Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

ASTARION ANCUNÍN AND THE FRAGILE IMMORTALITY OF STARS

CHAPTER ONE

Watched

There was the sun on the other side. That was what separated Astarion from death by ways of fire and agony. A single curtain.

With the tip of his finger, he caressed the fabric. More than once did he jerk his hand away, afraid that he was that a motion of the curtain would expose him to his destruction. But, after a slow build up of bravery, he managed to get a feel of the curtain. It was heavy and thick. Unmoved by the vibration of the train.

It wouldn't move for now. Astarion didn't feel safer. He never did for he never was. But at least that specific danger was not what he needed to mind for now.

He was still looking at the curtain when a snapping sound echoed right next to him, accompanied by a sharp pain on the side of his hand. He didn't react however. He would jerk away from the sun but not from mere pain. He knew better than to scream or even wince; it always enticed them. Instead, he let a full second pass to let it be known that he wouldn't be all that fun to hurt, then only he turned his head away from the curtain to spot the origin of the pain.

He had expected it and he looked at it without surprise. The red eyes of the red bat were looking at him. They were empty, depthless and yet they promised everything Astarion dreaded.

He knew she was not the Master per se. She was merely a spy but, even more so than that, she was a reminder. She was a collar around Astarion's neck. And, yes, Astarion was used to those and he hardly minded them anymore, but the fact that he was so far away from the palace was somehow making his Master's gaze and power feel much closer.

Astarion knew that he had a mission and an important one. He was perfectly aware. And the terror of failing was enough on its own, he truly didn't need a constant looming over his shoulder. But the Master loved those.

So, without a word, he looked at the bat. He didn't move his hand away. If she wanted to bite him, she had to be able to do so. Anything else would be a direct insult to the Master and, if he could choose — which he never could — Astarion would pick the sun any time.

The bumps and jolts under Astarion's seat progressively stopped and Astarion didn't need an unocculted window to tell that the train he had been riding for hours now was slowly decreasing in speed. A distant but loud whistling noise betrayed the struggle of metal against metal, both working together to halt that monster of speed and vapor that had been crossing the island from end to end. The high-pitched hissing only stopped once the bumps and jolts ended their half-hearted protestation. Soon, everything was still around Astarion. And silent, though not for more than a second.

A blink later, sounds and noises flooded the corridor on the other side of a door separating it from the compartment Astarion had chosen for himself. Conversations half-whispered or fully shouted, interpellations from across a crowd, anxious footsteps and heavy wooden luggages bumping into walls, everything was coming together to create that dissonant symphony and Astarion, who once again knew better than to react and ever show discomfort, simply closed his eyes.

All that noise, all that motion, all that life...

He wished he could breathe. He didn't know why oxygen had such a soothing effect on the Living but he would be willing to try it if that could do anything about the brouhaha of sounds.

He missed the silence of his dead home. Skeletons and dust were definitely better neighbors than... children . The word sounded as disdainful in his head as it would have on his lips.

The year would be long. Of the two hundred or so that he had known, this one was promising to be different in a very exhausting and dangerous kind of way.

Astarion reopened his eyes. No time for feelings or for anything else. He might be away from home, failures on his end would bring the same consequences as they always did.

Astarion stood up and, the eyes of the bat boring holes in his back, he grabbed his luggage from the rack to bring it down. He was already dressed in that uniform he had been given by the servants who had guided him here. It was made from fabrics of noticeably high quality and the cut was fitting him perfectly. It didn't have the same prestige and ostentation as the outfits he would be made to wear at the Master's soirees but they were no rags by any means. It wouldn't be to say that Astarion's 'father' was not a loving, caring one.

Armed with a luggage full of things he didn't own, Astarion turned to the door, pictured a long breath he didn't take, and stepped into the corridor. He had taken enough time to get out for most of the children to have made their way off the train. There was still the occasional brat scattering away, running to catch up with friends that had continued without them. Astarion made sure to remain out of every way and it was without having met or interacted with anyone that he reached one of the heavy metallic doors.

He froze on the threshold, seized by an irrational fear. For a brief instant, he was convinced that, right before him, pure sunlight was shining brightly. Or he pictured what he remembered of sunlight, which was next to nothing. In the same breath, or lack thereof, he pictured himself stepping forth, right under the light and into the flames. The visual was so powerful in his mind, painted with such vivid colors, that Astarion instinctively jerked back. Everything contracted around his dead heart as a surge of primal fear rushed up his veins in lieu of blood.

It took too much time for Astarion to break out of his stupid daydream. He blinked a few times, tightened and loosened his grip on his luggage, he even took a step back to return to the safety of the shadows but it still took him half a minute to realize what he should have seen from the start. There was no sun in the sky.

Just like each one of his siblings, Astarion had an infallible clock in the brain, a sensitivity to time that was always letting him know when the sun was up and when it was down.

But Astarion was not at home anymore. Nothing of what he knew was of any use here. His sense of day and of night wasn't accurate to any place anymore, not even the one he had left less than a week ago.

He would need to learn to navigate an all new world now.

Yes, he was definitely missing the skeletons and the dust. Well... not all skeletons. Only the unmoving one.

"Move. You're blocking my way."

Astarion turned his head to spot the source of the cold, annoyed voice. There was a girl, right behind him. She couldn't be much older than Astarion had been before his death. She was Astarion's size but her noticeably lean body was making her look longer than she actually was. She had light green eyes that were darkened by her annoyed frown.

