-------------------> HER DAY STARTED WITH BURNING letters and feelings. A stack of white envelopes had been delivered by owl, and any letter whose sender's last name contained Black had been addressed to the fire. She didn't want their convincing. She didn't want their justification. Lyra knew how capable her family was at twisting poisonous words into lyrical ones, she knew how talented they were at telling people exactly what they wanted to be told. So, Lyra didn't bother spearing more than a glance at any of them. She was perfectly fine with her tears, her anger and her disappointments, thank you very much.
She found an envelope sent by Theodore Nott. When she read through the contents, warmth washed over her. Knowing her fondness of her diamond heels, Theodore had commissioned one for her, studded with blue diamonds, as a present for Yule or New Year; the occasion hadn't been mentioned in the letter. A smile lingered on her lips as she pocketed that letter, before resuming flipping through the other envelopes.
She stilled, however, when she came across a letter by Narcissa. Just as she was about to toss it into the fire, she noticed the writing on top of the envelope itself.
Don't burn this yet, Lyra. At least read it first. If you're worried about me mitigating your wounded ego, I'm not going to. I need your help. I need you to do something for me. I need you.
Narcissa's passive-aggressive words cut through the turmoil of emotions Lyra felt. It should have fuelled her fury, increased her aggravation, her anger.
But there was something lovely about being needed that made Lyra reluctant to discard the letter without checking its contents. Although her better judgement screamed otherwise, at the end of the day, despite whatever had brewed between them, Narcissa was still family and Lyra still wanted to be needed.
Frost entered Lyra's eyes as she arrived at a conclusion. She tore the envelope, prying it open and fishing out the letter, before reminding herself that although she may be burying a hatchet, she must keep a map of their location.
─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
The Potter Manor was quiet at eight in the morning. Charlus had been doing paperwork late into last night, and Dorea was in bed, nursing a migraine. As it was also the last day before the winter holidays finished, James, Regulus and Sirius had also expressed their determination last night to sleep through the whole day today, and Lyra didn't doubt them in this.
So, Lyra ventured to the Malfoy Manor for breakfast, because she didn't want to eat alone. All three Malfoy's had been sleeping in when she arrived, so Lyra navigated into Lucius' room, woke him up, and dragged him downstairs to eat with her.
Despite Lucius grumbling for a while, as the scent of tea engulfed the air, he brightened, pulling out a chair for her at the dining table before seating himself on one beside hers.
The house-elves served them tea, promising to have breakfast ready by the time they finished it. Just to stress the house-elves, Lyra gulped down the hot tea in one go. Yes, it was unladylike and yes, her tongue burned, but the way five house-elves fainted and another four rushed into the kitchen made her day.
Lucius snorted into his drink. "I adore you, you know that?"
"You would be a fool not to," Lyra grinned, folding her arms. Unlike her, Lucius did not risk scorching the insides of his mouth and delicately sipped his tea. After a few heartbeats, she casually informed him, "Theo got me a gift."
The teacup Lucius held froze mid-air before he sipped it. "Oh?"
Lyra regretted not waiting until he had tea in his mouth to announce that. She was curious about whether he would have spat it out or choked on it.
Oblivious to her internal thoughts, Lucius masked his face into polite curiosity, but his eyes glinted with something sharper, as he set the cup back on the saucer. "And what did dear Theo gift my fiancée, when he has his own?"
Lyra's dimpled at his words. "Diamond heels. Blue diamond heels, if you want to be exact."
"How insulting. He thinks you are a Ravenclaw." Lucius tsked.
Then, he produced his wand and flicked it. A white envelope zoomed into his hand, which he expertly caught before he returned his wand to the holster. Lucius slid the letter across the table from where he sat to where she did. Lyra picked up the envelope with a tilt of her head.
"I had been saving this for later, but I can't imagine how terrible you must be feeling after being implied that you're a Ravenclaw. I'm hoping this will make you feel better."
