Days of Old
Celeste shot along the snowy ground at a speed that had her keeping up with the strong beat of Orion’s wings. She passed over leagues and leagues of the barren snowy earth until her heart felt hot within her and her breathing came hard and fast. She came to a stop below the now circling dragon, who blew out an appreciative blast of air and rained down a gloriously warm blast of dragon fire over her. It warmed her pleasantly through and she flicked her tongue to catch the scents of woodsmoke and ozone.
Your speed and stamina increases every day, Sweet One. Orion’s thoughts came through clearly to her. You are ready to be a defender, should the need ever arise. Which skills are you to use first?
Strength first. Then petrification. Then the stare. Then the bite. Celeste recited. I loathe the stare. I am so used to shielding my gaze I think it would be difficult to unshield it if necessary.
I am pleased your first instinct is not murder, but you must defend your own life if you are to defend others. You are wise to hold that as a last resort, though. If someone attacks you at close range enough to bite them, then you can be assured that they intend your doom. But your sight is long ranging. It is wise to keep it cloaked as long as possible.
The dragon walked beside her and Celeste smiled to think of the twisting line that she would be leaving behind in the snow, and the huge draconian footprints beside her.
Lord Godric wishes to see you when we return. Orion said. He and Lady Rowena.
Celeste’s heartbeat quickened. Are they…are they considering?
They have been experimenting. Orion’s mental voice seemed…disapproving. And they wish to attempt it. But there is no guarantee, Celeste. The original ritual has been lost to time. We can continue as we have been. Your mental magic is…
Nothing compared to what I could do. Celeste cut him off and then hung her head. You seek to protect me.
I would that I had never told them my tale, even though they still do not know it was my own. I would that I had never had them meet you. But alas. Celeste, there are many of my kind who dwell in the wilds. You can converse with us, so be one of us. Learn the ancient ways of the dragons. Live as a dragon.
Celeste scoffed aloud, a hissing sound that sprayed the snow in front of her and carried through the stillness of the morning. Oh, yes. I shall barely be noticed.
“Have you the breath of fire, Celeste?
“Nay, but poisoned fangs, best beware.
“We hunt, Celeste. Come fly with us!
“Alas, I’ve no wings. Fare you well, though!
“Very well, watch over our young while we hunt!
“Of course, I shall not take my eyes off of them. Did I e’re venture to mention that my eyes are death?”
“Well, just stand and keep watch on the cliffside and keep out enemies. It’s a bit steep, but just cling on with your claws and all shall be well.”
“Yes, about my claws…well, really…about my feet…”
Celeste, Orion spoke sadly.
Someone has to be the last, Orion. Celeste spoke sadly. It is the nature of things. I’m grateful to you that though I shall die unique, I shall not die alone.
You still need not go through this. It is a painful and rigorous process. And you are a beautiful marvelous creature. You need nothing else to be exceptional.
Alas, Orion, being exceptional is my burden. I grow so weary of it. I crave belonging above all else.
Orion stepped his huge dragon self over her and snuggled down over her, like a dragon sitting on its eggs in a nest. And honestly, that was nearly correct. Celeste felt a well of emotion rise up in her and she fought to keep control of the strange mix of comfort, affection, and long ago pain that welled up in her.
I know it is a poor substitute for what you deserve. Orion said gently. And I can never be the family long lost to you just as I can never begrudge you making the choice before you. But I have tended and loved you from the moment I found you. And you have a home with me should the skies fall. Tell me you know this?
Celeste released a keening cry and pressed her face against the dragon’s cheek. You are my family, Orion. That will not change, skies falling, form changing, or not.
They wish to be your kin. Orion said softly. In the way that I have cared for you, in the way that I loved my long lost Cassandra and Corvus and Carina. And it would be good for you to have kin. I just ask that I am not forgotten.
Never. You are my heart’s blood. A sire when no sire was left.
They wish to use blood magic and become your sire and dam.
Then we will call you another male human relative so there will be no confusion. Whom shall you be?
Cousin. Grandfather. Uncle.
