Dumbledore's Office
Aster entered the office briskly, still carrying the tension from the Great Hall. Dumbledore was already there, seated calmly behind his desk.
"Wait, Aster," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. "I almost forgot something. Give me a moment, it won't take long."
Aster nodded but remained standing, his gaze sweeping the room, the portraits, the phoenix, the familiar quiet hum of magic.
Suddenly, a voice cut through the silence: cold, sharp, dripping with disdain and pride.
"Well, well. The Chimera finally dares to show its face to me."
Aster turned sharply toward the source, the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black, the least popular headmaster Hogwarts had ever seen. Hearing that voice was enough to make Aster hesitate.
"Chimera?" Aster said, uncertain. He knew he wasn't fully human; half-giant or half-goblin existed in the world, but a chimera was something else. A tripid? A monster?
Phineas sneered. "He doesn't even understand how much of a disgrace he is to House Black."
Aster's face was unreadable. He didn't care about insults, but maybe this could be a key to understanding who or what he truly was.
"So why am I a disgrace when you didn't amount to much yourself?" Aster said flatly. Whatever Phineas said wouldn't wound him.
Phineas laughed bitterly. "They say you weren't born. You were assembled. A patchwork of magics, a living weapon forged by our own house. Tell me… what did they stitch into you, Chimera?"
The room chilled. Aster met the painting's cold eyes. "I'm not a mistake for you to name."
Phineas's laughter echoed, harsh and cruel. "No. You're Regulus's mistake. He should've left you to rot in whatever crypt he dragged you from."
Before Aster could respond, another voice broke in, a calm, measured tone from the portrait of Niamh Fitzgerald.
"And yet here he stands. Not as a mistake… but as a choice."
Phineas hissed, "You would defend that? A creature born of mingled blood and unstable magic?"
Niamh's voice softened, thoughtful. "He has potential, more than some headmasters ever showed. But tell me, Aster Black… are you what they intended? Or something else entirely?"
Aster stared at her, unwavering. "They made a weapon. Regulus stole a son."
Niamh's gaze sharpened. "Then tell me, what do you choose to be?"
"Not him." Aster's voice was steady as he pointed toward Phineas. "Not a name. Not a curse. If I am a chimera, then I will burn the parts that don't belong to me."
Niamh smiled faintly, like a judge marking her verdict.
Just then, Dumbledore opened the door, breaking the tension.
"He's worthy," Niamh said softly, fading back into her portrait.
Dumbledore nodded, satisfied. "Sometimes it's the broken design that defies its maker… and becomes art."
Dumbledore calmly approached his desk and took his seat, his eyes gentle but knowing.
"Aster," he said quietly, "I understand what you might be feeling right now… but I can't give you all the answers today. I think you've had enough for one visit, don't you agree?"
Aster gave a slight nod. Dumbledore wasn't offering comfort or explanations, this was more a test for him.
With a faint smile, Dumbledore added, "Get some time before your library visits from tomorrow. Before you read about Animagi and learn elven magic."
Aster blinked in surprise. "You… you know about that?"
Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Don't worry. You won't be the only one who can Apparate within Hogwarts. Nor the first to become an Animagus without Ministry approval. I personally approve of it, though sadly, the Ministry frowns on Animagi roaming freely."
Aster calmly walked down the stairs, It was fulfilling, yet exhausting. What would happen tomorrow? Will Dumbledore teach him magic personally?
Or would Dumbledore teach him how to control his magic?
Either way he wouldn't stop, he had so much to learn, offensive magic, defensive, he had powers he didn't had a year ago, he could fight with 4th years easily, or even 7th years if he used the dark cloud inside him, more power was good, but he didn't want to get fame from it, play lowkey was good enough for now.
Later that night, Aster was sleeping, Nyx was observing him, to be more accurately looking his mind.
The air was thick with ash. Silence pressed against Aster's ears, heavier than any scream.
He stood alone in a battlefield scorched beyond recognition, no bodies, no blood, just the remnants of a war that had long since ended. Burned earth. Cracked stone. Shattered magic.
And then, he saw it.
At the far end of the ruined field, a creature stood tall and still, massive, fur like snow untouched by light, and eyes glowing deep violet, like burning amethysts in the dusk.
Aster didn't flinch.
