Chapter 5
American Dumbledore
Lyra Marks seethed with anger, a level of frustration she hadn't felt in ages, especially directed at Tessra.
This wasn't the first time Lyra had been thrust into some bewildering situation without a moment's notice. Such was the nature of being a member of the 27 Coven. Once you became a member, your expertise in your chosen career path would flourish exponentially. There was no denying that. However, no member could work full-time anywhere. They operated as consultants, prioritizing coven missions above all else. Most workplaces eager for the talents of the 27 were willing to accommodate these terms, most members accepted them as well, given the substantial compensation they offered. After all, they were the most sought-after witches and wizards, capable of extraordinary feats.
Tessra sensed Lyra's simmering anger as she escorted her out of the hall, fearing the woman might erupt in front of everyone. The moment they stepped outside, it happened.
"What in the world, Tessra?!" Lyra fumed while lighting a cigarette.
Tessra opted for a composed approach. Though infuriated by Lyra herself, she needed her to understand.
"Lyra..."
"No! This is complete bullshit...I have three pending cases at work...and you want me to babysit some reckless fool who had a momentary lapse of judgment!" Lyra yelled, frustration spewing from her.
"I'm heading back to America tonight...this is well below my abilities...why can't someone else handle this?"
"Because you were personally requested." Tessra spoke.
"Are you kidding me right now? Please tell me this is some sort of sick joke!"
"Lyra!"
Her anger refused to let Tessra interject.
"I have far more pressing matters that demand my attention!" Lyra retorted.
"The 'reckless fool' happens to be your niece!" Tessra said calmly, cutting her off.
Lyra, primed for a snarky retort, suddenly froze. She frowned at what Tessra had just revealed.
"Your niece reached out to you weeks ago. Had you bothered to look up from your own affairs occasionally, you would've known. Since she received no response, she reached out to me as a last resort." Tessra snapped.
"She...reached out...to you?" Lyra asked, her fury now replaced by concern. Tessra sensed the mounting anxiety within the younger witch.
"She did. She also contacted Reginald Smith, her godfather. MACUSA got involved. And for your information, I offered an alternative when I couldn't locate you, as per usual. However, she adamantly declined, saying she didn't trust anyone else from the coven to assist her—no idea what you've been telling her about the others, but it wasn't well-received!" Tessra scolded.
"I had to drag Erasmus out of some godforsaken tomb in the Rockies to find you urgently, before this escalated into a bureaucratic nightmare. All because you're perpetually late!"
"I'm not late. I arrive precisely when needed!" Lyra replied, taking another drag from her cigarette. Tessra eyed the smoldering stick with disdain.
"Well, that girl needs you, right now. Are you at all interested in helping her?" Tessra inquired pointedly.
"She's left me with very little choice, hasn't she?" Lyra replied, her temper now subsided. She took one final drag from her cigarette before tossing it aside and crushing it beneath her boot.
"What's expected of me?" Lyra asked calmly. If she had to be involved in this, she'd treat it as a mission.
"Lyra...this is someone you love and care about, not just a mission."
"I'm not exactly feeling the love and care right now."
"I understand. Take some time to process this."
"Stop treating this like an assignment, Lyra. She's frightened and confused. Be her pillar of strength. Be the mentor she needs, not just the one she wants." Tessra advised wisely.
Lyra stood there, her head bowed, contemplating her next course of action.
Tessra proceeded to brief Lyra about the tournament and the people she would be dealing with.
"—And please, for everyone's sake, behave yourself!" Tessra added firmly, holding Lyra's hands and giving her a scrutinizing look.
"And try not to get killed!"
"Or kill my niece...?"
"Lyra!" Tessra finally snapped, glaring at her with a stern yet slightly amused smile.
"Go, join your family."
Lyra let out a sigh and turned towards the hall's doors. She glanced back at Tessra for a final moment, but the woman had vanished, leaving only a misty trail.
"Show-off!" Lyra muttered to herself.
