Curses
The first time Astraea accidentally used magic, she was five.
It was subtle — far too subtle for anyone else to notice — but she felt it as clear as her own pulse. She had been sitting by the window of the Moonglass home, a weathered, gothic structure cloaked in ivy and perpetually bathed in dusk. Her mother, Selene, was fussing in the kitchen while her father, Lyall, sat quietly in his study — brooding as he often did these days when work was slow.
Astraea, however, was staring at a dead sparrow beneath the oak tree in their backyard.Its body was still, feathers matted, eyes unseeing. She didn't know why she fixated on it, but something inside her stirred — like a cold touch against her spine. Without realizing what she was doing, she whispered, "Wake up."
The strangest and oddest occurrence happened. It’s as if it listened.
The sparrow's bones snapped audibly as it twisted upright, its neck jerking unnaturally. The lifeless eyes gained a temporary glimmer of vitality — but it was wrong. Its body swayed as though fighting against death's grip before, mercifully, it collapsed again. Dead.
Permanent.
Astraea's breath hitched.
She stumbled away from the window, her small chest heaving. Her hands trembled as she gripped the windowsill, her stomach lurching with something akin to dread. It hadn’t just been a childish wish. She had willed it — yanked the bird’s soul back, if only for a second.
Her father saw the aftermath when he passed the window. He didn’t say anything, but Astraea caught the way his face paled.
That evening, Lyall pulled Selene aside.
"The bloodline’s resurfacing," he murmured, his voice low and grim. "I’m sure of it now. The Moonglass gift — it’s waking up in her."
Selene, ridiculed again by her husbands claims, dismissed it. "She’s a child, Lyall. She doesn’t understand what she’s doing."
"She brought something dead back to life," Lyall snapped, his hands curling into fists. "Even if for a moment. Don’t tell me that’s normal, Selene."
"It could have been accidental magic—"
"It wasn’t," Lyall’s voice cracked. "I know what it is. Death knows her. And if it keeps pulling, it will take her."
Astraea listened from the shadows, heart pounding. Death knows her. She didn’t know what it meant — but she felt it every time she dreamed. Now that she was older all the pieces of her old life and past abilities came together. And if she were correct not only had she touched death, but it placed her with a curse. Something she could not handle or accept.
Maybe she was always meant to be isolated.
A week later, a visitor came to their home.
Astraea did not know his name until she heard her father greet him. "Remus," Lyall said stiffly, gripping the man’s hand. "It’s been a long time."
Remus Lupin. Her father’s estranged cousin. Astraea’s distant blood relative. She stared at him with wide, violet eyes — and the moment his gaze locked on hers, she felt his magic sputter.
The man went rigid. "Her eyes..." he murmured.
Lyall’s face hardened.
But Remus didn’t look away. He crouched slightly, meeting Astraea at her height. His amber eyes — worn with suffering and sharp intelligence — peered into her.
Astraea immediately disliked the feeling. She shrank away from him, clutching the hem of her dress, hiding away her line of vision by letting her thick straight red brown hair fall over it.
"They’re not your usual color," Remus finally said, gently. "You’re Astraea, yes?"
She hesitated. "Yes, sir."
Silence hung between them like a sharpened blade. Remus didn’t smile; instead, his gaze trailed down her small hands, and then back to her eyes — as if he already knew. She saw it in his expression: recognition.
"You feel it, don’t you?" he asked softly, so only she could hear. "Like something’s wrong. Like you’ve touched death before."
Astraea stiffened. Should she reveal that much information to a stranger? She didn’t want to divulge so much yet. "I don’t know what you mean."
But he did. His gaze flickered toward Lyall, his jaw clenched. "The bloodline—"
"Enough," Lyall snapped. "You said you came to talk about the Order, not—"
"And I will," Remus said quietly. "But not before addressing the child."
Astraea’s skin prickled. Remus turned back to her, his voice impossibly soft. "Has it happened yet?" he asked. "Have you..." he hesitated, his throat tightening. "Have you woken something up?"
Astraea, despite herself, nodded. The moment she did, Remus exhaled — as though bracing himself for something far worse. "Then it’s not dormant. She’s inherited it."
"Inherited what?" Astraea asked, but neither man answered.
Instead, Remus rose to his full height, his expression grave. "You have to tell Dumbledore."
Lyall went white. "Absolutely not."
"Lyall—"
"No," her father barked. "I will not hand my daughter over to Dumbledore like she’s some cursed artifact."
Remus’ voice was tight. "And if Death starts calling for her? If she begins touching it like the others did?"
Astraea’s heart turned cold.
Remus didn’t break eye contact with Lyall. "You know what happens to children of the Moonglass line when death takes an interest in them."
