Cowards die many times before their death;
The valiant never taste death but once.
— William Shakespeare
—
The letter arrived at the Potter-Black household in Barnton around four o'clock on a Thursday. Sirius and Lyra had moved into their place a few weeks prior—and had finally settled in. It was nearing the end of January, and the snow fell over their cottage like a blanket. It arrived at the window she stood by, attached to the foot of an owl. She was bent over the edge of a crib, the wood digging into her stomach as she stared at the empty bed.
It was Sirius's idea to have a nursery decorated. Lyra had scolded him and said he was looking too far into the future, getting too ahead of himself. She wasn't expecting, nor were they actively trying. She wanted to get married first, but there was a lack of a ring on her finger, and a war raged too close to her heart and mind. It wasn't time for them just yet, but still, Lyra often found herself standing over the empty bed when Sirius was away.
The pecking at the window caught Lyra by surprise, and she jumped back from the wooden bassinet, nearly tripping over one of the rugs layered on the ground. The blonde twisted around to see the owl sitting there, whacking its head on the window in a feverish attempt to get her attention. Lyra ambled towards it on wooden legs and unlocked the rickety window, swiftly untying the twine on the animal's leg and tearing the letter open.
Anytime she received a letter—it was never good news.
Recently, things had been looking good for the side of the war she stood on. Her legilimency had been used to glance into the minds of various Death Eaters during battle, and the Order was able to infiltrate various hideouts. They'd begun to rely heavily on Pierre Montagne's insight and the information he'd get from Voldemort directly. His letters had become slightly infrequent now, and it struck fear through the entire Order as they were left blind to most attacks.
According to his last letter, Scarlett had become more of a problem than he had anticipated. Most of his words didn't make sense, and everything was rushed—Lyra wouldn't deny that it startled her. Pierre had alluded to another traitor among the ranks of the Order, claiming he thought he may have seen one of them at a Death Eater meeting. All Lyra was able to get out of him was that it was a man with a frail body type and rugged hair.
That didn't narrow down the choices.
It appeared that Lyra wouldn't be getting a letter from Pierre anytime soon.
Lyra,
I hope you know that this little stunt you've pulled with the Montagne boy hasn't gone unrecorded to the Dark Lord himself. Thank you, though, for helping me learn more about your brother and friends.
Montagne was buried by your family manor—You live there, don't you? Beautiful place.
Best wishes,
Scarlett
The door shutting from the floor below Lyra prompted a yelp from her lips. She raced from the nursery, slamming the door after her; she spiralled down the stairs towards where Sirius now stood. He had snowflakes ornamenting his hair and a rosy-red nose to match. Lyra halted her feet a few centimetres from her lover, hands shaking as she lifted the piece of parchment to him. Sirius took it from her hand and wrapped an arm around her waist, hugging her to his chest as he unfolded the crumpled writing.
He whispered sweet nothings into the top of her head after dropping the paper onto the wooden floor beneath them. Silence crept into their minds as he wound both of his arms tighter around the blonde, keeping her close to his chest. It wasn't the fact that Pierre had died that seemed to shake Lyra to her core—but the fact that she had unbeknownst slipped information about her brother's whereabouts and more details on the Order to Scarlett without even knowing. Or perhaps it was that the woman and many Death Eaters had been near the Potter manor so soon after Sirius and Lyra had moved into a place of their own.
Lyra had become comfortable with the war. She'd grown stagnant and passive, relishing in a heartless amenity versus continuously fighting. His death fell into her hands and dyed them red. She couldn't help but feel accountable for it—likewise to how she felt about the youngest Black brother who died a little over a year ago. If she had just been more vigorous, more innovative, or just quicker to the punch, both Regulus and Pierre would still be alive.
Her composure slipped, and her mind unleashed a torrent into that of her lovers. Sirius's hold on her became vice-like as he gripped the back of her neck, enticing the tears from her. Lyra allowed the responsibility of Pierre to rest on her shoulders alone, always insisting that it was her he should communicate with since it was her he was initially tasked to induct into the Death Eater ranks. Most agreed; it was Sirius who stayed wary about it, even after almost a year of this deal being struck.
"You didn't kill him," Sirius whispered. Lyra wasn't sure he was referring to—but didn't feel it mattered. It was two birds with one stone, "Lyra, don't even say you did. He made his own choices; that's not for you to carry."
