Lyra crumpled the note from the ministry, then smoothed it out, only to crumple it again. It had arrived with the morning post, a sad flurry of three owls that looked incredibly lonely without the usual students.
"You look like someone spat in your breakfast," Charity said, sliding into the chair next to her, "Happy Christmas, I love the tea."
Lyra shook herself, and smiled thinly, "No, just more work for Abe. Not a problem, I'm glad you enjoy it."
"Here," Charity passed over a small wrapped package, "I hope you don't mind, I wanted to watch you open it."
Lyra raised an eyebrow, but carefully undid the spellotape on the wrapping. A soft leather bound book fell out, kept closed by a cord. The title was embossed on the cover, Beowulf.
"I finished a few days ago," Charity said, "Before I knew about the sword problem. Bound it myself too."
Lyra was stunned. The book was beautiful; the cover a rich dark brown, the pages creamy off-white. A tiny sword charm clasped the cord in place. She undid it, turning to the first page. It was handwritten, an even, legible cursive sprawled across in a dark red ink.
She looked up, "You did this yourself?"
Charity smiled, a look of pride, "I have a thing for hand made projects; probably why I find muggles fascinating. Aurora helped with the sword charm - she's quite good at transfiguration, believe it or not. I think Minerva was a little disappointed when she went and got herself lost in stargazing."
The tea suddenly seemed such a small thing in comparison.
"Thank you," Lyra said, "I really… this is so much more than what I was expecting when I asked for help with this project."
"Good," Charity said, picking up a piece of toast, "Now you have less excuse to give up on this. Sword of Gryffindor's personal choices be damned."
As Lyra left the Great Hall after breakfast, eyes still transfixed on the book, she nearly collided with a large black something that appeared seemingly out of nowhere.
"Sorry," she said, stepping aside, and looking up into Snape's face.
"Thank you," he said quietly, "for the book."
Lyra swallowed several sharp retorts, and settled for a nod, "Happy Christmas," she said.
Snape nodded back, and swept past her. It was probably as close to an apology as she would get.
That afternoon, after sending Demelza Burke's letter to Abe, Lyra read Beowulf cover to cover. It flowed like poetry, though she stumbled over a few unknown words. Charity and Babbage both had made comments and footnotes explaining some of the more archaic terminology. When she got to the dragon fight, she read the scene three times over. Really, there was little in there about the sword itself, just that it was supposed to be very fine, and very old. She could see what drew Godric Gryffindor to it, though. The story was one of those tales that spoke of bravery and heroic deeds, of fighting monsters and great warriors. Lyra understood too, why Croaker said it was likely the titular character was an obscurus. Too many things pointed to accidental magic, right up to his death. She was just reading about the funeral pyre, when a knock came to her office door.
"Enter," she said looking up.
Lupin came in, looking particularly tired, but carrying a tray of steaming food, "I hear both you and I missed the feast today," he said.
Lyra looked at the time in surprise, "So I did," she said, "Blame Charity for this damned book."
"It was quite exciting apparently - Sibyl Trelawny showed up, and there was something about dining with thirteen."
"When thirteen dine, the first to rise is the first to die," Lyra said, rolling her eyes, "It's an old superstition that my Grandfather Pollux grew wary of in his old age. He used to make everyone else get up before him during dinner parties. It didn't work - Grandfather Arcturus outlived him by a year, and he was ten years older than Pollux."
Lupin chuckled, setting the tray down. A veritable feast balanced precariously on plates - roast turkey, potatoes, peas, chipolatas, it looked like he'd grabbed some of everything. A towering stack of mince pies completed it, next to a pair of Christmas crackers. To top it off, he produced a bottle of mulled wine, which he poured carefully into two glasses.
"Moon's in three days," he said somewhat sheepishly, "I try to eat more leading up to it to have enough energy."
She nodded, and took a plate. They ate largely in silence, each preoccupied with their own thoughts. Lyra slowly pulled herself out of Beowulf, and back to the present. She made sure to leave Lupin most of what was there, but would be damned if he took more than his fair share of the mince pies.
"Sirius was fond of mince pies," he said, smiling slightly, "He and James used to argue about who would get the last of Euphemia's. One of the only times I ever saw Sirius cry was Christmas after he ran away from Grimmauld and James gave him the last one. 'Just this once, since you're officially my brother' he said."
Lyra choked on her pie, and Lupin seemed to realize what he'd said.
"Sorry," he grimaced, "I don't mean…"
She shook her head, coughing, "Don't," she gasped out finally and took a sip of wine, "I just wish… things had been different."
"Me too," Lupin said, and picked up his mostly empty wine glass, frowning at it.
Lyra went to refill the glass for him, but the bottle was nearly empty - when had that happened? Her own glass was still largely untouched, and she looked at Lupin questioningly.
His cheeks were red and eyes glazed and unfocused. One hand drummed on his leg.
"I hate Christmas," he said, softly, "Every year I think it will be better than the last, and every year I am reminded that I am a sad, lonely man whose only friends are dead."
"My brother would call that shit," Lyra said.
"What?"
"I said Sirius would call that shit. You have plenty of friends, Remus. Charity, Aurora, Minerva," she took a drink.
"Colleagues."
"Filius, Pomona, Septima."
"You're just listing professors here, they don't count."
"They wouldn't like to hear it that way."
Lupin frowned.
"Don't discount people because of forced proximity. Just because we have to get along doesn't mean we don't like you."
