Aster
Uncle Moony and I appeared in the usual alleyway around the corner from St. Mungo's. At the mouth of the alley I could see bright orange cones Mum said Muggles use to tell people not to go somewhere. Dad was standing on the other side of the cones with his arms crossed over his chest as lights flashed from the direction of St. Mungo's.
Uncle Moony swore. "The reporters must have gotten permission to put up Notice-Me-Not wards for the day." He adjusted his hold on me so that he held me in one arm and could freely use his wand arm. He started moving to where Dad was.
"You remember what your parents said about reporters, bud?"
I nodded and wrapped my arms around Uncle Moony's neck and tucked my face there too. "Always have you, Mum, or Dad with me if a reporter wants to go somewhere private. Only say something if I want everyone to know it. It's better to say I don't know than make something up." Mum and Dad said many, many other things about reporters too but I was pretty sure Uncle Moony would be upset if I repeated those words.
"Good job, bud," Uncle Moony said as he ruffled my hair. "That's all good but also know that if you don't want to say anything, anything at all, it's okay to stay silent."
Over at the mouth of the alley, Dad noticed us and called for us to head over. Over Uncle Moony's shoulder I saw the flashes of light increase in number as they reflected off wet stones in the alley. Once we reached Dad, he took his place behind Uncle Moony and gave me a grin before focusing on our surroundings.
I lifted my head to take a quick peek out in front and immediately went back to hiding my face in Uncle Moony's shoulder. This is officially the worst Healer Hell day ever and I'm not even inside Healer Hell yet!
In that instant where I lifted my head, I saw a terrifying crush of people all staring my way. Mum was out front with a Shield Charm keeping everyone a safe distance away, but it didn't stop people from seeing me. The previously low murmur of the crowd suddenly shot up as dozens of voices started yelling. Uncle Moony started walking forward behind Mum, Dad behind us, and we all did our best to ignore the yelling.
"Aster! Aster Potter! Look here!"
"Mr. Potter! How does it feel to be the only known survivor of the Killing Curse?"
"Mr. Boy-Who-Lived! Look this way!"
"Yo, Darkin! D'you think the Boy-Who-Lived will cure you?"
The slight tightening of the arm around me and the sound of teeth grinding for a second were the only signs that Uncle Moony reacted to the question. Was the person talking about Uncle Moony being a werewolf? What did 'Darkin' mean? I knew Uncle Moony was a famous werewolf since he was little – he was the one who taught Mum and Dad all kinds of stuff about reporters and what they are and are not allowed to do with children after all. Was 'Darkin' his title like mine was the 'Boy-Who-Lived'?
Caught up in my thoughts, I didn't notice we reached the Muggle department store that camouflaged St. Mungo's until Mum knocked on the glass. A mannequin missing an arm and wearing a weird bright green scarf over a yellow dress turned its head toward Mum. A mechanical voice said, "Welcome to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. How may I help you?"
"Potter family accompanied by Remus J. Lupin for an appointment for Aster L. Potter with Healer Morris," Mum announced, and raised her wand to tap the glass in front of the mannequin.
The mannequin nodded at Mum and turned to the rest of us. "Please have all adults tap the glass for identification purposes. Any underaged witches and wizards must be in physical contact with an identified adult in order to enter. Welcome."
Uncle Moony quickly tapped on the glass after Mum and moved over so Dad had space to walk up.
Dad stepped forward and raised his wand to tap on the glass. Everyone behind us was so loud! I wondered if they ever got tired of asking questions even when no one was answering them. For the first time ever, I wanted to get inside Healer Hell as fast as possible. I was trying so hard to block everything out, I was startled when Uncle Moony's wand arm was abruptly tugged backwards.
"Please, sir! It's my child!" A woman cried out, hanging on to Uncle Moony's arm.
The woman reached an arm out to me. "Please, visit my child inside! Her… her name is Jasmine! Jasmine Williams." The hand holding onto Uncle Moony started to shake as she pleaded to me. "Please, just a single touch – I'm sure it'll help! That it can cure her! Please, just try!"
