Chapter 10: Attack

A hint of pale moonlight flirted with Bellatrix Lestrange's room. It was odd to see such a natural beauty again, for the fourteen years she spent in Azkaban had robbed her of every little detail of human life. Bellatrix had changed, though. Depsite the hope she had harbored in every inch of her body, she was now seperated from reality. She was going insane, Bella. Her only hint of mental saneness was the daughter she had to abandon for Azkaban.

In retrospect, Bella realized she wouldn't have done anything differently. Had she been given a second chance, she would find herself in exactly the same place. Rudolphus, too. Their servitude to the Dark Lord rivaled no other. Perhaps it was their own chance at power and fame that lured them to the dark side. It created such a strong bond neither prison nor death could break it.

"Bella, what are you doing?" came a voice from the darkness. Bella turned around to see Rudolphus standing in the doorway. Despite his deep and menacing voice, Bellatrix always found comfort in the sound of her husband.

"Just about to turn in," she replied. "I had forgotten how much I missed the moonlight. I thought I would watch it a little while longer."

"Has Lucius contacted you this week?" Rudolphus attempted to mask the eagerness in his voice with no avail.

"No, he has not. I would imagine he's too busy. Didn't you hear? The Dementors on the Hogwarts Express attacked Draco instead of dear little Harry Potter. He's in St. Mungo's," Bellatrix explained.

Dear little Harry Potter. Oh how Bella loathed his name. He stood for all she was against. Her pain and suffering were because of this boy. Boy, not a man. He wasn't even of age and he still had evaded capture for so many years.

"I've always said Dementors weren't worth our time. They may be deadly but they are as dumb as a box of rocks," Rudolphus said.

"The Dark Lord wishes it so," Bellatrix replied quickly. She stood up and walked towards her husband. "He believes they are useful. We cannot question him."

"I wasn't questioning him, my dear Bella. This is purely the opinion of your husband," he replied. "Get some rest. We have a meeting tomorrow."

A quick kiss on the cheek and Rudolphus had left the room. Although Bellatrix attempted to sleep, her tosses and turns throughout the night made it otherwise impossible to do so. Her mind wandered and then faded back in. Sleep never came easy to those who had a lot on their mind.

Lyra. Where was she? Who was she? What did she look like? Letters from Severus and Lucius only told half a tale. Her mind wandered to the most recent letter from Severus, which she recieved just before the Hogwarts break.

I have continued to keep tabs on your daughter, Bellatrix. While her Potions skills continue to lack, the rest of her marks seem more than acceptable. She is a talented witch, particularly in the area of Charms. I must warn you, however, she knows little of her pure-blood background and soon, I am afraid, she could fall in with the wrong crowd. I have attempted to push her towards the right people, but she is your daughter and she is stubborn. I urge you to make contact with her as soon as possible, Bellatrix. Perhaps then she might be able to concentrate in my class.

Severus made Bellatrix laugh. He was most concerned with himself and how students were doing in his class and his class only. His allegiances and loyalties may have shifted back and forth over the years, but Severus was still the same. He was still that same, grimy first year Bellatrix met as an older student. His eagerness to fit in led him to Lucius Malfoy's dormitory one fall night, and Bellatrix had never seen Lucius so thrilled to have a follower.

Bellatrix looked at the picture on her bedside table for a long moment. She couldn't wait to be a family again. Perhaps Lyra would even join her as a follower of Voldemort. From Lucius and Severus's letters, she would seem to be an excellent addition to the Death Eaters. She would just neet a bit of practice, that's all.

However, one part of Severus's letter continued to bother Bella. She knows little of her pure-blood background. Bella remembered that fateful night, years ago, giving up her precious daughter. Lucius and Narcissa promised to raise Bella. Both were of pure-blood ancestry... there should be no reason... none whatsoever...

But this was a battle for another time. With visions of spells and Galleons, Bellatrix settled down for another lonely night.

