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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

the sinner and the saint

ORIGINAL UNIVERSE, LYRA MALFOY'S POV

2000

-I-

IF I CAME BACK, WOULD YOU CARE?

The small café on Privet Drive hadn't changed much in the years since Lyra had last been there. The pale yellow walls still bore the faint cracks they'd had when she was fifteen, and the tables were still lined with mismatched chairs that squeaked when you sat on them. The air smelled faintly of coffee, dust, and freshly baked pastries. Lyra stood in the doorway, her heart pounding in her chest. She shouldn't have come, not after everything, but the pull of this place had been too strong to ignore.

The bell above the door jingled softly as she stepped inside, her mother's belongings from Malfoy Manor tucked securely in a magically expanded bag. She was safe under the disguise of the polyjuice potion—a plain brunette with brown eyes and a freckled face that wouldn't catch anyone's attention. She could slip in and out without anyone knowing. That had been the plan.

But then she saw him.

Harry Potter, sitting alone at a corner table by the window, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug. He looked older than twenty, the weight of the war and his losses etched deeply into his face. His hair was messier than usual, sticking up in all directions, and faint stubble shadowed his jaw. He wasn't wearing his glasses; they were folded neatly on the table beside him. He stared out the window, his green eyes distant, as though he were lost in memories too heavy to shake off.

Lyra's breath caught in her throat. She'd never expected to see him here—not now, not like this. She considered leaving, just turning around and walking out before he noticed her. But something held her in place, something deeper than logic or fear. She couldn't help herself.

Slowly, she made her way to the counter, keeping her head low. She ordered a cup of tea, her voice deliberately soft, and then took a seat a few tables away from Harry, her back to him. She didn't dare look directly at him, but she could feel his presence like a weight in the air.

She had told herself she wouldn't do this, wouldn't let curiosity and guilt pull her back into his orbit. But here she was.

The minutes stretched on as her tea cooled, her hands trembling slightly around the cup. She couldn't help but steal glances at him, her heart aching at how lost he seemed. He shifted in his seat, rubbing a hand over his face, and for a moment, she thought he might leave. But then he caught her looking.

"Hi," Harry said, his voice tentative but polite. His green eyes flicked over her face as though searching for something familiar. "Do I... know you?"

Her breath caught, and for a moment, she couldn't speak. "No," she said quickly, shaking her head. "I don't think so."

Harry tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. "Sorry, it's just... you reminded me of someone." His voice was soft, the weight of loss unmistakable in his tone.

Lyra offered a faint smile, trying to keep her voice steady. "Someone important?"

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the table. "Yeah," he admitted quietly. "She... she's gone."

Lyra's heart ached at his words. She had known he would grieve her, but hearing it now, in his voice, made it all too real. "I'm sorry," she said softly, her throat tight.

Harry nodded, his fingers tracing the rim of his mug. "It was a long time ago. Well, not that long, really. Two years." His lips pressed into a thin line. "Feels like a lifetime."

Lyra glanced down at her tea, her hands trembling. "You must have cared about her a lot."

"I did," Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper.

There was an awkward silence as he glanced back out the window. Lyra forced herself to breathe, to keep her hands from trembling. She looked down at her tea, willing herself to stay composed.

"You're not from around here, are you?" Harry asked after a moment, his voice cautious but friendly. It wasn't unusual for someone to strike up small talk, but there was something tentative in the way he spoke, as if he wasn't used to it.

"No," Lyra replied, keeping her tone light. "Just passing through."

He nodded again, his fingers tightening around his mug. "Quiet place to pass through," he said, glancing back out the window. "Not much happens here."

"That's probably why I chose it," she said, her lips curving into a faint smile.

Harry chuckled softly, though it lacked humor. "Yeah, it's good for that."

She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, but he didn't say anything more. He wasn't the type to open up to a stranger, not about what he carried. But the pain was there, unspoken, lingering in the air around him. She could see it in the way he sat, in the way his eyes drifted, as though searching for something—or someone—he couldn't quite find.

He turned back to his coffee, but Lyra could feel the weight of his unease. She gripped her teacup, her heart pounding. This was a mistake. She should leave. But instead, her voice broke the silence.

"Do you miss her?" she asked softly.

Harry froze. His fingers tightened around the mug, and for a moment, he didn't answer. "Who?" he asked, though his voice lacked conviction, as if he already knew what she meant.

Lyra's chest ached. "The girl you lost."

His jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to his coffee. "Yeah," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "Every day."

The words hung between them, raw and heavy. She wanted to reach out, to tell him the truth, but the distance she had put between them was a chasm she couldn't cross.

"I just wish I'd had the chance to tell her..." Harry's voice broke, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his words. "It doesn't matter now, does it?"

"It matters," Lyra said gently, her heart breaking for him. "It always matters."

Harry nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on the table. The silence between them stretched, heavy and fragile, like glass that could shatter at any moment.

"For what it's worth," she said softly, her voice trembling, "I think she knew how much you cared. And I think she cared just as much."

Harry looked up then, his green eyes searching hers. She could see the questions forming in his mind, but she didn't give him the chance to ask. She stood, leaving a few coins on the table for her untouched tea.

"Take care of yourself," she said quietly, her voice barely audible. She turned to leave, her heart breaking with every step.

As she reached the door, she paused, glancing back over her shoulder. "I hope you find what you're looking for," she said softly, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Harry blinked, his expression unreadable. "Yeah," he said quietly. "You too."

Lyra smiled faintly, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I think I already did."

And then she was gone, stepping out into the crisp air. The bell above the door jingled softly as it closed behind her. She didn't look back, but she could still feel him, sitting there, lost in his thoughts. As she stepped into the cool evening air, Lyra felt the tears she had been holding back spill over.

She had made the right choice, she told herself, even as the ache in her chest grew with every step she took. She had to believe that. But as she disappeared into the streets of Privet Drive, her heart whispered a different story.

As she walked away, leaving him behind once more, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had left a part of herself in that café, with the boy she had once loved. Still loved.

