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July 1986,
12, Grimmauld Place, London,
In a room on the second floor of the house, a young boy, just a few months past six, was quietly dressing himself. Despite his age, he had no trouble buttoning his shirt, undershirt, or adjusting the sleeves of his robes. He handled his clothes with surprising precision before glancing at his reflection in the mirror.
He had black hair, black eyes, and fair skin, features that gave him a striking appearance. Dressed in black, he might have been considered attractive had he been older. For now, though, he was simply cute. But even that didn't quite capture him. There was something else, something unusual in his eyes: a maturity far beyond his years.
And there was a reason for that. Though his body was that of a child, his mind was not. He was an adult, a man who had once died and somehow awakened in the body of this boy at the moment of his birth
"Never thought rebirth or reincarnation could actually be real…" he muttered with a thoughtful expression.
"Not to mention, I have been reborn into the past, and that too in the Magical Britain…" This was another surprise.
Rebirth wasn't exactly something he'd expected to experience—mind you, not many would. But waking up in Magical Britain of all places, and in the bloody 1980s? That was properly mental.
'Did Regulus Black even have a son in canon?' Rigel hadn't a clue. Far as he could remember, no such thing ever happened in the original story. And this Elizabeth Sayre woman? Never heard of her, she wasn't mentioned anywhere, either.
Yet here he was, Rigel Black. Son of Regulus Black and some mystery witch named Elizabeth Sayre.
"Oh well, doesn't matter," the boy muttered with a shrug, clearly unfussed. Whether someone named Rigel Black existed in canon or not was neither here nor there, because now, he was Rigel Black and he exists… and that was that.
With that in mind, Rigel dropped the question altogether, and once he had properly dressed himself properly he nodded, "Hmm… this should be fine…"
As the boy nodded to himself, a magical portrait hanging on the wall stirred. It showed an old witch with grey hair tucked under a pointed black hat, who called out to him, "Rigel, dear… where are you off to?"
"Morning, Grandma. Thought you were still having a kip," Rigel replied, turning to face the portrait of Walburga Black.
With both his parents having died before he was even born, it had fallen to his grandparents to raise him, well, the very woman in that portrait and her late husband, Orion.
Sadly, neither had lived long enough to see him grow up. Orion had passed when Rigel was barely a year old, and Walburga had followed just last year… leaving him the sole living human in the ancient House of Black.
Of course, just because he was the only living human in the house didn't mean he was the only soul about. The house-elf, Kreacher, still lived with him and made sure everything ran like clockwork.
If it weren't for Kreacher, life would've been a right bother, especially with Rigel being so physically young. But with the house elf around, he didn't have much to worry about. He was free to focus on whatever he fancied.
'The only trouble with him is that he's a bit too abusive on himself…' Rigel thought with a sigh. Kreacher was brilliant at what he did, no doubt about that, but he had this nasty habit of punishing himself whenever he thought he'd let Rigel down. 'Still… something like that has been ingrained into the nature of House Elves… so whatever,' he mused, shaking his head.
Unaware of Rigel's inner musings, the portrait of Walburga stirred and spoke. "Just woke up…" she said, then asked, "And where are you off to?"
"A funeral," Rigel replied quietly.
"A funeral? Whose?" asked Walburga through the portrait with a frown.
"A Mudblood's," Rigel answered casually, as if he hadn't just uttered something wildly offensive. But what could he do? Raised by Walburga, he'd grown up hearing the word thrown about so often that it became second nature. At this point, it didn't bother him in the slightest, he used the term himself regularly, regardless of its implications.
"A Mudblood's funeral? Why on earth would you attend the funeral of a filthy Mudblood?" Walburga's frown deepened, she clearly hadn't expected something like this from him.
"One's got to witness the result of their handiwork, don't they?" Rigel chuckled.
