"Home sweet home," groaned Danielle, rubbing her aching back as she and Lyra finally stumbled onto Cole's front porch. Navigating the unfamiliar Wiltshire countryside without a magical guide was so much harder than the girls expected, Malfoy Manor was Unplottable meaning the nearest bus stop was miles away and they roasted in the unusually scorching summer heat as they wandered around the forests, lost and extremely parched. The sun was already on its path back towards the ocean by the time their train rolled into Weymouth but Lyra knew her day wasn't over yet, the late hour nor her heat-induced headache swayed her from retiring to bed and she automatically grabbed the straps of her backpack.
She had a lot to do tonight.
"I've got a feeling that adoption inquiries don't usually end with a four hour trek?" drawled Lyra, following Danielle inside the house with a bounce in her step. The smell of slightly burnt fish pie wafted through the home and muffled laughter came from the direction of the kitchen; it was dinner time and Lyra couldn't have been happier, Danielle picked up a large greasy pizza on their way back so she was already stuffed and she didn't have to socialise with the other kids.
"No, but then again the prospective families aren't usually W-words," yawned Danielle, hanging up her jacket and stretching her spine again. Lyra assumed her feet would be in agony, Danielle's stiletto heels certainly weren't suitable for a forest hike but she didn't seem fazed - her back hurt more and she was in awe of her key worker's resilience.
"What? White?" asked Lyra deadpanned, and Danielle snorted, smirking at her, but she chose not to comment. She escorted Lyra back to her bedroom and leant against the doorframe, eyeing the girl as she collapsed onto her bed and kicked off her ruined muddy shoes.
"I guess I can't shout at you for ruining them already," huffed Danielle, disappointed that the cute shoes were no longer wearable. Lyra had no shame and she smiled broadly, itching to say the famous words.
"I told yooouuu! I don't do doll shoooes!" she sang sweetly, and Danielle hung her head, exasperated.
"Less of that, madam! They were very pretty, it's nice to have options instead of those big boots all the time," she tutted, still amused with the young girl's cheek, but before she left Lyra for the evening Danielle gave her one last sweeping look and guilt trickled into her veins, scolding her for keeping secrets.
She didn't want to withhold information from Lyra but she didn't have a choice with this, it wasn't her place to say anything and the fiery side of Danielle wanted the main antagonist of her secret to be the one to tell Lyra - she deserved to hear the truth from their own mouth, she was owed an explanation and she knew Lyra would have a million and one questions for them… and she didn't want to get in trouble with the Ministry.
Lyra caught the odd expression on Danielle's face and sobered up slightly. Danielle had been acting rather strange ever since they left Malfoy Manor, she was quieter than Lyra expected considering she spent most of her time there chatting with Narcissa, and when she asked her to spill the beans on the intel she had gathered she came up empty-handed. Danielle had nothing. Narcissa said nothing of interest.
"She wasn't very useful, she didn't seem to know much about your side of the family," relayed Danielle softly as they strolled through the forest, but Lyra noticed she was chewing the inside of her cheek - she was lying. Danielle always bit her cheek whenever she tried to bluff during their card games but Lyra never let her know she figured out her tell, she didn't want to destroy her winning poker streaks.
Narcissa told her something, she's lying.
Why?! She wouldn't do that.
I thought she wanted to help me…
Lyra's heart stung unexpectedly, Danielle's lie hurt more than she thought it would. "Oh, ok," she muttered, blinking hard to prevent the sudden prickles of tears, "that's weird…" She didn't ask anymore questions.
Danielle nodded and continued to lie through her teeth throughout the rest of their journey, promising her that the lunch with the Malfoys was utterly pointless and apologising for putting her in that situation, and Lyra felt oddly defensive when Danielle asked her about her own discoveries. She never mentioned Kreacher or her new leather journal, she didn't want her to know they existed.
That'll teach her to keep secrets from me!
Lyra looked up at Danielle in her bedroom doorway and pouted. "Am I allowed to go out?" she asked, ignoring Danielle's sad gaze. She didn't want to summon Kreacher while she was in the house, she wasn't taking any risks when it came to her new house elf. She still couldn't believe she had one, she never had to clean again!
"Don't go too far, and come back as soon as the streetlights turn on," Danielle agreed, and she left Lyra to her evening with one last side hug before wandering off to find Sandra for their debrief.
Lyra got to work straight away. She tore her dress off and threw it in the corner of her room where she knew it would lay for weeks, shoved on her camo shorts and the first clean t-shirt she could find, and finished her outfit with her scuffed boots. Dusk hadn't settled over the south coast yet, the sun was still high enough for her to be able to see so she grabbed her paints and stuffed them into her backpack, just in case she had a spark of inspiration while she was out, but she triple-checked the paint bottle lids to make sure they didn't spill in her bag. Her new book couldn't get destroyed just yet.
