The Last Gryffindor (Sirius Black)

Chapter III: Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep

Dumbledore reached across table to pat her hand comfortingly, while pulling out a necklace- her brother's necklace- and dropping it onto her palm with his other.

"My dear girl, it is only your place. You are now the last Gryffindor, the last of your line."

Had she been old enough to apparate by herself, Aeliana would have been out of there in a second.

"Don't... don't say that!" she hissed. "I-I'm not- Caius is-"

"What happened to your family was horrible, but you must accept that they are gone. You can't move forward if you keep living in the past." Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles, saying softly, "They wouldn't want you to suffer. By accepting your role as the head of the family, you can bring them justice."

She didn't want justice. She wanted revenge.

Still, she closed her fingers around the Gryffindor pendant. "Take me back, sir."

• — • — •

Dumbledore dropped Lia off suspiciously near where a certain group of troublemakers had huddled up after the funeral, leaving her a sitting duck for them to prey upon.

"There you are."

"We were looking for you."

"Yeah, sorry. I've got to go," she muttered noncommittally, brushing between Sirius and Remus.

An arm snapped out and took hold of her wrist.

"Let me go, Sirius."

"You're not being yourself, Lia. Come on, we're here for you. Don't push us away."

He sounded so desperate, she almost felt guilty when she said, "Take a hint already. I just want to be left alone."

"Lia..." Remus started sympathetically.

"Don't 'Lia' me, Remus!" she snapped, feeling guilty immediately for taking her anger out on him. "Look, I'm sorry, but just leave me alone for awhile. I've got... things... I have to take care of."

"Come on. You shouldn't stay here alone." James sighed, running a hand through his already ruffled hair. "I'll ask my parents if you can come stay at my place."

"They're sure to say yes," Sirius assured her. "They're practically running an orphanage over there. I've been living there for months."

"Don't say that," James mock hissed, swatting at Sirius' head. "With you there, she definitely won't want to stay."

Peter tittered and Remus hid an amused smile, but Lia was not in the mood for their antics.

"No, thank you. I've a house all my own, so there's no point staying elsewhere," she answered curtly.

"Come on, Lia. What you said earlier, about not being afraid of Voldemort, it was brave and all, but if you weren't a target before, then you definitely are now."

Aeliana could hear James' tone grow more agitated with each word. Obviously this conversation was not going as he hoped.

"Did you actually believe all that crap?" She choked out a forced laugh. "I only said what was expected of me, as the last of my house. Everyone is too stupid and cowardly to make a move without our guidance, apparently."

She wasn't sure why she was lying. Maybe it was the fact that they thought they understood. There was James, who had a perfect, living family, and Sirius, who would be more than happy if all his relatives dropped dead. What could they possibly understand about what she was going through? The mere thought was infuriating.

"If you'd kindly escort yourself from the property," she said, gesturing vaguely towards the front gates. "I've got too much to do already without babysitting you lot."

Admittedly, Lia's storming off would have looked much more convincing if she hadn't come to a halt outside of the oak doors leading inside the manor. It was only a momentary hesitation before she slipped inside, but she couldn't help but feel dread at the thought entering the place where her family perished. When she closed her eyes, she could still see their bodies littering the ground, still smell the iron tang of their blood in the air.

Lia swallowed back the weakness and pushed foreword until she reached the library. It was the perfect base for what she had in mind. It housed thousand year old manuscripts that could be found no where else in the world, along with the shining bonus that, as far as she was aware, no one had ever died there.

She pulled various tomes from the shelves, grumbling when she climbed the bookcases like ladders to get the books that were higher up. As soon she turned seventeen, she wouldn't have to deal with that muggle nonsense.

After a near fall from the top, she threw herself, exhausted, onto one of the plush chairs, with the books scattered around. The nature of the books varied from defence, to charms, dark arts, history, and even genealogy. If she was going to avenge her family, she needed to know as much as possible about her enemy and about magic. She swore she would become stronger than Voldemort, stronger than Dumbledore, the strongest witch to ever live. And then she would crush him for what he'd done.