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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

always soldiers, never children

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE, MULTIPLE POVS

-I-

THE TRUTH IS A BITTER FOOL

The Potter Manor loomed ahead as Lily ushered them through the gates, the silence between them a fragile thread. Lyra's eyes swept over the grounds, taking in the grand yet inviting facade. It was just as large as Malfoy Manor, but instead of oppressive darkness, Potter Manor was imbued with warmth. The walls, bright and welcoming, seemed to breathe life into the estate—a stark contrast to the cold elegance of her childhood home.

Lily guided them into a spacious living room and gestured for them to sit on the plush sofa. Lyra hesitated, exchanging a glance with Harry, before sinking into the seat next to him. The tension in the room was palpable.

"So..." Lily began, breaking the silence. Her tone was careful, but not unkind. "You were telling the truth."

Harry nodded stiffly. "We're just as confused as you are. This wasn't... planned. We didn't expect any of this."

Lyra's gaze flicked toward him, her heart aching at the barely concealed turmoil in his expression. How did it feel to meet the mother you'd lost, the one who died to protect you? To see her alive, vibrant, and full of the warmth you'd only ever imagined?

"I'm sorry for how we treated you," Lily said, her voice softening. "It was... shocking. You have to understand, it's not every day two strangers appear claiming to be from another universe."

Lyra offered a small smile. "It's okay. Honestly, I can't even blame you. If anything, it feels very on-brand for Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore is behind what?"

The interruption came from a voice at the door. A teenage girl with auburn hair stood there, arms crossed and eyes blazing with defiance. She was a younger version of Lily, though the faint resemblance to James—the sharp nose, the stubborn set of her jaw, brown eyes—was unmistakable.

"Madelyn," Lily began, her tone placating, "Please—"

"Mum, I'm not going to my room," Madelyn cut her off sharply. "If I'm in danger, I'd like to know why."

Lyra's eyes darted between Madelyn and Harry, marveling at how alike they were in mannerisms if not in appearance. Madelyn had the fire of her parent, but the way she glared reminded Lyra of Ginny Weasley.

Finally, Lily relented and motioned for her daughter to sit with her. Madelyn joined her, her suspicious gaze fixed on Lyra and Harry.

Before anyone could speak, a loud pop echoed through the room. Lyra barely registered the sound before everything erupted into chaos.

Sirius Black appeared in the room, wand raised. "Who the fuck are you?" he bellowed, his wand aimed directly at Harry. Harry was already on the floor, his hands raised in defense, while Lyra felt herself being pulled back roughly by James.

"Sirius, let him go!" Lily shouted, her voice cutting through the commotion.

Sirius ignored her, his face a mask of fury. "Why are the Death Eaters after you? How did you lie under Veritaserum? And how the hell did you even get here?"

"Sirius—!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Lily's voice rang out, and Sirius's wand flew from his grasp, landing a few feet away. She stepped between him and Harry, her green eyes blazing with uncharacteristic ferocity. "I said, let him go!"

"Lily," James interjected, his tone sharp. "What are you doing?"

"They're telling the truth," Lily insisted, her voice firm. "Severus found us while we were escaping. He explained everything. These two—" she gestured toward Harry and Lyra, "—they're part of Albus's plan. They're here to help us."

Sirius froze, his jaw clenched tightly. His gray eyes flicked between Lily and the two strangers. "Snape told you that?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

"Yes," Lily said firmly. "He and Albus have been planning this. These kids—Harry and Lyra—they've already fought their war. They've won it. And now they're here to help us win ours."

For a long moment, no one moved. Lyra's heart pounded as Sirius studied them, his face hard but his grip on Harry loosening.

Finally, Sirius stepped back, his shoulders tense. "This better not be another of Snape's twisted games," he muttered darkly.

Lily stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm. "It's not. Trust me, Sirius. They're on our side."

As the tension began to ebb, Lyra looked over at Harry. His face was pale, but there was a spark of determination in his eyes.

"Look, we're just as confused as you are," he said, his voice tight with frustration. "Lyra and I didn't ask for this. We don't want to fight another war."

The words hung heavy in the air, but Lyra could see they didn't land as he intended. The room remained tense, their explanations drowned out by the sheer impossibility of their presence.

"You're—" James's voice broke through the silence, soft and hesitant, as if he didn't dare to believe the thought forming in his mind. His grip on Lyra loosened as he turned to stare at Harry, his hazel eyes wide with disbelief. Lyra could almost see the pieces clicking into place for him, the same realization that had struck Lily earlier now dawning on James. "You're actually Harry Potter?"

"Yes!" Harry snapped, his frustration boiling over. "That's what I've been trying to tell you!"

Lyra winced at his tone but understood it all too well. How could he not feel overwhelmed? To face the father he never truly knew and see him staring back with awe and disbelief—not as a father but as a stranger.

James stumbled back a step, his gaze fixed on Harry as though he were a ghost. "But... you're not..." His voice cracked. "You're older. You're not my Harry."

Harry flinched at the words, and Lyra's chest tightened as she saw the fleeting pain cross his face. "No," he said, his voice softer now. "I'm not your Harry. But I am Harry Potter. Just... not from here."

James rubbed a hand over his face, his composure cracking under the weight of the truth. "Merlin," he whispered. "You look just like him. Like me... and Lily. But you're—how old are you again?"

"Twenty-two," Harry answered warily. "In my world."

