Shades of Silver and Black

WHEN CASSANDRA AWOKE, Theodore held her hand and cried. Her eyes, burning with rage, simmered only when the rest of them provided her with a rough outline of what they intended to do to the Dark Lord.

Ignoring her healers' advice—and Lyra’s insistence—of avoiding overexertion, Cassandra forced them to go more in-depth, contributing her ideas as well and agreeing that for now, they should stick with tarnishing the Dark Lord’s image in the Daily Prophet and introducing Lyra’s secret bill in the Wizengamot through Dennis’ father, Lord Yaxley; and that gradually, they would pick the strings of his tapestry until it unravelled completely.

They were in it for the long run, not only because patience delivered the best results, but mainly because it normally cost one the least sacrifices and liabilities.

Given how between the five of them, they’d have the support of at least eight Most Ancient and Noble houses through familial and marital relations, Cassandra, with her sympathetic story on how the Dark Lord had turned on a pureblood heiress and her exquisite communication skills which had earned her a place in the Slytherin Court, was designated with the duty of trash-talking the Dark Lord and convincing others to join their side—the side of the politically neutral who flamed a passionate hatred for the self-titled Lord Voldemort.

Theodore, on the other hand, whose family owned a bustling business supplying precious minerals, rocks, marbles as well as raw material for multiple, famous, important magical organisations managed by old families, including the Blacks, was trusted with convincing his ageing father, Lord Nott, to not only shift stances regarding Voldemort but also stop supplying those families who didn’t agree with them. Considering the profit maximisation mentality of Lord Nott, should Theodore succeed in his task, it would be hailed as nothing short of a miracle.

Dennis, who had played the spy in the Court, was promoted to spymaster. Although he wouldn’t himself be aligned with the Dark Lord—publicly or politically—he would be securing and building connections loyal to him who would. Those who would share anything Lyra’s snake had missed and also be prepared to backstab him and his followers when the time approached. It was also understood that he would act as Lyra’s proxy in Britain since she was still travelling, becoming the face of a fight in the Wizengamot and becoming a devotee of Lord Hermes in delivering messages to the old families and even, the Daily Prophet.

Meanwhile, Lucius would help Lyra draft the bill and help maintain the overall coordination and communication amongst them. Spending a bit more time catching up and then paying a visit to Fabian and Gideon one last time, Lyra and Lucius returned to Malaysia and fell into a routine of work and other work.

During this time, Lyra gained a fast friend in her neighbour, Nivedita. Nivedita was also a parselmouth and had a male runespoor for a companion, one that had been quite taken with Lyra's female one. One day, Nivedita had sent Lyra an envelope that read "Child Support", subsequently leading Lyra to realise that her runespoor was pregnant, and that had been the beginning of a delightful friendship between the two grandmothers-to-be.

Nivedita was the equivalent of an Unspeakable in Malaysia, currently engaged in research to develop immunity to virulent strains of a range of diseases, one of which included Dragon Pox. When Lyra expressed interest in funding some more research, Nivedita had been heaven-sent, helping Lyra in selecting organisations that actually worked towards the cause they listed rather than pocketing the money.

Each country seemed to be creating a cure in the field they excelled in, like France through alchemy, China through potions, Brazil through herbology, Greece through divination and arithmancy, Kenya through magical creatures, and Egypt through astronomy and very mild—well within the guides of the ICW, as they assured—necromancy.

Meanwhile, many South Asian countries like Malaysia, Pakistan and India concentrated on a tricky combination of rituals, runes and the ancient language of snakes, guaranteed to either be amrutha or visha—nectar or poison.

The results could not be in-between, leaving many volunteers for these methods to keep their fingers crossed and recite prayers in their minds. Unfortunately, all the volunteers died a painful death.

The thing about rituals and runes was that they were highly intricate, down to the millimetre thickness of the lines and milliseconds of the timings. If each and every step lacked perfect precision, it was volatile. Execute it flawlessly, and you were god with limitless power.

Because of the needed accuracy and the destruction caused otherwise, runes and especially rituals were not practised in many countries and illegal in many more.

Hence, the reason Lyra travelled to Malaysia, one of the countries that not only practised it but took pride in it, to learn—mostly, observe from a safe distance because on her first day, she saw someone dissipate out of existence because they added a measure of a quarter of a quarter teaspoon extra of water and had thus, gained a healthy fear regarding performing any herself—the way they were applied to the medical field.

Lyra also had high respect for those like Nivedita who bravely executed parseltongue rituals. Which was why, when Nivedita enlisted her as her plus one in a meeting-marketed-as-convention in Indonesia to catch up with others in both the healing field and the researchers working on Dragon Pox, Lyra accepted in a heartbeat.

It was an exclusive gathering, reserved for the acclaimed and the luminaries. Conducted over three days, the first day was chartered for socialising. It took place in Java, and after a buffet-style breakfast in the humongous pergola outside, they stepped into the grand townhouse, packed with those blessed by magic.

While the first floor and up, held rooms for those present to stay in, the ground floor had been decorated to encourage informal conversations, with a fountain pouring chocolate located in the middle and surrounded by floating silver platters containing fruit and biscuits. Sunlight illuminated the room and carpets in the nitik design covered the floors.

Lyra followed Nivedita as she caught up with acquaintances and colleagues, joining in the discussions with an easy charm and a translation rune etched into her forearm.

“We have to try out the fountain,” Nivedita declared as soon as they gained a moment of peace. Since she was representing Malaysia, Nivedita had donned the traditional baju kurung—a knee-length, long-sleeved and collarless blouse worn over a long skirt with pleats on one side. Her dark hair had been plaited and lazily thrown over one shoulder, making her look lovely and enchanting.

“We absolutely should,” agreed Lyra, tossing a longing glance at the chocolate fountain, now crowded with people. The floor-sweeping royal purple gown she wore matched Nivedita’s, as did the style of her hair. “I’m worried we might have to push past them though.”

“We have venomous snakes cuddling upstairs,” said Nivedita blandly. “We don’t need to push, we just need to scare.”

Lyra giggled, looping her arm into Nivedita’s as the two women continued staring at the chocolate fountain the same manner one stared at their romantic partner. “You forget that there are other people here who have brought snakes with them.”

“Ours are obviously superior.”

“I agree, but I don’t want them to get hurt, especially since they’re expecting soon.”

Nivedita nodded her head solemnly. “Don’t worry, we can hurt anyone who hurts them.”

“I adore you, you know that?”

“I adore you too.” Nivedita reflected Lyra’s grin. “Which fruit do you reckon tastes best dipped in chocolate?”