Without making a sound, Lyra snuck out of Cole's and dashed up the road towards the cliffs, embracing the gorgeous orange sunset as it appeared over the peak of the road. She couldn't hear any signs of life from the farmhouse nearby, the only sounds came from the roaring sea crashing against the rocks and the gentle rustle of bushes in the sweet summer breeze, and Lyra tried to breathe in the fresh air but the sea salt once again ruined the moment. She hid herself from the nauseating view behind the pink bindweed and sea holly hedges that guarded the heart-skipping, steep footpath, and snuggled onto the public bench furthest from the cliff edge.
"Kreacher!" Lyra called out, slipping her backpack from her shoulders, and she jolted at the deafening pop! that echoed around the cliff top like the crack of a whip. It sounded much louder than before and Lyra quickly craned her neck over the bushes, double-checking that they were alone, panicked that she had drawn unwanted attention, but no one came to investigate.
Kreacher was grumbling bitterly to himself when he arrived, and his grumpy wrinkled lips soured further when he recognised Lyra, but she knew not to take his attitude to heart. She didn't blame him, after seeing how awful Draco was to Dobby she assumed he thought she would be horrible to him and she instinctively straightened her back as she tried to look as unthreatening as possible.
"Hello!" She chirped, smiling widely, "just so you know, I'm not going to hit you so please don't be scared of me."
Kreacher looked her up and down, clearly unimpressed by what he was looking at. "Kreacher isn't scared," he told her, his voice hoarse and deep like thunder, "you are not a threat." He was hunched over, his crooked spine was bent awkwardly from decades of low bows, and he tried not to look at Lyra too much, as though her gaze would turn him to concrete.
Lyra blinked, and a tiny part of her whined sadly. Was she not threatening at all? Not even a little bit?
"Well, I can be threatening by the way," sighed Lyra, flicking her hair over her shoulder and shrugging, "you're very lucky I like you."
"You do not know Kreacher," croaked the elf, scowling at his surroundings in disgust, "and Kreacher does not know you… the offspring of the filth, hiding amongst the Muggle dirt… back from the dead to terrorise poor Kreacher?"
"Terrorise is such a strong word," scoffed Lyra, taken aback by his phrasing, "and granted, my home isn't the nicest but that's irrelevant. I didn't know you existed until this afternoon, I want us to get to know each other, I want to know you and I think you're gonna wanna know me." She really wanted Kreacher to like her, the innate desperation to please someone who knew her family so she could get information was inevitable and she let it take over.
Kreacher paused, still overly suspicious of Lyra, but he eventually hobbled a little closer and muttered raspily under his breath. "...Mistress cried when you were born, ashamed… 'the blood traitor reproduced, to tarnish the Black family name' my poor mistress said," he told her, revolted, "and now Kreacher must serve the young blood traitor… Mistress will be so upset…"
The blood traitor reproduced…?
"Wait, rewind," Lyra crossed her legs and leant back against the bench arm, facing her elf directly, "what do you mean? Are you talking about my father? Why did you call him a blood traitor too? Also, what is a blood traitor?"
The malice in Kreacher's bloodshot eyes lightened slightly and he tilted his head, his long ears flapping in the soft breeze. "The brat does not know?" He spat.
"Please don't call me a brat, my name is Lyra," she reminded him, trying not to get too annoyed with his rudeness, and Kreacher seemed to respond well to her polite command. He had not heard the word 'please' in a very long time.
"... Kreacher serves the proud family of Black, the proud family does not associate with Mudbloods and Muggle filth," he murmured, observing the empty space on the bench beside Lyra as though deciding whether the chair was going to spring to life and attack him, "Mistress does not tolerate those who sympathise with non-magical beings, blood traitors do not belong in the Black family."
"So a blood traitor is a pureblood wizard who associates with Muggles and… sorry, what was it you said?" Lyra asked again, wrapping her head around the concept, and Kreacher nodded.
"Mudbloods," he growled, spitting it out like venom, and Lyra paused. He looked way too happy saying that.
"...Is that a slur?" she said slowly, noticing the elf's mean voice inflection, and he finally smiled. He looked particularly unsightly when he grinned and she hated how pleased he was with himself. Great! I have a racist elf! Thank God I didn't tell Danielle about him…
"Ugh, Kreacher!" moaned Lyra, slumping back and inviting him onto the bench with a hand pat, "right, let's get it out of the way right now and discuss this. I don't know what decade you are stuck in but welcome to the twentieth century! No more slurs, no more calling people 'blood traitors' or the M word, and also I assume you hate Squibs too so they're off the table as well. You can't use derogatory terms, they're very hurtful and rude and I don't believe in any of this blood crap the rest of the family seems to be obsessed with. How would you like it if I called you… I don't know, Bat Ears? Or Pointy?"
Kreacher was speechless and his whole body twitched as though some sort of magic had bound him to the spot. His ears bounced as he begrudgingly nodded and he glared at her. "...Kreacher would be sad," he grumbled quietly, and Lyra nodded, patting the bench again.
"Exactly! Sit with me, Kreacher, I have more questions," she instructed him, and Kreacher switched his gaze from the bench to her, his eyes widening in horror.
