Lyra Black held her wand firm and steady, its tip aimed directly between the eyes of the shaggy man in front of her. She drew a slow breath, her face impassive, though a barely visible eye tic betrayed the turmoil churning inside her.
She briefly wondered if anyone else could hear the hammering of her heartbeat—it certainly felt that way. The room was completely silent, filled with tension. As the saying goes, so thick you could cut it with a knife. And, that's precisely what the man in front of her had: a rusty knife in one hand and a stolen wand in the other.
The man shifted slightly, just enough to adjust to the weight of the weapons in his hands.
She was not taking any chances.
"Don't move any closer, or you'll lose your head—now literally, not just figuratively," she said, her voice steady despite the chaos inside.
At her side, she noticed the faintest of movements—Harry Potter threw her a sidelong glance at her words.
"Focus, Potter, goddammit," she thought to herself.
Now was not the time to now wasn't the time for moral quandaries, nor giving any thought to their respective willingness to kill.
All they needed was for the man in front of them to believe they could.
A small tremor shook her hand, and for a brief second, her wand almost slipped from her grip. She forced herself to steel her resolve, tightening her hold until her knuckles turned white. If the wand hadn't been magically reinforced, she was certain it would've snapped like a twig by now.
Not another word was spoken and the tense silence once again filled the room, only the rank smell invaded her senses this time.
At first, she didn't notice, but now, after focusing on trying to regain control of her senses, the smell hit her like a charging hippogriff.
God, this man stank—rank sweat, unwashed clothes, and the faintest trace of day-old pee.
It made it even harder to steady her breathing.
The man gave them a toothy grin revealing even more unkempt and disgusting teeth.
"Only one of us is going to lose his head today," he rasped, his voice grating. "And you... well, you don't sound like a killer, girl."
His grin widened.
"For starters, no one who's about to kill you would use the words 'literally' instead of 'figuratively.'"
He licked his filthy teeth and started to become more agitated. His eyes weren't even focused on her or her wand; he clearly didn't see either her or the boy beside her as a threat.
Suddenly, the door to the room exploded inward. She reflexively turned her head toward the noise, and for a split second, she chastised herself for taking her eyes off her target. But that feeling evaporated as quickly as it had come. Relief flooded her, and she exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She allowed her wand hand to relax.
Remus was there, wand in hand, aimed directly at the filthy man in front of her.
Of all the Hogwarts professors, none gave her the overwhelming sense of relief that Remus did in this situation. Her mum's old friend was here, and surely, he would turn the tide in their favor.
Only for him to crush her hopes just as easily as he had torn the door open.
He pointed his wand away from the man in front of her and swept it around the room.
"I saw the map. He's here," he said, his voice rough and broken, laced with raw emotion—sadness and barely restrained rage.
The filthy man started to laugh, louder and louder, choking in between his manic fits of amusement as if he were unaccustomed to expressing such emotions.
"Remus, old friend," the man said, his arms open in a welcoming gesture, "and I thought I was truly alone in this world."
It was unnerving to Lyra how he could shift from maniacal laughter to welcoming the other man as if they were old friends reuniting over drinks in a pub.
A dusty, abandoned shrieking pub, maybe.
"You almost were, until 15 minutes ago, Sirius," Remus replied. He gave Sirius Black a half-embrace. One might think it was done cautiously, with his wand still raised and eyes scanning the room, but Lyra saw the way his nose wrinkled with barely concealed disgust. It was impossible to ignore the stench coming from Sirius Black after all.
Now Lyra felt the panic creep in. One thing was confronting a half-mad, half-starving escapee—swiveling on his feet with a wand that didn't belong to him in one hand and a rusty knife in the other. But this? This was a whole different level.
She knew Remus Lupin. Even if she didn't know him before coming to Hogwarts, it was clear to anyone with common sense that he was a fully capable wizard. His lessons in Defense Against the Dark Arts that year were testament to that.
Lyra could feel her uneven breathing and the hammering of her heartbeat in her ears. No matter what, she couldn't come up with a scenario in which they could come out victorious from this.
She was usually quick to think of plans and solutions, but Remus's betrayal and the impossible odds were clouding her thoughts. The beginnings of a mini panic attack didn't help matters.
She barely registered the words and shouting being exchanged between the grown men and the teenagers at her side. Then, a guttural yell broke through, more deranged than before—pain and rage seeping from Sirius Black's voice.
"NOT ONLY THAT, THE FILTHY RAT KILLED MARLENE AND LYRA!"
