At dinner in the Great Hall, Aster had exchanged a few words with Hermione, nothing too long, just enough for Nyx to flutter down beside her, comfortably perched and whispering in her mimicry voice. Occasionally, Hermione would glance over at him, her expression unreadable.
But Aster had returned to the Slytherin table.
Draco looked up as he approached, raising a brow but keeping his tone light. "Thought you'd be sitting with them."
Aster shrugged and sat down. "She said I should try making friends here too."
Draco nodded slowly, as if weighing that answer. "Makes sense. That's half of what this school's for, isn't it?"
There was a pause, then Draco leaned in a little, lowering his voice. "About our first meeting… I was rude. Sorry."
Aster blinked. He hadn't expected that. But before he could respond, Pansy, sitting nearby, gasped as if Draco had committed treason.
"You just want to use him to get more house points, don't you?" she said, half-joking but also suspicious.
Aster gave a small smirk, not denying it. He had earned Slytherin a handful of points today, mostly because Snape enjoyed putting Gryffindor in its place, but he knew his skill had played a part.
"Maybe I'm just too charming to ignore," Aster said dryly, stabbing at his dinner.
Draco rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. Nyx, across the hall, tilted her head toward Hermione and muttered in Aster's own voice, "He's learning."
Hermione didn't even look up from her book. "Barely," she murmured, but her smile betrayed her fondness.
After dinner, Aster wandered alone through the quiet corridors of the Slytherin dungeons. The torches on the stone walls flickered low, casting elongated shadows that danced along the floor. It was late, just before curfew, but he wasn't tired. Not yet.
Then, behind him, something shifted.
A soft pop. The kind of sound that wasn't supposed to echo in empty halls.
Aster turned sharply.
A house-elf stood there, hunched and trembling. His large, watery eyes widened the moment they locked with Aster's, and then, suddenly, the creature burst into tears.
"Master Regulus!"
The words hit like a cold wave.
Aster froze. That name… His father.
"…Who are you?" Aster asked, his voice low, cautious.
The elf stepped closer, wringing his long, thin hands. "My master Aster… It's me. Kreacher. I served your father… Master Regulus. Now I have come to serve you."
Aster stared. Kreacher's face was old and lined, and yet something about him felt... familiar. Not from memory, but something deeper, as if his magic recognized the elf before his mind could.
He wasn't sure what to say. Was this even allowed? House-elves weren't commonly seen in the student areas. The halls were quiet now, no prefect patrols yet, but he couldn't risk being caught out after hours. Slytherin didn't have a portrait-guarded common room like Gryffindor, so the entryways to his dorm were more open… and more exposed.
"…Why now?" Aster finally asked.
Kreacher looked up at him, something fragile and desperate in his ancient voice. "Because Master Regulus made me promise. That if you ever came to Hogwarts, I would find you. I would serve you. And protect you."
Aster brought Kreacher into the Slytherin common room under cover of the late hour. With most students tucked away in their dorms, the flickering green light of the lake-glass windows cast a murky calm over the room. He figured no one would punish him for bringing an elf here, not in his own house.
Nyx was still with Hermione, likely perched somewhere high in Gryffindor Tower, murmuring in stolen voices.
Aster gestured for Kreacher to sit, or at least stand still, near the fire. The elf looked hesitant, as though unsure whether he belonged.
"Tell me," Aster said, his voice calm but low. "About my father. About my family."
Kreacher's old eyes gleamed as he spoke of Regulus, his bravery, his quiet strength, the way he changed before the end. Aster listened in silence, absorbing every detail.
But when he asked about his mother… Kreacher froze.
"I… I cannot say, Master Aster," the elf said, his voice strained. "The memory… It's gone. Something took it."
Aster's brow furrowed. Erased memories? He didn't like where his thoughts were going.
So he changed the subject. "What about the Potters? How did I know them before?"
Kreacher hesitated again. "Only that Master Sirius trusted them. That he made arrangements…"
But when the locket came up, that was when Kreacher's voice cracked.
"Master Regulus told me it was important to defeat the Dark Lord," he said, his hands shaking. "He gave his life for it. The locket…"
Aster stared into the fire for a long moment. That locket was real, and it meant his father died trying to stop Voldemort, alone, forgotten.
He looked back at the elf. There was one more question. A question that had been gnawing at the back of his mind for weeks, maybe years.
"Your magic," he said. "How does it work? Can you teach me?"
Kreacher blinked.
Silence.
Then his eyes widened in something between alarm and awe.
"Teach…?" Kreacher whispered. "Wizards do not ask that. They do not want to know. Elf magic is… is not for wizards. It is old. Wild. Dangerous. Your kind guards against it, and forgets it exists."
"I'm not asking as a wizard," Aster said, voice firm. "I'm asking as your master. And as your friend."
Kreacher's mouth trembled. His knees bent. He bowed his head, both in obedience and reverence.
"I will try," he said. "But you must understand… elf magic does not come from wands."
"I see…" Aster said, but his voice was far away, almost lost to the flickering shadows of the common room.
What stirred in him wasn't ambition, not the kind that sought fame or power for its own sake. No, this was older, deeper. It was hunger. A need that lived in the marrow of his bones, in the cracks of his soul. Not to rule, but to know. To master every kind of magic this world kept hidden.
And in that moment, Aster finally understood why the Sorting Hat had hesitated.
He had the courage of a Gryffindor, the wisdom of a Ravenclaw, the loyalty of a Hufflepuff, and the ambition of a Slytherin, all simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to be given shape.
Kreacher watched him carefully as Aster extended a hand, palm open.
There was no incantation. No wand. Just intention.
And the candlestick by the hearth lifted smoothly into the air.
Not with the jittery float of a levitation charm, but with purpose. Precision.
He turned his hand, and the candlestick rotated midair, slow and steady. He could feel the weight of it not in his arm, but in his chest. It responded to his will, as though his thoughts were strings tied to the world.
Kreacher looked up at him with something like reverence.
"Master Aster learns quickly. Too quickly…"
But Aster was already focused again. "I want to continue. This magic, your magic, it's real. And powerful. I want to learn as much of it as you can teach me."
The elf bowed low.
"Then Kreacher will return. Once a day, when no one sees. Kreacher will teach you what the others don't."
Aster nodded.
He had a feeling this was only the beginning, not just of learning, but of uncovering things buried long before he was born.
The kind of magic no school dared to teach.