He could see his reflection in the glass of his office window. The face of a wizened man, old and tired. Dumbledore would have liked to drink, if only to mitigate the pain of the blow he had just received, but his duty forbade it. He needed all his wits to face an unprecedented crisis.
Alastor's revelation had shed a ray of light on a terrible situation. After going to see his old friend, he immediately went to the site of the attack on Karrasinqi's home all those years ago. He had already been there shortly after the incident, but the new information he now had had enabled him to make a very different interpretation of the events that had taken place on that terrible night during which so many brave and honourable wizards had lost their lives. The ruins had remained unchanged, the place would remain scarred by the power of the destructive magic that had been used there for decades if not centuries, the traces of the battle as vivid as ever. When he had first visited the site, he had only seen the terrible battle between the infamous Karrasinqi and the warlocks. Now, a very different picture was unfolding before him.
Karrasinqi had had an ally, one who had introduced herself to him as Aster Potter and recounted a most tragic story. If Karrasinqi and Adamar had fought in the air, then the traces of the magical battle on the ground were the result of the fight between Aster and the golems against the other wizards.
He walked over to the window and leaned against its edge, letting his gaze drift over the lake reflecting the stars of the night sky. The true story was taking shape in his mind. When Aster Potter had disappeared all those years ago, she had not survived. He should have trusted his initial instincts and doubted further. Something had attacked Aster, killed her and taken her form. A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered Severus's description of what he'd found of the Dursleys... or rather what he hadn't found of them. The thing... A powerful metaphage perhaps, or a skin thief had attacked poor Aster's family. Then, the thing had decided to join Karrasinqi for one reason or another.
The question now was why, after stealing Aster Potter's appearance or body, the creature had decided to go to Hogwarts in the guise of a child. To integrate into British society? Perhaps recover the Potter fortune using the child's blood? But in that case, why not come back sooner?
He was struck by the obvious: the Philosopher's Stone. He had arranged for rumours to spread about the fact that the stone was in his possession, with the aim of possibly finally being able to set a trap for the Dark Lord or one of his servants... unsuccessfully so far, as the castle wards had not detected any intrusions...
His blood ran cold in his veins... no, impossible, could it be... possibly... that... Oh... by Merlin and Morgan. That sounded like the kind of irony Tom enjoyed. Stealing the body of the one who had stood up to him, desecrating it, using it as the tool of his resurrection. What's more, inflicting the humiliation of being turned into a vampire on Aster Potter's carnal envelope was exactly something Tom would do in pursuit of some sick scheme for revenge.
He let out a long sigh... There was no point in speculating on the basis of the little information he currently had. Until he had more evidence, he would have to stick with this: Aster Potter may not be Aster Potter, she may be guilty of murder, and she may be possessed by Tom. Nothing to cheer about, but at least, apart from Alastor's testimony, he had no other evidence.
The fact that Aster seemed so far to be having a perfectly normal year was as worrying as it was reassuring. On the one hand, it was an argument for the idea that he was fooling himself and that Alastor had dreamt the whole story about the masked child, which wouldn't be so surprising given his coma; on the other hand, it perhaps meant that she was just waiting for the right moment to attack the trapped corridors, or worse, that she had learned that the stone wasn't really at the end of the trials... He grimaced, perhaps she had managed to get Severus to talk about the secret entrance leading directly to the mirror... given that Severus was completely under the spell of his supposed goddaughter, that was far from impossible.
In any case, Aster, or whoever she was, did not appear to be a threat to the students, otherwise Howarts' wards would have spotted her immediately, and that was an excellent thing, even if the safety and future of the whole of Great Britain depended on how well he stood up to Tom or some other dark lord in his place, the safety of the children remained one of his absolute priorities.
He hesitated for a moment, should he sound the alarm and reassemble the Order of the Phoenix? No... Not with so little evidence. Especially as he had to rule out Severus, and Minerva might not believe him, she was still terribly angry with him for his choice to place Aster with the Dursleys... Contact his friends at the Ministry? No... Amelia wouldn't believe him without solid proof. His handling of the Acromentulae crisis had raised his public profile considerably after the fiasco of the Aster affair, but not enough to capture and interrogate the girl in this way, without any evidence other than Alastor's words, when he woke up from a long coma.
The best solution was to catch her red-handed, with witnesses if possible. To do this, the trials corridor would be the worst place. Publicly exposing the fact that he kept a cerberus in the school would damage his credibility. He would need another solution.
He looked away from the vastness of the lake and sat down at his desk. "We're in a very strange situation here, Fawks. So many questions and so few answers." He said to his old friend before popping a lemon drop into his mouth. The phoenix cooed and began to sing a sweet, sad melody.
Dumbledore grinned at the bird before leaning forward and crossing his fingers under his chin. He had a plan to prepare.
...
Today more than any other day, at the large teacher's table, at breakfast time, Dumbledore was less focused on his plate of scrambled eggs with shallots and verbena than on the Hufflepuffs' table.
Like every morning, Aster Potter was surrounded by her friends. More precisely, comfortably seated on the lap of young Susan Bones and being spooned by Leane Maywind, while, strangely enough, Hermione Snow was regularly glowering at Leane for one reason or another. This kind of scene, at first considered strange, had attracted attention, but with time had become normal, the other students seeming to have become indifferent, the 'History Club' so much considered a tight group with Aster and her friend Hermione at the centre of it. The small group seemed to be immersed in a debate involving several books open on the table and young Neville Longbottom talking, a more than unusual action for the usually shy boy.
