Chapter 12
Lyra:
The first day of school went as expected. It wasn’t much different from any other school she’d attended (except for the Konoha Academy, but she’d only been there for two years as a child, so she chose to disregard that). The lectures were somewhat monotonous, interspersed with a few engaging practical activities. Her main grievance with the classes themselves was the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, who seemed intent on singling out Lyra while making insinuations about how Dark Magic was inherently evil, as were those who practiced it. He even made several references to the infamous Black Madness.
But the final straw was when he made it clear that no one needed to learn anything about Dark Magic.
Well, that wasn’t going to fly.
“And how exactly are we supposed to defend ourselves against something we don’t understand, Professor?” Lyra asked, her voice cold.
“Twenty points from Hufflepuff for speaking out of turn,” he snapped—as if the prejudiced man would have let her speak if she had asked politely. “And to answer your question, Miss Black, I will teach you defensive spells such as Protego, which creates a shield and protects against any attack…”
“That’s a lie.”
“Fifty more points for—” The professor’s voice cut off as Lyra’s magic silenced him, her expression unchanging as she continued speaking, as if unaware of his sudden inability to respond.
“There are numerous curses that Protego cannot block, many of which are lethal if they land. If we know nothing about Dark Magic, we won’t know how to defend against an attack properly. Worse, if we’re hit, we won’t know how to reverse the damage before it’s too late. Specific curses require specific counter-curses or healing spells. Using the wrong one can exacerbate the damage and kill the patient.”
The professor’s face turned a deep shade of red. The students glanced nervously between Lyra, calm and composed, and the professor, temperamental and seemingly on the verge of violence. The fact that the class was shared with Ravenclaw made the whole situation even more satisfying for Lyra. The professor finally resorted to a nonverbal spell to regain his voice.
“One hundred points—”
“Don’t get me wrong, Professor,” Lyra interrupted, unfazed by the continued point deductions. “As you’ve pointed out so many times during this class, my family possesses extensive knowledge of Dark Magic. I’m confident I’ll be able to defend myself if the need arises. But the other students in this school don’t share that privilege.”
“One hu—” The professor’s voice failed again as Lyra silenced him once more.
“Your negligence in teaching comprehensive Defense, covering all bases, could cost a student their life in the future. If the last war taught us anything, it’s that ignorance has never protected anyone.”
With that, Lyra fell silent, waiting for the professor to regain his voice. But the damage was done. The students, particularly the Ravenclaws, now wore contemplative expressions. The Hufflepuffs, too new to Hogwarts to fully grasp that House points were a collective rather than individual punishment, initially seemed upset by the lost points. But now, they appeared to be weighing her words and considering how the professor had treated Lyra since the start of the lesson.
Hufflepuffs were loyal, and their House did not appreciate seeing one of their own targeted by a teacher. Especially since most of them were Muggle-born and didn’t fully understand the dichotomy of Light and Dark Magic. All they saw was bullying.
“Out!” the professor finally bellowed. “Don’t come back! You’re not welcome in my class ever again!”
Lyra stood, calmly slinging her bag over her shoulder. She walked out with confident strides, her head held high.
At the time, she wasn’t aware of the curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, or she might have been more tolerant, knowing the professor wouldn’t last long. Even with that knowledge, Lyra doubted she could have endured an entire year of such nonsense, even with the comfort of knowing his tenure was short-lived.
The knowledge that she was no longer required to attend Defense classes gave her a free period in her schedule, though she would need to consult Professor Sprout about how this would affect her attendance. If her grade depended solely on exam performance, Lyra was confident she could excel, but attendance might pose a problem.
By the end of the first week of classes—just four days into the term—Lyra had become something of a celebrity for being permanently expelled from Defense Against the Dark Arts. Rumors spread faster than a ninja fleeing a Kiri assassination squad.
