CHAPTER TWO

GRINGOTTS

THE morning sounds of birds chirping wake Lyra up. She yawns, stretching in the guest bed the Black Family made up for her. She perched herself upwards onto her elbows and groans. "Death." She freely calls out, "is there anyway I can talk to Harry? I feel myself going crazy." A moment of pure silence surrounds her before an intense feeling of cold washes over her as a bony hand appears out of the dark, holding a mirror. She smiles and happily takes the mirror. "This is why you'll always be my favorite deity!" A chuckle sounds from the darkness. She taps on the mirror and sucks in a deep breath to prepare herself for the yelling she'll surely receive. "Show me Harry Potter." The mirror shimmers and silver light ripples across its surface before clearing like disturbed water. A familiar bedroom comes into view and reveals a familiar person with the same messy black hair and green eyes.

Harry freezes when he looks at his mirror. "...Lyra?"

She smiles so widely her cheeks hurt. "Hi."

For one heartbeat, he simply stares. Then he crosses the room in three long strides until his face nearly fills the mirror. "You're alive." He breaths out in relief and his eyes trace over her face.

"I am."

"Where are you?"

"...That's a difficult question."

"No." His voice sharpens. "It's actually a very simple one."

"Harry—"

"Where are you?"

She winces. "I can't tell you."

His jaw tightens. "You can't..." His eyes narrow. "or you won't?"

"I physically can't."

"So it's Fate." She nods once.

"It's Fate." Before either of them can continue, the bedroom door bursts open. Ron Weasley wanders inside carrying a piece of toast.

"Mate, Hermione's losing her mi-" He stops, looks in the mirror, looks at Harry, looks back at the mirror before taking a bite out of his toast. "Blimey, I've definitely hit my head."

"Morning, Ron. You haven't."

"You disappeared into thin air a week ago." He says.

"A week? It's only been a day for me." She furrows her eyebrows, not liking the time difference between dimensions.

"And now you're chatting through a magic mirror." Ron takes another thoughtful bite of toast. "Honestly, this isn't even in the top five weirdest things you've done."

Harry shoots him an incredulous look. "The top five?"

"She once convinced Death to play chess." Ron defends himself. "That's pretty weird!"

"I won." She beams.

"You cheated." Ron points out.

"I improvised." She snaps back. Before Ron can answer, hurried footsteps echo down the hallway.

"Harry!" Hermione practically flies through the doorway, her arms stacked so high with books that she can barely see over them. "I've found three more references to spontaneous magical displacement and if we compare them to—" She sees the mirror and every book crashes onto the floor. "Lyra."

"Hermione." Lyra smiles at her best friend.

"You're alive! Are you injured? Have you been poisoned? Are you under magical coercion? Were you Obliviated? Kidnapped? Cursed? Is the atmosphere breathable? Have you eaten? Do you know where you are? Can you get home? Can we get to you? Can—"

"Hermione." Hermione stops and stares at her in worry. "I'm okay."

Hermione angrily points at the mirror. "You disappeared into a tear in reality! That's not okay!"Hermione begins pacing. "This doesn't make sense."

"It rarely does."

"No, Lyra, you don't understand."

"I probably do."

"I've checked every text in the Restricted Section and in the Black family library!"

Harry looks over. "You did what?"

"I had permission." Hermione sticks her chin up.

Ron mutters, "That's somehow even scarier."

"There are no documented cases of someone surviving what happened to you! Texts say the person usually appears as a pile of bones!"

"Well, I survived."

"For now." Ron mumbles.

"That isn't the point!" Hermione ignores him.

"It usually isn't."

Harry crosses his arms. "Enough." Everyone looks at him. "What happened?"

Lyra hesitates. "I ended up somewhere safe." Harry immediately catches the wording.

"Safe?" He repeats.

"Yes."

"With who?"

"...A family."

"What family?"

"I can't tell you."

Harry exhales sharply through his nose. "You can't tell me."

"No."

"You expect me to accept that?"

"No. But I need you to."

"I hate cosmic rules."

"I know."

"I hate them even more when they involve you."

"I know."

Hermione suddenly stops pacing. "Wait. You said you were with a family."

