"I Danced Myself into the Tomb"

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Late August, 1981

Aconitum.

Also known as women's bane.

She held it in her hands. It really was a pretty plant, with its velvety, bright purple leaves.

Beautiful but deadly. Just a few crushed up petals ingested, and one could easily die in mere minutes from a heart attack.

A slow and painful death.

And who would suspect poison? Who would care enough to poison her? Who would care enough to think someone would poison her?

It would be easy to do it. Almost too easy. An owl sent, asking for a chat, forgiveness. A distraction. Then, pour it in.

And she would probably stay and watch. She probably would.

No, she would. She definitely would.

She deserved to get to watch her suffer. And she deserved to suffer. She deserved to die, after all.

She is the reason he wasn't there anymore, after all. Right? Why should she get to live, when he is dead? 

She had to pay, after all.

***

She never really liked her name. She always wished in was something simple, like Sarah or Jane. She never liked how pretentious and...Noble House of Black it was.

Lyra for the constellation, of course. It was small, Lyra, and in Greek Mythology, Lyra represented the lyre of Orpheus. So, Lyra is often personified as a Harp of sorts, playing elegant tunes in the sky.

Jade for the gemstone. A beautiful gemstone, often green. Jade was a symbol of purity, wisdom, and protection.

Her middle name, Cassiopeia, another constellation, as well as the name of her Mother's grandmother. Named after the beautiful and vain Greek queen.

And Black. Black. Nothing. A void of light. Darkness. Evil. Magic. Night.

She spent most nights crying, alone, of course. Because Sirius was at the pub and Remus was wherever fucking Dumbledore needed him to be. 

But she had Forsythia. She always had Forsythia.

Her hope.

Forsythia Hope Lupin.

Forsythia for the flower, bright and yellow like the sun.

Hope for the future, and for the woman who raised a wolf boy with as much love as she would a human boy.

Lupin like her father.

No Black, no absence of light. No darkness, or evil, or night. Forsythia was the rising sun and the blooming flowers, and she gave her mother more hope than she probably deserved. 

***

"LJ, have you seen the prophet today?"

"No, I haven't."

"Oh. Well, Mother, she's, uh...she's dead."

"Oh. How?"

"Doesn't say."

"Hmm."

"Lyra-Jade, are you even listening to me? Mother is dead."

"I heard you, am I supposed to care?"

"Well, I suppose not."

"Tea?"

"Two sugars, please."

***

"You say I killed you - Haunt me, then."

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