firecracker ???

Lyra hadn't expected him to call her in.

Not today. Not this week. Not while the castle was still unraveling from the panic of Black's break-in. But the note had come anyway—slipped between the pages of her Magical Theory text during breakfast, folded with the same slanting, immaculate script that always made her chest tighten before she could stop it.

Come to my office after dinner. Alone.

She hadn't responded. She'd simply gone.

The corridor leading to Regulus's office was dimmer than usual, lit only by two high sconces and a thread of winter light caught in the stained glass windows. Her footsteps barely made a sound, her heels muffled by the velvet-soft runner that lined the floor. When she reached the door, she didn't knock. She never had to. It opened for her.

Regulus stood behind his desk, hands clasped behind his back, face unreadable.

"Lyra."

She didn't sit. "What is this about?"

His jaw shifted. "Close the door."

She did.

The room fell into silence, save for the faint crackle of a single hearth fire casting golden shadows on the floor.

He looked tired. Not worn—never that—but shadowed. Something haunted lingered in the set of his mouth.

"I imagine you have questions."

Lyra folded her arms. "About what? The brother who tried to murder a Gryffindor or the one who keeps dodging every real conversation we've had this year?"

Regulus's mouth twitched. Not with amusement. With something that almost looked like guilt.

She took a step forward. "You've been avoiding me. Disappearing. You've lied—by omission, at best—and now Sirius Black is inside the castle and everyone's looking at our family like the second Dark Lord is about to walk through the gates."

"I know."

"Then why won't you tell me the truth?"

Regulus lowered his eyes, something subtle breaking in his shoulders.

"I loved my brother," he said finally, voice low. "Even when I hated him."

Lyra stilled.

Regulus didn't look up. "We were born to be warriors for a cause. He left it. I stayed. I thought that made me better."

She felt her breath catch, just slightly.

"I thought loyalty meant never questioning," he continued. "That to leave the family was to destroy it. That Sirius had done the unforgivable."

"He did," Lyra said sharply.

Regulus looked at her then. Really looked. "Did he?"

Her heart thudded. "Don't you dare—"

"I'm not excusing him," he said, quieter now. "I'm telling you that when you believe in something completely, you don't realize how much of yourself you've given away until you try to stop."

"I don't want riddles," she snapped. "I want to know why you've been acting like you've got a target on your back."

He turned away from her, hands gripping the edge of the desk.

"I stayed," he said again. "But I wonder if he was right."

Lyra's silence burned.

"I've seen what loyalty to blood does. I've seen what it takes. What it asks for. And for what?"

She stared at him. "You're not serious."

His laugh was quiet. "He always said that was the worst joke."

"You're not him," she said.

"No," he agreed. "I was never brave enough to leave."

It felt like the floor had dropped beneath her.

"You said we were fighting for the right side," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You said we were preserving something sacred."

"I wanted to believe that."

"And now?"

He didn't answer.

"You lied," she said, voice trembling. "You lied to me. You taught me to be proud of our name. You said we stood for strength and honour and—"

"I know what I said."

"Then why are you throwing it away?"

"Because I don't know if it was ever mine to carry."

Her face twisted. "You coward."

Regulus's expression cracked then—just slightly.

"You talk about legacy," she said, stepping closer. "You talk about loyalty and blood and tradition, and now you're what? Unsure? Now you want to rewrite everything?"

"I want you to survive."

"I want to believe in something."

Her voice echoed.

He didn't try to stop her when she turned on her heel and left.

She made it all the way to the Astronomy Tower before she realized her hands were shaking.

The wind outside stung against her face, sharp with frost. She didn't lean on the railing. She just stood there, arms wrapped tightly across her chest, the burn in her throat refusing to break into anything as weak as tears.

Footsteps sounded behind her.

She didn't look.

Harry's voice came quietly. "I thought you might be here."

She didn't respond.

He stepped beside her, not too close. Just enough.

"You looked like you needed someone. he said.

She closed her eyes. "You should go."

"I will," he said. "If you say it again."

She didn't speak.

"I don't want to be annoying," he said. "Or invasive. I just... you looked like you were about to crack."

"I'm not."

He nodded slowly. "Right."

"I don't want to talk."

"I know."

She exhaled through her nose. "Then why are you still here?"

"Because you looked like you'd spent your whole life being perfect," he said. "And I wondered what it would sound like when you weren't."

Her head turned, eyes narrowing. "That's poetic."

"It's honest."

She looked at him, finally.

He looked back.

She didn't cry. She didn't yell. She just shook her head.

"I don't know who he is anymore."

Harry said nothing.

"Everything I believed—everything he taught me—it's all... cracking."

Harry let that sit.

"I don't know who I am if he changes," she whispered.

He said, very gently, "Maybe that means you're becoming someone new."

She looked away again, back to the horizon.

And this time, when she told him to go, he didn't argue.

He just left her with the snow and the silence and the stars.