THE STAR'S DYNASTY

The Wraith

The Floor is Lava

Rigel was lounging in her favorite spot, the high pavement rooftop; in the hope no one could find her there and mess up her midday. The heat of sunlight washed over her as Rigel merely lay in the sunshine, bandages still covering her recent wounds, and took pleasure in the warmth that the summer sun brought, sinking into her painful joints. Squinting up at the bright sky, she looked at the patterns seared into her retinas after closing her eyes. Rigel grinned pointlessly, understanding that summer wasn't truly her season because she had never been a fan of it. Never liked it from the bothersome number of people who overrun her favorite beach that she couldn't put the blame entirely on them to the fact it was also two months of suffering from the Donovans. It feels like yesterday since she got here, and her life changed pretty significantly, but in any way, Rigel didn't expect anything extraordinary to happen.

After lunchtime, Rigel was sitting high up on the window ledge in Draco's bedroom, reading a dark arts book — one of the chapters in it introduced something called ‘Horcruxes’ and referred to them as “the wickedest of magical inventions” and said that the book will not speak of the subject further. Rigel probably had her expectation too high, expecting literal instruction from it. Though it was quite understandable – an awful, horrible thing it is. Rigel nodded her head, still demanding to know about the subject further. She sighed, as her eyes moved to the undisturbed Draco who have no worries about the world.

“Don't you guys have anything to do in summer?” she asked Draco, closing the book.

“Yes really,” said Draco, who appeared to be very busy with his chocolate frogs. “As father needs to get his job done at the Ministry; Mother on the other hand hosted a tea party with her friends from the pureblood society. Zenith usually would be home though, but he has school work, so he stays at Hogwarts.”

“And as for you?” Rigel tried to enjoy the moving, writhing chocolate Draco just handed to her before she let it leap out of the window.

“Nothing,” he said, chewing the head of the frog with an absolute casualty, “if father had free time then we'd be off to places. Living alongside Muggles doesn't sound like much fun, does it? I bet you weren't familiar with many summer places.”

Rigel was surprised that she was able to contain her anger for so long without laying a hand on him. It irritated her so much that despite his words, Draco did not bother to be guilty. Lack of present parents, not many teach him manners Rigel just knew. Or Draco is a natural little piece of shit. Rigel amused herself by thinking she was also lack of adult figures and probably just as troublesome as him but was very glad she did it well.

“It's not very entertaining, I must admit,” replied her, setting herself down from the window ledge. “But living with Muggles I know a few games you magic folks didn't know.”

“What game? Is it like Quidditch?” Draco frowned. Rigel snorted, wondering what on Earth Quidditch is.

“Not even close!” The frowns on Draco's forehead deepened.

“I'm not excited about your filthy mudblood's games,” sneered Draco. “Wizards got magic chess, and they're moving!”

“Yes, I know... Everything's here need to be bloody moving, right?” Rigel rolled her eyes. “I thought you magic folks are a bunch of intelligent, and clever sort of people. Or am I wrong? I mean, you can see how ignorant you are to know about a simple game,” scoffed Rigel with a hint of convincing. Draco looked as if he was just getting humiliated in front of people.

“Oh, said that you are superior to the Muggles, how could you? They know something cooler than moving chess,” added Rigel, putting more wood to the raging fire.

“I'm not! Then what is it?” Checkmate. The bait is working.

“The floor is lava,” whispered Rigel.

It didn't take too much time to explain the game to Draco. Though Rigel changed a lot of things from the original game, and added a few made-up rules, to make it better, and funnier. Rigel had discovered a suitable place to play ‘The floor is lava.’ Convenient, far better than the old classroom that she used to play in it. By using magic, Rigel had arranged the usual furniture – chairs, tables, china and she temporarily cut the magnificent carpet into many smaller pieces, leading to the door.

“The rules are easy; when anyone said “the floor is lava,” we just get off the floor. You failed, you will get hit by the bewitched cushions,” said Rigel lifting a finger indicating the five floating cushions orbiting them in a perfect circle near up the ceiling.