"In your world?" Sirius interrupted, his voice laced with disbelief. He stepped closer, peering at Harry as though searching for signs of deception. "You expect us to believe you're from another bloody universe?"

"I didn't expect any of this! I am barely understanding what is happening myself." Harry shot back, his frustration bubbling to the surface again. "I didn't ask to be thrown into this—your war, your mess. I was done with this. We were supposed to be done." His voice cracked, the weight of everything he'd lost bleeding into his words.

Lyra stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. "It's true. I know it sounds insane, but we're not lying. We were brought here—against our will, I might add—because according to Snape your Dumbledore thought we could help. Believe me, the last thing we wanted was to get caught up in another war."

Sirius looked unconvinced, but Lily stepped between them, her expression softening as she turned to Harry. "Earlier, under the influence of the potion, you said something. You said... you've already fought You-know-who. That you've already won."

Harry's jaw tightened, and Lyra saw the flicker of pain in his eyes. "We did," he admitted quietly.

"But it cost us everything." Lyra spoke up then. "This is your war, not ours. Why are we here?"

The room fell silent again, the weight of his words settling over them. Lyra resisted the urge to reach for Harry's hand, because she needed it. But she couldn't. He wasn't hers... not anymore.

James finally spoke, his voice hoarse. "You... you defeated him? You-Know-Who?"

Harry nodded, his gaze steady. "Yes. But it wasn't easy. And I won't lie to you—it won't be easy for you either."

James swallowed hard, his face pale but resolute. "Then we'll need your help. Both of you."

Harry's shoulders tensed as he exchanged a glance with Lyra. "We didn't come here to fight your war," he said sharply. "I'm going to find a way to get out of here. I have a family to get back to."

With that, he turned and started walking toward the door, his movements stiff with barely contained frustration.

"Harry—wait," Lyra said quickly, grabbing his arm before he could leave.

"What, Lyra?" he snapped, his voice low and seething. "I've already lost enough in the war I won. I'm not going through this again."

She met his gaze, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm not saying we should stay," she said carefully. "But let's wait for Snape. He's the only one who can explain what's going on."

"Lyra—"

"Wait." Sirius cut in, his face darkening. "Snivellus is coming here? To this house?"

"Yes," Lily replied firmly, standing. "And I expect you to behave. James, Sirius—please, for once, no drama."

James didn't respond, still staring at Harry as though trying to reconcile the boy in front of him with the son he'd lost. The room fell into an awkward silence until the doorbell rang. Lily stood quickly, her heels clicking against the floor as she went to answer it.

When she returned, Severus Snape followed close behind, his black robes billowing as he swept into the room. His sharp, calculating gaze took in everyone before settling on Harry and Lyra.

"So," Snape began, his voice clipped, "you're the ones who ended up here. Not what I expected."

"Not what we expected either," Harry shot back.

"What's going on, Severus?" Lily asked, her tone soft but firm.

The room grew tense as Snape surveyed them, his dark eyes calculating. The weight of his words lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating. "The spell was designed to summon one individual—Harry Potter—from a point in time just after his victory over the Dark Lord. We needed the Harry Potter fresh from war. Instead, both of you appeared, and from years further ahead than we intended." He gestured at Lyra without looking at her directly. "I assume that was due to... unforeseen circumstances."

"Unforeseen?" Sirius scoffed. "That's the best you've got? You're telling me this wasn't even planned?"

"No, it wasn't," Snape snapped. "And believe me, I'm as displeased about it as you are."

Harry's jaw tightened. "If it was supposed to be me, how do we fix this? How do we get back?"

Snape's gaze flicked toward him, then to Lyra. His voice was sharp but laced with an ominous undertone. "You don't. Not unless You-Know-Who is dead in this world as well."

"What does that mean?" Lyra asked, her voice low but trembling with anger.

"It means," Snape said slowly, as if addressing a child, "that your lives are now tied to his. As long as he breathes in this plane, you cannot leave it."

Sirius let out a bark of laughter, cold and hollow. "Brilliant, Snivellus. So, what's the grand plan? Toss two more kids into another war they didn't ask for?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Black," Snape snapped, his tone venomous. "This was not my intention. If we had known the spell would—"

"Would what?" Lyra cut him off, her voice rising. "Tear us from our lives and dump us into your mess? This wasn't an accident, was it? You just didn't care what it cost us."

"Lyra—" Harry started, but she shook her head sharply.

"No, Harry. They need to know how messed up this is."

James stepped forward, his expression conflicted. "Snape, why her? If this was meant for Harry, why is she here?"

Snape's lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze lingering on Lyra for a moment too long. "That... is unclear."

It wasn't, not to Lyra. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to keep her expression neutral. She had a good idea why the spell had pulled her along with Harry, but saying it aloud would only complicate things further.

"You've got to be kidding me," Lyra said, her voice rising. "We fought our war. We won. Why do we have to fight in a war we never asked to be a part of?"

"That wasn't the intention," Snape said, his voice tight. "You weren't meant to fight. Harry was meant to provide information and strategy. But... the spell pulled you from a time further ahead than we anticipated and now you are stuck."

"Further ahead?" James asked, his brows furrowing. "How far?"

Snape's gaze flicked toward Harry, then Lyra. "A few years past what we intended."

"You wanted a teenager to help give you answers?" Sirius said, his tone disbelieving. "And you think that makes this better?"

