Draco tapped his pen against the desk. Lightly, as to not disturb it.

It was a surprisingly thoughtful gift from his sister. Stark and Lyra both used pens for the most part, switching out for quills only in rune study or during examinations, where the transfer of magic between wizard and parchment was most heightened with an organic item.

Usually the teachers would allow only quills for this reason, to ensure a student's writing was their own. But Lyra and Stark were generally advanced enough in their studies that there'd be no one for them to even cheat off.

Lyra had decided to get Draco his own for his thirteenth birthday. It was a gold-nib fountain pen that she'd apparently imported from Japan, which seemed a strange choice, but he didn't question it given how fine the implement was. On top of that she had enchanted it with a variety of comfort charms, which was nice of her, considering half the reason Hogwarts still used quills was because they were far easier to enchant for the younger students.

"And if you switch to this tip," Lyra had said, holding up a sharper, finer nib of stainless steel, "you can stab people with it."

Draco shook his head.

He wondered what she was up to now. He didn't see her that often despite attending the same school, with her being in Ravenclaw and two years above him. It was hard to find her alone, too, since she was a rather social person.

Draco stood up and stretched. Crabbe and Goyle were in detention, because of course they were.

"Going somewhere?" Pansy asked, as Greengrass and Davis glanced up at him.

"I'm going to find my sister," said Draco, before nudging his essay in front of her. "There. I'm done with that. Don't copy it verbatim."

"I'm not an idiot," said Pansy, rolling her eyes. "Go find your shrew of a sister."

"Don't call her that," said Draco, though his effort was halfhearted. Lyra and Pansy's last meeting had ended with Pansy trying to strangle Lyra, who had magically glued Pansy to the ceiling and laughed at her. Greengrass watched him as he left, her stare as unnerving as ever.

Half an hour later, as he neared the entrance to the Ravenclaw Tower after failing to find Lyra anywhere, Draco was almost knocked over by a Ravenclaw with broad shoulders. Draco scowled at his back as he stormed off. He was familiar — probably on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. The portrait swung open almost in his face, revealing an older girl that Draco recognized as one of his sister's friends.

"Oh — hey, is my sister in?" Draco asked, and the girl turned around. He noted with some awkwardness the red rims of her eyes.

The girl brightened quickly. "Oh! You're Lyra's brother, aren't you? She talks about you a lot. She's not in, actually. Have you tried the library already?"

Draco nodded.

"Then there's... I guess the mystery room that she and James love to go on about. But I think James is using that, so she'd be somewhere else… Actually, let's just ask James instead."

Draco hid a grimace at the thought of asking the mudblood anything, but the girl — Larissa, if he remembered right — was dragging him along by the wrist already.

After an awkward walk to the fifth-floor corridor, involving an increasingly one-sided conversation about breakups and annoying ex-boyfriends, Larissa finally released his wrist and slammed her fist on a door that nearly reached the ceiling. Figures. Of course Stark would've known about the Room of Requirement, and Lyra had probably told him about it long before she told Draco himself.

"James!" she said. "I know you're in there."

"Go away," said a muffled voice.

"I'm coming in now," Larissa called and yanked open the door, but she stopped a second later. "Oh."

Stark stood in the center of the circular room. Placed against the walls were weapons racks, containing seemingly any sort of muggle weaponry imaginable, from swords to lances to flails and morningstars. Stark stood in the center, surrounded by a half-dozen suits of Hogwarts armor, all of them frozen in awkward poses as if hit by a Freezing Charm midway through their movements.

Stark himself was dressed in some muggle exercise wear and holding a sword in his right hand. It was a plain and ugly instrument, rather than the decorated and ugly sword that belonged to Godric Gryffindor. Larissa's unsubtle gaze roamed his upper body and Draco thinned his lips.

"Can I help you?" Stark queried, stretching his arms behind his back.

"So you are a knight," Larissa said. "You know, Roger dumped me this morning. So, there is that."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said slowly. "Why are you here?"

Larissa pointed at Draco. "He's looking for his big sis."

"She's not in the library?"

Larissa shrugged. Stark sheathed his sword and strode over to the edge of the room, where he'd left his belongings; he pulled out a piece of parchment and muttered something at it. After a moment, he tucked it back into his bag.

"She's on the fourth floor," he said, rubbing his bruised wrists. "On that abandoned corridor, if you turn right off the staircase. The last door on the left."

Larissa turned and smiled at Draco. "There you go!"

Any words of gratitude that might have sprung forth died on Draco's tongue the moment she petted his hair like he was some dog to be spoiled. Draco caught amusement flash across Stark's face, which made everything worse.

"Well," Draco drawled, "I think I'll be off and leave you two to… whatever you're going to do."

He was delighted to see Stark's eyes tighten in visible pain. Larissa rubbed her head and blushed, and Draco shook his head as he walked out and made his way toward the fourth floor.

