"It happened again," huffed Hermione, and Lyra glanced up from her Muggle Studies textbook to find her best friend moping over her, her bushy brow crumpled in defeat and her footsteps loud. Hermione always stomped her foot when she was upset. Whether intentionally or not, Lyra found it quite cute but she never mentioned it.
Although she was half-way through a particularly fascinating chapter on modern Wizarding transport developments and how the community as a whole embraced certain modes of Muggle-invented transportation and not others, Lyra closed her book and ushered Hermione into yet another tight hug. It must have been their third this week, but Lyra wasn't complaining. She never turned down a hug.
"What did she do this time?" She asked, trying not to smirk as Harry and Ron descended the Divination classroom ladder and caught her eye, failing to hide their laugh. They promised they wouldn't poke fun at Hermione's disastrous attempts to keep their Divination teacher away from her, but it was too much to ask from the boys. Especially now they knew she had a Time-Turner. They treated it as payback for not letting them in on her secret.
Since returning to regularly scheduled school life, Hermione hadn't been able to get rid of Professor Trelawney — she had suddenly become her least favourite teacher's favourite student. Everything Hermione didn't understand about the subjective magical art clicked into place overnight and Divination quickly became second nature to her. A sixth sense so to say, it was her easiest class by far. Apparently everyone was stunned their first lesson back when Hermione aced their crystal ball exercise, something she had been vocally unimpressed by all of last term, and Trelawney refused to leave her alone ever since. Her predictions must have been a work of art and Lyra complained all over again that she didn't choose Divination as one of her options.
"She told me that she knows my Inner Eye has 'bloomed'," Hermione complained, prolonging their hug with a soft whine, "she's desperate to keep me in her classes now I literally cannot escape her, she even suggested I attend her private advanced lessons!"
"Did she say anything about why your Inner Eye has bloomed out of nowhere? She still doesn't know?" Lyra wondered, but Hermione sobered up and shook her head. Good.
"People were asking about your bandage though," Ron reminded her, nodding at the beige wrap around her right hand.
Hermione hadn't found a way to cover her shiny new rune scar, and she instinctively shoved her hands into her robe pockets, blushing as she assessed the tower stairwell for unseen dawdlers. Most of their classmates had wandered off toward Transfiguration already so she was free to vent.
"Yes I know but I'm a little busy trying to mentally combat Trelawney at every second of every day. I thought she was lying about her Inner Eye but she's bloody intuitive," she whispered, "I'll figure something out eventually, but for now everyone thinks Crookshanks is in a mean phase so just keep to that lie for now. Please."
Ron bit his tongue harder than ever before, he didn't want to wind her up further by saying it wasn't a phase.
"Did you see anything particularly important today? Any Death tarot cards pop up? Any more scary-looking tea leaf blobs in your cups?" Lyra kept her tone light and fluffy, not wanting to darken the subject any more, but her temporary flash of hope vanished into her shadows when Hermione offered her a sympathetic smile.
"Sorry, not today."
"I saw a blurry Grim shadow in my bowl of water?" Ron pointed out, wanting to bring up the worrying results he received during their hydromancy lesson, "does that count?"
"Was the blurry dog doing anything?" Lyra delved a little deeper, rather curious, but Ron shook his head.
"Not really, it just jumped around a bit," he admitted, and Lyra decided to take that as a good sign. The shaggy black dog with the glowing eyes she met over New Years suddenly popped into her mind and a part of her hoped that it meant she'd see him again. Was he ok? Was he still alive?
"What did you guys see?" She asked, wanting to move on from her sad thoughts, and Hermione groaned again.
"I saw all of Trelawney's lesson plans for the rest of term," she admitted, hopelessly ashamed of their accuracy.
"And I saw nothing!" Harry proclaimed with a grin, happy with his results, "Trelawney hardly glanced my way today."
"Yeah she was too busy bothering me," Hermione muttered.
Counting on her friends' Divination lessons to point them in the right direction was a stupid idea, Lyra knew this, but she didn't know what else to do.
It had been a couple of weeks since their library séance and nothing else had come from it. Death and the voices were being unusually quiet, none of the other forces made themselves known, even her weird nightmares were beginning to settle down. Sure, she was still terrified of her father finding her and finishing the job, but to be honest she couldn't care less when he appeared in her dreamscapes now. Even Tom stopped showing up, she hadn't seen his stupid face in ages and for some reason it was beginning to worry her. Was this the calm before another storm? Was she being a dumbass again? Or was she just… healing?
Nevertheless, Lyra tried to forget about her troubles and buckled down, focusing more on her studies and school life rather than her personal life for once. Bizarre shit always happened when she least expected it, so maybe now that she knew Fate was watching them, the trickster force had grown bored of playing with them? It seemed like something the God of Fate would do. They were laughing at her, she could almost hear the ghost of their giggles following her. Mocking her.