"I said move," she whistled between her teeth. "I will not be slowed down because you want to enjoy the view."

Astarion had yet to understand the local dynamics of power. At home, despite his much shorter stature, he could submit his siblings by virtue of being older and more violent but, here, he had to learn who to befriend and who to betray. Thus, until he could get more information…

Astarion stepped aside and, with a sucked-in sigh that was telling of her haughty annoyance, the girl moved past him, her shoulder carelessly slamming into his. As she was walking away, Astarion committed her features to memory. Promising future harm upon a child in response to a vague rudeness was certainly not very honorable, but Astarion had never given a single fuck about honor.

He stepped out of the train. Above his head, he heard a quiet flutter of wings and the bat who had accompanied him so far flew past him before disappearing in the night. She would keep an eye on him from up there. He couldn't see her anymore, but she could.

Astarion had been wrong to believe that there was nothing of home here. He felt the familiar weight of constant surveillance, threat and judgment as he made his way up the long platform where the train had stopped. He quickly noticed that the massive crowd of black uniforms was being divided in two. The vast majority of students were leaving the station behind to try to catch one of the numerous coaches pulled by winged, skeletal horses. Astarion had never seen such beasts before but curiosity was a default that had plucked out of him centuries ago and his eyes brushed over them without lingering. Instead, he noticed that a small minority of children were being held back, away from the other. At first glance, Astarion noticed that they were noticeably younger and he was willing to bet that those small things were the newcomers of that school of sorts that he was infiltrating.

Knowing that he was supposed to be young and new as well, Astarion dragged his suitcase up the platform. By the side of the station, all the bagages of the hundreds of students had been piled up, gathered together to certainly be brought to the right place later on. Astarion had no hesitation leaving his own luggage with the others. He had absolutely no idea what was supposed to be in his jokes of belongings and, as far as he had been told, nothing around him had any value, him included. He thus left the suitcase behind and joined the group of small children.

"Good evening," a short woman was trying to gather the youthful attentions around her. "Good evening, one and all, please, gather around."

As the rest of the children obeyed, Astarion did so as well. He made sure to remain on the periphery of the group however, to put as many bodies as possible between him and the one who seemed to have the most power around. Ultimately, the short woman didn't pounce over the crowd to attack Astarion and, instead, she continued:

"I am certain that you are all very excited to finally be at Hogwarts and that you cannot wait to join the other students."

Astarion looked at the crowd around. He spotted the girl who had moved past him earlier and who was now standing a few feet away from him. Her arms crossed, she was making a show of looking unimpressed but Astarion could hear her heart beating a bit too frantically for her to truly be without any fear. What a thing. Astarion's heart never beat frantically.

"I am Professor Abbott, I will be teaching you Potions this year but, as of now, I am here to guide you to the castle for the sorting ceremony. Is everyone ready?"

Astarion barely registered the falsely benevolent smile of the woman's face and he waited without a word for the group to get moving already.

He was not especially eager to reach the castle. He didn't believe he was especially eager for anything at all, as a matter of fact. There was nothing in his situation that was enjoyable, apart perhaps from the absence of his siblings. But here or elsewhere, it was all the same: away from home, for better and for worse.

No, the reason why he wanted to get inside was that everything here was too... open. Too exposed. The wide sky above his head, the unforeseeable breezes bringing with them unknown smell. Astarion was meant to be in a lair. Not out in the open like a Masterless Spawn. Everything was uncomfortable and Astarion didn't know how he was supposed to react to it all. Thankfully, the group finally started walking away and Astarion disappeared among them.

They didn't have to walk for too long and, while the train station was still within view, they reached a rudimentary pier made from rough wood. A few boats were moored to the short bitts and the children were urged to get into them. Astarion mindlessly obeyed, as he always did, and, while he was stepping into the closest ship, his eyes were on the vast scenery in front of him. An endless surface of mirroring blackness. Here and there, stars were reflected, upside down, like silver dots in the abyss.

Astarion didn't believe that he had ever seen something so... wide. So broad. It nearly seemed as if Astarion could just walk away without ever meeting any wall. Even the silence was odd. It was filled to the rim with small noises. Birds, insects, wind, they all had their voice to add. But they had no echo. They were spreading like waves and were never forcefully brought back to where they belonged.

That was nothing. That was silence and emptiness. But it was dizzying in a certain way that, Astarion was starting to realize, was rather horrific. Before he could grow too unsettled, the boats started to discreetly buzz and, pushed by a breath of magic, they moved away from the pier.

And that was how Astarion made his way to the castle. By sliding between the heavenly and the abysmal stars.

"What happened to your eye?"

Astarion, who had been looking at the water, mesmerized by the way the ripples would trouble the reflections of everything that had one, barely managed to not startle. He hated it when people were speaking too close to him. Or speaking at all. But, thankfully, he was not the one being spoken to at that moment. Looking up from the water, pressing his back against the wooden sill so that he couldn't be attacked from behind, Astarion brought his attention back on the boat, minding for the first time the children that had taken place in his embarcation.

The one who had just asked that question was the same girl Astarion had noticed twice now. Her frown was darkening her green eyes as she was looking at something that was puzzling her. That thing happened to be a boy. An inch taller than her, he had been sitting silently so far.

Before even noticing what the girl had singled out, Astarion spotted the most important element. The boy had rich parents. Like for his, Astarion could tell from the quality and the fitting of the uniform. Tailor made. Expensive. Someone important was near by. Someone worth the Master's attention.

