"We have gathered here today to honour the memory of Scabbers Weasley — a friend, a family member, a treasured pet to all," Lyra proclaimed to the small semicircle of mourners who came dressed in black for the special, sorrowful occasion. "Ron wishes for me to tell you how grateful he is that you're all here today."
New Year's Eve brought even more snow as it arrived at Hogwarts and the silent flutter of thick snowflakes swirled and danced as it settled on the small shoebox Ron had managed to scavenge from the bottom of his trunk. Tearful that it was too plain for the only remains of his beloved dead rat — his mangled three-fingered paw that was left in the broken cage — Ron commissioned his more creative cousin to customise the cardboard coffin. The fresh snow began to catch the gold beaded trim and melted, moistening the deep green paint, but Hermione was quick to cast a whispered impervious charm to prevent Ron from breaking down again. He never gave her his thanks, he was still incredibly offended that Crookshanks was the one to deal the fatal blow and they stood at opposite ends of the line of guests, eyes firmly on the ground.
"My first memory of Scabbers was a pleasant one, as I'm sure all of yours are, he was a funny little guy. I've never seen a rat put away that much chocolate," Lyra continued, taking her job as celebrant incredibly seriously. Well, as seriously as she could for a rat funeral. She empathised enough with Ron's love for his pet that she proudly did everything she could to ensure Ron was going to survive this bout of grief, but she was using all of her strength not to crack a smile. Two of the mourners were on the verge of giggling and she refused to look at them.
Tonks was staring hard at the snow covering her boots, the muscles in her pink cheeks twitching as she fought the urge to laugh. She couldn't believe her ears when she turned up at Hogwarts and was bombarded by Lyra begging her to accept the funeral invite. She didn't wake up this morning expecting to mourn a dirty old rat but she took it in her stride, exchanging her statement lilac pixie cut for long, jet-black waves that Lyra adored. They looked more like relatives than ever.
Noticing that Tonks was struggling to stay solemn, Harry became thoroughly entertained by the dark-haired cousins who were attempting to make each other break first. Their smirks were infectious and he tried not to laugh at them, but the fact he was squashed between Hagrid and Professor McGonagall in the line-up made it a lot harder. It was a classic case of church giggles — this was a serious situation, he really shouldn't laugh.
It was torture.
"—and then there was this one time when I almost sat on him," Lyra lamented, covering her giggly shudder with a feigned sigh, "he was so resilient, it's a feat that he managed to stay alive this long. I'm going to miss him."
It was then that Percy burst into tears again so Tonks simply walked away, wiping away tears while hoping her laughter sounded like a fellow mourner's wallow.
Lyra quickly introduced Ron to read out the poem he wrote, wanting nothing more than to join Tonks in getting her giggles out. She stood at the end of the line beside Remus, and tried to focus on anything else to appear more serious.
She attempted to immerse herself in the funeral setting by admiring the adorable Polaroid Ron chose for the top of the box. Ron looked awfully freckled and pink, Lyra remembered taking this picture while in Egypt. He was grinning and presenting Scabbers to the camera, showing him off like a proud dad, and slowly she began to pout. She connected two dots and started to think about how devastated she was going to be when Apollo eventually died, and then again when she realised Kreacher was an elder, and her eyes watered. Noooo! They can't die! I won't let them!
She now understood why Ron was so persistent over Christmas with his pleading. He begged her to try and resurrect him, but she couldn't. The two times she did that she was there when they died, and they had fresh corpses to return to. What the hell was she supposed to do with a ratty, dismembered paw?
Lyra glanced up at Remus, absently wondering how many funerals he had been to, when she noticed how intensely he was staring at the shoebox coffin. No, not staring — he was glaring. As though the Polaroid had personally offended him, it seemed, or maybe it was the kind words Ron was saying.
She spent the rest of the eulogy watching Remus. Was he not a fan of rats? His knuckles were whiter than the snow dusting his worn cloak, all of them clenched as he gripped his crossed arms. The dark mist in his usually warm eyes was frightening, her stomach plummeted to her feet as she imagined him looking at her with the same intent in his glower.
She never wanted to get on his bad side.
Scabber's funeral ended with the Weasley brothers hugging as the shoebox was buried under the hard soil. Lyra watched her head of house console her two students as she waited for Tonks to join her, both of them void of all giggles.
"You owe me big time," she muttered to Lyra, dabbing her tear ducts to stop any further eyeliner smudging, "oh Merlin, that was tough."
"Thank you for enduring," Lyra patted her arm patronisingly. She had invited the rest of the Weasley clan to attend but unsurprisingly only Percy responded, "there's never a dull day here at Hogwarts."
"I miss this place so much," Tonks sighed and gazed up at the castle, getting lost in its beauty for the hundredth time, "my days here weren't as eventful as yours, but boy did I have a hell of a time. How's old Sprout doing?"
"She's good considering every time she sees me she's badgering me about my grades," Lyra grumbled.
"Still the same then," Tonks nodded in commiseration, "I wonder if she'll let me in the common room again."
"Can I come?" Lyra jumped at the opportunity. It was an unspoken challenge that she had to visit every common room at school before her seventh year, she couldn't let Fred and George down.
"Obviously," Tonks grinned, but their plans to ditch everyone and run off toward the Hufflepuff's cosy underground burrow were ruined by Hermione who had given up attempting to console Ron and joined their conversation. She buried her head into their cloak's fur trim and pouted at the snow, muttering that the service was nice.
"Don't worry kid, he'll get over your cat killing his rat in a couple weeks," Tonks assured her, trying not to smirk again. It was just so ridiculous. "Crookshanks is adorable, he won't be able to resist."
"He loathes my cat, I really doubt that," Hermione sulked, "but whatever, I've said sorry enough times. It's not like I can ask Crookshanks to un-eat his rat… if he ate Scabbers, that is."
"He'll snap out of it in a couple of days, you know what those boys are like," Lyra snuck her arm around her shoulders and brought her closer into their huddle, the snowflakes brushing their cheeks feeling like tiny wet kisses, "Scabbers is gone, he's in a better place. Let's move on."
"Speaking of having trouble moving on," Tonks muttered quietly, wary of catching the attention of the sullen man she was suddenly aware of nearby, "is he ok? He looks distraught. Was he close to Ron's rat?"
The girls glanced over their shoulders and watched Remus who hadn't moved from the rat's graveside. He was still transfixed by the upturned dirt that was starting to disappear beneath the snow. Rigid and prickly, very unlike his soft exterior. Lyra matched Hermione's curious eye.
"Not particularly," Hermione answered first, "in fact, Scabbers never acted up in his class. Ron rarely had to bring him."
"Maybe Scabbers just sensed how cool he is?" Lyra suggested, not thinking too hard about it, "I don't think he's a fan of funerals."
"Oh, duh," Tonks rolled her eyes and ducked closer, keeping her voice low, "is that the famous Remus you've told me so much about?"
"The one and only," Lyra smirked, and she spun back around to call him over, eager to introduce Tonks to her last surviving godfather—
But he was on the move. They watched his hunched figure march over to the rest of the mourners, whisper something in Harry's ear, then flee the scene before Lyra could even gather her strength to yell after him.
"He seems like a ray of sunshine," Tonks giggled, still staring after the lonesome professor, "is it just me or is he kinda hot—?"
"No," Lyra cut her off and glared up at her. "Nymphadora, don't you even think about it! He used to date my parents!"
"I wasn't going to do anything!" Tonks laughed at her cousin's dismayed reaction to the rosy tinge to her cheeks, "get your mind out of the gutter, girl!"
"Never!" Lyra winked at her, forever proud of her immaturity. "You're the one ogling my godfather!"
"Psssh, she's kidding!" Tonks exclaimed and ducked as Lyra's voice echoed, floating over to the mourners who were now making their way to the castle. The snow flurries grew with the wind and the girls slowly tailed after them, sick of the cold now.
"I must say though," Hermione chimed in and pursed her lips, her thinking face appearing from the shadows of her hood, "out of all of the staff here, he's by far the best-looking."
"What is it with you and our Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers?" Lyra scoffed, trying not to slip onto the wet Entrance Hall floor.
"I don't have a 'thing' for our Defence teachers!" Hermione denied fiercely.
"It's the scars, isn't it?" Tonks wiggled her thin brows and Lyra gasped when Hermione resigned to her nod.
"What about scars?"
Harry stuck his nose in their business, pulling a begrudging Ron with him as they figured out how to spend the rest of the last day of the year. Tonks visiting was a welcomed distraction for the quartet's initial plan of performing the Beedle seance. Their supernatural activities were moved to tonight after the tragedy of Scabbers' death.
"You're gonna love this," Lyra gossiped, instinctively flapping her hands as she anticipated his reaction, "scars are so in at the moment and I'm giving you all the credit, you've created a trend."
"Actually do I want to know what you're on about?" Harry back-tracked, not liking where this was going, and Hermione rushed to laugh the whole conversation away before Lyra said too much.
