"Oho!"

Narcissa smacked Lyra's hand away from the table. "Those are for me, dear. You have your own jewelry for this occasion."

"But these are just so much cuter," said Lyra, reaching for the emerald teardrops again.

"And they would ruin your color coordination," said Narcissa, swiping them up before she could grab them — Lyra let out a scandalous noise — and proceeded to carefully thread the wires through her earlobes. "Oh, quit being dramatic." Narcissa put in the other earring, and tucked loose strands of blonde hair behind her ears, checking her face from different angles in the mirror. Humming appreciatively, she stood from the chair and gently guided Lyra into it by her shoulders. "Mother knows best, dear. Now let me see."

She'd done up Lyra's hair in a masterpiece of a braided bun, revealing her ears and the silver earrings they had already put in and leaving her shoulders bare. The pale blue dress she wore was maybe a little more revealing than Narcissa would've liked once upon a time, allowing a slit for most of Lyra's leg to slip through and nothing on the arms, but Lyra had grown. She'd be seventeen soon.

"Are you looking to impress someone tonight, dear?" said Narcissa.

"Maybe," said Lyra.

"Well," said Narcissa, tucking a loose strand of hair back into Lyra's braid, "You will truly be the crowning jewel at the gala." She could tell Lyra fought a smile at that, too.

Narcissa reached out for her wand, her fingers wrapping around the wood nimbly, and cast a spell on each of their hairstyles to keep it all in place, even through fierce fire and water and wind. As she placed her hands upon on her daughter's shoulders, and marveling at just how tall she was now, iit hit her suddenly, how much her daughter had grown. She was an adult now, more or less; she had seemed like one for an exceptionally long time, true, but soon enough she would leave this home. Narcissa felt her throat constrict. Placing her hands on Lyra's cheeks, she leaned down and pressed her lips to the crown of her skull.

"My daughter," she whispered.

"Mum?" said Lyra with some concern.

"It's nothing important, darling," said Narcissa. "I am just reminded of how much you have grown. You will graduate in mere weeks and soon you will depart from me. I… I had never truly taken the time to think about that day."

Lyra's eyes turned so sad that Narcissa half-wished she had kept that unspoken.

"Yeah…"

"Oh, my daughter," said Narcissa quietly. "I wish I could demand you never leave."

"Don't say stuff like that, Mum," Lyra said, equally softly. "You'll ruin my makeup."

Narcissa swallowed heavily and looked at the ceiling, before nodding. "Indeed. We wouldn't have time to re-do both of our cosmetics." She straightened. "Are you ready then —?"

But Lyra was standing up and holding Narcissa by her shoulders. "Mum…" she said sadly. "I'll still come and visit often. Every week if I can."

"Of course," said Narcissa, "but it won't be the same knowing you're not sleeping here."

Lyra smiled through her tears and said, laughing, "Then I'll sleep here sometimes."

Narcissa couldn't stop the wide smile pulling at her cheeks. "Goodness, Lyra, you'll make my heart burst one day. No, it's okay — don't, you'll ruin your makeup —"

Lyra laughed again as a tear streamed down her face. "Oh Mum, you're worth a whole lot more than some makeup."

Narcissa couldn't help but laugh a little herself as she fixed Lyra's makeup and then held out her hand. Feeling Lyra's fingers slip into her own, she guided her daughter out of the room, stepping slowly down the stairs, their dresses flowing behind them like they were featuring in some fairy tale. As they descended to the foot of the stairs, Narcissa saw Lucius' face light up in awe, and she smiled.

"Took you long enough," Draco said.

"And it shows," said Lucius, leaning in to brush his lips against Narcissa's knuckles. "You look beautiful, darling. And you, Lyra, you'll be the star of the gala."

"As I said," Narcissa said with a twitch of her lips.

Lyra gave the smuggest smirk she could and said, "Quite. My ego will reach new heights tonight."

"You look splendid yourself, dear," said Narcissa, ignoring Lyra and running her fingers down Lucius's dark-green dress robes, which seemed to shimmer violet with a peculiar angle of light. Draco wore black at his insistence — he was having that phase where any sort of color was 'embarrassing', the silly boy. Then again, Narcissa herself had a phase in which she wore black lipstick, and she shan't even get started on Bellatrix.

"Are we all ready?" said Lucius, and Narcissa nodded. "Very well. Shall we?"

The Malfoys stepped up to the fireplace, and one by one, they disappeared into the emerald flames, emerging out of the Ministry fireplace into a wall of noise and a sight of splendor.

The Atrium was draped in black and bronze banners, with a large Union Jack and Golden Harp being the central pieces. The dozens of tables were arranged in a rough horseshoe shape with the Fountain of Magical Brethren located at the open end, spouting wine instead of water. Silver and gold platters of finger foods were scattered about, while waiters — human-sized, animal-headed puppets dressed in matching outfits — walked around carrying trays of drinks in crystal goblets. Guests were mingling both inside and outside the horseshoe shape.

