That Was Part of the Plan

by LysandraLeigh

One year has passed since Lyra (formerly Bellatrix) Black traveled thirty years into an alternate future. Unfortunately, this means she's expected to go back to boring Hogwarts for more boring normal people stuff. Except, there is that Tournament thing. And Angel Black. And her muggleborn girlfriend. And maybe an international incident or two... Never mind, should be fun.

85. Granger Family Drama

"They're still not letting you in?" Emma asked. More observed, really. Maïa was sitting on a bench in the corridor outside the school hospital wing, glaring daggers at the door to the ward, in much the same way she had been when Emma and Sirius had left her almost three hours ago. Obviously they weren't letting her in.

Her scowl deepened. "No. Professor Snape says, and I quote, 'Black won't think to thank you for your irrationally sentimental determination to remain camped in this corridor until Poppy relents and allows you to see her unconscious body,' and that was only ten minutes ago, so I assume she's still not awake."

"Well, honey, she was hurt pretty badly..." Emma hadn't seen the full list of her injuries, but she'd understood enough of Healer Pomfrey's conversation with Sirius to understand it wasn't safe to move her at the moment, much to the healer's annoyance and Sirius's relief — apparently Lyra was a bad patient. (Colour Emma not the least bit surprised.) Though it could have been much worse — she hadn't been disembowelled or anything. "Healer Pomfrey did say she would probably be out until at least tomorrow morning."

"And she won't be allowed guests then, either," a tired, impatient voice added. The wizard it belonged to quickly closed the door to the ward behind himself and spelled it shut again, stalking across the corridor to loom over them with a rather annoyed frown.

Emma had heard rather a lot about Severus Snape from the girls and Sirius, and even Narcissa, though the impressions she'd drawn were mixed.

According to Hermione, the sallow, dark-haired young man was, hands down, one of the worst professors in the school. Possibly the worst, now that the old Divination professor had been driven out. She had in years previous gone so far as to call him a bully, picking on the slowest and clumsiest students in his lessons, favouring the students belonging to his own House and so on. He enforced rules and assigned punishments inconsistently and sometimes unprofessionally, such as when he'd threatened to confiscate Hermione's time turner as leverage to extort Lyra into marking essays for him, and was just...generally an unpleasant person, scathingly sarcastic and bitter and insulting, treating students like they were deliberately trying to annoy him by not knowing everything about his subject on the first day, rather than ignorant children he was supposed to be educating.

Lyra, on the other hand, claimed "dearest Sev" was one of the best (which probably meant he had no business teaching kids in secondary school), and that he wasn't favouring the Slytherins, he just didn't like the Gryffindors (especially Hermione, because she always tried to answer his questions rather than letting anyone else have a turn and kept helping other students cheat when they were supposed to be working alone). According to her, the man took himself far too seriously and hated teaching (especially marking, "because, I mean, marking is terrible — I had no idea how stupid people are..."), but Dumbledore would never let him leave because "the whole spying thing aside, do you know how many people have died or been permanently maimed in his lessons in the past thirteen years? None. That's better than literally any other school in Western Europe."

Sirius had hated him all through school, but now (in moments of weakness) was willing to admit that Snape was the more mature adult out of the two of them, and Harry trusted him more than Sirius. It was his fault Sirius now had an unofficial apprentice, the very intense Ginevra Weasley Emma had met on multiple occasions. Sirius seemed to think this was a bad thing because he was definitely going to fuck up the Weasley girl somehow (apparently learning serious light magic involved quite a lot of working through one's psychological issues, including in this case having been possessed by a copy of sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle's soul for ten months, and he wasn't qualified to be anyone's mind-healer, damn it!), but when Emma had asked how her lessons were going, making small talk, little Gin had seemed perfectly happy with the arrangement. And Sirius seemed to be a bit more...grounded, in the wake of their lessons, so Emma suspected Snape knew what he was doing — Sirius just underestimated his ability to be emotionally supportive due to an entire lifetime of emotional abuse and psychological torture. Mentoring Gin was probably good for him, even if it was difficult and uncomfortable and meant he had to get up before two in the afternoon on Saturdays.

Snape was a legilimens, like Harry and Blaise, so it would make sense if he knew Sirius a bit better than Sirius knew himself. Especially because, as Emma understood it, the House he led within the school, Slytherin, was the one where the school tended to send abused children with serious psychological issues. Lyra had been a Slytherin in her own universe. She said it was the same there, but Snape actually cared about his students and tried to help them, while Professor Riddle (as in, the alter-ego of the Dark Lord, who was the Head of Slytherin in that universe) had sort of just let them do whatever they liked so long as no one complained to him about their behaviour. And unlike Riddle, Snape was cool enough to go "re-kill a bunch of undead murder-puppets" with her, so there was that. (Inferi were one of the many horrifying details of the magical world Emma had not told Dan about.)

Bellatrix had apparently said that Andi's daughter could do worse when Lyra had explained that they were shagging, which was apparently high praise (Emma hadn't been the least bit surprised when Lyra had mentioned that she'd been in contact with Bellatrix), and Narcissa's opinion of him as the head of her son's school House was overwhelmingly positive.

On the one hand, he had been one of the most prominent Death Eaters at the end of the war — the most prominent to escape prison time without riding the coat-tails of Narcissa's Imperius Defence — and was somewhat notorious for having been a double agent. But on the other, he had made apparently sincere efforts to rehabilitate his reputation and become a productive member of society in the years since the end of the war. More sincere efforts in Emma's opinion than the Malfoys'. They had simply diversified their investments to include more muggle enterprises and thrown money at charitable causes; Snape, on the other hand, had spent the past thirteen years taking care of the children of Slytherin House, publishing in academic journals, and volunteering his expertise to the healers at Saint Mungo's Hospital when they had a case which required someone with serious experience with the Dark Arts as well as Potions or Mind Magic.

That was why he was up here at the moment, rather than involved in the political discussions going on throughout the school (Emma had left Sirius and Andromeda about to head into a meeting with Dumbledore, Scrimgeour, Crouch, and Mirabella — they could fill her in later, she wasn't sure she could hold a civil discussion with Dumbledore after all the shite his followers had put her family through over the summer) or in his quarters with Dora (who was still around, escorting groups off the grounds to apparate home as they were cleared by the DLE and a couple of healers checking everyone for time-delayed curses, but would definitely sneak away if he weren't busy). She hadn't spoken to him earlier, while she and Sirius were discussing Lyra with Healer Pomfrey, but he'd been working in the background, snapping at Pomfrey's assistants (directing the ward while the official Chief Healer placated the parents of their patients) and moving between beds, casting spells and administering potions with an efficiency and confidence that practically screamed A&E surgeon.

There were apparently not many qualified healers who worked with dark magic. Healers with the expertise to break dark curses, yes, but not healers who used dark magic to heal people. Lyra, if Emma understood correctly, had been poisoned by overexposure to light magic, which meant Snape had been assigned to her case, as well as half a dozen of the Hogwarts students most seriously injured in the arena and in the riot.

"Why are you still here, Miss Granger?"

"What? Why won't she be allowed visitors? What's wrong?" Hermione demanded, ignoring the question (very rudely — Emma should probably say something about that, but she was clearly in distress, it could wait).

The man pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly thoroughly exasperated. "No one will be allowed visitors until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest — the ward is three beds over capacity at the moment, we don't need spectators cluttering up the place as well — and Miss Black in particular will not be allowed visitors because she thought it a good idea to transfigure a broken arm back together and continue to fight, which, though it is a healing tactic I've seen used in the field before, is frankly irresponsible in any situation other than life-or-death conflict, and even then should only be employed to extract oneself from the situation with all possible speed. Doing so in order to continue a game rather than admit defeat is asinine. Not unexpected, but asinine nevertheless. The fact that she managed not to obstruct any blood vessels or sever any nerves, causing serious long-term damage to surrounding tissues in the course of her ad hoc patch-job, is not an ameliorating factor because she very easily could have done, and Poppy is under the impression that it's sheer dumb luck she didn't."

"Are you not?" Emma asked, over Hermione's stuttering objections to the unfairness of punishing Lyra by refusing to allow her visitors. She'd gotten the impression earlier that Sirius thought Lyra had been lucky, too.

The glare shifted to her. She met it with a cool, even stare, raising an eyebrow and pulling herself deeper into the lake as magic tickled water strider light over the surface of her mind — not intruding or even trying to, but feeling her out — contact ripples so small if she didn't know she was talking to a legilimens she probably wouldn't have noticed. Then she was distracted by the slightly smothering, dead air feeling of privacy spells snapping into existence around them at a twitch of his wand. "I presume I may speak openly in your daughter's presence, Madam Granger?"

Emma rolled her eyes. This was a thing mages did sometimes, making sure they wouldn't be giving away any secrets before talking about them in front of new people. "If Lyra hasn't told Hermione whatever you're concerned about revealing already, it's almost certainly an accidental lapse in her otherwise shockingly consistent track record of unthinkingly revealing potentially dangerous secrets to literally anyone she likes."

"Mum!" Maïa interrupted — unwontedly shocked, given that she knew Lyra had told Emma and Dan that she was a time traveller from another dimension within about fifteen minutes of meeting them.

Snape's lips twitched in a reluctantly amused smirk. Emma was going to consider that a win.

"Yes, you can speak freely."

"I sincerely doubt that it was dumb luck, though the degree of bodily awareness required to actively transfigure a shattered bone back together — that was hardly a simple fracture — without causing greater damage in the long run — especially when she then proceeds to continue channelling magic through the arm in question — is uncommon, to say the least. It is possible that she managed to hit the mark intuitively — in much the same way she instinctively immobilised her xiphoid process after it was broken off, preventing her from suffering serious damage to her diaphragm until someone thought it a good idea to enervate her obviously severely injured girlfriend in the field."

He briefly fixed Hermione with a frown which seemed to be trying for heavily disapproving, but honestly just looked more exhausted than anything. She flushed, unable to meet his eyes. Violet, the trainee healer who'd been out in the field with them, had already told her off for that, according to Harry. Emma reached over to squeeze her hand. It was fine, Maïa hadn't done any permanent damage, and she was sure Lyra would understand that she hadn't realised the potential consequences of shocking her awake (even if she definitely wouldn't understand being irrationally concerned about other people being in danger, particularly since Emma had been with Sirius, Andromeda, and Narcissa).