"No you don't!"
"How about we go and break into the Hufflepuff common room and have a nice cup of tea to celebrate Scabbers?" Tonks said smoothly, taking control of the unruly teenagers with a little bit more mischief. "I might even be able to scavenge us a chocolate cake, ey Ron?"
"Great idea, I'll ask Kreacher to—,"
Lyra's heart collapsed to the bottom of her rib cage and she bit her lip. Her regret was instant.
Tonks's black hair scorched to a violent scarlet as though it went up in flames and she stopped comforting Ron to turn and death-glare at Lyra. It was certainly a reaction she was kind of expecting, but she despised herself for mentioning Kreacher so casually.
Kreacher admitted to Lyra what he had been forced to do back when he served her grandparents and their many siblings, in-laws, cousins, nieces and nephews. He was under the influence of a whole generation of terrible, selfish, nasty people, so of course he had done some heinous things in his past. She wasn't that shocked by his confessions, so she should have known better than to blurt out that she was in cahoots with the house-elf who terrorised Tonks' mum for years.
"What do you mean — you'll ask Kreacher…? He's still alive?!" Tonks snarled, letting her younger cousin see how she managed to retain a decent reputation as an Auror. She was furious, a quiet, building rage that was going to blow at any second. "Are you telling me… that you and him—?"
"In my defence, I've put in a lot of hard work with him so I can promise you that Kreacher is one hundred percent not the elf he used to be!" Lyra spat out her argument before Tonks exploded, "I understand he might have done some awful things in the past—,"
"Awful things?! Lyra, he skinned Mum's cat alive! Are you fucking kidding me right now?" She yelled, and Lyra tried her best to rephrase her counter-arguments. Kreacher skinning Andy's childhood cat was quite high on her personal unforgivable actions list, she had a point.
"But it wasn't his fault, he was forced to do that," Lyra fought for her elf's side, "he only did it because Bellatrix was going to cut Regulus' fingers off if he didn't! Your aunt sounds like a psycho so I can imagine she as a child was skinning cats on the regular."
"Oh God," Hermione looked ashened as she clamped her mouth shut, trying not to gag.
"I dunno if that's worse than him killing an innocent cat, your uncle Regulus wasn't the epitome of all things good from what I've heard. He deserved to lose a few fingers," Tonk said saltily, frowning deeper as she crossed her arms. "I can't believe you're in contact with that little rat!"
"Hey!" Ron piped up, offended by the comparison, and Tonks muttered her apologies.
"He's not that little rat — sorry Ron — anymore," Lyra continued to stick up for him and pulled them over to a quieter, shaded corner near the entrances to the school basements. "Please, believe me when I tell you he's a changed elf. Let me introduce you, you'll see—,"
"Wait!" Tonks gasped and turned her nose up at her, disgusted as she realised, "he's been inside our house! You were calling for him over the summer, weren't you?!"
"You don't understand, Kreacher has been a life saver, seriously," Harry interjected on Lyra's behalf when he noticed she was failing to say anything in response, "he's the reason I've not died these past two summers, he's been protecting us."
Tonks huffed, exasperated, and yanked the third years further down the corridor in search of a private place to scold them. The ceilings lowered the further down they went and soon they were surrounded by nothing but barrels and empty crates. Tonks took a perch on the nearest barrel and leant on her knees, groaning softly.
"Guys," she whined, her petite nose crumpled, "Kreacher is a dark elf, he used to willingly participate in my great aunt's crimes all the time. His name is on the bloody family's criminal records! He's complacent! He's not protecting you! Especially you of all people!" She looked to Harry who refused to back down. He just stared back.
"Surely you're not serious," Hermione switched the interrogation on its head, dumbfounded by the implications, "house elves don't have rights, they don't have free will! You can't convict them if they had no choice but to follow their master's command."
"House Elf law is more complicated than that," Tonks disagreed, although she was a little less antagonising, "we can't arrest house elves, but we can certainly use them as evidence in a court of law. I've read what he's done in the name of You-Know-Who."
"And he regrets it every day since," Lyra urged her to hear her out, but she didn't dare say what she truly wanted to. That without Kreacher, the world would be doomed. That Kreacher had already done something worse to her than skinning her pet, and she forgave him because she loved him, "I've met the painting of my grandmother in her old house by the way, I've seen what she's like. Kreacher is a victim, and he needs love. Please, Dora, just trust me on this one. Just because the rest of our family abused him doesn't mean he's broken goods that should be thrown away."
Tonks absorbed her words and pouted, unable to fight back. The anger in her eyes switched from Lyra to her friends, and they tried their best to defend the elf they had become fond of.
"Lyra's right, he was bad when we met him," Ron tried to help any way he could when Tonks let the uncomfortable silence linger, "but he's turned himself around. He's not the elf he used to be."
"He tells me all the time that he's sorry for helping Vold— You-Know-Who," Harry explained.
"He knitted Crookshanks a jumper this Christmas," Hermione added with a sofa smile, and Tonks hung her head. Total disbelief replacing her sour expression.
"Really?" She mumbled, and Lyra nodded. She straightened her weakened spine and held her ground.
"Just… trust me, Dora," she dared to say, and with another deep breath, she crossed her fingers behind her back for extra luck. "Kreacher!"
Pop!
Tonks leapt to her feet and backed away, her hand twitching for her wand, but she said nothing as Kreacher appeared before them and offered them all a low bow.
"Mistress Lyra, how can Kreacher—?" His soft rumbling voice broke as he noticed the new face and extended his bow to the estranged family member. "Kreacher does not recognise you, Miss."
"Good," she said without realising, but Tonks was quick to wince and roll her eyes when Lyra shot her look that was too similar to one Andromeda was fond of making, "I mean… Hi Kreacher, I'm Andromeda's daughter. So, you've been serving Lyra?"
As they expected, Kreacher's welcoming wrinkled face dropped and his ears wilted in humiliation. He couldn't look her in the eye anymore and he dropped to his knees, his body shuddering as he began to apologise.
"M-Mistress Nymphadora—,"
"Don't call me that, it's just Tonks," she corrected him, and she loosened her crossed arms, "you also don't have to bow… I'm nothing to you."
Kreacher's gulp shook his body and he tried again.
"Miss Tonks, Kreacher wants to formally apologise for all the pain he caused Mistress Andromeda," he said slowly, risking to meet her watchful gaze with his own wide and pleading. "Kreacher never wanted to inflict fear or harm anyone, most of all the members of the family Kreacher is supposed to protect."
"No, you were only following orders, right?" Tonks spat, assuming Kreacher was about to snivel at her feet and agree, but he shook his head and bowed again.
"Kreacher knew what he did was wrong, he wanted Mistress Walburga and Mistress Bellatrix's approval… but Kreacher understands why what he did was wrong now, he has changed. He cares. Kreacher does not expect Tonks or Andromeda to ever forgive him, he doesn't deserve it…" he looked up at Lyra who was patiently waiting for him with a smile and sniffled, wiping his veiny eyes, "but that's ok. Because Kreacher has his mistress Lyra, and Lyra has shown Kreacher love despite the cruelty that has blackened his heart… Kreacher is so, so sorry."
Tonks chewed on her nails as she listened to the grizzled house elf, but she shook her head and sighed when she caught herself falling for his story.
"You better be telling the truth, she's the bloody heir to the family, she's been through enough so I will personally tear your head from your body if you do anything to put her in danger," she told him sternly, and Kreacher brightened up as though a sliver of winter sunshine had somehow worked its way into the basement of the school and onto his face.
"Kreacher is honoured!"
"No, not like that!" Tonks facepalmed, "you know what I mean! If you hurt her, you're toast, elf!"
"Kreacher would never put Lyra in harm's way. Kreacher would rather die than betray his mistress. Kreacher loves her very much," he vowed solemnly, his serious expression selling his promise a lot more than his gruff words, and Lyra was moved by Tonks' eventual acceptance.
"Awww buddy!" Lyra planted a fat kiss on her house-elf's whiskery head and grinned at her cousin, "see, I understand why you were mad but he's come a hell of a long way. Besides, the secrets this guy's harboured, and all of the loophole magic he can perform for me — he's worth his weight in gold."
Suddenly Tonks took having Kreacher in their lives extremely well, and she pushed Lyra away from her elf and slipped a friendly arm around his skinny shoulders, a familiar feline smirk curling on her face. Her attitude flipped like a coin and she took a lot of pleasure in gaining Lyra's trust.
"You and I are going to get along famously," she purred as she led Kreacher and the third years toward her old haunting, "we're gonna need you to break into the Hufflepuff common room for us, how do you feel about that?"
"Kreacher thinks Tonks and Lyra are not supposed to hang out unsupervised," he answered truthfully, and Lyra shrugged.
"Neither are you and I and yet here we are," she shot back, and Kreacher heaved an awfully heavy sigh, immediately looking his age.
