free now

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

merry Christmas, please don't call

ORIGINAL UNIVERSE, HARRY'S POV

1999

-I-

I MISS YOU, I AM SORRY

Harry had never been one for clubs. The blaring music, the flashing lights, the sense of reckless freedom—it was all too much. But Neville had insisted.

"Come on, Harry," Neville had urged, his voice thick with concern. "You've been holed up in that flat for too long. A night out won't kill you."

Harry had stared at the invitation like it was something from another world. A world where people went out to laugh, to dance, to feel alive. A world he no longer belonged to.

"I don't know about this, Nev," Harry had said quietly, his fingers nervously tracing the edges of the old green sweater he was wearing.

"Trust me," Neville had replied, his grin full of determination. "You need this. We need this."

And so, despite every instinct telling him to stay in the safe confines of his flat, Harry found himself standing at the door of a Muggle club on the outskirts of Diagon Alley. The bass from the speakers vibrated through the soles of his shoes, the neon lights flashing erratically like an electric heartbeat. Inside, the crowd moved like a single entity—pulsing, laughing, dancing, lost in the noise.

Harry felt like a ghost.

Neville was already walking into the chaos, leading him by the elbow. Harry hesitated for a moment, then followed. The entrance was a blur of bodies, an overwhelming mix of sounds and smells—alcohol, sweat, perfume, and something else he couldn't name. For a second, he wanted to turn and run.

"You good?" Neville asked, his voice cutting through the din. He looked at Harry with an almost knowing gaze.

Harry just nodded, even though everything in him screamed otherwise. He wasn't sure he was good, but he wasn't sure he even remembered what "good" felt like anymore.

They made their way to the bar, Neville navigating the crowd like he belonged. Harry was a step behind, out of place, unsure of what he was even doing here. His heart was still heavy with the memories of the war, of her, of all the things he couldn't get back. He hated himself for it. 

"What do you want?" Neville asked once they reached the bar, already flagging down the bartender.

Harry opened his mouth, but no words came out. What did he want? Something to numb the pain? To forget? He didn't even know.

"Something strong," he muttered after a long pause, his voice rough, as if it hadn't been used in years.

Neville didn't question him. He just gave a small nod and ordered two shots. They clinked glasses, the sound sharp against the heavy bass, and Harry downed his drink in one go. The burn didn't bother him; it was almost a relief, a distraction. For a moment, all he could focus on was the heat spreading through his chest, the sharpness of the alcohol searing away the numbness.

The club felt like a fog, everything blurred, but it was a different kind of blur. He didn't have to think. He didn't have to feel.

For a while, they drifted between the bar and the dance floor. Neville was loose, free, like he didn't have a care in the world. Harry felt like an outsider, every movement awkward, forced. But as the night wore on, the alcohol worked its magic, dulling his edges, making him forget just a little bit more with each drink.

Then, out of nowhere, a woman caught his eye. Her blonde hair shimmered in the lights, her smile too bright, too easy. Harry wasn't sure why he looked, but he did, and she saw him.

"Hey, you!" she called over the music, her voice playful, her eyes locking onto his. "Wanna dance?"

It was an automatic response. "Sure." He didn't know why he said it, but he did. She grinned and grabbed his hand, pulling him onto the dance floor.

For a brief moment, he tried to enjoy it. Her body pressed against his, the music thumping through his chest, the way her lips brushed his ear as she laughed. But it didn't feel like anything. It was just noise. The rhythm of her movements didn't sync with his. She wasn't her. Lyra wasn't there. She would never be there again.

The woman turned to him, her lips curving into a smile, and before he could stop himself, he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. It was supposed to be a kiss, but it was empty. No warmth. No familiarity.

He kissed her because he needed to feel something, anything, other than the hollow ache that lived inside him. But nothing happened. It was just skin on skin. No sparks. No life.

"Harry..." Neville's voice cut through the haze in his mind, rough but clear. Harry blinked, pulling away from the woman, his head spinning. His body swayed, and he had to brace himself on her shoulder to keep from falling.

"Mate, I think it's time to go," Neville said, his tone more urgent now.

"I'm fine," Harry mumbled, but the words were slurred. The room seemed to tilt, spinning like a carousel, the noise turning into a blur. He wasn't fine. He was falling apart, piece by piece, and pretending that this—whatever this was—could fix it felt stupid.

Neville didn't argue. He just grabbed Harry's arm, leading him through the crowd toward the exit.

Once outside, the cold air hit Harry's face, but it did little to clear his head. He was dizzy, his stomach rolling, the world tilting around him. Before he could protest, his body betrayed him. He stumbled toward an alley, and without warning, dropped to his knees. His stomach heaved, and the contents of his stomach spilled into the gutter.

Neville was right behind him, steadying him, his hand firm on Harry's back as Harry gasped for breath between retches. It all hit him together.

The grief. The loneliness. The guilt.

"I can't do this, Nev," Harry choked out, his voice breaking. His hands were shaking, and his whole body trembled from the force of his sickness, both physical and emotional. "I can't... She's gone. She's gone. And I can't sleep at night. I don't know what happened to her. I keep waiting for her to come back but– but she doesn't. I can't do this, Neville. I never told her—"

"Hey," Neville said quietly, his voice a calm anchor in the storm. "It's alright. It's alright to hurt. But you can't keep doing this to yourself, mate. You're not alone, you know? You will always have us."

Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his breath shaky. "I don't know how to stop, Nev. I don't know how to live in a world where she's not here. I keep trying to forget, to move on, but it's like she's still with me. But she's not. She's probably never coming back. And I—I can't do this anymore. I can't keep pretending."

Neville crouched down beside him, his eyes soft but steady. He didn't try to give Harry answers, didn't offer words of wisdom or empty comfort. He just sat there, his presence a silent promise that Harry didn't have to face this alone.

"You did what you could, Harry," Neville said after a long silence, his voice low but steady. "We all did. But sometimes– sometimes there's nothing we can do but live with the loss. And that... that's the hardest part."

"I should've been there. I should've told her I loved her. I should have kept her safe," Harry whispered, his words barely audible. He could feel the tears rising again, his chest tightening as grief hit him all over again.

