"Have you packed your toothbrush?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I still need to use it?"

"Oh, of course. Your pyjamas?"

"Check."

"Coat?"

Lyra wrinkled her nose, "it's currently eight forty five at night and it's twenty two degrees outside, auntie, I don't need to bring a coat."

"What if it rains? What if the forecast is wrong?" Andromeda peered up from her handwritten checklist and over her slim purple glasses at her pouty foster child sat amongst the organised mess invading the kitchen and spilling into the dining room, her pink lips pursed in firm disagreement. "At least pack your cloak, they're multifunctional, it will double as a blanket for when you're in your seats."

"Mum, relax, I've packed a couple of spare blankets, and Dad's planning on bringing those wicked sleeping bags he bought that time he took me fishing," Tonks' voice floated through the kitchen from the direction of the hallway, accompanied by the occasional grunt and scrape of metal against tile. "Not to mention the million and one enchantments maintaining the stadium to keep it dry, the thousands upon thousands of hot bodies in close proximity and the fact we have these small wooden instruments in our pockets called wands?"

"Lyra and Harry aren't allowed to use their wands outside of school, Nymphadora, so less of the attitude please," Andromeda took to her feet, scooping her glass of Rioja from the table as she wandered off to find out what mischief her daughter was causing in Ted's garage, her crocheted cardigan trailing behind her in a cascade of minty blue and green yarn.

'Twas the night before the Quidditch World Cup and the inhabitants of the Tonks household were in the highest of spirits as they prepared for their long-awaited camping trip. Lyra had never been camping before, let alone in the company of wizards, so she was, naturally, entranced by every clever piece of equipment Ted had acquired over his many years working in the wizarding leisure sector.

Most of his kit contained his original designs too, a celebration of Muggle innovention with a touch of magical accessibility. Like his sleek tincan-to-barrel barbecue grill that moonlighted as a smoke-free, tent-safe bowled fire pit with a tap of a wand, or his portable water system complete with a full-sized shower cubicle and toilet attachments. He had everything they could possibly need and then some, Lyra was blown away when Ted proudly demonstrated how his simple plumbing system worked during their tent test-run.

Andromeda was appalled by the sorry state Tonks had left it in after her post-graduation trip with her friends and insisted they air it out properly in their garden, and so Ted used it as a chance to show Lyra what they would be working with. Their home for the World Cup was an ochre bell tent that consisted of four small bedrooms, a simple bathroom fitted with his handmade utilities, and a spacious living area decorated with a beautifully-crafted vintage tiki bar that Lyra fell in love with the second she laid her eyes on it.

Ted was a die-hard Beach Boys fan and his love of the bygone surf-loving, Californian psychedelic era of music was reflected in the tent's interior design; it was his love letter to the fifties. There was bamboo panelling, palm trees and banana leaf prints, wavy green and yellow wicker sofas and squeaky leather benches, coloured string lights and fiery tiki torches, and the coolest red chrome jukebox preloaded with copies of the family's record collection.

Just as Lyra triple-checked she packed a couple of her favourite albums to add to the mix, Ted and Harry stumbled in from the garden with said tent between them and the strong scent of Andy's lemony cleaning products clinging to them. They added the neatly-folded package to the growing pile on the floor and exchanged a cheery smirk to celebrate their job well done.

"I think that was the last item on our list — this is everything, folks," Ted announced, absently wiping his grubby hands on his cotton shirt before sizing up the tower of bedding, camping furniture, wooden utensils and padded canvas covers. It wasn't long until he got to work squeezing everything into his unsuspecting hiking rucksack without so much as breaking a sweat.

"You both better head to bed. Remember that I want you dressed and ready in the living room at five to six tomorrow, Arthur wants to leave at half six at the very latest."

"Aye aye captain," Lyra issued a respectable salute as she poured her final cup of tea of the evening using the decaf bags Andromeda bought for her. "Although how you expect us to sleep is beyond me."

"For the next World Cup we should go a day early and make the most of it. Turn it into a proper camping trip," suggested Harry. The pair grabbed their personal backpacks from the pile, wished Ted a good night with a passing pat on his shoulder and crept through the hallway where they were caught the muffled bickering hidden behind the closed garage door.

"I reckon Dad and Remus would be up for that, when's the next World Cup? Ninety eight? That seems reasonable enough, he'll be pardoned by then," said Lyra, slowing significantly as she brought her ear closer to the door. She couldn't help herself. "Wait a sec."

"You're so nosy," Harry dropped his volume before reluctantly joining in on her eavesdropping, his eyes firmly on her sloshing cup of tea that was seconds from splashing onto his slippers.

"—you don't even have space for that in your living room, where else is it going to go?"

"Dad said I can take whatever I like, I think this matches my sofa perfectly. I'll make it fit, I'm taking it."

"No you're not, and put that lamp back too, that was your grandmother's and—,"

"—don't say 'you're going to smash it' because yeah, of course that's bound to happen with everything I own, that's just who I am, but yet again I have to remind you that I have this!" Lyra assumed Tonks was showing off her gnarled willow wand that she was likely waving around in that haphazard manner she tended to adopt whenever she argued. "Gran will forgive me from beyond the grave if I break it a couple times, I can just repair it."

"That's not the point, Dora. You haven't thought any of this through, you're rushing into this."

"Stop saying that, Mum! I have thought about this, and I've done it. I signed the tenancy agreement! Please, you've got to accept that I live on my own now, that shithole of a flat is mine. Let me fill my first home with yours and Dad's hand-me-downs, watch me turn it into a new space just for me. Plus it's not like you're using any of this crap."

"Maybe we should leave them to it," whispered Lyra, recognising the ebbs and flows of the recent bombshell that rattled the family home. Things were pretty tense between Andromeda and Tonks at the moment and she didn't know how to feel about it.

Tonks had rented herself a tiny one bedroom flat in the heart of Shoreditch, just a stone's throw away from the most vibrant, eclectic nightlife venues and an up and coming artsy scene that attracted a certain type of crowd that wasn't Andy's cup of tea. Since she had officially completed her Auror's training and had become a licensed officer, Tonks knew it was high time she moved out so she would be closer to her office, it was a no brainer. Though Lyra had been looking forward to living with her cousin full-time, Tonks needed distance from her parents so she could live her own life so she had come to terms with the new arrangement quite quickly. Ted was exuberantly proud of his daughter and he supported her decision without question.