Started with such entertainment Rigel had been waiting when Draco couldn't even last five minutes without kept falling on the floor and causing the cushions to zoom in and out hitting him. Thanks to the charms book Rigel found, she was able to make this game more wizard-like the way it would entertain Draco; the way Draco would like it. “But he doesn't seem like he was having fun... Or does he?” Anyway, this was just as fun as the one she used to play in the Muggles school.

“How can you not be hit yet!?” Draco wondered aloud on the dangerously wobbling chair.

“Magic,” Rigel smirked, pleased with herself.

Fifteen minutes passed and not a single cushion hit the unbothered Rigel, whether it was her turn to give the command or not. She may have been foul, moving the carpet pieces under her own feet, but that was the point. Draco in the other case... Rigel was certain her cousin was alright despite that he looked almost green in his pale face, and his platinum blonde hair tousled wildly.

“Need a hand, Draco?” offered Rigel, without an intention to help him.

“I don't need your help,” Draco groaned in frustration.

“God, you are very pathetic. You need to swallow your pride you know, before it ‘swallows’ you.” A second later, maybe he was challenged, without another “the floor is lava” command, Draco jumped off the chair to the nearest small piece of carpet, but it moved out from his direction and Draco fell on the floor with a loud ‘ouch’. It shook something in her as she cut off the magical connection between her and the enchanted cushions and it fell soundlessly before it could slam him again. The carpet pieces rejoined, along with the other furniture placed to their positions.

“Argh! I'm dying! I'm dying!” cried Draco dramatically.

“I will let you know how it feels to be dying if you don't shut your mouth,” Rigel blurted out, holding Draco's swollen head. “You thick-headed bastard. I just said you are pathetic, not dumb!”

He was only crying and screaming from the start, but Draco won't stop whimpering like a baby; his small, squeaky voice echoed in the circular foyer. He began kicking and throwing stuff. Rigel had to keep shushing him but it only made things worse. Eventually, she had to put a silencing charm on the door before Aunt Cissy find out about this.

“I will buy you a present! How about it?” Rigel slightly increased her tone, her hands covering her ears in response to the deafening screams. Draco abruptly stopped wailing and slowly raised his watery eyes to Rigel.

“How about it, Draco? You love presents, right?” Rigel lowered her voice softly. Her little cousin nodded in reply, wiping the tears off his colored cheeks.

“Will it be big?” muttered Draco. No, who do you think you are?

“Well—you just going to wait and see,” assured her. Rigel had never given a thought about that. His birthday had just passed, and he was expecting another gift! After all, it was her fault, but she had to blame him for being so stupidly blind.

“Don't say a word about this to your mum, can you? I will mend this swollen head of yours,” he nodded innocently as Rigel smiled in relief.

“Good boy,” she ruffled his hair messing it up even more.

Tale of The Man With The Tall Hat

Finishing the last step, Rigel threw the crushed insects into the cauldron as the charmed ladle stirred the bubbly mixture itself. She pressed some ice into Draco's bruise before asking him to do it himself. Once in a while, she kept studying the basic potion book she found in their library to make sure she was doing it right. The recipe was rather complicated and simple at the same time. Though in her opinion the only part that was kind of hard was to keep the fire from being too small or too big since they don't have a stove. And, the Malfoys have nearly everything in this big manor – everything except a refrigerator. Rigel even had to use magic to change the water into ice.

“You should've known better, you've been here longer than me,” muttered Rigel, extinguishing the fire to chill down the mixture.

“You are incredible! I mean, you're not even at Hogwarts, yet. Zenith wouldn't do this,” said Draco. “He would tell Dobby to do it, instead. But, he's nice you know.”

“Zenith?” pondered Rigel.

“Your brother. Oh, that guy loves mudblood, he admires them! He has this one collection of lame Muggle magic tricks, especially cards, and posters. Father knows, but he didn't act upon it," added Draco, putting aside the wet fabric from the melting ice.

Magic tricks. Oh, yes. Days when she understands nothing. When she was younger she used to watch them on the television. The man with a tall hat, a black outfit, and a wand. She used to find it strangely comforting. Rigel remembered sitting very still in front of the television, a magic show broadcasting every Sunday at noon–her hands were ready on the floor to lift her body, her gaze shifted from the TV to the wall clock from time to time, and ears focused on any screeching car noise; scared if her ‘parents’ caught Rigel leaving her room. She watched the man pull a rabbit out of his upside-down tall hat as the audience clapped their hands, and so did the amazed little Rigel alone in the house.

