Madness of Ravens (HP SI)

[Krazyfan1]

Thanks for the update.

 

[Mastersgtjames]

I see James considers Victoria opinions on HIS actions and relations with his friends more important than his own. Since he is willing to let her order him about, browbeat him, and convince him to ignore his best friend. It is painfully obvious she is trying to split him and Lyra up, or at least distance them, so she can try to date him.

 

[Download]

I see James considers Victoria opinions on HIS actions and relations with his friends more important than his own. Since he is willing to let her order him about, browbeat him, and convince him to ignore his best friend. It is painfully obvious she is trying to split him and Lyra up, or at least distance them, so she can try to date him.

Click to shrink...

Lyra and James' friendship is not that fragile. I doubt Victoria is unaware of that fact.

 

[Serious_Senator]

This really is the best way to do a HP SI. You started with two cliches, MarySue and Grimdark, and they cancel each other out and instead make plot! Really well done

 

[darienqmk]

A little flame sprung from her thumb, hovering in the chill of the evening breeze, yet unaffected as it lit her cigarette. Andromeda knew these things were poison, the smoke always acrid in her lungs, yet it soothed and warmed her in a way, in mind and body; for a moment, at least. A sigh escaped her as she hung back her head.

The London smog almost completely covered the sky, the stars hidden behind black clouds. Narcissa hadn't visited, though she supposed she understood why. The stain of her husband's former allegiance still colored the Order's perception of her. And while Andromeda believed that both Narcissa and Lucius would act in their daughter's best interests, the latter especially was far too ambitious and self-serving to ever actually trust Dumbledore or sit down at the same table as him.

For a short while she stood and smoked, staring at the stars in the sky above. Sirius should've just burned this stupid house down to the ground and salted the earth beneath, but the old enchantments placed around the property by Black ancestors made this place rather ideal for a conspiracy's headquarters.

After one last inhale of her cigarette, she dropped it and crushed it beneath her heel, snuffing out the flame. Then she stared at the pack of cigarettes in her hand… and after a long moment, she dropped that on the ground too, drew her wand, and Vanished it. She'd undoubtedly come crawling back to satiate her addiction, but for now maybe this token effort at personal growth would make her feel a little better for longer than the cigarette did.

The door opened and shut silently, aided by magic, and all sound of evening traffic and the whistling wind cut when she stepped back inside. Carefully maneuvering herself through the clutter of the back hall, she stopped in the doorway next to the kitchen. Whispers drifted just barely around the corner to her ears.

"I checked," said Lyra's quiet voice, "all the world's official Time-Turners are stored here in our Department of Mysteries. There's only a good couple, and only a few of those were made with government approval. The rest were made independently and then collected later by officials."

"But isn't keeping them all in one place like putting all your eggs in one basket?" said James. "The Department of Mysteries isn't even guarded that well."

"Well, all that stuff we know isn't common knowledge. And it's usually heavily guarded by the Unspeakables just being there."

"Yeah but still, I'd think a few would've been stolen over time or used irresponsibly."

"And I'm sure it could have happened," said Lyra. " And I'm sure many of those don't exist anymore. Time is too great to meddle with in any way but meticulously. You've got to be subtle. Don't let time know there's a mistake. The type wanting to steal it usually try for a big reason. Anybody who understands the risk isn't going to steal a Time-Turner in the first place."

"Except you," said James pointedly.

Andromeda heard a small noise of disgust, and then Lyra hissed, "I'm not going to steal one, I'm just trying to study it under supervision to create a non -time-manipulating device that may help me help people —"

Then James said flatly, "Sometimes I feel like you just come up with pseudo-clever ways to sugarcoat something actually pretty messed up."

There was a moment of silence, then Lyra said, "Do you — do you not do that?"

"Christ, the Malfoys messed you up."

"Yeah, I know," said Lyra, and Andromeda could hear the grimace in her voice. Then there was a moment of silence, before Lyra called out, "Auntie Andy?"

Rolling her eyes, Andromeda came around the corner and levelled a look at Lyra. "I don't know how you do that, but what sounds more important is you wanting to —" She looked around to make sure no one was close enough to hear.

"Find love?" said Lyra.

"No," said Andromeda, "to study — to study what, again?"

"How to not be a colossal bitch?" said James. "You have to take baby steps before diving straight into the dating pool, you know," he said to Lyra.

Andromeda sighed, said, "Lyra, just don't do anything stupid," and moved past the two of them into her seat as they began hurling insults at each other. In the great dining room, thirteen sat; she chose the spot next to Sirius, who sat at the end of the table closest to the kitchen.

The plates disappeared just as she sat down, replaced a moment later by steaming cups of coffee or tea. Andromeda inhaled the scent of the espresso that had appeared in front of her and felt a little warmth return to her bones.

At the far end of the table, Dumbledore sat, stirring his teacup, stopping only to respond to whatever Nymphadora was asking. It only took a few seconds for Lyra and James to join them, sitting on Sirius' left side to make the table sixteen; next to Lyra sat Mei Chang, the older sister of some girl Cedric apparently knew, dark-haired and somewhat stocky; and next to her, Penelope Clearwater, the older sister of some girl James apparently knew, blonde and lithe.

Down further that line were Cedric, Remus, and Moody, and on the other end from Dumbledore and Dora were Kingsley, and Grace Abbott, a Ministry worker that Lyra had somehow sniffed out as trustworthy and likely willing to join the Order. And beyond Grace, Molly, Arthur, Bill, and finally Andromeda — who couldn't help but catch the way Dora's eyes darted to Lyra with an emotion she couldn't describe, though it didn't seem positive. Dumbledore seemed to notice and he said something to Dora, whose eyes darted back to him and turned shuttered. Before Andromeda could observe more, however, Dumbledore gathered everyone's attention by lightly tapping his spoon against his teacup. The dull murmur of conversation faded away.

"Thank you for the wonderful meal, Molly," said Albus, and Molly flushed a little, waving it off. "I would dearly love to hear the recipe you used for that soup in the future. But before we get started on dessert, I thought perhaps our new members would like this opportunity to say a few words?"

There was a brief silence, then —

"I always hated that bullshit," said Lyra.

But Mei shrugged and said, "I've just always wanted to be invited into a conspiracy." A few chuckles arose from those around the table. "Right," said Mei, running her fingers through her hair, "for those who don't know me, I'm Mei Yu Chang. I graduated a few years back, and now I play for the Tornados."

"The Tornados?" Bill muttered from beside Andromeda, his tone almost offended.

Shooting a quick glare at him, Mei continued: "I joined because I've always wanted to help people. I've never had much of a problem with blood discrimination myself, but my friends — even some of my family — they get bullied, refused entry to places, get overlooked when applying for certain jobs — not to mention, you know, the whole attempt at genocide thing. But I've never been much alone, so yeah, when I found out there was a secret organization to fight back against the likes of You-Know-Who? It wasn't even a choice, really."

Dumbledore beamed at her. She lowered her head to look at Penelope, who sat straight and cleared her throat. Though her clasped hands seemed to fidget a bit, her face only showed a calm, confident smile.

"I'm Penelope Clearwater," she said. "You can call me Penny, if you'd like. I graduated Hogwarts last year as Head Girl, and I plan on a Ministry career. Whatever I end up doing there, I'd like to make Wizarding Britain a better place for all of us. The Order shares the same goals I do, and is filled with wiser, more experienced individuals; I believe I can help more people and learn much more in the Order." Her smile turned a little softer as she looked around the table, finishing with Dumbledore. "Thank you so much for having me."

"Thank you, Miss Clearwater," said Dumbledore warmly, and Penelope flushed a little as she sat back and relaxed. "And our last newcomer?"

Andromeda had to turn a bit to see the woman stand from beside Kingsley, her hair straw-colored with the first streaks of grey running through them. There was nothing particularly dangerous-looking with her — frankly boring — features. However, when those sharp blue eyes passed over Andromeda, it almost felt as if she were an insect being pinned to a board.

"My name is Grace Abbott," she said. "I am currently the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Transportation. One fact I generally keep to myself is that I am a Muggle-born." Seeing only polite stares reflected at her, she continued, "I lived through the previous war. I survived, but not all those around me did. Even after the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I remained skeptical of the Ministry's, and Wizarding Britain's, commitment to the wellbeing of all its residents. I was pleased to see that there are those willing to upset the status quo. Although," she said, looking unflinchingly at Dumbledore, "I was disappointed it took the threat of the Dark Lord returning for this organization to reform."

Dumbledore bowed his head in respect and a few people shared looks as Grace sat down, smoothing out her skirt as she did.

"Thank you three," he said, and whatever lingering tension there was dispelled when slices of strawberry pie with generous scoops of cream and a fork on the side materialized in front of them. Whatever Sirius had opened his mouth to say to Andromeda was forgotten as he too grabbed a fork, his eyes alight with anticipation.

"Your daughter — is that Hannah?" Cedric asked as sounds of silverware scraping against china filled the room.

"Yes," said Grace, her smile doing wonders to soften her features. "Are you in Hufflepuff?"

"Prefect," said Cedric with a nod.

"I hope she's not causing too much trouble," said Grace. "She and her friends — Susan and Kasey, I think — can be rather terrible when left unsupervised."

"They're not that bad," said Cedric, then thumbed in Lyra and James' direction. "I'm used to those two, so everything else feels tame by comparison."

"Hey, are you allowed to give out Apparition licenses?" said James. "Say, if one already knew how to Apparate?"

Grace gave him a frown and said, "Please tell me you didn't practice on your own."

"I didn't," said James. Then he elbowed his friend. "Lyra was with me."

Grace sighed and muttered something under her breath that Andromeda didn't quite catch, but she agreed with the sentiment anyway. Sirius heard Andromeda's matching sigh and smiled into his goblet.

"I suppose if you can prove to me you can safely Apparate," said Grace, and James gave the woman a damn-near saintly smile. "There's a reason why we insist on having Ministry-approved instructors on the scene, you know."

"Oh, tell me about it," said James, glancing at Lyra, who rolled her eyes.

There was a brief moment in which the people around her focused on their food, and Andromeda caught a snippet of conversation from the far end of the table.

"— getting more frequent," said Kingsley, mostly to Dumbledore. "The Warden's been stationed there for decades, if anyone knows what they're talking about, it's him. I doubt the ICW will do anything about it, if they even can do anything about it —"

But she could make out no more past all the other chatter.

"Did your mum make this, Bill?" said James, stabbing at his pie with his fork.

"Well, yeah," said Bill. "Wasn't Dad, that's for sure."

"I'm going to marry her," he declared, and Bill looked at him with thinly-veiled disgust.

"Don't mind James," said Lyra with half her mouth full. "He lusts after everyone's mother. I would know."

This didn't seem to reassure Bill at all.

James scoffed. "Like you're any better. Don't make me bring up some of the things you've said."

Sirius and Mei both leaned forward and said, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," said James, grinning.

"Shut up, James!" said Lyra, her pale cheeks actually turning red. "Seriously — I'll gut you like a pig if you squeal."

James laughed.

"Damned bureaucrats!" Moody cried out suddenly, cutting over everyone else. "Constant interference!"

James laughed even harder.

Mei leaned past Lyra and said to him, "Is it worse than what she did when I arrived?"

"I didn't do anything!" said Lyra, her pie left forgotten in her disbelief at being attacked from all sides.

"Weird," said Mei, half on Lyra's lap still. "I suppose I could just feel your eyes on my —" But she was cut off by Lyra's hand grabbing all of her face and pushing her back to her seat.

"She probably fancies someone in this room," said Sirius without care.

Andromeda couldn't help but smile at the look of wild indignation on Lyra's face, nor could she herself help adding, "Maybe it's Hestia? I hope that's not the only reason you're aiming for the Auror Corps at your age."

"— author of the anti-werewolf legislation," said Arthur to his wife. "Very unpleasant woman, very proud of herself, and considering how deep her hatred runs, I'm inclined to call her a fanatic —"

"It's probably just that French girl she rejected me over," said Mei, rolling her eyes. "You should've heard the poetry she waxed about her — what was her name, James?"

Then Cedric cried out from down the table, "You rejected Mei?"

Lyra stuffed her face full of pie, so that her cheeks looked like tomatoes.

"She's racist," said James, and Mei laughed.

Then Lyra swallowed hard, and turned to James with a look of disbelief and said, "How can I have been friends with you for the last five years and have a problem with British-Asians?"

"Because you colonized me," said James. "I think and act like a white woman now. I don't even count as Asian anymore."

Laughs sprung up around him and for the moment a pleasant lightness came over Andromeda, with the smiles and the smell of sugar and strawberries and all the talk filling the dining room. She glanced over at Dora, who caught her eye and gave a small smile, very small, though it seemed genuine at the least.

"It's okay, though," Mei said, rubbing Lyra's shoulder. "It was only a passing curiosity anyway. Besides, you won't need to deal with my grandma's inevitable fit. Too pale, too barbaric!" Mei laughed at her own impression. "Unfit for my blood!"

Sirius let out a low chuckle and said, "So who is it, really?"

"It's not anyone!" said Lyra, looking suddenly wild-eyed and full of disbelief that the subject kept returning back to this. "I make a few jokes about French veela and suddenly I'm madly in love with someone I've never even met?"

"Yet," said James with a deliberate air of mystery.

"Veela?" Sirius said, then turned to Mei and added, "No wonder — you never stood a chance."

Mei gave a one-shoulder shrug and half-smile.

"Don't underestimate Lyra's love for muscle," said Bill, hiding his own half-smile behind his mug as he took a sip. "I saw the way you checked out Charlie sometimes. You weren't even trying to be subtle."

Lyra looked at him in exasperation, sighing as her eyes trailed to Molly, who had, of course, caught that bit of the conversation.

"Charlie?" she said, looking at Lyra as if with new eyes. "But — I thought —"

"No no, Molly," said Lyra, almost soothingly, as though Molly was a hippogriff getting a little too excited. "I mean, he's definitely hot — but I don't think I could ever settle with a boy."

"There are sex-switching potions for that," said Sirius. "Better luck with that than some veela you've never met. And might not ever meet —"

"She's not a veela!"

"So there is a specific she?"

"She'll definitely meet her," said James.

"James!" said Lyra.

"How do you know that?" said Mei.

"Maybe she's been taking Divination," said Sirius, tilting his head and half-squinting at Lyra. "Got a look at her future and whatnot."

Dora's eyes again darted at Lyra, some kind of confused bitterness flashing through them, and all of Andromeda's joy at Lyra's expense washed away with worry instead.

"I haven't been taking Divination," said Lyra, rolling her eyes. "Not like Trelawney can teach me anything anyway. If she Saw herself getting drunk on cooking sherry every weekend just to deal with keeping teenagers in line during her stupid classes, you'd think she would have done something to avert that future."

Now Dora's eyes weren't leaving Lyra, an intensity beginning to build in them, as if Lyra had some nerve joking around about this. Which was odd, as Andromeda remembered Dora making fun of Trelawney before as well.

"You know," said Andromeda, wanting to take the conversation elsewhere, "I don't believe you've told me what N.E.W.T.s you took. You took your exams, didn't you?"

"Just six," said Lyra, holding up fingers and counting as she said, "Defense... Transfig, Potions, Charms... and Herbology and Care." She put her fingers down and shrugged. "I frequently fantasize about owning an island full of magical plants and creatures — and veela."

"Oh?" said Sirius, eyebrows raised and a sly grin sneaking onto his lips. "Veela as in plural?"

"She's counting her future kids," said Mei, snorting.

"Have you received your scores yet?" said Andromeda.

"Nope," said Lyra as two Order members let out loud laughs at something one of them said.

The conversation had caught the attention of Bill too, who had been talking to Arthur, and Bill said, "Wait, you've taken your N.E.W.T.s already? Why?"

"I want to get into Auror training," said Lyra, drawing a finger in lazy circles on the tabletop's wood. "Not much left to learn at Hogwarts, not that I care about anyway." Then she tilted her head and her eyes drifted down the table to Dora. "And there are far prettier sights in the Auror offices."

Andromeda grimaced, but Dora just put her fork down, and without another word stood up and swept out of the room. Lyra blinked and Andromeda, sighing, also got up and walked out, following Dora's path to the front door.

"That was rude," she said as Dora put on her shoes.

Dora threw her a flat look and said, "What was?"

"Well, leaving without at least thanking Molly for the food, or saying goodbye to anyone, including your own mother — and cousin." And there it was, with the mention of Lyra the uncaring facade Dora put up flickered for a second. "Okay, what happened, Dora — what'd she do?"

"Who?" said Dora defensively, reaching for the doorknob.

"I thought you two were past this childish rivalry of yours," said Andromeda, feeling suddenly annoyed and done with Dora's attitude. But then Dora let out a flat, clearly forced laugh.

"Why don't you, Mum, go and just ask Lyra that," said Dora. "And really pressure her. She'll give in to you if she gave in to me."

"Ask me what?" said a voice from just behind Andromeda, and she sighed, for she knew Lyra wouldn't actually help whatever foul mood Dora was in.

