The morning had broken with unease in the castle.
Aster was gone.
By evening, word had spread about a monstrous white wolf seen bolting from the Slytherin dormitories before dawn. Whispers ran through the Great Hall like wildfire. Some said it was a dangerous creature that had slipped in from the Forest, Ron said it was a guardian spirit from the Forest.
Hermione knew better.
When she found Nyx waiting silently by the window, eyes locked on her with an unnatural calm, Hermione almost didn't breathe.
The raven didn't croak or flap, only stared. But then, faint, distant, and unmistakable, she heard it.
Aster's voice.
"He's losing his mind. He needs you."
Hermione's breath caught. It wasn't a sound made aloud, not exactly. It was like a memory pressed into her skull. Like magic had borrowed her own thoughts to speak.
She didn't hesitate.
Without a word, she threw on her cloak and slipped out of the common room. Down the halls, past the heavy doors of the castle, through the wards.
Into the Forbidden Forest.
The sky was iron gray, light slipping away with every step. Trees loomed tall and skeletal. The air was thick, not just with cold, but with magic. Wild, ancient magic, and something else.
Something broken.
And ahead, always ahead, the faint rustle of feathers as Nyx guided her through the woods, straight into the heart of the dark where Aster was waiting.
The air was damp with winter chill, the woods darker than usual, a storm of magic resting between the trees.
"Aster!" she called, voice breaking in the silence. "You idiot, where are you?"
From somewhere deeper in the forest, a howl echoed, deep, mournful, and wild. Her pace quickened.
Then came the skittering.
Hermione froze.
Something massive rustled the branches above. A hiss, the clicking of chitin, the sour stench of decay. A great spider with matted hair and eyes glowing faintly in the shadows, lowered itself from a tree above, legs ready to spring.
She stepped back—
—but didn't need to scream.
A blur of white fur slammed into the spider from the side, snapping a leg with a sickening crunch. The wolf, massive, regal, eyes gleaming with inhuman violet, bared its teeth and tore the spider down in a storm of fury. The spider gave a final hiss before collapsing in a heap.
The wolf stood panting over the body, foam at the mouth. Hermione slowly stepped closer.
"Aster," she whispered. "Please. It's me."
The beast growled, confused, torn between instincts. His paws dug into the earth. Something inside him was slipping, thoughts fading, identity fraying. He couldn't speak. Could barely think. But he recognized her. A scent. A voice. A thread of memory.
He turned and bolted deeper into the forest.
Hermione chased him, heart pounding harder than her footsteps. She didn't know what else to do, only that if she stopped now, she might lose him forever.
The Forbidden Forest swallowed her whole.
The trees stood like silent judges, their limbs clawing at the gray sky. Fog coiled around her ankles, and every step forward made the world colder. Magic pulsed in the air, not the comforting kind from wands or books, but wild, old magic that stirred deep fears. Something unnatural.
And then, a shimmer. A glimmer of white in the darkness.
She slowed. Her heart surged with hope.
"Aster?" she whispered.
But as she crept closer, the figure took shape, delicate, slender, glowing faintly in the moonlight.
Not Aster.
A unicorn.
Its side trembled, legs folding beneath it. And crouched over it, something cloaked in shadow, something drinking.
Hermione froze.
The sound of her foot pressing a branch echoed far too loud.
Creak.
The thing's head snapped up. Red eyes locked onto her.
It hovered for a moment, the shape of a man, no, less than a man, and then it began gliding toward her, silent and hungry. Her wand hand trembled. She could barely breathe.
Then the air behind her changed.
A growl, deep, low, primal.
Massive paws landed on the forest floor.
The creature stopped.
From the shadows emerged Aster, but not the boy.
The white wolf.
Not just large, enormous. Fur bristling, eyes glowing faint violet. He stood protectively in front of Hermione, teeth bared.
The red-eyed thing hissed and vanished into the trees.
Hermione exhaled, knees weak. "Aster…"
He didn't respond, not in words. Just watched the forest where the creature had disappeared, breath heaving.
Then, hooves.
Centaurs emerged from the trees, bows drawn, arrows ready.
"There!" one barked. "It stands beside the girl!"
Hermione stepped forward, hands raised. "No! He didn't do it, he protected me!"
The centaurs paused, watching the wolf, calculating, uncertain.
One of them, with streaks of silver through his dark mane, narrowed his eyes. "It's a boy."
"He doesn't know how to control it yet," another added, lowering his bow.
The leader, proud, cold, sneered but said nothing more, stepping back.
