Under the Cursed Moon - CH - 87

The kitchen at Black Mansion was filled with the scent of roasted vegetables and herbed chicken. Harry Black stood by the counter, sleeves rolled up, a wooden spoon in hand as he stirred a simmering pot of tomato sauce.

It was nearly time for an afternoon tea, and Hermione was upstairs reviewing translations with Ivy Kestrel. Teddy hadn’t come home yet, but that wasn’t unusual—he often disappeared into the woods when the weather held steady.

Harry had just reached for a stack of plates when his phone began to buzz, humming sharply against the granite.

He checked the screen:
Sam Uley.

He answered immediately. “Harry Black.”

“Harry, it’s Sam.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Sam’s voice was low but tense. “We had an incident. Earlier today. At La Push.”

Harry set down the plates, his hand still. “Teddy?”

“He’s fine,” Sam said quickly. “But… he was with a vampire. One we didn’t recognize.”

Harry didn’t speak.

“She has red eyes, Harry,” Sam continued. “That’s not a dietary choice. That means she hunts humans. She crossed into our territory—our land. And Teddy brought her.”

There was a long pause.

“He defended her,” Sam added. “Stood between her and us. Said she didn’t know where she was. Claimed she was his friend.”

Harry moved to the sink and stared out the window, watching the mist still clinging to the treetops.

“Was she hostile?”

“No,” Sam admitted. “She didn’t make a move. But Teddy—he changed, Harry. Not just into a Lyca form. Something more. His claws came out. His fangs extended. He looked… feral. Old. Ancient.”

Harry exhaled slowly. “And you pressed him?”

“We surrounded them,” Sam admitted. “Some of the boys wanted to act. But Jacob and Seth backed him. Told everyone to stand down. We let them go.”

“You didn’t follow her?” Harry asked.

“No. But I wanted you to know.”

Harry wiped his hands with a towel, his eyes distant.

“Thank you for calling,” he said. “You did the right thing.”

“I thought you should hear it from me,” Sam said.

“You were right,” Harry replied.

Another pause. Then: “Will you talk to him?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “But carefully. If we turn this into a scolding, we’ll lose his trust. He has to feel safe telling us the truth. All of it.”

Sam’s voice dropped lower. “You trust him with a red-eyed vampire?”

“I trust Teddy,” Harry said simply. “But I’ll find out what she is. Personally.”

“Alright. We’ll stay out of it for now.”

Harry’s voice sharpened. “Sam—do more than stay out of it. Tell the others to back off. If anyone threatens him again… I won’t be forgiving next time.”

There was a long pause.
Then Sam said quietly, “Understood.”

The line went dead.


Harry stood still for a long moment, phone pressed to his side, before turning back to the stove.

He stirred the pot once, slowly, and whispered to himself:

“Red eyes, Teddy? What have you brought home now?”

He glanced toward the stairs—toward Hermione and Ivy’s soft murmurs drifting down the hall.

Then his eyes returned to the forest.

And narrowed.


The Black Mansion glowed warmly against the backdrop of the grey Forks sky. Rain tapped gently against the tall windows, and inside, the hearth crackled softly in the main hall.

Teddy Black stepped through the front door, brushing pine needles from his shoulders and shaking water from his curls. His jacket was damp, his boots muddy from the woods, and he smelled faintly of salt and sap. He had just returned from his secret time with Lysara, and while the memory of her quiet laugh still lingered in his mind, he froze the moment he walked past the hallway and into the main sitting room.

There, surrounded by a low stack of leather-bound books, sat his mother, Hermione Black, and across from her, a woman he had never seen before.

The stranger had sharp eyes—scholar’s eyes—light brown hair pinned neatly back, and her fingers were stained slightly with ink. She had a camera beside her, lenses peeking out from a cloth wrap, and a notebook filled with tight, elegant handwriting.

The smell that came off her wasn’t dangerous, not like Lysara or the shapeshifters. But Teddy felt something off. Not bad. Not good. Just... carefully guarded.

Hermione glanced up and smiled when she saw him.

“Teddy, love—you’re back. Come say hello. This is Dr. Ivy Kestrel.”

Ivy looked up with a gentle smile and extended her hand. “Hello, Teddy. I’ve heard quite a lot about you.”