Aside from all of the alerts, Rigel would take some time to put the TV at room temperature after she turned it off. Rigel knew they weren't that dumb, and stupid even though they had her room locked up, she still have everything perfectly planned, just for something so simple like that, like watching a TV.

At that time, Rigel was either 4, or 5. Rigel couldn't recall much, but she was tiny, and frail that when she hugged the old TV, there was still left another large space between her hands. Rigel was aware she can do magic. Having people like those as parents, every day had to face some older kids that liked to bully her, forcing Rigel to nurture her power from a very young age. That was how she escaped her stuffy room with ease. Simple tricks to manipulate the padlock. Just who wouldn't be suffocated to death living in a small dusty store like that?

Draco drank the well-rested potion–her heart pounded in terror if anything worse happened as this was her first time brewed a freaking potion, but thankfully just after the contents drained, his bruise slowly faded to his original pale skin. Though it seemed to be a deal between the two cousins—to Rigel's concern, Narcissa finding out about this was never the biggest worry to her. Just only afraid that they took away, and hide all of the magic books that she unknowingly borrowed from them. Donovan used to do snatched her book away after acknowledging that she can do magic. But, Draco seemed to keep his promise very well which was a good thing. Hoped that he didn't secretly tell his parents. Even at dinner, not a single hint of what just happened earlier. Whether it was for the gifts or purely for the sake of keeping a secret, at the very least, Draco was behaving.

A Stressful Journey

Nostalgic, the memories flickered in her mind. The old, euphoric feelings that used to live in her heart, grew bigger as she caught the orangey glimpse of the sun rising over the horizon. Such work to climb a gate like this has been one of her nurtured skills apart from her developed magical ability. In particular, when she fled the Donovans. Or when several lads chase after her seemingly having no cause to do so, as if they had just purchased their bully starter kit from Amazon. Rigel used to climb to the top of trees or rooftops to hide from them and was satisfied by the sight of how perplexed they were. Only now, this double door was larger, taller, and more difficult for her to climb with her damaged limbs.

“Just a little bit, master.”

“Shut up before I sell that skin of yours to the dark market, it's in high demand you should know.”

Rigel stumbled to her feet with a loud thud; she was so overjoyed that she felt like a huge balloon was growing inside of her. She was forewarned by a familiar throbbing sensation, but it was worthwhile. Will, a shortened version of William; the white snake, rested on Rigel's shoulder. She cast one last glimpse at the massive wrought iron gate and stridden along the Since it was still early in the morning, it makes sense that the lane road was deserted - leaves on trees' branches were beginning to shine brightly yellow as the sun had just risen over the horizon, and a chorus of birdsong came into her hearing. There was the sound of car horns, and tires screeching that she could faintly hear, which meant the main road wasn't too far away from her.

“I must admit that this is not very convincing, Will. Are you sure about this? It seems like no one will pick us up,” said Rigel nervously, drumming her fingers on her lap.

“No one asked you to trust a talking snake.”

A moment later, where Rigel had been sitting - a massive set of wheels and headlights came to a screeching halt nearby. When Rigel lifted her gaze, she could see that they belonged to a triple-decker, vividly purple bus that had emerged out of nowhere. Above the rear-view window, 'The Knight Bus' was written in gold lettering.

After then, a purple-clad bus conductor jumped out and started shouting something to the morning passengers. “Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this morning.”

“Did you say this bus goes anywhere?” asked Rigel, squinted up at the tall bus.

“Yep,” said Shunpike proudly.

“Great! I want to go to London. How much would it be?”

“Eight Sickles,” said Shunpike. “But for fifteen, you get 'ot chocolate—”

“Just take these ten Sickles and keep the change.” Rigel put the coins in his hand that had already been opened.

The bus didn't have seats as she had imagined; instead, a dozen brass bedsteads stood by the draped windows. Beside the wood-paneled walls were candles that fire was extinguished in brackets next to each bed. Rigel would've guessed she was the first passenger today as it was just as empty as the lane.

