"All I wished for was to not be a Slytherin. Pure blood supremacy was woven into the material of those jade coloured ties and I would rather strangle myself with one than wear it."
After returning from her time spent on the run, Lyra, unruly, sarcas...
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Trapped
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"Please, take a seat." Lord Voldemort spoke calmly, motioning a large, boney hand to the seat across from him.
But I couldn't move. I was frozen. My heart was racing in my chest, like a frenzied bird desperately trying to escape its restrictive cage.
The hall that seemed so large at first, began to feel smaller, suffocatingly closing in on me.
Or perhaps I was growing bigger, taller, a spectacle for all to see.
But as I stood before the unfamiliar faces, I felt as though I was on display, vulnerable in the open space that provided no such cover nor refuge. I was exposed to the elements.
I looked towards Malfoy, his eyes still full of fear and regret, then towards my father; his face was stern and forceful, the serious grimace on his harsh features told me not to disobey the Dark Lords orders.
After one shaky breath, I slowly walked over to the empty chair, carefully sitting down as a cold sweat began forming on my forehead. The room was silent for a moment as I timidly looked around. All eyes were on me, as if waiting for me to speak, to say something. I didn't recognise any of the harsh, weathered faces of these men, only my father and Fabians. The rest were unknown, yet they all seemed to know me.
"Welcome Lyra." I didn't like the way he said my name. It was too personal. The way my name rolled off his tounge so effortlessly, as though greeting an old friend. The way he smiled without his eyes, welcoming me to the table like I was one of them. I would never be one of them.
Looking to my left, I noticed I was sat next to the only other woman in the room. She smiled at me sinisterly, showing her disgusting, rotten teeth. She looked deranged, black, raven curls that wildly framed her pointed face. Her black wand, which she sadistically twiddled between her nimble fingers, looked just as twisted as she was.
"Hello my pretty." She spoke slowly, her words sticky and sweetly evil as she wrapped a long, twisted finger around one of my auburn curls. As uncomfortable as the encounter was, I stayed deadly still, too afraid to move or be outspoken. The first time in my life I had held my tongue.
"Now now Bellatrix. Leave the poor girl alone." The Dark Lords voice was soft and oddly comforting, as it made her stop playing with my copper curls.
I caught Fabians dark, tierd eyes again. I sent him a nervous half-smile, an acknowledgment in an attempt to gain some familiarity in this foreign environment. Yet he just stared at me coldly, as though seeing right through me. As if I wasn't there.