The room erupted into a cacophony of voices—James demanding answers, Sirius hurling accusations at Snape, and Lyra snapping at everyone, her frustration boiling over.

"Enough!" Lyra shouted, silencing the room. "I don't care how far ahead we are. I care about why I'm here when I wasn't supposed to be. And I care about getting us back."

Snape's gaze was sharp. "That may take time. Time you may not have."

Lyra's jaw tightened. "Then I want to see Dumbledore. Now."

"No," Snape said flatly.

"Why not?" Harry demanded.

"Because he's not here," Snape replied coolly. "And because you two need to stay hidden until we understand the full scope of the situation."

"How are we supposed to fight this war of yours if we can't even be seen?" Lyra scoffed.

"In this world, you are both dead," Snape snapped, "It will raise questions if you both just show up in places, looking like Lyra Black and savior Potter reincarnate."

"How?" Lyra finally asked the question that had been plaguing her, her voice breaking. "How did she die?"

Snape didn't answer, his gaze shifting away. Lily looked down at her hands, her calm demeanor cracking at the edges. James glanced at Sirius, whose mouth opened but then closed, his expression dark and distant. Lyra barely registered as Madelyn, who had been sitting quietly next to her mother, left the room.

"I asked you how she died," Lyra said, her voice louder now, desperate.

"Lyra, maybe—" Harry tried to interject, but she rounded on him.

"No! I want to know!" Her voice cracked. "If I'm stuck here, if I'm somehow replacing her, I deserve to know what happened to her!"

"Enough!" Snape's voice cut through the room like a whip. "This is not the time for your theatrics, Miss Malfoy."

"I'm not Malfoy here, am I?" Lyra spat, her voice trembling with emotion. "I'm Lyra Black. What does that mean? Who was she? How did she die?"

No one answered. The silence stretched, oppressive and unyielding, and Lyra felt like she couldn't breathe.

Sirius finally spoke, his voice softer than before but tinged with guilt. "Lyra... maybe it's better not to know."

"Better not to know?" she repeated, her voice rising in disbelief. "Are you joking? How can you expect me to fight in this war—your war—when I don't even know who I'm supposed to be here?"

"Enough," Snape said again, this time more quietly. "Your role here is irrelevant. You were pulled into this but we needed Harry Potter. All you can do is help this war end."

That stung. Irrelevant. She was a mistake, brought into this world with Harry because of a spell she did years ago to save his life. Irrelevant. She was just one of the pieces on the chess board that no-one would miss. This was not how Lyra had intended what was her last year of life to go.

Lyra glared at him. "We're not pawns in your little plan, Snape. If you think I'm going to sit here and wait for instructions like some obedient soldier, you've got another thing coming."

Snape's expression didn't waver. "Your compliance isn't a requirement. It's a necessity."

Lyra opened her mouth to retort, but Harry placed a hand on her arm, shaking his head slightly. His green eyes were tired but resolute. "We'll wait," he said quietly, though his tone left no room for argument. "For now."

As the room settled into an uneasy quiet, Lily reappeared with a determined smile, clapping her hands together. "Well, I suppose it's time for dinner. Let's try to focus on something less... apocalyptic, shall we?"

Lyra's stomach gave an embarrassing growl at the mention of food. She hadn't realized just how hungry she was, having barely eaten anything before being thrust into this whirlwind of confusion. When she offered to help, Lily waved her off with a kind but firm insistence. "You've had a long day—sit, rest. I've got this."

Once Lily disappeared into the kitchen, the tension in the room thickened again. Lyra found herself sitting across from Sirius, while Harry sat next to James, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

James cleared his throat, his expression contrite. "I, uh... I'm sorry for how I treated you when you first arrived." His voice wavered slightly, as though the apology tasted foreign on his tongue.

Harry shifted awkwardly. "Okay," he replied, the word hanging stiffly in the air.

Sirius leaned forward, his curiosity breaking the silence. "So... what's your world like? What houses were you in?"

Harry hesitated for a moment before answering. "I was in Gryffindor. Lyra was in Slytherin."

Both Sirius and James blinked, clearly surprised. "Slytherin?" Sirius echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Lyra raised an eyebrow, smirking faintly. "Yes, Sirius. Not all of us in Slytherin are budding Death Eaters, you know. I mean... not completely."

Sirius snorted but didn't argue, though his expression remained skeptical.

"And your best mates?" James asked, his voice tentative. "You're talking about... Ron, isn't it? Ron Weasley?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. And Hermione Granger."

Sirius frowned thoughtfully. "Granger... Muggleborn?"

"Yeah," Harry confirmed. "The brightest witch of her age."

James leaned back slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "And how do you two know each other?" His eyes flicked between Harry and Lyra. "I can't imagine Slytherins and Gryffindors mingling much. And I've got a pretty strong suspicion about who your father is."

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but Lyra cut in. "I was a spy for Dumbledore," she said bluntly, pulling up her sleeve to reveal the faint scar of the Dark Mark etched into her pale skin.

The room seemed to freeze. James and Sirius stared at her in shock, their expressions ranging from disbelief to horror.

"Dumbledore recruited me at the end of fifth year," Lyra continued, her voice steady but low.

"Fifth year?" Sirius repeated, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You were just a child."

"Well, the war ended when we were seventeen," Lyra said, her voice catching slightly. "I don't think we ever really felt like just children."

The weight of her words pressed down on the room like a stone. Sirius leaned back, looking as though he was trying to process this, while James glanced at Harry with a pained expression.

