In Aster Stars: A Tale of Mystery and Magic

Chapter Five

By Meladara

The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, and WB.

I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.

A/N: Happy Friday! Hope you enjoy the update! Happy reading and reviewing!

~squishes~, Mel

It was a grim and war-weary Professor McGonagall that had met Hermione and Harry at the Hogwarts gate. After escorting them straight to the library, she had invited them to join her in the staffroom for lunch at twelve o'clock. Then she had promptly left them to their own devices. Hermione and Harry had spent several hours scouring the library, without luck, for any information on recurring dreams or the mysterious Tilinus. Rather frustrated by the lack of progress in the library, they were now making their way through the halls on their way to the staffroom for lunch.

For Hermione, it was weird to walk through the halls again. It really hadn't been long since the battle, only seven weeks, but the distance that she had placed between herself and Hogwarts seemed to have done a bit to relieve some of her sensitivities. As she walked through the halls with Harry by her side, Hermione hoped that she would be able to continue visiting without being reminded of the horrors she had seen. She was grateful that, at the very least, all the damage from the battle had been repaired and the school itself had an air of peace about it. It was comforting, although she knew that those who inhabited that castle still remembered and honoured those they'd lost.

"Ah. There you are Hermione, Harry," Professor McGonagall said as Hermione pushed opened the door to the staffroom. "Please join us. Filius and Poppy are already here and Septima should be here momentarily."

"Thank you," the pair mumbled nervously. It wasn't everyday that one ate at the same table with persons who had, for the last six years, been their professors or school matron.

"Now, now. Don't be shy," Madam Pomfrey chided. "Come sit and dine. You've been shut up in that dusty library for far too long today."

"Thank you, madam," Hermoine replied kindly, remembering the fondness she had felt for the school matron over the years.

As Hermione and Harry began to serve themselves, Filius watched them from his chair. It was clear that the pair was uncomfortable. "What has brought you back to Hogwarts today?" he began conversationally, trying to put the two at ease. "Did you have any luck finding what you need?"

"Not really," Hermione said, her hand pausing in mid-air and the spoon fidgeting. Irritation flooded her face as she explained. "The library was rather less forthcoming that I had hoped it would be today. It seemed more interested in hiding books from us today than sharing them."

Harry eyes narrowed in confusion at the suggestion that the library would hide the books.

"Ah. That usually means that it does not have what you seek," a voice chimed from behind them.

"Irma!" Professor McGonagall cried as she rose to welcome the librarian home. "You've returned. I didn't expect you for a few days yet. Please, join us."

The two woman rejoined the group, and Madam Pince continued, "From my many years of dealing with the Hogwarts library, I'd say that by the reaction you received today, it doesn't have what you seek, my dear. It is part of the castle after all and sometimes has a mind of its own. Why don't you tell me what you are looking for? I have a pretty thorough knowledge of everything in our library."

Harry watched Hermione as she weighed her options. Choosing to play it safe and not mention her nightmares, she told them about she had Oblivated her parents. Then she explained how they had mysteriously returned with a completely new outlook on magic and about the man who had apparently aided them.

"I doubt there is anything in the library on behaviour modifications such as you are speaking, as you know there isn't much literature on Muggle-Wizard relations, although Poppy may know of something. As far as the man you are seeking information on, the more recent copies of the Wizards Who's Who may be helpful. It contains information on many of the most prominent figures throughout the whole Wizarding world."

"Thank you, that would be most helpful," Hermione said, grateful that perhaps they would make some progress in their search after all.

"I think I may have something that can help you," Madam Pomfrey added thoughtfully. "I have a very old book on healing; it originates from a time before the secrecy act. If I remember correctly, there is mention of magic being performed on Muggles - non-harmful, healing magic mind you. It has been many years since I've even opened it, so there are no guarantees. You are welcome to look through it if you think it would help. Though, I would ask that you do not remove it from Hogwarts; it is rather fragile, and I'm not sure it could hold up to any form of travel."

"Oh, that would be wonderful!" Hermione said, her excitement growing. Perhaps the library had somehow known that she needed to seek information elsewhere.

"What do you know about the man who found your parents?" Professor McGonagall asked.

More at ease now, Hermione explained all that her parents had told her about Tilinus, from his appearance, to his accent, and even his wand.

"You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were describing Severus," said a wry voice from the door.

Only Harry heard the gasp that escaped Hermione as everyone turned to watch Professor Vector join them, their faces filled with shock and outrage.

