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Castle of Mey, Caithness, Scottish Highlands,
The Great Hall of Castle Mey was quiet, save for the rhythmic shuffle of boots on stone and the clack-clack of steel meeting steel.
Dust motes drifted in golden shafts of morning light spilling through the tall, mullioned windows, brightening up the Tapestries bearing the Black family crest.
At the centre of the hall, a slender figure moved with sharp purpose.
Only six years old, the child stood in the centre of the duelling floor, feet firm, posture drilled into perfection. A small practice rapier, lightweight but true in balance, was gripped tightly in gloved hands. Across from him stood a man of forty-eight: tall, stern-faced, and dressed in dark, formal robes that allowed just enough movement to make him dangerous.
"En garde," the man called, raising his blade.
The child mirrored him without hesitation.
Steel flashed.
The man lunged first, a testing thrust aimed at the child's shoulder. The boy sidestepped neatly, blade twisting to parry with a crisp clang. Although the difference in physical strength and weight was far too much to parry easily, the child used his small stature and the kinetic momentum of the incoming strike to his advantage and managed to do it.
The man wasn't surprised by that; something of that sort was not unexpected from the child and issued another attack, lower this time.
The boy deflected it again, his feet dancing over the polished stone like he'd been born to duel.
The middle-aged wizard narrowed his eyes.
"Footwork's improved," he muttered, circling slowly. "Who taught you that sidestep?"
The boy smiled faintly, "Who else but you, dear, grand uncle…" as his eyes locked on the man's shoulders, watching for the twitch that would signal the next strike.
"Indeed…" the older man chuckled and then, another flurry.
This time, the child lunged.
The blade barely missed the man's hip, but the intent was there. Bold. Sharp.
Clack! Their swords met again, and again, the older wizard pressed forward, but not overwhelmingly or carelessly, just to the extent that it would push the boy and have him improve his skills.
And the boy was doing just that, which made the man begin to respect the boy's form, even if his pride wouldn't allow him to say it aloud.
"You're holding back," the boy said suddenly, breath calm despite the pace.
The man froze for just a heartbeat, then smirked. "Perhaps. Let's fix that."
He stepped in properly now, strikes a bit faster, footwork a bit tighter.
The child struggled to keep up, forced back two steps, three, until he dropped into a low parry, catching the man's blade and slipping under his guard.
The wizard spun, just in time to block the child's counter-thrust.
Steel locked. For a moment, neither moved.
Then the man eased his weight back and lowered his blade.
"Enough," he said. "That's enough for today."
The boy with a sweaty forehead didn't lower his sword straightaway.
He stared at the man, measuring him. Then, finally stepped back, lowered the blade, and bowed, just as he had been taught.
From the corner of the Great Hall, a little boy of six, with white-blonde hair, cold grey eyes, and pale as parchment, clapped his hands with excitement as the duel came to an end.
The two women standing beside him remained silent, their expressions composed and cool…
But in their eyes, just faintly, there were flickers of pride, maybe even a touch of amazement.
They were properly amazed at how sharp his fencing was for someone so young.
On the other side, the older wizard gave a small nod. "You're better than you were last week again, eh, boy?"
"I suppose that's worth a bit of praise, isn't it, Grand Uncle?" Rigel replied with a small smile.
"Indeed, it is," chuckled Cygnus. "The heir's a talented, capable child… eases these old bones of mine, it does."
Rigel smirked. "How can you call yourself old, Grand Uncle? What are you—forty-eight? That's barely early middle age."
In wizarding Britain, the average life expectancy was well over 137 years. At forty-eight, Cygnus was barely halfway through life. By all logic, he should have had another century ahead of him, barring any unfortunate incidents.
Yet Rigel knew, with a quiet certainty, that something had gone wrong.
In canon, Cygnus Black died in 1992, just six years from now, nearly wiping out the male line of the House of Black, save for Sirius Black, who, at the time, was rotting away in Azkaban.
Looking at him now, perfectly healthy and sharp, it didn't make sense.
'Strange,' Rigel thought, suspicion prickling the back of his mind. 'I wonder why…'
Just then, a small blonde-haired boy who'd been watching from the sidelines jumped up, clutching his own little rapier.
He sprinted forward, eyes alight. "Grandfather—me! Me next!"
Behind him, a pale, elegant woman with long blonde hair and a face like frost called out, her voice cool and commanding. "Be careful not to trip, Draco." She carried herself with the same haughty grace and arrogant good looks common to the House of Black.