"Yes."

"They're treating you well?"

"They have."

"They haven't hurt you?"

"No."

"They aren't forcing you to stay?"

Lyra hesitates again. "Not exactly."

Harry's eyes snap back to hers and a look of pure hostility crosses his face. "What does that mean?"

She scratches the back of her neck. "It means...I've accidentally become someone's soulmate."

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Harry blinks once. "What." Ron chokes on his toast. Hermione looks ready to faint.

"I accidentally became someone's soulmate."

Harry rubs both hands over his face. "How."

"Ancient ritual."

"Of course it was."

"I didn't volunteer."

"No, because that would make too much sense!"

Ron finally recovers enough to speak. "So..." He grins. "...are you able to tell us who the poor bloke is?"

"Ron." Hermione sighs.

"What? I'm just asking." He shrugs. Harry leans over and slaps the back of his head. Ron rubs the back of his head and shoves Harry away from him. "Is he handsome?"

"Meh." She shrugs.

"Meh?" Ron gasps. "This poor bloke! You're his soulmate and you don't even find him attractive. How sad." He raises his eyebrows. "So are we talking Cedric Diggory looks, Draco Malfoy looks, or Sirius Black looks?" Harry and Hermione send him an exhausted look. "What? It's not my fault she found them attractive."

"Can we please focus?" Hermione snaps.

"I am focusing." Ron argues back. "This is important information." Hermione throws her hands into the air.

"This is a magical catastrophe! And you're concerned about looks!"

Ron shrugs. "It's also a bit funny."

"It is not funny!"

"It's a little funny."

Harry interrupts before Hermione could explode. "Lyra. Is he treating you properly?"

"It's been a day." She dryly responds.

"Has he threatened you?"

"No."

"Has anyone else?"

"No."

"You'd tell me if they had?"

She smiles softly. "I would."

"If anyone lays a finger on you—"

"Harry."

"I mean it."

"I know."

"I don't care if they're kings, ministers, ancient families, or Merlin himself."

Ron nods enthusiastically. "I'll help."

"That sounds dangerous." Lyra laughs.

Ron grins. "It's usually how we end up saving the world."

Hermione pinches the bridge of her nose. "Please don't encourage him."

"I'm already encouraged," Ron says proudly. Harry ignores both of them.

"What's his name?"

Lyra sighs and sees if Fate will allow her to say. "...Orion." No last name.

"Orion." He frowns. "I don't like him."

"You've never met him."

"Don't need to." He scoffs.

Ron snorts. "Protective brother mode activated." Harry doesn't deny it.

"He needs to earn my approval." Harry says.

Lyra laughs. "I don't think he knows he's being evaluated."

"He is now."

Hermione looks horrified. "Harry!"

"What?"

"You can't threaten someone you've never met!"

"I'm not threatening him."

Ron coughs. "Yet."

A knock sounds at Lyra's bedroom door which causes them all the go quiet. "Lady Peverell?" Harry raises an eyebrow at that and gives her a look. She shrugs innocently. "It is Orion. Breakfast is prepared, and Father wishes to depart for Gringotts shortly."

Harry's entire posture changes and his eyes narrow. "That's him?" He whispers.

"...Yes."

"He sounds polite." Hermione says, elbowing Harry in the side.

"He is."

Harry still looks suspicious. "That proves nothing."

Ron leans closer to the mirror. "You never said what kind of looks."

"Sirius Black," she whispers. Harry groans as Ron cackles and Hermione fondly shakes her head.

"Go. Don't keep them waiting." Hermione says. She looks at her, her eyes glistening with worry. "And please... be careful."

"I will."

Harry steps closer to the mirror one last time. "If you need me...I don't care what impossible rule is stopping you or what Fate wants." His voice softens. "I'll find a way."

Lyra smiles sadly. "I know you will. I love you guys."

"We love you too!" The image of the trio vanishes as Lyra gently places the mirror under her pillow. She sucks in a deep breath to gather her courage before getting up.

"Lady Peverell? Is everything alright?" Orion asks.

"Everything is fine, Heir Black. I simply need to get dressed. I will be down in a moment." She responds.

