Losing something more personal to you than your own name is a feeling that isn't easily captured through words. That overwhelming wave of emotion that bubbles up deep in your stomach and ventures upwards until it's wrapped around your throat. It chokes you until your mind falls silent and your heart goes rhythmless. Sometimes, you can tell when something is nearing the end when that second to the last chapter slides across your thumb and the pages thin.
It's a strange feeling to be able to tell when the end is near. To know that no matter how hard you fought or how hard you continue to fight, it's frivolous. That shadow that lurks over the edge of a cliff or the thunder that rumbles a few miles away is unstoppable, creeping up behind the people that least expect it. Fighting makes it harder to accept—the fact that there may not be a happy ending waiting for you in your bed.
It's okay to let go of things, it's okay to feel sad about it, and it's okay to want to keep it for as long as you can. You don't have to be strong the entire time. You're allowed to mourn, to cry, to fight back tooth and nail until that inevitable light flickers off, and you're left alone in the dark. You're not wrong for hurting. Hurt is nothing but the combination of all of that love and joy opening like a wound.
Your heart isn't impenetrable, and that's what makes people strong.
—
Her knees slammed against the ground as the door hung open, the hot air of summer seeping into her skin.
It was July 3rd, 1981.
Sirius ran from the kitchen at the sound of his fiancee's first wail, a broken melody from a wounded bird. Her wings sagged at the side as Peter stood over them, his own body shaking as he delivered the news. There are no words to describe the shattered sob that tore through Lyra Potter's body as the knife sliced across her heart, lacerating it and letting the blood seep through her shirt. It felt like someone was twisting it further into her back, carving out the pieces they wanted to fit their puzzle.
Marlene McKinnon had died.
Peter had shown up just moments ago, his eyes sunken in and cheeks quivering as he stuttered out the words. He held the bloody knife that had taken the chunk from Lyra—but it wasn't his fault—he was just the unfortunate messenger sent to give the news. Lyra's entire body shook as the song of Marlene felt silent in her mind, disappearing from her grasp and taking away everything the two shared. Sirius's arms wrapped around her frame and tugged her deep into his chest, his own tears sliding against her cheeks.
"I'm sorry," Peter whispered as he fell next to the two, "I'm so sorry."
"It's okay, Wormtail," Sirius whispered, the sound of his hand clapping against the boy's shoulder shocking Lyra, "This is war—soldiers fall."
"Just wish it wasn't her."
"Me too, buddy...Me too."
—
Lyra stood over the wrapped birthday present that sat on her and Sirius's bed, admiring the bow that was tied on the top. She'd been trying to find small things that lit that candle in her heart and warmed her chest and focus on them versus that nagging voice in the back of her mind. It had started around when the entire McKinnon family had fallen, whispering venomous things into her ear with the lisp of a snake. It helped for the most part until those little things disappeared, and she was left with the gnawing feeling she'd let a killer into her house.
It was July 31st, 1981.
A knock at the door caused Lyra's shoulders to jump, tugging her out of her trance. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed Sirius leaning on the door with a sideways grin. She returned the gesture, dropping her hands to her side and wandering towards the boy. Nothing was said between the two as he placed his ring-clad hands on her waist, drawing patterns through her dress and leaving chaste kisses on her cheek.
"I bought you this one," Sirius whispered, leaning his forehead on her and nudging his nose against hers, "Never seen you wear it before."
"Was waiting for the right time," Lyra cooed, "Had to keep Snuffles from getting hair on it thought—I told you to stop letting him onto the bed in the morning."
"It gets cold when you leave it," Sirius whined, "And he's an excellent cuddler."
"It wouldn't get cold if you actually got up," the blonde teased with a grin as the boy wrapped his arms tighter around her waist, "Instead of moaning at the fact that I did."
"What would you rather I moan about?" His tone was suggestive as he dipped his head lower, leaving hot kisses along her jaw and down to her neck.