"Oh, look," said Dora, giving Lyra a faux-innocent look, "it's the pretty little liar."

As if Lyra knew exactly what she was talking about, the furrowed brow relaxed into understanding and the particular look of someone who didn't like what was coming next. "Ah."

Dora threw her a tight smile and said nothing.

"Can either of you tell me what's going on?" said Andromeda, looking between the two girls. Dora continued to stare at Lyra, who shifted uncomfortably.

"If you don't tell her, I will," Dora said finally. "Maybe you don't care about how I feel, but I trust my mum to act in your best interests. More than my own, sometimes."

Andromeda's eyes flickered to her daughter, but she swallowed back the words she wished she could say. It wouldn't help any of them to hurl insults at each other. Andromeda took a deep breath before looking at Lyra expectantly.

But Lyra looked to be going through some intense internal conflict. She looked for a moment as though she was ready to bolt, then plead, then defend herself stubbornly — a mix of emotions all flashing across her face until at last Dora let out a small breath of something like disappointment and disdain.

"Figuring out what other lies might work this time?" she said, then she scoffed and opened the door and swept out. Lyra was dashing past after a moment of silence, snatching a sky-blue coat off a hanger and sliding out the door before it could close on her. And then Andromeda too, after pulling the door open for herself, was chasing after the both of them outside.

"Dora!" called Lyra, wrapping her coat tightly around her as the chilly wind blew her hair about.

"What lies is she talking about?" said Andromeda as she caught up.

Lyra ran a hand through her hair, bringing it out of her face, then said quickly, as if to get it over with: "When I was young, about a million different memories — visions — whatever you want to call them — all got thrown into little Lyra Malfoy's head, all at once. I've never told anyone that, except James, and as of not too long ago, Dora. And now you."

Andromeda slowed as her mind fought to make sense of what she had just heard. "What —?"

"I saw the future," said Lyra, and she sped up.

"You mean — you're a Seer?" said Andromeda, her thoughts flying right away to what Narcissa had said once, of her suspicions that Lyra held some gift in divination.

Lyra immediately let out a breath of contempt, though for what Andromeda didn't know.

"More like I just saw a different timeline of events." And before Andromeda could ask for elaboration, Lyra reached out as they caught up with Dora, her fingers gently pulling Dora's shoulder back. "Dora —"

And then Dora was whipping around, her eyes a mess of emotions.

"Just how much did you see?" she said, almost an air of desperation in her voice, though again, for what Andromeda didn't know.

"W-what, you mean everything?" said Lyra, eyes wide. "It's a lot."

"I — I just couldn't stop thinking about it," said Dora, then she lowered her voice, "You asked me what I wanted from you, that night after Azkaban, and I said I just wanted you to not lie — and — and you remember what you said? I'm not lying," hissed Dora, and Lyra actually winced. "And come to find out, it turned out you were lying there too, all along. Dumbledore doesn't know, does he? You never told him about all this. It certainly didn't seem like he did when I hinted at it. Unless he was also lying to me."

"I —" Lyra's breath gave out immediately. "No. He's not lying."

"And then I began thinking," continued Dora with a mirthless laugh, "what other times might have Lyra lied or omitted things? And I couldn't help but wonder just how much you already knew about people before you met them, how much you knew about me before you and I ever saw each other, and then how much of it all was even real or just you saying and doing what you thought needs to be said or done for the hope of some better future."

"It wasn't like that," said Lyra swiftly, her eyes pleading, "I've always cared about you, from the beginning."

"I'm not doubting you care about me," said Dora, "but I can't stop wondering just how much you knew." She raised her eyebrows. "So what'd you know about me before you met me?"

"I… I knew you'd want to become an Auror, knew you'd apprentice under Moody," said Lyra, her voice struggling to stay steady, "and I knew who you'd marry, about your first child, and how you — and just a few other things. I didn't know that much. And I never used you, I swear on my soul, Dora —"

That snapped Andromeda out of her daze, and out of instinct she said, "Don't swear on your soul, Lyra." Then the way Lyra stuttered caught up in her mind and she knew at once what was meant. Her own voice came out nearly lifeless: "You were going to say how she died, weren't you?"

Lyra's eyes shot to hers, and she nodded.

Then Dora snapped out of her own daze, and said, "You saw my death?"

Shrugging, her eyes a bit deadened, Lyra said, "Yeah. People's lives, deaths, loyalties — secrets they never told. Events from decades ago. Events decades from now."

"And when was my death?"

"Dora," began Andromeda, not wanting to hear this at all.

"When did I die, Lyra?"

"Four years from now," said Lyra.

Though there was plenty of wind, it felt as though there was suddenly no oxygen.

Dora observed Lyra carefully. "I was supposed to die in four years?" she said. "After being married and a mother?"

Stuffing her hands deeper into her coat's pockets, Lyra looked down and said, "Yeah."

"Who else?"

Lyra gave Dora a look, but said, "Half the Order, if not most. Moody. Dumbledore. Sirius. Mostly in the same year, really. Voldemort really hit hard when he came back."

There was another moment of silence from them three, only the wind and distant cars and people heard.

"Did he kill me?" said Dora, her eyes wide but apparently not without a morbid curiosity. But of course, she had known some of this before, had time to process it. Andromeda hadn't.

Lyra looked as though she was wondering if she should answer or not. Seeing Dora's narrowed eyes, however, she said, "No. It was our aunt, actually."

The silence after rang in Andromeda's ears, the remaining air in her lungs seeming to vanish. Only Nymphadora noticed her tension, while Lyra seemed to be lost in her own mind. Andromeda slowly exhaled, calming herself, or trying to.

"Lyra," said Dora, and her cousin looked up. "I… bloody hell. I understand. Bloody hell, I do, but did you really think that I'd prefer to be kept in the dark about the fact that Bellatrix was meant to kill me? Or that I'd appreciate not knowing that while looking into her eyes?"

"Every would-be murder victim would want to know who their killer is," said Lyra, looking wry. "You know, Voldemort became obsessed with his destined killer too, and look what happened to him —"

Dora scoffed and opened her mouth to say something, but Andromeda spoke first:

"So when you first came to our house…" she said, the depth and gravity of this confession suddenly hitting her. "You knew already. Didn't you? You knew my sister would kill my daughter?" Every second she waited for Lyra's answer felt like a hammer against her chest.

Lyra closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and said, "Under different circumstances, yes."

"And you know for certain you've been able to change things, that the same outcomes don't just happen somehow anyway?"

"I know," sighed Lyra.

Andromeda looked at her niece, wondering if there was some subtext she had missed. Lyra's mind was clearly on something else bothering her, and for the life of her, Andromeda couldn't figure out what was more important than this discussion. This wasn't even remotely heard of; perhaps forms of divination, but not this.

"How much have you changed?" said Dora.

Lyra shrugged weakly and gave a slightly exasperated expression. "I don't know. One change can lead to several. Butterfly effect."

Dora waited a moment before saying, "So you don't know what the future looks like anymore."

"No… not except for some events that are going to happen anyway," said Lyra. "But they're not related to Voldemort or Bellatrix. And I did take measures against the two of them."

"I still don't understand," said Dora. "Why couldn't you tell me? Did I do something? Whatever I did in that — that other future, I'm not her."

"No, of course not —"

"Then just tell me why," said Dora. "Why did you lie about Dumbledore knowing? Lyra, what happened in Azkaban? What'd you do to Bellatrix? What did you want to know about her vault?" When she didn't get an answer, she hissed, "I spent weeks lying in bed nearly every night trying to grasp the full magnitude of what you told me, feeling terrible for you." She let out a little laugh of disbelief. "I kept thinking about how hard it must have been, to think you're all alone, just you versus the world — because that's how you see it, isn't it?"

"I —"

"I wanted to help you," said Dora, tears in her eyes. "I did. And I still do. But apparently I'm an idiot for thinking you would ever trust anyone but yourself."

"Nymphadora…" said Andromeda.

"No, she's right," said Lyra, quietly, and then, "How many secrets do you think a man like Dumbledore has? He's been nothing but kind the whole time I've known him, but how can I trust him unconditionally, given what I know? I trust him with my life, sure, but I don't trust him to not ultimately do what's necessary to accomplish what he thinks is right, even at the cost of me and my wants. And I trust you with my life, Dora, and so much more, but I didn't trust you not to go to Dumbledore, or someone else who'd go to Dumbledore, or someone else who'd go to someone who'd go to Dumbledore —"

"Yeah," said Dora, tilting her head back to look at the sky, "I get it. I just…" She trailed off, whatever left of her fire shrinking to embers, leaving only resignation and melancholy.

"I'm sorry," said Lyra softly.

Dora sighed, running her fingers through her hair, its color having slowly faded through the conversation. "It's just, all those years, all the little lies, all the little manipulations — I — I don't even know if I can trust whatever's going to come out of your mouth next. And you still won't be fully honest with me."

"Oh, come on," sighed Lyra, looking weary with it all. "There weren't years of lies. You really weren't that important in those memories; why would I manipulate any part of your life outside of this little thing?"

"A metamorphmagus wouldn't ever be useful to you?"

Lyra threw her hands up in the air. "And yet! Despite how useful you could've been in the past, I have never asked you to use your abilities for me."

"Yet," said Dora impatiently. "It doesn't even matter. I would do it. Or would have. I'm not trying to vilify you, but I feel like I'll never stop questioning how much I really know you."

"Dora," breathed Lyra, "I'm not — how many times have I ever really done wrong by you before this?"

"It's not about how many times you've done me wrong," cried Dora. "Don't you get it? We practically grew up together , Lyra. Yeah, we fought, but we made up. And then you requested me for Azkaban, and I went. I could have declined. I could have told you, rightly, 'Lyra, this is too much.' But I didn't. I went, and I still don't even know why! You dragged me through that hell, then —"

"I didn't realize how bad it'd be — "

"And then!" said Dora, " after you realized how bad it was, you still lied. I —" She let out a breath of disbelief and sadness. "Then I thought about it, and realized you've been some special seer this whole time, that every interaction between us has had this earth-shattering secret. And I still gave you the benefit of the doubt! I tried to put myself in your shoes, but whatever decisions you've made that I can understand, this whole Azkaban thing was cruel."

"I know," said Lyra, her voice breaking on the words.

"And whatever problem you have with Dumbledore," she continued, "it doesn't make it any less stupid to try to take on the future alone. You could have convinced me to just not tell Dumbledore, you could have —"

"To do that, I'd have to tell you why I don't fully trust Dumbledore," said Lyra, "and for whatever problems I do have with him, I still respect him enough not to go telling you and whoever the worst of him."

Dora pressed her lips together as her hair darkened, but eventually her shoulders slumped and she looked like she just wanted everything over with.

"Whatever," she said. "Just, if you're going to become an Auror, please don't involve me in whatever you're doing anymore." Then she let out a quiet, ugly laugh. "You know, for all your issues with Dumbledore, you're really not much different."

Lyra swallowed, a grimace pulling across her face's side, and said only, "I'm sorry."

Dora met her gaze again, nodded, looked around, as if to check if anyone was looking, and Disapparated without another word.

Andromeda stared at the spot she had vanished from.

"She'll need some space," she said quietly, almost absently. "She's always been a brooder. She won't appreciate either of us intruding on her right now. But she's not wrong to feel this way, Lyra... I'd rather not restart the argument, but this is… I don't even know what to think." There was a moment of silence as neither felt comfortable speaking. Instead, Andromeda opened her arms in invitation, and Lyra, after a moment of hesitation, stepped into them. "I'll talk to Dora. I think I have some apologizing to do too. And to you. I would have done what I could to help, you know."

But Lyra was shaking her head, a sad smile playing on her lips as she pulled back and gave Andromeda the most crestfallen look.

"Dora's right," she said, then coughed to clear the tightness in her throat. "And if I'm going to lie or omit things, then I shouldn't… I don't know, I just — I don't think it's right to hug you like there's still not things I haven't told you which you probably should know. I just —"

Lyra gave a tight smile that didn't reach her eyes, which held some combination of pity, regret, and an inexplicable fear.

"I'm gonna go," she said weakly. "Love you, auntie."

"I… Okay…"

And then Lyra too disappeared into thin air; and though the city was full of life, Andromeda felt alone in London.

 

[Blaflaix]

And I couldn't help but wonder just how much you already knew about people before you met them, how much you knew about me before you and I ever saw each other, and then how much of it all was even real or just you saying and doing what you thought needs to be said or done for the hope of some better future."

Click to shrink...

And flipping that around, she knows a future, so all interactions with anybody are colored by manipulation.
She should never interact with anybody!

 

[Beyogi]

Hm yeah, let's see if she screwed up her relationships permanently or if something can actually grow from this.

 

[AutumnSouls]

And flipping that around, she knows a future, so all interactions with anybody are colored by manipulation.

Click to shrink...

Eh, there's a difference between knowing something about someone before you meet them and knowing about an entire alternate timeline including numerous peoples' futures and deaths. Imagine if you found out someone you grew up with had, from the very beginning, known about your future, your death, countless secrets, all sorts of knowledge that was floating around in what you assumed had been a normal kid's brain. It's years of lying and keeping important info secret.

And it's an emphasis on how traumatizing Azkaban can be. In canon, Arthur feels fucked up from it for days.

 

[darienqmk]

"Oho!"

Narcissa smacked Lyra's hand away from the table. "Those are for me, dear. You have your own jewelry for this occasion."

"But these are just so much cuter," said Lyra, reaching for the emerald teardrops again.

"And they would ruin your color coordination," said Narcissa, swiping them up before she could grab them — Lyra let out a scandalous noise — and proceeded to carefully thread the wires through her earlobes. "Oh, quit being dramatic." Narcissa put in the other earring, and tucked loose strands of blonde hair behind her ears, checking her face from different angles in the mirror. Humming appreciatively, she stood from the chair and gently guided Lyra into it by her shoulders. "Mother knows best, dear. Now let me see."

She'd done up Lyra's hair in a masterpiece of a braided bun, revealing her ears and the silver earrings they had already put in and leaving her shoulders bare. The pale blue dress she wore was maybe a little more revealing than Narcissa would've liked once upon a time, allowing a slit for most of Lyra's leg to slip through and nothing on the arms, but Lyra had grown. She'd be seventeen soon.

"Are you looking to impress someone tonight, dear?" said Narcissa.

"Maybe," said Lyra.

"Well," said Narcissa, tucking a loose strand of hair back into Lyra's braid, "You will truly be the crowning jewel at the gala." She could tell Lyra fought a smile at that, too.

Narcissa reached out for her wand, her fingers wrapping around the wood nimbly, and cast a spell on each of their hairstyles to keep it all in place, even through fierce fire and water and wind. As she placed her hands upon on her daughter's shoulders, and marveling at just how tall she was now, iit hit her suddenly, how much her daughter had grown. She was an adult now, more or less; she had seemed like one for an exceptionally long time, true, but soon enough she would leave this home. Narcissa felt her throat constrict. Placing her hands on Lyra's cheeks, she leaned down and pressed her lips to the crown of her skull.

"My daughter," she whispered.

"Mum?" said Lyra with some concern.

"It's nothing important, darling," said Narcissa. "I am just reminded of how much you have grown. You will graduate in mere weeks and soon you will depart from me. I… I had never truly taken the time to think about that day."

Lyra's eyes turned so sad that Narcissa half-wished she had kept that unspoken.

"Yeah…"

"Oh, my daughter," said Narcissa quietly. "I wish I could demand you never leave."

"Don't say stuff like that, Mum," Lyra said, equally softly. "You'll ruin my makeup."

Narcissa swallowed heavily and looked at the ceiling, before nodding. "Indeed. We wouldn't have time to re-do both of our cosmetics." She straightened. "Are you ready then —?"

But Lyra was standing up and holding Narcissa by her shoulders. "Mum…" she said sadly. "I'll still come and visit often. Every week if I can."

"Of course," said Narcissa, "but it won't be the same knowing you're not sleeping here."

Lyra smiled through her tears and said, laughing, "Then I'll sleep here sometimes."

Narcissa couldn't stop the wide smile pulling at her cheeks. "Goodness, Lyra, you'll make my heart burst one day. No, it's okay — don't, you'll ruin your makeup —"

Lyra laughed again as a tear streamed down her face. "Oh Mum, you're worth a whole lot more than some makeup."

Narcissa couldn't help but laugh a little herself as she fixed Lyra's makeup and then held out her hand. Feeling Lyra's fingers slip into her own, she guided her daughter out of the room, stepping slowly down the stairs, their dresses flowing behind them like they were featuring in some fairy tale. As they descended to the foot of the stairs, Narcissa saw Lucius' face light up in awe, and she smiled.

"Took you long enough," Draco said.

"And it shows," said Lucius, leaning in to brush his lips against Narcissa's knuckles. "You look beautiful, darling. And you, Lyra, you'll be the star of the gala."

"As I said," Narcissa said with a twitch of her lips.

Lyra gave the smuggest smirk she could and said, "Quite. My ego will reach new heights tonight."

