Early January. Before sunrise.
Aster woke with a chill crawling down his spine.
The dormitory was still dark. Nyx sat perched at the edge of his bed, her dark feathers glossy in the dim light, yellow eyes fixed on him, as if she'd been watching for hours.
In his hands, slightly open and warm to the touch, was the black diary.
Tom Riddle's diary.
Aster stared at it.
"...Did I open it?" he murmured, not quite asking anyone, but Nyx tilted her head and gave a soft, affirmative caw.
He didn't remember it. Not opening it. Not reaching for it. Not even thinking about it.
But there it was. In his hands. As if summoned in sleep.
He let out a slow breath, brushing his thumb over the cover. He hadn't meant to keep it… Yet it kept returning. Sleepwalking was one thing, but reaching for the diary in his sleep?
His thoughts flickered back to the rooster deaths. There was no proof it was him. But the possibility kept clawing at his mind.
At least now it's better than waking up outside, he thought grimly.
He got dressed and made his way down to the Great Hall, hoping for a quiet breakfast before the rush.
But silence met him, the kind that wasn't peaceful. The kind that lingered right before whispers started.
Eyes turned to him as he entered.
Students watched him with open curiosity. Some with unease. Others with awe.
'Slytherin's heir,' the rumors still hadn't died down.
He ignored them, walking toward his usual seat.
But not all the eyes were on him.
Some were on the object in his hands.
The diary.
One pair of eyes in particular.
Ginny Weasley sat stiffly at the Gryffindor table, her gaze fixed on the black book he carried. Her face turned a pale shade of ash, shame flickering across it, fear lurking beneath.
Aster gave her a slow nod, a polite, noncommittal wave.
She flinched slightly and looked down.
Strange, he thought. Why does she look like she's afraid?
From the Ravenclaw table, another set of eyes tracked him: wide, pale-blue ones filled with strange knowing.
"He's being possessed by a Wrackspurts," said Luna Lovegood dreamily, as if narrating an inevitable truth. She was seated beside a group of older students, utterly unfazed by their stares.
A third-year Ravenclaw beside her blinked, arching an eyebrow.
"That's not real," said Cho Chang flatly, arms crossed. "Wrackspurts don't exist. And even if they did, someone else would've noticed it."
Luna didn't respond immediately, instead watching Aster with an almost mournful look.
Cho followed her gaze. Aster looked distant, colder than most boys his age. Tired. He wasn't looking at them, but Cho couldn't help but feel like he had somehow heard them anyway.
She frowned.
"Didn't you… hang out with him?" Cho asked, her voice low. "Wasn't there that morning when people saw you, him, and Ginny Weasley out in the garden before dawn?"
Luna nodded matter-of-factly. "Yes. By then the Wrackspurts already had its claws in him."
Cho raised an eyebrow again. "Right."
Luna continued, undeterred. "He needs someone to keep him anchored. I understand things he doesn't say. The leech is changing his soul, reshaping it."
Cho gave her a sidelong look. 'Is she serious? Or is this just some story he told to charm a first-year?'
Still, she glanced back at Aster. There was something different about him lately, not just how others looked at him, but how he held himself. His eyes were sharper. His face, paler, more striking. He looked like someone who had aged too fast, someone walking with ghosts.
Luna tilted her head. "It's made him more mysterious. He was already quite handsome. But now he's… compelling."
Cho exhaled through her nose, frowning. She couldn't deny it.
"Yeah… well," she muttered, "still, you should probably keep your distance, Lovegood."
Luna just smiled serenely and took a bite of toast, as if she'd already heard that advice and long since chosen to ignore it.
At the Gryffindor table, Hermione sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, eyes fixed on the parchment beneath her breakfast plate. Words blurred together. She hadn't touched her food.
She had found the answer.
The creature attacking students… was a basilisk.
The clues had been obvious in hindsight: spiders fleeing the scene, petrified victims, water near each one, and now, she had found the confirmation. It all fit.
And it terrified her.
Not just because it was a monster bred to kill.
But because the creature's traits led her straight back to someone she trusted more than anyone.
Aster.
His wand core was basilisk scale, not phoenix, not unicorn, not dragon. Basilisk. She had known this for a while now. He'd told her himself, in that quiet, matter-of-fact way of his.
She hadn't thought anything of it at the time.
But now?
Now the coincidences were stacking too high to ignore.
He had been near most attacks.
He could speak Parseltongue.
He was a Slytherin.
He carried the Locket of Slytherin, the real one.
And now… this.
A basilisk wand.
His wand was crafted from ebony, the wood engraved with a delicate pattern that mimicked real scales, catching the light with an almost serpentine shimmer.
She didn't want to doubt him. She trusted Aster. He was her closest friend, her secret, impossible crush. He was cold sometimes, distant, hard to read. But with her, he'd always been gentle. Real.
But Hermione was also logical. She couldn't ignore patterns, and this one screamed danger.
What if he's not doing it on purpose? What if something's wrong with him? What if someone is using him?
She shook the thoughts away, pushing her toast in circles across the plate.
She couldn't tell Harry or Ron. Not yet.
They didn't trust Aster like she did. Not fully. Especially now.
And Aster… Aster had noticed.
He'd started pulling away. Not obviously, but he no longer volunteered ideas unless asked. He didn't shadow them through the corridors or offer up theories or quips.
He was giving them space. Giving her space.
Protecting himself, and maybe them, too.
Hermione clenched her jaw and closed her eyes.
She didn't know whether to thank him or confront him.
But she knew this: She wouldn't let him face this alone, not if the faintest spark of the Aster she once knew still flickered behind those cold, violet eyes. Whatever it took.