A couple of moments later, another knock echoed through the house.
This one felt… different.
Mrs. Granger opened the door to find an old man standing tall, wearing deep blue robes embroidered with constellations. Half-moon glasses perched on a long nose, and his silver beard moved slightly in the breeze.
"Good morning," he said gently, eyes twinkling. "I am Albus Dumbledore."
Wicks, who had still been inside, startled slightly when he saw who it was. His posture straightened instinctively, and his voice held a mix of awe and respect. "Professor Dumbledore, sir… I didn't expect to see you here today. I-it's an honor."
Dumbledore gave a polite nod. "Thank you, Mr. Wicks. I understand you've already met Miss Granger… and young Aster."
Wicks hesitated, then asked, voice dropping slightly, "Sir, if I may… what is so important about this boy for you to come here personally?"
Dumbledore's gaze never hardened, but there was steel behind the kindness when he replied: "That, I shall not tell. I made a promise… to his uncle."
Wicks looked slightly puzzled, perhaps surprised Dumbledore would keep secrets even from the Ministry, but he knew better than to press further. Instead, he stepped back respectfully and allowed Dumbledore to pass.
Hermione watched all of it wide-eyed.
Aster stood still, expression unreadable.
Dumbledore looked at him, and for a brief moment, only the two seemed to exist in the room. Something unspoken passed between them, a recognition, or perhaps a reminder.
Then, with the same warmth as always, Dumbledore turned to Mrs. Granger."If you'll allow it, I would like to speak to the children. Alone."
Mrs. Granger and Officer Wicks exchanged unsure glances but complied, stepping out of the room and gently closing the door behind them.
Dumbledore stood in front of the two children, his hands clasped behind his back. The light through the window painted soft shadows across the floor.
"Aster… Miss Granger," he began, voice calm and measured, "I know both of you have already, in your own ways, touched the edges of our world. The magical world."
Hermione's eyes flickered with excitement and confusion. Aster remained still.
"I know I shouldn't say it," Dumbledore continued with a faint smile, "but I've been observing you both. Closely."
Hermione opened her mouth, a dozen questions ready, but Dumbledore raised a gentle hand.
"But I'm afraid I can't tell you much. Not yet. Everything will come together in time, and when it does, I trust you both will understand your roles."
He turned his gaze fully to Aster now. The moment stretched.
Aster didn't flinch.
Dumbledore studied him with the quiet gravity of a man who had lived through wars, who had seen the rise of a boy who once sat just like this, Tom Riddle, intelligent, guarded, curious, and dangerous.
But Aster… Aster wasn't like Tom. Not quite. He had restraint. He had something else.
Something human.
Still, the question had to be asked.
"Aster," Dumbledore said softly, "what do you think of immortality?"
Aster turned to him for the briefest second, his gaze unreadable. Then, he looked at Hermione.
She was watching him carefully, like always.
Aster's voice was quiet, but certain. "Seems boring."
Dumbledore's expression shifted, no longer concerned, but warmly, profoundly relieved. His shoulders eased, his eyes softened.
"Indeed," he said. "Indeed, it does."
Dumbledore waved his wand; the door opened silently behind him.
"Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Mr. Wicks, please, come in."
They reentered the room promptly, Wicks glancing at the children, his expression still caught between confusion and protocol.
"I'm afraid I shall take over from here," Dumbledore said, his voice kind but final.
Wicks straightened. "Sir, with all due respect, you're far too well-known to escort them. It could cause... complications."
Dumbledore's smile was soft and unreadable. "That is precisely why someone else will do it in my stead."
Wicks understood immediately. Dumbledore didn't trust the Ministry, at least not enough to leave this to them. Still, Dumbledore's reputation made questioning him directly feel like sacrilege. Wicks bowed slightly and took a step back. He would file a report, of course. But even he knew it would amount to nothing.
"A trusted associate will guide them later," he said, "Everything the children need for their education can be found there. The invitation lists the required items."
Mrs. Granger took the card gingerly. "Thank you, Professor...?"
"Dumbledore," he said gently. "Albus Dumbledore."
He nodded at them, turned to the door.
But when the Grangers instinctively looked through the front window, the street was empty.
Before stepping fully out the door, Dumbledore paused, patting his robes as if suddenly remembering something. "Oh yes, silly me, almost forgot."
He withdrew a second envelope, older parchment, sealed with the Hogwarts crest, and handed it to Aster. "Your letter, Mr. Evans," he said lightly, as though the name meant nothing at all.
Then, from another inner fold of his robes, he produced a smaller, curled parchment and passed it to Mrs. Granger. "This," he continued, "is the location you'll need to reach. The Leaky Cauldron, hidden in plain sight in London. I recommend arriving two days from now, at precisely ten o'clock in the morning."
