The Lestrange Legacy

The life of a Pureblood Heir is very simple. You follow the rules. You never disgrace the family, you find a suitable marriage, you receive a high-quality education, and you ensure your family legacy continues on. Simple. But be warned, if you break the rules, you will be punished. Even if you never knew it was a rule to be followed.

As a child, Lyra understood that she held a high rank in society. She understood that because of the actions of the previous generation, that rank was being held precariously. There would be no room for mistakes. Great Aunt Walburga ran a tight ship and was a strict teacher. Lyra knew that Muggleborns were filth, squibs were even filthier. Half-bloods could be partially befriended so long as they understood culture and that their heritage was filthy. Purebloods were the only company you could have unless they were blood-traitors then they were to be shunned and reminded of their lower rank in society.

At 5 years old, Lyra experienced the Stinging Hex for the first time. She had fallen victim to painful spells and hexes before, but this was painful. Lyra was excited to show Lady Walburga her perfect penmanship. She had spent the entire day perfecting it in her workbook. Skipping down the stairs, ink smudged on her hands, face, and dress, she called for her Great Aunt.

...

"Auntie Burga! Auntie Burga! Look! I did it! No splotches or weird lines!" She called out, skidding down the hall to the sitting room where her Great Aunt usually stayed. As she threw open the door, she quickly found the figure of Walburga. There was a displeased, if not disgusted, look on her face as Lyra entered. Suddenly, a white flash of light hit Lyra in the stomach. Pain flared immediately and all Lyra could do in that moment was fall to the ground and hold her stomach. A second flash soon followed; this one aimed at her back. Like any young child, she cried.

"How disappointing. You make a spectacle of yourself over something as simple as penmanship. You know better, Lyra. Kreacher!" Walburga called; a soft snap resounded in the room signaling the arrival of the old house-elf. "Take Lyra back to her room. I do not want to see her for the rest of the evening."

"Yes, Mistress." Kreacher responded, walking over the quietly sobbing child. With a snap of his withered fingers, they disappeared from the room. Walburga sat down in her chair, shaking her head. If only Lyra could be more like her son Regulus. Quiet, obedient, and well-behaved. The aging woman could only hope that Lyra wouldn't become a disappointment.

Back in Lyra's room, Kreacher got her on her bed. Here, she was free to cry. Here, she was free to be a bit more like a child. Kreacher carefully and diligently tended to the marks that stretched across the young girl's torso. They were red, warm to the touch, and angry. Lyra wondered where the house-elf had gained the experience when tending to the injuries she frequently found herself with. Perhaps it was the cousin she was never supposed to speak about, the one that was blown off of the tapestry like the aunt she couldn't speak of.

"Young Mistress, needs to be more careful. She is knowing better than to upset Mistress Walburga." Kreacher muttered, partially to himself and partially to Lyra. The girl just nodded softly, sniffling as the pain slowly ebbed away. She did know better. She shouldn't have excited herself over something so silly as handwriting. She would simply do better.

"Kreach... Kreacher, has Great Aunt Walburga always been like this?" Lyra asked, slightly hesitant. The small hands on her back stilled momentarily before moving again.

"Mistress is missing her son. He was being the perfect son," Kreacher sniffled himself, "Master Regulus was always kind to Kreacher. Mistress is just wanting you to be perfect too."

Lyra nodded. She often wondered about the boy that seemed to have meant much to Kreacher. His room was forbidden to enter, much like the room next to it. Someday, she hoped to know more about the two. Lyra knew better than to ask about them. Young ladies were not supposed to ask too many questions, especially not about something so clearly forbidden to be spoken about. She closed her eyes at the thought, someday she might know about these two people who used to live within the same walls as she now did.

...

It was now her 7th birthday. Mentally, she felt older, physically and emotionally she supposed that she was still just a child. Today, she would be receiving visitors in the form of her Aunt Narcissa, Uncle Lucius, and Cousin Draco. They were to be her first visitors and in truth, this was a test. Walburga was going to see if Lyra was ready to advance in her lessons on being both a Black and a Lestrange.

It was early morning yet and as Lyra looked in the mirror, she couldn't help but hear her Great Aunt's voice in her head. It was condescending and expressed her disappointment. It criticized every aspect of Lyra's appearance as she got ready. There were loose strands of hair flying around. Her dress ad a wrinkle. The dress was uneven. She was not to smile as her teeth were not perfect. Everything was corrected once. Twice. Three times before it was ready. She began walking to her door.

STOP!

