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Chapter Text

Sunday, 8th September 1995

Harry gasped as icy water engulfed her, her breath stolen instantly by the shock of submersion. Disoriented, limbs flailing in the darkness, she fought her way upwards. As she broke the surface, spluttering and coughing, she realised with dull alarm the Dominion Jewel was roaring furiously inside her head.

"You clumsy fool, it's gone!"

Panic swirled through her, hands frantically searching the pockets of her soaked robes. The wooden chest the only way back home according to Dom - that she had been clutching at moments before was no longer in her possession.

"Where are we?" she slurred, teeth chattering, kicking desperately in the water.

"Not home," snapped the Jewel sharply, irritation masking underlying worry. "And unless you Wake Up and find it, we won't be getting back anytime soon."

She glanced around slowly, eyes widening. Looming ahead stood a vast castle she knew intimately - yet the angle, the lights, everything felt distinctly foreign. It was Hogwarts, but something about it pricked at her magic, both painfully familiar and disturbingly different.

Voices shouted from the shore, and she froze, suddenly plunging back under the water. She'd glimpsed figures racing towards the edge of the lake, illuminated by wands and a blue glow- one distinctly familiar, with unruly dark hair exactly like hers.

"Harry," said the Jewel mockingly as she flailed trying to get her head back up, "meet yourself."

Chapter Text

Sunday, 8th September 1995

Tensions in Gryffindor had pushed Harry, Ron and Hermione out of common room, and as Hagrid's hut was still mysteriously empty, out onto the grounds. Harry sat on the grass, absentmindedly yanking at a few stray blades. Beside him, Ron leaned back on his elbows, looking moodily towards the Forbidden Forest, while Hermione, cross-legged, conjured her jar of blue flames and set it carefully on the ground between them.

It wasn't cold but clouds had begun to settle in thickly, forming a heavy grey cover above the castle. The sun was setting early, slipping quietly behind the distant hills and casting muted colours across the surface of the Black Lake.

No one spoke for a while. They didn't need to. Tension lingered like a fog around them, thickened by the miserable start of the term. Harry could still picture Umbridge's sickly sweet smile, and hear the condescending way she'd spoken to the class and felt a burning pang of irritation just recalling it. From Hermione’s tight expression, Harry could guess her thoughts mirrored his own.

The quiet, awkward silence lingered until Hermione finally broke it, voice soft and cautious. "It’ll get better," she murmured, eyes fixed firmly on the flickering blue flames, as if willing herself to believe it. "The ministry will have to believe you eventually. Dumbledore will convince them."

Ron gave a humourless grunt, shifting slightly, clearly unconvinced. "Yeah. But not while he's attacking 'just' muggles," miming quotation marks around the word. Harry didn’t respond at all but quietly shared Ron's cynicism.

Instead, he dragged his gaze outwards, across the slowly darkening grounds. The lake, calm and glass-like in the evening stillness, caught his attention. He found himself drawn into its quiet expanse, watching as small ripples moved rhythmically along its edge. His thoughts blurred, losing themselves in the gentle waves.

Ron was saying something quietly to Hermione now, but Harry’s attention remained fixed on the water. He thought- just perhaps - he’d seen a movement out there, something small and sudden against the darkening surface.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Harry?" Hermione’s voice sounded distant, uncertain. "You still with us?"

Harry didn’t answer right away, standing instead and brushing bits of grass from his robes. Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance, confusion evident, but rose hesitantly behind him, following Harry’s gaze towards the lake.

"What are you looking at?" Ron asked cautiously, stepping up beside him.

"I don’t know," Harry muttered quietly. "Thought I saw something."

Hermione lifted her jar, casting blue-tinted shadows across their faces, and took a tentative step forward, peering towards the distant waterline. Harry’s feet moved before his mind made a decision, taking him forward, closer to the lake, with Ron and Hermione trailing quietly behind.

The nearer they drew, the clearer it became: there was definitely a figure, and not the squid thrashing just past the shallows. Wand out, Harry’s pace quickened instinctively, urgency growing. His friends followed without question, their footsteps quickening in sync with his.

They reached the edge of the lake swiftly. Hermione lifted her jar higher, illuminating the lake. A good few meters out there was someone struggling to remain upright, bobbing back down with frantic gasps.

"Merlin," Ron exclaimed in alarm, already moving forward, splashing knee-deep into the cold shallows and swimming out, Harry a stroke behind. They pulled the shivering figure along by the arms to the shore and then dragged the persons trembling form onto dry ground.

Only then, in the soft glow of Hermione’s blue flames, did they finally get a good look. Water dripped from the stranger’s odd robes, unruly shoulder length hair plastered across a face pale and gasping from the cold. Harry felt his heart lurch sharply, confusion and shock mingling as the stranger brushed the hair off her face and slowly lifted her head.

She blinked rapidly, taking them in with wary, cautious eyes a gaze piercingly familiar. For a single heartbeat, nobody moved, nobody spoke. Then, at last, Ron breathed out incredulously:

"Who… who the hell are you?"

Chapter Text

Sunday, 8th September 1995

Lounging in a hammock at the edge of the child's turbulent mindscape, Dom let out a weary sigh.

"This," he said aloud to nobody in particular, "is not what I would classify as ideal."

The diminished version of a sun at the height of Rigel's mental landscape and his beautiful and painstakingly constructed palace was utterly consumed by swirling sands. Once Dom might have found the sight amusing, poetic even. Right now, however, it was more than a mild inconvenience. Additionally, his delightfully stubborn host, was currently soaked through, dangerously close to hypothermia, and standing numbly on the lake shore, staring blankly at the gaping teenagers who had pulled her from the water. Clearly, someone needed to take action, and it seemed today it would have to be him.

His sphinx stood quietly nearby, obediently awaiting commands. Dom waved an imperious hand. "Get on with it." he instructed authoritatively. "Settle things over there. I have this bit handled. She'll need a clear mind if we're going to survive this with any dignity intact."

The sphinx gave him a parting sceptical look (clearly it was corrupted by the girl's wild magic) and bounded forward into the now settling sandstorm.

Dom sat up and leaned forwards, toes dangling over a mixture of his sand and swirling vapour. He peered lazily into the mist and through Rigel’s eyes, the view slightly hazy but still functional enough for him to issue his usual dry commentary.

Rigel remained rooted in place, shivering violently.

"Harriet." Dom drawled, his voice echoing within her mental confines, "Possessing your mind is not a mutually symbiotic relationship if you just stand there, in shock, fully covered in freezing lake water and actively courting hypothermia."

No response. He heaved another sigh. She’d drifted again probably halfway between her body and Space Room, leaving him as the unwilling interim pilot of her chaotic psyche. It was terribly inconvenient as she’d revoked most of his direct influence some time ago, during their initial trial runs at directly communicating after an 'accidental' possession. Sure it was more exciting than finding new ways to booby trap the pyramid and make tea but now here he was, stuck offering snarky motivational speeches.

"Rigel," he continued patiently, adopting the tone one might use when talking to a particularly slow toddler, "perhaps move your limbs? Wiggle a finger, shuffle your feet, blink rapidly. I truly don't care how, just please do something practical. Ideally, move toward warmth so we don't die. That lovely castle looming overhead seems a splendid start."

Rigel’s body jolted slightly, the mists clearing a bit briefly in response. Encouraged Dom pressed further.

"I understand existential crises are fashionable at your age," he continued, leaning his head back and closing his eyes, sensing rather than seeing the sphinx patiently clearing sand from the pyramid's peak, "but must we indulge so dramatically? It's a different universe, not a Dementor. Pull yourself together and start walking."

He waited. Seconds ticked by, each one exacerbating his irritation. At last, Rigel moved. Mechanically, awkwardly, but at least moving towards the castle. Now with a second to worry about his Domain, he turned away from the mists towards his Pyramid, inspecting the progress critically.

A good 2/3 of the base was still submerged, but it wouldn't be long till he had her fully back to her wits.

He settled back more comfortably, crossing his ankles casually. Bemusedly he watched as the trio of confused teenagers followed her uncertain steps towards Hogwarts, pelting her with questions she ignored.

As she reached the staircase she jolted and froze again, but this time he could tell it was her categorising her memories and processing her now silent entourage.

"Welcome back to reality." Dom grinned, not trying to hide his relief.

Rudely, she ignored him, now taking the stairs downwards, two at a time and Dom decided he had better things to do now that his host clearly had a plan and her wits about her.

A quick whistle and the sphinx returned to his side, sand oomphing from its fur as it sat heavily. The pyramid was clear now, gold plated stone glinting gently under the gentle light her magic threw. There were still grains of sand here and there and some of the runes he'd carved onto the bricks were scratched but overall an improvement. He'd need to figure out a better solution to protect his child's sanity on the way back home than encasing them in a sandstorm, but he'd panicked. There wasn't any point protecting her from madness if he accidentally broke her himself .

In a blink he found himself at the entrance of his first Pyramid. Not that he had more yet, but the girl would come around eventually. He settled comfortably in his room, a luxurious chamber deep within the Pyramid that his human had initially thought was a waste of magic, but allowed him to indulge in either way (urgh was he feeling grateful right now?).