But Andromeda… She took the news the hardest.

She resented the fact that her baby girl had to fly the nest, especially now Lyra had joined their household. The tear-jerking heartfelt fantasy of her having both girls together under one roof where she could protect and mother them to her heart's content would forever remain as that, a fantasy, unobtainable. Mix in the fact that she despised Tonks' drab top floor flat and all of its unseemly quirks and nosy Muggle neighbours and it was the perfect recipe for the ultimate mother-daughter feud. Lyra saw a new side to Andromeda throughout this rift, she could be quite vindictive when it suited her. Sometimes it sounded like she wanted Tonks to fail so she would come running back to her and Lyra found herself watching what she said around her aunt.

It wasn't a pretty thought but she was afraid that with Tonks gone and Andy's fantasy in tatters, her time in Thistledown Hill had an expiration date. She was only a foster child, and with Sirius (and regrettably Bartemius) back in the picture, it was the easiest and fastest option available to the Tonkses to get her out. They weren't legally bound to each other so technically they would be well within their right to dump her back at Coles if she became too much to handle.

"How is Tonks' new flat, by the way?" asked Harry as they trailed up the creaky stairs, trying not to make too much noise. He hadn't seen her flat in person, he missed out on Tonks' moving day by half a week and the newly registered Auror had been working non-stop since.

"Personally I think it's fabulous, her living room window opens out onto this flat bit of roof you can sit on that overlooks Shoreditch Park, and a bunch of stray cats like to hang out around the building too. It's very her," she described her favourite features with a tinge of sadness. "It's a shame she's so busy these days, she said we can visit any time though so you'll see it in person soon. Maybe when we go back-to-school shopping."

"And maybe she can help distract Andy and Ted while we sneak off with the others to visit Ollivander," Harry muttered as they gravitated toward Lyra's improved bedroom. She pushed the door open with her hip, placed her mug on her spindly wooden bedside and stretched, admiring her wonderfully cosy and perfectly-sized room that she still had trouble accepting was hers to keep.

It had been hers for over a month now and yet her smile reappeared every time she stepped through the door and absorbed the sheer amount of stuff she'd accumulated over the years. Now she had enough space to visually see how her mania had personified; she had never felt more herself. It was… odd. But a good odd, like an unexpected positive encounter with an estranged friend who you had fallen out with. She had forgotten how many hobbies she had started and given up halfway through.

Her strings of starlights were tacked to the dark timber beams that ran along the ceiling, as well as her Gryffindor game day flags, dozens of paintings she'd forgotten all about, and ballooned copies of her Polaroids that were scattered around the leaf green walls. A weary leather armchair she found in the local charity shop sat squished between her cluttered bookcase and her overstuffed claw-footed wardrobe, a writing desk overflowing with make-up, odd jewellery trinkets and crafting materials lived in one corner, and her grand gold mirror flanked by two dressmaking mannequins and a large woven basket holding a plethora of pretty fabrics lived in the other. Currently displayed on the smaller, more elf-esque mannequin was the bodice of a silver and black quilted robe that Kreacher had kindly requested for her to make, but she brushed past it and decided to finish customising her Ireland National team jersey instead.

Butterflies erupted as she imagined Cedric's jaw dropping and his grey eyes bulging out of his head when he saw her tomorrow. She had to look perfect.

"Actually that's not a bad idea. Let's tell her that Dad needs a new wand, I don't want to worry her with my issues just yet," Lyra complimented Harry's forward thinking and collapsed on top of her bed, her sewing kit in one hand and her jersey in the other. "I think I'm going to turn in once this is finished."

"Yeah right," Harry chuckled away her false promise and yawned, habitually tussling his unruly mop of curls in her mirror in contempt. "I'll leave you to it then, good night—,"

"Wait," Lyra dropped her project onto the bed and flicked through the stack of Irish and Bulgarian Quidditch jerseys she had made for the occasion that hung from her mannequin's poseable arm. "You might need this."

Harry hesitated before accepting the blood red shirt, and as it fell open he held it up to the light, admiring her considerate handiwork. "Did you paint this?"

"Uh huh!" She nodded, delighted with his astonished scoffs of wonder. "The names on the other shirts permanently glow in the dark, but yours has a special tab here," she uncovered the tag poking out of the bottom, "that turns the effect off and on so you don't draw attention."

"You could easily sell these," he murmured, tongue-tied by the thoughtful addition, and Lyra shrugged as she returned to her unfinished clover green project, very pleased with herself.

"Some of my pieces are one-of-a-kinds, I put a hell of a lot of love into them and I don't want just anyone to own them, you know? They're special."

"I can tell," he said, rubbing the fabric between his fingers, and he couldn't help himself. "Also this proves you really do get off on surprising people, you weirdo."

Lyra abandoned her sewing and glared at him, hating that he had somehow discovered a new sensitive nerve beneath her usually unruffled exterior. Blood warmed the apples of her cheeks, weakened by the idea that he was capable of imagining her in any kind of state of arousal…

"Stop thinking about what turns me on, Harry," she scoffed, grinning widely to counteract her body's attempt to shy away. His jersey slipped through his fingers and he glared back, bombarded by a blush so vicious that he now matched his new top.

"I don't think—! That's not what I—?!"

Just then, Tonks poked her head around the door wearing her familiar feline grin with pride as she wiggled her darkened brows and gave a strident sigh, startling them both. Did she hear them?

"Guess who just bagged herself a drop-dead gorgeous apothecary table for her living room?" She boasted, satisfied with her tactics of persuasion. She hadn't.

"Congratulations, how bad was she?" wondered Lyra, drawing attention away from Harry who was grumbling to himself, drowning in his own awkwardness.

"Not as grumpy as the time I begged her for her old dressing table, but still, I would avoid going downstairs for the rest of the night if I were you," admitted Tonks, fully stepping over the threshold of her room so they could talk in private. The pair sensed her tone switch and the softening of her vivid pink hair and caught each other's eye, their blushes fading fast.

"From the moment we get to the campsite, I want both of you to be on your guard. And I mean the second we touch down on that field I need you to promise me that you will be aware of your surroundings at all times," she ordered them, putting her recent training to good use. "People from every corner of the world will be there, it's going to be hectic and overstimulating and potentially dangerous. And I know the temptation to sneak off and explore will be strong but if you stick with me, Bill, and Charlie then I can guarantee you'll have the bestest, and most importantly safest, time of your lives."

