How we choose to live (english version)

A few weeks before Christmas.

Hermione:

The trip to Germany was a big event for everyone involved. It would be the first time Hermione left the country, and she could barely contain her excitement.

Since discovering the magical world, she had been dedicating all her time to studying as much as possible, wanting to know everything. School subjects had lost a bit of their charm compared to magic, but Hermione still studied non-magical topics simply because she didn’t like not knowing things.

“You know, magic damages appliances and other modern, delicate Muggle technologies. You, who understand both worlds, could figure out a way to make Muggle technology resistant to magic, couldn’t you?” Lyra had said months before, when Hermione was torn about her studies after discovering Hogwarts. Suddenly, everything she was learning in her non-magical school risked becoming irrelevant to her future if she chose to live in the magical world, as she planned.

It was Lyra who told her she didn’t have to choose one world over the other, that Hermione could blend them and create something new. That her effort in school wasn’t useless and that she didn’t even have to give up on her dream of going to university—though she might choose something different from Literature, given her passion for reading.

Maybe engineering? That would certainly be useful for adapting non-magical technology to resist magic.

Either way, the trip to Germany was because of a clue in a treasure hunt. This was the kind of madness she never would have been part of before meeting Harry, Draco, and Ron at school a year ago. The kind of madness her parents would never have allowed her to join.

Luckily, they didn’t know what she was really doing, right?

Hermione had only said there would be a sleepover at Dubh Castle—which her parents had visited a few times—and that Ginny would be there too, so they wouldn’t worry too much about her being the only girl. Well, aside from Mrs. Cassiopeia, but she was so old she barely left the main rooms of the house. Ginny was going to Germany, so that part wasn’t a lie.

“Mum can’t know about this,” Ginny whispered conspiratorially to Ron, making Hermione feel better knowing she wasn’t the only one hiding things from her parents. Not that it excused the behavior, but at least it eased her guilt a bit.

“She’ll never know unless we tell her,” Ron whispered back.

Was Hermione turning into a delinquent like Ron?

A little youthful rebellion was normal, right? Hermione didn’t need to worry, right!?

“Okay, kids, you’ve all used Floo powder before, but this time it’s an international trip, and you’ll need a password to get through,” Sirius said, addressing everyone gathered.

Harry, who was Sirius’s son, already knew what to do, so it wasn’t surprising to see him distracted. But both Draco and Ron nodded, as did Ginny. The Weasleys seemed more anxious.

“Oh, man, I’ve never left the country before,” Ron said excitedly, and Hermione nodded in agreement.

“I’ve done it before, but we usually use international Portkeys. They’re more expensive, I think,” Draco said nonchalantly, reminding Hermione in moments like these that Draco was obscenely rich. He had a completely distorted view of what was expensive and what wasn’t. To him, international travel was simply pricey.

Sirius scratched his neck and averted his eyes, looking slightly guilty, drawing the attention of Harry and all the other kids.

“Daaad,” Harry said, narrowing his eyes.

“Look… maybe, well…” Sirius muttered something unintelligible, and Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Ron, Draco, and Ginny also focused on the older man.

“Dad, I can’t understand you,” Harry said, his expression growing more distrustful.

Sirius shot his son a dirty look for calling him out, but the kids were too used to his antics during Quidditch lessons to be easily intimidated. Hermione might not have been part of the Quidditch games, but she was usually nearby keeping score, marking fouls, and making observations. Hermione didn’t particularly like the sport, but it was annoying hearing Ron talk about strategies—like he did with chess—and not understanding any of it. She learned the rules of the game just so she could argue with the redheaded boy.

“Well, maybe we’re using a method of international travel that’s a bit… unofficial,” Sirius admitted.

“Illegal,” Draco said bluntly.

“Are we going to be illegal immigrants?” Would she be arrested for entering a country without permission?

“It’s not illegaaal,” Sirius said, though his expression wasn’t very convincing. He rolled his eyes and huffed. “We’re going to the family property in Germany, Stern Castle, so there’s no reason for anyone to make a fuss about it. It’s like having a private jet, to use a Muggle analogy.”

“But we’re leaving the country without any record. That’s illegal,” Draco pointed out with a shrug, clearly unimpressed by the idea of committing an immigration crime.

“Well, if you’re going to be annoying about it, we can cancel the trip, and you can write Lyra to say you won’t be getting your Christmas presents,” Sirius crossed his arms and turned away.

“Are you pouting?” Ron asked, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“You’re threatening to withhold our presents if we refuse to do something illegal?” Hermione asked, equally shocked.

“Of course not, but if I have to buy a Portkey, I’ll need to register everyone traveling, and people on the other side will check if all of you have permission to travel since you’re minors. To make the trip, you’d need your parents’ approval…” Sirius explained with feigned innocence. Harry rolled his eyes.

Hermione knew her parents wouldn’t let her travel to another country with Sirius. They had already been hesitant about Dubh Castle, and that was still in the UK. An international trip without them? Not happening.

Looking at Ron and Ginny, Hermione knew their situation was similar.

Ron sighed in defeat.

“Fine, we’ll go,” he said resignedly. Despite the situation, none of them felt particularly threatened. They were too used to Sirius to actually fear the man. The first—and only—time Hermione skipped class, for example, was because Sirius had gotten special tickets to a sold-out non-magical theater performance. The tickets were far too expensive for her parents to afford, so she hadn’t dared to ask, but when Sirius showed up with them in hand, she couldn’t bring herself to say no and waste them.

“This has to stay a secret,” Sirius said, suddenly animated, with a mischievous expression. He really enjoyed breaking rules. His rebellious streak was strong. “Do we all agree?”

Despite her better judgment, Hermione nodded along with the others.

“Alright, the password is There’s no password,” he said with a grin.

They all stared at him blankly.

“You’re joking,” Ron said, his voice dripping with judgment.

“Dad, this isn’t as funny as you think,” Harry said apologetically.

Ginny rolled her eyes, tired of the delays.

“Fine, let’s get on with it,” the youngest Weasley stepped forward, grabbing the Floo powder on her way into the fireplace.

Ginny:

The Stern Castle was as large as the Dubh Castle, and it was only the second castle Ginny had ever set foot in, though it wouldn’t be the last. Soon, Hogwarts would join the list.