Reaching over he grabbed the large gilded hand mirror on his side table and tapped twice on the polished surface, bringing it to life. The glass grew translucent, and through it he glimpsed Rigel’s physical surroundings once more, much clearer than it was through the mists. It was a limited enchantment however, they hadn't quite figured out how to let them hear each other through it, but he suspected that she hadn't been trying very hard either. It had taken a while before she was willing to trust him to venture to the edge of her mind - not that he had anywhere worth going even if he were able to leave.

She was now jogging down some corridors he was sure he had seen in previous memories, leaving the trio to race behind her. Right. Not his problem anymore.

He allowed his focus to drift inward, checking the various mental layers beneath him (or above depending on how you wanted to look at it). While he couldn't go in there he could sense that the Space Room was now stable - constellations no longer shifting unnaturally. The gardens sloping the sides of her mountain were peaceful, though a little wilted since he hadn't checked on that layer in a while. His underwater orchestra (staffed by payed employees - not that fake money was any use for fake people but he was willing to indulge her) was still tucked into a canopic for a rainy day, untouched by the recent journey. Good enough, though he would have to rebuild the sand maze from scratch once she gave him more magic for the month. He didn't want to waste what he currently had quite yet.

Satisfied that nothing urgently required his attention, he turned back to the mirror. Harriet was no longer in transit. Instead, she was facing Snape and a woman with a face that made him want to drop his fangs and bite. He could see the bushy hair of the girl Harriet's cousin was enamoured with sitting to the side leaning forwards with big round eyes as Harriet presumably was speaking. Then the woman who was dressed head to toe in pink made some kind of condescending gesture towards the table and then smugly stared at Professor Snape. Dom chucked inwardly at the singular eyebrow he raised at her in return. He still didn't get the child's obsession with the man but his regal demeanour was still impressive. If only his child were willing to pick up some of the man's political acumen and not just his potions knowledge.

Without turning away from the locked eye contact, Snape wandlessly summoned a thick sheaf of parchment & an ornate quill and placed them on the table. The woman looked away first. Harriet started to riffle through the pages too fast for him to pick up any of the Latin script, but his heart (if he had one) dropped when he caught the word 'Apprentice'. They had to Leave and go home. Not dabble in a new universe!

He considered for half a second heading over to the mists to yell at her but she was already picking up the pen, discretely sending a pulse of magic down it. Dom caught the traces it left (he'd discovered recently that he could siphon certain types of spell residue, but was keeping that to himself for now) and swallowed it, tasting the information it would have also provided his person. The pen was enchanted with a strong truth compulsion and anti cheating spell. Simple enough to break, but not without notice.

The form was half complete, presumably questions on potions and experience based on what he could pick up, but his attention was tuned to the bottom of the page, where she was expected to sign her name. It wasn't like she was going to stay long enough for it to become an issue but Harriet was a magnet for trouble and there was no way her refusal to sign or her writing Harriet Potter wouldn't gain the type of scrutiny that would make going home harder than needed.

As expected, when she reached the bottom of the page, there was a moment of hesitation and everyone he could see in the room was lasered in on Harriet.

Rigel, she inked slowly into the page and then as if compelled, Black. And then put the pen down as the pink clothed woman foisted the the papers off the table and Snape sat back in visible shock. The others - her Counterpart and other two - were also now in view expressing the same surprise that embodied Doms current emotions.

She hadn't broken the enchantment on the pen. But somehow more impossibly meant that she could claim herself to be Rigel Black and be speaking truthfully. He sat there, stock still watching Snape practically throw everyone else out of the room. Usually he would find the scene hilarious but it had been wildly undercut by this recent revelation. Had his human really internalised her own lies to the point of delusion? He'd been around a lot of humans over the years but never around one quite as good at deceiving themselves as Harriet. There wasn't much favourable to say about her small minded ambitions but one thing he could say was that life inside Harriet’s head was certainly never dull.

Chapter Text

Sunday, 8th September 1995

The first two weeks of term were always more aggravating than the rest of the year combined, between preventing a new set of Dunderheads from blowing themselves up and the infernal staff meeting. The day was always going to be bad, but he had a feeling that this one was going to cause a headache that would last quite a lot longer.

It had started with the ministry plant (toad he had heard the students' whisper and felt inclined to agree) trotting into his office unannounced. Dolores Umbridge had arrived precisely five minutes after the end of the staff meeting, trailing a sickly sweet perfume and derailing his plans to make good use of the whisky Minerva had handed him under the table after the fifth 'hem hem'.

He'd entertained her wasting his time as Dumbledore was insistent of him presenting a sympathetic front but her simpering inquiries about his allegiances, about Dumbledore’s "weakness for children," about his opinion on "more theoretical forms of education" had worn thin. He'd been about to kick her out, ministry decree #23 and accompanying title be dammed,

Then, of course, the girl had arrived.

At first baffled, he thought Potter had come in unannounced but then the golden trio came running in after. Also unannounced. The stranger showed a shocking resemblance to Potter. Was it intentional or did he have a much bigger problem on his hands? He had half expected Dumbledore to follow them in either worried or with a teasing remark and an obnoxious twinkle.

Umbridge was already stepping forwards behind his desk, but he was dammed if he let that witch take charge in his office and raised a commanding eyebrow at the 4 children in front of him.

He had expected Granger or perhaps Potter to come up with some absurd story.

He hadn't expected the voice, bright and familiar and disturbingly warm. He hadn't heard that sort of accent since he was last a Slytherin student.

"Professor Snape!" she'd said, like she knew him. Or more accurately, as if he was expected to know her.

The resemblance had been uncanny he'd thought again. The green eyes (lily's eyes) , wild dark hair, the same angular face as the boy he loathed on principle. For one horrible moment, he had considered the possibility Potter had cloned himself a dumber twin in an attempt at something impressively stupid. However no Potter twin (deluded or not) would take his name with actual respect.

He'd been silent for too long and Umbridge saw her opportunity.

"And who, exactly," she had said, in a tone designed to condescend before she even heard the answer, "might you be? Did these three troublemakers push you into the lake?"

The girl had blinked, utterly unbothered the way his own mother did when faced with particularly stupid inquires. The girl's mannerisms were uncanny.

“Oh, no,” she said. "They helped me. My portkey to the entrance hall landed me in the lake. I’m Master Snape’s apprentice."

There had been a beat of silence as she met his eyes defiantly.

Snape had opened his mouth. Then shut it again. The girl, whose name he still did not know had said it so easily, and looked at him with something terrifyingly close to expectation. No desperation, no fear. Just confidence. Like it was a game she expected him to know how to play. And he did, but who was she to challenge him.

He looked closer. Potions boots, modified robe belt with slot loops for vials, tucked sleeves, actual calluses on her left ring finger from a stirring grip. Whatever lies he was about to become complicit in, at least it was someone who likely had the skills to back it up.

So, with no better plan in hand, and a refusal to show any weakness to Umbridge he'd nodded once and said, "Obviously."

Regardless of which side of the war this plot had been hatched by, it would be in his best interests to keep the ministry out of the loop.

He could tell Umbridge did not believe them and he conjured up the apprentice paperwork immediately along with one of his modified surplus examination quills. Placing them down in front of his guest, he took joy in Umbridge's expression. That of a Niffler denied treasure.

He had watched her with sharp interest as she breezed through the section on prior brews. She listed three Master-level potions without hesitation. If she hadn't been using his quill, he would have called her out on the Seifer's Solution. As it was, she'd hesitated the smallest fraction of a second after writing it down possibly having faced the compulsion he had weaved into the pen. It was odd that she proudly wrote Wolvesbane, but hesitated on the infinitely more complicated brew. Her longer answers were elegant, sparse, but precise. He'd never had any plans to apprentice a student, never quite seeing the potential in any of the ones he'd taught, but it seemed fate had different plans. He obviously wasn't about to trust a liar just because she brewed well, but he found himself becoming just a little bit excited.

Until she reached the bottom of the form.

She’d paused. Only for a breath. Then wrote:

Rigel.

And then compelled either by his magic or foolish conviction:

Black.

The room had frozen.

He'd caught Potter’s expression shift. Weasley’s breath hitched audibly. Even the girl who signed the name Black seemed stunned.

Snape had schooled his features, but inwardly, something cracked.

Rigel Black.

He had stood immediately, snapping the door wide open with a sharp thunk. “Out.” he had said, voice colder than the lake she’d dragged herself out of. “All of you.”

“But - ” Umbridge had begun.

“She is my apprentice. I must now work out her curriculum and schedule. Kindly return excuse us for the night.”

And now…

Now, in the present, they sat across from one another, in the quiet aftermath of it all. The office door sealed and warded. She'd let him do it, no questions asked. A single bottle of clear liquid sat between them. Untouched.

Veritaserum.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the arms of his chair.

"Your improvisation was impressive,” he said, voice dry. “Reckless, but calculated. You are a very accomplished liar Miss Black"

Rigel sat still, but not afraid. Her posture was deceptively relaxed. “I wasn’t lying,” she said softly.

“No,” he agreed, picking up the vial and bringing it up to the light. “That’s precisely the problem.”

He placed it carefully on the desk again. This time right in front of her.

“You know I can’t accept your story,” he said. “I don’t know who you are, or where you came from, nor how you know me so well," he held up a hand. "Do not try and claim otherwise. I will not be manipulated.”

She looked away. Then back.

A pause.

