Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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Hermione stared out at the moon that shone brightly in the sky as stars twinkled making the midnight sky look brighter. The grass reflected, softly the moonlight, a simple breeze shaking the leaves on trees. Her head rested upon the side of her window, hands clasped loosely on her legs, which her bent slightly behind her so her hands rested on her thighs. A purple pajama was dressed on her body, leaving her comfortable during the summer night.

A clock ticked on her bedroom wall, the light sound filling the room as another minute passed. A single candle sat on her desk, lighting up a small portion of her room. Crickets sang their nightly song, the sound almost loving to the nearly 14-year-old. Shifting in her spot, her head turned minutely as her eyes darted to the clock. 11:58 it read just seconds before it turned to 11:59. Hermione smiled softly. "Just 60 seconds."

Watching the clock with careful eyes, the numbers climbing in her head, a familiar-once-every-year stirring began in her stomach. The hands landed on midnight and on instinct, Hermione lifted her candle. "Happy 14th Birthday, Hermione." Blowing out a light breath, the flame flickered before going out. Smoke curled from the dark little Wick, the only source of light in the room, snuffed out. Just as she set down the candle, a vague pain came from the small of her back.

Wincing, she gave her back a light rub, leaning her head onto the window. It dulled to a near-imperceptible ache before just exploding. Pain raged through her, curling inside of her, streaming through her blood, gripping her tightly within its hold; A strangled sound came from deep within her throat as she collapsed to the side, landing on her bed; Tears gathered at the brim of her shut eyes, fists clenching the sheets of her bed as she tried to breathe; Her lungs felt constricted, squeezed as she gasped for breath harshly, her body shuddering and trembling with every attempted breath. Tears started dripping down her cheeks, as the pain started to become all too much for the young girl, the salty liquid quickly increasing in speed. Hermione squeezed her eyes tighter as a harshness started tugging her navel. Her eyes flew open, every breath that had been forced into her lungs, flying out as her back arched from a force.

A bright golden light shone on her chest, the pain decreasing as well, much too Hermione's relief, stretching out, creating a line on her arm, chaining around her wrists. Another traveled to the top of her neck and chained around it before 2 threads of light traveling up the sides of her head and creating a band around her forehead. From her chest, 2 cords traveled down her legs and chained around her ankles. All the bands glowed brighter, the pain coming back to her, stronger than before. The brilliant gold light filled the entire room, blindly everything from sight.

Hermione felt her body changing, forming, developing, into something else, her magic swirling violently through the room, the strands caressing her soothingly. Power filled her core, to the very bottom, but something foreign, evil, unwanted, seemed to capture it and lock it up, imprisoning the new power. It sent surges of pain through her body, her magical core wounded by the imprisonment of the new power. Her magic reacted ferociously, attacking the evil thing inside her but it couldn't free the new power. It howled in anguish and grief, attacking it more forcefully but unable to break the magical prison inside of her.

The golden cords that lined her body, started to dissipate, crawling back to its origin, gently as to not hurt her any further. The light on her chest glowed brightly once more before disappearing, only leaving a few golden sparks as a reminder of its presence, which gingerly floated downward landing on the top part of Hermione's pajama shirt.

Minutes ticked by as the teen laid in bed, tears slowing as sniffles occasionally broke the silence of the room. Her eyes stayed glued to her clock, her mind clouded with pain, shock, and anguish. Only when she heard a tapping on her window, and the familiar shadow of an owl darkened her moonlit room, did she start to move. Unlatching her window, the owl flew in soundlessly. Landing on her desk, next to her birthday candle, a small roll of parchment attached to its leg. Carefully, she untied the parchment and unraveled it, beginning to read it once it was open.

Dear Ms. Granger,

It has come to our attention, that you have had a Creature Inheritance, which is most unusual and unheard of as you are a Muggleborn. We ask that you come to Gringotts, to discuss this and, hopefully, understand why this has happened. It is imperative that this discussion happen as soon as your circumstances allow, this matter is very delicate and is of significant importance and meaning.

To arrive at Gringotts, we ask that you use this letter. It is a portkey, and to activate it, please say 'Gold, Silver, Bronze'. Ask for Ragnok, the Gringotts manager; Should a goblin question you, please show them your letter.

Harry Potter will also be joining you as there seems to be a joint in your Inheritances, linking you together.

Thank you.

Gringotts Wizarding Bank

Confusion joined her tangle of emotions, causing the tangle to knot up even more. Questions circled her brain, explanations popped up, all of them being discarded and each crazier and more unlikely than the last. But everything came to a halt as she read over the letter, a single question echoing through her head. Why did her Creature have a link with Harry's?

Shaking her head, Hermione rolled the letter back up and held it firmly. Closing her eyes, she spoke in a tone that sounded too formal to be hers. "Gold, Silver, Bronze." A familiar tug to her navel came, the feeling of being squeezed, shoved, and bent into a tube too tiny for her to fit in, came for a split second before she felt like she was being spat out of her tube, shoved out by an intense force. Stumbling forward, as her feet landing on the ground roughly, she landed on the ground, sprawled out.

The pain that had just begun to subside flared back up and she groaned, rolling onto her back. Huffing, she shakily stood, her eyes squeezed shut as she did so. Blinking blearily, she found that she was in front of the desk of a goblin, who was staring at her in amusement, disgust, and slight boredom. Flushing pink slightly, she rubbed her pink-rimmed eyes and stood straighter, though it had no effect on the part of her brain that formed words. "Erm, Cretu- er, Iheri- ack!" she stammered, her cheeks flushing further. She cleared her throat. "Um, I was called to Ragnok's office because I got my Creature Inheritance. I, uh, I have a joint with someone's Creature apparently. Could you take me to his office please?"

The goblin's eyes widened, and they leaped from their chair. "Of course! A link between Creatures is rare and nearly unheard of! Unless they are twins of course, but other than that, the chances of that are close to none! Follow me right this way. And my name is Grappleclaw." Hermione gave a slight nod and followed the Goblin, rubbing her arms uncomfortably. As she traveled through the bank, she finally noticed she never changed from her pajamas, and was still clothed in the purple outfit.

A sigh came from her lips as they approached 2 large doors, covered with silver and bronze panels, embellishments, and notches, a large golden knocker at goblin height, accompanied by a set of silver door handles, one for goblins and another for wizards. Chipped gave a hard knock and a voice came from inside. "Come in." Chipped pushed the doors open and she was met with a large desk with a regal looking Goblin sitting behind it.

Her eyes landed on the only familiar thing in the room. Harry. He was a sickly pale, bags under his eyes, his face gaunt and sunken, looking his hair sloppy, but there was something on it. Was that blood? The thought startled her and a deep concern for her friend, brother, mixed with her already knotted mess of emotions. She sat next to him and gently clasped both of her hands around one of his. Harry gave her a thin smile, but it didn't mix with the sharpness in his eyes and his current state.

Forcing her thoughts away from Harry, she looked at Ragnok, who was looking at them with an intrigued expression before looking past them. "Chipped you may go. I must speak with Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger." The sound of opening and closing of doors signaled that Chipped had left. The goblin cleared his throat and brought out a few files. He cleared his throat and looked at them.

"As you know," Ragnok began, "a Creature Inheritance is not a matter to be dismissed. It is rather delicate matter and of much importance, just as was stated in your letter. Now, Mr. Potter, your case is not unusual as your father was said to be a pureblood and a few pureblood families have Creature blood in them, so it is highly possible that you inherited it from his side. Your mother was Muggleborn so that eliminates any possibility of it being from your mother." Harry nodded tiredly, obviously needing this meeting to be over with.

Ragnok began to address Hermione. "Now Ms. Granger, your case on the other hand, is unheard of. Your parents are both muggles, they do not descend from any squibs, half-bloods, or Muggleborns. That being said, I took the liberty of reviewing some things of your file and as I had contemplated, this could have been a magic Creature Inheritance. What that means is, Lady Magic has blessed you or your magic evolved into something greater. So, there is the inherited Creature and the magic Creature. Mr. Potter seems to have an Inherited Creature and you, Ms. Granger, a magic Creature"

They both nodded, but Hermione knew this still didn't solve the question of how there was a joint in their Creatures. As if reading her mind, Ragnok continued. "Now onto the joint part of your inheritance." He took a small stop and looked thoughtful for just a moment before continuing. "I have no understanding of your relationship with each other, so I do need you to explain it to me. This will help greatly in understanding how this has come to be."

Harry spoke before she could. "We aren't dating or anything. To me, Hermione is one of my best friends, my sister, a confidant that can share many things with."

Pride swelled inside of her before she spoke as well. "To me, Harry is my best friend, my brother, and I will stand by him no matter what."

Ragnok looked impressed before a pensive look came across his face. "Hmm. Brother and Sister you say? Yes, this makes more sense. Now I can't just go with theories, base it upon nothing more solid so I do have to find something plausible. Please give me just a moment. I must check something in your files." He opened them up and flipped a few pages and gently lifted a piece of paper from the files. He frowned deeply before bending down on his chair so low, that Hermione couldn't see him. She heard the opening of a drawer, the ruffling of papers before he came back into few with what looked like 2 files in his hands.

He looked through those as well before picking up a piece of paper from each. Uncertainty flickered through his face. "This... this could prove to be a problem."

Harry looked up at him. "What? What could prove to be a problem?"

Ragnok sighed. "It appears your birth certificates are forged. Certificates for Harry James Potter and Hermione Jean Granger? Yes, they appear to be forged. But another 2 certificates, for Astaron Emilion Riddle and Amaya Thana Riddle, they are official, and there are details that are too... perfect, to be a coincidence. Here." 4 pieces of paper floated in the air and 2 floated to her and the others to Harry.

She looked at the forged certificate.

Forged Birth Certificate:

Name: Hermione Jean Granger

Date of Birth: July 31, 1980

Father: Matthew Dante Granger

Mother: Charlotte Jamie Granger nee McAndrew

Godfather(s): Liam Birch

Godmother(s): Delia Sanchez

She swallowed thickly and looked at the official certificate.

Official Birth Certificate:

Name: Amaya Thana Riddle

Date of Birth: July 31, 1980

Father: Tom Marvolo Riddle

Mother: Lilith Jasmine Riddle nee Evans

Godfather(s): James Snape nee Potter, Remus Lupin-Black

Godmother(s): Minerva Pomfrey nee McGonagall, Narcissa Malfoy nee Black

A soft hum came from Harry, his eyes filled with too many emotions for her to discern what was what. All she knew was that his hands were trembling around the paper; from shock, rage, fear, sadness, Hermione didn't know.

He put his papers in her lap and she looked at him. "Are you sure, Harry?"

He gave a one-shoulder shrug. "I trust you."

She nodded and lifted the certificates with one hand.

Forged Birth Certificate:

Name: Harry James Potter

Date of Birth: July 31, 1980

Father: James Fleamont Potter

Mother: Lilith Jasmine Potter nee Evans

Godfather(s): Sirius Lupin-Black, Remus Lupin-Black

Godmother(s): Andromeda Tonks nee Black, Alice Longbottom nee Fortescue

Taking a deep breath, she picked up the other one.

Official Birth Certificate:

Name: Astaron Emilion Riddle

Date of Birth: July 31, 1980

Father: Tom Marvolo Riddle

Mother: Lilith Jasmine Riddle nee Evans

Godfather(s): Sirius Lupin-Black, Severus Snape

Godmother(s): Contessa Zabini, Poppy Pomfrey

She smiled blandly, her mind swirling with conclusions and theories. She knew that this was far too much to be a coincidence. But still, confirmation was needed.

"I understand this is much, we may continue another time if you wish." Her eyes flickered to Ragnok, who was looking at them warily; as though the would explode any second.

Harry shook his head, taking a shaky breath, a weary smile turning on his lips. "No. I'm fine. Please continue. How are the details of the certificates too perfect?"

Ragnok clasped his hands on his desk. "You are both born on the same day, which in itself is not unusual at all, but the fact that you were both born at the same time, to the hour, minute, and second, could not be overlooked. Secondly, we only got record of the certificates entering our system on October 31st of 1981, which is the date that Astaron and Amaya are reported missing- but not dead. Third, October 31st of 1981 is also the date that these certificates were not entered by a goblin. No, a wizard entered this into our system with unauthorized access. So, I do have reason to believe this is connected to your Inheritance."

Hermione nodded. She understood. Harry had closed his eyes, but she knew he was listening. "I will need to do a test, to hopefully shed some more light on this. Because if I am correct, we will finally have the answer to this."

She looked down at her brother figure, possible blood brother. He shouldn't because he knew his mind was a whirlwind, but Hermione knew she wouldn't be able to change his mind if he said yes. "Harry? What do you want to do?"

"I'll do it."

She bit her lip but nodded to Ragnok. He nodded and took out 2 bowls, blades, phials of a purple potion, as well as 2 pieces of parchment. The bowls were clay with runes carved inside, the outside plain. "Simply allow 7 drops of blood into the bowls and then put the potion inside of it; at which point you wait 15 seconds for it to activate then you may put it on the parchment."

Nodding, Hermione did as Ragnok said, cut the tip of her finger, poured the potion, waited 15 seconds at which the runes flared a light blue, then poured the mix onto the parchment; she didn't wait to see the results though. She watched Harry carefully, noticing that his trembling has stopped some as he copied her actions. She gave his hand a quick squeeze, not really sure who was comforting who.

Ragnok took the paper and she watched as he examined them, his face paling as he read.

"What? What do they say?" The anxiousness in Harry's voice made her heart clench, a few more theories blooming in her mind.

Ragnok handed the papers over, and Hermione read hers.

Blood Test:

Name: Amaya Thana Riddle

Date of Birth: July 31, 1980

Sire: Tom Marvolo Riddle (Alive)

Bearer: Lilith Jasmine Riddle nee Evans (Alive; In Hiding)

Secondary Male Guardian(s): James Snape nee Potter, Remus Lupin-Black

Secondary Female Guardian(s): Minerva Pomfrey nee McGonagall, Narcissa Malfoy nee Black

Sibling(s): Astaron Emilion Riddle (twin)

Ravan Styx Riddle (blood adopted)

Creature Inheritance: Half-Siren, Half-Dark Veela

Animagus Form(s): Fire Phoenix, Snow Leopard, Sea Krait

Mate(s): Theodore Nott (Male; High Elf)

Vaults:

708 – Riddle (paternal)

739 – Gaunt (paternal)

910 – Slytherin (paternal)

629 – Evans (maternal)

908 – Gryffindor (maternal)

A haze blurred her vision as she clenched the parchment. Emotions clogged her sense of rationality and her magic rose inside of her. Her breaths short and quick, an anger tinting her vision. But none of the emotions was hers, just the feelings of another seeping into her. She looked over at Harry, hugging the boy when she saw he was trembling, in hopes to calm the anger that was in him and filling her. Murmuring words into his ear, she rocked him; calming when the anger fogging her mind cleared. He spoke, his voice wavering immensely, still not fully calmed. "Ca-can I s-see- can I see yours M-mione?"

"Of course."

She gave him her parchment and he gave her his. Hermione began to read.

Blood Text:

Name: Astaron Emilion Riddle

Sire: Tom Marvolo Riddle (Alive)

Bearer: Lilith Jasmine Riddle nee Evans (Alive; In Hiding)

Secondary Male Guardian(s): Sirius Lupin-Black, Severus Snape

Secondary Female Guardian(s): Contessa Zabini, Poppy Pomfrey

Sibling(s): Amaya Thana Riddle (twin)

Ravan Styx Riddle (blood adopted)

Creature Inheritance: Half-Siren, Half-Vampire

Animagus Form(s): Raven, Transylvanian Knight Dragon, Sea Serpent

Mate(s): Draco Malfoy (Male; Dark Veela)

Vaults:

708 – Riddle (paternal_

739 – Gaunt (paternal)

910 – Slytherin (paternal)

629 – Evans (maternal)

908 – Gryffindor (maternal)

The parchment slipped from her hands. 

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Chapter Text

Hermione stared; all she could do was stare. Her mind was suddenly a cyclone, and it was forming questions, theories, doubts, and fears like it was the last day on Earth. A rage flooded her mind, mixed with anxiety and fear. Tears slowly made their way down her face, her body still with shock. Her eyes were glued to the parchment sitting innocently in her lap, as though it hadn’t just spun her life on its axis, changed practically everything.

Would Harry even accept her as his sister? His twin?

It was one thing when they didn’t know but know it was revealed they were full siblings, twins; they shared a mother, a father, a womb… She simply thought it was a mere coincidence when she found out they shared a birthday. They had joked about being secret twins but now that joke had become reality. Had always been reality.

But she never knew it because it had been hidden to her. But why? Why had it been hidden from her? Why had she been taken away? Why? Why? Why? Tears sprinted down her cheeks; Her shaky hands wiped the tears only to have more replace the spot.

Hermione looked up at the Goblin, her voice calm even thought everything else about her wasn’t. “Ragnok, a moment please?”

He gave them a sympathetic look. “Of course. Just shot red sparks from your wand when you are ready. Don’t worry, the ministry will not detect it as you are in Gringotts.”

With that, he left, and the twins simply sat in silence. Then Harry broke the silence. “Are you upset with me being your twin?”

She shook her head frantically. “No! No. I- I’m just really overwhelmed. It’s… it’s a lot right now. I mean finding out about our mother, our father, we’re twins, we’ve been lied too, but we still have a bunch to figure out. Like who did this, figure out how to find our parents, all that.”

“Um, well I can tell you our father, Tom Marvolo Riddle is Lord Voldemort.”

Hermione stared at him. “Ok… so that fixes that but our mother, Lily Evans was said to be a light wizard. Why is she said to be married to Lord Voldemort?”

They shared a look. “Coverups. I bet you it took a lot of manipulation, lies, money to cover that up and make it plausible. And Severus is our godfather, so he was probably Obliviated. I mean, he was constantly saying bad stuff about James Potter, but he was married to him. So, we need to get that undone along with everything else that comes as we go. Don’t worry, we’ll fix this.” Harry gave her hand an encouraging squeeze.

Hermione took a deep breath, closing her eyes and wiping the tears that had stilled on her cheeks. “Of course. Should we check for anything else? Like glamours because we look nothing alike, and we’re twins. And I doubt we look anything like our parents since you were always told you looked like James Potter but with Lily’s eyes. Also, we should check for any suppressed memories because I knew we would probably remember a few things. Wizards have the ability to remember things as babies, not many things but a few things and since we were over a year old, I’m near positive we would remember somethings. It could also help us figure out who did this and uncover some of our heritage….”

Harry looks slightly impressed. “We should definitely do all that, and it said we got the Gryffindor Vault from our mother, but she was a Muggleborn. But I think that we should look into her parentage and see if she descends from any squibs, half-bloods, or muggleborns. It’s definitely intriguing.”

“So, we have an idea of what we wish to do. Should we add potions and blocks along with our glamour test?”

“Definitely. Do you want to call Ragnok, or do you want me to do it?”

“You can do it. Also, Harry, what goes on at the Dursleys’? Not about this but about your appearance. You’re dreadfully thin, your face is sunken, you have heavy bags under your eyes, you have dried blood in your hair… What do they do to you? I see how they look at you when they pick you up from the train, how you always steer the subject away from the Dursleys when they come up in a conversation, whenever you come back for a new year, you’re pale, far too skinny and always on guard. I refrained from asking before because you hate it when people pry into your business and personal life, and that you wouldn’t give me a straight answer if I asked but now I am asking and needing an answer Harry. Please. If they’re hurting you, I’ll help you get out. But you have to let me. Please.” Tears pricked her eyes once more, her beseeching tone matching what was going on inside her mind.

Harry darted his eyes away as she rubbed his arm. “I- it’s- erm… not now. Later. I promise I’ll explain everything.  But for now, we focus on this. Do you want a list of our properties? We can check them and maybe check them, see if our parents are living in either of them. Mostly our Mum though because I just have this feeling about our Dad…”

“Alright. Call in Ragnok.”

Harry gave a swish of his wand and red sparks came from his wand. Near instantly, Ragnok came in. “Ragnok, we request a potions, glamour and blocks test? As well as a search of out mother’s lineage, something doesn’t add up about it. May we also have a copy of our properties?”

“Of course. Do you wish for anything more?”

“No sir.” Ragnok nodded and immediately 2 pieces of parchment floated their way along with 2 phials of a blue potion; the runic bowl they used before cleared up immediately as well as the blade.

“Do the same thing as you did for the Blood Test, only wait 30 seconds instead because this is tricky business; if it does not absorb properly, then the results will be incorrect.” They did as Ragnok told them, both wondering if there would be extensive damage. The calligraphy began to form, and the twins read as the words appeared.

Keys, Blocks, Glamour Test:

Name – Amaya Thana Riddle

Blocks

Magical Core – 30% Block; Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Creature Powers – 100% Block; Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Creature Inheritance – 0% Block; Attempted by A.P.W.B.D

Parseltongue – 100% Block; Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Natural Legilimens – 100% Block; Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Potions

Loyalty Potion keyed to Albus Dumbledore – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Loyalty Potion keyed to Ministry of Magic – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Trust Potion keyed to Albus Dumbledore – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Trust Potion keyed to Molly Weasley – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Hatred Potion keyed to Lord Voldemort, The Dark Lord, Tom Marvolo Riddle – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Hatred Potion keyed to Dark Side of Magical Britain – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Hatred Potion keyed to Death Eaters (Unofficial and Official) – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Hatred Potion keyed to Slytherin House and Students – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Hatred keyed to Severus Tobias Snape – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Love Potion keyed to Ronald Weasley – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Marriage Contract with Ronald Bilius Weasley – Proposed by A.P.W.B.D and M.T.W; Signed by A.P.W.B.D and M.T.W {Illegal}

Glamour

Heavy Basic Glamour - Administered by A.P.W.B.D

[Bushy] Brown Hair – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Brown Eyes – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Facial Structure – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

A strangled sound escaped her throat, though it sounded more angry than anything. “He nearly everything, he changed my looks, and gave me potions… so I could be a chess pawn… I will Kill him.” Her voice was filled with cold fury.

“He did the same for me… Look.” Harry handed her his test. Taking a deep breath and pursing her lips, she began to read.

Keys, Blocks, Glamour Test:

Name – Astaron Emilion Riddle

Blocks

Magical Core – 35%; Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Creature Powers – 100% Block; Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Creature Inheritance – 0% Block; Attempted by A.P.W.B.D

Parsel – 0% Block; Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Rapid Healing – 100% Block; Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Necromancy – 100% Block; Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Potions

Loyalty Potion keyed to Albus Dumbledore – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Loyalty Potion keyed to Ministry of Magic – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Trust Potion keyed to Albus Dumbledore – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Trust Potion keyed to Molly Weasley – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Hatred Potion keyed to Lord Voldemort, The Dark Lord, Tom Marvolo Riddle – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Hatred Potion keyed to Dark Side of Magical Britain – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Hatred Potion keyed to Death Eaters (Unofficial and Official) – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Hatred Potion keyed to Slytherin House and Students – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Hatred keyed to Severus Tobias Snape – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Love Potion keyed to Ginerva Weasley – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Marriage Contract with Ginerva Molly Weasley – Proposed by A.P.W.B.D and M.T.W; Signed by A.P.W.B.D and M.T.W {Illegal}

Glamour

Heavy Basic Glamour – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

[Unruly] Black Hair – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Green Eyes – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Lightning Bolt Scar {Left Side Forehead}

Facial Structure – Administered by A.P.W.B.D

Strangled noises came from her mouth, as her entire body shook with rage. “How much would it cost to get a removal of all of this? Removal of Blocks, Potions, and Glamours, because I sincerely doubt we’ll be able to do these things ourselves with all of this on us. I also think we may have been obliviated during our years at Hogwarts so I would like our memories restored if you can.”

Ragnok paled at her calm tone, though her eyes promised death. “It would be 10 galleons each for the removal, memory restoration would be 7 galleons each, though that would have to be on a separate day. Would you like us to exterminate the marriage contract?”

“That would be preferable, Ragnok. Would it also be possible for you to send us our mother’s family records? It would help us greatly, if we can find out more about our lineage, as there seems to be lots of…. Coverups about our life.”

“Of course. Um, is there anything else?”

Harry spoke. “A list of properties please. Oh, and heirships, lordships, and ladyships.”

Ragnok nodded. “Very well. I shall arrange the removal, and while they are setting it up, I retrieve the information you requested.  They should be ready as I am collecting everything, so I will leave it all here and then we shall go to the Ritual Room.” He got from behind his desk and left the room, causing Hermione to turn to Harry.

“Heirships, Ladyships, and Lordships? What?”

“Heirships, meaning Heir and Heiress. However, very few families allow their daughter to take up an Heirship if they have a son; that is why most families wish to have sons but if they only get daughters and the Lady is unable to bear any more children, the eldest daughter is to take up the Heirship.”

She took a deep breath. “Ok… wonderful.  

“Uh, by the way, there are probably others because these are vaults, and only once you are accepted for heirship, lordship, or ladyship, you are able to access the vaults. That’s generally the reason pureblood families take their children for heirship acceptance when they are 10 or 11. Lordships and Ladyships come only when they 17, but some exceptions can be made in rare cases, like if the family line only has 1 existing heir, said heir can become Lord once they turn 15. Um, so if we are accepted for heirships, new vaults will show on our blood test.”

“Nice. I’m glad you read those books on all this.”

“So am I.”

Ragnok decided then to enter the room again with boxes and scrolls in his arms.

“Yes. The removal room is in preparation, and we shall walk there now. After we may discuss all the Heirships, Ladyships, and Lordships.” They got up and followed Ragnok through the bank, and to a small room. “Please change into these robes and cloak. Now shoes please. The removal is best when you are barefooted.”

He exited and the twins turned around and began changing into the white and gold robes and black cloak. The robes were soft and made of fine silk, intricate gold patterns lacing the hems; the sleeves cutting off just above their elbows, the bottom of the robes brushing their ankles. The cloaks covered them fully, silver threads shining in the light, and the sleeves covering the bottom of their hands, the bottom brushing the tops of their feet; hoods collecting in between their shoulder blades with the soft material encapsuling their bodies; softly sweeping forward and backwards as they walked, their bare feet enjoying the cold floors of the bank.

They entered a room with a single goblet in the middle of the room and 2 shallow pools of water. Ragnok led them to it. “Drink half of this and then go lay in the pools. Sistra will be performing the removal.” As if on cue, another goblin entered but was a female.

“Please do as instructed and warning, it will hurt but you will feel better after.” Hermione lifted the goblet and drank the liquid, grimacing at the taste of it; earwax and blood. Harry gave a small gag.

“The blood part isn’t so bad; the earwax is disgusting though.”

She snorted. “You’re part vampire. Shush.”

Sitting in the spot instructed to her, Hermione laid down, her back against the cold floor. Closing her eyes, she felt a wet cloth laid atop of her body, covering her from her feet to the top of her head. The chanting began, magic seeping and growing inside the room.

Her core exploded, her magic releasing into the air and divulging deep into foreign magic coming from the goblins; intertwining with Harry’s before diving into her own core when the pain came. Pain different from her inheritance, stripping away at her blood and magic; fighting with the unwanted magic inside of her; a scream came from her lips, her back arching as she writhed in pain though she knew it wouldn’t help; her magic howled and mixed with the goblin magic, stripping away the layers of evil that had been growing inside of her; it fought, determined to stay but it was slowly untangled, stripped, and torn as her magic and the goblin magic fought against it; her magic howled with glee, caressing the powers that had gotten locked up; determined to become used to the feel of it and mix itself with the powers to slowly become one as it grew and tamed itself.

The pain began dulling, subsiding as the last of the evil magic ebbed away from her; the built-up magic finally leaving her. Heavy pants left her mouth as she laid limply in the water. It was over. She looked down at the water and stared at it in surprise. It was black with little squirming tendrils of magic, looking almost alive. Scrambling, she got out of the water, ignoring the soreness of her body, not wanting to be any closer to the pool that she had to.

“Harry?”

A groan answered her call. “I thought it was Astaron?”

A laugh escaped her lips. “Alright. Then I’m Amaya.” She stretched carefully, A lock of hair fell in her face, and she stared at the jet-black hair. She blew it out of her face before standing fully. “Um, Astaron, you need help?”

He was sitting with his legs bent in front of him, his elbows resting on his knees. “No. I got it. Just sore.” She watched as he slowly began to stand, flexing his arms back and twisting his back slight. “That hurt.”

When he turned toward her, shock resounded through her with how different he looked. His hair was still jet-black but not as messy; his skin was paler then before, his face was far more aristocratic looking with sharp cheekbones and a sharp jawline, with a delicate nose, pink lips, and almond shaped eyes; his eyes no longer emerald but the color of the killing curse; He was taller (5’6 or 5’7), his shoulders broader, and he looked more muscled. Overall, he looked very different but not in a bad way.

“Now, let us go back to our office so you may continue with claiming your heirships, lordships, and ladyships.” The twins turned and followed Ragnok, also bowing to and thanking Sistra for helping them. They walked through the bank, taking off their cloak but leaving on the robe. Amaya admired her new milky pale skin which looked like paper next to her dark hair.

After entering the office, the sat back down and Ragnok arranged the boxes and scrolls. “Now, here. The scrolls contain the properties, and the boxes contain heirship rings, lordship rings, and ladyship rings. Your heirships include Gryffindor, Slytherin, and O’Meara. The O’Meara is an old Roman family, but demands that female take the heirship, the heiress becoming the Lady and Head of the House instead of a Lord. So Miss Riddle will be the one to take that. The Gryffindor family will take either a male or female as the Heir. The Slytherin and Peverell family demanding a male hair, only taking female if no other is available. The Peverell Lordship ring may be taken when Mister Riddle reaches 15 years of age as there is no current Lord of the house. For now, he is to take the Heirship if he wishes.”

Astaron spoke. “She will take the Gryffindor and O’Meara while I take the Slytherin and Peverell.”

She opened her mouth to speak but he gave her a hard look that said it was non-negotiable. Petulantly, Amaya stuck out her tongue and turned away pouting.

Ragnok nodded and gestured to 2 boxed. “Miss Riddle, please take the Gryffindor Heirship ring and O’Meara Heirship earrings, and say, I, Amaya Thana Riddle, wish to wear the Gryffindor Heirship ring, accepting the title of Heiress to the Ancient and Noble house of Gryffindor, accepting all responsibilities that come with it.”  

She slipped the ring onto her index finger on her right hand. “I, Amaya Thana Riddle, wish to wear the Gryffindor Heirship ring, accepting the title of Heiress to the Ancient and Noble house of Gryffindor, accepting all responsibilities that come with it.” The ring glowed before sending a rush of power through her.

“It has accepted you. It would have burned you if it didn’t accept you. Now to the same with O’Meara but you will say piercings.”

Placing the earring on, she chanted. “I, Amaya Thana Riddle, wish to wear the O’Meara piercings, accepting the title of Heiress to the Ancient and Noble house of O’Meara, accepting all responsibilities that come with it.” Her ears tingled for a split second before she nodded. “They all accepted me.”

Ragnok nodded. “Good. Now, Mister Riddle, your turn, you shall take the Slytherin Heirship ring and Peverell Heirship ring. You shall repeat what your sister said.”

He nodded and put on the Slytherin heirship on his middle finger of his left hand. “I, Astaron Emilion Riddle, wish to wear the Slytherin Heirship ring, accepting the title of Heir to the Ancient and Noble house of Slytherin accepting all responsibilities that come with it.”

Astaron placed the Peverell Lordship ring on his middle finger of his right hand. “I, Astaron Emilion Riddle, wish to wear the Peverell Heirship ring, accepting the title of Lord to the Ancient and Noble house of Peverell, accepting all responsibilities that come with it.”

Each time they glowed and showed signs that they accepted Astaron. He slumped in his seat, rubbing his face tiredly. Ragnok shifted through a few papers after vanishing the empty boxes. “You can disillusion the rings and piercing if you wish; it happens upon your will and will stay on until you will it to disappear. These were created for you as I figured you would need these.” 2 bands floated to them and landed in their laps. “They contain the previous glamour that was placed on you, but it will come down when you take off the bracelets. They expand magically to fit wherever you would like to place them. It you wish to wear it as a hair accessory you may, a ring, an ankle band, wrist band, arm band, whatever you wish.”

Astaron smiled. “Thank you kindly Ragnok. Um, may we schedule a date for the Memory restoration? Also, please send us our mother’s family records once you have them correctly sorted. If we are at Hogwarts, please call for us to come here. I do not wish for the Headmaster to intercept the letters pertaining this information. Um, we do have to return back to where we are residing this summer, so could we actually, place looking at the properties to the side or could you send us both a copy of it? We do also have to, most likely, get new wands as our current wands willy, most likely, not answer to us now that we have taken off everything with new powers and unblocked powers.”

“Of course. I shall have the property lists copied, as well as your mother’s family records as well as going through a few files that will help as your mother situation may be similar to what happened to you. If you are at Hogwarts when they are ready, I shall send a letter portkey which will take you right outside my office. Now is there, anything else I can do to help you?”

Amaya shook her head as did Astaron. “Alright. I enjoyed doing business with you. Your total for the removals is 20 galleons, 5 galleons each for your blocks, potions, and glamour test, 2 galleons each for your blood test, and that makes your total 34 galleons. Which vault would you like to pay from?”

Astaron and Amaya looked at each other and she shrugged and mouth, ‘Half and Half’. Astaron turned to Ragnok. “Take 17 from the Gryffindor vault and 17 from the Slytherin Vault. Ah, yes, I just remembered. Please send monthly letters of the transactions made from the vaults, and if anybody requests to use them, they must show a letter stating that either my father, my mother, my sister or I have given said person with permission to go into the vault to get whatever is written in the letter. Our signature must be written at the bottom with Veritaserum infused ink.”

Ragnok looked surprise but quickly nodded. “Of course. That shall be done, and I will let the other goblins know. Thank you for your time Mister and Miss Riddle.”

Amaya gave a small smile. “Thank you Ragnok.”

The 2 walked out, accepting their clothes back from a goblin. They changed before walking out of Gringotts. Just before leaving the grounds of Gringotts, Astaron cast a quick Tempus. “It’s 2:38 AM. How about we meet up tomorrow to buy some stuff?”

She nodded. “Sure. See ya Astar.”

“Bye Amaya.” She pulled out her letter and spoke again.

“Gold, Silver, and Bronze.” She felt herself being shoved in a too tiny tube before she was spat out into her bedroom. Flopping onto her bed, Amaya put the silver band on her wrist and laid down.

It had been a crazy weird 3 hours.

Chapter Text

Astaron woke to his bedroom door being banged on; The locks rattled violently as pale fists beat on the door. A shrill voice shrieked, "Get up, boy! Breakfast needs to be made by the time your uncle and cousin are in the dining area!" Growling, he got out of his bed, flexing when he felt far less pain than he had yesterday. 'Must be the rapid healing.' He thought. 'Very useful.' He dressed into the normal rags and made mental note to get muggle clothes with Amaya. Stomping his feet on the stairs to purposely make a ruckus, he stopped at the final steps and stared at the silver band on his wrist. Shrugging, he slipped it off and stuffed it into his pocket before going to the kitchen.

Moving at speeds that shouldn't have been possible, he began cooking breakfast, desperately trying to ignore the disgusting smell of the muggle's blood. He had gotten a few whiffs of wizard blood and it smelled delicious. He managed to use wandless magic on a few of the simpler tasks, his body still needing to be trained on how to develop, tame, and get used to his new powers. They had to be mixed properly with the rest of his powers, not just introduced. If they weren't mixed properly, then they would clash and fight, which would cause more bad than good and also cause a severe amount of damage to his core.

Placing the plates on the table, he heard the heavy footsteps of his Uncle and contemplated putting his band back on but decided against it. He wanted to see the looks on their faces. Ducking back into the kitchen, he began pouring the drinks when he heard a chair squeak in protest as his uncle sat down. 'Poor chair. It didn't deserve this torture. I'll get it some new upholster and give it a good cleaning, I'll do it to Whale Jr's chair too.' Snatching some raw meat, he slurped up a piece and marveled at the taste of it. He knew it wasn't as good as wizard's blood, but it would suffice for now.

He heard another chair groan, and he knew Dudley had sat down. Aunt Petunia would be the one who called for the drinks. As if she heard him, a screech came from the dining area. "Where are the drinks?!"

Adding fake panic to his voice, he called out, "Coming Aunt Petunia!" Astaron snatched up the drinks and leaned back on the door to open it, walking into the dining area.

Ignoring, the pale look on her face, he set the drinks down at the table, only for Dudley to cry out. "Why do you look like that?! What'd you do?" He turned toward his cousin and gave him a sharp grin, happily exposing his fangs.

He knew something must've happened to his face for Dudley to look at him fear mixing into his face. Flicking his eyes to a nearby glass, he saw his pupils had turned to vertical slits and looked as though they were glowing. His head snapped to his Uncle Vernon when he saw him move from his peripheral vision. "You like my new look, sir? I think it's rather nice. I look like my real father now."

Petunia clenched her fist. "Real father?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. James Potter isn't my real father."

A harsh laugh came from her lips. "I knew it! I knew she was a slut! Goes around sleeping with men while married, can't keep her legs closed for anybody! She cou- humph!"

Astaron growled and moved before his mind could catch up. His hand clamped around her mouth, his nails growing to claws and digging into her skin, beads of blood swelling up. "I want you to understand this and I'm not going to explain it more than once. James Potter was not my mother's husband, my mother was married to my father, and if you insult her one more time, I will torture you slowly and painfully." He smirked at the look of fear on her face before taking his hand off of her mouth. Blood dripped from his fingertips and from the sides of her mouth. Flicking his wrist in her direction, the wounds of the side of her mouth healed and he cleaned his hand.

"Boy... Get out of my house..." Turning to his Uncle, he raised a single dark eyebrow.

"Why?"

Uncle Vernon stood wildly and slammed his hands down onto the table. He breathed heavily; his face turning from red to violet, his beady pig eyes glaring into Astaron's green ones. "Get. Out."

"And I repeat myself, why?"

Astaron barely concealed a smirk as his uncle exploded. "I REFUSE TO DEAL WITH THIS ANYMORE! I WON'T STAND FOR THIS, FOR YOU-YOUR FREAKISHNESS!! FIRST THE MAGIC NOW THIS-THIS CREATURE THING! GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT!! PACK YOUR BAGS AND LIVE THIS PROPERTY YOU FREAK!"

Astaron stared back at him. "No."

His uncle stared him down. "What did you just say?"

Astaron shrugged. "I said no. No, because I still have to keep the profile of the boy who lived, the boy still under Dumbledore's thumb, the boy who lives at Number 4 Privet Drive. Because I still have to keep my cover. Now, about my creature thing, you're actually correct for once. And for your information, I'm a vampire. But... if you even try to tell anybody about this, your blood will boil, your skin will peel, your organs will liquify, and your bones will break and remove themselves from your body." He made a show of waves his wand around and muttering stuff under his breath, though it was actually just the recipe for pancakes in Gaelic. Thank you Seamus for teaching me. He made a mental note to thank him once again.

Fear and horror made itself known of his relatives faces and he smiled happily. "Now, I have to go shopping and when I come back, I expect that all my school supplies will be put back in my room, unharmed. If any owls come, feed them some food and put the letters on my bed, Do. Not. Read. Them. Understand?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Good." With that, he turned on his heel and marched up the stairs and too his room.

Grabbing his robes, he slipped them over his head, as well as putting his band back on his wrist. After looking in the mirror to ensure his glamours were back on, Astaron walked back down the stairs, gratified when he heard the scared silence in the kitchen. "Be back later!" Slamming the door shut, he pulled out his wand and gave it a discreet wave. "Knight Bus." Immediately, 3 seconds later there was a loud bang and a tall purple double decker bus pulled up.

Giving Stan a nod, who smiled back at him, he take a seat in the back of the bus, gripping tightly to the rails. "The Leaky Cauldron please. Quickly please."

"'Ya 'eard 'im Ernie! Make it snappy!" Immediately, the bus lurched forward and Astaron dug his heels into the floor, even thought it was smooth and there was nothing to catch his feet on. Curses swirled through his mind as he hit his head on the window, gripping tightly to his chair. Never again, he thought, never ever doing this again.

The bus stopped with another bang and Stan yelled, "The Leaky Cauldron!" Stumbling forward, he dug 11 sickles out of his pockets before sighing and just giving Stan a single galleon. He exited without a second glance and went inside the Leaky Cauldron.

He nodded at Tom and walked to the back, stopping at the brick wall. "Rubbish bin.. right. Three up, two across... there." Giving it a single tap with his wand, the brick glowed before pulling back and the archway began to open, the rest of the bricks pulling back and disappearing. Walking through, his ears heard the familiar hustle and bustle of Diagon alley.

Astaron began walking through the crowd, raking his eyes through the crowd, determined to either find a head of bushy hair or a head of wavy black hair. Hid green eyes brightened when he saw a head of brown hair coming toward him. "Harry!"

"Mia! There you are. Where would you like to start?"

"Well, we need to get some books from Flourish and Blotts, go to Knockturn to get some other stuff, Madame Malkin's for some new robes, maybe even go to Twilfitt and Tattings for some pureblood robes and dragonhide, maybe Borgin and Burkes and see what they have. I'm near positive we are going to need it, sometime in the future. We can also go shopping in Muggle London for some clothing. Anything in particular you want?"

