A/N: I'm sorry to have taken so long to update. I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season and is now enjoying a healthy, beautiful spring (or, if you live in Ohio like me, are enjoying the wonderful snowstorm that is currently taking place outside. That's total sarcasm by the way, I'm sick of this bipolar weather.)
I just want to take a moment to thank ruler of dragons for being my personal and professional (professional meaning my work on this story lol) sounding board. I've been thankful to have a friend like her these past few difficult months, and she always gives me great feedback/ideas for the story, so I just wanted to let her know how much I appreciate it! :)
On to the chapter! I hope you all enjoy it. Also, the "T" key on my keyboard has randomly been having issues, so if you see something misspelled where a "T" is concerned, I do apologize. I've proofread but I sometimes don't always catch everything, so hopefully there's no issues.
Chapter 24 – The Order of the Phoenix
Dear Rapier,
I have to point out – once again – that it physically pains me to address you as Rapier. Can't you come up with SOMETHING else? Please?
Things are the same around here. Snuffles still treats me as if I'm the scum of the earth. It's irritating, but I'm getting used to it. What I'm not used to is having nothing to do – I miss school, I miss my friends, I even miss having homework to do. Snuffles gives me free reign of his library (I think he's just glad to have me out of his hair for awhile), but that only occupies me for so long. Plus, I'm beginning to find that a lot of the books are outdated and talk about nonsense like purebloods ranking higher in society than Muggleborns, women being subservient to men, etc. I will never be "subservient" to you, so please, erase the dirty scenarios that have already begun to form in your delusional mind.
The lack of company here is bothersome, too. Certain "guests" drop in from time to time, but I haven't met anyone yet. They're barely here long exchange a few whispered words with Snuffles before taking off again. Hopefully I'll get to meet everyone soon. I'm prepared for the worst and just want to get it over with.
I'm sorry. I don't mean to project my misery on you. How are things at school? Has the Umbitch imposed any new, ridiculous decrees lately? (I'm sure I'd have heard about them in the Daily Prophet; they do like to praise her any chance they can, but it's much more satisfying to read your sarcastic comments on that hag's twisted regime.)
Take care of yourself. Tell Tentacula I said hello.
Remember your promise about the Bear.
Chrys
Fred smirked, skimming Lyra's letter over once more. He found it extremely humorous that she hated his code name, "Rapier," and refused to change it for that reason alone. They'd agreed on the names before he, his siblings, and Harry and Hermione had departed Grimmauld Place for Hogwarts, so he didn't see what right she had to complain about it now. He wasn't overly fond of her name, though, either – "Chrys" was the shortened version of "Chrysothemis," who, in Greek mythology, was the sister of Electra, which was Lyra's middle name. She'd put way too much thought into choosing a name. Fred had simply picked the first cool word that came to mind.
Tell Tentacula I said hello. That was George. He'd insisted on having a code name, too, and had named himself after the Venomous Tentacula plant. Not as impressive as Rapier, certainly, but good enough. And the "Bear" referred to Ara; Lyra had coined the term based on some nickname one of Ara's friends had given her. He'd promised Lyra before he'd left that he'd look after her sister at Hogwarts. He didn't know exactly how he'd manage that, as they were in different Houses and he barely saw Ara outside of mealtimes, but he'd find a way.
"Another love letter from your girlfriend?"
Fred started and glanced up. Angelina Johnson had settled into the armchair across from him, her expression sour. "Don't be stupid," he muttered, his cheeks reddening as he hurried to shove the letter into his bag. "It's from my mum."
Angelina rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I always blush like mad when I receive letters from my mum, too."
"I have a ruddy complexion, Ang. It happens when one – such as myself – has been blessed with red hair."
"Don't lie," Angelina spat. "I know you've been writing to Lyra Lestrange."
"I suspect what you know could fill several volumes," Fred said airily, flipping open his Charms book to a random page and pretending to study it.
Angelina's gaze narrowed. "I'm not in the mood for your sarcastic little jokes," she snapped. "Don't you think you owe me a bit more than that?"