"I know, mate. I know."

They sat there in the alley, in silence. Harry's sobs echoed in the dark, and Neville's presence was the only thing that kept him grounded. They didn't need to say anything else.

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE, MULTIPLE POVS

-II-

WAKE UP MY DARLING, THE WORLD IS OKAY NOW

The room felt suffocating as Harry cradled Lyra in his arms. Her body was limp, too light for someone who had once felt so solid, so real. The moment she'd collapsed in front of him, the world had gone still. His breath was ragged, his heart thundering in his chest as he rushed to lift her up, trying to keep his panic in check. He had no idea what was happening. He had no idea what had just—

"Get her to Madelyn's room!" Lily's voice cut through the fog of his thoughts. "Quickly, Harry!"

He nodded wordlessly, his arms tightening around Lyra's unconscious form as he stumbled down the hall. Her forehead was burning, too hot for comfort, but her face, though pale, remained calm, almost peaceful—if not for the faint sheen of sweat beading on her skin. His mind was a whirl of confusion and fear, trying to make sense of it all, trying to understand the girl who had once been everything to him, and was now a stranger in his arms.

"Madelyn! What the fuck is going on?" Blaise's voice snapped through the tension, his words sharp with urgency. Harry didn't have time to look back at him. His focus was entirely on Lyra, her weight heavy in his arms.

Lily, who had been leading the way, turned to him as he reached Madelyn's room. "Just put her down here," she instructed, stepping aside to allow him space. He carefully lowered Lyra onto the bed, not trusting his shaky hands to do much else. His heart felt like it was in his throat, beating so hard he could almost hear it.

Lily was still standing near the bed, her hands smoothing Lyra's hair back from her fevered forehead. "Harry," she said, her voice soft but filled with a tension that Harry couldn't quite place, "Can you sit with her for a moment? I need to get something."

But Harry barely registered her words. He was kneeling by Lyra, his hand brushing against her clammy skin. She was burning up. Burning up.

"Lyra," he whispered urgently, his voice trembling with a desperation he couldn't hide. "Please, please wake up. Don't do this." His voice cracked on the last word. He had questions. He needed her to answer them. 

Lily rushed back into the room, a small vial of potion clutched tightly in her hand. She moved toward Lyra's bed with purpose, bending over her and gently lifting her head.

"She's burning up," Harry muttered, his voice tight with worry. "What's happening to her?"

"She'll be okay," Lily replied quickly, though her face betrayed the hint of uncertainty. "Just a moment. This should help her."

"Drink this, dear," The older woman murmured, her voice soft but insistent as she began to tilt the vial to Lyra's lips. "It'll help you rest."

Lyra's lips parted, and her eyelids fluttered briefly before she muttered something under her breath, her voice too quiet to be heard clearly. "Harry... I can't leave him."

Lily froze for a moment, her hand pausing over the vial. Harry's eyes snapped to Lyra's face as her words registered in his brain. His heart skipped a beat.

"She's talking," he whispered, his voice barely audible, his hand trembling more than before as he brushed her damp hair away from her forehead. He needed to know what was happening to her. What she was trying to say.

Lily looked up at him with a small frown, but she continued to feed Lyra the potion. "It's okay, Harry," she said gently, though there was a tightness in her voice. "She's... she's dreaming."

"Nightmare." Harry realized. He had them too, it's why he could barely sleep a full night. The thought of it hurting Lyra the same way it hurt him broke something inside him.

Lily nodded, looking back at Lyra with a sympathetic expression. "Yes. She's experiencing PTSD—Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. You guys went through something terrible. She is reliving it in her dreams."

Lyra's body tensed as if gripped by an unseen force. Her skin burned hot to the touch, her breathing shallow and erratic. Harry sat by her side, helpless, his fingers brushing her damp hair back as he tried to soothe her, but the words she spoke only deepened his worry.

Her lips parted, a tortured whisper slipping from her mouth. "Blaise... no... not you, please... don't leave me..."

Harry's heart twisted. His mind distinctly went back years, to their years in Hogwarts. Blaise and Lyra were like two peas in a pod, he was as close to a brother she had. His mind suddenly flashed with the memory of her crying over Blaise's dead body. Harry glanced at Lily, who was standing by the bedside, her face etched with concern.

"I'm here, Lyra," Harry whispered, though he didn't know if she could hear him. His voice broke slightly, the weight of everything they had both gone through in their world pressing down on him. He gently brushed his hand against her cheek, feeling the dampness of sweat, the fever burning through her body.

Her body jerked as if struck by an invisible force, and she cried out again. "Blaise, please... don't die..."

"Lyra, it's Harry," he said, his voice desperate now. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Please, wake up. You're not alone."

But Lyra didn't respond. Her eyes remained closed, her face twisted in agony as the nightmare held her in its grip.

Her breathing hitched. She was trembling, her body wracked with silent sobs. "I... I couldn't save you... Blaise, I couldn't..." Her voice faltered, breaking on the last words, and Harry felt his own heart constrict with her pain.

A sharp gasp escaped her lips as she seemed to wake, only to fall into another cycle of delirious muttering. "Harry... no... don't leave me... I'm sorry..."

Harry leaned closer, his voice soothing as he tried to hold her attention, but her words were scattered, lost in a haze of fear and guilt. "Lyra, please," he murmured, stroking her hair gently. "I'm here. You're not alone. It's just a nightmare... you're safe."

Her eyes fluttered open for just a moment, and her gaze met his with a look of confusion and fear. She whispered again, too softly for him to make out, and then her eyes drifted shut once more, leaving her caught in the grip of a memory that only she could see.

Lily stepped forward with another vial, her expression softening as she approached Lyra. She gently lifted the girl's head, helping her take another potion as it dripped from the edge of the glass.

A sharp gasp escaped her lips as she seemed to wake, only to fall into another cycle of delirious muttering. "Harry... no... don't leave me... I'm sorry I didn't mean for this to happen..."

Harry leaned closer, his voice soothing as he tried to hold her attention, but her words were scattered, lost in a haze of fear and guilt. "Lyra, please," he murmured, stroking her hair gently. "I'm here. You're not alone. It's just a nightmare... you're safe."

