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The Bad Slytherin

They say Slytherin is the House of Liars. But they're wrong. People in other Houses lie. Everybody lies... Slytherins just don't get caught.

Welcome to the world of the Bad Slytherin.

Chapter 1

The Rise of a Mildly Problematic Dark Lord

Draco Malfoy said nothing when Lyra White was sorted into Slytherin the year after he was. Not that she cared, of course, however she was mildly curious as to whether or not the blonde boy even knew who she was. Perhaps, she thought, he had never heard of her. Or, better yet, he had heard of her and was pointedly ignoring her. Not that either scenario made much of a difference in her life – it was just an interesting notion that circled her head for the first few minutes she saw him, but was quickly discarded. That was, until her third year.

"Miss White, why am I not surprised to see you here in my office for the third time this week?"

Lyra simply wore her customary look of mild amusement as her Head of House addressed her.

"To be fair, Sir, I myself am surprised. I would have thought a transgression as infinitesimal as the one I have made would not be nearly terrible enough to grant me an audience with a person of such calibre."

Snape's lip curled at the casual way she addressed him – as it always did. Lyra widened her eyes in mock innocence.

"Oh, I'm quite sorry – was this one of those many occasions where I seem to miss that the question was in fact rhetorical?"

Snape seemed to struggle with the urge to roll his eyes.

"You made a sixth year girl burst into tears this morning at breakfast – and this hasn't been the first incident in which you appear to be using mental warfare to inflict pain upon others."

Lyra cast him a falsely hopeful look. "But since she was a Hufflepuff, you'll let it slide just this once, right?"

Snape was less than impressed by her attempts at humour, but Lyra was far too accustomed to his cold indifference for it to actually have any effect upon her.

"Miss White, regardless as to what I believe on the matter, your behaviour is attracting much of the wrong kind of attention."

"Surely, Sir, being the attention-seeker that I am, no kind of attention is the wrong kind."

Snape's eyes narrowed to slivers at her words, and he leaned forward over his desk, invading her personal space. When he spoke, Lyra almost found she could take him seriously. Almost.

"You seem to be forgetting the times we live in, Miss White. The Headmaster will not tolerate what you seem to be taking as a form of personal entertainment."

Ah. And there it was. The crux of the situation.

Dumbledore.

Lyra took it for what it was, and with a deep bow, she conceded to what Snape was trying to tell her.

"Never fear, Professor," she said, addressing her toes. "I won't be caught in the act again."

And with that, she departed his office, back still bowed, head still down.

As she left, Snape held up his hand as though to halt her, but with a sigh he let his arm fall uselessly by his side. The girl truly was a lost cause.

Lyra couldn't help the smirk spreading across her face as she left Snape's office. For the third time that week she'd managed to escape any form of real punishment. Of course, she wasn't entirely blind to what Snape had warned her about – she knew Dumbledore, and she knew his attitude towards people like her.

Not that it worried her in the slightest. Lyra wasn't one for becoming overly stressed. About anything, really.

As she walked back to the Great Hall, her mind wrapped up in her own amusing thoughts, she failed to notice the group of third-year Gryffindors approaching her from the other end of the hallway.

"And then, just as Flitwick was about to cast that spell, I-"

Lyra noticed the lanky boy mere milliseconds before it was too late, and with a grace that ill-befitted her stature, she ducked out of the way just in time. Of course, she couldn't resist the urge to leave her heel planted firmly where it was, causing the boisterous Gryffindor to trip backwards over it halfway through his undoubtedly riveting story. With a surprised yelp, the third-year landed squarely on his arse.

"Ow! Hey, what the Hell?" the boy said indignantly. His tone turned cold, however, when he saw who the perpetrator was. "Oh. White. It's you."

Lyra turned back to him, eyes wide in fake surprise.

"Goodness, Gerald, what on Earth are you doing on the floor? Are you attempting to start a new trend of bruising your behind, for if you are, I must advise against it; someone's already tried."

The boy – Gerald – shot Lyra a filthy look before one of his friends helped him up.

"Get lost, Slytherin. How 'bout you go off and play with your little friends – oh, hold on, you don't have any, do you?"

Lyra's smile broadened at Gerald's words, much to his chagrin.

"Oh dear, Gerald, that was a low blow. I thought you were above such things. Oh, wait..." Lyra carefully stepped around them, throwing her final comment over her shoulder. "No I didn't."

The day had been going ever so well, Lyra decided as she stepped into the Slytherin common room. She'd had a lovely heart-to-heart with her Head of House, she'd managed to escape futile punishment, she'd taken a Gryffindor down a few pegs... indeed, shaping up to be a fine day. That was, until she managed to colossally screw herself over by tangling with the wrong obnoxious blonde.

Lyra slumped into a cushioned recliner, happy to sit in silence for a moment as all others in her house were outside enjoying the snow. Well, almost all.

