Chapter One

December 1978

It had been quite a while since either of them had been summoned down for dinner, not since Kreacher had barged his way into a fifteen-year-old Sirius' room to find posters of half-naked muggle women magicked to the walls. Sirius had made sure that the house elf would never be able to enter his room again after that – although from the small smirk that had held throughout the following scolding, she suspected that getting caught was part of the plan. What's the point about being defiant if no one knew about it, after all.

Lyra had declined his offer to protect her room as well, not that she really needed it. Unlike him, she didn't feel the need to provoke Kreacher or their parents. She had long since learnt to do as she was told. Her mother, in particular, had a small number of strict rules reserved for her only daughter. Rules that she made sure were obeyed. And Lyra had been living by those rules ever since she could remember, because the consequences of not doing so had been taught young.

Ever since the incident with Sirius's room, he had never emerged at the dining table when company was present . . . It would be another six months till he was banned from dinners altogether. Their parents had taken to sending up his food with Kreacher every night. Lyra, as it turned out, was appointed the same fate by proxy. There had only been one occasion where her presence was requested.

That had almost been a year ago. She'd never told Sirius what they'd said to get her to sit at that table complacently. She'd never told anyone what they'd threatened her with if she didn't comply.

She'd just turned sixteen, far too young an age to think about her life after Hogwarts. According to her parents, however, securing her future demanded their immediate attention. They were looking to form alliances and any alliance her parents wished to make was one Lyra wanted no part of. Nevertheless, she'd sat there, silent with shock and anger, as Orion and Mr Lestrange talked vaguely about their children's potential futures. To his credit, at least Rabastan had had the decency to appear concerned whenever his gaze flickered away from their fathers across the table to where she sat. The word betrothal would never be mentioned, Purebloods believing themselves to be above such archaic traditions. No, every wedding that happened was one of the participants own choosing, after all other options had been discounted, of course.

Since then, the twins had kept to themselves. Neither of them had ever lost any sleep over the fact that they were becoming more distant from their family.

So, when their mother informed them both that they would be joining the rest of them as they entertained the Rosiers it did nothing to put them at ease. The Rosiers were one of the only families that consorted with them outside formal Pureblood gatherings. Sirius and Lyra had long since settled on the fact that their mother, being the social climbing type, clung to any connections she had as if it were a string that would keep her from falling off a cliff. No doubt she would want to make a good impression on her friends. But surely bringing her two eldest children out of exile wouldn't help her.

It was for those reasons that suspicion stretched over the dining table like a great rubber cord pulled taught.

Unfortunately, Madam Rosier prided herself on her ability to start a conversation, no matter how uncomfortable the situation.

'Walburga informs me that you achieved quite commendable results in your OWL examinations, Regulus,' Madam Rosier said, cutting her food into tiny portions and chewing each piece quickly, like a mouse gnawing at rope. Regulus merely nodded once, looking anywhere but down the table where his siblings sat. Madam Rosier gave a tight-lipped smile. 'Your housemates would do well to follow your example.'

Lyra could practically hear Sirius' jaw clench as they slowly ate their own food, knowing exactly what house Madam Rosier was referring to. Regulus seemed to realise too as he lowered his gaze to his plate and held it there almost desperately.

It should have been normal by now for Regulus to be compared to the perfect pureblood. Lyra and Sirius had been hearing it for as long as they could remember. As a baby, Regulus had never cried too long, unlike the twins before him, Regulus never threw tantrums, or wandered off causing mischief. He never made Kreacher sprout wings that wouldn't stop beating, lifting the house elf off the ground every time he tried to take a step – to this day each twin blamed the other for that particular bout of accidental magic.

But, as Lyra had come to realise years ago, what should be rarely ever is.

Regulus, for as much as she knew he wanted to play the part, had never grown comfortable with the role. And right now, Lyra had the distinct impression that he was silently praying to be left out of whatever was brewing.

It seemed that he was out of luck though as Madam Rosier regarded him again.

'They tell me you're quite adept at potions,' she said, smirking slightly. A smirk that was mirrored on the face of her son, who sat silently next to his mother, and who had been mercilessly staring at Lyra ever since she sat down.

Lyra fought not to look up at him, knowing very well what she would find there. Her mother's shrill voice rang through her head. Keep your eyes down, child!

Madam Rosier never looked anywhere else but at Regulus, though her attention certainly seemed to be focused elsewhere. 'You must get your skills in that area from your father.' Her smirk swelled. 'Though no doubt your curiosity on the subject comes from your mother.'

Lyra didn't know why but her chest seemed to tighten. Without lifting her gaze, she could just make out the flash of emotion that briefly passed over Walburga's stern face before she schooled her features back into a look of terse politeness.

'And what about you two?'

Evan Rosier, eyes still wholly trained on Lyra from across the table, sat up straighter at the twins having finally been brought into the conversation. Lyra didn't look up from the table, even as the conversation between the heads of both families, sitting at the far end of the table, tapered somewhat.

'From what they tell me you can't even hold a wand straight.'

