Beyond the Veil

In truth, if you had asked Celeste if she had any doubts, she would admit that as she stepped through the Veil and felt nothing, that the thought of Barnabus Stroud’s words being a load of poppycock were true. As she’d stepped through the Veil, it took a moment before anything happened, but then she started to feel weightless. But that’s how it always goes before something bad happens.

Celeste had always hated Portkeys and there was a very good reason why. The world spun violently, a kaleidoscope of colours and sounds overwhelming her sense. She felt as though she were flying and falling all at once, her body being pulled and stretched in impossible ways. Just when she thought she couldn’t endure any more, the chaos stopped and her vision went dark.

When Celeste’s eyes eventually prized themselves open, she was overcome with light, the sun glaring down harshly on her as she lay on a hard surface. Cobblestone, she came to find out as her hands brushed the golden flooring which lined the alleyway she had landed in. Despite the looming buildings she was between, the sun seemed to be high in the sky perfectly placed to cause her already throbbing head to pound even more.

Moving slowly, Celeste peeled herself off the floor, a pained groan escaping her lips, leaning against the brick of the building as she dusted herself off and waited for the world to stop spinning.

Bag, yes. Coat, yes. Wand? Celeste patted herself down, finding her trusty wand still tucked safely within her sleeve. 12 ¾ inches, ebony wood, phoenix feather core and flexible.

Finally feeling like she was able to breathe again with her wand in hand, she poked her head out of the alleyway, eyes wide as she took in the people around her.

A man sat by the side of a door, clearly drunk, his clothing tatters as he laughs to himself. Children running between the many people as they went about their day.

Her chest heaved as cloaked men bearing banners of a three headed dragon marched down the cobbled street, disappearing round the corner, her eyes trailing after the banner.

As she stepped out of the alleyway, dozens of eyes -suspicious, curious and disapproving – watched her every move. Her clothes, tailored for the Wizarding World, stood out against the muted tunics and simple dresses of the crowd. Whispers followed her as she moved, and her cheeks flushed with discomfort.

Celeste ducked back into the Alley she had landed in and breather, clearing her thoughts.

Blend in, stayed unnoticed, gather information, she thought. It was the strategy Snape had taught her during the war, the Potions professor she once disliked, becoming the reason she stood here today.

She tightened her grip on her bag as she stepped onto the main street once more, holding her head high, as Narcissa has taught her, and ventured towards what she assumed was the market, her silver eyes scanning for anything that could give her a clue as to where she was.

Celeste wandered the market, avoiding people as they went about there day when she saw it.

A woman shouting about her wares as people walk by her stall caught her eye.

With a glance at what the woman was selling, she caught sight of a simple, green dress, reminiscent of her Hogwarts House colours. Digging out her coin purse and checking for the Golden Galleons, Celeste cautiously approached the woman who seemed eager for Celeste’s attention.

“Excuse me, how much for the dress and cloak?” Celeste asked, pointing at the bundle of cloth.

“Well, usually I’d sell for 75 silver stags, but for a pretty one like you, I’ll let you have it for 50. Can’t have you walking around in those clothes. You’ll stick out like a sore thumb here in Kings Landing!” The woman said, a smile on her face.

King’s Landing. The name stirred no recognition in Celeste’s mind, but it was a start. She pulled out some Sickles, holding her hand out and offered them to the woman. “I’m afraid this is what I have. It’s pure silver. Would you accept?”

The woman’s eyes lit up and she nodded her head, taking the silver and inspecting it closely. Once it passed her inspection, the woman pocketed the coins and handed over the dress, wishing Celeste a good day and ending the transaction swiftly.

Celeste blinked at the woman as she quickly went back to shouting about her wares, hoping to attract others. The young woman shrugged, finding another alleyway to hide in as she changed.

The dress was a little snug around her hips and Celeste would never admit how long it took her to lace up the corset back, but as she looked down at herself, she thought she stood a chance of blending in now and she was proven correct when she stepped back out on to the streets and not a soul looked at her longer than a curious glance.

After hours of wandering, Celeste found what she assumed to be an Inn. The sign creaked as it swayed in the breeze, the crudely painted image of a tankard accompanied the name of the business: The Copper Flask.

The Inn’s interior was dimly lit, with the smell of stale ale and a sweat heavy in the air. A burly man with a greasy apron on stood behind the bar, his fingers wrapped around a half-cleaned tankard. His eyes flickered up as Celeste entered, her gaze sweeping around the room in curiosity.

Approaching cautiously, Celeste spoke, hoping her nerves didn’t rattle her voice. “I’m looking for a place to stay.” She said carefully.

The man squinted at her, his thick brows furrowing. “You got coin?” He asked gruffly, his voice low.

Celeste hesitated. She had no idea what the currency exchange was, but assumed a Galleon would work. She pulled a single coin out and placed it on the bar, the man grabbing it quickly and biting down on it before nodding at her.

“Gold’s gold, I suppose.” He theorised. “It’ll do. Room’s upstairs. Second on the left. No trouble.” He warned eyeing her in a way that put even McGonagall to shame.

“Thank you.” She said quickly, grabbing the key and retreating up the stairs.

The room was sparse, almost as bad as the room she stayed in at 12 Grimmauld Place. Cobwebs hung in the corners, the floor was creaky and the furniture consisted of a single bed, which she was sceptical as to whether it would hold her weight, and a nightstand which held a small, flickering candle.

Celeste dropped her bag to the floor, hearing the many books inside thump together and she winced, hoping nothing had been damaged. Carefully lying down on the bed, she let out a shaky breath, her eyes staring up at the ceiling.

