Chapter 4
Arthurus:
The training of the new Black family heir was progressing surprisingly well. Despite his initial reservations about allowing a woman to take on the role, he was caught off guard by Lyra’s talent and shrewdness in navigating the political game. All that remained was to ensure she knew the key players and the pieces on the board.
Lyra excelled in her history and theory lessons, and among the practical subjects, it was Ancient Runes that seemed to spark her greatest interest, even though her natural talent for wandless magic was undeniable.
She had even drawn up drafts for marriage contracts that would secure the family name for future generations. That way, even though she was a woman, the Black family name would not die out with her.
In the months following his decision to name Lyra the heir to the family, Arthurus had also devoted himself to investigating his grandson Sirius's guilt or innocence. Unfortunately, it seemed their family was a convenient scapegoat for the Ministry.
They needed someone to blame for the Potters' deaths and for betraying the Boy Who Lived. Savior of the wizarding world and all.
Harry Potter. Sirius's godson, who, if it weren’t for Lyra, would have been the heir of the Black family once he was old enough to claim the title. But the boy had disappeared, and Lyra had given Arthurus that calculating look she sometimes wore when deciding whether or not to trust someone.
Arthurus was willing to wait until she made her decision, though he couldn’t deny his curiosity.
He could tell Lyra was far too clever for a child, no matter how gifted. At first, he wondered if she was possessed, but discreet inquiries into Lyra's past confirmed that she had always been a remarkably intelligent girl, with a cunning mind befitting a Slytherin.
In any case, the situation with Sirius was at a standstill due to the lack of evidence proving his innocence. (Apparently, when it came to their family, the law worked in reverse: guilty until proven otherwise.) Arthurus had hired a lawyer to push for the use of Veritaserum, but he was told that this method wouldn’t be enough to prove Sirius’s innocence. There were ways to fool the potion, and the Black family’s extensive knowledge of dark magic and rituals meant that the truth serum alone wouldn’t convince the judges, who were eager to see Sirius condemned.
Admitting that they had imprisoned an innocent man for two years while the real culprit was still at large would be unthinkable. So, the newly elected Minister, Cornelius Fudge, kept pushing Sirius’s trial to the bottom of the list—again and again.
Arthurus had been visiting Azkaban during this time to keep his grandson updated on the investigation. He had even brought Lyra along a few times since Sirius had been asking about the children. After seeing the Dementors, Lyra became obsessed with mastering the Patronus Charm. It took only a few months before she was able to conjure a corporeal Patronus using a borrowed wand.
It was a year after Lyra was officially named heir to the House of Black when Arthurus heard the sound of things breaking downstairs, followed by high-pitched screams.
Arthurus was old but experienced. He had survived a war and belonged to one of the most notorious families in magical Britain.
He would recognize the sound of someone under the Cruciatus Curse anywhere.
Arthurus forced his worn, 82-year-old body to move faster than it had in years. Despite his joints' protests, he made it downstairs, where he found Walburga, her face red with fury, holding her wand over a writhing, screaming Lyra on the floor. Kreacher stood nearby, exuding satisfaction.
“Walburga, enough!” he shouted, livid.
How dare she act against the family’s best interests? Did she want to see the Black line extinguished?
“That filthy, mudblood whore is unworthy of this family name!” Walburga screeched, spitting as she spoke, and Arthurus couldn’t help but recall Lyra comparing the older woman to a pig squealing at the slaughterhouse. A tragically fitting comparison.
“The mudblood isn’t worthy, Master,” Kreacher chimed in with his falsely subservient tone.
Before Arthurus could decide how to punish Walburga and Kreacher for their disobedience, Lyra shakily rose from the floor. She wasn’t crying or complaining, disturbingly silent. It made Arthurus overlook her in that moment—something he wouldn’t do again.
Because if there was one thing Arthurus had learned over the years, it was not when Lyra was loud and emotional that you needed to be wary, but when she went quiet. Her greatest fury was always silent, like a snake waiting to strike.
No one had time to react before the house-elf’s blood was pooling on the floor. Arthurus barely blinked before the small blade that had killed Kreacher flew into Walburga’s skull, and she collapsed.
Dead.
The hilt of the knife protruded from her eye socket.
Lyra was breathing heavily, her hands trembling from the curse’s aftereffects, covered in the elf’s blood, but her eyes were steady as they focused on her grandmother’s lifeless body. Her resolve was unshakable—she would bow to no one’s will.
No one tells me how to live my life. I bow to no one.
Looking at Lyra now, Arthurus couldn’t bring himself to say she was wrong. That her unwavering pride didn’t seem noble. That it didn’t give her an air of grandeur, making her seem formidable enough to stand against both Dark and Light Lords.
Over Walburga’s corpse, Arthurus glimpsed the future of the Black family.
The Blacks do not bow.
1982–1985
After Walburga’s death and Arthurus’s renewed commitment to the future of the Black family, things began to change.
Cassiopeia returned to England to meet the new heir, and Lyra decided to renovate one of the family’s older properties so they could live somewhere more spacious and less concealed than their current house. She also wanted to refurbish Grimmauld Place and get rid of the mounted house-elf heads—after all, they weren’t planning on living in a bloody cemetery.
They also acquired new house-elves, an entire team of six, all bound by magical contracts that would kill them if they ever betrayed the family. In exchange for these conditions, they would be paid wages and even given Gringotts accounts if they wished. (The elves were nervous about the idea of being paid, but Lyra was offended at the thought that the Black family couldn’t afford to pay for their services, as if they were struggling financially.) They were also guaranteed protection from mistreatment.
Cassiopeia, excited by the idea of overseeing the family properties’ renovations, found herself shuttling between three estates: Dubh Castle in Scotland, perched by the shores of Druid Ibeag Lake; Grimmauld Place; and Sternenschloss (or just “Stern”) in Germany, an isolated castle nestled in a forest with a stream to ensure a water supply. The task kept her busy and away from her formerly idle lifestyle as she took charge of organization and décor.
Lyra’s vision was to turn Stern into the family’s vacation home, while they would live at Dubh and use Grimmauld for hosting visitors and conducting business. The elves would work in pairs to avoid isolation and rotate between the properties for a change of scenery.
