Chapter Text
Narcissa Malfoy stood motionless at the imposing entrance of Lestrange Manor. The iron gates, adorned with ravens, cast eerie shadows on the frigid November night. She tightened her traveling cloak, attempting to ward off the biting chill of early winter as she contemplated the ominous task ahead.
"Get her out."
Rodolphus's urgent command echoed in Narcissa's mind, the weight of his words intensifying with each step. It was his final directive before vanishing to confront the Order of the Phoenix. War had taken its toll on the Lestranges. Just months after giving birth, Bellatrix, her dear sister, willingly placed herself on the front lines. There were no boundaries when it came to Bellatrix as a mother. Her dedication to the Dark Lord left her daughter neglected, which left a sour taste in Narcissa's mouth as she reached her hand for the gate.
"Mistress?"
Dobby's voice broke through her thoughts. She had almost forgotten the elf joined her on this mission.
"You are to wait here, Dobby," she hissed. "Send word if the Aurors are coming."
She placed her hands on the gate, and the raven on the crest began to twist and flap its wings. The iron gates groaned open slowly, the ominous sound reverberating in the stillness of the night. Narcissa hesitated, uncertain of what awaited her within the walls of the Lestrange family home—unvisited since her sister's wedding.
Advancing along the gravel path, Narcissa gracefully moved, her elegant steps echoing against the hushed whispers of the rustling hedges. The secrets whispered by the leaves seemed to be shared with her alone, as if the very essence of the garden recognized a kindred spirit in the woman treading its paths. The chilly breeze carried the scent of the garden, and Narcissa inhaled deeply, savoring the few moments of peace. When she reached the landing, a House Elf named Zanky materialized.
"Mistress Malfoy," he bowed low. "Zanky was not expecting you. Zanky was expecting Master and Mistress—"
"They will not be returning... for the foreseeable future," she managed, suppressing the tremor in her voice. "Where's Lyra?"
"Upstairs," the elf responded, still bowed. "Zanky has put little Mistress Lestrange for a nap."
"Rise," Narcissa gestured.
As the elf straightened, she glimpsed a bandage covering his right eye, dried blood staining it. His hands and clothes bore evidence of dagger-sized gashes. A grim realization crossed her face.
"I require the presence of all the elves in the Manor. Tell them to meet me in the receiving room," she commanded, ascending the steps to the door.
"Yes, Mistress Malfoy," the elf bowed again before vanishing with a crack.
Approaching the handle, a surge of Dark Magic assaulted her senses. It crashed over her like a relentless tidal wave. Stumbling back, she fought the rising nausea, steadying herself with deep breaths. She gripped the handle so tightly her knuckles turned white and steeled herself for whatever horrors lay beyond.
Upon entry, an elf promptly opened the door, and six others stood in the receiving room. One elf reached for her traveling cloak, another offered tea. Grateful for the distraction, she extended her hand for the elf to take the cloak, the other elves awaiting her next move.
"I'm afraid I won't be staying long," she declared. "I-I'm here to collect Lyra."
"Where will Mistress Malfoy be taking Lolly?" gasped one elf.
Too fatigued to correct the pet name, she scanned the expectant faces. Regret lingered as she prepared to take the one pure thing in Lestrange Manor: baby Lolly.
"Lolly—Lyra will stay with our family... until her parents get their affairs sorted."
The elves exchanged worried glances, their large eyes reflecting a mix of confusion and concern. They had served the Lestrange family for generations, witnessing the rise and fall of dark times, and now, the uncertain fate that loomed over the household. Narcissa could feel their collective anxiety, their loyalty tested by the events that unfolded outside the walls of the Manor.
"W-We understand, Mistress Malfoy," one brave elf spoke, his voice quivering.
"My priority is Lyra's safety," she assured them. "Prepare for her departure."
As the elves scurried off to fulfill their duties, Narcissa made her way through the dimly lit corridors, her senses attuned to the subtle shifts in the magical currents around her. The portraits on the walls, once filled with the stern faces of Lestrange ancestors, now bore witness to the desolation that gripped the manor. She ignored their glances as she walked.
The door to Lyra's room creaked open, revealing a small, lavender-hued chamber adorned with plush toys and whimsical decorations. Narcissa fought the sting that clung to her heart as she realized most of the decorations were made by the elves. Lyra lay peacefully in her bed, a stark contrast to the unsettling atmosphere that permeated the rest of the house.
