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echoes of your name inside my mind
𖥔
Celeste was running late. She burst into the meeting room, that was once again at the Potter's. This time, she had come from a noble family's luncheon party for some newborn baby that she didn't care to remember. Freshwater pearls adorned her hair and ears, matching the white silk dress that she didn't have time to change out of. A diadem of twisted gold sat on her head.
She must've been a sight to see, but Celeste didn't have time to care. She silently slipped into her usual seat between Sirius and Marlene. Underneath the table, she locked hands with Sirius.
This was becoming a regular routine.
"Glad you made it, Miss Malfoy," Moody huffed. "Have you made any progress?"
Her face tightened. "There's a ball in a few weeks time. It's highly exclusive; invitation only. You-Know-Who will be in attendance. So yes, I suppose it's a scrap of progress."
"Are you serious?" Moody demanded. "The devil himself?"
"In the flesh," Celeste confirmed. "The place will be crawling with deatheaters."
The room was silent.
"Will you be attending, Miss Malfoy?" Dumbledore finally said, speaking up for the first time.
"I could," she answered, stiffly.
"No," Sirius interrupted at once. "You-Know-Who is going to be there. You're just going to send her in?"
Celeste glanced at him, holding her breath. "I never said I was going. I'm not."
"Why's that?" Moody grumbled, fed up with the couple.
"I supposedly getting married to Evan in two weeks. I'll have left him by then."
"Miss Malfoy, you had agreed to follow your assignment," Dumbledore snapped. Ice laced through his voice. "I informed you that sacrifices had to be made. This is one of them."
"I agreed," Celeste argued, "that I would stay with Evan longer, and I have delayed this matter by a considerable length of time. My time is running low. The date is finalized and I can't let any suspicions grow."
"And what after that? You'd no longer be an asset to our organization. Did you plan to leave?"
Celeste was seething. She tilted her chin up in defiance. "So you expect me to stay? To marry a deatheater so you can have a direct source of information to fuel your war plans?"