During this time, Lyra expanded her linguistic repertoire. Alongside English, she began learning French, as was family tradition, but also picked up German and Gaelic. She continued to practice her Japanese, even purchasing books in the language to see if there were any differences between the version she remembered and the one in this world. The Japanese version of runes was absolutely fascinating and bore a strong resemblance to her old fuinjutsu.
Lyra reviewed all the family’s financial records and vault contents before allocating money for the renovations. She also set aside a substantial sum for daily expenses and emergencies and invested the surplus in both magical and Muggle businesses that promised profits. To say the goblins were pleased with Lyra taking on the financial management was an understatement. In a matter of days, she had earned their favor. They were masters of bureaucracy, and Lyra couldn’t help but feel satisfied with their efficiency, which had always frustrated her in her former world until she’d recruited Kakuzu to manage Konoha’s finances. Perhaps Kakuzu had been a goblin in a past life?
With Arthurus’s approval, Lyra began working on some rune projects that would create international Portkeys, permanently connecting the family’s three properties through fireplaces used for Floo travel. The runes would be etched directly into the fireplace, allowing anyone who spoke the password from inside the portal to be transported to any of the three locations. For security reasons, the houses would require an access password, and the fireplaces would be equipped with privacy runes to prevent outsiders from overhearing conversations.
The only drawback was that one had to be quite close to the fireplace to speak through the Floo network, but Lyra convinced the elders that this added security was worth it. It also ensured privacy in Floo conversations, she argued.
Lyra set up a library in her new home, amassing rare books from around the world to ensure the broadest possible range of topics. There was even an entire section dedicated to Muggle subjects, and another stocked with textbooks on various languages (mostly dictionaries) to aid in translations. The library was by far the largest room in the estate, yet it still didn’t feel big enough. Cassiopeia used a spell to make the space larger on the inside than it appeared from the outside, allowing the creation of a wing dedicated to dangerous books, particularly those on dark magic, which could easily kill anyone who read them. These texts were locked behind strong wards and could only be accessed by trusted family members.
Around this time, Lyra began working on a way to recreate her journal. She wanted a method to record her daily life securely and privately. This helped her organize her thoughts, plan strategies, review her mistakes, and would serve as useful material for future generations. Once she finished, she might even convince the elders to adopt the habit of writing in it daily.
During the move, the house-elves gathered all the family jewels they found across the properties, including those that weren’t currently in use (but which she fully intended to renovate at some point). With that, she and Cassiopeia created a fourth closet specifically for storing the family jewels and another one for formal attire, as those garments were too bulky to be kept with the everyday clothes in the bedrooms. Great-aunt Cass seemed to enjoy giving new life to old relics and restoring the pieces worn by time, making them look brand new.
The only thing that made Lyra pause for a moment was the unpleasantly familiar sensation of dark magic. Some of the jewels were cursed or enchanted, but Aunt Cass was able to handle most of them (those she couldn’t were set aside to be dealt with by a curse-breaker). The odd part was that the magic felt so familiar, it was strange.
It was only when Lyra touched one of the pieces that she remembered where she’d felt something similar: Harry’s scar.
Smiling at Cassiopeia, she showed her the necklace and asked if she noticed anything odd. Cass could sense some kind of magic but didn’t think it was harmful. She couldn’t remove the magic, though, so it ended up in the box of jewels awaiting analysis by curse-breakers.
Quietly, Lyra took the necklace at the end of the day and brought it to her new room, placing it inside a small, empty jewelry box on her dresser. She planned to run some tests on it before the curse-breaker arrived. Perhaps she could figure out what kind of magic it was and how to safely remove it from Harry.
Another thing Lyra wanted in her new home was a workshop. This idea didn’t sit well with the elders, but she insisted on having a space where she could experiment with her creations and perhaps craft magical objects like the legendary artifacts she’d read about in books. This placated them somewhat since it had the potential to cement the family’s name in history.
Like the library, her workshop was magically expanded. It had a forge, an area for larger manual projects, and a section for smaller, more delicate work. There was also a storage room and a testing area filled with runes and protective barriers to prevent any collateral damage.
Nearby was a lab with at least five brewing stations, so she could work on multiple potions simultaneously. It also gave her and Harry a place to practice before they started school.
Cassiopeia even found a Boggart in one of the rooms at Grimmauld Place and was about to banish it when Lyra suggested they keep it for training purposes. Thus, a combat training arena was set up, complete with equipment like various blades, the Boggart, gloves, and other protective gear for hand-to-hand combat used by Muggles.
During this time, Lyra managed to get Arthurus to retrieve some of the surviving photos of the Potters, which had been kept by the Aurors as evidence. She used them to decorate the house, her room, and the one she was preparing for Harry when he came to live with them. She even had a broomstick in the closet for her brother to practice with whenever he wanted. Although she didn’t know much about Quidditch, she picked one of the models that was said to be safe, stable, and reliable—good for beginners. Harry might have been good at flying as a baby, but it had been a long time since he’d lived with wizards.
Another change came when Lyra met Narcissa Malfoy née Black and young Draco.
Lucius reminded her a bit of Fugaku, which was strange, to say the least, given how different they were in appearance. Both men were rather cold but loved their families, though not in the healthiest ways. Just as the Uchiha had faced challenges beyond the obvious, the Malfoys struggled with the stigma of the family head being judged as a Death Eater, a traditionalist, and a Dark Magic sympathizer at a time when such things were considered criminal. Lucius had been cleared of being a Death Eater by claiming he was under the Imperius Curse, but almost no one believed him.
Lyra could read people well and was certain Lucius truly had been a Death Eater. Whether he had actually wanted to be one was another question.
Did he have a choice back then? Based on Lyra’s investigation into Voldemort, Lucius’s father had been friends with the man back when he was still known as Tom Riddle. She doubted Lucius had had a real choice about joining the Death Eaters. Her research had mainly involved questioning Arthurus and speaking with the old portraits in the house. With a name, her investigation moved into the Muggle world, and to save time, she hired a private detective, claiming to be a distant relative set to inherit something.
She also wondered if Lucius had simply resigned himself to the inevitable. What’s the Muggle saying? "If you’re in hell, you might as well embrace the devil" or something like that.
It wasn’t hard to present the Malfoys with an image they could respect: a proud, intelligent heiress from a noble family who could be ruthless when needed. Once she presented Lucius and Narcissa with the same arguments she’d made to Arthurus, they seemed intrigued—though a bit hesitant—about what would happen to the Black family under her leadership, even though her grandfather was still officially the head.