About half the girls in the castle seemed to fancy Stark, and half the boys seemed to fancy Lyra. It was sickening, really. He remembered back in first year when the Weasel had been making eyes at his sister. He hadn't thought it could possibly get worse than that, but it had. That fool Gryffindor, McLaggen, was the worst offender, as he simply did not give up, at least until Lyra had hexed him not into the Hospital Wing, but St. Mungos.

Though, it was amusing listening to McLaggen explain how he'd found himself with his head where his arse should be and his arse where his head should be. He'd even tried to lie about who had done it to him (Quidditch practice gone wrong? Really? He wasn't even on the team) in some misguided attempt at protecting his dignity. Not that it stopped him from becoming a social leper afterward.

Draco walked past the line of disused classrooms. Each and every door was different, some wildly so; one was extremely short, too short even for Flitwick, while another would've dwarfed the groundskeeper. At the final door on the left was a yellow door made of what appeared to be sandstone, with cursive hieroglyphs painted in what looked like blood. He knocked.

"That you, James?" his sister called, and he frowned briefly before opening the door.

Lyra was standing in the middle of the room, and all around her was the formation of countless runes, arranged in a way that hinted at some mechanism, as if they were laid on an enormous invisible structure that twisted and looped. He barely even recognized the formations as the same runic alphabet that he was just beginning to learn.

Draco grimaced. Surely this wasn't what awaited him only two years into his study.

She turned around and blinked with surprise.

"Oh, hey," she said. "What's up?"

Draco shrugged. "I was bored."

Lyra stared at him for a bit, then nodded. The projection shrunk and disappeared the moment her fingers brushed against some sort of crystal, a dodecahedron with dimensions too perfect to have been made by anything but magic.

"Whatever. I've done enough today anyway," she said, putting the crystal into a cushioned box and pulling out a parchment from her pocket. She unfolded it, muttered something under her breath, then said, "Right. James can do the next part of this."

"Why did you tell him about the Room?" said Draco. "And why do you need him? And what was that thing, with the runic structure?"

"Because I do whatever the fuck I want," said Lyra, holding up a finger as she put the parchment away. "Because he's better at this shit than me," she said with a second finger. Then with a third, "And none of your fucking business."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"Now c'mon," said Lyra, jerking her head toward the door. "I'm going to go drop this off with James and then we'll go do something." A bit of excitement sparked in her eyes as they left the room. "Hey, mum and father never Apparated with you, right?"

"No, we always use Floo," he said, closing the door behind him.

"You wanna right now?"

Draco eyed her suspiciously. "We don't learn to Apparate until sixth year."

"And we don't learn non-verbal spells until sixth year too," said Lyra, snapping her fingers and turning her hair a soft pink. And then back to her pale-blonde again as they left the abandoned corridor.

"But you once said you can't Apparate inside Hogwarts —"

"Well, then it's a good thing we have a cabinet we use to visit our parents, isn't it?"

Draco furrowed his brow and looked at her skeptically. "And how many times did you splinch yourself while practicing?"

She pulled back a tapestry, revealing a hidden passageway inside, and shoved him inside. "Shut up, Draco."

"I'll have to ask Stark later how many times he's had to stitch you back together."

"I'll splinch you, you little shit."

Draco smirked and said nothing more as they made their way to the seventh floor. Unlike Larissa, Lyra just yanked the door open to the Room of Requirement.

"James, we need the cabinet," she said, throwing the cushioned box at Stark's head. The box slowed to a crawl in its trajectory, as if swimming through honey, and he snatched it out of the air.

"Ever heard of knocking?" Stark asked, his voice muffled from inside a steel suit of armor. "No, of course you haven't."

Lyra looked him up and down, her lips turning upward. "Dude, what are you doing?"

"He's pretty good at this, you know," Larissa said from the side, where she was solving a sudoku puzzle. "He still doesn't know how to joust, though."

Lyra glanced at her, having not noticed her in the corner, then looked back to James, then back to Larissa again.

"I don't want to know," she said, and she clapped her hands once. To the left, a cabinet appeared.

"Despite what you might think of me, Lyra, I'm not a harlot," said Larissa, frowning over some clue or other.

Lyra frowned and looked back at her. "Why not?"

Larissa took a moment to give Lyra an unimpressed look over the paper before going back to the puzzle.

"Oh, right, you've found your one true love," said Lyra, opening the cabinet and pulling Draco inside. "James, if you feel like it, decipher sector D3. Ask Victoria for help!"

As she closed the cabinet door and wrapped an arm around him, Draco just barely heard Larissa say to James, "I don't think she knows…"

They emerged into Malfoy Manor. Blood-orange light streamed through the windows, casting long shadows on the cool blue floors and walls. As they went downstairs, Draco smelled the familiar scent of expensive tobacco. Lucius Malfoy raised his head to look at his two children stumble down the last few steps of the staircase.

He was lounging in the Italian sunchair beside the balcony windows, one leg crossed over the other, and dressed immaculately in a pinstriped evening suit even at home. Draco remembered when Lyra had bullied him into giving muggle fashion a chance. The disassembled pages of the Prophet lay spread before him on the glass-and-steel coffee table, as well as an empty teacup, and smoke wafted lazily from the cigar that he held between his fingers.