She shared this thought with her friends and they agreed with her sentiment, Hermione especially as she eluded that Time was the most cautious force of them all. The gods were waiting for something, but what? Only Time would tell, and Time hated Lyra's guts.
It wasn't long until their troubles with the inconceivable forces of the universe faded to the backs of their minds, their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson of the new year arrived with much anticipation and Lyra craved the sense of normalcy her favourite teacher brought. She needed some chill downtime with Remus, she hadn't seen him properly since Scabbers' funeral and she was itching to ask him about his dislike of rodents.
So it came as a massive surprise to Lyra when she tried to catch her godfather after class and he turned her away.
"I'm sorry but I've got a lot of marking to catch up on. Maybe some other time?" Remus brushed her aside as he headed straight to his office, his gaze transiently catching hers though his mind was elsewhere. The bags under his eyes looked worse than usual, and she pouted at the growing pile of parchment in his scarred hands. He certainly appeared to be busy.
She hoped he was telling the truth, but over the last few months Lyra noticed how bad of a liar Remus was. He had a dozen tells and eventually he spat out the truth when the pressure was too much for him to handle, he was as fragile as an egg. If he is genuinely too busy to hang out with his favourite students then time would once again uncover his truth. He was fidgeting with his tie one too many times during their brief encounter but she let him go with a sympathetic wave.
Maybe Time hated Remus too, they had that in common.
Lyra didn't dwell in the sad empty space that Remus left for long, her free time was swiftly stolen by Oliver and her Quidditch team who was still riding the high from their last epic win.
Training resumed at breakneck speed when term started again, Lyra was both amazed and apprehensive at the extensive plays Wood presented the team during their returning pre-meeting. Clearly her captain did nothing but obsess over the tournament statistics during the Christmas break judging by the detail to his drawings. She especially loved that she could tell which stick people were the Chasers due to their comically large eyelashes. She much preferred that over his first drafts of them with oversized circles as breasts, as did Angelina and Katie who yelled at him for his sexist depictions.
Unfortunately their Seeker was benched by the time they took to the night skies, and Lyra grimaced from above as she watched Oliver and Harry miserably flick through the latest edition of Which! Broomstick from the sidelines.
Her Christmas present to Harry still hadn't arrived yet. He was broomless and their next match was taking place in a week's time.
She had ordered him a new Nimbus before the winter holidays and she was mortified when she had nothing to give Harry on Christmas Day, she blushed at the memory of him trying to hide his humble disappointment. He swore he was glad she hadn't got him anything for a change, but she was humiliated. The broom suppliers sent her multiple apology letters and delayed delivery pamphlets in the broom's absence but none of them explained why the broom hadn't arrived yet. It wasn't like she'd bought him a Firebolt, most of the Nimbus brooms were readily available to purchase.
Lyra was clueless as to where her missing parcel was until Kreacher appeared in the Gryffindor changing rooms after their first practice with an official-looking letter and a concerned polite smile. Lyra froze in the door of the girls' lockers, and she turned to greet him with a slight heart murmur. Was she in trouble?
"Mistress," he bowed, and offered her the crisp brown envelope. She noticed the deep red ink and a familiar gold sigil stamped on the back.
Gringotts?
"An owl dropped this off at your bedroom in Weymouth," he informed her, and Lyra frowned as she turned the letter over in her hands.
"Why wasn't it sent straight to me?" She asked, and Kreacher looked just as befuddled, watching her rip the letter open.
"Kreacher doesn't know."
Lyra ignored the eyes of her freshly-washed and dressed teammates who appeared from the showers, and she re-read the short paragraph a second time to properly absorb the bank's notice.
Dearest Miss Black,
We trust this missive finds you in good health and high spirits. As one of our most venerable and steadfast patrons, your unwavering trust is of paramount importance to us.
It is with great concern that we must inform you of the detection of certain suspicious activities regarding Vault 6-7-2. In our earnest desire to safeguard your treasures, we have temporarily frozen all of your accounts whilst we diligently investigate this matter.
Rest assured, our devoted specialist team is labouring tirelessly to investigate this issue with all due haste. We shall keep you apprised of our progress and shall notify you when your accounts are restored to its secure state. During this time, we have activated all primary protective enchantments on your vaults. Please do not attempt to remove them.
We thank you for your understanding and for the loyalty you have bestowed upon us throughout the years.
Yours sincerely,
Your family at Gringotts Bank.
Sensing the approaching nosiness of her broomless best friend, Lyra clutched the letter to her chest and puffed out a faint swear of relief. That explains the missing broom, they froze the charge!
Wait, suspicious activity?
Lyra shifted her elf to the side of the room, laughing off everyone's prying questions, and she ducked down so they could whisper.