"Sit with you?" He asked, his resounding tone an octave higher than before, and Lyra nodded, not quite getting it. Did she just do something wrong?
"Er, yeah? You know what sitting down is, right? I just thought you might want a rest, you look like you're going to collapse at any moment, or are you just cold? Your outfit doesn't look very warm and to be perfectly honest it's not really your colour either - wait! I can make you a uniform! Oh my God!" Lyra suddenly squealed, gasping as she smiled at the windswept Kreacher. "I wonder if I can make you a hat? It'll have ear holes of course, I wouldn't force you to wear something uncomfortable."
Clearly overwhelmed by Lyra's nervous ramblings, Kreacher ignored her questions and clambered onto the bench, still staring at her strangely. "Giving Kreacher clothes sets Kreacher free, you wouldn't do that to poor Kreacher?" his voice wobbled, he was terrified of being set free and Lyra rushed to assure him that she wasn't letting go of him.
"Gosh no, you're mine for life! Unless, that is, you want to be set free? Again, I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything but I don't know how this house elf stuff works," said Lyra, and Kreacher shook his head, firm in his decision.
"No, Kreacher wants to serve the Black family until his dying day," he promised her, "some day Kreacher's head will be amongst his family, the elves that serve the great Black family before him. It is an honour to serve, Kreacher knows nothing else." Lyra chose not to analyse the odd sentence, she assumed it was some strange elf idiom about death, and she reached over and patted his hand.
"Don't worry, one day your head will be with your family again," she said sweetly, and she swore she saw tears in his eyes. The coldness that plagued his expression melted away, Lyra could see him absorb her kindness and she tried her best not to be too overbearing. She wanted to give him a hug but she had an inkling he would flee if she tried to touch him again, her physical contact was too much for him and he winced every time she tried.
"So, Kreacher," Lyra started, a thousand questions at the front of her mind, "it sounds like you don't like my dad either?" Her stomach flipped when she mentioned Sirius, she knew her elf wouldn't shy away from her questions like the Malfoys did, but she wasn't sure whether she was actually ready to talk about him yet. Her anxiety simmered down, however, when Kreacher's face crumpled in repulsion and he spat on the floor.
"Horrible boy, a swine that was always out to bother my poor mistress," he told her, "he was never fit to carry the noble name of Black, the havoc he caused great pain and disappointment." That sounds about right.
"You called him a blood traitor? Why?" Lyra prompted curiously.
Kreacher's face spasmed and he nodded, looking out towards the cliff's edge to avoid her eyes. "Master Sirius associated with… Muggleborns," he murmured, and Lyra nodded slowly, trying to piece everything together.
I'm so confused, if Sirius was labelled a blood traitor then why would he turn to the dark arts?
Racist and evil aren't exclusive traits…
"But he's in Azkaban now, he's a dark wizard," mused Lyra, reaffirming her hatred for her father. She wished he was racist, she didn't want to relate to him in any way.
"Kreacher heard what Master Sirius did," said Kreacher quietly, torn at his conflicting feelings about his master's crimes, "it was a shock, even my mistress couldn't believe it. Mistress always knew he would end up in prison, and when Kreacher heard that the daughter he killed had been found Kreacher told his poor mistress and she cried for days."
"Wait wait wait!" Lyra sat up straighter, gawking at him, "you told her that I was alive? I thought she was dead?!" What?! Narcissa lied to her! My grandmother is alive?!
"No," Kreacher killed Lyra's hopes with a single word and she pouted, "Kreacher is blessed to look after mistress forever, her portrait hangs in the Noble House of Black where she belongs, and Kreacher talks to mistress and keeps her company."
"And where is this Noble House of Black?! Is it an actual house? Is it where you've been hiding?" Lyra blurted out, eyes wide in excitement. She had an elf and a house. Wow!
"It is in London, and it's where Kreacher wants to stay," Kreacher hinted, glancing over his shoulder in the direction of Cole's, and Lyra snorted. Duh!
"Obviously, I can't have a house elf following me around, the Muggles might notice," she teased, and Kreacher almost deflated like a dying balloon, immensely relieved he wasn't being separated from his beloved mistress.
"Can you take me there?" Lyra added.
The question came out before she could stop it, but she didn't backtrack once Kreacher caught her eye and nodded. The magic elves possessed seemed exceptionally powerful, they could hear their master's voice from thousands of miles away and they could apparate without any trouble, and she wasn't sure whether Kreacher would be able to take her with him, but the moment Kreacher climbed off the bench and held his hand out the bubbles of excitement inside her stomach exploded and she squealed. No way!
Lyra hurried to shove her backpack on and she took Kreacher's hand, it was rougher than she expected but she squeezed it tight and gave him a bright smile. "Please show me the Noble House of Black," she squeaked.
Pop!
The sensation of Apparition wasn't as jarring this time but it still took Lyra's breath away. Her entire body stretched as though she were made of taffy and she swore her head was going to pop but the feeling of Kreacher's hand in hers kept her grounded, it was oddly calming and she held onto him for dear life. Reality came back and Lyra was plunged into darkness, her heart skipped in dread - had Kreacher taken her somewhere dangerous? Maybe this was a mistake.