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE, MULTIPLE POVS

PRESENT TIME

-II-

THE OLDIES RETURN, WITH NEWS AND AN OLD MAN

The sound of voices drifted faintly through the door as Lyra splashed cold water on her face, letting the chill shock her back into focus. Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her—tired, distant, and far removed from the confident girl she used to be. She pressed her palms against the sink, exhaling slowly. She'd needed a moment to herself, away from the suffocating tension in the living room. But now it was time to go back.

As she dried her hands, she felt it—an odd but familiar sensation in her chest, like a shift in the air, the faint pull of magic. Someone was coming. The front door opened with a creak just as Lyra stepped out into the hallway, her heart racing with both anticipation and worry.

When she reached the entrance, she stopped dead in her tracks. Standing in the doorway, framed by the soft glow of the evening light, were Lily, Sirius, and Regulus.

"You're okay," Lyra breathed, relief flooding through her.

Sirius grinned, though his face was lined with exhaustion. "Told you we'd be fine, didn't I?"

Lily stepped forward, her red hair slightly windswept, and gave Lyra a warm smile that didn't quite mask the weariness in her green eyes. "We got held up, but nothing we couldn't handle," she said softly, reaching out to squeeze Lyra's hand.

Regulus closed the door behind them, his sharp gray eyes scanning the room before they landed on Lyra. His expression softened ever so slightly, and he nodded. "Everyone's alright?"

Lyra nodded quickly, stepping aside to let them in. "We're fine. Everyone's in the living room."

As the three moved past her, the tension that had been coiling in Lyra's chest began to ease. She followed them down the hall, her heart still pounding, but this time with a sense of cautious optimism.

When they entered the living room, all conversation stopped. Harry, James, Madelyn, and Narcissa looked up, their faces a mixture of relief and curiosity.

"Thank Merlin," James said, standing and crossing the room in a few quick strides to clap Sirius on the back. "I was starting to worry you'd run into trouble."

"Nothing we couldn't handle," Sirius replied, though his eyes flickered toward Regulus, as if silently acknowledging something unspoken between them.

Lily walked over to Harry, her smile softening when she saw the uncertainty in his expression. "Hey," she said gently, brushing his hair back like he was a child. "It's good to see you."

Harry nodded, his throat tight, but he didn't pull away.

As the group settled in, Lyra hovered near the edge of the room, watching the way the dynamic shifted with the newcomers. Sirius was already making a quip about James's hair, while Lily caught up with Narcissa in quiet tones. Regulus, ever composed, found a spot near the corner, his sharp gaze observing everything.

Lyra's chest tightened as she watched them, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside her. Relief that they were safe. Gratitude that she wasn't facing this alone. And something else—something heavier—that she couldn't quite put into words.

"You alright?" Regulus's voice broke through her thoughts, quiet but steady.

She looked up to find him watching her, his expression unreadable.

"I am, don't worry," she replied, offering a small smile.

He nodded once, his gaze lingering for a moment before he turned back to the group.

"We can't afford to waste any more time," Regulus began, his voice steady and deliberate. "The longer we wait, the longer Harry and Lyra remain in danger—and the harder it will be for them to get back home. If we're going to deal with You-Know-Who"—he shot a glance at Sirius, who gave an approving nod—"we need to act now."

There was a murmur of agreement, but it was subdued, weighed down by the enormity of the task ahead.

"Where do we even start?" James asked, his brow furrowed.

"With the Horcruxes," Regulus said simply, his tone brooking no argument. "They're the key. Without them, Volde-"—he caught himself and grimaced—"You-Know-Who can't be defeated."

Harry leaned forward, his jaw tightening. "We already know that. The question is why we're wasting time talking about it instead of doing something."

Lyra, standing near the doorway, couldn't stop herself. "You think the rest don't know that?" she said, her voice cutting through the room like a knife.

Harry turned to her, his expression cold. "I'm just saying, some of us are tired of waiting around while others—"

"Harry," Sirius interrupted sharply, shooting him a warning look.

But the damage was done. The room went quiet, the hostility between Harry and Lyra palpable. Lily exchanged a worried glance with James, while Madelyn sat stiffly, her eyes darting between the two. Last she had seen the two, Harry had refused to leave Lyra's side. 

"Look," Lily said, stepping in before the tension could escalate further, "we're not going to get anywhere if we're at each other's throats. Snape and Dumbledore will be here soon. We can use that time to go over everything from the beginning. Piece by piece."

At the mention of Dumbledore, Lyra's expression darkened. She felt the familiar burn of hatred rising in her chest, the old man's manipulations flashing through her mind like a litany of wrongs. She gritted her teeth, trying to push it down.

James, ever the peacemaker, cleared his throat. "Alright, let's start from the beginning. Lyra, Harry—tell us everything. About the Horcruxes, about how you destroyed them. We need every detail if we're going to stand a chance."

Lyra hesitated, her eyes flickering to Harry. She opened her mouth to speak, but—

"The first one was the diary," Harry interrupted, his tone clipped.

Lyra's jaw clenched, but she let him continue, her hands balling into fists at her sides.

"I destroyed it in the Chamber of Secrets when we were twelve," Harry said, addressing the room and completely ignoring Lyra. "Basilisk fang straight through it. That was one down."

"And you didn't realize it was a Horcrux at the time?" Regulus asked, his sharp eyes narrowing.

"No," Lyra said, finally cutting in. "We didn't even know what a Horcrux was back then—"

"Which is why it would be helpful if we didn't jump to conclusions," Harry said, his tone icy.

"Don't interrupt me," Lyra snapped, her voice rising.

"Then maybe you should get to the point," Harry shot back.

"Enough!" Sirius barked, his voice loud and commanding. "The two of you need to act like grown ups. Right now, we need answers, not a bloody shouting match."

The room went quiet again, the tension simmering just below the surface.

"Continue," Regulus said calmly, though his eyes flicked between Harry and Lyra with a pointed look.

