CHAPTER FIVE

LEARNING

READING has never been one of Lyra's strengths. Give her a wand, a duel, or an ancient ritual and she'd spend hours happily experimenting until she mastered it. Sit her down with six hundred pages of constitutional law written by long-dead pure-blood politicians and she'll go crazy; she is fairly certain it qualified as cruel and unusual punishment. Lyra lets the heavy tome falls shut with a satisfying thump that echoed through her sitting room. With an exhausted groan, she leans back in her chair until it balances precariously on two legs. One hand drags through her already unruly hair while the other rubs at her tired eyes.

"I've survived Voldemort," she mutters to the empty room. "Surely I can survive parliamentary procedure." Silence answers. Then, despite herself, she smiles. In her mind's eye, another voice fills the room.

"Honestly, Lyra," Hermione sighs dramatically, arms folded across her chest. "You've been on the same chapter for forty-five minutes."

"I have not."

"You absolutely have."

"I took snack breaks."

"Three of them." A disappointed look from Hermione.

"I was maintaining my blood sugar."

"You were procrastinating." Lyra can almost see Hermione sitting beside her on the sofa in Gryffindor Tower, surrounded by mountains of books, quill already moving furiously across parchment while Lyra contemplated setting her own homework on fire.

"You know," Lyra murmurs to the phantom memory, "I never appreciated how much you bullied me into passing classes."

"It was called encouragement." The fake Hermione snaps.

"It was academic harassment."

"Read." She snorts a laugh despite herself.

"Bossy witch." The imaginary Hermione simply raises an eyebrow. Lyra sighs in surrender. She tried to speak with the trio earlier through the mirror, but all of them must've been busy with something because no one answered. She is unsure how she is suppose to live in a timeline where her best friend doesn't exist yet.

"Fine." Straightening in her chair, she reopens History of the Wizengamot.

'The Wizengamot is the oldest governing institution in magical Britain, predating the establishment of the Ministry of Magic by many centuries. Founded during the early days of organized wizarding society, it was created as a council where the most influential magical families could resolve disputes, preserve magical law, and govern Britain through collective decision-making. Although the Ministry of Magic oversees the day-to-day administration of wizarding Britain, the Wizengamot remains the nation's supreme legislative and constitutional authority. It is responsible for creating laws, interpreting ancient magical charters, ratifying treaties, determining matters of inheritance involving noble houses, and serving as the highest court of magical justice. Unlike the Ministry, whose officials are appointed or elected to temporary offices, the authority of the Wizengamot is rooted in bloodline, ancient magic, and hereditary stewardship. Its members are not merely politicians; they are custodians of centuries of magical history.

Membership within the Wizengamot is hereditary and belongs to Britain's officially recognized Ancient and Noble Houses. Each House possesses a single seat regardless of its wealth, population, or political influence. Every House, from the oldest and most prestigious to the smallest surviving noble lineage, is equal in voting power. The seat belongs to the Head of House, who serves as the official representative of their family. Should the Head of House be unable to attend a session due to illness, travel, or other obligations, they may appoint a Proxy through magically witnessed documentation. Once recognized by the chamber, the proxy temporarily exercises every parliamentary privilege belonging to that House, including speaking rights and voting authority. Only one representative—either the Head or an approved Proxy—may occupy a House's seat during any session. If a Head of House dies, resigns, or is magically displaced, the chamber immediately recognizes the rightful successor. Ancient enchantments woven into the chamber verify inheritance without possibility of deception.

The Wizengamot convenes within an immense circular chamber designed to symbolize equality among Britain's noble families. At the center stands the raised dais of the Chief Warlock, who presides over every session. Surrounding the dais are concentric rows of enchanted stone seats reserved for the Houses. Above each seat floats the magically enchanted crest of its corresponding House. These crests illuminate during votes, respond to magical succession, and serve as visual confirmation of each House's participation in proceedings. Every stone, rune, and enchantment within the chamber forms part of an ancient magical system that recognizes legitimate authority. No illusion, glamour, Polyjuice Potion, or magical disguise has ever succeeded in deceiving the chamber.