Nearly a week had passed since Draco had been home from the hospital. The trip Narcissa and Lyra made to the Black home was all but forgotten; Lucius and Narcissa made Draco their number one priority. Lyra didn't mind, of course. She had faded to being the human counterpart of wallpaper; she was always there but hardly acknowledged. Draco and Lyra had been on odd terms since he returned home from the hospital. Their conversations consisted of nothing more than a "good morning" and a "goodnight".

Two days before Christmas, Lyra, Narcissa, and Draco had arranged for a last-minute visit to Diagon Alley. It was also their- and Lyra had a sneaking suspicion it was purely Lucius- time to show the Wizarding world the Malfoy family was still respectable. The evening itinerary included a lovely candlelit dinner in one of the most popular wizarding resturants in all of Britain . Surely it was pure coincidence.

Grabbing her moneysack from the bedside table, Lyra peered at herself in the mirror. She had somehow managed to tame her wild, black hair into a pristine bunch of curls. She wore bottle green robes which seemed to fit her curves at the right places. Lyra had been living with the Malfoy family for six months, and this was the first time she could remember the four of them going out, as a family.

"Come now, Draco. We're going to be late." Lucius's tone was final. "We'll be Apparating to London . The Floo Network is too dirty for my tastes."

Lucius sneered at the thought of traveling through a fireplace. The thought vanished from his mind as Narcissa came scurrying down the stairs.

"Very well then. Draco, you can Apparate?" Lucius asked. Draco nodded. "Can you, Lyra?"

"Well, no..."

Nearly an entire education at Durmstrang and not once had Lyra realized she couldn't Apparate. Hogwarts students learned it their sixth year, Durmstrang their seventh and final year.

"Take my arm, Lyra. We don't wait to be late," Narcissa said.

In a short moment the four Malfoys were standing in front of a very well-worn building. The windows were boarded up and Lyra doubted the door even swung open anymore. She knew, of course, that this was purely a show for Muggles, who would think the building was a dump. Once inside, however, it proved to be a spectacular place.

The walls were lined in a red velvet cloth and the floor was a magnificent black Persian carpet. Real trees were every so often, with real fairies mixed up in the branches. Their lights provided a bright yet quiet ambiance to the restaurant. After being taken to their table ("The best seat in the house!" the maitre'd said), Lyra noticed nearly the entire restaurant was staring in their direction. The rest of the table had noticed this, too, because Lucius was sitting up straight, one hand next to his Ever-Refilling Wine Glass and the other sitting lightly atop Narcissa's hand. Draco was sitting up straight, too, attempting to look as menacing and as powerful as his father. Lyra felt herself straighten up too, although unconsciously.

Their waiter, a tall and thin rail of brown, moppy hair was now coming towards them. The expression on his face looked as if he didn't want to be working, at least tonight. He did, however, hold back his thoughts as he reached the table.

"Good evening, Mr. Malfoy," their waiter said, bowing deeply. "I am Everett , I will be your server tonight." Lucius nodded his head in acknowledgement. "We have the best elf-churned wine here with us today, sir. Could I interest you?"

"Yes, that sounds lovely. Those two will take butterbeer. They are not of age yet," Lucius said to the waiter.

"Absolutely. Of course," Everett replied. With a wave of his hand, a large, ruby colored bottle was now in his hand. He gently poured the amber colored liquid into two wine glasses and set them in front of Lucius and Narcissa. Another flick, and soon Lyra and Draco's glasses were full as well. Everett bowed once more, leaving the family to choose their meal choices.

It was evident the peering eyes that had once been upon them were now gone, because as Lyra took her turn to look around the room, not one of the many familiar faces she saw looked back. In one corner, she saw Professor McGonagall dining with an older witch and a young man, that Lyra recognized to be Neville Longbottom. The elder woman must be his grandmother. On the opposite side of the room, the Minister of Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge, was sitting at a large table, surrounded by what seemed to be good friends by the way they were conducting themselves. Their speech, just like their wine, was free flowing. It seems they chose not to take advantage of the Ever-Refilling Wine Glass, because at the edge of their table were six different wine glasses, all empty.

"I do hope this place got rid of their old house elves. The last batch were terrible," Lucius said, peering at his menu.

"But this isn't a house," Lyra said, slightly confused. Draco sniggered behind his menu.