Lyra heard herself giggle, a rare sound that only ever came from the workings of Sirius Black. She wondered if these were those moments she read about—the calm before the storm. It was coming; she knew it was; the voice that whispered casualties into her mind always reminded her of it. In the mornings, it was the first thing she thought of, and when sleep teased her, it was the last thing on her mind. It was constantly tugging at her heels, nipping at the skin and trying to slow her down.
"We don't have time, honey," Lyra soughed as she squirmed in her fiancee's touch, "Harry's party starts in half an hour and—"
"Oh, you think it'll take me that long?"
"Maybe not you, but—!"
"That sounds like a challenge, Ms. Potter."
"It's not!"
The present wound up on the dresser.
—
Lyra hummed a rhythm under her breath as she bounced Harry on her hip, stirring the sauce in the pot as she swayed. He giggled and tugged at her hair, twisting it into his fingers. Warmth spread through Lyra as she looked down at her nephew and the bright emerald eyes that gawked at her like she were art. His hair was dark and curled like James's, but those eyes were solely from his mother. Harry was a beautiful baby, and a pit inside of Lyra gaped open and yearned for that feeling she got whenever she saw him to someday become one of her own.
It was September 1st, 1981.
Lyra had taken a back seat from the direct action of the war, under the request of herself and an agreement with Dumbledore. She spent most of her time in a dark room, eyes shut and mind searching for something in the ether that sounded like whisperings of Death Eaters. She would travel through the Wizarding World, strolling around markets and letting the gates of her mind fall open. She picked up musings of meetings and different clues as to whose allegiance fell where. Lyra worked in the background, her fiancee, brother, and friends on the front lines.
Remus only really came around when Lyra was home alone now, a new rift dividing him and Sirius. The latter knew not to bring up his suspicions around the blonde, but Lyra was still aware of the weariness of the boy. Everything inside Lyra knew it wasn't Remus—he wasn't capable of something so heinous. But still, Sirius had his trepidations. It was understandable in the world that they currently lived in, but still, Lyra had hoped he'd have gotten the idea out of his mind. After all, the day Lyra became a Black was approaching in a few weeks, and Remus was to stand with her.
"Ly?" Dorcas Meadowes's voice called from the other room, "Do you need help with anything?"
Lyra had invited the girl to spend a few days in her and Sirius's cottage. If Lyra was still struggling with Marlene's death, Dorcas was suffering. She had claimed she was okay, that this was something she had prepared herself for the moment Voldemort started to rise to power. It was one thing that everyone in the Order was warned to be ready for. But how can someone be prepared for the death of the one person in the world that saw you without any filter? The twin soul to your own being ripped from the world, floating away into the unknown and awaiting the day you can finally meet again.
"No, Dorcas, it's okay!" Lyra called as she rested the spoon to the side and wandered around the island and out of the threshold, "Harry's doin' most of the work."
"I'm sure," the girl chuckled as she stood to her feet, Snuffles falling in line, "But I mean it—do you need me to do anything?"
"I already told you," Lyra soughed, placing Harry onto the pillows and blankets she had set up on the floor for him earlier, "It's okay. Sirius and the others will be home soon, and now I just have to wait for the sauce to finish—the pasta's nearly done too."
Dorcas nodded as she took a few more steps forward, hands seizing Lyra's left and lifting it. A heavy blush littered the blonde's cheeks as Dorcas admired the ring on her finger, the latter running her own over the stones. Not a day goes by where Lyra doesn't find herself counting them, her stomach twisting into knots as she reminisced on the minor detail that her promised had made sure to include. Sirius was the greatest love Lyra knew, and she couldn't have asked for something better than what she found with him.
Dorcas's eyes stared longingly at the ring, and Lyra's heart shattered under its weight. Dorcas and Marlene may have been the most remarkable love story that Hogwarts had ever known, going against everything people hurled at them and letting the love they shared overpower that negativity. It wasn't always fun and games at the school, the politics of the Muggle world seeping into the minds of people and influencing the way people acted. Lyra knew how much Dorcas loved Marlene—and how much Marlene treasured Dorcas.
Lyra was being given the opportunity to live out the life they weren't able to.