Tonks lingered on Harry who froze, "Especially you, Potter. Be extremely careful of everyone who comes up to you, may I recommend that you don't go anywhere alone? I know I sound like a paranoid nag but the probability of you crossing paths with someone who has reason to dislike you is too high for me to risk. I won't technically be on shift tomorrow but I'm always on the clock now. You need protection."

"I don't see any reason why I'd ever be by myself," he agreed. "I promise I'll stick with someone at all times, don't worry about me."

"Even in the shower? Wow, Ron is going to be over the moon when he hears about this, he'll obviously have to be your shower buddy," Lyra snickered.

"Sure, whatever floats your boat, but don't use our shower if you're going to mess around, please use Ron's," Tonks joined in to Harry's detriment and he retired to bed without another word, leaving the girls to their cackles.

"We won't dick about tomorrow, we'll be safe," Lyra told her once their giggles died down, and Tonks winked at her, hoping that her words would ring true.

"I mean, I'm taking precautions but I'm also there to have a good time too," she pouted as she dramatically backed out of her room, using the darkness of the landing to her advantage, "there will be some dicking about, a bit of frolicking here and a little meddling there, and maybe even a dash of tomfoolery if you're lucky."

"Remember to pack the beer!" Lyra shout-whispered and grinned as Tonks shoved a thumb-up through the crack of her door before closing it for the night. Score!

The pinpricks of giddy anticipation tickled her fingertips as she finished the last stitch, secured the thread and whizzed around her bedroom to finalise her packing list. She neatly laid her clothes for tomorrow on her trunk at the end of her bed, preened to perfection in the bathroom and eventually crawled under the covers where she co-existed with the buzzing electricity in her veins and the cosy wiggling of her toes beneath her duvet.

She was going to her first major Wizarding event tomorrow, her first professional Quidditch match! The pinnacle of sporting brilliance, she was going to witness the world's greatest take to the skies with her own two eyeballs. Her brain couldn't even comprehend the impending show of excellence, she needed to take note of their plays for future use in her own matches. She couldn't help but think of her mother and godfather, they should have been here too. Would they have been on the English national team if things hadn't gone to shit all those years ago? She liked to think so.

Lyra scooted onto her side and stared at the gentle glow of her alarm clock, wishing that the constant whirling of her mind would slow down just this once. Sleep was paramount, Tonks' warning was stuck on repeat as she willed herself to settle and concentrate on counting the red and green sheep behind her lids instead.

High alert all day and all night.

No time to gather her thoughts, constantly going. She could handle that.

Thousands of witches and wizards, from all over the world, uniting over their love of Quidditch and lavish showmanship. The fashion was going to be out of this world, she needed to take notes.

Strangers and friends alike, all in one place. How many familiar faces will she run into?

Cedric.

The Hufflepuff popped up like clockwork and Lyra squeezed her eyes tight and rolled into her pillow, using the shadows swimming around her as a shield from the glow of her bashful smile. What was he going to do to her tomorrow? Should she dare to dream…?

Lyra pictured Cedric standing there before her, wearing a form-fitting navy sweatshirt she saw him in once and a suggestive smirk that lit up his handsome face like a glowing advertisement for his dirty thoughts. But it wasn't his lips that had drawn her interest, it was his irresistible heavy leer that tugged at the hem of her neckline and swept down her growing curves, undressing her, luring her darkest desires out from the privacy of her shadows.

A sensual lick of his smooth lips, the flexing of a daunting muscle as it stretched beneath its stifling cotton cage, the shrinking gap between their slippery bodies. Her breath became erratic as his persuasive hot hands snaked around her waist and dropped down to the ample curve of her—

Stop.

Not his hands.

A dark pit ripped open in her stomach and doused the titillating tendril of sensual heat that inspired the sacred parts of Lyra's body in malignant venom.

Danger. Her skin crawled as she ripped the duvet from her chin and counted each of her fighting breaths, casting out the nasty hiss whose purpose was to break her with a whispered mantra.

No, it's not his hands. It's Cedric's.

Only Cedric's.

Not Tom's hands.

Not him…

Lyra unhooked Tom's violent spectral claws from her slick freckled skin and replaced them with Cedric's instead, covering the fierce parasitic imprints with her tutor's calloused fingers that hungered to explore the unsullied treasures buried beneath her delicate garments. That's whose hands she needed, whose palms she burned for.

She was scalding, addicted to the perverse return of the sluggish heat that numbed her thighs and slithered toward the source of the intimate warmth pulsating between them. Her legs fell open with the gentlest of knocks, as though they had been waiting for permission. The hand playing with the scalloped waistline of her pyjama shorts dipped lower and answered the magnetic purr radiating from the one place she had been reluctant to explore.

Until now.

For the first time in Lyra's life, she felt the impetuous impulse to be touched. To feel pressure against the bundle of nerves quivering in suspense underneath her shorts, to feel anything against her…

Down…

There…

"Fuck…" Lyra shuddered. It had a heartbeat of its own, was that normal? Because it was like nothing she'd ever felt before, so intuitively delicate and raw. Something switched in the chemistry of her hormone-addled brain and she surrendered to the hypnotic lure with the gentlest of moans hitching her throat, imagining it was his fingertips massaging the swell of her lips.

The droplets of sweat that rolled down the contours of her neck stimulated her further. In the depraved darkness of her fantasy it was his tongue lapping and suckling, tracing crude patterns that crept underneath her thin t-shirt and soaked the ample skin culminating at her hard nipples. Her second hand groped freely, exacerbating the scenario she was floating in. They'd never been this sensitive before, she was incensed by the revelation that the stinging pain teasing the swollen buds served to heighten the ripples arousal devouring her.

It felt so fucking good…

"Do you like it when I touch you there, petal?"

Lyra hissed in response to Cedric's illusory titter and she ate her moan before it had a chance to escape and announce her midnight exploration to the silent house. The throbbing was incapacitating, her circular motions weren't enough, she needed more.

"Keep touching yourself, Black, pretend they're my fingers as they fuck you… Let me feel how wet your pussy is…"

Swallowing another moan, Lyra clamped down on her bottom lip and ever so slowly inched toward the delicate pink parting that yearned for direct contact and—

Oh.

Nothing.

