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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

mama, i'm chasing a ghost (do i look like him?)

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE, LYRA BLACK'S POV

1995

-I-

THE TRAGIC ENDING OF LYRA BLACK

Lyra Andromeda Black was born on a Tuesday.

The weather had been unremarkable, neither sunny nor stormy, as though the world had yet to decide how it felt about her arrival. She had entered the world with a fierce cry, a wisp of blonde hair already curling at the edges, and bright, intelligent stormy eyes that seemed to take everything in. From the moment she was placed into her mother's arms, she had become the center of a small, fractured universe.

To Narcissa, Lyra was everything—a reason to keep going despite the betrayal of her family, the whispers of society, and the weight of her own choices. Lyra became her pride and her purpose, a beacon of hope in a life that had known so much loss.

She was her uncles' little girl, too—Sirius doted on her in his typical boisterous fashion, spoiling her with sweets and bedtime stories of noble rebellions. Regulus, quieter but no less devoted, taught her how to think critically, to read between the lines, and to question everything. Her aunt, Andromeda, who had walked over the line of familial obligation in the name of her moral values, affectionately called Lyra her petite farceuse—her little joker—endearing herself to the girl with warm smiles and soft gestures when no one else was watching.

And then there were her friends. Blaise Zabini was her everything—her confidant, her partner in crime, the steady hand when her cleverness got her into trouble. House colors had never mattered to them; he was Slytherin, she was Ravenclaw, but they fit together like puzzle pieces. Where Blaise was cool and reserved, Lyra was vibrant and sharp, her laughter a counterpoint to his quiet smirks. They were inseparable, bound by a love that had no need for romantic entanglements.

And Madelyn Potter—fiery, unapologetic Madelyn—was like a sister Lyra never knew she needed. Introduced through Sirius, their bond had been instantaneous, forged over shared pranks, whispered secrets, and late-night escapades. Together, they felt invincible, untouchable.

Yet for all the love that surrounded her, something had always been missing. Lyra never knew who her father was, and though she never voiced it, she felt the absence like an unspoken ache. Sirius and Regulus had done everything to fill the void, and for the most part, it had worked. But in the quiet moments, when she let herself wonder, she felt the unanswered question gnaw at the edges of her heart.

She hadn't lived a full life. Lyra had dreamed of adventures, of love, of escaping the confines of the familiar. But her life had been contained within the walls of Hogwarts, the halls of her home, and the company of those she loved. She thought she had time.

Until she didn't.

Lyra's last moments unfolded in the cold light of war. The graveyard reeked of fear and burning magic, the air thick with the acrid scent of spells gone wrong. Her wand was gripped tightly in one hand, its tip trembling as her other hand reached desperately for Madelyn, who lay crumpled on the ground, barely conscious.

"Stay with me, Maddie," Lyra whispered, her voice cracking as she crawled toward her. The hem of her robes was singed, her body bruised and battered, but her determination was unwavering.

A raspy voice cut through the chaos, chilling her to the core. "Kill the spare."

She froze, her breath catching in her throat as she turned toward the source of the voice. Instead her eyes met the tall, blonde man who stood before her, his pale features twisted with cold resolve. There was something about him—something achingly familiar. His eyes, a stormy gray, bore into her with a strange mix of recognition and indifference.

For a split second, time seemed to stand still. And in that moment, she saw it. The thing she had spent her whole life searching for.

Lyra opened her mouth, her trembling lips forming the beginning of a word she didn't even know she was trying to say.

But the spell came too fast.

"Avada Kedavra," the man intoned, his voice steady and detached.

The green light was blinding, and then it was silent.

Lyra Andromeda Black crumpled to the floor, her wand falling from her hand. Her other hand, still outstretched, grazed Madelyn's.

The man who had cast the curse hesitated for a fraction of a second, his gaze lingering on her face. There was a flicker of something in his expression—something like confusion, or perhaps regret—but it was gone as quickly as it came. He turned and disappeared into the shadows, unaware of the devastating truth: he had just killed his daughter.

Lyra Andromeda Black was born on a Tuesday. And because fate was a cruel and twisted bitch, it was also on a Tuesday that she died.

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE, LYRA MALFOY'S POV

THE PRESENT

-II-

THE POTTER MANOR WENT "BOOM"

The explosion had barely subsided when the chaos began. The room, moments before filled with warmth, laughter, and light, was plunged into pandemonium. Smoke curled through the air, mixing with the acrid scent of burnt wood and spilled wine. Lyra barely had time to register what was happening before Harry yanked her under the table, his arm like a steel band around her shoulders.

"Get down!" Sirius's shout cut through the chaos, commanding and urgent.

"They've found us!" Regulus's voice followed, sharp and focused, though there was an unmistakable edge of panic in his tone.

Under the table, Lyra's breath came fast and shallow. Her ears were ringing from the explosion, her heart pounding painfully against her ribs. Harry's grip on her tightened as the sound of curses being flung outside echoed through the shattered windows.

"Death Eaters," Harry muttered, his voice tense and laced with dread. His hand gripped his wand as his eyes darted toward the broken glass, watching the dark, cloaked figures moving swiftly toward the manor.