He, who in previous days had found such scenes cute, felt sick. Maybe Alastor was wrong, maybe Aster Potter really was who she said she was and he was just imagining things, but if ever his worst fears proved true, he was looking at a wolf in the sheepfold, surrounded by potential hostages. He would have to act with the utmost caution. If Aster really did represent a danger and she began to suspect something, she would feel in danger and this could provoke a violent reaction that would endanger the childrens. If Aster was innocent and realised his suspicions, it would destroy any chance of a peaceful future relationship with her.
A fiery resolve was born in his heart. He would act with patience and discretion until he was sure of Aster's innocence, or until he brought the truth to light in the way that was most advantageous to him.
oOOOo
Hermione bit her lip, frowning with concentration, a quill in her hand, a thick parchment resting on the stone in front of her, a bottle of iron ink at her side. This would be her seventh attempt at it today. A few days ago, Aster had judged her to be good enough in classical Yujul to rely on their reference texts in terms of magecraft and knowledge of the basic principles and fundamental structures and elements making up magecraft arrays to let her create her first one. She who had found the creation of the portal nerve-wracking, even though she was simply following Aster's notes and instructions, had never imagined how difficult the creation of an original array could be. Where she could compare her previous creations to assembling a jigsaw puzzle whose plan was offered by Aster, she felt like a painter in front of a blank canvas. A canvas that could potentially explode in her face if used in the unfortunate event of a miscalculation or the ill-fated installation of a looped amplification structure.
She still remembered with horror the moment when Aster told her how the creation of one of her first arrays had gone rather wrong. Aster had confessed that she had become over-confident in her abilities after a series of successful original arrays and that, in a moment of lack of concentration, she had made a one-line mistake and transformed a section of the array that was supposed to control the amount of incoming energy into an absorption structure that had almost triggered a terrible explosion if Kav-deb hadn't intervened in time. At least, given that her array had no unbound black magic support, this particular problem was unlikely to occur.
Aster had warned her several times never to touch her arrays precisely because of this problem. Arrays containing unbound black magic components could become unstable and start absorbing ambient magic, thus triggering the spontaneous activation of the spell if the safety measures were ignored.
Hermione lifted her quill to relax her hand, which was beginning to ache from trying to form the correct structure on the parchment. She intended to hang this array on a wall in her room in their English house and use it as an environmental ward to manage the temperature. Cool in summer, warm in winter... a comfort she had missed last year. Aster had, of course, approved the layout of her array, specifying that she would need to infuse it with her magic every month if she wanted it to work properly, before pointing out a few things that needed to be optimised.
She stretched, extending her arms towards the sky, and heaved a sigh of contentment when she felt the joints of her vertebrae pop. The weather was still quite chilly, but the early April sun was warming her well enough. The trees of the Forbidden Forest were beginning to put on leaves again, and the water sparkled in the sunshine, so this little spot by the lake was really perfect for working... or... relaxing, as Aster seemed to be enjoying nearby, sitting cross-legged with a novel on her lap.
Since their discovery that the stone was indeed in the castle, her friend had eased off a great deal, the tension that hadn't left her since their visit to the Hall of Mirrors finally lifted. They and... Quirrell had decided on a plan, something simple. Wait for an opportunity, a day when Dumbledore would be out of the castle to infiltrate his quarters before stealing the stone and then leaving the wards. She and Aster had discussed the rest of the plan in private. It was obvious that the second they were outside the wards, Voldemort would either demand the stone or try to snatch it from them. Once again, she and Aster had agreed on a simple plan. Aster would stay behind to distract Voldemort while she fled through the portal to the safety of their home and she would then wait for Aster to return. Ideally, Aster would join her quickly, and they would return to Hogwarts and pretend nothing had happened. Aster had finally decided to destroy the golems made in their likeness, much to her relief, because in the event of them being discovered, having a golem based on soul magic at Hogwarts would allow anyone who got their hands on them to track them down, or worse, curse them through the golems.
In this plan, Hermione was not at all in favour of letting Aster face Voldemort alone, but she had not been able to refute her friend's argument and had been forced to admit that it would be for the best. After all, Aster was a vampire, with far better physical abilities, a powerful golemic arm and far more combat experience than she would ever have. Not to mention the kind of arrays she would have at her disposal. Aster had hinted that, thanks to the Order of Asphodel's trade with Svorak's Hanseatic League, she had finally managed to get her hands on some death stone. Even so, knowing that Aster was going to put herself in such danger from a dark lord almost made her sick with worry, so she preferred not to think about it.
She let out a long sigh; she had to admit it, she loved Aster dearly. The strangely lively little vampire, ironic as it may seem, had found her way into her heart. Add to that the fact that Aster sometimes seemed almost suicidal in the way she acted, and her blindness to any kind of complex feeling made her want to tear her hair out. She just hoped that Aster just needed time to mature further and feared that her condition would prevent her from reaching puberty as her body seemed incapable of growing and would prevent her from developing any interest in any form of romance even after decades...
"Hermione, are you all right?" She gasped as she heard Aster's voice just behind her.
"Yes, I was just lost in thought." She said, hoping to hide the redness in her cheeks due to the fact that the object of her musings was pressed against her back.
Aster gave her a questioning sideways glance, but when Hermione merely looked away, she shrugged and bent over her to grab the parchment. "Let's see how my little apprentice does!" she declared with what Hermione chose to interpret as pride.
"Not bad at all, just be careful with the tank circuit, you've put it a bit close to the dissipation circuit." Aster was all against her, her cheek almost touching hers as she looked over her shoulder at her array. So soft... no, she had to divert her mind from thoughts like that, not until Aster said yes.
"Aster, about the death stone, I fully understand its usefulness in the creation of complex arrays as its magical isolation properties prevent interference between different parts of the same array, but you never told me what it was exactly. Some kind of mineral? A metal? Are there any death stone mines?" She rambled on, doing her best to think of something other than the presence of Aster right up against her.