Although every House votes independently, centuries of shared philosophy have naturally divided the chamber into three principal political factions.

1. The Light Houses

The Light Houses generally favor:

* Expanded Ministry authority
* Individual liberties
* International diplomacy
* Progressive legal reform
* Increased governmental oversight

Their members often support modernization while seeking to preserve Britain's magical traditions through legislation.

2. The Dark Houses

Contrary to common misconception, the designation Dark House does not indicate allegiance to Dark Magic.

Rather, these Houses advocate:

* Preservation of ancient magical customs
* Strong hereditary rights
* Protection of House sovereignty
* Strict adherence to magical tradition
* Limited Ministry interference

Many of Britain's oldest Houses belong to this faction, believing that centuries-old customs should not be easily discarded.

3. The Grey Houses

Positioned between the two major factions are the Grey Houses. These families rarely vote along strict ideological lines. Instead, they evaluate each proposal individually, often negotiating amendments acceptable to both Light and Dark interests. Because of their willingness to compromise, Grey Houses frequently determine the outcome of controversial legislation.

The Chief Warlock serves as the presiding officer of the Wizengamot. Although often regarded as one of Britain's most respected magical figures, the Chief Warlock does not rule the assembly.

Their responsibilities include:

* Calling legislative sessions
* Maintaining parliamentary order
* Recognizing speakers
* Enforcing procedural rules
* Certifying votes
* Interpreting parliamentary customs

The Chief Warlock traditionally remains politically neutral while presiding over debate. They vote only in the event of a tie.

Legislation may be introduced only by individuals possessing constitutional authority.

Eligible sponsors include:

* Heads of Noble Houses
* The Minister for Magic
* The Chief Warlock
* Authorized Constitutional Committees

Once a bill is submitted, the Chief Warlock announces the matter before the chamber and formally recognizes its sponsor. The sponsoring House presents the legislation and explains its purpose before debate begins. Following introduction of a bill, the floor opens for debate. Members wishing to speak rise from their seats until recognized by the Chief Warlock. Debate follows strict parliamentary etiquette.

Members address one another formally using titles such as My Lord or My Lady. Representatives speak not as private individuals but on behalf of their entire House.

A House may express support simply by declaring:

"The House of NAME supports."

or opposition by stating:

"The House of NAME objects."

Longer speeches are typically reserved for substantial legal arguments, historical precedents, or proposed amendments. Debates often extend for several hours and frequently involve consultation of enchanted archives, treaty records, historical precedents, and constitutional charters.

Any recognized House may propose amendments during debate. Amendments allow legislation to be modified before the final vote.

The sponsoring House may:

* Accept the amendment
* Reject the amendment
* Negotiate revised wording

Accepted amendments become incorporated into the legislation prior to the final vote. Compromise has long been regarded as one of the greatest strengths of the Wizengamot.

When debate concludes, the Chief Warlock calls for division. Each House possesses exactly one vote. Votes are cast publicly and recorded permanently within the chamber's enchanted archives.

Representatives announce their House's decision aloud:

"The House of NAME votes Aye."

"The House of NAME votes Nay."

"The House of NAME abstains."

At the moment each vote is cast, the family's floating crest responds magically.

* Green signifies approval.
* Red signifies opposition.
* Silver signifies abstention.

No vote may be altered once officially recorded.

Not every matter requires the same degree of agreement.

1. Simple Majority

Used for:

* Ordinary legislation
* Ministry oversight
* Administrative reforms

2. Two-Thirds Majority

Required for:

* Constitutional amendments
* Changes to House privileges
* Ratification or repeal of major treaties

3. Three-Quarters Majority

Required for:

* Dissolution of Noble Houses
* Permanent confiscation of hereditary titles
* Alterations to magical inheritance law

4. Unanimous Consent

Reserved only for the most sacred constitutional matters, including:

* Amending the Ancient Charter of the Wizengamot
* Abolishing a recognized Ancient House
* Breaking Founder-era magical covenants

Such measures have rarely, if ever, been attempted.