The tension between Tonks and Kreacher almost vanished once they entered the Hufflepuff common room, Lyra didn't pay them much attention as she was too busy enjoying being in what she imagined an extravagant hobbit hole. The common room embodied life itself, the splattering of stained glass windows depicting the changing seasons beamed only warm sunlight, making it seem as if the white snow outside was nothing but a bright sunny day. The uneven wooden floor climbed high and low, balconies and burrows lined the room and Lyra envied the cosy bronze bean bags scattered within each woodland themed cubby hole.
The centre of the room was by far the coolest part though, Lyra whined in pure jealousy as Tonks introduced them to, what she called, 'the shag pit'. It looked like something out of a seventies furniture catalogue and Lyra fell in love with the conversational fire pit at its centre. She made sure to take pictures of everything so she could 'accidentally' drop them during her next remedial Herbology lesson. Her tutor was going to freak out.
"And you Gryffindors think your tower is all that," Tonks unfurled on the deeply cushioned seats and flashed them her pretty smile, "we Hufflepuffs were living the dream down here."
"Kreacher must agree," the house elf busied himself summoning Tonks' promised chocolate cake and issued a final bow, "the Gryffindor Tower is far too cold."
"Ahh you know what, Kreacher," Tonks took the first chunk of cake and gouged on his cooking, her bulging eyes was confirmation enough, "you're alright with me! Plus this cake is to die for!"
"Kreacher thought you might like it. It is your grandmother Druella's recipe." Pop!
Lyra surrendered to her laughter as Kreacher left them with one last sassy comment, proud of her dramatic house elf that loved her very much.
Gobsmacked, Tonks closed her mouth and gave Lyra a silent, drawn out stare as though she was making her final evaluation. Once her cousin left the castle, the chances of Andy, Ted, and maybe even the Ministry descending on her arse with a cause to take Kreacher away from her skyrocketed. She depended on Tonks more than she wanted to admit, but deep down she wasn't nervous. If her fate was in Draco's hand, however, she would've been fucked. But Tonks?
"Your secret is safe with me, kid," Nymphadora decided to break the silence with a chocolate-covered smile, "it's weird, all the horror stories Mum told me matches Kreacher description-wise, but you're right. He's just a cute, old teddy bear now."
"Crazy what a drop of love can do to a person, ey?" Lyra matched her smile and settled back into the Hufflepuff common room chairs, debating whether she should leave her mark somehow. She eyed up the entrances to the boy's dormitories throughout their hang-out, her mind rife with cheeky ideas.
Ron and Hermione's frosty relationship wasn't as apparent while they chilled with Tonks. They were short yet polite with each other, swapping one word answers to each other's aimless questions, and the rat-sized elephant in the room stayed promptly out of conversation for the rest of the day.
That was until Tonks gave Ron one last hug before she left at the entrance to the castle, offering him her genuine sympathies for losing his treasured pet. He pulled away and hid the tears in his eyes, pretending to tie his shoelace while the others said goodbye.
"I'm going to bed," Ron announced before anyone could verbalise their anticipation for their night ahead now they were alone, "see you in the morning, happy New Year—,"
"Mate, no!" Harry complained first, his quick reflexes aiding his objection as he grabbed Ron's shoulder before he ran up the Entrance Hall steps, "you can't go to bed yet, please stay up with us."
"What about the seance?" Lyra reminded him, equally as upset, "Kreacher got us a bottle of sparkling apple juice to celebrate afterwards! And I bet we can scavenge some real alcohol from your brothers' dorm to spice it up a little?"
"Thank you, but I'm not really in the mood," Ron stressed each word with a huff and he continued to stomp up the stairs, dragging Harry with him since Harry refused to loosen his grip.
"We really need you in the library tonight, we can't do it without you," Hermione attempted to help, her downtrodden frown signalling how much of a pointless idea she thought it was, but her hopes shot up when he hesitated.
She stepped forward.
"…Yes you can, it can still be done with three people, you told me that yourself the other day," he took delight in correcting her, and Lyra bit her lip, trying her hardest not to ooh. She caught Harry's eye and they took a strategic step back.
Hermione looked devastated, as though he had actually stabbed her.
"Were we this dramatic when we weren't talking?" Lyra whispered behind their backs, and Harry guffawed as though she was being silly.
"No, of course not."
"I don't think you should be alone tonight," Hermione tried to say.
"Well I don't care what you think, I think I need to be by myself," Ron said forcefully, fighting the need to turn and face her, "you don't need me."
"Actually, they kind of do," Harry interrupted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck, "Remus wants to give me another lesson tonight, before his transformation in a few days time. He thinks I'll be able to produce a fully formed patronus so we're working late."
"Oooh, exciting!" Lyra couldn't help but gently applaud him as Ron and Hermione continued to bicker back and forth about the seance logistics, "I can't wait to meet your patronus! Has it formed at all yet?"
Harry debated not answering but her inquisitive stare was irresistible. "…Yes."
"And…?" Lyra encouraged, miming at him to get on with it.
"…It had hooves," he answered, crossing his arms in defence of Lyra's imminent smug smirk. "It's not a horse!"
"You're so a horse person," she snorted, "five galleons says it's a pony."
"Ten," he increased her bet and gladly shook on it. "It's not a bloody horse. A stallion maybe, I mean, since it is supposed to be a reflection of me."
"Watch it be a Pygmy goat," Lyra giggled, trying not to think about what Harry meant by that comment, "oh my God, or a demon! Like a giant snake with horse legs. Knowing your luck, it's something weird like that."
"Says you! I bet you can't even produce one!" He accused her with his entire chest, and Lyra ended their muttered conversation with a shifty side-eye. Knowing her luck, he was likely correct. Why would she need a patronus? The Dementors did nothing to her. Her patronus probably would be a Dementor and how the hell would she explain that to a bystander?
"—we promised we'd perform it together," Hermione continued to argue, rushing to follow Ron up the stairs, both of them out of breath and glowing from their stubbornness. They paused on the top one, the enormous tapestry of the four founders watching over the entrance to Hogwarts looking down at them in particular,"you can't go back on that now!"
"Yeah well you also promised to keep a closer eye in your fucking cat!" Ron hit his boiling point and let it rip, his emotions came flying out at them along with the tears pouring down his freckled cheeks, "and now Scabbers is lying out there six feet under the snow!"
"He definitely wasn't buried at six feet, two feet at most," Lyra whispered out the side of her mouth, and Harry had to walk back down the stairs to prevent his oncoming cackle. Their laughter was the last thing the awkward situation needed.
"And I'm sorry! I'm really, really sorry you think that Crookshanks ate him but it's not my fault! Please stop taking his death out on me, I'm trying to help you!" Hermione didn't back down, like a cocked gun she was triggered by his intense wave of emotion but she didn't fall down. She knew Ron very well, she didn't believe in astrology at all but Ron was such a stereotypical Pisces it was hard not to connect the dots.
"It still sounds like you don't believe me," Ron scoffed and crossed his arm, slowly shaking his head, "wow. His cage had been ripped apart, there was orange hair everywhere, of course it wasn't your orange cat!"
"The lock was broken," Hermione reminded him in a louder voice, "and you own a lot of orange hair too! How did Crookshanks break the lock, with his non-existent thumbs?!"
Ron paused, panting hard, and quickly turned to his friends for their opinions. His furrowed brow bounced higher. "Are you hearing this, guys?"
"Yeah, and when she says it like that you know I'm gonna agree with her," Lyra replied, siding with Hermione. She couldn't deny it, she couldn't work out how Scabbers died because she didn't feel anything when it supposedly happened. And the cage lock, it was in pieces across the dorm floor when they found it. Her best guess was that Scabbers spontaneously exploded. "Are you one hundred percent sure he didn't accidentally eat a firecracker?"
"Not you too!" Ron complained, finding their doubt quite distasteful, but his slackened arms and subtle shuffle towards Hermione were a huge relief, "but we found Crookshanks in our dorm—,"
"And he didn't have any blood on him," Harry shrugged and added his thoughts into the mix to further decrease Ron's suspended belief. "There was a lot of blood in the cage, but nowhere else."
"Hence — exploding rat theory," Lyra repeated, nodding as though it was the most reasonable explanation.
"He didn't explode," Ron dismissed her theory, and he kicked the side of the top step they were dawdling on. He winced as he caught Hermione's bristled glare and he embraced his shame. "And suppose he wasn't eaten… What happened to him then?"
"I don't know, you don't care about what I think," Hermione said sourly, "and I thought you were going to bed, anyways? Off you trot, mate."
"Alright, alright," Ron broke first and hung his head, crimson red from the tops of his ears to his fingertips sticking out of his half gloves, "you know I don't mean half the stuff I say. Out of everyone here, I'm always going to listen to you. Of course I care what you think."
"Wow, charming," tutted Harry.
