Disclaimer: yep, never normally write these, but we all know none of this
belongs to me, least of all Hogwarts, bla bla. Cyra and Levir (and their
parents) are mine, but wouldn't be much without the world JK has created.
Tried to avoid Cyra becoming a Mary Sue, but if you sense her slipping into
those dreaded dimensions, feel free to review. Beware: I really don't
speculate around the original story line of book 4, and my characters don't
really do much more than meet Harry and that lot occasionally. And I mean
occasionally. Really sorry if any of this is a cliché. Just enjoy writing
it that's all. I know I'm not particularly great but I just like doing it.
Anyway, yeah – none of this is mine. Except some of it.
Chapter 1
Cyra Dracado edged her way along the quiet corridor towards a patch of moonlight that had lain itself across the floor under the tall window opposite. She was alone and the place was deserted. The long corridor stretched out into the shadows behind her, the stone walls and floor making every sound echo loudly through the silence. She had removed her shoes for the purpose of remaining undetected, and against the cold slab of the stone floor she felt her feet going numb every time she paused.
This was presenting a problem, because in this sleepy hour when everybody else had long since gone to bed, any movement around the castle was amplified at least ten times, and Cyra, wary of being discovered, was having to pause for long intervals when she thought there might be someone other than herself in the area. The biggest threat was, of course, Mrs Norris – who, despite being nothing more than a mangy cat, was ironically the most lethal thing to be caught out by. Heavier were the steps of Dumbledore or one of the teachers, but Mrs Norris, her orb like eyes often being the only thing you saw of her before you realised she'd cornered you, was the one whom Cyra – through long experience – knew to be the worst. She'd appear silently as a mist, and whisk just as quickly away again, but she'd return once again with a much more virulent disease: Argus Filch, the caretaker. Cyra scowled. Like everyone else, she hated him because there was no way to get round him. But unlike everyone else, this hit Cyra twice as hard because she could usually find a way round everyone. She could flatter McGonagall, and impress Vector; but Filch was neither clever nor impressionable. He was as stupid as callous as it was possible to be, and in all her four years at Hogwarts, Cyra still hadn't discovered a solution for him.
So whilst sneaking around with only the pale moonlight illuminating the passage, Cyra did not relish the thought of being caught, and froze every two seconds at the slightest noise. As she stopped mid-stance, paralysed by a distant clatter, the seconds lapsed and she felt the cold seeping up through her thin socks. The warming charm was wearing off. She cocked an ear to the noise. It was faint and jerky, a sound that would have been loud, had she been closer, but the castle was ages wide and it didn't sound too threatening. She decided it was just Peeves banging around and sank her foot to the ground once more. Still pressed against the wall, she glanced down at her feet. It was getting cold and the charm would only take a second to replenish. She listened shrewdly for the slightest noise in any direction, but now there was only silence. Satisfied, she gathered the hem of her cloak off the ground, pushed her wand to her feet and muttered "Insulo." Immediately, a delicious warmth flooded back into them.
Feeling danger of both Filch and losing her feet to pneumonia had passed, Cyra straightened up, letting her robes drop – but no sooner had she taken a step forward, when a very real and dangerous noise sounded ahead.
Footsteps could be heard, resounding through the echoey passage; they sounded as though they belonged to the corridor round the left corner, and they were coming straight in Cyra's direction.
