A dense fog had settled over the massive estate of Malfoy Manor, preventing even the weakest rays of sunlight to filter in through the windows. The result was that the mansion, already dismal-looking in appearance, took on a forlorn sort of air that was more or less reflective upon its inhabitants. On the second floor, in one of the home's many rooms, there lay a girl, sprawled across her bed, fast asleep. Her blond hair lay matted to her head in a messy clump, and the only indication that she was indeed still alive were the soft snores that issued from her mouth at regular intervals. She rolled over onto her side, strewing the many books and bits of parchment that lay around her. A large tawny owl resting on her headboard hooted loudly, but the girl did not stir. She was having a nightmare.

She thought she had been standing in the Great Hall, but further inspection made her think this could not possibly be true. It was missing the long, wooden tables that normally accommodated the students of the four houses, and the fires that were usually gleaming brightly in the wall sconces were extinguished, casting large shadows across most of the hall. It was no longer the warm, inviting room she remembered. It now felt darker, more sinister...

A man emerged from the blackness, dressed in plain robes, smiling at her. She watched him, tentatively at first, and as he stepped closer a look of recognition and shock crossed her features. It was the Dark Lord, though a much younger version, a man she had only seen in old photographs. His hair was thick and wavy, and his face was no longer the sickly greenish tint it had taken on in recent years. However, there could be no mistaking him. His eyes were not the red slits she was so accustomed to, but they were his, cold and hungry, the only thing left untouched on his new body. They were unnerving and not something Lyra could soon forget. He spoke, and it was not the high-pitched voice she was expecting, but a much deeper, more appealing tone.

"Lyra," he stated, still smiling, "dear Lyra."

"What- what do you want?" She tried hard to keep her voice from cracking, but failed. Voldemort noticed this and continued smiling. Lyra hated that, his arrogant little smile. She wanted to wipe it right off his pretty face. She hated him, hated how he had done this to her and her family, her friends, her world, all for the sake of power. She wanted nothing more than to see him dead, lying broken on the ground. At that moment, she was grateful that he could not enter her mind in her dreams, for surely her thoughts would have gotten her killed in an instant. Instead, Voldemort stepped closer to her. She felt her wand in her right hand pocket, but did not remove it, keeping an eye on him as he circled around her.

"It seems to me that you have been led astray. I'm here to correct that."

"What are you talking about?"

But he did not have to explain himself. He casually flicked his wand and a girl came floating into their view, struggling against invisible bonds. Her dark eyes were widened in horror, and then in surprise as she looked at Lyra. Lyra ran over to her, clawing at the hem of her robes, but to no avail. She could not pull her down. The girl started crying, and large, silent tears poured down her face as Lyra continued her hopeless attempts at retrieving her.

"Yes, unfortunate," Voldemort continued, as though he did not witness the exchange between the two, "A person of your blood-status. Such a waste. But no matter." He pulled out his wand, and with one long sweep of his hand, the girl drifted forward. Lyra did not follow her, but stood motionless.

"Every drop of magical blood spilled is a terrible loss. I wish for nothing more than you to leave this hall unharmed. So I've decided to give you a little test," Voldemort looked at Lyra, his dark eyes glinting, "to see where your loyalties truly lie." He flicked his wand once more and two more figures came forth from the shadows, suspended in midair, though more subdued. The faces of a woman and boy greeted her, their white-blond hair so much like her own. They did not attempt to break through the unseen ropes, but merely observed Lyra with discerning expressions.

"No!" Lyra shouted. She ran towards them but she was suddenly thrown back by a force she could not see. Voldemort stood there laughing.

"Quiet now, silly girl. I will not kill them. Yet. Their lives rest in your hands. You decide. Do they live," he gestured towards her mother and brother, "or does she?" He waved his hand disdainfully towards the girl. "You have five seconds. Make the right choice, Lyra."

Lyra's head was swimming as she took in the faces of her mother, brother, and closest friend, all hovering in front of her, completely helpless, waiting for her decision. How could she choose? How could she condemn these people whom she loved and cared about? There was no right choice. Any decision she made would destroy a life that was not hers to destroy. They all would die if she did not choose, a fact that she was well aware of, but she could not bring herself to utter the words that could send one, or all of them to their deaths. Lyra fell to the ground, the silence of the great room reverberating in her ears.

Voldemort had stopped counting.