Lyra took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay composed. "After the diary, which I reckon is still in my father's study in this universe, Harry didn't encounter another Horcrux until the locket," she said, her voice tight. "They– him and Dumbledore, found it in a cave by the sea, but it wasn't the real one. Someone else had already taken it—Regulus."

At that, all eyes turned to Regulus, who gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

"I had planned to do that in this universe" Regulus admitted. "I ran away before I could, so it's still there, at the cave."

"We found it," Harry said quickly. "It was one of the hardest ones to destroy, but we managed."

Lyra glanced at him sharply but didn't argue. He continued. "After that, we found the ring at the Gaunt shack. It was cursed, but Dumbledore managed to destroy it—at a cost." His voice too, turned bitter at the mention of Dumbledore, but he pressed on.

"And the others?" Sirius asked.

"The cup was in Bellatrix's vault at Gringotts," Harry said. "We broke in, stole it, and destroyed it with a basilisk fang from the Chamber of Secrets. The diadem was in the Room of Requirement, Lyra reckoned the ghosts would know where it was, and we destroyed that during the Battle of Hogwarts."

"The snake," Lyra said quietly, her gaze distant. "Nagini. She was the last one before the dick himself."

"And how did you destroy her?" James asked, his eyes sharp with curiosity.

Lyra opened her mouth to answer, but Harry beat her to it. "Neville killed her," he said simply.

The room fell silent again, the weight of the story settling over them like a shroud.

Lily broke the silence. "And that was it? Once the Horcruxes were gone, you—"

"Fought him," Harry said flatly.

"Alone," Lyra added bitterly, glaring at him. "Harry was... also a horcrux. When Voldemort tried to kill him when he was a baby, a piece of his soul attached itself to Harry but that's not a worry for us since it never happened here."

Harry's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond.

Sirius cleared his throat, drawing the room's attention. "Right," he said, his tone firm. "Also, from now on, no one says you-know-who's name. The taboo's in place, and we don't need Death Eaters showing up on our doorstep."

"Agreed," Regulus said.

Lyra glanced around the room, her heart heavy. The hostility between her and Harry wasn't just affecting them—it was affecting everyone. But as much as she hated the tension, she couldn't seem to stop herself from snapping back at him.

And deep down, she wasn't sure she wanted to.

Everything she did, it was for him! It wasn't right for him to be snapping at her every twist and turn. Little did she know, Harry felt the same.

The tension in the room hadn't dissipated, even after recounting the story. If anything, it seemed to grow heavier as they debated their next steps. Lyra stood near the fireplace, arms crossed, her gaze occasionally flicking to Harry, who sat rigidly on the edge of the couch. Every now and then, their eyes would meet, but the coldness in Harry's stare made her look away each time.

"We still don't know where all the Horcruxes are in this world," Regulus was saying, his tone calm but firm. "And until we figure that out, everything else is secondary."

"But that's the problem, isn't it?" James interjected. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "We don't have any leads. No clues. We're flying blind, and every second we waste gives him more of an advantage."

"Which is why we need allies," Lily said, her voice steady. "We can't do this alone. If Snape and Dumbledore have any information, we need to hear it."

Lyra's hands clenched at the mention of Dumbledore, the familiar burn of resentment crawling up her spine. She tried to keep her face neutral, but the sharpness of her tone betrayed her. "Allies? Dumbledore's version of 'help' comes with strings attached. Don't forget that."

Harry snorted, but it wasn't a laugh—it was bitter, sharp, like glass breaking. "Oh, that's rich, coming from you. Talking about strings when you've been pulling them for years."

Lyra stiffened, her nails digging into her palms. "You think I wanted this? You think I enjoyed lying to you and staying away from the only home I'd ever known? I didn't have a choice—"

"You always have a choice," Harry interrupted, his voice rising. "You just decided I didn't get one."

"Enough!" Sirius barked, his voice cutting through the room like a whip. "If you two want to keep tearing each other apart, do it after we've dealt with the psychopath trying to kill us all."

The room fell silent, the only sound the crackling of the fire. Lyra turned away, swallowing the lump in her throat, while Harry stared at the floor, his jaw tight.

Before anyone could say anything else, a sharp knock echoed through the house.

Everyone froze.

James rose to his feet, his wand already in hand. "That'll be them," he said quietly, glancing toward the door.

Regulus moved toward the window, peering out into the darkened street. "It's them," he confirmed, his voice low.

Lily gave a brisk nod and moved to open the door. She hesitated for a moment, her hand on the doorknob, before pulling it open.

Standing on the doorstep were two figures, both cloaked in shadows. One was tall and commanding, with silver hair that glinted in the dim light of the streetlamp outside. The other was thinner, with a hooked nose and dark, calculating eyes that swept over the room the moment the door opened.

"Albus. Severus," Lily greeted them, stepping aside to let them in. Her tone was polite but guarded, and there was no warmth in her voice.

Dumbledore stepped inside, his gaze sweeping across the room as though he were cataloging every detail. "Good evening," he said, his voice calm and measured. "I trust we are not interrupting."

Snape followed silently, his dark eyes narrowing as they landed on Lyra. He paused, his lips curling into something between a sneer and a frown. "I see our unexpected guests are still here," he said, his tone dripping with disdain.

Lyra didn't flinch under his gaze. Instead, she straightened, her own eyes narrowing. "Good to see you too, Snape."

Snape's lip twitched, but he didn't respond.

Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes swept over everyone. He held himself with the same calm, unshakable presence Lyra remembered, though now, seeing him again, it only made her blood boil.

"Good evening once again to you all," Dumbledore greeted with a small nod. His voice was calm and measured, yet carried the weight of someone accustomed to command. His gaze finally settled on Harry and Lyra. "And you must be Mr. Potter and Miss Black. Quite peculiar, the circumstances that brought you here, Miss Black."

Lyra felt her throat tighten. She didn't miss the way Dumbledore's sharp eyes lingered on her, as if he were already dissecting her, calculating what she might mean for his plans.