I stared into the eyes of this crying woman, distantly aware of Uncle Moony whispering to me that everything was okay, and I could ignore her. Dad was yelling at the woman to let go of Uncle Moony and I couldn't see Mum anywhere.
Staring into the woman's eyes, I caught a glimpse of my own reflection staring back at me. I saw my mismatched eyes, the right one green and the left one golden, and saw the sunburst of scars surrounding my golden eye that Mum like to call flower petals. The image of another pair of mismatched eyes flashed across my mind and I flinched, tucking my head back into Uncle Moony's shoulder.
"I… I can't… I'm not…" My body started to shake as I sobbed into Uncle Moony's shoulder. I wished I could help that poor lady and her daughter, but I can't. I'm not the Boy-Who-Lived! If I tried and I failed would Mum and Dad find out I was a fake? That they were wrong that night?
Over the sound of my rapid breaths I heard Uncle Moony and Dad finally get the woman to let go and felt the tingle of magic that meant we got inside the hospital.
All of a sudden, I was curled up in Mum's arms. "Aster, Aster honey, I need you to take a deep breath—In… out… yes, that's it dear." Nearby Dad was holding a small vial while Mum got me to breathe. She took the vial from him and handed it to me. "Here Aster," she said, wrapping her hand around my hand and the vial, "drink this and you'll feel better, promise."
The potion tasted terrible and felt slimy slipping down my throat and Dad chuckled when I scrunched my face up in disgust. An immediate wave of calm pushed all my panic to the back of my mind. I wouldn't forget, though. I never forget. Mum called me brave all the time and it was time to finally be brave. I needed to fix this; make things right so the real Boy-Who-Lived could actually be here and save people. I loved Mum, Dad, and Uncle Moony but this was wrong, and I needed to fix it.
As I was calming down, I saw an assistant Healer talking with Uncle Moony.
"I'm terribly sorry about Mrs. Williams," the assistant Healer said, their hands gripping their clipboard so hard I thought it would break. "Her daughter, Jasmine, contracted a particularly terrible strain of Spattergroit at just four years old…" Uncle Moony held up a hand to try and stop the waterfall of words but the assistant Healer babbled on, "It's extremely rare for young witches and wizards to contract Spattergroit in general…" The assistant Healer glanced over at me then said, "I sincerely hope you won't hold this against her."
Uncle Moony thanked the assistant Healer and reassured them that we weren't upset at Mrs. Williams. After that we quickly fled into the lift to truly begin the journey into the depths of Healer Hell.
All too soon we reached Healer Morris' office.
Dad and Uncle Moony ruffled my hair and reminded me that they would all be here when I was done. Mum knelt down and hugged me. "I can go in with you, Aster dear, you know that, right?"
I hugged her back and said, "Yeah, Mum, I know. It's okay, it's all boring stuff. I'll be fine." Every appointment was scary and weird, and I hated all of their tests, but I didn't want Mum, Dad, or Uncle Moony to be there if some test figured out I wasn't the Wizarding World's miracle child. I mean, it wasn't like the Healers would keep it a secret… I just… I needed to know first that they were about to find out.
Mum stood up and tried to smooth down my hair one last time. "My brave boy," she murmured, before stepping back where Dad and Uncle Moony were. "Go on, Healer Morris is waiting."
The inside of Healer Morris' office was so empty every time I went in, I wondered if he moved out and was replaced by someone else. The sight of his one blue journal of notes on the desk was usually what told me Healer Morris was still here, which both made me feel better and worse at the same time. I knew what to expect if Healer Morris was still here, but I didn't like him. I didn't like him at all.
The door at the back of the office opened and Healer Morris stepped inside.
"Ah, Aster Potter, punctual as usual." Healer Morris gestured toward the chair in front of his desk and said, "You may sit," as if he didn't time his entrance into the office every time so that he could tell me that. As if I were waiting for his permission to sit down.
I sat down in the chair anyway, knowing it was better to sit through the tests than stand the whole time.
Healer Morris opened his blue journal and set a quill on top of it. Like every appointment, he waved his wand over the quill and it jumped to life and began scratching notes into the journal. It would start with the date and time of the appointment, and the "subject", Aster Lyle Potter.
