Secrets Stirred
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Chapter 4: Secrets Stirred
The air was tense as the champions left the antechamber, each retreating to their respective headmasters. Karkaroff clamped a hand on Viktor Krum’s shoulder, steering the Durmstrang champion away without a word, while Madame Maxime whispered something reassuring to Fleur before they both exited. Cedric Diggory lingered a moment longer, exchanging a brief glance with Sirius before following Professor Sprout out of the room.
Cornelius Fudge huffed in frustration, turning to the remaining group of organizers. "This is going to cause me no end of trouble. A fourth champion… This could lead to an international incident if we aren’t careful." He looked particularly frazzled, his bowler hat askew as he ran a hand through his thinning hair. "We need answers and soon."
Sirius, still staring at the spot where the Goblet had last shown the forest, was barely listening. His face was tight with frustration. "We don’t need to cause an incident, Cornelius, we need to find my son. There must be some way to get him out of this tournament and back to me—he shouldn’t even be here! He’s been gone all these years and—"
"A boy who vanished only to end up in a covert-ops unit," Snape interrupted, his sneer cutting through Sirius’s rising voice. "How typical. Leave it to a Black to weasel their way into another mess and then try to squirm out of the consequences."
Sirius whipped around, eyes blazing. "Consequences? My son was taken from me! You don’t get to—"
"Oh, but I do," Snape shot back, his voice laced with venom. "Because, Black, people like you and your dear friend Potter have always been able to avoid the consequences of your actions. Schoolyard bullies parading around Hogwarts as if you owned the place. And now it seems your son is following in your footsteps, making his grand entrance in the middle of an international tournament, dragging the rest of us into another spectacle."
Sirius took a step toward Snape, fists clenched. "You’ve never let go of that grudge, have you? Always so bitter, so small. You act like you were some sort of innocent victim—"
"Enough!" Dumbledore’s voice was sharp, commanding attention as he stepped between the two men. His blue eyes flicked between them, showing none of his usual warmth. "This is neither the time nor the place to dredge up old grievances."
Snape folded his arms, glaring at Sirius. "Old grievances, Headmaster, have a habit of repeating themselves when the same players are involved."
Sirius made to respond, but Dumbledore raised a hand, silencing him. "Severus, Sirius, we are dealing with a situation that requires our focus. Personal histories must remain in the past for now." He glanced at both men, his tone brooking no argument. "There are more pressing matters than old rivalries."
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As Harry walked through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, his thoughts raced. The image of Aster Black—his godbrother—fighting a Chimera with such terrifying skill was burned into his mind. Where had he been all these years? How had he learned to fight like that, to move with such deadly precision? The idea of Aster still being alive, and fighting, made Harry’s head spin.
For as long as Harry could remember, Aster had been a ghost—an absent figure whose loss had cast a long shadow over his family. Sirius had always seemed haunted by it, and while Harry had never truly known Aster, the idea of a long-lost sibling always lingered in the back of his mind. Aster had been the one who was supposed to grow up in the thick of the war, to share in the legacy of the Blacks and the Potters. But then he was gone—vanished, dead, and never spoken of again.
And now... he was back.
Harry clenched his fists, trying to make sense of it all. Where had Aster been? How could he have survived? And more importantly, why hadn't he come back?
“Harry?” Hermione’s voice snapped him from his thoughts. She and Ron had caught up to him, both of them looking equally perplexed.
“Yeah?” Harry responded, still lost in his own thoughts.
“Where do you think Aster’s been all this time?” Hermione asked, her eyes searching his face.
“Dunno,” Harry muttered. He didn’t have any answers for her or for himself. “How could he... fight like that?” he added, echoing his own thoughts aloud.
“Dunno, mate,” Ron chimed in. “I mean, blimey, did you see him? A Chimera! I didn’t think anyone could take one of those down by themselves.”
“I don’t know, Ron,” Harry replied, shaking his head. “None of this makes sense.”
They reached the portrait hole to Gryffindor Tower, and as soon as they stepped inside the common room, Harry was ambushed. The chatter and excitement of the other Gryffindors hit him like a wave.
“There he is! Harry!”
“Harry! Do you know where Aster’s been all this time?”
“Has he really been alive this whole time?”
“Why didn’t he ever come back? Was he hiding?”
