THE  FROSTY  WINTER  BREEZE  HITTING  THE  BACK  OF  HER  NECK  was  a  welcomed  discomfort  in  the  wake  of  her  freshly  trimmed  hair;  now  a  blunt  line  just  under  her  ears.  she  felt  better  -  freer  -  like  a  weight  from  her  shoulders  was  finally  lifted,  if  only  a  fraction  of  it.  it  was  easier  to  look  at  herself  in  the  mirror  now  &  know  it  was  her  looking  back  &  not  the  scared  little  girl  willing  to  do  whatever  monstrosities  were  asked  of  her  just  to  see  her  family  alive  &  well.  Â
she  took  another  drag  of  her  cigarette,  watching  the  smoke  float  up  into  the  air  for  a  moment  from  where  she  sat  one  a  lone  bench  just  a  few  feet  away  from  the  daunting  doors  of  the  ministry  of  magic.  shifting  the  hand  stuffed  into  the  pocket  of  her  coat  to  look  at  her  watch,  she  watched  the  hands  move  with  a  slow  tic  tic  tic  &  a  frown  on  her  face.  there  was  barely  anyone  out  this  early  in  the  morning  -  hell  she  wasnât  even  supposed  to  be  here  this  early  -    but  the  malfoy  heiress  was  struck  by  a  very  rare  burst  of  anxiety,  seeing  as  it  was  her  first  day  on  the  job  as  an  auror.  normally  she  would  burst  through  the  doors  with  her  head  held  high,  confidence  dripping  off  her  like  a  waterfall  &  not  a  glance  towards  any  witch  or  wizard  hell  bent  on  letting  her  former  status  as  a  death  eater  cloud  their  view  of  her.  Â
but  this  was  ⌠ different.  she  had  her  whole  life  planned  out  before  the  war.  a  cushy  life  behind  the  marbled  walls  of  malfoy  manor  until  she  was  married  to  whichever  well-mannered  pureblood  boy  her  parents  carefully  picked  out  for  her  &  being  a  housewife  just  as  she  was  trained  to  be,  then  pushing  out  a  heir  for  the  family,  &  hopefully  dying  of  old  age.  Â
for  obvious  reasons,  lyra  was  no  longer  happy  with  that  pretty  little  picture  her  parents  hammered  into  her  head  since  she  was  a  child.  hence,  this  newfound  hesitance  when  faced  with  the  new  life  she  picked  for  herself.  an  auror  (  not  that  they  made  it  easy  seeing  as  she  was  a  death  eater  despite  not  baring  the  dark  mark  )  &  an  amazing  one  at  that  because  a  malfoy  wasnât  allowed  to  be  anything  less  than  the  best.  but  even  with  her  self  -  assured  attitude  there  was  still  a  tremble  in  her  hands  at  the  thought  that  this  was  a  mistake  -  one  she  wouldnât  be  able  to  fix  or  bounce  back  from.
with  a  sigh  she  stubbed  out  her  cigarette  in  the  trash  can  near  the  bench,  now  stuffing  both  hands  into  her  pocket  &  ⌠ waiting  until  it  was  finally  time  for  her  to  begin  her  first  day  on  the  job. Â
harryâs appearance had grown shaggier since he left hogwarts...   no one had ever called him careful in how he looked,  with hair that only begrudgingly tolerated a comb,  and a face that had swept itself into a harsh point,   but there was something about him these days that looked particular untended to:   nothing dirty,  of course,  just the vague fingerprints of lavender sleeplessness,   his cheeks had turned sallow and puffed,   a posture that had sunken into itself.   HE LOOKED TIRED.   and when he stared at the mirror,  the boy that stared back seemed to be a phantom version of himself.
the future had only ever existed as a vague concept to harry,  too big and too daunting to be anything but another fathomless dream...   he wasnât even sure heâd live long enough to get a future.   death had been his burden to bear,   his promised legacy  [he was a child of the eater - of - death,  the protected son being led towards a greater slaughter,  where the world was laid barren if his life continued].   he had lived his life thinking only of the now,  unable to comprehend a world where he lived.   AND THEN HE LIVED.   he had been granted a second chance at this life...   a third,  almost.   his listlessness had landed him as an auror,  the job opportunity practically thrown into his lap.
he found himself early on the day of his match - up,  his first mission,   the walls of the ministry of magic looking more daunting than before.   wasnât it supposed to be the opposite way around?  that age would make everything around him far less terrifying?   he glanced up at the building and wondered how anyone in the world could find comfort here.   it was the type of place designed to make people a little uneasy,  he was sure of that.   wandering into distraction,   he coughs when cigarette smoke attacks him.   a haze of milk grey wafts itself into his face,  his hand lifted to bat it all away.  thereâs a cough stuck in his throat,   a glare warding his face against the stranger.   the smoke parts and reveals a face,  a little older than he last saw it,   her hair shorter,   but still as haughty as ever.   lyra.
his eyebrows knit together at the sight of her,  taken aback by her as if she were an intruder...    â   lyra?   â   thereâs a quick air of disbelief upon his tongue that he tries to clear away as quick as he can,  but it lingers   --   strawberry - fresh and tasting of rot itself.    â   what the bloody hell are you doing here?    â
