Chapter Eight
'There you are! Where have you been?'
Lyra glanced up long enough to catch Marlene's figure descending the Entrance Hall's stairs. Then the girls head was down again, eyes most likely firmly fixed on the floor before her.
It had taken Marlene a while to get used to this reaction. It took her a few months of patience to realise that ducking her head didn't necessarily mean that Lyra was going to bolt. As she got older, Marlene entertained the fact that maybe this was a knee-jerk reaction having developed after years of having to avoid the calamities stirred up by the other Black twin. She wouldn't blame anyone from trying to put distance between themselves and anything that had to do with Sirius Black – of course, she wouldn't blame them from getting first row seats to watch his messes either.
Dodging younger students on their way to dinner, Marlene reached the bottom of the staircase and watched as Lyra approached. She appeared to be a little more flustered than the mask of practiced composure she usually wore. The soft pink shade dusting her high cheekbones had Marlene narrowing her eyes towards the open door leading to the grounds that Lyra had walked through. A number of scenarios as to what her friend might have been doing to get her in such a state soared through Marlene's mind. One particular hypothesis had her grinning so widely that it took great effort to try and reign in by the time Lyra stood before her. She made a mental note to inspect Lupin later.
Lyra stopped before her and Marlene realised that the pink on her cheeks held a slightly redder shade than she'd first noticed . . . a red that she'd usually associate with someone who could do with a pepper up potion.
'I've been looking for you everywhere,' Marlene said, trying as usual not to focus on Lyra's eyes which had risen to meet hers. 'I thought we were going to study together in our free period?'
Lyra gave a small groan. 'I'm so sorry, I forgot. I got all my work done early, so I thought I'd take a walk.' The sincerity in Lyra's voice was almost enough to disprove Marlene's prior hypothesis.
Almost.
'Uh-huh,' she said, raising a sceptical eyebrow.
Lyra cast a quick glance around the hall, shoulders clenched, hand gripping the shoulder strap of her bag, noting the throngs of students making their way to the Great Hall.
'You can come have dinner with me and we can do some study if you want,' Lyra said, a tad quicker than she usually would.
Marlene didn't have to think about it, especially as she spotted a red-headed figure walking down the stairs. 'Sure, let's go,' she said quickly, hoping that Lyra hadn't noticed where her eyes had drifted. She grabbed hold of Lyra's shoulder and steered her away.
'I thought you and Lily called a truce.'
Damn.
Marlene shrugged. 'We had. We have,' she corrected herself. 'Until she caught me trying to hex that cat of hers this morning.'
As the passed the Great Hall, Marlene quickly looked in, seeing the four house tables laden with students. This meant that she also caught Lyra's flat expression trained solely on her, which left Marlene smirking despite herself.
'You hexed her cat?'
. 'No,' Marlene scoffed. 'I tried to,' she said. 'I'll never forgive James for getting her that thing.' Even the thought made her scowl. Just over a year ago James had gifted Lily a little ginger cat for her birthday after hearing that her last one had died. Everyone thought it was so romantic. To Marlene, though, it was just another stupid thing the boy had done to try and win the red head over.
And then came the story. James had apparently received the cat from Rosmerta, the new waitress at the Three Broomsticks, who said she'd found the cat and taken it in. But the girl hadn't been able to take enough care of it and had been looking for someone to adopt it. James had pounced, Lily had gushed, and Marlene would come to rue the day that cat was brought into their lives.
'I wouldn't have seriously hurt it,' Marlene defended, as they entered a quieter corridor. 'I just wanted to keep it away from my stuff. Do you know how many times I've caught that thing rifling through my trunk? It's drawn to it like a niffler to gold! I'm really starting to question that cat's sanity,' she said as the two stopped before a portrait of a bowl of fruit.
'I'd be more worried about what's in your trunk, if I were you,' Lyra said. 'Merlin knows the last time you gave it a good clean.'
Marlene offered a sarcastic chuckle as Lyra reached out and tickled the pear, which wriggled in giggles. The portrait swung open, revealing the Hogwarts kitchens.
She would never forget the day Lyra showed her this room. Marlene had been pestering the girl over why she was rarely at dinner. After not believing Lyra's many assurances that she did, indeed, have dinner every night, the girl led her down here, offering proof of her claim.
