Lyra stared at the barman, really focusing on his face. He was tall and thin, with darker grey hair and beard than Albus. His face was similar enough, she supposed, though what cinched it for her was the eyes. Both Dumbledores had the same striking blue eyes that stared into your soul.
"Merlin," she breathed, "you are a Dumbledore."
Croaker's grin widened, "Abe has had past dealings with the Wizengamot. Won himself out of an Azkaban sentence once or twice."
"That thing with the sheep - that was real?" Lyra said, "I always thought that was hearsay."
"Goats, not sheep. Enough of it was real that someone tried to bring me up on charges for it. And no, I'm not explaining exactly what happened," he glared, "But I'll help you. Give me a few days to get reacquainted with the situation and I'll be in touch."
Lyra nodded, "Thank you. I think."
"Right," Croaker said, now checking a fourth watch, "Not much time left. Onto your letter."
Lyra blinked; she'd almost forgotten why Croaker was here in the first place.
"Artificing foods, I have a few books. Make sure the students get them back to me by June, and make sure they're in one piece," he pulled out a pouch from under his robes, and extracted a stack of books. "The hardest part is ensuring you set the activation state correctly. Too soon, and they will go off in a pocket. Too late, and you're fixing latrines."
"I'll be sure to pass along the message," Lyra said.
"Now, the more interesting bit," Croaker took a drink, meeting Lyra's eyes again, "you asked me about Naegling. What do you know of old muggle stories?"
"Not much. It wasn't exactly a usual topic of conversation at the Ancient House of Black."
"You must have some muggle expert at that school, ask them about the story of Beowulf."
"Beowulf?" Lyra asked.
"Aye. Long story short, he fought a dragon with a sword, and the sword broke. That sword was called Naegling."
"Who would fight a dragon with a sword?" Lyra raised an eyebrow.
"These are old, old tales, and much of it is lost in translation. Beowulf was likely an obscurus, didn't know he was magic," Croaker shrugged, "Either way, he tried to kill a dragon with a sword, and the sword broke. The pieces sat on a mountain for a long time. Eventually some wizard comes along, finds the pieces, and discovers there is magic in them, a kind of proto-runic artifact. That wizard enlisted a goblin to forge the sword back together. The wizard wielded it bravely, and then died of old age, having started a school for children."
The realization of what was being said was slow to come.
"You don't mean," she said, "The sword that may or may not exist has been linked to…"
"Godric Gryffindor, yes."
Lyra groaned, "Of course the thing that may potentially be the key to my life's work is a proto-runic sword notoriously charmed to only work for the wielder who best echoes the values of bravery in the face of absolute stupidity."
Behind the bar, Abe began to laugh.
As much as Lyra wanted to rush to Dumbledore's office and demand the sword of Gryffindor, caution held her back. First, she wasn't sure if this was the route she wanted to go. The concept of slicing open a memory seemed positively barbaric, now that she had a way to do so. On top of that the term was rapidly coming to an end, and she had exams to write. Mid-year exams weren't required, but Minerva requested some sort of way to check how students were performing, so an exam was what the students got. When she broke the news at the beginning of December, Fred and George Weasley looked positively mutinous.
"But Professor, it's the holidays, be reasonable," Fred said.
"To think you were our favorite," George added.
It was true - since delivering Croaker's books, the Weasley twins had been positively ecstatic to come to class. They happily showed off prototypes of their sweets at every chance they got.
"This one's supposed to turn you into a canary, but right now it just gives you feathers," George explained, holding up a small pastry.
"Weird, skin colored feathers," Fred muttered, "Once you think you've gotten rid of them all, another appears."
But the twins weren't the only complainers. Half her seventh year class almost walked out, only mollified by the news that Garrick Ollivander was coming the last day of class to give a lecture on wandlore. It was a surprise that Lyra had been planning for a while - they hadn't meant to start the wandlore section until the spring, but after the Halloween events, she figured everyone could do with a change. Ollivander had only been too happy to come for a 'sneak preview'.
Finally, and perhaps most surprisingly, there was Lee Jordan. Jordan, for his part, hadn't come back after nearly breaking down in her office after Halloween, not that she'd really been expecting him to. Lyra figured that he'd been embarrassed about feeling shaken, and wrote it off as the result of a highly stressful situation. So when he came to her office a few days before the term ended, she wasn't sure what he wanted.
"Jordan," she said, as he came in, "What can I do for you?" She was grading papers, the sixth year's latest exam, and was relieved for the chance to put the stack aside.
"Hi Profesor," he said, "Uhm, how are you?"