She was safe, at least for the moment, but her mind raced with questions. Where exactly was she? How far had she travelled? The people spoke in an accent which felt ancient and alien, but familiar enough for her to get by. But the biggest question on her mind, if she managed to make it through the Veil, had her father?

Pulling out Barnabus Stroud’s journal, she turned to the next blank page, the book only being partway filled. Grabbing a Never-Ending Quill (a gift from Weasley Wizard Wheezes), she began to write what she knew.

1. The Veil was a Portkey – Confirmed

2. The people here seem medieval. From the architecture, to the clothing and mannerisms. Did the Wizarding Community exist here?

3. Dragons. The banner depicted a 3-headed dragon. Could they exist here?

She leaned back in the chair, tapper the quill against the edge of the table. None of it made sense yet, but the pieces were there. She just needed time – and information – to fit them together.

The next morning, Celeste ventured out cautiously, her want hidden beneath the folds of her new cloak, and her bag safely tucked into her side.

She sat at a table in the corner, looking at the broth that she was given with disdain, suddenly missing meals at Hogwarts as she brought the spoon to her nose and grimaced at the smell.

“...Lord Black…”

Celeste froze, her heart skipping a beat. She turned toward the source of the voice: two women gossiping as they cleared tables.

“Lord Black? The foreign one, who’s close to the king?” One woman asked, her tone curious.

“Aye. He’s back soon I think. Strange fellow, that one. Not from Westeros, but he’s for the King’s ear. There’s been mention he’s magic.” The other whispers back, but Celeste could hear it all.

She continue listening, feigning eating the food in front of her. She caught further snippets of the conversation, speaking of a man with dark hair and silver eyes with a commanding presence, a mysterious past, and a knack for winning favour in the Red Keep.

Sirius. This had to be Sirius.

The grandeur of the Red Keep loomed before Celeste, its tall walls and intimidating spires causing Celeste to pause as she got closer. She took a deep breathe before blending into the throng of commoners near the gate, adjusting the cloak so the hood lay low across her face.

A line of noblewomen and servants passed through the towering gates, their presence drawing little attention from the gold-cloaked guards. Celeste followed at a distance, observing every move. Her heart pounded as she noted the sheer number of guards stationed at the entrance and realised that infiltrating the Keep was not a simple feat.

Her opportunity came in the form of a hurried servant – a scullery maid burdened with an overflowing basket of linens. The woman stumbled near the entrance, her face red with frustration as she tried to collect the fallen items.

“Here, let me help you.” Celeste spoke, stepping forward quickly. Her voice was calm and soothing, though her mind raced. She bent to gather the linens before the maid could protest.

The maid eyes her warily. “Thank you,” she muttered, straightening the basket. “Who are you, then? Don’t recall seeing you before.”

“I’ve just arrived in Kings Landing,” Celeste said, carefully choosing her words. “I heard there might be work in the Red Keep. I don’t have much, but I’m strong, and I can work hard.”

The maid sighed, her shoulders slumping. “You’ll need more than that to survive here, but… We’re always short-handed. Come on then. I’ll take you to the Head Housekeeper. She’ll decide if you’re worth keeping.”

The maid signalled for Celeste to follow, and they made their way through the servants entrance, down many flights of stairs until they reached the kitchens. They were a maze of fire and steam, filled with the clatter of pots and the sharp voices of cooks barking orders.

She was put in front of a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and red hair which was streaked with silver and tied back in a bun. Maren, her name was, and she carried herself with an air of a commander.

“Who are you and why are you loitering in my kitchen?” Maren’s accent was Northern. She was calm, but her voice was sharp, a note to not deceive her.

“I’m Celeste, my lady.” Celeste spoke, keeping the nervousness from her voice and dropping into a clumsy curtsy. “I’ve come to seek work. I was told you may have need of another scullery maid.”

Maren’s sharp gaze swept over Celeste, causing her skin to prickle slightly.

“And what make you think I have room for another pair of hands in my kitchen?” Maren asked coolly, folding her arms across her chest.

Celeste hesitated, her thoughts conjuring up the best story. “I’ve no family, my lady. My father was lost during battle and my mother to illness. I’ve worked hard since I was little, and I know how to keep my head down. I’m quick to learn, and I’ll do whatever’s asked of me. Please, my lady, give me a chance.”

Celeste watched as Maren tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “Do you know how many girls come to my door with stories like yours? Begging for a place in this castle?” She took a step closer and Celeste had to bite her tongue lest she insult the woman. “Why should I choose you over the next one who comes knocking?”

Celeste’s hands curled into fists, tugging at her cloak as she refused to look away from Maren’s harsh stare. “Because I don’t want charity. I was to work. I’ve nothing to offer but my strength and my word, but I swear to you, I won’t fail. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you realise I am valuable to you.”

For a moment Maren said nothing and Celeste worried she’d said the wrong thing. Finally, Maren’s face softened and she nodded, smiling at Celeste.

“Very well. You’ll start in scullery – hauling water and scrubbing pots. If you falter, you’re out. If I catch you slacking, you’re out. You prove yourself, you’ll find we’re like a family down here.”

Celeste nodded. “Thank you, my lady. I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

Maren laughed, a loud, booming noise which reminded Celeste of Hagrid in a way. “We’ll see if you’re thanking me after a week of scrubbing grease from the roasting spits! Report to cook Lyra, she’ll set you to work.”

Celeste nodded, keeping her smile until Maren disappeared. As soon as she rounded the corner, Celeste’s eyes widened and she leaned against the wall. What have I signed myself up for?