"No," she whispered as a flash of brilliant green light filled the room, briefly showing her her loved ones, the looks of terror frozen on their faces. Voldemort's piercing laugh echoed in her ears.

"Your time is up, Lyra."

Lyra Malfoy woke with a start. Twice she had to check her room to make sure no Dark wizard was hiding behind her curtains or in the large walk-in closet that housed most of her staggering collection of clothes. When she was satisfied that nothing malignant was waiting to ambush her, she sat back down on her bed, sighing loudly.

Lyra had known the end of the dream before it was over. She had been having the same dream for weeks now, almost every night since the fiasco at the Ministry. She had not been there, had not witnessed her father and several other of Voldemort's followers attempting to kill Harry Potter and his friends, her best friend among them. They had very nearly succeeded before a large group of Aurors arrived, apprehending her father and most of the other Death Eaters, save her aunt. Nonetheless, the events that had taken place there had put her out quite a bit. She could not say she felt particularly upset about her father's imprisonment in Azkaban; they had not been close in years. It had, however, taken a toll on her mother and brother. Draco sulked in his room most days, refusing to come out even when it was perfect Quidditch weather, though to date he had never missed such an opportunity. She knew that the source of his distress came not only from the absence of their father, who seemed to give Draco all the affection he had been denying her, but also from the impossible task he had been given by the Dark Lord at the end of their last term at Hogwarts. She remembered the day they had returned home to find him sitting in their dining room, and shuddered.

No one in their compartment spoke on the train ride to London. Lyra knew Pansy was probably itching to say something to comfort Draco, but even she wasn't that thick. Lyra couldn't even bring him out of his stupor, and resigned herself to holding his hand until they reached King's Cross, where they were greeted by a somber Narcissa. Lyra said her goodbyes to her friends, most of whom wouldn't look her in the eye, and left quietly with her family. They arrived at their manor in silence. Lyra walked into the parlor, wondering if things could possibly get any worse, when she heard his voice.

"They have returned."

Lyra's blood turned cold and she stopped dead in her tracks. It was only her mother's gentle pushing that ushered her forward into their dining room where she knew she would come face to face with Lord Voldemort.

He was flanked on both sides by a mass of Death Eaters, with her aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange, at his immediate right. They all stood motionless, with masks covering their faces. Voldemort held the tip of his wand between his fingers, twirling it slowly. His eyes locked on Lyra's mother.

"Narcissa." She lowered her gaze respectfully.

"My Lord."

"I see one of your children here," his gaze flickered to Lyra, who unconsciously took a step backwards into her mother. His eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, then shot back up to Narcissa. "But where is your son, Draco? It would be impolite to start without him."

"Here, my Lord," announced Draco, who suddenly appeared at Lyra's side. His eyes were dull and listless, but he stood straight, meeting Voldemort's gaze unflinchingly.

"Ah, Draco. How nice of you to join us," rasped the Dark Lord, a small smile finding its way to his thin lips. "As you are already aware, Lucius has been imprisoned in Azkaban, and has failed to retrieve the prophecy, which was destroyed in the fight at the Ministry. He has exposed us. The Ministry knows of my return to power, something that has set back my plans greatly. He has failed me." Voldemort finished his speech, then looked towards Lyra. Draco grasped her hand.

Lyra had guessed the nature of Voldemort's visit before he spoke, and now her suspicions were confirmed. Her father had failed him, and the Dark Lord did not take kindly to failure, of any sort. They were to be punished for Lucius's mistakes, though how she did not know.

"But you," he continued, "will not. I require a service from you, Lyra. A task that you will fulfill. If you succeed, you will be honored above all others. But, of course, you must succeed. There is no other option," Voldemort paused. "Now, when you return to Hogwarts for your sixth year, you will kill Albus Dumbledore."

Lyra's world swimmed before her eyes, and her vision went black. This was it, their punishment for her father's insolence. Voldemort knew what he was asking was impossible. She would get her entire family killed if she did not succeed, and there was no way she could succeed.

"No!" she heard Draco shout. He stepped in front of her, shielding her from the Dark Lord's penetrating stare. When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper. "I will take her place, my Lord. Give me the task."