"Y'know," Lyra whispered, "Marls helped Sirius pick it out."
"Really?" Dorcas responded, her voice narrowly above a whisper.
"Mmhm," the blonde nodded, "Apparently, she was his worst nightmare with it—telling him that the others he picked out looked like what a child might make their crush on Valentine's Day."
"She was always so stuck in her ways," the cry fell from Dorcas's mouth, and Lyra immediately wrapped her arms around the girl, "I miss her so much, Lyra."
"I know, sweetheart, I know...Me too."
—
Snuffles whined at Lyra's side as they wandered through the primary market in Portree, the sound of vendors and hagglers shouting around her. It was borderline soothing, the bustle and innocence of it all. Portree had laid untouched by the Death Eaters, not falling victim to the cruel green venom they spat like snakes. It had seeped into Lyra's mind the past few months, continuing to try and lure her into the darkness. But Sirius had kept her out of it, his starts speckling her midnight sky.
It was September 20th, 1981.
Remus had gone to find him and Lyra something to eat as they scoped out the area, the excessive exertion of Lyra's unique ability causing her to grow weary. Her stomach had begun to churn and twist, leaving her reliant on her wits to keep herself from slipping too far and letting people peek into her mind. She had no way of knowing if there were other legilimens around, and she really didn't want to risk it as the busy streets of the town grew even more packed. She was like a sardine in a can right now, Snuffles being the only thing keeping her afloat as he tugged her away from various people trying to haggle with her.
"One treacle tart and hot cocoa for you," Remus's voice cooed as he returned to the blonde's side, "One pumpkin pastie and hot butterbeer for me," he continued before crouching down and giving Snuffles a treat, "And one custard flavoured dog treat for Snuffles."
Lyra thanked the man before taking a bite out of the sticky pie-like sweet, moaning around the taste. Remus raised an eyebrow at her, and she flushed a bright red, realizing how loud her noises must have been. Honestly, nothing beats the treacle tart her mother used to make, but Lyra would settle for just about any at all. It was Sirius's most hated food, so she never desired to make it, seeing as it would go to waste.
"Picking up on anything?" Remus asked as the two wandered from the crowd, making their way down to the beach.
Lyra shook her head, "No. Just a few mumblings about where he might go next. Some say they think he's going to take all of the Welsh towns before he ventures over here—but that seems too easy. Especially after his sporadic choices in Ireland and England."
"I don't think he has a direct plan," Remus agreed, nodding towards an empty bench, "I think he's going wherever he's getting the most support. Scotland seems pretty solid right now."
Lyra sighed and dropped down onto the damp wood, sipping at the warm cocoa Remus had brought her, "It feels wrong."
"What does?" The boy asked as he broke off a piece of his pastry and handed it to the dog.
"The way Voldemort's going about it," Lyra explained, her voice hushed, "It feels like every time we clear an area—he hits it next. But not immediately, like he's trying to throw us off and then rip the rug from under us."
"How would he know, though?" Remus asked, "Dumbledore cleared everyone in the Order—we don't have a rat."
"I don't trust Dumbledore as far as I can throw him," Lyra admitted, "It feels like he's dodging something right now. Like—Why go for small port towns or things when you could hit the big ones like the Hollow?"
"Small start-ups lead to bigger feats," Remus suggested, "Perhaps he's trying to build up to something like that. Gain support through smaller areas and then take down the bigger ones."
"Maybe...Just feels like he's waiting for something."
—
Lyra's feet tapped soundly against the stone of the Hogwarts hallways as the September sun dipped below the treeline. She'd been stewing on her and Remus's conversation for about a week now, and it struck her the details that she'd forgotten from her time at Hogwarts. There was something that had nearly slipped her mind that could give her answers to what it was Voldemort was waiting to do—what he was avoiding for so long.
It was September 27th, 1981.
I can assure you, Lyra Potter, this prophecy is entwined into your life.
