𝔳𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔦, 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖝𝖛𝖎

her betrothed's brother

The incident with Mary Macdonald had left Lyra's head reeling.

Seeing the girl at breakfast the next morning, still relatively groggy from the events of the night before, had taken a toll on her conscience. The Lestrange girl was teetering the fine line between complicity and ignorance.

Despite the thoughts scattering her heat-oppressed brain, she couldn't even begin to fathom how the Gryffindor girl was feeling. She couldn't decide if it was better for her to remain unaware of the evil degradation she'd been subjected to, or be told so she could attempt to seek some justice.

Then again, the little droplets of justice that were in the Wizarding World were trickling out as the weeks went on. Whilst the Daily Prophet reported more and more disappearances, the skies melted into a gunmetal grey, ashy with the unseen horrors that brewed behind the castle walls of Hogwarts.

It had been the afternoon after that fateful evening when Professor Slughorn approached the brunette. Even if he had been informed of that the Slytherins got up to the evening before, they would've surely gotten off with a slap on the wrist, and both Rodolphus and Rabastan would've been beside themselves with pride; still, Lyra's stomach twisted uncomfortably at the sight of the Potions Master, a tell-tale sign of guilt plastered across her face.

Luckily, he had only sought her out to remind her of her tutoring duties, which wasn't bad enough in comparison. Even though she was being forced into occupying her free time with Sirius Black, anything was better than reminding her of the way she simply stood and watched as Mulciber reigned terror on an innocent girl.

Yes, her blood was impure, but it's not like that was anyone's fault, the Lestrange girl supposed. Make no mistake, she was still rather far of from becoming a blood-traitor — for now — but the logical differences between right and wrong clouded her mind and ate away at the prejudices and pure-blood mania instilled in her being since birth.

But, nobody needed to know about that.

Professor McGonagall had decided to take it upon herself to arrange the first tutoring session between Lyra and Sirius in the first week of October. The elder woman didn't trust either of the teenagers to make do on Dumbledore's new program, and so an Owl was sent to both of their dorm's, instructing the two to meet in the library after dinner at seven o'clock on Tuesday.

Eager to avoid another confrontation with the Head of Slytherin House, the Lestrange girl begrudgingly left the safety of the dungeons and made her way to the library that evening, deciding to get the whole thing over and done with. The sooner she got there, the sooner she could leave, the brunette rationalized.

Despite Madam Pince's hawk-like tendencies, the library was one of the more inconspicuous locations in the castle, given the sheer size of it; there were tens of thousands of books, thousands of shelves, and hundreds of narrow rows.

Sirius was leaning against the entrance, fiddling with the strands of his long and black hair whilst admiring himself in the shard of a hand-held mirror. His disposition was completely relaxed — he knew what he was doing, and he knew that he looked good whilst doing it.

Lyra's cheeks blushed furiously, only brightening the rogue that she had applied that morning. He felt her presence before he saw her, shoving his hands into his pockets and shooting her a hungry smirk.

''You alright, Lestrange?''

''Peachy, Black,'' the pure-blood girl replied, pursing her lips as she peered into the library. ''Follow me, but keep your distance — ten paces behind me at all times, minimum.''

He obliged, slinking through the ajar doorway like a puppy-dog with attachment issues stalking it's owner. The Black boy came to a stop just as she did, at a small desk, which was tucked away at the very back of the library beside the Restricted Section.

Luckily for them, the library was fairly empty, save for a few flocks of Ravenclaws dotted around. Unless it was exam season, most students retreated to their common rooms and dormitories to study or complete homework, unwilling to encounter the librarian as she haunted the shelves and breathed down the necks of anyone daring to touch her precious books.

''We'll start with Potions,'' Lyra decided. ''Transfiguration can wait until next time.''

''Until next time?'' He repeated. ''So, it's my understanding that we'll be seeing each other more often than not?''

''Unfortunately.''

''You wound my heart, Lestrange — really, you do.''

''You'd have to have a heart in the first place for that,'' the brunette sighed, rolling her brown eyes. ''Anyways, the essay for Everlasting Elixirs is due first thing on Friday — I assume you haven't done it yet?''

''Obviously not. Who do you think I am, Moony?''

She pointedly ignored his banter, heaving the thick textbook from her bag and on to the table. He watched, transfixed, as Lyra dragged her manicured nail down the contents and flicked to the correct chapter.

''Close your mouth, Black, or you'll catch flies.''

Sirius was anything but embarrassed at being caught staring. He leaned back in his chair, tilting it onto it's two legs, making himself comfortable as Lyra set out some parchment and quill for him.

''And I'll be wanting my ring back after this, thank you very much,'' she reminded him, eyeing the Lestrange family crest that winked at her from his finger.

''I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you. I've grown rather attached to it, y'know?''

''Un-attach yourself, then. Now, less talking, and more writing.''