Teddy didn’t move right away. He studied her face for a moment, eyes flicking to her satchel, then the books. Ancient tomes. Familiar. One of them still bore the Black family crest—he recognized it from his grandfather’s collection.

“Hi,” he said finally, stepping forward and taking her hand. “Are you here to study... my house?”

Hermione laughed softly. “She’s here to research the early settlers in Forks. And as it turns out, this house—this land—has older records than the public archive. I thought it was time to share some of them.”

“I’m studying the original migration and land agreements,” Ivy explained, her voice smooth and well-practiced. “How the early Quileute treaties intersected with the settler expansion—particularly with families like yours. Hermione said you found these during renovations?”

Hermione nodded, flipping open one of the older ledgers. “A full chest hidden behind a sealed wall in the wine cellar. Dozens of documents in French, some German, a few coded ciphers I’m still trying to break.”

Teddy’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you going to take them away?”

Ivy blinked. “No. Not at all. I’m only here to read and take photos—with your mum’s permission, of course.”

“Good,” Teddy said, not smiling. “Some people take things when they shouldn’t.”

Hermione gave her son a light look. “Teddy. That’s not polite.”

Teddy shrugged and wandered closer to the books, crouching down beside the stack. He touched one gently.

“This one has old spells,” he murmured.

Ivy tilted her head. “Spells?”

Hermione shot him a quick look—one only a mother could give.

“Old markings. Symbols,” she said quickly, adjusting her tone. “They’re tied to early merchant codes. Not... actual spells.”

Teddy didn’t argue, but he didn’t take his eyes off Ivy either.

As Ivy resumed her note-taking, photographing a faded parchment with delicate care, Hermione leaned back in her chair and said:

“She’s been nothing but respectful, Teddy. She's not from any magical institution. Just a scholar. A real one. It’s nice to speak with someone who gets excited about ink and paper instead of potions and dueling.”

Teddy nodded slowly.

“I know.”

Ivy looked up again. “What do you know?”

Teddy just smiled—one of those smiles that said more than words.

“I know things. I go exploring. I find people.”

He turned and started walking away.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Kestrel,” he added with a very practiced politeness.

As he disappeared down the hall, Ivy glanced at Hermione.

“Very sharp boy.”

Hermione nodded, her eyes following the place where her son vanished.

“Yes,” she murmured. “Very sharp indeed.”


Dinner at the Black Mansion had been unusually warm that night.

Ivy Kestrel had accepted Hermione’s invitation to stay after reviewing a particularly difficult set of territorial scrolls, and though her posture remained formal, the presence of warm food, laughter, and glowing lanterns softened the edges of her historian’s reserve.

The long oak dining table was lined with dishes—stuffed squash, pan-seared trout, honeyed carrots—all courtesy of Leah and Teddy’s combined garden-haul and Hermione’s determined hands.

Teddy sat between his mother and Leah, sneaking extra rolls when he thought no one was watching.

“You really live in all this history,” Ivy said, sipping her tea near the end of the meal. “This home is more like a living museum than a house.”

Harry chuckled from his place at the head of the table. “We’re just caretakers. Hermione’s the one who convinced the furniture to stay still.”

“I only enchanted two chairs,” Hermione said innocently, raising her eyebrows. “And one of them deserved it.”

Laughter danced through the candlelit room.

Eventually, Ivy thanked them again, packed her camera and notebook into her satchel, and left with polite goodbyes. She promised to send Hermione copies of all the digitized documents.

When the door clicked shut behind her, silence settled over the house.

Leah excused herself shortly after, giving Teddy a quiet ruffle on the head.

Hermione, with a soft yawn, gathered up the empty tea mugs.

“I’ll finish the dishes in the morning,” she said. “Don’t stay up too long.”

“’Night, Mum,” Teddy said cheerfully.

Harry watched her ascend the stairs before slowly turning his gaze to his son.

Teddy stilled. He was halfway into reaching for another pastry when his father’s voice, low and even, reached across the room.

“Now, Teddy… about your new friend.”

Teddy blinked. “Which one?”

“The vampire,” Harry said, his green eyes steady. “The one with red eyes.”

Teddy stiffened.

“I knew Sam would call you,” he muttered.

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “He didn’t call to tattle. He called because you were standing in the middle of a pack of shapeshifters—defending a predator no one knew.”