To this day, Marlene still felt some of the awe she'd experienced when first seeing the four long tables, the great fires and stoves, and the countless house elves bustling around laden with dishes. But the way in which Lyra walked into the room, towards the end of the closest table, sat down, smiling softly at the house elf already approaching her, was still enough to make Marlene blink in quiet amazement. She allowed herself to linger in the entrance for another second before following Lyra and sitting down opposite her.
After eating their fill – discarded plates having been promptly cleared by the house elf who had volunteered to look after them for the evening – and having gone through the notes they'd accumulated from their numerous subjects, Marlene decided that now was a good a time as any.
'How are you going with your wand work?'
'Fine,' Lyra mumbled offhandedly as she scribbled a quick note about the benefits of wormwood in elixirs onto her potion's essay.
Stifling a sigh, Marlene took her wand out of her pocket. 'Okay then,' she said, 'conjure a blue bell flame.'
Lyra's quill stilled, ink dripping onto her parchment as she lifted her head.
'You can glare at me all you want; you know you're going to need to master this if you want to pass NEWTs.'
'Fine,' Lyra gritted, pulling her satchel closer to her and rifling through it.
Marlene would never understand how anyone could go through life with the apparent lack of care Lyra showed her wand.
Eventually, Lyra withdrew her vine and dragon-heartstring wand. Marlene didn't miss the customary wary glance the dark-haired girl spared it.
'Alright, take a deep breath, and picture the wand movements in your mind,' Marlene said, trying to imitate the way she'd heard James coach Lyra over the years.
Lyra looked across at her. She was hesitant, just as she always was, to perform magic in front of her, in front of anyone. Embarrassment played a large part in this, Marlene was sure. She knew that Lyra had always disliked the fact that it took her so much longer than everyone else to master simple spells and charms. But there had always been something else, something other than Lyra's own soft brand of shame.
There was a shadow, a flame flickering behind the eyes that looked across the table at her now. That wasn't the shadow of shame. That was something else. Something that Marlene would give almost anything to decipher.
With a deep breath, Lyra closed her eyes briefly. Her whole attention focussed on her wand as she opened her eyes again. Slowly, she moved her wrist.
Marlene saw a spark. And then the air between them exploded. Shrieking, she threw herself under the table. But by the time she managed to protect her head, it was all over. The flaming air had been extinguished.
Righting herself on her seat, Marlene immediately looked to Lyra.
The girl's grip was white knuckled around her wand. Her eyes were closed tight and there was a distinctive pained look pinching her features.
'You okay?'
'I'm fine,' Lyra said, voice like cold steel.
Marlene didn't believe her for a second, but she knew better than to ask her if she was sure. And she definitely knew better than to ask her to try again.
And if she did work up the nerve, there was no way Lyra would have agreed. It was a stupid decision to even attempt it in the first place. She knew it wouldn't work and now what had she got for her trouble? Her hands were shaky, the constant pain in her stomach was now pulsing so much that she could hear it. And, on top of all that, she'd almost hurt Marlene.
After composing herself, Lyra dropped the blasted stick back into her bag and gathered up her things. Marlene didn't say anything as she did the same.
They walked back to the common room in silence. By now dinner had finished and students were most likely in their common rooms, leaving the corridors clear and quiet. For this, Lyra could not have been more grateful.
With every step she took, the corridors swayed. The fabric of her school shirt grated against her stomach and she was still shaken from her own stupidity. To distract herself, Lyra started inspecting the portraits. Normally the way they'd avert their eyes as she passed would irritate her, tonight however, she could care less.
When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady the two parted ways. Marlene cast a worried look over her shoulder as she headed into the common room. As the portrait swung closed, leaving Lyra out in the corridor, an uneasy feeling washed over her, settling in her gut as she checked her watch.
8:55. She couldn't procrastinate anymore.
Clenching her jaw, Lyra slowly made her way down the corridor.
ooOOoo
It was the sound of someone clearing their throat that had her blinking out of the stupor she'd been in for the last two minutes.
Looking around, she realised that the sound had come from the gargoyle statue. Scowling at it, Lyra muttered the password, causing the gargoyle to step aside, revealing the top step of the revolving stone staircase.
On the walk here, Lyra had tried to remember everything Sirius had told her about the headmaster's office. Despite having tried to prepare herself, though, Lyra still felt on edge. And as the staircase stopped, revealing a small landing and a heavy door that was slightly ajar, she had to close her eyes in an attempt to regain some semblance of composure.
Opening her eyes, steeling her confidence, she strode through the door.
