Chapter 3
Lyra:
After a bit of rest, Lyra got Harry moving again, despite his mumbled protests and his cries for his parents.
She still hadn’t figured out how to make him understand that they weren’t coming back. The concept of death was too abstract, too final for a one-year-old to grasp.
Walking was exhausting for Harry, who was just learning to stay on his feet. She wished she had brought one of those flying brooms for him...
Lyra glanced at her wand in hand, then pointed it in the direction of where their house had been just the night before. She wished for Harry's broom. It was downstairs, so it might have survived the explosion, though there was a chance it got wrecked during Prongs’ fight. She stood still for a few minutes, wondering how long it would take for the broom to arrive if the spell worked.
“I want Harry’s broom,” she said again, pointing her wand.
After waiting a few more minutes, Lyra saw something moving toward her—too small to be a person.
A broom.
From then on, Harry whined less, able to rest his legs and have a little fun. The broom couldn’t go far or fly too high, so it was easy for Lyra to keep an eye on him and make sure he stayed close in case anything happened.
As they walked, Lyra thought about how magic didn’t always need spells. Spells were probably just a way to help control magic, to focus it so it did exactly what the caster wanted. Raw desire alone could be unpredictable—conflicting wishes, or even the clash between want and duty. Lyra was able to use magic now because she was desperate, and both her and Harry’s lives depended on it. Her will was strong. But she wasn’t sure if she’d get the same results in a calm, controlled situation.
Magic was definitely easier for beginners than chakra, but it was also easier to lose control and accidentally cause damage.
Lyra needed to find a way to create a fixed, self-sustaining barrier to keep that parasite in Harry safely contained. Whatever it was, it had its own soul. That meant it had its own will, and it was stuck to Harry—maybe trying to take over his body?
It reminded her of Orochi-sensei’s Cursed Seal. She remembered that experiment being tested. The theory was interesting, and Orochimaru had developed a way to isolate the seal’s influence or activate it only in very specific conditions.
Maybe the same general idea could work here.
It wasn’t like Orochimaru painted the seal on with a brush... His venom created the seal... the mark.
You don’t need a brush to draw a seal. Ryuna could create chakra seals, so why couldn’t Lyra make runes with magic directly on Harry’s skin?
She could make them deep enough to not be visible, preventing anyone from messing with them and damaging the barrier.
It’d be like her old life’s tattoo seals—etched into the flesh instead of just the skin. Sealed with chakra and blood. A technique that died with her.
Adapting fuinjutsu seals to ancient runes would be a challenge, but maybe she could try using her old seals and see what worked, rather than risking using unfamiliar runes.
Lyra could keep them alive for a few more days while she figured it out, but she knew they couldn’t stay hidden in the forest forever in a world she didn’t know. Eventually, they’d be found, and Lyra was determined to make sure it happened on her terms.
It didn’t take long for Harry to start crying from hunger, and Lyra set about finding some non-poisonous berries. After some coaxing and making those weird baby sounds he liked, he ate a little, though he clearly wanted his mom’s milk.
Lyra let out a tired sigh.
She stashed the berries for when he’d be too hungry to protest and went out hunting.
She caught a squirrel, which was decent for a first try, especially since, from what she’d seen so far, there weren’t any bigger animals nearby. Soon, she was using her magic to try channeling natural energy through her old seals to get what she needed. Maybe she’d have to create new variations of her seals to make it work.
If it succeeded, the barrier wouldn’t rely on anyone’s will, the whims of nature, or her magical reserves. It would be self-sustaining, with an almost endless source of power.
The days passed like this. One after another.
Harry stopped complaining about not wanting to eat what was available after he went hungry for long enough. He still cried for their parents, but not as much as before. Maybe he was just too tired. Lyra felt sorry for him, but there was nothing she could do about it, so she pushed those feelings to the back of her mind, along with the pain in her broken finger and swollen ankle, and did what she could: sang him to sleep and held him when he cried.
The experiments on the small animals Lyra managed to catch were going well.
Since the idea was to make a barrier independent of Harry’s magic, the fact that the test animals didn’t have their own magical cores shouldn’t be a big problem. It wasn’t ideal, but she didn’t exactly have a lot to work with.
Soon, she should have something good enough to use on Harry. For now, she was reinforcing the temporary barrier daily, while another idea crept into her mind during one of the tests on the animals.