"Didn't I explain it? That's a mistake on my part. Death stone is a very special material that can be found anywhere as long as you dig deep and aren't afraid of meeting creatures from the depths. It's the marrow of the world's bones, well... that's how Sonya defined it. I didn't get the chance to ask her any more about it. In the books that mention it, you'll find that it's just a rare mineral that's very difficult and dangerous to extract because of the magical anomalies that surround the mines" she concluded thoughtfully.
Aster's explanation made her shiver, something about the expression 'the marrow of the world's bones' made her strangely nervous... probably the stress of approaching the execution of their plan. Any other reason was too worrying to contemplate. She was immediately distracted, however, when Aster sat on her lap without preamble, leaning against her. Hermione felt herself blush again, her attempt to distract herself from her undue thoughts completely ruined. "What now?" She asked, inwardly wishing to prolong the contact but not daring to admit it.
"Something's bothering me...
"It's something to do with Asphodel, isn't it?" Hermione sighed. She heard that phrase at least once a week, and always, something was wrong with Aster and her bloody order. "Ever since you founded that organisation, it's brought you nothing but trouble... "
"And a better life for all its members." Aster retorted with a frown.
"Have you thought about delegating a bit more?" asked Hermione.
"Yes, but this particular matter, I can't."
"What is it?"
"Mimosa has informed me that a number of our members have decided to start a cult in my name."
"That's really not good news... when did it start?"
"Shortly after the ritual."
"I should have expected it..."
"Frankly, I don't know what to do... just ordering them to stop their nonsense or risk being disbarred doesn't seem to be the right solution."
"I'm glad you came to talk to me about it, you were right not to do anything of the sort, threatening to throw them out wouldn't make them stop their activities, they'd hide them and you'd have no control over their actions."
"What can I do about it then!? I don't want to turn the Order of Asphodel into a cult!"
Hermione was silent for a moment. She understood the problem, just ordering these people to stop believing would only create a secret and uncontrollable sect within the order, and on the other hand, legitimizing them would turn the order into a cult... "What if you took control? I mean... become its High Priestess or something?" She finally said with a grimace. This solution was far from ideal, but it seemed to her to be the best in the long term. "Make it a secret cult within the Order under your direct control. That will enable you to prevent proselytising and keep the problem contained."
"I really don't like this..." Aster sighed. "But you're right, I'll do it until I find a better solution" She concluded before placing a kiss on her cheek and getting up to return to her reading. It took Hermione a good five minutes to stop blushing and to regain sufficient concentration to resume her work. Damned Aster, did she even realise how much she was testing her heart?
oOOOo
Aster was stamping her feet, a toothy grin on her face. Hermione was beside her, pale and visibly anxious. They were waiting for Quirrell to arrive, after which they would finally be able to get their hands on the object of her desire. Earlier today, Dumbledore had left the castle for an urgent meeting at the Wizengamot, and Severus had confirmed that the man would not be back until tomorrow morning at the earliest. She had then triggered the signal that would warn Quirrell the time finally arrived.
She held her battle staff firmly in her hand, a dagger hanging from her belt, and she would have taken her armour and matagon sword, but what she intended to do required too much stealth to allow herself to take such heavy equipment. She did, however, have her most powerful arrays to hand on her precious scrolls and metal supports, enough to more than offset the disadvantage the lack of armour would put her at. As for Hermione, she had her own battle staff in her hand, her other hand in her pocket, no doubt fiddling with the void-shield array that never left her side. Anna's vial of soul was strapped around her friend's neck; being deprived of its warmth and reassuring weight made her anxious, but entrusting it to Hermione was just wiser than risking it in the event of a potential confrontation with Quirrell and Voldemort.
Finally, she could already see herself with the stone in hand, which would make it possible to create a body for Anna. All they would need was an iron chrysalis to attach the soul to the new body and her mother would be back. Imagining introducing Hermione to Anna, telling her all about their adventures, knowing how proud her mother would be of her for all she had achieved made her throat close with anticipation and apprehension. She had to hold back her hopes and her imagination, because the road to Anna's return was still a long one, and unless she managed to contact Kav-deb, obtaining an iron chrysalis would be difficult. Perhaps by going to Anna's Fahri Yujul acquaintances, who would certainly agree to help her, with appropriate compensation of course, or perhaps by managing to open a passage to the edges where, if she was lucky, the formless merchants in the great caravans travelling the mirror-like surface of the starry lake would be able to give her information. However, with Sonya in the grip of the radiant, travelling to the edges could prove even more dangerous than normal. She bit the inside of her cheek. If only she could get some news about Sonya. Either she was dead or she was still facing the birthless. As Kav-deb had said, worrying about Sonya was at best pointless, at worst stupid, but she couldn't help it, she was a bit like an aunt, or maybe even an older sister to her.
She shook her head, she had to stop daydreaming and concentrate on the task in hand. Goal number one, get away with it without Hermione getting hurt or traumatised, goal number two, get the stone, goal number three, kick Quirrell and Voldemort in the arse as hard as possible when their truce broke outside the wards. Simple, effective, if they were lucky, Quirrell and Voldemort wouldn't even pay Hermione any attention, since they seemed to just regard her as a servant or something, Voldemort would no doubt plan, and he certainly wouldn't entertain the idea of her entrusting Hermione with something as important as the stone. After all, who had Voldemort ever really trusted? What's more, Aster had taken a little extra precaution: she already had in her pocket a pebble she'd picked up the day before on the banks of the great lake, which had been transfigured into a very pretty red crystal with iridescent reflections. Professor Mcgonnagal would be proud, she thought with a slight smile. As much as she adored magecraft and found it infinitely superior to wizardry for its power and precision, she had to admit that the practice of using foci instead of arrays had its advantages.