The Wizengamot itself is protected by enchantments older than the Ministry of Magic.

These enchantments recognize:

* legitimate inheritance,
* magical bloodlines,
* hereditary succession,
* ancient titles,
* constitutional authority.

Whenever the Head of a House changes at Gringotts, the chamber responds instantly. The rightful successor is recognized automatically without requiring Ministry confirmation or outside verification. Because of these protections, no magical deception has ever successfully claimed a seat unlawfully. Throughout history, several noble Houses have become extinct. When the final legitimate heir dies without issue, the chamber extinguishes that House's crest. Its seat falls dormant and cannot be occupied until the bloodline is legitimately restored. Some dormant seats have remained empty for centuries. Others are believed lost forever.

CURRENT MEMBERS OF WIZENGAMOT AS OF 1946 JANUARY CENSUS:

Dark Coalition

Avery; Lord Richard Avery

Black; Lord Arcturus Black II

Borgin; Lord Stephen Borgin

Burke; Lord Corvin Burke

Carrow; Lord Douglas Carrow

Dolohov; Lord Antonin Dolohov Sr.

Flint; Lord Magnus Flint

Gibbon; Lord Barnabas Gibbon

Jugson; Lord Walter Jugson

Lestrange; Lord Corvus Lestrange III

Malfoy; Lord Abraxas Malfoy

Mulciber; Lord Octavius Mulciber

Nott; Lord Cantankerus Nott

Parkinson; Lord Cyprian Parkinson

Rosier; Lord Evander Rosier

Rookwood; Lord Thaddeus Rookwood

Rowle; Lord Tiberius Rowle

Selwyn; Lord Eugene Selwyn

Travers; Lord Coriolanus Travers

Yaxley; Lord Octavian Yaxley

Light Coalition

Abbott; Lord Elias Abbott

Bones; Lady Adelaide Bones

Boot; Lord Tobias Boot

Cattermole; Lord Edmund Cattermole

Dearborn; Lord Howard Dearborn

Diggory; Lord Alan Diggory

Kirke; Lord Alaric Kirke

Longbottom; Lord Harfang Longbottom

Macmillan; Lord Fergus Macmillan

Moody; Lord Alastor Moody Sr.

Patil; Lord Arjun Patil

Potter; Lord Fleamont Potter

Prewett; Lord IgnatiusPrewett

Shacklebolt; Lord Ulysses Shacklebolt

Vance; Lady Helen Vance

Weasley; Lord Septimus Weasley

Grey Coalition

Ashcombe; Lord Cillian Ashcombe

Belby; Lord Benedict Belby

Bulstrode; Lord Reginald Bulstrode

Crouch; Lord Caspar Crouch

Dawlish; Lord Roland Dawlish

Edgecombe; Lady Judith Edgecombe

Fawley; Lord Julius Fawley

Goldstein; Lord Leonard Goldstein

Greengrass; Lord Clifford Greengrass

Higgs; Lord Rodney Higgs

Lovegood; Lord Leon Lovegood

Ollivander; Master Gervaise Ollivander

Prince; Lord Hadrian Prince

Scamander; Lord Lysander Scamander

Slughorn; Lord Ambrose Slughorn

Zabini; Lord Lorenzo Zabini

Vacant Seats

Peverell; Dormant

Gaunt; Dormant

Gryffindor; Dormant

Hufflepuff; Dormant

Ravenclaw; Dormant

Slytherin; Dormant

Emrys; Dormant

Pendragon; Dormant

Myrddin; Dormant

Le Fay; Dormant

Thorne; Dormant'

She softly lets her fingers trail over the numerous names of families. More than half of these families would have been wiped out by the time she was born in her original timeline. She still cannot fully wrap her head around the fact that all of these families will live. She cannot imagine how many children will be in Harry's year when it comes time for him to go. They had one of the smallest classes in Hogwarts due to the war. Three gentle taps sound at her door which snaps her out of her thoughts.

"Lyra?" Orion's voice carries through the oak. "Would you like to join me in the drawing room?" A smile tugs at her lips before she could stop it. She closes the book with considerably more force than necessary, earning a dusty puff from its ancient pages.

