"Because… I already had."
Silence hung in the stone corridor, only broken by the distant sound of another cart rattling somewhere below.
Aster stood still, his silver eyes locked on Lily's. There was no fury in his expression, no explosion of anger or betrayal, just a quiet, dense sadness. Something too heavy for a boy his age to carry so well.
"Why did I live in an orphanage then?" he asked.
The question wasn't sharp. It wasn't even hurt. Just… real. He was asking not to accuse, but to understand.
Lily's breath caught for a moment. She had prepared herself for so many kinds of reactions, but this kind of stillness was the one that hurt most.
"Dumbledore told me," she began gently, "that you could take life force. And that's why I survived."
Aster blinked, startled. The words made no sense at first.
"?!" His face twitched with confusion.
Then, for the first time, Lily saw it, a brief, genuine reaction flicker across his carefully composed mask. Not just a twitch of a smile. Something human. Something childlike.
It made her smile, just a little.
"I know," she said softly, her voice warmer, "he didn't tell me much either. Dumbledore likes his mysteries... sometimes a bit too much."
A pause stretched between them, not uncomfortable, just full.
Lily turned slightly, gesturing toward the vault.
"You can take as much gold as you need," she said, then smiled, teasing the tension away. "I'd suggest around 100 Galleons. That'll be enough for your school things… and a bit to help Hermione, if she finds something interesting."¹
With that, she stepped away, placing a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder as they headed down the corridor toward the Potter family vault.
Aster turned back to the open vault before him. Rows of gold glimmered faintly in the low magical torchlight. But it wasn't just coins. There were rolls of parchment sealed with wax, a few books that looked older than anything he'd seen, cases filled with mysterious magical instruments, and a velvet-wrapped case he dared not touch.
He stood at the edge, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning everything.
Somewhere inside was a story. His story. His bloodline. His legacy.
But Aster knew it would take time to read it all, and he wasn't sure if he was ready yet.
Not just yet.
Aster turned slightly toward the goblin, voice steady.
"May I take 120 Galleons?"
The goblin gave a curt nod, already moving his clawed fingers through the air. With precise, elegant gestures, gold coins rose from the vault like a tide, floating, spinning, then funneling into a small leather pouch the goblin held out. No words. No wand. Just raw, trained control.
Aster took the pouch in silence, his fingers brushing the heavy leather, but his eyes weren't on the gold.
They were on the magic.
The way the coins moved, obedient and efficient, no flash, no chaos. Just purpose. Refined control. It was different than his own. His magic came when it wanted, surged when his emotions spiked. But this? This was exact. Like the goblin told the world what to do, and it listened.
Aster's fingers clenched just slightly around the pouch.
He wanted that. That precision. That mastery.
He opened his mouth, 'How do you..?' but stopped.
He already knew the answer.
The goblin was watching him with a sideways glance, sharp and unreadable.
And if he asked, the answer would be short, cold, and final.
"No."
So Aster said nothing.
Instead, he nodded once in silent thanks and turned back toward the hall, the pouch at his side, his mind racing faster than ever. There was so much to learn, and the world was already more complex than he'd imagined.
But that only made him more determined.
He would understand. He would control it. On his own terms.
And maybe, one day, someone would look at his magic with that same mix of awe and caution.
Aster stepped into the marble-floored entrance of Gringotts, his footsteps quiet but his presence sharp. The pouch of galleons hung at his side, heavy yet oddly insignificant compared to the thoughts swirling in his head.
Hermione stood nearby, fidgeting, her eyes scanning the crowd of wizards, goblins, and the occasional wide-eyed child. She wasn't just curious. She was searching.
Then their eyes met.
She practically ran to him, her curls bouncing with each step. "Aster!" she said with urgent relief, stopping just before him.
He tilted his head slightly, offering the usual unreadable half-look, but Hermione saw through it.
She always did.
She reached out instinctively, her hands brushing gently against his cheeks. His skin was cool, as always, but she could feel the difference. Not in his face, but in something under the surface. Magic, maybe. Emotion. Or both.
"W-What happened?" she asked softly.
Aster blinked once, silver eyes calm but distant. Hermione noticed it now more than ever, he wore his stillness like armor. But something inside him had shifted.
She was taller than him, still. A fact she never let him forget.
Last year, when he'd first noticed, he'd said it flatly: "You're taller."
And she had grinned and declared, "Girls grow faster, obviously!" A proud badge she still wore. After all, Aster was better at nearly everything, reading, chess, problem solving. He never seemed to try, and still always won. Being taller gave her something, her thing.
