Two hundred and seventy-five points.
Gryffindor lost two hundred and seventy-five points in one night! Surely that was a record, Lyra had never felt shame like this before.
They were in second place, only forty two points behind first place holders Ravenclaw, but then they plummeted all the way down the leaderboard to the unwanted bottom position of the table. Last place. Losers. And it was all her fault.
Well, technically it was a shared effort but she was (according to McGonagall) the ringleader of the gang that disgraced Gryffindor. She didn't know if there was any way for them to fight their way back up to the top of the leaderboard, the school terms seemed to fly by and Lyra knew she would have to work extra hard to earn back her professors' favours. She could feel the staff's lingering gazes of disappointment on her back from the moment she stepped into their classrooms, but she managed to find sparks of solace when she noticed that Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville were also plagued with the same heavy cloud of humiliation. At least she had company in her pit of shame.
The majority of Gryffindor were very frosty with the first years; they couldn't believe their eyes when they saw the half-empty hourglass in the Entrance Hall, insisting that the lack of glistening rubies was a mistake or a prank. Even Fred and George were feeling a little sore, but naturally for all the wrong reasons. They couldn't believe Lyra didn't invite them to join the vampire hunt and they purposely snubbed her whenever they crossed paths, muttering something about being 'backstabbed by family'.
At first Lyra didn't understand how everyone found out about their late night adventure but the second she walked into the Great Hall she remembered that Hogwarts was a school and like every secondary school around the world gossip spread like an infectious yawn. This time its source happened to be a remarkably bitter Slytherin.
Still feeling the sting of his own one hundred and fifty point deduction, Draco gladly nominated himself to announce what went down in the forest the next day at breakfast but, of course, he added his own spin to the tale. Lyra heard through Dean and Seamus that she allegedly attacked Draco in the forest, Harry summoned a vampire to kill him, and that Draco bravely fought off the beast when it tried to eat Harry.
"What?! That's the biggest lie I've ever heard!" complained Harry when Lyra told him the breaking news. Suffering from his own episodes of guilt Harry had avoided breakfast altogether and she found him sitting alone in the empty quad opposite their Transfiguration classroom, lost in thought. She thought against disturbing him when she saw how intense his frown was but he jerked out of his gloomy bubble when he spotted her and he shuffled along the stone bench, inviting her to stay.
"I know but that's our Draco, always the epitome of honesty," she sighed, feeling rather defeated, but she instinctively traced the red slash down Harry's cheek with her eyes. He sensed her gaze and prodded his face, seemingly annoyed with himself. He hadn't divulged what happened to him in the forest when the vampire appeared yet and Lyra was itching to ask, his injury looked rather painful.
"Sooo?" Lyra asked, unabashed at her own eagerness, "what actually happened?"
"When the lights went out, I tried to find you but I couldn't see anything," Harry explained, dropping his gaze to his lap, "the vampire was right behind me, it kept saying my name and I panicked, I couldn't move and I immediately forgot every spell I've ever learnt. It was terrifying, I really thought it was going to eat me, but I managed to get away before it caught me…" Harry trailed off with a sigh and kicked a stone, frustrated with his past self, "but then I heard Draco screaming and I realised he was still in the clearing. I couldn't leave him."
Lyra gawked at him. "You went back and saved him?"
"Yeah I know, I kinda regret that now!" scoffed Harry, infuriated, "But I couldn't let Quirrell or Snape eat him so I went back for him. He was sobbing like a baby, you would have loved it, but when I started to drag him away he pushed me to the ground and ran, leaving me to die. I cut my face on a rock going down, but luckily one of the centaurs showed up and scared the vampire off."
Lyra let out a low whistle and clicked her tongue, rather astounded at his tale. "Personally I think that story is way more entertaining than the crap Draco's chatting but I may be biased, I'm sorry my cousin is a big wuss," sighed Lyra, shaking her head in commiseration.
"It's fine, I should have known better," he mumbled, upset with how everything turned out. "Do you still have that picture of him in the forest? I bet he looked so scared, laughing at it will cheer me up."
Lyra bit her lip and dropped her head, heat rising in her freckled cheeks; she didn't. She didn't have any of the photos she took that night, they must have slipped out of her backpack when she ran away from the creature and in her panicked state she never stopped to check the forest floor on her way out. Her evidence was gone, the photo of the vampire was lost forever.
