Mid-January - Hogwarts Corridor
Hermione followed Aster through the corridor, her steps quick and determined.
"What do you want, Mione?" he said without turning, voice tired and distant, as if bracing for bad news. He didn't stop walking. Too many people were watching, whispering.
But Hermione reached out and caught the edge of his cloak, tugging just enough to stop him.
He paused reluctantly, glancing back at her. They stood near the edge of the courtyard, cold wind threading through the stone archways, carrying the scent of frost and distant pine from the Forbidden Forest.
"Hagrid was taken," she said softly, her voice tense. "Harry and Ron are going into the Forest. They're looking for answers."
Aster already knew. Of course he knew.
'Those idiots...' he thought.
"They know how dangerous that place is, right? We almost died last year," he muttered, eyes narrowing.
"They do," Hermione replied. "But it's the only lead we have. They don't trust you. That's why I didn't tell them the tip came from you. Like you said."
She wasn't angry. Not exactly. Hermione's gaze flickered to his chest, then away, as if measuring the truth behind his heartbeat beneath the locket. Aster could feel it. He knew what she was wondering, even if she didn't say it aloud.
Maybe Harry was right. Maybe Aster was being possessed. Maybe it wasn't him at all.
He didn't flinch. Instead, he reached for her hand and gently pressed it to his chest, over the locket beneath his shirt. The silver was cold, but his heartbeat was steady beneath it. Strong. Real.
"It's not me, Mione," he said, voice calm but laced with something old, resigned, quiet. "I can help those two get out safely. But I'll need to give something up. Whatever trail Hagrid left for them, it won't be safe. Not because Hagrid is wrong, because he sees no evil in things."
His heartbeat never faltered. He wanted that to matter. He wanted her to feel it and believe it.
Before Hermione could respond, Ginny appeared beside them. Her eyes were fixed on the book in Aster's hand, her diary. She was pale and serious, fear twisting behind her words.
"That's mine," she said, voice sharp. "Give it to me."
Her fingers trembled as she reached for the diary.
Aster didn't hesitate. "Here." He held it out. "I don't want it."
Ginny clutched the diary to her chest, like something fragile might spill from its pages.
"Did you read it?" she asked, almost whispering. Her fear was paper-thin but visible.
Aster nodded, blunt as ever. "Yes. It's... obsessive."
Ginny's eyes widened, shame and panic flashing across her face. Hermione stepped forward, concern overtaking her doubt.
"Ginny… are you okay?"
Hermione couldn't place it, but something about this diary felt wrong. Aster had read it, and everyone knew how Ginny looked at him. If even Aster, with his cold detachment, called it obsessive, what had those words done to Ginny's heart?
But before either girl could speak again, Aster added something that silenced them both.
"A little obsessive, sure, but I see the appeal. Full of surprises. Thanks."
Ginny's lips parted in stunned confusion.
Hermione blinked. It wasn't affection, not really. But it was acceptance. And in that moment, that mattered more.
Aster removed the locket from around his neck and placed it gently into Hermione's hand.
"Mione," he said quietly, "protect it for me."
A warmth bloomed beneath her fingers, almost like a sigh. Protective. Watching.
Hermione's fingers brushed the cold silver, eyes wide. "Wait—where are you going?"
He didn't answer right away. He turned, walking away from her without meeting her eyes.
"To bring back two idiots," he muttered, "who still don't trust their friend because of some stupid rumor or theory."
Hermione stood frozen, watching him go, fingers tightening around the locket. The warmth of it, the quiet pulse of its ancient protection, lingered in her palm like a fading heartbeat.
—————————————————————————————————————
Aster could feel the shift happening as he moved farther from the castle.
His obscurus, silent. His elven magic, muted. But his human magic still thrummed under his skin, and more importantly… his animagus form was still his.
That was enough.
He reached Hagrid's empty hut, paused only briefly, then transformed.
The dire wolf stood in place of the boy, white-furred and massive, violet-bright in the moonlight. Nyx soared above him, wings outstretched, her caw echoing like a warhorn through the trees.
He ran.
The smell of pine, the dampness of the air, the thick shadows swallowing the forest, and the eerie sounds of creatures stirring.
And in that run, faster than broom or spell, Aster felt something he hadn't in weeks: freedom.
He chased the scents. Leaves scattered in his wake. The forest trembled.
Far ahead, he could smell them. Harry. Ron. And something else, dozens of somethings. Legs. Venom. Hunger.
Spiders.
He arrived just in time, skidding to a halt between the boys and the swarming creatures.
The largest spider, massive, ancient, its mandibles twitching, tilted its head and hissed, "Oh… I know you. You killed one of my kin."
Ron paled. "Aster?!" he choked. "Why are you here?"
Aster, still in his dire wolf form, could only narrow his eyes.
But Nyx, ever his shadow, circled above and called down in his voice, sharp and mocking:
"Taking you out of the forest, of course. Hermione's worried, idiots."
Before Ron could reply, a sudden metallic roar echoed through the woods.
A flash of headlights.
SLAM.
A Ford Anglia shot from the trees and barreled into the clearing, crashing into Aster's side.
Pain bloomed along his ribs. Metal reeked of oil and sky. He tasted blood, but it wasn't deep.
As he staggered up, stunned, he could only stare as the car—that car, revved angrily and spun toward the spiders.
A miracle.
They would've survived.
Not because of him. Not because of magic. But because of a car with a mind of its own.
Aster stood there, still half-dazed, as spiders screeched and scattered into the darkness.
And in his mind, just one bitter thought echoed:
Is it because Harry is the Boy Who Lived…?
Not because I'm strong. Not because I'm right. Just lucky. That's all they ever are. Lucky.