Then, from the shadows, another voice:
"This is no beast," a centaur murmured, awe in his voice. "This is a boy made of omen."
"I am Firenze." Said the centaur, walking close to them.
Firenze stepped forward, calm and solemn. His blue eyes landed on Hermione first, then on the wolf.
"He's on the edge," Firenze said quietly. "He walks between magic and madness now. Stay with him, girl. Even if he doesn't answer."
Hermione nodded, trembling but firm. "I will."
Firenze looked straight into Aster's eyes and then said,"You know what that was, don't you? The act, not the creature. That was a soul too broken to die, feeding on what should never be touched."
Hermione blinked, confused. She had heard the words, but they didn't settle in her understanding. They felt like they were meant for Aster alone, like a warning passed between ancient things.
The dire wolf stood still, massive and pale in the moonlight, but his breath was uneven now. Aster didn't speak, not yet. His purple eyes fixed on Firenze's, and the centaur inclined his head, almost in respect or pity.
"It drinks the lifeblood of innocence," Firenze continued, his voice like wind over old stones. "Not for strength… but to delay judgment. It will not die. But it cannot live either. Do you understand, White Wolf?"
The title startled Hermione. She stepped forward, but the dire wolf growled lowly, not at her, but at something distant. A memory. A shadow. Himself.
Aster's voice came not from his mouth, but from Nyx, echoing through the clearing:
"I saw only one monster tonight, Firenze. And it wasn't the one drinking blood."
Firenze nodded slowly, almost solemnly.
"Then you know," he said. "And knowing is the beginning of choosing."
And with that, the centaur vanished into the silver trees.
Hermione knelt beside Aster. She reached out, touching the thick white fur of his shoulder.
"You're not alone," she whispered. "I'm right here."
And for the first time in hours, the great wolf closed his eyes.
Midnight blanketed the forest in silver light. The trees stood silent now, as if holding their breath.
And then, a voice.
Soft, unhurried, but resonant with power.
"Miss Granger."
Hermione stirred, eyes fluttering open. The warmth of the white wolf still surrounded her like a blanket, but she lifted her head slowly.
Dumbledore stood at the edge of the clearing.
No wand in hand. No fear in his posture. His long cloak barely moved in the wind.
Aster, still a wolf, turned his gaze to the man. His eyes were steady, alert, and unreadable.
Dumbledore bowed his head faintly, hands clasped in front of him. "He must be Aster."
The wolf didn't growl this time. He simply stared.
Hermione sat up fully now, rubbing her eyes, unsure if this was a dream or not.
Dumbledore took a few slow steps closer, his voice warm and measured.
"I believe you won't be needing those Animagus books anymore."
The old man smiled, not mockingly, but with quiet amusement. "It's quite rare to transform alone. Rarer still to return. You may be the quickest self-taught Animagus Hogwarts has ever seen."
Aster growled softly, not threatening, just a quiet rumble.
His tail curled slightly around Hermione, still keeping her within reach.
Dumbledore stopped a few feet away. His expression grew serious, but never cold.
"Aster… I can help you return. But I won't force you. You have to want it."
Aster bared a tooth briefly, a gesture of doubt.
"I know," Dumbledore said gently, "Phineas' words might have made you lose pride and hope in family."
The wolf looked down. A flicker of something, guilt, maybe. crossed his face.
"I'm not speaking of bloodlines," Dumbledore added quickly. "Not the family that abandoned you. Not the past that was stolen. I speak of what you chose."
He looked toward Hermione, her hand now resting again on Aster's thick fur.
"I mean Lily, and young Harry, whom you protect in ways he doesn't even know yet. I mean this girl beside you, who ran into the forest with no wand and no fear."
Aster's eyes softened. Something in them flickered, a shade of violet brighter than before.
Dumbledore took one final step, now only a breath away from the boy in wolf's skin.
"You're not lost, Aster. Not yet. But you must decide, are you a beast born of omen… or a boy who will master his fate?"
Aster stood still for a long time.
Then, slowly, his breathing shifted.
The magic around him seemed to draw inward, folding like a closing wing. The enormous wolf shimmered, the lines of its body flickering like heat haze, and then dimmed.
And there he was.
Aster.
Barefoot. Shirt torn. Hair shadowing his eyes.
But back.
Hermione was the first to move. She threw her arms around him before he could say a word.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice hoarse, low, raw.
She didn't let go. "Just don't do it alone next time."
Dumbledore nodded slowly, his voice soft behind them.
"Very well done, both of you. Now… let's go home."
And the stars above the forest, for just a moment, seemed to shine a little warmer.