BREAKING NEWS: BLACK EVADES MINISTRY CAPTURE AT HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY!
Lyra wrinkled her nose at the bland newspaper headline as it flashed up at her from her lap. Though her nerves asked her not to, she crossed her legs and briefly scanned the article for any mentions of Ron and Remus and their wolfish natures. Her stern stomach knots loosened once she finished and her strong sigh of relief came easy as she threw the paper aside, glad to see the end of the drama.
The Daily Prophet omitted the werewolf attack from the whole thing, they spoke only about her father and his stupendous escape act. Nobody knew about Ron's new affliction or the real reason why the school's Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor had been sacked. In fact, his dismissal wasn't mentioned at all, everyone will return to school after the holidays and find out for themselves.
Their secrets were safe. Thank GOD!
Although she was currently waiting outside of Dumbledore's office for their impending conversation, Lyra couldn't stop thinking about her cousin and godfather. Their silence was close to agony, her innate curiosity got the best of her and ate away at her insides like a parasite. Where were they? What were they doing? Was Ron dealing with the news ok? Was Remus?
When Lyra woke up in the hospital wing only a couple of hours ago, she was devastated to discover that Ron had left Hogwarts in the early hours of the morning without saying goodbye. It appeared that Molly and Arthur arrived while her, Harry, and Hermione were fast asleep and they took their son straight home. She had no clue how they reacted to the news that their youngest son was now a full-fledged werewolf, had they told their other children? She assumed not as she hadn't seen the twins, Ginny, or Percy all morning. Did they know anything?
While they watched over Ron as he slept, Harry and Hermione mentioned that they ran into the miscreant trio while they waited in the forest, that's why Fred gave her the map, so surely they'll come looking for them soon enough? Bill and Charlie must've known by now at the very least.
And Remus…
Lyra flopped forwards and groaned, cradling her head in her hands. The mere thought of her godfather was like a dull knife to the chest, stabbing again and again until the hole in her heart wept. Where was he? According to Madam Pomfrey who dished the dirt while serving their breakfast, the Tamers and Aurors returned to the castle empty-handed. They couldn't find any trace of him, not even his wand. Remus knew what he did to Ron. When the full moon caved and he returned to his human state, he must've figured out what happened and he…
She couldn't say it.
"Don't hurt yourself," Lyra whispered to herself, hiding in the soft darkness of her palms, "please Remus, please be well…"
"Eh hem."
Just as the idea of her using Kreacher to find him materialised in her head, Lyra peeled her fingers from her face and pouted at the stone griffin guard who had finally turned to acknowledge her. She'd been sitting on the bench outside of the headmaster's office for quite some time now that her initial plan on how this meeting was going to go had dribbled from her brain. The knife in her chest retracted and she bit her lip, waiting for another sharp jab. Her godfather would have to wait.
"Yes?"
"Professor Dumbledore will see you now," the griffin relayed as he sidestepped, granting her access to the stairs. Lyra swallowed the tension lodged in her throat and focused on the number of footsteps it took for her to reach the office door to ease her panic. Twenty six and a half. Her knuckles hesitated an inch from the solid wood and she took one last heavy, calming breath.
Everything is going to be ok.
Not a single echo in response.
Great, thanks for the vote of confidence guys.
"Come in."
The headmaster's office was charged with a different mystical energy than the rest of the school, Lyra felt the atmosphere change the moment she stepped inside and shut the world out. Maybe it was the mechanical ticking of the peculiar oddities Dumbledore had on display, or the collective buzz of the elaborate network of charms at work that were protecting the office. Perhaps the energy change came from the very man himself, or it was the oil-infused ambience of the paintings watching her from above. She couldn't tell.
Professor Dumbledore was tending to Fawkes when she approached his desk and she froze on the step up, locking eyes with the immortal bird. Was it him that electrified the air? The phoenix must've sensed something around her as he extended his neck in a strange bowing motion and clicked his metallic beak at her. Polite yet ever so slightly wary.
"I think he remembers you," the headmaster commented, the corners of his lips twitching as he motioned toward her to take a seat. "Thank you for joining me, Lyra. I hope you are feeling well rested after last night's antics?"
"Yes sir," she answered, smoothing her skirt as she took to the nearest armchair. "We all are but Madam Pomfrey has insisted that we have to stay another night."