She would have liked to bring Severus with them, as he was undoubtedly in the best position to deal with Quirrell, but she didn't want to expose him as a spy and make their business more suspect than it already was by involving an extra person. Besides, the potions master had offered her a good exchange. Let her teach him how to incorporate the effect of certain arrays into his potions in exchange for a private lesson with him in the advanced art of British brewing. Aster was frankly tempted, but she needed to think it over.
If everything went according to plan, she and Hermione would be back tomorrow morning, the stone safe, a Professor Quirrell having mysteriously disappeared, and within a few days Dumbledore would have the unpleasant surprise of discovering that the stone was missing from under his pillow. She reached out and placed her hand on Hermione's waist, her friend, her apprentice, Kav-deb would be proud, they would get through this together as always. Hermione gasped, probably also rambling as she waited for their unwelcome companion to arrive, but she relaxed immediately, giving her a smile so sweet that Aster could hardly read it.
The two of them took a casual step apart when they heard footsteps approaching. Through her Lagaelis eye, Aster could see the intertwined magics of Quirrell and Voldemort at the end of the corridor. The man's body had deteriorated greatly since the beginning of the year. Hard to see from the outside, but the conflict between the two souls and magics must have been slowly tearing at Quirrell's flesh. She could have felt pity, but she saw it only as an advantage she wouldn't hesitate to abuse during their inevitable confrontation.
"Thing." Quirrell greeted, stopping just in front of her and completely ignoring Hermione's presence, his eyes turning red, glowing like embers of hellfire, a further reminder of the inhumanity of the creature in front of her daring to call her that.
"Wraith" bit Aster in retaliation. A slight twitch on Quirrell's face was the only sign of his displeasure.
"I imagine our collaboration will soon be coming to an end." He said with icy calm.
"If our attempt tonight proves successful, indeed."
Quirrell... or rather Voldemort right now, didn't even give her a reply before he started walking down the corridor towards the headmaster's office and cast a spell of disillusionment on himself, disappearing from sight. Aster nodded to Hermione before activating her old invisibility array and following their ally, her friend following suit.
On this night, just a few days before the full moon, the silver rays of the latter were enough to light their way through the castle's ancient arched windows. Curfew had been in effect for several hours, and the castle was plunged into an almost eerie stillness, a heavy silence disturbed only by the sound of their footsteps muffled by the invisibility array and the occasional hoot of a nocturnal bird of prey. The imposing figures of ornamental armour arranged regularly in the long corridors, as well as the few portraits and paintings whose figures were not yet asleep, gave her the worrying impression of being watched. More than once, Aster thought she saw a statue following her with its eyes.
After several long minutes, and an encounter with a Mr Filch carrying a lantern casting dancing shadows on the high walls, who was grumbling about a couple of students caught in a broom cupboard and the indecency of it all, they arrived in front of the two imposing gargoyles guarding what Severus had described as the entrance to Dumbledore's study and personal quarters.
The two stone monsters looked like muscular humanoids, with clawed limbs, horned dragon-like heads and incredibly precise carving. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, a reflection of the moon's diaphanous rays, but for a moment she could have sworn she saw their eyes glow with an unearthly gleam. She had read about gargoyles in the many books that her curiosity had driven her to devour, and she had also had a few conversations about them with Anna, as some gargoyles could be considered golems. By the precision of the texture of the creatures, and the magic dormant within them, Aster was certain that they were neither golems, nor animated sculptures or advanced transfiguration, but authentic gargoyles, with flesh of stone and blood of lead. The fact that a sorcerer had managed to bind them to this place and turn them into docile guardians sent shivers down her spine.
Just as she was about to take out her lock-picking array and hope that her action would not arouse the gargoyles, Quirrell's voice echoed in the corridor. "Sherbet Lemon" he said with imperturbable seriousness. Aster regretted for a moment that Quirrell and Voldemort were under a spell of disillusionment because she would have paid dearly to see his face forced to say sweet names. "Chocolate frog." He then said, when the gargoyles didn't move an inch. "Apple pixies?" he continued, tension now audible in his voice. "Don't tell me..." he growled before sighing "Lemon drop."
At these words, with a mineral creak, the two stone monsters began to move with a suppleness and speed that was astonishing, to say the least. Both of them moved away to reveal the steps of a spiral staircase.
After a few seconds of tense silence, waiting for a possible reaction, Aster stepped onto the narrow staircase, hoping that everything would go according to plan. Dumbledore's office had not changed since her last visit at the beginning of the year, still in the same state of organised chaos, the only difference being that the notable absence of the phoenix and the half-light in which it was immersed gave it a disquieting atmosphere. All the former Headmasters of the school whose portraits hung on the wall seemed to be in a deep slumber, but Aster wasn't going to tempt the devil by ceasing to be as discreet as possible.
She was startled when a discreet door opened at the back of the room. She immediately put herself on guard, but relaxed when she felt Quirrell and Voldemort's magic rush in. How he could have found that door so quickly, she didn't know, but it must have had something to do with the fact that they seemed to know the Headmaster very well.
If Dumbledore's office was a mess, his bedroom was the very picture of chaos. Extravagantly coloured clothes and gowns were strewn about the floor, and the shelves were overflowing with old and probably priceless books arranged in a more than precarious manner next to objects of all kinds, such as the vast collection of snail shells that sat proudly on a display stand. Next to the large, unmade four-poster bed were several stacks of books and other objects whose arrangement defied gravity. However, what caught her eye almost immediately was the incredible well of pure magic shining like iridescent suns under the bed's pillows that Lagaelis' gift allowed her to see. She approached, fascinated, keeping an eye on the form of Quirrell and Voldemort, whose magic now seemed pale in comparison to the monstrosity of what she assumed was a rift stone. She lifted the dirty pillow and placed her fingers on the smooth, crystalline surface of the stone. A shiver ran through her body as she smelt the faint scent of asphodel mixed with ozone.