“Strawberries,” responded Lyra immediately, thinking back to the times when a chocolate fountain had been set up for birthday parties of the members of her family. “Bananas and apples are quite good as well. I know some people dip in orange slices and pineapples, but I’m not a fan of them personally.”

“What about pears?”

“I’ve never tried pears,” admitted Lyra, sneaking a peek at the platters which kept filling up as they cleared. “But why would you dip in pears when there are marshmallows and brownies, right?”

“I also spot…ladyfingers?” Nivedita sounded bewildered. “That’s an interesting choice.”

“All that matters is if it’s delicious.”

“Indeed.”

They shared a heartbeat of silence before Lyra said, “Don’t you actually think we should go and treat ourselves at the chocolate fountain rather than admiring it from afar?”

“We probably should,” Nivedita acknowledged but neither one of them moved.

Lyra spoke again, staring intensely at the fountain. “I feel rather clandestine looking at it like I am.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I feel like I’m cheating on my imaginary husband.”

“That does make me feel better, actually.”

“Happy to help.”

Another silence stretched and the crowd around the fountain only grew as people finished their breakfast and entered the townhouse.

“Okay, this is ridiculous,” said Lyra and she started walking, dragging Nivedita with her. “Let’s go do this.”

“Now that I’m so close to the fountain, I feel rather intimidated,” confessed Nivedita with wide eyes fixated on a platter of brownies and strawberries.

Lyra didn’t respond.

They were a footstep away from the outermost crowd when a call of “Nivedita!” was heard. The two women froze.

“We can pretend we didn’t hear it,” suggested Lyra, her eyes fixated on the chocolate fountain.

“Hear what? Nobody called out my name,” said Nivedita in silent agreement.

Before they could march forward, a louder cry of her name rang out.

“Oh, come on!” Nivedita groaned, making sure to keep her voice low. “We were so close!”

Lyra threw her a glare. “Why must you be so popular?”

“It’s a curse.” Nivedita sighed tiredly, shooting her a warning look. “You better not eat strawberries and chocolate without me.”

“You know, now that you mention it—“

“No,” said Nivedita stubbornly, leeching onto Lyra’s arm like a koala to a eucalyptus tree as they twisted towards the person who’d called her. The voice belonged to a tall man, stocky build with bushy eyebrows.

“Who is he?” Lyra asked when she noticed Nivedita’s countenance brightened considerably.

Nivedita responded as the man approached them, weaving his way through the pack of people. “He’s a healer from Bulgaria. We corresponded quite a lot regarding the virulent strain of Dragon Pox, which saw a sudden rise a couple of months back. Of course, the exact cause isn’t known yet.” Nivedita frowned and Lyra mirrored her expression.

Knowing what was causing a fatal illness would be ideal to strategise measures to counter it, but this strain seemed to pop up randomly, unrestricted to age, climate, gender, surrounding area and seemingly every other category thinkable.

“Nivedita! It’s a pleasure to see you here,” he greeted politely and Nivedita laughed.

“Oh, please don’t be so formal! We’ve exploded things together, after all. If that doesn’t make us friends, I don’t know what does.”

The man chuckled. “True, true.” His dark eyes slid over to Lyra and a puzzled glint entered as his mind tried to recognise why she looked strangely familiar.

“Oh! This is Lyra Black.” Nivedita introduced, gesticulating towards her with a hand. “She’s a healer originally from Britain and educated in affluent hospitals in Argentina and Peru, although she recently moved to Malaysia. She’s also an angel investor in several companies researching the virulent strain of Dragon Pox. We’re in-laws.”

Based on how Nivedita had introduced her, there were so many things Lyra could have been complimented and commented on—especially the last part—but the man seemed to be stuck on her name. “Lyra…Black,” the man drew out slowly in a Bulgarian accent before his countenance brightened. He held out his hand. “I’m Petrov Krum.”

“Oh!” Lyra’s eyes lit up in recognition, remembering Bella’s slurred words. “You’re my Uncle Alphard’s partner.”

Petrov’s cheeks bloomed pink while Nivedita disguised her chuckles as coughs before whispering in Lyra’s ears that she’d be at the chocolate fountain. Nivedita ignored the narrowed eyes Lyra flashed her and walked away with a grin, giving them space to talk.

“I am,” confirmed Petrov.

“Is my Uncle doing well?” asked Lyra, filing revenge against Nivedita to the back of her mind. “Has he called anyone a potato since the last time I saw him?”

Petrov appeared flabbergasted. “Potato?”

“I suppose that name is just reserved for me then,” mused Lyra, waving off his questioning glance with a curve on her lips like it was an inside joke.

“I see,” said Petrov slowly. “Potatoes are nice.”

“I agree completely.”

“And Alphard is well. Other than breaking his bones a few times,” responded Petrov, concern etched on his face.

Lyra nodded. “His line of work is immensely dangerous. I’m glad he has you to fix anything up. I’m just glad he has you in general. He’s been alone for so long, and I’ve heard nothing but the loveliest things about you.”

Petrov grinned wonderfully at that. “Thank you,” he said. “Alphard speaks—more like brags, really—about you and your brothers so often, I feel like we’re long acquaintances.”

“We should totally go for tea sometime,” said Lyra. “All of us. I have tons of blackmail material to share about Uncle Alphard.”

“I’d appreciate that tremendously.” Petrov chuckled. “Your mother shared some already. I’d love to see Alphard’s horrified expression again. He’s stone-faced when dealing with thousand-year-old curses but one mention about his childhood leaves him pale.”

Lyra laughed, and at that, Petrov smiled.

“You look astoundingly like your mother,” Petrov observed before hesitating, looking at Lyra with a new measure of wariness. “Do you also throw pianos?”

Lyra sighed. “I’m afraid only my mother is talented in doing so. My brothers and I take after my father.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, we hit people with knives.”

“Knives?” Petrov repeated with wide eyes.

“Very gently,” Lyra added soothingly. “In their vital spots.”

Petrov gulped. Then, he noticed the twinkle in her eyes and understood that she was joking. Wanting his partner’s niece to like him, he jumped in on her apparent dark humour. “Oh, and does Alphard take after his sister or brother-in-law?”

“He’s in a whole new category.”

“Which is?”

“Human trafficking.”

Petrov nearly choked on his own spit. “I’m sorry?”

“He once sold my mother to a circus when they were younger but my grandfather managed to get her back,” Lyra informed him, her voice coated with teasing mirth which after Petrov registered, breathed out in relief—not knowing that her words were true.

“Anyway,” he started, swiftly changing the topic. “So you’re funding research on the virulent strain of Dragon Pox? That’s quite nice of you. So many have already given up hope on an antidote that they’ve been withdrawing funding from it. At least, in Bulgaria.”