"It's Malfoy," she said curtly, her voice clipped and devoid of any warmth.

The room went silent at her correction, every gaze snapping to her.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, his expression unchanging but his curiosity evident. "Ah, my apologies," he said smoothly. "Miss Malfoy, then. I hope you'll forgive my mistake."

Lyra didn't respond, her jaw tightening as she looked away. She felt Harry's eyes on her, sharp and questioning, but she refused to meet his gaze.

Snape, who had been silent until now, let out a soft scoff. "A correction of little consequence," he muttered, his dark eyes flicking between Lyra and Harry. "We have far more pressing matters to attend to."

"Quite right, Severus," Dumbledore agreed, though his tone carried a faint trace of amusement. He clasped his hands in front of him, turning his attention back to the group. "Let us begin, then. Time is of the essence, and there is much to discuss."

"Let's get to it," Regulus said, his voice cutting through the tension.

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Indeed," he said, his eyes lingering on Lyra for a moment before turning to address the group. "I understand you've made some progress in understanding the nature of the Horcruxes."

"We've made progress in destroying them," Harry said pointedly, his tone colder than ice.

Dumbledore's expression didn't change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—perhaps regret, perhaps something else entirely. "That is good to hear. However, the Horcruxes in this world may differ from those you encountered in your own. We must tread carefully."

"Do you know where they are?" Sirius asked bluntly, his arms crossed.

Dumbledore's gaze shifted to Snape, who gave a curt nod. "We have reason to believe one of them is at Malfoy Manor," Snape said, his voice low and deliberate.

Lyra's stomach twisted at the mention of the place. Memories of cold stone walls and darkened halls flooded her mind, but she pushed them aside.

"And the others?" Regulus pressed.

"We are still gathering information," Dumbledore admitted. "But I assure you, we are doing everything in our power to locate them."

"That's not good enough," Harry said, his voice hard. "We don't have time to wait while you 'gather information.'"

Dumbledore turned to Harry, his expression calm but unyielding. "Patience, Mr. Potter. This is a delicate matter. Rushing in without preparation could be disastrous."

Lyra's laugh was sharp and bitter. "Oh, now you care about preparation? Where was that wisdom when you were throwing a teenager into a war he wasn't ready for?"

"Lyra," James said warningly, but she ignored him, her gaze locked on Dumbledore.

The old man met her glare with serene calm. "That man you knew, wasn't me but I would like to believe I did what I believed was necessary," he said quietly.

"And look where that got us," Lyra snapped.

The room descended into silence again, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating.

Finally, Regulus broke the stalemate. "Arguing isn't going to help. We need a plan. If there's a Horcrux at Malfoy Manor, we need to figure out how to get to it—and how to destroy it."

Dumbledore nodded. "Agreed. But we must proceed with caution. Malfoy Manor is heavily guarded, and we cannot risk exposure."

"Then we go in quietly," Sirius said.

"And we bring it back here to destroy," Regulus added.

"Good thing you know someone who knows that place inside out," They all, except Harry, turned to look at her, confused. "Me. I am a Malfoy. I did grow up there."

Lyra exchanged a glance with Harry, the hostility between them still simmering beneath the surface. But for now, they both remained silent, their focus shifting to the task at hand.

The war was far from over, and the road ahead was treacherous. But they had a lead—and for now, that would have to do.

-III-

THE PLAN, AND LYRA'S ROLE IN IT (IT'S IMPORTANT, OKAY HARRY?)

The tension in the room thickened as they began discussing the plan. Regulus outlined the details in his usual calm, methodical tone, but the weight of what they were planning was palpable. Dumbledore and Snape had retired to another room, discussing something they didn't want the rest to be a part of (Lyra was not surprised by that).

"We'll need to break into the Malfoy Manor," Regulus said, his voice steady but serious. "The best way to do this is to disguise ourselves as Death Eaters. Their wards are strong, but not impenetrable if we look and act the part."

Lyra's stomach twisted at the mention of the Manor. She hadn't been there in years, not since the last time she came to England two years ago, but the idea of walking back into that house under any circumstances was enough to make her skin crawl. She had been happy there... and then, it was a prison, nothing else.

"And who's going?" Harry asked, his tone clipped.

"Obviously, I will," Regulus said. "It's my plan, and I know the manor's defenses as well as Lyra does."

"I'm going too," Lyra said firmly, stepping forward.

"No," Harry said immediately, his tone sharp.

Lyra's head snapped toward him, her expression darkening. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Harry said, his green eyes flashing with anger. "You're not going. You'll slow us down."

The words hung in the air like a slap, and the room fell silent.

Lyra's lips parted in shock, but her surprise quickly gave way to fury. "Slow you down?" she repeated, her voice rising. "Are you serious right now?"

"You don't have magic, Lyra!" Harry snapped, his voice louder than it had been before. The words came out like a dam bursting, and the room collectively froze.

There was a beat of stunned silence as everyone turned to Lyra, their faces a mixture of confusion and disbelief. Everyone, except for Lily, who remained perfectly still, her expression unreadable.

"You don't have magic?" Sirius asked, breaking the silence. His tone was cautious, like he wasn't sure if he should believe it.

"No," Lyra said shortly, her gaze still locked on Harry.

"Why didn't you say anything?" James asked, his voice softer than Sirius's, but no less curious.

"It wasn't relevant until now," Lyra snapped, her anger flaring at the implication that her lack of magic made her somehow less capable.

Harry let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. "It's very relevant, Lyra! This isn't just sneaking around; it's dangerous! What exactly do you think you're going to do if we get caught? Fight them off with your bare hands?"

Lyra stepped closer to him, her voice trembling with anger. "You don't get to decide what I do, Harry. I've been in that house before, I was one of them. I know the layout, I know how they think. I can help, whether you believe it or not."

"And if you get hurt—"

"I've been hurt before!" Lyra snapped, cutting him off. Her voice was sharp, but her eyes betrayed the vulnerability underneath. "You think you're the only one who's been through hell, Harry? I've been fighting just as hard as you have, with or without magic!"

