Chapter 1- Starborn
The summer holidays had always been a sweet relief for Leo, now free from sporting events his foster parents made him do, and the school situation that he desperately wished he could avoid. At 16, Leo had been suspended twice in a year for fights that he didn't even start, being blamed because he had finished them, and was seen as violent and aggressive. A therapist blamed his orphan status, but he believed it was simply due to the two kids being fuckwits.
The holidays meant time alone, to watch the films he liked and to read online novels and fan fiction for as long as he wanted, without curfews or early mornings. Leo had read so much fan fiction, particularly on the Harry Potter universe, that he had a newfound understanding of the lore that isn't covered by the films. Whether canon or not, the variations and explanations of the various authors had provided meaning to actions, built upon discarded characters, and filled in a world that had been explored so little. Was the constant reminder of the Gringotts inheritance tests repetitive? Yes, but it also made some degree of sense, particularly after the first wizarding war with so many young wizards now orphans. In order to limit the number of vaults poached by the greedy goblins, the inheritance test needed to be implemented, lest centuries of family history, legacy and wealth be consumed by the bank's owners.
Finishing yet another epic tale that built upon the realm of Rowling, Leo lay back in bed, wishing for the chance to live in the Harry Potter world, to attend Hogwarts with the characters he'd grown to love and to live with magic. Unfortunately, he was alive, and reincarnation was only a theory used in rubbish novels to explain how a character knows the plot.
*Boom*
With a blinding flash of light, a streak of lightning ripped through the sky, but instead of landing on the telephone pole outside his bedroom, the bolt veered. Blasting instead through the open window on the second floor and killing the boy.
~~~
May 29th, 1991, London
Leo awoke with a splitting headache, the agony almost worse than the horror he'd experienced seeing his death. He'd been lying back on his bed and in but a moment saw the lightning beam through the window and take his life. His surroundings proved it. Sitting in a simple single bed in a dorm-style room, Leo saw a collection of sleeping boys that varied in age from roughly 5 to mid to late teens. The room looked historic, like something his foster parents had shown them in pictures from the late 80s.
Looking across to the bedside table, atop a stack of books detailing astronomy and the star systems, was a small note, written for him. "Leo Jameson, now that I have granted your wish, I hope that you live your life as you wish. For there will not be another. When you finish reading this, the note will evaporate, and your body's memories will finally transfer. Enjoy living with magic, young Rigel. Signed, A reaper who lost a bet."
'My wish,' he thought, thinking back. 'Living with magic, old styled room dated back to the late '80s…I'm in Harry Fucking Potter.' The constant skull-piercing headache suddenly vanished, and the influx of promised memories settled into my head.
Rigel, pronounced similarly to the word regal but the 'I' was like sky, was an orphan. Having never known his father, Rigel Corvus, had taken his mother's maiden name and lived with her until he was 5, when she was killed in a car accident due to a driver who'd fallen asleep at the wheel, his lorry crushing her car instantly. While as a child he had seen the acts of magic his mother would occasionally perform and had had moments of accidental magic at the age of three, Rigel had little understanding of what it was, except that he was special, and shouldn't use magic in front of other people besides her. Rebecca Corvus, his mother, had developed in him a love of books, reading to him every night until he could read himself.
Now eleven, as of this morning, Rigel was a tall boy, standing at 152 centimetres, with a healthy body. The orphanage had good food and the boy would play with the other children most days, whether football, which he heard Americans called soccer for some reason or cricket. With short sides and medium-length tussled back hair on top, hanging in curls that at the front hung in a fringe. The boy's eyes were an unnatural blue, which wouldn't seem real if not for the fact he was right in front of you, so vibrant they almost appeared to glow. Unfortunately for him, none of the caretakers or older women who saw him would call him handsome, instead cute was the word they used. Though he had strong cheekbones for his age, there was no denying that the boy was cute.
"Abandoned by parents in one life, and orphaned in the next," I mutter under my breath. A tapping at the window draws my attention to a large brown owl, smacking the front of its beak into the glass with a letter in its mouth. Getting up and opening the window, Rigel cautiously reaches for the letter, unsure of the bird of prey that was calmly sitting waiting for him. A handwritten letter in an envelope of thick parchment lettered to a Mr R. Corvus. 'Bruce Wayne loses his parents and becomes Batman; I lose them twice and get Hogwarts. I'm definitely winning here.'