Then almost bitterly “Fine. Give me the potion.” Despite him having been the one to offer it over, he somehow hadn't expected her to truly say yes.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you aware of the consequences?”

“I won't answer everything. I can't” Her voice dropped. “But maybe you’ll believe what I can say.”

She carefully measured out two drops onto her tongue. Enough to force the truth, but not so much that she'd be unable to refuse to answer.

Her eyes glazed over just a bit and the conversation that followed… well. Lets just way he would be breaking open that bottle of whisky that night.

The fire crackled softly between them. Snape leaned back, every part of him burning and exhausted.

Dumbledore and then eventually the Dark Lord would come asking for the truth, but he felt a strange kinship to this girl claiming to have been his apprentice in another world. He would have to keep her lie. He was already more secrets than man anyways.

Chapter Text

Monday, 16th September 1995

He saw her again on the stairs.

Just a flicker at the edge of his vision of her dark hair, loose non uniform robes, boots pat patting softy against stone. And by the time he turned his head, she was gone.

Again.

If it wasn't Harry himself to have helped drag her out of the lake he would have been questioning her existence as blood-loss related delirium.

Hermione claimed that while Portkeys could occasionally malfunction, it was improbable. Ron naturally more suspicious that the rest of them was all for staying away but Harry just couldn't. Something about her called to him.

There was something there, like a whisper at the back of his mind, and a tugging at his chest as if his magic itself was drawn to her. It should have terrified him. She was a complete stranger.

In a school like Hogwarts, where gossip thrived, there was surprisingly little discussion about Snape having an apprentice at all. Even once the trio looped the twins in, they were unable to find out much.

No meals in the Great Hall. No House. No friends.

Just a few whispers from 7th year potioneers, most of which were Slytherins. The most substantial information he found was from Luna Lovegood whom he had accidentally run into in a corridor and all she said was that Rigel had helped her find her shoes again and was very sweet.

It was like everyone else had developed a sudden blindness.

But Harry kept seeing her. In corridors. At the edges of classrooms. Once, in the library, tracing the spine of an old potions book with the kind of reverence that made him feel like he was intruding just by looking. He'd spent the last week on edge, and really the only benefit of this was that he was distracted from the desire to knock out some of Umbridge's teeth. She was unsettling.

And she looked like him.

Not just a passing resemblance - like really looked like him. Same chin. Same nose. Same bloody eyes. Probably even the same knees. Also there was something else. A flicker, in the line of her jaw or the quiet intensity in her gaze. Something that reminded him of Sirius. Which made sense if she really was a Black, but he'd seen the family tree and she wasn't anywhere on it! He didn't know what to make of it but when tried to put this to words one night, Ron had flushed a bright red, gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and gone back over to his own bed.

The dungeons were already weird before Potions began.

People were whispering, but not in the usual “haha Neville melted a cauldron” way. It was more like nervous birdsong - scattered, stifled. The Gryffindors were on edge and more than several seemed startled at his arrival. The Slytherins looked like they were trying not to look too interested.

Then Harry saw why.

She was at the front of the room, chalk in hand, quietly writing the potion instructions across the board in even, methodical strokes.

Rigel Black.

Her sleeves were rolled to the elbow, her robes still not Hogwarts issue and more importantly…

No Snape in sight.

And yet, other than glancing frantically between Harry and Rigel once he walked in, no one dared speak.

Then the dungeon door opened with its usual creak, and in swept Snape, cloak billowing as always. His expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something unusual in the way he glanced toward her - a subtle nod of acknowledgement. He didn’t address her. He didn’t even slow down. But as she stepped away from the board and took a quiet seat behind his desk, it was clear something had been agreed upon.

Harry had never seen him respect anyone like that.

Then, unfortunately, Umbridge appeared.

"Severus!" she sang, swanning in like she owned the place, eyes scanning the room before landing on Rigel with pinpoint accuracy. "Oh, I wasn’t scheduled to inspect today, I do apologise - but I simply couldn’t resist popping in!"

Snape’s eyes narrowed. "Indeed," he said flatly. "How... fortunate."

Umbridge’s attention never left Rigel. “And how have you been settling in…" she trailed off, expectant.

Rigel didn’t flinch or take the bait.

"Rigel," she said mildly. "Master Snape's apprentice."

Umbridge smiled like she’d just caught a spider. "And where have you been educated before being allowed into Hogwarts, dear? I couldn't find you in any of our records! Surely you aren't home schooled."

Rigel offered a polite smile so sharp it could cut glass.

“There are, in fact, wonderful schools outside Hogwarts,” she said, her voice sweet and acidic all at once. “Particularly in the Americas. I’m sure you’ve heard of them. Or perhaps not.”

The class collectively leaned forward.

Umbridge tittered. "That must have been difficult for your family... Miss Black."

The gasp was audible.

Harry stiffened.

Rigel didn’t blink. "Oh, no," she replied calmly, eyes locked on Umbridge. "My family is quite good at difficult."

Before the tension could break, Snape snapped, "Back to your cauldrons. Instructions are on the board. Miss Black will answer any questions."

Harry could tell the room was drawing all kinds of conclusions, a few of the Slytherins sending him and Rigel considering glances he didn't know what to make of.

And then Snape all but guided Umbridge to the far side of the room, murmuring something about cauldron bottoms and flame regulation. She followed, reluctantly, looking back at Rigel more than once.

Everyone's attention was scattered but nobody wanted to be the first one to break the silence.

Rigel stood.

She didn’t speak loudly. She didn’t need to.

"Start with brewing the base on low" she said, her voice flat and clear. "Too much heat at this stage and you’ll curdle the foxglove. Only move onto the next stage once you've reached peak saturation. If you’re not sure how to tell - ask. I’d rather insult your intelligence than let you poison yourselves."

The Slytherins moved first and Harry was amused to see the wide eyed bewilderment Draco was showing as Zabini steered him across the room. Harry watched Pansy Parkinson lean in to whisper something, and Rigel actually answered, pointing calmly at her notes and even conjuring a side diagram in the air.

It was bizarre.

Half an hour later, Neville asked for help. Voluntarily. Rigel crouched beside him and adjusted his stirring rhythm with a gentleness that looked entirely foreign in the dungeon.

That night, Harry lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Rigel had swept out of the room the second the bell rang and Harry made his escape seconds later, unwilling to face any questioning classmates.

He tossed and turned and considered sneaking over to Ron's side of the room. Earlier Ron was against talking to her, but the lesson may have changed his mind.

On the other hand, why wait. Harry pulled out the Marauder’s Map and tapped his wand.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Lines sketched themselves across the parchment. He scanned the dungeons first, then all of the house dorms.

No Rigel Black.

Then catching his attention he found her name. It was faint - fainter than he’d seen before, almost like it was being hidden…

A dot.

Hovering.

Right over the middle of the Black Lake.

Harry’s breath caught.

What in Merlin’s name was she doing there?

Chapter Text

Monday, 16th September 1995

It had been a week of this nonsense.

Eight short nights spent slogging through the same freezing patch of water, peering into the silt like she was on a particularly tragic scavenger hunt. Dom, for one, had grown tired of it by the second, still not sure why they couldn't do this during the day. But his human, ever-stubborn, emotionally frayed and headfirst into several new projects had made this her nightly ritual. And Dom, by whatever ill-advised magical pact bound them, had been dragged along.

Tonight, she'd already made a halfhearted attempt at diving in headfirst and then turned tail at the sight of her first grindelow.

She sat hunched at the shoreline, face tight with exhaustion she refused to name. The moon cast silver light across the water, painting them both in shades of silence.

Dom watched through the mist at the edge of her mindscape, lounging half-heatedly on his conjured chaise. He could feel her mood through the ambient currents of shared magic: jagged and bristling, like walking into a room full of static.

"You could go back in," he offered lazily (and reluctantly), voice laced with the faux-patience he’d perfected ages ago. "You’ve already wasted the last five minutes sulking. If you insist on freezing to death every night, I’d prefer you at least be efficient."

No response.

"Or," he continued, dramatically inspecting his nonexistent manicure (he made a note of fixing that), "we could go back inside, make some tea, and not catch anything that'll prevent us from searching tomorrow. Revolutionary, I know."

Still nothing.

She was glaring at the lake like it had personally insulted her.

He sat up properly, annoyed now. She'd spent the whole day brewing or reading history books and learning to fit in instead of searching. "What exactly do you think has changed since last night? Do you imagine the box has grown legs? Decided to surface out of guilt for being lost?"

Her jaw clenched.

"I’m not doing this with you tonight," she said aloud, low and sharp. "Not again."

"You’ve said that every night this week," Dom replied. "And yet, here we are. It's almost as if you don't want to leave."

That did it.

She stood, whirling on the shore, hands fisted at her sides. Her magic cracked through the air like a whip - uncontrolled, unfiltered, and furious. The mists around him flared gold, hot and blinding for a second, and his sphinx startled mid-doze, springing out of his lap.

"Stop talking like you know everything!" she snapped. "You’re not me. You don’t get to decide how I process this! You don’t get to - to judge me for trying to go home!"

Dom blinked, momentarily stunned into silence.

Her chest was rising and falling fast. She wasn’t just angry - she was hurting. And exhausted. And frightened in that very specific way she never, ever admitted to.

"I’m not judging," he said quietly. "I’m trying to help."