They had traveled in the late afternoon, so it was already a bit later in Germany due to the time difference. It wasn’t quite night, but it wasn’t day anymore either. Unfortunately, it was too late to continue their investigation into Lyra’s riddle.

Starting lessons with Lyra—History and Wandless Magic—and with Sirius—Quidditch—at the Dubh Castle had been a wonderful break from Ginny’s routine. She usually spent most of her time at home with her mother and brothers. With the older ones often away at school, she found herself with less and less company and fewer things to do, as Ron had his own ways to pass the time.

After that, she had started attending a Muggle school and even made friends there, despite them being Muggles. Suddenly, her world wasn’t just The Burrow and her family anymore. It was absolutely incredible. It gave her something to do, and the thought of being left behind when Ron went to Hogwarts was less daunting and lonely.

Because of the time they arrived, Ginny and the others had the chance to explore the Stern Castle with Harry as their guide while Uncle Sirius went to meet with the house-elves to arrange their group’s dinner. Stern wasn’t bigger than Dubh, but its ceilings felt taller, adorned with intricate paintings and ornate embellishments at the junctions between the walls.

At every corner of the walls, symbols were carved into the stone—runes, Ginny recognized, since Lyra loved studying them—though she had no idea what they meant. It was possible to feel the magic in the very air around her, something she wouldn’t have noticed before her wandless magic lessons. She hadn’t even known there was magic both inside and outside the body, nor would it have occurred to her that some places could be naturally more magical than others, with magic in the very air itself.

Ginny had never imagined that consciously touching her own magic would feel so amazing. Initially, she had only joined those lessons because she didn’t want to be the only one at home unable to do magic when her brother got his wand before her. She never expected the sensation of her magic to be so addictive, so warm, and so comforting. Ginny could tell her brothers felt the same way.

When Lyra channeled her own magic into Ginny to make her react instinctively, the younger girl could feel the Black’s magic. It felt like ice—so cold it burned—yet fluid, like water. Ginny had felt special when she discovered that her magical sensitivity was greater than most people’s and that she could learn to sense others’ magic.

She had been practicing for a while now and could already feel her parents and brothers approaching before they were even within sight or earshot. No one would ever surprise her again, she thought. But her older brothers had dedicated special time and effort to finding ways to bypass her ability and prank her just as they did with the rest of the family. Fred and George would never back down from a challenge, she knew.

Hermione and Draco had gone wild over the library. Apparently, many unique books were available. Ginny wasn’t very interested in studying, though. Those two bookworms could have their fun with the texts.

Ginny found a Muggle novel, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, to read while Draco and Hermione immersed themselves in their research. She settled into a comfy-looking armchair in a corner where she could see Ron and Harry setting up a chessboard, though she was too far away to hear them discussing strategies.

It was a fun book, albeit a bit crazy. The way Muggles viewed magic didn’t make much sense, but not everything was nonsense. The cakes and mushrooms that made people grow or shrink might involve some kind of potion, but Ginny didn’t know enough about that to say for sure.

She let herself get lost in the story, knowing the next day would be spent exploring and investigating a foreign country—a Wonderland, she thought with a small smile—and she wouldn’t have time to keep reading. Uncle Sirius would probably let her take the book home, though.

Ginny fell asleep dreaming of the adventures the next day would bring.

The dawn painted the sky in soft hues of orange and pink.

In the great hall of Stern Castle, the children gathered around the breakfast table. Sirius, seated at the head, observed the group with a proud and attentive gaze. The clue they had received just a few minutes ago from one of the family’s house-elves now rested at the center of the table, written on a well-worn piece of parchment, while they ate.

"In a city marked by conflict and reconstruction, a place where fire and ice met. Seek the monument where magic still whispers."

“So, what do we know?” Harry asked, frowning at the clue.

Hermione, already clutching a notebook, began speculating. “Berlin was practically destroyed during World War II and later rebuilt. It has many historic sites... but ‘fire and ice’? That’s odd.”

“Maybe it’s a metaphor,” Draco suggested, casually twirling a quill between his fingers. “Two opposing elements—it could mean conflict.”

“Or it could be something more literal,” Ron murmured as he spread a generous layer of jam on his bread. “Like a place that caught fire and then froze over.”

“Uncle Sirius, have you ever heard that expression before?” Ginny asked, swinging her feet under her chair as she looked at him.

“I’m not making it that easy for you, little detectives,” Sirius replied with an enigmatic smile. “Think about it some more.”

Hours later, the group was walking through the bustling streets of Berlin, eyes alert and ears open.

Hermione and Draco led the way, debating theories. Occasionally, Ginny would stop and close her eyes, trying to sense something with her magical sensitivity. But mostly, they were just kids in a new playground, having fun.

Hermione grew excited every time she thought she was near a historical monument. Draco was utterly fascinated by Muggle fashion, which differed greatly from what he knew in London. Ron, despite having just eaten, couldn’t resist the temptation of exotic dishes being sold nearby. It wasn’t Harry’s first time in Berlin—his family owned an actual castle in the country—so he was content to act as a guide for now. Ginny, meanwhile, was delighted with the street sweets.

“There’s something different here,” Ginny said finally, pointing to a small, tree-lined square far from the busy tourist areas. Her gaze was drawn to the spot like a magnet. “I feel like... the air is heavier.”

“It looks normal,” Harry said, glancing around.

But Hermione, examining the surroundings with sharp eyes, noticed something unusual: a simple monument, partially hidden among the trees. It was a tall stone with carved symbols, surrounded by small white flowers.

“Here!” she exclaimed, running to the monument. “Look at these symbols. They’re not ordinary runes.”

None of them had studied runes beyond the basics Lyra had insisted on teaching them—which mostly consisted of learning the individual meanings of runic symbols. None of them knew how to use runes properly. However, they had picked up bits and pieces over the years, living with Lyra, who was always jotting down ideas in her notebook and working on the magical wards of the Black family’s properties, which turned them into true magical fortresses.

“I agree,” Draco said, stepping closer, his eyes glinting with curiosity. “They’re partially worn, but some of these represent protection and... memory, I think.”

