(1)
Aldon's decision to leave Rigel alone was slowly, but surely, breaking. Yes, Aldon knew that it would be safer for him if he was never found. He knew that it would be safer for everyone if he was never found. He knew… a lot of things.
But he missed his friend.
He'd turn around every time he met up with the now Silver Duo and expect to see a dark-haired boy ducking his head in a conspicuous effort to stay inconspicuous. He'd want to see the muted amusement in his smile and the thousand words he said by saying nothing. He'd suffer now to see those suspicious grey eyes drawn up at him again even though seeing the distrust used to hurt before.
He wanted Rigel back, by Merlin, and he felt awful about it.
Aldon stared at his hands for a moment, then shook his head. He didn't know what had gotten into him. Perhaps he was simply lonely. Edmund's time was almost entirely spent with Alice now that they were married, and while he didn't begrudge them that— not really , anyway —he could admit it stung. There had been only two people in his life that he'd really wanted a connection with, wanted the time of.
And now the first was busy and the other gone.
At least he still had Pansy.
***
(2)
"Aldon?" Pansy said gently, "We'll find him, don't worry so much."
Oh, he was sure about that. He was just not sure they were doing the right thing.
"I—" the words stuck in his throat, "I don't know, Pansy, if I want to. Should we really be doing this? It's safer for him if he's not found."
"We're not going to tell anyone, Aldon. Just provide him with support we know could do him good."
"Since when has Rigel needed us to fight his battles?" Aldon bit out. He regretted the words instantly. Why was he so bitter, so unwarrantedly sore?
Pansy pursed her lips, although her soft eyes were more forgiving, telling him that she understood he hadn't meant it.
How many layers were in those eyes, too? Aldon couldn't help but think. Aldon never wanted to think ill of his friends— never. But there had always been something sharp lurking beneath Pansy's… mellow, polite exterior that, only now after Rigel's example, had he begun to realise she was actively hiding from them.
This, Aldon realised heavily, this too is ruined for me.
He didn't think he'd enjoy secrets anymore.
***
(3)
But the next words he remembered speaking in desperation were with heart rather than spite.
With a small smile,"Well, then. I've got an opening in my friend roster now, so…"
Harriet Potter bit her lip. "I…will keep that in mind."
Had not he wanted to get to know her, too?
Perhaps, there was still hope for him.
He didn't need Rigel, didn't need to find him.
"I don't want to know anything that might compromise his safety. You may not believe it, but I still consider Rigel my friend."
He… was going to be alright.
***
(4)
So he reached out.
"Rosier," Harry greeted quietly, "How does this morning find you?"
"Well enough, Miss Potter," He said with a smile, "well enough."
Harry shot him a look, but diplomatically decided not to comment on his tired eyes.
"I'm certain I asked you to call me Harry," she said, changing the subject.
"And I'm certain I asked you to call me Aldon."
Harry grimaced, "Right."
"What's the thing with that, again?" He asked curiously, "At the gala I introduced myself as Aldon to you, but when leaving me you called me 'Rosier', saying it slipped out because Rigel called me that. How often would you have had to meet him, for something like that to happen?"
Rigel.
Why did everything always come back to this, to him? Why couldn't he just shut up and forget?
Harry withdrew into herself, but Aldon said, "I'm sorry."
He didn't want her to think that this delicate friendship of theirs was because of a boy in the wind. It wasn't.
"It's okay."
"No, it's not. I didn't mean to make this about him, I'm sorry."
Maybe in the beginning, because he was desperate for someone who understood, for someone like the boy who could elicit more than an amused smile from him. He remembered wondering, back in his second year of knowing Rigel Black, if he'd ever realised how ironically alike they were. Aldon had wanted that feeling again, needed it.
Until he didn't.
There was something about Harry that made you feel whole in yourself, with its incandescent glow that made you want to be brighter. Where Rigel made you stutter, feel the wind knocked from your chest as you realised just how dark the world could get, Harry was like the first cherry blossom of the season, the kind that made you think you could be beautiful and strong and you no matter the world. That you could still be a flower, if the world was winter; the oncoming of spring.
And that she did. She sat opposite him, every bit as free as the birds that swept overhead with little chirps as she rested on a rough wooden stool in the Lower Alleys and smiled.
