"I write her a letter
just a few short lines,
and suffer death
a thousand times."
Asteria O'Connor, sole heir of a prestigious wizarding family,
has other plans when the self-proclaimed Marauders decide to
torment her and her housemates.
It's abo...
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sirius
If Slughorn tasked the class with describing Asteria O'Connor in one word, I don't think I'd be able to hand in the assignment. She is so confusing and complex yet unbelievably straightforward and cutting. Over the past few weeks since seventh year began, she has constantly surprised me time after time. She's as unpredictable as a writhing snake.
Whether she's hurling insults across corridors or sending terrifying scowls to those around her, she's magnetic. She seems to be in her own world, as if there couldn't possibly be any other. I've spotted her sitting alone at lunchtimes or her singular name tag in empty corridors on the Map, wandering at a mindless pace. At the few parties where our circles have crossed, she's either dancing or laughing her heart out with her friends, highly intoxicated in both instances. No matter her state or what instance she's in, I can't help but to care.
I know that I shouldn't. After all of our history and the path that she's spiralled down, how could I have even an ounce of feeling for her. And yet, here I am staring at her side profile from only a few rows behind her in Potions, almost jealous of James for being able to sit beside her.
Why am I unable to hate her? Is it guilt for abandoning our friendship, for not keeping her safe? Either way, I still look back to the empty cauldron in front of me when she feels a set of eyes on her.
She's quieter in most classes, less disruptive than she used to be. The only class that she hasn't fallen asleep in has been Defence Against the Dark Arts, for which she sits up straight and takes part in demonstrations and note taking. Aster appears softer when she sleeps, no defensive walls or furrowed brows. Not weaker or more vulnerable, just softer.
The dungeons smell differently. Everyone noticed when we first treaded down the stony steps to the darkened hallways. James made a comment about lemonade and chocolate chip cookies but I couldn't have agreed less. It smelled rougher than flowers or cut grass that I heard some Slytherin student mentioning, but still I was unable to put my finger on it.
"Good afternoon students," greets the bumbling professor. "I would guess that most of you are wondering why I have waited until today to perfume my room with such enjoyable smells. A clever handful of you are sure to be silently laughing at your friends for the show that they are making of themselves."
I glance to Remus and he seems to be doing just that, sending a wink in my direction.
"What is arguably the most powerful magic bestowed upon anyone?" hums Slughorn. "Perhaps this is a question best answered by the poets. Miss Greengrass, have you a guess?"
