THE DARK LADY

July 27, 1995

The cafe was closed and its employees were bussing the Front and Back of House diligently. In the floor beneath them, the dimly lit basement was separated into two rooms — the fridge-freezer and the pantry. Lyra stood with her hip jutted out and her long cream dress falling loose around her legs. The mahogany shawl over her shoulders kept her warm from the chill as she took inventory of the cold goods. Her pen tapped her chin for each box of frozen chicken she counted. There was a creak of a door swinging open, followed by a rhythmic scraping of leather shoes on concrete stairs. Lyra didn't look up to Matt as she wrote on the clipboard she held to her side.

The tall blond knocked on the metal walls and leaned on the doorway of the walk-in fridge. "There's someone asking for you."

She lifted her head to look at him and squinted at his impish smile. An exasperated sigh escaped her lips and she turned back to the metal shelves. "Tell them we are closed and to come back tomorrow."

Issac had not come home last night and — now armed with the knowledge of his role in the Order of the Phoenix — she reasoned he had gone to some Order meeting about her after his day at the Auror office. When she awoke in the morning, she had hoped he would have been sprawled out in on the couch in their flat, snoring away, but alas that was not the case. There was no sign he had returned and she was crossing her fingers he was busy with work and would be raiding their fridge when she went home tonight.

"I've told him that but he seems determined to talk to you."

It wasn't Issac. Matt would have said it straight up if it was. Was it Dumbledore? "Is it an odd looking fellow? Old? Long white beard?"

Matt wrinkled his nose. "Err. No."

"Tell them to come back tomorrow," she repeated but he continued to insist. "Come on, Lyra. You don't even know—"

"Who is it?"

"Not telling," he sang. "Just go up and see."

"No. I'm finishing up here and then I'm going home."

"Fine, I'll bring them down here then," Matt said childishly, crossing his arms. She spun around and slammed the clipboard into his chest. "Ok, fine! I'll go talk to them! Gods! You are so annoying! Hope is more mature than you!"

Lyra held back from screaming and stamped her boots up the stairs. The blond man called out, "You love me!"

"No, I really don't," she muttered and stepped into the kitchen. It was only three steps in and her employees sat around the metal counter that stood as island in the centre of the kitchen. Mops and brooms were leaning against the wall and the table wipes laid equally discarded on the counter. Lyra flittered her gaze over their impish features they were trying to desperately hide.

Sarah blurted out excitedly with a wink, "He's a catch."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Maybe she wasn't in the mood for games. She was worried about Issac. What if something went wrong with his job?

Lyra narrowed her her employees as she stalked through to the front and she barked at them, "Who told you to stop working!"

There were scurried footsteps and someone tripping but that did not falter her steps. What did was the man she peeked at through the small circular window of the door. He stood before Marigold's painting in a shabby suit whose color faded years earlier.

Lyra softy pushed the door and the dingle from the bell didn't snap the man out of his entrancement. She softly stepped out behind the counter and reminded Remus, "I told you to not look at the girl."

The werewolf greeted her with a small smile she returned before he turned back to the painting. She joined him, standing side by side, as they fell into the spell.

"What do you think happened to Marigold Grey?" Remus asked quietly, his gaze focused on the young girl. Lyra looked up at him and a crinkle formed between her brows that disappeared when she let out a sigh, and she turned to the girl that caught the werewolf's attention.

"What everyone thinks happened," was her reply. "An artist's madness. Marigold got on the broom and let go, dying on the footsteps of Gringots."

"You don't think there is more to it?" His brown eyes searched hers but she teared her gaze away.

"I work with facts and make conclusions. Conspiracies are just projections of what you want the truth to be. The aurors determined how she died. No question about it."

"What about the blood they found in her flat? If it wasn't hers, who did it belong to? Don't you think it's the girl in the painting?"

Lyra didn't respond and the werewolf did not seem to mind as he reminisced, his words wistful.

"In fifth year, the Potters acquired the painting. It was this same girl, in the same white dress, in a field of flowers — Serena Grey, I'm sure you know that's the name Grey gave her. Sirius had the idea to look for her when we got to Hogwarts. He thought if she was real and not a figment of Grey's imagination, that she would have been around our age, give or take a few years."

"Yes, I remember your inquisition," Lyra remarked, crinkling her nose. "You four terrorised all the witches."

He nudged her with an elbow. "We were posing questions that needed to be asked," he said stone faced but Lyra could see the mirth behind his eyes.

"I'm sure," she drawled and played along with his serious tone. "As I am also sure the dung bombs in the girl's bathroom were also necessary."

