"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 tale of Lyra James and the Second Wizarding War was never supposed to be a happy one. It wasn't supposed to be one in sorrow either, or of excitement, or pain. It is one of hope, love and ultimately, loss.
The seer had lost too much. It took an hour alone for her to realise who's fault it was. All in one night her dignity, her hopes at a settled, quiet future and her family had disappeared into thin air, much quicker than it had appeared. Her heart ached, writhing and squirming in her chest in a clueless attempt to keep afloat in the sea that Lyra had drowned it in - her brindled tears built into something destructive. She didn't deserve to be in Gryffindor house, she didn't deserved that title anymore - she wasn't brave or smart or cunning or kind. Lyra felt as though she was dumb, stupid and plain and she didn't deserve a single thing in the world.
The seer had been sat all alone at the Hufflepuff Table of the Great Hall, in a quiet that was essentially her wollowing in her own self pity. The tattoo on her forearm burned, serving a reminder to what she sacrificed and what she had become to keep one person safe while Harry saved hundreds, thousands and if not billions from Tom Riddle. Dylan was sitting with Oliver at the Gryffindor Table, their foreheads touching like they both ignored the plate of food in front of them and the looks of disgust from a few members of the resistance and focused on one another, occasionally talking but just enjoying one another's presence. The Weasley's were only a few metres away from them, a close knit group, closer than the rest with Anna about to arrive to sit with them and mourn Fred Weasley. Sirius Black, Neville Longbottom, Pavarti Patel and the incredibly injured but insanely strong Lavender Brown were all speaking about one thing or another - distracting themselves. On the Ravenclaw, Cho Chang, Michael Corner, Blaise Zabini and Andrea sat with Kingsley Shacklebolt, all discussing something with a mixture of grave intent and hysterics. Harry was nowhere to be seen, neither were Ron or Hermione. Lyra felt a thousand miles away from all of them. She was alone, they were together. They were all alive, she had never felt so dead. But still she lived.
Lyra stood, just as Regulus had walked towards her and was about to sit. "Lyra, can I speak to you?"
"I'd rather be alone if you don't mind."
"Course I don't." She gave a swift nod before turning around and going the long way to her destination, which was the area in which the bodies had been set.
Remus Lupin was no longer mocking - he looked peaceful for once and his scars only heightened the torment that she felt but Death didn't suit him. He was too important to die but he did it anyway. She pressed a hand into her own and leaned down, whispering something into his ear that she wasn't sure would survive to tell the tale (but she had a feeling and her feelings were usually right). With a small kiss pressed to his cheek, she hesitated to stand again, attentive to not stumble and embarrass herself. She loved him. She loved him and he was dead, everyone she loved was dead.