Fred looked over at her, his brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't be a prat!" Angelina exploded, causing a few third years at the table next to them to turn and stare. "I saw how you looked at her and acted with her at all of those D.A. meetings – 'oh, Lyra, let me practice with you,' 'oh, Lyra, I have a bet with George that I can beat the best student in our year' – give me a break, Fred! She's a traitor, haven't you read the papers? She hexed her own sister with an Unforgivable Curse! She's probably with You-Know-Who right now, reporting everything we've ever done in the D.A.!"
Fred's grip on his book tightened; he grit his teeth in an effort to remain calm. He should've known that this – Angelina's jealousy – would be coming, but that didn't make her jabs about Lyra any less hurtful. He wanted badly to set her straight, but Dumbledore's words echoed in his mind: It is imperative that you feign any knowledge on her whereabouts and activities. Plus, if she kept shouting, she was going to endanger them all by revealing the D.A.'s existence to the entire House. "If you believe everything that you read in the Prophet, Angelina, then you're a few Sickles short of a Galleon."
"Don't you remember what happened after the Yule Ball?" Angelina pressed on, and Fred was startled to see her dark eyes had filled with tears. He sighed, rubbing his forehead hard with the palms of his hands. He should have never asked Angelina to be his date – he'd only done it as a joke, to show Ron that it was beyond easy to ask out a girl, and he'd meant for them to attend the ball merely as friends. Somewhere along the line, Angelina had gotten the idea in her head that Fred liked her, and they'd ended up snogging quite heavily near the end of the ball, hidden in one of the decorative carriages in the courtyard. They'd never talked about it openly, but something had changed between them, and ever since then they'd been tap-dancing around one another, unsure of exactly where their relationship stood. There were a few more incidents of snogging in broom cupboards and behind hidden tapestries, but mainly because Fred had been trying desperately to figure out his feelings for the tall, stunning Chaser he'd known since they'd been nothing more than eleven-year-old children. It wasn't until he saw Lyra at the first D.A. meeting in the Hog's Head, ready to stand up and fight for what she believed in, that he'd realized he wanted something more. "That was a mistake, Angelina," he said slowly, knowing he'd have to choose his words carefully, "And I should have told you that back then. I asked you to go with me because we're friends."
A few tears escaped and slid down Angelina's cheeks. "You're a complete arse, Fred Weasley!" she shouted, jumping to her feet. Fred followed suit, tossing his book aside. The majority of the common room was now watching their exchange with interest; he could see Ron, Harry, and Hermione, poised by the portrait hole, apparently shocked at having walked in to such a scene, and George, descending the stairs from the dormitory, sniggering uncontrollably. "Do you know how long I've spent hoping you would see what's right in front of you? And you go for the Slytherin traitor instead?"
"You don't know her, Angelina," Fred sneered, anger getting the better of him. "You have no right to judge her – "
"I know she could never feel the way I do!" Angelina interrupted heatedly, her hands balled into fists. "She hates you, it's so obvious, she's never once paid attention to you at any of the meetings – "
"Angelina, shut up!" Alicia Spinnet warned, appearing at Angelina's side and linking their arms. Fred shot her a grateful look; she, at least, understood the importance of preventing Angelina from blathering on about the D.A. He didn't expect Alicia – or any girl in Gryffindor House, really – to take his side in the matter at hand, but he didn't want to be in any way responsible for leaking the existence of the D.A. to outsiders.
"You can't just snog me and then treat me like I don't matter!" Angelina went on, trying and failing to rip her arm out of Alicia's grasp. "How many times, Fred, did we – ?"
"Can't you go on hating me somewhere else?" Fred cut across her angrily. He knew this probably wasn't the best way to handle the situation, but he was getting tired of Angelina's antics; he hadn't realized she'd fallen for him that deeply. He felt horrible, of course, but she was just going to have to accept that it wasn't her that he wanted. "I'm sorry, Angelina, all right? I don't know what else you want me to say!"