Annoyingly, not only did she have to stay but she was scheduled to have an extra mindfulness session after dinner. Apparently her frolicking with her criminal father all night wasn't exactly in the realms of normalcy and the matron was awfully concerned about her mental health. Figures.
"Poppy is just doing her job," Dumbledore assured her as he summoned them a cup of tea. Lyra watched his hands carefully for any funny business, the flash of a potion vial or a silent truth charm, but she relaxed when she sipped her Earl Grey. Perfectly citrussy. "But I am most certainly glad that you are all feeling better."
Lyra wasn't sure whether his words rang true but she declined to comment. What would make them feel normal was for them to see Ron, even if it was just for a moment. She couldn't stand the idea of him home alone, worrying about them as much as they were worrying about him. She clutched the tea cup with both hands to hide her tremors.
Noticing her unusual lack of comments with a slight brow crease, Professor Dumbledore sat back in his tall chair and loosened his clasped hands in his lap. He could read the apprehension on her freckles like an interesting article. "And I'm sure you'll be relieved to hear that Remus is feeling better too."
Lyra nearly dropped her tea as she snapped her gaze to his, gasping at the news. "Wait, what? You've spoken to him? Is he ok? Where is he? Can I see him?"
Dumbledore's eyes dimmed. "He has returned home to Whitby to put his affairs into order. He is…" he wetted his lips and tried again when Lyra flinched, "he is recovering and he asked me to tell you not to try and find him. Not because he doesn't want to see you, Lyra, but because he loves you very much," he rushed to finish when her heartbreak flashed on her face, "wait for his letter before you attempt to visit him, he has gone through a lot and it would be wise for him to go through his own healing process before he can help with yours."
Although it hurt to hear, Lyra understood completely and nodded. "I understand, sir. Thank you for telling me."
"You're welcome," his smile was courteous. He sipped his lemon tea and relished its sharpness as he reached into his robes. He was wearing a pale lilac set today, it brought out the azure brightness in his eyes. "Remus did, however, insist that I return this to you. No doubt you will be needing it once Mr Weasley returns to school next year."
The confirmation that Ron was allowed back eased her jittery nerves a significant amount. Lyra accepted the neatly-folded Marauder's Map with a slight smirk and another sigh. She knew he was just buttering her up so she would tell him the truth but his approval of her using the enchanted map lightened her injured heart. Maybe her prior assumptions about his view of her were too harsh, he clearly favoured her in some sense.
"How were Molly and Arthur?" she asked, daring to ask for more information. He was flirting with the idea of starting his interrogation but she couldn't help it. "Are they pressing charges against Remus?"
"They are not," Dumbledore revealed. He welcomed her questions. "Though at first they were distraught and thus keen to see that he was punished in some form, they calmed down and accepted Remus' atonement once I explained what took place in the Shrieking Shack."
"You mean you told them about Dad? And Pettigrew?"
"Indeed," Dumbledore sighed, covering his weariness with more tea, "they have decided not to tell Percy nor Fred and George out of respect for their upcoming exams next week, and I must implore you not to tell Ginevra either. Molly and Arthur wish to break the news themselves in their own time, you must listen to your aunt's request."
Oooft more secrets, fantastic.
Lyra massaged the back of her tense neck and shrugged, hating that she was agreeing. "Well I'm pretty good at keeping secrets so that shouldn't be a problem," she said deadpanned.
"Yes, you are," Dumbledore didn't falter as he lengthened his posture and poured them both more tea. "Which brings us to the main reason for your visit, Miss Black. Your secrets."
The ambience of the office slowed, ears of all kinds paused and reached in to listen to her most precious affairs. Lyra bit her lip and gently placed her cup on his desk, its saucer clinking. She didn't know where to begin, or rather what she should admit to, so she waited for him to start instead.
Don't tell him about Death's soul.
And don't tell him about us.
What about the bringing people back to life part—?
NO! They screamed in unison and Lyra fought the urge to roll her eyes.
"When did you discover that you can hear the Dementors?" He began succinctly.
"When they invaded the train on our way here," she answered, casting her line out only a couple of feet. She reeled him in with extra details. "It's hard to describe but you know that feeling when you're listening to loud music and swear you hear a voice shouting your name somewhere between the notes? It feels like that, like I know I'm the only one who can hear them. They speak as one, like a hive. And they can be really loud sometimes, I can hear them from miles away."