"It's ok, I wouldn't listen to us either," Lyra accepted his comment with a heartfelt hand on her chest.
"Well you have a very funny way of showing it," Hermione pouted, averting her harsh gaze as she waited for his apology. Usually it took him a while to remember that he had to physically repent aloud to earn his friends' forgiveness, but in a surprising turn of events — he began to cry again.
"I-I'm really sorry Hermione, I was taking my grief out on y-you, I didn't mean any of it ," he wept, unashamedly using his gloves to wipe away his falling tears, "I just miss him so much…"
Their feud ended with Hermione rushing to console him with a tight, rocking hug, which somehow made him cry harder.
"Water signs, honestly," Lyra rolled her eyes, nudging Harry in the hopes that he didn't know she was one too, but his deadpan stare almost caused a new rift between them. "Hey! I'm not that bad!"
"No, you're worse," he laughed at her grouchy mumbles under her breath and the four Gryffindors gradually made their way back up to the lion's den fully mended.
Once Ron had calmed down and Hermione accepted his sincere apologies as well as his late Christmas gift (she brightened up and acted as though nothing had ever happened with her new limited edition collection of Jane Austen's works clutched to her chest), their focus slipped back to the seance.
Nerves tumbled down on Lyra like a tonne of bricks. She expected to feel some kind of fear for their upcoming ritual considering she was the main feature, but it didn't rear its head until this evening. The ritual was theoretical when they planned it, it wasn't real, but now as she watched Hermione spread their equipment on the rug in front of the fireplace and rehearsed her words from her neatly-written script… It was frighteningly real. No backing out now.
Death was visiting Hogwarts tonight. And her soul was visiting elsewhere. Where did she go when Death transcended dimensions and possessed her body? She remembered both resurrections, was she Death when those happened?
Ehhh, kinda? It's more like your dreams.
You'll understand later.
God, I bloody hope so.
"I never thought I'd say this but I wish I didn't have any more lessons with Remus," Harry sighed dreamily as he enviously watched Ron swing his gold sword around, "don't have too much fun without me."
Lyra let out a small, hollow laugh and tried to smile. "Oh, we'll try not to!"
She was sitting in the armchair that swallowed its seater whole, flicking through the new CDs Danielle sent her. So far she was torn between bringing Bjork's debut, an album by a fast emerging favourite of hers, The Cranberries, and Nirvana's latest release. She couldn't bring herself to find something cheerful, she didn't want to ruin her most cherished albums by relating it forever with this ritual. Harry's suggestion of their favourite Fleetwood Mac album was entirely out of the question and she politely turned him down when he offered to fetch his copy. That CD meant too much to her already.
"Sorry but I'm not ruining my deep love of Dreams for some dead bard," she slumped against the chair's comfortable arm and smiled weakly at him. Her silver sword was sheathed and tucked in with her legs, and her headphones were already wrapped around her neck. She looked the part but she really didn't feel it.
Hermione passed her the blindfold and placed all of her items safely into her purse. With one final sweeping look, she rose to her feet and nodded.
"Let's go."
"Remember if you get into trouble, call for Kreacher and I'll come straight to you," Harry repeated for the dozenth time as they made their way out of the tower for the evening. Sir Cadogan never made an appearance so they left no trace of their quick escape. They revered Harry's excuse in visiting Remus until their paths diverged in the staircase hall, and they waved goodbye to their lone friend from the lower floor.
Lyra took charge once four became three and led them to their pre-planned meeting point down on the first floor. They snuck past a few extra vigilant suits of armour, looped back past the third floor where they prayed they wouldn't run into Remus and his protege when they heard footsteps, and wasted half an hour hiding from Filch who was adamant he could hear squeaking in the walls. Eventually they reconvened by the corridor decorated with centaur paintings, and Lyra greeted the ghostly Fat Friar with a strong handshake.
"A pleasure doing business with you, sir," she dipped her chin, unsure how one usually addressed a man of the cloth, "do you take tips? How can I reward you for helping us? Should I pray?"
"No, dear. All you can do for me is continue on your path of enlightenment, and keep yourselves out of trouble, though I know that's asking quite a lot of you," he advised, smiling like a familiar adoring uncle. He was a jolly spirit, Lyra found his optimism infectious and allowed him to ruffle her hair without complaint.
"Ah, you know me, but this isn't trouble. It's research," Lyra played along and winked at him, "so if you could keep everyone away from the library tonight I'll be forever in your debt."
"No, Miss Black, it is I who is forever in your debt. Your wish is my command," The Hufflepuff ghost graced the three Gryffindors with a stout bow, his arms crossed over his protruding stomach, and he beckoned them through the tapestries and up the secret spiral stairs.
They popped out at the very back of the Library Annex's bottom floor, a short book maze away from Madam Pince's front desk. The wooden cavern was hauntingly quiet tonight, the frosty high windows were sparkling and misted, and the trio huddled closer as their fogged breath formed. Despite the occasional illuminated cluster of dimmed oil lamps throughout the library, the darkness became more of a friend than a foe.
"I know you probably don't want to hear this right now but this would be a great opening to a horror film," Lyra dared to break the cold silence as they traversed the creepy library, her deep voice carrying slightly. "It was a dark and snowy night, and an infamous mass murderer was prowling around the abandoned castle— Argh!"
"That's one way to keep her quiet, I guess" Hermione patted Ron's shoulder as he tussled with Lyra, but when she realised Lyra was winning she herded them up the stairs, separating them with a firm look.
"Don't rile her up, we want Death on our side when we call for them," Hermione reminded him when they remembered they had swords, and she slid her dagger into her skirt's belt.
"That's why I was letting her win," Ron swore, unable to meet her eye.
"Death will love you guys, don't worry," assured Lyra, relaxing into the spooky atmosphere. The glow of the waning moon split the clouds and beamed through the skinny ceiling windows, playing to the haunting mood. Shadows of falling snowflakes played tricks on their vision as they but they stuck together and hunted down the artefact that once belonged to the man they were trying to summon.
The tall trophy case housing Beedle the Bard's lute was quite fancy compared to the other displays around the school; Lyra was surprised she hadn't noticed it sooner. Plum velvet cushions propped the rather plain yet enriched wooden lute up for all to see. A polished gold sign gleamed from the case's front so Lyra crouched closer to read the inscription and awarded it a soft ooh.
"Fun fact, his dad whittled it for his tenth birthday and he sometimes used it as his wand. Cool!"
"You can't say he wasn't creative," Ron commented, admiring the instrument with a light appreciation. "He wrote some of the world's most famous love songs, I can guarantee that they're played at every Wizarding wedding, mediaeval and modern day. I wouldn't be surprised if some of your Muggle songs were inspired by him too."
"So he's like an ancient Lionel Richie," Lyra pursed her lips in approval, "very, very nice."
"You can't underplay that feat. This lute created something so sacred, so precious and raw that its strums resonated with generations of lovers over a period of almost five centuries," Hermione pouted, looking at the lute in a different light as she stepped closer to the window. Her deep brown eyes glimmered, reflecting the rich wood, "I don't think Endless Love compares to what he's written."
"I dunno what Endless Love is but An Ode To My Siren is an absolute tear-jerker, it's one of the most romantic ballads ever. Not a dry eye in the house," Ron promised, and Lyra appreciated how passionate he sounded. She never took her cousin to be a hopeless romantic, like at all, but then she remembered how much he enjoyed listening to her Motown records over the summer. He always favoured the lovey-dovey lyrics more than the early disco beats, there had been signs.
"What other songs did he write?" asked Hermione, now utterly fascinated by Ron's confession, "also, what are Wizarding weddings like? How do they differ from ours?"
"He's written hundreds, too many to name. There's a reason the man is as famous as he is," Ron smirked, relishing having her whole concentration with a slightly puffed out chest, "I'll find some recordings for you so you can make up your own mind on whether they're any good. Loads of bands have covered his songs over the years, but The Weird Sisters' cover of Enchanted Kiss is the most popular song. If you bring up Beedle's songs, everyone will talk about Enchanted Kiss first."
"Is that one your favourite?" Hermione wondered.
"It's one of many favourites," he admitted, cracking a bashful smile. "Maybe top five?"
"Then I'd love to hear it, and the other four," she told him and Lyra suddenly felt as though she was intruding. Hold on, now, what's going on?
"I'm just gonna…" Lyra removed herself from the odd equation and began to set up, leaving them to their quiet mutters. She measured out a large circle with seven petite black candles, used a fair few matches trying to light them as they needed to be ignited without magic, and stole the plumpest pillow from a nearby seat.
Her heart rate picked up, like a sniffer dog it had picked up a scent. Fear.
No. Lighthouse… I'm just a lighthouse.
Drawn by the sudden candlelight, the distracted pair rushed to join her as though they hadn't gotten lost in the romantic subject and they prepared the rest of their equipment.