“But what does that have to do with fire and ice?” Ron frowned, leaning in for a closer look.

Hermione pointed to a small plaque on the ground. It read: “Here, wizards and Muggles faced together the fire of the skies and the cold of death.”

“It must have been during the war, when Berlin was bombed,” Harry said, feeling a chill run down his spine.

“It’s sad to think people went through that together, and no one talks about the wizards who helped,” Ginny said, clutching Ron’s arm.

“Because they don’t want Muggles to know about us,” Draco replied thoughtfully. “But it feels wrong. They risked so much and don’t even get remembered or acknowledged.”

“The wizarding world isn’t perfect, kids. There’s a lot that gets hidden, sometimes to protect, other times out of fear or prejudice,” Sirius, who had been silently observing until then, finally spoke.

“Wait, this is like a puzzle,” Ron suddenly said, pointing to a specific part of the runes. “There’s a sequence, like in chess.”

“You’re right, Ron!” Hermione blinked in surprise, quickly comparing the runes to her notes. “If we rearrange the runes, they might reveal something,” she speculated.

With Draco helping interpret the symbols, Hermione adjusting their positioning, and Ron offering ideas on how the pieces might fit together, the runes began to glow faintly. Meanwhile, Ginny could feel the magic reacting to their changes, though she didn’t understand enough to judge whether the magical shift was good or bad. Still, she informed the others of her sensations as best as she could.

“It’s reacting like little sparks,” Ginny explained at one point, seeming to think the sensation was a good sign. “Bright and painless.”

Harry stepped back as a message began to form in the air, written in glowing golden letters:
"Go to Neuschwanstein Castle. There, the history and legacy of Grindelwald await."

“Neuschwanstein Castle?” Harry asked, confused.

“It’s in Austria, near the German border,” Hermione said with a smile. “And from what I know, it was used by Grindelwald at some point.”

“Then that’s where we’re going,” Draco said, adjusting his scarf with a determined expression.

“You’re doing well,” Sirius said with a low chuckle. “But remember, with each clue, you’ll uncover things you might not want to know.”

“We’re ready, Uncle Sirius,” Harry replied confidently. “We have to be.”

And with that, the group began preparing for the next leg of their journey, carrying not only the excitement of discovery but also the weight of a past that was starting to unfold.

***

The carriage drawn by thestrals—visible only to Sirius, as none of the children could see them—glided smoothly along the winding road toward the majestic Neuschwanstein Castle. Perched atop a hill, the castle seemed to float among the clouds, both imposing and mysterious. Around it, the dense, mist-covered forest whispered ancient stories.

“It looks like a place from a fairy tale,” Ginny whispered, her nose pressed against the carriage window, her dreamy eyes fixed on the scenery.

“It’s beautiful, but it was also the site of terrible things,” Hermione said beside her, closing a book she had been reading avidly. “Grindelwald spent part of his youth here. He grew up hearing about what happened in this region during the Middle Ages.”

“What happened?” Ron asked, frowning.

“Witch hunts,” Hermione took a deep breath, as if preparing to give a lecture. “Here, Muggles hunted and burned hundreds of people, including children, accused of witchcraft. Some were real witches, but many were not. It was a terrible time of fear and ignorance.”

The witch hunts were the inspiration for many of the horror stories magical parents told their children to keep them in line. Tales of Muggles eating magical babies to steal their powers, or burning adult witches and wizards alive while laughing maniacally. If children generations ago grew up hearing that Muggles were monsters, is it any wonder that today’s magical generations remained so isolated from the rest of non-magical civilization? The hunts may have occurred centuries ago, but the fear persists, even if only subconsciously.

“It was because of these persecutions that the Statute of Secrecy was created. Wizards realized they needed to hide to survive,” Sirius, watching them from the opposite seat, added.

“So Grindelwald grew up hearing these stories?” Draco asked, his voice more thoughtful than usual. Coming from a long magical lineage on both sides of his family, Draco had likely been raised on a few horror stories about Muggles, though not as many as earlier generations. Modern tales were more focused on wizards dominating non-magicals, but some fear of these unknown, non-magical beings lingered. This shared history allowed Draco to sympathize, if only slightly, with Grindelwald.

“He used that pain to justify his ideas of magical supremacy,” Sirius nodded. “He believed that if wizards ruled over Muggles, tragedies like those hunts would never happen again. But the path he chose... it brought more suffering.”

Arriving at the castle, the children disembarked and walked toward the grand entrance. Despite the magnificence of the place, the air was heavy, laden with memories that seemed to whisper in their ears. Had they entered ignorant of its past, they might have admired its beauty without this weight on their conscience. Instead, they saw a place of opulence where powerful men condemned innocents to death. The castle was as beautiful and finely crafted as a guillotine, adorned with intricate carvings.

No matter how stunning it appeared, its purpose could not be forgotten. A guillotine was the weapon that killed kings, and these walls had been built to protect an elite who deemed it acceptable to burn people alive.

A shiver ran down each child’s spine.

“There,” Ginny stopped suddenly and pointed to a narrow path leading to a hidden clearing behind the castle. Her tense expression made everyone turn to look in the indicated direction. “There’s something there.”

Following her intuition, the group walked down the trail until they reached the clearing. In the center stood a large circle of black stones, etched with the names of dozens of witches and wizards who had been killed there. Larger stones in an outer circle bore carvings of families, like photographs etched directly into the rock. Sometimes, the carvings depicted only a child, smiling. The images moved and played together, and Harry, along with the others, simply knew that these were all people killed for possessing magic.

There were many children. Harry realized with a pang of sorrow that it was because children couldn’t control their magic. They were discovered more easily than adults, who could usually conceal their powers. He couldn’t help but recall every time he had used accidental magic while living with the Dursleys and how he had been punished for it. These children had been killed for the same crime.

The crime of existing.

“They were like us,” Harry knelt before one of the stones, running his fingers over the engraved name. “They just wanted to live their lives.”

“It’s so unfair,” Hermione’s eyes filled with tears. “To think all this happened because people feared what they didn’t understand.”