"Are you the suspicious activity?" She showed him the letter, and Kreacher shook his head.
"Gringotts are aware of Kreacher," his voice rumbled like an elderly cat's purr as he scanned the letter, "Kreacher has always had access to the family vaults. And Kreacher does not like using Vault 672."
"Why—?"
Kreacher didn't even have to answer, Lyra froze mid-question and she willed herself not to panic.
Vault 672 was her parent's account.
Her father's account.
But… she disowned him? He wasn't on any of the records Gringotts held anymore—
UNLESS HE'S PRETENDING TO BE ME?!
"We have to go to London," Lyra shakily folded the letter and shoved it into her training jersey pocket, jumping into fifth gear, "like, right now."
Kreacher stood tall and brushed down his dark purple fleece robes, a favourite of his. "Kreacher will go—,"
"No," Lyra grabbed his arm and urged him to meet her eye, her teeth gritted with a forceful smile, "we need to go. Kreacher, take me to Gringotts. I need to speak to the manager."
His ears drooped, affronted by the command. "But… Lyra should stay here at Hogwarts."
"Lyra needs to find out if her psychotic father is committing identity fraud!" She whispered back furiously, flashing everyone another innocent smile as she realised they were just openly staring at the whispering pair now. "Nothing going on here, don't worry guys!"
"Sure, Dimples," Harry called her out first and laughed as she admitted defeat and slumped over to them, bringing her letter and elf in tow, "should we be worried?"
"Are you Sirius Black?" Lyra asked him, sucking all of their smirks from their faces as well as the humour from the room.
"…No?" Harry said slowly, unsure if this was a trick question or not.
"Then you don't need to worry," she answered, but she hung her head when none of her teammates left her alone. "Ok, fine! I think our friendly neighbourhood mass murderer is committing fraud in my name and I need to go to Gringotts to sort this out. That's why you never received your Christmas present, my accounts have been frozen."
"Nothing like light fraud to cheer up your Thursday evening," Fred teased, looking down at her with a pinch of patronising pity. "Can we come to the bank with you?"
"Why do you want to go to Gringotts?" Oliver side-eyed the twins who shrugged together.
"Bored," said George.
"You don't want to sneak out of school?" Fred repeated, cleaning out his ears.
"How the hell are you going to sneak out?" asked Katie, and Lyra pointed at her humble servant.
"But you can't Apparate out of Hogwarts?" Angelina frowned, finishing Katie's thought, and Lyra's fellow Chasers shared an excited glance, "…wait, can you?"
Lyra looked towards Harry as if to say she wasn't responsible for what was going to happen next, and he decided to accept her pouty plea of innocence with a nod. Especially judging by the devious grins on the twins' faces, it looked as though they didn't have a choice.
"As a matter of fact, I can," Lyra confirmed and their teammates oohed, "fancy a team trip to Diagon Alley?"
"Yes!" Angelina screamed and ran off to fetch her purse, "the beauty emporium stays open until eight, what time is it?"
"Half seven," Oliver answered, abandoning his belongings and buckling his cloak clasp, "maybe we can pop into Quality Quidditch Supplies while we're there and pick out a broom, Harry."
"After we visit Gringotts, I want to come too," Lyra hastily suggested, intent on ruining any potential broom purchase in favour of her surprise, and soon their itinerary was drawn up. Kreacher promised that he would linger nearby in case they encountered any trouble and Lyra accepted his terms. She didn't want to be out any longer than they had to, but that didn't mean they couldn't stop for some ice cream.
"Hands together," Lyra instructed, and the team took each other's hands around the house elf, "and remember, if anyone finds out about any of this then you lose all future sneaking out privileges."
"We'll be stealthy, I highly doubt we're gonna run into anyone in London," George scoffed, "if anything you're the one who stands out like a sore thumb."
Lyra then realised she was still in her muddy Quidditch clothes, everyone else looked perfectly normal.
"For Christ's sake," Lyra rushed to strip her robes off. She shoved her baggy handmade Christmas jumper over her training gear and shrugged. Her tight pale trousers and brown leather guards appeared next to normal once she hid all traces of scarlet and gold. She tussled her shaggy hair, slipped her backpack on and rejoined the circle, flashing her cousin a sarcastic smile. "Better?"
George applauded her fast turnaround.
"Kreacher believes Harry Potter should also make himself less conspicuous," Kreacher announced unprompted, wiping the smirk off Harry's face. He flattened his curled fringe further over his eyes to cover his scar and pulled up the hood of his jacket, trying not to blush.
"We won't be there long, you'll be fine," Lyra spoke the positive energy into existence, willing it to be true, and she nodded at Kreacher to take them away.
