The Tales of Lyra Black

by lumosmancer

Long ago, a bard named Beedle made a remarkably grievous mistake. Centuries later, his mistake fell into the hands of 2 exceptionally bright wizards & history repeated itself. 5 decades later, a cunning young wizard discovered this mistake & gave his entire life for a single drop of this power. But Death wanted revenge. And so revenge was born on All Hallows Eve, 1979...

73. Meet the Blacks

It was safe to say that by the time the scorching sun stretched its pink feelers over the coastal horizon Lyra understood why her teachers often compared her to her father. Sirius was right, it was like looking in a mirror — there were exactly the same person. They talked all night and not even about anything that they should have been discussing, like Voldemort or her deathly cursed soul, or even her years at Hogwarts. They couldn't shut up, questions about their respective early years of their lives came gushing out one after the other.

And then came the topic that filled the hours between sunset and sunrise, one Lyra had been waiting for since the day she gained cognitive skills and realised she didn't have a mother. The integral, absent member of their dysfunctional team.

"—so, after all that, your grandfather took your mother to an enrollment meeting at Durmstrang as a last resort, hoping their strict rules would finally straighten her out and… Honestly I don't know what his plan was there because Durmstrang is quite proud of its notoriety for turning a blind eye to their lax dark magic programme? But anyway I digress, Elle decided to steal Durmstrang's precious pirate ship and she was almost arrested for grand theft auto until Barty paid the school and the press to keep their mouths shut and drop their charges. Eventually she wore Pops down enough that she ended up back at Hogwarts with me," Sirius explained with the kind of sigh that suggested he would've given anything to see the story he was recounting. "And the rest, as they say, is history."

"Shut… up…" Lyra breathed, silver eyes glistening with admiration as she listened to the tale of Giselle's life, a story of a pissed off Pureblood witch whose father and brother were complete shitheads and whose greatest dream was to fly. It was utterly fascinating. "She stole a freaking pirate ship?!"

Ahh, so that's where you get your sticky fingers from.

Hey!

"Almost stole a pirate ship," Sirius corrected, the remnants of something bittersweet creeping into his bright eyes and smile, "she didn't get it out into open waters so technically, she failed."

"All I'm hearing is that I come from a line of wizard criminals, what perfect role models you guys turned out to be," Lyra held her hands up, mostly to shield her fuzzy eyes from the morning light sneaking through the crack. She was so tired that she hadn't even noticed what she was doing, or that Danielle was due to knock on her bedroom door in a couple of hours time, she couldn't tear her gaze away from her dad. With the added layer of exhaustion their overnight hangout felt like a dream, a little blurry around the edges but bliss at its cosy centre. If she left then the dream would end, when would she next see him again?

"Why, yes, I suppose you do. When I was being detained before my sentencing, the bastard sat in the cell with me mentioned that Giselle had an existing case file with the department because of that and the arson at Beauxbatons," He said, combing his fingers through his overgrown mane. "Not to mention the rest of our family, Merlin's beard," he guffawed.

"Yeah, Tonks said her aunt and uncle weren't exactly the sanest of people either," yawned Lyra, "did you hear what Bellatrix did? Talk about sick in the head, she sounds like the worst of us all."

Something came over her father's face and for a split second she remembered that Sirius could still, potentially, be a very dangerous man. He glared at the cove wall past her head, tracing his cousin's gaunt, twisted features in the jagged rock as though she was there with them.

"I may have heard Bellatrix gloating once or twice over the years, there's nothing else to do in Azkaban except memorise the sounds of other prisoners slowly wasting away, it's the only in-service entertainment the prison provides," he said through his clenched jaw, shrouded in shadow to conceal most of his anguish toward the outcome of the first war. "All I know is that it was the same crime that brought Junior in too, the case took a few Death Eaters down from what I heard. Something to do with the Longbottoms. Do you know much about the trials from around that time?"

"Not nearly as much as I would like to know," Lyra huffed, reshuffling on the rock so her numb arse could feel some of the warm rays creeping closer by the second. "And yeah, they tortured Neville's parents until they lost their minds."

"Aw," Sirius looked devastated, he bit his lip, "Frank and Alice? You know their son?"

"Yeah, he's in Gryffindor with me and he's a bloody saint, he's by far the purest out of all of us at school," Lyra nodded sadly. "He deserves better, they all do."

"Fucking hell… Are you aware that your grandfather put away over three quarters of all Death Eaters that are currently locked up on that hellhole?" Sirius tested, treading into choppy waters. Lyra paused her feline stretch and considered her options. How honest was he being with her? Would he tell her anything she wanted to know?

"Now I am," she said politely, "thank you for telling me. Please don't think you have to hide anything to protect me. I'm a big girl, I can handle the truth. I need to know what everyone has done so I can defend myself."

"That's more than fair. You're welcome, Princess, it's the least I can do for you. I will tell you what I know and in return, you will tell me everything you know. Deal?" Sirius offered her his hand and it enveloped hers in a firm yet warm grip. Clearly he was ecstatic that she was acting mature, how far could she push that minor advantage?

"Deal," Lyra instructed him to extend his pinky finger and decided to add her own terms. "And you cannot tell Dumbledore or anyone else about what I share with you. It stays between us, I won't tell you anything if you're deciding to make this anyone else's business."

Though he never pulled away from their linked fingers, Sirius gave her a look any father would have been proud of. "Sweetheart, you can trust Albus probably more than you can trust me."

"But what if I tell you that Death is anxious and wary of Albus? What if I tell you that telling him puts me in serious jeopardy?" She countered, pouting. "What then?"

"Well…" Sirius trailed off and considered the outcomes though he didn't look remotely happy about it, "then it's a good thing I never told him everything I know then, isn't it?"

The kernels of hope that had taken root in her chest over the course of the night burst into large clusters, igniting a grin so startling that it brought tears to her father's eyes. "And these things you've kept to yourself, are you willing to share it with me? We're a team, remember."

"Yes but you are still a child," Sirius said firmly.

"A child who has experience fighting against one Dark Lord that we're not supposed to name, mind you. Twice, actually," she grumbled, diverting her gaze to the sunlight lighting up the beach. The silhouette of a pair of joggers flitted past the cove, sending the shadows scattering into the corners of their limited space.

Sirius didn't like that. "Lyra…?"

Her chest tightened, she'd never heard anyone say her name with so much agony before and she immediately met his distraught gaze.

"What do you mean you've fought Lord Voldemort twice? What the hell has happened to you?"

She knew he didn't mean to sound so accusatory but she flinched at his tone. Oh boy, it's time.

"A lot," she said slowly, concisely. "And to be honest I don't really know where to start."

"Start at the very beginning," Sirius reached for both of her clammy cold hands this time and squeezed, "and don't leave out any details. I mean it."

Lyra opened her mouth with every intention of starting her tale, but she couldn't find the right words. Where should she begin? She wasn't sure whether explaining the catalyst that brought her back to the Wizarding world was a good idea, would he be able to handle it? That day at Poor Man's Point was the worst day of her life, she barely recognised the shell of a person she was back then. Depression weighing down her shoulders while she wished for death so brazenly… Her true life hadn't even started and she was so close to giving up.