Dumbledore
When the news of the Potters' deaths reached him, Albus couldn't say he was entirely surprised. Part of him had known it was only a matter of time. The Fidelius Charm was only a temporary solution, but Sirius's betrayal—well, that was a bitter shock.
James and Lily Potter’s bodies had been found, but the children were nowhere to be seen. James had been killed by a curse, but Lily’s body was badly burned, buried in the ruins of the destroyed nursery, making it harder to determine her exact cause of death.
Albus was also disappointed not to find the Invisibility Cloak anywhere in the house. With no surviving family members, he wouldn’t have access to the Potter vault to check for it either.
The absence of the children’s bodies was suspicious, and it made Albus believe that they were still alive.
That same night, Severus had shown him the Dark Mark on his arm, and Albus knew that the prophecy had not yet been fulfilled. Tom Riddle wasn’t dead. The Dark Mark had not disappeared—it had only faded.
There were only two children who fit the prophecy’s description: Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom. Both were orphans, practically speaking, since Frank and Alice Longbottom were alive only in the technical sense. But Voldemort had gone after Harry personally.
...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal...
It had to be Harry. Voldemort had never even laid eyes on Neville, much less marked him as an equal. But how could someone be marked as an equal?
...but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...
Was that power something acquired, or was it inherent?
Albus sent members of the Order to search through the wreckage, hoping to find some clue as to where the children had been taken—and with any luck, recover Harry. The prophecy had yet to play out.
What lingered most in Albus’s mind, though, were the blood runes he’d found in Harry’s room. He’d identified them as part of a blood magic ritual. Dark magic.
It was a protection spell.
Voldemort or one of his followers couldn’t have done it, and very few people had been allowed into the Potters’ home. Albus knew the Marauders well—perhaps not Sirius, but he should have suspected the boy wasn't trustworthy. None of them would’ve turned to dark magic, except maybe Sirius.
Albus had saved those boys from plenty of situations during their school years. They trusted him.
But he had never been close to Lily. And she had been friends with Severus.
Her body had been found in Harry’s room, alongside those suspicious blood runes.
Several days had passed since the Potters' deaths when Albus discovered what “the power the Dark Lord knows not” was, hidden in one of the old blood magic tomes removed from Hogwarts’ library. It was one of the most powerful blood magic spells—capable of protection, but only against a very specific threat.
A ritual of voluntary sacrifice.
Albus recalled Lily’s body and the lack of struggle, aside from the destruction of the nursery. Almost like an execution.
A power the Dark Lord knows not...
Molly
The news of the children’s disappearance almost slipped past Molly in the grief of losing her brothers, who had died defending the Longbottoms. But the betrayal of Sirius hurt more than she had ever thought possible.
She’d genuinely thought he was a good man, the way he played with the children and his friends. Such a charming, gentle soul. A traitor.
And she had let him play with her kids.
It was when Arthur left the Daily Prophet on the table before heading to work that the children saw the pictures of Lyra and Harry on the Missing posters. They asked her where Lyra was and why she hadn’t come over to play for so long. Molly couldn’t hold back her tears at the thought of the missing children.
A part of her couldn’t help but think it would’ve been better if they had been killed with James and Lily in the house. At least it would’ve been quick. She didn’t even want to imagine what the Death Eaters would do to two children.
Lyra might survive because of who her parents were, but Harry...
After calming her sobs, Molly explained to her children that Lyra and Harry were missing, lost, and might never come back.
Dumbledore
Almost two months later, Albus found himself practically sprinting through the Ministry towards the Head of the Auror Office after receiving a rather unexpected Floo call. He had almost lost hope, but then, Harry Potter had been found that morning in the woods behind the Potters' house. Alive and well.
Amelia Bones, soon to be the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, stood before two ragged children. Both were dirty and thin, with messy black hair, pale skin, and youthful, chubby cheeks. Their eyes, however, were quite different—Lyra, the older girl, had bright blue eyes, while the boy, Harry, had eyes as green as the Killing Curse.
And that scar?
The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal.
Could it be...?
The prophecy was unfolding right before his eyes. The one who would defeat Voldemort and redeem Albus’s mistakes with Tom Riddle and Gellert... No, that wasn’t relevant.
"Albus," Amelia greeted him as she stepped away from the children, leaving a young assistant to watch over them. "You came quickly."
