Warning: Mentions suicide, death.
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BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG!
Myra was jolted awake as her window rattled, dangerously close to breaking. Groggily, she rolled off her bed, barely catching herself. Trying to keep her eyes open, she looked to the cause of her waking.
Two shapes stood outside the window. One small Barred Owl was furiously flapping its wings, its claws scratching at the window. What terrified Myra was the large, black screech owl was beating its wings against the pane of the glass. Myra recognized that owl.
It was the family owl.
She hurriedly opened the window, her drowsiness gone. The screech owl came in and perched on the edge of Myra's bedside table. Myra untied the letter from its leg and stroked the owl.
"Hey, Zale." She whispered. She named him when she was eight, having found the name in a book of Greek translations. It meant 'sea strength and Myra had thought that was beautiful. The strength of a raging sea contained in a small owlet. Her parents hadn't bothered naming Zale for the seven years they had him.
Zale affectionately nipped her finger before taking off again into the sky. Myra held the letter in her hand for a moment before placing it on the table. She turned to the smaller owl. It held out one leg with a small roll of parchment tied with a fraying piece of rope. It also had a large package tied under the letter. Myra wondered how the small owl had the strength to carry it. Curious, she untied the parchment and the package. The owl held out its other leg, a small leather pouch on it. Myra rustled around her drawer and found a spare knut. She dropped it into the pouch and watched the smaller owl fly away.
Myra finally glanced back at the letter on the table. She couldn't open it in the dorm. Who knew what it would make her feel. She might end up crying and sobbing. No, it was better that she read it in a place where people would rarely go.
She looked out the window. The sky was still black and dark blue. She couldn't tell when the sun was going to come up. With a spare robe wrapped around her, she creeped out of her dorm, down the stairs, and out of the Common Room.
This time, she knew exactly where she was going. It was remote and one of the highest points in Hogwarts. Plus, the Astronomy Tower wasn't too far off from the Gryffindor Common room. She walked as quietly as she could. She didn't wear her shoes so she could feel the cold stone floors and the temperature outside didn't help.
Myra quietly climbed up the stairs to the top of the tower. Immediately, the cold bit her face and she couldn't feel her toes. Nonetheless, she sat by the edge of the tower, one foot dangling off the edge, her back resting against the wooden frame.
Myra decided to open the letter from her parents. Best to get the worst out of the way. Slowly and reluctantly, she opened the letter. Sitting under the light of the crescent moon, she read.
Dear Myra,
We are writing to inform you that the house-elf called Nixie has been terminated. Your father discovered her sending a correspondent to you. We deemed it fit to convey this message through our scribe so our hands will never write your name.
If you have any incentive to return home, be aware that you will be punished severely. We are aware that the slave has been treating your unfortunate injuries. This will not happen again as all other elves have been ordered to refuse to aid you.
From,
Evan Lestrange & Octavia Lestrange
Myra didn't move. She couldn't move. She read the letter again and again and again. Tears built up in her eyes and fell to the letter, her hands shaking violently. Her hands were fists clutching at a piece of parchment that threatened to destroy her very being. She felt a sob building up in her throat and closed her eyes tight, more tears leaking out from the corners of her eyes.
Myra curled up in a ball, her arms around her legs, her head resting on her knees. She tried taking a deep breath but instead, a sob lept from her mouth. Her bottom lip trembled. She could just imagine it.
Nixie, happily writing a note on a small paper, her handwriting small and neat, having to fit long letters in small areas. Nixie could've been sitting on her bed or standing up, writing on the wall, the only perfectly straight surface in her room.
Nixie finding a small delivery owl, tying the letter to the hyper owl, careful to not tear the delicate letter because 'This letter is for Miss Myra! It should spick and span! Not one flaw! Nixie shouldn't make a flaw!'. Nixie cradling the owl as she hurried up the stairs. Nixie opening one of the ornate windows of the mansion. Nixie sending the owl through the window. Nixie watching the owl fly across the sky to the north.
Nixie, not noticing the looming figure above her. Nixie hearing the growling voice of her father. Nixie with wide tearful eyes. Nixie with dropping ears. Nixie in her old, dirty bedsheet. Nixie accepting her fate. Her father raising her wand. Nixie with diamond tears tracing down her triangular face. Nixie's pained wail.
Nixie's body lying on the blue carpet. Myra's father stepping over the body, his cloak sweeping over it. Her father ordering more house-elves. 'Clean up this mess!'. The other house-elves peeking out from the doorways. The horrified looks on their faces. The hesitance and the fear for the future as they clean up, making sure that they do not touch the furniture. Her mother's presence hovering above them, her steely gaze and wand in hand.
Nixie's blank look, her last hopeful memory watching an owl fly out to Hogwarts, a small letter tied to its leg.
Myra rested her head back on the stone and looked at the sky. It swam with dark blue patches of clouds with the moon shining pale yellow and white light on her face.
The smile of the Great Cheshire Cat, she thought bitterly. How do you remember to smile when you feel the world dissolves around you as you dissolve from the world? How do remember to smile when the Red Queen challenges your life? How do you remember to smile when the Mad Hatter goes a different way?
