"So, we'll have the twins keeping me informed of our overall progress, but did you have anything in mind to keep you informed, and Harry? I mean, you did say that's one of the major problems with directing a campaign, right?"

"Well, yes, it is, but when did I...?"

"When we were talking about that game, Autocrátores. You said it actually takes time for your orders to reach field commanders. We need to have some way to communicate in the field..."

"The Aurors" "use little communication mirrors." "We could probably" "make something like that."

Lyra gave the boys a tiny frown. "Maybe, but we still can't bring in enchanted items or potions beyond our wands and a single secondary focus each."

"Well," "fine, then." "What about going the muggle route?" "Know anyone with a bugle?"

"That's it!"

"What's it?"

"You two are fucking brilliant!"

"Yes, obviously." "But we're with Maïa, here." "What's it?"

"Music! You know Ash Ryan?"

"Tetchy little Ravenclaw?" "Year above us?" "Pretty sure he plays the violin." "Is a war-fiddle a thing?" "Sounds a bit absurd..." "Not that there's anything wrong with absurd, but..."

"I have to say, Lyra, I think I agree with the boys, I can't exactly imagine trying to give the signal for a retreat or whatever with a violin..."

"No, not like a war-horn, with specific signals, but— What do you know about performative magic?"

፠

Hermione knew very little about performative magic, truth be told. She'd come across references to it here and there, especially when she'd been researching magical creatures last year, trying to figure out what Lyra was. (She still thought that her suspicion that her now girlfriend wasn't human had been an entirely reasonable one.) Apparently certain magical creatures — magical beings, she corrected herself — were known for using song and dance to cast spells.

"Like Sirens?" They were, she thought, the classic example.

Lyra shrugged, leading the four of them toward Ravenclaw. "Not really. Or rather, it's not just Siren Song. Veela have a dancing thing that's kind of similar to that, actually, they did it at the World Cup. But blood magic is probably the big one you would've heard of humans using. Not like, blood alchemy or writing runes in blood...well, kind of like that, I guess, but the whole idea is that you're forging a connection between yourself and the object of the spell, through which it's effected. The oldest examples, at least with humans, use blood and sex. Modern performative magic, working on an emotional connection forged through artistic media, comes out of the sex-magic tradition — for reasons Zee could explain better than I can, I'm bloody terrible at it."

Somehow, Hermione didn't find that entirely surprising. Neither that Lyra was terrible at something based in emotion — possibly even requiring empathy — nor that Lady Zabini was somewhat of an authority on sex magic. Not that she'd really spoken to Blaise's mother herself, but from what Harry and Lyra had told her she was a bit of a femme fatale. (The number of husbands she'd had suggested as much, if nothing else.)

"I'm pretty sure the weird veela sex magic thing is the same discipline, broadly speaking. Like witchcraft or wizardry broad, but. Most humans — European humans, there are a few different performative martial arts in Asia — don't think much of physical performative magic, either the up-close-and-personal kind or even dance. Well, they don't think it's worth their time to learn to do dance magic, there are dance troupes who use it in their performances to communicate the story of a ballet or whatever on a deeper level than just dance. Not sure if there are any touring in Britain, but if you want to see we could go to a show in Aquitania or Venice," she offered.

Like...a date? Somehow it seemed odd, the idea of actually...doing something, like a planned excursion sort of something, on a date. Not that it should seem odd, the idea of going on an actual date with her girlfriend — basically just dinner and a show (a ridiculously fancy show, in another bloody country) — but...

Oh, she was being ridiculous. Lyra clearly hadn't meant it like that, she'd just kept babbling on about performative magic.

"Music is much more socially acceptable, because...reasons? Honestly, I don't get it. But I have it on good authority that Cissy's sire was a violinist. His group played Sirius's parents' wedding, and I doubt Dru would've looked twice at him if there hadn't been magic in his music."

"Wait," "what?!" "Are you saying" "that Lady Malfoy's sire" "was some random guy," "in a band?!"

"Er, yes? Though not entirely random — he was a Lovegood, it wasn't like Walburga would've hired less than the best to play her wedding."

"A Lovegood?" "Wait, Gred!" "What, Forge?" "This means that dear, darling Draco's maternal grandfather—"

"—is a Lovegood, yes," Hermione snapped, cutting them off. "Is that really important?"