Lyra shook her head into his chest, gripping at the coat he wore before pulling her head back. She stared at him, noting the purple and blue patch on his cheekbone. The blonde knit her eyebrows together before reaching up, swiping a gentle thumb across the bruised skin. She sighed and took a step backward, taking stock of the grocery bags that Sirius held in his hands.
"It doesn't take six hours to grocery shop," Lyra whispered, her voice still scarcely working, "Where were you, Sirius?"
"You could just look into my head—"
"You know I don't do that without your permission!"
"Always a saint, Lyra Euphemia Potter," Sirius grinned as he placed the bags down and tugged his jacket off, "Got wind of a potential gathering a few miles North—"
"Liar."
"Okay, fine—I apparated to Remus's place, and we went looking," Sirius admitted as he took the sacks into the kitchen, "Then I went grocery shopping."
"I told you to never go without me!" Lyra groaned as she wiped her nose on her jumper sleeve, pursuing after the boy, "I can do a little dive into their heads and see when the next one is."
"It was a last-minute decision."
"Liar!"
"I knew Pierre died!" Sirius exclaimed as he rested his hands on the table, "I—I went by the manor the other day with James—That I did tell you about, don't give me that look—We got into it with a few locals complaining about suspicious-looking people by the manor. One thing led to another; we figured it out."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"Would you have wanted to go see it yourself?"
"Yes!"
"That's why we didn't tell you."
"What do you mean?"
"Lyra," Sirius sighed as he rounded the counter in the middle of the kitchen, "They did it to get you to go—to ambush you and take you out. They know how powerful you are and want you gone. We figured it'd be safer to let you learn about it independently."
Lyra stood frozen at the threshold between the kitchen and the main entrance. Her mind worked a mile a minute as anger and understanding became unlikely lovers in her head. What Sirius said made sense—it was an obvious trap. She also would have liked to have known about their informant being dead and been allowed to react on her own accord. Lyra crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the boy, eyes lowered.
"You have to make dinner for a week."
"...What?"
"You have to make dinner for a week. What you said makes sense, and I understand—but I'm still pissed off at both you and James. James is not here; therefore, you are the one I am most upset with. So," Lyra concluded, turning away from Sirius, "You get to make dinner for a week."
"We really need to work on your response to situations."
"Don't make it two!"
—
Lyra figured she wasn't too distraught from Pierre's death because he died a hero in the eyes of those that mattered. He'd given his life because he'd helped them—what greater life is there to live than one of valour? She was more upset at the fact that they also now lacked someone to get information from the Death Eaters and relied solely on Lyra's ability to slip into their minds and poke around a bit during confrontations. There was also still a confirmed spy in their ranks, and there were only a few options.
"Skinny, male, and had raggedy hair," Lyra recited as she tumbled down onto the couch in her and Sirius's living room on the first day of February, "That's what Pierre gave us."
"Well, damn, Lyra, that could be anyone!" James exclaimed as he set his teacup down, "It could be Peter, Remus, Frank, hell, even Sirius!"
"Dude," Sirius grumbled as he raised his hands in confusion, eyebrows creased, "I'm right here."
Lyra rolled her eyes and let her feet rest over her lover's legs, "I know that could be anyone, James. We need to figure out who it is before the big meeting next week!"
"What if he was lying?" Lily asked as she wandered into the living room, bouncing Harry on her hip as she sat on the chair next to the fireplace, "Listen, I know you did your little mind-reading thing on him, but false memories exist. Sort of like what you saw with Peter all those years ago."
"That wasn't false, Lily," Lyra defended, "And still, to this day, I can't tell you what I saw."
"Then look into everyone in the Order's heads," James offered, earning a deadpan glare from his twin, "What?"
"Wow, James, fantastic idea! It's as if I hadn't already thought of that!" Lyra replied with sardonic spirit, "Dumbledore put everyone through stringent training to preclude your minds from legilimens—Remember?"
A weighty silence covered the group as each seemed to rummage through their minds to try and put together just who the spy could be. Personally, Lyra always found herself skeptical of Peter, even since their sixth year. No matter how often she brought it up in the past, the youngest Potter twin always found her theory being shut down. Lyra was scarcely given the time of day whenever she mentioned the possibility of the Pettigrew child being the rat in their ranks.