"We won't start until you're ready," Ron prefaced, stretching his limbs before drawing his sword, "so… do whatever you need to do."
"Music first," Hermione ordered and watched on tenterhooks as Lyra snapped her headphones into place and lightly traced the play button on her Walkman. With many deep breaths, Lyra entered the circle and got comfortable on her cushion. She crossed her legs, straightened her back and waited patiently as Hermione placed the sword before her within the circle.
The flames flickered then doubled in height. They froze.
"That's a good sign," Lyra mumbled, transfixed by the fire around her. She remembered how enticing the flames were last time and a drop of anticipation bled into her pit of nerves, calming her, assuring her that she was in control. The flames shrunk under her shadowed grip and she smiled at the light's obedience.
"Blindfold, please," Lyra held a hand out and thanked them for their second gift. She wrapped the silk hair scarf over her eyes and embraced the nothingness that greeted her. This was her domain, fear was afraid of her here.
"I'll see you guys on the other side," Lyra gave them one last pretty smile before clicking play.
Deep breath. The lighthouse was lit.
The muffled opening chords to Bjork's Human Behaviour blared from the foamy cushions over her ears, and Lyra tried her best to get lost in the new sound that mixed with the darkness. She jiggled her shoulders, enjoying the track's bouncy melody. So far, so good.
"Can you hear us?" Hermione put Lyra's sensory restrictions to the test, and she raised her voice. "Lyra?"
Ron clapped his hands, and still Lyra remained oblivious, immersed only in her music, and he flashed Hermione a certain smile. "We're good to go."
"Right then," she nodded, her gaze drifting to Ron's embellished sword, and she moistened her cracking lips, "firstly we have to offer Death some of our blood."
"Shall we use our new toys?" Ron suggested, and Hermione drew her small dagger first. She didn't trust him not to chop off his hand with his curved blade.
"Let's use mine, I'm too shaky to use my wand," she answered in a weak breath, and with absolute precision she dug the tip of her blade into her less dominant hand, drawing a small line of fresh blood. Once she cleaned the dagger with the hem of her skirt, Ron copied her instructions and the pair stood shoulder to bicep in front of their blindfolded friend, their bloody hands outstretched.
"Repeat after me," Hermione looked up at him and mirrored his cautious smirk, "God of Death, we seek thee. God of Darkness, come to us."
"God of Death, we seek thee," Ron echoed, his voice cracking. He winced. "God of Death, come to us."
"We offer you our blood as a token of our purity and truth. We do not wish to harm you, we only seek answers and to talk to the man once known as Beedle the Bard," she continued, her gaze shifting from her silent friend to the black candles flickering around her. The dripping of their blood was unnerving, it splashed into the candle circle and sprinkled the silver rapier with tiny crimson flakes. With each drip, one of Lyra's fingers twitched.
"What she said," Ron added as an afterthought, earning one of Hermione's famous eye rolls, but she quickly forgave him when he finished with, "we wish to speak to a spirit named Beedle, the owner of the lute we are in the presence of, so grant us permission to contact those long since passed."
"Please."
"Please…"
The pair sealed their cuts and took their seats on the floor in front of Death. Although he was skittish at first, Ron grabbed Hermione's hand and interlocked their fingers. It was all a part of ritual, since there weren't enough of them to form a circle around Lyra they still needed to connect in some way. Their own two-person circle was enough, it seemed, as the candles began to grow again.
"Is anyone here with us?" Hermione dared to ask, their hearts hammering a thousand beats per minute. The shadows cast from the candles jiggled and flickered around the room, yet the girl sitting between them sat still.
Too still, Hermione noticed.
"She's not breathing."
Ron's face dropped but he didn't dare break their circle. "Shit."
"Lyra?" Hermione asked, an octave higher. "Shall we start again?"
Suddenly the flames shrunk as though a gust of wind had brushed through, but Ron shook his head and pointed at the candles when Hermione went to snatch the box of matches.
"Look, they're still lit," he whispered, grounding Hermione with a gentle thumb graze against the back of her hand, "I think it's ok."
The smallest of flames licked the curling wicks, short ice blue balls the size of ladybugs sitting in the pools of wax. Hermione caught her breath and squeezed Ron's hand, awfully relieved that they hadn't fucked up.
"What does it mean?" She muttered more to herself than to her partner, but the hairs on both of their necks prickled as the temperature inside the library plummeted. Icicles formed overhead from the wooden awnings, frost crept its way inside the library like crystallised spider webs.
Ignoring their forming breath as they tugged their collars higher, the pair tried not to spook themselves out by glancing around and they focused back on their blindfolded friend. They could still hear her music blasting into her ears, but with just one look they were certain she hadn't listened to a single lyric.
Lyra was grinning at them.
But it was not her usual impish, charming grin. The kind she would flash in an instance of mischief or inspiration, her smile looked physically painful. Her swollen lips were curled in a way that sent shivers down their spines, so unnaturally wide and jarring that it looked as though two invisible hooks had embedded in her freckled cheeks and forced her lips to gape. Like a clown, like a neglected puppet.
"L-Lyra?" Ron whimpered, petrified of her dark smile.
"LYRA ISN'T HERE RIGHT NOW…"
Hermione was incredibly thankful that Ron was still clutching her hand or else she would have leapt to her feet and abandoned ship in a frantic heartbeat. She focused on his hot, rough palm and forced herself to watch Lyra, but the voice that came out of her…
It turned her stomach how effortless it sounded coming from her twisted mouth, the deathly rasp that hadn't been heard for thousands of years. An old tongue possessing a new. An ancient hiss that shouldn't have graced the ears of mortals.
"A-Are you Beedle?" Ron fought his tremors and asked first, his innate urge to lure their visitor's attention away from Hermione beating his intense fear.
"YOU WISH TO SPEAK WITH THE BARD…" their visitor repeated their wish, combing through the words with their cold tongue, "BUT THE BARD DOES NOT WISH TO SPEAK WITH YOU… SPEAK TO ME INSTEAD, YOUNG ONES…"
"Who are you?" Hermione asked, her voice growing stronger as she stared down her best friend. It was just Lyra in front of her, not a foe. Of course Death wasn't going to be all sunshine and daisies, Death was Death. But she was a friend. Her best friend. She knew Lyra would never hurt them. "Are you the force that guards the darkness? Do you have a name?"
"I AM DARKNESS… I AM DEATH… I AM THE ONE WHO TAKES…" Lyra's grin sparkled as she relished the proclamation. A champion's title. "YOU KNOW WHO I AM, HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER… AND I KNOW YOU TOO."
"Who am I?" tested Ron, and Death tilted their head, inspecting the boy before them despite the blindfold.
"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY… YOU SHARE HER BLOOD, I CAN SMELL IT…" Death tasted the air and licked their lips, "THANK YOU FOR YOUR GIFTS, CHILDREN… I KNOW YOU ARE SCARED, BUT YOU HAVE NO CAUSE TO FEAR ME…"
Hermione tried her best not to smile at the mention of Ron's middle name, though his side-eye cracked through her false exterior and she coughed away her giggle.
"Why doesn't Beedle want to speak to us?" Hermione asked, trying to stay on track. The seance relied on the power of the black candles and their fresh blood. If the candles snuffed or their offerings dried into the floorboards, it was over. They didn't want to push Lyra too far, they hated how this particular possession was manifesting. She wasn't moving like a human, but something more sinister. Like a robotic arthropod, her twitching joints and cracking bones sent more chills down their spines.
Death noticed the lute, their head jerking all over the place as though assessing the room they were in, and Lyra's top lip snarled at its reverence.
"BEEDLE HAS CAUSED ENOUGH DAMAGE… HE DOES NOT BELIEVE HE CAN HELP YOU… AND I AGREE…"
"What does that mean?" Hermione prodded.
"IT MEANS THAT HIS ROLE IN THIS WORLD IS COMPLETE, HE IS IN THE PAST. HE CANNOT INTERFERE WITH THE FUTURE ANYMORE…" Death answered, turning back to face them, their smile wider than ever. Ron had to avert his eyes. "MY SOUL NEEDS TO BE PRESERVED… MY SOUL DOES NOT NEED HIS INSOLENCE THAT WILL BRING FORTH HER DOWNFALL…"
Hermione narrowed her eyes, processing Death's answers with a puckered pout. She appreciated her photographic memory in times like these.
"There are two souls trapped inside of Lyra, two young women I assume from what she's told us," she began to change her line of questioning. Beedle was on hold for now. "One of them said that there are seven forces that ruled this universe, and that Lyra is one of them. You're a force… what does that mean?"
Hermione guessed that Ron could feel how fast her pulse was beating as he gave her hand another comforting squeeze, and she pressed her pink lips together, trying not to hyperventilate. Death was transfixed by her, and the wicked smile became crooked. Warm. More human.
