Into the Unknown
Chapter 6: Into the Unknown
---
Aster lay on his bed, eyes unfocused as they traced lines in the ceiling above him. The vast, complicated weight of his own family name settled heavily on his chest. The name Black—what should it mean to him? The idea of father drifted through his mind as a question more than a truth. Sirius Black was, by blood, his father. But in his mind, that connection felt as faint as a ghost. He’d never known the man in any meaningful way; his only memories were stories whispered by others or fragments caught in stray glimpses of strangers’ reverent or cautious looks whenever they mentioned the Sirius Black. Some would likely see it as something to aspire to, a lineage steeped in magic and history, but to Aster, it was just an idea he could barely grasp, like a name written in fog, destined to evaporate before he could truly see it.
Turning over in his mind the handful of recollections he did have, he realized that none of them felt real. He’d grown up without any true connection to Sirius or to the family he was supposed to represent. There was no nostalgic warmth, no childhood laughter; just the vague shadows of what might have been and the faint ache of knowing that something irrevocable had been taken from him. He couldn't even remember Sirius’s face clearly, nor any personal memories that would link him to the family he was supposedly tied to. That absence hollowed him, as though he were cut off from his own history.
And yet, every time he tried to fill that void with the few memories he did have, one image always surfaced—an image not of his father, but of something far darker, far colder. It was the memory of a shadowed figure from that night in Godric’s Hollow. The fragment flickered in his mind like a bad dream, too vivid to ignore yet too disjointed to fully recall. He remembered a pair of dark, calculating eyes looking down at him, sharp with cruelty. The person’s gaze had been cold, hard, and strangely triumphant, like someone who had won something. That small glint of triumph, sinister and full of a dark satisfaction, felt so out of place, and Aster had spent years wondering what it could have meant. Why would anyone find satisfaction in whisking him away from the wreckage of his life? He was too young to understand it back then, but now, he recognized that something about it had been deeply unnatural.
The memory left an unease in his chest, a chill that clung to him even now. This person—whoever they were—had not taken him with kindness. They’d taken him like a prize, an object, stripping him away from anything familiar, leaving him abandoned in some nameless forest, crying in the cold, under an indifferent sky. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve that, but he could feel the impact it had left on his very core. This figure haunted his fragmented memories and shaped his thoughts, lurking in the dark spaces of his mind where he kept his questions locked away. He knew that this shadow from his past was as much a part of his story as his father’s name, and that knowledge unsettled him. It was one of the few things that could truly get under his skin.
A knock at the door broke the intensity of his thoughts. Maeve stepped in quietly, her casual grin a grounding presence in the dim light of the room. Her eyes flicked to him, reading his expression with an intuition honed from years together.
“Mind if I come in?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Aster let out a breath and nodded, offering her a faint smile as he sat up. “Please. I could use the company.”
She crossed the room, her usual swagger softened by a look of quiet understanding as she settled into the chair beside his bed. “So…what’s going on in that head of yours? You’ve been in your own world since the meeting.” Her eyes held the same sisterly warmth he’d come to rely on, a steadying comfort that reminded him he wasn’t alone.
“Just…family stuff,” he murmured, looking away. “Seeing my father stirred things up, I guess. Made me wonder who I’m supposed to be. People talk about the Black family like it means something grand, but it’s just…empty. I don’t even know him.”
Maeve leaned in, giving him a soft nudge with her elbow. “Hey, blood doesn’t make family. You’ve got us. Hellhounds through and through.”
He managed a small, grateful smile. “I know. You’ve been more family to me than he ever could.”
She grinned, lightening the mood. “Good. Otherwise, I’d have to remind you who the real heroes are around here.” They shared a laugh, and the weight in his chest lifted, if only for a moment.
After a pause, Aster took a deep breath, feeling his guard drop just slightly around Maeve’s comforting presence. He looked over at her, knowing she could sense there was more behind his silence.