Astarion gathered all his focus on the boy. It was only then that he noticed what the girl had pointed out. One of the boy's eyes was different from the other.  The left one was unremarkable but the right one was standing out by the fact that it was not, per say, an eye. It was a replica made of stone. There were two circles to recreate the pupil and the iris, and those circles could move together to mimic the left eye but it remained what it fundamentally was: a magical artefact. Astarion hadn't thought twice on it for there was nothing more usual for him than seeing injured bodies — though perhaps not as usual as seeing mutilated or decomposing ones. But, even though he had no knowledge of children, he could picture a couple of reasons why such an eye would be strange for his surroundings to see.

"You're being kinda rude," a girl said.

She was sitting next to the boy. She didn't look angry but, noticeably taller than the other children, she had a natural halo of passive intimidation. She had long, dark hair and amber eyes, but her appearance was not what immediately attracted Astarion's attention. There was something wrong with her blood. No, not her blood per se. Its motion. The way it was flowing through her body. It was jerky, moved by brusk hiccup. Astarion focused on his ears. His stomach twisted in hunger as the heartbeat became louder but the Master's magic was keeping him in place effortlessly.

Yes, there was something with her heart. It was spasming far too regularly, far too... dryly. It was fueled by magic. Astarion was sure of it now. His eyes lingered on the girl's chest and he could see a very discreet bump on her sternum. Something there was beating in stead of her heart.

Astarion wondered if that would change the taste of her blood. The moment the thought hit him, so did a wave of uneasiness as his bond to his Master was punishing him for the mere contemplation of that idea. Astarion shook it off, trying to catch the conversation happening around him, even if only to chase away any forbidden thought.

"How is that rude?"

"I don't know. You could ask our name first, ya know."

"I wasn't talking to you."

"Then his name."

"It's alright, Karlach. I don't mind."

"Fine," the frowning girl finally said. "What's your name?"

"Wyll."

"What happened to your eye?"

The green-eyed girl had circled back to her first question and her sullen face was making it obvious that she had not enjoyed the convolution.

"I lost it. Badly aimed spell."

Astarion remembered the Living that had displeased the Master. Their eyes didn't grow back. The boy's justification was holding up.

"Is it the spell that turned it into stone?"

"No, that's just a replacement."

"Sorry, is that an enchanted eye?"

It was another boy who had joined the conversation. The same height as the one named Wyll, he had shoulder-length hair that had been combed back and brown eyes that were currently twinkling with interest.

"I can spot Archal Verbunder's unique style, am I wrong?"

The question puzzled the three other children and that new boy felt he had to explain further.

"Sorry, I studied his work."

"You studied?" the girl — was it Karlach? — asked. "But we've not arrived at school yet. Is there homework already? No one told me."

"I don't think they can give us homework before we even started class," Wyll said.

"They can try. I don't care. They don't scare me."

It was the green-eyed girl. Astarion genuinely didn't care about the conversation yet he was starting to remember their names, as they simply couldn't shut it.

"Oh no, sorry, I wasn't speaking of Hogwarts. I have been studying with a mentor so far and she made me look into Mr Verbunder's work. Is he the one who created this artifact?"

"Uh, yes, I think so."

"Then you are very lucky, Wyll is it?"

"Yes, it is."

"I'm Gale. And that must be a very powerful and most interesting eye that you have here."

"Well, uh,... I'm glad you like it?"

Astarion was not the only one remaining silent on this boat.

As he was sitting at the very back of the boat, a girl was on the opposite end. She was facing ahead and she was the first to spot it. Her quiet gasp stopped every conversation. Beyond the shore of the lake that they had just crossed, here it was. Standing tall, throwing its lights into the night, the shadow of a castle could be seen on top of a hill. Its towers, defying the sky, were overlooking the whole land around and, with its tall wall, it looked like a guarded fortress keeping the massive forest at bay.

It was... huge. Much bigger than the Master's palace and the dungeons underneath. The size of that castle was beyond what Astarion had expected. How many Spawn could fit inside this place? What sort of Master could be haunting that lair?

Astarion looked at the children who were on the boat with him. All of them were staring at that silhouette of a castle with wide eyes and ajar mouths. Astarion knew they weren't Spawn. He knew they were not connected to their Master the way normal Spawn were. But still. As the boats reached the shore and the children began to make their way up the hill, Astarion had that powerful impression that he was watching small corpses-to-be, the second before they could be swallowed whole by death itself. Astarion had no memory of his last days of life, but it had to have looked like something of that sort.

The castle opened its doors for them and the unsuspecting children crossed the lips of its frame to discover, on the other side, a spacious entrance hall, lightened by lines of sconces. The children began to make their way towards the stairs but Astarion remained on the threshold. The teacher guiding them noticed it right away.

"Is there something wrong, sweetie?"

Then, before her question could truly end, she understood and smiled apologetically.

"Oh, yes, of course. Please, come in, you are more than welcome."

Astarion crossed the threshold and joined the children. He spotted that the boy with the brown eyes and hair who had spoken of mentors and enchantments was looking at him with a frown of perplexity but it was the only one who had paid any mind to the short conversation and Astarion discarded the attention.

Everyone continued their progression. The stones under their feet were old and worn-out by centuries of being walked on. The surroundings were soon filled with the echoes of steps until the cohort of children, Astarion and the teacher stopped in front of yet another wooden door.

"Now," the teacher began with a smile, "the sorting ceremony will soon begin. In the meantime, I will ask you to wait here and be on your best behavior. The Deputy Headmaster will come fetch you when it is time. Alright?"