Lyra dug out the paper contained inside. Her curiosity grew when she realised it was a certificate. For the ownership of a star.
Lucius had gotten her a star.
Her eyes widened and she twisted towards Lucius, who was calmly drinking his morning tea again, that smug bastard who she adored.
"You got me a star." She meant it to be a question, but it came out as a statement.
Lucius' smirk was covered by the cup. "I got you a star," he confirmed.
"What did you name it? Both my first name and middle name are derived from already existing stars and constellations. If you named yet another star Lyra or Cassiopeia, students from future generations will be cursing me for creating confusion for their Astronomy classes."
"It's not named Lyra or Cassiopeia," he assured with a peal of laughter.
"Then?"
"Lyrus."
When Lyra tilted her head, blinking, Lucius elaborated.
"Lyrus. You know, like, Lyra II for a girl and Lyrus for a boy. I didn't want to increase the burden of poor students, especially knowing that those students could be related to us, so I named the star Lyrus. I hope you don't mind. I wanted it to be a surprise, so I couldn't tell you in advance, but I promise that l though I named it, you still own it. But if you want to name one, I can just—"
He was cut off as Lyra leaned over and planted a soft kiss on his lips.
"I love it," she whispered into the space between their lips. "Lyrus is perfect."
"Of course it is, I named it, didn't I?" Lucius scoffed, even as his cheeks pinked. Clearing his throat, he said, "So, not that I care, but whose gift do you like better."
"Hmm," Lyra hummed, sitting back in her chair. "Your parents."
"Oh no. They got you emerald heels, didn't they?"
"No, but they gave me you." Lyra reached out to squeeze his hand gently. "And you're the greatest gift I've received."
A flush occupied Lucius' face right up to the moment Lyra left, an hour later. After exiting the Malfoy Manor, she stopped by at a flower shop to buy a collection of simple white daisies and the more colourful gerbera daisies, get it neatly wrapped in red before apparating to St Mungo's Hospital.
Upon filling out the visitor's card for Fabian and Gideon, she walked to first, Fabian's room in the Intensive Care Unit. She had to see him through a glass wall, as even the tiniest of things could give him an infection. But at least, he was alive. At least, he was growing his skin back.
And as she stared at his unmoving form, covered in blood and the thinnest layer of skin, a heavy lump sat on the bottom of her stomach. Bellatrix had done this to Fabian, her own cousin. Lyra felt fear grip her as with every moment Bellatrix spent with the Dark Lord, the less and less she could recognise the Bellatrix she loved and adored.
Tearing her eyes away from the scene when the nurse informed her that her visiting time was up, Lyra stiffly smiled, pulled out a single white daisy from the bouquet she carried, and laid it on the floor, since she couldn't keep the flowers in Fabian's room. "Get well soon," she whispered to the wind, before turning on her heels towards Gideon's room.
Gideon looked considerably better than he had last night. His bruises appeared lighter, and his movements carried little difficulty. He brightened when he noticed her peak her head in. "Hi, Ly." He called, waving her over. "Remember, that's how Grandma Mal used to greet you when we were younger?"
"I think she called Fabian 'Fab Fab' occasionally as well."
"And I was called 'Good Gideon' once, but..."
"Never again," Lyra laughed, placing the bouquet beside Gideon's bed.
"Never again," Gideon agreed, smiling.
"So," Lyra began, sitting on the chair beside his bed, "How's Emily?"
"We're just friends," Gideon punctuated each word with a roll of his eyes.
"I never said you weren't. I was just wondering how she was. I helped out yesterday, and there's something about operating on someone that just brings two people together. But it is very curious how your immediate response was to insist that you two are just friends."
"We are," Gideon continued to persist. "And, I knew you were going to imply something along the lines of Emily and I dating in the future, so I just wanted to correct your assumption before you could voice it."
"And please remind me how much you got in your Divination N.E.W.Ts again to make such accurate predictions?"
Gideon's chest puffed. "A solid A."
