Harry, mustering his courage, found Astoria and explained the purpose of his visit.
Astoria, in turn, immediately smelled the familiar scent of a certain scoundrel orchestrating things from behind the scenes.
"This aura of a master manipulator, inherited from who-knows-where... is it that man?" Astoria muttered to herself, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
"What did you say?" Harry asked, completely confused.
"Nothing. Let's go, we need a private place to talk," Astoria replied with a warm, disarming smile.
"How about Hagrid's hut?" Harry suggested.
Successfully avoiding the two friends who were currently in a cold war, Harry managed to invite both Ron and Hermione to Hagrid's hut for what he hoped would be a reconciliation.
"Alright, everyone sit down," Astoria said, her voice infused with the soothing power of a Psychiatrist.
Hermione and Ron felt their anger dissipate somewhat and sat down with sullen, pouting faces.
"Ho ho, what's all this then?" Hagrid asked, preparing a cup of tea for each of them.
"It's all because of her blasted cat," Ron said, crossing his arms stubbornly.
"I've already told you, Crookshanks couldn't possibly have eaten that dead rat of yours," Hermione retorted sharply.
Understanding the situation, Hagrid looked at the two with a serious expression. "You can't be like this. Friends are much more important than rats and broomsticks."
Hagrid's heartfelt words, however, did not ease the tension between Hermione and Ron.
"Well then, let's talk," Astoria said, her eyes narrowing with professional focus.
"What's there to talk about," Ron grumbled.
"First, are you absolutely certain your rat is dead?" Astoria asked calmly.
"Of course! All that blood... Scabbers is definitely dead," Ron shouted, his voice cracking with emotion.
"Then, can you be certain that it was Crookshanks who killed Scabbers? Don't lie to me, I can tell."
A power of deterrence emanated from Astoria's words, and it felt as if a powerful dragon was staring at Ron from behind her.
"Merlin, she's so much like Aiden... I mean, when she's serious," Harry whispered quietly into Hagrid's ear. Hagrid nodded in solemn agreement.
"I... I..."
Under the power of deterrence, Ron couldn't stubbornly insist on his accusation, because he had no solid proof.
"Then, Hermione, what about you? Are you also completely certain that Crookshanks didn't eat Ron's rat?" Astoria turned her piercing gaze to Hermione.
"Of course. Crookshanks is with me every day. If she had eaten something raw, her fur would at least have some stains, but Crookshanks has been impeccably clean these past few days."
As a top student, Hermione always possessed clear and complete logic, instantly proving Crookshanks's innocence with irrefutable evidence.
"Then, Mr. Weasley, do you admit that you were just taking out your anger because of the loss of your pet?" Astoria asked, subtly using Suggestion.
Her voice went straight to Ron's heart, and his conscience and reason began to interrogate him relentlessly.
"Yes," Ron finally lowered his head, admitting his fault in a small, defeated voice.
"Then, shouldn't we have the courage to admit our mistakes?" Astoria prompted gently.
"Sorry, Hermione," Ron apologized, looking genuinely remorseful.
"Hmph, fine. I won't hold it against you," Hermione replied, though her arms remained stubbornly crossed.
Seeing the relationship between his two friends beginning to ease, Harry showed a knowing smile.
"Well then, since the matter is resolved, I'll take my leave," Astoria said, lifting the hem of her robe and performing a perfectly ladylike curtsy.
With a surge in her acting progress and a joyful mood, she stepped onto the stone path back to the castle.
The next day, following the location sharing from his monocle, Astoria pushed open the door of an abandoned classroom.
Inside, a massive gray-white giant dragon with heterochromatic pupils was coiled up, asleep. Strange, glowing runes seemed to flicker on its shimmering scales.
The more Astoria looked, the more mesmerized she became, as if she were about to merge into these runes, becoming a wisp of pure thought, returning to the warm, welcoming sea of the collective unconscious.
Smack. A hand chopped down on Astoria's head, and she stumbled, nearly falling to the ground. An invisible thought stirred waves in the sea of the collective unconscious, causing the dissolving Astoria to reassemble her scattered consciousness. A demigod's soothing instantly stabilized her emotions.
"What is this?" Astoria asked, dazed and confused.
"Mythical Creature Form. You can unfold it once you step into Sequence 4. People with insufficient spirituality cannot look at it directly," Aiden's voice explained from the dragon's form.
"Is my spirituality still considered insufficient?" Astoria asked, dusting herself off with wounded pride.
"It's more than sufficient. Otherwise, you would have become my faithful servant the first moment you saw me. Besides, even if I had left you alone, you probably would have recovered on your own after a while," the dragon-Aiden smiled.
"Hmm, right, I have a question for you," Astoria said after recovering for a moment, her mind now clear.
"Go on," Aiden gestured with his massive claw.
"Why did providing psychological counseling to Harry Potter and his friends give so much more acting progress than helping the others in Slytherin?" Astoria had found a significant blind spot.
"Because their weight in the grand tapestry of fate is different."
The dragon transformed back into Aiden, who casually poured Astoria a glass of lemon juice. Astoria made a face of immediate disgust.
"How can you possibly like this stuff!"
"My lady, you must know that in this world, everyone carries a different destiny. Some people's fates affect countless others, while some are utterly insignificant," Aiden said, taking a sip of his lemon juice and stating the cruel reality of the magical world.
"As wizards, we naturally have a higher weight in fate, which is why our minds are so strong. Strong enough to lead our souls, thereby controlling magic."
As Aiden was speaking, a small beetle flew in through the open window.
Astoria wanted to ask more, but saw Aiden raise a single index finger to his crimson lips, signaling silence.
The beetle floated down and landed gently on Aiden's shoulder.
"Heh." The young man's laugh was like the chime of an uncut gem, and combined with his exquisite face, it possessed an otherworldly, almost dangerous beauty.
"Sigh, our Ravenclaw should just change its name to Gryffindor. One after another, they're all so courageously reckless."
Aiden reached out and gently pinched the beetle between his fingers.
"What is that?" Hearing Aiden speak, Astoria asked curiously.
"Reveal your true form."
With a beautiful display of wandless magic, Aiden made the beetle he had caught transform back into a human.
"Rita Skeeter!" As a frequent reader of the Daily Prophet, Astoria immediately recognized the notorious journalist.
"Oh, what a coincidence! I was just coming back to visit my beloved teachers at my alma mater. How did you two end up catching me?"
As expected from someone who had clawed her way up in the world of sensationalist journalism, Rita Skeeter started spouting nonsense right away.
"It's alright. Go to sleep. Forget what you just heard. When you wake up, just remember the fact that we discovered your true form."
The Manipulator extended his hand toward Rita. His voice stretched endlessly in her ear, and finally, Rita Skeeter's eyes glazed over as she fell into a deep, dreamless darkness.
Watching Aiden deal with Rita Skeeter with such casual efficiency, Astoria shivered.
"And you say you're not a Dark Lord," she teased.
"At least I still have a nose, and I don't enjoy setting fire to Paris," Aiden replied with a cryptic reference that, unfortunately, Astoria didn't get.
"Alright, stop messing around. What are you going to do with this woman?" Astoria asked.
"I'll leave her to you," Aiden said, raising his handsome eyebrows, his face dotted with a mischievous, almost wicked smile.
"Me!!??"