"Nope, it's somewhere in the forest along with the photo of the vampire," she growled like a fussing kitten, her face crumpling with anger, "I had the picture of it right there in my hand, and now it's gone. Everyone would believe us if they saw it with their own eyes."
"And we might have been able to work out whether the vampire was Snape or Quirrell," added Harry, unintentionally making Lyra feel worse. Neither McGongall nor Hagrid believed the first years' cries about the murderous vampire that was loose in the woods. The two adults tutted and huffed in unison, insisting that the forest was a vastly unsuitable habitat for such a creature, but Lyra noticed the twinkle in Professor Dumbledore's captivating eyes and she held onto the belief that the headmaster heard some sort of truth in their pleas. Sadly her hope fizzled out like an old balloon when he asked to see her evidence of the creature and she came up empty-handed. She swore she heard him sigh in dismay and she spent the rest of their interaction with her eyes on her boots.
"Harry I'm so sorry," mumbled Lyra, fiddling with the hem of her robe sleeve to avoid his gaze, "if I hadn't dropped that photo then we would know who's been trying to kill you, the teachers would have believed us, and then we wouldn't have lost points and then we wouldn't be sitting here feeling like rubbish—,"
"Hang on a second," he interrupted her more fiercely than she expected, "you don't need to apologise, that wasn't your fault. You're way too hard on yourself, I'm really grateful for all of your help regardless of whether we catch Snape or not."
Lyra paused to mull over his kind words, trying to find the words to relay her gratitude, but she couldn't help but smirk up at him instead. "So your moneys on Snape now?"
Harry considered both of the candidates once more and secured his answer with a firm nod. "Yeah, the way the vampire said my name sounded way too familiar, it's got to be him. Who else says my name like I single-handedly murdered his entire family? Maybe Quirrell was giving us a real warning, maybe he was warning us about Snape?"
"Maybe," sighed Lyra wearily, rubbing her puffy eyes. She was exhausted, the failure of her latest escapade was taking its toll on her, "you might be right, Potter."
"I really hope I'm not," he said, nervously playing with his tie.
"But I'll put money on Quirrell, just to be safe," she decided, cracking one last joke to lighten the mood, and Harry finally laughed, automatically offering her his hand to commence their newest bet.
"Shall we say five galleons this time?" He suggested and Lyra shook his hand, trying to crush it in an attempt to intimate her opponent and she grinned when he winced.
"Let's make it ten, this is your life we're betting on after all."
After two weeks of awkward mealtimes, cold stares, and mutters of discontempt, Lyra felt as though she could breathe again when she noticed that her house was finally acknowledging her and her accomplices with warmer smiles and casual conversations, no snide references to the Forbidden Forest in earshot. She knew she shouldn't have cared what the rest of the lions thought about her, the words Danielle once said to her had to be repeated in her head multiple times during the shunning, but she considered the Gryffindors to be her family and she didn't want to let them down. She worked harder in her classes, especially Transfiguration where she made sure to illustrate her excellent behaviour to the best of her ability, and she even managed to earn ten points during Charms class for her perfect demonstration of the mending charm. Soon everyone started to forget why Gryffindor lost so many points in the first place.
But then the eight scorned first years were given their detentions.
"Potter, Black, Weasley, Granger, Longbottom — my office after breakfast please, your detentions start today," announced McGonagall as she came up to the group in the Great Hall one Saturday morning, and Ron groaned, disgruntled that his planned day of thrashing his friends at wizards chess had been ruined. He immediately chomped on his bacon sandwich to silence himself when McGonagall gave him a sharp, disapproving scowl as she left.
"I thought they had forgotten about our detentions," whined Lyra, taking the tiniest sips of her Earl Grey to procrastinate their sentencing, "the Incident-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named was ages ago!"
"They've been busy with exam preparations," informed Hermione, watching McGonagall as she walked over to address the Slytherin trio, "I asked McGonagall about it yesterday—,"
Ron looked horrified. "You asked her about our detentions? She probably forgot all about it and you reminded her! Well done!" he accused, but Hermione rolled her eyes and snapped back.
"Actually," she drawled, flicking her hair over her shoulder so she could see the boy beside her, "she told me that there was a small problem with one of the other teacher's prep and from what I could tell, she's very angry with whoever it is. They've been meaning to give us our detentions but they haven't had the time."
