AN: hello girls gays and theys i dont wanna talk about how long i've been gone so :) dont :) mention :) it :)
Lyra's first memory smells like smoke and tastes like blood. "Daddy's going to be back really soon, baby." Her mom is nothing more than a blob of dark skin and a mess of natural curls. "Now," the words are distorted in the memory—she's unable to recall the exact lilt of her mother's accent. "I need you to be really quiet for Mommy, okay?" She caresses Lyra's cheek. It feels wet but Lyra can't remember if it's from tears or blood. A kiss to her forehead that smells metallic on her skin. "Such a good little girl." A red stained smile. "I love you." She pulls a curtain closed.
Through the curtain, Lyra watches lights flash through the air, reminding her of fireworks. Her mother screams, and she hears someone else scream. And then there's silence. Lyra curls up and waits for Daddy.
Her next memory takes place in St. Mungo's. There's a cold sneer on Lucius' face as he looks down his nose at Lyra, his arms hooked with Narcissa's. "Leave us." The nurse scurries out of the room. Lyra can remember being scared but curious. Narcissa looked a bit like her father—just in the nose and chin.
"She's quite a pathetic thing, isn't she?" Lucius places the tip of his cane under her chin, lifting her eyes up to see him. "How old are you, child?"
Lyra counts out three fingers, before holding them up. "This many." She scrunches her nose. "Where is my mommy?"
Narcissa reaches out a hand to place on her shoulder. "Sit up straight. You are a Black and you will act like it." She releases Lyra and gestures towards her husband. "You will address Lucius as Mr. Malfoy and me as Mrs. Malfoy." She holds out a hand for and Lyra takes it. "Your mother is dead, and your father in Azkaban for life." Narcissa purses her lips. "As your next of kin, you are now under our care."
The sound of snapping fingers and yells distracts Lyra the important task of looking solemn by the window. "Lyra!" Draco's irritated face is right up next to her. They had always been extremely touchy when they were young. "You would think you would listen when your dearest cousin is speaking to you." The Hogwarts Express rumbles beneath their feet, and Lyra pulls her attention away from the window.
She pushes his face (gently, of course, the boy is fragile) away from her face. "And what is so important that it demands my full attention, dearest cousin?"
"Blaise doesn't believe me that I could ride a broom at six years old," Blaise scoffs from the other side of the cart, "and I need you to confirm it, so that when I look him in the eyes he knows in his soul that he is looking at his better."
"Oh yeah, Draco was riding a broom at six." Lyra smirks, "he also tied branches to his legs to attempt at being a pirate. I think he fell over and broke one of the Malfoy heirlooms." Blaise cackles, Crabbe and Goyle looking like constipated in their attempt to hold in laughs. Draco shoves her lightly. "His parents were furious."
"Lies and slander!" His arms are crossed, nose pointed up in a Lucius like way. "You are completely leaving out your promise to spot me, in which you completely and utterly fell flat."
"Poor baby," she plants a small kiss on his temple, "the only one that fell was you." At his offended gasp, she gets up, waving a small goodbye to them all. "I'll see you later boys, I need to visit the powder room."
"Would you like company?" Blaise winks, and Lyra rolls her eyes. She's a few steps out before she hears a loud smack and a muttered, "was that really necessary, Draco?"
"Stop hitting on my cousin, you incorrigible man whore."
Lyra rolls her eyes, continuing her trek down the hall to the bathroom. She raps on the door, not hearing a response, she pulls open the door. Standing in the mirror, pulling his shirt on, is Adrian Nott. There's someone else in there, and Lyra raises an eyebrow at the small squeak she hears from back of the room. "Accosting my childhood friend in the bathroom I see." Nott's face runs red, and he opens his mouth, but she beats him to the punch. "You should think after two truly unfortunate mistakes your father would have at least taught you to keep it in your pants."
His face screws up, and he shifts to further hide the person behind him. "It's not what it looks like."
Lyra tilts her head, staring behind Nott at the nearly topless first year. "She certainly doesn't look like Freya." The trembling form behind him is a small first year. She's crying rather violently, her lip swollen and bruised like she just took a beating. The first year's eyes find Lyra's and she mouths 'help me'. Lyra's eyes narrow, and she turns a fierce look to Nott. "I suggest you take yourself far, far, away from this girl or any other girl."
Nott scurries past her, head downturned. "Oh and, Nott, I don't think Freya will take too kindly to the news." Lyra adds, "and I don't think your father will, either."
He whirls around, face red with anger. "You wouldn't." Nott towers over her, a good two heads taller than Lyra who is, unfortunately, vertically challenged. "Not for a filthy little mudblood like her."
"No, Nott," she glares up at him, "you wouldn't. Imagine what your father would say, ruining his relationships with the Averys and the Malfoys in one day." She quirks an eyebrow, "I don't think he'd be very pleased with you," she taps a scar she knows is on his chest, right above his heart, feigning a sympathetic look, "I've heard he has quite the temper, no?"
