firecracker ???

The morning was too quiet.

The kind of quiet that came only with polished silverware and polished lies — where nothing had yet gone wrong, but everything felt on the edge of it.

Lyra sat at the breakfast table beneath a spill of late summer sunlight, idly swirling marmalade into her tea without ever lifting the spoon to her lips. Narcissa's lace napkin fluttered gently with the breeze drifting in from the terrace. Draco was peeling an orange like it had personally offended him. Lucius was hidden behind his newspaper, fingers sharp and still against the newsprint.

It was that kind of morning. The calm before something tedious.

"I suppose it's time we discussed our departure," Lucius said, folding the paper with a soft snap.

Lyra didn't look up. "Departure?"

"For the Quidditch World Cup."

She blinked. "No."

Lucius didn't pause. "Yes."

"No," she said again, more firmly, setting her spoon down with the kind of deliberate care that was usually followed by hexes.

"Yes," he said, the same way one might say you'll breathe today.

"Absolutely not. I'm not going."

"Absolutely yes. You are."

"I hate Quidditch."

"I'm aware."

"I hate noise. I hate smoke. I hate sweaty men in team colours and enchanted mascots and—"

"—joy," Draco supplied, popping a slice of orange into his mouth.

"You're going," Lucius repeated, adjusting his cufflinks with faint amusement. "And you'll wear green, because we're seated with the Irish delegation."

Lyra turned to Narcissa like she was appealing to the heavens. "Mummy."

Narcissa looked up from her toast with a calm, unreadable expression. "You'll smile. You'll sit beside me. You'll represent this family with grace."

There it was. The voice that meant no arguments. The voice that had once ended a duel between her and Draco in the entrance hall with a single breath.

"But—"

"No."

"Daddy," Lyra tried, tilting her head with mock sweetness. "Please."

Across the table, Draco choked on his orange.

"Oh, don't start," he wheezed. "You only call him that when you want to manipulate everyone."

"It works."

"It's disturbing."

"Jealousy doesn't suit you."

"You know what else doesn't suit me?" Draco quipped. "Waking up at dawn to watch you complain your way through international Quidditch."

"Then don't wake up."

"Children," Narcissa said, still spreading jam on her toast.

They fell silent.

Lucius smirked faintly and refolded the paper. "We leave in two days. The Portkey is Ministry-regulated. Be ready."

-

That evening, the manor was quieter than usual. A soft sort of quiet — the kind that thickens around secrets rather than banishes them.

Lyra found Regulus in the study, gazing into the hearth like he expected it to speak.

"You're not coming?" she asked, leaning against the doorframe.