He turned his eyes to Hermione, then to Aster. She stood practically buzzing with energy, eyes wide with eager questions she didn't dare ask yet. Aster, quiet and still as always, met his gaze without blinking.
Dumbledore's smile softened. "There, you will find someone waiting to guide you."
And with a twinkle in his eye and a faint rustle of his robes, he turned again, opened the door.
Then disappeared before a single footstep met the pavement.
22 September 1990, London, England.
Mrs. Granger tightened her grip on her handbag. "This seems to be the place… right?" she asked, glancing up at the weathered, nondescript building, seemingly a normal old pub.
It didn't look like the entrance to a magical world.
Hermione stood beside her, fidgeting, casting uncertain glances at the seemingly empty pub sign that read The Leaky Cauldron. Aster stood unnervingly still next to her, but his eyes were scanning, no, sensing. Something about the air shimmered strangely to him, though he couldn't quite explain it.
Hermione stood beside Aster. Both were quiet, alert. Hermione's heart was thumping, not with fear, but anticipation. Aster, on the other hand, simply watched the street with that distant calm he always had. Occasionally, his gaze would flick to something no one else seemed to see.
Then someone approached.
A woman, maybe in her early thirties, with long, dark red hair, walking with practiced grace. Her clothes were simple, casual, not looking like a wizard's. Her son walked beside her: a boy about Aster's age, messy black hair and bright green eyes. He looked around with open curiosity, his hand occasionally brushing against hers.
"You must be the Grangers," the woman said warmly.
Mrs. Granger blinked, unsure whether to be relieved or suspicious. "Yes. This is my husband, and our daughter Hermione. And" she hesitated briefly, "Aster."
The woman's gaze shifted to the boy next to Hermione. She smiled, not in surprise, but with quiet recognition. "And Aster." She nodded. "You look just like your father did when he was young[1]."
"I'm Lily," she added, glancing between the adults. "Lily Potter. Dumbledore sent me to help you. With all this." She gestured around them, not needing to explain what "this" meant.
Harry gave a polite little wave. "Hi," he said to Hermione, then to Aster, holding the latter's gaze just a second longer.
Behind them, the pub door creaked open. A few people stared.
People whispered.
"That's—"
"No way. She's alive?"
"Lily Potter?"
Lily ignored them, smiling at the Grangers with the composure of someone used to being watched and doubted. She moved a little closer, lowering her voice.
"Shall we? You've got a lot to see."
Aster's eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.
They walked through the pub, its dim lighting casting flickering shadows across wooden beams and dusty bottles. Wizards glanced their way, some with recognition, others with muted curiosity, but no one dared approach.
Lily moved with quiet confidence, offering polite nods when necessary but never stopping. Aster noticed how people looked at her. Whispers trailed after them like smoke.
"She was supposed to be dead."
"Is that her? Lily Potter?"
"And that boy—"
They didn't say Harry's name aloud, but their eyes said it for them.
Then Lily stopped by what looked like an ordinary brick wall in a small courtyard. She glanced back at the Grangers, Hermione, and Aster.
"This part might seem odd, but don't worry, it's perfectly safe."
She drew her wand and, with a practiced motion, tapped a specific pattern: three up, two across.
The bricks trembled. Then they shifted, folding inward like puzzle pieces, unlocking themselves, until an archway formed, revealing the bustling, kaleidoscopic chaos of Diagon Alley beyond.
The sounds rushed out to greet them: the flap of owl wings, the murmur of crowds, the clinking of coins, and somewhere a small explosion followed by laughter.
Aster squinted into the light. For a moment, he thought he felt something pulse inside him. Recognition. Magic calling to magic. It was both exhilarating and... strange.
Hermione gasped, eyes wide, trying to take in every detail at once.
Harry was already stepping forward, his expression somewhere between mischief and awe.
Lily looked back at Aster and Hermione. "Shall we?"
"Sadly, Hermione turned eleven after the start of term at Hogwarts," Lily said gently, her voice tinged with warmth. "So you'll have to wait until next year to join."
"With Harry"
She turned toward Harry, who was now peering with curious fascination at a display of floating quills in the shop window. "As you can see, Harry's a bit of an adventurer." Her smile deepened with quiet fondness before shifting toward Hermione again.
"But I think he'll be good company."
Her gaze finally settled on Aster. There was a pause, not long, but filled with quiet meaning. "And with Aster," she added, her tone softening just a touch further, almost reverent. It wasn't just a friendly comment; there was something layered beneath it. Recognition, perhaps. Understanding.
Aster held her gaze for a second longer than he meant to, something stirring behind his otherwise composed face. That strange familiarity again, he still didn't know why she felt like a memory he couldn't place.
As they stepped into Diagon Alley, the cobblestone street unfolded before them like a forgotten storybook. Shops twisted upward at odd angles, signs swaying with magical charm, and people dressed in cloaks and robes bustled by with arms full of potion ingredients and owls.