Lyra quickly placed a foot over the top of Sirius', warning him not to act, not to speak. This storm that had started, smirks and glares befalling the table like great drops of icy rain, would be weathered, calmly.

Lyra said nothing. Lifting her eyes only enough to shoot a quick narrow-lidded glare across at her mother. Walburga replied with her own fierce, tight-lipped expression. Neither of them gave any indication that they were going to break the silence. A silence that proved too tempting for Madam Rosier to refuse filling.

Smirk growing even wider, she tutted quickly. 'Frankly, I'm surprised you even bothered returning to complete your NEWTs. I heard you almost blew up one of the examiners in your OWLs.' She threw a sidelong glance at Walburga. 'But I suppose side effects were to be expected,' she said, almost sneering.

It was as if the rain had turned to hail, the storm now suddenly deadly. It clouded in Lyra's chest, pressing outward in her lungs. A storm she fought to contained as she placed her knife and fork down, slipping her hands onto her lap, out of sight.

The two men at the end of the table abandoned the pretence of their hushed conversation as the shift in the air hit them. Orion Black's dark grey eyes narrowed, peeking through heavy eyebrows, swivelling between Madam Rosier and his wife. Rosier senior sat stiff in his seat, his expression unreadable as he regarded the twins.

Lyra could feel her heart's attempt to push through the storm. She willed her breaths to remain even and concealed as she felt the eyes of the table trained on her.

She should have known better than to comply with the demand that they be present tonight. What had she been thinking?

'I mean, if it weren't bad enough to have them sorted into a house ripe with corruption, known for its disappointments, then, to watch as they openly consort with mudbloods, blood traitors and half-breeds . . .'

Lyra's teeth ground at the words.

'You would have at least hoped that they had passable magical skill. But to lack even there, coming from such an ancient and proud household. . .' She drifted off, her false sympathy making the air around them sizzle. 'Honestly, Walburga,' Madam Rosier said in a would-be-polite voice, if it weren't for the smirk that still held grip of her mouth and voice, 'if I were you, I'd ask for my money back.'

No one was looking at the twins anymore, not even Evan, who was now blinking down the table at his mother.

Lyra was sure she was crushing Sirius' foot now. She hoped her eyes weren't too wide as she chanced another glanced towards her mother. Walburga had gone pale, a deep crease forming between her eyebrows as she stared openly at Madam Rosier, at the accusation that laced her words.

'At least tell me they came with some sort of insurance.'

'Lysandra.' Rosier Senior's warning rumbled over the table-top, thunder breaking through at last.

Is this what they'd been dragged down here for? For Madam Rosier to indulge in her curiosity, for her to finally uncover the truth to those age-old rumours. Rumours she'd probably doubted to be true in the first place. Until now that is. For Walburga's silence was as much a confession as Madam Rosier seemed to need as she ignored her husband, leant back in her seat, placed her joined hands before her, smiling, a cruel, all-knowing smile.

'You always have been an unfortunate victim when it comes to life's little disasters haven't you, Walburga. But then, you always seem to find a solution. Even if the ends prove more disastrous.' All her amusement fell as she turned back to glare at Lyra. Suspicion and anger raging in her watery blue eyes.

Lyra held steady as she was inspected. Her clenched hands were begging to be put to good use. The storm in her chest had invaded her stomach and was stabbing at her heart and throat. She could feel Sirius's annoyance and rage heating her side, especially as Madam Rosier opened her mouth again.

'Although you've always been relatively lucky as well, I suppose. I doubt we all have to think very hard about why Rabastan Lestrange seems to be so taken.' She quickly shot her son a disapproving look as she noticed that his staring at Lyra had resumed. 'You might be magically inept my dear, but I don't suppose that particular detail factors into Rabastan's thinking, not whilst he is so . . . distracted.'

Lyra's heart shot to her throat as Sirius' mouth opened, his snarling comment almost unleashing itself before Walburga said tersely, loudly, carefully, 'Yes, we're very pleased about the Lestrange's interest. It will surely be a most positive influence for Lyra.'

Madam Rosier snorted, abandoning all pretence of politeness. 'I daresay it will be, after having spent so long surrounded by the likes these two have kept for company. Blood traitors and half-breeds, who ever heard of such a thing.' She leant across the table towards Lyra, her seat creaking as she did so. 'The pups wouldn't know whether to be stupid or ugly . . . As if your blood isn't already tainted enough.'

Like a crack of invisible lightening the room and all its occupants went still, everyone and everything frozen in place save for Sirius – whose surprise almost knocked him from his chair – and Lyra, who's white-knuckled fists had shot open, her breathing shaky from rage.

'Lyra,' Sirius breathed in amazement. Even the shadows from the flickering candles had halted. He looked beside him to find Lyra shaking.

'I just . . . I just needed her to stop talking.' She just needed the thunder to stop, to find some protection from the hail that had been pounding into her. She just needed silence. She couldn't sit there anymore, listening to this awful woman say such things about her, about Sirius, about Remus . . . She just –

'Lyra!'

The warning in Sirius' voice made Lyra finally look up from the table, right to the face of Evan Rosier.

The storm turned into a blizzard.

