We were now mere inches apart. I leaned down, my face level with hers, my eyes blazing with barely contained fury.
"You don't want to make an enemy of me, Hawke." I growled.
Lyanna swallowed hard, but her gaze remained defiant. "I'm not afraid of y...
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The cheerful yellow cabinets lining the walls of the country-style kitchen felt like a cruel joke, their bright optimism mocking the heavy atmosphere that had settled over us all.
The only sounds were shallow breathing and the occasional clink of porcelain as people sipped tea they didn't really want, going through the motions of normalcy after everything that had happened.
I stood rigid against the back door, my burned palms pressed flat against the cool wood behind me.
At the small circular table, Harry, Ron, and Astoria sat in exhausted silence, their faces still smudged with evidence of our escape.
Pansy perched on a countertop, her legs dangling like a child's, though her expression was anything but innocent — Enzo beside her.
Order members moved through the small house, their hushed voices carrying from the living room where they bent their heads in urgent discussion.
Upstairs, more of them attended to Lyanna — and Hermione.
Hermione had tasted the cruel brand of Bellatrix's torture, though even that had been cut short when an emergency on the front lines called Voldemort and his closest followers away.
That interruption had given them the window they needed to escape.
The irony of owing their freedom to more violence wasn't lost on me.
"Take some tea, Matt."
Pansy's quiet offer came with a gentle push of a cup in my direction.
I shook my head, letting my eyes fall to the floor where they could hide the storm of emotions I couldn't quite control.
My mind reeling, trying to process.
When Lupin, Moody, and Arthur Weasley finally entered the kitchen, I pushed myself away from the door with such force my palms screamed in protest.
"Is she going to be alright?"
The question burst from me like a prayer.
Lupin offered a small, tired smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Lyanna will be ok."
"Can I see her? Talk to her?"
The words tumbled out before I could stop them, desperate and raw.
He looked to Moody for guidance, the gesture making my heart sink before my old professor even spoke.
Moody leaned heavily on his staff in front of the blue stove, his magical eye swirling with what might have been sympathy.
"Best not right now, she needs to rest. Molly is with her."