For a moment, Lyra wondered whether he would even be able to Apparate such a large group, but with a gentle bow of his head he transported them across the British Isle. The sensation of bypassing the headmaster's sturdy security guard caused them all to gasp as the pressure weakened their ears but they arrived whole and unharmed.
POP!
Lyra breathed in the crisp, smoggy city night and felt her anxiety melt under the fine drizzle. Many of the shops and restaurants were still open, their signs illuminated by many vibrant charms and candles advertising to the passing couples that bustled past. Many of the shoppers were shrouded under cloak hoods and invisible umbrellas, laughing and chatting as they walked, and the group of sneaky teenagers backed into the shadows of an alley that ran behind a bookshop cafe. The smooth sounds of jazz coming from a nearby restaurant floated over the crooked buildings and Lyra savoured the aromatic incense oozing from the nearby apothecaries.
"Right team," Oliver huddled them together, grinning ear to ear, "Lyra, Harry, you two head to the bank with Kreacher. Meet us at the broom supply shop once you're done."
"This shouldn't take long," Lyra assured them before they parted ways at the other end of the alleyway. Angelina and Katie skipped off toward the beauty emporium to replace the toiletries they forgot to bring to school while the twins dragged Oliver off toward the beloved joke shop.
Using the shadows to their advantage, Kreacher escorted the youngest team members to Gringotts, keeping to the sides of paths and hanging their heads whenever they sensed the drifting gazes of the public. Their strategies paid off nicely as no one batted an eyelid when they entered the prestigious marble bank, they were regular customers like everyone else around them.
Lyra took a moment to appreciate the ambience of the bank after dark, the priceless crystal chandeliers caught the dim glow of the oil lamps and bathed the cavernous hall in sunset bronze. Like an autumnal cave of wonders. She couldn't stop her head from tilting back while she walked, the colours on the domed ceilings were magnificent, but with a helpful directional nudge from Harry she stayed on track.
At the far left of the main hall, Lyra spotted the golden plaque that read 'Senior Manager's Office' that pointed them toward a stone gate. Two guards were mingling to the right of the gate, both of them none the wiser that two underaged customers were approaching, so Lyra ignored them and pushed on through the gate.
The manager's office was more of a basement built into the foundations of the bank than an actual room. After a short flight of stairs, the office opened up into a sizable circular space that was half stone, half marble. Gold filled the cracks that joined the clashing materials, as though the glowing liquid metal filled the veins of both the marble and stone walls and Lyra admired its pretty sparkle as it kept catching her eye.
Framed by thick marble pillars and bronze statues sat two long desks, one of which was occupied by a snoozing elderly goblin. He was precariously laid back in his plush desk chair, his sharp fingers were interlocked and resting on his plump stomach while his feet perched on the edge of the expensive oak lectern. Lyra and Harry glanced at each other, silently discussing what they should do as they crept toward the desk, but their prayers were answered when one of the bronze statues rolled their eyes and coughed loudly.
"Huh? Oh!" The bank manager shook the sleep from their eyes and jumped to their stubby feet, attempting to gloss over his little mistake with a hubristic smile. However his joy vanished when he realised how young his visitors were.
"How did you two get in here?"
"Through the front door," Harry answered literally as he gestured at the stone gate, but Lyra slapped on her infamous charming smile and took over.
"We're very sorry to disturb you, sir, but I need to speak with you about this letter I received," she said in her most civilised tone, one she neglected to use often, and revealed the folded parchment from her back pocket.
"I take it that means you do not have an appointment," the bank manager mused, unimpressed by the impromptu meeting, but his shrew-like eyes grew thrice in size when he noticed who the letter was addressed to. "Oh! M-Miss Black, of course! Yes, yes, please take a seat. My sincerest apologies, I was not expecting you so soon!"
Lyra's heart skipped as he switched his gaze from her to Harry, and then to Kreacher who was happily keeping himself entertained with a faint hum.
"…Shouldn't you both be at Hogwarts?" He asked, but Lyra swiftly laughed off his suspicions with a pretty flutter of her lashes.
"Professor Dumbledore granted us special permission to come here," she lied with the confidence of a woman twice her age, "considering the news about my father, sir, we thought it would be best if this security issue was sorted out immediately."
"Especially before The Daily Prophet or some other news outlet catches wind of this story," Harry added in a moment of sheer brilliance, "I can imagine the sort of bad press it would bring to Gringotts."
"Why, yes naturally we want to avoid getting the press involved in this serious matter," the manager stumbled over his words as he addressed Harry, clearly he was a big fan judging by the colour in his cheeks, "I hope this means we can count on your discretion while we handle the security checks?"
"That's why I'm here," Lyra assured him, rather concerned that he swallowed her lie without any follow-up questions or confirmations from the headmaster. So much for being the most secure bank in the world, no wonder there's been a security breach.
