Once Lyra ignited her bergamot incense and slid her window open to its fullest to let in the summer scent of freshly-cut grass into her sunny bedroom, she glared at the untouched, daunting pile of homework clogging her desk and hung her head, accepting the aching hand cramps and stubborn ink stains on her horizon with what could only be described as a self-pitying groan. She neglected to even acknowledge its existence over the past week, she needed a well-deserved break from studying. Even Hermione hadn't completed her assignments yet so why should she bother?
I have to, I've got a busy summer ahead of me. Come on, Black, just get your bloody homework out of the way and be done with it.
Despite its rainy entrance that caused two days of downpour, July blessed the British isles with blazing sun and a brisk breeze that drew everyone out from their houses and into gardens, parks and pub gardens. Why should she have to lock herself in her bedroom and hammer away at the tough tasks her professors had set her when she could be out exploring and soaking up as much vitamin D as she could get. She couldn't take any of her homework outside with her, the new kids were verging on being overly friendly as they tended to gravitate toward her whenever they spotted her in the wild, she didn't want more questions about her witchy school books or her barn owl familiar.
It was a welcomed change to the atmosphere at her Muggle home though, she shouldn't complain, Lyra was ecstatic that she didn't have the threat of Rachel appearing hovering over her shoulder like a paranoid parrot anymore. The new children at Coles were convinced that she was a Pagan witch in training, like some of the whimsical goth girls that hung around town. Lyra happily took their interpretation and played into the image they'd concocted of her by purchasing some crystals and smudging sticks from the local hippy shop that sold a plethora of kooky Pagan wares.
But she did have to worry about Johnny still, he was one of the only children left at the home who knew Lyra pre-Hogwarts. And as per Danielle's warning, he had taken a turn for the worst. And not in a way that Lyra was even remotely prepared for because this specific possibility never, ever crossed her mind. Johnny was her bully, her co-tormentor for seven and a half years, Rachel's henchboy. He hated her, she was so sure that his degraded opinion of her would never change that she never give him much thought.
Big mistake.
The first time Lyra noticed Johnny's worrying shift in attitude and the scary implications that followed was three days ago when she crossed paths with him outside of the doctors office, fresh from her second round with the GP and in unexpectedly high spirits. She swung the exit door open, throwing a snarky comment about the receptionist's rude behaviour over her shoulder to Danielle as she went, and she nearly tripped head-first into a pair of reckless cyclists who couldn't have given less of a fuck that they were on the pavement.
"Oi! Watch where you're—," Lyra's complaint died on her tongue when she locked eyes with the shorter, more familiar of the two cyclists. She backed away from the monster bike's squeaking front tyre, cocked a hip and exhaled, preparing for the worst as she realised it was in fact the boy she'd been hoping to avoid. "Of course it's you."
"Jane?"
Johnny leant against the stump where his seat should have been and ran a hand through his blonde spikes, rushing to check they were intact from the emergency brake. He wore a matching blue tracksuit, the sort the rough teens who hung out at the beach were sporting these days, a diamond ear stud and a chunky silver chain that she suspected he'd nicked from one of his dozen mugging victims, and the cleanest pair of expensive trainers she'd ever seen him wear. In their year apart he'd grown at least half a foot and lost most of his childhood fat, he looked older than his sixteen years and she tried not to openly judge the patchy fine hairs on his top lip.
Lyra's skin crawled, she crossed her arms and scolded herself for not bringing a jacket. She didn't like the way he was staring at her. Like she was a piece of prized meat and he was a starving puppy begging at the butcher's window. Like he didn't even recognise her as the girl he used to terrorise.
"Fuck off is that Jane," scoffed Johnny's friend as he fidgeted with his cap and raked his eyes up and down her body in the same distasteful fashion. "Jane as in the boarding school bitch from Coles?"
"Always a pleasure running into my fans," Lyra channelled her best bitch pout. "Move."
"No," Johnny squeezed his brake tighter, refusing to break off his leechy eye contact.
"Boys!" Lyra's knight in shining armour barked at the cyclists with a stern arch in her sleek brow as she rushed over, "don't ride off— where did you get those bikes?! I swear to God if I find out they're stolen then you best believe I'm dragging you down to the station, and Luke, I will be ringing your auntie personally this time."
"Ring her, they're my cousins," Johnny's friend Luke blurted out first, trying not to look too shifty as he fidgeted with something rustling and highly illicit in his sagging hoodie pocket.
"We're taking them to the bike shop down the front to get them repaired, we didn't nick these ones," Johnny supported the lie by patting his missing seat, using the same innocent act he used on the police on Danielle instead. "Honest, these pieces of shit are the only bikes we have after the old bill raided us."
"Christ, you're at the 'getting raided by the police' stage of your life already?" Lyra wrinkled her nose, judging his life choices. "It's nice to know you're still a loser, John."
Danielle poked her in the back, warning her to keep quiet, and Lyra instantly wished she never said anything at all.
Johnny swapped a secret look with his lanky partner in crime and dared to kiss his teeth as he got ready to set off, his persistent gaze burning holes in the buttoned neckline of her thin t-shirt that she couldn't hide. "And it's really nice to know that you're a slag now, you didn't have all that when I saw you last. Do us a favour, turn around and bend over—,"
"Oh! Watch your fucking mouth, boy!" Danielle's Welsh tones carried across the hustle and bustle of the popular side street as she cussed the snickering boys who let out two piercing wolf-whistles, unbothered by the elderly couple exiting the doctors behind them who were tutting at her crassness.
Lyra was revolted, a hot wave of nausea knocked any retort from her mouth and she simmered in her hatred for the reason why he changed his tune as she stomped off to find Danielle's car. I fucking hate boys!
And unfortunately his disgusting comments didn't stop there, oh no. In a miraculous turn of events, Johnny decided to become a pestering homebody whose sole goal was to seek Lyra out and harass her in a twisted, misogynistic game of cat and mouse. When she heard from the other kids that he had asked them to tip him off when she was using the communal bathroom, Lyra decided to invite herself and Apollo over to Danielle's flat for a three-night sleepover where she was able to live without the threat of Johnny peeping through the window or keyhole. She was used to bed hopping by now and Danielle planned the most fabulous evenings full of the latest romantic comedies they had to get through before she was torn away from their Muggle luxuries. It wasn't a bad compromise whatsoever.
But it was the weekend now, Johnny was busy carrying out his community service and the mountain of parchment staring back at her seemed a little less daunting than before. At least she had no Potions homework this summer, though that would have been her easiest essay by quite a long shot.
With a clunky click of a button, Danielle's forgotten Tribe Called Quest album blared from her stereo and Lyra curled up at her desk, singing along to the jazzy beats as she organised her to-do list in order of favourites. 'Pick a current Muggle social conflict from the list below and prepare a presentation that argues either for or against the need for magical intervention', Professor Burbage you legend!
Inspired by her professor's prompt, Lyra hunted down a recent copy of the Daily Mail from the kitchen and caught up on Nelson Mandela's recent presidential win when something gold flashed in the corner of her eye. A small shadow eclipsed the grass beyond her window and Lyra grinned at the sight, a perfect distraction! She pushed aside her Muggle Studies textbooks and applauded Apollo's elegant descent onto her window ledge, his feathers dishevelled from the summer gale and his beak clicking for her applause.
