Not Invisible

School: Beauxbatons

Theme: Underdog Rising

Mandatory Prompt: [Character] Original character

Additional Prompts: [Word] Invisible, [First/last line] Once upon a time, the world ended.

Special Rule: Change of perspective (A Squib)

Year: 3

Wordcount: 1925

Once upon a time, the world ended.

Everything that Lyra had known in her eleven years of life disappeared into a Vanishing Cabinet. She went from being the beloved daughter of the Malfoy family to a Squib who was less than even the lowliest of house-elves. For the first time in her life, Lyra was no longer the centre of attention, but invisible to all those around her.

When Lyra was young, she hadn't thought there was anything wrong with her. She grew up in the grand Malfoy Manor, playing with her older brother, Draco, whom she adored and idolised. At home, her parents shed their disdainful masks and made it no secret that she and her brother were cherished.

But on the day Lyra turned eleven, her entire world changed. Draco had received his letter five years before and was now a Prefect at Hogwarts. Everyone expected Lyra to receive her letter as well. She was a Malfoy—one of the purest bloodlines in Britain. How could she not receive her Hogwarts letter?

As the hours ticked on, the atmosphere grew more and more oppressive. Lyra sat in the parlour, twisting her hair around her finger, her knee bouncing with nervous energy. A look from her mother stopped her fidgeting for only a few moments before she started up again. Her father paced around the room.

The silence stretched, only punctuated by her father's footsteps. Thud. Thud. Thud. Finally, he spoke. "I'm going to Hogwarts. Surely there has been a mix-up somewhere. Perhaps the owl got lost." The subtext was clear: Malfoys were never Squibs.

It seemed like an eternity before he returned. His face would have been a mask of perfect stoicism, but his eyes—filled with pain and sorrow—gave him away. Even before he opened his mouth to speak, Lyra knew what he was about to say.

"She is a Squib." He stared at his wife as he spoke, not looking at Lyra.

Those four words crumbled Lyra's entire world. She didn't hear anything else her parents said after that, those four words ringing in her head, repeating themselves over and over again. She is a Squib.

Lyra knew what her family thought of Squibs; there had been a few Squibs in the Malfoy family tree, after all. She knew what they said about them. Worthless. A waste of space. A shame on the noble house of Malfoy. Would her parents ever look at her the same again now that they'd found out that she was a failure?

A lump appeared in Lyra's throat, and her eyes stung. Her entire life was gone. She would never be able to go to Hogwarts. She would never be able to follow in her father's and Aunt Bellatrix's footsteps and receive the Dark Mark. Her dream of becoming the Dark Lord's most loyal Death Eater was shattered. Even Mudbloods and blood traitors would laugh at her now. Her world was ending.

A sudden silence brought her out of her thoughts. She looked up. Her parents had left the room without even talking to her.

Swallowing heavily, Lyra headed upstairs to her bedroom. As soon as she opened the door, though, she stopped in her tracks. All her things were gone. Her clothes, her jewellery, her chess pieces, all gone. All that was left was a forbidding white room.

A house-elf—Mimbey, perhaps, or was it Minny?—appeared with a pop. "Miss should follow Minsy to her new quarters."

Lyra stared at the house-elf—Minsy. "My new quarters?"

The house-elf nodded. "Master says Minsy is to set up quarters for young Miss in the kitchens. Young Miss is to work in the kitchens with Minsy and Dinky now."

Before Lyra could react, the elf grabbed her wrist, and with a snap of her fingers, transported them to the kitchens. She pointed at a small wooden door on one end of the room. "That is young Miss's quarters. Minsy needs to get back to work now."

Lyra cautiously entered the room. It was tiny, barely big enough to fit a small cot and a shelf for some of her belongings. Examining the shelf, she realised that the elf had moved some of her knick-knacks there. The walls and floor were bare and earthen, and there was a wool blanket and pillow on the cot. It was a far cry from her previous suite.

Collapsing onto the bed, Lyra finally allowed her emotions to overwhelm her. In less than a day, her world had turned upside down. She had woken up as a proud daughter of the Malfoy family, but now she was being treated like a house-elf—even worse than a Mudblood.

It occurred to Lyra that she should be thankful that her parents hadn't killed her. Merlin knows, Squibs in previous generations had been taken care of that way. At least she was still alive and had a roof over her head.

But how could Lyra be thankful when her circumstances were so untenable?

She was a Squib, a worthless Squib. Forced to consort with house-elves, of all creatures. Living in a room unfit for a pureblood such as herself.

Lyra wondered why things couldn't have just stayed the same. She could still live in her palatial quarters, and her parents would still love her, regardless of her lack of magical ability. But even as she asked that question, she knew the answer in her heart.

If it had been her daughter who was a Squib, Lyra would have done the same thing. Although she might not have the fortitude to kill her own child, banishing them would be the next best thing. Out of sight, out of mind. Invisible to the rest of her family.