What is Uncle?
Brother of your dam or sire.
You are brother-kin with them.
In spirit, if nothing else. Orion sighed and gave the top of her head a comforting lick, his tongue steaming against her scales. Uncle, then? That would make you my niece.
Is this acceptable?
If you insist upon this choice, then yes. But my heart calls you daughter.
Pure love steamed through her. I love you, Orion. You are sky sent kin when I had nothing.
I was nothing. Had lost all. Until a little hatchling gave me purpose and hope again. I cannot keep you from the lure of curiosity that caught me. But I shall ever be near should you have need of me.
Celeste curled up in the warmth of his words and embrace, little knowing how horribly true they would become.
She rose from the cauldron on trembling human legs, shivering in the sudden chill of the darkened chamber as the warmth of the simmering potions and spells drained away. A warm blanket was wrapped around her, and two sets of strong arms lifted her from the cauldron. Soft lips kissed her on both cheeks, and she was bundled away into a bed. Her skin - skin? - soft and pebbled with cold chill seemed to cover far too little space. She was tiny; she was speckled; she was soft and vulnerable. She was afraid.
“Celeste, dear,” came the familiar voice, but it was feminine, human, not the one she wanted.
“Orion!” She called, and flinched at the sound of her own voice. High and warbling, without a hint of a hiss or a growl. Oh, gods of the earth and sky, she was different. Not one single hint of her was the same. And she had known this…she had known it, but to feel it…there was not enough skin - where were her scales! - what was she to do with these fingers and toes? There was not enough of her - where was the rest of her bones?
“All is well, Celeste,” a pleasant baritone voice said. She turned from it, buried her face in a pillow that was entirely too soft; she could lose this tiny body in it she would drown or suffocate… “Everything went perfectly. You are beautiful and whole. Diagnostics show…”
“I. Need. Orion!” Her voice came out and it held the mix of hiss and roar that a basilisk scream should and the room of whispers silenced, then whispers started up. She did not know how long they had lasted before heavy footfalls sounded. A door swung open. More footfalls, the bed shifted slightly.
“Celeste. Sweet One. You asked for me?”
She rolled over and opened her arms and let the only true father she had ever known wrap her in his embrace.
“I know it is hard, Sweet One.” Orion the man said, holding her close. “Believe me, I know. But you are loved and cared for, Celeste. And you will be able to walk freely among the humans. And once you are fully settled in this body, I will begin working with you so that you can transition at will.”
“Salazar will teach her,” a woman’s voice said sharply. “He is best with animals and transfiguration. You must stick with your warding, Orion. If we are ever to be able to safely begin the school.”
“Yes, Rowena,” Orion sent Celeste a wink that told Celeste they would still practice together in secret. “Of course. We should all stay within our expertise.”
“I am tiny.” Celeste said, staring aware that her arms could not reach fully around Orion’s shoulders. “I am…I am a fledgling?”
“It is often the case in Animagi transformation.” Rowena’s gentle hand smoothed back her hair. “We half expected you to be a baby.”
“If you were a typical human, I would put you at about eight or nine.” Orion said, gently caressing her back through the blanket. “You’re a lovely child, Celeste. You’ve Godrick’s golden hair and Rowena’s fair skin. Your eyes are as green as your underbelly in basilisk form.”
“I am a child,” Celeste sighed. “I must grow up again?”
“Alas. Should have kept the scales, Sweet One. Skin is much more complicated.” Uncle Orion was laughing softly. “You’ll want some clothes and a bath, but maybe sleep, for now. What think you, Rowena?”
Rowena Ravenclaw’s hand skimmed through her hair and down her back. “Yes. Lie back, little one.”
“No, I…I need Uncle Orion. Please. Let him stay for a while?”
There was a brief pause.
“Very well. And call me Mother, dear.”
“Uncle Wards, will Uncle Rion be back soon?” Celeste whispered to the walls, having looked both ways first. She had learned quickly that people looked at you funny if you talked to the walls, even in an enchanted castle.
