CHAPTER 3: SOMBER

Lyra

Her eyes began to water as she stared openly at the castle before her. What had been the wondrous home she anticipated arriving at each year following the summer holidays had become the place where she absolutely dreaded having to return to.

The Hogwarts castle had not changed one bit, and that is exactly why it all felt wrong. The towers were in the same position as before. The holes in the walls had been restored. The lights still shone dimly through the apertures along the castle, flickering from the magic that began to waver in the later hours of the evening.

Thanks to the rebuilding effort, there was nothing to indicate that a war had taken place just two months ago.

Gossamer still entrapped the grass in a veil of dewy water vapor that reminded her of the days she and Harry had splayed themselves on the grounds, clothes getting slightly damp, contemplating their plans for the future that never came true. A scintilla of hope rose in her mind as she pondered the effervescence of the past, but it was soon squashed by the next thing her eyes came across.

On the far side of the grounds, opposite of Hagrid's small and cozy hut, was the Battle of Hogwarts Memorial: rows and rows of graves that symbolized the sunken earth in which the fatalities of the war were buried, never to see the light of day again.

She shifted uncomfortably, and decided to switch seats to the other side of the carriage, where she could not face the castle directly. In doing so, she caught a glimpse of the Thestrals pulling the carriage along, and she pondered how many people could actually see them now that the war was over. Probably a lot.

Before the battle, she had never seen the ghastly creatures, but could only envision them based solely on Harry's description. Now she understood why he was so taken aback the first time he saw them; they were tall and obsidian in color, but the way their bones protruded from under tight and thin skin reminded her so intensely of a corpse, she could literally discern the sour taste that was usually accompanied by a heave begin to grow in the back of her throat.

Lyra had chosen the final carriage, so she was certain the sorting ceremony had already begun. It was hard to tell if this was a good thing or a terrible mistake. If she walked into the Great Hall while the ceremony was still taking place, then everyone would turn around and look to see who was late. On the other hand, if she had come in along with everyone else, then she would have been confronted by the Gryffindor's, something she preferred to avoid as long as possible.

Unfortunately, she knew that avoiding the Gryffindor's for the whole year would be impossible, and logistically there was no point in running away from the inevitable. The solitude had already made her want to splinch herself intentionally, so it was only a matter of time until she sought comfort in someone.

Lyra had been tapping her feet in a pattern that resembled the mellifluous notes of her newest piano composition, when the carriage came to a stop. Taking a deep breath, steadying the pulse she could feel pounding throughout her body, Lyra stepped off of the carriage and began the walk towards the castle.

She was trying incredibly hard to avoid looking at the rows of headstones, ensuring that her head was kept straight and chin held high the entire way. Her movements were slower than normal, undoubtedly her subconscious trying to delay entering the Great Hall, but in a matter of seconds, she was awaiting the moment she gathered enough confidence to enter through the double doors.

After what seemed like hours, but in actuality was only a few minutes, she pushed open the ornate doors, and was confronted with a change in atmosphere that could only be allotted to her sudden arrival.

A collective silence echoed soundlessly within the cavernous room as though a frisson had arisen at the abruptness of her presence. Cacophonies of murmurs followed the piercing silence when everyone noticed it was her.

Of course, with her luck, she had interrupted the sorting ceremony.

Her feet were unable to properly function as her heart sank to the bottom of her stomach at the realization, but she could not stop her hazel eyes from glancing at the Gryffindor table.

Most of her friends held austere expressions, but she refused to meet their eyes for more than a few seconds. It was the sight of Draco's sanctimonious little nod of amusement at the Slytherin table that goaded her into straightening her back, and holding her chin a little higher than before. The look Draco gave her as she awkwardly shuffled forward was redolent of deepest loathing, and she could swear on Merlin that he had somehow learned to read minds because it felt as though every one of her thoughts was being analyzed under a microscope the way his eyes pierced straight through her very soul.

Next to him was the only person who had not taken notice of her, the boy on the train. He was sitting on the bench of the Slytherin table, scribbling into his journal with vigor, and casting disdainful looks at his writing every time he took a break to think.

Too frightened to look back at Draco and confirm that he was still trying to tear her to shreds with his stony grey eyes, she chanced a glance back at the Gryffindor table to find them whispering into each other's ears.

Hermione looked up just as she backed away from Ron's ear, and gave her a doleful look through eyes that looked entirely the same as Lyra's. Ron had always told them that he doubted they were not somehow distantly related because their eyes were the same shade of hazel and held the same fire in them that showcased the other's desire to succeed.

