Hello :)
Over the past few months I've been dealing with the passing of my mum as well as the sudden and tragic passing of a good friend so thank you for being patient. Its been a real weird time in my life and if you're reading this then please, give your loved ones a good squeeze. Grief fucking sucks. Cancer fucking sucks. I love and appreciate all of you, lol even the savage reviews from people who don't like this story, thank you for making me laugh haha I'm sorry this story isn't for you I guess.
Hope you like this first part, the second half made the chapter way too long so it'll be posted soon.
3
Falling, deeper, darker…
Lyra wasn't one hundred percent sure she was dreaming. Who was to say that she wasn't supposed to be taking her Herbology OWL exam today? And, of course, the exam consisted of her performing a live duet, singing Islands in the Stream with a Mandrake in front of the entire school, which somehow made total sense to her. In fact, she felt stupid that she for one second doubted that this wasn't real, why was she complaining? The chances of her passing Herbology just skyrocketed, she was totally about to slay this exam!
Lyra stared down the seemingly endless audience filling the Great Hall before her and the potted Mandrake, who she now realised had a glossy blonde wig and humongous breasts, on the stage. Did that make her Kenny Rogers? Suddenly Lyra was very aware of her new facial hair and she stroked her moustache. She commended her own commitment to this exam, their costumes definitely will earn her extra points.
"Practical exam in session. Full names; Lyra Adelaide Black and Dolly Rebecca Parton, you may begin," Professor Sprout's voice echoed from the shadows of the wings and a spotlight blinded the duo. It was time.
The iconic song Lyra had belted opposite Danielle on their road trips countless times began and she instantly forgot every single word. She knew she should've chosen Don't Go Breaking My Heart, the Mandrake would've looked fabulous dressed as Kiki Dee and Elton's glasses would've helped cover her nerves.
But then she heard him.
The music faded as though it was never there, like a hallucination to drown out his screaming. The faceless audience bled into the shadows like smoke as Lyra jumped off the stage and stalked toward the open door ahead.
Falling, falling. Darker, deeper…
The sensation of intense gravity knotted behind her navel and yanked her toward whatever lay behind the door.
She wasn't afraid.
Tom was out there, screaming — at someone else? Dread stole the colour from Lyra's face and she bolted, fearing the worst. That someone was in danger, she recognised the fatal pitch of Tom's voice and it boiled her blood.
Don't be Harry, please don't be Harry.
The voices in her head she grew to adore were silent, she felt the spike of their absence in her chest. She was alone for the first time in years.
"YOU CAN'T! I won't let you, you're MINE!"
"NO I'M NOT! I NEVER WAS AND I NEVER WILL BE YOURS!"
The brilliant light gleaming through the door crack wasn't that of the Entrance Hall, Lyra pushed it open and gasped at the fresh breeze that washed over her. The scent of pine and melting snow, of aromatic soil that she had never smelt before in Britain. Too rich, too… alive.
"You don't mean that—,"
"I mean every word… I think your time here has come to an end, my Lord, you have overstayed your welcome."
A misted pine forest clearing, somewhere high in the mountains of a country Lyra hadn't visited, had never even thought of… and yet as she stepped into the new world she felt at home here. She knew these woods, these veins of dirt, the rocks of the mountains beneath her feet. Before her, oblivious to her watching between the monstrous firs, stood a young man and a young woman.
Tom must have been in his early twenties, a man built for adventure paired with an aristocratic sharpness to his pale face. An older counterpart to the child she met, a dangerous man on his path of destruction. But, at this moment, Lyra felt a twinge of sadness for this version of Tom, a man she knew nothing of. He looked so unlike himself, dressed in muddy brown suspender trousers and a wrinkled cream shirt that had seen better days. Blood oozed from a nasty graze on his chest, and the stubble shading his face added to his wildness. He looked so afraid, so conflicted by the young woman facing away from Lyra. So human.
All she could tell about the woman was that she was some sort of nurse, a healer or possibly a nun. There was an aura of cleanliness around her, an invisible glow only Lyra saw. Most of her soft blonde curls were hidden underneath a snug gauze sacred hood, and she wore an apron of the same material over her navy dress. Lyra could tell she was young by her lilting voice, she was like a dove warbling against Tom's beastly growls. Her soul yearned for her, to protect her from ruin.
Tom fell to his knees. "Mireille—,"
"Never say that name again," the young nun spat at him and Lyra tasted the sourness on her tongue. "You do not retain the honour to call me that anymore. That is not my name."
"You're making a grave mistake," Tom looked up at her, strife reddening his already teary eyes, "don't do this to me—,"
"Go home to England, Seigneur de la Mort, your services are no longer needed. Go, Marvolo, and pray that you don't turn back. It is over."
Her heart was breaking. Lyra massaged her sternum and prayed for the girl as she left Tom behind her. He keeled over in the slush to hide the agony slashing through him. One of his arms twitched, and Lyra armed herself too. His wand appeared as though it had always been in his hand, yet the woman never flinched.
"I'm not leaving you here with them. They're manipulating you, they've turned you against me. They can't protect you like I can," Tom spoke mostly to the snow, but he lifted his head and wore his anger with pride. His teeth flashed. "This isn't over. I'm not leaving without my treasure."
"This is over because I said it's over. It is not some prize, some treasure that you can steal, and now I've come to realise this was your intention all along… You imbecile," said the nun with her head held high. She was resolute, unshaken by his display of fury. How many times had she stood against him? "You have difficulty understanding the word 'no', sir."
Lyra scoffed in agreement.
"No," Tom sneered and slowly climbed to his feet, like a viper rising against its prey, "oh no… You do not possess the power to say no to me. Not when they appeared to me, not when they told me with their own human tongue that it is rightfully mine…" he took a step forward and ice crunched under him, like the snapping of a bone. Lyra massaged her shoulder out of habit.
The young woman needed to run, she needed to get away now.
The blonde nun froze, her strong posture wilting slightly. An understanding Lyra never caught settled over her and she drank in his response with grace.
The woman turned back to him.
"What, exactly, did they say to you?"
"You already know, mon cœur. Deep down, you always knew…" Tom trailed off and tilted his head. Eyeing her, assessing her weaknesses before he attacked.
Lyra's breath hitched, eyes prickling as a surge of sadness burrowed into her. Decades of grief hit her all at once. The young woman's preserved emotions were intense, but somehow she knew how to withstand it, like a lighthouse withstanding vicious storms. Lyra swallowed the emotion and stood strong, existing within each pulse, each wave of pain. She had no choice but to, she knew what this man would do to her if she broke. To them both, to all three of them. To the entire universe.
"Thief…" the nun whispered and accepted her fate. Her stupidity was her downfall, her own actions led to this moment and she welcomed her fatal mistake. Lyra knew how that felt and sent positivity her way, they were a sisterhood of the inevitable and she kept her close to her heart.
