LANDSLIDE, james potter [2]

Chapter Forty-Seven

The House of Malfoy was in ruin. It used to be highly respected, with their charm and beauty, and most of all, their pure blood. None of these things had changed. They were still charming, they were still beautiful and they were definitely still pure. But respected? No, not by anyone. Not anymore.

Lucius Malfoy was the one determined to bring them glory, and yet he was the first to ruin them. Leading a mission the Dark Lord's name was difficult enough. But failing to retrieve the prophecy detailing his fate? And getting it broken in the process? That was a death sentence. He was incredibly lucky that he was still alive and he was lucky to have been broken out from Azkaban. But he would have to pay nonetheless. 

Draco Malfoy was the next to fail him. He had been given an almost impossible mission as a punishment for his father's mistakes. He hadn't completed his task, he hadn't killed Albus Dumbledore. But he had made it possible for someone else to do it, he planned and schemed so Death Eaters could invade Hogwarts. The Dark Lord still seemed to believe there was potential in the boy, having faith he could do better than his father. So he would not need to pay the steep price his father would. 

Lyra Malfoy was arguably the biggest failure of all, and yet she was the only ones able to keep it hidden. She was a blood-traitor through and through, with a personal vendetta towards most of the Death Eaters. If given the opportunity, she, a woman who had never taken a life, would not hesitate to kill many of them. The Dark Lord himself included. And yet she was the one most safe from the Dark Lord's clutches, the one who seemed to have the most respect of the Malfoys. 

But, as a whole, the Malfoys were paying for their mistakes. The so-called Dark Lord, Voldemort, had them all on a tight leash. They would have to allow him to whatever he'd like with them and their properties. If not, their lives and safety could no longer be guaranteed. 

Their house was filled with Death Eaters more often than not. At nightfall, Lyra's whole (well, the whole non-disowned ones) family would stay behind. Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa and Hector Flint had all decided to stay at the Manor permanently. Sometimes Voldemort stayed, too. 

Narcissa and Hector had to stay with them anyway. Flint Manor had been occupied by other Death Eaters, such as the remaining Lestranges. Lyra didn't mind that they were kept away from them for the most part. She hadn't been able to look Rabastan in the eye since Lucius returned. Whenever she knew he would come to the Manor, she'd lock herself in her study with someone, pretending to be interested in their plans for killing muggleborns or whatever. 

And so Malfoy Manor was a Death Eater hotspot. There was no way for any of them to escape it. Lyra had been to more Death Eater meetings in the past week than she had ever been before. She had to because she wanted to be there for Draco. Lucius couldn't even defend himself these days, much less their terrified son. Draco may not entirely trust her anymore but she had managed to convince her that she had his best interests at heart. 

She found herself sitting between her husband and her son at yet another Death Eater meeting in their home. She tried to avoid looking straight forward because of who was sitting there. She still couldn't find it within her to make eye contact with Rabastan Lestrange, especially as she sat next to her husband.

They were still waiting for a few more Death Eaters. Lyra glanced sidewards at her husband, who looked incredibly tense. He had never looked worse, waxy and pale and thin. She hesitantly reached out and grabbed his hand for comfort. 

He turned his head to her, expecting a comfort smile or something to tell him things were going to be all right. He didn't get that reassurance. Her face was stone cold, yet her eyes were afraid. She was trying very hard to ignore Rabastan's burning gaze as he noticed the affectionate gesture.