"And... your parents?" James asked Harry, his voice awkward and strained.

"Dead," Harry said flatly, the word falling out before he could catch it. He quickly added, "Sorry. I mean... when Voldemort came to Godric's Hollow in 1981, he killed them. Both of them."

James looked down at the table, his expression darkening. "Oh," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Lyra, unable to stop herself, asked the question that had been nagging at her. "How did... how did your Harry die?"

James flinched at the question, but Sirius nodded at him, encouraging him to speak. James swallowed hard. "Halloween. The same night Harry's talking about, I suppose. Lily and I had gone to Bathilda Bagshot's house to check on her—she'd been terribly sick. We left you... sorry, our Harry... with Kiara Wilkins, a sixteen-year-old witch who babysat for us sometimes. We were gone for twenty minutes. When we got back..."

His voice cracked, and he stopped, unable to continue. Lyra nodded stiffly, her throat tight. "Oh," she said, echoing his earlier sentiment.

The silence was suffocating until Sirius, always the one to break tension, grinned suddenly, though it was tinged with forced cheer. "So... do you two play Quidditch?"

Harry and Lyra exchanged a glance before Harry replied, "Yeah, I was a Seeker."

Lyra added, "Seeker in second year and then I was a beater. Though I quit in sixth year."

"Beater?" Sirius said, his grin widening into something more genuine. "I like you more already."

For the first time that day, the atmosphere lifted slightly, the weight of grief and confusion momentarily pushed aside. But even as they smiled, the shadow of everything unsaid lingered in the room.

-II-

YOU LOOK LIKE SOMEONE I KNEW (IS THAT PERSON ME?)

After dinner—a delicious pot roast expertly prepared by Lily—Lyra was led to Madelyn’s room for the night. Harry had been sent to stay with Sirius, but Lyra couldn’t help noticing the house’s sheer size, with more than enough rooms to accommodate everyone. The arrangement felt deliberate—a way to keep an eye on her and Harry, ensuring they wouldn’t try to leave in the middle of the night.

Madelyn had barely spoken throughout dinner, her silence thick and uncomfortable. Now, as they walked through the dimly lit halls, the air between them felt just as heavy. When they reached the room, Madelyn handed Lyra a neatly folded sweatshirt with a Gryffindor crest and a pair of soft sweatpants.

“These should fit,” she said quietly, avoiding Lyra’s eyes.

Lyra hesitated, clutching the clothes. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, her voice almost trembling. “If I’m making you uncomfortable, I can ask your mum to let me sleep on the couch or—”

“No!” Madelyn interrupted, her voice sharp before she softened. “No, you don’t need to do that. It’s not you. I’m just… overwhelmed.” She exhaled shakily, running a hand through her hair. “My dead brother is suddenly here—older—and you—”

Madelyn stopped short, as if she couldn’t find the right words. Lyra glanced at her cautiously. “Did you... not get along with the Lyra from this universe?” she asked, her voice laced with both curiosity and dread.

Madelyn looked at her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she spoke, her voice quieter now. “I did,” she admitted. “She was... she was my favorite person.”

The words hit Lyra harder than she expected. She sank onto the edge of the bed, her chest tightening. “Can you tell me about her?” she asked carefully. “The others... they won’t tell me anything.”

Madelyn hesitated. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sweater before she finally sighed. “I guess you deserve to know,” she said. “Lyra was kind. She was tough, incredibly smart. Always a step ahead of everyone else. She was a Ravenclaw.”

Lyra blinked, momentarily stunned. “A Ravenclaw?” she echoed, disbelief evident in her tone. 

“Why? What house were you in?”

“Slytherin.”

“Oh,” Madelyn murmured, her brow furrowing. “That’s... different.”

Lyra nodded faintly, her mind racing. “Go on. Please.”

Madelyn took a deep breath. “She was great,” she continued. “She was a prefect, and she used to help me a lot with my schoolwork. She was always looking out for me. And then...” Her voice cracked slightly, and she paused, visibly struggling to continue.

“And then what?” Lyra prompted gently, though her stomach churned with anticipation.

Madelyn’s eyes filled with unshed tears as she spoke. “There was an incident,” she began, her voice trembling. “When I was in fourth year. There was a Portkey—the Death Eaters were trying to bring back You-Know-Who. They needed the blood of the one who vanquished him. Harry was already dead, but...” She trailed off, her lips trembling. “But I wasn’t. Lyra wasn’t supposed to be there. We were just fooling around when we accidentally touched the Portkey, and then...”

Lyra’s throat tightened. “Oh... what happened?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Madelyn swallowed hard, her tears threatening to spill over. “And then Lucius Malfoy killed her.”

The words struck Lyra like a physical blow. “What?” she gasped, her voice breaking. “No. That can’t be right. He wouldn’t. He—he couldn’t.”

Madelyn’s expression hardened, her tears now flowing freely. “He did,” she said firmly. “She didn’t know he was her father. None of us knew. I only found out today—when you said your name. He’s your dad, isn’t he?”

Lyra’s hands trembled as she clutched the sweatshirt Madelyn had given her. “Yes,” she admitted, her voice shaking. “But my father loves me. He would never—he wouldn’t—”

“That’s what happened here, Lyra,” Madelyn said, her voice rising with emotion. “That’s the truth. And it was my fault.”

