October 2008
Wizarding London, England
Ministry of Magic of Great Britain
Tuesday, Continued
Lyra spent several hours prepping Mrs. Malfoy for her task. As it turned out, she was a remarkable quick study and seemed to be genuinely excited to spy on her own husband. Gold was absolutely smitten with her and said that she was welcome any time and would make a hell of an Auror. Mrs. Mallfoy didn't respond to the praise, but Lyra could swear she saw a faint blush under the woman's lovely and painstakingly applied makeup.
Lyra had discussed with the team about transporting the receiver for the little objects back to Harry's home so that she could screen the output for important information herself. It was a small, inoffensive thing and Lyra had no problem schlepping it back and forth on a daily basis. Simpkins would have the daunting task of reviewing the archived audio for anything that Lyra missed or if, you know, she wanted to sleep at some point like a normal person.
As Lyra was packing up the bugs in to their black box, she and Draco's mother discussed some ideas for maximizing the potential of the tiny machines. Well, there's a sureal turn of events, Lyra thought to herself.
"Do you think it would be wise to charm them to isolate human voices? I wonder also if you could spell them in a temporal sense to increase their range..." Narcissa inquired.
Lyra widened her eyes in surprise. If she had to guess a person in all the world to pose ideas that could possibly spur a revolution of magic-muggle espionage technology, it would not be Mrs. Malfoy. Nevertheless, her suggestions were good, and potentially ground breaking.
"I think in this case, out of respect for the unknown wards in your home, we should avoid altering them, but your ideas are awesome, actually. I'd never even considered that." Lyra responded sincerely.
"Well, that'll be the Ravenclaw in me." The blonde woman quipped, with a shake of her head.
"What do you mean?" Lyra asked.
"I was a Slytherin, naturally, but during my sorting ceremony when I was a girl at Hogwarts, we...we have this hat that assigns the students to their houses. I think it uses a form of object legilimency to read the person who wears it, but the hat told me that I would have made an excellent Ravenclaw. I remember being 11 years old, nervous as a housemouse, silently begging the old thing to make me a Slytherin like my parents, which it did."
"Ah. I see. We have something similar at Ilvermorny. Each student stands in the center of a room cornered by four statues. A statue will animate and claim the student it wants. Sometimes, more than one statue will claim a student and then the student has to choose." Lyra explained.
"And which statue claimed you?"
"All of them."
"Is that typical?"
"Um..no, it's not." Lyra said, a little embarrassed. Not only was being claimed by all four houses a rarity, but it made her a bit of a celebrity for a time and put a lot of unwanted pressure and attention on her. One reason, aside from Draco, that she hadn't totally loathed her visits to Hogwarts was that she was a nobody there and no one expected her to be amazing at everything she did. Best of all, when it came to Severus's evaluation of her performance, everything was always either very bad or just bad. His consistency had been quite reassuring to her as a child.
"So, which house did you choose?" Mrs. Malfoy inquired.
"Pukwudgie. The house represents the heart of a wizard, and it tends to pump out healers and starry-eyed poets."
"Can I ask why you picked it?" the woman pressed.
"For my mother, Marla. She was a Pukwudgie in her day and she's the best person I know." Lyra shrugged.
Narcissa regarded Lyra thoughtfully for a moment. Lyra could almost swear she saw a flash of affection cross her features, but it was gone before she had the chance to confirm it.
"What on Earth is a Pukwudgie?" Narcissa inquired, puzzled.
Lyra laughed. "Well...it's kind of like a goblin. My school was crawling with them. They did security and a lot of the maintenance work. I love them." She hesitated before continuing "Draco he...he used to call me Puk to tease me when we were kids. I remember when I was 14 I bought him this ridiculous little statue of a Pukwudgie in a tuxedo for Christmas. He got me the most beautiful earrings. You should have seen his face. It was hilarious."
Narcissa squinted her eyes for a moment before exclaiming. "So that's what that thing is! It is absolutely atrocious. He put it on his bookshelf in his bedroom and forbade me throwing it away. It's still there, actually." She explained before continuing. "As the offender of all good taste I insist you come and remove it at once. I may even permit you to stay for dinner."
Lyra paused her work to look up at the woman across from her, shocked. She swallowed hard before speaking. "I would like that, but I think we should wait and make Draco do it." She smiled tentatively at her, hoping she hadn't gone too far.
Quite the contrary. Narcissa gave a small chuckle, which would be practically a full belly laugh for anyone not so well controlled. "I think that would be fine," she replied before changing the subject.
"So, your father is a Black. Who are your mother's people?"
"All people are my mother's people," Lyra countered, mostly because she knew that would be her mother's response to such a question. "But she is a Calderon by birth."
"I know the name. It's an old family...for America." Narcissa replied, adding the last bit in haste.
"I suppose. My mother's arm of the family is quite small. I only have one aunt on her side and 1 cousin. My grandparents are still alive and live in Queens. They're wonderful people. My grandmother, Bedelia was the originator behind the torsius episkey spell for advanced healing of spiral bone fractures. She's kind of a legend. My grandmother, aunt and mother are all mediwitches. They tried their best with me, but I was always better at a hex than a heal...what can I say?"
Narcissa gave a small smile.
"Ok. I think we are all set." Lyra said, handing a small box wrapped in thick artisan wrapping and a ribbon, over to Draco's mother. It was Narcissa's idea to disguise the box as a present. She was forever buying trinkets and bits for friends and acquaintances and felt confident that it would arise far less suspicion this way than as a black tactical box with metal handles.
"Remember, the best spots are places he thinks he can speak in confidence, even just to himself. The study. The library. The east wing like you mentioned."
"Yes yes. I know." The older woman dismissed.