"Typical!" Angelina snapped, her dark eyes flashing with fury. "What does it matter who gets hurt in the process, as long as you get what you want?" She finally succeeded in shaking Alicia from her and took off for the girls' dormitories, followed instantly by Alicia and Katie Bell.
Every head in the common room was turned towards Fred. "Get out of it, the show's over!" He snarled loudly, collapsing back into his chair and resting his forehead against his palm. Gradually, his fellow students resumed their activities, the volume in the room rising to its usual level. "You're quite the ladies man, I see," George observed, grinning and clapping Fred on the shoulder as he took Angelina's vacated armchair. "You handled that remarkably well, Freddie, I must say. Can we start a club? I'm sure the other gentlemen of Gryffindor House would be lining up to learn your secrets to wooing the female species!"
Fred sighed, a dull ache beginning to throb behind his eyes. "Shut up, Tentacula."
Lyra lay on her bed at Grimmauld Place, idly levitating a few throw pillows above her head. Her latest letter from Fred sat, unopened, on her desk, but she didn't have the energy to get up and look at it. He was still keeping up with his two letters a day, every day routine, whether she responded in a timely manner or not. It was much less irritating to her now than it had been initially; she appreciated that someone, at least, thought of her and cared about her wellbeing. Of course, she still didn't know how she truly felt about Fred, but she refused to allow herself to dwell on it. She was the past the point of being able to loathe him without reason, so for now, she considered him just a friend. A friend she needed during this difficult period of transition in her life.
That did not, however, explain why she wore the ruby earrings every day.
Lyra sighed, flicking her wand upwards and allowing the throw pillows to crash to the floor. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she forced herself to sit up and reach for Fred's letter:
Hola, Chrys!
No, I'm not Spanish, but that should throw off anyone who may happen to intercept this letter, eh?
"Yes, because that makes so much sense," Lyra muttered, rolling her eyes at his cluelessness – whether it had been intentional or not, however, she wasn't certain.
Before you get your knickers in a twist, don't worry, the Bear is fine. I've only seen her at mealtimes and a few times by chance in the corridors, but she seems well, if a bit melancholy. She misses you, I can tell, and I think she's having trouble dealing with everything. So am I , if we're being honest.
Lyra's heart tightened painfully at the mention of her youngest sister. Poor Ara, stuck at Hogwarts alone and confused. Well, perhaps not alone – she did have Draco, however much of a comfort he may be, and Cassie and Madeleine – but definitely confused. She wondered vaguely if Ara would have sought out Dumbledore to question him on her, Lyra's, whereabouts. More than likely, she decided, knowing that Ara wouldn't be able to rest until she'd received some form of reassurance of Lyra's safety. She tried to imagine how wracked with terror she would be if she had no idea where Ara was or if she were being cared for, and the thought only made her ache for her sister more.
But no. She had to forget that. Ara had chosen sides – or, rather, allowed choices to be made for her. She could have broken away from Carina in Florean Fortescue's shop if she'd tried; she could have joined the D.A. with Lyra back at the Hog's Head if she'd wanted to. But she did neither. She's only fifteen, Lyra reminded herself, brushing back the tears that had started to form in her eyes. She's fifteen, and confused, and doesn't know what to do… But, at the same time, she stands back and allows Carina to fill her head with darkness…
Taking a deep breath, Lyra pushed any thoughts of her sister aside and went back to Fred's letter:
It's not the same without you here. I know you're probably rolling your eyes at this, but a letter's the only place I can say whatever I want without fear of retaliation (i.e., you throwing some sort of heavy object at me), so you'll simply have to deal with it. And, quite simply put: I miss you. I also miss having someone to cheat off of on Charms exams, but never fear, good old Tentacula and I are developing a new line of products that… "assist," shall we say, should you find yourself in a tough spot during an exam. I've tested a few of them already and I have to admit, my marks have never been higher. Mum will be proud!
"That git's cheated off of me in Charms?!" Lyra hissed, staring down at the letter in disbelief. As one of the top students in her class, she was, of course, highly against cheating, and the fact that Fred had apparently been copying her exams for weeks was quite enough to knock him further down the friendship scale.
