"Why did you agree? I thought you'd want to focus on your NEWTs," Lyra said once it was just her and Bill left.
He shot her a sidelong glance, looking amused.
"You think I don't know you can beat Uncle Sirius in a duel? I know I can learn something from you, and I'd be an idiot not to take the opportunity." At her questioning look, he elaborated, "I talked to your dad during Quidditch practices over the summer. He’s really proud of you, but he’s also worried. Said you might get too confident and start picking fights at Hogwarts. He asked me to keep an eye on you. So that’s part of it too."
Lyra felt her cheeks burn as she looked away.
"You don’t need to worry. I can take care of myself."
"Oh, really? So you didn’t need me to defend dark magic that day in the Great Hall?" he asked, feigning an innocent expression. "I figured my little public stance might’ve turned some students in your favor."
If possible, her face grew even hotter.
"That was helpful," she admitted at last. "I didn’t think you’d noticed."
"I might not be as cunning as a Slytherin, but I’m not that oblivious. And you weren’t exactly subtle," he said with a chuckle. "Honestly, I always thought you’d end up in the House of Snakes. The Hat’s decision surprised me—and the rest of the school, I think."
"The Hat thought I lacked ambition for Slytherin," she confessed with a wry laugh.
"Really? Then why do you do what you do?" Bill tilted his head, studying her.
"I do it because I have to. If I don’t, I don’t think anyone else will," she replied, still avoiding his gaze. Childish crushes were irritating; they made her face unnecessarily warm. "And... I don’t like leaving things unfinished. I might start something out of necessity, but I finish it for my peace of mind."
"I see," he said with a smile. "I like seeing things through too, but I’m not as extreme as you. I want a lot of things—like a career, traveling the world, making some money."
"Those are good ambitions to have," she agreed with a nod.
"You think wanting money is a good ambition?" Bill laughed. "How materialistic of you."
"Money allows you to live a certain lifestyle," she countered, elbowing the older boy, though a smile tugged at her lips. "There’s nothing wrong with wanting to live a certain way, Bill. Wanting money doesn’t make you frivolous."
"I’d like to see you say that to my parents," he joked, though there was a hint of bitterness in his tone.
"Is that a challenge?"
"No!" he laughed loudly. "For Merlin’s sake, no! That’d be a fool’s bet."
"Why’s that?" Lyra laughed even harder as Bill grabbed her arms as if physically stopping her from confronting his mother right then and there.
"You argued with Dumbledore and the DADA professor in your first week here, princess," Bill reminded her, grinning. "I doubt you’d draw the line at arguing with my mum."
Lyra laughed, hoping it masked the blush rising to her face.
Lyra:
The first flying lesson made her heart race in the worst possible way.
Lyra simply hated flying. The idea of not having her feet firmly on the ground was terrifying. Despite her father spending weeks teaching her the basics to give her some level of control over a broomstick, she would never play Quidditch. Never!
Even so, watching Madam Hooch give the bare minimum of instructions before casually saying "Fly!" as if it were that simple made her furious. As if there was nothing to worry about, even though many of the students were trembling with fear.
Her father always charmed the ground to make it soft in case she fell. It had never happened because Lyra had good balance and control, but it was about the reassurance of knowing she’d be fine even if she failed.
Hooch did nothing of the sort.
Lyra sighed as she mentally added Flying Lessons to her ever-growing list of things to fix. She jotted down a quick note in her notebook, right below her frustrated ramblings about History of Magic classes taught by a ghost who only seemed to care about Goblin Wars.
One thing was certain: Lyra would never be caught flying on one of those enchanted sticks of wood.
***
After a month of lessons with Concordia sneaking in but showing herself to be surprisingly dedicated during practice, Lyra decided the girl needed more advanced teaching. Extra lessons would include curses and darker spells, ones that might earn Concordia some respect among the Slytherins.
Cordia was visibly thrilled at the idea of learning Dark Magic from a Black. Apparently, her family’s reputation still held strong—or perhaps it was Lyra’s recent public defense of darker arts in class that fueled the excitement. After all, Lyra had managed to achieve something that the more traditionalist families hadn’t: reintroducing discussions on the subject since Dumbledore had purged the Hogwarts library of Dark Magic texts and the Ministry had outlawed all dark artifacts.
