Chapter 9
Telling the truth would be worse. Much worse.
The rest of the short Christmas break was as uneventful as ever, and Lyra was admittedly glad when the rest of Hogwarts' students returned. She checked her coin regularly, hoping that she had just missed it heating up to inform her of the next DA meeting, but no such luck. She was almost to the point of going up to the youngest Weasley in her year and asking if she'd missed something, but had decided against it. She decided instead to return to her common room in the dungeons early that evening, but it seemed her queries were to be answered anyway.
The entrance to Snape's office sat in a hallway off to the left of the route to the common room, and as Lyra passed it, she felt a slight pushing near her temple. It took her a moment to realise that the feeling was not physical, but was in fact all in her head. Someone was trying to push their way into her head.
For a moment she began to panic, before she realised that the sensation was dulled, and it would be hard for someone not making eye contact with her to attempt Legilimency. She frowned, looking down the hall to Snape's door, and for good measure took several steps forward until she could no longer see it. The sensation stopped immediately. She took several steps backwards, and the sensation began again, and after a few more backwards it stopped.
Lyra was confused, to say the least. Someone – and by the looks of things, that someone was in Snape's office – was using Legilimency, powerful Legilimency. The kind that others could feel if they knew what it was, even if they weren't the target of it. But with that confusion came a damning sense of curiosity, and though the young Slytherin knew she should make haste and get the hell out of there, she couldn't bring herself to. Just as this thought struck her, however, the feeling of invasion in her mind ceased, and before she knew what to do, Snape's office door cracked open.
"And do not forget to practice, Mr. Potter. I shall know," came Snape's baritone voice, and to Lyra's surprise out stumbled a rather haggard-looking Harry, his eyes bleary and his steps shaky. He looked up, surprise on his own face when he realised who stood at the other end of the hallway.
"Oh, hey, Lyra."
He seemed relieved, almost, to see her, but then his features paled – more than they already were – and he scrambled with his next few words.
"I – uh – I was just having remedial potions with Snape," he said lamely, and had Lyra not already figured out what was going on, she would have found it very difficult to believe him. She waited for him to step towards her, away from Snape's office, to ensure her response did not carry to her Head of House's ears.
"You would make a terrible Slytherin, Harry," she informed him companionably as she fell into step next to him. "You are ever so transparent."
Harry stopped, surprise, suspicion, and fear crossing over his features at once. Lyra stopped as well, looking at him seriously, perhaps for the first time in her life.
"Don't fret, Harry. I won't tell anyone that our resident Potions Master was rifling through your head. Besides, who would I tell?"
She continued walking, and Harry was left with little choice but to trail next to her.
"How'd you... I mean..."
Lyra smiled. "Legilimency can be felt by other people in the vicinity, if they know what it feels like." Harry opened his mouth, probably to question how she knew what it felt like, but she didn't let him. "I take it Professor Snape was attempting to teach you Occlumency?"
Harry's eyes widened at her deduction, but instead of questioning her further, he merely shook his head but cringed slightly as the apparent pain in his head increased with the motion.
"You know far too much for your own good, Lyra White," he told her in disbelief.
She smiled, and nodded. "If only you knew, Harry," she said furtively. "But moving right along, are you any good at it? You don't have to tell me anything about it, if you don't want to," she added quickly. Harry being Harry, it was probably not something she was supposed to be privy to. He seemed to contemplate her for a moment, before he merely shrugged.
"I suck at it, actually, which Snape likes to constantly remind me. I can never clear my mind enough."
Lyra slowed her pace slightly at his words, thinking.
"Well that is rather difficult. Most people try and concentrate on one thing when they first begin Occlumency."
Harry looked at her in puzzlement. "What do you mean?"
By this point the pair had left the dungeons and now stood in one of Hogwats' many courtyards. Lyra stepped over to a wooden seat by the entrance to the rest of the castle, and Harry followed suit.
"Well, the whole purpose of Legilimency to gain access to someone's mind, yes?" Harry nodded. "However if there's nothing there, if you mind is blank and empty, it is impossible for the Legilimens to find a way in. Every one of your thoughts is connected, so the minute they find one they can leap from that thought to another. That's why you're told to empty your mind." Again, Harry nodded. "A skilled Occlumens can dictate where the intruder is lead, allowing them to see only what the mind wishes. It's like they conjure a fake mind around their real mind to protect it. You, obviously, are not quite up to that." Harry snorted in agreement. "But in my experience, it's much easier not to empty your mind. Instead, you focus intently on one thing."
"What do you mean? Didn't you say that all thoughts are connected?"
"Indeed, but I wasn't quite finished with my expositional onslaught. You have to focus entirely on something, and it's best that it is a material something. Even better if you can see it. Emotions or concepts are difficult to focus on, as other things like what brought the emotion on might slip into your thoughts and then you're back at square one. If all you are thinking about is that one material item, then that's all the Legilimens will see."
"Well what kind of 'material thing' would you suggest I think about?" Harry asked, still a little sceptical about everything she'd told him. Lyra sensed his apprehension, and after a moment of thought she pulled out her wand.