The sky darkened, steel clouds eddying as the nun summoned them. Ice winds accompanied the frost that the Dementors brought with them, in gushes they swarmed toward the pine clearing, a hive mind dressed in death, and Lyra embraced the dark rush. Electricity spiked the hairs along her body as they passed her by like friends, affectionately bumping arms and bony hips, and she relished each adrenaline hit. Their cloaks were numb to the touch but she didn't mind, like a flurry of inky jellyfish tentacles they tickled her skin.
Tom didn't stand a chance and Lyra craved his destruction. She was happy to be here, in his presence for once.
But in her excitement Lyra stumbled forwards, lost in the sea of black cloaks and dark magic, and the fir tree branch hiding her face snapped.
The Dementors froze.
Tom looked Lyra directly in her shining eyes and grinned, his eyes narrowing in wanting.
"Here she is, Little Miss Black… My new treasure," Delirium transformed his smile, wicked and pointed like a set of fangs. "She never said no to me."
Still, she was not afraid.
"Hello dickhead," said Lyra, her voice thick from disuse, "you look like shit."
"Lyra!"
Lyra refused to look away from the nun's face, from her human body. She knew that voice better than her own.
It was her — one of the soul trapped inside of her. She was there in front of her. A real person.
Deeply hooded eyes like a siren, as blue as the Mediterranean, but with a sparkle of brown around the edge. A love heart face, pearlescent skin, European features and the barely-there trace of an accent she couldn't place. French? Not quite. What was her name again? Miri—?
"Ow!" Lyra clasped her head as it throbbed.
Forbidden. Cursed.
She was so heart-wrenchingly beautiful Lyra had trouble maintaining her gaze. It was like she was staring at the sun.
This poor woman…
"Now!"
Connected by a thread, Lyra sensed the nun's actions as though it was her idea. She latched onto her outstretched hand and they took off running through the pine trees, never stopping to look back at the Dementors descending on the now rabid Tom. He was ready to pounce, but they were already gone.
"You're real! You're—! I don't—!" Lyra couldn't catch her breath, she was desperate to talk to the young woman, to ask her valuable questions, to memorise her face,"you're awesome! Hello!"
"You shouldn't be able to see me," the nun gasped, equally as exhilarated despite struggling to run in her cumbersome dress. She ripped her skirt from another thorn bush and squeezed Lyra's hand tighter, "you shouldn't have seen any of this, you haven't before? I don't get it. Is this my dream or yours?"
Lyra pulled her over a ditch just as Tom finally broke free of their grip, though he was still metres behind. The ghastly battle cry of the Dementors bludgeoned their ear drums, it was like an explosion of daggers. Metallic and fatal, shrapnel cast from the darkest magic.
"Um both? I dunno how I'm doing this, I'm sorry," Lyra lurched, afraid the blonde woman was mad at her, but her eyes prickled when she beamed. Her smile lit up her entire face, she was glowing.
"I couldn't be more proud of you!"
Tom's screeches were getting closer. Lyra ignored the branch slices across her arms and face from their vicious speed. Her lungs were desert dry, crumpled from the exhaustion. She wanted to wake up, to end this fatal chase and forfeit—
"No, Lyra, stay with me!" The nun panicked. She dragged Lyra toward a nearby fallen tree and grabbed her shoulders, shaking some sense into her, "don't wake up yet sweetheart, come on! Please!"
Lyra could barely keep her eyes open, it was like someone had injected her veins with concrete.
"I… I'm trying," she said gruffly, "but it's… it's so…"
"I know, I know but you have to fight it," the nun stroked her cheek, constantly checking their surroundings, but then she gasped and pulled Lyra to the floor as something exploded over their heads. Shreds of bark and soot showered them, a warning for what was coming. They didn't have time to waste, Time wasn't at all amused by this little loophole Lyra found.
"What's… your name…?" Lyra slurred, slumping forward into her arms. If she could just close her eyes for a split second she'd feel a million times better.
"It's within you, I can't tell," the nun swore in a language Lyra didn't catch, "but you must listen to me. Please, Lyra, remember what I tell you. Remember these words when you wake. Remember my face. Remember this dream."
"YOU CAN'T RUN FROM ME!"
Like a bull enraged by crimson, Tom was closing in so the girls continued to flee. Lyra wasn't sure how her legs hadn't collapsed into dust, she couldn't do this.
"We are cursed," the nun cried, swept tears staining her red cheeks as she half-carried her smaller counterpart through the woods and away from the festering fabric barrier of Dementors shielding them from Tom. She was determined to succeed, "It is your burden to carry, like it was mine, like the many that were chosen before us. You must do whatever it takes to uncover the truth, about who we truly are. About what we were chosen to possess… About the forces… that created this world… About what you must do to… end it…"
The green and grey dreamscape vibrated and Lyra clutched her head, urging her words to stick to its tender walls.
"There… are… seven," the nun panted, teeth gritted so tightly they cracked. She was choking, silenced by another. "Seven… forces… And he… forced one upon you… There are… greater places than Hogwarts… You must… go to—,"
The girls fell with a petrified screech into nothingness. Falling, deeper and deeper until they hit the obsidian ocean and waves brighter than the stark orange horizon splashed them. Lyra gasped but no moisture soaked her clothes.
NO MORE… SAY NO MORE…
Lyra caved to the sensation of the real world sucking her from this dream, she couldn't fight the relentless tug.
But Mireille was just as resilient as her vessel.
She stood before the figure made from nothing, tall and willowy as they loomed over the girls. They were afraid of the two girls before them and they hoped the third wouldn't appear. They'd been idle for too long.
"Use Granger, Time is her friend, Time likes her. Tell her, you must break the rules and give her a chance, give them a chance at winning this war," Mireille begged, her hands on Lyra's shoulders keeping her steady.
The nun wasn't speaking to her anymore.
RULES ARE RULES.
"You broke those rules before, as have the others. You've all broken your vows countless times over the course of history so you can't use that as an excuse anymore. Why not now? Look at what she has to deal with, look at who the other forces are using to fight you. This is it. She is your fucking soul…"
Mireille spat the words out and the entire universe trembled at the power of her words.
"It's been twelve years to the day… It's her and you know it. Help… her… now. TELL HER! TELL HER WHO SHE IS!"
Falling, deeper, darker—
Lyra woke with a start and caught herself before she tumbled out of Hermione's bed. The toasty weight of Crookshanks lounging on her legs brought instant comfort, but it wasn't long lasting.
Lyra, remember.
What happened? What did I miss?
But Lyra was already one step ahead, scrounging through Hermione's books and last night's notes on the bed for her fluffy journal. She scraped her pesky hair out of her face as she bit off the cap of her pen and wrote and wrote and wrote.
Her dream stuck, like tar she was drenched in it.
She remembered every detail.
The smell of the forest clung to her baggy pyjamas like pollen. The particular style of Riddle's bloody clothes, the words he hissed at her. Even the smaller details she didn't register at the time, the runes stitched into the woman's apron, the flashes of the snowy mountain view that peeped through the trees as they ran. They came spiralling onto the pages in scrambled patterns that Lyra was sure only she would be able to decipher.