No, I can't. It'll break him. I don't even think I can tell him about Riddle—

You have to.

Lyra, you must.

"Maybe, start when you first got your Hogwarts letter?" Sirius suggested when he noticed the cogs in her brain struggling to whirl, but as Lyra hung her head she spotted her backpack. It illuminated a bright bulb inside her that evaporated her dark thoughts in a blink.

"I think I'll start with this," she decided as she reached down and stuck her arm in her bag, rustling around until she felt the leather bound case that was on her mind. "You'll be pleased to know that I am a budding photographer, why don't I show you instead?"

Sirius was beside himself, he gasped and patiently waited despite his bouncing knees as Lyra flicked through her photo album and introduced him to her school life using her treasured Polaroids. She found the first page and proudly recounted the tale of her twelfth birthday as he absorbed the pictures of the dumbfounded troll that had found her and her friends in the girls bathroom. He certainly didn't expect this to be the opener and it set the tone perfectly for his deep dive into her world.

It wasn't until she revealed Professor Quirrell's true nature with a collection of incriminating pictures of him actively trying to kill Harry that his grin slipped from his face and he took her faint stutters and flinches seriously.

"—and when I repaired this picture I figured out that it wasn't Snape, it was Quirrell, and I tried to snitch on him to Dumbledore but he wasn't at school, and then Quirrell found me and I stupidly told him that I knew what he was doing, and…" Lyra swallowed the lump in her throat and strived to finish before she had to start thinking about heading back. The birds were chirping and echoes of dogs barking entered their vicinity, a reminder that the world was waking up around them.

"And?" Sirius repeated, on the edge of his seat.

"And it turns out that Voldemort was attached to the back of his head," she revealed, "and he kidnapped me to the basement of the school."

"What happened down there? What did he do? And what do you mean he was on the back of his head?"

"He was possessing Quirrell, I think. I'm not entirely sure since Voldemort isn't exactly, um," Lyra clicked her tongue, searching for the right way to go about this, "a regular human being."

"You can say that again," Sirius scoffed, disdained by the narrative so far.

"He interrogated me while we were down there, he practically confirmed that he knows what I am and why," she continued, watching his reaction very carefully. "He was at our house the night Mum was killed. With Barty."

Sirius' shoulders sagged and he cupped his numb face, massaging away his initial violent thoughts. "It wasn't at night. Your mother was… Giselle died while the sun was up. I… I came home and found…" he couldn't finish his sentence but Lyra decided to push for more.

"What did you find?"

"Blood," he said bluntly, face frozen in fear as though the pools were back in front of him. "But it wasn't her blood, it couldn't have been. There was too much of it—,"

Some of it was my blood.

They brought their own too.

"Was anyone else there?" Lyra asked, trying not to recoil at her own bleak, barely existing memories of that moment.

"No, only Elle," Sirius croaked, determined to answer her questions. "You were gone. The house was a mess, there had been some kind of struggle or a… a duel. The kitchen was destroyed. Fuck…" he shook his head. "What happened to you? Do you know? Where did you go?"

Lyra gestured to the cove and shrugged. "I landed here. Voldemort doesn't know either, we're all as stumped as each other as to what happened."

Death took you.

They did what they needed to do.

Oh…?

"What?" Sirius spotted her moment of enlightenment and she chewed on her lip to buy her some time. What to do, what to say…

"Death just told me that they hid me," she half-lied. "They did what they needed to do to protect me."

Sirius didn't like that answer one bit. He sneered. "So Death stole you from me? Does Death think you need to be protected from me?!"

"I don't think so," Lyra rushed to assure him, saddened by his view. "More to protect me from Voldemort. Where were you when all this happened?"

"I was answering what I first thought was a distress call from Peter," Sirius snarled, unable to quench the fire boiling in his veins. The idea of Death sequestrating his daughter was not on his list of expectations going into this meeting. "But it turned out to be a ruse, a trick to keep me away from everyone. I wasted so much time trying to find him, and when I eventually tracked him down he told me he never sent me that message. I should have known then, it should have clicked the second he said he never called for me that he was the traitor, but all I could think about was you two and how stupid I had been. I raced home, and…" his voice cracked but he never stopped, "the front door was wide open, I don't remember how long I stood in the front garden just staring at that door. Terrified of what I was going to see when I walked through it, and then the next thing I know I'm looking down at… at her… and she's gone. Junior left her as a message for me."

Lyra already had her arms around Sirius by the time he gave in to a waterfall of emotions she wasn't sure he'd let himself experience before. She sniffed away her tears as she listened to his guttural groans of grief while he squeezed her tighter, afraid of letting her go.

"I'm sorry," he tried to pull himself together once he remembered where he was, "I shouldn't be telling you this—,"

"Hey, yes you should be," Lyra interjected as kindly as possible, "trust me, talking about these traumatic memories with loved ones helps ease the pain. I deserve to know what happened and you deserve to get this off your chest."

"Since when was my baby a decorated therapist?" He pouted.

"I already told you about Danielle," she smirked, delighted that she was proving herself. "She always says talking is the best medicine."

"Ah, a motto I can get behind," he finally smiled. It was funny how despite his awful condition and puffy eyes he could still look so damn charming.

"As you were saying?" Lyra prompted, keen to fill more pieces in the fractured jigsaw that made up her second birthday. "You're one hundred percent sure no one else was in the house? You only found Mum there?"

"I'm positive no one else was there, I checked the gardens, the attic, even the perimeter of the woods where our wards should have been," he explained, stronger than before. "Giselle was alone, even the gnomes at the end of the garden were gone. Whether Barty and Voldemort came alone or with an army, they were all gone by the time I got there."

"What did you do then? Hunt down Peter?"

"No, I wasn't really thinking straight. I tried to contact Remus," By the way Sirius was gritting his teeth, Lyra knew he was suffering mentally but she appreciated the effort. "And then I tried to get a hold of James but then I received word from Emmeline that Albus had put an alert out that Godric's Hollow had been compromised and I just… lost it."

"And I take it you losing it resulted in twelve Muggles being blown up and you being arrested?" Lyra hazarded a guess, and Sirius nodded.

"Bingo," he huffed, glaring at the ceiling of the ever brightening cove. "And now I'm stuck down here playing detective while they're up there watching me suffer. I just know they're screaming the answers at us, if I listen closely I can almost hear Lily rolling her eyes."

"Did you hear anything particularly interesting while you were in Azkaban? Like, for example, were any of the other inmates yelling about a certain freckled schoolgirl with an affinity for dark magic?" Lyra asked, keeping the ball rolling.

Sirius scratched his moustache and narrowed his eyes. "Hmm, I thought I hallucinated Hagrid turning up out of nowhere. Was he really arrested?"

An ice cold shot of dread ran through her. "Uh, yeah he was. But he was falsely imprisoned like you, don't worry about him."

"I can believe that," Sirius looked appalled, "And I heard that a Hogwarts professor was given a life sentence, was that Quirrell who was shouting at Hagrid?"

