Aster stood in the greenhouse, the air thick with humidity and the scent of soil. Herbology wasn't his favorite subject. He didn't dislike plants, he simply didn't feel drawn to them. They didn't speak to him the way magic did. Still, he participated, silently repotting a plant with care but little interest.
Beside him, Draco was with Crabbe and Goyle, as always, the trio looking almost like caricatures of themselves. Aster glanced at them briefly. Something about it felt... off. Like a performance long past its relevance.
It unsettled him.
If this were the Aster from just a few years ago, he wouldn't have cared. But something had changed. He had changed. Friends, real ones, had cracked something open in him. Or maybe just revealed what was always there, behind the ice.
Still, it all felt like a mask sometimes. One he hadn't yet figured out how to remove.
Pansy, repotting her own plant a little too aggressively, followed his gaze.
"I know what you're thinking," she said, voice low. "Even Draco knows. But he clings to them. His father was the one who introduced them, after all. Status, loyalty, bloodline, you know how it is."
Aster didn't respond right away. He pressed the soil gently around the roots of his plant, brushing the dirt from his fingers.
"Well," he said finally, "if he's happy, I suppose it's not my place."
He paused.
"But he's not. Not really."
Pansy turned to him, brows raised slightly.
Aster's voice was calm, but not unkind. "He tries to be strong. Mean, even, but his heart's not built for cruelty. Not deep down. He just doesn't realize it yet."
Pansy blinked. A trace of defensiveness crept into her expression.
Aster looked at her more directly now, his tone quiet but unwavering.
"You know, the two of you… You don't really match. He needs someone who sees him. Someone who understands why he puts on the masks he does. And you're not that person."
Pansy's mouth opened, but he wasn't done.
"Even now, you're talking about him to me. Gossiping, not caring. Not really. You're just trying to make sense of something you don't understand."
He returned to his plant as if nothing had happened.
Pansy stared at him, unsure if she was hurt, angry, or simply stunned by how effortlessly he'd peeled back the layers.
For a moment, only the rustling of leaves and the distant muttering of Professor Sprout broke the silence between them.
Neville had messed up something again during Herbology. A puff of pollen burst from the plant, and he stumbled back, coughing and red-faced. Draco was already laughing, his voice loud and cruel, echoed by his usual shadows.
Aster glanced at him. "Well... he can still grow", he thought, his gaze lingering on the trembling plant Neville had mishandled.
Then he turned to Pansy, voice low but firm. "And so can you."
She blinked, startled. Her hands froze mid-motion over the soil. The plant they were tending wasn't dangerous; it didn't bite, scream, or flinch, but the words cut sharp enough.
Pansy didn't respond, at least not out loud. But she didn't scoff either. And she didn't look away.
After class, Hermione rushed to approach Aster, She had that look, the one that meant she had questions or notes or maybe just wanted his company.
But Pansy got to him first. She grabbed Aster by the sleeve and pulled him aside, her grip surprisingly tight. Her voice was low and quick, meant only for him. Hermione stopped short, watching their backs as they disappeared down the greenhouse corridor.
Nyx swooped in like she'd been waiting for it.
In Hermione's voice, her own voice, she mocked softly, "You should make friends."
Hermione's face darkened, lips pressed tight. She reached for her wand, fast and sharp.
But Nyx had already flown off, her wingbeats light, laughing.
In the shadowed corridor, Pansy blocked his path.
"What makes you think you know everything?" she snapped.
Aster tilted his head. "I don't. But I can see a mask when someone's choking behind it."
"And you think you're better?" she hissed.
"No," he said. "Just… not pretending to be someone else."
She didn't respond. Her fists were clenched, not from anger, not fully, but from confusion.
"You're wrong." She said, but it sounded more like a question.
Aster stretched and said with a smirk, "Oh! It's our first Transfiguration class. Are you sure you want to show up late?"
That made Pansy freeze. She remembered Professor McGonagall's face, sharp, serious, and above all, Head of Gryffindor House. She definitely didn't want to be the reason Slytherin lost points on day two.
They rushed through the corridors, robes catching at their heels. When they entered the classroom, most seats were already filled. Draco sat at the front beside Crabbe and Goyle, heads turned toward the front like they were bracing for impact.
Hermione was already there too. Aster caught her looking at him, her expression strange, not angry, but distant. He'd never seen that look on her face before.
I should talk to her later, he thought, then quietly slipped into a seat a few rows behind Draco.
Pansy, still heavy with whatever she hadn't said, sat apart from him. Not too far, but enough to make it clear she needed space.
Aster found himself seated between Blaise Zabini, who rarely spoke unless he had something sharp to say, and a girl he hadn't really spoken to before.
She glanced at him with the cool composure of someone used to being noticed. "I'm Daphne," she said. "Daphne Greengrass."
Pale blonde hair, posture elegant and refined, green eyes, as if made to be the symbol of Slytherin
Aster nodded politely. "Aster. Aster Black."
She blinked, just once. "I know."
A bit after Aster had settled in, Ron and Harry entered the room. Like Aster, they paused just inside, scanning the front, no professor in sight. A few students whispered; some were laughing softly.
Aster remained seated, quiet. But something felt... off.
His eyes moved to the teacher's desk.
A black cat sat atop it, tail curled around its paws, its green eyes focused with uncanny sharpness. And they were locked directly onto him.
He narrowed his gaze. There was something behind that stare. Something human.
Then, with a silent leap, the cat jumped from the desk, and midair, its shape twisted.
Gasps filled the classroom.
When it landed, it was no longer a cat, but a stern-looking woman in emerald robes.
Professor McGonagall.
"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said without missing a beat, as if she hadn't just transformed in front of them. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."
The room was dead silent. Even the sound of parchment shifting stopped.
Aster's breath had caught, not in fear, but in fascination. That transformation had been seamless. Not a spell, not a charm, something else entirely. A magic he hadn't seen, hadn't read about, hadn't even imagined.
Animagus? he thought, the word rising unbidden. If this was something that could be learned, then he would.
From behind him, Ron muttered just loud enough to be heard, "That was bloody brilliant."
Aster didn't even smile, but he silently agreed.
Yes, he thought, yes, it was.