"You look splendid yourself, dear," said Narcissa, ignoring Lyra and running her fingers down Lucius's dark-green dress robes, which seemed to shimmer violet with a peculiar angle of light. Draco wore black at his insistence — he was having that phase where any sort of color was 'embarrassing', the silly boy. Then again, Narcissa herself had a phase in which she wore black lipstick, and she shan't even get started on Bellatrix.

"Are we all ready?" said Lucius, and Narcissa nodded. "Very well. Shall we?"

The Malfoys stepped up to the fireplace, and one by one, they disappeared into the emerald flames, emerging out of the Ministry fireplace into a wall of noise and a sight of splendor.

The Atrium was draped in black and bronze banners, with a large Union Jack and Golden Harp being the central pieces. The dozens of tables were arranged in a rough horseshoe shape with the Fountain of Magical Brethren located at the open end, spouting wine instead of water. Silver and gold platters of finger foods were scattered about, while waiters — human-sized, animal-headed puppets dressed in matching outfits — walked around carrying trays of drinks in crystal goblets. Guests were mingling both inside and outside the horseshoe shape.

They weaved through the velvet ropes and passed by a plain-clothed Auror who nodded in recognition. Lucius, as Narcissa had expected him to do, made straight for the center of the room where the people were perhaps a little better dressed, and a little more aggressive in their networking.

"My, they have outdone themselves this year," said Lucius idly, as Draco turned his head this way and that, looking a little overwhelmed by the number of attending guests.

"It is the forty-ninth anniversary," said Narcissa. Seven by seven years; an auspicious omen, for those that cared about such things. "It would hurt their prestige if they did not."

"Not to mention Cornelius' ego would find it unacceptable," Lucius muttered under his breath, and Narcissa hummed, amused. "Is that Dumbledore?"

Narcissa turned to follow Lucius' gaze and found, as her husband said, Albus Dumbledore, dressed in plum robes. "So it seems."

"A surprise."

"Why?" asked Draco.

"He doesn't care for these events," said Lucius. "He never comes."

"Oh, and James, too," said Lyra, balancing on her toes to peer over the crowd. "Ooh — isn't he popular tonight… All right, I'm off." And she stepped away, and would have gone off without a word had Narcissa not grabbed her wrist. "What?"

"Please don't go do anything stupid tonight," said Narcissa. "If you're serious about trying to gain political power —"

"Then I'll kill anyone who stands in my way," said Lyra without care.

Narcissa threw a hopeless look at Lucius, who shrugged.

"Perhaps you should go with her," he said. "You'll keep her from getting into too much trouble, I hope."

"Please," drawled Lyra. "If anything, she'll join me."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure," said Lucius, shooing them away, playfully, as some old wizard in a typical pure-blood dress robe came up to Lucius to introduce himself. And before Lucius could pull Draco by his side, Draco noticed the Zabinis and went off toward them.

Lyra grabbed Narcissa's hand and began to tug at it in a most childlike manner. It sent a pang of nostalgic melancholy into her heart. How many more opportunities would she get to act silly with her daughter?

Weaving through the crowds, Narcissa eventually came face-to-face with James Stark, who looked rather like Andromeda did when she was forced to attend events like these, and Cedric Diggory. Despite the questionable taste of their formal wear, both were certainly dashing regardless, and Narcissa could very much see them becoming heartbreakers within Magical Britain in a few more years.

"Sup," said Lyra, planting one hand on her hip and cocking her head at them. James blinked at her.

"Hey, Lyra," said Cedric with a brilliant smile. "You look — phew — very nice."

Lyra gave him a smug tilt of her head and said, "I know. Shame the same can't be said for you two. Did Dumbledore pick those outfits for you?"

Their silence spoke volumes. Lyra laughed out loud while Narcissa hid her smile beneath her hand.

"Ah!" said a voice from behind them. "If it isn't two more of my pupils," said Dumbledore, approaching with a pleased smile.

"Professor," said Lyra with genuine fondness.

"Headmaster," said Narcissa cordially. "It's a surprise to see you here."

"I am rather surprised to see myself here," said Dumbledore, stroking his beard. "Pardon me for saying, but these sorts of celebrations have always placed an uncomfortable amount of attention on me."

"You should never ask for a pardon for being awesome," said Lyra, "but you should beg for one for picking these outfits out for these two — seriously, what's wrong with you?" She waved wildly in James and Cedric's direction.

Dumbledore laughed and beamed. "Indeed! James is wearing what I wore to the Carnival of Venice in 1904, and Cedric is wearing the robes I wore to the coronation of Queen Wiktoria of Poland in 1906!"

Lyra blinked and said, "Oh?"

"Well, they're rather eye-catching, Headmaster," Narcissa said, secretly enjoying the growing discomfort on the boys.

"Actually, I change my mind," said Lyra, looking the two up and down. "That's kind of cool."

"Forgive me for prying, but how did you two receive your invitations?" Narcissa asked curiously. "The guest list is rather selective, after all, and I don't wish to sound rude…"

"Ah, Cedric here is my plus-one," said Dumbledore, coming around to plant a hand on said boy's shoulder. "And James," he continued, placing his other hand on James' shoulder, "is a recipient of an Order of Merlin, Second Class, and was thus invited on his own merit."

"Oh my," said Narcissa. "For the basilisk, I presume? Yes, I could see that." Narcissa smiled at James. "Congratulations, dear. I'm very proud of you."

"I have one too," Lyra said, tugging on Narcissa's sleeve. "You don't praise me for that."

Frowning, Narcissa thought back on the million moments she had praised her daughter, and said, rolling her eyes, "Darling, don't lie." She wrapped her arms around Lyra's shoulders and rubbed a hand over her hair. "I praise you so much that sometimes I wonder how your head hasn't exploded from all the hot air."

Lyra gave all of them a grin full of teeth, and said insincerely, "Oh yeah."

James scoffed.

In a conspiring tone, Cedric said to Dumbledore, "She needs reminding of her own worth every five minutes."

"You mean she needs inflating of her own worth?" said James.

"Please. I'm the greatest witch in this room," said Lyra. "I could beat anyone here in a duel." She gave Dumbledore a blatant look of disrespect.

"Indeed?" said Dumbledore. "You should be wary of making such statements when your former Professor Lockhart is in the room."

All the lightness in Lyra's face disappeared as she said, "What?" Her narrowed eyes darted all around the room.

"Oh, yes," said Dumbledore, his beard twitching. "Did you miss him advertising his autobiography near the drinks table?"

Lyra's eyes finally caught Lockhart, her lips thinning as she said, "Excuse me."

"Uh, what was that about?" said Cedric as she strolled right up to Lockhart. Narcissa herself was quite curious. From a distance, all she could see was the glee on Lockhart's face vanish as Lyra confronted him on whatever issue there seemed to be.

"What is that about?" asked Narcissa, but it was more a demand from Dumbledore.

Dumbledore sighed and said, "Gilderoy is not an entirely honest character… and… Lyra has taken it upon herself to deliver her rather unique brand of justice. I have decided not to intervene for now. But when his usefulness comes to an end, we will ensure his victims are properly compensated."

Only she and Cedric seemed confused. James wasn't surprised by any of this, which for a moment, again, brought up a hint of unfair resentment and bitterness toward him; why did her daughter tell him so much?

"Victims?" Narcissa said instead.

"None of the students," Dumbledore assured her. "If it had been, well…" He spread his hands.

Narcissa glanced at Lockhart again, whose fixed grin — or grimace? — looked like someone had spelled it on him.

"What is it we're looking at?" said another voice coming up to them, an excitable old man. "Is that —? Dear, oh dear, is that Lyra Malfoy chewing out Gilderoy Lockhart? Goodness, what did he do? Though given what I overheard him say to young Eleanor Belby only a few minutes ago, I think I suspect." Then he seemed to see Narcissa for the first time and said, "Ah! Then that is your daughter, is it not?" He held out a hand to her and smiled. "Newt Scamander. I've already had the pleasure of meeting your daughter — and this fine gentleman here too!" he added, beaming at James.

"A pleasure, Mister Scamander," Narcissa said, hiding her surprise. "Might I ask how you're acquainted with my daughter?"

"When Albus sent me a letter saying they'd found a prime specimen of an endangered species, I simply couldn't resist," he said, his eyes glittering with unbridled enthusiasm. "A shock to learn it was dead! Although admittedly, it would have been much safer than a live basilisk — very temperamental creatures. And since I only know how to insult one's mother in Parseltongue, I'm afraid I wouldn't have helped much either. But even a corpse provides valuable new information, especially one of that size — and now James and I even have matching coats!"

James looked a bit uncomfortable as Scamander began to ramble about the various findings he'd made with the unmatched energy of a man who truly loved his work. Narcissa almost wanted to ruffle James' hair and be proud of him. Goodness, what was becoming of her?

She turned her head to see where Lyra was, and saw her chatting with Eli Greengrass, a glass of what was probably whiskey in her hand.

"Ah, if it isn't Horace," said Dumbledore, and Narcissa stifled a sigh as memories of her own schooldays rose unbidden. Professor Slughorn was by no means unpleasant company, but he could get rather overbearing. "I shall corner him, I think. He's been avoiding me… You may stay or come, Cedric, it is up to you."

"I'll come," said Cedric, and the two of them disappeared into the throng.

"Excuse me," she said politely, unsure she could feign interest in Scamander's ramblings much longer, and she left James there with him.

Narcissa plucked a glass of champagne off a waiter's tray as she maneuvered through the growing crowd, coming up to Lyra's side just in time to hear her ask, "And how are your daughters doing?"

"Better than I ever imagined them doing," said Eli Greengrass, acknowledging Narcissa with a smile and a nod. "Daphne as of late has finally started revealing her potential. We always knew she was a smart girl, but now she's coming out of her shell, and — well. I can see why she preferred books to people, because the breadth of her knowledge is truly astounding. And Astoria seems to have opened up some more as well, thanks to her sister's influence…"

"Huh…" said Lyra.

"Truly?" said Narcissa. "That's wonderful to hear."

It had been years since Narcissa had properly met Daphne and Astoria, but her first impressions of both of them had been that they were socially stunted. Daphne was, if she dared to be unkind, absentminded; Astoria, a sickly girl, was often unable to participate in the more physical play that children engaged in, even when she wasn't bedridden.

"Indeed," said Eli, a proud smile stretching his cheeks. "I hear Daphne even made some new friends towards the end of the past school year — perhaps your son has mentioned something?"

"Oh, Draco is far too embarrassed to be writing long letters to his mother," Narcissa said lightly, and Eli smiled.

"Daphne was like that," he said. "Now she writes often: about her time at Hogwarts, the ongoings of the wizarding world — she actually seems to be interested in politics, believe it or not."

"She's asked of your family as well," said a voice behind her. Narcissa turned her head only slightly, allowing her eyes to do most of the work of tracking Clementine Greengrass as she circled around her and Lyra to stand by Eli. Narcissa was the only one who caught the easygoing smile on Lyra falter for just a split-second.

"Oh?" said Lyra.

"Yes," said Clementine, something a little sharp in her gaze as she took in Lyra. "The Malfoys have undertaken quite" — her smile turned sharp too — "the transformation over the last few years. From the Dark Lord's champions to the worst blood traitors is something to behold."

"Tina," said Eli.

"I am not calling them blood traitors," said Clementine, glancing at him but still holding an uncomfortable something in her gaze as it returned to Lyra. Narcissa wanted to slap it off her. "I am merely repeating the words of others. I am not so crude."

Lyra's eyebrows shifted upward minisculely. "To say it."

"Sweetheart," said Narcissa, lightly putting her fingers on Lyra's arm.

"What?" said Lyra without a care in the world. "Are we supposed to just stand around in a circle and pretend the Lady Greengrass hasn't always been more sympathetic to —" She waved a hand, not bothering to finish the sentence.

"What I am sympathetic to is merely what's kept wizardkind safe and free," said Clementine, her smile remaining but her eyes losing any faux-warmth. "I do not favor the Dark Lord's methods, or even wish to remove muggle-borns anymore, but let us not pretend they haven't brought prejudice into our world, or that the muggles wouldn't wish to enslave us all for their own purposes."

"Tina," Eli repeated, taking his wife's arm. "Let us not start this discussion here. It is meant to be a night of celebration, not —"

"It's a night for remembrance, precisely about these issues," said Clementine, a bit snappishly. "And I am looking for intellectual discussion, not argument. Whatever happened to polite disagreements?"

"An attempted genocide, maybe?" said Lyra.

"The actions of others do not dictate my own liberties," said Clementine.

Lyra shrugged. "Sure. I'm not saying it's totally logical, but y'know, people think with their emotions. And it's just hard to argue with people who've got two enormous wars from two murdering maniacs stuck in their head."

"I had hardly thought said maniacs were stuck in the head of someone so young," said Clementine, the patronizing tone obvious even through her veil of civility. "And that Lucius Malfoy would let himself be influenced by such a child so easily. In any case, allow me to part with some wisdom: short-term outrage aside, policy can dictate the future of many more generations to come, especially in our world. It would be best if you thought more on the topics you are so passionate about, lest they give way to disaster for our children."

Lyra glanced at Narcissa, clearly wanting to roll her eyes. "Thank you for your advice, then, Tina. I hope this sentiment doesn't rub off on your daughters when they were just starting to make some friends."

Clementine's eyes flashed with genuine anger for a brief moment and Narcissa repressed the urge to laugh at Lyra's jab. "It was interesting to meet you, I suppose. Narcissa," she said, with a slight nod barely bordering on polite, and her gaze shifted in a way that suggested she had found far more agreeable entertainment. Eli Greengrass hesitated, and shot them an apologetic look before he followed his wife into the crowd.

"Opinions," scoffed Lyra a second later. "I hate when they pretend their beliefs are mere opinions, like she didn't vote in favor of the Anti-Muggle Marriage Law and that ridiculous Separation of Nature bill, like those dipshits aren't trying to actively inflict suffering on others." She took an angry sip of her drink. "They just do it in a way that keeps their pretty hands clean. Fucking neoliberals."

"Hm," Narcissa said, thinking about Lucius. She welcomed a distraction in the form of James, who appeared a moment later, looking haggard already, a martini glass in his hand half-filled with some mysterious pink liquid which had dark red smoke rolling off the surface.

"Why's she so mad?" he said, following Lyra's gaze to the Greengrasses, before she disappeared.

"Lyra is being Lyra," Narcissa said, Lyra grinned.

"Right," said James. "Well, at least you're not bullying kids now."

"I wasn't bullying her," said Lyra, annoyed. "If she openly agrees with Grindelwald's motivations, then what happens next is her own problem."

"She really said that?"

"It is a genuine concern for most," said Narcissa. "As a whole, Muggles would wish to harness our abilities. It does not have to be through force, either — say, would you be willing to turn down a million-pound 'consultancy fee' for every act of magic you performed for the Muggles? Not all wizarding families are as well-off as ours, and most would be happy to take such an offer; it would bind wizards and witches to these Muggles until eventually the Muggles have enough connections to leverage a significant amount of pressure upon the Wizarding World. I suppose Clementine was feeling frustrated that nobody else was willing to say it aloud, however."

"Right," said James, sounding a little less sure. "I didn't know that."

"As clever as you are, you do come from a Muggle background," said Narcissa. "I don't fault you for not noticing, but I'm certain you can find parallels within the Muggle world as well. That said, she could still have more tact than to imply that she finds some elements of Grindelwald's or the Dark Lord's philosophies agreeable."

"And she thinks I'm too honest," Lyra said. "Even I know to keep my mouth shut about some topics. Poor Eli."

Narcissa hummed softly in agreement as Lyra's attention turned to a small display set up on the side of the atrium. Slowly, they made their way over, and Lyra, as Narcissa expected, went straight to the broom that was on display in a glass case.

"Heather Jones' Comet 190," Lyra read. "The most decorated British ace to date and the flight commander of the 6th Multinational Squadron Berlin Express, Heather Jones led Poles, Danes, and Britons on numerous successful nighttime broom raids in the Low Countries and Germany from 1943 to 1945. Her heavily modified Comet 190, despite bearing the scars of these many tours, remains flightworthy to this day and comparable in performance against even the most competitive brooms of the late 20th century."

"I believe I met her, once," Narcissa mused. "When I was still at Hogwarts. One of her nieces was a friendly acquaintance of mine."

"You knew Gwenog Jones?" Lyra said.

"Not well," Narcissa demurred. "She was a few years younger than I. I did tutor her in some subjects."

"…Does she do, like, private Quidditch tutoring? You know, since you tutored her, like a 'I'll scratch your back and you scratch mine' kind of deal?"

"I recall you saying you were the greatest Quidditch player to ever exist and that nobody can compare."

"I say shit like that all the time without meaning it."

James coughed. Lyra glanced at him, then dismissed him. "So, can I have that broom instead?"

"Lyra, dear," Narcissa sighed, and Lyra tried to give her puppy-dog eyes. As effective as it was, she was a bit too old for that now, especially dressed up.