Harry sat forward and abandoned his plate of toast. "Who was it? Did she hint at all? I bet it's Snape."
"Nah, it's Quirrell," proposed Lyra confidently, eyeing up the empty staff table where their Defence professor usually sat, "he's worse at teaching than Snape."
"I dunno about that," muttered Harry, but Lyra decided to stay quiet, refusing to admit that she did, in fact, find Snape's teaching style a lot easier to follow than Quirrell's. Admitting that Potions (the subject and not the potions master) was her favourite class was something she would never do, she didn't want Snape to find out because he would make it his personal goal to stop her from succeeding.
"You're just saying that because you've got ten galleons on the line," Lyra countered with a shrug, and Harry side-eyed her.
"I could say the exact same thing to you, you're being biased again," he teased, but Lyra waved away his preposterous claims and turned to Neville who had been happily watching them as he finished his porridge.
"Neville, who do you think it is? Snape," Lyra dramatically shook her head and mimed 'no!' before adding, "or Quirrell?" She nodded and smiled at him, encouraging him to side with her.
"Uh, well," Neville considered his options and sipped his juice, taking his time, "to be honest I think it's probably Quirrell—,"
"Ah ha!" cheered Lyra, plastering her best 'I told you so' smile on her face as she danced, purposely nudging Harry to further highlight her win, but Neville continued.
"—but that's because I heard that his job is cursed, maybe it's not his fault? Snape is definitely the worst teacher, I can never keep up with him," he verbalised the rest of his thought process, and Harry hooted with laughter.
"Ah ha!" he pointed at her and stole her patronising smile, ecstatic that Neville was ultimately on his side. Closing her gaping mouth, Lyra turned to the pair opposite her and gave them her prettiest smile, hoping it would persuade them.
"What about you two? Snape or Quirrell?" she asked, and they exchanged a quick look.
"Snape!" said Ron quickly, making Harry smile.
"Quirrell!" choked Hermione, and Lyra nodded proudly.
"I'll take it," she sighed, purposely ignoring Ron. Hermione was the smart one, she would have been heartbroken if she hadn't agreed with her.
When the spread of breakfast food vanished from the table, the five Gryffindor begrudgingly made their way up to McGonagall's office, whispering amongst themselves about the oncoming punishment. They had no idea what was waiting for them and Lyra had an inkling they wouldn't be sitting in a classroom all day, this was no regular detention and she knew the professors would want them to suffer. Harry took the lead and knocked on the door, and Lyra's stomach cramped when she heard Snape's droning voice floating out of the office as the door opened. Why is he here?! Ugh!
The Gryffindors shuffled in, keeping their heads down and their mouths shut, and McGonagall climbed up from behind her desk to join them, the stiffest smile on her lips. The three Slytherins and their head of house were already there, matching scowls on their faces, and Lyra tried her hardest not to glare back when Draco glowered at her, daring her to start a fight. Another knock at the door cut McGonagall off mid-sentence as she started to explain how the first years would be spending their free time and she welcomed in Professor Sprout and Mr Filch, the latter more irate than the former.
"Marvellous timing," said McGonagall lightly, nodding at the newcomers before turning to address the first years. "As it is abundantly clear that the eight of you cannot be trusted to behave in each other's company, you will be split up and serve your detentions accordingly."
Lyra gulped, realising why the other adults were here. Please give me Sprout, please please please please—
"Mr Weasley, Mr Goyle," called out McGonagall, switching her gaze to Ron and Gregory, "you will be helping Mr Filch with his duties."
Ron's jaw dropped and he glared at Greg who looked equally as horrified, but he clenched his fists and held his tongue. Lyra could tell he was dying to scream but she commended his self-restraint, he was slowly turning a vivid shade of vermilion but he never made a noise. Filch gave his new assistants a nasty grin and beckoned for them to follow him.
"You'll be begging to return to that blasted forest by the time I've finished with you, come on," he taunted gruffly, his pockmarked face stretching as his yellow smile widened, and Ron shivered.
"Kill me!" he mouthed at his friends before he followed Gregory out of the office, dragging his feet as he left.
"Mr Crabbe, Mr Longbottom," continued McGonagall, glancing at the notes on her desk and Lyra crossed her fingers, "please follow Professor Sprout."
