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)

35. Cosmic Flukes

It was a well-known and accepted fact that Hogwarts Castle was immense, but just how large remained a matter of debate. After all, no single person since the time of the Founders had ever succeeded in measuring the entirety of the castle's interior, its hidden rooms sprouting like mushrooms in the dark and rearranging themselves when nobody was looking, entire corridors and their esoteric contents only available on certain days of the week, and entire floors on certain phases of the Moon.

And this was easily accepted by those who had grown up with magic. Sometimes things got a bit wonky where magic was involved. Even after six years, James hadn't lost his sense of wonder at it all.

Professor Lyra Malfoy's tower had only bloomed into existence at the beginning of the school year, like a lesser branch budding off a larger one, precisely suited to her taste. Tall and circular, the limestone steps spiraled into a large airy room with a checkerboard floor of light and dark wood. An abundance of plants inhabiting the two floors formed an entire ecosystem in and of itself: vines crept along the walls, snaking towards the grand windows and the light that was refracted through it; and from cracks between the floor and walls grew small trees with pink petals and many twisting limbs, which cradled a portion of the professor's altogether fine collection of books, tablets, scrolls, and trinkets of all odds and ends, those that did not fit in the many chests and shelves.

As soon as he walked in he smelled the slightly-fruity fragrance of cherry woods crackling in the fireplace and the gentle breeze coming in from the open windows, dyed in the scents of the Forest and Lake outside. At some point, the wind had carried with it lost butterflies and little birds in search of shelter, and now there was a robin's nest upon a high windowsill and a colony of golden-winged butterflies flitting about the pink flowers.

It was tailored to her even in secrecy; students could tell if Lyra was inside her office by looking out the eastern windows on the Grand Staircase and seeing if her tower was there; if there was only empty space, then she was off elsewhere. Where the tower went in her absence was a mystery.

He had once fallen asleep in here, when Lyra had left to attend her second-year class; he'd only awoken upon her return, stirred by the sound of her opening the door, remembering nothing of his time alone. Whether the timing was a coincidence, he couldn't say.

She was present now, however, behind a semicircular desk that cocooned her high-backed chair, staring down at a scroll of parchment. One messy strand of hair fell about her face, which she brushed aside as he walked up to the desk. She didn't acknowledge him as he approached, though she had undoubtedly sensed him as soon as he walked into the hall outside the tower, as Dumbledore had done to them many times prior. Her skill in Legilimency, or whatever it was, had grown to — quite frankly — frightening levels.

He observed her for a moment. Her cheeks were still not quite as full as he once remembered, though they had regained their glow.

James' eyes flickered to the parchment, charmed flat against the desk. He tilted his head a little, and read it upside-down:

Defense Against the Dark Arts

Year 4

Daphne Greengrass

Dark Magic Used in the Rise of You-Know-Who

Full marks.

"James," said Lyra, drawing his attention to her, and she too looked up. "What is —" She stopped, frowning, her gaze catching the red stain on his shoulder. "Dude, stop hurting yourself."

"I got dived on by an owl," said James. "I think it was your brother's owl, actually, the feathered cunt. Sorry, what is what?"

Lyra sighed, rubbing her eyes. "What is the thing in your pocket? You're not carrying around a potentially magically manipulative artifact again, are you?"

He pulled the chain out from his pocket, until it dragged out a rather unassuming gold locket he'd found in a flea market for precisely this sort of occasion. "Why yes, it might be," he said, smiling awkwardly. "How'd you guess?"

Her eyes swept up to his. "I can hear it."

"Really?" He glanced down at it. Upon its brushed surface he'd etched a number of runes as best as he could on the tiny surface, runes of forgetfulness and other things, anything to lessen the allure. It seemed the Celtic letters, barely an alphabet so much as they were logographs, symbols of power, weren't too well suited for the kind of enchantment he wished to weave. Perhaps he ought to have used a different language here, perhaps Norse? "That's not good."

After a moment of hesitation, he held it out to her hesitantly, half-expecting her to be burned by its icy touch. Equally wary, Lyra let the locket drop into her palm, her hand jerking with the effort of catching its weight.

Nothing happened.

"What is it?" she said.

"I dug the Stone out of storage."

Her eyes snapped back to him again. "What? The Resurrection Stone? I put that thing in the Room for a reason, James."

Briefly ignoring her accusatory gaze for a moment, James reflected over the several different ways he could word the next question, having cycled through them repeatedly throughout the day. In the end, it didn't help much, and Lyra looked back down at the locket, running her fingers over it as if feeling out the magic within.

"Have you used it?" she said.

"No," he said. "Can you understand it?"

She shook her head.

James hesitated.

"I wanted to check on it," he said. "It was only a thought, really, but… it's as I suspected. It feels like there's something more to it, now. Or maybe something more to me." He shifted in his seat. "I don't feel comfortable leaving it in the Room of Requirement anymore. Cedric uses it, the Twins, Vicky, Larissa, even your brother, and I'd rather they didn't come across it by accident."

"We put protective spells over it," said Lyra, setting the locket down on the desk.

"Do you trust them against this kind of magic?" he said. "I know we have proximity charms over the area too, but if we're not here — if we're overseas again —"

One of her cheeks twisted, a grimace slowly coming over her features. "Yeah, good point."

James sighed and said, "I think it's time we learned the Fidelius and set up our own little safe place. Maybe set up some of the things those Internet dorks came up with."

Lyra nodded. "Trunks inside of trunks inside of trunks."

"I don't know why we haven't tried already."