Still watching the magic of Quirrell and Voldemort as they rummaged through the cupboards at the foot of the bed, she held the stone out towards where she could see Hermione's gentle magic slowly vibrating. A hand closed around hers, and she found herself relieved of the stone. She nodded discreetly before turning to Voldemort... or Quirrell, it was getting harder and harder to tell where the magic of one ended and the magic of the other began. "I have the stone." She said, patting the pocket where the decoy was.
"Good, let's not dawdle," he replied in a raspy voice.
The exit went smoothly, apart from the growing feeling of unease and the unfortunate encounter with a prefect doing his rounds, forcing her to stick to a corridor wall. It was with some relief and growing apprehension that Aster found herself walking along the moonlit path that would lead them out of the Hogwarts wards and where Hermione could flee with the stone towards their portal.
The valley narrowed, the sound of a stream echoing below. Behind them, the tall towers of Hogwarts slowly disappeared behind the mountainside. In front of her, the border of the immense, almost invisible dome of the Hogwarts wards was only ten metres away. She pressed on, Hermione just in front of her, Quirrell just behind. Soon she felt the air pressure change, as if she were crossing the surface of a calm lake. She took a few more steps along the path, glanced towards Hogwarts, which was now completely hidden by the mountainside, and then deactivated her invisibility array. As expected, Hermione didn't stop, continuing to walk towards their portal. All that remained was to hope that Voldemort was fooled.
Facing her, the tall, turbaned figure of Quirrell emerged from the shadows of the disillusionment spell, his blood-red irises glowing in the dark like two cursed rubies. "It seems to me that it is now time to put an end to our cooperation." Voldemort said thoughtfully.
"The wards are still close, it would be wiser to move further away before we start our... discussion." said Aster, casting a meaningful glance in the direction of Hogwarts.
"Well, let's find somewhere quieter," he murmured icily.
Aster took the lead, walking towards their gate, hoping that Hermione had already passed through it and was safely inside their house. Barely a hundred metres further on, two chilling words echoed through the valley. "Avada kedavra." A huge flash of green light giving no shadow at all erupted, the temperature dropped several degrees and a great gust of wind shook the few trees.
Aster had turned around and was watching wide-eyed as the afterglow of the annihilation spell dissipated against the sizzling surface of her void shield. Voldemort stood a few feet away, his wand in his hand pointed in her direction, his ember eyes watching her with surprise and circumspection.
"Out of respect for having managed to survive the green death, I'm offering you a chance, give me the stone now or die." He said calmly.
Aster's surprise turned to battle excitement. If Voldemort wanted to play this game, she wasn't going to be denied. Instead of answering, she deactivated the void shield array and pointed her staff in Voldemort's direction, releasing a volley of purplish arrows, determined to reduce the parasite's borrowed body to a pulp.
"So be it. You choose death" whispered Voldemort, letting the energy arrows crash against a translucent silver shield. He disappeared from behind the shield, becoming a greyish mist for a fraction of a second, only to reappear in her blind spot. But Aster had already reacted, slamming the bottom of her staff into the ground, releasing a shockwave strong enough to knock Voldemort off balance. She narrowly avoided a beam of blood-red light before sending out another salvo of purplish energy arrows.
This time, Voldemort raised a shield too hastily, and one of the arrows shattered it into a thousand particles of spectral light before ripping into his left arm and exploding, ripping off his limb in a spray of blood. This was the opportunity Aster had been waiting for, and she activated the cursed flame array on her staff, unleashing a violet inferno on her enemy and turning the ground to glass in the process. After several seconds of maintaining the infernal blaze, she released her magic. Voldemort was on his knees, struggling to maintain a strange shield of bluish mist.
A bloodthirsty grin appeared on Aster's face and she charged, running with supernatural speed towards the future corpse as he struggled to his feet. She felt immense satisfaction when the metal fist of her golemic arm crashed into her opponent's ribcage with a sickening crack, sending him crashing heavily against a rock. "You've fallen pretty far for a Dark Lord, Wraith." She declared as she approached, determined to end Quirrell's life, and perhaps even have the opportunity to devour their souls.
As she approached, she saw Voldemort pull a small golden medallion from one of his pockets with his still-valid hand. Sensing the obvious magic imbued in the object, she hastened to try and finish him off, but before she could, the locket disappeared in a scarlet flame, and Voldemort gave her a look burning with hatred. Having had enough, she plunged the base of her staff into the man's chest before unleashing another shockwave, reducing Quirrell's life expectancy to nothing. His eyes had already lost their red tint, and had turned blue again. She swore, the wraith's soul had escaped. Just as she did so, a flash of red and gold light burst from behind her. Quirrell's now glassy gaze was lost behind her and with his last breath, he whispered. "Headmaster..."
Aster turned slowly, her heart pounding, it couldn't be, no. Her gaze met the bluish steel of Dumbledore's eyes, only a few feet away from her. "Quirinus..." The Headmaster sighed. Aster had taken a few steps back, Dumbledore was a monster of power, what she saw through her Lagaelis eye did not deceive her, his magic was like a sun shining in the valley.
Dumbledore stared at her, phoenix on his shoulder, long gnarled wand in his hand. Unlike the last time she had spoken to him in private, there was nothing warm about his gaze. "Who are you?" he asked after a long moment of silence.
