Arrival in Mystic Falls
The scent of jet fuel and artificial air-conditioning still clung to Lyra’s senses as she stepped off the plane, little Teddy nestled securely against her hip. The bustling airport was full of noise—heels clicking on polished floors, suitcases rolling, people chattering—but she paid them no mind.
She had one goal: get the car, get to Mystic Falls, and start her new life.
Dragging her luggage behind her, she maneuvered toward the car rental area—not because she was renting, but because her new car had already been delivered here ahead of time. She was tired, but she also knew one thing: if she didn’t check in soon, Hermione was going to haunt her like a particularly nagging ghost.
Just as she reached the counter, she shifted Teddy slightly, balancing him on her hip as she approached the man behind the desk.
"Rosalina Black. I have a car waiting for me."
The man behind the counter barely glanced at her, giving her a once-over with a skeptical look. His bored expression barely changed as he muttered,
"We don’t rent to teenagers."
Oh.
Oh, she was pissed.
Lyra blinked once, slowly, before exhaling through her nose. Did this idiot seriously just assume—?
Right.
Fine.
Time to handle this the Potter-Black way.
With an easy flick of her long black hair, she shifted Teddy higher up on her hip and arched a brow. Her emerald eyes gleamed with something sharp, something dangerous.
"I’m not a teenager," she corrected coolly. "I’m eighteen. And I’m not renting a car, I’ve bought one."
The clerk rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed, and typed her name into the system. A second later, his fingers froze. His expression shifted from bored arrogance to genuine shock. His mouth parted slightly as he stared at the screen in disbelief.
“Wait—you mean the Rolls-Royce Boat Tail?” he asked, his voice rising an octave. “The $28 million custom-built Boat Tail?” His eyes flickered to her. “But—that car belongs to the Duchess of Ravensmoor.”
Lyra let out an exaggerated sigh, shifting Teddy slightly on her hip. Then, with a perfectly sarcastic smile, she leaned in slightly and said, "And the Duchess of Ravensmoor is standing right in front of you," her voice dripping with sarcasm. "So, unless you’d like me to have a very unpleasant conversation with the owner of your company, I’d suggest you hand over my keys. Now."
The man blinked rapidly, his brain seemingly short-circuiting at the information. “I-I’ll need to see some identification, Madame,” he stammered, suddenly polite but still skeptical.
Without hesitation, Lyra reached into her luxury leather handbag, pulled out her driver’s license, and handed it to him with a bored expression. Of course, the license and all related documents had been flawlessly crafted by Gringotts.
The clerk’s eyes darted between the license and her face several times, as if trying to find some kind of inconsistency. There was none. The details were flawless. The name, the title, the official seals—everything screamed legitimacy.
He swallowed hard before quickly handing it back to her. “M-my apologies, Your Grace. Right this way.”
The man practically scrambled to comply, his previous arrogance vanishing like smoke.
She rolled her eyes as the man ran off, muttering under her breath. Honestly. Why is it that people only respond when you threaten their job?
Teddy giggled softly in her arms, and Lyra glanced down at him. He looked delighted by the whole exchange.
"You enjoyed that, didn’t you, cub?" she murmured.
He grinned up at her.
She chuckled, pressing a kiss to his forehead just as the teller returned, slightly out of breath, holding a sleek pair of keys in his trembling hands.
"Here you go, Madame," he stammered, before immediately calling for an attendant to take care of her luggage.
As she stepped outside, there it was.
Her car.
The Rolls-Royce Boat Tail gleamed under the soft glow of the evening lights, its deep midnight black paint reflecting the world around it like a mirror. The custom Spirit of Ecstasy hood ornament caught the light, shimmering like a diamond. The long, elegant lines of the car screamed power, wealth, and exclusivity. It was a vehicle made for royalty—and Lyra, well, she carried herself like a queen.
She let out a low whistle. “Sweet.”
Teddy clapped his tiny hands. "Car!"
Lyra grinned. "That’s right, cub. This is our car now."
With one last glance at the city lights in the distance, she slid into the driver’s seat, Teddy safely buckled into his car seat.
She took a deep breath.
This was it.
As Lyra drove toward Mystic Falls, the scenic countryside blurred past her windows, bathed in the warm hues of the setting sun. Rolling green hills, dense forests, and winding roads made for a picturesque journey, but her mind was preoccupied with far more important matters.
With a slight flick of her fingers, she let go of the steering wheel. The car didn’t swerve or jolt—it was enchanted to drive itself once the location had been set, ensuring a smooth and effortless journey. A luxury for most, but a necessity for her.
She reached for the sleek black package she had collected at the airport, unfastening the ribbon with a deft pull. Inside, nestled among a few neatly stacked documents, was a brand-new iPhone—the latest model, gleaming in a flawless golden finish.
Lyra smirked, running her fingers over the smooth glass surface as she powered it on. Bless the Americans. They had somehow figured out how to make magic work with technology. The moment the phone lit up, she saw that everything was already synced and set up—contacts, banking details, and private encrypted channels that only she and a few trusted individuals had access to.
Teddy, still comfortably secured in his car seat, let out a small coo, tiny hands grasping at the air. She glanced back at him, her features softening for just a moment. “Patience, love. I’ll let you play with it later,” she chuckled.
Dialing the number she needed, she brought the phone to her ear as the call connected. A familiar voice greeted her, smooth and professional.
“Hello, Your Grace.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, none of that, Alexander. You’ve been helping me so much, you might as well call me Lyra now.”
A deep chuckle resonated through the line. “Well then, Rosalina,” he corrected smoothly.
Lyra winced internally. It would take time to get used to being addressed by her middle name instead of her first.
“Alexander,” she continued, pushing past the thought, “are you and the restoration managers already at the property? Because I’ll be reaching in a bit.”
As she spoke, she drove past the Mystic Falls town sign, her sharp eyes catching a detail that made her pause. The wooden signpost was carved from White Oak.
Her brows furrowed slightly. Odd.
Something about it nagged at her, stirring a strange feeling in her gut. But she brushed it off—there were more pressing matters at hand.
Alexander’s voice brought her back. “Yes, me and the managers are here and awaiting your presence.”
“Sweet. I’ll be there in a bit,” she said, ending the call.
She set the phone aside, but her thoughts lingered elsewhere.
It had been during one of her many visits to Gringotts, in preparation for her move, that she had stumbled upon something unexpected.
The Evans family—her mother's lineage—was not truly Muggle-born as the world believed.
They had been an old Celtic pureblood family, tracing their roots back to Ireland. But somewhere along the way, they had lost their magic, their descendants turning into squibs until, eventually, they became non-magical entirely.
Lily Evans had been an anomaly—a resurgence of magic in a line that had been dormant for centuries.
Lyra had pored over the records, fascinated and somewhat bewildered. The Evans bloodline even carried a mix of Bulgarian heritage, though it was distant—another branch of the family, long forgotten.
And then there was Alexander Marten.
Her solicitor, her aide in this move, and—as it turned out—her sixth or seventh cousin.
The revelation hadn’t changed much, but it was still a strange thought. She had gone her whole life believing she had no living relatives outside of the Dursleys, only to find that her bloodline was more extensive than she had ever imagined.
A ghost of a smirk played on her lips. Life really loved throwing surprises at her, didn’t it?
Shaking off the thought, she focused ahead.
Mystic Falls was only minutes away. A new beginning. A fresh start.
Or so she thought.