Lyra never admitted it out loud but she didn't like Defence Against the Dark Arts.

It wasn't the actual concept itself she had a problem with, no way. Defending yourself from the Dark Arts was undeniably a vital string to any Hogwarts students' bow. It was possibly the most important class at the school, and after the crazy ride that was the past two years she needed to vocally champion the idea of fighting against evil. She was absolutely a defender against all Dark Arts… But that didn't mean much when it came to the actual school subject. The lessons had always been, for a lack of a better term, meh.

Professor Quirrell was too preoccupied with the Dark Lord stamped on the back of his head to care about injecting substance into his lessons. And Gilderoy was, well, Gilderoy, Lyra was her own teacher for the most part of last year (she neglected to reflect on Tom standing in as her own Dark Arts tutor). So far, Defence Against the Dark Arts led to multiple bleeding migraines, inaccurate grades and a lacklustre portfolio so the odds of DADA being her favourite class weren't in their favour. They weren't anything to write home about, even Herbology was more engaging and that was saying something because that's just a class about plants!

Until now.

Now, a literal werewolf was teaching her about the dangers of the Wizarding world. A werewolf!

Granted, it wasn't a vampire but in some ways it was even better — vampires didn't have squishy paws and cute floppy ears once a month. The concept felt incredibly meta and Lyra was compelled by the anticipation of werewolves coming up in class, she couldn't wait to see what his take on the ostracised community was. Was Remus a good actor? Would he be able to play off any biases he showed towards the prevalent discrimination of werewolves? Or would one of her classmates notice that some of the wolfish traits were apparent in their professor? Would he even dare to bring werewolves up at all in their modules? Or would he bring them up first? Or—?

"Are you thinking about Remus again?"

Harry pulled Lyra out from her daydream, scaring her by his accurate analysis of the pout on her face. She was sitting with him and Ron in their usual bay window in the common room, wasting away a perfectly good Saturday night doing their homework as they waited for their fourth member to return from the library.

"…No," she lied, unable to meet his eye, but her dimples were a telltale sign that he was right, "maybe… I can't help it, I'm actually excited for Defence Against the Dark Arts for once. Let me daydream!"

"Tell me about it, Fred said their lesson with Lupin was one of the best he's ever had and that's saying something because he's never impressed by anything," Ron agreed as he erased yet another paragraph from his Divination homework. "Rumour has it we're actually allowed to use magic in his class."

"Yeah now you mention it, for a class that's supposed to teach us how to defend ourselves we've not learnt many defensive spells," Harry mused, and Lyra couldn't help herself.

"Mmm, it's almost as if we've had a possessed evil professor and an imbecile teaching us for the past two years, weird huh?"

Harry blinked at her. "Ha. You technically planned most of our lessons last year, are you calling yourself an imbecile?"

Lyra scoffed. "Cheeky!"

"Oh for crying out loud— I give up!" Ron screwed up his parchment and sulked in the corner, ruining their imminent spat, "these predictions are doing my head in. I can't even predict what I'm gonna have for breakfast tomorrow so how the hell does Trelawney expect me to accurately guess what's gonna happen this year?"

Lyra chewed on the end of her pen and stole Ron's crumpled homework, intrigued. Since she wasn't taking Divination she found it hard not to nosy through her friends' work.

"It can't be that difficult, let me have a go," she murmured, her imagination sparking at the first sign of a creative writing task. "Let's see, hmmm, yeah I can already see where you've gone wrong. There's no mention of Voldemort coming to kill Harry—!"

Lyra choked on her laughter as Harry began to poke her, unintentionally tickling her soft spots.

"Let's try and manifest some positivity for me this year instead," Harry argued, scowling at the giggling girl beside him, "let's not say anything stupid, how about this year I don't die? For once? Please?"

Even Ron had a hard time keeping his face passive that time, and he stole his homework back as inspiration struck him, his quill flourishing.

"'Around early November, I will lose a prized possession and Harry is going to be attacked by a swarm of Dementors—,'"

"Hey!"

"Make sure you include a prediction about him getting mauled by a giant dog made out of tea leaves somewhere," Lyra piped up, actively pushing Harry away as he kept poking her, "and then maybe around New Years he's mysteriously hospitalised by a friend of his who he won't stop poking— stop! I'm really ticklish there!"

"You shouldn't have said that," said Harry, smiling devilishly as he found Lyra's weak spot near her ribs, but to his chagrin his attempts never dissuaded his friends from having fun at his expense.

As Ron signed his name at the bottom of his essay detailing the many ways Harry was going to die, Hermione came charging through the common room towards them at the speed of light. Lyra noticed her death grip on the two books in her arms and she fiercely shoved Harry off of her, issuing her surrender from their fight.

Hermione was grinning from ear to ear, her dark eyes sparkled. It was good news. It has to be good news?!

"What is it? What have you found?" Lyra jumped up from the window to take a peek at the front covers, her eyes wide with hope, "did you find that book? The Custos Mortis one?"

"Unfortunately no, that book isn't in any of the school's archives," Hermione puffed, still trying to catch her breath from her sprint, "also you're still banned from the library, Madam Pince was insistent that I pass the message on to you."

Lyra groaned. God damn it! She prayed the Gryffindor house ghost wouldn't find out.

After she spent most of Wednesday in the library instead of in her classes like she was supposed to, Lyra wasted all of her Thursday and Friday nights in detention with (regrettably) Snape. Madam Pince was horrified when the Potions Master came storming into the library at lunchtime in search of Lyra and Ron, and her library ban was swiftly issued as she was being dragged out by both staff members. She was only allowed inside the archives for one hour a day now, it was almost child cruelty at this point.

"It's a Saturday! We have no classes to skive, that's so unfair," Lyra complained, and Hermione could only shrug.

"I tried to tell her that but I didn't push, I certainly don't want to get banned too or else we'd never get anywhere," but Hermione shook her head and beckoned Lyra closer, "but forget about that, this is way more important!"

Harry and Ron climbed from the bay window and encircled the girls out of interest, craning their necks so they could read the titles through the girls' wild hair. Lyra and Hermione were currently hyper fixated on researching anything remotely related to ghosts and any subjects that could realistically be related to some sort of follower in the hopes of finding a lead. Their conversations had rarely been about anything else but Lyra's abilities this past week, so they weren't surprised to see an animated book cover depicting what the Muggles would call a seance.

Lyra's mouth formed a small o as she soaked up the cover and she ran a finger along the title Not Just a Muggle Myth: Volume Six.

"This book doesn't have much information to be perfectly honest, it's mostly just fodder for Muggle-Wizard integration as most Muggle-positive books are, but there is one part in here that reminded me about something you said," Hermione muttered, cautious of the other lions in the tower, and she flicked through the pages as though she was engaged in a hunt.

