Warning: This chapter may contain slightly triggering content in regards to mental health. Please be cautious of this when reading.
I was motionless. Not a single movement radiated through my body, and the air around me was utterly still. I'd never felt such paralyzing fear, striking me frozen. My feet couldn't move, and my nerves were on end, waiting for the pain to start. There was nothing but pitch around me, keeping me in its depth with no end in sight. A silvery pearl ran down my cheeks as the air around me grew stuffy and stale.
I could hear him wandering around me, pointed-toe shoe covered feet scraping across the ground in a taunting warning. I wondered if I was drowning. Was this what it felt like? I'd never felt something like it before. It was terrifying, the way I lost control. My limbs didn't feel like my own, and the grasp I had on my mind was anything but tight. Perhaps this was what death felt like—the loss of control and power over your own devices. Had I accomplished anything I set out to if this was the end?
The simple answer was no. I had barely begun. There were thousands of things I still needed to complete before I succumbed to the tantalizing bait of a motionless death. Was death what circled me? Were the scrapes of feet his own? I wasn't entirely sure where I was headed as the feeling returned to my limbs. But I knew pretty quickly it wasn't my time yet. I had things to achieve and people to save.
The water licking my feet grew warmer, the dank smell of rot disappearing as I began my march forward. The overwhelming aroma of bergamot and cedar took its place, a warming blanket stretching across my shoulders. Warm hands ran up and down my arms, the cool contrast of silver becoming a comfort instead of a fear.
I don't know where I'm headed as I march through the rapidly dispersing water. But I do know he lingers close behind, lurking through my cavern with sinister eyes. I may be but a pawn in the game this was, but a pawn can be the reckoning if the moves made are made well.
-----
Sweat broke across her brow as Lyra Potter sat up straight, as though someone had shocked her with a lightning strike. She'd been in and out of consciousness the last week, slipping into the same dark void as before. His voice had disappeared, but his words still lingered. The scraping of his nail across that veiled secret she kept within herself, matching those of all the others she had seen. The art of a mystery is the cage, and Lyra managed a pretty damn good one.
They had sent a letter to Sirius Blacks younger brother to come as quickly as possible, much to the elder Black son's dismay. He had refused to leave the blonde's side, gripping her hand whenever she woke from the dazed state the Dark Lord kept submerging her into. She managed to pull herself from it each time, but she never came back the same. Lyra was paler each time, more rigid with her words.
The scraping of his feet was the worst. Whenever she was conscious, it echoed in her mind and kept her from sleeping when she didn't unwillingly lose her wits. Lyra missed the feeling of sleep, the serenity she found when the world around her melted away into last memories with a twist. The replaying of Sirius's face whenever he smiled bouncing around in her resting mind, bringing her a sense of comfort beyond words. Now his face was solemn, staring at her with a blank expression but every bit of fear in his eyes.
"Regulus is here," Sirius whispered from the chair beside her bed, chin in hand as he stared at her, "Downstairs. I told him to wait until you're awake."
Lyra nodded and swung her legs around off of her bed, hovering her feet above the ground as the memory of the ice-cold water tugging her in. Sirius waited, never interfering as she worked through the fear. He learned not to do that the first time she returned from whatever cathartic state Voldemort threw her into. With a final breath, the blonde dropped her feet, and her toes immediately recoiled at the cool wood of the floor. Sirius sprung up, dropping to his knees and sliding the slippers she had over her feet. That was as much as he could do without her falling into a meltdown.
"I always enjoy seeing you on your knees," she weakly teased, a limp smile on her lips as she stared at her lover, "Always a sight to see."
"Even with the Dark Lord in your head," Sirius grinned back, his own smile barely reaching his eyes as he leaned forward, hand on her cheek, "You manage to be a tosser."
"It's a talent."