"I don't think that is something to brag about."
"Anything is worth bragging about if you feel proud of it. Besides, given the crap I wrote in my exam, an A is immaculate."
Lyra snorted, before shifting the topic.
As by now it was close to lunchtime, Lyra ordered food to eat with Gideon, after receiving permission from Emily the Healer, Gideon's Just Friend. Gideon had lamented for a whole twenty minutes to both Emily and Lyra how it wasn't fair that the latter could eat normal food but Gideon had to eat the hospital one. Lyra found it very entertaining when Emily bluntly told him to shut up and eat it unless he wanted to spend more days in the hospital. Her amusement deepened when Gideon obeyed her instantly, smiling slightly.
After lunch, Lyra bade Gideon goodbye, apologised that she wouldn't be able to visit from tomorrow considering she would be returning to Peru, before hugging him and slipping out of his room.
Lyra was heading towards the exit when she bumped into someone. "How da— Uncle Charlus?" Astonishment adorned her wide eyes as she recognised the person she had bumped into.
The initial surprise on Charlus' features was replaced by panic, and he rushed to say, "It's not what you—" he dissolved into a sudden fit of coughs, breaking his sentence midway.
That caught Lyra's attention. Charlus' need to instantaneously defend himself from something, before she had spoken elevated her suspicion levels.
Lyra had simply assumed that since all of them had been ill just the day before, Charlus had ventured to the hospital to buy some more medicines or something along those lines.
But now, Lyra's eyes flicked to his sniffing state, and then to the potion he held, dots connecting in her mind. Softly, she asked, "So, how long have you had dragon pox, Uncle Charlus?"
"It's a mild thing, probably because of the weather. It'll go soon."
Lyra blinked. "You do... I think you're forgetting that I'm a Healer, Uncle Charlus," she reminded him, not unkindly. "And if you've received that potion for a mild case of dragon-pox, then please allow me to sue your healer for malpractice, as that medicine is only to be given to control the virulent strain. It's fatal if taken otherwise."
Charlus laughed awkwardly, using a free hand to comb through his hair while his grip tightened around the vial of potion. "Ah, I didn't explain properly. See, this is... This is for a friend! Yes, a friend. A very good friend of mine, but an unfortunate fellow. I'm only under the weather with my sniffles, he's the one that has that vibrant—"
"Virulent."
"—strain of dragon pox." Despite himself, Charlus' voice got pitchy.
Lyra faintly smiled. "I see," she said slowly. "And does your friend know how early he is into the treatment?"
"Oh, he's very early. The healer assured him that he's showing loads of progress, and his life expectancy is also quite high for someone with his...condition."
"How long?"
"A few more years. Enough to see James graduate, hopefully." Charlus paused, his features hardening as his shoulders tensed. Nonchalantly, he asked, "Will you tell Dorea or James, now that you know?"
Lyra half-smiled, stepping forward to loop her arm into her Uncle's, before beginning to walk along the hospital corridor. "It's your secret, not mine. I don't have any right to tell them." She glanced at him through the corner of her eyes. "I know we aren't that close, but I hope we can be. I hope you know that if you need anything, or even if you don't need anything, I'm here. Anything you can't talk to Aunt Dorea about, anything that you need to get off your chest, I'll only be a letter away. I adore gossip."
"I'll be sure to share any scandalous things I come across then," Charlus flashed her a close-lipped smile, but his eyes conveyed how much he appreciated her statement.
The two of them just wandered around St Mungo's that whole day, talking about things they never had, laughing and smiling, before returning to Potter Manor when evening broke. When Dorea asked where they had disappeared to, Charlus had exchanged a smile with Lyra, before explaining that it was International Uncle-Niece Day. Lyra and Charlus spent the rest of dinner convincing Dorea that International Uncle-Niece Day was an actual thing, and "—yes, Aunt Dorea it is today. The calendar is lying."
The next day, Lyra and Lucius returned to Peru, while James, Sirius and Regulus left for Hogwarts.
