Beyond the Veil

Helaena stood by the hearth, her hands clasped in front of her as she looked at Celeste, her eyes shimmering with quiet gratitude following their lesson.

“You’ve given me hope, Celeste,” she said softly, her voice like a gentle breeze. “For the first time, I don’t feel so... lost.”

Celeste smiled warmly, her heart swelling at the sincerity in Helaena’s words. “You were never lost, Helaena,” she replied, stepping closer to her. “You just needed someone to remind you of how strong you are.”

Helaena blinked, her gaze flicking to the side as if to hide the tears welling in her eyes. But then she reached out, pulling Celeste into a soft, hesitant hug. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice trembling just slightly.

Celeste wrapped her arms around Helaena, holding her tightly. “Always,” she said softly, her voice filled with quiet certainty. “I’ll always be here for you.”

The moment was peaceful, serene — until a soft knock at the door broke the quiet. Both women turned, their gazes shifting to the door just as it creaked open.

Aemond’s sharp, pale face appeared, his single eye flicking between them.

“Sister,” he said smoothly, though his gaze lingered on Celeste longer than necessary. “Am I interrupting?”

Helaena smiled faintly, stepping back from Celeste. “No, Aemond,” she said softly, her voice calm. “We were just finishing.”

Aemond stepped into the room, his tall frame casting a shadow across the threshold. His gaze shifted to Celeste again, his expression unreadable.

“May I have a word?” he asked, his voice low but measured.

Celeste blinked, her heart giving a small, unexpected flutter. “Of course,” she said, her voice steady despite the slight quickening of her pulse.

Helaena tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Celeste,” she said softly, her tone warm.

Celeste nodded, returning the smile before following Aemond out into the hallway. The door closed softly behind them, leaving the two of them standing in the dim light of the corridor.

The silence stretched between them as they began to walk. Aemond’s hands were clasped behind his back, his posture as rigid and controlled as ever. Celeste kept her own hands folded in front of her, her steps light and careful beside his.

It was Aemond who spoke first.

“You’ve been spending a great deal of time with my sister,” he said softly, his voice low and even. “She seems... calmer.”

Celeste glanced up at him, her eyes meeting his. “Helaena is stronger than she thinks,” she said simply. “She just needed someone to help her see it.”

He hummed softly, his eye flicking forward again. “She trusts you,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Celeste smiled faintly. “I trust her too.”

They fell into silence again, the soft echo of their footsteps the only sound in the empty corridor. Celeste’s heart pounded steadily in her chest, though she didn’t entirely understand why.

When Aemond spoke again, his voice was quieter, more hesitant. “Do you believe in fate, Celeste?”

The question caught her off guard. She glanced at him, her brows furrowing slightly. “Fate?” she echoed softly. “I don’t know. I’ve seen too much to dismiss it, but...” She trailed off, her gaze thoughtful. “I think we make our own choices, even if fate lays the path before us.”

Aemond nodded slowly, his eye fixed ahead. “I’ve always thought of fate as a burden,” he admitted, his voice rawer now, the edges of his control fraying just slightly. “Something you can’t escape. Something that crushes you no matter how hard you fight against it.”

Celeste’s chest tightened. She slowed her steps slightly, turning to look at him fully.

“It doesn’t have to crush you,” she said softly, her voice filled with quiet strength. “Fate may set the stage, but we choose how we act. We decide who we become.”

He stopped walking, his tall frame casting a long shadow in the flickering torchlight. His eye met hers, and for a moment, the cold mask he always wore slipped.

“You truly believe that?” he asked, his voice low and almost desperate.

Celeste stepped closer, her eyes steady and unyielding. “I do,” she said firmly. “And so should you.”

Aemond’s lips parted slightly, his breath slow and deliberate. His gaze searched hers, as though looking for something he couldn’t name.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them was thick, charged with something neither of them dared to acknowledge.

“You’re... unlike anyone I’ve ever met,” Aemond said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t understand you.”

Celeste smiled faintly, though her heart pounded wildly in her chest. “Maybe you don’t need to,” she said softly.

His lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smile, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He took a step closer, his gaze never leaving hers.

“You confuse me,” he admitted, his voice raw and unguarded now. “You make me feel... things I thought I’d buried long ago.”

Her breath caught, her cheeks flushing faintly as she searched for words that wouldn’t come. Her heart twisted painfully, her feelings for him growing with every second that passed.

“Aemond,” she began, her voice barely a whisper. But he silenced her with a small, deliberate step back.

“I’ll escort you to your chambers,” he said, his voice calmer now, though there was still a raw edge to it. “It’s late.”

She nodded slowly, her throat tight, as they resumed walking. The tension lingered, unspoken but undeniable.

