A Heap of Broken Images
1919
1 The dress Celestia had tailored for her engagement party was the newest fashion: silken and dark-green with silver, it had butterfly sleeves and long side drapes. Being Estella Black’s daughter, she was keenly aware of social protocols, which included a rather rigid dress code. She liked dressing up for the occasion, much more than Nocturna ever had. Pretty dresses, shawls, hairpins, gloves, shoes: all those things were luxuries that Celestia enjoyed. Nocturna had often called her shallow, and maybe she was. What did it matter, though? If one was forced to live a life one did not want, at least one could indulge in a little extravagance. It was a poor substitute for Alastair, of course. Then again, nothing could replace him.
She stopped scrutinising herself in the mirror and tried, for the millionth time today, not to think about Alley. Mother had insisted he and his parents get an invitation, of course, because it would not do to exclude such an important family because of silly sentimentality. The idea had seemed cruel and callous to Celestia, but she’d caved – again. The family mattered more than her broken heart.
This had, during the last few weeks, become her mantra.
Sometimes, she still caught herself wishing she’d wake up in Franconia still – no such luck, though. This was reality. It was best to get used to it. Besides, it wouldn’t be so bad. This was a good family she was marrying into. Apollo was already her friend…well, of sorts. Surely they’d find happiness together. If she couldn’t believe this, then what was the point? What was the point of anything?
There was a crisp knock on the door – her door. She’d been offered this room to stay in from now until the wedding. It was a good idea, too, having her live here, giving her and Apollo time to get used to each other. Living in the same house as Ares wasn’t too appealing a notion, but one couldn’t have everything.
Again, she saw Alastair before her mind’s eye, how he tried so hard not to weep, how he tried so hard to be strong. Her breath hitched in her throat. She drew a deep, shaky breath. This would not do.
There was another knock.
She gathered herself. “Come in!”
The door opened. It was Apollo. He was looking very dapper in his black dinner jacket, trousers, shoes, gloves, and shirt. All black was something like the unofficial Malfoy uniform. This night, however, only Apollo would be wearing it. He needed to stand out. It was his evening, after all.
“You are very handsome,” she said, and smiled a little.
He returned the expression, said, “And you are a vision,” closed the door behind himself, approached her, and took her hands into his. “We’re scheduled to make our grand entrance soon. Are you ready?”
She nodded. Thoughts of Alastair, of the pain in his eyes, were not permitted. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Good. Good.” He let go of her hands and cupped her face. “I’m proud of you, Celestia. Despite your sorrow, you’ve comported yourself admirably. That is no small feat.”
“Thank you. It must not be much easier for you.”
“Oh, but it is.” A wry little smile curved up the corners of his mouth, crinkled the skin around his eyes. It looked rueful more than sardonic. “I never loved anyone the way you love Alastair.”
It hurt to hear that. It hurt enough to take her breath away. She wanted to avert her eyes, but he was holding her head firmly in his grasp. “Apollo…”
“I just hope that in time, you might feel something similar for me,” he said, leaned in, and gently kissed her lips. Before she had any time to feel uncomfortable, he backed off, let go of her, and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
Her heart was thundering. Her stomach roiled. Her face felt hot like a furnace. Her hands, however, were as cold as ice, her legs rubbery. Soon, there’d be more than just a rather chaste kiss on the lips. How the hell was she supposed to cope with that? Yet again, she was forced to suppress thoughts of Alastair. She hoped to any deity that might or might not exist that he would not show up tonight.
“We shall,” she said, sounding astonishingly merry, and took his arm.
They went downstairs side by side.
2 What followed was a long succession of hand-shaking, nodding, smiling, and thanking – on and on they came: well-wishers, friends, opportunists. They were all there, from the most influential Pureblood families to Daily Prophet reporters. Celestia had been to balls and festivities just as glamorous as this one, but she’d never been the subject of one – well, half the subject. Truth be told, Apollo was the actual star of the evening. The guests were here for him. The younger Malfoy boy was engaged to be married to a suitable bride. The older one had married a year back. His own bride had been the oldest Yaxley daughter, Cordelia. Already they had a daughter of their own.