Looking at the address written for the letter, "St. Christopher's Home for Boys, The upstairs west bedroom dorm." 'Not quite as specific as Harry's had been, but I guess the magic artifact that locates the students can only recognise the room, not the exact location,' he thought opening the envelope. Looking at the fine penmanship Rigel read;
"HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr Corvus,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. A member of staff will arrive at your place of residence at 10:00 am on the 29th of May, to explain your situation to your caregivers and assist in the purchase of your schooling materials, which can be found on the second sheet.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress."
Rigel then unfolded a second piece of paper that was behind the other, continuing to read;
"HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Uniform
First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags
Set Books
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
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 glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS."
Taking a look at the clock that rested on the wall, Rigel thanked the owl, who took off back into the sky. While annoyed that he would have to wait an hour and a half, he couldn't help but become curious as to who would be sent. Professor McGonagall was often the one sent out to explain the situation, however, he never understood other people's obsession with her. While the character had some funny interactions and cared deeply for those in her house, she was incredibly harsh, was prone to extreme bias, and merely did what she was told to by Dumbledore, who regardless of being canon or fan fiction, was a disappointment and failure, or a manipulative corrupt bastard. Neither of which Rigel wanted anything to do with.
Folding the letter back into the envelope, Rigel returned to his bed, quietly getting dressed before opening the astronomy book that had been open on his table. "Gazing at Stars," it was called, and the open page was detailing his namesake, the Rigel star. Part of the constellation known as Orion, Rigel was the brightest star in the constellation, a bright blue of similar colour to his eyes, the star was 47,000 times as luminous as our own sun. 'Mum had some pretty big expectations I guess,' the boy thought, reading through the names of some famous stars. 'There's something I'm seeing but not recognising,' he grimaced, lying back into his pillow.
~~~
"Dude, Rigel get up." The voice came from another of the boys in the dorm, who'd grabbed and shaken his sleeping dormmate awake. "Ms Greenfeld wants you downstairs, you missed breakfast and there's a visitor here for you. He looked really short though." Hearing Jett, Rigel leapt from bed, racing downstairs with the letter in his pocket, slowing only once he reached the waiting room. This room was often used for when potential adopters would come and look at the children, but most wanted the younger boys, aged 4-7, and despite the cuteness and intelligence of the boy, no one picked him.
*Knock Knock* "It's Rigel, Ms Greenfeld."
"Come in dear." Stepping into the wooden room, brightly lit from the sun-soaked windows and small enough to remain cosy. Seated in the room on the couches were the caretaker and a small man the boy immediately recognised, despite the shimmering image surrounding his head. 'Professor Flitwick is my guide,' he cheered, looking over the man who looked similar to his appearance in the later films, rather than the previous ones. 'No white hair and bald head, definitely a good choice.'
"Mr Corvus," Flitwick said, standing up from the couch, his head dropping lower than it was originally. "Did you receive our letter? From Hogwarts."
"Yes, I've got it here," Rigel says pulling out the letter.
"Good, now Ms Greenfeld would you mind getting us some tea, I just need to answer some private questions about the school." As the older matron left to fetch tea and snacks for the guest, Flitwick turned to the boy. "Have you read it?"
"Yes, my mother used to tell me about Hogwarts before she died. Though I'd like to see you perform magic." Rigel knew what magic looked like of course, having seen his mother do it, but hazy memories didn't compare to the performance of a charms master. Pulling a wand from a holster on his arm, the professor pointed his wand at the small figurine that sat on a shelf in the room. Making the stone-carved horse as tall as Flitwick's waist dance around the room, and a small violin be pulled from his pocket, enlarged and begin to play itself, was a, for lack of a better term, magical experience. "So how does this work," the young orphan asked, "Does Ms Greenfeld already know, or is there some concocted story?"
"Your caretaker knows that we are an elite and selective boarding school that you have been selected for. A confundus charm and she'll never question it." Hearing the approaching footsteps, the half-goblin returned the charmed objects to their original places. "We will have the tea and then I'll take you to Diagon Alley for your school supplies he said."