"I think you may benefit more if I showed you."
Harry eyed her wand wearily, but after some prompting he pulled out his own.
"You know the spell?" He nodded. "Well, then." She smirked. "Give me your best shot."
Harry blinked at her, and when it became apparent that she was not about to tell him otherwise, he tightened his grip around his wand and stared her directly in the eye.
"Legilimency!" he cried, and he immediately suffered the sensation of being sucked into something. But instead of being assaulted by images and memories, the only thing Harry could see was... leaves. He was surrounded by them, and no matter how hard he tried to push through it, the wall of green would not relent. His mind began to strain, and very suddenly he returned to himself, panting heavily.
"Whoa." His hand shot to his head. "That was a lot of leaves."
Lyra was equally tired from the mental attack, though she attempted not to show it. She had basic skills in Occlumency, nothing further. It had been a risk, inviting Harry into her mind the way she did. But for whatever reason she wanted to help him with this, perhaps to repay the debt of allowing her into the DA. It was stupid and reckless, and if he had been marginally stronger at the spell, things would not have gone down well.
Lyra shook herself mentally, refocusing on the situation at hand.
"Indeed. First thing I saw. It helps if the material item you think about has no connection to you, simply for the same reason that you should avoid using emotions."
Harry expelled a long breath, leaning back into the wooden seat they occupied and closing his eyes slightly. "How do you know all this stuff?"
"I told you, Harry. I know many things I shouldn't."
He opened an eye at that, and the look he sent Lyra clearly said he was being serious. She sighed, leaning back next to him, though still comfortably apart.
"My godfather is, for want of a better word, a paranoid schizophrenic. At least, I believe he is. He insisted I learn to 'guard my mind' et cetera et cetera."
Harry seemed to take this as an acceptable answer for he closed his eye again and relaxed back into the seat further.
"Mmm... I should be doing work..." he mused absently.
"I don't doubt you should be," Lyra agreed, her tone equally vacant.
Harry's lips quirked up slightly. "I suppose you've –"
"Potter!"
Lyra groaned slightly as the familiar voice reached her ears and she felt Harry jump to his feet next to her. She, on the other hand, took her time opening her eyes and straightening.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry said coldly. Draco sneered his patented Malfoy sneer as he drew nearer, lackey-less for a change.
"Lost, are we Pot-Head?" Draco drawled, motioning slightly with his head in Lyra's direction. Harry glanced in her direction, following Draco's meaning.
"Lyra's my friend, Malfoy, so back off," Harry threatened. Draco stared at him for a moment, eyes wide, before he burst out laughing.
"F-friend?" he managed to gasp between hysterical guffaws. "That's a good one!"
Lyra knew the conversation was taking a dangerous turn, so quickly she stood and situated herself between the two boys.
"Draco, I think perhaps you've overstayed your welcome," she muttered so that only he could hear, her tone dark. But the blonde Slytherin was not finished.
"Oh, if only you knew, Potter," he said loudly, ensuring the Gryffindor could hear him. "I bet you think you've found yourself a noble little Slytherin, a good Slytherin, but I tell you, she's the worst of us!"
Lyra's eyes flashed dangerously at the blonde, and his laughter ceased momentarily. His expression remained defiant, however, and he refused to be put out by her glare.
"C'mon, Lyra, let's get the hell out of here," Harry suggested in a low voice, one hand moving to Lyra's elbow in an attempt to pull her out of her glaring contest with her housemate.
"No no, how about you run along, Potter. I have a feeling Lyra wants a word with me," Draco said mockingly.
Harry frowned. "Lyra?"
Lyra tore her gaze from Draco's and turned around to look at Harry, softening her eyes slightly.
"I'll see you later, okay?" she asked by way of dismissal. Harry took the hint, and with a final nod in her direction and a pissed-off glare in Draco's, he turned and walked back into the castle.
Lyra immediately spun around to confront Draco, who had dropped the arrogant facade and now looked at her reproachfully.
"What the hell was that, Lyra?" he demanded, his voice low.
Lyra scoffed. "Mmm, ask that question again, except this time, I'm you," she shot back.
"I'm not the one fraternising with Harry-Fucking-Potter, self-righteousness incarnate!"
Lyra crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head in slight disbelief at the fact that she was having this conversation with Draco Malfoy.
He eyed her carefully before continuing. "You think he's your friend now, but the minute, no, second, he finds out the truth –"
"I know!" Lyra shouted, cutting him off. "I know, Draco!"
He seemed taken aback by her admission, but his surprise only held him back for a moment. "Then why are you setting yourself up for this? He's going to find out – they're all going to – and if you're, what is it, friends with him, then it's only going to make things worse. He's one of them, Lyra."
"I know." The anger had fled from Lyra's voice, leaving her sounding nothing but tired.
"Then why are you doing this?" Draco demanded again, sparking her indignation.
"Why do you care?" Lyra challenged, angry once more.
"I don't care! I just want to know!"
"Well did it ever occur to you that maybe I don't want this? That maybe I like having someone care about me, even if it's just for a little while? That maybe I don't want to end up like you?"
