A New Domain
As Lyra's car rolled down the gravel path, she couldn't help but let out a soft breath of appreciation. The iron-wrought gates of the estate stood tall and imposing, their intricate black metalwork entwined with silver filigree and carved constellations, glowing faintly under the midday sun. Beyond them, the lush gardens spread out like something out of a fairy tale, filled with ancient oaks, moonlit roses, and ivy-laced archways that framed the path leading to the mansion.
In a secluded corner of the garden, a small pond shimmered like liquid silver, the water rippling gently under the soft breeze. Floating gracefully on the surface were two swans, their elegant forms reflecting the celestial beauty of their surroundings.
“Mama, pond, pond!”
A delighted giggle rang out as Teddy clapped excitedly, his bright blue hair shifting colors with his joy. He had always loved water—bathtubs, lakes, even puddles after the rain—and it seemed his enthusiasm had tripled at the sight of the beautiful pond.
Lyra smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Yes, my baby, pond. We’ll go play later, but first, Mama has work.”
Teddy sighed dramatically—where had he even learned that?—before settling against her, still stealing glances at the water.
“Rosalina.”
She turned at the sound of her other name, the one she used for formal occasions, to find Alexander, her solicitor, approaching with his usual composed grace. The moment he reached her, he took her hand and pressed it to his forehead, a sign of deep respect.
“Your Grace,” he greeted.
She smirked, tilting her head. “Alexander.”
Behind him stood two men, both dressed sharply, though their slightly dust-streaked shoes and work jackets revealed them as the restoration managers who had been handling the estate’s repairs for months.
Alexander turned to them, his tone professional but respectful. “Mr. Flitzenberg, Mr. Hawthorne, allow me to introduce you to the owner of this estate—Duchess Rosalina Black of Ravensmoor.”
The elder of the two, Mr. Flitzenberg, stepped forward with a polite bow. “Your Grace,” he said reverently. “It is truly an honor to be working on such a prestigious estate.”
Lyra’s signature smirk softened into a warm smile. “The honor is mine, Mr. Flitzenberg. Thank you for all your hard work.”
His posture straightened slightly, clearly pleased with her appreciation. “Shall we proceed inside?”
Shifting Teddy to her other hip, Lyra nodded. “Of course. Though I warn you, this little one is very excited to run all over the place.”
A quiet chuckle passed between the men, and Flitzenberg motioned toward the grand entrance gates, leading the way.
The doors to the palace were magnificent, towering and intricately carved with celestial and gothic motifs—winged angels, silver filigree, enchanted runes, and the sigil of the Black family woven seamlessly into the design. The finishing touch? A blood lock, exactly as she had requested.
Flitzenberg gestured toward the door. “As per your request, Your Grace, the final layer of security was added after the restoration. To gain access, you need to prick your finger against the warded crest. The doors will only open for your bloodline.”
Lyra raised an eyebrow. “Old magic. My favorite.”
Teddy squirmed slightly in her hold as she reached forward, pressing her finger against the engraved crest. A faint pulse of power responded immediately, the runes glowing a deep sapphire blue before fading. Then, with a soft click, the grand doors swung open on their own, a rush of cool, ancient magic flowing outward to greet her like a long-lost child.
The feeling wrapped around her like an embrace, and for a moment, she could almost swear she felt her godfather’s presence, warm and protective, like the magic itself recognized her as its rightful heir. Sirius, a tear cascaded down her left eye.
“The property is now officially yours, Your Grace,” Alexander said, stepping back. “We will take our leave and let you settle in.”
Lyra nodded, stepping inside as they departed, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she took in her new domain.
Home.
The grand arching windows were adorned with delicate tracery, painted in shades of midnight blue, pearl white, and deep gold, allowing soft light to spill in like moonbeams through cathedral glass. A vast chandelier of crystal and black iron hung in the entrance hall, reflecting tiny constellations of light across the polished marble floor.
The living room, or rather the grand hall, was an artistic masterpiece—an ode to the stars and heavens. The vaulted ceiling, adorned with celestial frescoes, depicted the night sky in all its gold-leafed, sapphire-dusted brilliance. Swirling clouds, ethereal angels, and twinkling stars danced across the vast expanse, illuminated by enchanted lights that mimicked the shifting phases of the moon.
And then, of course, there was the painting—the true showstopper.