"Well, it does sound like him, doesn't it?" Professor Vector said as she bustled to the table.

Pulling her lips tight, McGonagall begrudgingly replied, "I suppose it does, after a manner."

Hermione sighed and turn her attention away from her two favorite professors, instead allowing her eyes to take in the staffroom. It was disappointing to see that Professor McGonagall hadn't let her anger toward Professor Snape go. He was dead, after all, and he'd been on their side the whole time. As her eyes landed on a banner that was adorned with a rather Slytherin motif, she came to a sudden realisation. This was where he would have spent much of his time. This would have been the place where he escaped after a long day of teaching. Adrenaline flooded Hermione and her vision swam. She was in his world now, this dim room where colleague talked and commiserated about the daily task of minding students. As her vision slowly cleared, she could see him here before her, a haunting vision from her tormented mind. She could see him sitting across the room, in the deep chair by the fire. His ever pleading eyes burning into her as blood seeped from his neck to soil his robes. The phantom breath rasped from his lips, and she shivered. Tears welled in her eyes and as she blinked away the sight she heard Harry whisper beside her.

"Hermione, it isn't him. It can't be."

For a moment she sat, stunned. Had Harry seen the vision too? Looking to him, she searched his face, but there was nothing there to show that she had seen the phantom Snape sitting across the room. When he continued, she realised her mistake.

"Yes, Snape was a Legilimens and even favoured fancy billowing robes like Tilinus. But we watched him die, Hermione. We were there, and none of them were. They don't know what we saw; they didn't see him die…." Harry sighed and then his voiced picked up in timbre as he tried to again reassure her, "Snape didn't speak with that kind of accent, nor was his wand curved. It's okay, love."

Something about his reassurances grated on her nerves. She wanted to shake him and insist that it could be him, that despite what they'd seen, these dreams had to mean something, and she wasn't going insane. There was such wonderful magic in this world, and it didn't matter that they had watched his last breath slip from his lips, that he had bleed out at their feet, some thing or some magic could have saved him. She wanted too grasp at the wild, irrational hope, but she knew she couldn't. Snape was dead, and death is irrevocable.

"It isn't him," Harry repeated as his eyes searched the staffroom until they met those of Minerva McGonagall, whose gaze had just lifted from closely watching Hermione. Noting the alarm and question in the Headmistress' eyes, he shrugged before turning his attention back to Hermione.

Hermione shook her head and dabbed away her tears as Madam Pomfrey's voice cut through her distress. "His eyes were somewhat iridescent though, as your mother described. It is rather rare, eyes such as his. I always loved his eyes..." she trailed off, losing herself in the memory. "Most of the time he left a Glamour on them to make them appear black," she continued after a moment, "for the students, you see... He never wanted to draw attention to himself in that way."

Panic filled Hermione's eyes as she processed the words of Madam Pomfrey. Harry, noting Hermione's growing distress, reached under the table and grabbed her hand, squeezing it reassuringly while laughing allowed to purposefully drawing the attention of the group. "He wanted us to be afraid of him, not fascinated," he said with a chuckle. "I wish I could have seen his eyes un-Glamoured though, if they really were iridescent."

"You did, Harry." Hermione replied absently as she withdrew her hand from his. Her eyes gazed ahead unseeing, as she remembered the moment where his eye had met hers, when she had first seen the darkness fade into the magical iridescence that seemed so impossible. She hadn't let herself acknowledge it before, so unlikely was the phenomenon.

Harry's stomach fell to his feet as he realised what she was stating - glamours wouldn't have held under such stress. Before he could stop himself, he mumbled a surprised, "Oh, I suppose in the end…" The suppressing the rest of his comment he looked to her cautiously.

"Yes..." she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Only Harry heard her as she continued to shakily speak. "They are like that in my...," she hesitated. "Well, when I see them, they move between colours... They're nearly purple sometimes... I never really thought to notice it before though." With a solemn face she looked down at her hands, which were neatly folded in her lap, and watched as tears began to dot them.

Silently, she wept for the man, for his loss, for the entire situation that she found herself in.

The professors, finally aware of the poor girl's breakdown, were stunned at her odd display of emotion toward their fallen colleague. They simply sat, watching her grieve, unsure of how to react.

Harry, unable to take his friend's anguish, turned to her and pulled her up from her chair. "Alright, Hermione. I think that is enough for you for today," he whispered. As Hermione nodded and dashed away the tears with quick swipes, Harry turned to Professor McGonagall. "Do you mind if we return tomorrow?" Harry asked. "We need to have a look at those books, at the very least, and I'm sure Hermione would like to do a little more research in the library."