Eventually she found the right chapter and the four of them stared at the heading with mixed emotions.

Chapter Ten: 'The Devil Made Me Do It!' — A study on how the global phenomenon of Theology saved the face of the Dark Arts forever — by Professor T. L. Duchovney.

Lyra beamed as she read it and she kissed Hermione's cheek in adoration. It was like their brains were constantly tuned in to the same frequency, she knew exactly what she was thinking. Especially when she recognised the second book.

"I think we might be able to get some answers if we think outside of the box."

"Ooooh hell yeah Granger! Let's perform a seance!"

"I thought you'd like it!" Hermione grinned back, flushed from her affection. Harry plucked the second book from her arms, anxious to know what they were planning.

What exactly are you planning, Black?

Whatever it is, it's dangerous. I don't know if I like this.

You're only saying that because you never thought of it!

No, that's not strictly true! You never thought of it either!

"'One Hundred and One Ways to NOT Talk to the Dead: A Tricker's Guide to Muggle Demonology and its Misuses' — what the hell is this?" Harry looked at Ron who looked straight up confused.

"That's a kids prank book, it isn't real," he explained as though they were being cute, scoffing at the pictures inside, "Hermione, it's a joke. We used to laugh at stuff like this when we were younger, even Percy thinks it's tame!"

Harry lightened up at this wonderful news that it was fake and let out a whistle of relief, now smiling at the scary depictions of people sitting in circles drawn with blood, holding hands. "Thank God because some of these methods are wild— like, look at this!"

Harry paused on a page of a group of screaming children hanging upside down, chained to chairs that were dripping blood onto the floor that looked more like the mouth of Hell, and pointed. "Look! There's no way! That's freaking scary!"

The boys continued to flick through the book and tease, mocking the rituals that were known to open up tears in the fabric of the world to contact the 'Other Side.' One particular seance involving them stripping naked under a full moon caught their attention the most, and both girls shared a painful side-eye as they laughed harder at them.

"I know!" Ron wiped away a tear, slowing down to catch his breath. "I mean, sure, if a wizard was ever crazy enough to do a ritual that went something along the lines of what's in there then it would be bloody scary, but a Muggle?! HA! As if!"

Harry's laughter died immediately, he was stuck staring at Ron with his mouth open. "H-huh!?"

"It's a fake guide for Muggles," Ron's smile slid off his face as they all stared at him, "it's funny… because the Muggles would never be able to actually do the magic involved— wait, do you not get the joke?"

"So you're telling me there's actual substance to all of this… this…?" Harry blinked down at the rituals that were commonly demonstrated as crude jokes in any horror movie, "Like, talking to the devil and… summoning demons? But it's all fake?"

"Apparently not," Lyra swiped the book from Harry and stroked it protectively, "now say sorry to the book for making fun of it. If you don't, you'll wake up without any skin."

Harry looked like he was about to faint.

"Kidding," Hermione grabbed the book from Lyra and hid it from the rest of the room, "…that was the other book we found."

"I told you the library was bad for us but no one ever listens," Ron warned, shaking his head as he watched the two girls fawned over the pages, "I wasn't going to say it but this isn't the first time that a book has done us harm—,"

"Dude!" Lyra pouted at him, thrown by the comment.

"I'm just saying," Ron sobered up and nodded at the prankster's handbook, "I've told you all about this stuff from a wizard's point of view. You're bound to unleash something evil when you're lurking around in the dark covered in blood and chanting in Latin. It's inevitable. If you use these rituals to go looking for darkness then dark forces will eventually find you."

"And what are these dark forces?" Harry asked, unnerved.

"You know, just… dark forces," Ron was struggling to understand himself at this point, "I don't know? All I know is whatever rubbish Mum spun us as kids. I've been told not to mess with this kind of magic and that's it. Wizards don't mess around with whatever the Muggles think magic is, especially if it involves blood and mysterious runes. It doesn't work like that."

"Now you're just being pessimistic," Lyra pouted, "we're not going to get anywhere with my, you know," she lowered her voice and pulled them towards the quiet dormitory doors, "freaky resurrection thing if we don't exhaust all of our options? We can't find anything useful from other wizards about what I can do and the ghosts here can't help. If we can use these Muggle methods to open portals to the other side then maybe the other side can help? Nick said I have access to his realm, what if this is one of the doors to said realm? What if that realm has all the answers? What if the Muggles have a point?"

"What about the demons and devils?" Harry repeated, still dwelling on the dangerous side of all this.

"They can't be any worse than what we've faced," Lyra looked up at him, "we've already danced with the devil a few times, we can do this if we're together. All of us."

Harry fell silent, lost in his own thoughts, but his furrowed brow loosened.

"If it makes you feel any better, this study suggests that the demons that Muggles are familiar with aren't accurate at all. They're disguises for dark magic, most cases of demonic possession and acts of the devil were just wizards playing pranks on Muggles. I mean sure, some of the Muggle stories about malicious spirits and evil energy were the result of actual dark magic, but that's not our intention. We're not dark wizards planning practical jokes on Muggles, and we're not torturing anyone either. We're pioneers, conducting a vital investigation for research purposes. We could make history if we do this safely and correctly," said Hermione, firm in her belief. Lyra nodded furiously in agreement.

"It's wizard science! We're not breaking any rules! All I want to do is explore my powers, we want to see if this silly little idea we have has some truth behind it, that's all."

Harry and Ron exchanged a look as though silently discussing what they should do, but before either of them could open their mouths to inevitably agree, Scabbers emerged from Ron's chest pocket with a cheerful squeak. A squeak most unlikely his recent terrified squawks, a hopeful squeak.

"Scabbers agrees with us, that's three against two, the majority wins," Lyra asserted, closing the debate for good, "come on gang, hands in the middle and on the count of three say 'Mystery Incorporated!' Ready? One, two—,"

The mistimed jumble of Lyra's friends attempting to humour her warmed her heart and she laughed as they stupendously messed it up. The fact that they were enthusiastic about helping her, even if it meant diving into the deep end of what may constitute the Dark Arts, meant the world.

"Let's go and summon some demons!"

Once the clock tower struck midnight, the four third-years snuck out of the Gryffindor Tower to find a cosy, uninhabited space they could use as their designated seance room. Squashed under Harry's cloak, they struggled more than last year to navigate the castle without revealing themselves, and without the Marauder's Map to hand they were slow to move. Fred and George were adamant they needed it tonight so they left the tower without knowing who was prowling the corridors.

"Here will do nicely," Lyra sighed as she pried open a locked door on the sixth floor. The four Gryffindors crept into what looked like an old storage room full of different kinds of tables. Short stubby bedsides, low crated coffee tables, dozens of broken school desks, and even tall metal spindly end tables that Lyra could've sworn she saw in Dumbledore's office before. Their entrance kicked mountains of dust into the air and the quartet choked for a few minutes, but eventually they settled in nicely and appreciated the small room's company.

