The Madness of Ravens

by AutumnSouls

Reincarnating into the wizarding world is nothing but surreal, and petty things such as shame and safety become easy to ignore. To Lyra and James the world is a stage for fun and drama. Though perhaps they should not have looked behind the curtains — for as Dumbledore says, there are far worse things than death. (Double SI, powerful magic, no bashing, Lovecraftian divergence)

16. Mercy in Madness

Tonks spun around in her chair, bored out of her mind. It was evening, and she only had one last thing to do before she got to go home. And that one last thing was probably going to be the worst thing of her career as an Auror yet. Nearby Kingsley sat in his own chair, reading a newspaper in a crisp blue muggle suit, a pair of aviator sunglasses resting on top of his head. Quietly, a radio nearby played Call Me by Blondie.

"Where is she!" cried Tonks, lengthening her hair so she could grab fistfuls of it.

"Where's who?" said a voice, and Tonks wheeled her chair around to face Hestia Jones.

"Kingsley?" said Hestia, catching sight of him for the first time. "What are you wearing?" she laughed. "Why are you dressed like that?"

"Because I look good," said Kingsley languidly, turning a page.

"You have an obsession, Shack."

"No, no," said Kingsley. "Your collection of chocolate frog cards is what I would call an obsession."

"Ugh. That stupid girl," Tonks said, her hair shrinking back to its spiky pink through her fingers. "I hope she realizes that Azkaban takes its security really seriously."

"Azkaban?" Hestia said, now slightly alarmed. "What are you doing in Azkaban?"

"Visiting a relative," Tonks said with a dark chuckle. "I can't believe I got roped into this. I can't believe Lyra even got approval."

Hestia glanced at Kingsley, to see his reaction, then back at Tonks. "You and Lyra are going to visit her? Whatever for?" she said in disbelief.

"I've no bloody clue," said Tonks, spinning in her chair again. "Lyra hasn't told me anything. She's worse than Dumbledore sometimes, you know."

Hestia sat down on one of the tattered sofas of the Auror office, swinging a leg over an armrest.

"What's the deal with you two anyway?"

Tonks took a deep breath, quite deep, and said, "She is... a handful. And a bitch. A bit mad. And maddening. And she's got my own bloody mother wrapped around her finger."

"She seemed fine to me," said Hestia.

"She's a fucking nightmare."

Hestia laughed. "If you say so."

"No, listen," said Tonks, standing up and gesturing. "That's how she ensnares you. She puts up her pretty face and bats her eyelashes, makes some witty jokes, and then you suddenly end up like my mum. And before you know it, she's raiding your fridge for food and your closet for clothes and you come home knackered after a long day of work and she's sleeping in your bed!"

"That doesn't sound that bad," said Hestia, giving a half-smile.

"You want to know the first thing she said to me when she was told about me being a metamorphmagus?" said Tonks, her eyes turning a bit wild. "Nymphadora, if you're a metamorphmagus, why don't you use that to fix your gap tooth?"

Hestia snorted.

"I was nine. Nine!" Tonks said a bit hysterically. "She was bullying me at four years old! She literally showed up on our doorstep by herself, immediately made me cry, and then — and then — my own bloody mum found it hilarious! Told me not to be so sensitive!"

Hestia's expression looked like she'd sucked on a lemon, clearly trying not to hurt Tonks' feelings. Kingsley had no such dilemma and chuckled.

Tonks threw out her arms. "You want to know how I found out all the horrible things Bellatrix did? Lyra! She told me all about the horrible things our aunt did when she was five. What kind of sick five-year-old knows words like 'mutilation' and 'castration' and the incantations for all three Unforgivables? And you wanna know how she finished it off? 'Auntie Bella loves you, you know.' She said that!" cried Tonks hysterically. "I had nightmares for weeks!"

"Merlin's balls," Kingsley muttered. "They sure teach them young in the Malfoy household."

"And guess what, every single detail that Lyra mentioned was correct," said Tonks. "That must've been the only time Mum ever got mad at her."

"And she did all that unprompted?" said Hestia, raising an eyebrow as her lips twitched. "You didn't... I dunno, start it?"

"No." Then Tonks grimaced. "I mean, I tried to get her back by throwing cold water on her while she was sleeping, then later she asked my mum if she could help cook and then proceeded to burn some of the food. Bitch threw on this innocent face like it was somehow a complete accident that it was only my food that was burnt. Dad praised her cooking, like 'What a talented little darling you are.' And meanwhile there's this plate of charcoal sitting in front of me."

Finally Hestia laughed out loud, unable to hold it back any longer. "So she made fun of your gap tooth, a four-year-old kid, and you thought an appropriate response was to throw cold water on her while she slept?"

"She's the Devil!" Tonks insisted. "You didn't see the unholy glee in her face when she made fun of me! Or the look in her eyes when she brought over the two pans of food for my Mum and Dad and then my pan." She turned her hair long and blonde, deaging her body until she looked like a five-year-old girl. Then she said in a cute and innocent voice, "Here you go, Auntie and Uncle! Aaaand here is your food, Nymphie!"

"And what'd you do after that?" siad Hestia pointedly.

Tonks reverted back to normal and said in her own voice, "I made it my life's goal to make her cry."

"Tonks, you are beginning to sound very unreasonable," said Kingsley, still sifting through the newspaper. "You were older."

"When I was thirteen years old," continued Tonks, ignoring him, "I had a crush on Charlie Weasley. Yes, I admit it. You know what that little spawn of Satan did? She stole my diary and mailed it to Charlie. He couldn't look at me for the next year." Tonks' expression turned a bit mad, then. "That's when I put poison in her tea."

Hestia gasped. "Tonks!"

Kingsley had looked up from the newspaper, raising an eyebrow.

"Then she switched out our cups when I wasn't looking!" said Tonks. "And I ended up drinking my own poison!"

Hestia's exasperation only grew. "You're unbelievable."

Tonks slouched in defeat. "I hate her so much."

"Oh, come on," said Hestia, "you don't hate her. She's on our side, isn't she?"

"I know," sighed Tonks. "I'd die for her, probably. Merlin, that annoys me."

Hestia hummed in thought. "I wonder if her finding out all that stuff about Bellatrix so young was what made her pro-muggle."

"I wouldn't really call her pro-muggle. I mean, she's no Grindelwald or anything, but she says most of the muggle world would certainly try to persecute her for the gender she prefers, and that it's got a whole host of other issues. She just doesn't buy into any blood supremacy. She's honestly pretty cynical about humanity in general."

There was a long moment of silence as she sat down heavily on the couch. Hestia and Kingsley looked at each other. Then the door flung open and Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour strode through in all his glory. Although, his scowl did fade a bit at seeing Tonks, because no matter how hard he tried to pretend otherwise, he was just a big softy in the middle.

"Tonks," he said gruffly. "Are you feeling ill?"

"She's just stuck in a bad place," Hestia said sympathetically. "She'll be fine soon, I'm sure."

"Hm." Scrimgeour peered into Tonks' face and frowned. "I hope you feel better soon, lass."

Tonks gave a weak smile. "Thanks, Chieftain."

And just like that, his usual gruffness was back, because he hated that nickname, but knew that nothing he could do would ever get rid of it. He refilled his mug ('#1 Dad' it read, given to him on his birthday from the rest of the Auror Department, a matching set with Amelia Bones' '#1 Mum' mug) with his favored blacker-than-sin coffee and left the break room with a grunt of acknowledgement. Before the door swung shut, though, a paper airplane floated through and into Tonks' hands.

"Minister!" his fading voice said beyond the door, and Tonks looked up at the entrance, then down at the letter in her hands. She tore it open, quickly scanning through the contents.

Dear Nymphie

Going to be an hour late. Or two. They give you overtime pay, right? Hahahaha

Your secret forbidden love, Lyra

p.s. I sent another copy of this letter to your parents' house, in case you're there.

Love ya (more than a cousin should, wink wink)

Tonks tore the paper in half and then ripped it all up. "Agh!"

"Tonks?" said Hestia.

She ignored her, her cheeks so hot they might explode. It was astounding how Lyra could make every single line so infuriating yet so embarrassing. She really might kill the girl if her parents received the same letter. Throwing the remnants of the letter into the fireplace, she gave a two-fingered salute in the direction of the fire just before Minister Fudge opened the door.

"Oh, Minister!" she said, quickly hiding her hands behind her.

Minister Fudge gave a kind smile, seeming not to have noticed. "Good day. I thought I'd bring young Lady Malfoy here myself to make sure everything was okay!"

And behind Fudge was Lyra, looking far more like Narcissa than Tonks had ever seen her before. Gone was the messy hair and casual clothes; instead her hair was smooth and her lips blood red and she wore a thick white cloak that must've cost a fortune, and if Tonks didn't know the way Lyra felt about animals, she'd never have guessed the fur lining to be fake. Clearly she was prepared for the Azkaban cold.

Tonks' smile was so tight and thin she wondered if her lips would split open. "Lyra... I see you're earlier than your letter said."

Lyra looked at her as if she didn't know how much Tonks wanted to strangle her at that moment.

"I got lucky," she said, giving the Minister what certainly looked like a genuine smile, with teeth and all. Lyra never smiled like that. "I caught the Minister on his way back from a meeting."

"Indeed, indeed," said Fudge, beaming. "A minute later and I'd have been drowned in all sorts of requests for funds we don't have or other such nonsense from every department. Anyway — I've just given approval for Lyra's request to visit Azkaban."

Tonks noticed Kingsley scowl a little at the mention of 'requests for funds' before he smoothed over his expression.

"That's… good," Tonks said, then she tilted her head and asked in a politely curious tone, "How long ago was this?"