The little boy, however, paid little mind to his mother's warning, much to her helplessness and quiet dismay.
Within moments, he had scurried over to stand beside Rigel and Cygnus.
The first thing he did was beam up at Rigel, his grey eyes wide with excitement. "Rigel… cousin… you… you were brilliant!"
Rigel gave a cool smile at his younger cousin's enthusiasm. "Thank you, Draco."
Draco then turned to Cygnus, holding out his tiny rapier with a proud smirk. "Grandfather, I'm next! I'm going to defeat you!"
"Will you now?" Cygnus replied with an amused chuckle, turning fully to face the boy. "Very well, then… let's see what little Draco's made of, shall we?"
Rigel took the opportunity to step aside, moving over to where the two women stood quietly observing.
He offered a polite nod to Draco's mother. "Aunt Narcissa."
Narcissa returned the greeting with a soft, cool smile. "Rigel, dear," and said, "Your uncle has been asking for you… You should join us for dinner one of these days at the Malfoy Manor…"
"I am afraid I am much too busy for some time, Aunty… so I cannot make any promises at the moment," responded Rigel with a bit of helpless expression.
Narcissa tilted her head, "What have you been up to…?"
"I'd rather not talk about it just now," Rigel said with a small smile.
"Hmm… playing the mysterious one, are we?" Narcissa replied, her tone amused as a faint smile touched her lips. "Very well, I'll let you off for now, but don't think you're off the hook entirely. You must join us sometime. Draco would be over the moon to have his favourite cousin to run about with… so do let me know when you're free."
Rigel nodded. "Right. I'll send word through Kreacher the moment I've got time to attend."
Narcissa gave a satisfied nod. "Good."
With their brief chat concluded, the pair turned their attention back to the so-called duel between Draco and Cygnus.
Of course, calling it a duel was a bit generous; it was more a case of Draco darting about enthusiastically, swinging his practice rapier with all the might of a six-year-old, while Cygnus calmly parried each attempt, gently guiding the boy's movements with patience.
Now, for those wondering why Rigel and Draco, pure-blood wizards from families like the Blacks and Malfoys, who famously sneer at all things Muggle, are practicing fencing, of all things… that practically screams Muggle.
Well, the truth's a bit more nuanced.
Duelling has long been a part of wizarding culture. Some legendary duellists and warlocks are both revered and respected.
Heck, even the greatest wizard of this century earned his title thanks to a legendary duel against an equally powerful opponent.
So it's not that wizards have anything against the concept of combat; it's quite the opposite, especially in pure-blood circles.
Families like the Malfoys and the Blacks take great pride in their duelling prowess.
Rigel couldn't speak for the Malfoys, not in great detail, at least since they took more part in the politics and governance.
But the Blacks? The Blacks had always been exceptional duelists and combatants throughout their several millennia-long history.
Even in recent times, Blacks have been infamous for their duelling and combat prowess.
Whether it was Bellatrix, Sirius, or Regulus, they were all masters in their own right.
Bellatrix and Regulus both rose to the highest ranks of the Death Eaters under Lord Voldemort at a fairly young age, while Sirius became a key member of the Order of the Phoenix, fighting under Dumbledore's banner.
But then the question is, how did three people from the same family in the same generation show such exceptional combat prowess?
After all, combat prowess doesn't get passed down like the family name or a haughty jawline; it's got to be taught. Sharpened through years of hard graft.
And that kind of training? It starts early, from a very young age.
Yes, whether it was Bellatrix, Sirius, or Regulus… they were strictly taught in the art of combat from a very young age… even before they went to Hogwarts.
But then another question crops up…
If the training's meant to turn young wizards into master combatants, then why on earth are Rigel and Draco practising fencing, which clearly seems to be a Muggle thing?
The answer to that is actually quite simple.
Fencing isn't exactly a Muggle thing, well, alright, maybe it is, but calling it that isn't quite right. After all, not every Muggle takes up fencing, do they?
It's far more accurate to call it an aristocratic, noble, or even elitist pursuit.
Before the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was officially established in 1692, pure-blood wizarding families like the Blacks and Malfoys were considered proper aristocrats, even recognised by Muggle royalty in some circles and being granted official ranks, status, and territory for their services in times of war.
Most of the Malfoy fortune was made by mingling with Muggles, whether they care to admit it or not.
Blacks, on the other hand, always held Muggles in contempt and kept their distance, but that didn't mean they weren't genuine aristocracy in every sense of the word.