"Bingo," Lyra repeated, giving in to the blood colouring her cheeks. It was just her luck that he heard it all. "Circling back to Quirrell and Voldemort kidnapping me, long story short Harry killed Quirrell and subsequently Voldemort too, but I brought Quirrell back to life and he was arrested shortly after."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU BROUGHT QUIRRELL BACK TO LIFE?!" Sirius exploded, causing her to flinch and catch her escaping breath. "You can do that? Again, you really should have brought this up in the forest when we first met because what do you mean you resurrected him?"

"In all fairness, it was a total accident and I didn't know what I was doing," she defended her actions. If she could go back in time she'd have let his soul disappear into the afterlife where she wouldn't have to worry about him outing her.

"Are you able to bring anyone back?" Sirius wondered aloud. A hard stone dropped into her stomach at the hope in his voice and dripping from his face, and for a moment Lyra genuinely considered his question.

"I don't know. I don't know the extent of Death's curse, I may be able to…" Lyra trailed off and let her answer linger. She couldn't get his hopes up, what if she couldn't?

You gave Tom a body out of thin air.

Yes but I don't think resurrecting an army of people who have been dead for over ten years is a smart idea.

So can it be done? If I wanted to, could I bring my mother back to life?

It is in our realm of possibilities.

Death's power is incomparable, there may be a way. But it won't be easy.

Although he looked as though he wanted to dive even deeper into his daughter's special abilities, Sirius remained calm and sensible. They had plenty of time to come back to that, he still had questions.

"Has Death told you what Voldemort and Junior were doing that day? What was their plan? Why did he give you Death's soul?"

"They told me that he wants the soul. He wants power over Death, to become Death itself," she admitted with a sting of shame to her words. "There's nothing in this universe he wants more than power and he would be willing to do anything for it."

"Where did he get the soul from? I can't believe that Death would even have one, I thought souls are human by nature," Sirius mused, revolted by the image. "You asked if anyone else was there that day, did you mean another body?"

Tell him.

Lyra hid her clenched fists well and bit the bullet. "Yes, Mum wasn't the only one who died there. Another woman was murdered, a woman who possessed Death's soul before me. I think it was her blood you saw."

"Merlin," Sirius winced and hopped onto his feet where he found some solace within his anxious pacing. "Well, firstly, I couldn't be more relieved to hear that it wasn't you splattered all over the kitchen, and secondly, how do you know this?"

"Because the soul of the woman who died has been trapped inside of me since it happened," she exhaled, ripping off yet another band-aid. "Voldemort tracked her down with the intention of stripping her of her souls for himself. And for some reason, I needed to be a part of this mess too. My guess, and Albus' guess too, is that they used some gross Dark Arts soul-harvesting ritual, usually these dark magic freaks love torturing people so I think the ritual required a baby and a blood relative. Pettigrew mentioned that my uncles promised me to Voldemort, potentially for this ritual."

"I truly did not think I could hate Bartemius any more than I already do, and yet somehow— wait, uncles? My brother promised you too?" Sirius processed her claims and stopped pacing to tilt his head, doubting his sharp hearing.

Lyra existed within the crushing waves of anticipation and nodded. "He definitely said uncles. What do you know about Regulus? I know he's involved in all this too, tell me."

At the sound of his brother's name, Sirius turned away and focused on the new day outside, giving himself a chance to rearrange his tense expression. Lyra sat on the edge of the rock and waited with bated breath, praying that this would be good news.

"He defected from the Death Eaters a few months before it all went down," he eventually told her once he spun back around, letting her in on the despair wrecking him. "He came to us one day, he tracked us down near Charmouth beach and he broke down. He told us that you were in danger but I didn't listen. I thought he was mocking us, that it was all a part of their grand plan to catch us off-guard, I didn't want to trust him. I couldn't. And I never told Albus about this, we only told Remus. Elle wanted to tell everyone but I just couldn't bring myself to let him back in."

Charmouth beach. A place that existed on the same stretch of sand they were mere metres from. Lyra was so close to her true home this whole time and she didn't even know it.

"Then what happened?" She murmured, fighting against the tangent she wanted to go on.

"I don't know, that was the last time I ever saw him," he confessed, dismayed at the outcome. "By the sounds of it, he sold you to our friendly neighbourhood Dark Lord and then tried to rectify that little mistake by showing up unannounced and scaring the living daylights out of us when the guilt got too much for him to handle."

"What exactly did he say to you guys?" Lyra tested. Should she tell him about the Horcruxes now?

"He didn't say much, I think the dopey twat swore an Unbreakable Vow. All Reg said was that your life was in danger, we needed to be wary of everyone close to us, and then he asked us to promise that we would read you this silly little bedtime story I used to read to him when we were kids," Sirius chuckled despite his deep-set frown.

"What bedtime story?" Lyra crossed her arms to shield herself from the sudden chill that whisked around them in an icy breath.

"The Tale of the Three Brothers, why—? Oh." Sirius' eyes were rounder than a pair of silver Sickle coins as realisation trickled in, "of course how silly of me, you being Death and all, you probably don't like that story very much. Doesn't paint you in a good light."

"There are way cooler myths about Death out there than that lame story," Lyra scoffed, but once again the screaming silence that filled the void of the voices in her head urged her to dwell on that story. "On the other hand though, this isn't the first time that this particular fairytale has been brought up. Death doesn't like Beedle. They told me that in person."

"Do I even want to know what Death looks like in person? I don't like any of this," Sirius was morbidly curious though his grimace said otherwise but Lyra rolled her eyes.

"Death is pretty cool! Chill out Dad, they're not as bad as everyone makes them out to be," she told him as though it was the easiest command in the world. Sirius grumbled under his breath, his bitter comments muffled by his beard.

"Why doesn't Death like Beedle?"

"Probably because he's been spilling Death's secrets to generations of witches and wizards," Lyra took a stab at her guess. Beedle loved writing about Death, maybe they were bitter over the narratives he weaved. "Here's a summary of where I'm currently at with my own investigation into all this, and obviously this is going to sound nuts so humour me here."

"Humour is a speciality of mine, please proceed," Sirius waved an arm and gave her the floor as he slid into her warm seat. Lyra matched his pacing patterns and verbalised her troubles as well as she could. She wrung her hands and took a deep breath, wishing away her anxiety so she could speak with concision.

"Beedle was a Seer, he saw something Death didn't want him to see. Hermione and I have been going through all of Beedle's works and we believe that some of his stories, his songs, and his plays are based on true events. Hermione believes them to be his way of recording his prophecies," she revealed. She paused to watch Sirius absorb the first part of her narrative with a slow nod and another stroke of his beard.

"Very interesting theory. What do you think he saw that Death didn't want him to see?"

"That I'm not sure of yet. He has many stories involving Death as a character in some capacity, but none of them match what we're looking for specifically," she sighed, resting her hands on her hips.

"Which is?" pressed Sirius.

"Well, none of his work mentions Death's soul. And there are no mentions of the other Gods. No Time, no Fate, and no Life either. The Three Brothers story at least deals with Death's personal effects, and there are other people in history who have written about Death's wand so obviously that's an issue I need to worry about in the future," said Lyra, exhausted by the prospect of more hard work.

"There's a God of Time?" Sirius asked, mystified.

