Chapter Text
Lyra Black had never been a child of much exuberance.
Rather, anyone that had ever met her could note the quiet that she radiated and the calm that followed her throughout her childhood. Never one to cry or fuss, she had been one of the few low-maintenance children for the employees of Wool's Orphanage, turned Wool's Home for Children, to watch over since she arrived there in the ten years that passed. Untroublesome and peaceful, she never needed much looking after, other than the handful of times something odd would occur. Like flowers growing where they shouldn't or tall tales of lights flickering. They could always be explained away quite easily the staff found, the imagination of a child truly was a wonderful thing.
As Wool's Orphanage, sorry Home, had always fundamentally been in the ownership of the Wool family, and though Mrs. Wright had since married (she had once been Caroline Wool) she had seen Lyra Black grow up from the time she was a toddler to the girl she was today. She was easy to remember primarily because though many of the children had come and gone, Lyra Black had stayed, and the circumstance in which she arrived had puzzled her grandmother, Old Mrs. Wool, greatly.
Mrs. Wright, the daughter of Mrs. Wool and the granddaughter of Old Mrs. Wool before her, was the only one left who knew Lyra Black had just appeared... and never left. If she was the type to believe in the wishy-washy logic of her grandmother, then perhaps she would fear the child or be concerned, but she was not the type and Lyra Black, Mrs. Wright knew, was just another bothersome child who was stranded and left to the elements.
She never told the girl about any of this, of course, it was a mercy Mrs. Wright gave her, to not know and to not have wonder. Moreover Lyra Black had never asked and so Mrs. Wright would never have to tell her.
Mrs. Wright believed this, believed 'It' from the time she was twenty to the time she walked in and a woman dressed in green and wearing a severe expression, was waiting for her and 'wanting to speak to a girl they had named Lyra Black'. She even used the child's middle name, and that was approximately the moment Mrs. Wright didn't believe It anymore.
Mrs. Wright led this peculiar visitor, who had an even stranger reason for turning up, to Lyra Black's room and delicately rapped at the door before opening it when the small voice inside permitted her entry.
This visitor-Professor Minerva McGonagall, she said her name was- had offered Lyra Black a place at this school she worked for and said she knew the child's parents. She said the tuition had already been paid for and everything.
Mother dead with no elaboration on the father... how strange Mrs. Wright had thought.
She had sensibly been wary of this stranger, with the pointy hat and outlandish green robes, but the paperwork was legitimate, as was the school, and the parents (Oh dear, what kind of name was Sirius Black?) so there was really nothing she could do at that point.
When Lyra Black stood to attention at the door opening, she set her book down (A guide on dinosaurs, honestly what an odd child) and looked at Mrs. Wright and their guest, Professor McGonagall, with the same placid expression Mrs. Wright had often seen throughout the girl's youth.
"Lyra Black, you've got a visitor." Mrs. Wright told her stiffly. Though it had been quite obvious with the Professor's presence, she enjoyed her position as the head of this orphanage home for orphans, and getting to announce things like that cemented it in her mind. She turned to the professor questioningly and saw the woman look a bit troubled while looking at the child.
Ah...That's right, the professor had known the girl's parents, and they were dead enough for any of this to be happening at all, so it would only be natural for the Professor to look so upset.
The girl, none the wiser of the Professor's motives or reason for being there, gave the Professor a small smile and reached out for a handshake, "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am,"
Professor McGonagall gave the girl a small smile in return shook her hand firmly and said, "And a pleasure to meet you too, Miss Black, I am Professor Minerva McGonagall and we have much to talk about."
The way Professor had addressed Lyra Black had seemed in part to be a dismissal of Mrs. Wright so they may talk, and thus, she took the chance willingly. She never really liked spending too much time with the children. They were children, to be seen and not heard and put away whenever possible. Honestly, She didn't have time for trivialities like playing with children.
November 2nd, 1981 started off as a normal day for the normal folk of-in Esther's opinion-the quiet side of London. Hardly getting any visitors and just even with how muggy it was, Esther Wool was on her rocking chair, humming to herself and knitting a scarf when the wind blew her hat off of her head.