The meaning of his words sank in, and for a moment, Walburga was silent, stunned. But then, a faint smile crept across her face, and she nodded with pride. "Good boy…"
She didn't care what her grandson had done to a Mudblood. In fact, she was proud, proud that he was acting like a proper pure-blood, just as she had taught him.
"It'd be marvellous if the lot of them just vanished," she muttered with a hopeful sigh.
"Well… something like that," Rigel murmured vaguely. "Dunno really… might give it a thought later on."
The truth was, what he'd done to this supposed Mudblood, he'd done with purpose. While that was undeniably cold-blooded, that didn't mean he was following some daft 'wipe out all Mudbloods' agenda.
No, that was not his intention… at least, not for now.
His motivations were far more calculated than that.
But Walburga didn't need to know that.
'Although even if I did tell her, it wouldn't make much difference, she's already dead. Still… she is my gran and raised me for five years to be a proper Black. No need to disappoint her outright,' he thought.
Blissfully unaware of her grandson's inner musings, Walburga, beaming with pride, said. "Do be careful not to get yourself into trouble, hmm?"
"I'm taking Kreacher with me, so there's nowt to worry about," Rigel replied with a nod.
After all, the magic of House elves is really convenient… so for him who doesn't yet know how to use Apparition, going to the place with Kreacher is the only logical choice.
"All right then… have fun, dear," Walburga said with a satisfied nod before settling back.
"Will do," Rigel replied, then called out, "Kreacher."
With a soft pop, the old house-elf appeared behind him. "Master Rigel called for Kreacher?"
"Come on, we've got to leg it, it's nearly time. I've no intention of showing up too late," Rigel said, stretching out his hand.
"Yes, Master Rigel," Kreacher nodded, reaching out and taking his hand as he activated his Elven Magic.
A moment later, with another sharp pop, the two vanished from the room.
'It was time to get myself a proper Milf of a maid…'
…
A Hidden Grove, Somewhere remote in Southern England,
A crack echoed faintly in the quiet countryside as Rigel and Kreacher appeared at the edge of a small, mist-covered graveyard. The morning air was crisp, carrying the damp scent of wet earth and fallen leaves. A fine drizzle dusted the tombstones, making them glisten like dew-coated marble under the overcast sky.
Rigel looked around with mild curiosity. The graveyard wasn't large — maybe a hundred plots, all enclosed within an old wrought-iron fence. A small stone chapel sat at the far end, its narrow spire poking up like a lone tooth in the grey morning light. Everything about the place felt… simple.
He adjusted his robes, took a slow breath, and began walking towards the small group gathered ahead, Kreacher trailing silently behind him like a shadow.
The mourners were all wizards, dressed in robes black as pitch, wands clutched in solemn hands, faces drawn with quiet grief. No more than a dozen had turned up, most of them looking to be in their early thirties.
Rigel didn't spot any familiar faces, well, none but two. Still, he didn't focus on them straight away. Instead, he took a moment to observe the rest.
'Except for Aunty, all of them are either Mudbloods or half-bloods…' he thought, but wasn't repulsed as he strolled over and took his place off to the side.
As Rigel approached the group, a few heads turned—people had clearly noticed him. For a moment, they wondered if a Muggle child or a Muggle-born child had mistakenly appeared at the funeral of a wizard… but noticing his robes that clearly spoke of wizard background, they concluded that he was the child of a wizard. But the question was, whose child?
Naturally, a child couldn't have turned up at a funeral unaccompanied, which must mean that he was a child of someone among them… Some exchanged glances, quietly wondering if he belonged to any of them. But when no one stepped forward, they simply assumed he was someone else's responsibility.
That changed the moment they clocked the house-elf behind him.
Their expressions shifted, curious, wary. This wasn't just some random boy.
A child with a house-elf in tow? Obviously, that speaks of Old Wizarding families.
After all, House elves were usually found under the employment of Old Wizarding families, and for the child to be accompanied by a House elf, it only meant that the child was from an Old Wizarding family.
But the question was from which Wizarding Family?
