A/N: Okay, so I don't really write for Harry Potter because I feel like all the plotlines have been done so many times, but I had an idea, so here goes nothing. As I said, this is my first Harry Potter fic, so please tell me what you think in a review or PM. I have been away from fanfiction for a while now and my life has become extremely hectic. I make no promises if I will update on a regular basis but I really hope I can.

Summary: Scorpious Malfoy was just like all the other Malfoy men. He had the looks of shocking blonde hair and dark piercing gray eyes. He was a trademark Slytherin, a complete arrogant fool, and, just like his father and his father's father, a coward. Or so his sister, Lyra Narcissus Malfoy, thought until the day he saved her life at the risk of his own. Now her brother is dead and the threat of a new dark lord is rising and is trying to use her to do so. Can Lyra resist the temptation of power that most Slytherins fail to ignore or will she to fall and succumb to the dark power within her?

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter books or the characters or plotlines within the books nor will I ever. I know it's sad. However, they belong to J.K. Rowling. Also, I do not own the band Snidget as they are in fact a real wizarding rock band inspired from the books.

I remember the day well. You don't really forget events like this though; the day your own brother dies to save you. I wish he hadn't, I really do. I should have died that day, not him, after all, it was my fault. Things would be so much easier had it been me. But did my arrogant older brother understand that? No, of course not, my brother didn't know anything; I was outside on the grounds of the Malfoy Manor. It was cold; too cold for me to be outside with nothing but a thin sweater on in the chilly December air. The frigid wind whipped at my now tangled shoulder length blonde hair, and the air nipped at my skin through the thin fabric. Of course, I really didn't mind the cold because I wasn't planning on staying here. I wanted to get away from the house, from my family, from my brother, so I was trying to Apparate. Apparating was a skill far beyond my years of knowledge, but I had to try. I looked down at the ring on my finger. It had a shiny silver band in shape of a snake with silver scales imprinted into its body. A small emerald jewel sat inside the snake's open mouth on the top of the ring. The ring was too big for my small bony fingers, but that had never stopped me from wearing it before. I twisted it around a few times to calm my nerves. It was my way of keeping my emotions collected. I stored everything bad into the tiny green emerald. Any bad thoughts, angry emotions; anything. I am not one to open up; I would rather just bottle it up into this tiny little ring. Little did I know that I was actually channeling my magic into the little ring. I was storing bits and pieces of hatred, and angry spells of revenge I had heard my Father say or my brother joke about or my mother scold with. All these things on that day would come lashing out.

I believed that my brother's sole purpose in life was to torture and torment me, so, of course, it was him who interrupted my failed attempts at Apparating. He snuck up behind me swift as a cat and sneaky as a snake. He grabbed my shoulders startling me, breaking my concentration and causing me to drop my ring. In that exact moment, Scor reached for the ring the same time I did, but he was faster and snatched it out of the grass.

"Give it back," I said annoyed and probably sounding like a little kid.

"Fat chance, little sis," he sneered at me. "What does this little ring do anyway? Looks like a stupid piece jewelry to me. Worthless." He held it out in front of him the gem pointed at me.

I watched him as he pulled both sides of the ring causing the gem to fall off. There was a hissing sound, like a tea kettle, and the gem exploded into a cloud of green dust. But the dust didn't fall to the ground. I screamed as it rose into the air forming a huge shape, a serpent to be exact. The snake was twice my brother's size, and as a fifth year he was pretty big. It had dark brown and emerald green scales running the length of its body and the eyes were nothing but deep black pits. It barred its fangs and hissed; its forked ruby red tongue flicked out in my direction.

I heard Scor curse under his breath as the the huge snake lunged at me. I fumbled at my belt for my wand, but it was lying in the grass on the other side of the monster. What confused me was why the serpent would attack me. After all, it was created by me, or so I had originally thought. The snake attacked us both, lunging at me until my brother stepped in. It all happened so fast and in one quick motion the snake snapped Scor across the yard. He smacked into the stone wall surrounding the grounds with a sickening crack. Then, it evaporated, morphing into a cloud of dust again, covering me. It was my fault, my ring, my anger, and my magic. I thought maybe I could be different. That not all Slytherins were bad, but as I had feared, I was wrong.

Looking back, I don't even know how I got the ring, and that in itself should have worried me, but more so I should have thought of all the times rings where brought up in my first year class, Magical Items and Their Uses, and how almost all times that a ring was mentioned, it never brought any good. After all, a piece of Voldemort's soul was put into a ring as one of the seven horcruxes. Yet, for some reason, I still have that little snake ring, even though it doesn't have the tiny emerald set into it. I never thought about it at the time. The fact that it could have been someone else that controlled that snake…that controlled me. I didn't think anything other than "I had killed my brother," until the whispers started.