"So, what happened to Lyra's vaults? Has someone broken into them?" Harry asked the starting question and the bank manager winced. He looked as though he'd rather eat his elegant pinstriped jacket than answer him.
"Before we discuss the details of the case, I must ask to see your key and your wand, Miss Black," he asked her, "for security purposes."
Lyra gladly dug around inside her backpack and fished out her brass key along with her wand. The manager breathed a heavy sigh of relief once he took them, and the teenagers watched in amazement as he took her items over to the strange, mechanical-looking shelf to the right of the room.
At first Lyra thought it was a short, intricately-designed door, it looked a lot like the vault doors deep in the caverns below them. It consisted of three shelves. The only item on the top shelf was a lonely cloudy orb sitting on a golden claw that extended from the wall. The second shelf held what Lyra first assumed as a postbox, a rectangular flap that snapped open when the manager came closer, and she frowned as he placed her wand inside. The third shelf was lined with variously sized key holes, and Lyra enjoyed the satisfying click her key made as he slotted it into the third hole.
The misty orb flashed lime green and the curious device sang, its bell-like tinkle hanging in the air. Green is good, right?
"Perfect," the bank manager gave back her personal effects with a refreshed expression, "now, Miss Black, are you comfortable discussing this matter in front of Mr Potter?"
"Absolutely, my troubles are his troubles by default," she agreed to the terms and conditions, and Harry kept his smile to himself. "What's going on?"
"We've flagged some notable activity regarding the account that was previously in your parents' names," the manager explained as he wandered now to an iron-encased filing cabinet. He pulled out a hefty accounting book identical to the one Lyra was given by the bank last year when she decided to take her finances into her own hands, and returned to his desk. "Usually these charges are what we call 'low-level' threats, a few sickles here, a couple of galleons there. All very minor causes of concern."
He flicked to the latest ink-scrawled page and spun it around so the pair could read the fine print.
"But the frequency of these withdrawals, and so soon after your requested changes too, we had no choice but to flag them," he finished, and Lyra blinked hard. Her body flushed ice cold, she couldn't feel her toes.
17:59 12/12/93: Received notification for change of letter correspondence address from L.A Black. Current address: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. New address: Coles Children's Home, Weymouth. Note: Customer requests that they are not to receive letters during term time.
18:01 12/12/93: Change of letter correspondence address approved. Security check complete.
18:06 12/12/93: L.A Black - Withdrawal of 100 Galleons from Hogsmeade Post Office. Security check complete.
Her eyes ballooned and she lurched forward in her chair. HE WHAT?! IN FUCKING HOGSMEADE?!
"Oh shit," Harry murmured under his breath and automatically went to grab Lyra's hand but she was already on her feet.
"None of this was me," she stated as clearly and slowly as her fury would allow. Logic tried and failed to calm the vicious speed of her frazzled mind but she was seeing red. This was her father's doing. It had to be.
He knows where I live?! He knows about Coles?
Fuck.
That's not good.
"You consider one hundred galleons a small transaction?" Harry questioned before the bank manager recovered from the mass amount of blood draining from his face. His puckered lips fell open, crushed by the confirmation that they screwed up.
"You're positive you didn't put this request in? Are you sure you haven't forgotten—?"
"Are you joking? Tell me you're joking," Lyra laughed cruelly, astounded by his optimism, "no, I didn't forget! I don't know whether you're aware, sir, but the previous account holder for Vault 672 is a very sick, dangerous man who is on the run after breaking out of Azkaban?!"
"B-But the request passed all of the security checks, Miss Black," the manager tried to argue back, "we're so very sorry."
"What checks? What exactly did he do that made you all think he was me?!" Lyra scoffed, not quite believing him.
Your father appears to be an exceedingly shifty man, Lyra, don't be too harsh on them.
"Each security check is different, it depends on what the bank teller or business requests," the shaken goblin answered truthfully, dabbing at his moist brow with a eloquent handkerchief, "the tailors down the road, for example, only accepts cash while the cauldron outlet next door requires a signature and personal bank account details."
"And what about withdrawing money from a bank teller?" Lyra asked through gritted teeth, fighting to stabilise her growing anxiety. The more the bank manager spoke, the less confident she felt that Sirius had gotten lucky. A simple man couldn't pull this off.
The manager wetted his cracking lips and offered her what she considered to be a sincere sympathetic smile.
"You have to withdraw cash in person, or you can ask your house elf," he sighed, acknowledging Kreacher in a half attempt to shift some of the blame, but Lyra ignored that accusation without a second thought. Kreacher would never!
"So Dad has been wandering around literally pretending to be me? Is that what's going on here?" Lyra concluded as she looked to Harry to confirm that it was an insane conclusion. He had been reading through her recent bank statements while they had been speaking.