"You’re trying to control," she shot back. "And I’m done with that. Stay in your damn pyramid and let me be."

And just like that the mists went thick blocking him from her. Dom didn’t try and push. He wouldn’t be allowed to anyway, not tonight.

He could already feel the pull towards his pyramid, the mists becoming colder and colder.

He sighed. Stared up at the ceiling of the mindscape’s night sky.

"So much for gratitude," he muttered. "Or basic emotional regulation."

The sphinx padded back to his side, head tilted questioningly.

Dom waved it off.

"She’ll be fine," he said, quieter now. "Probably."

He wasn’t sure.

Chapter Text

Monday, 16th September 1995

It started with a tapping at the window closest to her bed.

Hermione blinked herself awake, heart racing, only to see Harry's silhouette framed by moonlight, motioning furiously towards her bed. Ron stood behind him, holding onto both his and Harry's brooms.

She was out of bed and dressed in seconds.

They didn’t speak until the window was shut quietly behind her and they were in the air. The cold slapped her face as Ron carefully guided the broom down to the ground.

"She’s by the lake," Harry whispered, and that was all the explanation she got.

They found her sitting in front of the same spot they'd pulled her from just a week earlier.

Rigel Black’s knees were drawn to her chest, robe soaked again, clinging to her hunched frame. Her arms were bare and pale in the moonlight, hair damp and frizzy with lake mist, and her face was buried in her hands.

Hermione was reminded a bit of Harry the previous year, when he and Ron were quarrelling.

They approached slowly. Harry sat beside her without hesitation. Ron hovered behind them, uncharacteristically hesitant.

Hermione cleared her throat gently.

Rigel didn’t look up.

"What are you doing out here?" Hermione asked softly.

"Sulking," Rigel muttered.

It was so bluntly honest that Hermione put aside her reservations and sat down too.

"Are you- " Ron began, then seemed to decide against whatever he'd been about to say.

Rigel looked up, eyes red but dry now. "I dropped something. Something important. When I came through."

"You mean when the Portkey malfunctioned?" Hermione asked.

Rigel nodded once. "It wasn’t supposed to. I was holding a... heirloom. It’s... never mind. It’s gone. Probably wedged under six metres of silt and giant squid shit."

Ron choked on a laugh, then winced. "Sorry."

"It’s fine," she said. "It was stupid, really. I never should have ended up here in the first place."

Hermione glanced at Harry. His expression was unreadable, but his hands were clenched.

"How old are you?" she asked, instead of pressing the obvious questions.

Rigel blinked, as though that hadn’t been what she expected.

"Seventeen, I think."

"So you’re in sixth year?" Ron said quickly.

"Not really. I’m not a student. I only attend classes I want."

“You live in the dungeons?” Hermione guessed.

Rigel hesitated. "Technically. There are old apprentice quarters. Nobody else uses them."

Hermione nodded slowly. Voldemort had just come back and then a mysterious student had joined as Snape's apprentice. The timing was suspicious as well as her name and uncanny resemblance to Harry, but she'd made no moves to integrate herself with anyone at Hogwarts and Hermione considered herself a good judge of character.

She'd kept a close ear on the whispers going around and a popular theory, shared by Ron wast that she could be Harry’s half-sister, and while at first it didn't make any considering the stories of star crossed James Potter, Hermione was starting to see where he was coming from.

"Why are you here now?" she decided to push. "Why not stay in America?"

"It’s not important," Rigel said, voice strained. "I’m not here to make friends. Or. explain myself."

Hermione raised her eyebrows at her and Rigel broke first, turning to look at the lake.

"Are you really from America?" Ron asked suddenly.

Rigel’s lips twitched. "Sure."

Hermione narrowed her eyes considering. "What was that spell you did in potions, to show that diagram? Did you even say an incantation?"

Her boys looked at her in surprise and Rigel's face broke out into a tired smile. "Didn't think anyone else noticed."

Hm. Mind made up, she switched tracks.

"We were talking earlier, about Defence. With Umbridge."

"She’s teaching you nothing."

"Exactly," Hermione said. "So we’ve been thinking... or well, I’ve been thinking. We need to learn on our own. Start something. Quietly. A study group. Maybe more."

"We don't have any concrete plans yet, and we doubt any of the professors can help us if we get caught." Ron started.

"But as an apprentice you're technically part of faculty." Hermione finished.

Harry looked ready to shut it down again, but before he could, Rigel straightened up.

"I’m in."

Everyone stared.

"I may not have planned to be here, but I’m not going to sit around watching people get hurt because the ministry wants to teach you silence instead of magic."

Harry blinked. "Really?"

Rigel met his gaze. "Yeah."

"Do you intend for me to teach, or just provide a cover story?" Rigel asked now clearly in planning mode and Hermione felt a surge of something fierce and hopeful rise in her chest.

Wednesday, 9th October 1995

They'd managed to sort out all the details and just a short month later the Room of Requirement had never felt so alive.

The first meeting, held quietly in one of the empty rooms around Rigel's quarters, had gone like it did in Hermione’s head: awkwardly at first, then warmer. Everyone who had shown up had signed her sheet (bar Rigel who'd helped her draft the document and sort out her Protean charm).

When she got there with Harry and Rom the room was already set up. Walking into it was like stepping into an outdoor courtyard, a low stage set up over the cobbled floor. Along the back was a whole wall of cauldrons and a chalkboard already half full of potions theory. Further behind the courtyard was a wide open yet cosy room filled with beanbags and books. She watched as Harry made a beeline towards Rigel and she took charge of welcoming people into the room.

Once everyone got there, everything completely surpassed her expectations. It was going perfectly. Harry had spoken at the front, walking them through the basics, demonstrating his Expelliarmus, even deflecting Zacharias Smith’s usual sneering questions with surprising patience. He was a natural born teacher.

Rigel stood at the back, arms crossed, saying nothing.

Until halfway through, when someone called out -

"What’s Snape’s pet doing here?"

"Yeah," came another voice, followed by a ripple of nods and muttering. The room rustled with sudden unrest. Suspicion spread fast, magic and unease sharpening the air. Hermione made an aborted move to step forward.

But Ginny got there first.

"Oh, come off it," she snapped, striding a few steps forward, chin high. "You don’t even know her."

She gestured sharply at the cauldrons stacked at the edge of the Room - proof of the cover story they’d all agreed to. "She’s the only reason we can have a defence group at all. The whole point was she’d claim to be giving us potions tutoring if anyone snooped, remember? That she’d take the heat if we got caught."

A few people looked sheepish. No one responded.

Ginny crossed her arms. "If that’s not good enough for you, then fine, leave. But don’t pretend this is about trust when you’ve got someone literally shielding you from Umbridge."

Someone muttered something about her "just being Snape’s lackey." and Ginny turned like she’d heard a spell being cast.

"Then maybe you’d like to see what she can do."

She turned to Rigel slowly, giving the other girl enough time to understand the prompt she was laying down and raising her wand cast. “Expelliarmus!”

Rigel moved fast, almost too fast for the eye to track - a halfhearted Protego snapping into place in front of her like a wall of shimmering air. The spell broke on contact, followed by the shield going down.

But Ginny wasn’t done.

"Again," she said, and cast it a second time, sharper this time, stronger. A proper challenge.

Rigel winked and with a flick and brought up a Fortis, so thick it was almost visible. Ginny’s spell bounced off ricocheting all the way across the room before dissolving into the wall. She didn’t even flinch.

A few people gasped. Even Hermione blinked, despite having been exposed to the improbability that was Rigel over the last month. Sometimes she felt the girl was just pretending when it came to incantations and didn't actually need to wave around her stick-like wand.

"Third time’s the charm," Ginny cheered, grinning now and cast once more.

This time, she cast something silently.

Rigel didn’t blink.

Her wand moved in a swift, clean arc, no words spoken, and the air in front of her shivered. A glowing red sphere erupted around her pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. The spell Ginny cast hit it -

And vanished.

The sphere absorbed it completely, entirely unchanged and holding steady. Rigel put her wand down, the dome going away with it.

The silence was loud.

Hermione’s eyes widened. She didn’t recognise the spell. But it hadn’t been a shield or a redirect - it had eaten the magic.

"What was that?" asked Ginny.

Padma Patil stared. “I’ve read about that. Despacio.”

One of the sixth-years muttered, half in awe, "No one uses that anymore. It’s stupidly hard. Drains you if you’re not careful."

Rigel hadn’t moved. She just stood there, wand lowered now, shoulders calm, like she hadn’t just performed something that most of them couldn’t even name.

Ginny raised her hands, curiously eyeing Rigel up and down, but smiling. "I rest my case."

The whole room's attention was now on Rigel.

She took charge, tilted her head, sweeping her gaze across the room. "You’re learning how to stand in a line and throw the same spell over and over. That works if you want to pass your O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s. Doesn’t help when someone wants to kill you."

She stepped forward.

"You don’t fight to be polite. You don’t fight fair. You fight to win."

"It’s called freedueling," she said. "You can learn theory in class and how to cast them from studying. But that? That’s not what the real world throws at you."

Her voice didn’t rise, but it didn’t need to. She had the room.

"You use everything you’ve got."

Ginny grinning, bounced on her heels. "I want to try."

