Celestial Rising (Harry Potter) by Joshua Ben Ari
Synopsis: You always remember your first.
Your first love. Your first kiss. Your first time with someone you love.
No one said anything about remembering your first death.
Especially when you wake up in the Harry Potter universe as a character who never existed before. Say hello to Perseus Rigel Black.
Rated: T
Words: 30k
Link: https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/celestial-rising-a-harry-potter-si-oc.945943/reader/
Valmar Remarks: I have to admit that overall, so far, there isn't much that really stands out about this one. Though this is mostly my own fault for having read so many Harry Potter fanfics that finding something original or new is practically impossible. Still it isn't a bad read by any means and at least seeing a MC being essentially an OC Black isn't too common. Plus I can appreciate that the MC doesn't care about following the plot religiously and has already made some significant changes such as destroying two Horcrux's before the end of the first year and even freeing Sirirus early instead of waiting for him to break out.
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Chapter 1:
You always remember your first.
Your first love and the feeling of butterflies in your stomach when you see them. Your first tentative, awkward kiss and the feeling of their lips against yours. Your first time between the sheets with someone you love and feeling the beat of their heart in time with yours.
All those little moments that make up your life.
No one said anything about remembering your first death.
"So." The voice spoke with an amused tone, as if both surprised and delighted I had arrived, and I could nearly see the smile on her face. "You're here."
There's a stark whiteness surrounding me. An endless white void sustained within a single room, eternity contained and constrained and boundless and unyielding. The room is small yet large, vast as the horizon and small like a hostel's bunkroom. The voice that speaks to me is feminine. Warm and maternal. The kind of voice that you wanted to hear as a child, the kind with a tinge of love and pride. But it's not a singular voice - it is a cacophony of voices speaking at once, as if it is dozens, hundreds, of feminine voices speaking at once following along the same script. I am alone in the room.
Do you have any idea how strange it is to be disembodied? To become a consciousness given an unrestrained form? To see that you have no body but are still bound in mortal, physical dimensions while drifting listlessly in the unimaginable void of space constrained inside a room barely ten feet by seven?
It's disconcerting to say the least.
"Where am I?"
"Here," the voice answered with a tone of gentle amusement, a soft giggle emanating that seemed to come from everywhere all at once and nowhere. "There. Everywhere and nowhere. You are, after all, dead."
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
"What?" Can someone's mouth become dry if they have no mouth?
"But don't worry," the voice continued slowly and I felt something warm caress my face. A hand. Motherly, in a sense, if you can call an endless constrained void a mother. "I'm going to give you something. Consider it a gift, a present. A way to be part of something far greater than what you were."
"What do you mean?"
"After all," the voice spoke over me, as if it hadn't heard me, and the voice seems to grow louder and louder as the voice breathes in my ear. "To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. And you, my dear, my darling, will have a great adventure."
No one said anything about remembering your first death.
It's like waking up from a dream and not knowing where you are, in the brief few seconds until everything comes back to you. I place my head in my hands and shudder, the cold nipping against my skin, and I bolt upright in the bed. Gasping for breath. Fire ripples lazily and crackles in the fireplace in front of my bed, the windows open and the curtains dancing in the slight breeze, and there…
There is the crest of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, staring out at me from above the fireplace. The outline of the crest itself flickers in the pale firelight. The words burn out to me. Reminding me. Or is taunting?
Toujours pur.
"Oh fuck." I mumble to myself. I scramble out of the bed and into the pale moonlight that streams through the open window. A mirror stands beside a tall oak desk and, ignoring the fact that it's snoring, I look at my own new, strange face.
A pale but regal face. Long lustrous black hair that covers my forehead and sweeps down to below my ears, wild and untamed yet still haughty and aristocratic. But most catching, most eye-drawing, of all was the color of my eyes. A light violet grey. Far different from my own hazel eyes that were drifting away from me like a half-forgotten dream.
"Well..." I groan and cover my face with my hands once more. "Fuck."
"There's no need for that language, Master Perseus." The mirror hemmed curtly, though it did sound as if it had only just woken up. "I mean really. Perseus Rigel Black, using that sort of language, in this house? I shan't think so."
Perseus Rigel Black. Son of Aries and Heloise Black. There... there weren't any Harry Potter characters with those names before. Was there? The grandson of Marius Black, a Squib. And then the memories came back, like the way you fall asleep, slowly and all at once at the same time. And then I remembered.