Two Days, Sweet Celeste. The voice of her uncle warmed her heart. She knew it wasn’t him, really. But it was something close to his essence.
“The school will be opening soon. He will surely be here for that, right?”
Amusement rumbled lightly through the walls of Hogwarts Castle. Orion Will Be Here For The Opening. He May Even Teach. Focus On Yourself, Child. Are You Prepared?
Celeste nodded, patting the wall. “Yes. I am so ready. I am so excited!” She had been a human for three years. Godric and Rowena had been wonderful parents. And she felt ready to enter in school at an assumed eleven years of age, for the first year of classes for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As she had always known, she had magic. And now, she would be able to mix with other children. She would be able to learn all fields of magic. She would be able to enjoy this place where her Uncle’s wards ran through the walls.
Except…Orion did not return.
She was sorted into her House via the already grumpy hat from her father’s head. She had met girls her age…she had made friends. But…no Uncle Orion sat at the teacher’s table or in the Great Hall. No Uncle Orion lounging in her parents’ quarters when she went to say hello the next day. No Uncle Orion. And she found that everyone else could barely look at her when she asked about him, could barely say his name.
“Uncle Oberon,” she whispered to the wards late at night through her tears. “What has happened? Where is Uncle Orion?”
The magic of the ward warmed around her, a soothing wave of purest love. She wept harder. Orion Dwells With You Always, Sweet One. Fret Not For Him. Live Your Life Well.
“Is he dead?” Celeste wept. “Why does he not return? He’s dead, isn’t he?”
He Is Not Slain.Uncle Oberon told her and wasn’t that just cheery to hear. And A Dragon Cannot Die A Natural Death. He Lives. But He Slumbers. His Body Feels No Pain.
“He’s…he’s asleep? He could come back to me…but he’s asleep?” Celeste’s anger rose up in her, and she didn’t believe it.
The Sleep Is Not Of His Choosing, Sweet One. If He Could, He Would Return To You.
“I need him. I need to help him. Tell me where he is and how to help him!”
It Is Impossible For Now. Perhaps, When You Are Of Age. When You Are Able To Inherit From the Founders. When You Can Find Someone Equal And Opposite To Your Power. But Not Before. I Will Seek What Help I May. For Now, You Must Learn and Grow. You Must Become A Great And Powerful Witch. As You Always Would Have Done, Orion Or No.
“I will study,” Celeste vowed. “I will. But my parents do not know where to begin. They seem…they do not seem eager to help. They think he has run away and left us all.”
They Have Reason To Suspect Treachery. Uncle Oberon said, tone flat. Do Not Depend Upon Them For This, Child. Let Them Teach You Well. Someday, Fates Willing, We Will Help Orion. But Until That Time, Celeste Rowena Gryffindor, You Shall Become the Greatest Witch of The Age. Just As Orion Oberon Black Would Will It. So Mote It Be.
And Hell, that’s almost the way it happened. Celeste grew up Gryffindor brave, Ravenclaw intelligent, Slytherin cunning, and Hufflepuff generous. That is, she did until she reached magical maturity at seventeen. And had almost graduated Hogwarts. And then came war. And sacrifices had to be made.
The goblin attacks came without cease. No one knew why. Hell, her father even offered them back the famed goblin made Sword of Gryffindor if the endless army of Goblins, Trolls, and Giants would stop besieging Hogwarts.
They spat in his face. Quite literally.
It was a time of chaos. Salazar opened his chamber to tend to the casualties. Helga worked night and day with the kitchens and potions. Rowena poured over books and maps, schematics and strategy, pausing occasionally to unleash some great weapon of war or other. The wards held, dear Merlin, did the wards hold. It was the most beautiful and secure magic one could find anywhere. Not a single wixen died if they stayed within Hogwarts Wards, but even the bountiful magic of Helga Hufflepuff could not provide forever, and supply runs were slowly becoming more and more necessary. The surrounding villages had no such power undergirding them, and wixen and magical creatures of all kinds would flee to Hogwarts for safety and be welcomed by the wards, but many were not fast enough and were slain in the journey.