Lyra's gaze followed his. Through the broken window, she could see them—shadows against the night, wands raised, their faces obscured by bone-white masks. Another explosion rocked the house, sending fragments of glass and plaster raining down. She wasn't sure if she screamed, but her whole body jerked in terror.

"Lyra!" Harry hissed, pulling her closer.

"I'm fine," she managed, though her voice trembled.

Across the room, chairs were overturned, decorations lay in ruins, and fragments of their once-festive meal were scattered across the floor. Sirius, James, and Regulus had already sprung to their feet, wands drawn, their faces grim and determined.

Remus was beside them, his wand steady even as his eyes darted to Lily, who was ushering people toward the back of the room. "We need to move, now!" he barked, his voice carrying over the chaos.

But then Lyra saw it. Amidst the wreckage and panic, her eyes locked onto a small, crumpled figure near the corner of the room. For a moment, the world seemed to stop, everything narrowing to that one, horrifying sight.

Madelyn.

The girl lay sprawled on the floor, blood pooling around her leg from a deep gash. Her face was pale, her eyes fluttering as if struggling to stay conscious.

Lyra didn't think. Her body moved on instinct, slipping out from Harry's grip and scrambling toward the girl.

"Lyra! What are you doing?" Harry's voice was panicked, but she barely heard him.

She reached Madelyn, dropping to her knees beside her and pressing her hands against the bleeding wound. The blood was warm and sticky, soaking through her fingers and staining her dress.

"Madelyn," Lyra whispered, her voice trembling as she tried to keep the younger girl's attention. "Stay with me, okay? Look at me."

Madelyn's eyes fluttered open, her lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came out. Lyra's heart clenched, her mind racing as she tried to remember the healing spells she'd been taught.

Across the room, Blaise had been helping Remus secure the rear door, his wand steady despite the chaos. When he turned and saw Lyra crouched over Madelyn, his expression shifted, a flicker of horror crossing his face.

"Lyra!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the noise as he rushed toward her.

Harry had already joined her, his face pale but determined. "We need to get her out of here," he said, his voice firm even as his hands shook.

"She's bleeding too much," Lyra choked out, her hands still pressed against the wound. "We can't leave her like this."

Across the room, Lily's voice rang out in desperation. "Harry! You have to Apparate out, now!"

Harry hesitated, his eyes darting between Lyra and his mother. "We can't leave her," he said finally, his voice firm as he crawled toward the two girls. Together, he helped Lyra lift Madelyn, who was barely conscious, her weight sagging against them.

At the head of the room, James and Sirius were already on their feet, their wands drawn and their faces grim. Remus and Regulus flanked them, their expressions set with the determination of men who had faced war before and knew what was coming.

"They're breaching the wards!" Regulus shouted, his wand flicking toward the door as another explosion rocked the manor. The ornate chandelier above them swayed dangerously, a few crystals shattering and raining down.

"Lily, we need to move!" James barked, his voice tight as he turned to his wife. But his eyes caught on the trio struggling near the door—Harry, Lyra, and Madelyn—and his expression shifted.

"Madelyn!" James shouted, his voice breaking.

"She's hurt!" Lyra called back, her voice cracking with urgency. "We're getting her out!"

James moved instinctively, his long strides closing the distance between them in seconds. The sound of spells being fired outside grew louder, curses slamming into the walls and shattering windows.

"Take her," Lyra urged, her arms shaking as she tried to support Madelyn's weight.

But before James could reach them, Lyra turned her gaze to Harry, her voice trembling but firm. "We have to go. Now."

Harry nodded, his grip on Madelyn tightening as he raised his wand. Just as he began the spell, James lunged forward, grabbing onto them as the world twisted and disappeared around them.

-III-

THE POTTERS AND THEIR OBSESSION WITH THE BLACKS

The moment they landed, Lyra stumbled slightly, disoriented by the sharp contrast between the chaos they had left behind and the eerie, haunting silence of the street before them. She barely caught herself on Harry’s arm, straightening to take in their surroundings. Her heart sank as her gaze fell on the dark, imposing structure looming before them.

Grimmauld Place.

The wrought-iron gate was as menacing as she remembered, the house itself a foreboding relic of a life she had tried hard to forget. The air around them felt thick, the kind of heavy stillness that muffled even the sound of her own breathing.

She blinked, shaking her head as if she could will the sight away. “Why here?”

Harry glanced at her, his face pale but set. “It was the first place that came to mind,” he admitted breathlessly. “It belongs to me, in our world... Sirius left it to me. It’s... it’s safe.”

Safe. Lyra wasn’t so sure. Her last visit here had been years ago, back when Great-Aunt Walburga still ruled this house with an iron fist—and a shrieking portrait of her husband that haunted her nightmares. Back when Sirius was a name no-one spoke of, and Regulus was the ghost in everyone’s memory. The very air inside Grimmauld had seemed to suffocate her then. The thought of stepping back into it now felt almost unbearable.

But there wasn’t time to process it. Harry had already moved toward the door, his wand raised to bypass the wards, and Lyra turned to James, only to find him frozen, staring at the house in horror like it was some kind of curse made manifest.