"Of course it is!" "It means we're not biologically related to the ferrety little tit!"

Hermione had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at that. Okay, maybe it was important. "How does this 'performative magic' actually work, though? Is it like mind magic, or...?"

"Er...kind of? There's definitely a mind magic component, but it can also be physical, you know, making your heart rate increase and feeling physical excitement and such, kind of like how a Stunning Charm physically puts you out but a Sleeping Charm acts through mind magic. There are stories about music being used for crowd-control, as a mass soporific or whatever, and there's a theory that the reason everything just seems to go right for the Blacks in battle is that battle madness taps into a sort of combat-based performative magic, affecting the timing and coordination of everyone involved. Not that that theory has any studies to back it up, obviously, but I'd buy it. Being in a proper battle was more like dancing than fighting..."

She trailed off with that distant expression she often wore, thinking about the World Cup Riot — i.e., fantasizing about violence and bloodshed. Hermione had asked once, and in hindsight rather thought she would've preferred Lyra hadn't answered. (Much as she hated to admit it, Lyra and Gabrielle had been right about her not being entirely comfortable with that side of her girlfriend.) But after a moment she shook herself out of it.

"As for how it works, I guess you'd say the basic idea is that you're using your body — or your instrument, as an extension of your body — and the ritual of the performance to focus your intent. It's not entirely different from using a wand as a focus, in principle, just less specific and controlled. Kind of a middle ground between witchcraft and wizardry. Hey, Mighty Doorkeeper! Is Ash Ryan in there?"

Wha— Oh, they were already at the base of Ravenclaw Tower. The eagle which served as the guardian of the Ravenclaw Common Room turned to fix Lyra with a single eye. "He is, yes. Do you wish to enter the Tower?"

"I don't suppose you'd just ask someone to let us in?"

"You suppose correctly, young lady. So: I always run, but never walk; I often murmur, but never talk; I have a bed, but never sleep; I have a mouth, but never eat. What am I?"

"You are a door-knocker enchanted to spout riddles and thereby keep overly-literal people out of Ravenclaw Tower."

The twins burst into laughter. The eagle's beady brass eye narrowed — leave it to Lyra to annoy animated objects... "You are no fun at all, Miss Black!"

"A painting of a pipe is not a pipe, Mighty Doorkeeper, and my answer is accurate. It will, in fact, continue to be accurate until you find a different format for your riddles. Let me in."

The door swung inward, despite the Eagle's continued annoyance. It actually tried to peck Lyra on her way past.

"You're a river," Hermione offered as a consolation, following her girlfriend into the airy, open room.

"Yes! Thank you! Was that so hard?"

"I hate riddles," Lyra muttered. "Also, why is this tower always so bright?" It wasn't, especially — it was better-lit than Gryffindor, with the huge arched windows everywhere, the curved walls of the common room easily half glass, but with the sky grey and overcast today, it was hardly blinding. "Hey, Moon!" she called more audibly, skipping over to a girl in the year above theirs and a boy Hermione didn't recognise. "Where's Ash Ryan?"

The Ravenclaw broke off her conversation to raise an eyebrow at Lyra, which made her look uncannily like Lilian (a Slytherin in their year and, Hermione suspected, this girl's sister). "Upstairs, practising? Is he ever anywhere else?"

"Well, I don't know, I don't live here. And the sound wards on the seventh-years' parlour are really good."

"Yeah, there's a reason for that. And he's not going to be pleased if you go up there and interrupt him!" she called after Lyra, who was already skipping away again.

The Ravenclaw dorms were, in Hermione's opinion, the best in the castle. They all did have to share with a roommate, but only one, and all of the bedrooms on each floor opened onto a shared central space, with a spiral stair corkscrewing through the very centre of it. Much nicer, she thought, than having just the one Common Room like Gryffindor and having to share with all the girls in their year.

By the time Hermione and the Twins caught up with Lyra she was already on the top floor, sitting on one of the stairs (which, oddly, continued all the way up to the ceiling), grinning at an annoyed-looking seventh-year and projecting an illusion to accompany...one of Beethoven's sonatas, maybe? Hermione wasn't familiar enough with them to say which (or even whether it was definitely Beethoven). She was mildly surprised that Lyra knew it well enough to do an illusion of the piano part. She'd have to suggest that she and Dad talk about music next time they ran into each other, rather than whatever disturbing thing Lyra would undoubtedly be preoccupied with — he liked to put on Classical music while he was cooking or gardening.