Astaron tapped his chin. "A new wand from Knockturn, without the trace of course. Some new school robes for Astaron, I know what I'm doing Mia. Don't worry. And some books. Nothing more. But we can go shopping. Did you already get a pouch?"

She nodded. "Yup. Let's go. Robes first since we can shop while they are being made. Take off your glamours." He ducked into a little crevice and slipped his band off before falling back into step with Amaya, who had also taken off her band. Stepping into Madam Malkin's, his eye caught on a familiar family. The Parkinson's. Amaya's eyes twinkled. "Good chance to make some allies. They are a neutral family though they lean closer to the dark side. Not that they make it known."

He shrugged. "Why not? Come on." Taking a deep breath, he straightened his back, placed a calm look on his face, and walked over, a confident air surrounding him. Amaya smiled.

"Lord Parkinson, Lady Parkinson, Heiress Parkinson." Astaron gave a charming smile and kissed both females' hands, shaking the hand of the present male.

"Hello. May I ask your names?" Lady Parkinson gave a delicate smile.

Astaron gave a friendly nod while Amaya gave a small smile. "Heir Peverell, this is my twin, Amaya Peverell."

The Parkinsons' drew a quick sharp breath and they stood up straighter if that was possible. Lord Parkinson stood the tallest, his posture tall and proud. "How may we help you, Heir Peverell, Miss Peverell?"

Amaya shrugged. "I do have some questions if I may be so bold?"

"Of course. Please call me Phillip."

Astaron nodded. "Well Phillip, I was wondering where one might find books of dark magic, and a few... other things?"

"Perhaps you should try Cărțile tuturor, or Books Of All. It's in Knockturn. You should be able to find it, or I could escort you if you wish."

Astaron raised an eyebrow. "No thank you. We should be able to find it on our own. But I do thank you for the offer."

"Hello Dearies. Hogwarts?"

The twins turned to face the older lady. "Yes ma'am; we are transferring. We also need some formal robes."

"Of course. Come stand here and let me take your measurements." Astaron stepped up first, stretching his arms out and staying still as Madama Malkin began to take her measurements. "Anything specific?"

"Acromantula silk please, finest you have. Underneath the collar, please embroider a silver snake. Put a skull behind it as well. On all my robes preferably. I need 10 of them, all hopefully by August 31st, if you can. We can pay now if that is what you wish for this order as I know this is rather significant and expensive." Astaron stepped off the platform, the moment Madam was done.

Madam looked a little surprised by nodded. "Please. And for you, love?"

Amaya sighed as she stepped on the platform. "Same please. But instead of silver, make mine green please. Also, inside the sleeves please put the name, Thana. And on his, do Emilion. Now how much will it be?"

"Let me finish and then I will have a total." Amaya stood still, Astaron kept his eyes on his sister, almost as though he was trying to read her mind. He wasn't, just trying to decipher something in his mind.

Why was he told that his father had tried to kill him? where was his mother hiding? how was she even alive and declared dead? Why did people think she was muggleborn, despite the fact that the Canva lordship came through her? Was she really a pureblood or half-blood? (He though pureblood most likely) What things would he discover this year? How really did what he did to his father, as he was still a fraction of his true soul? This was too much.

"Alright, the total will be 38 galleon, 23 knuts, and 7 sickles." Amaya reached into their pouch and pulled out the required amount. "Thank you lovies. The robes will be ready in a week."

"Thank you. Do enjoy the rest of your day." He gave a curt nod before leading his twin out. Taking a large breath, he exhaled calmly. "Where to next?"

"Flourish and Blotts for books, then we head over to Knockturn. Come along now." They raced through Diagon, expertly weaving through the crowd. Astaron collected himself as he walked into the shop. Books.... He examined the shelves, stroking his fingers along the spines of the books. Some were leather, others paper, the occasional books had a very hard cover. He began pulling books on pureblood etiquette, neutral spells, magical creatures, and others on magic basics, theory, and types. Amaya was plucking book after book from the shelves, her eyes bright with excitement. He chuckled. Somethings will never change.

Once he had the books he wanted, Astaron went up to the counter and slammed the books down, effectively getting the sleeping clerks' attention. "Thank you for waking. I need you to ring these up while I grab my sister." With that he left and went to Amaya's current location. Grabbing his sister's arm, despite her (very loud) protests of still needing more, he dragged her up to the counter and stacked her books atop his. "No more books. We have enough now."

Amaya pouted but didn't move. The clerk scowled at the stack of books and began, very slowly to Astaron's irritation, ringing up the books they had chosen. "If you could go faster, that would be very appreciated. It would be a shame if my hand were to slip, and I accidentally shot a curse your way." The clerk paled before going faster. "Thank you."

"Um, your total is 48 galleons and 27 sickles please." Astaron gestured for his sister, who piled the money up neatly.

"If you could bag them please. Feather-weight charm as well please." The clerk did as he said and they left, heading down to Knockturn.

"So now to the bookstore, the Romanian one, and then we go to get a wand and robes. Do you still want to go to Borgin and Burkes?"

"Sure. But first, the wand, then the robes, after the bookstore. If we don't have time, then we skip over Borgin and Burkes and just go home. We can to the muggle shopping a little later."

"Alright. Did you get Ronald's owl about the Quidditch World Cup?"

"No. Why?"

"Oh well he wants to take us to the Quidditch World Cup since Mr. Weasley managed to get prime tickets or something."

"Lovely. So then we should probably get a tent or something." He sighed. "Alright, so now that we know this, anything else we should get?"

"Trunks for all of our new stuff. Ugh. This is turning out to be a lot longer than I thought."

"I know. Come on. Wands, here we come."

Astaron ducked through the crowds, shifting as people bustled by him. Turning into Knockturn, he but up an emotionless mask and began going through, searching for the wand shop. Eventually they found it, the sign being ebony with silver paint, saying 'Azrael's Wands'. Going inside, the twins noted the way the shadows hung in the corners like a dense fog; the way the torches gave the room a haunted look; the fragile looking containers that lined the back wall; the desk that seemed so old, that it could break at any second; the delicately twisting wood behind the desk, that twisted to now end.

A creaking sounded and a young man came out. Messy white hair framed his face, glittering deep brown eyes were the only dark feature of his face, contrasting with his pale skin, light rose lips, and small nose. He was rather attractive in Astaron's gay opinion.

"Hello." Oh gods, his voice was deep and alluring. "You look far younger than my normal customers, but I can work with that." He went from the other side of the desk, and to the walls, collecting certain boxes, handling them with the utmost tenderness. "Come with me." Following the man, he sent the boxes gingerly on a long table. "Woods, Cores, and Handles. You go in that specific order. You two are twins, are you not?"

Astaron looked at him suspiciously. "Yes. Why? Does this affect our wands in any way?"

"No, but your wands will have a similarity. Woods or Cores. Possible length as well but that has not happened. Young Miss, you may go first. Let your magic feel the woods, let them connect and see which would to the best for you."

Amaya went up and he felt her magic fill the room; it was more neutral, but you could feel the darkness in the depths of her core. He smirked; her core would become much darker as time went by. Standing in the shadows, he watched as she picked up 2 woods. "Both of these fit me, and my magic doesn't want to chose between the two of them; it wants- demands, both of them."

"Hmm, you must be a powerful young lady then. Acacia and Blackthorn, very unusual pair but very strong. Since you also have two woods, that generally means you'll have two cores, or one very strong core. Acacia is very unusual, and not many use it due to the peculiarity of its temperament. Very loyal though, repeatedly refusing to do magic for anybody but their owner and will only produce its best magic for the most gifted; when it's well matched, it matches any for power. Blackthorn, primarily given to those with the core of a warrior, rather fierce one as well. Also has a prodigious power, making it wonderful for advanced magic of any-type, including non-verbal spells. But it is said, and generally proven, once you pass through a danger or hardship with your wand, you become truly, truly bonded; then the blackthorn will be a loyal and faithful a servant as one could wish. I know all of this seems like a waste of time but I'm telling you this so that you know how to deal with your wands, and how they will react to certain things. Furthermore, it will also help you know how to bond with your wand, to where it is the perfect wand for you, and it will have an unwavering loyalty for you."

Amaya gave a small smile. "Something Ollivander doesn't do. Thank you. Cores?"

"Yes. Here, chose from these, do the same thing that you did with the woods." Once again, her magic filled the room and Astaron chuckled when she picked up two boxes. Two woods, two cores. "Once again, very powerful cores. Thestral hair, only ones who have faced Death may master it, if you haven't then it will be near impossible to master. It will also be extremely temperamental. A Fire Phoenix core... very unlikely pair but so is Acacia and Blackthorn. Phoenix is very powerful but very hard to master. But once you've done so, it has undying loyalty. It also represents rebirth so perhaps you've found a new identity or have yet to discover more about yourself." Azrael gave his sister a wink, and she rolled her eyes. Or her aerial animagus form is a Fire Phoenix. But he didn't need to know that. Though finding a new identity... he was correct on that.

"Thank you. Now handles are the same or..?"

"Nah. Just chose which handle you wish for me to put on your wand, or you can design your own if you wish. While you do that, it is your brother's turn." Astaron stepped forward and closed his eyes, letting his magic seep through his fingers. Feeling each of the cores, he let his magic prod it and twist around it. He hummed and let his creature magic come through, knowing that it would have to fit his vampire/siren side as well. Feeling the woods, some felt repulsive, others were comfortable but 2 made his magic hum. Opening his eyes, he picked up the two woods.

"Red Oak and Yew. Like your sisters, very unusual pair, even more so than hers. But nothing I can't work with. Red Oak, very handsome wood, perfect for wizards or witches with remarkably fast reactions, making Red Oak the best wood for dueling. It's ideal master is light of touch, quick-witted, and adaptable, but it also exceptionally fast along with having incredibly fast reflexes for dueling. Not many can be matched with it, but it is not rare to be matched with Red Oak. Yew.... yew is the 2nd rarest when finding their ideal match, only Elder beats it at that title. They are said to be rather unusual and occasionally notorious. A wand of yew is reputed to endow it possessor with the power of life and death, which can be said of all wands; yet yew retains a particularly dark and fearsome reputation in the sphere of dueling and all curses. The wizard or witch best suited for a yew wand, might to be prove a fierce protector of others. Especially those they are close too. Very unusual like your sister. You might just be my favorite customers. Cores."

Astaron bit his lip and allowed his magic freedom once more. He let out more than he wished too apparently, hearing the sharp breath sucked in by Azrael and reeled it in slightly. Doing the same he did for the woods, most of the cores felt wonderful to his magic but 2 pulled him in. Opening his eyes, he scooped them up.

"Basilisk fang and Thestral hair. You guys must have an affinity of death or faced it to both have a Thestral hair in your wand. But you have twin cores which, considering you are twins, was anticipated. Just wasn't expecting it to be the Thestral hair. These hairs are actually from the same animal, collected at the same time. Very nice. Basilisk fang, wonderful for dark magic, said to be good for parselmouths because it will be much easier to channel Parselmagic through your wand. Still has a little venom in it too."

Astaron smirked and spoke, §Good for parselmouths you say. Lovely.§ Azrael looked surprised at the hisses that came from his mouth but shook his head.

"Definitely my favorite customers. Now pick your handle- or design it if you wish. Please place the handles on the counter while I align your woods and cores." He whisked up the woods and cores and went to the counter while Astaron went over to the handles. He brushed his fingers over them, scrutinizing every crevice of the handles. Sighing, he grabbed his own materials and began to shift them, molding the handle into the shape he wished. Before long, he held a simple bronze handle, rather light as well, with 2 emerald stones embedded as well. Looking over at his sister, her wand handle was dark with wrapping and 2 purple-ish stones were on it.

Walking over, he placed his on the counter and watched as Azrael fit them over their wands, meticulously forming their wands to fit the handles. Taking a deep breath, he took out his own wand and began waving it over Amaya's, murmuring under his breath. Together, they watched in fascination as the woods, handles, and cores melded together perfectly, forming a magnificent wand. Azrael grinned and gingerly picked up the wand, weighing it in his hand as though reading it.

"Acacia and Blackthorn, Thestral hair and a Phoenix feather, 11 ¾ inches, very loyal and powerful. Best for dark magic and neutral magic but can bend for its master's will should you desire for it to perform light magic. You will do wonderful things with it, I'm sure." Grinning, Amaya picked it up and gave it a swish. Instantly a power resonated from the wand, a soothing darkness filling the room. "Very nice. Very nice. Now your turn, young sir."

Waving his wand over his wand, Astaron watched as his wand began merging together, the wood bonding with the core, the handle joining with the wood; forming a wand that he couldn't help but feel drawn too. Azrael weighed the wand in his hand, reading it just as he did with his sister's. "Red Oak and Yew, Basilisk skin and Thestral hair, 13 inches, very powerful, incredibly loyal like your sisters, wonderful for dark magic and okay for neutral magic. I can occasionally bend to the master's will. Marvelous for Parselmagic and will help you meet all of your goals."

"Thank you. The price?"

"Normally it would be 18 galleons, since these were rather rare cores and woods but since you guys are my favorite customers, I'll let you pay 15 galleons." Amaya rolled her eyes and stacked 20 galleons on the counter.

"There. Would you happen to know where we could buy tents for the Quidditch Cup?"

"Yeah. Just go to Dipsy's, it's in the 2 corners on your left and you'll see her shop. Do visit. I would love to see how you are doing."

Astaron snorted. "Alright. We'll write and see if we can visit."

He grinned, showing off abnormally large canines and his eyes turned amber. "Thank you! Enjoy the rest of your time in Knockturn!"

Waving slightly, they exited the shop. "Well he was certainly nice. You seemed rather flushed throughout the entire visit Astaron. You fancy a certain bloke?"

"Shut it Maya. Just because I thought he was cute doesn't mean shit."

"Sure Astar. Now here. Let's do the rest of our trip."

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Chapter Text

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Astaron hefted his bag over his shoulder as he watched the Weasley's pile in front of the house. He stood next to his sister, watching the way the Weasley's interacted. He was trying to see who was loyal to them and who was loyal to Dumbledore. If they were loyal to his father, which he found hard to imagine but it was possible, he would accept that as well. Arthur clapped his hands. "Alright, so it's just up this hill, or rather a few hills and we'll be there."

They began trudging to wherever they were supposed to be. Astaron let his eyes wander, twisting his Peverell ring with this thumb. Amaya had taken off her rings and only left her piercings on, which were hidden by her hair. He heard 2 other voices coming up the hill on the other side and tensed, slipping his hand into his pocket with his wand. His senses were heightened thanks to being a vampire; he had yet to see what came with being half-siren.

"Arthur! There you are. I was beginning to worry." Relaxing the slightest bit, he saw someone he recognized from Hogwarts. Cedric Diggory, he realized.

"Amos! Yes well we just got a late start."

Arthur picked up an old boot. "Everybody come round. Just a finger will do." He stared at the old boot before rolling his eyes. He had to play the part of idiot Harry Potter.

"What is that?"

"A port key. It'll take us to the grounds. Come on now." Sighing, he placed a finger on it, and he felt a harsh tug on his navel. The world began spinning and he felt himself being shoved into a tiny tub, before being spat out. Tumbling to the ground, he groaned before shakily standing up.

They arrived at a campground. "Hullo! My name is Mr. Roberts. Name?"

"Weasley."

"Right. Okay, here you are. Arthur Weasley, spot 422. That'll be 27 pounds and 18 pence."

(A/N: Never been to England. I'm not familiar with the prices. I apologize if it isn't realistic)

Arthur went through his stack of cash, looking rather confused. Sighing, Astaron took pity on him before stepping forward and plucking the bills from his hand. Going through it, he took out 30 pounds and handed it to the man. "Keep the remaining. Here you are Mr. Weasley."

Arthur gave him a relieved look before the went through the grounds. Tents of all sorts were put up, some looking like muggles others with chimneys, bells, and different types of accessories. Children ran around with toys, adults chasing after them. They passed a 4-year-old poking a mushroom with a wand and causing it to explode. He couldn't help but smile at the peals of laughter that came after. The wizarding community was far more expansive than he thought, as he passed different people from different regions.

He watched as Arthur began putting up the tent, it was simple and muggle looking; very practical for this. Knowing the inside was magically expanded, he knew there would be space for all of them, but it would be rather cramped. Going through his bag, he took out the little foldable tent from Gringotts. Apparently there was a tent in one of the vaults and they decided to use the simplest one there was. Astaron tapped Arthur on the shoulder. "Mr. Weasley? You want to use mine?"

He looked at him, confusion clear on his face. "I got one when I heard we were going to the Cup. Since you got me tickets, I decided I would repay you by getting a tent for us.. I didn't want to be ungrateful." Forcing a sheepish look on his face, he was gratified by Mr. Weasley's actions of not being suspicious and was happy that he played his part well enough.

"You didn't have to Harry. I'm perfectly fine with using our tent."

"I insist Mr. Weasley." 1 beseeching look later, and he gave in.

"Oh alright. How does it work?"

He smiled brightly and took the little tab, which was no bigger than a stick of gum. "Just unfold it and it should pop up by itself. It's the simplest Potter tent I could find."

Chuckling, Arthur unfolded the tab. It formed a large blanket which he laid down on the ground. Instantly, it popped upwards, and 4 pegs with ropes moved of it's own accord, forming a perfectly made muggle looking tent. It was rather tiny looking and slightly smaller than the Weasley's, but Astaron knew it was big on the inside. "Alright everyone! Inside, Fred, George, don't ruin anything inside the tent. Alright after you Harry."

Going inside, Astaron found himself in the entrance of a Manor. Two stairways led to the sides; the left side leading to the bedrooms, studies, and library; the right side led to the kitchen, the dining areas, formal and informal, a sitting room, a few other study rooms and a dueling room. Apparently, the Potter's were just as arrogant as some of the other pureblood families when it came to this sort of stuff. This was the simplest of the tents. Some of the others had indoor pools, greenhouse rooms, full blown rooms of magic and endless mazes of stuff. Surprised sounds came from behind him, and he turned, smirking slightly when he saw all the awed looks on the Weasley's faces.

"Goodness dad. How an Earth did you manage to afford this?"

"Yes Arthur. I as well would like to know the answer to that as well. I know for a fact the inside of our tent should not look like this." Mrs. Weasley had her hands on her hips and was looking very demandingly at Arthur.

"It was me, Mrs. Weasley," he interjected, Arthur was not going to get in trouble for him; even if he had no clue of his loyalties. "I asked Mr. Weasley to use the tent I got from my vault at Gringotts. I felt like I had to repay you because you got me tickets so, I wanted to repay you somehow. I decided that I could get a tent for us all to stay in."

Her face softened but he picked some well-hidden suspicion hidden in her eyes. "How did you even know to get a tent, Harry? I didn't think Ron would tell you about that."

Why was she so suspicious about that? He would've thought she'd be more grateful for it. "Well, my robes got ripped a while back and I needed some new ones for Hogwarts. While I was in Diagon, people where chattering all about the Cup and I remembered Ron's letter so I decided that I could repay you by letting you stay in my own tent."

The suspicion cleared and a smile spread across her face. "Well thank you Harry."

One of the twins, Fred, piped up. "Blimey Harry. How much did all this cost you?"

He gave a one-shoulder shrug. "Nothing. This was the simplest tent in my vault. Not exactly what I was hoping but I do hope it suits you well enough."

Ginny smiled, though it looked a little too sweet and more than a bit predatory. "It's plenty Harry."

He shook his head. "It's no problem. Come on, bedrooms are this way." Leading them up the stairway, he began showing them the rooms.

There were apparently 3 study rooms with large desks, a bookshelf filled with books, some older than others but all taken care of and meticulously arranged; parchment rolls filled a tiny stand pushed to a side wall, some filed with stylish calligraphy that was a pain to read; an assortment of quills were tucked into the singular drawer of the stand; Shelves were on the back wall, filled with artifacts he that had no desire of finding out what they could do. (He made a mental note to set some wards around them. He wasn't ready for the Weasley twins chaos this early)

2 libraries that made his sister's eyes shine with awe and a thirst for knowledge; the walls of the libraries seemed endless, books filling every crevice of the shelves; a singular staircase spiraling upwards, leading to every level of the library; a single book finding guide was in the middle of the room; it was a long book with wings and a quill floating alongside it; Astaron was certain his sister would be found there in the morning.

The bedrooms varied in size, all with four-poster beds, lavish sheets ranging from grey, navy, white, and black were tucked skillfully on the beds; nightstands stood next to all the beds in all the bedrooms; a single candle plate was on the nightstand, an unlit candle on all of them and a lighter next to all of them; (smart considering that underage wizards could've been staying, and they couldn't use magic); walk-in closets empty with only a few formal robes with attractive embroidery in the boy rooms and expensive dresses with intricate detail in the girls rooms; desks with drawers filled with stuff which Arthur promptly charmed shut at the mischievous looks on the twins faces.

After assigning bedrooms, he led them to the other side of the house, sighing as he went with how maze-like the tent was. The kitchen was filled with pots, pans that hung on the walls; utensils were effectively arranged in the drawers, 2 drawers were specified for utensils; food was packed and stored in the pantry, the cupboards and multiple containers that had been kept cool with various types of charms; the counters were clean and spotless; cupboards were filled with towels and clothes.

The dining rooms were both actually formal, only one was overly extravagant; The informal dining room had a long wooden table with the Potter family crest carved elegantly in the middle of the table; 12 chairs neatly tucked under the table, all of them upholstered with elaborate fabric; the white silk napkins folded neatly over ornate silver utensils; The formal dining room was the same as the informal one, but with simple ornamental touches to give it a more graceful air; vases sat atop little side tables, filled with colorful dainty flowers that were charmingly arranged; a fine table cover was laid over the table, fine details sewn prettily on the cloth; the napkins were branded in the corner with the Potter crest; the utensils branded with little gems on the end; the walls of the room had paintings put into the walls, only shining when looked at from a certain angle. So perhaps not simple but it only took a few smart details to make the room look fancier.

The sitting room was nice; it had a fireplace with wood strategically stacked inside, also stacked outside to the side; sofas were placed smartly throughout the room; little side tables and coffee tables in front or to the side of them as well; fluffy rugs were on the floor, feeling softer than anything he had ever felt; chairs were placed near the sofas, only 3 in the entire room; a table was pushed to the back of the room' charts, parchment, and maps, laid out, notes scribbled along the edges of the them; quills littered the table; ink containers were empty or half-full; Arthur looked mildly interested in them.

The dueling was by far the favorite of the Weasley twins and Ron. Dummies lined the back wall; fake practice wands were all stacked in a chest; real practice wands were in another chest, all for the dummies that shot spells at you; the walls were warded to not be damaged by spells or bodies hitting them; Weapons were hung on a side wall, swords, daggers, darts, bows and arrows; targets were also hung on the opposite wall, most likely for the darts, daggers, and arrows; Mrs. Weasley glanced worriedly around the room and ushered them out as soon as she could.

Leading everybody back to their rooms, Astaron made his way to his room last before locking the door, casting a few spells and flopping onto his bed. Snuggling into his sheets, he laid there for almost a minute before a knock sounded on his door. Groaning in protest, he went over to his door and opened it. It was Ron.

Ron looked slightly nervous, judging by the way he was biting his lip and tugging on the bottom of his robes. "H-hey mate. Um, can I talk to you really quick? I had something I wanted to say... erm, to both you and Hermione."

"Sure. Do you want me to her Mia?"

"Nah. I already told her that I wanted to tell both of you at the same time."

"Right. Come on in." Gesturing for Ron to come in, he did so and tentatively sat down on the bed. Amaya came in a few seconds later, plopping down across from Ron. Sitting next to her, they both stared at Ron.

"Um, so I don't want this to affect us in anyway, but I uh, wanted to tell you that uh...." Ron looked ready to collapse with how pale he was. "I'm gay and erm, I'm seeing somebody."

Astaron blinked in surprise. He wasn't expecting that. His sister was the one to break the silence.

"Who?"

Ron looked startled. "What?"

She huffed in annoyance. "Ronald Weasley, who the bloody hell are you seeing?"

He flushed a bright red and murmured something under his breath.

"Come again?"

"... Blaise Zabini..."

A strangled sound came from Astaron's throat as he stared at Ron in shock. "Excuse me? Don't you hate Slytherins?"

A sour looked passed through Ron's face. "I should but I found out a few things..."

With that, Ron launched into an explanation that sounded scarily like what happened to them. Minus the creature inheritance of course. A murderous look was on both of the twins faces as Ron continued.

"So your mother and Ginny are gold-diggers, your father has been subjected to love potions since his 5th year at Hogwarts, all of your older siblings subjected to blocks and potions of sorts, as well as memory blocks and obliviates? I swear to Merlin, I'm going to kill Dumbledore." His sister nodded, agreeing with his statement.

"So you guys aren't mad?"

He shrugged. "No. Besides, I'm gay too, so that would be very hypocritical of me."

"Really? Huh. Hadn't noticed though you were very uh... observant about certain things when it came to blokes so I really shouldn't be surprised."

He threw his hands up. "I NOTICE things!! I don't ogle at them!!"

Ron simply raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Whatever you say mate. Now we leave for the game tomorrow morning. Mum has already started lunch. Speaking of which, um, Harry, just remembered, you should get your vaults checked because Ginny has been talking about getting a real expensive dress and all and since we really don't have the money, I wouldn't be surprised if they have been taking money from your vaults."

Anger tore through him and Astaron forced himself to take a deep breath. "Right thanks Ron. I'll definitely check it out."

"Not a problem. Now, are you gonna tell me why you reek of creature magic? Both of you?"

The twins exchanged look. 

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Chapter Text

Astaron furrowed his brow as he followed the Weasley's up the steps of the Quidditch stadium. How high up were they sitting? Giving a soft huff, he walked higher and sighed in relief when they stopped. Even for a half-vampire, this was a lot of walking. Grumbling underneath his breath when they started walking again, a booming voice stopped them. "Arthur Weasley! How nice to see you."

A large man with a horrid fashion taste and clothes that vaguely reminded Astaron of the Riddler from Batman, came forward. He was dressed in purple robes with a green and purple hat, that Astaron had the urge to burn. He shook hands with Mr. Weasley and Astaron bit back a growl when his eyes landed him. "Harry, how wonderful to see you!" He shook with hand vigorously, keeping a tight grip on his hand and a pleased smile on his face.

Astaron ruffled through his mental libraries, wondering if he'd ever met a man with such an obvious death wish. Coming up blank, he decided to embarrass the man, because obviously he was someone of much importance. "Uh, you are?"

A flush appeared on the man's face and Mr. Weasley clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Harry, this is the minister of magic, Cornelius Fudge. At least Britain's minister."

The Minister coughed slightly. "Yes. I do suppose we haven't met formally. An erm, unfortunate oversight on my part." Declared the Minister, who was clearly trying to salvage whatever he could of his torn dignity. "Well, this is the Bulgarian Minister of Magic." He gestured behind him where a man stood behind him regally and formally, his face completely blank.

The Minister turned and began waving his hands in exaggerated motions at him whilst going a simplistic lightning and speaking, over-enunciating his words. "Minister, this. Is. Harry. Potter." The man continued to stare at him blankly though Astaron thought he saw the slightest flicker of amusement and disdain in his eyes. "HARRY. POTTER." He sighed, before waving his hand in a hopeless manner. "Never mind. I'll just go find Crouch; he speaks Bulgarian I think. Minister, wait her- oh why do I bother? You can't understand me anyways." Fudge huffed before wandering off to look for this 'Crouch' person.

Astaron scowled at the back of his head, his sister mumbling slightly behind him about how unprofessional he was, and how he needed better robes, and how she wanted to burn his hat.

A chuckle caught his attention and he turned back to the Bulgarian Minister. "Vhat an idiot." His English was accented but otherwise perfect. "Vaving you around like a trophe, Eet is vather fun to mess vith him." He snorted. "Also, vatch out for the veela, children." Amaya perked up at the word, Veela, probably excited on getting to know about her half-veela creature. "Eet is dangerous for vittle ones; they 'ave strong effect on everyone, but that 'ave extra danger vhen you are still exploring." Despite the fact that he knew he was gay, his cheeks flushed deeply at the Minister's words.

"O-okay. Thank you for the warning sir."

"You are vary velcome." The minister gave a small before turning away and wandering into the crowd.

Astaron turned back around and the Weasley's began walking again. He noticed the looks Ginny kept sending him and made sure to keep his distance from Amaya; in case she concluded that they were courting or dating, whatever purebloods called it. Dragging his feet slightly, he began hissing under his breath in Parseltongue, wanting to be able to sit down already. Didn't they do enough walking already? Where on Gaea's green earth did Arthur Weasley get seats, he thought, this was too much walking, even for a vampire. Wizards need to make elevators, or lifts, or escalators, those will work too. Anything except for the seeming never-ending stairs.

"Where are we sitting that requires us to walk this much?"

Instead of Mr. Weasley's voice, it was a voice that caused his anger to spike. "Well think of it this way, if it begin to rain, you all shall be the first to know." It was silky, lathered with venom and disgust, as well as exceedingly arrogant. Only one person held that kind of voice. Lucius Malfoy. Mr. Weasley turned around, a grim look on his face.

Draco was standing next to his father; he was standing tall and proud, but Astaron saw a dull looking in his eyes; a tired look well-hidden but not well enough; His hands were in his pockets; his arms sagged slightly, as though it hurt to move them. His grey eyes swept over them, and they met his green ones. Immediately, a possessiveness filled his chest; his creature pushed into the forefront of his mind; his magic swirled violently. He took a sharp breath and flexed his fingers, fighting to subdue the creature, that was in an uproar, inside of him.

Draco seemed be having an inner turmoil as well, though it was expertly hidden. A single word wiggled into his mind, Mate, that caused havoc to be caused by his vampire side, the possessive feeling in his chest growing dangerously strong. He forces a calm mask outside as he wrangles his powers; tearing his eyes away from Draco's, hoping it helps subdue his powers. It did not. He tuned out of the conversation between the Weasley's and Lucius but kept his sub-conscience open in case someone said his name.

His siren side was much more subdued, but he felt the power coiling in his blood, the way it was ready to take action if anything happened to its mate; His vampire side was far more active and there was an urge for blood that was bordering ravenous; His creature magic was at his fingertips, ready to move at the utter of a single command; It was becoming near impossible to control himself.

How long it was like this, he didn't know, but Astaron opened up his conscience. Just in time too, because the Weasley's were now walking away, and he slipped right behind his sister. A scent he hadn't recognized before began fading, it was soft and warm, smelling like pine and cider with a faint scent of apples. Risking it, he decided to look over his shoulder for a second.

His eyes met grey once more, and they turned a gleaming silver. Staring straight into the eyes of his mate, he allowed his vampire side to take over for a split second. His mouth moved and a single word was said silently. Mine. An invisible smile graced his mate's face and he turned away before his creature got out of control.

Finally, after much climbing, grumbling, and feet dragging, they made it to their seats which held a lovely view of the stadium (although Astaron knew he was going to hate the walk back down) Sitting down in his seat next to Ron, he watched held his omnioculars to his eyes.

Soon Ludo Bagman, the Ministry Official who had made a bet with the twins, cast sonorous on himself and his amplified voice echoed throughout the stadium.

The leprechauns, the opening act for Ireland, came out and began throwing gold out. He didn't collect it because he knew it would disappear later on, and reminded Ron of that, who had collected an arm full of gold. The Veela came out as Bulgaria's opening act and Astaron watched as they danced, their silver blonde hair flowing around them, and dresses moving fluidly to fit their movements. He watched in amusement as many began making fools of themselves to catch their attention, Cornelius Fudge climbing atop his chair and waving his arms around foolishly. Ron only stood but still Astaron kept a firm grip on his wrist. He, himself, stayed his seat, his eyes glued to his mate once he'd found where he had been sitting with his parents.

Once the game had started, Astaron had his full attention on the game. Though he mostly watched the seekers, because he could use a few new moves for his games. He still loved Quidditch even if he had a different father. Wincing when the Irish seeker hit the ground from a feint dive from Krum, he put that move away from a future Quidditch game. Amaya gave him updates as she saw that he wasn't paying much attention to any of the other players. Ron was mostly just watching Viktor Krum, keeping his eyes glued on him. The game ended finally when Krum caught the snitch, despite Ireland being close to 200 points ahead. The twins cheered loudly and Astaron saw a sour look cross Bagman's face, likely at the thought of having to pay the twins for winning the bet.