“No,” he said sharply, his voice cutting through the quiet.

Lyra frowned, blinking in confusion. “What?”

James didn’t move, his posture rigid. “We can’t go in there,” he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument.

“We don’t have a choice!” Lyra snapped, her voice rising. Her heart was pounding, and she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “James, look at her! If apparate again, she won't make it.”

Madelyn was slumped against her, pale and trembling, her leg bleeding profusely. Her breaths were shallow, each one accompanied by a faint whimper of pain.

“I said no,” James insisted, his voice tight with something that bordered on desperation. He glanced at Lyra then, something dark and unreadable flickering in his eyes. “We can’t.”

“James.” Lyra’s voice was steel now, cutting through the tension as she leveled him with a fierce glare. “She’s bleeding out. There’s something in her wound—splinters, or debris from the blast. If we don’t get those out, she won’t make it. We won't be able to help her.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. For a moment, James looked like he might argue, his jaw tightening as he wrestled with something she couldn’t quite place. But then his gaze shifted to Madelyn, to the pain etched across her face, and his shoulders sagged in defeat.

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “But we don’t stay long.”

Harry had already opened the door, the ancient wards shimmering faintly as they gave way to his touch. “Come on,” he urged, his voice strained with urgency.

Lyra didn’t wait for further permission. She helped James lift Madelyn, the younger girl’s head lolling weakly against her shoulder as they crossed the threshold into the house.

The air inside was colder than Lyra remembered, the shadows deeper, as if the house itself was holding its breath. Dust lingered on every surface, and the faint scent of old magic clung to the walls. The memories of her last visit crept up on her unbidden, and for a moment, she thought she could hear Walburga’s shrill voice echoing in the back of her mind.

“Back in the House of Black,” Lyra muttered under her breath, her voice laced with bitter irony. “Exactly where I wanted to be tonight.”

James ignored her, his focus entirely on his daughter. Harry was already rummaging through the old cabinets, yanking open drawers and slamming them shut in frustration as he searched for supplies.

“She needs to be on the sofa,” Lyra said quickly, guiding James toward the tattered furniture in the corner. They set Madelyn down as gently as they could, but the movement still elicited a sharp gasp of pain from her.

“Shh,” Lyra murmured, brushing a stray curl away from Madelyn’s sweat-dampened forehead. “We’re going to fix this, okay? You’re going to be fine.”

Madelyn managed a faint nod, her eyes fluttering open briefly before closing again.

Harry returned with a worn cloth and a small, dusty tin. “This is all I could find,” he said breathlessly, holding them out to Lyra.

She took them without hesitation, her hands trembling slightly as she knelt beside Madelyn’s injured leg. The wound was deep, the blood dark and glistening as it pooled against her pale skin.

“This is going to hurt,” Lyra warned softly, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat.

Madelyn let out a weak, broken sound that might have been a laugh. “You... think?”

Lyra managed a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Just hold on,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

James hovered behind her, his hands clenched into fists as he watched, helpless. Harry knelt on Madelyn’s other side, his face pale but determined. Together, they worked in tense, desperate silence, each moment stretching into an eternity as the world outside seemed to press in on them.

It wasn’t until Lyra finally removed the last splinter, her hands slick with blood, that she allowed herself to exhale. Madelyn’s breathing had evened out slightly, and though her face was still pale, there was a faint flicker of color returning to her cheeks.

“We need to wrap it,” Lyra said, her voice hoarse from the strain.

Harry handed her the cloth, his hands shaking. “Will she be okay?”

Lyra didn’t answer right away, her focus entirely on tying the makeshift bandage around Madelyn’s leg. When she finally looked up, her eyes met his, and though she didn’t speak, her expression was enough. They had bought some time, but they weren’t out of danger yet.

"Yes," She spoke, for James's satisfaction, "We need to wait a few hours before we can use a spell. We will have to spend the night here."

“And do what?” James asked, his voice low and tense.

Lyra glanced around the room, her gaze lingering on the shadows that seemed to creep closer with each passing second. “And we wait,” she said grimly. “And we hope we’re ready for whatever comes next.”

"D–James, who lives here, exactly?" Harry spoke, picking up a book that was kept on the table nearby. It wasn't an old book but it was certainly use, notes on the margins, an empty use cup next to it.

As James was about to reply, the door creaked open, and Lyra froze. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but the voice that followed was one that was as familiar to her as her own name.

“Sirius? Regulus?” the familiar voice called, light and lilting, tinged with concern. “Are you home? The wards were down—”

Lyra turned sharply to James, her face pale as realization dawned. “So this is why you didn’t want to go inside,” she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper.

James grimaced, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I didn’t think she would be back home so soon,” he muttered, though he didn’t sound entirely convincing.

“Who?” Harry asked, his confusion evident.

Before anyone could answer, the figure stepped fully into the room. Narcissa Malfoy—or rather, this universe’s version of her, Narcissa Black—paused in the doorway, her eyes immediately scanning the room. She looked elegant and composed, though her features were marred by a faint crease of worry. She looked different from the mother Lyra knew, her eyes were dark and sad. Her face was dull as if the world had ganged up together to destroy her life.