"Apparently you put in an order of Polyjuice Potion with a potion supplier in Norway last month," he pointed out, and Lyra collapsed into the chair in horror. "And you— oh my God?!"
"What?!"
Her whole chest cramped when Harry's smile dropped and he brought her accounting book closer to his bulging eyes. She tried to snatch the book but he pushed her arms out of the way, too invested in her purchases.
"Lyra," his voice wobbled as he stared at her as though she were crazy, "the Christmas present you got me… It wasn't a broom, was it?"
God damn it, Potter!
"Ugh, yes," she stressed the disappointment in her voice as she sulked, giving up her fight. "I may or may not have ordered you a replacement. Merry Christmas, I guess."
Harry's arms slackened, he looked as though he was about to cry.
"You bought me a fucking Firebolt?"
Wait, what?
"No I didn't," Lyra succeeded in stealing the book back from his weak grip that time, and she scanned the semi-familiar broom purchase. It was from the same supplier as Harry's new Nimbus, she recognised the name for sure, but the wrong product was listed.
And the price—?!
"Woah," Lyra began to sweat and she grinned awkwardly at her adoring best friend who was still pouting at her. "I mean, to be perfectly honest, I wouldn't mind spending over a grand on the best broom in the world, but I'd rather have it for myself first?"
"Obviously," Harry assured her, coming back from his shock, "I would have forced you to return it."
"I'd totally keep it, c'mon now," she smirked.
"Back to the important matter at hand," the bank manager interrupted, wanting to get on with solving the issue so he could get rid of them, "you did not order this broomstick?"
"No, I ordered the other one. Please cancel the Firebolt order," she helpfully pointed out the Nimbus charge and signed the appropriate paperwork to void the transactions her father devised. She took her time with her signature, considering her father seemed to be able to forge it. With the best of her creative abilities she chose a fancy, swirly design and made sure the bank manager knew to put only that specific scribble on file.
"From now on, the security checks on your accounts will be our top priority. All of your father's charges will be reversed this week, nothing like this will ever happen again," the weary goblin reiterated his promise over and over again as he escorted the teenagers and their house elf out from his office. Lyra accepted his many apologies as well as the promise of an expensive gift basket and she thanked him for his time. She wished she could say she was happy with how the meeting went but all she could think about was the fact that her father ordered Polyjuice Potion and the world's fastest broom.
What the hell was he playing at? What was his plan?
"That was not what I was expecting at all," Harry said once the bank manager left them in the atrium, and they dawdled in the entrance antechamber, watching the white sheet of rain unleash its wrath upon the Wizarding high street. "He bought a Firebolt?"
"I know," Lyra continued to shake her head in disbelief, she hadn't stopped since they left the office, "do you think that's his getaway plan once he kills us?"
"Now I do," Harry frowned, uncomfortably peering around as though trying to spot Sirius amongst the strangers.
"I suppose I should tell someone that he has access to Polyjuice Potion…" Lyra whined, but her devious side-eye locked onto Harry's and they tried not to encourage each other's smirk.
"Hmm, yeah you probably should… that's the smart thing to do…" he murmured, "...but–,"
"–it would mean that we would never find peace, we won't be able to go anywhere alone ever again, you're so right," Lyra finished for him, nodding with gloomy agreement. "This information would spark mass panic, everyone would go berserk and want to lock us up forever."
"Exactly, our freedom is on the line," he agreed, playing to her devilish side, and Lyra heaved a long sigh, grossly exaggerating how terrible she felt that she had to keep the Polyjuice purchase a secret. On one hand, the potion only works when the drinker adds something belonging to the person they were turning into and she was so adamant that Sirius had nothing of hers. But on the other hand, he was a dastardly, intelligent adult. He had been inside the castle. He might be masking as someone else, someone close to her…
Nah, he would have killed me already if that was the case!
"Oh dear, what a shame…" Lyra failed to hide her grin that time and she cackled when Harry lightheartedly shoved her. "Nevermind!"
"Even though I've never met your father, I just know you and him are dangerously similar," he commented as they finally braced the cold lashings of rain. Lyra looped her arm through his and decided to keep her mouth shut. She wasn't entirely sure how to process his take.
"Kreacher agrees, and Kreacher thinks Lyra should tell someone about the potion," Kreacher gave his two cents as he followed them, and Lyra frowned, half-forgetting that he was still here. Kreacher only ever described her father as a horrible, nasty boy.
"I will tell someone eventually, don't worry," Lyra half-lied to him, succeeding in keeping her deceit to herself as they marched off to meet the rest of their group. She was going to tell someone, obviously, but not straight away. In a day or two perhaps. Once her anxiety had returned to normal.
It was quite an achievement that no one ever found out about the Gryffindor Quidditch team's outing to Diagon Alley. They returned to school with their shopping bags hidden under their cloaks and kept their tales of their adventures to themselves. No one ever mentioned it again.