“Maybe Grindelwald wasn’t born a monster,” Draco, usually arrogant, was quiet. Finally, he broke the silence. He had grown up in a family that would have supported such ideas, and perhaps, of all of them, Draco could best understand why the former Dark Lord had done what he did. “Maybe the world shaped him into one.”

“That’s why it’s important to learn about the past, even its darkest parts. Hate and fear breed more hate and fear. If we don’t understand that, we’re doomed to repeat the same mistakes,” Sirius approached, his expression grave. He placed a hand on Ginny’s head as she stood silently, overwhelmed by the somber atmosphere.

“What’s that?” Ron pointed to the center of the circle, where a small blue flame flickered without consuming anything around it.

“It looks like a magical flame...” Hermione approached cautiously, her voice shaky with emotion. “But it’s different from anything I’ve seen.”

Sirius extended his hand and murmured a spell. The flame grew, and from its core, a new message appeared, written in soft golden light:
"Where the Statute began, the truth persists. Beneath the arch of promises, the next fragment awaits."

“‘The Statute’ must mean the Statute of Secrecy. And ‘the arch of promises’?” Draco tilted his head, thoughtful.

“The arch in the castle’s main hall!” Hermione quickly remembered something. “That’s where wizarding leaders gathered to sign the Statute. Let’s go!”

Returning to the castle, striving to leave the feeling of mourning behind, the children raced to the grand hall. Beneath the immense stone arch, intricate carvings depicted scenes from wizarding history. Hermione scanned the arch, while Ron searched for anything unusual.

“Here!” Ginny exclaimed, pointing to a nearly imperceptible symbol.

Harry instinctively touched the symbol, sending his magic through it. The arch glowed, and a hidden compartment opened, revealing an ancient scroll.

“Understanding the past is the first step to shaping a better future. But beware: those who ignore history’s lessons may become part of its tragedies,” Harry read aloud.

The group fell silent, absorbing the weight of the message.

“Each of you has the chance to make a difference,” Sirius finally broke the silence, his voice serious but encouraging. “Learning from what you see and hear here is more important than any powerful magic.”

“The world isn’t black and white; it would be too easy if it were,” Lyra had once told them. “You have to learn to accept the gray in others and in yourselves.”

“We’ll learn,” Harry nodded, determined never to be willfully ignorant. He refused to turn a blind eye to the truth.

And with that, the children took the scroll and prepared for the next stage of their journey, carrying a new understanding of history’s weight and the role they could play in shaping the future.

They completed the Treasure Hunt just in time for Christmas.

Sirius:

Sirius Black walked through the opulence of Malfoy Manor with a disdain carefully masked by a polite smile. The main hall was a monument to extravagance: crystal chandeliers hung like cascading light, casting golden reflections on walls clad in black marble. At the center stood an immense Christmas tree, its branches covered with a fine layer of enchanted snow that never melted—a symbol of excess.

He observed the guests attentively, an old habit inherited from his upbringing. Prominent figures of the wizarding society were scattered across the hall, moving in carefully choreographed circles. The scene resembled a masquerade dance, where polished smiles concealed secrets and ambitions.

Lyra, by his side, radiated elegance in a dark blue dress with silver details that evoked constellations—a choice she knew would highlight her lineage. Harry, dressed in a modest suit, chatted animatedly with Draco, who exuded a natural nobility, a reflection of his upbringing. Both boys seemed oblivious to the intrigues permeating the atmosphere, a naivety Sirius hoped to preserve a little longer.

Lyra, however innocent she might seem, was, he knew, already selecting targets for her schemes while conversing with the boys and guiding them toward other children of similar age. He trusted his daughter to keep things under control there.

It was the first major event he had attended since his release from Azkaban—not for lack of invitations, but because he had no interest in the kind of lavish parties that reminded him of his childhood. Invitations to the Malfoy Christmas gala arrived every year simply because they were part of the matriarch’s family. After so many years of absence, Sirius wouldn’t have minded continuing to decline, but Lyra insisted they needed to build some influence in the political and international arena. It was also wise to assess the alliances of their enemies, should war come knocking again.

Sirius was discreetly observing Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, when Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy née Black approached, escorting him like attentive hosts. Fudge wore his traditional dark green suit with a gold chain draped across his waistcoat, as pompous as ever. His eyes, however, were restless—a reflection of his concern over the political instability that constantly threatened his position. The man was a professional sycophant.

“Sirius!” Fudge called, forcing a broad smile. “What a pleasure to see you here. Lucius mentioned you’ve been adapting well to your return to society.”

“Naturally, Sirius is a man who understands the importance of moving forward. Isn’t that right, cousin?” Lucius tilted his head slightly, an enigmatic smile playing on his lips.

Was that a jab? Honestly, Sirius doubted he would ever fully grasp the peculiar sense of humor Slytherins seemed to share. He and Lucius might not be friends, but ever since their children had grown closer, they’d made an effort to at least remain civil. That, and Sirius had been explicitly forbidden by Lyra from pranking them out of sheer frustration—no matter how much he thought the pair deserved it. He sighed, redirecting his thoughts away from any mischief that might earn him a later scolding and make him feel like a terrible human being.

“Certainly, Lucius—but only if the past has been properly acknowledged and, of course, learned from,” Sirius replied with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Don’t ruin his party, Sirius; it wouldn’t be mature of you, and Lyra will be furious, he reminded himself, resisting the urge to transfigure the ridiculous ice peacock centerpiece into something that could defecate on all the hors d’oeuvres below.

“Oh yes, of course, of course... Regarding that unfortunate misunderstanding, the Ministry has never ceased to regret the events leading to your... detention,” Fudge chuckled nervously, nodding as if in agreement, though clearly uncomfortable.

Of course, just apologize, and everything’s resolved, right? Not quite.

“A detention without trial,” Sirius corrected gently, his voice as polished as the crystal goblets the house-elves were distributing around the room. “Six years of forced reflection provide an interesting perspective on the efficiency of the judicial system.”

Narcissa raised an eyebrow, amused, as she sipped her wine. Lucius, beside her, maintained his mask of superficial interest, but Sirius knew both were secretly relishing Fudge squirming under pressure. Why bother inviting the man if they don’t like him?