Her final comment stung him hard, she could tell, and perhaps later on she would find herself regretting it. Draco's eyes flashed, and when he next spoke, his tone was deadly even.
"You think you can run from this, but you can't. It's stupid and naive to even try. You're stuck with it, whether you want it or not."
With that, he spun his toes and began to stride away. Two steps later, Lyra felt that pesky pang of guilt.
"Draco," she attempted to call out to him.
He heard her, but didn't turn back around. Instead, he flipped her off over his shoulder and quickened his stride. With a muted sigh, Lyra watched him brusquely leave, placing no blame with him on the way their conversation had escalated. Everything he had said was true, no matter how hard she had been trying to deny it for the past few months.
Lyra turned in the other direction, wondering what she was going to do in that instant now that she obviously couldn't return to the common room. So occupied was she by her thoughts that she failed to notice the figure standing by the door as she stepped back into the castle. Without a second glance she strode past them, determined to find somewhere nice and quiet and alone.
The figure watched her leave with wide, shocked green eyes. From his vantage point, he had heard the entire altercation, even if he had been unable to witness it.
Harry Potter shook his head, sure that he must have misinterpreted the conversation. But no matter which way he looked at it, Lyra was hiding something from him. And whatever that something was, it wasn't something that would expand her social horizons.
If Lyra had thought her week couldn't get any worse, she would have been far mistaken. Luckily, Lyra held no such notions that she had hit rock bottom, so when she snatched the Daily Prophet from the hands of an unsuspecting third year at breakfast, the headlines merely served to increase her sense of resentment toward the world, rather than plunge her into despair. Somewhat.
It took a lot of self-control on Lyra's part not to smash the nearest piece of crockery with her bare hands as she read the day's headlines. Prisoners had escaped Azkaban, it stated. Lyra almost couldn't bring herself to look at the profiles of those who had broken out. Lyra's throat clenched. There she was. With eyes half-lidded and wholly crazed, Bellatrix LeStrange was a hard woman to misidentify.
The third year Lyra had nicked the paper from pulled it from her grasp, but Lyra barely noticed. She was staring blankly at her empty plate, her appetite having very suddenly disappeared. However sudden movement in her peripheral vision caused her to look up, just in time to snatch the letter Atra, her godfather's owl, dropped by her head. Lyra swallowed hard. She knew what the letter was going to say, but even still her hands shook ever so slightly as she unfurled the note. Dustin's usually presentable writing was hurried and messy, and the message was brief.
Lyra,
If you have read the papers, then you know why I am writing to you. She has escaped. I can no longer remain in Britain, and shall be taking the first portkey out of the country. I regret that I cannot take you with me, but perhaps that is for the best. I do not know when I shall return, if ever. It is not safe for me. I have owled Dumbledore, and he should help make arrangements for your care.
I truly am sorry, Lyra.
Sincerely,
Dustin.
Lyra sat completely frozen, the letter shaking in her hands. Her eyes stared blankly at the page, rereading the third-last line of the letter – I truly am sorry, Lyra.
That fucking two-faced son-of-a-bitch.
Something inside Lyra snapped at that moment and she flung herself to her feet, irrespective of anyone else who may have been in the way. With blind eyes and deaf ears she stormed from the Great Hall. She didn't know where she was going, she only knew she had to get out of there. Her feet carried her to her favourite classroom, and with a silent spell she closed and locked the door behind her. She barely made it to the front of the classroom before she collapsed to her knees and began to sob.
At first she was silent, allowing the tears to pour down her face. But then she began to become angrier and angrier, and before she knew it she was overturning desks and smashing windows with a flurry of hexes. She yelled, as well, and had a passerby happened upon the classroom, they probably would have thought Peeves or the Bloody Baron had taken up refuge inside.
Eventually Lyra wore herself out and she crumbled to the ground, once again returning to her silent sobbing. She didn't know how long she had been in there before someone finally came to disturb her.
"Miss White..."
Lyra whipped around, her sleeve already attempting to wipe futilely at the tear tracks along her cheeks. Standing in the doorway of the classroom was none other than Severus Snape, his eyes dark and his expression the most concerned she had ever seen him. His gaze flicked quickly around the classroom, assessing the destruction, but he made no comment on it. Instead he turned his eyes back to the girl on the floor.
"Professor Dumbledore would like to speak with you."
Lyra knew this had been coming, so without protest she collected herself and stood, dusting off her robes as she approached the door. Snape flicked his wand several times, and all around her the classroom began to righten itself. He would not meet her stare directly, but her Head of House placed a strangely comforting hand on her upper arms as he led her away from the classroom and towards the Headmaster's office.
Harry watched the scene unfold of a quite concerned Potions Master leading away a distraught looking Lyra. Had he not know otherwise, he may have thought she was being lead to her own execution. Across the hall from him, his worried green eyes locked onto a pair of cold, silver ones. Malfoy said nothing to him, however. It seemed they had come to a silent agreement without even realising it.
Both boys turned back to the retreating pair of Snape and Lyra, and Harry couldn't help wondering what exactly the other boy knew.
