Slytherin Locket.

Aster came running back to the castle, heart racing, breath sharp in his throat.

His pajama top flapped open, unbuttoned and loose, revealing pale skin.

He didn't care.

The ancient, golden locket burned cold against his bare skin — the emblem of Salazar Slytherin himself.

But others did.

As he burst through the front doors, the few students milling about turned to look. Gasps echoed. Whispers quickly followed, sharp and hissing like snakes.

"Is that...?"

"Look! Around his neck—"

"It's Slytherin's Locket!"

Instantly, the hallway shifted. Students stepped back as if he'd brought a curse with him, creating space between them and the boy with the ancient, golden locket resting cold against his chest.

No one stopped him. No one dared.Aster's eyes didn't even flick toward them. His focus was singular, Dumbledore.

His bare feet thudded softly against the stone as he moved fast through the corridors, not looking left or right.

He reached the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office.

"Pumpkin Pasties!" he barked.

Nothing.

"Sherbet Lemon. Acid Pop. Licorice Wand."

Still nothing. His voice was rising now, frantic.

Then, with a grinding of stone and a low groan, the staircase revealed itself, spiraling upward into shadow. It hadn't been a password. It had been him. The door opened for him.

Aster swallowed thickly, unsure if that should comfort or terrify him, and stepped onto the moving stairs.

The circular office was quiet when he entered, full of strange ticking instruments and glowing glass. The portraits stirred.

Phineas Nigellus sneered from his frame, brow furrowed, eyes sharp with distrust.

But across the room, Niamh Fitzgerald looked down from her portrait, her expression unreadable, then she gave a single, slow nod.

Seated behind his desk, Dumbledore folded his hands calmly and looked up. The silver of his half-moon glasses caught the light.

"Aster," he said gently, "please sit."

But Aster didn't.He stepped forward instead, jaw tight, about to speak—

SLAM.

The door slammed open.

Heavy footsteps, sharp and impatient, echoed off the ancient stone. Aster didn't need to turn to know who it was.

Lucius Malfoy swept into the office like a storm in silk and serpent cane, long cloak trailing behind him. His eyes flared with disgust as they landed on Aster.

"Out of my way, Black," Lucius hissed, jabbing his cane into Aster's shoulder with contempt.

Aster didn't move.

He simply stared at Lucius, unblinking, like a wolf sizing up a foolish animal.

Lucius's nostrils flared. Rage boiled behind the cold mask of aristocracy, but he forced his attention to Dumbledore, his voice coiling into something more measured.

"Dumbledore," he began, "I have been informed by multiple concerned parents that the Chamber of Secrets is said to have been opened."

He stepped forward, the heel of his cane clicking sharply.

"And yet, here you are. Still letting the school run as usual. Do you not recognize the danger?"

His eyes flicked toward Aster, sharp and judging.

"And I've also heard whispers that there are two prime suspects for the Heir of Slytherin. The Potter boy…" he sneered, "and this—" he waved his hand toward Aster like he was shooing away something unclean, "thing."

Dumbledore raised one hand with practiced ease, silencing the rising storm before it could thunder.

"You don't need to worry, Lucius," he said, voice like still water. "Everything is under control."

Lucius scoffed lightly but did not interrupt. Dumbledore's gaze shifted, warm but steady, toward Aster.

"No one has been killed," he continued. "The only known case is that of Mrs. Norris and Colin Creevey. And even then… They are not beyond help. We are working on a solution. A cure will be found."

Lucius's lips curled into a smirk.

Lucius Malfoy's lips curled into a sneer."A cat, Dumbledore? And now a student, a mud—"

His words caught in his throat as Dumbledore's sharp eyes pinned him. The room fell silent. Lucius cleared his throat, forcing a more careful tone.

"This is no ordinary prank," he said instead. "It's old magic. Dark magic. The kind even I would think you'd be foolish to underestimate."

He glanced toward Fawkes, lowering his voice."And the boy... was Muggle-born."

He turned his eyes once more to Aster, gaze piercing, lingering for too long.

