Lyra struggled to contain a hard sigh, "I fail to see how my research has anything to do with Sirius' escape."
Robards' expression was unreadable, "Please answer the question."
Beside her, Aberforth gave a slight nod.
"Fine. I work in the Department of Artificing, under Auror Jones. I was, until recently, spearheading a project on extending the length of time travel possible from a standard time turner."
"And what exactly does that entail?"
"Runic transcription, research into historical precedent, and highly regulated trial and error. Our latest theory involved time preservation as a concurrent carrier with runic reversal."
Dawlish made a note on a piece of parchment. Lyra turned to him.
"All our records are available if you file a Research Request with the Division of Recordkeeping. You only need to make sure you have the proper clearance."
The man colored slightly, but Robards jumped in before he could respond, "Any other projects?"
Abe shook his head a fraction of an inch.
"As I said, if you file a research request -"
"With the Division of Recordkeeping, yes, for official projects. What about unofficial ones?"
Lyra raised an eyebrow, "I've been suspended from my job for the last six months, how would I know anything about unofficial projects? Before that, if you file a research request you'll find the full detailed notes on our progress for the time preservation project indicate Croaker and I worked long hours with little time for -"
Robards cut her off by pulling out a piece of parchment. He slid it across the table to her, "What is this?"
Abe leaned forward to read over her shoulder.
Memory-linked time travel: Physical manifestations of memories as a conduit, a theoretical to practical application, by Lyra Black
"A proposal for a project that I was unable to start due to being suspended for the last six months."
Robards slid another document across to her, "And this?"
It was a copy of a log, the log for time turners. One entry was highlighted.
Date: 31 July 1993
Name: Lyra Black
Qty: 1
S/N: 06878K
Lyra looked up, "That looks like the time turner log for keeping track of who has one checked out. I asked Unspeakable Jones if I could check one out before I left, as is my privilege as an Unspeakable."
"And why would you need one if you weren't working?"
Lyra tilted her head slightly, "I do believe, Auror Robards, that is the definition of a privilege: being able to do something you don't need."
Robards colored slightly, and for the first time started to look unsure of himself.
"Yes, well," he said, "Still, I can't imagine you'd need one if you were working as a professor."
"Luckily my privilege to use one does not rely on the scope of your imagination."
Beside her, Lyra felt more than heard Abe stifle a laugh. More color flushed Robards' face.
"Be that as it may," he said stiffly, "As you have pointed out, it is a privilege of being an Unspeakable, and as you are currently on suspension, that privilege can be revoked."
"Indeed," Lyra said, "However it cannot be revoked by you, it can only come down from Unspeakable Jones, my superior."
The door to the office swung open. A squat woman, in a garish pink jacket and skirt trotted into the room.
"Oh dear," she said, her voice surprisingly high pitched, "It seems I'm late."
Robards and Dawlish stood to attention. Abe's first clenched, jostling Lyra's robes.
"Madam Umbridge," Robards said, "Not at all, I was just explaining to Ms. Black that her privilege of possessing a Time-Turner can be revoked."
Abe spoke for the first time, "As my client was explaining to you, that privilege can only be revoked by order from her direct superior, who I don't see present at this meeting."
Umbridge laughed, and it was a grating, child-like laugh.
"Oh, it seems we have a misunderstanding, then. You see, Section 13, paragraph 11 of Ministry Employee Handbook states -"
"'Privileges herein given are revocable under the following circumstances: The final termination of employment, or the direct order of a direct superior', page 43, midway down," Abe said, "Don't quote the handbook at me, I helped write the damn thing."
Lyra did not like the smile Umbridge gave.
"I'm afraid you'll find the Handbook has since been updated since your employment, Aberforth Dumbledore, and Section 13, paragraph 11, page 43 now states, 'Privileges herun given are revocable under the following circumstances: the final termination of employment, the direct order of a superior, or the direct order of the Minister of Magic',"
She dropped a stack of papers onto the desk, "Cornelius just signed the update this morning, along with this," she handed Abe a pink memo slip.
Lyra grabbed the stack of papers, the employee handbook, and flipped to page 43, confirming what the pink woman was saying, then flipped to the back, where a host of signatures proved that proper channels had been followed. She looked at Abe.
"It's legitimate," she said.
He looked up at her, and silently passed over the memo.
By direct order of the Minister of Magic, the Unspeakable privileges are hereby revoked from Unspeakable Lyra Black. It was signed, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic.
Anger rushed through Lyra, a cold stillness. She looked up at Umbridge and the two Aurors.
"Well, it seems that is in order then. I'll return the Turner to Unspeakable Jones," she stood, surprising everyone, and Abe rushed to stand beside her, "If that is all, I would like to return to my job, unless that privilege is also revoked?"
"I'll be checking with Jones to ensure the Time Turner is returned by the end of the week," Robards said.
Lyra nodded stiffly, and left the office, Abe close on her heels.
She managed to make it back to the Hog's Head before she exploded.
"How dare she. How dare she," Lyra paced angrily around the empty pub.
"I'll file a complaint," Abe said, "there was no reason given, that can't be right."
"It seems we have a misunderstanding my arse, that was a deliberate set up. They never intended to question me about Sirius, this never has been about Sirius."