With a wave of his wand, Healer Morris began looking over my "physical variables" as he called them and muttered to the quill as he noted my height, weight, even average length of hair strand all without talking directly to me. Healer Morris never talked to me unless he had a specific question that needed answering.
I tried to ask what the point of some of his measurements were, once, and Healer Morris proclaimed I interrupted his "internal flow of calculations", then started taking my measurements all over again. I never tried to ask what he was doing again.
He had very strong opinions on keeping his research secret unless he reached an "undeniable, justifiable conclusion" which helped me know that Healer Morris wouldn't tell anyone that I wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived unless he knew absolutely for certain that I wasn't.
The quill paused in its scratching and let me know Healer Morris was done looking over my numbers for now. The man conjured up some pieces of paper, a box of crayons, and a clipboard. Mum liked that my healer was a halfblood who was willing to use Muggle items in his practice. I thought my healer acted like those purebloods who didn't let their house-elves speak unless spoken to, but woo, he lets me draw with crayons. Awesome.
Healer Morris handed me the conjured items and asked, "Do you remember the painting I showed you last month, child?"
"Yes, Healer Morris." It was a still painting of a crup chasing its two-forked tail while a black kneazle stole its steak dinner. That was the day I learned that cats and kneazles ate meat and that milk was bad for them.
The healer gestured to the box of crayons. "Recreate the painting as accurately as possible. I will use the time while you are working to run some diagnostics on your magical growth."
Well, that was easy. Way easier and more straightforward than most things Healer Morris usually asked me to do. Once he fed a live mouse to a snake in front of me and told me to try and describe the mouse's last thoughts and feelings before it was eaten. Another time he put a box in front of me and had me try and guess what enchantments were on the box and what those enchantments made me feel emotionally.
I began drawing the painting on the piece of paper in front of me and quickly got annoyed. Only a few of the crayons in the box matched the colors in the painting. I knew blue and yellow made green, but not how to make different kinds of green! I decided to at least get the kneazle out of the way because black fur and yellow eyes was easy. I could remember the painting exactly, anyway, so it felt more like tracing and coloring between the lines than "recreating" the painting. Was that cheating? I couldn't help it if I remembered it so well… Healer Morris didn't give me the painting to look at again, anyway, so I had to go off memory, he couldn't blame me.
After some time, I finished the recreated painting as best as I could with my very limited box of crayon colors. I glared at the box before sliding the paper I colored on over to Healer Morris' desk. "It's not perfect," I said, now nervous that I failed some test, "the crayons weren't all the right colors and they were so fat I—"
"Did you know what creatures were in the painting the first time you saw it?" Healer Morris' question cut my panic short and filled me with confusion. Was the drawing not the test?
I glanced back down at the picture of the crup and the kneazle. "Not the first time," I admitted. "I knew what a kneazle was, but at first I thought the dog was just a Muggle dog and the tail looked like that because the painting wasn't Charmed, and the painter wanted to show that the tail was moving."
Healer Morris crossed his fingers in front of his face and nodded slowly at me. "I see," he murmured. Whenever Healer Morris said that he was thinking deeply, and I knew not to interrupt.
He pulled his blue journal over and watched the quill scratch a few more notes down before he turned back to me. "You recognize what the canine is now?" he asked.
I nodded. "Well, I was thinking about it one time and thought if the kneazle wasn't just a cat, then maybe the dog wasn't just a dog, so I asked Mum about it and she told me that a crup looks like a normal dog but has a tail with two ends like the one in the painting, so..." With a jolt I realized I was babbling and ended with, "So… it's a crup, right, Healer Morris?"
"Indeed." When he said nothing else, I knew Healer Morris was thinking again and saw him look back over his blue journal.
The healer wouldn't speak again until he figured out whatever it was he was thinking about so I grabbed the box of crayons and started drawing again on one of the other blank sheets of paper. Drawing the crup and kneazle painting reminded me of a scruffy crup plushie I used to play with when I was learning to walk. I would hold the two tips of the tail like a handle and push the toy in front of me while I waddled around the house. It's name was Snuffles. Mum cried the first time she saw me do that because the plushie was a present from…
I flinched and scratched a thick line across the corner of the paper.
