What does it mean to be a hero? Someone whose name is immortalized in history books and recited in bedtime stories? Was it someone who was adored by all and feared by many? Is there even a proper textbook definition for what a hero is? Or is it something merely subjective and only defined by that of the person describing it. It's a term entirely up to one person and what they believe it means to be a hero. There is no set or concrete description for the elusive title that is commonly thrown around without any real context.
That doesn't stop people from trying to fit into the mould that society has coined what it means to be a hero or what it takes to be immortalized in such a way. People are still desperate to reach that unobtainable standard that was decided upon, perpetuated and stigmatized by epic stories of fantastical grandeur and improbable occurrences.
Superheroes have only blurred this definition further. Not everyone can be as courageous as Steve Rogers or as amiable as Charles Xavier. Some people fall into the more ambiguous territory and find more comfort in the blurry side of the term. To follow the superhero analogy, a person like the Scarlet Witch or Wade Wilson, even The Punisher, may fall into that grayer area. The characters are flawed and imperfect and stumble. The character Clea or Magik, perhaps even Raven, all have that more unknown aspect to them because they make mistakes. No one is righteous enough not to make mistakes or fumble the ball.
The more people try to squeeze into the role of perfection and become an untouchable deity, the more they are likely to fail and fall into the pit of the 'fallen hero' that is then scrutinized and banished from conversations. However, some people just wish to be remembered for their actions for good and not the shadows luring them away from the spotlight.
-----
"Miss. Potter," Dumbledore announced, watching as she stepped through the threshold of his office, eyes wary of her surroundings, "I'm pleased to see you came."
"Well, when the Head Master of Hogwarts, the school I attend, calls," Lyra shrugged, her tone passive, "I haven't many places to hide. Especially when he's been known to steal into my mind on occasion."
"Apologies for my past actions," Dumbledore began, stepping around from his desk, hands open in a display of vulnerability, "I thought crassly and allowed my desire for success to cloud my true intentions. I offer you an olive branch, Lyra."
The blonde watched the Head Master with a focused and trained eye. She knew she couldn't dip into his mind; she'd tried on occasion when she saw him in the Grand Hall. Each time, she'd fallen short and been left with a piercing gaze from the man. Lyra knew that the Professor had a mind guarded by a wall made of twelve-inch thick steel. She'd have to be the most potent ligilimen in the Wizarding World if she even wanted to poke at the walls. Alas, she was not. She had training from Regulus Black and a natural talent but was no match for the skills her Head Master harboured.
"I'm aware of the knowledge Mr. Black and your brother have shared with you," Dumbledore continued, noting the silence that followed his previous offer, "You're not only a brilliant witch, but quite astute. I would like to bring you on to the team I'm putting together, a group that will bring Voldemort to his knees."
"I've heard of this plan," Lyra interjected, "From a friend."
A scraping feeling pulled across Lyra's mind, and she gave the Professor a knowing smirk. He had a thicker wall up, but Lyra was not defenceless. She had managed to keep the Dark Lord at bay; she could do the same to Dumbledore. The Professor raised his hands in defeat, and the ticklish feeling vanished from her head. The man descended the stairs from his pedestal and stood next to the Phoenix that groomed itself.
"Have you learned what a Horcrux is, Miss. Potter?"
"I have, Professor." Lyra nodded along, dropping onto one of the armchairs in the office, "It is a fraction of a person's soul put into an object. When the person dies, their soul lives on."
"Tom Riddle managed to split his into seven," Dumbledore explained, "As it stands, that is."
"As it stands?"
"I wish to find them, Lyra."
"Professor–"
"I require assistance. You and Mr. Black–I suppose now you two work well together?"
-----
Lyra watched from the side as the group of friends that surrounded her laughed and enjoyed the gentle rain that smacked against the window. Thunder rang from miles away, nowhere near where the group sat, but it grew closer. The sound of Sirius laughing played in tune with the bass. The way his head leaned back against the chair he sat on beside James, Marlene's legs thrown over his. The fire that flickered across his face illuminated the dark aspects of his eyes, and Lyra couldn't help but smile at the way his eyes crinkled at the sides.
Turning her eyes from the boy, they landed on her brother. He sat adjacent to her on another couch, going back and forth with Dorcas about some of the plays he wanted to run in the upcoming Hufflepuff match. The entire scene that played out in front of Lyra was nothing more than a mundane reminder of what she was fighting for and trying to protect. The offer from Dumbledore rang across her mind as she listened to the conversations. They were so trivial and superficial, nothing hiding behind the words or the phrases shared. The room was filled to the brim with love and serenity, and her heart swelled at it.
"Ly?" Remus's voice sang, "You with us?"
