet and traitorous.
He strangled it before it reached his throat.
Longing was pointless. Dangerous. A luxury for people who still believed someone would reach back.
He snapped the locket shut.The click was sharp, final like a door locking from the inside.
His shoulders dropped by a fraction. Not defeat. Just acceptance.
Tomorrow would be the same as every other day.He'd keep moving. Because stopping had never been an option.
He lay back, eyes open in the dark, and let the silence settle over him like a second skin.
Not comfort.
Not peace.
Just… enough.
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