The bravest children nodded, the others stayed quiet, and the teacher soon left them to their own devices. No one dared to do or say a thing. They were busy either dreading what was to come or looking around with awe and bewilderment. 

Astarion, who was far too old to notice such a short wait, had the feeling that the first teacher had just left when he heard a whisper in his ear.

"Excuse me. Are you a Vampire by any chance?"

Astarion didn't even glance at the brown-eyed boy who had asked.

"No."

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. So? Are you?"

"No."

"Mmh... I see."

There was a moment of silence then:

"Would you tell me if you were?"

"Yes."

Astarion could have kept on giving out single syllable answers as long as necessary but the exchange was cut short by the door opening just enough for another teacher to slip out of the room and into the corridor.

That teacher, with his brown hair, clever blue eyes and falsely benevolent features, immediately attracted Astarion's attention. It was him. It was for him that Astarion was here.

Something about that teacher's charisma commended attention right away and all impressed eyes gathered on him.

"Good evening, students," the teacher said with an encouraging smile that Astarion thought to be rather shallow. "I am Professor Dumbledore..."

Before the sentence could be finished, Astarion picked up on some whispers here and there, reacting to a name that seemed known by quite a few people. Astarion knew that name as well but for very different reasons so he remained purposefully still.

"... and I am the Head of Gryffindor House. But, whether you are about to be sorted in my house or in another one, I will always be available if you ever need help or answers to your question."

Astarion was certain he would have to handle his problems on his own however.

"In a moment, the sorting ceremony will start. It is a very important moment in the life of a Hogwarts student so, please, enjoy it as much as you can, it will be a memory that will stay with you, believe me.

"As for what will happen: when the ceremony starts, you will simply have to walk right in front of you and stop in front of the steps you will see. After that, I will call each of your names. When you hear yours, you will walk up to me, sit on the stool and you will be sorted in your house.

"Before you can even worry, no you cannot 'fail' your sorting and no you will not be left with no house to go to. There is absolutely nothing to be scared of."

He sold his last line with that smile of his but it didn't fool Astarion. He knew perfectly that the only reason one would say not to be afraid was if there was indeed something to be afraid of. Or else, why would anyone bother to say anything at all?

Astarion was not afraid however. At least, not of the sorting.

They didn't have to wait long after the teacher's departure. Apparently enough for the children's worries to grow in strength but, very soon after the door was closed, it opened again, this time widely so. Forming a disordered column, the group started to make their way through what revealed itself to be a dining hall of remarkable proportions. The ceiling was so high, the walls were disappearing under a blanket of clouds. Underneath them, floating candles were creating points of yellow and orange lights. Five tables were filling that hall. Four of them, bordered on each side by benches, were parallel to each other, following the length of the room. Hundreds of students were gathered around them, all wearing the mandatory black uniform though Astarion noticed different variations of ties.

The fifth table, perpendicular to the others, was sitting on a long stand. With seats lined between it and the wall, all of them currently welcoming adults, it was easy to guess that it was the teachers' table. Only one of them was a throne and one of an underwhelming sobriety. If the seat was telling of the local Master's power, then Astarion had nothing to be worried about.

The moment he thought those words, a red dot flashed on the other side of the long windows, and Astarion recognized, from the color and the dread alone, the watchful bat.

Alright, he mentally corrected himself. He had a lot to worry about.

A strange year starts anew

In that strange school of yours,

Ready your curious minds

Where summer grew its moors

Yet if the old is new

And the strange expected,

Something brews in the dark

In no eyes reflected.

This castle is a home

To all souls that need it,

When learning is growing

It gives roof and gives wit.

Let it carry your weights

And of your past now freed

You may find in these walls

What you dare not to need.

If it is bravery

That helps you face all harms

Then go rest your heart in

Gryffindor's open arms

If your head and knowledge

Kept you safe until now

Ravenclaw the Astute

Has plenty to endow.

Slytherin as for him

Will embrace your great scheme

He grows will and finesse

To make true what you dream.

If you know with no heart

Then matters no virtue

Hufflepuff will honor

The beauty within you.

Each of you has a place

Each of you has a gift

There is much to cherish

And there is much to lift

If you think you worthless

You have much to learn here

It is hard to believe

And the danger feels near.

But there is just one thing

In this castle of old

Harder to pass than tests

And it is the threshold.

So go forth, growing minds,

Study, truant, explore

And the one rule you'll learn:

Leave your fears at the door.

It was... the hat. The thing that had sung that song was what appeared to be a hat, sitting there in a stool in front of the teachers' table. A tear in its old, dirty fabric had appeared and, from there, the song had been belted out.

Astarion, who had mastered the art of remaining inexpressive when surprised, had to admit that, behind his blank face, a lot was bubbling.

He was no stranger to powerful magic. His Master was a wizard that Astarion had yet to see matched. But, even though he had more power than Astarion could understand, never would he waste a crumb of it on that sort of whimsical absurdity. What was even the point of a singing hat when anyone here could have used their own, naturally created mouth to speak or sing?

And the content of the song was senseless at best. What was that about exactly? Astarion had understood little of it and the very few lines that he had...

"Ancunín Astarion."

If Astarion's thoughts had been elsewhere, they immediately snapped back in place, knowing that, when called, they had to answer. Hats, singing or not, didn't matter anymore. It was his target that had called his name and Astarion, wanting to appear inconspicuous, didn't make any eye contact. He walked, feigning the timid nervousness of the children around him and, after having climbed up a couple of steps, he turned around to sit on the stool.