They weaved through the velvet ropes and passed by a plain-clothed Auror who nodded in recognition. Lucius, as Narcissa had expected him to do, made straight for the center of the room where the people were perhaps a little better dressed, and a little more aggressive in their networking.

"My, they have outdone themselves this year," said Lucius idly, as Draco turned his head this way and that, looking a little overwhelmed by the number of attending guests.

"It is the forty-ninth anniversary," said Narcissa. Seven by seven years; an auspicious omen, for those that cared about such things. "It would hurt their prestige if they did not."

"Not to mention Cornelius' ego would find it unacceptable," Lucius muttered under his breath, and Narcissa hummed, amused. "Is that Dumbledore?"

Narcissa turned to follow Lucius' gaze and found, as her husband said, Albus Dumbledore, dressed in plum robes. "So it seems."

"A surprise."

"Why?" asked Draco.

"He doesn't care for these events," said Lucius. "He never comes."

"Oh, and James, too," said Lyra, balancing on her toes to peer over the crowd. "Ooh — isn't he popular tonight… All right, I'm off." And she stepped away, and would have gone off without a word had Narcissa not grabbed her wrist. "What?"

"Please don't go do anything stupid tonight," said Narcissa. "If you're serious about trying to gain political power —"

"Then I'll kill anyone who stands in my way," said Lyra without care.

Narcissa threw a hopeless look at Lucius, who shrugged.

"Perhaps you should go with her," he said. "You'll keep her from getting into too much trouble, I hope."

"Please," drawled Lyra. "If anything, she'll join me."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure," said Lucius, shooing them away, playfully, as some old wizard in a typical pure-blood dress robe came up to Lucius to introduce himself. And before Lucius could pull Draco by his side, Draco noticed the Zabinis and went off toward them.

Lyra grabbed Narcissa's hand and began to tug at it in a most childlike manner. It sent a pang of nostalgic melancholy into her heart. How many more opportunities would she get to act silly with her daughter?

Weaving through the crowds, Narcissa eventually came face-to-face with James Stark, who looked rather like Andromeda did when she was forced to attend events like these, and Cedric Diggory. Despite the questionable taste of their formal wear, both were certainly dashing regardless, and Narcissa could very much see them becoming heartbreakers within Magical Britain in a few more years.

"Sup," said Lyra, planting one hand on her hip and cocking her head at them. James blinked at her.

"Hey, Lyra," said Cedric with a brilliant smile. "You look — phew — very nice."

Lyra gave him a smug tilt of her head and said, "I know. Shame the same can't be said for you two. Did Dumbledore pick those outfits for you?"

Their silence spoke volumes. Lyra laughed out loud while Narcissa hid her smile beneath her hand.

"Ah!" said a voice from behind them. "If it isn't two more of my pupils," said Dumbledore, approaching with a pleased smile.

"Professor," said Lyra with genuine fondness.

"Headmaster," said Narcissa cordially. "It's a surprise to see you here."

"I am rather surprised to see myself here," said Dumbledore, stroking his beard. "Pardon me for saying, but these sorts of celebrations have always placed an uncomfortable amount of attention on me."

"You should never ask for a pardon for being awesome," said Lyra, "but you should beg for one for picking these outfits out for these two — seriously, what's wrong with you?" She waved wildly in James and Cedric's direction.

Dumbledore laughed and beamed. "Indeed! James is wearing what I wore to the Carnival of Venice in 1904, and Cedric is wearing the robes I wore to the coronation of Queen Wiktoria of Poland in 1906!"

Lyra blinked and said, "Oh?"

"Well, they're rather eye-catching, Headmaster," Narcissa said, secretly enjoying the growing discomfort on the boys.

"Actually, I change my mind," said Lyra, looking the two up and down. "That's kind of cool."

"Forgive me for prying, but how did you two receive your invitations?" Narcissa asked curiously. "The guest list is rather selective, after all, and I don't wish to sound rude…"

"Ah, Cedric here is my plus-one," said Dumbledore, coming around to plant a hand on said boy's shoulder. "And James," he continued, placing his other hand on James' shoulder, "is a recipient of an Order of Merlin, Second Class, and was thus invited on his own merit."

"Oh my," said Narcissa. "For the basilisk, I presume? Yes, I could see that." Narcissa smiled at James. "Congratulations, dear. I'm very proud of you."

"I have one too," Lyra said, tugging on Narcissa's sleeve. "You don't praise me for that."

Frowning, Narcissa thought back on the million moments she had praised her daughter, and said, rolling her eyes, "Darling, don't lie." She wrapped her arms around Lyra's shoulders and rubbed a hand over her hair. "I praise you so much that sometimes I wonder how your head hasn't exploded from all the hot air."

Lyra gave all of them a grin full of teeth, and said insincerely, "Oh yeah."

James scoffed.

In a conspiring tone, Cedric said to Dumbledore, "She needs reminding of her own worth every five minutes."

"You mean she needs inflating of her own worth?" said James.