Aldon realised it was her first real, unguarded smile around him.
"We're okay."
***
(5)
"Any news?" Draco asked him carefully.
He couldn't mention what, exactly, he wanted to know about, but Aldon knew. Rigel. The life debt hadn't stopped him caring, though it may have restrained full expressions.
"I told you, I don't do that anymore, Draco," Aldon said gently, "I'm not going to look for him."
"What if he needs us?" Draco challenged, brow furrowed at the thought that Aldon could just forget it all , "Are you still going to hide?"
"If Rigel needs us," Aldon swallowed, "I'd hope our friendship was strong enough for him that he knows that he can come to us. If not… we are the ones who don't deserve his friendship."
" We? " Draco looked shocked, "Why would we not deserve his friendship? He-he lied to us!"
Aldon could see Draco' heart wasn't really in the reprimand, but for some reason this set him on edge. How self-absorbed, how entitled did you have to be to not see what was before you?
How entitled had he himself been?
And there was also the troubling fact that Draco thought Aldon had just forgotten. That he was doing Rigel a disservice, somehow. But that wasn't it. He knew, like Draco ought, like all of them ought, that Rigel would not want them to look for him. Period.
And he was respecting that.
Draco seemed to have registered something of that effect via empathy and was now groping for incredulous words , "I didn't see you thinking that when you disregarded his boundaries in second year. You were of the opinion that forcing your way into his life was the only way of saving him, and now when he needs us most you turn away respecting some imaginary lines?"
The unspoken hypocrite hung in the room, burning the distance between them something foul.
How…? Aldon was having trouble processing this.
Just how did Draco think this was a sound argument? If, in his own words, Aldon had disregarded Rigel's boundaries earlier, he was supposed to be reprimanding him, not—not using it as an argument to do it again.
Aldon's expression was blank, "Thank you for the reminder, Draco. I'll set it clear to put your mind at ease: I. was. wrong." And he should have stopped there, he really should have— or maybe this was right, this was what Draco needed to hear despite what he may have wanted to hear— "Oh, and just in case you got this wrong, too: Rigel Black isn't real. He is not a pureblood and most certainly not the Black Heir . I know your friendship on his part was real, though. But is yours now? Do you even realise what that means?"
There was a pause, and then Draco was shouting, "Of course . How dare you—?"
Volatile. That's how Pansy had described his mood. And Aldon knew he should make allowances, knew that not so long ago he too—
But no. He'd disrespected boundaries, he'd pushed unfairly, but he had never , not for a minute since Rigel Black was revealed to be half blood, considered them to be inferior. He hadn't before, too, but he had not cared much about it either, which was just as bad.
He was remedying it now, though he felt the shame would never quite go away. But Draco? Aldon had a feeling he had absolutely no idea what this meant for half bloods in general, how it practically proved that everything Draco's family, Aldon's family, believed was nothing but hateful, cruel lies.
He was conveniently thinking that Rigel was the exception, that Rigel was all this was about, and Aldon just might have had enough of the sickening self-fooling.
"How dare I? Will you dare go up to your father and say that? Will you admit that half-bloods are no different than us? Because I have the strangest feeling the answer might not be one Rigel will accept anymore."
"Y-wha-" Draco took a sharp breath, "Will you?"
Aldon laughed. He couldn't help it.
"What do you think I've just done?"
Draco's mouth clamped shut. He was still for several minutes, eyes wide, self-recriminating.
"You can't."
"What?" Aldon frowned.
"You can't do that," Draco managed, breathing harshly, "by doing that you're forcing a decision onto the rest of us! You can't make me choose between my family and my friend!"
Aldon had to give one last, low laugh, "This is what you don't understand, Draco. This isn't just about your friend. You're choosing between your family and what's right. Between bigotry and what may perhaps be a redeemable path. And I can't force a decision on you. That's all you, and your guilt."
"It's not— not this easy thing you're making it out to be," Draco spat, "I'm more surprised what it says about you that it took you nothing to choose. Is it because of little Miss Potter? That since you've met two people who are special, who you liked, who made a name for themselves despite being half-bloods, you suddenly want to turn on your family? Are two people enough for you to ruin everything?"