"How else would we get you lot out of there?"

"How, indeed?" She gasped and they burst into soft chuckles.

Remus commented after their lapse in comfortable silence, "We never found her."

"I know."

"James thought it possible she was in some other country."

She raised a brow at Remus and huffed, "Again, conspiracy. Anything is possible."

"It's a frustrating mystery," he uttered his troubled feelings over the matter. Though, Lyra quickly proposed sagely, "Or a truth hard to grasp."

"It's a bit dull to think she was just made up by Grey." Remus pursed his lips, fondly staring at the girl. "There are some portraits of Serena Grey that are incredibly detailed."

Lyra choked back a laugh, "Did you really come here to talk about portraits of a baby?"

Remus faced her, shaking his head, "No. I thought we could talk to the werewolves at the gambling den without Savage."

"Dumbledore approved, then? I am part of a fancy secret society?"

"Yeah. He was surprised you were the infamous Lady Voldemort. Apparently, he had searched for you before but he was unable to locate a witch by the name of Rayne Gamesier." His eyes held questions and there was trouble behind him. What was it? Lyra shifted through all she knew and devised all new possible futures, then her eyes lit in understanding and she curled her lips.

"He wants you to come with me to confirm who I claim I am."

He cracked a dimpled grin. "You're shrewd."

Issac would have to wait for her to get home. She needed to get fully inaugurated into the Order and hopefully it would not take long.

"Thank you," Lyra bowed her head slightly before jesting, "A bit dumb to try and hide my genius if you know I'm Lady Voldemort, don't you think? It's a shame. I was hoping to keep my nasty secret, a secret by acting like a fool."

"Brilliant Slytherin tactic."

"I'm a proud snake."

"Why Rayne Gamesier?" Remus asked.

"My alter ego," was her curt answer. "I didn't want my less than favourable side-jobs to be tracked back to Issac and I."

"I meant," he clarified, "how did you come up with it? It's a bit random, isn't it?"

"It's not random; it's who I am. Rayne Gamesier," Lyra said, fixing him in his spot.

"Are you not Lyra Fairchild? Or are you saying that you're just as much Rayne as you are Lyra because its your alter ego?" Remus furrowed his brows thinking out loud and it nearly made her laugh if not for the sore topic.

"I rather forget about it but Rayne Gamesier is something I must never erase from my mind. It's made me who I am."

"Alright," he nodded and Lyra looked at him quizzically. "Just, alright?"

"It's something about you, you rather know no one knows. I won't pry."

Remus said it so easily, like whatever secret she held did not matter. Anyone else would demand the truth, pry, drill her down until she snapped.

"Thank you," Lyra smiled broadly, eyes creasing at their side. The werewolf smiled and he was giving her an indecipherable look she had never seen on him before. She let it go but made sure to imprint it to her mind. "Are you ready to talk to some werewolves?"

"I never thought I would have to do this again," Remus confessed, rubbing his chin. "Do we have to apparate?"

She held her hand out, "Ready when you are."

He raised a brow at her and his eyes flickered to the doorway that lead to the back of cafe. "Don't you need to tell your employees you're leaving?"

"They'll be fine," the witch shrugged, making Remus grin and reach for her hand. The moment his fingers were curled tightly around her, they swirled with a pop.

"You apparated without a wand!" Remus exclaimed as they apparated between two brick buildings. The alley was thin, barely thick enough to fit two people standing shoulder-to-shoulder and it bare for the plastic wrappers and cigarette buds that littered the floor.

"Brilliant observation," Lyra dryly commented as she twirled her wand over her head, letting her long brown hair fade into an inky black and her white dress darkened.

"I don't think you realise the skill wandless apparation requires," he reproached, blinking uncharacteristically fast at her. She shook her head and smiled dubiously, "It's much simpler than people think. Just focus on your magical core."

Remus walked to the entry of alley, peeking out at the dimly-lit, empty streets, and Lyra followed, hearing his confession. "I think I'm beginning to understand why Issac idolises you."

"He doesn't—" She began but the werewolf interjected, quickly spinning to face her, and cocked his head down at her knowingly, "He does."

"Whatever," the witch said, rolling her eyes, and set into a comfortable pace on pavement. Remus followed and he surveilled their surroundings. "Are we in Manchester?"

"Aye." They turned a corner and a car swerved past. Down the street, Lyra could spot the brick stairs that lead to an underground path. Her eyes flickered to the wizard beside her and she uttered, "Remember, I'm Rayne Gamesier, here. And don't leave my side. And don't stare. And—"

Remus gently grabbed her wrist, "The concern you show for a commoner, such as I, is deeply touching, My Lady." She snapped her eyes to his and found them holding back mirth.