"Oh, just now," said Fudge, giving a happy bounce of his heels. "We will need an Auror to escort her, of course."

Tonks did her best to make her smile seem genuine, but wasn't sure if it was very convincing. The sheer arrogance, she couldn't believe it. Lyra had apparently been so confident in herself that she had told Tonks about this days before she even got the actual approval. At least now she understood why Lyra looked so prettied up.

"And she raised the possibility of taking you, Auror Tonks, being family and all," continued Fudge, oblivious to Tonks' tic.

"I — I would be happy to," lied Tonks.

"Wonderful, wonderful!" said Fudge, beaming. "I've heard you were one of the youngest Auror graduates in some time. I'm sure she'll be safe in your capable hands." Then he chortled. "Not that Lyra Malfoy would need saving, of course! But no magic outside of school, you know."

"Of course, Minister," said Lyra, and the courteous tone sounded honestly ridiculous on her. "Thank you again. And my father thanks you too."

"You're very welcome, young lady," he said. "Now, I must be off — I can't put off my work any longer, unfortunately." He tipped his hat in their direction once and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Tonks stared at her infuriating cousin.

"How?" she finally asked.

Lyra shrugged only, as if it was nothing. "I asked him nicely."

"Did your dad bribe him?"

"Do you really think my dad would let me visit Azkaban, much less threaten the Minister for it?" said Lyra, looking around the Auror office with some interest. "I suppose Kingsley does most of the intellectual heavy lifting around here."

"Hey," said Hestia.

Lyra gave her a glance as she tinkered with various objects around the office. "Hey." Then she turned her focus on Tonks and said, "Well?"

"Well?" said Tonks.

"Are you ready to go?" said Lyra. "Or should I take someone more useful? Molly, perhaps?"

"Careful, Lyra, or she'll leave you in Azkaban," said Kingsley.

"I'd escape," said Lyra in such a casual tone that Tonks was sure there wasn't a doubt in Lyra's mind. "You ready, then?"

Tonks stared at her, her mind whirling down from the exasperation. What was she hiding? She was certainly right, there'd be no way Lucius would let his daughter visit her homicidal aunt in the worst wizarding prison in the world. And there was also no way Fudge would let himself be so easily influenced by a teenager of all people. There was no way, not even someone as eager to please as Fudge.

"If not, I'll just take Kingsley," said Lyra.

"Hell no," Kingsley said.

Tonks sighed. "Yeah. Whatever. Come on, then." Then she held up a finger at Lyra again. "But you have to take this seriously, Lyra. I'm not kidding. If not for me, then for my mum and yours – they'd be heartbroken if you went and got yourself Kissed because you couldn't stop calling the dementors a bunch of pussies or something."

"I know," said Lyra. She gave a nod. "I'm not excited about this either."

Tonks stared into her eyes, looking for any sign of deception, but couldn't find any. Lyra looked grim, if anything. Then she gave a nod too. "Okay. Let me grab my coat."

"Why are you doing this?" said Hestia suddenly. "Is this some Order thing?"

"Don't be so loud," said Kingsley, glancing at her.

Tonks wondered if Lyra would lie and say yes; she had asked Dumbledore about this the day Lyra had asked her to be her Auror escort, and he had said he hadn't even known of Lyra's plans. But maybe he had been lying — to compartmentalize information and secrets.

After a moment, Lyra shrugged.

"No," said Tonks, "I would actually like to know too. What was it that convinced Fudge to let you do this? I can't think of anything big enough."

"There isn't anything big enough," said Lyra. "There's just a good deal of small reasons, and sometimes that works better." She nodded at the door. "Let's go, then."

Waving a goodbye to Kingsley and Hestia, both of whom looked unsure still, Tonks left the room with Lyra and headed toward the only Floo that connected to the Azkaban Watchtowers. It was present on one end of the DMLE floor, nearby Crouch's office and a dozen office cubicles belonging to various Aurors.

Emmeline Vance and Sturgis Podmore stood in front of the fireplace, talking with each other until Sturgis spotted them and cut their conversation short.

"We just got permission from the Minister to let through one Lyra Malfoy and an Auror escort," he said. "Not sure how the bloody hell you managed that, but… well, try not to run in the corridors. The dementors think you're trying to escape and come after you."

"Stop making up stories, Sturgis," Emmy said, rolling her eyes.

"I'm dead serious," he said. "Sometimes you turn a corner and one's right in front of you, all tall and eerie-like, you can almost see their rotting faces under their hoods. You turn and run, but they chase after you exactly like those Olympic sprinters, completely silent except for the sound of wet feet slapping on the floor."

Lyra let out a little noise of amusement and Tonks shook her head at him fondly.

"Anyway, do mind the Azkaban Watchmen," he added. "They're a bit..."

"Difficult," said Emmy.

"I was going to say disturbed," said Sturgis darkly, "but that works too."

"Well," said Tonks, gesturing forward with her hand. "After you, Lyra."

"Aren't you supposed to be protecting me?" said Lyra.

"I'm the one that needs protecting here from all this madness of yours," Tonks said, but nonetheless pinched some Floo powder between her fingers and stepped forward. She threw it into the fire, stepped forward, and spoke clearly: "Azkaban Watchtower."

A flash of emerald light, and Tonks stepped out into a much colder room. She wished her uniform's warming charms protected her face too. A moment later, the fireplace roared, and Lyra stepped out behind her.

"Remain in the room," said a soft, male voice. "Keep your hands in front of you, where they're visible."

Tonks complied, removing her hands from her pockets. She wished she'd brought gloves, like Lyra had, because her fingers were already cold. After half a minute, a guard stepped through the doorway, his wand loosely held in one hand. He was wearing attire similar to the Aurors, but the uniform was black and grey, and he had a pair of gloves and a fur-trimmed hood that cast shadows on his face.

"Lyra Malfoy and Auror escort," he said, and Tonks had to strain to hear his words. "I only received the Minister's message a minute ago." He gestured. "Into the office, please."

He clearly didn't trust them much, since he never turned his back on them, and the two of them were ushered into the warden's office. Its walls were grey, and dead plants lay on desks and in the corners, as if previous attempts to give the room some color had failed and they'd never bothered cleaning it up. Next to his desk was a framed map of the island they'd be visiting, yellowed from age. There were no windows.

The warden was a greying man whose composure reminded Tonks of Pius Thicknesse. Cold, quiet, and with no tolerance for fools. He gestured to the two seats across his desk, both very plain steel folding chairs, and they both sat. Their brief escort withdrew himself from the room, his shuffling gait audible until the door clicked shut.

"Lyra Malfoy and Auror Tonks, here to visit Bellatrix Lestrange," the warden said, a note in front of him on his desk. "No idea what you'd want with that woman, or if she'll even speak to you."

"She'll speak to me," said Lyra, as though there was nothing more she was sure of.

He stared at her. "Why?"

"I'm her niece. She'll speak to me, even if it's just to tell me all the ways she'll kill me."

"I see," said the warden without emotion, and then continued to stare at Lyra.

Tonks thought she knew what he was doing. As part of their deportment training, Aurors were taught that people liked to fill in the silence, and that simply watching someone was a great way to encourage them to keep talking. But Lyra only raised her eyebrows when the silence dragged on.

"What do you hope to get out of it?" he said finally.

Lyra tilted her head at him. "Do you believe Voldemort is still out there?"

The warden gave no reaction to the name. "They believe it. In there."

"Rightly so," said Lyra, having kept her eye contact with the man so far. "Death Eaters have marks on them, I'm sure you've seen them —"

"The Dark Mark, yes," he said. "To the point, if you will."

Lyra held his gaze for one more moment, then shrugged. "No. It's a long story, and you don't seem to care much anyway." From the end of her sleeve emerged the handle of her wand, which she reached over to put on his desk. "Let's just get this over with."

He hummed. "Your reasons are your own," he said, and he reached over and slid a wooden box in front of him. Flipping it open, he placed Lyra's wand inside. There was a sound, like something being scratched onto wood. He looked down at the front lid of the box and said, "Aspen, phoenix feather, eleven inches even." Glancing up at Tonks, he held out a hand at her. "Yours as well, please, Madam Auror."

Tonks felt a little foolish as she scrambled for her wand and passed it over. When he placed hers into the box with Lyra's, he said, "Dogwood, unicorn hair, eleven and three-quarter inches."

"Have you been here before?" she said to Lyra.

"No," said Lyra dryly. "I just knew they'd never let Bellatrix Lestrange's niece into Azkaban with a wand, especially if they've ever heard of me."

"We don't allow anyone without the necessary security clearances in with their wand," said the warden, locking the box in a magical safe. "The Minister, for example."

"Couldn't convince the Minister of that one, could you?" said Tonks to Lyra.

"I didn't try," she said, standing up. "I told him I'd give up my wand before he even mentioned it."

Tonks raised her eyebrows. "That doesn't sound like you."

"Some day you'll learn the fine art of negotiation," said Lyra blandly.

"I —"

"The trip to Azkaban may be cancelled at any time for any reason," said the warden, interrupting them without care. "You are to obey any and all orders given by your guide during an emergency." He gestured a hand at something behind them. "Watchman Gael will be your guide for this trip."

Tonks looked behind her to see a tall man, his face partially obscured by his hood. She'd never noticed him even entering the room.

"Interview sessions with a maximum security prisoner are limited to ten minutes, so as not to compromise the security of the compound and the safety of our personnel," the warden continued. "Again, at the discretion of the guide, interviews may be cut short at any time. Do you understand everything I just said, or do you have any questions?"

"What happens if I don't listen?" said Lyra without a care in the world. Tonks wanted to punch her in the face.