"Children," he said. "I hope you've finished all of your homework before coming here."

"Of course, Father," said Draco.

"I just did five motherfucking hours of studying," said Lyra, pulling her hair down hard and rolling her eyes back into her head. "Fuck!"

Even for Lyra, it was bold to have that be the first thing she said. Father raised his eyebrows and gave her an unimpressed look.

"Watch your language," he said firmly. "Your mother would be horrified."

Lyra frowned. "Mother taught me."

"Even more reason she'd be horrified."

Lyra grinned and bounded over to him, falling to her knees and giving him a sloppy kiss on his cheek. "Hi, dad."

"Hello, Lyra," said Father, squeezing Lyra's arm. As she peeled off, he opened his arms to Draco in invitation. Draco settled into his embrace. He smelled of expensive cologne, the one that Mother kept getting him, even before they'd been married.

Lyra took the cigar from Father's fingers and, before he could do anything but blink and look at her, put it to her lips and inhaled — for a disturbingly long moment. Father did nothing but stare as she let the smoke out in what must've been a dozen smoke rings and then one final smoke ring the size of her head. Then she blew out a bunch of smoke which formed itself into a small ship which sailed right through the last ring.

Her grin widened, and she looked at Father as if actually expecting praise.

"Why is it as if you have done that a hundred times before?" he said, taking it from her and extinguishing it in a tray next to him. "You shouldn't be doing this at your age. It's detrimental to your growth." He turned to Draco then. "Don't be like your sister, son."

Draco snorted. "I have too much dignity."

"Didn't you piss your pants when I scared you last summer?" said Lyra, turning to him.

"I did not," said Draco with a fierce scowl.

"You definitely squealed like a chipmunk."

"You conjured up an illusion of a manticore in my room while I was sleeping!"

Father shook his head and sighed. "This is why I refuse to buy you a Firebolt. I will not reward this behavior, Lyra. I ought to forbid magic in the house, too. Now, why did you come home? It's not even the weekend yet."

"Draco was bored," she said, "and I feel I deserve buttery goodness, so I'm taking Draco out to London."

"The larder is stocked," said Father, holding his arm out in the direction of it. "You could have the Elf prepare you a sandwich made from the best ingredients we can get our hands on, and you insist on eating that utter disgrace of cuisine, with processed cheese."

"It's not like I eat it all the time," said Lyra defensively. "I barely ever do. And I'm talking about popcorn. You know, at the movies. I've taken mum there, and now Draco. Soon it'll be you."

"You will not take me to a muggle theater," said Father blandly.

Lyra looked as though she seriously doubted that and said, "One day you'll wake up and realize you're no longer in bed at home but in a theater halfway through The Babadook."

"As you say, beloved daughter," said Father, glancing through the newspaper again.

"The Baba-what?" said Draco to himself.

Lyra's vague smile turned gleeful. "Oh, Dad, can I take him to a horror movie?" Then she seemed to realize she shouldn't, or something. "No, that'd be too mean."

Draco wondered what could be so bad that even she thought it too much.

"Off you go, then," sighed Father. "You've brought Draco and yourself back alive before, so I'll trust you to do it again. Be sure to be home by nine."

"See ya!" said Lyra, already at the front door holding it open for Draco.

"Stay safe," he called.

Draco followed her past the fireplace and Floo powder.

"I thought we'd Floo to Diagon Alley and go from there," said Draco, frowning.

Lyra gave him a look as they walked outside and to the end of the protective enchantments surrounding the property. There, she took out her wand and Transfigured their clothing to be more muggle-appropriate. Draco pulled at his jeans with distaste. Then she tapped his head with her wand.

"What'd you do?" said Draco, pulling back.

"I changed your hair color," she said, waving her wand at her own hair to turn it into a dark brown, and then putting a conjured cap over it. "Our hair is too noticeable. Once we Apparate next to the theater, I want to get in quickly. Any Ministry official that shows up won't –"

"Wait," Draco said, jerking away from her. "We're not actually going to Apparate, are we?"

"I said we would, didn't I?" she said, holding out an arm and staring at him from under her blue cap. "Now hold on tightly."

Draco waffled a bit, until Lyra's expression gradually became annoyed and he finally grasped her arm.

"Are you sure I won't be sp—"

And suddenly he was all compressed, as if being sucked through a straw, and he landed on all fours on concrete. He kept his mouth shut as he regained his breath. If he got sick here, his sister would never let him forget it.

As it was, she sighed and said, "I really wish people had a bit more faith in me."

Ignoring her, Draco stood and glanced at his fingernails, making sure they were all present, and then ran his fingers through his hair to make sure there weren't any bald patches.

"People don't have faith in you because you're reckless," said Draco, looking around and seeing they were in an alley. "What if you'd splinched me because I wasn't ready?"

"You think too much," said Lyra, making her way toward the alley exit. "Like James."

"More like you never think things through enough," he said, ignoring the bit about Stark.