Then they were back to walking. Astaron mumbled curses the entire way to the tent.

~~~~~~~~~~

Shouts and shrieks of fear woke Astaron as well as the bellows of the Weasley Patriarch and Matriarch. "Kids, Death Eaters in the Woods! Up up! We need to go NOW!!" The Weasley's clambered out, him right behind Fred. The moment they were out, he gave one of the ropes a sharp tug and in a few seconds it was a tab. Tucking it into his pocket, he felt someone grab his arm and suddenly he was being pulled. It was Amaya. She pulled him through the crowd, glaring at the Death Eaters.

She was muttering spells and curses, all of them windlessly, and he began to do the same. Binding Aurors and Death Eaters alike, they put out fires, cast shields over lost children and parents, protecting the bodies over the innocent dead.

"I know for a fact that this should not be happening. Don't question how but I don't think our father gave them this order. We need to stop them." Amaya gave him a look like he was crazy.

She bit her lip roughly. "Okay. How though? I know that Death Eaters have a mark or something..."

They ducked behind an abandoned tent, and he could see the wheels turning in his twin's mind. "What about the Dark Mark spell... Morsmordre? We could do it in Parseltongue and on our Knockturn wands, reasonable first spell?"

He grinned. "Definitely. Ready?" Holding out his dark wand, he pointed it at the sky. His sister held hers next to his. Taking a deep breath, the closed their eyes before hissing.

§ Morsmordre §

A green light shot from their wands, conjoining together before exploding into the sky. A shimmering green skull appeared, two snakes wrapping around them. The light around them shimmered as though it was the northern lights. At the same time as there, another dark mark was cast but it was different from theirs. It was a paler green and the snake came from the mouth of the skull. A grin spread across his face at the sense of euphoria that shot through his body, the dark magic leaving a wonderous feeling.

"Come on. We have to go now. We can't be found here." Stuffing his wand into his pocket, he ran with his sister, ducking under the posts of tents and stumbling over pieces of debris.

"Hermione! Harry!" Together they turned and found themselves being faced by a relieved Ronald Weasley. "There you are. You ran off and I got panicked that you had gotten split off by the crowd an- DUCK!" Wanking them to the ground, Amaya shrieked as multiple red lights shot at where they were.

"Stop! That's my son and his friends! Ron! Harry! Hermione!" They were suddenly crushed into a hug by Mr. Weasley. "Where on earth did you go? I thought you had been taken or-"

"Sir! We've found a wand. It was the one that made the dark mark!" The Auror's eyes flickered to the sky again. "Er, the known dark mark. I'm not sure about the other one."

The Auror held out a wand and shock reeled through Astaron as he patted his pockets, only feeling one wand but not saying it. "That's my wand! I left it in the tent! I'm sure of it!"

A dark look crossed the man's face as he stared him down. "Did you know? So how did it cast the dark mark, huh? How do we know that you are telling the truth and you didn't cast it?"

A scowl showed itself on Mr. Weasley's face. "Mr. Crouch! You aren't suggesting that Harry, the-Boy-Who-Lived, would cast the dark mark, do forbidden magics? The concept of it is absurd! And do you have real proof, other than a wand that could have been taken without thought and dropped while he was in the crowd. In the panic, one would not have noticed." Astaron stared at Mr. Weasley, his eyes flickering back and forth.

Then, as if more madness needed to be added, an Auror came, dragging a trembling little house elf. "We found this eld wandering about where the wand was found, sir. Do you know who it belongs too?"

Crouch spluttered, his face turner redder than Ron's hair, which was a rather impressive feat. "Winky?! Did you do this? This you cast the mark?!"

The elf, Winky, began sobbing and wailed, "No Master!" She shook her head frantically, jerking her ears down harshly. "I just be looking for you's, master. Winky not be doing nothin' wrong!" Crouch was not listening apparently.

"You foolish, insubordinate elf! I told you to stay where you were! To stay put! This means clothes!" he shouted, causing Astaron to glare at the man.

A screech came from beside him, and he winced at the sharp sound that was emitted in his ear. His sister came forward, her eyes blazing with fury. "You expected her to- to stay and risk getting killed?! You foolish, idiotic-" She was stopped by Ron who placed a hand on her mouth.

"Mia let's not insult an important person in the Ministry who could potentially ruin everything for you. Huh? You can rant later." He murmured something soft into her ear that none of them caught but she relaxed slightly. Nodding, she was freed from Ron's arms and bent down beside the pleading house elf. She lifted her and cradled her gently.

"Mr. Weasley, do you think that Professor Dumbledore would allow Winky to work at Hogwarts?" Mr. Weasley nodded. She smiled. "You'll still have a master, Winky. All will be fine. You don't have to wear clothes if you don't want too." Amaya consoled the house elf, before Astaron decided to wince and rub his scar slightly.

"Harry what's wrong?" He put on a mask of slight pain and fear and flickered his eyes to the two dark mark's in the sky.

He forced a slight grimace. "My scars hurting. I was trying to ignore it before but it's hurting a lot now. Do you think we can head back now? It's becoming really unbearable."

Mr. Weasley's face softened, and he nodded. Astaron mentally patted himself on the back for good acting skills. "Of course Harry. Come 'round children. Mr. Crouch, I shall be back, but I must take the children back to the Burrow. Hermione, Molly can take Winky to Dumbledore once we get there. Ready everyone? Good and now!"

Then with the three of them holding Mr. Weasley's arm, the familiar crack of apparation sounded and the burnt campgrounds twisted away.

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Chapter Text

Astaron fumbled with his clothes, scowling at the buttons of his shirt. Muttering curses underneath his breath, he pulled on his jeans and ratty trainers; glaring at them with as much loathing he could muster before giving them a few charms to clean them and saw them back together. He shrank his clothes to fit him, cleaned them as much as he could, and changed some of the details of it so it looked somewhat fancier. He shoved a roll of pounds into his pocket, along with a shopping list of clothes and things he needed from Muggle London. Putting his dark wand into his pocket, he put his glamour band into his pocket since nobody from the Wizarding World would recognize him.

Swinging the door open, he went downstairs and immediately looked into the sitting room. "I'm going to do some shopping. I'll be back later. Also, Dudley, do feel free to clean your filth from the bathroom; other's use it too." Giving his cousin a hard look, he left the house and began walking on the sidewalks to get to the stores. Amaya had already done her shopping; so it was just him today. He also might just have to drink Muggle blood, though the thought horrified him, because there were no wizards and blood bags were illegal to sell in Wizarding Britain because Vampires were very much hated.

Hissing in Parseltongue about the incompetence of the wizard government, Astaron allowed his thoughts to drift back to the Quidditch World Cup; more specifically Draco.

Draco seemed different during the Cup. Maybe he went through his Inheritance and was still in slight pain. It didn't seem like it though. Something else was wrong. He wanted to know what though. Astaron had already figured out the Draco was a submissive creature, which was very rare for Dark Veela's, from what his sister has told him from all her research.

She was also figuring out her creature powers, which seemed to involve having soft, charcoal grey feathered wings, her eyes turning purple when she was using her veela aura/influence. Amaya was still trying to figure out her fire powers; so far, she could light the tips of her fingers with a little flame. Turns out, because of that, Veelas were relatively fire resistant, except to certain temperatures or types of fire, like Fiendfyre, intense concentrated heats, and the fire of certain dragons. A few though, they could withstand for a short period of time, like from a Common Green Welsh, or a Swedish Short-Snout.

She was still researching anything else that she may need to know about her creature, but she did find out that a Siren paired with a Veela for a Creature, is a dangerous pairing for others because both of them had powers that lure others; a Siren's song and Veela's aura, plus with the fact that Dark Veela's have a charmed voice, unlike Light Veela, making a Dark Veela pairing with a Siren, for more dangerous. Veelas, both light and dark, also have a shriek, or a scream, that can burst the ear drums of most animals and wizards. A Dark Veela creature Inheritance is very rare apparently and most who get them, normally have it in there genes. So that was always nice to know.

There wasn't much known about Siren creatures, but she had sent him a few books about it, so he had that. He was done reading 2 of the books, though it was obvious that the author didn't really know what they were talking about so those weren't really helpful. Though they did provide the slightest bit of insight about how Sirens worked and explained more about them so he had an idea of what his powers could be.

Shaking his head, Astaron looked at the store signs before he smelled something. It was sweet and had a slightly magical smell to it. Licking his lips as though they were chapped, to hide the fact that he was tasting the smell, he smiled slightly at the taste of the wizard's blood. It was only slightly off the scent, but it was strong and honestly, he really needed something to drink. Following the scent, he walked at a quick pace before stopping near another store. A high-end clothing store. Awesome. He'll follow the scent later, right now he shall shop.

Walking into the store, he took in all the clothes, the racks filled with hangers; the multitude of colors and designs; large signs hung from the ceiling all labeled with the type of clothing (men, women, maternity, juniors, children, etc.) He took a trolley and walked into the teenagers section and began looking through the clothing.

He took leather jackets, different types of t-shirts, jeans, and lots of different accessories. Filling the cart, he placed whatever he wanted in, deciding he could do an entire fucking wardrobe. Brushes and combs were put in as well since his hair was now semi-tamable instead of the eternally comb-proof hair he had before. Throwing in oversized clothing (they were as comfortable as fuck), he stopped when his cart was getting far too full. Stopping to stare at his cart, Astaron vaguely wondered if there was a limit to the amount of clothes you could try on. Shrugging, he decided to get to that later and began through in some accessories he could wear.

Finally coming to a stop, Astaron began looking through his cart and began deciding which things he could leave at the store. Placing back multiple shirts and jeans, he decided some shoes wouldn't hurt. Pushing his heavy cart, he trudged over to the shoe section of the store and looked through the shelves. Trainers, sandals, boots, stood neatly on the shelves. Snatching 2 sets of trainers he put those in the cart and a pair of sandals. Boots he grabbed 3 sets of because he really liked the way those looked.

Going to try on some clothes, he found that leather pants made his arse look firmer; muscle shirts, well made his shoulders look broader and accentuated his lithe form; the black leather jackets just made his hair look darker and made his green eyes look brighter; the skinny jeans made his legs look longer and slightly more slender looking; the boots just looked nice on him; the trainers and sandals were more necessities than anything; the bands looked good scrunched up on my wrist or a single bracelet coiled around his wrist multiple times; the ear cuffs looked good as well with multiple accessories to go with his outfits; he looked hot in just about all the clothes he picked, not bragging or boasting, but merely acknowledging his good look.

"What should I get now?" Looking around, he decided to get a gift for his sister and for Draco, his mate. Going to the jewelry section, he began looking through the glass for the perfect gift for them. Some of them were truly exquisite and were near perfect for them. Frowning, he looked up to see a person bending silver into the form of a ring.

"Excuse me?"

They looked up and he saw a woman, her hair was cut short and styled messily. She had sharp amber eyes, which complimented her dark brown hair. Her skin was a soft chocolate color, like coffee with a quick splash of vanilla cream. A kind smile spread across her face, and she spoke, her voice laid thick with an American accent with the slight British twinge.

"Ah, 'ello. My name is Aashi. How're you and how may I be of assistance?"

"Hullo. I need 2 necklace and ring pairs. I was wondering if you did custom?"

"Yes, I do custom orders. Is there anything is specific you want? Not all of my jewelry is displayed, and I have others tucked away." Aashi winked playfully and he grinned at her.

"I need one to do with the sea or mermaids and another to do with dragons."

"Hmm. I might have it. I remember making a few mermaids some weeks ago. Let me see...." She pulled out various drawers, looking through them and carefully moving any of the ornate jewelry. Mumbles flew from her mouth as she searched, shaking her head occasionally or tilting it from side to side. Before long, she pulled out a single necklace with a ring and placed it in front of his.

The necklace was a gold chain with a silver plate holding a shined pearl with a mermaid skillfully carved to curve around the pearl. Little bits of silver coral were put around the pearl with little gems on the ends. The tail of the mermaid was made of gold and the body of silver with golden hair. The ring was silver as well and silver was stroked upwards like a sea plant but with little round ends. A pearl sat beautifully in the center, surrounded by the silver sea plant.

"This is beautiful. Perfect for what I'm looking for."

"Thank you. Now dragons too right?" Astaron nodded. "Give me a second. I made a necklace on a whim, and I think you'll like it." She smiled cryptically before going off into the drawers once more but with sure movements and no hesitant nit-picking. He watched as she pursed her lips, a slightly frustrated and confused haze clouding her eyes. "That's odd. I was so sure that it was here... What if though...?" Aashi darted to her jewelry making station and began rummaging through some more drawers, her eyes flickering around examining everything. Before long, a triumphant smile made it's way onto her face before and Aashi took out a ring and a necklace.

"These are one of a kind, took me very long to treat the metal and find the right stone. Come. Let me show you." Astaron stared at her confusedly before she cupped her hands around the dragon pendant. His breath left his throat as the wings began to glow and the stone that was wrapped in the dragon's tail glowed as well, turning a beautiful light sea-green color. "This is the ring." It was a silver dragon, and the body was coiled around the purple stone, it's claws gripping the stone; the wings extended outward connecting with the bottom half of the band, the wings making up the upper part of the left and right.

Astaron made his decision without a second thought. "I'll buy them. How much for them?" Amaya and Draco were

She began typing into her register. "The mermaid pair is 228 pounds and 89 pence. The dragon necklace is 173 pounds and 34 pence. The dragon ring is 127 pounds and 18 pence. Your total is 529 pounds and 41 pence. Do you have anybody else you could get jewelry for?"

Astaron stared silently, running over his list. 'Would Ron like jewelry?' The question brushed his mind vaguely before being sucked into his whirlwind of a mind. 'Would he even want jewelry? Would he wear it? A bracelet maybe, a necklace probably not. I guess I could get him a set of piercings and a ring or something... Nah, just a ring and a necklace like Amaya and Draco. Simple though, he'll feel obligated to pay me back if it's fancy or super extravagant. During Yule though, you can give him every fancy gift you want...' "Another necklace and ring please. Lion themed if possible."

Then another realization hit him, one that made his stomach churn and his heart stop. 'If Ginny notices all these, and I know she will notice Amaya's and Ron's, she's going to be expecting one too; because of all the love potions. And I have to make it just as ornate as the others. Fuck her, Fuck Dumbleshit, Fuck Molly, Fuck them all. When all this is done, I'm going to torture them to insanity and make Bellatrix look sane.' His shoulders sagged before he forced the words out, "Another set as well please, flower themed."

"Coming right up. Give me one second." Once again, she began her search for the jewelry sets, Astaron counting silently in French to get his mind off of the thought of having to gift Ginny some jewelry. Then other thought struck, one that made a vindictive glee swim through him. 'Charm her jewelry with Parselmagic. She wouldn't think of it and she would never want to part with her jewelry that Harry Potter gave her. Too bad it's from Astaron Riddle instead.' Smirking, the dread that had coiled in his stomach disappeared and a soft purr from his Siren side made itself know; Siren's were particularly vengeful to those who had hurt them.

"Here are the lions. Is this one okay or do you want a different one? These are the flowers, blue, white, and purple. Which color would you like?"

"The lions are just fine and blue for the flowers." She nodded and he went back to inspecting the jewelry. The lion was gold and meticulously crafted to look like a lion in mid-roar; it's mouth was open widely, it's chest puffed and it's stance proud. It reminded him of Ron in 3rd year, when they were playing with the animal taffies and Ron had gotten a lion one. The ring was amazing, 2 lions circling each other with their muscle taunt and mouths formed into growls; paws were formed outward as thought they were striking each other, and their eyes were little black gems. The band itself was a deeper and darker silver color and the band was only a little think and was wider than the others.

Ginny's necklace was a large silver oval formed to look like a rope, a flower made from 5 blue stones at the top of the oval with silver stretching out underneath it to form the stem while different colored blue stones made the leaves. The ring was 5 blue stones with a diamond inside then the silver band had little diamonds on the top of it before a little fork appeared on the band where another flower was, tinier than the blue one, and it was made solely of diamonds. 'She really didn't deserve something this pretty. It's a waste of money...' Sighing, Astaron looked up at Aashi who was waiting patiently for him to express whether he desired to keep them or not.

"I'll take them. Who much are they?"

"The lion set is a total of 193 pounds and 10 pence; the flower set is a total of 273 pounds and 27 pence. That brings your total up to 995 pounds and 78 pence. Cash or card?"

"Cash please." Taking out his roll of pounds he began flicking through them and counting out 996 pounds. Numbers tumbled from his mouth messily as he counted at a fast pace, huffing when the money stuck together, or he counted two bills as one. Setting down the totaled amount, Aashi began counting them as well, to verify that he had given her the correct amount.

"996 pounds. Your change sir, 22 pence."

"Thank you ma'am. I truly do appreciate it. And if I may, did you make these?"

She smiled and nodded. "Yes. My grandfather used to make the prettiest jewelry for me when I was a child; he would sit me on his lap sometimes and I would watch as he set the stones in and bent the metals to hold it. Sometimes we would go together to the jewel mines to get the stones. I remember finding my first diamond and from that he made me a beautiful ring, I still wear it. Here." She extended her right hand, and on her slim ring finger was a silver ring holding a large diamond, the silver coiled around the gleaming rock. On the silver band was craved a single phrase, 'My eternal treasure'

A watery smile spread across her face as she sniffled, wiping her glossy eyes carefully, pausing from her job of packaging the jewelry. "God I'm sorry. I didn't mean to start crying. I'm so sorry."

He gave her a tentative smile. "It's fine. I think he would be very proud of how far you've come."

"Thank you."

"Also, do you do promise rings? I'll need one in the near future."

"Oh? A significant other? Who's the lucky gal?"

"It's a guy but yes; a significant other."

"Ah. Alright. Just come in any time and I'll see what I can do for you and your guy. It was lovely meeting you."

"You as well Aashi. And again, thank you."

"It was no problem."

He scooped up the bag of jewelry and pushed the cart to the registers, finally done with the shopping. The man at the register, Jacob according to his name tag, began scanning the clothes, placing them in bags, and taking off the tags. Astaron put the bags in the cart as more bags were being filled with everything. Jacob was quiet, not speaking unless it was to ask a question, which Astaron was fine with. His vampiric side was getting tired and was demanding a drink, pounding away at the weakening hold he put on it.

"Thank you." Giving Jacob a nod, he pushed the cart to the front of the store before casting a wandless feather-weight charm.

Once outside, he managed to cast a disillusionment charm on the bags before shrinking them and putting them in his pockets. Taking away the disillusionment charm, he took a deep breath; he was going to find the wizard that was there earlier. A faint scent caught his attention and Astaron followed eagerly, his vampire pushing forward and removing any rational thought from his mind. There was only one thing on his mind: Wizard Blood.

His footsteps became faster and longer before long he was sprinting through the crowded streets of London with speed and agility that shouldn't be possible. The smell got closer and stronger; the blood a sweet scent with a slight magical twinge to it, almost like a hint of lemon to it. It was interesting.

Astaron moved faster, his vampiric instincts wild and feral; chaos swirling inside of him mixed with devastating power and overwhelming urges. His Siren had gone temporarily dormant because of this, backing away from the more dominant Vampire side of him. The scent was so strong that, it took everything in him (which wasn't a lot) to not transform right then and there.

His eyes caught a head of reddish-brown hair belonging to what looked like a witch. Going the slightest bit closer, he managed to confirm the blood belonged to her. Following her, he waited until they were in a more empty street before dragging her into an empty alley. "Shh. It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you." Power laced his voice and he watched as she relaxed somewhat, her eyes clouding slightly. 'Very interesting. And useful. I'll have to do some research on it.' "I just need something from you, it's not going to harm you in anyway. I just need you to relax so that it'll be as painless as possible." Her eyes closed and she relaxed fully.

Gently sliding the neck of her shirt down, he exposed her collarbone and the artery that ran through her shoulder. His heart sped up despite the fact that a curious joy ran through him; a twinge of fear went through him. As a little string of fear and doubts wiggled into his mind before being shoved back harshly. Sighing he leaned forward and allowed his fangs to come out. A weird feeling shot through him before he sank his fangs into her skin.

A moan came from the girl as she trembled his hold. One of his hands gripped her waist; the other cradling the back of her neck. Blood, warm and sweet, slipped down his throat, leaving a magical residue on his tongue. Power filled him as his vampiric side subdued some more, calming after being fed. Another moan erupted from the girls throat, this time needy and lustful as her hands, as if upon instinct, came up to his hair and threaded through it, tugging at it softly. Astaron pulled back, swiping his tongue over the two holes on her neck. Biting his lip roughly, he gave them a gentle rub with his thumb and watched in amazement as they closed, leaving only the faintest blemish on the skin.

Astaron examined the girl who was watching him with lust clouded eyes. While morally, he knew he shouldn't leave her like this, his creature side was howling in anguish at the thought of betraying their mate. Shaking his head, he cast a sleeping spell and caught the girl immediately as her knees buckled beneath her. Placing her gently on the ground, Astaron cast a few charms for her to not get dirty and to be comfortable. She was also disillusioned until she got up.

He walked out of the alley way and began walking back to Privet Drive. His put his hands in his pockets before remembering that there were mini shopping bags inside of them. So now he knew, if they people were relaxed, it felt pleasurable and led to lustful feelings. He could put compulsions in his voice, and they're eyes clouded, showing that they wouldn't remember. 'That's always nice to know.' A nudge in it's mind made itself known as a familiar scent caught his attention. It was warm and spicey. There was another one too, but it smelled more of coconut and had a twinge to it, like a deep breath of fresh air.

Astaron closed his eyes, trying to determine where the smell was located. 'East.' Turning to the left, he moved quickly, trying to find out why the scent seemed familiar. A sharp pain shot through the back of his head, a pained grimace twisting on his face. Curses filled his mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut as it intensified. An image flashed through his head, a little girl before another; this time it was a man in a woman sharing a swift kiss, both dressed in formal clothing, the man holding the same little girl. They were gone as soon as they came, far too quick for him to identify whoever they were. The pain dulled to a no-so-gentle throbbing, and he winced.

"Mister, are you okay?" Looking down, he saw a small child. A girl it looked like, she looked to be 10 or 11 years old . She had long black hair, hazel eyes and fair skin; her facial features were that of a pureblood, the aristocratic gentleness and sharpness in all the right places.

He smiled and knelt down, ignoring the pain in his head. "Yes I am. Thank you though, kind ma'am."

The girl made a face and tugged on a strand of her hair. "I'm a they/them actually, Mum says it's called non-binary. And you're welcome! You looked like you were in pain; you had that same look on your face as Mum when she hits her toe on the table." Laughing softly, Astaron ran a hand through their hair.

"I apologize for using the wrong name. Yes, stubbing your toe hurts very much, little one." The little child smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind their ear.

They opened her mouth to say something before a shout came from the crowd. "Ravan! Ravan Styx Riddle!"

Astaron's eyes widened at the name. 'It isn't? No- Ravan Styx Riddle?' He looked down at the newly found out, Ravan.

"I have to go. Mum needs me. Um, Bye Mister..."

"My name is Astaron little one. Goodbye Ravan." They smiled before running off into the crowd. They went to a woman with long deep red hair and fair skin. Ravan tugged on her arm and pointed into the crowd. When the lady looked up, his heart stuttered. He met emerald greens eyes, not unlike his own. Mind going blank, he gave a soft nod and wave before disappearing into the crowded streets of London.

Only when he entered Number 4, Privet Drive did realization hit him.

'Holy Fuck, I just saw my mother and adopted sibling... And all I did was wave and nod.... You're an idiot Astaron. Truly you are.'

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Chapter Text

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The crowd at King's Cross was busier than Astaron expected; Muggles and Wizards alike were pushing their way through, all the Wizards disappeared at Platform 9 ¾. Pushing his trolley faster, he watched his trunks carefully, despite the fact that he had done a sticking charm on them. Magic flaring dangerously when he saw Molly Weasley, he forced an impassive look on his face before disappearing quickly into the crowd and to the Platform before going straight through the wall. Immediately, he was met with loud chatter and bustling of feet and the clangs and rolls of trolleys; Suitcases bumping together, familiars hooting, croaking, mewling, and the sounds of apparition.

Astaron walked faster than normal, trying to claim a good spot on the train and hopefully be able to see his mate before he had to put his mask up. Undoing the sticking charm, he waved his Knockturn wand, and his trunks levitated up the steps of the train; following after them, he walked into an empty compartment and put wards up. His trunks landed without a sound, on the racks above the seats before he decided to expand the compartment. Of course, only those he allowed would be able to see it; Those he didn't allow to see, wouldn't be able to see it.

Digging into his pocket, he pulled out the bag of jewelry and walked out of the compartment. Staring out the windows, he searched the crowd for the telltale Malfoy blonde hair. A scent wafted through the air and his creature leaped for joy; it was Draco's scent: the warm, soft scent of pine and cider with the faintest hint of apples.

A purr rumbled through his chest as his pupils dilated, blowing out wide; his vampire side slightly active, silently calling to it mate; his Siren was crooning softly, a slight power in his throat.

When Draco walked into the same passageway as he, his magic flared gloriously, reaching out to his mate; it tangled around him, caressing Draco's magic lovingly. Draco's magic was a cold blue and felt like ice, but it had a soft taste of blackberries. It was amazing and a heat filled his gut as it coiled tightly.

Walking forward, he glued his eyes to the gleaming mercury irises. There was a nervous but exhilarated look in them; his body was tense but also relaxed in a few areas, as though he knew what should happen but didn't know what would happen. Astaron smirked before tenderly grabbing Draco's wrist and pulled him into the nearest toilet room. Warding the room, he stared at Draco, who looked slightly confused. He stepped in front of his mate and reached his hand up to his face. Trailing his index finger from the top of his jaw to his chin, he relished the feel of his mate's smooth pale skin. Tilting his head back slightly, he reached his thumb up and lightly brushed Draco's plump pink lips. He leaned down slightly, still staring into his mate's eyes. His lips barely brushed the other's as he whispered, "So beautiful."

Draco's hot breath fanned against his face his eyes half-lidded and slightly clouded by want and need. Pressing his lips against the other's softly, one hand gripped his waist firmly and pulling Draco's against his body, the other hand pulling out the dragon necklace. Worming it around his neck, he hooked it together quickly before pulling back from the kiss. A little voice in the back of his head told him not to give Draco the ring at the current moment.

His eyes immediately darted down to his neck and a pale hand lifted the necklace into his clear line of vision. Draco let out a soft, breathy laugh before tucking the necklace underneath his shirt before pressing his lips against Astaron's. And that was all it took for his creature's to completely overtake any rational part of his brain. He pulled his mate against him, holding him closely. A hand threaded through his hair as the other gripped the back of his neck. Draco pulled away softly though their lips were still brushing together.

"Take it off," Draco whispered, "Take off the glamour. I want to see you." Complying to the request, Astaron kissed him deeply as he slipped the band from his wrist before pulling away. His mate's eyes raked over him, looking upward to meet his eyes and tilting his head back; Astaron was taller than his by 2 or 3 inches. "Never wear it. Promise me."

He leaned his forehead against his and Astaron stroked his cheek comfortingly. "I can't. I still have things that need to be played out and identities to hide. But whenever we are alone, I promise to keep the glamour off. Is that a reasonable compromise?"

Draco pouted adorably before nodding. "Yes. But you have to explain this all to me."

"I promise, Dragon." Silver eyes brightened at the nickname, and he smiled. He pecked his lips on last time before letting go of Draco. "We have to get back now. No doubt your acquaintances are waiting for you; mine as well."

Draco sighed but nodded acceptingly. He pecked his lips once more before exiting the room, leaving Astaron in the room by himself. He stood there for a few minutes, fingers Draco's ring in his pocket. Something inside of him told him not to do it yet, it wasn't time. 'Why though? A creature instinct perhaps?' Shaking his head, he walked out and began making his way back to his compartment, pushing the thought to the very back of his mind.

Slipping into the compartment, he pulled out the bag of jewelry and toyed around with the jewelry, slightly nervous. Why? He didn't know really; he knew his sister and Ron would accept the jewelry, Ginny would throw herself at him (he growled ferally at the thought) and he would simply have to keep his guard up until the end of the year. It was really going to be annoying and knowing his luck, he'd get caught up in something like some Death Tournament or something. Probably in hope he'd die. Not that he ever did, the only year that he hadn't purposely been nearly harmed was last year. It wasn't Remus's fault he was a werewolf, only that he forgot to take the Wolfsbane on a full moon.

Then another thing popped into his mind. 'Professor Snape. He put himself in between the werewolf for Amaya, Ron and me. Does that mean he remembers us slightly? He is my godfather, though I still think some of his memories have been altered. Unless he shows his love and care but taunts and rude remarks. But he insulted James even though that was his husband. Why must this have happened?' Astaron rubbed his eyes tiredly, this was going to be a lot of work.

A knock sounded at the door, and he waved his hand, willing it to open. His sister stepped in gracefully, her glamoured brown eyes taking in the expanded compartment. "I should have known you would ward the compartment. The Weasley's just got on, Ron slipped away to see his boyfriend. Honestly, you'd think he'd be more subtle about it. But really, I only think the twins suspect something, the others hardly pay him enough attention." He frowned; did they really not notice anything about their brother/son? Only the twins, but that was to be expected, they were scarily observant. Shaking his head, he gestured for her to sit, and she sat next to him, reaching out and playing with his hair.

"Your creature is happy; did you see your mate?" Astaron merely shrugged, but his lips twitched into a small smile. "You did. What did you do?"

"Nothing. Just gave him a necklace and a kiss. One was much more enjoyable than the other."

Amaya snorted before giving him a look. "You know it'll be harder for you to pretend because of that. Your creatures have officially initiated the bond between them and now you have to pretend to be in love with Ginny. Dominant Vampires have always been extremely possessive and to betray their mate, fake or not, is a repulsive thought. You know, you'd likely end up killing her."

"I don't see a problem with that."

"I know; that's why I'm worried. We can't have you murdering people yet. Now put on your glamour please before somebody barges in and sees you without it." His eyebrows shot up and he scrambled for his band; he'd forgotten to put it on. Slipping it over his wrist smoothly, Astaron felt the tingling of the magic settling over him. Amaya nodded and stroked his hair.

"Do you think we have a twin connection? Like some sort of bond, like Fred and George's? They have a telepathic bond, or legilimency bond; they can read each other's thought, which is how they finish their sentences for each other." Astaron shrugged.

"I don't know but I truly can't say I've never really bothered to think about it. It never really bothered me." Amaya huffed playfully and gave his shoulder a light smack. "I got you something by the way, while I was shopping. What do you think?" He held you the necklace and ring hesitantly and she gasped, her eyes widening slightly.

"They're beautiful. Put it on for me?" He nodded and slipped the necklace around her neck and hooked it together. She slid the ring onto her finger, only wearing piercings today. Admiring the ring critically, she trailed her finger absentmindedly over the necklace as she did so.

"I, uh, I talked to the Grangers about my birth, they thought I was their child Astaron. They truly thought they had given birth to me. It turns out, they're daughter had been born the same night I was taken. She had been born with complications; she required special care and everything. H-he...Dumbledore switched us Astaron... He switched me with their little girl." Tears began slipping down her face, her eyes a mixture of sorrow and rage. "How could he do that? I don't-" She burst into tears, shuddering as she racked with sobs. "He killed her Astaron! H-he killed a child, a babe, and then tricked the parents into thinking it was me! He did glamours, spells, blocks, everything so that I would look like her! He kept them from their true child, magical or not, it was their child, the little person that they had spent so much time and money on, planned out every little milestone, every iota of love ready to be poured out, and she was just taken from them. Their daughter was killed and didn't even get a proper burial. Dumbledore obliviated them, hid their memories, everything about her; he implanted fake memories and- and..." Her words turned into incoherent stutters as she sobbed. Anger tore through Astaron as he hugged his sister, kissing her temple. He didn't say anything, knowing that it wouldn't do much. He couldn't understand how they were feeling, saying he was sorry did nothing, he could only hug her and comfort her.

He held her in his arms, rocking her gently and rubbing her back in a soothing manner. A deep hatred ran through his body; Dumbledore would pay when the time came and he would make sure he suffered for everything he did; though why did it have to be later, why not do simple torture methods on him? Lack of sleep, itchy clothes, forever warm bed, feeling like he's stepping on Legos every time he walks. Yes, that sounded good.

He tuned back into reality and away from his thoughts, Astaron only heard little sniffles every now and then. "You feeling a little better now?"

Amaya nodded silently and lifted herself from his arms. "Thank you," Her voice was slightly raspy and broken, but it was there.

"You don't need to say thank you. I'd do it anytime you need it." He rubbed her back in circles, fingering a strand of her hair in the other hand.

She sniffed and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "Did you- Did you manage to figure out some things?" She asked, changing the subject to distract herself and him. "Like where our mother is?"

He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Um, yeah. About that... I saw her in London while I was shopping. I also saw our sibling, Ravan. They're non-binary so just letting you know. They looked to be 10 or 11 so they might go to one of the magical schools. Which'll make our search a bit easier." Amaya stared at him for a few seconds before slapping his head.

"You're an idiot. An utter and complete idiot. I love you so much." She wrapped her arms around his loosely and propped her chin on his shoulder.

Rolling his eyes, he gave her a sarcastic smile. The door to the compartment opened and a head poked in; it was Ron. 

His red hair was messy and ruffled; his lips looked red and slightly swollen; vague bruises were growing dark on his freckled skin. "Harry! Hermione!" He never really got used to using their real names, so they allowed him to use their fake names; it was also better so that he didn't slip up in public and that would cause a lot of explaining or memory wipes. He shuffled in and flopped down, shutting the compartment door closed with his foot.

He raised an eyebrow at his friend, a smirk playing on his lips. "Did you enjoy yourself Ron?" His cheeks flushed deeply, a mortified look on his face as he mumbled under his breath. "Ron?" His voice was sing-song like, and he enjoyed the way his friend's face flushed a deeper red.

"It doesn't matter. What does matter though, is that Molly and Ginny went to the store a few days ago and got a really expensive bracelet. It's a pure gold band, with silver laced in it; there's gems in it as well. I know we don't have anywhere near enough money to get that. Did you check your vaults and place a watch on them?"

Astaron furrowed his brows, confusion bleeding onto his face. "Yeah. I checked all of my vaults..." His voice trailed off as it hit him right in the face. They were taking from the POTTER vaults. He didn't have access to those and since he was still also Harry Potter, it would make sense that they were taking from those vaults. He would have to owl Gringotts and place a watch on them. "Okay never mind. I know what's wrong. That reminds me, I need Gringotts to purge the marriage contracts. Although technically they are invalid."

"Wait?! What marriage contracts?!" The twins stared at Ron, both of them realizing that they never told him.

Amaya leaned forward slightly and talked lowly though nobody would be able to hear them. "There were marriage contracts between us. Me with you, and Ginny and Astaron."

Astaron took over. "Technically, they are invalid because we never signed our consent to them and because it is a marriage contract between Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, not Amaya Riddle, and Harry Potter and Ginerva Weasley, not Astaron Riddle." Ron looked horrified before growling some unsavory words underneath his breath.

"Ron? Before you go and kill someone, I got these for you." He held out the necklace and ring, watching his jaw drop to the ground.

"Harry! I can't- I can't take this! It's so bloody expensive probably and I could never be able to pay you pack for this."

He looked him in the eye. "They're gifts and you're not supposed to pay me back for gifts. Besides, it's considered very rude to no accept gifts." Ron took them, very begrudgingly mind you, and slipped the ring on and put on the necklace. He put it underneath his clothes and had his shirt cover the chain.

"Thank you."

Before he could say anything, the door slammed open, and Ginny stepped in. Astaron growled silently; Amaya sat straighter, her eyes were carefully void of any negative emotion; Ron darted his eyes away and twisted his ring.

Astaron forced a smile on his face though inside, he was burning with rage; let the torture begin.

------

Hogwarts glowed magnificently, the night sky swirling up on the ceiling of the Great Hall. Students were sitting at their respective tables, Amaya and Astaron sitting at the Gryffindor Table as usual. The Hall echoed with chatter which soon silenced as the first year's came through. Astaron's eyes searched through the crowd, wanting to see if his guess was right. Near immediately, his eyes found his sibling, their hair pulled back into a ponytail and tugged nervously on their school robes. Professor McGonagall stood at the podium and began calling up the first years, each one coming up when their name was called.

"Riddle, Ravan!" His eyes flickered to Dumbledore, who was sitting straighter and staring at his sibling with a calculating look in his eye.

Ravan walked up shyly and sat down, their back straight. The Sorting Hat began its mumbles but shuffled comfortably. Minutes ticked by as mutters began rising from the tables. It was surpassing the sorting of Professor McGonagall, who sat for 6 ½ minutes before being chosen for Gryffindor. When the sorting hit 7 minutes, looks were exchanged and the teachers looked slightly intrigued. Just before it hit 8 minutes, the Sorting Hat opened its brim. "Better Be.... SLYTHERIN!" The green and silver table clapped, though it was very polite and not wild.

The sorting continued and not many went to Gryffindor, most went to Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, only a few going to Slytherin and Gryffindor. Dumbledore seemed very subdued for the rest of the sorting; his eyes mostly trained on the Slytherin table. Astaron forced his eyes away, before he did something he would surely regret. Or maybe not. Actually, at this point in time, it wouldn't be a good idea. He still has to many followers. 'And too many witnesses.' His brain added, unhelpfully.

Grunting softly when his sister jabs him with his elbow, he tunes back to what was going on; his ears catching onto what Dumbledore was saying. It blurred because he was only just tuning in, but it caused an uproar, especially from the purebloods. The twins, Fred and George, grinned at each other, disbelief obvious on their faces. Dumbledore began to speak again, causing everything to quiet. "The Triwizard Tournament was first established some..."

He was cut off but a loud strike of lightning and thunder erupting from the ceiling on the Great Hall. Shrieks emitted from the younger students as a thumping entered the Hall. A man came in, a wooden leg, fake eye, and a weird aura surrounding him. Dumbledore spread his arms. "Alastor! Everybody, please welcome Alastor Moody, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher!" A scatter applause came from the tables, it was very dull and unenthusiastic. Moody thunked his way to the Head Table where he sat down next to a very tense Professor Snape.

"Now as I was saying. The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of Wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities – until, that it, the death toll mounted so high the tournament was discontinued." Dumbledore spread his arms, his voice taking on a booming tone. "Eternal glory! That's what awaits the student who wins The Triwizard Tournament, but to do this, that student must survive three tasks. Three extremely dangerous tasks." Chatter picked up as Dumbledore gave a dramatic and unneeded pause.

'Honestly, is he that full of himself?' Astaron exchanged looks with his sister who shrugged at him. He tuned out the rest of the speech, in favor of examining the new professor. There was something weird about him, like he was wearing something to conceal a part of himself. But what was it? The aura had a purply blue color, slightly darker than a normal indigo. But that thought for another time, he propped his head up on his fist, placing his elbow on the table.

Only once the food appeared, did he choose to tune back in. Chatter was loud in the Hall, and he barely withheld a wince when his ears adjusted to it. 'Stupid Vampire senses.' Grumbling, he piled food onto his plate.

He couldn't wait to collapse on his bed. 

------

Chapter Text

------

Ravan followed their house Prefects, eyes taking in every detail of the route. They stood straight up with the poise and grace that their mother had taught them and neutral mask on their face though they couldn't quite keep the nervous gleam from their eye.

Soon, the group stopped at a large stone wall, at which point the female prefect turned to them. "To enter the common room, there is a password. It changes every fortnight; you will find it posted on the board inside the common room, should you ever forget it." With that, she turned to the walls and said, "Serpentine." The wall moved back slightly and downward, showing the Slytherin Common Room.

The common room was expansive with gold, brass, and silver accents in the green and black; 3 fireplaces were lit and warming the cold and damp air of the dungeons. A single chandelier hung in the middle of the common room with 4 floating orbs a light around it, illuminating the entirety of the common room.

The older years immediately broke off from the crowd, the first years simply waited for directions on what to do. The male prefect looked at them, assessing them all individually before speaking. "Welcome to Slytherin. Our house was founded by Salazar Slytherin and our renowned traits are cunning, self-preservation, resourcefulness, pride, and ambition. None of those means that we are evil, like many like to paint us as. So if any of you have any preconceived notions on the Slytherin House and what we are like, throw them out of the window right now and paint your own picture from your own experience here."

The female prefect took on here. "Slytherins always protect their own so if you are having any problems with the other houses, let us know and we will put a stop to it. There are 5 major rules to Slytherin.

"Protect your own, betrayal is not something we take lightly here"

"Attendance to House meetings is mandatory, unless you have a plausible reason for not attending, there will be consequences"

"1st and 2nd years are to be in the common room by 19:00 during Monday through Thursday, as well as Sunday. Saturday and Friday you are to be here by 8 PM"

"Never, NEVER, hurt a fellow snake. Disloyalty and infidelity, is abhorred in this house."

"Respect your housemates; gender, sexuality, relationships, everything. We do not bring each other down."

"I suggest you remember them now and remember them throughout your entire 7-year period at Hogwarts; unless you go and do something stupid like get yourself expelled. Then you just remembered them throughout your entire however long period at Hogwarts. Understand? Good. Now Professor Snape would like to speak you."

A man stalked forward, his robe billowing behind him like a cape; Ravan had a vague thought about the muggle comic book Batman before he began to speak. "I am your Head of House, Professor Snape. In this house, while we strive to be Slytherin, we also strive to be as clever and witty as a Ravenclaw, as loyal and hard-working as a Hufflepuff, and as brave and determined as a Gryffindor."

"I am aware that every snake here has a different Magical Affinity. For those of you with an affinity for dark magic, you do not need to suppress the urge; you will blow up eventually if you do that. Every Friday evening as well as Saturday afternoons, there are lessons here in the common room for you to control your magic and for you to let it free. Classified Dark spells are taught but not only does this exercise your magical core and help with your affinity, it teaches you control over the euphoria Dark magic can bring you. If you are having more trouble over it, please come to me and I will see what I can do to help you."

"There is a set curfew for each year; 1st year are to be their dorms by 20:00, 2nd years are 21:00, 3rd years are 21:30, 4th and 5th years 22:00, 6th and 7th years 23:00. If you are going to break any of the rules, mostly Hogwart's rules, do not get caught and if you do, you best hope if is I or one of the Slytherin prefects. Help will be given to those who ask. The male dormitories are on the left, the female dormitories to the right. Are there any questions?"