Lyra cleared a spot for him on her messy desk, and conjured up a squashy arm chair - incidentally modeled after the ones from the Hufflepuff common room.
"I wish I were done grading, but such is the life of a professor," she said, watching him take a seat.
He laughed, somewhat nervously, "I imagine so," his eyes cast about the office, and one hand tugged absently on a dreadlock.
"Is everything alright?" Lyra asked, frowning. Jordan was normally confident, keeping up with the Weasley's, and held his own right as an above average student.
"Uhm," he said again, "Well, I don't know how to… Fred and George will kill me.." he tugged harder on his hair, "Did you know there are tunnels in and out of the school?" he said finally, very quickly.
Lyra raised an eyebrow, "Yes," she said, "I did."
"Oh," Jordan said, blinking rapidly, "I wasn't sure… I mean, do you think that's how… that's how Sirius Black got in and out of the castle, back in October?"
She didn't want to lie to him, so she nodded, "Almost definitely."
"I don't want anyone to get in trouble," he said, slowly, "but what if, hypothetically, someone I knew had a sort of map that showed all the secret tunnels in the school? And what if this hypothetical map could also, hypothetically of course, tell you exactly who was where in the castle? "
Lyra stared at him, fighting to keep her jaw from dropping, "Well," she said slowly, "Hypothetically, such a map would indeed be very useful for catching escaped prisoners. Apart from that, it sounds like a very interesting artifact, one I would like to see, should it hypothetically exist."
Her mind was whirling. A map of the school that showed where people were at all times? Forget catching Sirius, the magic that must have gone into that was advanced for students, even some of the Unspeakables would have a hard time with it. She wondered if it was charmed, or runic in nature. Charms would have been easier, but runes were more stable, and allowed for linking with the nature of the castle itself. Maybe some sort of communication between the stones of the building and the paper of the map?
Her expression must have belied some of her interest, because Jordan shuffled his feet, and had turned an interesting shade of green.
"It was just a - a thought," he said, "I don't - I'm not really sure there is such a thing, and even if it were, I don't know who would have it. I just thought it was a.. An interesting idea," he was bad at lying, and seemed to know it, because he winced, "Anyways, I should go. Have a good holiday, Professor," Jordan jumped up and positively ran out of the room.
Lyra watched him go, hand partially raised to call him back. She was fairly certain which hypothetical person - or persons, more likely - he was talking about. Perhaps it was time to talk to Fred and George about their other endeavours, outside confectionary treats.
Ms. Lyra,
I have been in contact with a few old friends about your situation, and I believe we have a case on several counts. First, of Azkaban. It is written in several places that no one may be sentenced to any time there unless it is by a full trial in front of the Wizengamot - exceptions are made when the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Minister for Magic both agree, and under emergency authorizations, such as those in effect at the end of the war. So unless Umbridge convinces both Fudge and Amelia Bones of her mad ideas, consider yourself safe. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, there was a case in 1792 that ended up ruling that the Ministry cannot investigate its own members outside the strict control of a formal internal review. From what Croaker said, this Robards character is not acting under an internal review. I shall be reaching out to several other contacts about ceasing this behavior.
Abe
Ms. Black,
In accordance with our regulations we acknowledge the improper use of an informal internal review. We pass on our sincerest apologies for any grief caused by this situation.
Have a happy holiday.
Demelza Burke, Undersecretary for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement
The day before the train left to take students home for the holidays was another Hogsmeade trip. Lyra wasn't intending to go, hoping for time to work on her proposal, but had again been bullied out by Charity, Sinistra, and Babbling. She wasn't sure when Charity Burbage had gained first name status in her head - sometime around her meeting with Croaker, she supposed. Charity hadn't known anything about Beowulf, but had happily agreed to look into it for her.
"I've never read ancient muggle literature," she was saying as they walked down to the Three Broomsticks, "But it's absolutely fascinating. Some of their ideas of magic and how it works are truly inventive."
She said she'd found an old copy of the tale in its original language, and wanted to translate it for herself.
"There are other translations, of course, but I fear they may lack some of the original depth. I don't want you to miss anything because someone translated it incorrectly."
Babbling had agreed to help, lending her knowledge where necessary. Old English, it turned out, had some similarities to ancient runes.
"It's all in the grammar," she said, "The high vowel apocope isn't always consistent, something you see in runes all the time."
Lyra wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but nodded anyway.
The Three Broomsticks was crowded, but they managed to find a table near the bar. Rosmerta came over, and gave Lyra a much warmer greeting than she had before. They'd only been there a few minutes when the doors opened and in came Minerva, Flitwick, Hagrid, and Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic. They wavered uncertainly at the door, before joining Lyra and the other professors at their table.