Lyra didn't know if it was the pain leaking into that yell or the meaning behind those words, but it snapped her out of her haze.
After all, she and her mum had spent the past year panicking, fearing that the deranged killer Sirius Black was after them.
At this she exchanged a glance with Remus, the betrayal forgotten for a moment, confusion evident in both their eyes.
"Sirius..." Remus started, his voice barely a whisper now.
As if waiting for this exact moment for a distraction a third man made himself present disarming both Remus and Sirius Black in a swift motion.
You could count on one hand the number of people who would feel relief at the sight of Severus Snape—hell, maybe even one finger. And Lyra wasn't entirely sure that her Potions Professor would even feel it himself when looking into a mirror.
That's what she felt, for the briefest moment, but she quickly buried it. The grown men were now confronting each other, and Severus Snape was clearly relishing in his glory at the sight of the two unarmed men.
Lyra needed answers. And despite all her instincts telling her to let her Potions Professor handle the situation, she knew that only Remus and Sirius Black could give her the answers she sought.
Lyra turned her head to Harry Potter. Despite being from the same house, she barely knew the boy. Her three housemates had always meant trouble and complications she didn't need in her life. It was only by being in the wrong place at the wrong time—and a misplaced instinct to help Ronald from what she thought was just a wild dog—that had pulled her into one of their antics.
Harry Potter was also looking at her, and in that moment, in that shared look, there was something she couldn't explain, but she knew. Harry Potter needed answers too, and he was willing to do what was necessary to get them.
No words were exchanged. Just a brief synchronized nod. They both raised their wands, and over the soft, relishing voice of the Potions Master, two shouts were heard.
"Expelliarmus!"
"Stupefy!"
The Potions Master barely registered the red light illuminating the now-dark room. He managed to turn his head just an inch before being thrown backwards into the dusty room.
Hermione was the first to react. She was clearly distressed, and above the now-silent room, all they could hear were her anxious whispers about how they'd attacked a teacher. But despite her distress, she was the first to run to the fallen man, collecting all the wands.
Now beside them, the three teenagers formed a protective semicircle around Ronald. Lyra felt Hermione moving behind her, no doubt handing Ronald his wand.
Despite being injured and clearly in pain, Ronald held his wand firmly, a slight tremor in his grip. His other hand was clutching something moving in his shirt pocket.
Now, Lyra liked their odds better. Four teenagers against two unarmed grown men. Thank the gods for wands—the great equalizer.
"Explain," she demanded, her voice low and calculated.
Sirius's eyes were fixated on Ron's, despite having three other wands pointed at him.
Remus was the first to step forward, both hands extended in a calming gesture, silently saying he meant no harm.
"There's a lot to unpack here," he began gently. "As we were saying before, Sirius here… he doesn't seem to be the one responsible for James and Lily's deaths."
"Then who—" Harry started.
"PETER PETTIGREW!" Sirius rasped.
"But he's d—" said Lyra and Hermione simultaneously.
"He's not dead. He's a filthy rat Animagus, and he's right now cowering in your friend's pocket," Sirius said, still staring daggers at Ron, looking ready to leap.
"Sca… Scabbers?" Ron muttered. "He's been in my family for—"
"Thirteen years," Sirius growled. "Pretty long time for a common sewer rat to live, don't you think? And he's missing a finger. All they ever found of that filthy coward was—"
"A finger," Harry interrupted, his expression thoughtful.
The gears were turning in Lyra's head. She barely registered the rest of the explanation. It was all too convoluted and too convenient. The words reached her ears, but she felt detached—an observer floating above the chaos. The following explanation moved too quickly for her to process or accept.
But it didn't matter. She was forced to process and accept it when, after a nervous glance, Hermione returned the wands to their owners—even to the man they thought was the enemy, giving him the fallen Potion Master's wand.
They were supposed to prove their story by turning Ron's rat into a man. Lyra stayed alert; the story made sense, but after everything tonight, she wouldn't take anything at face value.
Her fears proved unnecessary. Where the small, trembling rat once quivered now stood a hunched, sniveling man with beady eyes and shaking limbs.
He begged for mercy. He twisted the story. He appealed to the teenagers' kindness. But it was all in vain. No innocent man hides as a rat for thirteen years. Soon, he was bound and gagged on the dusty floor.
"Sirius," Remus said gently to his old friend. "I need you to sit down for a moment. As I said before, there's… a lot to unpack."
Remus hesitated, as if unsure how to deliver news that would break someone.
He drew a slow breath.