Ravan fidgeted slightly, their heart clenching nervously as they raised their hand slightly. Their foot tapped behind them as it always did when they were nervous. Professor Snapes' dark eyes landed on them, and he raised an eyebrow. "Miss Riddle?" Eyes landed on them which caused their heart to shoot through the roof. Nothing exited their mouth as they opened it, their anxiety getting the best of them. "Miss Riddle, are you ill?"

Shaking their head, Ravan took a deep breath before blurting out their pronouns, the words tumbling together. "A little slower this time?"

"I-I'm non-b-bi-er, I-I'm non-binary sir. I- erm, my pronouns are they/them. No miss, ma'am, or an-any of that." Their voice wavered slightly as Ravan examined their shoes with interest. They half expected everybody to start shouting slurs at them the way their mother and father had before their mum adopted them. Stuffing their trembling hands in their pockets, they jumped when a hand landed on their shoulder. Barely concealing a flinch, they looked up to their Head of House.

"Were you expecting us to not accept you?" Nodding wordlessly, they watched their Professor's face warily. "I assure you; nobody will make fun of you... if they do it will not fare well for them..." The entirety heard the hidden threat in his words as he spoke to Ravan, all of them knowing that anybody (including the other students) who did would be stuck in detention with Professor Snape for a very long time.

Ravan nodded, looking slightly better at the thought of not being made fun of for being non-binary. "Thank you sir."

"You are welcome. Would you prefer I call you Mx. Riddle?"

"You may. I generally go with Ravan, but you can call me that..."

Professor Snape nodded. "If you prefer Ravan then Ravan it shall be. We do not have a gender-neutral dorm room but I do believe the Hufflepuff's do. Would you mind staying with them while a room is prepared for you?"

"No sir."

"Then I will escort you to Professor Sprout and a house elf will bring you your luggage."

"Ok. Um, I'm assuming you have to inform the other teachers?"

"I do. Unless you wish to tell them yourself?"

"No, you can tell them. I don't think I would be able to tell them..." Professor Snape nods.

"Then I shall tell them." He turned back to the rest of the students and told them to go to their dormitories. "Come Ravan. I shall introduce you to Professor Sprout."

Ravan walked behind him, a light smile on their face.

-Line Break-

Draco Malfoy landed on his bed with a soft thump sound. His blonde hair that was combed back immaculately, was mussed by the sheets; not that he paid any mind to it. Pushing himself up, his grey eyes shifted to the door that opened up once more. Blaise Zabini entered with Theodore Nott in tow. Both boys nodded to him before beginning to put their stuff away.

All he did was shuffle to the shower room with his hygiene bag hanging on his shoulder. He turned on the water and stripped, once more thankful that they had oversized stalls to shower in, as opposed to a single room with no privacy barriers. Soft blue wings erupted from his shoulder blades, causing a faint ache to come from them; he still was not used to them coming out.

Only once his skin had become wrinkly did he draw himself from the water. It shut off with a wave of his hand and Draco wrapped a towel around his waist before stepping out. His wings fluttered as he cast a drying charm on them. Warm air swirled around the feathers leaving them ruffled. Pajamas zoomed toward him as he slipped on his boxers before waiting behind him. He spelled on the pants and shirt; his wings tended to rip open his clothes unless they were charmed to accommodate a creature.

Rubbing his hands together, he began to spread a green facial cream on his pale skin. Setting out his other jars, he opened 5 other jars. He began lathering a salve on his arms, doing all of it with a practiced ease. Wiping off the green cream, he applied a white cream on his face. Draco really hated that curse of the Malfoy family sometimes, the maintenance that came with it was appallingly extensive.

Wiping his arms with a damp cloth, he brushed his hair delicately. His wings stretched back before giving a soft shudder. Sighing, long slender fingers ran through the feathers causing a few to drop. Summer obviously wasn't enough time for his body to adjust to the creature. Why couldn't he have been something simpler? Like a vampire... or a siren.

His head swiveled around when the door opened, and Theodore came in. He had dropped his glamour as well, his pointy ears showing as well as his shoulder length hair. He was taller, only about 5'6 and had become slightly thinner. His once purely grey eyes were now a mixture of blue and grey. Runes dressed his arms and neck, showing exactly what kind of elf he was; A high elf... with elemental powers water he had said in his letter.

He flopped onto his bed and traced his necklace with his thumb, a longing look coming onto his face.

"Your mate gave it to you?"

Draco looked at Blaise, who nodded to his necklace. He nodded slowly, a fond smile mixing with the longing. "Yes... he gave it to me on the train."

"Did you officially bond your creatures?" He rolled his eyes at his nosy friend.

"Why is that important?" Blaise huffed and sat on his bed.

"Because you and Theo got early inheritances while I'm the only non-creature here. I need some gossip to sustain me. It gets boring quickly when your best friends are creatures. A Dark Veela and High Elf no less. Now spill, bleach head." Glaring at Blaise, he shot a stinging hex at him. The black male yelped as it hit his leg, almost dodging the spell.

"In a way, yes we did." Blaise gave him a mock glare as he rubbed his sore leg. It obviously wasn't the answer he was looking for.

Theodore looked over as he exited to bathroom and his eyes flickered to his necklace. "You already met your mate?" Surprise was evident in his voice. Nobody (at least that they knew of) was named Astaron Riddle. The 3 of them had assumed that they were homeschooled or went to Durmstrang.

Draco glowered at them and gave the necklace a small tug. "He wears a glamour. It's someone we know too."

An excited look sizzled in Blaise's eyes, the dark teen leaning forward. Draco hoped he would fall off the bed. "Who?" Theo stared at them as he stacked books onto his night table; He, too, was obviously wanting to know.

"You can't say anything to anybody," he stated sharply, "The alliance between the House of Malfoy and the Houses Nott and Zabini will be crushed if you even breathe it to anybody." The 2 nodded and proceeded to swear on their magic and honor.

Nodding in satisfaction, Draco said, "My mate is Harry Potter. He's Astaron Riddle."

Theo and Blaise went still, their faces morphing into one of pure, unfiltered, shock. 

------

Chapter Text

Red hair fell in front of sharp green eyes, the gleam inside of them as harder as steel, colder than the white death. A lazy smile stretched across the woman's face, not at all matching the look in her eyes.

"Irontooth," her voice so calm that it made shivers run down the Goblin's spine, her entire being screaming an unpredictable danger, "I have no wish to pull my ties from Gringotts, but I will if you start to become a liability. I am not above taking away 2 of the richest families from this establishment. So now, answer my question. Did 2 children, more specifically two 14-year-old children, come to this establishment? By the name of Astaron and Amaya."

"Ms. Evans-" A growl cut him off.

White teeth bared themselves in an animalistic manner, the Siren inside of her threatening to submerge this entire bank in water. "Mrs. Riddle, Irontooth. I want no disrespect shown to my husband."

The Goblin bowed his head. "Mrs. Riddle, you know under the Gringott's policy we cannot reveal the information of our customers a-"

A pair of hands slammed onto his desk, green eyes showing the vengeance of a Siren. "If they are my children, I do believe it does not matter. As their parent and guardian, I have the right to know. According to Gringott's policy of course."

Irontooth drummed his fingers, breathing easier as the Lady moved away from his desk. "Are you sure you saw them? This is a very heavy things to say Mrs. Riddle."

"Yes, I am. Now will you tell me?" Pale skin grew translucent, green eyes glossing over. Sirens were called sea demons for a reason.

The goblin shuffled through a few papers before bringing up a stack. "Two children by the name of Astaron Emilion Riddle and Amaya Thana Riddle came into the Diagon Alley Establishment of Gringotts. They requested 2 blood tests, 2 keys, blocks, and glamours tests, as well as the Heirships they are entitled to. 17 galleons were taken from the Slytherin and Gryffindor Vault respectively on the 31st of July 1994. The 2nd of August 1994, 100 galleons was taken by Amaya Riddle for shopping purposes. Monthly letters are to be mailed to them pertaining the transactions that were made from the vaults, as well as certain, ah, procedures to be sure no unlawful transactions were made from their vaults. A letter is to be shown to the Goblin manager of the vault, showing that the request had been approved by one of the heirs, their signature to be written in Veritaserum ink. The Lord or Lady of the house is the only one able to override such thing and needn't show any letter."

He began speaking again after he took a few breaths. "That is all that is noteworthy, everything else was simply explanations.

She gave a soft smile; her children were smart and showed some knowledge of business. The smile slipped off her face as she turned her attention to the Goblin once more. "Since it seems that I don't have to pull my family names from this bank, I have one other question. Why would they need the test for keys, blocks, and glamours? Who were they before they cleared it all up?"

The hesitance showed itself once more causing her anger to flare up once more. "T-that- That is classified Mrs. Riddle. You wi-"

She stood and stormed out, her magic leaking from her tall figure.

Red hair slowly turned brown, frightening green eyes melted into a silver, full pink lips thinning and darkening. Her voice was calm and smooth as she spoke, dripping with a deep malice. "Due to the incompetence of the Goblin, Irontooth, the O'Meara Family and the Gryffindor Family will be sinking all ties with the Gringotts Bank in 72 hours if this interference is not rectified immediately. Another establishment will be sought out and perhaps they will not fare as badly."

The doors in front of the bank slammed open as she strode out, her powerful figure crackling with magic. The crowds of Diagon Alley parted for her, many shying away from the powerful Lady.

A hawks' cry filled the silencing air of the Alley, landing gracefully on the outstretched arm providing. "Aphrodite." The majestic animal ruffled her feathers as she gripped the flesh carefully as to not hurt her mistress as the letter was untied.

A smile stretched onto the pale face.

It was from Ravan.

--------

'Gringotts. Letter. Narcissa.'

The 3 words coursed through the mind of Lucius Malfoy as he walked through his Manor with speed, his grey eyes smoldering. His cane hit the ground with a thump as he made his way to his study; surely his wife was already there and waiting for him. Paper crinkled in his hand as rage and fear coursed through him.

He opened the door to his study as calmly as he possibly could, cursing violently when he saw it was empty.

"Gabby!" The female house elf popped in; her eyes cast downward as she bowed lowly.

"What Master needs done?"

"Where's Narcissa?"

"Mistress Cissy is being in the stables. With horsies, giving num-nums to them." Lucius nodded before turning away, making his way to the stables.

Impatience twisted inside his gut as he walked, a scowl morphing on his face. The letter was crumbled more as his fist clenched around it tighter. The wax seal dug into his palm, but he could care less at the moment. All he was focused on right now was getting to his wife and getting to Gringotts.

The whining of horses reached his ears, causing him to relax marginally while he immediately began searching for his wife. After a few moments, Lucius found her sitting with the foals, petting them and feeding the mothers. Her soothing voice filled the air around her as she spoke to them kindly, the melodic lilt in her speech causing a peaceful atmosphere around the area.

Lucius relaxed more than he would have liked, his mind calmed by her voice. His creature purred at the sight, the sight of its mate always calming. A love and devotion pacified some of the anger and fear, instead turning fear into determination; the anger was not going to be easily swayed. Oh no, it was very steady in the way it was boiling, gradually gaining more and more heat.

"My love." Narcissa whipped around at his voice, a smile gracing her delicate features before turning into a look of worry.

"Lucius, what is wrong? Has something happened with Draco?" He shook his head, watching her shoulders loosen slightly; her son was the most important thing to her, Lucius knew that.

He cleared his throat before sighing. "A letter was delivered this afternoon, from Gringotts." Alarm shone through her blue irises.

"What about?"

Lucius closed his eyes before speaking. "Blocks; more specifically, to our memory and magic."

--------

Theodore Nott turned to another corridor of the extensive amounts of halls in Hogwarts. It got annoying sometimes, especially now when he had to go across practically the entirety of Hogwarts to make it to his next class.

Now was one of those times that he wondered if the headmaster purposely made the Slytherin schedules like this; just so that they could barely make it to their next class.

Swearing in Latin as the stairway he was on began to shift, he practically flew down the rest of the steps, leaping from the staircase to the floor once he was close enough. Grunting, he began walking once more, annoyance tingling through him. Theo checked the time on his watch before swearing violently and sprinting through the halls. 'Screw pureblood decorum. I'm not going to be late for Runes. I might as well just play a prank on Professor McGonagall if I wanted to lose points for Slytherin.' The Runes Professor was far from kind, not particularly understanding when a student is late because of the staircases. If you were late by more than 60 seconds, you'll lose 15 points, and it was only the 3rd day of school!

A warm scent stopped him, his elven creature pushing to the forefront of his mind. It was hot and spicy, but with a sweetish edge to it... honey? A purr rumbled through his chest as blue-grey eyes began swiveled around, searching for the location of the scent. The runes on his neck and arms glowed faintly at the scent of his mate.

"Theodore Nott." The voice was tantalizing, laced with a terribly erotic tone.

His mate was half-siren, half-veela, both very sexual creatures, Theo realized belatedly.

He stiffened when he felt a presence behind him, the scent nearly overwhelmingly strong and causing a pounding in his head. He made not a single move as a finger traced over his shoulder blades, up on the base of his neck and down his spine; only his moving chest showing that he was alive.

"So much control... look at me. Only move your head." Without really thinking much, he turned his head. Immediately, he met deep pools of chocolate, the darkness of them sending shivers through his body; he didn't dare let his eyes venture elsewhere.

"A gentleman too..."

Lips barely brushed his own, moving back before he could do anything. Smooth fingertips brushed the corners of his eyelids, causing his to close his eyes. A breathy laugh met his ears, his lips twitching into a smile at the lovely sound.

A paper was grazed against his fingers, instantly causing his hand to close around it. The fingers moved from where they were tracing lines over his cheeks and lips replaced them. Then they were gone, the presence disappearing, taking the tempting scent along with them.

He counted to 10 before opening his eyes and regaining a natural position. Theo was vaguely aware of the bell ringing, signaling classes had started but he really couldn't care less. His mate came to him and that was far more important than any points that were going to be taken from his house.

Eyes trailing over the letter, he read the words written on the vague note.

Seventh Floor, Left Corridor; Friday, 1700. Follow the scent.

A.T.R

Theo smiled and pocketed the note.

His mate was a little minx. 

Chapter Text

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Original Post Date: 4/13/2022

------

Heir Riddle,

Enclosed are the requested files as well as a list of properties, I felt you would like to look over. The familial lineage of Lilith Riddle nee Evans is under various charms as called for by Gringotts Policy. Simply say ‘Revelare Sanguinem Familiae’ and state your relation to the line and it shall appear.

One the subject of your bearer, she came to Gringotts on the basis that she had seen you in the Mundane part of London. I am unsure if this claim in untrue or not as her mind could possibly still be addled from all it had been subjected too. If she speaks truth, I may be able to arrange a meeting between yourself and her, with your sister of course.

Also, upon seeing all that had been placed upon you, I took it upon myself to assess the history of your previous vaults: The Potter Vaults.

It seems that just under 750,000 galleons have been taken under the duration of 13 years. It has been split between these vaults: A Private Vault under the ownership of Albus Dumbledore; A Private Vault under the ownership of Molly Weasley; A Business Vault set aside for a group called ‘The Order of the Phoenix’, under the guardianship of Albus Dumbledore. The paperwork to claim all of this has been filled but I require your written permission to reclaim it all as you are my client.

Please do so as Harry Potter, the Heir to the Noble and Ancient House of Potter. Magic may still recognize you as the Heir. If not, then I may be able to make you proxy of the vaults, to be able to gain the amount back.

If you request that I do anything else with this matter, I ask that you express such things, and I shall see if it is attainable.

The Goblin in charge of said vaults has been executed for his crimes and I have replaced him.

New keys for the Potter Vaults are undergoing assembly; you should receive them within the next few days. If you do not get them within a week, do send me a letter and I shall investigate the matter.

The requested letters have been sent to Lord Lucius Malfoy, Lady Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, Severus Snape, Poppy Pomfrey, Minerva Pomfrey nee McGonagall, Remus Lupin-Black, Sirius Lupin-Black, and Lady Contessa Zabini. All have received the letters and are coming in at the scheduled date.

The 24^th of September is when you may come to the London Gringotts Establishment for a Memory Charm and Block Removal. The fee is 15 galleons for each ritual. The Goblin Specialist is coming from the Brazilian Gringotts Branch, arriving on the 22^nd of September.

This is all.

May Your Gold Forever Flow And Your Enemies Cower Before You

Master Goblin Steeltooth

Goblin Manager

London Gringotts Establishment

Astaron stared at the letter, his mind running a mile in a second. Moving quicker than any wizard should be able too, he snatched up a piece of paper and began writing the authorization slip that Steeltooth needed for the Potter Vaults; he wrote one as Harry Potter and another as proxy for the Potter Vaults. Staring at the sloppy writing he threw away the parchment and grabbed a Muggle Pen, rewriting the slips with that. ‘I might as well just use these for school. A lot easier than the quills...’ Rubbing his forehead, Astaron turned back to the letter and reread, making sure he didn’t miss anything.

Mentally making a list of things to ask, he began writing a response letter to Steeltooth. He bit the inside of his mouth as he wrote, groaning as his wrist began to ache. Pursing his lips, he began to write again, occasionally losing focus on things that weren’t super important at the moment. Once the letter was done, he blew on it a little and held it delicately as he read over it.

Master Goblin Steeltooth,

I give you my thanks for missive and file, as well as what it contained.

About the Potter Vaults, I have written an authorization slip as both Heir and Proxy of the Potter Vaults. If they need to be edited in any way do let me know and it will be done.

I do, however, request that you take back the money slowly and discreetly. It would do me no good if they were to figure out that the money has been going back to my vaults; it would lead them to only a few reasonable and plausible conclusions which I have no doubt they would act upon. As well as that, do feel free to charge interest to them, but only to them, especially for Mrs. and Ms. Weasley. I do feel for the rest of the family, and they are not to be punished for wrongdoings they had no part of.

In what order did you send the letters? The most important ones are to be sent to Severus Snape, Poppy and Minerva Pomfrey, and Remus and Sirius Lupin-Black. Lord and Lady Malfoy I suppose are of some importance to me but not as much as the others. Especially considering that 3 of them work at the school I attend, and one worked here in the previous year.

As for my mother, yes what she said is true… I did see her in Muggle London. You say that her mind could still be addled, may I inquire as to what may have addled it? If you could schedule a meeting between us that would be most welcome. Preferably before the 25^th of October at night if you could.

My sister and I shall arrive at Gringotts at the appointed date. Would it be too much trouble to ask if we could come at night? More around 2000 if that is feasible.

Once more, I thank you for your help.

May Your Gold Accumulate To The Size of Mountains And May Your Enemies Drop At Your Feet

Astaron Riddle

Heir to the Ancient and Noble Houses of Peverell and Slytherin

Nodding in satisfaction, Astaron rolled the parchment with great care before whistling for Hedwig. The majestic snowy owl landed before him, her amber eyes glittering with intelligence far greater than what an owl should know. “Hello girl. Did you have fun hunting yesterday?” Hedwig gave a soft trill, her head bobbing twice before she nuzzled his head.

Laughing, he stroked her feathers, kissing the top of her head tenderly. “I love you too girl. You’ll always be my first friend…” Tying the letter to her leg, he whispered lowly, “Take that to Gringotts, more specifically Steeltooth. Don’t wait for him to send a letter back; you might be waiting a long while if you do.” She hooted before flying off, gliding beautifully in the night sky.

Sighing tiredly, he opened the file that was sent, blinking rapidly at the bluey colors surrounding one of the rolls. Touching it briefly he stared at it tingled slightly; A soft whispery voice chanted something (he didn’t know what) as his fingers grazed the colors. Shaking his head he unfurled the parchment and spoke. “Revelare Sanguinem Familiae.”

Wording began to appear on the parchment, a family tree building before his eyes. Astaron stared at the two names at the top of the page, where it was first recorded.

Amos Gryffindor – Crystal Normandy

3 kids, and he traced the path from youngest to oldest, noting that they were a family that didn’t mind marrying half-bloods or muggleborns, at least some of them. He noticed that as the ones that started marrying into the Malfoy Family Lines, Black Family Lines, Selwyn Family Lines, Lestrange Family Lines, Macmillan Family Lines, and so forth, started to marry within the family and the lines slowly began to deteriorate.

Finally he saw that a squib, Lorraine Macmillan, Daughter of Delos and Eveline Macmillan (nee O’Meara), grandmother of Willow Evans (nee McCaffrey) who was the mother of Lilith Jasmine Evans.

He hummed slightly and scribbled his notes on a spare piece of parchment. So as the lines began to die out Lorraine was the only one with Gryffindor blood, even though she was a squib. Her mother being the last of 3 O’Meara’s, the 2^nd oldest, was where that blood line came. And 3 generations later, the magic came back full force in the blood of Lilith Evans.

Astaron gave satisfied nod before rolling up the parchment and putting it aside. Opening the file once more, he saw the properties of the Peverell Family, Slytherin Family, Potter Family, Gryffindor Family, and O’Meara Family. Underneath each property was what it came with; House-Elves, Outhouses, Acreage, Rooms, Wards, Construction Dates, Renovation Dates, etc. He mentally noted that there were dates that specified when they were last in use and also when somebody last stepped foot onto the property.

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Astaron set down the pen and set the papers to the side. Closing his eyes, he leaned back in his chair.

He just needed a to rest his eyes for one second…

------

Albus Dumbledore was a man thought to be great; The Leader of the Light; The Defeater of Grindelwald; The Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards; Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot; Headmaster of Hogwarts; He is the most powerful wizard in the entirety of the Wizarding World!

Or at least he was.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was the cause of everything. Albus knew he was a problem when he first laid his eyes on him. An 11-year-old boy who had far too much control over his magic. A descendant of Salazar Slytherin no less! Always knew too much, was far too charming and had the entire school buying his image. Except Albus of course. No he was far to great to even think of buying the façade Tom put up.

Then he found out about Tom making horcruxes. Oh yes that was all he needed. He would make sure the entirety of the school found about Tom. Except when the Chamber opened, the blame was pinned on Hagrid and his stupid Acromantula. Aragog. Idiot oaf. But he made a good pawn, always right in his pocket when he needed him.

After that, he just couldn’t get Tom in a place where he could prove his real self to the world. Well at least not without doing something that could incriminate himself in the process. Oh no, that just would not do.

So Tom managed to graduate Hogwarts and went out into the world. And soon began rising as a Dark Lord. Only he was saner than all the others; he was attempting to intertwine creatures and wizards, bring back forgotten branches of magic, show that Dark Magic could be used for good! That couldn’t be done, not if Albus could do anything about it. And he most surely did.

He denied Tom his job request for the teaching post for Defense Against The Dark Arts. Surely he was just there collecting students he could use as minions for when he tried to take over.

Slowly but surely everything was going well until something happened. Albus was never sure, but Voldemort began getting too much power, his Horcruxes having torn his mind apart. The British Wizards were going to cease to exist at the rate that it was going at.

Then something just flipped, almost like it was overnight, and Tom began pulling back. Albus was suspicious about it, but overjoyed. Voldemort was losing power! Now all he had to do was kill him in a public setting and then he would be unstoppable! The horcruxes would be found, kept from the public of course, and all would be right once more! Yes, Albus was very pleased.

And then, he got word from his spy that Voldemort had kids and a wife. And was gaining back all his sanity.

No No No No No No NO! That couldn’t happen! It wouldn’t work with everything he had set up! No No No No NO!

Albus threw everything aside and began his long search for who had married Voldemort and who his kids were.

Once he did find them, he began to plan and change everything. He forged the necessary documents and did everything he could to make sure that his plan was fool proof.

But once it had to be put to action, things just started going wrong. But he could make it work. Yes, he always did.

So he placed long-term glamours on the children, rid the mother of everything that made her a witch, and the father was a wraith. Nothing more needed. The children’s twin bond was blocked, and most likely dissolving from being shoved back for so long.

His son though, was powerful, more powerful than the father, mother and sister, leaving Albus with no choice but to trap and band it, knowing full well that if left on long enough, his magical core will begin to deteriorate. And after he killed his father, he would no longer be needed and really just driven insane from trauma. Honestly, Albus didn’t care as long as it didn’t interfere with his plans for the Wizarding World.

But of course, who would suspect him of doing anything.

He was Albus Dumbledore of course! The Greatest Wizard since Merlin and the world would flourish under his command.

And nobody could say otherwise.

Chapter Text

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Original Post Date: 4/21/2021

------

Students flooded into the DADA classroom, their instructor watching them with both a real and fake eye. A wooden piece connected to his leg thunked as it made contact with the ground.

The sound of books hitting the desks filled the room, pages being flipped to get to the correct one. Astaron, Amaya, and Ron were all sitting together in the 2nd row, wands placed right next to their books.

Moody scowled at them all, his voice gruff as he spoke, "Put 'em away. The books. You won't need 'em." They put the books away, Ron looked slightly excited.

Roll call began, his normal eye scanning the list and his fake eye swiveling to each student. "Right then," he declared after, "You've covered a good portion of Dark creatures; Boggarts, Red Caps, kinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, werewolves, correct?" The class murmured a confirmation. "But you are behind on dealing with curses. So I'm here to bring you up to scratch. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark curses."

He grinned nastily and clapped his gnarled hands together. "So curses, they come in many strengths and forms. According to the Ministry of Magic now, I'm supposed to teach you counter curses and leave it at that. Supposedly, you not supposed to see what illegal dark curses look like until your in sixth year. You're apparently not old enough right now. But Professor Dumbledore's got a higher opinion of your nerves and reckons you can cope well enough. I say, the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. How're you suppose to defen' yourself if you not seen it yet? A wizard who's 'bout to throw an illegal curse at you isn't gon' tell you he's 'bout too; he's not gon' be all polite and nice. You need to be prepared, alert watchful. Mr.Finnigan, your desk is not a place for you to store your gum."

Seamus grumbled behind him about seeing through the back of his head.

"So.. do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding low?"

Several hands rose into the air, most students looking slightly hesitant. He pointed to a student, Clarissa Midge. "T-the, uh, the U-unforgivables, s-sir." Moody stood heavily on his mismatched feet, opened his jar and pulled out a glass. It contained three black spiders. Ron recoiled next to Astaron- he hated spiders.

"What are the names of the Unforgivables?" Hands once again rose in the air, only this time less hands rose.

Ron was selected this time. "Um.. The I-Imperious Curse. It er- it controls you- or um, whoever, whatever its aimed at..."

Moody reached inside the jar and took one out, holding it in his palm so they could all see. Pointing his wand at it, he muttered, "Imperio!" The spider leapt from his hand and began to dance, swing on it's thread, tap dance, and all sorts of other tricks. Everybody was laughing except Moody and Astaron. Even Amaya was giggling lightly.

He growled, "Think it's funny do you?" The spider zipped to a filled water bucket just teetering over the edge. "What shall I do next? Drown 'em?" The laughter died slightly. It went to a window. "Throw it out the window?" The rest of the laughter died away. "You'd like it, would you, if I did that to you? Stripped you of all the control you possess over your body? Make you a slave to my will and my will only?" He snarled, his misshapen face twisting even more.

"Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperious Curse." Some people in the classroom knew, instantly, that he was talking about when Voldemort had been all-powerful. "Tough job for the Ministry, tryina sort out which were bein' forced and who was doin' it of their own free will."

"The Imperious Curse can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how. Take real strength of character now, and not everybody's got that. Better to just avoid it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Everybody started and the shout. Moody threw the still somersaulting spider into the jar.

"Next Unforgivable?" Amaya put her hand up, but so did Neville's; he looked slightly surprised at hid own daring. Moody pointed at him.

"There's this one- The Cruciatus Curse." Neville's voice was small but heard.

Moody looked at him very intently. "Longbottom right?" His magical eye swooped to check the log. Neville nodded nervously but got no other inquire.

His back turned to the class as he scooped up another spider, placing it on the desktop. "Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea..." his mumble slurred slightly as he pointed his wand at it. "Engorgio!" The spider swelled and was now bigger, just barely though, than a tarantula. Ron pushed his chair back, wanting to get as far away from the spider as possible.

Once more, Moody raised his wand and whispered, "Crucio." The spiders legs bent in on its body; it rolled and twitched horribly, rocking from side to side. No sound came from it, but everyone was sure that if it could, it would be screaming. Moody didn't move his wand, and the spider began to jerk and shudder violently.

"Stop it!" Amaya's voice was shrill with anger. Astaron looked over at her and saw her eyes weren't focused on Moody; following her eyes, his focused on Neville who was pale and eyes wide with horror.

Moody raised his wand.

The spider's legs relaxed but they continued to spasm. "Reducio." The spider shrank to its normal size.

Moody spoke softly. "Pain. You don't need knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse... That one, too, was very popular once... Right, anyone know any others?" Astaron looked around and stared as, once more, his sister raised her hand. It was trembling slightly. "Yes?"

"Avada Kedavra," she whispered. Astaron stared at his sister, everybody else just glancing at her uneasily.

"Ah," Moody looked at her, another slightly smile twisting at his lopsided mouth. "Yes... that land and worst. Avada Kedavra; The Killing Curse." He put his hand in the jar, pulling out the final spider. It scuttled around, as though knowing exactly what was going to happen; The class was silent, dread filling the air around them. Moody raised his wand for the final time and Astaron felt a sudden thrill of the foreboding shoot up his spine. "Avada Kedavra!" He roared.

A brilliant green light exploded and there was this rushing sound, as though something great, vast, and invisisble was soaring through the air. The spider rolled onto its back, unmarked, but unmistakably dead.

Several students had managed to stifle their cries, some just went remarkably still, others had just shrieked. Astaron and Amaya simply stared, their faces blank.

Moody swept the spider onto the floor. "Not nice," he said calmly, as though he hadn't just used an Unforgivable. "Not pleasant. And there's no counter curse; no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and he's sittin' right in front of me." Astaron felt himself tense as both of Moody's eyes looked into his own; he forced some of his magic into his eyes, knowing that they would glow slightly. He could feel everyone else looking at him too. Moody's eyebrow twitched slightly when he cocked his head to the side just a bit; he turned away from Astaron.

Astaron stared at the blackboard as though it was the most fascinating thing. But really he just blocked out the noise and delved into his mind. The flashing green light from the previous year had been the killing curse... but surely his mother would've died when it hit her? He knew well his father had become a wraith, that could not have been faked. Or at least he thought so.

Then where did James Potter come in? Every lie always contained the slightest bit of truth, so let's say that with that lie, James Potter was actually there when everything happened. Then Snape must've been there too... God dammit. Things were unnecessarily complicated! Why did it have to happen to him. He wondered vaguely if the green light was just a distraction... he pushed that thought away. If it was, then that odd rush, the speeding of death, wouldn't be in the memory, would it? So yeah, the Killing Curse had been used, he decided.

Moody was speaking again, only from a great distance it felt to Harry. With massive effort, he pulled himself back to the present and listened to what was being said. "The Killing Curse is a curse that needs a pow'rful bit of magic behind it – you lot could all point your at me now and say the words, and I doubt I'd get so much as a nosebleed." Amaya internally challenged Moody, and Astaron simply wondered if he could do it now to prove him wrong.

"But that don' matter. I'm not here to teach ya how to do it. Now if there's no counter, why'm I showin' ya? Because you've got to know; You've got to appreciate what the worst is; You don't want to find yourself in a situation where you're facin' it. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" The entirety of the class jumped. "Now... those three curses – Avada Kedavra, Imperious, Cruciatus – are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of 'em on a human being is enough to earn ya a life sentence is Azkaban. That's what you're up against. That's what I've got to teach you to fight. You need to be prepared. You need to be armed. But most of all, you need to practice constant, never-ceasing vigilance. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" This time only a few jumped. Moody gave a scraping chuckle.

"Got out ya quills... copy this down..."

The class was silent for the rest of the time.

---------

Amber eyes darted around Diagon Alley, sandy blonde hair brushing over heavily scarred skin. The noise caused a pounding for the werewolf, but he continued his journey. Anger was stirring inside of him, his wolf simply wanting to rip apart every person who had done wrong toward him and those in his pack. But he contained them, no matter how hard it was; the full moon less than only 3 days away.

He stalked into Gringotts, going to the only available teller. Bowing his head shortly, he looked at the Goblin. "A letter was sent to me. From Chief Ragnok." The Goblin gave him a disbelieving look to which he unfurled the letter and showed it.

"Silverhook. Follow me." He walked behind the Goblin, following him through Gringotts. He kept clenching his hands, trying to stop the way they were shaking; an unknown fear entered him, before being pushed away. Wolves were prideful creatures and hated weakness.

They stopped at two large wooden doors to which Silverhook knocked. The doors swung open and there was a regal looking Goblin sitting behind a large desk. "Silverhook you may go." The goblin left without a word and the werewolf sat down across from the Goblin.

"Mr. Lupin, I believe we have much to discuss. Especially about one Sirius Lupin-Black."

Remus couldn't agree more.

------

Narcissa Malfoy was destroying everything she sent her eyes upon. There was a special room in the Malfoy Manor, something Lucius had built for her a little after they were wed. A shriek left her mouth as she shattered two mirrors. She flung two glass cups across the room, taking little pleasure in watching them break.

Grey wings, the most perfect shade there was, erupted from her back as fire exploded from her hands. Anger burned inside of her as she turned everything to dust, soot, ashes, and just- broken, she just broken it and made sure it could never be repaired by anything but raw will and magic.

Memories clogged her head as she rampaged, wiping out her wand and shouting the darkest curses she knew. It didn't even matter that it wasn't landing on a human. Acid spluttered from her wand, decaying the wall it landed on.

-hatefuryshock-

Another desk was turned into splintery pieces. The spells were replaced by screams of the most profane curses to ever grace the Earth. People morphed into her sight, causing more spells to shoot from her wand as she cursed their names, their birth, every-fucking-thing about them.

She didn't bother acknowledging the soothing hand that touched her, in favor of shooting fire from her wand and watching a chair burn. There was someone sitting on it but she couldn't even bring herself to remember the name.

"Narcissa." She wiped around, her normally immaculate hair in disarray, her blue eyes wild and burning, the air around her thick with furious magic. "Calm my love. I understand you are feeling much, but please do not create irreversible damage to this room." A laugh made its way from her throat.

"Alright my dear." The strong arms of her husband wrapped around her, and she relaxed, even if only marginally.

She could always destroy some more later. 

Chapter Text

(READ  NOTE AT END OF CHAPTER PLEASE!!)

(TIGGER WARNING: Abuse, Insanity)

Amaya snuck through Hogwarts; her eyes alight with something undiscernible. She allowed her creature to come forward and settle themselves in the forefront of her mind. Leaving her hand on a wall as she walked; her scent laid itself where her hand had been, dragging itself through the halls. A smile curled onto her lips as she slid into the correct corridor.

Checking around for any beings, she paced in front of the wall 3 times. Large doors appeared and she tugged on them, opening them to a simple little room. Just a small sofa with a coffee table and a fireplace. The fire crackled and danced, two little mugs popping onto the coffee table.

Approaching carefully, Amaya peered into the cups, sniffing the steam they were emitting. It was tea. She wasn’t sure what kind, but it had a soft herbal smell to it. Sitting down she lifted a cup and sipped it, deciding she would just sit and wait. It wasn’t yet 1700 so she was fine.

Momentarily contemplating taking off her wrist band, she vetoed the idea. If he couldn’t love her as Hermione Granger, then he didn’t deserve her as Amaya Riddle. No, he had to love all parts of her. Though she was fairly sure that he would, she wanted- no needed, to be sure.

Taking a deep breath, she smiled shakily when she saw a calming draught on the table. Downing the potion, she flushed the aftertaste with a sip of tea. Her eyes flickered to the time shown by the Tempus she cast, anxiety and impatience rising in her when she saw that she only had 2 minutes left. Placing her cup down, Amaya adjusted her outfit (a pair of casual robes; expensive casual robes but casual nonetheless) and sat straight. The books about Pureblood etiquette described exactly how you were to sit, stand, walk, and all that. She was working on how to teach it to herself and Astaron.

Staring at the two Heiress Rings on her hand, she watched as they disappeared; disillusioned to all, including herself. Her fingers drummed nervously, and her stomach was practicing gymnastics; she thought it could be a professional with how it was somersaulting.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts, and she smoothed her outfit obsessively. The door opened quietly, and Amaya watched as her mate came in.

Shock bloomed on his face. “Granger? What’re you…?” He trailed off as he realized what was going on.

Amaya gave a soft smile when he looked at her in curiosity.

-------

Astaron hummed softly as he opened a letter addressed to him. A large owl stared sharply at everyone else, almost biting Ron when his hand came to close to the letter. Surveying the writing, a smile wormed its way on his lips when he realized who it was.

Hey Pup!

How’re you doing? Your last letter wasn’t what someone would call informative, but it sated my thirst on the knowledge of your life.

The Tri-Wizard Tournament does sound exciting, but I agree with you; keep your eyes and ears open for anything suspicious, especially after the Death Eater attack on the Quidditch World Cup. I wouldn’t put it past some wizard to figure out a way to put your life in danger again. So again, make sure you’re ready for anything that happens. Stay alert. If anything does happen, write me immediately and I’ll find a way to see you.

I got an odd missive from Gringotts. It said you set it up? What’s that about, Pup? I’m to be there on October 14 ^th , won’t say what for so I’m hoping you’ll shed some light on it?

Anyways, I’m in the tropics and am enjoying life. Maybe when I’m free, I can take you here and show all the wonderful things it has to offer.

Love you!

Snuffles

P.S. Refer to me as such when talking about me in Public. Also the owl is Rico. He’ll stay in the Owlery of Hogwarts during the year unless flying to me)

Astaron smiled softly, a warmth filling his chest. His godfather was still his godfather and he seemed to be doing better now that he wasn’t worrying about the authorities of Britain. But still being alert; or at least he hoped.

He folded the letter carefully and placed it in his bag. He talk about it with Ron and Amaya on the way to Charms.

------

Astaron tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for Steeltooth. His sister was with him, and they were both waiting for their Memory Ritual.

Finally the door’s opened and Steeltooth walked in, a female goblin behind him. “Heir Riddle, Heiress, this is Opal, she is a mind specialist. You will be going to our chamber, which is different from your cleansing ritual. Though, you will be wearing the same robes. So if you would change, that would be much appreciated.” He gestured to a side room, and they went inside, grasping the robes inside.

The robes were still lightweight and flowy, the cloak black with a simple hood. They exited and followed Steeltooth and Opal, both goblins talking rapidly in their native language.

Opal began speaking to them just as they arrived at the door. "You are to go one at a time, the magic must concentrate on one person each time it is activated; if both of you were to go in at the same time, the outcome… let us just say that it would not be very… ah, beneficial for your minds.” Astaron nodded solemnly, his sister copying the action. “Which of you would like to go first?”

Sharing a look with his sister, Astaron stepped forward, “I’ll go first.” Opal gave a short nod before leading him into the chamber. It was large with runes inscribed on the walls and floors; a long, short, wooden slab with runes carved onto it, except for the top part.

“Lay on the table and wait as I prepare the necessities for the ritual.” He did as he was told, slipping off the cloak and setting it aside. The edge of a container touched his lips, and he opened his mouth. A liquid was poured into his mouth, and he swallowed the slimy solution. “It loosens any protections or barriers you may have placed on your mind, intentionally or not. Close your eyes and do your best to relax.”

Astaron closed his eyes and loosened his limbs, trying his hardest not to react when his wand was taken from the pocket of the robes. Thin, sharp fingers laid themselves on his temples and chanting came from above him. He winced slightly before he was drawn into his mind. It was just pure darkness before it exploded into light. Then he was watching his memories from 3^rd person.

00-Memories-00

“Who the darkest little prince in the world? You are. Oh, yes you are.” Childish babbles filled the air, slurred gibberish words of ‘mama’. A soft laugh came and twinkling green eyes looked down. “Who’s my little one? My little prince? You are, oh yes you are!”

Red hair was tugged on by little hands, happy gurgles coming from the child as a fist was put into a small mouth.

A large man strode into the line of sight and an excited screech filled the air. “Papa! Papa!“ A smile came onto the face before the man turned to the redheaded woman.

“My love, are you sure you are content with the plan?” Green eyes darkened and the happy sounds, died down to a near-silent coo at the anger in the eyes.

The child was set down and little fists grabbed air as they tried to cling to their mother.

The shouts that were heard was frightening; The only thing more frightening was the magic that crackled, felt even through a memory.

-----

“Un’ca Pa’foo! Un’ca Moo’y! Un’ca Sev!” Joyous laughs filled the air as a little child was lifted from a crib, wiggling in the large hands of an amber eyed werewolf.

“Lupin, you are going to crush the child. Unhand him this instant and hold him correctly.”

Laughter came from the two other Men. “If you wanted to hold him, just say so Severus. Arms out and baby in.” An odd look came onto the pale man’s face as he held the child awkwardly.

“Pa’foo, mama coo’ Slurp’ and pracorn! F’ur Movi nigh!!” An excited screech came after the sentence as the nearly two-year-old child squirmed and wiggled to be let down.

The moment his feet hit the ground; he ran clumsily to the man standing in the doorway. His stomach had a gentle swell to it and was pushing out. “P’ongs! Up!”

“There’s the little one. Mama says its bath time. Should I bring you to her?”

“No! No bath time!”

-----

“James! Lily! How wonderful to see you! I’m afraid I have some terrible news for you…”

The little child watched from the sofa; green eyes drawn to the old, white, long-haired man. “Albus? What’s the matter?”

“There seems to be a prophecy…” The memory began slurring and glitching. “To defeat the Dark Lord…”

It glitched once more and the old man waved his wand. “Verum Invenio Extrahere.”

-----

“I’m s-sorry, m’ sorry, p-please… PLEASE” A cry of agony came from the chapped lips of a 4-year-old, broken promises falling from his mouth like the tears in his eyes; begs escaped, warped with the pain ringing through his body.

“Never again, boy!” Came the shrill sounding voice of a stick-like, blonde woman. “Go to your cupboard! And stay there till I come get you!”

The child stumbled and crawled into the tiny space called his bedroom.

A raw, red hand was cradled against the small form, cupped by a little hand; Glassy eyes stared unseeingly into the darkness, soft pain-slurred pleas still leaving the mouth.

Astaron watched as the shadows ruffled, a black hand coming and stroking the hair of the boy. Tiny eyes blinked from the pools of darkness, and soothing whispers emitted from them faintly.

-----

Whimpers came from the curled-up figure, vibrant green eyes staring dully at the old man his Aunt and Uncle were talking to. Only fragments of the conversation was caught by the young ears.

The old man came near, and he hurriedly stood, ignoring the debilitating pain that threatened to cripple him.

“Hello Harry. You seem to have done something that’s not allowed; can’t have you being a necromancer can we. But no worries. I can fix it.”

A long stick was taken out and waved easily. “Obliviate.”

-----