"Hope you don't mind," Fudge said, "I can't be long," he looked around smiling in turn at Charity, Babbling, and Vector. When he came to Lyra, his smile wavered.
"Minister," Lyra said, coolly.
"Ms. Black," he said, "Unfortunate situation, I do apologize."
"No matter," Lyra's own smile did not meet her eyes, "I hope to be back in my office soon."
"Y-Yes," he stuttered slightly, and caught sight of Rosmerta, returning with drinks, "Ah, Rosmerta, a red currant rum, if you have it."
"Lyra is going by Rosier, while she is here," Minerva said, "To make it less complicated for the students."
Fudge smiled thinly, "Of course, my fault."
It was a slightly awkward few minutes while Rosmerta fetched drinks, until the barmaid herself sat down and asked about Sirius Black. Then it became extremely awkward.
"Oh, well, you know how it goes," Fudge said, "Our Aurors are extremely dedicated."
"So dedicated that even those not on the case are investigating, it would seem," Lyra said, taking a sip of butterbeer.
Fudge coughed, "What can I say, everyone is eager to help out."
Hagrid looked confused, but covered it by taking a large drink of mead.
"Do you know, I saw Remus Lupin the other day," Rosmerta said, "And I remembered how he and Black were friends, though perhaps not as great friends as Black and James Potter."
"They were inseparable," Minerva said, "Used to get into so much trouble."
"You'd have thought they were brothers," Flitwick said, then glanced at Lyra, "No offense, naturally.
Lyra shook her head, "James was the family Sirius chose," she said, relieved that she managed to keep any trace of bitterness out of her voice.
"Potter trusted Black beyond reason, beyond all his other friends," Fudge said. At some point, he'd managed to down three quarters of his drink, and his eyes were slightly unfocused.
"Nothing changed when he left school," he continued, "Black was the best man when James and Lily married. They named him godfather to Harry - I daresay the boy has no idea, and I imagine it would torment him greatly if he knew."
Hagrid opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it when Minerva placed a hand on his arm.
"Because Black turned out to be in league with You-Know-Who?" Rosmerta had her eyes fully fixed on Fudge, a look of horror on her face.
"Worse. The Potters knew that You-Know-Who was after them - not many people are aware of that. One of Dumbledore's spies tipped him off, and he sent James and Lily into hiding. He advised them to use a Fidelius Charm, and you can only imagine who they chose as Secret-Keeper," Fudge finished his drink.
At Rosmerta's obviously confused expression, Flitwick began an explanation of the charm. Lyra largely tuned him out. She was having trouble keeping her emotions under control. A burning, undirected anger had coiled into her stomach, and her hands were absently turning her almost empty bottle faster and faster. Here Fudge sat, casually explaining what happened as if he cared about anyone who'd been involved. As if her brother would betray the people he chose to call family. As if anyone who had known him would believe that.
She jumped when Hagrid exploded.
"Filthy, stinking turncoat," he said, drawing the attention of half the pub.
Minerva tried to quiet him, but Lyra's hand had twitched, and the bottle of butterbeer bounced off the table and onto the floor. It shattered, creating a sticky mess of broken glass and faintly bubbling liquid.
No one moved for a moment.
"Well, I think I'm going to head back to the castle," Lyra said, rising, "No, don't let me ruin your time," she continued, when Charity moved to follow.
"Don't be ridiculous," the other witch said, "I'll walk back with you."
Fudge was watching her, an inscrutable expression on his face, but he said nothing as she strode past him.
Outside on the path back to the castle, Charity huffed loudly, "That was incredibly rude of him."
"Which part?" said Lyra, "The part where he ignored the illegal investigation into my office, or the part where he decided he was the best one to tell some ridiculous story about my brother?"
"All of it. You know, I never knew the details of what happened with the Potters, but somehow I don't think that man has all of them either."
"I don't think anyone has all the details; there was never a trial."
"Besides," Charity said with some finality, "I refuse to believe that anyone related to you would do anything to harm someone they cared about."
Lyra, slightly taken aback, said, "You've never met my mother. Besides, I'm hardly the paragon of innocence."
"It's true. I heard the way you handled your classes after Halloween, and I think it was really good of you."
The burning anger, already fading with distance from the pub, was replaced by a warm rush of affection. Lyra tilted her head, and smiled, "You know, Charity, I'm sorry for ever underestimating you. Thank you."
Charity laughed, and for once it didn't grate on Lyra's nerves.
"Hey," she said, as they approached the turn off to the Hog's Head, "How'd you like to meet my solicitor, Abe?"