"Your name, I can't remember your name," Lyra breathed, manic in motion and mind. It was like she had been woken with a shot of pure adrenaline. It fuelled her like nothing ever before, caffeine had nothing on whatever this emotion was. "Is that part of Time's curse? Also, who's Time? Is that a person's name? Or do you literally mean Time—?"
Can't say.
…Seriously, what happened?
Dream. I met her.
YOU WHAT?!
Watching her sleeping friend beside her for clues that she was being too loud, Lyra returned to the images she retained while she roughly sketched the forest plane. Trees taller than any she'd seen in the Forbidden Forest, soil the colour of copper, powdery snow despite the scorching temperature of the high sun. Where was that place? Was that where the nun wanted her to go?
For the record I'm not a nun, never was a nun, would never be a nun.
Then what are you?
The silence was infuriating. Lyra reread her notes and tried again. Tom's accusations stood out the most.
Were you a part of a cult?
Her heart skipped as the silence became staticky. That was a yes.
It wasn't an actual cult, not like those sadist Muggles you've read about. It was a family. Our family.
And what are these forces? There are seven of them, am I one of them?
Her blood ran cold and nausea filled the cold silence that followed. Pressure was building inside of the girls dormitory but Lyra withstood it, another lighthouse out at sea.
NO! ENOUGH! TELL ME WHAT I AM!
YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ARE, MY LOVE… YOU ARE LOVED SO DEARLY…
Deadly silence, fatal icy winds, and darkness. The room faded from Lyra's view and she looked up at the looming figure staring down at her. They were always staring down at her.
They were always there.
But suddenly Hermione shivered and moaned beside her, her brow furrowed as she slowly woke and squinted up at Lyra.
"Did you open a window? It's freezing in here," she grumbled, rolling over with the duvet tucked higher under her chin—
But Hermione sat bolt upright when she registered Lyra's expression. The figure was gone.
"What? What happened?"
"I met one of the souls stuck inside of me," she whispered, staring dead eyed at the space where they stood, and she gradually looked back at the discombobulated scribbles that took shape before her eyes. "In my dream, I saw her… and I saw Death too. They were with us, in this… other dimension. And just now…"
The black mass of ink stared back from the pages as they had done in person, its darkness exacerbated by the orange highlighter pen she used to sketch the setting sun stained on her conscience. A mythological figure, an ancient concept that was present in humanity since their beginning, but one she felt kinship with. One she knew. One she loved. She didn't realise what she had drawn with her words until the initial grogginess of her abrupt wake up wore off but now it was all she could see.
You saw them…?
She saw us.
"Hermione…" Lyra hardly heard herself, she sounded different, older, "I think I know what I am now. What it is I can do."
She was numb to the chill whirling around the room, numb to the words coming out of her mouth. Numb head to toe. It made sense, it all made sense. I'm such an idiot…
"What?" whispered Hermione, wide awake and anxious for the answer, but the momentary flash of fear in her eyes told Lyra all she needed to know. Hermione knew. She'd figured it out already and she was waiting for Lyra to realise herself.
Because, honestly, there was no way Lyra would've believed her. Not in a million years…
"I don't think I can say it, it will sound so dumb," she laughed and it sounded broken. Denial was settling in fast. "No way! No?! They don't exist! Death doesn't exist! I… I can't be…"
Although she looked as though she was holding back her self-congratulations for guessing correctly, Hermione took a deep breath and leant back against her headboard, her hands busy stroking her needy cat.
"We are currently sat in an ancient magical castle in the highlands of Scotland, being taught how to weld magic as well as the inner workings of a secret supernatural world that we've been living amongst our whole lives," she summarised their situation, and she smiled, "not to mention that sitting on this very bed we have a necklace that can turn back time and someone who can raise the dead."
She turned to her friend and scoffed. "Yes, I think Death exists too, and yes, you might be..."
Lyra hung her hand and whined.
Was it that simple? Was she Death?
"God fucking damn it!"
Hermione was the logical one, if she thought that there was an extremely high chance that Death, — the Grim Reaper, the keeper of Souls, the bloody personification of Darkness — was real then she had no other option but to laugh! She was hoping she would talk her out of this bonkers conclusion but all of the evidence was piling against her.
"When did you realise?" Lyra grumbled through her hands, unable to look at her yet.
"When Gilderoy sent me his first letter," Hermione confessed, her voice gentle despite the topic, "he speaks about you as though you are transcendent, like you're something more than human, which makes sense in this context. He's been travelling the world connecting with 'like-minded folk' although I don't really know what that means. Like, are there other people out there in the world who have been resurrected…? Who know Death personally?"
Not that we are aware.
If there are then they've long passed.
"The voices say there's not," Lyra murmured, trying not to giggle. She sounded insane right now. "But there are cults out there dedicated to that sort of thing, like worshipping Death and stuff. Lockhart seems the type to join a cult."
"I think so too, the last I heard he was preparing for a trip to Moscow," Hermione sighed, "it's been a while since he wrote so he's likely been sucked into one by now."
"At least he's keeping quiet," Lyra peeled her face from her hands and scrunched her nose up at her friend who was smiling sadly, "man… sorry but this is crazy."
"It's stark-raving mad," Hermione laughed and she welcomed her friend with a side hug as she collapsed back and snuggled under the duvet, "but I've come to accept the insanity that is our lives now. At least we have an answer, and one that explains so much. No wonder the ghosts are scared of you."
Lyra cringed again. She hated how well everything was clicking together and she clutched her tender head. "And the Thestrals, and the Dementors… ugh, I think I'm going to throw up."
"Not to mention Tom's Horcrux—,"
But Hermione winced as she rushed to chase Lyra into the bathroom where she swiftly emptied her guts up into the nearest receptacle.
"Sorry! Slip of the tongue!"
Lyra waved her hand as an acceptance of her apology and jumped into the shower, craving the sweet release from the uncomfortable buzzing coursing through her body. The revelation infected her from the second she realised, and she hated how hollow her body felt. She felt ungodly, impure, muddy and she was worried the water would never wash this sticky feeling away.
Her father and Riddle did something, and that something resulted in her becoming, what, Death?! She heard her father was a dark wizard but to somehow harness a God, something her little human brain couldn't comprehend, the antithesis of what it meant to be alive, and force it upon her? How? Why? What did that achieve? Tom could be that dark, sure, but her father?
Tom wants it.
And he will do anything to get it. He will use anyone to achieve his goals.
Lyra didn't want to believe it but she accepted their truth without a fight. It was such a simple reason, one she constantly overlooked because it was so unrealistic.
She switched off the shower and leant her forehead against the tiles, listening to her frantic heartbeat and the dripping of warm water trailing from her spine.
He wants Death?
He wants Their Soul.
He wants you.