"Please. I'm the greatest witch in this room," said Lyra. "I could beat anyone here in a duel." She gave Dumbledore a blatant look of disrespect.

"Indeed?" said Dumbledore. "You should be wary of making such statements when your former Professor Lockhart is in the room."

All the lightness in Lyra's face disappeared as she said, "What?" Her narrowed eyes darted all around the room.

"Oh, yes," said Dumbledore, his beard twitching. "Did you miss him advertising his autobiography near the drinks table?"

Lyra's eyes finally caught Lockhart, her lips thinning as she said, "Excuse me."

"Uh, what was that about?" said Cedric as she strolled right up to Lockhart. Narcissa herself was quite curious. From a distance, all she could see was the glee on Lockhart's face vanish as Lyra confronted him on whatever issue there seemed to be.

"What is that about?" asked Narcissa, but it was more a demand from Dumbledore.

Dumbledore sighed and said, "Gilderoy is not an entirely honest character… and… Lyra has taken it upon herself to deliver her rather unique brand of justice. I have decided not to intervene for now. But when his usefulness comes to an end, we will ensure his victims are properly compensated."

Only she and Cedric seemed confused. James wasn't surprised by any of this, which for a moment, again, brought up a hint of unfair resentment and bitterness toward him; why did her daughter tell him so much?

"Victims?" Narcissa said instead.

"None of the students," Dumbledore assured her. "If it had been, well…" He spread his hands.

Narcissa glanced at Lockhart again, whose fixed grin — or grimace? — looked like someone had spelled it on him.

"What is it we're looking at?" said another voice coming up to them, an excitable old man. "Is that —? Dear, oh dear, is that Lyra Malfoy chewing out Gilderoy Lockhart? Goodness, what did he do? Though given what I overheard him say to young Eleanor Belby only a few minutes ago, I think I suspect." Then he seemed to see Narcissa for the first time and said, "Ah! Then that is your daughter, is it not?" He held out a hand to her and smiled. "Newt Scamander. I've already had the pleasure of meeting your daughter — and this fine gentleman here too!" he added, beaming at James.

"A pleasure, Mister Scamander," Narcissa said, hiding her surprise. "Might I ask how you're acquainted with my daughter?"

"When Albus sent me a letter saying they'd found a prime specimen of an endangered species, I simply couldn't resist," he said, his eyes glittering with unbridled enthusiasm. "A shock to learn it was dead! Although admittedly, it would have been much safer than a live basilisk — very temperamental creatures. And since I only know how to insult one's mother in Parseltongue, I'm afraid I wouldn't have helped much either. But even a corpse provides valuable new information, especially one of that size — and now James and I even have matching coats!"

James looked a bit uncomfortable as Scamander began to ramble about the various findings he'd made with the unmatched energy of a man who truly loved his work. Narcissa almost wanted to ruffle James' hair and be proud of him. Goodness, what was becoming of her?

She turned her head to see where Lyra was, and saw her chatting with Eli Greengrass, a glass of what was probably whiskey in her hand.

"Ah, if it isn't Horace," said Dumbledore, and Narcissa stifled a sigh as memories of her own schooldays rose unbidden. Professor Slughorn was by no means unpleasant company, but he could get rather overbearing. "I shall corner him, I think. He's been avoiding me… You may stay or come, Cedric, it is up to you."

"I'll come," said Cedric, and the two of them disappeared into the throng.

"Excuse me," she said politely, unsure she could feign interest in Scamander's ramblings much longer, and she left James there with him.

Narcissa plucked a glass of champagne off a waiter's tray as she maneuvered through the growing crowd, coming up to Lyra's side just in time to hear her ask, "And how are your daughters doing?"

"Better than I ever imagined them doing," said Eli Greengrass, acknowledging Narcissa with a smile and a nod. "Daphne as of late has finally started revealing her potential. We always knew she was a smart girl, but now she's coming out of her shell, and — well. I can see why she preferred books to people, because the breadth of her knowledge is truly astounding. And Astoria seems to have opened up some more as well, thanks to her sister's influence…"

"Huh…" said Lyra.

"Truly?" said Narcissa. "That's wonderful to hear."

It had been years since Narcissa had properly met Daphne and Astoria, but her first impressions of both of them had been that they were socially stunted. Daphne was, if she dared to be unkind, absentminded; Astoria, a sickly girl, was often unable to participate in the more physical play that children engaged in, even when she wasn't bedridden.

"Indeed," said Eli, a proud smile stretching his cheeks. "I hear Daphne even made some new friends towards the end of the past school year — perhaps your son has mentioned something?"

"Oh, Draco is far too embarrassed to be writing long letters to his mother," Narcissa said lightly, and Eli smiled.

"Daphne was like that," he said. "Now she writes often: about her time at Hogwarts, the ongoings of the wizarding world — she actually seems to be interested in politics, believe it or not."

