Echoes of the Past
The earliest memory Celeste Lyra Black could confidently remember was one she cherished. A babe, not even a year old, yet Celeste could clearly recall the stormy eyes of a man who looked at her as though she was the greatest treasure in the world. The love and adoration that was in his eyes as he loomed over her, a hulking figure to her small one, was something she dreamt of when she tried to escape the horrors of her reality.
He was talking to her, yet she could not make out the words, too jumbled to hear properly, as though she were underwater, but she knew what he spoke was soft and loving.
Then a woman appears. Her dark eyes matched his, her smile radiant as she gazed upon Celeste, her creation, her family. Celeste can’t help but reach up, desperate to be held. And then, the memory fades. Lost to the ages, she cannot remember who these people are.
It is only when Celeste turns 7 years old that she asks Narcissa who they are.
Narcissa Malfoy, for all she was seen as to the Wizarding World, was a caring and doting mother. When her cousin had been sent to Azkaban and the child’s mother succumbed to her illness, she could not face subjecting the child to a Muggle upbringing. Instead, Celeste was brought in to the Malfoy family, much to the chagrin of Lucius, and raised alongside Draco as though she was Narcissa’s own. From there on, she was bought up as a Pure-Blooded witch should be, and Celeste believed that Narcissa was her mother.
During a particularly awful argument with Draco, it was only then that Celeste realised her dark curls were a stark difference to the Malfoy’s platinum blonde. And so, the child sat down with the woman she thought to be her mother and questioned why. At 7 years old, Celeste learned who her real parents were.
Come her first year in Hogwarts, she was sorted into Slytherin, something Narcissa boasted about in her letters, secretly pleased that Celeste had not followed in the footsteps of her blood-traitor father.
Celeste tried to be the perfect Slytherin and Pure-Blood daughter Narcissa had groomed her to be, and it worked. Up until her third year at school.
After a late night trip to the kitchens, Celeste found she was being trailed by a dog. A mangy thing, with black fur sticking all over the place. It blended into the shadows, and had Celeste not heard it, she wouldn’t have ever known it was there. But when it whined and she saw him, something in those stormy eyes called to her. They were familiar, yet, no, they couldn’t be the same as in her memories. Still, she stopped and shared her procured haul with the mutt, petting it cautiously and scrunching her face in disgust as she was rewarded in the best way dogs know how. A large, sloppy kiss up her cheek.
Throughout the year, she found herself seeing the dog more and more, as whispers of Sirius Black’s escape from Azkaban became more frequent. It was only when Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, had requested her presence did she learn the truth.
That summer was spent with her real father. The meetings were strained, Celeste still seeing the man as a stranger, but the bond was there, begging to become stronger, which, after a lot of awkward conversations, it did. Their love of sweets, and practical jokes slowly made way for a deeper bond and Celeste found that her views on life were warped, the Malfoy’s upbringing causing a hatred for people who could not control their blood. Celeste grew with her father around, and even the Golden Trio were able to look past her Slytherin roots, the four growing close as the years past.
Then, Celeste’s world stopped spinning. Watching Bellatrix hurl a spell at Sirius felt like it happened in slow motion. Everything stopped, his eyes meeting hers. Sirius looks at his daughter for the final time, taking note of how much she looked like him, from the dark hair, to the stormy eyes, before the Veil takes him. Celeste doesn’t know how to cope after losing him.
Following the war, Celeste had hoped that the constant pressure of Voldemort being defeated and her friends talking to her again, would help her to find peace. Yet she kept coming back to that damned Veil.
Training as an Unspeakable gave her the access she needed in order to get closer to understanding the Veil. Night after night, she stood, staring into the misty fog hoping for a glimpse of what was beyond it. Nothing worked. She’d yelled, cried, pleaded, yet it always stayed silent. Her free time was spent pouring over text books, ancient tomes and finding relics in hopes to finding the answer when, buried deep within a passage, there was a hint to the Veil being more than it seemed. Hidden in the departments archives, Celester stumbled upon a journal from another Unspeakable from the early 19th century, a man, named Barnabus Stroud, theorised that the Veil was not a gateway to Death, but a portkey of sorts to somewhere unknown.
That was enough for Celeste. That night, she returned to the Veil, a bag with the undetectable extension charm, held her life within it, her books and magical tools along with the few photographs she treasured. Her thick coat was wrapped around her and her face showed her determination. She would find out herself what the Veil really was.
Without a second thought, Celeste stepped towards the Veil and allowed it to pull her in.
When Harry broke into the small cottage Celeste called home, he found letters on the table, each addressed to the people she loved most in the world. He picked up the one addressed to him, opening it to read her cursive writing.
To my God-Brother Harry,
Please forgive me for putting this in a letter. I admit I am a coward for not being able to face you when I tell you this.
I am leaving. I have found evidence that my father is alive but lost and I wish to be with him. This decision has not come easily, and I hope that one day you will realise why I have to do this.
I hope that we will be reunited, though I cannot guarantee this.
Thank you for staying by my side and believing in me, even as others didn’t. You have been my greatest friend and ally and I shall miss you. I wish you all the best in the future.
From,
Celeste Lyra Black