"I've thought of it. Didn't, out of spite," she said, shrugging. "Hogwarts and the mansion have been safe anyway. And a lot of the obvious clever ideas usually don't work. But you're right. Hogwarts is too busy, and there's too much magic that's not our own. And my father holds more power over the mansion than me. Don't want to rely on them always being to our advantage."

James hummed and considered the matter, crossing his arms. "Got anywhere in mind?"

Lyra shrugged again. "On an island somewhere, maybe. In the middle of the ocean. On the moon? In the moon."

"Be serious, please."

"An island with a cave," said Lyra, seriously. "We can dig it out, set up an underground fortress, deep inside. Magical defenses, a Fidelius Charm, proximity alerts keyed to Portkeys to move all the important things to another safehouse, tied to more alert charms so we know it's been triggered."

James nodded slowly. "That'll be fun."

"It'll be like Minecraft all over again."

He ignored the nostalgia that flooded through him at the mention of the game. "I just hope it's enough."

Lyra scoffed. "It's genius. And I just came up with it on the spot —"

"You've probably been thinking about it ever since you came up with your veela island idea."

"Shut up, James." A light came into her eyes, then. "Ooh, good idea — veela as part of the defense. We make a good team, man."

"Veela must be the best idea I've ever had, to you," said James dryly, holding out a fist.

She leaned forward and bumped it with her own, grinning.

"I suppose the good news is that there are plenty of islands around Scotland," he said. "And I'm sure there are a few forgotten little isles along the Hebrides or around Orkney. Especially if we can find some ruins with old magic…"

"A solid foundation for our own enchantments," said Lyra with a nod, and she had so readily adopted the tone of a professor that James' lips twitched, as if they were in class. But yes, a magical system (whether it was enchanted objects, a location with some magic linked to it, or even a single spell) often gained more potency with time passed, especially if old magic lingered.

"We'd have to make a whole weekend out of it," said James, "just figuring out what spells are already there."

Lyra hummed and nodded. So we don't blow ourselves up, they both knew.

Every event in history was a thread in the tapestry of the universe. Even among Muggles, the more visitors a location had, the more significance an artifact held, the more users of a language, the richer it was woven. Such was the advantage of studying in Hogwarts, being Sorted by the Hat, or using a Latin-based system for their spells; their histories were long and storied, their place on the tapestry grand and lustrous, and any subsequent magic cast in their presence might become a little part of that cosmic beauty, building upon it, making it that much more potent — or throw it off, the tapestry rejecting it utterly.

"Think we can get Bill to help?" he said. "Maybe cast the Fidelius for us?"

In a way, Bill being stationed in Egypt was something that spoke volumes about his skill — Egypt had a lot of old magic, magic that would confound and potentially harm any middling curse-breaker.

"Just one?" said Lyra. "What about a Fidelius on a trunk inside another Fideliused trunk, inside another Fideliused trunk?"

"Like as not we'd end up sharing a unit with the Longbottoms."

"Probably," said Lyra after a moment of thought. "I can make it a job for him, pay him. Then we contractually Obliviate him after. That sort of thing isn't uncommon among high society, anyway. Lots of skeletons in lots of closets — closets inside closets."

"Can't say I'm surprised. Rich people are rich people everywhere, I guess," said James, letting a hint of disgust show on his face. "We're going to have to interact with them more, aren't we? You especially, but the Order as a whole."

That charity gala had been his and Cedric's first taste of the lifestyle of the rich and famous. More would be necessary, he was sure, if the Order truly desired change in Magical Britain. The Malfoys, at least, were mostly normal despite their aloofness, with hobbies like gardening and collecting dark artifacts. But Sirius and even Andromeda had confirmed some stories about the older Blacks, and shared speculation on other families — there were vices out there, only possible through the mixture of magic, money, and the ennui that permeated the pointlessly wealthy, that would surely turn his stomach.

"Actually, I'm stepping back from that scene." At his raised eyebrows, she said, "Somewhat, at least. I don't think it's wise to get too involved now."

"Yeah?"

Lyra lifted the matching paperweights from the corners of Daphne's essay in front of her and spun it by one finger to face him. James skimmed through it, and then went over it a second time, a little more closely.

"Dark Magic Used in the Rise of You-Know-Who," he read out, eyes flickering through the essay a third time even as he gathered his thoughts, wondering what this had to do with her change of mind. "This is a little advanced for fourth year, surely?"

"Oh yeah. I'd give it good marks even at a N.E.W.T. level. Not so much the breadth of it — it only covers two spells that were used in the first war — but it covers them both with an astonishing level of insight. The origins and development of the spells, notable uses throughout history… even an analysis into why Voldemort or his lieutenants chose to use them, with an extensive list of sources citing some of the most respected modern scholars of the Dark Arts."

"Full marks?"

"A full hundred," Lyra confirmed. "McGonagall and Snape might not believe in perfection, but there's really nothing to improve on here." Yet for some reason she sighed and leaned forward, putting her chin on her palms.

"How did Hermione do, for reference?" he asked.

"Eighty-six. It's fine, technically, but unimaginative. She really does summarize what she's already read. It was a bit higher originally but I took off points for going over the length limit. Maybe she'll learn this time. I'm tired of reading more words than I'm paid to."

"She'll just cramp her letters even more."

Lyra shook her head, briefly closing her eyes. "It doesn't matter." She tapped the parchment James had set back on the desk. "All of Daphne's essays are like this. And her spellwork in class is the best of her year."

"More than Harry, even?" he said.

"More than Harry. He's not bad… but without the adventures, the tournament, Dumbledore's Army… I don't expect him to get an Outstanding on his O.W.L. at this rate."

James grimaced. "I hope that doesn't come back to bite us."

"I doubt it. I think it'll be nice if he gets to live a fairly normal life now."

