Chapter 3

The next year and a half was difficult for Astoria, though not in any particularly notable way. It wasn't as if she had sunk into a pit of the darkest despair, but she did become quieter, more withdrawn. How does a nine year old girl cope with the news that she will never grow old? Astoria hadn't ever given a second thought to what it would be like to be forty, and now she couldn't think of anything but.

It was on a gray June morning that she heard her mother's voice calling for her. She'd been in her usual spot: curled up in the library's window seat with an old book. This one was entitled Witches and Wizards of the Ancient Orient. Truthfully, she was more interested in the vivid illustrations of ancient Egyptian alchemists than the words.

"Astoria, dear. Please come down to the kitchen. Your father and I need to talk with you." Her mother had only opened the library door a crack, barely enough to confirm that there was a brown-haired girl sitting by the window. Her daughter spent so much of her time there, it was unfathomable to think she'd find Astoria anywhere else.

Astoria came down to find her parents sitting at the dining room table sipping tea in a very strict manner. Their faces looked blank and composed, as though they'd been readied for her arrival. It was obvious to Astoria that they expected a confrontation of some sort, and she looked around for any clue as to why. It was sitting by her father in the form of a yellow-parchment envelope with emerald green writing.

Astoria's eyes widened in excitement. Hogwarts! She'd wondered more than a couple times about whether she'd be able to attend the school - whether they'd still want her. But here was her letter.

She sat still and straight, as she had been brought up to do. "Is that my Hogwarts letter?" she asked, trying not to sound as excited as she felt.

"It is," her father answered. "But it requires some discussion."

Her heart deflated. Discussion? She didn't say anything, afraid to ask out loud.

"Sweetheart," her mother said in an equally level tone, "before we say anything more, it is important to understand how this must be handled. You have... a very serious condition." She closed her eyes as she said 'condition', and Astoria wondered if she were embarrassed by saying the words aloud. "Your father and I only want the best for you."

They aren't letting me go, she thought wildly, frustration rising in her. She opened her mouth to ask, but her father raised his hand to prevent her.

"I am sure you're aware that I have spent a considerable amount of time, influence and gold to keep what goes on at St. Mungo's as secure and discreet as possible. Lyra Hiddlestick is a reasonable woman from a respectable, if not pureblood, Wizarding family. But your attendance at Hogwarts will require many more people to know about your condition. This means more strict countermeasures, as well as some sacrifices."

Astoria felt herself start breathing again. She hadn't been aware she'd stopped. "You mean, I can go?"

"You will go," her father confirmed. "But there are conditions. I have corresponded with Headmaster Dumbledore about becoming your Secret Keeper." Astoria's mouth fell open. "In order to safeguard this family from unwarranted speculation, particularly around gossipy under-aged students, he will keep the truth of your condition confidential. We will meet with him tomorrow."

Astoria had so many questions, she didn't know where to start. "A Fidelius charm? Is that absolutely necessary?" she heard herself say.

"We think so," her mother replied, her tone final and not inviting any further discussion. Astoria felt put in her place. "Your father has put an extraordinary amount of resources in keeping this information secret."

Astoria felt both hurt and angry. She knew she shouldn't keep pushing, but she couldn't help it. "But a Fidelius Charm? You don't trust me to keep quiet?"

"Astoria." Her father's tone was stern. "This is not just about you. Your mother and I will also be unable to speak about it, nor will Daphne. The charm simply allows the headmaster to restrict knowledge of your special needs to only those who require it. Our business is our business, and we do not feel the need to subject the Greengrass name to public speculation. You know how gossip travels."

"Sweetheart, you must try and understand." Astoria looked over to her mother, who was sitting with her back as intimidatingly straight as ever. "You are the daughter of a proud, pure blood line. Reputation and dignity is at the centre of who we are. It is your duty to take part in preserving that reputation."

Astoria was still angry at not being trusted, but she knew how important family reputation was to her parents. Her mother had played what Astoria thought of as 'the Greengrass card'. Legatum, Decum et Officium, she recited to herself. Legacy, Dignity and Duty. The Greengrass motto. When she and her sister were little, they'd had it drilled into their heads. It had felt different then, as if an honourable family name and a motto made them special, like royalty. As they got older, they had learned the hard way that it didn't mean they always got what they wanted.

She sat quietly, trying to collect her 'dignity'. "I understand," she said finally. Though she didn't, not really. Why would people knowing she's sick affect how people saw her family's reputation?

"Good," her father said briskly, the note of finality evident. "We will leave tomorrow morning at 9 o'clock promptly."

The next day, Astoria and her parents travelled to Hogsmeade to meet with the Headmaster the next day. The prospective student stared up at the castle, barely visible from the village. They weren't going up to it, but instead had arranged to meet in a private room at the Three Broomsticks. It was there that Astoria first met Professor Dumbledore.

He was a tall, whip-thin man with an endless snow-white beard and kind blue eyes sparkling behind spectacles. His robes were a soft blue with silver swirls embroidered all over. Astoria thought he seemed a bit odd, to be honest. But he had smiled at Astoria and talked to her directly, not through her parents. She'd appreciated that.

"Miss Greengrass, I am sure your parents have explained the effects of this charm to you. I wish you to know that you may trust me to keep your secrets safe."

Astoria nodded. "Yes, sir."

