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Lyra didn't have time to process the sight, before she was harshly yanked inside the tent.
Inside the tent, Arthur Weasley was already moving with urgency. "Come inside, now, and close the tent behind you!" he barked, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Lyra hesitated, her feet rooted to the ground. She wasn't scared. She was angry.
"Death eaters." She thought, her head spinning.
She knew her father knew.
She knew Lucius Malfoy knew.
The conversation finally made sense, and her father had no intention of warning her. Is he insane?
A strong grip latched onto her wrist, yanking her backwards.
"Arakan, come on." Fred urged, dragging her inside the Weasley tent.
She took a look around, it was fairly huge, but after all they were a huge family. It was comforting, in a weird, odd way.
She was met with a couple of familiar faces. Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. They were all two years younger than her, except for Ginny Weasley, who was younger than her by three years.
And of course, George Weasley. No comment.
"What's going on?" Ron asked as soon as he saw Fred and Lyra rush in.
"Death Eaters," Fred replied quickly, exchanging a glance with his father. "They're everywhere."
Hermione and Ginny slighyly gasped, while Ron looked like he could pass out, but when he got eye contact with Hermione, he quickly collected himself.
Harry's was the first one to speak up, his jaw tightening. He took a step forward. "We have to help, Mr. Weasley."
"No," Arthur interrupted sharply, his voice firm. "None of you are getting involved. We have to return to the Portkey. And we have to stick together."
The entire tent fell silent.
Lyra felt their gazes flicker to her for a moment. It wasn't often an Arakan in the middle of a pack of Weasleys. Her ancestors are probably as confused as she is.
George crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at her. "Uhm, not to offend anyone, but what's Arakan doing here?" He said, and pointed a lazy finger towards the girl.
Lyra snapped her head toward him, her annoyance breaking through the haze of frustration already clouding her mind.
"Ask your idiot brother," she shot back, and George looked towards his brother like he was about to speak again.
But before he could say anything, Fred groaned, rubbing his temples. "Seriously, can we not do this now?"
Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She's here. That's all that matters. We can discuss this later."
Lyra stayed silent, she knew Arthur was right. They had bigger problems to attend.
"Is it really them?" Ginny asked quietly, her voice small. She was talking about the Death Eaters. Ginny looked towards Lyra, and suddenly everyone did the same thing.
She sighed before answering. "Yeah, It's them."
Ron exhaled sharply. "Bloody hell. Dad, what do we do?"
Arthur hesitated for a split second before answering. "We make a run for it, we have to return to the portkey. The Ministry will handle this. It's better to run now, than to be the last ones they get their hands on."
"Merlin.." George sighed.
Lyra clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.
Why was she still here, she had no intention of returning to the portkey with the Weasleys. Her father was out there, and potentially her mother too.
The air filled with silence, but Lyra's head was loud with thoughts.
She had to find her mother. She wanted to know the truth. And she might get her hands on the yellow locket.
That was it then. She had already made up her mind the second she stepped foot in the tent. She had to get going, she had to find her mother. Surely her friends were taken somewhere else while the death eaters where attacking, while she was left behind.
She took a deep breath before speaking up, her face determined.
"I have to go," she announced over the voices already speaking, already stepping toward the exit.
Suddenly everyone stopped talking, and Fred's head snapped toward her. "Are you insane, Arakan?"
Hermione nodded from the other side of the room with a concerned expression.
"Lyra, you don't have to do this." Hermione started, her voice filled with concern. "I mean, you can stay with us." She smiled slightly, but it was clear she was uncertain.
Lyra shook her head no. "I have to," Lyra said, her voice firm. "You don't understand." And with that, she turned her head once again.
But as she was walking towards the exit, she heard a pair of heavy footsteps behind and, and suddenly Fred grabbed her by the wrist before she could move further. "Oh no, I understand just fine. You have a death wish."
She yanked her hand free as she looked up at him with a rageful expression, her eyebrows furrowing as she spoke up. "I need to find my father."
And with that, his hand on her wrist dropped, and the entire tent fell silent. Again.
Arthur frowned. "Your father?" He said lowly, looking towards the girl. He seemed lost in thought, like he knew something she didn't. Fred looked towards his father, seeming to think the same thing as Lyra.
She wanted to question him, but she knew she was running out of time. Her jaw clenched. She hadn't really meant to say that out loud. Arthur eyes were locked onto the floor, but before she could say anything, George snorted.
"Right. Because running off alone to find Daddy Dearest is a great idea. It's practically a suicide mission."