Don't worry, I definitely miss you more than I miss being able to copy your work. And you aren't missing much else here at school, either. The Umbitch is still waging her reign of terror, but Tentacula and I have a few ideas to help make her stay a little less bearable. Stay tuned!
Be good, Chrys. Don't let Snuffles get you down.
All my love,
Rapier
"'Be good?' 'All my love?'" Lyra repeated, tossing the letter down in disgust. That prat sure knew how to get her blood boiling! Well, see if she wrote him back this time, he'd just have to survive without letters from her from now on –
A soft knock at the door broke into her thoughts. Lyra stared at it warily for a moment, wondering what could have possibly motivated Black to willingly seek her out, before finally calling, "Come in."
The door opened to reveal a man Black's age, though his physical appearance made him seem years older: his robes were shabby and torn, his face drawn and lined, and his hair flecked with a bit more grey than it had been the last time she'd seen him, but his eyes held the same friendliness and warmth. "Professor Lupin!" Lyra blurted enthusiastically, any negative feelings from Fred's letter dispelled immediately. She hopped off of her bed and bounded over to him. It felt so good, so wonderful to finally see someone other than the cantankerous Sirius Black, that she couldn't help it: she threw her arms around him.
Lupin chuckled. "I haven't been your professor for quite some time, Lyra, so I think you can discard that title," he said cheerfully, lightly returning her embrace; if he was shocked by such a bold display of affection from her, he didn't let on. "And, truly, it has been quite some time. It's fantastic to see you."
Lyra pulled away, grinning so widely that she wouldn't have been surprised if she'd permanently stretched her face. "You, too," she agreed, heading back towards her bed and beckoning him over. "How have you been? What have you been doing since you left Hogwarts?"
"Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that," Lupin responded, taking a seat in the chair at her desk. "I've recently been working on several important tasks for the Order, which would explain why you haven't seen much of me around here."
"I haven't seen much of anyone," Lyra grunted, crossing her arms. She wouldn't complain, however, if the only person she'd ever see besides Black was Lupin. She'd excelled in Lupin's class; he'd been one of her favorite professors. Many of her Slytherin classmates had shunned him for his ragged appearance, but she'd never seen the point in judging a book by its cover. Just another facet of her personality that set her apart from her family. She'd even written Lupin a few letters after he'd departed Hogwarts, but she'd never received a response. She hadn't been surprised; it would only make sense that, after Snape's unveiling of him as a werewolf, he'd have to lay low for awhile. She wasn't sure if he'd ever even received them, though Abraxas had returned every time with empty talons.
Lupin smiled gently. "I can imagine you wouldn't." His eyebrows creased together as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, fingers interlocked. "That's partly why I'm here today, Lyra. I wanted to see how you were doing. Dumbledore's concerned you may be having some trouble adjusting to your new circumstances."
"Dumbledore's concerned?" Lyra scoffed. "He's the one who's making me stay here! There are so many things I could be doing to help you lot out, but he'd rather keep me locked up with Mr. Personality!"
Lupin chuckled again. "I take it Sirius has given you a less than warm welcome?"
"I'd describe it as freezing. Below freezing, actually. Ice cold."
Lupin sighed. "Sirius… is troubled," he said after a moment. "You have to understand, Lyra, he's spent twelve years in Azkaban, surrounded by some of Voldemort's most devoted supporters – your mother and father included. He's always been firmly grounded on the side of the Light, and I think it pains him to have a constant reminder of the past he's tried so desperately to escape living right here in his own house – which, unfortunately, is itself a symbol of that past."
Lyra was silent, turning his words over in her mind. She'd never thought of it that way; she'd always assumed that Black should have automatically been able to recognize the connection between them – that she, too, had given up her family (and even her friends and her school) for the same reasons he had. She'd never considered that her presence was actually a source of pain for him. It was obvious that he hated her because his cousin, Bellatrix, was her mother, but she'd expected to receive that same treatment from anyone in the Order. Black's intense dislike of her had merely led her to believe he was some sort of angry, hardened man with little to no genuine feelings at all. "I didn't realize I was such a burden," she said finally, winding her braid around her finger. "Perhaps I should just leave."