The erotic flames vanished as suddenly as they arrived, as though it had all been a senseless hallucination. Her phantom admirer was long gone, her hand fell limp as the crawling sense of confusion snatched her out of her fantasy and had her frowning at the ceiling, wondering what the hell was wrong with her.

Though this may have been her first brush with masturbation, Lyra knew bits and pieces from the awful snippets of porn she had been scarred by as a child as well as from the explicit whispers circulating the girls bathroom at school. She knew enough to understand that when women became aroused, they tended to get wet.

And yet here she laid. Bone dry.

Maybe I'm overthinking this.

Shaking off her anxiety, Lyra attempted to immerse herself back into her sexual fantasy with a determined flex of her fingers, but the core-clenching tongues of fire never returned no matter how loud she called for them. Her wrist quickly worked up an ache she couldn't ignore and her thoughts refused to stay on track for more than one second. Was she doing it wrong? Why wasn't she even the tiniest bit lubricated? The doctor warned her about the difficult symptoms she may experience as a teenager throughout her dance with PTSD, was this one of them? The list he rattled off to her in the doctor's office was extensive, she couldn't remember what he said about potential sexual aversions.

Fizzled out and dehydrated, Lyra punched her pillow, rolled over, and managed to doze off to the repetition of her private fantasy where she wove the fabricated climactic finale she envisioned into the threads of her experience instead. This was her first time, she had no clue what she was doing, and Cedric wasn't here so obviously her own hand wasn't enough to influence her core to soften and glisten in the way it was supposed to, right?

It's fine, I'm fine.

When she woke the next morning to the chirping of her alarm, Lyra shoved the instinctual replay of her fruitless task to one side and hopped out of bed with a fiery flick of her heels, determined to keep her mind occupied. She purposely set her clock to wake her before anyone else and spent her extra bathroom time wisely where she groomed and beautified herself to a point where she was certain that last night was an anomaly.

Who knows, maybe tonight she would find the time to try again with a special boy who could lend a helping hand…?

Merlin's beard, child.

Just don't get caught with yours or his hands down your trousers, please.

Lyra jolted at their echoing interruption and scowled at the smudged line of her four leafed clover she was drawing on her cheeks.

We've got to establish boundaries, guys. Seriously, go away, this is private.

She didn't wait for their answer before shutting them off so she could paint in peace. The peachy purple arrival of dawn illuminated her tapestry curtains, signifying that the others were due to rise at any minute, and Lyra finished applying the final layer of pea green glitter to her repainted leaves as Kreacher popped by to serve her a rare shot of espresso and cinnamon.

"Mistress must be vigilant today, Kreacher will be on standby just in case something happens," he wished her well before he left and Lyra thanked him for the advice with a quick peck on the head. She wasn't the only one suffering with intense anxiety lately, though she highly doubted Kreacher was nervous about the same thing she was but still, she appreciated his company.

It wasn't until she finished getting ready that the heavy coat of nerves hugging her loosened its grip and nudged her self-esteem up a peg or two. She decided against wearing her pleated skirt out of fear of flashing the poor soul seated behind her and donned her darker, tighter combat trousers instead. Since they had Johnny in complete disarray that day outside of the doctors she assumed that they would work their magic again. She slicked back her overgrown fringe and clipped the kinks out of her face using an array of miniature claws, layered her lashes with a feathery set Tonks had gifted her when she was cleaning her room out, and decided to experiment with a deep burgundy lip liner that Danielle swore hand on heart was her perfect shade.

And then there was her personalised Ireland Quidditch jersey, the star of the show. In true Lyra fashion, she chose to chop the jersey up and reconstruct it by using an old Harley Davidson mechanic shirt that Tonks wanted to throw away as her pattern. Thankfully the original top came with a sturdy full zip that ran up the front so construction was a piece of cake, and the addition of the Irish badges on its short sleeves and the embroidered 'Black' name glowing on the back ensured that it was still recognisable as a Quidditch shirt. Even though the style of the shirt suggested that Quidditch was a motorsport, it fit the theme perfectly.

However, as Lyra slipped it on and zipped herself up, she realised that she should have tried the shirt on last night. The shirt's firm structure and tight fit acted like a corset; she couldn't fully close the zip no matter how much she yanked it. Her cleavage had never been more imposing, to her distress it appeared that she had overtaken her cousin in the boob department and forgot to account for her apparent growth spurt. She should have retaken her measurement.

Andy was right, maybe I'll bring a coat just in case.

"Good mooooorn— oh boring, you're already up and dressed," Tonks yawned as she stuck her head around her bedroom door, her puffy eyes blinking away the grits of shock, "and here I thought I was the first one awake."

Lyra checked her alarm clock, amazed. "It's five forty, you've got fifteen minutes. Is no one else awake?"

Tonks retracted her head then reappeared looking more awake, giggling to herself. "Scratch that, Mum, Dad and Harry are downstairs already, it's just me who overslept."

"Chop chop, Nymphadora! Mischief waits for no mistress, we have lots of buffoonery on our schedule today!" Lyra sang as she laced her boots and searched through her wardrobe for something that would distract the eye from lingering too long on her generous bustline.

"Yes ma'am!" Tonks whisked off to her old bedroom in a tirade of heavy footsteps and left Lyra to her difficult decision. She put so much work into her jersey, she had to suck it up and face the consequences of her miscalculations.

With her backpack strapped tight and her sunglasses perched on top of her head, Lyra ambled downstairs and joined the trio lounging in the living room to a chorus of astonishment led by Andromeda. Although she wasn't joining them at the World Cup, Molly extended her breakfast invitation to Andy as well so she was perched on the sofa looking effortlessly modish in her denim dungarees, flowy house robe and clogs.

"I told you we didn't need to check on her," she told Ted as she winked at Lyra, pleased with her niece's improved sleep patterns.

"I didn't say we needed to, and by the looks of it she woke up before us," Ted climbed up from his chair and poured Lyra a fresh cup of tea from the steaming pot on the coffee table, marvelling at her creative handiwork as he motioned to her to spin. "Great job, Lyra! Is that Dora's old Harley top?"

"It was, thank you!" She beamed and extracted Ted's own green jersey from her backpack, "don't worry, Harry and I aren't the only ones representing today, everyone has one."