The room was empty.
Never having been summoned to his office before, she wasn't quite sure what she'd been expecting. Even from outside she'd felt the amount of magic emanating from the room and she realised, with no small amount of dread, that there was a great deal Sirius had forgot to mention.
The room was smaller than she'd imagined. The circular shape left her with the distinct impression that the walls were closing in. She felt her shoulders hunch. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covered the walls closest to her, covered in thick tomes with flaking fabric and faded lettering.
A constant hum of soft noise and activity blanketed the air. Delicate silver and bronze instruments littered the available spaces on tabletops and shelves. They whirled, popped, spun around like spinning tops, and even those that lay stationery oozed an energy that rippled straight to her, making her skin itch.
Hesitantly stepping further into the room, her feet paused when she saw what was sitting on the shelf behind the large claw-footed desk. Looking as worn and as tattered as ever, the Sorting Hat sat unanimated, harmless, meaningless. But even without a trace of life, Lyra still couldn't shake the feeling that it was looking right at her, watching her, judging her, silently reminding her of things she already knew. Of what she had done.
Stifling the frustrated anger that had started to rise in her like flames, she forced herself further into the room.
She was only a metre or two away from the Headmaster's desk when she stopped dead.
She was keenly aware of two things. Only one of those things came as a shock, however, the other was something she'd been dreading ever since entering the office . . . no, it had been even longer than that . . . she'd been dreading it ever since McGonagall told her that this is where she'd serve detention – here, where he could watch on from above.
Knowing that Dumbledore could make an appearance at any moment, she quickly scoured the surrounding walls where a sea of portraits hung. Most of the past headmasters and mistresses of Hogwarts were snoozing in their frames, or at least they were pretending to. A few of the bolder ones appeared awake and were staring at her, undisguised and unblinking. She paid them no mind as she searched for the frame she knew would be up there.
What would he say to her being here? Would he report back to them? If he did, would they see fit to send her another letter? This time they could very well spit on her name and they might not be as kind as to forgo the use of a howler. Dread grew like rising rapids at the possibilities as she glanced from one old painted face to the next.
'Ah, Miss Black!'
Lyra gave a start, looking away from the wall at once. The sight of Albus Dumbledore standing behind his desk was enough to cause the rapids to recede a little but the sick feeling lingered like sea foam, clinging to her stomach and lungs.
The headmaster was positively beaming, blue eyes sparkling from behind his half-moon spectacles as he regarded her. She'd never had the urge to shuffle her feet more in her life. Thankfully, he motioned for her to take a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk before the urge became too overwhelming.
She sat down as naturally as she could manage, being careful not to frustrate her condition. She made sure to keep her eyes fixed on the edge of the desk, instead of meeting the old man's eyes, or resuming her search through the portraits overhead, or looking at the creature whose eyes she could feel boring through her skin, or at the long, knobbed wand Dumbledore had just placed on the desk, that felt so strange and overwhelming.
Dumbledore remained standing even after she'd sat down. If anyone else had been wearing the same expression, she might have viewed them as benign. But he wasn't anyone else. So instead of meeting his eyes, she gave in and met the stare of the other thing that had delivered her such a shock a moment ago.
She'd read about phoenix's, of course, but seeing one in real life made the books she'd read seem more like children's stories – crude, basic and truly undeserving of the real thing.
It's red and gold plumage gleamed. It didn't simply reflect the light of the fire burning softly in the hearth next to it, it seemed to radiate its own light, as if the feathers were being luminesced from beneath. She imagined its wingspan to fill the entire office wall-to-wall. But what really proved the most mesmerising thing about it was its small, black, eyes that glinted at her like precious stones.
It was studying her, inspecting her with a level of intensity the Headmaster could never hope to achieve. She looked it over in return. Its eyes followed every move hers did and she couldn't seem to look away.
'I've just made a pot of tea. Would you care for a cup?'
With a great deal of effort Lyra tore her eyes away from the bird long enough to murmur a quick, 'Yes, thank you, sir,' but as soon as Dumbledore's back was to her, she found her attention being pulled back.
It wasn't just the fact that she was looking at an incredibly rare animal that had her intrigued . . . She could almost feel its curiosity, could almost hear its mind working. It was as if the thing were trying to talk to her in a language she couldn't understand. On top of everything else, frustration now took its place within her, causing her to unconsciously shift in her seat.