To Oliver's horror, Harry never purchased a new broom since he now knew about Lyra's gift. The two third years promised their captain that he wouldn't be without a broom once game day arrived. Lyra even went so far as to give him a copy of the new confirmed delivery letter to stop him from badgering them throughout the week.
"It's coming today! Chill out, Wood! These brooms take time to perfect," Lyra shouted at him for the dozenth time when she spotted Oliver coming to accost them outside of Charms, "go away!"
"The match is tomorrow! I'm putting a lot on the line here, Black!" He bellowed after them, and Lyra pretended she couldn't hear him. She ignored the anxious flutters in her stomach and trusted the estimated delivery date. She had no other choice but to. The day hadn't ended yet, evening deliveries were a thing.
Lyra retired to bed that night with a stomach ulcer as no new broom arrived with the evening owls.
But luckily, early morning deliveries existed.
"I see it!" Harry leapt to his feet, almost tripping over the loose belt of his dressing gown as he ran from the common room sofa to the window. "It's here!"
"Oh sweet Jesus thank you," Lyra sprawled out on the rug in agony, clutching her chest as she heaved through a near heart attack. "I suppose I should be happy they asked for so many forms of identification and delayed the process but still! Panic officially over."
"I still don't understand why you cancelled the Firebolt order," Ron yawned from the sofa, half-asleep and groggy from Harry's early wake up call, but he peeled his body from the cosy cushions and joined Harry at the window. "Just imagine the look on Malfoy's face if you—,"
Lyra lifted her head off the rug when Ron forgot to finish his sentence, her brows furrowed. The boys silently threw a second window open and stepped back, their expressions luminous with confusion, but she jumped to her feet when not one but two tagged owls swooped into the room to deliver the packages.
Her jaw dropped along with theirs.
Packages.
There were two broomsticks wrapped in crinkled brown paper laid at the boys' feet, both almost identical in size and shape. The one sat in front of Harry was less crooked, Lyra recognised its familiar shape and correctly guessed it was his new Nimbus as she shakily tore the paper and revealed its rich, golden-printed handle. At least that problem was solved.
But she lost all feeling in her hands and nodded at Ron to do the honours unwrapping the second. It couldn't have been…
"You kept it?!"
The moment the trio saw the sleek ebony handle peeking through the brown, anticipation flooded their veins and Ron rushed to rip the paper off in astonishment. The Firebolt rolled onto the rug and stole the show with its exquisite, slim design and perfectly-trimmed twigs. Dark, expensive, magnificent…
Harry pushed his Nimbus to the side and joined them on the floor to gawk at the unexpected present.
"What—? How—? Why—?!" Lyra tried time and time again to verbalise how stunned she was, and she pointed at the Firebolt, "I swear on my mother's grave I didn't order this! You saw me cancel the order, you watched me sign the papers?!"
"I believe you," Harry assured her before nominating himself to be the first to touch it, "I just… don't get it."
The Firebolt revered his touch and levitated before them, ready to be claimed.
"Er, guys," Ron looked up from the wrappings and Lyra noticed how white he looked, "there's a note."
Although the room was swirling around her, Lyra steadied herself and dared to reach for the small square card that was neatly tucked into the twine bindings left behind. Taking a subtle deep breath, Lyra bit down on her tongue and flipped it around.
Nice try, Princess! This one is on me.
Oh my God.
"What does it say?" Apprehensive of Lyra's disassociated glare, Harry pinched the card from her shaky hands and read it out loud for Ron's benefit. Hearing her father's words a second time caused her heart to jumpstart and she accidentally laughed loudly. She couldn't stop it.
He left her a note.
Her father wrote her a note…
This wasn't happening?!
"What the fuck?" Ron couldn't believe it either and looked at her, his own uneasy smile on his face, "sorry but seriously, what the fuck?! He bought the broom for you?"
"Unless you're Princess?" Lyra offered Harry the Firebolt and he flushed, shoving it back towards her.
"Nope, he's definitely talking to you," he disagreed, and Lyra slumped, staring at her insanely cool Firebolt broom. Her father committing identity fraud… to buy her a present? Was this a ploy? A scheme he cooked up to try and dupe her into… what? Killing herself?
Suddenly she jumped away from the broomstick and demanded the boys do the same.
"He's totally cursed it," She shook her head, "he wants me to ride it so it can throw me off."
"How could he have cursed it if it came straight from the broom shop?" Harry pointed out, hoping to calm her down, "it would have arrived on its own, not as a pair."
"Maybe yours is cursed too," Lyra re-evaluated the situation and pushed him away from his new Nimbus. "Maybe he had them delivered to him first and he forwarded them to us? Maybe—?"