The weird hat was put on his head and, right away, he heard a voice in his head.

A voice that wasn't his Master.

For the first time, in a very, very long time, Astarion was startled.

The voice was nothing like it should be; the words were nothing like they should be. The Master's voice was more at home in Astarion’s head than his own thoughts but that? He wanted it out. Now! He wanted it out more so than he had ever wanted anything put in him to get out.

'Skittich, are you? Yes, yes. I see little bravery, here, my boy.'

Astarion didn't care what it was saying. He wasn't hearing a word of it. He just wanted it gone.

'No, not exactly. I see a lot of fears but it takes never to live with them. And you... oh, but what is that, now?'

Astarion felt it before the hat could name it. His Master. The specific coldness of his magic and the unbearable weight of his presence. For once, they brought nothing to Astarion but relief.

His mind was back to being normal.

'Are we hiding something?' the hat asked, interested.

Astarion felt something probe but, right away, his Master's magic grew colder and wider. He was making sure that nothing of his plans could be seen in his Spawn's weaker mind. Fir a little while, there was a battle of forces between the hat and the Master. But, ultimately, power didn't matter. Astarion's mind belonged to his Master and there was nothing the hat or any other artefact could do to change that.

'Keep your secrets then,' the hat said. 'I shan't take what you cannot give. As for what is there for me to hear.'

More probing but this time somewhere else, thoughts that the Master didn't care to protect.

'I see a drive. Fear does not prevent you from striving, does it? There may be a desperate edge to that will, it remains resourceful and creative. Yes, creativity, I can feel plenty of it. Creativity without curiosity is a rare combination and yet, here I see it. Mmh, yes. You may be atypical and have a disposition of the mind that is most puzzling, the answer is clear as your thoughts and desires match on twists and thorns...'

"... SLYTHERIN!"

A clamor of applause exploded under the night sky and the heat was taken off Astarion's head.

The students sitting at the table closest to the right wall were all clapping as Astarion's tie turned the same green and silver colors as theirs. Though Astarion, who could spot every variation of body language, noticed that some of the students, though clapping as well, were doing so with a puzzled tepidness, as if Astarion's sorting was unexpected.

Astarion being too clever to think that others' opinions didn't matter, he took note of it and kept this information in a corner of his mind. While doing so, he had stood up and walked to the rescue, where he had now found a seat.

The rest of the ceremony passed by, with clamors of applause exploding each time the name of a house had been shouted by the hat after thoughtful minutes of silence. Astarion made sure to hear and remember every name. He didn't know those but one could never be certain of what information could become handy to have. Registering each of them and linking it to the face of its owner, Astarion learned the name of each of the children that had been in his boat on their way here.

The one who had accused him of vampirism, Gale Dekarios, was sent to Ravenclaw, which was not surprising given the little Astarion had seen of his sharp sense of observation.

The girl with the strange heart and the boy with the strange eye were sent to Gryffindor. They found each other there, with great and matching joys, whispering with each other with unhidden excitement. The two children knew each other from before the train ride, that much could be told.

The silent girl with black hair answered the name of Shadowheart Sharran which made Astarion pause. He didn't care much about names. His own was meaningless to him. But it didn't mean they weren't important. Quite the contrary, as a matter of fact. Names were given, and it didn't matter if it was by a birther or by oneself, there was still telling. Shadowheart.

The name was strange. Astarion was not from here but, hearing the other children being called, he knew that this one was standing out. It had to have a peculiar origin or, much more likely, a peculiar story.

The girl was sent to Slytherin as well and she was now sitting across from Astarion, her unimpressed eyes on the hat.

The last member of their boat group — Lae'zel, Astarion learned — was indubitably the one who remained the longest under the hat. For long minutes, the hall remained silent, waiting for a word that wasn't coming. Astarion couldn't tell how long it lasted but, when the name of Slytherin was finally announced, the girl had a sullen expression on her face as she was joining their table. She was looking at her tie as if it had personally insulted her and, when she let herself fall on the bench, next to Astarion, none could ignore how unhappy she was with this sorting.

Once the sorting was done, the hat was taken away and, after a short word of welcome from the old headmaster, food appeared on the long tables, much to the students' delight.

Astarion eyed the plates in front of him that were displaying every sort of food a living tongue could appreciate and a living stomach could yearn for. Of course, this food was worth nothing to Astarion, yet he filled his plate with it, for the sake of pretenses.

"It's *K'liir* not *clear*. If you can't say simple sound, then just shut it."

The green-eyed girl, who had been sitting at this table for even less time than Astarion had, had already entered a heated conversation with one of the other children that had been sent here with her.

"You don't need to be annoying about it," a tall boy was saying. "It's not my fault if it's a weird name."

"You're the weird one," Lae'zel scoffed. "Now mind your own business."

Shadowheart, who had listened to the conversation, looked away from it and her eyes met Astarion. She tried to communicate something with him by rolling them but Astarion remained unreactive.

"What is it?" Lae'zel said, having apparently spotted Shadowheart's expression. "Do you have something to say?"

"To you? No."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing you need to get all angry about. Though you seem to love doing that."

Astarion's mind completely drifted away and the girls' bickering faded into the background until they turned into a whisper of silence. Though his eyes were instinctively resting on places that wouldn't trigger any suspicion, Astarion was observing his target from the corner of his left one.