"Er, Kreacher?" Lyra mumbled, scared of being too loud.
Wherever she was, it smelt like decay and mould, it smelt wrong. The air was thick with dust, their arrival had spooked the dingy settling of black dirt and Lyra choked, trying not to breathe in too much, but it was incredibly difficult and she tasted something bitter on her tongue. She could hear scuttling on the hard floors, there was muffled movement above her head, was there a hornets nest in here? There was a strange buzzing coming from one direction and the pitter patter of tiny feet coming from the other - the space around her was infested with pests, the home was almost alive.
"Kreacher?! Can you turn the lights on or something?" whispered Lyra, trying not to freak out, and the elf at her side clicked his fingers. Suddenly light flickered in the decrepit silver holsters on the walls and Lyra's eyes doubled in size as she took in her filthy surroundings, fear pounded through her body and she latched onto Kreacher, afraid that he would abandon her here.
She was standing in what once was an elegant townhouse foyer, a tall, surprisingly spacious hallway that looked a lot like the expensive London townhouses she had seen on television, but it was totally run down. The dark carpet underfoot had been ruined with mysterious stains, rodent bones, and suspicious mounds of dirt, a spider web the size of a one person tent consumed the grand chandelier hanging over the wide staircase and Lyra shivered head to toe, imagining the size of the spiders that made the monstrosity. Ornate portraits lined the peeling walls but Lyra's eyes were immediately drawn to the most prominent painting (it was the only painting with a polished silver frame, the only picture Kreacher cared about) and her heart froze out of fright.
"Is that…?" Lyra trailed off, daring to sneak over towards the picture, and Kreacher rushed over to fawn over the dozing painted lady, his red eyes unusually twinkly.
"Mistress Walburga," croaked Kreacher, his dulcet tones rolling through the dank hallway and disturbing the pests around them. Lyra cringed when she spotted a disgusting, maturating nest that looked like beige candyfloss on the wall nearby, she tried not to gag as she spotted some sort of hairy fairy wriggling inside of it and she quickly darted her eyes back to her grandmother, praying that the gross fairy hadn't noticed that she was here. Is that a Doxy?! Uh oh!
"Kreacher does not want to wake up mistress, she will be most upset," Kreacher informed Lyra, plucking a ratty rag from beneath his towel and carefully rubbing the silver plaque beneath the picture, and Lyra took a moment to admire her grandmother for the first time. She looked rather displeased as she slept in the exquisite black armchair featured in the painting, but Lyra could tell she was a beautiful woman in her youth - high cheekbones, straight edged features, neatly curled black hair - but her heart jumped into her mouth when her grandmother's sunken eyes snapped open and locked onto hers. They were startlingly silver, just like hers.
Kreacher panicked. "Mistress!" He rasped, perturbed that they had been caught, and Walburga Black sneered down at her elf as she climbed out of her chair. Now she was awake Lyra watched her beauty melt from her burning rage and her once sparkling silver were menacing and cold, she was rather intimidating and Lyra was terrified that she would somehow burst out of the frame and attack her.
"YOU!" screeched Walburga, shaken. "In my house?!"
"Oop!" Lyra squeaked, frozen in fear as her grandmother's yells grew louder and more threatening. She could feel her anger in the vibrations, it shook Lyra to her core.
"You brought scum into the house, Kreacher?" spat Walburga, dropping her gaze to the elf at Lyra's side. "Never have I seen such insolent behaviour from you, never did I expect to see such traitorous behaviour from my own elf! Outrageous! You dare taint this noble house with his wretched spawn?!"
"Kreacher meant no offence, mistress," pleaded Kreacher, tearing up as he gazed up at Walburga, and he fell onto his knees despite the muck surrounding him, "Kreacher would never-,"
"DO NOT SPEAK TO ME, FILTHY PIECE OF-," Walburga had hit her limit, she was pressing against the dimensions of her frame with all of her might, yearning to reach out and tear the elf limb from limb, but unfortunately for her Lyra reached boiling point too.
"HEY!" shouted Lyra, stepping in front of Kreacher and glaring at her grandmother, "Excuse me! You're dead! He's not your elf anymore, he's mine so don't speak to my elf like that! Do not blame him for me being here, I asked to come here because I wanted to meet you but now I shouldn't have bothered! You're horrible too!"
Walburga looked like she had been slapped in the face and her face grew splotchy, as though she were allergic to confrontation, and Lyra swore she saw steam pouring out of her grandmother's ears.
"OUT! GET OUT!" Walburga roared, filling the entire house with her rage, and Lyra had to clamp her hands over her ears in case her eardrums popped. "YOU TRAITOROUS, UNCIVILISED, ARROGANT BRAT! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"
"Actually it's my house-," Lyra couldn't help herself, she needed to stand her ground, and her nerve struck something deep inside Walburga.