The sound of her name made her jump slightly, but when she noticed that it was Minerva McGonagall, the bespectacled headmistress of Hogwarts, who was beckoning her forward with an expression of pure irritation, her feet began functioning properly, and she was propelled onward.

"Miss Wolf! It is a pleasure to see that you were able to make it to the ceremony before it ended. Please take a seat at your house table so that we can continue," wrung McGonagall's voice sarcastically.

Any sense of the relationship they had developed during the final battle was vacant in her expression, and Lyra could not help but flinch at the blatant look the headmistress was giving her.

McGonagall had been one of the few Order members that had been allocated the weapon of Lyra's creation, as the professor at the time had helped her transfigure different materials needed for the concoction, therefore earning her the knowledge of the blade's usage. Together, they had fought against the Death Eaters, effectively terminating many of them with a combination of spells and daggers.

When the fighting ceased, Minerva had grown to be a sort of mother figure for Lyra, but she had been so lost in the aftermath, that Lyra was unable to maintain their relationship.

Sighing for what seemed like the dozenth time that day, Lyra moved towards her house's table, looking down at her feet, and moving to sit in the space Hermione had made for her. Once the ceremony continued, the headmistress calling a transfer student that shuffled nervously up to the sorting hat, Hermione leaned forward to ask Lyra a question.

"Lyra" she whispered almost threateningly, "Would it please you to inform me just why you have not answered any of our letters, calls, or messages for the last two months," She huffed loudly, "You are aware that we even went to your house in London, knocked on your door until your parents told us that you would not take visitors, and considered breaking into your room had it not been for the numerous protective spells you placed all around the perimeter, right?"

Hermione's face was turning a sickly shade of purple that made Lyra think she would pass out from the lack of oxygen she was currently using to scold her. For the second that Hermione did take in order to catch her breath, Lyra braced herself for another round of reprimands.

"We were so worried about you, and the Weasley family has been grieving their loss, and you decide that you are going to- to ignore them, and us completely. Are you— " Her whispers, that had escalated into hushed yells, were interrupted by Lyra's hand covering Hermione's open mouth.

When she thought it was safe enough to remove her palm from Hermione's still agape lips, which had been effectively smothering Hermione's sounds of protest, she wiped her palm on the back of her thigh and turned to Hermione's fuming face.

"Listen, I am so so so sorry for ignoring you guys, and I know you must have been so worried, and now that you mention the Weasley's I feel so terrible that I could just jump off a bridge to stop the self-hatred I feel from eating me alive, but I was just so…." Lyra's lips trembled with emotion, and the space between her knotted eyebrows had creasing wrinkles of expressed agony.

"Well to be honest, I am still struggling with my sentiments, and it has been really difficult to deal with everything. I know we beat him and all, but we lost so much, and I could not bring myself to face you guys, or even write back to your letters, when I was drowning in my own ignorance and sadness."

It felt good to finally release the tension that had been permanently engraved in her mind for the entirety of her summer. Lyra could literally feel the arms of her grief, which had been wrapped tightly around her psyche for the months of isolation, begin to loosen their hold, allowing her to feel something other than the bitter frostiness of total impassiveness.

However, before she could bask in her new airiness, Lyra watched as a single tear rolled down the side of Hermione's crimson cheek. Lyra's eyes widened, and she turned to Harry and Ron, who had been listening into the conversation.

Praying the boys got the hint that she was desperately in need of some help, she attempted to comfort Hermione by scooching closer to her, and wrapping an arm around her now trembling shoulders.

Just as Harry understood Lyra's need for assistance, though Ron was still giving her a look of confusion, Hermione started whispering through her quiet sobs, trying to keep her voice low to prevent interrupting the ongoing speech Headmistress McGonagall was reciting.

"Oh Lyra—I am so—so sorry," she explained while her eyebrows knit together with dejection, "I did not realize— that— that you were going through that." Lyra wiped the tears that were now freely falling down Hermione's cheeks away, and gave her shoulder a tight squeeze.

"Hermione, It's completely fine. I am sure lots of people are going through the same thing as I am, and I did not want to bother you guys with my rubbish attitude. I just needed some time to myself." Lyra turned towards the boys, who were also giving her looks of regret.

"Boys, I am really sorry for not answering your letters and such, and Ron please tell your mother that I miss her cooking, and that I am sorry for not answering her letters either." Ron nodded and smiled at her reassuringly.

"Ah, don't worry about it mate. We are just glad you're finally talking to us again. I missed dueling with you while we were searching for the Horcruxes, and pranking Harry was quite the— oh." Ron paused after realizing the allusion he had made to Fred.