The room was silent again, the tension between them crackling like a live wire.

"It's not about that," Harry said finally, his voice quieter but no less firm. "This is about making sure we all come out alive. And if you can't defend yourself—"

"She can defend herself," Lily interrupted, her voice calm but resolute. Everyone turned to her in surprise, including Lyra. "She's capable of more than you give her credit for, Harry. And she has every right to be part of this."

Harry stared at his... mother from another world, his frustration evident, but Lily's words seemed to stop him from arguing further.

"We need Lyra," Regulus said, his tone steady. "She knows the manor better than anyone here, even me. She's an asset, Harry, whether you like it or not."

James stepped forward, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "We'll watch each other's backs," he said. "All of us. That's the only way this works."

Harry looked around the room, his jaw tight. He clearly wanted to argue more, but the combined weight of everyone else's agreement left him with little choice. Finally, he let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair.

"Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "But if anything happens to her..."

"Nothing's going to happen to me," Lyra said, her voice cold. "I can take care of myself. I feel Regulus should stay back, incase something goes wrong"

Harry didn't respond, his expression stormy as he turned away.

"Then it's settled," Regulus said, despite being heartbroken from being left out in his own plan but he didn't argue, his voice breaking the tension. "Lyra, Harry, James, and Sirius will go. Lily, Narcissa, and I will stay here and monitor from a distance in case anything goes wrong."

"What will I do?" Madelyn questioned.

"Study potions," Lily snorted, "You need something better than that Acceptable this year."

The kitchen was quiet except for the faint hum of the kettle cooling on the stove. Lyra stood by the counter, sipping slowly from her glass of water, trying to center herself. She wasn't sure how she felt anymore—about the mission, about Harry, about anything. The last few days had felt like a whirlwind, and the constant tension between them only made everything worse.

Harry stepped into the kitchen, his footsteps light but heavy with the weight of unspoken words.

Lyra didn't look up at him, keeping her focus on the glass in her hands, though she could feel the heaviness of his stare.

After a long, pregnant silence, Harry spoke, his voice tense. "Why are you so hell-bent on putting yourself in danger?"

Lyra set the glass down, her fingers curling around the edge of the counter. She felt her pulse quicken, a familiar rush of irritation stirring in her chest. "What do you want from me, Harry? I'm trying to do the right thing, for once in my life, and you won't let me. Why do you keep treating me like I can't make decisions for myself?"

"I'm trying to keep you safe!" Harry's voice cracked slightly with frustration.

"I'm trying to make sure you get home!" Lyra shot back, turning to face him now, her tone sharp. "Sue me for caring, Harry."

The words hung in the air between them, and Harry's eyes flared with anger. "You can't just... throw yourself into danger and expect everything to be fine! This isn't some bloody game, Lyra. You're not invincible!"

"I can take care of myself!" she fired back, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. "Just like you can, Harry."

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Neither of them knew what to say next, and yet, neither could back down.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Lyra broke the silence with a quiet question. "Can you ever forgive me, Harry?" Her voice wavered for a moment, but she steeled herself. "Maybe... maybe it wasn't right. But I was just doing what I thought was best."

Harry's eyes flickered with something she couldn't quite place—anger, hurt, frustration—but he didn't say anything for a long while. When he did, it was cold, cutting. "For me or for you?"

Lyra's chest tightened. She swallowed hard, not wanting to show weakness. "For both of us. For us, Harry. I couldn't imagine a world where I live, and you don't. It would kill me, Harry."

Harry's eyes hardened. "It's killing you anyways." His voice was barely above a whisper, the words thick with pain.

Lyra flinched, the wound he'd just reopened stinging deep in her chest. "I love you, are you hearing me? I never stopped loving you, not once."

Harry recoiled, as though the words had physically struck him. "Where does that leave us, then?" he asked, his voice tight with emotion. "I am angry. I am so angry, Lyra. You broke my heart, and I grieved you for so long. I wanted to die, I missed you so much."

The weight of his words hit her like a physical blow. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to process the depth of his pain, of the years they'd lost.

"I don't know how long I have," Lyra whispered, her voice fragile. "I just wish you could forgive me before my time's up."

"Don't say that!" Harry's voice cracked, raw with emotion. He stepped toward her, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "Don't make it conditional. Don't make it like you need my forgiveness to die in peace."

"I'm not," Lyra responded, shaking her head. "I'm just stating the truth. I am going to die, no matter what. I could have stayed, I could have died right in front of you and made it worse. So, I left. I left to die alone. And I don't regret it, Harry. I will never regret that choice."

The room was so quiet now, the only sound their breathing, their hearts hammering in their chests. The tension was unbearable, and yet, it felt like they were both pushing toward some kind of painful resolution they weren't ready for.

But before either of them could say another word, the door to the kitchen opened with a soft creak.

Dumbledore stepped inside, his eyes immediately locking onto both of them. He didn't acknowledge the tension between them, instead launching into one of his long, drawn-out speeches.

"You would be great assets in the fight ahead," he said, his voice smooth, though there was a note of something harder hidden underneath.

Lyra's grip on the counter tightened. She felt the weight of everything they'd been talking about, all the pain and frustration, building up inside her. She'd held it in for so long—fighting back tears, fighting back the anger, fighting to keep herself together—but in that moment, the dam broke.

She couldn't take it anymore.

With a cry of frustration, she slammed her fist into the counter, her voice breaking as she shouted, "How many more lives are you willing to sacrifice, Dumbledore? How much more do you expect us to take before we crack?! You're sitting there, talking about 'assets,' but you don't care about the people you're sending into this war! None of you care!"

Dumbledore blinked, surprised by her outburst, but he didn't respond.

Lyra's breath was ragged, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. "You can sit there with your fancy speeches and your grand plans, but at the end of the day, we're just pawns in your game. And I'm sick of it."

