firecracker ???

The door of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place opened with the same theatrical creak it always had — dramatic and a little overdone, like it knew a Black was coming home.

Lyra stepped inside, cold air still clinging to her cloak, when—

"LYRA!"

The voice came from above like a thunderclap.

Sirius Black, half-dressed and fully dishevelled, hurtled down the staircase, nearly tripping over his own feet. His shirt was open, his hair looked like he'd wrestled a banshee, and he was grinning like a madman.

Before she could react, he had scooped her into a fierce, spinning hug.

"You're late," he accused, setting her down. "Fashionably, but late."

"I'm not late," Lyra said, brushing her coat off. "You're just impatient."

From the top of the stairs came Harry — rumpled, flushed, and smiling wider than when she'd last seen him. He was already bounding down behind Sirius, trainers half-laced and green jumper slightly askew.

"Oi, move," Harry called to Sirius. "I'm next."

Sirius held out an arm like a barrier. "Hold it. I saw her first."

"She's not a new broomstick," Harry snapped.

"She's worse," Sirius replied. "She talks back."

"She's mine," Harry said with exaggerated drama, pushing past him and wrapping Lyra into a hug before she could object.

And it wasn't just a hug — it was a Harry hug. All arms and warmth and way-too-much-bicep for someone who claimed not to lift. He held on longer than necessary.

She let him.

He pulled back just enough to look at her. "You're staying."

"I live here now."

His grin went lopsided. "Best sentence I've heard all year."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Wait, wait, wait. Live?"

"Full-time," Lyra confirmed, slipping off her gloves.

"With us?"

"Yes."

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "And Dumbledore's fine with that?"

"He's the one who arranged it."

Before Sirius could respond, Harry threw an arm dramatically around her shoulders and turned to him with a flourish.

"Sirius Black, allow me to formally introduce you to — my girlfriend."

Sirius stared.

Then took a second to snap into character.

Then gasped. Then staggered back into a wall and clutched his heart dramatically.

"Girlfriend? You mean she likes you?"

"Unbelievable, I know."

"Does she know about your hair in the mornings?"

"Yes."

"Your Quidditch obsessions?"

"She's seen the closet."

"The fact that you still call me Padfoot when you think I'm not listening?"

Harry gave him a look, clearly this was not in the script. "I do not—"

"You do."

Lyra cleared her throat, playing along. "Still waiting to be reintroduced."