─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Narcissa was eerily silent during the entire time she was seated in the Hogwarts Express, just looking out the window and holding hands with Leonard. Her odd behaviour continued into the evening when dinner was served in the Great Hall.
A variety of dishes and piles of food decorated the Slytherin table, but every plate was untouched. It was customary for the Slytherins to only eat after their King and Queen had taken the first bite of their food, and with Narcissa coolly observing them with her arms crossed over her chest, nobody could eat. Aromas filled the air, inducing water in mouths. Stomachs rumbled and throats constricted as everyone eyed the feast they couldn't consume. It was torturous to be hungry, and have food dangle right in front of you like a forbidden apple.
After an excruciating two hours later of grumbling stomachs and whines of complaints, when most of the Great Hall including the teachers had cleared, Narcissa finally stood up. Hope rose into a palpable cloud over the Slytherins, who believed too early that their Queen would merely be giving a speech and then, commenting to eat.
Instead, Narcissa held out her hand, which Leonard clasped as he rose. Both of them linked hands, and he escorted her out of the Great Hall, leaving her plate untouched.
"What, since she didn't eat, we're not allowed to?" Augustus Rookwood, the Green Strength and Muscle, asked the one question nobody else had the guts to. The heads of every Slytherin student turned to Regulus for an answer.
The King hummed. "Well, technically, if one of the rulers commence eating, everyone can."
Sighs of relief filled the air.
Regulus allowed them a moment to rejoice before he jumped off his chair and onto his feet, dusted his clothes and began to walk.
"Wait!" Alexandria Flint, the Green Second-In-Command, appeared clueless by his actions. "Where are you going? You haven't eaten anything yet."
"Oh, I'm not hungry," Regulus sheepishly confessed.
"But we can't eat if you don't," Evan Rosier, the Silver Networker, pointed out. The members of the Court were the only ones who could get away with calling out their rulers without consequences, after all.
"That sounds like a you problem," Regulus responded cheerfully. "But remember, if any of you do eat, you would be a disgrace to Slytherin and would have stained our great name and most noble traditions. I'll know if you do eat, or sneak in food and consume it, so being cautious would be futile. Besides," he leaned forward, grinning. "Have you checked for poison? My sister had trusted each of us with venomous snakes before she left, after all."
The students wearily eyed their plates filled with food. The more paranoid ones pushed their plates away like it had caught fire. Others glared at him with the utmost hatred. Not even Lyra, for all her temper, had denied them food.
Regulus beamed, then moved to where Amal sat. "I'm in the mood for a walk. Care to join me?"
"I'd be delighted to." Amal's eyes glimmered as she stood up. The two of them left the Great Hall, leaving groans and disagreements in their trail.
A safe distance away from the hall, Regulus pulled out two bars of chocolate from the pocket of his robes and handed one to Amal. "I tried to pocket vegetables discreetly, but... They're vegetables."
"It's a good thing you didn't," Amal praised in agreement.
"Hey," Regulus called later when he realised Amal had discarded the wrapper of her chocolate back into Regulus' pocket. "These are robes, not a garbage can."
"Sorry, both of them look eerily similar, I got confused." Was Amal's cheeky response, to which Regulus fondly rolled his eyes.
They walked in the shadow-cloaked corridors accompanied by silence for a while until both of them finished eating the chocolate. Then, Regulus spoke, "I'm sorry for not meeting up wi—"
"You have nothing to apologise for," Amal cut him off, features soft. In a low voice, she said, "I heard what happened with Lyra, a version of it at least. That must have been difficult, I hope things are a little better now."
"I hope so too," Regulus said, voice thick. "And I'm also sorry about Narcissa leaving without eating."
"Again, it's not something you must apologise for, Regulus. It isn't your fault." Amal recognised Narcissa's move as a power-play. A much-needed one considering the various troubles that had riddled Slytherin lately. Order and authority had to be restored, which Amal guessed Narcissa was going to do when everyone returned to the Common Room.
