Facing confusing feelings
Snape:
Severus Snape walked through the corridors of Hogwarts, his black cloak billowing behind him like a living shadow. The castle was quieter than usual, with students confined to their common rooms while rumors about "the incident" continued to circulate. Since Black's visit, Sprout had been insistent on investigating what had happened to Miss Pickering, to the point of setting a deadline to uncover the truth and implement disciplinary measures. Otherwise, she threatened to call in the Aurors, turning it into a criminal investigation.
The seventh-year boys from his House had already awakened. Initially, they were eager to talk about what had happened, but each of them had received letters or visits from relatives before reporting the responsible party. After communicating with their families, none of them said a word, as if they had mysteriously forgotten who had attacked them.
Lucius had maintained some contact with the Black family over the years due to Draco, and Snape had discovered that since Lyra became the heir of House Black, the dark family had grown exponentially wealthier. Arthurus, while still actively serving as head of the family, had invested the family's wealth wisely, increasing the Blacks' influence throughout Great Britain. It was hard to find a pure-blood business that didn't have significant investment or sponsorship from them.
As a result, many families would lose everything if the Blacks decided to withdraw their money or leave the country. With this information, it hadn't been difficult to determine why the boys had suddenly closed their mouths.
Snape found Lyra Black in the corridor outside the Hufflepuff common room. He wasted no time, approaching her with firm steps. The girl was waiting for him, her presence seeming to draw all the air out of the surrounding space. He had summoned her there, despite his better judgment, in an attempt to extract some truth from the mess that threatened to destroy his cover as a spy for the Dark Lord.
"Miss Black," he began, his voice low and cutting. "I hope you aren't feeling too bored, confined to your accommodations along with the rest of your House."
An arrangement that had been the result of her own actions. Although the main suspects in the incident were Slytherins, investigating only the House of Snakes would appear prejudiced, and Snape had insisted that everyone be subjected to the same process until a culprit was identified.
The issue was that Snape couldn't simply allow his Slytherins to be apprehended if he wanted Voldemort to believe in his loyalty. He needed to make it clear that he had protected pure-blood families. Allowing Slytherins to be punished for harming a Muggle-born would be disastrous, even if he felt sickened by it. It was as if he had become like Dumbledore and McGonagall, turning a blind eye to the Marauders' actions against him all those years ago.
Lyra raised her eyes, her expression calm but alert.
"Professor Snape," she greeted with a nod. "Is there something I can help you with?"
He tilted his head slightly, as if examining something invisible. Why did Dumbledore have to ask him to approach this girl? It would have been so much simpler to simply give her Veritaserum and extract the truth, maintaining his cover and ridding himself of the troublesome Miss Black in the process.
"It seems certain... recent matters remain shrouded in mystery," he said, keeping his words deliberately vague to avoid provoking hostility. "Naturally, any discerning mind would question the exact circumstances that led to the current state of affairs."
His indirect accusation hung in the silence between them. Lyra, who had orchestrated the investigation that caused Dumbledore to lose much of his prestige and his position in the Ministry, understood subtext perfectly.
"I imagine a discerning mind would also expect evidence to support such inquiries," Lyra replied, her voice steady as a false smile curved her lips into an expression some might consider sweet. "Without that, they’re nothing more than rumors."
"Rumors can be dangerous, especially when they involve prominent names. Even more so when those names are tied to considerable traditions and legacies. Surely, you understand the delicacy of the situation." Snape narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms. She knew about his role as a spy and how her actions placed him in a precarious position.
Lyra raised an eyebrow, catching every unsaid word but remaining unconvinced. Still, she maintained their indirect exchange.
"Of course. I'm sure the person responsible for this situation never expected things to escalate this far, but who are we to stand in the way of justice, Professor?" She shot him a pointed look before adding, "After all, when the people who are supposed to protect us seem content to turn a blind eye, we might believe there's no other option but to take matters into our own hands. Perhaps that person’s methods weren't ideal, but tell me, would Hogwarts have bothered investigating what happened to Concordia if those boys hadn’t been attacked as well?"
It was unsettling to have someone aware of his history with the Marauders throwing in his face how little better he was than his bullies—or the professors who merely handed out detentions. How was that fair? Detentions were given for arriving late to class, for interrupting professors, or for being rude. Why did teachers think harassment, assault, and even attempted murder deserved the same punishment as being out of bed after curfew?