“Naturally, we at the Ministry have made significant improvements since then. And of course, we’re always open to suggestions from prominent figures like yourself, Sirius. Your voice would be a valuable addition to our ongoing efforts to maintain stability,” Fudge cleared his throat, his tendency to collectivize blame an obvious character flaw.

“Such a generous offer, Minister,” Sirius said, inclining his head slightly, feeling his temper begin to fray. “However, I believe my most significant contribution is ensuring that my children grow up in a world where justice is not a privilege but a right.”

The statement hung in the air for a moment, each word deliberately chosen. Fudge fidgeted uncomfortably, acutely aware that any misstep in his response could tarnish his reputation before the foreign dignitaries observing the exchange.

“Yes... yes, of course,” Fudge muttered, forcing another smile. “An ideal we all share.”

“It seems we’re all in agreement. Always good to see the Minister reaffirming the importance of justice and fairness, isn’t it, Narcissa?” Lucius finally interjected, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Certainly,” Narcissa replied, almost laughing.

Fudge, realizing the verbal trap he’d walked into, had no choice but to mumble a hasty goodbye and retreat—likely in search of wine or safer political ground.

“You know, cousin, you still have a knack for these political games,” Narcissa remarked before linking her arm with Lucius’s and heading off to find their next victim.

Despite his Gryffindor sorting having complicated his youth with his family, Sirius had been raised to be the Heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. He knew how to navigate politics and subtler games exceptionally well—he simply despised doing so. If it were up to him, he’d never engage in such matters again. But if not him, it would be Lyra, and Sirius refused to let her plunge into the snake pit alone just because he found the constant intrigues and betrayals repulsive.

Sirius watched the Minister retreat, noting how Europe’s most powerful guests observed him with a mix of appraisal and veiled disdain. His attention turned back to the hall, where figures like Pierre LaFontaine, a sharp-eyed French banker, and Baroness Helga von Drachenfels, an austere German diplomat, spoke conspiratorially.

In the corner, Sirius spotted Cornelius Everblack, a disreputable old banker, accompanied by a young woman, Marianne Whitlock. It was clear she wasn’t there by choice—her smile was strained, her hands restless, yet she clung to the man with desperate eagerness. Her parents, Edgar and Margot, stood nearby but did nothing to intervene.

Sirius frowned. The scene was a raw reminder of how the pure-blood world operated: alliances were forged, and lives sacrificed, all in the name of preserving status.

As the evening wore on, Sirius allowed himself a moment of reflection. He was a man who bore his family’s name but not its traditions. The night had been a vivid demonstration that, to the elite, people’s worth was measured solely by their utility.

He glanced at Lyra, laughing with Draco and Harry. At least they still had a chance to step away from this game before it consumed them.

“What a charming world, isn’t it?” Sirius muttered to himself, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

Lyra:

While Sirius Black faced the political dance of the adults, Lyra and Harry were led by Draco to the children’s hall, a luxuriously decorated space designed for the young heirs of the most prestigious wizarding families. The room was immaculate, with ancestral tapestries covering the walls and a crystal chandelier bathing the space in golden light.

The children, trained in etiquette from an early age, maintained rigid postures and spoke in controlled tones. Draco led the trio confidently, while Harry observed with curiosity and a touch of masked nervousness. Lyra, ever watchful, followed the two like a protective shadow, though her proud stance betrayed no sign of concern.

The hall was filled with children whose families belonged to Britain’s oldest magical lineages. Among them were Theodore Nott, a pale boy with sharp eyes, and Pansy Parkinson, her dark blonde hair framing a smile full of ulterior motives. They approached as soon as the trio entered.

“Draco,” Nott began, ignoring Harry and Lyra, “I see you’ve brought some… unusual company.”

“Oh, Nott, always quick to notice strategic changes,” Draco replied with a small smile, polite yet deliberate. “Yes, Hadrian Potter is my guest. Surely, you recognize the value of a solid alliance.”

“An alliance, is it?” Nott’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I didn’t think The Boy Who Lived would want to ally with us.”

Harry, who had remained silent until then, stepped forward, his posture calm yet firm.

“Not everyone is narrow-minded enough to condemn children for the sins of their parents, Nott. But I can see how one might confuse the two.”

Right, perhaps her influence on her brother’s temper was starting to show, Lyra thought with a hint of pride. She’d need to teach him how to keep that temper under control and only unleash it when and where it was most advantageous; otherwise, it could become a liability.

Before Nott could reply, Draco placed a light hand on Harry’s shoulder—a gesture of camaraderie and subtle restraint. Everything appeared carefully rehearsed.

“An unexpected alliance, perhaps, but also an incredibly useful one,” Draco said in a low, silky voice meant only for Nott. But Lyra, attuned to the whispers that filled the hall, caught the words with ease. “Think about it, Nott: who better to understand and someday influence the wizarding world as a whole than The Boy Who Lived?”

Draco turned slightly, addressing the larger group now gathering around them, transforming the moment into a theatrical display. A carefully planned performance, with scripted lines. Every pure-blood child present could sense the calculation behind Draco’s words, knowing him too well to believe he was improvising under pressure.

“We’re not here to relive the mistakes of the past but to build bridges,” Draco declared, his political smile prompting raised eyebrows. The older children were drawing conclusions, likely assuming this speech was orchestrated by Lucius Malfoy to communicate the Malfoy family’s position to the heirs of other houses. “After all, who wouldn’t want the trust of someone who has already defied the impossible?”

A subtle murmur of approval rippled among some of the older children, while the younger ones hesitated. After all, this was The Boy Who Lived—the one who defeated You-Know-Who. Many seemed reluctant to take a clear stance without certainty about whether Harry was truly an ally.

Lyra, observing this hesitation, discreetly signaled Harry to step in and support Draco’s position before the crowd. It wouldn’t be fair to leave her cousin to fight this battle alone, and she wouldn’t intervene unless things got out of hand.

Harry, understanding the game, decided to bolster Draco’s stance with a touch of humility.

“I’ve learned a lot from Draco about what it means to be part of this world,” he said, striking the right balance of humility to let Draco shine without making the Heir of House Potter seem weak—only respectful. “I’m not naive, but I’m willing to learn. I hope that’s something we can share, rather than divide.”

