Style // Sirius Black

Chapter XLIX

Cowards die many times before their death;

The valiant never taste death but once.

— William Shakespeare

—

The letter arrived at the Potter-Black household in Barnton around four o'clock on a Thursday. Sirius and Lyra had moved into their place a few weeks prior—and had finally settled in. It was nearing the end of January, and the snow fell over their cottage like a blanket. It arrived at the window she stood by, attached to the foot of an owl. She was bent over the edge of a crib, the wood digging into her stomach as she stared at the empty bed.

It was Sirius's idea to have a nursery decorated. Lyra had scolded him and said he was looking too far into the future, getting too ahead of himself. She wasn't expecting, nor were they actively trying. She wanted to get married first, but there was a lack of a ring on her finger, and a war raged too close to her heart and mind. It wasn't time for them just yet, but still, Lyra often found herself standing over the empty bed when Sirius was away.

The pecking at the window caught Lyra by surprise, and she jumped back from the wooden bassinet, nearly tripping over one of the rugs layered on the ground. The blonde twisted around to see the owl sitting there, whacking its head on the window in a feverish attempt to get her attention. Lyra ambled towards it on wooden legs and unlocked the rickety window, swiftly untying the twine on the animal's leg and tearing the letter open.

Anytime she received a letter—it was never good news.

Recently, things had been looking good for the side of the war she stood on. Her legilimency had been used to glance into the minds of various Death Eaters during battle, and the Order was able to infiltrate various hideouts. They'd begun to rely heavily on Pierre Montagne's insight and the information he'd get from Voldemort directly. His letters had become slightly infrequent now, and it struck fear through the entire Order as they were left blind to most attacks.

According to his last letter, Scarlett had become more of a problem than he had anticipated. Most of his words didn't make sense, and everything was rushed—Lyra wouldn't deny that it startled her. Pierre had alluded to another traitor among the ranks of the Order, claiming he thought he may have seen one of them at a Death Eater meeting. All Lyra was able to get out of him was that it was a man with a frail body type and rugged hair.

That didn't narrow down the choices.

It appeared that Lyra wouldn't be getting a letter from Pierre anytime soon.

Lyra,

I hope you know that this little stunt you've pulled with the Montagne boy hasn't gone unrecorded to the Dark Lord himself. Thank you, though, for helping me learn more about your brother and friends.

Montagne was buried by your family manor—You live there, don't you? Beautiful place.

Best wishes,

Scarlett

The door shutting from the floor below Lyra prompted a yelp from her lips. She raced from the nursery, slamming the door after her; she spiralled down the stairs towards where Sirius now stood. He had snowflakes ornamenting his hair and a rosy-red nose to match. Lyra halted her feet a few centimetres from her lover, hands shaking as she lifted the piece of parchment to him. Sirius took it from her hand and wrapped an arm around her waist, hugging her to his chest as he unfolded the crumpled writing.

He whispered sweet nothings into the top of her head after dropping the paper onto the wooden floor beneath them. Silence crept into their minds as he wound both of his arms tighter around the blonde, keeping her close to his chest. It wasn't the fact that Pierre had died that seemed to shake Lyra to her core—but the fact that she had unbeknownst slipped information about her brother's whereabouts and more details on the Order to Scarlett without even knowing. Or perhaps it was that the woman and many Death Eaters had been near the Potter manor so soon after Sirius and Lyra had moved into a place of their own.