Snape, by covering for those fourth-year boys he knew were responsible for what happened to Pickering, was complicit. He wasn’t just like McGonagall in her negligence; he was worse.
Even so, a part of him couldn’t help but see a reflection of Sirius in Lyra: using her family’s wealth and name to escape the consequences of her actions. Once again, he found himself on the opposite side of that force.
Snape couldn’t help resenting it, even though part of him whispered that, this time, he bore more guilt for what had happened than she did—a small voice in the back of his mind he had grown used to ignoring since becoming a spy.
"Ah, but often, what is unsaid carries as much weight as what is spoken," Snape said, his tone taking on an almost philosophical edge. "There are patterns, Miss Black, actions that speak louder than words. One doesn’t need to be direct to perceive certain... similarities across generations."
Lyra looked at him, all traces of humor vanishing from her expression.
"If you're insinuating something, Professor, I’d prefer you be clear," Lyra said, leaning forward slightly, her voice dropping to a threatening whisper. "Or would you rather continue dancing around the subject, as those with something to hide often do?"
Snape hesitated for a moment, the possibility that she might deliberately expose his cover always a looming threat. But he pressed on with studied calm. He needed her to believe he wasn’t afraid of that.
"I’ll say only that it’s easy for some to believe that, behind every calculated behavior, there lies a desire for power," he said. "Others, however, may act out of something more personal."
Lyra’s eyes glinted dangerously, but she remained impassive.
"I wonder, Professor, which of those motives drove you to create so many curses for the Marauders?" she asked without breaking eye contact, daring him to lie. "Was it for power or something personal, Professor? You hypocritical bastard."
A tense silence lingered between them. Snape felt the sting of her words, even though his face betrayed no emotion. Lyra slowly stepped back, turning and walking toward the entrance of her House’s common room.
" If you want to accuse me, bring something more solid than insinuations, Professor," she said without turning around. "Until then, I'd rather not waste my time."
She left before he could reply, her footsteps echoing in the empty corridor. Snape remained motionless, his thoughts swirling in his mind like a potion simmering slowly. Her words reverberated, bringing to the surface memories he preferred to forget.
He knew she was right. Sectumsempra was a curse he had created for Sirius, but he had never truly had the chance to use it because, after the incident with the werewolf, the Marauders avoided him, and Snape wasn’t about to rekindle that feud out of spite. He did use it, however, when he became a Death Eater. Snape had many opportunities to see the curse in action, to discover the extent of the damage it could do, how to heal it, and how to defend against it.
The incident with the Slytherin students now felt like more than a disciplinary issue. It was a reflection of a system he helped perpetuate. Outside these walls, what they had done would be punished with a sentence in Azkaban. But because they were in school, did the laws no longer apply? Was a crime committed against a student less significant than those committed against adults out there?
Lyra:
Lyra walked through the nearly empty corridors of Hogwarts, the sound of her footsteps muffled by the castle's thick stone floors. Finding Fred and George hadn’t been difficult—Lyra was a ninja, and the two were almost always together, laughing or plotting some mischief.
"What brings the pleasure of Your Highness's presence?" Fred asked, throwing an arm in a dramatic arc before bowing with his usual theatrical flair.
George smiled, holding a piece of parchment carelessly folded. Lyra might not have known the Map personally, but she'd grown up hearing stories of her father's various adventures—those in which he wasn’t chasing someone just to be a nuisance—and there was no way she wouldn't recognize the item that had helped her father and his friends pull off countless pranks unscathed. It was poetic that the twins had it now.
"Is it true you found the Marauder’s Map?" she asked, craning her neck to peer over Fred’s shoulder at George’s hand.
Fred turned to his brother, throwing one arm over his shoulders.
"Found is an understatement. We rescued this legendary artifact from the depths of Filch's lair," he said, polishing his nails on his coat with a faux-casual expression. "A Herculean feat, if I may say so."
"Amid a decade’s worth of confiscations," George added, a sly grin spreading across his lips. "It was practically a miracle."
"Are you miracle workers?" Lyra asked, her voice falsely innocent and ignorant. George rolled his eyes.
"Oh, we are," Fred replied nonchalantly, leaning toward her with a mischievous grin. "And we know you didn’t come here for the pleasure of our company. What do you want with it, Black?"
Lyra pouted at the accusation. She didn’t only seek them out when she needed something... right? She really was terrible at this friendship business. Among ninjas, no one cared much because everyone was busy, and no one expected her to have free time to chat given her position in the Village.