“No,” Lyra said fiercely, her own tears brimming. She stood and moved closer to Madelyn, shaking her head. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was,” Madelyn insisted, her voice cracking as she choked on her words. “She wasn’t supposed to be there. If I hadn’t been so careless—if I’d just been more careful—”

“Stop,” Lyra said firmly, reaching out to place a hand on Madelyn’s shoulder. “Listen to me. I’m not the girl you knew, but I think, in the ways that matter, we must be alike. And she would hate to know you’re blaming yourself for this.”

Madelyn’s shoulders shook as she wiped at her tears. “She had so much of her life left to live,” she whispered. “She was so good, and I let her down.”

Lyra’s voice softened. “You can’t change what happened. You can only learn to live with it.”

Madelyn nodded, her expression still heavy with grief. “So... how is your world? What is it like?”

“It’s better now, I guess,” Lyra answered softly. “I... I left England after the war was over.”

Madelyn nodded faintly, her tears slowing but her pain still evident. “Is it easier?” she asked after a long pause. “When it’s all over? Does it get better?”

Lyra hesitated, the weight of her own grief settling on her chest. “No,” she admitted finally. “It doesn’t get easier. But day by day, you learn to live with it.”

Madelyn managed a small, watery smile. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For telling me that.”

Lyra nodded, her heart aching. “And thank you. For telling me about her.” She hesitated, then added, “I think I would’ve liked her.”

Madelyn’s smile grew just a little. “She would’ve liked you too.”

-III-

A FATHER AND A SON BUT NOT HIS FATHER AND NOT HIS SON

The house was too quiet, despite the heavy conversations earlier. Harry lay awake in the room Sirius had offered him, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling. His thoughts churned relentlessly, running over the strange reality they’d fallen into. Everyone seemed like ghosts—familiar, yet not quite right. His parents, alive yet different. Sirius, kind but wary. Lyra…

Lyra.

Harry couldn’t put his feelings about her into words. Seeing her alive was jarring enough, but here? In this place? He couldn’t untangle the emotions swirling inside him.

Giving up on sleep, he quietly slipped out of bed, deciding a glass of water might help clear his head. He padded down the stairs, avoiding the creaky spots, and made his way to the kitchen.

The faint light spilling out from under the door gave him pause. Someone was already there.

Harry pushed the door open cautiously and froze. James Potter—this version of him—stood by the counter, a steaming mug in his hands. He looked so much like Harry, down to the messy hair and thin frame. He was staring at nothing, lost in thought.

Harry hesitated in the doorway, unsure if he should turn back or step in. James glanced up then, his hazel eyes catching Harry’s in the dim light.

“Couldn’t sleep?” James asked, his voice soft but carrying that same confidence Harry had always imagined.

“No,” Harry admitted, shuffling into the kitchen. “It’s been… a lot.”

James snorted, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You can say that again. Tea?”

Harry shook his head. “Just water, thanks.”

He filled a glass from the sink, avoiding James’s gaze as he sipped. The silence was awkward, heavy with unsaid words. He could feel James watching him, could sense the questions bubbling just beneath the surface.

“You, uh... you look a lot like me, you know,” James finally said, breaking the tension.

Harry smirked faintly, setting his glass down. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before. Usually followed by how much I have my Mum’s eyes.”

James chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, it’s true. Though I think you got her brain, too. Lucky for you—mine’s mostly full of Quidditch plays and bad jokes.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile at that, though it faded quickly. “You’re not how I imagined,” he said quietly.

James raised an eyebrow. “Oh? How did you imagine me?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “Bigger, maybe. Intimidating. More... I don’t know, perfect?”

James laughed, a warm, rich sound that felt oddly comforting. “Perfect? Merlin, no. Lily might come close, but me? Far from it.”

They lapsed into silence again, and Harry found himself staring at his glass, the weight of everything pressing down on him.

“This is weird,” he said finally. “Seeing you. Talking to you. It’s just... weird.”

Harry nodded, unsure of what to say. He stared at the surface of the table, tracing the grain of the wood with his eyes.

James cleared his throat. “I don’t really know where to start. I mean... I know you’re my son. Or a version of my son. But I don’t know you. Not really.”

Harry glanced up. “I don’t know you either. My James Potter—my dad—he’s been gone my whole life.”

James flinched slightly at that, and Harry felt a pang of guilt.

“I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s okay,” James interrupted, his voice quieter now. “I get it. In your world, I... we didn’t make it."

"No," Harry muttered, "In my world, you didn't."

James’s face twisted, a mixture of anger and sorrow. “Merlin... I can’t imagine. Growing up without your parents.”

“I had Sirius and Remus,” Harry said, his voice soft. “And my friends. Ron, Hermione... Lyra.”

James studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You know, it’s strange,” he said softly. “Seeing you like this. You’re older than he ever got to be. And when I look at you, I can’t help but think... this is what he could’ve been. What my son could’ve been.”

Harry’s grip on the glass tightened, and he forced himself to take a steadying breath. “And when I look at you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “I see the father I could’ve had.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken grief. James looked away, his jaw tightening. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “For everything. For not being there in your world. For leaving you to deal with all of this alone.”

Harry shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t choose to leave.”

James gave a bitter laugh. “Didn’t I? I trusted the wrong person. I put my family’s lives in the hands of someone who... who—”

“Peter Pettigrew,” Harry finished for him, his voice laced with bitterness.

James’s expression darkened. “He’s in Azkaban now. Serving life for what he did. But it doesn’t feel like enough.”