Fred and George praised her as a legend after hearing of her expulsion, though their enthusiasm earned her some hostility from her Housemates, who resented the 170 points lost in the first week. The older Weasley siblings tried to console her, and while Lyra smiled and thanked them (it would have been rude to do otherwise), she made sure to repeat her classroom arguments to Bill (who was studying Dark Magic to become a Curse Breaker) loudly in the Great Hall. She spoke just loudly enough for nearby students—and the professors—to overhear. Choosing Bill as her audience had been a strategic move, and he, from a notably Light-aligned family, elaborated on how knowledge of Dark Magic was essential for defense and damage control, citing examples from foreign texts and other wizarding schools’ curriculums. This cemented Lyra’s argument and turned most students against the professor, who began to question why they weren’t being taught the full spectrum of Defense. Naturally, there were exceptions among the more fanatical Light supporters, but they were in the minority once Lyra reminded everyone how many lives had been lost in the war simply because people didn’t know how to defend themselves against certain curses. Because they had never been taught.
If that had the side effect of bringing the Slytherins to her side, she wouldn’t complain.
By lunchtime that same day, Lyra received a summons to the Headmaster’s office. She wasn’t sure if this was a positive or negative development for her plans. The chance to engage with Dumbledore presented an opportunity to observe him and search for weaknesses, but this was his territory, where he held absolute authority.
Lyra hated being at a disadvantage, but she had to deal with him.
She had to. She had to. She had to.
Dumbledore needed to be under control by the time Harry started at Hogwarts in two years. That might not be enough time to completely dismantle a man as entrenched as Dumbledore, but it would have to suffice to sow doubt and erode his support among the faculty.
She had come to Hogwarts instead of Beauxbatons, against her father’s wishes, because she had to finish what she started. Dumbledore had to fall before she could focus on Voldemort.
Well, that, and they needed to understand why both Dumbledore and Voldemort were so interested in Harry. Her father only knew that a prophecy existed (the reason Uncle Prongs and Aunt Lily had gone into hiding), but he didn’t know its content, so they would need to investigate. If they simply fled, how could they ensure that Death Eaters wouldn’t come after them again? At least here, they knew people, and the authorities were actively interested in dealing with Death Eaters. Staying had its benefits.
Lyra needed to set things right.
The older she got, the more she felt the anxiety of unfinished work. Too many bases were left uncovered, too many weaknesses remained. She knew, deep down, that this was triggered by being in what she considered enemy territory, but understanding that didn’t lessen her anxiety.
Lyra took a deep breath as she walked.
I have a plan. I have a plan. I have a plan. I just need time to set all the pieces in place.
She entered the Headmaster’s office.
It resembled a storeroom for random trinkets. It wasn’t exactly ugly, though the visual clutter was far from aesthetically pleasing. There were all kinds of objects scattered around, but there was an underlying order to the chaos, and almost everything seemed to have a purpose (Lyra recognized some magical monitoring devices likely used to keep tabs on the students).
Dumbledore was a hoarder with a control complex.
“Miss Black,” the Headmaster greeted as though their encounter years earlier had never happened. To be fair, if she were an ordinary child, she likely wouldn’t have remembered. Too bad for him that Lyra was many things, but ordinary wasn’t one of them. “I see you’ve been quite busy since term began.”
“The lessons have been very enlightening,” she replied, giving him a polite, false smile, though her thoughts wandered to her grandmother Walburga’s grueling lessons.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Dumbledore returned her smile, equally forced. “I understand there was an incident in Defense class.”
“Indeed, the professor made numerous inappropriate remarks to a first-year student about her personal life and family.” Lyra’s smile sharpened. “But I’m sure he will be properly disciplined, won’t he, Headmaster? We can’t have a teacher taking undue liberties with children under Hogwarts’ care, or the students’ parents might feel their children aren’t safe here.”
“Funny,” the Headmaster replied, his smile tightening as the portraits of former Headmasters on the walls stirred. “The account I received suggests you were advocating for the use of Dark Magic in the classroom.”
“That would be correct.”
Dumbledore blinked.
“You must understand that the use of Dark Magic is prohibited—”
“I never advocated for its use, Headmaster,” Lyra interrupted, her tone still polite. “I merely argued that we should have a broader understanding of curses to better defend ourselves against different attack methods, rather than relying solely on basic defense spells like Protego, which has its limits. We were discussing tactics, not practice.”
