Echoes of the Past

Chapter 1

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Chapter One: Shadows on the Wall

Lyra Black sat cross-legged on her bed, staring blankly at the dark, cold stone walls of her Slytherin dormitory. The room was dimly lit, with only the flickering light of a single candle casting long, wavering shadows across the room. The flames danced along the walls, making the shadows seem alive—taunting her with memories she wished she could forget.

It was late, far past the time when the other girls in her dorm had gone to sleep. Their soft breathing filled the room, a peaceful contrast to the turmoil swirling in Lyra's mind. She didn't move, barely even blinked, as she kept her gaze fixed on the wall in front of her. Her thoughts were far from the present, pulled back to the conversation she had with her father just days before.

"I'll always choose Harry over you, Lyra," his voice echoed in her head, cold and final.

She could still see the look in Sirius's eyes when he said those words—steel-gray, filled with determination, and yet, with a trace of something she couldn't quite place. Regret, perhaps, or maybe just resignation. But there was no mistaking the message behind them. He had made his choice, and it wasn't her.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she shifted her gaze to the collage of pictures pinned to the wall by her bed. Most of the photographs were of her father, taken long before she was born. In some, he was with James Potter, both grinning like schoolboys, arms slung around each other's shoulders, as if the weight of the world hadn't yet crushed their spirits. In others, Sirius stood alone, his expression serious, almost haunted, as if the shadow of his family's legacy loomed too large to escape.

Lyra had grown up hearing stories of her father's rebellion against the Black family's twisted ideals, of how he had fought against the very darkness that she now felt creeping into her own heart. But those stories had always been just that—stories. Tales told to a child who wanted to believe her father was a hero, even when he was absent from her life.

But now, as she sat in the dim light of her dorm, those stories felt hollow. They didn't comfort her as they once had. Instead, they reminded her of the distance between them, a distance that had only grown wider with time. A part of her had always known that Sirius was closer to Harry, that he saw the Boy Who Lived as a son in a way he never had with her. But hearing it out loud—hearing him say he'd choose Harry over his own flesh and blood—had struck her like a curse.

Why? she wondered, staring at a picture of Sirius in his Hogwarts uniform, smiling proudly for the camera. Why wasn't I enough?

Her thoughts spiraled, each one dragging her further into the abyss of self-doubt. She had tried to live up to the name of Black in her own way, walking the line between the expectations of her family and her desire to forge her own path. But it was never enough—not for her father, not for the wizarding world, and certainly not for herself.

Lyra clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms as she fought back the tears that threatened to spill. She hated feeling this way—weak, vulnerable, like a child craving the approval of someone who would never give it. Sirius had made his choice clear, and there was nothing she could do to change it.

But as much as she wanted to harden her heart, to block out the pain and anger that boiled within her, she couldn't. It was like a poison, spreading through her veins, making her question everything about herself and the life she had tried to build. Her father's words had pierced her, shattering the fragile armor she had constructed over the years.

You're not enough, a voice whispered in the back of her mind. You'll never be enough.

Lyra shook her head, trying to silence the voice, but it persisted, gnawing at her with a cruel persistence. She glanced at the journal resting on her nightstand—the one she had taken from Regulus's room back at Grimmauld Place. She hadn't had the courage to read much of it yet, but the little she had glimpsed spoke of a similar struggle, of a young man torn between duty to his family and the desire to be something more.

Is this my fate too? she wondered, her fingers twitching toward the journal. To be swallowed by the darkness like Regulus was?

But Lyra wasn't sure if she had the strength to resist it. Not when even her own father had given up on her.

Another heavy sigh escaped her as she leaned back against the headboard, closing her eyes and letting the shadows on the wall consume her. She was tired—tired of fighting, tired of pretending she didn't care, tired of trying to be someone she wasn't.

Maybe it was time to stop fighting, to let go of the anger and resentment she carried like a shield. Maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to be at peace with the choices that had been made for her.

But as Lyra drifted off to sleep, the shadows crept closer, wrapping around her like a shroud. And deep down, she knew that peace was something she would have to fight for, with every ounce of strength she had left.