"It is, however, unlikely," the wizard continued. "I suspect that she used the same free transfiguration technique Bellatrix attempted to teach her recruits, which relies on explicitly conceptualising the physical structures involved — down to the cellular level, if possible — both as they are and as they ought to be, and the process of transitioning from one state to the other in every detail. Which is absurd. I don't know a single Death Eater who ever succeeded in mastering it. It may not be possible for anyone without a certain combination of specific talents to replicate. I suspect that envisioning the structures involved requires some trick of the Sight as well as an awareness of the movement of vital energy within one's own body which the average human simply doesn't have. The latter aspect along with a few seconds of intuitive prescience would prevent her accidentally cutting off blood flow to her hand, or some equally disastrous unintended consequence."

"But Lyra's not a Seer!" Hermione objected, presumably simply to feel as though she was doing something in the face of not so much as being allowed in to see her unconscious girlfriend. "She's terrible at Divination..."

Snape gave her a look suggesting Emma might have repeatedly dropped her on her head as a child. "Surely Professor Shirazi has noted at some point this term that the gift of the Sight, in any of its manifestations, is not necessary in order to learn the art of scrying, Miss Granger. And while individuals exhibiting manifestations of the Sight which do not regularly and spontaneously rise above the level of intuition are rarely identified as Seers, I assure you, she is."

"But—"

"Hermione!" Emma cut her off sharply. She subsided with a mutinous glare. "Thank you, Master Snape. I'll have a word with Lyra about her use of that technique next time I speak to her. Just to be sure I understand the situation well enough to cover all relevant angles, why, exactly, is this a secret? I'm not going to need to have a word with Andromeda as well, am I?" Translation: this isn't one of those inexplicably illegal magics, is it? She was sure there were much more obvious, inhumanly weird skills Lyra displayed on a daily basis. The shadow walking thing, for example, was apparently not just another teleportation spell that any mage could pick up, but actually a thing vampires were sort of notorious for and hardly any humans could do. And a few words Sirius and Andromeda had exchanged after they'd gotten down out of the stands, away from anyone listening in, had implied that one of the spells she'd thrown at Blondie was impossibly weird. (Somehow. Emma wasn't entirely clear on that part.)

Snape let out a little exasperated puff. "No, the technique in question is not illegal. It is simply highly inadvisable for anyone other than metamorphs, masters of qigong healing, and Bellatrix. And how advisable it is for Bellatrix, especially in the middle of a fight, is questionable. I took secrecy precautions simply because generally speaking, even in Magical Britain, one does not go around openly discussing the details of a patient's medical condition or their inhuman peculiarities with unauthorised persons. You, as the officially recognised representative of Lord Black, are permitted to be informed of such matters, especially since the patient in question is underage and Black is an irresponsible moron. I requested permission to speak freely because your daughter is not."

Oh, right. She should probably ask Ted more about laws and conventions surrounding medical practice and that sort of thing... "Noted. But Lyra's condition is stable?"

He grimaced. "Slowly deteriorating, but not dire. She's come into her power enough that her unconscious efforts to resist external magic while already wounded and especially vulnerable are strong enough to have a noticeable effect. That and the lingering effects of her instinctive attempts to drive out the light magic poisoning her are interfering with the effectiveness of external magic being used on her in general, and healing charms in particular. Both are complications she should be able to ameliorate once she regains consciousness, but quite likely won't be able to because she has no discipline to speak of when it comes to practising focusing exercises.

"On top of that, she seems to be developing an adverse auto-immune response to the spread of light magic from her wounds. There is a potion which will help with that — neutralising the light poisoning, not treating the auto-immune response directly — though it's designed for upyri, not...whatever the hell she is. I'll need to take periodic blood samples to analyse for any unforeseen bioalchemic complications due to species differences. If you would be willing to authorise that, you will save me the trouble of tracking down her canine cousin."

Emma hesitated. She could authorise it. Black Family Law explicitly stated that their Lord's representative(s) (including their Wizengamot speaker, the Lady of the House, and the direct heir and/or the eldest unmarried child of the House, if they were of age) had the power to act in loco parentis when dealing with outsiders on behalf of children of the House who were not considered by outsiders to be of an age to formally represent themselves. (She assumed that Snape, like practically all of the mages from culturally Dark Houses she'd met, simply assumed that her position as the Blacks' Wizengamot representative meant she was acting as Sirius's Right Hand, a sort of de facto deputy Head of the House.) It was understood that children who were at least fifteen were allowed to make practically any decision for themselves, the representative of the House was just supposed to echo that decision for outsiders who wouldn't listen to a fifteen-year-old, and Lyra was close enough to fifteen (and knew so much more about magic than Emma) that in the normal way of things, she'd probably just let Lyra decide whether or not she wanted to undergo this treatment and just nod along. But Lyra was unconscious at the moment, so.

Since Emma knew relatively little about magical healing — she was far less qualified to give informed consent here than she would be in a muggle hospital — she supposed the question really came down to whether she trusted Severus Snape to act in Lyra's best interests. She did at least know that healers took oaths of non-malfeasance which included not using blood or hair or whatever that they collected under the pretext of healing for any other purpose. That had come up when Sirius had been telling her about Harry being entered in this stupid Tournament in the first place. And everything she'd seen of him herself suggested that he was a highly competent professional when it came to healing, regardless of how unprofessional a teacher he might be. Plus Lyra trusted him, at least enough to count on him to guard her back against a horde of undead monsters. Weighing the fact that this was an antidote to Lyra being poisoned by light magic they were talking about against the likelihood that a man who had already had (and probably would have in the future) plenty of unrelated opportunities to hurt her would somehow exploit this opportunity in order to do so...it was probably fine. (Wouldn't put her in any additional danger, whatever.)

At least, it was probably fine for Snape. It was probably less fine for anyone else to have access to any samples he might take, and any information he might manage to extract from an analysis of those samples — not...whatever the hell she is suggested that he would, at the very least, be tempted to find out anything he could about her, if only to better know how to treat her. And that he had been a spy in a bloody war suggested (at least to Emma) that he would probably take any opportunity to find out anything he could about an individual as potentially dangerous as Lyra (and Bellatrix, who might share any physical weaknesses he might discover), regardless of whether it was medically relevant. And that information might very well not be covered by healers' vows or whatever passed for data protection laws in Magical Britain. Snape was obviously in Lyra's confidence, Emma was fairly certain she'd consent to him having access to her blood, at least for this specific purpose, but she didn't know anything about any of the other healers and assistants around at the moment, and who knew who might have access to a patient's medical records within a given healing establishment?

But there were ways to limit that potential access. She nodded, though she hesitated again, running through the terms which needed to be included in any verbal contract between mages, limiting the extent and duration of the agreement and so on before she spoke.

"You, Severus Snape, individually and exclusively, have the permission of the House to take any samples necessary to Lyra's treatment for the duration of her current admission, under the usual conditions." She wasn't entirely certain what these were, but she assumed that, mages being far more aware of potential magical abuses than Emma herself, some usual conditions had to exist. "With the addendum that any and all personal information derived from any samples you may take, regardless of whether it's protected as per professional standards of medical ethics, stays strictly between you and the House."

Hermione looked decidedly surprised, as though she hadn't expected Emma to speak so formally, or maybe as though she hadn't expected her to agree so easily.

Which was a bit silly, honestly. She was fairly certain she'd covered all relevant concerns, and she did have the authority to accept minor oaths and promises on behalf of the House — as well as acting in loco parentis for Lyra, Hermione, and arguably Harry in Magical Britain, and any number of other rights and responsibilities which went along with being Sirius's public representative. That was, in fact, one of the things Andi had explicitly pointed out as distinguishing a representative of the House who was confident in their position and knew what they were doing from a novice who was uncomfortable speaking with the full authority of their Lord, and which she therefore ought to know how to do without hesitating or consulting with Sirius first. It suggested that she didn't need to consult with him, because she was deeply enough in his confidence to know whether she should or shouldn't accept the oath or promise in question without asking, and would assure her peers that when they spoke to her, they spoke to Sirius.

She might have been a bit overly-specific, but if she had, Snape's reaction gave no sign of it being particularly unexpected. He gave a tired sigh, but nodded in return. "The House of Black has my word that any biological samples taken while Miss Black is a patient under my care and any specific personal information derived thereof will be used for healing purposes under strict confidence and in accordance with legal and ethical guidelines, and that any remaining samples and physical records pertaining to them will be destroyed upon the patient's release."

"The House of Black acknowledges your oath and thanks you for your professionalism. Though, speaking of blood magic, what do you do about people bleeding all over the arena out there? Or in battle in general?" She hadn't thought to ask Sirius earlier.

The wizard groaned, massaging his forehead. "Generally speaking, blood which is intended to be used in ritual magic must be drawn with that express purpose in mind. It is possible to use blood spilled accidentally for certain purposes, but whoever compelled Mister Malfoy to hex Mister Potter in order to draw blood to enter him in the Tournament, for example, most likely instigated that chain of events with their end-goal in mind. Truly paranoid mages, including the Blacks, if they know they're going into a situation where they're likely to bleed, habitually dedicate the blood to be spilled to the purpose of combat, or to their pursuit of victory or what have you, which precludes its use for any other ritual purpose."

Emma nodded. That had been her concern. Not a pressing one, since she assumed Sirius and Andi would have said or done something if it were actually a problem, she'd just been curious.

He paused briefly, apparently to recall where he had been in his recitation of Lyra's prognosis, since he picked up more or less where he'd left off. "Because healing charms — and external magic affecting Miss Black's physical condition in general — are minimally effective at best at the moment, we've settled for stabilising her and treating the various symptoms of the magical complications until the contamination is dealt with. Two or three days, I expect. Her wounds will have substantially begun healing by then, even without direct magical intervention, which will likely result in a couple of very nasty albeit primarily cosmetic scars — I doubt Miss Black will mind — and we may need to vanish and regrow the bones of her left forearm at that point, depending on how well the fragments respond to magical encouragement after beginning to heal naturally. I suspect that Miss Black will argue not to regrow them if at all possible. Skelegro, the potion used to regrow bones, makes her ill.

"That may extend the period of her convalescence considerably, though she will be in a condition to be released as an out-patient within a week or so. Less, if she's managed to pick up Bellatrix's fast-healing technique as well as her trick of transfiguring herself back together — reflexively focused magics will still work on her — but Poppy will likely refuse to release her before next Saturday at the earliest, regardless of her condition. She's...not entirely aware of all of the factors involved in Miss Black's general existence, and as such finds such observations as the fact that Miss Black regained consciousness only a few hours after experiencing acute soul-poisoning and that she is capable of channelling magic in her condition to be unexplained and suggestive of magical irregularities which may cause unanticipated complications and therefore demand an extended period of observation."

