HP: Black's Child

Aster woke slowly, the world blurry and soft. The grass beneath him was damp with early dew, and the sky above was still dressed in pale blues and quiet grays. One arm was pinned by a warm weight, Ginny, curled against his side, breathing lightly. On the other, Luna Lovegood rested her head on his shoulder, her silver-blonde hair tickling his neck.

For a moment, it felt like a dream. Too strange, too gentle. Then Ginny stirred, her cheeks flushed with heat. Her fingers fumbled quickly at her robes, slipping something small and leather-bound out of sight.

Before Aster could find the words for any of it, footsteps broke through the stillness.

Crunch. Crunch. Sharp and fast.

Hermione stood a few feet away, arms crossed, jaw tight. Her eyes flicked from Ginny, to Luna, to Aster, and something dark and uncertain moved behind her expression. Not just anger. Hurt. Confusion. Maybe even fear.

Her voice was brittle when she finally spoke. "What is—"

"—Going on here?" Luna finished serenely, lifting her head. She blinked at Hermione with a dreamy sort of calm, utterly unaffected. "I saw them napping. I thought it looked cozy. So I joined them. Should I not have?"

Her head tilted just so, innocent, inquisitive, and somehow managing to make it all worse.

Hermione's eyes flashed, but she said nothing.

Then came more footsteps. Two more sets.

Fred and George arrived with impeccable timing, grinning like devils on Christmas morning.

Fred and George in unison. "We came here as soon as we heard the rumours... Guess Hermy here walks faster than us."

"Well, well, well," Fred said with a wicked grin, hands on hips as he stood at the edge of the courtyard. "Look what we've got here, Aster, sunbathing with two lovely ladies."

George leaned against a column, mock-solemn. "Poor Ginny, falling asleep under the stars with Slytherin's Heartthrob. Mum's going to faint."

Fred leaned closer, smirking. "Bit greedy, that. Didn't peg you for the harem type."

Ginny made a strangled noise and buried her face in her hands.

Aster groaned. "I was in the common room with Pansy… then I woke up like this. I don't even remember sleeping outside."

Hermione flinched, her arms dropping to her sides, hands curling into fists.

George glanced at her, eyes narrowing. "You alright, Granger? You're looking a little… tight-lipped."

Hermione's voice came low and sharp. "Jealous? Of this? Don't be absurd."

Fred arched a brow. "No one said jealous."

George smiled. "Telling, though."

"I don't even know what happened!" Hermione snapped suddenly, more to herself than anyone. "It's just—everything about this is absurd!"

She spun on her heel and stormed off, hair bouncing furiously behind her.

A beat of silence.

Fred exhaled. "Yup. Definitely jealous."

George chuckled. "Ticking time bomb, that one."

And as if summoned by chaos, Peeves dropped from the sky in a puff of soot and petals, howling with glee.

"Sleepers, secrets, soul-bound thieves! Kissy-kissy over the garden flowers!" he cackled. "Juicy little garden messes!"

He upended a bucket of flower petals over the group, showering them in glittering chaos.

"PEEVES!" Fred spluttered.

Luna giggled, brushing petals from Aster's hair. "I like the petals."

Aster buried his face in his hands. "Please let this be a nightmare."

—————————————————————————————

Defense Against the Dark Arts – A Rainy Thursday

The classroom smelled of damp wool and rain-soaked cloaks. Thunder rumbled faintly beyond the high windows. Gilderoy Lockhart stood at the front, radiant in teal robes despite the gray gloom, retelling a dubious tale about a Hungarian vampire, a monastery, and a particularly potent bowl of garlic soup.

"It was the garlic, of course! The very smell drove him off!" Lockhart beamed, one hand theatrically on his heart. "Fortunate for the villagers, I was there!"

Some students chuckled politely. Most did not.

Aster raised his hand. Silently.

Lockhart blinked. "Yes, Mr. Black?"

Aster didn't stand. His voice was level. "You said you're allergic to garlic."

Lockhart tilted his head. "Sorry?"

"In Witch Weekly, June edition. You've said 'never gone near garlic' due to a magical allergy. And in Dueling Digest last year, you claimed garlic had no effect on vampires at all."

The room went quiet.

Lockhart's smile twitched. "Well, magical allergies can… fade! Bodies change. Resilience builds over time!"

A few students stared. Others exchanged nervous glances. Lockhart's smile was beginning to stretch too tightly, like parchment left too long in the sun.

Aster's eyes didn't waver. "Yet in Voyages with Vampires, page seventy-eight, you said the smell nearly knocked you unconscious."

Lockhart faltered. "Well, details, details! The important thing is the vampire fled!"

From Aster's satchel, Nyx slithered up to perch on the desk. In Lockhart's voice—high-pitched and just wrong—she chirped, "Terribly allergic… except when I'm not!"

Hermione's lips twitched. "He's so bad at lying," she whispered.

Aster shut his book. "Lies fall apart faster when you write them down."

Hermione made a sharp little sound, remembering that Ginny had hidden a diary earlier. She looked away.

Lockhart rushed on. "Yes! Well! Spell technique, page 144!"

—————————————————————————————

Aster thought it was stupid. After all, they hadn't learned any spells yet. Worse, Quirrell hadn't even tried to teach them.