Since Regulus' leadership hadn't been questioned much, his position was safe, and perhaps, he didn't want Amal to be in the range of Narcissa's wrath, which was why he asked her to accompany him for a walk. Amal felt touched by his actions, which shouted out things words could not.
Amal's hand brushed against his with a feathery touch, and Regulus—looking straight ahead—knitted his fingers into hers. Then, he bowed his head to conceal the flush on his cheeks now that they were holding hands. He failed to notice that Amal's cheeks gained a pink hue as well. Neither of them spoke, simply basked in the comfortable silence and the warmness of each other's hands.
When they rounded a corner, Regulus' brows furrowed as he noticed a hollering crowd, egging on those they circled.
"What's going on there?" Amal wondered aloud.
"I don't know," Regulus answered, worry creeping into his tone, "but I don't think it's anything good."
They unlinked their hands and rushed forward.
Amal gasped as they neared the scene, a hand flying to cover her mouth while Regulus' eyes widened like saucer plates.
A boy, younger than him, sporting the juxtaposing silver and green striped tie, was cornered against a wall, badly bruised. The wands levelled against him belonged to James and Sirius, both of whom possessed twisted, sick smirks. His brother's friends and those gathered around them cheered them on, rather than asking them to stop.
When the tip of Sirius' wand lit into an ugly shade of blue, Regulus acted fast. "Expelliarmus!"
There was a dazzling flash of crimson light, which disarmed Sirius, whose wand fell to the floor. The crowd parted, gasping, to reveal the one responsible.
Sirius lifted his chin even as his shoulders tensed. "Regulus?" He whispered with a bated breath, astonished.
Regulus' wand was still pointed at him, his knuckles were white, his back straight and shoulders square, barely keeping the adrenaline restrained to his body, but his face was carefully blank.
Flashes of hurt and betrayal fleeted past Sirius' eyes. "What are you doing?"
"I believe I should be asking that to you." Regulus' voice was donning and monotonous, like a parent who had caught their child doing something wrong. "Why are you cursing my Slytherins?"
"Why are they cursing us first?" James spat from beside Sirius, glaring at the boy vengefully.
Sirius took a step forward, and the tip of Regulus' wand glowed brighter than their futures. "Look, I know what it looks like, but it was for a reason. We're not hexing them unnecessarily. We aren't, well, you lot."
Regulus' jaw clenched slightly. Nobody dared to speak in fear of getting caught in the cross-fire, for bitter were the wars between brothers. Rather, Regulus reached a hand out to the Slytherin boy who was still slumped against the wall. The boy accepted it, and Regulus pulled him up to his feet and stood in front of him like a human shielding charm. Amal stepped forward to stand next to Regulus, her hand hovering over the wand holster she carried.
The corners of Sirius' eyes tightened while James' narrowed.
"Don't do this, Regulus," James warned. "You don't know the whole story. He," James spat, glaring crucios at the boy behind Regulus, "not only called Evans an awful slur earlier but also hexed another girl so badly, she's in the infirmary wing. We were just returning the favour."
"Why would you hex him when he did nothing?" Regulus queried, and his brothers looked gobsmacked.
Having grown up in a household where the words mudblood and blood traitor were ricocheting words, it seemed double standard to Regulus for James and Sirius to be mad at the boy, and not at their family. "Are you sure you just aren't looking for reasons to hex Slytherins? That's usually what you lot do—try to justify yourselves when you're just as terrible as us. The only difference is that Slytherins acknowledge their rather nasty tendencies, while Gryffindors convince themselves it's the right thing to do."
"He hexed a girl." Sirius thundered. "He needs to face repercussions."
"Kudos to your growing vocabulary, Sirius, but you have a Prefect in your friend group. Why not just ask him—" Regulus motioned to Remus, who stood quietly at the back "—to take points off, or something, rather than retaliate with violence?"