Lyra moved her focus from her brother to the lycanthrope beside her, his cheeks sunken in and eyes heavy. The upcoming full moon was creeping closer, and it was evident in the way Remus's whiskey-coloured eyes stared at her with a darker hue. She offered him a kind smile, leaning her head against his shoulder and patting his knee to bring him comfort.
"Yeah, jus' thinkin'."
"Whatcha thinkin' about?"
Lyra caught herself staring at Sirius once again. The way he smiled and laughed, the way his chest rose and fell. Everything about Sirius brought Lyra unbelievable comfort. He had become the pillar in her life that never changed, never wavered. His presence was different now, more intimate, less volatile. The younger Potter twin usually warded off changes, batting them away with every ounce of power in her arsenal. But there was no amount of fighting she could do that could keep Sirius away from her. No matter the distance, obstacle, challenge, or issue that came their way, the two managed to work through it. They always wound up back in one another's arms, whispering sweet nothings and unbelievable promises into each other's ears.
"Jus' thinkin'."
The night carried on like that–easy and comfortable. Even Pierre managed to make the energy in the room more amiable. There was no longer a war looming around the corner or threatening to overtake the school. They were not wizards and witches waiting for the monster to dawn upon them, only what projects they needed to finish in the upcoming weeks. It was simple. No prying eyes watched the group, and no one listened to their intimate conversations. There were no other words for the experience other than warm. It was browns and oranges and cozy sweaters; blankets tossed over pairs and pillows propped underneath heads.
There were issues plaguing each member of the Marauders group. Everyone had their battles and ailments, but they didn't infect the group itself. They grew with the poison, never letting it sit dormant long enough to infect their roots.
That night, when the entire room had cleared out, Lyra found herself tangled in the arms of her boyfriend. The fire roared in front of them as the rain continued to pick up in the outside world. It couldn't reach them now, though. There was no touching the perfect bubble Sirius and Lyra found themselves in. The knit blanket was made of impenetrable yarn, and the tune that sang from both of their throats was a warding spell.
"I never understood why you and the boys never formed a band," Lyra whispered, lifting her eyes from Sirius's shoulders, picking at the yarn on her knee that lay over the man's lap, "You have an unreal voice. James ain't half bad either."
"That would require us to rehearse without bickering," Sirius chuckled, fingers drawing patterns on her shoulder furthest from him, "What about you and the girls, hm? Marlene's got a killer rasp that would have had people on their knees for you."
"Our group already had people on their knees for us," she teased, earning a faux offended look to grace her boyfriend's face, "You were one of them, Mr. Sirius Orion Black."
"Fake news."
"You wrote my notes under an anonymous guise," Lyra reminded the boy, poking his cheek as she relaxed further onto the side of the couch, "You cannot tell me I didn't have you wrapped around my pinky finger."
Sirius cringed at his attempt at the beginning of the twos sixth year. It was a constant jab Lyra used whenever the boy would jest about anything towards her. There were many things Lyra could use against him, but the notes and dramatic letter he had written to her were her favourites. It was never out of malice, and she knew when and where to use them. She only ever brought up her time with Regulus when permission had been granted. She knew it was tough for Sirius to remember the events between his brother and now-girlfriend, and she would never exploit that.
"I saw Dumbledore today." Lyra's words were quick and rushed as she dropped the bomb. Sirius knew of the girl's hesitancy towards the Professor, so learning she had met with the man, alone at that, undoubtedly shocked him.
"What did he say?"
Lyra pursed her lips as she remembered the request Dumbledore had asked of her. It had plagued her mind the entire night through, and she knew it was only a matter of time before she could come forward with what truly transpired. Dumbledore had given her a big task, and Sirius was to come along with her in it. It was risky, and it was something calculated by the Head Master of Hogwarts. She guessed it was also a way to torture the Black family and almost mock Voldemort using his most loyal follower's disowned heir. Lyra being included alongside that same heir, the girl that Voldemort managed to let slip through his fingers and learn some hidden plans he had furthered that slap in the face.
Dumbledore was a brilliant man. But he was also vindictive and had a point to make.
"He wants us to find the Horcruxes that Voldemort made."
A crash coming from the staircase alerted the two that they were no longer alone in the common room. Both Gryffindors launched to their feet with wands drawn. Whoever made the commotion must have heard the final part of Lyra's conversation with her lover. It was a risk for people to learn of the plans Dumbledore and any secrets that Voldemort had. If the information fell into the wrong hands, people's lives would be lost, and all Lyra fought for would end up being for nought. This needed to work out in the end.
Lyra shooed her boyfriend away from the threshold of the staircase and crept forward with her wand outstretched. She was a more notorious spell wielder than her better-half, though he did manage to hold his own in many duels between Snape and him, Lucius even. But Lyra, she was feared for her wand and the potency it harboured.
