FLUORESCENT ADOLESCENT ► harry potter ¹

024. Potter Stinks

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

THE LATE AFTERNOON LIGHT spilled into Dumbledore's office, though it seemed to hold a certain unease, as if even the sun hesitated to cast its glow too freely. Long, distorted shadows crept over the polished wood, stretching their reach across ancient artifacts that whispered forgotten secrets. Each flicker of the firelight in the ornate hearth seemed to breathe life into the peculiar objects lining the shelves—spinning contraptions and faintly glowing instruments that pulsed like hearts beating out of sync.

Lyra Black hesitated as she pushed the heavy door open, her fingers trembling against the cold brass handle. The atmosphere within the office seemed to thicken, a suffocating weight pressing against her chest the moment she crossed the threshold. Her silver eyes darted quickly across the room, noting the grim faces of the portraits of former Headmasters who watched her entrance with unnerving stillness. Then her gaze locked onto the figures standing before Dumbledore's desk.

A boy and a girl.

The sight of them was like a blade slicing through the fog of her thoughts. She recognized them instantly, though she wished she didn't. Their presence stirred something deeply unsettling within her, like the faint echo of a scream long silenced.

The boy stood tall, his sharp features an uncanny mirror of her own—silver eyes set against warm brown skin, framed by jet-black hair that curled faintly at the ends. There was a smirk playing on his lips, faint but unmistakable, as if he found some private amusement in her hesitation. Beside him, the girl exuded a quiet authority that was no less intimidating. Her hazelnut eyes gleamed with a piercing intelligence, her posture straight and composed, the faintest trace of a smirk mirroring her brother's.

The realization hit Lyra like a physical blow: she had seen them before. At the Quidditch World Cup. Back then, they had been an intriguing but fleeting image—standing beside an older woman who seemed to carry herself with the same regal detachment. But now, here they were, in the flesh, and their presence felt heavier, as if some great, unspoken weight hung in the air between them.

"Ah, Miss Black," came the familiar voice of Albus Dumbledore, drawing her attention reluctantly to the man seated behind the desk. His tone was gentle, as always, yet there was something in his eyes—something old and unyielding, like the storm that brews beneath a calm sea. The half-moon spectacles perched on his crooked nose caught the faintest glint of light, obscuring his gaze for the briefest of moments. "Thank you for coming. Please, do come in."

Lyra stepped further into the room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if to shield herself from the unspoken questions clawing at her. "What's this about?" she asked curtly, her voice colder than she intended.

Dumbledore rose slowly from his seat, his long fingers brushing against the edge of his desk. He gestured toward the two figures. "Allow me to introduce Apollo and Artemis Black—your cousins, though they often go by Kennedy. I believe this is your first formal meeting, yes?"

Lyra's breath caught in her throat. Cousins. The word carried a strange weight, one that pressed against her ribs like an iron vice.

Her gaze flicked back to the boy and the girl—Apollo and Artemis. The smirk on Apollo's face faltered just slightly under her scrutiny, though his eyes remained fixed on hers, as if daring her to react. Artemis, by contrast, was inscrutable. Her expression remained calm, her eyes quietly assessing Lyra with a sharpness that made her skin prickle.

"Cousins," Lyra repeated, her tone flat, as though saying the word would strip it of its meaning.

Dumbledore smiled faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Yes. They are the children of your father's younger brother, Regulus." His voice lingered on the name, and Lyra felt her stomach twist violently.