"Early Christmas present," Lyra tried. "And birthday, too."

"No."

"Yeah, wouldn't it be much more impressive if you beat Harry with your own skill instead of relying on a broom?" said James, and Lyra looked at him like he was some scum that had plastered itself to the bottom of her shoe.

"In any case, modified brooms are forbidden according to Quidditch regulations," said Narcissa. "You did know that, didn't you?"

Lyra said nothing. James rolled his neck and gave a languid grin. "Didn't you enchant your Nimbus to warn you of incoming bludgers?"

"No," Lyra said immediately. "Hey, that looks cool."

She stepped past James and leaned down to examine a strange, silvery contraption that hummed. It was about waist-high, and contained in a polished silver and glass case; inside, she could see gears and levers, gently humming as they spun. To Narcissa, it looked somewhat like the grandfather clock in Malfoy Manor, supposedly commissioned by one of Lucius' distant ancestors, though this device was much smaller and somehow even more fiendishly complex.

"The Manuel Cipher is an encryption device developed by French toymaker Manuel Sciverit by Grindelwald's forces. A savant by all accounts, Sciverit created a highly complex arithmantic cipher that scrambled letters every thirty minutes based on date, the positions of the sun and moon, the weather over Marseille, and other unknown factors. Only eleven machines were built in total and kept in strict secrecy among Grindelwald's most senior officers. After the defection of a mid-level officer, the capture of both the machine and Sciverit himself became one of the highest priorities for Allied forces, but it resulted in failure as Grindelwald ordered Sciverit killed than have his secrets released. The cipher remains unsolved to this day, but presents a challenge for arithmancy enthusiasts around the world."

"I've seen one of these in Dumbledore's office," James said. "Didn't think it was that important, though. Hope it doesn't get blown up in a couple of years."

"He has one? Well, I guess it's not surprising," said Lyra.

"Yeah, he's using it as a bedside table."

Lyra snorted, then her lips twisted into a scowl. "You're kidding."

"I'm not."

"Not that," Lyra said, then pointed. "That."

James followed her finger. "Luncheon with Lockhart? Nice, it alliterates."

"Fucking Lockhart," Lyra muttered.

"You won't do anything to him, will you?" Narcissa asked, amused. "He is raising money for charity, after all."

"Not today, no," said Lyra. "But I told him I wouldn't out him in front of everyone here so long as he spent half the night telling everyone that he looks up to me."

Narcissa laughed out loud, and then said, "Lyra, dear, as wonderful as you are, perhaps subtlety is not your strongest suit."

"Mm." Lyra's lips twitched as she took a sip of whiskey. "People like honesty."

"Which you always are, of course," said a familiar voice next to them. It was Nymphadora Tonks, present for Auror duty. Though the color scheme was the same, instead of her dragon-hide coat, she was wearing a high-collared velvet dress robe. Golden epaulettes were placed upon her shoulders, and her sleeves puffed out slightly before tapering down along the elbows to fit snugly under black forearm gloves. By contrast, the front of the robes were closed tight over the chest with seven golden buttons and a black-and-gold belt across her midsection, before splitting and flowing out to either side of her, revealing sharp red slacks and polished boots with brass buckles. The look was completed with a wide-brimmed maroon beret over her pink hair, long enough for this occasion to be made up into a bun.

"No," said Lyra, "but they think I am —"

Dora gave her a dry look. "I don't think anyone who knows you thinks that."

"And just how many people do you think truly know me?"

Giving her an unimpressed glance, Dora said, "Not much, it seems."

"So," said James, clapping his hands together, not so much cutting through the tension rather than shattering it with a sledgehammer. "See anything you fancy, Dora?"

"Not really," said Nymphadora. Then, genuinely curious: "D'you really think I can afford any of this with my salary?"

"Well, no." James gave her an innocent smile. "But I do have a weakness for girls in uniform."

Nymphadora's lips twitched. "Nice try, but not tonight. I'll have to get back to my rounds, or I'll get yelled at. Business before pleasure, after all." Her fingers brushed Narcissa's hand, and she playfully elbowed James on the way out.

"James," Lyra said.

He didn't turn his eyes off Nymphadora's retreating back. "Yeah?"

"I'll kill you."

James rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Look, the bid for Luncheon with Lockhart is starting. How much should I throw in?"

"You'd have to pay me to spend that much time with him," Lyra scoffed, drawing a few angry looks.

Ultimately, an anonymous bidder paid fifteen galleons for an opportunity to have lunch with Gilderoy Lockhart. Narcissa sniffed disdainfully, as the various Lockhart supporters in the crowd seethed at the lost chance.

"And now, allow me to introduce to you, ladies and gentlemen, the Dragon's Orb of Four Stars. Seemingly indestructible and apparently an artifact of great power, its purpose has nonetheless been lost in time — perhaps you will be the one to rediscover it, ladies and gentlemen? Bidding begins at…"

"Is that…" James trailed off, and shook his head. "Let's go find some food."

"Never far from your mind, is it?" Narcissa said.

"It's not like I wanted to be here."

As they approached the edge of the Atrium, the crowds thinned, with people preferring to stay within their respective circles than walk and mingle. James sat heavily on one of the benches, sighing.

"Welcome, welcome!"

Narcissa turned to the podium, which had been erected in front of the fountain. Cornelius Fudge beamed at the audience, drinking in their attention. Narcissa took a moment to pluck a handful of grapes from a table and chewed on them as she paid half her attention to the Minister.

"I am very glad to see such attendance for our forty-ninth Victory Day celebration," said Fudge. "On this day, forty-nine years ago, Gellert Grindelwald, the Terror of Europe, was defeated, and his generals rounded up and arrested. A great crime against humanity had been corrected! And we stand here today as a testament to the unfading resilience of Justice and Goodness."

Narcissa drained the rest of her champagne in one mouthful. Grindelwald's War had barely reached Britain, and nor had the country had any real involvement in Grindelwald's destruction save for Dumbledore and a handful of other volunteers making their journey into mainland Europe.

"I recall being a child when the fateful day came," said Fudge, "my father receiving his copy of the Prophet by owl, as he always did — and then he rushed into the room, shouting 'Grindelwald has fallen!' and what a joyous occasion it was. We all knew of his terror, of his cruelty, and it had finally come to an end. After many long years, after many courageous lives lost, we had won. And so we dedicate this day to them. To the victorious!"

Fudge raised his goblet, and the crowd mirrored his words and actions. Narcissa swirled the now-empty champagne glass in one hand. She refused to believe for a second that Fudge knew the true nature of Grindelwald's terror and his cruelty. His war had depopulated Magical Europe in a manner not seen since the Plague. Of course, the only source of news in Britain was the Prophet, which was working perfectly as intended for its role, so she couldn't even be upset that the majority of Magical Britain were mindless sheep. If they had any level of critical thinking, Dumbledore would've been canonized and his face would be printed on Galleons.

But if they were mindless sheep, Narcissa thought, what did that say about her family, who had chosen to support Grindelwald and Voldemort?

"But you've plenty enough words from me," said Fudge. "You'll hear plenty more from me in the upcoming campaigns, ha-ha! I shall let someone else take the stage — please give a round of applause for Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart!"

Narcissa almost groaned as enthusiastic clapping filled the Atrium. Lockhart waved to the crowd as he strutted onto the stage — doing a remarkable impression of Lucius' peacocks (and if they ate her flowers again, she was going to get herself a new coat, Lucius' protests be damned). Lyra was stumbling around on her tip-toes to try and get a look, while James was now preoccupied with catching snitches made of honey macadamia ice-cream and coated in caramel. When he finally caught one with an expression of triumph, Narcissa gently pried it out of his fingers and popped it into her mouth. James' crestfallen expression was just as delicious as the treat itself.

"Aha!" Lockhart planted his fists on his hips. "It's good to see such esteemed ladies and gentlemen today! I admit I wasn't even born when Grindelwald's War ended, but it has been a great influence as to the man I have become! I have toured Europe on many occasions, as I'm sure you all well know from my books, and I have seen the aftereffects personally…"

Narcissa tuned out the fop. Having heard what Lyra had discovered about him… she was frankly surprised that someone like him was capable of such deception. But she'd not fall for it now, and she had always thought his smile was overrated anyway.

"Excellent show, good chap," said Fudge, returning to the microphone. Lockhart lingered for a good ten seconds more, waving at the crowd, before he stepped back down. "Now… I'd like to share the stage with a guest who doesn't usually come to this gala. Please welcome Mr. Albus Dumbledore."

Mister, Narcissa snorted to herself. As if he weren't Supreme Mugwump, or the Headmaster of the most prestigious institution in Britain, or the one who defeated the very man they were supposed to be celebrating the defeat of.

Dumbledore paused in front of the microphone, and smiled genially at everyone present.

"Good evening to you all. I confess this is my first time attending the Ministry's Victory Day charity gala. I am, as I am sure many of you know, not entirely fond of celebrations such as these. It has been some time since I was able to pull off dress robes like many of the gentlemen here, after all."

As the audience chuckled politely, Narcissa gave a slight smile and shook her head at the Headmaster's robe — which, she supposed, was still subdued compared to what he usually wore.

"This time, though, I have decided to attend. As for why, I have been thinking." Dumbledore's eyes glazed as he looked off far in the distance. "My thoughts have been rather hectic recently, to say the least. Old memories rise to the surface of my mind unbidden. Old words from old friends. Old emotions from old regrets."

His voice trailed off towards the end, and he lapsed into a long silence; the audience glanced at each other somewhat uncomfortably before Dumbledore shook himself back into the present.

"It humbles me to realize that many among you were not yet born before that fateful day," he said. "Fewer still witnessed the conflicts that ravaged the world. Britain was mercifully spared from the brunt of Grindelwald's atrocities; to hold a celebration on this day, in any other country, would be unthinkable. So, if you would humor an old man and his memories, let me tell you a story.

It was a bitterly cold day, even after the snows began melting. Myself and three others were making our way east from the Dutch-German border towards Berlin. The last of Grindelwald's allies had been defeated, and Grindelwald's fall was imminent; all that meant, however, was that Grindelwald would try his very hardest to drag as many of his enemies down with him.

Though I had been in the European theater for about two months, I had yet to see any true combat. And I preferred it that way — I was, and still am, a teacher, not an Auror. You see, by the time I joined the war effort in earnest, Grindelwald's forces were all but spent. Hundreds, if not thousands of wizards and witches gave their lives to Grindelwald for one great lie. Only a few dozen, Grindelwald's officers, remained in hiding somewhere in United Germany. And even United Germany would not be safe for long; the resistance, which now outnumbered them, had formed an emergency government in Aachen and it was a matter of time until they were hunted down.

Instead, our work revolved around deactivating traps. I had thought I was used to death, but the horrors I saw… I once stumbled upon two teenagers. Muggle lovers who had accidentally entered one of Grindelwald's safe-houses in search of medicines. In doing so, they found themselves trapped in a time-loop. A girl was leaning over a young man, holding his hands in her bloody grip, begging him to remain lucid. The young man would die in her arms, and the girl would scream herself hoarse with the anguish you only witness in one who has lost everything — only for the entire building to flicker and the two young lovers to reset to their original positions. They would do this, over and over again, reliving their worst nightmares for what must have been years. When we finally broke the trap, they crumbled into dust, the age they'd spent in the trap catching up with them."

Dumbledore paused for a moment, but Narcissa thought she caught a calculating glint in those eyes this time.

"Ah, but I am getting off track. It was a bitterly cold day, yes… we were making our way deeper into Germany. This day was special, as we were ambushed. It began with a group of orphans begging for food. Even as I reached into my pack to share my own measly rations, my comrades had drawn their wands and Stunned and bound them. Before I could raise any protest, my commanding officer, Charlus Potter, had bound me with rope and yanked me quite violently behind a rock. Good thing, too, because it immediately crumbled under a Killing Curse."

Nobody dared speak as Dumbledore lapsed into silence, the audience's attention focused solely on him and the words that were coming next.

"The world was full of sounds and lights. Spells that I had seen hundreds, if not thousands of times before, now seemed alien to me. I watched one of Grindelwald's men fall and I realized, in the very back of my mind, that he would never get back up again. I was faced with one of Grindelwald's Blackguards — that is what Grindelwald's inner circle called themselves. I dueled him, and it was obvious that I was more skilled, more powerful. And yet, he had me on the back foot, because he had killing intent, and I did not.

I had dueled countless times, both before the war and in preparation for it, and I only then realized that the spells I used were not tools, but weapons. Each and every spell I had ever cast in my life, with the correct application, might kill a man. The man in front of me had already accepted this truth, and was doing his best to kill me.

So I killed him. I cannot recall what spell ended his life, but he fell with a look of profound shock in his face, as if he could not believe he were finally dead. I… I felt sickened with myself. I knew that he had not risen to the rank of Blackguard without being among the lowest of the low, and yet, he was somebody's son. Perhaps a husband, or even a father. Before he was swayed by Grindelwald's madness, he could have been an ordinary civilian, just like us, just like me. Charlus was a shopkeeper. Reginald was a clockmaker. I was a teacher… and this conflict had turned us all into monsters. Into something we would never dream of becoming outside of it. When the war ended, I hoped that this would be enough. That I would never have to experience such horror again, that I would be free to leave these memories hidden deep in my mind."

Dumbledore gave a bitter smile, a side of him that few ever saw, full of self-loathing and regret. "And yet… I wonder if my contributions were for nothing. I had, rather naively in hindsight, hoped that cutting of the head of the snake, so to speak, would cripple the sentiments that had led to this war in the first place. It took me a very long time indeed, until the rise of Voldemort —" the room collectively shuddered at the use of the title "— to realize that I had misplaced my faith." He spread his hands. "I am old and weary. I am somewhat ashamed to admit to feeling apathy in recent years. And so, even after Voldemort's downfall, I maintained my silence.

It was only with speaking to a few of the brightest youngsters at my dear school that my perspectives have changed. So proud, so reckless, to the point I might call them arrogant — and yet within their hearts they hold dear an intense desire to change the world for the better. If they had had an opportunity to speak to my old friends, my dead friends, then I suspect they would have gotten along quite well."

Dumbledore placed his hands on the podium and leaned forward, softening his voice. His eyes glittered like two chips of ice and his usual joviality was gone.

"Two wars I have fought. Both were caused by a single charismatic young man who thought they were better than everyone else. Both were defeated, but their ideas remain. The unfounded claims of superiority by blood, the discrimination faced by non-human races, the enslavement of House-Elves — do you truly think we will have peace, so long as these ideas prevail? Of course not. Soon, there will be a third warlord, shaped by our prejudices, ready to learn from the mistakes of the previous two. The first time, it was Muggles; the second, it was Muggle-borns; a day will come when you become the hunted. Will you care, then, when nobody is left to care for you?"

Dumbledore stepped back from the podium, softening the expression on his face into a pleasant smile that contrasted sharply with his prior words. Narcissa's eyes flickered to her husband, whose jaw was set and his fingers curled into fists.

A hesitant clapping from somewhere in the Atrium led to a round of applause. Narcissa slowly clapped, while taking in the reactions from those around them.

Lucius straightened suddenly, and scanned the room over their heads. "Excuse me," he said to Narcissa, and disappeared into the mass of people. Lyra and Draco both shot Narcissa a look, and she frowned as she tried to see what was going on. Lucius was uncannily good at reading the room and the changes in mood — what he had sensed, even she wasn't quite sure.

"Well," she said, if only to pass the time, "what did you think?"

Draco was silent for a moment before he answered. "I don't think I've ever heard him be that straightforward."

Lyra laughed.

"He certainly hadn't shared that story with the public before," said Narcissa.

Then, Lucius emerged from the crowd once more, hard lines set into his features. He and Narcissa exchanged a look, and she looked to her children.

"Come," she said. "Let's beat the crowd, shall we?"

"Just — one more —" said Lyra, reaching for some champagne, only to be caught by the wrist by her father.

"Lyra," Lucius snapped, dragging their daughter back towards them. "Behave. Draco, come here."

Narcissa's heart hammered in her chest as Lucius ushered them towards the Floos, which was suddenly flanked by an Auror. Lyra made to complain, but Lucius cut her short with a sharp glare that he rarely, if ever, used on his children. Draco's eyes flitted about nervously as the crowd began to murmur. Narcissa's fingers inched to her thigh, where her wand was concealed within the folds of her dress.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Rufus Scrimgeour, his amplified voice cutting over the excitement, "please form an orderly queue by the punch tables next to the Floo. Please follow the instructions of the Aurors and remain calm. Thank you."

Thanks to Lucius' advanced warning, the Malfoys reached the Floo quickly enough. Lucius maneuvered Lyra to the front of the line, then Draco, then Narcissa, and finally himself. Lyra remained tense as she pinched some powder between her fingers, threw it in the fire, and stepped inside, calling out "Malfoy Manor."

"What's happening?" Draco asked, even as Lucius just about shoved Draco forward.

"We can discuss it at home," Lucius said tersely. "Go."