His green eyes swept across the surrounding faces, gauging reactions. Most remained neutral, but Harry sensed a slight shift in the atmosphere.

Pansy, however, wasn’t convinced. She seemed the type who relished stirring drama, ready to toss a steak to two hungry tigers just to watch the fight and later recount the juicy details.

“Interesting, Potter,” she said with a cold smile. “But I must say, befriending Malfoy is a curious choice, considering your… family history.”

“Oh, Pansy, you underestimate House Malfoy,” Draco replied before Harry could speak, his voice smooth yet loaded with meaning. He stepped closer to her, lowering his tone so only she could hear. “Adaptability and foresight are our greatest virtues. And if history has shown us anything, it’s that those who fail to recognize change are the first to fall.”

He stepped back with a venomous smile.

“Pansy, dear, your eagerness to start a fight is so… Gryffindor,” he said as if offering a compliment, before turning away with Harry trailing behind toward where Lyra waited.

Pansy flushed slightly but didn’t respond.

Lyra, who had been silently observing as they approached, thought the two boys had done a commendable job positioning themselves as neutrally as possible among the Slytherins, given who they were. She knew she couldn’t reform the House of Snakes entirely in two years to ensure her family’s safety if they were sorted into Slytherin, but at least she could be certain they had the cunning to survive until her reforms were complete.

As the children dispersed into smaller groups, Draco released a quiet sigh of relief. Lyra smiled at him.

“You handled that well, Draco,” she praised. “Diplomacy is an art.”

“It’s not easy, but some battles are won with words, not wands,” Draco shrugged with false modesty, though his eyes betrayed a mix of pride and exhaustion.

“Spoken like a true Slytherin.”

“I’ll never understand how you two make it look so natural,” Harry shook his head.

“Natural? You’re kidding, right?” Draco shot Harry a wide-eyed look. “You were there, Harry; you saw how much I practiced with Lyra!”

During their practice sessions, Lyra had only given Draco a few key arguments to use, not complete lines. He had to deliver them in a way that felt natural to him, or they wouldn’t work. They had trained with Lyra playing the offensive role, pushing Draco to hold his ground against his cousin.

It was no surprise he had managed to outmaneuver these brats in a debate—not when Lyra was perhaps the scariest person in the hall.

“It’s all about practice, Harry,” Lyra laughed softly. “And you’re learning quickly.”

As the trio moved to a quieter corner, Lyra reflected on the dynamics they had witnessed. Alliances, rivalries, and subtle lessons of power were ever-present. In this environment, being clever and adaptable was just as vital as being strong.

Lyra:

With the end of the Malfoys' Christmas party—too formal and stiff for any of them to truly enjoy—they were free to spend time with the Weasley children, who had spent Christmas Eve afternoon at Dubh Castle. Draco eagerly recounted to Lyra his adventures abroad and how much he looked forward to more challenges like those. That was good, Lyra thought. They needed to learn to work in the field, and this was a safe way to teach them without leaving them to fend for themselves.

The time during Christmas break was limited, and Lyra already had a small list of tasks she needed to work on:

1. Finish developing her protective rune, which would automatically activate if a spell was directed at the person wearing it. The idea was to place the rune on a bracelet or necklace and distribute it to students. Hopefully, this would reduce physical violence among them.
2. Steal Phineas Black's portrait from Grimmauld Place without her dad noticing. She’d need to shrink the painting to smuggle it out unnoticed, but she wasn’t sure if shrinking the portrait might negatively affect the magic animating it. Perhaps she could ask Phineas himself?
3. Bring her books about werewolves (not the ones involving dark magic) to Hogwarts.
4. Find a way to trap or exorcise a ghost. Preferably discreetly.
5. Smuggle a Quick-Quotes Quill, essentially a self-writing quill.
6. Gather her notes on her modified Animagus ritual project (hopefully, McGonagall would have something to add). If everything went well, her theories could be tested during the summer holidays.
7. Cookbooks. Lots of them.
8. She also needed to remember to bring all the wand-making books she’d ordered. With luck, they would have already arrived. She wouldn’t risk having everything delivered by owl and letting Dumbledore track all the books she was obtaining outside Hogwarts. Of course, maybe the Headmaster had better things to do, but after her stunt of sending the memories from the DADA class to her father via owl, she’d bet the Headmaster was keeping an eye on all her correspondence now.
9. Finally, she needed to finish adapting the Root Seal to magical runes. Her Japanese runes were proving useful in converting her old Fuinjutsu seals into something capable of handling magic instead of chakra.

Oh, that reminded her...

She needed to check if the spell and rune books from Mahoutokoro School in Japan had arrived. With luck, they’d give her an idea of how the basic structure of runes worked, the commonalities among different forms of written magic, and which elements were, in theory, crucial for their functionality. Once she figured that out, Lyra could, in theory, create her own runic language.

Charlie was willing to help with item 4. Bill had offered to handle item 5, but he’d also help with item 2. The Black House elves would take care of item 7. Item 1 was already in its testing phase, and the twins would handle it, as they’d also take over production for sale, reserving some to distribute for free as they wished. Percy showed interest in the wand-making process and had already requested to borrow the book (item 8), so he could be her mule to transport the volume without raising suspicion.

Items 3, 6, 9, and 10 were solely Lyra’s responsibility, but that was fine. Delegating some of her projects had already lightened her workload enough to keep her from being overwhelmed.

Before bed, Lyra worked on her action plan for the rest of the year, making an extra note that she still needed to meet with Xenophilius Lovegood for business matters. Hopefully, she could address that before returning to school.

Snape:

Severus Snape glared at the piles of parchment containing lesson plans with resentment but also a hint of begrudging admiration. The memory of his meeting with Dumbledore resurfaced:

“You’re telling me Miss Black threatened your job?” Dumbledore asked with interest, a sharp glint in his eyes. “And she knows about Tom?”

“Yes, although I don’t know how she discovered such things,” Snape replied, his impatience evident. “She wants me to unofficially teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, appointing me as the instructor for a Defense Club.”

“Hmm, what an interesting idea,” the old man mused, amused by Snape’s irritation. “I assume she presented an alternative for your Potions classes?”