The warden shrugged. "It depends. Most likely you'll be Stunned, brought back immediately, and face charges. If you're unlucky, you might get lost and die after weeks of starvation. Maybe the dementors confuse you for prey. Maybe you trigger Blackout Protocol."

"Blackout Protocol?" Tonks asked.

"It means that everyone in the maximum security wing of Azkaban gets Kissed, no questions asked," said the warden. "That includes any unprotected visitors and their guides. Some of the prisoners in there are dangerous enough to warrant collateral damage."

"Oh."

"That's only done if we believe there's a mass breakout in progress." The warden smiled thinly. "I'm sure it won't be a problem, however."

"And if the dementors are cast off with a Patronus?" said Lyra, sounding merely curious to the warden perhaps — but Tonks rather thought Lyra really wanted to know. God help her if she thought she may one day end up in Azkaban.

The warden stared at her with his pale, lifeless eyes. "Our operational procedure is classified."

Tonks prayed to gods she didn't believe in that Lyra didn't attempt Legilimency. A moment passed, and then Lyra shrugged and stood up.

"Hopefully it's Killing Curses," she said. "At least if it's my aunt."

"Hm. Try not to rock the boat too much," the warden said simply, already losing interest in them. "The winter seas get rather choppy."

Then they were being led out of the building. Outside it was dark. The sun was still on the horizon, but barely, and the clouds were so black that it might as well have been fully night. Only a pale light remained, illuminating hardly anything.

To their left was a tall wall, stretching as far as she could see, with watchtowers set every half-mile or so. She could see no lights in any of them, but she was sure guards were set in each. And past the crashing waves, just barely visible, was the island the prison was set upon. The prison itself was only a shadow against the dark sky, its shape and size too vague to tell from a distance. It felt like they were before the gates of Hell.

Down a rocky trail to the shore there was a small pier, hidden behind a natural seawall. The Watchman gestured to one of the moored boats. It had no oars, rudder, or sail.

Tonks glanced at Lyra to see how she was feeling about this, but Lyra had her eyes firmly on Azkaban itself, a strong yet wary look on her face that Tonks didn't think she liked.

"Into the boat," said the Watchman, and Lyra stepped carefully onto the boat. It rocked a little under her weight, and then Tonks glumly followed suit. She stumbled getting on, but Lyra grabbed her wrist to steady her. The Watchman was the last to climb aboard. Once everyone was seated, he unmoored the boat and it silently began to glide forward on its own.

Soon they were being tossed up and down by the waves, each as tall or possibly taller than Tonks herself. She wanted to be sick. Despite the various enchantments on the boat, Tonks could only keep her eyes closed and pray to whatever god was out there that the little boat didn't capsize. At least the enchantments included something that blocked the wind, so the cold wasn't too bad.

She felt Lyra's bare hand on her own, gloveless yet warm and steadying.

"Dora," she murmured, and Tonks opened her eyes. She could hardly see Lyra, whose white cloak and hair should've made her stand out even in the gloom. But she could still see that Lyra wasn't looking at her, and instead straight ahead, upward.

Before them was a looming black monolith, an obelisk so tall the top could not be seen through the darkness. It invoked a sense of vertigo, which began to grow the longer she stared, as if the vertigo was only a gateway into hysteria. The clouds above it seemed blacker than any Tonks had ever seen. She couldn't tell if there were dementors up there, or if those faint wisps of black were just the edges of the clouds.

What an unholy place.

Not wishing to look upon the structure any longer, she turned her sight to the land itself. Ruins of shipwrecks were speared against the jagged rocks, only glimpses visible after the swell of the waves. As they neared, the temperature continued to plummet and an inexplicable terror began to seize her heart.

"Why are we here, Lyra?" she said faintly, clutching Lyra's hand harder.

Lyra only shook her head, her brow and lips tighter than usual. This was perhaps the first time Tonks had seen Lyra actually unsettled.

At that moment, the silence was interrupted by the furious flapping of wings. Gael very nearly shot down the raven that had all but collapsed into their boat. Lyra stared at it.

"Many birds die passing through here," he said, watching the bird slowly right itself and shake water from its feathers. "They're the unlucky ones, usually blown in by a storm. Most know to avoid this place."

Stooping, Lyra picked the raven up and wrapped the end of her cloak around it, cocooning the bird in its warmth. It would've been cute the way the raven's head stuck out of the fur if they were anywhere but here.

The boat soon silently slid into a small cove where they disembarked. The raven struggled out of the fur it was wrapped in and fluttered onto the Watchman's shoulder. He gave it a brief look, waving his wand over it as if to check it wasn't enchanted.

Then he hummed to himself and said to the two of them, "Come on, then."

The stone steps led them through a twisting cave, and up above to the prison itself. Up here on the true surface of the island the winds were frigid and strong, making it difficult to hear as Gael told them to be careful on the way up to the door. He lit his wand as he began to ascend, holding it down by his right side to provide light for the two of them.

The door couldn't be seen as the narrow steps leading up to it went around the corner of the building. And they really were narrow, providing so little room that they had to go up one by one, clutching at the smooth wall in order to not fall to the rocky depths beneath them. Mist was thrown over them from the waves below, carried up by the fierce winds. The cold of it only made her shake more uncontrollably.

"This is madness!" said Tonks, metamorphing herself to be as small as possible.

"I won't let you fall," yelled Watchman Gael over the wind. The raven on his shoulder lifted off and flew around the corner.

Tonks glanced back at Lyra and grabbed her hand tightly, all previous irritations with the girl forgotten as she imagined them falling off. Then again it was her who got them into this damned thing in the first place.

Around the corner, the stairs widened a bit and a railing started. And from there they came upon the door quickly. It was heavy-looking and made of iron-banded oak, barred from the outside with a complex clockwork mechanism large enough that its metal might serve as a whole additional door by itself.

There was no landing in front of the door; one opening it from the other side would simply step out onto nothing if they weren't careful. The Watchman Gael pressed himself against the weathered wall, keeping himself stabilized with the single hand-hold carved into its side, and then did something she couldn't see to unlock the door.

It swung open, the wind slamming it against the wall so heavily she felt it in her bones. Gael glanced back to make sure both were still there, and then reached a leg out to step inside, pushing himself off the corner to give him some speed. The raven swooped down out of the darkness, darting into the building after him. Tonks and Lyra followed, both wary but eager to get out of the wind.

As soon as they were inside, the door swung back in by itself, against the wind, and shut. The mechanism on the other side locked with a sense of finality, and Tonks felt a heavy dread settle into her heart again. All the sounds from outside — the crashing waves, the howling wind — ceased entirely, and they were only barely illuminated by the Watchman's wandlight.

The corridor was so dark it could have ended ten feet from their position or a thousand. The cold was less prominent here, but it still felt as though something was pressing in on her skin. It was a suffocating feeling, and Tonks had never felt more naked and vulnerable than here without a wand.

"This place is evil," said Lyra quietly, some of her hair wetly sticking to her face.

Watchman Gael hummed in agreement and then extinguished his wandlight.

Her heart jumping, Tonks grasped blindly for a wand she didn't possess, and then for Lyra's hand, certain that death was hurtling toward them in that moment.

But then the light returned, this time in the form of a small brass lantern. It provided a pale light brighter than the wandlight, and a bit of warmth too. Tonks could finally see the rows of cells that lined the corridor further down. It was all eerie. The very end still remained beyond her sight, the blackness seeming to drink in the light produced by the lantern.

"Expecto Patronum," said Gael carefully, and from his tip erupted a brilliant white light that coalesced into a bear of massive size, and for the first time since emerging into the watchtower via the Floo, Tonks felt her spirits rise.

Then he turned around and faced them, what little of his face they could see set grimly.

"I've two children," he said. His tone was flat, but his Patronus flared briefly. "You don't need to worry about the strength of my Patronus. But don't orphan them with your stupidity. Stay close and listen to every word I say. Dementors aren't the only danger here."

The cells in this corridor were empty and seemed to have been for some time. The end of the corridor turned out to be nothing terrible, causing Tonks to feel a bit silly. There were seven archways at the end, each with its own staircase branching out in its own direction; some seemed to curve into the paths of others, but Tonks knew this wasn't a problem with magic, Hogwarts having had similar things.

Each archway had some runes engraved to it, in no language Tonks could recognize. The Patronus light threw them into sharp relief, illuminating them in a manner that made them seem harsher in design. They lacked any sort of harmony that one might find in a written language, each symbol discordant with the next, as if a madman had carved the symbols he had witnessed within his wildest nightmares.

"Where do the ones with minor offences go?" said Lyra, her eyes moving across each arch's engravings as if she was trying to memorize them.

"Underground," said Gael. "Away from the dementors. There's a different entrance for them." He watched her study the symbols, then glanced at Tonks. "They unnerve people, the symbols. I'm not sure why."

Tonks didn't say anything.

Lyra reached her hand up and drew her fingers across the runes of the thinnest archway, thin enough a normal man would have difficulty squeezing through. Tonks was sure she felt warm air coming from it.

"What language is this?" said Lyra, an odd note in her voice.

"We don't know," said Gael. "We've had all sorts of linguists and Unspeakables try, but it still hasn't been deciphered. They assume it's some extinct language from millenia ago."

"The symbols change slightly depending on how you look at them."

"They do."

"And these?" she said quietly, standing on her toes to run her fingers over some other symbols that had been drawn over the carvings, colored a black deeper than the dark stone.

"Those are new," said Gael. "Well, not new. We discovered them there sixteen years ago. Still not sure who did it. Apparently it's Elder Futhark."