Cyra Dracado needed not a moment to think – she didn't even stop to swear as she spun on her heel and streaked noiselessly back down the way she had just come. She pushed away from the wall and broke into a run, whisking down the pitch-black corridor, away from the light of the window. The footsteps were still behind her, they were picking up speed, aware of her black shadow pelting away from them. She pushed her legs faster, her socks making no noise but her feet beginning to slip on the smooth floor. The footsteps were running too, chasing her. They were in the same passageway. She felt the slap of the air as she bolted through it, cursing her robes as they rustled noticeably. It was getting harder to see, she couldn't navigate at this speed. The footsteps were sliding into one another with the pace they were travelling at. Cyra whipped past the passageway she had entered by – it was too late to change, she kept running regardless. But her feet were slipping; she felt a snag on the floor. She saw only blackness ahead, but shadowy forms were appearing. The footsteps were closing in. Cyra peered desperately into the void. The pursuer was drawing nearer. She couldn't make out the forms ahead with the rate she was going. Blackness seemed to be on either side ahead, but she couldn't make out what was in the middle. The footsteps were distinct; dimness yawned in front of her. Her heart raced with the hankering footsteps behind. Ahead she couldn't see. She was slowing down. The chasing footsteps didn't stop. She stared in front. Faster. She should be running, but something told her to stop. Faster. Her feet skidded awkwardly on the slab floor. Closer. What was ahead? Closer. She couldn't stop now. Faster. Now she saw what it was. Closer. An opening. Faster. But she was too close, travelling too fast to catch herself before the ground dropped away from under her feet.
She fell what seemed like five storeys, shapes materialising out of the dimness around her. A staircase. She felt as though her heart was still at the top of it. In the darkness, she could have sworn she was suspended there; but her feet suddenly came into contact with something solid, her knees sank into it and she clattered to the ground. Panicking, she scrabbled for the banister, but her legs were thrown downwards, her head carried over and all in clumsy, rolling twist she landed in a sprawled heap at the foot of the stairs.
She was thrown onto her back, dazed and angry. Her robes riding high against her crumpled legs, her arms rebounding painfully against the ground next to her ears. Above her, a dim figure appeared, descending the stairs. Cyra corrected herself, furious to be caught out and prepared to slip away at the next given opportunity. She worked her spread-eagled legs together and propped herself up, her hair bedraggled round her silently fuming face. The figure slowly came into focus. They were reaching the last of the stairs.
Cyra felt the flush of suspicion leave her. Now she realised. Only one person could watch a girl fall down the stairs with so much bitter indifference and walk up to her afterwards with not even the slightest concern on his shadowed face. She smiled wryly.
Here they were, back on familiar territory. Here was one person whose emotions she was still trying to master. This would be interesting. She sat up as he stopped, towering above her.
Slowly she turned her face upwards, to make absolutely sure he knew exactly who it was. He glared stonily back. Cyra gave her daunting smile and said, "Hello Professor."
Chapter 1
Cyra Dracado edged her way along the quiet corridor towards a patch of moonlight that had lain itself across the floor under the tall window opposite. She was alone and the place was deserted. The long corridor stretched out into the shadows behind her, the stone walls and floor making every sound echo loudly through the silence. She had removed her shoes for the purpose of remaining undetected, and against the cold slab of the stone floor she felt her feet going numb every time she paused.
This was presenting a problem, because in this sleepy hour when everybody else had long since gone to bed, any movement around the castle was amplified at least ten times, and Cyra, wary of being discovered, was having to pause for long intervals when she thought there might be someone other than herself in the area. The biggest threat was, of course, Mrs Norris – who, despite being nothing more than a mangy cat, was ironically the most lethal thing to be caught out by. Heavier were the steps of Dumbledore or one of the teachers, but Mrs Norris, her orb like eyes often being the only thing you saw of her before you realised she'd cornered you, was the one whom Cyra – through long experience – knew to be the worst. She'd appear silently as a mist, and whisk just as quickly away again, but she'd return once again with a much more virulent disease: Argus Filch, the caretaker. Cyra scowled. Like everyone else, she hated him because there was no way to get round him. But unlike everyone else, this hit Cyra twice as hard because she could usually find a way round everyone. She could flatter McGonagall, and impress Vector; but Filch was neither clever nor impressionable. He was as stupid as callous as it was possible to be, and in all her four years at Hogwarts, Cyra still hadn't discovered a solution for him.