“Where did you get the wizard's money?” Will whispered under her robes.

“Uncle Lucius' work coat — mind you he still got a pretty lot of them,” whispered Rigel back, but probably it was still loud to hear.

“Whaddya say?” Shunpike asked.

“You heard things. I didn't say anything,” Rigel shrugged, locking her gaze on him.

“Say... woss your name?” Shunpike persisted.

“Grace Robinson,” said Rigel, disgusted that it was the first name that came to her mind.

“This is our driver, Ernie Prang. Ern, this is Grace Robinson,” an elderly wizard nodded to Rigel as she sat down on the bed. “Take 'er away, Ern,” said Shunpike, sitting down in the armchair next to Prangs.

Rigel was knocked backward by the speed of the Knight Bus, as Will hung on tight without slipping away and found herself sprawled on her bed a split second after a tremendous BANG deafened her ears. Waking herself up, Rigel peered out the blazing window and noticed that they had moved to an entirely different street while bowling. Shunpike took great pleasure in seeing Rigel's bewildered expression.

“The Muggles; they seemed to hear nothing,” said Rigel.

“Them!” said Shunpike with disdain. “Never listen properly do they? Never look proper either. Had they ever noticed anything?” Rigel shook her head in confusion; agreeing in silence. “Never they don't!”

Rigel continued to stare out the window while becoming more and more anxious. Prang didn't appear to have a decent grasp on how to handle a steering wheel. As the Knight Bus neared, rows of lampposts, mailboxes, and trash cans jumped out of the road; once it passed, they jumped back into place, but it didn't hit anything.

“Where're your parents anyway?” asked Shunpike suspiciously, studying her thoroughly.

“They're dead,” answered Rigel stonily. The bus conductor was frowning and staring up and down at her with his mouth slightly open.

Shunpike narrowed his eyes. “You said they're dead? Or gone?” Rigel chewed her lips, annoyed by his manner as she felt her stomach churn rather because of the question than the leaping bus.

“Dead,” Rigel repeated in a sharp tone. She held the steel handle post firmly, turning her knuckles white. Both the driver and conductor had a faint conversation that Rigel didn't pay much attention to due to her unbelievable dizziness, and the throbbing pain in her back. Stepping foot in London without a cent was a mad thing to do, Rigel had thought. And to be honest, she hated pickpocketing the most out of all the awful things she had done. A quicker form of begging. Rigel could still feel the humiliation surging through her the last time she picked on somebody's rich pocket.

“Right then, Grace,” said Stan, clapping his hands, “whereabouts in London?”

“Just drop me at a telephone box,” said Rigel.

BANG!

Hammersmith Cross Road was filled with their thunderous noise. Rigel sat up and observed as structures such as benches and buildings maneuvered out of the way of the Knight Bus. Prang slammed on the brakes and the Knight Bus skidded to a halt in front of an old red telephone box.

“Dunno why out of all places you chose here, Grace,” said Shunpike, shaking his head. Rigel snickered as she murmured her thanks to Prang.

“Well,” said Rigel. “Goodbye then!” She jumped down the steps, waving her hand in fake enthusiasm.

Odd

“I can't believe you're getting worked up about some insolent little brat,” Will snarled as he wrapped himself loosely around her neck. His fine, cold scales sent shivers down her spine in the morning clarity.

“I'm not doing noble work you see,” said Rigel, scooping up a handful of sweets into her basket. “That was merely an excuse so he can shut his mouth, and I can peacefully go to London.”

“You almost kill a boy for sweets? Insane.”

“Who doesn't?”

This tiny chocolate shop run by an old man held more than varieties of sweets and chocolate. In the corner, there's a chiller of cold drinks, juice, jellies, and fresh fruits cut into cubes put in cylindrical containers that were neatly arranged in their categories. Rigel gulped hungrily at the dragon fruit and the passion fruit juice. For a small shop, this could easily be called heaven.

Eighteen pounds; that was all she got from picking some coins from the telephone machine and someone's pocket. Though next time she swore she wouldn't pick on somebody again. A humiliating thing one could do. Rigel wouldn't need much money, a Mars bar, and some sweets, then she would be ahead home, indefinitely.