"She's asked of your family as well," said a voice behind her. Narcissa turned her head only slightly, allowing her eyes to do most of the work of tracking Clementine Greengrass as she circled around her and Lyra to stand by Eli. Narcissa was the only one who caught the easygoing smile on Lyra falter for just a split-second.

"Oh?" said Lyra.

"Yes," said Clementine, something a little sharp in her gaze as she took in Lyra. "The Malfoys have undertaken quite" — her smile turned sharp too — "the transformation over the last few years. From the Dark Lord's champions to the worst blood traitors is something to behold."

"Tina," said Eli.

"I am not calling them blood traitors," said Clementine, glancing at him but still holding an uncomfortable something in her gaze as it returned to Lyra. Narcissa wanted to slap it off her. "I am merely repeating the words of others. I am not so crude."

Lyra's eyebrows shifted upward minisculely. "To say it."

"Sweetheart," said Narcissa, lightly putting her fingers on Lyra's arm.

"What?" said Lyra without a care in the world. "Are we supposed to just stand around in a circle and pretend the Lady Greengrass hasn't always been more sympathetic to —" She waved a hand, not bothering to finish the sentence.

"What I am sympathetic to is merely what's kept wizardkind safe and free," said Clementine, her smile remaining but her eyes losing any faux-warmth. "I do not favor the Dark Lord's methods, or even wish to remove muggle-borns anymore, but let us not pretend they haven't brought prejudice into our world, or that the muggles wouldn't wish to enslave us all for their own purposes."

"Tina," Eli repeated, taking his wife's arm. "Let us not start this discussion here. It is meant to be a night of celebration, not —"

"It's a night for remembrance, precisely about these issues," said Clementine, a bit snappishly. "And I am looking for intellectual discussion, not argument. Whatever happened to polite disagreements?"

"An attempted genocide, maybe?" said Lyra.

"The actions of others do not dictate my own liberties," said Clementine.

Lyra shrugged. "Sure. I'm not saying it's totally logical, but y'know, people think with their emotions. And it's just hard to argue with people who've got two enormous wars from two murdering maniacs stuck in their head."

"I had hardly thought said maniacs were stuck in the head of someone so young," said Clementine, the patronizing tone obvious even through her veil of civility. "And that Lucius Malfoy would let himself be influenced by such a child so easily. In any case, allow me to part with some wisdom: short-term outrage aside, policy can dictate the future of many more generations to come, especially in our world. It would be best if you thought more on the topics you are so passionate about, lest they give way to disaster for our children."

Lyra glanced at Narcissa, clearly wanting to roll her eyes. "Thank you for your advice, then, Tina. I hope this sentiment doesn't rub off on your daughters when they were just starting to make some friends."

Clementine's eyes flashed with genuine anger for a brief moment and Narcissa repressed the urge to laugh at Lyra's jab. "It was interesting to meet you, I suppose. Narcissa," she said, with a slight nod barely bordering on polite, and her gaze shifted in a way that suggested she had found far more agreeable entertainment. Eli Greengrass hesitated, and shot them an apologetic look before he followed his wife into the crowd.

"Opinions," scoffed Lyra a second later. "I hate when they pretend their beliefs are mere opinions, like she didn't vote in favor of the Anti-Muggle Marriage Law and that ridiculous Separation of Nature bill, like those dipshits aren't trying to actively inflict suffering on others." She took an angry sip of her drink. "They just do it in a way that keeps their pretty hands clean. Fucking neoliberals."

"Hm," Narcissa said, thinking about Lucius. She welcomed a distraction in the form of James, who appeared a moment later, looking haggard already, a martini glass in his hand half-filled with some mysterious pink liquid which had dark red smoke rolling off the surface.

"Why's she so mad?" he said, following Lyra's gaze to the Greengrasses, before she disappeared.

"Lyra is being Lyra," Narcissa said.

"Right," said James. "Well, at least you're not bullying kids now."

"I wasn't bullying her," said Lyra, annoyed. "If she openly agrees with Grindelwald's motivations, then what happens next is her own problem."

"She really said that?"

"It is a genuine concern for most," said Narcissa. "As a whole, Muggles would wish to harness our abilities. It does not have to be through force, either — say, would you be willing to turn down a million-pound 'consultancy fee' for every act of magic you performed for the Muggles? Not all wizarding families are as well-off as ours, and most would be happy to take such an offer; it would bind wizards and witches to these Muggles until eventually the Muggles have enough connections to leverage a significant amount of pressure upon the Wizarding World. I suppose Clementine was feeling frustrated that nobody else was willing to say it aloud, however."

"Right," said James, sounding a little less sure. "I didn't know that."

"As clever as you are, you do come from a Muggle background," said Narcissa. "I don't fault you for not noticing, but I'm certain you can find parallels within the Muggle world as well. That said, she could still have more tact than to imply that she finds some elements of Grindelwald's or the Dark Lord's philosophies agreeable."

"And she thinks I'm too honest," Lyra said. "Even I know to keep my mouth shut about some topics. Poor Eli."