Albus Dumbledore. The name, when formed in his mind, had the accents of his Master's voice. It wasn't the same as the Master truly speaking to him but he had heard it over and over, it had been ingrained into him along with everything he had to do here.

His mission really didn't seem all that difficult. He had done that sort of things often, always with great success. Admittedly, never great enough for his Master's standard but still, Astarion had done the job. Yet, the way the orders had been delivered this time around was making Astarion feel like it was about to be much more complicated than anything before.

He had understood that Albus Dumbledore was a singularly powerful man and wizard but still, nothing that explained the Master's insistence. Astarion guessed he would have to see and learn, even though he hated to be unprepared.

It was strange to be away from home and away from everything that was expected and logical.

Dinner passed by without Astarion truly noticing it. Time was a strange thing to him but his deep ponderings couldn't be fully innocent of that rushed hour.  Astarion, coming back to himself, discreetly disposed of his food in others' plates and, his deed completely unnoticed, his plate was completely clean just enough for the Headmaster's closing speech.

Nothing much was said and Astarion learned little. There was a curfew, no magic could be cast in the corridors, classes were mandatory and access to the nearby forest was forbidden. So nothing that concerned Astarion. After a word about Quidditch — whatever that was — and another about a choir, the Headmaster announced the end of the evening and sent everyone to their dormitory.

As students were standing up and flooding out of the hall, the newcomers were looking around, lost as to where to go. Before nervousness could turn into panic, an older student, wearing the green and silver tie as well, came to meet them. With dark skin and clear hair, she was a teenager on the verge of womanhood. She had a a badge on her chest and a cold and disdainful expression on her face. She obviously had no interest in being here with them. Astarion recognized her as one of those who had displayed a puzzled expression after his sorting.

"You," she called, using a general and impersonal way of address to gather the focuses on her. "I am Minthara, the Head Girl of this school. I am charged with guiding you to our Common Room but don't let this fool you. I am *not* the one to come to if you ever need help. You are Slytherins. You figure it out on your own. Now, move, and in silence."

The children, very impressed, lowered their heads and quietly walked past her. When it was Astarion's turn to do so however, she stopped him.

"You three," she said, including Shadowheart and Lae'zel as well, "I don't know your parents. Why is that?"

There was a moment of silence as none understood the question then Lae'zel asked.

"Why would you?"

"Because every pure-blood family knows of each other. And I don't know you. Why is that? Are you not of pure blood?"

Was it why the applause had been tepid?

"I am," Shadowheart quickly answered. "I just don't do inbreeding."

There was a moment of silence. Tension rose and turned tangible. Minthara, haloed with authority, stared at Shadowheart.

Then she snickered.

With a gesture of her head, she ordered them to join the rest of the group. Taking the lead, she guided them out of the dining hall. After a few turns, they were made to go down some stairs. Because of their perfect silence, everyone heard when, as they were reaching the last step, someone called after them.

"Minthara, a moment will you?"

Mintara turned around and so did the group of small children. Coming from somewhere on their left, a student, as old as Mintara, was catching up with them.

He has a noticeably wide stature, with a broad chest and powerful shoulders. He had a full head of height on Mintara, yet he had a warm smile on his face.

"What do you want, Silverbough?" Mintara said, meeting her peer's warm with her cold attitude.

She crossed her arms over her chest but Silverbough didn't seem to mind her defiance. Astarion noticed that a badge was also adorning his chest.

"Professor Dippet asked me to fetch one Astarion Ancunín. He wants a word with him."

Mintara squinted, her expression turning into suspicion.

"Why did they ask you?"

"I am a head student as well, Minthara."

"Slytherin is my house, not yours."

"We are not prefects anymore. Our responsibilities go beyond our houses."

Mintara didn't look convinced in the slightest.

"Go then," she said, "take him. But don't you think that I will forget about that little stunt of yours."

Silverbough's sigh sounded weirdly amused and benevolent.

"Of course you won't."

The head boy then turned to the group of younger students and his hazel eyes spotted Astarion.

"Astarion, would you come with me? Don't worry, you are not in trouble, the Headmaster just wants a word with you."

Not surprised but annoyed at having been singled out, Astarion walked out of the group. After one last threatening glance at her peer, Minthara led the rest of the students away, while Silverbough was guiding Astarion back to the stairs then up.

"My name is Halsin, by the way," the student said. "And know that you can always come to me if you need help with anything. I shall provide and happily so."

Though Astarion added that name to the list of those he had registered so far, he discarded the offer and promptly forgot about it.

As he was being guided from corridor to corridor and floor to floor, Astarion followed their progress in the mental map he had of the castle. He had studied the layout extensively. His Master had made sure to test his knowledge of it and to punish every mistake extensively until it was not Astarion's brain but his survival instinct that was spurting the answers.

Now, he knew every alcove by heart; he could link each of them to a lash or a burn his Master had made him associate them with. He was aware that the maps he had learned were not fully accurate. He had been told so. Yet, so far, everything was where Astarion expected them to be.

When he and Halsin stopped in front of a statue, Astarion knew that, somehow, the Headmaster's office was on the other side.

"Scholarly Yours," Halsin said.

Before Astarion could inquire what Halsin was trying to say, the gargoyle in front of them came to life just to step aside, revealing a circular staircase that had been behind it.

Now, that was exactly the kind of magic Astarion was familiar with. Powerful animated gargoyles and hidden rooms made way more sense than singing hats and Astarion was nearly happy to see it happen under his eyes.

Something familiar at last.

"You simply have to climb up these stairs and knock on the door you'll find. There is no way for you to miss it."