So whilst sneaking around with only the pale moonlight illuminating the passage, Cyra did not relish the thought of being caught, and froze every two seconds at the slightest noise. As she stopped mid-stance, paralysed by a distant clatter, the seconds lapsed and she felt the cold seeping up through her thin socks. The warming charm was wearing off. She cocked an ear to the noise. It was faint and jerky, a sound that would have been loud, had she been closer, but the castle was ages wide and it didn't sound too threatening. She decided it was just Peeves banging around and sank her foot to the ground once more. Still pressed against the wall, she glanced down at her feet. It was getting cold and the charm would only take a second to replenish. She listened shrewdly for the slightest noise in any direction, but now there was only silence. Satisfied, she gathered the hem of her cloak off the ground, pushed her wand to her feet and muttered "Insulo." Immediately, a delicious warmth flooded back into them.
Feeling danger of both Filch and losing her feet to pneumonia had passed, Cyra straightened up, letting her robes drop – but no sooner had she taken a step forward, when a very real and dangerous noise sounded ahead.
Footsteps could be heard, resounding through the echoey passage; they sounded as though they belonged to the corridor round the left corner, and they were coming straight in Cyra's direction.
Cyra Dracado needed not a moment to think – she didn't even stop to swear as she spun on her heel and streaked noiselessly back down the way she had just come. She pushed away from the wall and broke into a run, whisking down the pitch-black corridor, away from the light of the window. The footsteps were still behind her, they were picking up speed, aware of her black shadow pelting away from them. She pushed her legs faster, her socks making no noise but her feet beginning to slip on the smooth floor. The footsteps were running too, chasing her. They were in the same passageway. She felt the slap of the air as she bolted through it, cursing her robes as they rustled noticeably. It was getting harder to see, she couldn't navigate at this speed. The footsteps were sliding into one another with the pace they were travelling at. Cyra whipped past the passageway she had entered by – it was too late to change, she kept running regardless. But her feet were slipping; she felt a snag on the floor. She saw only blackness ahead, but shadowy forms were appearing. The footsteps were closing in. Cyra peered desperately into the void. The pursuer was drawing nearer. She couldn't make out the forms ahead with the rate she was going. Blackness seemed to be on either side ahead, but she couldn't make out what was in the middle. The footsteps were distinct; dimness yawned in front of her. Her heart raced with the hankering footsteps behind. Ahead she couldn't see. She was slowing down. The chasing footsteps didn't stop. She stared in front. Faster. She should be running, but something told her to stop. Faster. Her feet skidded awkwardly on the slab floor. Closer. What was ahead? Closer. She couldn't stop now. Faster. Now she saw what it was. Closer. An opening. Faster. But she was too close, travelling too fast to catch herself before the ground dropped away from under her feet.
She fell what seemed like five storeys, shapes materialising out of the dimness around her. A staircase. She felt as though her heart was still at the top of it. In the darkness, she could have sworn she was suspended there; but her feet suddenly came into contact with something solid, her knees sank into it and she clattered to the ground. Panicking, she scrabbled for the banister, but her legs were thrown downwards, her head carried over and all in clumsy, rolling twist she landed in a sprawled heap at the foot of the stairs.
She was thrown onto her back, dazed and angry. Her robes riding high against her crumpled legs, her arms rebounding painfully against the ground next to her ears. Above her, a dim figure appeared, descending the stairs. Cyra corrected herself, furious to be caught out and prepared to slip away at the next given opportunity. She worked her spread-eagled legs together and propped herself up, her hair bedraggled round her silently fuming face. The figure slowly came into focus. They were reaching the last of the stairs.
Cyra felt the flush of suspicion leave her. Now she realised. Only one person could watch a girl fall down the stairs with so much bitter indifference and walk up to her afterwards with not even the slightest concern on his shadowed face. She smiled wryly.
Here they were, back on familiar territory. Here was one person whose emotions she was still trying to master. This would be interesting. She sat up as he stopped, towering above her.
Slowly she turned her face upwards, to make absolutely sure he knew exactly who it was. He glared stonily back. Cyra gave her daunting smile and said, "Hello Professor."