Rigel grinned back - all teeth. Hermione saw it, and despite herself, felt a rush of relief. Like something in Rigel had finally clicked into place. Like the girl was done holding back and ducking around corners.

The rest of the meeting blurred into chaos and wonder. Spells collided in the air. The room shifted to accommodate sparring circles, mock duels, protective barriers.

Hermione, for her part, observed. She cast and sparred with Harry a few times, but mostly, she watched how the room divided. How some gravitated towards Harry’s ordered drills and how others, thrill-seekers and fighters and drifted toward Rigel’s orbit.

By the end, everyone was flushed, out of breath, and vibrating with magic.

People filtered out in clumps, laughing or whispering excitedly. Rigel lingered behind.

Ron, who’d been unusually quiet the whole lesson, crossed his arms and eyed the two of them - Harry and Rigel.

"You know," he said, "I want to see you two duel."

They both turned toward him synchronously.

"I mean it," Ron added. "Properly. Just once. You’re both completely terrifying with a wand in your hands."

Rigel blank-faced, raised an eyebrow.

Harry grinned, stepping forward.

They moved without another word - circling each other, settling into mirrored stances, wands drawn, eyes locked.

The magic in the room pulsed once.

Hermione held her breath.

Chapter Text

Saturday, 2nd November 1995

Harry couldn’t sleep. Again.

He’d spent hours staring at the canopy of his four-poster bed, eyes burning, brain looping the same moments over and over like a broken Pensieve. The match. The punch. The howling fury in his chest when Malfoy opened his mouth, Umbridge swooping in in his defence.

He should have known better. Should have walked away.

But instead, he’d lost his and the twins their place on the team.

His Firebolt was locked up and there was nothing McGonagall or any of the other teachers could do.

Even Hagrid’s return earlier that evening, which should have been comforting, only made him uneasy. The giant man had been injured and didn't know what Hogwarts was like yet. Umbridge would be coming for him too, Hagrid's fondness of wilder creatures an easy target.

His stomach twisted.

He swung his legs off the bed, grabbed the jumper hanging over the bedpost, and pulled it on. Socks. Boots. Wand. Spare Cloak in hand.

The dormitory was silent. Even Ron, who usually snored loud enough to rattle the curtains, was sound asleep (tired out from the new morning Runs Rigel had implemented) , arm slung off the side of his mattress. He reached for the Invisibility Cloak and slipped it over his shoulders like armour. His feet moved without thinking. Down through the silent castle, past shadowed statues and portraits that dozed in their frames. He only had one place in mind.

The lake.

The gibbous moon was sharp and cold above the black water. Mist clung to the ground like breath held too long.

And she was already there.

Rigel sat where she always did, perched still on a crescent-shaped boulder like she was part of the landscape. Her robes were soaked. Her boots caked in mud. She didn’t look up.

"You’re going to freeze to death one of these nights," Harry said quietly.

She didn’t jump. Didn’t flinch.

"Maybe that’s the plan," she murmured.

He stepped closer, shaking out his cloak and draping it carefully over her shoulders. She didn’t thank him, but she didn’t offer it back either.

Harry sat, leaving a stretch of space between them. Just enough not to crowd her but not so far as to feel like a stranger either

The silence between them wasn’t awkward, it was worn-in. Familiar. Still, it pressed on his ribs like weight.

After a while, he said, "You’ve been out here every night."

She didn’t answer.

"Why are you so desperate to find it?"

That got her attention. Just a flicker. A blink.

Then: "You wouldn’t believe me."

Harry glanced sideways. "Try me."

She met his eyes fully for the first time, and it knocked the breath out of him.

Her face was his and not-his. Familiar in all the wrong ways. Like looking into a mirror set slightly askew. Like déjà vu laced with electricity.

"I’m you," she said. "From another universe. It's my only way home."

He blinked. Other universes? He'd have been more likely to believe her if she claimed time travel.

Then gave a dry laugh. "Right. Sure. So what’s the real story?"

But she didn’t laugh. Her gaze was steady. Too steady.

"…Oh," he said. She was … him? Was her being a girl their only difference? She didn't have his scar or glasses either. Also she was older? He considered her face again. Ron had eventually and embarrasedly explained his thoughts on Rigel's parentage but somehow her being a different smarter version of him made more sense than his dad having an affair. Quite frankly it was a relief and made the though of facing Sirius during the break, much easier.

She turned her head away, back toward the lake. Her voice, when it came, was brittle. "You don’t have to believe me. I just need to find the thing that brought me here. And go home."

The quiet returned and Harry itched to fill it with his questions. Only the soft lapping of the lake remained.

Before he could she cut in-

"You’ve been having nightmares."

Harry stiffened.

"I know you. It's hard not to tell." she added. "The bags under your eyes. The way you rub your scar when you think no one’s looking."

He said nothing.

"Don’t bother lying. You’re terrible at it."

He let out a sigh. "They’re just dreams."

"Ones that bring you out here nearly every night?"

Harry turned to glare at her, but she didn’t flinch.

"I could help," she said. "If you wanted."

"…How?"

"Occlumency."

He blinked. "What?"

"It’s… it helps you close your mind. Stop people, or things, from getting in."

Harry frowned. People could read his mind? How had they not been taught this yet?

"And you know how to do that?"

"I had to learn," she said simply. "In my world it wasn't an option not to. Especially for me."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

She gave him a slightly bitter but genuine smile, "Nothing you need to worry about. Not here."

He narrowed his eyes. "You’re dodging my questions."

"I’m offering you a trade," she said, redirecting yet again. "I teach you Occlumency. You help me search the lake."

“For this 'heirloom'.”

She nodded.

He studied her. "Why ask only now? You could have asked any of us the night we found you."

"You keep showing up."

That surprised a laugh out of him. "Fair enough."

They fell quiet again. Then, softly:

"Okay."

She looked at him. "Okay?"

"I’ll help you look," he said. "And I’ll learn. Occlumency or whatever . Just…" He paused. "Can I ask questions?"

"Some."

That made him smile. "Alright."

She shifted slightly, facing him and cross-legged now, the cloak falling around her in folds. Her hair was damp, and her eyes, for once, weren’t guarded.

So he asked.

Her actual name (were his parents really that unoriginal). What school was like where she came from (her being a Slytherin didn't really surprise him). Was Voldemort back? (She choked around her words on this one and Harry already knew his new nightmares would now feature a grown up Tom Riddle) Was she always this weird? (Maybe.) Why ‘Rigel Black’? (She dodged that one.)

And bit by bit, he got to understand her. Not nearly everything. She was still an enigma. But it was enough.

Time slipped around them as they talked and talked, foreheads leaning in towards each other. The moon dipped lower, taking their whispered secrets with it. The sky lightened from pitch to navy to the faintest indigo.

Harry could feel a faint soreness in his throat from a night of talking and a weights dragging down his eyelids.

Harriett looked tired too, but her shoulders had unravelled. She was no longer sitting like the weight of an entire world rested on her back.

He was reminded of the day he first properly met Sirius. The day Hagrid gave him an album filled with pictures of his parents and a melancholic ache curled around his heart.

He didn’t say it aloud, but the thought curled around his ribs and settled there:

Is this what having a sister feels like?

And when he glanced at her again she was smiling, head tipped back to bask in the sun.

Voldemort was out there, and Umbrige was terrorising the school and his classmates still dodged him in the halls but for the first time in weeks, Harry didn’t feel alone.

Chapter Text

Friday, 18th November 1995

For a brief second Harry didn't know where she was.

The sand beneath her boots was warm. Dry. It whispered against her skin as she stood, the air full of the faint hiss of moving dunes. A maze stretched around her, the walls of sand thick and golden in colour.

The sun above her was wrong too. Not the real one. This one pulsed faintly, matching her heartbeat. The Pyramid was nowhere in sight.

"Really?" she yelled aloud, her voice swallowed by the wind. "We’re doing this now?"

She took a step forward and the ground shifted slightly beneath her weight, like it hadn’t decided whether to hold her or let her fall. The path didn’t curve so much as bend abruptly, the way dream-logic often worked in her mindscape.

The last time Dom had attempted to bar her from her own mind, she’d built a moat around his throne and he'd retaliated by hiding the trapdoor to her space room. He had a tendency to the dramatic, but she was worried that this time she had actually upset him.

She moved forward anyway, knowing better than to try and shortcut it. The maze wasn’t about space - it was about sentiment. You had to mean your way out.

The walls shifted subtly with every stride, the route reforming behind her. Her perception of time started to unravel around the third turn. She couldn’t tell if she’d been walking for minutes or hours when finally the sand parted ahead of her, just wide enough for the Sphinx to appear, tail flicking with impatience.

She climbed onto its back, deciding to chance it and extend her trust out first.

The mindscape wobbled around them as the Sphinx took a great leap through the solid stone side of the pyramid, landing onto the sloped grass of her mountain layer. She was dropped off inside and took a seat by the the fire, its glow warm and steady. The Sphinx walked off leaving her alone to observe the room.

The colour of the carpet was different. Dark crimson instead of the previous blue-green, woven with angular patterns she didn’t recognise. A second armchair was across from her, that hadn't been there earlier and the table between them had a dramatic unhappy face carved into it's surface.

She rolled her eyes.

"Subtle, Dom."

He didn't keep her waiting for ages. Just long enough to be obvious.