She would have to make an effort to change that. But what were they supposed to talk about if she wasn’t trying to accomplish something specific?
"I need to leave Hogwarts for a bit," she decided to set her social problems aside for later. "Are you going to lend it to me or not?"
Fred and George exchanged glances and then shrugged. And that was why they were her best friends: they didn’t need her to shower them with attention.
"Be careful," George said, handing her the map with unusual seriousness. "Getting this was no small task. We don’t want it falling into the wrong hands again."
"Thanks," Lyra replied, genuinely grateful. She hesitated for a second before jumping forward to give each of them a hug because they were her friends, and she should show her gratitude. Lyra was sure these things were supposed to feel more natural. "You’re the best."
"We know that," Fred replied, blinking in surprise at the sudden hug, while George overcame his own shock to throw a playful wink.
A short while later, Lyra was hidden in a dimly lit corner of the third floor, tracing the route to one of the secret passages that led directly to the outskirts of Hogsmeade. The Marauder’s Map revealed every corner of the castle and its hidden paths, and the route seemed straightforward. With a flick of her wand, she murmured the magic words: "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." The map activated, revealing its secrets.
Classes hadn’t been suspended despite the ongoing investigation, but students had been instructed to go to lessons and return directly to their dormitories until the situation was resolved. As a result, there were students in the corridors, and even a few rebels like Fred and George who had grown bored and claustrophobic after being cooped up in their Common Rooms for the past two days.
Lyra carefully followed the path, using all her agility and knowledge of the castle to avoid Filch, the ghosts, and any other unwanted eyes. Soon, she was traversing the dark tunnel that led outside. Her heart beat faster as she neared the faint light indicating the exit.
Minutes later, Lyra found herself in Hogsmeade. The cold night air bit at her face as she walked through the dark streets toward the Hog’s Head. The dim yellow lights and the murmurs coming from within the tavern indicated it was open, but the atmosphere was grim, almost threatening.
As she pushed the door open, it emitted a loud creak. The interior was poorly lit, the walls covered in grime and soot. The strong smell of alcohol, old wood, and something resembling mold filled her nostrils. A few hooded figures sat at scattered tables, murmuring amongst themselves, while the barman—a taciturn man with disheveled, graying hair—was repeatedly cleaning the same dirty glass.
Lyra spotted Sirius in a secluded corner. He was dressed in his leather jacket over an AC/DC t-shirt, but his posture betrayed a restrained nervousness. When she approached, he looked up and smiled—a tired but warm smile.
"Lyra," he said, standing up. Before he could say more, she hugged him tightly, feeling momentarily comforted.
"Dad," she whispered, letting a bit of the tension she carried slip away. It was nice to see him without a bunch of gossiping portraits watching her every move.
After a moment, they parted, and Sirius gestured for her to sit. The bar continued to hum in the background, but in that dim corner, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of them.
A simple, silent spell from her father and a flick of his wand later, their table was covered by something resembling a seal of secrecy that Ryuna often used in Konoha for secure private conversations. Very useful, and Lyra would have to convince her father to teach her the enchantment, though she was sure she could develop a rune with an equivalent function, enabling her to activate it even without a wand—or wandless magic. Think about it later.
"How are things at home?" she asked first, even though she knew what her father wanted to talk about. She wasn’t sure how Sirius would react to the truth, and Lyra was tempted to censor parts of her day to avoid receiving one of her father’s disapproving looks. "How’s Grandpa Arthurus, Aunt Cass, and Uncle Cygnus?"
Cygnus still wasn't Lyra's biggest fan, but with the Black family's growing prosperity it was hard to argue with her. In the end, he was still an extremely proud person and refused to admit he had been wrong before, but he didn't insist on it either. Arthurus and Cassiopeia had always been the most accepting of Lyra and they were the adaptable type. Methods, for them, were less important than results.
Lyra delivered results, so the rest could go fuck themselves.
The three of them were old, living in the luxury of their wealth and taking pleasure in using the financial market of the wizarding world to have fun as if they were playing Real Estate (that Muggle game Draco had been passionate about for a few years). Lyra was beginning to suspect that the goblins of Gringotts might be their closest friends, even if none of them would ever admit it.
"They're fine, I guess..."
"You should talk to them once in a while," Lyra commented. "It's really strange that everyone lives in the same house but rarely speaks."