"Yeah…" Lyra rested back down on her heels. "It seems like it, but it's not an exact match."

"No… the linguist who deciphered it said so too," said Gael. "Do you study languages?"

"Mm, not really… I've… just been learning a lot about runes and symbols lately for a project."

Lyra sounded more hollow than usual, like this place was already carving her soul out. Tonks couldn't imagine sending a significant amount of time here, especially near the dementors and without a Patronus. This was cruel.

"What was the translation?" said Lyra.

"What does it matter?" said Tonks — all of this was unnerving her deeply.

Gael glanced at her, and then at Lyra, and said, "Seek the Elders."

Lyra frowned.

"The linguist said it must've been someone who just got a few things wrong, but that was probably what they meant to write," said Gael. "Probably one of the Watchmen back then, messing around."

Lyra shook her head and stared into the dark void past the archway. "And what does this lead to?" she said, a definite note of caution in her voice now.

"It leads to nothing," said Gael, watching her attentively. "It's just a deep cavern. It's one path that goes miles down, and there's nothing in the end but a sealed arch covered in words."

The Patronus dimmed with his words and Tonks debated covering her ears for the next part. Gael pursed his lips slightly, maybe wondering if he should be talking about this.

"I don't remember all of it," continued Gael. "They're mostly words of warning. There is nobody here. You are alone. Do not listen to the voices. Some are repeated more than once. One individual wrote nothing but 'IT LIES' over and over and over."

Tonks hated this place. She finally understood why all the people who visited would come back shaken, looking as if Hell itself had swallowed them and then spit them back out. She was completely out of her depth; and she felt, with a little bit of guilt, that she should have never agreed to come here.

Gael tilted his head as Lyra shifted her gaze up at the unknown symbols again, her expression looking particularly like she was trying to put together a puzzle she did actually have the pieces for. Gael seemed to notice it too.

"Have you seen the symbols before?" he said carefully.

Lyra withdrew from the archway, looking as if she'd rather never touch it again, and turned slowly to them. Tonks hated the look in her eyes. Lyra didn't have to say anything; she had clearly seen those symbols before, and whatever its context, it was enough to put some expression of disquiet in those eyes.

Tonks had always found Lyra's lack of concern for anything and everything frustrating, but now she really missed the way Lyra would just shrug in casual disregard in the face of danger.

"Where?" said Gael with a dark curiosity. "We've had Unspeakables here trying to cross-reference these symbols with all the texts they've ever collected, and they've never found anything."

Lyra looked slowly back to the arch. "There's a chamber beneath Hogwarts. Deep down."

Tonks stared at her cousin. "You're kidding," she whispered. "Hogwarts?"

"The Chamber of Secrets," said Lyra. "It's real. It can only be opened by a Parselmouth." She glanced at Gael. "I knew one. He taught me how to open it."

Gael stood there in silence for a moment, and neither Lyra nor Tonks felt inclined to break that silence.

"That explains why they didn't find anything," he finally said, staring into the darkness and letting another moment of silence linger. It was heavy in the air. "Whatever deep chamber you've unearthed, it would be best to bury it and forget it ever existed. Now, we need to go. This leads to Bellatrix Lestrange." He nodded to one of the archways and went into it, not waiting for them, his Patronus lighting the way.

"There were some kind of twisted Norse runes there too," said Lyra suddenly.

Gael stopped, his legs still visible to them, and said, "Are you sure?"

"Not fully." She hesitated. "I'd need another look. I only took a glance, honestly — but I can mostly recall it. Occlumency and all." There was another moment of silence. "It seems like it's the same, from a distance."

"Unless it's some powerful poltergeist, you're probably misremembering," said Gael. "The unknown symbols could've maybe been written in both places long ago, but it's fairly unlikely some idiot who can't even write grammatically correct graffiti managed to sneak into two such heavily guarded places." And he continued up the stairs. (Tonks wondered if his willingness to linger for even this long was a hesitance in continuing their journey.)

"Or it wasn't badly written and the Norse people just got it wrong," murmured Lyra, so quietly Tonks barely heard it.

Tonks was about to ask what she meant, but then she and Lyra both stilled. From the deep cavern came a wind, ruffling her hair, and with it came the faintest of whispers, what sounded like a soft sigh in the breeze. And then it was gone, the wind stilling and the atmosphere becoming stuffy again.

Tonks glanced at Lyra uneasily, but she became alarmed when she saw the wide-eyed fear in Lyra's face. Tonks' fingers twitched, again reaching for a wand she didn't have, wishing she could cast a revealing spell and settle her mind.

"Did you understand that?" whispered Tonks.

"Don't lag behind," called down Gael's voice.

Lyra shook her head, her eyes strained, and stepped into the stairway to follow the Watchman. Tonks steadfastly did not look at the other archway as she too followed.

"I know the Minister comes here every summer to check on the prisoners," she said, "but this place is seriously evil. I mean, that wasn't the wind, right? Hopefully it wasn't an incantation. Ah-dum," said Tonks under her breath, trying to make out what it meant. "Aaaah-dum. Ha-dum? Uh-dum. Ahh-duhhm..."

Lyra whipped around, a fierce look in her eyes, and hissed, "Stop."

She raised her hands in surrender. "Sorry… Sometimes I talk a lot when I'm nervous."

Tonks felt like Lyra's eyes were piercing through her, the pale-blue like shards of ice. Then they blinked, losing their edge, though Lyra's shoulders remained tense. She turned back around and continued to climb the stairs, her white cloak floating slightly over the steps. It leapt up every time Tonks nearly stepped on it, enchanted as it likely was to avoid such things.

She stumbled more than once on the first flight of stairs, the darkness doing her no favors. At least Lyra didn't mock her like she usually did, her mind clearly still on other things that Tonks personally would rather not think about. As they left the staircase and continued, Tonks noticed that there was no real pattern to where they went. Corridors curved where they didn't need to. Sometimes they would loop in on themselves and still come out elsewhere.

After three long flights of stairs, they came out to a corridor where the wind whistled and the cold felt both natural and unnatural. And at the end of the corridor, where a wall should've been, was nothing. It seemed to open up to the sky outside. The cells here had their own windows, about a square foot in size and barred. And in each of them lay a body, shriveled and blackened, their eyes black holes and each mouth and jaw twisted unnaturally low and wide, their features set in expressions of endless, suffocating, hellish despair —

"Don't look at them," snapped Gael when he noticed her. "Didn't I say not to look in the cells?"

"What?" said Tonks faintly, struggling to pull away from the horrible faces each time they passed a cell.

A hand grabbed the back of her head and pulled it away, causing her to slow down and break out of her trance.

"He said a moment ago not to look into the cells," said Lyra, her voice tight and her gaze never wavering from Tonks. She pulled her hand out of Tonks' hair.

"He did…?" Tonks was sure he hadn't said anything. She hadn't zoned out, she hadn't gotten lost in her thoughts, she would have heard him —

"Come on," said Gael harshly.

Walking forward, Lyra moved to Tonks' right side, so that Tonks was in the middle. The raven on the Watchman's shoulder also seemed determined to look anywhere but the cells. But while she could keep her eyes from wandering, she couldn't keep her mind from it.

There might've been twenty or so cells on each side when they had first entered. But they had surely walked past all twenty cells by now, hadn't they? She glanced behind them, seeing what must've been over a hundred cells. She looked back forward, never pausing in her walk, and saw the opening was just as far away as it had been ten seconds ago.

"Uh —"

"Just focus on the path ahead," said Gael, definitely annoyed now.

"Right, sorry," said Tonks, and they continued walking in silence.

As they went, a temptation to look back into the cells grew. Out of the corner of her eye, she almost thought she could see the heads of each corpse they strode past turn its head to follow them. The single split-second glance she took showed they were utterly still. But the feeling of stares on her didn't wane. Tonks gave an unsteady sigh.

"What's that for?" she said to distract herself, lifting a finger briefly to point at the opening.

"You'll see," said Gael.

After another long moment, the end finally began to come closer. The nearer they got, the more it felt as though a weight was lifting off her shoulders, the attention of the bodies dwindling away to nothing. And it certainly felt like mere attention, like the stares had been neither malevolent nor curious; they had seemed like stares from death.

Lyra wrapped her fingers around Tonks' wrist once they arrived at the opening, as if she thought Tonks was considering leaping out.

"I'm fine," said Tonks. Though she was still afraid to look back, fearing that doing so would drag them back to the beginning of the corridor again or that she'd see all the bodies standing up, their withered heads sticking out from the bars to stare. "Was all that really necessary to put in, though?"

"We didn't put those things in here as a precaution," said Gael. "They were there before us."

Tonks closed her eyes, unable to stand this place anymore, and then stuck her head out the window to savour the fresh air — as fresh as anything here could be. They were already considerably higher than they should've been after ascending only three sets of stairs; the layout of Hogwarts worked this way too sometimes.

The view of the sea elsewhere might've been considered picturesque, in a bleak sort of way, the waves like jagged obsidian dusted with churning foam. They thundered upon the rocks far below, the mist nearly reaching even here.

Something fluttered past the edge of her vision, like a bolt of black cloth unfurled in the wind. Tonks quickly ducked back in, her heart hammering against her chest. Even through the power of the Patronus, the cold was settling in around her skin again. The bird on the Watchman's shoulder shuffled, agitated, and croaked.

Then the ground shook, the tremor stopping Tonks in her tracks. It was almost imperceptible and lasted for only a second or two, and when she was about to shrug it off, it happened again. Her first thought was that she had fucked something up. But Gael seemed unbothered by it. Lyra watched the floor as if expecting it to crumble beneath her feet.

"An earthquake?" said Tonks.