Her eyes fluttered open for just a moment, and her gaze met his with a look of confusion and fear. She whispered again, too softly for him to make out, and then her eyes drifted shut once more, leaving her caught in the grip of a memory that only she could see.

 "I'm so sorry... I couldn't... protect you, Harry..."

Harry's heart lurched at her words, his own guilt mixing with hers. He had felt that same helplessness. He'd felt that same weight when he couldn't save everyone, when he couldn't protect the people he loved. But hearing her apologize, hearing her suffer as if she had failed him, only deepened his pain.

"It's okay, Lyra," he whispered, his voice barely audible. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his voice breaking slightly. "You didn't fail anyone. You didn't fail me. You've been through so much."

As the seconds stretched into minutes, Harry continued to hold her hand, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts— thoughts of Blaise, of the war, of the life they had lost. But the one thought that steadied him, that kept him grounded, was that he wasn't going to let Lyra slip away again.

Not if he could help it.

"Let's let her rest now," Lily muttered, "James and Sirius will be back soon, I'll ask them to grab more ingredients for this potion. It seems to calm her fever down." 

She was right, Lyra was calming down, slipping into a more peaceful sleep.

"I'll– I'll stay here till she wakes up," Harry muttered. "Incase she needs something."

Lily nodded. "Okay. I'll send up some breakfast for you."

-III-

WHO ARE YOU WITHOUT YOUR SECRETS?

The world was spinning as Lyra slowly drifted back to consciousness. She felt like she'd been struck by a bludger—a dull, throbbing ache at the back of her head, a weight in her chest, and a sense of overwhelming exhaustion that made it difficult to open her eyes. Her body felt heavy, unresponsive, as if she'd just woken from the deepest, most restless sleep.

The first thing she registered was the throbbing in her temples. It was the kind of pain she was all too familiar with—the sort of headache that came after sleepless nights and emotional turmoil, the kind that followed waking up after a war, a life that had never truly healed.

"Lyra, wake up."

A woman's voice. Familiar, but strange. The voice was gentle, but there was an urgency behind it, a concern that Lyra hadn't been able to place in the fog of her half-sleep.

Lyra's eyes fluttered open, but all she could make out were shapes and shadows, too blurry to distinguish. She reached up, instinctively clutching her forehead as the headache worsened.

"Mum, you need to get me more painkillers... I'll call in sick from work," she muttered, her voice thick with the remnants of sleep. She didn't realize she had spoken until the words left her mouth, and for a moment, she didn't understand what she was saying. 

The reality came crashing back in fragments.

"Lyra?" the voice came again, more insistent now. "Lyra, sweetheart, it's Lily. You're safe, alright?"

Lily.

Her mind scrambled for clarity. But it was hard to focus—everything felt like it was still swimming just out of reach.

Lyra blinked again, trying to focus, to make sense of the moment. She could feel someone's hand resting on her arm, a steadying presence. It wasn't her mother. Her mother...

Her throat tightened. She fought to shake the panic, to shove away the fear, but the more she tried to clear her thoughts, the worse her headache got.

"Lyra," Lily said again, her voice softer this time, a touch of something like sorrow in her tone. "You're not at work. You're here, at the Potter Manor. You've been very sick. Just breathe, okay?"

Lyra's breathing hitched, her chest tight with confusion, her mind still swirling.

"What... What happened?" she whispered, feeling the words catch in her throat. The space around her felt foreign, like she was waking up in someone else's life. Her hands were shaking slightly as she tried to sit up, but the movement only made her head spin even more. She immediately regretted it.

Lily was quick to place a hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her back down. "You're safe. You passed out, Lyra. You were feverish. You've been through a lot, and you need to rest."

But even as she said it, Lyra felt the gnawing pull of everything she had been trying to forget. The war, being pulled into another reality, seeing Blaise, the things she had lost. The nightmares had been so real. She hadn't expected to wake up from them.

"Sorry..." Lyra muttered, her voice quiet but full of the shame she'd carried for far too long. "I didn't mean to... not to cause a scene."

Lily smiled softly, though it was tinged with a sadness Lyra couldn't quite read. "You're allowed to react when stuff happens. No one expects you to hold it all in. No one expects you to be fine just because you're awake."

Her words felt so strange to Lyra. She'd never been one to show weakness, never one to burden others with her pain. But here, with Lily—someone who understood—everything felt different. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Or maybe it was the headache that made her feel like she was losing control.

Lyra groaned softly, and Lily gently lifted her head, offering her the same potion she had given her earlier. "It'll help with the pain. Please, just drink a little more. You'll feel better."

Lyra stared at the glass, her fingers trembling slightly as she took it. She drank it slowly, wincing slightly at the taste. It was bitter, but it soothed the fire in her skull, even if only a little.

"I—" Lyra hesitated, then her voice cracked. She couldn't hold it back anymore, the memories crashing through her defenses like a tidal wave. "I am so sorry. I– I saw Blaise and I just... I really failed him in our world. He died saving me. It was all my fault."

The words came out so broken, so raw. The pain of the memory felt sharp and real, like it had just happened. She couldn't stop it from spilling out.

Lily's hand rested on her shoulder once more, comforting, steady. "You couldn't have known. You couldn't have done anything to stop it, Lyra. And that... that's not your fault. You're carrying so much, and you've been holding it in for far too long."

Lyra closed her eyes, trying to shut out the pain. She didn't want to be this vulnerable, this fragile. Not with anyone, not after everything she had been through.

But Lily's voice softened again, full of understanding. "I know it hurts. But you're not alone in this, alright? Harry's here, too."

At the mention of Harry, Lyra's heart gave a painful jolt, her chest tightening once more. She had planned to talk to him, tell him the truth but in that, she hadn't really been present for him in the chaos of her own mind.

She turned slowly, wincing at the ache in her neck, and found Harry sitting beside her, his face pale, his eyes tired but full of concern. His presence was like a balm, a comfort she hadn't realized she needed so desperately.

"I'm here," Harry said softly, his voice full of reassurance. "You're okay, Lyra. I am here. You're safe here."

