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Astraia remembered the first time she actually noticed him. It was not his impeccable appearance, his perfectly side-combed dirty blonde, or his elegant arrogance and pride in his every gesture, expression and gaze. No. Astraia grew up with a sea full of people like that and she knew he was part of the society she was born in. Him being in Slytherin confirmed as much for Astraia. Slytherin house was the place most, if not all, the pure blood socialites were sorted into.
Before coming to Hogwarts, mother would recount her schooling days. Other than talking about the classes, mother always talked about the house of Slytherin and never the other houses or other founders. She mentioned how Uncle Nigellus was very good friends with the (then) Gaunt heir apparent while she was best friends with his sister and fiancée. How the Gaunts were the only surviving direct line to Salazar Slytherin, their house founder and one of the four founders of the school. How, in the British wizarding aristocrats, the Blacks were second to the Gaunts. Mother never failed to remind how Astraia had visited her best friend in her last trip to Britain, but seeing how Astraia had no memory of it, she was convinced she did not have a good time there. It was probably so bad she had blanked it out.
So it was not his family name which interested Astraia. She did not know who he was until Sebastian told her about him. It was his wand that piqued her interest. It was in the dark corridors of the dungeons outside the Potions classroom, a blink of red she caught from the corner of her eyes. She thought she had imagined it, but she saw it again on the way to History of Magic. In true Ravenclaw fashion, she had been trying to figure out what the spell was, if it was even a spell, and how it worked. Initially she told herself it was better to ignore it. Whatever that was, it was quite harmless. Perhaps a charm? But was it a charm? The slick, ebony wand pulsed the moment he put his fingers around the wand. It was as if the wand spoke to him.
Eventually, the questions got too much and Astraia had no idea who to ask. Why did she not ask Professor Fig, the Magical Theory professor? Again, she did not have the answer. Whatever it was, Astraia’s instincts was to ask him. Him who by Astraia’s logical mind said to stay far away from. Who by her brilliant mind knew he meant trouble. But for whatever reason, Astraia felt the tug from her instincts. She must find out whatever that wand thing he was doing.
So Astraia did what she had done best to survive so long. She observed.
She started from afar. Astraia noticed he liked to wander within the DADA Tower. So she would watch him from a few floors above. She would watch him from the Ravenclaw table at the Great Hall. She watched him for days and she still could not figure out why he would do that with his wand. Was it because he wanted to make a flashy thing? But he was not flashy. Immaculate, yes. But never flashy. So why did his wand blink like that?
After a while, Astraia decided it was because she was too far from him to get any answers. She needed to be closer. Maybe if she could observe him in greater detail, she could finally figure out what that pulsing was.
And get closer she did.
Astraia eventually realised he was extremely attuned to his surroundings. There were many times she swore he could sense her. She noticed how he slightly grimaced, how he would pinch the bridge of his nose whenever she was following him around. But how was that possible? Stealth had always been her strongest suit. That’s how she had always slipped away in those draining parties without anyone noticing. She had never wore strong scents. Just a light tint of chamomiles and roses. Chamomile for her favourite tea, something she brought back from Britain the last time she visited. Rose for her namesake. But she had always made sure the fragrances were strong enough only for her to identify her own stuff. So how was it possible for him to notice her?
Astraia was sure it was just him. His companions never noticed her. She was sure. Sebastian never detected her once. She was sure of it because once she had purposely let her presence known when Sebastian was around and he immediately asked her about it when they met in private. If Sebastian could not detect her, Astraia was dead sure the pair of bed warmers could not. Poppy laughed when Astraia first told her about it. Bed warmers. That was a term Astraia had came up. She had seen them enough in Beauxbaton. People who would do anything to climb the social ladder. She supposed there was nothing wrong with that. Those are just yet another means to an end. They were just means Astraia would never consider. Maybe that was why she would never be a Slytherin; Astraia knew she was not ambitious enough to use any means necessary.
Astraia knew she was testing his patience in her pursuit of learning about the red pulses from his wand, but as long as he stayed silent, she was going to toe the line as far as she could. But alas, her luck ran out on a quiet, sunny autumn Tuesday, he accosted her in front of the skeleton at the staircase landing of DADA Tower. She was not even remotely close; Astraia was at least a flight above him. At least this confirmed what Astraia had suspected all along; whomever he was, he was exceptionally attuned to his surroundings.
It was only then, it was the first time Astraia actually see him. When he told her that red pulsing was to assist him in navigating around, she took actual notice of his features. High cheekbones, perfectly sculpted nose with little moles making constellations on his face. Astraia was shocked to see tired wrinkles and a light patch of dark purple under his eyes. He had not been sleeping well, it seemed. Why? But that was not the most shocking thing she noticed about him. No, she was not prepared for what she saw next.
When she landed on his eyes, oh his eyes, she felt like her breath was taken away. Astraia was greeted by a pool of shimmering pupil-less eyes. It was as if someone had caught the stars and stored them in a container stained in this pale stormy blue. A blue that shifted to the lightest of grey in the dark.
A galaxy hiding so much behind those eyes.
“Oh,” she breathed out unknowingly. Astraia would eventually come to know her logic was right to scream trouble. It was then Astraia became inexplicably hypnotised by his eyes for he had the prettiest eyes she had ever seen. That was the only thought that plagued her mind that day.
Astraia remembered the first time she actually learned his name. Sebastian had told her in the Undercroft. Ominis Gaunt. Gaunt. That explained why he had exclusive access to her uncle’s office, a privilege even she was not given under the excuse of being fair to everyone. When Ominis yelled at her after catching her outside the Undercroft, Astraia saw how his anger thrashed behind his stormy blue eyes, like the angry sea. Vicious, merciless. The every bit of the values of his house he was sorted in. It was then Astraia snapped back to reality. Ominis Gaunt was every bit of a Gaunt. The family at the apex of the pure blood British wizarding aristocrat. She knew this game and she was also amazing at it. It was then, only then, Astraia finally conceded to her logic; he should be avoided at all cost. She would be cordial to him at best.
It would some time later they would actually interact again. She would remember how worry flooded into his eyes. How she kept getting lost in that jar of constellations. How she had unknowingly, but undeniably, fell deeper and deeper for Ominis Gaunt.
As the days passed, Astraia had desperately tried to bury her feelings for Ominis. Sometimes, she would catch him resting so peacefully in the Room of Requirement. She would then catch herself missing a beat. Him who deserved so much more this world could ever afford him. She would hear her heart crack whenever he brought up his betrothal. She would hear her heart break when she concluded Ominis loved Anne, after his confession how he desperately wished he would not lose Anne.
And then, when both their parents announced their betrothal to each other, Astraia heard her heart shattered and pulverised into dust. Because in all the times he talked about it, he promised he would do anything to break it. And when Astraia finally dared to look at him, she could only see a harden ice which covered his beautiful stormy blue eyes. Still twinkling ever so perfectly. Still holding a galaxy of stars. How, now, those beautiful eyes also hold contempt and disdain in them, glazing the surface, emotions he had never directed at her. Oh how the Gods were cruel. Oh how they laughed at her.
After she said goodbye to all her guests, to Anne, to Sebastian, to him, she hugged Poppy and cried.