Narcissa approached the sleeping child, her heart heavy with conflicting emotions. She gently woke Lyra, who blinked with sleepy confusion before recognizing her aunt.
"Aunt Cissy?" Lyra murmured, rubbing her eyes.
"Yes, sweetheart," Narcissa whispered, brushing a strand of dark hair away from Lyra's face. "We need to go on a little adventure, just you and me."
Lyra's eyes widened with curiosity, and without protest, she allowed Narcissa to lift her from the bed. As they made their way through the Manor, the elves gathered in the receiving room, their expressions a mix of sadness and determination.
Narcissa, holding Lyra close, addressed them, "I appreciate your loyalty to this house. Lyra needs the love and care she deserves. When the time comes, she will rebuild the Lestrange name to what it once was."
As Narcissa descended the steps of the Manor, Lyra cradled in her arms, a sense of purpose and responsibility weighed heavily on her shoulders. The gravel path stretched before her, winding through the hedges. The frigid wind carried echoes of forgotten memories and whispered secrets that seemed to linger in the air.
As she approached the imposing gates, Narcissa noticed Dobby. His large, eager eyes met hers, and a wave of relief washed over her.
"Dobby," she acknowledged, her voice soft yet resolute. "We are leaving."
Dobby bowed low, his mismatched eyes filled with unwavering loyalty, and outstretched his arms for Lolly. "Yes, Mistress Malfoy. Dobby will do his best to keep little Mistress Lestrange safe."
With a final glance at the foreboding silhouette of Lestrange Manor, her steps were guided by a determination to shield Lyra from the shadows that clung to her past. The gates, once ominous, now parted with a soft creak, as if acknowledging the heir's departure.
Together, aunt, niece, and elf ventured into the night, leaving behind the remnants of a dark legacy. The journey ahead was uncertain, but as Narcissa looked down at Lyra's innocent face, she knew that they carried within them the power to redefine her future.
"What—? Where have you been?" demanded Lucius.
Draco, nestled in his arms, clutched a picture book with a moving dragon, creating a deceptive scene of familial warmth. Narcissa, unable to muster a smile, stood as the door opened behind her. Dobby pushed a carriage and shouldered a small, enchanted diaper bag.
"That's not—"
"It is," she sighed, bracing for Lucius's reaction.
Lucius scowled at the carriage. Narcissa focused on her husband, extending her arms for their son. Draco's delighted screeches tugged at her heart, but Lucius hesitated.
"Dobby," he snapped. "Take Lyra up to Draco's nursery and tend to them. I need to speak with my wife."
The elf obeyed, approaching Lucius with arms outstretched for the infant. As Dobby left, Lucius exhaled loudly.
"This interferes with our plans, Narcissa," he declared sternly. "How am I supposed to clear our name when we're harboring a criminal's child?"
"The Lestranges are not—"
"They are," Lucius hissed, thrusting the Prophet toward her. Leaning in, she read the headline:
KNOWN FOLLOWERS OF THE DARK LORD
ARRESTED FOR THE TORTURE OF AURORS,
ALICE AND FRANK LONGBOTTOM
Known followers of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named were arrested this morning following the torture of Alice and Frank Longbottom, members of the infamous Order of the Phoenix. The Aurors were found in the Yaxley family home, bound and gagged, surrounded by Death Eaters. Radolphus and his wife, Bellatrix (nee Black), were the main perpetrators of the crime, having tracked and kidnapped the Aurors early morning before executing the Cruciatus curse continuously.
First responders to the scene claim the Aurors have "lost their minds completely" and "don't even remember their own names." The Aurors were rushed to St. Mungo's for expert treatment.
Following the attack—
Narcissa placed a shaky hand on the article. Nausea welled up as she sought support from an armchair. Lucius, coming around from behind the desk, helped her into the seat.
"Your sister—"
"I know what she's capable of, Lucius," Narcissa warned. Rubbing her temples, she hoped to alleviate the impending headache. "We're keeping their daughter here. That's final. I'm her godmother—" Her voice cracked—"Lyra's n-not even two years old. Imagine if it w-was Draco."
Lucius sighed, wringing his hands. Flipping the newspaper article to face him, he scanned it quickly.
"How many know about Lyra?" he asked after a long pause.
"Not many," answered Narcissa. Reflecting on Lyra's birth, she recalled Bella's rapid return to battle shortly after delivery. Lyra wasn't their priority.