But Harry's abilities aside, some barely named background character taking first place was still odd. James pursed his lips, finally feeling as though he had an inkling of whatever it was that Lyra wished to speak to him about. "I assume this isn't about taking her on as an apprentice?"

She shook her head. "About a third of those cited books were in the Restricted Section."

"Were they secretly authored by Voldemort himself?"

"No. But her name wasn't on Pince's registry."

"She might've snuck in," said James slowly. "I did it. You did it. You still do, because deep down Pince still scares you."

"I have proximity charms set in certain places in the castle. Every time the one went off in the Restricted Section, I alerted Pince. But there hasn't been —"

"You set proximity charms to rat students out to Pince?" said James in disbelief. "What happened to you?"

"You did," said Lyra. "I don't want to be murdered in my sleep by the Voldemort you —" She stopped, and pinched her nose. As fair as it was, it still hurt a little, coming from her. Then she gave him a weary look. "I thought maybe she had these books at home, so I asked my mother to send a letter to Eli Greengrass asking if he had a copy she could borrow."

"And presumably he didn't," said James. "I don't know. I'm not trying to play down your suspicions, but didn't Hermione say Daphne was already second best in most of the classes they shared? Maybe she just found the books from some upper year Slytherins — you haven't sent a letter to all the dark families, surely?"

Lyra leant back in her chair and ran her fingers through her hair. James allowed her the moment to gather her thoughts. "No, I haven't… But — I told you that I spoke to Eli Greengrass and his shrew of a wife at the gala, remember?" she said, and he nodded. "He said Daphne was coming out of her shell, showed an astounding degree of knowledge, was showing interest in politics, asked about my family. Something began to move in the back of my mind, then. Don't you remember Daphne a few years back?"

"Reserved," he said slowly. "Only ever spoke when spoken to. So bland she probably read dictionaries for a hobby and still couldn't tell you the definition of fun."

"She wasn't much different before Hogwarts, either. I met her twice at some events my parents dragged me to. She was a little scary. No passion, no excitement."

"But that's all changed," he finished. "In the span of a year, maybe two."

"Yeah. Draco likes to tell me all about his life," said Lyra, her frown momentarily relieved. "He's always been a clingy kid. More so after he came to Hogwarts. I think he gets homesick a lot. Did you know that the Slytherin kids pressured Draco into checking up on me, because they thought I was feeling down? Received a box of Honeydukes and a card and everything." Lyra sighed wistfully. "I should be depressed more often."

"Lyra, please don't emotionally manipulate your students."

She waved him off. "It turned out that Daphne was the one who orchestrated this whole thing. And I've gotten a lot more out of Draco — she's really changed. He says she's real nice now, too. Charming. I'm pretty sure he has a crush on her." She grimaced. "I hope not, I'd hate to have to kill her then."

James sucked in a breath through his teeth, and ran a hand through his hair. A heavy silence enveloped them for a moment.

"It could just be puberty," he said, tentatively. "Or just… growing up, I guess. We don't know the details of her life in full, she could've just had some sort of life-changing experience…"

Lyra looked like she was fighting not to roll her eyes, but her eyebrows still rose a little and her lips twisted, a sharp barb surely at the tip of her tongue. But she said only, "James… it does fit."

James ran a hand down his face. Lyra didn't say anything, as though waiting for a response, so he pulled one out of himself. "Yeah… it does." He clenched a fist, his instinct urging him to slam the table or punch something, but he forcibly relaxed his hands and fell back into his seat. "Damn… Damn. Poor Daphne. I've let her get corrupted by the Diary, haven't I?"

Lyra's face was mostly blank, for which he was thankful. "Honestly, I think out of all the kids to possess, this should be the most guilt-free one — "

"Lyra, please —"

"— besides maybe Roger Davies — I'm going to flunk him, I swear it."

James looked at her, somewhat aghast, even if a part of him appreciated she was trying to lighten the mood.

"She already acted like a sociopath before," she said defensively, "and she literally couldn't feel anything —"

"She could've just been socially stunted — she probably still thought, planned her life out, was maybe even recovering but hadn't actually had the chance to show it." James shoved his hands deep in his pockets, and his right hand, still capable of feeling, felt his nails digging into his palm. "Fuck," he uttered, releasing his breath in a heavy huff.

"Well, we don't even know if it's actually her — maybe it's just Daphne changing, like you said," said Lyra.

"The books would have mentioned something like that."

"Not if she wasn't relevant to the main plot," she said. "Those books don't even begin to capture everything else going around this time. There's so many things that could've been in them but weren't, things that would've been appreciated as expanding the world-building or whatever, like that civil war between the magical Habsburg branches fighting for the Holy Roman crown a few years back. There's so many differences in history, and I don't think half the school events were ever mentioned. They were still books in the end, following the established style of a narrative. Or, for all I know, my talks with Daphne before Hogwarts could've been what sent her down another path."

They had switched sides now on this, apparently. "What did those talks consist of?" he asked.

Lyra grimaced. "I might've interrogated her, acted like Rita Skeeter. Maybe that's why she's gone evil."

James shook his head, unwilling to indulge her sympathies further.

"I do have good news, though," said Lyra.

"What?"

"If we make Voldemort take Daphne's blood in his resurrection, we can cast a Killing Curse on her and she'll be fine."

"I don't think that's how it works at all."

"No, it doesn't," said Lyra, and for a moment James wanted to wrap the chain of the locket around her neck, "but I do think we should look into souls. Who knows how much of that amalgamation is Daphne and how much is Tom. And whatever he is — or she — probably knows everything I've told you about my plans and ideas."

"How much did you even tell me?" said James.