When they reached her door, he stopped, turning to face her fully. His expression was softer now, his eye filled with something that made her heart ache.

“Goodnight, Celeste,” he said quietly, his voice almost tender. He reached out, taking her hand gently in his.

For a moment, she thought he might kiss it, but he simply held it, his fingers warm against hers. Her chest felt tight, her heart pounding in a way she couldn’t ignore.

“Goodnight, Aemond,” she whispered, her voice trembling just slightly.

He released her hand, stepping back slowly. His gaze lingered on her for just a moment longer before he turned and walked away.

Celeste watched him go, her heart heavy and her mind racing.

She didn’t know what this was between them — this fragile, dangerous thing that seemed to grow stronger with every passing moment. But she knew one thing for certain.

She was falling for him.

Celeste darted into her room, the weight of realization crashing over her like a tidal wave. She leaned heavily against the door, her chest heaving as her mind replayed his soft gaze, the tender way he spoke.

“You make me feel things I thought I’d buried long ago.”

Her thoughts spiraled, a chaotic storm of conflict and noise. Her mind felt too crowded, too loud, and she despised when it got this way.

Her eyes wandered, landing on the old satchel slumped in the corner of the room. Her bag. The enchanted one. The bag she’d brought through the Veil. She’d tossed it there carelessly after pulling out books for Helaena. In her haste, she hadn’t noticed the contents that had spilled free.

Celeste moved forward, her gaze locking onto a knitted garment crumpled on the floor. Kneeling, her fingers brushed the familiar texture of soft wool. She lifted it to her face, breathing in deeply.

It still carried their scent. Wood smoke. Roast dinners. Home. Even after all this time.

The jumper had been his favorite—its sleeves too long, its stitches slightly uneven where Mrs. Weasley had lovingly mended it.

Memories surged forward, sharp and vivid. She saw him, grinning as he handed it to her one frosty Christmas at Grimmauld Place. It had been the same day Lucius had burned her own jumper, a cruel punishment after discovering its origin.

"We don’t associate with the likes of blood-traitors!" he’d bellowed, his face twisted in rage.

Fred had found her later after she’d escaped from Malfoy Manor, saddened and shivering, and pressed the jumper into her arms with a cheeky grin that softened into something gentler.

"It’s yours now," he’d said, the warmth in his voice chasing away the chill of the moment. "Besides, it looks better on you."

Her chest tightened, her breath trembling as she clutched the jumper to her chest. Fred was gone. Gone, like so many others, stolen by a war that had taken too much.

Her knees buckled slightly, and she sank onto the edge of the bed, the jumper clutched tightly in her arms. The weight of it — of everything — pressed down on her like a suffocating tide.

She hadn’t let herself mourn. Not properly. Not fully. There had always been something else to do, someone else to protect, another battle to fight. But here, in the stillness of the night, the grief she’d buried so deeply began to unravel.

“Fred,” she whispered, her voice breaking as tears spilled down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook, her breath coming in uneven gasps as she pressed her face into the soft fabric of the jumper. “I miss you. I miss all of you.”

Memories flooded her mind.

Fred’s laughter, bright and infectious, lighting up even the darkest corners of Grimmauld Place. Remus’s quiet strength, Tonks’s unshakable optimism, Harry’s determined gaze, Hermione’s steadying wisdom, Ron’s steadfast friendship.

And Draco.

Her throat tightened further as her mind lingered on him — her brother in every way that mattered, the one who had been by her side through the worst of it. She wondered where he was now, if he was safe, if he still thought of her.

The tears came harder, unrelenting.

But as the tears fell, another thought emerged, quiet but resolute.

Sirius.

She exhaled shakily, her fingers loosening their grip on the jumper as she sat back against the edge of the bed. Her eyes flicked to the window, where the last light of the sun cast a faint orange glow against the clouds.

She hadn’t come here for herself. She hadn’t come here for the memories of a life she couldn’t return to.

She had come for him.

Sirius had been her guiding star, her anchor when the world had threatened to swallow her whole. She owed him everything.

Her fingers traced the fabric of the jumper, her touch soft and deliberate. Fred was gone, her old life lost to the past. But Sirius was still here. And she would not leave him behind.

Celeste took a deep breath, her tears slowing as a quiet determination settled over her. She folded the jumper carefully, placing it back into her bag, nestled among the books and trinkets she had brought with her.

Her past would always be a part of her. But her present—her future—was here. With Sirius.

As she rose to her feet, her gaze lingered on the trunk for a moment longer. Her heart still ached, but the weight of it felt lighter now.

“Thank you, Fred,” she whispered softly, her voice barely audible in the stillness.

And with that, she put the jumper away in her wardrobe, ready to face whatever lay ahead. For Sirius. For Helaena. And, perhaps, for herself.