"Before, you said that Peter killed Marlene and Lyra."
At those words, Harry, Ron, and Hermione instinctively looked at Lyra. She was frozen—unsure of what to say, what to do, or even what to feel.
Sirius didn't notice. He was trembling with rage now, unshed tears in his eyes, his expression clenched with the weight of grief held too long. His eyes never left Pettigrew.
When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and quiet. Each word sounded like it hurt to say.
"When I cornered the rat, just before he yelled that I killed James and Lily… Peter told me he wished me luck finding the pieces of Marlene and Lyra. He said he told Bellatrix where they were. That she was eager to prune the family tree of filth."
Remus's face twisted in a grimace of pity and disgust.
Sirius still didn't notice. He was locked onto Pettigrew.
But Remus turned, glancing at Lyra with something like apology. He didn't speak until she gave the faintest nod.
Go ahead.
"Padfoot," he said softly, a hand on Sirius's shoulder. "I think Peter told you that to throw you off. To stall you. Or maybe to get you to run."
Sirius turned to him, confused, pained.
"Because…" Remus hesitated. "There's no easy way to say this, but—Marlene and Lyra are alive."
Sirius staggered back, looking at his friend. Pain, disbelief, and fear were written all over his face. It was the face of a man who had lost everything—and now, someone was telling him that not everything was lost. That kind of hope didn't come without terror. The fear of almost having something again, only to lose it, clawed at him. He couldn't afford to believe this and be wrong. A lie would break what was left of him.
Remus took a step forward and put a hand on Sirius' shoulder again, as if lending him strength to process what was coming.
All eyes were on Remus now. The tension in the room thickened again, like it could be sliced by the forgotten rusty knife still lying at the feet of the broken man.
"And Lyra…" Remus licked his lips, trying to find the best way to say it, but in the end, he chose to be blunt—though his voice softened.
"Well… Lyra is right here in front of you," he said, gesturing toward her with his free hand.
Lyra was frozen where she stood, unsure of how to feel or what to do.
Slowly, as if not trusting his own eyes or ears, Sirius turned toward her. For a moment, the room was still—everyone frozen, holding their breath.
Pain, disbelief, and a deep, aching relief were scrawled across Sirius' face. His lips trembled, unshed tears filling his eyes. He looked at her as if caught in a fragile dream, one that might shatter at the smallest movement.
Hesitantly, he took a small step toward her.
"Lyra," he whispered—so softly it only reached her thanks to the total silence in the room. Even Pettigrew, still lying bound on the floor, tried to make himself smaller, as if thinking that would earn him mercy.
That finally broke Lyra's paralysis. She lifted a trembling hand and said, "I know a hug would be customary right now, but fifteen minutes ago I thought you were a serial killer coming for me and my mum—and no offense, but you stink worse than hippogriff dung."
At her words, Sirius gave a wet chuckle. A look of pride and love slowly pushed away the pain etched on his face..
The tension in the room melted. Everyone silently agreed with Lyra on that last part.
"Ahem," Remus rasped. "If we may—I think we should get back to Hogwarts and get all this sorted out. Don't you all think? We'll have time for further explanations and reunions tomorrow."
At his direction, everyone began preparing to leave, Remus and Sirius levitating both the bound man and the unconscious one.
Slowly but surely, they all made their way back the same way they had come in. Still nervous, but with lighter steps—there was laughter at the sight of the floating bodies bumping into furniture, and the unspoken promise of a new beginning hovered in the air.
The way out felt far shorter and easier than the journey in. Lyra was relieved to finally breathe the dusk-chilled air, which filled her lungs and helped clear the storm in her head.
She was still facing the horizon, savoring the quiet, when she felt the sudden shift in everyone's mood. The laughter and levity evaporated, replaced by a chill of dread that spread like frost through the group, settling deep in their bones.
Lyra turned slowly, afraid to see what had caused the change.
There stood Harry, Ron at his side, Hermione clinging to his arm. Terror was plain on their faces, clearly visible in the pale light of the full moon.
The limp body of Severus Snape lay forgotten on the ground, next to Pettigrew, who was now thrashing violently against his bounds.
But a few steps ahead, Remus Lupin was convulsing—his body arched in pain, eyes unfocused and staring skyward, seeing something far beyond the human world. His breath came in shallow gasps. Pain and ecstasy warred on his face.
Sirius stood between Remus and the others, trying to reach what was left of his friend's mind. But it was no use.
He turned to them, his eyes flicking between Lyra and Harry—full of fear and something else. Longing.