She gave him a look. "More than you think. I haven't really kept anything from you since you learned Occlumency. But whatever he knows prior to your possession, I might as well throw out — and that includes getting politically active. If Riddle knows even a fraction of what I planned, he could turn everything against me. Best to let the Order do its thing and for him to have no clue what I'm going to do next. Dumbledore will do a better job than me, anyway." She gave a deep sigh. "Honestly, this has all kind of spiraled out of my hands, and I'm not sure I'm smart enough to go head-to-head with Tom Riddle."

"I'm not smart enough to say if you're smart enough."

She gave him an odd, calculating look, then. "Are you sure? What do you actually think?"

Privately, he suspected she'd lose that battle of intelligence, but he said, "I think we should have told Dumbledore everything from the beginning."

"Yeah," said Lyra, looking up and away, probably pondering whether she should've just listened to James from the start. "It's just so hard to trust someone with that much power."

James said, "Well…" She raised an eyebrow at his somewhat detached, Luna-like tone. "I just came from a conversation with Dumbledore. I told him, well, pretty much everything."

"You what?"

"It was a very spur of the moment kind of thing," he said, looking up to see the robin return to his nest. "Sorry."

Lyra's mouth was agape and she stared at him in disbelief. "What? What — what's 'everything'?"

He shrugged, a little bit of embarrassment leaking through in the action. "About my past, it being the same as yours. We spoke about Horcruxes. He figured out the Founders' artifacts and Harry were all Horcruxes. He thinks the Diary is a bigger threat than the real Voldemort. Spoke a bit about what happened during the second task. That sort of thing."

Slowly, her expression softened, and she said, "Oh."

"Yeah."

"I… All right, then."

A silence gently draped about their shoulders like a blanket, stitched together by the humming pendulum of the grandfather clock in the corner. James' gaze wandered around the room, taking in all the little details he seemed to have missed before; or perhaps the tower was not yet done maturing. He leaned back in his chair and tilted his head back to the ceiling, graced in leaves swaying in the breeze.

"You said there was 'more to it,'" said Lyra. James looked back to her as she spun the locket on the desk, the chain spiraling around it until it could twist no more. "Do you hear the murmurs?"

"Earlier, in the morning, yeah. I could never make out the words, but I could hear it. And when Dumbledore came over…" He tried to replicate the curious sound in his mind, but it didn't seem quite right, like his imagination wasn't capable of it. "I think the Stone and the Wand spoke to each other… or there was some kind of acknowledgement."

"A sentient sort of acknowledgement?" she said. "Or like… two magnets coming into proximity to each other…?"

James shrugged. "Couldn't say."

Lyra didn't say anything, though James did notice that she'd taken her hands off the locket, placing them in her lap under the desk instead.

"I wanted to ask," said James, "those dreams after Azkaban…" He sighed out his nose, knowing he was digging into territory Lyra would prefer not to explore. "What did you see? I'm sorry to bring it up, but… it's been so long since then… and you never told me."

Lyra looked up at him, considered him, her head tilted slightly, as if puzzling out a complicated equation. That it wasn't a scowl and a curt "I don't want to talk about it" was already something of a surprise. It might have been that he was no longer approaching from a position of concern.

"They were mostly normal nightmares in the beginning," she said. "Vague, didn't make much logical sense, running slow, spells wouldn't successfully cast — you know how dreams are. But they were really vivid, so even harder to comprehend. They'd feel so real. And there was always something right behind me, or right in front of me, but it'd be too vague, except when it wasn't."
"How do you mean?"

Lyra took a moment to choose her words and weigh them. "Just… compare a regular nightmare to seeing something horrible through a distorted window… It's frightening, sure, but a part of your mind knows it's not real, knows there's a barrier between the real and imaginary. And the glass is foggy, so you can't really get a good look at it anyway… But then imagine it gets clearer by the minute, and you can't look away. And sometimes —" Lyra took a breath "— sometimes, at the worst of it, it felt like the window wasn't even there. So vivid I thought I was awake. That there was nothing between me and whatever thing that wanted to wipe me from existence. I couldn't tell you what it was, the presence inside Azkaban, only what it felt like to be seen by it. And sometimes, in the nightmares, I'd see myself from above, going through the corridors, and… I don't know, the layout was never the same, but I always felt like the corridors looked like those runes — from a bird's eye perspective."

James nodded slowly. The same as when he'd hallucinated in that lake.

"Then I'd see this white eye…" said Lyra quietly. "I know it sounds stupid, but I felt like I could see through its pupil, like a tunnel that ran through space. Mostly vast blackness," she said faintly, as if the memory still haunted her. "I can't describe it. I'd just feel like I'd completely lost my mind in trying to understand the distance, then I'd wake up."

He wished he could dismiss both his and her dreams as delusion, the product of a feverish mind struggling to cope with that it had seen in Azkaban. But his dreams as of late had been particularly vivid, and they'd leave him rattled for hours after waking. London would be empty, completely, and silent in a way no major city should be. And underneath the surface of the Thames river he could see human silhouettes, floating languidly downstream. Each time he returned to this dream, he'd pick up where he left off, walking through the foggy streets searching for something — he didn't quite know what. But he never forgot the overwhelming feeling of solitude.

"You think the Hallows are connected to it all?" said Lyra, bringing him out of his thoughts. She was fiddling with the locket.

"It would make sense," said James. "Considering our unique circumstances and all."

Lyra hummed. "Who knows. I always figured the Three were just made by the Peverells, but maybe… Maybe they were, but they just got wrapped up in this business too." A sudden light came into her eyes, then.

"What is it?" he said, knowing that look.