With once again his unsettlingly well crafted smile of benevolence, Halsin walked away, leaving Astarion alone in front of the revealed stairs.

That student really had his act together. Minthara was right. Astarion needed to be careful of such controlled deceitfulness. But first...

Astarion was about to climb the stairs as he had been told to do when he heard the faint sounds of fluttering. This order largely prevailing over the other one, Astarion froze and waited. A second later, a bat landed on his shoulder. Her body against his scapula, she pressed her sharp thumbs until it was piercing  the fabric of the uniform and the skin underneath it. Stable and ready to spy, she climbed up a few inches until her head was over Astarion's shoulder.

A painful stab of her claw let Astarion know that he now had to climb the stairs and bring her up there. He did so and once on the last step, he stopped. He could hear two heartbeat on the other side of the door, both powerfully pumping human blood.

He knocked.

"Please, please, come in," an old voice said on the other side of the wooden panel.

Astarion opened the door and walked into the office before closing it behind him.

As he had guessed, there were two beings in this office. The Headmaster of the school who, Astarion knew, was called Armando Dippet, was sitting on a throne-like seat behind his desk. In front of him, it was none other than Albus Dumbledore himself who was standing.

Astarion made sure to pay him less mind than he did the Headmaster as he was walking away from the door and toward the desk. A bit on the right side of the office, Astarion stood in a way that was leaving both men in his sight and his back to the wall, then he waited to be told what he was here for.

"Ah, Astarion, we're very happy to see you. I hope that hearing that you were expected here didn't worry you too much."

"It didn't, sir."

"Good, good. Well, let me introduce Professor Dumbledore here."

Said professor offered a bright smile that, though it was answered in kind, Astarion didn't fall for.

"Professor Dumbledore is my Deputy Headmaster. As such, he is privy to all the details of your... peculiar situation."

Great. Wonderful.

Astarion was not naive, he had not ignored that possibility. He was ready to face it, of course, but it didn't mean he wouldn't have appreciated some element of surprise.

"You should be informed however," the Headmaster continued, "that the staff has been made aware of your... uh... disease."

"I don't believe that Vampirism is an insult that should be kept to oneself, Professor Dippet," said Professor Dumbledore.

"Yes of course, of course. Your..."

The Headmaster lowered his voice and whispered:

"... Vampirism."

"I am the one who asked for that information to be given to your teachers," Professor Dumbledore said, this time addressing Astarion directly. "You may be the first Vampire this school will teach, it is easy to guess that you will have specific needs and will require specific accommodations that your teachers will provide with your guidance."

Astarion had gathered as much when he had been allowed inside the castle by that Potions teacher.

"We did not share anything about your diet, your sleeping arrangements or your origins, as Professor Dumbledore thought their relevance was not worth the breach of your privacy."

Professor Dumbledore had asked for this, he had thought that. Who was the true Headmaster here?

"Thank you sir," Astarion passively said.

Diet and sleep were one, negligible thing. As of origins, these two living humans didn't have the first idea. The Vampires they knew about, the ones that read about in their books and met at their workplaces were nothing like Astarion and his siblings. They were cousins so distant that they hardly had any link left with them. Closer to life than to death, they were born, they grew up then old, they bred and they breathed. They were a species more so than they were a state. Astarion's Master however was much more ancient. From a time before the mingling of undeath and life, from a blood that had been created from the rot of the grave and not the womb of a parent, he was perhaps the very last ancient Vampire Master existing. And, killed and brought back by him, Astarion and his siblings were from a forgotten, thoroughly erased branch of vampirism.

Astarion's origins were his two parents: death and his Master, and it was a knowledge that the two teachers in front of him should never have. Astarion's entire mission depended on it.

"We made sure that the castle was ready to welcome you," the Headmaster said, unaware of the thoughts swirling in Astarion's mind. "Professor Dumbledore?"

"Sadly, we cannot ask the teachers to give night classes," Professor Dumbledore told Astarion. "It is simply not possible, considering everything they already do during the day. Instead, I did what was necessary to ensure your well being during the day."

An interesting choice of pronoun here, Astarion thought now that his mind was back to the conversation. That man didn't even try to give any credit to others or to make himself disappear among a colloquial 'we'.

"I enchanted all the windows of this castle to change the rays of the sun into a magically created light which, though in every visible way similar, will be perfectly harmless to you. As long as you are within the walls of the castle, I can assure you that you will be safe.

"I am aware that it goes against your nature to be up during the day and sleeping at night, therefore I asked the Headmaster to exempt you from any curfew. You may take walks and breathe some fresh air outside if you so need."

Once again, he had been the one asking the Headmaster. And the Headmaster had bowed down and fulfilled the ask. It was clear that Professor Dumbledore didn't consider Professor Dippet to be his Master in any way.

"Not into the forbidden forest however," Professor Dippet said, while trying and failing to impose authority. "It is forbidden to everyone ."

"You are also more than welcome," Professor Dumbledore continued, hardly minding his superior, "to take some naps during the day if you need them. Classes are secondary to your well-being."

Astarion nodded, affecting a timid though grateful expression, but his thoughts were focused on the stage dynamic between the two teachers.

"Is there anything else you may need in order to feel more at ease in this school?" Professor Dippet asked and it sounded like the conversation was about to come to an end.

"No, sir. It is already plenty."

"If you think of anything else, feel free to tell Professor Dumbledore. He is here to help you."

Astarion nodded again, his eyes lingering on the target before going back to the Headmaster.