Intense emotion came… and went. In and out.
"Lighthouse, I'm just a lighthouse," Lyra whispered to herself as she wrapped her gooseprickled body in her towel. Deep breaths and heavy footsteps, she was still human. She was still her.
Great mantra.
Breathe, sweetheart. You'll get used to it, it takes time.
"You're taking this very well," Hermione jumped and stuffed something into her dressing gown pocket. She stopped brushing her teeth as soon as Lyra stepped out to observe her, and Lyra flashed her a thumb up though her face said otherwise.
"It's either pretend that everything is fine or admit myself to the hospital wing for being delusional, and I don't fancy the gossip that'll bring," she huffed, focusing on her puffy reflection instead of her busy brain.
"And we can't continue with our investigation if you're locked up with Madam Pomfrey," Hermione sneakily suggested, "that will certainly ease your mind about all of this. We need answers, we need to see if we're right about this so don't get too worked up. We might be wrong."
The glimmer of hope that this was just a mistake perked Lyra up. Her mischievous smirk stretched her freckled face and Hermione was relieved to see it.
"What do you have in mind?"
Hermione revealed Lyra's fluffy journal from her robe and checked the door in case their roommates had woken in their absence. Thankfully they were snoring away, unperturbed by their morning bathroom antics.
"If we are correct to assume that you are Death, or whatever this manifestation of Death in you is, then you are what the lady in your dreams called a Force," Hermione immersed herself in decrypting her friend's manic scribbles and Lyra whistled, impressed. "Judging by your drawings there seems to be seven of them, and they all connect together here," she traced the looping thick binds that interlinked the seven figures encircling the page. "The runes you've drawn on the lady's pinny match the one faintly scrawled on this figure, which," Hermione squinted at the black ink mass, "looks like you a bit."
Lyra bent closer to the book, trying to decipher what she had seen, but she jolted back when Hermione gasped.
"Lyra! You're bleeding!"
Suddenly she noticed the drips of dark blood trailing from the shower and the beginnings of a puddle at her feet, and she panicked. Fuck, have I come on?
"It's your back," Hermione soothed her worries, but Lyra frowned and allowed her friend to inspect the damage. "What—? Oh, your burn, it's weeping. How hot was your shower?"
Lyra often forgot about the small burn on her back, it never gave her any bother and it was low enough not to draw attention. If she couldn't see it then it was out of sight, out of mind.
"Hot as hell, I was trying to burn the Death off," she scowled at the floor as she was attended to, "weird, it's never bled before. Not enough to draw a small puddle unnoticed anyways."
"Yeah, I didn't realise they could reopen," Hermione inhaled sharply but Lyra hardly felt her soft fingers, "it must've been scalding because— oh."
Lyra froze. That couldn't have been good.
"Oh?"
She caught Hermione's face in the mirror and feared how chalky she had become. Without a word, Hermione grabbed a piece of tissue, pressed it hard against her burn, and withdrew it with the delicacy of a master printer.
The messy blob outline of her burn was merely a pink background for the cleanly-printed, bloody rune at its centre. It looked too fresh, too neat. Too purposeful. Her burn never had a clear shape. Ever.
"What the fuck is that?" Lyra didn't recognise her own voice again. Aged, tired.
"It… matches the rune in your drawing," Hermione trembled and shakily held up the fluffy book. "The upside down triangle, the slashes… you can't see the outline on your skin, only when it bleeds through."
Her blood glistened on the moistened paper, the rune was starting to bleed away its fierce shape and her burn began to ache as it vanished.
That was new.
And so it begins. About time!
Ahh, it's like second puberty all over again.
Wha—?
Darkness invaded her vision as black hands stole her eyes. Gravity doubled and Lyra passed out, giving in to the sensation of someone kidnapping her from this dimension into another that was hiding in plain sight. She didn't hear Hermione's yelp nor feel the corner of the basin bash her temple, she was already gone.
"I swear, hand on heart, no, I swear on my mothers grave," Lyra insisted with all of her might, "that it was the shower. It was too hot for me, that's all."
Madam Pomfrey stared Lyra down, assessing her for any tells of her lies and deception. She was unwilling to let her frequent patient go after a fainting spell in the girls bathroom, but apart from the small bump on her head Lyra seemed perfectly fine. The matron didn't have an excuse good enough to keep her. Hermione backed up the claim as a witness and she had little doubt that Lyra was near anything she shouldn't have been… but still, Lyra was admitted to the infirmary against her will and missed the start of what was supposed to be a busy day.
"Please?" Lyra swung her legs off the hospital cot, batting her lashes, "you can't keep a girl locked up in here on her birthday of all days?"
"I suppose you are staying inside the castle and not traipsing off to Hogsmeade like the rest of fhe school," Madam Pomfrey rubbed the salty truth into her wounds and Lyra bit her sour tongue. Hermione had already left her to find Ron, Lyra insisted she should still go down to Hogsmeade despite her fainting, "but you must promise me that you'll return if you start to feel unwell again? Even on your birthday?"
"Mhmm," Lyra nodded, "you betcha!" She was surprised to hear herself sound so convincing, she intended to be sarcastic.
"Then may I suggest you take it easy today? A sugar crash after tonight's party will not make you feel any better," Pomfrey circled her bed and gestured at her to stand, her self-ticking clipboard following in her shadow.
"I've still got to decorate the hall yet, hence why I've got to go," Lyra informed her as she made a bee-line for the door, "at this rate there won't be a party."
"Oh dear," Madam Pomfrey didn't sound the least bit upset by the news, but Lyra ignored her and whisked out of the hospital wing without another look back.
"Happy birthday!"
Harry jumped to his feet and tossed half a chocolate pastry at Lyra in celebration. He had been lounging mindlessly in the hospital wing atrium with the stolen breakfast he had gotten her acting as his only companion and nothing but the view of the lines of excited students leaving for the Wizarding village serving as his entertainment.
Lyra blinked at the bite marks he had left in her breakfast and waited for his excuse.
"In my defence, you took ages," he began with his hands held up, "I'm a growing boy, I couldn't help myself."
"It's the thought that counts I guess, thanks Potter," she shrugged, seemingly more mellow than he expected, and Harry arched a brow. Lyra took a single bite and tossed the pastry back at him, regretting her decision immediately.
It turned out that suddenly becoming aware of Death's soul possession of her own was an experience that her human body was naturally trying to reject. The voices explained that it was one of the many curses Death picked up over the course of history, the burden of knowledge about one's self came with a heavy price and she had to deal with it.
Tough. No say, no option to opt out.
Self-awareness of one's godly power shifted the balance of the universe, Lyra felt it in her bones that the world was tilting. As Death, that was one of their jobs — to maintain the balance. Meaning it was her responsibility now she was aware. It was like she was learning how to be human again, Death shouldn't be restricted to her mortal body and she had no choice but to start anew.
She felt everything and nothing at the same time and it sucked.
Good luck, girl.