My parents didn't blame me, but then again, they hadn't seen what what really happened. Of course, the news traveled fast, but my parents tried to keep everything covered up and said nothing about the fact that I believed it was my doing. Kids at school came to me after the holidays with their condolences or their congratulations. I did my best to steer clear of people, I don't trust myself anymore.

That was months ago during last term's holiday break. Now it's the start of a new term, and my second year at Hogwarts. People still remember my brother, but no longer do people come up and apologize to me when they have done nothing wrong. It was only a week ago when the whispers started. I hate to admit it, but no wonder the famous Harry Potter was a bit insane. There were rumors that he had once heard voices in his head from the connections with Voldemort. I swear that my head is splitting in two from them. The bloody whispers keep saying that I have a part to play. That I should be happy I was chosen, and that many great Slytherins would die for this honor. It is no blasted honor to me; it is torture. Occasionally, it will tell me to do things, things I don't want to do. The whispers made me hex the entrance to the Gryffindor door common room, which, in truth, I didn't mind. But the other things, like releasing the dragons from the magical creature stables into the school, were not in my control. Also, it seemed as though when I didn't want to listen, the whispers would get revenge, that's why my arm is now pink from healing burn marks from the dragons.

In truth, these whispers terrify me, but I am no coward and I will not admit that aloud to anyone though I will admit that I need to know what is happening to me.

I distractedly walk through the halls to my first period class with my friends Daphne, Blair, and Olivia. They happily chat around me about how amazing their summers had been.

"Oh, my darling mum and dad took me to the Quidditch World Cup, and we got to sit so close to the fields I swear I touched the robes of Fenwitch!" Blair exaggerates. Blair is like my second in command, I guess you could say. Together we patrolled the corridors, Lyra Malfoy and Blair Greengrass. It's always been that way, partly because we're cousins, but we're also best friends to. Blair has dark brown hair like her mum, but blue eyes that must have come from her father. However, she doesn't know as she has never met her father because he left after the first year her mum and dad were married. After that, her mum vowed to forget he ever came into their lives, with the exception of having a daughter, and changed their last name back to Greengrass.

"Well, my parents traveled with me to see the seven wonders of the Wizarding World," Vincent brags. Vincent Nott makes up our strong and mischievous three. His dark smile very much like my own makes him look as scary as he truly is, but for the three of us, well, the scarier, the better. He has dark black hair and dark green eyes that you almost never see from his messy hair covering his eyes; Vincent is from one of the old Death Eater families and has a blood-line as long as mine. However unlike me Vincent takes pride in his father, Theodore Nott, who was also a death eater but was not a weak and miserable incompetent slug like my father's father and my very own father.

And of course Evelyn had to contribute too, "Well I got to go to the beach." Evelyn is a first year which the three of us don't particularly like. She has little kid curls and big brown eyes. She has taken to following us around the school. We really don't want to associate with her as we are still unsure of her bloodline, and, as you know, we are all high-end pureblood families in the Slytherin house.

We all laugh because that was probably the most boring thing we ever heard. We only heard of Mud-bloods or half bloods with muggle parents that went to a simple and stupid place like the beach for the summer holiday.

"Oh, yeah, well, then what did you do, Malfoy?" Evelyn asked annoyed.

I smirk, "I spent the summer touring backstage with the wrock band, Snidget," I lie. I know my friends would be extremely jealous, and what can I say? I guess I'm like most Slytherins out there; you have to be on top. And that's where I feel safest.

We walk into first period class transfigurations, and right as I take my seat, I miss the chair, and fall on the floor, distracted by the screaming in my head. I cover my ears in attempt to block it out.

Whisper, whisper, whisper, whisper, whisper, whisper, whisper, whisper. That's all they are, just whispers that wouldn't shut up! I can hear other voices saying things around me, but the whispers are so loud, I can't make out what anyone is saying. All I can hear is a jumble of noise and sound.

"Wake UP!" a whisper screeches at me. It's like I can see them swarming around in my head. They look like smoky shadows grabbing at my ears and tugging at the edge of my mind, poisoning it. It's as if they were trying to break in and take over my mind, control me into waking up whoever or whatever it is.

"WAKE ME UP!" it shouts again.

"NO!" I scream aloud, and it fades to the recesses of my mind. The outside noises stops too, it's quiet.