"We both know that won't happen," Lupin replied quietly, smiling slightly. "Dumbledore wants you here, Lyra, and the outside world isn't quite safe enough for you yet."
Lyra snorted. "Will it ever be safe again?"
"Touché." Lupin leaned back in the chair, tracing his unshaven chin slowly. "All I can advise you to do, Lyra, is give Sirius a chance. As I'm sure you've gathered – more quickly than he has, certainly – the two of you are more alike than either of you had previously realized. Personally, I feel you both can learn a lot from each other."
Lyra stared at him in disbelief. "Have you and Dumbledore been comparing notes?"
Lupin laughed. "No, but I do seem to channel his opinions at times."
Lyra sighed and collapsed backwards onto her bed. "It's just so difficult," she murmured, tears pricking the corners of her eyes again. "I know it's only been a couple of weeks, Prof – er, Remus, but I've been cooped up inside every day and it's starting to drive me crazy. Black completely ignores me, and I can't – I can't stop thinking about my family. I know I shouldn't, but I can't get them out of my head – "
"You're human, Lyra," Lupin interrupted softly. "It's normal to grieve for those you've lost, especially in your case – I'd be more alarmed if you felt nothing for them at all. For most, it's unthinkable to tear themselves away from family, and I can only imagine you've spent your nights wrestling with the choice you've made and the resulting grief."
"What if I didn't make the right choice?" Lyra whispered, tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. She sat up to avoid choking, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "Carina's already gone, but I abandoned Ara and Draco. I could have saved them!"
"If you truly wanted to leave, Lyra, then there is certainly nothing keeping you here," Lupin said pointedly. "You would not be welcome back, obviously – Dumbledore trusts you, and to break that trust would make you a target for everyone in the Order – but you must be true to yourself."
"I'm not welcome here as it is!" Lyra snapped, still swiping at her eyes. "But I wouldn't go back. I don't want to be trapped here, but it's not that I want to leave, either. I want nothing to do with that deranged Dark Lord or the Death Eaters. I just…" Her voice softened, laced with pain. "I just want to save my family, too."
Lupin was quiet for a moment. "War requires sacrifice," he said finally, digging in the pocket of his robes and pulling out a handkerchief. He handed it to Lyra. "And it's certainly a war that we're headed for, Lyra. There will come a time when your family will be forced to make their own choices, and only then can they be saved – not by you, but by themselves. If they are not willing to give up a life tainted by Voldemort, then you will have to learn to accept that you must move forward without them."
"Be true to myself," Lyra muttered, twisting the handkerchief into a knot. It was, of course, what she'd known all along. She'd never go back to her family as long as they believed in the power of the Dark Lord, but she could never save them, either, no matter how much she wanted to.
"Precisely," Lupin said, smiling slightly. "And if anyone can manage that, I know it's you." He stood, the hem of his robes swishing at his ankles. "Now, run to the washroom and freshen up a bit. There's an Order meeting tonight, and you'll be meeting the members."
At exactly 8:00 Lyra made her way down to the dining room. She stopped just before the door, twisting her braid nervously around her finger. She'd taken Lupin's advice and did her best to wash away any trace of tears, wanting to look presentable for her first meeting with the rest of the Order, but she had no idea what kind of reception to expect – would they all be like Black? Or would they be like Lupin and Dumbledore, welcoming her with open arms?
She had an uneasy feeling it would be the former.
"Come on, then, dear, we don't want to be late," Molly Weasley said cheerfully, coming up behind her and nearly pushing her through the door. A floral-patterned apron was tied about her plump waist; Lyra guessed she'd been in the kitchen preparing refreshments for the meeting. "Everyone's looking forward to meeting you!"