She knew she should have said she was sick and delayed this blasted detention.
Suddenly, just soft enough not to be noticed by Dumbledore, the phoenix clicked its beak.
Lyra had to grip the edge of her seat as a ripple shot through her. A hitch in her breath was the only outward show of surprise she'd allow herself to make in such public and curious company. She forced herself to release a low breath as she tried to ignore the warmth still washing through her. But she couldn't seem to relax enough to let go of the armrests.
Blinking, Lyra stared accusingly at the bird through narrowed eyes, their unintelligible conversation growing suddenly more sinister.
But as it sat on its perch, blinking back at her, it's head slightly tilted to one side, it didn't seem threatening. And it certainly didn't seem threatened by her. If anything, it looked even more curious than before, like it had just conducted an experiment and was now puzzling over the results.
Yes, an experiment . . . a controlled one at that. It had known that she would be able to handle such a large surge of raw magic. So, if it knew she wouldn't be hurt by it then, maybe it knew that she was –
'Sugar?'
It took all her control not to jump again. She'd almost forgotten about Dumbledore, who had been bustling about in the back corner of the room. She shook her head – trying to dislodge her thoughts as much as answer Dumbledore – and watched as he placed the teacup on the desk in front of her.
She stared at it while Dumbledore took a seat in his high-backed chair. She couldn't seem to move. Whether it was the lingering effects of the bird's experiment or still being stuck within her own head, she wasn't sure. After taking a few sips from his own cup, the headmaster put it aside, steepling his fingers.
'And how are you this evening, Miss Black?'
For such a simple question it was harder to think of an appropriate answer. Lyra felt all the things she wanted to say rise in her throat like bile. She wanted to say that her stomach hurt, that it had been throbbing consistently for days and had now become constantly painful. Every movement she made only sought to frustrate the issue and she didn't know whether she was in more pain when she stood or when she had the chance to sit down. She wanted to say that she was annoyed, not at anything in particular, but just annoyed, like a rash that wouldn't budge. And she wanted to say that she was tired, so very tired.
She wanted to say all these things . . . but he was the last person who would ever hear them. Swallowing her words, the corners of her lips twitched up in a polite half-smile of acknowledgement and she replied with, 'I'm fine, thank you, sir.'
'I trust that you are looking forward to the end of the year? I know how taxing NEWT revision can be.'
She nodded her head. Stamping on the disastrous study session she'd come from.
If Dumbledore was at all disappointed by the lack of response, he wasn't showing it.
'Although I was not present during the morning excitement the other week, I have been given a full report by Professor McGonagall and the other professors who were present. I understand that pressures have been running somewhat high and I have already discussed the matter amongst the staff. I think it would be in everyone's best interest if tempers were to be kept under control.'
She made sure to keep all the muscles in her face relaxed, impassive, unyielding, as she pondered just whose interests he was referring to. Annoyingly she felt her nostrils flare and could have sworn that she saw a spark burst in the fire behind Dumbledore, she hoped she'd just imagined it.
Lyra nodded in apparent agreement, doing whatever needed to be done to speed this conversation along. Still not meeting Dumbledore's eye, she missed the way he seemed to narrow in on her.
'I received an inquiry from the Ministry of Magic a few weeks ago about an incident of great magical energy that was detected around the area I believe your family's house to be.'
There was no mistaking it this time. The fire momentarily flared up in the grate. The anxiety that had settled like thick liquid in the depths of Lyra's stomach started to vaporize, filling her innards with uncomfortable, stifling, choking smog.
'Is there anything you wish to talk to me about, Miss Black?'
Lyra looked at the wall where the portraits hung again, this time she spotted the one she'd been hoping to avoid in the first place. His eyes were hard, mouth pressed into a thin white line as he peered down at her. At least he wasn't sporting his usual sneer, not that she liked the calculating stare much better. She looked away immediately.
'Phineas has agreed not to relay anything he hears in this room tonight whilst visiting his other portrait,' Dumbledore said, following her gaze.
Lyra stayed still and silent. She watched the phoenix, trying to ignore Dumbledore as he rose from his chair and moved out of her line of site. Curiosity eventually got the better of her and she looked behind her.
He stood at a small waist-high table near the door she'd entered through. On it sat a glass chess set, the pieces small and strangely shaped, sitting immobile in their assigned places.
'Do you play chess, Miss Black?' He said after what seemed an incredibly long time. His voice was casual, light, innocent. She frowned at the change in atmosphere. 'Surely your parents must have taught you.'