Lyra's eyes shot towards him. "Shove it, Weasley."
"That's it." Fred commanded, stepping in front of her with his arms crossed. "You're not going out there."
She met his gaze, her eyes burning with determination. "Try and stop me."
Fred exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Unbelievable. You are absolutely the most stubborn person I've ever met."
"Takes one to know one," she muttered.
He groaned. "You're seriously going to do this, aren't you?"
"Obviously."
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, seeming awfully deep in thought. He looked at her one last time before walking away from the exit, avoiding her gaze.
"Fine, but don't expect me to show up in your funeral." He said with a low voice.
"Bold of you to assume you'd get invited." She replied with a snarky voice, before turning on her heel, darting toward the exit, ignoring the red heads silent curses behind her.
As she stepped out into the night, her mind was already made up.
She was going to find the truth.
Even if it killed her.
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Lyra burst out of the tent, the flap snapping shut behind her as she shoved past fleeing witches and wizards. The field was a storm of chaos as spells streaked through the sky like falling stars.
The air was thick with smoke and screams, the acrid scent of burning fabric stinging her nose. But she didn't stop. She couldn't stop.
Her heart pounded furiously against her ribs as she sprinted across the campsite, her boots slipping on the damp grass. People shoved past her, faces twisted in panic, but she barely noticed.
Her only focus was the Nott tent.
If anyone knew where her father was, it was her friends.
She ran until her lungs burned, until her legs trembled with the effort. But when she reached the tent, her heart clenched painfully in her chest.
Empty.
The flaps hung open, swaying slightly in the breeze.
Inside, the tent was all neat. No sign of forced entry, no sign of violence. There was no sign of Theo or Draco. No sign of Astoria or Daphne.
No sign of anyone.
A feeling of panic bloomed inside her chest, suffocating and sharp. She spun on her heel, rushing back into the open.
She was alone. How was she going to get back home. Should she ask one of the Death Eaters and hope they recognise her mothers and fathers face across her own.
She decided to scream for help.
"Dad!" Her scream was swallowed by the mayhem around her. She yelled again, her voice cracking, throat burning.
"Dad!"
No answer.
People ran past her, knocking into her shoulders, but no one spared her a second glance. The Death Eaters had no interest in her either as they didn't even register her presence as they stalked through the wreckage.
She was alone. Completely, terrifyingly alone. And then.
"Well, well."
A voice like silk and sharp knives slithered through the night air.
"If it isn't my sweet little Ly."
A chill ran down Lyra's spine. She turned sharply, her pulse roaring in her ears. The sight of the woman before her sent her stomach dropping.
Miselda fucking Arakan.
In other words, Mother.
Her mother stood there, wearing all black, as a slow and unnerving smile curled her lips. Her eyes were cold and calculating, brimming with something almost amused.
She had only seen this side of her mother a few times. The last time was when she found out about Sirius Black.
Lyra had always known her mother was a complete savage. But she knew she would never hurt her daughter.
This was the savage woman who had disappeared from her life three months ago without a single word. A woman who should have been locked away in Azkaban years ago.
"You're here." Miselda tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "How strange. I saw your little friends take the Portkey without you. Doesn't seem like they care much, does it?"
Lyra's stomach twisted, but she refused to show weakness. She lifted her chin. "You've been gone for three months."
Miselda's lips curled at the edges. "So you've noticed."
Lyra clenched her fists. She was trying to steady her breathing, trying to contain the storm brewing inside her.
"I've been running a few errands. Very important ones," Miselda continued with a pout, voice laced with mock sweetness as she began to circle her daughter, slow and deliberate.
Lyra didn't move, even as her skin prickled under her mother's gaze.
"I know you're after Sirius Black," Lyra said, her voice cold. "You won't find him."
Miselda stopped abruptly.
For the first time, her carefully composed mask cracked for a second. Her eyes narrowed, her head tilting just slightly.
"How would you know that?" she asked.
Lyra let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "I spoke to him."
A flicker of something dark passed over Miselda's expression.
"It seems like your life is filled with more secrets than anyone should have," Lyra continued, watching her mother carefully.
Miselda's jaw tensed. "Don't trust a word that man says. He can't be trusted."
"Oh, but Regulus Black can?" Lyra shot back, her voice gaining strength. "Mother, I know about the locket. I know about you and Regulus."
This time, Miselda's face fully twisted in urgency.
But before she could respond, the sound of someone apparating cracked through the air.
A shadow stepped between them.
"Miselda, dear-"
The man's voice faltered the moment his gaze landed on Lyra.