Not that the Ministry was particularly effective at controlling such things. Not when Knockturn Alley—a whole street dedicated to selling questionable items—existed right next to Diagon Alley, where hundreds of unsupervised children roamed every year. Borgin & Burkes alone sold nothing but items imbued with dark magic. An entire store for it.
But the Ministry wouldn’t intervene. Doing so might upset the wealthy families frequenting those shops, and the Minister knew better than to pick that fight.
Fudge was no fool. He understood that, powerful and charismatic as Voldemort was in rallying his forces, he wasn’t the cause of the war. No war began or ended with a single man.
The death of a man could never kill an idea—or a necessity strong enough to drive people to fight, kill, and die for it.
Voldemort’s supposed death may have ended a battle, but it hadn’t ended the war. Not really.
The magical Britain of today was living through its own Cold War.
The Houses of Hogwarts mirrored this tension in a closed, relatively controlled environment. It was a fascinating social experiment.
It would be even better if Lyra weren’t caught in the middle of it all.
Regardless, Cordia’s lessons had to remain secret. Dark Magic was still frowned upon, despite the entirely arbitrary distinction between “Light” and “Dark” magic. What criteria had the Ministry used to outlaw an entire branch of magic, anyway? As if “Light” magic couldn’t harm people just as easily.
“Well, let’s start with theory,” Lyra explained to Cordia in the Shrieking Shack. She’d filled the place with runes to keep eavesdroppers and intruders away. It would be a complete waste if, after all her efforts to convince the Hogwarts Board of Governors to allow Dark Magic to be taught again, she were caught teaching it illegally and got the entire project shut down.
“Why can’t I just learn to cast a curse right away?” Cordia’s enthusiasm dimmed, and she pouted. Lyra raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
“If I’m going to teach you, you’ll learn what I say you need to learn,” Lyra said firmly. She needed to establish her authority early—there wasn’t enough time to waste convincing a reluctant student. Fortunately, Cordia seemed to know better than to argue and fell silent, obedient. Lyra sighed and explained, “You need to understand magic itself to know exactly what you’re doing. Once you do, you could even create your own spells and curses someday, but that requires a strong foundation of knowledge.”
“Creating my own spells does sound cool,” Cordia admitted, her interest rekindled.
“Good,” Lyra said with a kind smile before continuing. “The first step is understanding where the magic that powers each spell comes from.”
“Um, the wand?” Cordia guessed.
“You used accidental magic before you had a wand, didn’t you?”
“So it comes from me?”
“That depends on the type of magic you’re casting,” Lyra replied, noting Cordia’s utterly confused expression and elaborating. “There is magic in the earth itself, in nature. Have you heard of ley lines? They’re streams of natural magic that flow across the world. The earth is alive, and witches or wizards can channel that natural magic through their cores and direct it. All magic passes through the magical core, but not all of it originates there.”
“If we used too much natural magic, would the plants die?” Cordia asked, her curiosity taking a darker turn.
“Unlikely. It would take the entire magical community draining natural magic at once to cause such an impact. That’s highly improbable, but if it did happen, the magical flow could collapse and implode,” Lyra explained patiently, ignoring Cordia’s startled reaction. “What might happen is that a large surge of natural magic in one place could create a temporary ley line—like creating a new ocean current. For example, the pyramids in Egypt. This shift in magical ‘pressure’ diverts the main flows and creates new ley lines. Theoretically, they’re temporary and would stabilize over time, but no one’s been able to test this.”
“So if I only used natural magic, I wouldn’t get magically exhausted?” Cordia asked.
“You still would. Your core gets tired from channeling and directing magic, regardless of whether its source is internal or external.”
“Then what’s the difference between the two?”
“Two thousand years ago, spells powered by natural magic were called White Magic, and those fueled by a witch or wizard’s internal magic were called Black Magic,” Lyra said. She smirked as Cordia tilted her head in confusion, knowing the next question. “The definitions we know today are more modern. People simply borrowed old names and gave them new meanings.”
“What does Dark Magic mean today?”
“Dark Magic refers to harmful magic, spells cast with the intent to cause harm.”
“So Light Magic is peaceful, good magic?”
