The evening air was cool, brushing against Aster's skin like a whisper. He stepped outside, closing the door gently behind him.
He saw her, not far, walking fast, arms wrapped around herself. Not crying, but trying not to.
Aster didn't call out. He didn't rush. He just walked. Quiet steps, like always.[1]
Hermione stopped near a park bench, sitting down with her back rigid, staring at the empty street ahead. Aster approached and sat beside her without a word.
They stayed like that, silent. Aster didn't speak until he was sure she wouldn't push him away. "You're really smart," he said softly. "Smarter than anyone I've met."
Hermione's eyes burned. "Then why did you solve it when I couldn't?"
"Because I've seen it before," Aster replied. "That same problem. At another house. I just… remembered."
She turned to look at him, studying his face for mockery, found none.
"I didn't mean to make you feel bad," Aster added. "I just wanted to help."
A long pause. Then, very quietly, Hermione said, "It's stupid. I shouldn't be upset. I just… I always try so hard."
"I know," he said. "That's why I noticed."
Hermione's shoulders relaxed a little. She wiped her cheek with her sleeve, even though no tear had fallen. "Thanks for coming," she whispered.
Aster just nodded.
The next few days passed quietly. Aster stayed at the Grangers' home, mostly reading or watching the window. On the last day of his stay, she still wasn't home, and the sun was already dipping low.
Mr. and Mrs. Granger were still at work.
Aster stood from the couch, slipped on his shoes, and left the house without a sound. He walked calmly through the streets, hands in his pockets, eyes focused. He remembered where Hermione's school was.
Hermione's voice trembled slightly, but she tried to sound firm. "What are you doing?"
The taller boy smirked. "Just messing with you. Heard you're the smartest in your class."
The shorter one chuckled. "Wanted to see if your brain's as big as your teeth."
Hermione's face flushed, her fists clenched at her sides.
Aster walked closer, steps silent.
Hermione saw him first, her eyes widened, but she didn't call out.
Aster watched them quietly. He sized them up, taller, broader, older. But none of that mattered. Not really.
If it came to a fight, Aster already knew how it would end. He was smaller. Weaker. Outnumbered.
He could bite; the teeth alone would terrify them. But that would draw too much attention. To him. To the Grangers. Maybe even back to the orphanage.
And attention was dangerous. So instead, he waited. Measured.
Aster didn't need fists. He had something better. Something no one else here understood.
One of the boys noticed Hermione's gaze and looked to Aster behind them.
One of the boys stepped closer, his grin smug. "What, bunny boy? Gonna cry?"
Aster tilted his head slightly, then opened his mouth wide. Too wide. Enough to show the unnatural sharpness of his teeth. "A bunny boy?" he repeated, voice calm, almost curious. "Interesting... I'm usually called shark. Or dinosaur boy."
The boys faltered, glancing at each other.
Then, Aster heard it.
A hiss, low and crawling through his mind like smoke.
"Destroy them... How dare they stand before you? In my presence! The Dark Lord does not suffer insults!"
It was the locket again, always whispering, always angry. The weight of it pressed against his chest like ice under his shirt.
Aster rolled his eyes slightly. "Shut up," he muttered, more annoyed than angry. The boys tensed.
"What did you say?" one of them asked, suddenly defensive.
Aster didn't answer. The air around them thickened, invisible but undeniable. It shimmered, and with it, the boys froze, paralyzed mid-step.
They couldn't move.
Panic etched across their faces as they struggled, feet stuck to the pavement like concrete had filled their shoes.
Aster stepped forward once, deliberate, calm, his eyes glowing faintly with something ancient and unknowable.
The pressure snapped. The boys staggered back, gasping like they'd surfaced from deep water.
"W-what was that?" one of them stammered.
"Freak!" the other barked, and they both bolted, shoving past each other to get away.
Hermione had been silent. She stared at Aster, mouth slightly open, trying to make sense of what she'd just seen.
He turned to her, expression unreadable. "You okay?"
She nodded slowly. "What was that?"
Aster shrugged. "They were annoying. I wanted them gone."
He didn't explain the voice. He never did.
The walk back was quiet at first. The late afternoon sun filtered through the leaves above, speckling the sidewalk with golden light.
Hermione kept glancing sideways at Aster. He walked with his hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, eyes forward, as if nothing had happened.
But something had. Something strange. Something powerful. And he had done it… for her.
"You were different back there," she said finally, keeping her voice casual.
Aster didn't look at her. "Was I?"
"You were angry," she said. "And… protective. You don't usually get like that."
Aster slowed his steps. For a moment, she thought he might say nothing at all. Then he looked at her, expression calm but eyes unreadable.
"I see… So that was anger. Thanks."
Hermione blinked, caught off guard by his quiet honesty.
"That… means a lot," she said softly.
Hermione felt, for the first time, that Aster was opening up to her. But the weight of reality settled quickly, this was their last day together. No matter how long the night lasted, morning would come, and with it, the inevitable goodbye.
They soon arrived at the Grangers' house. Mrs. Granger was busy preparing dinner in the kitchen, while Mr. Granger sat watching TV in the living room. Hermione didn't hesitate; she quickly parted from Aster and went straight to her mother.
"Mom, can we keep Aster here? Just a bit more?" she asked softly. "He's… My..." She couldn't look Aster in the eyes.
Hermione's cheeks flushed a deep red, but she nodded slowly and whispered, "Friend."
Mrs. Granger smiled warmly, her eyes softening. "I will see what me and your father can do."
Early the next day, a stranger arrived at the Grangers' house, wearing clothes unlike anything Mrs. Granger had seen before, more formal, almost old-fashioned.