"Beautiful work, my boy, ten out of ten," Lyra stroked his fuzzy head and gladly unclipped her long-awaited correspondence from his wiggling leg. Judging by the mismatched letters and various handwriting jumping out at her as she flicked through, her owl had been all over the country.
Her eyes doubled in size at the smallest scroll tucked at the back as though it was hiding and she gasped, elated. He left the country too. "You saw Dad?! I told you not to track him down while he's travelling! What if someone saw you?"
Apollo bounced onto her desk, tapping his talons and bobbing his head as though instructing her to hurry up and read her letters. He ignored her scolds and hooted, eyes shining in pride as Lyra hurried to read what Sirius had to say.
Princess,
Trail went cold near Venice, the runaway Animagi turned out to be a ferret, not a rat. I did, however, make friends with a dodgy broomstick merchant called Florian who happens to make his own wine. I'm not lying when I say it was, without a doubt, the strongest wine I've ever had in my life. It's safe to say I have a new best friend. We will be coming back here one day, I promise with all my heart. The whole country is a piece of art, it's beautiful. I think you'd love it too.
I'm heading to Croatia next, apparently there have been some new shifty characters on the scene there so keep your fingers crossed that it's our rat friend. Though tensions are high over here and I know you're worried, I'll be careful to avoid the frontline of the Muggles' war even though it would be the perfect cover. I promise I'm being safe, darling. If this trail goes cold then I'll show my face in a random town and draw attention over here so I can come and find you. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about our little wand shopping spree. Make sure you write to Remus and keep him updated, he'll meet us in London on the day.
Have a brilliant time at the World Cup and (this goes without saying but as your father I must repeat it) be on your guard while you're there. People from all over the world will be in attendance, as well as your adoring grandfather, so be wary of everyone. That being said, Giselle's old Quidditch coach should be there too and I want to encourage you to talk to him. And not because he still owes me for an old bet we made (though if you are able to blackmail him for me…? No, I shouldn't be asking you to do that — forget it), but because of the stories he has about Elle and James. He's quite a laugh, see if you can find him. His name is Ludo Bagman, remember that.
Keep your chin up, my star, we'll be together again soon.
Love Sirius
P.S Apollo may or may not have murdered the Animagi bloke by accident, he thought it was a real ferret. You were right, he's definitely a Black!
"You killed a guy?" Lyra croaked, staring at her innocent owl who couldn't have looked adorable even if he tried. He twisted his flexible neck and hooted again, hopping into her lap for more of her soft-handed attention, and she couldn't help but give it to him. "Remind me to never send you to Dad ever again."
Though disturbed by the killing machine in her possession, Lyra kept her father's words close to her chest while she attended to the rest of the post. She hadn't thought about the sheer amount of wizards that were going to be at the international sports tournament yet, the concept seemed too large for her already overcrowded mind. Not to mention the grouchy, spiked mental image of Bartemius that was trying to stick around. Arthur mentioned everyone at the Ministry was lending a hand this summer, but did he really have to get involved too? From what Sirius told her, her grandfather hated Quidditch just as much as he despised the Black family name.
We agree with your father, be wary of everyone.
The chances of you running into someone who would like to steal your souls will skyrocket when you're there.
Oh bloody fantastic! Will I be able to sense if anyone around me intends to strip Death from me?
No.
Not unless you—
"Argh, come on!" Lyra clutched her chest and stomped her foot, fighting for breath. The universe crumpled her lungs in punishment and she shrugged the bitter voices off. "We were so close to uncovering something useful there."
Speaking of discovering useful information, her next letter was an extra pleasant surprise. Lyra ripped the daisy-stickered envelope open and beamed at the extensive length of her pen pal's reply as it unravelled from its neat square. This was a fantastic sign, her fingers tingled as she smoothed the parchment and took a large swig of tea to calm her nerves.
Dear Lyra,
I'll be honest I regretted writing my first letter the second I sent Polly off to you, I was so scared that I had crossed a line and stuck my nose in where it wasn't wanted so thank you for being so kind. And thank you for trusting me with your secret, but I must admit that Amelia already told me and my parents all about it. Has Snape actually kicked you out of Potions?! And what really happened to Ron, if your dad turned out to be innocent? Don't feel like you have to answer that though, my aunt said it was sensitive information so if I'm overstepping please let me know.
Before you see my answers to your questions below (sorry I tried to cut as much of my ramblings out as I could!) I wanted to ask you not to say where you heard this because I could get into serious trouble. But I like you, I trust that you'll come up with something clever if anyone asks, and I feel honoured that you consider me a friend.
Yes, Professor Quirrell has been inciting riots at Azkaban, apparently there was another one a couple of weeks ago and two prisoners almost escaped, but Quirrell was moved to a higher, more isolated cell and everything seems to have mellowed out. My dad thinks that Professor Quirrell is trying to inspire the other Death Eaters to start a coup but Amelia disagreed. I asked her about the thing you said, about the Dementors potentially standing down as the guards, but she said Fudge doesn't want to approve the new law. I'm not one hundred percent sure on this but I think the riots are You-Know-Who related, that's why the Ministry is keeping quiet about it. That's all I know about that, sorry it's not more detailed but Amelia says it's nothing to worry about. I hope she's right and I'm just overreacting.
Sadly no, I'm going on holiday to Greece while the World Cup Final is happening so you won't see me there. You will see most of Hufflepuff there though, practically everyone was making plans to meet up on our last day of school and I've never been more jealous! I hope you have an amazing time, I heard that the firework display for the trophy ceremony is going to be out of this world so make sure you take your camera.
And finally, I have an incredibly embarrassing question to ask you but I feel like now that we're friends you won't humiliate me by bringing this up in public if this goes horribly wrong. I really hope I'm not overstepping here but is Harry seeing anyone?
If he is then forget I asked, but if he isn't then do you think there's a chance you could put in a good word for me? Please don't tell him I said anything though!
Lots of love,
Susan
"Ok, there's lots to unpack here," Lyra whistled, grinning at her apologetic Hufflepuff friend's cute stationary while she absorbed its content. Quirrell being in close proximity to Lord knew how many Death Eaters never bode well for her in the first place, he must've spread the news that she's connected to Death and their precious cult leader by now and they were attempting to break out and… come after her? It didn't feel right but Lyra prayed that they were all so riled up with passion for their Dark Lord that they were simply trying to escape for him. That had to be why. This wasn't related to her at all.
Do you think there's one of these Soul Thieves you guys talk about in Azkaban right now?
…
If there wasn't before, there is now!
Lyra fought the urge to rub her tired, painted eyes and steered away from the steep spiral slide she was teetering toward with another pitiful groan. There came a point where caring wasted more time and energy than it was worth. Her life was only going to become more complicated too, and she couldn't mope, she couldn't complain. Realistically all she could do was laugh.
It was then that Susan's closing paragraph cleared a bright spot within the dark thoughts and Lyra double-checked she read her question correctly.
Was Harry seeing anyone?
The real answer was no, obviously. He wasn't seeing anyone… Right? What did 'seeing' someone even mean, what did it consist of? Was it an official relationship stage, before the 'asking someone out on a date' stage or after? Did you physically have to see the person to be 'seeing' them? Outside of that exponentially painful Halloween night last year, Harry had never spoken to her about his love life. She had no clue who at school he thought was noticeably cute, but not because she hadn't asked. She had and his answer was Ron every single time. Oh no, do I break the news to Susan that he's seeing Ron?