Safe. But was she? The words didn't feel real, not with the weight of the past still clinging to her like a shadow. But Harry's gaze—the same gaze she remembered so well, filled with both pain and hope—reached her.

"I'm sorry..." she whispered again, so softly it barely made it past her lips.

Harry shook his head, his hand resting gently on hers. "Don't apologize," he said, his voice breaking. "You don't have to apologize. And I need you to know that didn't fail anyone. Not me. Not Blaise. None of us."

Lyra squeezed his hand, not sure whether it was for comfort or for something else—something deeper, something unsaid. But she held on tight, as if trying to tether herself to him, to this moment, to the fragile hope that maybe—just maybe—things could be different now.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice shaky. "Thank you for being here."

And for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to believe it. To believe that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't alone after all.

"Harry, why don't you go get ready for dinner," Lily asked, "I just need to talk to Lyra."

Lyra hesitated as the warmth of Harry's hand left hers. He stood up at Lily's request, stretching his back with a weary sigh. "I'll go freshen up," he muttered. His gaze lingered on Lyra a moment longer, as though confirming she was really awake and not fading from his sight again.

She forced a small smile, though the heaviness of his concern tugged at her. "I'm fine, Harry. Go. I'm not going anywhere."

He gave a small nod, but his eyes betrayed his doubt. Then, reluctantly, he left the room.

The quiet settled awkwardly, broken only by the faint hum of bustling activity beyond the door. Lyra turned to Lily, who was tidying the bedside table with a distracted focus.

"I ruined Christmas, didn't I?" Lyra said softly, her voice hoarse but edged with guilt.

Lily turned to her, startled. "What? No, not at all." She moved closer, shaking her head emphatically. "You've only been out for a few hours. There's still plenty of Christmas left to enjoy. The food is almost ready, and everyone's eager to see you feeling better." She offered a small smile, though it didn't fully reach her eyes. "It's not every year we have such an... interesting holiday."

Lyra chuckled weakly, rubbing her temples. "Interesting. That's one way to put it."

Lily pulled up a chair beside her, her smile fading into something more serious. "Lyra, I wanted to talk to you about something before Harry comes back. It's... important."

Lyra blinked, her tired mind struggling to process the shift in tone. She nodded, bracing herself. "What is it?"

Lily hesitated, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "When you fainted, I tried to heal you. Your fever wasn't natural—I couldn't find a cause. That's strange enough for anyone, but especially for a witch. Our magical cores protect us from common ailments like that. But yours..." She trailed off, watching Lyra's expression carefully.

"My magical core?" Lyra prompted, though her heart was already sinking.

Lily took a deep breath. "It's injured. Badly. When I tried to examine it, it felt... fragile, like it was barely holding on. I've never seen anything like it, Lyra. It's almost as if..." She hesitated, her voice softening. "As if it's dying."

The words hung in the air like a stone dropping into a still lake. Lyra looked away, her jaw tightening.

"You're not wrong," she admitted after a long pause, her voice barely audible.

Lily's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Lyra swallowed hard, her hands twisting in her lap. She had wanted to tell Harry first, but now... now it felt safer to confide in Lily. She glanced at the door, making sure it was firmly shut.

"My core is dying," she confessed. "It has been for a long time. It's why I left our world in the first place."

"I don't understand."

"Do you know what it feels like to love someone so much that you'd give up everything for them? To look at them and know they're the best thing that's ever happened to you, and all you want to do is keep them safe—even if it destroys you?"

Lily's eyes softened, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. "I do. I felt that way about James. And about Madelyn."

Lyra's throat tightened, her grip on the mug trembling. "That's how I feel about Harry. He's... he's everything to me, Lily. He's the only one who's ever made me feel like I'm more than my name, more than my family's sins. When I was with him, I could finally breathe. I could be myself. He made me feel like I mattered, like I was worth loving." Her voice broke, tears spilling down her cheeks. "And I can't—I can't let him carry this."

Lily leaned forward, placing a hand gently on Lyra's knee. "What can't he carry, Lyra? What are you so afraid of him knowing?"

Lyra swallowed hard, her hands trembling slightly. She hesitated before speaking again, her voice low and cracking. "Do you remember when we told you about our war? You-know-who had given Harry an ultimatum—an hour to surrender himself or everyone he loved would die."

Lily's expression tightened, "Don't tell me he actually considered going!"

"He actually went," Lyra exhaled shakily, her fingers twisting the blanket on her lap. "I couldn't just stand by and do nothing. Snape... Snape had told me about a spell—a binding spell, one so ancient and powerful it could only be cast once in a lifetime, if ever. It was supposed to shield Harry, to absorb any lethal magic aimed at him and redirect it... to me."

Lily's eyes widened, a hand flying to her mouth. "Lyra, you—"

"I knew what I was doing," Lyra interrupted, her voice trembling but resolute. "I knew the cost. I knew it would damage my magical core irreparably, that it could kill me outright. But I couldn't let him die, Lily. I couldn't stand by and watch the world lose him. I couldn't—" Her voice broke, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Lily reached out, covering Lyra's hand with her own. "You gave him a part of yourself," she said softly, her tone filled with a mixture of awe and heartbreak. "That's why your core is dying, isn't it? You tethered your life to his. It's also why you came here with him."

Lyra nodded, tears slipping silently down her face. "The spell worked. When You-know-who tried to kill him... the curse passed through him and into me. It destroyed the Horcrux inside him, but it also tore my core apart. I woke up just minutes after Harry did, I reckon. When I woke up, I knew my magic was... fractured, gone. And over time, I've been fading. Slowly, painfully. I get sick really often, there's no explanation for it."

Lily's expression wavered, her own tears glistening in her eyes. "Lyra... why didn't you tell Harry?"

"Because I didn't want him to carry that guilt," Lyra whispered, her voice raw. "He already blames himself for so much—Cedric, Sirius, Remus... Fred. If he knew what I did, what I sacrificed... it would destroy him. I know him, he has a tendency to blame all the bad stuff happening to him on himself. I thought if I left, if I stayed away, he could move on. He could be happy without me dragging him down."