"The Slytherin Prefects will just give the points back to them," James snapped, "and then he would just do it again, thinking he can get away with it."
Regulus ignored him, arching a brow as he focused on Remus Lupin. "And really, Lupin, were you just going to watch them when they hex a fellow student? Is it because they're your friends or because the student is a Slytherin? Whichever it is, I'll be filing a formal complaint to your Head of House, something you all should have done if you had a problem with one of us."
Remus opened his mouth to respond, but James interjected, "Leave him alone, Regulus. You can't do that. Remus did nothing."
"Exactly. He's a Prefect, and he did nothing when a boy was about to be hexed."
"Then what about you, huh? What about your Prefects? The Head Girl is even in your house, so no wonder it's so biased. When Evans was called that, it was in a public space and I know I saw at least one Slytherin Prefect."
"Unfortunately, Potter, calling people names doesn't result in detentions, hexing people does."
"I suppose your entire house should be in detention, then," James intoned coolly. "You call me a hypocrite, when your house conveniently ignores bad things done by you all to others, and only speaks up when you're even minutely perturbed. Especially since You-Know-Who rose, you're all flocking to join him like moths to a flame. It's not just Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws that are being targeted at large by all you Death Eater scum. Check the hospital wing, Regulus. You'll find, what, two beds occupied by Slytherins, and extra beds having to be created to fit the number of other students being cursed."
"Those two beds shouldn't have to be filled," Regulus growled, and beside him, he felt Amal pull out her wand.
Sirius' laughter was cold and bitter like the winter weather that still lingered. "Look at us. It's only been a year since Lyra left and we're already turning on each other." He shot an accusing stare at Regulus, and his afterthought pained more than any curse could. "She would be so disappointed in you. I know I am."
"You disappointed me first, so I couldn't care less if you're upset with my actions. And regarding Lyra..." Regulus thought of Lyra, the former Queen of Slytherin, and gripped his wand tighter. "There are parts of her that you've never experienced." The most important rule of Slytherin was to put up a united front. Whatever quarrels and disagreements they had with each other would be left or reignited only in the common room. "I know Lyra." He raised his wand and adopted a dueller's stance. The air around him seemed to spark with magic. "And she'd be proud of me for defending Slytherin's honour." It is my job as King, after all.
With that, a jet of blue left Regulus' wand, right towards the Gryffindors.
─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
"Sit," Narcissa ordered them as soon as they entered the common room, seated on a chair like it was a throne. Leonard stood behind her like a guard.
Glances were engaged, but eventually, everyone seated themselves on the sofas and chairs. After those were filled, some opened their mouths, but Narcissa spoke first, sharply saying, "Sit down on the floors, if you must. I don't care, just sit. If I hear one peep about sitting on the floor to be improper, I'll make sure you'll be in permanent bed rest."
Those standing plopped down to the floors. One of them was Thomas Nott, who Narcissa focused on.
"Hello, Thomas," she greeted kindly, instantly making the boy alarmed. "Did you have a lovely holiday?"
Thomas didn't shrink under the attention. Rather, he raised his chin and wore a close-lipped smile. "I did. I heard yours wasn't so pleasant, however."
"Indeed, but I'm hopeful that it'll get better," Narcissa replied, instead of avoiding the attack like how Thomas had assumed she would. She leaned back. "How's your brother, by the way?"
"Closer with your cousin than you are," Thomas snipped, referring to the meet-up that had been hosted at Yaxley Manor.
"I know. It was Lucius who wrote to me about the wonderful present your brother had gifted my cousin for Yule. I don't believe she hadn't given him a return present, but I'm sure it must have been delivered today, while we were not having dinner."
For some reason, this statement made the hairs on Thomas' back stand. "I see," he said slowly, and to confirm his dreadful suspicions, asked, "What did she give him?"
Narcissa's eyes flicked to the carpet before meeting Thomas' eyes, a growing smirk on her face. "Let's just say he won't enjoy it, though."