"Look, you can see the lake from here," Ron pointed out, squinting through the arrowslit in the corner of the room. Lyra kept her bottom firmly on the school desk she claimed, pretending she didn't hear him as she shuffled around inside her backpack.

"What's our first step? Do we need to prepare anything?" Harry asked first, the most eager to get started, and Lyra's smirk came too easily.

"Hmm — Kreacher!" She called, stripping off her robe and dumping it on the floor.

Pop!

"Mistress," White powder sprinkled the floor around Kreacher as he bowed deeply, and Lyra cocked a brow when he stood straight and revealed the sugary trail of icing down his fleece robes, "you called?"

"Uh, what's up? Did I interrupt something?"

"Kreacher was helping Mister and Mister Weasley in the kitchens," he purred, seemingly more interested in the dusty room than whatever he had been up to, "Kreacher advises all of you not to eat the sweets the twins have been making."

"Ha! You can say that again," Ron scoffed, shaking his head.

"We're allowed in the kitchens?" Hermione looked enlightened.

"Probably not, look who you're talking to," Harry laughed, but Lyra shrugged.

"Let's leave them to their work, this is more important," she decided to say despite struggling with her own self-restraint. Of course she wanted to go and interrupt whatever the hell the twins were up to but she couldn't get distracted.

"What is Mistress up to?"

"We are conducting an experiment, and I need you to get some equipment for me," Lyra thanked Hermione for her list of requirements and passed it on, bouncing on her heels to deter her excitement.

Pop!

"Ooooh, black candles! Nice touch, buddy," Lyra oohed as Kreacher reappeared with an armful of, what some may call, ghost-hunting apparatus. "And you actually found a torch? A battery-powered torch? Surely it's not from my gran's house?"

"Kreacher may have borrowed it from one of the worms at your Muggle children's home," he chuckled, amused by his own behaviour, "Kreacher is unsure whether these… batteries will work at Hogwarts."

"It doesn't matter, the fact it doesn't work is part of the research," Hermione interjected as she levitated the tables out of their way.

Kreacher watched in fascination as Hermione called out instructions for how the room was to be set up, and the four Gryffindors used their robes as cushions as they sat in a square in the centre of the room. The black pillar candles fizzled into ignition when Lyra took her seat, and Hermione passed her the prankster's handbook, ready to start.

"…can Kreacher stay and watch?" asked the elf, mildly hypnotised by their ritual.

"Sure, but if you're in the room then you have to join our circle and hold our hands," Lyra warned him, rolling up her sleeves, "thems the rules."

Pop!

"I thought as much," she giggled.

"Now this is what I pictured when I received my Hogwarts letter," Harry mused as the four grew accustomed to their new arrangement. The only light illuminating the desolate storage room was the seven candles encircling them and each flame contorted their four crooked shadows cast on the stone walls. Lyra swore she saw her shadows shudder in the corner of her eye but it must've been a trick of the light as it seemed perfectly normal when she turned around.

"So this is fine to you but stripping naked under a full moon is a step too far?" Lyra questioned, quickly re-reading the handbook in case she forgot a step. Harry's exaggerated stare was enough to draw her attention back and she couldn't help her witchy cackle.

Harry's palms began to sweat. "Black, don't even think about it!"

"Yeah, especially if there's a bloody werewolf on the grounds! That's just a recipe for disaster," Ron backed Harry up, but now it was Hermione's turn to wind them up.

"Well then, let's hope Remus goes home for Christmas this year or else we're going to be screwed come New Years Eve," she sighed, and Lyra laughed harder as the boys' jaws dropped. "Kidding, totally kidding!"

Once the quartet finally settled down and mellowed into the creepy ambiance they had created, Lyra broke the books spine with a hard crack that made Hermione gasp, and she splayed the instructions out in front of her for all of them to see.

Their first ritual was to be a simple one. A tester, so to say. They watched the drawing as four Muggle children held hands and chanted the words written below the picture. They then closed their eyes, held their hands out in front of them, and a misted cloud formed in the centre of the circle. The four children then screamed and ran out of the drawing's frame in fright, spooked by something hiding in the mist. It seemed almost too simple, and Lyra couldn't wait. Please work!

"Say the chant three times, and then hold your hands out and wait," Lyra breathed. She didn't want to raise her voice anymore, a soft silence cushioned the room and exacerbated their stillness. If she strained her ears then she knew she'd be able to hear their heartbeats. "Everyone ready?"

"Yes."

"I think so."

"Let's just do it."

The four Gryffindors held each other's hands and took a deep breath. The room watched, and waited, and begged for them to continue.

"Nuntii Vitae,

Nuntii Vitae,

Rogamus te ut aperias estium.

Nuntii Vitae,

Nuntii Vitae,

Libero sigillum!"

Their chanting charged the room, the air was alive. A percolating force strummed Lyra's chest and the words on her tongue grew heavy. The shadows around them began to shrink as they reached their third repetition, but Lyra kept her eyes on her friends around her. Hermione was firm, her back straight, her tone determined. Ron was cautious, he couldn't help but squeeze an eye shut but his song never faltered.

But Harry stared only at her, unmoving, unmasked. A kind of foreign haze clouded his vision, all sense of rhyme and reason left him as a force transcended the circle — Lyra winced, his hand was burning.

"Now! Close your eyes!"

Hermione's order snapped them into position and Lyra dropped the boys' hands and stuck hers out. The energy of their hands being drawn towards the centre of the circle whisked around, creating a phantom breeze. The strumming in her chest picked up its tempo and her ribs rattled from her heart's fast pounds.

The granite bubble between her clavicle returned.

Oooh…?

Did you feel that?

It's… it's coming from…

"It's working," Lyra breathed, "keep going…"

Her ears pricked as her friends' breathing quickened, like a pack of nervous dogs panting as a predator crept closer. Lyra tried to decipher the flicks of orange rushing past her eyelids, their shadows were no longer the only darkness shrouding the room—

YOU'RE MISSING ONE… BUT NICE TRY, MY LOVE…

"AHH!"

Ron's shriek broke the illusion and he batted something away from his shoulders, fear lighting up his face. "What was that?! Something tried to grab me?!"

Scabbers squealed to life and wriggled beneath Ron's jumper; he looked like an alien trying to burst through his chest.

"I can't see anything?" As he was sitting opposite him, Harry sat up tall to inspect the space behind Ron, "what did it feel like?"

"Like… a hand or something, it was trying to get me I swear," he panted.

Lyra only heard good news. "Fantastic! At least we know it works, but I think one of the voices told me we're missing something."