“In my world, things were... different,” Harry said, his voice careful. “Peter didn’t go to Azkaban. He... he got away. For years, he was hiding in plain sight.”

James frowned. “What do you mean?”

Harry hesitated before answering. “He was an Animagus. You probably know that. A rat. He spent twelve years living as my best mate’s pet.”

James’s eyes widened in shock. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was,” Harry said grimly. “I didn’t even know who Sirius was until third year, when he escaped Azkaban. Everyone thought he’d betrayed you. Thought he was the one who handed you over to Vol– You-know-who.”

James swore under his breath, his fists clenching on the table. “Sirius? My Sirius? They thought he’d betray us?”

“He didn’t,” Harry said firmly. “He tried to protect you. But Peter framed him, and... it cost him twelve years of his life.”

James’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked like he might throw his mug against the wall. “That bastard. That spineless, lying—”

Harry reached out, his voice steady. “We caught him. Eventually. But by then... it was too late for Sirius. He didn’t get those years back.”

The anger in James’s eyes faded, replaced by something softer. “I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper.

Harry shook his head, swallowing hard. “It’s not your fault. None of it was.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on them.

“How’s Remus?” James asked suddenly, his voice softer now.

Harry hesitated. “He– he didn’t make it. But he had a son. Teddy. I’m his godfather.”

James’s eyes widened in surprise. “Remus had a son?”

“Yeah. With Tonks. Nymphadora Tonks.” Harry smiled faintly. “He’s... he’s such a good kid. Smart. Funny. I try to be there for him, you know? The way Sirius was for me.”

James nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I bet you’re a great godfather.”

“I try,” Harry said quietly.

James leaned back in his chair, his gaze lingering on Harry. “You’ve done a lot,” he said softly. “More than I think anyone should ever have to.”

Harry shrugged, his throat tight. “I didn’t really have a choice.”

James studied him for a moment, then asked, “And what about Lyra? What’s... going on there?”

Harry froze, caught off guard by the question. He opened his mouth to respond but found he didn’t know what to say.

“I... I don’t know,” he admitted finally. “After the war, she disappeared. Everyone thought she was dead. And now... seeing her here, it’s just... weird.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Weird how?”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s hard to explain. She was... is important to me. And now, I don’t know what to feel.”

James nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Sounds like you’ve got some things to figure out.”

“Yeah,” Harry said quietly. He hesitated, and then asked, “Do you think about it? What it could’ve been like if things had been... normal?”

“All the time,” James admitted, his voice tinged with regret. “But thinking about it doesn’t change anything, does it? Doesn’t bring back what we lost.”

Harry nodded, his throat tight. “Yeah.”

James studied him for a moment, his gaze softening. “You’ve been through hell, haven’t you?”

Harry looked up, surprised by the bluntness of the question. “I... yeah. I guess I have.”

“And yet, here you are,” James said, a touch of pride in his voice. “You’ve survived things most people couldn’t even imagine. That’s... that’s incredible, Harry.”

Harry looked away, feeling the familiar weight of guilt and responsibility. “I didn’t do it alone,” he said quietly.

They sat in silence for a while, the weight of their conversation settling over them. Eventually, James stood, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Get some sleep, kid,” he said softly. “You’ve earned it.”

Harry nodded, watching as James left the kitchen. For a moment, he stayed where he was, staring into his glass of water.

-IV-

I HAVE A FEW WORDS TO SAY BUT MT GHOSTS LINGER

Lyra awoke with a start, the weight of her thoughts pushing her out of bed. She had a mission today, something she needed to do. Harry deserved to know what happened before she left—before everything fell apart. After the war, so much was left unsaid. So much was left unresolved. She needed to tell him, even if it hurt.

The house was quiet, save for the soft sounds of the morning birds outside. Lyra stood, brushing her teeth with the mechanical motions of someone trying to distract themselves. As she looked at her reflection, her head throbbed slightly—a dull ache behind her eyes. A muggle painkiller would have been perfect right now, but she didn't have any. She couldn’t. She wasn’t even supposed to be here, not in this world.

She spotted Madelyn’s wand on her desk as she walked out of her room, and something inside of her flinched. She picked it up instinctively, whispering, “Lumos.”

Nothing happened. The tip of the wand remained dark, its glow dead. The familiar sensation of magic was gone, and the sting of loss came rushing back. Her magic had been gone for a long time now, and she had forgotten just how much she missed it until now.

Sighing, she put the wand down and walked downstairs. The soft creak of the wooden floors beneath her feet echoed in the silence. As she entered the hallway, she froze, spotting Harry at the foot of the stairs, his hand gripping an his old wand.

“Good morning,” she said softly, her voice hoarse from sleep.

Harry’s head snapped up, startled. “Oh... hey,” he replied, a small awkward smile tugging at his lips. “Sirius just gave me my wand—he found it in the broom closet.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s, uh, in pretty rough shape, but it’s better than nothing.”

Lyra looked at the wand in his hand. It was the same wand he’d used years ago, the one she’d thought was broken—shattered after the final battle. And yet, here it was, whole again, much like the boy holding it.

“Great...” she muttered, her thoughts spiraling for a moment before she caught herself.

“Lyra, can we—” Harry began, but she interrupted him.

“Harry, can we talk?” Her words were firm, but there was a tremor in her voice that she couldn’t quite control.

His expression softened, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course.”

