firecracker ???

LUCIUS

The peacocks were shrieking again. Somewhere beyond the rose-lined hedges and the high marble walls of the Wiltshire estate, their calls tore through the morning like knives through silk. Lucius Malfoy turned away from the arched window, resisting the urge to close it. Let them scream. The world was screaming already—only most were too daft to hear it.

There were few things in the world Lucius Malfoy could not control. He had built a life on forethought, on preemptive alliances, on knowing precisely where every thread led in the ever-knotted web of politics. And yet, as he thought of his quick witted son and charming but quiet daughter—he was reminded, yet again, that his children were not threads. They were firecrackers. Beautiful, unpredictable, and occasionally explosive. 

He moved through the study in measured steps. Each tap of his boots against the checkered floor reminded him of the ticking clock. Things were shifting. Quietly, subtly. Whispers in the Ministry. Dumbledore growing bolder. That fool Arthur Weasley pushing legislation that stank of Muggle sympathy. And the Boy Who Lived... still alive. Still unclaimed.

Lucius's lip curled.

He had sent Draco to Hogwarts with a clear task last year: gain the boy's trust. Draco had failed spectacularly. He blamed Potter's stubbornness, his friends, the hat that didn't sort him into Slytherin. Excuses. Lucius had made none at Draco's age.

Still, he couldn't deny it—Harry Potter had taken an interest in Lyra instead. He wasn't blind. That quiet regard in the infirmary, the lingering glances, the way Potter's name had appeared in angry little Draco's letters to him and Narcissa — Lucius saw it all.

And he approved.

A Potter, if properly guided, could be a powerful ally. He came with name, wealth, and public favor, all ripe for harvesting. If he could not be recruited, he could at least be secured. And if he could not be secured, then... well. There were other ways.

Lucius poured himself a measure of brandy from the decanter by the hearth. The study smelled faintly of leather and parchment and a hint of the perfume Narcissa dabbed on her wrists. He missed her presence in the room. Missed the sound of her voice slicing through conversation like a blade sheathed in velvet.

He had married brilliantly.

And reproduced well, too. Draco had his pride, his bloodline, his cunning. Lyra—Lyra had charm. Not the cloying, giggling sort, but the cold, glittering kind. The sort that made heads turn and minds pause before speaking.

She was everything he had ever hoped a daughter might be: poised, calculating, utterly composed.

Even now, he could hear her outside the study, laughing lightly at his son. That boy was always skulking about recently, unhappy about the way school ended. Draco was a shadow to Lyra's fire. Lyra liked shadows.

Lucius stepped out into the corridor just as the children came into view. Draco was scowling—again. Likely something about Dumbledore. Lyra rolled her eyes with the elegance of a courtier. She always had a flair for dismissal.

"Children," Lucius called, his voice like fine ice.

Draco straightened instinctively. Lyra tilted her chin.

"I expect both of you in the dining room within the next ten minutes," he said, not unkindly. "We'll be having a visitor this evening."

Lyra's eyes flicked with interest. "Who?"

"A friend," Lucius said. "One I believe you'll find... illuminating."

Draco groaned. "Is it Macnair again?"

Lucius raised a brow. "Would I subject your sister to that level of tedium?"

Lyra smirked.

Lucius turned back into his study and took a seat across from Severus Snape. Regulus would arrive shortly, having been held up at Grimmauld Place. Some minor incident involving Kreacher and a cursed music box.

Snape was, as ever, all dry silk and concealed impatience.

"I see Potter continues to attract attention," Lucius began smoothly.

Snape's lip twitched. "The boy attracts disaster. Attention is merely the byproduct."

Lucius leaned back, fingers steepled. "He looked at my daughter, Severus. Looked at her as if he'd never seen anyone burn so quietly before."

Snape said nothing.

"Do you disapprove?"

He remembered the troll incident. Everyone did. It had been in the Prophet, though the article had glossed over details in favor of Gryffindor heroics.

But Lucius had read between the lines.

He had spoken to Severus the morning after, voice low and cold and edged in steel.

"She could've died," he said.

"She didn't," Severus had replied flatly. "Thanks to Potter."

Lucius had nearly broken the crystal in his hand.

That had been the beginning.

"They're very similar," Snape said lightly, "He's not James. Not exactly. But close. Too close. He looks at her the same way James did Lily— the splitting image makes one think Lyra is Lily Evans. I've paired them in Potions. Draco complained, naturally but Lyra didn't blink. He listens to her, admires her even - looks when he thinks she doesn't notice. She's clever enough not to encourage it. For now." Snape paused for a beat. "I think your daughter is a force of nature. And Potter... is still a boy playing with matches."

Lucius allowed himself a faint smile. "Then we'll see if he can hold the flame."

Regulus arrived shortly after the twins entered the dining room. Draped in shadows and prestige, he greeted Lyra with a kiss on the crown of her head, and Draco with a faint clap to the shoulder. As godfather, as uncle, as a man who had walked through fire and lived to whisper secrets in Dumbledore's ear—Regulus was more valuable alive than Lucius had ever imagined.

Regulus loved the children. That, more than politics, secured him.

Dinner passed with practiced civility. Narcissa led the conversation with artful inquiries. Lyra answered with her usual laced charm. Draco sulked until someone mentioned Quidditch.

And afterward, when the children retired and the fire burned low, Lucius finally voiced the thought that had circled his mind all summer:

"If the Dark Lord rises again," he said slowly, "we must be prepared to rise with him—or stand beyond his reach."

Snape nodded once.

Regulus met his eyes, calm and knowing. "And what of Potter?"

Lucius's answer came easily.

"We let him chase my daughter," he said. "And we see how far he's willing to burn.