"Fantastic! And you chose correctly too," Ted chuckled to himself as he slipped it on over his plaid shirt like a proud father. Paired with his battered cap and fishing trousers, he looked like one of the many football supporters that invaded Weymouth on Sundays. Come to think of it, Lyra had never seen Ted in a set of wizard robes before and she had trouble imagining him in them.

"Very dashing, sweetheart," Andy complimented, making Ted blush.

"What do you mean, 'chose correctly'?" scoffed Harry, feeling left out of their Celtic green team as he glanced down at his blood red colours. Unlike Ted and Lyra, Harry wore a faded black shirt over his jersey to cover the eye-catching famous name on the back that was sure to draw much unwanted attention, and Lyra couldn't help but smirk at the long-awaited return of the black cap that Lyra dubbed his 'celebrity disguise'. All he needed was a pair of sunglasses to complete the mysterious vibe he was trying to give off, he looked perfectly inconspicuous yet cool. It was nice to see that he had been absorbing Lyra's fashion advice.

Ted winked at him. "No offence Harry, but Lev Zograf has survived this World Cup by the skin of his teeth, he won't be able to keep up against Ireland's Chasers. Mark my words, he'll be sloppy."

"I don't think that'll matter, Krum will catch the Snitch fast and Bulgaria will win. The game won't last long," Harry said matter-of-factly from the tall armchair by the fireplace, Lyra's usual seat.

"Classic Seeker bias, that's not true," Lyra tutted, shaking her head at him, "don't downplay Mullet, Moran, or Troy's talents like that, they're gonna thrash Bulgaria, are you kidding me?"

"Classic Chaser bias, that couldn't be more true," Harry mirrored her disappointment, looking composed as he flashed her a cheeky smile from beneath his visor. "Viktor has the power to end the game, of course he's going to catch the Snitch before Ireland score."

"Fat chance of that happening, mate," Lyra refuted, smiling equally as bright.

"Must we talk about Quidditch this early in the morning?" Andromeda complained, already sick of the sound. She left her seat and hobbled off to the kitchen. "Lyra, I found a spare coat for you last night that I want you to take."

"You really didn't have to do that," Lyra cupped her forehead, cautious of smearing her glitter, "I don't need one, I'm fine."

"You don't have to wear it now, pack it in your bag," her voice carried through the open doors, "I know you want to show off your new top, dear, I'm not that mean."

Lyra begrudgingly accepted the thin, baggy raincoat that looked as though it was built for a tall man twice her size and quickly stuffed it away just as Tonks came striding down the stairs with her knapsack slung over her shoulder, stifling a loud yawn. Like Lyra, she decided to rip the arms off of her clover Quidditch jersey and knotted the fabric at her slim waist, and her choice of menacing platform boots and dark olive trousers complimented her look nicely. With her chin-length cool blonde curls and kohl lined eyes Lyra thought she looked like a younger, punkier version of Narcissa, though she neglected to tell her that.

They gathered in front of the fireplace and initiated the Floo Network connection with a fist full of powder and a clear set of instructions. As the clock struck five to, they disappeared into the crackling green flames one by one and popped out into the Burrow's surprisingly rowdy and overcrowded kitchen. Quite the contrast from the Tonkses' tranquil abode.

"THEY'RE HEEEERE!"

Fred leapt to his feet first and roared at the top of his lungs, scaring most of the sleepy figures slumped around the table and setting an already twitchy Molly off on her usual tirade about unacceptable volume levels, especially at dawn. Though rattled from the energetic twin's announcement, Ron and Hermione were quick to rise and smother the newcomers with tight embraces and arm punches, immediately jumping into a past conversation as though they had never left each other's sides. Arthur and Molly welcomed the adults inside with two appreciated cups of coffee and whispers of gossip, while Tonks decided to launch herself at the snoring boy sprawled out at the head of the table hoping to scare the daylights out of him. Since he was used to the thunderous roars of brawling dragons all day, Charlie slept through the commotion without trouble but he screamed bloody murder when she tackled him out of his chair and set Molly off all over again.

"We've missed you! Gosh, you look incredible," Hermione held Lyra at arm's length so she could study her clothes, and she didn't bother to hide her fascination with her shirt design. Lyra knew her blatant cleavage ogles were harmless but it still warmed her face.

"So do you, I can't believe you've cut your hair!" Lyra waited for Hermione's consenting nod before running her nails through her oiled ringlets that now brushed her shoulders, enjoying the waft of shea butter and rose water hitting her face with each wave. "Gorgeous!"

"And where oh where did you get these?" Ron copied Hermione's mannerisms and held Harry by his shoulders, staring at his chest as though he had also received a bountiful gift from the puberty gods. "Is that an official Krum jersey or is it handmade? I can't tell."

"Forget about the shirt, what's that?" asked Harry, ignoring his question in favour of the vicious hot pink line poking out of the collar of Ron's striped shirt. "Are you ok?"

"It's nothing, I promise," he swore, lowering his voice as his eyes darted to the open door, "I just got a little carried away while playing with this branch last month, it snapped at a weird angle and—," he gestured at his wound with a hand stabbing motion, "it didn't hurt until after I transformed back, I swear I didn't do it to myself."

"You're lucky it didn't get infected," Hermione pursed her lips, "what were you doing playing with a stick anyway? Wolfsbane keeps you lucid during a full moon…?"

His cheeks matched his cut in colour as he shrugged, trying not to smile. "And? I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Dogs go absolutely mental for them, and also who doesn't feel accomplished when they come across a good stick?"

"Haha, fair," Harry barked in agreement, smiling as though reminiscing about a particularly fine branch he found once.

"So what's your verdict then?" wondered Lyra, forever mystified by the enigma that was a teenage boy's brain.

"I can't lie, it was bloody good fun. My jaws are stronger than I thought," Ron grinned, "I see why dogs do it now, it gave me this weird sense of accomplishment, you know?"

"Not really, mate, but at least we know what to get you for Christmas now," said Harry, clapping his shoulder before pulling him in for another hug, trying to move past seeing his best friend's unintentional self-infliction.

Once Ginny, George, and Bill ambled down to breakfast, all equally as red-eyed and grumpy as each other at the sight of the sunrise beyond the kitchen window, Lyra decided it was high time she finished handing out her handmade jerseys and soon the entire table was wide awake with more laughter and whoops of excitement for the big event. Hermione didn't have a choice, she was an Irish supporter today. Except for Ginny and Arthur, the only Weasleys with good taste, the redheads accepted their Bulgarian team shirts and took turns comparing their designs. With them all sharing the same last name, Lyra opted to customise them with first names instead.