“Do you think any of this—who we are or where we come from—actually matters?” he asked, his tone low, but there was a tension in his eyes. “I barely know anything about my family, but everyone seems to think it’s a big deal. Like…some legacy I’m supposed to care about. But all I feel is…detached. It’s not even anger, just…emptiness.”
Maeve regarded him quietly, her gaze softening. “Sometimes I think that’s part of what makes us stronger, though, don’t you? We aren’t held down by a legacy or expectations. We make our own names, our own families. I mean, I wasn’t born to be a Hellhound, but now I couldn’t imagine anything else. If I’d gone with what people expected from me, I’d probably be living some quiet life back in a small town, worrying about the neighbors instead of, you know, facing down monsters with you.”
She nudged his arm, her smile wry but full of warmth. “I chose this life, and I chose to be your second-in-command because I wanted to fight alongside you. Whatever family you have or don’t have, Aster, you’re one of us. You don’t owe anyone anything because of your last name.”
Aster nodded slowly, absorbing her words. “Thanks, Maeve. Sometimes I forget that it’s okay not to know, not to have all the answers. Being here with you and the others, it’s the only thing that’s felt real.”
Maeve smirked, crossing her arms. “Hey, if it makes you feel any better, the rest of us are all as messed up as you are. Just a band of misfits and orphans with enough issues to fill a library. So, don’t think you’re alone in feeling lost sometimes.” She paused, giving him a sideways glance. “Besides, the whole brooding, mysterious past thing suits you. Adds to the mystique. And I don’t say that about just anyone.”
Aster managed a laugh, the tension around his shoulders easing a bit. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m trying to impress someone. ‘Brooding captain’ seems to be my niche.”
She grinned. “Good, that’s the spirit. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you getting more broody since we got the news. I get it; it’s not every day you get thrown into a tournament out of nowhere. But whatever this is, whatever brought your name up for the Tri-Wizard, we’ll figure it out together. Just…try not to shut us out, alright? The Hellhounds need you, and I—” She cleared her throat, brushing it off with a shrug. “—we’ve all got your back.”
Aster nodded, the warmth of her words lingering in the silence. “Thanks, Maeve. I mean it. You’re right…all of you, you’re the closest thing I have to family. I guess I forget that sometimes.”
“Don’t worry; I’ll remind you as many times as you need,” she said, her tone both lighthearted and sincere. “Now get some rest, alright? We’re all going to need it.”
As she rose to leave, Aster watched her with a rare, genuine smile. She returned it with a playful salute before slipping out of the room, leaving him with a little more peace than he’d had before.
---
The bright morning sun streamed through the high, narrow windows of the mess hall, casting long beams of light across the rows of tables. The soft clatter of dishes and low hum of conversation filled the space as the Hellhounds settled into their usual spots. Aster found his usual seat near the center, the familiar sound of Maeve’s laughter and Brennan’s sarcastic remarks easing the tension from his shoulders.
“Tell me again how you’re supposed to be a professional tracker,” Ryker said, his deep voice rumbling as he clapped Brennan on the back. “You couldn’t find your way out of a paper bag.”
“Ha. Maybe if you weren't so busy lifting weights in the gym, I'd have more time to actually find you in the first place,” Brennan shot back, his wild brown hair bouncing with every move he made. “I’m sure your muscles can lead the way.”
“You all are terrible,” Ivy chimed in, her sharp grey eyes scanning the room before settling back on her plate, calm as ever.
“I’ll give it to you, Ivy,” Ryker said, tossing her an exaggerated grin. “You don’t start the day with bickering. Must be a real secret to your charm.”
Maeve snickered, her own mouth full of food as she added, “You say that like you don’t enjoy it.”
Aster’s lips twitched upward at the lighthearted banter. It felt good to be surrounded by his squad—his family, in a sense. There were no pretenses with them, no formalities. Just pure, unfiltered camaraderie. Still, the weight of the previous day's meeting hung over him like a dark cloud, the knowledge that he had been pulled into something larger than he could quite grasp.