Thomas' visage fell. "What do you mean?" Thomas Nott's eyes widened and horror washed over his face. He shook his head to dismiss his line of thought before he cleared his throat to compose himself, addressing coolly, "No, you're lying. You couldn't have gotten Heiress Black to do anything, you're pulling a bluff. I heard along the grapevine that Heiress Black is currently at odds with her family, so much so that she declared herself neutral in the conflict between you and House Nott."
"If you haven't caught on already, Lyra's a liar," Narcissa informed him matter-of-factly, proud of the alliteration she had used. A smile fleeted across her lips, and Narcissa leaned forward, saying mockingly, "Do you really believe that Lyra Cassiopeia Black would really—despite the words she spat out, despite whatever she announced, despite whatever she felt—not stand behind anyone with Black blood, should we ask her too? Do you have such little understanding of your former Queen, that you thought she would stay neutral in a conflict involving your current Queen?"
It was Lyra in question, after all. Blood supremacist Lyra who had been the first to accept Andromeda's mudblood for the sake of her flight risk cousin, who had given them both access to a secret house in Edinburg just in case things got out of hand. If Lyra could tolerate a mudblood for her cousin she wasn't particularly close to, Lyra could swallow down the bitter feelings and help Narcissa hurt one of her close friends.
Toujours Pur.
Always pure.
Purity didn't always refer to one's blood, it also referred to their family. Although forsaken to the world, a Black would always be welcomed in the embrace of their family. The relationship towards their family members should always be pure, and no dirty intentions should ever taint it.
Narcissa spoke her next set of words pragmatically, "I am the judge, my Great Uncle is the jury, and my cousin is the executioner. I can assure you, dear Thomas, that Theodore Nott is dead, in any and every sense of the word."
Thomas' skin lightened into a ghostly shade of white, and when he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "What did you do to my brother?" He gulped down the lump that had formed in his dry throat, scratching at the surface of his oesophagus, when Narcissa's lips settled into a smile.
She stood up from her chair and stepped towards him. "There's this spell I'm fond of called the Skin Decaying Curse, which allows the victims to truly embody the Slytherin emblem, and shred their skin like the snakes they are."
Thomas Nott blanched while simultaneously looking green. Narcissa hoped he wouldn't throw up on her because that was a sin she would not forgive.
"Don't worry," Narcissa mused aloud, folding her arms over her chest and tilting her head, strikingly resembling Lyra, especially since both of their hair was light-colour at the moment. "I've never been good at casting that spell, unlike Bellatrix, and besides, death would be too easy. Should Theo die, Cassandra will kill me, Bellatrix will kill her, and it will spiral into an endless circle. And I don't want that. I consider pure blood much too precious to spill."
"But did you know—" Narcissa stepped forward, not halting her speech or allowing Thomas' shoulders to loosen "—the origin story of the term mudblood?"
"No," Thomas breathed out, jumping to his feet, horrified, not because he didn't know the age-old tale, but because he did, and was terrified for his brother's wellbeing. Thomas shook his head urgently, as if trying to wake himself up from whatever hellish nightmare had consumed him. When he reopened his eyes, he was still there. The Slytherin Common Room which normally felt like home was now a prison restricting him to save his brother, from the cursed present sent in by Lyra Black.
Narcissa's eyes glittered like a thousand little diamonds sparkling on the surface of the ocean. Thomas Nott looked like he was going to faint at any moment, all the bravado he had conjured due to his family backing up the Dark Lord disappearing along with his brain capacity. Fear seeped in along with worry for his brother, who was bearing the consequences of his mistakes, of his arrogance, because how foolish was he to assume he could get away with insulting a Black.
The Slytherin Common Room was soundless bar the ripples of breathing and heartbeats. Shadows hugged the corners like an elegant cloak. The members were statues observing the interaction calculatingly, like spectators watching a gladiator duel, unsure whether to cheer or sympathise as the lion ripped apart the poor person.