"Yeah and they're the wooorst! They attacked Hermione! And Fate's no better either. He knew Ron was going to be bitten and he taunted him about it, I hate them even more," she sulked. The positive forces were such nuisances, they were supposed to be the good guys!

"How many Gods are there?" Sirius said in a quiet voice.

"Seven, apparently. There's Death, Time, Fate, and potentially Life too. Or Light, I think that one has two names like Death," she analysed, thinking back to New Year's Eve that felt like a lifetime ago, "Two negative forces, and five positive. Have you ever heard of the Theory of Ancient Magic?"

"Only once, during History of Magic years ago. That's very advanced stuff," he grinned, blown away by his daughter's pursuit of knowledge. "Are you sure you don't want to tell Albus about this? Because this sounds like something that's right up his street."

"I haven't made my mind up," Lyra lied, resorting to chewing off her nail polish to calm her jitters, "maybe. But right now, no. I need to get Death on my side before I involve him."

"Do I need to have a stern word with Death? Because as your father I'm more than happy to go toe to toe with them and remind them who's the boss," He proposed valiantly, undaunted by the task he set himself. "I don't like that they're isolating you."

"They're not, Death likes that I've told you and my friends," she rejected his kind offer and gave him an ego boost instead. She got where he was coming from but he didn't need to worry so much. "Death likes you."

Sirius was pleased with her response so he let it slide this time, but with the mention of Albus now at the forefront of her mind Lyra had to ask him. "What did you tell Albus about me?"

"I told him about my suspicions of Junior's stubborn interest in you, but the bastard is dead now so that's nugatory. And that you're messing around with the Dementors, so I'm sorry about that, but judging by the fact you haven't been expelled I trust that you've handled that already," he admitted, hiding his smirk behind his hair. "Although it pains me to say this, I will not discuss anything else with him without your permission, I promise."

"Thank you," Lyra wheezed and caved to the ache in her back. She slumped forward and massaged her spine, wishing she was in bed. "And in return I promise that I'll think about telling him."

"Good, because we need to figure out a way to get this soul of Death out of you and back where it came from," Sirius shifted his tone toward one full of tough love. "Whatever Junior and Voldemort did that night, we will find a way to reverse it. No matter what it takes. From the very little I know of Death, they don't like being apart from their belongings."

Lyra collapsed on the rock next to her father and gently leant against his shoulder, grateful for his soothing back rubs. Regulus must have known what Barty and Voldemort were up to but he couldn't say specifically. Instead he asked her parents to read her one of his most famous fairy tales. She guessed she could see the connection there, she was about to be used to steal something very precious from one of the most ancient beings to ever exist. Maybe it was simply a cryptic warning? Or maybe Voldemort was after Death's treasures too and he was trying to tell them? Ugh, as if that man needs the world's most powerful wand too. How selfish can one guy be?

Suddenly Sirius sat up straight and gasped, nudging Lyra from her comfortable slouch against him. "Wait a second?!"

"What?"

"The cloak. Death's cloak — it's James's cloak," he rambled, his light eyes misty as he thought back to the hazy days of his youth. "Albus borrowed his cloak just before he passed, I remember him writing to me about how anxious he was about letting him study it. He didn't want him to take it at first."

Lyra blinked hard, her fatigued brain rushing to catch up. "Why did he want to study it?"

"Fuck knows, but the fact he wanted to freaked James out quite significantly. I suppose he was just…" But Sirius trailed off, disgruntled. "I don't know, maybe I'm being too pessimistic but my heart is telling me something is off here. I'm genuinely surprised that Albus ended up giving the cloak back to Harry."

"You're certain Harry's cloak is the one? The actual one from the story?" Lyra hissed, ashamed that she was being so slow. "But I can see it, it's not totally invisible?"

"Yes it bloody is, I know that cloak inside and out. The fact that you can see it supports my theory," said Sirius confidently. "And the more I think about it, the more certain I am that James was fully aware of how special it was. I can't believe he didn't tell me!"

Your father is right.

Harry's cloak is special, we know how it makes you feel when you wear it.

Lyra instantly regretted not extending Sirius' invite to Harry last night, she had so much to tell him.

"Maybe he was sworn to secrecy?" Lyra wondered. He looked wounded by the idea of his best friend keeping secrets from him so she tried her best to comfort him. "I'm sure he wanted to tell you."

"Mhmm," Sirius didn't look convinced but he shrugged it off. "James loved his father very much and he's loyal as hell, if Fleamont told him to keep their cloak's origin a secret then I can believe that he'd take that to his grave."

"Aww," Lyra cooed, appreciating the sentiment. She'd never wished to meet her godparents more, they sounded so awesome.

"I guess we can safely assume that the gifts from that story are real then. Any idea where the other two could be? The wand is the one we need to be worried about, really," Sirius heaved, losing most of the colour he'd gained from their nutritious evening together.

"Of course I don't," Lyra sniffed, trying not to dwell on it. "Although I've been meaning to go and visit Ollivander, I think he based my wand on Death's. Did he tell you what your wand was made of when you bought it?"

"Obviously," Sirius scoffed, "mahogany, twelve and a over a quarter inches, dragon heartstring. Though that's long gone now, damn Aurors."

"Then perhaps we should get you a new one?" Lyra suggested with an impish smile her father was quick to mirror. "I don't know what my wand is made from, Ollivander said reed and hair but I don't believe him. Maybe you can persuade him to tell the truth and also sell you another one?"

"You want me to threaten him?" he clarified, half-amused.

"No, not threaten him," she smiled wider, "…ok, maybe just a little bit, but it's for a good cause!"

"How can I say no to my adorable little miscreant, eh? Ok, I'll accompany you to Ollivander's shop but we may need some assistance, we need someone with a wand and who can stand guard. You can't use magic and I can't use your wand," he dampened the tone but Lyra was quick to lighten it again.

"Will Remus help?"

"I don't know," Sirius quietened as though he was annoyed that she brought him up. He kept as much emotion from his blank face as he could handle, Lyra was desperate to pry more of his feeling out of him but she needed to take baby steps. She couldn't hound him with a hundred personal questions... yet.

"Have you seen him since Easter?"

"Not in person, but that's not from a lack of trying so don't you start, he's not ready to see people yet," he shot at his daughter who opened her mouth to complain. "I know that you two grew close while he was your professor, and yes maybe I'm a little bit envious so I don't want to talk about it."

"You… saw us? Have you been stalking me this entire year?" She inquired but all sense of curiosity vanished when her father flashed her his brightest grin yet. What now?!

"Yes," he admitted with pride, "I know my way around that school like the back of my hand, how else do you think I obtained your hair so I could break into the family accounts? You're slicker than I thought, sweetheart, you really threw me for a loop when you heightened the vault security and returned your bribe broom."

"Yeah, what the heck were you playing at? You bought Polyjuice Potion?! Can you see how that looks from my point of view?" She countered, disapproving of his method.