Before Lyra had the chance to start the most scandalous rumour for heck of it, another shadow flew across the sunshine and Lyra rushed to make room for not one, but three more owls. Her homework didn't stand a chance now, but with one glance at the honey-coloured tawny owl, the more familiar of the new arrivals that were watching Apollo hop around, and the padded envelope attached to his leg she realised she'd shot herself in the foot for the sake of flirting with her tutor.
Cedric had sent her more homework.
Lyra,
I was really hoping you wouldn't notice that I recycled Sprout's second year homework but I guess that plan was too optimistic on my behalf. Thank you for calling my generous attempt to give you a semi-relaxed summer 'really cute', I appreciate it, but if you thought that flirting with me in any way cancels out your insults and threats against me and my incredible tutoring skills then you'd be sorely mistaken, Black.
I've attached some other papers for you to complete since my first lot appeared to be too easy, so all I'm going to say is be careful what you wish for. I don't want to bruise your pretty ego too much but you're practically begging to be proven wrong. Do you want me to punish you, because to me, it sounds like you're asking for it, petal.
Lyra's already large eyes popped out of her head and she grasped Cedric's salacious letter with both hands, not quite believing the bold blue words written in front of her. What was his version of a suitable punishment…?
I've been thinking about what you said during our last session, specifically about your extreme boredom and yearn for a harder, more exciting challenge in your life, and I think I know exactly what you've been looking for. And if you're lucky, you may even get a little sneak peek when I see you at the World Cup Final. Dad secured us some wicked seats, we're travelling via Portkey but now that I'm writing this down I realise you already know this since Dad mentioned we'd be bumping into Arthur and his group on our way. I assume you're going with them?
"Fuck," Lyra fanned her face with the parchment, beads of sweat forming on her sensitive skin at the prospect of seeing him there. Was he seriously suggesting what she thought he was? She didn't know why she was surprised that he was being overtly suggestive, her last letter to him was crammed with dirty innuendos and inferred naughtiness on her behalf. She went to great lengths to describe how she wanted to show him her favourite private study spot on the library's top balcony, a spot that rarely had any visitors that could come across them 'studying' together.
He wanted her. Cedric wasn't hiding how he felt about her anymore and the very thought of seeing him in person numbed her legs and curled her wiggling toes. Writing was easier than talking to him in person, would this heightened flirting translate just as well in person? What was he planning on doing to her? She reread the heart-thudding sentence and caught her lip between her teeth, instantly pink-faced at the first image that popped into her rotted brain like an x-rated advert she couldn't help but ogle.
Thanks to the feral boys she grew up around, Lyra was fully aware of what the genitalia of the opposite sex looked like. Dirty magazines and pirated pornography tapes were often the boys' (oftentimes Johnny's) usual instrument of torture. They loved to watch her squirm and scream when they subjected her to scarring images of oily, naked bodies hammering away at each other or people sticking their tongues in places she never ever suspected would feel pleasurable, so she knew very well what a penis was and how they varied in appearance.
But Cedric's…?
A deep stirring force like no other poked its claws into her navel and tugged, luring her darkest, most deprived hormonal daydreams into the light of day. She shielded her glowing perspiration from the yellow eyes blinking her from her window ledge, afraid that they could see what she was thinking. Was she really sitting here imagining what his dick looked like?
Boys can be pushy, don't do anything you're not comfortable with. And for the love of Merlin, don't send the boy pictures of yourself. You cannot trust him.
And don't worry, this is completely normal when you get to this age—
Oh my God shut up! PLEASE!
The realisation that it wasn't just the owls that were privy to her mortifying inner monologue and accompanying dirty daydreams struck Lyra like a punch to the nose, she cut the voices off before they seized the chance to further humiliate her. Biting back a groan, Lyra turned away from the avian audience and rushed to finish the end of Cedric's letter.
Just to forewarn you, Gabe is coming with me but that doesn't mean I won't ditch him the second I catch you alone.
Hope to see you very soon.
Preferably wearing that sexy little skirt you wore on the last day of term, I haven't been able to think about anything else except how good your arse looked in it since.
Sincerely,
Professor Diggory
P.S On a serious note, thank you for lending me those CDs. I love the Parklife album the most, I've never heard of Blur before so I will be using your copy to gloat to Anthony that I have better taste in music than him, I hope you don't mind.
He enjoyed the music she recommended to him, he was fantasising about her and he wasn't afraid to admit it. It was undeniable now, he liked her. Was this really happening? Was she technically 'seeing' Cedric?
Lyra, breathe.
The rush of adrenaline was startling, Lyra didn't realise just how constricting the claws of intense pressure were around her neck until she choked on nothing so she massaged her sternum, deep breaths coursing in and out. What the hell was she worrying for? She had kissed someone before, she knew what not to do, and most importantly she knew what she liked, but was she ready? Her anxiety didn't seem to think so, her body held a grudge she knew little about but her head was unshakable. She was confident that she could cope with this social step up. Determined to grow, and to go with the flow. Cedric wasn't Tom, she had to remember that.
This is completely different, I'll be fine.
"Knock knock!"
Not bothering to wait for her response, Danielle burst into the bedroom carrying a steaming bucket and mop, her blonde locs knotted on top of her head with a chic silk scarf. Lyra caught herself before she fell back off her chair but her loud entrance spooked the owls and caused a frenzy of flapping wings and flying parchment.
"Oops, sorry chick! I didn't realise you were setting up an owlery here."
"It's cool!" Lyra hid her rosy face as she calmed the owls down with a palmful of delicious treats, "Apparently today is National Talk to Lyra Day, I was just catching up on my post."
Danielle pinned her door open and mopped the scuffed wooden floors, doing everything she could to catch a sneaky glimpse at the names at the bottom of the letters. "And does one of these owls belong to a certain Mr Diggory?"
Lyra collected the two mystery letters and sent the three birds on their way, using their departure as an excuse to rearrange her impish, plump smile before she was caught. "Maybe…?"
"And what have you two lovebirds been writing about?" Danielle giggled, wiggling her brows as she leant on her mop. "Go on girl, spill the tea!"
"Don't get too excited, I complained about his lazy method of teaching and he sent me more homework to complete," Lyra recovered nicely and pouted, neglecting to show her the accompanying suggestive letter that would have had her squealing. "I'm never gonna get this all done before I leave for Andy's."
"You might have an easier time getting it done at your aunts than here though," said Danielle encouragingly.
"True, maybe I can bug Tonks into helping me," sighed Lyra, lifting her legs to avoid Danielle's persistent mopping. Her room always needed two rounds and soon the scent of smoked bergamot was replaced with crisp lemon and eucalyptus.
"Exactly," Danielle abandoned the mop and bucket in the hallway and closed her door again, careful of making too much noise as she avoided the wet strips on the floor. Lyra could distinguish Sandra's droning voice coming from somewhere inside the home but over the pounding of Tribe Called Quest she couldn't work out who she was speaking to.
It was then that Lyra realised that Danielle had changed out of the summer dress she picked out this morning, she wore pinstripe work trousers, its matching tailored blazer and pair of shiny red pumps — her so-called emergency 'adult' outfit. Was someone important visiting Coles today? Was it Johnny-related?