Lyra turned around and walked backward to look at him. "Do you know the reason I do magic so effortlessly? It's precisely because I don't question it, Draco. I know it'll work. I don't hesitate and I don't try to dissect it with logic like James does. You know he tried to measure the speed of Apparition? Made me do a bunch of tests. Stupid."

"I'm nothing like Stark," said Draco, coming out the alley and looking around at muggle London. People passed on by, none seeming to care they had just come out of an empty alley.

"Is that all you got from that?" said Lyra, pursing her lips. "You know, you should strive to be like James. He's the only student in all of Hogwarts that can measure up to me."

"Probably not for long if he's wasting time swinging a sword around."

"It's called a hobby. And knowing him, he'll probably enchant a suit of armor to withstand a Killing Curse or two."

Draco gave a non-committal hum and looked around as Lyra led them to the theater.

The windows here were filled with jewelry, shoes, handbags — one was filled entirely with suitcases, and others with nothing but electronics. There were also a dedicated music store, which Lyra might've frequented, given the muggle music she brought home. Though even Draco had to admit the muggles had them beat when it came to sheer volume of entertainment.

The theater was far quieter than the streets of London, both in sound and lights. Some thirty feet past the entrance two clerks stood, quietly going about their business in this low-traffic evening. They wore some terribly cheesy uniform, a halfhearted attempt by the company to install some semblance of corporate loyalty into its miserable slaves — or employees. Whatever.

Though their bored expressions changed a bit when the two saw them — probably Lyra mostly, given the way both their cheeks turned a bit pink. Draco was sure Lyra noticed too, given how one end of her small smile turned further up as she strolled to the counter. He rolled his eyes. It was actually unbelievable how much she relished her good looks, and how often she demanded he brag about his own too; and demanded the same of Stark too, now that he thought about it.

She sometimes said it was because she wasn't so pretty in a past life, and only wished to enjoy her beauty before she was reborn into someone ugly. Stark said it would be a slug. That might've been the first time Stark actually made him laugh.

Then Lyra was pulling him along and out of his thoughts, two tickets in her hands.

"You'll like this movie," she said, making her way toward the concession stand.

"I doubt it," said Draco, though he didn't really mean it. He was mildly curious about it all.

"Well, maybe not if you go in with that attitude," said Lyra before she addressed the clerk behind the counter. "A large popcorn, please, and two cokes." Then she turned back to him. "Just open your mind a little, Draco. Even mum liked this stuff, loath though she is to admit it."

"Mother just doesn't want to hurt your feelings," Draco muttered.

"Oh really?" said Lyra as she pulled out muggle money from a pocket and handed it over. "Is that why I've caught her going on her own before?"

"Hope you enjoy," said the girl, handing them their purchased items.

Lyra immediately took the popcorn to the butter dispenser and looked as though she was trying to drown the bucket in it.

"Delicious," she said to herself. "You know, I went a whole year without this stuff a long time ago when they closed all the theaters."

"How horrible," drawled Draco, plucking a popcorn from the bucket and popping it into his mouth. It was quite good, but in a horrible sort of way, as if eating even one would create an addiction. He grabbed a few more.

"It's good, right?" said Lyra, grinning as they made their way into a darkened corridor and then a theater.

"It's terrible," he said, watching the big screen play some summarized story of sorts, becoming entranced enough that he accidentally bumped into a seat with a muggle in it.

"Sorry!" said Lyra quietly, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him along. She ushered him down a few rows and into a pair of empty seats, far from anyone else in the theater. There weren't many muggles around; Lyra probably picked some unpopular movie that not even the muggles wanted to watch.

"I don't understand why you keep insisting on humoring those muggles," said Draco, snagging a few more popcorn. It was unlikely Lyra would finish all of this by herself, anyway. It was terrible, of course, but it wouldn't do to waste food, even if it tasted like pond scum.

"They're human beings, Draco."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"You don't think so?" she said, plopping her feet up on the seat in front of her.

He shrugged. "I'm sure they are. But they're still muggles."

"Hmm." Lyra stretched her neck out a bit and looked around them. Her gaze settled on some muggle woman sitting a few rows from them, fussing with a giggling boy beside her. "What about her?"

Draco frowned, taking a careful sip of the demonic, hissing beverage. It was foul. "What about her?"

"Well," she said, relaxing back again. "Her name's Chloe. She's twenty-nine. Ran away from home at sixteen. The father of her eight-year-old kid was an alcoholic, whom she again ran away from. Four years ago, she met her current husband, who's a good man, treats the kid like his own son. She's really happy now." Lyra looked at him then. "She's a muggle, though. And honestly, not even a particularly impressive one at that. She'll never accomplish anything great."

Lyra took out a wand from her pocket — his wand. Draco blinked and checked his pockets, but his wand wasn't there. He scowled and looked around, making sure no one was looking at them.

"No one will see," said Lyra, rolling her eyes, and she reached over to grab his hand, turned it over, and slapped his wand in his fingers. Then she stared him right in the eyes and said, "Curse her."