“I was surprised to hear the children were found alive after all this time,” Albus confessed, not bothering to hide his relief. “How did it happen?”
“The older one, Lyra Black, says she had been staying with the Potters for the past year, and they told her to flee with Harry when they heard the attackers approaching,” Madame Bones explained with a tired sigh. “Her presence at the Potters’ matches the evidence found at the house. She had her own room, which was clearly lived in. Her story about fleeing into the woods checks out too. She says she saw bright lights—red and green—and heard Lily Potter scream just as the lights flashed. It all adds up.”
“How did they manage to evade both the Aurors and the Death Eaters for so long?” Albus doubted.
“She claims they had an Invisibility Cloak.”
“And where is the cloak now?” Albus asked, intrigued.
“They lost it. That’s how we found them,” Amelia snorted a little at that, and Albus nearly cursed under his breath.
They lost the Invisibility Cloak? The cloak made from Death’s own mantle, and they lost it? Now he’d have to search the entire bloody forest.
But for now, he focused on Amelia’s troubled expression.
“What’s bothering you?”
Amelia seemed to snap out of her thoughts and turned her attention back to him, her face clouded with concern before making a decision.
“The girl said it wasn’t Sirius Black who betrayed the Potters,” she said quietly. “It was Peter Pettigrew.”
“Well, as much as I’d like to believe Sirius is innocent, he’s her father, so of course she would believe him,” Albus pointed out.
“She claims she saw Pettigrew with the Death Eaters, wearing a black cloak, before she fled,” Amelia sighed. “Besides, Sirius betraying the Potters doesn’t add up. No one ever doubted his loyalty to the Potters until that day, and his daughter had been living in that house for nearly a year. He fought openly against Death Eaters and was disowned by his own family for refusing to follow Voldemort’s ideology. And then there’s Pettigrew, running down the street shouting that Black was the traitor right before the whole street exploded, killing all witnesses. The strangest part? All the Muggles’ bodies were found, even in pieces, but the only thing we found of Pettigrew was a finger. You can live without a finger, Albus.”
Hearing it laid out like that, Albus couldn’t help but think it was suspicious, but...
“But Sirius was the Secret-Keeper, wasn’t he?”
“That’s what they say,” Amelia agreed, though she seemed skeptical.
“You don’t believe it?”
“My belief doesn’t matter,” she said firmly. “The truth does, and to find the truth, I may need to do some interrogating.”
“Well, with people like you upholding the law, I feel safer already,” Albus praised, wearing his well-practiced grandfatherly smile.
Convincing the Minister to make him Harry Potter’s magical guardian had been easy, given Albus’s reputation, his known connection to the Potters, and the added political advantage of securing the Boy Who Lived as a symbol for the next election.
Surprisingly, the hardest part turned out to be an incredibly stubborn three-year-old girl.
“I’m taking Harry somewhere safe.”
“Good, I’m coming with you. If it’s safe for him, it’s safe for me too,” she replied without flinching or breaking eye contact.
“I can’t take two children there,” Albus countered, growing tired of this argument. He couldn’t just walk away with her blocking the door. “The people taking care of him won’t accept a whole bunch of children.”
“Listen, old man,” the girl said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, which certainly wasn’t the expression he expected from someone so young. “One thing I’ve been taught since I can remember is never go anywhere alone with a stranger, no matter what they say, do, or offer. I don’t know you, and you’re not taking Harry anywhere unless I go too.”
Her smile never wavered. What an annoying brat. Harry was looking at her confusedly from his lap and there were Aurors nearby obviously wondering if he needed help dealing with a small child. He was the headmaster of a school!
- Listen, dear, I was friends with your parents…
- Peter was also a friend, I called him Uncle Wormy, but that didn’t stop him from trying to kill us - she pointed, bowed her head and raised her eyebrows as if daring him to argue about it - Even though I won’t be staying in the same place as Harry permanently, I’ll go along and see where he’ll stay and with whom.
- That can’t happen, my dear - he said and silently cursed the failure of his grandfatherly smile - For his safety, it’s best that he stays away from the magical world for a while.
- And you expect me to let an old man I don’t know take my brother to a place that neither I nor anyone else knows where it is, where no one will be able to check on his well-being but you? – she narrowed her eyes – How convenient.
- It's for his safety. The people who tried to kill him before might come back.
- Sounds like a good excuse for bloodline theft to me – she replied without blinking.