Lyra began visiting Malfoy Manor every week to spend time with her cousin, slowly opening the minds of the elders. Hopefully, she could turn them into allies, even if another madman like Voldemort were to rise.
During her visits, Lyra started teaching Draco wandless magic, much to the older Malfoys’ delight. They practiced through games to make the magic feel more natural and easier for the boy. As a bonus, the games made Draco run around and exercise, helping him develop physically—a practice that didn’t seem common among wizards (she would have to change that).
Eventually, Lyra met Draco’s godfather, Severus Snape. The man seemed to harbor an instant dislike for her, but it felt different from Walburga’s contempt. Despite being surrounded by pure-bloods, he never referenced her bloodline when making snide remarks or veiled insults. It almost seemed like it wasn’t her he hated... perhaps it was her family. Or someone specific in her family? There was something in his demeanor that reminded her of Oro-jiji, which only motivated her to get closer to him—if only to discover whether he was worth her time.
These encounters, along with proof of her magical abilities, gave Lyra the opportunity to be heard by the Malfoys. Slowly, she convinced them to allow Draco to study some Muggle subjects like geography, basic math, physics, biology, and other simple topics that wouldn’t fully sink in yet but would make the subjects less foreign when he got older. After all, it would be incredibly un-Slytherin to reject knowledge just because they didn’t like the source.
This was the first step in getting pure-bloods accustomed to Muggle knowledge. Not that she wanted to replace magical learning with Muggle education, but to complement it. She believed you couldn’t truly understand anything by looking at things in isolation; you had to see the bigger picture to grasp the world around you.
Knowledge is power, and nothing appealed more to a Slytherin than power.
Lyra:
Two years after Walburga’s death (a tragic incident where she was killed by Kreacher in a fit of madness—naturally, the elf had to be executed for the crime), Lyra had finally learned enough about both the magical and Muggle worlds to dare seek out Harry. She had already pinpointed his location and the adults caring for him. It wasn’t hard.
The tracker Lyra placed on him wasn’t as accurate as she’d hoped, but it gave her a general direction and area. The closer she got, the better it worked, though there was some magical interference scrambling the signal.
She already knew where he lived and who looked after him, but the fact that Harry’s existence was almost too easy to ignore made her uncomfortable. It was as if he didn’t even exist.
The woman, Petunia Dursley née Evans, was Lily’s sister. Over the years, Lyra had studied tirelessly the books Lily used to read in secret, which Lyra had taken from her office. It was there that she read about countless magical rituals and began piecing together what had happened that night all those years ago.
She finally understood the explosion. Harry’s scar… well, she hadn’t figured that out yet, but she was working on it.
Apparently, Lily had used a sacrificial magic ritual to ensure Harry’s safety. If Lyra’s theory was correct, Lily died with the first flash of green light (Avada Kedavra), and the second was indeed aimed at Harry. Since the baby was already under the protection of sacrificial magic, the spell rebounded, destroying the room and killing the caster (Voldemort) while keeping Harry unharmed.
If this was true, then Lily Potter, a Muggle-born witch, had defeated the Dark Lord using Dark Magic. And no one knew—or, if they did, they made sure to keep it hidden. No one cared because, why else would they declare a one-year-old the one responsible for the feat? People couldn’t possibly believe that a baby could achieve what older, more experienced wizards and witches couldn’t.
Even in her old world, a baby so young wouldn’t stand a chance against an adult, not even an untrained civilian, let alone someone with practical combat experience. A civilian could kill a child from a powerful shinobi lineage if they wanted to. Things weren’t so different here. The truth was that people preferred not to know. Even though they were fighting against Voldemort, many wizards weren’t exactly champions of Muggles, and many agreed with the superiority of the magical community over the non-magical one.
People found it easier to believe a baby killed the Dark Lord than to accept that a Muggle-born woman had done it.
The key detail of this ritual related to Harry’s living situation? Harry’s blood connection to the person who made the sacrifice was what kept the protection alive. As Lily Potter née Evans’ only living blood relative, Petunia Dursley née Evans was the one who allowed the sacrificial magic to continue functioning.
But the fact that Harry’s existence had been nearly erased, even in the Muggle world, worried her. It didn’t paint a pretty picture in her mind.
Sure, it could be for his safety, so no one would know he was there. But Lyra had learned enough about the magical world to know that wizards rarely ventured into Muggle areas unless they had a specific purpose or already lived there. So, while it could be claimed that it was for Harry’s protection, Lyra wasn’t convinced.
Just like she hadn’t been convinced of Dumbledore’s good intentions four years earlier when he took Harry.
The thought of attending a school with a man like that as headmaster wasn’t as comforting as people seemed to think. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the old man would be more fitting as the general of an army than the innocent headmaster of a school.
In her research, she had also discovered that Dumbledore was quite influential in Britain’s magical community, and getting rid of him wouldn’t be as easy as it had been with Walburga. How troublesome.
But let’s not rush things.
First things first: ensuring Harry’s safety.
During her visits to Dursley’s street, Lyra had concluded a few things:
- There were no additional security spells around the house—at least none she could detect visually or through her runes. The only magical source nearby was Harry himself, with his accidental magic and the blood wards. However, as mentioned earlier, no one wanted to admit that Voldemort had been killed by a Muggle-born woman using Dark Magic. If Dumbledore knew, he wouldn’t admit that the only thing protecting the Boy Who Lived was a Dark Magic ritual. Since he was the one responsible for Harry’s safety, it would be hard to explain.
- The absence of extra protection like the Fidelius Charm—the same spell the Potters had used to protect themselves, which, as they knew, wasn’t infallible—or even protective runes suggested that Dumbledore was relying solely on Lily’s sacrificial ritual to keep Harry safe. The most concerning part was that, for someone with enough resources and influence, finding Petunia due to her connection to Lily—and, by extension, Harry—wouldn’t be difficult, leaving Harry vulnerable to any attack.
- The sacrificial ritual only protected Harry from Voldemort, not from his followers or his own relatives. Judging by the way his cousin, Dudley, “played” with him, Lyra would bet that the Dursleys were a bigger threat to Harry’s safety than Voldemort—who was either dead or nearly so—at that point. After all, children mimic the behavior they see at home, and that didn’t bode well for Harry’s life in that house.