"That is fine, of course. In the future know that you are welcome to come and go as you please. Just let Filius or I know when you will be about the castle."

"Thank you, Professor." Hermione said. Then, after giving a weak smile to the professors, they left.

Harry and Hermione sat on the swings of her neighbourhood park, slowly moving back and forth. Hermione had not wanted to return home until she had regained some composure. The park also provided them a chance to talk without the interference from others and therefore was a welcome respite. After sitting silent in the park for sometime, Harry spoke. "That was awkward."

"I suppose," Hermione said, her voice was still weak with emotional exhaustion and more than a little embarrassment. "Well," she sighed, "at least the professors were helpful, and now we've got a few leads."

"True. The library certainly was odd," Harry said, trying to draw her out of her malaise.

She said nothing. Instead the she pushed herself into the air and allowed herself to think back on the day. There were so many questions yet to be answered. After a time, she slid to sudden halt and then took a deep breath. She had hoped that after the war things would grow easier for them. It wasn't supposed to be this way.

"What didn't you tell me before, Hermione?" Harry asked suddenly, his eyes fixed on the ground.

"What do you mean?" she asked, unsure of his meaning. Not wanting to look at her friend, she pushed off and let her swing drift back in a slow motion.

"Why didn't you tell me that the man, Tilinus, sounds like Snape?" he clarified.

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione hedged. "We watched him die, and it just didn't... doesn't seem likely."

"But coupled with your dreams, it almost seems like too much; it's too suspicious," he argued.

Rolling her eyes, she was perturbed. "How do you think that makes me feel Harry? Is it so hard to believe that maybe I am torn between wanting it to be him and knowing that it cannot?" Her voice grew angrier as she spoke. "Damn it, Harry. You were the one in the Great Hall not thirty minutes ago telling me it wasn't him. Don't get upset at me, because that is what seems like a little bit too much!" She glared at Harry.

"After all these years... Do you really think I'm overreacting, Hermione?" he reasoned. "Think about the things that have happened in the past. This isn't a world of reason or logic and just because-"

"Harry! He's dead, we watched him die!" she cried before he could finish his thought. "Have you tried thinking about this from my perspective? I sat there and listened to my parents describe the very man I watch die every night. Every night! So don't you tell me that this person is him. And as far as odd things happening before..." Roughly, she slammed her feet into the ground, violently stopping her swing, and then she took another calming breath, trying to rid herself of the shaking anger that was filling her. This wasn't Harry's fault. "My parents..." Another breath. "My parents' return has nothing to do with my nightmares. My nightmares started long before my parents even met Tilinus. They are completely unrelated." Her final statement was laced with a tone that told Harry she would brook no further discussion on the matter, so he let it drop.

"Do you think you are ready to go back? I know your mum will never forgive me if I don't say hi today." Harry jumped off his swing and looked to Hermione, waiting for her answer.

Hermione nodded begrudgingly and stood from the swing, letting go of the anger. Harry had done so much, had fought so many battles; it wasn't right for her to take her frustration out on him. "I'm sorry about that, Harry. This is just so confusing. I had hoped that our days of mystery were over."

"I know, love."

Suddenly, a puff of fluff whizzed by their heads.

"Ahh!" Harry exclaimed as he ducked and swatted away the overzealous Pigwidgeon.

In a ruffle of wings and feathers, the owl settled on a surprised Hermione's shoulder.

"I think it's for you," Harry said with a smirk.

Hermione, glad for the distraction, said wryly to the tiny owl - who was currently proudly preening itself on her shoulder, "Alright, you daft owl, give it here."

Sticking out its leg, Hermione carefully untied the missive and tucked it into her pocket. Then, plucking up the owl, she allowed him to launch himself up to the sky.

Harry chuckled as Hermione rolled her eyes. Pig really was a ridiculous little thing.

When the owl faded from sight, she reached into her pocket to retrieve the letter.

Unrolling the parchment, she stood silently and read, her eyes growing grimmer and her lips tighter with each pass over the words. When she reached the end, she unceremoniously thrust the letter at Harry, crushing it against his chest. Then she took off down the path, muttering to herself about daft pricks living in their own reality.

Harry carefully unrolled the crumpled letter, afraid of what he would see. It began:

My Dearest Hermione…