The silence in the Auror Department was deafening. No one dared to open their mouths because once it was out there for everyone to hear, it wasn't easy to ignore. It was suspicious.
Albus had never wished so much harm on a child in his entire life. He wished she had died along with James and Lily on Halloween, but he pushed that thought away, not at all appropriate for the greatest wizard of Light since Merlin.
- I assure you that's not the case – he broke the silence with an amused smile – I'm the headmaster of a school, a school where you'll study when you're older, my dear.
- And do you think that the headmaster of a school is more suitable and capable of protecting someone than the Aurors who work and train only for that? – she raised an unconvinced eyebrow.
One of the remaining members of the Order stepped forward.
- Miss Black, Dumbledore is also a great wizard who was instrumental in Voldemort’s downfall…
- Is he a school headmaster or a general? - Her eyes narrowed even more at that - Why would a school headmaster be helping in a war and taking sides instead of protecting his students? I don’t trust you to put Harry’s safety above your war. If you could protect him, then why didn’t you do it when Uncle Prongs and Aunt Lily were still alive? I still suspect that your insistence on making my brother disappear is convinient for you.
This was spiraling out of control faster than he could have imagined. Albus had never, in all his years of life, imagined that his greatest adversary would be a three-year-old baby. Voldemort was frustrating, but he couldn’t really surprise him or corner the headmaster with anything other than words.
On impulse, he tried to extend his magic into the child’s mind. Perhaps a glimpse of a thought...
He hit a wall of magic, blocking his own magic. Strange.
He couldn't question it without letting the people around him know what he'd tried to do. There was always the possibility that she was a natural Occlumens. It was rare, but House Black had a lot of latent magic in its blood, as Nymphadora Tonks' case proved by bringing back the Metamorphmagus magic.
- I see you know a lot of complicated words for such a young child.
- Aunt Lily and Uncle Moony liked to read to me, and sometimes they were adult books to study - she said, but didn't let the subject get sidetracked - Now are you going to take me with you or are you going to leave Harry here?
- Sorry, dear, but I don't have time to convince you - He started toward the door, ignoring the small body that tried to block his path - The Minister himself gave me custody of Mr. Potter.
He kept walking and the girl grabbed his robe trying to stop him, but the Aurors finally did something and held her back. He didn't look back, although he could hear her childish grunts as she fought against the adults who were stopping her from moving forward.
- If anything happens to my brother, I'll kill you myself! - she shouted from inside.
Arthurus:
Being summoned to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was a surprise in itself, but nothing could’ve prepared Arthurus for the sight of a small girl with startlingly blue eyes, staring at him with a sharpness that didn’t belong in a baby. Her story was even more astonishing, though Arthurus struggled not to wrinkle his nose at the grime staining her pale skin.
He didn’t even know Sirius had a daughter, let alone a great-granddaughter.
Lyra.
No one seemed to know who the girl’s mother was, which left only her father’s side of the family to turn to. Sure, they could’ve dug deeper to find out, but that would’ve required more effort than anyone was willing to put in, especially with the Department still reeling from the end of a war.
Arthurus signed the papers, his mind whirring over the situation.
Apparently, his grandson might be innocent of the charges against him, despite what the papers claimed. The investigation was still ongoing, and there were those who didn’t believe Sirius had betrayed anyone.
They left the Ministry in silence, and the girl followed him with a confidence he didn’t expect from someone so small. She definitely inherited that arrogance from her father. That could be a problem with Walburga.
They reached the Floo fireplaces, and Arthurus couldn’t help but wonder if the girl even knew how to use Floo powder. She seemed too young to have traveled that way before.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Three,” she answered, meeting his gaze without flinching.
“Have you ever traveled by Floo powder before?”
“No. What’s that?”
Fantastic. Arthurus managed not to sigh in frustration. That would be beneath him.
“Come with me,” he commanded, stepping into one of the fireplaces.
Lyra hesitated for a moment before stepping in after him. Arthurus tucked his cane under his arm and placed a firm hand on her shoulder, throwing the powder to the ground. Green flames roared to life, and the girl jumped, startled.
“Grimmauld Place,” he called.
The journey was uneventful, and Arthurus kept Lyra from stumbling as they arrived.
Kreacher was waiting by the entrance, bowing low, though he muttered something about filth when he saw Lyra’s state. The girl watched the house-elf with cold curiosity, the same sharp intelligence in her eyes.