How do you remember to smile when Alice leaves?
Myra shifted so that both legs were hanging off the tower.
What would it be like to fall to your death? She looked down at the grassy area under her feet. What would it be like to flutter softly, the wind in your ears, hair whipping around your face as you got closer and closer to the ground? She leaned forward, her hands at the edge. What would it feel like to be a falling angel, unavenged? To be pure? To be cold? To be untouchable?
What did Lucifer think as he fell from Heaven, feathers burning black, halo breaking? What did he feel when God cast him down? Betrayed? Solemn? Did he go down with a fight? Did he walk to the end of his plank and jump off on his own?
Myra swung her feet back and forth, her body swaying in the slight breeze.
Would anyone miss me? Would they cry? Will I be spoken about with admiration or anger? Would I be welcomed to Heaven or condemned to Hell?
Her arm brushed the side of her robe as she reached out, yearning to touch the endless sky when she remembered the package in her pocket. The package from the smaller owl with the leather pouch. Her hands scrambled to get in her pocket. She pulled a small, thin roll of parchment and a lumpy package wrapped in the same type of twine as before
She gingerly rolled open the letter. Myra almost broke down again when she saw Nixie's familiar handwriting.
Dear Mis Myra,
Nixie has very good news for you! Miss Myra will be so excited to hear this!
Nixie was doing some finding outs like what Miss Myra does for your classes. She was cleaning the Master's bedroom and Nixie detected magic. Strong magic. Nixie knew that the masters will be mad, but she went looking for the magic. She went to the closet where Mistress keeps her dresses and found a small door on the floor. Nixie repelled the dark magic around it and opened it.
Under the floor was a big box and Nixie opened it. Inside, she saw many different papers and pictures. She decided to send them to you so you could read them.
Love,
Nixie
(Nixie thinks it has something to do with Miss Myra's parents)
Biting back another shaky breath, she untied the package. Bunches of papers and pictures tumbled out, spilling to the floor. She quickly gathered them together before any of them fell off. She saw letters and pictures and declarations.
She organized them into three piles: pictures, letters, and neither.
Myra picked up the first picture. It seemed like it was taken through a window. In the picture, a man and a woman were talking, standing close to one another. It had seemed like a very intimate conversation. Myra picked up the second one. It seemed like the woman was now pregnant, the man holding his hand against her stomach, giving her a soft smile.
With a jolt, Myra realized she had seen them before. They were the same couple from her picture on her nightstand, the same couple from her dream. Those are my real parents.
But why are they being followed around?
The next picture showed her real parents in the nursery. Her mother (Elizabeth) using her wand to produce multicolored bubbles. Myra remembered the moment, from what felt like a dream. She didn't think it was real (any more real than the normal nightmares she faced).
The next picture showed the baby sleeping in the nursery. That same picture was taken at different time periods. Myra noticed that each picture had a date written in small lettering on the back. 5th November. 24th November. 3rd December. 5th December. 10th December. 20th December. 6th January. 17th January.
Then the pictures stopped. Myra could only imagine what happened.
Then Myra moved on to the letters.
Dear Fleamont,
I'm engaged to Thomas. I know that Mum and Dad don't approve of him, him being a Muggle. But I hope that you will still acknowledge me. If you are not ashamed of my choices, I want you to walk me down the aisle, since Dad would refuse. I want my younger brother to see me on the happiest day of my life.
Love,
Elizabeth
Dear Fleamont,
I heard Euphemia gave birth to a boy from some wizards I know that live in the area. Congratulations! What did you name him? We had a baby too. Her name is Myra. She was born on the seventeenth of January. I want to make you the godfather. I hope that they both go to Hogwarts together. It would mean so much to all of us if she met her cousin.
Love,
Elizabeth
Dear Fleamont,
I hope you'll write back soon. I want to talk to you. I feel the reason you are not responding is that you aren't getting my letters. I have reason to believe that Thomas and I are being watched. I don't know by whom. All I know is that Voldemort is gaining more power in these parts. I will not disclose much in these letters for fear that they are intercepted.
Love,
Elizabeth
Fleamont,
I think this will be the last time I write. Death Eaters are chasing me. I found a place to lie low for the time being.
Thomas died yesterday. He was ambushed on the way to get the groceries from the market across the street. Then they came and I took Myra and ran.
If I don't make it, I want you to take care of Myra. You are her godfather after all. I regret running away now. I'm sorry I didn't tell you goodbye.
I'm sorry for bringing shame to the Potter household.
Love,
Eliz-
The letter stopped, the last line trailing until it reached the bottom of the page.
Myra couldn't believe what she had read. My mother's a Potter? She had a brother? Myra placed the letter down carefully, stacking them next to the pictures. Her thoughts blurred together, one continuing before branching off into dozens of others, other thoughts colliding and forming a mash-up of words.