- There was a woman, Arabella Dora Figg, who seemed to keep an eye on Harry. At first, Lyra paid her no mind, as it was to be expected that an adult might suspect something was wrong with Harry’s living situation. No, what caught Lyra’s attention was the owl. After seeing an owl flying out of the old woman’s house, Lyra started paying attention and placed monitoring runes around the house while pretending to play in the garden. Figg sent a letter every two months, using different owls each time (to avoid being tracked?), but never received a reply. After killing the owl as it left the house, Lyra stole the letter to examine its contents. Inside was a poorly written summary of Harry’s life, including suspicions of abuse written in a tone that made it clear this wasn’t the first report. There were no names, but Lyra would bet it was addressed to Dumbledore. She kept the letter and kept an eye on the street in the days following to see if the old man would come to investigate the missing owl. He didn’t. The downside of using different owls each time was that it was unlikely anyone would notice if one went missing.
- Dumbledore only appeared after Lyra made an anonymous report to the police about Harry’s mistreatment. The old man walked into the police station where the Dursleys were being held and left with them free. When Lyra entered the station, she found the officers slightly confused, seemingly convinced the report had been false. Their memories had been tampered with, she realized with frustration. The Dursleys spread rumors around the street that they had been brought in for questioning because of their delinquent nephew, since the child was too young to be arrested. Just like that, all the blame was placed on Harry, and the adults, along with the other children in the neighborhood, began avoiding him and mistreating him when he tried to approach. Even the primary school teachers stopped caring about suspicious bruises and his obvious malnourishment.
After months of observing what was happening on the street, Lyra came to a conclusion: with or without sacrificial magic, Harry wouldn’t be staying there. It was time to bring her brother to the protection of his true family.
Aunt Lily’s bottomless bag was incredibly useful. With the Invisibility Cloak, hidden in the bag all this time, Lyra was able to watch everything on the street without anyone knowing she was there—not even the old Headmaster. And? The two wands Lyra had stolen from the Death Eaters that night were still there, waiting to be useful.
It was one of those wands that Lyra used that day.
After what Dumbledore did to the police officers, Lyra dedicated herself to studying memory-erasing spells and compulsion charms. Knowing that such spells existed was a bit unsettling, and she made a mental note to develop a method to protect her mind from such influences.
She broke into Mrs. Figg’s house and, without difficulty, cast the Imperius Curse on the old Squib. The simple command was to continue sending letters to Dumbledore as usual, as if nothing were amiss.
With that, Lyra had more freedom to deal with the family.
She considered simply cursing the Dursleys like she had done with Mrs. Figg, but then Harry might feel threatened, as if he were being kidnapped. She didn’t want him to be afraid of staying with her. She didn’t want him to be afraid of his family. So a different approach was needed.
She had the advantage of ensuring that the Muggles would be punished for their crimes.
Lyra followed police officers to their homes and once again used the Imperius to ensure that the report wouldn’t be ignored and added the command to contact the Black family once the Dursleys were in custody, to arrange for Harry’s guardianship transfer according to the law. Lyra gave the officers both Muggle and magical documents for the transfer, as well as information on how to contact the Blacks.
And so it was done.
Once the Dursleys were undergoing the proper legal procedures and the custody documents were signed, Lyra visited each of the police officers and released them from the Imperius Curse right before erasing their memories of ever having seen her. She did the same with Mrs. Figg since it was too late to undo what had been done with the Dursleys. There were simply too many people to Obliviate, even for Dumbledore.
The police attributed the arrest to an anonymous tip, and no one—magical or otherwise—would suspect the use of the Imperius Curse because it didn’t change what the officers would have done naturally. The curse merely ensured that they wouldn’t be easily influenced by external factors to abandon the case again. Lyra had only used it to make sure they followed through with their duties.
There were no reliable ways to detect someone under the Imperius Curse, but the most well-known method was noticing if a person was behaving oddly. By giving instructions that the officers or Mrs. Figg would have followed without difficulty or that were already part of their usual routine, Lyra ensured that there would be no suspicion directed toward her once she erased all memory of the brief moments they saw her while under the curse’s influence.
The hardest part turned out to be the paper trail.
Lyra had to break into various places in the dead of night to leave legal documents connecting Harry to Sirius Black as his godfather and legal guardian in the event of his parents’ death. In the case that none of his godparents could assume legal custody, then the closest relatives of either the Potters or the godparents would be responsible. With the Dursleys imprisoned, that left the Black family or the Longbottoms.
Since the Longbottoms had no documentation in the Muggle world, while the Blacks had Marius Black—a Squib—and Sirius himself, who had a love for Muggle culture, it wasn’t difficult to create a plausible reason to convince the magical community to contact the Blacks instead of the Longbottoms, if necessary. It was just a matter of logic, but Lyra only felt at ease once she used the Imperius Curse.
As Sirius hadn’t been tried yet, Lyra made sure that Arthurus knew the importance of keeping Muggle media informed of his father’s innocence. Despite Sirius being suspected of killing thirteen people, since his guilt was never proven and Muggles followed the principle of “innocent until proven guilty,” after so long without a trial, he was automatically declared innocent under Muggle law, which didn’t investigate since the crime fell under Auror jurisdiction and the police involved in the case had been Obliviated.
After all, people don’t always bother to truly investigate these things before simply throwing a child into the adoption system. And since the information needed to be uncovered, Lyra wanted to ensure that it would be done.
Getting the Dursleys to sign the documents wasn’t a problem. They were so eager to be rid of Harry after realizing that Dumbledore wouldn’t be coming to save them this time, they didn’t even bother to read what they were signing. By doing this, Lyra ensured that Dumbledore would no longer be Harry’s magical guardian, consequently losing his claim to the Potters' seats in the Wizengamot and forcing him to return the key to the family vault.
Once Arthurus received the news about Harry and shared it at the dinner table, both Cassandra and Cygnus were quite surprised. Arthurus didn’t miss Lyra’s lack of surprise, which led to a brief but polite interrogation. She had no trouble admitting that she had interfered a bit, though she wouldn’t go into details.
When asked why? Plausible deniability.
Over time, Cygnus began to show some respect for the clever girl. He might not have liked her lack of pure blood, but even he couldn’t deny that Lyra could impose her will on the world when she wanted to. She wanted Harry? She got Harry. She wanted Dumbledore’s head? She’d have it. Eventually. Lyra’s grudge against the old Headmaster was no secret within the family, and though they didn’t care much for Muggles, the Blacks held a special disdain for Dumbledore and his anti-Dark Magic policies.