"YOU ARE AN INTELLIGENT GIRL, TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK THAT MEANS…?" Death teased, watching her like a fascinating exhibit. "YOU ARE ATTUNED WITH THE UNIVERSE, HERMIONE, PLEASE… KEEP SHARING YOUR THEORIES WITH DEATH…"
"I…" Hermione couldn't believe she was about to say this, she knew her deceased, devout Christian grandparents were cussing her out, wherever they were, "I think you're a God… or a God-like archetype, one that only those with magic in their blood can try to understand. You are a type of energy that fuels this universe, and the other forces are other Gods, other types of energy I suppose?"
"ENERGY…" Death applauded her use of the word, an apt description from the Muggleborn. "FORMIDABLE… MALLEABLE… INDESTRUCTIBLE… WE FORCES ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR EVERYTHING, AND NOTHING. THIS IS NOT OUR FIRST UNIVERSE, AND WHEN THIS ONE EVENTUALLY PERISHES IT WON'T BE OUR LAST."
Ron started to feel quite ill when he remembered that Lyra said that You-Know-Who was after this much power. "Fucking hell, I might throw up."
"What are the other six forces?" Hermione asked, maintaining Lyra's blindfolded stare. Although she couldn't see her eyes she knew she was staring directly into Hermione's soul.
Once a full minute of silence passed, Hermione began to wonder whether Death was allowed to tell her. The lady in Lyra's dream said she was cursed, Death's physical soul was burdened with restrictions that made finding answers near-on impossible.
"You can't tell us certain things, the souls trapped in Lyra are forbidden too. Why?" She switched her question, and Death loosened their shoulders. Easing back into friendly territory.
"THE MORTALS HERE ARE CRUEL… I EXISTED BEFORE THIS PARTICULAR UNIVERSE WAS… BIRTHED… I HAVE WALKED AMONG THE LIVING SINCE THE MOMENT LIGHT GRACED THESE LANDS AND LIFE APPEARED… AND I HAVE NEVER SEEN SUCH SELFISH, HATEFUL, DARK CREATURES SUCH AS THE WALKS OF LIFE THAT PLAGUE THIS EARTH. I HAVE FALLEN PREY TO TRICKS AND DECEITFUL GAMES PLAYED BY MANY KINDS AND I MUST PAY THE PRICE THEY SET UPON ME… MY SOUL HAS BEEN CURSED BY THIS WORLD FROM THE MOMENT LIFE SPRUNG. I FIND COMFORT IN THE IMMORTAL… THEY UNDERSTAND ME..."
Both Hermione and Ron frowned in sympathy, feeling ashamed for their own history in cursing death. Someone had to be the bad guy in this world, and Death was the automatic black sheep. It was just the way the world worked, a tale as old as Time.
"Isn't that kinda your whole thing, though? If you didn't want everyone to hate you then maybe stop killing people? Maybe hold back on corrupting people with evil and darkness?" Ron suggested, but Hermione covered her face in embarrassment as Death switched to glare at him.
"THAT IS NOT WHO I AM, RONALD… THAT IS NOT HOW THE RULES OF THIS UNIVERSE WORK… THIS UNIVERSE RELIES ON A BALANCE, WE ALL PLAY OUR PART…"
"But Lyra said the lady told her that she needed to end 'it'—,"
"SHE IS WRONG."
Hermione jumped and used her free hand to grab Ron's arm tighter, fearing for her life as Death leapt to their feet with frightening vigour. She had touched a nerve.
"Who is she?"
"BLACK IS NOT THE FIRST TO POSSESS MY SOUL, AND SHE WON'T BE THE LAST…"
"So, how come this woman got stuck inside of her? And the one before her? Ain't there two of them?" Ron added, and Death made a sickened sound at the back of their throat. The fact they couldn't see her face anymore made the ambience more tense. They prayed Lyra was ok.
"SOULS ARE SACRED, THEY ARE NOT TO BE MAIMED AND MANIPULATED… THEY ARE NOT TO BE PLAYED WITH…" Death was fatally quiet. A sore spot, a tarnished memory relived before them, "WHAT SHE DID WAS UNFORGIVABLE, AND THE OTHER GIRL… COLLATERAL. DO NOT EVER MEDDLE WITH SOUL MAGIC… YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED…"
"We won't, that's for sure," Ron gulped, horrified at the thought.
"Did she work with Riddle? Lyra says they knew each other?" Hermione persisted in touching Death's nerve, and she tried not to look at Ron who was staring at her like she was pushing her luck.
"RIDDLE…" Death took their time growling each syllable of his name, and they hoped they would never hear them say their names with such hostility. "HE IS THE WORST OF THEM… HE HAS TRIFLED WITH MY SOUL FOR DECADES, I CANNOT GET RID OF HIM…"
"Because of his Hor—," Hermione stopped herself as Death span to glower at her, clearly they couldn't bear to even hear the name of the darkest magic known to man. "His soul containers."
"PRECISELY…" Death clicked, its displeasure echoing like a Dementor's rasp, but their gaze dropped to the silver rapier at their feet and tilted their head.
"WHERE IS YOUR FOURTH…?" I WOULD HAVE LIKED TO HAVE SEEN THEM AGAIN…"
Ron caught her side-eye, both catching the last word with concern.
"What do you mean, again?" Hermione asked.
"Have her and Harry done this bloody seance without us already?" Ron gasped, outraged, but she shook her head. They definitely hadn't, Harry was too disappointed earlier.
"I don't think so," she murmured back, and turned back to address Death, "you know our friend Harry?"
Death neglected to answer, they dipped their head and continued to stare at the sword. Hypnotised by its shiny blade.
"That sword is yours, by the way," she added, her cheeks burning. Was she supposed to present it again?
"LYRA'S PREDECESSORS KNEW RIDDLE… THE SOULS SHE HARBOURED WERE FORCED UPON HER, ALL THREE OF THEM… SHE…" Death couldn't quite get the words out, they clutched at Lyra's throat and swallowed hard. Hermione leant forward, straining her ears in case she missed anything.
They watched with bated breath as Death scooped the sword from the floor and admired it, her fingers curling around the handle with relish.
"SHE IS MY FAVOURITE… IT IS MY DUTY TO LOVE HER, TO PROTECT HER, AND I HAVE FAILED EVERY STEP OF THE WAY… MANY BEFORE HER HAVE TRIED TO STRIP MY SOUL FROM THEIR OWN… AND ALL HAVE FAILED…"
"There is no way for Lyra to… remove your soul from hers?" Hermione clarified, her hope dwindling fast. Her palms began to sweat, this was not what Lyra had been hoping for.
"THERE IS NOT…"
"Why did you give your soul away in the first place?" Ron blurred out before Death could finish their thought, and Hermione admired his courage. Death was not happy with his interruptions whatsoever, she could see how tightly Lyra's hand was clenched around the rapier.
"IT IS NOT IMPORTANT—,"
"Yeah it kinda is," Ron scoffed, his brow wrinkled in confusion, "Lyra deserves to know why she has to deal with all of this."
"Ron!" Hermione warned in a small whisper.
"Am I wrong though? Why can't you take it back? What if someone like Riddle gets a hold of it again?" He argued with a shrug, "We've got a lot going on already, we really don't have time for all of this cryptic rubbish."
"YOU ARE ANGRY…" Death observed, entranced by his human emotions.
"Of course I'm bloody angry! You're a God and even you couldn't protect Lyra from Riddle last year! I don't believe that you've not got some nasty scheme up your sleeve! She needed you, and you did nothing. You let that evil leech suck the life out of her, which to me means that you helped him. You're just as bad as Riddle!" He exclaimed, his sudden passion taking Hermione by surprise. His face was peach with emotion, but it may have been from the grave chill in the air.
"I AM NOT THE ONLY FORCE IN THIS UNIVERSE…" Death answered simply, "AND I DID NOT HELP… AGAIN, YOU CONFLATE DARKNESS WITH PURE EVIL… THEY ARE NOT INTERCHANGEABLE…"
"I'll believe that when I see it," Ron sniffed, turning his nose up at the transcendent entity before him.
"I AM AWARE OF MY REPUTATION, I UNDERSTAND YOU THINK I AM UNTRUSTWORTHY… I USED TO THINK I WAS TOO… BUT I AM NOT THE ONLY INFLUENCE IN BLACK'S LIFE… THERE ARE MANY FORCES WHO ARE WATCHING ALL OF YOU… " Death revealed, focusing more on delicately running Lyra's finger along the Goblin-made blade. No blood followed in her finger's path.
Ron decided to shut his mouth, self-conscious and red-eared at the idea of other Gods following what they had been up to.
"Will we ever meet the other forces?" Hermione tried a final time, noticing how low the candles had melted already. She wasn't sure how many songs were on Lyra's chosen album.
Death held their sword high and slashed it through the air, creating a swift breeze of ice that threatened the candle's feeble lives. Dark energy was swelling around them, like static in the air they felt an almost electrical tingle to the dust particles they breathed in.