Her friends didn't like the sound of that — the idea that Lyra heard voices in her head was bizarre enough to get used to — but Hermione took her suggestion seriously and pursed her lips. "Maybe because Scabbers is here?"

"I'm not leaving him outside," said Ron frankly, "No way."

Lyra couldn't help but pout at him, her hope fading fast. "Aw come on! Fine, how about we include him? Let's try again and we'll each hold one of his paws?"

"Would that even work? Won't he have to chant too?" Harry pointed out, and Lyra groaned.

"God damn it!"

"Maybe let's try again another night when Ron feels comfortable enough to leave him in the tower," Hermione suggested, climbing to her feet to brush the dust from her jeans. The candles flickered, as though threatening to extinguish, and Lyra hung her head.

"We can't give up this easily, we just can't," she tried to argue.

"Did you not hear what I said? Something touched me!" exclaimed Ron, joining Hermione on his feet.

"Exactly! Something happened and now you're throwing in your towels before we've even properly begun to explore what that was! We're not going to get anywhere if you freak out over nothing! Besides, I wasn't going to let that hand hurt you?" Lyra countered, a little irked by her cousin's attitude, "dude, it's fine! You'll be fine."

"How about we try a different ritual, one that doesn't require everyone in the room to take part?" Harry rushed to mediate, "Lyra's right, we can't give up yet."

Her heart skipped. "Thank you!"

Focused more on soothing his frantic rat, Ron chewed on his lip and debated with the fear dancing in his eyes. Before he could fully leave the candle-lit circle, though, Hermione grabbed his arm.

"If it'll make you feel safer, we can draw protective runes in salt around us, and around Scabbers. We'll only try one more time, I promise," she muttered, "the second you feel something, we'll stop."

Ron's shoulders slumped and he nodded, hiding his flushed cheeks and lost voice by hanging his head. Lyra clapped her hands together and mouthed at Hermione that she was the best, and Hermione revelled in her smug smile while she pulled out a pouch of salt from her bookbag.

"Uh, is that salt supposed to be red?" Harry questioned as he watched the girls marked their circle with runes they learnt from their new class books.

"It's a type of salt, it's mixed with red agate crystals and it's supposed to ignite your optimism. It's sometimes called the 'hero's gemstone' so I thought it would be more fitting for this," Hermione explained as she smeared the last line.

"Yeah, we thought it might be less scary than the obsidian salt Kreacher found in my gran's bedroom," Lyra added with a devilish smile as she nodded towards her backpack, and she rushed to comfort Ron who looked like he was about to hurl.

"Joke! Just a joke!" She lied.

"Let's get a move on and finish this last ritual before Ron attacks you," Harry nudged Lyra, and she begrudgingly flicked through the prankster's guide in search of the most tame method.

"Ok, ok, now this one will be a piece of cake because I've definitely done this one as a child," Lyra resigned to the fact that she wasn't going to make any progress tonight and landed on the page describing the kids game. "Even the Bloody Mary game is scarier than this so we've got nothing to worry about."

Lyra read out the instructions as Ron placed Scabbers in his own circle of salt nearby, and he rejoined them with a sigh of relief. All they had to do was repeat a phrase in English and sit in a circle facing away from each other. No Latin, no closed eyes, no holding hands.

"Simple enough?" Lyra remarked as she played with the wax of the nearest black candle, her friends now out of view.

"Nothing is touching me yet so I'm happy," Ron mused, and he swore at his friends when they snickered.

Silence settled over them again, dampening their humour, and Hermione took the lead when their breathing synchronised. Lyra focused on the fuzzy flame tip in front of her until the room disappeared around her. She was falling, falling, deeper and deeper into the darkness.

"Open the door, open the door, open the door, open the door… Open the door, open the door, open the door, open the door…"

Their monotonous chant helped carry Lyra further into her subconscious, the flame of the black candle grew bigger as her eyes blurred. Falling, deeper, darker…

Oh my God…

Is she…? I didn't think it was possible, but he was right…

"Open the door, open the door, open the door, open the door…"

Lyra felt her body glide away from existence, falling through reality, yet her mind knew she was still in the storage room. She still felt the souls of her friends beside her grounding her, but her own was elsewhere. Her spine tingled.

"Open the door…"

A dark plane. A fiery orange glow far on the horizon. The obsidian mirrored sea she once fell prey to, but never again. And something, no, someone in the distance watching her… a smudge on the telescope of her vision stalking her… waiting for her to say the word and they'd take her anywhere she pleased—

YES!

LOOK!

"Open the door!"

The voices fell silent as Lyra snapped her eyes open and caved to the pressure in her chest. She jumped as though she was spooked by something and let out a small yelp. At her reaction her friends automatically latched onto each other, their hands magnetised by another power.

The instant the circle was connected, heavy energy pulsed through the air and condense at the centre of the four Gryffindors. Confined by the fire and salt, it only grew taller in the space. The unique sound of ancient magic brewing caught their attention and they dared to look back —

"Ow!"

"Get off!"

"What in Merlin's name just happened?!"

"Hey!" Lyra choked as a multitude of ghosts came tumbling into the room from the mist, shoving her to the ground. Beneath the many skirts of dresses, hems of robes, and clinks of armour she tried to crawl through the onslaught of dead spirits and she cursed her friends who were having no trouble at all. "Can everyone just chill out please, I can't breathe!"

"How rude!"

"First she disturbs us by summoning us here, and then she mocks us for not being able to breathe!"

"Miss Black," Sir Nicholas found Lyra first and he offered her his hand. Lyra gladly took it and heaved to her feet, a bit discombobulated by the ghosts surrounding her. Her friends finally found feeling in their own legs and joined, gawking at the new arrivals in shock.

"What are you all doing here?" Hermione voiced her question before anyone else. The sad, beautiful Ravenclaw house ghost spat out a laugh of derision and began to circle them, her scowl on no one else but Lyra. Lyra tried not to take it to heart.

Ahh, so these are the ghosts that don't like us.

Merlin's beard, they're idiots if they think she's a threat!

"You are aware that you just opened a portal and summoned us, yes?" Nicholas explained, looking at the four third-years with his whiskery brow raised. The four students shared an accomplished smirk.

"So it was one of you that tried to touch me!" Ron snapped, turning in a circle dot stare down the dozens of ghosts to determine who did it.

"No, Mr Weasley, that was not us," Nick batted his suspicions away, and Ron's shoulders sagged. The Bloody Baron who was by Ron's side snarled at him and faked a lurch, and Ron moved to hide behind his friends, scooping up Scabbers on his way.