"Sod off," the witch chuckled but the amusement slide away and she grit her teeth. Lyra's tone was stern, "I'm serious, Remus. We'll go in, have a drink, chat, then leave."

"What? Not going to earn some galleons?"

"I don't mix business and pleasure. Everyone in there, knows that," she explained. "When I don't play, they know I'm tracking an object or settling debts. So when we go in there, play along I'm settling a debt to you, alright?"

Once Remus nodded, and she noted his understanding as he smoothed his clothes, Lyra walked down the steps into the inclined passageway that lead to another street on at a lower altitude. Their footsteps echoed against the brick walls and loose sheets of newspaper were pressed, wet, into the stones. There was a fog around them as the ratty, muggle air-conditioning splurged white smoke, obscuring their view. About mid way through the dark, Lyra abruptly stopped, the werewolf nearly ramming into her.

The witch was looking at the graffiti on the brick wall. It was a red-headed leprechaun, nearly as tall as her, holding a pot of gold. Lyra reached out tapped the gold coin it was teasingly holding out.

"Password?" The painting drawled.

"Time is galleons."

The wall shook, dust puffing as the bricks grumbled and rotated inwards like a door to reveal a hallway, lit only by a fireplace on the far wall. Remus followed Lyra as she marched in, head held high, with an apathetic expression, rising unrest within the werewolf. Her hands curled around the knob of a door and she pushed.

Music echoed around the spacious room held up by brick columns and little lights floated above them, lighting pub and poker tables at the centre, along with the long bar at one end. Booths with broody people ran along the wall as they sipped glasses and scrutinised the newcomers. Lyra did not falter in her steps as she meandered around the intoxicated swarms with Remus at her feet, leading the werewolf to get a drink.

Lyra tapped the bar, instantly gartering the attention of the house-elf, "I'll have a glass of pure malt whiskey and—" she quirked a brow at Remus who cut in, "Daisyroot Draught for me."

"Right away, of course, my Lady," the elf bowed and scrambled away. Lyra huffed air through her nose and an elbow nudged her side. She turned to Remus with half-lidded eyes.

"Not going to tell him to sod off?" He asked. Remus was trying to keep an indifferent expression but the creasing at his eyes betrayed him despite the sour look he was shooting at all the peeking gazes.

Lyra yawned and she turned from him to scope the room, making bare minimal eye contact with her curious associates. It was the light humorous tone that made Remus crack a small smile, "Unlike you, if I do that the little guy might get a heart-attack."

Witches, wizards, vampires, werewolves, they all shimmied away from the two at the bar, almost as if they had some sort of disease. However, it was no disease, it was instinct to get away from the witch that could cause serious bodily harm with one flick of a wrist if they crossed her. Only a few dared stare openly at her and others tried to steal glances when they thought she was not looking. Stupid, really. She always knew. Lyra opened her mind and let thoughts filter into her mind, picking everyone apart in search of potential threats.

Her legilimency was her ultimate tool and it was what let her be so frightening to them all. While most of these ruffians were skilled in the Arts of the Mind, their discipline crumbled at the first sip of alcohol and let sweep in to see unsavoury thoughts. They all knew she was a skilled Occlumens. A fateful night many years ago, a wizard tried breaking into her mental fortress and the moment Lyra had felt his presence she let him in. She didn't let him out. She trapped him. She terrorised him, tortured him within her mind. When she let him go, he had been crying, apologising, begging, screaming for it all to end. No one tried again.

"Here's the drinks, my Lady," the house elf stuttered and Lyra nodded at the small thing. She looked up at Remus from over the glass she was sipping and she began her description of the huddled groups of beings.

"In the far corner, there are some vampires, they are the ones that gave me the name. The witches and wizards in purple robes — don't accept anything from them — the backbone of the black market, they are. Actually, don't go near them at all, they might slip something into your drink. The werewolves at the far side of the bar — don't look at them! — associates of Greyback, no hope there. We are going to talk to the ones over there — the ones drinking themselves senseless. Poor bastards have been affected terribly by the anti-werewolf legislation. Lucky for us, I lent some of them some money a few months ago. Come on," Lyra said, nudging Remus in the arm, urging him to follow her as she made her way towards them.

People parted a path for her

"Hello, lads," she greeted. "Fine evening, isn't it?" No one replied, staring at her with wide, frightened eyes, shaking in their spots. "Oh, come on. Don't get your wand in knot. I just want to chat."