"I see," he hesitated. Controlling the conversation wasn’t as easy as he had assumed it would be, even though they were alone. "Well, I trust you know your father will be informed of this incident. Unfortunately, that decision is beyond my authority, as he is your legal guardian."
"Don’t worry, Headmaster. I’ve already sent my father a letter along with a memory of the entire event for him to view in a Pensieve and draw his own conclusions. I’d hate for anyone to think I twisted the events to my advantage," Lyra said, meeting Dumbledore’s eyes as if daring him to press further. "If that’s all, I’m afraid I must go now. I still need to speak with my Head of House to find out how to proceed with Defense classes."
"Very well. Have a good day."
Lyra stood and left, her false smile firmly in place until the moment the office door closed behind her. Then, it vanished entirely.
Remus:
1 year before
Since Sirius' release, Remus had spent more time with his childhood friend. Dumbledore had suggested he keep an eye on Sirius, given that he was living in a house full of dark magic practitioners.
Remus felt filthy spying on his friend, even if it was supposedly for his own good.
Though he reported some things to the Headmaster, he never told him everything. He certainly never shared the confidences Sirius had entrusted to him after months of rekindling their friendship.
His wolf had been quieter lately. It was still a cruel beast that tore him apart every full moon, but during the rest of the time, it lay dormant. Sometimes, Remus could even forget, for a moment or two, what he truly was.
Despite the fact that Sirius seemed to be slowly opening up, he rarely spoke about the children. He hadn’t offered to arrange a meeting either, so it came as a surprise when he learned that Lyra—then ten years old—had requested Defense lessons from him, even though her father was already teaching her. Apparently, she believed it was beneficial to have more than one teacher for a broader perspective.
They were going to learn how to deal with a Boggart.
Lyra had an analytical look in her eyes that reminded him of Sirius when he first arrived at Hogwarts.
People often forgot that, among the Marauders, Sirius was the genius. Sure, James was creative, Peter was practical, and Remus was clever, but Sirius? He was talented.
Everything Remus needed to pore over books for, asking professors countless questions, Sirius seemed to grasp almost instinctively, needing only the most basic explanation. Remus was certain that if Sirius had known the children were alive when he was imprisoned—or later realized they were in danger—he would have escaped Azkaban on his own immediately and sought them out. Sirius was never a man of half-measures.
It was James who had explained to Remus that Sirius wasn’t deliberately cruel. He’d simply grown up being punished with the Cruciatus Curse for minor infractions by his own mother. That warped sense of normalcy left Sirius with little understanding of when he crossed a line. Why would a prank be considered cruel if it didn’t come close to the pain his mother inflicted on him? James had set a strict boundary, a clear line in the sand for Sirius: dark magic was off-limits. The grey areas of morality only confused him, and with the war against Voldemort, they never revisited that conversation.
Watching Lyra in that lesson, on the verge of facing her first Boggart, Remus was reminded of how Sirius, during his first weeks at Hogwarts, had studied people as if trying to categorize them. He’d looked like a Slytherin, calculating and cold. Remus would never forget the icy glint in Sirius' eyes the day his mother sent him a Howler after he was sorted into Gryffindor.
That coldness, that assessing gaze, had faded when they became friends later in their first year. It returned after Azkaban.
And now, Remus saw the same look in Lyra.
The wardrobe rattled as the Boggart stirred, but Remus wasn’t ready to end the lesson. Not yet. He needed to gauge where he stood with the children, to understand why they’d kept their distance for so long. Even now, only Lyra was here; Harry had yet to meet with him or join the lesson.
“I… I owe you an apology,” Remus began after greeting Lyra. “You must have felt betrayed…”
“Not really,” she replied, tilting her head slightly as she looked at him.
Remus blinked, caught off guard. “No?”
“There has to be trust for betrayal to occur,” Lyra explained, and Remus felt like he’d been punched. A Cruciatus would have hurt less. Even his wolf, silent for so long, stirred uneasily. Lyra seemed to recognize she’d struck a nerve. “Don’t get me wrong. I never thought you’d try to hurt us. But I never believed you’d fight for us either—Harry and me, I mean.”