Not their own first names, though, where was the fun in that? Ginny proudly wore Bill's while Bill bore Ron's, Charlie claimed to be George, George became Fred, and naturally Fred demanded that he was now called Ginevra.

"Please don't tell me I have to walk around wearing Percy's name?" Ron grumbled as Lyra pulled the final two jerseys from her bag.

Though her eye twitched at the mention of the unlikable Weasley brother who hadn't made his appearance yet, Lyra shook her head and gifted him his new favourite piece of merch, her dimples popping out of her freckles in warning.

"Even better!"

Like a fool, Ron slid the jersey on without checking its back and spun around so the table could admire his new name, but he immediately ran off to find a mirror when he was met with another round of laughter.

"Congratulations Ronald! You didn't tell us you were engaged?!" George jeered.

"Isn't that a bit much?" Molly tutted, her eyes darting to Lyra who shook her head in triumph.

"I thought you'd be happy to hear that you're gaining a world-class Seeker as a son-in-law?" She deflected, grinning even wider as Ron came stomping back, still wearing his 'Mrs Viktor Krum' shirt despite his red ears. "See! Ron loves it really."

"I don't."

"I'll wear it then, you can be George instead," Charlie offered, transfixed by the love hearts flitting around Viktor's name like tiny lovebirds.

Ron hesitated before slowly sitting down and returning to his half-eaten sausage sandwich, side-eyeing Charlie. "…No, Lyra made it for me so I'm wearing it."

"I told you!" Lyra defended the implied bullying accusation Molly was silently shooting her way via her motherly stern gaze, "and before you ask, Percy's jersey is completely ordinary. I'm being nice, I didn't leave him out."

She aimlessly tossed the final shirt onto the table, glad to be rid of it. She didn't want to include Percy in the festivities for a reason but her stomach ached at the thought of his heartbreak on his speckled face the moment he realised he'd been left out. He was in her bad books at the moment, but still, she wasn't totally heartless.

Even if he was working under Crouch. Percy never liked Lyra in the first place, she knew that already, but now? He couldn't stand the sight of her.

"Where is Perce?" Tonks asked the table as she thanked Bill for her refill of coffee, "is he still… you know… unaware of recent events?"

"As far as we know, yes," Arthur answered first, his gaze fixed on the door in case his third eldest son wandered in and his brows furrowed in the most unArthurlike way. "We're incredibly lucky that his nights away in London happen to coincide with the full moon."

"At least you must be glad to hear that Percy's doing extremely well at work though," Tonks tried to stay positive, smiling at the concerned Weasley parents with the hopes of turning their frowns upside down.

"Quite frankly that's the part that worries me the most," admitted Molly, dishing out the last of the spitting bacon from her frying pan just to keep herself busy. "I know what my uncle is like and I pray that he's not being too hard on him. I feel awful enough as it is, keeping him in the dark. Speaking of, has Bartemius contacted any of you since he visited Lyra in Weymouth? Have you heard anything?"

"No, not a dicky bird," replied Ted, looking at Andy squished between him and Arthur who had trouble hiding her anger. "Neither has the lady who runs Coles."

"And he hasn't answered any of my letters either, we have no idea if he intends to take us to court over Lyra or not so we don't know whether we should contact a lawyer yet," huffed Andromeda, her nose scrunched in the same way Tonks does whenever she loses her temper. Molly abandoned her food serving duties and rubbed her friend's shoulders in solidarity, sharing her frustrations with a gentle touch.

"No wonder Giselle ran away from home, tosspot," Bill commented under his breath, hoping his mother hadn't heard him, but he doubled down with a smirk when Molly turned to him with her famous disapproving frown. "Don't look at me like that, Mum. Unlike everyone else I actually remember Elle and Barty, and Aunt Adelaide. Crouch is a nightmare, everyone knows he's a control freak. He doesn't have a chance in hell at securing custody of Lyra, the judge won't rule in his favour."

"That's not strictly true, he holds more favour with the Ministry and the Muggle judiciary than I do, for one," sighed Andromeda wearily, leaning against her husband's shoulder.

"If it comes to that, the judge will ask me who I'd prefer to live with, please don't worry about him," Lyra tried to interject, wanting to absolve her of her sadness, but all Crouch-related conversations died the second Ginny waved for attention at the opposite end of the table, inadvertently ruining the plait Hermione was creating in her hair.

"He's coming!"

Lyra bit down on her tongue and joined Harry and Ron's aimless chat as Percy strolled into the kitchen at last, his chest puffed up beneath his smart business suit and his orange curls slicked back in a hauntingly familiar fashion. It took every ounce of strength not to retch — he was her grandfather's protege alright, he was the spitting image. She avoided all eye contact and acted as though he wasn't there.

"Tell me you're not wearing a suit today," George took his feet so his brother understood just how despondent he was to his new adult persona. "Percy, come on, this is a joke right?"

"Mr Crouch wrote to me last night requesting my assistance today, I cannot turn up to the World Cup looking ridiculous," Percy eyed the matching shirts with a cocked brow, "I need to look presentable," he said, nodding in thanks to his mother for his freshly buttered crumpet and tea.

"Absolutely not," Fred joined his twin with Lyra's gift hidden behind his back, and the pair slowly approached him while he was distracted with his breakfast, "this trip is supposed to be about family, not work."

"Incorrect, the Ministry is always working. If extra hands are required today then other departments will lend theirs," Percy looked to Tonks and Arthur as though expecting them to back him up, "isn't that right?"

"As an Auror I'm obligated to get involved if trouble arises, but I also plan on drinking my body weight in beer so…" Tonks pouted, shrugging.

"I still can't believe you're an Auror," Charlie teased her, "fingers crossed the Irish start a riot tonight, I need to see you in action."

"Charles!" Molly smacked him with her tea towel to the entertainment of his siblings.

"I'm on annual leave, I can't say that I'd be thrilled if there's a misuse of Muggle artefacts emergency that needs my urgent attention while we're there," Arthur tried to keep a lighthearted tone as he attempted to divert the subject, "this is your five minute warning, people. If you need the bathroom, go now — uh, boys! Leave him be!"

"Get off me!"

