October 2008
Wizarding London, England
Knockturn and Diagon Alleys
Saturday

It was the weekend and Lyra was mulling around an overpriced, gilded market in Knockturn Alley. Harry had invited her over for Sunday dinner to meet his family and she was shopping for a suitable offering for the table. She browsed around their alcove of brandies, looking for something universally palatable when she overheard a conversation from an adjoining section of the store.

"Narcissa, you're overreacting. Can't we talk about this when we get home?" Said in a stiff, dry voice.

"Don't be absurd. I can't remember the last time he went this long without answering one of my owls. It's been 3 weeks. Even worse, Astoria's contacted the Ministry about him missing time with Scorpius." Replied a soft, feminine voice.

"Well, she always did seem to share your penchant for hysteria. How do you know any of this anyway? She's not spoken to you, has she?"

"No," replied the woman sadly. "I heard it from Iris Aldridge at tea yesterday. Her husband heads some or other department of solicitors at the ministry that oversees custody arrangements."

"Well I imagine she can't spare the time, what with being newly remarried and orchestrating ever elaborate schemes to keep her son away from his rightful grandparents." He replied coldly before continuing, "Draco...he's probably in Lisbon, or wherever it is he goes to squander his inheritance when he feels like dodging his responsibilities."

"Lucius please. Why can't we approach anyone at the ministry. I know you dismissed that inquiry from the other day. If he's hurt or worse, you'd be devastated."

"No, sweetheart, you'd be devastated and that would make me very ill indeed. I would undoubtedly be spared trouble and save a great deal of money." The man sighed long. "I know you're concerned. I will make efforts to ease your mind. You have my word."

"That makes me feel better. Thank you." She said warmly.

Jackpot. Lyra thought to herself. Let me get that bastard in my line of sight real quick and we are in business. If it gives me nothing, Harry never even has to know. She took several deep breaths to prepare herself. Wandless legilimency was hard. Like 'splitting headache for the rest of the day after doing it for 10 seconds' hard. It required a lot of discipline and the user had to manage simultaneous filtering of chaotic mental patterns with preventing detection on the part of the subject. All without the assistance of a magical conduit. Most people couldn't do it, even those who were comparatively good at it with a wand in hand. She grabbed an extra bottle of expensive brandy off the shelf in front of her (for her impending headache), spun on her heel and went to cross paths with the devil himself.

The gods must have smiled upon her because she excited her little alcove in the market as Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were entering it. Lyra steeled herself and reached out to penetrate his mind…

...see if I can forge a response from him to calm her down. Need arctic moss for the blinding cast for Thursday. This is absurd. Not Astoria. He's hunting someone, it's certain. Need to find her. Taking too long. He should have struck by now. Maybe torture and destroy was a bit much. Simple kill would have done it. This is becoming inconvenient. Am I out of brandy in my study? Ah, the Bourbonnais...

She came back to herself and had to expend a considerable amount of energy to keep her jaw from hanging open. Not only was Lucius involved in the disappearance of his son, but this sounded like some dark stuff. She was sure of it. Arctic moss? What the hell? She flashed a placid, generic smile as she passed them, nearly brushing shoulders with Narcissa Malfoy. Lyra had never met her, but remembered she'd featured prominently in Draco's thoughts when they were younger and that he loved her fiercely. She ducked her head and hastened to the front of the store.

She made quick time buying her things and hurried back to the Leaky Cauldron. Her head was pounding from her efforts and swimming with the information she'd learned. She ordered a bowl of hearty stew from the bar downstairs and sequestered herself in her room for the evening to think, nurse her headache with stiff brandy and hopefully sleep for an inappropriate amount of time. Settling in with stew and drink, she mulled over what she'd heard...

It reads like he's compelling someone to hurt Draco or compelling Draco to hurt someone else. Maybe both. Harry may have been right about Draco being a danger to himself. How is this happening? Imperius curse? Not likely. If the Ministry is anything like MCUSA, wizards that serve prison sentences for using the Unforgiveables have an irreversible trace cast on them that alerts the Aurors if they employ one after their release. I feel like if this was Imperius, we would know. So...addressing the elephant in the room, there is a definite, greater than zero percent chance that Draco is somehow being compelled to hunt and destroy someone while I am simultaneously being stalked by someone who knows a little too much about me for comfort. Shit. Shit shit shit...

Abandoning her stew, she rubbed her hand across her aching forehead. I need more information. I can't just throw myself in front of Lucius Malfoy every day for 30 seconds hoping to find what I need before my brain explodes. I need to hear him with his guard down. She mulled over the last thing she and Harry had discussed on Friday afternoon. 'How do you eavesdrop on a stuffy old aristocrat in a giant manor protected by centuries of protective spells and dark magic?' Severus would know, she thought. What would he do? She missed her birth father in that moment and wanted so badly to talk to him. Severus Snape was not known for his fuzzy paternalism, but he was a hell of a spy and she needed a spy right about now.