To her surprise, Professor Dumbledore waved his fingers at a nearby leather journal and instructed his phoenix feather quill to jot down her descriptions. He appeared more energetic as he nodded at her to continue, she'd certainly caught his attention.
"What do they say to you? Have they told you why they listen to you?"
"They tell me that they like me, that they want me to join them."
Dumbledore didn't like that. "Join them?"
Lyra frowned. "I don't know what it means either, when I say join them I mean physically, like they want me to wander off with them, not in a 'let's dominate the world' way. It's like they think I'm one of them." She couldn't say that they thought she created them, not yet. Not when her headmaster was studying her like she'd just admitted to a heinous crime.
"I see," Dumbledore absently combed his beard, eyes flitting as though struggling to keep up with a thought. "Lyra, I don't know how else to say this but it is common knowledge that Dementors are attracted to dark magic."
"Sir, what is the clear definition of dark magic?" Lyra beat him to the question he was building to with a deflection of her own and she crossed her arms. "I know what you're going to say and you have to believe me when I say I haven't been practicing the Dark Arts. I do not own any banned books, I don't possess any cursed objects that were created to harm people, I haven't been researching illegal curses and hexes — I don't know what else I can do to prove to you that this isn't dark magic. This is just me."
"Is it just you?" Albus absorbed her defences and leant on his right hand, now observing her as though she was more a fascinating new zoo exhibit than someone of concern. "This attraction to the dark natured creatures of this world you seem to possess must stem from something. And perhaps this something is related to these rituals I hear you've been conducting throughout this year?"
Ah, crap.
Your father said something.
Lyra fought the blood rushing to her face and she sat back, subtly fanning her cheeks with the map. "Well, yes, I may have been investigating the reason why I'm not affected by the Dementors, but can you really blame me?"
"Unaffected by the Dementors, is that truly the only thing you have to go on?" He pushed her to continue spilling her guts, "there's no other peculiar ability you've noticed you possess? What rituals have you been performing?"
"What is the definition of dark magic?" She challenged him. "An answer for an answer."
"The legal definition? Or the true definition?" Dumbledore asked, prudent of her intentions.
Lyra's stomach plummeted. "The real definition. The definition you believe to be true, because I know you know that dark magic isn't a thing."
Something changed in the headmaster's gaze. Not quite a shift for the better, but a twist toward something more meaningful than his previous train of thought. Whatever it was had power behind it, like he wasn't expecting her to ask but because she did he had no choice but to answer.
He cleared his throat and nodded once.
"I will try and explain this in the simplest terms possible. Dark magic, in its truest form, is magic that stems from the negative forces that make up this world," said Professor Dumbledore and Lyra swore the room around them faded away. She was transfixed, even her heart stopped to listen. "Since the dawn of magic, wizardkind has tried to unravel the mysteries of the universe in an attempt to understand where magic comes from. This is what is called the Theory of Ancient Magic, a subject that fell out of fashion long before I started my studies, and it is a deeply complex one. Not for the faint-hearted or those who are weak of will."
"The theory states that the universe exists on a balance of ancient magic, the very same magic that created this world. This balance originated and is currently controlled by a number of cosmic, all-powerful forces. These forces, or deities as some liked to call them, are made from either positive or negative magic, or what the scientists of the world may refer to as energy. Ancient light and dark magic, light and dark matter – some believe they are the same thing. There is light and darkness in the composition of everything and anything, and these two forces are in a constant divine battle. Light magic is birthed from the positive forces, and dark magic is birthed from the negative. Like north and south, up and down. Yin and Yang."
"Good and evil?" Lyra whispered, breaking a light sweat. Albus' beard twitched.
"Ah," his smile was miniscule but it existed, "no, not good and evil. According to the Theory of Ancient Magic, dark magic is not inherently bad and light magic is not inherently good, which herein lies the reason why this subject is no longer a part of our school's syllabus. The theory suggests that all ancient magic has its purpose in this world, both light and dark. It is a view that the majority of the world does not take kindly to, and for good reason as many dark wizards would use this reasoning to validate their crimes and release their inhibitions. Ancient magic does not listen to good morals or principles, it lives outside of the boundaries that society has molded over time, as have the definitions of light and dark magic. Good ethics are what keeps us moving forward as one, they are the principles we should live by. Ancient magic has no place in a modern society."
