The first full day at Hogwarts passed quickly. There were no classes, just tours, sorting chatter, and students still adjusting to castle life.
But the next morning came early.
Aster was already dressed and ready when the rest of Slytherin was still half-asleep. He made his way to the first class of the term without fuss, History of Magic.
The professor was a ghost, which might have startled him once. But after all he had already seen, it barely registered.
Most students slumped in their seats, heads nodding or resting in their hands, doing their best not to fall asleep. A few didn't even try. But not Hermione. She sat near the front, scribbling everything down furiously, her eyes sharp with focus.
Aster sat quietly beside her, jotting down only what seemed important. Professor Binns' droning voice had an almost magical ability to lull people to sleep, monotone and steady, like a spell cast for boredom. Aster felt the weight of it, but he resisted. Giving in would break my rhythm.
He glanced at Hermione once, tempted to nudge her for a word or two, but he saw the intensity in her writing. No chance. She's gone.
So he stayed silent. Observant. Awake.
When class ended, Binns faded through the blackboard mid-sentence, and groggy students blinked around in confusion.
Aster moved first, nudging the Slytherins nearby awake, a firm tap to the shoulder, a sharp word if needed. Across the aisle, Hermione was doing the same with the Gryffindors, her voice brisk but polite.
Without speaking, they met eyes briefly and shared an almost-smile, the understanding of two people fully awake in a world that wasn't.
Charms Class.
Aster stepped into the room, eyes sweeping over the space instinctively. It was warm and bright, with sunlight pouring through the high windows, casting dancing shadows on the stone floor.
At the front stood a tiny man, barely taller than the desk he stood on. Aster blinked. A goblin? No... too cheerful. Too pink-cheeked. Then the professor spoke.
"Welcome, welcome! I am Professor Flitwick, your Charms Master!"
His voice was high-pitched and melodic, almost like a musical bell. Not unpleasant, just unexpected.
Aster sat near the back, Hermione a few seats over, already pulling out her quill and parchment.
Flitwick tapped the board with his wand. "Today, we'll begin with one of the most useful and foundational spells in your magical education: Wingardium Leviosa."
Aster kept a straight face.
I already know this one. He glanced sideways. Hermione's eyes sparkled, not from excitement, but recognition. She knew it too.
It wasn't surprising. Both of them had gone through the First Year spellbooks in the months before school. They'd practiced the words, the intent, the feel of it. Aster, especially, had discovered something peculiar; even without the exact wand motion, he could sometimes make things move. Not smoothly. Not like a spell. But with enough will, he could force the magic through.
It was crude. Messy. But real.
They don't teach offensive spells to first-years, he thought. Too dangerous. And yet… Magic is magic. It responds to need. Instinct. Emotion. That's what matters.
Professor Flitwick waved his wand. A feather floated up gracefully.
"Like this, class. Swish and flick, and remember the pronunciation!"
Aster mimicked it perfectly, and his feather rose into the air with barely a sound. He let it hover for a moment, then slowly lowered it back down.
Across the aisle, Hermione was already floating too.
Their eyes met. No smugness. Just acknowledgment.
Then Flitwick squeaked excitedly, hopping onto a pile of books to peer over the desks. "Excellent, Mr. Black! Miss Granger! Five points to Slytherin and five to Gryffindor!"
Ron, seated near Hermione, whispered something under his breath, something Aster couldn't quite hear. But he didn't care.
This is easy, he thought. Too easy.
But deep down, he wondered, how long would the rest of Hogwarts stay that way?
Break Before Next Class.
The Great Hall buzzed with chatter as students rushed through early lunch or found corners to trade stories about their first real classes.
Aster, as usual, ignored his house table and sat with the Gryffindors, next to Hermione, across from Harry. A few curious stares lingered, especially from older students, but no one said anything out loud.
Hermione sighed, closing one of her many books and whispering, "You could at least try. Make friends, you know, in your own house?"
Aster raised an eyebrow, eyes half-lidded, voice smooth and quiet. "Are you sure?" There was no warmth in the question, it was almost a dare. A warning wrapped in velvet.
Before she could respond, a flutter of black wings signaled Nyx's return. The Umbrawing Raven landed soundlessly beside Aster's plate, regal and imposing. She looked at Harry first, her eyes glinting with uncanny intelligence.
Then, in Lily's voice, warm and clear, she spoke:
"Boys, I heard which house you got into. Harry, I'm so happy you're in Gryffindor, just like James and me."
Harry's breath caught. He froze, blinking at the bird, then slowly smiled.
Nyx turned to Aster next. Her head tilted slightly. A softer tone now, almost maternal.
"And Aster… I'm proud of you, too. You're in the same house where your father was. Regulus would have been proud[1]."
No one else seemed to hear it. Around them, students went on eating and chatting, unaware the raven had even made a sound.
Hermione looked between the two boys, visibly shaken, but not scared. Just overwhelmed by the strange beauty of it.
Nyx blinked, as if satisfied. Then, with a rustle of feathers, she hopped onto the table and delicately pecked a scrap of toast.
Aster leaned back, not saying anything.
A flicker of emotion crossed his face, brief, quickly buried.