Her gaze landed on James first, taking in the blood splattered on his clothes and his disheveled appearance. Her expression shifted to alarm. “James?” she asked, stepping forward. “What happened? Are Sirius and Regulus—are they safe?”

James opened his mouth to respond, but Narcissa’s eyes darted past him, her focus shifting to the couch where Madelyn lay, pale and still. The worry deepened as she moved closer. “What happened to Maddy—”

Then her gaze shifted again, falling on Harry. Her brows knit together as she studied him, something flickering in her eyes—recognition, perhaps, or confusion. “You look—” She stopped abruptly, her head tilting as if trying to piece together the puzzle.

And then, finally, her eyes landed on Lyra.

The air in the room seemed to still, tension crackling like static electricity. Narcissa’s face transformed in an instant, her calm veneer cracking as shock gave way to fury.

Her wand was in her hand before anyone could react, her movements swift and precise. “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice cold and sharp. Her hand trembled slightly, but her aim did not falter.

“Narcissa—” James started, stepping in front of Lyra protectively.

"My name is Lyra Malfoy," Lyra stepped forward. This is her mother. She wouldn't be afraid of her mother. She never had a reason to be. "I am not from this... universe."

The air between them felt electric, charged with grief and fury. Narcissa’s hand trembled slightly, her wand still leveled at Lyra, her lips pressed into a tight line. Her breathing was uneven, and her icy composure cracked further with every passing second. "What do you mean?"

“My name is Lyra Druella Malfoy,” Lyra said, her voice steady despite the tension hanging thick in the air. She pointed toward Harry, who gave an awkward little wave, his usual bravado faltering under Narcissa’s intense gaze. “And that is Harry James Potter. We’re not from this world. Dumbledore cast a spell to bring us to this timeline because... we won our war. He needed our help.”

For a moment, there was silence. Narcissa’s piercing eyes darted between Lyra and Harry, her grip tightening on her wand as though she were deciding whether to believe them or hex them both.

“Theory of infinite relativity,” Narcissa muttered at last, her gaze distant. She almost seemed to be speaking to herself. “I told him it was stupid. I told him it wouldn’t work.”

Lyra’s breath hitched. The matter-of-factness in Narcissa’s voice felt surreal, almost as though she were discussing an old academic debate rather than a spell that had uprooted their entire lives.

Narcissa’s attention snapped back to James, her expression sharp and calculating. Her voice cut through the room like a blade. “When you were fourteen, what did Sirius do that made me stop talking to him for a month?”

James blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question. “Uh—what? I—”

“Answer me, James,” Narcissa pressed, her tone low and firm. Her wand lifted slightly again, a warning.

James shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his already-messy hair as Narcissa’s sharp question hung in the air. He glanced at Lyra and Harry, unsure if answering would make things better or worse.

“When I was fourteen…” he started hesitantly, his voice quieter than usual. His gaze dropped to the floor for a moment before he looked up at Narcissa again. “Sirius got into your dressing room before a Ministry gala and… swapped all your robes for ones that would flash House Gryffindor colors every time you tried to hex him.”

Narcissa’s eyes narrowed, and for a brief moment, something flickered across her face—a ghost of a memory, a crack in her fury.

“You refused to speak to him for a month after that,” James added, his voice gaining confidence. “And he spent half that time writing fake apology letters he made me deliver. I think one of them was in verse.”

“It was,” Narcissa interrupted sharply, her voice clipped. “It rhymed ‘lion’s pride’ with ‘haughty stride.’”

James gave a small, tentative smile. “He thought that one was genius.”

A breath hitched in Narcissa’s throat, and she turned her gaze away, blinking rapidly. For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint rustle of fabric as Madelyn shifted in her sleep on the couch.

Then Narcissa spoke again, her voice cold but less harsh. “That doesn’t prove anything. It’s common knowledge among family.”

James shrugged, though the tension in his posture betrayed him. “Maybe. But you didn’t tell Sirius about the week after, when you and Regulus sneaked into his room and dyed all his black robes bright green in retaliation. Only Reggie and I knew about that.”

Narcissa froze, her jaw tightening as she whipped back around to face him. Her expression was unreadable for a long moment before she let out a sharp exhale, like the air had been punched out of her.

“How...” she began, but her voice trailed off. She pressed her lips together, her hand trembling slightly as she lowered her wand further. "You look just like her,” Narcissa whispered, her voice breaking. She took a small step forward, her eyes locked onto Lyra’s. They were filled with a mix of disbelief, grief, and something almost desperate.

Lyra froze, her heart pounding. She didn’t have to ask who Narcissa meant. The way the woman’s voice quivered, the way her eyes shone with barely-contained anguish, told her everything.

“I’m not her,” Lyra said again, softer this time, as though she could soften the blow.

“Don’t,” Narcissa snapped, her voice sharp and trembling. “Don’t say her name. Don’t speak as though you could understand.” She took a step closer, her wand still pointed directly at Lyra’s chest. “You have no idea what you’re doing—walking in here, wearing her face like it’s some kind of... of cruel trick.”