Lyra backtracked. 7 steps from the mirror to the door. Any more will upset Walburga, any less will not be enough to reach the door. Taking a deep breath, she began again. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. She reached the door and slowly pulled it open. A lady should never throw open a door, but instead should carefully open it. Lyra closed the door again; she had moved too fast. Trying again, she opened the door, mindful of the speed. She closed it, she couldn't look at the door as she opened it, that was just wrong. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin up, removed the emotion from her face, and opened the door.

As the young raven-haired girl stepped into the hallway, she stepped to the right side of the carpet lining the middle of the floor. She couldn't step on the red flowers designed into the carpet, only the green vines in between. Head up. One does not look down as they walk, that is wrong. Carefully yet steadily moving forward, Lyra moved down the hallway and to the stairs. 13 steps, landing, 13 steps, floor. The stairs always felt safest to Lyra, the landing was the tricky part. On the landing, Lyra needed to turn carefully, following the banister with exactly three steps. Right foot needs to land on the landing, then the left foot turns, then the right foot stops at the top of the stairs, then the left foot begins the descent.

This was how Lyra knew she was perfect. She figured out the exact numbers needed to navigate the house perfectly. No mistakes, otherwise, she would start over. If she didn't start over, she felt anxious and uncomfortable until she fixed it. Perfection was her key to survival. Lyra often found herself grateful for the voice of Walburga seemingly cemented into her mind, it meant someone was going to help keep her perfect.

"Good morning, Lyra. Happy Birthday." Walburga said as Lyra entered the dining room. The family dining room was less formal than the formal dining room where they would be eating dinner. It was still rather extravagant with a gorgeous crystal chandelier above the table. It was the usual location for meals as the kitchen table was simply unsuitable and it was an inappropriate place for one to eat at.

"Good morning, Great Aunt Walburga." Lyra said, taking her place to the left of Walburga who sat at the head of the table. Lyra assumed that once upon a time, Lord Orion Black sat at the opposite end with his oldest son to his right. Regulus must have sat across from Lyra. A small present was placed in front of her. She looked over to her aunt who smiled softly.

"You may open it now. I found it the other night and thought you might like it." Walburga said, the smile still settled softly on her face. Lyra would do anything to keep that smile there. Her guardian deserved some happiness, after all she only got cross when Lyra wasn't dressed properly or behaving appropriately. Lyra smiled back and carefully untied the ribbon and removed the lid.

Inside the box lay a pair of small emerald earrings and a matching necklace. Both were simple but showed their elegance and expensiveness very clearly. They were utterly beautiful. Lyra couldn't contain her smile and despite her better judgement she stood up and hugged Walburga. The elder woman stiffened slightly before patting Lyra on the back gently.

"Let me help you put them on. My mother gave them to me when I turned 7. It has become a tradition to hand them down to the oldest girl in each generation. They were supposed to go to Lucretia Black instead of me, but she rejected them. I was going to give them to your mother, but I couldn't part with them. I hoped that my sons would at least give me a granddaughter I could pass these onto but that was not so." Walburga said has she removed Lyra's previous earrings, replacing them with the new emerald ones. Then clasping the necklace on. She gave Lyra a once over before nodding and allowing the girl to sit back down. "It is good that they match your dress, you won't need to change."

"Thank Aunt Walburga. I am very grateful. How long have they been in the family for?" Lyra asked, beginning to eat her breakfast.

"I believe they came over from France in the 1550s. They were much larger at the time. In the 1680s they were drastically changed with the emeralds at the center of some ornate designs. Then at the turn of 18th century, they were changed into what they are now. I don't believe that they've changed since then."

...

Dinner was stressful for Lyra. She was now entertaining three guests who happened to be Pureblood relatives and she needed to remain perfect. This was the test, and she could not fail. However, her cousin was testing her limits and by the looks of it, Walburga's limits as well. He was spoiled, snobbish, and arrogant. Nothing like an heir was supposed to behave but she could say nothing about it. He was only 6 so all Lyra could do was hope he would grow out of this behavior. She seriously doubted that he would.

Her birthday had turned into a celebration of Draco's accomplishments. Things she herself had stopped considering as accomplishments, such as his perfect penmanship. His ever-increasing skills on a broom. His fluency in French - he was anything but fluent - was the talk of the table. Lyra only smiled and cheered him on. She recognized the difference between her and Draco. Despite her outranking him and clearly holding better manners, he was a boy, and she was not. She could outshine him in every possible way and still be disregarded simply because she was not a man.

For the first time ever, she found herself truly angry. Perhaps it was her duty to show the Wizarding World of Great Britain that women were not simply placeholders for male heirs. But that would have to wait, she was only 7 after all. Until she was old enough to begin taking on real responsibility, she would simply have to focus on not strangling her cousin first. But it was certainly a difficult endeavor to say the least.