destruction | t.m.r

chapter fifty two.

I emerged from the water. One step at the time my feet touched the wet grass. For the longest time sun finally hit my face, wind blew over and around my body, welcoming me back.

I was alive.

World was silent. I don't remember leaving it as such. The night I died was the one that repeated constantly over days, months, probably years. Glancing back I could see the castle shining down upon me.

I cursed outloud.

Nobody here to stop me from doing so, Dumbldore was somewhere, but not here. Hagrid never leaves his hut in summer. It was summer. Because I could feel it in the air, by the warmth of the water, by the silence.

Silence overwhelmed me and I needed a distraction. Where to go? I had no idea where Tom went, had no idea where anyone is, but of one place.

Number 12, Grimmauld Place. The place where Order of the Phoenix gathered and tried to kill Voldemort, but failed miserably.

I didn't have a wand, I didn't have anything but a wet nightgown on me and I needed nothing more. I snapped my two fingers together and traveled places. Everything went blurry for a second until the view of the street came into my eyesight.

With people weirdly looking at me, of course.

I hurried up the steps, knocking on the door two times. Three times is bad luck. I waited, sound of footsteps could be heard and then, click. "What do you want?" Walburga asked, she looked the same but at the same time not.

Her once long black hair now looked more gray, she somehow got smaller and had wrinkles, but still looked better then most women I knew.
"M-Myra?" She choked out and I smiled at her. "Wal" I said with a smile, opening my arms for the girl now woman to embrace me in a tight hug.

"How are you alive? You are dead, were supposed to be." She whispered and I felt her frame tremble beneath my fingers. "I don't even know how." Tears stung my eyes, in her arms I finally felt at home again.

She held me firmly until two little girls were looking up at us and in that moment I let go of Walburga. "What did I say! I said to stay in your room and look out for your sister!" Walburga yelled. The smaller one flinched at the tone, but the older one,

She had the eyes I knew.

"Wal, who are they?" I asked while stepping inside of her home. It was clean, probably by the hands of her elf. "These are Druellas daughters, youngest is in the room upstairs." Said she.

I crouched down so I was on the eye level with the little girls. "Where is Druella? Is she here?" I asked, greeting the girls and giving them a hand shake. "She is dead, Myra." Walburga whispered and the whole world stopped.

"What did you just say?" My tone changed, everything changed in me. I could see by the look the girls watched me, by the way Walburga watched me. Carefully, calculating if I will explode.

"Your death really had an impact on her and when she was giving birth to Narcissa she died couple of minutes after," she said while running her fingers down her long dress, trying to straighten it, "Cygnus is never home. So I was given the duty to look after them." With a flinch of the head she pointed at the girls.

Yes. I knew I recognized the older one.

"Bellatrix and Andromeda." I whisper and Walburgas nodded, pointing at the older one with black hair and brown eyes. "This is Bellatrix or Bella she is the oldest."

Bellatrix Black. Woman madly in love with Voldemort, his most faithful follower.

"This is Andromed, she is the middle child." The one that gets scared easily. I never learned anything about her, she was never in spotlight, either dead before I was born or little after that.

"And the youngest one, Narcissa is in the room upstairs." I knew Narcissa well, stumbled upon her in Hogwarts when she went to pick up Draco. She was always silent, observant and most kind, except Andromede.

Walburga told the girls off. Saying to look after their sister.

"Myra." Walburga called out my name. I turned to her holding a mirror. "What is it?" I asked and she jammed the mirror in my face.

"What do you see?" She asked like a madwoman.

"Me?" I questioned.

"How old you look?" She asked again.

"Why does it matt-." I was cut by her whispering. "It matters because, you were dead for twelve years Myra. Twelve. And haven't aged a bit."

I was left gaping at my reflection, reflection of sixteen year old face when I was supposed to be twenty eight.

"How could this be?" I asked out, but no answer came.