“She’s not a predator!” Teddy snapped, then flinched at his own volume. “Not anymore.”

Harry didn’t react. “You’re sure about that?”

Teddy looked down, fingers tightening around his fork. “I met her by accident. She was watching the Cullens. I thought she was gonna do something bad—but she didn’t. She was just… lonely.”

“You brought her to La Push.”

“I forgot it was shapeshifter territory,” Teddy insisted. “I brought her there. It was my fault, not hers.”

Harry’s voice dropped. “Do you know her name?”

“…Lysara,” Teddy said quietly.

“Where is she from?”

“I don’t know.”

“What does she want?”

Teddy hesitated, then looked his father in the eye. “I think… I think she doesn’t know that either.”

Harry was silent for a long moment.

Then he stood and walked to the far window, looking out into the dark forest beyond.

“Teddy,” he said softly, “you have the power to scare even your pack. You’re stronger than you understand. That means… when you say someone’s your friend, people listen. They take it seriously. So you have to be sure.”

“I am,” Teddy said.

“She has red eyes,” Harry reminded him.

“She doesn’t hunt here,” Teddy replied firmly. “She feeds on bad men. She told me.”

“Words are easy,” Harry said. “Trust is earned slowly. You’re a child by age, but not by power. If you put yourself between her and danger again, I won’t be the only one watching. The world will notice.”

Teddy nodded. “I know. But she’s my friend.”

Harry finally turned. His expression was not angry—but measured, quiet, and very serious.

“Alright,” he said. “Then we do it properly.”

“What do you mean?”

“You bring her here. Let me meet her. Let your mother talk to her. If you trust her… let us see why.”

Teddy blinked. “You want her to come here? To the house?”

“If she’s your friend,” Harry said, “then she has nothing to hide.”


The forest was quiet again.

Damp moss clung to the trees and shafts of silver light pierced the canopy, illuminating patches of fern and earth. In the heart of it, far from the trails and beyond where even the birds dared nest, Teddy Black found her.

Lysara was crouched in the fork of a twisted pine, one knee up, her long coat drawn around her like a second skin. She didn’t look surprised when Teddy arrived—only curious.

“You’re early,” she said.

“I had to find you,” Teddy replied, brushing leaves from his jacket. “We need to talk.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Sounds serious.”

He looked up at her. “My parents want to meet you.”

Lysara froze—not dramatically, but subtly. Her breathing stilled. The slight relaxation in her shoulders disappeared like a blade vanishing into a sheath.

“Why?” she asked flatly.

“Because they know,” Teddy said. “About you. About your eyes. About the shapeshifters seeing us together.”

“And they let you come find me?” she said slowly. “Alone?”

“I’m never really alone,” Teddy said with a little smile. “And they trust me. But they want to understand you.”

“I’m not someone who usually... visits people’s houses,” Lysara said cautiously.

“I know,” Teddy said. “And they’re not normal people. My dad is Harry Black. My mum is Hermione. They’re smart. Really smart. But they don’t trust anyone blindly. Not even me.”

She blinked. “You think they’ll hurt me?”

Teddy shook his head. “Not if you’re honest. They just want to talk. If I trust you, they want to know why.”

Lysara looked away, out into the dense trees, as though calculating every possible outcome.

Then she asked softly, “Why do you trust me, Teddy?”

He didn’t flinch. “Because you didn’t try to use me or ask about my magic. You just watched the hawks with me. And laughed.”

It was so disarmingly simple—and so painfully rare in Lysara’s long, cold life—that it shook her more than any threat ever had.

She dropped from the tree and landed softly beside him.

“Alright,” she said. “Lead the way.”

They walked through the forest in silence for a while, the wind threading between the trees like a whispered warning. Teddy walked ahead, confident, letting his fingers brush bark and stone. Lysara followed just behind, her senses tight, every instinct demanding caution.

Finally, the trees opened up to reveal the Black Mansion—a tall, stately home wrapped in layers of magic she could feel even from a distance. It was like standing before a sleeping dragon that knew its name.

Lysara stopped just before the wards.

Teddy turned. “They’ll open for me. And for anyone I invite.”

“You’re sure?”

He reached out, took her hand.

“I’m sure.”

The moment their joined hands crossed the edge of the spell, the wards shimmered faintly, then parted like mist.

Lysara stepped through.