“In other countries as well,” said Lyra. “But it’s still lovely to cling onto the hope that a cure will be found, won’t it?”

Petrov smiled sadly, probably recalling, like Lyra, all the patients they had lost to the strain and all the ones they would lose in the future should a medicine not be found. “Yes, it is.”

Lyra paid a surprise visit to her godmother’s house during the Easter holidays. After receiving and returning hugs from James and Sirius, she tilted her head slightly and asked, “Where’s Regulus?”

Sirius and James traded a glance.

“With Amal,” answered Sirius with hesitation that he tried to play off as nonchalant. “You know how much he fancies her.”

Sirius nudged James to continue, which he did, albeit hastily: “Yeah, it’s honestly frustrating to watch. Like, kiss already, geez.”

Lyra hummed. “And the reason why he went isn’t that you all fought or anything, right?”

James and Sirius exchanged another look.

“Right,” confirmed James finally.

“He just wanted to have a grand time with Amal,” added Sirius. “And why should we deprive him of an opportunity to spend time with our future sister-in-law.”

“Oh, Lyra, have you met Remus?” James questioned hurriedly, seizing her chance to inquire into their words. The Potter Heir pointed to a sandy-haired boy with amber eyes who lingered behind, obviously uncomfortable by her presence. “That’s Remus, I’m not sure if you remember him. He’s super smart and likes chocolate.”

“Hi, Remus,” said Lyra gently and Remus gave her a nervous half-smile.

“Did you buy us any presents?” Sirius probed.

Lyra gave him an offended look. “Isn’t my presence a present?”

“Of course it is,” Sirius rushed to assure, “I was just hoping for those with monetary value.”

Lyra scoffed. “I’ll have you know that I am worth quite a lot, being the oldest grandchild of Lord Black and all.”

Sirius arched a brow. “So you didn’t buy us any gifts?”

“Not this time,” she admitted, a little sheepish as she ruffled his hair. From the corner of her eyes, she noticed Remus appear shocked like he couldn’t believe someone had messed up Sirius’ hair and still breathed air. “But I promise I’ll buy some for you both later.”

Sirius’ eyes softened. “That’s not needed. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not entirely materialistic. Well, not more than Narcissa, definitely. Like you said, your presence is a present for me.”

“So charming,” said Lyra and pressed a kiss to Sirius’ cheek. When she withdrew, she pouted. “I can’t believe you’re nearly as tall as me already. Both of you.”

James’ chest puffed up in pride as he slung a hand over her shoulders. Like Sirius, his head reached to her forehead. “We’ll be towering you before you know it.”

“Yay.” Lyra’s tone was so dry it made James and Sirius laugh and a ghost of a smile flicker across Remus’ lips. “Anyway, boys,” she began, walking past them, “I do need to greet your parents. Ta-ta for now.”

Various exaggerated goodbye waves and dramatic tears later, Lyra navigated towards Dorea, finding her sitting in the parlour reading a potion’s journal. After exchanging pleasantries and engaging in a quick chat, Lyra manoeuvred up the stairs, through the maze of corridors to Charlus’ office and knocked.

“Come in,” came the voice inside and Lyra did.

“Lyra!” Charlus looked delighted to see her from where he sat behind a sturdy, ebony desk. He stood up and motioned for her to take a seat at the array of sofas and chairs at the other end of the study before doing the same. “How have you been doing? All good I hope.”

“All good,” she parroted, seating herself in a love seat as Charlus took the single arm-rest chair across her.

“And the healing?”

“Absolutely wonderful. I’m learning so much, although it does take its toll.”

“Understandably so. It’s a truly difficult occupation—not just physically but also emotionally. I’m happy you’re happy, though.”

Lyra giggled. “Thank you, Uncle Charlus. That’s very lovely of you to say.”

Charlus laughed. “And you’re too kind, Lyra. How’s Lucius?”

Lyra squeezed the pads of her index and thumb fingers nearly together. ““He is this close to making our house a museum and a library. Uncle, I swear, he just keeps bringing stuff home and I’m honestly terrified to ask from where.”

“Best that you don’t,” advised Charlus with the wisdom of an ancient sage. “Dorea has a collection of poisons. Imported, exotic ones, and I’m afraid to ask why.”

Lyra nodded her head. “Probably for the best,” she echoed, voice sympathetic.

Charlus grimaced before clearing off his expression. “Now, enough about me and my wife planning to kill me. What’s new with you?”

“A chocolate fountain.” Lyra sighed dreamily. “It tastes decadent and divine, Uncle. My in-law and I filled one of the fountains around the fountains in the estate with melted chocolate instead of water and it’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“Sounds amazing. I wonder if Dorea will let me do the same?” He mused aloud.

“She won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“She’ll genuinely use those poisons on you if you ask her that.”

“Not if I make sure she doesn’t find out.”

“We both know she will.”

“Point,” conceded Charlus with a pout before he paused. “Wait, did you say you did this with your in-law? The Malfoys visited you in Malaysia?”

“Nope! Oh, I forgot to tell you, I’m going to be a grandmother, Uncle Charlus! My runespoor mated with another runespoor and I became friends with its mother.”

“I’m happy for you, Lyra, that sounds nice.”

“It is. Thank you, Uncle,” said Lyra, beaming. Then, her smile slipped. “How are you feeling?” Lyra asked, her voice low and flooded to the brim with concern.

“Not much difference from last time,” replied Charlus weakly, referring to the strain of Dragon Pox he had managed to acquire.

“You did get a good expectancy range,” noted Lyra. “It’ll be a while before the more serious symptoms begin to show. I hope you’re taking your medicines regularly.”

“I am,” confirmed Charlus and Lyra nodded with approval. “It’s been rather hard to disguise all my coughs and sniffs though.”

“Has godmother been suspicious?”

“Initially, yes,” revealed Charlus. “But I told her I had developed a bout of dust allergy.”

Lyra tilted her head. “You can’t suddenly develop a dust allergy. That’s not how having a dust allergy works.”

“Well, you know that and I know that, but thankfully, Dorea does not.” Charlus winced. “She made the house-elves sweep every inch of the house then. Poor guys looked half-dead. She only stopped when I told her that it was fine dust—the ones that can’t be seen with the naked eye—that I’m allergic to.”

“That excuse might not last long though,” said Lyra. “I hope you have another one in mind.”

Charlus flushed. “Well, um, no? Not really. I’m open to ideas if you have any.”