Aster swallowed, pulling her bloodied staff from the chest of the corpse, realising her situation. There she stood, in a hidden valley, a few hundred yards from the wards of Hogwarts, her staff covered in the blood of a recently deceased professor. Hermione had to be far away by now, Aster had no business being here. The obvious decision was to flee.
Without deigning to reply to Dumbledore, she took out a parchment and activated her array, gritting her teeth as she felt the amount of magic she was putting into it saturate her system. A high wall of bright white flames rose up between her and the Headmaster, forming a barrier she hoped would be impenetrable. Without further ado, she ran towards the portal that was waiting for her nearby. She could see the portal looming a hundred metres away, her salvation, her only chance of escaping without too much trouble.
She stopped dead in her tracks as a whitish translucent surface materialised a few feet in front of her. She looked up, a huge dome had just appeared above her. The intensity of the magic did not deceive her. "A realm spell..." she murmured with as much terror as amazement. She should have expected it, of course a wizard of Dumbledore's calibre would be able to do it... but to use one against her? It was now obvious that Dumbledore would not make the mistake of underestimating her.
She turned just in time to see her wall of bursting flame being torn like paper and finally disintegrating into a million sparks, allowing Dumbledore to pass, the latter advancing with icy calm, each of his steps feeling like a thunderclap reverberating in the magic-laden atmosphere of the realm spell. "You won't run away". He said in a thunderous voice.
"Whatever you are, now is the time for you to answer! What have you done with Aster Potter? How dare you use her body and her appearance."
Aster gritted her teeth and gripped her battle staff so tightly that her fingers turned white under the pressure. "I am Aster Potter." She said finally.
"Don't you dare lie to me again! No child could wield such magic, no child could kill one of their teachers in cold blood! No child would know how to get the stone you stole! Were you her murderer, the one who killed Aster Potter?"
Faced with his accusations, Aster saw red. The Dursleys were a distant memory, but being accused of the crimes of her abusers was too much for her. "Don't accuse me of the crimes of the muggle family who KILLED me!" she screamed. Even if she was still capable of it, at this moment, she no longer considered running away an option, she was going to skin this old man.
"'Liar..." murmured Dumbledore before beginning a long incantation in Latin, the magic around him swirling like a nascent hurricane. However, Aster was not going to give him the time he needed. She held up one of the scrolls that she hoped she wouldn't have to use, if only because of the damage the amount of magic required would inflict on her body.
In an instant, the parchment was consumed in a spray of blue flame, so overloaded by the magic that had run through it. The ground cracked around her, the air itself becoming luminescent. Her eye burned as she absorbed as much magic as she could, feeding on the life energy around her, snatching it from Dumbledore, who looked at her with the glint of horrible realisation in his eyes. A crazed grin tore across Aster's face, her realm spell had just caught, at her fingertips, a thousand strands of mist, this little corner of the universe now bent to her will. Her first realm spell successfully used, she could feel the power stone of the imperial golem Khrè normally animating her arm draining of its magic at full speed, the ground around her blackening, becoming soot ash and dust. She stared into Dumbledore's eyes and pulled at the threads of mist, tearing his chant into countless inert iridescent ribbons.
Dumbledore's realm spell, which until then had formed an arena, preventing her escape and magnifying the power of her enemy, was torn apart by the onslaught of her magic as Dumbledore disappeared and reappeared in a frantic pace, parrying and dodging the countless blows of the lacerating mists seeking to plunge into him, dislocate him and return him to nothingness. The valley around them was nothing more than a vast crater of dust and ash, slowly disintegrating, forming maelstroms of death assailing Dumbledore from all sides. The man, more than living up to his reputation, was a star lost in the abyss of battle, invoking shields and cyclones of flame to defend himself as best he could from Aster's fury.
She felt it was time to end it all, all her limbs were burning, the small amount of magic she was able to extract from the world around her was insufficient to complement the magic she was tearing from her reserves and which was running through her body, destroying her little by little. She tore what was left of the bluish power stone from her arm; there should be just enough energy left to cast her last spell. She grabbed a new parchment, this one engraved with an array that had taken her over a week of work and which she had reserved for Voldemort. It seemed strangely ironic that Dumbledore should fall victim to it.
The power stone disintegrated entirely into a fine, sparkling dust as the array lit up and, she hoped, put an end to this senseless battle. A thin line of light shot towards Dumbledore, piercing his shields which were torn apart with a deafening sound of shattering glass. A vortex of pure magic formed, before collapsing in on itself in an explosion whose shockwave raised a huge cloud of dust and sent her flying some thirty metres. The flash of light illuminated the entire valley for a moment, as if in broad daylight, and Aster's vision was momentarily cut off by spots of afterglow. Her ears were ringing, so much so that for a moment she thought her eardrums had burst.
She struggled to her feet, her golemic arm now hanging limply against her side, with no source of magic to power it. Her realm spell was slowly disintegrating around her, returning the starry sky to its normal colour for a spring night. She was exhausted, her bones ached, her nerves felt like they were on fire, and her hands were covered in smouldering purplish lines. She winced at the smell of her own burnt flesh. She really had gone too far, Hermione was going to kill her.
She fought off dizziness, lightheadedness and the urge to vomit to watch the cloud of dust slowly fall away. She'd done Dumbledore in! She couldn't believe it. This monster of power had fallen... Perhaps... or at least unable to continue the fight. No matter, she now had to get back to the gate to join Hermione. She staggered about twenty metres, and stopped, astonished to find nothing, although she was sure that the portal... She groaned in despair, pressing the palms of her hands against her eyes. Dumbledore's spell of realm, or hers... it didn't really matter any more, had completely destroyed the portal.