Only those who actually read this year's spellbooks might know a Petrificus Totalus or a weak Incendio, barely reaching far or anything strong or Expelliarmus.

He had read the spellbooks too, but he couldn't use magic anymore.

The long house tables had vanished, replaced by a raised dueling platform and a crowd of whispering students. Gilderoy Lockhart beamed beside Professor Snape, who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"Welcome!" Lockhart called, waving his wand like a conductor's baton. " Tonight, we teach you how to defend yourselves should you ever face the Dark Arts! A little friendly dueling, nothing to fear!"

Lockhart continued, "We'll begin with a demonstration. Severus, if you'd kindly."

Snape walked to the table.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

"I wouldn't bet on that," Harry murmured, watching Snape bare his teeth.

Ron smiled, hearing that.

"One—two—three—"

Both swung their wands up and over their shoulders.

Snape cried, "Ex—pelliarmus!"

There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light, and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: he flew backwards off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

Aster, arms crossed near the edge of the platform, didn't smile. Neither did Hermione.

Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off, and his wavy hair was standing on end.

"And that was a Disarming Charm! See? Harmless! As you see, I've lost my wand, ah, thank you, Miss Brown."

"If being sent flying across the room that hard is 'harmless', I don't even want to know what would be considered deadly," Hermione muttered under her breath.

Lockhart looked surprised but quickly recovered. "Now then, who's next? Let's see…"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Mr. Black."

Aster stepped forward slowly.

He already knew what he had to do. He couldn't cast spells.

His opponent was a nervous-looking Hufflepuff second year, wand gripped too tightly. Aster didn't recognize him, just someone brave or unlucky enough to be called up.

Lockhart clapped. "Wands at the ready! Bow!"

They bowed. Aster's was shallow. No theatrics.

"Three… two… one, begin!"

The boy fired an Expelliarmus. Aster braced himself to get hit and lose house points.

But then his body shifted, dodging.

It wasn't intentional, just instinct.

The boy fired another Expelliarmus.

Aster ducked under it like a shadow, feet gliding like he'd done it a hundred times in someone else's memory.

A third spell came, but Aster slapped the boy's hand, sending the wand sideways.

Hermione frowned. That wasn't just instinct; it was something else. Controlled but... off. Like his body moved faster than thought.

Closing the distance, Aster pushed the boy's chest with an open palm, sending him stumbling backward.

Silence.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Snape stepped forward, voice dry as ever: "Impressive. But do try to remember, this is a magic school. Five points to Slytherin."

Scattered laughter echoed through the Great Hall.

Lockhart was already spinning it. "Yes! Yes! Incredible reflexes! Just as I wrote in Year With the Yeti, some magical beings prefer physical defense!"

Aster walked off the platform without a word. His heart pounded, not from exertion but from the sickening reminder: everyone thought he was brilliant.

They thought he was brilliant. He was just surviving.

Hermione met him at the edge. Her voice was low.

"You didn't use magic."

He said nothing.

She looked up at him, eyes narrowing. "You can't, can you?"

A pause.

He shook his head.

Worry appeared on her face enough to make her forget earlier events.

Harry was called next.

"I guess we need to see how the Boy Who Lived fights," Snape said coldly. He scanned his students and said, "Mr. Malfoy, come here."

"And, Hermione Granger and…" He scanned Slytherin again, a cold smile on his face. "Millicent Bulstrode."

Aster recognized the girl only vaguely, broad and thick-shouldered, reminding him of last year's Halloween troll.

Malfoy walked to the table, passing right in front of Harry.

Lockhart tapped Harry's shoulder and said, "Don't worry, Harry, do exactly what I did."

Aster and Harry thought in unison, 'What? Drop your wand?'

Both had their opponents, but Hermione knew she would win.

Harry pointed his wand straight at Malfoy and shouted, "Rictusempra!"

A jet of silver light hit Malfoy in the stomach.

Malfoy didn't get up; he was laughing. Harry didn't want to be unfair and cast a spell while his opponent was still on the ground, a clear miscalculation. Malfoy wasn't fair.

"Tarantallegra!"

Harry lost control over his legs until he shouted,"Finite Incantatem!"

Harry could stand up; Malfoy stopped laughing and rose.

Millicent was on the floor. Hermione used a combination of Levioso and Descendo.

The battle finished when Lockhart shouted, "Only disarming spells!"

Snape walked to Malfoy and whispered something.

Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed,"Serpensortia!"

A black snake jumped from the tip of his wand.

"Don't move, Potter," Snape said lazily, clearly enjoying watching Harry stand motionless.

"Allow me!" shouted Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang.

The snake, instead of vanishing, flew a bit and fell. Furiously, it slithered straight toward Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs bared, poised to strike.

Harry moved closer and shouted, "Leave him!"

The snake stopped moving, looking straight into Harry's eyes.

Aster got surprised by the snake obeying Harry.

He looked at Justin, but not only Justin, everyone looked horrified.

"What do you think you're playing at?" Justin said.

Aster raised his eyebrows. "Rude. Why did he say that?"

Ron said, "That's Parseltongue. Didn't you see? He spoke in another language!"

Aster's expression showed something akin to, What are you talking about? "He spoke English. Leave him, he said."

Not only Hermione and Ron heard that, but many others did.

Two Parseltongues at Hogwarts: one Slytherin, and the other Gryffindor.