"It's still an establishment," Narcissa said, a little too quickly. "Work is still needed to be done. They exist here to do the work."

Embarressed, Lyra went back to choosing her meal. She had forgotten that there was an entire five course meal to be served. The rest of the table had gone quiet too, except for the occasional sound of a wine glass being put back on the table. In the midst of the awkward silence, Everett appeared once more.

"Are you ready to order, Mr. Malfoy?" Everett asked. "Or shall I give you more time?"

Within a matter of seconds the table was working their through the first course of a garden salad. Lucius complained that the salad was too dry, but Lyra thought it tasted all the same. Draco ate his salad too, but much slower than the rest of the table.

This was the first time Lyra had noticed a distinct change in his manner since the Dementor attack. He was much paler now, even more so than before. His cheeks did not give off a rosy color, rather they were as pallid as the rest of his face. The annoying sneer that once held his face in one permanent, fixed position was now gone. His movements and reflexes seemed to gave gotten slower, too.

The family was now half-way through their main course when a burst of bangs and shouting erupted somewhere outside the restaurant. It seemed to not bother Lucius, who was currently cutting up the last bits of his steak. The noise got louder and more pronounced, and now everyone who was within walking distance could hear the shouting.

"Death be to you all!" a high pitched voice cried.

"Long live the Dark Lord!" the other cried, this time it was a man's.

Before any of the patrons had time to react, the door was thrown open, bits of wood and glass falling every so often. The hostess, to what Lyra could see from her seat, was now lying unconscious somewhere near where the door knob had landed. It was as if some unspoken spell bound everyone to their seats, but no one moved as the Death Eaters made their way deeper into the building. A quick glance at Lucius revealed he was now starting to look nervous, although to an outsider he would seem normal. The muscles around his mouth contracted, his pupils had dilated, and he was beginning to breathe much quicker.

Panic had now erupted. Lyra didn't know how; she had blinked and soon she saw a mass exodus to the door. The few who had stayed to fight, Professor McGonagall, Neville and his grandmother, a man with shaggy blonde hair and what looked to be his girlfriend, and the entire table the Minister was sitting with, were now locked in a vicious battle with Death Eaters. Soon, several more Death Eaters, though Lyra couldn't tell whom, had arrived onto the scene.

The plan was becoming all too clear to Lyra. Lucius had foiled the family into thinking this was another night out. They were about to either capture or kill the Minister of Magic, and Lyra would be right in the middle of it.

"It is time to see where your allegiances lie," Lucius sneered towards Lyra. He stood up quickly, perhaps a little too quickly, because his wine was now seeping through the snow white cloth that engulfed the large, wood table. With a flick of his wand, a mask was now covering his face, and he left the tiny corner to help with the fight. In an instant, Draco did the same. He pulled out his wand and ran across the room.

"Come, Lyra. We must leave," Narcissa said. She sounded worried. Her panicked eyes darted across the flashes of red and blue light weaving around the room.

"I want to stay," Lyra said, her eyes narrowing.

"It is too dangerous. You are not-"

"-I am older than Draco, yet he is fighting. You can go. I will find my way home," Lyra said, her tone final.

"Your mother will not be here if that is what you are thinking!" Narcissa said. She moved out from back behind the table and was now rushing to the back entrance. She was pulling Lyra along with her.

"I will help regardless," Lyra sneered.

Understanding she could no longer control her niece, Narcissa swept out of the building as fast as she could, her robes billowing behind her. Turning around, Lyra surveyed the scene that was unfolding. Lucius was locked into battle with one of the men who had been sitting with Fudge. Neville and his grandmother were battling what Lyra remembered to be Crabbe's father. Lyra saw a Death Eater get blasted backwards to her left, and without hesitating, she grabbed her wand and began to duel.

It was the man with the shaggy blonde hair Lyra was dueling. He seemed to be very young, perhaps a few years out of school.

"Expelliarmus!" Lyra shouted, but the man moved out of the way. He laughed at her.

"That's all you got? I didn't know You-Know-Who was recruiting straight from the crib!" he cried, and sent a hex toward Lyra.