As she had recently turned sixty-five, she was not as spirited as she used to be, and just the thought of chasing after the hat made her bones ache. She briefly considered calling one of the children to get it but changed her mind once she saw that the sun had barely risen. She didn't want one of the children going off and getting lost now, did she? They were oft to take any opportunity to explore, and she didn't like the way the ocean looked that time of day.
Esther's mind was made up, she began to stand up only to jump up in fear as a loud CRACK sounded through the empty street. Clutching her heart, she had half a mind to rush back inside, aching bones and all, but paused when she saw the little girl in the middle of the street.
"Oh, dear."
After Mrs. Wright left as swiftly as she had arrived, Lyra Penelope Black was left alone with her visitor, Professor McGonagall. She took the pause in conversation as an opportunity to look the woman over. With her sharp features and strict expression, she didn't look like she was someone to cross, not that Lyra thought to do it. In fact, the only thing she was really thinking about was why the Professor had come.
Though she had no idea what was happening and why the woman came, she felt apprehensive. The Professor might have come for school, but she would have no reason to. Lyra's marks weren't terrible but they weren't extraordinary either, and besides, Lyra didn't have a penny to her name and wouldn't be able to pay for any special school.
Furthermore, Professor McGonagall couldn't have possibly come to adopt Lyra. Lyra knew she was much too old for that now and the woman looked too formidable to even want a child to look after. She reminded Lyra somewhat of Mrs. Wright, though the professor looked a good deal more pleasant.
The professor peered down at her as if gathering the courage to speak, "Miss...Black, have you ever done anything unordinary? Anything unusual?"
Lyra again began to feel alarmed, "Something unusual? Like-Like what?"
Memories of doing unusual things flashed through her mind. Once she had made the dying flowers under her window grow up to her room when she felt especially gloomy. Plus the only time she had ever been really angry, she made the lights in her classroom flicker erratically. She had known it had been her own doing during those times because she wanted them to happen, and they did as if she willed it.
And there had been that time when she had concentrated really hard and made the rocks float and arrange themselves in patterns in the sky for the amusement of her and her friend Tilly years ago.
Lyra knew she could do these things. Still, that didn't mean she wanted this Professor McGonagall to know about it too.
Professor McGonagall paused, "Something like magic. I teach Transfiguration at a school for magic called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and you Miss Black are a witch, as were your parents."
"A witch," Lyra repeated bewildered, not even catching the mention of her parents, "I'm-I'm a witch?"
"Yes, you are a witch. Magic is a very real thing, though it is hidden from many. Those in our world called witches and wizards practice it in fact, I taught your parents,"
Lyra's head, which had traveled down to look at the floor, snapped up in surprise, "My parents? You knew my parents?"
"Aye, Sirius Black and Lucy Weaver were my students thirteen years ago," Professor McGonagall said before sitting down on the bed and gesturing for Lyra to do the same," and I'm very pleased to be able to teach their daughter."
The Professor was trembling now and she didn't meet Lyra's eyes when she continued, "But first, I must explain."
For the next half hour, Lyra was told about this evil wizard, named Lord Voldemort, a man not even formidable Professor McGonagall referred to by name. Lyra learned about the many people who followed him and the destruction and mayhem he caused. Including how, a decade ago, Voldemort's own destruction was caused by a one-year-old boy, and how that revealed that Sirius Black, Lyra's father, had been on the evil wizard's side the entire time.
The Aurors (or magical detectives) around came that early November 3rd morning to the home of Lucy Weaver to question her, only to force entry and find Lucy dead by two days with no trace of Lyra. The murder of Lucy and Lyra was added to Sirius Black's ever-growing list of crimes, and in fact, they had only just recently discovered that Lyra was alive because of her Hogwarts letter. Professor McGonagall said the Aurors (magical detectives) figured he must have left her at the orphanage before going off. He was now in the high-security wizarding prison called Azkaban, and no one had ever escaped from there so Lyra was perfectly safe.
"Old Mrs. Wool is the only one who would've known, but she died last December," Lyra told Professor McGonagall, who frowned.