"They'll question our loyalty if we keep her," Lucius stated plainly. "I plan on turning in Death Eater's name to the Ministry next week."
"So—?"
"So," Lucius said snidely, "she's going to be adopted." He paused, contemplating. "An orphan of the war—Yes, we'll have to change her appearance. Dobby can configure her if they come and inspect our home before my trial. We found her during a raid of the Order's safe houses—the ones where they kept orphans. Scrub all documents that inherit the Lestrange fortune to her and transfer and transfer them to you. Our contact in the Ministry --"
"Bella wouldn't transfer the title to her. She was upset Lyra wasn't a boy."
"It was never Bella's to transfer. Rodolphus would," Lucius stated plainly. "From this point on, Lyra was never a Lestrange."
The days and years flowed seamlessly for Narcissa as she observed her niece, Lyra, and precious goddaughter transform into a reflection of the Black sisters. Lyra's dark, curly hair mirrored Bellatrix, while her soft, round brown eyes echoed Andromeda's. She and Narcissa shared the same mouth. Upon close inspection, it became apparent that Lyra inherited little from the Lestrange family, except for the French angular jawline and an introverted personality.
Gratitude swelled within Narcissa, as Lyra's presence in their care offered some contrast to the fate she might have suffered under Bellatrix's influence. Though Lyra briefly won over Lucius, the initial enchantment faded as the harsh reality of the expenses involved in her care added up.
One morning, as Lucius entered Lyra's room, he asked, "Does she need twenty different satin bows?"
Narcissa, while braiding her niece's hair, smiled.
"Yes," she beamed. Narcissa turned her niece to face Lucius, and for a moment, she saw a twinkle in his eye. "Look at how darling. It all matches." Narcissa clasped her hands together in admiration. "We don't get to dress up Draco. He wants to be like Daddy and wear all black."
On Lyra's eighth birthday, the trio ventured to Florian Fortescue's for ice cream. Lyra, since this was a public outing, was adorned in her usual glamour of blonde straight hair and bright blue eyes. A black sundress, since she wanted to match with Draco, and a matching ribbon completed her birthday ensemble.
"Lolly Lemon-Drop Lyra!" Mr. Fortescue greeted with enthusiasm.
"Mr. Fortescue!" Lyra cheered. "Today is my birthday!"
"Is that so?" Mr. Fortescue said, ignoring Draco and Narcissa entirely like he normally did. "Well, an extra scoop of Lemon Drop for Lyra. Happy Birthday!" He turned to flick his wand at the scooper.
Lyra watched with wide eyes as the extra scoop landed on her cone. Her toy wand suddenly felt childish in her pocket. Draco had gotten rid of his before his birthday. All she could do was send off sparks, and it was great fun, but with Hogwarts so close now, she couldn’t wait to get their wands.
"What are you, 17?" Mr. Fortescue joked.
"No!" Lyra laughed, bouncing on her feet as she watched the extra scoop on her cone. "I’m eight!"
"Eight years!" Mr. Fortescue fake whistled. "You’re younger than Draco —"
"Only by a month!" Lyra corrected.
"By a month…" Mr. Fortescue observed, scratching his head and handing her the cone. "Draco, you didn’t come in for your birthday?"
"I had lessons that day," Draco straightened.
"I-I see," Mr. Fortescue said, avoiding Narcissa’s stare. He went on about serving Draco his cup of ice cream.
The car awaited them upon exiting the Leaky Cauldron, and magic propelled them swiftly through the countryside. The excitement of Lyra's birthday lingered as they arrived at the Manor, where the anticipation of wrapped gifts and signed cards awaited her. However, the joyous moment dissolved as Uncle Lucius and Draco's tutor intercepted her at the entrance.
"We do not run, Lyra," Mrs. Nixon tsked. She reached for Lyra's ice cream cone, and Lyra turned her body away.
"As ladies, we sit when we enjoy delicacies and we eat with a spoon," she said sternly, holding her hand out again forcefully.
Lyra stared at Uncle Lucius. She didn’t know why only ladies had to sit, and Draco could roam freely with his cup. Surely he wouldn’t let Mrs. Nixon speak to her in such a manner. She was a guest, after all, and it was Lyra’s birthday… Surely.