Healer Morris looked up from his journal and saw that I drew something else. "Let me see that, child," he said, and held out his hand.
After I handed over the paper, I wondered what was so interesting about a picture of an old toy.
Healer Morris tapped his fingers on the plushie drawing and then waved his wand at the floating quill. The quill dropped down onto the desk and the blue journal snapped shut. He usually only did that when the appointment was over. Did an hour pass by already?
Without another word, Healer Morris stepped out of the office and then returned with Mum.
Mum immediately went to my side. "Aster honey, is everything all right? Did you ask for me?"
Before I could respond, Healer Morris cut in, "Rest assured, Mrs. Potter, I have brought you in purely due to protocol; there is no emergency."
If that was supposed to make us feel better, it failed. Mum frowned and put her hands on my shoulders while I fidgeted with the crayons.
Healer Morris sat back at his desk and conjured another chair for Mum. "It was agreed when I was assigned to Aster Potter's case that I would disclose any… significant findings to at least one guardian at the time of realization. It is known that I, and any self-respecting scholar, would not share a hypothesis until it transforms into a well-substantiated theory."
"I understand, Healer Morris," Mum said in a calm voice and remained standing, her tight grip on my shoulders betraying her nerves, "however any information that keeps us informed will help set our minds at ease regarding any… consequences for what Aster went through." Mum was using that voice again that meant she was trying to talk the way the other person wanted to talk. She did it with Aunt Petunia all the time.
The healer smiled. "This is why I chose you to speak to, Mrs. Potter, you understand the importance of knowledge and how to handle knowledge appropriately." Most of the time when adults talked like I wasn't there it was annoying, but with Healer Morris it was okay because it meant I got to learn what was going on.
"Today I tasked the child with recreating a painting I showed him last month." Healer Morris handed Mum my drawing of the crup and kneazle painting. "This is what he produced with a box of crayons in thirty-eight minutes."
Mum dropped down into the chair next to me and held my right hand in one hand, my drawing in the other. "Aster drew this?" she asked, and then narrowed her eyes at Healer Morris. "I thought photographic memory was a myth." What? There was something weird about my memory? I mean, Mum always said I was smart, but I thought being smart meant being able to remember things better.
"You are partially correct," Healer Morris said. "True photographic memory has never been recorded in either Muggle and Magical medical history to date. Even with a Pensieve, memories contain gaps and even falsehoods depending on the mental state of the memory-holder." I wondered if this was what normal school felt like, with someone sharing information and the rest of us sitting and listening quietly. Healer Morris opened his blue journal and flipped through the pages as he continued, "Even eidetic memory was positively noted among a number of children over the years, however the children's cognitive abilities appear to naturally diminish by adulthood to only slightly above average performance."
"So, Aster has eidetic memory, but it'll go away when he's older?" Mum asked, her grip on my hand loosening slightly. "Aster's not… damaged anywhere? He's healthy?"
"That is not what I said. Aster Potter does exhibit all the signs of a normal nine-year old magical child," the healer began, and Mum opened her mouth to say something when Healer Morris continued, "except for his extraordinary memory and distinct lack of accidental magic outbursts."
Was I supposed to be bursting out magic sometimes? Wouldn't that break things? Isn't that bad? I looked over at Mum, completely confused. She looked like she was struggling with what to say next, but Healer Morris seemed content to keep talking on his own.
"As of now, the child's delay in accidental magic is still within low normal estimates. However, I have something else I must confirm with you." At that, he held out my drawing of Snuffles, the crup plushie. "Do you recognize this toy, Mrs. Potter?"
My drawing of the painting fell to the floor when Mum grabbed the plushie drawing out of Healer Morris' hand. The paper shook as she held it, and for the first time in my life I heard Mum stutter. "This… this is… we threw this out years ago! It hasn't been in the house since… since Aster learned to walk!" Did Mum expect me to not remember Snuffles? I used to carry it around every day! How could I forget it?