Lyra's breath caught. She would recognize him anywhere. And even through the mask, even through the heavy black robes, she knew.
Her father.
Zephyr Arakan.
A Death Eater?
The man she had admired her entire life, the father who had always protected her, who had always spoken about honor and power stood before her in full Death Eater uniform.
She knew it wasn't unusual for Slytherin children to have Death eater parents. That's why she admired her dad so much, he stood out of the crowd, he wasn't afraid to be different.
But turns out, he's no different after all. He is like every other parent. He isn't some special dad. He is like every other parent she knows.
Her chest tightened.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, finally, her father exhaled sharply, shaking his head.
"You're not supposed to be here," he snapped.
Lyra let out a hollow laugh, her hands trembling at her sides. "You're a Death Eater."
Zephyr didn't answer.
"I should've known," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She let out another laugh, one that had no humor. "Of course I should've known. You're no different."
Her father's silence only confirmed it.
And then Miselda laughed.
"Finally, you figured it out," she mused, shaking her head. "Took you long enough. I promised your dad not to tell you, but it was getting harder for every day that went by."
Lyra turned sharply back to her father. "We're leaving."
Zephyr hesitated, glancing at Miselda.
Lyra followed his gaze, her heart pounding. "She's coming with us," she pressed.
"It's not that simple."
Lyra's hands curled into fists. "Yes, it is. She's my mother! You're my father! We're a family, we-"
"No."
The word was sharp, final.
Lyra froze.
"What?" Lyra breathed out, her chest tightening.
Zephyr let out a slow breath, his hand pinching the bridge of his nose as if this conversation physically pained him. "We're not a family, Lyra. Not anymore."
Her stomach dropped.
"What?"
Miselda smirked, her arms crossing lazily over her chest. "Your father wants a divorce."
Lyra's body went cold.
For the first time in her life, she had no words.
She stared at them. First her mother who was wearing a smug, knowing grin, and then her father, who wouldn't even meet her eyes.
And then, before she could say another word, her father grabbed her arm. "We're going home."
Lyra didn't resist. She didn't look back. She didn't look at her mother.
Because if she had, she wasn't sure she could've left.
Then the world tilted beneath her feet. They landed in the middle of the Arakan mansion, the familiar cushions and chairs coming into sight.
The silence was immediate, almost unnatural. The quartz walls of the mansion towering and pristine, seemed to stretch endlessly into the dimly lit corridors. The place reeked of wealth, and Lyra had always been grateful for that.
But to Lyra, it had never felt so empty as it did right now.
She stood motionless for a moment, her breath coming too fast and her heart pounding like it was still standing in front of that woman. But there were no curses flying past her here. No fire, no terror. Just polished floors and hollow echoes.
And regret.
It hit her all at once, suffocating. She regretted leaving. Regretted not fighting harder. Regretted not saying goodbye.
Her father exhaled beside her, his posture stiff, but she didn't acknowledge him.
She turned sharply on her heel and walked away, her boots clicking against the marble floors. She felt his heavy gaze on her back, but she didn't stop. Didn't speak.
She could her him sigh behind her.
By the time she reached her bedroom, she barely had the strength to close the door behind her.
The moment the latch clicked into place, the weight of it all crashed down on her. She pressed her back against the door and took a shaky breath.
"Stay strong, Lyra."
Her own voice echoed in her mind, but it sounded weak, unconvincing.
"She isn't worth your tears."
But her throat burned with the effort of holding them back.
She pushed herself off the door and moved blindly through her room, pacing, thinking, feeling too much, all at once.
The divorce wasn't a surprise. Not really.
She had known, deep down, that this was inevitable. Her parents' love had been unraveling for years, fighting and fighting, second chance after second chance.
But despise the fights and second chances, it still hurt.
Because despite everything, she knew her father had loved her mother once.
And Miselda, whatever she had been before madness took root in her, Lyra had loved her too.
She stopped pacing, gripping the edge of her desk to steady herself. She couldn't afford to fall apart now.
A sharp knock at the door made her flinch. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to be composed before she spoke.
"It's me."
Her father's voice rang from the other side of the door. His voice was calm, but there was something hesitant beneath it. Something almost weary. It scared Lyra. She didn't know this man anymore, he had turned into a whole stranger.
She hesitated.
Then, carefully, she schooled her expression into indifference before turning to face the door.
"What do you want?"
A pause.
"We have to talk, you know that, dear."
Her stomach twisted at the term of endearment, at the forced gentleness in his tone.