The questions were flying at him from every direction, the excited voices mixing into an incomprehensible blur. Faces pressed in closer, everyone demanding answers that Harry didn’t have.
“Why did he pretend to be dead? Does he hate your family or something?”
“Harry, you’ve got to know something!”
“Come on, Harry! Tell us!”
Harry’s patience began to fray. He didn’t have answers—he hadn’t even had time to process everything himself. The questions clawed at him, making him feel like he was suffocating under the weight of it all.
“I don’t know!” Harry finally shouted, his frustration boiling over. The common room fell silent as all eyes turned to him. “I don’t know anything about Aster, alright? I thought he was dead, too. I thought he was gone for good.”
The weight of his words hung in the air as Harry pushed his way through the stunned crowd, his anger barely contained. Without another word, he stormed up the stairs to the boys' dormitory, leaving behind the confused faces of his housemates.
Reaching his bed, Harry sat down heavily, rubbing his hands through his hair. How was he supposed to deal with this? How was he supposed to just accept that Aster had been out there all this time, fighting creatures like Chimeras, and never once came back to them? With a frustrated sigh, he threw himself onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling.
"Where have you been, Aster?" he muttered under his breath, his mind racing with more questions than ever.
---
As the crowd of students dispersed from the Great Hall, Daphne Greengrass found herself lost in thought. The unexpected revelation of Aster Black as the fourth champion had sent ripples through her mind. She leaned against a stone wall in the corridor, watching her fellow Slytherins chatter excitedly about the tournament. What did this mean for her family? She wondered. The Black family had always been a significant player in Wizarding politics, and now Aster's return could change everything. His very existence could impact the Wizengamot's balance of power, and that wasn't something to be taken lightly.
Her musings were interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Oi, Daphne! Were you even paying attention during the fight?” Tracey Davis jogged up to her, a wide grin plastered on her face.
“What fight?” Daphne asked, feigning ignorance, though she knew exactly what Tracey meant.
“Are you kidding? The one with that mysterious Aster Black! He took down a Chimera all by himself! Did you see that?” Tracey gushed, her excitement infectious.
Daphne shrugged, trying to maintain her aloof demeanor. “I saw some flashes of light and a lot of smoke. It was far too dark to see anything clearly.”
“Yeah, but still! That was brilliant! He was like some kind of dark knight!” Tracey exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. “And those eyes—wow, dreamy, right?”
Daphne felt her cheeks heat up, and she quickly dismissed Tracey's comment. “It was too dark to see his features,” she insisted, though a small part of her agreed. He had cut an impressive image, to say the least.
Blaise Zabini, who had been walking alongside them, chimed in with a smirk. “Dreamy? More like deadly. I mean, did you see how he moved? I’d be worried if he were on my side in a duel. He'd wipe the floor with us.”
Tracey rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on! It’s not just about skill. There’s something about him… He seems so mysterious.”
“Very mysterious,” Daphne echoed quietly, glancing down the corridor where the shadows seemed to flicker with uncertainty. “And dangerous.”
As they approached the entrance to their common room, Tracey continued to chatter about Aster’s impressive combat skills, while Blaise interjected with his usual dry humor. “Next thing you know, he’ll be leading a rebellion or something.”
Daphne laughed softly, but her thoughts drifted back to Aster. Who was he really? There was so much she didn’t know about him, and despite her best efforts, she felt a nagging curiosity.
Once inside their common room, the trio exchanged their goodnights, and Daphne made her way to her dormitory. She climbed into bed, the thoughts swirling in her mind as she settled beneath the covers.
What is Aster Black really like? She wondered, images of the fight flashing before her eyes. I hope he’s not as intimidating as he seems. With that final thought, Daphne closed her eyes, drifting into a restless sleep, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips as she pictured the mysterious champion’s handsome features.
---
As Sirius paced the small quarters he temporarily shared with Lily and James, the tension in the air was palpable. His heart raced, fueled by a whirlwind of emotions that ranged from anger to despair. "How could they do this to him? My boy… stolen away for all those years, only to be thrown into this bloody tournament!" He slammed his fist against the wall, the sound reverberating through the room.
James leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a mix of sympathy and frustration on his face. "Sirius, I know this is hard, but we need to think about this rationally. Aster is alive, and he's shown incredible skill. That fight back in the Great Hall… I’ve never seen anything like it!"
