Lyre: A Song Of Stars

Lyra Belvina Black and The Red Headed Fools

        The Black family tree was daunting, to say the least. It was big and intricate. One portrait leading to another, which in some cases were scorched off the wall. The sheer size of it could make anyone cower away from the wall, especially if they were as small as young Lyra.

        Though Lyra never cowered away, she never felt intimidated or inferior. She stared at the Tree with a stone cold gaze, her light eyes zeroing in on one portrait in particular⸺burned right off the wall. She could only make out one name, his first name. 

        ‘Sirius’

        The Branch flowed beneath the burned face, connecting it to another portrait. This one being perfectly intact, showing a beautiful girl no older than five⸺The paint is still fresh and oily, almost begging to be smudged or played with. Lyra grimaced at it, keeping her hands to herself.

        Although she had been living with Walburga Black for three years now, she was just now accepted at Walburga’s grandchild. The old woman being as reluctant to the idea as many of the other relatives were, letting the offspring of a blood traitor into the house of Black. A child who was born out of wedlock, one born from a harlot of a mother and a bastard of a father. It took years of convincing and now here it was.

        ‘Lyra Belvina Black’

        Her mother wasn’t given a portrait. In the eyes of the House of Black, Lyra didn’t have a Father or a Mother. Lyra Black would be raised by Walburga and Kreacher, the House elf. Walburga always wanted a daughter, too bad she had to put up with two sons. Who, In their own little ways were a disappointment. Yet she still celebrated her son, Regulus’s, birthday. Even years after his passing. 

        Lyra stood there looking at the tree, her eyes constantly going back to her father and uncle’s portraits. Regulus was a handsome man, she assumed her father was also but felt no immediate need to find out. She also assumed her mother to be very beautiful as well, she had heard Walburga muttering about her once but she had stopped once she found Lyra peeking from around the corner. 

        “Veela wench.” She muttered staring down at a photo of the girl.

        Lyra had taken a look at the photo, she couldn’t help but smile at the moving picture. The girl was her mother, in her Hogwarts uniform, smiling brightly as she hugged a group of boys tightly. One of which was fighting to get away from her, pointing his wand at her. She laughed it off. Lyra could tell the boy liked her mother, from his obvious blush. Whether it was a love for her beauty or her personality, Lyra was sure the boy loved her mother. 

        The charms of a Half-Veela seemed to warrant the burning of the photo, Walburga made Lyra watch as the moving picture of joy was burned to ashes. The last remaining thing of her mother was gone, all because she was a half breed. What did that make Lyra?

        “You’re a proud member of the House of Black, why should it matter.” Walburga growled at Lyra over dinner one night, Lyra had chosen this moment to prod the question. “Do not speak of that joke of a mother in this house, do you understand?”

        “Yes, Grandmother.” 

        From the ages of three to seven, Walburga filled the house with portraits of Lyra. To celebrate what a beauty the House of Black produced, though she gave no credit to her Bastard son or his tramp. Only truly speaking of them once a year, on Lyra’s birthday to her request. Though, Lyra always received the same information. She knew nothing about her parents. 

        When Walburga died in 1985, Lyra was seven. It was the first real death Lyra would ever experience and she had no idea how to react, Walburga was never particularly kind to Lyra but she filled their house with portraits of the girl and showed her off at parties. If anything, she was like a show pony rather than a grandchild. So when Walburga died in her sleep, Lyra didn’t cry or mope. Not even when she was sitting across a woman and man she had never seen before and their young son, the woman claimed to be related to Lyra and was willing to open up a room for the girl. The man stayed stoic, with his nose turned up at the girl, his son seemed to be copying his father’s antics.