"Good morning," the person said politely. "I hear you want Aster to stay here?"
Aster had no problems staying anywhere. He never had. At least, not in a way that the Muggles would remember.
The stranger was a Squib, secretly assigned by Dumbledore to watch over Aster. He had seen what Aster did yesterday and had quickly reported it.
The Squib had been surprised when he received a call from the Grangers, asking if Aster could stay with them. It was unexpected — unprecedented, even.
When he informed Dumbledore, the old wizard's expression shifted. He grew quiet. Grim.
The Squib didn't know what was going through Dumbledore's mind.
"These weekly visits..." Dumbledore muttered more to himself than to anyone else. "They were a method to regulate him… to dilute his hunger."
In truth, Aster's constant movement from home to home had a purpose beyond observation. Dumbledore had discovered long ago, or perhaps merely suspected that, Aster, unknowingly, siphoned small amounts of life force from others, especially from women. It wasn't conscious, nor malicious, but it was real.
Thus, every placement ensured there was at least one female present, enough to stabilize him without causing harm.
As Aster aged, the effect lessened. Or rather, he learned restraint. His absorption had diminished to negligible amounts, almost instinctively. Still, he found ways to sustain himself: short morning jogs, walks through crowded streets, subtle proximity to others. Enough to feed the tether without endangering lives.
Aster didn't know about the wizarding world, really. Dumbledore had made sure of that. No books, no letters, no accidental glimpses into the truth. To Aster, the world was strange enough as it was.
But Aster was sharp. Too sharp. He didn't need to know the why to understand the how.
Dumbledore had seen children like Aster before. But not quite like this.
Where others lost control, Aster refined his. Where others lashed out, he calculated. He kept things hidden with surgical precision, not from fear, but instinct.
That's what worried Dumbledore the most.
Still, Dumbledore allowed it. Perhaps even hoped for it.
He knew what the path of isolation bred. He had seen it before, in Tom Riddle, in others like him. Power with no anchor. Intelligence with no empathy. A soul unmoored.
But Aster… Aster had a chance.
Hermione Granger was kind. Brilliant. Inquisitive. She saw beyond appearances and rules, and she cared. That spark of connection, however small, however awkward at first, could grow into something profound.
And so, Dumbledore let the bond form. Let Aster stay.
Because even if Aster never knew it, this was not just about stability. It was about salvation.
If he had one true friend… one hand to reach out when the darkness clawed at him… perhaps that would be enough.
Enough to keep him from following the same path Tom once walked.
Time passed quickly.
The knock came just after breakfast.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Not hurried. Not casual. Just... deliberate.
Hermione was still showing Aster the birthday gifts she got, a thick encyclopedia, a logic puzzle set, and a very pointy feather quill she had insisted would "improve her handwriting."
Mrs. Granger opened the door and froze.
The man on the other side wore a cloak that shimmered between black and grey like oil in water. His hat was wide-brimmed, far too dramatic for a sunny day in the suburbs. His eyes, however, were the strangest part, calm, searching, as if he saw more than just faces. As if he read truths.
"Good morning," he said, voice clipped and polite. "Ministry of Magic. I'm here to speak to Hermione."
Mrs. Granger blinked. "I'm sorry… Ministry of what?" She never heard about it, it seemed like a scam
He pulled out a badge. It didn't look like anything governmental, but it hummed, and Hermione squinted. Was it glowing?
Mrs. Granger frowned as the man held up a strange, circular badge. It shimmered faintly in the light, though it didn't shine like metal, more like a surface underwater, alive and shifting. At first glance it looked fake. But even she could feel the air grow... charged.
Hermione stepped forward, eyes fixed on the badge. "It's glowing," she whispered.
"It's charmed to verify identity," the man said calmly. "You're Hermione Granger, yes?"
Mrs. Granger instinctively put an arm in front of her daughter. "She is. And who exactly are you?"
He tucked the badge away and pulled a sealed parchment envelope from a leather case. The thick yellowish paper was stamped with a crimson crest, a lion, a snake, a badger, and a raven surrounding a large ornate H.
"I'm Agent Wicks," he said. "Magical Registration Division. Hermione has been identified as a Muggle-born witch. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has accepted her for enrollment."
Mrs. Granger blinked. "Excuse me?"
Hermione took a step forward before her mother could stop her. "I knew it," she breathed. "I knew it wasn't our imagination. Aster and I we've done things. I thought we were just… different."
Agent Wicks's eyes shifted slightly toward Aster.
"You're not her brother," he said more than asked.
"No," Aster replied flatly.
Wicks stared at Aster like he was trying to see through him. The tension felt sharp enough to cut.. He pulled out a small parchment and a quill from his coat pocket.
Before he could write, a soft fluttering came from the open window.
An owl swooped in silently, landing on the windowsill. It held a rolled parchment tied with a deep purple ribbon.
He read the parchment.
Twice.
Then again.
His mouth opened slightly, as if he was going to say something, then he snapped it shut, face pale.
Mrs. Granger looked more worried than ever. "Is… is something wrong?"
Wicks didn't answer her. Instead, he looked directly at Aster.
"You're… under personal assignment. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore."
Hermione's eyes grew wide. "Dumbledore?"
Wicks nodded, still processing the contents. "He's personally assigned to oversee him… and says he will be here shortly."
Aster blinked slowly, calm as ever. "Who is this Dumbledore?"
Wicks hesitated, then said quietly, "The most powerful wizard alive. And your protector."
[1] Jason/Miker Myers walking style ngl.