"Are you okay, Ms. Malfoy?" McGonagall asks. Her white and grey hair frame her old withering face with thin half-moon shaped glasses set on the tip of her nose. I look around, I'm in Transfiguration. Madame Pomfry is bustling her way through the door, and she hefts me to my feet. Madame Pomfry has a round shape with a round ugly head set on top of it. Her pumpkin colored skirts and robes do nothing to slim her matching pumpkin shape.

"Come along deary. We best be getting you to the hospital wing. We don't want you take have another episode, now do we?" she says, worriedly.

I know she means to be kind, but it feels more insulting as if she is assuming I can't take care of myself, or that I don't know how to deal with things. She is right, of course, that I don't want anyone to see this happen again, and I don't know how to handle it, but I hate the hospital wing. All it reminds me of is sickness and death, and I'm not sick or dying…at least not yet.

"No, I'm fine. I…I…just need to talk to someone," I mumble before rushing out the door.

"Miss, where do you think you're going'' McGonagall questions from the doorway in her commanding tone. I don't answer her. I just run down the hallway to the room of my least favorite professor, but the one who can connect me with someone I need to talk to.

I walk around the school to my least favorite place with my least favorite teacher. I hate the green house; the way it looks, the way it smells. I don't mind nature, and I don't mind dirt, but everything in here is caked in it. The smell is what I hate the most. It smells like everything from perfume to manure, and mint to sickly sweet plant sap. The odd combination always burns my nose; a symphony of confusing, yet orderly chaotic smells. I see Professor Longbottom tending to a group of saplings. He is wearing long tan robes that folded in and out around him. He is also wearing very worn and faded brown leather gloves. He has what looked like aviator goggles on top of his head with thick glass and large black rims. His usually nicely combed black hair is pushed back with the goggles, making it stand up in places. As I enter, he turns at the sound of my footsteps.

"Lyra Malfoy, what might you be doing here? I know for a fact it's not about the plants because if I remember Monday well enough, you detest Herbology and called my class a useless waste of time and stupider than the creation of the Muggle race," he says, oddly cheerful.

"This is going to sound odd," I warn.

"I'm supposed to deal with odd. I'm a Hogwarts professor, am I not?" he says.

"Yes, very well. I was wondering is there any way I could talk to Harry Potter?" I ask timidly.

"You of all people want to talk to Harry. Could you tell me why, Lyra?"

"It's complicated," I start.

"Well, isn't it always?"

I nod my head and say, " Yes, but this is a serious matter. Something is going on with me, and I think he is the only person who will understand and know how to react."

"Can you tell me what's wrong or, perhaps, the headmistress can help you," Professor Longbottom suggests.

I shake my head no, "I don't think McGonagall will have the answers I need."

"Then, please do tell me what is troubling you," he says sounding almost therapist like.

"I hear whispers, dark whispers. They make me do things and tell me that I have to help him rise."

"Who is he?"

"I don't know! He won't tell me. All I know is that the whispers say there are great amazing powerful wizards the world seems to have forgotten, and whoever he is plans to come again with my help. Whether I want to or not," I babble.

"Mmhhhmmm," the professor mumbles. "Well, I believe we still need to know the who in order to solve anything," he states.

"I know that, and so does whoever this is. It's not Voldemort, but who is it then?"

"Yes, this is a rather perplexing situation here. What to do? What to do?" he mutters.

"I know what to do," I practically shriek. "We need Harry Potter!"

"I will write him an owl and let him know everything you told me. I do hope you keep me informed Ms. Malfoy. And do pay attention in my worthless class," he says, dismissing me.

I walk along the empty corridors, thinking. I can't stand him. I had thought class would be over by now, but my conversation with Professor Longbottom didn't go as well as I had hoped. Throughout the whole conversation, I had sounded nothing like myself. I acted like some helpless weak and spineless little Muggle, when in fact; I am Lyra Malfoy, who is nothing of that sort. Though what did I expect, he isn't my least favorite teacher for nothing.

I'm angry, more than angry, truthfully. I am not one to sit back and watch things happen. I am the reason things happen. I will not ask stupid Potter for help. I can do this on my own. Maybe the whispers are right. Maybe he is the only one who gets it. The only one who can give me the glory, the power, and the destiny I deserve. As if sensing my thoughts, the dark tendrils of the whispers reach my mind.

"I am right, you know I am," they taunt.

"You want the power don't you? You want to restore honor to your family, I can give that to you. I can give you everything." it echoes in my head, ricocheting off the walls of my skull.