Damn it! Lyra groaned internally, rays of envy beaming out of her as she watched Neville and Vincent leave. She had to spend her detention with either McGonagall or Snape and she immediately latched onto the shimmer of hope that she had been lumped with her Transfiguration professor, she couldn't even think about the alternative. Keeping her eyes on the wooden floorboards, Lyra held her breath and waited.
"Mr Malfoy, Miss Granger — you'll be with me today," announced McGonagall, and Lyra's heart sank. No! Noooooo!
"Potter, Black," growled Snape, and Lyra finally looked up, meeting his cold, dark gaze. He looked awfully pleased with himself and it made her feel worse. He asked to have them, she just knew it. "Follow me," he added, and with a flourish of his cloak he led the shell-shocked Gryffindors from the office and down to the one place Lyra really didn't want to end up — the dungeons.
"He did this on purpose," muttered Harry under his breath as they trailed behind the Potions Master, daring to scuff their shoes as they walked. Lyra furiously nodded in agreement, disgruntled by their bad luck.
"Absolutely," she growled, "maybe this is his chance to finish you off?"
"What, with you there as a witness? He's gonna kill you too!" he protested in a whisper.
"Yeah but you're totally going first, you're the…" Lyra cursed herself, why couldn't she ever remember the dumb nickname! "Kid-That-Could-Not-Be-Killed! You're the famous one, I bet he can't wait to kill you!"
"Great, thanks Lyra," said Harry dryly.
"In!" barked Snape suddenly as he stopped at his classroom door, fighting the snarl that was threatening to take over his face, and the pair rushed inside, eager to get this over with.
Lyra had experienced detention with Snape before but she knew this was going to be completely different. Her unneeded commentary in Potions had earned her countless missed break times and lunches where she wasted time writing lines or cleaning out dirty cauldrons that had been caked with the remnants of failed concoctions, but now he had been granted the permission to punish her for an entire day she knew he conjured up an extra nasty task for her to perform.
The dungeons were aptly named, the potions classrooms were grimy, dimly-lit prison cells that were constantly clouded with toxic odours and there was always something slimy on the walls, but today the classroom looked so much worse. It was filthy.
Discarded potion ingredients littered the tables, puddles of mysterious liquids pooled under chairs and all sorts of muck had been scattered around the room as though someone had simply grabbed a handful of whatever they could find in the store cupboard and haphazardly threw it around the room. Lyra blinked hard, hoping the mess was simply an illusion, and matched Harry's look of incredulity when they caught each other's eye.
Snape ordered them to join him at his desk, his cloak billowing behind him as he stormed, and he gave them his most disparaging lour he could muster as he took his seat.
"As you can see, my dimwitted third year class left my classroom in a disgraceful condition yesterday," Snape began to explain, dropping his harsh gaze to the essays on his desk, "and you will start your detention by cleaning this classroom until I deem its level of cleanliness is sufficient."
Lyra bit her tongue so viciously that she tasted blood. He was asking for a miracle, his classroom was never clean!
Snape glanced up when they stayed silent and he arched a brow, inspecting their malcontent expressions. "And I won't tolerate any whinging, you are to perform your tasks without any backchat or stupid comments, am I clear?" he growled, and the pair nodded.
"Leave your wands on my desk, you may start," he muttered, returning to his marking, and Lyra had to slap a hand over her mouth to physically stifle her groan. Manual labour?! Face wrinkled with silent rage, Harry slammed his wand down a little too hard and joined Lyra as she started to collect the cauldrons but Snape ruined their teamwork almost instantly.
"Potter, cauldron-washing only requires one pair of hands and Black must be an expert by now so for once stop following her around like a little puppy and do something useful," snapped Snape, and Harry went rigid, freezing up as though he had been cursed. Face glowing like the crushed holly berries around them, he diverted his path and started to throw away the wasted ingredients, avoiding Lyra entirely. Fighting the urge to break all of Snape's rules at once to defend her friend, Lyra exaggerated her strained sighs as she carried the cauldrons, purposely shaking her arms as though the weight of the pewter was unbearable.
Snape watched her pretend to struggle for a few minutes, uttlerly unimpressed with her dramatic performance, and decided to draw the line when Lyra collapsed against the sink after transporting only one cauldron, wiping her brow with her entire sleeve.
"Look at that! It's soaked through! I've never sweated like this in my whole life! Professor, I really need someone else to help me!" gasped Lyra, wringing out her sleeve after sneakily dipping it in the flooded sink, and Harry had to duck under a table to hide his laughter.