Lily's grip on Lyra's hand tightened. "But he doesn't look happy, Lyra. He's barely holding it together. He loves you, anyone can see that. If it were James and if I lost him without knowing why, it would haunt me for the rest of my life. If you let this secret fester, that's what would happen to Harry."

Lyra let out a shaky breath, her head falling into her hands. "I thought I was doing the right thing," she murmured. "I thought... maybe I could fade quietly, and he'd never have to know."

"But he does know," Lily said gently. "He might not know the details, but he knows something's wrong. And it seems to be tearing him apart not knowing how to help you."

Lyra looked up, her tear-streaked face etched with anguish. "I don't know if I'm strong enough to tell him, Lily. I don't even know if I can face it myself."

"You're stronger than you think," Lily replied, her voice steady. "And you're not alone anymore. Harry, me, my whole family—we'll face this together. But you have to let us in."

The room fell silent, the weight of Lily's words sinking deep into Lyra's chest. She closed her eyes, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. For so long, she had carried this burden alone, shielding Harry from the truth. But now, sitting here with Lily, she felt the faintest flicker of hope.

Lily squeezed her hands tightly, her voice shaking. "He loves you, doesn't he? He'd want to be there for you."

Lyra's tears flowed freely now, her face crumpling. "I don't know how to tell him," she whispered. "How do you tell someone you love that they're the reason you're dying?"

Lily pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her as she sobbed. "You tell him with love," she said softly. "The same way you told me. Because he deserves to know how much you love him, and how much you've done for him. And because he deserves the chance to love you back, no matter how much time you have left."

"I'll tell him," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Not today, but soon. He deserves to know."

Lily smiled at her softly. "You're not alone, Lyra," she repeated softly. "Whatever happens, we'll face it together."

"Thank you so much, Lily."

"And..." Lily hesitated as she got up, "For what it's worth, thank you. You seem to be saving my children in every universe."

-IV-

YOU GAIN SOME, YOU LOSE SOME

The warm glow of the Christmas lights reflected off the golden ornaments hanging from the tree as Lyra followed Harry down the staircase, her heart already picking up pace. The house was bustling with the sounds of laughter and the smell of dinner filling the air. Lyra had barely had time to register the surreal nature of being in a world so different from the one she knew, but tonight, everything felt even stranger.

Harry had been strangely quiet, and Lyra couldn't help but wonder if he was just like that now. She missed who he used to be, the boy who would keep talking even when people told him to stop. Now, his eyes just kept drifting to Lyra's with worry, as if he was scared she would suddenly vanish. "I just fainted, you know" she told him.

"I know," Harry replied, "That's not normal, Lyra."

"You fainted after seeing a dementor, I fainted after seeing my dead best friend. It's not that deep, Potter."

"I guess..." He just looked away.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Lyra's eyes immediately locked onto another unfamiliar figure who was standing by the kitchen doorway, adjusting his collar. He was tall with dark hair, a smile that could only reminder of her mother and Sirius. The famous Black smile. Her mind drifted quickly to when she had casted the spell that saved Harry's life. This was Regulus Black, the ghost in their previous lives. He froze for a split second as their gazes met.

Lyra's breath hitched in her throat. The feeling that washed over her was unmistakable—a wave of déjà vu so strong that it nearly knocked the air out of her lungs. She was suddenly back in her own world, standing in the same dimly lit room, facing him again. This Regulus, though, wasn't the man she had met then—he was much older, unaware of the future that had already passed for her while have the future he was supposed to have had.

Regulus's eyes widened when he saw her. He blinked, taking a slow step forward. "I—I knew what was going on, Sirius filled me in but oh my Merlin..." His voice trailed off, and his mouth opened as if he couldn't quite find the right words. "You look just like her."

Lyra cleared her throat, her voice steady but carrying a certain edge of emotion she couldn't quite suppress. "And you look just like... you."

Harry, standing a little behind her, blinked between the two of them, clearly confused. "Lyra, do you know who this is?"

Lyra nodded slowly, her gaze still locked on Regulus. "Yes... this was... is my mother's cousin. Regulus. Sirius's brother."

Harry's eyes went wide, the shock clear on his face. "Regulus? Like RAB? But didn't he—"

Lyra swiftly poked him in the ribs, cutting him off. "Don't start with that now, Harry. Let's just... let's just sit down for dinner, alright?"

Harry looked at her, clearly still rattled by the unexpected revelation, but didn't press further. Regulus stood there, still processing the moment, his eyes never leaving Lyra's face. He cleared his throat and tried to regain his composure.

"I didn't realize... I didn't think it was possible," Regulus muttered, stepping closer. "I thought... well, I thought Dumbledore would never manage it. I told him it was insane."

Lyra's throat tightened. "Apparently, he did manage it," she said, her voice softer than she intended. "We're real. And despite what we want, we're here."

Regulus nodded, though there was a tension in his posture that spoke volumes—confusion, disbelief, a mix of emotions he clearly hadn't expected to experience today. His gaze flickered to Harry, then back to Lyra.

"You must have questions. I'm sure you have many questions."

"Maybe," Lyra replied, her expression guarded. "But not here. Let's... not ruin Christmas dinner even more with more strange talk."

Regulus looked at her, and for a moment, there was a shared understanding between them—an understanding of how strange and out of place this all felt.

"Alright," Regulus said, a bit of warmth slipping into his voice. "We'll pick this up later then."

Lyra settled into her seat at the long, festively decorated dining table, her movements stiff and uncertain. She could feel Blaise’s presence before she turned to look at him. He was seated beside her, the sharp, youthful angles of his face achingly familiar yet jarringly different. This wasn’t her Blaise—this Blaise hadn’t faced the same battles, hadn’t shared the weight of the war with her. And yet, his presence stirred a deep ache in her chest.

Blaise, for his part, seemed just as disoriented. He glanced at her, then away, and back again, like he was trying to reconcile the woman next to him with the memory of the best friend he had lost years ago.

“So...” Blaise began, his voice low and uncertain. “This is... weird, right?”

Lyra gave a small laugh, though it came out more like a sigh. “Weird doesn’t even begin to cover it,” she admitted, looking down at the plate in front of her.