With a flick of her wrist, the lights that had been blown out in the stairs illuminated once more, revealing the wincing and frail frame of Peter Pettigrew. Lyra sucked in a breath and tucked her wand back into the waistband of her pyjama pants, running forward with Sirius at her heels. Peter had been growing weaker over the last few weeks, and if he had injured himself on the stairs, Lyra worried it would leave him out of commission.
"Peter!" Lyra hissed as she dropped down next to the boy, turning him onto his back, "What were you doing walking down the stairs in the dark?"
"Sorry," Peter groaned as he tugged his arm from the Potter girl's grasp, pulling his sleeves further over his wrist, "I didn't mean to startle you guys."
"You okay, Pete?" Sirius questioned as he helped the boy stand to his feet.
"Just a bit disoriented, I suppose."
Lighting struck just outside the window.
-----
Lyra watched from the desk behind and across from Peter with her eyebrows screwed into a knot. He could barely hold a quill, yet refused to go see a nurse about the injury he clearly sustained to his wrist. It had been two days since he had fallen down the stairs in the Gryffindor dormitories, and no matter the pestering and badgering done by the entire friend group, the young Pettigrew refused. Peter wouldn't even let Lyra fix it with her own magic, or assess the real damage that laid underneath the sleeve of his shirt.
"Ms. Potter?" McGonnagall called, startling Lyra out of her trance, "Can you tell me?"
"Tell you what, Professor?" Lyra returned, a heat flooding her cheeks as Lily snorted beside her.
"If it is possible for animagi to reproduce in their animal forms?" McGonnagall sighed, clearing not happy she had to repeat the already uncomfortable question.
"No," Lyra attempted, wincing as she watched McGonnagall lower her eyes at the girl, undoubtedly expecting an explanation for her answer, "Because...They have simply changed their physical forms? Their minds are still theirs. And unless they're a bit mental in the head–"
"I see your logic, Miss. Potter, no need to elaborate."
Lyra nodded as the Professor cut her off, and the snickering from her brother and boyfriend behind her didn't help the embarrassment that filled her cheeks and mind. She had been caught completely off guard by the Professor, and her reasoning for why an animagus cannot reproduce in their animal form was anything but correct in the aspects McGonnagall was discussing. The blonde turned to look of her shoulder and threw two parchment scraps at the two boys, earning another glare from the transfiguration teacher.
After class, Lyra didn't escape the forment from the people she called her dearest friends. She whacked at her brother as he repeated the words that Lyra had uttered in class. Even without the wondering of Peter's condition, Lyra found herself distracted. Sirius hadn't given her a proper answer to the proposition she reiterated from Dumbledore the night Peter had fallen. She wondered if he would leave her to find the pieces of Voldemorts soul on her own.
"Oi! Potter!"
Lyra sighed after the others separated from her, leaving her alone in the corridor that lead down towards Potions. The others were meeting with Remus beforehand, and he had a spare. Lyra had intended to get to class early in order to get a headstart, or perhaps delayed start, on the homework due for that period. Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy had a different plan for the youngest Potter child.
"What can I do for you two?" Lyra grumbled as she turned on her heels, looking up at the boys.
"Sev and I agreed to leave you and your pathetic twin alone for the first few weeks of school," Lucius explained, "Seeing as your parents died."
"Wow, what a service you two did," Lyra snapped, "Thanks for the kindness while my brother and I mourned the loss of our parents."
"It's mid October now," Snape interjected, earning an eyeroll from the blonde, "Figured that was a long enough period for you to thicken your skin."
"Are you two only going to talk about my parents or are you going to actually insult me?"
"Well–"
"That's what I thought."
Lyra rolled her eyes at the boys before turning away from them. She began her walk towards the dungeons once more, only to have her tracks stopped halfway. The words that flew from Snapes mouth made red flood through her eyes and her blood began to boil. It was almost as though someone else had overtaken her body as the wand became a familiar weight in her hands, the tones of laughter from the goons that joined the two fuelling her fire.
"Remind your blood traitor brother to steer clear of Lupin–wouldn't want to see you lose the only family you have left in the upcoming nights."
The words Snape spoke were nothing but vile attempts at a reaction from the blonde. She didn't have the same resolve her friends did, and it always wound up in a fight whenever Snape spoke of her brother and best friend. She knew it was a cheap attempt at getting a rise out of Lyra, and it did work. A fist against the already crooked nose of Severus Snape and a throat to his neck was the scene that the other Marauders would stumble across as Lyra seethed.
"Alright–" Jame's voice fell on deaf ears as he struggled to tear Lyra away from the Slytherin, "Lyra that's enough–!"
"Let me go, James!"
"Don't let him win! He wants you to react like this, Lyra!"
"Stay the hell away from her, Snivellus," Sirius sneered as he helped tug away the blonde, staring at Severus with unbridled rage, "You'll regret this."
"I look forward to it."