Narcissa hummed softly in agreement as Lyra's attention turned to a small display set up on the side of the atrium. Slowly, they made their way over, and Lyra, as Narcissa expected, went straight to the broom that was on display in a glass case.

"Heather Jones' Comet 190," Lyra read. "The most decorated British ace to date and the flight commander of the 6th Multinational Squadron Berlin Express, Heather Jones led Poles, Danes, and Britons on numerous successful nighttime broom raids in the Low Countries and Germany from 1943 to 1945. Her heavily modified Comet 190, despite bearing the scars of these many tours, remains flightworthy to this day and comparable in performance against even the most competitive brooms of the late 20th century."

"I believe I met her, once," Narcissa mused. "When I was still at Hogwarts. One of her nieces was a friendly acquaintance of mine."

"You knew Gwenog Jones?" Lyra said.

"Not well," Narcissa demurred. "She was a few years younger than I. I did tutor her in some subjects."

"…Does she do, like, private Quidditch tutoring? You know, since you tutored her, like a 'I'll scratch your back and you scratch mine' kind of deal?"

"I recall you saying you were the greatest Quidditch player to ever exist and that nobody can compare."

"I say shit like that all the time without meaning it."

James coughed. Lyra glanced at him, then dismissed him. "So, can I have that broom instead?"

"Lyra, dear," Narcissa sighed, and Lyra tried to give her puppy-dog eyes. As effective as it was, she was a bit too old for that now, especially dressed up.

"Early Christmas present," Lyra tried. "And birthday, too."

"No."

"Yeah, wouldn't it be much more impressive if you beat Harry with your own skill instead of relying on a broom?" said James, and Lyra looked at him like he was some scum that had plastered itself to the bottom of her shoe.

"In any case, modified brooms are forbidden according to Quidditch regulations," said Narcissa. "You did know that, didn't you?"

Lyra said nothing. James rolled his neck and gave a languid grin. "Didn't you enchant your Nimbus to warn you of incoming bludgers?"

"No," Lyra said immediately. "Hey, that looks cool."

She stepped past James and leaned down to examine a strange, silvery contraption that hummed. It was about waist-high, and contained in a polished silver and glass case; inside, she could see gears and levers, gently humming as they spun. To Narcissa, it looked somewhat like the grandfather clock in Malfoy Manor, supposedly commissioned by one of Lucius' distant ancestors, though this device was much smaller and somehow even more fiendishly complex.

"The Manuel Cipher is an encryption device developed by French toymaker Manuel Sciverit by Grindelwald's forces. A savant by all accounts, Sciverit created a highly complex arithmantic cipher that scrambled letters every thirty minutes based on date, the positions of the sun and moon, the weather over Marseille, and other unknown factors. Only eleven machines were built in total and kept in strict secrecy among Grindelwald's most senior officers. After the defection of a mid-level officer, the capture of both the machine and Sciverit himself became one of the highest priorities for Allied forces, but it resulted in failure as Grindelwald ordered Sciverit killed than have his secrets released. The cipher remains unsolved to this day, but presents a challenge for arithmancy enthusiasts around the world."

"I've seen one of these in Dumbledore's office," James said. "Didn't think it was that important, though. Hope it doesn't get blown up in a couple of years."

"He has one? Well, I guess it's not surprising," said Lyra.

"Yeah, he's using it as a bedside table."

Lyra snorted, then her lips twisted into a scowl. "You're kidding."

"I'm not."

"Not that," Lyra said, then pointed. "That."

James followed her finger. "Luncheon with Lockhart? Nice, it alliterates."

"Fucking Lockhart," Lyra muttered.

"You won't do anything to him, will you?" Narcissa asked, amused. "He is raising money for charity, after all."

"Not today, no," said Lyra. "But I told him I wouldn't out him in front of everyone here so long as he spent half the night telling everyone that he looks up to me."

Narcissa laughed out loud, and then said, "Lyra, dear, as wonderful as you are, perhaps subtlety is not your strongest suit."

"Mm." Lyra's lips twitched as she took a sip of whiskey. "People like honesty."

"Which you always are, of course," said a familiar voice next to them. It was Nymphadora Tonks, present for Auror duty. Though the color scheme was the same, instead of her dragon-hide coat, she was wearing a high-collared velvet dress robe. Golden epaulettes were placed upon her shoulders, and her sleeves puffed out slightly before tapering down along the elbows to fit snugly under black forearm gloves. By contrast, the front of the robes were closed tight over the chest with seven golden buttons and a black-and-gold belt across her midsection, before splitting and flowing out to either side of her, revealing sharp red slacks and polished boots with brass buckles. The look was completed with a wide-brimmed maroon beret over her pink hair, long enough for this occasion to be made up into a bun.

"No," said Lyra, "but they think I am —"

Dora gave her a dry look. "I don't think anyone who knows you thinks that."

"And just how many people do you think truly know me?"

Giving her an unimpressed glance, Dora said, "Not much, it seems."