Blaise shifted in his seat, the tension rolling off him palpable. “You’re really... you,” he said finally, his gaze flickering to her face as if searching for proof.

“I am,” she said softly, glancing at him. “And you’re really... you.” Her throat tightened as she said the words, and she quickly looked away.

Blaise let out a short, humorless laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever been analyzed so thoroughly before,” he said, trying to break the tension.

“Sorry,” Lyra said quickly, her cheeks flushing. “It’s just... it’s hard to explain. Seeing you like this...” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s nice. Strange, but nice.”

Blaise nodded slowly, his gaze flickering over her face. “You look older.” The words slipped out before he could stop them, and his face flushed with embarrassment. “I mean—not in a bad way! Just... you’re not the same Lyra I... knew.”

She smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re not the same Blaise I knew either. Except... you are.” She glanced at him, her throat tightening. “That’s what makes this so strange.”

There was a long silence between them. The rest of the table was alive with chatter—Harry animatedly discussing Quidditch with James, Madelyn and Regulus exchanging quiet jokes, and Sirius loudly debating with Remus over the merits of goose versus turkey. But at their end of the table, the tension hung heavy.

“You know, I...” Blaise began quietly, his voice uncertain. “I never thought I’d see you again. When they told me who you were... I didn’t believe it. I thought it was some cruel joke.”

Lyra’s hands clenched in her lap. She felt a surge of guilt—she hadn’t asked for this, hadn’t wanted to walk into his life like this, reopening wounds that had barely healed.

“I didn’t want to believe it either,” she admitted. “When I saw you, I thought—I thought maybe I was dreaming. Or hallucinating.”

Blaise let out a breathy laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah, well... neither of us gets to wake up from this, do we?”

“No,” she said softly, her chest tightening at the weight of his words.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, as if compelled by some unspoken need, Blaise turned to her fully. “What was I like? In your world?”

Lyra blinked, caught off guard by the question. She hesitated, searching his face. Did he really want to know? Could she even answer without unraveling?

“You were...” She swallowed hard, memories surging forward like a tide. “You were my best friend. The one person I could always count on, no matter what. You were brave, and loyal, and... you had this way of making everything feel a little less impossible. Even when things were at their worst.”

She hesitated, her voice softening. “But I lost you.”

Blaise stiffened slightly, his expression unreadable. “You lost me?” he echoed, his voice quiet.

Lyra nodded, her hands clenching the edges of her napkin. “During the war... you—” Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat. “You died saving me.”

Silence fell between them, heavy and unyielding. Blaise stared at her, his jaw tight. “What happened?”

Lyra forced herself to meet his gaze. “It was the final battle,” she began, her voice steady despite the emotions threatening to choke her. “I was cornered—trapped. My aunt was about to finish me off. And then you stepped in. You shielded me from the curse.”

Blaise inhaled sharply, the weight of her words crashing over him. “I... died for you?”

“Yes,” Lyra said, her voice trembling. “You gave me a chance to live. And I’ve carried that with me every day since.”

Blaise leaned back, his expression conflicted. “That’s... heavy,” he said finally. “In my world, I lost you.”

Lyra stilled, the words sinking in.

“You were my best friend too,” Blaise continued, his voice quieter. “You always had my back. And then, one day... you were just gone. It broke something in me.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of shared grief—and love—hanging between them.

“I guess... it’s different here,” Blaise said, his lips quirking into a faint, bittersweet smile. “But seeing you alive... I think I’ll take the weirdness over the alternative.”

Lyra smiled, her eyes glistening. “I feel the same.”

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy. But in that moment, Lyra knew, without a doubt, that in every universe, Blaise was hers.

-V-

MY NEIGHBORS THINK IM CRAZY BUT THEY DON'T UNDERSTAND

Lyra shifted her attention from Blaise to the lively conversation unfolding at the dinner table. 

“And then, of course, James had to jump in headfirst—literally! Straight into the Slytherin common room like he belonged there. It was brilliant,” Sirius said, slapping the table for emphasis.

Lily groaned. “You’re talking about the time you broke into the common room again, aren’t you?”

“It was an adventure,” James said defensively, his grin betraying how proud he was.

“An adventure,” Lily echoed, raising an eyebrow. “That’s what you call it? An adventure? Sneaking into a common room you had no business being in?”

“I’d call it bravery,” Sirius said smugly, leaning back in his chair. “Pure Gryffindor bravery.”

“Or idiocy,” Remus muttered, sipping from his glass.

“I still don’t understand why you thought it was a good idea,” Lily said, shaking her head as she gestured toward James and Sirius. “Sneaking into the Slytherin common room of all places?”

“It was a matter of principle, Lily,” James replied, pushing his glasses up his nose in mock seriousness. “They insulted the noble art of Quidditch. Our Quidditch.”

Sirius barked a laugh, slapping the table. “That’s not what happened, Prongs! They just said Hufflepuff had a better Seeker than you!”

James gasped dramatically. “Blasphemy! You see, Lily, I had to defend my honor.”

“You mean your ego,” Remus muttered into his drink, earning a round of chuckles.

Sirius grinned. “We got in, didn’t we? All thanks to my ingenious plan.”

Regulus, who had been quietly sipping his wine, raised an eyebrow. “Oh yes, the ingenious plan where you borrowed robes from me, convinced Barty Crouch Jr. you were joining his secret Slytherin-only dueling club, and then nearly got hexed to bits when you tried to charm open the portrait door.”

“You knew about that?” Sirius asked, his grin faltering.

Regulus gave him a pointed look. “Of course, I knew. You’re lucky I distracted Snape long enough for you to escape. You're welcome.”

Madelyn, seated between Lily and Blaise, was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. “Wait—wait—you mean to tell me Uncle Sirius nearly got caught?”

“Nearly?” Regulus echoed with a smirk. “He would have been strung up by his ankles in the Slytherin common room if not for me.”

James waved a hand dismissively. “Details, details. The point is, it was a glorious adventure. And no one was strung up by their ankles... this time.”

“Don’t forget,” Remus chimed in, his voice tinged with amusement, “the actual reason you sneaked in was to swap out the Slytherin banner with one that said ‘Hufflepuff for the Win.’”