"I found my family," Aster said, his voice quiet, almost testing the words as they left his mouth.
Hermione froze.
He watched her closely, trying to read her expression, but she gave nothing away at first. Just stillness. Then her lips parted, but no words came. Her eyes flicked between his, searching, maybe for proof, or maybe just trying to understand what this meant.
He didn't know what she was thinking. Was she happy? Was she afraid he'd leave now? Did she think he'd change?
Before either of them could speak again, a soft, graceful voice interrupted.
"Now, I guess we need to buy your supplies."
Lily stepped toward them, her presence gentle but impossible to ignore. Her long red hair moved with the breeze, and her eyes lingered on the two children, so tightly close that they seemed like halves of the same thing. She paused, just long enough to smile.
A knowing smile.
Still, she kept her tone light.
"School uniforms aren't something we need to worry about just yet. Those should be bought two or three months before your first term at Hogwarts." She looked to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, offering the clarity of a practiced parent."But you can buy your books today, and your first wand. Even a pet, maybe an owl, if you'd like."
Hermione blinked out of her thoughts. "A pet?"
Lily smiled again. "Yes, students can bring an owl, a cat, or a toad." Then she looked at Aster. "Or something more… unusual, if it's magical and allowed."
Hermione glanced at Aster again, still clearly processing what he had said. But for now, she didn't speak.
Lily noticed and softened her voice further as she added: "Oh, and the wand." She held up her hand, mimicking a flick. "Think of it like a catalyst. It helps you direct your magic. Not necessary for all spells, but incredibly useful, especially for beginners."
Aster tilted his head slightly, already curious. If it was about control, it was something he wanted.
Hermione, slowly finding her voice again, asked: "Do we get to choose our wands?"
Lily gave a little laugh. "Not exactly. The wand chooses you. But you'll see what I mean when we get there."
They soon arrived at Ollivanders.
Lily smiled gently. "This is where I got my wand made. Ollivander's is the best wandmaker in the world. If he can't find a wand for you, no one can."
They stepped inside the narrow, dimly lit shop. The air smelled of old wood and magic. A soft creak echoed as the door closed behind them.
An old man behind the counter slowly opened his eyes wide."Lily? You're alive…" His voice was barely above a whisper, thick with surprise and something softer, relief.
He looked carefully at each child.
Turning to Harry, he said quietly, "So that must be the boy… my condolences."
Then his gaze shifted to Hermione. "This one doesn't seem yours. Your name, young lady?"
Hermione answered confidently, "Hermione Granger."
Ollivanders nodded knowingly, "I see…", understanding that she wasn't from a wizarding family.
Then his eyes settled on Aster, who was holding Hermione's hand tightly.
He studied the boy closely. "You... I remember your father. You look just like him. "His gaze flickered briefly, uncertain. "Although… I don't know whose mother you take after."
He then turned to Hermione, still holding Aster's hand gently but firmly. "Care to try?" he asked, offering her a slender wand he'd retrieved from a nearby shelf.
Hermione grasped the wand hesitantly. At first, she felt nothing unusual, no spark, no warmth, no sudden flutter of power.
Ollivanders quickly took it back, "I guess that's not the one…" he muttered.
He reached a little higher on the shelf, pulling out another wand with a slight tug. Holding it out to Hermione, he smiled faintly. "Here. I think this one might be perfect for you."
She took the wand carefully, and almost immediately, a warm, humming sensation spread through her fingers, like the wand was speaking softly only to her.
Ollivanders watched with a knowing smile as Hermione's eyes widened slightly.
"Ten and three-quarters inches," he said quietly, "Vine wood, with a dragon heartstring core."
Hermione felt a sudden surge of confidence, as if the wand recognized her — and she, it.
Aster, still holding her hand, noticed the change. For the first time, he saw Hermione not just as his friend, but as someone truly destined for this world of magic.
"That's the one," Ollivanders said softly, stepping back as Hermione's wand sang in her hand.
Then his eyes shifted to the boy standing a bit behind her. "And now… how about this one?" he said, eyes narrowing as he turned toward Harry.
He reached toward a locked drawer beneath the counter, but his fingers froze just before it. Something in his instincts said not this one. He changed direction smoothly, pulling out a second wand and handing it to Harry.
"Beechwood and dragon heartstring, nine inches," Ollivanders murmured.
Harry gave it a swish. Nothing happened. It felt... wrong.
Ollivanders took it back immediately, his sharp eyes glinting. "Not this one."