"Yes — of course — my Lady," a dark-haired werewolf with a beard stuttered.

Remus stayed silent beside her, letting her lead the conversation. This was her playing field. "How's searching for a job going?" She asked. Her eyes flittering away from him, almost as if she was disinterested.

"I haven't found anything, yet," He stammered urgently. "I'm looking for a job with the muggles, I am. I'll pay back every sickle. I promise."

"Oh, yes," she drawled, fixing her eyes on the werewolf that began shaking. "I know you will."

This poor werewolf was terrified of her, as were the other werewolves around them. No longer were they cheering and laughing. They stood stiff, eyes pinned on her, and their knuckles turned white at their hold on their glasses.

"May I ask you a question, George?" Lyra asked, quirking a brow.

The werewolf nodded spastically and replied quickly, "Yes — anything —, my Lady."

"Does it frustrate you?" She posed. "Working for muggles?"

Lyra could see Remus giving her a look from her peripherals but she paid no heed to listen to the shaky words of George. "Yes. I'd like a proper job — a steady one, yes. I used to work in the Ministry, you know."

"I see." She nodded thoughtfully. "What have you heard about Greyback?"

"I'm sorry, my lady?" he asked timidly and the other werewolves froze.

"Come now, you know who I am talking about. Greyback's affiliation with a certain wizard?"

"Yes, my lady. We have. We will be supporting him just as much as we support you."

"What makes you think I want you to do anything?" He garbled out indecipherable words that she ignored. "You could say I'm a disinterested party. I care not for whoever wins and neither do I care about you other than your debt, but everyone has to take a side, don't you agree? See, I've been talking to my associate" she gestured to Remus with her glass — "about it all day during our business."

Her companion butt in, improvising splendidly, "I can't decide if it's better or not for werewolves to support him."

"If we join him, it'll be better!" A werewolf she knew as Bard exclaimed.

"Will it though? The Death Eaters are pureblood fanatics. Anyone that isn't one of them will be treated like crap," Remus rebutted. "We will have a chance to prove ourselves but we will be their guard dogs."

Manipulating people and conversations were so easy. Remus launched in a heated debate with the other werewolves, some taking his side. Rebuttal after rebuttal, argument after argument, they spewed words fast between each other and Lyra would add her two cents in, nodding along and keeping the glasses full. Their voices got louder and louder as more people filled the den and she could see the sway in the stances of the werewolves.

"What is your opinion, my lady?" Gary — one of the werewolves — slurred. "A pureblood witch such as yourself will surely support You-Know-Who." He loudly whispered the offending name, eyes flittering about scared, like he was scared the Dark Wizard would appear behind him.

"Oh, the precarious position I would put my muggle father in," Lyra drawled. The werewolves whipped their wide eyes to her, affronted. She had to play her role. She was Rayne Gamesier and the witch was a half blood.

"A half blood?" They whispered to each other, not realising they weren't being quiet at all. Remus was the only sober werewolf — he had barely finished his second glass — and he stared at her surprised. His lips were parted and his eyes searched hers for any lies.

One asked stupidly, "You like muggles, then?"

"No. I hate muggles just as much as I hate wizards. They both discriminate against their own people because of illnesses they have no control over."

A werewolf dejected said, "There's no chance. There will never be a world where we are accepted."

"Actually," Lyra piped, "the muggles passed a legislation this year to prevent discrimination against muggles with disabilities, the equivalent of your furry problem — you could say — in the muggle world."

"Really?—"

"How?—"

"Brilliant!"

The werewolves cheered in their drunken stupor and Lyra raised an unimpressed brow.

"The muggles call it peaceful protesting," she explained slowly, hoping that they would remember the words in the morning, and her eyes met Remus' for a moment and she noted his amusement.

"I think it's time for you lot to go home," her companion commented, patting a werewolf on his back. Like a natural reaction, the werewolf hurled his insides out onto the feet his friend who yelped, "Urgh!"

"Excellent idea, Remus." Lyra pursed her lips disgustedly at them and ordered, "Go home! All of you! Now!"

The werewolves held each other as they stumbled across the den, getting angry shouts as they bumped into people and they used whatever they could grab hold of as props to keep from face planting into the ground. If Lyra did not have to uphold a guise of a fearful reputation, she would have burst out laughing. Remus, on the other hand, was chuckling as his eyes followed the werewolves.

"I think that went well," she told him, meeting his gaze when he looked down at her.