Mrs. Wright had been in University then and all of the employees that would've been there to see Sirius Black drop his daughter off at the Orphanage were long gone from Wool's Orphanage. Lyra had never bothered to ask Mrs. Wool before and since no one could confirm the story, there was no other explanation. How else would she have come?
Her father killed her mother. She never would have thought of that in a million years.
Apparently, both her paternal and maternal uncle had both died years ago back in their war and her mother's sister (she had an aunt) was married and lived in France with three children.
"I'm alright here. I wouldn't want to be a bother anyway." (June Duquette had offered to take her in but a string of bad circumstances led Lyra to eventually decline.)
The professor looked grim again, before shaking her head and pulling out a letter with green ink, and handing it to Lyra.
"This is your Hogwarts letter. In it are your acceptance letter and material list. Because you have access to your father's bank vault and the money inside, that is what we will use to pay for your school material," Professor McGonagall said primly, "We can go today or tomorrow, your choice,"
Lyra stared at the Professor for a second before glancing at the emerald cursive print.
"Today is fine," she answered and looked at the address again, "Thank you for coming all this way, Professor McGonagall."
Ms. L. Black
Room 27
Wool's Orphanage
London, England
It was very specifically worded, she noticed. With her room number and everything. All her life, the only thing Lyra had ever known about herself was her name, and now she knew practically everything worth knowing. Her parents' names for one, and how she was a witch. And the fact her father had killed her mother, his best friends, and had been working for a genocidal evil wizard.
"Excellent," Professor McGonagall said standing up, "I'll inform Mrs. Wright at once,"
"There's a letter," the whispery voice of Amanda Cooke carried over the empty kitchen of Wool's Orphanage, "Lyra Penelope Black, 20 months."
"But who left her?" Esther Wool questioned. There had been no one around for miles, Esther had some of her employees check, and all-day some officers were looking around for the girl's parents. There was no way for a child to just show up in the middle of the road, "She's just a baby."
Amanda didn't answer. Instead with a hand over her mouth, she stared past Esther, to the small television set where the evening news showed a gas leakage that killed thirteen people and hurt many others. It never occurred for Esther to connect the gas leakage and the appearance of Lyra Penelope Black. Esther stared hard at the news and then shook her head sadly.
"Oh, dear."
Later, when Lyra had returned, with all of her books, her potion ingredients, her robes, and all the other wizarding world things she had bought and had been told to not show to anyone, she laid in her bed with her head under her pillow wondering about what her father would be doing at that moment.
He was in prison and was evil, she knew that, but he was real and suddenly Lyra didn't have to guess who he was or what he looked like. What either of her parents looked like for that matter. Her father got gone and got himself in wizard prison and left Lyra with a reputation she would never be able to wash off it was so stupid but it made her mad. It wasn't easy to make her mad in the first place, she'd only been properly furious once before, and that was years ago. She's never met him, but her father was already gone which made her upset.
He went and did a lot of things, apparently.
She tried to think of other, more happy, things like the fact that in a little over a month, she would be going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Lyra would be learning magic, brewing potions, and riding brooms all while waving her wand (a supple 10 ½ inches Pinewood wand with dragon heartstring core that she had gotten at Ollivander's Wand Shop that day). Lyra felt excitement bubble up inside of her at the thought of casting spells and jinxes and charms and how it would feel.
She hoped it felt like the warm trickle her wand made her feel when she had waved it for the first time.
But then she thought of how everyone would know her surname and assume things they had no right to assume. She wouldn't be missed at the orphanage by Mrs. Wright or the other children, she knew, she had hardly ever been around, always preferring to spend time with Tilly, her friend. But even Tilly wouldn't be there to miss her having died a summer ago.
She tried not to feel lonely, but it crept up on her, and the ache was worsened as she thought of the companionship of her old friend. Hogwarts would be a new experience for sure. She would learn magic and be more than Sirius Black's daughter.
She would be Lyra. Lyra Penelope Black was not mad. She was not evil. She was good.
She told this to herself repeatedly. And when she fell asleep, she believed it.