Draco nodded hesitantly, before obeying his father's orders. Narcissa quickly followed; stepping out of fireplace into the familiar guest room, she turned around and watched the flames flare emerald again as Lucius stepped out. He unbuttoned his robe and threw it over the back of an armchair before running his hand over one cheek.

"Draco," said Lucius, just as their son opened his mouth, "would you make us some tea, please? And Lyra, could you go to my office and fetch my ink, quill, and some parchment? Thank you, both."

Draco and Lyra left the room. Lucius twirled his wand, and the chandelier came to life, illuminating the room in its warm, orange light; yet Narcissa felt the shadows were longer and deeper, somehow. As the sound of kitchen implements clanking against each other came from the kitchen, Narcissa turned to her husband.

"What is it? What's going on?" said Narcissa, placing a hand on Lucius's shoulder.

And he turned to her, a blankness scattering over the fear he could not hide, and he said, "Someone's just broken into Azkaban."

 

[Krazyfan1]

Great as usual.

was that a dragonball?

 

[Blaflaix]

would you be willing to turn down a million-pound 'consultancy fee' for every act of magic you performed for the Muggles? Not all wizarding families are as well-off as ours,

Click to shrink...

"And if the poor wizards get money, then nobody will care about rich wizards like us!"

 

[darienqmk]

"And if the poor wizards get money, then nobody will care about rich wizards like us!"

Click to shrink...

Haha, gotta maintain that class consciousness after all!

Now I think about it, it's tremendously easy for any 'new blood' to gain power and wealth with a reality-breaking force like HP magic, which is probably why heritage and influence are synonymous in the wizarding world.

 

[darienqmk]

Bellatrix opened her eyes. The colors were all cold and cruel, but not to the degree they usually were. A visit? It couldn't be... Not officially... for there were sounds coming from above, footsteps and words, and they would have passed by her cell to get up there if it was a Watchman. She strained her ears.

Again, words, too quiet to hear, maybe feminine. But then, a responding voice she recognized well: "I shall never!" it said, raspy but loud. It was her husband's voice. And then before she could think more on it, a green light flashed in the giant room beyond her bars. Bellatrix's heart skipped a beat.

This time Bellatrix could hear what the unknown woman was asking: "Do you regret anything, Dolohov? Now's the time to say it, if you do."

Bellatrix's heart felt like it had been twisted dry and hung out in the cold. She knew that voice. She knew that voice — another green light flashed, this time brighter — and now she was next, next to be killed by that fucking cunt of a blood-traitor whore.

How? How did she break into this place?

Then, at long last, the killer came down to her cell, stepping out of the shadows with the air of someone taking a pleasantly slow walk to observe the flowers. The wand in Lyra's hand was pale like her Master's, and it hung just as loosely in her hand as his. For one wild moment Bellatrix thought it was her Master, come to free her, perhaps unsatisfied with the answers the others had given. Her silver hair and cold eyes were barely illuminated by a faint glow coming from underneath her cloak, where two chains hung — one gold and the other silver.

"Anything you'd like to pass on to your sisters?" said Lyra. "They're the only people left who still care for you, after all you've done."

"Are you going to kill me?" Bellatrix whispered, unable to entirely hide the shock in her voice.

Lyra cocked her head. "Of course I am. Why would I spare you?"

"Lyra…" Bellatrix licked her lips. She hated to debase herself, but… "I am kin. I am of your blood, and you would kill me?" Lyra only raised her eyebrows, so she continued: "Do you not have any love for family? I know you do, of your mother, despite her faults… Would you not extend to me that same opportunity?"

The edges of Lyra's lips curled upward, and the cold amusement made Bellatrix snarl.

"I asked you last time if you regretted anything," said Lyra. "Did you already forget what you said?"

Bellatrix remembered well enough, but she hadn't been under the impression that she'd be murdered for those words. A rising fear began to turn into panic. She couldn't die here. She still had her mission, her unfulfilled tasks, and she couldn't die without a wand in her fingers, certainly not at the hand of her own niece. A cold fear gripped her heart, distinct from the cold she was so familiar with in this place. Everything was becoming cold, so cold, colder than Azkaban had ever been.

She had never truly believed that she might die here.

"I remember little," Bellatrix said quickly. "Yesterday, the day before, ten years ago… all of it is the same in the company of darkness and misery. Please, Lyra. Do you remember, when you were still so small? I held you in my arms, and Narcissa made me change your nappies. It's one of the few things I am still able to hold dear." Bellatrix gave a weak effort at a chuckle. "You were a terror then."

"Oh, I remember."

"Forgive me. I was… I was not the best with children." Bellatrix tried her hardest to lift the muscles in her cheeks to give any impression of a smile. "I could not have my own, you see, for the Dark Lord was cruel to those who failed him… were I not trapped here, I would have treasured you, my beautiful niece."

"You're lying," said Lyra with the sure tone that the Dark Lord always used when someone lied to him. Lyra sighed. "Before I came here, Bella, I went over what you did. Names, places, dates, methods used. You are evil beyond comprehension. The only mercy I'm giving you is a quick death, and even that's still only a consideration."

"Please, Lyra!" Bellatrix gasped, feeling her heart constrict in her chest as Lyra raised her wand. "I will change! I will do as you wish! I shall be your slave, your pet, anything, but please, please just don't kill me, I beg you. I do not wish to die!"

Lyra's cheeks pulled, her nostrils flaring slightly in a grimace. "You're pathetic."

Bellatrix was forced to agree. She hated the tears that were running down her cheeks, she hated the way her hands shook with something other than the cold, and she hated that she felt awe and terror towards anything that was not the Dark Lord. Had she fallen so far, during her imprisonment? She had so often fantasized about the Dark Lord's return, him reaching his hand out to her to join him at his side once more, praising her for how loyal she had been… but now, she couldn't help but wonder if her Lord would even want her back.

Lyra took one last deep breath, and said, "Say goodbye to your whore niece, Bella."

"You…" Bellatrix curled her hands into fists, feeling her unkempt nails biting into the skin of her palms. A brief flicker of rage sparked in her heart, but was quickly snuffed out by the all-consuming fear of death. Was there a paradise, or was there a hell? If there was, it was clear enough which she would be destined for — and if there was neither, she would be destined for the cold emptiness of the void, where she would simply cease to exist, all her relationships, her memories, her fears and triumphs…

Bellatrix snarled, peeling her lips back to reveal her teeth.

"Do it, then, Lyra! You —!" she said, her voice shaking. "Kill me!"

The tip of Lyra's wand lit scarlet.

I should've killed you, Bellatrix thought, I should've smothered you in your crib, I should've killed your mother, I should've —

 

[Thunder999]

Wonder why she isn't killing Bellatrix.

 

[Aelain]

Wonder why she isn't killing Bellatrix.

Click to shrink...

I think she did, thats why Bellatrix's thoughts cut off there. Its not clear for sure though.

 

[Dark Lord Bob]

I think she did, thats why Bellatrix's thoughts cut off there. Its not clear for sure though.

Click to shrink...

When Rodolphus was killed there was green light (probably the Killing Curse). With Bellatrix there was red light (possibly the stunning spell).

 

[AutumnSouls]

('Lyra' here)

She killed Bellatrix. She just couldn't summon the will to use the Killing Curse with her mother Narcissa in mind.

 

[ej190]

Hmm

Time turner shenanigans? I suppose this is an effort to prevent Voldys return from being too dangerous even if it feels a little risky on Lyra's part.

Also, Bellatrix's voice here sounds off. Is it because she's talking to her niece that the "mask" is off?

 

[CyberFemme]

Binge completed. That's good stuff.

It's good to see people doing more experimental stuff with the SI format.

 

[darienqmk]

She'd vowed to never come here again, yet here she was. Tonks shivered as she stood on the craggy rock; she'd had the foresight this time to wear her hooded coat, and a pair of gloves as well. Her jackrabbit fluttered about her, sniffing at her hair and occasionally brushing against her cheek with a soft, breeze-like sensation. Beside her, Sturgis Podmore stood seemingly relaxed, though she could see him fidgeting.

"Fudge doesn't seem to like the new Warden," he commented.

"I doubt he's had many people flat-out tell him 'no' since he became Minister," Tonks said.

The Warden she'd met last time — Artorias, she'd learned his name was — had apparently resigned from his post. His replacement was a soft-spoken, willowy, seemingly young woman. Her voice was almost melodic in its cadence, yet something about her put Tonks on edge. Alongside the Warden, three other Watchmen blocked the ferry from the increasingly agitated Ministry contingent.

"Bugger the ICW," Fudge shouted. "Azkaban lies only twelve miles off the coast of England, if something goes bloody wrong on that island, it's my responsibility to ensure the people of Magical Britain are safe!"

"Traditionally trained law enforcement will not be able to navigate the prison safely," the Warden said, her eyes flickering to the Aurors that flanked Fudge. "I do not say this to offend. It is merely the truth."

"These are the best Aurors the Ministry has to offer," Madam Bones said coolly. "With your Watchmen as guides, I am certain they can be of use."

"Apologies," said the Warden, her voice almost drowned out by the wind. "I cannot allow your Aurors to enter. I will invite them to cooperate with the Watchmen in the guard towers to ensure dementors and high-security prisoners remain on the island, however."

"Now see here," Fudge said, turning a little red.

"Why didn't Fudge bring the Unspeakables?" Tonks said.

"The Unspeakables don't listen to him and everyone knows it," said Sturgis.

"So? They'd still be more useful than us."

"Nymphie," Sturgis chuckled, and Tonks scowled at the new nickname. Bloody Lyra. "What Minister Fudge has brought is a cameraman. What did you think this was all about?"

Tonks warily glanced at the man setting up a tripod. "So Fudge dragged me out to this hellhole again so he can look better on the polls?"

Sturgis shrugged, and Tonks sighed.

"I hate this place," Tonks muttered, and Sturgis shrugged again.

"I do too," he said. "Somehow I always seem to draw the short straw when some Ministry bigwig needs an escort."

"Karma for your terrible jokes?"

"My jokes are comedy gold," said Sturgis. "I keep morale high in the Auror Corps."

"The real joke is that the Auror Corps wants to keep you around."

"I'll have you know that the only reason the Corps functioned after the Roti Hut takeaway allowance got taken away was my sense of humor and dashing good looks."

"We had a Roti Hut takeaway allowance?"

"Bones and her accountant likes to pretend we never did, but yes."

"Damn," Tonks said, shoving her hands deeper into her pockets. "I really picked the wrong time to join. You got Indian while I get Azkaban."

"Cheer up, it could be worse," said Sturgis. "Could be like those poor buggers that have to actually explore the place."

"Yeah," Tonks said softly.

The whole deal was a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. Gael might've said there was little he could do to stop You-Know-Who from entering, but what would You-Know-Who have to gain from murdering all his best underlings? And most people were decidedly not on his caliber. The only person Tonks could think of that held animosity against the Death Eaters and was on You-Know-Who's level was Dumbledore, and she doubted Dumbledore would've broken and entered one of the most heavily defended facilities in the world for something so out of character.

Tonks felt her lips harden into a thin line. Her stomach churned, remembering the way she had acted toward her cousin; she couldn't imagine the stress the poor girl must be under, now with her nightmare come true. Bellatrix might be dead, and no Death Eaters were unaccounted for, but the fact someone or perhaps something had managed to find its way in was troubling. Tonks' mind was already busy conjuring nightmares. Of dementors and… other things, emerging through whatever hole created by the break-in, following her back to her home.

"Hello, Gael," Tonks said idly.

The tall Watchman stopped beside her, and turned to face the same direction she was looking in, towards the island prison. "Auror Tonks. A pleasure to meet you again."

"Sturgis Podmore," said Sturgis, holding out his hand. It was strange for Tonks to realize that Sturgis — the tallest person she thought she knew — was still an inch or two shorter than Gael. The Watchman really was a freak of nature, in more than one way.

"Call me Gael."

"Better circumstances, and all that," said Sturgis. "Anything you can tell us about this whole incident?"

"Nothing I can tell you officially," said Gael. "But I've heard rumors the ICW is collectively shitting itself."

Sturgis laughed, while Tonks only shuddered. How was he able to remain so chipper, so close to this hellish place?

"Structural damage?"

"Physically? None," said Gael. "Magically? That's a different story."

"The defenses?" Tonks said, her eyes widening.

"They're not broken." Gael hummed. "But they're stretched. Azkaban is agitated."

"Agitated?" Sturgis said.

"It's trying to stop us from going in," said Gael, grimacing. "We've had to evacuate the minor offenders, and a few of the maximum security prisoners have gone missing."

"Escaped in the chaos?"

"No. Their entire cells are gone. Azkaban's rearranging itself on a scale we've never seen before."

Tonks let out a shuddering breath. "Fuck."

"Indeed. I hope this doesn't affect the World Cup. I'll be attending with my children, it'd be a shame if it were delayed, or cancelled."

"You're worried about that?" Tonks said incredulously, and Gael shrugged.

"I arranged for my leave before this all happened," he said. "What happens here for the next month won't be my problem."

"Wish Scrimgeour respected the sanctity of leave as much as your boss does," Sturgis said easily.

"It's in the best interest of the ICW to keep us happily employed," Gael said, his lips twitching so briefly that Tonks wondered if she'd imagined it.

"Oh, bloody hell, yeah. You couldn't keep me here even if I got paid twice as much as I do now." Sturgis peered into Gael's hood. "How much do you get paid, anyway?"

"My children won't want for anything," Gael said. "That's all I need." He turned to Tonks, then, and Tonks fought not to flinch. "Did you find anything new about what we spoke about?"

Sturgis glanced at her curiously, but didn't interrupt. Tonks cleared her throat. "Right. That. I think… Lyra's friend went down there again. He found Slytherin's workshop."

"The Wunderkinder strike again," Sturgis muttered.

"I didn't get all the details, but I heard James spoke to Mad-Eye, and Mad-Eye spoke with the Unspeakables about what he found."

Gael hummed thoughtfully. "Alastor Moody?"

"That's the one," said Tonks.

"You know him?" said Sturgis.

"He's well-connected," Gael said. "I don't know him personally, but word gets around."

Tonks and Sturgis glanced at each other. Mad-Eye had gotten up to a lot of shit over his life, that much was certain, but he was 'well-connected' with Unspeakables and Watchmen?

"Oi." Sturgis nudged Tonks. "Our illustrious Minister, ladies and gentlemen."

Tonks turned her head. The cameraman was directing Fudge into a striking pose; one foot up on a black rock, his hands shoved into his pockets and his coat flaring out behind him, staring out into sea towards Azkaban, the storm-clouds swirling above the monolith. Light flashed and the camera snapped, and Fudge stepped off the rock to approach the cameraman.

"He's a man of action, he is," Sturgis said, and Tonks snorted.

"Watchman," said a soft voice, and Tonks' humor immediately bled away, replaced by a cold dread. "I trust you are not slacking in your duties."

"No, Ma'am," said Gael dryly. "I am supervising the Aurors. I propose we should cut the sugar from our refreshments, or we'll never get them settled for naptime."

Tonks rolled her eyes as Sturgis laughed, and the new Warden gave a slight smile. "I'll take your proposals under advisement," she said, and turned to the two Aurors. "Hello. I am called Maria. I apologize that there is nothing to be done here. We are only waiting on further reports from other Watchmen who volunteered to explore the island."

"It's fine," Sturgis said, though Tonks internally disagreed. "It's not like you dragged us here. That was our Minister. Sturgis Podmore. Pleasure."

"The pleasure is mine," said Warden Maria, delicately taking his hand. "And yourself, Madam Auror?"

"Nymphadora Tonks," said Tonks. "Just Tonks is fine."

"Of course, Auror Tonks," she said. She gave a small smile, and though her eyes were still invisible, it felt genuine, and Tonks felt herself relax somewhat.

"So I hear you're the new Warden," said Sturgis. "Do you feel any way about that?"

Maria shrugged. Everything she did felt dainty, and Tonks was almost jealous at her casual elegance. "Not particularly. My duties remain more or less the same, but I have more authority and paperwork now." She turned to Tonks, then. "It's a shame I missed you on your last trip to Azkaban."

Whatever easiness Tonks felt earlier seemed to shrivel up and die. "I guess so."

Tonks looked to the Watchtower, from where a small army of Unspeakables had emerged, clad in their brown, hooded robes. They did not so much as greet the Minister, to the man's chagrin and Sturgis' amusement. However, the people that followed, Tonks didn't recognize.

They looked in part like muggle soldiers. She could see about half of them carrying what were very clearly guns, though she could hardly guess as to what kind they were. Slim shards of dark steel, all angular and sharp. Their body armor was almost entirely black, which to Tonks' eyes looked like a strange mixture of metallic and crystal qualities. A dozen thin rods of the same strange metal surrounded their limbs, connected with hinges to the chestplate. The chestplate extended upwards into a gorget, made with what looked like overlapping steel cables, flexing and extending like muscle fibers, and these in turn connected to an enclosed helm, the soldiers' faces invisible behind what looked like dark, fogged-up glass. Were they squibs, like the all-squib partisan group from Grindelwald's War, die Krampi? But some of them were carrying wands. One of them approached their group, and Tonks tensed. The soldier — for what else could they be? — did not even break their stride, dismissing Tonks as a threat entirely.