"I will wait outside, Lady Peverell. I wish to escort you to the dining room." Lyra waits until she hears Orion's footsteps retreat a respectful distance down the corridor before letting out a long sigh. "Right," she mutters to herself. "Time to pretend I know what I'm doing." She pulls the wardrobe doors open. Inside hangs several sets of robes that had clearly belonged to previous guests of House Black. They had already been altered overnight to fit her perfectly—a testament either to Black house-elves or Black efficiency. "That's only mildly terrifying." She selects a simple set of deep forest-green robes trimmed with silver embroidery. They are elegant without being pretentious, and after quickly brushing her hair into something resembling respectability, she fastens the silver Peverell pendant around her neck. The pendant pulses once against her skin, almost reassuringly. Lyra catches her reflection in the mirror. "You've lied to Dark Lords. You've argued with Fate. You've beaten Death at chess." A pause. "You can survive breakfast, you bad bitch."

Opening the bedroom door, she finds Orion standing exactly where he'd promised, hands folded neatly behind his back. He looks up immediately. For just a fraction of a second, surprise crosses his face. The green robes suit her, he thinks. They bring out the brightness of her eyes and soften the exhaustion that had lingered there the previous evening. He recovers almost instantly. "Good morning, Lady Peverell."

She smiles politely. "Good morning... Orion." The use of his given name catches him slightly off guard. "You may call me Lyra."

He inclines his head. "Very well... Lyra." An awkward silence settles between them. Neither seems entirely certain how one behaved around someone Fate had declared to be their soulmate less than twelve hours earlier. Finally, Orion clears his throat and offers his elbow for her to take which she gladly does. They begin their walk to the dining room. "I trust you rested well?"

"I slept like someone who fell through the ceiling."

"...I imagine that is exhausting."

"You'd be surprised." One corner of Orion's mouth twitches. Lyra takes the walk to observe her surroundings. Sunlight pours through towering stained-glass windows depicting the Black constellation. Portraits watch them pass with unconcealed curiosity. Several whisper.

"Is that her?"

"The Peverell girl?"

"The soulmate?"

"You get used to them eventually," Orion says quietly.

"The portraits?"

"They gossip."

"They're worse than Hogwarts portraits." She snorts before realizing what she just said.

He blinks. "You've been to Hogwarts?"

"...I visited once with my grandfather to complete my OWLs and NEWTs." She corrects herself so smoothly that Orion almost believed it. As they descend the grand staircase, the scent of fresh bread and tea drifts through the manor.

"I should warn you," Orion says. "My family has... opinions."

Lyra laughs softly. "I gathered that."

"My uncle Pollux remains unconvinced."

"I gathered that too."

"My mother likes you." Now, that surprises her. The woman looked annoyed last night when they were briefly introduced.

"...Already?"

"You thanked the house-elf who prepared your room."

"Shouldn't I have?" She asks curiously.

"You'd be surprised how many don't." A small knot forms in Lyra's stomach as she recalls a practically brave house-elf named Dobby. An elf that she likely will never speak to again. Another reminder that, despite all its similarities, this world wasn't hers.

The dining room doors open and all conversation stops. Every member of the Black family is already seated around an impossibly long mahogany table. Lord Arcturus occupies the head with Lady Melania sat to his right. Pollux and Irma watch Lyra with unreadable expressions. Their children are sitting to their right. Walburga stares openly along with Cygnus, both for different reasons while Alphard just stares at his food. Cassiopeia looks as though she had spent the entire night thinking of questions. Dorea smiles warmly as Charlus Potter gives her an encouraging nod.

Arcturus rises as she entered. "Lady Peverell."

She dips into a graceful curtsy. "My Lord Black."

"You are just in time." He gestures toward the empty chairs to his left. "Please sit." She carefully takes her seat with Orion sitting next to her. She glances to her right to see Lucretia staring at her in amusement. Lyra looks at the table, taking note of what was served: Fresh bread. Eggs. Fruit. Tea. Oh, how she will miss Molly's breakfast spreads.

The silence lasts only until everyone has been served their food. Then Pollux speaks. "I trust you slept well." His tone suggests he hoped otherwise.

"Very well, thank you."