"I said no."
Remus shook his head, clearly heartbroken. He turned back to Astraea, his voice heavy. "You’re not just a child," he said softly. "You were marked the moment you were born. The Moonglass gift doesn’t come without cost. And if you keep waking the dead — even briefly — Death will start watching you."
Astraea shuddered. She didn’t understand the gift. She didn’t understand any of this. But she understood one thing very clearly.
Death had already found her. And it would not let her go.
And somewhere, deep in the recess of her mind — she saw his face again. The one she kept dreaming of. The one she kept dying for. And she knew without a shadow of doubt — he was the reason Death had marked her.
Remus Lupin met her eyes one last time. In sympathy, in comprehension, she did not know. But she knew she could come to confide in him.
"I’ll come back," he promised. "I will be here every step of the way."
Astraea was six when she began to look forward to her Uncle Remus visiting her family. He didn’t stay long and kept his visits brief, but she loved it when he came over. It was the only thing exciting in her life besides all the boring early magical homeschooling her parents were trying to give her.
Her mother sat in an armchair near the window, reading through an ancient-looking tome. Her mother’s quiet presence was always comforting, though there was an unspoken tension in the air today. Astraea had noticed it the moment Remus Lupin had arrived at their doorstep earlier, as he often did, bringing news of the magical world and Astraea’s progress in her studies.
Remus had always been a constant in her life, a steady figure who carried an air of calm, but there was something different about him today. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, yet her small heart was oddly drawn to him.
It started with books.
Remus’ expression softer but still shadowed. He no longer looked at Astraea with veiled suspicion — now, his gaze was filled with something quieter. Understanding. Worry. And a desperate desire to protect her from something neither of them could name.
“Do you like stories?” he asked one afternoon, crouching beside her small frame on the parlor floor.
Astraea hesitated. She didn’t trust adults easily — not since she overheard her father speak about her ‘curse.’ But Remus was different. His sadness matched hers, even if she didn’t fully understand why. She nodded hesitantly.
“Good,” Remus smiled faintly, pulling a weathered book from his satchel. It was a collection of old wizarding tales — The Tales of Beedle the Bard. "I thought you might. These are one of my favorites."
He read to her. For hours. Astraea, who often felt the heavy shadow of death clinging to her, found solace in his voice. He never spoke to her like a child — he never tiptoed around her strange silence or violet eyes. And perhaps that’s why she trusted him.
“Can you do magic?” she asked softly as he turned a page.
Remus hummed. “Yes,” he admitted. "But it’s not always a gift, Astraea."
She didn’t understand what he meant — not yet — but something in his tone felt painfully familiar. As though he too carried a curse he could never escape from.
••••
The second time the curse revealed itself, Remus was there to witness it.
It was late afternoon, and Astraea had found a dying bird in the garden. Its wing was crushed, its tiny heart barely fluttering. Something deep within her stirred — the same compulsion she felt months ago with the sparrow. Save it. She knelt beside it, her small hands trembling as she instinctively whispered, "Don’t go."
The air around her shifted.
Remus, who had just stepped outside, froze. The magic was thick — unnatural — and radiating off Astraea like ice-cold death.
The bird twitched.
Its bones cracked unnaturally as it rose, hollow and wrong. For one horrifying moment, the creature looked at her — and Astraea swore she saw something else staring back from the bird’s empty sockets.
Remus lunged. "Astraea, no!"
The bird collapsed, lifeless once more. But the damage was done. Astraea fell back, gasping as though she had lost a piece of herself.
Remus caught her. "What did you do?" he whispered, his voice shaking. He gathered her into his arms, frantically checking her pulse. "Astraea, what did you do?"
She couldn’t answer. Tears burned her eyes. "I-I just... wanted it to live."
Remus was deathly pale. His heartbeat thundered in his chest. "You didn’t just touch life — you pulled it back." His hand trembled against her shoulder. "Astraea..."
Astraea broke. She sobbed into his chest, small and shaking. "I didn’t mean to... I’m sorry."
Remus held her, his own dread spiraling. The Moonglass curse wasn’t dormant — it was thriving. Death already had its claws in Astraea and, if left unchecked, it would destroy her.
"It’s not your fault," Remus said thickly. "I promise you, little one — I’ll protect you. No matter what."
Lupin knew there was so much he could do. But he vowed and he prayed that he and her family were enough weight to keep her grounded.
The warmth of summer in the countryside often made the days feel endless, but Astraea didn’t mind. Not when it meant spending more time with Remus. She was ten now, her homeschooling schedule rigorous but manageable. Her mother insisted she continue her studies privately to avoid drawing unwanted attention to their family. Her father, Lyall, quietly agreed — though his reasons were darker.