And who better to represent Dark Magic than House Black?
So yes, when taking custody of Harry ensured that Dumbledore lost his seats on the Wizengamot, it softened Cygnus’s stance toward accepting their new heir. Consequently, the more distant and traditional members of the family followed suit. The relationship with the Malfoys, which was already relatively good, improved even more, and Lucius developed a certain respect for Lyra, given his long-standing issues with the old Headmaster.
Of course, Dumbledore tried to contest the Black family’s custody of Harry when he learned what had happened through a letter from Mrs. Figg presented in court. But with the investigation into Sirius still ongoing and him awaiting trial, his claim over Harry was still valid under magical law.
This, along with the evidence of Dumbledore’s negligence regarding Harry Potter’s safety, weakened his case.
As expected, this put pressure on Sirius’s trial. Lyra had no doubt that the “kind old man” would visit her father to talk about how the evil dark family had taken custody of his beloved godson, Harry (and his own daughter), and that they were brainwashing him. This would ensure Sirius stayed on his side.
Supposedly.
The thing was, Lyra had been pushing Arthurus to fight for Sirius’s trial since she had moved into the house five years ago. All these years, Arthurus had kept Sirius informed about Lyra’s life and even about the attempts to locate Harry and ensure his well-being. Sirius clung to this information like a man dying of thirst in a desert, as it was his only source of knowledge about the outside world, and Dumbledore had never bothered to visit. So when he was told about Harry’s living conditions under Dumbledore’s guardianship? The old man’s absence for all those years didn’t help Dumbledore win over Sirius as he’d hoped, because the Headmaster had never really cared to monitor who visited Azkaban, or he would have known that Arthurus had been playing the long game.
Of course, Dumbledore had, from the start, banked on Sirius’s conviction, and the visit would have been just a precaution for the most unexpected scenario.
Thus, the magical world finally receives news of when Sirius Black’s trial will take place.
In parallel to this, Arthurus contacted Andromeda Tonks née Black, who had been disowned by the family for marrying a Muggle-born. However, her daughter had shown herself to be a Metamorphmagus, which piqued the head of the family’s interest, and he decided that, since they were in a period of change, it might be wise to welcome back a family member who had resurrected a long-dormant family magic. The fact that a half-blood had done it made him remember all of Lyra’s arguments about how blood purity wasn’t strengthening the Black lineage but weakening it.
Letting Nymphadora meet Lyra and Harry would help the next generation of the family thrive.
Sirius:
Three years earlier...
After spending so much time surrounded by nothing but Dementors and his regrets, Sirius heard footsteps approaching. He didn’t expect them to be for him, but his heart still quickened a bit.
No one had come, and no one had cared to hear what he had to say until a few months ago when a pair of Aurors came to ask him about the events of that night—the night he lost everything.
Sirius had told them everything he could remember, holding nothing back.
After that, the Aurors left, and Sirius remained alone. No one had told him what had happened or why the Aurors suddenly had questions. At the time, Sirius could only think that someone needed to go after Peter. He couldn’t be left free.
And, of course, Sirius hoped they might release him, even though part of him believed he deserved to be there.
So when the footsteps stopped in front of his cell, Sirius hoped it was someone from the Order. Remus, maybe. Dumbledore. The Aurors. Anyone.
He didn’t expect him.
His grandfather, Arthurus.
“Sirius,” his grandfather greeted him, wearing that haughty expression typical of a pure-blood that Sirius remembered from his mother’s face as she cursed him for being a disappointment.
But beggars can’t be choosers, and Sirius, who hadn’t interacted with another human in months, stood up and shuffled toward the bars to face his grandfather. Maybe it was worth listening to his pure-blood rubbish if he could glean some information about the outside world.
Judging by the number of Death Eaters Sirius had seen brought in and the gossip he overheard among prisoners, he knew Voldemort had fallen. At the hands of none other than Harry Potter.
A one-year-old child. Ridiculous.
The only useful thing he gathered was that Harry was alive. How? That was a mystery, but he wouldn’t complain.
“Grandfather,” he greeted in return.
Arthurus let out a quiet sigh at his grandson’s lack of composure, though he could understand given the circumstances. His arrogance, however, seemed untouched by the Dementors, which said a lot about the younger Black’s resilience.
“I thought you might like to know what’s happening outside these walls,” Arthurus said, pulling a newspaper from his coat. It showed a picture… a picture of Lyra and Harry, alive, though looking a bit ragged. “Dumbledore took the boy to an unknown location despite Lyra’s protests. No one knows where they are.”
Sirius hesitated. He could imagine Lyra demanding to stay with Harry, but Dumbledore forcibly separating them? His little girl must be terrified. Furious too, if he knew her temper. Well, Harry was likely a target if everyone believed he had defeated Voldemort, so keeping his whereabouts secret was probably for the best... but the same should apply to his innocent daughter.
His eyes now gleamed with life, and his expression became eager.
“And my daughter? And Lyra?”
“She’s at our family estate,” his grandfather informed him, sending a chill down Sirius’ spine. “She’s recently been officially recognized as the Heiress of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black.”
His daughter... in that house... alone...
“My mother... Walburga, she didn’t...”
“Your mother, she… passed away. A week ago,” Arthurus explained. “Lyra’s been with us for a few months now.”
“How did she die?” The hesitation in his grandfather’s voice told a story all its own, making Sirius believe it hadn’t been a peaceful death.
Arthurus met Sirius’ gaze.
“Kreacher, the elf, went mad after Walburga tried to rip his head off with the Cruciatus Curse. He killed her, and then I put him down,” Arthurus explained, his voice unwavering.
“Kreacher? The fanatical elf who worshipped the ground my mother walked on?” Sirius wanted to laugh but feared it might make him sound too much like his cousin Bella. Anyone who knew the elf would instantly recognize that as a lie, but the family was somewhat isolated, and no one would bother to prove a house-elf’s innocence among pure-bloods. “Tragic.”
But that raised the question: what were the real circumstances of his mother’s death? He knew it was murder, or his grandfather wouldn’t have bothered to frame the elf. Had Arthurus killed Walburga? Why after all these years? Maybe the old woman had gone mad. More than usual, that is.