"She's awake?" Hermione inserted, her tone and expression torn between relief and annoyance that Snape hadn't mentioned that fact until now.

The man gave her a crooked smirk. "No, Poppy sedated her on the grounds that she needs to rest, and when she was conscious she was deliberately channelling dark energy to counter the light magic toxicity in direct defiance of her healers' orders, which is even more detrimental to any attempts to heal her than her unconscious resistance to external magic. Plus, she is considerably less annoying when she's unconscious."

Emma let out a startled little laugh, though her daughter glared at her for it. "It's not funny, Mum!" (It really was...) "She was awake and they didn't even tell me? And refusing to allow someone in Hospital to have visitors, as a punishment, is just cruel! It's basically keeping her in solitary confinement for a week!"

"Well... No, you're right, that part does seem a bit much," Emma agreed, making a concerted effort to contain her amusement at the idea of the harried Chief Healer sedating Lyra because she was annoying. "I don't suppose there's any way...?"

The man rolled his eyes. "You will have to take the matter up with Poppy, but no, she is unlikely to relent. Punishing Miss Black for her asinine behaviour out in the field will do absolutely nothing to curb that behaviour, but Poppy seems not to have realised yet that Miss Black is absolutely incorrigible, and has nothing but contempt for disciplinary measures which may or may not be considered torture by more sane individuals. Either that, or she wishes to ensure that Miss Black will avoid her domain at all costs after her release, a motivation for which I'm certain most individuals who've met Miss Black have some sympathy. Now, if you will excuse me, Madam Granger, I was on an errand of some urgency."

He nodded sharply in farewell, breaking his privacy spell and turning away before Emma could suppress the urge to snigger long enough to say, "Of course, Master Snape, don't let us keep you."

---

"I hate that man," Hermione grumbled (nearly under her breath, after he was well down the corridor and out of earshot).

"Oh, I don't know. He may be a terrible teacher, but he seemed like a perfectly competent healer to me." Granted, he had a long history with the Blacks and might therefore have been a bit less professional than would normally be expected, but Emma knew several fellow surgeons who wouldn't do so well giving a patient's family an update on their condition. "Besides, Lyra likes him. I doubt there's anyone she'd rather have as a healer."

Her daughter scowled at her. "Lyra doesn't like him. She likes messing with him because he does everything he can to stop her from turning the school upside down and made her do his marking last year."

Emma suspected that Hermione had a very poor idea what Lyra "liking" people looked like with anyone other than herself. Yes, Snape was generally working against whatever chaos she was attempting to cause, but that didn't mean she didn't like him.

She didn't like losing, especially at her own games, but she clearly considered it more fun to play against someone, and equally clearly appreciated that Snape, unlike any other adult in the school, had at least made an effort to engage with her on her own terms since she'd arrived in this universe, rather than insisting that she obey his authority simply because he was an authority. Emma might even go so far as to say Lyra respected the young wizard, in fact, because he'd proven himself a worthy opponent — sussing out her pranks and altering them to be as annoying to Lyra as they were to everyone else; outmanoeuvring her with the time-turner/marking compromise; finding ways to exploit light magic and shadow magic to enforce boundaries on her (and/or annoy her) — and a reliable ally — keeping her secrets (including colluding with her plan to trick Dumbledore into believing Harry was dead) and guarding her back over the summer, not to mention healing her, both now and when she'd been beaten by her peers at the end of last term. Emma sincerely doubted that Lyra would have accepted that he had the authority to assign her responsibilities such as helping his youngest apprentice adjust to Hogwarts and looking after Gabrielle if she didn't like him, regardless of whether those responsibilities aligned with her own interests.

Severus Snape might be a sarcastic arse whose bedside manner leaned more toward brusque and dismissive than understanding and compassionate, but after six months' acquaintanceship and three working closely together, Emma could confidently say that neither that nor any degree of disparaging mockery would lessen Lyra's respect for him or her appreciation of his presence in her life. He was, after all, helping her, no matter how aggravating he clearly found her and how evident he might make that fact as he did so. Honestly, Lyra was probably more comfortable with brusque and dismissive. If Emma were trying to be legitimately understanding and compassionate with an injured Lyra, rather than performatively so, she'd probably take a similar tack...

"I'm sure she does, but she likes him personally, too. And trusts him, which is more to the point here, anyway." Hermione scoffed. "If he wanted to hurt her, he could have cursed her in the back when they were hunting inferi. Since he didn't, I'm pretty sure she'd prefer him as a healer over practically anyone else," Emma elaborated. Not that there were really any other options...maybe one of the Beauxbatons people did dark healing magic for their lilin students? She hadn't asked — Sirius had been fine with leaving Lyra in Pomfrey's (and therefore Snape's) care and she didn't think Lyra would have objected if she were capable, so.

"Hunting inferi? When did— What? You mean, inferi like, those zombie-movie monsters?"

"That is my understanding, yes. Undead murder-puppets, was Lyra's phrase. And the middle of an open corridor is not the place for this conversation." This also wasn't the conversation she really wanted to have with her daughter right now. She'd much prefer to catch up on recent events in Hermione's life, maybe congratulate her again on her victory in the Task. (Technically Hogwarts's victory, yes, it had clearly been a team effort, but still. The field commander had to get credit for using her resources effectively, right?) And she hadn't forgotten that last letter, with its inarticulate suspicions about Lyra having done something that Emma probably ought to know about.

Hermione huffed at her, but turned on her heel and stalked down the corridor to a small room, perhaps a study area or informal meeting room of some sort. It held two sofas and a coffee table, with just enough space to walk around the coffee table between the pieces of furniture. Maïa shut the door somewhat harder than necessary. Emma waited while she cast a few of the anti-eavesdropping spells Lyra used all the time, then cracked one of the little matchstick-cantrips Sirius had commissioned the Weasley twins to develop, setting loose a spell which countered any eavesdropping or scrying enchantments that might not be covered by Hermione's charms by blocking transmissions and/or recordings (audio or visual) for about five minutes. (The efforts Sirius and Lyra had made to allow Emma to participate in magical politics independently were almost mind-boggling at times.) If there were any monitoring spells in place, whoever placed them would know Emma and Hermione had done something to thwart them, and the effective radius was small — only a few metres — but the room was smaller, and there was nothing suspicious about being a bit paranoid when one was associated with the House of Black.

"What was that?" her daughter asked suspiciously, as a bubble of visible magic expanded around them, lime and fushia sparks condensing around the door handle and an innocuous pillow apparently carelessly thrown into the corner of one of the sofas.

"A cantrip." She held up the broken match. "They really are the most convenient little things. That one foils eavesdropping spells inside your anti-eavesdropping charms. And in answer to your question, Lyra apparently found a death trap constructed by Riddle over the summer, and decided to burn it to the ground because she was having a particularly bad day. With your Potions professor's assistance, because he was the most qualified backup available, and also the least likely to judge her for practising a few dozen curses which would kill living humans in a variety of interesting ways just as easily as they destroy zombies. Which are apparently different from inferi, by the way. I'm informed that actual zombies are only mostly dead. Inferi are reanimated corpses." Honestly, the whole concept of necromancy was just fascinating. (Most magic was fascinating, but.)

For a long moment Hermione just stared at her. Then she shook her head, muttering under her breath, "And now they're teaching my mother necromancy. Fabulous." She added more audibly and somewhat accusingly, "I was going to ask why Dad isn't here, but then Lyra told me she put a tracking spell on you because people have been trying to kill you. That multiple people have tried to kill you in the past two months! How many?! And why haven't you said anything?!"

...That also wasn't a topic she wanted to discuss at the moment...though she couldn't in good conscience refuse to do so.

"Oh, sweetheart!" she sighed. "I just didn't want to worry you. None of the people who've tried to get into the house have gotten through the first layer of the wards, and nobody's actually tried to curse me out on the streets or what have you." And if they did, her robes and the jacket she shrugged on regardless of whatever else she was wearing were enchanted heavily enough to resist all but the most serious curses long enough to use her emergency port-key (which was currently at home in the pocket of her jacket, because she hadn't expected to need it with Sirius and Andi on hand). Dan had an enchanted jacket and port-key as well, and the practice was warded — not quite so thoroughly as the house, but Sirius had also assigned a couple of house elves to keep an eye on the property in case any magical trouble cropped up. (Supposedly — Emma had yet to see any sign of their existence, but he had ordered them to stay out of sight unless they needed to intervene for the muggles' safety.) They were fine, really. "We did have a rather shifty bloke wander into the clinic the other day, but I think he was just drunk and confused. He left when your father finally managed to convince him that we were a dental practice, not a pub." How he'd managed to make that mistake in the first place, Emma wasn't sure, but the elves hadn't done anything, so.

"How. Many?" she demanded again, practically rigid with concern and outrage over not having been told about all this until...right now.

Emma held back a preemptive wince. Maïa wasn't going to like this, but she wouldn't lie to her face. "There have been two attempts to break in and three letters carrying deadly curses intercepted by the post wards. Maybe two dozen with less dangerous hexes and jinxes. Sirius and I have each gotten at least two or three hate-letters every day since I took over the Seat, most of which are variations on 'get fucked' and 'I hope you die in various horrible ways'. Andromeda has advised us to save them and let her know if any of them seem like credible threats, escalating or the like. The only ones which have, the Aurors have already tracked down and arrested the sender," she added quickly. "We're fine, love. I promise."

"Does Dad know?" Hermione asked, not mollified in the least.

Shite.

"...No."

She didn't try to justify her duplicity. She doubted that Hermione would understand, given Emma's own annoyance about being kept in the dark regarding the dangers she'd faced in her first two years here at school. It was, she thought, rather different for a twelve-year-old to be facing life-or-death situations in a place where her parents had every reason to expect her to be safe, and for an adult to accept a position knowing full well that doing so would cause widespread anger and retaliatory sentiment, but her daughter likely wouldn't see it that way.

Dan was just as aware as Emma that people weren't going to like her voting the Blacks' seat. Theoretically, he supported her doing so anyway — breaking new ground politically, challenging entrenched notions of magical and pureblood superiority just by being there and holding her own in their little political arena. He knew, theoretically, that Magical Britain was full of racist reactionaries who were, essentially, walking around armed at all times, and likely wouldn't hesitate to kill his interfering muggle wife if they thought they could get away with it.