"Nothing, really, but if they did get wrapped up in this same stuff," she said, gesturing to his arm, then to her head, twirling a finger around her temple, "then I'm sure we could find some information without playing with the Hallows or putting ourselves directly in danger."

"If we can find any useful secondary sources… They died, what, eight-hundred years ago? I've kept an eye out for any real history on them but there's not much."

Lyra bit her lip in thought, then said, "I'll see what Dumbledore has if I can. Our library at home doesn't have much on them either. I don't know, we'll see." She leaned back in her chair, stretching her legs out below her desk for relief from sitting too long. "Part of me wants to never learn anything more," she said. "The other part wants to know what kind of danger we might be in." She stretched her arms above her head then. "Actually, we should stay away from any strange artifacts, don't try to understand those horrible runes, don't visit the Chamber, don't get ourselves tossed into Azkaban, and live nice quiet lives."

James planted his chin on his intertwined fingers. "I would agree with you, if it weren't for the fact that we never asked for this, but it happened anyway," he said. "Well, we cocked up at Azkaban — there's no denying that, it was a risky idea even before we learned there was more to it than meets the eye. But the Second Task? I feel like I can safely say that wasn't my fault. And those little trinkets that seem to pop up wherever we go?" He shrugged. "Maybe we should ask Harry to borrow his Cloak again. I didn't get anything bad from that one, but that might've been because we still hadn't been exposed to… it. Maybe I should've asked Dumbledore if I could examine the Elder Wand for a bit."

Lyra's lips pursed. "We don't need to. I can hear it too, when I'm near him."

"Ah." Something heavy settled in his stomach.

"I was honestly hoping it was just the nature of the Wand, and not a Hallows thing, and my Legilimency had gotten a little out of control," said Lyra. "I don't think he'd let us anyway; I haven't even told him I know about it." She narrowed her eyes. "Have you?"

"No. Not about the Hallows."

"Good." She leaned back in her chair and plopped her feet on her desk, hands on the back of her head. "We should steal it."

"The Elder Wand? And have it bound to us?" He shook his head. "It'd be less dangerous for me to tell your mother that her dress makes her look fat, to her face. Which, for the record, it does not."

Lyra snorted. "Yeah? You're saying you'd rather tell her that than steal the Wand?"

James took long enough to respond that his lack of response was answer enough, and Lyra laughed a little. She slid the locket back towards James, who caught it easily, cupping his fingers over it. His skin mossed over with a sensation like pins and needles; and he thought perhaps that he could feel it pulse beneath his hand, though that might have only been his own heartbeat, for surely he would not be able to feel anything of that curious obsidian gem from inside this fragile metal shell.

"Put that thing back in the Room for now," she said. "It's the best we have until we make something better."

"Can you understand it?" he said.

Lyra's eyes flickered down his hand. "The Stone? Not really."

"Oh. What's it sound like, then?"

It took her a moment, but when she found the word she was looking for, she said, "Keening."

"Fitting, I suppose." James held it up to his ear, but for him the Stone had gone stubbornly silent. He dropped it back into his pocket. "And to think that my biggest concern once upon a time was surviving Voldemort," he said, shaking his head. "Could we ever have predicted something like this, when we first realized where we were?"

Lyra shrugged. "No, but I don't see the point in wondering."

"It's humbling. I don't think I've had my ego bitch-slapped out of me so hard, not even when I came to Hogwarts for the first time." He sighed. "It does also keep me awake at night, which is annoying."

Lyra leaned forward a little. "Since the Second Task?"

"Mhm. There are a few different scenarios, but the more popular one recently, I keep dreaming of myself in that lake. I don't have a wand, or a body, but I can feel something staring down at me, smothering me. Like I was an ant being looked at through a magnifying glass. I'm wholly lucid the whole time, unable to move, unable to speak. I thought I wouldn't be able to wake up either, the first time it happened. Dobby woke me up eventually, but…" He shrugged. "I guess I was wondering if you were experiencing something similar. Which isn't good, obviously. But it's nice to know we're fucked together."

"I wish it were just you," she said, and he laughed. He knew she'd prefer it was just her instead, if it came down to it, just as he'd take on all her nightmares if it meant she could get a good night's rest. "You're welcome to sleep here, you know. I asked Snape to brew me potions for dreamless sleep."

"I've already tried those, unless Snape has a secret formula."

"He does, actually." She frowned at him. "You should've told me about the nightmares earlier. He helped me figure out a way to add sea salt to the brew without disrupting the other ingredients' synthesis."

"Why sea salt in particular?" said James. Salt was a valuable commodity in the magical world too, for its purifying properties. However, generally speaking, salt was poison to any land-based or freshwater flora, which made it tricky to use — a little too purifying, perhaps.

Lyra nimbly picked her wand up from the desk and then set it back down, and a journal flew into her hand. She leaned forward to hand him it, which he took. It was thin and small, and the cover simply read, Illem Yrgenwer.

"Dumbledore lent it to me," she said. "No idea how he got his hands on Yrgenwer's personal writings, honestly."

"Who?" said James, opening the book to the first page, which was blank, then the second.

"He's an old Turkish teacher," said Lyra. "Taught at what they now call Anadolu'nun Perili Kulesi — the Haunted Tower of Anatolia. Used to be an alternative to Turkey's major school, Rüya Dokuyucuları Akademisi."

"Gesundheit." The second page had a considerable amount of notes scribbled throughout; he recognized Flamel's Theorem of Elemental Transmutation, and one of the more complicated equations seemed to consist of several of Haldor's Differential Arcana centered around the Principle of Prima Materia. It was so convoluted it'd probably take an evening to decipher it.