Lyra and Mrs. Nixon stared at each other. Lyra pivoted her body further away, Mrs. Nixon opening and closing her fingers as a signal. Lucius cleared his throat but was interrupted by his wife.
"Lolly, Mrs. Nixon only wants to help. We’ll have Dobby keep watch over your cone," she said gently, holding out her hand.
Well, if Dobby was looking after it, that was good enough for her. Lyra handed her cone willingly to her Aunt, who turned to walk into the Manor. She let the yellow cream drip onto her elegant black sleeve, and with her free hand, she beckoned to her husband. He shook his head disapprovingly at Lyra before following his wife inside.
The lessons with Mrs. Nixon were long and grueling, and Lyra did not think it was fair that she had to learn etiquette while Draco got to learn more fun things. Eventually, Draco graduated from Mrs. Nixon and moved on to a male tutor whom Lyra never got to meet.
For their leisure hours, Draco engaged in pick-up Quidditch sessions with his private tutor, and Lyra found herself gazing longingly as they soared over hedges, skillfully tossing the Quaffle. Quidditch, a sport only for wizards, according to Mrs. Nixon, had to only be a spectator's delight for her. As a proper witch, her enjoyment was supposed to come from witnessing the boys' rough and thrilling exploits.
"Pay attention!" Mrs. Nixon would hiss over the years, her eagle cane slamming down on the garden table to bring Lyra back into their etiquette lesson.
However, Lyra reached a point where she no longer flinched at the admonishments, having endured them for so long. Silently protesting within herself, she maintained a watchful eye on the Quidditch games. Evenings in the Manor took on a different tone. When the rest of the household retired, Lyra and Draco, cousins bonded by more than blood, met with Dobby in Draco's room for intense sessions of Wizard's chess.
After Dobby departed, the room transformed into an arena of hushed excitement as they passed the Quaffle between them. With silent footsteps, they circled the room, each taking turns diving onto Draco's four-poster bed, attempting to catch the Quaffle mid-dive. The soft rustling of the bedcovers and the suppressed laughter filled the room, creating a secret haven where the constraints of etiquette and lessons faded into the background, leaving space for the unspoken joy of youthful rebellion and shared adventures.
One evening, Draco, who noticed Lyra was getting proficient with Quaffle-handling, decided to introduce the Golden Snitch into their game.
Lyra winced. "Draco, are you sure this is a good idea? It's going to be so loud!"
Draco chuckled. "Come on, Lolly! It'll be fun. Just watch."
He retrieved the Snitch and held it up triumphantly.
Lyra hesitated, eyeing the Snitch with a mix of curiosity and concern. "Fun for you, maybe. What if someone hears us?
But Draco was already up for another attempt. "Don't worry so much, Lolly." His eyes twinkled before taking off for another dive.
However, the noise was indeed much louder than anticipated, and Lyra winced again, glancing nervously at the door. Sure enough, Lucius and Narcissa burst into the room, expressions a blend of irritation and surprise.
"What in Merlin's name is going on in here?" Lucius barked, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the Snitch in Draco's hand.
Lyra gulped, exchanging a guilty look with Draco, who was still recovering from his less-than-elegant landing. "We were just -- er -- practicing some Quidditch moves."
Lucius scowled. "Practicing in the middle of the night? Unacceptable. And you, young lady," he pointed at Lyra, "should know better."
Narcissa, a touch more amused than irritated, added, "Perhaps save the Quidditch practice for a more suitable hour. It's not very ladylike, Lyra."
Lyra nodded, trying to stifle a grin. "Yes, Aunt Narcissa."
As Lucius and Narcissa left, Draco shot Lyra an apologetic look. "Sorry, Lolly. I didn't think it would be that loud."
Lyra couldn't help but laugh. "Let's stick to Wizard's Chess for now."
As the months progressed, Draco's increasing responsibilities as the heir to the Malfoy legacy left little time for evening Quidditch. Instead, Lyra was relegated to the confines of Mrs. Nixon's scrutiny, assigned to read or embroider. Immersing herself in literature, she wrote poetry that she was required to recite to Aunt Cissy each night, and later, within the confines of a lady's circle.
Lyra's demeanor shifted, focusing on pleasing her family and mastering the art of her carefully constructed facade. The Sorting Hat's whispered thoughts during her Sorting had set the tone. Now, when her robes transformed into emerald green and silver, the snake blazing on her chest, it was undeniable – she had become a Slytherin through and through, and a true master of the facade.