"Just as I suspected, you are exactly like him," Walburga was crushed, horrified at the family heir in front of her.
"You don't know me!" scoffed Lyra, feeling fiercer than ever, "you know nothing about me!"
"OUT!" Walburga bellowed, sounding murderous. The chandelier high above Lyra and Kreacher's heads rattled, disturbed by the painting's powerful screechs, and Lyra brushed off the falling dust from her shoulders. She wanted to stand her ground and refuse to vacate the house just to see how angry her grandmother could get, but from the corner of her eye she spotted spiders the size of small cats and grizzly pests covered in coarse hair crawling out from the filth and she yelped. Nope! Ew!
"Time to go! Kreacher, please take me back!" squeaked Lyra, wrapping her arms around her elf, and he didn't protest this time. Latching onto his new mistress, Kreacher disapparated and took Lyra back to the clifftop courtyard with another pop!
It was a shade darker now, the light orange sky had faded to deep pink and the breeze had picked up slightly, cooling down Lyra's searing cheeks and ruffling Kreacher's toga as they composed themselves. She never felt this relieved to smell sea air before.
"She's awful," spat Lyra, pouting down at Kreacher sadly, "you let her treat you like that?"
"Kreacher loves his mistress," he muttered, not quite looking her in the eye, "Kreacher does whatever his mistress says."
He's been bloody brainwashed!
Poor thing, he doesn't know what to believe anymore…
"Is that a house elf thing? Do you have to do what your master says?" wondered Lyra, perching on the edge of the bench again, and Kreacher nodded.
"Well, I hate that," sighed Lyra, disproving of the whole system, "do you really have no say? What if your master asks you to, I don't know, murder someone then you would have to do it?"
"Kreacher is bound to serve - whatever mistress says, Kreacher does," he explained, shifting from one foot to the other, but Lyra just couldn't get her head around it. But, why?!
"Elf magic is very interesting but man does it seem complicated," Lyra verbalised her thoughts, swinging her legs from the bench, "can you teleport literally anywhere?"
"Elf magic is different to wizard magic, if Kreacher must break a wizard's charm in order to obey his mistress' command then Kreacher will do it… Apparition is different for house elves, it is not the same as it is for wizards…" he said darkly, smirking at the floor as though remembering a pleasant memory, and Lyra oohed, extremely impressed.
"That's so cool! So in some ways elves are more powerful than wizards? You can do things wizards can't?" She gasped, her eyes lit up in fascination, and Kreacher tilted his head, mulling on her bizarre remark.
"…Kreacher has never thought about it like that before, but yes," he said under his breath, and Lyra patted his shoulder, enjoying his stunned expression. Without his sour comments and mean lour he was rather endearing, he reminded her of a grumpy old cat who was angry at the world and she couldn't not like him. He still flinched at her physical contact but he wasn't aiming his scowls at her anymore, it would take her a while to get her elf to like her but she was determined to break through to him.
And she still had so many questions, she didn't want to overwork him on their first official meeting.
"Is there anything else mistress wants or may Kreacher return to London?" grumbled Kreacher, pulling Lyra out of her thoughts as the breeze around them picked up, and her stomach fluttered suddenly as she thought of her other tasks tonight.
"Actually, yes there is one more thing I need you to do," Lyra told him, shuffling in her seat to get comfortable, "I need you to visit a friend of mine and give him a message from me."
"Where is Kreacher going?" he asked.
"Surrey, more specifically number four Privet Drive," Lyra read the address from the loose paper in her backpack, "it's my friend Harry, you may have heard of him, he's only the most famous wizard in the world no biggie," she said coolly, wiggling her eyebrows at Kreacher, and he blinked.
"…Is Kreacher visiting Harry Potter?" He guessed, and Lyra nodded.
"So you have heard of him! Great! Boy, you elves are well-informed," she scoffed, "you will have to be very careful though, he lives with Muggles who will make his life a living nightmare if they catch a house elf in their house so please make sure he's alone and be as quiet as possible."
"And what shall Kreacher say to him?" Kreacher wondered, eyes narrowed.
"First off, tell him who you are and that I sent you - don't try to trick him - then ask him whether he got his letters back from Draco's elf Dobby, and then tell him that I miss him and he will be out of that house real soon," she relayed, counting off the key points on her hand. Kreacher nodded, gave Lyra one last odd stare, and then disappeared from the cliff top with another pop!
Lyra let out a huge deep breath and sank into the bench, staring up at the darkening sky. If this worked then she had just stumbled upon the best means of communication ever, and to top it off she could go with Kreacher too! She could literally go anywhere! Lyra assumed no one knew she was in London moments ago, there was no sign of owls in the sky, no flock of Ministry wizards descended upon her to tell her off for using magic, and she smugly patted herself on the back for succeeding in finding a way to use magic without actually using magic. She still needed to figure out if there were any limitations that would get her into trouble but she had all the time in the world, she didn't want to worry about that tonight.