"But, of course, this is all just theoretical. There is no tangible evidence that the universe is run by a collective of positive and negative Gods who share cataclysmic, inconceivable volumes of power," Dumbledore tutted to himself as though remembering a notable anecdote. "Magic exists simply because we exist. There is no proof these ancient magics are different from the magic we produce in this age, thus I cannot say for sure whether this theory is true."
Lyra blinked hard, reeling from the splashes from his knowledge fountain. She had a million more questions but she couldn't help but answer back. "But… I can."
Albus tilted his head. "You can?"
"Well, yeah?" Lyra pointed at herself, doubting whether this was the correct course of action. The voices were frightfully silent still. "If we are going by these ancient theory rules then duh, there is evidence that there's good dark magic out there."
"Are you suggesting that you are made from ancient dark energy, Miss Black?" Dumbledore pondered, vastly invested in how her mind worked, and she shrugged.
"That would certainly explain why the Dementors like me, no? I'm not evil and yet the darkest creatures on this earth listen to me."
"And how exactly did you obtain this ancient dark energy?" he wondered.
"My theory is that my brush with Riddle unlocked something in me. Maybe it's been in me all along and he provoked it," she said slowly, not strictly lying. Did she have to specify which version of Riddle cursed her with the darkest magic of all? Perhaps not. "I'm not sure how but it certainly would explain why the Dementors and–,"
A slip of the tongue.
"And?" prompted Dumbledore, leaning forward to catch every word. "What else can you do, Lyra?"
Honey, don't!
"And the Thestrals, they like me too," she cringed as she said it out loud.
"They like you?" His brows knitted together.
"They listen to me, I think they can sense darkness in me as well," she phrased it in a way that would help her argument. "They come to me when I call them, that's how Dad escaped."
"Hmm," Dumbledore quietened as he drank his tea so Lyra copied him. Did he believe her? "That certainly is a fascinating theory."
"Do you think it's possible?" She asked innocently. "Can a person retain dark magic from an outside source but not use it? That sounds like ancient magic to me!"
The headmaster winced, wobbling his wrinkled hand to show his uncertainty. "There is light and darkness inside of all of us. Regardless of whether you believe in the Theory of Ancient Magic, every mortal holds both light and darkness and it is up to the individual to harness it. That is how many wizards fall into darkness, they listen to the negative energy and let it take hold of their soul."
Lyra didn't like that answer, it suggested that she was consciously accepting the darkness clinging to her soul. She supposed she was. Death clung to the inside of her skeleton like an incurable disease but she didn't have a choice. Death chose her as its mortal mouthpiece, she was stuck with them and the magic they possessed.
"Your father mentioned that you have been taking part in some sort of ritual," Dumbledore continued to press when she failed to respond, the crease between his brows permanent. She swallowed the fast forming lump in her throat. "Can you please explain to me what he was referring to?"
"I…" she started speaking before she was ready, what was about to come out? "I can."
He waved his arm, indicating that Lyra had the floor. She wiped the sweat forming under her fringe and wetted her lips.
"They're more like Muggle seances than Dark Art rituals. It's nothing like what Tom did. My friends and I thought it might be possible to… contact the dead."
"Why?" He didn't sound angry, that was a good sign.
"To get answers."
His brow crease softened. "Who are you attempting to make contact with?" Pity. Empathy. Each flicker of emotion was a punch to the gut.
Lyra closed her eyes and pictured her mother's beaming face. Her chest spasmed out of guilt. She would have been so ashamed to see her lying like this. Was she really going to use her in her deceit? It felt wrong, so very wrong.
"My mother." She guessed she was.
"Why?"
"Because I needed answers. Because I was sick and tired of being kept in the dark, I needed to know what happened the night she was killed," she bit down on her tongue to stop herself from blurting out the truth. The beating of her heart was verging on painful, could he hear it flailing under his scrutiny?
Albus Dumbledore gave space to the heavy silence that lingered after her lie and she maintained his scorching eye contact. It was like looking into the sun, she couldn't flinch at his brightness. He knew she was lying again.
"You claim that Tom gave you this… affinity for dark magic, but he didn't teach you," he back-tracked. His voice was firmer, less malleable toward her admissions. She dug her nails into her thighs, anxious for whatever he was about to throw at her. "You're not talking about the boy you met in your diary, are you?"