And Celeste could not change.
She had tried desperately, until hot red blood poured from her eyes, ears and nose.
Helga Hufflepuff and Salazar Slytherin always comforted her and tended her. She always refused her father’s phoenix tears for healing. Her mother would only stare at her, strained, and then turn back to her books, maps, and schematics.
But a basilisk could turn the tide. A basilisk could end the siege and they all knew it.
But everyone felt they could hold out, that the daily magical barrages from the four most powerful Wixen of the age would eventually drive off the interlopers.
That was until Morgana arrived.
She was tall and fair, with curling black hair that flowed down her back. She wore a glistening crystal crown, her white robes flowed with an iridescent sheen, and a golden sword glowed at her hip. A bandolier of daggers shimmered around her armored form, and a bow and arrow were tied to her back. She parted the goblin ranks like a sea, sitting atop a massive armored pure white unicorn like the fey princess she was rumored to be. She spoke in a clear rich voice that would sink into one's bones.
“You will give me what I am owed.”
It was Godric, of course, who answered. “I do not know of what you speak, nor whom you are.”
“I am Morgan Le Fay, Morgana, the Morrigan.” Her voice seemed to shake the very earth. “You have stolen, you have hidden, you have degraded what is mine. I could be content at the loss had the loss been content so to be, but the blood cries out, Little Wizard. The blood cries to me and will not be silenced.”
“This is a place of learning, Witch.” Godric called out again. “The only blood that has been shed here is by yon goblins and trolls and giants that stand with you. Besides that, blood has only been shed in defense of our lives. Our treasures are few and we have offered them for the safety of our people. We have been refused. What are you asking in exchange? Speak plainly.”
“Your blood wards are impressive. The most beautiful I have seen. And yet…” Morgana slid from her huge beast and stepped forward. In a few steps, she had reached the barrier of the wards…and stepped through, the wards washing over her like a gentle rain.
Gasps of horror, everyone readied their weapons.
“Come, come. Did you think even he could ward me away from what is mine? Could hands and a mind of my own creation keep me back? Did you truly believe you could desecrate my masterpiece and I would not know?”
“We…there was no desecration,” Rowena choked out. “It was. It was a willing sacrifice.”
Morgana’s laugh made the earth tremble. “Lying, little witch of Wisdom? To the Morrigan, no less? Stupidity must run in your veins as thickly as treachery. Do you think I would have awakened from years of slumber for a willing sacrifice? Do you think I would have crawled my way back to my strength to answer anything but a cry of agony from my own? Behold, the work of six years, my little witch. This body. An army of thousands. And you think to deny me? Give. Him. Back.”
Celeste felt the word burst from her, but honestly, in her heart of hearts, she knew. “Who?”
Morgana fixed her endless stare upon her and her face softened. “Another one? How, little witch? You should have been mine. When we have him, come with us. We shall…”
“No! She is ours!” Her parents cried out, but Helga and Salazar were the ones who closed ranks, who stepped in front of Celeste and left her peering over their shoulders.
Morgana’s amber eyes narrowed. “My patience reaches its limitations, little witches and wizards. Produce him, or you shall see this castle rent from tower to dungeon.”
“There are children, the old, mothers inside, Morgana,” Celeste found herself calling out. “I’ll do anything…I’ll go with you if…”
“Then tell your masters to set Orion free,” Morgana’s voice was coming out in a roar. “Or they shall receive the just deserts of their treachery.”
Celeste turned on her parents, on Salazar and Helga, and read the guilt in their faces. Fury scalded through Celeste. Even as she struggled to believe it, couldn’t believe it.
Orion.
It was Salazar who stepped forward and bowed deeply. “Many magics bind Orion.” He spoke humbly and Celeste’s vision began to tunnel, her heart thunder in her chest. “It will take some time for us to free him. I beg you, step back behind the wards. Give our people the illusion of safety. It will take a week, perhaps.”