Maybe she would turn out to be more interesting than he initially thought.
Lyra:
Lyra’s first few weeks in her new home had been... educational. Not in the way one might expect from a grandparent’s house, but she needed to close the gap on what she didn’t know.
For a long time, when she and Harry were in hiding, she had worried about how she’d navigate re-entering society without any knowledge of, well, anything. Her solution had been to make a public appearance where no one could simply make them disappear. She’d come up with the idea when she remembered the masks worn by the people who’d attacked them.
Masks hide identities. It made her realize that even if their actions were sanctioned by the government, they weren’t meant for public knowledge. So, by appearing before everyone, she could buy herself a little protection.
Of course, Lyra had considered the possibility of them being separated. She was self-aware enough to know that a child as small as her wouldn’t have much say in anything. But that didn’t mean she’d make it easy. Lyra would make sure there were people watching her brother if that old man tried something.
She had also made a tracker for Harry.
The barrier isolating the parasite wasn’t the only thing Lyra had worked on while they were hiding. Along with the barrier and tracker, she’d repurposed the barrier to create a shield, placing it around their heads to block any magical interference. Growing up in a village full of Yamanakas and Uchihas had made such precautions second nature.
She’d also tried creating some kind of disguise to hide Harry’s scar, but that would take more time. Lyra wasn’t sure it’d be smart to hide the evidence of the parasite either. There was always a chance someone might be able to remove it completely, and she didn’t want her natural distrust to prevent Harry from getting the help he needed.
Not that it mattered much.
With her security measures in place, she’d felt ready, though she cursed herself when that incredibly suspicious old man took Harry despite her arguments. It also killed whatever little faith she had in local authorities.
Then there was her stern-looking great-grandfather and the clear eagerness of the Aurors to get rid of her. That did nothing to make her feel better.
Arthurus Black III reminded her a lot of Hiashi Hyuuga: stern, traditional, and proud. She could deal with a Hiashi 2.0 if needed. She could do better than just deal.
The real issue was Walburga.
If she was the reason her father never talked about his family, as Lyra suspected, she could understand why her dad had kept his distance from the crazy woman. That same woman who was now her teacher. Her dear grandmother seemed to be a big fan of corporal punishment, and Lyra kept her head down while learning as much as she could.
Walburga didn’t hold back on her insults either, especially toward her, her mysterious mother, and her father. Kreacher the house-elf echoed her sentiments, despite the disturbing habit of his mistress to decapitate his kind and hang their heads as trophies.
That woman needed to go.
Above all, Lyra studied.
The library’s books were a treasure trove, practically calling out for her to take advantage of them. And she did.
Lyra dedicated her first six months to studying the Black family—its history, its traditions. Day and night.
Ryuna had been Hokage, and if there was one thing she knew how to do, it was research. Lyra wouldn’t waste that skill. She needed to establish her position in this house as soon as possible if she wanted any power, to protect her brother and free her father.
After six months—by then, Lyra had turned four—studying the family’s lineage, etiquette, traditions, and inheritance laws, she was ready. It was time to focus on understanding the world outside these walls and what had happened to the Potters and her dad.
A family dinner with Arthurus, Walburga, Cygnus, and herself would be the perfect chance to establish herself.
It was all so stupid. She was just a child—she shouldn’t have to do this. None of this should be necessary.
Just like Harry shouldn’t be a target for murder. But life rarely worked the way it should.
The dinner was silent. Even the clinking of cutlery was subdued, thanks to the strict etiquette drilled into every family member from a young age. Her own posture and manners were flawless, a byproduct of her tea ceremony expertise from her previous life. She wouldn’t be the first to break.
No. Lyra doesn’t break.
“Great-grandfather, I have a question,” Lyra said softly, politely, breaking the silence.
“Be quiet, you cursed girl,” Walburga hissed from across the table. “Speak when spoken to.”
“Grandmother, Walburga, please remember it’s rude to hiss at the table,” she replied, her tone sweet enough to be kind, if not for the obvious condescension. “Besides, I wasn’t speaking to you.”
Cygnus, her great-uncle, snorted, though he wasn’t particularly fond of Lyra either.
“YOU LITTLE—”
“Enough,” Arthurus cut in, irritated by the commotion. “Speak, Lyra.”