Lyra leaned forward again and flicked her fingers in a gesture, and the pages flipped swiftly to a spot in the center of the journal. At the top of the page read: Great bodies of water serve as a bulwark guarding sleep.

"It's not much more than theories," she said, "but he wrote that he noticed his nightmares lessened when he slept by the ocean, and disappeared completely when he began living on a boat. I think that's where he died: the last pages have him rambling and showing symptoms of Abyssal Plague —"

"Abyssal Plague?" said James, raising his eyebrows.

"Wizards who've magically explored the ocean floor always come back with it. It's curable, but lethal if left untreated."

Explored the ocean floor. He fought back the shudder. "Is that, uh, what happened to me?"

"No," said Lyra firmly. "You didn't have coral growing out of your skin." James raised his arm, pale white, calcified like a coral's skeleton, and Lyra pursed her lips. "That's… something else."

James just laughed. He wasn't sure if there was a truly appropriate reaction to this revelation. It was better than crying, anyway, which he might do later if he found the time. "Yeah… Hasn't bothered me since then, anyway, beyond being a bit awkward to get used to. It's like I don't have the same awareness of it anymore — I keep knocking things over. Like the time I knocked into Vicky's cauldron of Acid for Dissolution of Dragon Claws. On the bright side I don't think anything affects this arm anymore, because I only ruined all of her notes. And the workbench. And three feet of floor underneath it."

Lyra tilted her head and rested her cheek on a fist, a little smirk tugging at one corner of her mouth. "What'd she say to that?"

James winced at the memory. "That she was going for a walk. She was gone for, like, thirty minutes."

Lyra huffed out a laugh. "We're going to be reborn as worms for what we've done to her over the years."

"I have been mostly nice to her. That was an accident."

"You're an accomplice."

"Often unwilling!"

She waved a hand. "Don't worry, I'll make sure she gets into whatever job she wants when she graduates."

James nodded. While he was certain Flitwick was going to write her a recommendation, one from Lyra wouldn't hurt either. Besides, he had apologized, about a dozen times, even helped her re-write everything she'd lost.

It had rather worked out nicely in the end, as Vicky had begun to recruit him when brewing her more caustic potions, which was actually kind of nice. Relaxing, almost. He supposed that not having to worry about at least one of his hands being eaten away by volatile mixtures made brewing potions a little more enjoyable, especially with Vicky reading him the instructions and not Snape.

Flipping through the journal — Lyra did not stop him, so he suspected it was fine — he came across a new and improved design of the Patronus Pendant, in Lyra's handwriting.

"I didn't know you'd redesigned this," he said, turning the book around to show her the page.

"Oh, yeah." She fingered the light silver chain around her neck. "Made two, actually." With her other hand she gestured toward a drawer behind her and it popped open, and something shiny flew into her hand.

"You're getting good with wandless magic."

She leaned forward, smiling, and held out the chain, the pendant hanging. Streamlined, it was prettier than the first version. "I had a good teacher. You know, you should consider teaching after Hogwarts."

James held his hand out, and Lyra placed the new pendant onto his palm. Brushing his fingers gently over the fine silver filaments, he admired the way light was scattered by the white crystal inside. He felt a little warmth bloom in his chest, even though he was fairly certain no Patronus had yet been placed inside.

Lyra made a movement and pulled out her wand, pointing it at the pendant. "Expecto Patronum."

A pale light shot into the crystal, and it immediately glowed blue, reminding him of gentle waves lapping at the beach, and the boundless azure skies above. "Oh, you don't have to touch your wand to it anymore," he said, a weight on his heart lifting that he hadn't even realized was there. "Nice."

The warmth spread through his limbs, until every inch of him felt simultaneously alert and relaxed, like sleeping in until ten on the weekends, waking up to golden sunlight seeping through the curtains like syrup, the call of birds carried through the open window by a breeze. He put it in his pocket, the one that didn't have the Stone in it.

"Are you still planning on publishing an article on this in Charms Chronicles?" he said.

"Their editor already has my draft," said Lyra. "We're just waiting for confirmation from the Ministry that it actually works for the Watchmen, so we can put that information in the article — and the Daily Prophet. The whole Azkaban thing shook the public up pretty bad." She let a little sheepish grin appear on her lips.

"You engineered this whole crisis so you sell the solution?" said James.

"No," she said, feigning offense, "but why not use the opportunity to be the savior — publicly, anyway."

James snorted. He knew that it actually bothered her a bit that she had to keep her greatest achievements as secret as possible. Without Voldemort having repeated his original feat, Lyra was the only person to have ever, knowingly anyway, broken into and out of Azkaban. Which was an impressive feat, of course, as was the Patronus Pendant, but when the two of them combined, it felt cheapened somehow.

"So, did Dumbledore just accept you were behind Azkaban?" he said, probably a little too lightly, but the Patronus had returned the airy comfort of Lyra's tower to him. "Did he react badly at all? Doesn't seem like it."

Lyra shrugged. "What can he do?"

James hesitated, the words nearly slipping out without thought or filter. Then he said it anyway, "I don't know. But you killed twelve people in the span of a few minutes, Lyra. I think he probably has a problem with it."

She stiffened a bit, then considered him for a moment, again tilting her head as if wondering whether she should ask something. Then she did. "Does that bother you?"

He didn't answer immediately. Truthfully, a part of him was surprised their friendship had lasted as long as it did, considering everything: the disagreements, Lyra's manipulations and reckless ambitions, his own idiocy, how much suffering the two of them had gone through together. He had wanted a relatively quieter life, and she had no qualms regarding stunts and schemes. His illusions of this new life being some sort of karmic reward had been long since shattered; and each encounter with this true face of magic only seemed to drag him deeper into dread in the late hours when he couldn't sleep. But their bond still persisted, and it would likely survive his next words, too.