"Enough!" Snape yelled, spitting slightly as he glared. "You are perfectly capable of carrying the cauldron by yourself, Black, stop acting like a clown and act your age!"
Lyra bit her lip and debated whether it would be worth going further with the joke but a sudden flashback of the blood red eyes from the forest frightened the mischievous giggles that yearned to break free. Given his years of experience and his secret vampiric identity, Snape would murder her in seconds and then he'd use it as an excuse to finally murder Harry. Something in the back of her mind told her not to push him further.
So, for the first time in her life, Lyra took a deep breath and turned back to the sink, her tongue firmly between her teeth — she behaved.
Satisfied but a little suspicious, Snape returned to his work and listened to the first years clamour around his classroom, scrubbing and mopping until their joints cramped and their fingertips pruned. The pair almost broke their silent streak when they came across an incredibly acidic spillage and Harry managed to save his hand from being dissolved when he noticed the rag he was holding was sizzling like frying bacon as it started to melt. After almost two hours of independent cleaning Lyra managed to creep around the room to join Harry and thankfully, due to his extreme dislike of the essays he had to read, Snape hadn't looked up yet to tell them off.
By the time Snape addressed them again Lyra's stomach was screaming for food and she was starting to feel rather lightheaded. According to the rusted metal clock on the wall, dinner was about to commence in the Great Hall above them and the pair of hardworking Gryffindors still had a few hours of cleaning left. Whatever potion the third years had been making was one ingredient away from being pure concrete, it refused to budge from the cauldrons. Snape turned a blind eye when lunchtime came around, Lyra and Harry wasted half an hour miming at each other to say something, but he seemed to hear the growling of the first years' stomachs and finally acknowledged the time.
Professor Snape climbed to his feet and the Gryffindors froze mid-scrub to stare at him. His shining eyes surveyed the room only once and a muscle ticked in his jaw as he looked back at them. Lyra's heart thudded in her chest, anticipating his words. Please let us go! she pleaded, wishing he could read her mind.
"My classroom looks worse than before."
"Oh come on!" Lyra yelled, slamming the brush on the floor. She couldn't hold it in anymore, and apparently neither could the shaking boy beside her.
"It looks so much better and you know it!" exclaimed Harry.
"I distinctly remember the two of you agreeing to my terms," spat Snape, walking around his desk with his shoulders hunched, shaken by their cheek, "and now I am standing here yet again listening to your incessant, arrogant remarks. When will you learn to shut up? I did not ask for your opinion, this is my classroom and I have the final say."
Her brain went into self-destruct mode as she struggled to piece together the perfect answer to his rhetorical question but Snape continued to rant before she could spit it out.
"From the moment you pranced into this castle covered in confectionery I knew that the pair of you would treat the rules of this school as though they were mere guidelines, do you think that you are above them? That they do not apply to you?" he asked, his voice deepening as it dripped with venom.
"Are we supposed to be answering these questions or—?" Harry sassed back and Lyra ducked for cover when Snape exploded.
"LEARN TO USE YOUR BRAIN, POTTER! How dare you speak back to your professor like that! One day your insolence will get you killed!" He roared, storming closer to the pair crouched on the floor. Lyra snuck a look at Harry and wriggled her eyebrows, pointing out the subtle death threat, but Snape mistook it as a secret code being shared and he snapped his neck to her.
"BLACK, STOP MAKING THOSE STUPID FACES!" he bellowed and Lyra tried her hardest not to react. She forced her face to stay still but it was an impossible feat. He sounded really angry and she thought it was hysterical. He looked like a raging bat, almost frothing at the mouth as he hissed at her, and the bad lighting only emphasized his gaunt vampiric face. The urge to ask came up like bile and she choked.
"Sir, are you a vampire?" She blurted out, and Harry guffawed, staring at her in amazement. They explicitly kept their suspicions between themselves, Harry never thought she would actually ask him. Snape blinked incredulously and looked down at her as though she were a part of the mess his third years had created.
"I beg your pardon, Black?" He sounded deeply offended. Lyra swallowed down the anxious tingles on her tongue and she faced the consequences that her mouth had caused. Was it socially unacceptable to ask whether someone was a vampire? The books she had read in the library on the Living Dead weren't exactly polite, it was crystal clear that wizards were intimidated by them as the fear of 'the other' reiterated over and over again in the lines of the text, but she didn't quite understand why. Why wouldn't you want to be a vampire?! Fair, they can drain your blood within seconds but surely there was some sort of understanding between the magical communities, between wizards and vampires? Lyra smiled faintly, not bothering to stop the ramblings that were about to spill out.