He knew the wolf.
It didn't growl. It didn't run. It simply watched.
There was no fear. No victory.Only acceptance, a wordless recognition that this was him.
Not the boy made of stitched magic and stolen legacy. Not the name passed down through bloodstained lines.
The wolf was what remained, when everything else had burned away.
Aster blinked.
He was no longer looking at the wolf.
He was looking through its eyes.
Aster woke up.
He wasn't himself anymore.
His limbs were heavier, longer. His heartbeat was slower—but stronger. He stood on four legs, his coat a ghostly white, his breath misting the air. Not as massive as the dream-wolf that haunted his sleep… but still far larger than any normal wolf.
And he felt it—this wasn't even his full size. He could become something more. Something far more terrible.
Before he could even think, instinct kicked in—Draco was stirring in his bed across the dormitory. Aster bolted, claws scraping the stone floor, vanishing through the common room before anyone saw.
Nyx flew close behind, cawing softly. The moment Aster reached the lakeside, he growled lowly, voice impossible, but Nyx understood.
"Call Mione."
Nyx veered upward.
Students at the lake saw him, some gasped, others screamed. A few foolish older boys tried to raise their wands.
But when the wolf turned his violet-slit eyes toward them and exhaled—
—they ran. Just his presence, the sheer pressure of him, was enough to crush courage.
Then she came, breathless but without fear, her hair wind-tangled and her robes askew.
Hermione.
"You bloody idiot," she hissed, breath catching as she neared him. "What did you do?"
Aster stepped back slightly. He wasn't used to feeling small, but right now, the shame burned hotter than anything else. He had tried to contain this. Failed.
And now she was here. Scolding him. Saving him.
Again.
She came closer, raising her hand to his snout. "You could've hurt someone," she whispered. "You could've been taken."
Her fingers brushed against his fur, warm, steady, real.
"But you didn't run. You called me."
The wolf's head lowered, pressing gently against her hand.
Aster didn't speak, couldn't. But in that moment, he didn't need to.
Hermione was still with the white wolf when hurried footsteps crunched over the frost.
"Oi—Hermione!" Ron's voice cracked with urgency. "What the bloody hell is that—wait—is that him?"
Hermione looked over her shoulder. "Yes. And shhh! He's trying not to panic."
Ron gawked at the size of the wolf, wide-eyed, then whispered, "Okay... this is bad. If anyone finds out it's him—"
"They'll throw him out," Hermione finished, her hand still on the wolf's thick neck. "Or worse."[1]
Ron rubbed his temples. "Alright, alright—uh—crazy idea here—but what if… what if we don't let them find out it's him?"
Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Ron, he's huge, glowing like snow, and Nyx is circling him like a little voice-parrot. Not exactly subtle."
"Exactly!" Ron snapped his fingers. "So we make up what he is. Say he's some kind of… protective spirit—like a guardian beast from the Forbidden Forest!"
Hermione blinked. "That's ridiculous."
Ron grinned. "Which is why it'll work. People believe anything if it sounds mysterious and just a bit dangerous. Especially if it comes from someone like me who clearly saw it up close and lived to tell the tale."
The wolf made a soft, rumbling sound that might've been a laugh.
Ron looked at it. "See? He agrees."
Hermione looked thoughtful now. "If we spread the right story fast enough… the faculty might hesitate to interfere. Especially if Dumbledore's away."
Ron nodded. "Right. And I'll say it saved some kid who got too close to the lake, that'll really sell it."
"Fine," Hermione muttered. "It's stupid."
"But?"
"…But it might work."
Ron beamed. "Best kind of stupid, then."
Hermione turned back to the wolf. "Can you change back?"
The wolf stepped back, eyes flickering. He looked down at his paws. The form clung to him like shadow and frost, powerful, but still raw.
Hermione sighed. "Okay. We'll stall. You just… hide. Anywhere but the dungeons."
Ron added, "Yeah, try not to go full 'White Grim of Death' near the First Years."
Aster ran off into the trees, silent, graceful, ghostlike.
Ron turned to Hermione.
"…So, uh, what do we call him?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're the one making things up."
Ron grinned. "How about… the Silver Howl?"
Hermione groaned. "That's so dramatic."
Ron shrugged. "Yeah. But so is he."
[1] I bet its expelled.