"I swear you're trying to kill me," she mutters to the tome. After tugging her emerald robes tighter around herself, she crosses the room and opened the door. Orion stands exactly where she'd imagined he would be with his perfect posture, dark green robes neatly pressed and his holding two steaming mugs. His expression brightens the moment he saw her.

"I hope I wasn't interrupting." Lyra glances back at the mountainous book on her desk before looking at him again.

"I was about five minutes away from challenging it to a duel." She admits. His brow lifts.

"And who do you believe would win that duel?"

"The book."

"I see."

"It fights dirty."

A small laugh escapes him. "I've heard History of the Wizengamot has defeated stronger witches than yourself." He jokes. She narrows her eyes dramatically.

"So you've read this?"

"Twice." He smirks.

"You're terrifying."

"I've been told."

She looks him up and down with exaggerated suspicion. "I thought you seemed normal."

"I assure you, that misconception disappears rather quickly." She laughs, the lingering heaviness from reading about extinct Houses easing from her shoulders.

"You brought provisions?" She asks, looking at the mugs.

"I remembered you mentioned preferring tea in the evenings." Her eyes soften. That information came from an earlier conversation they had after coming back home from the day's fiasco.

"You remembered?" She softly questions. She is not use to people paying attention to her. She was the fourth wheel in the Golden Trio. People tended to look at them, especially Harry, over herself.

"Of course." He looks almost confused that she would ask. "I wasn't certain which blend you preferred, so I brought both chamomile and jasmine." He holds them out awkwardly, as though suddenly worried he'd made the wrong choice. Lyra stares at him for a moment. She knows this isn't some grand gesture or expensive gift, it was just tea, yet her chest warms unexpectedly.

"I'll take the jasmine." His shoulders visibly relax.

"I was hoping you'd choose that one."

"Were you?" She cocks an eyebrow curiously.

"I accidentally put too much honey in the chamomile." He informs her. She accepts the mug, giggling at his words and pauses when their fingers brush for the briefest instant. She pretends to not notice how neither of them pulled away immediately, instead letting the moment last for a second before she takes a cautious sip.

"Oh." She looks up. "This is perfect."

"It is?"

"Mhm." She smiles over the rim of the mug. "You make surprisingly good tea."

"I had help." She tilts her head questioningly. "The kitchen elves."

"I knew it." She snorts. Orion reminds her much of Sirius, who needed Kreacher to do a lot of simple tasks despite hating the house elf and not wanting to speak with him more than necessary.

"I merely supervised."

"So you're taking partial credit?"

"I am strategically accepting responsibility for the successful outcome."

She laughs again. "You'd make an excellent politician."

"I sincerely hope not." They begin walking side by side toward the drawing room, their footsteps echoing softly through the quiet corridor. Neither seem in any hurry to arrive. "So," Orion asks after a comfortable silence, "have you finished your reading?" Lyra looks at him with complete seriousness.

"I have learned exactly two things."

"Oh?"

"One, the Wizengamot enjoys making simple concepts sound impossibly complicated."

He nods thoughtfully. "Fair assessment."

"And two..." She sighs dramatically. "I should have paid more attention in History of Magic when my grandfather taught me."

"I don't believe anyone has ever said those words."

"I know. It's deeply upsetting."

He chuckles quietly. "I can answer any questions you have, if you'd like. It would give me an excuse to avoid the correspondence waiting on my desk."

"You're procrastinating." She sing songs, tsking jokingly.

"I prefer to think of it as prioritizing." He shrugs and gazes at her with a look in his eyes that she has yet to determine what it is. When they reach the drawing room doors, Orion stops and gently holds one open for her. "After you, my Lady."

Lyra rolls her eyes with exaggerated exasperation. "You know, if you keep calling me that, I'm going to start expecting dramatic entrances everywhere I go."

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I'll see what arrangements can be made."