Oh, maybe she wasn't that familiar with them, Hermione thought, as the violinist cut off suddenly, glaring at Lyra. "You switched pieces. That's the Tenth, not the Ninth."

"Yeah, well, it's been a while since anyone's played them for me. I always was shite at piano, anyway. You need to be more expressive, Bellatrix! Slow down! Adagio and allegro are not interchangeable! And stop playing intentionally out of key!" She rolled her eyes at her own impression of...whoever had had the misfortune to be tasked with making her sit still and practise. Her mother, maybe? "It's not my fault practising is boring."

"Why are you here, exactly?" the Ravenclaw demanded, still wincing at the thought of playing intentionally out of key.

"You played at Walpurgis."

"...Yes? That was eight months ago."

"So? You obviously haven't forgotten how to play."

Ryan obviously thought Lyra was taking the piss, though Hermione didn't think she actually was. "So, why wait until now to bring it up?"

"Mmm, because we're doing this whole war game thing, you might've heard."

"I may not get out much, Black, but yes, I'm aware of the Triwizard Tournament. Congratulations, I'm sure you'll have loads of fun being an obnoxious little shite. To other people. Piss off."

Lyra pouted at him. "But you haven't even heard what I want, yet!"

"Well then, get to the bloody point."

"Have you ever been to the Sorcerers' Symphony in Vienna?"

"What? There hasn't been a Viennese Symphony Orchestra for like, sixty years. Well, not a magical one."

Hermione resisted the urge to slap a hand to her forehead. The upper classes in Austria had been devastated in their Gemeenschoppist revolution in the 30s, it wasn't a surprise trappings of high society might not have recovered, but of course Lyra wouldn't have realised that...

"Oops. Venice? The Venetians are still stuck-up twats, right?" That one was safe, the Signoria of the Republic of Venice had managed to crush the one major uprising they'd had, the nobles were still in power there.

One of the twins snorted behind Hermione, the other one muttering, "Still?" That was probably going to be a problem... She'd referred to herself as Bellatrix earlier too, Hermione realised belatedly.

Fortunately, Ryan didn't seem to have noticed. He was still glaring at them, though it looked a bit like he was trying not to laugh, too. "Yes, Black, I've been to live concerts before."

"Can you do the thing where you project the music to just a certain group of people and illustrate a story for them?"

"Er...yes?"

"If, theoretically, I put one of these red-headed gits up in the stands to relay what's going on and had the other narrate it to you, could you illustrate it for our people in the field?"

Ryan hesitated for a long moment, clearly considering the problem. "...Maybe? Not like the symphonies, I'd have to just suggest each part with a few bars and use magic to sustain echoes of them. I could probably only do two parts at once. Maybe three, if they're simple... But it might work. Maybe. It'd be kind of insanely difficult, but..."

"Great!" Lyra chirped, grinning like a bloody madwoman. "You have three days to figure it out. We'll see you Saturday morning. Come on, you lot, we still need to find, what, seven more people?" She slipped past them and started skipping down the stairs, leaving the bewildered-looking violinist staring at Hermione and the boys, as though he couldn't quite believe that had just happened.

"I didn't say I'd do it!" he called after her.

"Er...will you?" Hermione asked. If he wouldn't, they'd have to figure out something else. Though, if it was really going to be that difficult maybe they should do that anyway, just as a back-up? Not that she had the foggiest idea what else they might do... And they should probably have at least one meeting with everyone before the actual task, she'd have to talk to Lyra about that...

The Ravenclaw sneered at her. "Don't be thick, of course I will. I'm just saying, it wouldn't hurt to show a bit of appreciation, here!"

"Have you" "met Black?" "Assuming you'll do something insanely difficult," "or outright impossible," "without the slightest doubt that you can" "is about the closest thing she does to appreciation."

"Oh, piss off, apparently I have a soundtrack to write," the older boy snapped — though Hermione fancied he might look a bit flattered after all.