James stepped forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Cissy, listen to me—”

“Don’t Cissy me, James Potter!” she spat, her gaze snapping to him. “Do you have any idea—any idea—what this is doing?” Her voice cracked again, and her eyes returned to Lyra, her expression a mixture of heartbreak and rage. “You don’t get to stand there and—” She cut herself off with a choked sound, shaking her head.

“I didn't mean to hurt you, I do not want to hurt you,” Lyra said quietly. “I swear, I didn’t know you lived here.”

Narcissa’s lips curled into a bitter smile, her eyes glassy. “Didn’t know? Didn’t know?” she echoed, her voice rising. “You think that makes it better? That it erases—” She broke off again, her breath catching as though the words were too much to say aloud.

For a long moment, the only sound was Madelyn’s faint, labored breathing from the couch. Harry shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flickering between Narcissa and Lyra, unsure of what to do.

“She was everything,” Narcissa said suddenly, her voice quiet but heavy with emotion. Her wand hand fell slightly, though her grip didn’t loosen. “She was everything. And then she was gone. Taken. Stolen from me.” Her eyes bore into Lyra’s, her pain raw and unfiltered. “And now you stand there, looking at me with her eyes, wearing her smile.”

Lyra’s chest ached as she met Narcissa’s gaze, the weight of the woman’s grief pressing down on her. “I’m sorry,” she said, the words barely above a whisper. They felt hollow, insufficient, but she didn’t know what else to say.

“I don’t want your apologies,” Narcissa snapped, though her voice lacked its earlier sharpness. She looked away, blinking rapidly as if to push back tears.

“We didn’t know this was your home,” Harry interjected gently. “We were just trying to find somewhere safe. Somewhere to help Madelyn.”

At the mention of Madelyn, Narcissa’s gaze flickered to the couch. The anger in her expression softened, replaced by concern. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Yes,” James said, seizing the moment. “We’ve stopped the bleeding, but she needs more care. We didn’t know where else to go.”

Narcissa stared at Madelyn for a moment, her jaw working as she fought to regain her composure. Finally, she lowered her wand completely, though her hand still trembled.

“Get her upstairs,” she said curtly, her tone brusque but not unkind. “There’s a room with a clean bed on the second floor. I’ll... I’ll help.”

James nodded quickly, moving to gather Madelyn in his arms. Harry stepped forward to assist him, leaving Lyra standing awkwardly in place, her arms hanging at her sides.

As Narcissa turned to lead the way, she paused in the doorway, glancing back at Lyra. Her expression was unreadable, a mix of lingering anger and something more fragile—something vulnerable.

“Don’t make me regret this,” Narcissa said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I believe your story, for now."

Lyra nodded, her throat tight with unspoken words. She didn’t trust herself to speak, afraid that anything she said might shatter the fragile truce between them.

Narcissa turned away, her steps brisk but unsteady as she disappeared up the staircase. Lyra followed hesitantly, the echoes of Narcissa’s grief trailing behind her like a shadow.

-IV-

TELL ME YOUR REGRETS AND I'LL TELL YOU MINE

As James and Narcissa disappeared up the staircase with Madelyn, Harry and Lyra were left alone in the dimly lit parlor. The room was oppressively silent, save for the occasional creak of the house settling around them. Lyra stood near the couch, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, hands still bloodied, while Harry paced back and forth, his footsteps uneven.

“That was intense,” Harry said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was quiet, but the weight of his words hung in the air. “I mean, I knew this would be... complicated. But I didn’t expect—” He gestured vaguely toward the staircase, his expression conflicted. “All that.”

Lyra didn’t respond immediately. Her gaze was fixed on the floor, her mind racing with everything that had just happened. The way Narcissa had looked at her—as though she were a ghost, a cruel reminder of something lost—was burned into her memory. It left a hollow ache in her chest that she couldn’t shake.

“You should’ve warned me,” she said finally, her voice low and strained. “You had to know who lived here. Did you?”

Harry stopped pacing, turning to face her. “No, I didn't. I mean, Sirius gave me this place in our world, yeah, and it's just—” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t thinking. I just panicked, okay? Grimmauld Place was the first place that came to mind. It’s supposed to be safe. It's always been someplace I could hide.”

Lyra let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Safe? Did you see her, Harry? Narcissa Black—my mother—is upstairs. And she thought I was her Lyra. There was loathing in her eyes. My mother has never looked at me like that and to think I could hurt her– any version of her. Do you know what that feels like?” Her voice cracked, and she looked away, her jaw tightening as she fought to keep her composure.

“I do, actually,” Harry said softly, stepping closer. “I know exactly what it feels like. I’ve spent my whole life being a reflection of people’s expectations. The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, my parents’ son— the son of people I never even got to know. And now, in this world, I’m just... some stranger who looks like James Potter. My parents looked at me like that too. Trust me, Lyra, I get it.”

Lyra’s shoulders slumped, the anger draining out of her as quickly as it had flared up. She glanced at Harry, her expression softening. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...”

“I know,” Harry said, cutting her off gently. He offered her a small, reassuring smile. “It’s a lot. For both of us.”

She nodded, her arms dropping to her sides as she let out a shaky breath. “This place... it’s so different, but at the same time, it’s not. I’ve been here before, you know. When I was little. My great-aunt Walburga used to live here. It was... cold. And dark. Not like this.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, glancing around the room. “It’s still pretty dark.”