He was silent for such a long moment, Lyra almost thought he'd fallen asleep. She waved her wand and collected the dishes to be sent back to the kitchens, and had halfway stood when he spoke again.
"Forgive me," he said, "It's been a difficult few months, and I tend to get… emotional near the moon."
Lyra gave a small smile, "No apology needed, just don't forget who surrounds you. Now, I've a bottle of Elven wine I've been saving for a good self-pity moment; how about we crack that and take bets on what havoc the Weasley twins will bring in the new year?"
Lupin laughed, "As long as it doesn't involve creatures; I think we've had enough animals for one year already."
"Speaking of the Weasley twins," Lyra said, grabbing her bottle off the shelf in the back of her office, "Do you know anything about a map of the castle?"
Lupin started, looking up at her sharply, "I, er, might, why?"
"Lee Jordan mentioned the twins might be in possession of one. I was wondering what kind of enchantments would need to be on that to catch the entirety of the castle's magic," she returned to the table, and popped the cork off the bottle.
"Filch took it from us, our last year," Lupin said, "I thought James would cry."
Lyra nearly dropped the bottle mid pour.
"We finished it in our sixth year," he continued, "Homunculus charms to keep track of everyone, that was the easy part. The hard part was the castle itself, charting the staircases, the secret tunnels, the wonky doors. You know that one on the fourth floor that's only open on Thursdays? Took us three months to perfect getting it to show up properly; it kept disappearing on alternate Tuesdays."
"That's… quite advanced magic for a couple sixth years," Lyra said, "I have colleagues in the Department of Mysteries that can't properly cast a Homunculus charm."
"James was good at charms, he got that with little problem. Sirius took over tweaking the spells for the castle walls, though it was Peter who finally got the Thursday Door issue settled," he took a sip of the wine, "This is good."
Lyra waved away the comment, "Some sort of variation of the protean charm, for the castle walls, I would guess?"
Lupin nodded, "That was the eventual solution, yes. Took us a while to figure that out though; he spent a long time with an old mapping charm developed by the ancient Greeks for escaping labyrinths."
"So Fred and George have access to a map that shows the castle and its inhabitants."
Lupin frowned, "I guess so, if it's truly our map they have."
"So if - when - Sirius comes back, we might be able to find him before it's too late," Lyra said.
"I… I suppose we might."
"Right. I'll be speaking to the twins when they get back," Lyra leaned back in her chair, gently swirling the wine in her glass.
Sometime later they had moved on to reminiscing about their school days.
"I remember," Lyra said, half smiling, "Being a first year, and being absolutely terrified of Professor Sprout."
Remus - he'd become Remus, not Lupin at some point - made a choked laugh, "Pomona? Why?"
"There was some game the middling years would play, where they'd try to touch the trunk of that mad tree. Pomona found out when what's-his-name nearly lost an eye, and went absolutely mental."
Remus frowned, "Davey Gudgeon," he said, "I'd almost forgotten about that. It was early in the year too."
"One-Eye Davey Gudgeon, that was it," Lyra said, "One of my first interactions with her was seeing this tiny woman losing her mind on a group of fourth years while Gudgeon cried. He wore an eyepatch for the next few months."
"They played it my first year too, I was always surprised no one was hurt then."
She shook her head, "I had Herbology with her later that day, and I thought she'd be terrible. Imagine my surprise when she turned out to be the nicest professor."
"Didn't Davey later become captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team?" Remus said, "I always thought that was funny."
"He was Ravenclaw, wasn't he?"
"You think a Ravenclaw would play a game like touching the Whomping Willow?"
Lyra frowned, struggling to recall.
Someone knocked at the door to her office. Distracted, Lyra waved her wand to open the door.
"Ah, Severus," she said, eyes lighting, "Settle something - One-Eye Gudgeon, remember him? What house was he in?"
Snape looked confused, "Hufflepuff," he said.
"Damn, I was certain he was a Ravenclaw," said Lyra, slapping the arm of her chair.
Severus raised an eyebrow, then looked at Remus, "I was looking for you. The next dose of your potion is in your office; I suggest drinking it as soon as possible."
Remus stood, and it didn't escape Lyra's notice that he gripped the back of his chair for balance.
"Right, thank you, Severus, I'll go take it now," he waved a wand to vanish the dishes, "Lyra, thank you for a lovely meal, and for the chocolate from this morning. We shall have to reminisce again sometime."
Lyra nodded to him as he left, and drained her glass of wine. Snape still stood near the door. She gestured to the now empty chair.
"Care to sit, now that you've scared off my company?" she asked.
He hesitated. His face, though it had been almost illegible at the beginning of the year, had become more familiar to her again. Shadows of thoughts could just barely be seen. Slowly he nodded.
"Why were you talking about One-Eye Gudgeon?" he said, as he took the proffered chair.
"I was telling Remus about how my first year I was terrified of Pomona," she said, flicking her wand to get Snape a glass of wine, "I'd seen her tell off Gudgeon and his friends - the only time I have ever seen her that furious to this day."
"I remember that. You were scared of her?"
Something in the way he said you made her pause.
"Oh," she said, realizing, "That's not right, is it. I think… I think it was Regulus who was scared, not me. But he didn't want anyone knowing, so he made me pretend to be instead. I guess, after all this time of telling that story, I'd forgotten," one hand rose to her mouth, and she covered the small tremble it gave by snorting, "Funny how that works."
Snape didn't respond, and she was oddly grateful for the companionable silence.