"Yes," he said finally. "It disturbs me. I don't care for Death Eaters. And those were the lowest of the low. If anyone deserved to die, it was them… but it's not about them, Lyra, it's about you. The fact you were able to kill so many and not even think twice… I just don't know how to feel about that."

She watched him, only a small spark of curiosity behind the detachment in her eyes. Though likely not her intention, James could see Narcissa in her at that moment, and not in the charming way.

He shrugged uncomfortably. "You're not a sadist, I know that, but I guess… maybe I just thought… that there was a part of you that would always resist that sort of thing, even if you had to do it. Something inside you that would at least stop for a moment and think about drawing the line in the sand, even if you knew you had to step over it. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah," said Lyra faintly. She looked down, absently running a finger in a circle on her desk.

He figured Dumbledore felt the same way he did: the acknowledgement and perhaps relief at great evil being taken out of the equation completely, and yet the realization of Lyra's capability for ruthlessness betrayed by her calculated murders. James wasn't so naive to think every evil could be redeemed, and sometimes a firm hand was necessary to correct the course; but the abyss gazed back, and he didn't want to see Lyra infected by it. No more than she already had been.

James let out a breath and rubbed his thighs, not looking at her. "But you know I worry too much. You asked a question, you got an answer. Just as long as you recognize that it's not a very good answer."

"On the contrary," said Lyra, "I don't think you worry too much. It's the sort of answer I think I needed. You're a good person, James. Much better than me." She sighed and looked back up at him. "Did you read up on the particular kind of killing one needs to do to split their soul?"

"It needs to be done on an innocent, and it needs to be done without any regret."

"Yes. Zero remorse. But there's more: you have to understand that you're going to end someone's personhood. Their hopes, their dreams, their relationships, the accumulation of thousands of memories and accomplishments; a mind and a soul, both things we still don't fully understand — all come to an end by your wand. You have to mean it." Lyra's words were feather-light, almost detached, but James could spot the signs of Occlumency. "It's the same with the other Unforgivables, and why it gets you sent to Azkaban, why people are so disgusted by it."

"Why people are terrified of it," said James, "or the people who can cast it."

Her jaw tightened a bit. "Yeah. Now imagine a wizard no one seems to be able to stop, so elusive the Ministry had nothing to even go on, able to get through the strongest magical defenses, and so easily willing to cast the Killing Curse that you know you're nothing to him, that there's no reasoning with him, that you could give him everything he wants and he'll still kill you and there's nothing you can do to stop it."

James licked his lips and swallowed air. "Yeah," he said, his voice smaller than he'd have liked, as he wondered what Daphne was up to at the moment.

"It's part of the reason I used the Killing Curse, and why I wanted to do it while we were both sixteen. I figured no one would suspect an underage witch to use it."

"I heard all the Aurors who cast them in the war were let go, after."

"Yes. Pardoned, but many of them asked to have some memories removed before retiring."

James nodded slowly. Even those capable of mustering such hate, or perhaps disgust, in the heat of battle to cast a Killing Curse could be inflicted with guilt later on. That they did feel guilt at all, James supposed, was what separated them from the Death Eaters.

"Then you slit Bellatrix's throat." He probably shouldn't have brought that up, by the grimace that appeared on her face. "It's just — that's a potential connection to you."

"I… couldn't bring myself to use the Killing Curse on my mother's sister," said Lyra, and he could see how haunted her eyes looked for a moment before she looked down, into her lap. "I knew I'd regret it the moment I even thought of it, if only for how much it'd hurt my mother… I wouldn't have been able to cast it." She sighed out her nose. "And Bella's enemies include some powerful families with old grimoires, so it's not as though I'm the only one with both the motive and potential means to break into Azkaban. But the others… I don't regret it at all. Didn't before, during, or after. I felt some ache inside of me, but…"

She closed her eyes and reached up to rub her cheeks.

"Actually," she continued, "it felt sort of… intoxicating. Altogether those twelve had killed hundreds of innocents. They were living nightmares, with names people still shudder over today. And Lyra Malfoy put them down. Made sure they would never hurt anyone again. I… I'd never felt more powerful." She let out a tremulous breath. "I liked it, James. A part of me, where that ache was, was horrified, but another part of me, maybe bigger, was proud of what I did. Maybe I'm terrible for it. I'm sort of wondering when the other shoe is going to drop, when this'll all blow up in my face, but —" and she looked at him with sincerity shining in her eyes "— I don't regret it — even if it gets me tossed in Azkaban one day — all those lives we've saved, the looming horrors we've pulled away for good" — she shook her head — "I could never regret that."

She took a deep breath, as if relieved to have gotten this off her chest, and exhausted from the effort of it. It was all, frankly, more than James knew what to do with. Once again he thought that, despite the risk and pain she put herself through for the sake of others, Lyra walked a slippery fine line. And it was too easy to lose balance.

What this meant for her spiritually he didn't know. He wasn't as well-read in the academic literature surrounding magic as she was. Was that ache in her soul simply a symptom of her muddled feelings, or was it a uniquely magical quirk? It was a very human desire to want power over others, especially the wicked, but were her particular actions enough to stir a sleeping magic to punish her with some eternal half-life?

It was probably best not to remind her, then, that the other high level prisoners had all lost their minds (those that hadn't simply vanished, anyway). A newspaper from Mali had leaked the details of the ICW transporting new prisoners from around the globe, petty criminals really, to keep the dementors sated. Dumbledore's workload had doubled after that outroar, James knew. He didn't need to ask to know Lyra had been horrified by those particular consequences.