"Warden," they called, their voice turned into a sinister hiss by whatever mechanism they wore on their heads.

"Agent," said Maria, unconcerned.

"I understand you already have individuals inside the building?"

"Indeed." Maria gestured to the other Watchman between them. "Watchman Gael will debrief you."

Gael easily stepped forward, showing no sign of surprise. Sturgis' eyes shifted to Tonks, but Warden Maria stepped close and looped her arm through Tonks'. Not particularly subtle, Tonks thought, as Sturgis watched them go with a furrowed brow; then again, from both what she'd been told and from what she'd seen firsthand, the Watchmen didn't seem to the type to play around with politics. There were bigger things at stake, in their collective mind. Tonks idly noted that the Warden was indeed as willowy as she seemed under her thick robes, and slightly shorter than she. She was also surprisingly warm, and Tonks found herself leaning into the female Watchman.

"Who are they?" said Tonks.

"An extragovernmental entity," said Maria. "They are helpful. Usually."

Tonks snorted a bit at the last addition.

"I'm sorry you had to come out today, Auror Tonks."

"It's my job," said Tonks. "I get paid for it."

"Still. To come all the way out here for a photo op…" Maria sighed softly. "This is not a forgiving place. I'm sure you well know."

Tonks nodded slowly.

"Lyra Malfoy, to visit the late Bellatrix Lestrange." The woman's grip on Tonks' arm was gentle, but firm. "The reports left behind by our former Warden paint an interesting picture. Of all the people that visited, none save her have ever recommended placing more security upon the prison."

"I thought she was mad, back then," Tonks said.

"Until now, I would have thought the same." Maria lapsed in silence as they continued to walk around the bleak rock, ignoring the occasional questioning looks they received from the other Aurors. "Then this happened. It's… it's not good."

Tonks felt that queer sensation of simultaneous cusiority and dread; even as a stone settled in her stomach and her palms became cold, her heartbeat quickened and her body seemed to be filled with energy. She licked her lips — it was too cold here — and spoke.

"What happened, exactly?"

"There's much I can't tell you," said Maria, and Tonks saw her bite her tongue. "I'm not sure if I should even be telling you this. But you were the last visitor, you and your cousin, and I cannot help but wonder if there is something I am missing." Maria thinned her lips. "None of the usual magic would have damaged Azkaban the way it did. Something else was at play, something extraordinary."

"What do you mean?"

"Azkaban is ancient and powerful, Auror Tonks. Its defenses did not unravel after Wardens past have placed new enchantments upon them. If whatever we planned affects it too greatly, Azkaban pushes back, and makes its displeasure known. This is not like that. Something happened, something powerful enough to fracture the enchantments woven into this place." Maria's grip tightened momentarily. "I read Watchman Gael's report, but I'd rather hear it from you. Did anything unusual occur during your last visit?"

"There was an earthquake—"

"Uncommon, but not unexpected," said Maria. "It happens once or twice a day."

"What about the runes?"

"The runes? Ah, you mean on the arches. I'm not certain what they are, but they have been present for many years with nothing happening. Even the newest ones have been there for at least half my life."

"And the whispers?"

Maria froze mid-step. "What whispers?"

Tonks stared at the woman. "From the tunnel. From the one that goes down and down."

Warden Maria slowly turned to meet her eyes. Her expression of fear, though shadowed and in dim light, was clear to Tonks. Maria's pale eyes glittered in the dark, promising nothing but ruin, and Tonks wondered if her life would ever return to normalcy again.

"I see," said Maria, and she continued to walk as if nothing happened. But Tonks could feel her grip on her arm, no longer as gentle as it had been, the stiffness of her gait. Tonks turned to the east, where a yet-unseen sun cast a watercolor of dark gold and violets across the horizon. Though it dispelled the darkness of the island, it could not dispel the dark thoughts in her mind.

---

The fire was roaring.

Embers spitting, soot bellowing; the fireplace was more akin to a kiln, the chimney howling with flame; James had had to pull the tattered rug back as the ashes kept setting it alight. After that flight back to the British mainland, so cold that frost had gathered along his feathers and tried to drag him into the cold, dark sea, the warmth should have been a relief. He didn't feel relieved. He had been sitting here for a good thirty minutes, now, but the cold didn't go away, settled in his body like it belonged there.

Beside him, Lyra was similarly wrapped in blankets, as she leaned against him and he against her. Her skin burned, simultaneously hot and cold, and it hurt to touch; James suspected that he felt the same way to her. A pale, shimmering raven perched upon a windowsill while a similarly ethereal cat slid between them, its tail curling around their arms and legs. James shivered, flexing his frozen fingers, then stood.

He peered out the door. Some twenty-five miles from Azkaban, the prison likely still visible were the skies clearer, but in the dark of night, James could only hope they were safe, that nothing followed their scents like a bloodhound on a trail. This lonely shack, perhaps someone's old summer home until they died, had been selected as their hideout a few months ago already. Enough time that they'd fixed up the windows and replaced the rotting boards and gave it a homey touch, but whatever little additions they made did not bring the warmth back into their bones.

From the direction of the island prison a wave of dread washed over him, and he shuddered, almost falling to his knees. Azkaban had not been kind to him, even less so to Lyra. More than once he'd tangibly felt raw hatred like this as he flew, threatening to sweep his raven form out of the air, threatening to drown him in the cold waters of the North Sea. He stumbled back into the cabin, and knelt beside Lyra. She stared lifelessly into the fires, her lips moving in silent prayer.

"Lyra," he said.

Lyra didn't respond.

"Lyra," he tried again, more urgently, and Lyra slowly turned to look at him.

"James?" she said, her voice a whisper, seemingly without the energy to speak any louder.

James swallowed heavily. "How do you feel?" he said, feeling like a fool even as he asked. "Does anything hurt?"

"Cold," Lyra said.

James braced against the back of the couch and pushed her towards the fire, as close as she dared. The heat of the inferno washed over them, and James' raven fluttered close and landed silently on the backrest of the seat. Lyra shivered a little. With her a little closer to the light, James noticed something off about her.

He reached down and took Lyra's hand, prying her fingers open. James stared at her broken skin stained deep red; how long had Lyra kept her injury quiet? Her palm had been sliced open in places by mangled metal, thin bands of gold that had shattered into hard edges, and splinters of glass, almost too small to be seen by eye, embedded in a dozen different places. James lowered himself to his knees beside her, and with the light of the fireplace and Patronuses combined, attempted to remove the glass. With both him and Lyra shivering violently, it took a while.

"Scourgify," James said. "Episkey."

The dried blood was scoured away, and what cuts hadn't already scabbed over closed entirely. James picked up the twisted remains of the time-turner, gathering up the gold chain into his palm, and dropped it into his pocket. So many months of effort, painstakingly recreating Hermione's time-turner, gone, vanished after a single use.

"What happened?" he said.

Lyra continued to stare unblinking at the fire, but eventually she spoke.

"I killed them," she said, her voice almost inaudible over the roaring fire. "Saved Bellatrix for last. She begged me not to kill her." Lyra's eyes sharpened for a moment, regaining their luster, a fleeting victory. "Then I turned around to find you again. I climbed back up the stairs, and… I kept passing by the same cells. I kept seeing Bellatrix, no matter how many steps I climbed. I know because the step in front of her cell was covered in her blood." Lyra curled into herself. "I couldn't find you. I knew you were there, somewhere, but I couldn't reach you. I don't know how long I was in there for. The place kept shifting so that I wasn't moving anywhere… the Patronus Pendant ran out — which it isn't supposed to do — and the dementors could've Kissed me, but they didn't. They just followed me, forced me to keep moving."

James clenched his fists.

"James," Lyra whispered, "it wouldn't let me out."

 

[Vaermina]

I am getting a whole lot of "Children who think they know better then the adults, do stuff, and just continually make things worse because in reality the adults are right." vibes.

And I dig it.

Too often the SI's come in and the story bends over backwards to accommodate them. Now instead we have them attempting to use their "obvious" meta-knowledge solutions and getting screwed over for it.

 

[CyberFemme]

I am getting a whole lot of "Children who think they know better then the adults, do stuff, and just continually make things worse because in reality the adults are right." vibes.

And I dig it.

Too often the SI's come in and the story bends over backwards to accommodate them. Now instead we have them attempting to use their "obvious" meta-knowledge solutions and getting screwed over for it.

Click to shrink...

Is that what's happening? Because it seems that it's more a case of going beyond the piss poor worldbuilding of the original - which is probably the best way to handle the introduction of new challenges for the SIs?

 

[ISawThisComing..]

I'm just happy to get some good old cosmic horror. Love it when HP delves into the really twisty shit. Living island of whispers that's evil, it's awesome.

 

[Vaermina]

Is that what's happening? Because it seems that it's more a case of going beyond the piss poor worldbuilding of the original - which is probably the best way to handle the introduction of new challenges for the SIs?

Click to shrink...

The best way to challenge SI's in settings like Harry Potter, is to have them go around trying all the "easy and obvious" way's to gain power, and have those ways either not work, or backfire in some way on the SI's.

 

[darienqmk]

It was truly baffling to think that a small city's worth of people had gathered here. Magic or not, a hundred thousand people had formed a massive tent city in the English countryside, remarkably well-contained in a neat grid pattern. If one included the unofficial visitors as well — there was no way to prevent people from sneaking in, not when the Aurors and hired security had so many people to deal with — then there were probably five to ten thousand more than that.

"Are we sure we don't need to get going?" said Cedric.

James stretched his legs. The perfectly Muggle, purple camping chair he'd brought along was surprisingly comfortable — and it had a drink holder in the armrest, too. "We probably should, but the thing is gonna be delayed no matter what."

"Exactly," said Moe, from the orange chair beside James'. "There are too many people, it'll definitely get delayed. People will try to go in through designated exits and whatnot."

Cedric shrugged somewhat uncomfortably in his pink chair. He was still a bit anal about punctuality and such, but he'd learn to stop worrying and love the madness eventually.

"The twins must be making a mint," said James. Given Harry and Ron had gone with Sirius instead of the Weasleys — although they coordinated to ensure Sirius, Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Diggory all had tents beside each other — James and Moe had been invited by the twins to join the Weasley contingent. Naturally, that meant they also got conscripted into smuggling their Ton-Tongue Toffees on their persons upon their departure from the Burrow. Judging by the line of overly enthusiastic kids, they were making an absolute killing.

"I never thought so many people would want joke products like those," Cedric said. "I mean… it just makes your tongue longer. Are kids really just that stupid?"

"Never underestimate the stupidity of kids," said James, nodding sagely.

"You say that like you've never been one," Ginny snarked.

James lazily turned to the immensely bored teenage girl. "I have been fully cognizant of myself since the day I first entered this world. Do you think it's a coincidence that I am more intelligent and wise than any of my so-called peers?"

"All right, don't break your neck with that massive head of yours," said Ginny, rolling her eyes.

"Why are you here, though?" said James. "Did you chase off all your friends with your winsome personality?"

"Oh, shut up. Dad's busy and Ron's annoying as usual, and I don't want to get dragged into playing shopkeeper for the twins."

"Are you sure it's not because the idea of being in the same room as Harry Potter still intimidates you?"

Ginny's ears turned pink. "No."

Cedric laughed. "You wouldn't be scared of being in the same room as your celebrity crush, James?"

"He's not my celebrity crush!"

"Why would I be? I'm hot, young, and virile," said James, and Moe made a noise of disgust. "What?"

"Question," said Ginny, her face still red, "Did Lyra Malfoy corrupt you, or did you turn the scion of the Ancient House of Malfoy into a whore?"

"We corrupt each other, like true friends," said James, interlocking his fingers in demonstration. Ginny muttered something uncharitable under her breath, but she too was smiling.

James wondered if Ginny was always this sassy. A lot had changed for her already — the moment James stole that diary, Ginny had more or less lost all her narrative importance. He frowned to himself. He wouldn't wish that diary on anyone, certainly not Ginny, who had a good heart under that teenage rebellion. But there was someone out there — most likely a child, at that — who was instead being corrupted by Riddle. More than a year had passed since the disappearance of the diary, and he was no closer to finding the new owner than he had been at the beginning of last year.

Fred and George returned then, matching grins on their faces; Fred held up a jingling sack packed with coins, while George held a completely empty display case in his hands. Ginny shot them a suspicious look, looking remarkably like Mrs. Weasley as she did so, while Moe whistled in appreciation.

"We are officially in business, lads," said Fred. "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was a complete success!"

"Six galleons, two sickles, and a knut," said George. "Pretty good for thirty minutes' work, I'd say."

"Six galleons?" Ginny said.

"Six galleons, dear sister," Fred said smugly. "We made twice as much in half an hour as Mister Weatherby makes in a whole day polishing Crouch's wand."

"You reckon we should get him Keeper kneepads this Christmas?" said George.

"Why, brother, you are the most thoughtful man I've ever met."

"So where's our cut?" said James. The twins raised their eyebrows in fluid, matching motions. "You wouldn't have made a knut if you didn't have us smuggle it out for you."

"That is true," said George, scratching at his stubble. "But it didn't take much effort on your part, did it?"

"We made it, we sold it, we even came up with the slogans," said Fred.

Moe made a thoughtful noise. "What about something a little extra for your friends the next time Fletcher brings you one of your care packages?"

"Done," said Fred.

"Hello, kids," said Mr. Weasley, appearing at just the right moment to make all three Weasleys jump with fright. Fred hid the purse behind his back. "Doing something you shouldn't be?"

"No," the twins said.

"Well, if you say so, it must be true, eh?" Mr. Weasley grinned. "Come on, let's get ready."

James, Moe, and Cedric folded up their chairs and threw them down James' expanded trunk; pulling on jackets in anticipation of the evening chill, they emerged once more. Cedric joined his father and bade them goodbye for now — they hadn't gotten Top Box tickets, but they were good sports about it — while Sirius and Harry replaced them instead, with Ron and Hermione following.

"Everyone ready? Nobody forgot their wands? Good, let's go."

The Top Box was, contrary to popular belief, not at the very top. That was instead reserved for the poors who chose to expose themselves to the elements. The Top Box was one level below, just above the tallest goalpost for an excellent view of the whole three-dimensional stadium. Soon enough, the big-wigs of the Ministry began to pour in. James idly wondered if he would be able to pull off a one-man coup right here if he moved fast enough.

The Malfoys passed through as well, fashionably late as ever, pointedly not looking at the Weasley contingent. It appeared Narcissa hadn't come this time; instead, by Lucius and Draco's side, came Lyra. Her hair was a bit messier than usual, and her hands were stuffed into the pockets of her long white overcoat. And her eyes still hadn't regained their old liveliness, even now months after the Azkaban break-in.

"'Lo, Lyra," said Moe pleasantly. "You look lovely today, you know?"

Lyra only raised her eyebrows in response. It only further highlighted how little sleep she seemed to be getting. James suspected she'd lost some weight since they'd last seen each other. Then she looked around without greeting either of them, nor anyone else, seemingly lost in thought already.

James' eyes flickered to the house-elf sitting in the front row, an empty seat beside her. They had spoken a few times about this, but they still weren't entirely certain how they were supposed to pull this off. Given the security dedicated to the rich nonces in this room, it was likely they'd be Stunned a dozen times over before they could get more than a spell off. They'd have to wait until after the game ended, and follow Winky as best they could.

He glanced back at Lyra, then, and asked, "You okay?"

Her eyebrows rose a little again, then she shrugged and said, "Sort of. Hey, do you think we could pull off a two-man coup right now? Like," she added when he stared at her, "if we went ballistic straight out of the gate."

James sunk himself deeper into his Occlumency, watching Lyra's face for any change, but he couldn't find any. "What brought that on?" he said.

She frowned, glanced at him, then looked away and said, "I don't know. I guess I've just been thinking lately of the inevitability of death and the insignificance of life."

"So no different than usual, then?" said Moe.

Lyra leveled a flat look at him and then walked off to rejoin her family.

An inexplicable anxiety settled in James' gut like a stone at the bottom of a still pond. He turned back to the pitch, where Bagman had just announced the Bulgarian mascots, and James found himself straightening to get a better view. He wasn't the only one, either, as Fred and George half-climbed out of their own seats.

The dance was mesmerizing, in a rather primal sort of way. The stadium was hushed as they watched the veela spin, their moonlit skin and golden hair flickering like embers from a flame, like flashing fireflies in the dark of night, their inhuman beauty hinting at something… more, a lonely lamp dangling luringly in the pitch black of the deep ocean.

James forced himself back into his seat, sighing shakily. Considering his past experience with mind control, he was glad that he was able to keep to himself. Beside him, Moe remained as impassive as a stone statue, and not for the first time he wondered where his friend had learned such ironclad Occlumency. Carefully, he looked back at the veela; they were still beautiful, but whatever they were doing to his mind had mostly stopped.