"We didn't mean to summon you here, sorry everyone," Lyra called out, trying to make eye contact with all of the ghosts, but there were so many. Most of the Headless Hunt were crowding around Harry, bothering him with questions about his time battling the basilisk, while Hermione and Ron tried to make conversation with a coven of disgruntled elderly witches in the corner. All of them accepted Lyra's apology with a nod or a wave of their hand — all except the Ravenclaw ghost who simply rolled her eyes.

What the hell is her problem? A new type of rage burst in her veins and she clenched her fists.

"Ok, look, while I've got all here I've got something to say so listen up," Lyra raised her voice and unintentionally cut Nick off before he could start pestering her with his own questions. The room fell quiet and Lyra swallowed down her nerves.

"I know that some of you, or all of you, are scared of me but I want you to know that I don't know why. I don't know why I can interact with you guys in ways everyone else can't, I dunno why all of this freaky shit is happening, but that certainly doesn't mean I don't like you. I don't want to hurt you, or frighten you, or disturb your existence. All I want to do is figure out why this is happening," she announced, a hint of pleading in her voice. She caught the Ravenclaw ghost's eye and the woman slowed her pacing.

"Nick told me that you guys aren't allowed to tell me what's wrong with me, and I'm trying to make peace with that, but I can't do that if some of you guys gossip about me behind my back," Lyra switched her glare onto the Bloody Baron. He snickered to himself and shrugged.

"Baron, not appropriate," warned the Hufflepuff ghost, disappointment gleaming from his grave smile.

"So if you could all, please, either tell me what I am or politely keep your mouths shut? Please!" Lyra hammered down on her ignorance and tried her best to get an answer.

"We cannot tell you," the Ravenclaw ghost answered on behalf of the room, but her hard-edged pout softened as she took in the sight of the room. She traced the runes drawn on the floor and nodded, impressed.

"But…"

Lyra tried to stay quiet. But?!

"It appears you truly are oblivious to your talents, and you are putting a lot of effort into discovering what it is you seek," she continued, standing up straight once more to address Lyra, "…that is commendable, I admire your creativity, Miss Black."

"What, exactly, were your intentions tonight? If you don't mind me asking," Nicholas asked, his chest puffed as he watched the Ravenclaw ghost come to terms with the fact that he was right.

"Well, it's pretty vague but we were trying to contact the other side, to get some answers," Lyra shrugged, hating how quickly she blushed as more spectral eyes landed on her.

"We weren't doing anything dark, no dark magic was involved we swear," Ron hurried to add, holding his hands up.

"We were trying to open a door," Hermione elaborated, "a summoning ritual, to open a gateway into your realm and summon something to come through and help."

Half of the room broke into murmurs of sounded positive and Lyra's stomach fluttered.

"I see! Well," Nicholas cleared his throat and looked down at Lyra in what she could only describe as approval, "yes, it looks like that is something you could achieve in due course. Strange methods, very strange indeed, but alas, at least you are trying!"

"We don't need another Archway on this forsaken island— ow!"

The petrified monk cowering in the corner spluttered as something invisible hit him in his gut, warning him to shut up — but Lyra caught it just in time.

"Archway? What Archway?"

No… It cannot be done?

It can be done if they are reunited, but that would mean—?

Nicholas opened his mouth in the hopes of changing the subject, but a final distraction came in the form of another door opening. This time, the storage room door.

Lyra blushed furiously as Professor Lupin entered the storage room, his curious expression inferring that he was wondering who was making so much noise, but he froze on the spot when he took in the scene before him. Everyone stopped and turned to look at Remus, and he blinked back.

"Uh…? What's going on here?"

The ghosts only lingered for an extra second before vanishing into the walls and floor, leaving the four shy Gryffindors to do all of the explaining. Out of the corner of her eye Lyra saw Hermione scuff out the salted runes with her foot while Ron scrambled with his crying rat. Harry was unhelpfully still staring back at Remus like a deer in headlights so, as usual, Lyra nominated herself as the designated talker.

"Good evening professor," she said smoothly, dusting down her now dirty robes, "there's nothing really to see here, we were just having a little get together with ghosts. See, we do this all the time, it's no biggie, and since you're new here I know it may take some getting used to but soon you'll understand and think nothing of it the next time!"

"Yeah, we have ghost parties all the time," Harry backed her up and smiled at Remus, "they're a right laugh once you get to know them! Isn't that right, Ron?"

"Oh yeah," Ron nodded, "a proper lively bunch."

"We're really sorry we broke curfew, professor," Hermione said quietly.

Remus glanced from one face to another, absorbing the odd circumstance he found himself in, and he closed the door behind him. The sigh he heaved held more secrets than Lyra would never be able to distinguish but she held her smile high on her face and waited patiently. He was bound to say something now, surely.

"Well I must start by saying you are unfathomably lucky that it was me who came across you four this evening," he said softly at first as he scratched his jaw, "Professor McGonagall is currently on the fifth floor and is due to come up here soon."

The shared look between the four students spoke volumes and they shuddered in relief.

Remus pursed his lips. "Exactly. Now, as for the salt, the candles, and the party of ghosts you were hosting," his gaze caught Lyra's momentarily and she grinned brighter, "I don't know exactly what that was about but perhaps next time, make sure your parties stay between the hours of 8am to 10pm."

"That's an awfully good suggestion, Professor," Lyra agreed, "I'll make sure to pass it on to the ghosts."

A muscle spasmed Remus' face.

"Do I want to know what you were really doing with the ghosts?" He asked the room, swiftly moving on from Lyra's mischievous smirk. He had the professional disproving hum down to a tee, he was acting how any other respectable teacher would and the four Gryffindors could only hang their heads in shame.

"Not particularly, sir," answered Harry when no one else spoke, and Remus opened the door again, gesturing at them to join him outside.

"Then I suppose we'll have to discuss this after class on Monday instead," he said, "so for now, I think it would be best if you all returned to your common room. Come on, before I decide whether this warrants Gryffindor losing some house points."

A part of Lyra hoped Remus would give them some leeway with the school rules, as ridiculous as it sounded. She wanted him to make a comment about how they were just kids being kids, that he was going to give them permission to sneak around the castle after dark, that he was interested in what they were doing. She wanted him to acknowledge the fact that it may have even been something he had done in the past, with his friends by his side—

But no. He was just their teacher, not their mate. Not their parents' best friend. Not anymore.

He hates me. I just know it.

Lyra couldn't help but give in to her defeatist thoughts. The reason Remus wouldn't even dare to look at her for anything longer than a few seconds was because he hated her, the reminder of his ex-friend's existence. It was a good enough reason, she supposed. She'd hate her too.

Although her friends departed saying their well wishes and good nights, Lyra bit her tongue and kept her eyes glued to her shoes. She neglected to meet Remus' gaze when it finally found a place on the side of her face, and she hugged herself tightly. She didn't say a single word as she left Professor a Lupin in her shadow and she knew it wouldn't go unnoticed.

