Earlier December - Great Hall.
The castle grew tense again before the holidays, as whispers followed every footstep. Whispers that turned into gasps one Friday afternoon.
Justin Finch-Fletchley had been found frozen stiff in the corridor, eyes wide and glassy, alongside the translucent remains of Nearly Headless Nick. The ghost's smoke-like form hung suspended in a ghastly display, silvery and unmoving.
Professor McGonagall ordered everyone back to their dormitories at once. Filch wailed about the mess, and Peeves hovered gleefully in the rafters, singing something crude that rhymed "Finch-Fletchley" with "sketchy."
But the damage had already been done.
"They say Black saw Potter arguing with Justin last week—"
"—and now Justin's been petrified!"
"Maybe he's trying to frame Potter, makes sense, doesn't it? He's in Slytherin—"
"And always lurking around before something happens."
Aster said nothing as the whispers reached him, Nyx perched silently on his shoulder. His eyes flicked toward Harry in the crowd, confused, pale, and now the center of every glance.
But Aster's face didn't betray much. He simply turned and walked away, vanishing into the shadows of the corridor as quickly as the rumors had appeared.
Today was Christmas. Something about it always felt a little off to Aster. The wizarding world had different customs, different histories, but still, they celebrated the same days.
Marriage. Death. Birthdays. Christmas. Strange how tradition crossed even the deepest lines.
Last year, he'd spent the holiday quietly at the Ministry with Susan Bones. This year, the castle was mostly deserted. Only a handful of students had stayed behind, their presence like echoes in the wide, cold halls.
He was sitting by alone in the Great Hall, watching the snow drift over the Black Lake, when Hermione found him.
"As," she said, hesitantly, "Can you help Harry and Ron? They still haven't gotten the hair from Crabbe and Goyle..."
Aster blinked, his gaze shifting from the glass to her face. "'As'?" He raised an eyebrow.
Hermione flushed. "Sorry. I mean, Aster."
He let it go with a flick of his fingers. "Sure, Mione."
He followed her gaze. Crabbe and Goyle were lurking by the far table, stuffing food into their mouths with the grace of trolls. Aster calculated the distance, the angles. He could rush past them, pluck a few hairs in the chaos. Or... knock them out and take his time.
"I can't use magic," he muttered. "Can't keep them down for long without it. And if they see me—"
"Detention," Hermione finished, biting her lip. "I know."
She reached into her robes and pulled out two small, dense cakes, each wrapped in parchment. "Sleeping Draught," she whispered. "A bite, and they'll be out in seconds."
Aster took them silently, turning the cakes over in his hand.
Then, with barely a glance, he lifted his hand and gestured toward a Slytherin girl passing nearby. She slowed, eyes curious. Aster leaned in and murmured something low in her ear.
She fidgeted but nodded.
Hermione blinked. "What did you say?"
"Just asked her to make sure these get to Crabbe and Goyle after the party," he replied simply, slipping the cakes into her hand. "They trust her more than me."
He stood up, brushing invisible dust off his sleeves. "Hair will be easy after that. Let me know where you'll be."
Hermione looked both relieved and a little flustered. "Thank you, Aster."
Aster gave her a ghost of a smile and walked off, his raven Nyx gliding overhead like a shadow with wings.
After the party.
Aster had made quick work of the situation.
He dragged the unconscious forms of Crabbe and Goyle, heavy as stone and snoring like oxen, somewhere "safe." Which, in Aster's terms, meant Filch's office. The caretaker would find them eventually. With any luck, they'd earn themselves a well-deserved detention.
The night was cold and crisp when he found Hermione again, waiting nervously in the shadowed courtyard, hugging her cloak around her.
He approached quietly, Nyx fluttering silently to perch atop a stone arch above them.
"Here, Mione," Aster said, his voice calm as always.
She turned quickly as he held out his hands.
"This one's Crabbe," he said, holding up a few thick, dark strands in his left hand.
"And this is Goyle," he added, offering the second set of hair in his right.
Hermione took both carefully, nodding, her breath clouding in the night air.
"Do you want to know where the Slytherin common room is?" Aster asked, voice low.
She hesitated, then nodded.