The Watchman shrugged. "It happens every now and then. We don't think they're earthquakes, though, given they affect only this island."

"Then what the hell is it?"

"We've no clue."

"What — what do you mean you've no clue?" said Tonks. "You've never checked?"

"Of course we've checked," he said, giving her a pointed look. "We've sent people below. Not many came back, but those who did all claimed that Azkaban just keeps going down and down, prison cells all the way. They would explore for weeks, go so many miles beneath the surface they'd suffocate if not for Bubble-Head Charms, and still never find the end."

Tonks glanced at Lyra but couldn't read her expression.

"Can we keep going?" said Lyra.

Tonks quite agreed with that, and glanced again out the opening, expecting some kind of tiny holes they'd have to use to climb up to the next floor, with how cruel this place was. Then Gael strode right past her, his feet coming down onto thin air —

He turned around, standing on nothing, and nodded toward something apparently behind him and upward.

"It's directly connects to another window," he said. "There's no space to actually fall."

Tonks looked at Lyra, who raised her eyebrows at her, clearly expecting her to go first.

"Ugh," said Tonks, and she took a careful step forward. "It certainly seemed real when I was sticking my head out."

Her toes touched some kind of solid ground, and then she tentatively placed her full weight on thin air. She followed with another step and, as soon as her head passed through some invisible barrier, the bleak stone walls of Azkaban appeared in front and to the sides of her again. When she looked back, however, it looked as if Lyra was standing on nothing, surrounded by the sky and clouds. Lyra easily stepped onto Tonks' side, shooting her cousin an unimpressed look, and made to push past her.

Gael held up a hand to stop her and said, "These lead up to where maximum security prisoners are held." His face became more serious, then. "The dementors drain the prisoners of their strength. And my Patronus will drive them off. It's unlikely any of the prisoners could do anything, especially given how long most have been up there, but nonetheless… stay close, stay quiet. Follow my instructions. Don't provoke them."

Lyra and Tonks both gave a nod, and Gael began to climb. This last flight of stairs might've been the longest yet, a monotonous counterclockwise spiral that never seemed to end. The air became colder as they climbed and she began to wonder what level of cold was too much for a human.

"Is all this really necessary?" said Tonks, trying not to pant. "Surely there could be a shortcut for non-prisoners."

"These kinds of protections have been set in other wizarding prisons, with no dementors," said Gael, "and wizards in those prisons have managed to escape. Wizards are crafty, and magic always likes to find a way. I wouldn't be surprised if the dementors alone weren't enough… Creating shortcuts for us is creating shortcuts for them. Be glad Azkaban didn't make us swim through the lake of blood."

"The what?" whispered Tonks.

"The way through Azkaban is hardly ever the same," said Gael.

"What other things are there?" said Lyra.

Gael remained silent.

At last, the stairs ended and they came out to a massive open area. It was as if the top of Azkaban had been carved hollow.

There were asymmetrically-placed windows in the walls, seven by three feet, just large enough for dementors to glide through. There were none here that she could see. It was as though they had fled like frightened rats, sensing the Patronus before it appeared. Or maybe they were all hiding behind the velvet blackness where Gael's lantern light could not reach, patiently waiting for a moment of distraction or weakness.

Crude stone slabs were partially embedded in the inside of the wall, arranged in a staircase that spiraled upwards, far beyond her sight. The steps were wide enough for Tonks and Lyra to fit side by side if they squeezed; but they were also spread apart, without anything between them, so that if one missed a step and didn't catch themselves, they'd fall into murk below. And they weren't even evenly spaced apart.

The structure was a kind of visual chaos, as if a toddler had designed it. This place couldn't even give them the benefit of being at least somewhat organized. Tonks understood now why others had a hard time describing this sector of the building.

It seemed the warmth the lantern had provided earlier had diminished into nothingness. Tonks couldn't even find heat in the depths of her enchanted pockets. She seriously considered asking Lyra to let her into that fur cloak of hers, but Lyra only seemed a little better off.

Lyra caught her looking, then her eyes trailed past her shoulder and she frowned. She held out a hand, her fingers wiggling as if wanting her away from whatever was behind her. Tonks quickly moved to her. Turning around by Lyra's side, she saw there had been a window there, and clutched around its side was a hand, long-fingered and scabbed and looking like it was dead flesh that had decayed in water. Her eyes widened, her breath misted before her face, and she heard a distant ringing in her ears that seemed to grow stronger with every moment.

The ethereal bear stomped past Tonks and the hand quickly retracted.

"I should've expected them to get curious," said Gael. "The two of you are fresh meat, after all."

"Are you okay?" said Lyra to her.

"Y-yeah, I'm good," said Tonks, though truthfully she felt anything but. "Let's just get this over with."

As they ascended the stairs, the prisoners shrunk away from the light, the poor wretches that they were. Tonks had no idea how they survived this long in the cold in nothing but rags. She couldn't tell who was who, but she knew all of them were here for something that would undoubtedly make her sick.

Serial killers and rapists, torturers and necromancers, foreign warlords and other fiends deemed deserving of what Tonks considered a horrifically cruel fate. They had all done evil, evil things… but a part of her wondered if all the magical governments sending their worst here truly knew what Azkaban was like.

Tonks caught a glimpse of Peter Pettigrew sitting as still as a corpse in one of the cells, his back to the bars, unable to transform any longer. Lyra only spared him a glance. And it was all he deserved, Lyra had said darkly, the first time Tonks had spoken to Lyra about Pettigrew's capture and what it all meant.

She imagined Sirius here, stuck in this hell despite his innocence, in one of these cramped cells just wide enough for him to lie down flat. They at least had mattresses and blankets, and a bucket. Some of the luckier prisoners had a window in their cells; they might catch dawn or dusk whenever they weren't lost in a haze of madness.

Lyra stopped then, and Tonks looked up to see the Watchman had too. He turned around on the stairs and gestured to the cell in between them.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," he said.

Tonks leaned forward, half-expecting to see some sort of demon, her face twisted by the Dark Arts as You-Know-Who's apparently was. All the people she had tortured and killed, the locations and dates, the methods, they all flitted through her mind, fueled by the powerful imagination of her nine-year-old self who'd been told the most frightful stories by her cousin. Lyra had always had a way with words when she wanted to, and she had certainly used that talent to paint the most sinister image of Auntie Bella.

And in the center of her cell, hugging her knees, sat Bellatrix Lestrange.

Her hair was dark and wild, so long and thick it could probably be used to cushion her head against the stone. She didn't look particularly inhuman, but against her taut skin her eyes seemed unnaturally large for her face from what Tonks could see. She seemed almost in the process of being mummified, a mere shadow of the titan she used to be.

"Ten minutes," said Gael, and he sat down on one of the steps.

Tonks almost considered staying back, so as to not let Bellatrix see her, but she figured she might as well look her in the eyes after the trouble it took to get here. Lyra was the first to step up to the cell landing.

She slowly crouched down in front of the bars, tilting her head in an attempt to get a better look at Bellatrix's hair-covered face. The woman didn't move. Tonks again half-expected something terrible to happen, like the mad woman leaping suddenly at the bars to grasp Lyra and strangle her.

But this wasn't a horror movie, and Bellatrix was weak. Stick-thin. Tonks could probably wrap her thumb and index finger around her wrist. Tonks wondered if she was asleep, or dead.

"Bellatrix," said Lyra, her cloak pooled around her as she remained crouched.

Then, very slowly, Bellatrix's head began to rise. It took a moment for her to focus on them, but those deadened eyes eventually turned piercing and her gaunt face became skull-like as she opened her mouth. The skin around her lips and cheeks seemed to struggle stretching.

"Why… if it isn't my niece," she whispered, voice hoarse from disuse. "Two of them, even… Lyra, and… Nymphadora."

Tonks felt a shiver run down her spine at the mention of her name. How in the name of Merlin had a woman cut off from the outside world for twelve years figured out the two of them so quickly?

"I go by Tonks, actually," she said.

Bellatrix tilted her head, staring at her in a way that deeply disturbed her, though she couldn't explain why. At the same time, Lyra tilted her head again, looking more curious than anything.

"How'd you know?" said Lyra.

Bellatrix turned her gaze to her and a hint of something Tonks couldn't tell flickered in her eyes. "Who else could have those eyes and that hair? I thought…" Her eyes became a bit cloudy, as though she wasn't quite sure what she thought.

"What about me?" said Tonks, unable to resist asking.

Her eyes returned to Tonks, then. "And you, traitor, you look like Andromeda did… right before she ran off and married that mudblood whose name I shan't utter... A waste, to see your princely blood diluted thus… At least you took on your mother's features, whatever you've done to your hair."

Tonks turned her hair rainbow out of spite.

Bellatrix's lip curled. "As if I needed any more confirmation you were Andromeda's spawn." Her expression turned uglier. "She was always a rebellious little brat." She swallowed to wet her throat. "If only such an ability was given to the Dark Lord…"

"I can see your allegiance hasn't shifted," said Lyra, carefully coming down to rest on her knees.

"And should it?" said Bellatrix. "Nothing has changed since I have been imprisoned here."

"Oh, I don't know about that," said Lyra. "Your Dark Lord's been gone for twelve years. His followers are either in here with you, or living comfortably and in peace. Some are even turning from their old ways."

Bellatrix's eyes became narrower and her breathing became slightly more labored. "You speak far too casually about these matters, girl. Do you think reading books on the subject makes you an expert on the Dark Lord and his ways?"

Tonks couldn't see a hint of emotion in Lyra's eyes as she said, "If only you knew."