Amaya paced outside the door, agitation making itself known on her face. She could feel the magic coming from the room, even if only barely. She froze, however, when a pained scream came from the room. Fear and shock gripped her heart as she forced the doors open, despite a frantic Steeltooth trying to stop her.

Her brother was on a table, his back arched into something painful and a sheen of sweat coating him. “What’re you DOING?” Her magic lashed out, swarming around her brother protectively, tendrils shooting out at the female goblin chanting above him.

“Stop! You’ll damage his mind irreparably if she stops her chanting now!” She stopped her magic from attacking but watched attentively as the goblin magic drilled into her brother’s head. She relaxed when his cries and screams ceased, his face now only screwed up in discomfort.

Opal stepped away after a few moments and nodded shakily. “Heir Riddle attempted to fight the magic. I do not know why; I only know that he did. Leave him to rest. He should wake within the hour; if not, then I worry for his mental state.”

Amaya looked at him worriedly, before nodding gently. “Alright. I trust I will be alerted when he wakes? This is supposed to be off the books, and we must return to Hogwarts lest our absence is noticed.”

Steeltooth nodded. “Barely more than an hour has passed since your arrival. Do you wish to forgo your ritual and reschedule?” She pursed her lips, thinking through the pros and cons.

“I will do it, but in the event that I pass out, I wish to be brought back to consciousness immediately. Do I have your word?” Opal and Steeltooth remained silent. “Well? I do not know how to read minds.”

Opal nods. “You may undergo it but I cannot swear for it goes against my vow to Lady Magic herself.” Steeltooth nods, his only indication that he swears or promises.

A few minutes later, she is laying on the wooden slab, swallowing a slimy concoction. A few chants later, she is sucked into her mind, viewing memories she didn’t know existed.

-----

Astaron leaned heavily on his sister, half-limping alongside her. He attempted to push off her only for it too be proved futile when she didn’t let go or his legs threatened to give out. They stopped at the portrait of the Fat Lady and he whispered the password, slurring it mostly. She swung open, and they entered.

He grunted when they finally made it up the stairs to the boys dormitory, and he was unceremoniously laid on his bed. He scooted under the covers, curling up in their warmth.

“Good night.”

He smiled sloppily and tiredly at his sister. “Guh’ Nigh’.”

The door clicking closed was his only notice that his sister had left.

He closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep and surrounded by dreams neither good nor bad.

----

Somewhere inside the head of Astaron Riddle, a frozen over lake formed, a thick layering of snow covering it. Dense fog surrounded the lake, shimmering silhouettes of incomprehensible monsters  hidden inside.

If one was brave enough to move the snow, they would have seen the horrors hiding underneath the black waters of the ice; the memories of which the monsters of the fog were born. Screams rippled through the water, all sounding to be of different ages but from the same young child; pleas all laced with pain, misery, and agony; begs for mercy, for help, for something, anything. Tortured sounds echoing through the black waters of suffering.

They would have felt grief, pain, sorrow, agony, distress, beyond anything a child should feel; The crushed hope, smothered will, would weigh them down heavier than any physical thing could; The self-loathing, the twisted craving of pain, the depression, the longing for death would have drowned them and dragged them to the cold depths of the water.

That’s what formed in his mind, and it needed to be found.

Found before it destroyed his sanity and him.

Chapter Text

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Original Post Date: 6/14/2022

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Astaron stared at his best friend as he jabbered on excitedly about the schools that were coming later. He personally thought that he was more excited about the fact that classes end half-a-day early, but he kept that thought to himself. Ron was practically skipping as he walked, his excitement practically rolling off him in thick waves. He merely nodded along, not really saying anything to him, only when his opinion was specifically asked for in which cases he merely responded with anything that seemed appropriate at the specified moment.

They were on there way to History of Magic, which was the usual bore, and then they would be doing Double Charms. He wondered silently if Professor Flitwick would mind if he missed the first session of Charms; he still needed to finish reviewing the portfolio for the Slytherin and Peverell estates, then he needed to go on to the Potter estates; additionally, he had asked for a complete inventory of everything in the vaults of Potter, Peverell, and Slytherin which took up 3 rather thick files so those needed to be addressed soon. He had not thought working with 3 Houses would be this much work, but he was so very thankful that he hadn’t taken up the mantle for Gryffindor or O’Meara. He would have probably had a mental breakdown or some shit like that already. Some little part of his mind wondered if Amaya was doing the same thing with the vaults she was Heiress of.

He ended up just completing left-over assignments during History of Magic, somehow persuading Ron to do the same so that they wouldn’t have any homework to do for the rest of the week; that got Ron working with enthusiasm.

Charms was nice. They began starting on the summoning charm, Accio, and that wasn’t too much trouble. Having exercised his core the night prior, he was slightly exhausted and wasn’t immediately catching on to the charm. The most he managed was to get it to fly to his about halfway before the charm failed. Astaron wasn’t too beaten down about as he knew there was a reason behind it.

He had taken a pepper-up potion this morning, as he had been doing for the past week. After the memory ritual, he had been having a hard time sleeping, if he had managed to fall asleep, he found no peace as twisted memories would and wake him during the middle of his rest.

His mind was slowly coming to a rest, but it would probably take a while before the flashes stopped. Truthfully, he waited for that time eagerly because he really needed to stop taking the pepper-ups. He could really see how it was affecting him. Perhaps he could just take a dreamless sleep before he went to bed and be well-rested for the morning. That would possibly work.

Sighing, he walked behind Ron, silently questioning how the foreign students were to enter the beauty called Hogwarts. He figured his opinion was biased since he had always thought of this place as home since he first laid his eyes on it; no matter that 3 life-threatening situations had been enacted here, him starring the entire thing, but that could easily be discarded if he thought of all the beauty here and how it was his escape in the Magical World, where the Dursleys’ couldn’t reach him and he could be free. Well mostly, but that was discarded in his mind. It didn’t help to dwell on everything negative all the time, not when he was supposed to be working on fixing his life.

‘Stop distracting yourself’, his brain whispered to him harshly. Shaking his head, he surveyed the crowd that they were approaching, noting the fact that the Headmaster was at the front, beacon in his ghastly robes.

He was really to tired to even care about all of this right now.

Shocked exclamations and startled shouts got his attention, and he looked up, straining to see what caused the commotion. A large carriage pulled by 4 large, winged horses came into view, and he stared at the gorgeous creatures. They came to a landing on the ground, stomping their feet on the ground wildly. Hagrid lumbered up to them, grabbing their reins as a means to calm them.

A large woman, larger than Hagrid, came out of the carriage, followed by a group of girls in blue outfits; they shivered when they came into contact with the harsh and cold gusts of Scottish Winds; obviously their outfits provided next to no warmth.

Dumbledore gave a benign smile, his blue eyes twinkling madly. “Madame Maxine, how lovely to see you again my dear.” He kissed the knuckles on her right hand, her hand filled with large golden rings weighed with thick jewels.

“Dumblydore, pleasure to make your acquaintance once more.”

Astaron only rolls his eyes and watches carefully to see how the other school -Durmstrang- is going to arrive. Soon enough, the water of the Black Lake begins bubbling and chatters rise from the students. Slowly, a ship begins emerging and Astaron doesn’t even try to conceal his awe. That kind of spellwork took immense skill and power, of that he had no doubt.

A group of males came out, dressed in thick coats with heavy furs. Ron gasped, and he turned to his best friend, trying to figure out why he gasped. Following his line of sight, a familiar figure came was spotted next to the Headmaster of Durmstrang; his mind worked into a flurry for a split second before he recognized the form. ‘Krum. Ron’s celebrity crush. I wonder how jealous Blaise is going to be of this…’

Snickering at his thoughts, he stared at the figure. Astaron jumped when Ron gave his arm a sharp pinch. He hissed, glaring at his friend who didn’t seem to notice. “Harry- it’s Krum!”

Astaron rolled his eyes.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Ron was fangirling, fanboying, whatever it was called, about Krum for the entire beginning of dinner. The Durmstrang students sat down with the Slytherins, much to Ron’s distress. The Beauxbatons students seated themselves with the Ravenclaw students, where they seemed to be eating dainty meals and eating just as delicately. Astaron occasionally watched them, trying to survey their reactions to Hogwarts, as well as if they had anything interesting in their colorful hues.

Most Durmstrang students all had hues tainted with a deep purple but occasionally lit up with other colors, like yellowy-gold, darker pink, navy blue, black, and forest green. The Beauxbatons students all had soft peach hues with sprinklings of a multitude of different colors, so much so that Astaron couldn’t even begin to figure out what color was what.

He sighed quietly, and twirled his cup, sipping the pumpkin juice lightly; it tasted like heavily diluted orange juice with a container of cinnamon and nutmeg. In other words, like the most disgusting thing on the planet. His plate had already been cleared of his food, some chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy. He had deduced that he needed to figure out where the kitchens are so he can ask the house-elves about getting raw meat. He couldn’t very well prey on students for a drink; Astaron doubted that Draco would be available every time he had a craving of blood too.

After the feast, Dumbledore stood up and the crowded hall became silent. Filch approached Dumbledore carrying a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels. It looked extremely old. A murmur of excited interest rose from the watching students.

“The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman,” Dumbledore said as Filch placed the chest carefully on the table before him, “and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways …their magical prowess—their daring—their power of deduction—and, of course, their ability to cope with danger.”

At this last word, the Hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing. Out of the corner of his eyes Astaron saw a boy next to Krum, whisper something to him.

“As you know, three champions compete in the tournament, one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champion will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire.”

Dumbledore took out his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. It disappeared slowly, revealing a large, roughly hewn wooden cup filled to the brim with a dancing blue-white fire.

“Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet,” Dumbledore said. “Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight; where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete. To ensure that no underage students yields to temptation, I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross the line.”

Outrage roar from the underage students, but Astaron didn’t care. He had about 50 different things to deal with, and the Triwizard Tournament was nowhere on his list.

So he simply tuned out to the rest of Dumbledore’s speech and turned his attention to more pressing matters.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Ron slumped on his bed, blue eyes wandering around his dorm room. Harry -Astaron- was taking forever in the shower. He vaguely wondered if his creature inheritance had something to do with it. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes, not entirely sure what to do with all the information that he had been given during the Quidditch World Cup. He had mostly just kept it from entering his thoughts by distracting himself with a multitude of things… now it didn’t seem to be working.

The sound of the door opening threw him from his mind, and he stared at his best friend. He would have to see Blaise tomorrow and ask for his help. Ron’s cheeks flushed slightly at the thought of his other.

“What’s got you blushing like that?” His eyes shifted to Harry -Astaron, Astaron, he was having a tough time remembering this for some reason- and he shoved his face into his pillow, mumbling an answer. “What was that?” He sounded much closer than before….

Ron looked up, only to fall off his bed when he saw green eyes peering at him, 3 inches from his pillow. “Bloody Hell, mate! Why’d you do that?” He was only met with a cheeky grin and amused eyes.

Groaning, he faceplanted on his bed.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Excited chattering filled the Great Hall, as all the students spoke excitedly about. Astaron picked at the food on his plate, his stomach churning uncomfortably. Flicking his eyes upward, they were met with gleaming silver orbs and a smile briefly lit up his face. Draco, his gorgeous mate, smiled, his eyes softening and filling with an emotion that Astaron wasn’t familiar with.

The Goblet of Fire stood proudly in front of the Staff Table, surrounded a mixed aura of ocean blue, honey-gold, lime green, and flacks of white. It gave Astaron a massive headache if he was near it, so he pointedly stayed away from it the entire time it was out. The entirety of the day he had kept headache relievers on his person to drain when he had to go near it. Ron and Amaya had given him concerned glances when he drank them, or kept his eyes closed when he walked near and past the Goblet.

The golden plates they were eating off of went spotless, causing Ron to make a very undignified noise.

A loud hush suddenly went over the hall, and Astaron swiveled around, watching as Dumbledore went to the Goblet. On either side of him, were Karkaroff and Madame Maxine; the former tense and blank-faced, the latter also tense but expectant. Crouch looked bored and Bagman had a look of childish excitement as he winked at several of the students.

Astaron watched, excitement stirring in his gut with this queasy anxiousness, at the Goblet turned from blue to red. A piece of charred paper was spat out by a flame, fluttering in the air for a few seconds before Dumbledore caught it.

“The Durmstrang Champion is… Viktor Krum!” Ron cheered in his ear, causing Astaron to wince, though he still clapped for the Bulgarian Seeker. Hunched, Krum made his way over, walking next to the staff table and went through a little door to a chamber, his headmaster following right behind him.

The Goblet sparked red again and a little blue paper twirled in the air, again finding itself in Dumbledore’s hands. “The Beauxbatons Champion is… Fleur Delacour!” The blonde girl, who most certainly descended from a veela, strolled up with a pleased look on her face; Madame Maxine looked proud, and both went into the little chamber on the side of the Hall.

Every Hogwarts student seemed to be silent, waiting for the last champion to be called. Finally, the Goblet sparked red and one last piece of parchment flew out. Dumbledore caught it, and Astaron thought he saw something akin to disappointment in Dumbledore’s eyes before replacing itself with pride. “The Hogwarts Champion is… Cedric Diggory!”

Ron shouted that sounded like ‘No!’ but Astaron was pretty sure he was the only one who heard it. Every Hufflepuff was either clapping, shouting, stamping, or doing all of the above, as Cedric made his way to the chamber, his chest puffed out in pride.

Dumbledore gave his grandfatherly smile, his blue eyes twinkling madly; it took everything in Astaron not to attack him right then and there, so he settled for seething quietly. He really had to get in control of his murderous thoughts… “Excellent! Well, now that we have three champions, I am positive that they will receive every ounce of encouragement each student here can muster up, including Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students. By cheering for your champion, you will not only contribute in a very re-” Dumbledore stopped speaking and everybody in the Hall knew why.

The Goblet turned red, spitting out another piece of paper. Astaron got a sinking feeling in his gut, and the queasy anxiousness came back full force; he wondered if his food was going to come back up and if Professor Snape carried a Stomach Soother on hand.

Dumbledore stared at the paper for a few moments before calling out the name. The room seemed to start spinning.

“Harry Potter!”

Chapter Text

Hi! 

So if you haven't noticed it already, I changed the tags for the story. 

I re-evaluated the story plot and all my notes and scrapped at least half of it, so that I could write a better and less plot-holed story. Plus, it adds more drama and shocks for Dumbles so....

Anyway, the main change was Ginny Weasley. So before she was going to be bashed into the dirt and turned into a non-sensical splatter of blood and bone but I've decided that I'm going to add a coupla twists and such so she's going to be redeemed! How I will not tell until it's time but it's going to happen. 

Alsoooo, Astaron's character is going to be changed slightly, like he's super confident and sarcastic and murderous and all that lovely shit, but he also has a lot of anger and is traumatized from his childhood with the Dursley's. His magic did manifest in multiple different ways to protect hm from harm and some of that was shown when I did that small part about the fragility of his mind. 

(Shown in here; last part of chapter - Chapter 12)

As this story goes on, it gets a lot darker and it delves farther into the more complex things about Creatures, the laws, the way things were made, and how magic works with your feelings, reactions, and memories. 

Character Interludes will be made about Tom, Severus, Sirius and a few other adults. I'm debating whether or not I should do some with the children. (I might make a poll about it; I don't know yet. I'll keep you guys updated)

Dumbledore is bad, evil, dark, however you want to phrase it but do keep in mind he is powerful, in many different aspects and Astaron and Amaya are a bit over their heads in what they're trying to accomplish right now. Just a reminder. 

I will write explicit (graphic) scenes of abuse, sex, depression, violence, and there will be some underage aspects in this story so, again forewarning. 

Um, update for this story will be out tomorrow or Tuesday; Of that I am completely certain. I am also updating all my other stories and then I'm going to a family reunion for a time so I won't be able to update my stories after this week and then I'll be coming back sometime after... how long I'm not sure. Things are a bit sketchy right now. 

My writing style will change as I continue to write (a testament to how much I am learning as I go) so don't be surprised you see things that I've never done before. 

And I'm like slightly unhinged with a love of traumatized characters, breakdowns, and just big blow-up. That's why I'm amazing at writing crazy or insane characters.... 

Sooo, I think that's it.... 

Good morning/afternoon/evening/night!!

<3 <3 <3 <3

Chapter Text

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Original Post Date: 8/3/2022

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TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS OF ABUSE

Astaron wasn't exactly sure what happened to get him to the anti-chamber.

The room had started spinning, and an insistent ringing in his ears; his legs, feeling like lead and jelly, lifted him from the table and through the silent hall (the so very silent hall), taking the slip of parchment from Dumbledore with trembling hands. Stumbled over and stammered over sentences fell from his tongue with a dry mouth, a tongue that felt like sandpaper, and a throat blocked by a thick lump, only to be stopped by a harsh comment. 

Desperate confusion pounded through him, his head feeling so light as he walked into the chamber. 

He rested against the wall, the cool stone allowing him to focus on soothing his twisting and flopping stomach threatening to hurl his food back up. His body felt light and his mind detached, as though he was simply watching what was happening, but not actually experiencing it. (Astaron thought it felt rather nice in a weird way)

People entered the room, shouting, a rough masculine voice competing with a thickly accented feminine voice. More voices added to the mix, different voices created a loud echo of voices and he winced as the ringing got louder. 

He focused more when a hand snatched at his collar and tie, knuckles pressed roughly against his throat. 

(Uncle Vernon lunged at him- face purple, beady eyes dark with rage-fearfearfear hecouldntbreathesuddenly-)

"Harry, did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

(Thick meaty fingers dug into the flesh of his neck "Stupid Freak!"- thin fingernails scratched at his Uncle's wrists  whywasn'thelettinggo?!-)

He tried to focus on the person in front of him; he only managed to shake his head. 

(He was being dragged up the stairs- water, a tub- scalding water burned his skin- airairair-therewasnoair-hecouldn'tbreath!-)

"Did you ask an older student, or an adult to put it in for you?"

(Water filled his lungs- he tried to scream and thrashed in the water- his uncle held him down; he was screaming at him from above-)

"N-no sir." Blue eyes pierced through his, drilling holes into his head.

The hand let go of his clothes.

(Airairair- he could breathe again!-)

It turned out it was Dumbledore who had grabbed him; he was too much in shock to actually care or be surprised. At least he hadn't thrown up. He managed to focus enough, after counting to 10 and back, seeing there were many people in the room. Only 3 looked actually concerned. (Cedric (Hes a Hufflepuff), McGonagall, and Snape(or at least he hoped it was concern)). 

Snape strode forward, plucking a vial from the pocket of his robes and held the edge close to his lips. "Drink Potter." He stared at the dark-haired man. He got a sigh. "It's a stomach soother. I'd prefer to not see your food make a reappearance on the floor."

Astaron drank it; the potion was exceptionally horrid, causing him to gag. 

"How do we know the boy isn't lying?" He peers at Karkaroff, who had an ugly sneer on his face. 

Then, he put his wand to his chest and proceeded to incant: "I, Harry James Potter, (Astaron Emilion Riddle his mind supplied), swear on my magic that I, under any means with my knowledge of the fact, enter myself into the Tri-Wizard Tournament. So I say it, so mote it be." His magic pulsed for a few seconds before he rew his wand away from his chest and lit it with a quick Lumos charm. 

Professor McGonagall spoke, looking at him approvingly. "Harry obviously did not enter himself into the Tournament if his little demonstration is anything to go off of. What do we do now?"

The shouting that went off caused him to wince; he still had a headache from... whatever that was before. 

Sharp bangs went off with red sparks and everybody looked at Dumbledore. He gestured to Ludo Bagman, who looked excited. Astaron glowered, knowing the news was not going to be in his favor. 

"According to the rule book of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, he must participate as his name exited the Goblet; once your name exits the Goblet, you are sworn by your magic as it is a magical oath." 

Astaron closed his eyes, trying to think past his headache. 

"But vhy must he compete vhen et is obveeous tat he did not vant to." He opened his eyes in surprise. It was Krum that was speaking. "Et is dishonorable to compete wif somone who does not vant to compete." 

Cedric pipes up, Astaron tries not to be surprised. "Exactly. Besides, every year he always gets caught up in something, like someone keeps trying to kill him. And it's not really fair for him to compete if he didn't want to." 

The look of Bagman's face sours. "It's not a matter of whether or not he wants to compete. It's a magical binding. He has no choice." 

He closes his eyes, as protests rise again. He rubs his temples in hopes that it soothes his pounding head. Something silky rubs against his skin, smoother than anything he'd ever felt before. Astaron leans back, hoping for the silky material rubs against him just a bit more. He thought it was rather comforting.

His mind is soothed just enough for him to snag onto a train of thought; the idea wasn't a bad one. "What is it bound by?" There is silence, he assumes everybody heard him and is looking at him; he backtracks so that he doesn't sound like an idiot. "What is it bound by? Like is it bound to the person who put my name it? Bound to the magic of the person on the slip? Bound by intention?" He opens his eyes just a touch.

Bagman looks at him bewildered, as though he'd never thought of that. "The rule book doesn't state anything like that-" Astaron opens his eyes all the way to stare at the man. 

"Why do you need to consult the rule book? I assume the Goblet was made by Wizards, so obviously, as a wizard, you should be able to figure out how it works." 

No answer came. He sighed.

"May I go to my dorm? I'm tired and obviously nothing is going to be solved." Astaron received a nod from his head of house. 

"Of course." 

He gave a polite nod and ignored the odd look on Dumbledore's face. 

Astaron sighed once he was out of the room. Why was his life so fucking troublesome?

OoOoOoOoOoO

The whispers weren't something that was new to Astaron. 

1st year was filled with whispers:

-at Gryffindor, like his parents-

-next to the Weasley, see 'im-

-with the lightning scar on his-

-fought a troll-

-said he killed Quirrell-

-saving people always 'parently-

2nd year had whispers too: 

-a parselmouth!-

-gonna go dark like you-know-who-

-petrifying all the muggleborns-

-calling them mud-you-know-whats-

-saved Ginny from a Giant Snake-

-never could've been dark-

-he's a hero!-

3rd Year was actually pretty okay by his standards but people were still talking about him because of events that he didn't even instigate:

-tried to get into the Tower-

-Dementors 'round the school-

-Fell from nearly 100ft-

-cast a Patronus-

-'bout 100 dementors!-

-fought a bloody werewolf-

So, the whispers that seemingly echoed through the corridors as he walked weren't exactly new.

But that didn't mean they were welcome. 

OoOoOoOoOoO

Barty landed in the Entrance Hall of the his Lord's Manor, talking a firm step forward despite the spots dancing in his eyes. His polyjuice flash hug from his hips and he strode forward, walking to the study. 

He knocked firmly, waiting for approval to come in. Once given, Barty stepped in and kneeled in front of a floating, child-size chair. 
My Lord, Potter's name has been put out by the Goblet. Though he seems to have quite the mind for loopholes as he was trying to find any excuse there was to not participate." 

An intrigued look came across his lord's face."Oh? And exactly what did he say?" 

"He asked what the magic was bound to or by. He wondered if it was attached to the person who put the parchment in, if it was attached to the name on the parchment. Then he proceeded to tell Ludo Bagman that he needs to figure it out. He did seem to have an anxiety attack of sorts before. He was quite pale and shaky. Especially when Dumbledore pushed him against a trophy case..." He trailed off as he remembered the way Potter's eyes flashed, as though remembering something unwanted. 

The Dark Lord looked at him unflinchingly. "Show me." 

"Of course, M'lord." He looked into the red eyes of his lord and didn't waver at the pressure between his eyes. It was over within 5 minutes and Barty watched the Dark Lord carefully. 

"Interesting, Interesting... Keep watching him, Barty. Report to me at the end of the week." He nodded, bowing his head. 

"Of course, my Lord." Barty exited the room quickly, taking a quick swig of the polyjuice. He shuddered at his skin stretched and expanded, popping the fake eyes into his now empty eye indentation, and clicked the wooden leg back in place. 

He apparated back to Hogwarts, walking back to his office. 

For now, he had papers to grade and an assignment to do. 

OoOoOoOoO

Logically, Ron knew that Astaron hadn't put his name into the cup. It was just too unlikely, and he'd seen his bent over his desk, reading files and papers endlessly. He'd been told it was all the important papers and files for his properties and heirships. Ron offered his assistance, but he'd been waved off, the excuse of 'he didn't want to bore Ron with all the propriety of it all.' And Ron accepted the excuse though he knew his friend better than that. Not that he said any of that. 

Astaron had been pale and shaken, his words wavering and unsure; plus, he'd been with Astaron all of the previous night and day playing chess and dragging him from writing his letters and note making, so there was no way that he could've gone to put his name in the Goblet.

The Great Hall had erupted into furious whispers, all of them calling Harry a cheat, liar, and attention-seeker, among other things. Hexes flew from his wand, his brothers and Hermio- Amaya, helping him. The teachers told all the prefects to take their houses back to the common rooms. Ron wanted to protest about waiting for Astaron but he kept his mouth shut, walking dutifully next to his best female friend. 

Astaron had arrived at the dorm about 45 minutes later, looking exhausted. He'd questioned his about what happened, but he got a sluggish shrug in response as well as him just closing his curtains and flopping onto his bed. 

Ron was so confused about everything that was happening, he wasn't even sure about anything anymore. He sighed, fiddling with the end of his tie as he walked. 

A hand quickly reached out and grabbed Ron, dragging him behind a tapestry. Before he could say anything, another hand clamped down on his mouth and he got a good look at dark skin. 

Blaise. Lousy dipshit. 

Hazel eyes stared down at him, a soft shade of green glazed over them. "Amore, I am sorry for being so rough, but I couldn't find another time to get to you."

He glared at his boyfriend. "So you decided dragging me behind a tapestry was the best idea. You know, for a Slytherin you're pretty impulsive sometimes." He got an indignant huff in return. 

"So, what do you want?" 

"What happened last night, with Potter?" Ron shrugged, looking down at his tie. 

He took a deep breath, looking to stare at the dark hand gripping his waist. "I don't know. I, uh, I think somebody else entered him but a lot of stuff has been happening lately and I don't know what to think anymore. It's... It's really odd right now Blaise. Lotta things happening with him and Mia, and-" His voice became strangled and he squeezed his eyes shut. He would not cry. "And I'm not sure if I can deal with all of it at this point." Ron took a shuddering breath. 

"Il mio prezioso, you can cry." He looked up at his dark-skinned Italian, with his unfairly pretty eyes. He wrapped his arms around Blaise, resting his head on his shoulder. Blaise was one of the few students taller than him, standing just over 2 inches taller than him. 

"Do you think- Do you think things will ever be the same?" He memorized the creases of Blaise's neck while he waited for an answer. 

There was a pause and a hand went to the back of his neck. "No. No, I don't think things will ever be the same but the things now and the things to come will become the new normal and you three will become closer or you'll drift apart. It just happens sometimes, Ron. And sometimes, you can't do anything about it. But for now, you can show that he has your support, that both of them have your support and that'll help I think." 

He leaned off of Blaise, looking up with a small smile. "Thanks, Blaise..." 

A soft smile twisted on his boyfriend's lips. "Of course."

He gave Blaise a small kiss before stepping away. "I have to go to History and you have Runes I believe." Turning away, he made to move out from behind the tapestry only to pause for a moment.  

"And next time you want to talk, send me a letter; don't pull me behind a tapestry."

Ron easily ignored the light rumble of laughter behind him. 

Chapter Text

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Original Post Date: 8/4/2022

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TRIGGER WARNING: VULGARITY, SELF-LOATHING, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, SELF-HARM

Ginny wasn't a bad person. Promise, she wasn't a bad person. 

(Or at least she often tried to convince herself of that)

She often tried to refute the fact but then every single reason on the planet would fill her mind and she'd end up crying on her bed. And she wasn't a big crier, but she had done so many bad things and they couldn't be fixed.

The big flower ring on her finger mocked her horribly, whispering facts that she couldn't find the energy to deny. The ring from the boy that was being continuously drugged by love potions, that didn't love her and would never love her like the sharks wanted him too. 

Her throat was tied with an invisible noose, tightening every day until sometimes she thought she couldn't deal with it all.

(How long until we stop breathing, her mind would whisper. 

Not long hopefully, she'd whisper back.)

Somedays, she stares into her mirror and glare at the filthy girl looking back at her. Other times, she'd look into it and cover her face with cosmetics, hoping that it would hide the lies and destruction that besmirched her.

Some of her ugliness she couldn't hide though; her slightly crooked upper lip, eyes almost too-close together, bright red hair that ruined everything she wore, long legs that made her skirts look to short (a future slut she'd heard an upper-year Ravenclaw whisper once), long fingers that had knobby knuckles, freckles that covered every part of her. She hated it. 

Spidery black lines covered her throat like a thorny necklace, choking her as she went about the day, and only she could see it. It forced strangled noises from her throat when she even thought of revealing the deeds of her mother and the Headmaster, squeezing and squeezing until she was chanting apologies and crying tears of disgusting sorrow. 

Sometimes, she'd open her mouth in the privacy of her room and try to talk about Harry Potter or Hermione Granger (Astaron Riddle and Amaya Riddle she'd corrected so many times) and she'd try so hard (so so hard) to speak about Lily Evans, The Dark Lord, James Potter, but her breath would leave her, constantly escaping her desperate gasps, and she'd be left trembling as she tried to force the words out of her. And she'd smile as her lungs constricted and her heart sped. 

(She did it often. She deserved the pain)

And then she'd smile that smile, the one that was all sharp edges and too many teeth, and flounce around like an innocent little girl. 

She wondered how loud she'd have to scream for someone to hear her

Beautiful jewelry laid on her dresser though Ginny never wore it. They filled small boxes, only to be worn by a small blonde with a dreamy expression and a slow, soothing voice. Ginny would give her jewelry, dresses, gifts like Luna was the only goddess in the world. And to Ginny she was. 

(You're not worthy of her, came the normal harsh whisper)

She was the goddess who would hold her when she cried, the goddess who would talk about creatures that didn't exist, the goddess who would hug her easily as though she wasn't covered in the dirty deeds of others, the goddess who braided her hair with flowers and make her a gorgeous creature of the forest, the goddess who would smile at her as though she was worthy of her goodness. 

And Ginny would kneel and bow at her feet even after her knees were tired and achy, her hands scraped from the dirt and rocks, her back stiff and unmoving. But she'd do it, if only it meant she could drink from her pure waters and bathe in her soft words, cleanse herself even if only for a moment. 

Because the moment she left her light, her beauty, Ginny would be pushed into the ocean of misdeeds, left to fight the horrid creatures that were Molly Weasley and Albus Dumbledore. 

With her throat choked by an invisible noose and wrapped in a thorny necklace would get no words for help out; her hands with tight shackles binding her could write no plea for a rescuer; her mind tortured by terrible magicks could form no rational thought, she'd go through her day, all big smiles and limitless attitude. 

And every day she woke, Ginny would continue pretending that the blade on her sink wasn't taunting her mercilessly, and tick off another day on her calendar. 

One less day to wait until she was 17, and she'd be free. She'd be free from the sharks that ruined her. 

There were days where she was wondering how she would make it. 

She'd have to leave her goddess, but she'd beg her pardon through endless letters, hoping that her goddess wouldn't be angry with her, and forever keep her away from her holiness. Ginny wasn't sure she'd be able to survive that. 

But she would do it. 

She could do it. 

No she couldn't. 

She was going to make it. 

No she wasn't. 

(HELP ME PLEASE)

(Don't help me. I don't need it)

Chapter Text

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Original Publish Date: 9/28/2022

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-3 WEEKS BEFORE- 

Sirius stumbled as his feet came into contact with the ground. He growled, his thin, malnourished figure swaying after the terrible spinning of a Portkey. 

A goblin was waiting for him, and he straightened as much as he could, desperate to find out what his godson had arranged for him at Gringotts. Ever since the letter had been delivered to him about 2 weeks ago, Sirius had been extraordinarily impatient for October 14th to arrive. And now that it was here, a small stream of nervousness had taken to flowing through his veins. 

"Heir Black, we have been awaiting your presence. Please follow me, I will show you to Goblin Manager Ragnok's office. He has taken to dealing with this case personally." 

'What case?' was the first question that floated into Sirius mind. The next was, 'How did my godson get the Head of the Gringotts Establishment to meet with him?'. Then again, his godson had always been impressive, breaking through the normal barriers for a wizard. 'Like casting the Patronus Charm at 13 after only 11 lessons.' 

Sirius shifted as he walked, his limbs spasming awkwardly from his time in Azkaban. His animagus form had only protected his mind from most of the effects, leaving much to be desired about his physical state. It happened often times when he was active for a long time, forcing him to travel in short spurts and rest for longer than he would have liked too. It was also the reason why his letters were so sloppy looking, but he would write to his godson, even if it meant re-writing his letter a million and one times to get it legible to most humans. 

His godson had yet to complain about it so he must be doing a pretty okay job at writing. 

The Goblin, whose name he had yet to learn, (it was rude in Goblin etiquette to request a name; it can only be given of free-will. He didn't know why but didn't question it) turned to him and gave him a once-over. "A spare set of clothes has been set in the room on the other side of the door. I will be waiting for you once you have finished. Do feel free to scrub the dirt off your face. Also, no shoes are proper." The goblin gave a half-bow before turning away from him. 

Sirius opened the door, and didn't even spare a glance to the marble, white gold, and colorful stone adorned room. On a black cot was a folded set of robes and a cloak. He shrugged off his rags, grabbing a black cloth from the linen closet. 

He dampened it and began scrubbing, giving himself an impromptu bath. A pair of shears was in the drawer and twirled his tangled hair into an easy ponytail then cut it all off in one easy snap. Placing the shears back, he stared at the brush next to the shears. Then he looked at his newly cut jaw length hair, with impressive knots in it. 

The brush was tested and put to good use. 

When he came out in white and gold robes covered in a black cloak, his hair was much better, his skin was paler than usual but clean, and he didn't look so much like the wanted convict in the posters. 

The goblin waiting outside nodded in approval. "Much better, Heir Black. (There was that phrase again- he was near positive he had been disowned and disinherited so why was he being called this?) 

He followed the goblin through the rest of the corridors, valiantly keeping up with the fast-moving short legged being with his continually spasming and locking limbs and digits. Finally, they stopped at a large set of wooden doors. Sirius panted silently before taking up a polite stance when they received an approval of entry. 

An older goblin sat behind a desk, filing through all the papers that littered the decently sized desk. "Heir Black, please pardon the mess. Bloodtooth, you may take your leave." The goblin, Bloodtooth apparently, gave a low sweeping bow before leaving. "Take a seat please. We have much to discuss- or rather, I have much to inform you of." Sirius took a seat, sinking into the soft cushy chair. 

"Now, your godson has arranged for you to undergo a few select healing rituals as well as a thorough examination to reverse any physical, and mental, effects left by the Dementors. It is to be done by a Specialist from the Brazilian Gringotts Branch; All is to be covered by your godson, he has refuted any attempt by us to have the House of Black pay for any of the bills. Though, we do have a stack of compensation contracts that may suffice as a proper substitution." Sirius lip curled up at the suggestion, amused by the way the Goblin easily decided to go around his godson's insistence. He would sign the papers after.

"Now, you are to be taken to our healing chamber and then after all has been done, you will be relocated to the Goblin Healing Facility located in Cumbria. If you are concerned about your status as an escaped convict, deranged mass murder-" Sirius snorted at the sarcasm. "-secrecy contracts have been mandated and your assigned healers have all signed them, with blood of course to placate your rather protective godson. Again, all charges are to be covered by him, but the compensation contracts seem to also cover those charges by generality. You are to spend an undecided amount of time at the Facility, you will have a guardian or proxy almost, to watch over you while you are there to make decisions that you may not be allowed due to your state. You may choose or have us choose one."

Ragnok shuffled through a few other papers before nodding. "That seems to be all I can discuss as of now, more will be brought up after your Ritual. I ask that you wait here while I retrieve Opal who seems to have gotten caught up mothering her other patients." A sigh came from the Goblin as he walked out of the room. 

Sirius shifted in his seat not even 5 seconds later, tapping his foot impatiently on the ground. 

He could not believe that his godson, little Harry, had done all of this. Although, he likely had more of Lily than her green eyes, wasn't this just a bit much. Not that he could really complain. To have Goblin Healing Services was something most purebloods did scarcely and only under extreme duress due to its pricing, and Sirius would bet all the gold and artifacts in the Black Vaults that the total cost was at least over ₲2,000. And if it wasn't than Sirius would eat his socks. Which were really disgusting, and he actually probably wouldn't do it anyways...

He shook out of his thoughts and stood when the door opened. 

Ragnok came in a tinier Goblin following him. "Opal will lead you to the chamber. Please listen to her. This is a highly cautioned Ritual, only performed by those with the proper training."

Sirius nodded and allowed himself to be led out of the room and to a room with a place for him to lay. 

Following her simple instructions of 'lay down and relax; do not move,' he laid on the cold surface, not even wincing at the temperature. It was far colder in Azkaban. 

When all the preparation were done, chanting filled his ears. 

And then blackness. 

OoOoOoOoO

Sirius paced angrily, muttering obscenities that would've had his mother cursing him if he still lived under her roof. 

His mind raced, hidden memories swimming in front of his thoughts. 

Lily, the twins, Severus, Riddle. 

James. His mind came to a stand-still. Then he swore with vengeance. James was still carrying his child when the attack happened. Meaning something must've happened to the child. He shivered, imaging the reaction Severus must've had if he'd already gone through the purging. As a creature (he wasn't sure, only knowing that it was creature specific to the Prince Family Line), he was sure that something had been destroyed, burnt, severed, damaged, by now. It was only logical really considering just how fierce a protector Severus was; he would've thrown himself into a battle to the death for James and his unborn child, no matter if it meant his life as long as his mate got away. 

And Sirius understood that perfectly, he'd protect Remus and his could-have-been child, from danger even if his Alpha swore his soul to the underworld and back. A sigh broke through him, and he rubbed his mid-section, a bittersweet fondness filling him at the memory of his pregnancy. 

He'd been nearing 6 months when there was an attack in Hardwash Alley, a common place for purebloods to get high-quality clothing and gifts. It been an attack by some junior Death Eaters who were getting restless, which caused absolute havoc to be wrecked. Having been shopping alone, Sirius was not able to apparate and was nowhere near the floo he'd taken to get there. The stress had been enough to send him into an early labor, which was incredibly dangerous for a male pregnancy. And sure enough, 7 hours later, he was sobbing over the stillborn body of his daughter. 

Remus had gone absolutely feral for nearly 3 days, refusing anybody to be around him or the child. Afterwards, he'd been absolutely wrecked with grief and rage. The juniors had been tracked down solely by Remus in his absolute need for revenge and afterwards he'd mutilated the bodies beyond the point of recognition. 

Sirius, in all his mess of emotions, had only been angry that he couldn't join in on torturing them but satisfied that they'd been taken care of. 

Riddle had been angry at the beginning but had listen to Sirus after he saw that he no longer had a growing stomach. After all had been said, he was in a firm agreement with Remus and him, only wishing that he'd said something at first to publicly shame them in front of all the others. 

"Heir Black, are you well?" 

Sirius turned quickly, looking down at the little female goblin who was staring at him. "Yes. I'm well. Merely... remembering." 

She nodded, though she looked not very convinced. "You're guardian is here and wishing to speak with you." He nodded, righting himself even though there was no denying the odd movements of him limbs. 

Walking into the room, he stopped at seeing hastily brushed hair and amber eyes on a heavily scarred face. 

"Remus." 

The name slipped past his lips, and he froze before striding into the arms of his mate, kissing him with intensity. He brushed his hands over broad shoulder, strong arms, settling them on hips bones with low-riding trousers. Sirius pulled away, unable to hold his breath for as long as he used to. 

A nose nuzzled his neck and collarbone, soft noises coming from Remus. He pushed him away with great reluctance, though leaving the possessive hands on his waist. "We have to finish discussing some things Remus. After, we can continue refilling the bond." 

Amber eyes looked at him with reluctance obvious in them but they sat together in front of the Goblin Manager, Sirus curled into the warm heat of his mate. 

Just where he belonged.

- 3 WEEKS LATER - NORMAL TIME - 

Lily stumbled into her little side room, clutching her portkey in hand. She always did hate magical transportation, bar self apparation. Sadly though, she was unable to apparate from Dubai to Esher. 

Filing through her flat, she blinked at the multiple letters waiting for on her table, most having a Gringotts seal on it. Rifling through them, she found that exactly 36 of them were from the bank and 8 of them were from Ravan, the last 4 from business makers that she was in contact with to help the vaults under her care. 

She picked up the nearest Gringotts letter, clicking her tongue at the usually neat, messy scrawl. Opening it, she found herself freezing as her mind took in the words. 

19/10/1994

Dear Lady Riddle, 

I am writing to you due to the wishes of one Astaron Emilion Riddle, who by blood, is your son. 

Missive have been sent before this one, but none seemed to have reached you. 

A meeting has been requested between yourself, him, and his twin sister, Amaya Thana Riddle. If you are unavailable, please write a letter to me as soon as you can. If you are available, again, write to me so that you may receive a location for October 25th. 

Your child, Ravan Styx Riddle, is permitted to accompany you to the meeting but only with the permission of the Host, Heir Riddle. 

Please do not take offence; Gringotts takes great care to ensure the safety of their clients. 

I await your letter. 

Master Goblin Steeltooth

Goblin Manager

London Gringotts Establishment

Lily lowered herself into a chair, staring at the words on the page. Her heart dropped, desperate to collide with the floor. The parchment wrinkled in her grip, her nails piercing holes and digging into her palms. 

A scream built in her throat and she released it with a full sound of a desperate rage. 

About 2 hours later, a hawk was flying to Gringotts, the letter inside containing eagerly scratched letters and tear-smeared ink. 

OoOoOoOoO

Astaron hunkered into his spot in the library, in the very back away from the watching eyes and noisy whispers. 

It had been claimed by him a solid 3 days after his name was spat out of the Goblet. Nobody came this far back into the library, as it was always so dark and dusty, so it was the perfect place for him. The bookshelves obscured him from everybody else and nobody dared come close to him if they did see him, so he figured he was safe. 