“Captain Black, if you could spare a moment.” A sharp voice cut through the noise, and Aster’s thoughts came to a sudden halt.
A handler, dressed in the standard black uniform of the Hellhounds, appeared at the head of the table. He was flanked by a tall woman, her stern expression and finely tailored robes making her seem both imposing and efficient. Aster stood slowly, his thoughts momentarily interrupted by the interruption. He felt the eyes of his squad flick to him, a mixture of curiosity and the usual teasing glances.
“Captain,” the woman said, her tone brisk and professional. “You are required to follow me. There is a debriefing you need to attend.”
Aster nodded, not surprised by the sudden summons. He’d known something was coming. What he didn’t know was what it would entail. He shot a brief glance at Maeve, who gave him a look that said, We’ll talk later. She, like the rest of the squad, remained in her seat as Aster followed the handler and the administrator down the hall.
The debriefing room was cold and sterile, with nothing more than a large, oval table and a few chairs to fill the space. Aster couldn’t shake the feeling that the walls were closing in on him. Every breath felt heavier than the last as the door clicked shut behind him, leaving him alone with the administrator and the unfamiliar figure who stood in the corner. The ICW representative—tall, regal in appearance, but stern-eyed—stood with his arms crossed, a silent sentinel to whatever was about to unfold.
The administrator wasted no time. “Captain Black, we’ve been monitoring the Tri-Wizard Tournament for weeks. While it has seemed straightforward on the surface, there are forces at play that we can’t fully identify just yet.”
Aster’s jaw clenched. He’d suspected as much, but hearing it out loud still felt like a slap to the face. His gut twisted with the unease that had been gnawing at him ever since he’d learned about his unexpected involvement.
“As you know,” the administrator continued, “you’ve been entered into the tournament, a situation neither you nor we expected. The ICW has been in contact with the British Ministry for weeks now, especially after some irregularities surfaced—both with the Goblet’s magic and with certain individuals who seem to have… outside interests.”
She paused, casting a glance at the ICW representative, who nodded before speaking up, his voice sharp and authoritative.
“We’ve received reports from several trusted sources,” the representative began, his deep voice cutting through the tension. “There are suspicious movements tied to several of the champions, particularly those with… a certain lack of transparency around their backgrounds. We’ve reason to believe that there may be orchestrators behind the scenes—dark figures with their own agendas. The tournament might not be the innocent competition it presents itself to be.”
Aster’s eyes narrowed. His instincts as a Hellhound immediately picked up on the underlying message: something dark was circling the tournament, and whatever it was, it wasn’t an ordinary threat.
“Your assignment is simple,” the administrator went on. “You will maintain your cover as a fourth-year student. Your role within the tournament will give you access to high-profile individuals—both magical and non-magical—that you would otherwise never get close to. While we cannot fully disclose the scope of what we suspect is happening, we need eyes and ears within Hogwarts.”
Aster barely suppressed the instinct to roll his eyes. Simple, she said. As if stepping into Hogwarts to participate in the Tri-Wizard Tournament—already a mess of danger and high-profile politics—was anything simple.
“And you expect me to play along?” he asked, his voice even, though the tension in his chest was rising. “What if I blow my cover? What if I—”
The ICW representative stepped forward, his gaze unwavering. “We understand the complexities of your situation, Captain Black. But you’re not just playing the part of a student. You’re a Hellhound. You will act with professionalism, as you always have. But you must maintain your cover. The ICW has already made the necessary arrangements for your enrollment, and the Ministry has accepted the paperwork without question. You are to operate as a student—a fourth-year—while you gather the intel we need.”
The administrator cut in, “We cannot afford to draw attention to your true position. If you are exposed—if your Hellhound identity is revealed prematurely—it will complicate everything. Not only will you compromise your safety, but you will jeopardize the larger operation as well. The more eyes on you, the more dangerous it becomes for all of us.”
Aster clenched his fists. There was an uncomfortable truth hidden within their words, one he was loath to admit. The Hellhounds operated in shadows, in quiet spaces. His participation in the tournament would make him a target, a pawn caught between competing forces. But, like always, he had no choice but to follow orders.