On the contrary—
A wizarding family with a lineage going back thousands of years, like the House of Black, was the magical equivalent of high nobility with status, ranks, riches, and territory.
The House of Black is not known as the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black for nothing.
And during those days, when wizarding families still mingled, however slightly, with Muggle high society, fencing culture slowly found its way into the magical world as well and even took root in the pure-blood wizarding families.
Now that we know how fencing became integral to high-class wizarding society, let's dive back into the question of why fencing is being taught to Rigel and Draco when it has nothing to do with Wizard duelling.
To answer that, let's consider the boys' ages first—
They're just a little over six years old, with Rigel being the older one.
At such a young age, children aren't given wands. Most haven't even had their first burst of accidental magic, so there's no point handing them magical tools they can't control.
Even under normal circumstances, a child, even from a pure-blood wizarding family, wouldn't be given a wand straight after their first magical outburst either. Magical energy in their body is too unstable, and their minds are too immature to be able to make proper use of their wands.
Now, Rigel's case is a bit different, he's not your typical six-year-old. Not with all the memories he carries from his past life, which has led him to already make proper use of his late mother's wand.
But Draco? Draco is growing up the usual way. And by all accounts, even if he's already had his first burst of accidental magic, confirming his wizardly blood, he's still not allowed anywhere near a wand just yet.
But that doesn't mean he'd just left to play gobstones all day.
Perhaps he would have been, if not for a certain extremely talented cousin who's already taking active steps to hone his skills and build his strength.
Lucius Malfoy has no intention of letting his son be outdone by anyone.
So naturally, he wants Draco to be doing the same, training, improving, and keeping pace with his cousin's progress.
But considering their young age, they can't be using a wand for practicing… even if Rigel can, he wants to keep that hidden, and actually work on his physical skills. Thus, fencing came into the picture.
While they're not working on their magical or wizarding duelling skills just yet, practicing fencing still builds up their combat instincts and physical discipline, so it's progress all the same.
Cygnus Black III, who had trained both Bellatrix and Regulus in the art of fencing, naturally took up the job.
Well, it's not like there was anyone else fit to do it anyway.
Alphard Black, who'd once trained Sirius, had been ousted from the family and was long dead.
There was no one left.
And so, Cygnus agreed, at the dying request of his sister Walburga Black herself, to teach Rigel the art of fencing until he was of proper age to hold a wand and begin formal wizard duelling.
When Lucius Malfoy found out that Rigel was learning fencing and combat skills from his grand-uncle, he had a quiet word with Narcissa and got her to agree to let Draco join the lessons as well, under her father's guidance.
And just like that, both Rigel and Draco ended up learning the art of fencing from Cygnus Black.
'Hmm… I wonder how things'll shift in canon now that Draco's already started down the path of proper combat training. Potter and Weasley are in for a right rough time…' thought Rigel with a quiet chuckle.
As he had such thoughts, the duel between Cygnus and Draco had finished with their duel as the little boy panted heavily and walked back with Cygnus praising him, "Little Draco is also not far behind little Rigel…"
Of course, that was just Rigel cheering Draco up—making sure the lad didn't lose heart.
But it hardly mattered; the boy lit up immediately and ran over to his mother.
"Mother! Grandmother! I'm back!" he called out, beaming.
Narcissa knelt to tend to him, gently wiping the sweat from his brow while Druella looked on fondly from the side.
Meanwhile, Rigel turned to Cygnus and said quietly, "Grand Uncle… I'd like a word, if you don't mind."
Cygnus raised an eyebrow.
At that, Druella, Narcissa, and even Draco looked up, clearly curious.
Seeing the boy's intent for a private conversation, Cygnus gave a slight nod. "Very well… come with me."
He led Rigel out of the hall and into his private study. Once the door closed behind them, Cygnus turned and asked as he sat down, "Well then, what's this about?"
Rigel sat down across from him, hesitating. He wasn't quite sure how to bring it up—it felt like… no, it most certainly was a taboo subject in this household.
It carried the same weight of taboo as any mention of Sirius Black at Grimmauld Place.
Cygnus studied the boy's face, the way his expression shifted, the way hesitation crept into his eyes.
He leaned forward slightly. "What is it, Rigel?"
After a long pause, Rigel finally spoke.
"It's about your estranged daughter… Andromeda Black."
The moment her name left his lips, Cygnus's expression darkened, his face turning to stone. "Don't you dare bring up that bloody traitor's name in front of me," he said, each word cold and clipped.
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That's it for this chapter. Hope you enjoyed reading this one!
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