They began walking toward the drawing room, but before they could make it there, voices reached them—loud arguing they couldn’t ignore. Madelyn and Lily were talking to each other, their words rising higher with each passing second.

“You have to tell him he can’t come here today!” Lily's voice was sharp, full of frustration.

“But Mom—”

“Maddy, think about how he’ll feel seeing her.”

Lyra’s heart sank. The conversation felt like an invasion of privacy, but she couldn’t bring herself to walk away.

“He would be happy to see her!” Madelyn’s voice broke, like a dam ready to burst.

“And how would she feel?” Lily’s tone softened. “What if she doesn’t even know who he is?”

“I’m sure Lyra will figure it out! I talked to her last night. She’s pretty cool!” Madelyn’s words were more hopeful, but there was something behind them—something Lyra couldn’t quite read.

Lyra stood frozen for a moment, her heart racing in her chest. She had to say something, but what? She had to make sense of the chaos, not just for herself but for Harry. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel lost again.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, her voice tentative as she walked into the room with Harry at her side.

“Oh, Lyra—” Lily began, but she didn’t have a chance to finish her sentence. The fireplace suddenly erupted in a burst of green flames. A figure stepped through, and Lyra’s blood ran cold.

It was him. It was–

"–Blaise."

The force of the disarming charm sent Bellatrix stumbling back slightly, though she quickly recovered, her grip tight over her wand, her eyes burning with fury. She spat at the ground in front of Lyra.

Lyra’s heart pounded in her chest, her pulse thundering as Bellatrix’s venomous words echoed in her ears. “You dare turn against your own blood, girl?” the crazed woman hissed, her lips curling into a twisted, manic grin. “You’ll regret that, mark my words.”

Lyra's grip tightened on her wand, her fingers turning white with the force. Her gaze never wavered from her aunt’s. "I’m not you," she said, her voice steady, colder than she felt inside. "And I won’t let you destroy this place, or anyone in it."

Bellatrix’s smile widened, a sickly, victorious gleam flashing in her eyes. "We’ll see about that." With a flick of her wrist, she spat, "Avada Kedavra!"

The green light streaked toward Lyra with the speed of death itself. She had no time to react, no time to brace for what she knew would come.

But then everything went silent. It was as if the world itself had paused in that brief, agonizing moment. Lyra braced herself for the impact, her breath caught in her throat, but—

The curse missed.

She hit the floor hard, the sound of her body slamming against the stone so loud that it seemed to echo through the hall. Her vision swam with spots of black, the edges of her mind blurred by the shock. There was a ringing in her ears that drowned out all sound—except for the pounding of her heart.

Her eyes flicked to the side, and she froze.

Blaise.

He was lying on the floor a few feet away, his eyes wide and unblinking, his chest still. For a moment, it was as though the world around her had gone silent. The chaos of battle seemed to fade into nothingness, leaving only the horrible reality of what she was seeing.

No. No. No. No.

This cannot be happening.

"Blaise!" she screamed, her voice raw with panic. She scrambled toward him, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she reached for him, her fingers brushing his neck. But there was no pulse. His skin was cold, lifeless.

"Blaise, please," she sobbed, shaking him, desperate for him to respond, for him to open his eyes. "Wake up! Wake up!"

Tears flooded her vision as she clutched him to her chest, her sobs wracking her body. "Please, Blaise... don’t... don’t do this. Please!" Her voice broke on the last word, her desperation clear.

But it was no use.

“Lyra?” His voice was like a shock to her system. He looked just as stunned as she felt, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Lyra, is that really you?”

The world seemed to spin around her. The words, the voices, they all blurred into a haze as Lyra’s knees buckled beneath her. Everything—everything she thought she knew, every memory—came crashing down at once. She was distinctly aware of Harry holding her, as people crowded around her, staring at her.

And then, as if the weight of the moment was too much to bear, Lyra Malfoy fainted.

-V-

WHEN DOES ONE STOP GRIEVING

ORIGINAL UNIVERSE

2001

The small apartment in Hungary felt colder than it was, the old wood floors creaking beneath their feet. The faint light of the evening sun filtered through the dusty curtains, casting long shadows on the walls. Lyra sat near the kitchen table, a cup of tea cupped in her hands, her thoughts drifting away. Her mother, Narcissa, was across from her, her hands resting gently on the table, as though she, too, was holding onto some invisible weight.

It had been three years since the war got over.

Lyra stared at her mother, but the silence between them was heavy. Narcissa hadn’t said a word for a while, and the tension was palpable, even as Lyra longed for some kind of comfort, some distraction from the suffocating grief that had plagued her for years.

Finally, Narcissa’s voice broke the quiet, soft yet carrying a quiet intensity. “Do you ever think about going back?”

Lyra's eyes flickered to her mother, unsure at first if she had heard correctly. “Back?” she repeated, her voice low, almost to herself. “To England?”

“To everything,” Narcissa replied. Her eyes were focused on the window, but Lyra could see the pain reflected in them. “To the life we once had.”

Lyra let out a soft sigh, placing her cup down with a dull clink. The ache in her chest deepened. Going back. She hadn't thought about it in so long, but when she did, it was always the same answer: No. She couldn’t go back to what had been. Everything had changed after the war. The people she had loved, the friends she had lost, and the boy—Harry—who had been at the center of it all. If she went back, it would just hurt the people she loved more.

“No,” she finally said, her voice shaking slightly. “I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to. Too much has happened. Too much... loss.”