Blaise snorted, shaking his head. “And here I thought the Gryffindor reputation for bravery was exaggerated. Turns out it’s just stupidity in disguise.”

“Hey!” Sirius shot back, though his grin betrayed his lack of offense. “That stupidity won us eternal glory. Or at least a good laugh.”

"Why don't you guys have security there?" Madelyn laughed, looking at Blaise.

“We are the security!” Blaise chimed in, shaking his head. “Though clearly, they weren’t very good at it back then.”

“Speak for yourself,” Regulus cut in dryly, arching an eyebrow. “ Though, I did spend my entire school life cleaning up his messes.” He pointed at Sirius, who gave an exaggerated gasp.

“Me? What did I ever do to you?” Sirius asked, clutching his chest dramatically.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Regulus said, tapping his chin as if deep in thought. “Borrowing my robes to pose as a Slytherin? Nearly getting hexed in the hallways? Using my name to get into a restricted area?”

James snorted. “To be fair, that last one worked like a charm.”

“It did not!” Regulus shot back. “It nearly got me detention, you idiot!”

Madelyn laughed so hard she nearly toppled into Blaise. “Uncle Sirius, you’re a menace!”

“You’re only saying that because you’re not old enough to appreciate my genius,” Sirius replied, grinning broadly.

Lyra raised an eyebrow, finally speaking up. “Wait a minute. So, you—” she pointed at Sirius and James—“actually broke into the Slytherin common room?”

James puffed up with pride. “More than once.”

“I cannot emphasize enough how little sense that makes,” Lyra said, crossing her arms. “You’re telling me the lot of you just... waltzed in there?”

“Waltzed? No. Sneaked? Yes,” Sirius said, his grin widening.

Lyra sighed, leaning back in her chair. “You Gryffindors are unbelievable.”

“Wait, wait,” Harry suddenly said, leaning forward. “I sneaked into the Slytherin common room once too.”

The room went silent as all heads turned toward him. Lyra furrowed her brow. “Wait—what? When did that happen?”

“Second year,” Harry said, casually leaning back in his chair. “Ron and I brewed Polyjuice Potion. We pretended to be Crabbe and Goyle so we could interrogate you about the Chamber of Secrets actually.”

Sirius cackled. “Now that’s a proper Gryffindor stunt! Go on, Harry!”

Harry grinned. “So, we drank the potion—tasted disgusting, by the way—and marched right into the Slytherin common room. It was... gloomy.”

“Gloomy?” Regulus said with mock offense. “Our common room is elegant and sophisticated, thank you very much.”

“Elegant and sophisticated like a dungeon,” Harry quipped, earning a laugh from Sirius.

“Wait, wait,” Lyra interjected, holding up a hand. “You actually went in? What happened?”

Harry’s grin widened. “Well, we had to keep up appearances. You were about to start ranting about how annoying a certain girl is—”

“Who?” Madelyn asked eagerly.

“Ginny,” Harry said, chuckling. “Ron almost blew our cover right there. I think you had some problem with her in second year.”

"I had a problem with Ginny?" Lyra thought hard back to her second year, about ten years ago, "Oh Merlin! Yes! It was because I was being nice to you for once and the Ginny started yelling at me and you didn't defend me! I keep grudges."

"I am aware!" Harry laughed and Lyra marveled at the sound. She hadn't heard that genuine laugh in years, "Anyways, I was so scared of you back then–"

"Of me?" Lyra gasped. 

“Yes, you!” Harry said, pointing at her. “You stopped us to ask why we were walking so weird. Ron panicked and said we had eaten bad pudding.”

Lyra stared at him, her mouth opening and closing. “Wait—are you telling me that you were Goyle, and I had a whole conversation with you?”

Harry nodded, looking far too pleased with himself.

Sirius slapped the table, roaring with laughter. “Goyle! Oh, that’s rich. And you didn’t even notice?”

“How could I have known?” Lyra shot back, her face flushing. “I didn’t exactly expect someone from Gryffindor to be Polyjuiced into Crabbe and Goyle!”

Blaise, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, managed to add, “Let me guess, you also didn't know the password and had to bluff your way in?”

Harry looked sheepish. “Actually, Lyra knew it. Then she was going to go on another rant– something about blood purity—”

“That tracks,” Regulus muttered dryly, earning more laughter.

Lily groaned, rubbing her temples. “Honestly, you’re all terrible influences. James, Sirius, Remus and Harry too. Merlin help the next generation.”

“Don’t lump me in with them!” Remus protested. “I was always the voice of reason.”

“You joined in plenty of times,” Sirius teased. “Don’t think we’ve forgotten your brilliant plan to smuggle a bowtruckle into the dungeons.”

Remus sighed, but the corners of his mouth twitched. “That was for educational purposes.”

“Educationally chaotic,” James said with a grin.

Lyra shook her head, a laugh finally breaking free from her lips. She couldn’t help it—the absurdity of it all was infectious.

“Honestly, you guys,” she said, her voice tinged with exasperation but softened by amusement. “What is it with you and breaking into places you don’t belong?”

Harry leaned toward Lyra, grinning broadly. “It’s the Gryffindor way,” he said, waving his fork for emphasis.

Sirius raised his glass in agreement, sloshing wine dangerously close to the rim. “Hear, hear!”

Lyra opened her mouth to retort, but Harry cut her off, his grin turning mischievous. “Don’t act all innocent. You were no angel at Hogwarts either, Lyra.”

“I—what?” Lyra stammered, caught off guard by the sudden attention.

“Oh, don’t even start,” Harry said, eyes glinting with amusement. “You used to drag Blaise into all sorts of ridiculous situations—”

He stopped abruptly, realizing his mistake as the table went quiet. Everyone’s eyes darted to the Blaise sitting next to Lyra, who froze mid-drink.

For a long, awkward moment, Blaise stared at Harry, his brow furrowed. Then, to everyone’s surprise, he broke into a grin. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but go on.”

Harry hesitated but took Blaise’s reaction as permission to continue. “Well, in our world,” he began carefully, “Lyra had this... habit. She used to sneak into the kitchens at night and drag people along with her. One time, she forced me to spend an entire night eating cake. And I do mean entire night.”