Fuuuuck.
"N-No," Lyra stammered, dropping her gaze in shame. Her nails left red crescent indents in her skin but it was a good distraction while she spoke. "I think it's been with me for a while…"
"A while meaning… twelve years?"
Lyra…
Please…
"Yes," she spat through gritted teeth, refusing to acknowledge them now. Who were they to tell her how she should go about figuring out why she was caught up in Death's intangible web, why they were stuck inside of her driving her closer toward insanity? Riddle beat them, they lost. Dumbledore had answers, this theory solidified that he at least knew of the forces that controlled the universe. Whether he believed in them himself, she couldn't tell.
Lyra lifted her chin and faced the headmaster with determination flaring in her bright gaze. "Riddle did something to me the night my mum was murdered and I believe my uncle had something to do with it."
"And how did you come to this conclusion?" Albus was barely audible over the growing patter of rain on the tower windows. Fawkes ruffled his feather but she didn't look at him no matter how badly he wanted her to. Like a magnet his black eyes were pulling at her attention, another heavy attraction in the air. He knew what she was.
Lyra had never felt more like a petulant child than in this moment, but enough was enough.
"When I was with him and Quirrell, under the trapdoor that day with the enchanted mirror, he asked me… personal questions. Questions that suggested he knew exactly what was wrong with me. Questions like why did I write positively about the Dementors and why do the Thestrals like me. He knows that darkness is attracted to me, or I'm attracted to it. That we are one and the same," she admitted in a thick voice. She willed herself not to cry but Dumbledore was staring at her in such a way she knew she was done for.
Can he expel me for lying?
"Did he say anything else? About the night your mother died?" he asked her, even quieter than before.
Lyra nodded, hating how quickly the shady memory surfaced in her eddying pool of sad thoughts. She blinked away the flash of scarlet eyes and the parasite smile creeping into her vision. "He wanted to know where I went. He was there that night, Professor. He… He had me then I vanished," she hissed, hastily wiping away the single tear that formed. She couldn't cry over what Riddle had done to her, he didn't deserve the honour. "I think my mother's brother murdered her for him, he stole me for him."
She didn't know what her headmaster was going to say next. Her confession had stolen his breath and he sat back to absorb whatever was running through his head, fingers drumming methodically against his broad desk's edge.
"Sirius believes so too."
But she certainly didn't expect that.
"He does?" She croaked, the weight lifting from her shoulders. She wished she spoke to her father more, when was going to write to her? When could she see him next?
"He explained to me his version of events as well as his theories on Giselle's tragic passing, and sadly he came to the same conclusion. He believes that your uncle had his eye on you long before your second birthday," said Dumbledore, scratching at a persistent itch beneath his long beard despite keeping a mournful tone. "Your uncle Bartemius was not a kind boy. Frightfully intelligent and charming, yes, but cold. He and your mother had a tumultuous relationship, for as long as I have known them they were enemies living under the same roof. She expressed her concerns for him joining Lord Voldemort at a very young age and your grandfather – who I believe you have had the pleasure of meeting over the summer–," Lyra rolled her eyes, missing the flash of his regaled smile, "ignored every piece of evidence she offered him."
"So, technically, both Bartys killed her? Wow, isn't that something? Thank God he wants nothing to do with me," Lyra mused, fired up by the mention of the bastards her poor mother had to deal with. How on earth did she cope?
"Though he may not have personally had a hand in his daughter's death, it is undeniable that his actions hastened his childrens' demise," Albus sighed, not wanting to agree with her sentiment but his pained expression said it all. "There is nothing more tragically oxymoronic than a broken family. I understand that you may harbour a lot of hatred toward your grandfather, Lyra, but Bartemius Crouch Senior was once a great and noble man. A strong pillar in our community that everyone depended on to keep us safe. Your family deserved so much better. The corruption that darkness leaves in its wake is heartbreaking and I couldn't be more sorry for the destruction it has left in your life."
Lyra slumped back in her chair and puffed a curly strand of hair out of her face, miffed that she agreed. "I spent nearly ten years of my life thinking my whole family was dead and I'm beginning to think that was the better deal. But yeah thanks, I guess. Grandad is still an idiot. One Barty killed her and the other turned their head."