In practice, it was becoming ever-more-clear that this was not the part-time job Lyra and Andromeda had assured her it was — according to Andromeda, most Wizengamot representatives didn't spend all of their time on politics...she just hadn't mentioned that most Wizengamot representatives were shite politicians who were comfortable with the status quo and had all known each other since they were five years old, and could therefore get away with half-arsing their jobs. (Since Lyra was a far less skilled liar, even with lies of omission, Emma suspected that she hadn't taken into account that other people actually slept when she'd said that the Wizengamot wouldn't take up all of her time.) Dan was already concerned that it was taking up so much of her time — she'd only been coming into the surgery twice a week for over a month now — and very clearly wasn't going to slow down any time soon. He'd been making more and more pointed comments about how she could — and should — tell the Blacks to back off. Wasn't the whole point of their alliance to keep magic from negatively impacting their life?

If he knew she'd been getting actual, tangible, credible death threats — that people had tried to break into their home and send literal letter-bombs to her...

Well, she didn't know what would happen then. He certainly wouldn't be happy, he'd want her to quit, but she really didn't think she could do that.

It wasn't even about the magic, really, even if the magic was amazing and fascinating and awesome. It was more...

Much as she'd hated everything about growing up in her grandmother's world, that insular little society romanticizing the good old antebellum days, clinging to the remnants of their own grandparents' time, when their families had been landed and prosperous (at the expense of their slaves, of course), from the social conventions that were so affected and pretentious; to the random bullshit she'd had to learn as a child — comportment, Latin, piano and drawing, ballroom dancing (certain details of the Blacks' childhoods were uncomfortably familiar) — when she'd much preferred to be out riding or shooting cans with the neighbors' boys; to all the expectations and limits her family and their social sphere had placed on her future (make your debut, then go off to college to find some nice, well-connected young doctor or lawyer or politician or keep your high school sweetheart, but have a big white wedding either way, and spend the rest of your life supporting his career and raising his children, and hostessing parties for the Right Sort of People)...

Magical Britain, with its self-centred, short-sighted, small-town politics writ large, with its absurd self-proclaimed aristocracy and ridiculous social conventions and traditions, with all the pomp and circumstance they afforded themselves, sort of felt like coming home.

Not in the way it had felt to go back to Savannah for her grandmother's funeral, hating how she so-easily fell back into that life, even after two decades away; how her accent came back and she'd spent hours making small talk with her aunts and cousins, avoiding the topics of race, politics, and religion, and being careful not to speak ill of the dead; how her childhood bedroom was still exactly like she'd left it when she'd decided to apply to schools in her father's home country — an island she'd never been to, which would put an ocean between her and Savannah — rather than Emory and Mercer like everyone had expected; and half-remembered friends from high school recognizing her at church. More like if in another life she'd decided to go to Emory and become a lawyer or a politician herself, rather than looking for a promising young man to settle down with.

It had been a close call. She'd eventually decided that that wasn't far enough away, either in terms of physical or cultural distance (Atlanta politicians were barely different from Savannah 'gentry', they just had actual influence in the state government), and decided to take an entirely different path — one which would carry her safely away from High Society Bullshit in any country. Searching the apocryphal family history for career inspiration, seventeen-year-old Emma-Mae had decided that Doc Holliday (supposedly a several-times great uncle) sounded like a fine role model...if only because privateering was so hard to get into these days. (Her grandparents' family 'history' was colourful, to say the least. She sincerely doubted that her mother's mother had actually been related to the notorious Henry Morgan, but it made for a good story, so it had been passed down unchallenged for generations.)

But the thing was, Emma liked politics. She liked being involved in her community — being in the PTA when Hermione had been in primary school and attending neighbourhood association and local council meetings that were open to the public, giving her two cents on decisions that affected herself and her family. She liked having some power to shape those decisions. And for better or worse, Magical Britain was her community now. And the Blacks had given her a voice in their community that couldn't be ignored, no matter how much their long-established leaders might wish it could.

She liked sitting in the Wizengamot, presenting arguments and running rhetorical circles around self-centred Society twats and upsetting their hidebound preconceptions about muggles. Sipping tea and making viciously polite small-talk with people who hated her, every word holding multiple meanings, was a much more entertaining sport now than it had been when she'd been Hermione's age and forced to sit through endless afternoons of tea and card games with old ladies who smiled to their "friends'" faces and spread vicious lies and rumours behind each other's backs. Even dressing up and pretending to be a (deputy) Lady to do so was sort of fun now, in a way it definitely hadn't been when she was sixteen and being presented as a debutante at a cotillion ball, or cleaning herself up to have dinner with Johnny's parents for the first time.

(Thank God Grandmother had been dead for years — if she'd ever found out that it turned out the only thing Emma really hadn't liked about Society was that she hadn't had any power or influence in it to speak of, she would've been insufferable.)

And she was good at it, playing this game she'd scorned since childhood. On some level, she supposed she'd always known that she was — she wouldn't have tried so hard to run away from it if she hadn't. She'd wondered more than once in the past two months whether she had made a mistake, choosing to be stubborn and rebellious and go to bloody dental school, in England. She loved Dan and Hermione, of course, but...sometimes she just wondered what her life might have been like today, if she'd made different choices. There was a not-insignificant part of her that was jealous of Lyra for having made it to a different universe, knowing what she might have been like in a different life, even if her alternate future self was in fact a notorious war criminal.

She really didn't think she had it in her to stop, just go back to being a muggle mum, sitting at home (well, going to work and performing orthodontic surgery, but whatever) largely ignorant of the goings-on in the magical world — to give up the opportunity to shape the society her daughter was now a part of, simply because the realities of her position in this society (and certain realities about said society and magic itself) would scare the shite out of Dan.

She didn't want to hurt him. She certainly didn't want to make their marriage any more strained than it had already become. Telling him how dangerous it was for her to associate with the Blacks in the way she was doing — in concrete terms — and refusing to back down for the sake of her own safety — and his, and possibly even Hermione's — would do both. So she just...hadn't told him.

Hermione bit her lip, looking inexplicably terrified, as though she was forcing herself to say the next words that came out of her mouth: "Are you getting a divorce?"

"What? No, honey—" She denied it almost reflexively, but cut herself off before she could make a hasty and ill-considered promise. The idea that one's word was one's bond was one she'd grown up with, but spending so much time the past few months around mages and their highly honour-based social conventions had brought back the importance of keeping one's word that had sort of waned for her over the past few decades. She couldn't promise that she and Dan weren't going to separate, because...because she didn't know if that was a promise she'd be able to keep, she admitted to herself, the bottom dropping out of her stomach. "No, we're not—"

"But you've been hiding things from him. And he's not here. And Lyra said she invited both of you, and—"

"I'm sorry," she blurted out. "I didn't think your father would be comfortable with the violence of an actual war game, and I didn't think you wanted us here. And I've been going back and forth on it for days, I know he wouldn't have handled the riot in the stands well at all, but, honey, I wish I'd brought him. I wish he'd gotten to see you today. He'd be so proud—"

"Stop it, Mum! You can't just change the subject and– and flatter me— Oh, I'm so proud of you, love, you were amazing," she glared, her voice high and mocking and stabbing Emma right in the heart. "You were right, I didn't really want either of you to come, but if you were going to come, you should have brought Dad, too! But you didn't! And you're lying to him and hiding things from him, and he's going to find out—" She cut herself off, clearly choking back angry tears. "It's like you're having an affair, or something, and this Wizengamot, House of Black thing is taking over your entire life, and—"

"Maïa, sweetie..." She reached out to pull her into a hug, but Hermione stepped away. That hurt, even more than implying Emma was only saying she was proud of her to– to manipulate her, or something— She'd thought Hermione was just saying that to hurt her, but...she didn't actually believe that, did she?

God, we barely know each other anymore... When did that happen?

She let her arms fall to her sides, sinking her pain deep beneath the surface — if Hermione really did believe Emma would do something like that, letting her see how much it hurt to hear would probably only make her believe Emma was playing the victim. (That was certainly what she would have thought, if her grandmother had ever given the slightest indication that Emma's childish attempts to hurt her had landed.) "Hermione, love... I know that... I know none of us expected me being the Blacks' representative to take up so much of my time, and yes, your dad and I have had some disagreements about the time it's been taking away from our practice, but our marriage is fine, honey. No one's said anything about getting a divorce."

"But– But you're not going to tell him about the Task and the riot and everything, are you?" Hermione asked, voice quavering just a little too much to sound properly accusing.

Emma sighed, fighting the urge to reach out to hug her again. She hated seeing her baby girl so upset, and especially because of her. "Dan knows that I had to come up for the ceremony, and that I would most likely stay for the Task. I didn't tell him you were participating because I thought you didn't want us to know — I know you've always been a bit self-conscious performing in front of us. I had to be here, but I didn't want to make you even more self-conscious—"

"Oh, well, good, instead I just spent the entire day worrying about if my parents are going to stay together! Stop making excuses, Mum! You're hiding things, and he's going to find out, and he's going to be crushed! And that's not even considering that people have been trying to kill you!"

"I'm not making excuses," she said weakly, knowing even as the words left her lips that that was a lie. "Okay, fine, maybe I am making excuses. Yes, I've been keeping things from Dan. I just... I don't want to hurt him. And I know it will, if I tell him how dangerous it is for me to be here, in your world — he'll be scared, he'll want me to stop, give up the Seat. He'd say it's not worth it. Not if people are actually going to try to kill me. That that's the opposite of why we contacted Andi in the first place."

"And you won't do it." Flat. Disapproving. Almost disbelieving. "You'd choose the bloody House of Black, over Dad."

Oh. Well, that explained the disbelief. "No." Her daughter's eyes narrowed in contempt for what must seem an obvious lie before Emma could add, "But I might choose doing something I love over staying safe and ignorant in the muggle world."

"Even if it means Dad and I are terrified that someone's going to– to assassinate you, or something?!"

"Well, that's why I didn't tell you. I don't want you to be terrified for me..."

"You're unbelievable," she hissed, glaring at Emma over defensively crossed arms. "I can't— Ooh..."

"Sweetie. It's fine. We've taken precautions. I'm not going to be assassinated."

"You don't know that! You can't know that! And you're just so– so— This is why Lyra likes you so much, isn't it? I can't believe I've never seen it before— You fit right in with them — with the fucking House of Black — because you're just as– as cold-blooded and insane as the rest of them!"

Emma bit her tongue on the first response that popped into her head, which was well, they do say you end up marrying your mother... "I think Lyra was fairly clear that first day she came over to the house that she likes me because I'd've thrown her under a bus to protect our family. Legally speaking." Probably literally too, honestly. But according to the very strictly defined principles by which decisions within the House were supposed to be made, because the Grangers were their own House (albeit a client of the Blacks), she should choose to save Hermione from a runaway train, even if it meant killing Lyra. The rest of the House might not be happy, but they wouldn't hold making that particular choice against Emma. "But yes, she does appreciate that I accept her on her own terms, and don't find her to be terribly off-putting. Somewhat exhausting, certainly, but..."