“Switch the labels of your medicine,” addressed Lyra. “You can claim that those are for vitamins or hair-loss or something and although it works very well, one of the side-effects happen to be coughs and sniffles.”

“Huh.” Charlus blinked in consideration. “That’s actually a rather brilliant idea. That anti-ageing potion Dorea’s been taking as of late also has a mild case of sniffles as a side-effect, so she wouldn’t find it odd that other potions would have them as well. I wouldn’t have to hide the bottles and take the medicine in secret then.” He nodded to himself and flashed her a tiny smile. “I’ll do that. Thanks, Lyra.”

“Of course, Uncle Charlus. If you need anything, I’m here.”

“I know, and I hope you know that I’m here for you as well.”

“I do,” said Lyra. She leaned back on the cushion and crossed her legs, her diamond heels sparkling as they reflected the light of the room. “Actually, Uncle Charlus, could you help me out with something?”

“Definitely. What can I do?”

“A bill will be introduced in the Wizengamot by Lord Yaxley. I was wondering if you could vote for it? And maybe, rally some other lords to do so as well?”

Charlus’ eyes narrowed, a sliver of suspicion slithered through his mind. “What’s the bill about?”

Lyra dimpled. “Taxes.”

“Taxes?” Charlus repeated, bewildered.

“Yes, taxes and compensations. Ancient Athens had a tax that fell largely on the wealthiest 1% of the population. These individuals were expected to pay the entire cost of provisioning, paying the wages for, and fully equipping a trireme warship for an entire year. It was considered a high honour and taxpayers competed to provide the greatest public good. This bill takes heavy inspiration from that.”

Charlus looked intrigued.

Lyra continued, “The purpose of this bill is to tax anyone per month who has the title ‘Lord’ or ‘Lady’ beside their name. Not lay the entire duty of tax upon them—I know nobody will agree to it—but rather, increase the amount of taxes they’re paying and take strict measures to make sure that they are. Additionally, the consequences for not doing so should be immense. I suggest a kiss with the Dementors and a kill on sight if they retaliate. Then, all the tax they were due to pay would be given as a reward to the person who killed them.”

“That’s…extreme,” commented Charlus. “And barbaric.”

Lyra shrugged. “There have been—there are—worst laws in place. At least this one will make the public happy and the Minister’s approval ratings will soar, so there won’t be any barriers there. Besides,” she paused. “It’ll be temporary. Enforced only till the mid of next year, maximum. Then, by another majority vote, it can be scrapped. It just needs to be passed for a year.”

Charlus didn’t speak for a long time. Then, he said, “Anyone who has the title ‘Lord’—didn’t you say?” The sharp glint in his eyes made Lyra realise that he’d gotten the intention.

The Dark Lord wouldn’t be tried and sent to a cosy cell in Azkaban where he could either slither out of with his silver tongue or break out with the assistance of his followers, as he could now due to the dictation of the laws. He would be killed—and that monster's murder would be legal and rewarding under law.

“Yes, anyone styled under such a title,” said Lyra. “They have a duty to the public.”

“Of course, yes, they do.” Charlus contemplated. “And what if they do manage to pay?”

“I suppose someone has to make sure their payments keep disappearing before it reaches the tax office,” said Lyra nonchalantly. “With so much paperwork, it’s common that some documents get misplaced or lost.”

“How unfortunate,” said Charlus, clutching the arm-rests of his chair “And what if others don’t pay?”

“I’ll pay for them,” said Lyra, proceeding to add in elaboration, “Forging a signature is easy if you have a steady hand. I only care about one Lord in particular.”

“I’m the Lord you’re referring to, right?”

“Of course, Uncle Charlus,” she agreed, playing along with his jape before sobering. “I don’t want him in jail where his commands can still kill people. I want him dead.”

“We all do. But say you do get a kill-on-sight order on him…Do you think anyone will actually do it? They speak his name in whispers already.”

“We’re at war times, Uncle Charlus. Businesses are getting raided or bankrupt and money is running low. Desperation is stronger than fear.”

“I hope you’re right.” Charlus ran a hand through his hair, disarraying it further. “And you said something about compensation?”

“So much property and lives tend to be lost in fights. Nobility can be apathetic to the plight of those below their station. This bill would merely make sure the victims of rifts—it’s going to be worded more articulately and ironed out of loopholes, don’t worry—are properly compensated monetarily for emotional distress, physical wounds, property damage, stolen lives. Everything from paper-cuts and stepping on another’s foot to calling someone a slur and throwing the killing curse their way.”

“I can’t imagine much of the pureblood families going without saying that awful slur to muggle-borns,” mused Charlus, tossing her an amused look. “You included.”

“I’ll restrain myself.”

“Won’t you be travelling the world?”

“It’s a pity the law won’t be applicable outside of Britain.”

“A true tragedy,” agreed Charlus, shaking his head rather fondly. “The dark and most of the neutral faction won’t agree to this.”

“It’ll only be a punishable offence if the victim pushes for it,” said Lyra. “In the bill, that loophole will be so blatant nobody will be able to miss it. The dark and neutral faction can clean up their messes however they wish. I won’t interfere as long as they don’t touch a hair on the heads of the victims of the Dark Lord.”

“You want to bleed his funds dry, don’t you?”

Lyra nodded her head. “He’s being supplied by the dark and neutral families, you already know that. And well, they need to have money to be able to fund him in the first place, lest they themselves don’t pay their taxes and compensations and have a weighty bounty on their shoulders.”

Charlus hummed, his face was drawn in concentration and thought for a few moments before he smiled. “Send me the draft of the bill you have so far. I’ll filter it out for any loopholes that you miss and convince all those from the light and neutral faction that I can.”

Lyra released a relieved breath. “Thank you so much, Uncle Charlus. I—words can’t begin to express how much I appreciate you doing this.”

“Anything for family, Lyra.” Charlus grinned wickedly, a sudden thought crossing his mind. “I’m not going to question why you of all people are against the Dark Lord, I’m too grateful for it, but I am curious… The Daily Prophet’s been on a mission of rampant defamation lately against him. Something about being a half-blood and taking pride in fooling purebloods, if I recall correctly? Hats off to them, really. It’ll make convincing the neutrals and maybe, dare I hope, the darks considerably easier once they see the intentions of this bill—but, say, Lyra; don’t you Blacks have a tradition of investing in companies? Remind me where you invested in again?”

Lyra winked at him and rose from her chair. “Come along Uncle Charlus. I’m only here for today, I have work tomorrow. Let’s do something fun.”

A burst of laughter escaped Charlus’ mouth as he stood. Lyra looped her arm into his and they exited his study together.

Something fun turned out to be a game of Capture the Flag.