But the characterization that Pierre offered vaguely resembled Peter, and there was an itching sensation in the back of Lyra's mind that affirmed her suspicions. The problem was—how was she supposed to broach it? Her friends had made it apparent for the last two years that they didn't think Peter could do something like that, but that could be what made him the most suitable choice. He had convinced everyone he wasn't strategic enough to do it, and who was anyone to contest that? It felt right in Lyra's stomach, as much as it scored her heart.
"What if it's...." Sirius trailed off, and his tentative tone seized Lyra's concentration, "Could it be Moony?"
"You're mad!" Lyra shouted, bouncing to her feet, virtually spilling the tea on the table.
"Lyra—!" Sirius persisted, but she didn't let him continue much more.
"Remus wouldn't," Lyra sneered, scowling at the man that lazed on the couch beneath her, "You don't seriously believe that, do you? Remus, our friend. My best mate? No! No way."
"I'm with Ly on this one, Pads," James interjected, his voice slashing through the stagnant strain between the lovers, "Remus wouldn't do this. Lyra, didn't he agree with you that one time when you were skeptical of Dumbledore?"
"Which could have been a way to get her to listen to him," Sirius prompted, and Lyra very quickly hurled another hostile glare towards him, "It's just an idea, baby. Who do you think it is? If not Remus?"
"Peter."
"Oh, for the love of Merlin," Lily grumbled, "You're on this again?"
"I say we elect a secret-keeper," James suggested, "So that all important information between us is only ever known to one person."
Lyra dropped down onto the couch beside her boyfriend once again, keeping a bit of distance between the two as she focused her regard on James. The fact that Sirius even dared to drop Remus's name as the spy with Lyra next to him felt like a knife being stabbed into her heart. It was as though he wanted to get a rise out of her, make her explode and admit the thoughts that plagued her mind. Whether or not Sirius truly believed Remus Lupin was the spy within the Order's ranks, Lyra refused even to entertain the notion.
He wasn't—He couldn't be. Remus was the person who knew Lyra like the back of his hand—if he were a spy, he would have used something against her by now. Remus knew everything there was to know about Lyra Potter, and if he were the one working for Voldemort, she wouldn't be alive to tell the tale. The entire Order would have already fallen, and the Dark Lord would have beaten them in milliseconds. Remus Lupin was the wisest man Lyra knew—if he wanted them all dead, he would have done it.
"I nominate Sirius," Lyra sighed, plucking at the yarn of her jumper, "He's the one least likely to give up information if ever captured or anything of that sort. He already knows me inside out—As annoyed as I am that he would even consider Remus—"
"—It was just a thought!"
"—He is the best choice for us." Lyra finished her thought and punctuated it with a glare at the man on her left side.
"It's done then," Lily agreed, nodding along as Lyra spoke, "Sirius will be the secret-keeper."
—
Lyra groaned as she reached her hand into the garden, the soil rich from the rain that wiped through Barnton. One week into March, and already her garden was beyond hydrated. Another grunt rang from her throat as a particularly difficult weed snagged on one of her growing bushes. Her golden hair was pulled back into a high pony, but a few whisps still fell on her face as sweat created a halo around her forehead. Sirius had gone to meet with James and Remus to scout a few areas that were suspected safe-havens for Death Eaters. Lily, Marlene, Mary, Dorcas, and Alice bustled inside the Potter-Black household, preparing for the girl's dinner. In moments like these, Lyra forgot there was a war raging outside her doorstep.
Lyra sat back on her heels and wiped the sweat from her brow, undoubtedly leaving a trail of darkness across the clean slate. The Potter daughter hauled herself up from the damp grass, dusting the dirt off of her knees before tugging the bag of weeds over her shoulder. The sun beat down on her head as she rounded a few trees and out the rickety fence that kept their plot of land secluded from wild creatures. They'd considered getting a dog, and Lyra was planning on heading to the shelter in a few days to take a look.
She didn't get the chance.
Lyra crinkled her eyebrows at the sound of barking coming from inside her home. Last time she checked—Sirius didn't yap inside the house, not even in his Animagus form. She dropped the sack of weeds beside the compost before rounding the backyard again, tugging open the door to the mudroom. The sound of barking grew louder as she kicked off her boots, pushing her way into the house.