But the afternoons belonged to her and Remus.
Today, they sat beneath the old willow tree in the backyard. Astraea had long since kicked off her shoes, her feet curled beneath her as she lay on the blanket. Remus sat beside her, rolling up his sleeves to escape the heat while thumbing through The Tales of Beedle the Bard. The gentle hum of the countryside wrapped around them like a blanket.
“Please read to me,” Astraea murmured, her head resting against his arm. "Something new."
Remus chuckled softly. "You’ve practically memorized all these stories. Haven’t you grown tired of them yet?"
"Never," she smiled, but then hesitated. "I like it when you read. It makes me forget about..." she trailed off, unwilling to admit what truly weighed on her.
Remus glanced down at her, his expression softening. "About what?"
Astraea hesitated, clutching the hem of her dress. She didn’t want to say death, or the nightmares, or the feeling that I don't belong here. So instead, she said, "About the house. And the lessons. It’s quiet, but not the good kind."
Remus understood far more than he let on. Without a word, he opened the book. "Alright. I’ll read you the story of The Fountain of Fair Fortune. But only if you promise not to fall asleep halfway through."
Astraea smiled, leaning closer. "I promise."
Hours slipped by, and Astraea’s laughter filled the garden more than once. Remus found himself smiling in a way he hadn’t in years — a deep, genuine fondness he didn’t quite know how to explain. She wasn’t his daughter, but he felt responsible for her. And not because of the Moonglass curse or her unnatural connection to death — but because she needed someone who didn’t look at her like she was doomed.
By the time sunset painted the sky, Astraea was sprawled out on the grass, tracing patterns with a stick. Remus laid beside her, his mind wandering — until her voice broke the silence.
"Why are you sad sometimes?"
Remus froze. His chest tightened involuntarily. "What do you mean?"
"Sometimes when you look at me... or when you stop reading," Astraea said carefully, not meeting his gaze. She didn’t want to scare him further on her mature insight on things yet. Or maybe he already had the sense that she acted older than her age. "You grow quiet. Like you're remembering something and when you think about it, it hurts."
The air between them shifted. Remus forced a light chuckle. "You’re very perceptive for a ten-year-old."
Astraea shrugged. "Maybe it’s the eyes."
Remus paused. He forgot how much her deep violet eyes unnerved him sometimes — not because they were wrong, but because they were vast. Like they belonged to someone who had seen too much of the world. Someone who understood grief intimately.
"I’m not sad," he finally said, but it was a lie. "I just... have moments where my mind wanders to the past and I reminisce. That’s all."
Astraea tilted her head. "What kind of memories do you hold?"
His throat constricted. Images flooded his mind — James’ reckless grin, Sirius’ barking laugh, Peter’s nervous chuckle, and Lily’s brilliant green eyes. But most of all — Harry. Small and vulnerable. A child he should have been watching over, and now had no idea if he knew his parents friends or the history they had together.
Remus swallowed hard. "Friends," he admitted. "I used to have friends. Good ones."
Astraea felt the ache in his voice. She didn’t understand, but she felt it. She shifted closer to him, her small hand resting lightly on his arm.
"Are they still around?"
Remus closed his eyes. No. "I don’t know," he said softly. Saying it out loud was like confirming it when he’d done years trying not to think about the tragedy of it all.
Silence entered. Astraea didn’t ask any more questions — she simply lay beside him, letting the weight of unspoken grief settle in the air. But something burned in her chest — a dull, throbbing pain. She didn’t understand it, but it ached.
"I hope you find them again," she whispered. ‘Even though I know you mean they are no longer alive’. “I don’t like to see you so sad.
Remus nearly broke. He turned his head, masking the sting in his eyes. "Thank you, Astraea."
As night crept in, Remus walked her back to the house. Just before they reached the porch, Astraea stopped him.
"Can I ask one more thing?"
Remus knelt beside her, his tired smile still in place. "Of course."
Astraea hesitated, shifting her weight. "Do you think there’s someone out there waiting for me too? Like your friends? Someone I’m supposed to find?"
His chest ached. He didn’t know why. "I think... yes. There’s always someone."
Astraea smiled faintly. "I hope so."
And somewhere — somewhere in the back of her mind — she saw him again. Messy black hair, striking green eyes, and a lightning-shaped scar. But she didn’t know his name. She only knew the sensation of an invisible pull toward him.
Remus watched her linger on the steps, her gaze distant. "Astraea?"
She blinked, the vision gone. "Sorry. I was just thinking."
Remus tried to smile again. "Don’t think too hard. You’ve got a whole life ahead of you."
But deep down, they both felt it. The time she contained was already running for her — and the future and whatever she would have left then, would have its claws in her already.