Hearing Mum's words, Healer Morris face stretched into the smile that meant some thought he had was proven right. "This is where I am contractually obligated to mention this possibility, Mrs. Potter, however with the relevant information provided, I believe Aster Potter may have magically-assisted perfect memory." Mum gasped but the healer barely paused to take a breath himself. "Logic follows that after a sufficiently traumatic experience, the child's magic may have attempted to interfere with the psychological processing of the event and inadvertently enhanced all related cognitive functions. Eidetic memory still requires visual stimuli, is contained to recent memories, and said memories do not adapt according to newly acquired knowledge. These restrictions do not apply to Aster Potter."
Mum's grip on me was painfully tight now. "Perfect memory? You don't think… he wouldn't remember that night, would he?" she whispered, as if lowering her voice would make a difference when I was sitting right next to her.
Of course I remembered that night! It was the start of everything: my eyes, my scars, my lies… Maybe everything was all upside down because everyone else forgot. If I was the one with perfect memory and people with normal memories forgot things like that, maybe that's why they all made a mistake and said I'm the Boy-Who-Lived. They didn't know enough when they said it the first time and then they forgot they didn't know. Maybe I was the only one left who knew the truth.
I was crying when the bright green flash of light struck the baby who looked just like me. My twin, my brother… Harry.
The moment the spell hit him I felt a sharp pain deep inside me. My screams filled the room as I watched my brother's body fall over backwards on his side of the crib. Something between us strained, then snapped, and for a moment it felt like Harry was fading away and it wasn't right, it wasn't fair! Why him?
Outside the crib, a man in robes pointed his wand at his own chest and a shining light of something floated out. The light started floating toward Harry.
No! I would not let him touch Harry again! Harry would be okay – he was just sleeping, that's why I couldn't feel him; but he'd wake up, I knew it. I'd make sure Harry woke up. The robed man needed to go away and LEAVE US ALONE!
Suddenly a wave of something spread through the room and the robed man fell to his knees. His screams joined mine and the floating light exploded into a blinding force.
Out of all of the memories I could remember, that was my earliest memory and the only memory that was fuzzy.
The pain of Mum gripping my hand too tight reminded me that I was still in Healer Morris' office. "Mum…" I tugged on my hand and tried to get her to let go, "Mum, it hurts."
Her hand immediately let go and she turned her head toward me so quickly I worried her neck hurt. "Oh, Aster, I'm so sorry!" We locked eyes and it surprised me to see tears gathering in Mum's eyes. "I know it might be scary, but I need you to be honest with me dear." She looked down at my hand and stroked it gently before asking, "Do you remember the night we told you about? When the bad man attacked you? Do you… can you remember it like this painting you drew for Healer Morris?"
Mum's hands started to shake. She didn't want me to remember, and I didn't want to upset her even more. Lying was bad, though.
Down on the floor I saw my drawing of the painting. If I had all the crayon colors in the world, I could draw the painting exactly like the real one. I knew I could. My memory of that night, though…
"No," I whispered, and then Mum's eyes were locked on mine again. It looked like she wasn't breathing as she waited for my next words, "not like the painting. I can remember the painting really well, but when I was really little? It's… fuzzy? There was a… green light?" Mum and Healer Morris flinched and suddenly my body felt really cold and my face felt way too hot. If I said more, they would find out. They would know I wasn't the one hit by the Killing Curse. They would know my title as the Boy-Who-Lived was a lie. I didn't want them to send me away; I didn't mean to lie!
Mum noticed when I started to take quick breaths and wrapped me in a hug. "Shh, it's all right, Aster, honey, it's okay, I'm sorry." She massaged my head through my messy black hair and kept whispering, "The bad man is gone now, you're safe, I'm here."
My head was filled with the sound of my breathing and my heart bounding as Mum held me tight and picked me up. Somewhere I could barely hear Mum tell Healer Morris she was taking me home now.
Outside the office, Dad and Uncle Moony tried to ask what happened but Mum didn't say anything as we left the hospital. I kept my face buried in Mum's shoulder and remembered being carried like this by Uncle Moony just this morning. I remembered Mrs. Williams and her sick daughter, Jasmine.
I should have told the truth. The world needed the real Boy-Who-Lived. Even if I lost my family, it was better for everyone if they had the real miracle child and not a fake.
The world needed Harry, not me.