Honestly, she'd think Hermione would appreciate that Emma and Lyra got along. Dan certainly didn't like their daughter's girlfriend (at all). He was generally uncomfortable with every aspect of their relationship with the Blacks, from the fact that they were now vassals of a feudal lord to the "cold-blooded and insane" side of Emma that the Blacks brought out in her. (Which had always been there, but he'd never had much occasion to see her being a cutthroat bitch — he hadn't even come to very many PTA meetings...) He didn't like that she was making alliances with (pragmatic former) magic Nazis, despite Narcissa recently making an unequivocal stand against pureblood supremacy, and the degree of class disparity in Magical Britain was morally offensive to him, but Hermione's relationship with Lyra was probably the part of all of this that he was least comfortable with. To say she hadn't made a great first impression was an understatement of epic proportions.

To be fair, she hadn't made a great first impression on Emma, either. Well, her first impression of Lyra had been garnered from Hermione's letters, and had been...largely superficial. Hermione's letters generally were. But it had been clear that Lyra was clever enough to keep up with Hermione, if perhaps somewhat of a slacker — she never paid attention in lessons, often didn't even go, apparently — and willing to stick up for herself (and Hermione) in ways Hermione never had been. It had taken all of two days for her to find a way to separate their half of their dorm room from the horrible little bitches who'd bullied Hermione all through her first two years.

Learning that Hermione apparently had a rather serious crush on her, and that she was literally a psychopath, Mum! five minutes before she showed up on their front step hadn't really given her much time to integrate those factors into her established impression of her daughter's roommate. And then, the impression she'd given in person had been...mixed, to put it lightly — brilliant, certainly, but irresponsible (forgetting to eat for days at a time); open and honest, but with no filter to speak of and apparently no ability to predict how certain comments were likely to land (casually mentioning that she was a time-traveller, that her counterpart in this timeline was in prison for torturing people until their brains melted, or that time Hermione was petrified for months, for example); far too generous, but obviously manic (even if her penchant for giving gifts worth literally thousands of pounds to people she'd just met wasn't related to her manic episode).

Yes, she was dangerous. Even setting aside her personality and the atrocities committed by the woman she might have grown up to become with different influences, any mage could be dangerous. Even an eleven-year-old mage armed only with the spells they learned in school could be dangerous. Well, Emma armed with spells taught to first-year Hogwarts students would be dangerous — it was possible most eleven-year-olds weren't as creative as she was, she supposed. But hypothetically, they could be. And Lyra was considerably better armed than that (and more creative than Emma, she was sure).

What Dan seemed incapable of comprehending (incapable of believing, regardless of Emma's and Sirius's assurances) was that no matter how intense Lyra might be — overwhelmingly so, at times — she wasn't erratic. Yes, she was dangerous, but she wasn't dangerous to them.

She was undeniably "dark-minded" — sadistic, sociopathic, driven to create conflict and chaos — and her ethical paradigm was positively feudal, centred on the ultimate 'good' of maintaining her House — we protect our own, fuck everyone else — but she did have a very explicit ethical paradigm, and Emma had yet to see her deviate from it. (For a dedicant of chaos, Lyra was shockingly predictable — but she supposed Eris was largely based in predictable consequences of poorly-considered choices, the inevitable result of conflicting goals and desires.) And Hermione was her vassal.

Hermione would probably consider it more important that she was her girlfriend, but Lyra hadn't been at all shy about not having the faintest idea what that meant or ought to mean within the framework of rules and expectations she'd been raised in. That Hermione was her vassal meant that Lyra was obligated to protect her. And being a good lady, by her feudal definition of 'good', was an integral part of what it meant for her to be Lyra Black. She wouldn't betray that responsibility lightly, no matter how manic or frustrated or furious she might be. All of the potential consequences of an action might not occur to her when she made any given decision, but she wouldn't intentionally hurt Hermione.

Dan might know that intellectually, but he couldn't set aside the image of Lyra oh-so-casually explaining exactly why Bellatrix was in Azkaban or that manic episodes were just a thing that happened sometimes and let himself believe she wasn't going to turn on Hermione (or Emma) and start torturing them for fun someday. That she'd attempted, shortly after they accepted the vassalage agreement, to assure him that she wouldn't turn on them by explaining that Bellatrix had consciously and deliberately decided to torture and/or kill people for various reasons, rather than having some sort of psychotic break, inexplicably hadn't helped.

Inexplicable had been Lyra's characterisation of Dan's reaction, explaining what had just happened when Emma returned from the bathroom to a horrified silence and asked what she'd missed — apparently she couldn't leave them alone for three minutes without Lyra (accidentally) terrorising her husband. Emma had attempted to explain that most of their misunderstandings stemmed from cultural differences — Lyra (and Bellatrix, obviously) came from a culture in which it wasn't really condoned to torture or murder people, but it certainly wasn't out of the question for individuals to literally declare war against the establishment, with all the violence that implied (and most of the people Bellatrix had harmed had been "enemy combattants") — but that had really only made Dan more uncomfortable with Magical Britain at large.

They'd gotten into a rather serious argument over whether it was okay for Emma to understand where the Blacks were coming from, which... Honestly it didn't really matter whether it was 'okay' or not, she just did. That argument had ranged into the cultural differences between Emma and Dan — between the worlds they had grown up in, at least; Emma had made every effort to distance herself from the world she'd grown up in and adopt Dan's culture for herself over the past two and a half decades — and exactly how she could understand that sort of worldview, how she could stand to ally with people who obviously sympathised with (Narcissa) and even admired (Lyra) violent, bigoted extremists like Bellatrix.

And then Emma had had to remind Dan that she'd grown up in the United States, in the Nineteen Sixties. Liking and admiring people you absolutely knew had done bad things was a reality she had had to come to terms with when she was twelve, and Uncle Joel had gotten drunk at Christmas and broken down, cornering her and telling her about all the awful shit he'd seen and done in Korea. (Honestly, the United States Army could give the Death Eaters a run for their money in the violent bigots committing war crimes department.)

Plus, Emma was pretty sure that Narcissa's exposure to the Death Eaters in the Seventies was comparable to her own exposure to the Klan as a kid — obviously they didn't go around murdering people in front of little girls, it was much more insidious than that. They invited their families to picnics and ice cream socials and normalised their hateful, racist attitudes while portraying themselves as friendly, community-oriented people within their own in-group. No, of course she didn't think that sort of bigoted, racist bullshit was okay, there were reasons she'd only gone back to Georgia once in the past twenty-five years, she was just saying, regardless of whatever personal opinions Narcissa might hold, every public statement and vote she'd made since Nineteen Eighty-Two suggested that she was willing to move beyond the racist, bigoted ideology she'd been raised in if it was in her family's best interests to do so. Which it was.

Dan had been so disgusted with her for continuing to work with someone she suspected had only denounced her racist childhood for political reasons he'd slept on the sofa, while Emma lay awake in bed, trying to convince herself it was fine, he'd get over it.

And he had...but not entirely. He'd known she wasn't perfect when he married her — that she'd been raised with some positively backward ideas and hadn't even realised how backward they were until she'd been in Britain for a couple of years. It wasn't as though she'd come here in the first place to get away from her family because they were racist twats. She'd just wanted to be more than a damn debutante. See more of the world. Do something unexpected with her life.

Completely aside from his unreasonable fear that Lyra might be dangerous to Hermione, he was, Emma was fairly certain, concerned that the Blacks, who were in many ways very familiar, might be a bad influence on her, encouraging her to return to the bigoted, entitled ways of thinking she'd just started seriously questioning when they met. (He hadn't actually said as much, but it had been implied.)

That had been two months ago, the note on which her association with the Blacks really kicked off. Since then, they'd had three arguments about the same subjects, which was admittedly more than they'd ever really fought before, and...nothing had really been resolved. Emma was still spending more days with the Blacks than at their practice, Hermione was still dating Lyra. Dan was still uncomfortable with both of those things, but unwilling to say anything to Hermione — or at least anything else, he'd definitely said something when Hermione had first announced that they were dating now, along the lines of do you have to date that girl...? — when he strongly suspected that their stubborn little girl would carry right on with her relationship regardless of his opinion on the matter.

But it had only been a couple of months since Emma had taken the Black Seat, they hadn't really had a chance to adjust to the situation, yet. And the longer Lyra was around, the more he got to know her, Emma was sure Dan would eventually realise that she wasn't a danger to Hermione. And yes, Emma had been...insulating Dan from some of the more shocking aspects of Magical Britain, some of the things she knew he would have more trouble accepting, but...

They weren't in danger of divorce.

(Hopefully, added a traitorous little voice at the back of her mind.)

"How can you not find her off-putting?! I find her off-putting, and she's my girlfriend!"

Oh, thank God, an opportunity to change the subject...

Emma broke another match, just to be sure the spell would stay in effect. She really didn't want to ask, "Has something happened?" only to have Hermione be overheard complaining about Lyra doing something illegal and/or deeply disturbing.

She glared at the wave of magic as it swept through the room. "No. Yes? I don't know! I think she might be some sort of– some sort of nymph, or something."

Emma frowned, feeling unaccountably like she'd lost the plot. "Like a dryad?"

"No, like developmentally — the immature form of some sort of, I don't know, eldritch abomination, or something!"

"Is this what you were so concerned about in your last letter?" Emma hedged, mostly because...well, she might be more right than wrong. Eldritch abomination wasn't really a very specific term. Angelos, from what Lyra had told her, probably qualified, and she wasn't entirely clear where the line between having a god living at the back of your mind and talking to you in your head and being sort of a part of an entity that existed outside of time and space actually was, but her understanding was that it was sort of a continuum — that Lyra and Angelos were the same sort of being...just to very different degrees.

Hermione let out a frustrated little grr. "No. That's something else. We can talk about that later. I think it's much more important at the moment that Lyra apparently bleeds darkness than that she may or may not have stuck a bullying prefect's hand into his bum."

"...She stuck some arsehole's hand into his arse?" Emma repeated, trying not to giggle just at the concept. She probably wasn't imagining the scene right, some poncy boy with his hand—

"Stop laughing! It's not funny! If she did, the muscles of his hand are melded into the muscles of his buttock, and he's going to have nerve damage—" —or maybe she was. "—and that's not important, but stop laughing, Mum!"