"So," said James, clapping his hands together, not so much cutting through the tension rather than shattering it with a sledgehammer. "See anything you fancy, Dora?"

"Not really," said Nymphadora. Then, genuinely curious: "D'you really think I can afford any of this with my salary?"

"Well, no." James gave her an innocent smile. "But I do have a weakness for girls in uniform."

Nymphadora's lips twitched. "Nice try, but not tonight. I'll have to get back to my rounds, or I'll get yelled at. Business before pleasure, after all." Her fingers brushed Narcissa's hand, and she playfully elbowed James on the way out.

"James," Lyra said.

He didn't turn his eyes off Nymphadora's retreating back. "Yeah?"

"I'll kill you."

James rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Look, the bid for Luncheon with Lockhart is starting. How much should I throw in?"

"You'd have to pay me to spend that much time with him," Lyra scoffed, drawing a few angry looks.

Ultimately, an anonymous bidder paid fifteen galleons for an opportunity to have lunch with Gilderoy Lockhart. Narcissa sniffed disdainfully, as the various Lockhart supporters in the crowd seethed at the lost chance.

"And now, allow me to introduce to you, ladies and gentlemen, the Dragon's Orb of Four Stars. Seemingly indestructible and apparently an artifact of great power, its purpose has nonetheless been lost in time — perhaps you will be the one to rediscover it, ladies and gentlemen? Bidding begins at…"

"Is that…" James trailed off, and shook his head. "Let's go find some food."

"Never far from your mind, is it?" Narcissa said.

"It's not like I wanted to be here."

As they approached the edge of the Atrium, the crowds thinned, with people preferring to stay within their respective circles than walk and mingle. James sat heavily on one of the benches, sighing.

"Welcome, welcome!"

Narcissa turned to the podium, which had been erected in front of the fountain. Cornelius Fudge beamed at the audience, drinking in their attention. Narcissa took a moment to pluck a handful of grapes from a table and chewed on them as she paid half her attention to the Minister.

"I am very glad to see such attendance for our forty-ninth Victory Day celebration," said Fudge. "On this day, forty-nine years ago, Gellert Grindelwald, the Terror of Europe, was defeated, and his generals rounded up and arrested. A great crime against humanity had been corrected! And we stand here today as a testament to the unfading resilience of Justice and Goodness."

Narcissa drained the rest of her champagne in one mouthful. Grindelwald's War had barely reached Britain, and nor had the country had any real involvement in Grindelwald's destruction save for Dumbledore and a handful of other volunteers making their journey into mainland Europe.

"I recall being a child when the fateful day came," said Fudge, "my father receiving his copy of the Prophet by owl, as he always did — and then he rushed into the room, shouting 'Grindelwald has fallen!' and what a joyous occasion it was. We all knew of his terror, of his cruelty, and it had finally come to an end. After many long years, after many courageous lives lost, we had won. And so we dedicate this day to them. To the victorious!"

Fudge raised his goblet, and the crowd mirrored his words and actions. Narcissa swirled the now-empty champagne glass in one hand. She refused to believe for a second that Fudge knew the true nature of Grindelwald's terror and his cruelty. His war had depopulated Magical Europe in a manner not seen since the Plague. Of course, the only source of news in Britain was the Prophet, which was working perfectly as intended for its role, so she couldn't even be upset that the majority of Magical Britain were mindless sheep. If they had any level of critical thinking, Dumbledore would've been canonized and his face would be printed on Galleons.

But if they were mindless sheep, Narcissa thought, what did that say about her family, who had chosen to support Grindelwald and Voldemort?

"But you've plenty enough words from me," said Fudge. "You'll hear plenty more from me in the upcoming campaigns, ha-ha! I shall let someone else take the stage — please give a round of applause for Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart!"

Narcissa almost groaned as enthusiastic clapping filled the Atrium. Lockhart waved to the crowd as he strutted onto the stage — doing a remarkable impression of Lucius' peacocks (and if they ate her flowers again, she was going to get herself a new coat, Lucius' protests be damned). Lyra was stumbling around on her tip-toes to try and get a look, while James was now preoccupied with catching snitches made of honey macadamia ice-cream and coated in caramel. When he finally caught one with an expression of triumph, Narcissa gently pried it out of his fingers and popped it into her mouth. James' crestfallen expression was just as delicious as the treat itself.

"Aha!" Lockhart planted his fists on his hips. "It's good to see such esteemed ladies and gentlemen today! I admit I wasn't even born when Grindelwald's War ended, but it has been a great influence as to the man I have become! I have toured Europe on many occasions, as I'm sure you all well know from my books, and I have seen the aftereffects personally…"

Narcissa tuned out the fop. Having heard what Lyra had discovered about him… she was frankly surprised that someone like him was capable of such deception. But she'd not fall for it now, and she had always thought his smile was overrated anyway.