She mentally cursed herself for even questioning his arrival. Of course she knew they had to talk. She wasn't stupid.
"Of course, I know." She exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over her face before groaning. "Let's just get this over with."
She sighed before walking over to the door, unlocking it and opening it.
She stepped aside, allowing her father to enter the dimly lit bedroom. He hesitated as if debating whether or not he was welcome.
She didn't say anything, because she wasn't sure if she wanted him here either, but she didn't stop him when he finally crossed the room.
Zephyr Arakan had always been an imposing figure. Tall, sharp-featured, always composed.
But now, standing in the quiet of her bedroom, he just looked tired, some would say weak. As if the weight of everything was finally catching up to him.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair before sitting down on the edge of her bed. He took a deep sigh, guilt written across his face before he spoke. "I know you have questions."
She huffed as she crossed her arms. "That's an understatement." She said leaning against the desk on the opposite side of him so they were facing each other.
A ghost of a smile twitched at his lips. "Then ask."
She chose to ignore the faint smile on his lips as she inhaled deeply, steadying herself. "How is this going to work? The divorce." She hated how small her voice sounded.
Zephyr exhaled slowly. "Legally, it's simple. Papers will be signed, assets divided. But you and I both know nothing about this situation is truly simple."
Lyra scoffed, shaking her head. "No, it really isn't. She is supposed to be locked away, how will you perform a divorce," She met his gaze then, searching his face for something, remorse, guilt, regret? "She's not going to fight it?"
His expression darkened slightly. "No. She knew this was coming."
That hit deeper than she expected.
"She didn't even care?" Lyra whispered.
"She cared," Zephyr corrected softly. "But not in the way you hoped."
That stung more.
She swallowed hard, looking down at her hands. "Will she come back?"
Zephyr hesitated.
It was the kind of silence that already held an answer.
"I don't know," he admitted. "Miselda has always been.. unpredictable."
That was putting it lightly. Lyra clenched her jaw. "She's insane, Dad."
He didn't argue.
"She abandoned us. She's been gone for months, working with Death Eaters, doing Merlin knows what, and she just-" Lyra broke off, exhaling sharply. "I don't even know why I'm surprised. She's always been like this, hasn't she?"
Zephyr rubbed his temples, his shoulders heavy with exhaustion. "I loved your mother once, Lyra. But yes, she's always had a darkness in her. A darkness I tried to ignore for far too long."
Lyra looked at him then, really looked at him.
For the first time, she saw not just the man who had raised her, but the man who had spent years trying, and failing, to keep his family together.
The tension in the room sat heavy between them. But then, Zephyr gave her a look. One of those rare looks.
The kind that meant he was about to say something stupid.
"You know," he mused, tilting his head, "I was thinking. If I ever get remarried, I should probably go for someone completely different this time. Maybe a nice, shy Ravenclaw."
Lyra snorted before she could stop herself. "Dad."
"No, really. Someone who bakes. Maybe knits. No homicidal tendencies."
She shook her head, suppressing a smirk. "You wouldn't last a week with a Ravenclaw. You wouldn't get along."
Zephyr placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. "Excuse me, I happen to be very charming, regardless of houses."
Lyra rolled her eyes, but the heaviness in her chest loosened just a little. This was what she was used to. The easy banter. The sarcastic remarks. The kind of dry humor only they seemed to understand.
Her father smirked. "Alright, no Ravenclaws then. Maybe a Gryffindor?"
"Dad, no. That's even worse."
He chuckled, and for the first time that night, it didn't feel like the world was crashing down around them.
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the weight of their conversation still lingering but no longer suffocating.
Eventually, Zephyr stood.
"I know you're angry," he said quietly. "And you have every right to be. But I need you to know that I am on your side, Lyra. Always."
She nodded, unable to say the words out loud.
He left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him. Lyra let out a long breath and sank onto her bed.
She should sleep. She wanted to sleep. But as she lay there, staring up at the ceiling, her mind refused to quiet.
School.
What would it be like this year? Would anything feel normal again? Would she ever feel normal again?
Miselda.
Her mother's voice still echoed in her mind, taunting, teasing. Would she come back? And if she did, would Lyra be strong enough to face her?
And then.
Fred.
Wait, Fred?
She groaned, turning onto her side, burying her face in the pillow.
Why was she thinking about him?
Fred Weasley, with his stupid smirk and his quick wit and the way he had beat up Collins for her sake.
He had been so frustrating.
And yet.
Lyra sighed, staring at the ceiling again.
It was going to be a long night.
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