Fred and George had always been the pranksters of Hogwarts, and now that Fred was gone, well pranking had become a sensitive subject.

Harry was quick to change the direction of the conversation as he and Ron jumped into a banter about Hermione's quickness to begin crying, apparently it had been happening all day. Hermione busied herself with being defensive while the boys called her names such as "Whiny Mione."

Lyra became bored with the conversation quickly, faking a few laughs here and there; she had grown to be not as bubbly as she was previously. The trio were always great friends, and during the war, they had grown quite close with Lyra being the 'Head of Defense' of the group.

Since she was so skilled with battle, and the others were, well they were just decent at it, Shacklebolt had decided that Lyra would accompany them on their search for the Horcruxes. Of course, since Lyra and the trio were extremely close, even before Shacklebolt's request, she knew that they were planning on going to be absent longer than the couple of weeks that everyone else expected them to be gone.

For this reason, she had refined her battle skills extensively, making sure to leave all the information she knew about how to win the war on a detailed analysis just in case something were to happen to her, and she went on with the trio as their 'Head of Defense' on the hunt for remaining Horcruxes.

Lyra was determined to give her friends as much attention as possible, seeing as she felt guilty for getting them anxious over the summer, but when she noticed Ginny leaning her head on Harry's shoulder and Ron and Hermione not so discreetly holding hands under the table, she stopped all efforts to actively participate in the conversation.

She was not going to be the fifth wheel, ergo the only person without a lover.

Scoffing slightly under her breath at the notion of being alone, telling herself that she was an independent woman that did not need some lousy vanilla man to please her, she turned her attention towards headmistress McGonagall who was animatedly pronouncing the beginning of term speech.

"—this year we will be holding a start-of-term masquerade ball that only seventh and eighth years will be able to attend now that the dangers of the previous year have been abated." The headmistress turned her head towards a group of sixth year girls that were now groaning rather loudly at the news that they would not be able to go to the ball.

McGonagall's subtle hint directed towards last year's 'dangers,' as she so simply worded it, made Lyra's insides pulse with a familiar sense of discomfort. She could not help the feeling of doubt that fluttered jovially in her gut from arising. It was like something was trying to warn her that whatever last year's 'antics' were, they were far from abated.

"Yes, yes girls; such a disappointment," McGonagall drawled on, "Anyhow, I would like to remind students, and inform first-years that the Forbidden Forest is still, in fact, forbidden. I am looking at you Potter."

Harry, who had been divulged in a hushed argument with Ron about Quidditch, looked around confused at the mention of his name, and let out a nervous laugh upon realizing everyone's eyes were trained on him.

Shaking her head with disappointment at Harry's obliviousness, the headmistress continued, "I believe that is all for now, although, I would like to congratulate Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Wolf on their new positions as Head Boy and Head Girl. I am glad to know we will have two…. Er… determined students in the position."

Shite.

She'd forgotten that she promised Minerva to take the position of Head Girl after Hermione declined the offer, claiming she would be "too busy studying for the NEWTS and campaigning for half-breed rights."

At the time it did not seem like such the issue, but now that she had already been overwhelmed by an action so trivial as walking throughout the corridors of Hogwarts, it was quite the dilemma.

She looked around at her fellow students, most of which were staring avidly at her, when her nervous eyes finally fell on Draco's cold ones.

Behind the initial terror that accompanied his attention, she could see the questioning look that he gave her, indicating that he had been unaware of her position as Head Girl, just as she had been incognizant of his position as Head Boy.

Lyra stole a horrified look at Harry, who had been asking her if she was alright. "Yes, I am fine, just surprised. I must have forgotten that I was Head Girl..."

Harry gave her a worried glance, but he shrugged it off and gave her a reassuring look instead. Hermione, who had thankfully calmed down since their last conversation, patted her on the shoulder and told her that she would do great as Head Girl.

Right. Head Girl.

The start-of-term feast appeared in front of them, just as delicious-looking as usual, but this time Lyra's appetite had not peaked. Truly, she believed that if she had anything so much as a bite, she would vomit all over the table.

Ugh… she just really did not feel like having the responsibility of Head Girl, especially with Malfoy as her partner.

After Ron had finished devouring the entire contents of his plate for the third time that evening, it was finally time to head to the dorms and fall asleep.

She lazily instructed some of the prefects that had approached her to show the first years to their common rooms and tell them the passwords, and she headed off towards the Gryffindor tower with Ron, Harry, and Hermione trailing behind.