"Isn't it ironic?" he said instead. "I think we were both under the impression that we were more polished versions of who we used to be. People here look up to me in a way they never would've before. But I'm finding that I keep struggling with the same things as always."

Lyra hummed. "Do you remember my justification for everything? It can't be for nothing." She let out a little laugh, devoid of any humor, and shook her head. "I was so sure we were brought here for a reason — to change things, to stop this world from self-destruction. It seems so stupid in hindsight." She snorted contemptuously. "We're cosmic flukes."

"Wouldn't you say that's better?" said James, feeling a small, wry grin tug at his lips. "No gods, no masters. You were brought here for a reason, and maybe that's to become a good, fun teacher that all the little kids look up to. And honestly, Lyra? It's a much better look on you than what I saw after Azkaban."

To his amazement, she smiled and looked down, abashed, then blushed. Maybe she too still hadn't come to accept she was a Professor of Hogwarts.

He gave a snort of amusement. "You've gone soft."

She couldn't manage to put any actual outrage in her red-faced expression. "Shut up, James."

"All your schemes and cunning deeds, and Dumbledore countered you in one stroke. I'll have to take up the slack of becoming galactic empress, I guess."

Lyra shook her head, still smiling, and leaned back. "Go for it. It's a humble life for me."

James hummed skeptically. "Yeah, sure. Hey, does Dumbledore also know about Bosnia?"

"It's a semi-humble life," said Lyra, waving a hand. "And probably. Who knows. I think he kind of likes this, me doing what I do. He knows it's the right thing but doesn't want the responsibility himself."

"And if everything goes horribly wrong for you in the end —?"

"Then he gets to tell me he told me so, and so do you. Would that satisfy you, James?"

"Maybe a little. But you know you can count on me to help. Right?"

The emotion that flashed in her eyes told him that she knew that, but would still rather do it alone.

"As long as you don't get mad when I accidentally make things worse," he added.

"That depends on how much worse," said Lyra.

James huffed a laugh, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms behind his head. For a moment they simply embraced the silence. It was not an easy process, to dredge out those doubts and fears from what felt as far down as the darkened ocean floor, hesitating with each pull and heave as one wondered how the other would take one's words. But with anchors aweigh, it didn't take effort to smile again. And though he couldn't be certain — since he was no Lyra, skimming people's minds with little reservation — with that look on Lyra's face, as close to peace as he'd ever seen since a year ago, she probably felt the same way.

An apple suddenly flew from across the room into Lyra's hand.

"Confident for the last task?" she said, taking a bite. James hummed, considering.

"Not really." He made a face. "I still can't believe they picked unicorns. Of course Fleur would've gotten it, she's the only girl."

"You're twice her age," said Lyra with a mouthful, gesturing with the apple as if he was being ridiculous.

"And I've had magic for the same number of years! And with none of the resources that a nice pure-blood family like her would have."

She swallowed. "Whatever, man. I would have already hospitalized the other two champions, thus becoming the winner by default."

"How did they do, anyway? In the Second Task."

Lyra shrugged. "Fleur was good. Her spellwork is really quick, quicker than mine, I think. But she's inexperienced, and kind of freezes up when something unexpected happens. Fun to watch, though. Viktor was a little more impressive — he ran into Fleur in the greenhouse and they dueled — he won, somewhat easily."

"Durmstrang does have a strong martial magic curriculum," said James. "Viktor's probably not an outlier in that regard."

"I wouldn't want to duel him," she admitted.

"Seriously?"

"I could probably beat him, but it'd be close, so I'd rather just kill him in his sleep."

James grimaced. Though she was joking, he knew now she was fully capable of doing such a thing to any real enemy. But for all of her casual arrogance — which he was somehow glad was slowly returning to her — she'd still beat him four out of five times, maybe. That was what happened when a mature and motivated individual utilized the Malfoy and Black clans' resources to the maximum ever since they started walking.

That meant that he could expect Viktor to pose the same level of challenge, which was far from insurmountable, but certainly weren't good odds. A plan began forming in his mind, though he couldn't deny it was an underhanded one, and there was no guarantee of it ever taking off…

"But for all his talent," she continued, "he's still just a kid who's never gone through what we have, shit that would make any grown man cry. He hasn't practiced with Dumbledore or Moody, nor has he survived curses so evil the mere memory would make him tremble. Whether you realize it or not, James, the Triwizard Tournament is already in your hands."

He laughed. "You act like I'm Sylvester Stallone's next role."

"Who?"

His humor vanished. "You're kidding."

"Look. When you get out there in front of ten thousand people and Viktor runs off with his three hints and the bookies start giving you shit odds, you hunt him down. Make him cry. Fleur too, while you're at it."

"Because she's not into girls?" he guessed.

"No," said Lyra seriously, "because if I don't know for certain that you're better than them, then how will I know that me being better than you means anything?"

"True, true." James stood up, and his wand slipped from his sleeve, maple wood and phoenix feather landing neatly in his palm with a burst of warmth. "I should get some practice in for the Third Task. You know any new tricks you could teach me?"

Lyra considered that for a moment, watching him, before she stood as well, taking her own aspen wand, threaded with a feather twin to his own. A sly little smirk graced her lips as she gestured magnanimously to the staircase. James felt himself mirroring her expression, the Patronus in his pocket giving him a burst of energy.

"Shall we head back to the Room of Requirement, then?" she said. "If you're so keen to get your arse kicked again?"

"We'll see about that, Malfoy."

"My father taught me this new spell," said Lyra, with excitement building in her voice. "It's called Torsionis Testicularis. I've been told it was a favorite of Bellatrix's."