Remus would have curled in on himself if he could, but standing as he was, there was no room for retreat.
“You don’t understand, my circumstances—”
“I was three years old,” she interrupted, her tone indifferent. I was three, and I fought to protect Harry. What did you do?
Any argument Remus had rehearsed crumbled before Lyra. What could he say to justify not even trying? Simply taking Dumbledore’s assurances that they were fine and walking away? His wolf had yearned to find the pups, but Remus was so convinced he was a danger to them that he’d stayed away, believing they were safer without him.
Dumbledore was supposed to be trustworthy. He’d been the first adult to believe in Remus, to give him a chance. He’d allowed Remus to attend Hogwarts, to make friends, to join the Order.
Remus wanted to believe that Dumbledore’s actions had good reasoning behind them.
“If you knew my condition, you’d understand you’re safer away from me,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Lyra regarded him with an expression that bordered on pity.
“Neither a wolf nor a human is a monster. Why would a mix of the two be?” she asked softly. “I’ve never doubted that you loved us, Uncle Moony. Just like I never doubted that you’d leave as soon as you found a good excuse, without looking back. All because you’re so afraid of yourself.”
“Sirius told you,” Remus said, his chest tightening.
“He told me when I asked to train with you,” she nodded. “Dad wanted my opinion.”
Remus flinched at the confirmation. He had always thought Sirius would be one of the few to withhold judgment.
“Yes, he told me how your wolf—let’s call him Moony—and your human side, Remy, coexist. Anyway, he mentioned how Moony was calmer when around other animals or your friends’ Animagus forms,” she explained, her eyes alight with the same curiosity she’d shown as a child when listening to him read spellbooks. “I have some thoughts on that which you might not like, though.”
“Go ahead,” Remus said, bracing himself. “I’ve probably heard worse.”
“Well, the way I see it, the wolf is a separate consciousness, coexisting with yours in the same body,” she began, her eyes drifting as if reciting from a magical theory text. Then, she snapped back to the present. “He’s your prisoner.”
“What?”
“You didn’t choose to be bitten. But Moony didn’t choose to be trapped inside you either,” she said, her gaze sharpening. “You get to live freely most of the time, but he only has one night a month, and even that you deny him. No freedom, no interaction, no recognition. How do you expect Moony to be anything but hostile? Remy, you’re his jailer. You’re his curse more than he is yours.”
Remus felt his breath hitch.
He wasn’t sure what happened next. The next thing he knew, he was outside, gasping for air. He had never thought of the wolf as truly alive, as a conscious being.
But that was a lie.
He had felt it all along. He had known the wolf wanted to find the children, and yet he had chosen to ignore it. Chosen to view the wolf as a burden rather than a living entity.
The irony was cruel: the wolf would have been better for the children than he had ever been. But it was precisely the wolf’s pull toward them that had made him stay away.
Perhaps it wasn’t the wolf that was the monster. Perhaps it was Remus all along.
***
Discovering that Lyra spoke to people like that whenever she had strong opinions about a topic was... unsettling.
"Yeah, no one enjoys getting a lecture from her," Sirius admitted with a mock shiver, a wry smile on his lips. "A temper so cold it burns."
"You told her about my... furry little problem," Remus said hesitantly.
"Lyra doesn't care that you're a werewolf, Remy." He didn't miss how Sirius used the new nickname instead of the usual "Moony." "She was curious for a while about why I became an Animagus so young, and when she asked to take lessons with you, I figured she might pick up on some of your symptoms. She's a very observant kid, and it could’ve been dangerous if she felt the need to investigate. I didn’t want another Snape situation."
"That only happened because you told Snape where to find me, in case you've forgotten," Remus pointed out, narrowing his eyes.
"I know, but if Lyra already knows the truth, she won’t need to dig around and potentially put herself in danger," Sirius shrugged, unapologetic. "She won’t judge you for it."
I never doubted you’d leave the moment you had a good excuse.
"No, she’ll judge me for other things."
"Exactly."
"Comforting," Remus muttered, and Sirius chuckled.