Draco's hand paused, and he stared at Lyra incredulously.

"Go on, then. I'll make sure no one notices. Muggle minds are easy to manipulate," she said lightly. "So go ahead. What's it matter anyway? She's just a muggle. And it might be more fun than the movie to see her kid scream as her mother's head explodes or whatever, so we'll just get out of here before the Ministry shows up."

"What?"

"Or maybe an overpowered cutting spell at her neck," she said casually, as if she wasn't talking about murdering some innocent woman. "Or we could use the Imperius Curse on everyone here and make them act something out for us specifically."

"That's illegal," hissed Draco. "It's an Unforgivable!"

Lyra shrugged. "Then just kill her."

"That's —"

"What?"

Draco shook his head.

"What?" she said again, this time louder so the woman they were talking about looked back at them. Her gaze trailed over the two of them, and then she smiled at him, as if she thought it was nice two siblings were here having some fun.

"Just because I think they're lesser doesn't mean I want to kill them," he said shakily and quietly, taking the wand and putting it back into his pocket.

Lyra watched him for a moment, her face serious now. "And why not? The same people who promote those beliefs do kill. In fact, I don't know if you knew this," she said a bit mockingly, "but there was a whole war fought over it. Dad sided with the people that'd have gladly done what I just described."

"W-what?"

"I'm not trying to ruin your day," she said, "but I could tell you about the things Death Eaters did in the war, how they tortured women just like her in front of their children and then killed them all. Maybe father didn't actively participate, but he made friends with the people that did all the things that's making you look so sick right now."

"I — he wouldn't," he said. "Father was under the Imperius Curse —"

"Don't," said Lyra. "Don't lie to yourself. You know he wasn't. He believes muggles are inferior, and he acted on that belief. The only reason he wouldn't rejoin Voldemort now is because he knows what Voldemort would do to me." She raised her eyebrows. "If he could get to me before Bellatrix does."

"Aunt Bella wouldn't — she's mother's sister —"

"That'd just make her angrier," said Lyra simply. "If Bellatrix knew of my loyalties, she would have me tortured and killed, and she'd make the whole family watch, to make extra sure none of you have the same ideas that I did."

A split-second image of such a thing flashed though his mind, and he felt as if he would vomit.

"You can ask mother or father if you don't believe me. You're not a kid anymore. They won't lie to you."

Draco stayed silent.

"You don't really remember her, do you?" said Lyra. "You were, what, two years old when she went to Azkaban? She's a fanatic. Basically in love with Voldemort. She likes to think of herself as his enforcer, and she'll act against any perceived slight towards her master."

"Fine," said Draco. "Fine. And what if You-Know-Who comes for us anyway? You make it sound like he will. Or Aunt Bella will."

"He's still out there," she said. "Could be gaining strength right now. Maybe one day he'll be powerful enough to break all the Death Eaters out of Azkaban. They'd need a place to stay after that, and our home is quite big." Then she gave him a look he didn't like, her eyes holding some terrible secret he wasn't sure he wanted to know. "But that won't happen. Bellatrix isn't going to hurt anyone ever again, Draco."

Lyra reached her arm around and stroked his hair, so similar to the way Mother did sometimes.

"You don't have to worry about any of that," she said, so gently that for a moment Draco regretted everything bad he ever thought about her. "It just breaks my heart to hear you say those things."

Then the screen went dark for a moment and Draco silently sipped at his drink, forcing it down his throat. When Lyra took her hand off his head, he wished she'd let it linger for a moment more.

Then he jumped a bit as brass instruments shook the room and a picture of the globe and the word 'UNIVERSAL' appeared suddenly on the screen, as blinding as the noise was deafening. Lyra, entirely unconcerned, tossed popcorn into her mouth. He wondered how often she'd visited this place.

And by the end of the film, he supposed he understood. The movie didn't give him the thrill of a Quidditch match, but it was certainly better than a play or fancy dinner. And he enjoyed seeing muggles get eaten alive; he also felt a bit sick from too much popcorn and coke, but Lyra didn't need to know either of those things.

"So?" said Lyra as people began to file out. Draco stubbornly kept his mouth shut. "You liked it, didn't you?"

"It was acceptable — barely," he added before Lyra could edge in a word.

"I guess next time we'll just have to find something better suited to your tastes," she said. "The Exorcist, maybe."

Draco took one glance at his sister's perfectly innocent face and shook his head.

"Absolutely not."

"You'll never find out if you like it unless you watch it," said Lyra, getting up and stretching, and then falling right back into her seat. "Nevermind all that." She held out her arm. "Hold on."

Draco blinked and said, "From here? Shouldn't you be standing up, at least?"

"Fine. Walk to Diagon and take the Floo, then."

"I'm sorry I'm concerned for our safety," Draco muttered, grabbing his sister by the wrist.

The second ride was just as bad as the first, even though he'd braced for it. He stumbled a bit as they landed in Mother's garden, and he restrained his urge to throw up on her flowers. Over in one of the garden chairs sat Lyra, as if she hadn't even moved throughout the Apparition.

