Aster stepped out of the car, his eyes drifting to the house ahead. In the window, he spotted a girl watching them, long wavy hair and an eager expression. She lit up at the sight of her parents and disappeared from view in a blur, likely rushing down the stairs.
He stood still for a moment, absorbing the scene. Her smile was real. Unfiltered.
After a few seconds, the front door flew open and the girl rushed out, throwing her arms around both Mr. and Mrs. Granger in a warm hug. Her energy filled the quiet street like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Then her eyes landed on Aster.
She tilted her head slightly and turned to her mother. "Who's this?" she asked, curiosity sparkling in her voice.
Mrs. Granger smiled and placed a hand gently on the girl's shoulder. "This is Aster. He'll be staying with us for a little while. Be kind, Hermione."
Hermione looked back at Aster. Her gaze was sharp, assessing—not in a cruel way, just full of questions. She offered a tentative smile.
Aster mirrored it. A practiced, polite expression. He was good at those.
"Hi," she said.
"Hello," Aster replied. His voice was even, almost distant.
Aster now saw her face properly for the first time.
Her front teeth were prominent when she smiled, slightly large for her age, but not strange, just noticeable. Her hair was wild, brown, and wavy, untamed in a way that suited her energy. Together, the hair and teeth might have drawn attention away from the rest of her features.
But Aster looked past them.
She was… cute. Maybe even beautiful.
He didn't feel anything because of it—no warmth, no excitement. Feelings like that didn't reach him. But he'd learned to recognize them in others. How people responded to symmetry, brightness in the eyes, a certain softness in expression. Over time, he had learned to see through their eyes.
So he knew: Hermione Granger was beautiful. Not in spite of the details that stood out, but because, somehow, they didn't matter.[1]
Mrs. Granger clapped her hands gently, her voice cheerful but practiced. "Now, now," she said, "we'll take a quick look at Aster's teeth, and then we can have dinner. How does that sound?"
Hermione's brow furrowed, and she looked from her mother to Aster, then back again.
"What's wrong with his teeth?" she asked, voice tinged with suspicion. "You've never brought someone here just for that."
Mr. Granger chuckled lightly, trying to make it sound casual. "Nothing's wrong, Hermione. He's just... special. A unique case. You know your mum and I work with rare dental patterns sometimes."
"But he's my age," Hermione said, not convinced. "Most of your patients are grown-ups. Why does he look—" She stopped herself, suddenly aware that Aster was standing right there.
Mrs. Granger gave Hermione a gentle but warning look. "Let's not interrogate our guest, sweetheart."
Hermione crossed her arms but didn't back down. She kept glancing at Aster's mouth, then at his eyes, sharp and unreadable.
There was a moment of tense silence.
Then, without a word, Aster stepped forward slightly and parted his lips.
He smiled, not the polite, rehearsed expression he'd given earlier, but something more deliberate. A slow, deliberate stretch of his mouth, wide and unsettling. His upper lip lifted just enough to reveal rows of unnaturally perfect, sharp teeth, not jagged like an animal's, but curved and too pristine, too precise. Like something designed to eat through anything.
Hermione blinked. Her eyes widened.
Aster tilted his head slightly, like a predator indulging curiosity rather than hunger. "I suppose it is a bit odd," he said softly.
Mrs. Granger quickly stepped in. "Aster! Let's not scare Hermione."
"I wasn't," Aster replied. "She asked."
Hermione stared at him for a moment longer, visibly shaken but fascinated. Then, to everyone's surprise, she nodded slowly and muttered, "Cool."
Hermione had retreated to her room, buried in her books as usual. Aster, meanwhile, sat on the couch in the living room, staring at the television. The flickering images didn't hold his attention; the noise felt distant, like everything else around him.
Mrs. Granger noticed. She wiped her hands on a tea towel and walked over with a gentle smile.
"Aster," she said softly, "could you go check on Hermione? See if she needs anything?"
Aster blinked, turning his gaze toward her. He nodded, polite as always, and stood up without a word.
Aster ascended the stairs, his steps light, barely making a sound.
