It was Saturday afternoon in Hogsmeade. Nyssa was sitting in the back corner of the Three Broomsticks thinking about her father's death. She hadn't cried since two weeks ago when she read about it in the Prophet and was wondering how long more she'd last till her next major break down. That night in the girls' dormitory, Hermione and Ginny had made it clear that they were there for her, and so were Ron, and Harry, anytime if she needed to talk. She'd been so grateful and overwhelmed with emotion that she burst into a puddle of tears then and there. Nyssa looked out the window into the street. Some Third Years were pushing each other down the snow-covered road towards the Shrieking Shack, giggling nervously as they cast uneasy glances around. Just then, Ron's head popped into the other side of her window and she waved at him. His face broke into a wide grin and he waved back, making his way to the entrance of the inn along with Harry and Hermione.
"'Aight, what will it be? I'm buying," Harry said once they reached her table. He was slightly giddy from navigating Zonko's huge Joke Shop.
"Can you even walk without holding on to my arm, Harry? I'll have a Butterbeer!" Ron said.
"Firewhiskey."
"Apple cider, please!"
Harry left to get the drinks.
Most of the school had heard about her father's suicide by week's end. People either gave her sympathetic looks, or avoided looking at her entirely. Her friends still joked when she was around, which helped her a great deal. She needed the familiar laughs and the fun, and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans before bed, because the rest of what she felt was pain. She had finally filled the hole in her heart where her mother had left, but now her heart had another hole ripped into it that seemed like it would never fill again, no matter how much she kept filling it. That is why she needed to be with Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny more than ever, because she was afraid that if the hole wasn't being filled, it would get deeper, and bigger, until it swallowed her, and she was glad that they understood that too.
She had received his suicide note from the Ministry two days ago. It was a mere page long, saying that he couldn't live anymore, because of the loss of his wife in France, and when moving to England hadn't helped, he'd made his decision and he was sorry to the people who would be hurt. He said it was no one's fault but his. She didn't believe her father took his own life, especially right after he sent the ring to her in an envelope that only she could open, and mentioned that he planned to meet her. So no tears came that day because she refused to spare any. He must have been blackmailed, or worse still, killed. It was relatively easy for suicides to be staged. He was never a coward and he valued life as much as he taught Nyssa to value hers. It must have something to do with the ring. She had no evidence yet, ergo her trip to Hogsmeade. She was going to floo to her home using the network in the Three Broomsticks to see if she could gain anything useful.
When Harry came back with the drinks, Nyssa took a few sips and stood up.
"Will you be okay? I wish we could come with you. It's just that you're on school leave and we aren't," Hermione said with a worried frown. If it wasn't against school rules to leave Hogsmeade, Nyssa knew she wouldn't have hesitated to follow her.
"Yeah. Besides, less people leaving would attract less attention from the inn, right?" Nyssa smiled reassuringly and made her way toward the fireplace.
If only she felt reassured. Her legs were shaking slightly at the thought of stepping into her home for the first time without her father's presence. She wondered what state it would be in. Would it look like a struggle? Or would everything be in place? Her father was not a messy person, but he didn't keep an organised desk either. She wondered what his office looked like at the moment of his death, and what he was doing that day. Did he have his usual coffee and toast breakfast at the nearby cafe? Did he remember to bring the papers that morning? She wondered about his work, and what reports he'd completed that were waiting to be published.
She took a handful of floo powder and stepped into the fireplace. She needed to see the house and couldn't wait till Christmas holidays to see it. Harry, Ron and Hermione were watching her quietly, while the rest of the inn remained warm and bustling.
"3 Stafford Wharf," she said, and vanished into a wall of emerald flames.
Nyssa stepped out of the fireplace and into her home. It was a two-floor house built next to a river, but the top floor had only one room, which had been turned into her father's workspace. Essentially, it was a single storey house with high ceilings and a climb-up office above the kitchen. The bathroom and bedrooms were on the other side of the house from where the kitchen was. The house legally belonged to her now, though it felt so foreign. The air seemed stale and a thin layer of dust had settled around the furniture. Her father's cleaning spells must have worn off when he died. Nyssa drew her wand and set them up again. She made her way into every room of the first storey, just to see where things were. Everything seemed to be in its usual place. No pots were left drying as her father seldom cooked, the bathroom seemed tidy and unremarkable, and her room was exactly as she had left it. Outside on the patio that overlooked the river, there was a simple round table and two chairs. Leaning against the stone brick wall was an old foldable deck chair, and from the ceiling hung a birdfeeder that was magically charmed to replenish itself. She decided against opening the patio doors because it was too cold outside.
Nyssa made her way across the house to her father's bedroom, inspected it, and sat on his bed. So far, nothing seemed suspicious. She huffed and got up to check the second floor when she saw a dark masculine figure with his back towards her in the office. Nyssa ducked behind the doorway and Disillusioned herself. The man was tall and built, moving around the workspace with speed and purpose. His face was towards her now and she stifled a gasp when she saw that it was concealed beneath a shiny mask. The Death Eater seemed to be looking for something as he opened every door on every cabinet and every desk drawer, and having no success, he seemed to be getting very impatient. After ten minutes, a snarl erupted from his throat and he kicked the wall in frustration. He paced around the room for awhile. Finally, he stood at the edge of the stairs, pulled his wand out and hurled a spell into the office. To Nyssa's surprise, a thick, heavy book fell from the ceiling and landed at the man's feet. The man picked it up, dusted its dark burgundy cover and made his way down the stairs. Nyssa shrank behind the door frame and hoped he wouldn't hear her heart pounding away in her chest. He stepped into the fireplace and flooed away.
Ronald Weasley had just downed half of Nyssa's Firewhiskey to Hermione's disapproval (and Harry's amusement) as the fireplace roared to life again. Nyssa appeared, face as white as a sheet, tore out of the Three Broomsticks and down the path. She wondered why she was running at all since the Death Eater hadn't even noticed her, and collapsed into the thick snow just past the post office. She felt her hands and legs get wet and cold in the snow. When her friends caught up, she was trying to drown herself with snow and she was pulled to her feet before anything serious happened. She did the best explaining she could. The Death Eater, the book, and then tears began travelling down her cheeks because her father's suicide was probably no accident. She had hugged and hit Harry and screamed into his robes as he hugged her and rubbed her back until she finally ran out of tears and calmed down.
The days would get harder for her as the Ministry would reject her appeal to open a case for her father, because of insufficient tangible evidence and they were "short on resources". The book that was hidden so carefully by her father would also remain a mystery to her, and the hole in her heart slowly grew wider each day questions remained unanswered about who killed her father, and why, and how the book and ring were connected to the murder, if they were at all. Perhaps the hardest blow for her would be the war that was to break out in the coming year, between Voldemort and the magical world.
A/N: I'm so sorry for all the depressing pain! The next chapter onwards will have a lot of Draco so don't worry! The real magic begins during the war. Do R&R, thanks!