As she waited for Kreacher to return, Lyra distracted the anxious butterflies in her stomach by searching through her backpack and her chest got tighter when her fingers brushed the leather cover of Lucius' book. Her newest treasure, it was still waiting for her.
Lyra's heart thumped hard and she held her breath as she flicked through the book, but harsh waves of disappointment rolled over her and dragged her shoulders down in a slump. The book was empty, each page was blank, there was nothing in it.
"Aw man!" groaned Lyra, pouting at the tatty pages, "I was so sure!" She held the book out in front of her and examined it carefully, still suspicious of the object. There was more to the journal than meets the eye, she felt it in her very fingers and it rushed through her veins. It was much heavier than it should have been, a book of this material and size shouldn't have felt like a bag of sugar, and yet Lyra's arms trembled as she held it up. Is there something in the book? Does the book open up? Wait! Is it even a book?
There were dates in the corners of each page, the paper was aged and free of lines - it must have been old. Was this simply a diary Lucius picked up in an antique shop? It must have been antique, the detailing of the leather cover wasn't like any Lyra had seen before and she stroked the worn fabric front. She could use it as her new sketchbook, it was perfect, it was way more stylish than her other pad.
I never took Lucius as someone who would have a diary?
Is it really his?
There's something on the back.
Lyra squinted and held the diary up to her face when something shiny caught her eye. On the bottom of the back cover was a line of scratches where a quill dripping with liquid gold had once been, it was quite difficult to make out the words but with the help of her fingertip she managed to work out what it said:
Property of T.M Riddle
"T.M Riddle," murmured Lyra to herself, and the whispers inside her head helped her work out the new mystery in her hands.
Maybe it's a relative?
Or is it second-hand?
…get rid of it. Don't use that book.
Why not? It's retro! It's pretty! I'll scratch the name out and put mine instead.
Please don't do that! Do not use that book. You need to get rid of it, nothing good will come from using it!
The voice in the back of Lyra's mind grew louder the longer she stared at her diary but she batted her unease away the second she heard the now familiar pop! echo around her. The book dropped into her lap and she stared at Kreacher, observing his expression for signs of worry but he merely looked irritated - it worked!
"So?! Did you find him? Is he ok? What's he doing? Did he freak out when he saw you?" she babbled, gasping for the answers as though they were made from oxygen.
"Kreacher found Harry Potter in his bedroom," he droned, sounding more bored than before, "he was not as scared as Kreacher expected, nor was he as big as Kreacher imagined."
"But he's ok?" repeated Lyra, urging her elf to get to the point.
"He is ok," grumbled Kreacher, almost rolling his dark eyes, "Harry Potter told Kreacher to tell mistress that he met Dobby and got his letters back, and he thanks you for your help."
"Psssh, it was nothing," Lyra grinned, relishing in her glory, "what else happened? What was his room like? Did he look hurt in any way? How skinny is he?"
Kreacher paused, dwelling on her questions, and managed to answer without any spite this time. "Kreacher did not pay attention to decor, but Kreacher could see that Harry Potter looked underfed."
Lyra slapped herself in the face and growled, furious with Harry's aunt and uncle. How could they sleep at night knowing that their nephew was starving in the room next to them? "I knew it! I just knew it! Anything else?"
"Harry Potter told Kreacher to tell you that he prefers The Smiths over The Cure but Kreacher does not know what that means," added Kreacher, and Lyra cackled, her laughter drifting off into the dusky purple evening sky, the stars twinkling down like a flashing indicator, reminding her that the street lights were due to come on within the hour. Really Potter?! She guffawed at Harry's poor taste but she couldn't help but feel warm and tingly inside now she knew he had been using her gift.
"I can't believe this! Is he trying to torture himself? I'm sorry bud but you've got to take me to him, I can't let him get away with this ridiculousness," said Lyra frankly, climbing off the bench once more and holding her hand out to him after shoving the leather book into her backpack, "Pretty please can you take me to Harry? And make sure we're quiet, I don't fancy getting caught again."
The moment Kreacher took Lyra's hand her entire body jolted with exhilaration and her cheeks started to cramp from her excessive grinning. She hadn't seen her friend in so long, she had been waiting for this moment for weeks! Reality shifted as Kreacher apparated and Lyra groaned, focusing on her breathing instead of the sickly twisting inside her body. The sensation faded a lot faster this time and Lyra recovered quickly as she popped into existence again, startling the boy who had been mindlessly lounging on his bed.
"WHAT THE-!"
Harry slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his own screams and Lyra immediately let go of her elf's hand to dive at her best friend, scaring him even more.
"There is no way you like The Smiths more than The Cure!" she scolded him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. "I only gave you that album to humour you! It was a test!"
"They sound exactly the same! It was a joke!" he stuttered, slightly dazed and wide-eyed as he pulled away to gawk at her. "How-? I can't believe-?! Lyra!"
"Hello!" she chirped, smiling at him smugly, "impressive, huh? Turns out magic isn't that difficult and house elves are severely underrated."