Lyra cocked her eye as she felt a shadow fall over her, surprised, despite the fact she didn't show it, to see none other than Goyle towering over her. His face was stoic, and she was unsure as to what he wanted.

"Um, Gregory, hello. How may I help you?" she said evenly.

"You're sitting on my coat, White, that's how you can help him."

Lyra didn't need to look to realise it was Draco Malfoy who spoke. She turned her head to him slowly, exaggerating a look of surprise when he caught her eye. He sneered, and immediately Lyra could tell he was baiting her. So, she decided, she'd come back with the unexpected.

"Draco. Oh, ever so sorry. I can't believe I would do such a thing." She grabbed his coat – which he had slung over the back of the chair – and immediately proffered it to the brawny Goyle.

Draco narrowed his eyes at her, seemingly caught off guard and unsure if she was being sincere or sarcastic.

"What, no biting remark, White? Am I so great that you wouldn't dare insult me?"

He posed it as a question, but Lyra saw it for what it really was. She smiled pleasantly.

"Oh no, dearest Draco, perish the thought. I just usually prefer to save my stinging barbs for people who can actually take them. I was more concerned that you might run off to Daddy should I say anything that may hurt your precious feelings." Throughout her little speech, Lyra kept her expression in a mildly amused smile. Draco, however, grew redder with each word.

Without a sound, Draco snatched his coat from Goyle's hands and made to stalk past her. He stopped, however, as a thought seemed to cross his mind. Slowly, he bent down next to her, speaking so low not even his lackeys could hear him.

"Don't forget, White. You may think you've made a nice little place for yourself here at Hogwarts. But I can bring your whole world down just by telling one person who your... lineage, happens to be."

And with that, the blonde straightened and strode away from her to the boy's dormitories. Lyra barely registered his departure, as a single word circulated around in her mind.

Damn.

Throughout the next week, Lyra made a point of avoiding the blonde ferret. Not for fear of what he might say, but for fear of what her annoyingly honest and maddening mouth might say. Draco Malfoy was by far the most entertaining person to provoke – his pride and ego were so over-inflated he needed an extra trunk just to carry them around – but when a person like that had something to hold over you, it's something to take note of.

Lyra sat alone at the end of the Slytherin table, as she always did during every meal. People didn't tend to enjoy her humour very much; despite the fact she thought she was absolutely hilarious. She didn't mind, however – on the contrary, she found what other people had to say often very dull. So alone she sat, a not-very-interesting book propped up against a pitcher of water as she absently chewed on a piece of toast.

"Support Cedric Diggory!" someone yelled as they walked past her. Ah, of course. The final challenge of the Tri-Wizard Cup was to be held in just two weeks. She'd almost managed to have it slip her mind, but no such luck. Everyone in Hogwarts seemed to be in an insufferably good mood because of it. Lyra, however, had escaped the gripping effects of school spirit.

With a bored sigh she closed the rather un-fascinating book, shoved it in her bag, grabbed a bit of toast to go and headed for the exit. However before she made it through the large double doors two thugs and a snake stepped into her path. She couldn't help but smirk. First mistake.

"White," Draco drawled in his characteristic manner.

Lyra took a purposeful bite of her breakfast and responded around a mouthful of toast. "Draco. Ever so lovely to see you again. However I must insist I am not nearly early enough for Potions this morning, so if you so wish to trade scathing remarks, we shall have to reschedule to a later date. If you'll excuse me..." Lyra waited for Crabbe and Goyle to move aside. They didn't. She sighed. "And people think I can't take a hint..."

"Look, White, I'm not here to have you snivelling like a child at my quick wit and sharp tongue," Draco said, and it took a lot of self control on Lyra's part to stay silent, which she thought was a pretty remarkable effort. Draco continued with a smile. "I'm here to make a truce."

Lyra raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Forgive my scepticism – I'm told I'm rather tactless with these things – but... why?"

Draco's grin widened at her apparent confusion. "I think it is in both our best interests that we retain some form of civility between us. Considering what we do when we're on opposite sides, imagine what we could do as allies."

With that said, Draco held out his right hand. Lyra stared at it for a moment before she turned her scrutiny back to the blonde boy's face.

"Don't be thinking this war is over, Draco," Lyra said with a hint of amusement. Her eyes flashed down to the hand he still held out to her, and with a sure glint in her eye she grasped it with her own. "But I suppose I'd be willing to declare a cease fire – for now." She shook his hand once before letting it go and striding past him, muttering to herself as she left.

"Yeah. A cease fire. Just like Korea..."

After a dull day of classes Lyra could have aced had she found an ounce of motivation, the young Slytherin found herself in the quiet seclusion of the Transfiguration classroom. She liked going there after classes had finished – no one ever bothered her. As per her usual routine, Lyra sat on McGonagall's long wooden desk and reached for the small chain around her neck. With a practiced hand she removed the necklace, letting the small pendant slip from the silver chain into her hand. It was a tiny, meticulously crafted harp. She placed the necklace back around her neck, and with a flick of her wand she silently enlarged the pendant into a full sized hand instrument. Carefully placing her wand on the desk next to her, Lyra picked up the harp and began to strum the strings lightly, first testing that each was in tune before she delved right into the most recent song that had taken her fancy.