"Maybe you're overreacting," Ron tried to soothe Lyra with a gentle side hug, preventing her from stopping Harry as he continued to test out his shiny new Nimbus 2000 by circling the room, cautious of knocking anything over, "look, he's fine! They're not cursed, your dad might be bonkers but he wouldn't ruin these beauties with a bunch of curses. The owls that dropped them off were tagged, they belong to the suppliers."
"Maybe," Ron didn't want to say it but Lyra's large eyes persuaded him to say it, "maybe your dad is trying to get you on his side?"
"Ron has a point, Lyra, your dad is crazy. He's not thinking like a normal human being," Harry reiterated as he hopped off the perfectly-fine broom. "Maybe he's trying to buy your love in a twisted, pretty fucked up way?"
"Or maybe he's trying to kill us?" She countered, looking at the boys as though they had lost their minds. This wasn't a gesture of goodwill or a display of his so-called love — it was a game. A sick game, and one she refused to play.
"Well he's doing a pretty piss poor job killing you both so far. If it'll make you feel any better, why don't you take it to a broom shop so they can inspect it? " Ron suggested, lighting up as he dared to encourage the Firebolt to come to him. It shuddered, considering his command, before continuing to bump against them, searching for its rightful owner.
Lyra rolled her lips together as she gave his idea some extra thought. She glanced back at the square card and she felt the knife plunge into her heart all over again. Princess? The nerve of this guy?!
"I'm not going to use it, I can't betray Vivienne like that," she vowed, fighting the innate urge to fall for the broom's charms. It looked so perfect… "but I won't return it either. Even though I really want to, just to rub it in that arsehole's face that he has no control over me… I'll keep it as a back-up in case Harry decides to obliterate his broom again."
"I have no problem with that," Harry humbly agreed. The peachy morning sun grew stronger as time ticked on, reminding them that their impending match was creeping closer. "You better hide it before everyone else wakes up. Oliver may try to confiscate it from you to use for himself."
"Are you sure you don't want to take it for a quick test drive?" Ron attempted to use his attempt at puppy eyes to persuade Lyra to change her mind, but she strived to be the sensible one. Besides, Hermione would kill her if she found out she was playing right into Sirius' hands. She could practically hear Hermione's sleepy voice as though she had joined them without her noticing, encouraging her to be brave and to snitch on Sirius.
Lyra was stuck in her head for most of the morning. As expected, Hermione agreed that she needed to tell someone all about Sirius' shopping spree and his attempt to contact her. She doubled down that Sirius being in possession of an infamously powerful transfiguration potion was worthy of being national news, but still Lyra couldn't find it within herself to follow her advice.
She would have to admit that she went to Gringotts, and that she had Kreacher. And if she confessed to that then she might as well hand over the map, and Harry's cloak too. No way, too much was at risk.
Sadly she failed to shelf her problems before she marched out onto the Quidditch pitch to face off against Slytherin, she wasn't on top form at all. The electrifying buzz of the stands cheering for the rival houses sailed over her head, she couldn't even muster up a decent sneer when she caught Draco's threatening smirk as they mounted their brooms.
Why would a man who famously murdered my mother and tried to kill me buy me a broom? He knows I fly, has he seen me fly? Is he watching me fly right now?
"Fall back!" Katie screamed at her as Lyra foolishly failed to carry out one of their more adventurous feigns. Angelina dodged Montague's quick-timed dive as she looped back toward their own goal with the Quaffle, and Lyra yelled at herself as Flint blocked her path.
She was better than this, she had to pull herself together. She wanted to scan the surrounding areas for any signs of the demented criminal ruining her life but she threw herself back into the game with a snarl in her grin and extra dust in her trail.
No distractions. Be smart. Tell Remus about it later. He'll know what to do.
"Eat shit, Flint!" Lyra blew him a kiss and bulleted off like a whizzing, bouncing firework, and he tailed her like the sucker he was.
Leading the Slytherin Chasers on a wild goose chase and tricking them into thinking she was about to pull off a daring stunt gave her teammates a clear path to victory, toying with the Slytherin Chasers always worked like a charm. The raucous reaction from her scarlet and gold supporters kept her head in the game, and soon she was tackling her teammates on the pitch after they earned themselves another strong win.
The Cup was theirs for sure this year, they were on fire! She made sure to throw her middle finger up at Draco as he licked his wounds on the other side of the pitch, humiliated by Harry's superstar performance. They had a strong fifty point margin now, nothing was going to stop them.
Although it was eating into the flesh of her mind like a parasite, Lyra procrastinated telling Remus about her father's abundant gift by throwing herself into her house's celebrations. She hardly saw her Defense teacher after the game, and for once she was glad he was avoiding them.
She'd tell him tomorrow.
Or after class next week.