"Everything alright, Greene?" Lyra stopped tearing her latest deliveries open and cracked a smile, hoping for more gossip, "what's Johnny done now?"
But Danielle couldn't muster even the smallest of smirks to humour her. She looked as though she'd just seen a ghost.
"Your grandfather is here."
Lyra could've sworn the sun vanished from the sky, a bone-chilling breeze breathed more dread down her sweaty spine and she shuddered, climbing up from her seat to gawk at her in disbelief. No fucking way.
"No he's not."
"Yes he is."
"Huh? No!"
"Yes, Mr Crouch is outside. With Sandra," Danielle looked terrified, she straightened her blazer and took a step toward her. She didn't know what to do, she was caught off-guard too. "You know Sandra's secret appointment on Tuesday? Yeah, so that's been moved to this afternoon, and it turns out it's not a doctor's appointment, it's actually an adoption inquiry with Mr Crouch."
WHAT?!
Um?
That's not good.
"What do you mean?!" Lyra squeaked, losing colour beneath her freckles and deflating before Danielle's eyes like a blanched balloon. This had to have been a joke. "A-Adoption inquiry?! Does Sandra know that he's my grandad?"
"I don't know what's going on but yes, Crouch told Sandra about your relationship. He hasn't told her about the Wizarding world though, she's still under the Muggle illusion so let's keep it that way. Crouch told her he works for the Foreign and Commonwealth Office so she's all over him. You know what she's like around authority," she rambled, fidgeting with her gold rings as she analysed the whirlwind of emotions flashing on Lyra's face.
"H-How—? When did you find out about this?" Lyra tried to ask without hyperventilating.
"Literally five minutes ago," Danielle admitted, caving to the sinking feeling of defeat as she took her own calming breath. "I'll be honest, hon, I thought Tuesday's appointment was going to be about moving you out of Coles for good. I thought maybe Sandra signed off on you moving in with Andy and Ted and she was keeping it to herself so she looked like the good guy, I was banking on this being something positive for once!"
"Ha! Don't be silly, that would have meant her being nice to me. Something she's incapable of doing," Lyra groaned, forgetting all about her eye makeup as she kneaded the stress from the growing tension in her forehead. "This can't be happening. He's not bloody adopting me, he hates me."
"Then you better go out there and prove that to her. Crouch has requested for me not to attend this meeting so I can't get involved," Danielle muttered, shooting daggers at the closed door. "Clive is sitting in instead."
"Not Clive!" Lyra whined in exasperation. Clive was another social worker at Coles, a middle-aged lump of a man who dressed as though it was still the fifties and was terrified of his own shadow. He was Rachel's key worker so he had a nasty bias when Lyra was concerned in any cases assigned to him, but nine times out of ten he avoided her like the plague. "For fucks sake, the guys a bumbling idiot, Grandad is gonna walk all over him!"
"I know, I know," Danielle flapped, equally as stressed out. "Don't focus on that. Ultimately you have the final decision here, go out there and cause a scene, do whatever you need to do to prove to Sandra and Clive that this will not be a suitable arrangement for you and for Crouch. I know you're going to say that it doesn't matter because they're not fond of you but that's irrelevant, Sandra may be a prat but she still has procedures she must follow, she has a duty of care. And if Clive sees even the tiniest of reasons to call the whole thing off then he will. His father-in-law just died, he's looking for any reason to go back to Yeovil early so use that to your advantage."
Though Lyra was nodding in acceptance of her surprise task and Danielle's shrewd advice, reality hadn't sunken in yet. Her grandfather wasn't outside, he couldn't have been. Were they absolutely sure it was Crouch?
"When is this meeting?" She asked, dazed.
"Clive was pulling up when I came in here, so any minute now," Danielle tugged Lyra into a swift squeezing hug that hopefully soothed some of her jitters. She sensed Lyra's slight tremor and habitually fixed her tousled hair, teeth gritted in anticipation. "I'm going to write to Albus and explain to him what's going on because I don't know what else to do."
"Please. You can borrow Apollo," said Lyra, strangely assured by the mention of her headmaster as she frantically preened in front of her mirror. It truly did not matter what she looked like, she was a walking reminder of Sirius' existence and Crouch's own failures as a parent — he would have to make do with her cropped Janet Jackson tee and paint-splattered shorts.
"Deep breaths, it'll be fine. I'll sneak back in and send Apollo off once it's written so say your goodbyes now," Danielle winked as she rushed off to attend to her mopping duties, leaving Lyra to face her twisted fate alone.
"For once, please, be on my side here. Don't let him adopt me," she muttered to the ceiling, pleading with the gods who were in charge of it all. She knew they were watching, cackling at her misfortunes, banking on her downfall that would bring Death to its knees. This was certainly an entertaining plot twist from their perspective, how could they refuse a chance to torture her?
She needed to write to Sirius. He was going to be furious.
"Jane? Are you in there? Can you come out please, and turn that hoodlum music down too. I can't hear myself think."
Lyra stifled her instinctive growl when she heard Clive's grunts through the door. She mouthed her favourite curse word, rearranged her expression as she lowered the stereo's volume, shot Apollo a look of warning, and channelled her spite into motivation.
"How can I help you today?" Lyra fixated a false smile and greeted the perspiring key worker as she stepped out of her room. She was quick to close the door behind her, she couldn't trust her owl not to act up and she wasn't sure whether Clive knew about him. He'd kick up a fuss regardless of her special permission and she really didn't want him to catch one of the stray bullets of anger she was reloading for her grandfather, the hassle wasn't worth the satisfaction.
"Come with me, you have a visitor," he said curtly, looking over his thin glasses to inspect her for a potential outburst. "And be on your best behaviour, an opportunity as advantageous as this only comes once in lifetime."
"Yeah, yeah," Lyra grumbled under her breath and dragged her feet behind the hobbling key worker, ignoring the thumping of her anxiety in her ears. She kept her mouth shut as he escorted her through the home and into the recently-mopped foyer where he pointed at the open front door.
"Sandra and our guest are outside on the benches, I'll be joining with our refreshments in a mo. Why don't you go out and introduce yourself?" Clive shuffled the paper stack in his arms and gestured for her to continue onwards by herself. Although she hated the guy, Lyra wished Clive had stayed by her side as she exited the house and locked eyes with the man she honestly thought she'd never see again, she needed all the support she could get.
She wasn't sure why she expected to see her grandfather adorned in his wizarding robes or brandishing his wand around, it was a shock to see him looking like a perfectly respectable businessman or banker in his bespoke navy suit, shiny oxfords and yellow gold detailing. Bartemius Crouch even looked more out of place than the Malfoys did amongst the overgrown sea grass, vibrant flower bushes and stray toys strewn all over the front garden; he belonged in the city, not by the seaside. And especially not here in Weymouth where she was.
As she wandered over to the pair waiting for her on the picnic bench, Lyra realised why her grandfather looked out of place and her gut hardened from the velocity of shock— he looked happy. Was he smiling at her or was the sun playing tricks on her eyes? No, not smiling. Not yet. He looked like he wanted to be here, like he was more than content with spending his weekend visiting his orphaned granddaughter who he couldn't stand.
What is he playing at?
Something out here feels different. Lyra, can you feel that?