“Yes, she suggested older students could supervise the labs for potion-making while everyone studied the theory independently. I’d assign written work to guide their studies, with deadlines for submitting certain potions for point evaluation,” Snape admitted, albeit reluctantly. The system Lyra devised was brilliant. It didn’t fire anyone while ensuring students received the best education possible without needing to hire new professors mid-year.

Once again, Lyra demonstrated a sharp mind capable of leveraging every available resource to achieve her goals.

It wasn’t as though the faculty were unaware of the issues plaguing several subjects at the school. But no one dared challenge Dumbledore to fix everything, nor did anyone have the guts to confront the man who defeated Grindelwald. They simply hoped the Headmaster had a plan that would make it all worthwhile and trusted him while complying.

But Lyra wasn’t willing to play along. She didn’t care how heroic Dumbledore had been or how many lives he’d saved. He was an obstacle now, and as such, he’d be removed. Plain and simple.

“Accept her proposal,” Dumbledore decided shrewdly. “I believe Miss Black could use a reliable professor to share her burdens.”

And that was an order, Snape thought with a sinking feeling.

He doubted Lyra would trust him just because he’d been kind to her in a few classes. She was the type to hold a grudge over something that happened nearly a decade ago. Someone so committed to the long game wouldn’t easily trust anyone without ample precautions.

But an order was an order, and Snape no longer had the luxury of choosing his fate—not since he chose to become a double agent.

With a tired sigh, Snape began drafting lesson plans for the Potions and Defense classes he would now oversee. He’d never imagined becoming a teacher, let alone being this busy and finding it so challenging.

Catering to Dumbledore’s whims, maintaining his role as a Death Eater, and now earning Lyra Black’s trust. None of it was easy.

Lyra:

Night was falling over the hill where the peculiar house of the Lovegoods stood, a spiral-shaped stone tower slightly tilted, crowned by a glass dome that reflected the starry sky. A small path wound between wild gardens and blackberry bushes, leading up to a rustic wooden door carved with magical creatures.

Lyra Black, 11 years old, adjusted the hood of her dark cloak before knocking on the door. Her thoughts were methodical, evaluating each step of the upcoming meeting. Xenophilius Lovegood was known for his eccentricity and willingness to publish what no one else dared to. For Lyra, he was a vital piece in her political chess game, which is why she sent him an anonymous letter while still on the train back from Hogwarts, letting her owl, Minna (Milk+Cinnamon), fly out the window of the compartment shared with the twins while they were too busy working on a gum that would make anyone who chewed it develop temporary boils — according to them, it was a great way to skip classes, but the formula still needed some adjustments if the swollen sores on the boys' skin were any indication.

The door of the cottage creaked open, revealing a tall, thin man with messy blonde hair and wide eyes that gleamed with curiosity. Xenophilius wore a vibrant yellow robe, covered in small esoteric symbols that flickered faintly, as if enchanted.

— Ah, the mysterious visitor! — he exclaimed, gesturing theatrically — Come in, come in! Pandora, we have company!

Pandora Lovegood appeared right behind him, her equally blonde hair tied in a messy bun with a pencil shoved between the light strands. She wore a sky-blue robe speckled with paint stains, probably from some recent alchemical experiment. Her sharp green eyes were inquisitive.

— You must be the anonymous source — Pandora said, studying Lyra with a mix of caution and fascination. She obviously knew exactly who Lyra was — I’d say we didn’t expect someone so young.

— Age isn’t always a measure of knowledge — Lyra replied calmly, pulling back her hood — I have information that can change the public’s perception of the War and of Voldemort himself.

— You’ve come to the right place! — Xenophilius shivered slightly upon hearing the name, but his smile widened — The Quibbler exists to expose truths that the world prefers to ignore.

— And why now? — Pandora intertwined her fingers, curious — Why trust us?

— Because you aren’t afraid to challenge the status quo — Lyra tilted her head, her expression unshaken — And because you need an advantage over the Daily Prophet. My proposal isn’t just about what I know, but about how I can help make the Quibbler the leading source of true information.

As they all settled into a set of colorful armchairs around a circular table filled with strange instruments, Lyra laid out her demand: Xenophilius would need to tattoo sigil runes that would prevent him from revealing the source’s identity, even under duress or Veritaserum.

— Sigil runes? — Pandora furrowed her brow — Did you bring the diagrams?

— They’re based on ancient runes, combining sigil spells and mental defense — Lyra pulled a small parchment from her bag and handed it to Pandora — No word about the origin of the information will be torn from you.

— Fascinating — Pandora examined the parchment, her eyes shining with academic enthusiasm — But I’ll need to verify that these runes do exactly what you say.

— I expected that — Lyra replied with a contained smile. Honestly, she was enjoying this woman’s company — I’m willing to wait while you verify.

Pandora spent the next few minutes immersed in study, making quick notes and murmuring analysis spells as she frantically checked her rune dictionary. Finally, she looked up.

— It’s flawless — her eyes gleamed with curiosity, and Lyra could easily imagine exchanging letters with the woman about some of her bolder projects. Perhaps Pandora could offer a different perspective on some of the issues she was facing. Her scientist’s soul sang with joy at finding a match — I agree to the terms, as long as I’m present to ensure it’s these runes that are marked.

Xenophilius seemed excited, while Pandora remained vigilant and undeniably curious. They both agreed to proceed, confident in the accuracy of the runes and Lyra’s promise. The runes wouldn’t be hidden, but placed somewhere they could both see while she did it: on the wrist. By marking them in such a visible place, she hoped to protect the Lovegoods from anyone who might think of using them for the information they held, making it clear that they were physically incapable of revealing the information, rendering any torture or threats meaningless. It was protection for the Lovegoods, not just for Lyra.

Before the marking began, a small figure with light footsteps appeared at the top of the spiral staircase. Luna Lovegood, only eight years old, slowly descended, her long blonde hair swaying slightly. She wore a light-blue dress adorned with small pendants of magical creatures.

— Who is it? — Luna asked, her voice melodic and dreamy. Her curious eyes seemed just like her mother’s.

Lyra watched the girl for a moment, intrigued by the peculiar aura she emanated. Luna seemed out of place yet completely at ease in her own world. Luna looked like what Lyra imagined a fairy would look like.