“I know a shop like this in Diagon Alley,”

“Diagon-what?”

“Diagon Alley; not so far from the manor. There's a shop like this named Honeydukes,”

“You bastard, how come you never told me that!?” Rigel unintentionally called in human language with a raised tone, gaining horrified looks from everyone in the shop, including the old owner who observed her calmly behind his spectacles, shaking his head. There was a heavy moment of silence as the bell above the door rang, and everybody continued their activities as usual.

A family of three; no, four - entered the shop with a huge smiles on their faces. The parents clanked their lumpy son - the father, a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have an enormous mustache, and the mother, a woman who was thin, and blonde, and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck. But Rigel's eyes concentrated on the boy who came not so long after them - who was not a part of their family, or at least their son judged by how small and skinny he was, and he even looked skinnier in his overly large clothes. The boy had a thin face, jet-black hair that was sticking up everywhere, and bright green eyes behind his round-wired pair of glasses.

Rigel saw the boy pick up soap water contained in a plastic bottle, the stuff used to make bubbles and walked with his knobbly knees towards the tall woman.

“Can I have this one, Aunt Petunia?” said the boy.

“No. Not on my Duddy's special day,” squeaked the woman called 'Aunt Petunia'.

Frustrated, he put down the stuffed bottle on a near-random shelf, as he regarded all the items hopelessly. A pure desire Rigel could've seen through his trickling eyes. Somehow the boy reminded Rigel of her old days in the Muggle world, where little to zero things that she wanted had to let it untouched. When Rigel was getting older, more things were restricted for her; including borrowing books from the library. Hell.

Kids naturally resented going to school, and Rigel could not claim that her experience was any different. But, in her instance, leaving the house for a little while was enjoyable. Rigel was used to a slash of Crude's belt or two or more when he was drunk every time she arrived home late from roaming around London after school time. How could she possibly have forgotten? Rigel was unable to lay on her back for three days in a row; as a result, she had a harder time falling asleep than normally, as if she ever had obtained any pleasant sleep in her life, and free from nightmares. The scars on her back remained to this day. And some weird men in the alleys used her as a subject to play catches, fortunately, she was quick enough to avoid being caught. Rigel couldn't have imagined what will happen if they did successfully grab her that day. More trauma, Rigel let out a small laugh.

The sweets, chocolate bars, and other items were safely paid for at the counter. Rigel was very thankful the owner was being super generous by giving her half price for all of it. “It's okay, you're just a child,” he'd said, with a genuine smile on his wrinkly old face.

The family she saw right before was just behind her — the mother held a large basket full of almost everything from the shop, and the father had a sizeable toy car in both of his hands. And for the bulky boy, he had nothing in his hands to hold. A family of blonde-haired, and a pampered son; nothing can ever remind her of the Malfoys more than this.

Rigel stared at the door threshold, at the waiting spectacled boy. She stopped beside him and quietly cleared her throat as she silently handed him the bottle without looking at him to not draw attention to his family. The boy looked at her with such bizarreness and had his mouth slightly opened in amazement.

“Oh, come on, take this. You don't want them to snatch this away from you, am I right?” He nodded earnestly and took the stuffed bottle from her hand as he mumbled a lot of thanks to her. Rigel wretched the door open as the boy said, “Harry Potter,” he sat up straight and smiled broadly, his green eyes seemed larger now. Rigel lifted her gaze a little and saw a strangely familiar silvery lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. “That's my name. If you care about that.”

Rigel returned his smile and said something similar back. “Lestrange. Rigel Lestrange.”

“Anyway, nice scar you got there, Potter.”

The King and His Princess

Even her guardian angel, if she has one (and if she does, whomever they are doing a terrible job), couldn't comprehend how much she hated the summer. The playground, to be exact—just this one place and only throughout the summer that she wholeheartedly despised. As if her legs had taken over control of her body, and there she was. Seemed undisturbed, sitting on one of the seats of the seesaw while enjoying her favorite mint chocolate chip ice cream but her heart resisted killing everyone here and now. Rigel regretted facing those people. But something held her from turning her back, something urge her to continue witnessing those joyful families. And now Rigel's in agony again, but it wasn't from her black bruises, nor her fresh wounds. It came from the bottom pit of her heart. Undescribable desire.