“Kids versus adults?” James suggested when they had to be split into teams.

“Blacks versus non-Blacks?” Sirius said instead, looking at Dorea and Lyra. “Or Slytherins versus Gryffindors?”

“We don’t have enough Slytherins,” Lyra pointed out. “It’s just me and Aunt Dorea.”

“And the two of you are enough,” said James, theatrically shuddering, and bringing Lyra and Dorea to roll their eyes in a union.

“How about Potters versus non-Potters?” Remus chimed.

Charlus nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

“No it’s not,” disagreed James, lips twisting into a grimace. “I don’t want to be on the same team as my mum and dad.”

“I’ll buy ice cream for all those on my team whether we win or lose.”

“I’d love to be on the same team as my mum and dad!” James grinned, standing with his parents.

Lyra shook her head fondly. “Right, anywho. We’ll take the blue flag—“ Really, their flags were just a piece of cloth tied to a long stick “—and you take the red one.”

“Sounds good,” said Dorea as James and Remus picked up their respective team’s flags. Then, Dorea gestured to the span of the yard before them, clothed in green grass and dotted with towering trees. “Ten minutes to hide the flags and strategise, then the game starts. The first team to capture their opponent’s flag and place it beside their own wins, so it’s vital to guard your flag as much as it is to capture your opponents. Everyone with me so far?”

When they nodded their heads, Dorea continued: “And here are the rules: no using any spell that isn’t taught by the fourth year at Hogwarts, just to be fair. Additionally, no summoning spells or levitation spells or invisibility spells or any lethal spell.” Dorea locked eyes with her god-daughter and sniffed. “And no using healing spells as well.”

Lyra pouted.

Sirius raised his hand. “I have a question.”

Dorea nodded at him. “Do ask.”

“Can we hit people with a knife?”

“No.”

“Just a little bit?”

“No,” denied Dorea, before clapping her hands together. “Alright, any other questions?”

Sirius raised his hand again. “I have another question.”

Dorea sighed, sniffing as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Go ahead.”

“Could we throw objects at other people?”

“Depends on the object. A feather? Yes. A piano? No.”

“Oh.” Sirius put his hand down.

Lyra patted her brother’s back comfortingly. “I think we all understood these unfair rules,” she said. “Let’s start?”

Dorea grinned. “Three…two…one…go!”

Each team dashed into the canopy of trees ahead of them with the Potter’s going right and the trio going left. Once they were a suitable distance away, they huddled together.

“Okay, so what’s our plan?” Sirius embarked, looking between Remus and Lyra.

“Um, I have one,” said Remus and he glanced at Lyra for permission to share. When she smiled at him, he explained: “It’s rather vague at the moment, but you,” he jutted his chin towards Lyra, “are a titleholder at the National Duelling Tournament, right? You could go offence and capture their flag while Sirius and I stay behind and guard ours. We could set up traps, loads of them.”

“That’s a good base to build on,” complimented Lyra, before adding on, “I think we should choose a location first. One of you visibly guards the flag while the other one can hide atop the trees. The Potters might think that one person is guarding and two people are fetching the flag, so it could come as a surprise.”

Far away from the mid-point boundary line of their territories, they stuck their flag on the ground and Lyra listened as Sirius and Remus voiced aloud their plans regarding traps. It was agreed that Sirius would hide in the trees.

“Ten minutes are almost up,” said Lyra, vanishing a tempus away. “And there’s only one thing to do.”

“Wish each other luck?” Remus guessed.

“Yes, but also,” hissing sounds erupted from Lyra’s throat, frightening Remus and making Sirius grin. A variety of snakes slithered into the space, a few coiling themselves around the length of the flag while others formed a protective ring around it.

Remus’ eyes were wide. “What—“

“They never said anything about not using snakes,” reminded Lyra, dimpling. “And don’t worry, I’m a healer, remember? I have anti-venom. It’s going to be okay.”

“Great,” responded Remus, eyeing the larger snakes with a volume of wariness. “Wonderful. Good luck.”

“You too,” returned Lyra before planting a kiss on Sirius’ forehead and walking away.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the enormous backyard of the Potter’s house, the Potters had placed their flag on a mushy area. Vines hung from trees and darkness touched everywhere but the sporadic places sunlight didn’t leak into. Topographically, they had the advantage.

The plan they had created relied on James’ ability to prank and essentially, a game of tag. Dorea would stand close to the boundary line on the enemy’s side while Charlus would venture deep into the opponent’s territory to capture their flag. After he did, he would hand it over to Dorea like a baton in a relay and Dorea would scamper to where James was stationed, fix the two flags together and win the game for them. Similarly, since she was close to the boundary line, Dorea could also stop their opponents from crossing it.

“If we lose this,” started Dorea, after the couple had bid goodbye to James, “I’m divorcing you.”

Charlus chuckled, placing an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “It’s just a game of Capture the Flag, love. It’s not that serious—“

“Joint custody of James,” continued Dorea, startling Charlus. “You can keep your property and I’ll keep my shares at Stella.”

“Dorea, honey, you can’t be—“

“Nothing will happen if we win.” Dorea smiled sweetly, pressing Charlus’ shoulder until he winced. “So let’s win.”

They continued threading past the trees and bushes and flowers, silence embracing them like they intended to blend in with the environment.

They were near the border when Dorea spoke, her voice barely audible, "Hear that?"

"Hear what?" asked Charlus cautiously, surveying their surroundings for any sign of threat from the opposing team.

“Your very loud breathing, of course! I’m sure you alerted the others of our position by now, thanks a lot.”

Irritation flashed through Charlus’ eyes like lightning. “Well, I can’t hear my breathing over your screaming and sniffing! Merlin, Dorea, you’re lovely! Could you stop that bloody anti-ageing potion?”

“Do not bring my potion into this,” said Dorea sharply. “You don’t know what it’s like being the only one with grey hair and wrinkles at tea. And really? Screaming? Even if I was screaming—which I’m not—my voice cannot possibly be louder than your earthquake-inducing breathing!”

“Your voice, when you’re whispering, is so loud you have no use for a sonorous. I’m surprised the earth hasn’t combusted now that you’ve raised the volume.”

“Maybe because I. Am. Not. Loud.”

“That can’t be it.”

Too busy arguing, they didn’t notice Lyra stroll past them in the distance. Although, in their defence, she had not only applied a notice-me-not charm on herself but also a simple enchantment to silence her sounds. Nothing above the fourth year, as agreed.

Following the trail of footsteps left behind by Dorea and Charlus, Lyra wove through the flora of the yard and stopped when she noticed the familiar figure of James Potter, his wand gripped in his hand and face alert as he surveyed his surroundings. A peak of red fluttered at his rear in the wind.