"I was hoping for that one," she said, gazing longingly at the more comfortable and cushioned chair in the corner.

"How'd you even Apparate us here?" said Draco, wondering about the enchantments.

"Anti-Apparition spells are easier to tear through when they're there for your protection in the first place," said Lyra, getting up from her chair in the manner an old man might, as if it pained her deeply to move from a place of relaxation.

The front door was locked and had to be opened by Pokey, the house-elf. Lyra thanked the creature sincerely, and Draco grudgingly because Lyra would smack him by the ear if he didn't. They found both their parents in the living room: Mother was seated in the armchair by the fire, dressed in a lilac bathrobe, slightly damp hair falling over her shoulders like spun gold and one porcelain leg crossed over the other. She swirled a glass of wine in one hand while Father, having removed the jacket he'd worn earlier and his sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, stood behind her and rubbed her shoulders with practiced ease.

"Children," she said in a tone she used only when exceptionally pleased. Draco raised an eyebrow and glanced towards the kitchen. Judging by the volume of dishes and cutlery that Pokey had gone back to cleaning, Father had treated her to something nice.

"Mum," Lyra said, leaning over to receive her embrace. Draco followed her lead.

"I should've expected you to come home late," Father said. "I trust you enjoyed yourselves."

"Yeah," said Lyra, gently depriving Mother of her wine glass and bringing it to her lips.

Mother hit her with a stinging spell and the wine leapt up onto Lyra's face as she jumped in surprise. Draco snorted.

"I think we've spoiled you too much," said Mother seriously, waving her wand and vanishing the wine from Lyra's sulky face. "Perhaps it's time for both of us to begin considering sobriety as an example. What say you, Lucius?"

Father grimaced.

When Mother noticed his expression, he quickly added, "She's only going to drink at Hogwarts instead."

"Perhaps you can ask Severus to keep an eye on her, then."

"As if he hasn't tried already," said Father, and he turned to Lyra. "Do you know what he wrote me, back in your first year? 'Did she not possess the arrogant features and the inflated sense of self-worth traditional to a Malfoy, I would have believed her to have spawned from the loins of your wife's flea-bitten cousin.'" Father cracked a wistful smile. "He's not particularly fond of you by all reports."

Lyra rolled her eyes. "I hardly ever drink, firstly. And Snape's a git. He's not particularly fond of anyone."

"Ah, but you are an acquired taste," Father mused.

"Oh?" said Lyra. "Did it take you a few years to begin loving me?"

"Yes," Mother said bluntly. "You were so spectacularly badly behaved. You seemed to take perverse joy in forcing Lucius, Dobby, and I to search for you every few hours. Now Draco, dear, you were always so quiet and responsible and never snuck out of your crib at two in the morning to disappear into the gardens or deep in the library until you made me cry from stress. Do you remember, Lucius, when she was playing hide-and-seek with the Elf and locked herself into that cursed suit of armor and the Elf couldn't pry it off?"

"And then I hid on the house's topmost tower?" said Lyra, grinning. "That was fun."

"How in the world do you remember that?" said Mother. "You wouldn't have been two!"

"That nearly gave me a heart attack," said Father. "Truly, you were a nightmare."

"Oh, come on," protested Lyra as Draco snorted. "I wasn't that bad."

Father's face looked honestly a bit haunted as Lyra laughed and left the room. Then she poked her head back in from the doorway. "Hey, it taught you not to leave dark objects in reachable places."

"Reachable —" Father took a deep breath. "All that time I spent setting up baby barrier charms — for nothing."

"Well, I didn't need anything to climb — I just levitated myself over everything!" said Lyra's distant voice as she went to her room to do whatever.

Father and Mother shared tortured looks, and Mother finished off the rest of her wine in one gulp.

"So, how was your evening, dear?" she asked Draco.

"It was fine," he said. "She took me to a theater."

"Oh?"

"We watched something called — something Park. I forgot the title," Draco said, a little embarrassed as his parents smiled. "It was about a park filled with dinosaurs — non-magical ones, unfortunately. And without wings, of course. I'm not really sure how muggles filmed that stuff."

"Interesting," said Father. "Perhaps one day you'd be interested in visiting a park housing giant winged lizards?"

Draco blinked. "You'd take me?"

"It's not nearly as exciting as it sounds, I'm told," Father said with a shrug. "Dragons are asleep most of the time, but if you still wish, I can take you."

"I want to go!" Draco said, and he flushed, feeling foolish for his fervor.

"We'll arrange something for the winter holidays," said Father, as if it was nothing. "There's a sanctuary in Wales. Ought to think carefully about inviting your sister, though."

Draco snorted. "She'd get us all banned from the country."

"Indeed," said Father, accepting the empty glass from Mother and setting it aside on the table.

Then the two of them shared a look of love between them, and with it and the lighthearted nature of the conversation with them all and Lyra, it filled Draco with such a comfortable and warm feeling in his chest that the terrible one popped into his head: how could his parents have ever truly joined the Dark Lord?

