Neither of them really knew what to talk about. Altair and Lyra simply walked side by side down Diagon Alley. They had recently resumed contact, more at their mother's insistence than out of any desire on their part. The girl glanced sideways at her brother. She would rather be anywhere else than next to him.
Suddenly, she looked at a bookshop.
Her gaze fell on a huge book, which must have weighed quite a bit, and a strong desire to throw it at his head arose in her mind.
Then she looked at a clothing shop. A purple tunic was on display. Lyra thought it would look good on her brother. It would match his eyes.
Her mind was playing tricks on her. One second she wanted to hurt him, and the next she wanted to protect him. As they walked, several people looked in their direction. They recognised them as Bellatrix's children.
Lately, photos of them had begun to circulate in newspapers. Peter and Arcturus' infiltration of Hogwarts was attributed to their mother, and they ended up getting tangled up again. The Minister had no affection for them. Somehow, he wanted to find a source for people to vent their hatred. Bellatrix was unavailable; she was in hiding. But what about her children?
Lyra had previously been protected by the Malfoys.They had lost power after the tragedy of their patriarch. And then they had begun to ignore Fudge, which did not sit well with him.
"Scum," whispered a man as he passed by her.
Lyra looked at him angrily. Despite everything, people didn't usually talk to her like that. Not when doing so meant angering the Malfoys. She turned to respond, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her.
"Ignore them," said her brother. He seemed unperturbed.
"I don't deserve to be treated like this," she said. Although she was aware that she needed to maintain decorum in public.
"No one deserves it," her brother agreed. "But what are you going to do? One aggressive move and they'll label you crazy like our mother," he continued. "They're just looking for an excuse." His words were reasonable, although he made sure to memorise the man's face.
"Great advice, coming from you," she replied sarcastically, seeing the truth in his words but too proud to say so. "The scar Snape left you suits you perfectly," she said.
She didn't mean to be so harsh, but she wasn't going to apologise.
"It's different."
"Malfoy's nose was different that day. Can't I break that idiot's nose, too?" she continued, complaining even though the man had already disappeared into the crowd. Their argument was better than the silence they had been walking in before.
"We're not at Hogwarts; that won't be a child's game. It'll be a crime," said her brother. 'And if you commit a crime, make sure nobody knows.' He added in his mind.
"You're calm, as if you don't care," she said, his stoicism annoying her.
"You get used to it over time," he said simply.
Lyra felt a knot in her stomach at those words. They had sounded so natural that she didn't doubt they were true. Still, it bothered her to know that her brother had gone through so much he didn't deserve.
"Are you finally going to tell me why we're going to Gringotts?" She changed the subject, not wanting to delve into the past.
"I want you to take something out of the Lestrange vault," Altair whispered in her ear.
" And what is tha-ahhh!" Lyra screamed in surprise.
A spell bounced right in front of her eyes. A barrier extended from Altair's golden wand. A drunk man stood in front of them, his wand drawn and pointed at them.
"They're the children of that bitch!" the man spat venomously.
Altair's jaw tightened. He had to restrain himself from casting a Sectumsempra on his neck. No matter how calm he pretended to be, all the looks of disdain he received bothered him.
"Isn't he the one who gave Harley the love potion?" Another voice came from the crowd.
James Potter had used that excuse for his daughter's videos. He didn't dare say it directly, he had subtly leaked those rumours.
He was trying to whitewash his daughter's image and, by extension, that of the Potter family.
"You seem to blame me for my mother's sins," Lyra said gently from beside him. Altair watched her personality change. Seconds ago, she had been talking about breaking someone's nose for insulting her, and now she wanted to talk to someone who had cast a spell on her.
"You're a crazy witch like your mother!" the same drunk man continued, his wand raised. The tip began to glow.
"Am I to assume that my mother killed someone in your family?" Lyra asked softly.
"My wife, she was the a muggleborn..." the man began to cry with sadness and rage. "Your whore of a mother took her from me! My daughter grew up without a mother because of her," his aggression subsided.
"I'm so sorry," said Lyra, apparently acting. "Life isn't fair," she said, approaching him.
Altair followed her, thinking what a good actress she was. If he didn't know her better, he would think she felt genuine remorse for the man.
"It isn't," the man stared at her. His wand fell from his hand. Part of his brain told him to calm down.