"Excellent show, good chap," said Fudge, returning to the microphone. Lockhart lingered for a good ten seconds more, waving at the crowd, before he stepped back down. "Now… I'd like to share the stage with a guest who doesn't usually come to this gala. Please welcome Mr. Albus Dumbledore."

Mister, Narcissa snorted to herself. As if he weren't Supreme Mugwump, or the Headmaster of the most prestigious institution in Britain, or the one who defeated the very man they were supposed to be celebrating the defeat of.

Dumbledore paused in front of the microphone, and smiled genially at everyone present.

"Good evening to you all. I confess this is my first time attending the Ministry's Victory Day charity gala. I am, as I am sure many of you know, not entirely fond of celebrations such as these. It has been some time since I was able to pull off dress robes like many of the gentlemen here, after all."

As the audience chuckled politely, Narcissa gave a slight smile and shook her head at the Headmaster's robe — which, she supposed, was still subdued compared to what he usually wore.

"This time, though, I have decided to attend. As for why, I have been thinking." Dumbledore's eyes glazed as he looked off far in the distance. "My thoughts have been rather hectic recently, to say the least. Old memories rise to the surface of my mind unbidden. Old words from old friends. Old emotions from old regrets."

His voice trailed off towards the end, and he lapsed into a long silence; the audience glanced at each other somewhat uncomfortably before Dumbledore shook himself back into the present.

"It humbles me to realize that many among you were not yet born before that fateful day," he said. "Fewer still witnessed the conflicts that ravaged the world. Britain was mercifully spared from the brunt of Grindelwald's atrocities; to hold a celebration on this day, in any other country, would be unthinkable. So, if you would humor an old man and his memories, let me tell you a story.

It was a bitterly cold day, even after the snows began melting. Myself and three others were making our way east from the Dutch-German border towards Berlin. The last of Grindelwald's allies had been defeated, and Grindelwald's fall was imminent; all that meant, however, was that Grindelwald would try his very hardest to drag as many of his enemies down with him.

Though I had been in the European theater for about two months, I had yet to see any true combat. And I preferred it that way — I was, and still am, a teacher, not an Auror. You see, by the time I joined the war effort in earnest, Grindelwald's forces were all but spent. Hundreds, if not thousands of wizards and witches gave their lives to Grindelwald for one great lie. Only a few dozen, Grindelwald's officers, remained in hiding somewhere in United Germany. And even United Germany would not be safe for long; the resistance, which now outnumbered them, had formed an emergency government in Aachen and it was a matter of time until they were hunted down.

Instead, our work revolved around deactivating traps. I had thought I was used to death, but the horrors I saw… I once stumbled upon two teenagers. Muggle lovers who had accidentally entered one of Grindelwald's safe-houses in search of medicines. In doing so, they found themselves trapped in a time-loop. A girl was leaning over a young man, holding his hands in her bloody grip, begging him to remain lucid. The young man would die in her arms, and the girl would scream herself hoarse with the anguish you only witness in one who has lost everything — only for the entire building to flicker and the two young lovers to reset to their original positions. They would do this, over and over again, reliving their worst nightmares for what must have been years. When we finally broke the trap, they crumbled into dust, the age they'd spent in the trap catching up with them."

Dumbledore paused for a moment, but Narcissa thought she caught a calculating glint in those eyes this time.

"Ah, but I am getting off track. It was a bitterly cold day, yes… we were making our way deeper into Germany. This day was special, as we were ambushed. It began with a group of orphans begging for food. Even as I reached into my pack to share my own measly rations, my comrades had drawn their wands and Stunned and bound them. Before I could raise any protest, my commanding officer, Charlus Potter, had bound me with rope and yanked me quite violently behind a rock. Good thing, too, because it immediately crumbled under a Killing Curse."

Nobody dared speak as Dumbledore lapsed into silence, the audience's attention focused solely on him and the words that were coming next.

"The world was full of sounds and lights. Spells that I had seen hundreds, if not thousands of times before, now seemed alien to me. I watched one of Grindelwald's men fall and I realized, in the very back of my mind, that he would never get back up again. I was faced with one of Grindelwald's Blackguards — that is what Grindelwald's inner circle called themselves. I dueled him, and it was obvious that I was more skilled, more powerful. And yet, he had me on the back foot, because he had killing intent, and I did not.

I had dueled countless times, both before the war and in preparation for it, and I only then realized that the spells I used were not tools, but weapons. Each and every spell I had ever cast in my life, with the correct application, might kill a man. The man in front of me had already accepted this truth, and was doing his best to kill me.

So I killed him. I cannot recall what spell ended his life, but he fell with a look of profound shock in his face, as if he could not believe he were finally dead. I… I felt sickened with myself. I knew that he had not risen to the rank of Blackguard without being among the lowest of the low, and yet, he was somebody's son. Perhaps a husband, or even a father. Before he was swayed by Grindelwald's madness, he could have been an ordinary civilian, just like us, just like me. Charlus was a shopkeeper. Reginald was a clockmaker. I was a teacher… and this conflict had turned us all into monsters. Into something we would never dream of becoming outside of it. When the war ended, I hoped that this would be enough. That I would never have to experience such horror again, that I would be free to leave these memories hidden deep in my mind."