Lyra knew that if things didn’t go her way at this dinner, Walburga would have her punished, and no one would step in to help. But if it came to that, Lyra would make sure to take them all down. Accidents happen, after all.
She had been analyzing their movements—both their bodies and their wands—and she was pretty confident she could take them down fast enough. The first to fall would have to be Kreacher if things went south. House-elf magic had its own rules, and Lyra wasn’t about to test her luck with the unknown.
If she failed, Kreacher would die before he even knew he had a problem.
“I’ve been studying our family’s history. I’ve gone back nearly 500 years through the family tree and still haven’t found the answer to something…” She paused, putting on a confused, innocent expression. “Tell me, great-grandfather, since when have the Blacks been servants?”
The silence that followed was a different kind from before. This time, even the clinking cutlery stopped.
“YOU LITTLE—” Walburga’s screeching was abruptly cut off when Lyra simply willed her to shut up. Her grandmother’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
Lyra hadn’t really expected that to work, but she was careful not to show her surprise. Better to act like it was intentional. This is good, she told herself. It gives me the upper hand, even without a wand.
“How dare you insult our family?” Cygnus’ face twisted as though he’d stepped in something nasty.
“Am I wrong? Tell me, who created the tradition you all follow? The one you’ve built your lives around, even to the point of rejecting your own children. I went back over 500 years in our family history and found that they followed the same tradition too.” Her voice remained calm, in stark contrast to Walburga’s stormy expression. The only reason her grandmother hadn’t attacked her yet was likely because she wasn’t foolish enough to cross the head of the house when the question had been directed at him.
“Does anyone here know who started this tradition? Or are you all just blindly following the will of someone who’s been dead so long that no one even remembers their name? Honestly, it reminds me of house-elves who serve wizards without question, just because they’re supposed to, accepting whatever happens to them without complaint. What’s the difference, really?”
She glanced at Walburga. “You were just telling me how proud you are of Aunt Bellatrix for being a loyal servant of the Dark Lord, and it got me thinking: when exactly did our family become a family of servants? Servants who bow to Voldemort, Dumbledore, the Ministry, tradition... Proud of being slaves. Do you know, great-grandfather? I couldn’t find the answer in any of the library books.”
Her innocent tone fooled no one at the table.
Walburga still wanted her head.
Cygnus watched her, his brow furrowed, clearly conflicted.
Arthurus? Well, Arthurus laughed.
He laughed loudly and with a kind of carefree abandon that took Lyra by surprise. He didn’t seem angry, nor like his pride had been wounded. He was... entertained.
“Cousin?” Cygnus asked cautiously.
“You know, I was wondering how long you were going to keep your head down,” Arthurus ignored Cygnus, “Looks like you’ve been gathering intel before making a move. Quite Slytherin of you.”
Slytherin. The name had come up often enough in the family’s old diaries that Lyra had a pretty good idea of what it was about, though her knowledge wasn’t as complete as she would’ve liked. Still, it didn’t really matter if she knew everything. What mattered was making it seem like she did.
“Doesn’t seem very Slytherin to blindly follow rules set by someone else. Living by those rules, passing them on,” she shot back.
“Careful,” Arthurus warned, though he didn’t seem particularly irritated. If anything, he looked interested, almost amused. “So, how exactly should we live if we don’t want to be slaves to tradition, as you so poetically put it?”
“Everyone in the family should be free to follow their own ideals, whatever they might be.” Lyra made a face of disdain. “Our family isn’t so weak that we need to sell and prostitute our children in arranged marriages, begging for scraps of power from other families.”
“It secures alliances for our family,” Cygnus sneered.
“A marriage doesn’t guarantee support for the family, nor does it protect your daughters,” Lyra replied smoothly, satisfaction bubbling up as she pulled out a folder she’d compiled over the past few months, placing it within Arthurus’ reach. “These are copies of family records detailing every time a member of our family suffered physical abuse as a result of an arranged marriage. That includes beatings at the hands of their own husbands, of course. The second stack is records of business deals sealed through marriage that didn’t last longer than five years on average and brought in little to no profit. From where I’m sitting, it looks like our family’s blood isn’t worth much if our women can be sold like prostitutes for the grand sum of...” She opened the second file dramatically before continuing. “Five thousand Galleons. I’m sure even prostitutes charge more than that. At the very least, I’d expect a higher price, considering how much is invested in raising each of us.”