"Guess I'll try," he said at last, almost sarcastically. "For her."
Hermione nodded, her eyes warm. "Good."
Harry said nothing. But he kept watching Nyx, as if he could still hear his mum's voice in the echo of her wings.
Ron leaned in, eyes wide with curiosity. "Wow… that's a rare breed, isn't it?" he said, glancing at Nyx, who was calmly preening her midnight feathers. "Looks like something out of a Dark Creatures book."
Nyx paused mid-groom, fixing Ron with a slow, sideways stare. He flinched.
"Right. Beautiful bird," he corrected quickly.
Hermione smirked but said nothing.
Then Ron shifted focus, eyes flicking between Hermione and Aster. "So… can you teach us? That spell you did in Flitwick's class?"
A few students nearby perked up, clearly they'd seen the spellwork too.
Aster arched a brow, lazily reaching for a cup on the table. "This?" he asked.
He held his wand with precision, movements fluid and focused. The cup trembled, then floated smoothly off the table, hovering mid-air like it weighed nothing.
Aster held it for a moment, then slowly lowered it back down. "It's all in the movement and intent," he said, turning the cup slowly in his hand. "Focus on lifting, not just saying the words."
He nudged it toward Ron and Harry. "Your turn."
Hermione leaned in as well. "Remember, it's swish and flick, and the pronunciation matters. Wing-GAR-dium Levi-O-sa."
Ron gave her a tired look but tried. "Wingardium… Levi-o-sa."
The feather on his plate wobbled, then flopped off to the side.
"Not bad," Aster said, not mocking, just honest. "Keep your wrist lighter."
Harry went next, repeating the motion Aster had shown. His feather rose half an inch, bobbed, then dropped like a stone.
"Better," Aster said with a nod.
Nyx let out a low caw, as if judging their attempts or perhaps just enjoying the attention.
Ron looked both amazed and annoyed. "You make it look easy."
Aster shrugged. "It's not. You just haven't practiced enough."
Hermione smiled, her eyes shining. "That's the nicest way he'll ever say you're doing it wrong, by the way."
Harry laughed. Ron just sighed, but there was no bitterness in it, just determination.
And for a fleeting moment, it didn't matter who was in which house. They were just four kids, plus one magical raven, learning how to make things fly.
After the break, the corridors had dimmed, as if the castle itself knew what class came next.
Potions.
Aster followed the flow of green-robed students down into the dungeons. The air was cooler here, almost damp. The stone walls were lined with old glass jars, floating things inside them Aster didn't bother trying to name.
He sat beside Draco and Pansy. She greeted him with a half-smile, clearly unsure what to make of him. Draco leaned closer. "Just so you know, Snape doesn't tolerate mistakes. Don't say anything unless you have to."
Hermione raised an eyebrow from where she'd sat beside Neville near the Gryffindor side of the room. Aster didn't catch it.
The room was dimly lit, a few wall sconces flickering weakly.
Then the door creaked open.
Professor Snape entered without a word, black robes billowing behind him like a shadow come to life. With a lazy flick of his wand, the light dimmed further, as if even fire dared not burn too brightly in his presence.
Aster watched with cool interest.
"There will be no foolish wand-waving in this class. I expect you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making…"
His gaze swept across the room, pausing briefly on a few Slytherins, flickering past the Gryffindors.
Then his eyes locked onto Aster.
"…Some of you may think your actions outside this classroom will earn you fame," he said, voice laced with disdain. "Waking at absurd hours, drawing attention like peacocks."
A few students glanced toward Aster, murmurs rippling.
Snape continued coldly, "But understand this, here, it will earn you nothing. Not applause. Not leniency. And certainly not respect."
Aster didn't flinch. His stare was flat, almost bored.
Snape's gaze shifted, caught on Harry
For the briefest moment, Snape's expression darkened, not with hatred, but something colder, deeper.
Then it softened. The lines around his mouth relaxed, his eyes dulled with memory.
He looked away just as fast.
Whatever it was, Snape didn't snap at Harry. Didn't single him out. He simply moved on.
Instructions appeared on the board with a flick of his wand.
"Cure for Boils," he said. "Begin."
Cauldrons were lit. Ingredients passed.
Hermione was already two steps ahead, scribbling notes and prepping with care.
Draco muttered, "He likes to target people. Watch."
Ten minutes in, Neville had managed to somehow melt the bottom of his cauldron. Hermione tried to help without being obvious.
Snape stalked over, sneering. "Idiot boy, you added the porcupine quills before removing from the flame?"
He turned sharply, eyes narrowing as he spotted Hermione helping.
"And you," he hissed, "—Miss Granger. Are you so eager to prove yourself that you'd rather brew your classmate's potion than your own?"
Hermione flushed. "I— I just—"
"Five points from Gryffindor."
Aster's jaw tightened. But he said nothing.
Instead, he focused, finishing his own potion with calm precision. He ladled a sample into a vial and set it neatly on the table.
Snape passed by, examined it. He paused.
"10 Points to Slytherin!"
Pansy whispered, "That's the closest he gets to saying 'well done.'"
[1] I think not, but ok.