“Would you consider Wingardium Leviosa, a spell fueled by natural magic, to be harmful?”
“Um, no. We just learned it last week,” Cordia said, as if it were obvious.
“And if I used it on you to levitate you above the Astronomy Tower?”
“That’d be a little scary,” she admitted.
“And if I dropped you from the roof afterward? It’s over 30 meters of freefall,” Lyra said, raising an eyebrow expectantly. “Still harmless?”
Cordia didn’t answer, but her troubled expression said it all.
“Light and Dark Magic are abstract concepts, their definitions open to interpretation. The only spells considered unquestionably Dark are the three Unforgivables,” Lyra said with a humorless laugh. “Everything else is just politics.”
“Are there any good Dark Magic spells? You know, the ones fueled by internal magic?” Cordia frowned, trying to make sense of it all.
“Have you heard of the Patronus Charm?” Lyra conjured her glowing butterfly with a simple flick of her wrist. “It’s one of the most renowned Light spells, used against Dementors—creatures that suck out your happiness. Well, that’s not quite accurate. They drain your soul, piece by piece, until they take what makes you you. A Patronus forms a shield fueled by a happy memory, a sense of peace, or whatever works for you. It repels Dementors. People say it’s a spell only a ‘Light’ wizard can cast and that it would kill a Dark wizard. What do you think fuels a Patronus?”
The butterfly fluttered above Cordia’s head, the girl staring in awe. Lyra could see the wheels turning as the girl considered the explanation.
“Kill a Dark wizard?” Cordia asked, wide-eyed.
“No, that’s just a rumor. But many believe it,” Lyra said mockingly. “Even among so-called Dark wizards, some refuse to try casting it for fear it might kill them. Others try but can’t summon the right emotion to make it work. If it truly killed someone just for attempting, would it still be considered a spell of the Light?”
“I... don’t know.”
“Any magic powered by emotion is fueled by internal magic and, under the old definition, would be classified as Black Magic,” Lyra explained. “That means all accidental magic done by children is Black Magic. Ironic, isn’t it? A Patronus isn’t just fueled by a good emotion—it draws from the essence of your soul. That’s why it’s so difficult to perform. It requires deep self-awareness.”
“Soul Magic,” Cordia whispered, staring at the innocent butterfly with a mix of awe and fear. “That’s supposed to be the darkest magic. Even purebloods think it’s too extreme.”
“The Patronus is widely regarded as the most benign and pure of all Light magic,” Lyra nearly laughed. “Ironically, it’s closer to necromancy than it is to a simple Protego.”
The lesson continued, and Lyra made a mental note to write a book detailing all of this someday, anonymously. It might take time, but it would save her a lot of future headaches.
Lyra:
A few days before the Christmas holidays, Lyra went to the kitchens to grab something to eat after a particularly demanding solo training session. She could have waited for dinner, but the menu at meals had been bothering her for some time.
Why did everything have to be so sweet, greasy, or both? Where were the salads? And why were there dozens of pumpkin juice pitchers but only one with water?
She had learned where the kitchens were thanks to a letter from her father and headed there immediately, intending to express her discontent.
Lyra expected to find house-elves; after all, she had hired a few for her family. But she certainly hadn’t anticipated there being so many of them.
She remembered how her family’s house-elves looked when she first saw them: malnourished, terrified, and ignorant. Back then, she thought the family they worked for before must have been horrible people to treat them that way. But Lyra had never stopped to consider that this might be how all house-elves were treated—that everyone saw it as acceptable.
Standing in a kitchen full of what looked like hundreds of house-elves, all underfed and dressed in rags, felt like a slap to the face. The elves she hired weren’t the exception—they were the norm.
She knew they were seen as servants or slaves, but she’d expected Dumbledore, who preached equality and justice, to do better, even if only for appearances. But that was an illusion. The man couldn’t even be bothered to truly help Remus and constantly treated magical creatures as mere tools to achieve his goals, as if they existed solely to serve his needs.
At least Danzo had been willing to do whatever was necessary for Konoha, no matter how twisted his vision. As warped as his love for the village had been, he acted with conviction, unafraid to be labeled a monster. Ryuna could never forgive him for everything he’d done, but she could respect someone unafraid to get their hands dirty for their ideals.
