Awfully quiet, the elves nudged past one another in hurry. Everything will be fine, they repeated, Corban Yaxley is not here for us.
He wasn't. The rumor went that he was here to negotiate picking up Miss. Lyra since Lady Lestrange had her doubts. It was a fear of their Lady's reaction that made them huddle in silence. Everyone feared her.
''So the dinner went well?'' the voice on the other line squawked as Lyra shook her head.
''I don't understand why we have to use this phonetell. My head hurts.''
''It's telephone, not phonetell, and we're using it because Cups is too lazy.'' said Ruelle.
''Buy a new owl.'' shrugged Lyra and said on the couch in their living room. It was a vastly big room with almost no furniture, but Lyra took a liking to it — perhaps because of the emptiness, perhaps because of the quietness that surrounded the room. It was something she had to get used to. This is her home now.
''Stop avoiding my question. What was dinner like? Did your mother like him?'' a note of excitement arose in her voice and Lyra could feel the questions coming. Sometimes Ruelle crossed some lines, but she didn't seem to notice. Lyra was sure some of elves were sent by Bellatrix to eavesdrop on her conversation with Ruelle and Lyra wasn't going to risk it. Not everyone has to know her business.
''It was fine. I don't understand how Corban didn't go mad with her. All she did was make us uncomfortable.''
''Well,'' Ruelle sighed loudly. ''We could have expected it, right?''
''I suppose, yeah.'' Lyra answered lazily. ''I gotta go, Rue. We have some fancy dinner I have to get ready for. I hope you're coming.''
She heard rummaging, some mumbling that sounded like yes and then silence. Lyra dropped the telephone on her desk and stretched like a cat. The chilly mist that had pressed againstthe windows of Lestranges' home drifted over the garden it overlooked, giving it even a gloomier look. What did that meeting with one of the more powerful purebloods mean? Why would Bellatrix talk to him?
It was one of those nights where nothing was wrong, but nothing was right too. The house, house of her parents was alive and breathing, with voices of Voldemort's followers.
There she was. Bella stood at the door with her gaunt, skull-like face that gave away worry. Somewhere in the distance of the mansion you could hear the tiny squeaks of elves, rattling and jingling of the dishes, but the sounds were completely ignored by the two women in the room. Both so similar, yet different looked at each other and uttered a tired, woresome sigh.