Moving back, Lyra crouched behind a tree, mourning her decision to wear her favoured diamond heels in an area of wet mud. She cancelled the enchantment and hissed lowly, asking for help. A green snake that had fit in so perfectly with the vines hanging off the trees answered, slithering down the tree’s trunk.

After obtaining information regarding what the ‘little two-legger’ had been up to, Lyra had a good idea in her head about the traps he’d set up—so similar to the ones Sirius and Remus had—and had also drawn up a plan to obtain the flag without approaching any of them.

After re-applying the silencing spell, Lyra daintily picked up a fallen stick near her feet, grimacing in disgust at the dirt and moss clinging onto it. Next, she fixed it onto the mud, much like the flag was and pointed her wand at it.

As far as she recalled, switching spells were taught in the third year. Lyra remembered being assigned to tutor Darla Selwyn in the same when she hadn’t been able to perform even the simplest switches during their fourth year.

Her godmother really needed to be sterner with the rules if she desired to win.

The tip of her wand glowed as she made precise, slashing and circular motions. There was no flash of light or hustle of movement, but the very succeeding second, the red flag bellowed proudly before her.

Lyra quickly hugged it close to her, even the bottom end which had been dipped in the dirt. She chanced a peek at James, who was oblivious as ever to the stick he guarded, even as he scanned ahead for threats.

A grin fleeted past Lyra’s lips like time. She retreated into the camouflage of green, away from James and towards her team, hoping they’d managed to hold out on their own till she arrived with the crowning glory that was their enemy’s flag.

When she spotted the dark hair of Dorea, Lyra hid behind a tree despite wearing a notice-me-not charm, wondering how to get past her formidable godmother. Lady Fortuna appeared to be on her side that day, however, as a shout shattered the serene atmosphere.

“DOREA!” A terrified, shrill shriek pierced through the air, startling both women. “THEY HAVE SNAKES! MANY OF THEM! I THINK ONE OF THEM BIT ME! DOREA!”

Lyra heard her godmother curse and dart in the general direction of the sounds. Once Dorea was out of the viewpoint, Lyra sprinted after her while still maintaining distance. Although Dorea might be unable to hear or see her, it still stood that she could see the rustling of the trees and bushes. Lyra had to bank on her godmother being too distracted by her husband being bitten to notice her.

With venom being induced into a human body, time mattered and perhaps, wild snakes weren’t the best option to act as a shield, even if they were technically allowed. But they were too close to victory for Lyra to truly regret her decisions.

Given the way she was running, the gritty land and her high heels, it was a miracle she didn’t fall on her face. It would have been extremely unfortunate if she had, considering her face was one of her best assets.

The sight she stumbled into involved Dorea hastily levitating—and thus, breaking the rules—the plethora of snakes slithering towards her and dropping them at a distance. Charlus was upside down, his legs snared by a rope tied to one of the branches of a tree. His glasses and wand were in the safe possession of Remus Lupin.

“Great work you two,” praised Lyra, cancelling out the notice-me-not and silencing charm. Instead, she sprung out a shield charm around her, watching Dorea carefully as she handed their opponent’s flag to Sirius and smiled at him. “Go on little brother. Make us win.”

Sirius accepted the flag with a beam. Lyra extended the shield charm towards him, following his movements through the corner of her eyes as he placed it beside their blue flag.

“Yes!” Sirius cheered, punching a fist upwards as he jumped and hugged Remus.

“Yes, yes you won; that’s wonderful, congratulations,” said Dorea, lips twisted as she backed away from the snakes, which were now agitated. “Um, Lyra? Make them go away please.”

“You made them quite mad,” said Lyra. “Could you please ask the house-elves to bring some rats as goodwill?”

“Anything,” responded Dorea and hastened to summon the house-elves and issue the command while Lyra tried creating peace with the snakes.

“Oi! Don’t forget me!” Charlus called out. “My head’s getting dizzy. Someone get me down from here! Now! No, wait, no, don’t cut me down. Lower me gently to the ground. Yes, like that, thank you, Remus.”

“It would have been more fun if you’d cut the ropes,” Sirius told Remus, who shrugged. No sooner had Charlus touched the ground did the ropes disappear, becoming the tree branch that had been transfigured into a rope.

After the turmoil with the snakes had been solved, Sirius and Remus left to inform James of their victory and bring him back to the Potter’s residence, where Dorea, Charlus and Lyra headed, explaining what they had done in the game in the journey.

A thought thunder through Charlus’ mind. “Dorea…You’re not—You aren’t actually going to divorce me, right love?”

“Depends… Will you still be buying ice cream?”

“Yes.”

“Then, no, I’m not going to divorce you,” clarified Dorea. She waited until Charlus released a relieved breath before, like the cruel woman she was, adding, “For now, at least.”

Charlus gulped and promptly ordered the house-elves to empty Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour of ice cream.

When they reached the house, Lyra excused herself to one of the guest bathrooms on the ground floor, intending to wash the dirt off her heels. Dorea trailed after her goddaughter to wash her hands and mostly because they were locked in a conversation about calligraphy of all things that neither one of them wanted to break out.

“It’s a dying art,” agreed Dorea, twisting the tap of the sink as Lyra opened a cabinet attached to the wall, searching for wet wipes.

“It’s not even taken seriously,” added Lyra, her heels on the floors as she stood on her tippy toes. “It’s like good handwriting doesn’t matter anymore.”

“You of all people shouldn’t say that.” Dorea squirted hand soap onto her hands. “Aren’t healers supposed to have horrid handwriting?”

“Not all of us,” corrected Lyra. Her eyes lit up as she recognised the tub of wet wipes at the back of a lower shelf. She picked up the few vials blocking it to keep it to the side.

It was when one such vial was mid-air did she realise why the colour stuck a memory in her as much as it did. With its sickly-looking colour, it could only be the medicine that had been created to control the effects of the virulent strain of dragon pox in the initial stage. It seemed the reason Charlus had gotten away with taking the potion without Dorea noticing was that he hid it in a guest room.

“I suppose it has more to do with—“ Dorea cut herself off with a gasp, a wet hand flying to cover her mouth. Dorea’s eyes widened as she spotted the bottle in Lyra’s hand.

Lyra reflected her godmother’s expression as her mind whirled to create an excuse to deflect suspicion from Charlus.

Perhaps, Lyra could say that she had brought this potion with her when she visited the apothecary during Christmas and had forgotten it here. Perhaps Lyra could say the vial was empty and being used as a craft project to plant flowers in. Perhaps Lyra could say anything but Charlus’ condition and spin her lie into one that sounded true.

