Green eyes stared at the impassively grand stone facade, taking in the details. A little more stained with water, a little more cracked, but still holding up. Of course it would always be holding up. Wizarding houses rarely failed structurally, and this was the Avery estate. Years and years of magic.

Lyra exhaled, mist curling in front of her face in a flurry, took her hand out of her pockets and walked up to the grand front doors. She held up her fist and resignedly gave it a sharp rap.

Within a minute one door opened noiselessly. She looked down at the house elf wearing an old tee that was way too big, one she recognised as part of a childhood outfit, and beamed. All traces of her previous gloom were gone in a flash.

“Hey Pooky.” She stepped in and set down her suitcase before kneeling down to bring herself to the house elf’s eye level. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Yes it has, Mistress Lyra.” Pooky bowed. “Would Mistress Lyra be back to live in England?”

Lyra chuckled. “Nah. I’ve missed you, Pooky, but that’s not why I’m here.” She looked up as something moved on the sweeping staircase above them. The figure above was impressively well-dressed in a patterned waistcoat and satin cravat in tastefully desaturate colours, but his wardrobe did not hold a candle to the impressive shaggy mane of white hair. With the scars on his face, his broad jaw and his broken nose, it would not be out of place to remark how much he resembled an old lion.

“Hey, dad,” she said, a little more reluctantly than she had meant to let on..

Lucian Avery stared at his daughter as if in utter disbelief at seeing her there. “Lyra? Is that really you? How long has it been?”

The redhead got to her feet. Amidst the cold, dull colours of the house, her hair stood out like a bright wildflower in grass. “Fourteen years, dad. Ever since… you know.” She hoped there was no need to bear repetition of what happened then. Her mother was less likely to forgive him, but Lyra did so hold out hope for nearly everyone she knew. Her father was no exception.

He strode down the stairs and made as if to embrace her, but stopped himself last minute. She could see the hesitation and fear in his eyes. “I… don’t suppose you could spare a hug for your old man?”

It was an improvement from what she remembered of him. Lyra allowed him a brief embrace. “How have you been doing, dad?” she asked, remembering what her mother had said to her before she had left for England. Be wary of your father. Stop and read between the lines, Lyra. Not everyone will be so blunt and direct with you. Take a deep breath and consider what you’re telling, what you’re being told. Protect yourself and for Merlin’s sake don’t talk so much. But here he was, looking and sounding less terrifying than he had been during Voldemort’s reign. She remembered when the Aurors had arrived at the estate to question him in the wake of his brother’s arrest at the end of the war. Not a nice memory.

Lucian’s chuckle and wry smile did not endear him to her much, despite her usually optimistic outlook on people. “I’m doing well for myself, Lyra. Retirement is fine as-is, and I have my own projects to keep my hands busy. But enough about me, what of you? I haven’t heard of what your job is, where you’re living. It’s been a while, after all.” He motioned to Pooky. “Come, let’s have a light tea while we chat.”

“Thanks for the offer, dad, but I’m really not here to linger.” Her heart melted a little at her father’s crestfallen expression. “I just came by to check out my room, say hi to Pooky… you know.”

“Not to me, your old man?”

Lyra hesitated. It hadn’t been number one priority on her mind. “No,” she said bluntly, “but you know why.” There was no point in lying. Her father would suss her out almost immediately and she made a bad liar besides.

Lucian sighed. “I only wanted what was best for you, Lyra.”

“Dad, telling me that my friends aren’t cool to hang out with because they’re not pureblood didn’t really qualify for that did it?” Lyra gave him a look. “Is Uncle Hadrien still in Azkaban? I can tell by your face he is. Good, he won’t be dealin’ you more lies about Voldie’s reign and how he’s perfect for all o’ us purebloods.” She softened seeing her father’s expression. “Look. Dad. I’m not here to, like, come and discuss about this, okay? I just wanted to come home. See for myself the place if it’s changed. Well.” She gestured at the head of the giant peryton mounted on the wall above the staircase for all to see. “You haven’t got rid of that. But that’s not what I’m here for either.”

“Then,” Lucian looked genuinely perplexed, “why are you here?”

Lyra shrugged with nonchalance. “I… wanted to come back to where I was born and raised and all that. It’s been fourteen years, dad. Home is still home.” She sighed and lifted a hand to ruffle her hair. “That’s all. So, dad, if you feel like, I dunno, makin’ some sort of talk about how you feel about things between mum and you, or you and me, then well… I’m really not here for that. Honestly I’m not comfortable to talk about things after I came back from the war and the first thing you did was scold me for being covered in the blood of a non-pureblood. Like. I dunno about you, but I was just so done then. It wasn’t up for discussion then,” she added, seeing him open his mouth, “and it’s still not up for discussion now.”

Lucian closed his mouth, giving his daughter a look she knew all too well. A pained expression that told her he knew that mending the past was going to be a lot more difficult than either party wanted. She could feel the gap between them and it had weighed heavy on her mind and heart ever since she left the country. While she was aware of the things he’d done, she was still willing to give him a chance. What would Arc have said if he knew she was giving even her purist-minded father another go? “Always the optimist, looking for the best in others.”

At length her father closed his eyes. “I… understand. I know the words I said were an unwise choice. I really do hope you’ll find it in yourself to forgive me.”

Lyra smiled, half in exasperation and half in affection. “Not so fast, dad. One day. But not today.” She hesitated. “Mum doesn’t want you to know, but… I’m staying here just for a month. Then who knows, I’ll come and visit when I can.” The redhead picked up her suitcase from the stone floor. “I need to look for a friend at the moment, but when I get a breather from work I’ll drop by for tea.”

Perhaps she was making a mistake. Her mother would be cross with her if she found out, but Lyra never let that stop her. As she turned away, she heard the intake of breath behind her. “Which friend is this?”

She craned her neck to look around at him. “The last time I mentioned him you reprimanded me for being friends with him. Let’s keep this a happy meeting, shall we?” The redhead looked down at the house elf, who had shyly lifted a hand to wave goodbye. “Bye, Pooky. I’ll see you again some day.”

Lyra had barely reached the doors when she heard her father say, “Such a waste of magical potential in a halfblood…” She gave no sign that she heard it, but she was sure it had been meant for her to hear.

That would be another problem, for another day. She stepped out of the house and breathed in the fresh crisp winter air. Now she would have to assess a way to find out where he lived. If he, indeed, was alive.