"I do too." His brow suddenly furrowed and he lost himself in thought. "I hadn't realised Voldemort has already sunk his claws this deep amongst the werewolves."

"It's that anti-werewolf legislation from a few years ago. It's really hitting hard against them. They are all angry."

"Yes, I know," he murmured.

Lyra remembered he was a werewolf and he would be at the brute force of the damage. How was he handling it? Did he even have a job?

"I think it's our time to leave," she noted as she took notice of more, more vampires. From the formal attire, they were having some sort of party. Lyra then added, "Unless you want to talk to others."

"No," Remus shook his head. "Let's get out of here."

She grabbed the crook of his arm and apparated.

The werewolf stumbled a few paces on the grass and groaned something about side-along apparition that Lyra took no heed of as she looked up to the star-strewn sky. It was vast, endless, and unknown, riddled with countless flickering stars. Lyra reverted the spell cast on her and her dress brightened and her hair turned a light-brown once again.

"I've got to admit, I prefer you like this," Remus remarked, studying her. She snapped her eyes to his, astonished at his bold words. Did he realise what he said? Lyra thought. Not a second later, his eyes widened as registered what he implied with his tone.

"Ah — You look pretty either way." He rambled, "Brown hair just suits you better —not that black doesn't, it just takes from your grace — not that you aren't any less graceful with black hair — brown hair makes you look more beautiful — Erm. Merlin. I'm going to shut up now."

"Ok," Lyra giggled, watching him flush red and she too could feel the warmth on her cheeks. "Let's go before you embarrass yourself to death," she said, still laughing, and walked to the gate of the park she apparated them too.

"Where are we anyways?" He asked behind her.

"Grimmauld Place. It's two blocks away from the cafe," she replied. The metal gate creaked as she pushed it.

"Why did you take us here?" There was a wary tone to his question so she turned to face him with a raised brows.

"I live on Grimmauld Terrace, at the end of the street over there," Lyra pointed the buildings that faded away into the neighbouring road.

"Oh." Remus gave her a small smile. "Let me walk you home."

She took a moment to study him but then shoved her rational thoughts aside. What was the harm? It wasn't going to be long walk. "Ok," she said, returning the smile.

Remus held out his arm and mocked, "My Lady?" She rolled her eyes exasperated but nevertheless wrapped her hands gently around his arm, letting him lead her towards Grimmauld Terrace.

"What will happen now?" She asked.

"Will what happen?"

"How does the information get relayed back to the Order. Is there a meeting? Secret codes I have to read in Prophet? Wait for another impromptu visit from Dumbledore?" Lyra unraveled her question.

"I'll relay the information to the other members I live with and we will organise a meeting to discuss it. Bring you up to speed, too…" Remus then added, "Issac will guide you there."

"Good," there was a pause as they crossed the street, letting a car pass first, "Say, how many other members are there?"

"Around twenty," he curtly answered, "but we are recruiting more, and we have some overseas making contacts with foreign wizards."

"I see," the witch murmured, realising there were more ways she could help the Order. There were many wizards around the world she corresponded with frequently to keep her informed of potential magical objects that might spark her interest.

"You might help with that," the werewolf voiced her thoughts and she nodded with a pursed smile. Lyra pulled Remus to halt as they stepped in front of the small staircase that lead to the entrance of the terraced house that each floor had been converted to flats.

"This is me."

Remus raked his eyes over the stone brick building with white windows before he looked down at her. "Eventful night, this was."

"It was," she said.

"I bet when you woke up this morning, you didn't think this was going to be how the day would go."
Lyra returned his gentle smile. "That's been happening a lot lately."

A silence fell and Lyra couldn't look away from him as his smile vanished and the same indecipherable expression graced him. He inhaled sharply and Lyra was entranced. No one had ever looked at her like that — whatever it was. She had no words for it but that it made her confused. She studied faces and micro-expressions for her gambling. Every poker player worth their salt was capable of doing it. It was part of the game. For some reason, though, Lyra knew that if she played against Remus, she would lose. He was impossible to read.

"Goodnight, Lyra," the werewolf said and she softy whispered, "Bye."

She walked away from him, up the steps, and to the door, using her wand to unlock it. "Was it true?" Remus called to her and she turned.

"Was what true?"

"Your father," he said. "Is he muggle?"

"He was." Lyra smiled, watching the somber news set into his mind. "Goodnight, Remus," she said and stepped inside.

The moment the door closed behind her, she leaned against it and held her hands to her thudding heart. What was he doing to her? What was he making her feel?