"The world was a very different place thirteen years ago, Lyra, people were desperate and underestimated the hold Lord Voldemort had over the community. In the end, Bartemius did what he thought was right," Dumbledore poured them a third and final cup of tea and took to his feet to stretch his legs. "He paid dearly for it too, he was the one who sentenced your uncle to a life sentence in Azkaban."
Oh shit. Lyra closed her open mouth, taken aback. She vaguely remembered Sirius mentioning her uncle's fate last night but between him almost dying and Ron being bitten she had forgotten some of the details. "For what? Being a Death Eater?"
"And for his involvement in the torture of two of the bravest, most kindest Aurors I have ever had the pleasure of knowing," he revealed, arms clasped behind his back as he gazed at something on one of his private bookshelves. Noticing Lyra's curious eye, he removed the photograph from its prized position and handed it to her.
The collection of people staring back at her took her breath away, she didn't know who to look at first. Immediately her gaze was drawn to the brazenly attractive hazel-eyed young man near the centre of the photograph, she would never get used to how similar Harry and James looked. Her heart palpitations increased as she spotted her parents posing beside him and Lily but she had to look away for a moment to compose herself when she spotted the traitor leaning against Remus' shoulder. Though she felt the urge to rip the photograph in half, the unfamiliar faces surrounding them drew her back and she took the time to appreciate each one instead. Is this the Order…?
She went to ask for clarification on which of the strangers he was talking about when a peculiar feeling tugged at the strings of her heart. A young Amelia Bones grinned at the camera and playfully nudged elbows with the couple beside her, encouraging them to reveal their shy faces. A gnarly older man with a crazy-looking cyan eye whispered something from the couple's other side and eventually they opened themselves to the camera and smiled.
It was uncanny, Neville was the spitting image of his parents.
Oh. That's why he spoke about the Death Eaters so casually. That's why Tonks knew him.
OH! Lyra nearly dropped the photograph and cupped her face in shame. Her uncle killed his parents. And he never said anything to her about it.
"Oh my God, did Barty kill Neville's parents?" Lyra uttered in genuine disgust. She didn't know whether she should've been allowed to touch the picture, her skin crawled as she rushed to hand it back. "And I thought it was the victims of my Dad's side of the family I had to worry about."
Professor Dumbledore hid his pity with a fatherly smile and took the armchair next to her, patting her shaky extended hand as he got comfortable, refusing to take the photograph back. "Neville's parents are still alive, they are long-term residents at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries where they are being looked after by a wonderful team of Healers," he informed her, if not only to wipe away her grief. "His parents were incredibly loyal, gifted Aurors; they were tortured into insanity by Bartemius, Bellatrix Lestrange, and the Lestrange brothers Rodolphus and Rabastan for information on Voldemort's whereabouts after he met his match in our Harry."
Lyra massaged the bridge of her nose, enduring the waves of dull pain this new information brought. "What the fuck is wrong with my family?" She muttered mostly to herself and Dumbledore decided to answer her rhetorical question.
"They believed in Tom and his ideologies that played to their superiority complexes," he said as though commenting on the growing volume of rain falling past the windows. Lyra sipped her tea and shrugged in agreement, accepting the photograph that Albus had refused to take back. "I'm sorry to return to the morbid subject at hand but I must ask that you tell me everything you know about that fateful night. Do you have any idea why Bartemius and Tom attempted to take you? Have you ever had any dreams relating to that night? Any visions? Has this darkness spoken to you…?"
Lyra was in a giving mood, the photograph certainly helped, as did the tea.
Though her pout said otherwise, Lyra closed her eyes and focused on his request. What did she know about that night? Her uncle was there, and so was Tom. As was one of the voices, the grouchier of the pair. She never thought to try and induce a memory of that night considering she was only two-years-old, it was a moot idea… But something Danielle said over the summer poked its gruesome head into the frame of her dark mind and waved.
"Though your brain may have blocked out painful memories in an effort to protect you, your body remembers trauma too. That's why you may be triggered by touch, smell, sound, sight or even taste. The body remembers."
"Blood," Lyra breathed, spooked by the sudden sensation of hot, sticky blood against her skin. How acidic it smelt, and how petrified by the sight of it she was that night. "I only remember lots of blood."
Professor Dumbledore bowed his head twice and surveyed his office in his deepest ponder yet, dismayed by her response. "As I'm sure you already suspect, that is not good," he murmured. Lyra decided not to comment. "But, and I know you will be pleased to hear, that has at least pushed me to make my final decision on what to do with you, Miss Black."