"Lyra," Vincent calls from across the corridor.

I look up from the cream and tan colored marble floor to look at his porcelain face…or should I say hair, pointed nose, and unsmiling lips.

"Vincent," I say in return.

Vincent isn't so much for talking. He just does what he wants and gets what he wants. He doesn't speak; he just does.

Although, for whatever reason, he chooses now to ask what the matter is with me, "What the hell was that?" he asks. "Don't tell me it was the whispers again."

Vincent is the only one that knows about those. I would have told Blair, but then everyone would know that I'm completely mental, whereas Vincent wouldn't dare to tell a soul. I don't have to answer before he speaks up again.

"Lyra, whoever it is, or whatever it is you're better than them or it," he says. Well, this is incredibly unusual. Not only is he not reserved today, but he's giving me a pep talk. Honestly, something is seriously wrong here.

I don't feel like telling him anything that matters, so I say, "Since when are you the one to give inspirational speeches, Mr. Melancholy?"

But for whatever reason, he isn't dropping the subject, "Lyra, I'm serious here! This could be your chance to give your family the rightful honor your father and grandfather destroyed! This is your chance to prove your power because you have so much more than them, or, even though hate to say this but you need to hear it, me."

Okay, now I give him a look. Never in a million years would Vincent ever tell me that. Yes, it is true; I am an amazing witch, but Vincent always tries to prove that he is better.

"Now wipe that idiotic grin off your face, or I will do it for you. We have classes to skip, tests to fail, honor to prove, magic to cast, and first years to torment!" Now that sounded more like the terrorizing, Slytherin Vincent we all know, and often hate. And yes, I kept my most amazing trademark sly grin on my face.

After this, Vincent falls silent again as Blair comes down the hallway, relieved that she finally found us. She looks frustrated, and I'm guessing it's because of Evelyn. Blair can't stand Evelyn, in fact she hates Evelyn with a passion, but that isn't a surprise. Blair hates most people she meets. She comes to a stop in front of us with a questioning look, but Vincent shoots her a glare in response, saying 'don't ask.'

The rest of the day goes on like any other day at Hogwarts except for the "accidental" hexing of Mr. Peabody, our charms teacher, who is now glued to the ceiling of his classroom. In class, we were learning the sticking charm; good for binding muggle and magical items together. Of course, a stupid Ravenclaw student made the mistake of asking if it worked on people. I believe her name is Rashell Herondale. She has thick glasses, bushy brown hair, and small beady little eyes. In a way, she reminds me of a weasel…or a brown and dying shrub.

"Yes, but it isn't advised, as it has the potential to burn the skin and cause a red rash where the person was glued with that item; whatever it may be."

At that point, I couldn't resist. Under my desk, I levitated him into the air, and then together, Vincent and Blair cast the gluing spell. I hid my sleek black wand that was thirteen inches of hazel and a core of dragon heart string under my desk.

"Gultenromoneo," they mutter.

Everyone could probably guess it was us, as we laughed the loudest when it happened, but I have perfected erasing the history of my wand, almost as if all I had to do was click a button. Click, then poof there goes the proof that we were the ones that cast the spell. I had to learn of course how to perfect erasing because you can't really trust a Slytherin trying to look innocent, it just doesn't work.

Other than that, though, we had a relatively normal day after the strange and unnerving morning we had. Now we're sitting on the black leather chairs of the Slytherin common room, with the few torches in the iron wall bracket's green flames dimed low. It is late and the waxing moon is high in the sky. Even looking from my vantage point on the other side of the room, I can see millions of tiny stars in the sky. September, I think, what constellations are found in the September night sky?

"Lyra, LYRA?" Blair asks annoyed, "Did you hear what I said?"

I turn to look at her, "No, sorry, what did you say?"

"I asked, what happened today and why do you keep freaking out? This isn't the first time this has happened, is it?" she asks. I hesitate.

"Is it?" she prompts again.

I glance at Vincent, and, from what I can see of his half hidden eyes, they scream "lie to her."

A/N: Okay, so that was chapter one! Tell me what you guys think. Reviews are sweet, and so are cookies I will accept both! :) Just to clear up a few things up, Lyra was four years younger than Scorpious, so Lily Potter would be two years older than her. Since Lyra is in her second year, Lily is in her fourth, and is the last Potter of this generation at Hogwarts for now. If you have any questions, comments, suggestions, funny jokes you care to share, what you ate for breakfast, or you just want to say hi, you know what to do. Click on the review button! It doesn't bite…at least not usually!