“I can explain,” Dorea blurted out before Lyra could cover for Charlus. “I—I need you to sit down. Please.”

“Okay…” Lyra drew out slowly, seating herself on the rim of the bathtub. In her mind, she listed the pros and cons of confessing to her godmother that she already knew that her husband had a fatal case of dragon pox. “What did you want to say, Aunty?”

Dorea closed her eyes like she was gathering courage. Like she didn’t want to see Lyra’s reaction. “I have dragon pox.”

Lyra stilled, her mind becoming as blank as a canvas. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s the virulent strain,” elucidated Dorea grimly. “Early-stage, so most of the more noticeable symptoms haven’t set in yet, just sniffing—thank Morgana for small mercies. It’s probably why you didn’t realise.”

“Oh,” said Lyra and enveloped her grandmother into a hug. “Oh Circe, Aunty. I’m so sorry. Have you told anyone?”

“Just you, now,” murmured Dorea into Lyra’s shoulders, tightening the hug. “I don’t want Charlus to worry or James to cry.”

“You don’t have to listen to me,” said Lyra gently, rubbing soothing circles on her godmother’s back, “but I think you should tell them before things get worse.”

“It won’t be worse for quite some time,” revealed Dorea. “Like I said, still early stages. Healer Abbott estimates a few years, at least. Enough to see James graduate, and that’s all I want.”

“I think you should still tell them. Uncle Charlus, at least.”

“I will. Later,” said Dorea, finally withdrawing and staring into Lyra’s eyes. “Don’t tell anyone until I do. Please.”

Lyra pulled her back in for a hug. “Your secret is safe with me,” she promised. “I’m here for you. For everything and anything. Don’t hesitate, okay?”

“I won’t.” There was a smile in Dorea’s voice. “And you do know that the same goes for you, right?”

Lyra nodded, resting her chin on her godmother’s shoulders as her eyes fluttered shut. “I know.”

A few days after returning to Malaysia, Lucius was invited to a formal gathering hosted by the Historical Society of Malaysia. Despite her insistence that he take somebody who was actually interested in history, Lucius pouted and revealed that everyone he knew but her were interested in history and that they were all going and that he would be the victim of ridicule should he not bring a plus one. And so, Nivedita helped Lyra pick out an outfit and promised to watch over the eggs that held their grandchildren before Lucius and Lyra left.

The ballroom the gathering was to take place in had been dressed in the vibrant colours seen on the flag of Malaysia—blue, white, yellow and red. Thick, red velvet curtains were pulled to the side of glass doors, allowing moonlight to stream in. Plush, white carpets made the guests cautious regarding spilling food or drink.

Bluebells floated in the airspace, creating a fairytale-like atmosphere. A yellow tablecloth was spread over a long table pushed to a wall, atop which served a never-ending buffet of finger-food and non-alcoholic drinks. Tapestries hung over nails on walls, patterned with leaves and floral motifs with light colouring.

Within the thirty seconds Lyra had taken to admire the decor, Lucius had already kissed her goodbye and gotten swept away into a heated argument regarding the honour of an old, long-dead king. Despite it being advertised as a formal event, guests chatted comfortably like it was an informal one. The posh clothes they donned and manners were forgotten in the face of debating the authenticity of various sources of famous historical events, since, as Lyra realised, there was hardly anyone who wasn’t a historical enthusiast.

Fondly shaking her head, Lyra threaded to the glass doors upon realising that she knew nobody and couldn’t spend the entire night standing and drinking cocktails. Crossing the glass doors, Lyra entered the balcony. The peace was a welcomed change from the argumentation of historians.

The night sky had fallen like a tapestry of velvet embroidered with silver-stitched stars, and she found herself looking at the brightest one. Her brother’s namesake twinkled at her and she smiled, leaning against the railing before her gaze switched to the constellation of Lyra.

The Blacks were named after stars and constellations because they were higher than anyone else. After all, stars were the closest to divinity they’d reach. Lyra wondered if her namesake thought she was worthy to bear that name.

“Lord Hermes made it,” said her father from behind her as he stood beside her. Neither of them looked at each other, just their respective counterparts in the heavens, “from a tortoiseshell, if I recall correctly, and then, gave it to Lord Apollo as a bargain. It was a favourite of the great musician Orpheus, and when he died Lord Zeus himself sent an eagle to fetch his lyre and placed it in the sky.”

“I know that,” said Lyra. “You used to tell us the story nearly every night when we were younger. The story of every star and constellation in the night sky.”

“It was so you never forget your origins. It was to remind you that you are born with greatness, so you needn’t venture to achieve it. And it was to comfort you that you’re not alone. Like the constellation Lyra has all those stars and constellations surrounding it in the sky for company, you have us.”

“What are you doing here?” Lyra asked him instead, her eyes locked onto the heavens as she avoided looking at any constellation or star that wasn’t Lyra, Sirius and Regulus.

“It’s a historical convention,” answered Orion. “I happen to enjoy history.”

“I don’t remember you travelling to conventions outside Britain.”

“You, Sirius and Regulus were quite young then. Now, none of you are home and with just your mother and me at Grimmauld Place, she seems to find more reasons to throw vases at me.”

“Only vases?”

“She’s been learning to play the piano recently.”

“Is she any good?”

“Absolutely abysmal.”

“Have you told her so?”

“When her so-called talent is the only thing that keeps her from throwing pianos at me? No, of course not.”

“Smart.”

“I have my moments.”

The chatter in the ballroom grew louder and more jovial. The wind carried the melodic sound of music to the balcony. Owls hooted in the trees planted below. Yet, silence struck between father and daughter.

Then, Orion’s voice cut through the tranquillity like a knife. “Do you still hate me?” He asked and Lyra’s heart clenched at the utter defeat in his tone.

“Father,” said Lyra, as serious as the star. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. We’re family, aren’t we? But dad,” she continued quickly when her father’s eyes grew hopeful, “the next couple of months, I need to not be close to any of you. For your safety and my sanity. Besides, it’ll only make things more complicated as you’re not going to approve of what I’ll be doing.”

“I didn’t approve of Lucius and you didn’t seem to care much about that,” Orion pointed out. “And also, like with Lucius, although I might initially disapprove, I’ll grow fond of it at the end and won’t hit it with a knife too hard.”

“What I’m going to be doing and grandfather’s already disapproved of actually requires hitting people with a knife very hard.”

Orion blinked. “Then why in Merlin’s name did you think I was going to disapprove?”