Uh oh.
"Am I allowed to stay?" She blurted out, "are you going to tell the Ministry about all this?"
"You're not being expelled and no, this will stay strictly between us," he answered, straightening with a happy posture and less fog in his eyes, "from what you've told me, and what your father has said, I believe that Lord Voldemort used yourself and Bartemius in a dark blood ritual of some kind which has left a lasting effect on you. Dark magic leaves a mark, it scars a wizard's soul and sometimes leaves traces."
"A bit like Harry's Parselmouth abilities, right?" She compared in the hopes of lightening the mood, and Albus' trepidation was lost to the brim of his tea cup.
"Perhaps, and I believe I owe it to you and your father to find out what this darkness that haunts you is," he dabbed at the corners of his lips with his crisp sleeve and Lyra curled her toes in her trainers, "starting next year, once you've settled in to your new timetable of course, I would like for us to meet up once a month and we will explore this dark magic safely and under pristine circumstances. Under my guidance, we will uncover what Tom did to you, and why. You will have your answers, I must insist on helping you."
In from her nose, out from her mouth Lyra breathed deeply and thanked her lucky stars for the blessing of his help.
Do not become his weapon.
You're not a pawn, girl. Don't sell yourself out to another King.
Lyra ignored them and accepted his offer with a firm handshake. "Then help you shall. I look forward to working with you, sir."
"Splendid," Professor Dumbledore settled down and glanced at his grandfather clock, peeved by the rapid speed at which the morning was disappearing, "as much as I would enjoy nothing more than your extended company, I have a meeting with our Minister and Madam Bones at twelve o'clock."
"Ouch," Lyra pulled a face, not envying him in the slightest, "is it about me? What are you going to tell them?"
"That our beloved Potions Master has retracted his statement and that you are not a cause for concern," he smirked, catching her grimace at the mention of Snape. "Professor Snape has agreed to teach you until classes end in the summer."
Lyra's face cracked. "Wait, what about next year?" Was she actually being kicked out of Potions?
"Do not panic, my dear, you are continuing your Potions studies next year with or without Professor Snape's guidance," Dumbledore assured her as he brushed down his pale robes and signalled that their time was ending by collecting their cups. "I have plenty of Potioneers in mind who would simply jump at the chance to read over and mark your essays."
No way. Lyra absorbed his claim and tried to keep the smile off her face. Was he pulling her leg? Or has she actually gotten away with ditching Snape as her teacher?! "Oh? Who do you have in mind? If you don't mind me asking."
"Not at all, I think our old Potions Master Professor Slughorn will be pleased to have been paid a visit from out of our handsome owls," he revealed, and Lyra tried not to react too viscerally.
She knew that name. He taught Tom.
"He taught your parents," Dumbledore added when he noticed her muted expression, and as expected she brightened up and jumped to her feet. She didn't know that.
"At least we'd have lots to talk about if we ever cross paths," she grinned, making sure she had collected all of her things. She tucked the photograph into her map and thanked him again with a sincere wink. "I won't keep you any longer, sir. Thank you for believing me."
"And thank you for sharing. This must have been difficult for you to unpack but if you require help then you must ask for it," Dumbledore hammered home his main point of their meeting with a stern yet respectful gaze as he escorted her to the door. "I may be headmaster but I am still your main caretaker while you are here at Hogwarts. I want nothing but the best for you, Miss Black. Please do not take me as a fool, that is all I ask in return."
"You have my word," Lyra bowed her head in gratitude and enjoyed the melancholic easy silence that lingered between the pair for a heartbeat or two as she stepped out of his office. The melodic patter of rain floated up the stairwell and swept her flushed cheeks with a cold tickled kiss.
It wasn't until Lyra was halfway down the spiral stairs when it suddenly hit her. She wasn't done yet. "Professor! One sec!"
Thankfully Dumbledore was still standing at his open door, amused by her fumbling back up the stairs on her hands and knees looking alarmed. "Miss Black?"
"Have you told Danielle about all of this? About Dad?" She gulped.
Professor Dumbledore smiled widely and shook his head, long fingers curled around the door frame. "Not yet, but she will be informed about most of your antics. No doubt she will suggest that you stay with Andromeda over the summer."
"Are you going to tell Andy?"
