firecracker ???

3-25

"You've got family," Sirius said. "One that isn't perfect. But we're trying. Regulus is trying. And your mum's trying. And honestly—Draco's doing his best."

Lyra blinked. "Did you just call my brother competent?"

"I said he's trying."

"Close enough."

There was a pause. Then she said, more quietly than before, "You think it still matters?"

"What?"

"The House. Legacy. All of it."

Sirius looked at Regulus, then at Narcissa. "It matters if we make it mean something better."

Regulus stepped forward, voice steady. "The House of Black won't fall because it was broken. It'll stand because we chose to fix it."

Lyra met his eyes. "And you really think that's enough?"

"It has to be," Narcissa said firmly.

Silence stretched. Then Lyra nodded. Just once.

"I'll consider it," she said to Sirius. "Not forgiveness. Not family. But... something."

Sirius smiled. "That's already more than I deserve."

Behind her, Regulus stepped forward and touched her shoulder. "He means it," he said gently. "And he's still a fool. But he's our fool."

Lyra  sighed. "That's about as high a praise as he'll ever receive."

Sirius grinned. "I'll take it."

"You lot are very dramatic," Narcissa said, lifting her teacup. "Honestly. The House of Black could run its own theatre."

Sirius gave a small laugh. "We're more Shakespearean tragedy than comedy."

"Speak for yourself," Regulus muttered.

Lyra turned to her mother. "You forgive him."

"I understand him," Narcissa said. "That's all anyone can offer in the end."

"I still don't trust him," Lyra admitted.

"He's family. As I believe your father told you, we prioritise family." Narcissa said lightly. 

Lyra looked at Regulus. Then Sirius.

Then back to her mother.

And nodded once.

Sirius smiled faintly. "That's more than I expected."

Regulus laid a hand briefly on her shoulder. "Come on. Harry's outside."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Sirius was already looking towards the door. "To loiter, mostly."

-

Harry was waiting.

Not by accident.

Sirius had mentioned it earlier—offhand, casual, far too casual to be real. That Lyra would be visiting him in Dumbledore's office. That it might be "a good time to loiter somewhere convenient." That he should "do something about that mop of hair" while he was at it.

So Harry had loitered. Casually. Very casually. Near the stairs. Near the corridor wall. In the exact spot where someone might leave the room from a meeting and be coincidentally greeted by a boy who definitely hadn't been pacing for ten minutes straight.

When the office door creaked open, Harry straightened.

Lyra stepped out first.

"Potter," she said with a half-smile, half-sigh, like she'd been expecting this, but not quite ready.