No one sat in the kitchen, where Lyra had last left her friends about an hour and a half ago to do some gardening. She glanced around, trying to find a trace of them. She tugged her wand from the pocket of her green overalls, creeping through her kitchen and out into the hall towards the living room. The dark wood beneath her creaked as she ambled down the corridor, relying on the rickety railing of the stairs before ducking around the threshold to where the canine noises sang from.
"MERLIN!"
Sirius jumped backwards as the pot beside his head exploded when Lyra flicked her wand. Lyra gasped and slapped her hands over her mouth as her boyfriend ducked out of the way of the flying shards of clay. A giggle slipped from her grasp and broke free from her throat as she watched Sirius scramble back onto his feet, dusting off the dress shirt he wore. It was the maroon one that Lyra had gotten him for Christmas, claiming he didn't have enough fancy clothing for the most prestigious events they never went to.
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," Lyra chuckled as she hesitantly ambled forward, leaning down to pet the black and white Border Collie that sat patiently—despite a pot bursting next to its head.
"Are you apologizing to the dog or me?"
"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to."
"Well, can I grab your attention for a minute to explain why there's a dog in our living room?" Sirius hummed, "Which I'm surprised I haven't been yelled at for yet—"
"What is it, Sirius?" Lyra snorted as she stood to her full height once more.
Their eyes met for a split second before he dropped down onto one knee, and Lyra felt her legs go as stiff as tree trunks. She was rooted in place as he stared up at her, dark pools sucking her in as he gazed at her with love. The air in the room disappeared as he rummaged into his pocket, fishing out a small velvet box with a constellation embroidered the same golden as her hair. She pursed her lips and admired the box for a moment—it was her constellation. Her mind fell silent when the top of the box was pulled back. Inside of it sat the last twenty years of her life, all of the devotion, hate, anger, glee, adoration, and love.
Sirius Black sat on one knee and offered Lyra her life in the form of a ring.
"Lyra," he began, pulling the trigger, "I don't really know what to say—or how to start this really. James told me to keep it short and sweet, but I'm not sure I can sum up everything I feel towards you in three minutes or less. I'll try my best, though, since he's currently standing cramped in our bathroom with everyone else.
"Lyra Potter, the moment I laid eyes on you in the first year, I knew you would be the arrow loaded into my bow, waiting to be released and strike true. You had this good-girl facade going on, but I knew you would not only be the thorn in my side but the rose petals that soothed the ache. We were either going to crash and burn or end up in paradise.
"We went around and around for years, neither of us giving into that deep desire that burned in our hearts. You became jaded because of me, all because I wasn't mature enough to realize what I did to you was painful and narrowly redeemable. But you still...Merlin, Lyra, you still let me in. After every fuck up, every misstep, you kept giving me more chances.
"You took me as I was and helped heal the wounds that will permanently keep me in pain. You have this way of keeping me in line that I will never understand. Whenever we crashed, we always came back. We came back every time. You refused to give up on me, even when I gave you no other option but to.
"Give me this last chance to show you how much I love you. In every way, every dark spot, every fashion, in every style. Lyra Euphemia Potter, will you marry me?"
"You're so fucking cheesy."
"...Is that a yes?"
Lyra dropped down onto her knees to meet Sirius's eyes. She took his face into her hands and pressed a tender kiss to those lips that Lyra knew as home. She felt the bullet lodged itself into her heart, but it wasn't blood that seeped from the wound. Stars exploded in her chest, the joining of their two beings becoming one.
"Yes, Sirius Black, I'll marry you."
There were six diamonds on the ring. Small and minimalist, a contrast to the overzealous and dramatic love story that was Lyra and Sirius. But they were for the six stars that made up Lyra, and that tiny detail made feeling the cold band of the ring slip onto her finger even more personal. This was a moment more intimate than any night that the two shared together, it was filled with more love than the first time those three words were whispered between them. This moment was the one Lyra would dream about on her death bed, and what would keep her from slipping into those shadows that plagued her mind.
"Wanna tell me why there's a dog in my living room now, Black?"
"His name's Snuffles."
"Fitting that you found him, hm?"
"I'll let that one slide, Future-Mrs-Black."
"Oh, I like that...Wanna use it somewhere that isn't now covered in dog hair?"
"Your brother is in our bathroom."
"So that bothers you now? Not when you had a bet over who could make their girlfriend mo—"
"Bedroom it is!"