"If it helps, you're not the first—and certainly won’t be the last—to get a dressing-down from Princess Black," Sirius snorted. "But she does have a knack for going straight for the jugular."
"Princess Black?" Remus raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, it started as a joke when Lyra scolded the kids for parroting adult prejudices. Everyone found it funny and started using it. It kind of stuck. My grandfather thought it was fitting, and now it’s what they call her whenever she gets that tone," Sirius grinned, mimicking Lyra’s haughty stance.
"James used to call her ‘Little Princess,’" Remus recalled with a nostalgic smile.
***
The next attempt at a Boggart lesson also began with a conversation.
"I'm going to try to do better for Moony," Remus said quietly once they were in the room. "I never thought of things the way you put it, and... I think I chose not to see. But I’ll try to be better."
Lyra fixed him with an intense gaze that made Remus’s wolf stir uneasily, but then she smiled, and the spell broke.
"I'm glad to hear that," she said. "Making mistakes is part of life, but learning from them and improving is a choice. Your choices define the kind of person you are."
"I must be a terrible person for leaving you behind."
"Yes," she said with a smile, as if it wasn’t a painful thing to say. "But the question is: now that you know, will you keep being one? What kind of person will you choose to be now?"
Remus fell silent. How was he supposed to answer that? How would anyone?
"That’s not a decision you need to make right now," Lyra broke the silence, pulling out her notebook and quill. "Shall we begin the lesson?"
The theory about Boggarts was more intriguing than he’d anticipated. Lyra raised interesting questions about how the creature knew someone’s greatest fear. Was it a form of Legilimency? Or perhaps a kind of soul magic similar to a Patronus, but focused on fear rather than happiness, and on another’s soul rather than the caster’s? Maybe a Boggart was more akin to a Dementor than anyone realized.
The practical test, however, was both fascinating and unsettling.
As Lyra stood before the wardrobe, the door creaked open, and Remus saw another Lyra step out. The same haughty expression, the same clothes. They were mirror images.
"You should kill him," the not-Lyra said.
The real Lyra studied her double with calm curiosity, unhurried.
"Who?"
"Harry."
That caught both Lyra’s and Remus’s attention.
"Why?"
"He's a threat," the Boggart replied. "His death would make everyone safer, and you know that. It would be for the greater good."
Before Remus’s eyes, Lyra’s expression turned icy. It wasn’t the same disdain he’d seen pure-bloods use against Muggle-borns. No, this was something else entirely.
It wasn’t the reaction Remus expected from someone facing their greatest fear.
"Ridiculous," she said coldly.
She didn’t even pronounce the spell correctly, nor did she use her wand. Yet the Boggart recoiled from the force of her magic. When it retreated back into the wardrobe, Remus quickly locked it away.
"I’m not sure I understood," Remus admitted, surprised. He hadn’t expected an explanation—he knew Lyra was skilled at wandless magic, but not at this level.
"My greatest fear…" Lyra hesitated, and for the first time, he saw the vulnerability he’d been anticipating, only for it to be shattered by her next words. "My greatest fear is being ashamed of the person I’ve become."
Draco:
Three days after they said goodbye to Lyra when she left for Hogwarts, they were approached by Remus Lupin and Uncle Sirius. Apparently, distance wouldn’t stop his cousin from making their lives difficult (though Draco would never admit he enjoyed it).
Everyone who wasn’t old enough to attend Hogwarts was there: himself, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. Fred, George, and Lyra’s absence was deeply felt, Draco realized with a pang of longing.
"Alright, kids, don’t think Lyra’s going to let you slack off just because she’s at school," Uncle Sirius announced with a sadistic grin, which meant whatever he had planned was going to be a nightmare. "She left a new game for you, but this one’s due by Christmas."
That was a considerably longer deadline than they usually got (a week). Draco narrowed his eyes at that. It must be a particularly tough challenge if they were being given so much time.
His suspicion was echoed by Hermione, who was eyeing Uncle Sirius with a calculating look, waiting as patiently as she, a notoriously anxious girl, could manage. Her gaze flicked to Lupin, as if he might be a clue to the mystery.