As soon as Rigel saw the lovely father and his gleeful daughter, the fond mother, and her adorable son—she knew it wasn't the heat and the warmth that she hates about summer. It was because of another warmth. The warmth that Rigel believed used to be hers and now she craved for years. Rigel gave the seesaw a hard kick, sending an electrical jolt to her veins.

Tyres screech of Vauxhall Vectra caught Rigel's attention. Out of a sudden, the heat didn't bother her anymore and the warmth felt sickening no more. A spark of light filled a void in her.

“Potter!” called Rigel, waving her hand frantically. Harry looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. Just when his green eyes found hers, Rigel somehow knew a beacon of light filled his hollow heart too.

“I can't believe we meet, again,” said Harry, smiling.

“Small world,” replied Rigel with a small laugh as her hand indicated the other side of the seat for him to sit. The seesaw started to move up and down.

“Who are they anyway? They're certainly not your parents,” Rigel lifted her head slightly to the family.

“You're right,” said Harry weakly, casting a glance in the same direction as hers. “That's Uncle Vernon, and his bully son: Dudley. That's Aunt Petunia, my mum's sister.”

Aunt Cissy is Mum's sister too. “They didn't treat you well I assume. We have the same fate, Potter,”

“I'm sorry to ask. Did your parents die too?”

Rigel almost choke but it was a close thing to do. “Not die. Just gone.”

“I was told my parents; Lily and James, died in a car crash when I was a baby. That's how I got this scar,” Harry pulled back his bangs to show the lightning scar. Rigel stared at it as a blinding bright green light flooded her mind.

“You survived a car crash as a baby with nothing but a little scar? Blimey, have you ever considered anyone who told you THAT was lying?” Harry shook his head.

“If I were you, Potter, I wouldn't believe it — logically. Oh, come on, don't you ever think something more realistic than a car crash? That scar of yours is very subtle.”

For some reason, Harry looked even gloomier.

“It doesn't change anything, Rigel. They're still dead.” He's right. Sometimes she had to remind herself not everyone are as insensitive as her. “How about your parents? You said they left.”

“Yes, they did. I was three.”

“You didn't miss them?”

“You can't miss something you never had.”

Liar. Liar. Liar. Although her mouth rebelled against it, her heart knew the other way. Even the moon has seen Rigel cry as she struggles to sleep to this day, and the stars have seen how her nightmares continue to torment her without showing any sympathy. It served no purpose to refute it. Rigel made no denials. However, most of the time, her mouth acts faster than her mind can understand it, quicker than her heart can comprehend it.

“How about we talk about something more cheerful than our parents?” Rigel suggested. Harry said nothing but nodded reluctantly. Then the conversation changed to school, teachers, and friends (Harry said he have none).

“What do you mean, you have none? I'm your friend now, Potter.”

“I guess you're the first one,” Harry shrugged.

“Believe it or not, I used to have none either. But now I likely have you.”

They both ended up laughing. There was nothing funny about it exactly. Only that Rigel couldn't help it.

“What a beautiful day to have a friend,” said Harry slowly in a relieved tone. Both Rigel and Harry exchanged smiles, then they were off talking about their uninteresting life again, observing funny people, and laughing at them together. Harry took out his bottled soap and blew some clear, illuminating spheres out of the circle stick. Quietly, Rigel multiplied the bubbles. Twice for each of them. At first, Harry didn't seem to notice it. Not until the bubbles were in unbelievable amounts. Harry stared at Rigel in astonishment and she winked at him. If his mouth can be open even wider, she was pretty sure it would. Harry whispered, “Can you make it bigger?” An instant after, the bubbles popped into larger form as a response.

“You're—”

“Wicked. I know,”

“No. You're awesome.”

Just after their back was numb from the tiny seesaw seats, Rigel and Harry went to grab some ice creams to serve their dried throats. It didn't take much time for her to choose the flavor because there was only one that Rigel liked. It took Harry some time as he darted up at the menu of various flavors and pointed up his index finger at the cookies and cream picture. Rigel peeked at her Muggle money balance and was very thankful to the old man who ran the confectionaries shop for his generosity. In a time like this, who knew the Muggle money would come in handy?