He turned and selected another. "Maple and phoenix feather"
Flames from Harry's wand. Ollivanders calmly extinguished the fire with a flick of his own wand.
The old wandmaker went still. His thoughts raced. Phoenix feather. So… that's the core he's meant for.
He glanced, almost warily, at Lily.
She met his gaze, and her lips pressed into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She understood.
Slowly, with a breath of resolve, Ollivanders retrieved one final box.
"Holly and Phoenix feather. Eleven inches. Supple." He handed it to Harry.
The moment Harry's fingers closed around the wand, the room seemed to sigh, golden motes of light shimmered in the air. A warm current swept past them, as if the wand was claiming him too.
Ollivanders studied the boy, then spoke gravely. "Curious… very curious."
Harry tilted his head. "Sorry, but what's curious?"
Ollivanders leaned in slightly, his voice soft but heavy with meaning.
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather resides in your wand… gave another feather. Just one other."
He paused. The room had fallen silent. "It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand… when its brother gave you that scar."
Aster's hand tightened slightly around Hermione's.
Harry looked down at the wand, unsure whether to feel pride or dread.
Ollivanders straightened.
"The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter. It is not always clear why. But I think it is clear we can expect great things from you."
A beat passed.
"After all… He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things, terrible, yes, but great."
Ollivanders turned his gaze toward Aster.
The room changed.
It was almost imperceptible, a weight settling in the air, a hush beneath the silence. Even the motes of dust drifting through the sunlight seemed to still.
His expression grew more serious. Curious, yes, but cautious now, too.
"And now… you."
He studied Aster for a long moment. The boy's silver eyes didn't flinch. Not afraid, just watchful, almost distant.
Then Ollivanders said, calmly but firmly, "How about you all… give us some room?"
There was no judgment in his voice, but it was clear. This part wasn't for spectators.
Lily's brows knit slightly, but she nodded. She touched Harry's shoulder gently and turned to go. Hermione lingered for a second longer, clearly reluctant.
"That's okay," Aster said softly, his voice even. "I'll meet you soon enough."
Hermione opened her mouth, hesitated, then nodded. She gave his hand a small squeeze before following the others out.
The door clicked softly shut behind them.
And in the silence, Ollivanders looked at Aster like one might look at a riddle that didn't want to be solved.
"Mr. Black?" Ollivander asked, uncertain. "Or do you prefer something else?"
Aster hesitated for a beat, then gave a single nod.
"Mr. Black, then."
Ollivander approached with the first wand, ash and unicorn hair, and offered it to him. The moment it touched Aster's fingers, the wand trembled violently, nearly jumping from his hand.
"Not that one," Ollivander muttered, taking it back swiftly. "Clearly not."
He tried another, yew and dragon heartstring, but it rested in Aster's palm like dead wood. No spark. No hum of connection.
The old wandmaker frowned, thoughtful now.
"Albus said it might take something... different," he murmured to himself. Then, as if remembering, he stepped carefully to a locked drawer beneath the counter and drew out a long black box. Unlike the others, it bore no label.
"I wasn't meant to make this one," Ollivander said softly. "Wands with this core are forbidden, for good reason. But Albus Dumbledore himself granted me permission, and the materials. Enough for only one."
He opened the box and removed a wand like a shard of midnight, sleek, polished ebony, darker than shadow. The air felt colder around it.
He placed it carefully in Aster's hand.
And the moment it touched his skin, something shifted.
The room pulsed. Aster could feel it, not just connection, but recognition. The wand knew him.
Then the whisper came.
"This one..." the locket at his neck hissed, vibrating faintly with eerie glee. "Ours."
Aster stiffened. He wanted to rip the thing off and hurl it away, but his fingers only brushed against it for a moment, breath catching in his throat.
He stared at the wand.
It felt like it was listening.
Ollivander was watching him closely now, his voice hushed.
"Ebony. Twelve and a quarter inches. Unyielding. Core... basilisk scale."
He let the words settle, then added with grave calm:
"A most rare and dangerous combination. Ebony wands choose the powerful, the ones who walk alone, who forge their own path, even against the current. But basilisk scale... I have never crafted with such a core. Its power is immense. It amplifies magic beyond reckoning."
He looked at Aster with a searching gaze, voice lowering further:
"But it will not forgive weakness. This wand will demand intent, certainty. It may lash out if wielded in doubt. It may even... turn on you."
The wand remained silent now, resting peacefully in Aster's grasp.
But Aster knew it wasn't peace.
It was waiting.