Voldemort's slitted eyes widened in mock surprise. "What's this? So Draco is volunteering for his sister? How very endearing. However, it seems the loyalties in this family run deep and I do value loyalty in my followers. What a pity that your father did not show it as well. Very well. The task is now yours." He then looked at Lyra and Narcissa, who, it seemed, had been rendered speechless. "Speak of this to no one." A cloud of black smoke billowed around him and his Death Eaters, and he was gone.

Lyra felt tears begin to build up in her eyes, but quickly swatted them away. She could not be weak now. This was no time for weakness. Instead, she whipped Draco around by his shoulder to face her. "What in Merlin's name was that, Draco! You have no idea what you've just done."

"Yes, I do. I won't lose another person I care about to this war. Because that's what this is, Lyra. A war. The only way our family will make it out is if we obey everything he says. I'm going to succeed. Everything will be made right again. I have to do this."

Narcissa stepped forward and took Draco's face in her hands. She kissed his forehead lightly, then wound both her arms around her son. Too gone for words, Lyra stepped beside her mother, placing her arms around her brother as well. They stayed like that well into the late hours of the night, only letting go when the sun started to lighten the room around them. Stiff and sore, they gathered up the rest of their strength, and each returned to their rooms. No one spoke, and Lyra wondered if the silence at Malfoy Manor would ever end.

They never spoke about it, but Lyra resided in the room next to his, and often heard him screaming in his sleep. She so desperately wished she could help him, knowing that she was one of the only people who truly understood him, but this was a task he had to complete on his own. Besides that, she now had to worry about her own safety, as well as her family's. She knew that the Dark Lord of her reality was not as well informed as the Dark Lord of her dreams. He had no idea that her best friend was Shiloh Lupin, a half-blood Gryffindor in her year. In fact, even her own family knew very little about this scandalous friendship that had sprung up between the two witches. Lyra wasn't even quite sure that she fully understood it herself. She only knew that Shiloh went out of her way to defend a first year Slytherin girl when a group of Gryffindors had ganged up on her. They had been friends ever since. But their friendship did not come without its complications. Her parents were livid when they discovered their pure-blood daughter had been hanging around with the likes of Shiloh Lupin. So they kept their friendship a secret, for the most part, from her family. Lyra knew if the Dark Lord ever found out, both her and Shiloh's families would be imprisoned, tortured, or killed. Possibly all three, but Lyra didn't like to linger on those thoughts. However, the dream was a harbinger she couldn't ignore. She knew in the end she would have to choose between what was easy, and what she knew to be right.

The time to make her decision was drawing closer, and yet she still wasn't sure what she would choose, or if she would be able to choose at all for that matter.

There was a sharp knock on Lyra's door, causing her to jump up off her bed. Several books fell and scattered on the floor in front of her. She stepped over them (and quite a few other items) and made her way to the large door located in the far right-hand corner of her room. It was tall, rising almost four feet above her head, made of Egyptian ebony, and fashioned with ornate silver designs across the middle and sides. She pulled back the door not without some difficulty, and found her mother standing in the doorway, clad in a pair of emerald robes that looked much too elegant to be for lounging around the house. Then again, if your house was a 3-story manor complete with its own zip code, perhaps they were completely appropriate. Narcissa Malfoy was a beautiful witch, when she wanted to be, though she often times wore a grimace that made her look as though she was smelling something unpleasant. Today, however, she had replaced it with a warm smile for her daughter. Her shoulder length blond hair was pulled back in a loose chignon, and her grey eyes were lined with a dark shadow. Narcissa looked at her daughter, still in her rumpled pajamas, and made a sound in the back of her throat that let Lyra know she clearly disapproved of her late start. Lyra rolled her eyes.

"Almost noon, and just out of bed? I can see this summer's made you lazy. And your room," Narcissa glanced behind Lyra to find the room in shambles. "It's a mess."

And it was. Broken bottles of ink lay on the floor, their dark contents congealing in the thick carpet. Lyra had not cleaned her owl's cage in quite some time, preferring to just let her roam the house, and currently she was sitting on her windowsill, watching the gray sky outside. Lyra's Quidditch robes and Nimbus 2001 were piled into a corner, and it smelled as though she had not bothered to wash the uniform since her last match. Half-eaten pumpkin pasties and empty chocolate frog boxes littered the ground amongst broken quills and vials. Her owl flew over to a questionable looking cauldron cake and nibbled at it.