"Run!" he shouted, just before turning back to Remus. In a blur, Sirius leapt into the air, shifting into the black dog mid-jump, and tackled the now-howling werewolf.
Lyra was overwhelmed—this was the most wrenching night of her life. Her usually calm and controlled self was now acting on pure instinct and adrenaline.
It was because of this that, when she saw Pettigrew transforming into a rat and escaping his bounds, she did the only thing she could: without thinking, she threw a Stunning Spell at the soil where she thought the rat had gone. But it was for naught—the rat lost itself in the darkness and ran straight into the forest.
Not being herself, she ran after it. Behind her, the Potions Master was beginning to stir and wake up, but all of that was forgotten. All that mattered now was catching the rat.
Soon enough, Lyra found herself deep within the Forbidden Forest. There were no signs of the rat. It was a lost cause. She ran in circles, refusing to admit defeat. It wasn't like Lyra to throw herself into danger so recklessly, but something about the night's events—the recently discovered truth about her father, whom she had believed until mere hours ago to be a serial killer—pushed her forward in desperation.
Eventually, despair took her by surprise. The rat was gone, and with it, the proof of Sirius Black's innocence. She had never felt like this before. Cold and lost in the middle of the forest, all she could think about was how everything she knew had crumbled. Her life had been a lie. Immense sadness overtook her as she tried to find her way back, trying not to think about how lost she was or how she didn't know the way back to the school.
Every step felt heavier than the last. Her breath sliced her throat like a cold knife, and the trembling in her limbs brought no warmth. She took a few more steps before collapsing, her knees hitting the ground, her hands splashing into cold water.
Thinking became harder and harder. She couldn't remember who she was or where she was going. All she felt was despair—and the urge to let go. A voice in her mind whispered that if she just gave in, the pain would stop. She didn't have to fight anymore.
Lyra curled into herself on the forest floor, her tears pooling into the damp soil. She was a trembling mess. All she felt was sadness, an overwhelming need for the pain to end.
Death would be welcome now. Anything to take it all away. To stop feeling. Eternal silence seemed a mercy.
And then—she felt a hand lift her.
She barely registered it, but it was there: a touch. Gentle. It raised her effortlessly, and in the midst of all the sorrow, pain, and despair, it was a small relief to be held with such care.
The putrid hand lifted her to its level. It wasn't cold anymore—just numb. That kind of deep, bone-deep cold that takes away all sensation. Once it passes a certain threshold, it leaves only numbness. Only the certainty that it will all be over soon. That she could stop fighting. Stop struggling. That the pain and sadness would finally go.
The creature inhaled, and the air around them dropped to a deadly cold. The water beneath them froze instantly. This was a cold Lyra's body could no longer register. It would all end soon.
With the last of her strength, Lyra looked up at her assailant.
A dark hood, blacker than the night around them. Mist and condensation drew inward with every breath the creature took.
Slowly, savoring the moment, it pulled back the hood—and Lyra saw it.
Where eyes should have been, there were infinite pools of darkness. Her body tensed, instinct snapping her awake. She could feel again. Past the cold. Past the numbness.
In those endless voids, the true meaning of despair looked back at her. She had been innocent mere seconds ago. This was more than sadness. It was sorrow that would never leave her if it got hold. It would never end. There would be no respite. Even her worst nightmares would be repeated, over and over again.
In those eyes, she saw the suffering of a thousand souls, all reliving their worst moments together—pain shared and multiplied with every new soul trapped inside.
No, it would never end. It would only grow, second by second. There would be no passage of time. Only infinity. It had never been born. It would never die. It would digest them all forever—layer after layer of suffering, feeding on the eternal cold. No numbness. No release. Only the endless scream of trapped minds.
There was no acceptance in Lyra now. No waiting for silence—because it would never come. Only the black, endless agony.
A whimper escaped her, tears flowing freely. She tried, in vain, to fight back, but her strength was gone. The strong yet gentle, putrid hand pulled her closer, preparing for the final kiss. The beginning of her endless torment.
Lyra closed her eyes, as if that could make it easier. As if not seeing would soften the blow of her soul being consumed forever.
A sudden white light exploded behind her closed lids.
Warmth.
It flooded her body in a wave, and with a shriek of agony, the creature let her go. She dropped, unceremoniously, to the damp forest floor.
The last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was a being of pure white light, standing on four legs.
A unicorn? her fuzzy mind wondered.
Then, blessedly, nothing, and her consciousness gave up.