Hermione's door was ajar. Inside, she sat hunched over her desk, chewing the end of her pencil as she stared at a textbook, visibly stuck on a question.
Knock knock knock.
She jumped slightly and turned. Seeing Aster in the doorway, she realized she'd left it open, something she rarely did. But then again, she only lived with her parents.
Flustered, she quickly looked away. "What?" she muttered.
Aster stood calmly, his expression unreadable. "Your mom asked if you needed anything," he said plainly.
Aster stepped into Hermione's room, his eyes scanning the shelves and scattered books. One on the desk caught his attention, Supernatural Phenomena and Historical Sightings.
"You believe in it?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.
Hermione's face flushed a shade of pink. She didn't answer right away, instead snapping back with, "So what if I do?" Her voice was defensive, but not angry, more embarrassed than anything. "And why did you come in?"
Aster looked at her, sincere. No smirk. No sarcasm. "Sorry," he said. "That's good. I also believe in these."
Hermione blinked. The tension in her shoulders softened.
Most people, especially her parents, called her books "silly" or "just stories." They didn't believe her when she told them strange things happened sometimes, especially when she got angry or scared. Lightbulbs would pop. Books would fly off shelves. She thought she was going mad.
But Aster… he didn't laugh.
"You do?" she asked quietly, the edge gone from her voice.
Aster nodded.
Aster stepped closer, peering over her shoulder at the cramped, meticulous handwriting filling the page. His eyes scanned quickly, too quickly, and landed on the line she kept erasing and rewriting.
"You're using the wrong formula," he said matter-of-factly, tapping the margin lightly with his finger.
Hermione's back straightened. She turned halfway toward him, her expression a mix of doubt and defiance. "Eh? Can you answer it correctly then?"
She didn't mean to sound rude, but her voice betrayed her insecurity. No one her age had ever corrected her before.
Aster smiled, not his usual polite one, but something more genuine. He picked up the pencil and, with quiet confidence, filled in the correct equation.
Before Hermione could respond, Mrs. Granger's voice rang out from downstairs.
"Aster, Hermione, dinner's ready!"
Without hesitation, Aster placed the pencil down and turned to leave. He glanced back only once, meeting Hermione's eyes with a calm expression, before walking down the hall.
Hermione stared at the page. The numbers made sense now. The steps were clean. She muttered under her breath, "It's correct… it must be."
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she traced his solution again. No tricks. No guessing. Just right.
She sat back, brows furrowed, not from doubt, but from something deeper.For the first time, the smartest girl in class didn't have the answer first.
During dinner, the clink of silverware and soft chatter filled the room until Mrs. Granger, smiling kindly, asked,"Aster, which school do you go to?"
She didn't mean anything by it, just polite curiosity, but Aster could tell by the way her eyes flicked toward Hermione that she hadn't expected his answer to be complicated.
He paused briefly, not out of discomfort, but calculation. Then, softly but clearly, he said, "I don't go to any school. I usually read notebooks or books when I stay at other people's homes. Like today."
Hermione blinked, pausing with her fork halfway to her mouth.Mrs. Granger looked surprised, but not judgmental, just thoughtful."Oh… I see," she said. "You must be quite resourceful, then."
Aster nodded with a polite smile, the kind he'd perfected long ago.
Mr. Granger added, gently, "Well, you seem very bright. That's impressive, Aster."
Her chest tightened. Aster hadn't gone to school. He had no tutors, no structured learning. And yet…
Her breath grew shallow.
He was smarter.
A storm brewed behind her eyes, frustration, shame, confusion, and before she could tame it, she was already moving.
"I just need some air!" she called hastily, darting past the dining room and out the front door.
"Hermione?" Mrs. Granger stood, concerned. "Darling, what's wrong?"
Mr. Granger looked toward the door but didn't move. He'd seen these moods before, but not like this.
Aster stood still for a moment. Then he turned to Mrs. Granger. "I'll go after her," he said. Calm, but certain. "I'll bring her back."
[1] I feel like I'm hearing a British man speak those words, I should stop watching British shows...