"I believe Nymphadora will have on both of our behalf," he chuckled, making Lyra feel a lot better about the whole situation. If they knew about Dad then they had no excuse to lock her up inside all summer.
But Danielle… She wanted to hang out with her too, maybe she'd come and visit? But then what about Harry? Could he stay too? Lyra lounged on the top step and pouted, annoyed that things could never be straightforward.
"Are you uncomfortable with these arrangements?" Dumbledore read her pout perfectly and she shrugged.
"No, I'm frustrated that I have to make these arrangements in the first place. Professor, why does Harry have to live with his abusive aunt and uncle? Can't he stay with me? I'm his family, doesn't that count for anything?"
It slipped out before she had a chance to think it over but she didn't shy away when her professor sighed and dropped his gaze to admire the floor tiles.
"He must live with someone who shares his mother's blood, for his own protection."
"You're sacrificing his happiness and health for some bit of blood magic? That's not fair."
"Not all blood magic is bad. Not this one," Professor Dumbledore finally looked up and welcomed Lyra's anger. She looked so much like her father when she was snarling so he told her exactly what he told Sirius mere hours ago. "Lord Voldemort is still alive and we must do everything to ensure that Lily's sacrifice is not wasted because he will not stop until Harry is dead. I know you love Harry, I do too, so please believe me when I say that his current living arrangement is the safest option right now. He does not have to live there any longer than a full turn of the moon, he is free to stay with you only if he calls his aunt's house his home."
Damn it. Lyra softened her snarl and nodded. A month was better than a month and a day, she could work with that. "Ok, fine. If you really think he's safe there then I'll allow it but I'm not very happy about it."
"You'll allow it?" Dumbledore repeated, chuckling to himself as Lyra blushed, remembering who she was speaking to. "Thank you for your cooperation, of course as his manager I should have run it past you first."
"Duh," Lyra smirked, peeled herself from the stairs and bid her headmaster farewell for the final time. "See you around, sir, have fun at the Ministry!"
"Fun at the Ministry? Highly unlikely but thank you. Take care, Lyra. Do not hesitate to come to me for anything. You will receive my owl over the summer with the date of our first meeting," he waved her off and Lyra escaped onto the third floor with anticipation bubbling in her stomach.
Lyra—,
"No," she said aloud, shaking the voices off before they started shouting at her. "I've made my decision, I need his help."
Then you need to convince him to teach you about the Theory of Ancient Magic. I wasn't aware that the subject had a name.
I don't know, he seems to know a lot about the forces. He may figure out how strong of a hold Death has over you.
"So what if he does? Is that really a bad thing?" She muttered, hugging the map to her chest as she dawdled along the corridors, admiring the sodden views of the grounds.
Yes.
No one can know.
"Voldemort knows, Peter knows. My friends know, and my father might too," she pointed out as she watched the gargoyles spurt water from their open mouths, "People already know, what's one more?"
Death knows Albus, can you not feel it within your soul when you are near him?
He is more acquainted with the darkness than he lets on.
We feel it when he is close, surely you can too.
Lyra pouted and glanced back in the direction of his office, perplexed. She definitely felt something while she was in there with him, the energy in the air was different. Was it not Fawkes, was it actually him?
See?!
The soul is sensitive to him. You must be cautious.
"What do you think happened? Have either of you two met him before?"
No.
Not personally. But Death has… He has come across Death's Soul in someone who precedes our possessions.
Lyra massaged the tight feeling buried behind her sternum and let their warnings fade into the back of her mind as she shut them out. She needed time to herself, to properly think everything through and work out what exactly she needed from Albus. And to achieve that, she needed to speak to Sirius first.
There was nothing for her to do except wait, it was up to time now to work their magic and give her the answers she was itching to receive. She snuck a peek at the photograph tucked inside her map and carried the image of the members crisp in her mind, developing a faint parasocial kinship with them.
"Lord Voldemort is still alive and we must do everything to ensure that Lily's sacrifice is not wasted. He will not stop until Harry is dead." Dumbledore's words replayed like a gentle lullaby she couldn't get rid of, but with every step she grew to enjoy its cadence.
He can try to murder Harry all he likes but I have the real power over who lives and who dies.
The souls trapped inside of her stirred, purring at her streak of vanity.
That's right, my love.
And he's terrified of us. Of you.
Thanks for reading! xoxox