INSTEAD, james potter [1]

Chapter Forty-Three

There was something off about Lestrange Manor. It was dark and dreary, unlike any place Lyra had ever seen before. She had seen her fair share of sad places, ones that made a person shiver, but never a place like this. 

It was dark and empty, filled with vast halls and rooms too big for their furniture. This was just a house, not a home. There were no pictures of Rabastan or his brother, only portraits of their ancestors from centuries ago. 

Both the walls and the floors were made from the same cold stone material that made her feel trapped, like there was no way out of the sadness around her. Lestrange Manor made one feel one was surrounded by a dementor at all times.

The only way for her to get images of how dreary Rabastan's childhood must have been out of her head was to imagine herself with her friends, in front of the Slytherin fireplace with her friends, drinking hot chocolate they stole from the kitchens. 

Lyra even missed the safe familiarity of her own family home and of Twelve Grimmauld Place. Even those two places, haunted by the history of her ancestors, felt warmer than this place. It must have been hell for a child to grow up there. 

If this was the feeling their house gave, Lyra wondered how Rodolphus and Rabastan were raised. She had met their parents on several occations, and every time they had found an issue with Lyra that needed mentioning. 

Her nose was too long or her mouth too big. She needed to cut her hair, and do a few spells to make it shinier. She was too short, and she needed to be blonder. If not, they didn't see how she would ever find a husband. 

She couldn't imagine growing up like that. She didn't find it odd how Rabastan always felt that he needed to prove himself, especially in comparison to his brother, the perfect Death Eater who found the perfect, pureblooded wife. 

Because while Lyra had grown up with a family where the wrong step could make you lose all their love, Rabastan had grown up feeling like he had to earn it to get love at all. It made it harder to hate the decisions he was making. 

"It's almost time," said a voice from behind her. Lyra turned and saw her younger cousin, the once so very sweet and innocent Regulus, looking somber, looking at the clock in terrified anticipation. 

Lyra sighed and looked upon the parlor she was standing in, sighing deeply. She knew that this was happening, and she had to force herself to realize this. She had tried so hard to escape it all, and yet there she was. 

Even when she had done all she could to push any involvement with the Death Eaters as far into the future as possible, and hopefully pushed it away for good, all her hope and work had been for nothing. 

Because as much as she despised the idea of torturing and murdering innocent people just because of their blood, she loved Rabastan and Regulus more. They couldn't do this on their own, and she wasn't going to let them get hurt on her watch.

She found herself glancing at the same clock Regulus was watching intently, realizing the portkey was supposed to go off at any second. She pulled out her wand, watching how Regulus clutched his own so tightly his knuckles turned white, even if he wasn't allowed to use it yet. 

Lyra couldn't help but jump as a man suddenly appeared in front of them. He was holding a weathered copy of a muggle book she didn't recognize, which she supposed was the portkey Rabastan had tampered with. 

The man was thin and blonde, and very obviously confused. He took several seconds to gather his thoughts, to find out why he wasn't at the destination he had been told he would arrive at, and why there were two unfamiliar teenagers in front of him.