CHAPTER THIRTY
THE FROST CLUNG TO THE BLACK wrought-iron gates of Malfoy Manor like ghostly fingers. Lyra stood in the stillness just beyond them, her gloved hands tightening around the handle of her enchanted suitcase. A soft snow fell, slow and deliberate, coating the ancient stone drive in a silver sheen that shimmered under the moonlight. Everything looked pristine. Untouched. As pqalways.
She inhaled deeply—not because she enjoyed the cold, but because it helped numb everything else.
The gate creaked open without her lifting a wand, as if the house had sensed her presence and chose, reluctantly, to admit her. Her boots crunched over the gravel path, the only sound breaking the stillness, each step echoing in the hollow silence like an accusation. She wasn't supposed to be here, not really. But Narcissa had sent word. A letter wrapped in dark green vellum and sealed with the Black crest. Lyra knew better than to ignore it.
She reached the main doors. Before she could raise her hand to knock, they opened, revealing Narcissa Malfoy.
There she stood, swathed in silver velvet, her pale face more statue than woman. Her hair was drawn back into a tight knot, no strands out of place. She looked regal. Cold. Unshaken. And yet her eyes—those calculating, frost-colored eyes—lingered on Lyra for just a beat longer than necessary.
"You've come," Narcissa said simply.
"You summoned," Lyra replied. Her voice was hoarse from the journey and the sharp winter air.
A subtle nod. "Come inside. You'll catch your death."
Maybe I already have, Lyra thought.
The foyer swallowed her in green marble and polished obsidian. Shadows cast by ever-burning sconces danced like old ghosts. The warmth of the manor should have felt comforting, but to Lyra, it was the kind of warmth one might find in a predator's lair—measured, selective, deceptive.
Draco wasn't there. Having told her that he was staying with his friends.
Neither was Lucius.
She didn't ask why.
Dinner was quiet. Opulent, as always, but hollow. The table stretched far too long for just the two of them. Narcissa sat at the head, her posture perfect, her utensils barely making a sound against her plate. Lyra sat several seats down, too far for comfort, not far enough for escape.
An elf poured her fizzy water—something carbonated and red that reminded her of blood. She didn't drink it.
"Draco is in the Alps," Narcissa offered coolly, cutting into her pheasant with a surgeon's precision. "With friends. We agreed the air would be good for his nerves." She assumed it was Theo whose family resided in Germany.
"And Lucius?" she asked, pretending to care.
Narcissa's knife paused for only a second. Lyra didn't catch that however "Meetings.".
"Of course."
"With the remaining noble families," Narcissa continued, voice clipped but steady. "You know how it is. So much planning. So many... shifting loyalties."
Lyra scoffed. She didn't try to hide it. "Let me guess. He's still pretending this is all about tradition. Or honor. And whatever shite-."
Narcissa's eyes snapped to hers, quick as a whip. "Mind your tongue."
"I'll mind it when he starts minding reality," Lyra muttered, pushing her food around the plate.
Silence stretched between them through the entire dinner, the clinking of cutlery and the faint crackle of the hearth the only sounds daring to break the oppressive quiet. Lyra pushed her untouched food aside, the weight of the manor pressing down on her chest like stone. By the time the servants had cleared the table, she barely noticed, moving almost on instinct toward the warmth of the garden dome. The soft glow of the enchanted ceiling mimicked the inky winter night outside, and the velvet sofa seemed to swallow her in its comforting embrace.
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FLUORESCENT ADOLESCENT ► harry potter ¹
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...