The skin around Evan's eyes was red, blistering . . . melting. His face, still frozen in a leering stare, was coming undone, being unmade.

'Lyra!'

Lyra was jostled to where Sirius was now looking . . . at Madam Rosier . . . who's sneer was drooping, her face sagging as the skin around her mouth started to sizzle, dissolve.

Reigning in her horror, she closed her eyes, willing the storm to calm, she willed the thunder to soften and pulled in the lightning's glow.

She didn't know how long it took, how long she sat there, fingers outstretched, eyes closed, the pressure of Sirius' foot now on hers. It seemed like an age, or an hour, or a minute, had passed before she slowly opened her eyes again, risking a quick inspection of the room.

The room danced with flickering candle light, in the distance, Kreacher could be heard moving about the house. Everyone around the dining table, apart from Lyra and Sirius, looked dazed, they're unblemished faces pinched ever-so-slightly as they took inventory of the table. Lyra imagined that they were each wondering whether anyone else's skin had become momentarily hot and itchy.

Normally, Lyra had no patience for her father's heavy voice, but she had never been so grateful to hear it as he cleared his throat a moment later calling for Kreacher to clear the table.

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'Enough with your excuses! Despite your most ardent beliefs, I am not oblivious to everything that goes on within my own house!'

Sirius knew it was dangerous. There were a great many things he could do within this house that could put him in danger, but listening to his parents engage in what could only be described as an intense argument (his parents – along with all other polite pureblood families – never argued, as Sirius had been reminded on multiple occasions throughout his childhood), was decidedly more reckless than usual, even for him.

He'd intended to go straight to his room after that monstrosity of a dinner was over.

As soon as the Rosier's had left the house, ushered out the front door by their parents, Sirius and Lyra had been dismissed with matching scowls from their parents.

Lyra had turned on her heel and retreated up the stairs without a backwards look, her door slamming shut seconds later. Sirius knew how upset she was, it was most likely overwhelming her. She never handled rage well.

He'd been halfway to the first landing when he saw them leave the foyer in the direction of the study. Normally he would have dismissed it. But he didn't think he'd ever seen his father's face redder, and he'd seen it fiery plenty throughout the years. He lingered on the stairs, ignoring the glare Regulus shot him on his way passed, before descending and following after them.

They'd already closed the study door by the time he'd caught up. Instead of giving up however, something he would never do (he was a Marauder after all!) he stood as close to the door as he could, listening intently.

'Orion, I have no possible idea what runs through the minds of everyone who comes into this house.' Walburga's biting voice was rising with every word. 'Our eldest son should be proof enough of that!'

Sirius gritted his teeth at this slight. There were more important things to focus on than the well-known hatred his parents had for him.

'It is not our eldest son that I was referring to . . . neither was Rosier.' Where Walburga's voice rose, Orion's voice drew lower, like a bucket into the well of his formidable fury. 'Why is it that I always get the impression that everyone knows much more about my own blood than I?'

Sirius heard Walburga scoff. 'You've never taken an active interest in her before. Why now?'

Up till this moment Sirius had been merely curious, now his curiosity mixed with worry, water and oil starting to swirl in his chest.

'I am interested in what interest's others.' There was a pregnant pause, Sirius wasn't sure if anyone on the other side of the door was breathing – he wasn't sure he was breathing. 'What interests you about her, Walburga?'

'Other than the fact that she's my daughter, my first born?' Sirius was sure that Walburga had meant the question to be just as biting as her previous comments, but he could hear her waiver, even if it was the smallest possible amount.

'You really think I am a simpleton, don't you?' Orion asked, voice full of venom. 'I have heard the rumours. Ever since they were born, I have heard them! I chose to ignore them because I reassured myself that my wife could never be that foolish. She knows better than that, I told myself. She would never associate with the people required to be able to carry out what they've said you did. You would not taint our bloodline, a bloodline that has remained pure and strong for so many centuries, to such an irrevocable level.'

It took all Sirius' strength not to jump at the sudden noise of a chair leg being dragged across the wooden floorboards of his father's study. He took a half step closer to the door so that his cheek was almost pressed flush against it.

'Perhaps I have been wrong.' Orion's voice was almost at a whisper now. 'You've always been an ambitious woman, Walburga. At times so focussed on your goal that it flirts with the point of brutality. It's something I've always admired about you. But,' a short yelp was suddenly stifled and Sirius' hand instinctively flew to the door handle, 'if I have discovered that you have used this to turn this family into a magnet for ridicule and scandal, if that girl should be anything other than a disappointment, just like her brother, then …'

'Master Black should not be spying.'

Sirius whirled around so fast he was momentarily dizzy. Kreacher stood not two meters from him, his wide eyes glowering up at him, a malicious grin growing quickly.

Sirius moved toward him, 'Kreacher, wait . . .'

But he was too slow. Kreacher popped out of sight before Sirius had the chance to take another step and the next second his scratchy voice was coming from the other side of the study door.

Sirius didn't have time to turn and run before the door opened. Orion Black, in all his towering, twisted rage, glared murder upon his eldest son.


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Till next week!