Aster woke to the sterile scent of potions and the faint rustle of curtains in the hospital wing.
The ceiling above him was too white. Too still.
Beside him, Harry sat upright in his bed, voice low but urgent. He wasn't looking at Aster.
"I see, I see… You could see Voldemort in Aster?" Dumbledore's voice carried the weight of quiet consideration.
Harry didn't answer. His hands were clenched in the sheets.
Dumbledore gave a soft nod, as though completing a thought aloud. "Don't worry, Harry. Aster only wanted to protect you. He won't become Voldemort."
"Profess—"
"Dumbledore is fine," the old wizard interrupted gently.
Harry hesitated, then said, barely above a whisper, "Dumbledore… Quirrell. What did I do to him?"
His voice trembled under the question, like he already feared the answer.
Dumbledore's smile was faint, almost sorrowful. "Your mother's love still shields you, Harry. Even now. It's a kind of magic many have tried to name, but never truly grasped."
Harry clenched his fists, something twisting in his gut. "But I didn't… kill Quirrell."
"Of course not, Harry," Dumbledore said.
Harry pushed himself upright, searching. "Then who did?"
"Quirrell died in the presence of love," Dumbledore answered quietly. "A force he could not withstand. But it may not have been just your mother's magic, Harry."
Then, he turned toward Aster.
"Aster. Good morning. How was your night?"
There was a beat. Then another. Aster didn't answer.
His expression remained unreadable, too still. His eyes opened slowly, as if dragging themselves back from someplace far, and settled on Dumbledore. But they didn't seem to see him.
Not really.
It wasn't anger in his silence. It was weight. The kind that settled in the bones and didn't let go.
He opened his mouth, paused. Nothing.
Then, a voice, quiet, cautious.
"…You're awake."
Harry had turned slightly toward him, watching with the careful distance of someone who wasn't sure if the person beside them had changed into something else.
Aster's eyes shifted to Harry.
Not cold. Not kind.
Just present.
"I saw… something," he said at last. His voice was hoarse, like it had been scraped against stone. There was a crack in it, like something inside him had snapped and hadn't quite healed right.
Harry's brows knit. "What kind of something?"
Aster looked away. "Water."
A flicker passed over Dumbledore's face. Recognition, maybe. Or something like it.
"You were very brave," he said softly. "You saved Harry's life. And the rest… We'll understand in time."
"I didn't try to save him," Aster replied, frowning, not at Harry, but inward. "I just… moved."
"But you knew what the spell was," Dumbledore said. It wasn't a question.
Aster's head tilted slightly. "I felt it. Not the words. The intent. It wanted to unmake. It felt like…" He stopped, breath catching. "Home, but wrong."
Harry's blood ran cold.
"Home?" he echoed.
Dumbledore didn't respond.
Aster's voice dropped. "I guess I couldn't take it."
"What?" Harry asked, blinking.
"The spell."
He gave a crooked, almost broken smile. "You're the Boy Who Lived, right? I think I just… died."
Dumbledore stepped closer, framed by the golden light spilling in from the tall windows behind him, his silhouette long and ageless.
His gaze flicked toward Aster again.
Aster didn't flinch. He met Dumbledore's eyes with a calm that felt unnatural, like silence made solid.
Dumbledore didn't press.
"You've both endured more than any child should," he said, voice deepening with meaning. "But you're not alone. Not here. Not anymore."
He placed a hand gently on Aster's shoulder.
Aster didn't move.
Then, almost too softly to hear, he said, "I think I saw what death looks like…"
Harry's breath caught. His fingers drifted under the covers, brushing the handle of his wand.
Dumbledore withdrew his hand slowly. His expression didn't change, but his posture shifted ever so slightly. Not alarmed, but ready.
"We'll speak again soon," he said quietly. "But for now… rest."
He turned and walked away, the light gilding his robes like the final note of a song.
The doors closed behind him.
Silence fell between the boys.
Not empty. Not peaceful.
Listening.
Waiting for a voice that might speak again, whether from memory or something darker.
—————————————————————————————————————
The Great Hall shimmered with the golden hues of evening, ceiling bewitched to reflect the warm summer sky. The four long house tables buzzed with chatter and anticipation. At the front, the staff table looked on, waiting for the final ceremony.
Dumbledore rose from his seat, and instantly, silence fell like a spell.
"Another year has passed," he began, his eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles. "Full of learning, friendship... and, once again, courage of the highest order."
A hush fell as the numbers were announced.
"Slytherin leads, with 522 points," Dumbledore said calmly. A ripple of pride swept through the green and silver banners.
"Gryffindor follows closely behind with 472 points."
Whispers broke out. Everyone knew what this meant.
"I must award some final points for acts of bravery and brilliance."
Dumbledore paused, and the hall settled again.
"To Mr. Aster Black, of Slytherin House, for an act of protection performed not out of glory, but instinct, even ignorance of danger... a rare courage deserving of equal recognition: 50 points."
"To Miss Hermione Granger, for solving a challenge most grown witches would shrink from: 50 points."
A cheer burst from the Gryffindor table. Hermione turned bright pink.
"To Mr. Ronald Weasley, for the greatest game of chess Hogwarts has seen in a century: 50 points."
Ravenclaws quietly did the math. "Draw?" murmured someone.
A confused murmur spread. Nobody quite knew what was happening.
Then Dumbledore's voice rose again.
"And to Mr. Harry Potter, for bravery and heart in the face of darkness: 50 points."
The Gryffindor table erupted into roaring cheers. Harry smiled faintly, eyes flicking toward the Slytherin table, where Aster sat still, hands folded neatly, his raven Nyx shifting on his shoulder.
Stunned silence followed.
Then a hesitant shuffle of clapping, some Ravenclaws, a few Hufflepuffs. The Slytherins weren't quite sure what to do.
Dumbledore's smile widened ever so slightly.
"The final totals: Slytherin, 572 points. Gryffindor, 622."
The hall exploded. Banners above changed color mid-air, green turned red, lions roaring in silent celebration. Aster's gaze didn't waver from the far wall. He did not stand, did not flinch. Nyx let out a single croak that almost sounded like laughter.
Across the room, Snape's clapping was slow, reluctant, but real.
The House Cup floated into view, glowing faintly.
Dumbledore raised his goblet. "To the victors, and to those whose courage wears many colors."
Glasses raised.
Only Aster kept his hands in his lap, eyes shadowed by candlelight.
Extra: Old-man cheated ToT, Harry and Aster literally fought Voldemort. Here, he should have received more points, but it's just stupid house points.