Perfidy | Tom Riddle |

5.

August 18, 1943

She seemed nervous making her way up to Malfoy Manor, her once temporary home that became the headquarters for the Dark Lord and his followers. Will it be the same as it was in the future? She hoped it would be to feel a sense of security upon entering the home. She remembers the balls Narcissa would love to throw and how she would annoy her and Draco by taking them each and every time to the tailors.

Wearing a long black silk dress that wrapped around her neck and cut off at her sleeves and a silver snake bracelet wrapped around her bicep. Lyra secured her wand onto her thigh holster with the slit of the dress stopping at her mid-thigh. This seems appropriate for a 40's ball. Nothing compared to what she would wear back home.

She noticed one thing Malfoy had forgotten to mention, that it was a masquerade ball. Stopping in her tracks she noticed a broken rose laid upon the grass, picking it up, she looked around to make sure no one would see her cast a wandless spell, "metamorfóno" she watched as the rose turned into a mask and gently tied it across her face and continued her path.

Walking in the manor looked exactly like how she remembered it but there was a slight sense of unfamiliarity to it. She stood on top of the stairs gazing around the manor, in this place and time she was a stranger to this home. She turned to look down to see all eyes on her, she felt nervous, after all, she was trapped in a room with purebloods who deemed themselves better than half-bloods and those who are muggle-born.

She balled up her fist taking in a clump of her dress fabric, slightly lifting it up to not trip over while walking down the stairs. They were all her enemies, each and every single one of them will end up supporting The Dark Lord and bringing the wizarding world to a downfall.

Once she reached the bottom of the stairs a house-elf quickly rushed over to her side with a tray of beverages.

"Champagne Mistress?" he squeaked, visibly shaking, not daring to make eye contact with her. Covered in cuts, bruises, and bandages, she couldn't help remember Dobby, the house-elf who was kind to her and assisted her a great many amounts of times with her wounds. Lyra bent down to the elf and gently lifted up his chin, smiling at him, "What is your name if I may ask?"

"Sabby, Mistress, Sabby is my name," he whispered and looked into her eyes and returned a smile back to her.

" I'm going to tell you something Sabby, but you have to promise not to tell anyone this. Do you think Sabby could do that?"

"Quite so Mistress, Sabby is good at keeping secrets."

" My name is Lyra Lenkrov, you're the only person here who knows this. Consider me a friend."

" A friend? Sabby has not had a friend before." he looked excited and wasn't scared to look at her anymore. "Mistress's name will be kept a secret with me."

The two smiled at one another, as Lyra stood up she patted his head, grabbed a glass of champagne off the tray, and walked away. She made her way by a window in which she looked out to see the statues her, Draco, and Blaise would constantly break during their duel battles. Or the number of times they've gotten drunk and tried to swim in the fountains. She dreadfully misses those days.

"Had an interesting conversation with the house-elf." Lyra turned her head to see a tall figure looking back at her with a glass of firewhiskey in his hand. He was beautiful, his face seemed to have been carved like a Greek statue, his hair was loose perfectly curled and his scarlet eyes pierced into hers. For some reason, in those mere seconds, the nervousness that washed over her seemed to fade away.

She turned to look out into the garden, taking a sip of her champagne, "Quite interesting it was, he told me all about the Malfoy generation secrets and how they have unicorns locked in their attics." they both let out a peal of small laughter.

"And who might you be?" he questioned, she could feel him staring at her.

"A stranger."

They both turned to the sound of glass shattering, "Idiots" he muttered under his breath. "Excuse me" and without another word, he left.

She wandered aimlessly around the manor and stopped to stare at the family portraits where one day Lucius' and Draco's portraits would hang. The men of the Malfoy family were highly valued. She noticed an older woman was standing next to her also admiring the portraits.

"No women? Have you noticed that." Lyra spoke out.

"The Malfoy line has taken extreme measures to guarantee the male lineage never dies."

"Strange though isn't for a family to value one gender of another, all because what? Someone once deemed the male sex to be superior. I can't ever imagine myself getting married to find out I would only produce male heirs, the thought of never having a daughter breaks my heart a little." she looked down onto the floor.

She had always thought that one day she would get married and have kids, there was nothing else she wanted more than to build the family she never got to have.

A man walked over to the two, "Mrs. Malfoy you have set up the ball quite beautifully, once again you've outdone yourself."

"Why thank you, Adrian, it's always a pleasure to have you and your family over."

Mrs. Malfoy, she was speaking to Abraxas' mother and just blatantly disrespected her family and son.

"Mrs. Malfoy, my apologies I had no idea, again apologies I was disrespectful." she kept her gaze to the floor.

She felt her chin be lifted and had her eyes meet Mrs. Malfoy, who was smiling at her, not angry, but smiling.

"I always wanted a girl, Merlin sake. I love my son to death, but the idea of having a daughter was something I wished for one day. I loved Actaeus too much to not marry him over a small problem such as this. So no apologies are in order here dear." She put her hand over Lyra's shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze and turned her attention to the group of adults waiting on her.

Lyra turned to find herself eye to eye with Abraxas, even while wearing a mask she could tell it was him. He picked up her hand and bought it close to his lips just as Lyra pulled it away.

"And here I thought my good old friend wouldn't make it to my ball."