Perhaps he was.
"You’ll work together to follow the clues," Uncle Sirius continued in a pompous voice. "Think of it as a treasure hunt..."
"It is a treasure hunt," Lupin interjected, casting Sirius an unimpressed look.
"That’s what I said," Sirius shrugged it off and carried on. "Now, the Christmas deadline has a specific reason. Who can guess why?"
A brief silence, and then Hermione raised her hand. Sirius pointed at her to speak.
"Our reward for completing the challenge is our Christmas presents," Hermione deduced.
That sent a ripple of shock through the group.
"Exactly," Uncle Sirius grinned like a hyena. "If you fail, no presents."
"You can’t do that!" Ron protested, though he didn’t seem to think he could actually sway the adults.
"Sorry, kid, but all your parents are in on this," Lupin added with a sly smile, handing the group a sealed letter with a ceremonious air. "Good luck."
With that, both adults Disapparated, leaving the kids in the garden of Dubh Castle.
Guys,
By now, I’m probably already at Hogwarts, and you’ve had some time to relax. I hope you’ve enjoyed it because the break’s over.
This time’s challenge is a Historical Treasure Hunt. What’s different from a regular Treasure Hunt, you ask? Well, for this one, you’ll need a deep understanding of history to make progress.
Did you really think history lessons would stop just because I’m not there? No, we’re just switching to independent study. Dream on.
You have until Christmas to solve this, or no presents. And remember, you’ll need an adult to accompany you if you leave the house. If I hear that any of you tried wandering around alone, I’ll use you as test subjects for Fred and George’s inventions.
Here’s your first clue:
“In a dark time of war and despair,
A wizard rose, his courage rare.
In Europe’s heart, his wand was raised,
In secret battles, hope was praised.
Seek where the laws of magic reside,
Find the face that defied Grindelwald’s tide,
In the Ministry, his valor abides.”
With love and high expectations,
Lyra
All the kids read the letter.
"Right, we can conclude that this clue refers to a wizard," Harry began. "That narrows things down quite a bit."
"Someone who fought Grindelwald," Ron added.
"That was like, 40 years ago," Ginny pointed out, peering over Harry’s shoulder at the letter.
"The Ministry is where laws are made," Draco said.
"So, we’re looking for a portrait at the Ministry of Magic," Hermione concluded. "Someone who fought Grindelwald… Dumbledore?"
"Let’s find out," Draco shrugged.
Getting an adult to accompany them wasn’t difficult since Sirius stayed behind specifically to help them with the first clue. He was calm and didn’t rush them to speed things up.
It wasn’t their first time wandering around London for one of Lyra’s treasure hunts or to debunk the latest myth from their history lessons. You’d think it would get old, but Lyra had a knack for keeping things exciting. There was even that one time when they had to sneak into Buckingham Palace to retrieve a Muggle sword supposedly cursed by Napoleon’s defeat.
Turned out to be fake.
But it was an epic adventure, and they had to flee from the palace guards. Draco was sure his heart had never raced so fast.
In short, Lyra’s challenges were never dull.
Getting into the Ministry was easy, as was locating the hall of portraits. The hard part? Figuring out the right person to ask among the hundreds of faces. Dumbledore wasn’t there (his portrait wasn’t enchanted yet since he was still alive).
"You didn’t know that?" Hermione raised an eyebrow at Ron and Draco.
"Usually, the people we’re supposed to question have been dead for centuries," Draco pointed out, gesturing in exasperation toward the endless corridor of frames.
"This will take forever," Ginny groaned.
"I have an idea," Ron brightened up before shouting at the top of his lungs, "PORTRAITS! DID ANY OF YOU FIGHT GRINDELWALD?"
A stunned silence followed, broken after a few seconds as every portrait began talking at once.
"QUIET! Quiet, please!" barked a portrait of a man in a golden uniform, his stern gaze sweeping over the group. "What a racket—almost as bad as the French!"
The other portraits gradually quieted, though some muttered indignantly. Draco caught snippets like, "French?!" and "I fought at Waterloo!" amidst the earlier uproar.
