firecracker ???

The sun slipped gently through the stained-glass windows of the hospital wing, casting a slow, golden shimmer across the tile floor. Dust hung in the light like quiet confessions.

Lyra stirred.

Her body ached in dull waves—like the echo of something burnt out rather than broken. The blankets had tangled around her waist, and her hair had fallen from its braid sometime in the night.

For a moment, she simply lay there.

Then her gaze shifted—and she froze.

Regulus Black was sitting in the chair beside her bed.

He looked worse for wear. There was a shallow cut across his cheekbone, half-healed. His robes were still torn at the shoulder, one cuff stained with dried blood. His posture was composed, but fatigue hung from his limbs like weight.

He was watching her.

Lyra blinked once.

Then turned her head deliberately away.

She didn't speak.

He didn't, either.

It was not anger in her silence. Not anymore. It was embarrassment, maybe. A bit of shame. She had let her fury loose last night—at him, at Sirius, at the world. She had called him Uncle Reg. Smiled at him and then slammed the door shut again.

Regulus stood.

She heard the faint rustle of fabric and a press of something into her palm.

Her fingers twitched.

She looked down.

The brooch.

The silver starburst he had given her before starting her first year. The one she had hurled into the lake.

It gleamed now—damp, polished, and cold from the morning air.

Her breath hitched. Her hand closed slowly around it.

"Thought you'd want it back," Regulus said, voice low.

She turned her head to look at him again. Properly, this time.

"You dove in after it?" she asked, quietly.

He nodded once.

"You got sick."

He smiled faintly. "Wouldn't be the first time I've done something stupid for you."

Her throat tightened. There was a long silence and then she said, "You lied to me."

"I did."

"Every day."

He nodded again.

"I thought you were perfect," she said bitterly. "Everything I was supposed to be."

Regulus was quiet for a long time. "I thought I had to be."

She frowned. "I wanted to be the perfect heir," he said. "To the Blacks. To the cause. And then I realised... there's no such thing."

She didn't speak. She stared at the brooch in her hand.

"The day I came back from the cave," Regulus said, "everything changed. But I couldn't show it. Not to anyone. It was supposed to be a secret. You weren't even born yet, but when I saw you for the first time I had decided to let it die with me."

"Why?"

"Because I needed you to stay safe. If you knew what I was, what I was doing—you'd try to help. You'd ask questions. You'd pick a side, and you're much too young for this. You were born a Princess, not to be tangled up in something that was this big of a mess."

She was quiet for a long time.

He leaned forward slightly.

"Politics change," he said softly. "Power shifts. Ideologies rot. But family—family isn't meant to. Family is what we survive for. Not what we sacrifice."

Lyra's fingers curled tighter around the brooch.

"Father said something similar."

"I imagine he did," Regulus murmured.

"He said you didn't betray the family. That you found a way out of darkness. That you were the first one brave enough to see the Dark Lord's weakness."

Regulus exhaled through his nose. "For once, Lucius isn't exaggerating."

Lyra looked up at him. "What now?"

He met her eyes. "Now I keep fighting. Quietly. Carefully. So that you and Draco and maybe even your friends don't have to."

She didn't speak.

But she didn't look away.

And for Regulus, that was enough.

A knock sounded from behind the curtain, loud and unapologetic.

Before either of them could answer, Sirius ripped the curtain around the bed open, dramatically and barefoot, hospital robe half-open over crumpled trousers.

"Well," he said, spreading his arms. "If it isn't the two brooding Blacks."

Lyra narrowed her eyes. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Don't care," Sirius said brightly, dropping onto the foot of her bed. "Figured it was time for a proper introduction. Uncle to niece. Chaos incarnate to—" He paused. "Terrifying mini-Narcissa."

She scowled.

Regulus didn't look up from where he was gently folding the edge of her blanket. "Behave."

Sirius grinned. "Why start now?"

"I mean it."

"I do too. I brought tea."

Lyra eyed the teacup in his hand suspiciously.

"It's probably laced with something."

"Trust me," Sirius said cheerfully, "if I were going to poison you, I'd use champagne."

Regulus sighed. "Sirius."

"What?"

"She's not ready."

Sirius paused. Then looked at Lyra properly.

Her arms were crossed. Her posture stiff. The brooch clutched tight in her palm.

"I get it," he said more softly. "You hate me."

She didn't correct him.

He stood slowly.

"I did leave," he said. "and I didn't come back. I know I didn't make it easy for you to like me."

Silence.

"But I want to try. Just... so you know."

He turned to go.

Before he reached the door, Regulus said quietly, "Thank you."

Sirius glanced over his shoulder.

Regulus nodded at the untouched teacup. "For not spiking it."

Sirius smirked. "Next time."

The door closed behind him.

Lyra turned to her uncle.

"I still don't forgive you."

"I know," he said.

"But I'm not throwing this away again." She raised the brooch slightly.

Regulus smiled.

"That's enough for now."

In that sunlit morning, tucked beneath crisp white sheets and old secrets, Elestara Black decided that forgiveness didn't have to come all at once.

It could arrive quietly.

Because they were family— and it was what mattered most.