This feeling only lasts a few weeks, you'll get the hang of it in no time!
The pastry in Lyra's mouth fell apart like ash and she spat it out of the nearest window to Harry's surprise, groaning at the unnatural texture.
"I won't pass your compliments on to the chef then," Harry joked despite the frown on his face as he came over to see if she was ok. She felt his eyes all over her, inspecting her, worried for her. "Pomfrey said you fainted but Hermione told us something else happened?"
"Ha," Lyra wiped the crumbs from her mouth and leant back against the window, enjoying the cool wind nipping at her neck. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the constant, faint hissing of the Dementors. They were being particularly loud today and she was already sick of it. "Yeah, something else definitely happened. You're not gonna believe this…"
"Nothing you say shocks me anymore, Black, come on," he scoffed and crossed his arms with a humouring smirk, preparing for the worst, "spit it out."
"Not out here, in the open," she murmured and scanned the ends of the hallway for any signs of life, "it's too dangerous."
Her subdued behaviour scared Harry enough for him to drop his smirk, he didn't like how muted she was, how calm she looked. Very unlike herself. He let Lyra take his hand without protest and she led him towards the nearest secret passage. Lyra peeled back a tall tapestry portraying a herd of centaurs mid-hunt and pulled him up the crooked stone spiral staircase that would eventually lead them to the library annex.
"It started off as a weird dream," Lyra began as she collapsed on one of the stairs halfway up, unable to keep it in anymore. The stairwell was private enough. "I didn't really know what was going on until I met her."
"Who?" Harry was quick to follow, he watched her from his lower step wearing a mask of unease. The shadows draping them hid most of his face but Lyra tried not to read too much into his expression.
"One of the voices, one of the souls that are in me," she strained her ears for non-existent footsteps over the fast pounding of her heart in her ears. "I met her, and I met Death too. Or a god-like entity that looked a lot like Death, anyways, I'm not one hundred percent."
Yeah keep lying to yourself, that won't slow your progress at all.
Leave her be, she's adjusting. You struggled when you discovered this for yourself too.
Harry blinked hard and Lyra interlinked her fingers, using the pressure of her cracking knuckles as a distraction. His face was still just as unreadable and her organs turned to jelly.
"What?" He whispered, "like, the Grim Reaper?"
"Yeah," Lyra cringed when Harry froze. "And… I think, and Hermione thinks too, that I'm… you know…" it was like extracting teeth, she couldn't say it without her entire body flaring, like an allergic reaction it was visceral.
"You're… Death?"
"Kinda. More like I'm possessed by them, I don't quite understand it, but ta daa!" She smiled weakly and shook her hands as though she had finished a fancy magic trick, "I'm their human puppet! Bonkers, right?"
"No, not really…"
Lyra's heart dropped.
Something came over Harry as he gazed up at her, half his face now illuminated by the distant glow of a lantern way above then and she but her lip. He looked… content. Relieved, almost.
"It makes sense, with everything that happened with Lockhart, and Quirrell, and Riddle," Harry explained his thought process in a steady rhythm, giving Lyra time to catch her breath. He leant against the railings and tried not to smile at her, "not to mention you look… er, well, it's probably not related—,"
"I look what?" Lyra sat forwards, panicked.
"I don't know," he struggled to lock onto her gaze, "you just look… good today. Better than you have in a while."
Lyra raised her brow. Was that a compliment?
"It's just that for someone who passed out in the shower, you look refreshed and…" Harry gulped, drowning in his own failing confidence, "radiant."
"Radiant?" Lyra snorted. She felt anything but radiant, she felt like Death. Pun intended.
"What I meant was that your skin looks… nice," he fumbled over his words and groaned when she laughed, "look, forget I said anything. You look good for someone who's supposed to be possessed by Death, that's all I was trying to say. You've got a godly glow to you, so it makes sense." His blush faded into the darkness as he turned away momentarily to save face.
"Who knew the side effect of finding out you're Death is great skin," Lyra snarked, trying not to act too smug or teasing, "maybe it's all the souls I've been harvesting?"
"I'm glad you're not too upset by this revelation then," Harry sighed, glad she was moving past his comment, but he continued to shake his head and gawk at her. "…Death? Really? How the hell did that happen?"
"The two people who know the answer to that question are the very last two people I ever want to speak to," she grumbled, leaning her head on her knees, "so, who the fuck knows."
"Ahh, unlucky," Harry shook his head, "but if I ever run into your father or Voldemort again I'll ask on your behalf."
"Aww! Now that's a good birthday present, no offence to your gift of leftovers," she bit her lip, trying not to laugh as he feigned offence.
"Oh please, that was just gift number one! Let's head up to the common room, I think I have something that will cheer you up," Harry suggested, encouraging her to stand up and follow him up the stairs, and she guffawed, fanning her face.
"Oh my God, don't tell me — it's a half eaten bag of sweets, isn't it?"
"You'd be so lucky," he snidely chimed back as he shoved her upwards, and Lyra happily let him drag her away from the passageway, her hopes rising. He took that extremely well!
The pair tried to keep their conversation quiet as they navigated the castle but Harry's questions kept coming.
"So, did you faint this morning?" He wondered as they climbed into the Gryffindor Tower where the first and second years were keen to take over the common room. They kept to the sides of the room, avoiding eye contact with most of the eager side-eyes. Ginny was nowhere to be seen so they wasted no time hurrying up to the boys dormitory.
"Yeah, it all got so overwhelming I think my Jody just crashed," Lyra answered as she nosied around the boys room, her curious eyes couldn't stay still, "also, you know the weird burn I have on my back?"
"Vaguely, though I've never seen it," he said, reaching down under his bed for the mysterious present.
"Ah ha, well now you can," Lyra wiggled her brows and reached for her fluffy journal hidden in her jacket pocket. The dried bloody tissue slipped from the first page and she held it up as Harry climbed to his feet, her gift in his hands.
He squinted and tilted his head, unfazed by the grossness of the tissue's state. "I thought you said it didn't have a shape, it looks pretty clear to me."
"It doesn't," Lyra swore and she slipped her jacket off, fully intending to show him her shapeless burn, "but apparently when it bleeds it does—,"
"I believe you!" Harry rushed to say, and he thrusted the neatly-wrapped oblong present her way, "er, happy birthday!"
Lyra let go of the hem of her jumper and thanked him with a mischievous smile, the box was at least as long as her leg. "Seriously, you didn't have to—,"
"We can't go through this every year, just open it," Harry cut her off, unable to stop his grin as she tore away the paper, "what do you think?"
"I think you're a genius!" Lyra gasped, eyes shining like stars as she took in the appearance of her new grey and red skateboard sparkling through the transparent plastic window. "Dude!?"
"I know," he accepted her tight hug but was quick to pull away as he urged her to take it out of its box, his cheeks blushing pink, "but there is one condition."