"If only I knew what?" spat Bellatrix. "Go on, tell me — you speak of Narcissa. Don't be coy with me, you child. Do you think I couldn't see it then? She would rather pretty herself, go to fancy balls and look important, always shying away from the actual work, always self-centered and arrogant, loyal only to herself and never fully to him." Her chest was heaving now, the fire in her voice turning her eyes wild. She looked as though she wanted to get up, to pace and rant and say more, but the few words she'd spoken had exhausted her.

There was a spark of anger in Lyra's eyes too now, subtle though it was.

"Yes," said Lyra darkly, "how dare she choose her own family over some pathetic spawn of a love-potioned affair between a borderline squib and a muggle. I find it almost comical that it was that fucking loser who took up the mantle of pure-blood supremacy."

Bellatrix snarled and tried to leap at her, but her legs could not manage it. She crumpled to the floor in front of her, panting and glaring at the floor.

Lyra laughed, and then a deep contempt came into her eyes, something Tonks had never seen in them before. "Do you even regret an ounce of what you did?"

Slowly, Bellatrix looked up, and Tonks knew the answer before she said it.

"Never."

The silence was crushing.

"I expected as much," said Lyra at length. "I should've known better."

"I do not regret anything I have done for the Dark Lord," Bellatrix whispered. "I would do the same things a hundred times over if he commanded. All I regret is that I was not able to do enough."

Lyra shook her head in disgust.

"There it is," said Bellatrix, looking almost in awe at Lyra — or maybe it was just madness. "That snobbish contempt I saw so often in Cissa's eyes… If I had seen that earlier, I would have thought you to be her." She shook her own head and looked vaguely at the ground, murmuring to herself. "Though she must be older now… and I would hope I don't have so much of my sentence left."

The look she spoke of remained on Lyra's face as she said, "You're in here for life, Bellatrix."

Bellatrix looked back up and said softly, "Do you think so?"

Tonks wondered in that moment if she could get away with killing the woman.

Lyra's gaze trailed down to Bellatrix's arm. "Has the Mark burned?"

Bellatrix stared expressionless, refusing to answer.

"One last question then," said Lyra. "I said earlier that some families were turning from their old ways. I meant mine. Father doesn't even sneer at my muggle-born friends anymore. And Mother?" she said, almost conspiratorially. "Nearly as bad as Andromeda."

The expressionless stare on Bellatrix broke as she twitched, her nose flaring.

"So what would you do if you got out?" said Lyra. "What would you do if you could get your hands on us?"

The hatred in Bellatrix's eyes was clear, and Lyra nodded to herself and stood up.

"Say, Bella…" said Lyra, sounding only curious. "How would one other than you get into the Lestrange vault in Gringotts?"

Bellatrix frowned for a split-second — and then she cried out, reeling back with her eyes shut as if she'd been burned. Tonks flinched at the suddenness of it, looking in alarm between her and Lyra and then Gael.

"No!" screeched Bellatrix, her eyes shut tight as she clutched her head as if it was going to fall apart.

Gael stood up, frowning.

"What happened?" he said, though he didn't sound particularly sympathetic to Bellatrix's plight.

"A mental breakdown, probably," said Lyra idly. "I think that's all we'll get from her. All I need, really."

Bellatrix let out a gasp, and looked at Lyra in terror. "That's — that's impossible — that's impossible —" And then her fear turned into a burning hatred, feral like an inferno, and she finally dragged herself to her feet and slammed herself against the bars, her claw-like fingers reaching for Lyra. "How dare you!" she screamed. "You filthy, muggle-loving, degenerate whore!"

Tonks, who had grabbed Lyra to make sure she didn't fall as she stepped away from Bellatrix, stared in bewilderment.

"Enough!" said Gael, but Bellatrix just kept snarling. "Back into your cell, Lestrange, or lose everything you have beyond the bars."

"You're nothing," Bellatrix hissed, even as she threw herself back out of reach. "You and your mudblood friends — I'll skin you alive — I'll peel strips of flesh off you bit by bit and make Narcissa watch as you scream, you wretched cunt. When the Dark Lord returns —" Her voice shook with a deep rage. "There won't even be ashes left."

Lyra only raised her eyebrows. "I stopped the Dark Lord once before, when he tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone to return to life. And now I'm one step closer to his permanent demise. I thank you, Bella, you've been a delight."

Bellatrix's vocabulary was reduced into an inarticulate string of curses and threats. Her face crumpled into dismay, and then back to rage, then fear again, and then she looked beyond all words. Gael's lantern turned away from her, and she finally disappeared into the darkness.

"Are we done here?" said Gael.

"Yeah," said Lyra.

And as they walked away from Bellatrix she began to scream after them.

"Lyra!"

Some of the other prisoners began to jeer at Bellatrix, but Gael seemed unconcerned. Lyra stiffly made her way down the stairs, ignoring the few prisoners who, without the presence of dementors, seemed to scrounge up enough courage to catcall her and Tonks.

At the bottom of the stairs, the raven croaked and launched itself off of Gael's shoulder. The Watchman cursed as the bird shot through a window and disappeared into the night sky.

"Dumb bird," Gael muttered. "It's going to kill itself out there."

"It'll be fine," said Lyra, though she sounded unsure. "Hey, Gael?"

"Yes?" he said as they left maximum security and began to walk down the stairs which led to that accursed corridor.

"Would it be possible to increase security here?"

Tonks stared at her in amazement, and Gael glanced at her.

"You think this place needs more?" said Tonks, slowing down. "Lyra, no one's ever escaped Azkaban before. You've seen the protections, everything we had to go through to get here, and that was without the dementors — there's no way Bellatrix could escape —"

"I'm not worried about Bellatrix figuring a way out on her own," said Lyra uneasily. "I'm worried about someone breaking in here and getting her out."

Tonks shut her mouth and gave Gael a questioning look.

"If Voldemort has returned, or will return," said Gael, coming to a stop on the stairs, "then there is nothing we could put in place to stop him."

"Nothing?" said Lyra. "There's not anything that could maybe blow this place to hell if someone broke in?"

"Azkaban would never let itself be blown to hell, no matter what effort we put into it. Do you not feel it, the evil that infests this place? That sort of thing isn't just blown up." He frowned, surveying the both of them. "Is there something I should know about?"

Tonks frowned too, sparing Lyra a glance. "Lyra?"

Lyra shook her head, then wrapped herself tighter in her cloak. "Just a bad feeling, is all."

Tonks raised her eyebrows. "A bad feeling like a gut feeling? Or a bad feeling like when you told me you were sure a man with two faces would come murder me in my sleep? Or that a giant basilisk would swallow me whole while I swam in the lake at Hogwarts?"

Gael frowned, not understanding.

A dismissive look flashed across Lyra's face. "I've told you all sorts of horrible things like that before, I was bound to get one or two eerily right enough. I'm not saying something is definitely going to happen, I'm just saying… you know… bad juju."

"We would need the Ministry's approval to set additional protections," said Gael, "and they wouldn't take 'bad juju' as a reason." Then he stepped down a stair and gave them a last look. "Again, a skilled enough wizard with a wand would be able to bypass anything we put down." Then he turned and continued down the stairs.

Tonks gave Lyra one last glance, then the both of them followed him down. Their way down began to change subtly. The corridors were narrower, tighter; Gael had to hunch his shoulders to squeeze through the rough, unpolished walls. When the corridor finally opened up into something more manageable, they were once again forced to travel through those staring corpses. After that they crossed a hanging bridge that definitely hadn't been present the first time through, the light of Gael's lantern and Patronus barely illuminating the dark water below (and perhaps something else glinting below the surface). The last staircase they took sent them upward and deposited them several floors downward.

The whole time it was freezing. It was not the kind of cold that gave her frostbite, starting from her extremities and making its way in; it struck directly at her heart and made it feel like it was iced over. She felt the cold might never leave her bones with how deep it seeped. When they reached the last corridor, she stopped by the smallest archway and let its hot breath wash over her. The damp warmth, like she was standing on top of a landfill, felt almost inviting. Thankfully, whatever was beyond the archway did not stir. She gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile to an anxious Lyra and followed her to the exit.

A moment later, Gael unlocked the front door again. Without the wind to carry it, the heavy door swung open without a whisper. While the clouds above Azkaban remained, seemingly perpetual, the rest of the skies were clear. Perhaps the weather around the island was related to Azkaban's supposed self-evolving nature.

The rest of the return journey was less nerve-wracking than their first, but that deep-sinking cold was difficult to fight off. The seas had calmed, the dark waters glinting in the light of the moon like black gems. As they moved farther away from Azkaban, the perpetual sensation of dread began to retreat, if only slightly, leaving Tonks only with a sense of moderate unease, and relief that she'd finally gotten out.

Then, as they neared the mainland, a shake began to overcome her, as though her bones were defrosting and could at last tremble. Lyra opened her cloak up in invitation, and Tonks allowed herself to fall into the warmth. Though she could feel Lyra's shaking too, the icy bite of Azkaban having turned the girl's neck so cold it actually worried Tonks.

Azkaban had been slowly sapping the life out of them and she only realized the true extent of it when they were out of its embrace. Reaching the shores of the mainland felt as though new life was breathed into her. The unnatural cold of Azkaban dwindled further, and her whole body rather felt like her feet did when she put on warm socks on a cold morning.

Tonks almost fell backwards into the water as she stepped off the boat, her legs barely keeping her steady. The Watchman stepped off stiffly, tense but not as affected as they were, and the boat sank silently beneath the waves, invisible beneath the black water.

Unable to help herself, Tonks gave Azkaban one last look. Maybe it was the unnatural silence compared to the storm they'd arrived in, but the structure remained tall and threatening even from this distance. It was far away now, but it still felt as though it was looming over her, ready to follow her home and swallow her whole as she slept.