Wait a minute...Lyra pulled out her cell phone and keyed in the country code to call Patrick. He picked up and began without preamble…

"Lyra. It's both Saturday and you are out of the country. Go shear a sheep or...play Quadditch or whatever."

"It's Quidditch, Pat, and it's a huge deal in Europe."

"Fascinating. What do you want?" He inquired.

"Hey, so you know Carlos and Erik, the no-maj investigator dudes?"

"Well, they work for me, so yes." He replied.

"Right, well they're operatives yeah? Like no-maj spies?"

"I mean...kind of?"

"I need their help. And yours."

"Talk." He said, intrigued.

"Remember when they checked my house for bugs?" She began.

"For what?"

"The little no-maj spying machines. I need something not detectable by magic that I can hide in a room and use as an extra set of ears."

"Oh yeah, those."

"I need in between 5 and 50...I actually have no idea what an appropriate number is for bugs." Lyra admitted.

"Obviously."

"Hey! Neither do you!"

"Ok, well, let's do this. We're doing a club raid tonight and they'll be there. I'll see if they can pull some together with dummy-proof instructions for you and we can have them couriered your way. Sound good?"

"Jabs at my intelligence aside, you're the best Patrick in the history of Patricks." She beamed warmly.

He snorted. "Are you being safe out there? I can't help but worry that you are running towards, rather than away from a crappy situation."

"I'm fine. I've got the great Harry Potter on my 6 and he's notoriously hard to kill. I'm hoping a little of that rubs off on me."

"Yeah, me too, kid."

"Thanks, Pat. I appreciate your help."

"No problem. You take care."

"I will. You too."

Lyra set the phone down and huffed in exhaustion. She considered the progress she'd made today and deemed it not bad for an idle Saturday. She had new information, the beginning of a surveillance plan and a hell of a headache to boot. Glancing at her phone, she saw it was only 8pm. Oh come on, she thought. I could be doing a lot worse things than going to bed. She got up, performed her bedtime rituals (with bonus headache potion) and fell easily into sleep.

She dreamed her memories that night. Vivid and unedited. Even during her sleep she noted that she scarcely remembered a time she'd had such lucid dreams. They were all of him, because of course they were. When they met. His initial snobbishness. His shiny hair and Slytherin green robes leading her to nickname him Frog. His return taunt, calling her Puk after the Pukwudgie that was the name of her house at Ilvermorny. The first time she learned a secret from his mind. He was afraid of a cruel father who mistreated him and bullied his mother.

She recalled the eventful session when they were 14 where he learned from her own mind that she was Severus's daughter. How she ran sobbing from the room, afraid he would use that information to shame her or Severus. How he ran after her and swore on his own life that he would never. How he pinned her to the wall then and kissed her soundly for the first time when she'd asked why he would keep her secret. Her 16th birthday in the club in Chelsea. How they'd retired to an upscale hotel room after dancing and she let him take from her mind images of what she wanted from him. How she wanted him to touch her. How she wanted him to take her...

She was enjoying a palpable memory of his pale hands running up her sun-kissed thighs as he hovered above her when she woke abruptly with a gasp. She shifted and registered a not unpleasant feeling of warmth coiling in her lower belly and groaned in frustrated disappointment. It was shaping up to be a good dream...well, memory actually.

She stared up at the ceiling, allowing her breathing to regulate. Glancing out the window she saw the light of very early morning streaming gently through the thin curtains, indicating 5 or maybe 6 o'clock. Ugh, too soon, she protested. She flipped over in defiance, burying her face in her pillow and flinging her hands and legs out to the side in possessive ownership of the bed. Her right hand, as it sprawled, landed on a piece of paper on the unused pillow next to her. She lifted her head in confusion, gripping the paper in her hand. It was a single sheet of white paper, not parchment, folded in half. She sat up, shoving her back against the headboard of her bed for support and unfolded the paper.

She stared down at it for an unknown number of minutes. The world around her melted away until nothing was left in existence but her body, the letter and a haze of fear and anger competing for dominance inside her head.

It was her. A sketch of her face and shoulders, peaceful in sleep. The thin straps of the nightgown she was presently wearing rendered artfully in graphene. There was an inscription in the lower corner of the drawing that read:

My beloved Lyra,
I hope you had pleasant dreams.
You're so beautiful in your sleep.
I will see you again very soon.
No more secrets,
DM

"Shit." She said aloud to the empty room, slumping back into the headboard of her bed.