"I'll bet," Lyra murmured, allowing Mrs. Weasley to maintain a firm grip on her arm and guide her through the door. She felt somewhat as if she were heading towards her own execution, but at least she'd have one friend in there besides Lupin and Dumbledore: Mrs. Weasley, by her jovial and kind appearance, seemed completely on her side now
Nobody noticed her at first, giving her time to take in the room: there were at least twenty people from what she could see, maybe more. Dumbledore was seated at the head of the table, deep in conversation with Snape and Lupin. Black was a few seats away from them, arms crossed, glowering at Snape every so often. Mrs. Weasley's husband Arthur was next to him, poring over the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. Lyra could see a few bandages peeking out from underneath his shirt, presumably from where he'd been attacked by that snake in the Ministry. The rest of the table was crowded with people Lyra didn't recognize – except for one. "Nymphadora!" she exclaimed before she could stop herself. Realizing her mistake, she clapped her hands over her mouth, but it was too late. Every head was turned towards her, a hush falling across the room, spreading to the very corners.
"I go by Tonks these days," her cousin answered finally, breaking the silence. With her bright pink hair, artfully torn black pants – Lyra believed Muggles called them "jeans" – and a light blue shirt that said, in bold, black letters, "Stop Staring At My Shirt," she looked nothing like Lyra remembered her. "Or, Dora, I suppose, if you prefer." She jumped to her feet, grinning hugely. "Wotcher, Lyra! Merlin, it's been awhile – look at you! You're definitely not the seven-year-old girl I remember!"
"I could say the same about you," Lyra laughed, crossing over to her and, momentarily forgetting about everyone else in the room, folding her into her arms. It definitely wasn't the way she'd pictured herself greeting her cousin if she were to ever see her again, but now that Nymphadora – Tonks – was here in front of her, it felt right. Thankfully, Tonks accepted the hug easily, returning it with enthusiasm. "Your hair is pink!"
Tonks chuckled loudly. "I'm a Metamorphmagus," she explained. "Mum made me keep it a secret from you and your sisters, though I'm certain your aunt and uncle – well, my aunt and uncle, too – know about it."
"As much as I hate to interrupt this happy reunion," Black interjected icily, "The rest of us would like to get on with the meeting."
"Thank you, Sirius, but this was exactly how I had planned on starting the meeting," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. He stood, extending a welcoming arm in Lyra's direction. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce the newest member of the Order of the Phoenix – Lyra Lestrange."
The same silence fell over the room, rendering Lyra distinctly uncomfortable. Then, slowly, a witch at the end of the table rose to introduce herself, which spurred the others to do the same. Well, this isn't so bad, Lyra thought to herself as the introductions moved around the table, Apart from the fact that I can barely remember anyone's name, but at least no one's treated me like dirt yet –
The cold, smooth tip of a wand jabbed into her throat.
"What was the name of the candy Dumbledore offered you on his last trip to Grimmauld Place?" growled a low, haggard voice right in her ear.
"I – what?" Lyra stammered, completely bewildered.
"Answer the question, girl!"
"For heaven's sake, Alastor, is this necessary?" Mrs. Weasley snapped. "The girl's not an imposter, she's been living here with Sirius for almost two weeks!"
"Yes, Alastor, put the wand down," Dumbledore ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Slowly, Mad-Eye Moody lowered his wand, allowing Lyra to turn and survey her former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Well, he hadn't exactly been her professor, as the Moody she'd known last year had been a Death Eater in disguise, but she still felt as if she'd known the real one. "Lemon drops," she replied evenly, trying to keep the trembling out of her voice. She couldn't show weakness in front of anyone, especially this man. "And how did you know that? You weren't there that day."
"I know a lot more than you think I do, girl, so don't ever think for second you can pull anything past me," Moody answered gruffly, shuffling around and heading towards Dumbledore. His magical eye had swiveled to the back of his head and fixed on her unwaveringly. "And you never know who's hiding behind who, Molly, it's best to practice constant vigilance!" He practically shrieked the last two words, extending a gnarled hand out to Dumbledore as he did so. "Sorry I'm late, Albus, I got held up by a few… complications."
Dumbledore smiled congenially as he shook it. "Not to worry, Alastor," he said, releasing Moody and waving his arms above his head. "All right, everybody, if I could please ask you to take a seat, we will begin."