She laughs, shaking her head as she stepped past him. "I want peacocks to walk in with me at every dramatic entrance." The image of the Malfoy Manor while Lucius was alive pops into her head. She will never get over the albino peacocks the man kept in his home for events. As she passes through the doorway, she lightly bumps her shoulder against his in playful retaliation. He watches her disappear into the drawing room, still smiling to himself, before quietly following after her with his own cup of chamomile tea. Lyra observes how the warm glow of the fireplace immediately chases away the chill that had settled in the castle corridors. The room feels lived in rather than formal. Shelves line the walls from floor to ceiling, crowded with leather-bound books, magical curiosities, and framed portraits whose occupants politely pretend not to eavesdrop. Orion closes the door softly behind him. He gestures toward the deep emerald sofa nearest the fire.

"Please, take a seat." Lyra sinks into the cushions with an appreciative sigh, curling one leg beneath herself as she cradles her teacup between both hands.

"I could fall asleep right here." She comments.

"I'd consider it rather rude if you did." He says with a soft smile.

"I've been reading constitutional law." She challenges him.

"...I retract my statement. I'd consider it understandable." She grins over the rim of her mug.

"See? You are funny."

"I've been accused of it once or twice." He dryly says, only causing her to laugh even more.

"I would've guessed exactly zero."

"I'm cultivating an air of mystery."

"It mostly comes across as intimidation."

"I'll have to work on that." The crackling fire settles into a comfortable silence between them. Neither seems particularly eager to fill it. Instead, they simply enjoyed each other's company.

"So..." she says after another moment. "Tell me something embarrassing about yourself." She recalls how Lavender and Parvati forced the entire girls dormitory to partake in '20 Questions', a muggle game they learned while visiting America over the summer before third year.

Orion nearly chokes on his sip. "That was unexpectedly direct." She shrugs and watches him. He considers her request for a long moment. "I don't know that I have many embarrassing stories."

Lyra gives him a look. "That's impossible."

"I was a very responsible child."

"You were born eighty years old, weren't you?"

"...Possibly."

"Come on. Everyone has one."

He sighs in theatrical defeat. "When I was eight, Father decided I ought to begin learning formal ballroom dancing. It was to prepare me for future diplomatic gatherings."

"I can already tell this ends badly." She comments.

"It does." His ears turn the slightest shade pink. "I was practicing a turn with one of the house elves standing in as my partner. And I became... overconfident."

"Naturally."

"I attempted a rather ambitious spin."

"And?"

"I spun directly into one of the ballroom's marble columns."

She bursts into laughter. "You didn't!"

"I did." He solemnly nods his head. Tears form in the corners of her eyes as she laughs harder.

"Oh, Merlin..."

"My father was attempting to be encouraging. He said, 'Excellent enthusiasm, Orion. Perhaps next time aim for your partner.'" Lyra has to to set her mug down before she drops it from how hard she is laughing.

"I cannot picture little you doing that."

"It is fortunate there were very few witnesses." She finally catches her breath. Orion leans back in his chair, still smiling. "Your turn."

"My turn?"

"You insisted everyone has an embarrassing childhood story."

Lyra groans dramatically. "I really did trap myself with that one."

"You did."

She pretends to think for a moment before pointing a finger at him. "You are not allowed to laugh too hard."

"I make no promises." He holds his hands out in front of him protectively.

"Wonderful. When I was about eight, I decided I wanted to fly." She begins.

"...Most magical children do." Orion furrows his eyebrows in confusion.

"Not on a broom." She says. He looks immediately concerned. She carefully changes a few things to avoid addressing her original upbringing. "I found one of the tallest oak trees on the estate. I climbed all the way to the top. I tied my aunt's favorite blanket around my shoulders."

"...As a cape?" He asks.

"As a cape." She nods in confirmation. "I was absolutely convinced that something would simply... activate and let me fly so I jumped." His eyes widen in horror. "And I discovered gravity is remarkably reliable."

"Were you hurt?" He asks in worry.

"I was fine," she waves her hand dismissively, "my magic may have not let me fly, but it certainly kept me alive." Her magic must've been working overtime with keeping Harry and her alive with all the beatings and malnutrition. After confirming she was okay, Orion allows himself to laugh. "You promised!" She points at him accusingly.