"Hm." Melania shoots Pollux a warning glance. He ignores it. "You seem remarkably composed for someone who materialized during an ancient family ritual."

Lyra butters a piece of toast before answering. "I've learned panicking rarely improves a situation." Alphard snorts into his tea and tries to cough to cover it up when he gets sent a glare by his parents.

"You display remarkable calm."

"I've had practice." She takes a bite out of her toast, staring down Pollux. The two engaging in a stare down while the members of the Black family watch in amusement or worry. Arcturus finally sets down his teacup.

"Once breakfast concludes..." Every eye turns toward him, "we shall depart for Gringotts. The goblins will determine whether the blood of the Peverells truly flows through your veins."

Lyra simply nods. "I understand." She reaches for her teacup and takes a sip while hiding her own amusement at the situation. She cannot wait to see what Fate has done to accomplish whatever game she was playing at now.

***

Lyra waves at the goblins, snickering to herself at their expressions and the astonished looks she gets from the other wixens. Arcturus and Orion stroll in front of her, quietly discussing something that obviously involves her with the amount of glances she gets from the duo. "We have an appointment with Ripfang." Arcturus says to the goblin at the desk. The goblin merely glares at them before disappearing for a moment and reappearing with another more formal looking goblin.

"Lord Black, Heir Black and," the goblin pauses when he looks at Lyra before wickedly smiling, "Lady Peverell, welcome. Follow me." They follow him deep into the corridors, taking a lot of turns until they stop at giant doors. "This is in the Inheritance Chamber," they enter. "Lady Peverell, please follow me. Lord Black and Heir Black, you may take a seat." Lyra follows Ripfang to the middle of the room where more runes are etched into the floor. She winces and hopes that she doesn't end up in another timeline or dimension. "Lady Peverell, Lord Black wishes for confirmation of your heritage." Ripfang looks amused at this as if already knowing the answer. "Please cut your finger and place three drops of blood onto the runes." He holds out a tiny needle toward her.

"Just checking, this isn't going to summon anything with sharp teeth and claws or throw me into another country, right?" Ripfang merely grins at her. She shrugs. "I'll take that as it's safe." She carefully takes it and pricked her finger, leaning down to watch the three drops of blood drip onto the runes. The runes glow for a movement before a long scroll appears. "Lady Peverell, this way please." Ripfang takes the scroll and the two join the Black men at the table. "As you can see, she is who she says she is." The three take a look at the scroll Ripfang sets down.

NAME:
LYRA JASMINE PEVERELL

FAMILY:
ELIAS JAMES PEVERELL (Pureblood;,father; deceased)
CORDELIA LILY PEVERELL NÉE EVANS (Pureblood; mother;deceased)
HADRIAN JAMES PEVERELL (Pureblood; brother; deceased)

INHERITANCE:
PEVERELL LINE – VERIFIED DESCENT (DIRECT BLOOD INHERITANCE)

SECONDARY LINEAGE: POTTER BLOODLINE ANOMALOUS LINK – REGISTERED

TERTIARY ASSOCIATION:
BLACK SOULMATE – BOND ACKNOWLEDGED

VAULTS:
Peverell Main Vault
Peverell Branch Vault
Black Soulmate Vault
Potter Branch Vault

"Potter?" Arcturus furrows his eyebrows in confusion.

"The Peverell and the Potter lines frequently intermixed throughout the centuries." Ripfang explains. "Lady Peverell appears to have a great grandparent from the Potter side branch lineage. She has limited access to the branch vault, but is unable to claim any lordship or power unless all Potters die. Now, Lady Peverell, the next item to discuss is private. Would you like for Lord Black and Heir Black to wait in the lobby for you?"

"I hope you understand," Lyra softly smiles at Orion, "until we are married, private family matters need to stay private."

"Married," Orion repeats and blinks in surprise.

"Yes, married. That is one of the upcoming steps after a soulmate bond is established." She muses.

"We have gained the information we needed. Thank you for your time, Ripfang. We will see you when you are finished, Lady Peverell." Arcturus says while standing up.