"IT IS UP TO THEM TO MAKE THAT DECISION, AS IS THE WAY OF THIS UNIVERSE… ENERGY DRAWS ENERGY… ENERGY CREATES, AND ENERGY DESTROYS…" they explained, crooning as they relayed the rules they were bound by. Rules they had broken many times over. Like now, Death had already said too much—
But they didn't care anymore.
"TAKE MY HAND…"
The pair on the floor gawped up Death. They were smiling again. No, Lyra was smiling. It was the most Lyra-esque smile they'd seen all night, her dimples poking through her freckled with joy. She sheathed the sword and held out both hands, her fingers fluttering in a beckon.
"GO ON… I CANNOT TELL YOU, BUT—,"
Death convulsed, rasping through the pain, but they persevered.
"JUST TAKE THE GIRL'S HAND… BEFORE THE CANDLES DIE OUT…"
"What do you think?" But Hermione winced as Ron nearly broke her hand from his fierce grip.
"You're not taking us anywhere!"
"Wait!" Hermione yelped, afraid Death would take Ron's answer literally. "Don't listen to him — show us!"
"NO!" Ron was unyielding, he couldn't bear the thought of her making a huge mistake. "What are you doing?!"
Death drank Hermione's desperate desires like rich honey nectar and called for the force that had been watching the brown-skinned girl with an open mind as large as her hair. They were intrigued by her, and her proximity to those that were in charge of all. It was a unique moment in humanity, they never thought they'd see a coalition like this again, so of course they needed to see how it was going to play out.
BRING THEM TO ME…
NO, TO US…
Three forces at play, two light and one dark. Death felt the entities throw their hats into the ring. They sighed, torn between gratitude for their support and anguish that now, of all their life-cycles, they decided to get involved. Neither of these forces played nicely with Death, both forces seemed to have it out for the girl chosen to harbour their soul and they felt inclined to be wary…
"COME WITH ME, HERMIONE… RONALD…" Death offered them their unfurling hands, a glint to their crooked smile this time. "IT'S TIME TO MEET YOUR FATE…"
"Hermione…" She caught Ron's eye one last time, her heart ached at the fear swimming in them, but her own fear vanished when he gave her a strong, fearless nod. He trusted her decisions, he always did. "Together."
"Together," she reminded him, her own gaze sparkling from his restored faith in her, and they willingly took Death's hand.
For a second, the whole world fell. Its extreme velocity catapulted their souls from their bodies and they gasped as everything passed them in a blur. Lyra was gone, the library was far behind them, their small British isle was no more. The veil between worlds thinned and they followed Death through the curtain shielding their dimension from the mortal world.
Falling, deeper, darker…
Hermione wasn't entirely sure she was alive. Had she just accidentally killed them? Did Death trick her into following them to the 'other side', forfeiting both their lives and time on earth? Was this the single most dumbest decision of her life?
The scorching, deep saffron horizon kissed the obsidian ocean of black matter all around her, and she screamed and jumped onto Ron when she realised the ocean was moving beneath her. How were they standing on the water? This place wasn't real, she wasn't real. None of this was real—?!
"Woah, it's ok! Just take deep breaths!"
A strange numbing sensation crashed over the petrified, lost Gryffindors as they spun around and wailed at the sudden appearance of their best friend in this strange place. Their real best friend this time, no longer corrupted by Death's soul.
Hermione's forsaken lament echoed out across the endless abyss, Lyra awwed at the sound of their relieved cries and hugged them tight, stroking their shoulders to assure them she was real. She remembered her visit to this lost plane very well, she didn't blame their disbelief.
"Are you ok? Death hasn't hurt you, has he?" Ron checked her over once, and Lyra smirked at him, appreciating his concern.
"They haven't hurt me, no," she reassured him, "I heard what they told you though, I've been listening."
"And what do you think?" Hermione frowned, trying not to look anywhere else but at her face.
Lyra pouted, trying not to appear too pessimistic as to frighten them.
"I think I've got a lot of work to do, Beedle clearly saw something he shouldn't have, and Death is trying to gloss over it. They're probably just embarrassed by whatever it is they did," she answered.
"ITS FOR YOUR OWN GOOD…."
The trio kept their arms around each other and looked toward the three figures in the near distance. Had they always been there? Lyra recognised Death like her own reflection, their features were covered by their billowing black rags and depthless shadows. They were holding her at arm's length, they couldn't bear to look her in the eye yet. Lyra was saddened by that, she quite liked Death despite their attitude.
The other two figures were impossible for Lyra to distinguish. Like a physical visual filter, a harsh white mist concealed most of their silhouettes. All Lyra could tell was that they were tall. Well, one of them was tall, the other must have been average height.
"DO NOT LISTEN TO THEM, CHILDREN…" the white misted figure on Death's right cooed, their voice cracking like a roaring bonfire. It was unusual on their ears, and they found themselves craving more of the sound.
"DARKNESS IS NOT TO BE TRUSTED," the newcomer on Death's left drawled. Their voice was garbled, as though they were speaking in a frequency their ears couldn't tune. As they spoke, though, Lyra noticed how still Hermione had become. Like she had been petrified again.
"AS YOU CAN SEE," Death huffed, side-eyeing their ethereal companions in likeness only, "THE OTHER FORCES ARE HESITANT TO TRUST ME…"
"Other forces…?" Lyra murmured, her eyes still flitting from her friends to the energy clustered around them. The trio of light and darkness stepped closer. Hermione shook her head, whispering under her breath.
"Can't be… it's not possible…"
"IT IS POSSIBLE…" The left Force addressed the bewildered girl and lowered their guard so she could see her fully for the first time.
Hermione's eyes watered and she whimpered, unable to process what she was seeing.
She was staring at her doppelgänger, a carbon copy of her but older… She must have been at least seventeen years old, but the weight in her dark brown eyes indicated she may have been older. Wild brown curls that reached halfway down her back were held back by a muddy brown bandana, she wore a light cream blouse knotted at her waist and dark jeans that had definitely seen better days. Dangling from one of her belt loops was a chain of metal gold runes and a round beaded pouch—
Hermione covered her mouth, her eyes ballooning at the sight of the scars running down her arms and along the side of her neck. They were jagged, shapely - were they words?! The doppelgänger noticed her stares and smiled softly, proud of her battle scars.
Her older self stretched out her hand toward her and Hermione noticed the faded red scar. Another rune. A branding? Her palm was scabbed, was it a new addition? She squinted and dared to step toward her, she knew she recognised its shape—
"TIME HAS BEEN MOST ANXIOUS TO MEET YOU," Death eluded, watching Hermione as she tried to prevent her imminent mental breakdown.
"Time…" Lyra stared at the left figure, and swiftly looked to the right, "and you are…?"
Ron shuddered as he tried to avoid the hungry leer of the jester on the right. The second the entities appeared he instantly caught eyes with the squat, cheeky-looking jester dressed in royal purple fabrics who was watching the scene with a beaming grin. Ron was immediately reminded of Peeves and prayed this Force wasn't as difficult, and his reluctance to acknowledge that he could see him riled the jester up more. He especially couldn't wait to play with Ron, his future was just his fickle play thing.
"I wish he'd stop smiling at me, he looks way creepier than you did," Ron grumbled to his friends, now unable to tear his gaze away, and Lyra hummed. Curiouser and curiouser.
"FATE LOVES TO PLAY HIS GAMES, DO NOT WORRY ABOUT HIM," Death comforted Ron, noticing Fate's ravenous simper. Ron tried to take Death's advice but the jester started to giggle, hopping from one padded foot to the other.
"HE REMINDS ME OF THE BARD… A TENDER, FOOLISH HEART…" Fate teased Ron with another knowing cackle, and he jangled his four-belled diamond hood. "I CANNOT WAIT TO WATCH YOUR FATE UNFOLD, BOY—"
"Can you guys leave my friends alone please?" Lyra snapped, reaching her limit of bullshit. Not only could she not see what they saw, but their threats weren't very helpful. "Actually, here's an better idea — can you all please do your fucking job and keep us out of your messes?"
"SHE POSSESSES YOUR ENERGY INDEED, DARKNESS," Time hissed at them, offended by Lyra's cheek.
"You're freaking Hermione out, you don't possess much positive energy yourself, love," Lyra sneered, shooting daggers at the glittery mist, but Hermione jumped back to reality and stepped in between them. Resolute and clarity rife in her stare.
"I can vouch for Time, they're on our side," she assured her, glancing back at what she now understood to be her future self. "I'm fine, I promise."
"BE THANKFUL THAT YOUR FRIEND IS HERE, GIRL," Time stared Lyra down, despite her anonymity Lyra felt her heated scowl on her face, "SHE IS THE REASON WHY I'M WILLING TO LEND A HAND…"
Hermione withdrew her steps, cautious of Time's tone. Maybe that wasn't her future self, she clearly didn't like Lyra…?