"Merlin, that was a nightmare too. Identity fraud is not easy," Sirius kneed his palms into the sides of his head, massaging away a stubborn migraine. "I had to convince Hermione's cat to steal papers with your signatures on, then I had to convince a Hogwarts owl to send the initial letter to Gringotts to change your correspondence address so you wouldn't catch on. Then I had to come all the way here to collect the damn package, then I went all the way back to Hogsmeade to withdraw cash pretending to be you—,"

"Oh Jesus, ok, I don't want to know anything else thank you," Lyra decided to draw a line in the sand of their never ending conversation and dared to check the time. She was running on empty, the blinding sun was blurring her vision even more. How in the hell was she supposed to turn up to her doctor's appointment like this?

"I need to head back to Coles, are you coming with me?" Lyra swept most of their rubbish into her backpack, swung it onto her back and yawned until her ears popped. "If we go now, I reckon we can achieve a swift three hour nap before I need to be up and ready."

Sirius pouted, backing further into the shadows as she went to step out into the light. "You want me to come with you?"

"I mean, yeah?" Her heart clenched, was she being too pushy? "Unless you don't want to come with me? I understand if you don't—,"

"Lyra, honey, no of course I want to stay with you. It's just," he gestured at his hopeless appearance and barked, "even as a dog I can't stay hidden for long! I think the Muggles you live with might notice."

Lyra paused in the threshold of the cove and slumped against the rocky door edge, squinting at the glorious blue sky that seemed to be taunting them at this point. She soaked in the sunshine and used its energising warmth to power her decision. Her dad needed access to an empty house with all the amenities he could possibly need… which she could easily give him in just one word.

Fuck it! Lyra decided on the spot that it would be best if she caught her father off-guard with this particularly painful issue. This way he couldn't back out of it and neither could her other cherished family member. Sirius desperately needed a shower, for the sake of vanity she knew it had to be done.

"Kreacher!"

Sirius lurched further into the shadows, outraged. "LYRA?!"

Pop!

"Hey buddy!" Lyra leapt toward her sleepy house elf and gently grabbed his shoulders to steer him away from realising who was standing behind him. With his quilted black toga and matching slippers, Lyra felt as though she had just dragged her grouchy teddy bear out from under his feather duvet and plonked him into his worst nightmare.

"Mistress?" croaked Kreacher, perplexed by the cove setting.

"Listen, here's the thing. I'm so sorry, you're not going to like this but I'm gonna need you not to panic. I'm safe, everyone here is safe. And innocent, that's the key word here — innocent. Remember that when I tell you this, ok?" She rambled, trying not to look over at Sirius who was throwing a silent tantrum, but once he settled down and came to terms with the fact that there was no way out of this, Lyra found the right string of words to put her grizzly elf at ease.

"Kreacher, I hope you can find it in your heart to help my father, if not for him then for me," she spoke to him as an equal. "This is not a command, I will not force you to help if you feel it goes against everything you believe in. I'm asking you as a beloved member of my family to please help us."

She steered Kreacher around and embraced his tense crooked posture when he gazed up at the man he hardly recognised. "He's on our side, we can trust him," she added when either of them failed to say anything.

"Well I never thought I'd see you again," Sirius found his voice first and gave him a sweeping lour. "I don't know whether it's the clothes but you somehow look younger than I remember."

"And Master Sirius looks…" Kreacher muttered, disdained by his gruesome prison attire and the dank cave more than the fact that he was standing in front of him. "Master looks like he has settled into his new home nicely."

Sirius bared his teeth. "Why you little—!"

"Is this what Mistress has been up to?" Kreacher side-eyed Lyra, taking his time to absorb the appalling news that he now had to deal with her father all over again.

"Yep, and I know this is killing you right now so thank you for not lashing out!" she consoled her house elf with a kiss on his whiskery head.

"What about me! He's not innocent, you know. Kreacher tormented me all throughout my childhood," Sirius complained, jealous of all the affection she was displaying toward their elf.

Kreacher's already wilting ears sagged lower and he summoned his best apologetic grimace. "Kreacher asks for Master's forgiveness, Kreacher is not the elf he used to be when Mistress Walburga was in charge. Mistress Lyra has shown Kreacher the light and Kreacher will continue to atone for his acts of hatred."

"He's really turned himself around," Lyra defended him, "your mum treated him like shit, all of the other Purebloods in our family besides Andy sucks ass. So of course when I turned up in Kreacher's life his cool factor shot up by like a hundred points. I'm awesome, ergo my house elf must be awesome too. He just needed some love, like we all need."

"Mistress is sure Master Sirius has not cursed her?" Kreacher mumbled for her ears only when Sirius hung his head in silent disbelief and she gave him a firm nod.

"I'm sure buddy. He didn't murder my mum, I'll explain everything once we're somewhere far more secure than here," she stifled her yawn that time and gestured at him to work his magic.

"You're not seriously suggesting that I stay at my parents house, are you?" Sirius cottoned onto Lyra's plan as she instructed their elf to seal the area and prepare for departure.

She tugged on her straps and reached for his weathered hands, assuring him that he was right to trust them with an honest wink. "It's not your parent's house anymore. It's not even yours, legally it's mine," she informed him, a faint wiggle of her brow. "Believe me, you should see what Kreacher has done with the place. I think you might like it. It's just for one night. In fact, why don't I stay the night with you? And maybe we can invite Harry too? Please? We'll make newer, happier memories together!"

Though she had been tempted to visit many times before, Lyra hadn't actually spent any time at her grandparents house in London. She was scarred by her first visit and fight with her grandmother to stay any longer than a few minutes at a time, she'd never ventured from the ground floor entrance hall so she didn't even know what the majority of the house looked like, but she knew that her house elf had been working his blessed heart out scrubbing the place top to bottom. Half of her visits coincided with his cleaning schedule nicely, she was usually greeted with heavy clouds of lavender and sage incense and gusts of cold winds as he aired the stuffy, dark townhouse out with a click of his fingers. She was quite excited to see his progress, the last time she popped by she noticed he was in the process of sanding and staining the rich solid ebony wood floors and staircases, the whole house smelt like an expensive pine forest.

"Kreacher would love for Mistress to stay!" Kreacher bleated, starry-eyed that the day he'd been waiting for had finally come. "Kreacher has not touched Master Sirius' room, but Master's bathroom has been restored and will be ready at once. Please, Kreacher will take good care of his masters."

"If the Ministry weren't watching our cottage like hawks right now then I would have taken you to our real home already," Sirius rebutted their idea at first, but once Lyra and Kreacher brought out the big guns and pleaded with him on their knees, he reconsidered their plan. His parents were dead, after all. They couldn't hurt him anymore. Everything he despised about his childhood home had been replaced by his miniature version, his daughter's love.

"Are you sure no one will find out I'm there?" Sirius hesitated, inching over the line of no return, "Kreacher? Are there any Ministry wards in the area?"

"Yes, but Kreacher knows they do not cross the front gate. Master Sirius is able to apparate inside the house," he croaked, "Kreacher sees an Auror posted outside occasionally but they never knock on the door."

"Tonks said they're not focused on Grimmauld Place, they think you're more likely to turn up at our house though so you can't risk going back there," Lyra informed him though it pained her to say so. She'd give anything to return to her first home, their cottage near Charmouth. "It's kinda your only option."

