1 Apology: I am thoroughly aware that by this point I have already revealed
that she has a bizarre name, relations to one of the main characters, most
definitely isn't normal and has silent command over her teachers. I
apologise. In this chapter we get back to a more normal side of things. She
is human, honest. And even if she is a Mary Sue, you have to admit she's a
bit unconventional.
2
3
4 Chapter 3
Cyra had long known about the Triwizard Tournament before it was officially announced at Hogwarts. Her father had had plenty to say on the subject, and there had been many people involved with the organisation of the event coming to the house. Undiscovered, and with a mild interest, she'd listened in on snatches of conversation about it, but the events didn't affect her in the slightest. Despite being too young by a year, Cyra would not have entered even if she could (and even with the age restriction, if she had really wanted to she would have found a way); whatever centre-stage limelight the rest of the school might be seeking, it wouldn't have concerned her.
It was irritating to sit there in the Great Hall with the rest of them, listening to an announcement being received with a kind of awed stupor; each face hanging gormless as though this was the most wonderful event in history. And the way they had all stared at that new teacher, Moody. He was strange to Cyra as well, but she didn't sit gawking openly. Perhaps here would be an interesting teacher for once, weird as he might be. There had only been one teacher worth noting before, and he was gone. Cyra had looked at the gnarled face engraved with weatherworn grooves and decided she would not try to find a way round him. Sometimes just watching quietly from the background was more rewarding.
It was funny, in a way though; to hear the suspended silence as every idiotic one of them sat along the tables. So obedient and so easily pleased. It was nice to laugh inwardly and see them all in a way that they'd never look at themselves. In a way, the gormless quiet was funny. But then that idiot Fred Weasley had spoken up, so true to form in his basic way. Was there an intelligent comment that had ever passed his lips? It broke the atmosphere, and things had returned as before – laughing, joking: acting like kids.
But the thing that perhaps most annoyed Cyra, was the way that every single student, from knowing nothing of the tournament, and being ignorant for so long whilst she was aware from the start, suddenly deemed themselves experts on the matter. Suddenly the corridors were filled with the buzzing sound of rumours and knowledgeable excitement. Couldn't they see that they had known nothing until they'd been told about it? Didn't they realise their dependence on other people? The people controlling them?
The weekend after Snape had caught Cyra sneaking down the corridors at night, she had noticed the poster on the wall announcing the arrival of the foreign students. Another thing she'd known about for ages. Once again, people were crowded round it, suddenly taking the authority of knowing everything about the affair. She moved quickly away and headed down to her common room. The dark, low passages were cheerless – she was at home here; to have the phoney joviality of the rest of the castle cut out by the stark dankness of the dungeons was much more comforting. She enjoyed seeing the shadows flickering on peoples' faces as the hastened out of the corridors – aiming for the light of the Entrance Hall and the places above the ground floor. Cyra smiled and kept going.
Seconds later though, she paused, watching the shadows dancing across the floor in front of her. The sound of voices was coming round the corner; the candlelight was flickering into the vague forms of people approaching from the left corridor. Next moment, three students had turned the corner: two of them large and hulking, the other small, pale-faced and scowling in a manner that only Cyra herself could better. The last person happened to be her second cousin – a completely irrelevant fact other than Cyra occasionally spoke to him. He stopped abruptly as he saw her. Cyra remained static, a rare smile probably being the cause of this. He hesitated, and seemed to resist the urge to turn back. The fact that she was a relative didn't alter his view of her; to him, as to the rest of the school, she was a freak – an indecipherable weirdo that was best left alone. Suspicion had narrowed his eyes into slits.
"Cyra," he said shortly.
"Draco," she replied. "Seen the notice? The foreign students are coming on Friday."
He nodded uncomfortably. "Didn't think you ventured above ground much these days," he said. "The Entrance Hall's a bit of a big leap."
Cyra smiled even wider. The bastard edge was still in him.
"Going to be entering?" she pressed, "a lot of opportunity for you to outshine yourself. Maybe bring back a bit of respect to the family name."
His mouth went tight. "Your name is the one without respect, Dracado. You took that name to distance yourself from the Malfoys – to pretend you didn't belong to them. Don't talk to me about family respect."
Cyra's smile faded slowly. "I have no interest in the honour of any family name," she said. "Dracado means nothing to me. Malfoy even less. I wouldn't try to involve me in this little dispute you've been drawn into."
Draco's features dropped from the scathing frown. His eyes were staring warily at her. She knew the expression in them – once again he couldn't work out her goal, and so he couldn't retaliate with a decent argument. She knew he hated to lose. "Better quit while your ahead," said Cyra.
Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Come on," he muttered to his cronies. And then turning to Cyra, he said, "on second thought, Dracado, your grandfather taking that name was the best thing that ever happened to the Malfoys. The further you stay from us the better. We don't want relations with freaks like you." Scowling, he swept off down the corridor, Crabbe and Goyle following in his wake. Cyra gave another small smile.
Teachers, father, even relations – she had them all wrapped round her little finger. And the funniest thing was, they didn't even know it. They thought they were the ones in control of their lives, leaving the freak in the background. Didn't they see she could make them perform however she wanted?