Overall, the meeting was rather boring. Lyra sat next to Tonks, who seemed positively giddy to be reunited with her after so long. Mrs. Weasley bustled around serving coffee, sweet rolls, and a cheese and fruit platter while Snape gave a report of the goings-on at Hogwarts, and a few other members spoke of things happening at the Ministry, but it was nothing that Lyra understood. She supposed she'd probably know what they were talking about if she'd been present for prior meetings and made a mental note to ask either Dumbledore or Lupin later about what was going on. She was surprised they hadn't explained everything to her in the beginning, but everybody seemed to be in a hurry, tapping their fingers against the table or perched on the edges of their seats. Nobody paid her much attention, either, which was baffling, considering the much colder welcome she'd been expecting. Maybe this was just how meetings always were, everybody anxious to get back to their assigned tasks, where they could process her presence and decide on whether they accepted her or not in peace.
"Does anybody have anything else to add?" Dumbledore asked after about an hour, wiping his lips daintily with a napkin. "And thank you, as always, Molly, for providing us with such delicious refreshments."
Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Oh, it was nothing, Headmaster, I hardly did a thing," she responded, refilling her husband's cup with coffee. Lyra observed her, wondering where Kreacher could be. Wasn't it his job to take care of such things? Why hadn't he prepared the snacks instead of Mrs. Weasley?
And then it hit her.
"Kreacher!" she nearly shouted, causing everyone – half of whom had already been rising and shrugging into their cloaks – to turn and stare at her.
Black laughed loudly. "That bloody elf doesn't even come when I call him, what makes you think he'll respond to someone that's not his master?"
"I'm not trying to summon him," Lyra spat, narrowing her eyes at him. And if she had, she had no doubt that Kreacher would have no qualms obeying her over Black. "I was just reminded of something. That trasgu in your attic, the one I got rid of a few days ago?"
"Yes, I remember it, I haven't been Oblivated," Black said impatiently.
"Would you let the girl speak, Black?" Snape snarled.
Black frowned. "Don't give orders in my house, Snivellus, how many times do I have to say it?!"
"Enough!" Dumbledore commanded in the same authoritative tone he'd used with Moody earlier. "Please continue, Lyra."
"Well, he said something… something weird," Lyra went on, tugging her braid. It was a horrible habit she fell into when she was nervous, and now – feeling the heat of so many pairs of eyes on her – was definitely one of those times. Narcissa had tried breaking her of it throughout her childhood, but she'd never quite succeeded. "He said he'd been talking to Kreacher and that Kreacher has some information that may be of use to me and… and that it might one day save the life of someone I love."
"Information that may be of use to you?" Lupin repeated, his brow furrowed.
Lyra shrugged. "I don't know what it means, either, and I'm not sure if the trasgu was saying it just to mess with me, but… I figured it was worth mentioning."
Black snorted. "You're going to listen to the ramblings of a demented little creature who thinks he can do no wrong?"
Lyra glared at him. "I listen to you, don't I?"
Tonks giggled and choked on her coffee, slopping most of it down her front, a small chuckle escaped Lupin's lips, and Lyra could swear Snape, who never mustered so much as a faint smile, was trying not to laugh. "Quite the contrary," Black snapped, his face flushed. "You don't listen to a word I say!"
"Right, because you rarely deign to speak to me," Lyra replied flatly. "And I do listen to your constant ramblings about how much you hate me."
"All right, Sirius, Lyra, that's quite enough," Dumbledore broke in gently. "Sirius, I do believe there is only one way to straighten this out. Can you summon Kreacher, please?"
For a moment, Black looked as if he'd like to ignore Dumbledore and continue arguing with Lyra, but finally he cleared his throat and stood up. "KREA – !"
The dining room door banged open, effectively cutting him off as a tall, graceful figure strode into the room. "Good evening, everyone, so sorry to be this late," Allyson Mathews greeted, removing her scarlet cloak and throwing it across the back of her chair. "What have I missed?"