Due to being forced to be the fourth Tri-Wizard Champion, he was allowed access to all books in the library (including the Restricted Section!) and was allowed to miss his classes. (Except Potions, he figured because of images, because Snape did look concerned when he saw him last) Which was wonderful because he was poring over books and books, and even more books. 

 Ron and Amaya were terrific, spending their left-over time with him in the library, only dragging him out when it was time for meals, or they thought he needed a break. Which was really when he was staring wide-eyed a book, looking like he was ready to keel over any second. Then Ron went into mother-hen mode, easily putting away his books and prodding him into the Kitchen where he was given some snacks and promptly fell asleep in front of the fire in the back of the room. 

Amaya was more in her zone with the research, easily moving through the library with a practiced ease, pulling every book she deems necessary from the shelves. 

Astaron went into the Restricted Section sparsely, due to the fact that Dumbledore could easily find out about his visits to that part of the library. He picked up multiple books, mostly about elemental magics and advanced charms. 

The book in front of him was explaining the theory behind water element spells. 

["Water is a very dangerous due to the availability of the element. Water requires a certain amount of strength from the person, a very deeply and strongly willed person, because this particular element hates to be forced back and controlled. Water is fluid and harsh, bringing life or destruction. There is not in between with it. 

There is a certain skill set that comes with trying to control Water, like the ability to control one's emotions. 

For example, if you were to try to turn Water into ice, that would take a very acute sense of calculation and loss of emotion, to turn the Water into something so cold and hard. 

But if you were to attempt to control Water in its liquid state, the most wild and harsh form it can be in, that takes a complete and total strength and will, a spine stronger than iron. Otherwise, the Water will drown you with its power and wilderness, making your last thought that it is an element that the weak cannot master. 

To find if you have the power, the magical core, to control water, you must cast a simple spell... see pg. 159 for the spell and more details on the Water element."]

He sighed, turning the page to see an introduction on the Earth element. Yeah, no. Not right now when it felt like his brain was going to turn to mush. Packing his notes and books away, he stood, deciding to just walk around to clear his head. 

Astaron walked out of the library, stepping onto a staircase and weighed out his mind for a destination. His legs moved him farther without his minds thought, taking him someplace that he had yet to figure out. The only hint was a soft tug in his chest that urged his legs forward. 

It was only when his nose twitched at a familiar scent of pine, cider, and the faint trail of apples. A rough rumble emitted from him, and he surged forward, brushing his fingers against the silver band on his finger. The dragon ring that he kept in his pocket every day, seemed to burn into his skin, something in him saying it was time for the silver band to adorn his mate's finger. 

Turning into a hallway, he saw Draco talking with 2 other boys. Taking a quick whiff of the air, he smelled another on both boys. Ron on the dark one and a faint trail of his sister on the elf. His creature subdued slightly at the smell, knowing that the other two were mated or at least courting another. 

He slipped the band off his finger, stuffing it into the pocket of his cloak. The light press of the goblin magic left him and he made a soft sound to his little mate. 

Mercury eyes whipped toward him, and pretty pink lips lifted into a smile. Astaron sauntered forward, wrapping his arms around his waist and nuzzling the pale expanse of Draco's neck. Running his fangs lightly against his skin, he nipped it lightly before pulling away; he wouldn't drink from him without consent. 

Draco let out a soft whine, his eyes fluttering back open to glare at him. Astaron smiled lazily and landed a firm kiss on his lips. The other two had left rather quickly when they saw him, their scents getting farther and farther away. 

Cold blue magic rubbed against him, his mate purring softly as he peppered his face with soft kisses. Slim arms wrapped around Astaron's neck, fingers brushing his shoulder blades with touches lighter than air. "Now, I'm not complaining, but may I inquire what brought on this surprise attack?" Bright eyes flickered over his face as though searching for something that could give Draco a clue. 

Shrugging, Astaron held his mate closer, his heart taking on a rapid beating for apparently no reason. "I don't know why I sought you out; I was in the library, and I could not concentrate on the books, so I left and just began walking. Then I caught your scent and followed it." He brushed the soft edges of Draco's hair on the back of his neck, coiling the baby-fine wisps around his finger. 

"Oh. I see. I think your creature just needed a reassurance of some sort or you yourself." He hummed, nuzzling his mate in his neck again and taking a deep breath of the warm scent paired with the icy blackberry magic. 

Draco shifted and Astaron pulled away slightly with a questioning sound. "I have to get to my next class. Unlike you, Mr. Fourth Champion, I have classes to attend to and I can't skip them without worrying about the consequences of such actions." A protesting sound escaped him before he could squash it, and heat brushed his cheeks in embarrassment. Draco laughed lightly, a messy snorting sound (beautiful really) and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. 

"I'll see you after dinner, in our little alcove." Astaron nodded and pulled away fulling, slipping his wrist band back on. 

He watched as his mate left, leaning on the stone walls of Hogwarts. With a sigh, Astaron pushed himself off, moving to go back to the library to study some more. Footsteps even and measured, he began the trek back to the library, only getting up 2 stairwells before a voice stopped him. 

"Serpent Prince." 

He turned quickly, finding a tiny blonde with large doe blue eyes and radish earrings. A dazed look was in her eyes and her hair swished from side to side like water as she swayed softly. 

"I beg your pardon?" 

She hummed. "You are the Serpent Prince, are you not? The other half of the duo stuck and hidden under the power of the Tainted One." Her words made an alarming amount of sense. The little blonde smiled serenely. "Do not worry; the things I know are for my knowledge only. Perhaps also for the ones that would benefit from a warning. What do you think?" 

He nodded slowly. "I think that some would benefit from a warning." 

"Yes. They would." Her eyes drifted to him and then over him, staring at things that he couldn't see. Or perhaps she was seeing things he could see but knew what they meant. 

Astaron moved to turn around when her voice stopped him.

“Do not judge the caged lioness so quickly because she looks happy; she is clawing at her shackles and biting the bars, knowing she may bleed, and her teeth may break. Her masters are careless of her condition, not realizing the state she is in. And the lioness knows, the lioness knows many things, some the born duo can only wish they knew. You must free her or you will most surely fail.”

Astaron looked at the blonde, her airy eyes having a steel undertone flaring with a protectiveness he often felt for his mate. “What happens if I fail to save her, what will happen to her?”

All dreaminess and airiness went away in an instant, and there was a delicate sorrow in her eyes, drawn out with a terror. “Her spirit will become listless in her body, and she will welcome Death early.”  The terror and sorrow left again, this time leaving a hardened iron blade that was covered in blood in her eyes. “And if you do not save her, your plans will fail because you will be no more. I will dance in your blood in the name of Nemesis, and your soul will never pass on until I exact my due justice on those, I feel have wronged min kärlek.” Her voice was light and even, dipped in a glistening poison.

He dipped his head in deference to her. “I will do my best to free the lioness.”

“Good.” The airiness was back, her eyes gaining the other dazed quality.

“We will speak again soon, Serpent Prince.”

Chapter Text

"You looked agitated." 

"I am agitated." 

Granger looked at him with interest glimmering in her eyes. "Oh? And what has you agitated?" 

Annoyance flared and danced under his skin, and Theo turned to stare at the muggleborn. "You do." 

Granger seemed more amused than anything, leaning back against the wall that she was standing in front of. 

"And why is that, Nott?" 

Theo had to take a deep breath to keep himself from lashing out.

For your mate, he reminded himself. 

(He wasn't sure how much longer that excuse would hold)

"I'm... agitated, because I have been meeting you Granger and I have yet to figure out exactly what it is my mate wants." He growled lowly at the sparks building in brown eyes. "Tell me what she wants, and I'll give it to her! What exactly is it that she wants me to figure out! It's not making any sense." 

Granger was silent for a few moments and then she made a noise. 

Giggling. 

She was giggling. 

Theo felt his glamour shimmer and his chest felt like it was going to explode with the sheer emotion that he was feeling. Anger curled through his fingertips, forced his head upon a cloud, and sparked dangerously with his magic. It had been a constant battle with himself ever since he had seen his mate for the first time, and he had endured through all of this, but he still couldn't understand what it was that was wanted of him. 

Draco hadn't been much of a help, stating that each Veela was different and since his mate part-Siren, she likely wanted to rile him up to feel his magic before submitting to him. Apparently, that was something that some Submissives did, though Draco himself had no interest in doing that enjoying his mate's attention every time he was sought out during the middle of the day, even if they had a designated meeting time to soothe their bond. While it explained somethings, it didn't explain what was going on now because Granger wasn't his mate! He would've felt if she was his mate, when he scented her in the Great Hall. But he hadn't and now he was here, doing whatever was in his power to not lose control so that he didn't get even farther away from meeting his mate. 

Theo sucked in a harsh breath and exhaled slowly, trying to soothe his mounting anger. 

It wasn't working. 

Granger stared at him with mirthful eyes, her lips curling up into a stretch of amusement. She smoothed her skirt and flipped her hair over his shoulder. "Now, there isn't really anything she wants... just... just prove to her your... worth, I suppose you could say." 

Worth?

Was his mate batshit insane?

Theo spun around on the heel of his foot and counted to 10. Then he counted to 20 when that didn't calm him down. Then he began counting in Icelandic when he still couldn't calm down. 

A storm was swirling in his chest, shards of ice and rock, towering with winds of steam and metal. The runes on his arms were glowing, he knew it without a doubt, and he would feel the icy burn of them, pulsing with the destructive power of water. He could feel every droplet in the air like a relentless buzz in the back of his head and he tried to ignore it, absolutely desperate to not lose a chance with his mate. 

So stuck in his thoughts and attempts, he didn't notice that Granger had come up behind him. Only that a hand was caressing his spine and shoulder blades. Theo stiffened and felt his magic bleed through the cracks of his control, unable to deal with the fact that this girl was so fucking audacious as to fucking touch him without his explicit permission. 

Turning, he opened his mouth, fully prepared to give her a piece of his mind when she spoke over him. 

"If you aren't going to do anything interesting then I'll leave now and we can meet again on Thursday Nott." 

His magic exploded in a rage of ice and steam, his glamour falling and his runes producing a powerful glow from where the were inscribed on his skin. He growled at her, his instincts crammed themselves in the forefront of his mind and every single one of them were furious at being touched by someone other than his mate. Granger smiled and twisted away from his hand, and he watched as her brown hair turned ebony and a smoky, spicy, and hot scent filled his nostrils, the most intoxicating thing he'd ever smelled. 

"You know, for as smart as you pride yourself in being, you are an idiot."

His instincts shifted wildly, and his anger deflated. He stared at smoldering brown eyes and his mouth went dry. "Granger-er- what?" His mind threw itself into theories and facts that were not aligning themselves with what just happened. 

"G-granger and Amaya Riddle are the same people? I've been meeting with my mate the entire fucking time?" 

"Yup!" His mate, a tricky siren-veela creature, sauntered in front of his and brushed her lips on his. Arms swung around his neck and he buried his nose in the crook of her neck and took a deep breath of her scent. 

The tint of honey made the spicey scent richer and he rumbled happily, wrapping his arms around her waist very carefully. He fingers twirled around the edges of her wavy black hair, giving little tugs to the longest strands. His mate had gorgeous hair. 

Pulling away, Theo traced his eyes over her face, noting a small nose, a pouty bottom lip but a thin upper lip, and a strong jaw. He traced cheekbones before humming softly. "Beautiful."

His mate preened softly, and he smiled. She twirled a lock of hair before whispering softly, "Amaya Thana Riddle." 

Theo blinked before whispering just as softly, "Theodore Ivar Nott." 

His little minx smiled and pressed her lips on his, a low and warm wave of magic crashing over them. Theo made a happy sound and pressed back easily, catching her bottom lip with his teeth teasingly as she pulled away. 

"Never play that sort of games with me again, yes?" 

His mate laughed

-_-_-_-_-

Astaron sucked in a sharp breath as he stirred his potion carefully, adding the salamander blood in 3 delicate portions. His potion flushed a slimy green and black smoke bellowed from it. Frowning, he looked up at the board and squinted through the horrid eyes of Harry Potter. He had to put a charm on his eyes to make his eyesight bad as it had been brought to his attention that he had forgone his glasses during the schoolyear and Dumbledore did not like it one bit. 

Squinting harder through all the smoke, he sighed heavily and stared helplessly at all the ingredients on his desk. He was put out of his confused misery when Professor Snape stalked up to his cauldron, a look of heavy disdain on his face. 

"Potter," Astaron didn't duck his head, but he was careful not to look the man in the eyes should he not have been cleansed yet. "What is this disastrous excuse of a potion you have created?" 

"Just a potion sir; unless perhaps your instructions are faulty." With any hope, he would be called back and they could talk. 

The classroom sucked in a sharp breath, but he lifted his eyes warily, meeting Snape's eyes and feeling a sliver of satisfaction when he was met with the sight of satisfaction and pride. "15 points from Gryffindor Potter for disrespect and detention with me tonight. Being a champion in an over-glorified death trap does not mean I will be lenient with you." With that, the man vanished his potion and stalked to the Slytherin side of the classroom. 

Astaron ignored the hard look that his sister had sent his way and waited no-very-patiently for the class to end. When it finally did end, he packed his stuff slowly and just as expected, Professor Snape barked, "Potter, stay behind." 

Ron dragged Amaya out of the room and Astaron waited until the last student was out of the classroom before turning to the dark man. The door closed with a large pulse of magic and Professor Snape shot out a silencing charm he believed as well as a locking ward. "Mr. Potter... I seemed to have received a special correspondence that has your brand of trouble written all over it." A letter was placed on the desk and Astaron scanned it easily after removing the charm. 

It was the Gringotts letter and according to the letter, they had called Professor Snape there on October 4th. 

"Oh? I suppose this could be correlated with my sort of... trouble... but I am not sure. Perhaps you could verify for me?" 

The dark man smirked. 

"Let me... explain for you. What does one expect when a false lion tries to attack a family of serpents?" 

"The serpents strike back of course." 

"Exactly, Mr... Riddle." 

Astaron gave a soft exhale of relief and smoothed out his robes. 

"Perhaps a snake should meet with a spyder to gain more information on the false lion? A sound idea?" 

"Quite." 

"Very well sir. I will see you tonight." 

-_-_-_-_-

Albus Dumbledore landed firmly in front of a large manor, a tall, intimidating building in the center of a sprawling piece of land with immaculate gardens and proud fountains. Tall pillars decorated the front with gentle carving parted through the stone and marble. Glass towers refracting the light on the sun at the points of the manor, only interrupted by the large griffin in the middle of the four towers, a large stone carving that had been slightly withered by age. 

He ignored all of this and strode through the lands and into a entrance hall of black marble and deep red accents. It sickened him the lavishness of the room but he persevered without stopping to get to his destination. Tall portraits of lords and ladies stared at him with disgusted eyes and fine tapestries depicted great battles and forlorn loses. 

Dumbledore turned into a room, one with a large bed and dark wood furniture, with pristine white marble flooring and walls. Laying atop the bed, encased in a specialized stasis warding was the swollen frame of one James Potter. 

He tapped the casing lightly, checking the vitals of the man and amplified the power on the warding. The bubble pulsed and he gave a satisfied nod. 

Admiring the large stomach of the man, he noted that the baby must finally be at just under 10 months for it to have gotten this big. Seeing as male pregnancies had a longer duration than woman due to the fact that their bodies simply were not built the same way, Albus knew the stasis must be taken down soon for the child to be born. He knew the child was the spawn of Severus Snape, but the child had the Prince creature in its blood and it would be immensely powerful having been born from two mates, bonded mates at that. 

After that, he could easily inject his own seed into James and allow him to carry his own heir. The heir to the Dumbledore family line and his own greatness. He sighed softly and carefully reset the runes around the bed. It would alert him the moment James went into labor, which would be within the next two months seeing as the stasis charm slowed the progression of aging and the time of the birth. 

But after the birth, he would be allowed free range of the manor, if only severely limited privileges. He had to keep the future bearer of his heir healthy but compliant to his wishes. 

Dumbledore left the room and warded the door back up in the, very unlikely, event that someone ever found out about James and tried to get him out of his hands. 

With that, he walked off the grounds and apparated back to his office.

...entirely unaware of a file on a certain Lion's desk updating itself to the page of Potter Manor to let the proxy know that someone had been on the lands...

Chapter Text

Astaron leaned against the wall of the Owlery, a piece of parchment in his lap, a quill poised in his hand, and a bottle of ink next to him. Ink dripped onto the paper as he thought of what to write. He hadn't written Sirius since before the tournament and he had promised to keep him updated... 

 Dear Snuffles,

You told me to keep you posted on what's happening at Hogwarts and my life, so here goes — I don't know if you've heard already, you might've with how gossipy people are, but the Triwizard's Champions were chosen already. And on Saturday night I got picked as a fourth champion. The other Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory, from Hufflepuff. 

I don't know who put my name in the Goblet of Fire, because I didn't. I would know. I was there. Not that anybody actually believes me, but the important people believe me so it's okay for now I think.

He paused at this, thinking. He had an urge to say something about the large weight of anxiety that seemed to have settled inside his chest since that night, but he couldn't think how to translate this into words, so he simply dipped his quill back into the ink bottle and wrote:  

Hope you and Buckbeak are okay.

Your godson, 

Harry

It felt wrong writing his other name, just as it always did, but he ignored the feeling. He gave a low whistle and Rico fluttered down, ruffling his long feathers. Astaron laughed as he let out a long demanding hoot, holding his leg out imperiously. 

Tying the letter to his leg, the owl nipped at his fingers before soaring off with strong flaps of his wings. Hedwig hooted from her spot and soared down, rubbing her downy fluff against his cheek. He rubbed her breast feathers softly and kissed the top of her head. 

"Hey girl... how are you?" She gave a soft chitter sound and he smiled. "I'm glad you're doing good. It's been a rough, with the Tournament, y'know the whole live of die thing, and the rest of the school seems to hate me... Except Dray, and Ron, and Maya... Did you know that Amaya and Theo finally sealed the bond? Well, after she stopped teasing him... Apparently, when it comes to things like this, instincts take control and its very different with a Veela... I'm glad Dray didn't try to do any of that. I would've been patient of course, but for him to dance like that, I would've hated it." 

Astaron took a shuddering breath and pressed his face against her back, taking comfort in her motherly preening of his hair. He stood there for however long, rubbing his cheek against her feathers, with her ruffling his hair and nipping at him softly. 

Taking control of himself, he pulled his face from her feathers. He dabbed the corner his eyes with his knuckles gently and sighed. "O-okay. I can do this." He kissed her head and pulled away. He had to get to potions. 

The walk to Potions was slow, as he gripped the strap of his bag. The weight of it on his leg was comforting despite everything. Astaron surveyed the separated group of Slytherin's and Gryffindor's, feeling disconnected from the hushed whispers. 

He was floating again, like he had been when the Goblet spewed out his name. Shining lights on the Slytherin robes caught his eyes but he didn't have the energy within himself to figure out what it said. 

The door slammed open and everybody marched inside like they were going toward death. Astaron could only wish that they were. 

Instead they entered a dark and cold classroom, with cauldrons over unlit candles. Astaron stood in his spot and waited.

"Antidotes!" Snape announced, looking around at them all, cold black eyes glittering unpleasantly. "You should all have prepared your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then, we will be selecting someone on whom to test one. . . ." Astaron stared back coolly, knowing he had to keep up the Harry Potter appearance. So he began counting in his head to 20, all while forcing an angry look in his eyes. 

A knock on the dungeon door burst in on Astaron's counting. It was Colin Creevey; he edged into the room, beaming at Harry, and walked up to Snape's desk at the front of the room. "Yes?" came Snape's curt question.

"Please, sir, I'm supposed to take Harry Potter upstairs." Snape stared down his nose at Colin, whose smile faded from his face. "Potter has another hour of Potions to complete. He will come upstairs when this class is finished."

Colin went pink. "Sir — sir, Mr. Bagman wants him. All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs. . . ."

Astaron groaned inwardly at that; of fucking course. He glared at the ceiling, though it did nothing wrong, and pressed his nails against his palms.

"Very well, very well," Snape snapped. "Potter, leave your things here, I want you back down here later to test your antidote."

"Please, sir — he's got to take his things with him," squeaked Colin. "All the champions —"

"Very well !", the man glared at the tiny 3rd year. "Potter — take your bag and get out of my sight!"

Astaron swung his bag over his shoulder, got up, and headed for the door. As he walked through the Slytherin desks, the reflective things flashed at him from every direction.

"It's amazing, isn't it, Harry?" asked Colin, who started to speak the moment Astaron had closed the dungeon door behind him. "Isn't it, though? You being champion?"

"Yeah, really amazing." No, lies. His footsteps felt abnormally heavy as they set off toward the steps into the entrance hall. "What do they want photos for, Colin?"

"The Daily Prophet, I think!"

"Great," came the dull reply from his mouth. "Exactly what I need. More publicity."

"Good luck!" chirped Colin, who was bouncing on his toes, when they had reached the right room. Astaron knocked on the door and entered.

He was in a fairly small classroom; most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle; three of them, however, had been placed end-to-end in front of the blackboard and covered with a long length of velvet. Five chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks, and Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking to a witch Astaron had never seen before, who was wearing magenta robes.

Viktor Krum was standing moodily in a corner, as usual, and not talking to anybody. Cedric and Fleur were in conversation; Fleur looked much deal happier than Harry had seen her so far; she kept throwing back her head so that her long silvery hair caught the light.

A paunchy man, holding a large black camera that was smoking slightly, was watching Fleur out of the corner of his eye. Astaron shivered slightly at the vague resemblance of his Uncle.

Bagman spotted Astaron quickly and got up quickly, bounding forward. "Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Harry, in you come . . . nothing to worry about, it's just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment —"

"Wand weighing?"

"We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they're your most important tools in the tasks ahead. The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there's going to be a little photo shoot." He looked around and nodded. "This is Rita Skeeter," he added, gesturing toward the witch in magenta robes. "She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet. . . ."

"Maybe not that small, Ludo." Rita Skeeter had her eyes on him. They were hungry.

Her hair was set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls that contrasted oddly with her heavy-jawed face. She wore jeweled cat-eye spectacles. Thick fingers clutched a designer crocodile-skin handbag ended in two-inch nails, painted crimson. They were decorated with thick heavy rings and bands. "I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start?" Speaking to Bagman, but still gazing fixatedly at Astaron. "The youngest champion, you know . . . to add a bit of color?"

"Certainly!" cried Bagman. "That is — if Harry has no objection?"

Astron most certainly did; not that he got to voice them. "Er —"

"Lovely," Rita Skeeter smiled greedily, and in a second, her scarlet-taloned fingers had his upper arm in a surprisingly strong grip, and she was steering him out of the room again and opening a nearby door. "We don't want to be in there with all that noise." She explained with a bounce of her curls and a tossed side look at him. "Let's see . . . ah, yes, this is nice and cozy."

It was a broom cupboard.

Astaron sucked in a sharp breath and pressed his knees together. His nails dug more insistently into his palm. -outlemmeoutpleasepleaselemmeout-can'tbehereshouldn'tbehere-notssafeneversafegetmeout!-

He forced his breathing to sound normal, all while counting furiously to calm his heart. The walls were squeezing him in a box.

"Come along, dear — that's right — lovely," said Rita Skeeter again, perching herself precariously upon an upturned bucket, pushing Astaron down onto a cardboard box, and closing the door, throwing them into darkness.

His mind screamed with danger- the ingrained instinct telling him to hide and make himself a lesser target. -getaway-unknownthreatandshecanhurtyou-getawaygetaway-don'tmakeasinglesound-

"Let's see now . . ." She unsnapped her crocodile-skin handbag and pulled out a handful of candles, which she lit with a wave of her wand and magicked into midair, so that they could see what they were doing. "You won't mind, Harry, if I use a Quik-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally. . . ."

"A what?" He'd never heard of them. Rita Skeeter's smile widened. Wasn't a good thing then, if he had to hazard a guess. Astaron counted three gold teeth from her wide grin.

She reached again into her crocodile bag and drew out a long acid-green quill and a roll of parchment, which she stretched out between them on a crate of Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover. She put the tip of the green quill into her mouth, sucked it for a moment with apparent relish, then placed it upright on the parchment, where it stood balanced on its point, quivering slightly. "Testing . . . my name is Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter."

Astaron looked down quickly at the quill.

The moment Rita Skeeter had spoken, the green quill had started to scribble, skidding across the parchment: Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, whose savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations —

"Lovely," said Rita Skeeter, yet again, and she ripped the top piece of parchment off, crumpled it up, and stuffed it into her handbag.

Now she leaned toward Astaron and began speaking. "So, Harry . . . what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?"

"Er —" He had begun, but was distracted by the rapid pace quill that was moving even though he'd said absolutely nothing. In its wake he could make out a fresh sentence: An ugly scar, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Harry Potter, whose eyes —

"Ignore the quill, Harry," Rita said firmly.

Reluctantly, Astaron drew his eyes up to her. "Now — why did you decide to enter the tournament, Harry?"

"I didn't. I don't know how my name got into the Goblet of Fire. I didn't put it in there."

Rita Skeeter raised one heavily penciled eyebrow. "Come now, Harry, there's no need to be scared of getting into trouble. We all know you shouldn't really have entered at all. But don't worry about that. Our readers love a rebel."

"I don't care what people like or don't like; I didn't enter. I don't know who —"

"How do you feel about the tasks ahead?" Astaron stared at her, slowly feeling more and more agitated as every oil slicked word left her mouth. "Excited? Nervous?"

"I haven't really thought . . . yeah, nervous, I suppose," His insides squirmed uncomfortably as he spoke. There was something wrong right now, and his hand clenched and unclenched at his sides. He stared at Skeeter, trying to control himself.

"Champions have died in the past, haven't they?" asked Rita Skeeter briskly. "Have you thought about that at all?"

"They say there's more procedures and regulations in place, so it should be safer." The quill whizzed across the parchment between them, back and forward as though it were skating. It was writing a lot more than what was being said.

"Of course, you've looked death in the face before, haven't you?" Gleaming eyes stared at him, watching him closely through bejeweled frames. "How would you say that's affected you?"

"Erm-" Why was this important?

"Do you think that the trauma in your past might have made you keen to prove yourself? To live up to your name? Do you think that perhaps you were tempted to enter the Triwizard Tournament because —"

"I didn't enter." What was wrong with this witch? What did any of this have to do with the tournament?

She talked over him pointedly, gazing at him angrily. "Can you remember your parents at all?"

"No. Nothing." Lies, but why did she have to know anything?

"How do you think they'd feel if they knew you were competing in the Triwizard Tournament? Proud? Worried? Angry?" Astaron took a deep breath through his nose. How on earth was he to know how his parents would feel if they were alive? And they weren't even his parents! Not that they didn't matter, but honestly he didn't care right now.

Rita Skeeter watched him intently.

Frowning, he avoided her gaze and looked down at words the quill had just written: Tears fill those startling green eyes as our conversation turns to the parents he can barely remember.

Astaron growled, and faster than a snake reached out for the paper and tore it in half. The pieces set fire in his hands, and he let them flutter to the ground. The acid green quill was snapped in his hand and he hissed at her.

She shrieked and glared, before he crocodile-skin handbag crumbled to dust. He grinned ferally and walked out, feeling a storm brewing inside of him.

Rita Skeeter grabbed his arm and he looked around at her. He spoke, sounding far calmer than he felt. "Unhand me." There was an odd quality in his voice, and her eyes widened in fear. "Unhand me. I will not repeat myself." She let him go, leaving red creases on his arm.

"My boy, is all well?" Albus Dumbledore stood there, looking down at both of them, squashed into the cupboard.

"Dumbledore!" cried Rita Skeeter, with every appearance of delight — she recovered quickly from her brief lapse of judgement. "How are you?" she said, standing up and holding out one of her large, mannish hands to Dumbledore. "I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards' Conference?"

"Enchantingly nasty." Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling. "I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat." Astaron inwardly snorted at the description.

Rita Skeeter didn't look remotely abashed. "I was just making the point that some of your ideas are a little old-fashioned, Dumbledore, and that many wizards in the street —"

"I will be delighted to hear the reasoning behind the rudeness, Rita," Dumbledore interrupted, with a courteous bow and a smile, "but I'm afraid we will have to discuss the matter later. The Weighing of the Wands is about to start, and it cannot take place if one of our champions is hidden in a broom cupboard."

Astaron slunk away from them and surveyed the chairs in the front. The other champions were now sitting in chairs near the door, and he sat down quickly next to Cedric, looking up at the velvet-covered table, where four of the five judges were now sitting — Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch, and Ludo Bagman.

Rita Skeeter settled herself down in a corner; he saw her slip the parchment out of pocket, spread it on her knee, pull out another Quik-Quotes Quill place it once more on the parchment. Astaron growled softly. "May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?" Dumbledore began happily, taking his place at the judges' table and talking to the champions. "He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament."

Astaron looked around, and, with a jolt of surprise, saw an old wizard with large, pale eyes standing quietly by the window.

He had met Mr. Ollivander once before — he was the wand-maker from whom Astaron had bought his first wand over three years ago in Diagon Alley.

"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?" Ollivander smiled politely, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room. Fleur Delacour swept over to Ollivander and handed him her wand. "Hmmm . . ." He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of pink and gold sparks.

Then he held it close to his eyes and examined it carefully. "Yes," he spoke, his voice quiet, "nine and a half inches . . . inflexible . . . rosewood . . . and containing... dear me..."

"An 'air from ze 'ead of a veela." The French girl stated proudly. "One of my grandmuzzer's."

I was correct; she was part veela...

"Yes, yes, I've never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands . . . however, to each his own, and if this suits you . . ." Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, apparently checking for scratches or bumps; then he muttered, "Orchideous!" and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand tip.

"Very well, very well, it's in fine working order." Ollivander nodded, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Fleur with her wand. "Mr. Diggory, you next."

Fleur glided back to her seat, smiling at Cedric as he passed her. "Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?" Ollivander spoke with much more enthusiasm, as Cedric handed over his wand. "Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn . . . must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches . . . ash . . . pleasantly springy. It's in fine condition. . . . You treat it regularly?"

Cedric grinned. "Polished it last night."

Astaron looked down at his own wand. He could see finger marks all over it; apparently people polished their wands? Though, it they had broom cleaning kits, it was kind of easy to assume that you polish and clean your wand... He gathered a fistful of robe from his knee and tried to rub it clean surreptitiously. Several gold sparks shot out of the end of it. Fleur Delacour gave him a very patronizing look, and he desisted.

Ollivander sent a stream of silver smoke rings across the room from the tip of Cedric's wand, pronounced himself satisfied, and then said, "Mr. Krum, if you please."

Viktor Krum got up and slouched, round-shouldered and duckfooted, toward Ollivander. He thrust out his wand and stood scowling, with his hands in the pockets of his robes. "Hmm." Ollivander pressed his lips together, "this is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I'm much mistaken? A fine wand-maker, though the styling is never quite what I . . . however . . ." He lifted the wand and examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes. "Yes . . . hornbeam and dragon heartstring?" he shot a look at Krum, who nodded. "Rather thicker than one usually sees . . . quite rigid . . . ten and a quarter inches . . . Avis!" The hornbeam wand let off a blast like a gun, and a number of twittering birds flew out of the end and through the open window into the watery sunlight.

"Good," Ollivander handed Krum back his wand.

"Which leaves . . . Mr. Potter." Astaron got to his feet and walked past Krum to Ollivander. He handed over his wand. "Aaaah, yes," said Ollivander, his pale eyes suddenly gleaming. "Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember."

Astaron could remember too. He could remember it as though it had happened yesterday. . . . Four summers ago, on his eleventh birthday, he had entered Ollivander's shop with Hagrid to buy a wand. Ollivander had taken his measurements and then started handing him wands to try. He had waved what felt like every wand in the shop, until at last he had found the one that suited him — this one, which was made of holly, eleven inches long, and contained a single feather from the tail of a phoenix.

Ollivander had been very surprised that he had been so compatible with this wand. "Curious," he had said, "curious," and not until Astaron asked what was curious had Ollivander explained that the phoenix feather in Harry's wand had come from the same bird that had supplied the core of Lord Voldemort's. He shared a wand core with the Dark Lord, his father.

Never had he shared this piece of information with anybody. He was very fond of his wand, and as far as he was concerned its relation to Voldemort's wand was something it couldn't help — rather as he couldn't help being related to Aunt Petunia.

However, he really hoped that Ollivander wasn't about to tell the room about it. He had a funny feeling Rita Skeeter's Quick-Quotes Quill might just explode with excitement if he did.

Ollivander spent much longer examining his wand than anyone else's. Eventually, however, he made a fountain of wine shoot out of it, and handed it back to Astaron, announcing that it was still in perfect condition.

"Thank you all," said Dumbledore, standing up at the judges' table. "You may go back to your lessons now — or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end —" Feeling that at last something had gone right today, Astaron got up to bolt like a bullet, but the man with the black camera jumped up and cleared his throat.

"Photos, Dumbledore, photos!" cried Bagman excitedly. "All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?"

"Er — yes, let's do those first," said Rita Skeeter, whose eyes were upon Astaron again. He glared at the blond witch. "And then perhaps some individual shots." The photographs took a long time.

Madame Maxime cast everyone else into shadow wherever she stood, and the photographer couldn't stand far enough back to get her into the frame; eventually she had to sit while everyone else stood around her. Karkaroff kept twirling his goatee around his finger to give it an extra curl; Krum, whom Harry would have thought would have been used to this sort of thing, skulked, half-hidden, at the back of the group.

The photographer seemed keenest to get Fleur at the front, but Rita Skeeter kept hurrying forward and dragging Astaron into greater prominence. Well she stopped after the second time, when she got a good portion of her robe burnt to crisp in 3 seconds.

He had been sent looks for that, each one varying; Astaron paid them no mind, and smiled like the vampire that he was.

Then it was insisted that there be individual shots and those took a forever longer. At last, they were free to go and Astaron was the first one out of the room.

The disjointed feeling began to set in again, with all the anger and emotion draining stuff over. He whined and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He contemplated going to dinner but shook it off; he was too tired for that.

And, besides, nobody would notice if he missed dinner.

OoOoOoOoO

Apparently, it was noticed when one missed dinner. 

Ron had stormed into the dorm room in a flurry of simultaneous mothering and scolding. A plate of food had been shoved in Astaron's lap, complete with a full goblet of red. He had blinked at that and looked at Ron, who shrugged and shoved a pink line on his arm. 

Astaron wasn't sure whether to feel touched or not. It was a very odd thing to think that he was drinking Ron's blood. 

It was something that had been developed by his sister, who insisted that he did not take care of himself properly sometimes, which was true he supposed. Apparently, not drinking blood for a full 18 days, counted as him starving himself. Astaron hadn't exactly known that....

After that, every morning, Ron would wait for him to come down to breakfast, sometimes dragging him out of bed by a leg. Though that stopped quickly after Astaron swiped at him and set him flying onto the wall. 

The school was still as hating as it was before, and the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws still tried to hex him whenever he was in the halls. He'd finally caught sight of one of the 'lights' that the Slytherins had been wearing. Apparently they were badges that proudly said 'SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY - THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION!' Which changed also to, 'POTTER STINKS!', equally as proud as the previous message. 

Astaron had yet to see Draco, Zabini, and Nott, wear one but it still sent a sting at him every time he saw one of the badges.

3 days after the weighing of the wands, the article from Rita Skeeter came out. It wasn't so much an article about the TriWizard Tournament as it was an article about Astaron. All it produced was a sense of burning anger in his stomach. There was stuff in it that he'd never said in his life, let alone in a fucking broom closet. 

I suppose I get my strength from my parents. I know they'd be
very proud of me if they could see me now... Yes, sometimes
at night, I still cry about them, I'm not ashamed to admit
it... I know nothing will hurt me during the tournament, because
they're watching over me...

Not only that, but apparently Rita Skeeter had deciphered exactly what is 'er-s' meant because there were even longer sentences than what Astaron was sure that he had said. 

Harry has at last found love at Hogwarts. His close 
friend, Colin Creevey, says that Harry is rarely seen 
out of the company of one Hermione Granger, a 
stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl who, like Harry, 
is one of the top students in the school.

Amaya had fake-retched and gagged at that, very loudly and dramatically, in the middle of the Great Hall. Then proceeded to look at him with the most vile look of revulsion on her face and smacked the back of his head. Astaron proceeded to stage-whisper that he was as straight as a sparkly rainbow, to which they had fell into a heap of laughter. Ron had joined them after he read the article himself, which had the entirety of the 4th year Gryffindors laughing with them. It was very much known that 'Hermione' and 'Harry' were strictly siblings which kinda made the entirety of that piece complete and utter garbage. 

The rest of the school did not know that though, which also made Amaya target of lots of whispers and looks. Every class, there were taunts and shouts at both of them, which only stopped when the Professors entered the room. Even so, there were still pitying looks sent to him, which angered him to no end. 

“Stunningly pretty? Her?” Pansy Parkinson had shrieked the first time she had come face-to-face with Hermione after Rita’s article had appeared. “What was she being judged against — a chipmunk?” Amaya had merely held her head up with an air of dignity and stalked pass, with a throw of hair over her shoulder. Astaron couldn't help but admire the way that his sister was taking all of this. 

Which was why, he was hiding in his dorm, with files open in front of him. He'd finally gotten to the Potter files and he was going through those at a  painstakingly slow pace. He read through the finances of the Potter family, with slow, careful patience. He marked down suspicious activities regarding the shares they had and profits they were receiving. There were ample notes in the back section of the file, listing all business expenditures dating all the way back to 1678, of which he went off of to make sure that everything was in its rightful order. Interest being paid forward to them was counted out meticulously and all Astaron had to do was be sure that it was the same amount at the correct date. 

With a happy sound, he put that folder away and pulled at another thick file, but this time listing all details about the 17 properties under the Potter name. He slid a piece of parchment next to the file and dipped his quill in ink, taking note of all the dates written down under the first property. The Potter Villa in India, where they did a good portion of business it seemed. 

Wards that were even vaguely interesting, were also jotted down and Astaron scribbled on the side to give it to his sister. Rubbing his wrist, he spun it around a few times before picking up his quill again to resume his progress. If he could just get this last file down, then he would be done for at least a few days and then we would have to do his periodic check ups on the Peverell and Slytherin stuff too. It was exhausting work that. Everything actually. 

Continually moving, writing in his chicken scratch handwriting, he mulled over all the different wards, the dates of visitors, and wondered if any of this could help with finding out the locating of James Potter. They had done everything that they could given their circumstances, including used the mate bond between James and Snape (Severus) with a bit of genius spellcasting from Amaya, who had been throwing herself at piles and piles of books ever since they had come to Hogwarts. 

She had ordered multiple books and even snuck into the Restricted Section a few times to get what she needed to know if what she wanted was a viable idea. Which it had turned out to be, in theory, but something else was blocking it from working. It had been a locationing spell paired with a blood link, classifying it all as blood magic. Not that she had cared but it was rather eye-opening to see his sister going over books on blood magic, a magic said to be very addicting and disfiguring, without a care in the world. 

Snape had proved to invaluable, with his years of knowledge that had come into play with everything. He had told them a few things about Dumbledore, but there wasn't much he could tell them if they didn't know Occlumency, a special type of magic that kept the mind from unwanted intruders. Which was really a blessing to know, since Astaron had been stupid enough to meet Dumbledore's eyes. Now he knew not too. Apparently, there was some truth to the saying, 'the eyes are the windows to the soul'. 

A pecking to the side drew him out of his thoughts, stopping him from his reviewing of the second to last property, the Potter Manor. He laid his quill down and went up to the window, allowing the brown owl to fly in. It was Rico. He smiled and scratched the owl's head, using his other hand to untie the letter. 

"Go and get some water, boy. You can spend the night and then I'll have a reply for Siri." Rico hooted in assent and fluttered away to the bowl of water he kept on the side for when Hedwig came up to him. The sound of owl treats being snapped up made him blink and he pulled out a few bacon treats he'd gotten from a pet store in the muggle part of London. They were supposed to be dog treats but Hedwig liked them just as much. 

He sat back down and opened the letter, biting the inside of his lip distractedly. 

Pup!

I can't say everything I would like in this letter; it is far too risky, with the chance that Rico might be intercepted. We need to talk face-to-face. Can you ensure that you are alone by the fire in Gryffindor Tower at one o'clock in the morning on the 22nd of November? 

I know better than anyone you can look after yourself, but I need you to be extra careful of everything and anything okay? You never know how anybody could hurt you and what they will use, so I need you to be extremely cautious. Somebody is trying to have a good try at hurting you and it was a risky thing, entering you into the Tournament under everybody's noses. But they did it anyways. 

Also, when is your Hogsmeade weekend? There is somebody else that wants to see you regarding some interesting stuff. Of course, it has you written all over it, with your great big heart and overwhelming need to help people. We really need to talk about spending that much money on a healthcare service. That is not your job, pup. 

Be on the watch; I want to hear about anything you think is unusual. 

Let me know about the meet up as quickly as you can. 

I love you kiddo.

Snuffles

Astaron set the letter down and immediately began inking a reply to Sirius. He scribbled down his assent to meeting him by the fire and the date of the Hogsmeade weekend. Tying it up, he set it by his bed so that he didn't forget to give it to Rico in the morning. 

