firecracker ???

The house was quiet when it arrived.

A Ministry owl, large and ash-feathered, landed on the balustrade outside the west wing at exactly half past six. No formal seal. No unnecessary flourish. Just an envelope—plain, heavy, undeniable. A warning wrapped in parchment.

Lyra was in the music room, though she hadn't played the piano in weeks. She liked the stillness here. The symmetry. The way the morning sun spilled across the white-and-black keys in quiet submission to the estate's rhythm. The room smelled of polished mahogany and old paper, a scent she had come to associate with clarity.

The elf entered silently, offered the envelope without a word, and disappeared just as quickly.

She didn't open it right away. 

It was a draft copy of the Prophet that would be published.

It had taken twelve years, but the Black family ghost had returned.

Her fingers didn't tremble as she opened the envelope and unfolded the headline:

BREAKING: MASS ESCAPE FROM AZKABAN
Sirius Black, former Death Eater and convicted murderer, has escaped the Ministry's highest-security prison...

She stopped reading.

She folded the paper in thirds, placed it neatly on the small table beside her, and sat in silence. Then, without thinking, her fingers drifted over the keys. She pressed one. E minor. Cold. Hollow. It rang out like a bell in a tomb.

When she entered the breakfast parlour, the rest of the family had already gathered. Narcissa sat at the head of the table, her teacup untouched, spine too straight. Draco stood near his chair, tense, watching everyone. Lucius sat composed, legs crossed, the Prophet opened casually in one hand. Regulus stood near the window, hands behind his back, staring into the morning light.

He didn't turn when she walked in.

Narcissa was the first to speak. "You've seen it."

Lyra nodded and took her seat. She unfolded her napkin and poured herself a glass of water. She didn't look at anyone.

Lucius spoke next, tone measured. "The Prophet is under direct Ministry control now. Fudge is trying to avoid panic. They've suppressed the worst of it, but the public will know soon. They're calling it a structural failure."

"They always do," Narcissa said softly.

"They're saying he's after someone," Draco added. "That he was obsessed with You-Know-Who."

"He was always too clever to be obsessed," Regulus murmured.

"He's not after us," Lucius said. "But our name is still on every record. Every alliance. Every oath. We cannot be caught unprepared."

"What do we do?" Draco asked, too quickly.

Lucius looked at both twins, gaze resting just a moment longer on Lyra. "You do what you've been raised to do. Be seen. Be spotless. Be on guard."

"If someone asks?" Draco said again.

"No one will," Lyra answered, still not looking up. "No one asks questions they don't want answered."

Lucius inclined his head slightly. Regulus finally turned from the window. His eyes found hers, and held.

You told me he was gone.

She didn't say it. She didn't need to.

She stood, nodded once to her mother, and left without another word.

The corridors of Malfoy Manor were as silent as ever. No whispers, no portraits stirring. She passed one hallway, then another, until she reached the tapestry corridor. The air here was cooler, the silence deeper.

She stopped in front of the wall.

The Black family tree stretched floor to ceiling in gold and green thread. Decades of names, some still warm with praise, others scorched into absence.

Sirius's name had been burned away long ago. The space where it had once been was blank. Quiet. Dead.

She stood before the mark and stared. Long enough for the sun to shift behind the glass.

When she returned to her wing, she didn't see Regulus again until just before dinner. He was in the antechamber, a book open on his lap, though his eyes didn't move across the page. When she entered, he didn't look up.

She closed the door behind her.

"You knew," she said.

He didn't move. "I suspected."

"That he'd escape?"

"That he'd move. He always waits until no one's watching."

"You told me he was gone."

"I told you what I needed you to believe."

Her voice was colder now. "You always said he was dangerous. That he was lost. That he chose wrong."

"He did."

"Then why do you look like this?"

He finally looked up. His face was unreadable.

"Because I don't know what this means yet," he said. "And neither do you."

Her hands were clenched now, but her voice remained even. "You've spent years building the perfect life. And now he's back to ruin it."

She turned, hand on the doorknob.

"I won't let him ruin us again."

"Lyra."

She stopped.

"Not everything that returns does so for destruction."

She didn't respond.

She stepped out, closed the door behind her, and kept walking until she could no longer hear the silence.