Dumbledore paused, his serene expression unchanged despite the fury radiating from Lyra. The room seemed to shrink around them, the air heavy with tension. He looked at her for a moment, his gaze calculating, before he began speaking in his characteristic calm, yet firm voice.

"Miss Black," he began, his tone oddly gentle considering the gravity of the situation. "I understand that you are upset, and perhaps rightfully so. War has a way of shaping people, of leaving scars that are not easily healed. But we must always remember that the greater good sometimes requires difficult choices."

Lyra's eyes narrowed, her pulse quickening as she felt her anger surge again. The calmness in his voice made it worse—like he was pretending to understand when, in reality, he never truly did.

"The greater good?" she spat, stepping forward, her hands shaking from the force of her words. "Is that how you justify everything, Dumbledore? The greater good? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you used me. You used me—when I was just a child! I trusted you! I was fifteen, and you threw me into the middle of a war! Fifteen, do you get that? I wasn't even old enough to know who I was, and you put me in the middle of a fight I had no place in!"

Her voice trembled with emotion, but she didn't stop. She couldn't. Not now, not after everything.

"I had to fight a war I wasn't supposed to be a part of. I had to be a Death Eater, Dumbledore. A Death Eater—do you hear me? I had no choice! You knew what was happening, and you did nothing to stop it. You made me a part of that world, and then you left me there—left me to fend for myself while I lost everything I ever had. Everything!" She took a deep breath, eyes wide with the pain of it all. "And meanwhile, you—you—hid things from me. You didn't tell me anything—anything about the prophecy, about the risks, about the truth. You made me a pawn in your game, and when I asked questions, you fed me lies. You lied to me, Dumbledore!"

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, as if her body couldn't hold the rage anymore. Her chest heaved with the effort to keep her voice steady, but the weight of it all was suffocating. "I don't regret the decisions I made, not in the way you think. But I can't just forget what you did to me. I can't pretend that you didn't make me sacrifice everything for a cause that I wasn't ready to understand. You left me to drown in that darkness, and now you want me to come back into it willingly? Do you have any idea how that feels? To know that everything you've done—every single choice you've made—was because of some grand plan that I was never meant to be a part of? You sacrificed me, Dumbledore, and you made me think it was for the greater good, but at the end of the day, you took away everything that mattered to me!"

Her voice cracked, raw and broken. She took a step back, as though the weight of her own words had physically drained her. The silence that followed was thick, suffocating, but the pain in her chest wasn't gone—it never would be.

Dumbledore's eyes softened, a shadow of regret passing over his features, but it wasn't enough. Nothing he could say would make it better. Nothing he could offer would heal the scars.

"I understand your anger but you have to understand that man was not me," Dumbledore said quietly, his voice quieter now, almost apologetic. "Sometimes, to defeat darkness, we must make sacrifices. I must have done what I believed was necessary. I must have tried to guide you, to protect you."

Lyra's head snapped up at his words, her lips curling into a bitter, empty smile. "Protect me?" she repeated, a hollow laugh escaping her lips. "You call throwing me into a war I was never prepared for protection? You call telling me nothing, keeping secrets from me, and using me like some sort of chess piece protection? You've made your choices, Dumbledore in whatever world you are. After meeting my mother here, I realized one thing. People are who they are, in whatever world they are in. You've done what you thought was right, but you have no idea what it's like to be the one used in your plans. You can stand there and speak of protection and tell me that it was not you, but all I see is a man who manipulated me, who let me be destroyed for a cause he thought was bigger than me. And maybe it was. But I'm not some tool for your game."

"I don't need you to fix it, Dumbledore. I just need you to acknowledge that you were wrong. That you didn't protect me. You put me through hell and never once asked how I was, or if I could handle it. I was a kid, and you made me, made both Harry and I fight in a war we didn't belong in. That's on you."

"Lyra..." It was Harry and the Malfoy girl had almost forgotten he was still there.

She turned to him, her eyes wild. "And you, Harry! You think I don't know how this feels? You think I don't know the weight of all these choices? You're angry at me for leaving, but what do you think I was supposed to do? Stay and die in front of you? I couldn't, Harry! And I couldn't watch you die again! I couldn't watch you lose everything again, so I made the choice to go, even if it meant losing you forever."

Dumbledore took a step forward, but Lyra's glare was enough to silence him for a moment.

Harry moved to speak, his voice hesitant, but Lyra was already shaking her head, her anger fueling her now. "Don't you dare tell me it was the wrong choice! You didn't have to live through it. You didn't have to watch the people you loved get torn apart because of something you never wanted in the first place." She looked at Dumbledore, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. "I was just a child! You used me and you left me to figure it out. I trusted you, and you let me down. You let me believe that I was part of something bigger, something worth fighting for, and all I was—was just another pawn. And you—" she let out a laugh that was tinged with bitterness, "You stood by and let me burn, didn't you?"

Dumbledore seemed at a loss for words, his blue eyes softening as he looked at her.

Harry, still standing behind her, placed a hand on her shoulder, his voice quiet. "Lyra, please."

But Lyra didn't turn to him. Instead, she stood there, her hands trembling at her sides. "I'm not asking for forgiveness," she said, her voice quieter now, but still filled with fire. "But I need you to understand. I did what I had to do to survive. And I don't owe anyone an explanation for that. Not anymore."

She took a deep breath, and the room fell silent once more. Dumbledore, still watching her, nodded slowly, though he didn't speak. Harry's gaze lingered on her for a long moment, and for a brief second, Lyra thought he might speak, might argue with her again. But he stayed quiet, his expression unreadable.

Finally, Dumbledore spoke, his voice still soft but carrying a weight of its own. "I understand your pain, Miss Black. And I know you find me responsible for some of the choices you were forced to make. But from what I've gathered, I also know that the path you'd chosen was never meant to be easy. We all make choices, and sometimes, they aren't the ones we'd hoped for."

Lyra shook her head again, frustration still evident in her features. "You don't get it. You never did."

She left the room, anger radiating off her.