Lyra whispered the password to the Head Master's office, and the next thing she knew, she was standing over his desk, palms pressed to the wood as he stared up at her. She felt like an idiot, having forgotten the one thing that could tell her what was going on and what she had to do next. It had been nearly two years since that day that Dumbledore teased her with it, holding it over her head like a toy she had to jump to get. Lyra didn't trust Dumbledore—but he had the resources to help her, to give her the chance to be a hero.
"I was wondering when you would ask for it," the man crowed, "But Lyra, I no longer have it."
"What do you mean you don't have it?" Lyra scoffed, raising her hands in disbelief, "How do you not have a prophecy that could potentially save the Wizarding World?"
"It's in the Ministry now, dear," Dumbledore explained, "The day I told you about it was the last day it was in my possession—I mean that truthfully. I can grant you access into my head if you so please. They quickly noticed it was gone, so they took it back."
As she stepped back from the desk, a groan rang from the blonde's throat. She slipped into the man's head, and sure enough, he was telling the truth. It was frustrating, knowing that Lyra had so foolishly let the knowledge she had of the prophecy fall from her grasp. Honestly, it felt like just about everything from her sixth year had fallen onto the back burner, that she wasn't paying attention to the small details that were vital to her and the other's success. Even the threat of Scarlett didn't seem to take president anymore—even when she was hellbent on destroying Lyra and her entire life.
"Avengard," Lyra began, "Scarlett Avengard—She's a De—"
"I'm aware," Dumbledore interrupted, "She's not a threat Lyra. She was Pierre Montange's cousin sent to watch him; this ploy she has to destroy you is nothing serious."
"She's threatened my brother," Lyra clarified, "How do you expect me to believe it's nothing serious when for the last two years I've been scared to see if the mail is a letter saying he's dead, that a Death Eater killed him!"
"Because I'm keeping a very close watch on your brother, Lily, and Harry," Dumbledore explained, standing from his seat and stepping closer to the girl, "Lyra, I know that there were things that I went about wrong in the past—but this is becoming bigger than I knew. Be a hero with your friends, do not worry about this part."
"Be a hero," Lyra scoffed, "Didn't you tell me years ago that I could never be one?"
"You were young and foolish then," He bluntly stated, "But now you've grown up, you're seeing the bigger picture."
"Only took the people I love most dying, apparently."
"Go home, Lyra. I will personally oversee that your brother's safety is top notch."
Lyra didn't give the Professor another moment to blow smoke up her ass before she stormed from the office. Her heart raced at a million miles a minute as she stormed through the hallway, twisting and turning and muttering various profanities under her breath. It felt like he was trying to subdue her, to keep her quiet. But he was also giving her everything she needed to hear to light that fire under her, to push her further and get her to finally take up the mantle of Lyra Potter. He was letting her write herself into history.
Lyra swerved around the corner before finding her feet stuck at the sight before her. Severus Snape was standing above Sybill Trelawney, his voice hushed as he seemed to consoling the girl that muttered beneath him. The blonde took a step back behind the corner, pressing against the cold stone as she let her mind slip towards where they stood.
Don't worry—no one will know about it, Sybill. I'll keep it a secret.
She was shut out before she could learn just what it was that Severus was keeping quiet. The voices fell silent, and Lyra knew that one of them had figured it out—perhaps noticing the fact someone was creeping into their conversations through their minds. The blonde pushed off the wall and headed in the opposite direction, picking up her speed as the tapping of shoes followed close behind her.
"Nice to see you back at Hogwarts, Potter." Severus's voice was cold as it echoed along the hall, freezing Lyra in her path.
She groaned and leaned back before twisting to face the Slytherin, "Nice to see you've never left them. Missed the torment?"
"What're you doing here? Going to try and get with one of the new Professors?"
"Heading back to sleep," Lyra jested, a tight smile on her face, "Gonna take points away from my house?"
"I see you haven't grown up."
"I see you still haven't learned what shampoo is."
"Congrats on the engagement—Couples who are blood traitors together, stay together, right?"
"Thank you. Congrats on losing the girl you were obsessed with to my brother. Gonna make a voodoo doll of their child?"
"Goodnight, Lyra."
"Go to hell, Snape."