"I have nothing to say to them," Sirius said, taking a sip of his beer. Lyra could understand her father's feelings; those three old men knew the abuse he had suffered under Walburga's care and never protected him. Part of him, she was sure, blamed them for Regulus's fate. "Harry got into a fight at school, and he was exposed... along with all his friends."
Lyra's eyes widened, her eyebrows nearly reaching her hairline.
"What caused it? Harry's not a violent person."
"Some kids were being mean to Luna," Sirius explained.
"Oh." Well, maybe it was partially Lyra's fault.
"Oh?" Sirius narrowed his eyes at Lyra, catching something in her tone.
"Uh, I'm glad they supported each other—teamwork is the most important thing," she quoted Kakashi without thinking, hoping to deflect her father's attention.
"Hn." Sirius reached into his coat and handed her a letter. "Harry decided to teach the kids how to fight and wants advice on how to do it. He mentioned Luna and Hermione are more interested in self-defense than hurting anyone. You trained them to do everything—connect movements, attack, counterattack, and defend—so Harry's a bit confused about how to teach defense alone. I imagine that's more or less what he asks in the letter."
"I'll write a response and find a way to send it without Dumbledore intercepting it," she said, tucking the letter into her coat.
They sat in silence for a bit, and Lyra knew Sirius would soon bring up the reason they were there...
"So,"—and she was right—"what happened with those Slytherin boys? Were they really the ones who attacked your classmate?"
And now? Tell the truth and risk being judged after all the lectures she gave her father? Lie? Lying just to protect herself felt wrong. Lyra and Ryuna had lied on more than one occasion, but always as a means to an end, never just to avoid acknowledging their own faults.
Screw it.
"They weren’t," she replied, refusing to look at her father. She felt Sirius hesitate for just a moment.
"But it was you who attacked them," Sirius stated. Lyra nodded in confirmation. "Why?"
"I'm teaching Concordia how to fight without a wand, but also with one," Lyra hesitated. "You know how these things take time to sink in; it takes time before people can effectively use what they’ve learned in training in real combat. She wasn’t practicing enough to absorb it, and in a fight, things get confusing, and... she got badly beaten. Concordia is my student, and they beat her up before she was ready to fight back."
"You were angry," Sirius sighed, as if he wished Lyra's answer had been different, as if he wished it was all just a misunderstanding. "Go on."
"Father..."
"Go on," he repeated, his voice firm, and Lyra shrank a little. She deserved this, she knew. She had crossed a line; those boys hadn’t hit Cordia, and they were still young. They weren’t even capable of truly facing her in combat.
"I was worried about what would happen if Harry, Draco, or any of the others were sorted into Slytherin," she continued, still refusing to lift her eyes from the table. "I’m not in that House; I can’t change them from within. I don’t have time to make gradual changes."
"Why the seventh years, if they did nothing to you?"
"Slytherin, as far as I could gather from my investigations and observations, is extremely elitist. Older students are hierarchically above everyone else, with the only exceptions being members of very powerful families outside of school, who also have certain prestige and protection within the castle," Lyra explained. "Draco would probably have some immunity—not to everything, but he wouldn't suffer the worst-case scenario. It’s impossible to know what would happen to Harry, given the history and affiliations of so many Slytherin families. They might ignore him or be openly hostile."
"You targeted the older students because they’re at the top of the hierarchy," Sirius deduced, following her reasoning. He seemed capable of doing that sometimes, but he always had that look on his face when he did—the same look he had when he saw the memories of the night James and Lily died. The night Lyra killed those Death Eaters.
"I made it clear to them that such behavior wasn’t acceptable and that they should impose some discipline in the House," Lyra explained, shrinking at the implication of her own words. "I told them that if anyone touched anything of mine again, it would be them I’d go after."
"Enforcing change from the top down," Sirius sighed, sounding tired, and Lyra dared to glance at him from the corner of her eye. He was leaning back in his chair, his eyes on the ceiling. "I admit it’s effective."
"I’m sorry," she whispered.
"You were worried about your friend?"
"I think..."
"You think?"
"I was very angry."
"Lyra, you know what you did was wrong, don’t you?" Sirius asked, looking at her. Lyra returned her gaze to the table. She tensed as she felt a touch on her head, but it was just her father pulling her into a hug.
"I’m not angry with you, though maybe I should be," he said softly.
Unconsciously, Lyra felt herself relax at his words.
"Sorry for making things so hard for you."
