Her expression softened with visible fondness as Hermione finished her thought. A faint arch of her translucent brows followed as if a clarification hovered gently at the edge of her tongue, waiting its turn with grace.

“How aaaaaaaaaaabsolutely lovely, Miss Laramore,” she began, her tone gentle, measured, touched with genuine appreciation. “Though I must note, ever so softly mind you, that Hermes himself isn’t one of the 88 officially recognized constellations.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners in a way that conjured the patient affection of a grandmother correcting a beloved child mid-reverie. “But it’s an easy mistake to make, eeeeeeeeeeeeespecially when myth and starlight have been tangled together for thousands upon thousands of years.”

She glided forward, her ghostly feet not quite touching the floor, hands folded neatly behind her back as she continued. “Hermes, the fleet-footed herald of the gods, is traditionally linked with several constellations, however. Pleiades, for example, where his mother Maia resides. Some even connect him to Lyra, for the lyre he crafted and traded to Apollo…” She paused to give the instruments a very pointed look accompanied by a coy ‘hmmmmmmmmm’.

She paused just beside Hermione’s desk now, her voice softening further. “But how positively divine, my dear, knowing your name is etched in the sky like that… that’s more than memorable. That’s legacy.”



Marion drifted ever so slightly nearer, her silvery form catching the faintest glimmer from the overhead starlight. At the Gryffindor’s half-yawned answer, she inclined her head with a grace that was somehow both amused and approving.

“Libra,” she said gently. “One of the few constellations to represent an object rather than a being and often tied to balance, justice, and yes of course, the zodiac.” A faint smile flickered. “Whether one believes in such things or not, the symbols tend to stay with us. That alone gives them power of a sort. I find reaching my horoscope to be a fanciful delight at times. I’ll admit there’s something delightfully indulgent about reading a forecast and pretending the cosmos cares whether I have a lucky color. Last one I read advised me to stop collecting antique spoons and start preparing for an unexpected lightning. Oh yes, and I am meant to avoid snacking on pickled dandelions.” It had all provided her a proper chuckle―not a single antique spoon in any of her remaining personal belongings and lightning could do her no harm.

Or had it read lightEning? Well, one couldn’t get much lighter than a ghost now, could they!

She hovered for a moment longer, translucent hands clasped at her waist as her gaze flicked over the young lioness’ barely-contained restlessness. It wasn’t the first time a student had looked more ready for bed than for a lesson. Nor would it be the last. And oh, if only they said what they were wondering they may actually receive the answers they sought.


Hmmmm…no response to her playful query? No matter. Marion would not press the boy on his sleeping habits for the time being.

She gave a theatrical shiver of amusement, though no sound accompanied it. “Sagittarius, the archer—one of the more easily spotted zodiac constellations, especially on clear winter nights, some might say. And yes, while astrology might not be an exact science,” her tone dipped into playful irony, “as I told Miss Calrissian-Carter, I dooooo admit that reading my horoscope has become one of my guilty posthumous pleasures.” Her gaze drifted upward toward the dome, a giggle escaping her lips—light and staccato, not unlike the cluck of a particularly amused hen. “A particularly sacred and important constellation to our Forbidden Forest dwelling centaur colony as well.”


“Oh, how absolutely splendid, Miss Joshi!” she exclaimed, her voice rich with admiration and a whisper of awe. “Another with their name directly woven directly into the sky.” Marion had not done so with her own children, but she knew many the stargazing soul who had done just that―one of them being a former professor of Astronomy as well. Though goodness gracious HEAVENS above had it be surprising to hear that man had managed offspring. Not that Marion judged, CERTAINLY not.

She floated a few thoughtful paces, the dome above casting soft starlight across her translucent features. “You are quite right—the Pleiades, also known as the Seven Sisters, are nestled within the constellation Taurus. And in many cultures, including your own, they hold stories far older than our textbooks can contain.” She paused and wiggled mid-air eagerly. “Another example, shall we? Although Taurus is not explicitly named in Lakota tradition, the overlap between the Pleiades and the bull symbol, specifically a bison in this case, strongly echoes what Western astronomers later defined as the Taurus constellation.”


She tilted her head with a soft smile as the young Ravenclaw spoke, finding the simplicity and sincerity of his response to be terribly endearing. “Leo,” she echoed warmly. “Three letters. Bold creature. Memorable indeed. Sometimes it really is that simple. And while ‘because lions are cool’ may not be the most perfectly sound astronomical reasoning, it is nonetheless valid in this context, Mr. Amstern.”

She drifted slightly across the classroom floor, the hem of her spectral robes trailing like mist behind her. “The lion is, after all, a symbol of strength, courage, and pride…attributes civilizations have revered for centuries as well as one of Hogwarts very own Founders as I am suuuuuuure you are all very well aware of. The Greeks gave us the story of the Nemean lion, whose hide was impervious to weapons and was ultimately bested by Heracles in one of his labors. In some Mesopotamian star charts, the lion constellation is tied to the goddess Ishtar, whoooooooooo is primarily known for her roles as the goddess of love, war, and fertility. Well spotted, dearie. A solid reminder that even the shooooooooortest names can carry the loooooooongest shadows of meaning.”


“Aries,” she said fondly, as though the name of the constellation were an old acquaintance. Which was partially true, though an old acquaintance for someone signiiiiiificantly younger than herself felt a bit silly to coin. “A fitting start for someone with your sense of curiosity, Miss Bay.”
She drifted a step closer, her voice laced with a mild, scholarly amusement, and her words directed to the entirety of the class and not simply at the young Hufflepuff transfer. “Now, I’ve heard quite a few students today mention their zodiac signs—and it always delights me. Not because I put stock in Astrology myself,” she added as a reminder, “but because it means you’re asking questions. Seeking stories. And that, my dear, is the very first step in becoming an astronomer.”

She glided slowly through starlight cast by the enchanted dome, flapping her arms a bit as though she were conducting an orchestra. “Aries, as a constellation, is often linked to the golden ram of Greek myth. A creature of salvation and sacrifice, its fleece later became the prize of the Argonauts. But beyond the myth, Aries has guided agricultural calendars, shaped navigation routes, and even marked the beginning of the zodiac year for many ancient cultures such as the Babylonians whooooooooooooo are ALSO often credited with formalizing the zodiac as we know it today.”