"That's better," said Moe, obviously having felt the same discomfort James had, until the leprechauns emerged and broke the illusions the veela had been so delicately weaving. A gold coin smacked James' cheek, and more fell into their laps. "Wait, they conjure gold?"

"It's temporary," James said, rubbing his face. "Sorry."

"Seriously?" Moe tossed a fake galleon over the balcony in disgust. "Wait. Damn. You are serious about it only being temporary, right? Because I just threw it away."

"Yes, I'm serious," James said dryly. "Otherwise I wouldn't be so upset that I got hit in the face with fifty quid."

The match that followed was, at least to James, somewhat interesting. The twins were going wild, and even Lyra looked at least somewhat amused by the spectacle that was the Wizarding World. James never felt particularly interested in Quidditch with its nonsensical rules, but he could appreciate the excellent flying the teams were demonstrating. Lyra loved flying because it was liberating and no doubt electrifying for her in particular with her reckless speeds, but ironically, to someone who could fly on their own strength, using a broom felt too limiting. Still, even James' secondhand Comet 260 was faster than he on his own power would ever be, so he could admit there was a certain charm to broom racing.

Though he briefly lamented his decision not to purchase omnioculars for this occasion, he took comfort in the fact that he'd escorted Fred and George to a broker (a legitimate one, this time, as far as brokers could be called legitimate) and made the same bet they did.

Otherwise, he kept his eye on the house-elf. Poor creature. He could relate to having a fear of heights — at least until he'd turned into a bird — but he was more interested in the empty spot beside it.

"Bored?" said Moe.

"No, it's interesting enough," said James. His eyes flickered to Lyra. "But there's something I need to do after the game. While I'm still here, I mean."

"Right." Moe drew out the word, staring at James. "One of those things you two get up to, huh? You planning to ever tell me about it?"

James tilted his head. "Maybe," he said finally. He'd known Moe almost as long as he'd known Lyra Malfoy — in this life, at least — and he didn't think Moe would pull a Wormtail in the future. "Not now, though. Too many people around."

"Fair enough," said Moe, turning back to the game. "It's not like I've told you everything about myself either. Not that I don't trust you, mind. I just don't like thinking about it."

"Is there anything I can help with?" James said.

"Hah. No, it's fine. It's not like it's bad, it's just that the family drama could come straight out of some soap opera." Moe rolled his eyes. "Idiots, the lot of them."

"I thought you liked some of them?"

"I like my younger sister," said Moe. "She's the only unspoiled one. Mostly because I raised her, I think. And because she goes to Beauxbatons."

"Really?"

"Yeah, she just finished her second year. Getting top grades, she is, just like her big brother."

"The only difference, I assume, is that you cheat to get there."

"Cheat?" Moe scoffed. "You don't get to lecture me on cheating. Remind me again why you get top marks for the usual tests, but I did better on the O.W.L.s—"

"Ireland wins!"

Whatever he was about to say next got drowned out by the primal roar that echoed around the stadium; the banners hanging around the grounds showed an enlarged image of Krum, his nose bloodied, holding the snitch above his head. James and Moe glanced at each other, then at the fanatics all around them.

"Huh, it ended," said James.

"What do you bloody mean 'huh, it ended'?" Fred shouted, clasping James' face in his hands. "Did you not see that chase?!"

"Must've missed it," James said breezily, and Fred screamed incoherently.

"So, he caught the snitch? Is that some kind of flu?" Moe said. Mr. Weasley laughed as all his children turned to glare at him.

"What an excellent show! You two really picked the worst moment to get distracted, didn't you?" said Mr. Weasley. "Up you get, boys and girls!"

"Just going to go walk about, Mr. Weasley," James called, and only waiting to receive a nod of confirmation, James turned back to Winky the house-elf and her invisible plus-one. As they made their way downstairs — being in the Top Box apparently had more benefits, like being able to take advantage of the Very Important People's bodyguards to cut through the crowd — James drew his wand and painted his hair a lighter brown, and put on a pair of Trelawney-style glasses that distracted anyone looking from any of his other features. As he continued to walk after the elf, he was joined by a black-haired woman who looked vaguely like Lyra.

House-elves weren't all that smart. He didn't want to be mean, especially since very few of them were afforded the opportunity for an education, but it was the truth. They were sensitive to magic in ways that humans weren't, but they lacked critical thinking. Probably part of why they hadn't risen up in bloody revolution even once. For example, Winky didn't bother making detours through quieter routes, instead becoming increasingly flustered as she guided Crouch Jr. through the busiest main roads and hurried away from confused pedestrians wondering if they had bumped into something, nor did she bother to consider why she couldn't Apparate despite her unique brand of magic.

"Stop that," said maybe-Lyra.

"Stop what?"

"The Mission Impossible theme song," said the spoilsport.

Winky stopped at the back of the line of people waiting to Apparate away. Though the majority seemed to be planning to stay for another night of festivities, there were a decent number of people waiting to leave already.

"Too many eyes," said James.

Lyra shrugged and said, "It'll be fine."

And without another word she strode forward, all the way up to Winky, where she clasped her hands together and said, "Hello, dear. Are you lost?"

"N-no!" Winky said immediately. "Winky is just waiting in line!"

"Ah. Well, you do know there is an apparition point for elves, don't you? Right over there," added Lyra, pointing a finger briefly past a line of empty food carts. "Much shorter line."

"O-oh," said Winky, looking nervously in the direction. "Must Winky go there?"

"That would be preferable. Would you like me to take you?" Lyra said using the same voice she used on lost first-years.

Winky nodded slowly, and Lyra led the way past the food carts and behind an outcropping of the forest. Winky glanced around in the darkness.

James silently drew his wand from his pocket.

"The apparition point is right over there," said Lyra. "You see that small sign over there?"

Then the clearing lit up in scarlet as James took down Winky in a split-second Stunning Spell, while Lyra's spell splashed against something invisible. Two thumps. Then nothing but the wind, insects, and distant crowds of people.

James approached the single visible foot. He yanked the invisibility cloak off the unconscious Crouch Jr., revealing an almost anorexic young man.

"Dobby!" she called.

Dobby appeared with a muted pop. He was still wearing that bellboy outfit. "Dobby is here to help, Miss Lyra!"

She kicked Crouch none too gently. "Can you take this asshole to Dumbledore?"

"Winky, too," said James.

"Yes, miss, Dobby will be back soon," Dobby said, and disappeared with the unconscious elf and Death Eater.

"Where did he take them?"

"Aberforth's pub," said Lyra, her yawn stretching out the last word. "Fuck."

"That went well," said James. "Cool."

"Yeah." She sent him a sly side-eye. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

"I guess it does," said James. "I still feel bad about Winky."

"Yeah," said Lyra. "Hogwarts will take care of her better than Crouch Senior ever would, but she's still going to be miserable."

"Hey… how'd you know exactly where Crouch was? I was about to throw like fifty stunners like we said."

"Legilimency," said Lyra. "You learn to sense minds, eventually. I wasn't sure I'd be able to find him under an invisibility cloak, but..." She shrugged. "C'mon, let's go."

They walked back in silence, though it was a comfortable one, this time. Lyra seemed to stand a little straighter, a little more aware; it wasn't even that exciting, but that tiny bit of extra blood in her head pumped a little bit of life back into her. And, perhaps, him too. Even the thought of Crouch breaking out from his mind-control to turn the tables on them didn't particularly bother him. For as long as he had his friend by his side, he would be invincible.

With that pleasant thought, James bade her goodnight, and peeled off into the Weasley tent. While the younger kids had been sent to bed, Mr. Weasley, Sirius, Moe, and the older Weasleys were still present. As he had more or less expected, making a fire the 'muggle way' was not working out well for the Weasley clan. Mainly because Mr. Weasley didn't seem to consider that muggles had better firemaking tools these days.

"Are you using fire sticks?" James said incredulously.

"Indeed!" Mr. Weasley said, red-faced and panting. "We've been taking turns, but we just can't get it to light!"

"That's because — you're not even drilling it, you're just rubbing it together!" James shook his head. "Just… just use magic, or you're never going to have a fire at this rate."

Mr. Weasley was crestfallen but accepted this, and soon enough they had a roaring fire going. At Mr. Weasley's insistence, James was made to demonstrate the correct method of using fire sticks. James found that whoever had found these had decided to pick the greenest timber they could find, so it was never going to light… but it wasn't like anyone here could see the difference in the dark, and the urge to show off won, so James wandlessly lit the bottom of the small hole he'd drilled into the wood. The look on Moe's face as he 'successfully' created a spark was simply delicious.

"Wicked," Bill said, as James blew on the ember.

"Thank you," said James, sitting up straight and dusting his hands.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Sirius said, and James shrugged. YouTube wouldn't mean anything for at least another ten years.

"Well done, James," said Mr. Weasley, holding out a mug. James took it, and sipped. Butterbeer — Mrs. Weasley's own. "So, Fred, George. How much did you boys make today?"

"A hundred and thirty galleons, or thereabouts," George said easily.

Mr. Weasley clearly wasn't expecting that, his jaw slack as he stared at the twins. Sirius gave a low whistle. Percy looked like he'd been kicked in the crotch.

"Ah — well — good job, I suppose," Mr. Weasley said.

"What are you going to do with it?" Bill asked.

"Open up our own shop, of course," said Fred.

"With more of those products?" said Sirius, sounding amused. "I could see it. Zonko's hasn't innovated in decades, but look how popular that place is."

"Products?" said Charlie.

"You haven't seen them yet?" Bill plucked out something from his pocket, and it suddenly enlarged to the size of his fist. He tossed it to Charlie, who caught it easily. "It's impressive work."

Charlie held up the object to eye level. "What's this?" James leaned in slightly as well, trying to get a better look in the firelight. It was a black icosahedron, with images drawn on each face. He glanced at George, who winked at him.

"Hey, that's a prototype," Fred said. "Be careful with it."

"It took us forever to make," George agreed.

Charlie grunted, then turned to the twins. "Well?"

"Oh. Right. We call it the, uh, the Doom d20," said Fred. "Don't ask me, James came up with the name."

"It's a fortune-telling object, really," said George. "The premise is that you roll it, and whatever it lands on, the d20 curses you to that fate. But really, it just predicts your immediate future and pretends it made that future happen."

"That's…" Sirius trailed off.

"It's an incredible piece of arithmantic engineering, that's what," said Bill. "It's more complex than a good few of the cursed objects I've had to work with."

"It's not that impressive," Fred mumbled.

"Can I see it?" said James, and Charlie handed it to him without looking. James held the dice in his hands. It felt like it was made of stone, black and cold and unpolished. That association already made his stomach churn, but he tried to ignore that and looked at the magic behind it. Faint lines appeared in the edges of his vision, a spiderweb stretching across way too many dimensions for him to truly be able to comprehend, and the magic of the object rang out in a hundred distinct notes, all singing out in a choir that he slowly tried to filter through.

"James was talking about some book character and dice tumbling in his head, so we got the idea from there," George was saying. "And then he joked about some 'd20 of doom' so we made it a reality. Fred takes divination and I take arithmancy, it wasn't that hard."

"Not that hard, he says," Bill teased.

"No offense, but I genuinely didn't think you two were capable of making something that impressive," Moe said. "Why do you always act like such idiots?"

James laughed as Fred and George, for once, didn't have a repartee ready and floundered to say something, eventually settling on not saying anything at all. Mr. Weasley appeared to be genuinely shocked into silence as well. James rolled the oversized die between his hands.

"Can I roll it?" he said, breaking the quiet.

"Uh, yeah. Sure," said George. James glanced at the die once more, and lightly tossed it towards the middle of their group, avoiding the flames. It tumbled once, twice, and came to a stop. Percy leaned in and adjusted his spectacles.

"It's a picture of an eye," Percy said, looking to the twins.

"Right, that one is…" Fred patted his pockets, then withdrew a pamphlet. "The Watcher. A spectre follows. They watch from the shadows, where they are invisible. Only by shining light upon the darkness will the watcher be revealed."

James glanced around despite himself. Moe snorted, and a few others laughed.

"It's not literal, you idiot," George said. "It just means someone's interested in you."

Moe raised his hand. "I think I know who this prophecy's talking about."

"Is she cute?" Sirius said.

"You're far too interested in the love lives of people way younger than you," James complained.

"Definitely cute," Moe said.

"James keeps playing hard to get," said George.

"And it's working," said Fred.

Sirius gave James a somber look. "I'm proud of you, kid."

"Fuck off, Sirius."

"Here," said Moe, making grabbing motions. "Give." Percy picked up the die, and it was passed along to Moe. He spared a moment to examine the carved images, before he tossed it.

"The Spider," said George. "A single spider's thread hangs from the heavens, and to climb it would be to reach salvation. But you are not the only one who seeks entrance. It is up to you if you will climb the fragile thread or if your struggles will cause it to snap, sending all tumbling back down into the abyss."

Moe pursed his lips for a moment, then looked up. "Damn."

"Hits hard, doesn't it?" George said with a grin. "Fred tried it out the other day and he got The Star. Diamonds burning in the night, ignite the way with a guiding light, bring sparks of hope to the weary mind. But it shall always remain beyond your reach, high above all worldly things."

"Oh, come on," Fred protested. "She was laughing withme!"

"Angelina was not very impressed," George said.

"Maybe you need some pointers from Percy," Bill said, and everyone's attention turned to the bespectacled Weasley. Percy turned slightly red.

"Percy?" Mr. Weasley turned to him. "Well, why haven't I heard about this before?"

Percy spluttered.

"Did we not mention it?" Fred said. "He was dating this brunette. Hate to say it, but she's definitely gorgeous."

"I wouldn't mind serving detention with her," George added with a smirk.

"Vast tracts of land," Fred said.

"Childbearing hips," said James.

"Back in my country, she'd be worth six goats and a cow," said Moe.

"Let's not disrespect the lady," Mr. Weasley said, giving Moe a funny look, as if he weren't quite sure if Moe were joking or not. "But it's lovely to hear. Just be careful you don't start popping out kids! I'm not prepared to have deal with your children before all my own move out." He wagged a finger. "That applies to the rest of you, too!"

"Don't worry, Mr. Weasley," Moe drawled. "As far as we can tell, only Percy inherited your charm and good looks."

"Oi," Bill said, grinning.

"I don't know, Moe," Mr. Weasley said with a smile. "If Charlie put on a bit more muscle, he'd almost look like me when I started seeing Molly."

Charlie snorted. James liked to think he was fit, in this lifetime, but this man was built like a Greek god, and James wondered if he genuinely wrestled dragons into submission. The Weasley in question only met his eyes, almost challengingly.

"Bro, do you lift?" said James, and confusion flickered across Charlie's face. "You work out?"

Charlie grunted. "Perks of the job."

"Surely that can't be it," said James. "They feed you magical dragon protein or something?"

Charlie stared at him. "No," he said finally. "If you show up smelling like dragon — and believe me, dragon meat smells — then suddenly you're not just a minor nuisance, but competition."

"Oh," said James.

"They'll kill you." He grinned, but it felt more like a baring of teeth. "See this?" He rolled over his arm, making the shiny patch easier to see. "A bitch called Norberta imprinted on me, and I made the mistake of feeding her first during mating season. She rubbed up all over me, so when I went to feed Regina — the biggest, meanest Irontail you'll ever see — she went fucking mental. The countryside burned for three days. If Scatha didn't pick that moment to make a leadership bid, I'd be dead. Just like Scatha."

"Are you sure you're qualified to be a dragonologist, brother mine?" Fred said.

"I'd imagine the profession has a high enough turnover that they'll take anyone by this point," Bill said with a smirk, then winced when Charlie punched him in the shoulder.

Either the game had ended later than James had expected, or time passed really quickly. Soon enough, as if everyone had come out of a haze, they realized it was time for bed. Bidding everyone goodnight, Moe and James returned to their designated bedroom.

"Ugh," Moe groaned, falling onto his bed. "I'm knackered."

James hummed his agreement, slipping into his own covers. Soon enough, Moe's shuffling turned into steady breathing, barely audible if not for the rustling of his sheets with each exhale. Meanwhile, James merely lay there, his eyes closed but unable to shut down his mind.

His thoughts drifted to Lyra. Ever since that excursion to Azkaban, she had been different. More reserved. She barely slept, and when she did she had nightmares so vivid she'd wake up gasping, yet unable to put into words whatever she saw. But the whispers, the unbearable cold, the broken time-turner… That black monolith had made itself at home in James' mind now, so firmly that sometimes he wondered if the whispers were still there. And it had downright burrowed its way into Lyra's mind. He curled himself deeper into his sheets.

Azkaban had been a stupid idea. They should've never gone.

Feeling simultaneously cold and burning hot, James threw off the covers and slipped out of his bedroom. He cast a Muffling Charm on himself to stop Moe from waking up and went downstairs. The tent was truly an impressive structure; he had to get himself one of these. The fact that it shrunk down to the size of a bedroll for easy carrying was just insane. It was the little things, like these, that always reignited his awe of the wizarding world, just when he thought he had seen everything.