"I promised nothing." He defends himself.

"I landed in one of aunt's rose bushes." She continues. "My pride suffered catastrophic injuries." She sighs.

"And your aunt?"

Lyra groans and tries to hide a flinch. Petunia was livid when she discovered her crushes roses and Lyra went without a full meal for a week. She relied on the small scraps that Harry was able to sneak her. "She was so angry. She looked at me, and yelled, 'Next time, at least choose a softer landing!'"

Orion says, "For what it's worth, I can imagine eight-year-old you believing a blanket would allow you to fly."

She gasps dramatically. "Is that an insult?"

"It's an observation." He points out.

"It sounds suspiciously like an insult." She sniffs in fake offense.

"I assure you, I mean it affectionately." He grins at her and she smiles into her tea.

"I'll accept that answer."

"And," Orion adds with the faintest trace of mischief, "I suspect eight-year-old you would have ignored anyone who tried to talk you out of it."

Lyra laughs. "I absolutely would have."

"I thought as much." He shakes his head fondly. "I have known you only a short time, Lyra, and somehow that story makes perfect sense." She can't explain why, but hearing him say her name so naturally makes her smile just a little wider.

The two spent a few more hours in the drawing room, trading childhood stories and stealing a few touches here and there.

•••

Professor Armando Dippet looks over the parchment resting on his desk before removing his spectacles. "Lady Peverell, thank you for coming." Lyra inclines her head politely before taking the offered seat. She had written to him asking to join the school as a seventh year so she can get the socialization she needs after being home schooled. She carefully eyes the corner of the room where Professor Albus Dumbledore quietly sets a tray of tea upon a side table before taking a chair himself. His expression is pleasant but curious, studying her with the same interest one might reserve for a particularly unusual magical artifact. She knows he is wondering about the Elder Wand and makes it a point to not look him in the eyes. "So," Dippet begins, folding his hands together, "you wished to enroll as a Hogwarts student."

"Yes, Headmaster."

"I admit, your request is... rather unprecedented." He opens a leather folder bearing the Hogwarts seal. "As you know, before we could consider admission, we requested that your educational qualifications be sent over to us." Lyra nods. "I must say, your examiners when you took these exams were... impressed." He slides the parchment across the desk. "You demonstrated competency beyond a fully qualified graduate."

N.E.W.Ts Results

Charms — Outstanding

Defence Against the Dark Arts — Outstanding

Transfiguration — Outstanding

Potions — Exceeds Expectations

Ancient Runes — Outstanding

Arithmancy — Exceeds Expectations

Herbology — Outstanding

Dippet closes the folder. "Which brings us to our difficulty." He sighs, sounding genuinely apologetic. "Hogwarts exists to educate witches and wizards. Based upon these results, there is very little we could teach you at the student level."

"I see." She expected that answer, but a slight disappointment feeling settles in her chest.

"I hope you understand this is not a criticism. It would simply be inappropriate to place someone who has already demonstrated N.E.W.T.-level proficiency back into seventh-year classes." There is a brief silence. Professor Dumbledore glances at the report once more.

"If I may, Headmaster?" Dippet nods. Dumbledore looks toward Lyra and she tries to not squirm under his twinkling eyes. "Lady Peverell. You mentioned in your application that your education was... irregular."

"It was." She nods.

"And yet you've clearly worked very hard to reach this standard. There may be another possibility."

Dippet's eyebrows rise, catching onto what was being implied. "The teaching assistantship?"

"I was thinking the same." Dumbledore nods. Lyra looks between them.

"I'm sorry...the what?"

"Professor Merrythought requested additional assistance for practical Defence lessons next year." Dippet informs her.

"And Professor Kettleburn," Dumbledore adds with the ghost of a smile, "has once again managed to reduce the number of assistants willing to work with him."

Lyra blinked. "Should I be concerned?"

"Only if you become attached to your eyebrows." Dumbledore grins. The Headmaster reaches into another folder and withdraws a single parchment.