"Sorry, sorry..." She tried, she honestly did, but Hermione glaring up at her, curls trembling with suppressed frustration, shouting about buttocks was just...inherently funny.

"Bleeding darkness, Mum! That's not normal!"

"Well, no, I can't say that it is," she admitted, choking back giggles, "but...it's not hurting her or anything, is it? She hasn't said anything..."

"That's the problem! She hasn't said anything!"

That tone of pain and outrage was far more sobering, especially since Emma wasn't entirely certain what to say. "I'm afraid I don't follow, darling."

"She's obviously not human — you heard Snape, apparently he doesn't think so, either! — and she keeps insisting that she is! I think I have a right to know what bloody species my girlfriend is!"

Emma sighed. "Sweetie...does it really matter? She's still herself." And honestly, she might not have any better idea than Emma whether becoming shadow-kin meant she was no longer "human", or whether that was something she became in addition to having been born "human".

Emma used the term "human" loosely, because Sirius and Andromeda both seemed to believe that there was something to the idea that the Blacks weren't entirely human. Or...not entirely mundane? She wasn't entirely certain of the terminology. Clearly they were human enough — they could reproduce with humans...but they might also be some sort of unique magically-mutated subspecies, or something.

They did tend to have more success reproducing with their own first or second cousins — Andromeda suspected that the toll her pregnancy with Dora had taken on her body, preventing her from having another child, was related to the curse Bellatrix had used on herself and her sisters as birth-control, but with hundreds of years of recorded history to reference there was a clear pattern of matches between close cousins producing children without the use of blood magic to avoid a painful series of miscarriages, while matches with 'outsiders' tended to result in only about one in four natural pregnancies being carried to term. Of course, it was equally debatable whether Andromeda's (and Lyra's) mother was actually human — apparently she was widely suspected of being a changeling, because apparently the Fair Folk actually existed — and it wasn't out of the question that centuries of exposure to certain magics had altered the Blacks enough to reproduce with certain species of fae as well, or that blood magic had been used to hybridise the human Blacks and some (multiple?) species of fae or demon, but the fact that Narcissa existed suggested that Druella, like the Blacks, was "human enough".

The Blacks did occasionally talk about Lyra as though she weren't human, but almost always in psychological contexts — humans, for example, found the shadow-dimension terrifying, and did not get on with wilderfolk well enough to be accepted as non-humans (though Sirius, like Lyra, did), and of course they referred to the brain damage incurred in the ritual which had substantially increased Lyra's channelling threshold as a child as "sacrificing her humanity".

Emma did have to wonder how permanent and complete that "sacrifice" was, really. The brain of a young child could be awfully resilient, developing to compensate — at least partially — for damage an adult's likely wouldn't be able to. And Lyra had suggested in an unrelated conversation, after introducing Emma to Magic (which had been unbelievably cool), that gods and Powers and Magic Itself sometimes waived the costs of a ritual for people they liked. It seemed like a reasonable supposition that if Lyra's brain developed to at least partially compensate for the damage Eris had done, Eris wouldn't make a point of stamping out whatever capacity for emotional empathy she developed.

But that was really neither here nor there. Emma strongly suspected that the Blacks only called themselves human because there was no better term to succinctly describe a bloodline which had been human...before making pacts with gods and using selective breeding to increase their channelling threshold and physical resilience — incidentally selecting for a predisposition for something that looked an awful lot like bipolar disorder, as well as who knew what other more detrimental conditions — and likely using blood magic to integrate different heritable magical traits like magesight into the family's descendents. Lyra obviously knew that the Blacks weren't quite like other people, she just wouldn't have a better term to describe them. Admittedly, Emma didn't either, but given her reaction to this discovery that there was literal darkness in Lyra's veins, she was guessing Hermione didn't quite understand that the Blacks' use of the term included a lot of magical weirdness that the familiar, plain-Jane, mundane understanding of humans she'd grown up with simply didn't.

She thought she would consider Lyra human, or as human as the Blacks ever were. It wasn't like she was a giant shape-changing, fire-walking bird, or something...

"Yes, it matters, because she's lying to me! Or deliberately not telling me, which is almost as bad!"

"I sincerely doubt that's true, Hermione," Emma said, as evenly as she could, fighting the urge to let out a derisive scoff at the idea of Lyra being able to keep a secret — intentionally. "When was the last time you actually asked her whether she's still human?"

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but then apparently had to stop and think about it. Clearly it hadn't been recently. "Well, we have to have had at least a dozen conversations this year where it could have come up, and she didn't bring it up, which is practically the same thing!"

"It really isn't, love."

"Oh, what, you think she just forgot to tell me that, oh, yes, by the way, I bleed darkness now! What was your phrase? An accidental lapse in her otherwise shockingly consistent track record of revealing dangerous secrets to anyone she likes? She knows I want to know about important things that have happened in her life, and—"

"And she probably thinks you already know," Emma interrupted smoothly. "You were present for the ritual which began her shadow-kin metamorphosis — I would imagine bleeding darkness has something to do with drawing darkness into her bloodstream in the first place, and I'm sure you know more about her relationship with Eris and the magical effects of something like that than I do."

Hermione gave her an absolutely furious scowl. "I'm not sure I do, since I've never even heard the term shadow-kin before! And metamorphosis suggests that she isn't human anymore! And she clearly knows it, if she's told you!"

That wasn't entirely fair. It was true that Lyra occasionally volunteered information to her — she wasn't shy about telling Emma anything she thought Emma might need to know as the Blacks' representative, which included that she was dedicated to Eris and that she'd technically aided and abetted Sirius when he'd still been a fugitive, as well as Bellatrix by selling one of the Blacks' vinyards to one of her associates, and also she'd been to visit her over the summer. Twice. It really wouldn't do for Emma to be caught flat-footed by an accusation about something like that. But most of the time, Emma acquired information from Lyra by asking questions.

Sirius had mentioned Lyra getting stuck between planes over the summer, so Emma had asked Lyra how something like that even happened. (She was sort of surprised that Hermione hadn't. Perhaps she'd gotten distracted by the fact that Lyra had almost been eaten by a lethifold before Harry had rescued her.) And Lyra, who was a complete nerd when it came to certain subjects (including magical theory), had explained the whole process of becoming "shadow-kin" in far more detail than Emma really had the background to fully comprehend.

"I...don't think being shadow-kin makes her less human in any important way. Just being able to do her shadow-walking thing, and being more vulnerable to light and light magic." Those were the important things, so far as she'd been able to pick out. "And you already knew that, so...has anything really changed? Besides you knowing that there's still some literal darkness in her blood, I mean."

"I don't know! She hasn't even told me she's shadow-kin — last I knew, she was just human!"

Emma sighed. "I suspect she's as human as she ever was, Hermione."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Er...that none of the Blacks are psychologically or magically or even physically normal, I don't think? I mean, all mages might be more resistant to physical damage than non-mages, but normal mages aren't as quick as Lyra and Sirius, and they don't have the stamina to spend ten hours a day running around trying to kill each other—" Emma had on one very memorable occasion arrived at Ancient House for a one o'clock meeting, only to find that Sirius and Lyra had been playing 'hide-and-seek', creeping around armed with knives trying to ambush each other without magic (Lyra refused to believe this wasn't how everyone played hide-and-seek), since three in the morning. "—or pull multiple all-nighters a week with no apparent consequences."

In Sirius's defence, he didn't usually stay up for multiple days at a time...but he usually went out partying and fell asleep under the influence of copious amounts of alcohol and who knew what else four or five days a week. He claimed this wasn't bad for his health as long as he remembered to drink enough water to avoid a hangover in the morning. (And his liver had gotten a nice long break while he was in Azkaban, so.) And it didn't seem to hurt him when Lyra kept him up all night playing children's games invented for and/or by vicious little psychos. (Sirius's characterisation — apparently Bellatrix used to do the same thing when she was Lyra's age and Sirius was five or six, which was sort of adorable.) Lyra just claimed it was normal to get a decent night's sleep every three days, and Emma couldn't really argue with the fact that she did seem perfectly functional regardless of her lack of sleep. (Emma would have killed for that ability during her residency...) And Andromeda had confirmed that while she did prefer to sleep every night, she could sleep every other night for at least a few months without really suffering for it (though she'd clearly thought it was odd that Emma was asking).

She hadn't expected that example to draw an angry huff from her daughter, though perhaps she should have — as soon as she heard Maïa mutter, "Of course she told you she hasn't been sleeping!" she recalled that her enquiry into the Blacks' sleeping habits had been sparked by Lyra complaining about Maïa trying to drag her to Healer Pomfrey to be sedated a week or two ago.

"Should she not have?"

"Well, no, but she never tells me anything! I only found out she hasn't been sleeping because Gabrielle said something! And she didn't mention the bleeding darkness thing, or that she dragged Snape off to exterminate inferi over the summer!" Something about her tone suggested that that was what she was really upset about, here. Lyra "keeping secrets" from her.

Though it almost seemed like there had to be more to it than that. Hermione had to know how terrible Lyra was at intentionally keeping anything to herself. "Sweetie...is there something else Lyra hasn't told you?"

"You mean beyond that she might be an eldritch bloody abomination and bleeds darkness and may or may not have maimed that arse McLaggan because I was complaining about him? I don't know, she hasn't told me!"

Ah. That was it. It had to be.

She wasn't really concerned about the fact that Lyra may or may not have seriously hurt someone, but why she'd done it. And now, knowing that Hermione suspected Lyra might have done it for her, some of the weirder, more difficult-to-interpret lines in her last letter were coming into focus, the unwritten questions: What does it say about me that I'm dating a girl who might decide to hurt people because she thinks I asked her to? and What does it say about our relationship that I immediately believed that this is something she would do (even if she didn't do it)?

She sighed. "Hermione, love...if she did hurt this boy, it's not your fault. You're not responsible for Lyra's decisions."

"I know that!" she snapped, more defensively than angrily. "That's not even the problem! Well, I mean, it is, but I can't talk to her about it because what if she didn't do it, or didn't do it because of me, and thinks because I said something that maybe she should do 'nice' things for me by hurting other people? The Weasleys said she used to do things like that for Ms Zabini—" ("Lady Zabini," Emma corrected her, "or Director," but Hermione ignored her.) "—and even if she didn't, I still thought she might have, and—"

"And it's a perfectly reasonable thing to suspect," Emma interjected again. This time, Hermione stopped talking, just staring at her slightly slack-jawed, as though she categorically had not expected Emma to validate her suspicions. Which was, again, slightly ridiculous. Emma was well aware that her daughter's girlfriend was a violent little sadist. As long as she wasn't (deliberately) tormenting Hermione or Dan, Emma didn't really care. It probably didn't say good things about Emma that she thought the idea of Lyra melding a boy's hand into his arse-cheek was borderline hysterical, but she wouldn't deny that it seemed very much like the sort of thing Lyra would do. (And if she hadn't, she was definitely going to find it just as funny as Emma when she was eventually asked about it.) "I'll talk to her about it."