There was a small light at the bottom of the stairs, and James hesitated. He had thought for sure that nobody would be awake even still. After a good minute of silent contemplation, he pushed on. The chill of the wood paneling seeped through his socks as he reached the bottom. The light was coming from some candles near the corner of the sitting room, behind a armchair occupied by Mr. Weasley. He looked up over the hardcover book he was reading, removing his spectacles as he did so.

"Still up, James?" said Mr. Weasley.

"Yeah," James said, before reaching for the sink for a glass of water. The water was chilled almost ice-cold, despite it being the middle of summer; it had been a while since he learned of magic, but it was still weird to think there were no pipes behind that tap.

"Couldn't sleep?"

James took a moment to swallow some water. "Yeah," he repeated.

"Hmm."

James sat opposite Mr. Weasley on the quilt-covered sofa and peered at the cover of the book he was reading, but it was too dark to tell what it was in the dim light. Mr. Weasley idly cleaned his spectacles on the hem of his shirt, before putting it to the side.

"How are you, James?"

James startled a bit. "Fine? I think."

Mr. Weasley grinned a little at that. "I hear you stopped Fred and George from betting with Ludo Bagman. Did you know he was going to pay out with leprechaun gold?"

"I read some unflattering things about him," said James. "I only told them to talk to a proper broker instead of some has-been."

Mr. Weasley chuckled. "I saw him getting chased into the forest by some vengeful goblins. I hadn't laughed so hard in a long time."

James' lips twitched. "You should've woken me for something like that."

"Ah, I will keep that in mind for next time. Knowing Ludo, I'm sure there will be plenty more opportunities." Mr. Weasley gave an enigmatic smile. "You'll be seeing more of him at school, too."

"What, the Triwizard Tournament?" said James, and Mr. Weasley sputtered.

"Well, yes," he said, and James grinned at him. "I won't even bother asking how you found out about that. Ludo will be commentating, I think." Mr. Weasley rubbed his chin. "If you already know about it, then I'm guessing you're considering entering?"

"Maybe," said James uncertainly. "I don't know… I wouldn't want to deprive someone else of the opportunity, you know? I've already had my fair share of adventures, and…" James sighed. "They did not go well."

Mr. Weasley was silent for a good moment, and James took the time to examine the tent around him. It was crafted by a lifelong coachbuilder, apparently; magical coachbuilders usually worked on expanded trunks and tents like these, due to the similarity in the techniques involved. Mr. Weasley had only rented this tent for the Cup, but if one were to buy it, it would cost more than a house of about the same size.

"Are you afraid of another perceived failure?" Mr. Weasley asked, and James looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

"I know you still blame yourself for that basilisk incident," said Mr. Weasley, and James stayed quiet. "Disregarding the fact that children could have very possibly been killed had the diary infected anyone else, you still feel guilt for what you perceive as your failure. I suspect you feel about the tournament the same way — you would want to enter, but you're afraid of failing. You're afraid of disappointing the people you care about, and disappointing yourself."

James stared at him. "Yeah," he said finally. "I guess."

"I have six sons, James, did you think I don't notice these things?" Mr. Weasley stood up and moved to the sofa, sitting beside him to plant a hand on James' shoulder. "Besides, I was young once, too. It's a natural thing to feel at your age — well, usually a bit older, most boys your age still think they're invincible, but you've always been a bit more mature than most. I suppose that near-death experience contributed to it as well. You realized just how out of depth you are, and you have no idea what you're going to do or what you're supposed to do, and all you can think about is how badly you're going to cock up."

James nodded slowly.

"Bill and Percy were both that way during their N.E.W.T.s, I remember. Charlie's always known exactly what he wanted in life, so he didn't get affected as much." Mr. Weasley chuckled, and James smiled despite himself. "The twins… I'm sure deep down they do feel that uncertainty, that insecurity. Maybe even more than Bill or Percy, because they chose to go off the beaten path, unlike their brothers. They devote so much of their free time into their products, you know? Making sure that each and every one is perfect, because they think that anything less than perfect means that their business isn't going to succeed. But nothing is perfect, least of all people. Do you understand what I'm getting at?"

"Not really," said James, and Mr. Weasley grinned.

"Ah, I must be getting old," he said. "Then let me paraphrase a bit: everyone cocks up once in a while, James. But that's no reason to stop trying, stop experimenting, stop failing . Don't be afraid to fail, or you'll miss out on some valuable lessons to be a better man in the future. Keep trying, keep failing, and keep learning — and when it gets too much, you can always ask for help. I bet your friends and your professors will be there for you, and Molly and I will always have your back. Yeah?" When James said nothing, Mr. Weasley prompted, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," James said quietly.

"Good lad." Arthur leaned over to give James a one-armed hug. "You're a good person from all accounts, James. Even if you're not quite sure how you want to become the man you want to be, I think you have the moral compass to keep you on the right track. You'll get there eventually, wherever you want to be." He smiled. "My boys look up to you, you know? Fred and George. They'd never admit it, of course, but you learn to read between the lines when you're a dad. The only 'Outstanding' that either of them got on their O.W.L.s was George for Arithmancy — and if he were left to his own devices, I don't think he'd have been motivated enough to even try." Mr. Weasley squeezed James' shoulder and met his eyes. "You're a good person already, son. You don't have to feel the need to slay a basilisk or win a tournament to make us proud. But if you decide to enter anyway, then know that we'll be cheering you on no matter what."

James wished he had something to say, but he didn't, and so he just sat there feeling like an idiot. Mr. Weasley didn't seem to mind, though, and patted his shoulder before releasing him.

"Thanks —" James tried to say, but the rest of his sentiments got cut off by a crack like thunder.

"Bloody hell," Mr. Weasley swore, and poked his head out of the tent briefly. Whatever lethargy James felt disappeared in a moment as he jumped to his feet and drew his wand. "James?"

"What's going on?" said James, and looked outside. He saw the dull glow of a distant fire, and rising clouds of smoke in various directions.

"No idea — I'll have to talk to someone who does and —" A massive roar cut him off as a fireball blew into the sky, charred remains of tents carried along with the wind it generated. Mr. Weasley exploded with a litany of curses that, had Mrs. Weasley heard, would undoubtedly send him to sleep on the couch for the next three months. "Stay here, James! I'll be back!"

He rushed off before James could get another word in, and James stood there awkwardly, rolling his wand between his fingers. Charlie Weasley burst out of the tent, and stood next to James. Even in the dark, his hard scowl and clenched jaw was hard to miss. He folded his arms, wand in one hand, and glared in the direction of the flames as Bill emerged.

"Of course something like this happens," Bill muttered. "I'm supposed to be on holiday, for Merlin's sake."

"Bastards," Charlie growled, his fists clenching.

"I'll wake up the girls," said Bill, turning back to the tent for a moment. "Percy can take them and the other kids somewhere safe."

A short scream cut off their conversation, and they both turned towards the source. Though distant, they could both see a crowd of black-cloaked wizards and witches on the rampage, and above them, spinning lazily in the air, was the muggle groundskeeper and his family. Charlie snarled as a chorus of jeers and cheering met the terrified Mrs. Roberts.

Sirius ducked out from his own tent, with a bleary-looking Harry and Ron in tow. From the tent past that, looking marginally more awake, was Cedric and Mr. Diggory. As Percy began ushering the younger kids out, Mr. Weasley returned, his face faintly pink from exertion.

"Any news?" said James.

"Bloody rioters," Mr. Weasley muttered. "We can't even tell who's who in this darkness, but if you see anyone wearing a mask — Merlin's balls!"

James' eyes widened and he felt heat wash over his face he saw dulled flashes of spellfire, and heard screams of wizards and witches alike. Mr. Diggory cursed under his breath, and Mr. Weasley turned back to their group.

"We should go help the Ministry," Mr. Weasley said. "People could be getting hurt at any moment. The rest of you need to hide out somewhere safe."

Moe stepped up beside James. "We can help, Mr. Weasley."

Mr. Weasley hesitated. "You're both young…"

"Mad-Eye Moody thinks James is good enough to take on Aurors," said Moe. "And I'm the Junior Champion of the Baghdad Dueling Circuit. Two years in a row."

Mr. Weasley only tilted his head, but Sirius spoke. "That's one of the most competitive dueling leagues in the world," he said. "Just who are you, kid?"

Moe shrugged. "People are getting hurt. Are we going to help them or not?"

"All right, you two come with us," said Mr. Weasley. "Fred, George—"

"Wait," said James, and Mr. Weasley looked at him with frustration. "Bring the twins. And Cedric, too. You can all fly, right? Along with Charlie — we need to rescue the Roberts, but we have to make sure they don't fall."

"Good thinking," Sirius said with approval.

"They'll get shot out of the air," Mr. Diggory said.

"That's why the rest of us on the ground are going to distract them," said James. "We'll keep the flyers Disillusioned, in any case, and most of those tossers are drunk."

"And where are we going to find the brooms?"

"We're at a bloody Quidditch tournament, for Christ's sake!" James said, and Mr. Diggory scowled. "I had twelve different salesmen ask me if I wanted to buy one broom or another."

"It's not a bad plan," said Mr. Weasley. "Come on, then."

"Fine," Mr. Diggory grumbled. "You keep yourself safe, Ced, you hear?"

"I could say the same to you," Cedric replied, and some of Mr. Diggory's scowl went away.

"All right, you lot, get into the woods, and stick together," Mr. Weasley said. "Keep hidden! We'll come fetch you once this is over."

With that, they began running. "Accio," Bill shouted, and about a dozen brooms all came flying at them. Charlie contemptuously smacked aside a Cleansweep, instead snagging a Nimbus for himself. Fred and George grabbed matching Comets, and Cedric found himself holding a Firebolt. They halted behind a pair of tattered tents, the crowd close enough that James could smell the blood and sweat.

"Whoa," said Fred, and both he and his twin looked at Cedric's broom with undisguised hunger.

"Unlucky," Cedric said with a smirk, elegantly vaulting onto the Firebolt.

"I can cast the Disillusionment Charm," said Bill. "Charlie, come here."

James gathered the spell in the tip of his wand, and smacked Cedric over the head, perhaps a little harder than he needed to. Cedric cursed at him, and he swiped back, but he couldn't see where his own hand was and missed James entirely. Moe laughed and the twins' matching smirks were briefly visible before Bill cast the spell over them too.

"I'll take the father," said Charlie's voice. "The rest of you, make bloody well sure you know who you're after."

Though James could barely see Charlie in the darkness and the enchantment, he could see his violent takeoff with the gust of wind it generated, briefly flattening the grass around him. The others also took off after him, and those that remained quickly looked at each other.

"James, Moe, you two can come with me," said Sirius. "You know how to duel in teams?"

"I'm good enough," said Moe.

"And James — well, if Mad-Eye trained you, then I'll trust you to do what's necessary." Sirius turned towards the crowd, and began to move away from Mr. Weasley's group, towards the opposite side of the crowd. James quickly followed, briefly surprised at Sirius' agility. Perhaps it was something similar to James' senses becoming sharper, and his fear of heights disappearing, after he learning to transform.

In the back of his mind, he knew that he could die. The individual competence and discipline of the rioters aside, they greatly outnumbered the Ministry unless reinforcements were called in, and drunk people didn't hold back. All it took was a stray spell from where he wasn't looking, or even just getting tripped up and hitting his head on an unfortunately placed rock. His old self would never have tried charging headlong into a crowd of assholes, he mused idly.

Mr. Robert's older kid screamed as she suddenly dropped ten feet, before she bounced in midair like she'd hit the end of a bungee cord. James heard Moe snort in disgust from beside him, and he clenched his own fists.

"Cover your eyes," said James, and both Moe and Sirius did so without questioning him. James stood straight, and took a deep breath. A few members of the crowd noticed him, but it wasn't enough.

"Hey, dickheads!" James shouted. That did the trick. "Lumos solaris!"

He barely managed to shut his eyes closed in time; even then, his world became a bright white. Cheers and chanting briefly faltered, replaced by pained curses. James took aim and launched a Disarming Charm, hitting center-mass of one of the rioters; the wand tore itself from their grip, spinning high into the air, and James cast a Banishing Charm on it just to make sure they were truly out of the fight. Sirius and Moe let loose a pair of Stunners that unceremoniously sent two rioters dropping to the ground.

James glanced up again; he felt his heart constrict as the older child fell with a scream, only for her to get snatched away by some invisible figure. Moments later, the three others were also picked out of the air, the fliers barely decelerating enough not to injure the muggle family as they took off once more. Before he could breathe a sigh of relief, a sickly yellow spell streaked his way; without James' input, a golden half-dome appeared in front of him, sending the spell skittering off its angled surface.

"Focus!" Sirius shouted.

James suppressed a flash of indignation as turned back to the crowd. A twist of his wand created a pack of Conjured rats at his feet; with a mental command, they scurried off through the undergrowth, and several heartbeats later, some of the curses and jeers turned into screams of panic and pain. Moe hurled a golden orb, almost too bright to look at, which bounced into the midst of the group and exploded outwards in a wave of concussive force.

The world erupted in fire, then; all three of them briefly ducked, before they raised their heads warily. James noticed the iconic red coats of the Auror Corps, and leading them was the old lion, cutting a path through the crowd with almost contemptuous ease. James heard Aurors screaming red-faced at the rioters to lay down their wands and surrender. Some did, but more simply ran in whichever direction they thought led to safety. Sirius Stunned one that ran past, not even seeing the three of them in their haze of terror.

They retreated slowly, their wands at the ready and their legs tensed to leap one way or another at the first sign of danger. After a few minutes, Sirius stood up straight again, more relaxed in his posture. James sighed, tucking his wand back into his sleeve. He crossed his arms, suddenly feeling cold.

"I got nine, by the way," said Moe. Sirius and James both looked at him.

"Was I supposed to be keeping count?" James said.

"See, that's the difference between you and me. I keep track of the things that matter."

"Seven," said Sirius, then huffed. "I'd have won if I'd had my coffee."

"Just admit it, you're getting old," said Moe.

James turned back to the sky. "We should probably go check on the Roberts."

"So little faith in your friends," Moe drawled. "They'll be fine."

"Physically, maybe. But they'll be scarred for life."

"The Obliviators will get rid of that," Sirius said reassuringly. "Don't worry."

James stared at him. "Obliviated? Are you for real?"

Sirius stared back, and Moe glanced between them. "Why wouldn't he be?" Moe finally said.

James shook his head, then eyed the Aurors approaching. "Are we done here? I think I might go for a walk."

"Now?" said Sirius.

"I don't need to get in shit with them because I decided to help out before graduating," said James, jutting his chin in the direction of the Aurors. "You'll take care of it, won't you?"

"Yeah, that's fine." Sirius waved him off. "Enjoy your walk, but be on guard."

James nodded. Before Moe could follow him, James shoved his hands into his pockets and disappeared behind the lines of tents. Most of the rioters had dispersed, though quite a few were lying unconscious on the ground. He moved away from the battlefield, past the medical tent with a line of at least a hundred people, and towards the Roberts' homestead. He kept an eye out for stragglers, as Sirius told him to, but his mind was on something else.

Would James ever notice if a memory was missing? It was a question he'd yet to find an answer to, ever since the diary slipped from his grasp. If his memories were truly modified, though, would he even question whether it was gone or not? He didn't know, and he didn't want to find out. He approached the muggle house, where an Obliviator was speaking to Mr. Roberts. His eyes were glazed and a line of drool fell from the corner of his mouth.

"…Thank you for hosting our Ren Faire, Mr. Roberts," the Obliviator was saying. "Now there's a bit of a mess, but we'll be sure to have it cleaned up by tomorrow afternoon. We'll let you know once it's done, alright?"

"Yes, of course," Mr. Roberts mumbled. His wife smiled vacantly beside them.

The Obliviator tipped his hat and turned around. He noticed James standing there, and upon spotting his borrowed Ireland scarf, he smiled.

"No worries, lad," he said, patting James' shoulder as he passed. "They won't remember a thing."

James said nothing. People reacted to trauma in different ways. People changed in different ways. Nightmares. Fear of strangers. Anxiety. A brutal existential dread about what else existed that they never knew about. Would never know about. He couldn't imagine how terrifying, how humiliating it must have been to be paraded about like circus freaks by men dressed like a color-swapped Ku Klax Klan, utterly helpless. And it could've easily gotten worse.

If James himself had lost his memories of the diary and the basilisk, he might go back to how he was before. Bold, brash, and brimming with the arrogance of youth. Not this broken self that was left behind. Wouldn't he prefer to be fearless again?

(But he wouldn't be himself anymore.)

The Statute would remain secure, and the Roberts would not live the rest of their lives like damaged goods. Everyone won, in theory.

Another part of him sneered. Hypocrite.

But this was a matter bigger than his own feelings. Life was cruel, and there was nothing more he could do in this moment. He accepted as much.

He just wished he didn't feel like shit.