Sirius stood to his feet once more, taking Lyra's hand and helping her stand to her full height. She entwined their fingers, savouring that familiar feeling of his rings tugging her forward, leading her away from the dark. Sirius Black had a magnetic power and always seemed to catch Lyra when the shadowy figure crept a bit too close. He was the light in her life, the candle that cast the shadows away. He was a brilliant torch in her hands as she navigated a dark and lonesome cavern, reminding her of the warmth.
Euphemia and Fleamont had yet to return home, but they were due tomorrow. Lyra needed her parents now more than ever, but neither was aware of their daughter's affliction or her predicament with the Dark Lord. She knew that she'd have to give them the whole story and would undoubtedly end up with a consequence of some kind. No parent wants to see their child at the mercy of a tyrannical wizard who wishes domination over everyone and everything, let alone when that said child had gotten herself into the mess.
But Lyra had to remind herself she wasn't the only one at fault; she didn't choose for the gift that sat in her head. That was of the Dark Lords' creation and Dumbledore's negligence. She was the product of two loving parents and the greed and envy of two men with a desire for power. She was the twin that wasn't meant to happen, another driving force in a war whose tide had yet to find a groove. Lyra was the stone that divided the river, keeping everyone on their path, all the while neglecting her own.
Low laughter could be heard as Sirius and Lyra slipped down the stairs of the Potter manor, wandering down the vast hall towards the sitting room where the other three sat. Lyra's grip on Sirius's hand grew tighter as they rounded the corner, and the girl rested her eyes on the boy she had once slept with. It felt odd still, and Lyra didn't feel good about it. She knew she hurt Regulus and could only imagine what he felt when he saw her and Sirius connected by the wrist. But he also sold her down the river to Voldemort in a fit of anger, so she felt a bit better.
"Lyra," the younger son's voice cooed as he stood to his feet, hands tucked in front of him, "You're looking–"
"Like shit, I know," Lyra cut him off, walking towards the centre of the room and dropping onto one of the couches, "He's–"
"In your mind, I know," Regulus interjected, "You once described something you saw in peoples minds as a–"
"Shadowy cavern completely void of light, I know," Lyra continued, "It holds secrets. Things that people don't want–"
"Others to see, I know," Regulus pushed, "That's what he wants."
"What the hell just happened?" James scoffed, a laugh tail-ending it.
Lyra turned her attention to her brother, who sat between Lily and Sirius, all three staring at the two in front of them with furrowed eyebrows. It occurred to Lyra none of them had seen Lyra and Regulus interact alone, playing off one another and picking up each other's thoughts. The two were synced most of the time, knowing what the other was thinking before it even left their lips–even before Lyra could dip into people's minds. If the situation wasn't as dire, perhaps the two could have had a blossoming friendship. But history can't be erased, and not all broken hearts can be healed with time.
"He wants your secrets, Lyra," Regulus repeated, moving his own attention away from James as well, "He can't access mine that you know; we already tackled that. He wants everything else. I can't help you if I don't know them."
"What secrets?" Sirius questioned, leaning on his knees towards Lyra.
Everything flashed through Lyra faster than she could process. Dumbledore, the prophecy, Scarlett and Pierre, the words that Regulus whispered to her in the dark. Everything that Lyra had either buried or hidden in her mind was sitting on her tongue. Everything that Lyra swore to either never speak of or hold off on until the last possible moment. There were things Lyra wasn't prepared to admit, prepared to openly state. Her heart picked up in pace as she stared at the wall behind her lover, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.
'I love you.'
'I love you too.'
The words of Regulus Black echoed through her mind like a haunting ghost, waiting for her to let her guard down. Her bottom lip quivered at the various things she held close to her heart, never wanting to speak of again. Perhaps even things not even Lyra was aware of sat behind her shadowed doorway. Others had so carefully crafted everything in her life, and for once, Lyra thought she had everything in her control. It appeared not, though, as the various hidden forces came to the forefront.
"What haven't you told us, Lyra?" Regulus whispered, his voice low and careful, "I want to help–" a look from Sirius caused the boy to reiterate his words, "We want to help."