The crowd formed a circle around the man. Altair felt Lyra cast a silencing spell, and now the noise of the three of them was isolated. He felt uncomfortable.
"Yes... your wife was born to Muggles. Meanwhile, I was born into the Lestrange and Black family. Betrothed to the heir of the Malfoy family. With enough resources to make your little daughter's life a living hell." The man tensed and looked at her in horror. Lyra's eyes were beautiful as she spoke. She had an innocent smile on her face.
"Like your mother, you..." the man stammered. Altair prepared his wand.
"If you keep talking your daughter will be like her mother too," Lyra interrupted. She took the man's hand. He wondered if his sister was enjoying this. "Let's make a deal. I'll give your daughter the resources to excel. I'm sure, as a half-blood, she hasn't had it easy, right?" He received a nod in response.
"You're a damn..."
"A kind witch, so different from her mother. Even when a drunken old fool attacked her, she apologised and helped his daughter," Lyra said. "That's what you'll tell everyone. Do you agree? Or will your daughter have to regret your decisions?" The girl tilted her head.
Altair was surprised by this gesture, similar to his mother's when she did something stupid in her duelling training.
"Damn it, I accept,"
"Tell me about your daughter and what she specialises in," Lyra said.
The man began to talk about his daughter. When everything important had been said, he stepped out of the way. He looked more devastated than before, but also appeased.
The spell was broken and they both resumed their journey.
"Interesting. Why did you help his daughter? You could have threatened him," Altair asked curiously. He already sensed the answer. He didn't disapprove of his sister's methods. He wouldn't use them because he didn't give a damn about his public image.
"My plans require a good public image. I want them to speak well of me." she said "The best way to get someone to do something you want is to make them know they are inferior to you. Once they know that, you give them an olive branch. That way they will act based on two reasons, fear and gratitude," Lyra said. She did not mention how she used the Lestrange family magic to make the man do what she wanted. Altair nodded at her words.
"He's a drunk, he might let something slip," Altair continued. He wasn't worried at all.
Lyra looked thoughtful for a few seconds. She trusted her magic, but it could fail. Especially when there wasn't constant interaction. She wanted to dismiss his words as nonsense, but suddenly she wondered if he was right.
"He wasn't drunk. He just used it as an excuse," Altair said. "He didn't smell of alcohol at all," his senses were more refined than those of a human. She could smell whisky on McGonagall, even though the witch only drinks on weekends. "Besides, he's talking to Rita Skeeter now," he continued.
Lyra hugged Altair, a subtle movement so she could look back without appearing suspicious.
A few glances still followed them, but most seemed to be paying attention to the man and a blonde woman who, if dressed differently, would be incredibly beautiful. Altair froze in the embrace, wondering if his sister really didn't care. He saw the target, she used it to look surreptitiously, but he still felt uncomfortable. He didn't know if hugging her back would be a good idea.
Lyra stared longer than she should have, feeling extremely comfortable in her current position. Altair smelled different. Only slightly, more mature. And how could he not be, it had been years since she last hugged him.
Altair suddenly remembered the last time they had physical contact: Lyra had played with his penis. He found himself unable to understand his sister.
When she pulled away, Altair noticed she was walking happier. He hesitated, wondering if it was an act or if she was happy that his trick had worked.
"Skeeter seems happy."
"Obviously, she wants new content. They already talk a lot of trash about us, it'll be something innovative."
"Do you think he's going to say too much?" Lyra was still worried.
"No." Altair looked into his mind; the guy was genuine. "You'll read a good review about yourself tomorrow," she nodded.
Altair noticed something strange about the man. It was as if he was more receptive to Lyra's words. There was pure hatred in his mind. Lyra's manipulation meant that this hatred, while not extinguished, was replaced by logic. The logical thing was to get benefits for his daughter. Altair believed that Lyra had used magic on the man, although it was subtle, like some kind of Legilimency.
"So... what do you want me to take out of my vault?"
"Helga Hufflepuff's cup," he said, not before casting a privacy spell.
"What?"
Altair explained a little, not wanting to go into too much detail. He didn't want to get his sister involved in these matters. Lyra noticed that he wasn't telling her the whole truth, but strangely enough, she was in a very good mood, so she didn't ask for more details.
Curiously, they both ignored the previous hug. Even though it was unique for both of them.