Draco's elation died as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown on it, and morbid curiosity warred with fear and indecision. His heart raced and, when he opened his mouth, found it was too dry to speak with. Mother noticed his expression first.

"Draco, dear? Are you well?"

He couldn't ask, he shouldn't.

Did you kill people?

"Yes, Mother."

"If you're sure," she said pensively.

Did you join You-Know-Who willingly?

"You do know you may speak to us," Father said, softening his voice. "About anything."

Would you hurt Lyra if she wasn't your daughter?

"It's nothing, Father."

"Very well," he said, squeezing Mother's hand. "We're here for you, Draco. Always."

Draco forced a smile and nodded. After the most uncomfortable minute of silence that he'd ever experienced, Lyra came back downstairs. She paused, looked at everyone's faces, then narrowed her eyes at him, Draco.

"What'd you tell them?" she said.

"Lyra," Mother spoke, a hint of warning in her voice. "Not everything is about you."

"It's fine," said Draco in defense of her. "Honestly, something stupid just popped into my head."

Lyra frowned. "Oh, that?" she said as if he had read her mind, which she probably had. Then she grimaced. "Did you just ask them what I told you you should ask them? Because I definitely didn't mean that."

Mother and Father shared a look, then turned to Lyra.

"No, it really is fine," she said. "Really! I don't want to ruin the moment anyway. We were all having such a good time." She shrugged. "Well, I was. But I understand there are times where I am having fun and others are not." She bit her lip awkwardly. "Anyway, we should get back. It's kind of late and I need to go do some stuff."

"I suppose you should," Mother said quietly, still perturbed but accepting it. "Come here."

Lyra gave them both a tight hug and whispered in their ears, "Love you."

Draco hesitated briefly before he stepped forward for his turn. He didn't miss the small sadness that flashed across their faces at his hesitation, though they quickly extinguished it in favor of a supporting smile. As Draco pulled away, Mother grasped his hand.

"You should come visit more often," she said. "For any reason."

Draco gave her a weak smile and nodded. "Of course, Mother."

Father squeezed Draco's shoulder. It meant more than any words he could've said.

Lyra silently led him to the storage room on the second floor. She closed the door softly, and opened the cabinet and let him step inside.

"I didn't think you'd actually try to ask them," said Lyra, coming in and shutting the door. "It was sort of a rhetorical thing when I told you to, you know."

"I didn't," Draco said, disgust welling up within himself at his own cowardice. Thankfully Lyra said nothing in response and they vanished from Malfoy Manor.

The Room of Requirement was dark and entirely devoid of decorations, lacking the weapon racks and armor stands that had been present when they'd left. Stark stood near the entrance with Victoria Clearwater at his side, her arms crossed. She raised an incredulous eyebrow when Lyra and Draco emerged.

"Where were you?" said Clearwater.

Lyra didn't bother answering that. "Thanks for opening the Room, James."

Stark grunted and exited the room, and Clearwater followed, but not before shooting Lyra a look of suspicion. Lyra shot her an innocent smile and skipped after them.

"Why'd she come along?" she said as Draco hurried to shut the Room's door and run along behind them. "Were you two spending time together?"

"Prefect rounds," Clearwater said, her tone clipped.

"Prefect rounds," repeated Lyra. "Is that what they're calling it nowadays? Ah!" she said when Clearwater opened her mouth. "No, it was definitely prefect rounds. Must be why James is so sulky right now."

"Back to your houses, Malfoys," snapped Clearwater. "We still have to finish up our rounds and I don't have the time or patience to deal with your prattling."

Lyra and Draco followed the prefects as they made their post-curfew rounds. Lyra didn't care to get too close to Clearwater, who didn't much like her, and Draco didn't care to get too close to Stark, who was a bellend. In the empty corridors, Stark and Clearwater's conversation was audible even from twenty paces away.

"Actually, I am sulky because of prefect rounds," Stark said after a long moment, and Clearwater shot him a glare that could've frozen fire.

"Quit whining and do your job, James."

"I could be using this time to study for my O.W.L.s," said Stark in a terrible impression of her. "Doing something productive instead of dealing with Filch and Peeves."

"Oooh," said Lyra quietly, but Clearwater must have not heard it with the sound of her teeth grinding.

"Are you offering to finish on your own so I can go study instead?" Clearwater said.

"Sure, go ahead," said Stark, clearly not caring at all.

Clearwater continued to walk beside him in silence.

"Yeah, I thought so," Stark said, smugness dripping from his words.

"Man, I wish I could be prefect," said Lyra.

"That would be horrific," said Draco, and Stark snorted. Clearwater stayed stiff and silent.

"Oh, come on, Victoria, lighten up!" said Lyra, flinging an arm around Clearwater's shoulders. Clearwater immediately threw it off. "Why do you hate me so much?"

"You're beneath my hatred," said Clearwater, as if reciting a mantra.

"Uh huh. I bet you lie in bed at night just seething about my stupid face. How dare she be so attractive?"

Clearwater looked at Lyra as if she were a pile of steaming hippogriff dung on a floor that she'd just polished, and it just made Lyra laugh harder.