“You have three days,” Morgana stalked back the way she had come. “Recall that your wards are useless against me. I could walk through at any moment. Any treachery, and I will split your castle asunder.”
“Yes. Three days.” Salazar said with a bow.
And by the time Morgana was outside the wards, Celeste’s memories went dark and murky, like swimming at the bottom of a lake. Cool and familiar magic washed over her (Salazar). The soothing sound of a familiar voice (Rowena), the familiar lullaby of a Phoenix (Godric), and the comforting touch of familiar hands (Helga) all pulled her into a sleep she did not want but could not resist.
And as she sank into a semi-conscious state, it struck her like a knife. These people, her family, were much too good at this. Too quick. Too skilled at subduing a human whose blood ran with the magicks of ancient creatures. Too quick to execute such a plan the moment Morgana’s back was turned. And it had been planned. And Helga, with all her resourcefulness, Godric, with all his impulsive courage, Salazar with all his sharpness and cunning…none of them could have prepared this with such mastery. She knew, as she was dragged into the castle, that no one but the cleverest witch of the age could have prepared this attack and the meticulous steps that followed. The plan had been there, waiting. Among her mother’s books and scrolls and schematics.
No one but Rowena Ravenclaw could have had such a plan lying in wait.
Forcing Celeste into a murky, submissive state. Shifting the wounded to the Great Hall. Readying the Chamber for a complex ritual. Placing her into another cauldron, forcing her through another change. Drawing forth Celeste’s blood. And her venom. Tethering it to the wards. And seeding her venom into the outer wards. Using her blood to bring safety. Using her venom to bring death.
No one, not even an immortal fae, could defeat a castle with wards seething with the incurable venom of a basilisk.
Celeste’s blood in the ward flowed back to her, even in her unconscious state, carrying the tale of battle. It was no battle. It was a slaughter. Morgana and her troops had clashed directly with the wards and only Morgana had survived the direct blow. She had staggered back, screaming in agony and had devolved quickly into madness, into hallucination. Her troops had not been so fortunate. A hissing green fog had seeped slowly from the poisoned wards onto the battlefield, and the massive army had had no choice but to flee for their lives. Morgana had, when last seen, been picked up and hauled away by one of her giants, fighting and snarling to be released.
And Celeste had broken. Mind muddled by invasive magic, heart weary and embittered, she had no desire to return to her human state. Even if the static nature of the Chamber had not made it difficult to do so. Even if no one but Godric had even deigned to visit her, to plead with her. She was tied to the wards, now. Just like Orion. She had been used for her blood. Just like Orion. And unlike Orion, her own venom had been used to take thousands of lives. And like the blood of Orion, Celeste’s blood had been used to defend this damn school. These walls of stone that imprisoned her only true family.
Time passed strangely for the immortal being.
Orion remained imprisoned somewhere within the walls of the castle he had helped create.
Celeste could only wander the inner workings of the castle, vaguely aware that she was imprisoned near him. And somehow, content to be so. The least she could do for the man was remain in the body she should have found contentment in. The least she could do was mourn the father who had truly loved her. The father who had, thankfully, never been quite human. She never wanted to return to her human body ever again. And so, as the centuries passed, she forgot she had ever done so, could ever do so.
She wandered the castle through the pipes, blood slowly draining from her, feeding the wards. She slept for decades and centuries and forgot the feeling of a body. Hades, she forgot all human warmth and contact. Until a random Speaker or two would pop up through the centuries. But then, time would pass and she would forget again.
Until a boy with a perfect soul showed up with his delightful best friend.
And then, the poor soul was trapped in the diary.
And then, two perfect souls and a strange mirror trapped in the diary.
And then, the mirror soul began guiding her thoughts.
And then she was dying, having killed a sad little boy and a little redheaded child.
And then the same boy was holding her, and her mate was hugging her, and her uncle and her father were willing her back into existence.
And then, somewhere amidst all of that…Celeste remembered she’d had a human body.
And so, she agonizingly assumed it. And her mates fled. Until now, when they were holding her close. With her true father. Orion Oberon Black.