~~~
Being side-along apparated was one of the most disconcerting feelings Rigel had ever experienced, and he'd woken up in a new body just this morning. Opening his eyes as sounds reached his ears, the boy looked up at saw the brightly lit street of Diagon Alley. With colourful and crooked buildings that structurally seemed flimsy at best, with large groups of people, families and shoppers alike roaming the strip of shops.
"Woah."
"Woah indeed, Mr Corvus. Now please follow me to Gringotts Bank, where you shall be given your student allowance and perform your bloodline test."
"Wait what?" the boy said, shocked that the fan fiction had actually gotten something correct. 'Give me money,' he thought, picturing the wealth he'd seen in the Lestrange's vault. Not that he wanted to be a Lestrange, but the idea of Rudolphus or Rababstan being his father disgusted him.
"Yes, after the last war, a large number of wizarding families were left bare, or with few members to carry on the name and legacy. As a result, it became law that all wizards and witches upon their 11th birthday, would perform the bloodline inheritance test. Don't worry though, I won't be in the room and the goblins at Gringotts are excellent secret-keepers. If you're lucky you will be part of a family and gain wealth and a home, and you lose nothing correct?"
Seeing the polite and chirpy man, Rigel couldn't disagree, following along into the white marble bank. Passing the legendary main doors, whose words he'd read hundreds of times they walk up to the teller. "Young Rigel Corvus is here to see his student vault, and perform the bloodline test." He then turned to the boy in his care, "The ministry of magic was persuaded to open student vaults for muggle-born and half-blood students so that Hogwarts could have sufficient student numbers," he explained.
"Begin with the test," the teller called down from his pedestal. "A goblin with pointed ears and razor sharp teeth approached, then guided us to a separate room, bare except for a bowl and what looked like a fax machine. 'If the goblins have fax machines why are the wizards using owls? Is it a racist thing, or are they just too stupid to recognise what they are? Maybe there is a reason?' the boy considered, his inner monologue distracting him from the lengthy explanation, only being startled from it as Flitwick turned and left shutting the door.
"Come her young wizard. Place your hand over the bowl, and don't worry, the blade is enchanted to heal the cut, so there will be no risk or scarring." Complying with the vicious-looking goblin, Rigel watched as his blood was drawn, dripping into the bowl. After a long moment of glowing light, a sheet of parchment, again with the parchment, came out of the machine, already folded. The goblin grabbed the sheet and read its contents, his eyes going wide before he straightened up, posture now exquisite as he smiled at the boy. For a given value of a smile. "Young Mr Black, a pleasure to meet your acquaintance."
"Black?"
"Yes, Mr Black, of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black." Taking the sheet from the clerk Rigel read the same words he'd heard said. "Rigel Sirius Black," the system not taking into account his mother's maiden name. 'My mother was a muggle-born, but my father came from the house of Black, an incredibly wealthy, powerful, and old house. Which explains the change in treatment from the goblin clerk. He's not worried about the house name or political power, but our gold is currently in their vaults and thus we are an important client,' the boy figured. "I shall escort you back to your guide and bring you money from your student vault, is that acceptable?" Receiving the child's distracted nod, he ushers him back to Flitwick before scampering off.
The half-goblin professor looked at his temporary ward with interest, "It must have been impressive to create an effect like that," he said, "just know that while blood will be your foundation, your actions are what make you special. Take it from someone with a potent bloodline." Rigel looked down at him and smiled, but in his head, he was considering his paternal options, 'Sirius is almost guaranteed my father, based on my middle name and my mum's status as a muggle-born. Which means I should try to free him from his wrongful incarceration. While I'm unsure how good a father he will be, I don't want to miss the opportunity. He'd been fun and wild, and the favourite character of many, so to leave him in a cell when I could assist him seems wrong.' Receiving a bag of heavy golden coins, the boy and his professor left the bank.
"After we go shopping sir, I'd ask that you bring me to one person first."
"A member of the house you've been recognised as? He asked knowingly.
"Yes, sir. Though I'd ask that you don't reveal it to anyone, anyone at all." Receiving the teacher's agreement, the child continued, "I need you to bring me to Arcturus Black." The professor flinched slightly, hands tightening into fists.
"Black?"
"Yes sir." It took a moment for the professor to relax and don his friendly, kind smile again, having shaken off the shock and memories that had taken hold of him.
"Well then, Mr Corvus, let's go shopping."