My mother's brother- I have a cousin at Hog- My uncle was a Potter- My mother is- My father- I was kid- The Lestranges-
Myra pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaling deeply. This was too much information for her brain to handle. She could still feel the dried tear tracks down her cheeks. Knowing that Nixie was... she couldn't even think it, much less say it. Then finding out that her mother was a Potter, that she was a Potter. Finding out that her parents were being stalked even before she was born. Finding out that she was kidnapped when she was young, so young that she barely remembered her parents.
Myra knew it was unusual for her to remember even that much. The earliest most kids can remember is three years old. She knew it wasn't normal to remember something that happened when she was less than one year old. Even if that something was a faint moment.
Myra gathered all the pictures and letters together so she didn't lose them. I need to talk to James tomorrow. She looked at the last pile. When she picked up the first paper, her eyes widened.
Ministry of Magic
This is a warrant granting permission for Evan Lestrange, Ivy Mulicber, Herman Malfoy plus an experienced to search the muggle property of Thomas and Elizabeth Romano.
It is believed that both Romano's have connections with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Any magical objects including wands, goblets, hats, or any other objects possessing magic must be recorded and brought to the Department of Magical Artefacts.
Consider both Romano's armed and dangerous. Elizabeth is a trained and educated witch with a wand. Thomas Romano is a muggle with access to muggle weaponry such as knives and guns.
Proceed with caution.
Signed,
Minister for Magic:
Nobby Leach
Myra had now somewhat gotten used to the information. Her brain had switched into her research mode, not letting feelings or emotions in. Her only thoughts were concise and logical. This warrant proved that the Ministry had been infiltrated by Voldemort's followers. She had a lot of things to do tomorrow.
Well, technically, today. She saw the faintest touch of purple and pink above the trees of the Forbidden Forest. She piled everything together and tied them. She moved them to her side where they wouldn't fall off.
"Myra?" Myra flinched so hard she almost fell off the tower. She turned around to see Peter standing behind her with a small bag in his hand, "What are you doing here?"
Myra took a moment to answer, trying to calm her racing heart, "What are you doing here?" Peter darted his eyes to the corner where the entrance to the tower was. Myra narrowed her eyes when he quickly glanced back. They have some sort of invisibility spell around them. Peter would never walk around alone.
"Nothing. You?" He asked swiftly, not giving Myra much time to question him. She quickly contemplated whether to push him or not.
"Nothing," She responded warily, "What's in the bag?" She noticed Peter grow nervous, glancing back at the corner again.
"Uh-um-uuh," He stammered. Myra resisted rolling her eyes. He couldn't be more obvious, "Food!" He blurted. Myra raised her eyebrow at the answer but didn't investigate.
She looked back out the tower, watching the pink encompass the navy blue sky. She took a deep breath, cherishing the sharp cold on her nose, the looming winter close.
"You're not going to jump, are you?" She heard Peter ask. She involuntarily tightened her fists around the edge of the platform.
"I don't think so," Myra said softly, "I was thinking about it, though." She heard Peter quietly come closer.
"Can I sit here?" He asked, gesturing to the empty spot next to her. She nodded. He sat criss-cross as if he was making sure his feet didn't hang over the edge.
"Why?" He asked simply. Myra looked to the side where he wouldn't be able to see her face.
"Too many things piled up," She whispered, "I wasn't sure if I could handle it." Peter hummed as if he agreed.
"Yeah, I know the feeling. Sometimes Prongs or Padfoot uses me as their house-elf. They're always like 'Peter, go do this' and 'Peter, go do that'. Sometimes, Remus is the only one who treats me like Peter, not like a slave." Peter said quietly. Myra heard a small sound in the corner but Peter quickly spoke.
"What about you? What piled on you?" He asked. Myra glanced at him before looking away again.
"I can't really say. It's kind of personal." She replied.
"Oh." Peter didn't talk after that for some time. He just sat next to Myra, his bag on his lap, almost completely forgotten. Until he reached in.
Myra tensed as she watched Peter put his hand in the mouth of the bag and pulled out a pumpkin pasty.
"Want it? Mum said food usually helps calm you down." He said, holding it out to her. She hesitantly took it, the pasty slightly soft in her hands, "Go on." Peter encouraged. Myra took a small bite and lowered her hand, dropping to her lap and she mutely chewed.
"It's good," She said after swallowing.
"Of course it is," Peter said, "Freshly made from the best kitchen in the United Kingdom." Myra decided to not say anything about it, knowing that the Marauders probably got them earlier in the night.
She slowly finished the pasty, not having much of an appetite. But, in the end, Peter was right. Myra felt a little better, not lighter. Just... better.
She leaned back, resting her palms on the stone floor, the sun rising in front of her, shining its beautiful rays on her.
Myra felt a warm weight on her hand. A familiar warm weight. She looked to her side to see nothing there but there was something on her hand.
Softly smiling at nothing, she laced her fingers through the familiar hands of Remus Lupin.
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Fun fact: Myra's thoughts reflect my own (depressing, I know. I'm honestly shocked at how I wrote the chapter).
Question of the day: Any theories? Any ideas floating around your head? ✨
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