Dumbledore gave a bitter smile, a side of him that few ever saw, full of self-loathing and regret. "And yet… I wonder if my contributions were for nothing. I had, rather naively in hindsight, hoped that cutting of the head of the snake, so to speak, would cripple the sentiments that had led to this war in the first place. It took me a very long time indeed, until the rise of Voldemort —" the room collectively shuddered at the use of the title "— to realize that I had misplaced my faith." He spread his hands. "I am old and weary. I am somewhat ashamed to admit to feeling apathy in recent years. And so, even after Voldemort's downfall, I maintained my silence.

It was only with speaking to a few of the brightest youngsters at my dear school that my perspectives have changed. So proud, so reckless, to the point I might call them arrogant — and yet within their hearts they hold dear an intense desire to change the world for the better. If they had had an opportunity to speak to my old friends, my dead friends, then I suspect they would have gotten along quite well."

Dumbledore placed his hands on the podium and leaned forward, softening his voice. His eyes glittered like two chips of ice and his usual joviality was gone.

"Two wars I have fought. Both were caused by a single charismatic young man who thought they were better than everyone else. Both were defeated, but their ideas remain. The unfounded claims of superiority by blood, the discrimination faced by non-human races, the enslavement of House-Elves — do you truly think we will have peace, so long as these ideas prevail? Of course not. Soon, there will be a third warlord, shaped by our prejudices, ready to learn from the mistakes of the previous two. The first time, it was Muggles; the second, it was Muggle-borns; a day will come when you become the hunted. Will you care, then, when nobody is left to care for you?"

Dumbledore stepped back from the podium, softening the expression on his face into a pleasant smile that contrasted sharply with his prior words. Narcissa's eyes flickered to her husband, whose jaw was set and his fingers curled into fists.

A hesitant clapping from somewhere in the Atrium led to a round of applause. Narcissa slowly clapped, while taking in the reactions from those around them.

Lucius straightened suddenly, and scanned the room over their heads. "Excuse me," he said to Narcissa, and disappeared into the mass of people. Lyra and Draco both shot Narcissa a look, and she frowned as she tried to see what was going on. Lucius was uncannily good at reading the room and the changes in mood — what he had sensed, even she wasn't quite sure.

"Well," she said, if only to pass the time, "what did you think?"

Draco was silent for a moment before he answered. "I don't think I've ever heard him be that straightforward."

Lyra laughed.

"He certainly hadn't shared that story with the public before," said Narcissa.

Then, Lucius emerged from the crowd once more, hard lines set into his features. He and Narcissa exchanged a look, and she looked to her children.

"Come," she said. "Let's beat the crowd, shall we?"

"Just — one more —" said Lyra, reaching for some champagne, only to be caught by the wrist by her father.

"Lyra," Lucius snapped, dragging their daughter back towards them. "Behave. Draco, come here."

Narcissa's heart hammered in her chest as Lucius ushered them towards the Floos, which was suddenly flanked by an Auror. Lyra made to complain, but Lucius cut her short with a sharp glare that he rarely, if ever, used on his children. Draco's eyes flitted about nervously as the crowd began to murmur. Narcissa's fingers inched to her thigh, where her wand was concealed within the folds of her dress.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Rufus Scrimgeour, his amplified voice cutting over the excitement, "please form an orderly queue by the punch tables next to the Floo. Please follow the instructions of the Aurors and remain calm. Thank you."

Thanks to Lucius' advanced warning, the Malfoys reached the Floo quickly enough. Lucius maneuvered Lyra to the front of the line, then Draco, then Narcissa, and finally himself. Lyra remained tense as she pinched some powder between her fingers, threw it in the fire, and stepped inside, calling out "Malfoy Manor."

"What's happening?" Draco asked, even as Lucius just about shoved Draco forward.

"We can discuss it at home," Lucius said tersely. "Go."

Draco nodded hesitantly, before obeying his father's orders. Narcissa quickly followed; stepping out of fireplace into the familiar guest room, she turned around and watched the flames flare emerald again as Lucius stepped out. He unbuttoned his robe and threw it over the back of an armchair before running his hand over one cheek.

"Draco," said Lucius, just as their son opened his mouth, "would you make us some tea, please? And Lyra, could you go to my office and fetch my ink, quill, and some parchment? Thank you, both."

Draco and Lyra left the room. Lucius twirled his wand, and the chandelier came to life, illuminating the room in its warm, orange light; yet Narcissa felt the shadows were longer and deeper, somehow. As the sound of kitchen implements clanking against each other came from the kitchen, Narcissa turned to her husband.

"What is it? What's going on?" said Narcissa, placing a hand on Lucius's shoulder.

And he turned to her, a blankness scattering over the fear he could not hide, and he said, "Someone's just broken into Azkaban."