"The greatest benefit of this, of course, is that you will be able to receive your regular treatments in the Hogwarts hospital wing. I will share your secret with our Healer, Madam Poppy Pomfrey, so that she may confer with your current Healer, Lyra Hiddlestick, about how best to make this possible. We should be able to manage something that will not conflict too terribly with your studies." He smiled comfortingly at Astoria, and she felt a weight lift off her. This is actually happening, she thought. I can pretend I'm just like any other student.

Astoria returned the smile with genuine relief. "Yes, sir."

The charm did not take very long to complete. Professor Dumbledore had shaken the hands of her parents, and then turned to Astoria to do the same.

"I look forward to seeing you in September, Astoria." Astoria smiled in response. He was odd, perhaps, but she couldn't help like him. September! she squealed inwardly.

It was August 25th, a week away from the start of term. Today, she and her mother and sister were visiting Diagon Alley to collect all the items in her Hogwarts letter. She could barely contain her excitement. Since she'd been ill, she hadn't been allowed to accompany her sister on shopping trips, and before that, her family had never been.

Diagon Alley was everything she'd dreamt it might be and more. Its carnival-like energy was amplified by the number of Hogwarts students buying their supplies and their anticipation of a new year. The displays in all the windows beckoned her, promising delights of all kinds. Her mother had to practically drag her out of Flourish and Blotts. It hadn't occurred to Astoria that there were that many more books that existed outside her home library, and she couldn't help wanting to add to the collection. Daphne had taken off well before, meeting up with friends who she'd spotted at Fortescue's. But she and her mother weren't finished yet - Astoria needed a wand, and it was an experience she wasn't sure she was looking forward to.

"The wand chooses the witch," her sister had told her when she came home with hers two years ago. She'd described the process in (to Astoria's mind, excessive) detail about the creepy old man in a shop that looked older than time itself (Astoria wasn't sure whether she meant the man or the shop), filled with boxes upon boxes of potential wands. It was well known in the Wizarding world that the wand that chose you was, in some way, a minor prophecy about who you were as a wizard. The type that selected you could sense where your magical gifts lay and what secret depths might exist to be plumbed. Astoria really didn't want anyone - creepy old Ollivander or other - looking too closely at her secrets. So reluctantly, she stepped into the shop with her mother.

The interior certainly looked older than time. The boxes were caked with centuries upon centuries of dust and grime. It reminded Astoria of a forgotten library, only with wands instead of books. And no order she could discern at all. How anyone who worked in the shop found anything was beyond her reasoning.

"Ahh, another student heading to Hogwarts," came a voice as dusty as the boxes. Astoria saw the candy-floss hair of an old man emerge from a back room. Mr. Ollivander came to the front of his shop, where Astoria's mother smiled with her polite society smile.

"Mr. Ollivander, how lovely to see you again. As I'm sure you've surmised, my youngest daughter is here for her wand." At this invitation, Astoria found herself being looked over with a piercing, almost intrusive, gaze. A flurry of movement in the corner of the front area made her turn her head in time to see a measuring tape fly over to dance around her.

"Yes, I see her. Quite different from her sister, isn't she? Well, let's see what fits." He didn't even glance at the fluttering tape before turning around and heading back to the back room. Astoria thought she heard him muttering things, but far too quietly to be meant for her ears. Her curious nature tried hard to make out the words.

"Yes, yes… a most unique… hidden depths… strong but wise…"

He came out with a wan olive-coloured box, the cover in his other hand. She looked at the golden gleam of the wood, and then back up at Ollivander.

"Well?" The wizard seemed to be asking her opinion. "Pear wood, unicorn hair core. A swishy twelve and a quarter inches. Give it a whirl!" He extended the box closer to her.

She sucked a breath and picked the wand up. It felt very light in her hand, almost too light. With a smooth, slow motion, she drew a straight line with the wand. A torrent of aqua sparks shot out from it.

"Goodness, no! Not quite the right combination. Let's see… something firmer." He put the cover back on the box and turned back to look at her. This time their eyes met, and she surprised herself by holding the gaze without flinching.

"Oh, I see. I see indeed. An old soul." He smiled, in a way that didn't reassure Astoria of anything, and turned to a tall ladder by the door. Up he climbed, until he removed a faded indigo box from a shelf over the lintel. With a confident huff, he came back down the ladder and opened the box with a flourish.

It was a dark and dusky colour, like gold that had been hiding in a tomb for centuries. "This is an older wand of mine. Beech wood, lightly ebonized, with a dragon heartstring core to give it more kick. Moderately supple. Not quite eleven inches. Go on," he invited.

Astoria picked up the wand. It just felt… right. Like it had always been there. She lifted her arm and gave a flick, and a gentle swirl of lights floated above their heads and hung like still fireflies. She couldn't help smiling.

"Excellent! Most excellent. As I said - you are an old soul, my dear. I imagine you guard your secrets carefully, don't you?" Before she or her mother could react, Ollivander continued. "Quite so, quite so. It is not a common wood, beech. Very prized. It is said to keep close the subtle secrets of many types of magic… and only reveal them to a mate open enough to deserve them. I am delighted to see it find a home in your hand, my dear."

Ollivander smiled with warmth, this time, and Astoria timidly smiled back. More secrets, she thought. I hope my wand knows what it's getting into.