What the Heck Was Going On in the Whole Wide World?
Lyra’s steps turned sharp, her heels striking the floor like a war drum as she walked straight through the door. The door was thrown open with one flick of her hand.
Of course he was here.
She should’ve known.
He was sparing him because of that bloody, cursed blood tie.
Peverell magic. She hated it—loathed how it tethered her, bound her hands. But a part of her, the dark and twisted corner of her soul, admired it too. It was poetic in its cruelty. Clever in its binding.
And now, because of it, she couldn’t touch the blood kin without consequences. She wasn’t ready to end up like him.
She kicked the door open. “Marvolo Salazar Gaunt! What the fuck are you doing in my house and how dare you undo the bloodlock without my permission?! How did you do it anyway?”
There, lounging on the cushion like it was a royal throne, sat a man in his thirties—maybe early forties. Windswept dark hair, pale skin, and eyes that burned ice-blue when they met hers.
Tom Marvolo, Jr. A.K.A. Mr. Worst Dark Lord of the Century. Also known as the most annoying cousin to ever exist.
She rolled her eyes so hard they nearly spun out of her head.
“Oh, well, cousin dearest,” he drawled, standing with a theatrical sweep. “You tend to forget I used your blood to resurrect myself. So technically, quite literally, we share the same blood.”
“I’m going to call that ‘failing blood’ and move on,” she muttered, before walking right up and whacking him on the head.
“Do you realize how scared I was when I saw the bloodlock undone?”
He blinked, deadpan. “Ow.”
Tom Riddle. Marvolo Gaunt. Voldemort.
For her, he’d always be the most annoying, cousin on Planet earth.
He remembered that moment all too clearly—back at Hogwarts. She had said it to terrify him, but it stuck: they were blood. And under the ancient family bylaws, if one of them killed the other, both would die.
Truce.
It had been the only option.
Especially when she realized the Horcruxes she destroyed weren't dying, just returning. To him.
The bond had brought his sense and sanity back.
So they made a plan. A fake duel. Lyra “killed” Voldemort. He vanished for a few months to regroup. And now, she stood in front of him again—glowering like an angry little kitten.
“Apologies, cousin. You fled. It was not my intention to scare you,” he said with a half-smile. “But frankly, it’s the only time I’ve managed to scare you in the past seventeen years. Rather proud of that.”
“Congratulations. You scared me. Gold star. Now—why the fuck are you here?
As far as I know, you should be hiding in Albania, recuperating with your tail between your legs.”
He shrugged nonchalantly.
“Well. I’ve quite recuperated. And I had a reason to come.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”
“Well… your little Mudblood pet, Hermione—“Apparently took it upon herself to take back Godric’s Hollow from Ministry custody. Something about a favor for you.
“Watch your tone.”
"And yes, I do quite remember asking her to do that before I left," she snapped. "But it still doesn’t explain why the hell you’re here."
Tom rolled his eyes. “Sheesh, girl. Can’t you allow a man his dramatics?”
"You’ve had seventy years for your dramatics. Answer me—fast. I don’t have time to waste on the likes of you."
“Sheesh it,” he muttered under his breath. “Okay, okay, fine.”
He sighed, dropping the mockery for a moment. “Simply put—your pet, Marguerite? She trolled you.”
Lyra’s glare deepened.
“I mean, okay, your friend, Hermione. Great. When you sent her to retrieve the house from the Ministry, I think you forgot something.”
She frowned. “Forgot what?”
“That the house was under the Potter bloodlock. Which means she couldn’t access it on her own. So she contacted me.”
His eyes widened slightly and with hands on his hips. “And thank you so much for not letting me know that your closest people just... reach out to could reach. It’s never me, it’s always some girl who follows me, or my best friend.”
Tom rubbed his eyes as if he were the one exhausted. “Well, I thought I was doing a favor.”
“A favor?” she repeated, narrowing her eyes.
“Okay, okay—so, one of the ways I figured I could make you not hate me so much—which, by all bad luck and my own karma, was absolutely deserved—was by being useful. So, I agreed. I left the ladies of my house to help your little happiness.”
He met her gaze sincerely, for once. “And when we got there, Lyra—we were shocked.”
“What do you mean shocked?” she asked, voice laced with confusion and dread.
“The bloodlock. It wasn’t there.”
“What?” she whispered.
“Yep,” he confirmed, a grim look crossing his face. “And when we entered the house... we found a surprise.”
She stared at him. “What surprise? The house has been closed for the last seventeen years!”
“That’s what we thought. But... it looked like it had been occupied. For days.”
Her heartbeat quickened. “How? And more importantly—by who?”
Tom reached forward, gently grabbed her shoulder, and turned her around.
And that’s when she saw.
Dead.
Familiar.
Faces.
In her house.
And then—
Steel-grey eyes.
A familiar voice.
Soft, hoarse, affectionate.
“Puppy…?”
Sirius.
Her godfather.
Alive.
Her knees gave out, the weight of magic and memories too much—
And Lyra Black collapsed into darkness.
But unconsciousness doesn’t mean peace. In the blur of her mind, one memory pushed through the haze—those same steely grey eyes that had always watched over her.
A flash of laughter. A crash of bark-like chuckles as a younger her had shouted across Grimmauld Place’s hallway, “Padfoot! Bet you can’t catch me!”
A blur of leather jacket, a wand tucked behind the ear, and the unmistakable scent of smoke and something old and familiar.
Now, even in the fog, she could hear it—his voice, barely above a whisper, playful and warm.
“Pup... wake up. Come on, puppy, you’ve had worse.”
She twitched, lashes fluttering.
What the heck was going on in the whole wide world?