She did want Emma to, that much was obvious from her expression, but, "I shouldn't have to ask my mother to talk to my girlfriend for me!"

"Hermione, love, you're allowed to ask for help when you need it. It doesn't make you a bad girlfriend to suspect that Lyra may have done something terrible, either intentionally or without understanding the consequences. She deliberately drove one of your professors to paranoid delusions and convinced half of Britain that Harry was dead over the summer. If she were to...maim a boy at your unintentional suggestion, that would be perfectly in character for her. You're not out of line in wondering whether she might have, or believing that she might have."

"But—" she objected weakly, biting her lip to keep it from trembling when Emma cut her off.

"No, darling. No 'but's. You're not a bad girlfriend for—"

"No, Mum! I am! I'm a terrible girlfriend! She's in hospital, right now, because she got hurt saving my life, and then I hurt her worse waking her up because I was panicking and didn't listen to Violet, and even if she might have hurt McLaggan and she doesn't tell me things so I don't know, I still shouldn't be so quick to believe the worst of her, and I don't even know how to talk to her about it!"

...Okay, maybe that was the thing she was actually upset about. And Emma had no idea what she was talking about — she hadn't seen anything of Hermione between the end of the Task and the end of the riot. She knew Lyra and Blondie had still been fighting, but no one had told her exactly how their duel ended. (Obviously Lyra had lost, but...) "She saved your— Hermione, what happened down there?"

Her daughter let herself fall onto one of the sofas, staring at her knees. "I— The Twins said there was a riot in the stands, and I knew you were up there, and I– I needed Lyra to help me find you, but she was still fighting, so I went to find her and... Arte bloody Cæciné threw some curse at me — Harry said she said it was an accident, she felt my magic at the edge of their battlefield and thought I was Lyra, which is complete dragonshite, Lyra's magic is much darker than mine and much stronger, and— Whatever. She threw this curse at me, and I didn't see it coming until it was too late, I didn't even have my wand in my hand, I couldn't have blocked it. The only reason I didn't get blown into a thousand bloody pieces is Lyra shadow-walked between me and the spell and cast a shield, and there was an explosion — fire, everywhere — and, it all happened so fast, and...and she couldn't shield against the follow-up curse, too. That was what knocked her out. I don't know— Cæciné called it a Judgement Curse, I've never heard of it, but whatever it did...

"It was light, hot and vicious, and she was trying to counter it, I think, just pulling more and more dark magic into herself, and that made it worse, and then she just...fell. I thought— For one horrible, horrible second, I thought she was dead," she admitted, clearly blinking back tears. "And she wasn't, but— I couldn't do anything, I– I've never felt so helpless, Mum! And you were still in the middle of a riot somewhere — George got knocked out so Fred couldn't tell us what was happening, and I had to do something, so we decided it couldn't hurt to try to do that crowd-control thing Lyra mentioned the other day when she was telling me about performative magic, but we didn't know if it worked, and I needed to know if you were okay, and the only way to find out was if Lyra could shadow-walk to you, so I woke her up even though Fred and Violet said it was a bad idea, and I made things worse, and—" She cut herself off, sniffling, tilting her head back, eyes closed.

Emma took a seat beside her, using every ounce of self-control not to reach out and put an arm around her shoulders, pull her into a hug. No, Emma. She didn't want you to touch her, you have to respect that...

"I made things worse," she repeated when she got her breathing under control. "I hurt her, waking her up. Violet said her xiphoid process was broken off, I was lucky I didn't cause an haemorrhage wrenching it around making her sit up — I could have killed her, and she didn't even seem— She was annoyed I woke her up to find you, or not even annoyed, just...exasperated because of course you were safe, you were with Sirius, but she had to know how badly she was hurt, and she just— She didn't care. She wasn't even angry at me, I mean, or— I think that's the worst part — she saved my life and got seriously hurt doing it, and then I hurt her worse, and she didn't– didn't even hold it against me, just assured me you were fine! and I'm over here assuming the worst about her and McLaggan, and angry at her because she never tells me anything, but she'd take a curse for me without thinking, and that should be more important, but—

"I thought I understood her, but I don't, just— How could she do that? Why would— How can she be the kind of person who would– would drive someone insane because it's funny or destabilise the political situation of an entire country for a prank, and also the kind of person who would take a curse she didn't even recognise — a curse that could have killed her, for all she knew — to save someone else without thinking? To save me, when I don't even trust her enough to give her the benefit of the doubt and think maybe she didn't have anything to do with McLaggan, and I just— She saves my life and I turn around and repay her by... God, I'm so selfish... I should have listened to Violet, I shouldn't have—"

"Oh, honey..." Emma had no idea what to say to comfort her baby girl, here because, well...it had been incredibly selfish to try to revive Lyra to go find Emma up in the stands. The best she could do was explain that Lyra saving her with no thought for her own safety had nothing to do with their personal relationship (Hermione was Lyra's vassal — she had to block a curse that would definitely kill Hermione, even if it meant taking a curse that might kill Lyra herself), and she really didn't think that would help. After a moment she settled on, "People can be complicated."

Hermione's red-eyed glare made it clear that wasn't helpful, either.

Well...fine, then. "Lyra doesn't subscribe to the same system of ethics as you and your father do, sweetie. Some people's lives and wellbeing matter substantially more to her than others." That was, Emma was fairly certain, true of most people, honestly — though she suspected most people would at least try to save a perfect stranger in danger if they could, and wouldn't deliberately harm people if they could avoid it. "She wouldn't save most people at the risk of her own life. I'm sure she would have let that McLaggan boy die if he were to walk into the middle of a fight—"

"I didn't walk into the middle of the fight! I was barely at the edge of the clearing!"

That was completely irrelevant to the point Emma was trying to make, so she ignored her daughter's protests. "I don't doubt for a second that she would cause him serious lasting harm because she was bored or thought that you would appreciate it."

"I—"

Emma cut her off in turn with an exasperated sigh. "I know you didn't want her to, much less ask her to."

"And we don't know she actually did it!"

"Hermione, please let me finish what I'm trying to say."

She scowled, but shut her mouth.

"Thank you." She paused a moment, trying to think where she'd been going with that. "Your life and wellbeing are important to Lyra, but that has nothing to do with whether anyone else's lives and wellbeing are important. She didn't save you because she believes that preserving life and minimising harm to others are inherently good things to do, she saved you because it was you. And if I had to guess, knowing only what you've told me so far, she's not upset with you for getting into a situation which required her to intervene to save your life because she knows it was an accident. She doesn't care that you hurt her waking her up because– well, probably because she doesn't care that much about being physically injured in general, but also I imagine because she realises you didn't intend to hurt her. Yes, you could have avoided doing so if you had been thinking clearly, but...well, she just doesn't expect anyone to take her comfort and wellbeing into account making decisions."

Emma wasn't saying that was a good thing — it was actually one of the more obvious impacts her abusive childhood had made on her behaviour, she thought — but it did make Lyra harder to offend.

"And none of that has anything to do with whether she...melded this boy's hand into his buttock." She bit her lip, working very hard not to snigger at the word. Christ, Emma, what are you, seven? (Clearly she'd been spending too much time around Sirius, and his immaturity was contagious.) "I sincerely doubt she'll expect any sort of thanks or even recognition of the fact that she saved your life—" That was simply expected of her as Hermione's liege. Obviously she would expect Hermione to avoid endangering herself intentionally, but there was no reciprocal imbalance between them that required redress. Making a big deal out of this incident would be...off-script. "—and you're not a bad girlfriend for assuming that she would hurt someone at your unintentional suggestion, regardless of her willingness to protect you at the risk of harm to herself." Honestly, Emma thought that made it more likely that she would have maimed some arsehole on Hermione's behalf. "Nor are you responsible for her taking whatever you actually said about this boy and running with it for her own amusement."

"I am if she did it for me," Maïa insisted.

"If you had actually asked her to carry out some act of mischief on him, yes, maybe. She could still have told you no, or found some more easily healed way to prank this boy. But I'm sure you didn't, much less ask her to...do that, specifically."

"...Well, no, but—"

"Honestly, Hermione? I sincerely doubt she did this with the thought that you would appreciate it, even if you complaining about this boy had something to do with her picking him as a potential victim. If she had, I suspect she would have mentioned that she'd done it." As a general rule, one couldn't get credit for doing favours for people if they didn't know about them.

This did not seem to be the least bit reassuring, as Hermione bit her lip indecisively, fingers coiling anxiously around each other.

"What?"

"Even if she didn't do it for me, though, if she did it, I should still talk to her, try to tell her that's...that that's not okay, or not just that I'm not asking her to hurt people for me, I'm asking her not to. I mean, if she would not hurt people if I asked her to, I sort of...have to ask, don't I? And what do I do if she keeps doing things like this anyway? Assuming she did this, I mean."

Emma sighed. "If something she's doing makes you uncomfortable, yes, by all means tell her as much. But..." Oh, how to put this... "She'll always put your life before her own happiness or physical wellbeing, but she may not be willing to compromise her entertainment for your peace of mind. And if you truly can't stand to be in a relationship with someone who hurts people for fun, well... You may have to end the relationship."

"You're telling me to break up with her?!"

Emma hid a smirk — if that utter outrage was any indication, she had no intention of doing so over this, at least. "No, I'm telling you not to try to fix her or expect her to change for you. And also that it's not your responsibility to moderate her behaviour or convince her to do so. You're her girlfriend, not her parent. I'll talk to her."

Hermione glared at her. "You aren't her parent either."

Well, no. If Emma had to pick the most parental figures in Lyra's life, she'd probably say...Mirabella and Snape? Lyra herself would probably consider Mira more of a godparent, and Snape some degree of uncle — authority figures she wasn't actually expected to obey, who didn't have any actual right to tell her what to do, but whose instructions and advice she was more likely to listen to for exactly that reason. She actually would be expected to obey Sirius, as the (political) head of the family (and, like Snape, Sirius could easily kick her arse if he needed to physically coerce her into doing something), but Sirius didn't consider himself a figure of authority or even an adult most of the time. Especially when it came to disciplining Lyra. (Every interaction between them screamed playmates/siblings/equals.)