"Please be careful. Draco would never forgive me if you ran in to trouble while you were spying for us. I would never forgive me." Lyra said seriously.
Narcissa, in a stunning display of emotion, reached a thin, pale hand out to Lyra and tucked a wayward strand of her long black hair back behind her ear. "Not to worry, dear. I've been getting the better of that man since before you were born." She said with a wink before turning on her designer heels and exiting the room like a queen.
Lyra stood, rooted to the spot for a moment. She had to admit, she admired the hell out of Narcissa Malfoy. Sure, she was an uppity aristocrat. But she was brave, smart and would do anything to protect a loved one. That being said...if you weren't a loved one, or worse, if she hated you...then god help you. Draco was a lot like her. It made sense to her now why their bond was so strong.
Harry entered the small equipment room at that moment and broke her from her reverie. "You really think this is a good idea, Black?"
"Oh hell, no. But I think even if this gives us nothing, if Lucius Malfoy isn't the talk out loud type, we at least know that his wife isn't involved and that she's on our side here." Lyra retorted.
"You have a point."
"Well thank you ever so kindly, Lord Potter." Lyra quipped.
"Ugh. You know, the more I get to know you, it's like I can almost hear Malfoy's pratty little voice coming out of your mouth. It's awful," Harry bit out at her.
"You're awful!"
"Your face is awful!"
"Bullshit," Lyra baited.
"Yeah...so what?!"
"So...when you talk, Harry, does it make sense to you? That is all I'm asking."
"Sod off."
"You are so disgustingly British sometimes that it causes me physical pain."
"Shut it."
"Good talk, Potter. Let's go home so Ginny and I can berate you in tag-team."
"Fine." Harry said roughly, but Lyra could see his smirk.
They had almost made it to the floos in the atrium when Colin, Harry's...minion(?), Lyra wasn't entirely sure of his function, caught up with them. "Miss Black, wait!" he called to her, breathless. He approached her and passed her a small blue box. "This just came for you. I don't know if it's from your Ministry, or whatever you call it. But it's addressed to you."
Lyra looked down at it with her brow furrowed. "Thanks, Colin. I appreciate it."
The young blonde wizard murmured a response she didn't hear and excused himself back to the office. Lyra felt the all too familiar snakes of rage and fear begin to coil low in her belly as she regarded the unoffensive little box in her hand. She drew a deep breath and looked up at her friend. "Well...I mean it can't be a bomb, right? Too small. Poison beetle? Probably not, Draco hates bugs."
Harry looked at her sadly. "Give it to me."
"Not a chance. Ginny will kill me if you take a hex to the face while opening a murder box intended for me." Lyra responded.
Harry grabbed the box from her hands and ran down the long corridor of black granite and fireplaces. Lyra pursued him, but she was no match for him in her heels. "YOU GET BACK HERE! DONT YOU DO IT HARRY POTTER! I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE!" she shouted after him in vain.
Lyra saw Harry, a ways ahead, flip open the little box and peer inside. Lyra paused. He drew his wand, pointed it at the object inside and started muttering incantations, a thin white mist emitting from the tip of his wand, swirling around the box. Diagnostic spells, Lyra thought. Checking to see if whatever it was had been hexed or cursed.
"It's clean, Lyra, relax." Harry said with an almost confused tone.
Lyra approached him warily. "Give it to me," she said, holding out her hand.
Harry passed the box over to her and Lyra saw what it contained. Her stomach lurched and she thought she was going to be sick. Harry grabbed her arm firmly to steady her, a look of concern on his face. "What is it? Does it mean something to you?"
Lyra took a few moments to right herself and calm her breathing before she explained. "Yeah, yeah it does. That is fucking gross."
"Well what the devil is it?"
"It the Quatrefoil. The Malfoy Quatrefoil."
"What does that mean?"
"It's one of their sigils, typically for women. For the...for their wives. Did you see Mrs. Malfoy's ring?" Lyra said, starting to feel sick again.
"Ok...so what. So he's like claiming you or something?"
"I...I don't know. Christ. What is he doing?" Lyra said, shaking her head.
"Hey," he squeezed her arm to get him to look up at her. "Little perspective here, Auror. It wasn't a faceful o' hex or a pod of horned scorpions. Could be worse, eh?"
Lyra deflated, pinning him with an annoyed gaze. "It's just terrible and intimate and insane and I hate it...so that's all." She said with a sarcastic shrug.
"We'll get him. We'll fix this," Harry said in reassurance. "You know, it's kind of pretty, actually."
"It is. And it should be around the neck of some vapid pureblood floozy, not in my hands," Lyra said taking one last angry look at the curling white gold clover set with flawless rock emeralds and diamonds hanging from a delicate chain. She shut the box with a hard snap and looked back to Harry.
"Let's get coffee on the way home. We're staying up late to listen for when that crazy old bastard spills his crazy old guts and then we are ending this shit."
"Oh good. For a minute there, I thought we were going to overreact." Harry deadpanned.
"Excellent idea. You buy," She replied reaching for a handful of floo powder.
Author's note - As always, I own nothing. This world, and my soul belong to JK Rowling. A lot of the Ilvermorny backstory from this is straight from Pottermore. It's a cool read, if you're in to that sort of thing. I also changed the thumbnail for this story to a picture of the quatrefoil I used when writing this chapter. Why a quatrefoil? Mainly because it's a French word, like Malfoy. Simple as that. Pure genius, I know. I figure that, during their time as friends, and given Draco's views on blood status as a child, their friendship would have included some lessons about the 'glorious' history of his family. In my mind, that is why Lyra knows the significance of the quatrefoil. Thanks for reading! -MM
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