When he did appear, it was with a full tea service and his usual self-satisfaction. He set the tray down between them, filled both cups without asking, and only then, after a long, almost theatrical pause, sat down across from her. His long red gold nails made clicking noises against the porcelain and he drummed them across his own cup.

She watched him for a beat, unsure what to say. He looked mostly the same, still wearing the face she did before the ruse fell apart but the usual glint in his eyes was muted. Tempered. His coat had a sand lining the creases. He hadn't bothered to clean it.

"Tea?" he asked mildly, offering her the cup like nothing had happened.

She took it.

"I missed you," she said flatly, because she didn’t have the energy for subtlety or effecting tone for his benefit.

Dom tilted his head, expression unreadable.

"Well, you had a funny way of showing it," he said, voice still light.

Rigel wrapped both hands around her tea and stared into the fire for a moment.

"I panicked," she admitted. "And then… everything kept happening. I couldn’t make it stop."

He didn’t answer, but she could feel his gaze on her.

"I think I need to explain," she said eventually. "Everything."

Dom arched a brow. "Do you mean your entirely unwise decision to hand me a child’s-worth of magic and let me rot in the corner of your subconscious for two months, or your brilliant strategy of bonding with half this universe?"

Rigel didn’t flinch.

"…Both."

Dom leaned back.

"Well then," he said, "begin."

She nodded and reached out through the fire to her Space Room, summoning a palm-full of stars.

Dom folded his hands around the one she held out at random to him. The star began to spin, and the room dimmed as the first memory flared to life.

Light flickering across the air between them, illuminating the space with colour and motion. Dom didn’t speak. He rarely did during memory projection, but she was watching him now as closely as he was watched the memories. His face didn’t change much, but he wasn't practised in concealing is emotions and it was still one her faces.

The first memory shimmered to life. A classroom completely bare of any personalisation, and Umbridge’s chair up at the front. Her voice, syrupy and bright, ringing out as she lectured a seventh year class on "Ministry-sanctioned spell-work." Rigel sat stiff-backed, biting her tongue so hard she could taste copper.

Next: her hands stained with ink and dragon root. Brewing in the late hours, her little lab lit only by candlelight and her own glowing orbs of magic. Notes scrawled on first parchment and then stone, once she ran out. She was testing another Veritaserum counter, one that would completely nullify the side effects of the original. Using the limited leftover ingredients she had access to she’d nearly poisoned herself twice. She hadn’t told anyone that.

Dom didn’t blink.

She moved through more memories. Some short, fragmented: a few meals in the Great Hall, her assisting a sixth-year Hufflepuff in Potions. The long afternoon she’d spent charting the differences in wand mechanics between universes. And the following afternoon building a timeline to find the divergence point. The overwhelming lack of research on magical cores. Madame Pomphrey's bafflement at her attempts to ask about the fade.

Then came the longer ones. Snape.

Snape pacing beside his desk, dictating ingredients for a stabilising draught she’d never seen before. Hours and hours of quiet brewing for the Infirmary in his lab. Spending most of the week, his silent shadow, his gaze scrutinising her as she assisted his N.E.W.T students. His voice clipped, his eyes shadowed. He never asked about her world. Never acknowledged the distance he kept. But he didn’t correct her when she made suggestions. Let her tweak his instructions. And once, just once, he’d handed her his notebook on freebrewing, scrawled in spiky, biting handwriting. She kept in charmed against water damage in her inner robe pocket like a talisman.

Dom paused and tilted his head, the faintest frown flickering between his brows.

"You want him to like you." he said quietly, unprompted.

She didn’t look at him. "He’s not mine."

The memory shifted. Harry, across from her by the lakeside. Cold night air curling around them. Her voice carefully guiding him through basic mental shielding. His frustration building. Her laughter when he first successfully located his core and followed it into his mindscape declaring himself "basically a mind-fortress now."

Teaching Harry to brew, and him picking it up like a flower, first being given sunlight. Running at Dawn with the trio, a friend group she could only image in her world. Guiding her magic into the scar across his hand in the evenings before they went diving.

The next memory hurt, the pain echoing though.

She’d offered to show him how to find his core, by connecting it to hers. Thought it might help him orient his mind better, by already having a feel of where his magic was, but the moment she reached out, her own magic brushing against his -

It had lashed out. Not his magic, not really. Something older and wrong pulsing through his core like a thorned vine. His fire had recoiled from her in a burst that left her hands shaking for hours.

She’d told him to never try it again. He hadn’t argued.

The memory dimmed.

The next lit softly: Harry dozing off against a tree in the courtyard, his cloak (now practically hers) half over both of them. Neither of them had spoken for ages. It had been enough just to breathe in the same air and pretend, for a moment, that nothing was wrong.

Dom looked away.

There was more. Her trying to track magical ley points across the Forbidden Forest. Scratching alchemy notes into a notebook she'd found in the room of requirement. Watching the DA thrive and grow under ordered drills by Harry and her more chaotic ones teaching the philosophy of movement, misdirection, and ruthless efficiency. There were even a few students she'd taken in for private tutoring, drawing on her experience of teaching in the Alleys. There were so many faces in this world that hadn't been at her Hogwarts and she found herself with a soft spot for them. She'd wondered sometimes if Leo was also around in this universe.

Another series of memories: Hermione pressing a scroll into her hand, whispering that it might keep Umbridge off their backs for a little longer in an emergency. Luna drawing her a constellation of patterns on the back of her Potions notebook between lessons. The twins finally capitalising on the fact that they had another pair of doppelgangers and convincing Harry and Harry to switch for a day.

She yanked the rest of the stars back.

"I don’t want to be here," Rigel whispered.

Dom looked back at her, sharply, eyebrow raised.

"I never meant to stay this long," she said. "I thought… I thought the box would have turned up by now."

She looked down at her hands, the flickering glow of the memories lighting up the bruises along her knuckles. "I didn’t think it would feel like this."

"Like what?" Dom asked, voice gentler than she expected.

"Like I’ll be missed if I go." She looked up, and her voice was raw now, fragile. "There’s no Azkaban here. No marriage law, no SOW party. No one treating me like a walking time bomb. I’m still lying to some of them. Still pretending. But… it’s not the same."

Dom didn’t answer.

She offered out another memory star: Harry offering her free access to his potions kit, citing that it was better off in her hands. Ron playing match after match of chess with her, despite her lack of improvement. Hermione handing over her notes whenever she noticed Harriet's interest.

"They like me," she said, a little helpless. "Or they’re beginning to. And it makes no sense."

Dom looked at her a long moment.

"And Archie?" he asked quietly. "And Addy?"

The names punched the air from her lungs. She staggered like he'd physically struck her. Her fingers curled hard around the memory stars until they dimmed.

"I didn’t forget them," she whispered. "I haven’t."

"Your parents," Dom said evenly, not cruel but not sparing her either. "The ones who believe they just got their daughter back. Leo, Caelum, Your Uncles."

Rigel’s throat closed.

She felt the sting at the back of her eyes and hated it.

"And Snape," Dom continued. "Who somehow offered to give you another chance, this time as yourself and not Rigel."

"I know," she said. "I know."

" I wonder what they’d think," Dom said, leaning back slightly, "if they never saw you again."

"That’s not fair."

Dom tilted his head. "Isn’t it?"

Silence pressed between them again. It hurt but she knew what Dom was going to say before she'd even decided to visit. She'd needed to hear it.

Instead of answering she tossed the fistful of stars into the crackling flames and back into the void of the Space Room.

Her hands were shaking.

She stood.

Dom kept his ruby gaze locked with hers but didn’t move.

"I’m sorry," she said. "For locking you out. For… everything."

She stepped forward and knelt down decisively at the fire. She didn’t hesitate in siphoning it into her cupped palms as the ball condensed and grew brighter and brighter. She only stopped when the fireplace was looking dejected, the flames in it dancing low against the kindling.

Dom sat up slightly straighter.

"Oh," he said shocked. "You’re serious."

"I need you to see again," she said. "To hear. I need you back."

Dom tapped his pointed nails on the edge of the table, giving away his eagerness. "You’re not forgiven, you know."

"I know," she said.

"And I still think you’re a reckless idiot."

"I know that too."

He reached out for the magic, and quickly snatched in up, unhinging his jaw to swallow it down all at once.

Then he also stood and offered his hand out.

"Welcome back, idiot."

Chapter Text

Sunday, December 1st 1995

Harry was so used to this, that the cold dark hardly scared him anymore.

The lake closed around them, water pressing cool and heavy against the strong bubblehead charms Harriet had cast around their heads. They'd layered heating charms on each other this time, the gentle warmth radiating outward, keeping the lake’s icy bite at bay.

They swam slowly through thick reeds, bodies slicing through the murk with careful strokes. Harry glanced sideways at Harriet. He'd become practised at reading her lately. The slight crease between her brows, the tight set of her jaw, the barely perceptible narrowing of her eyes. It was how she expressed tension, excitement, or frustration. Or occasionally all three.

They’d been down here so many times that it usually felt routine. But the last 2 weeks something had been different in the determined way she moved. There was urgency in the way she kept pausing, searching carefully with sharp eyes.

Harry kicked gently, catching up to her. He watched as she slowed, eyes fixed on something nestled at the edge of a large, twisted root and he brought his lit wand up next to hers. He felt his heartbeat quicken as she suddenly surged forward, water swirling around her movements.