As she made off to the common room she felt very calm. Whatever the delegation of foreign students might bring, she could guess it wasn't something she couldn't handle.
2
3
4 Chapter 3
Cyra had long known about the Triwizard Tournament before it was officially announced at Hogwarts. Her father had had plenty to say on the subject, and there had been many people involved with the organisation of the event coming to the house. Undiscovered, and with a mild interest, she'd listened in on snatches of conversation about it, but the events didn't affect her in the slightest. Despite being too young by a year, Cyra would not have entered even if she could (and even with the age restriction, if she had really wanted to she would have found a way); whatever centre-stage limelight the rest of the school might be seeking, it wouldn't have concerned her.
It was irritating to sit there in the Great Hall with the rest of them, listening to an announcement being received with a kind of awed stupor; each face hanging gormless as though this was the most wonderful event in history. And the way they had all stared at that new teacher, Moody. He was strange to Cyra as well, but she didn't sit gawking openly. Perhaps here would be an interesting teacher for once, weird as he might be. There had only been one teacher worth noting before, and he was gone. Cyra had looked at the gnarled face engraved with weatherworn grooves and decided she would not try to find a way round him. Sometimes just watching quietly from the background was more rewarding.
It was funny, in a way though; to hear the suspended silence as every idiotic one of them sat along the tables. So obedient and so easily pleased. It was nice to laugh inwardly and see them all in a way that they'd never look at themselves. In a way, the gormless quiet was funny. But then that idiot Fred Weasley had spoken up, so true to form in his basic way. Was there an intelligent comment that had ever passed his lips? It broke the atmosphere, and things had returned as before – laughing, joking: acting like kids.
But the thing that perhaps most annoyed Cyra, was the way that every single student, from knowing nothing of the tournament, and being ignorant for so long whilst she was aware from the start, suddenly deemed themselves experts on the matter. Suddenly the corridors were filled with the buzzing sound of rumours and knowledgeable excitement. Couldn't they see that they had known nothing until they'd been told about it? Didn't they realise their dependence on other people? The people controlling them?
The weekend after Snape had caught Cyra sneaking down the corridors at night, she had noticed the poster on the wall announcing the arrival of the foreign students. Another thing she'd known about for ages. Once again, people were crowded round it, suddenly taking the authority of knowing everything about the affair. She moved quickly away and headed down to her common room. The dark, low passages were cheerless – she was at home here; to have the phoney joviality of the rest of the castle cut out by the stark dankness of the dungeons was much more comforting. She enjoyed seeing the shadows flickering on peoples' faces as the hastened out of the corridors – aiming for the light of the Entrance Hall and the places above the ground floor. Cyra smiled and kept going.
Seconds later though, she paused, watching the shadows dancing across the floor in front of her. The sound of voices was coming round the corner; the candlelight was flickering into the vague forms of people approaching from the left corridor. Next moment, three students had turned the corner: two of them large and hulking, the other small, pale-faced and scowling in a manner that only Cyra herself could better. The last person happened to be her second cousin – a completely irrelevant fact other than Cyra occasionally spoke to him. He stopped abruptly as he saw her. Cyra remained static, a rare smile probably being the cause of this. He hesitated, and seemed to resist the urge to turn back. The fact that she was a relative didn't alter his view of her; to him, as to the rest of the school, she was a freak – an indecipherable weirdo that was best left alone. Suspicion had narrowed his eyes into slits.
"Cyra," he said shortly.
"Draco," she replied. "Seen the notice? The foreign students are coming on Friday."
He nodded uncomfortably. "Didn't think you ventured above ground much these days," he said. "The Entrance Hall's a bit of a big leap."
Cyra smiled even wider. The bastard edge was still in him.
"Going to be entering?" she pressed, "a lot of opportunity for you to outshine yourself. Maybe bring back a bit of respect to the family name."
His mouth went tight. "Your name is the one without respect, Dracado. You took that name to distance yourself from the Malfoys – to pretend you didn't belong to them. Don't talk to me about family respect."
Cyra's smile faded slowly. "I have no interest in the honour of any family name," she said. "Dracado means nothing to me. Malfoy even less. I wouldn't try to involve me in this little dispute you've been drawn into."
Draco's features dropped from the scathing frown. His eyes were staring warily at her. She knew the expression in them – once again he couldn't work out her goal, and so he couldn't retaliate with a decent argument. She knew he hated to lose. "Better quit while your ahead," said Cyra.
Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Come on," he muttered to his cronies. And then turning to Cyra, he said, "on second thought, Dracado, your grandfather taking that name was the best thing that ever happened to the Malfoys. The further you stay from us the better. We don't want relations with freaks like you." Scowling, he swept off down the corridor, Crabbe and Goyle following in his wake. Cyra gave another small smile.
Teachers, father, even relations – she had them all wrapped round her little finger. And the funniest thing was, they didn't even know it. They thought they were the ones in control of their lives, leaving the freak in the background. Didn't they see she could make them perform however she wanted?
As she made off to the common room she felt very calm. Whatever the delegation of foreign students might bring, she could guess it wasn't something she couldn't handle.