"How beautifully tragic," Sirius sighed, accepting the exhausting irony of the situation with a back-cracking stretch. "I ran away from that place all those years ago, and here I am running back with my tail between my legs."

"And with your favourite daughter by your side and your racist bitch of a mother in the cold hard earth," Lyra lightened the mood with a wink, "things aren't all that bad, really."

"Well when you put it like that, how can I refuse?" Sirius rolled his shoulders and extended his hand to Kreacher, still grappling with the fact that he wasn't hissing under his breath or nipping at his shins anymore. Was this really the same grumpy elf? Lyra beamed and motioned at Kreacher that she was ready. Her legs felt like jelly but with her house elf and father at her side she knew she wouldn't fall.

POP!

"Well I'll be damned," Sirius froze underneath the iridescent crystal chandelier catching the morning sun beaming into the townhouse foyer that he thought he swore he recognised from his bleak childhood. Lyra gasped, quite taken by the glistening solid silver picture frames, polished door handles and knobs, the exaggerated serpent awnings — the hallway was sparkling in abundance of silver and black treasure, it looked almost brand new. Kreacher had breathed life into the fabrics of the rugs, carpets and curtains, the family heirlooms looked fresher than ever, and there was not one cobweb in sight.

"That can't be the same rug that's always been there," Sirius studied the pristine hallway with precision in his footsteps and he bent down to admire the floors, "wow, yes it is. Reg vomited on this very rug on his third birthday, I think I can still see the blackcurrant stain that earned him a few welts on his arse."

"Kreacher cannot get the stain out," Kreacher grumbled, stepping over the purple blob that marked the gorgeous grey tapestry rug by the glossy black staircase that invited their gazes upwards to the higher floors. Lyra leant against the bannister and sighed, cursing her fatigue for prohibiting her from exploring her ancestors' noble abode. She noticed the curtains on her grandmother's portrait never flew open and she thanked her lucky stars for the moment of peace.

"You're about to collapse, darling, you need to go to bed," Sirius noticed her drooping lids and nodded at Kreacher, taking control. "Once you're finished with your Muggle doctor, come back and we'll continue our conversation, ok?"

"Mistress is telling Master Sirius all about Regulus and her Dark Lord Riddle?" Kreacher wondered aloud as he waddled over to fetch Lyra's hand and escort her home. But at the casual mention of her abuser's name she slipped from the bannister and crashed to the floor, giving in to her jelly legs.

"Your Dark Lord Riddle? What? W-What does that mean?" Sirius hurried to help his daughter to her feet and shot Kreacher a glare so vicious she felt its heat reflect in her cheeks. She couldn't look at him anymore, hearing her father say his name felt surreal. Maybe this was a dream?

"Later," she dismissed him and clung onto Kreacher, afraid of the impending subject and the shame it would bring him. "I need to sleep first."

POP!

"Kreacher is sorry, Mistress," Kreacher apologised the second they appeared back in Lyra's draughty bedroom at Coles. Apollo opened an eye and hooted sleepily from his perch and she hobbled over to stroke him, a keen distraction from the anxiety flooding her. "Kreacher d-did not mean to say—,"

"Dad's going to ask you what you meant when you return," she cut across him and got the difficult command out of the way. She didn't need to be the one to tell him. "It's fine, he needs to know. You're allowed to talk to him about everything… Just, be gentle. Please."

Kreacher led her back to her bed and patted her cold hand, a silent signal to let her know that he had her. She submitted to another wave of yawns and studied her house elf's puckered expression as she climbed under the duvet, barely kicking off her sandy trainers and socks in time. The fuzzy softness of her clean sheets hugged her and lured her into her pillows, but still Kreacher's mournful appearance kept her brain on high alert.

"What's wrong, Kreacher?" She whispered.

"Kreacher simply wishes for Mistress' happiness, is all," he uttered in his dull drone, crackled by decades of exhaustion. He straightened her duvet and gave her one last deep bow that cracked his weary knees. "Kreacher loves his Lyra and Kreacher hopes that Master Sirius loves her too."

"He does, bud," Lyra crooned, succumbing to the lethargic tingle of oncoming sleep. She didn't remember closing her eyes, was he still here? "Protect him… please… Protect him for me and tell him about Riddle…"

---

POP!

"Don't scream! Oh," Lyra gasped, taking in Harry's empty yet spectacularly messy bedroom in one spin of her heel and she patted her elf on the back. "Well, that kind of makes things easier, I guess. Great timing."

"Kreacher prefers to wait until Harry Potter is not in his room when he is not expecting Kreacher," he growled, his bloodshot eyes trained on Hedwig who was cleaning her gleaming white feathers from atop her perch, unfazed by the pair's magical arrival. The low hanging sun in the sky winked one last time as it sunk below the roofs of the terraced houses in Privet Drive.

Lyra decided not to question his methods for many forbidden reasons, she shot him a look to remind him to behave and patiently dragged her gaze around the decorated bedroom walls. It actually looked similar to his dorm back at school now, lived in and appreciated, filled with Gryffindor banners and flags from past games, poorly-ironed album posters from his favourite CD cases, a scattering of Polaroids Lyra recognised from her own collection — but she softened her giggle when she recognised her own framed artwork hidden amongst the piles of stationary on his desk. She didn't blame him, she wouldn't want Old Lady Snape glaring at her all day either.

"Aw, he's going to miss having me in his class so much. How will he ever cope?" Lyra hummed to herself, admiring her least favourite teacher's least favourite portrait, and Kreacher frowned up at her.

"Mistress was removed from her Potions class?" He asked, concerned, but before Lyra could reassure him that she wasn't in trouble, the bedroom door swung open and the pair scurried out of view of the exposed flowery, musky hallway. Lyra's heart leapt into her mouth as Harry strolled inside, precariously balancing his mug on top of his huge Quidditch World Cup annual that had been glued to his hand all day. She didn't actually think this part of the plan though.

"Hi!" She squeaked and she raced to catch his Quidditch book as he jumped a foot in the air.

"Damn it!" Harry cursed as he accidentally dumped his tea down his front, soaking his t-shirt through. He winced at his new burn but he couldn't find it in himself to scowl at his visitors, not when the saviour of his boredom was grinning in a way that hooked into his core and tugged tight. "I thought you couldn't hang out today? How was your appointment?"

"It was surprisingly uneventful, my scary appointment is with the child psychiatrist on Friday. But they may prescribe me drugs during that session so there's benefits to this torture," Lyra offered a helping hand with his injury and soiled t-shirt but he waved her away and enveloped her in a bear hug instead.

She cringed at the sensation of the cold, slimy fabric against her chest but she refused to pull away from his warm arms first. After her sleepless night of revelations she needed physical assurance that everything was ok, that this was real and everything that happened before her nap wasn't some crazy hallucination.

"Are drugs really a benefit?" Harry questioned her morals as he drew away, and he quickly walked back his statement when he noticed her dimples, "forget I asked that, look who I'm talking to. How anyone thinks I'm the worst influence out of us I will never know."

"What's a drug, if not a Muggle potion?" Lyra offered to start the ethical debate with a pointed look but Harry conceded and swiftly moved onto the reason why he was now suffering with a minor burn and an embarrassingly clingy top.

