O Beija-Flor - Regulus Black (Complete)

LXXXIV -

PLEASE READ!!

THERE'S JUST AN EPILOGUE TO GO.

THIS CHAPTER IS A MIXTURE OF SADNESS AND HAPPINESS TO ME. THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME COMPLETE ANOTHER CYCLE AND FOR LETTING ME SHARE MY CULTURE. IT'S SO IMPORTANT TO ME THAT PEOPLE FROM ALL AROUND THE WORLD READ A STORY ABOUT A BLACK-LATINA WOMAN FINDING LOVE, IGNORING THE PREJUDICE THAT SO MANY OF US (IMMIGRANTS) HAVE FOUND. 

I WROTE CECILIA WITH MANY OF HER TRAITS BEING 'COMMON' IN OUR CULTURE SO IT COULD BE UNDERSTOOD HOW EASILY SO MUCH OF OUR CULTURE AND PERSONALITY TRAITS ARE OVERLY-SEXUALISED DUE TO PREJUDICE AND XENOPHOBIA. 

I'M NOT BLACK - I'M ACTUALLY QUITE WHITE (LIGHT HAIR AND LIGHT EYES), BUT I GREW UP IN A NEIGHBOURHOOD WHERE MANY OF MY FRIENDS WERE AND, GROWING UP, I SAW A GRAND DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HOW WE WERE TREATED AND I UNDERSTOOD ONLY LATER IN LIFE HOW THAT WAS UNFAIR AND UGLY. I WAS USED TO FIGHTING AGAINST IT GROWING UP, BECAUSE THAT WAS HOW I WAS RAISED TO DO. BUT I FELT IT AGAINST MYSELF WHEN I WAS IN EUROPE, THOUGH, AND I REALISED THAT OUTSIDE OF MY OWN COUNTRY I'M NOT WHITE - I'M LATINA, AND THAT APPARENTLY WAS MORE IMPORTANT THAN ANYTHING IN ME, EVEN MY PERSONALITY.

CECILIA IS FOR US, WHO WERE LOOKED DOWN UPON BECAUSE OF SOMETHING THAT WE CANNOT CONTROL: COLOUR OF SKIN, WHERE YOU WERE BORN, NEURODIVERGENCY. ANYTHING. IF SHE CAN FIND HAPPINESS, LOVE AND FAMILY, SO CAN WE.

The war was over.

The benefits were grand, but the losses were beyond anything that anyone was prepared for.

The whole Great Hall of Hogwarts had been decorated in white, gold and silver in celebration for the life of the ones that had not made it out of the Grand Battle (as most people called, though in history books the official name would forever be Scottish Battle, even though it had been fought a few miles away from the border, still deep into the woods of England). Nobody spoke as they all sat silently, side by side in the several benches that the staff had put for the veterans, families, students and reporters that had come to watch the memorial.

In the first row of benches, Harry Potter sat silently, dressed in all black, eyes stuck on the ground and red with unshed tears. So many people had died, and he couldn't stop himself from thinking that it had been his fault, or at least it had been because of him that they died – because they loved him or because they saw him as a figure of hope, and therefore worth of protection. Besides him, Hermione Granger held his hand and Draco's hand at the same time, sat between them with her back straight, hair pulled back tightly in a bun that was adorned with a black ribbon to go with the black dress that Draco had bought for her, while he, too, wore all black.

Ron wasn't with them. He was with his family on the other side of the corridor put in the very middle of the Great Hall. Not because he didn't want to sit with his friends, especially now that he had made his peace with Hermione's newly found love life and Draco's constant presence; no, he wanted to sit beside his family because they mourned.

Arthur and Fred had not made it out of the battlefield.

The family was a mess. Molly could barely talk without falling into another sobbing fit, Ginny just wanted to hold onto someone all the time, refusing to let go of her brothers' hands whenever they were close enough, Bill was keeping himself busy with his heavily pregnant wife and Charlie could not even show his happiness with the newly found new of Emma's pregnancy. George was a mess; he didn't speak, he didn't eat, he didn't shower; he had only dressed because it was to show his dad and brother some respect. Ron was trying his best to keep himself together and strong, finding comfort in his most loyal friend: Luna.