She could. Like the humming of the telephone wires running from the poles lining the road, the air was alive and crackling from magical interference. She'd never heard anything like it before and once she reached the benches she knew she was the only one who could hear it. It was faint, indistinguishable from the distant crashes of the waves and the caws of ocean birds. Is that him? Is he using magic?
Must be.
Maybe he's warding off other unexpected visitors, maybe there are other wizards in the area? It feels defensive, not malicious, but it's strong enough for us to sense. He's a powerful man, be careful.
"There you are," Sandra greeted her with a poorly-excused eye roll directed toward her scruffy appearance and beckoned her to sit down, "did you have no clean clothes available?"
"I was in the middle of doing my homework, does it matter what I wear to study?" Lyra bit back as she shuffled onto the seat next to the kaftan-wearing, scarlet-lipped social worker. She looked like she was due to start a shift as a carnival fortune-teller but Lyra didn't bother with voicing the comparison, judging by his subtle side glances and critical sniffs, Crouch wasn't fond of her either.
"May I suggest you drop the attitude while we have company?" Sandra said through her fake gritted smile and she turned to Crouch as though hoping he would interject and take her off her hands. "Jane, I believe you know who this gentleman is?"
"Unfortunately. What happened to 'I don't have a granddaughter'?" Lyra snapped, throwing her manners out of the window as she rounded on Crouch with her hands slamming down on the table. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Jane!" gasped Sandra, seemingly overly dramatic compared to Crouch's faint lip twitch.
He sat tall and proud in the blazing sun as though he wasn't wearing a three-piece suit and a black trench coat, Lyra noticed not one drop of sweat formed on his wrinkled brow. He looked sturdier than she remembered, but yet somehow much older with sagging crows feet and a gauntness to his high cheeks that accentuated the aura of authority he exuded. She could tell he used to be larger in his prime, a combination of stress and time had stolen his broad frame and ate away at the muscles in his limbs. Most of his stubborn black hair was silver now, it was slicked back in the same style many politicians chose to adopt in the later stages of their lives, but his thick horseshoe moustache was blacker than Lyra's own hair.
She tried not to look at him directly but his eyes were magnetic, coppery, not cold and prickly. Not like before.
Crouch cleared his throat. "I understand that you may be confused—,"
"TOO FUCKING RIGHT I'M CONFUSED!" Lyra exploded, triggered by his unsuspecting tone that made her feel as though she was the only sane person at this table, but she simmered down when Sandra chastised her with a hidden jab in the ribs. "No! I'm not apologising for shouting, you're the one who decided to abandon me and pretend that I don't exist! What is all this? What game are you playing here?
"If you would let me finish," Crouch answered with the faintest of jaw twitches, unafraid to face her anger, "I understand you may be confused and frustrated by my behaviour as of late but our estrangement was for the best."
"Was for the best? What changed?" Lyra spat, tightening her crossed arms.
"Ah, here's Clive with the tea," Sandra interjected with a forced giggle as Crouch continued to take his time drawing out his response, torturing Lyra some more. The fumbling social worker passed out the mismatched mugs and took his seat beside Crouch where he organised his copious forms and procedure print outs, Lyra pulled a face and immediately pushed her cup away when the achingly sweet muddy brown liquid stung her tongue. He definitely put the milk in first.
Leaving his own mug untouched, Crouch pulled his hands from his pocket and interlinked his fingers as though he was the one conducting their meeting. His professionalism was unusually contagious and Lyra found herself concentrating more on her posture.
"I came here today for many reasons, but firstly I came here to apologise to you," he stated, void of emotion. He certainly didn't sound sorry, nor did he look it. His brow was firm and his lips were pulled back into a half-grimace, like he was being forced to do this. From what Sirius had described, Barty was not the forgiving type.
"I don't want your apology, I want you to go away," said Lyra simply.
"Jane, for Pete's sake just try and be receptive for once," warned Sandra, checking her lipstick smudges in a small compact she snuck from her woven handbag. "Mr Crouch has come all the way from London today with a lucrative offer, one that any other child would give an arm and a leg to have, so do not ruin this for yourself with another one of your silly little tantrums. We're trying to help you move out of this place for good! Be. Nice!"
"After your lunch with the Malfoys and the mark their review has left on your records, you should be on your knees thanking Mr Crouch for his offer to house you," Clive grunted, flicking through his papers and extracting what looked like a post-inquiry review form. Lyra noticed the unmistakable quill and ink markings through the thin paper, she knew whose spiky handwriting that was and her stomach shrivelled. What on earth had the Malfoys written about her?
"Who cares! Andy and Ted are happy to take me off your hands once you hurry up and meet with my doctors," she countered, hoping to make them see how pointless this all was.
"Malfoy? As in Lucius Malfoy?" Crouch said stiffly, irked by the spoilt family name entering their conversation. He frowned at Lyra. "The Malfoys were interested in adopting you? Why? When was this?"
"Two years ago, do you know them? From what I understand they are from Jane's fathers side of the family? What a handsome bunch, we don't see people of your calibre down here often so they certainly stand out. Such a shame they retracted their offer," Sandra answered on Lyra's behalf when she failed to say anything. Of course her grandfather doesn't like the Malfoys, she could only imagine the countless times they crossed paths during the war.
I bet he knows a lot about Lucius and his shady doings. Not to mention all the dirt he has on the other Death Eaters he's put away. Just think about it for a second, think about what Sirius told you about this guy, about who he used to be. We might benefit from this new relationship.
Excuse me?
Now hold on a moment, that's a very good point. How do you feel about letting Crouch take you in? Your father said Junior stayed with Crouch up until his arrest, he lived in that manor while he was planning your sacrifice.
Her heart lurched at the voices' temptations, she hid her outrage with a forced sip of the ghastly drink to hand and shut her audience out in a fierce blink of her eye. The universe was absolutely fucking with her today if the voices were agreeing to this nonsense.
Traitors! You're out of your mind if you really think I would choose him over Andy and Ted.
Lyra tensed as she pretended not to consider the new possibilities their suggestion brought to the table. She hated how much they appealed to her innate curiosity, a temptation she knew would get her into serious trouble.
"You know, Lucius never mentioned that you were alive, neither did his wife, nor their son which is an achievement in itself because Draco usually never shuts up," she recounted her time with the Malfoys in the hopes of luring his true opinion out from behind his off-putting mask. "I hate them and they hate me, and they certainly weren't close to my parents so I can't imagine a valid reason as to why Lucius was keen to induct me into their slimy circle. Why do you think they wanted me so badly?"
"Whatever the reason may be, it is not an innocent one. Mr Malfoy is the one of the last people I'd trust to raise you, I take it you used that attitude of yours to dissuade them then?" Crouch spat, not bothering to hide his agitation or his head shakes. Lyra softened her mean features and scoffed, avoiding Sandra and Clive's gazes.
"Yeah, something like that," she answered, distracted by the newest question planting its roots in her brain. Crouch didn't know about her connections to Malfoy, he didn't know about the destruction that came afterwards. Good. But he worked at the Ministry, to what extent was he involved in the gossip circles in the different departments? Has he spoken to Madam Bones recently? Were they on good terms?
Oh fuck, he's gonna ask me about Dad. That's why he's here.