"And I wonder, what kind of boy sleeps in the Forbidden Forest one night, and walks through the castle wearing Salazar Slytherin's locket the next?"

Just then, Aster noticed that the locket was outside his clothes.

The words hung in the air like venom.

But Dumbledore didn't flinch. His fingers steepled.

"What Aster possesses," Dumbledore said gently but firmly, "should only matter to him… and only him."

Lucius sneered, his eyes like sharpened glass. "He also knows Parseltongue. And he's in Slytherin."The words were aimed like a blade.

Aster felt the heat rise in his chest, not from shame, but from the raw clarity of Lucius's game.

'He just wants Draco to control Slytherin. To make him the symbol of power, the heir in all but name...'

Dumbledore stepped forward, placing himself between the two.

"Lucius," he said calmly, "you must know, Parseltongue is not exclusive to Salazar's line. Rare, yes. But not a definitive mark. And even if Aster were of Slytherin's blood... many have passed through these halls, bearing that heritage quietly, without incident. We do not persecute students on suspicion alone."

Lucius didn't back down. "But not one when the Chamber of Secrets has been opened," he said coldly. "This is no ordinary year."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, soft but unyielding. "Perhaps," he said, "but I have seen Aster's heart more clearly than most. And I do not believe it belongs to a monster."

He turned slightly, his tone now final. "Please, Lucius. I must ask you to retire."

For a moment, Lucius stood still, jaw clenched, eyes flickering between Aster and Dumbledore.

Then he gave a stiff bow, and without a word more, stormed down the stairs, cane striking each step with venomous rhythm.

When the door shut, the silence returned, tense, but lighter.

Aster let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

Dumbledore turned to him.

"So, Aster," Dumbledore said gently, as though Lucius's tantrum had never happened, "what is it you wish to speak about?"

Aster stood still, his eyes downcast. "Professor… I've been having strange dreams. I wake up in places I don't remember walking to. And…"—he hesitated, swallowing—"my magic is gone. Since I…"

He let the word hang in the air for a moment, barely above a whisper.

Aster's voice cracked on the word, as if his throat refused to speak it.

"Since I… died."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly, as if he had been expecting those words. "I see," he said softly. "Aster, your case is… exceptionally rare. You may be the first in Hogwarts history to experience this."

He stepped toward his desk with a slow, thoughtful pace.

"You see," he continued, "death does not leave a soul untouched. It changes you, subtly, deeply, in ways even the living cannot fully understand."

The window opened with a sudden gust of wind, and Nyx flew in, her dark wings cutting the silence. She landed quietly, gave Fawkes a knowing glance, and perched near Aster.

"Your locket," Dumbledore said softly, his eyes flicking to the glint of gold on Aster's chest. "It has not stopped protecting you. "A pause. "But it's also the reason your magic has vanished."

Aster's eyes widened. He looked down at the locket, silent now. No whispers, no hissing, no biting pressure against his skin. Since his death, it had been... quiet.

But Dumbledore raised a hand before he could speak.

"And it's also the only thing keeping you safe."

Aster's head snapped up. His voice was calm, but edged with urgency. "Safe from what, Professor?"

Dumbledore's expression grew serious. "From yourself, Aster. The locket shields your soul, guards your mind, from outside harm… and from what lies within."

Aster stared at his hands, flexing his fingers slowly. "My shifting... it changed. The Animagus form, it's not the same anymore. Can that happen? Can a form change?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, not from magic. Especially not now, when your magic is silenced. This transformation isn't coming from a spell, it's coming from within. From your soul reshaping itself to survive."

There was silence again. The ticking of the strange instruments in the office, the occasional rustle of a phoenix wing. And Aster's quiet voice:

"Professor… how do I go back to normal?"

Dumbledore studied him with those steady, star-bright eyes, and then smiled, soft, kind, infinitely sad.

"You don't," he said. "But one day… You may no longer need the locket. One day, Aster, you may grow strong enough to protect yourself. Not with spells or charms, be yourself, Aster."

"Aster," he said gently, folding his hands, "I know this is difficult... but you are not alone."