They worked together surprisingly well for the next hour. He listened to everything she had to say, whether it was to do with the potions or not; Lyra had to admit it was nice to be heard, for once. Usually, the men in their society would brush off anything that left a woman's mouth, unless it was praise or something seductive.

As Sirius reached the bottom of the twenty-four inch scroll of parchment, the pure-blood witch pulled out a silver pocket watch from inside her velvet robes. It was a few minutes past eight, which brought their first tutoring session to an end.

He wasn't going to let go of her that easily, though, now was he?

The Black boy began to babble about anything and everything that came to mind as the Lestrange girl started to pack her things away. It was an obvious attempt, on his part, yet there was a particular anecdote that she couldn't help but allow to catch her intrigue.

''James Potter let a farm animal into your dormitory?'' She repeated as a laugh spilled past her pink lips. ''Why would you put up with such immaturity?''

''He's my friend!'' Sirius defended, grinning in triumph at finally drawing a conversation out of her that wasn't school related. ''Who do you think helped him get the animal back out?''

''Of course it was you. Speaking of, I overheard something curious from Alice Fortescue the other day.''

''Hm?''

''That one should marry their dearest friend.''

''Are you suggesting that I marry James?''

''No,'' she clarified. ''But it makes me wonder, is that truly what marriage is all about? Friendship?''

''Well, it's a good start. Though, most marriages are more like battlefields.''

The conversation she had about marriage with Bellatrix and Narcissa last summer rang through her head. They had made it seem like a glorious thing — a rite of passage, if you will — just like Rodolphus. Never had Lyra heard of it being compared to war.

''Even if it is a battlefield, there have to be other things that hold a pair together.''

Sirius shied away from the insinuation, plucking his wand from his pocket. With a flick, a pretty red rose conjured in thin-air, gliding over to Lyra with a flourish.

''For your troubles, m'lady.''

She gingerly took the flower, fighting the small smile threatening to creep onto her face. The gift wasn't as thoughtful as Pistachio, her Niffler that Regulus had given to her, but it was a romantic gesture for such an unromantic man.

''What I'm trying to say is,'' she continued. ''There are other things . . . physical, or perhaps intangible . . . that bring a couple together. Aren't there?''

He gulped, glancing down at his lap. ''Yes, of course there's more to a marriage, physical and intangible. Both.''

''Both?'' She repeated, confused. ''But how can something be both physical and intangible when they are the opposite of each other?''

He couldn't help but chuckle at her innocence, as well as her naviety. For a moment, Sirius thought she was having him on, until he remembered who he was talking to: Lyra Selene Lestrange, the only daughter of a Sacred Twenty-Eight pure-blood family, as delicate as a petal.

''You are an idiot!'' She huffed. ''Never mind.''

''No! I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing at the absurdity of how little guardians tell their daughters.''

''You're right, they tell us nothing.''

''Well, I definitely can't tell you.''

''Why not?'' She wondered, tilting her head to the side.

He met her deep eyes, momentarily enticed. ''Because it isn't my place.''

''In any real courtship, yes, it would be scandalous for a suitor to discuss such things with their lady. But you are not my suitor, are you? Regulus is. Besides, no one else will tell me anything. So, how am I ever supposed to be a good wife if I don't even know what I'm meant to be doing?''

The reminder that this was the same girl engaged to his brother wasn't as much of a wake-up call as it should've been for Sirius. He crossed his arms over his chest, raising an arched eyebrow.

''You will know when you know.''

''What does that even mean?''

''I can't tell you!''

''I thought we were meant to be family.''

''Lestrange . . . ''

''Black,'' she mocked. ''Tell me. Tell me!''

He rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek, glancing around the abandoned library for any eavesdroppers. Should anyone witness what was about to take place, they would both have Hell to pay.

''Fine!'' Sirius gave in; he couldn't say no to her when she looked at him like that, with those eyes. ''What happens between a husband and wife . . . well, it's similar to what happens at night.''

''At night? What happens at night?''

''When you are alone.''

''When I am sleeping?''

''Not when you are sleeping,'' he clarified, hushing his voice to just above a low whisper. ''When you touch yourself.''

Lyra looked at him as though everything in her life up until now had been a lie. She hadn't the slightest idea as to what he was referring to. Touching yourself?

''You do . . . touch yourself, don't you?''

No, she most certainly doesn't.

The air around them thickened with thousands of unsaid words. Her breath became bated as he turned closer to her, so close that she could feel the heat radiating off of his body, melting against her pale skin.

''When you are alone, you can touch yourself . . . anywhere on your body, anywhere that gives you pleasure, but especially . . . between your legs.''

He spared a glance at her short skirt; it had ridden up, exposing the expanse of her thigh between the material and the black lace of her stockings.

''When you find a feeling you particularly enjoy, you can carry on with that . . . until the feeling grows, and eventually you reach . . . a pinnacle. A release.''

