Aster finished the transfiguration exercise with precision, but he didn't rush. He had waited, intentionally, until someone else completed it first. Predictably, it was Hermione. Moments after her matchsticks shifted into a near-perfect needle, his did the same, clean and smooth, no sign of hesitation in the wand movement.
Professor McGonagall, who had been watching the class from the front with her usual sharp gaze, raised an eyebrow. She had noticed he hadn't moved a muscle until someone else succeeded.
When the lesson ended and the students began packing up, she called out, "Mr. Black, may I have a word?"
The room fell quiet for a breath. A few students turned wide-eyed. Being pulled aside by Professor McGonagall usually meant you were in trouble.
Aster didn't flinch. He calmly placed his books into his satchel, stood up, and followed her into the corridor.
McGonagall didn't speak at first. She led them a short distance away from the door, just far enough that they couldn't be overheard, and then turned to him, her expression unreadable.
"Mr. Black," she began, voice clipped but not unkind, "I can tell you've practiced. Likely more than most of your classmates, and not just since arriving here."
Aster gave a small nod. There was no point in pretending otherwise.
She continued, "It's admirable to be prepared. However, Hogwarts is not just about knowledge, it's also about growth. And competition between houses is more than a tradition. It pushes students to strive for more. If you keep deliberately holding back or passing opportunities to others, say, your friends in Gryffindor, it makes it look as though you're gaming the system."
She paused, her gaze softening slightly. "Now, I'm not saying I don't appreciate the points my house is gaining, but do take this more seriously. Let them earn them because they deserve them, not because you're trying to even the scales in a different way."
Aster looked at her for a moment, then finally said, "Understood, Professor."
"Good," she said briskly, her tone returning to its usual businesslike cadence. "Now off you go."
Aster arrived at the Great Hall with quiet steps, his Slytherin housemates already seated. He slipped into the spot beside them, earning a few glances. Draco leaned in almost immediately.
"She talked to you about giving points to Gryffindor, didn't she?"
There was no malice in his voice, just curiosity laced with a hint of smugness. Word had spread fast. Aster didn't deny it. He hadn't tried to hide anything to begin with.
He gave a small shrug and focused on his food. He finished quickly, speaking little, then excused himself and headed toward the library.
Not long after, Hermione found him seated at a table tucked between tall shelves, already surrounded by a small pile of thick books.
"So, what are you reading?" she asked as she slid into the seat beside him. Her tone was casual, but she was already peering at the spine of the book in his hands. She knew it wasn't from the curriculum they were covering in class.
"Animagi," he replied calmly, not looking up. He finished flipping through a page, then closed the book with a soft thud, set it aside, and reached for another in the growing stack.
Hermione blinked, a mixture of surprise and concern flickering in her expression. "You know that takes years, right? Even for adult wizards—"
"I know," he said, his voice still even. There was no arrogance, just certainty, as if time was simply a detail.
She sighed, but stayed. It was typical Aster, always reaching beyond what was expected, or even reasonable.
Settling in, she pulled out one of her own books, reviewing material for their upcoming lessons. Aster glanced over, then frowned slightly.
"That one's not helpful," he said.
Before she could protest, he flicked his wand. "Accio."
A different book flew neatly from a distant shelf and landed in his hand. He handed it to her without ceremony.
"This one's better. More accurate breakdowns of magical theory, and it actually lists the exceptions."
Hermione looked at the book in her hands, then back at him. Her eyes narrowed, not out of annoyance, but the quiet realization that she'd missed something.
"…Thanks," she said softly, already flipping it open.
They read in silence after that, two minds working at their own impossible pace, bound by the same hunger for knowledge, though driven by different reasons.
The next few days passed in a rhythm both quiet and comforting.
Every evening after dinner, Aster and Hermione met at the library. They'd sit in their usual spot, surrounded by scattered books and shared silences. Sometimes they spoke; sometimes they didn't need to. Always, they parted with enough time to return to their respective dormitories before curfew. It was a quiet ritual, an unspoken agreement.
Then came the day of the first flying lesson.
Madam Hooch paced in front of the gathered first-years, her yellow hawk-like eyes scanning the line."Good afternoon!" she barked."Good afternoon," the class echoed, some more hesitantly than others.