Lyra returned to the great hall, where once again, heads turned, and whispers rippled through the room. Excited giggles and expressions of awe filled the air in hushed tones as Lyra made her way to the staff table. Athena stood up as she had before, offering a gentle bow, a customary show of respect for a member of the 27 Coven. Lyra knew her aunt loathed having to bend to the whims of her incorrigible niece.
Yet, despite Athena's deep affection for Lyra, she remained somewhat of a stern traditionalist, a trait that Lyra found increasingly tempting to tease.
"Bow any lower, Thee-Thee, and you might throw your back out." Lyra smirked at her aunt, who shot her an irate glare.
"Don't call me that!" Athena snapped, her cheeks flushed with annoyance, worried that someone might have overheard.
"Where's the culprit responsible for all this choas?" Lyra inquired of her aunt, removing her aviators and tucking them into her robes.
"She's sitting at that table, hiding behind her friends, trying to finish her breakfast," Athena replied, pointing toward Sarah.
"Fucking coward!" Lyra chuckled, her gaze fixed on her niece, who was keeping a low profile behind her friend.
"Do you find this amusing?" Athena queried.
"Yes, upending my life to participating in MACUSA-sponsored death games is precisely how I envisioned spending the rest of my year!" Lyra retorted with heavy sarcasm, reaching for a cigarette.
"LYRA! FOR MERLIN'S SAKE!" Athena scolded, plucking the cigarette from her lips.
"This is a school, with children present. They look up to you!"
"I never asked them to." Lyra shrugged dismissively.
Athena sighed in exasperation and then turned her attention to the staff table. The entire table had been eavesdropping on their conversation with rapt attention and amusement. Athena directed a stern glare at Minerva, who was enjoying a good chuckle behind her newspaper.
"Follow me..." Athena ordered as she strode purposefully toward a man with a notably long beard, engaged in conversation with an evidently disgruntled mustached gentleman.
Lyra trailed behind her aunt, observing as Athena cleared her throat, drawing the attention of the two men.
"Mr. Crouch, shall we proceed with the formalities?" Athena inquired, sporting a subtly insistent smile. Lyra's gaze flitted from her to the shorter man. She couldn't help but wonder why Athena seemed to be placating this older, mustached fellow.
Mr. Crouch hesitated for a moment, grappling with the unorthodox situation. He finally voiced his concern, addressing Athena with a touch of exasperation.
"Athena, you know this is highly irregular for AIMS, don't you? No offense, Ms. Marks, but you're just too..."
Lyra, growing impatient with his veiled insinuations, interrupted sharply,
"Just too what?!"
Athena intervened, gently holding Lyra back, sensing that this exchange could easily escalate.
"Just too accomplished for this!" Mr. Crouch responded with a hint of annoyance, taken aback by Lyra's brashness.
Lyra burst into laughter, her amusement catching Mr. Crouch off guard. She retorted confidently, a smirk playing on her lips,
"I couldn't agree more."
Mr. Crouch appeared momentarily stunned by her unexpected response.
"This is what it is, Barty..." Athena interjected wearily, signaling her impatience with the ongoing conversation.
Mr. Crouch, realizing the futility of further argument, conceded.
"I am aware of the rules, but..."
"You granted us an extension...you agreed with Tessra Jones...you even liaised with the Minister in London. Please, don't push me to involve that girl's father again." Athena let out a tired sigh, hoping Mr. Crouch would understand her predicament.
Mr. Crouch contemplated Athena's veiled threat and finally relented.
"Very well... Dumbledore, I assume we will convene a meeting in your office after lunch, considering that classes are about to begin."
With a slight nod from the bearded gentleman, Mr. Crouch walked away, muttering to himself.
Athena wasted no time, snapping at her niece.
"Come along." She snapped and pulled her away before Lyra could engage further with the other man. She offered him a brief apologetic nod, and he reciprocated with a knowing smile as he watched Athena whisk her niece away.