Finally, she felt some kind of peace. Music, though not a soul knew, was her one and only outlet, the one and only time she allowed herself to just... do. Not a thought in the world. There was no need for snarky comments or perfectly timed insults. She just played. And, even if it was only for a little while, she was content.

Lyra's quiet retreat was interrupted, however, as after what could have only been three minutes of music she felt someone open the Transfiguration classroom door. She didn't look up at them, her eyes still closed as she played. Usually she would have stopped immediately and told them to nick off, but at that moment all she wanted was to keep playing. And whoever the intruder was, they weren't about to take her solitude away from her.

The person who opened the door, unexpectedly, did not attempt to make themself known. They just stood in the doorway, content to listen, and as Lyra continued to play she found she could almost forget they were there. As the song began to end, she opened her eyes to find none other than the famous Harry Potter leaning, amazed, against the closed door. She looked away from him, a calm, tranquil smile on her lips. She continued to let her fingers glide aimlessly along the harp strings as she broke the silence.

"Potter. Is something the matter?" she kept her voice neutral, disinterested. Potter blinked a few times as though to clear his head before he straightened awkwardly.

"Ah, no, not at all, I just... ah..." he scratched his head and slumped his shoulders. "McGonagall told me this classroom would be free for me to practice in for the last challenge," he finished lamely. Lyra thoughtfully plucked at the strings.

"Ah. I see our dear Professor forgot that she'd given up telling me I couldn't use this classroom after class whenever I wanted. Oh well." Finally, Lyra spared Potter a look. He seemed at a loss for words. Her fingers began to slow their strokes across the strings, eventually coming to a stop. "Last challenge, you say? Sounds important. Better let you get to it."

Lyra picked up her wand, tapped her harp and strung the now tiny instrument back onto her necklace. Without another word, she began to leave.

"Ah, wait, hold on a sec," Harry said quickly. Lyra paused just as she was about to pass him, turning slightly to look at him as she waited for him to continue. He shifted slightly. "Uh, Lyra, right?" She nodded. "I just thought... well you play really well. The harp, I mean. I didn't know you were so good."

Lyra quirked her lips slightly. "No. Nobody does." She made to leave again.

"You know, it's kinda funny. I heard you were really, you know wicked to everyone. I mean, I could be wrong, but you seem nice enough."

Lyra looked down, not really sure if she was pleased or saddened at his words. "I'm not wicked to everyone. I'm just honestly scathing to people who deserve it. Not my fault that just happens to be everyone." Lyra smiled. "Good luck, Harry."

And she left.

It took Harry a moment to realise that he'd come to the Transfiguration classroom for a reason, and when he did, he no longer felt in the mood to try shattering things with his wand.

Lyra sat in a permanent state of discomfort as the crowd around her roared, cheered, leered and jeered at the four champions far below them. The final task of the Triwizard Cup (or was it Quadwizard Cup now?) was only moments away from beginning. Normally Lyra would have sat out the spectacle, choosing instead to do something mildly constructive - like practicing a silencing charm or 'pun' hex - but she felt she owed some shred of support to the two champions Hogwarts had produced; a feeling that was quelled the moment she took her seat in the grandstand.

Finally the horn was sounded, to her relief, and the four champions took off. The sooner it started, she figured, the sooner the task would be over and she could go back to having the ability to hear through both ears. Oh well. She could always keep her hopes up that maybe someone would go insane down there and hex the entirety of the Hogwarts faculty - she could dream, right?

At one point it looked like Krum had fallen off his rocker. The crowed screamed at him endlessly, though of course he couldn't hear them. Delacour appeared to have a breakdown of some kind. Potter had been there at both times, although whether he was helping or hindering in the situation couldn't be established. And then he and Diggory entered the centre of the maze, and no one had a clue what was going on. The victory for Hogwarts had been decided - but would the Hufflepuff or the Gryffindor come out on top?

Lyra was really only mildly curious, but even she began to feel the nagging effects of impatience as the two adolescents apparently battled it out. Then, after a rather extended wait, there was a flash as two figures appeared outside the confines of the maze. Lyra stood, despite herself, to try and get a better view. She didn't need the assistance of the whispers around her to realise she had been mistaken. It wasn't two figures. It was one figure. And one body.

From her vantage point she couldn't really tell what was happening, but whatever it was, it wasn't good. And then another wave of whispers hit, and what they carried made Lyra freeze, her surroundings suddenly blurring into a meaningless nothing.

Okay, students of Hogwarts. Let's choose two people who would be overjoyed if the Dark Lord were ever to be resurrected. Draco Malfoy, you say? Expected. And the other? Ah yes, of course. Lyra White.

But Lyra White was not overjoyed.

Oh, she was so very, very not overjoyed.