-IV-

HARRY FINALLY UNDERSTANDS WHAT HAVING A MUM IS LIKE

The quiet house was a welcome change after the storm of emotions that had passed through the room. Harry found himself wandering into the kitchen, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings he couldn't quite sort through. He wasn't sure where to start, but his eyes found Lily standing by the counter, her gaze thoughtful as she stirred a cup of tea.

"Harry," she said softly, sensing his presence, but she didn't look up. "We need to talk."

He nodded, silently taking a seat across from her. The weight of everything, of the argument with Lyra, the looming mission, and the distrust building between them, pressed on his chest like an iron weight.

"You're angry," Lily began, setting her tea down, finally looking at him. "And you have every right to be."

Harry's jaw tightened, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't get it, you know. Why did she leave? She just walked away, and now—now it's all messed up. She's back and everything's different. We're different."

Lily's expression softened, and she leaned forward, her voice gentle. "If I was in Lyra's place, and your dad's– James's life was on the line, I would have done the same thing." Harry blinked, surprised by the matter-of-fact way she said it. "She did what she thought was best. She wasn't just thinking of herself—she was thinking of you too."

Harry's brows furrowed. "But why not stay? Why leave without even saying goodbye?"

Lily sighed, the weight of years of experience in her eyes. "Sometimes we make choices in moments of panic. She couldn't handle losing you, Harry. She couldn't watch you die again. It broke her heart to leave, but staying... staying meant hurting you even more than she could bear." Her voice softened further, the warmth of understanding filling her tone. "I know it doesn't make sense now, but it wasn't about abandoning you. It was about protecting you."

Harry stared at her, his chest tight, unsure how to process everything she was saying. "But how could she think leaving would help me?"

Lily paused, her gaze distant for a moment. "Because love makes us do strange things, Harry. You don't always know how to protect someone until it's too late. Sometimes it takes walking away to realize what you should have done."

Harry remained quiet, digesting her words, but Lily wasn't done.

"You know," she continued, "your Aunt, my sister and I weren't always close. We had our fights, especially when we were younger. Things got ugly between us, and we said things we shouldn't have. But time..." Lily smiled softly, as if remembering a long-lost moment. "Time has a way of healing, of making you see things more clearly. Eventually, we found each other again. It took patience, it took understanding, and it took forgiveness. And, Harry, it was worth it. We both found peace with each other."

Harry blinked, feeling the weight of her words. "You and Aunt Petunia?" He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.

Lily nodded, her smile a little more bittersweet now. "Yes. It wasn't easy, and it took years, but we came back together in the end. We found happiness, and it was worth it. It always is, when you're willing to wait for it." She looked at him, her eyes earnest. "Lyra may have hurt you, Harry, but she's still the same person. I know it's hard, but there's always room for forgiveness. Time and patience can heal even the deepest wounds."

Harry took a shaky breath, the weight of her words settling in. He'd never really thought about his aunt and mother finding their way back to each other, especially not after everything that had happened between them. The idea that something as fractured as their relationship could be repaired was strange but oddly comforting.

"Do you think... do you think that's possible for Lyra and me?" Harry asked, his voice quieter now.

Lily gave him a soft, knowing look. "I do. It may take time, Harry. It might not happen right away, but if you let go of the anger and let yourself listen to her, you might find a way back to each other. Just like I did with Petunia. Just like you'll find your way forward."

Harry nodded, his mind whirling with everything Lily had said. Maybe, just maybe, there was hope for him and Lyra after all.

"Thanks, Mu-Lily," he said quietly, meeting her gaze.

"You can call me that... 'Mum' I mean," she smiled softly, the way only a mother could looking at her child, "I'd really like it."

Harry smiled, "Thank you, Mum."

Lily smiled warmly, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "Anytime, Harry. You'll figure it out. I have a feeling that you always do."

ORIGINAL UNIVERSE, HARRY POTTER'S POV

2000

-V-

IF I MISS YOU, WILL YOU COME BACK?

Harry wasn't expecting her—he wasn't expecting anyone—but there she was. The bell above the door jingled softly, a sound so familiar it almost seemed like an echo from another time. He looked up, half-aware of the coffee cup in his hands, and froze.

She was standing in the doorway. She wasn't looking at him directly, but there was something about her presence that felt too familiar. She moved with a quiet, confident air, almost as though she didn't belong, yet at the same time, she fit perfectly into the small, quiet café.

Her hair was a nondescript brown, her eyes hidden behind the shadow of her hair. She wore a disguise—no, it wasn't a disguise, more like a mask, something that veiled the parts of her that should have been familiar but weren't.

He blinked, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. She didn't look like Lyra. Not at all, not in a literal sense. Her features were different—rounder cheeks, darker hair—but there was something about her, something in the way she held herself, the way she moved, that made him feel like he should know her.

It was the strangest sensation.

He watched as she made her way to the counter, ordering something in a quiet, calm voice. Harry's eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than was socially acceptable. She didn't notice, didn't look in his direction. And yet, despite that, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling in the back of his mind.

She wasn't anyone he knew, not really, but there was something about her that was too familiar—something that tugged at the edges of his thoughts. It was like a voice, soft and distant, telling him that he had seen this person before, but in a different life, a different time.

He pushed the thought aside, shaking his head. He hadn't been expecting to feel this way. He had been sitting here, trying to escape his thoughts, trying to get some peace. But this... this was different. This girl—she reminded him of someone, though he couldn't figure out who.

His breath caught when she finally sat down, a few tables away. She had her back to him, but he could see the subtle shift in her posture. She was tense, as if carrying some heavy, unspoken burden. That was when the pull hit him the hardest. He had to know who she was. He didn't understand why, but there it was—an undeniable urge to find out more, to connect the dots in his mind.

He couldn't just ignore it. He tried, but it didn't work.

He forced himself to look away, sipping his coffee, but the pull remained. It was as if she was a missing piece of a puzzle he couldn't quite finish.