Narcissa's question was rhetorical, for she told him anyway, "It was created by my ancestor when someone summoned the nerve to insult him. It's fitting that I use the curse on someone who insulted me as well." She stared into Thomas' eyes, lips widening with every shade Thomas paled. "I won't grant your brother death, Thomas, but I will kill him in every way that matters. My cousin owns the Prophet, so say goodbye to whatever reputation you were clinging onto."
She inhaled a breath, allowing the heavy atmosphere to sink in further, grasping onto Thomas in a crushing chokehold, before she resumed speaking, "Theodore, the Heir to the House of Nott, will henceforth be a mudblood. No matter how hard the healers may try to cleanse his blood off the literal mud, they'd never be able to. He'll spend the rest of his life bed-bound, and you, the spare, will have to take his place now. You should be grateful to me, Thomas, I made you the Heir of your pathetic house. And the moment you become Lord, I'll make it crumble. I want you to be the Head when your house falls to ruins. I want you to be the last of your legacy, so I'll wait, and bide my time till then, for my revenge isn't directed to your brother, it's meant for you, and I shall have it."
"No no no," Thomas could hear his own heartbeat thumping in his ears. He was breathing heavier than usual. He felt dizzy, lethargic, and nauseous. As he experienced one thousand different emotions all at once as his stomach somersaulted against his will, Thomas clutched his sweaty, shaking hands, before he fell to his knees, mouth parted in shock. He was frozen in place, his features twisted, and brows dissipating into his hairline. His brother's life was ruined because of him, and Thomas had never hated anyone more than Narcissa Black.
Narcissa lifted her chin and gazed around the room, focus shifting from Thomas' pathetic figure to the rest of the room—the members of the Court and others in the Common Room alike, who now appeared worried that she had something to address to them.
"A lot of you are under the false assumption that just because I'm nice, I can be pushed over. Taken advantage of. Well," Narcissa's lips curled upwards, the glint in her gaze brightening. "Consider this the first and last warning I'll ever bestow you with. Should anyone in this room have the audacity to break even a single rule of the Slytherin Court, I'll break every one of your bones." Her voice wasn't threatening, just matter-of-fact, like she was reciting something as known as Gamp's Laws.
Soft gasps filled the room along with wide eyes at the blatant warning, which hadn't been bothered to be disguised as a helpful suggestion.
Narcissa paid them no heed, swivelling towards the Slytherin Court and sweeping over the members coolly with a glance. "Thomas Nott, as you can grasp, is no longer part of the Royal Slytherin Court. His duties and responsibilities will be handled by another henceforth. It's truly tragic that the very guardians of the Court are misusing their position and shaming our values and traditions. As Queen, I'm only apologetic that I haven't been able to skin him and use it as a blanket since it's terribly cold these days."
Narcissa paused, meeting the gaze of everyone around the room. Her hands were linked in front of her, the glint of her diamond ring blinding as faint rays of light connected to it. "To you all, my most loyal and most trusted, I narrate a promise. I will regulate my powers and perform my obligations swiftly and smoothly, as done by all my predecessors and will be done by all my successors. Thus, should any of you forget your place and act in a manner which is unbecoming, I'll make you mysteriously disappear and donate the vast wealth your ancestors painstakingly accumulated to fund my ever-growing collection of clothes."
Narcissa clapped her hands together cheerfully. Leonard lovingly looked at her, while others hurried to conceal their fright.
Narcissa beamed at the response she received, or rather, the lack of it, before concluding the speech that she had definitely not practised in front of the mirror during the holidays. "In case a few of you lack the brain cells to understand what I'm trying to convey, here is a simpler summary of my words framed in a manner that you Neanderthals would hopefully grasp: do your fucking jobs or it's off with your heads."
Omg you guys. @GracePotter002 created the loveliest moodboard of Lyra and sent it to me. I'm so, so honoured, and my happiness levels have skyrocketed. So, thank you tremendously, Grace!
If any of you are interested to view it, there's an external link in this chapter <3