"Maybe he's from the House of Black…?" a woman by the name of Anna William whispered.
It wasn't exactly a tough guess.
Only the House of Black made any real sense. There was no reason for a wizard from any other old family to turn up at the funeral of a Muggle-born wizard.
And as for why it made sense for a Black person to be here? Well… that's because there was at least one person among the mourners known to have ties to that ancient house, even if those ties had long since been severed.
Now, while the wizards had more or less sussed it out, none of them made a move to approach the boy or his house-elf. Part of it was not knowing what to say to a stranger boy, but more than that, it was a mix of fear and resentment of the House of Black.
After all, the House of Black had quite the reputation… known far and wide for producing more than a few nasty pieces of work in Death Eater robes. They simply didn't want to get close to someone from such a background, not if they didn't have to, especially at such a place as a graveyard where they had gathered to mourn the loss of their friend.
Fortunately for them, the boy didn't come over either. He simply stood a fair distance away, silent and still as he watched the funeral ceremony.
…
Then came the final rite. A witch with long brown curls stood at the forefront, tears brimming in her eyes and grief etched across her face. Silently, she raised her wand and cast the spell, gently guiding the coffin into the grave before sealing it with a final sweep.
Her husband was laid to rest beneath a simple headstone that read: Here rests Edward 'Ted' Tonks, 1953 – 1986.
Once the headstone was in place, the elder wizard priest raised his voice in a solemn tone.
"May his wand lie still, his magic return to the source, and his name be remembered in the Hall of Echoes."
"Amen."
"Amen!" "Amen!" "Amen!" the mourners echoed, one after another, lifting their wands as the tips lit with soft, glowing light.
A small witch with mouse-brown hair clinging to her tear-streaked cheeks stepped forward, her eyes heavy with sorrow. Wordlessly, she placed a bouquet of flowers atop the gravestone, her shoulders trembling ever so slightly.
Watching the burial conclude, Rigel mused to himself, 'Funny, really… how adrenaline, something the body naturally produces, can turn lethal when injected deliberately into the body with foul intent…'
He paused, then muttered under his breath, "Can leave a wife widowed…"
His eyes shifted to the weeping, middle-aged witch with long brown curls. Even with her tear-streaked cheeks, weary eyes, and grief-lined face, there was no denying she was an absolute beautiful witch, practically radiating the unmistakable blood of the House of Black.
She reminded Rigel of another one of his aunts, the one currently rotting in Azkaban. Based on the pictures he had seen of that beautiful yet psychotic aunt, he had to say that the resemblance between the two was uncanny.
"And a daughter without a father…" he added, glancing at the little witch who had burst into tears while burying her head into her mother's stomach.
…
Once the funeral ceremony came to an end, the mourners stepped forward to offer their condolences to the grieving pair of mother and daughter.
"If there's anything you need… don't hesitate. Whether for Edward's sake or for old time's sake, we'll be there," one of them said gently.
"I will… thank you," the woman replied, dabbing at her tears with a handkerchief while holding on to the shoulder of her only daughter as she gave a faint nod.
In the midst of the condolences offering, Anna William leaned in and whispered to the witch, "There's someone else here, Andromeda…" And nodded discreetly toward the young boy standing off in the distance beside a house-elf. "That child turned up not long ago. Been standing there ever since… We reckon he's from the House of Black."
"From the House of Black?" the Andromeda frowned, glancing toward the boy and the house elf beside him. Her eyes widened. "He is…"
"Mum, who's that boy?" the little girl beside her asked, tugging gently at her sleeve.
"Dora, stay here," the woman said gently. "I'm just going to have a quick word with him." Then she turned to Anna William and added, "Please keep an eye on Dora for a bit…"
Anna William gave a small nod, "Alright," as she held Andromeda's daughter by the shoulder.
Meanwhile, the middle-aged witch herself made her way toward the boy.