She had to leave, and quickly, there was no doubt that their confrontation had been seen from far, far away, it was only a matter of time before the place would be swarming with Aurors. Suddenly, a red light blinded her, and she heard dozens of cracking noises around her as she felt her consciousness leave her and she crumpled to the ground, inert.
oOOOo
The stone mattress was extremely uncomfortable for her broken and aching body. At times, she was shaken by painful, uncontrollable spasms, and the slightest light gave her terrible headaches. Aster didn't know how long she had been in this small, dark, windowless cell.
From time to time, an old mouldy bread crouton and some putrid water slipped into the cell through a small trap door. She was quite happy that being a vampire meant she didn't have to eat like humans, because otherwise she was sure she would have died of food poisoning.
She had failed, the plan had backfired spectacularly, the worst part was that she didn't know how badly. What exactly did Dumbledore know? If everything she had done was revealed, she would inevitably suffer either capital punishment or life imprisonment, which amounted to the same thing for a vampire. Perhaps she would be sent to the mysterious Department of Secrets to be dissected by hordes of mages eager for knowledge.
Either way, she wasn't going anywhere. Someone had apparently tried unsuccessfully to rip off her golemic arm, leaving it damaged beyond repair as well as being unusable without a power stone, and two large handcuffs and a necklace engraved with an anti-magic runic array were tightened around her ankles and neck. All her possessions had obviously been taken, but she wasn't worried about her arrays, which were encoded and calibrated solely for her magic and black magic, so they would be unreadable and unusable. The same applied to her staff, although once she'd got out of this mess, she'd shave and kill anyone who got between her and her precious artefact.
She was also glad that she had left Anna's soul vial and the Philosopher's Stone with Hermione, as her mother would be safe with her friend. She just hoped that Hermione wouldn't do anything stupid when she found out what had happened to her. Her head shot up in pain. She gritted her teeth and sighed, thinking was still too hard for her. She had hurt herself even more than she had during the battle at Anna's house. Thinking too much just hurt, the magical circuits in her body felt like they were on fire, how long would it last? It was impossible to say.
In her current position, she had nothing better to do than wait and try to recover. Which was no mean feat in her condition.
...
Her mind drifted between semi-awake and unconscious for days, or hours, impossible to say, the pain biting at her mind, bones and flesh bringing her rare moments of clarity. As she had expected, no one came to visit her, only the regular sound of drops falling from the ceiling and the galloping of a few rodents disturbing the deathly silence that reigned in her little cell.
Until the heavy wooden and iron door opened with a creak that felt like a deafening crash to her. Two tall figures dressed in red robes and wearing disconcertingly simple white masks armed with halberds entered. Aster, not having the strength to react in any way, remained on the ground, content to watch them. In dead silence, one of them pulled out a wand. Aster closed her eyes, had they finally decided to summarily execute her? She felt her body rise before being roughly dropped into a steel chair, two metal clamps closing over her arms in addition to the heavy handcuffs and chains already present. Her throat was too sore to let out anything more than a slight groan from the new pain inflicted by the cold, biting steel.
Without any explanation from the two figures, the steel seat began to levitate between them and move along a long corridor of carved stone lit by lanterns, the dim light of which was enough to hurt her eyes.
The journey was as long as it was unpleasant, with the little group climbing countless stairs, so much so that Aster wondered if she hadn't been locked in the centre of the earth. This impression was only reinforced when she was forced into a lift consisting of a wooden platform attached to four heavy chains, which carried them towards the surface for a good ten minutes. When the lift finally stopped, the change in pressure was blasting in her ears. Without even giving her a second to adjust, the two guards set off again, this time down a much wider corridor of Gothic architecture. Not far away, Aster could hear the tumult produced by dozens of voices arguing and shouting, muffled by the thick walls.
When the group came to a huge double door that opened by itself, as if driven by an invisible force, Aster was struck by the clamour of voices mingling in an inextricable hubbub. The light of this new environment was so intense and the noise so deafening that she was forced to squint and grit her teeth as the assault on her poor, already aching senses was so unbearable; fortunately, the light was not that of the sun, for that would have been an additional torture. A few seconds after her arrival, silence fell around her, and her eyes adjusted sufficiently to observe the scene around her. She was in the centre of a large stone amphitheatre overlooked by a huge mosaic-covered dome under which luminous orbs floated, illuminating the room. On the carved stone walls hung countless banners, some of which she recognised as bearing the heraldry of noble families. The Longbottom wand crossed with wheat on azure, or the Macnallen lion reclining under three purple shields on green.
Three high, carved wooden doors gave access to the stands, each guarded by two individuals dressed in royal blue edged in gold and armed with a halberd, a shield and a sword at the waist, all wearing masks similar to those of the two guards who had brought her here, but more elaborate and ornate. The stands were full of people in purple robes with distinguished features, some giving her looks full of hatred, others staring at her with more bewilderment and incomprehension than anything else. She was surprised to see fear on many of their faces. Finally, her gaze fell on the person standing behind a large stone desk carved with vines and runes. It took her several long seconds to recognise him: Dumbledore was standing there upright, his face devoid of any expression, although it was difficult to tell because half of it had third-degree burns. She also noticed other disturbing details: his beard was missing, and his left arm was gone.
As the hubbub began to build again, Dumbledore raised his wand, and a bang sounded, making Aster's ears ring to the point where she feared she might faint.
"Silence!" he said in a powerful but trembling voice. "After deliberation, I ask the assembly to decide, is it necessary to allow the creature to speak? Let those in favour of hearing it raise their hands!"