“Because in the process, it might cost me my reputation and my life.” At Orion’s wide eyes, she added in emphasis, “Might,” like that would make a great difference.

“Sweetheart,” his eyes softened. “I’m so sorry that you’re doing all of this by yourself and that you feel like you need to push us away to protect us and—and in a way, that’s what we did to you as well and it ended up in a mess. I know you’ve done things on your own,” he said quickly when Lyra opened her mouth to respond, “I know you’re used to making decisions by yourself and being fiercely independent and I’m ever so proud of you for that but Lyra,” Orion stepped forward, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Oh, my lovely, darling daughter, I hope you also know that it’s okay to lean on others. As you said, we’re family. It’s us against the world.”

“But I don’t want you all isolated from the world, father.” Lyra stepped back, causing Orion’s arms to fall. “And definitely not because of me.”

“Darling, you’re missing the point. I’m trying to say that—“

“Father, you’re saying I’m missing the point because you’re not looking at it from my perspective. What would you do if you are planning to make a very powerful enemy with a large fan club?”

“Send your grandfather enough three-day notices, sharpen all my knives and place an order for many pianos.”

Lyra deadpanned at him. “I’m serious, father.”

“No, your brother is Sirius.” When Lyra did not look amused, Orion cleared his throat and spoke: “Well, if I’m going to look at it from your perspective, you should look at it from mine. What would you do if your daughter, who you haven’t properly talked to in months because of a misunderstanding which occurred and hurt both sides, suddenly tells you that she forgives you for being a bad father but she’ll basically be in incognito mode for the next few months and is making an enemy out of who is clearly the Dark Lord whose most loyal and eccentric supporter is my niece?”

“I’d tell her she’ll win.”

“I know she’ll win. What I’m worried about is her getting hurt in the process.” Orion sighed and combed his fingers through his hair, a habit he picked up from James who inherited it from Charlus. “I know you've done great, wonderful things, Lyra. I also know that you’ll continue to do great, wonderful things. After all, you were the Silver Queen of Slytherin for seven years. You’ve won a national-level duelling tournament. But you ought to understand that to me, you’ve never grown from being the little girl who named a black mamba Sally and thought she spoke the language of parmesan.”

He looked at her, his eyes soft and voice warm. “You’re more than my Heir and you’re definitely more than someone who can speak like Salazar Slytherin. You’re my daughter—my little princess. You’re my firstborn, Lyra. You made me a father and out of all the titles I have, that’s the one I love the most. You’ll never be an inconvenience to me. Ever. I’d do anything for you—so will your mother. So Lyra, it’s okay if you want to distance yourself from us for whatever reason, but you have to know—you need to always remember—that you’ve got us to fall back on. To lean on and have your back. Always remember that your mother and I—we’ll burn the world for you if it means you’ll feel warm.”

Lyra hugged her father because words simply couldn’t express the gratitude, the love and the feelings she felt. Swallowing them down, she instead said: “You know, I might just take you up on the whole arsonist offer.”

“I’ll enjoy it thoroughly.” Orion’s eyes twinkled a bit wickedly and a bit insane. “Should I send the three-day notice?”

“Not yet,” said Lyra as she pulled back. “Also, I read what happened to the Avery’s in the Prophet a few months back. Great work.”

Orion tilted his head in an all too familiar motion. “What makes you think I did it?”

“If it was mum, it would have been much more theatrical but the pain would have been short. You like to prolong suffering.”

“Yes, but what makes you so sure that it was me who did something to the Avery’s?”

Lyra mimicked the tilt of his head subconsciously. “Who else would but one of the Blacks? After that, it was just the process of eliminating family members based on the method and extent to which the Avery’s are in ruins. Uncle Alphard was in Bulgaria, Aunt Cassie only arrives in Britain twice a year to make Lord Crouch miserable, Aunt Lucretia hasn’t done anything too bad once she got married, Grandfather Pollux and Grandmother Irma are busy hosting Andromeda and her mudblood, Uncle Cygnus is too much of a workaholic to get involved in ending an Ancient and Noble House, Bellatrix is fawning over the Dark Lord, Narcissa is at school, my brothers are too little, Grandfather Arcturus prefers cleaning up after people than getting his hands dirty—he’d most likely hire assassins and get it over with while Grandmother Melania would destroy them socially, not literally.”

“Huh,” Orion blinked. “Well, when you put it like that, I suppose it is rather obvious.”

“Shame the Auror’s didn’t arrive at the same conclusions as I did,” intoned Lyra, her voice coated with mirth.

Orion sighed. “A bigger shame is how easy it is to bribe an Auror.”

“I hope you didn’t spend much.”

”I didn’t spend any. Apparently, if you threaten to brutally hurt one’s family, they’d do anything you ask without charging a fee. Who knew?”

“Certainly not me.”

“Me neither. It was a new revelation to us all.”

“Fascinating.”

“Isn’t it?” Orion grinned. “You could test it out personally.”

“I just might.”

Another set of silence stretched between them like sand in deserts. Then, Orion spoke, trying to keep his voice void of emotions: “Your grandfather said you’re getting married to Lucius soon.”

“I am,” she confirmed before a sheepish expression painted across her face. “But, um, maybe don’t mention it to him?”

“What, he doesn’t know?” Orion teased jokingly, but when a blush bloomed on Lyra’s cheeks, his smile dropped. “Wait, he actually doesn’t know?”

“I’m going to tell him!” She insisted, turning away. “Just, not right now.”

“On the morning of your wedding then?”

“That sounds like a grand idea! It could be like a surprise party. He likes those.”

“I’m sure he’d like to know pre-hand about one of the most important days in his life.”

Lyra scowled before grumbling, “I can’t believe you’re not taking my side on this.”

“I am! In my heart,” said Orion wearing a charming smile, placing his hand on his chest like he was taking an oath.

Lyra snorted before smiling. “Father?”

“Hmm?”

“When I do get around to telling Lucius and setting up a date…Will you give me away?”

“No.”

A mask slid over Lyra’s face. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m not going to give you away. You’re your own person and not an object. However, I would be honoured to walk you down the aisle, possibly cry on the way, and then threaten Lucius to treat you like you are royalty.”

“I’m a Black,” said Lyra. “I might as well be royalty.”

Orion chuckled as he nodded his head. “You make a fine point, Lyra.” He matched her gentle smile. “I’d love to do all that. That is if you’ll still have me after that cruel little joke I played right now.”

“I’m incredibly merciful, father. I suppose I can find it in my heart to forgive you for your Azkaban-worthy crimes.”

“I’d appreciate that tremendously, thank you, dear daughter of mine.”

“Anytime, dad.”