Sandra took charge of the conversation when Bartemius neglected to ask further questions about her interactions with Lucius or any other unsavoury characters, but Lyra knew they were coming. He let the social workers natter on about realistic timelines, proper procedures and government guidelines, but he wasn't listening. She tried not to let on that she was reading his composure and habitual movements like a treasured mystery novel but he was more attentive than most people Lyra had encountered. He was watching her just as closely.
She needed to get him alone.
Be honest, is that a good idea?
I vote yes.
I vote you bring Danielle, he's armed.
Yeah but he's also surrounded by Muggles, Danielle's written to Albus so if trouble arises I'll have backup. I'll even call Kreacher too, he's much faster.
It sounds to me like you've already made your decision.
"Excuse me Clive, is there a chance I could speak to my grandfather alone please?" Lyra cut him off mid-explanation of the likeliness of securing a court hearing in the next couple of weeks after the doctor deemed her well enough to be released from social care. She plastered on her prettiest smile that she hoped would sway him into listening for once and Clive faltered, blindsided by her charm.
"Er—?"
"Not now, Jane, don't be rude," Sandra waved her away and nodded at Clive to continue, but Bartemius never waited for the social workers' permission. He smoothed his broad gold tie as he took to his feet, silently indicating that they should do the same. The two adults jumped up as though the bench had electrocuted their behinds and Lyra grinned at the gentle sizzle of magic in the air.
"With all due respect, I have been away from my office for too long, my time is more valuable than you can possibly imagine this summer so we must make haste. I cannot waste another second going over menial details that should be discussed once a court hearing date is set, my lawyers will contact you personally once it's fixed. I came here today to speak to my granddaughter and here she is, that is all I require from you. Now, please excuse us so we may attempt to have a civilised conversation for once," Lyra immediately frowned when Bartemius flitted his gaze to hers, reminding her that he was still a prick, "if her maturity level allows for such a difficult task, that is."
Foaming at the mouth at the thought of proving him wrong, Lyra beamed ear to ear and batted her lashes at her social workers as they left in a stumbling stupor, intimidated by the mysterious, extravagant city man who clearly thought very little of them.
Bartemius waited until the nosy pair had reached the cover of the porch to take his seat again and resume his hard-pressed contemplation. His grumpy exterior melted a fraction as he sighed and smoothed his moustache, looking much more like that miserable git she met a year ago.
"I mean it, young lady, I do not want to argue with you," he began with a growl that was intended to intimidate her.
"And I want you to tell me the truth. Why are you here?" Lyra snapped back.
Crouch narrowed his metallic eyes. "I think you already know why. You're in contact with your wretched father and I've come to talk some sense into you."
Lyra threw her head back and cackled. So this was how it was going to go, huh? "False. You can't prove that."
"I know that waste of space broke into Hogwarts to see you. Don't lie to me," Crouch leant forwards and seethed, his old-money musk tickling her nose. Not only did he look like a banker but he smelt like an old bank too; dusty, like a shelf full of ledgers older than their bloodline, and the hints of an aged whiskey that cost more than all of the rusty cars packed on the gravel drive put together.
"Actually he broke into Hogwarts to capture the man who framed him, but I won't bore you with the facts, you obviously don't care about his innocence since you refused to give him a trial, why would you care now?" Lyra corrected him, letting the poison flow from her lips and into his veins. Her words pierced his hardened mask once again, a bulging vein pulsed in his temple and the flexing of his tense neck muscles kept his fury simmering in his throat.
"Lyra, Sirius Black murdered fourteen people, in cold blood," Crouch said, unyielding.
"He didn't kill anyone, he was framed by his mate Pettigrew," Lyra pushed, trembling with anticipation at the chance to confront him. Sirius wouldn't have wanted her to but she wanted nothing more than this. "Dad didn't kill me, he didn't kill Mum, he—,"
"DON'T TELL WHAT THAT BOY DID OR DID NOT DO! HE RUINED YOUR MOTHER'S LIFE, HE RUINED YOURS!"
Crouch's grasp on his rage slipped through his fingers, his exclamation echoed across the top of the hill and Lyra tensed, wondering whether the social workers were listening.
"Regardless of what he's done he's ruined everything, he might as well be a Death Eater for all I care because he's just as destructive and insolent as the terrorists that sought to dismantle our world. I was tasked to protect our community from You-Know-Who so I did what needed to be done, I set a standard that was necessary for our survival and I cleansed the streets of worthless scum like him and the rest of his forsaken bloodline."
He spoke with his whole chest, Lyra had to admire how he stuck to his core values despite the painstaking contradiction sitting before his eyes. It was just such a shame that he was completely wrong.
"Rumour has it you were the one who ruined mine and Mum's lives, it was you and your cretinous son who drove us away," Lyra nurtured her smile when the crack in her grandfather's mask widened, his narrowed eyes widened at the mere mention of Junior. "Although Uncle Barty went to trial, didn't he? And you were the judge assigned to the case. No, sorry, you asked to be put on that case! So not only did you sentence your son-in-law to life without even asking him what happened, you sent your own son to prison too, and you're bloody proud of it! If that's your track record then Lord knows what you're going to do to me. I have every right to be suspicious of you being here."
"Well, if we're going by your track record, Miss Black, then I can only presume that you will end up in a cell in Azkaban one day like the rest of your ilk. Which conveniently brings me to the second reason why I've come here today," Crouch sneered, punching a hole in her determined front.
Lyra pretended her heart hadn't stopped as she squirmed under his intimidating glower. The way he was looking at her, it was like he knew there was darkness lurking beneath her surface. Shadows danced in her veins and tickled her fingertips, daring her to challenge him but she shoved her hands into her lap. No, not now.
"What is this I hear about you rallying Dementors? About your interest in the Dark Arts? You have a file with the Department of Magical Law now, were you aware of that? The Ministry is keeping tabs on you, there is a file in that office with your name on it written in red — they fear that you may turn into a public menace! So how you expect me to believe that your father is an innocent man when his spawn has been caught dabbling in illegal practices is beyond my comprehension, you stupid girl," He said in a lethal, hushed tone. Daring her to answer, wishing she would challenge him just so he had an excuse to pounce.
"Disgraceful… Beyond disgraceful, just when I thought this family could sink no lower, now you have returned from the dead with a mission to destroy my family name once and for all."
"Oh give over, hardly anyone knows we're related since you've spent Mum's inheritance keeping the press quiet, I'm hardly the one who ruined your bloody family name. So, what, after you heard this Dementor lie that was conjured up by my Potions teacher, a man I know for a fact was proven to be a Death Eater I must add, you've come to the conclusion that you should adopt me so you can… straighten me out?" Lyra turned the subject on its head and perfected her bitchy pout. His accusations bounced against her rubber skin, she was getting better at deflecting and she emphasised her disparaging campaign with an enthusiastic nod as Crouch stopped scowling at her like she was the root of all evil.
"Severus Snape, your Potions Master?" he said through clenched teeth, the name sparking something sinister in his eyes, and Lyra welcomed the sight of it.
"Yup, that dickhead," she passed over the curse word quickly, her grandfather hadn't heard her, "were you in charge of his trial? Did he even have a trial or did he worm his way out of that too?"
Her diversion worked a treat. Bartemius cast his darkened gaze over to the farm up the road, tricked into reminiscing about the dark pits of his past that he'd rather not delve into right now. They shared disdain for those who followed Lord Voldemort and escaped retribution ran deep and Lyra selfishly latched onto their similarities, hoping it would help her connect with her grandfather on some level. His fury was shifting away from her, the stern crease between his wiry brows was gone.