Lyra felt herself flying through the air, past Lucius, past Draco, landing right next to a disheveled Neville. He was on the ground, too, sporting a brilliant black eye and a large gash on his left cheek.

"Neville, you need to grab your grandmother and Professor McGonagall and leave," Lyra whispered as she stood up. Without a moment to waste, she was in battle with the same man, whose name now had appeared to be Conall, or at least according to the woman he was having dinner with.

Neville looked petrified, as if he could believe Lyra had spoken to him. Lyra hadn't noticed it, but soon Neville and his grandmother were gone, leaving McGonagall to help fight for the Ministry.

With a large flash of gold light, Conall was now disarmed and lying in a heap of broken table and chair. He had been knocked out, but only after nearly blowing off Lyra's left hand, singeing her robes, and giving her a bloody nose. In a hurry to defeat another, Lyra turned to her left and raised her wand. As she was about to yell "Stupefy!", she saw Professor McGonagall, poised and ready. Lyra lowered her wand and stared at the professor. Her lips were as thin as ever, a staunch look of determination on her face.

"I'm... I'm sorry, Professor. I will not fight you, today or any other," Lyra croaked.

"A wise choice, Miss Malfoy," she replied.

Lyra cringed. "It isn't Miss Malfoy, it's Miss Lestrange, if you please."

A hint of victory spread across the sneer of Lucius Malfoy as he heard those words from across the room. Professor McGonagall's face filled with horror. It seemed something had finally clicked for her, or her worst fears had been confirmed.

"Professor McGonagall, it isn't safe for you here. You need to leave. Voldemort is coming for Fudge," Lyra whispered, running towards her.

"I will not flee in my time of duty!" the teacher replied strongly.

"DO NOT TOUCH FUDGE, GOYLE! THE DARK LORD NEEDS HIM!" Lyra heard Lucius cry. Lucius was standing over Fudge, who had evidently been beaten.

"Please, Professor, I am begging you," Lyra said once more. "If something should happen, Hogwarts would be left without you. We can't afford for that to happen."

"Why are you telling me this, Miss Lestrange?" McGonagall said.

"I side with my family and that includes the Malfoys. You are too important to risk your life over Fudge," Lyra spat. Her eyes narrowed, her good hand clenched her wand, and she was now face to face with her Transfiguration professor.

"Surely you realize that if I allow Fudge to die, You-Know-Who will take over the Ministry!" McGonagall said.

"You are not allowing anything, Professor. Fudge is the one who came out here tonight-"

"Do you think it was by mere coincidence we ended up in the same restaurant?" McGonagall asked.

"What? You mean, you knew—oh, Dumbledore."

McGonagall nodded.

"GOYLE, I SAID LET HIM BE!" Lucius yelled again. "THE DARK LORD WILL BE HERE SOON!"

"Professor please. There is nothing left for you to do here. Fudge is down, Voldemort is coming! He will do nothing but kill you before-"

"LYRA!" Lyra whirled around to see Lucius, his wand still pointed at Fudge, turned in her direction.

With one last glance at McGonagall, Lyra strode to her uncle. His hair was now a mess, going every which way on his head. It seemed to match with the small cut he had on his forehead, which trickled blood down his face.

"What are you doing?" he sneered.

"What do you mean?" Lyra asked. She felt her heart rate skyrocket and her forehead begin to sweat.

"Whose side are you on, girl?"

"Cornelius Fudge is not worth her life," Lyra spat, glaring at the Minister of Magic. "What will happen tonight is inevitable. There was nothing she could do. I was merely-"

"Silence! How dare you insult my intelligence!"

"I'm not insulting your intelligence. I refuse to attack a teacher."

With a grunt of frustration, Lucius flicked his wand and soon Lyra was thrown across the room. Professor McGonagall cried out, perhaps a bit more loudly than she should have. With a sickening thud, Lyra hit the back wall and came to a heaped rest at its base. Drifting in and out of consciousness, the last thing Lyra could remember was a mad cackle of delight and long, black hair of a woman Lyra seemed to know.