“Indeed,” Arthurus replied, his calculating gaze not leaving Sirius for a full minute before he shifted topics and posture. “On another note, Lyra claims to have witnessed the entire Halloween incident, including Peter Pettigrew’s betrayal, but the Aurors can’t find him to prove your innocence. The investigation is ongoing, but the Ministry needs someone to blame to placate the masses. You, it seems, have been chosen as the scapegoat. I’m pushing for a trial and gathering lawyers to defend your case at your daughter’s insistence. I suggest you try to stay sane enough to give your testimony convincingly.”
Sirius now believed the Dementors had truly driven him mad. His grandfather... his daughter...
“Why are you doing this?” Sirius couldn’t help but ask.
“Your daughter made a compelling argument,” Arthurus replied, without really answering.
But that said enough, didn’t it? It said his daughter had some influence in the family, not just a hollow title of Heiress because there was no one else to claim the role. And that made Sirius even more curious about how she had managed to gain such influence.
If there was one thing Sirius knew about his family, it was that they valued strength and ruthlessness. This, combined with the suspicious circumstances of his mother’s death, made him wonder what role his daughter had played in it.
“What argument?” he pressed.
“Our family is neither weak nor disposable, and we will not allow our own to be sacrificed for the peace of mind of others,” Arthurus’ aristocratic expression tightened at the mere thought of his bloodline being wasted on a scapegoat.
***
Two years earlier...
Sirius began receiving visits from his grandfather with some regularity. Not often, but every few months, Arthurus would return with news about the investigation. His snake Patronus always preceded his arrival.
It was his daughter’s first visit that truly convinced Sirius that his grandfather had been honest about most things. Maybe not everything, but about a lot.
Her sharp, intelligent eyes, too keen for her age, assessed him in a way that was all too familiar. Not like his grandfather or his mother. It was more like the way James would check him over after a dangerous mission. Looking for signs of injury or any threat to his life. In those moments, there were no smiles or jokes. Those were the times when James got serious—at least until he decided Sirius was fine.
Seeing that look in his daughter’s eyes was unsettling, yet also comforting. She still loved him, still cared. Even after all this time.
It made him reconsider his suspicion that his daughter might have had a hand in Walburga’s death. He couldn’t blame her for doing what he had always wanted to but never had the courage to. He just feared thinking about what had pushed her to such an extreme.
Time had passed, judging by how much she had grown.
“Papa,” she whispered, stretching her hand through the bars, tears glistening in her eyes but refusing to fall.
“Daughter. Princess. My Lyra,” Sirius crouched down and reached for her, forgetting that he was filthy and her clothes were spotless white. She looked like a point of light and purity in the middle of hell, completely out of place.
Lyra didn’t seem to care, allowing herself to be pulled into an awkward hug with the bars in the way, her hands gripping the sides of his face. She gazed intently into his eyes.
“Papa, I’m going to get you out of here,” she promised, her eyes pleading for him to believe her. “I’ll get you out, so do whatever you need to do to survive. Don’t let those things control you.”
She glanced out the small window of his cell, where a Dementor was visible, attempting to reach the humans, much like a professional duelist sizing up their opponent across the ring. Sirius could feel her cold hands on his face and hear her strained breathing, but her eyes held no fear.
They held defiance.
Sirius... Oh, Sirius wasn’t about to let some Dementors break him when his little girl walked into Azkaban with her head held high and without a trace of fear. He had to be strong if he wanted to protect her.
A coward couldn’t protect a hero. He didn’t have the luxury of being a coward. Not while his daughter was like this.
His daughter would be a Gryffindor like no other.
Harry:
The second time the Dursleys were taken by the police, Harry didn’t expect the outcome to be much different from the first. In fact, he was already bracing himself for the beating he'd get once they returned.
In the meantime, a team of officers took photos of his bruises while doctors stood by, ready to treat him and conduct more tests to ensure he was healthy before sending him off to social services like his cousin, Dudley. Dudley, however, was undergoing psychological evaluation since investigators had noticed he mimicked his parents’ abusive behavior toward Harry. As a result, his violent tendencies needed to be addressed, and professionals were considering the best approach to handle him.
In the weeks following the trial and imprisonment of the Dursleys, Harry learned that Dudley would be placed in the care of their Aunt Marge, with social services making regular visits to ensure he was improving his behavior.
Harry considered himself lucky when he realized he wouldn’t be sent to live with her.
But that left him uncertain about what his own future would look like. He’d heard horror stories about life in foster care and dreaded the thought of being sent there. Life with the Dursleys didn’t seem so bad in comparison to the tales he’d overheard from his uncles.
A social worker explained that Harry had a godfather who hadn’t been able to take him in when he was a baby due to some legal complications at the time. Things were being worked out, she said, but they weren’t settled just yet. That’s why Harry wouldn’t be staying with his godfather but with his godfather’s family until the situation was resolved.
The woman explained that the family hadn’t known Harry’s whereabouts, which was why they had never claimed guardianship or asked for visitation.
Harry felt a small rush of excitement at the idea that there were people who actually wanted him. Not just visit him, but live with him. They just hadn’t known where he was all this time.
He spent weeks in the hospital while old injuries healed and his malnutrition was addressed. He also had to talk to a psychologist, who helped him understand that his uncles were bad people and that what they had done to him was wrong.
He was curious about his godfather and the kind of situation he’d been in that had kept him from caring for Harry when he was a baby, but since the man still hadn’t resolved things, Harry figured it must have been something serious to take so long. It made him daydream about all the families he saw on the street and at school, picking up their kids, and he wondered what it would be like to be in their shoes.
That’s why it was a bit disappointing when an old man came to pick him up, explaining that he was his godfather’s grandfather. The man had a stern expression and carried a cane.
Harry hoped he wouldn’t hit as hard as his uncles, given his age, but that cane didn’t seem like a good sign.
The man introduced himself as Arthurus Black. He signed some papers, took copies along with a small folder Harry knew contained his personal documents.
Just like that, Harry was now this stranger’s responsibility.
And it was terrifying.
They crossed the street to an alleyway where the man placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and warned him that things might feel a bit uncomfortable.
Harry had a fraction of a second to process the warning before a tugging sensation twisted his stomach, and he collapsed on the ground, his head spinning.
"Harry!" A sharp, surprised voice made him flinch, expecting some kind of punishment. "Harry, are you okay?"