"I think we got away with that," Ron spoke first once they reached the seventh floor, "and with all our house points intact, no less."

"We're lucky it was only Remus who caught us. We're going to have to figure out a cover story for Monday though," Hermione reminded them, already thinking up a believable lie.

"I still think we should stick to the ghost party idea," said Harry, and he poked his suspiciously silent friend in the ribs, "Black? Thoughts?"

Lyra cursed her automatic smile that shifted her souring mood and rolled her eyes. Maybe I'm just being overdramatic. I am a pain to deal with after all.

"I'm sure I can convince the ghosts to play along. Besides, everyone knows ghosts love to party."

Lyra tried her hardest to forget about Remus' declining tolerance of her in the lead up to her first Defence Against the Dark Arts class, but she inevitably failed. Everyone was buzzing from their upcoming lesson, it was all she could hear as she got ready for her Monday classes. Her pessimism returned like the soap soaking into her pores as she listened to her roommates gossip in the showers, and she scrubbed her face extra hard out of spite. Of course Remus doesn't hate her!

I dunno… Remember Barty's reaction? There's a reason these people from your past are avoiding you!

Now you're just being silly.

Let Remus get to know you, let him see you're not like him.

Lyra growled and tried to drown herself under the roaring lion shower head, irritated by the lack of chance Remus was giving her. In order for him to get to know her, he had to stay in the same room as her for longer than five minutes. An impossible task!

Well, impossible until now.

Now he had to stay within talking distance of her for at least an hour. Or two, if it was a Tuesday double lesson.

"Remember, when he asks what we were doing we were hanging out with the ghosts," Hermione whispered to their small group as they gathered outside of Gilderoy's old classroom on the third floor. Most of the class were in deep discussion about what was waiting for them on the other side of the classroom door, oblivious to the four jittery students at the back.

"Thank God Kreacher didn't stick around too, something is telling me it would've ended even worse," Harry muttered as an afterthought, and Lyra's weak stomach turned. She didn't even think about what Kreacher knew about Remus and vice versa!

A tiny voice in the back of Lyra's mind started to freak out when she spotted Remus strolling down the corridor towards them, a welcoming smile on his tired face. His very presence seemed to mellow the whispering gaggle of third years, a warm energy that not many of the other teachers could exude, and yet Lyra's anxiety spiked.

She wanted to flee.

I need to go.

No, sweetheart, don't.

"Good morning everyone," Remus opened the door and asked them to put their bags inside, "I know you must all be quite excited to find out what exactly we will be doing today, but if I could ask you to take out your wands and quickly follow me without any talking please."

Lyra's legs transformed into sandbags, she couldn't move like a normal human being as she followed suit. She needed to sit down, away from everyone else, away from their professor. Remus didn't need her in this class, she didn't need this class. This subject was stupid! She was stupid—!

You are not bad.

Deep breaths, Lyra, centre yourself.

The calming techniques Danielle taught her over the summer came in handy as Lyra masked her irrational panic and became a part of the masses. The third years followed Professor Lupin through corridors and down stairwells some had never seen before. The mystery of their new location kept the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws on their toes, and they all exchanged amused looks when they realised they were in one of the private staff wings.

"Don't worry, you have my permission to be here," Remus soothed the class with a chuckle as he led them into a surprisingly airy side chamber. Three looming bookcases were gathered in one corner, a scattering of chaise lounges and plump armchairs surrounding them, and a broad dresser and mirror sat beside the only other door in the room. A gentle fire crackled in the hearth on the furthest wall and it filled the chamber with a toasty, buttery incense that reminded Lyra of butterscotch.

At the class' entrance, the two adults inside turned to watch them, one of them exponentially more pissed off at the interruption than the other.

"I take it you have the headmaster's permission for this, Professor?" droned Snape, hiding his sneer behind his coffee cup as he continued to read his newspaper at one of the desks. Madam Hooch, who had been merrily soaking up the heat from the fire nearby, chuckled to herself and took to her feet, stretching.

"Severus, we were both here when Professor Dumbledore granted it," she chided, smiling at the grumpy bat, "let's leave Professor Lupin and his class alone, I certainly don't want to be here when they start."

Lyra made a conscious effort to stay out of Snape's path as the two teachers left at the sound of Remus' resounding gratitude. She didn't rise to Snape's bait when he caught her eye, his venom poised ready to strike if she dared to open her mouth.

"Thank you, Severus," repeated Remus when Snape paused near the Gryffindors, and Lyra smiled even wider.

Not a single word.

Snape left with another growl and a slam of the door.

"Now we have the room to ourselves, let's start!" Remus abandoned his own slightly worn outer robe, rolled up the sleeves of his patched cardigan and beckoned them towards the dresser, "as I'm sure you are aware, my name is Professor Lupin and it is my pleasure to be able to introduce you to Defence Against the Dark Arts. Now, I'm well aware that your first two years taking part in this class have been… unconventional," he joked, rousing a laugh from his students, "but I want to reassure you that this year will be entirely different. Get used to carrying your wands."

More excited whispers broke out and Lyra fidgeted on the stop, ducking down so Remus would lose her face amongst her peers.

"I thought it would be best to start you off with some housekeeping, the basic necessities for your arsenal so to speak. Here at Hogwarts you'll encounter some pesky pests that may appear darker than they actually are, and I want you all to be able to hold your own against them," Remus continued, but he rushed to add "don't worry, this isn't anything above your means," with another chuckle.

"Finally!" Lyra overheard Terry whisper to Anthony Goldstein.

"This is going to be good!" echoed Seamus nearby as he and Dean exchanged grins.

Enjoying his class' enthusiasm, Remus gestured to the dresser and revealed his wand.

"One of the pests you may encounter is called a Boggart," Remus began to explain, but Lyra struggled to concentrate on him as she pictured the ghastly creature's drawing in her textbook. We're facing our freaking fears today?! I should have skipped, I really shouldn't be here.

Facing a Boggart would result in her breaking down in front of everyone. She wasn't sure what she would see when she looked into its dark, many faces but she knew any scenario would be the worst. Jane the Freak, an endless ocean, her father coming to claim her as his victim, or the boy from her nightmares… The amalgamation of what Voldemort meant to her now, and the fear he inflicted in her life.

"—very good, Hermione," Remus' voice brought her back into the room, "ten points to Gryffindor. Yes, once this dresser opens the Boggart will begin its attack, and I want all of us to have a turn at defending ourselves against it. Can you do that?"

The class burst out their agreement and readied themselves, smiles and giggles all round. Lyra covered up her panicked grimace with a huff and massaged her bad shoulder out of habit as she joined the slow forming queue.

"Hey Ron, wanna go before me?" Lyra offered when she realised the diminishing line ahead of her. She avoided looking anywhere near the front where Seamus, Dean, Padma, and Michael were arguing to go first.