Narcissa nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. She leaned back in her chair, her fingers lightly drumming against the wood. “It’s hard to accept, isn’t it? The way everything just... shifts, and you’re left trying to make sense of it, trying to find your place again.”

Lyra swallowed hard, glancing out the window, feeling the familiar sting behind her eyes. She’d spent years trying to outrun the memories of what had happened, but they had a way of creeping back in, like shadows in the corners of her mind.

“You know,” Narcissa continued, “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About what Regulus told you.” She paused, her gaze distant. “I never really knew him, not in the way you think. He was always... distant, a shadow in our family. But I see now what he was trying to do. What he wanted, even if he never fully understood it himself.”

Lyra nodded, but her mother continued, her throat tightening at the mention of Regulus. “I always wondered if I could have saved him,” she whispered. “If I could have reached him before it was too late.”

“No,” Lyra said firmly. “You couldn’t have. Regulus was... was lost long before you could have known. You cannot carry the weight of that loss. He made his choices, and in the end, he was trying to redeem himself. You can’t change that.”

Narcissa closed her eyes for a moment, fighting the tears. She knew Lyra was right. She couldn’t change what had happened. But the weight of it still pressed on her, day after day.

“Do you ever regret it?” Lyra asked suddenly, her voice breaking through the silence. “Regret not running away with Sirius, like he wanted? If you had, everything could have been different. You wouldn’t have had to live through all of it. You... You could have had a different life.”

Narcissa turned her gaze back to her daughter, her expression softening. “You think I regret it?” she asked, her voice tinged with surprise.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Narcissa chuckled lightly, but it was a sad sound. “No. I don’t regret it. If I had left with Sirius, I wouldn’t have you. And I wouldn’t change that for anything.” Her voice wavered for a moment, and Lyra caught the slightest tremor in her mother’s hands. Narcissa had always been strong—had to be. But in that moment, Lyra saw a crack in that armor.

“I don’t know what I would have done without you, Lyra. You are the one good thing that came from all of this.”

Lyra blinked, her chest aching, the words that had been left unsaid for so long finally spilling out. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to keep carrying all of this, though. The war, the deaths, this illness killing me slowly... everything.”

“You are,” Narcissa said firmly. “You always were. Just like my sister... even a bit like your father, as misguided as always was.” Her voice softened as she spoke the last part, a hint of sorrow in her tone. “You have his strength, his determination. It’s in your blood.”

Lyra swallowed hard, her hands curling into fists on the table. “I don’t know, Mum. It doesn’t feel like it. I feel... lost. And Harry... After everything, after the war—I just... disappeared. We had plans and I was there with him, and then I was gone. I hope I didn't hurt him too much."

Narcissa’s face softened, her voice gentle but full of understanding. “You miss him, don’t you?”

Lyra nodded, her chest tight. “I do. I am more scared to hurt him even more. He would blame himself, if he knew. I can't do that to him. And I have seen the newspapers, they say he's almost another person now, different.”

“Sometimes,” Narcissa said softly, “We have to let go of the people we thought we knew, the people we thought we can save. We can save them and still let them go. Maybe it’s not that he has changed, but that he– he grew up. Maybe it’s time to let him be what he needs to be, without you because you can't change what happened.”

She knew her mother was talking about Regulus and not Harry but her words rang deep.

Lyra sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s hard. It’s hard to not fix things, to not try and make everything right again.”

“Not everything can be fixed,” Narcissa murmured. “And that’s the hardest lesson of all.”

Lyra stared at the table for a moment, the ache in her chest deepening. She felt so... small. She was trapped in the past, caught between the girl she used to be and the woman she had become. And in the center of it all was Harry—always Harry.

“Do you ever wonder,” Lyra asked, her voice barely above a whisper, “if things could have been different? If we hadn’t chosen the paths we did? If we had just... walked away? Maybe gone with Sirius, stayed with Aunt Andromeda, or... just not gotten involved at all?”

Narcissa was silent for a long while, her gaze focused on the dim light outside. When she finally spoke, her voice was thick with emotion.

“I think about it every day,” she admitted. “I think about what could have been, what we could have had. We still would have ended up mourning losses we can't get back. There were only two sides of the war and both suffered. I think about what has happened to us, to you, and I am okay because I have you. Right now, I still have you. And that’s all that matters.”

Lyra wiped away another tear, the pain in her chest so sharp it felt like a physical wound. “You know... I can't stop thinking about Blaise,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Narcissa’s eyes darkened, a shadow passing over her face.  "Blaise... Blaise was light. He was the light you needed, the one who kept you grounded. His loss...” She faltered, struggling to find the words. “I know his loss was the hardest of all."

"I thought I'd be okay, but I wasn't. Blaise was the one who me grounded for so long, the one who believed we would get through it. And when he... when he died, it broke something inside me.”

Lyra let out a choked sob, unable to stop herself. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye properly, Mum. I didn’t get to tell him how much he meant to me, I didn't get to go to his funeral.”

“I know, darling. I know,” Narcissa whispered, pulling Lyra into her arms. 

The two of them sat there, silently holding each other, as the weight of their grief settled between them. They didn’t need to speak more. They didn’t need to say anything else. They simply needed to be. To mourn. To remember the people they had lost, and the people they still loved.

And for a moment, that was enough.

It had been three years since the war ended but in a tiny apartment in Hungary, a mother and a daughter were still grieving.