Sirius stopped his pacing, his breath coming in short gasps as he turned to James. "You don’t understand! What has he been through all this time? Alone! He’s had to survive on his own, and now he’s apparently some dangerous mercenary that even Dumbledore seems wary of! Just what kind of life has he led?"
Lily, who had been quietly listening, stepped forward, her eyes softening with compassion. She reached out, wrapping her arms around Sirius in a firm, comforting hug. "Sirius, he’s alive. That’s what matters. We can find him. We’ll figure this out together," she reassured him, her voice steady and soothing.
As Sirius leaned into the embrace, the warmth of Lily’s words began to penetrate the cold grip of despair that had held him. He pulled back slightly, looking at her with a mix of gratitude and anguish. "I just… I want him back. He deserves better than this. He should be with us, not trapped in some twisted game. What kind of father have I been if I couldn’t protect him?"
James stepped forward, placing a hand on Sirius's shoulder. "You’re not to blame for this, mate. No one could have foreseen any of this. Besides," he added, trying to lighten the mood, "it sounds like Aster is even cooler than you were in school. Who else do you know that could take down a Chimera solo?"
Sirius managed a small, strained laugh at that, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, he probably learned that from the best. I just wish I could have been there for him… to teach him myself."
James nodded, the weight of the moment settling heavily. "We’ll get him back, Sirius. We just have to figure out how to approach this. Dumbledore will have a plan."
Sirius nodded absently, but his thoughts were elsewhere. In the silence that followed, he felt a deep longing swell within him, a plea to whatever gods might be listening. Please, let me find my son again.
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Dumbledore sat in his office, the quiet hum of the enchanted lights casting a warm glow over the room. The atmosphere was thick with tension as Severus Snape paced before him, his dark robes swirling like storm clouds. The usually composed Potions Master was worked up, his voice rising in frustration.
“Black and his spawn! They think they can flaunt the rules without consequence! And Potter with his insufferable arrogance—doesn’t he realize how reckless he is?” Snape's scowl deepened as he spoke, his words dripping with disdain. “It’s as if they revel in chaos, oblivious to the danger they attract!”
Dumbledore listened patiently, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. After a few moments, he raised a hand to interject, his voice calm yet authoritative. “Severus, perhaps we should—”
“Perhaps we should what? Stand idly by while they undermine everything we’ve worked for?” Snape interrupted, his voice sharp. “Every time I hear Aster Black’s name, I feel the Dark Mark burn against my skin. It’s as if the very mention of him awakens something foul within—”
“Enough,” Dumbledore said, his tone shifting, cutting through Snape’s tirade with a firm but gentle authority. “Tell me, is the Dark Mark still growing darker?”
Snape’s expression twisted into a grimace, and he nodded curtly. With a flick of his wrist, he revealed the mark burned into his skin, the swirling patterns darkening ominously. “It’s becoming almost painful whenever Aster Black is mentioned. It’s as if he stirs something in the darkness, a shadow that should not exist.”
Dumbledore's blue eyes narrowed slightly, deep in thought. “Aster may be the key to tipping the balance. If he can be guided properly… perhaps he could even help us end the Dark Lord’s return.”
Snape scoffed, his disbelief palpable. “You genuinely think that boy could make a difference? Nothing good can come from Sirius Black’s blood. He’s been molded into a weapon, not a hero.”
Dumbledore allowed a small sigh to escape his lips, recognizing the bitterness lacing Snape’s words. “Perhaps, but every pawn can change the game, Severus. It is not merely the lineage that defines one’s fate.”
With that, Snape turned on his heel, a sneer still etched on his face. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he muttered dismissively as he exited the office, leaving Dumbledore alone with his thoughts.
The headmaster leaned back in his chair, the weight of the world heavy upon him. He stared at the small chessboard that rested on his desk, where a solitary black pawn stood defiantly in the center, facing off against a collection of white pieces that seemed to loom ever larger. What moves will you make, Aster Black? Dumbledore pondered, a mixture of hope and concern swirling within him.
He knew the game was in motion, and with Aster’s return, the pieces were poised for a dramatic shift. The very fabric of their world hung in the balance, and he could only hope that the choices made in the coming days would lead them towards the light.
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