Athena conjured a chair for Lyra. Her phoenix returned, perching herself on the back of her master's seat. Lyra picked up a piece of bacon to feed the bird.
Lyra was aware of many curious gazes on her but did her best to ignore them. Her attention was soon captured by a pair of familiar green eyes. She smiled at the woman, she was about to ask for an introduction when Athena beat her to it.
"This is my youngest sister, Minerva."
"Minerva...this...is your...this is Lyra..." Athena introduced. Though her tone was dismissive, earning her a glare from her sister.
"The mysterious third sister." Lyra remarked silkily, shaking hands with Minerva over Athena, who grumbled indignantly.
"My mother—your sister—used to tell us stories about you when we were younger. My brother and I hoped you'd visit." Lyra commented, trying to strike up a conversation.
"Oh... I..."
"I'm sure you were occupied with your duties as an auror. How did you transition from that to becoming a professor? And what do you teach?" Lyra inquired.
"I left my role as an auror a while ago. Transfiguration had always been a talent of mine, so I decided to..."
"She's not just a teacher, Lyra. She's also the deputy headmistress." Athena chimed in.
"I'm certain she can talk for herself, Thee-Thee." Lyra quipped.
"STOP CALLING ME THAT!" Athena snapped, plunging her fork into her eggs in irritation.
Lyra chuckled mockingly, and even Minerva couldn't help but join in discreetly behind her napkin. Athena shot her niece an exasperated glare as if to say, this is all your fault!
"Excuse me, ladies, I see my culprit attempting an escape..." Lyra quipped as she half rose from her seat. She turned her attention to her phoenix, who understood what was expected. The bird took flight, and Lyra jogged to catch up.
The phoenix blocked Sarah's path.
"Oh, Burst, come on, move!" Sarah hissed at the bird, waving her hand impatiently, though the phoenix responded with a playful squawk.
"In a rush are we, darling?" Lyra inquired, eyeing her niece from behind. Sarah froze in her tracks, turning to face her aunt.
Lyra, arms crossed, stood before her, their eyes locked.
"I can explain..." Sarah began hesitantly, glancing around as onlookers started to take notice.
"You'd better have an exceptionally good explanation." Lyra warned.
Sarah licked her lips nervously.
"Can we... can we go somewhere more private, please?" She pleaded.
Lyra nodded toward the exit, and Sarah walked guiltily out of the hall, followed closely by her aunt.
In a more secluded setting, Sarah confessed her foolishness to her aunt, initially attempting to shift blame onto her. Lyra promptly shut down any attempts to excuse her reckless actions, making it clear that she had advised her niece to be more assertive, not to put her name in the fucking death games!
Lyra found herself seated in an office rivaling her own in terms of chaos and clutter, albeit much larger. The walls were adorned with slumbering portraits, and a gleaming silver sword stood behind the desk. The desk itself was perched on a large platform, surrounded by three plush armchairs and a grand wing-back chair reserved for its owner. Its make remained an mystery beneath the layers of parchments, scrolls, books, envelopes and various oddities, including candy bowls repurposed as paperweights. In one corner, a pair of brightly colored socks added an unexpected touch.
Taking a moment to explore the collection of intriguing contraptions displayed in a cabinet, Lyra was captivated by the assortment. Some items seemed meticulously handcrafted, while others were entirely unfamiliar, piquing her curiosity. Her gaze was irresistibly drawn to the slumbering phoenix beside Burst, her own companion, who was attempting to rouse the older phoenix from its rest. Intrigued by the encounter, Lyra watched with fascination.
Lyra had been directed to the office to pass the time until the others gathered for the impending meeting. She twirled her wand absentmindedly in anticipation before walking over to the window behind the desk, where she could stare out upon the sprawling school grounds. It sparked a fleeting thought: would she have attended Hogwarts if her birth parents hadn't abandoned her? After all, she had been born in England.