It took her a moment to find her voice. 'They did,' she said, surprised by how sure of herself she sounded, 'but I've never attempted the muggle version.'
Dumbledore gave an odd sort of chuckle which came out more like a huff. 'I must admit that I find it much more challenging.' He picked up a piece made of frosted glass, examining it for a moment before placing it gently back on its square. 'Much more difficult when you aren't getting help form the other pieces. You're forced to really on natural ability alone.'
This time she didn't notice the growing flames.
'Of course,' he said turning around and making his way back to his chair, Lyra watching his every step, 'some of us hold the upper hand even there. It can be a most interesting game if all players are open and willing to play to the best of their abilities . . . even if doing so would leave the other player at a disadvantage.'
She couldn't help it, her eyes narrowed as she realised something. This wasn't a meeting to discuss her schooling or her behaviour . . . this was an offer. Natural ability. But for him to voluntarily raise the subject – even as vague as he was being – then he must have some sort of idea. And if he knew . . .
She swallowed and schooled her features back into a look of cool, detached mild curiosity as he sat, facing her again.
'But it has been years since I came across a stimulating opponent,' he said, shrugging meekly, voice still annoyingly light.
There it was, plain, simple and finally out in the open. Dumbledore levelled his gaze and bore it into hers. On instinct, Lyra lowered her eyes to the table, her jaw clenching tightly, hands retreating into the pockets of her robe.
Fine, if he wanted to do it this way, if he wanted an answer, she'd give him one.
'If you don't mind my saying, sir, that sounds like the words of someone who is used to winning. Such attitudes could make bearing a loss considerably more difficult.' Losing may not be to your liking, is what she wanted to stay, but she bit it back.
'Would you choose not to play for fear of losing?' The levity in his voice was dulling, becoming heavier. The silk was becoming steel.
'I have learnt, Professor,' she said, making sure the tone of finality seeped into her next words, 'that it is possible to win, and still loose.'
He regarded her for another moment, and she hoped that her words had been enough. It was far from the end of this discussion. But as of this moment, anything said after this point would just be words, and they both knew it.
Eventually, Dumbledore blinked.
'Well if there really isn't anything you would like to talk about, then you should probably be getting back to your Common Room.'
Lyra nodded her head once and tried not to stand up too eagerly. She had just started walking away when the headmaster spoke again.
'Madam Pomfrey tells me that you haven't yet been to see her?'
He said it so casually that he may have been enquiring about a meeting between friends that he had helped set up. It was then that Lyra realised that whilst James was writing Lily about what happened, his parents had no doubt been writing Dumbledore.
She turned just enough to be polite. 'Mrs Potter gave me some potions and salve before I left. I've not yet needed to replace them.'
Liar. The salve ran out three days ago, the potions two days before that.
Dumbledore nodded politely. 'Even so, it would be wise if you paid her a visit so she can check your progress.' He leaned in ever so slightly and dipped his head so as to inspect her over the tops of his glasses. Lyra resisted the urge to be unnerved by the intensity of those blue orbs that seemed to look right through her.
'Yes, sir, I will.' Then she turned and left the room whilst trying to ignore the three sets of eyes she could feel burrowing into her back.
Dumbledore watched her retreat from the room. He was acutely aware that every step she took away from him, the softer the fire seemed to become.
'I see what you mean, Albus,' said a voice from above once the door to the office had closed. He looked up to see Phineas staring at the door. 'She's getting worse.'
He was inclined to agree with that diagnosis and without hesitation, Dumbledore pulled a blank piece of parchment in front of him, dipped his eagle-feather quill into the inkwell and started with
My friend,
I thought it only right to tell you . . .
Updated: 26.08.2020
So, here's the second update for this week.
Just to clarify (because I have a feeling that some people may groan at the way Lyra appears to regard Dumbledore) this is not a Dumbledore-bashing fic. I will never intentionally bash any character in this fic (or any of my stories) because I believe that every character has both flaws and redeeming/interesting qualities. There is a reason as to why Lyra acts the way she does towards Dumbledore, and it will be explained eventually, so bear with me.
I also felt like including the little titbit about Lily's cat and it being gifted by James to try and tie in the Potter's cat (which is not Crookshanks according to JK, who's word I will be sticking to throughout this story).
That's it for me. Till next time, stay safe, stay happy.