"There's a precedent somewhere that ruled a reason has to be given in order to revoke privileges."
"This is a power play to remove the Black family off the map, I can feel it. As if - I should have called the Wizengamot back in August, I should have -"
"I'll need a few weeks, but I think -"
They turned to each other, trailing off. Lyra breathed heavily for her pacing.
"You didn't hear any of that," she said at the same time he said, "You weren't paying attention."
Lyra chuckled darkly, and sank onto a barstool, "Merlin, I want a drink."
Abe waved his wand, summoning a pair of glasses, "Say no more," he said.
Two days later, Lyra was once again hunched over the Firebolt with Madam Hooch and Flitwick.
"Honestly, if we haven't found anything at this point, I don't think we will," Lyra said, poking the broom tiredly.
"But what about -" Hooch began.
To Lyra's surprise, Flitwick spoke up.
"Rolanda, I have to agree with Lyra on this. We've done Hurling Hexes, Braking-jinxes, flipping-bewitchments. We've looked for time-released spells, distance spells, height spells. Cushioning curses. All this, multiple times over."
"I know, what about -"
"If you'd rather keep this one for yourself, you're welcome to buy Potter a different broom," Lyra said.
Hooch reddened, "Oh very well. We can give the boy back his broom."
"Thank you. I'll inform Minerva," Flitwick said, and hurried to leave.
"Oh! Wait, we didn't -" started Hooch.
"No." Flitwick and Lyra said together.
Lyra spent the rest of the week catching up with her mountain of grading, and stewing about Umbridge. She'd sent Jones back the time turner, carefully wrapping it in a wooden box.
"Oh they'll trust the thirteen year old with one, but not the trained Unspeakable," she muttered to herself, as she tied the package to an owl and sent it off.
On Saturday, with most of the school down at the quidditch pitch, Lyra absconded to Dumbledore's office, and spent most of the match staring at the sword.
Runes glinted faintly in the afternoon sunlight, carved into the blade with a deft hand. Lyra leaned close to one, barely able to make out the rune for sharpness, and underneath it, unbreaking.
"Fitting, that the legendary broken sword would be repaired with a rune for unbreaking," she said aloud.
She longed to flip the sword over, look at the other side to see if the runes matched. She was contemplating trying it, when a different rune caught her eye.
It looked similar to the preservation rune, one that would keep something from rotting or aging. It was usually inked onto scrolls and books to preserve them, and had been found on some ancient texts.
This rune looked different than what she had seen. Frowning, she copied it into a notebook. As she finished, she realized the rune had been carved over top of another - this one similar to the sharpness rune, but again, slightly different. It had been stretched vertically, and an additional line crossed one tail like a serif. Lyra pulled out her new copy of The Spellman's Syllabary and leafed through it. Nothing under Preservation, Alternates or Sharpness, Alternates. Nothing under Drawing Your Own Runes. Babbling might know, she supposed, and made a note to ask her about it later.
As it turned out, Lyra didn't get a chance to ask Babbling about the rune that night. The Gryffindor win at the Quidditch match left the entire castle in such high spirits that dinner was a light, informal affair. Most of the Gryffindor table was empty due to the rowdy party almost certainly being thrown in their common room, and the other house tables were spotty in attendance as well. Charity caught Lyra's sleeve as she sat down, and immediately launched into a play-by-play of the match.
"And then these dementors appeared -"
"Dementors? Again?" Lyra asked, alarmed.
"No, wait for it, they appeared, and Potter shoots a patronus at them - not fully corporeal, but impressive for a thirteen year old - and the dementors trip over themselves. Turns out they aren't dementors at all, but a couple Slytherin's attempting to sabotage the match," Charity was speaking quickly, gesturing wildly.
"Sabotaging the match by dressing as dementors? Are they insane?" Lyra moved her goblet just before it got knocked over.
"It was that Malfoy boy's idea, apparently, Minerva looked absolutely furious."
"I'll say; I don't envy writing that letter to Lucius Malfoy."
"Anyways, Potter trips up the false dementors, and grabs the snitch, boom - Gryffindor wins," Charity grinned, "You should've been there; where were you, anyways?"
Lyra sighed, "Staring at a sword I can't touch. Speaking of, have you seen Bathsheda tonight yet?"
Charity looked around, shaking her head, "Nope, she wasn't at the match either, but that's nothing new for her. Her husband lives in London, so it's likely she's there this weekend."
"I didn't know she was married."
"She doesn't like it spread around much, so don't go telling any students. Any breakthroughs on the sword?"
Lyra shook her head, "Not sure, that's why I wanted to talk to Bathsheda. I found some strange runes, but I can't tell if they're just poorly drawn or actual alternates."
"You'll figure it out, I know you will," Charity said, and then laughed as a particularly moody looking Snape slunk into the Great Hall, "How many times do you think Minerva will have to shut down the Gryffindor party tonight?"
"Oh at least twice," Lyra said, "Especially if the Weasley twins are involved."
"Want to bet?" Charity said, "If Minerva shuts down the party twice or more, you win, and I'll buy your drinks next Hogsmeade. If it's less than that, you'll take my night patrols next week."
Lyra raised an eyebrow, "Hardly equivalent," she said.
"I really hate night patrols, and you like expensive drinks."
"Fine," Lyra said, "Deal."