Lyra laughed darkly, the sound echoing in the tiny room. Her laughs soon turned into sobs, tears running down her face. She buried her face in the pillow and cried.

As the months passed, Lyra adjusted to her new life working as a house-elf alongside Minsy and Dinky, invisible to the rest of the household. Her initial sorrow of being exiled from her family had turned into grudging acceptance.

Truth be told, Lyra liked how her life was right now. As time passed, she, Minsy, and Dinky had become friends—and, dare she say, family. Who knew that house-elves could be such loyal companions?

Most days, Lyra didn't even think about her old life. And if she did, it was only in anger when she saw her friends being tortured. She certainly didn't think of her former parents as family any more—she was invisible to them now, after all.

The Dark Lord—whom she had previously thought of as the greatest wizard of all time—was nothing more than a sadistic psychopath with more power than was good for anyone. Each time Minsy and Dinky returned to the kitchens after running errands within the manor, they came back with tremors, their shaking hands an after-effect of the dreaded Cruciatus Curse.

Lyra had started to take on more of the kitchen work in order to help them, but still, each time, they returned in agony. Despite that, they didn't let Lyra go upstairs, not wanting her to suffer the same pain they did—because not even her Malfoy blood would protect her as a Squib.

One day, when Minsy returned to the kitchens, her fingers were crushed. Lyra's heart raced, and her hands trembled as she struggled not to vomit. She had helped patch up Minsy and Dinky many times, but this was worse than ever before.

After gently bandaging Minsy's fingers, Lyra picked up a tray. Dinky was resting, so she was the only one who could do this. Besides, it wasn't like the prisoners would torture her. If anything, they might help her find a way to get even with her former parents.

Lyra carefully traversed the white marble hallways, making sure to stay out of sight. Finally, she reached the cellar where the prisoners were kept. It was dark, only a few flickering torches illuminating the room. Bars divided the space into two; on one side was the hallway where Lyra was standing, and on the other side was where the prisoners were kept. The entire place reeked of mildew.

"Hello?" she heard a voice call out.

As Lyra's eyes adjusted to the light, she made out two figures. A white-haired man who was slumped to the floor in the corner of the cellar and a girl, perhaps only a few years older than Lyra.

"H-hello." Lyra stood there awkwardly, still holding the tray. "I brought some food."

"Oh, thank you. Where's Minsy?" The girl walked forward towards the bars, a bounce in her step.

Lyra stared at her. How could she be so buoyant in a mouldy cell like this one? "She's injured."

"Oh. I hope she gets better. Tell her to stay away from Nargles," the girl said.

Lyra nodded, bemused. "I'll pass the message along." She placed the tray down and turned to leave.

"What's your name?" the girl called from behind.

"Lyra."

"Nice to meet you, Lyra. I'm Luna Lovegood."

It wasn't until after Lyra had returned to the kitchens that she realised that this was the first conversation she had with another human being in two years.

Lyra began bringing food down to Luna every day. Most days, the two chatted for a bit, both longing for conversation and company. Despite the physical bars separating them, they grew closer and closer.

Each time Lyra visited, the other occupant of the cellar was always passed out in the corner, unaware of the world around him. One day, during a lull in their conversation, she asked Luna, "Who's he?"

"Oh, that's Mr Ollivander."

"Ollivander," Lyra repeated, "I think I've heard that name somewhere."

"He's a wandmaker," Luna said. "He used to own a shop in Diagon Alley before he was captured. Haven't you met him before?"

"Oh." Lyra's palms grew sweaty.

Luna's protuberant gaze seemed to be able to see through Lyra's very soul. Did Luna know? Why else would she ask whether Lyra had met Mr Ollivander before?

Lyra fidgeted, twisting her hands in her lap. "I'm a Squib," she admitted at last, not looking at Luna, fearful that she was going to lose the one human friend she'd ever had. If even her parents had discarded her after finding out that she was a Squib, who was to say that Luna wouldn't?

"Why does that matter?" Luna asked. "You're just as human as I am."

Lyra smiled, letting out a breath that she hadn't realised she'd held. Luna smiled back.

"Besides, being a Squib isn't a bad thing. It just means that your powers aren't as visible as everyone else's," Luna continued. "But just because they're invisible to some, doesn't mean that you don't have just as much power as everyone else."

That day, when she returned to the kitchens, Lyra had a bounce in her step.

For the first time, someone had accepted her for who she was.

For the first time, she didn't feel invisible.

For the first time, she wasn't ashamed to be a Squib.

If Lyra could have gone back in time to speak to her eleven-year-old self, she would tell that young girl that discovering that she was a Squib was not the end of the world. Far from it, actually. Being a Squib just meant having a different type of power. Being a Squib did not mean being invisible. Now that someone had finally seen her for who she was, Lyra could dare to see herself.