She reached down, fingers clawing through the muck. When she pulled, something dark and small emerged with her, clutched tightly in her hand.

A small ornate box. The wood was almost as dark as the water, the engravings imperceptible from his distance.

Her face was strange in that moment. Harry had expected relief, joy, maybe even a triumphant smile. Instead with a selfish surprise he noted, that she was strangely blank, almost disappointed. Her fingers tightened around the small wooden chest like it might vanish if she loosened her grip.

Harry swam closer, an ugly feeling squeezing around his heart. "You found it."

She didn’t answer immediately, eyes locked on the box. Then she seemed to shake herself slightly. "Yeah," she said softly, the sound, distorted through the water. "I guess I did."

They surfaced slowly, breaking through to air thick with silence and a biting breeze. Harriet's face remained shadowed even after they climbed out and dried themselves with spells, feet through the snow as they made their way quietly back to the castle.

The dungeons were silent. Harriet opened the door to her quarters without a word, Harry following her in and closing the heavy door gently behind him. She immediately set the box down on the table with her notebooks. She didn't open it, didn’t even lift the latch. Instead, she stared at it with an unreadable expression.

Harry hesitated. "Aren't you going to open it?"

She shook her head slowly. "Shut up."

She was talking to Dom again, Harry realised a beat later. He'd gotten used to her sudden silences, the shifts in her eyes when she spoke to someone he couldn't hear. It was strange, often amusing, but tonight it felt heavier, more unsettling.

"I'm not afraid," she muttered suddenly, clearly in response to whatever Dom had said. "I just..." She hesitated, voice tightening. "I just need until Christmas."

Harry crossed his arms, leaning quietly against the edge of her desk, giving her space but watching carefully. Her head was tilted to the side for a while.

"You aren't even sure it'll work yet!" she muttered back at him, now pacing the room.

More silence.

Then his doppelganger sighed, visibly relaxing. "Thank you."

He didn't pretend to understand the relationship between Harriet and Dom, but he trusted her to take care of herself, and therefore didn't comment on it. It felt oddly intimate to watch, even if he could only hear her side.

She turned finally, shaking her head at whatever silent remark Dom had thrown back at her, and offered Harry a small, wry smile. "Dom's being a nag."

Harry grinned slightly. "When isn't he?"

Harriet snorted softly, shaking off the lingering tension. She busied herself with cleaning spells this time, carefully cleaning the mud from her robes. Harry, too tired to do the same, simply pulled his cloak tighter around himself and flopped down across her bed.

"You're staying here again?" she asked wryly.

Harry shrugged, unapologetic. "It's too cold in the Dungeons to head back now. And I’m tired."

Harriet shook her head slightly, but the small, fond smile she wore belied any irritation. She turned to the small writing desk tucked in the corner, rummaged for parchment and ink, and settled quietly into the chair.

Harry propped himself up on his elbows, curious.

He watched her dip her quill and begin to write, careful script filling the parchment slowly. Her expression was softer now, thoughtful and carefully guarded. Harry watched for a long moment, feeling an unexpected pang in his chest.

"You don't have to write goodbye letters yet," he said quietly, guessing more than knowing.

Her quill paused. Then slowly she resumed writing. "Not yet," she agreed quietly. "Just getting some thoughts down."

He nodded, letting his head drop back onto the pillows. The fire flickered gently, warmth pressing through the room, chasing away the chill from their dive. Harry closed his eyes, the quiet scratch of the quill slowly lulling him into a comfortable half-sleep.

His mind drifted, thoughts winding gently. He wondered if this was how things might have felt had he grown up with family. No urgent pressures, just the quiet intimacy of being in a room with someone who knew him. Who understood him.

He almost missed Rigel’s soft whisper, directed towards Dom again: "I know. I’ll open it soon. Just… not yet."

He didn’t catch Dom’s reply, couldn’t hear it anyway, but he could imagine the snarky tone Harriet had once tried to mimic for him.

"Christmas," Rigel whispered, so quiet Harry could barely make it out. "You have my word."

Then the room fell silent, broken only by the distant, comforting crackle of the fire and Rigel's quiet breathing as she continued to write.

Harry unwillingly drifted further toward sleep, mind slowly letting go of consciousness.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, 18th December 1995

Harriet’s dreams had never felt like this.

It started abruptly, colours muted and blurred like an unfinished watercolour. The world tilted, shifted, and for a long, unsettling moment she felt utterly disconnected. Mind detached, cold and clinical. There was no sound, not exactly. Just a whispering hush, like dead leaves skittering across stone.

Her vision swam closer, sharpening into unsettling clarity.

A dark corridor, shadows stretching out hungrily along the stone floor. She moved without feet, slithering smoothly, unhurried. Her tongue flickered out, tasting the air. Stone and dust and something metallic. She didn’t want this but couldn’t pull herself free.

This wasn’t her dream.

She moved silently through a doorway, pausing only momentarily, tasting again. Warmth ahead, pulse steady, unaware. Harriet felt trapped behind eyes she couldn’t control, a body she couldn’t stop from moving forward. Every muscle tensed, ready to spring.

A figure was standing at the end of the corridor, posture relaxed, face familiar Arthur Weasley.

No.

The word was a panicked plea inside her own head but not in her own voice. The dream-body didn’t slow. She moved closer, coiled with chilling purpose. Harriet wanted to close her eyes, to scream out, but she could only watch as her dream-self reared back, fangs gleaming for a heartbeat before plunging forward with lethal precision.

Harriet jolted awake violently, her breath hitching into a strangled gasp. Her chest felt tight, pulse hammering in her throat.

Beside her, Harry shot upright, gasping, hands clutching his forehead as though his scar were burning. She could see blood between his fingers. His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide with terror. Harriet stared at him, dread pooling cold in her stomach.

"Did you see-?" Harry croaked, voice tight, desperate.

"I saw," she whispered, heart lurching painfully. She threw the blankets that Harry must have pulled over them aside and practically leapt out of bed. Instinct drove her movements, precise, methodical, even as adrenaline buzzed sharply through her limbs.

"We need to move," she said sharply, pulling Harry off the mattress, her hand gripping his arm tightly. "Come on."

Harry stumbled upright, eyes glazed. Harriet steadied him firmly, grabbing his wand and her potions kit - always ready - before dragging him through the door into the darkened corridor. Torchlight flickered dully as they hurried, shadows trailing behind them like ghosts.

As they reached the second-floor landing, Harriet spotted a familiar portrait and paused briefly, voice commanding but strained.

"Sir Cartrick," she snapped. The portrait startled awake with a splutter. "Find Professor Snape. Tell him it’s urgent and to come to Dumbledore’s office, now."

Sir Cartrick gave a swift salute, disappearing immediately from his frame.

Harriet didn’t wait to see him return, propelling Harry upward. The castle blurred around them, corridors and staircases blending until they stood breathlessly before the Headmaster’s gargoyle.

"Fizzing Whizbee," Harry gasped weakly when she poked him in the side.

The gargoyle sprang aside obediently, the staircase spiralling upward. They ascended quickly, Harry stumbling slightly on each step, breath ragged, hands shaking. Harriet steadied him silently.

Dumbledore’s office was dimly lit, warm but strangely stifling. The Headmaster stood immediately, robes askew, eyes alert and sharp behind half-moon spectacles.

"Harry, Miss Black - what happened?" Dumbledore’s voice was calm but clipped with urgency.

"Arthur Weasley," Harry rasped, "attacked - snake - in the Ministry - "

Dumbledore’s expression darkened immediately, something uneasy shifting in his eyes Harriet couldn’t fully decipher.

"Sit down, Harry," he ordered gently but firmly. His gaze flicked briefly to Harriet. "Miss Black, if you’d wait outside."

Harriet hesitated. It hurt deeply despite understanding Dumbledore's reasoning. The sting of distrust burned sharply, even as logic acknowledged the political nuance. This Dumbledore didn't know her. He had no reason to trust her. She swallowed tightly, inclining her head stiffly.

"Of course, Headmaster."

She stepped back, the door swinging shut firmly behind her.

The corridor outside felt colder. Harriet paced quietly, fighting a restless urge to storm back inside and stand by Harry's side. She’d barely made it a dozen steps before Snape appeared at the far end, robes billowing, expression tense.

"Miss Black" he said sharply, approaching swiftly. "Explain."

Harriet spoke quickly, voice tight. "Harry's been having visions. Tonight he dreamt of an attack on Arthur Weasley. He was bitten by a Snake in the ministry and is mortally injured. Harry’s telling Dumbledore now."

Snape’s jaw tightened. "Understood."

The door opened again, Dumbledore beckoning Professor Snape inside. She followed him in wordlessly.

Harry sat trembling, eyes hollow, knuckles white as they clutched the chair arms. She made a beeline to him but was cut off as Dumbledore stood up solemnly.

"Miss Black, please gather the Weasley children immediately," Dumbledore instructed firmly. "Tell them to pack lightly and quickly."

She hesitated, glancing quickly toward Harry - he was pale, shaken, but nodded faintly at her unspoken silent question.

"Go," Dumbledore said again, gentler this time.

Harriet turned on her heel and left without another word.

She took a shortcut down to her room first, swiftly grabbing her bag, always packed by the door, adding the final items hastily and then to her lab, to do the same. Then she took off towards Gryffindor Tower at a sprint.