If Dumbledore truly believed Tom Riddle would become the next Dark Lord, why hadn’t he killed the boy when he was still in the orphanage? If he was willing to give the boy a chance, he shouldn’t have treated him any differently than other students—but he had. He sent a child into a war zone just because dealing with him was inconvenient. He had been a terrible teacher.
After Myrtle’s death, when Dumbledore suspected Riddle, why didn’t he act then? He had the conviction to ostracize a child but not to do what needed to be done. If he, like Lyra, couldn’t bring himself to kill a child, he should have been more proactive in finding solutions instead of abandoning Riddle to his fate and hoping for the best.
He knew what would happen and did nothing until everyone else knew, waiting until acting would make him a hero.
The only times Dumbledore had dueled were when people were desperate, allowing him to swoop in as a savior. He had done it with Grindelwald. As for Voldemort, he liked to claim the Dark Lord didn’t face him out of fear.
Danzo might have been a monster, but at least he had conviction.
Dumbledore’s actions, however, painted a very different picture from his words. They told the story of someone who wanted to be seen as a hero, and heroes couldn’t have blood on their hands. The so-called Light Lord or whatever he fancied himself as.
All these thoughts and realizations raced through Lyra’s mind as she watched the house-elves work.
She let out a tired sigh just thinking about how much effort it would take to address this. She was already getting so little sleep—it was much harder to function on limited rest in this world, without chakra—trying to juggle all her commitments while staying on top of her lessons.
Well, it wasn’t like she could sleep peacefully knowing her food was prepared by slaves.
“You know, you should prepare a more varied menu,” Lyra said to a group of elves that had gathered after she greeted them and began some polite small talk. It would have been easier if they belonged to her family—she could simply give an order and get what she wanted—but she could work with this. “The children could get very sick eating so much sugar and fat.”
“The children don’t often get sick, miss,” one of the elves said, hesitantly, as if unsure about disagreeing with her. At least they weren’t completely terrified.
“I assure you they do, but they take potions to fix it,” Lyra pointed out. “They shouldn’t have to rely on potions just to avoid getting sick from their food, don’t you agree?”
“Oh, we didn’t know!” The elves began bowing and apologizing profusely, some even starting to punish themselves. Unfortunately, this wasn’t an unexpected reaction.
“All right, stop it. Enough of that nonsense. Pay attention to me,” she commanded in a firm voice that made all of them, even those not part of the conversation, stand straight and await orders. Her father had told her she had a commanding presence, but it was still strange to see such an immediate effect. “I’ll teach you some recipes I know and bring some cookbooks for you to use to improve the menu. I’m not saying you can’t make your usual dishes; I’m just asking for a wider variety of healthy meals.”
“But miss… we don’t… know how to read,” one of the elves admitted, ears drooping.
Lyra feigned surprise, holding back the sly smile threatening to curl her lips.
“Well then, I’ll teach you how to read,” she replied, watching as the elves lit up with excitement at the prospect of being able to read recipe books.
1. Learning to read: in progress.
***
“What do you eat?” Lyra asked with feigned innocence. She hoped no one would notice the performance because Ryuna had always been a terrible actress, which is why she never took on infiltration missions.
“Oh, we eat leftovers or rations,” one of the house-elves explained cheerfully, as Lyra had been spending at least an hour in the kitchens with them every day, teaching them how to cook new, healthy dishes.
“And what about the food you prepare?”
“That’s for the students and professors, miss, not for us,” another elf replied, shaking their head.
“Well, you should at least taste the food you cook. How can the students trust it’s good if the ones who made it won’t even eat it?” Lyra frowned, pretending to ponder. “I assumed you ate it too. I think everyone assumes that. No one would feel comfortable eating this food if they found out you don’t. And what if it’s poisoned? After all, there are many heirs and important people in this school. If you don’t eat it, they might starve...”
The elves widened their eyes and exchanged glances around Lyra, who ignored them as though arriving at a conclusion.
“We’ll eat it, miss, we’ll eat it!” many of them nodded eagerly. “Please don’t tell anyone we didn’t do it before!”
“We didn’t know we were supposed to eat it!”