Breaking her from her thoughts, a voice from behind startled her. She turned to see the man she had encountered earlier – none other than the renowned Albus Dumbledore, the man who held an almost mythical status in her brother's eyes.
"Your phoenix seems to have taken quite a liking to mine." Dumbledore observed, drawing Lyra's attention back to her surroundings.
"She's never encountered another phoenix before." Lyra replied, walking over to join him.
"Burst, come!" Lyra commanded, beckoning her phoenix to her shoulder. Burst, after a moment's hesitation, decided to carry on with her own ministrations. The two phoenixes, one young and one older, shared an intriguing interaction, their presence a source of mutual curiosity.
"That's an interesting name." Albus remarked, his amusement evident.
"I found her while camping in the Smokey Mountains with my father and brother" Lyra began, her voice carrying fond reminiscence.
"She was near her burn day, injured, likely by poachers in the area. Burst into flames in my hands – I was horrified. But from her ashes emerged this tiny, helpless chick. My father and godfather, Newt, helped nurse her back to health, and she's been with me ever since."
"A strong bond between a witch and her magical companion is often indicative of why the 27 selected you." Dumbledore mused, acknowledging the significance of their connection.
"Perhaps, but it certainly wasn't what Tessra saw in me." Lyra replied with a smirk.
Dumbledore observed her closely, a flicker of recognition tugging at the edges of his memory. The newspapers had provided glimpses of her career and accomplishments, but seeing her in person invoked a sense of déjà vu. He attributed it to her upbringing by Margery McGonagall and decided to put the thought aside.
"Merlin, if my brother knew I was speaking with you right now, he'd have a meltdown." Lyra quipped, breaking the moment.
"Why do you say that?" Dumbledore inquired.
"My brother idolizes you. He attended an International Confederation of Wizards student conference as a student, and he fell in love with the way you handled a certain case. He's developed quite an obsessive crush on you. If you ever meet him this year, which I have a feeling you will, given that he can't bear to be apart from his daughter for a second, I suggest you tread carefully."
"I believe I've already met him, although our encounter was rather brief. The poor man was rather preoccupied with the current predicament, we had no time for introductions." Dumbledore explained.
Lyra laughed, shaking her head.
"I must admit, Ms. Marks, you're handling this situation far more gracefully than I anticipated." He remarked, studying her with a warm smile.
Lyra sighed softly and casually crossed her arms behind her back.
"Please...just call me Lyra." She replied with a friendly smile.
"I'm taking things as they come. This wasn't part of my agenda for the year, or even the week. However, I love my extremely spoiled niece very much, and I've played a big part in spoiling her myself. She's incredibly important to me, and I'd do anything for her, even lay down my life if necessary. She knows that, which is why I'm here, Professor Dumbledore." She offered an explanation to his previous remark.
"If I'm to call you Lyra, please call me Albus." He said with a warm smile, extending his hand. Lyra shook it with a nod of agreement.
"Would you care for a smoke, Albus?" Lyra asked as she opened her silver cigarette case, revealing rows of white sticks.
"I haven't had one in a very long time, my dear." He admitted, eyeing the cigarettes.
"One won't hurt, I'm sure." He said, relenting. Lyra flashed a devilish smile and offered him the flame from her muggle lighter.
As they conversed about her various cases, Albus posed questions, and Lyra eagerly shared her stories. However, their comfortable conversation was disrupted as the others began to pile into the room.
Minerva was the first to enter, and Dumbledore swiftly extinguished his cigarette, his expression betraying guilt at being caught in such a compromising position, contrary to his public image.
Lyra, who had propped her feet up on his desk while chatting, heard her name sharply called out as she took a drag.
"LYRA! What are you doing?" Athena snapped, glaring at Lyra and then at Dumbledore.
"You asked me to stay in the office...that's exactly what I'm doing." Lyra retorted, finishing her cigarette, unlike Dumbledore.
"What were you talking about?" Athena hissed, casting accusing looks that suggested Lyra might be fraternizing with the enemy.