"No," Ron said confidently, sweat already wetting his brow, "I know exactly what's going to happen and I'm not in any rush to see Aragog again. You're going first."

"I think if there were anyone who shouldn't go first it's these two," Hermione voiced, looking at Lyra and Harry, "maybe you guys should sit this one out."

"That's fine by me!" Lyra sighed, shuffling further down the line, but Remus called for attention again and ordered those not in the queue to hurry. Lyra bit back her groan and complied.

Thankfully her impending encounter with the Boggart was postponed time and time again when Remus decided to use Neville as his lead example. Neville struggled to get to grips with the actual defensive spell that ridiculed the Boggart into submission, mostly due to the fact that his fear was their beloved vampire Potions Master who kept insulting poor Neville. His abysmal attempts were encouraged by Remus, and Lyra couldn't help but smile a little as their professor urged him to believe in himself

The class watched with bated breath as Neville shakily squared up to the carbon copy of Snape, his wand haphazardly gripped in his hand, wondering whether his fifth attempt would work. In one rather awkward swoop of his arm Neville gave it everything he had, and Lyra almost screamed at the results.

"CAMERA! WHO HAS A CAMERA!"

She cursed herself for forgetting to reload her instant camera with film, but deep down she knew she would never forget the sight of Snape wearing Neville's grandmother's clothes. Who could? Suddenly her Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson didn't seem so bad.

"Excellent work, Neville, exactly like that! Miss Patil, you're next!"

The exercise turned into a sort of spectacle, a dance between magic and imagination. The Boggart bounced from student to student, a new face or feeler or slimy tentacle appearing with every encounter. Lyra watched in awe as banshees, hags, and insects of all kinds spawned before the class, trying to trick the students and play into their darkest fears. She shuddered and shot Sue Li an especially sympathetic smile when the Boggart transformed into a disgusting amalgamation of the Giant Squid and a ghostly jellyfish to scare her. It was bloody horrifying and Lyra decided to add it to her own list of fears. Gross!

"Wonderful work, Mr Boot," Remus complimented, his head tilted in wonder. Terry's fear of skeletons manifested before their eyes, as well as the many shared looks of discomfort around the room, but Terry easily flicked his wand, shouted the correct incantation, and ordered the skeletons to dance. "Ron, you're up!"

Lyra jolted as she realised she was after Ron, and she lost all feelings in her limbs. Her wand arm fell limply to her side.

Ron practically wet himself when, as they assumed, the biggest, hairiest, and most bloodthirsty Acromantula took the dancing skeleton entourage's place. The room hissed in fright at the sight of it — it was by far the scariest manifestation yet — but Ron stood his ground and closed his eyes.

"Riddikulus!"

Lyra couldn't stand to watch as the spider's legs popped off one by one, her turn was imminent and she still hadn't made up her mind. What was her greatest fear? How was she going to turn it into something funny? Would the Boggart sense her anxiety over which of her fears would appear? Would it try to create a sort of Frankenstein's monster out of all of them?

Lyra's stomach dropped out of her arse and she trembled. It absolutely would one hundred percent do that!

Go! Leave! I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!

"Great job, Ron!"

Now! RUN!

Her heartbeat echoed in her ears as Ron accepted their professor's compliments with a boyish smile, and he patted Lyra's arm as he walked off.

"Miss Black? Your turn."

Like a deer in headlights, Lyra froze on the spot before the incapacitated spider without a single thought in her head. She felt the expectations of her classmates running through the air like an electric current and for the first time she wished she was as far away from Remus as physically possible.

The Boggart caught her scent, the sweat pooling on her skin was delectably sweet.

"…Lyra?" Remus whispered, alarmed by her fear. She couldn't hear anyone, it was too late.

RUN! YOU IDIOT, MOVE YOUR LEGS!

Her body sensed him before he materialised, before she even knew how afraid of him she was.

Goosebumps appeared all over her body as the Boggart's ever-changing form stretched upwards until it hit a familiar height. She was shackled by her own fright when his face appeared from the dark mist, all she could do was stare. Her wand might as well have been a twig, she was defenceless against him.

Seeing Tom Riddle in the flesh once more in the middle of a crowded room, in front of Remus, felt surreal. It wasn't right. Time slowed down. The air tasted different. She felt different — wait, was this real? Was this actually a nightmare?

Lyra, no — focus.

This is real, you are real. He isn't.

Panic blocked the voices' words of comfort from reaching Lyra, she was nothing more than a shell. A vessel once again. She didn't feel real.

"This isn't real, Lyra," Tom hissed, ensnaring the room as he prowled forwards. A simple Slytherin student. Was that really her greatest fear? "This is all happening inside your head, I'm still in control of you…"

No, he's not… He couldn't possibly be…

"Fill your mind with humour, Lyra," Remus tried to call out, thrown by her sudden lack of reaction to the strange boy. "You can do this—,"

"No you can't, he's lying," Boggart Tom interrupted, taking another step forward. Lyra caught sight of his hands slipping from his robe pockets — those hands… "they're all lying to you… they're scared of you…"

Sweetheart, breathe!

Remember your techniques! Don't listen to him!

A choke caught in Lyra's throat, she couldn't breathe. Her hands were numb, she was lying on the chamber floor again. She was just an object. Useless, naive nuisance…

"You never left, you know," he rasped, sick glee casting his pale face in a beautiful darkness, "you're still down there, he never saved you — I'm still inside you, Black!"

"No!"

The next thing Lyra knew she was staring at the ground on all fours, heaving in deep breaths she didn't realise she lacked. Harry was now standing where she stood, taking her place in front of the Boggart that was shifting larger than Tom's already intimidating stature. Ripped black cloaks replaced the Slytherin's robes, and a deathly rattle that shook the very windows grated on every ear except the pair closest to the ground.

The presence of the Boggart Dementor drew Lyra from her darkest place and grounded her back in the room. She gazed up from behind Harry and peered into its hood, wishing that she could be just as scary. Tom would never be able to torment her again if she were as haunting as a Dementor, no one would.

"R-Riddikulus!"

The class oohed as Harry knocked the Boggart backwards, tripping over its own cloak and tumbling to the ground like a top heavy clown. Remus was quick to jump in and finish the job as the Dementor climbed back to its non-existent feet and it soon vanished with a pop!

For fuck sake… Lyra had never been more humiliated in her life. She couldn't even fight a Boggart?! I'm such a loser.

"Wow, uh, excellent work class, I think that effort deserves five house points each," Remus recovered with a smoother smile than before, "why don't we, er, head back and fetch your bags. Everyone, this way."