Her knock was rapid, urgent, the Fat Lady startling awake irritably.

"It’s an emergency," Harriet hissed, flashing her apprentice badge and the portrait swung inward instantly.

She climbed swiftly, steps soundless. She moved to the girls dormitory doors first, knocking quietly but firmly.

Ginny answered first, sleepy confusion immediately vanishing for panic as Harriet whispered urgent instructions. Soon Ron and the twins were roused and hastily gathering their things. Hermione woke too, face drawn, clearly worried.

"Keep them safe," Hermione whispered fiercely, enveloping her in a hug.

Harriet squeezed her shoulders back firmly, a silent promise, before leading the Weasleys swiftly back through shadowed corridors to Dumbledore’s office.

The Headmaster waited quietly, Snape lingering like a shadow by the door. Dumbledore broke the news quietly and gently. The Weasley siblings absorbed it silently, grief and worry written starkly across their faces, all focused on Dumbledore.

"The Floo is being watched," Dumbledore explained. With a wave, he conjured an old teapot, transforming it quickly into a Portkey, in a sequence of impressive magic.

"Thank you, Miss Black," he said, tone clearly dismissing her. "You may return to-"

“She’s coming with us,” Harry interrupted abruptly, voice fierce despite his exhaustion. His matching green eyes met Harriet’s firmly.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow slightly, and Snape smoothly interjected, "Indeed. I have no need of an apprentice over the holidays." despite it being her job to do inventory and restock in infirmary over Christmas, so that he could focus on research.

Harriet blinked, chest tightening slightly. Her gaze flickered briefly to Snape’s; beneath his carefully neutral expression was quiet approval, a tacit blessing that warmed her despite everything.

She stepped forward without another word, joining Harry and the Weasleys in a tight circle. Harry’s shoulder pressed reassuringly against hers.

Her hand reached out to touch the Portkey, overlapping with Harry and Ginny. She braced herself instinctively for the uncomfortable hook behind her navel.

In the last heartbeat before the world spun away, Harriet glanced up sharply, meeting Snape’s eyes one final time. He gave her a fractional nod and then faded away.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, 25th December 1995

Harry had always wanted to like Christmas.

Even when he’d been too small to really remember it, too unloved to properly celebrate it, something about the season had tugged his heartstrings with yearning. At Hogwarts, he’d learned what Christmas was supposed to be: friends, laughter, crackling fires, and warm jumpers knitted with careful love.

This year, Christmas felt different.

In the week leading up to it Harriet had spent the week holed up in the previously unused basement, brewing antivenom tirelessly, hardly taking time to sleep. He felt useless in comparison, lounging about and stewing in his guilt. He’d joined in only once tentatively, hovering by the doorway, amazed at how seamlessly she moved around the multiple cauldrons simultaneously. He wondered if he could have been as good as her, if he'd tried harder but then pushed it away. She'd grown up the way her world forced her to and it was hard not to notice how tired she looked, the shadows deepening beneath her eyes.

When she wasn’t brewing, she was with him, teaching him Occlumency, patiently walking him through exercises to shield his mind, her presence steady and comforting. She showed him simpler potions too - calming draughts and basic healing salves.

Sirius had been distant, awkwardly polite around Harriet but clearly avoiding her whenever possible. Harry had finally asked her, one cold evening in bedroom in Grimmauld Place.

"Why does he keep avoiding you?" Harry whispered softly, careful not to wake Ron.

Rigel’s lips twisted slightly, eyes sad and distant. “He thinks he knows who my father is.”

Harry frowned, in confusion. "Who?”"

She nodded once, expression tight. "Regulus Arcturus Black. His younger brother. In my world, he’s still alive. He and Sirius… well, it’s complicated."

"It doesn't help that I'm named after him either."

Harry didn’t press further. Instead, he reached over, gently squeezing her hand in silent reassurance. She squeezed back, gratitude flickering briefly in her eyes.

Then came the visit to St. Mungo’s.

Harry had dreaded it, had braced himself for the worst. Yet nothing prepared him to see Mr Weasley weak and covered in bandages. He couldn't stay but leaving made matters worse when he met the Longbottoms. Their blank eyes, the candy wrappers clutched in Alice Longbottom’s trembling hand - it hit him harder than he’d expected. Neville had looked away, embarrassment colouring his cheeks, but Harriet had placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, murmuring quiet words that only Neville could hear. Harry didn’t know what she said, but Neville straightened, nodding slowly, eyes moist but proud.

Afterwards, as they’d left the hospital, Harry had felt Harriet's quiet presence beside him. She said nothing, but her closeness anchored him as grief and anger swirled uneasily in his chest. He thought about everything she'd taught him - Occlumency, potions, even how to conceal the slim dagger she’d quietly insisted he keep strapped beneath his robes. He realised, suddenly, how much he’d come to rely on her.

But Christmas was drawing nearer. And with it, her departure.

Harry tried not to count down the days. He tried to pretend the day wouldn’t come, that maybe she’d find some reason to stay. But he knew in his bones otherwise. Harriet was leaving. He couldn’t stop her despite the selfish part of him that wanted to try. She deserved to go home. She deserved to be with her actual family.

On Christmas evening, after dinner, they’d ended up gathered in Harry’s room - Ron, Hermione, Ginny, the twins, and Rigel. They had laughed quietly, exchanged silly stories and small gifts, warmth suffusing the chilly air. Yet beneath it, Harry felt a quiet melancholy settling, heavy and bittersweet.

One by one, their friends drifted off, voices softening to murmurs, eyelids growing heavy until, eventually, the room was silent. Harry glanced around fondly at their sleeping friends sprawled comfortably across the floor, blankets thrown loosely over shoulders.

Only Harriet remained awake beside him, her green eyes soft and shadowed. Neither of them spoke for a long moment, the silence comfortable but heavy with meaning.

Finally, Harry swallowed thickly, voice soft, "It’s time, isn’t it?"

Rigel’s expression shifted slightly, sorrow bleeding openly across her face. She nodded silently, wordlessly rising to her feet. Harry stood quietly beside her, helping gather the carefully stacked pile of gifts she’d received from the others. He knew, without her having to say it, how precious this simple act was to her. The quiet reverence in the way she handled the packages spoke louder than words.

"Wait," she said suddenly, reaching into her robes and withdrawing a stack of sealed letters and a thin notebook. She pressed the letters gently into his hands. "For everyone. Once I’m gone."

Harry nodded solemnly, carefully tucking the letters into his own robes. He didn’t trust himself to speak, but held out the book in question.

"The book is my summary of the basics of Alchemy and an introduction to battle alchemy." He started down at it in surprise, melancholy weighing at his joints at the fact that she wouldn't be there to teach it to him.

She moved silently toward the small table by the window, moonlight spilling silver across the dark wood. Her hand shook just slightly as she reached into her bag and withdrew the small, ornate box.

She hesitated, fingers lingering on the latch. Harry stepped quietly beside her, heart aching sharply in his chest.

"Harriet." he whispered.

"Thank you." she murmured softly, voice trembling slightly, "For everything. For trusting me."

"You made it easy," Harry said, forcing a weak smile.

She laughed softly, painfully, eyes glistening. "No. I didn't. But you believed anyway."

He swallowed thickly, vision blurred. "Will you… be alright?"

Rigel lifted her head, gaze steady and determined despite the tears gathering at the edges. "I don’t know. But I’ll try."

"Will I see you again?" he chanced.

Her silence spoke louder than any words could have.

Harry nodded once, throat too tight to respond. His hand found hers briefly, fingers squeezing gently in silent reassurance. She squeezed back, her expression breaking briefly into a shaky, grateful smile.

Then, taking a few steps back and picking up her stuff, she turned back to the box, inhaled deeply, and flipped the latch open.

The lid lifted soundlessly. Harry glimpsed a sudden flash of gold spiral out at her, something powerful and ancient humming quietly in the air around them.

Harriet's eyes widened, startled, but before she could speak, the air around her shimmered like heat rising from stone. Her figure blurred at the edges, the gold light intensifying until Harry had to squint, shielding his eyes.

"Goodbye, Harry," she whispered softly, her voice echoing faintly like a ghost’s. "Be safe."

Harry felt a sudden sharp pressure behind his eyes, grief crashing fiercely over him, and he struggled to force words past the lump in his throat. "Goodbye, Harriet."

Then she was gone.

Silence filled the empty space, pressing unbearably against his ears. Harry stared numbly at the spot where Rigel had stood moments before, heart hollow and aching sharply. He glanced down at the notebook clutched tightly in his hand, vision blurred by unshed tears.

Slowly, carefully, he sank down onto the edge of his bed, notebook held close, heart twisting painfully. Around him, the soft breathing of his friends provided scant comfort.

Harriet was gone. But she had left behind more than letters and gifts; she’d left behind pieces of herself, small fragments of a different universe, a different life. Skills, knowledge, memories, and a quiet strength Harry knew he’d carry forever.

As the clock ticked quietly into the early hours of Boxing Day, Harry curled up on his bed, eyes fixed blankly on his room full of almost all the people he loved he wasn’t alone.

Christmas had always been about warmth, friendship, and love - and this year, he had been given the most profound gift of all: the quiet assurance that even across worlds, family was never truly lost.