"We just want to know who fought Grindelwald!" Harry tried to refocus the conversation, addressing the authoritative portrait. "Please, if anyone did, could you identify yourself?"
The golden-uniformed man huffed, and a nearby portrait of a woman with long braided hair interjected.
"I believe he means you, Abner!"
The man looked around grudgingly before finally nodding.
"Very well. I am Abner Cravens, and yes, I fought Grindelwald during the Second Wizarding War. But why should I waste my time on you lot?"
Draco knew this required finesse. Smiling his most convincing smile, he approached the portrait.
"Mr. Cravens, we know you were a great wizard. It’s inspiring that you faced Grindelwald in such a dangerous time!" Draco said, his tone full of respect, making the portrait’s eyes gleam. "It would be an honor to hear your story—and maybe get a clue?"
"Indeed!" Hermione chimed in eagerly. "We promise to listen closely! You’re a true hero!"
The portrait visibly softened, clearly flattered.
"Hmm, a little respect goes a long way!" Abner declared, crossing his arms. "I’ll tell you, but first, fetch me a cup of tea. Ministry tea is the best company for storytelling."
Ron made a face. "Seriously? You’re a painting. Can’t you just imagine the tea?"
"Ah, young man, it’s tradition. A story needs proper decorum!"
"You can’t even drink the tea..." Harry clamped a hand over Ron’s mouth, offering the portrait a sheepish smile as if nothing was wrong.
The children exchanged glances, but Draco’s determination overshadowed any hesitation. He had always known that persuasion and charming manipulation were invaluable skills. He would make a poor Slytherin if he let himself be defeated so easily.
“Very well, Mr. Cravens! We’ll get your tea. But please, tell us about your fight!” Draco responded, convinced that a touch of sweetness could win over the portrait.
The others murmured in agreement. They wouldn’t miss the chance to hear about the battle against Grindelwald. Ginny, determined, began dragging Harry toward the break room, where they knew they could fetch some tea.
It took 20 minutes to find cups dignified enough for a tea ceremony worthy of a war hero, but they managed. Sirius seemed barely able to contain his laughter as he sipped from his own cup.
They returned and faced the portrait.
“If you want the clue,” Abner began, his tone solemn, “you must understand that stories hold power. But what I truly guard are Grindelwald’s secrets! Prepare yourselves, for the next clue is not just a question. It lies hidden in a city where the echoes of a dark past still linger.” He paused dramatically, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. The group straightened, knowing they had found the right portrait. “Here it is: ‘To the east, beyond Britain’s borders, the wind carries on, where a dark wizard once sowed terror in his ambition. In a city divided by walls of ideology, he cast shadows with his grim sorcery.’”
Silence fell as the group absorbed the portrait’s words.
Hermione furiously jotted down every word. The group exchanged looks, trying to unravel the riddle. Draco foresaw long hours of poring over history books to piece this together.
“Berlin?” Hermione suggested, her tone uncertain. “A city divided by ideological walls… that has to be Berlin.”
“It can’t be Berlin; that’s in Germany,” Ron objected.
“Maybe that’s why we’ve been given until Christmas to solve this,” Harry said, his excitement growing.
Draco’s eyes widened involuntarily.
“She planned a treasure hunt across Europe?” he murmured. This… this was amazing.
“Maybe even across the whole world,” Ginny added, her voice trembling with excitement.
Sirius watched the children fondly, his eyes twinkling. He herded them like a flock of unruly sheep toward the exit, and soon they were traveling back home via Floo Powder, their minds buzzing with anticipation. This year was shaping up to be an adventure.
Upon their return to Grimmauld Place, one of the house-elves presented a freshly delivered letter from Hogwarts. All the children watched eagerly as Sirius opened it. Breaking the seal and muttering the password to disarm the protective charm on the envelope, he felt their eyes glued to him.
Dear Dad,
I think I need a lawyer.
Love,
Lyra.
Attached to the letter was a small vial containing what Sirius immediately recognized as a memory.
“For Merlin’s sake,” Sirius groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, “the week isn’t even over yet.”