Lyra could tell that she was not the only one who was struggling with the effects of the war. Hermione was clearly a lot more sensitive, Harry had red-rimmed eyes that hinted at the insomnia that was most likely affecting him, and Ron's appetite had increased significantly since before the war, probably as his coping mechanism. Though, that was saying a lot seeing how Ron's appetite had always been abnormally large.

The only thing that separated them and Lyra was that they were actually making an effort, but Lyra had given up on that ages ago. It was pointless.

She needed an escape, something to do that would take her mind off the somber that was creeping up on her.

The piano room. That would be perfect.

She turned on her heels to head towards the direction of the hidden room, and bumped into Ron. "Oh!" she exclaimed, stepping back slightly. "Where are you going Lyra?," he asked questioningly.

"I just… forgot to tell one of the prefects something, I'll be in the common room in no time. You guys can go on."

Hermione exchanged glances with boys and then shrugged casually, "Okay, we'll see you around Lyra," and they continued climbing the moving staircases that led to the Fat Lady's portrait.

She had expected more of a fight from them, but oh well.

Jogging straight for the hallway on the fourth floor, her steps echoing throughout the corridors, she stopped in front of a blank wall and whispered the words apertum musicorum.

A small door, about half her height, emerged from the wall, the small Latin letters that lined the entrance rippled with magic. She smiled, scanned the corridor for any onlookers, though there were none due to the curfew that was only minutes from being enforced, and crawled through the door.

In the middle of the dimly lit room, containing a small window bordered by cream colored drapes on the far-side, and flickering candles that floated under a gilded mirror, stood an intricately designed Viennese piano with gold accents and carved wood.

Lyra approached the bench, inhaling the familiar smell of mahogany that she'd been craving since she last entered the covert room in sixth year.

It was the day after Dumbledore's funeral that she came into the small sanctuary to sob unapologetically, and compress the irrevocable sorrow with a few notes on the piano.

Now, she raised trembling fingers to the keys, and launched into a passionate piece she composed just recently. The notes thrummed her insides, plucking away at her distress until all that was left to strum were the strings of drowsiness that had not been satiated in such a long while.

The intense notes began to calm, developing into a silky melody that no longer tugged on her brain, but caressed the wounded segments of her mind until they too diminished into nothing but stray worries in a universe lavished with a trifle of harmonious tunes.

Lyra was tired. She was exhausted by the self-inflicted torment she had put herself through for the past few months, and realized that the only way to stop the unnecessary harassment to her psyche would be to do something substantial.

So she presented herself with an ultimatum. Either go on being this depressed, ickle, fragile creature, or get a grip and do something about it. After all, she was only the catalyst to her very own destruction.

The latter seemed like the most appealing option.

She let her fingers stumble on the notes, stood up, and took a final glance at the room as she headed towards her single dorm: one of the only benefits that came with being the Head Girl.

Her skin was dewy from the steaming shower, and the mirror foggy from the water vapor presently making the air in the bathroom quite dense and humid. Her hair, which was thankfully dry as a result of the hot air that streamed out of her wand with a complicated whirl, was frizzy with the mugginess of the atmosphere.

Stepping out of the tiled bathroom, Lyra made her way to the small, yet perfectly suitable closet and put on a pair of lacy undergarments, allowing for the burgundy towel that was wrapped around her frame to drop into a heap on the ground.

Studying her figure in the full-length mirror, deciding that she looked as lovely as possible for a girl who had been through what she endured, she ran her hands over her skin, all the way to her neck, and ultimately rubbing her eyes. Merlin, she was enervated.

The dark circles under her eyes were quite the reminder that she had gotten little over three hours of sleep every night for the past few months, what with the returning nightmares, and persistent insomnia.

She had lost a bit of weight, nothing she couldn't easily gain back, but still a noticeable amount. Her wrists were bony, and her ribs were starting to protrude from her skin, reminiscent of the Thestrals she despised looking at.

She made the short way to her queen bed and checked to see that the knife she hid in her night Table's drawer was still readily available in case of an emergency. It was one the enchanted daggers she kept either strapped onto her leg under her clothes, or in her satchel, prepared to make an abrupt appearance if ever necessary.

Her journal was haphazardly left opened on the armchair that was just across from her bed, filled with the numerous entries Lyra had added to several people's pages. In Draco's she had made sure to include that he was a horrific person with absolutely no kindness as a way to vent her anger at him for staring at her all throughout the start-of-term feast.

Honestly, those glacial eyes oh his were outright frightening.

Lyra searched for a comfortable position under the covers, whispering a spell to distinguish the various candles placed across her single dorm, and closed her eyes to the soft sound of wind blowing against her windows.

Before she knew it, Lyra was swept into a deep sleep that she had not experienced in what seemed like ages.