“HOW DARE YOU INSULT—” Cygnus choked on his words.
“You will sit down and speak like a proper gentleman, Uncle Cygnus,” Lyra’s voice was icy, and she forced her magic to tighten around Cygnus’ throat in a silent threat. “I’m not insulting the family, Uncle. I’m merely presenting the facts,” she gestured to the piles of papers. “You all speak of this family’s pride and its pure blood, but you don’t act like you have any. People who are truly superior don’t need to insult those below them; that’s undignified and disrespectful to all the hours spent learning proper etiquette. Grandma Walburga spent hours teaching me to keep my voice down and behave like a lady, and yet here she is, screaming like a pig in a slaughterhouse, and I’m supposed to believe in her superiority? Act like you’re superior, and maybe people will believe it.”
Arthurus raised a hand, cutting off whatever Cygnus had been about to say. His expression was thoughtful as he turned to Lyra, clearly assessing her.
“Everyone should follow their own ideals, you said... Does that include Voldemort’s ideals?” Arthurus asked, his tone sharp, as if this was some sort of test.
“I suppose, as long as they don’t harm any member of our family or push an ideology that damages the House of Black. Yes, any ideal,” she responded. “They’ll be adults and can face the consequences of their decisions in the eyes of the law. The head of the family’s duty is to protect the family’s best interests in the long run, not just cater to the whims of a few members. Above all, the head is responsible for ensuring the future of the House of Black. Ensuring its prosperity, not bowing to tradition.”
Arthurus arched an eyebrow. “And what, exactly, do you think ‘ensuring the future’ of our House means?”
“The children,” she answered without hesitation, her Will of Fire still burning strong within her. “Without children, this House will cease to exist when you all die.”
“How arrogant,” Cygnus scoffed.
“I won’t be a child forever,” Lyra shrugged slightly. “You may not like what I’m saying, but none of you can deny the truth. The Black family will die out unless you do something about it, and fast. That’s not a threat—it’s a fact. I’ll survive with or without this family. I don’t bow to Dumbledore, Voldemort, or tradition. No one’s going to tell me how to live my life. But this is still my family, and I can’t deny that having the power of the House of Black behind me would be useful. Useful, yes, but not necessary.”
“You think our strength is so easily dismissed?” Arthurus asked, clearly amused.
Lyra hadn’t expected him to react so calmly. It was almost like he’d been waiting for this—like he’d been hoping for it. And it made sense. He seemed like a good leader, just tired and limited by relatives who refused to change. But now... now the only living Black family members were these three old folks with one foot in the grave and her. Well, her and her father, but he was too imprisoned to matter in this discussion.
Arthurus was betting on her.
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way. And if there isn’t one, I’ll make one,” she said with determination. “As long as I’m breathing and my heart’s beating, the game isn’t over. Even if I lose, I’ll try again. As long as I don’t give up, the odds are never zero. It might be harder without the Black name, but the chances aren’t zero. I can work with that.”
Arthurus smiled. “I knew you’d be interesting.”
“Cousin, are you seriously considering...?”
“She’s not wrong, Cygnus,” Arthurus interrupted. “If nothing is done, our family will die out. We aren’t getting any younger, and there are no viable candidates left to carry on our House’s name. No one to inherit it. It’s true, her ideas are... different from what we’re used to, but we still have time. You should take the responsibility of teaching her some things as well, Cygnus. Maybe you’ll manage to convince her to see things your way. After all, her mind is still young. Even if you all choose to reject her or burn her name off the family tapestry, it won’t change the fact that when we’re gone, Lyra will be the last Black left to take the position of head of the House. That’s inevitable now. But we can still decide how it happens. I don’t know about you, but I want to ensure the best chance for our House to prosper. And right now, that means teaching Lyra everything she needs to know.”
That was a bitter pill for everyone at the table to swallow, but they all knew it was true. Not even Walburga could argue with that hard truth.
Arthurus already knew almost everything Lyra had laid out at that dinner. He certainly hadn’t expected her to air all the dirty laundry so openly in front of everyone, but there was a certain relief in taking the masks off.
Cygnus looked like he’d bitten into a lemon, but even he couldn’t deny the truth in his cousin’s words. They’d been raised to have so much pride in the Black name that the idea of simply letting the family die with them was outrageous.
Walburga... She wasn’t ready to give in just yet.