"𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙖𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙮"
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IN WHICH ~ Jupiter Cassiopeia Lestrange thought she could escape her family's dark legacy at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but in her second year, Tom Riddle's diar...
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"Billions of years could not assuage her, dozens of moons could not comfort her, she is beautiful, and she has found peace."
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The sun rose steadily over Hogwarts, bathing the Great Hall in a warm, golden light. It felt surreal—the brightness of the morning, the vibrant life pouring through every corner of the castle, a stark contrast to the emptiness that had gripped the world for so long. The hall buzzed with the mingled sounds of joy and sorrow, grief and celebration. The war was over. Voldemort was dead. And yet, the weight of those losses, the faces of the fallen, remained etched in Jupiter's mind, impossible to shake.
Harry was at the center of it all. The heart of their fragile victory. People clamored to see him, to speak with him, to thank him. He was their leader now, their savior. A symbol of hope. A beacon. And yet, Jupiter knew the truth—he hadn't slept, he hadn't rested, and all he truly wanted was to be left alone. But no one seemed to notice.
He was surrounded by those who needed him—bereaved parents, lost friends, grateful survivors. His role now was to be there for them, to hear their thanks, to witness their tears. He was their rock, their guide through the new, uncharted future that stretched before them. No one seemed to notice how weary he was, how drained. No one seemed to care that Harry craved the company of only a few, that he longed for peace, solitude, for something other than the endless outpouring of gratitude and mourning.
Jupiter kept her distance for a while, standing by her parents' resting place, her heart aching as she watched the room slowly come to life, as people found comfort in the company of one another. The news trickled in from every direction—people freed from the Imperius Curse, Death Eaters on the run or captured, innocents released from Azkaban, Kingsley Shacklebolt named temporary Minister of Magic. But the victory felt hollow to her in the midst of all the loss. Sirius. Remus. Fred. Tonks. Colin Creevey. So many others. The faces of the fallen filled her mind as she watched Voldemort's body being moved, laid out in a chamber off the Hall, away from the bodies of those they had lost in battle.
The Hall was a mix of the living and the dead—ghosts, centaurs, house-elves, all huddled together in their grief and relief, their celebrations muted by the weight of the memories they carried. The House tables were gone, replaced by a jumble of chairs and bodies, all mixing together. A strange, almost surreal camaraderie in their shared survival. Jupiter looked over at Grawp, who was grinning through a smashed window, food being tossed into his laughing mouth, and it almost made her smile. Almost.
But everything felt so strange, so overwhelming. She was exhausted, the battle still fresh in her bones. The weight of the world seemed to press down on her, the images of the fight, the bloodshed, still vivid in her mind.