High off the thrill of fighting their fears, most of the class neglected to notice the slow movements of the four students at the very back and Lyra silently thanked them for their obliviousness. Only Neville offered her a sympathetic smile as she climbed to her feet, and Lyra could barely stand even that. What a shitshow, you broke at the first hurdle!

Ron braved to be the first one to speak.

"So… that was—?"

"Yep," Harry cut him off, wary of any mentions of Tom's name.

Hermione brushed Lyra's arm, hurt drooping her pouted lip."Are you…?"

"I'm fine, it's whatever. I should have been more prepared," Lyra said automatically, cringing at the thought of someone eavesdropping. She noticed Remus' constant backward glances to their group as they set off once more through the castle, so she kept her eyes firmly on the ground. "Let's not talk here, I don't want anyone getting the wrong idea."

"No one knew who he was, you're ok," Harry muttered under his breath, and Lyra latched onto his words as though it was a buoy keeping her afloat.

No one else knows, they don't know who Tom is, no one else knows…

"So let's keep it that way," she whispered back.

Once they picked up their bags and prepared to file out of the third floor classroom, Remus cleared his throat and called for them to join him by his desk. Lyra clenched her fists until she felt her nails piercing her palm and she joined her friends, all four standing awkwardly in front of their new Professor. She wanted nothing more than to find a courtyard somewhere and get some fresh air, couldn't he have waited until later?

"I only want to keep you for a moment," Remus started softly. He used the papers on his messy desk as a temporary distraction while he found the right words, "and this isn't about you all breaking curfew with the ghosts, I think it may be best if we move past that and start afresh."

A part of Lyra didn't buy it, a part of her was still burning from Tom's sting. He will bring it up later and use it as blackmail, he's bound to do something. He doesn't like her, he's harbouring information against her.

Lyra didn't realise she was scowling until Remus mirrored her expression and turned to face her directly.

"Miss Black, are you ok? Do you want to discuss what happened?"

"No, not really," she spat back with attitude, and her three friends side-eyed her.

The crease between Remus' brow deepened.

"Are you sure? You have no reason to be embarrassed—,"

"I'm not embarrassed!" She exclaimed, shocking even herself with her loud volume. The pressure was too much, the word vomit was coming up like acid, "I don't care that I couldn't fight a stupid Boggart! And I don't need you to patronise me by pretending that you care because I know you don't, and to be honest I don't blame you! Hate me as much as you like! Punish me for breaking curfew with the ghosts! It'll be so much easier for everyone if you carry on acting like you don't know who I am, and I'll make you happy by staying as far away from you as possible! Ok?! Just… don't pretend that you care about me…"

Lyra had never seen someone lose all of their colour so intensely before, it was like the sun had set behind Remus' tired chocolate eyes. His shoulders slumped and he averted his gaze just for a moment, to glance at Harry whose mouth had fallen open.

"W-What?"

Lyra's hand found her cold lips and she froze, realising what she had let slip.

"You… you both know…?" Remus' voice failed him as he fell into his chair. Even with his grey hairs and dark shadows he looked almost childlike in the way he stared up at them, "…what do you know?"

"We know you were friends with our parents. We didn't know whether we should say something," Harry said, trying to make the awkward conversation better, "of course we don't blame you for not bringing it up because of everything going on with…" the name was on the tip of his tongue but he couldn't do it. Not while she was so close to blowing already.

Remus swallowed hard and tried to hold Lyra's fragile stare. She was about to bolt, her legs were quaking and her silver eyes darted towards the exit more than anywhere else. "Lyra — I can explain—,"

Tom's demon rasp was screaming in her ears, she couldn't hear anything else

HE'S LYING! THEY'RE ALL LYING TO YOU!

"I can't do this," Lyra shook her head and backed away, scooping up her backpack from the floor as she went, "please, just take house points from me, give me detention with Snape, just— I can't hear it. I'm sorry, Professor…"

Without a glance back, Lyra left her friends in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom with tears blurring her already dizzying vision. The panic attack resulting from their lesson finally hit her two corridors away as she slid to the floor and caved to her sobs.

He can't hurt you, we won't ever let him hurt you again.

Cry it out girl, don't worry about Remus, or anyone else. Just get it out…

The barely there hisses became a kind of gentle lullaby as Lyra squeezed out every last tear she had. The faucet Tom twisted open dripped to a stop and she took a deep breath, leaning her head back against the cold stone wall to soothe the pounding inside her skull.

There we go… Breathe…

Thank you…

"Lyra?"

Instantly conscious of her swelling eyes and red nose, Lyra jumped at the sound of Remus' voice and she groaned into her hands. For fucks sake!

"Ugh, I was kind of kidding about the detention with Snape by the way," she moaned, feeling shy about the way she reacted now her mood was settling. "And I'm really sorry for shouting—,"

"That doesn't matter, and just for the record, I don't think I could ever have it in me to punish you with detention with Professor Snape," he interrupted with a kind of lightness that Lyra had only dreamed of. A tone of an adult agreeing with her.

"Hey now, don't go raising my hopes for no reason. Every teacher says that at first but then the next thing I know I'm carrying out all of my detentions in the dungeons scrubbing cauldrons again," She said deadpanned, sniffling a little as he finally came to a stop in front of her. "I never get to spend detention anywhere else, and I keep breaking my nails so I'd appreciate the break from washing up."

The sun seemed to rise again in Remus' eyes as he looked down at her, like he was seeing something fond from his past. He held out a hand.

"Then I suppose the next time you inevitably receive detention, which isn't now, then I'll request that I need your help instead," he chuckled, and Lyra debated taking his hand.

"Come on, we're going to the hospital wing," he encouraged in a tone Lyra had heard from Danielle so many times before, and she couldn't stop her automatic yearning for his protection. "And while we're there, I think it'll be best if we finally have our chat about the past… is that ok?"

Lyra's spikes stopped retracting. "I don't think—,"

"Lyra, I don't hate you," Remus said plainly, casually. No spite, no misdirection, no lie. "Please let me explain myself because you deserve an explanation, you deserve a thousand. And also, as your professor, you have to do what I say regardless, you don't have a say. Up you get, Black, come on."

His joke felt like sunshine, she knew he was teasing by the warmth radiating in the faint wrinkles of his face, and she gladly took his hand.

It was rough yet inviting, like an old memory she didn't know she forgot.

"Fine," she huffed, but she made sure he could see her small smile, "… so, I heard Snape hates your guts too, eh?"

"Merlin's beard, child," Remus laughed to himself and pinched the bridge of his nose as though debating every single decision that led him here, "you are exactly how I imagined..."

Lyra dug her nails into that particular statement and held on tight. It was enough to cast away the dark thoughts trying to tear her down, that kept her separated from the prospect of actually experiencing happiness. It was enough to keep her hope going. he wasn't like her grandfather.

Remus doesn't hate me.