His head stopped spinning, and he could finally look up at who was speaking to him: a girl just a little older than him, with long, wavy black hair, bright blue eyes filled with concern, and pale skin. She looked about 7 or 8 years old. Behind her stood another pair of stern-looking elders along with Arthurus, who had joined the duo. They all wore strange but expensive-looking clothes.
"Harry?"
“I’m fine, sorry,” Harry kept a cautious eye on the adults, though they didn’t seem hostile like Uncle Vernon used to get. They just looked like they had something foul stuck under their noses with those permanent frowns.
“Well, Harry, you probably don’t remember me, but my name is Lyra Black,” she introduced herself, and Harry focused on her friendly face, because she was the first reason he started to believe maybe his life here wouldn’t be so bad. “My dad was your godfather, and your parents were my godparents. Do you know what that means?”
“Uh, no, sorry.”
“It means we’re siblings,” she explained with a gentle smile. “Now, I’m going to explain something to you so there’s no misunderstanding later, okay? Let me finish before you get upset, alright?”
This was a lot to take in, but Harry had been starved for explanations up until now, and he was eager to learn more about his parents. His uncles had never said anything. He’d only recently learned what his own name was when the teacher called roll at school.
“Okay.”
“So, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but your parents were murdered,” Harry’s eyes widened and filled with unshed tears. “You and I were there that night, and I saw what happened. One of our parents’ friends betrayed them and let the bad men in.”
“A friend?” he nearly flinched, realizing he’d interrupted.
“Yes, Peter Pettigrew,” she made a face as she explained. “But everyone thought it was my dad who betrayed them, but that doesn’t make sense. If Dad wanted to betray your parents, he wouldn’t have left me there the night of the attack, you know? And I saw Peter there,” she sighed in frustration, and Harry could understand the feeling from the story. “But when they arrived, they found my dad surrounded by the bodies Peter left behind and no sign of Peter, so everyone concluded my dad was guilty because they wanted someone to blame, and he was there. You wouldn’t know this, but your parents’ deaths made headlines all over the country, even the world, so everyone wanted someone to be held accountable. Not arresting anyone made the aurors—the police—look incompetent.”
“Headlines worldwide? I didn’t know that,” he murmured.
“If you want, I can show you some newspapers from the time later,” she offered. “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that now so you don’t think we brought you to the house of the man who caused your parents’ deaths. I’m sure there are people out there who still believe my dad was responsible, and no one believes a child’s word,” she said bitterly, and Harry could relate to that since no one believed him either when he said he hadn’t done something. “Dad’s not here because he hasn’t been tried yet, but he’s close by. I didn’t want you to find out the wrong way by overhearing some random conversation because you can’t always trust public opinion.”
Lyra shrugged and looked at him with a calm, non-judgmental expression, simply waiting to see if Harry had more questions or was forming his own judgment. He didn’t really know how to feel about all this.
“T-that’s okay,” he gave a small smile to his... sister.
Harry had an older sister. And she seemed nice, nothing like Dudley.
Lyra smiled and took his hand, pulling him toward the three stern elders.
“Harry, these are our legal guardians, so if you ever have a problem, you can ask them for help. Either they’ll solve it, or they’ll help you solve it. That’s their job as adults,” she explained seriously. “This is Great-Grandfather Arthurus, my father’s grandfather, and he’s the head of the family. He’s the one handling Dad’s trial. This elegant lady is Great-Aunt Cassiopeia, or just Aunt Cass. She likes to travel the world, so she has lots of interesting stories. And this is Great-Uncle Cygnus, my dad’s uncle. I think he knows more about our family’s traditions and history than anyone else, so if you ever want to learn about that, he’s your guy.”
The three elders nodded, and they headed off to dinner. It was a large meal, and Harry went back for seconds after Lyra insisted it was allowed. When he finished and tried to take the dishes to the kitchen, Cassiopeia immediately stopped him, assuring him he didn’t need to.
It was during dinner that Harry suddenly realized he didn’t know how he had gotten to the house. He had been so caught up in people not being hostile and learning all this information about his parents and godfather that he’d forgotten about the dizzying event when he first arrived.
Lyra, full of energy, led Harry up the stairs, showing him the way to his room. The house was big and luxurious.
He was sure they had been in central London when Arthurus picked him up with the social worker... maybe he had fallen asleep.
Either way, the house was enormous, and Harry was quietly relieved that the Blacks weren’t like the Dursleys, making him clean everything. He wasn’t sure how he would manage to clean such a large, obviously expensive place. This seemed like the kind of home Aunt Petunia would want to live in.
As they climbed the stairs, Lyra kept talking.
“The elders stay downstairs because it’s hard for them to go up and down the stairs. Actually, Uncle Cygnus has his own house, but he lives alone, so he spends so much time here that he has his own room,” Lyra rambled. “But you and I are young and healthy, so we stay upstairs. This is my room, and you can knock here any time, and I’ll come see you. That other door is your room.”
Their rooms were directly across from each other.
Lyra seemed like she was practically bouncing with excitement as she waited for Harry to open the door and get his first glimpse of the room. And it didn’t disappoint.
The room was huge, with its own sitting area with a sofa and a table, in case he didn’t feel like going downstairs or had guests. There were also closets upon closets, and Harry felt embarrassed knowing that all his belongings would fit into one small shelf. There was also a bathroom with a tub and a variety of hygiene products.
“Wow,” Harry’s eyes sparkled at the sight of his new room.
“I’ve been putting this room together for nearly a year since we moved into this house,” Lyra smiled as she stepped inside. “It’s kind of empty because I didn’t want to fill it with things you don’t like and leave no room for you to put your own stuff, you know? So I thought it’d be better to stock the shelves and closets with you.”
Harry wanted to cry. Lyra was his sister, and she had been waiting for him for a year, maybe even longer. She wanted him. These people had made a giant room just for him. They wanted him.
“It’s amazing,” he managed to smile, pushing back tears because he didn’t want his sister to think he wasn’t happy.
It was such a stark contrast to how the Dursleys had treated him that he realized just how wrong the way he’d been raised was. He could hear the psychologist’s voice in the back of his mind, comforting him, trying to convince him it wasn’t his fault he’d been treated that way.
Or maybe these people just hadn’t realized he was a freak yet. Maybe then they’d treat him differently—a small part of him still feared that.