It wasn't long before he felt his gaze slide back to her, just for a second—maybe less—but the moment their eyes met, the air between them shifted. Her gaze was fleeting, just a glance, but it was enough to make Harry's chest tighten. She didn't smile, didn't acknowledge the moment. But something passed between them. He couldn't place it.

She stood up, took her cup of tea, and sat back down at the table. Her back was still to him, but Harry couldn't look away. She seemed so... familiar. Her movements, her posture, the way she carried herself—he couldn't explain it. It was as though she were echoing something from the past, some piece of him that he couldn't quite grab hold of.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of indecision, he spoke.

"Hi," he said, his voice a little hesitant but steady. "Do I... know you?"

The words were out before he could stop himself, but the question wasn't just a polite greeting. It wasn't just about her appearance—it was about the feeling in his gut, the overwhelming sensation that he should know her. That he had known her.

She hesitated, almost imperceptibly, but then she shook her head, her expression neutral, almost distant. "No," she said, her voice soft, but somehow holding an undertone of sadness. "I don't think so."

Her response stung more than it should have. There was something about her voice, the way she said it—like she was telling the truth but at the same time, hiding something. He wasn't sure why, but he couldn't stop himself from pressing.

"You just... you remind me of someone," Harry said, his tone softer now, but still with that raw edge of curiosity that had built up inside him.

Her gaze shifted briefly, her eyes flicking to his and then away. It wasn't the way someone usually responded to a stranger's comment; it felt... guarded.

"Someone important?" she asked, the question so soft, so careful, that Harry almost didn't want to answer. But something in the way she phrased it, like she understood, made him speak without thinking.

"Yeah," he said quietly, his voice rougher than he intended. "She... she's gone."

For a moment, he wondered why he had said that—why he had shared that with a stranger. But the words were already out. The rawness of the grief that still clung to him, after all these years, spilled out without him even realizing.

The girl's expression softened, her gaze flickering away, as though she were respecting a boundary. "I'm sorry," she murmured, and her voice was a whisper, full of empathy.

He nodded, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his mug. "It was a long time ago. Well, not that long, really. Two years." He pressed his lips together, trying to keep the words from feeling too sharp. "Feels like a lifetime."

His gaze fell to the table. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to keep reliving the past, but there was something about this girl—her soft voice, her gentle way of speaking—that made him want to share, to let the words spill out. But he held back, swallowing the impulse.

She seemed to notice, and her voice softened again. "You must have cared about her a lot."

The words made his throat tighten, and he glanced away quickly, trying to force the lump out of his chest. "I did," he murmured, barely above a whisper. "More than anything."

The silence between them stretched, thick and heavy. Harry couldn't look at her anymore. He stared at the table, lost in his own thoughts. There was a quiet pressure in the air, as though everything unspoken was hanging between them, unacknowledged but real.

After a long moment, Harry cleared his throat, trying to steer the conversation somewhere else, anywhere else. "You're not from around here, are you?"

The girl seemed surprised by the question, but she answered, her voice light. "No," she replied, almost sounding like she was trying to keep her answers simple. "Just passing through."

Harry nodded, glancing back out the window. He didn't know why, but the thought of someone else passing through this town—someone just like him, looking for something to hold onto—seemed to make the silence more bearable. "Quiet place to pass through," he said, offering a small smile. "Not much happens here."

The girl smiled faintly in return, but it was sad, almost knowing. "That's probably why I chose it."

He chuckled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, it's good for that."

But then the silence returned. It was as if something was pressing against him, some unspoken tension that made it hard to breathe. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just an ordinary encounter. There was something in the way she looked at him, something that made him want to open up. But he couldn't.

The girl shifted in her seat, and Harry could sense that she was waiting for something—waiting for him to say something, anything. She was watching him with a quiet intensity, and Harry could feel it in the pit of his stomach.

"Do you miss her?" she asked softly, her voice almost hesitant.

The question hit him like a physical blow, and for a moment, Harry froze. He gripped his mug tightly, trying to keep his composure. "Who?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He knew the answer, but he needed to hear her say it. He needed to hear if she really understood.

"The girl you lost," she replied, her voice simple but cutting, piercing straight through him.

Harry's breath caught, and he closed his eyes briefly, the pain surging forward. "Yeah," he said quietly, the words barely escaping his lips. "Every day."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Harry felt like the air around him had thickened, as if the weight of the past and the present had converged in that one moment.

"I just wish I'd had the chance to tell her..." His voice cracked, and he stopped, biting his lip to hold back more tears. "It doesn't matter now, does it?"

The girl's voice was gentle but firm. "It matters. It always matters."

Harry nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on the table. He didn't know what to say. What could he say? The girl was right. But it didn't make it any easier.

"For what it's worth," she said softly, breaking the silence. "I think she knew how much you cared. And I think she cared just as much."

Harry looked up, meeting her gaze. There was something in her eyes—something that told him she understood more than she should, more than he was ready to admit. He wanted to ask her how she knew, wanted to ask her what she meant, but instead, he just nodded.

She stood then, leaving a few coins for her tea. "Take care of yourself," she said quietly, her voice soft, almost like a farewell.

Harry's chest tightened as she turned to leave. A strange mix of regret and longing stirred inside him. He didn't know why, but it felt like something important was slipping away.

As she reached the door, she paused and glanced back over her shoulder. "I hope you find what you're looking for," she said softly, almost to herself.

Harry blinked, the words settling heavily in the air. "Yeah," he muttered, his voice quiet. "You too."

She smiled faintly, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I think I already did."

And then, just like that, she was gone.

Harry stared at the empty space where she had been, his chest tight, his mind reeling. There was something about her, something he couldn't explain. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to forget her, the random stranger he met at his favorite cafe.

She turned, walking toward the door, but not before she glanced over her shoulder. For a brief moment, their eyes met again. There was that pull again, that strange sense of connection that made Harry's chest tighten. But she was already gone before he could say anything more.

As the door closed behind her, Harry sat there for a long time, his coffee cold and forgotten. The feeling didn't go away.

She hadn't looked like Lyra, but somehow, she had.