Turning back to the Potter file, he dipped his quill in ink again to refresh it, and began morning down the dates. House-elf check had already been done, with 2 deaths and 5 new additions. Little elflings, Astaron supposed. Humming tiredly, he rested his eyes by closing them and counting to 20, before opening them once more. 

He only had a single more page, which was just a review of visitations and wards. That was always easy because there had been no visitors inside the Potter estates for 14 years or more, unless they were renting out the property or it was a cursory review that was pre-scheduled and approved with a pre-assigned watch that was loyal to the Potter vaults and properties. Like a Goblin from the local Gringotts branch. 

Sighing, he glanced over the dates with a vague disinterest, only to stop when he came to the visitation date. There had been a visitation on the 8th of November, a full 9 days previous as it was the 17th. Taking in a sharp breath, Astaron snatched up his wand and pressed it against the date like the instructions from the Goblins had said. The date glowed and light spewed from it and words looped into the name that Astaron hated most. 

 11/8/1994 - Albus Dumbledore

Astaron tapped on the date 2 more times and watched as dates were listed before his very eyes, continually counting down until he stopped it with a jerky flick of his wand. 

11/3/1981 - Albus Dumbledore | James Potter

Astaron made a strangled sound and retracted his wand, flicking it against to go through the dates again to see if he missed anything. There was no date of James leaving, only Dumbledore entering a leaving. He swallowed convulsively and laid his wand down with a shaky hand. 

So James was in the Potter Manor and hasn't left for 13 years essentially. Oh Merlin, it had been mentioned that James had been pregnant so does Snape have a 13 year old he never got to meet or did Dumbledore kill the child?  A faceless baby with Dumbledore standing over it, James being forced to watch with tears and begging, pleading, like Astaron's own mother had done, appeared in his mind with a heavy horror. Astaron retched at the thought, his stomach rolling with a heavy clench.

He shook off the image with closed eyes; he couldn't think about such things until he even had a way to get to James. Some of these wards were heavily disabling and they could hurt if anybody went into the Manor uninvited. And they were not allowed into the wards, so that was a bummer. Snape had never been to any Potter property other than Gadric's Hollow, so that sucked. He'd never been keyed into the wards so he also could not enter. 

Shaking his head, Astaron closed the file and gathered himself. He could still write to the Goblins, asking for a temporary override that was only allowed in the most dire of circumstances. It had to work, and with any luck, he might be able to go on the Hogsmeade weekend coming up, and then to the Potter Manor around Christmas time with how difficult life was on a permanent basis. 

With a tentative hope, Astaron snatched up a pen and began writing to Gringotts. 

OoOoOoOoO

It is a strange thing, but when you are dreading something, and would give anything to slow down time, it has a disobliging habit of speeding up. The days until the first task seemed to slip by as though someone had fixed the clocks to work at double speed. A feeling of barely controlled panic was with Astaron wherever he went, as ever present as the snide comments about the Daily Prophet article.

On the Saturday before the first task, all students in the third year and above were permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade. Amaya had been a bit excited to see who had wanted to meet up with them, from Sirius’ letter, as it could be a number of people considering everybody who been affected.  

Astaron though, had been insistent on wearing the Cloak, which had seemed silly to Ron and Amaya. But he had said that he was going to wear it to Hogsmeade, until they were a good distance away from everybody else or there was a good chance that nobody was going to try and bother them. Ron and Amaya had nodded, saying nothing.

So, he donned the Invisibility Cloak in the dormitory, went back downstairs, and set off to Hogsmeade with his two best friends by his side. It was wonderfully freeing being under the cloak; he watched other students walking past them as they entered the village, most of them sporting Support Cedric Diggory! badges, but no horrible remarks came his way for a change, and nobody was quoting that stupid article.

“People keep looking at me now,” Amaya grumped as they came out of Honeydukes Sweetshop later, eating large cream-filled chocolates. “They think I’m talking to myself.” Ron had slipped away after they saw Blaise Zabini strolling around and ducking into more secluded part of the village. Ron had rushed off, with a hurried, “Don’t wait for me; see you at the Broomstick.”

“Don’t move your lips so much then.”

“Come on, please just take off your cloak for a bit, no one’s going to bother you here.”

“Oh yeah?” Astaron gave a low snort. “Look behind you.”

Rita Skeeter and her photographer friend had just emerged from the Three Broomsticks pub. Talking in low voices, they passed right by Amaya without looking at her. Bit funny, considering all they had written about her.

Astaron backed into the wall of Honeydukes to stop Rita Skeeter from hitting him with her crocodile-skin handbag. She had replacements obviously, he grouched internally. When they were gone, Astaron said, “She’s staying in the village. I bet she’s coming to watch the first task.” As he said it, his stomach flooded with a wave of molten panic. He didn’t mention this; they hadn’t discussed what was coming in the first task much; nobody wanted to really think about it even with the amount of library time they were accumulating. It was all pretended to be homework studying really, even though Astaron frequently got books on protections spells and more obscure ones from the Restricted Section.

“She’s gone,” stated his sister, who was looking right through him toward the end of the street. “Why don’t we go and have a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks, it’s a bit cold, isn’t it? We’ll get a table and wait up for the person and Ron.”

The Three Broomsticks was packed, mainly with Hogwarts students enjoying their free afternoon, but also with a variety of magical people Harry rarely saw anywhere else. Harry supposed that as Hogsmeade was the only all-wizard village in Britain, it was a bit of a haven for creatures like hags, who were not as adept as wizards at disguising themselves. It was very hard to move through crowds in the Invisibility Cloak, in case you accidentally trod on someone, which tended to lead to awkward questions.

He edged slowly toward a spare table in the corner while his sister went to buy drinks. On his way through the pub, Astaron spotted Draco, who was sitting with his gaggle of Slytherins. Resisting the urge to give Draco a good, firm, claiming kiss, he finally reached the table and sat down at it.

Amaya joined him a moment later with two butterbeers and he slipped the Cloak off. It was folded carefully and put into his pocket, where it nestled quite comfortably with a happy buzz of magic.

It was weird, feeling and seeing magic, which came on and off randomly. It was annoying but useful sometimes. It helped with spells and auras and enchantments, which was especially noticeable on the Flaming Sippy Cup that had regurgitated his name on a burnt piece of parchment.

Amaya took out her S.P.E.W notebook, which had the short list of her name, well her other name, Astaron’s other name, and Ron. Right next to their names, were the respective titles of Founder, Secretary, and Treasurer. Astaron wasn’t sure if anything more could change but she still carried it on her person apparently. “Maybe I should try and get some of the other villagers involved in S.P.E.W.” Amaya said, looking around thoughtfully at the other patrons in the pub.

Astaron imagined Amaya telling Draco about S.P.E.W and privately thought to himself that it most likely would not be well-received.  “Yeah, right. I don’t think that they would be interested at all in it.” He stated it quite bluntly before taking a quick swig of butterbeer. “Hermione, when are you going to give up on this S.P.E.W stuff?”

“When house-elves have decent wages and working conditions!” she hissed back. She rearranged herself into something more proper before anyone could really notice her brief lapse in decorum. She was getting a bit stuffy like that. “You know, I’m starting to think it’s time for more direct action. I wonder how you get into the school kitchens?”

“No idea, ask Fred and George.”

Amaya lapsed into thoughtful silence, while Astaron drank his butterbeer, watching the people in the pub. All of them looked cheerful and relaxed. Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbot were swapping Chocolate Frog cards at a nearby table; both of them sporting Support Cedric Diggory! badges on their cloaks. Right over by the door he saw Cho and a large group of her Ravenclaw friends. She wasn’t wearing a Cedric badge though. . . . Astaron hummed under his breath as he saw this; so apparently, not everyone thought of him as dirt. That was nice.

What wouldn’t he have given to be one of these people, sitting around laughing and talking, with nothing to worry about but homework? He imagined how it would have felt to be here if his name hadn’t come out of the Goblet of Fire. He wouldn’t be wearing the Invisibility Cloak, just to get to Hogsmeade without being trampled for one thing.  

If Ron were here right now, the three of them would probably be happily imagining what deadly dangerous task the school champions would be facing on Tuesday. He’d have been really looking forward to it, watching them do whatever it was . . . cheering on Cedric with everyone else, safe in a seat at the back of the stands. . . . He wondered how the other champions were feeling. Every time he had seen Cedric lately, he had been surrounded by admirers and looking nervous but excited. Astaron caught a glimpse of Fleur Delacour from time to time in the corridors; she looked exactly as she always did, haughty and unruffled. And Krum just sat in the library, poring over books.

Sirius wiggled his way into this mind and the tight, tense knot in his chest seemed to ease slightly. He would be speaking to him in just over twenty hours, as the coming night was when they were meeting at the common room fire — which was, of course, assuming nothing went wrong, as everything else had done lately…

“Look, it’s Hagrid!” Amaya tugged at his arm and he looked in the direction she was gesturing too. The back of Hagrid’s enormous shaggy head — he had mercifully abandoned his bunches — emerged over the crowd.

Astaron wondered why he hadn’t spotted him at once, as Hagrid was so large, but standing up carefully, he saw that Hagrid had been leaning low, talking to Professor Moody.

Hagrid had his usual enormous tankard in front of him, but Moody was drinking from his hip flask. Madam Rosmerta, the pretty landlady, didn’t seem to think much of this; she was looking askance at Moody as she collected glasses from tables around them. Perhaps she thought it was an insult to her mulled mead, but Moody had told them all during their last Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson he preferred to prepare his own food and drink at all times, as it was so easy for Dark wizards to poison an unattended cup.

As Astaron watched, he saw Hagrid and Moody get up to leave. He waved, then remembered that Hagrid had Blast-Ended Skrewts that he was taking care of as well as duties for the Tournament. It was best not to incite him and be accused of cheating. Moody, however, paused, his magical eye on the spot where he was sitting. He tapped Hagrid in the small of the back (being unable to reach his shoulder), muttered something to him, and then the pair of them made their way back across the pub toward their table.

 “Hel’o ‘ermione, ‘arry.”  “Hello,” said Amaya, smiling back. Astaron gave a lift of his lips and that was the extent of his saying. Moody limped around the table and bent down; Astaron thought he was reading the S.P.E.W. notebook, until he muttered, “Nice cloak, Potter.” Astaron stared at him in amazement and bemusement. He’d had his cloak off the entire time, so how did Moody know about his Cloak?

The large chunk missing from Moody’s nose was particularly obvious at a few inches’ distance. It was scarred over grotesquely and his mouth was lopsided from thick scars marring through it. Moody grinned nastily.

Astaron stiffened. “How did you even know?”

“Tryin’ to get into the Restricted Section after curfew, isn’t a good idea, Potter.” Astaron blinked, blinked again, then panicked at the idea of Moody being able to see through his glamour.

Stifling the panic, he gave a sheepish look to Moody, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right…” He chuckled nervously, averting his eyes.  

Hagrid was beaming down at him too, from where he was talking to Amaya. He shook his head subtly, telling him that it wasn’t a good idea to talk to him. Not unless Astaron had a death wish and wanted to be at the end of a few angry Hufflepuff wands.

Hagrid now bent down on the pretext of reading the S.P.E.W. notebook as well and said in a whisper so low that only Astaron could hear it, “Harry, meet me t’night at midnight at me cabin. Wear yer cloak.” Astaron blinked then nodded stiffly; he hadn’t known that Hagrid could talk so quietly.

Straightening up, Hagrid said loudly, “Nice ter see yeh, Hermione,” winked, and departed. Moody followed him.

“Why does Hagrid want me to meet him at midnight?” he asked, very surprised and a bit suspicious.

“Does he?” Amaya looking startled. “I wonder what he’s up to? I don’t know whether you should go, Harry...” She looked nervously around and hissed, “It could be a trap or something; what if Dumbledore is there?” It was true that going down to Hagrid’s at midnight could be very worrisome, and there was always the chance that somebody dangerous was there or something could happen.

 Amaya suggested sending Hedwig down to Hagrid’s to tell him he couldn’t go — which Astaron shot down very quickly, telling her that Hedwig was resting from a long flight from Gringotts, and he wasn’t bothering her over something so little — Astaron thought it better just to be quick at whatever Hagrid wanted him for. He was very curious to know what this might be; Hagrid never asked for a visit so late at night. Hell, he was often disapproving if they were cutting it close to curfew to visit him.

Shaking his head, Astaron sipped his butterbeer lightly, watching and waiting as patiently as he could with his stomach wringing around with nervousness. Sirius had not specified exactly who was coming, completely skipping out on that when Astaron had questioned about that in his letter, which was a very good show of not wanting to answer that question at all.

After a while, Ron slipped onto the bench with them, a butterbeer in hand and sweets stuffed in his pockets. His cheeks were flushed spectacularly, showcasing his freckles which stood out easily in brown splotches on his skin.

Amaya brought up S.P.E.W again, going on a long strung out tangent about house-elf rights; Ron shared a fondly exasperated look over her head, which she completely missed as she scribbled down the goals and missions of S.P.E.W. There was a comfortable air around them that soothed Astaron immensely, something about being with his best friends and just not having to worry about everything else. Even if only for a little while and it was just arguing about house-elf rights. It was just so… ordinary compared to everything else, that it was probably the most remarkable thing about his day when compared to everything else.

In the end, nobody had come up to them, which left him and Amya feeling rather put out. Ron had tried to cheer them up with pumpkin pasties, or a blood pop in his case, but even as he suckled on the red lolly, it didn’t take away the low anger that had begun stewing in his stomach.

Later that evening, as the day passed with varying speeds depending on his activity, he slipped out of bed with the Invisibility Cloak over him. It was half past eleven, when he was creeping down the stairs and into the common room. There were still a few people in there, which didn’t really surprise Astaron from all the excitement of the day.

The Creevey brother were trying to charm a stack of Support Cedric Diggory! Badges into saying Support Harry Potter! Instead. All that had managed though, so far, was to get them to say POTTER STINKS! The effort was appreciated though, as he crept past them to get to the portrait hole.

Amaya opened it from the outside as they had planned, as Astaron slipped past her with a whisper of thanks, before setting off through the castle.

The grounds were dark as he walked down the lawn toward the lights shining near Hagrid’s cabin. The enormous Beauxbatons carriage was also lit up; Astaron could see Madame Maxime talking inside as he knocked on the door to the groundkeeper’s hut. “Yeh there, ‘arry?”

“Yeah,” he responded, slipping inside the hut, and pulling the cloak off his head. “What did you need?”

“Got summat ter show yeh.” There was an air of excitement around him; he was wearing a flower that resembled an oversized artichoke in his buttonhole. It looked as though he had abandoned the use of axle grease, but had definitely attempted to comb his hair – the broken teeth of a comb were tangled in it.

“What is it you want to show me?” He wondered warily if the skrewts had laid eggs, or Hagrid had managed to buy another giant three-headed dog off a stranger in a pub.

“Come with me, keep quiet, an’ keep yerself covered with that cloak,” said Hagrid. “We won’ take Fang, he won’ like it...”

“Listen, Hagrid, I can’t stay long... I’ve got to be back up at the castle by one o’clock —”

But Hagrid wasn’t listening; he was opening the cabin door and striding off into the night. Astaron hurried to follow and found, to his confused surprise, that Hagrid was leading him to the Beauxbatons carriage. “Hagrid, what — ?”

“Shhh!” hurried Hagrid, with a great swipe of one of his large hands, and he knocked three times on the door bearing the crossed golden wands. Madame Maxime opened it. She was wearing a silk shawl wrapped around her massive shoulders. She smiled when she saw Hagrid. “Ah, ’Agrid . . . it is time?”

“Bong-sewer,” said Hagrid, beaming at her, and holding out a hand to help her down the golden steps. Astaron felt the barest amusement at his attempt at French, but stayed silent as Madame Maxime closed the door behind her, taking the arm Hagrid offered. They set off around the edge of the paddock containing Madame Maxime’s giant winged horses, with a completely bewildered Astaron running to keep up with them. Had Hagrid wanted to show him Madame Maxime? He could see her any old time he wanted… she wasn’t exactly hard to miss…

But it seemed that Madame Maxime was in for the same treat as Harry, because after a while she spoke playfully, “Wair is it you are taking me, ’Agrid?”

“Yeh’ll enjoy this,” said Hagrid gruffly, “worth seein’, trust me. On’y — don’ go tellin’ anyone I showed yeh, right? Yeh’re not s’posed ter know.”

“Of course not,” replied Madame Maxime, fluttering her long black eyelashes. Were they flirting? Astaron gave a soft noise and took a deep breath to silence himself. It would not due to get caught.

And still they walked, Astaron was getting more and more irritated as he jogged along in their wake, checking his watch every now and then. Hagrid had some harebrained scheme in hand, which might make him miss Sirius. If they didn’t get there soon, he was going to turn around, go straight back to the castle, and leave Hagrid to enjoy his moonlit stroll with Madame Maxime.

 But then — when they had walked so far around the perimeter of the forest that the castle and the lake were out of sight — Astaron heard something. He took a deep breath and slipped off his glamour band, which also dampened his senses as a vampire enough so that he could not be accused of being a creature. Men were shouting up ahead – then came a deafening, earsplitting roar… Astaron swallowed the sudden lump of nervousness that had come up.

Hagrid led Madame Maxime around a clump of trees and came to a halt. He hurried up alongside them — for a split second, he thought he was seeing bonfires, and men darting around them — and then his mouth fell open.

 Dragons.

Four fully fucking grown, enormous, vicious as all hell looking dragons were rearing onto their hind legs inside an enclosure fenced with thick planks of wood, roaring and snorting; torrents of fire were shooting into the dark sky from their open, fanged mouths, fifty feet above the ground on their outstretched necks.

There was a silvery-blue one with long, pointed horns, snapping and snarling at the wizards on the ground; a smooth-scaled green one, which was writhing and stamping with all its might; a red one with an odd fringe of fine gold spikes around its face, which was shooting mushroom-shaped fire clouds into the air; and a gigantic black one, more lizard-like than the others, which was nearest to them. At least thirty wizards, seven or eight to each dragon, were attempting to control them, pulling on the chains connected to heavy leather straps around their necks and legs.

Mesmerized, Astaron looked up, high above him, and saw the eyes of the black dragon, with vertical pupils like a cat’s, bulging with either fear or rage, he couldn’t tell which… It was making a horrible noise, a yowling, screeching scream. Astaron whimpered as the noise rang in his sensitive ears. He crept back and ducked behind a set of bushes to stare at the gorgeous creatures.

“Keep back there, Hagrid!” yelled a wizard near the fence, straining on the chain he was holding. “They can shoot fire at a range of twenty feet, you know! I’ve seen this Horntail do forty!”

“Is’n’ it beautiful?” said Hagrid softly. Astaron flickered his eyes over to them, where Madame Maxime had a large, bejeweled hand over her chest.

“It’s no good!” yelled another wizard. “Stunning Spells, on the count of three!” Astaron saw each of the dragon keepers pull out their wand in a quick, practiced form.

“Stupefy!” they shouted in unison, and the Stunning Spells shot into the darkness like fiery rockets, bursting in showers of stars on the dragons’ scaly hides. He watched the dragon nearest to them teeter dangerously on its back legs; its jaws stretched wide in a silent howl; its nostrils were suddenly devoid of flame, though still smoking — then, very slowly, it fell. Several tons of sinewy, scaly-black dragon hit the ground with a thud that Astaron could have sworn made the trees behind him quake. The dragon keepers lowered their wands and walked forward to their fallen charges, each of which was the size of a small hill.

They hurried to tighten the chains and fasten them securely to iron pegs, which they forced deep into the ground with their wands. “Wan’ a closer look?” Hagrid asked Madame Maxime excitedly. The pair of them moved right up to the fence, and Astaron followed cautiously.

The wizard who had warned Hagrid not to come any closer turned, and he realized who it was: Charlie Weasley. “All right, Hagrid?” he panted, coming over to talk. “They should be okay now — we put them out with a Sleeping Draft on the way here, thought it might be better for them to wake up in the dark and the quiet — but, like you saw, they weren’t happy, not happy at all —”

 “What breeds you got here, Charlie?” said Hagrid, gazing at the closest dragon, the black one, with something close to reverence. Its eyes were still just open. Astaron could see a strip of gleaming yellow beneath its wrinkled black eyelid. “This is a Hungarian Horntail,” announced Charlie.

“There’s a Common Welsh Green over there, the smaller one — a Swedish Short Snout, that blue-gray one over there — and a Chinese Fireball, that’s the red and yellow beauty.” Charlie looked around; Madame Maxime was strolling away around the edge of the enclosure, gazing at the stunned dragons.

Charlie frowned, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “I didn’t know you were bringing her, Hagrid.” Astaron leaned forward slightly, though his gaze occasionally flickered to the dragons. “The champions aren’t supposed to know what’s coming — she’s bound to tell her student, isn’t she?”

“Jus’ thought she’d like ter see ’em.” Hagrid shrugged, still casting an enraptured gaze at the dragons.

“Really romantic date, Hagrid,” said Charlie, shaking his head.

“Four . . .” said Hagrid, “so it’s one fer each o’ the champions, is it? What’ve they gotta do — fight ’em?”

“Just get past them, I think,” said Charlie. “We’ll be on hand if it gets nasty, Extinguishing Spells at the ready. They wanted nesting mothers, I don’t know why…” Astaron swayed slightly, the ground where he was kneeling, become very unsteady.

Charlie continued speaking. “-but I tell you this, I don’t envy the one who gets the Horntail. Vicious thing. Its back end’s as dangerous as its front, look.” Charlie pointed toward the Horntail’s tail, and Astaron saw long, bronze-colored spikes protruding along it every few inches. Suddenly, Astaron knew very well, that he was going to get the Horntail with his horrid luck.

Five of Charlie’s fellow keepers staggered up to the Horntail at that moment, carrying a clutch of huge granite-gray eggs between them in a blanket. They placed them carefully at the Horntail’s side. Hagrid let out a moan of longing. Astaron winced at the memory of Norberta, the dragon from first year. “I’ve got them counted, Hagrid,” said Charlie sternly. Then he said, “How’s Harry?”

“Fine,” said Hagrid. Astaron snorted inwardly; Hagrid was still gazing at the eggs.

“Just hope he’s still fine after he’s faced this lot,” said Charlie grimly, looking out over the dragons’ enclosure. “I didn’t dare tell Mum what he’s got to do for the first task; she’s already having kittens about him…” Charlie imitated his mother’s anxious voice. “‘How could they let him enter that tournament, he’s much too young! I thought they were all safe, I thought there was going to be an age limit!’ She was in floods after that Daily Prophet article about him. ‘He still cries about his parents! Oh bless him, I never knew!’” Charlies gave a bitter snort, rolling his eyes.

Astaron had had enough. Trusting to the fact that Hagrid wouldn’t miss him, with the attractions of four dragons and Madame Maxime to occupy him, he turned silently and began to walk away, back to the castle. He didn’t know whether he was glad he’d seen what was coming or not. Perhaps this way was better. The first shock was over now. Maybe if he’d seen the dragons for the first time on Tuesday, he would have passed out cold in front of the whole school… but maybe he would anyway… He was going to be armed with his wand — which, just now, felt like nothing more than a narrow strip of wood — against a fifty-foot-high, scaly, spike-ridden, fire-breathing dragon. And he had to get past it. With everyone watching. How?

Astaron sped up, skirting the edge of the forest; he had just under twenty minutes to get back to the fireside and talk to Sirius, and he couldn’t remember, ever, wanting to talk to someone more than he did right now — when, without warning, he ran into something very solid.

Landing on the ground with an oof sound, Astaron scrambled hurriedly to make sure his cloak was still on. He didn’t have his glamour on!

“It’s okay. I already know what you look like with and without it.” Astaron blinked at the familiar voice and looked toward it. Hazel eyes gazed back at him, and he took a soft breath of air. Coconut with a soft freshness… wildflowers maybe? “Astaron right?”

He nodded, finally relaxing as his mind registered the familiarity. It was Ravan. “Yeah. Little Ravan Riddle, right?”

They gave a happy hum, eyes bright. “Uh huh! You remembered!” Astaron smiled at the happiness.

“Why would I forget? You are my youngest sibling after all.”

Ravan giggled and twisted their fingers, a cute flush on their cheeks. “You should, um, try to speak to the dragons. It’ll help.”

Astaron stared, puzzled. “What?”

“Speak to the dragons; I can’t tell you more but it’ll work. I promise.” There was no doubt or worry so Astaron nodded. Ravan gave a small smile. “Look at the relations and it’ll be more noticeable.” They stood and brushed the dirt from their clothes. Astaron had forgotten neither of them had gotten up.

“I have to get back to the Common Room; Professor Snape only gave me permission this once, because of the extenuating circumstances but I can’t stay past one o’clock. And you have someone waiting on you, don’t you?” Astaron blinked and Ravan flounced away, only to stop quickly and turning around. “Also, mum is going to send you a letter, but you might not get it right now. Just be patient. It’ll be okay as long as you don’t take unnecessary risks.”

The eleven-year-old gave him, a person 3 years older than them, a scathing look before disappearing into the darkness of the woods. Obviously, they had to befuddle some other poor person.

Astaron raced through Hogwarts, stumbled and tripping to get up stairways and to the Gryffindor Common Room on time; he was very nearly out of breath by the time he got the right corridor but raced up the steps. “Balderdash!” he gasped out, taking deep wheezing breaths. The Fat Lady swung open with a low mumble, not even waking up. He climbed into a deserted Common Room that smelled quite normal, which meant that neither Ron or Amaya had set off any dungbombs to ensure them privacy. He stuffed the Cloak into his pocket and threw himself into an armchair in front of the fire.

The room was in darkness, with low flames the only source of light. Astaron toyed with the edge of his glamour band, wondering if he should put it on or not. Sirius should’ve been cleansed already, and according to his letter, he was in the Goblin run health center to help combat the effects of long-term Dementor exposure.

Looking back into the fire, he started in surprise to see Sirius’ head in the fire. If he hadn’t hadn’t seen Mr. Diggory do exactly this back in the Weasleys’ kitchen that summer, it would have scared him out of his wits. Instead, with his face breaking into the biggest smile he had worn for days, he scrambled out of his chair and crouched down by the hearth. “Sirius — how’re you doing?”

Sirius looked different from Astaron’s memory of him. When they had said good-bye, Sirius’s face had been gaunt and sunken, surrounded by a quantity of long, black, matted hair — but the hair was short and clean now, Sirius’s face was fuller, and he looked younger, much more like the only photograph Harry had of him, which had been taken at the Potters’ wedding. “Never mind me, how are you?” Sirius gazed at him with solemn grey eyes and his throat closed.

 “I’m —” For a second, he tried to say “fine” — but he couldn’t do it. He closed it before opening it, then he sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I’m tired, Siri. I’m so fucking tired of all of this.” Before he could stop himself, he was talking more than he’d talked in days — about how no one believed he hadn’t entered the tournament of his own free will, how Rita Skeeter had lied about him in the Daily Prophet, how he couldn’t walk down a corridor without being sneered at — and about everything that had been weighing him down and he couldn’t actually breathe and just worry about stupid teenager stuff because there were too many other things to worry about. “... and now Hagrid’s just shown me what’s coming in the first task, and its dragons, Sirius – fucking dragons and – and… I can’t do this, Sirius. I can’t – it’s not… no…” he trailed off with wet eyes and took a deep wavering breath.

Sirius looked at him, eyes full of concern, eyes that had not yet lost the look that Azkaban had given them — that deadened, haunted look. Sirius waited patiently, letting him talk himself into silence as he let out the long spiel that he needed because nobody else seemed to understand. Astaron wrapped his arms around his midsection and leaned back on his knees. Somehow, he felt ashamed for dumping all that on his godfather, who had far bigger problems. Which led him to opening his mouth, with lowered eyes. “M’sorry- didn’t mean to dump all that…”

“No pup! Don’t say that! You deserve someone who will listen to you because you aren’t being listened to right now. You’re not really letting anyone be there for you, even if there are a few people who continue to stand beside you, and that’s not fair to yourself. You continue to be there for everybody else but now, just take some time for you. Take some time to help yourself and say, ‘Okay, I deserve this and I need this because my health is important.’ Because you are not taking care of yourself and I want you to take care of yourself – I need you to take care of yourself. Please.”

Astaron sniffled and nodded, not trusting his voice at all. He hummed, to reaffirm his statement, the only sound he knew he could make without bursting into tears.

“Good.” Sirius was silent for a few beats, letting Astaron pull himself together. When he gave a nod of assent, he began speaking again. “Now, you said dragons are the first task. This we can deal with. You need to play up your strengths; they have weaknesses, everything always has a weakness. There are a few books on dragons, find one called… “The Anatomy of Reptilian Creatures and How They Live” by Anastacia Lauderhill and Dragons should be there. The breakdown will help you. Now there are a few other things I need to warn you about.”

His stomach sunk and rolled at his feet. What could be worse than dragons? “What?”

“Karkaroff. Ast- Harry, he was a Death Eater. He was caught and was put in Azkaban, but he got release. That’s probably why Mad-Eye is there; to keep an eye on him. Moody was actually the one to put him in Azkaban in the first place.”

Astaron took a deep breath and tilted his head to the side, trying to catch up with the rush of information. “Why was he released?”

Sirius lip curled and he looked disgusted. “He did a deal with the Ministry. He said he’d seen the error of his ways, and then he named people… he put a lot of people into Azkaban in his place.” Sirius snarled in pleasure as he added, “He’s not very popular in there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from I what I can tell you, he’s been teaching the Dark Arts to every students who passes through that school of his. You may want to watch out from the Durmstrang Champion, just to be on the safe side.”

“Okay… But – are you saying that you think Karkaroff put my name in the Goblet? Because if he did, he’s a very good actor. He seemed furious about it in the first place; he really didn’t want me competing.”

Sirius hummed mindlessly. “We know he’s a good actor; the Ministry set him free because of the show he put on for them. Now, onto the next matter, I’ve been keeping an eye on the Daily Prophet – ”

“ – You and the rest of the world – ” Astaron retorted, bitterly.

“ – and reading between the lines of the tale that Skeeter woman wove last month; Moody was attacked the night before he started Hogwarts. Yes, I know she says it’s a false alarm but I don’t think so. I think someone was trying to stop him from getting to Hogwarts. I think someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one’s going to look into it too closely; Mad-Eye’s heard intruders a bit too often. But that doesn’t mean he still can’t spot the real thing, in his old age. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry ever had.”

Astaron’s mind scrambled to read in between what Sirius said and stayed silent. ‘Someone tried to stop Moody; they might’ve succeeded and nobody would notice because Moody was always paranoid which leaves some wiggle-room for some odd things to go unnoticed. Moody was the best Auror which means that even the people that don’t believe the Ministry, think he’s perfectly okay.’ He nodded to Sirius, showing he understood.

“So, Karkaroff’s trying to kill me? Why?”

“I’ve been hearing some very strange things,” he began, slowly, hesitantly. “The Death Eaters seem to be a bit more active than usual lately. They showed themselves at the Quidditch World Cup, didn’t they? Someone set off the Dark Mark…– ” Astaron bit back the remarked that it was actually him and Amaya that set it off. “– and then – did you hear about the Ministry witch who’s gone missing?”

Astaron nodded. “Bertha Jorkins?”

“Exactly… she disappeared to Albania, and that’s definitely where Ri- Voldemort was rumored to be last… and she would’ve known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn’t she?”

“Yeah, but… it’s not very likely she’d have walked straight into him, is it?”

Sirius snorted and rolled his eyes. “Listen, I knew Bertha Jorkins. She was at Hogwarts when I was, a few years above James and I. And she was an idiot. Very nosy, but no brains, none at all. It’s not a good combination, Harry. I’d say she’d be very easy to lure into a trap.”

“So . . . so Voldemort could have found out about the tournament? … Is that what you mean? You think Karkaroff might be here on his orders?” And is it possible he knows?, was the unspoken question between them.

“I don’t know… I just don’t know…” Sirius blew out a harsh breath. “Karkaroff doesn’t strike me as the type who’d go back to Voldemort unless he knew Voldemort was powerful enough to protect him. Especially since he sold out so many of the others.” Sirius was silent for a few more moments. “It might be a plan to get you to him; It could be a plan to kill you and make it look like an accident.”

“The latter looks like a really good plan from where I’m standing and much more likely.” Astaron grinned bleakly. “They’ll just have to stand back and let the dragons do their stuff.”

Sirius gave him a forlorn look but said nothing. “Did you see Moons at Hogsmeade, by the way?”

Astaron blinked and shook his head. “No. I didn’t see Profe- er- Remus? at Hogsmeade. Never showed.”

“That’s odd.” Sirius frowned and shook his head. “I’ll speak to him and see what happened. Also, about the letter from Gringo –”

Astaron held a hend up to silence him, listening intently. Footsteps. “Go!” he hissed, “Go! Someone’s coming!” He fumbled with his band and slipped it over his wrist, feeling the magic wash over him.

Astaron scrambled to his feet, hiding the fire — if someone saw Sirius’s face within the walls of Hogwarts, they would raise an almighty uproar — the Ministry would get dragged in — he would, most definitely, be questioned about Sirius’s whereabouts — A tiny pop! was picked up by his ears, from the fire behind him and knew Sirius had gone. He watched the bottom of the spiral staircase. Who had decided to go for a stroll at one o’clock in the morning, and stopped Sirius from telling him about his time at Gringotts?

It was Ron. Dressed in his maroon paisley pajamas, Ron stopped dead facing Astaron across the room, and looked around.

“Who were you talking to?” he asked, looking very confused and tired. Astaron relaxed and sighed. “Just Sirius. He wanted to talk to me about the stuff.” With a vague gesture of his hand, he knew that Ron understood what ‘stuff’ was.

“Oh… you should probably get to bed, you’re super tense and you really should be sleeping…” He stumbled over to him and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. “You need to stop being so stressed and over thinking things. It’s not good for you.”

Astaron sighed but said nothing. “Come on. You need sleep and tomorrow you are having a big breakfast with an extra treat. I’m sure I can get Blasie to get some of Draco’s blood.”

Astaron shook his head. “No. He can’t. Not until I do a claiming bite with him.”

“Oh… okay. Can you drink from Amaya? As your twin?”

“Um… I don’t know. Never asked.”

“Then we’ll ask after breakfast and if not, I don’t mind donating. Now come on.” Fingers prodded at his ribs and Astaron began trudging up the steps, with Ron continually pushing his fingers into his side. He was shoved into their dorm room and Ron handed him a pair of pajamas.

He changed sluggishly, exhaustion having finally caught up to him, and flopped into bed.

“G’night, Ron.”

“ ‘night Aster.”

The abbreviation of his name made him smile, and Astaron slipped off feeling a bit lighter than he had since he entered Hogwarts.

OoOoOoOoO

 Astaron got up on Sunday morning and dressed so inattentively that it took a full 30 seconds for him to realize that he was trying to pull his hat onto his foot instead of his sock.

Ron had been staring at him with a blank gaze while he tried to dress himself with no actually attention, before he took pity and just began guiding him through the steps to dress himself. Astaron might’ve been embarrassed, but the dragon were preoccupying the capacity of his brain so there was no feeling there.

Once he was finally dressed, they darted off to the Great Hall and to where Amaya was at the Gryffindor Table, reading a book like she had been basically the entirety of the term. His stomach rolled at the thought of eating so he just nibbled on some toast, despite the holes that were being burned into his head via Ron’s angry mother hen glares.

After Ron had finished his breakfast and Amaya had her last spoon of porridge, he dragged then out to the library to find the book that Sirius had suggested. Ravan’s warning was also on his mind, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared.

He told them everything as they searched for Sirius’ book and every other book on dragons that there was. They were both alarmed by the warning about Karkaroff, but Amaya was more thoughtful about what Sirius had said about Moody. They all agreed to keep track of Moody and see if he was, in fact, an imposter.

Though, no matter how they felt, Amaya still insisted that they pay more attention to the book and the more pressing matter. “Let’s just try and keep you alive until Tuesday evening,” she had said, rather pleadingly, “and then we can worry all about Karkaroff and our father.” They went to the Black Lake and surrounded themselves with books and books, Hermione and Ron taking the other books while Astaron flipped through the suggested book.

They all tried to think of any spell to subdue a dragon, without needing the manpower of 7 other wizards, but were coming up blank. Nothing whatsoever occurred to them, so they just went back to the books, searching through for any information that could even be minute.

            Dragons are reptilian creatures that are closely, and distantly related, to other creatures, that include but are not limited to Basilisks ^{(see pg. 128)} Chimeras^{(see pg. 157)} Fire Crabs^{(see pg. 203)} Horned Serpents^{(see pg.320)} Mackled Malaclaws^{(see pg.47)} Manticores^{(see pg.263)} Mokes^{(see pg.341)} Occamy’^{(see pg.93)} Runespoors^{(see pg.359)} Sea Serpents^{(see pg.291)} Snallygasters^{(see pg.28)} and others.

They are most known for their nearly impenetrable hides and bursts of flame. Their famed fire breath in fact, comes from a set of glands in their throat. The oxygen that they take in combines with the combustion chemical secreted from the gland which creates fire. The chemical secreted is rightly called, ‘ignem factorem’ or ‘fire maker’ due to the reaction that it has with the oxygen. It lays at the base of their neck and is almost like the flammable liquid muggles call ‘gasoline’.

It contains the fluid when they are at peace and not feeling threatened, which is when the gland begins to seep with the chemical to create their main line of defence other than their sharp claws and spines.

It comes through their throat and out of their mouth, which are obviously fire-proof. The entirety of their muscles and exterior are coated in a special fluid that comes from their mothers when they were mere hatchlings. The mother licks them cleans, and as she does that, she coats them with that fluid from a gland not unlike a venom gland in snakes. Except it gathers in her spit and coats her hatchlings with it once they are hatched.

This is one reason why self-breeding of dragons are illegal because they cannot provide the same level of care that actual mothers can. Dragon keepers collect the fluid from mother dragons while they are stunned, which allows them to coat it on the hatchlings. It is mixed with pickled Murtlap and crushed Lobalug. This is a good substitute for dragon spit but it does not work as well since it forms more of a slimy, sticky paste than the smooth natural one from dragon spit…]

Astaron flipped through the book as it railed on and on about the anatomy of dragons and other reptilian creatures. It was informative and could’ve been classified as interesting if he wasn’t so crunched for time and completely nauseated by the thought of being fried to a crisp by a dragon. This was not looking good for him and the likeliness of his survival.

Ron groaned from where he was sitting, effectively drawing Astaron from his reading. “ Talon clipping by charms… treating scale rot… This book here,” He waved the book in his hand, ‘Men Who Love Dragons Too Much’ with a scowl, “is for nutters like Hagrid who want to keep dragons.” He threw the book into the ever-growing pile of books to the side.

It was a testament to how frazzled his sister was, that she didn’t immediately began chewing him out for disrespecting a book like that. Instead she began quoting from her book, looking very harassed. “Dragons are extremely difficult to slay with spells, owing to the ancient magic that imbues their hides, which none but the most powerful spells can penetrate…”

“But Sirius said a simple one would do it…”

“Let’s try some simple spellbooks, then.”

He took out all the spellbooks that he had collected over the weeks since his name was spat out, set them down, and began to flick through each. He went through the most basic of defence spells to fucking Mastery material in all of an hour and found nothing.

His sister looked over each book after he was done, whispering nonstop as she read, which he picked up easily. “Well, there are Switching Spells . . . but what’s the point of Switching it? Unless you swapped its fangs for wine-gums or something that would make it less dangerous… The trouble is, like that book said, not much is going to get through a dragon’s hide…” She looked up at him after a while.

“I’d say Transfigure it, but something that big, you really haven’t got a hope, I doubt even Professor McGonagall . . . unless you’re supposed to put the spell on yourself? Maybe to give yourself extra powers? But they’re not simple spells, I mean, we haven’t done any of those in class, I only know about them because I’ve been doing O.W.L. practice papers...”

Astaron took in a deep breath; this was far too stressful, and he did not want to hear about OWL practice papers when he could well and truly die before Christmas. “Hermione,” he said, through gritted teeth, “will you just.. be quiet for a bit, please? I’m really trying to concentrate here.” But all that happened, when Amaya fell silent, was that his brain filled with a sort of blank buzzing, which didn’t seem to allow room for concentration. He stared hopelessly down the index of Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed. Instant scalping . . . but dragons had no hair . . . pepper breath . . . that would probably increase a dragon’s firepower . . . horn tongue . . . just what he needed, to give it an extra weapon . . .

“Oh no, he’s back again, why can’t he read on his stupid ship?” Hermione sighed irritably as Viktor Krum slouched by them, cast a surly look over at their group, and settled himself by a large rock and pulled out a few book.

“Come on, we’ll go back to the common room... his fan club’ll be here in a moment, twittering away...” And sure enough, as they left their spot, a gaggle of girls giggled and scurried past them, one of them wearing a Bulgaria scarf tied around her waist.

Astaron tried to finish the book, desperate to find a section about anything that could help him. Taking a calming breath, he flipped through it at a slower pace, giving a more thoughtful skim of each page. Maybe he could find something?

After another chunk of time, and trying to swallow the feeling that he was going to puke, he found a piece that seemed marginally better than everything else.

            The weakest points of a Dragon are their eyes and underbelly, where the hide is the thinnest but no less tough than everywhere else. Causing irritation to the eyes is one of the best ways to distract a dragon but not the most advisable because they will slash their tails about and bellow fire in every which way in attempt to fry the enemy.

The best way to get away from a Dragon is to distract with another enemy, preferably one that seems to pose more of a threat than yourself. How one goes about that is their own choice but an illusion to lead them away is most likely to work better than a few other ideas…]

Astaron hummed and continued to read this over with an attentive need. Then he came across probably a single paragraph that had him bursting into tears of relief.

It is not a known fact, but Dragons can speak to other reptilian creatures, like magical snakes or otherwise. They seem to be able to understand and speak with the snakes with little problems though there is a translation problem that does arise occasionally. The experiment was conducted by Lyvia Gaunt, in 1879 where she allowed me to be a witness to her experimentation. Using her born gift of Parseltongue to understand the 14 different snakes she used and the 10 dragon litters of male, female, and hatchlings. She kept all under control using her parseltongue meaning she could easily determine what was bothering them, which was the reason she was granted allowance to keep them on her sprawling property…]

Speak to them, Ravan had said. Parseltongue. Astaron could’ve cried in that moment.

“Parseltongue! I can use parseltongue to speak with the Dragons and that might work… I think…” Astaron trailed off and looked at the book, a sudden nervousness in him. He’d never been able to control his parseltongue, only ever actually speaking it once really. So unless he was looking at a snake, or heard it, parseltongue didn’t come to him. And while looking at a dragon, he did not think it was going to work really.

That night, after he had exhausted all his mental faculties, he stayed awake even though his mind was begging to just shut down. He went to sleep after however long but when he woke, all he could think about was how sick he was going to be.  

Astaron seriously considered, for the first time ever, just running away from Hogwarts because honestly his lungs were trying to collapse under the fear he was feeling. But as he looked around the Great Hall at breakfast time, and thought about what leaving the castle would mean, he knew he couldn’t do it. It was the only place he had ever been happy... well, he supposed he must have been happy with his parents too, but he couldn’t remember that really.

Somehow, the knowledge that he would rather be here and facing a dragon than back on Privet Drive with Dudley was good to know; it made him feel slightly calmer. Which really, was a testament to how much he hated being at that place.

He finished his bacon with difficulty (his throat wasn’t working too well), and as he got up, he saw Cedric Diggory leaving the Hufflepuff table. Cedric still didn’t know about the dragons . . . the only champion who didn’t, if Harry was right in thinking that Maxime and Karkaroff would have told Fleur and Krum...  

