Abandoned and Rescued
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Blood. All she could see was blood.
It dripped, it poured, it trailed, slowly down and along her ragged body.
Lyra lay, her eyes staring at the dark, grey ceiling. Cobwebs hung from the dank and damp stones, the unbearable pain creating colourful spots in her vision. Bellatrix's high-pitched cackling rang in her ears, torturing her over and over again in her mind. How could she have been so stupid? Did she not notice that the death eaters were hiding there as she walked into that cursed house? I should have known better... that eerie silence...
Lyra lay, her body trembling from the pain in the torn rags that were once an elegant set of black clothing. Voldemort's laughter bounced off the walls of her mind, forcing her to relieve the moment. He knew. He knew I would come to destroy the horcruxes. She should have been careful.
"I promised them... I promised them I promised Minerva and Malcolm I would come back in one piece." Lyra whispered to no one. "I betrayed my promise." I'm sorry. It wasn't right. I should have known something was off about this place.
Then she knew. It was a test. Why didn't Voldemort kill her? only torture her? The horcrux was beside her; it was the ring, hung on the knife her dear cousin Bella used to slice her until she screamed. Lyra took a deep breath and sat up, immediately crying out in pain.
She blinked. Once, twice, thrice. Her vision cleared, and her eyes adjusted to the dark. Dark pools of her blood surrounded her, the knife beside her gleaming in the moonlight streaming through the cracks of the stone. Her wand was nowhere in sight, and the only way she could destroy the horcrux was with the knife. Knowing her insane cousin Bellatrix, it was most likely poisoned. Why am I not weak? Am I immune to poisons? Lyra wondered. She sighed and shook her head before turning to pick up the ring.
Lyra breathed in, shivering slightly at the strong wave of dark magic, and put it back down. She raised the knife, and stabbed it, with all her might, into the locket.
Screams were to be heard, then blackness swathed her.
Lyra knew no more. She drifted in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware that someone was chanting vulnera santeur, vulnera santeur... and some other Latin phrases over and over again. "Please." She murmured, tilting her head slightly, her eyes closed. "It h-h-hurts." She didn't know who it was, how he got there, or when. All she knew was that the pain was greater than ever, and the blood disappeared.
"Lay back, Lyra, you'll be fine." A woman's voice sounded familiar. I'll take you back to Grimmauld Place, alright? "Drink the blood-replenishing potion first.
How did she know about Grimmauld? Was she a member of the order? Lyra thought as she cracked open her mouth and swallowed the vile liquid. But she cared no more. All she wanted to do was return. Back to where she belonged — the Order of the Phoenix — Lyra didn't have a specific home anymore since Sirius abandoned her and Regulus in their dreadful family home. Regulus insisted that he was fine, so three years later, Lyra fled.
She sank back into the black void.