"Do you want me to teach you how to do a kickflip?" She guessed, hopping on the spot and fizzing with glee. She hadn't been on a skateboard since that fateful day years ago now, she hoped she still had the skills to impress.
Icy shots of pleasure radiated from the heaviness in Lyra's chest and the candles lighting the dormitory flickered. Shadows danced around the room as though the sun was already setting, creeping towards them in smoky spirals and the pair froze.
"Uh… is that you?" Harry asked shakily, alarmed by the shadows descending in them, and Lyra stopped hopping.
"I think so?"
Breathe.
Quicker than a blink the shadows faded and the candle flames grew larger, igniting the room once more. It happened so fast they wondered whether they simply imagined it. The heaviness subsided and Lyra smiled guiltily. That was definitely her. Fuck.
"Yeah, teach me how to do a kickflip," Harry continued as though it never happened though he couldn't help but add, "did you mean to do that?"
"Nope, sorry about that," she stroked her skateboard and sighed, disappointed in herself. "I've got to learn how to control it, whatever it is, or else people are gonna catch on that something is wrong with me. I can't keep letting the darkness win, imagine we weren't alone up here? Imagine if I do that somewhere like in the Great Hall? In front of everyone?"
"No one is going to find out about this, Lyra," Harry told her straight, earnest and self-assured. "Whatever it is that Voldemort and your dad inflicted on you, it doesn't matter if it's Death or not — even if it's the darkest magic on earth, we'll help you deal with it every step of the way. There's nothing wrong with you. Your secret is safe with me, Ron, and Hermione. You've got this, yeah?"
Harry looked so sure it was difficult for her not to agree so she nodded.
See! Having a solid group of friends around you helps.
It helped us, you're very lucky you've got Harry.
"Yeah, I've got this. Of course I've got this!" Lyra spoke her optimism into existence and straightened her spine, adjusting.
"Of course you do," Harry patted her shoulder and began to lead her away, his eyes still on her skateboard, "so how about we go and test out your new present? It's not every day you turn fourteen."
"You totally bought this skateboard for yourself, didn't you?" Lyra caught his stare fixated on her present and rolled her eyes, smiling nevertheless.
"I mean we have to fill our Hogsmeade-less weekends somehow," Harry defended his decision and he gave her his best puppy eyes. The heaviness dwelling in her soul lightened with the sky beyond the Gryffindor Tower and Lyra basked in the streaks of sunshine streaming through the windows as they ran off to cause some skateboarding mischief.
Unfortunately, their fun didn't last long.
"Watch out!"
Lyra had to clutch onto the ground floor courtyard windows to stop herself falling over from her fit of laughter as she watched Harry spectacularly fail his first run. He seemed to pick up speed a lot faster than she anticipated and she neglected to tell him how to stop the board without injuring himself. Safe to say she wasn't too shocked by his first crash into the bed of thistles decorating the edges of the deserted courtyard.
"How the hell do you turn?" Harry moaned as he pulled the thorned leaves from his hair, and Lyra took one last picture before lending him a helping hand.
"You have to use your body weight, lean into the turns and the wheels will follow you," she giggled, stealing the board and jumping on top of it. It was like riding a broom, the skill never truly left her and she whizzed off down the corridor circling the courtyard, showing off with last-minute turns and an increased speed. "See!"
She skidded through the doorway and jumped off, allowing Harry the chance to catch it before it flew past. He kicked the board up and scowled at her, making her smile wider.
"You make it look so easy," he complained, jumping on and dragging his foot to gain speed, and Lyra pouted, stuffing her ponytail into her hood as the wind picked up.
"Don't be sour, I'll show you how simple it is," Lyra instructed him to shuffle along the board and she hopped up in front of Harry and gestured at him to grab her shoulders. "Hold on."
"Why do I have a feeling that this won't end well?" Harry complained but Lyra ignored him and set off, puffing slightly from the extra weight. His hands clamped down harder as they took off at a steady speed, clearly surprised that they were able to go so fast, and Lyra effortlessly turned the corners with clear cut instructions.
"That's it!" Lyra allowed Harry to lead the turns as he caught on, and she grinned as he started to laugh.
"Ok this is really fun!" he yelled as they zoomed round and round, the skateboard wheels echoing off the stone walls as they got faster and faster.
"Told ya!"
The courtyard became nothing but a blur of grey and white as they flew and they cheered louder with every close corner — but a sudden figure appeared in their path on their last turn and the pair panicked.
CRASH!
"I knew I heard something, are you two alright?" Remus laughed as he rushed over to see if Lyra and Harry were injured. They ended up in a pile of tangled limbs at the bottom of a particularly sharp stone wall, but they brushed themselves off with another chuckle or two.
"We've had worse accidents," Harry winced as he massaged his knee, and Lyra brandished her skateboard in front of their professor, amazed by its unperturbed appearance. Not a single scratch, unlike her.
"Isn't she beautiful?" She exhaled, "Harry got her for me."
"Does she have a name?" Remus wondered, delicately holding her board with care, humouring her.
"Not yet but she's a Scorpio like me so it has to be something spooky," she explained, "I'm sure it'll come to me."
"I hope she finds her name before you have her confiscated from you," Remus warned her as he carefully gave her skateboard back, "Professor Snape is due to come by here soon, you may want to make yourselves scarce."
"Thanks for the warning, we better go," Harry looked over his shoulder across the courtyard, now on edge. "You've got to decorate the hall—,"
"We have to decorate the hall, you're absolutely helping me," Lyra corrected him abruptly, earning her a bitter side-eye. "Hey! It's my birthday, you have to!"
"Ah, yes," Remus cleared his throat awkwardly and offered Lyra a proud smile. Her eyes prickled. "Well, it isn't even noon yet so I think you still have plenty of time. In fact, I was hoping I would run into you both, would you perhaps like to join me for a spot of tea first?"
Lyra jumped at the chance. "Sure!"
"If it means putting off decorating for a while, I'm in," Harry agreed, ignoring Lyra's huffs.
Once on the third floor, Remus escorted the pair into his office as though it were any other afternoon he had invited them for tea. But Lyra's jaw dropped as she walked in and saw—
"Happy birthday!" Hagrid pulled the string on his party popper and it exploded in his hands from his fierce strength. Confetti of all colours burst over the small spread of lunch Remus prepared but no one looked particularly bothered by the paper shreds. Ginny clapped wildly from Hagrid's side, and Lyra screamed.
Thin orange and black bunting wrapped around the paintings and sculptures decorating the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor's office, a luminous orange pumpkin-shaped cake sat at the centre of the table that Hagrid was squashed next to, and by the delectable citrus scent in the air the large black teapot waiting for her was brewing her favourite leaves. It was quaint yet perfect, Lyra never expected any of it.
The heaviness in her chest tried to stir but she switched it off with a determined sigh. The candles barely flickered this time.
Nice work!
Bittersweetness is always a tough emotion to overcome.
"We originally planned to have breakfast at Hagrid's this morning but your small hospital visit changed things," Harry admitted, blowing Lyra's mind, and she turned to gawk at him. He planned this?