"Are you serious?" Aldon said, not bothering to hide how hollow his voice was, "Are you freaking serious?" He forced a breath to calm himself, though it didn't do much, "And don't drag Harry into this."
"Oh, Harry, is it?" Draco shook his head incredulously, "I guess that explains why you've stopped searching for Rigel. Wouldn't want to jeopardise your relationship with the one other potioneer kid. Admit it; you've given up on Rigel. And now you want to—to, replace him or something."
"No," Aldon said quietly, "Rigel will always be my friend, someone he can come to whenever he so wishes. But that doesn't mean I can't have other friends. Harry is my friend because she is a marvellous person who sees good in the world despite everything it's done to her. And I think, if Rigel were here, he would commend me on our friendship, not throw a tantrum like you have."
Brief amusement drifted onto his expression as he imagined: Rigel talking of potions with Harry eagerly, then looking at Aldon with that sheepish expression. Aldon laughing and reassuring the two of his continued interest. How alike the two were.
How alike…
…the one other potioneer kid…
…two people who are special, who you liked…
It happened suddenly, several thoughts clicking into place like a weight being dropped on his shoulders. It happened fast, and it would have happened sooner if he hadn't tried so hard to partition the two, so hard to not connect Rigel to her because he didn’t want to set anything on fire— her, or him, or the rest of the world.
But he was connecting them now. And my, what a mighty list of commonalities it was. Both Potioneers. Both brilliant duelists— he'd seen Harry spar with Lionel Hurst enough times to know she knew to freeduel well, and Rigel’s duel with Antiope had been no fluke. And hadn’t she used that very Fortis bubble trick the boy had as well? She’d said he had practised with her, when Aldon couldn’t check himself from blurting the question. And their personalities, too, were quite similar.
He didn’t even need to get started on their mannerisms— they both walked warily; not like someone who knew danger could lurk about, but someone who'd been through hell and back and was afraid they were going to be pulled under again.
And they were both troubled by unexpected touches.
It wasn't obvious with Harry, but then again it hadn't always been readily apparent with Rigel either. They both wore a very skillfully calm mask, after all, and Harry did reach out, sometimes, not shying away from contact she knew was coming. But he remembered his hand brushing by hers once, back in their early days, and he remembered her startling and looking up at him as though he were foreign. He remembered, as he was departing, how she’d looked at her hand and blinked back some emotion hard.
Aldon remembered, because it was him and it was her, and really, how could he ever forget?
He remembered, clear as the summer sky, finally being able to get the jump-scare on her (with assistance he would never admit to having.) He remembered her eyes widening like a cornered animal, a bubble of magic covering her before the two of them knew it. Her hand was gripping a knife, ready for some unknown danger. And he wouldn’t have thought too much of it, excused her extreme vigilance, except Harry kept apologising for it, as though it hadn't been intentional. As though she'd reacted on pure instinct.
He remembered Rigel deflecting George Weasley's unexpected glowing charm with a knife in a flash, out of that same instinct. He remembered a hundred more times starring each of them, and the damning parallels and winding twists they had both led him down.
By Merlin, he'd found him. He hadn't wanted to, but he'd found him.
It was her. He was her.
No wonder he— they— really?— what—?
It was too much, so Aldon ignored Draco Malfoy and walked out the room before he could do something insane like laugh hysterically.
***
(6)
He didn't ask her. Didn't mention it. Instead, he told her of how he'd informed his parents that he didn't care a lick for their ideology and was not going to keep his friendship with Harry under the wraps or end it. There'd been some shouting, some quiet, blank threats, but this was worth it.
"Aldon," Harry said softly, "You didn't need to—"
"I did," He said, "I really did, Harry."
She swallowed, "I'm—"
"Don't be sorry," he cut in sharply, "First of all, I didn't do this for just you, though you shouldn't be sorry either way. This… was long due."
When he looked at Harry, when he thought of who she had to become just to get an education of her choice, and remembered that there were hundreds more who didn’t even get that chance, he felt like slapping Lord Riddle.
I think Harry's rubbing off on me, some small part of Aldon still capable of finding amusement in the dark, dreary mess said, I'd never have thought something so discourteous .