"Yeah, about that - you have a house elf now?" asked Harry dubiously, peeking over Lyra's shoulder to stare at Kreacher who was eyeing Hedwig as though she were a dangerous beast.
"Boy do I have an exciting tale for you, Potter," sighed Lyra, pursing her lips as she thought of her ghoulish second cousin, "but let's forget about my never-ending battle against Draco Malfoy for one second and talk about you. What's been going on? How have you been? You look…" Lyra trailed off and took her moment's pause to examine Harry and his surroundings, and her heart sank into the pits of her stomach.
Kreacher was very accurate when he said that Harry looked underfed, he was wearing one of the plaid shirts she had tailored for him but it was hanging off his shoulders in a way that made Lyra's toes curl and she noticed he had only grown an inch or two, she expected a larger growth spurt. Despite looking awfully pale and weak, he had gained dark circles under his eyes over the summer that darkened his whole face - he looked exhausted.
The only positive she could find was that his room was a tad bigger than she pictured, he had enough room to fit in a decent desk and a wardrobe, but her stomach plummeted when she realised that she couldn't see his trunk, or any of his school things for that matter. His walls were bare, not a stitch of red or gold in sight, but Lyra immediately smiled when she spotted his Walkman and CDs sprawled at the end of his bed. The smile didn't stick though, Lyra's jaw dropped the second she spotted the thick silver padlock on Hedwig's cage and she spun around, frantically searching her glossy hair for a stray hairpin. Was child abuse not enough? Now Hedwig had to suffer too?
"Did your uncle do this?!" whispered Lyra, cautious of her usual shouty volume, and Harry flushed bright red, scowling at his bedroom door.
"Yeah, I broke the last lock and he just put an even bigger one on. I've tried everything but I can't get this one off," he muttered, but he brightened up when he heard the lock click. Hedwig hooted softly, thrilled that she was finally free, and she hopped out to stretch her cramped snowy wings.
"Ta daa!" Lyra waved her hands, presenting Hedwig to Harry as though she were a magician. "Magic!"
"Now you're just showing off," he scoffed, nudging Lyra out of the way so he could finally give his pet some well-deserved affection, and Lyra shrugged, offering him her handy hairpin.
"You're so lucky your best friend is a badass," she sighed, wiggling her brows as she bragged.
"And so humble too," snickered Harry, thanking her for the pin, "I can use this to get my stuff back. I haven't done any homework, it's all locked under the stairs."
"Your aunt and uncle sure do love those damn stairs," huffed Lyra, pouting at the door, "are they still awake?"
"Possibly, but I think Dudley is in his room. Why?" murmured Harry suspiciously, and Lyra grinned impishly.
"No," said Harry preemptively.
"Hey now! I wasn't going to suggest we go and mess around downstairs," Lyra held her hands up and turned to Kreacher, "Kreacher, do you think you could sneak into the cupboard under the stairs without being caught?"
Kreacher smiled cruelly and the pair cringed. He needed to work on that, it was obvious he hadn't had much experience with smiling.
"Kreacher never gets caught," he promised, his voice deep like a bullfrog, and with a sharp snap of his fingers the bedroom door burst open and he waddled out, grumbling to himself as he went. Harry and Lyra froze, momentarily paralysed that Kreacher had pulled such a bold move, but the house elf had disappeared before they could get a hold of him.
"Kreacher!" Lyra whisper-shouted, sticking her head out of the bedroom door and glaring at him, "what the hell are you doing?!" Her heart was pounding and her knees shook - if they got caught they were screwed! She watched her house elf leisurely stroll down the flowery carpeted hallway and disappear downstairs, not fazed at all by his mistress' panic.
"Wait! Shush!" Harry slapped her arm and pulled her away from the door, furiously miming at her to shut up, and the pair held their breath, straining their ears so they could hear the inevitable shrieks of horror. They stared at each other, afraid to move, and Lyra swore she could hear Harry's racing heart.
Not even a minute had passed when Kreacher hobbled back into the bedroom with Harry's trunk and broom levitating behind him. Harry carefully and quietly closed his bedroom door and stared gormlessly at Kreacher.
"Wow," he mumbled, "that was quick. No one saw you?"
"The Muggles were distracted by a glowing box," growled Kreacher, scowling up at Harry, "the filth never noticed… Mistress must never know that Kreacher was here, he is no better than a dirty Mud-," he choked, "Muggleborn…"
"She's not your mistress anymore, I am," reminded Lyra spitefully, frowning at Kreacher, "I forbid you from taking orders from that damn painting ever again, my racist grandmother is not worth your time."
"Your grandmother?" blurted out Harry, confused, "But I thought-,"
"He's been taking orders from a picture," Lyra sighed, not wanting to talk about that awful woman, "when I said I have a tale I meant I have a goddamn novel!"
"Why am I surprised?" groaned Harry, rubbing his eyes, "first Dobby shows up out of nowhere and immediately starts sobbing all over me, and now this? I should have known, this has Black written all over it."