“I've always wanted to try that one,” said Harry with a distorted smile. Harry presumably has a social issue, so Rigel ordered the ice cream he wanted for him. She paid for two ice creams and a red helium balloon that was later tied to Harry's wrist. His cheeks suddenly blushed in embarrassment.

“When I have enough money, I'll pay you back. I promise,” said Harry.

“Don't you ever,” Rigel refused, shaking her head. “Got yourself a cute girlfriend eh, Harry?” a voice creaked behind them. Rigel turned to see the lumpy, dirty blonde-haired boy: Harry's cousin. Chocolate stains scarcely covered his freckled face to his yellow shirt. Rigel tried not to laugh at the sight of it but it was a very close thing to do, and she was sure Harry was too. But the thoughts of this boy bullying people around with the chocolate stains covering his mouth and clothes flooded her mind and she couldn't help anymore but burst out laughing.

“Pissed off,” said Rigel, her little giggle tailed behind her words. “To be honest, where's the real bully when we need them to beat the shit out of you? For fuck sake.” Harry snorted.

“Yeah, fuck off, Dudley.” For a moment both Rigel and Harry stared at each other, surprised. Then they laughed the odd away, clapping their laps together.

“Come on now, Potter,” Rigel tightened her grip around Harry's wrist and lead him somewhere else more peaceful. The Dudley boy kept following them up until Rigel found nothing but a dead end on how to escape this annoyance. But to her surprise, Harry stopped walking, and so did Rigel. He pulled his hand away from her, glancing over at his cousin nervously.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble. I don't want your life to be difficult,” said Harry out of breath.

“I’m wondering how is it like to have a difficult life,” Rigel said back with a hint of sarcasm.

Harry was shoved away to her back as she told him to run away if he wants; though she knew by her heart this boy wouldn't.

“I'm going to smoke your banana, motherfucker,” said Rigel threateningly.

“How? You're small and A GIRL!”

Suddenly his mouth was completely sealed. Dudley was murmuring, fumbling his mouth as his eyes bulged out in terror. His arms snapped to his side. Rigel untied his shoelaces effortlessly, loosened them up, and took them off of his shoes. The laces flew, tied up his legs together; Dudley trembled before Rigel kicked off his butt so hard, he stumbled upon his feet and thudded to the sandbox nearby. Rigel lit up a high fire circling Dudley so that he was trapped inside helplessly. His well-combed hair ruffled messily and beads of sweat dribbled down his temple and forehead. Just as she expected, people around them scattered around in horror; children cried for their mothers, and mothers screamed at the top of their lungs trying to find their kids. Some of them even froze in their route, too scared to move. This time, Rigel was free — there was no teacher nor principal to stop her. Rigel licked her ice cream in satisfaction and stood in the middle of the chaos, unfazed.

Rigel stared down at the powerless boy, grinning. “Fun was it? To take on someone, not your size?” Rigel asked, her grin fading. “I’m a small girl, after all, it's not fair to take on you. And you should too before I burned your banana for real without a trace next time.”

Up ahead, the sky with the scorching light of the sun disappeared into the pitch-dark sky. It was likely to rain, but there wasn't any wind, not even lightning or water droplet. The distant grumble of cars and the whisper of trees had gone. A painful sensation of gut pulling distracted her as Rigel yelled in anguish. Her knees hit the ground and the more she held it back, the more it hurts.

A heavy, unstable breath distracted her. Harry. Rigel took a deep breath before turning her back to face him. He looks just as frightened as everyone else. But Harry wore an unreadable expression. He looked both shocked and perhaps — scared. Rigel moved her gaze to a random point and gulped an amount of her saliva. When the pain in her gut lessened, Rigel discerned the fire around Dudley and Harry sprinted to his cousin. He casted a last worried glance to Rigel before he howled Dudley to his parents. Then it was like in her nightmare, she was all alone again. Cursing, she got onto her feet and glimpsed up at the empty, dull sky.

“You’re mad at me, don't you?”