Crouch was still her family, after all. Her heart was always holding out for love no matter how many times she swore she was done with her mean grandad, she couldn't change who she was deep down.
"What do you know about these so-called reformed Death Eaters?" barked Crouch.
"Not much, funnily enough people don't like talking about Voldemort or his followers," Lyra shrugged but she rushed to save herself from a slap when he shot daggers at her. "Sorry — You-Know-Who."
"No wonder the Ministry is wary of you, girl, do not use that name so carelessly," he scolded her but his puncturing words were blunter this time, he tried to add context. "I broke courtroom records when I was head judge of the Council of Magical Law, I was a ruthless Department head that inflicted fear into the flanks of the Death Eaters, and yet in a minority of instances I was still too soft and some of the Death Eaters were able to trick my council into granting them their freedom. Or in Severus Snape's instance, freedom with strict terms. Albus Dumbledore fought for your Potion Master's life, he saved him from being given a life sentence for the mark on his arm by the skin of his bleeding teeth when he named him as his personal spy. If I had it my way then he'd be in Azkaban with the rest of them, and Malfoy too — none of them deserved to escape the righteous hand of the law."
Crouch spat onto the floor, ridding his mouth of the taste of the dangerous dark army, and Lyra combed through his statement.
A life sentence for the mark on his arm.
What mark? Do Death Eaters have special tattoos?
"Do you think Snape is truly sorry for what he's done? Do you think he'd ever reoffend and go back to You-Know-Who?" She wondered aloud, hoping to continue her investigation, but her grandfather didn't look like he was in any mood to entertain her anymore. He sat motionless opposite her, grumpy contemplation dribbling over any traces of his true emotions.
"What makes you say that?" He demurred.
Maybe she spoke too soon, Lyra perked up at the sound of his interest and used this as the chance to dob her teacher in. She wasn't sure what Crouch's job title was these days, he certainly wasn't as powerful as he used to be in his prime, but he may have some sway with those in charge of punishing dark wizards still.
"Well I don't know whether you've gathered already but he's not a very nice man, he actively terrorises his students and accuses them of breaking the law when they've done no such thing," she rambled on, excited to start a Snape bitching session with him, but Crouch shook his head.
"I wasn't talking about Snape, I meant what makes you think there's a You-Know-Who out there for him to return to?"
His eyes flashed in the sunlight, an amber alert. The precipice of a thought, a gentle quiver of a Legiliman's bow as he dared to prod Lyra's shielded mind.
"Oh," Lyra tried not to sweat as she solidified her mental barrier, "I mean, hypothetically speaking—,"
"You believe he is still out there? Is that what your father told you?" said Crouch, unblinking. Like a wide-eyed shark he sensed her blood spike as she realised she fucked up. Maybe Amelia didn't tell Crouch anything about what went down at Hogwarts for a reason, he was a brutal key player in the culmination of the war, just like he said. Would he freak out if he found out?
She batted away his investigative feelers, dissuading him from planning another attempt. She never flinched or twitched, and neither did he.
"No he didn't, but isn't it obvious that You-Know-Who is out there somewhere still?" Lyra mused, shrugging. "You do remember who my best friend is, right? You don't think we hear rumours and theories about the war?"
"Oh yes, I read the Daily Prophet articles like the rest of the country, I'm more than aware of who he is and the threat you pose on Mr Potter's life," Crouch grumbled, lessening the pressure of his eye contact with another moustache stroke. "All the more reason for me to worry. You should not be living here where there are no wards or disengagement charms in place to protect you from harm or vice versa. No doubt you still have access to your house elf?"
Ah, fuck you man.
"Maybe I do, maybe I don't," she revealed, sick of his interrogations. "Did you not listen to a word I said earlier about Andromeda and Ted adopting me? I'm fine, you don't need to do this," Lyra argued back, growing exasperated by the circles they were falling into.
"I would prefer to be the one to watch over you. You've strayed too far from the path of sensibility and now with your father on the loose I cannot trust him to keep away from you," Crouch finally admitted as he took to his feet, reaching for the golden pocket watch inside his jacket. Its chain glistened in the sunshine and Lyra admired the emeralds along its perforated edged. Was that a bear on its cover?
"Once your doctors have signed the paperwork, I will be alerted and a court date will be set," he addressed her with the same cadence he reserved for work meetings, Lyra found herself fighting with the lump in her throat. "I must implore you to consider my offer to guide you. It is a cruel world out there, you must make the right decision and stay well away from the darkness. Though it is suspicious and irritating, I'm astonished to see you have been practicing Occlumency, and without a wand too, so in my eyes you've proven you are, at the very least, more ambitious than your parents."
"Psssh, just go already," Lyra flapped her hands, indicating that he was spoiling the view of the cluster of hot air balloons rising over the distant hills. Sirius informed her of the Crouch's Hogwarts loyalties, she was surprised it took him this long to bring up the snake's cherished values.
"There is great potential in you, Lyra. Only a fool would deny that, and I am no fool. Every Crouch is born with fire in their veins and an unquenchable thirst to prove themselves in this cruel world, and it is apparent that the fire lives on in you too no matter how many times I try to ignore it," Crouch concluded their meeting with another brief glance at this watch and removed himself from the creaking picnic table. Though he didn't deserve it, Lyra joined him on her feet, listening carefully to his proud statements.
"Do not fall into the same pits of darkness that seduced your father and your uncle," Bartemius's voice tightened. "Be smart. Do better. And always be proud."
Lyra didn't give his vague commands any satisfaction, she clamped her tongue to the roof of her mouth to stop herself from saying something she'd regret and watched the old wizard stride away, his oxfords crunching the yellow gravel and kicking up clouds in his haste. It wasn't until she watched him amble down the road and heard the inevitable crack of his magical mode of transport that she unclenched everything in her body and reeled in the aftershock of Mr Crouch's unexpected visit.
Lyra…?
I'm screwed. I need to go to Andy's tonight. I need them to put pressure on Sandra so they're top of my list.
She wiped her sweaty palms on her shorts and slumped onto the table, using her arms as temporary sunglasses so she could plot in peace. The cool shade of black that greeted her helped ease the rate at which her thoughts were flying through her mind.
Dumbledore will help Andy and Ted with adopting you, go and find Danielle.
I still think you should consider staying with him for a little while so you can snoop around his house.
Lyra crumpled her nose, irked by the enticing hiss telling her that the voice was right. Her grandfather had secrets of his own, a hidden agenda he was keeping close to his chest, not to mention that creepy manor of his too. Could she stand to be locked up in that haunted manor for two months at a time? Yes. Should she follow through with that commitment? Probably not.
Your father may throw a fit when he hears about this plan, so consider that too.
That particular point lit the entire impulsive idea on fire and she huffed away the ashes as she emerged from her cosy nest of darkness.
"He's gone already? You didn't scare him away, did you?"
Offended by the blinding light and the whining of Sandra's voice, Lyra left the picnic bench and sauntered over to the trio of social workers spilling out onto the front porch. Clive was jangling his car keys as he fiddled with his briefcase, trying not to make his intention to flee too obvious, but Danielle and Sandra hardly paid him any attention.