"I don’t regret it, but I need you to talk to me, Lia," he said against her hair, holding her tightly in an embrace. "Not all the time, but every now and then, you have these... outbursts of anger, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what’s causing it, so I don’t know how to fix things. Was it my... was it Walburga?"
No, that was Ryuna, though Walburga wasn’t entirely innocent in bringing it back.
Ryuna grew up as a child of war; that was all she had ever known, even inside the Village. She would never cry to the adults or throw tantrums because there were always more important things happening. What if she cried and someone died because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut and endure? Lyra stayed quiet and studied, learning everything she could. She liked learning because it made her feel useful and ensured that her parents gave her a bit of attention in the limited time they spent at home.
As she grew older and started being sent on missions, her feelings had to be buried even deeper. A panic attack in the wrong place could kill her, her brother, Anko, and Oro-sensei. Knowing what she knew about Danzo, Konoha wasn’t the safe haven everyone thought it was, and she couldn’t relax there. As Hokage, she was under even more pressure—so much work, so many expectations, and so many things she had to consider every single day. As a mother, she had to figure out how to care for all those children she’d committed to raising, and she only had books to tell her what she was supposed to do. Neither Kaito nor her grandfather, who had been an active samurai when he had his children, had any experience with kids.
Things just kept happening, and Ryuna was swept along by the current. She began having these outbursts of anger when she was Hokage, but it wasn’t a sudden thing. It was a dam that had been holding back pressure for years and was starting to crack. It took a long time for Ryuna to admit to herself that she needed help and to seek a professional, but eventually, she did. She learned that compartmentalizing her feelings wasn’t a good idea and that it should never be used for long periods—only short-term, like during a mission. But she needed to let it out.
Lyra had compartmentalized the night Voldemort attacked them, but it was only for that night so she could do what she needed to save Harry.
Walburga, with her punishments and Lyra’s general situation—alone, without knowledge or power—drove Lyra back to her old habits. She could no longer afford to sink into her emotions, not anymore. Not with Dumbledore, Voldemort, Walburga, the Death Eaters, and the Ministry threatening her family. They were all too powerful to face, but what was she supposed to do? Sit and wait for death? Or run away and leave Harry to die here?
It was only a matter of time before it caused problems; she knew that. But could Lyra afford to simply feel? Did she even know how?
"You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to, but you need to talk to someone, darling..."
What was she supposed to say to her father?
"I had so much to deal with at the time," she heard herself saying before she even decided whether she should. "You were imprisoned, Harry was missing, and I was locked in a house being tortured... I was scared and..."
She pressed her hands against the table, forcing her magic to settle within her. Sirius waited for her to continue, though she felt his body tense when he realized she was speaking.
"Fear is paralyzing, and I couldn’t stand still," she said, forcing her mind to piece together the syllables to form the words. "Anger, on the other hand, incites action. You fight when you’re angry; you want to destroy things. Your body desperately wants to do something about it."
"Aren’t you the one who always says never to fight in anger?" Sirius teased dryly, trying to lighten the mood a bit.
"Anger makes people act without thinking, make mistakes," she shrugged because it was true. You shouldn’t fight in anger if it could be avoided. "But if the choice is between being paralyzed by fear and fighting in anger... I couldn’t stay still."
Always, as far back as she could remember, Lyra converted her fear into anger. It was easier to deal with that way. She was smart enough to find rational excuses for her feelings, making it hard for her to accept that she had a problem. Her anger always seemed so justifiable.
"It’s okay; we’ll work through this, darling," her father said, tightening his arm around Lyra. "If you get that angry again, you know you can call me, and I’ll come running."
"Yeah, but I’m still a first-year," Lyra pointed out with an eye roll. "I can’t just leave Hogwarts whenever I feel like it."
Sirius scratched his neck, thinking of what he could do. Lyra was secretly glad he loved her enough to care... she wondered if Ryuna’s parents had cared too, and she just hadn’t noticed at the time because she’d been so busy doing other things. Everyone had always seemed so busy back then.
"Find an isolated spot where you can punch something," Sirius said, frustrated at his own inability to come up with a better solution to the problem. "Maybe the Forbidden Forest? Go there and punch some trees until you can think straight, then come back and send me a letter."
If she could think of anything other than breaking something to remind herself to go to the Forest, she wouldn’t be so messed up that she needed to send a letter. She dismissed the thought and accepted her father’s suggestion because she needed to deal with this now before she sabotaged her own plans by acting impulsively again.
"I’ll do my best."