As they went inside the main watchtower, she hoped it would be the last time she ever saw Azkaban.

"So," said the warden when they were back in his office. "Was your visit fruitful?"

Lyra seemed to mull something over in her head. Tonks still had no idea what was worth all this. To see if Bellatrix regretted anything? To see if she'd kill them all still if she could? But Lyra had said something back there… she had thanked Bellatrix for giving her one more piece to Voldemort's demise, whatever that meant. Bloody hell, the girl was so like Dumbledore but only in the most annoying ways.

"I don't know," said Lyra finally.

The warden hummed, then removed the box from the safe behind his desk. He flipped it open and handed them both their wands. Tonks snatched at hers eagerly. She had never thought she'd miss her wand more than that one time she lost it for three days during Hogwarts; and to think she had once thought walking through Hogwarts without a wand was torture.

"Thank you," Tonks said politely, because she didn't want to leave a bad impression on the people mad enough to act as security around that place. "Thanks, Gael."

Gael nodded to the both of them, then looked to be waiting for them to leave, perhaps to speak to the warden alone.

Lyra hesitated before she grabbed some Floo powder, then she turned around and said, "Is there anything the Watchmen need that the Ministry refuses to give?"

The warden and Gael both frowned at her, waiting for further explanation.

"I mean, maybe your jobs could be easier or the prison more secure if you had more funding or whatever, right?" said Lyra. "It's just — the Malfoys have a lot of money, so are there maybe any defenses you've been wanting to set up but couldn't —?"

"Miss Malfoy," said Gael, "is there any reason besides your 'bad feeling' for us to increase security?"

The warden's frown deepened as his eyes flickered momentarily to Gael and then back again.

Lyra appeared to be fighting back a grimace. "I dunno. I have bad feelings sometimes and sometimes they turn out to be right."

"Everybody has bad feelings that sometimes turn out to be right," said the warden. "What, exactly, led you to believe security needs tightening? The Ministry usually doesn't approve any large-scale modifications unless we have a strong reason to support it."

"I —" Lyra shut her mouth and stared at the warden with pursed lips, as if wholly uncertain. It was an odd look on her, confident as she generally was in all her decision-making.

"Azkaban has a way of getting into our heads," said the warden after Lyra failed to speak. "It makes us lose our senses, convince ourselves of that which drains all hope. The dementors don't need to do it themselves every time. Not to mention it would set a dangerous precedent to allow private entities to have a stake in Azkaban."

Lyra chewed on her lip, nodded, rolled the Floo powder between her fingers and tossed it into the fire.

"Auror Office," she said as she stepped into the emerald flames, and she was whisked away from the room.

Tonks gave one last nod to the warden and the watchman and followed her. The heat of the green flames were a comfort as soon as she stepped into them, but the warmth of the Ministry was better. She still felt chilled, like Azkaban wasn't quite done with her, the cold so tangible that she'd need to scrub it off in the shower like it was dried blood.

"Merlin," she said, nearly panting the word as she caught up to Lyra. "So can I ask what that one more step to You-Know-Who's permanent demise is supposed to be?"

Lyra shook her head. "It's secret. Only Dumbledore can know."

"Is he having you do secret missions?" said Tonks, checking around her to make sure they were definitely alone. "I asked him about this and he said he had no idea you were doing this."

Lyra sighed, as if Tonks' justified search for answers was another weight upon her burdened shoulders. She did look a little shaken still, from Azkaban — had ever since that smallest archway had whispered out some incantation or word.

"Well?"

"What Dumbledore and I are doing is none of your business, Tonks."

"The hell it isn't," said Tonks, grabbing Lyra's shoulder and slowing her down so as to talk face to face and not to the side of Lyra's head. "You're my family, first of all, and I need to know if Dumbledore is making some teenager do his dirty work for him, and secondly — I didn't just go through all that to get that kind of non-answer."

Lyra stopped in the middle of the corridor, turning to Tonks and shrugging. "Dumbledore isn't having me do secret missions." At Tonks' disbelieving and bewildered look, she sighed again. "What do you want from me, Tonks?"

"To not lie," said Tonks, letting in a light note of pleading.

"I didn't lie," said Lyra without emotion, though Tonks wasn't sure if it was because Lyra was truly calm or beat down and disturbed from Azkaban. "I said only Dumbledore can know, not that he told me to do this."

"Why, then?"

She raised her eyebrows. "I told you, it's secret."

"The hell it is!"

"You said that already." And she turned around to walk away.

Tonks grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back, and Lyra let out another sigh, this time clearly one of annoyance, and looked up at the blue ceiling and put her hands on her hips.

"You're not entitled to know whatever secret you want, you know," she said, looking back down at her with a weary look.

"And you're not entitled to just use people like they're tools and then discard them whenever you're finished with them," said Tonks in a quiet but brisk voice.

"Tonks, I repeatedly asked you if you were sure —" began Lyra, clapping her hands together, but then she cut herself off as someone else entered the corridor — some Ministry employee who worked in the Department of Magical Transportation and was still in the building at this time.

Tonks grabbed Lyra tightly by the arm and pulled her into an empty office. She threw up two spells to stop anyone from overhearing them and then whirled around on Lyra.

"Was I supposed to just let you go off to Azkaban without me?" she said. "I know I often tell you how much I want to smother you in your sleep, Lyra, but believe it or not, I do care about you. My Mum cares about you. Your mum cares about you."

"Good, great," said Lyra, nodding carelessly.

"You…" Tonks stood there, staring at her in numb disbelief. "Just… why?" Tonks made sure to put her hurt into the word. "Why are you like this? How can you just play around with people's emotions so casually and then just dismiss them — dismiss me — so easily?"

Lyra's eyes flashed in annoyance and she said, "Do you think I'm keeping things from you just because I feel like being an asshole? Are you seriously unable to comprehend the idea that maybe, just maybe, I have good reasons for not telling you and everyone else who asks everything they want to know?"

"I'm not asking to know everything," hissed Tonks. "I understand the concept of operational secrecy, better than you, I suspect." Lyra scoffed but Tonks continued: "But I don't think this was a sanctioned Order mission from Dumbledore, and whatever reasons you gave Fudge certainly weren't the real ones. I'm asking to know what was so important to you that you dragged us to that evil place — because I care about you, you stupid idiot. You're my family and I love you, and I want to know what you've wrapped yourself up in that you were willing to go to Azkaban."

The ire in Lyra faded, and she stood there, blinking and frowning. Then she took a deep breath and said, "I love you too. And that's why I'd do anything to protect you. Even if that means lying or leaving you in the dark."

Tonks met her gaze for a long moment, then shook her head and looked away. "Whatever. Fine." She turned her back on Lyra and began to walk away.

"Dora…"

Tonks ignored her. She was reaching for the doorknob when —

"They're visions," said Lyra suddenly.

Tonks looked back at her. "What?"

Lyra looked around the room, looking genuinely lost. "I don't know," she said, like Tonks had asked her some impossible question. "I have knowledge in my head about stuff that's meant to happen so I've tried to avoid all the terrible things. It's how I knew about Quirrell, and the diary, and Pettigrew. I actually sent an anonymous letter to Amelia Bones about Pettigrew when I was like, two."

Tonks slowly put her arm down and turned around fully, her heart thumping. "Lyra, what are you talking about?"

"Isn't it obvious?" said Lyra, sounding impatient and even a little scared.

"You — what? Have a talent for divination?" (Her mother had once said Narcissa had suspected it.)

"A talent for divination," said Lyra, letting out a little bitter laugh. "Yeah, sure. You can call it that." Derision tugged at her lips and the corners of her eyes.

"Madam Bones told me about that letter," said Tonks faintly, feeling cold all over. "I remember, when she was talking to all of us about how it's important to take even the wildest tales seriously. She said she had received a letter about Sirius' innocence years before it was proven, and how it was always one of her biggest regrets, and how she wonders what other things could have been avoided if she had taken all of them seriously."

And Tonks understood in that moment that if Lyra was telling the truth, dismissing it out of hand had a chance of shutting Lyra up forever, so that she was forever burdened with it.

"I sent her multiple letters," said Lyra, a little defeated. "And I was too scared to tell the Ministry about everything."

"They wouldn't have even taken it seriously," said Tonks quietly, and somewhat absently. She stared at Lyra, her mind both blank and yet whirling with the information, like it was attempting to juggle it all and was failing miserably.

Seers grow up quicker than most, Mum had said once, and Tonks still remembered the uncanny intelligence Lyra displayed as a child.

"I thought up everything I could to get Sirius out of there," said Lyra, in the tone of someone who quickly wanted to get all the information out there before judgment befell them. "But I couldn't really prove anything. It all rested on finding Pettigrew, and I couldn't even manage that until a few years ago." Regret and guilt tinged her words, Tonks could tell.

"Yeah…"

Lyra seemed to find this response worrying, so she added, "I wasn't even sure if anything was real at first. I couldn't even confirm it to myself —"

"Much less anyone else," said Tonks, nodding to herself, still lost in her thoughts. "Lyra… what else have you seen?"

"I don't know," sighed Lyra. "It's not — a lot of the stuff I've seen isn't even relevant anymore."

"And Azkaban?"

It was this question which proved to be hardest to answer, apparently. Lyra didn't seem to know how to even begin.

"Lyra, I just need to know if you believe Azkaban really will be attacked," said Tonks, hating to be so blunt in a moment like this — but the thought of Lyra having some vision of a breakout stood out more than anything else in her spinning mind.

"I…" Lyra hesitated more than once here, but then she finally said, "I saw the aftermath."