Well, she'd certainly turned him into a rebel. The impotent anger wasn’t going away, festering into something stronger and sharpening.
How could Riddle, for any power in the world, snub people and claim them not human enough for basic rights? How could he sleep at night, stealing so many others' chances at their lives?
At least now he had cut himself from his parent's disgusting ideology for good. He was sure there would be some payback, some reckoning he couldn't yet see, but for now he really couldn’t care less. He was of age, anyway. What was the worst they could do? They had no other Heir.
So they continued to meet, and he managed to draw a smile out of Harry more and more often, until every time her eyes lighted on him she broke into a grin and increased her pace.
And he didn’t ask her. He never asked her who she had really been those four years of her life hidden from the world. But one day, she told him.
She pulled him down an alley and after several privacy charms, told him herself. And Aldon smiled, squeezed her hand gently, and told her he'd always be there.
***
(+1)
"I swear," Harry said with a grumble, "I'm never getting married again."
Aldon laughed, "How fortunate for me."
"This dress—" she gestured helplessly, "it's so… impractical."
"I'm sure you'll find a way to hide a knife in there somewhere," Aldon said, lips tugging upwards. He'd gotten a right scare the first time he found out she carried a knife with herself always, but since then he'd teased her mercilessly.
"I hate to break it to you…" Harry shook her head sadly, "but it's not possible."
Of course, Harry did it right back.
"Come on," he said, grinning as he roped his arm in hers.
"Odds are we're going to be late either way."
"Aren't you a ray of sunshine? Come on. "
And they laughed and left the room to…
"Kyprioth," Harry gasped, eyes roving across the path leading to Hall, and the latter's majesty itself.
Illuminated potions vials hung from the ceiling and on the walls shone beautiful flowers of green and white. All that were used in potions, some exotic and others Harry used regularly.
— Assured by Krait and Margo, because really, Aldon needed help in that department.
The decor was minimalist, because he knew Harry would love that. It wouldn't be wasteful, a fact which he knew she appreciated more than Aldon, and he just imagined it her sort of style.
"I—" Her voice cracked, "This is all…"
"Under stasis to protect their integrity for when you use them," Aldon said, wagging his eyebrows and inviting her to be impressed.
She choked on a laugh, "You didn't have to. No one ever…"
"Put ingredients on stasis for you?" Aldon joked, then caught her expression, "Hey, don't cry. You deserve the world."
She whacked his arm, "I'm not crying."
She blinked hard, and Aldon squeezed her arm gently, "Of course not."
"Stop patronising me," she muttered.
"I recall our first meeting being quite the opposite," he said with a smile, "It all comes in a circle, doesn't it?"
She shook her head with a smile, eyes still mesmerised by the decor.
"Thank you," she said quietly, "Really. I mean it."
"You too," Aldon said, feeling something warm in his chest, "For being here with me."
Harry looked at him, eyes sparkling like an emerald fire, "Why wouldn't I?"
"No clue," He said, back to levity, "I mean, do you see how handsome I look?"
Her eyes twinkled, "Red suits you."
He puffed up his chest, "Every colour suits me. Green the most."
She blinked said green eyes away, "Whatever you say, Aldon. But I was right when I said odds were we weren't going to be on time."
Merlin.
"How about we get going and you gloat later?"
"All up for it."
Aldon knew who she was, as they walked into the hall. He knew she was a girl who society had tried to push back, who'd fought and fought again in so many ways. He knew she was the boy he'd met at school and wanted to know more about, the boy who'd battled against so many odds. He knew she was of the alley folk. He knew she was a potioneer. And he knew she loved him.
Each realisation had come slowly, but every surprise had just been… warming. Another sign that she trusted him. That she'd let him in.
And she'd gotten him to open up too. He'd always been interested in what others had to say, what secrets they held close. But rarely had any reciprocated. Rarely had someone wanted to see him as he was, and stay by him the same.
But if he knew her, with her sharp gait, fast pace, fiery eyes and their verdant softness; if he knew her laugh and sniffs and countless expressions— the soul that had puzzled and drawn him so, all those years ago, that still drew him now, then she knew him, too.
And by Merlin, he loved her for that and a thousand things more.