“Understood,” he said shortly, his voice tight.
The administrator nodded, her expression not softening. “Good. We’ll be monitoring the situation closely, and we expect you to keep us informed of any developments. If you encounter anything… unexpected, you’re to report it immediately. We’ll handle the next steps. You’ll receive further instructions as necessary.”
Aster stood, his body already tense as he absorbed the gravity of his role. This wasn’t just about the tournament anymore. This was about a tangled web of political intrigue, dark forces, and an ancient game he was being forced to play without knowing the rules.
Before he left, the ICW representative spoke once more, his tone a little softer but no less serious.
“Remember, Captain Black,” he said, his eyes never leaving Aster’s face. “In a game of shadows, those who expose themselves too quickly often find themselves trapped. Keep your distance—observe, gather information, and be patient.”
With that, the meeting ended. Aster turned to leave the room, his thoughts swirling in a storm of uncertainty. He was a Hellhound—one of the best. But even the best were not immune to the dangers of a world so full of secrets.
---
The hallway outside the debriefing room felt colder than usual as Aster stepped out, his footsteps echoing softly in the stillness. He didn’t immediately head back to his quarters, instead letting his steps lead him slowly down the length of the corridor. The weight of his new assignment settled heavily on him, sinking in with each quiet step.
As he processed the debriefing, Aster’s thoughts spun around the events unfolding at Hogwarts. He knew it was strange, unprecedented, even, for a name like his to appear in a tournament selection. The ICW's urgency and the inclusion of a representative had made that clear enough. But what unnerved him the most was the unspoken question: who could have placed his name into the Goblet of Fire? It wasn’t merely a matter of involvement—no, it seemed personal, a direct intrusion into his life, his past.
Even Hogwarts itself felt like an unusual choice for danger. It was just a school, but something about its ancient stones and hallowed halls felt… weighty, as if the place held a gravity of its own. Hogwarts was a place of history and secrets—a magnet for those who sought power. And now, he would be among them.
As he rounded the corner and neared the mess hall, Aster tucked away his unease, his thoughts shifting to his squad. They were the closest thing he had to family, and despite the cover he’d need to keep at Hogwarts, there was no need for masks with them.
Entering the mess hall, he found his squad scattered around a long table, laughter and friendly banter filling the air. They noticed him almost instantly; Maeve, his second-in-command, raised an eyebrow as he approached, her sharp gaze narrowing slightly.
“Cap’n,” she greeted with a nod, her tone teasing but laced with curiosity. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Ryker, the squad’s broad-shouldered heavy-hitter, leaned back with a grin. “Or maybe you finally figured out which of us snuck that hexed coin into your boot last month?”
Aster allowed a slight smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll deal with that later, Ryker. We’ve got a new assignment.”
That brought the rest of the squad to attention. Maeve exchanged a glance with Brennan, their wiry tracker, while Ivy, the squad’s intel specialist, stopped mid-sip of her coffee, her gaze focusing intently on Aster.
Clearing his throat, Aster took a steadying breath. “The Hellhounds received an unusual request from the ICW. I’ll be stationed at Hogwarts, going undercover as a fourth-year student.” He paused, allowing the words to sink in. “My assignment is to keep an eye on the tournament and investigate any suspicious activity surrounding it.”
There was a beat of silence, then Maeve’s brow furrowed. “Hogwarts? They’re sending you in as a student? It seems… public, doesn’t it?”
Aster nodded, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s more than public. The entire setup seems like a glaring target. But there’s something bigger at play here. The ICW believes there’s a threat associated with the tournament, and they want us to figure out what it is.”
Maeve leaned forward, her fingers drumming lightly on the table. “Any leads?”
“Not yet,” Aster replied, keeping his tone measured. “They’ve picked up on some strange movements and intercepted messages—enough to make them suspicious, but not enough to know exactly who’s behind it or what they’re after. Apparently, the tournament was considered high-risk enough that they’ve been coordinating closely with the ICW Chief Mugwump to ensure I’m… properly positioned.”