As she drew closer, she found something strangely familiar about his face, he looked so much like her younger cousin. 'Could it be him? Regulus?' she wondered, her brow furrowed. 'No… impossible. He was older… this one's just a child… Even younger than Dora… Not to mention, there were rumors that he possibly…'
But the resemblance was uncanny, and she couldn't help herself.
"Regulus?" she asked hesitantly.
"His son, actually," the boy replied, calm and composed. "I'm sorry for your loss, Aunt Andromeda."
"A-Aunt? You're… Regulus'?" Andromeda asked, taken aback.
"That's right," the boy nodded, offering a curt introduction. "Name's Rigel Black, son of Regulus Black."
"Rigel Black…" mumbled Andromeda, repeating the boy's name.
…
"You sure about this, Andromeda? He really is from the House of Black, isn't he? Doesn't that mean…" Anna William asked, eyeing the young boy beside the teenage girl with open suspicion. In her mind, there was no good reason for anyone from that lot to be here, especially not after the Blacks had disowned Andromeda.
"Yes, he is a relative…" Andromeda nodded, glancing at Rigel and Kreacher before continuing, "We'll be fine. He doesn't seem to mean any harm. Still, I'll need a proper chat with him to understand why he's come. After all this time… But honestly, I don't think it's anything bad…"
"But you know… he's Black," the blonde-haired man standing beside Anna William, Drek William said hesitantly. "And every Black's either a Bloody Death Eater or a…"
"It's alright," Andromeda interrupted Drek William from finishing his words, and reminded him, "If you don't recall, Drek, I too am a Black, even if I was disowned. And he's just a child, came by to offer his condolences after hearing about Ted's death. There's no way he came here with bad intentions… is there?"
"N… no… Andromeda, that's not what I mean… I was just… You know… I am just concerned about you…" With a stiff expression, Drek tried to explain himself as he sensed Andromeda's dissatisfied tone.
"I am alright…" nodded Andromeda, and said, "There is no need for any concern…"
"No… Andromeda, I was just…" Drek said once again, fearing that if he didn't explain himself, a misunderstanding would appear between them, and he didn't want that to happen.
"Alright… alright… Drek, she gets it…" Anna William interfered and stopped her husband from continuing to speak. Then turned back to Andromeda, and gave her a nod, "If you are certain about this, then there's no problem… But for Ted's sake, if anything bad happens, you know you can come to us, yeah?"
"I know," Andromeda said with a soft nod to both Anna and Drek William.
"Right. Take care of yourself, and little Nymphadora too," Anna repeated, pulling Andromeda into a brief hug before stepping back.
Drek, meanwhile, looked a tad hesitant. He stepped forward slightly, as if he meant to hug Andromeda too, but noticing her guarded posture, he settled for placing a hand on her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze.
"If anything comes up, even something small, don't hesitate to reach out, yeah? I'll be there to help. Don't forget that," he said with a nod.
Anna, watching from the side, frowned ever so slightly. Something about the exchange between her husband and her friend didn't sit quite right with her.
As for Andromeda, she felt a flicker of discomfort from Drek's touch, but the weight of grief pressing down on her left her too numb to care. She simply nodded, almost on autopilot. "I… will…"
Satisfied, Drek turned his attention to Nymphadora… his gaze lingered on her for a moment, a flicker of hidden contempt in his eyes. Then he turned on his heel and said to his wife, "Come on, let's go."
The two gave one last nod to Andromeda before disappearing with a soft crack.
Rigel, who'd been watching the whole exchange from the sidelines, thought to himself, 'Now that is… interesting…' He couldn't help but wonder if the pair would be having a bit of a row once they returned to their home.
But all of that had nothing to do with him for now as he put the thought at the back of his mind.
With the Williams couple gone, Andromeda turned to his daughter and Rigel and questioned, "Shall we head off, then?"
Nymphadora nodded. "Yes, Mum."
Rigel echoed her, "Yes, Aunty."
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That's it for this chapter. Hope you enjoyed reading this one!
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