CHAPTER TWENTY
THE TOP BOX WAS A SHIRE to excess. It perched precariously above the roaring Quidditch stadium, its golden trim gleaming faintly in the light of countless enchanted torches. The seats were plush, upholstered in deep green velvet, and arranged with the precision of a formal dinner party. The walls were charmed to block out the wind and amplify the sound of the cheering crowd below, making the box feel both exposed and insulated, like a fishbowl for the elite.
Lyra stood motionless, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression as carefully constructed as the box itself. She was a statue carved from disdain, her sharp eyes scanning the occupants like a predator assessing prey.
The whispers around her were relentless.
Lucius Malfoy, standing just a few feet away, was the picture of smug superiority. His pale hair gleamed like spun silver, and his robes were a masterpiece of understated wealth. He spoke to Cornelius Fudge in low, measured tones, his every word carefully chosen to convey both deference and dominance
"Ah Fudge," Lucius drawled, extending a gloved hand. "A pleasure, as always. I trust the Ministry is running as smoothly as ever under your expert guidance?"
Fudge, already sweating despite the mild weather, beamed at the compliment. "Lucius! Always a delight to see you. And you must introduce me to your lovely family."
"Of course," Lucius said smoothly, gesturing to Narcissa. "My wife, Narcissa. And these are our children, Draco and—" he paused, his tone cooling ever so slightly, "—Lyra Black."
Fudge recovered quickly, turning his attention to Narcissa, who offered him a polite, practiced smile. "How do you do, Minister?" she said, her voice as smooth as silk.
"Very well, very well," Fudge replied, bowing slightly. "And Draco! My word, you've grown. And Lyra—well, you certainly have the Black... presence, don't you?"
Merlin's beard, it's Sirius Black's daughter.
Shame, really. A stain on the Malfoys' reputation.
I heard she's just as mad as her father.
The whispers slithered around her like snakes, their venom dripping into her skin. She stood still, chin lifted ever so slightly, her expression carved from ice.
Her gaze flicked across the box, taking in the faces of its occupants like pieces on a chessboard. There was Fudge, pompous and oblivious as ever, shaking hands with Ezra Baudelaire as though the man's presence could somehow elevate his own. And there were the Weasleys, sticking out like bright, fraying threads in a tapestry of polished wealth. Arthur Weasley's smile was strained as he exchanged stiff pleasantries with Ezra. Lyra could practically feel the contempt radiating from Lucius beside her.
And then there was Harry Potter.Her eyes narrowing as she met his gaze. She hoped the iciness in her expression would cut through whatever foolish notion he had of her. But as much as she hated to admit it, his stare unnerved her. It was too much, too probing, like he could see the cracks she tried so hard to keep hidden.
Before she could dwell on it, her attention was drawn to another familiar face—Debra-Jo Baudelaire.
Debra-Jo. Ravenclaw prefect. The girl who always had a perfectly curated smile and a knack for charming professors. Lyra hadn't liked her then, and she certainly didn't like her now. Debra-Jo's gaze met hers briefly, the same polished, calculating expression she wore at Hogwarts now fixed in place. She looked impeccable as always, her platinum blonde curls falling perfectly against her crisp robes.
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RomanceFLUORESCENT ADOLESCENT | "Everything's in order in a black hole. Nothing seems as pretty as the past though" ━━he stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even with...