Now, it was Apollo’s time to shine.
The bride almost seemed like an afterthought – not quite, of course, but a little.
That was all right by Celestia. She might like the glitz and glamour, but she did not cherish the glare of public attention. It was too much pressure, in the end. Unfortunately, it was something she needed to get used to. After all, the Malfoys were all but celebrities, weren't they? There was a reason they had enough pull to arrange that Prussian embassy for Celestia’s relative.
She and Apollo were standing in basically the middle of the drawing room – a cavernous hall that was easily ten times the size of the drawing room in Celestia’s childhood home – surrounded by friends and former classmates. Apollo had an arm around her waist, a hand on her hip. It was a little difficult not stepping away from him or even tensing up. This was something she needed to get used to. Her parents’ marriage had been arranged and they were perfectly happy with each other.
However. However. Apollo himself had named the problem.
It was impossible to banish Alastair from her thoughts.
Still, she smiled. It felt artificial, but nobody would notice. Even if they did, they would never openly acknowledge this. All of her friends knew about her and Alastair; after all, they’d been joined at the hip for the better part of a decade. No-one had expected them to ever break up, least of all themselves.
Aceso Carrow, who was looking beautiful in an elegant black gown, was just telling an office anecdote, when something – or better, someone – drew Celestia’s attention away.
Visibly insecure and sticking out like a sore thumb, a handsomely dressed Newt Scamander walked into the drawing room.
Both Aceso and Apollo caught her staring, apparently, as they craned their necks to see what was so interesting.
“Who invited him?” Aceso said, carefully plucked eyebrows raised.
“Celestia did,” Apollo said, sneering a little. “She still has a heavy conscience regarding Scamander’s expulsion and now feels compelled to throw him some breadcrumbs.”
“You sound like your brother,” Celestia said, tensing up a little. Her feet were hurting in her new shoes, and her back ached dully. “There’s no need to be nasty. I asked him to come here. He’s actually doing me a favour.”
“Does Leta know he’s here?” Aceso said, looking around.
Not two minutes ago, Leta had left to go powder her nose.
“I have no idea. Now, if you’d excuse me, I would like to welcome my guest.” Celestia removed Apollo’s hand from her hip and walked away.
When Newt spotted her, he offered her an awkward little wave. “Hello.”
“Thank you so much for coming here tonight,” she said, and briefly kissed his cheek, which he endured with patience. “You look debonair.”
“I feel like I’m wearing a costume,” he said, glancing down at himself. “These are the only fine clothes I own.” He grimaced a little. “Honestly, I’ve no idea why I’m even telling you this.”
She almost told him that he looked like he had no idea why he was here, but reconsidered. They weren't exactly the closest of friends, even though she’d called herself his friend in her letter to him. “Well, I’m grateful you made the effort.”
He smiled a little. “What, to look presentable?”
“That’s not what I meant.” She touched his elbow. “Come on in into the lion’s den. I’ll make sure my friends are nice to you.”
“I’ll manage.”
“So will I.”
3 Standing in the middle of a bunch of former Slytherins who had conspired to get Newt thrown out of Hogwarts wasn’t exactly what he would call a good time, but it wasn’t horrible, either. These people knew when to pretend to be good friends when the occasion called for it, as it no doubt did tonight. They smiled, were polite, and not once mentioned the elephant in the room.
Well, to be fair, the by far bigger elephant in the room was the bride-to-be’s obviously fake cheer and her obviously broken heart.
Things got a little weird when Leta joined the little round.
He said hello; she said hello. That was basically it.