His real smile said a thousand words.
"You fainted? Are you ok?" Hagrid piped up, interrupting the pair with a concerned frown, and Lyra calmly addressed his worries with a genuine smile. The surprise birthday lunch was the single best present ever, she was floating.
"Better than ever," she grinned and positively beamed as she offered her party attendees some Earl Grey. Only Ginny accepted her offer, reminding her why she was her favourite.
"You took your time though, I thought you said you were bringing her straight here?" Ginny pointed out, shooting Harry an assumed look, but he pointed at the skateboard as though that explained everything.
Ginny looked utterly lost. "What the hell is that?"
Lyra rushed over, foaming at the mouth to influence her younger cousin, and Ginny looked alarmed.
"Trust me, you're going to love this!"
Over the course of her birthday lunch with Harry, Ginny, Remus, and Hagrid, Lyra absorbed the bizarre turn of events that were accumulating on this anniversary. She grew accustomed to Death's active presence within her, and she came to realise why they chose now to reveal themselves. She sensed the feeling within three other people at the table around her, the feeling of grief. The presence of the unspoken anniversary between the five of them showed itself in many different ways.
The most apparent was the bleakness in Remus' heavy eyes. He looked exhausted and Lyra wasn't surprised considering the moon cycle, his transformation was taking place tonight, but that wasn't it. Her soul knew what it was he felt every time he looked at her, the reminder of how his life fell apart. Death felt his resentment towards her like the remnants of the sweet orange icing on her tongue.
So she did the only thing she could think of to help them.
Lyra tapped on the side of her teacup with her spoon and took to her feet as Hagrid and Harry came to the end of yet another entertaining story about Lyra gallivanting in the Forbidden Forest to Remus and Ginny's amusement. They fell quiet and listened, and she took a deep breath.
"I just wanted to say thank you, this has been without a doubt my favourite birthday yet and it's more than I deserve, truly," she rambled on, "this beats almost getting killed by a troll by a mile."
"Do I want to know?" Remus asked Hagrid who shook his head.
"But I also wanted to take a moment for us to… remember those who can't be with us today," she continued, "Halloween marks more than just my birthday, it is a reminder of the day we lost them. Our lives were forever changed twelve years ago, some more than others," she swallowed the lump in her throat as Remus averted his gaze to his lap, stunned by her speech, "but all equally as painful. Giselle's, James' and Lily's memories live on through us, and that will never change no matter how many Halloweens we get to experience without them. I may have lost my family that day, but I feel lucky to be standing here with my new family today."
Lyra drank the last of her tea and raised her cup, "so yeah, thanks guys. Love you."
Hagrid sobbed into his cake-smeared napkin while Ginny awwed, wiping her own tears away.
"I couldn't have put it better myself," Harry said strongly, raising his own mug and subjecting himself to a sip of Earl Grey, "ugh, still terrible. To Giselle, James, and Lily."
Without a word, Remus took to his feet and whisked over to his private quarters. Lyra's blood chilled and she watched the door he disappeared behind in fear. Did she say something wrong?
But he returned within seconds, tear streaks half-wiped on his cheeks and a small brown package in his scarred hands. He was effervescent with feeling and Lyra braved a small smile.
"I've been meaning to give this to you for a while, but I wasn't sure if you were ready," he told her, taking his seat beside her so he could watch her reaction, "but after that… Lyra, that was beautiful. Your mother would be so proud of you."
The lump returned to her throat as she accepted her gift, her fingers shaky as she carefully unfolded the tough package paper. She had a suspicion that Remus had more personal effects than he let on, and she wasn't disappointed when she took in the photograph now in her possession for the first time
"Shut up," Harry laughed over her shoulder and beckoned at Ginny to steal a look too, "Look at you!"
"Awww stop!" Ginny cooed and pointed at the chubby naked baby squealing up at them in the arms of her mother, "Lyra! That is the cutest thing I've ever seen! Wow, you look so much like her…"
The heaviness in Lyra's chest constricted, twisting in agony.
Lighthouse… I'm just a lighthouse.
Giselle held her freshly-washed baby up to the camera and laughed as Lyra wiggled in her fluffy towel, seemingly entertained by whoever was holding the camera. They were in a kitchen, green ivy wrapped around wooden beams holding up the glass ceiling — was that her childhood home? Where were they? There were three glasses of wine on the counter behind her mother but the flash of the camera hid the photographer's reflection in the tall windows filling the rest of the picture.
"You loved bathing in the kitchen sink, you hated the bath," Remus sniffled, reminiscing alongside Hagrid who was tickled by the image. "You used to scream bloody murder if anyone took you anywhere near the bathroom."
"Huh, very fitting since I passed out in one earlier," Lyra commented, making light of the subject.
"That reminds me of the first time I came teh visit James and Lily, after you were born Harry," Hagrid chuckled and crossed his arms, "they tried teh change yeh and you decided teh do yeh business all over the kitchen table—,"
"Woah, ha ha, ok thank you," Harry rushed to interject as Lyra and Ginny burst out laughing at his expense, his face burning, "can you please not?"
"No no, please tell me more," Lyra demanded through her tears, "if you have any photos of that then that can be my Christmas present."
"As a matter of fact—," Remus began to Harry's horror, but he was swiftly cut off by the sound of his office door opening.
The happiness was sucked out of the room as Professor Snape stood tall in the doorway, observing the jolly birthday lunch with an inflamed twitch in his upper lip. Lyra shoved the photograph of her baby self into her pocket, suddenly afraid that Snape had eagle-eye vision.
"Severus," Remus found his manners first and welcomed him inside, "care for a slice of cake?"
"…No," he said as though Remus had just suggested they take a dive in the Black Lake, and Lyra took offence immediately. Her cake was delicious, he wasn't allowed anywhere near it!
"I wasn't aware that you were busy this afternoon," he continued, subtly side-eyeing Lyra and all of her gifts, but her heart lurched when his vampiric gaze landed on her skateboard. "Hm, is that reason why there are mud tracks all across the ground floor courtyard? Miss Black, I presume?"
Ah shit.
"Actually, sir, it's mine," Ginny bravely sacrificed herself before Lyra came up with an elaborate lie, "I'm sorry, I thought I cleaned them up."
"If that is true then you did a very poor job, Miss Weasley," Professor Snape scolded her as he walked over to steal Remus for a word, "I expect to see you downstairs cleaning in the next ten minutes."
Although Lyra felt immensely guilty for Ginny taking the fall for her mess, she knew she got off lightly in comparison. Lyra would have been given a week's detention at the very least. He didn't even mention confiscating her skateboard but thankfully Ginny scooped the skateboard up and took it with her as she left, diverting the attention.
"Thank you!" Lyra mouthed at her before she dipped, and Ginny winked.
"This is your gift from me, happy birthday!"