He leaned closer, eyes unreadable. "Take the stairs down through the dungeons. The wall behind it responds to the password."
Hermione waited, expectant.
Aster gave it to her with a faint smirk.
"Pureblood."
Her expression tightened at the word, but she said nothing. Only gave a soft, firm nod.
Aster turned to leave, shadows swallowing his form.
"Be careful, Mione," he said without looking back. "Don't stay longer than you need to."
Then he was gone.
A few minutes later, there they were, Crabbe and Goyle, lumbering awkwardly behind Draco Malfoy through the dim corridors of the dungeons.
Aster watched them pass, arms folded.
His brow furrowed.
Hermione was supposed to be with them.
But she wasn't.
He turned slightly and murmured, "Nyx… find her."
The raven let out a soft caw and took off in a streak of shadow and feathers.
Aster followed. The route was too familiar to be a coincidence; Nyx was heading straight to the second-floor girls' bathroom.
He walked in without hesitation.
Myrtle was mid-rant, circling a stall with ghostly glee. But the moment she noticed Aster, she floated straight to him with wide eyes.
"Today's not the day for a bath," she whispered mischievously. "Someone botched a potion. They're in such a state— horribly funny, really—"
"Mione," Aster called, ignoring Myrtle and knocking gently on the stall door. "It's me. What happened?"
There was a muffled gasp, followed by a shaky sob that abruptly cut off.
"Go away, Aster! I don't want you to see me like this!"
He stayed calm, voice level.
"Mione… let me help."
"No! You'll laugh! I—I look awful—"
"I won't," he said softly. "Don't you trust me?"
Myrtle snickered beside him. "Oh, she's really—"
Aster gave her a sideways glance. Not cruel. Just enough.
Myrtle drifted back, silenced.
After a pause, the door creaked open.
Hermione stood there, eyes red, her features twisted oddly. Her ears were pointed. Fur peeked from beneath her collar. Her face was… not quite human.
Aster blinked.
Then smiled.
It wasn't mocking.
It was real.
"You got Millicent Bulstrode's cat's hair, didn't you?"
Hermione looked like she might cry again.
Aster tilted his head. "Can you purr? Or meow?"
Hermione glared at him, but even she couldn't suppress the hiccupping laugh that broke free.
Aster leaned against the wall, arms crossed, the edge of his smile lingering.
"I'll get Madam Pomfrey. She's discreet."
Hermione nodded, ears twitching.
And Myrtle?
She floated above them, arms crossed, muttering, "You people are no fun anymore."
Aster stayed with Hermione until midnight.
She had finally fallen asleep, curled under the crisp sheets of the Hospital Wing, fur still faintly visible along her jawline, breathing slow and even.
Madam Pomfrey gave him a pointed look, but didn't force him to leave. Not until Hermione was resting peacefully.
Only then did he rise, silent as a shadow, and slip out.
The corridors were quiet, the torches flickering low. On his way down to the dungeons, near the stairwell, he nearly collided with Harry and Ron.
"Aster!" Ron called, eyes wide. "Hermione—she's—"
"She's in the Hospital Wing," Aster cut in flatly. "You shouldn't visit her."
He said it with calm finality, like a locked door.
The boys stared at him.
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Why not?"
Aster's expression didn't waver.
"Because she doesn't want to be seen like this. Not by anyone but Pomfrey. And me."
There was a moment of silence. Too tense to be comfortable.
Ron looked between them. Harry frowned.
Aster gave a dry shrug. "What, do you think I did something? I gave the potion to all three of you. I didn't botch it. Hermione's the last person I'd ever hurt."
Then, after a pause, voice cool and low, he added, "And don't worry. I'm more her friend than either of you."
It wasn't arrogance.
It was a fact.
But Harry's stomach twisted slightly.
There was something off in Aster's tone, calm, measured, but somehow possessive. Not angry. Not cruel.
But something darker.
Harry wasn't sure if it was jealousy in himself, or a warning in Aster.
He didn't say anything.
Neither did Ron.
Aster turned and walked away, his shadow melting into the dark stone corridor.
What none of the three noticed was a pair of dreamy eyes watching from behind a pillar, quiet and distant, yet entirely present.