The conversation trickled along almost like background noise, as Newt just stood there, a champagne flute in his hand, barely listening. It was all he could do not to stare at Leta for two reasons: she was breathtakingly beautiful, and he wanted to ask her what the hell was wrong with her. Just like in the bookshop, she was all smiles and dainty giggles and lively talk, as if she hadn't been responsible for nearly killing Alastair Fawley – as if she hadn't been responsible for Newt being expelled. That was what had happened, everyone knew it, and yet she’d apparently just re-written reality inside her own mind. After all, if nobody said the truth to her face, there was little need to acknowledge it, right? Right.
“…and to be quite frank, there is absolutely no logic behind all this mollycoddling of Muggles.” That was Ares Malfoy, the older brother, who’d joined the merry troupe without Newt taking any notice. “They’re no match for us, and yet, we let them rule the bloody planet.”
Newt just stared at him, wide-eyed.
Celestia was frowning a little. “What do you suggest we do? Take over the world? Handle them like cattle?”
Apollo, Aceso Carrow, and Petronius Flint just exchanged knowing glances.
Ares arched his thin, almost white eyebrows at her. He was standing upright and uptight, as if someone had cast Petrificus Totalus on him, but also as if something as profane as gravity couldn’t pull the likes of him to the ground. “Why not?”
“Why not?” She scoffed, tensed up visibly. “First of all, because we haven't the right-”
“Tell that to your Grindelwald-supporting sister.”
Celestia made a face. “Stop interrupting me. It’s unseemly.” She took a sip out of her own champagne flute. Her hand was trembling slightly. “Second of all, it wouldn’t work. Human beings are resourceful – all of us, magic folk or no. Muggles may not have our power, but they have imagination for new technologies and the numbers. There would be war. The losses would be catastrophic. It wouldn’t be worth it.”
“So you’re in favour of skulking in the shadows for all eternity, are you?” Ares looked more disappointed than smug.
Nope, they were very obviously never going to be the best of friends, which was unfortunate. After all, they were supposed to be family. At the very least, they’d all be living in the same house. Hating the people you lived with tended to complicate things.
To be quite honest, Newt couldn’t imagine what that might even be like, living with the Malfoy family. Crikey.
“Look around you, Ares,” Celestia said, and snorted derisively. With her free hand, she motioned about once. “Does any of your lifestyle strike you as overly discreet?”
Her fiancé and friends chuckled at that.
Ares’s expression blackened. “Careful now, Celestia. You wouldn’t want to be mistaken for a blood traitor, would you?”
Everyone stared at him: Apollo annoyed, the others incredulous.
Celestia blanched. All the muscles tightened in her face. “I am no such thing and I resent the implication.” Her tone of voice as well as her expression belied her carefully chosen words. Rather, she looked like she wanted to bite Ares’s head off. “Excuse me. I need some fresh air.” She turned to Newt, said, “Would you like a little tour of the gardens? They’re quite lovely,” didn’t wait for a response, and marched away. That was quite a feat, given the fact that she was wearing high-heeled shoes.
Newt just followed her without looking back.
They left the humungous house through the (a?) back entrance, and stepped out into the cold. Luckily, the stars were shining, and there were glimmering flickers of light floating above their heads, between the well-tended trees.
She’d been right: it really was lovely.
He caught up with her. “Slow down a bit, please.”
She did. Her breath came out as small clouds of vapour. She hugged her arms to herself. Her face was flushed, though. “God, he’s so horrible.”
They were walking along something of a small, tree-lined avenue that snaked its way through several flower beds and fountains. It was beautiful. All of this belonged to one single family. Didn’t seem fair. No, it didn’t seem fair at all.
“Aren’t you horribly cold?” he said. Even he, who was wearing robes, could feel the chill whispering against his skin.
“It’s all right.” She found a bench and dropped herself on it, bent down, and massaged her ankles. “Sorry for the unladylike behaviour, but my feet hurt.”
He sat down to her left. “I don’t care.”
“Of course you don’t.” She sat up straight and smiled a little. “I apologise for the outburst. It’s just that…” She trailed off, threw up her gloved hands in exasperation, and shrugged, before closing her eyes, raising her face, and taking a few, soothing breaths. When she looked at him again, her cheeks weren’t as red anymore. “I’ve been a bit tetchy lately.”
