BURNED DREAMS▪️ F. WEASLEY ▪️ REWRITING!

chapter XIV: lyra

''Good, I guess.'' Lyra took another bite and nodded. ''I spent my day near the lake.''

The windows Bella and Lyra were facing were tall and wide enough for them to see their backyard. When she was a little girl, aged just eight or nine, Narcissa would take her to Southampton and let her walk around their small little garden, while Narcissa would wander around the mansion. It was something they shared; their memories, painful and simple.

''I used to spend my birthdays like that, with a couple of stolen wine bottles.''

It was a starless evening. Usually the sky would be filled with tiny dots and a pale moon that would shine upon their garden, but now it wasn't. Now it was cloudy and dark and the pale catmints were shrouded in darkness — it was winter, it must be that. Was it a sign that something was coming? Or was Lyra just overthinking?

''Oh.'' Lyra smiled palely and focused on her dinner.

''I wanted to take you.'' she spoke, a sudden silence overtaking the room. ''To hide you.''

''To hide me from who, mother?'' she spat the last word and immediately bit the insides of her lips. ''Why bother?''

''From the world, Lyra. The world wanted all of you, all of our secrets and I would rather have my soul sold than have my daughter —  my innocent, clueless daughter — in the claws of The Daily Prophet, of Albus Dumbledore.''

The same bitter venom that Lyra felt minutes ago was now dripping from Bella's words and it was then when the realization hit her — this wasn't Ruelle on whom she could blow off some steam, this was her mother, the infamous Bellatrix and she was ready to teach her daughter some lessons.

''I knew the definition of blood, mother. I still do and I am loyal to it."

She squinted her face at Lyra and then turned away, her strong jaw being even more prominent. One would say she looked worse than ever, but Bella looked just like Lyra remembered; short, pretty and harsh with cold features of Blacks.

''That will have to be proven.'' she scoffed and took a sip of wine. The bottle was almost empty, but the signs of intoxication weren't present. Bella still had the sophisticated, arrogant look and the fresh smell of lemon and mint that hit Lyra every time she entered the room. How was she doing it, Lyra didn't dare knowing.

''What?'' Lyra snapped and sat up to have a better look at her. Now she could look at her, for their conversation wasn't full of tension and unspoken questions anymore. ''What is that supposed to mean?''

''Well, yes. . .We'll have a meeting held, something like a ball or dance party.'' while she might have sounded disinterested, the spark of curiosity on her face didn't go unseen by Lyra.

''Good. I hope then you can find me a suitor.'' Lyra hissed, contiuning her dinner and focusing on an unfinished pie that lay in her lap. She wasn't hungry anymore; her stomach turned and twisted at the thought of being married at 19, like her aunt did.

Her laugh came out like a crack of the whip, but it was more than comfortable; it sounded safe and full of relief. This was, after all, the home of her parents, a home where she grew up — memories were on every corner of this house, marking the unavoidable past. Bella could not be afraid here, this was her territory, her home.

''A suitor? You are free to marry anyone you want, but only if his blood is pure.'' the glass in her hand swayed a little bit.

''I'm going to get ready. The Yaxleys are coming in less than an hour.'' Lyra put away the plate, got up and cast one final look at her mother before going to her room.

The ancient mansion in Southampton they stayed at had a faint odor of cherry and pine, but posessed none of it. It was probably because of Narcissa's perfume, since lately she has been here more than often and Lyra could manage to assume why was she here. It was better that way — the house felt less lonelier and the elves were busier.

''Unbelieveable. . .a suitor. . .'' Lyra mumbled to herself and rummaged through her suitcase. The first thing she got out were her favourite socks, white with green socks and a tiny bow — bought by Narcissa. Still unpacked, they sat in the corner of her room since the day she got there. . .the day she saw Fred. It has been two days since his last letter, but she didn't blame him. After that attack on his father, all he kept writing about was his father and his health. Lyra would feel like that too if her mother was attacked. . .would she?

Stop doubting yourself, Lyra. . .

Next thing she managed to dig out was her wand. It was soft brown, unyielding with a French word dévoué carved in cursive. This one wasn't Ollivander's — it was an heritage from her great grandmother Eloise Lestrange and the family legend had it that the wand will sacrifice in their final duel to save their owner's life. It suited her perfectly. Every time she would take it in her hands, the warmness would spread all the way to her neck, and it would appear again whenever she would cast some spell. Lyra loved it. She loved all the spells she cast with it, all jinxes and curses, every Lumos she would whisper. . .it was a strange connection.

Suddenly, a tiny squeak echoed behind her. Before her stood a small little elf with grayish skin and a bundle of black hair. Lyra had not seen that elf ever since she was thirteen years old, and even then it didn't stuck in her mind. Those strange creatures wouldn't even dare looking at her when she was over; and being a lonely 13 year old, Lyra craved someone's company, but elves couldn't be her friends — she was Lyra and her friends had to be pure-blooded.

''Miss.? The Yaxleys are here. Lady Lestrange sent me to get you.''

''Tell her I'll be down in a second.'' uttered Lyra and started dressing. The outfit she chose was nothing special, but still it breathed with elegance. Simply cut black pants and a dark purple blouse emphasized her curves enough. Yaxleys should be satisfied.

This was, after all, something she expected. A husband.