"Please, call me Lyra." She informs the Black men with a grin. "We are going to be family one day." The Black men incline their heads and leave, being escorted out by another goblin. Lyra waits for them to leave before spinning around toward Ripfang with a wicked grin. "Now, how much do you actually know?"

"We can sense it in your magic," Ripfang bares his pointed teeth, "you have been touched by death many times. The only way you qualify to act as the head of the Peverell family is if you had possession of the deathly hallows and have died at least once. It appears," he snaps his fingers and an intricate black box appears on the table, "you have met those conditions." She giggles, opening the box to reveal the Peverell ring.

The band is a seamless circle of deep black metal—too smooth for forging, almost like polished obsidian that has forgotten it was ever stone. It seems to absorb brightness and return it softer, dimmer. Inside the band, just barely visible when Lyra tilts her hand, are etched runes so fine they resemble threads of silver dust woven into the metal itself. At the center of the ring's outer face sits the Peverell mark. A single rune—ancient, older than most magical alphabets still in use—engraved so deeply it looks less carved and more burned into existence. She carefully places it on her right ring finger and sucks in a breath when her magic connects with it. An explosion of power emits from her.

"This ring means you can now claim your ancestral Peverell seat on the Wizengamot. I do believe your family holds four votes due to your history. When you and Heir Black marry, you can also act as his proxy whenever he is unable to attend meetings." Ripfang leans forward, carefully eyeing her. "I do urge caution with whatever you decide to do for the future. I see chaos and darkness in your heart and head."

"That is the sweetest thing someone has ever said to me." She smiles at him, rising from his seat. "Thank you for your help, I'll be heading out now. May your coffers never empty."

"And may your enemies be stricken down." Ripfang bids goodbye. Lyra leaves with a skip to her step. Lyra had barely taken three steps out of the Inheritance Chamber when the temperature shifts. The torchlight along the corridor flicker as if it had suddenly remembered fear. Even the goblins in the distance go still—heads tilting, ears twitching, instincts sharpening toward something that did not belong in Gringotts' careful order. "Oh, don't start with me," she mutters under her breath. A tall figure leans out of the darkness, cloaked in that same impossible absence, skeletal hands relaxing at its sides, it tilts its head toward her. Death. "Don't look at me like that," Lyra says immediately. "I just got legal authority over a bloodline. I'm not in the mood."

Death makes a soft sound that might have been laughter if laughter had ever learned to echo inside graves. "You are never in the mood." he replies.

She narrows her eyes, remembering that he likely overheard her conversations with the trio earlier. "If you're here to complain about the chess rematch—"

"I am not," Death interrupts. Death's head tilts slightly further, as if considering her from an angle most things were never meant to be observed from. "I came to inform you," it says, voice quieter now, "that your new status will make certain people... annoyed."

"That's ominous," she says. "I don't like when you sound like paperwork."

Death continues, completely unfazed. "The Wizengamot will try to classify you. The goblins will try to contain you. The Blacks will try to claim you. The Potters will panic if they learn why you exist in their ledgers at all." He stares at her sternly. "Grindelwald will try to kidnap you and Riddle will try to kill you and Dumbledore will be watching your every move."

Lyra sighs. "So a normal Tuesday, then."

Then Death adds, far too casually. "Oh, and your soulmate's ancestors are already arguing about your wedding seating chart."

"...They what?"

"I was curious about the family you are joining," Death says, as if that explained everything. "So I listened to the ancestors in my realm."

"You don't listen," she says slowly. "You stalk."

"I multitask."

There is a long silence in which Lyra seriously reconsidering every life decision that had led her to having administrative problems with metaphysical forces. Then she points at him. "Stop gossiping with noble bloodlines."

"No."

"Get out." Death pauses.

"...Pardon?"

"Out," she repeats. "Go haunt a cave. Or a prophecy. Or literally anyone else. I have goblin politics and inherited trauma to deal with."

For the first time, something like genuine hesitation flickers through the darkness under Death's hood. "I have one last thing to tell you." Lyra crosses her arms. "You're going to start a war," Death says lightly. "I just hope it's entertaining." He vanishes, leaving a gawking Lyra in the corridor alone.

She just knows Hermione is likely stressing about her right now and if she ever heard about this, this would only make it a hundred times worse.