"I heard shouting, was everything ok?" Danielle met her halfway, keen to separate her from the Muggles with a skip in her step.
"Unfortunately it went very well," Lyra notified the head social worker of Crouch's continued interest in her as politely as she could. She couldn't throw a tantrum, it would only spur her on to make the wrong decision. She had to be mature, play them at their own game. "He said his lawyers will contact you, but I just want to remind you that Andromeda and Ted are my first picks. Please give the judge their details, not my grandfather's."
"Oh!" Sandra failed to find any issue with her request and nodded stiffly, scrutinising her with just a one sweeping look instead of three. "Yes, I suppose I will take your wishes into consideration since you behaved yourself this time round. It's a shame he did not want to stick around…"
"Am I free to leave for the summer now?" Lyra asked Danielle as she steered her back into the buzzing garden by her shoulders, leaving Clive to race to his car and Sandra to her fifth cup of tea of the day brewing in the kitchen.
"Yes, you're in the clear. Sandra promised she's looking over your case tonight so hopefully by the end of summer we'll be able to settle your living arrangements once and for all," Danielle squeezed her shoulders, wiggling her brows, "the end is sight, pet!"
The pair wandered along the longest path around Coles, a sunny track that wove through the overgrown fauna of the gardens and followed the fences of the cow fields. Cautious of the two clueless boys playing in the dirt mounds with their trucks, Danielle kept her voice low as she questioned Lyra about her grandfather's motives, desperate for a clearer picture.
"I think he's either, A, finally experiencing guilt for the first time in his life and wants to make amends for the way he treated my mother, B, it's a weird tactic to lure Sirius to him so he can capture him, or possibly C, he's playing a sick mind game," she evaluated her weird afternoon as they watched a herd of velvety brown cows frolicking through the long grass.
"I'm banking on it being option A," Danielle exhaled, tugging at the heads of the oxeye daisies dancing in the breeze around their knees. "Although I know you're going to say it's option B."
"Actually I'm leaning toward option C," Lyra shuddered, joining Danielle in playing with the flowers. "You should have heard him, he definitely does not let you forget that he used to be an important man. Do you know much about Crouch? Like, do you remember your dad mentioning him back in the day?"
"Vaguely, the one thing I remember him saying when he told me about that historic night that Harry defeated You-Know-Who was that your father was never going to see the light of day again. He said that you don't get on the wrong side of Barty Crouch and lived to tell the tale," she replied, nudging her arm as a sign of reassurance. "But he's not that man anymore, he looks totally different too. He was a big guy, physically intimidating when he wanted to be. He looks all shrunken now."
"Jeez, that's that emotional magic for you. Feelings hold a lot of power, his diet of resentment and hatred has sucked the life out of him and yet I still kinda feel sorry for him," Lyra pouted. She shook the fleeting twinge of empathy away as easily as swatting the bees knocking into her head. "Did you write to Dumbledore?"
"I did, so expect his owl tonight or tomorrow. He'll have yours and Andromeda's back in court if he decides to fight for custody, I wouldn't worry about it," she said, her soft smile growing wider by the second. "As for your summer plans, I'll leave you to ring Andy and let her know we'll be driving over tomorrow morning. That'll give you enough time to plan and prepare your outfits for the World Cup Final too…"
Lyra puffed in agreement as she hung off the fence, mentally picturing the interior of her wardrobe to offset the pressure of the task. Should she wear the skirt that was stuck in Cedric's mind? The risk of her flashing someone during an overzealous celebration tripled in that black pleated skirt, she couldn't help that it sat snug against her growing hips.
"But may I suggest you wear a pair of shorts under your pleated skirt? Those Quidditch stands are awfully windy," Danielle purred, unashamed of her grin as she watched the fear of God flash on Lyra's ashened face.
"You bitch!" She gasped, eyes wide in betrayal. "You read Cedric's letter?!"
"You didn't hide it very well," she snickered, fussing over her love letters with a few jabs in her ribs. "Honey, I'm very happy for you—,"
Lyra cringed as she heard the dreaded follow-up. Kill me! Not again!
"—but this does mean we need a sex talk refresher, you know the rules," she asserted with nothing but love. "I know we've already been through this and I know you'll be responsible and safe."
"So let's just leave it there, then. I'm smart, I won't get pregnant, and I won't be taken advantage of," Lyra refuted, battling against her blushes and hot flashes.
"Fine, but that means you have to take my STD and contraception pamphlets instead," Danielle settled on the compromise and dropped the formalities. "But seriously Lyra. I'm very proud of you. I know you're anxious about experiencing romantic feelings but that doesn't mean you should ignore them. Remember that all of these feelings are natural, we all go through them. Cedric seems like a lovely boy, if not a little bit cheesy."
"Who doesn't love a bit of brie now and then," Lyra sighed, slowly getting over the thought of Danielle sneaking a peek into their private flirtatious world. Please don't bring up the punishment comment, oh Lord!
"In moderation, of course," Danielle sighed and dug into her blazer pockets, "right, I need to change out of this suit before I sweat all of my makeup off so I will leave you to finish opening your post. Hedwig dropped by while you were with your grandad."
"National Talk to Lyra Day is popular this year," Lyra joked as they parted ways at the back door and she pranced back to her room, a tiny patter of wings filling her stomach at the content waiting for her on her desk.
Lyra kicked off her sandals and dove onto her bed, tearing open the first of the three letters as she stretched out. Her brows rose as she scanned the headmaster's slim albeit informative paragraph.
Dear Lyra,
I hope your summer is off to a relaxing start. In order to keep your mind at ease, I thought it would be best to inform you that I would like us to commence our first study on the night of the first of September. Yes, this may appear vastly eager on my behalf but I believe it is for the best as I will be rather preoccupied this coming school year, I would hate for our meetings to slip through the cracks.
Feel free to write to me whenever you have a question plaguing your mind, and stay safe.
Professor Dumbledore
"Ok, I can work with that," Lyra murmured, laying his letter on her pillow before moving into the next envelope. Unfortunately, it was even shorter and far more alarming.
She sat up straight and reread Hermione's unusually scruffy penmanship, having trouble processing her rushed scrawls.
Lyra,
Sorry for the rush, I'm sending this from Diagon Alley. My train is in half an hour and we're running late. Call me tonight after 7, maybe from a pay phone so no one will hear us. Something strange happened this morning, I think I had a vision. And it had something to do with your grandfather, Mr Crouch.
Talk to you tonight,
Love Hermione
Shit.
What on earth did she see?
Lyra ran a hand through her curls, her shoulders sagged, her anxiety spiking again. Was Crouch out to get her? Was she in danger right now? The possibilities were endless, there was no point in worrying until her phone call later. Maybe it was a happy, strange vision! Maybe she saw her moving in with him?
Hoping to take the edge off of Hermione's cryptic letter, Lyra reached for Harry's letter and hoped to find a bland recount of his boring days in Little Whinging to counteract the heart palpitations that were irritating her chest. She flipped his crumpled letter open and blinked at the half-hearted sentence staring back at her in the centre of the page. Did he send this by mistake? It looked like a jumble of random words on a scrap piece of paper—
But then Lyra actually comprehended the words and what they meant, and suddenly she despised National Talk to Lyra Day with every fibre of her being. It was a stupid holiday anyways.
Scar hurting. Real bad.
Need to see you. Now.