“Understandable.”
She folded her hands on her lap and looked down at them. “Yes, but still: I shouldn’t lose my temper like that.”
“That’s what you call losing your temper?” He was briefly distracted by a couple of snow-white peacocks strutting by. All right, then. Nothing to see here. “Ares was being obnoxious.”
“He’s obnoxious on his best days, belligerent on his worst – but with that name, it’s a small wonder.”
“Really? I thought it was the upbringing.” The moment the words left his mouth, he realised his faux-pas. Damn it.
She raised her eyebrows at him and then snickered. “You’re quite right. We’re horrible people, aren’t we? The lot of us.”
“No-one is completely horrible.”
“You think? I’m not so sure.” She reached out and briefly touched his shoulder. “Thank you for being here. Apollo thinks I just want to make it up to you for what we did back at Hogwarts, whilst Ares is convinced that I wish to lord my superior morality over him.”
He made a face and shifted his weight a bit. The bench was stone-hard and stone-cold. “Ares can get over himself.”
“Indeed. As if I were such a paragon of virtue. I don’t believe anyone has ever accused me of being too liberal before.”
“It should be obvious, you know,” he said, and shrugged, “that we shouldn’t enslave anyone because it’s just wrong. That’s not having superior morals. That’s just the lowest level of common decency.”
“Yes. That’s where I’m at, and it’s nothing to be proud of.”
On that, they could both agree.
A small silence ensued, but it wasn’t unpleasant – not much. They weren't by any means great friends, but she was trying to be nice…and unlike Leta, at least she’d apologised. That wasn’t a lot, but it wasn’t nothing.
He looked up at the twinkling yellow fairy lights in and between the trees. “I can’t help but think of that Yule Ball.”
“I should’ve done something to stop that from happening.”
“Maybe, but your…your friends were going to do something anyway. They weren't about to let you ruin their fun.” When he glanced at her, he saw that she was smiling dryly.
“I almost did just by warning you.” She crossed her arms and blew out a heavy breath. “I’m sorry about Leta. She…well, she’s not good at facing facts.”
The remark made him feel heavy and tired and as ancient as time. “She’s good at looking out for herself. That’s got to count for something.”
“It does.”
Another short moment of silence passed.
At length, he said, “Celestia?”
“Hm?”
“Don’t marry him. It’s wrong.” He wasn’t even sure why he was saying this, since it wasn’t any of his business, but she probably hadn't invited him here just to be friendly. Or maybe it was just important that someone should tell her this, no matter who. It surely would be none of her friends or family. “You know, you understand how hard it is to cope with the consequences of wrong decisions. You don’t want this.”
For a while, he thought she wasn’t going to reply at all.
A minute or so passed before she half-turned to look at him. “I don’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice. You do this, you’ll regret it for the rest of your days.”
She sat back again, closed her eyes, breathed. It looked as if she were about to start weeping: her expression was pained, her hands grabbing fistfuls of her dress. Then, she managed to relax, to compose herself. She opened her eyes, looked at him, and smiled. “I know.”
He chewed on his lower lip, tried to put some order to the thoughts whirring in his brain. “I told you once that I couldn’t absolve you of what you’ve done, and I can’t.”
“I know that, too.”
“But what I can do is forgive, anyway…like I forgave Alastair and Petronius Flint. You can’t change what happened, but you can learn from it. I think you are, but too slowly. Don’t do this. I don’t wish what you’re going through on anyone.” That was a speech and a half, coming from him, but he too had always been too bad at saying things how they were. Some words needed to be said out loud. That was a conscious decision, as well. “You’re not a bad person. You don’t deserve this; no-one does.”
Her smile grew warm, genuine. “Perhaps you’re right, but it’s too late for me now.” She rose to her feet and smoothed out her dress. “Shall we go back inside?”
He only nodded and joined her.