"So, I've had better things to do." Lyra pulled out her wand and waved it behind her. The room instantly cleaned itself. Broken items flew back onto their shelves, repaired. The dark ink was siphoned off the carpet, and then vanished. The sheets on her bed neatly made themselves, and all her books lay in a large stack on her desk. She stowed her wand away. "Better?"

Narcissa smiled. "Much. Now please, get ready, and hurry. There's something we must do today." Lyra began to question her mother further, but she shut the door quickly, leaving behind only a thick cloud of perfume.

Lyra lifted up her hand and felt her hair, which was tangled and knotted from a night's worth of restless sleep. She scrunched up her nose and at once her hair flowed down to her waist in tight corksrew curls. With another twitch of her mouth, they flew right back into her scalp, flattening out and smoothing themselves against her head. Lyra was a Metamorphmagus, and could change everything from the shape of her nose to the color of her skin, though she preferred to keep herself looking as close to her normal appearance as possible. Lyra studied herself in the full-length mirror situated on the back of her door. She was short, just under 5'4", and sported a tiny frame. Her skin was pale, almost translucent-looking, and she had large dark green eyes, the color of moss. Her hair was light blond, and cropped short, which was how she liked it. Today was no exception. She made no alterations to her hair, leaving it smooth and straight, and went to her closet. She rummaged through her staggering collection of clothes, eventually coming up with a set of deep purple robes that complimented her complexion wonderfully. She quickly slipped them on and then, after looking in the mirror for a second time and changing her eye color to match her robes, made her way downstairs.

Malfoy Manor was colossal in size, the mansion alone covering an entire acre. Lyra walked down to the end of the hall where her room was located and glided down the solid marble staircase that gave way into a substantial living room, complete with fireplace and several large portraits of arrogant looking witches and wizards, all with that same unpleasant expression on their faces that made them look as if they were smelling something rather foul. She moved past them, ignoring their snide comments and paused only briefly to wave hello to the painting of an old witch above the fireplace. She came out into a voluminous dining room that at the moment contained several raucous Death Eaters, bullying a couple of house elves and laughing loudly. Lyra kept to the far side of the room, taking care not to interrupt. She may technically be on their side, but she didn't like to be around them. They made her nervous, though she never showed it. She knew her mother shared her views. She was a bit apprehensive about allowing them into her home, and sure enough, when Lyra traipsed into the parlor, Narcissa was watching the door with a wary eye.

"Ready, dear?" Narcissa asked, offering her hand to Lyra.

"We're Apparating?" asked Lyra, eyeing her mother's hand suspiciously. "Exactly where are we going, Mother?"

Narcissa lowered her hand and looked at her daughter, her grey eyes piercing straight through her, as though she were trying to convey something important. She stepped closer to Lyra and said in a low voice, "Darling, I would love to tell you why we are doing this, but I cannot. I have been forbidden. We all have. But this will help Dra-" Narcissa looked as though she had lost her breath, but quickly regained her composure. "This will help him."

Lyra needed no other explanation. Whatever helped her brother, she would do, no matter the stakes. She took her mother's hand in her own and nodded once. "Okay."

They were just seconds away from Disapparating when a figure appeared in the doorway leading from the dining room. She was cloaked and hooded, but her dark hair fell in cascades of curls down the front of her robes and Lyra immediately knew it was her aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange. She removed her hood and looked at the two Malfoy women, their hands still locked together.

"Cissy, Lyra, where on Earth are you going?" asked Bellatrix, who had put the clues together and realized they were about to Apparate.

Narcissa did not look her sister in the eye when she spoke. "We are going to Spinner's End, to seek out Severus."

Lyra's eyes widened as she took in what her mother was saying, but Bellatrix seemed the most taken aback.

"Cissy! Are you mad? You can't - the Dark Lord - no! I will not allow this. Cissy, please see reason."

"I see no reason in this, Bellatrix!" shouted Narcissa, finally meeting her sister's gaze. "I must do what little I can. And you cannot stop me. Lyra," Narcissa spoke softly. Lyra turned towards her mother. "We are leaving."

"Cissy, please," Bellatrix pleaded. Lyra, for the first time in her life, saw her aunt's resolve falter. "Please, let me accompany you."

Narcissa face remained emotionless, but Lyra thought she saw something flash in her eyes. "Of course, Bella." Narcissa held her hand out to her sister, who gripped it tightly, and with a resounding pop! they were off on their way to Spinner's End.