Lyra laughed softly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Fair point. But back then, it felt... emptier. Like the house itself didn’t want anyone here.”

Harry tilted his head, considering her words. “And now?”

“Now...” Lyra hesitated, her gaze drifting to the staircase. “Now it feels like a house that’s trying. Like someone cared enough to make it more than just walls and shadows.”

Harry didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stepped closer and rested a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll figure this out,” he said quietly. “All of it. Madelyn, Narcissa, Dumbledore, this whole insane situation... we’ll get through it. Together.”

Lyra met his eyes, a flicker of gratitude crossing her face. “Together,” she echoed softly.

The sound of footsteps descending the staircase broke the moment. James appeared first, his face drawn with worry but also relief. “She’s stable,” he said, addressing both of them. “She is going to be just fine. Narcissa’s with her.”

Harry nodded, his grip on Lyra’s shoulder tightening briefly before he let go. “Good,” he said. “That’s... good.”

James glanced between the two of them, his expression softening slightly. “Are you two okay?”

Lyra nodded, her voice steady. “We’re fine.”

“Good,” James said again, though his tone carried more weight this time. He hesitated, then added, “Narcissa wants to talk to you, Lyra. Alone.”

Lyra’s stomach twisted, but she nodded. “Okay.”

As James stepped aside to let her pass, she glanced back at Harry. He gave her an encouraging nod, his expression calm but supportive. Taking a deep breath, Lyra squared her shoulders and started up the staircase.

-V-

MY MOTHER FROM ANOTHER WORLD

Narcissa stood silently at the window, her back stiff, her profile illuminated by the faint moonlight streaming through the curtains. Her hands trembled slightly as she gripped the windowsill, but she made no move to hide it. Lyra could see the tension in her posture, the way her shoulders rose and fell with uneven breaths.

Lyra, still seated on the edge of the armchair, stared down at her hands. She wanted to speak, to explain everything, but she didn’t know where to start. This Narcissa wasn’t her mother, but in so many ways, she was. And for the first time since arriving in this world, Lyra felt like she was standing on the edge of a precipice, teetering between two impossible realities.

Finally, Narcissa spoke, her voice low but sharp. “You look just like her.”

Lyra looked up, startled. Narcissa’s face was turned away, but her reflection in the glass betrayed the turmoil in her expression.

“You—” Narcissa’s voice cracked, and she closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath. “You look exactly like her. My Lyra. My daughter.”

“I’m not her,” Lyra said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” Narcissa said, her voice gaining a biting edge as she turned to face Lyra. Her eyes, still red-rimmed, were filled with a storm of emotions—grief, anger, confusion. “You’re not. But the way you walked in here, the way you held yourself—” Her voice faltered again, and she shook her head. “It’s as though the universe decided to mock me by sending you here.”

Lyra clenched her hands into fists, her nails biting into her palms. “I didn’t ask to come here,” she said quietly. “This wasn’t my choice.”

Narcissa’s lips tightened. “And yet, here you are. Looking at me with her eyes.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp. Lyra opened her mouth to reply but found herself unsure of what to say. She had thought about meeting this world’s Narcissa many times, but nothing had prepared her for the reality of it.

“Tell me,” Narcissa demanded, stepping closer. “Who are you? Truly.”

Lyra took a deep breath. “My name is Lyra Druella Malfoy. I was born on June 5th, 1980 to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. My mother named me after the stars.”

“This is absurd.”

“It’s the truth,” Lyra said, her voice steady.

"So you claim to be my daughter from another world?”

“I didn’t claim that,” Lyra said carefully. “But technically yes. I share her name and I share her face.”

Narcissa stared at her, her expression unreadable. “You don’t just share her name,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “You share her essence. The way you carry yourself, the way you speak... it’s her.”

Lyra swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to respond to that.”

“You don’t need to.” Narcissa’s gaze softened for a moment before she turned away, moving toward the window again. Her voice grew quiet, almost wistful. “Lyra Andromeda Black was my entire world.”

Lyra froze.

“She was so little,” Narcissa continued, her tone tinged with longing. “I was scared, so scared when she was born, I didn't know how to be a mother. I didn't come from a family that ever showed love. But from the moment she was placed in my arms... she was mine. My reason. My pride. My purpose.”

Lyra felt her throat tighten, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She didn’t interrupt, letting Narcissa’s words wash over her.

“Everyone loved her,” Narcissa said, a faint, bitter smile tugging at her lips. “She was so good and young and kind,” Her voice broke, and she took a moment to compose herself. “Everyone love her so much and then she was gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Lyra said, and she meant it.

"Why is your world different?" Narcissa questioned. 

"I think it's something the muggles call the butterfly effect." Lyra answered. "You left your family to raise your daughter, my mother didn't. That night in Godric's Hollow, Harry died instead of James and Lily Potter."

Narcissa just listened intently so Lyra continued, "I grew up in the Malfoy Manor, and my parents loved me. They just made bad choices. And those choices led me here. I am sorry that you lost your daughter. I can't begin to understand how it feels but I am sorry."

