From a young age, Leonora Potter had discovered that she was quite different from the rest of her family. After getting sorted into Slytherin, her relationship with the Potter's crumbled, and she was forced to find family in other places. Perhaps th...
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December 31, 1978 - Sunday
"I don't know what's going to happen with Francis," Illyria said, her voice soft.
The girl now sat on the edge of the unused bed, her legs swinging slowly, arms no longer wrapped around herself but resting at her sides. Her eyes were red, but the tears had stopped.
Leonora hadn't left her side.
"We talked just briefly before my parents found me. He said we'd figure it out, that it didn't matter what they did. But now..." her voice trailed off.
"Do you still want to be with him?"
Illyria nodded. "Yes. Completely. He told me he already had ideas of where we could go once we graduate. Places where no one knows our names. Where the Dark Lord couldn't find us."
She paused, letting out a faint, tired breath that could've been a laugh.
"It all sounds so stupid now, doesn't it?"
"No," Leonora said quickly, shaking her head. "It sounds brave. Going against your family's wishes for your freedom. It doesn't sound stupid at all."
Illyria looked down at her hands, turning them over in her lap. "It just feels so far away now." She let out a breath and leaned back slightly, moving her hands to rest on the bed. "They've already started choosing a date."
Leonora's stomach dropped. "For the wedding? To Evander?"
"For the engagement party first, but yes, wedding talks have begun. They want it all arranged before I even graduate."
"And you're going to go along with it?"
"I don't have a choice," Illyria said flatly. "Not really. Not until I can get out." She rubbed her temples, eyes becoming glassy. "I just have to play the part, be the girl they want me to be. Pretend Evander doesn't make my skin crawl. Pretend getting engaged to him is some sort of reward for behaving."
Leonora's lip curled in disgust. "It's a punishment. Just dressed up with flowers and a pretty dress."
Illyria met her eyes, and something in her face cracked. Not with grief this time, but with something close to exhaustion. "That's exactly what it is."
"About Francis? I don't think so. My parents would never willingly tell anyone about our relationship, with him being a Muggleborn." She paused for a moment, a weak, wry smile appearing on her lips, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "And she hasn't come to hex me. Yet."
"But," Illyria continued, "you know how suspicious she already is. She knows I'm slipping, but I think she just thinks I have cold feet. About the Dark Lord. About the future. And she hates it. She hasn't said anything to me outright, but I can feel it in the way she talks now. Like she's trying to talk me back into the version of me she approves of. The one who was proud to be a Malfoy. This is the proof that there is something more going on than just cold feet."