After what had happened with Dumbledore, it would be difficult to explain this huge misunderstanding, especially now that, from what Dumbledore had just said, her condition as a vampire was now known. She knew only too well what would happen now, if by some misfortune she was not given the floor. She had heard enough stories of the asphodel vampires' mishaps with the justice of the wizengamot to know that for any non-human, judgements could be more than expeditious. Depending on what Dumbledore had said, she might still be able to get away with it. Maybe even the nonsense about 'the girl who lived' would work in her favour.
This glimmer of hope was quickly crushed when not a single hand was raised in the assembly. She was doomed.
Dumbledore waited a few moments longer before speaking again, this time his voice firm and determined, his eyes burning with the fire of justice. "By deliberation of the Wizengamot and a unanimous vote, the creature herein is found guilty of the murders of several international agents of the ICW, the murder of Professor Quirrell in the line of duty, and the murder and identity theft of Aster Potter." At these words, several rants and insults escaped from the assembly, so much so that Dumbledore was forced to call for silence yet again before resuming. "Of alliance with a recognised dark lord, of anti-statutarianism, of endangering the lives of others, of corruption of youth, of theft of treasure of international scope, of use of forbidden magic, of class 4, 5 and 6 lethal combat magic in a civilian environment, of war magic forbidden by the convention of the Magus Helvetia, as well as the use of soul magic. By unanimous vote of the assembly, this creature is sentenced to eternal imprisonment in Azkaban.
oOOOo
The shadow of the dementors had moved away, leaving him, he hoped, a few hours of respite before the leaden blanket of their presence fell over him again. A few hours he could spend as a human again. His bones lengthened, his fur disappeared, giving way to the thin, dirty, torn fabric of the uniform. His muzzle flattened to make way for an aquiline nose. His now human lips let out a sigh, only his stormy grey eyes remained the same.
In his Grimm form, the torment inflicted on him by the dementors was much more bearable, their infamous magic having little hold on his canine mind. Azkaban, of all the wizard prisons in the British Isles, was considered by far the worst, to the point where, as far as he knew, it had been a point of tension with other European nations for decades, deemed inhumane, a form of torture for its prisoners, a place where no redemption was even contemplated for the inmates. Those who have the misfortune to share his fate only emerge from this hell in the form of bleached bones when, months after their death, the guards deign to remove the corpse to replace it with a new future skeleton. In Azkaban, there are no visits, no end of sentence, those who are sent there are meant to die in suffering and oblivion.
Some argue that the practice is justified, given that mages are only a minority of the inmates. And even then, only the worst kind of dark mages, as it had apparently been decided that he was after the rat's betrayal. How many others were there for political reasons, as innocent as he? He preferred not to think about it. The other captives, even he thought it was better that they were here than free to roam the world. Creatures, not mere vampires and werewolves or other harmless beings. The real threats, what some would call demons, things that sometimes defy logic, abominations that prove impossible to kill or destroy are sent here. The legend of Nlanius de Fautran, a 17th century dark lord who was still locked up in one of the towers, very much alive, unable to die, even when exposed to the dementor's kiss, was after all a verified fact. Lily couldn't believe her eyes when she read it in one of the prison's recent semi-public reports.
There were rumours of blind horrors crawling in the depths, feeding on the bones of dead prisoners thrown into the bottomless pit at the centre of the prison, but he doubted it very much. He took advantage of his regained human form to stretch his emaciated limbs, making him look like the ghost of the man he used to be. He looked up at the sky through the small skylight at the top of the wall of his gaol, a dull grey, always the same, as if the presence of the dementors invoked a permanent sheet of icy mist around the island.
He sat on his straw mattress, chewing a piece of cloth to help the hunger pass, his gaze lost beyond the narrow bars. Opposite his own cell was where Joe had been, a good man, locked up for a reason he wouldn't know for the rest of his life. He had watched him die and decompose, until all that was left was his skeleton, a frail, motionless white form lying among the black stones. This morning, three guards had come to remove it, which could only mean one thing: he was going to have company again in that long, empty corridor on the heights of Azkaban. Which wasn't a bad thing, given that it had been dozens of times that he had found himself arguing with the wind, hearing the ocean spray laugh, and seeing the faces of his dead friends smiling at him on the grey stones of the walls on which he had long ago stopped trying to count the days. He was on the verge of madness, and maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Only one thing prevented him from throwing himself into the welcoming arms of the death of his mind. A rat was still at large, and he had a goddaughter whose happiness he had to ensure. Something little Aster more than deserved.
He was startled when he heard the heavy iron door to the corridor open, the new future corpse had arrived, hopefully he would be as good a companion as Joe. Which wouldn't be too difficult, given that Joe, despite all the sympathy he had for him, wasn't much of a conversationalist. He was so silent and answered so little that he only realised he was dead when the corpse began to smell. Perhaps it had even ended earlier, and the dementors had destroyed the man's mind long before his body died...
Footsteps approached, strangely enough, he did not feel any dementors accompanying them, though it was customary for prisoners to always travel in the company of at least one of these monsters. Then he saw one of the guards, in his black uniform, open the cell opposite his own, and he froze. A child was shoved ruthlessly into the small, narrow cell. A girl who, judging by her size, couldn't have been more than ten years old. Had the Aurors completely lost their minds? Was the world outside mad enough to send a little girl to Azkaban? He was speechless with astonishment. The guards locked the cell with a metallic clang, then the sound of their footsteps on the stone faded away before silence returned. Stunned, he looked at the little girl, her hair fiery, her skin as white as James's, her face studded with adorable freckles, and then suddenly his eyes locked on hers. Two powerful green orbs, one slightly brighter than the other. "Lily..." he whispered..." No... impossible? Aster?"
The child looked at him for a moment. "Hello sir, how do you know my name?"
He fell to his knees, utterly broken, before bursting into tears, the first he'd shed since arriving in this hell.