A massive portrait of Hogwarts dominated one wall, a breathtakingly detailed masterpiece enshrouded in enchanted mist, the castle standing tall against a stormy, star-dotted sky. The brushstrokes captured every detail—the glowing windows, the soaring towers, the darkened Forbidden Forest stretching beyond its grounds. It was a reminder of where she had come from. A place that had tried to break her, tame her, control her—but ultimately failed.
She smirked at the thought, adjusting the heavy gold-embroidered drapes as she passed by.
Outside, the estate grounds stretched far beyond what the eye could see, lined with ancient white oaks, silver birches, and willow trees swaying gently in the night breeze. The lake behind the palace glistened under the stars, its surface disturbed only by the elegant black and white swans that drifted across it like ethereal phantoms.
And then, of course, there were the horses—her prized beauties.
A sleek obsidian-black stallion, Acheron, stood near the stables, his coat gleaming under the soft glow of the estate lanterns. His mate, Epona, a moonlit-white mare with silver dapples, grazed beside him, their presence both regal and untamed. Several other thoroughbreds roamed the fields, creatures bred from the finest magical bloodlines—faster than shadows, swift as the wind, and twice as intelligent as most wizards.
Lyra sighed in satisfaction. Money may not buy happiness, but it sure as hell bought comfort.
Back inside, she made her way to the second floor, where Teddy’s nursery was located. The room was designed in shades of moonlight silver, soft lavender, and deep midnight blue, a perfect balance between comfort and grandeur. Soft enchanted lights floated along the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the velvet-upholstered furniture and silk-draped canopy bed.
Teddy, however, had other ideas about bedtime.
The little bundle of mischief was giggling as he tried to wriggle away, his tiny hands reaching out for Hecate and Nyx, who were curled up at the foot of his bed like miniature panthers.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Lyra smirked, grabbing him with one hand as he let out a delighted shriek. “I have been too productive today, and I refuse to end it by losing a wrestling match to a toddler.”
Teddy babbled something unintelligible, rubbing his sleepy eyes, and Lyra pressed a quick kiss to his forehead before tucking him in.
“There. Victory is mine.” She smirked. “Sleep, little terror. You have exactly four hours before I wake you for dinner.”
Teddy responded by promptly stuffing his tiny fist into his mouth and rolling over. Mission accomplished.
Lyra stretched, rolling her shoulders as she made her way down the hall toward her study. The soft candlelight flickered across the ornate blackwood desk, where a tower of enchanted parchment awaited her.
And at the very top? A particularly infuriating document.
The Rite of Conquest.
The wizarding world loved its archaic, borderline medieval laws, and this one was no exception.
By right of magical victory, any witch or wizard who completely and utterly defeated a magical enemy could claim all that belonged to them. Their wealth, lands, artifacts, businesses, vaults—every single thing they once owned now became the property of the victor.
And since Tom Riddle, Lord of Dramatic Capes and Bad Life Choices, had officially ceased to exist, that meant his empire, every ounce of dark wealth and influence, now legally belonged to her.
Lyra sighed, tapping her black quill against her chin.
“Merlin’s saggy left sock… I don’t even know what half of these properties are.”
Death Eater manors, cursed vaults, entire underground markets—it was a logistical nightmare.
And, of course, there was the matter of certain creatures who now fell under her jurisdiction.
Dragons bred for war. Basilisks hidden in ancient dungeons. Giant shadow-wolves, bound by blood pacts to serve the previous Dark Lord. Not to mention dozens of lesser magical beasts, some of which had been thought extinct for centuries. God knows what was hidden in these properties?
Honestly? It was like inheriting a zoo designed by Lucifer himself.
She exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. “Maybe I should just throw a party, invite the Ministry, and let them fight over it like a pack of wild Nifflers.”
Before she could even begin strategizing her next move, a knock echoed through the vast halls.
Lyra’s head snapped up. She wasn’t expecting visitors.
Her wards pulsed faintly, registering the presence of humans—which meant whoever it was had crossed the estate’s boundary.
"Ah, yes. The joys of small-town living," she muttered dryly. Probably well-meaning neighbors, eager to introduce themselves to the mysterious new owner of the Black Palace.
Straightening her midnight-black silk blouse, she smirked to herself.
"Let's see what kind of entertainment Mystic Falls has to offer."
And with that, she made her way toward the grand entrance, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor as she reached for the doors.