“All right, all right, I won’t say a word,” Lyra nodded, satisfied as she continued cooking and set aside a plate of food for herself, as she had been doing every day since the cooking lessons began. “I suggest you increase the amount of food you prepare so that all the elves can eat as well. That way, there’s no misunderstanding, yes?”
“Yes, miss!” several of them chorused enthusiastically.
2. Improve their health – In Progress.
Fred:
“Are you sure the Sorting Hat didn’t make a mistake and you actually belong in Slytherin?” Fred asked after watching the masterful manipulation of a kitchen full of house-elves.
It had been a few weeks since Lyra had stopped attending meals, but it took them a few days to notice since they were in different Houses and had been busy creating pranks to build a reputation. Good marketing was essential, after all, and a preview of their future products was the best strategy. Once they had a name, they could sell their inventions and make some money.
That said, he and George hadn’t realized Lyra was missing from the Great Hall dinners until the day before. Despite their concern, when they confronted her, Lyra hadn’t hesitated to invite them to the kitchens—how she knew where they were remained a mystery—and serve a personalized, hand-cooked dinner from the Black Heiress herself.
They had already noticed that the meals were quite different from the ones served in the Black household, but neither of them had thought it bothered Lyra enough to cook personally. Watching her convince the house-elves to knit and sew their own clothes using fabric she would provide was nothing short of brilliant.
“But I wouldn’t be giving you clothes,” she argued when the elves hesitated, wary of being freed. “I would simply be discarding fabric I no longer need, and you, coincidentally, picked it up and made garments. One person’s trash is another’s treasure.”
Lyra continued, “Look at how all the students dress—they wear clothes that cover most of their bodies. It’s inappropriate to show too much skin, you know. It makes people uncomfortable. Fred, how would you feel without your clothes in front of everyone? And how do you think they would feel?”
Fred could see the gleam in Lyra’s eyes—a challenge.
Come on, Fred, play along, her expression seemed to say.
“Well, I’d feel embarrassed, but the other students would probably be pretty uncomfortable too,” Fred replied, hoping he sounded convincingly disturbed.
George, he noticed, was barely holding in his laughter.
“The older we get, the more important it is to cover up,” George added solemnly.
“Oh, we didn’t know that applied to elves too,” the elves exclaimed, wide-eyed.
“Well, I imagine the people who came here before didn’t want to offend you,” Lyra continued, biting a cuticle in a gesture of fake nervousness—such a manipulator. “But I thought I should warn you that wearing so little might make the students uneasy. Some might even accuse you of being... perverts.”
A wave of dramatic gasps swept through the kitchen.
“We’ll make clothes and be decent, miss!” one elf promised fervently. “No house-elf of Hogwarts is a... a pervert!”
The other elves nodded in agreement.
“I know that, or I wouldn’t be teaching you how to cook if I thought you were perverts,” Lyra replied simply.
As they left, George looked thoughtful.
“But why are you doing this?” he asked, tilting his head in curiosity.
“You’ve never seen the Black family’s house-elves, have you?” Lyra asked instead of answering.
“Um, no, I don’t think so,” George admitted.
“When we go home for Christmas, you’ll meet them. Then you’ll understand why I’m doing this,” Lyra replied.
Goal 3: Provide clothes – Complete.
Lyra:
“So Dumbledore never talks to you?” Lyra asked one day before heading home for Christmas. “Really? Not to any of you?”
“Not unless one of us has done something wrong,” one of the elves replied, pausing their daily reading. The books were simple children’s stories since they were still learning the basics. “The last time was three years ago when a Ravenclaw girl’s trunk went missing. They found out later that her dormmates had thrown it into the Black Lake, miss. It wasn’t us, no.”
“I see,” Lyra said with a smile.
This was going to be too easy.
George:
Seeing the Black family’s house-elves in person was like taking a punch to the gut.
They didn’t look like... house-elves.
The little creatures had tufts of hair on their heads and wore well-maintained clothing. They actually looked healthy—remarkably so. George had never stopped to consider that elves weren’t naturally so emaciated.
Every elf he’d ever seen was wasting away from hunger.
The thought of eating Hogwarts food again after Christmas break made his stomach churn. The idea that the elves cooked for all those children but weren’t allowed to eat anything themselves was sickening.
“Now you know,” Lyra said.
Yes, now he knew.