The older woman turned to her, her gaze sharp again. “Are you?” she asked, her voice rising. “You say your parents loved you, that your father tried his best. But Lucius Malfoy is not a good man.”

“No,” Lyra agreed, her voice steady. “He’s not. But he was a good father. He tried his best for me. He wasn’t perfect, and I won’t pretend he didn’t make mistakes, but he tried. Both my parents did.”

Narcissa stared at her, something shifting in her expression. “He loved you?” she asked finally, her voice soft, almost uncertain.

Lyra nodded. “He did. And so does my mother. They aren't perfect, but they are mine.”

"So, my Lyra would be alive if I hadn't left," she whispered, her voice breaking.

"No," Lyra shook her head, her voice stern, "You don't what would have happened. And my world was not... is not perfect. You don't know what would have happened but I do know this. My mother, my Narcissa, always wished she could be brave like you. She wanted to."

For a long moment, Narcissa was silent. Then she stepped closer, her movements tentative. “Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “For telling me.”

Lyra hesitated before placing a hand on Narcissa’s arm. “Thank you for telling me about her.”

The two women stood there, bound by grief and a fragile understanding, as the echoes of their pain filled the space between them.

-VI-

TELLING THE TRUTH NEVER DID YOU ANY GOOD

Lyra stood in the hallway outside the living room, her fingers trembling as she gripped the edge of the doorframe. Harry sat by the fire, his face cast in shadows by the flickering flames. The silence in the room felt suffocating, the air heavy with unspoken words.

Her heart pounded as she stepped into the room. “Harry,” she said softly.

He didn’t turn to look at her. “What is it, Lyra?” he asked, his voice flat, distant.

She swallowed hard, her throat tightening. “I need to tell you the truth,” she said, forcing the words out. “About why I left. About what really happened after the war.”

That got his attention. He turned, his green eyes sharp and guarded. “The truth?” he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. “You mean the truth you’ve been avoiding since we showed up here?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I owe you that much.”

Harry leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Then start talking.”

Lyra took a shaky breath, her hands clasped tightly together to stop them from trembling. “It started after sixth year,” she began. “That’s when I found out about the Horcruxes. Snape told me.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “Snape? He told you about the Horcruxes?”

She nodded. “He knew about them. He knew about... you.”

Harry stiffened, his eyes narrowing. “Yes, I saw it in his memories.”

Lyra hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor. “He told me that he knew you were one of them. That there was a piece of his soul inside of you.”

Harry’s face went pale, his expression shifting from shock to anger. “So you knew,” he said, his voice rising, “and you didn’t tell me?”

“I couldn’t!” Lyra said quickly. “Dumbledore made him swear not to tell you. He found out in sixth year. He thought it would put you in more danger, and that's why I never told you either.”

Harry let out a bitter laugh. “Of course he did. Everyone always deciding what’s best for me. And you? When did you know?”

“I found out after sixth year,” she admitted. “And I hated it, Harry. I hated knowing and not being able to do anything about it. But Snape—he said there was a way. A spell.”

Harry’s gaze hardened. “A spell?”

Lyra nodded. “It was supposed to destroy the Horcrux inside you without... without killing you when you-know-who fired the spell. Snape was going to cast it himself.”

“Snape,” Harry said, his tone dripping with disbelief. “I never understood why he was so adamant on saving me.”

“He was,” Lyra said firmly. “Because he loved your mother. And because, in his own way, he cared about you.”

Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “And what? He didn’t get the chance, so you decided to take his place?”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t look away. “When he died, someone had to do it. I couldn’t let you die, Harry. I couldn’t.”

“So you did the spell,” he said, his voice flat.

“Yes,” she said, her voice breaking. “I cast the spell.”

“What did it do?” Harry asked, his voice low and tight.

“It bonded our souls and magic,” she said. “So that when you-know-who's spell hit you, it would hit me instead. It destroyed the Horcrux inside you. And it worked. You lived.”

Harry’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. “But you didn’t die.”

“No,” she said, tears spilling down her cheeks. “The spell didn’t kill me. And that caused an imbalance in nature. So, it took away my magic instead. And without my magic... I’m dying. Slowly.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Harry stared at her, his face a mix of shock, anger, and disbelief.

“That’s why you left?” he said finally, his voice trembling. “Because you’re dying?”

Lyra nodded, her voice barely audible. “I couldn’t let you watch me waste away, Harry. I couldn’t do that to you.”

Harry’s expression twisted with anger. “How could you not tell me?” he shouted, his voice echoing in the room. “How could you keep this from me?”

“I didn’t know how!” she cried. “How do you tell the person you love that they’re the reason you’re going to die?”

Harry flinched as though she had struck him. “You think that makes it better?” he demanded. “You think that excuses lying to me? Leaving me?”

“I thought I was protecting you!” Lyra said, her voice breaking. “I thought if I left, you could move on, have a life without me.”

“I didn’t want a life without you!” Harry shouted. “Don’t you get that? I would’ve done anything—anything—to save you!”

Lyra shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “There was nothing you could do, Harry. The spell was irreversible. I couldn’t let you carry that burden.”