— A friend — Lyra said softly.

— You’re trustworthy — Luna looked directly at her, her large blue eyes seeming to see beyond the surface. The older couple seemed very interested in their daughter’s words and took another look at Lyra — That’s what they say.

Lyra blinked, slightly surprised, but didn’t let it show. The reaction, however discreet, from Xenophilius and Pandora indicated that these words were not the meaningless ramblings of a child. The two of them had kept a healthy dose of caution around Lyra, but with Luna’s words, they felt much more comfortable proceeding with the procedure.

— And who are they?

— Ah, the ones who whisper in the leaves and in the shadows — Luna gave an enigmatic smile — They always know.

Lyra continued staring at the girl for a full minute, not really paying attention to her surroundings, her mind processing what the girl had said. Most people get uncomfortable being stared at by Lyra, so she makes an effort not to look at anyone specifically when she gets lost in her own thoughts, but sometimes it just happens. But Luna didn’t flinch under her gaze, she just waited for her to finish before smiling and skipping off to her room, talking about how the nargles were having problems now. Whatever that meant.

With Pandora’s approval, the runes were carefully marked on Xenophilius’ wrists and then on Pandora’s, who insisted on sharing the burden. The whole process was closely monitored, and even though Xenophilius was eccentric, he showed unexpected determination.

— Now — Lyra said at the end, her voice low but heavy with weight, a smile full of expectations on her face — we’re ready to begin our partnership.

Lyra revealed many secrets about the war, such as the fact that Voldemort wasn’t killed by Harry Potter, but by Lily Potter nee Evans, a Muggle-born woman using dark magic to boot. Pandora was particularly intrigued by this, but Xenophilius wanted more details since he was a staunch supporter of Harry Potter and wouldn’t abandon his loyalty without facts. Lyra saw no issue with this. She even spoke about the Horcruxes, just to make sure that, if something happened to her and her family, there would still be someone who could reveal Voldemort’s precautions to prevent his own death.

Lyra only felt comfortable revealing so many secrets because the runes she marked on them were derived from the Root Seal that Danzo’s twisted mind invented. The runes were connected to Lyra, and the Lovegoods could only reveal the information she allowed, when she allowed. They couldn’t betray her even if they wanted to, no matter what information she told them. Perhaps her methods weren’t the most ethical, but she couldn’t risk keeping all the information just between her family, as that would make the destruction of her House also eliminate all the vital information needed to destroy Voldemort. It would have been reckless not to create a safety net in case things went wrong.

The moment Lyra died, the runes would allow the Lovegoods to speak everything they knew, so even if Lyra died with all the information, she had the assurance that Harry and her father would still have a way to access her secrets. The Lovegoods were far enough removed from her family that no one would suspect they were the keepers of her secrets.

Before leaving, Lyra turned to Luna, who had been watching everything with fascination from the top of the stairs once the secrets had already been shared and now they were just dealing with the more mundane parts of a collaboration. Lyra’s payment was more symbolic than anything else, but she wouldn’t forgo it, as it would give credibility to her pseudonym (the one under which she would send the information to be published). She would have to create an account at Gringotts under that false name, where the money would be sent, giving it credibility (a trail of gold paper to follow in case someone investigated). All the chaos triggered in the coming years would fall on the fictional shoulders of Gray Archilles.

— You should visit Castle Dubh — Lyra said to Luna — Harry and the others would love to meet you.

Luna tilted her head as if pondering the invitation. Her parents exchanged a hesitant look.

— Luna likes the countryside — Pandora said, seeming a bit hesitant. Lyra could understand why; people weren’t usually kind to those who were different, and Luna was very different, but she was also fascinating.

— She needs friends — Lyra insisted, her voice firm but gentle. She could understand the parents' fear of sending their daughter to a place where others might hurt her just for being who she was, and they couldn’t protect her from the disappointment of not being accepted. — At the castle, everyone has their quirks. She will be welcome.

***

Days later, the Lovegoods arrived at Castle Dubh, an imposing structure surrounded by dense forests. The children were waiting at the entrance, led by Harry and Draco. Ginny, upon seeing Luna, hesitated for a moment, but then approached with a warm smile.

— Luna, it's good to see you — said Ginny. She had played a bit with Luna when she was younger, but since she started attending Muggle school, she found herself spending all her time with her new friends. She felt a bit guilty for leaving Luna behind, but Ginny wanted friends she could talk to about girl stuff and gossip without needing a translator to understand what they were saying.

— Hi, Ginny — Luna replied, with her usual serenity.

Fred and George exchanged glances before grinning widely. They had been properly warned to do everything they could to make the new girl feel accepted and welcome. They all knew better than to mistreat a guest of Lyra Black, no matter how peculiar she was.

— Welcome to the chaos — Fred said.

— You'll fit right in — George added.

Lyra watched the scene, satisfied. She knew that building alliances started with small gestures. And with the Lovegoods on board, her plans gained new depth.

Before approaching the children to help with the interaction and perhaps introduce a new game Luna could play without much trouble, she went over to Pandora and Xenophilius.

— We'll keep in touch by letter — she wasn’t expecting the satisfied smile on Pandora’s lips, who seemed pleased to have a scholarly partner with whom she could exchange notes. — There’s much more we need to discuss.

— And we’ll be ready — Pandora nodded.

— Then, the real work begins — Lyra smiled.

***

Before boarding the train to return to Hogwarts, Lyra turned to Harry and pulled him aside while the Weasleys were saying goodbye to the others.

— Luna is going to start attending Muggle school with you this year — she warned him with intensity and saw Harry look at her more attentively. — With me at Hogwarts, I’ll be relying on you to take care of her and teach her everything she needs to know.

Harry’s eyes widened at the responsibility.

— You want me to teach...

— Teach and protect — Lyra agreed and squeezed her younger brother’s shoulders. — She’s younger, just like Ginny, but Ginny has brothers to take care of her. You’re responsible for Luna, she’s your responsibility. Take care of her, Harry.

— But why? — Harry frowned, confused.

— It’s a lesson you need to learn — Lyra answered after a second of thinking about whether she should share her thoughts. She concluded that it would do her brother good to know.

— Learn what?

— How difficult it is to protect someone.