Looking like a pair of cats on the hunt for a tasty mouse, the twins pounced at Percy as everyone got ready to set off, forcing his crimson jersey over his head and arms as though he was an unruly toddler.

"No! Lyra made this for you out of the goodness of her heart and you're going to wear it!"

"No work for you today! Fuck Mr Crouch, you're hanging out with us! Gimme your arm, Perce!"

"Mum! They're ruining my suit!"

"Boys! Pack it in!"

"Let's go outside," Bill took the lead and herded everyone into the front garden bathed in the frosted pink spills of sunlight rising up the misty summer morning sky. Bags were triple-checked, cheeks were kissed, and after a wobbly start that resulted in Percy, Fred, and George being forced to hug it out in front of their highly anxious mother, the adrenalised, red and green group of thirteen waved goodbye to the matriarchs of their family and set out from the Burrow on their grand sporting adventure together.

Oh my God I'm going to see Cedric.

The immobilising intrusive thought cropped up like a heat rash the second Lyra stepped onto the woodland trail after crossing their fourth and final wheat field. The luscious shade of the leafy canopy and increase in morning birdsong gave the group a fresh burst of energy so they took a moment to share bottles of water. Lyra paused her debate with Tonks and Hermione about the ethics of the Ministry using a Muggle camping ground to host the thousands of self-righteous wizards invading the English countryside and she processed the change of scenery — they were close. They had to be.

"You alright? You look like you're burning up," Tonks commented as Lyra shakily accepted her water.

"I forgot to put on sun cream," she lied, fanning her face out of fear of ruining her paint. She should have waited until later to dress up, what was she thinking? She looked like an idiot!

"We can't be far now," Ron complained a few feet ahead of them, "Dad? How long do we have left?"

"It's only ten minutes away, I promise!"

Fuuuuck.

"Be honest, do I look ok? I don't look stupid, do I?" Lyra turned to the girls with an extra sparkle of panic, desperate for reassurance as she tugged at her stubborn zip.

"No? You look amazing," said Hermione, confused.

"I can't lie, it's annoying that you look better in my clothes than I do," Tonks sighed, commiserating with the fact she had less to show off than her younger cousin, "but I can't deny that you look particularly hot today, Black. Why? Is there a reason why you're all dolled up?"

"Uh…" As she opened her mouth to tell a sweet little lie, three more voices entered their vicinity at the head of their line and all of her nerves came crashing back, reminding her of the failure that occurred in her bed last night. He was here. Too late to change now.

"Is that…? Cedric?" Hermione craned her neck before slowly turning to Lyra with a growing smirk as she spotted the new familiar attractive face amongst their group.

"As in Diggory? Why is he–? Bloody Nora, he's all grown up!" Tonks caught her water bottle before it spilled over her boots and gawked at Lyra as though she had been struck by a bolt of inspiration. "Fuck off, I thought you said he was writing to you because he's your tutor, was that a lie? Are you seeing Cedric?!"

"No, he really is my Herbology tutor," Lyra protested, unsure how to answer her second question. She gave herself a quick once over before committing to her charming smile as one by one heads slowly turned to catch her eye. Fred and George looked irate, they were blatant with their glares of betrayal as though she had somehow orchestrated the Diggorys joining their crew herself and they began to whisper to their older brothers and sister in a way that had her toes curling in her boots. It seemed that they still weren't keen on the idea of her and him together.

"So you are seeing him then?" Tonks purred, electrified by the juicy piece of gossip.

Ron and Harry spun on their heels with the rubberiest of necks and gawked at her as though she had said something outrageous. Immediately Lyra's back was raised, she didn't like their bitchy pouts one bit.

I think they're just being overly protective.

They're emotional teenage boys, testosterone is one hell of a bitch. Go easy on them.

Ha! No?! They need to go easy on me!

"Firstly, no I'm not seeing him. Secondly, even if I was, that information does not warrant this kind of attention from everyone," she hissed, incredibly self-conscious of the fact that they were now actively ignoring Cedric, his best friend Gabriel and his father Amos who were starting to notice their huddle. Lyra glanced past Harry's shoulder and finally locked eyes with Ced and she fought hard to keep her stomach from plummeting out of her arse, "and lastly, please don't embarrass me. Please."

"Me? Embarrass you?" Tonks scoffed as though she was offended, "girl please, I'll have you know that I am a fantastic wingwoman, thank you very much."

I shouldn't have said anything.

Lyra hoped she hid her dread well as she greeted Gabriel with an enthusiastic wave when he shouted her name and boldly invited himself over to their hushed gathering despite Cedric's ashamed arm tugs. Lyra liked Gabe Truman, he always waved at her whenever they spotted each other across a courtyard or during dinner in the Great Hall, and his jokes weren't half bad either. Today his deep russet skin popped against his white t-shirt and he hid his recently buzzed cut beneath a Bulgarian scarlet bucket hat, though he was quick to remove it once he realised who the blonde lady grinning at him was.

"No way, little Gabe! Look at you all grown up!"

"Crikey, Tonks? I barely recognised you," he gasped, suddenly breathless, "you remember me?"

"Of course I do! You were my little first year cubs, all rosy cheeked and starry eyed, come here!" She pulled him in for a hug as their huddle merged with the main group, and Lyra had no choice but to acknowledge Cedric who had slid up next to her and blessed her with a wave of his salty aftershave.

He had put on more than usual. And his haircut was noticeably fresh too, he swept a hand through his bronzed brown locks as though checking for stray leaves but Lyra could tell by the subtle flex of his shoulders he was showing off the new ripples of muscle he'd been working on. His short sleeve shifted slightly, giving Lyra a glimpse of his armpit hair, and she averted her gaze back to his, hoping and praying that he couldn't see the horrifically horny image running riot in her brain.

She didn't know she had a thing for body hair until that very second.

"Hello Cedric, you're looking well," said Hermione politely, laying it on thick since the two boys pouting next to her weren't making the effort to be nice.

"Thank you, you too. It's good to see you all," said Cedric, his voice crackling with genuine warmth as he admired their apparel, "I love your shirts, let me guess…?"

Lyra fluttered her lashes and sighed, admiring her nails as she savoured the intensity of his full attention lazily scratching her skin like a sensual massage. He couldn't keep his eyes off her, she was honey and his paws were soaked.

"You would be correct in assuming that they're all my doing, obviously," she purred, "since they're so awesome."