"Hogwarts occasionally appoints recent graduates as teaching assistants." He states.

"They help supervise practical lessons," Dumbledore explained. "Prepare classroom materials, oversee study sessions, assist students who require additional guidance, and occasionally demonstrate advanced spellwork." Lyra stares at the contract. She remembers Hermione was one for numerous classes when she went back to Hogwarts for her 8th year.

"We've been struggling to fulfill their requests due to a lack of qualified and willing applicants; however, you have the qualifications and hopefully the willingness to help teach them." Dipper nods his head. "The position would begin on the first of September, should you accept."

Lyra rests her fingertips on the parchment. Returning to Hogwarts as a student had been a dream, wanting to be somewhere she was familiar with while also beginning her journey of being a voice for the Dark aligned families would've been perfect. Returning as someone who could still spend every day within its walls...perhaps that was enough.

"I'd be honored to accept." She finally says.

Dippet smiles warmly. "Excellent." He offers his hand. "Then welcome to Hogwarts, Miss Peverell." As she shook it, she ignores how Dumbledore regards her with quiet curiosity. She knows that he will be an issue sooner rather than later, but she will always have a soft spot for her once Headmaster.

"I do have one concern," she says with a grin, "what are the rules around teacher assistant-student relationships?" Dippet and Dumbledore both seem to choke on air at that question and she stifles her laughter.

•••

The great bronze doors of the Wizengamot chamber groan open. A herald strikes the marble floor three times with an ebony staff. "Lady Lyra Peverell, Head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell." The announcement echoes throughout the circular chamber. Lyra really should've gotten more into politics in her other timelines. Harry and her never saw the need to take their seat, instead just having Dumbledore be the proxy until his death and then handing it over to Neville when he became of age. Lyra takes a slow breath, squaring her shoulders and stepping inside. As Lyra crosses the chamber toward her seat, whispers follow in her wake.

"The Peverell seat..."

"I thought it would remain dormant forever."

"She's so young..."

"Is that truly the heir?"

She forces herself not to listen. Instead, she focuses on the empty seat near the center of the Dark faction. The dormant Peverell crest hangs above it—faded, translucent, almost ghostlike. As she steps before the chair, every rune carved into the ancient stone suddenly ignites. The faded Hallows symbol shimmers, growing solid before everyone's eyes. She carefully takes her seat and ignores the stares, instead looking at Chief Warlock Shafiq. He rises from the central dais.

"Let the record show that, by ancient magic and lawful succession, the Seat of Peverell is restored. The House of Peverell is recognized." Every enchanted quill throughout the chamber scratches across parchment simultaneously. "Now, today we revisit the matter concerning the proposed Creatures' Rights Bill." Lyra tunes out the talking, merely observing how many families stay silent while very few at outspoken. After a few hours of debating, Chief Warlock Shafiq requests for each family to vote.

"The House of Peverell abstains." She says, her crest turning a brilliant silver. She needs to become more familiar with court before making any decisions about how her house will vote. After everyone votes, the court is in a stand-still. Too many people abstained and not enough people voted aye. It appears that Yaxley will need to compromise with the grey faction to get his bill approved. After the session is concluded, Lords and Ladies drift from the chamber into the adjoining galleries, forming small circles of conversation over glasses of elf-made wine and enchanted hors d'oeuvres. Politics resume almost immediately. Lyra is beginning to understand why Orion had warned her that the real work of the Wizengamot often happened after the session adjourned.

"Lady Peverell." She turns, offering a practiced smile.

"Lord Greengrass."

The older wizard inclines his head. "A pleasure to finally meet the lady responsible for restoring one of Britain's oldest Houses."

"The pleasure is mine." After another exchange of pleasantries—and what felt like the hundredth subtle attempt to determine where exactly she'd come from—Lyra politely excuses herself.

"I hope you'll forgive me, my lord. I believe I owe Lord Black a conversation."

"Of course."

She slips into one of the quieter marble corridors ringing the chamber, grateful for a moment away from dozens of curious eyes. Her shoulders relax as she breaths a sigh of relief. "So this," she murmurs to herself, "is politics." Harry and her were right to stay out of this.