"What do you mean?" said Tonks, stepping closer, so she was almost right in front of her. "You didn't see how it happened?"

"No," said Lyra, and Tonks could see she was beginning to close up. "I just saw what would happen after." There was a genuine fear in her eyes, then. "And I'm not really sure if it's going to happen again, Dora. It wasn't supposed to anymore, taking out Pettigrew should've disrupted the whole thing, the path we were heading on, and then the diary turned out stronger than I ever could have imagined and now I — I don't even know —"

Tonks reached out with a hand, wearily grabbing Lyra's shoulder and pulling her into a hug.

"We need to tell Dumbledore this," she said into Lyra's hair. "You know we need to —"

But Lyra was shaking her head on Tonks' shoulder.

"Lyra —"

"He already knows, stupid," she said. "But definitely don't tell him I told you, because he said not to tell anyone."

"What?" said Tonks, startled enough to pull back. "I thought you said he didn't know about your reasons for Azkaban."

"I only said Dumbledore didn't order me there," said Lyra, frowning. "But he did order me not to tell anyone, so don't, you know…"

"Can I ask Dumbledore —?" Tonks stopped at Lyra's glare.

"No. He'd be upset with me if he knew, and I don't want you prying about personal stuff, okay? Do you know how important that information is?"

"Merlin," said Tonks, holding her hands up. "I was just asking."

Lyra looked away, annoyed. Tonks knew the implications of what it would mean for a child to be given visions of horrible things. But this was still Lyra, and it was difficult to imagine taking her as seriously as the situation warranted, even right after they had just been to Azkaban.

A second later she felt sickened with herself. Of course Lyra would have trouble taking things seriously, given she'd apparently already seen the worst of humanity when she was a child; and then Tonks realized that the expression currently on Lyra's face wasn't annoyance, but anxiety.

Tonks didn't know what to say. She felt like a ship being asked to take on extra passengers while she was already in the middle of sinking. It was all beyond her. She wanted to question Lyra, to comfort her, to apologize, to yell and fight, to hug her tight, but she was so drained of energy she couldn't even begin to think of how to navigate all this, especially when her very understanding of Lyra as a human being had just been flipped on its head and broken.

"Can we go?" said Lyra, frustrated and maybe even hurt.

"I… yeah," said Tonks quietly. "But I think you should talk to someone else about this — maybe my Mum — because I can't really — I want to help, it's just —"

"Just don't tell anyone, please," said Lyra, and this time there definitely was a touch of hurt in her voice.

Tonks thought she understood. Lyra had probably struggled with this her whole life, never having anyone to talk to about it, and now here she was, vulnerable, with an idiot of a cousin standing pointlessly in front of her.

"If that's what you want," said Tonks, giving as comforting a smile as she could manage. "But promise me — promise you'll talk to me, okay? If it gets too much. Or even if something completely unrelated drives you up the wall. I'm not really good at this, but I'd like to be here for you. You're annoying, really annoying sometimes, but the good in you far outshines that, no matter what I ever say out of anger, okay?"

Lyra's eyes flickered with half a dozen conflicting emotions: things like regret and frustration and disgust, perhaps with herself, and also things like love and thin slivers of relief. Tonks stepped in and squeezed the girl tight, until Lyra wheezed and awkwardly patted Tonks on the back, as if she were the one who needed comforting.

"No wonder you're so messed up," murmured Tonks.

And Lyra laughed, lowly, the rumble of her chest somewhat comforting to Tonks.

Feeling lighter than moments ago, Tonks pulled back and wrapped an arm around Lyra's shoulders.

"Come on," she said, pulling her along to the door, "let's go back to my place and I'll make us both hot chocolate. I heard it helps with this sort of thing."

"Annoying cousins?"

"I'll gladly remain ignorant of which one of us you're insulting."

Feeling a lot lighter now, the two of them made their way out of the office.

"So, uh, do the Malfoys have a history of Seers?" said Tonks, letting go of Lyra now they were in the corridors. "Or did you just get hit in the head a lot as a baby and the damage eventually looped back around and gave you —"

"Well, it might've been that weird small skull thing I found in Father's study," said Lyra, "or it was the first time I saw your face." She adopted a thoughtful expression, keeping it steady even as Tonks shoved her playfully. "I was pretty young then, you know."

They walked to the Atrium, their steps echoing against the empty corridors. The lights in the ministry were dimmed, and the few enchanted windows depicted dark fields with red moons in the distance. In the Atrium, Tonks led Lyra inside the designated Apparition zone and held out her forearm.

"My place or yours?" she said. "Or did you want to use the Floo?"

Lyra grabbed her arm, but before Tonks could turn on the spot to Apparate, she felt herself get pulled suddenly into nothing, unable to breathe as she was squeezed through the tiniest hole, and she was suddenly staring at the familiar sight of her flat, clothes strewn on the floor and a sock hanging from the lampshade.

"What a mess," said Lyra after a moment.

"Do you even understand how dangerous that was?" said Tonks. "Apparition isn't a joke, Lyra — where'd you even learn it?" Then the answer came to her and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Tell me you didn't learn it on your own."

"Of course I didn't. James was with me." Lyra flopped down on the most comfortable seat, always acting like it belonged to her. "I splinched off his entire arm the first time I tried that."

"What?"

"Yeah," said Lyra. "Have you ever seen a one-armed man trying to stick his other arm back on? It's hilarious, by the way."

Tonks chewed her lip, trying not to laugh. She wouldn't want Lyra to think she approved of such a thing, but given the small smile on Lyra's lips as her eyes took in Tonks' expression, it was probably pointless.

"How did you even know where to go?" she said instead.

"I've visited before." Lyra held out her hands then, looking as though she were offended that Tonks hadn't done something yet. "Where's my hot chocolate?"

"When'd you visit before?"

"You weren't home," Lyra said, kicking off her shoes. "You must have had one of your night shifts or something."

"Why did you come here at night?"

"Because I needed to cuddle someone," said Lyra, sprawling further over the armchair and putting her feet up on the coffee table.

"Ugh. Why not ask your mum, like the child you are?"

"I can't snog my mum," said Lyra with an affronted expression, casually ignoring the implication that she'd snog her cousin instead.

Tonks gave her a glance of disgust as she slipped out of her boots and took off her Auror jacket, slinging it over the back of an armchair she dragged to the fireplace, which she lit with her wand.

"I kid," said Lyra, shooting her a sly look. "But the only other person willing to let me cuddle them would be my dormmate Larissa, but I really don't feel like having another person fall in love with me after I gave them the gift of friendship —"

"Yeah, yeah," said Tonks, walking through Lyra's legs and pushing them off the table to get to the kitchen. "Hey, have you ever had a conversation where you didn't inflate your own head and then blame it on someone else?"

"I've never blamed my ego on anyone but myself. It is only I who may judge me."

"Whatever." Tonks filled two mugs with water and set them on the kitchen counter. "Do you want marshmallows on top?"

"Sure," said Lyra, and leaned back into the chair thoughtfully. "I wonder what the magical properties of chocolate are, and why it fends off demon energy. Perhaps marshmallows can destroy dementors."

The water went from room temperature to the perfect degree of heat with a flick of Tonks' wand. She stuck her head into the cupboard, looking for those hot chocolate sachets she knew were lying around here somewhere.

"Kingsley said it was good for the soul, like the ultimate comfort food," said Tonks, her voice echoing slightly. "Ah! I found it. You know, I think I believe him," she added as she pulled her head out.

"Probably because of his voice," said Lyra. "Hm. Sometimes men do things to me."

"Oh yeah?" she said, carefully twisting the sachet. "Shack's not interested in a relationship, just so you know."

"Maybe I should try Charlie, then."

Tonks stopped and looked up at the ceiling. "Why do you keep doing this to me for things that aren't even my fault?"

"I honestly can't help it," said Lyra, rather contently. "I think I took it too seriously when Mum told me to never show weakness; just deflect onto another."

Tonks shook her head, re-focusing on the task at hand. She opened the sachets and this time, none of the powder exploded and spilled all over the countertop.

"Did they actually try to teach you stuff like that?" she said, pouring the powder into the two mugs and flicking her wand to stir it magically as she reached for the half-empty bag of marshmallows.

"They tried," said Lyra.

"Mm." Tonks dropped marshmallows into each mug and then took them both, bringing them to the living room. "So are you actually staying over?"

"I can leave if you want." Lyra shrugged. "It's whatever."

Tonks frowned. "It's okay, you can stay…" She held out a mug. "Assuming your parents won't mind. And as long as you don't traumatize me in some way or another. Or flirt with me again."

"I'll stop when you hook me up with —"

"Move over," said Tonks, putting the mug in her hands and sitting on the armrest of the chair.

Lyra leaned away from her, holding her mug close to her as she said, "Don't hover that over my head. Go sit on your stupid shitty couch."

Tonks snorted and slid off and onto the couch, slowly so as to not drip anything onto the hardwood, and then took a sip.

She felt the warmth and humanity that she'd sorely missed over the past few hours return to her, expelling the lingering cold. The warm air from the fireplace finally began to fill the whole room, bathing them in an air of contentment.

"So, your parents?" she said. "Do you ever actually let them know before wandering off?"

"Wandering," murmured Lyra, taking a sip of her own. "Good word. But a witch does not wander. Nor does she idle. She goes precisely where she means to."

"Are you quoting another one of your books?"

"Movie. Hasn't come out yet."

Tonks paused, then swallowed the hot chocolate. "Are you telling me your stupid ramblings are supposed to make sense in the future?"

"Some," said Lyra mysteriously, hiding her smile behind her mug.

---

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