Lily nearly dropped her fork. “What?”

“Oh, it’s true,” Harry said, gaining confidence as Blaise chuckled softly beside Lyra. “She woke me up at some ridiculous hour with an owl, saying—and I quote—‘Harry, you haven’t truly lived until you’ve experienced the artistry of house-elf baking.' I thought Ron would kill me, with the way her owl screaming outside my window. Next thing I know, I’m sitting on a counter at three in the morning, trying cake after cake while she critiques the frosting.”

Lyra groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Merlin, just stop already.”

“Wait,” Blaise said, holding up a hand, his grin widening. “Let me get this straight. She dragged you out of bed in the middle of the night. For cake?”

“Not just cake,” Harry corrected, warming to the story. “The elves also made tarts, éclairs, biscuits—you name it.”

“Did you at least enjoy it?” Sirius asked, his interest clearly piqued.

“Of course!” Harry said, mock indignantly. “But that’s not the point. She was relentless! And don’t even get me started on the Quidditch pitch.”

“What about the pitch?” James asked, leaning forward with a gleam in his eye.

Harry shot Lyra a look, and she groaned again. “Don’t you dare.”

“Oh, I dare,” Harry said with a grin. “She used to sneak Blaise onto the pitch in the middle of the night so she could practice her turns under starlight. Apparently, it gave her better visibility.”

Blaise blinked, his brows rising in amusement. “Starlight? That was her excuse?”

“It wasn’t an excuse!” Lyra interjected, glaring at Harry. “It’s true!”

“Oh, it gets better,” Harry said, ignoring her protest. “She made him chase the Snitch barefoot because she thought it made things more ‘authentic.’”

At that, Blaise burst into laughter, his shoulders shaking as he tried to keep it together. “Barefoot? You’ve got to be joking.”

“No joke,” Harry replied, looking smug. “I’m telling you, she was absolutely mad.”

“Mad but creative,” Sirius said approvingly.

“Mad but reckless,” Lily corrected, shaking her head with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “What if you’d been caught?”

“Worth it,” Harry said simply, making everyone laugh.

Lyra turned to Blaise, her cheeks pink but her expression defiant. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Blaise said, grinning. “But I have to ask—what’s this about the kitchens? Because now I’m starting to think I’ve been missing out.”

The table erupted into laughter again, the tension from earlier melting away.

Madelyn, grinning ear to ear, leaned forward. “Wait, wait—so let me get this straight. Lyra’s idea of fun was dragging people out of bed to eat cake, climb towers, or play barefoot Quidditch?”

“Yes,” Harry said immediately, his voice gleeful.

“She must have been exhausting,” Blaise added, still laughing.

“And,” Harry added, pointing his fork at Lyra, “she always got her way.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Sirius muttered, nodding toward Lily, who promptly whacked him on the arm.

“Oh and I can't forget the Great Hall,” Harry added, as if just remembering another tale.

Lyra groaned again. “No, not the Great Hall story.”

“Oh, definitely the Great Hall story,” Harry said, ignoring her protests. “She once convinced the house-elves to help her spell out an entire essay using nothing but pastries. She thought it would ‘impress the professors.’”

“You didn’t!” Madelyn gasped, her eyes wide with delight.

“I absolutely did,” Lyra muttered, crossing her arms. “And for the record, it worked. Professor Flitwick was very impressed.”

James was practically howling with laughter. “I can’t believe you got away with half of this.”

“She didn’t always get away with it,” Harry corrected, grinning. “There was that time she got caught sneaking into the Restricted Section.”

“Only because Goyle was following me!” Lyra shot back, glaring at him.

“Oh, right,” Harry said, pretending to think. “Was that the time you claimed you were doing ‘independent research’ on dragon fire?”

Lyra groaned.

“Okay, what about when you tried to sneak a Niffler into your common room?” Harry added, his grin widening.

“Wait, what?” Sirius nearly choked on his drink. “A Niffler?”

“Her name was Opal, and she was very well-behaved!” Lyra said defensively.

“She stole every shiny object in the dormitories, Blaise was complaining about it for weeks,” Harry said, laughing.

“That’s what Nifflers do!” Lyra shot back, throwing her hands in the air.

By now, the entire table was in stitches, with Lily shaking her head in disbelief, James wiping tears from his eyes, and Sirius practically doubling over with laughter.

“And don’t forget the prank war with the Ravenclaws,” Harry added. “The one where you filled their common room with enchanted snow that never melted?”

“Never melted?” Madelyn asked, grinning.

“Oh, it melted eventually,” Lyra said with a smirk. “Just... not until after their midterms.”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Regulus said, shaking his head with a bemused smile.

“You’re all just jealous of my ingenuity,” Lyra declared, crossing her arms and lifting her chin.

“That’s what we’re calling it now?” Blaise quipped, earning another round of laughter.

As the conversation continued, the warmth and laughter filling the room, Lyra felt herself relax. It wasn’t her world, and these weren’t her people—but in moments like this, it was easy to forget. 

For the first time in what felt like ages, she let herself laugh freely, the ache of homesickness fading into the background.

The room was filled with laughter, plates clinking and the warm glow of the fire reflecting off smiling faces, and it was easy to forget the weight of everything—where they came from, what they had lost, and the dangers still lurking. 

But the comfort shattered in an instant.

The soft glow of a silver doe filled the room, gliding gracefully through the air. Conversation ceased as everyone froze, their eyes locking on the Patronus. James blinked in confusion, looking at Lily, whose face had gone pale.

“Lily?” James asked cautiously, his voice low. “What—”

Before he could finish, a voice rang out from the shimmering form. Cold, deliberate, and unmistakable.

“He knows where they are. Get to safety. Now.”

“Snape?” James whispered, his confusion giving way to alarm. He pushed his chair back, eyes darting around the room.

The message barely had time to sink in before an explosion rocked the house, the walls trembling violently. The festive table lurched, goblets spilling wine and plates clattering to the floor. The sound of shattering glass and splintering wood filled the air, followed by screams and the unmistakable hiss of spells being fired outside.

Fuck, Lyra thought.