Completely aside from the fact that every 'parenting' technique he'd ever seen and might use as an example had almost certainly been tried and failed to change Lyra's behaviour already — it was Emma's understanding that Sirius and Lyra had been similarly rebellious children, and their parents' generation had comprehensively failed to bring either of them to heel with their obscene physical and emotional abuse — he didn't trust himself to discipline an unruly child without crossing the line and becoming an abusive arsehole like his own parents. Andromeda was the same — she'd openly admitted that Ted had been in charge of any and all disciplinary matters when Dora was young because she hadn't trusted herself to know what was reasonable or completely insane.

Emma's position in the House was a bit...odd. In fact, the leadership of the House was a bit odd at the moment in general, since Sirius was recognised as the Lord outside of the House and Lyra was its magical centre — the rights and responsibilities of the Lord of the House were sort of split between them. But they'd both been fairly clear that they considered Emma to be the second most authoritative person in the House right now, regardless of which of them was the first most authoritative on any given issue. When the two of them were in conflict, neither of them had the authority to unilaterally declare that they were right and demand the other fall in line (or if whoever was supposed to be in charge abdicated a decision, as Sirius almost certainly would with any disciplinary matters), that task fell to Emma as the only actual adult involved in the leadership of the House.

"No. But both Lyra and Sirius desperately need someone to define the parameters of their relationship, and mediating disputes within the House is one of the responsibilities I have a duty to perform should the Lord be unavailable to do so." She had recommended that Hermione read the House Law, but she hadn't insisted, because Hermione was nearly as uncomfortable with the idea of becoming her girlfriend's legal vassal as Dan. Perhaps she should have... "Since Sirius is, in this case, one of the parties involved, helping the two of them negotiate disciplinary matters is part of my job.

"Also, I've never met any child who could use a good parental influence in her life more than Lyra." Hermione's eyes narrowed with a disbelieving little scoff. "What?"

She hesitated, but then very clearly decided that whatever she wanted to say, she was going to say, and damn the consequences. "And that's you, is it? A good parental influence? Speaking as your actual daughter, lying and hiding things from Dad and putting me in a position where I have to hide things from him too, if I don't want to be the one to hurt him by telling him about people trying to kill you, and taking over every aspect of my entire life, up to and including practically adopting my girlfriend, are all great examples to set for your child. Really, stellar parenting, Mum!" Her eyes widened at the end, as though surprised she'd actually said that.

Emma...wasn't, really. She knew Hermione didn't like her getting too involved in her life — that had been a common theme in their arguments since Hermione was in Year Three. And she had no good response to the point that she was putting their daughter in an awful position, now that she knew things Dan didn't about the realities of the dangers of Emma's job.

Well, nothing other than, "I'll tell him. Tonight. I promise."

Maïa flinched, as though she'd expected a very different reaction.

"But I can't promise not to keep taking over every aspect of your entire life. Some things are more important than whether you hate me or think I'm an overbearing bitch—" Hermione's eyes went wide again at that — shocked, if Emma had to guess, that she would suggest Hermione would ever say such a thing about her mother, which she really didn't think she would (not to her face, at least), but she'd be shocked if she'd never thought it before. "—including establishing a place for you in this world we've stumbled into. I'm your mother, that's my job. And I won't push Lyra away and refuse to be the stable adult figure her life has been sorely lacking since she moved here—" She had, at least, had Ciardha in her old universe. He sounded like a good man. Emma was unaccountably disappointed she'd never be able to meet him. "—simply because you feel our relationship is threatened by my association with her."

"I don't—" she objected heatedly, only to cut herself off under Emma's very certain stare. It could be, she supposed, that Hermione thought Lyra would like Emma better than she did Hermione, but that was frankly ludicrous. She might respect Emma, consider her a valuable source of advice, especially on matters to do with "normal people" in general and Hermione specifically, she might consider developing ways for a muggle to participate in magical politics on even footing to be a fascinating project, but she was fairly certain there was no danger of her enjoying Emma's company more than Hermione's.

"Good. Because it's not. You're always going to be my daughter, Hermione. I love you, and I'm always going to be proud of you. My position in the House of Black doesn't change that." She bit her tongue on adding, I don't spend more time with Lyra because I like her more than you, I spend more time with her because she likes me more than you do. This wasn't the time to go suggesting Hermione was at fault for not visiting her more. Her daughter already looked like she might be blinking back tears. She didn't want to make her feel guilty as well (or be accused of trying to manipulate her again).

Both of them jumped at a knock on the door, just as it looked like Maïa might be about to say something. The Blacks, Emma was betting. Sirius had promised to come find her when they were ready to go, and that supernaturally bad timing couldn't be anyone else. Supernaturally bad because Emma had really, really wanted to know whatever Hermione was about to say, but she turned to the door instead, yanking it open with a poorly concealed expression of relief.

Andromeda's eyes flicked from Hermione to Emma, taking in the scene at a glance. "I hope we're not interrupting...?"

"We can come back," Sirius volunteered. "I hear there's a party down in Hufflepuff..."

"No, Sirius, you're not going to go get drunk with a bunch of schoolchildren," his cousin informed him, before Emma could. "Have some bloody class..." He scowled at the back of her head as she turned to Emma. "If you'd like more time, I can come back and fetch you before dinner. Or I suppose we could ask Dora to apparate you home before she leaves tonight...?"

"Oh, well..."

"No," Hermione said quickly. "That's fine, Missus Tonks. I...think we've said everything that needed to be said."

Emma sighed. Fine. They'd have to pick this conversation up some other time. "Okay, sweetie. I guess that's it, then. I take it from your general lack of annoyance that Dumbledore and Crouch were brought around to Director Bones's point of view on the issue of musical riot-control?"

The Director of the Department of Law Enforcement had more important things to do at the moment than talk politics, so hadn't been in the meeting Emma had recused herself from, but she'd given them two minutes earlier, when they'd finally gotten out of the stands — just enough time to inform them that she had no intention of pressing charges over Hermione's...unorthodox strategy to end the fighting. Apparently the circumstances were a mitigating factor in her use of magics that would otherwise be illegal in Britain — specifically the fact that they were operating under ICW laws at Hogwarts at the moment, and the ICW was more reasonable about non-specific mass emotional manipulation, so long as neither the intent nor effects were harmful. And if that hadn't been the case, she would have found some other excuse — "Morgen, Circe, and Lilith, Black, you don't really think I'd try to prosecute an underage girl for stopping a fucking riot, do you? I know your faith in our justice system is understandably broken, but do I look like Barty fucking Crouch to you?"

"Yeah, well, Dumbles agreed to ICW laws, he can't really complain."

"And Mirabella warned Crouch that Sirius would challenge him to an honour duel if he was about to voice an objection."

Sirius pouted. "Yes. So he didn't. And I was really looking forward to finally murdering that bastard... Anyway, if we're leaving, I want to go before Bella wakes up and begs to go with us. You walking us out, Maïa?"

"Er..."

It was a good fifteen minutes' walk out to the gates, from which they could apparate (or be apparated) home. Hermione, like Emma, clearly feared that it would be an exceedingly awkward fifteen minutes, given the note on which they'd left their conversation. "That's okay, sweetie. I'll... I'll write you after I speak to your father." She nodded stiffly. "I love you," she offered, pulling her daughter close for an equally stiff hug and a kiss on the forehead.

She said, "Love you, too, Mum," but Emma couldn't help feeling, walking away, like there was an unspoken but... at the end of that sentence. What followed it, she wasn't entirely sure, but that was certainly not an unqualified statement. And she honestly had no idea what to do about it.

---

LOTS of notes on this one...

[acting in loco parentis for Lyra, Hermione, and arguably Harry in Magical Britain]

Because Magical Britain is hella fucked up, Emma wouldn't normally be able to represent or make legal decisions for her own daughter on the magical side of things because she's a muggle. Sirius, as the head of Hermione's patron house, is technically her guardian in Magical Britain. Emma can therefore only act as a parent to her own daughter in magical contexts if she's acting as Sirius's representative.

[Lyra told me she put a tracking spell on you because people have been trying to kill you.]

Someone commented relatively recently that Maia should already know about this, it was mentioned in an earlier chapter that she knew Lyra was meeting Emma re: adapting a tracking spell she'd used on Gabbie as a security measure.

Honest Doylist explanation: I forgot about that little detail

Potential Watsonian explanations: A) Hermione forgot about that. It was a while ago, and a lot has happened since then. B) She doesn't realise that Lyra actually did it.

[the bigoted, entitled ways of thinking she'd just started seriously questioning when they met]

Emma's backstory: Her father was wealthy and British. He moved to the US after his first wife died and their son finished school (so Emma has a much older half-brother she's hardly ever met; they had a falling-out when Hermione was very young) and married Emma's mother (who was only a couple of years older than his son). Emma was born and her mother died in childbirth in 1950. Emma's father eventually developed a relationship with his mother-in-law (who was much closer to his own age), though that was kept quiet. Emma was raised primarily by her grandmother, moving between her grandmother's townhouse in Savannah and her father's somewhat larger property in a more rural area outside the city (Eden). She moved to Britain to study dentistry in 1968 and met Dan a couple of years into her program.

Dan is a couple of years older than Emma. He has one Algerian grandfather, which would make him "black" according to Emma's very racist family, though they might hate him more for his suspiciously commie-like political views. Or the fact that he's French. Or that he's an atheist. (All of the above?) They had an accidental pregnancy a couple of years into their relationship, while Emma was in her residency — Emma had an abortion, with Dan's support. When they finally finished school and had gotten their careers started, they decided to purposefully have a child. Hermione was born in 1980. Emma returned to Georgia for her grandmother's funeral in 1987.

[the Blacks, who were in many ways very familiar, might be a bad influence on her]

To be clear, Dan is more concerned that Emma will start thinking of herself as part of the ruling class again than that she'll backslide into being a racist bigot.

I think that it would be a subconscious fear on Emma's part that she might backslide on the racism/vaguely eugenicist modes of thought and project that fear onto Dan, just a bit. Not really rational, so she wouldn't acknowledge it, but I would imagine being a racist as a kid is one of the things she hates most about herself, and what if it's as easy to fall back into that sort of thinking as it is to fall back into your accent?

Especially since she would probably be acutely aware that supporting people who deliberately harm others because they're nice to you and it benefits you at the expense of those others, even if you're not directly harming them yourself, is basically the same attitude most of the people she grew up around held about racial and class inequality.

(It's possible that just repressing everything that makes you uncomfortable isn't actually a great way to deal with it.)