"So what brings you to Surrey this evening, guys?" He asked as he rustled through his drawers in search of a cleaner shirt, trying not to nudge Kreacher into Hedwig and accidentally cause World War Three.

"I've come to invite you to a sleepover at my grandparents house in London," Lyra purred as she perched on the edge of his bed, enjoying his shock with a feline grin. "I've convinced Dad to stay for one night, and I thought you would appreciate the quality family time too? What do you think?"

Harry struggled to close his top drawer as he was too busy processing his spontaneous night ahead. "I'm starting to think that you get off on surprising me," he teased, satisfied that he earned a blush from her usually uncrackable exterior.

"Oh please," Lyra kissed her teeth and crossed her legs, hiding her heart palpitations with a perfectly-timed smirk, "that's better than your sadistic tendencies," she looked him up and down as he debated changing his top in front of them. "I still remember how excited you were at the thought of the twins skinning me alive."

"She's joking," Harry rushed to assure Kreacher who was watching them as though he was an audience member to the most peculiar dinner theatre show.

"Am I?" She pouted.

"Shut up," he failed to hide his grin and encouraged her to stand facing the wall. "And don't look, give me some privacy at least."

"Kreacher would have much preferred to leave if Harry Potter is changing," complained Kreacher, joining his mistress in staring at the particularly cheerful collection of photographs from their time in Egypt tacked to the wall while Harry fumbled with his fresh clothes.

"This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't broken into my bedroom and spooked me," he snapped back, and Lyra hid her clenched fists behind her crossed arms, fighting tooth and nail to resist the enticing voice in the back of her mind telling her to sneak the smallest of glances back at her topless best friend.

She couldn't lie to herself, she was curious to see what he looked like under there. He wasn't the same skinny boy she met on the train three years ago, those weren't ribs she was pressed against when he hugged her.

Fucking hell, what's wrong with me?

Lyra…?

Are you sure you don't have a tiny crush on Harry—?

NO!

"Are you done?!" Lyra asked in an octave much higher than her usual deep purr, "because Dad is expecting us and I don't want to be later than we already are, we're eating into our designated sleepover time."

That was a lie, Sirius hadn't requested a certain time for them to arrive but she couldn't stop the nervous ramble from taking form. Maybe her father's jokes the previous night about her hiding their secret relationship from him had left an impression on her scrambled mind. They were just friends, he didn't like her like that.

"And make sure to bring your cloak too! Please!" She yelped, ignoring Kreacher's odd side-glance.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry snubbed her and finished packing everything he needed into a small black sports bag. "I hope tonight doesn't take away from my month countdown, though I doubt it. It's not like anyone's actually counting."

"You don't know Time, they're for sure counting," Lyra scoffed and turned to face him once he nudged her shoulder. She deemed his red and black baseball tee appropriate and rushed to point at his slippers as he reached for his trainers, "you might as well wear them. I've packed my fluffy ones."

"The house is definitely clean then?" He took her advice and looked to Kreacher who bowed deeply and reached for their arms.

"Kreacher thinks Mistress and Harry Potter will be pleased with what Kreacher and Master Sirius have prepared for this evening," he promised.

"I popped by earlier, you're gonna love it," Lyra informed him to cover her hesitation in wrapping her arm around his tight-sleeved one. She tore her gaze away and nodded at her elf, struggling to concentrate. "Uh, the stage is all yours, bud."

Sweetie…?

ZIP IT!

POP!

"MORE FILTH! TAINTING THE HALLS OF MY FATHER'S FATHER! WILL THIS HOUSE EVER KNOW PEACE AGAIN?!"

Lyra and Harry clamped their ears shut as the wallowing screech bounced around the high-ceilinged entrance hall and up through the many floors of the Black house. It appeared that someone decided to spoil the tranquil energy by opening her curtains, Lyra dropped her backpack and stormed over to the wailing painting hoping to pry it shut again.

"IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!" Walburga pointed her spidery finger at her granddaughter and howled, thick trails of inky tears ruining her once radiant waxy skin. "IF YOU HAD JUST STAYED DEAD, NONE OF THIS WOULD HAVE HAPPENED!"

"She's just as lovely as you described!" Harry yelled over her loud sobs, creeping over to greet her.

"I know! Grandma, yes, please meet my best friend Harry! Yep, it's the same Harry you're thinking of! Aren't we lucky having such an esteemed celebrity under this roof?" She pulled him closer and watched with glee as her grandmother sank to her knees in horror, crumpled by the confinements of her frame. She longed to reach out and throttle them both but her knuckles never pierced the canvas.

"Oh no please, the pleasure is all mine Mrs Black," Harry said, bowing slightly to push the joke further.

Walburga spat at them and moped, mumbling incoherently under her weak breath.

"Now, really, Mother. Where are your precious manners? That is no way to treat our special house guests."

At first, when Sirius appeared at the top of the stairs, Lyra genuinely thought she was staring at a ghost. He looked like a different man, utterly indistinguishable from the scruffy homeless guy she'd been entertaining with her secrets all night. A new man, one that looked astonishingly like the man he used to be long before his imprisonment.

He cut most of his black hair off, it skimmed his broad shoulders in a fashion far more elegant than Lyra's own and she tried not to ruffle her own kinked tresses in envy. His obstructive beard was gone, replaced by black stubble that emphasised his blessed Black bone structure, though he kept and trimmed his impressive moustache. Lyra spotted his dimples and couldn't help but reveal her own as he strolled down to meet them as well as to shut his mother up once and for all. He chose to adorn one of the outfits she'd packed for him, a Beach Boys official t-shirt Danielle passed down to her that was way too small, a pair of old checkered trousers she transfigured to fit his taller frame though clearly she underestimated how long his legs were, and a black kimono she packed with the intention of wearing herself.

Once he joined them in front of the weepy painting Lyra noticed the faint shimmer of silver hair peeking through the black and speckled white tufts creeping into his beard. But then she noticed the greyish black markings peeking out from behind his hair and the hem of the risen t-shirt. The mysterious tattoos curled around his neck as well as down his arms and hands and she couldn't stop tracing them. She never noticed the runes under the sheer amount of grime he had been caked in. Was her father a punk? He looked like the type of guy who would own a motorcycle.

He looked well. More than well. Though still underfed and bruised in some areas, he had vastly improved in all the others. Sirius was nearly back to his old self, if it weren't for the tattoos and scars she might've guessed he had been plucked straight out of Harry's family photographs.

"—ungrateful, worthless child, I should have cleansed my body and spirit of you when I had the chance," Walburga continued to babble, driven senseless by the appearance of her firstborn, and Sirius wore his grin with lion-like pride as he tore the curtains shut.

"Sorry about that, I found an old wand in the attic and I decided to test it out on the world's most perfect dart board," he chuckled, revealing the crooked cherry wand from his pocket and used it to rob his mother of her painted ears. "There, what she can't hear won't hurt her, the old bat."

"I brought that kimono for me to wear, by the way," Lyra facepalmed, frustrated that it suited him more than her.

"I know, I figured that out when I also found your frilly white knickers folded inside of them," he teased, inducing possibly her worst blush yet with a wistful wiggle of his brow. Oh come on! Is this my life now?