"See, how can Ron get mad at me for not choosing her as my favourite," Lyra mumbled out the side of her mouth, and Harry fought the urge to laugh.
"I'm so gonna tell him you said that, he skived a whole day with you not that long ago," he muttered back under his smile and Lyra shoved him.
"Perhaps it's time we go," Hagrid piped up with a cough, noticing Snape's increasingly annoyed stare at the two third years, and he guided them away with his massive hands on their shoulders, "haven't yeh got a party to set up?"
"The younger council members are setting up too, it's not just me doing it," Lyra reminded him, trying her best to deter his efforts to get them to leave, and Harry scoffed in disbelief.
"So why the hell am I helping? You know I haven't got one creative bone in my body!" He protested.
"Uh, because I'm your favourite person in the whole world?" She said obviously. Harry looked as though he regretted saying those words to her and he hung his head.
"Thank you for lunch, sir," Lyra called out to the muttering teachers with her best smile, and she caught Remus' eye. Grief dissipated and he nodded courteously at her.
"You're very welcome, Miss Black."
The trio left the office and ambled off toward their next tasks of the day, but Lyra couldn't bear to leave the thresholds of the classroom yet. She wanted to talk to Remus about the photograph, about his time living with her, about all of the little details of her life she never knew. It was more than a want, it was a desperate need.
"Uh, I need to ask Remus something," she lied, freezing in the doorway and glancing back, "we'll go down to the hall soon."
Hagrid didn't look remotely surprised as he looked back and frowned.
"You needing teh stay has nothing to do with the fact Professor Snape is in there, hm?" He interrogated, but Harry was quick to back her up.
"As if she would risk ruining her birthday by winding him up," he said with a pointed look, "right?"
"Come on, I'm dumb but I'm not that stupid," Lyra scoffed and offered Hagrid her little finger, "I pinky promise I don't want to bother Snape."
Hagrid regrettably took her pinky with his own and almost broke it in the process. "Yer lucky I have a big patch o' pumpkins teh carve," he sighed, eyeing them for signs of deceit, but their innocent smiles were enough to keep him on his straight path, "see yeh at the party, and keep out of trouble till then!"
"It must be exhausting having no one trust you," Harry noted as they crept back inside the classroom. Lyra held her breath and braced for the lock click as she closed the door behind them.
"No one trusts you either, it's not just me!" She snapped back before pressing her finger to her lips and gesturing for them to get closer to Remus' office door. They delicately took a step on the professor's stairs and strained their ears. The two men inside weren't aware of the eavesdroppers and kept their voices at a decent yet gruff volume. Harry didn't even question her intentions this time and he leant forward, just as keen.
"—isn't very becoming. You shouldn't be interacting with the students as though they are your friends, it's against school policy," scolded Snape, the lower voice of the pair, and Lyra frowned at the shadow of his shoes beneath the door. Jealous git.
"There is nothing unbecoming about what occurs in this office between me and my students, Severus," Remus was quick to defend his actions, though he didn't sound as confident as he should have been. "I've broken no rules."
"Official rules, no I suppose not," Snape shot back, "but it is rather doleful of you to dote on those two specifically. A grown man trying to console himself using the children of his deceased best friends–,"
"Don't."
Lyra's heart skipped and she grinned at Harry who looked just as stunned. Remus was pissed and she silently urged him to go harder. Get him!
"Don't what, Remus? You know better than to develop a friendship with them, especially considering the threat you already pose on these children. How you convinced the headmaster to let you work here, I will never know," snapped Snape. Lyra recognised the spite in his voice and she clenched her fists, disgusted that he was punching so low.
"My status is irrelevant, and I am forever grateful that you're able to brew the Wolfsbane draught for me. I am not a threat to any of the children here, perhaps we should visit the headmaster so you can be reminded of this fact?" Remus asked him, not a lick of resentment mixed into his words. "Are you still hung up about what happened between us at school, Severus?"
"Don't you dare," Snape seethed, and the Gryffindors eavesdropping latched onto each other, anticipating whatever was about to culminate inside the office, "this has nothing to do with that. Do not deflect your own guilt about your own life and blame me–,"
"I'm not blaming you, I'm trying to fix this rift between us because clearly you still hold a grudge against me! I haven't done anything to you," Remus cut him off, fired up. Hearing him command the room with such strong congruency in his argument confirmed Lyra's assumptions that Snape was just being miserable. He was lashing out for no reason, what a child!
"Really? Because the last I heard, you were living with– no, you were sleeping with both Blacks, weren't you? You're just as guilty as that psycho that escaped justice and is terrorising our community, you're part of the reason that the girl's mother is dead, as well as the boy's parents."
Lyra's eyes bulged as she stared at Harry who was trying his hardest not to react too animatedly. He covered his mouth and stared back, bewildered.
"What the–? He–?! They–?" Lyra couldn't believe what she heard, "Remus slept with my parents?!" Her whisper was furious but soft, luckily the men on the other side of the door didn't hear her.
"I… I think so," Harry breathed, his eyes watering from keeping his laughter in, "but we might have interpreted that wrong."
"That is, and forever will be, Sirius' fault – I had nothing to do with any of it," Remus said without faltering, and Lyra noticed how close the pair had grown, their shadows were inches away from each other. "My relationship with him and Giselle is completely unrelated to the atrocities he caused–,"
Oh my God!
They hadn't heard wrong.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"
Lyra let the scream out before she could use her hand to physically contain it, and Harry collapsed back on the stairs choking and laughing. There was no way that the two professors hadn't heard them that time, and two tall shadows eclipsed them on the stairs as the door ripped open.
Lyra looked up at Remus who was deathly pale and shell-shocked. Snape looked unsurprised and he tutted as he marched away from the banes of his existence. He did, however, pause at the bottom of the stairs before extracting an earthy brown large potion phial from his robes and half-heartedly chucking it at his colleague.
"Drink it before sundown," he sniffed before stalking off, leaving the mess he created in his wake.
Remus swallowed hard and dared to look down at the two students, the Wolfsbane potion wobbling nervously in his hands.
"How much did you two hear?" he croaked, unsure whether he wanted to know the answer.
"I can't believe my teacher fucked my parents," Lyra couldn't close her mouth, the shock had frozen her jaw in place, "what does that mean? Are we technically related?"
"And we kinda already knew about that, by the way," Harry pointed at the potion phial and offered him a meek smile, "we don't care that you're a werewolf, just so you know."
Remus laughed hollowly and hung his head, blindsided and deeply ashamed. He could barely look Lyra in the eye, but he persevered and offered them one more cup of tea before they departed. They deserved to hear the whole story, he couldn't let them go with a half-completed tale playing on their imaginations. He knew kids could be cruel and he needed to have his godchildren on his side for this one.
"You're more like your parents than I anticipated," he sighed, and Lyra couldn't help herself.
"Ew! Sir?! I sure hope not!" She shivered, mortifying Remus to the nth degree, while Harry continued to howl with laughter at his expense.