Her eyes lit up; she finally understood. A fragment of her innocence faded away that very moment, caught inside his grip as she felt something changing inside her body.

Sirius' expression changed as he finally realized just how pure she really was. It made him want her more, and he had to restrain the beast inside of him before he did something silly.

''That should help you . . . come.''

What the fuck was wrong with Lyra?

She had fallen off the deep end and landed on her head, it seemed — having such conversations with her betrothed's brother? Granted, he had enlightened her on knowledge she previously had none of, except there would be a price to pay.

The gaping hunger in her stomach, for one. It wasn't for food, however, and truthfully she had no idea what exactly it was that she craved. The brunette couldn't imagine it was anything innocent, though, judging by the insatiability of it.

If there was one person other than Sirius who could further her understanding, it was Alecto. The red-haired girl had experience in the field like no one else Lyra knew, not including married woman such as Bellatrix and Narcissa. Still, she wasn't keen on the idea of sending either of them an Owl with questions about sensuality and seduction.

Thankfully, the Carrow girl was right where the Lestrange girl had left her, in their shared dormitory. She had changed into her pyjamas and was wearing a thin kimono when Lyra entered into the room.

''Where have you been all this time, Lyra?'' She inquired, throwing down the quill she was twiddling between her thumbs. ''There was no one around to help me pick out an outfit for Saturday!''

''What's happening on Saturday?'' The brunette asked, throwing down her bag beside her trunk and entering the bathroom to start getting unready.

''Don't tell the others, but I'm seeing Antonin.''

''Alecto! He's no good for you, we've been over this.''

''Yes, well, we can't all be perfect princesses who make our families proud. No offence, of course. Anyways, answer my question.''

''If you must know, I was in the library.''

''The library, huh? I try to avoid that place as best as I can, but when the broom closets vanish from time to time it is a rather private sanctuary for . . . extra-curriculars.''

Lyra stifled a groan at her insinuation. It seemed as though there was one thing on everybody's minds; there was no escaping this subject, was there?

''Actually, can I ask you something?''

''Go ahead.''

''Intercourse . . . what's it like?''

The Carrow girl gasped dramatically, hand over her heart as she flopped back onto her plethora of throw cushions. ''Lyra, you're killing me!''

The Lestrange girl rolled her eyes, hesitantly entering back into the bedroom. ''Oh, come on! I'd rather poison myself than ask Bellatrix or Narcissa!''

Alecto sighed fondly, shaking her head. ''I'm only pulling your leg,'' she spoke. ''Come here.''

Lyra made her way over to the other girl's bed and took a seat on the edge. Her leg bounced up and down nervously as Alecto began to rifle through the contents of her bedside table, before she seized a pile of magazines and threw them down onto the blanket.

''These will tell you everything you need to know,'' she started.

They were all an assortment of Witch Weekly issues, but not any like Lyra had seen before. They weren't printed in shades of pastel; instead, the font was a cursive black, and the sheets were variations of red, raging from a pale peony to a dark crimson.

She flicked through the stack, flashes of sordid, sultry, and erotic titles raining into her wide-eyed gaze like a fusillade of exclamation marks and warning signs.

''I don't doubt it,'' she grimaced. ''But you've got to tell me something . . . you have first-hand experience, and all.''

''Well, it feels . . . nice.''

''Nice?''

''Yeah . . . like you've got an itch that you can't quite scratch yourself, but once you're done, you feel like a completely different person. Of course, that's not to say it's all fun and freeing — it hurts sometimes, and you shouldn't do it unless you're completely sure you want to.''

''What if my husband wants to, but I don't?''

''Then, you don't. Women like your soon-to-be mother-in-law or my Great Aunt would say otherwise, but you shouldn't listen to them.''

Lyra nodded attentively as Alecto continued to chatter away, until a particular title stuck out to her: ❛51 Oral Sex Tips Everyone Should Know❜. She showed the sheet to the red-haired girl, her gaze questioning.

''Oh, yeah, there's also that.''

''There's more? How can you have a baby using your . . . mouth?''

''You can't. Contrary to popular belief, sex isn't just about having babies, Lyra. It's for pleasure, an act that you share with the one you love to make both of you feel good.''

''So, you and Dolohov . . . you do all of this . . . together?''

''And more,'' Alecto smirked. ''Oral is one of the few times you have the power over the man. They crumple under your touch, and you're the one in control. You should try it sometime with Regulus, I doubt he'll be unwilling.''

But this entire time, her mind was nowhere occupied with the thoughts of the boy she was engaged to. Instead, they swam over to someone else; someone older, slightly taller, with long hair and a silky smirk.

''No, not until we're married. Still, do you mind if I borrow some of these? Just for— just for reading, that's all.''

''Take the lot. Just make sure no one finds them, or we're both done for.''