"To be a seer is to walk softly on the earth and dream."
slowburn harry potter x fem!oc
friends to lovers
(order of the phoenix to post-war)
cover by me
completed and being edited
(I do not give permission for this book to be printed physically. Bab...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
*
The picture of the family of four had been cut from the newspaper.
She didn't know why she did it. She had plenty of them at home but this one was different. Her mum was smiling at her, actually smiling and not just grinning like she'd typically do in other photos. It was a soft, gentle, I-will-love-you-unconditionally kind of smile that Lyra hadn't had the capacity to remember.
If Dylan was there, and not in hiding, he would've proberbly told her that she was fixated on something she'd never have, some people she'd never meet but she didn't care. Her mum would've wanted her to still remember her - or that's what she thought. There was no way of actually checking.
She thought it was because she felt empty inside and looking at the photo made it seem like there was hope and some sort of happiness in the world. Her parents taught her from death that light always carried on, even when all is lost. Her light was her brother. Her light was her boyfriend. Her light was her family - Nymphadora, the baby on the way, Fred, George, Anna, Victoria, Benji, even Remus, who she had forgived as soon as she'd heard the door slam downstairs that day. They were her light. Her hope. Her universe.
She wished she could bring them back to life but even she knew that there were unwritten rules to resserection.
The picture was stuck into a journal she had. Not a dream journal. Her personal one, the one she'd neglected to write in for more than a year but now seemed like the right time. Her fingers gripped her wand as she did it, hearing Harry reenter the house slowly and releasing it when she'd realised it was safe.
Her legs moved from the bed over to the window, using the finger to move the curtain aside and noticing Travers, the Death Eater that Dylan had described, lounging against the bannisters and staring at the gap between eleven and thirteen, a disgusting smirk on his lips. Lyra felt sick just looking at him.
As August ran by, they had noticed more and more people, daily, coming to view the gap between the house as if to attempt to find them but now, on the first of September, there were more than usual. Men in dark, lengthy cloaks, usually masked but occasionally not. Lyra noticed them sometimes, Death Eaters whom had been at the table she'd sat at when she'd been kidnapped and most whom she had forgotten.
Once, she thought she saw Fenrir Greyback in front of the house but when she blinked again, he had vanished and she hadn't seen him again. Her heart felt as though it has stopped. Was he still looking for her?
"Lyra? I've got news!"
There was a crack and Lyra appeared in the kitchen, sitting back against once of the chairs in front of the large kitchen table.
The kitchen itself was almost unrecognisable. Every surface now shone, copper pots and pans had been burnished to a rosy glow, the wooden table top gleamed, the goblets and plates already laid for dinner glinted in the light from a merrily blazing fire, on which a cauldron was simmering.