"Merlin, Athena, he's the headmaster of the school, not a criminal. Can you chill?" Lyra snapped back at her aunt. Athena glared and pushed her feet off the desk, prompting Lyra to grumble as she stood.
Athena shot her sister a disdainful look, while Minerva appeared to be engaged in a hushed conversation with Dumbledore, who seemed embarrassed by the interruption.
Lyra found the entire situation increasingly peculiar. Athena's displeasure, Dumbledore's guilt, and Minerva's feigned indifference left her bewildered, but she decided it wasn't her problem to solve.
"Shall we begin?" Mr. Crouch asked as the room's occupants settled down.
"Everyone, as you are aware, we have been graced by Ms. Lincolns' mentor, Ms. Lyra Marks. We can finally begin the tournament with full gusto! However, it is best if all our mentors and champions are acquainted. Headmasters, if you will, please." Mr. Crouch proposed, offering the floor to the two headmasters.
Lyra's attention was drawn to the first headmaster, a tall man with a sharp goatee, clad in a robust brown jacket. She shook hands with him, albeit noticing a familiar tattoo peeking out from beneath his sleeve.
"Igor Karkaroff, Headmaster of Durmstrang." He introduced himself, offering her his hand. Lyra couldn't resist a cheeky comment as she observed the tattoo on it.
"I wasn't aware Durmstrang was so progressive...with hiring criminals in their education system?" She quipped, eyeing the tattoo. Karkaroff instantly grew self-conscious and retracted his hand.
"Lyyyra!" Athena hissed in warning. Lyra rolled her eyes.
Karkaroff went on to introduce Viktor Krum, the Durmstrang champion, and his mentor Ivan Chomsky. Lyra engaged in friendly conversation with them, sharing a laugh about Krum's exceptional performance in the Quidditch Cup.
Next up were the Hogwarts champions.
"As you know, Hogwarts has two champions in this tournament." Dumbledore began.
"Meet Mr. Harry Potter and his mentor, Professor Alastor Moody." He announced, drawing Lyra's attention to the young man with the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. The name was legendary, and her heart went out to him, feeling a 14-year-old seemed out of place among the other champions. He met her gaze with a blend of awkwardness and teenage weariness.
Lyra extended her hand to Harry, and he shook it, offering a small smile. Her gaze then shifted to Professor Moody, a decorated auror whose qualifications and experience exceeded her own. Despite her impressive record, she couldn't help but wonder about Mr. Crouch's assertion that she was the most accomplished mentor here.
As Moody approached her, Lyra extended her hand to shake his. However, she couldn't help but flinch as his magical eye roved inappropriately. She brushed it off, considering it might be a side-effect of his eccentricity, though it stirred some unease.
"Now…that's a world class auror, Potter…" He said gruffly, smiling at Lyra.
"Seems like Potter's not the only celebrity we have to deal with this year…we've got the American Dumbledore on our hands as well." A deep voice whispered with a baritone tone from the background, eliciting a dark chuckle from Ivan Chomsky
Lyra's eyes narrowed in the direction of the man responsible for the snarky comment. That nickname grated on her nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. It had all started with the English newspapers, but soon enough, publications worldwide had latched onto it. Michelin might have considered it a great honor, but Lyra held a starkly different perspective. It felt as though her name had been forcibly melded with that of one of the wizarding world's greatest figures, erasing her individual achievements. This not only diminished her own accomplishments but also cast an unfair shadow on Dumbledore's legendary status. While he stood as a living legend, she was merely an accomplished auror performing her job with exceptional skill.
Lyra couldn't help but attribute this persistent nickname to gender bias. It seemed that the chauvinist struggled to accept a woman excelling in magic without tying her achievements to a supposedly superior male figure. This irked her profoundly, as it implied that her accomplishments were only valid when viewed through the lens of a more prominent man, perpetuating the notion that her gender inherently hindered her from achieving greatness independently.