"THEN LEND YOUR HAND, FRIEND…" Death gestured with an extended arm for her to get on with it, and Time listened to the dark force that they had been butting heads with for an eternity.
"FOR LIGHT… FOR LIFE… FOR OUR LOST LEADER THAT WAS VANQUISHED BY DARKNESS IN OUR TIME OF NEED…"
Lyra and Ron looked around, befuddled by their proclamation, but they lurched forwards and tried to yank Hermione back before she was lost to the bright light emitting from TIME.
"Hermione?!"
The brave Gryffindor ignored her friend's yells and met Time halfway.
Her hand brushed theirs and their light exploded into a million blinding stars. Lyra rushed to cover her eyes, but she didn't need to — she was unaffected by its godly glow. Death and Fate watched the show in silence, allowing the energy to shift the very dimension they were lingering in. Lyra buried Ron's head into her shoulder, shielding him from the energy blast, and she watched in horror as Hermione was devoured by the light in one gulp. She was gone.
Her heart shattered and she glowered at Death, feeling ultimately betrayed.
"WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE?!"
Excruciating fury boiled Lyra alive and she pounced after her friend, her shadows flying like ink black vines as they plunged into the light mist. She felt them anchor onto her and in another yell of rage she ripped Hermione out of Time's tight grasp.
But it was too late.
When the shadows returned with Hermione the trio fell forwards, hurtling through the obsidian ocean and back toward their true home. The candles had fizzled out and killed the ritual in one final wisp of smoke.
Lyra collapsed onto her back, spluttering and wheezing as she got used to the real world again. She tore the blindfold from her face and recoiled from the immediate burst of heat circling her. She leapt to her feet and swore loudly, blinded by the roaring fire.
The candles didn't extinguish, quite the opposite. The circle had caught on fire.
SHIT!
"A-Aguamenti!" She coughed, struggling to pull her wand from her pocket in time, and she flapped the smoke away from her ashy face. The flames were teasing her, inching closer by the second. "A little help please, guys?!"
Unable to handle the heat, Lyra threw herself through the growing wall of flames and sprawled out on the floor, hacking up her lungs as she gasped for fresh air. The smoke had clouded her brain, she couldn't quite see or hear her friends as they hurried to stamp out the fire.
The library fell into darkness once more and the trio laid on the scorched floor, silently thanking their lucky stars that they survived whatever the hell that was. Lyra wiped the ash from her cheeks and rolled her head so she could see Hermione. She too was gawking at the ceiling, wrought with anticipation and pure shock. She was flexing her hand a lot, Lyra noticed, and she tried to clear her throat, catching her attention.
"Hermione…?"
"I was Time. Time was me," Hermione confessed, lethargic and glassy-eyed. "I… I saw everything."
Lyra's blood ran cold and she forced herself to sit up. Her head filled with an annoying buzzing noise but she shook it away so she could concentrate.
"Define everything."
Illuminated by the weak moonlight, Hermione raised her right hand up so they could see the sizzling red burn printed into her palm. The light caught its glimmering red lines, and Lyra crawled closer. Speechless. Utterly, sincerely speechless.
"That rune's on your Time-Turner," she croaked, and Hermione nodded as though in a trance.
"Time has given me a gift… and Fate has…" Hermione cringed as she cradled her head and let out a despairing sigh. A heavy sigh beyond her years.
"Fate has opened my Inner Eye, he's... I can't believe this?!" she wept, extremely disappointed in herself, "He's turned me into a bloody Seer?! I can't stand Divination! Why me?!"
"Welcome to the club," Lyra eased a stiff arm over her shoulder and awkwardly cuddled her distraught friend. Fate was a big meanie, he must have known how Hermione felt about his branch of magic. Super cruel, dude.
"Did you have a vision or something? What do you mean?" Ron asked, still refusing to sit up. He was trying to combat his shivers before he embarrassed himself by welling up in front of the girls again. He was surprised he could still produce tears, he felt drier than sand.
"I think so. It happened so fast, but I saw…" Hermione winced and rubbed her eyes, exhausted and in need of a cup of tea, "I think I saw glimpses of the future, and the past. I don't understand what I saw though, you ripped me out of the timeline before it started to make sense."
"Sorry," Lyra bit her lip, resenting her anxieties, "I just… I thought they kiilled you. I don't trust Time."
"And they don't trust you either," Hermione said sadly, hating to be the bearer of bad news. "Ly, I'm so sorry."
"Ahh, what's another enemy?" Lyra guffawed and leant back on her elbows, stretching the cramp at the bottom of her back, "it's chill, dude. I knew Time hated me, why do you think I'm always late to everything? I knew it wasn't my fault."
"Oh that's why?" Ron chuckled, and Lyra tried to kick him but he was too far away.
"Er, you guys alright?"
Lyra's heavy chest lightened as she cocked her head and spotted a confused-looking, half-invisible Harry who was creeping over toward them. His slanted smirk curled when he caught her eye, but he panicked and rushed over when he noticed the huge burn mark and split candles smeared all over the floor. "Shit, what happened?"
"Oh you have no idea," Hermione laughed and settled back on the floor, fixated on her new burn mark.
"Hermione's a Seer now," Ron announced, stealing her thunder, and Hermione scoffed, making the effort Lyra couldn't to scoot over and aim a kick at him.
"And Death is sassy as hell," Lyra informed him, "you missed quite the adventure."
Harry tried to process the new revelations but his eyes had trouble leaving the scorched circle. He tilted his head and shuffled closer, absently placing Kreacher's bottle of fizzy apple wine by Lyra's feet. "And what the hell is this?"
The worn trio exchanged a nervous look and climbed to their feet to join him at the circle's burnt edge. Lyra massaged her eyes hard, ignoring her smeared mascara, and reassessed the scene of their ritual. Death departed the mortal world and left them a gift in their wake. A drawing, similar to the one in Lyra's fluffy notebook. A perfect circle, and a straight line cutting through its centre. And seven dots… five above the line, and two sitting below. Lyra wasn't sure if it was her fatigue but she swore the dots were slowly dancing, and the line…
It tipped, and the balance shifted.
The burn on her back tickled with heat.
"I know what that is," she mumbled, and only the boys looked her way. "It's the universe."
"And that's you, that's Death" Hermione pointed to the largest dot in the lower half, and Lyra smirked at its dominating presence. The other dot in its area was tremoring, insignificant and powerless. "And two of these," she pointed at the dots at the top, flirting with the circle's line, "are Time and Fate."
"Uncovering three out of seven Forces isn't so bad," Ron celebrated their small feat, his shoulders sagging as he gave in to his yawns, "great work team, I'm bloody shattered. Transcending dimensions is exhausting work."
"Imagine going through all of that and then waking up and you've got double Herbology," Lyra laughed humorlessly, reliving her horrendous second year mornings.
"I'm alright thanks," Ron was upset by the mere thought.
"I'm dying to write everything down now but my brain isn't working anymore. I need to process it first," Hermione agreed, sleepy yet jittery with the dregs of her adrenaline. She waved her wand at the scorched drawing and it slowly melted away, vanishing into the grains of wood, "that's tomorrow's problem, we really should go to bed."
"Aww what!" Harry stared at them dumbstruck, severely disappointed, "I've only just got here, you can't leave me on a cliffhanger! Give me something before we head back to the tower, at least."
Lyra scooped up the sparkling apple wine and admired the label, silently thanking her elf for his forward-thinking. Being possessed was thirsty work.
"Don't worry, I've still got at least a couple of hours in me," she assured Harry as she hooked her arm through his, ridding him of his envy monster. "It was crazy — oh, and Death really wants to speak to you in person."
"Huh?" Harry doubted his hearing and looked gormlessly at the other two who were half-carrying each other, caving in to their wobbly legs. They simply nodded their heads, lost for words.
"In a creepy, 'you're going to die' way? Or a friendly, banterous way?" He wondered, and Lyra popped the cork from the wine bottle, more interested in curing her dry mouth.
"In a cool way, don't worry," she said coolly, and took a swig. "I think they like you!"
"Things I never thought I'd hear," he mumbled to himself, amused by her, and he stole the wine from her, "but please continue, what else did I miss?"
The four Gryffindors whispered amongst themselves while they fled the Library Annex just as the final bell tolls of the year rang out across the grounds, ending yet another extraordinary chapter in Lyra's life. But she couldn't help but think as the twelfth bong faded into the distance of Hogwarts grounds, how many more years did she have left?
Time was her enemy, and Fate hungered to watch her downfall… The positive Forces really didn't like her, they yearned for her failure. Beedle was a troublemaker, he had done something that has put the universe in peril. And Death wasn't fond of the women's' souls she possessed. The two girl had done something to really piss Death off…
The voices never answered her questions and Lyra dwelled in the peace for once. They were far too ashamed to confirm her assumptions, their staticky silence was enough.
This shit just keeps getting weirder…