"Obviously," he repeated, "especially Ron's, that one has a high chance of being noticed and signed by the players."

Ron walked with his head a little bit higher, trying not to warm to Cedric. "Yeah, suppose I do."

"Damn, that's such a good idea! We should have gotten shirts made, what the hell Ced?" Gabriel huffed, trying to hook his arm around his best mate's shoulders as they all continued onwards to their next destination. But Cedric was quick to dodge his arm and direct him back toward Tonks, clearly hoping he would get the message to leave him alone with Lyra.

Gabriel didn't, however thankfully Tonks did. "So, Gabe! Tell me all about Hogwarts, how is everyone? What options did you choose? Have you gotten your OWL results yet?"

"Ron, come on, I want to ask your dad something quick," Hermione slipped her arm through his and urged him to walk faster, leaving Lyra alone to talk to Cedric…

And Harry. Whether he got the hint that she and Cedric wanted a moment to themselves or not, Lyra couldn't tell as he happily kept their pace, but she simmered the bubbles of frustration in her veins and forced a laugh that drew his stubborn green eye.

"Hey, Potter, why don't you go with them?" She hinted in her sweetest voice, her eyes round and pleading.

"Actually, Black, I was wondering if I could have a word with Harry first?" Cedric interjected in a surprise turn of events, and he winked at her, "alone, if you wouldn't mind."

Wait, what?

Lyra's smile fell while Harry's brows rose in both intrigue and suspicion.

"What about?" Lyra beat Harry to the punch, but Cedric chuckled and shook his head, gently nudging her away.

"Is she always this nosy?" he asked Harry who rolled his eyes.

"You don't know the half of it," he scoffed back, shifting his hat so Cedric could see him better, and Lyra's butterflies turned rabid when Harry grinned at her and motioned that she should walk ahead, making Cedric laugh harder.

Oh fuck, this can't be good.

"Whatever," Lyra decided to stop caring as she shook her hair out and glanced over her shoulder one last time, purposely cocking a hip. "You Seekers are all the same, have fun chatting about supporting the losing team!"

She didn't bother to wait for any kind of response as she jogged ahead to join Ginny and Charlie's discussion instead, where she was able to get lost in their discussion on which team had the fittest players for all of one minute. Her ears pricked each time either Cedric or Harry laughed and the urge to look back or barge in and interrupt what she assumed was them talking about her was excruciating. Why now? Was he making her wait on purpose? That must've been it.

"What are they talking about back there?" whispered Ginny, trying to mask her stares with a few awkward stretches.

"Fuck knows," she muttered back, maintaining her false smile as they exited the woods and trekked up a steep meadow knoll.

"And what's this I hear about you and Mr Diggory, ey?" Charlie snickered, elbowing her hard in the ribs.

"If I hear one more freaking comment about my hypothetical love life, I swear to God, I will castrate someone," she snickered back, only making him laugh harder.

Judging by Arthur, Ted, and Amos' exclaims of exasperation as they reached the top, their hike had come to an end. Lyra offered to use Kreacher's services as their chosen mode of transport a couple of days ago, mostly as an attempt to convince Arthur to push their start time back a couple of hours, but apparently due to the lack of house elf magic regulations, the Ministry forbade the public from apparating in out of fear of everyone teleporting on top of each other and causing a minor catastrophe. She had heard of Portkeys in passing, but she didn't think much of them. She had Kreacher and her broomsticks, why would she ever need a Portkey?

It was only when Lyra noticed what this particularly Portkey was that she decided to switch her opinion on the outdated concept. Sure, a battered mouldy-looking boot, why the hell not? It's not every day you travel somewhere via a shoe.

"Come on, you two, hurry up! It leaves in less than a minute!" Amos Diggory called after the slow pair staggering up the hill just as the leather boot trembled and started to emit an eerie misty blue glow. Lyra shuffled in between Hermione and Gabriel and stuck her arm out, her fingertips barely grazing the boot's tongue. She tried to keep her gaze firmly on the bright glow instead of the out of breath whispering pair opposite her, but her innate curiosity was kicking her arse. Why were they still talking?!

"Ten seconds!" Arthur announced, his eyes whizzing around behind his glasses as he checked everyone was attached in some way, "get ready!"

"Again, I really think we should have just used Kreacher and saved us from all this hassle," Lyra reiterated, already exhausted from her bizarre stretched pose.

"See? I told you, she always has to get the last word in," taunted Harry, allowing her a mere glimpse into what they were talking about as Cedric cracked up laughing yet again.

Before Lyra gathered enough breath to yell at Harry to stop embarrassing her in front of her crush, the glow of the Portkey brightened like a surging lightbulb. A peculiar hooking sensation latched around Lyra's middle and yanked her toward the boot as though someone had shot her with a grappling hook and jumped off a cliff. She squeezed her eyes tight and fought against her instinct to scream as her feet left the earth. Was she flying? She didn't dare to peek.

"ARGH!"

"Merlin's ballsack, you're on my leg!"

"Ow, Fred!"

"Actually it's Ginevra now."

Windswept and achy from the abrupt rough landing, Lyra eventually opened her eyes and clambered to her woozy feet, checking her body for new bruises. She decided she did not like Portkeys after all.

The field they landed in was much larger than she expected, a hundred times busier, and a thousand times more wackier than she expected. Although the camping valley was encircled by a dark verdurous forest that stretched far beyond their eyes reach, the spectacular sea of striped tents, wooden cabins, carriages and caravans, houses and mansions couldn't have looked more out of place. From their vantage point the campsite below looked like an actual city — no, more like the world's biggest carnival. Shut up, someone came by hot air balloon?

There was so much to look at, Lyra didn't know where to start first, she was spoiled for choice.

But then she felt it, and the entire campsite melted away as though it had all been one crazy dream. Her friends and family's faces vanished, colours dimmed and the raucous ambience of apparating wizards, wheezing laughter, and campsite music faded into a dull, head-splitting ringing that only she could hear.

Cold, so very cold.

THEY ARE CLOSE… SO I WILL BE CLOSER, MY LOVE…

Lyra felt Death looming behind her but she never looked back. She didn't need to, she knew why they were here with her. Deep down, in her dark tortured soul, she knew exactly why she felt so inhuman and her hand found her wand without realising. Tonks was right, she needed to be on guard at all times now.

Someone here at the World Cup is looking for Death's Soul. There is a Thief amongst us…