“You don’t get to decide that!” Harry yelled, his voice raw with emotion. “You don’t get to make that choice for me!”

“I didn’t know what else to do!” Lyra sobbed. “I loved you too much to let you watch me die!”

Harry stared at her, his chest heaving with anger and pain. “You had no right to make that decision for me,” he said, his voice cold and cutting. “You left me thinking you didn’t care. Thinking I didn’t matter.”

“You’ve always mattered,” Lyra said, her voice trembling. “You are everything to me.”

“Then why didn’t you trust me?” Harry demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth from the start?”

Lyra looked at him, her eyes filled with anguish. “Because I was afraid,” she admitted. “Afraid that you’d hate me. Afraid that I’d hurt you more than I already had.”

Harry shook his head, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You did hurt me, Lyra. More than you’ll ever know.”

Tears sprang to Lyra’s eyes, and she felt as though her chest was being ripped open. "You don’t understand—" she began, but Harry cut her off, his voice rising.

"No, I understand perfectly!" Harry shouted, his face flushed with anger. "You—you—decided what was best for me, without even asking! You decided to leave me, to die, without even giving me a chance to help you, to be there for you, to love you the way you deserve."

Lyra took a step back, her heart shattering at his words. "You don’t understand," she whispered again, more broken this time. "If I had not done this, I would’ve watched you—watched you die, Harry. And I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let you—"

"Die?" Harry interrupted, his voice growing even more intense, his face now inches from hers. "So instead you go on a suicide mission and let me think you didn’t care? That I meant nothing to you?" His eyes glinted with unshed tears, and Lyra could see the raw pain behind his fury, the agony of being betrayed by the one person he had loved more than anything. "Do you have any idea what that felt like? What it was like, waking up every day, thinking that the woman I loved more than anything was gone? Thinking that you didn’t even love me enough to tell me the truth? Thinking you were dead and I didn't even know what happened!"

Her breath caught in her throat, her vision blurring as tears filled her eyes. The truth had always been so much harder than she had ever anticipated. The pain of telling him, of seeing the way he looked at her now, was unbearable.

"I couldn’t let you see me like that," she said, her voice breaking. "I couldn’t let you watch me die slowly. I love you too much, Harry. I couldn’t—"

"Then why?" Harry’s voice cracked, the words barely escaping his lips as he stepped back from her. "Why couldn’t you trust me? Why didn’t you let me help you? You think I wouldn’t have tried to find a way to save you? You think I wouldn’t have done everything I could to save you?"

Lyra closed her eyes, the weight of the pain in his words settling like a leaden weight in her chest. She stepped forward, reaching out toward him, but Harry flinched, taking another step back.

"No!" he shouted, shaking his head violently. "No, you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to walk back into my life after everything—after everything—and expect me to just understand why you abandoned me. Why you let me think you were dead. You should have told me. You should have trusted me enough to tell me the truth."

"I didn’t want to burden you," Lyra said, the words escaping her before she could stop them. She took a shaky breath, trying to steady her voice, but it wavered with every word. "I couldn’t... I couldn’t tell you that you were the reason I was dying, Harry. How could I? How could I look at you every day, knowing that I was slowly dying because of you? How could I do that to you? I loved you too much to let you carry that burden. To let you—"

"You think you were the only one with a burden to carry?" Harry snapped, his voice rising, full of anguish. "You think I wouldn’t have wanted to be there for you? That I wouldn’t have wanted to be by your side, no matter what?"

"I couldn’t let you see me fade away," Lyra said, her voice cracking, as she took a step back, her hands shaking. "I couldn’t do that to you, Harry. I couldn’t let you watch me die, piece by piece."

"Do you think I wouldn’t have rather been by your side, even if it meant losing you?" Harry’s voice was raw, desperate, his chest heaving with emotion. "You think that would have been easier for me? You think you have it worse than me, that I wouldn’t have done anything to save you?"

The words hit her like a physical blow. She wanted to shout back, to tell him how much she loved him, how much pain she had carried every day without him, but her throat was too tight, and all that came out was a sob.

"I never meant to hurt you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I thought I was saving you. I thought... I thought I was protecting you."

"You never gave me the chance to protect you. You always protected me but you never let me do the same." Harry said, his voice trembling with frustration, his fists clenched at his sides. "You never gave me the chance to be there for you. You never trusted me enough to tell me the truth."

A silence fell over them, thick and heavy, as the weight of everything they hadn’t said hung between them. Lyra’s heart felt like it was breaking all over again, the pain of the past year rushing back in full force.

Finally, Harry turned away from her, his shoulders shaking as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I can’t do this anymore," he said, his voice cracking. "I can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine, like we can just pick up where we left off. You shouldn’t have left me. You should have trusted me."

Lyra’s breath hitched in her throat as she reached out, her hand trembling in the air, desperate for him to stay. But Harry was already walking toward the door, his back to her, every step a dagger to her heart.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered brokenly, her voice barely a breath.

But Harry didn’t turn around. He didn’t say a word. The door slammed behind him with finality, and Lyra collapsed onto the floor, her sobs echoing in the empty room.

It felt like the world had come crashing down around her. She had told him the truth, but it felt like she had lost him all over again.