"Everyone step to the left of a broom. Come on, chop chop!"
The brooms were nothing special, rough, scuffed with age, clearly standard-issue school equipment. Aster eyed his without interest. It looked more like a stick than a tool meant for flight. He had seen this area of the grounds every morning on his runs, but now, standing here with a broom beside him, it felt different, formal, almost ritualistic.
"Hold out your right hand over the broom and say, 'Up!' loudly."
Harry's voice came first. "Up!" His broom leapt neatly into his hand on the first try. Of course it did.
Aster watched with a flicker of amusement. Harry had talent, and more than that, he had flair. Flying seemed to suit him, as if he'd been born for the sky.
Aster raised his hand. "Up." The broom responded, not immediately, but firmly. It smacked into his palm with a thud, a second or two behind Harry's. He didn't care about Quidditch, not really. He found it loud and overly glorified. But seeing Harry shine made something in him settle. It was good, he thought, that Harry had this. That he could be something other than the Boy Who Lived.
Aster didn't crave that kind of attention. He never had. But he watched, curious, quietly supportive, like a shadow cast beside a spotlight.
And while he didn't know it yet, eyes had begun to watch him too.
The lesson went on. Some brooms lay lifeless at the students' feet; others jumped up and smacked their owners in the face. Aster watched with quiet calculation, noting posture, breath, wand-hand dominance, details most would ignore.
Neville, across from him, fumbled. His broom twitched once, then spun in place before flopping over with a thud. He flushed red.
"Wand hand, not your left, Longbottom," Madam Hooch barked. She turned to Crabbe, who was practically throttling his broom into submission.
Then it happened.
Neville, trying too hard, kicked off the ground without warning. His broom, wild and disobedient, shot up like a firework.
"Come back, boy!" Madam Hooch shouted, but it was too late. Neville flailed helplessly, gripping the handle with white knuckles.
Aster's muscles tensed. He hadn't move yet. Neither did Harry. For a second, it was just sky, wind, and a boy rising far too fast.
Then gravity remembered Neville. His scream echoed as he slipped, falling, tumbling, thud.
Neville hit the ground with a hard thud and didn't move. The class gasped.
Madam Hooch rushed forward. "Oh dear, broken wrist," she muttered, checking him. "Nothing worse, thank Merlin. Stay exactly where you are! Nobody move a muscle, or touch a broom!"
She conjured a stretcher with a flick and began levitating Neville toward the castle.
Aster didn't move. He hadn't said a word the entire time.
But in his head: Why didn't she use Accio? She could've pulled the broom back down. Or slowed his fall. At worst, levitated him midair… She's capable. She reacted fast. But still.
It didn't feel like neglect. More like instinct. Wizards often didn't apply the full range of magic when startled, or when something felt too "small" to justify risk. Emotion, not logic.
He tapped the idea away and filed it under "standard adult inefficiency."
Still, he made a note of the spell: Accio person? Too heavy. Accio broom? Feasible if connected. May need more precision.
Hermione was whispering something to Parvati, probably expressing concern. Ron looked pale.
Aster glanced at Pansy. She was quiet, watching him.
Then Draco picked up the Remembrall.
Aster's eyes narrowed as Draco rose into the air, holding Neville's Remembrall with smug triumph. Of course. Mimicking power. Mimicking his father.
"Controls the weak… but is weak himself."
He noted Draco's posture, the way his shoulders squared in the air. Overcompensating. A long way to go. Not a threat. Not yet.
Then Harry was off the ground too.
Aster's brows twitched.
Madam Hooch's voice echoed in his head: "Any funny business and you'll be out of flying lessons for good."
So what happens when a Gryffindor and a Slytherin duel mid-air? What happens when someone falls? And what happens if I intervene and it works? Will it still be punished? Aster didn't like variables. And this was a mess of them.
Pansy stepped close, quiet, voice just above a whisper."Won't you help your brother?" she said.
The word hit strangely.
Aster turned his head, just slightly, watching her. She was watching him, not the sky. Her expression wasn't mocking, just curious, maybe even… hopeful?
He looked up. Draco was circling recklessly. Harry was already above him, balanced like he'd been flying since birth.
Aster sighed softly."No," he said. "He doesn't need help."Then, with a flick of his fingers, his wand twitched in his sleeve, just in case.