If his face was red before, it's now a lovely purple sort of shade. Like he's stuck between nauseous and furious. A lovely color, in Lyra's opinion. He turns back around, stomping through the hallways like a child. When he's finally out of sight, Lyra whirls around to attend to the small girl. The first year runs up to Lyra, nearly knocking her over with the force of her embrace. "Thank you," she sobs into Lyra's shoulder, "thank you thank you thank you—" she hiccups "he, I—" she sobs more, and Lyra reaches a tentative hand up to the girl's head.
"It's okay darling," she whispers, "you're safe now." Lyra's gently running her fingers through the girl's silky brunette hair. They sit on the floor of the bathroom together for a while, before Mia lays down, resting her head on Lyra's lap. "Let's get you cleaned up now, yes?" Lyra casts a small spell on the first year's torn blouse. The blouse repairs itself, stitching itself closed, until the first year can pull it back on herself without it slipping off. Her face is still bloodied, so Lyra wets her shirt sleeve at the sink, carefully wiping off the blood on the girl's face.
Her eyes are red and puffy when she finally looks up. "I'm Mia Jones."
Lyra takes it, "Lyra Black." She shakes the hand firmly, before letting it drop back to her lap. "Would you like me to walk you back to your cabin?" She nods shakily and Lyra stands slowly, offering a hand for the girl to take. "Well come along now then." She grasps it gently, and Lyra hauls her up standing. "Lead the way, darling." Mia nods, pushing the bathroom door open.
"Finally!" It's a Weasley twin busting through the door. "Took you long enough!" He glances between the two before his face fills with anger. "What did you do, Black?"
"She didn't do anything!" Mia yells, she's starting to cry again, and Lyra gently urges her away.
"Mind your business Weasel." Lyra spits, tugging Mia away. Surprised at her vehemence, Weasley steps back into the bathroom, eyebrows raised and hands up. They've walked a couple steps towards Mia's cabin before Lyra speaks again. "If you want, I can come with you tomorrow to tell your head of house about it." Mia looks scared, so she pauses. "Only if you want, of course. Nott will get a whooping either way because I'm going to Avery. But if you tell the staff, he can't do that to anyone else here, ever again."
"Why did that boy seem to think you hurt me?" Mia's wringing her hands, and Lyra curses the Weasley boy in her head.
"My family is not particularly fond of muggle-borne witches and wizards, but between you and me," she makes her voice sound grave, like she's letting the girl in on a secret, "my mother was a muggle." Lyra pauses, "it also probably doesn't help that I'm a Slytherin, and the Weasley's are pricks about house rivalry. Hard to make friends when they tend to judge you by the color of your robes." Lyra moves to grab her shoulders, "If you need anything and I mean anything, let me know. I am on your team."
"Thank you." Mia's tearing up again, and Lyra gives her a loose hug.
"You have friends you can talk to in there?" Mia nods, and Lyra lets her go. "I'm serious, don't be scared to let me know if you need anything."
"Okay. Thank you."
Lyra nods. "Of course."
Weasley is leaning on the wall next to the bathroom when Lyra walks back. "Black!" He hops off the wall moving towards her. Lyra valiantly ignores him, speeding up her walk just a little bit. Before she can get too far away from him, he grabs her wrist. "Slow down."
Lyra whirls around to face him, sneer plastered on her face. "You've got my attention Weasley, what else did you want to accuse me of—" she's cut off by the train slamming to a stop. Weasley loses his balance with the jerk and ends up pinning her against the wall to stop his tumble. Their faces barely two inches apart, Lyra breaks the silence. "What was that?"
Pushing off from the wall, Weasley looks around, clearing his throat. "I'm not sure. Maybe the train broke down?"
The lights flicker and the train jerks again, the lights giving one last final effort, before the hallway is encased in darkness. Down the hallway, the ghostly silhouette of a dementor slides open a cart door. "Weasley," she grabs his hand, "we have to hide. Now."
"What the fuck is that?" He yelps, as she drags the boy into the bathroom, locking the door. He's staring at the door, his hand squeezing hers tight. "What was that?" He sounds shaky.
"A dementor," she's whispering. They're both pressed far back against the bathroom. "Maybe they're looking for Sirius Black."
"Why would Sirius Black be on the train to Hogwarts?"
"I don't know Weasley," she's rolling her eyes, even though he knows he can't see it. "I know it's particularly difficult for you, but let's use our brains. How many students on this train has he been known to want to kill? At least two."
"Harry Potter yes, but who else?"
"Me, genius."
"Aren't you his daughter though?"
"He was captured trying to kill me after he killed my mom."
Weasley goes silent and Lyra slides down to sit on the floor, their hands still interlocked until the lights flicker back on. Lyra sighs, removing her hand from Weasley's. "I think it's gone." She stands, opening the door again. With no sign of the dementors, she slides out of the bathroom, leaving Weasley standing in the back of the bathroom, staring at the hand that's still warm from her touch.
wc: 2060