Though she had garnered great respect in the American press, the international media treated her like a mere headline to fill their gossipy tabloids.
Dumbledore swiftly introduced the official champion, Mr. Zeus Shorthorn, with an attempt to suppress any further remarks. He shot a warning glance at Professor Severus Snape, who responded with a disdainful eye roll.
Shorthorn stepped forward.
"Hello, ma'am..." He began, a touch of awe in his voice.
"I'm a huge fan of your work...in healing, I mean. Some of your cases are truly worth studying!" He looked at Lyra with wonder, nervously patting his hands against his robes to ensure they were dry before shaking hers.
Lyra regarded the young man kindly, her perceptive gaze noting his blonde hair, grey eyes, and handsome features. He undoubtedly hailed from a pure-blood wizarding family, but his struggle with his status was evident. Lyra didn't merely deduce this from his appearance; it was the signet ring adorning his finger that provided the telltale signs. The multiple scratches and its frequent relocation indicated his indifference towards it.
Zeus Shorthorn's mentor, the very man who had made the snide comment, stepped forward to shake hands with Lyra. She regarded him closely, her observant gaze taking in every detail. He was a tall figure, draped in somber black teaching robes, and his face remained utterly devoid of emotion. His dark brown eyes locked challengingly onto her bright blue ones. Lyra found herself captivated by his demeanor, although a subtle undercurrent of threat coursed through her. This feeling didn't stem from the earlier comment, as she had a perfect comeback prepared for that, poised to deliver it the instant he released her hand. Her unease was born from the fact that he was the first person she had ever encountered whom she couldn't read.
The others were like open books, their intentions and emotions laid bare before her keen perception. However, this man defied her scrutiny. His façade was immaculate, a frustrating mystery that piqued her curiosity. His stoicism was unwavering, lacking the usual tells and emotions that provided clues about a person's character. He possessed the appearance of an elitist pure-blood, with aristocratic features and impeccably crisp attire. Yet, there were subtle contradictions beneath this exterior. His jet-black hair cascaded softly, framing a strong jawline, and his face was freshly shaven. Despite his lanky frame, a powerful undercurrent ran through him, evident in the firm grip that enveloped her hand. Unlike many other pure-bloods she had encountered, he refrained from eccentricity for a seemingly sharp and witty demeanor. He radiated disinterest, yet his keen intelligence and arrogance was unmistakable.
Lyra struggled to decipher him, a man who refused to reveal his true self. This inability to read him left her feeling vulnerable and slightly threatened, an unfamiliar sensation that unsettled her. She thrived on being in control, relying on her exceptional observational skills to navigate her world. However, this man's elusiveness presented a unique challenge, one that she couldn't easily dismiss.
Athena's throat-clearing in the background finally broke their stare-down.
When he withdrew his hand, she seized it, pulling him slightly closer. He leaned in, not expecting the move.
"Do you know my name?" She inquired, a menacing smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. He appeared affronted by her question.
"It's not 'American Dumbledore'...it's not 'The Marks Girl'...it's not anything your silly little newspaper tells you. It's Lyra Marks. What's yours?" She sneered arrogantly, as if she considered his name to be of little consequence. His response was an angry glare, but before he could utter a word, she cut him off.
"Wait! I don't really need to know it. Because...remember this...whatever it is...in this tournament...it will always come second to mine."
"Lyra!" Athena interjected with another hiss of disapproval. Finally, Lyra released the man's hand, and they continued to exchange glares for a few more moments.
Dumbledore then made an effort to defuse the tension that had arisen between the two mentors by introducing the remainder of the committee. This group primarily consisted of Hogwarts staff members who would be closely involved in ensuring the tournament's success. While Dumbledore's voice resonated in the background and Mr. Crouch detailed the upcoming events, Lyra's gaze remained locked on Zeus Shorthorn's mentor, and his remained fixated on her.
Readable or not. There was already a growing rivalry between them. And Lyra was ready to show this man his true place.