“Do you need help with anything? Or do you want to sleep already?” Lyra smiled at him, but it wasn’t an overly excited smile expecting a specific answer. It was more the kind of smile that said, “Do whatever you want, and I’ll support you.” Was it strange, being able to convey so much acceptance in a smile?
“I think I’ll sleep for a bit,” he agreed, slightly hesitant, unsure if he was giving the wrong answer, but he really didn’t need anything else right now.
“Goodnight then, little brother,” Lyra kissed his forehead as if it were the most normal thing in the world before stepping out of the room.
Lyra:
On Harry's first night at Dubh Castle, Lyra couldn't stop thinking about where he used to sleep in that other house. A cupboard under the stairs, she saw in the memory of the police officer who had investigated the case.
She tossed and turned in her bed.
It must be terrifying to be in such a strange place, surrounded by unfamiliar people. And Harry was still so small—malnourished—that he probably suffered from nightmares.
She tossed and turned again.
Ryuna had raised enough children to know how to handle little ones, so Lyra got up, crossed the few steps separating her room from Harry’s, and knocked. It was a soft knock, but loud enough to be heard in the large bedroom.
After a few seconds, she knocked again.
It didn’t take long before a small Harry opened the door, wide-eyed and frightened, his messy hair framing those vivid green eyes. The skin around them was red, confirming Lyra’s suspicion of a nightmare. Either that or something else had made him cry.
“Hey,” she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She didn’t want to come across as too authoritative or it might send the wrong message. “Can I sleep with you? I promise I won’t be a bother.”
Harry’s eyes widened even more at the suggestion.
“With me?”
“Only if you want,” she clarified, this time sounding more certain so he wouldn’t let her in out of guilt.
Lyra struck a delicate balance—just hesitant enough to show that rejection was an option, but confident enough that Harry wouldn’t feel guilty if he said no. It was a difficult equilibrium, but again, Ryuna had raised over 100 children. If Lyra couldn’t handle this, she would buy every book on parenting and child psychology in the morning and start studying.
“No... I mean, sure,” Harry opened the door wider for Lyra to enter, though he still seemed surprised that someone would want to sleep with him.
Lyra waited until he made his way to the bed before following, making it clear that he was the host. It was his room, and she was the guest. They nestled under the covers, which Lyra had personally chosen for their warmth and softness.
Harry turned off the bedside lamp, and Lyra gently took his hand beneath the blankets before closing her eyes.
Harry:
Lyra should have been asleep by now. It had probably been over an hour since they lay down in his bed. Her hand still held Harry’s—not tightly, just there. A quiet presence.
He wasn’t sure when he started crying again, but tears slid down his cheeks freely as he tried his best to stay quiet, not wanting to wake her.
It would hurt so much when they found out he was a freak.
It would hurt to lose this. Would his sister still love him if she knew he was an abomination? Could he pretend to be normal and hope no one noticed?
He wanted to keep this so badly.
He didn’t even realize Lyra had squeezed his hand until he felt her stir beside him.
“Sorry,” he sobbed quietly, still trying not to make any noise. “I didn’t mean to wake you…”
His eyes were clenched shut, but he could still sense the light coming on near the bed. He didn’t want to see the disappointment in her eyes.
“Harry,” Lyra called softly, just a whisper. “I’m your big sister. Do you know what that means?”
He shook his head, though he had no idea what having a sister really meant.
“It means it’s my job to take care of you,” she whispered as though sharing a secret. “Not because someone told me to, but because I chose to. I chose to have you in my family. It doesn’t matter what blood we share or don’t share—you’re my brother. And nothing will ever change that.”
Harry’s sobbing grew louder, and he felt thin arms wrap around him. When was the last time someone had hugged him? Had anyone ever hugged him before? It was as wonderful as he had imagined.
“It’s okay to cry,” she murmured as she stroked his back gently. “Crying helps clear your mind—it’s good for you.”
And Harry cried. He cried harder than he ever had, and at some point, Lyra began to hum a wordless melody. Strangely, it felt familiar, though he couldn’t remember where he might’ve heard anything like it before. It was comforting.
When Harry finally dared to open his eyes, ready to thank his sister for taking care of him, he realized it wasn’t the bedside lamp that Lyra had turned on when she woke up. That… that was a glowing butterfly.
It was beautiful in soft, bluish tones. Its body seemed to be made of shimmering smoke and pure light, lazily flapping its wings as it hovered above his bed.
“Do you like it?” Lyra whispered close to his ear, and Harry felt his face flush, mesmerized by the butterfly.
“W-what is that?” he managed to ask.
Lyra hesitated for a second, meeting Harry’s gaze before smiling.
“Magic.”
Harry scoffed.
“Magic doesn’t exist,” he replied, showing a rare hint of boldness. He knew that much from his aunt and uncle, who had told him the same thing over and over.
In response, Lyra raised an eyebrow and cupped her hands together, forming a small cocoon. Soon, a glowing light emerged between her fingers, and another butterfly, identical to the first, fluttered out and began to fly.
“Magic,” she repeated simply.
It was… so beautiful.
His body felt light after crying, his mind weary from exhaustion. No worries or fears could stain that moment. In that room, it was just them and those two glowing butterflies.
“How… how is this possible?” Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from the butterflies. They radiated such peace and serenity.
“My family is magical,” she explained. “My father… your father, your mother. Everyone in this house is magical, Harry.”
“That can’t…” Harry recalled how he got there—or rather, how he didn’t remember getting there. “Everyone?”
“You too, Harry,” she whispered so softly that he could only hear because they were so close. He turned to look at his sister, their faces mere inches apart. “I remember when you were a baby. You already did magic back then.”
Harry thought of all the strange things that had happened around him. All the times his aunt and uncle were furious, punishing him for things he hadn’t even done. They treated him as if he’d caused those things to happen.
“But my aunt and uncle…”
“As far as I know, your mother was the only one in her family with magic. Petunia, her sister, became jealous and resented magic because it was something she could never have,” Lyra explained. “Petunia couldn’t do anything against an adult witch or wizard, but when you ended up in her care... I think she decided to punish you for having magic when she couldn’t.”
In that moment, Harry could have cried again at the sheer injustice of it all, but he had already shed his tears. The only thought lingering in his mind was that he wasn’t a freak or an abomination. His sister wasn’t going to reject or punish him for things beyond his control.
He wasn’t an abomination.
He was magical.