"You sound disappointed." She smiles as Orion appears and falls into step beside her. He is unable to speak in Wizengamot meetings due to only being a heir, but he is able tot attend, watch and mingle afterwards.

"I think I spoke to more people in the last hour than I usually do in a month." She admits.

"You handled yourself well." Orion's hand brushes against hers, giving her a brief squeeze of support before tucking his hands behind his back.

"Thank you," she says. Before Orion can reply, another pair of voices echo around the corner.

"...I still say Abraxas is going to regret proposing that amendment."

"Nonsense. He'll simply insist it was misunderstood." The men round the corridor together. One is Lord Arcturus Black.The other...Lyra's breath catches so briefly that no one else would have noticed.

Messy black hair. A warm, easy smile. The same habit of absentmindedly pushing his fringe away from his forehead. Even the way he walked...for one impossible heartbeat...Lyra's heart screams.

Harry.

No.

Not Harry.

Her gaze instinctively lifts. His eyes are a rich, warm brown. Not the startling emerald green that belong to Lily Potter's son. The illusion shatters instantly. This must be Fleamont, their grandfather. Of course, she had read his name only the night before. She had expected to meet him eventually, but she hadn't expected to see such a resemblance to her brother.

Harry looks so much like him. It isn't an exact match. Harry's face is leaner, younger, carrying years of hardship no child should have known. Fleamont stands taller, broader across the shoulders, dressed impeccably, with laugh lines gathered around his eyes from a life that had clearly contained more joy than sorrow. Despite that, the resemblance is enough to make something deep inside her chest ache. She realizes a fraction too late that they are approaching Orion and her. She forces her expression into one of polite composure.

"Heir Orion," Fleamont greets cheerfully.

"Lord Potter." The two men exchange a cordial handshake before Arcturus gestures toward Lyra.

"May I introduce Lady Lyra Peverell." Fleamont's attention shifts to her and there is genuine curiosity in his expression.

"So the rumors were true." He offers a respectful bow of his head. "My Lady."

She returns the gesture flawlessly. "Lord Potter."

"It is an honor to meet the witch who has awakened the Peverell seat." He grins at her.

"You're very kind." She tells herself to keep it together, this is not Harry, this isn't the boy you grew up with and fought beside with.

"I merely speak the truth." He chuckles. Lyra curls her fingers together behind the folds of her robes where no one could see them shaking. "You've certainly given the chamber something to discuss," Fleamont continues. "I'm afraid we're a curious lot."

"So I've noticed." Lyra comments with a grin.

"I won't monopolize your time. I simply wished to offer my congratulations." He bids his goodbyes.

"Thank you, my lord."

"It was a pleasure." He winks playfully at her.

"And you." With another courteous nod, Fleamont continues down the corridor beside Lord Black, their conversation quickly turning back to committee appointments and legislative schedules. Lyra remains perfectly still until they disappear around the corner. Only then does she release the breath she'd unconsciously been holding.

"So," Orion says quietly beside her, "that was Lord Fleamont Potter."

"It was."

"You seem thoughtful." He observes, frowning a bit.

She keeps her eyes fixed on the empty corridor. "I was just..." She searches for a believable answer. "...reminiscing. My grandfather told me the Peverells and Potters are closely related and Fleamont shares a strong resemblance to someone I lost." Orion gazes at her with sadness and offers his arm to her. She softly shakes her head to the hidden question in his eyes if she wanted to talk about it.

"My lady, may I escort you to the fantastic local ice cream shop?" He asks, deciding that a distraction is a better idea.

"You may, my lord." She plays along, taking his elbow with her hand and the two start to leave the building. Lyra glances once over her shoulder toward the corridor where Fleamont had vanished.

It was like catching a glimpse of Harry decades before he would ever exist. For just a fleeting moment, it had felt as though time itself had folded in on her.

She smiles to herself.

He gets it from you, she thinks, her chest tightening with equal parts joy and sorrow. Every bit of that messy hair, crooked smile...Harry must've gotten it from you.