Ivy’s gaze softened with understanding. “Sounds like they’ve already got people watching you.” She shot a quick look at the others, then returned her focus to Aster. “Do they expect you to go in as yourself, or…?”
“No,” Aster said, shaking his head. “As far as they’re concerned, I’m just a regular student. They don’t want the Hellhound name mentioned—no sign of who I really am. I’m supposed to blend in and act like any other fourth-year.”
Ryker snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “Good luck with that. Acting like an average student is one thing, but blending in?” He grinned at Maeve. “Think the boss can manage it?”
Maeve smirked, folding her arms. “If he doesn’t break his cover within a week, I’ll consider it a miracle.”
Aster chuckled, though his mind remained focused on the task ahead. “You all know what to do while I’m gone,” he said, slipping into the Captain’s role effortlessly. “If I need intel or backup, you’ll be my first point of contact.”
Maeve nodded, the teasing fading from her gaze, replaced by a steely seriousness. “Understood, Cap. But if anything seems off—anything at all—you reach out, got it? We’ll be close enough to have your back if you need us.”
Aster met her gaze, a faint warmth tugging at his chest. Despite the dangers, he knew he wasn’t alone. “I’ve got it. Just… don’t get into too much trouble without me.”
The squad laughed, though a tension lingered beneath the surface. The stakes were higher than any of them had faced in years, and they all knew it.
As the laughter faded, Maeve’s gaze softened, and she reached out, clapping a hand on Aster’s shoulder. “We’ll be here when you’re done. Just… be careful.”
Aster nodded, his resolve hardening as he looked around the table at the faces of those who had become his family. Whatever was waiting for him at Hogwarts, he would face it. For his squad, for the Hellhounds, and maybe—just maybe—for himself.
---
Aster stood at the threshold of the barracks, a strange unease settling over him as he scanned the familiar faces of his squad. Maeve was closest, offering a rare, genuine smile—a gentle break from her usual sharp, all-business demeanor. The others gathered around, sharing mixed expressions, their usual banter tinged with a slight edge of worry. Even Ryker, who was usually all bravado and wild grins, seemed more subdued.
He kept his voice calm, thanking each one individually. Though Aster rarely allowed himself to express too much sentiment, his words had a subtle weight. He knew that going back to Hogwarts under these circumstances would be anything but routine.
“Watch each other’s backs,” he said, his tone serious as his gaze passed over them. “And don’t get soft while I’m gone.”
Brennan gave him a half-smirk, shrugging. “You’ll be back before we even notice, Cap,” he said. “Don’t go playing too hard at being a ‘student.’ We need you sharp, not softened up by Hogwarts' tea parties.”
Aster snorted, some tension easing in his shoulders at Brennan’s familiar teasing. “I think I can handle a few tea parties,” he replied, raising a brow.
Maeve stepped forward, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t let them forget who you are, Aster. But... don’t do anything reckless, either,” she added with a meaningful look, her voice softened just for him.
“Trust me. I’ll keep my wits about me,” he said, meeting her gaze. There was a moment of silence before he allowed himself a rare smile—one that said more than his words could about how much he trusted and valued each of them.
Just then, an officer entered the hall, carrying a Portkey. It was a simple object, just a worn, old tin that looked no more remarkable than any piece of trash, but to Aster, it felt like the heaviest thing he’d held all week. The officer handed it to him with a firm nod, acknowledging the unusual nature of the assignment without a word.
“All set, Captain?” he asked briskly.
Aster exhaled, looking back one last time at his squad. They gave him nods, small waves, and gestures of solidarity, each in their own way bidding him farewell without making a fuss. He nodded to the officer, gripping the tin tightly, feeling the Portkey’s magical pull beginning to wind through his arm.
With a final glance at his team, his expression steady, Aster allowed himself to be swept away, the familiar warmth of their camaraderie lingering as the world around him twisted and turned.
---