"Good. I hope you will settle nicely. In two weeks of time, we will meet again to make sure you do. Your father will be happy to help make this year as pleasant and enriching for you as possible."

"My... father?"

He succeeded, yes, but Astarion had the hardest time keeping his surprise mild and his dread hidden.

"Well, of course," the Headmaster said with an amused smile. "I am sure your father is very invested in his son's first year away from home. All parents are. It will reassure him to know what you are up to and to be part of the conversation when it comes to your education here."

Astarion didn't understand any of the last words said to him, each of them merging in one another until they were but a loud buzzing in Astarion's ears.

His Master would be here. In two weeks of time, Astarion would be made to stand in the same room as him, to be in his eternally-painful presence.

It didn't matter that it had happened every day for two centuries. The dread it created in his stomach was each time as vivid.

"Now, Professor Dumbledore will show you the way to your Common Room. I am certain it has been a very long day. Tomorrow, classes start early so make sure to get plenty of rest."

Once again, Astarion heard nothing of this and he only realized that his legs had carried him after Dumbledore when he reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Are you alright, Astarion? You look pensive?"

"I am, yes. Perfectly alright."

Hearing the words vibrate along his tongue brought Astarion back. Of course the Master would be here in two weeks. He was here all the time. He was here right now, since Astarion was here. It was stupid of him to be more fearful than he always was.

"It is a beautiful bat that you have here."

Astarion looked at the bat who still had her thumbs pressed into the flesh of his right shoulder.

"What is its name?"

Astarion was used to improvise on the spot.

"Lollipop," he answered, choosing something that was both unthreatening and tailored to be appreciated.

That teacher's public sweet tooth was one of the few information Astarion had about him.

"Oh, that is such a sweet name. Both literally and figuratively as a matter of fact. How did you two met?"

"She has been my family's pet for as long as I remember."

"Well, I hope she will have a great time here as well."

They had reached the ground floor and were now walking down the same stairs Minthara had guided them to, an hour ago.

"Did you manage to get everything you needed?" Professor Dumbledore asked, having apparently at heart to keep the conversation going.

It was usually Astarion's role to do that, while feigning childishness and innocence for the pleasure of the guests. And soon, he will have to force his babbling, cheerful self again. But, if only for tonight, he was not unhappy to let someone else bear that tiring burden.

"I did, yes."

"Diagon Alley must not be the easiest of places for you to go shopping. If you need any book, you have but to ask."

"Someone sent them to me."

"What about your wand?"

"One was made for me."

"Really? I would love to see it, if you want to show it to me that is."

Astarion didn't know if the eagerness in the voice was for the sake of the pretension of kindness or if it was hiding an attempt at gathering information.

"I don't have it with me, sorry sir."

Astarion didn't have to lie about that but he would have if it had been needed.

"Oh, where is it then?"

"In my suitcase. I didn't think I would need it."

"You were right. Though I don't know many wizards who don't bring their wand wherever they go. But, as long as you bring it for your class, I guess you can keep it whether you want."

"I'll make sure to have it on me from now on, sir."

That last bit of conversation had brought them to a portrait in front of which Dumbledore stopped. With an unimpressed sigh that Astarion didn't understand, Dumbledore said:

"The mud comes no further."

To Astarion's surprise, the painting scoffed.

"Enjoying the new password, *Deputy Headmaster*?" the woman depicted in the painting said.

"As repetitive and unsubtle as ever."

"Thank you. The appreciation of a Gryffindor would have made me reconsider."

"And we wouldn't want the Slytherin house to be anything other than its own parody, would we?"

This time, the painting’s scoff was more vexed than mocking. A second later, the portrait pivoted on its hinges and revealed a passway hidden behind.

It was on the threshold of that very passway that Dumbledore stopped.

"For the sake of the tradition, I will go no further," he said. "You will see a circular corridor on the right. Touch the stone between the First Years' and Second Years' dormitories. It will react to you and let you inside your room. A coffin awaits you there."

"Thank you, sir."

For a moment, the teacher and the nearly student looked at each other in silence, both waiting for something from the other. Then, after a while, Dumbledore said:

"Tell me something, Astarion. Ever since your father asked for you to be schooled here, I kept wondering. If you and your family live in Transylvania, why is it that you chose Hogwarts over Durmstrang?"

He had rehearsed the answer to that question.

"My father has a friend who studied here. She convinced him that it was the best school in the world."

"I see, and what is the name of that fellow alumni?"

"Sardra Presell."

"Oh, yes, I remember her. She was a student during my first year as a teacher here. She always spoke of traveling to Transylvania."

She had done that indeed and would never leave now. Rats had gotten her body before rot could.

"It is heartwarming to know that she thinks so highly of her schooling here. Your father told us that you were one of his children. I hope that, if both you and he are won over by our old castle, we will get to welcome your siblings as well, when time comes."

"Yes, that's for sure. Father wants what's best for each of us. A good education is important."

"Very yes. Well, I indulged my curiosity enough. Good night, Astarion. I will see you tomorrow."

Dumbledore was able to walk away when he stopped again. He didn't turn around, instead he mused aloud.

"It gave us much to think about, wouldn't you agree Astarion? The hat's song, I mean."

"I guess?"

Astarion barely remembered any line of it.

"I keep mulling over it," Dumbledore said. "I wonder what that insightful hat is trying to tell us about."

And, at last, Albus Dumbledore left.

The moment he disappeared, when no one could see it, the claws of the bat lacerated Astarion's shoulder.