Lyra tried her best not to combust out of pure embarrassment as Harry howled with laughter and accepted the arm his godfather swung around his shoulders, warming to Sirius in a heartbeat.

"Oh no! No!" Lyra noticed the allegiance forming before her eyes and glared at them, "get your arms off each other, you're not allowed to team up against me when we're together."

"We're not teaming up," scoffed Harry, "I've barely spoken to him."

"Don't get jealous, Princess, I'm not stealing him," Sirius tutted, eyeing her as though she should be ashamed of herself, but he sobered up when Kreacher bowed toward them and vanished to the basement with another faint pop! "I couldn't be more honoured that you both want to hang out with such an uncool, potentially dangerous old fart like me. What with you being one of the most famous people in the world, Harry. I thought you two would be out partying your summer nights away."

"I don't think I can think of a single place I'd rather be than here," said Harry, eager to get the ball rolling again. "How have you been? Where have you been? Have you found any traces of Pettigrew yet?"

"Good, everywhere, and no, I have not but I still have plenty to discuss with you about that little rat, Potter. Let's go and eat," he whittled off his answers, encouraging the pair to follow him down to the kitchen. Lyra caught a whiff of something spicy, tangy, and creamy and perked up, did Kreacher know how to cook an authentic chicken curry? Or was this her father's secret recipe?

"Did you, by any chance, speak to Kreacher while I was away today?" Lyra tried to slip the treacherous topic into their conversation as casually as possible but unfortunately the reaction she received was not the one she was hoping for. Sirius paused at the top of the stairs and caught his daughter's eye with a look that could only be described as unprecedented agony. His soul was wailing just as hard as his mother has been and she tried not to listen to its lament that played to her ears only. He looked more like his wanted posters than ever.

"...I know about Riddle," he snarled, animalistic in his fury. "I know what he did."

Harry tensed up at the sound of the parasite's real name as though it were tabooed but he spurred Lyra on with more physical reassurance and a notably proud smile. She wished he hadn't grabbed her hand so flagrantly in front of her father but still, at least she knew he agreed that telling Sirius about Riddle was their next course of action.

"And Regulus? Did he tell you about the Horcrux thing he's been looking after too?" She pressed, brushing past Riddle as though his name no longer crossed her mind these days. "Because that's our main issue here. Riddle is dead, let's not worry about him anymore.

Her nonchalance took Sirius by surprise, perhaps it wasn't as bad as Kreacher inferred? The angry haze dissipated from his eyes and he loosened his stiff brace against the door frame.

"I mean, Riddle technically isn't dead," commented Harry, trying his best to ease the tension.

"You know what I mean," Lyra complained, throwing his hand away.

"Yes, Kreacher told me about the Horcrux and you should be pleased to know that I have commandeered that cursed locket as well as your responsibility to destroy it. Again, I don't want to be the boring, party-crashing father here but you really need to tell Professor Dumbledore about all of this. Don't get me wrong, kids, I'm bloody astounded by what you've managed to uncover in the three years you've been back in this magical world — but this also the real world, and in this reality your two lives are at risk. But I'm back now, I'm here to help you in any way that I can. We're a team, we listen to each other's opinions before we make our final decisions, but first and foremost, we protect one another. You're got me now, the smartest, most wonderful father in the world, so heed my insightful advice and talk to your headmaster," Sirius finished with a huff, not enjoying his role as a parent as much as he thought he would.

"Personally I've been Team Tell Dumbledore this whole time," Harry proposed, appreciating his help far more than Lyra as he took the lead and strolled down to the toasty, black-tiled kitchen below them. "Especially if it means I don't have to be the one to destroy that locket."

"Psssh, what's a necklace compared to a bloody basilisk, boy? From what I've heard, you've fought worse than a piece of jewellery," Sirius teased, following Harry downstairs with a playful nudge.

"Yeah, and I'm afraid of what's coming next!" Lyra smirked after the pair and dawdled on the top step, listening to Harry's worries fade into the ambience of the fiery basement, his dulcet tones mixing with her father's contagious chuckles and her house elf's snarky mumbles like a homely melody. The large clusters of hope sitting in her chest were blooming into something bigger and brighter, she liked how it felt.

But yet, something was still missing—

DING DONG!

The monotonous ringing of the front door sounded throughout the spacious Black townhouse, warbling like a deep chrome bird. Lyra leapt back from the stairs and gawked at the front door, frantically coming up with a decent enough excuse to explain why she and Harry were hanging out with a wanted criminal. Was it an Auror? It had to have been, were they being too loud?

Pop!

"Kreacher will answer the door, do not be afraid Mistress," her house elf appeared before the glossy black door at the entrance of the house and reached for the silver knob, crouching as though expecting a nasty surprise. Lyra braced for the onslaught of Hit Wizards coming to take her father away from her and she turned to shout at Harry and Sirius who had rushed back up the stairs behind her, begging them to hide—

But she was wrong, so very wrong. The final member of our team...

"Sorry, I should have sent you an owl first," Remus croaked, awkwardly standing on the Black's doorstep with an uncomfortable smile on his cracked lips when he realised he'd frightened them. Lyra blinked, wrestling with her woozy brain to confirm that the man she was gawking at was the real Remus. He looked as fatigued as she felt but the apples of his scarred cheeks were rosy, his warm eyes shone like the sun. He was happy, actually happy. Remus smoothed his wrinkled sweater, knocked a speck of mud from his worn shoes and dared to take a step inside, anxious of what their silent reaction meant.

"When you mentioned that the kids were staying over something inside of me told me to come and check on you. Just to see if the house was still standing," he continued to say, watching his ex as though he was about to explode at any second. "If you want me to go then I'll go-,"

"No! Stay!" Lyra blurted out.

"Don't leave! Please," Harry added, just as hungry.

"Dinner's just been served," Sirius finished in a strangled voice but he coughed his stupor away and nudged the teenagers out of the way, trying his best to act normal though his round eyes spoke volumes. "And Kreacher's laid an extra plate..."

"Are you sure?" Remus' throat bobbed and Sirius bit back a laugh.

"Like you said, the house might be on fire by the end of the night," he smirked, testing the waters with an outstretched hand. "Stay, let's have a beer and... talk."

"Yeah, talk," Remus repeated, in a slight daze as he grasped his arm and pulled him into an embrace so tight that the pair lost their breath.

"Pffft, yeah, talk," Lyra snickered, enamoured by the men's display of long-awaited affection. Could this sleepover get any better?

Remus was lobster red by the time they drew away while her father threw his head back and cackled, encouraging Remus to follow him through the house.

"Aww, so you told her about us then?" Sirius grinned, looking to his daughter with a devilishly troublesome smile that she had no trouble reflecting.

"Don't answer that," Remus shot her a warning look as he trailed after Sirius, leaving Harry and Lyra to follow in their wake.

"Do you reckon they'll notice if we stole some beer too...?" whispered Harry, cautious of the adults ear's, and Lyra wasted no time hooking her arm around his lofty shoulders with great difficulty and perfected her father's cheeky expression in less than twenty-four hours.

"I don't want to hear you calling me the bad influence out of us two ever again!"