“Hermione, Ron, I’ll see you in the greenhouses,” Astaron said distractedly, coming to his decision as he watched Cedric leaving the Hall. “Go on, I’ll catch you up.”

“Harry, you’ll be late, the bell’s about to ring —” Astaron waved away his sister’s attempts. It wasn’t like he would actually be in trouble anyway.

“I’ll catch you up, okay?”

With that, he darted away trying to catch up to the Hufflepuff. By the time Astaron reached the bottom of the marble staircase, Cedric was at the top. He was with a load of sixth-year friends. Astaron couldn’t talk to Cedric in front of them; they were among those who had been quoting Rita Skeeter’s article at him every time he went near them. He followed Cedric at a distance and saw that he was heading toward the Charms corridor.

Astaron bit his lip and mulled over an idea. Pausing at a distance from them, he pulled out his wand, and took careful aim. “Diffindo!” Cedric’s bag split. Parchment, quills, and books spilled out of it onto the floor. Several bottles of ink smashed.

“Don’t bother,” said Cedric in an exasperated voice as his friends bent down to help him. “Tell Flitwick I’m coming, go on...” This was exactly what Astaron had been hoping for. He slipped his wand back into his robes, waited until Cedric’s friends had disappeared into their classroom, and hurried up the corridor, which was now empty of everyone but himself and Cedric.

“Hi,” said Cedric, picking up a copy of A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration that was now splattered with ink. “My bag just split... brand-new and all...” He sounded very annoyed.

“Cedric,” spoke Astaron, hurriedly, “the first task is dragons.”

“What?” edric looked up with wide eyes.

“Dragons,” Astaron spoke quickly, in case Professor Flitwick came out to see where Cedric had got to. “They’ve got four, one for each of us, and we’ve got to get past them.” Cedric stared at him. Astaron saw some of the panic he’d been feeling since Saturday night flickering in Cedric’s grey eyes.

“Are you sure?” Cedric asked in a hushed voice.

“Dead sure. I’ve seen them.”

“But how did you find out? We’re not supposed to know...”

 “Never mind.” Astaron interrupted quickly — he knew Hagrid would be in trouble if he told the truth. “But I’m not the only one who knows. Fleur and Krum will know by now — Maxime and Karkaroff both saw the dragons too.” Okay, well that wasn't strictly true it was a fair guess. 

Cedric straightened up, his arms full of inky quills, parchment, and books, his ripped bag dangling off one shoulder. He stared at him, and there was a puzzled, almost suspicious look in his eyes. “Why are you telling me?” Astaron looked at him in disbelief. He was sure Cedric wouldn’t have asked that if he had seen the dragons himself.

“ What in Merlin’s – It’s just... fair, isn’t it?” He let out a deep breath. “We all know now... we’re on an even footing, aren’t we?” Cedric was still looking at him in a slightly suspicious way when Astaron heard a familiar clunking noise behind him. It was a bit far off but getting closer.

“Shit – sorry gotta go.” He gave a weak lift of his lips and darted off, leaving Cedric in the hallway with his arms full of stuff.

He turned the corner and saw Mad-Eye Moody walking. Astaron blinked in what could’ve been mistaken as surprise. “Potter, come with me.” He stared apprehensively at Moody. What did he want? Maybe he was trying to shake his nerves and get him more riled up for the tournament?

“Er — Professor, I’m supposed to be in Herbology —” Weak excuse but what else could he do? His mind hadn’t been working properly since he woke.

“Never mind that, Potter. In my office, please...” Astaron followed him, wondering what was going to happen to him now. What if Moody wanted to know how he’d found out about the dragons? Would Moody go to Dumbledore that he’s seen under his glamour somehow (the goblins still hadn’t returned his letter about that inquiry), or just turn him into a ferret? Well, it might be easier to get past a dragon if he were a ferret, he thought dully, he’d be smaller, much less easy to see from a height of fifty feet...

He followed Moody into his office. Moody closed the door behind them and turned to look at Astaron, his magical eye fixed upon him as well as the normal one. “That was a very decent thing you just did, Potter,” Moody said quietly. He didn’t know what to say; this wasn’t the reaction he had expected at all. Nor was he sure how Moody had heard them from where he was in the hall.

 “Sit down,” Moody ordered more than suggested, and Astaron sat, looking around. He had visited this office under two of its previous occupants. In Professor Lockhart’s day, the walls had been plastered with beaming, winking pictures of Professor Lockhart himself. When Remus had lived here, you were more likely to come across a specimen of some fascinating new Dark creature he had procured for them to study in class.

Now, however, the office was full of a number of exceptionally odd objects that he supposed Moody had used in the days when he had been an Auror. On his desk stood what looked like a large, cracked, glass spinning top; it was easily recognized at once as a Sneakoscope, because he owned one himself, though it was much smaller than Moody’s. In the corner on a small table stood an object that looked something like an extra-squiggly, golden television aerial. It was humming slightly. What appeared to be a mirror hung opposite Astaron on the wall, but it was not reflecting the room. Shadowy figures were moving around inside it, none of them clearly in focus.

“Like my Dark Detectors, do you?” said Moody, who was watching him closely.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at the squiggly golden aerial.

“Secrecy Sensor. Vibrates when it detects concealment and lies . . . no use here, of course, too much interference — students in every direction lying about why they haven’t done their homework. Been humming ever since I got here. I had to disable my Sneakoscope because it wouldn’t stop whistling. It’s extra-sensitive, picks up stuff about a mile around. Of course, it could be picking up more than kid stuff,” he added in a growl.

“And what’s the mirror for?”

“Oh that’s my Foe-Glass. See them out there, skulking around? I’m not really in trouble until I see the whites of their eyes. That’s when I open my trunk.” He let out a short, harsh laugh, and pointed to the large trunk under the window. It had seven keyholes in a row.

Astaron wondered what was in there, until Moody’s next question brought him sharply back to earth. “So . . . found out about the dragons, have you?”

He hesitated. He’d been afraid of this — but he hadn’t told Cedric, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell Moody, that Hagrid had broken the rules. “It’s all right,” stated Moody, sitting down and stretching out his wooden leg with a groan. “Cheating’s a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and always has been.”

“I didn’t cheat,” he retorted sharply. “It was — a sort of accident that I found out.”

Moody grinned. “I wasn’t accusing you, laddie. I’ve been telling Dumbledore from the start, he can be as high-minded as he likes, but you can bet old Karkaroff and Maxime won’t be. They’ll have told their champions everything they can. They want to win. They want to beat Dumbledore. They’d like to prove he’s only human.” Moody gave another harsh laugh, and his magical eye swiveled around so fast it made Astaron feel a bit queasy to watch it.

“So . . . got any ideas how you’re going to get past your dragon yet?” said Moody.

Astaron stared at him with narrowed eyes before nodding slowly. “Yes. A few.”

Moody gave a nasty, lopsided grin and clapped his gnarled hands together. “Good, good. I don’t show favoritism but you be sure to play your strengths and you might just get out alive; show that being younger doesn’t have nothin’ ta do with your survival. You just gotta be smart.” Moody gave a decisive nod and fixed both of his eyes on him.

Astaron stared back impassively, offering no more information. Moody grunted. “Glad your confident, lad, but don’t forget; anything can go wrong. Remember; play with your strengths.” Astaron nodded and Moody dismissed him.

“Hermione,” Astaron whispered, when he had sped into greenhouse three minutes later, uttering a hurried apology to Professor Sprout as he passed her. “Hermione — I need you to help me.” His mind was fluttering with ideas, but one in particular was coming to mind.

“What d’you think I’ve been trying to do, Harry?” she whispered back, her eyes round with anxiety over the top of the quivering Flutterby Bush she was pruning.

“Hermione, I need to learn how to do a Summoning Charm, Engorging Charm, and Reducing Charm properly by tomorrow afternoon. And at a moving object.”

And so, they practiced. They didn’t have lunch, but headed for a free classroom, where Astaron tried with all his might to make various objects fly across the room toward him. The other two charms had been done easily and with no trouble at all. He was still having problems with the summoning charm however. The books and quills continued losing heart halfway across the room and dropping like stones to the floor. “Concentrate, Harry, concentrate...” Amaya laid out multiple objects while Ron stood against the wall, silently.

 “What d’you think I’m trying to do?” Astaron snapped, feeling angry. “A great big dragon keeps popping up in my head for some reason... y’know imminent crispy death.”

Big hands landed on his shoulders. “Okay... in... out... again...” Ron coached him calmly before his hands slipped off his shoulders. “Now, try again...”

He wanted to skip Divination to keep practicing, but Amaya refused point-blank to skive off Arithmancy, and had insisted that they go to lessons to recuperate for a bit.

 He therefore had to endure over an hour of Professor Trelawney, who spent half the lesson telling everyone that the position of Mars with relation to Saturn at that moment meant that people born in July were in great danger of sudden, violent deaths.

 “Well, that’s good,” Astaron snarled loudly, his temper getting the better of him, “just as long as it’s not drawn-out. I don’t want to suffer.” Ron looked for a moment as though he was going to laugh; he certainly caught his eyes with amusement sparkling through them; Astaron was feeling to wound up to care.

He spent the rest of the lesson trying to attract small objects toward him under the table with his wand. He managed to make a fly zoom straight into his hand, though he wasn’t entirely sure that was his prowess at Summoning Charms — perhaps the fly was just stupid.

He forced down some dinner after Divination, then returned to the empty classroom with Amaya and Ron, using the Invisibility Cloak to avoid the teachers. They kept practicing until past midnight. They would have stayed longer, but Peeves turned up and, pretending to think that he had wanted things thrown at him, started chucking chairs across the room. They had left in a hurry before the noise attracted Filch, and went back to the Gryffindor common room, which had been mercifully empty.

At two o’clock in the morning, Astaron  stood near the fireplace, surrounded by heaps of objects: books, quills, several upturned chairs, an old set of Gobstones, and Neville’s toad, Trevor. Only in the last hour had Astaron really got the hang of the Summoning Charm. “That’s better, Harry, that’s loads better,” Ron encouraged, looking exhausted but very pleased.

“Well, now we know what to do next time I can’t manage a spell,” Astaron groused, throwing a rune dictionary back to Amaya, so he could try again, “threaten me with a dragon. Right...” He raised his wand once more. “Accio Dictionary!” The heavy book soared out of her hand, flew across the room, and hecaught it.

“Harry, I really think you’ve got it!” Amaya shouted delightedly.

“Just as long as it works tomorrow...” Harry said.

Ron gave a sleepy smile. “Just as long as you’re concentrating really, really hard on it, it’ll come. Harry, we’d better get some sleep . . . you’re going to need it.” As usual, keeping up the mother hening.

Astaron had been focusing so hard on learning the Summoning Charm that evening that some of his blind panic had left him. It returned in full measure, however, on the following morning. The atmosphere in the school was one of great tension and excitement. Lessons were to stop at midday, giving all the students time to get down to the dragons’ enclosure — though of course, they didn’t yet know what they would find there.

Astaron felt separate from everyone around him, throughout the entire day, whether they were wishing him good luck or hissing “We’ll have a box of tissues ready, Potter ” as he passed. It was an anxiety so overwhelming that he wondered whether he mightn’t just lose his head when they tried to lead him out to his dragon, and start trying to curse everyone in sight.

Time was behaving in a more peculiar fashion than ever, rushing past in great dollops, so that one moment he seemed to be sitting down in his first lesson, History of Magic, and the next, walking into lunch...and then (where had the morning gone? the last of the dragon-free hours?), Professor McGonagall was hurrying over to him in the Great Hall. Why did it have to move so far? Why couldn’t it have just gone by slower? He wasn’t fucking ready!

“Potter, the champions have to come down onto the grounds now... You have to get ready for your first task.”

“Okay.” Astaron whispered, standing up, his fork falling onto his plate with a clatter.

“Good luck, Harry,” Amaya whispered.

Ron gave him a thumbs up and a smile, through his smile wavered and his hands were shaking. Astaron was forcefully reminded, that other people would still be affected if he died. Not just him. “You’ll be fine!”

“Yeah.” Astaron spoke in a voice that was most unlike his own.

People were watching her prod at him to get out of the Great Hall quicker. Astaron refused to go slower; he didn’t want to see the dragons just yet. He left the Great Hall with Professor McGonagall. She didn’t seem herself either; in fact, she looked nearly as anxious as his sister.

As she walked him down the stone steps and out into the cold November afternoon, she put her hand on his shoulder. “Now, don’t panic,” she said, “just keep a cool head... We’ve got wizards standing by to control the situation if it gets out of hand... The main thing is just to do your best, and nobody will think any the worse of you...” She gave him a once over and looked around and spoke again. “Poppy and I are wishing you the best, Astaron; you are made of things stronger than I can comprehend...” She smiled and there was a weak flutter in his chest.

His lips twitched upward. “Thanks, Professor.”

“Minnie in private young man. Now, go show them how strong you are.” She smiled before giving a soft frown. “Are you sure you are well though? We could always post-pone it if you are ill?” She was definitely more worried than Amaya if she was thinking about playing the judges.

Astaron felt his head moving. “Yes,” he heard himself say. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Very well... then let us go to the tent...

Chapter Text

"Parseltongue"

Astaron stepped into the tent of the champions, allowing himself to look a bit more nervous than he felt. He took in a deep breath and looked around. Fleur Delacour was sitting in a corner on a low wooden stool; she didn't look nearly as composed as she normally did, but rather pale and clammy. Viktor Krum looked even surlier than usual, which Astaron supposed was his was of showing nerves. Though, Quidditch matches where it was often people die did have to come with some sort of anxiety control methods. 

Cedric was pacing up and down, looking pale as well. When he caught sight of Astaron, Cedric gave him a small tight smile. Astaron attempted to return it, though he was sure it came out more as a grimace, as his face felt like they'd forgotten how to make an expression with even a vague semblance of positivity. 

"Harry! Righto!" Ludo Bagman was radiating happiness, as though they weren't about to tell them they were going to fight nesting mother dragons. Bagman looked like an overblown cartoon character from one of Dudley's comics or shows, standing around all the pale, chalky champions, clad in his old Wasp robes. "Well, now we're all in here! Time to fill you lot in!" He waved them over dramatically. None of them moved; they only stared at him. His smiled wavered but he shook it off quickly. 

"Once the audience has assembled, I'm going to be offering each of you this bag -" he held up a little sack of purple silk and shook it vigorously at them " - from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different -er- varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else too... ah, yes... your task is too collect the Golden Egg!" 

Astaron swallowed convulsively, feeling very feint all of a sudden. He glanced around; Cedric had nodded once, to show understanding, then started pacing again, only he looked a bit green. Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum hadn't reacted at all. Perhaps they thought they might be sick if they opened their mouths; that was certainly how Astaron, himself, felt. But they, at least, had volunteered for this. Astaron'd had no say in this at all. 

He perched himself carefully on a cot, resting his elbows on his knees with his head in between his legs. The light-headedness he'd been feeling since he woke abated slight. In no time at all, the stands were filled, with hundreds upon hundreds of feet passing by the tent accompanied with excited chatter and laughing. Astaron felt his nausea return and he took a deep calming breath. 

It felt like Astaron was an entirely different species than those in the crowd, feeling so separate from everybody else it was like he was just a bystander to an elaborate game of his life. He threw his head back and flopped himself onto the cot, with a distressed noise that sounded a bit more creature-esque than he would've liked. There was a low answering trill sound and Astaron couldn't help but shiver at the wrongness that vibrated throughout the noise. Not my mate, his mind screeched. It just didn't sound right. At all.

And then - it seemed like only a second later with Astaron being so stuck in his mind - Bagman was hurrying them into the middle of the tent with an open purple silk sack. Crouch was with him, a sour look on his face, with Dumbledore standing right behind them, the usual benign smile on his face. Bagman smiled widely, excitedly. "Ladies first," he said, extending his arm towards Fleur Delacour. 

She put a shaking hand into the bag and withdrew it; enclosed in her hand was a tiny, perfect model of a dragon - a Welsh Green. It had the number two around its neck. And Astaron knew, by the fact that Fleur showed no sign of surprise, instead a determined resignation, that he had been right. Madame Maxime had told her what was coming. 

The same held true for Krum; he pulled out the scarlet Chinese Fireball with a umber three around its neck. He didn't even blink, just sat down again and stared at the ground. 

Cedric put his hand in and what came out was a blue-ish grey Swedish Short Snout; the number one was tied around its neck. 

Knowing and dreading what was left, but praying that he was wrong, Astaron stuck his hand in and gripped the statue that touched his hand. He pulled his hand out and... of course, just my fucking luck. A miniature Hungarian Horntail spun around in his hand, baring its teeth at him. The number four hung around its neck like a noose, only it was tightening on Astaron's neck instead. He looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. 

"Well there you are!" exclaimed Bagman. Astaron looked at him. "You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take on the dragons, do you see? Now, I'm going to have to leave you in a moment, because I'm commenting. Mr. Diggory, you're first; so, just go out into the enclosure when you hear the whistle blow, alright?" Cedric nodded and gave a thumbs-up with trembling hands. Bagman nodded. "Very good, very good."

The was a squeak from behind them and a shuffling sound. Astaron swiveled around and blinked at the sight of a small firstie Gryffindor. There was a envelope clutched in their hands. "For um, Harry Potter, sirs," the firstie said, flushing at the eyes that were on them. "From- From Ms. Hermione, sirs." 

Astaron stepped forward and the firstie held the letter out. "Thank you." 

A blush spread across their cheeks. "Of course!" They darted off, giggling all the while. 

Astaron flipped the envelope in his hands, before splitting it open. Immediately, his sister's voice came out. "Harry Potter... now while we weren't prepared at all for dragons... if you die, I will bring you back and then I will kill you. You do not just get to leave your sister here in this bleak bleak world with Ron, and no such excitement that follows you. It'll be boring without having you to give me somebody to threaten." There was a pout in her voice and Astaron blinked. "Now, remember, if you die, I will make the Hungarian Horntail look like toddler's play and you will fertilize my garden while I publicly grieve your death for a year. Got it? Great!" Amaya's voices changed so quickly that Astaron blinked again, but feeling a bit more off. Somehow he didn't doubt his sister would do exactly as she had said. "Love you! Good luck!" 

There was silence again and Astaron coughed lightly, feeling a soft heat on his cheeks. So at least there was feeling back in him again. Tucking the letter in his pocket, he looked carefully and pursed his lips. "Right... er- sorry 'bout that..." 

Bagman clapped his hands and laughed. "A girl with spirit! We wish you all the best of luck and-" Bagman was cut off by a whistle blowing. "Good lord! I've got to run!" He bumbled out with Crouch and Dumbledore following him. Astaron collapsed back onto the cot and scrubbed his face. 

It'sfineit'sfineit'sfine im fine. it will be alright- Astaron wondered how much longer he could continue to lie to himself and whether he had ever been less fine. 

There was a rustle and Astaron looked up fast enough to see Cedric leaving the tent. There was a loud cheer and a furious bellow of a roar. Cedric had entered the ring and enclosure where the living counterpart of his model was. His stomach twisted and Astaron closed his eyes, trying to block out the extra details that he could hear even with the glamour on. It was worse than he ever imagined as the crowd screamed... yelled... gasped like a many-headed entity, as Cedric was trying to whatever he could to get past the Swedish Short-Snout. 

Horrible pictures formed in his mind as he heard: "Ooohh, narrow miss there, very narrow." ... "He's taking risks, this one!" ... "Clever move - pity it didn't work!" Then, after who knows how long, there was a deafening roar. Cedric had gotten past his dragon and captured the Golden Egg. 

"Very good indeed!" Bagman was shouting. "And now the marks from the judges!" But he didn't shout out the scores; Astaron supposed the judges were holding them up where it was visible to everyone. "One down, three to go!" The whistle blew again. "Miss Delacour, if you please!" 

Fleur was trembling from head to foot when Astaron opened his eyes; he felt a touch more warmly toward her than he had done so far as she left the tent with her head held high, and her wand clutched in a white-knuckled grip. His eyes flickered to Krum, who was still staring at the ground. His mouth was moving and when Astaron stretched his hearing to try to hear him, the language was entirely foreign to him. Bulgarian. 

"Oh I'm not sure that was wise!" ... "Oh!... nearly! Careful now... good lord! I thought she'd had it then!" Astaron stared at the little miniature dragon in his hands, feeling soft fagments of ideas float through his brain.

[The best way to get away from a Dragon is to distract with another enemy, preferably one that seems to pose more of a threat than yourself. How one goes about that is their own choice but an illusion to lead them away is most likely to work better than a few other ideas…]

Astaron could've laughed. Illusions. If the parseltongue didn't come to him, he had a vague hope of a backup plan. He also wondered if he couldn't just summon the egg to him but dismissed the idea; they probably put anti-summoning wards on the eggs. At least he figured. It just seemed to be too easy. 

Again, after much commentary and noise, there was an applause. Fleur was successful. A pause, the marks were being shown... more clapping... then, for the third time, a whistle. "And here comes, Mr. Krum!" cried Bagman, and Krum slouched out, leaving Astaron quite alone. 

The wait was horrific, with Astaron being very aware of how fast his heart was pumping and the tingling of fear in his fingers... and yet, at the same time, he seemed to be outside of himself, seeing the walls of the tent, and hearing the crowd, as through from far away. 

"Very daring!" Bagman was yelling and Astaron heard the Chinese FIreball emit a horrible, roaring shriek, while the crowd drew its collective breath. "THat's some nerrve he's showing - and - yes! Krum has got the egg!" 

Applause shattered the wintery air like breaking glass; Krum had finished - it would be Astaron's turn any moment now. He stood up, noticing dimly that his legs seemed to be made out of marshmallow. He waited. And then he heard the whistle bolow. He walked out through the entrance of the tent, panic rising into a crescendo inside of him despite his plans and fragmented ideas. And now, he was walking past the trees, through a gap in the enclosure fence. 

Everything before him seemed like a highly colored dream: It was like a Roman Theatre, with the so many faces staring at him from behind a tall wall, threaded with magic. Dragon handlers stood at ready behind tall barriers, their wands in hand. The terrain was rough, with rocks and boulders lauded high to provide a barrier and there were already infliction wounds from the three champions before him. And then there was the horntail, wings half-furled, her yellow eyes gleaming at him, with her thrashing spiked tail leaving deep metre long gouge marks in the hard ground. She was crouched low above her clutch of eggs. 

The crowd was making a great deal of noise, whether it was friendly or not, Astaron did not know or care. 

The Horntail didn't even wait; she bellowed and a stream of fire came from her mouth. Astaron dove to the side and sprinted across the enclosure to get to a rock, the fire following him as she tracked him. There was no time to try parseltongue right now. He couldn't imagine a dragon as a snake while trying to dodge her fire and burn to a crisp. That being said, Astaron really should've invested the time in learning fire-repellent charms; that would've been a lot more helpful. But he didn't think of that... 

Astaron threw the little model into the air and pointed his wand, "Engorio!" He shoved as much power as he could through his wand and watched as the model grew to a real life dragon. It roared like a true living Horntail and the actual Horntail growled threateningly and flew off of her eggs. Bagman was shouting and exclaiming in amazement - "... never would've thought of that!... amazing ingenuity...!" - and Astaron pointed his wand at the clutch of eggs. "Accio Golden Egg." It didn't even twitch.  

Fuck. Okay... so we have to do this the other way... ok-ayyy....

Taking a deep breath, Astaron steadied himself before shooting from behind the rock and toward the clutch of eggs. He tried to dodge and leap over the scores and dents all through out the ground. He stumbled when his foot caught on a deep gouge. Wiggling his nose, Astaron felt odd at the scent of something burning. Holding his hand out, his stomach dropped at little black flecks landing on his finger tips. 

Please tell me it's not-

Astaron looked up slowly, not daring to even breathe. 

oh... Oh fuck-

Astaron leaped to the side, his ears ringing at the furious shriek that came from above him. Heat was coming toward him quickly and he scrambled away, trying to figure out what the fuck he was going to do. Parseltongue was the backup but he was not sure at all that he was going to be able to speak Parseltongue. 

The ground quaked as the Horntail landed heavily and Astaron whipped around to see her glaring at him with furious eyes. stopstopstopstopstopstop- "STOP!" The nervous chittering from the crowd went silent and Astaron blinked when the Horntail reared back. 

Astaron took a deep breath and watched with bated breath as the Horntail lowered herself slowly; her tail was still swinging but it wasn't swinging in anger... curiosity?

"You speak..."

Astaron swallowed; he understood the dragon. "Yes..." 

The Horntail made a rumbling sound and cocked her head to the side. "Why did you try to harm my hatchlings? I will not allow you near them." She snarled at the last bit, and Astaron immediately held his hands up in a placating manner. 

"There is an imposter among your hatchlings; I was merely going to remove it from your clutch so no harm may come to them." The Horntail swung her tail again, staring at him unflinchingly. Astaron prayed that she believed him. 

Then she took a step forward and took a strong sniff. She made a growling sound and came forward again; her tail swung faster and more agitatedly. "You are a hatchling yourself. You smell of sickness. Your nestmates are not taking care of you properly. You cannot go back." Astaron made a startled sound. 

"No no- you don't have to do anything. It's quite alright, really." 

"You will not go back! I will not allow it!" Her tail coiled tightly and she nudged Astaron with her nose. "You will stay with me and I will care for you properly." Astaron sputtered, not sure how to take this turn. "Come hatchling, you will let Niri take care of you." 

The Horntail, Niri apparently, was very firm with her decision because she took a step forward and curled around Astaron, nudging him forward some more. He walked forward quickly when she huffed a cloud of smoke around his head. Niri shuffled around her nest materials and Astaron glanced at the golden egg. 

"I need the imposter egg, Niri, so that I may go back to my mate and nest-sharers." Astaron blinked in surprise at the word for 'siblings'. "I will visit of course, but I can't leave my submissive alone, no matter how fierce they are." 

Niri huffed and stared at him with yellow eyes. "Fine. But hatchling will visit Niri often and you will be well! You will smell of sickness no longer!"

"Thank you Niri." Astaron bowed his head, then hefted up the egg and strode out of the enclosure; completely ignoring the crowd and commenter that blew up behind him. 

"You absolute wanker!" Astaron laughed as he dodged a swiping hand from Ron. The redhead had burst into the medic tent not even 10 seconds after Astaron had been sat down on a cot. "You go and speak parseltongue after you scare 15 years off my life! Couldn't have spoken it in the beginning, huh? Just had to scare us like that." 

"Yeah..." Astaron winced at the reminder. "It just wasn't coming to me before hand it was only because of the panic that I was able to do it... dunno why but it happened and I'm just glad to not be a piece of burnt wizard..." He chuckled awkwardly. 

"Mr. Weasley! You will cease agitating Mr. Potter this instant. His vitals are already high! Mr. Potter you will sit absolutely still - no movement what so ever!"

Madame Pomfrey bustled back over, looking rather agitated. "Dragons of all things!" She prods her wand at his abdomen before waving it in a sharp motion. She continues to mumble angrily to herself and summons a paste over. She spreads it over his ankle, which had apparently been twisted when he'd gone through to get the  egg. 

There were weak burns on the back of his arms and neck, from being so close to the fire. There were singed hairs on his clothes and his skin felt raw and tight now that he could focus. Minnie, Professor McGonagall, was flitting around, helping her wife as she went to the other champions. Astaron was pronounced well enough to get his score when paste on his skin and a bandage on his ankle. 

"Barking mad that woman." Ron said, shaking his head, though he had a tight grip on Astaron. Obviously he too, was worried about him hurting himself further. "C'mon... they're gonna be putting your scores up..." As Ron guided him, there was a steady stream of words coming from him as he updated him on what went on as he was waiting for his turn. "You were the best, you know, no competition. Cedric did this weird thing where he  Transfigured a rock on the ground . . . turned it into a dog . . . he was trying to make the dragon go for the dog instead of him. Well, it was a pretty cool bit of Transfiguration, and it sort of worked, because he did get the egg, but he got burned as well — the dragon changed its mind halfway through and decided it would rather have him as a meal than the Labrador; he only just got away. And that Fleur girl tried this sort of charm, I think she was trying to put it into a trance — well, that kind of worked too, it went all sleepy, but then it snored, and this great jet of flame shot out, and 
her skirt caught fire — she put it out with a bit of water out of her wand. And Krum — you won’t believe this, but he didn’t even 
think of flying! I mean, with him being a Quidditch player you'd think he'd have something to do with flying, but nope! He was probably the best after you, though. Hit it with some sort of spell right in the eye. Only thing is, it went trampling around in agony and squashed half the real eggs — they took marks off for that, he wasn’t supposed to do any damage to them.” Ron drew in sharp breaths as they reached the edge of the enclosure. 

Now that Niri wasn't there, the judges could be see at the other end, seated in five gold-draped chairs. "It's marks out of ten from each." Ron informed him hurriedly. 

The first judge, Madame Maxime, raised her wand in the air and a long silver ribbon twisted itself into a large eight. There was a loud applauding and Astaron winced at the volume. Ron immediately stopped his clapping, seeing his wince apparently. 

Mr. Crouch came next and a nine appeared above him. Ron thumped him in the back (lightly) in a show of support. Dumbledore too, shot up a nine, though Astaron was very sure that he was displeased with his use of parseltongue. Dark gift my ass, you old coot.

Ludo Bagman was next - Ten

Astaron sputtered in surprise. "What? But... I got hurt...? What's he playin' at?!"

Ron batted at him. "Don't complain!" 

Karkaroff, the last judge, raised his wand without an ounce of hesitation. He paused and then a large blue four came from his wand. 

"Four!" Ron sounded furious. "You gave Krum a ten, you lousy, biased scumbag!"

Astaron just shook his head, turning to look at the crowd. A snarl curled at his lips. There weren't just Gryffindors cheering, it was most of the school. When it had come to it, when they had seen what he was facing, they decided to be on his side and Cedric's... Two-faced... Gods... just chose a fucking side already... either hate me or love me... you can't do both...

There was a shout and Astaron saw Charlie Weasley hurrying over with a jubilant smile on his face. "You're tied in first place, Harry! You and Krum!" Charlie swallowed and sucked in a sharp breath. "Listen, I've got to run - promised I'd send Mum an owl - but that was amazing! Do you think you could stop by before we leave and convince the other dragons into their crates? It would make the trip so much easier and a lot less stressful for us?" Charlie gave him a pleading look. "I know you'll be busy so the other dragon handlers and I agreed that you should be compensated, if you can help us..." Astaron gave a tired nod and Charlie gave a breathless laugh.

"Thank so much! I'll owl you the day before we leave... Oh yeah - and they told me to tell you you've got to hang around a few more minutes... Bagman wants a word back in the champions' tent..." Charlie waved before running off with a shout in a foreign language which resulted in whoops and hollers from a group of dragon handlers. 

Ron insisted he wait outside for him, so Astaron entered the tent and picked up his egg, checking it for tampering. Once satisfied, he realized the atmosphere had changed, feeling friendly and welcoming, instead of in-your-face doom and gloom. Cedric entered, orange past slathered on one side of his face. The Hufflepuff sent him a thumbs up and a wide smile. "Good job, Harry! Great use of your ability."

Astaron grinned at him, face feeling a lot looser. "You too!" 

"Well done, all of you!" exclaimed Ludo Bagman, bouncing into the tent, looking for all the world like he personally fought and gotten past a nesting mother dragon. "Now, just a few quick words. You've got a nice long break before the second task, which will take place at half past nine on the morning of February the twenty-fourth... But! we're give you something to think about in that time... If you look down at your golden eggs, you will see that they have hinges - right there, Miss Delacour - and you need to solve the clue inside of the egg! It will tell you what the second task is, and enable you to prepare for it! All clear? Yes? Well, off you go then!" 

Astaron left the tent, rejoined by Ron, and they walked through the forest, talking hard; he had wanted to hear what the other champions had done in more detail and Ron was eager to comply. He had a lot to say on the matter apparently. Then, as they passed a clump of trees, there was a shout. 

He swiveled around and felt a smile break out on his face when he saw shaggy blond hair and a scarred face, with a large black dog running beside them. Astaron laughed. "Remus!" 

Swept into a strong hug, Astaron took a long breath of chocolate and books. "Cub..." Remus held him at arm's length and looked him over. "You look better than the last time I saw you... I'm sorry for not meeting you at Hogsmeade... I wasn't allowed entry into Hogwarts for some reason..." He shook his head and smiled at him. 

"You scared... half to death... and gave me a few grey hairs... but you survived and you did fantastic!" His hair was ruffled and there was a bark. Astaron laughed and kneeled, wrapping his arms around his godfather. 

"Hello to you too, snuffles." Sirius barked happily and slobbered all over his face. 

Astaron pushed him away, laughing and wiping his face. "Gross you!" 

There was a loud clunk behind them and he stood up, feeling the anxiety return when he saw Mad-Eye. Ohfuck... The magic eye was turning rapidly before fixating on him. 

"Potter. A word..." Astaron swallowed and turned to Remus, a grimace fixating itself on his face. 

"I'll see you guys... write to me, please..." He scratched Sirius behind the ear and shared a look with Ron. The red head was a bit pale which did not help his nerves at all. 

He followed Mad-Eye, forcing himself to be impassive though his heart was beating at his ribs with a crowbar. Like Joker killed Jason Todd, his mind whispered. Astaron snorted the reference. 

"Something you find funny, lad?" 

"Nothing sir. Just a muggle reference.." 

"Hm.. got anything to do with your.. speech?" 

Astaron swung his eyes toward the Professor. "No sir... though, I'll hazard a guess and say that's why you wanted to talk to me.." 

Moody said nothing, just fixed his magical eye on him. "Yes," he said after a while. "That was very reckless of you, Potter."

"Huh? What was?"

"Using parseltongue in front of all those people! Reckless!" 

Astaron scowled. "Hell if I care. I already have the whole blasted world hating me. Everyone in the school, third year and up, already knew I'm a parselmouth. They shouldn't care anyway... it's none of their bloody business.." 

"Maybe, but they had clearly forgotten about it. I saw it on some of their faces. You just threw a big flashing reminder in their faces. Parseltongue is a dark art, Potter. Some people won't take too kindly to the idea of their savior practicing something like that."

Astaron swung around, growling low in throat. "I don't have a fuck to give! I didn't volunteer to be their stupid savior and they can go rot!" 

Moody cast him a look. "It doens't bother you?" A challenge. "That you had to use something dark to win?"

"I did what I had to to survive!" Astaron argued defensively. "Besides, I hardly see how it's dark. So I can speak to snakes. Big deal. Magic is about intent and how you use it. Light and dark is relative. If I had to use dark arts to survive, then so be it. It's better than ending up as dragon food, and if I survive, then to hell with the consequences. Everybody else can go fuck off into their hiding places like they always do." Astaron froze as soon as the words were out of his mouth and he realized what he had just said. He looked over at his defence teacher hesitantly – worried, suddenly, that the man wouldn't approve of what he'd just said.

Instead Mad-Eye looked at him for a second before shaking his head. "10 points from Gryffindor for language. Go back to the castle, lad. Ya got some steel in ya and I can respect that at least."

Astaron blinked but gave the man a relieved smile. He jogged back through the woods, and waved his arm at Ron. The redhead gave a sqwuak and leaped at him, demanding about his ankle. Amusement swelled in him and he endured his best friend's mothering as they headed to the castle.

As they were going up the path, a figure jumped in their way and Astaron felt annoyance wash through him. Can people just leave me the hell alone? like honestly... 

It was Rita Skeeter. She was wearing acid-green robes with heavy make-up on and her curls seemed to be especially done in an elaborate do. Her Quik-Quotes Quill was poised above a sheet of parchment and was already scribbling away. 

"Congratulations Harry!" she exclaimed, beaming at him with her gold teeth on display. "I wonder if you could give me a quick word? How you felt facing that dragon? How you feel now, about the fairness of the scoring?" 

Astaron tilted his head. "Yeah, you can have a word." He held up one hand and flipped her off. "Good-bye."

Astaron entered the Owlery with Amaya and Ron behind him, searching for Hedwig. He frowned when he didn't see his owl. She must be out hunting. He sighed and looked at Ron, who immediately gave short whistle. 

Ron was still indignant about Karkaroff giving him a low score, though he seemed to have reverted back to the theory that he had entered Astaron's name in the cup. 

“Fits, doesn’t it?” he said. “ He was probably running around in masks together at the World Cup.... torturing and causing havoc... I’ll tell you one thing, though, Harry, if it was Karkaroff who put your name in the goblet, he’s going to be feeling really stupid now, isn’t he? Didn’t work, did it? You only got a bruise basically! Come here — I’ll do it —”

Pigwidgeon was so excited at the idea of a deliver, he was flew around his head and the Owlery a few times, hooting incessantly. Ron snatched him out of the air and held him still, so that Astaron could tie his letter to the tiny owl's leg. 

"There's not was any of the other tasks are going to be that dangerous... how could they be?" Ron went on as he carried Pigwidgeon to the window. "You know what? I reckon you could with this tournament, Harry... I'm really serious about this. You could win if you wanted to." Amaya frowned and leaned against the wall.

"Harry's got a long way to go before he finishes the tournament." Her hands were balled into fists and she looked solemn. "If that was the first task, I hate to think what's coming next." Amaya cast her eyes down and Astaron frowned at his twin. 

"Right little ray of sunshine, ain't ya?" Ron snorted from where he was adjusting the letter on Pigwidgeon's leg. "You and Professor Trelawney should get together sometime." 

Astaron went over and hugged her, pressing his face into her hair. "It'll be okay. I'll be okay." He pulled back, cradling her face. Her brown eyes looked up at him and he smiled softly. She nodded and he kissed her forehead. 

He looked over at Ron, who was staring at Amaya with a guilty look. "Er.. sorry Mia... that was... um... insensitive of me..." Ron looked away, his cheeks flushed. Amaya gave a light smile and bumped the redhead's shoulder in acceptance and forgiveness. Ron smiled and threw Pigwidgeon out of the window, which caused the little owl to plummet about 4 metres before managing to pull himself back up again; the letter attached to his leg was much longer and thicker than usual - he had written to Remus and Sirius about everything that had happened the past few days which was admitted a bit, and everything he'd dug up from the portfolios and at Gringotts and any ideas they might have that could help him.

They watched Pigwidgeon disappear into the coming evening darkness, and then Ron spoke, "C'mon. We have to get back to the Common Room... Fred and George should've nicked enough food from the kitchens by now."

Walking out, Astaron stumbled back 2 steps out of the Owlery. There was mercury and then he felt something crash into him. 

Pine, Cider, and Apples with Blackberry - Draco.

"Draco - what?" 

His mate pulled back and Astaron blinked at the glare on his face. He had his arms crossed and his hair was ruffled in way that meant that he had been rushing through the castle. "You bleeding idiot." Astaron chuckled nervously. 

Draco was pissed

He also looked like an angry kitten - Astaron told his mind to shut up before Draco killed them.

"I wasn't consulted when they chose dragons... wasn't my fault... promise..." 

"Oh yes, let it be known if you did chose dragons like a fucking Gryffindor I would've strung you up from the Astronomy Tower using your intestines. Pretty picture, that." 

Not angry then. Just pissed. 

That did not sound better. 

"You didn't think of learning fire-repellant charms? Protective spells? Anything?" Draco raised an eyebrow. Astaron averted his eyes. There was a breathless scoff. "No.. you didn't.." Arms wrapped around him and a face buried itself into his collarbone. "You are... please remember those next time... I don't want to lose you..." 

There was something vulnerable in his mate's voice and he shushed him softly. "I'll make it through to the end. Don't worry, dragon. I will survive... you forget that I have survived far worse." 

"Do not joke about this, Astaron... you could get seriously injured... or comatose... or d-die..." Wet dripped onto his shirt and Draco shuddered. "You're not allowed to die... I wouldn't survive it..."

Astaron furrowed his brown in confusion but continued to run his fingers through Draco's hair.  "Okay, love. I won't but I promise I will still be alive after this." Reaching into his pocket, he took out the little dragon ring that he had yet to give Draco. He pulled back slightly and took Draco's left hand. 

Puffy red eyes widened when they caught sight of the ring. "With this ring, Draco Malfoy, I seal my promise that I will still be alive at the end of this tournament. I will not allow myself to be killed at the risk of your own beautiful life ending." He slid the ring onto Draco's middle finger and brushed a soft kiss onto his knuckles. 

Tears began sliding down Draco's face again and he stamped his foot. "Dammit! You're two fucking amazing for me to stay mad at you." Draco kissed him, throwing his arms around his neck. 

Astaron was a bit off put when he let out a happy rumbling sound, but ignored the weird creature sounds. He pulled away, pressing a light kiss on the red spots on Draco's cheek. "Trill for me? Please?" 

There was a confused look but Draco nodded. He cleared his throat and shuddered before a light trilling sound came from him. Astaron purred at the sound, feeling much more at peace from the sound than the aggravation the other trill had caused from the champion's tent. 

"Thank you, love..." He pecked Draco's lips and cast a tempus. It was nearing half past six. He scrunched his nose and sighed. 

"I've got to get back to the Common Room or people will start asking questions. You are amazing, Dragon. Never forget that." 

Draco smiled lightly and pecked his lips. "See you tomorrow at Potions, scarhead." 

Astaron laughed. "See ya, bleach." 

A hand swung at him and Astaron took off, laughing at the shout of, "Don't call me that!"

He made it to the Common Room entrance and expecting a part to be roaring when he got back in. He'd expect nothing less from the Gryffindors, who really don't mind a party. 

Sure enough, when he entered the Common Room, cheers and shouts rang in his ears. There were mountains of cakes and flagons of pumpkin juice and butterbeer on every surface. Lee Jordan had let off some Filibuster's Fireworks, so that the air was thick with stars and sparks; Dean, who was a rather excellent artist, had put up some impressive banners, most of which depicted Harry dodging fire or speaking to Niri. There were a few though, that showed Cedric with his head on fire. 

He helped himself to the food that was piled around, making himself a place on a chair in one of the farther corners of the Common Room. He ate the food happily and snatched up a handful of bloodpops to suck on. He licked the flat side and tuned out the loud noise of the other students. 

Astaron was jerked out of his peace, however when Lee Jordan thunked over with his golden egg in his arms. "Blimey, Harry - this this is heavy." He flopped it down and looked at him pleadingly. "Go on! Open it! Just to see what's inside..." 

Astaron stared at flicked his eyes to the egg. There were agreements with Lee and Astaron sighed, just having just wanted to be able to eat and then go back to bed. 

He held his hands out and Lee passed him the egg. Digging his fingernails in the groove that ran all the way around it, he pried it open expecting something inside. It was hollow and completely empty - but the moment that Astaron opened it, the most horrible noise, a loud screeching wail, filled the room. 

It sounded to him like the ghost orchestra from Nearly Headless Nick's deathday party from his 2nd year, which had sounded like scratching on a chalkboard. 

"Shut it!" Fred bellowed, his hands clamped firmly over his ears. 

"What was that?" Seamus was staring at the egg with wide eyes. "Sounds like a banshee... Maybe that's what you've got to get past next, Harry!"

Neville, who had paled to the point he looked like a ghost and spilled sausage rolls on the floor, had other ideas. "It's someone being tortured! You're going to have to fight the Cruciatus Curse!" 

"Don't be a prat, Nev.. that's illegal." George. "They wouldn't use the Cruciatus Curse on the champions.. I thought it sounded a bit like Percy singing.. maybe you've got to attack him while he's in the shower, Harry." 

Astaron snorted tiredly, rubbing his temples. His ears were still ringing from the wail.

"Yeah! Banshee, Cruciatus, and Percy! Fun..." He groaned and rubbed his temples again. His head was absolutely pounding right now. 

A hand landed on his shoulder. "Harry, mate.. you alright?" 

"No I just fought a dragon this morning and you guys speculating what I'm going to have to fight is really not helping right now..." He takes a deep breath and peels his eyes open. There are guilty faces around him. He sighs. "You guys can speculate all you want, just don't mention it to me, please? I have too much to worry about already.." 

There are weak agreements and Astaron rubs his face. "I'm going to go to the dorm and get some sleep... see you guys tomorrow." 

He doesn't even bother to get out of his clothes after he trudges in. Astaron flops onto his bed, curls under his blanket, and is immediately taken by darkness. 

Chapter Text

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