"I need to go on a walk."
-----
She was quick to change and dart from the manor, ignoring the hushed calls for her to wait. All four in the room knew not to try and reason with Lyra when she needed space. She was temperamental, and it would do no one any good if people wanted to push her. With the fragility of Lyra's mind at the moment, it would be even worse. There were perhaps three people that she would talk to in this state, and two weren't even in the same municipality; the third, well, he already knew some of the things that Lyra was hiding.
Her feet were quick as she sped through the backfield of Potter manor, kicking up dirt as the tears welled up in her eyes. She knew she'd have to admit it one day or another, the moments with Regulus where she did honestly think she could love him. Or perhaps even the conversations she had with Dumbledore would put her and the others in direct danger. Everything she had heard between Scarlett and Pierre the day she turned 19. Everything that Lyra was nowhere near ready or willing to speak of was rushing to her throat like vomit.
Everything came out in a broken scream as she dropped to her knees at the stream far from the manor. All of the pain and the heartache that Lyra had harboured in her body. She felt all of the shame from how others would touch her when she became desperate for attention. Everything she had whispered to people in the depths of the night. The three words she would whisper to Regulus Black, all the while picturing his brother between her legs.
The night when she was 14. Watching everyone crowd James with bright smiles, chanting his name as she stared. The loneliness and pain she felt watching him thrive. It was driven by jealousy, her actions that night. It was the fire in her steps as she wandered to the top of the astronomy tower. Everything had compiled in her chest that night, driving her mad to the point where the things she wished to happen to her almost came to fruition.
Her life was a game of roulette, shooting blanks. Every time the empty barrel rang out, it came to a step closer to the deadly bit of steel that was itching to imbed itself within her chest, her heart, her head. Anywhere it could reach.
She shot a blank that night.
Lyra never thought that perhaps this would be her downfall, the lowest part of her life when she was left with nothing else. There were no other options in her young mind. There was nothing left for her; no one cared. No one had even noticed when she slipped from the overwhelmingly loud party, chanting her twin brother's name like an omen of death. She just wanted it to stop. It may have been a desperate act for attention; Lyra wasn't sure. But the thoughts were crystal clear in her mind when she was just fourteen years old.
Until the smell of bergamot and cedar had filled her lungs.
'Don't worry. I noticed.'
Lyra fell back onto her heels as she dipped her head backwards, the tears sliding from her eyes like the river that flowed in front of her. The shadows slowly dispersed around that wretched cavern, sliding from Lyra's mind like snakes in the grass. She shouldn't have lied about any of it. Lyra should have told James about the prophecy. She should have been honest with Sirius about what she had done with Regulus. She should have told someone about the night she was fourteen. It may have been selfish; it may have been an act of self-defence. Lyra wasn't sure. All she knew was that everything was bubbling inside of her like an old cauldron on the verge of an explosion.
"Don't worry," his voice echoed, the shuffling of his feet coming up behind her, bergamot and cedar filling her lungs as he ran a hand over her golden hair, "I noticed."
Lyra lifted her teary eyes to see Sirius hovering above her. He dropped down next to her, tucking his knees under his elbows as he sat silently. Lyra readjusted and sat flat on her butt, resting her head against his shoulder.
Her eyes stayed focused on the stream in front of her, watching as the water shifted as the current changed. Rocks perturbed from the surface like broken pieces of a puzzle, splitting the tide into various streams. The water separated, becoming different parts of one more significant thing. Lyra turned her attention to Sirius with wide eyes, watching as his jaw clenched and eyes blurred, perhaps even he was remembering the night that he had followed her to the tower.
She watched the water once more, staring at the white parts that bubbled over when it hit the rocks. She admired the way the water split, rushing around the intruder with no regret and no pause in its motion. It always ended up back together, creating a monstrous weapon. No matter how small, water was a killer. Perhaps that was the beauty of it.
No matter how small, weak, frail, something is, it can still be deadly.