"Don't feed the troll, Vicky," said Stark.

"Shut up, James," she said.

The mood was lightening as they walked, but Clearwater clearly had a hard time with it. It was rather sickening to watch, honestly. Her stunted social ability meant Stark was completely oblivious to any and all signs that were being directed towards him. And Lyra was probably literally inside Clearwater's head, reading every thought and deliberately pushing all of Clearwater's buttons; it seemed like the sort of thing she'd do.

"So what was that thing in the Mystery Room?" said Clearwater.

"Furniture," said Stark. "Obviously."

"Ha-ha. You know what I mean, you insufferable oaf."

"What do you mean?"

"First that runic complex, and now this?" said Clearwater. She looked at Lyra out of the corner of her eye, as if she was the answer to all these riddles.

"I told you, that was one of the past Arithmancy O.W.L. example questions," said Stark.

Draco could've gone off to the Slytherin Dungeons by now, but this was getting a bit interesting. Lyra had let the two of them go in front of her and she watched, almost politely, her hands behind her back as she walked.

"I don't believe you," Clearwater said finally. "You're mocking me, like you always do."

"You must be falling really far behind if you couldn't solve that, Vicky."

"You're the one who came to me for help!"

"No, I came to you to get a second opinion after I'd already decoded a portion of it," he said, intentionally bumping into her. "You're just jealous of my talents."

Clearwater made a frustrated noise. "You're an idiot."

"What does that say about you, if I was able to solve parts of the matrix and you weren't —"

"Shut up about the matrix," Clearwater said. "You're an idiot, and I'm sure plenty of people would agree with me. Professor Flitwick would agree with me, Professor McGonagall would agree with me."

"Professor Snape would agree with you," said Stark. "And didn't you call him a 'bitter, jealous, emotionally stunted man-child' the other day and rant to me about how you're going to disregard his opinions from then on, after he marked your essay as Poor?"

"Even a broken clock is right twice a day," she said. "And both times are about you."

Lyra's lips twitched, appreciating the jab.

"That's kinda mean," said Stark. "And after Flitwick told you to play nice, too. I'm gonna tell him you were mean to me. See if you get the Head Girl position now."

"Shut up, James."

"Imagine if I became Head Boy instead."

"Nobody's going to nominate you for Head Boy," Clearwater enunciated slowly, as if speaking to an idiot which, to be fair, Stark was. "You're a lazy, self-important prat who couldn't even get himself killed properly last year."

Stark missed a step and Draco blinked. Beside him, Lyra looked as though she didn't know whether to laugh or punch Clearwater in the back of her head. The girl in question had turned beet red.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "That was too far."

"…No, it's fine," said Stark, still a bit out of it.

An awkward silence descended on them. Then, of course, Lyra had to break it.

"It's all right, Ria, I've said much more horrible things to him," she said. "And I never apologize about it either."

Draco didn't catch what Stark muttered under his breath, but he doubted it was anything kind.

"Don't call me that," said Clearwater, though halfheartedly.

The rest of their trip concluded in that uncomfortable silence. Draco glanced at Clearwater, who seemed perfectly content not speaking again, and Stark, who glanced at Clearwater every so often, though it was too dark to tell what he was thinking.

Ultimately, they reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room first, the prefects' route having taken them on a long loop around the school. The prefects paused for a moment, allowing time for Lyra to give him a crushing hug.

"Love you, kid," she said, messing up his hair. Draco shook her hand off.

"Goodnight, Lyra," he said. As he peeled away and stepped through the entrance, he caught a last glimpse of Lyra running up to the prefects, presumably to wind them up further.

The common room was dark, save for isolated pockets of light from the few upperclassmen who had chosen to stay up and read silently. A lattice of steel and crystal extended partway below the Black Lake, and the faint light from the candles and embers in the fireplace just barely outlined the churning currents of water. Every once in a while, a sleeping grindylow, carried by the current, would bump into the window and jerk awake, only to return to slumber when they realized they weren't being attacked.

He walked to his room, and towards his bed.

"Malfoy?" murmured Theo Nott, from the bed next to his. "Where were you?"

"Out," he whispered back, "with my sister."

Nott hummed. "That's nice. Wish I had a nice sister…"

Draco snorted. As bad as Lyra could be sometimes, she could have been like Phoebe Nott. Now her — Draco had no problem believing she would follow the Dark Lord to the end of the world and back.

He climbed into his bed as Nott shifted, already falling back asleep. Staring at the ceiling, he thought about his sister. It was hard to imagine life without that sometimes overbearing, always embarrassing girl in his life.

He didn't want to live in a world where she wouldn't smile or laugh as often as she did, nor a world where she wouldn't love him as much as she did. If that meant to cut ties with an aunt he'd never known, then what did he care?

He rolled to his side as he yawned. His lids fell closed like iron curtains, and he felt his thoughts slowing down to a halt. He'd best get to sleep. And he needed to make sure to retrieve that essay from Pansy tomorrow…

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