Lily paused, then turned to the group with a calm but purposeful tone.
"Before we start buying, we need to get money."
Diana Granger stepped forward, concern in her voice."We have money. The letter told us to bring quite a bit."
Lily gave her a warm smile, one that wasn't dismissive, but clearly came from experience."Ah. Yes. You'll need wizarding money. Muggle currency doesn't work here, but don't worry, Gringotts accepts exchanges."
There was a faint fondness in her voice, like she'd once had a very similar conversation herself.
Hermione raised her hand, her curiosity already alight. "What's a muggle?"
Lily turned to her gently, answering without hesitation. "Anyone without magic. Like your parents."
She gave Mrs. and Mr. a respectful nod, and Hermione blinked in awe.
They made their way through the crowd until the white marble façade of Gringotts Wizarding Bank rose before them, pristine and imposing, guarded by sharp-eyed goblins in tailored suits.
At the entrance, engraved deeply into the stone above the doors, the warning message stood out in crisp, ancient script:
Enter, stranger, but take heed of what awaits the sin of greed, for those who take, but do not earn, must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors a treasure that was never yours, Thief, you have been warned, beware of finding more than treasure there.[2]
Mr. Granger gave the engraving above Gringotts' doors a skeptical look.
"Bit dramatic, isn't it?" he muttered under his breath, eyeing the warning about thieves with a mixture of amusement and disbelief.
Lily chuckled softly beside him."Yes," she replied, her voice light but knowing. "It only works on weaker wizards. The real protections are far less poetic."
Without another word, Lily led the way into the bank, the grand doors opening with a groan that echoed off the marble walls. Inside, goblins worked busily at tall counters, their eyes sharp and calculating as they measured coin, magic, and worth with the same level of scrutiny.
Lily approached the main counter with practiced ease, her steps measured, familiar. She withdrew a folded parchment from inside her bag and placed it on the counter without a word.
The goblin behind the desk, lean and sharp-eyed, took it swiftly, his long fingers careful but confident. He read through it in silence, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he looked up.
First at Lily, an unmistakable presence, though she'd been thought dead by many. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, not quite a smile, more like acknowledgment.
Then his eyes moved to Harry. The resemblance to James Potter was undeniable, same untamed hair, same face shape, but those were Lily's green eyes, bright and curious. The goblin lingered for only a moment before turning his gaze.
And then, Aster.
He paused.
The boy stood calmly, quietly, his posture relaxed but alert. He had Lily's features, elegant, sharp, expressive, but his eyes… silver. Not gray, not blue. Silver like polished metal, like something enchanted. Not a mirror of James.
The goblin blinked once.
Then he folded the parchment and set it aside with a nod.
"Very well," he said, voice even. "Vault inheritance protocols, this way." He gestured for Aster and Lily to follow.
Turning briefly to the Grangers, he added, "If you wish to exchange currency, approach the side desk. We accept most muggle denominations."
Mr. Granger glanced at Mrs. Granger, then they moved aside with Hermione in tow, her eyes still flicking back toward the deeper tunnels Aster was vanishing into.
As they were led away, Lily looked down at the boys.
"It's not far," she said gently. "And you won't believe the ride."
The cart came to a rattling stop, and the goblin hopped out with unexpected agility. Aster stepped down more slowly, his silver eyes scanning the stone corridor. Cold air drifted from the vault door ahead, ancient and quiet.
He hadn't expected any of this: Gringotts, vaults. And certainly not this.
"Welcome," the goblin said with a hint of ceremonial pride, "heir of the House of Black."
The words landed in Aster's chest like a stone. Heir? Of what? He was an orphan. Just a boy who'd always been… different. Who had strange instincts. Who never stayed anywhere long.
Behind him, Lily stepped forward. Her voice, when it came, was soft, yet carried a gravity that made Aster turn at once.
"There are things you deserve to know," she said. Her green eyes, gentler than her words, searched his face. "You might not remember me, but when you were very young, you lived with me for a time. My maiden name is Lily Evans."
Aster blinked. Evans.
He'd heard that name before. Back at the orphanage. Sometimes the staff would mutter it when filling out old paperwork.
Aster Evans.
He looked at her again. her posture, her hair, her presence. They did match. But then his thoughts turned sharp, logical. No. He was the heir of the Black family. This couldn't make sense. Lily Evans had a son, Harry, and Harry was his age.
"It doesn't add up," he murmured, his voice quiet, measured.
Lily nodded, expecting that. She stepped closer.
"Do you know why the Grangers couldn't adopt you?" she asked.
He stared at her, heart thudding.
She continued, calm but firm. "Because… I already had."
[1] Depressed and Soulless?
[2] Love these things, JK at the first book was at her best in writing skills.