"I did you a favour with Dobby, he had your letters! Did he tell you why he had them?" wondered Lyra, hoping to hear a confession that dropped Lucius and Draco into deep trouble, and Harry rolled his eyes, thinking back to his run-in.
"Nope, he just kept crying. It took some convincing to physically get the letters off him, and then Dudley came bursting in to see if it was me who was crying loudly," Harry cradled his face and groaned, reliving his day. "He screamed, Dobby screamed and disappeared, it was horrible. Uncle Vernon put two more locks on the door but I don't know whether it's to keep me in or Dudley out, I don't think he believed that Dobby was here which is good, I guess."
"Aw, I'm sorry," pouted Lyra, but he waved her apology away and smiled.
"Why? It was quite funny, it was worth the extra locks," he chuckled, "and I finally have your guys' letters. I can't believe Malfoy has been stealing them, that slimy little worm! How did you find out?"
"Long story short, the Malfoys tried to adopt me but it didn't work out," she spat out, trying to shift the topic back to him, "I'll tell you all the details in writing, it'll take all night." The warm orange gleam shining through his bedroom window was coming from the streetlights outside and Lyra's heart skipped, she assumed her time was up - do all of the streetlights across the country turn on at the same time?
"I think I need to go," said Lyra sadly, dragging Harry into another quick hug, "Danielle will kill me if I'm not home soon and I want to keep my sneaking out privileges." She felt him squeeze her extra tight and she copied, but when she felt his ribs poke out against her palms she winced and prolonged the hug, coming up with a rushed plan. She still had to take care of that.
"Chicken or beef?" asked Lyra, and Harry snorted, taken aback by the random question.
"Huh?" He laughed.
"Chicken or beef?" Lyra asked again, her impish smile effortlessly sliding back on her face.
"Er, beef?" he answered warily.
"Kreacher, can you please get Harry the biggest steak sandwich you can find, and some chocolate biscuits, and maybe some fresh fruit as well, I heard a rumour that eating fruit is important," she instructed him, conjuring the most filling meal she could think of, "and something for Hedwig too?"
Pop!
It took Kreacher mere seconds to return with the requested items and Lyra happily handed them over, enjoying the look of bewilderment on his tired face. Hedwig pecked hungrily at her overstuffed bowl and clicked her beak, thanking Kreacher who jumped back in fright.
"Stop showing off and leave me alone, I'm fine," Harry assured her, shoving Lyra towards her elf to prevent her from summoning an entire buffet, and her freckled cheeks burned lightly. Had she overdone it?
"Ok, you win," she smiled, scooping up Kreacher's bony hand and preparing to feel incredibly nauseous again, "but expect maybe one more letter from Kreacher tonight, I want to tell you about today."
"I look forward to it, and you might as well have these now," Harry shuffled through the messy pile of letters on his desk and gave her a small stack of untouched envelopes with her name on, "my list of favourite songs changed over the month so please be kind and don't tease me about the first list."
"You shouldn't have said that," teased Lyra, stuffing the letters into her pockets and giving him a wave, "bye Potter!"
Pop!
Lyra felt the texture of the ground beneath her boots transform and she stumbled a little, gasping as the cold sea air hit her square in the face and strangled her with its freshness. The night sky was ink black now, no trace of colour on the horizon and the ocean bled into the stars, but Lyra tore her gaze away from the frightening, bottomless ocean and shivered, wanting nothing more than to be safely tucked up in her bedroom.
"Is mistress finished with Kreacher for now?" muttered Kreacher, growing weary of the coastal winds that continuously whipped his floppy ears, and Lyra nodded, stifling a yawn. Who knew teleportation would be so exhausting?
"Yup! You did good, buddy! Nice work, we make a good team!" praised Lyra, patting Kreacher on the back as she began her descent down the dirt road towards Cole's. The compliment winded Kreacher and he stumbled, staring up at Lyra as though she had grown an extra set of arms out of her head. He swallowed the lump in his throat and scowled at his hairy feet, mumbling something incoherent.
"Uh, you can go…" she said awkwardly, not sure how to react to the elf's sudden grumpiness, but he simply bowed until his snout nose brushed his knees and vanished into thin air with a resounding pop!
Now she was alone, Lyra felt rather empty without her elf at her side and she couldn't help but drag her feet all the way down the hill, annoyed that she was stuck in a Muggle home where having a house elf would be considered a freakish thing to do… and maybe a few laws would be broken, but she was more worried about reaffirming her freakish nature in front of Rachel or Johnny. If they ever saw Kreacher they would totally freak out.
But they don't necessarily have to see Kreacher in order for me to use Kreacher against them…?
That sounds risky.
I say go for it! They deserve it.
Debating with her subconscious, Lyra headed home with her mind stuck on all the way Kreacher could mess with her bullies and her hands latched around the straps of her backpack. The weight strapped against her back felt just as heavy as before, even more so now she was walking downhill, but the voices in the back of her head strengthened the moment she thought of the notebook she had yet to use.
Maybe save that book for a rainy day? It's not important, it's not for you… please…