Besides, this topic seemed to touch a nerve and annoying Snape was turning into one of her favourite hobbies.
"I didn't mean it like that, I think vampires are pretty cool," she backtracked, trying not to stutter, "but you do share many traits with vampires and I think as a concerned student at this school I have the right to know if my teacher is a vampire."
Harry kept his mouth closed and watched the show, pleasantly entertained by her nerve.
"…And what qualities are these?" droned Snape slowly, daring her to continue.
Lyra happily explained. "Where do I begin? You're really pale, you tend to stay in the shadows a lot, I've never seen you eat and your general aura has a very 'undead' quality to it," she listed, smirking at her last comment as his black eye twitched, "but you don't have red eyes and your teeth aren't as pointy as they should be. Are you half-vampire, perhaps? Or do you take some sort of potion that hides your more obvious features?"
A soft hiss from a far off pipe filled the awkward silence and Lyra hoped no one could hear her pounding heart, it felt like a bloodthirsty beast threatening to break out from its ivory cage. She knew she shouldn't have said that but she was sick of not knowing, maybe he would snap and reveal his secret identity. The odds of her being murdered was worth it, her questions needed answers.
Snape looked her up and down, scrutinising the pre-teen for her courageous yet slanderous descriptions, and let his top lip curl with derision. He was white with rage, his sallow complexion soured like expired milk in the ghastly lighting of the dungeon.
"Your imagination is astounding, Black, but you must learn to think before you speak. I know that must be challenging considering you seem to love the sound of your own voice," he growled, his voice dangerously low, "I do not know where you come up with this utter nonsense but I assure you that nobody wants to hear the incoherent, sybaritic spittle of a stupid, arrogant, annoying little girl who lacks manners and has no filter. I would be offended by your accusations if you were at least accurate with your descriptions but clearly you are brainless as well as senseless," his boring eyes flashed, "if I were a vampire you certainly wouldn't be here."
Lyra absorbed his long-winded insult with a huff, piecing together the information behind his words instead of taking his jabs to heart, and she pouted up at him.
"I see… but I'm not stupid," she told him matter-of-factly, and a muscle spasm contorted Snape's face momentarily, bursting with angry colours as he yearned to snap back, and the snicker from Harry was the match to his short fuse.
"Then I must have a word with your Defence Against the Dark Arts professor as your information on vampires is either lacking or inconceivably wrong. Vampires have never been sighted on these grounds before and they certainly do not have red eyes," he informed them, needing to prove to them that he was superior in every aspect of the word, and Lyra caught Harry's eye. He was just as puzzled.
Huh?
"What creature has red eyes then? Well, humanoid creature, because it had two legs and two arms?" wondered Lyra, genuinely asking him an innocent question, and Snape studied them in silence for what felt like minutes, immobile and tense.
Lyra tried to see any sign of life within him, she couldn't tell if he was even breathing, and his stillness made her dreadfully uncomfortable. He was deep in thought, he wasn't with them in the dungeons anymore. A fragile whining started in her stomach but she didn't feel particularly hungry anymore.
From the corner of her eye she saw Harry looking as bothered as she felt, and she slyly jabbed his arm, silently asking him what they should do. He leapt to the rescue with a single word.
"Sir?" he asked, wary of the Potion Master's erratic behaviour in case he suddenly attacked them, but his voice seemed to jerk Snape out of his daze and his familiar lour was back.
"Out," he demanded, standing taller than before as he came back into himself and he threw their wands at them, "you will finish your detention tomorrow, get out."
Lyra felt as though someone had just popped a balloon next to her head and she leapt to her feet. He knew what the creature was, she could sense it in his unfathomable eyes. "Wait, hold on—,"
"Get out of my classroom right now or else I will take another twenty-five points, Black, don't test me," threatened Snape and the classroom door burst open, slamming against the stone wall with its metal handle rattling. He pointed at the exit, humouring the first year. "In case you had trouble understanding my instructions again, there is the door."
"But—," Lyra tried harder this time but Harry saved Gryffindor from being humiliated further as he latched into Lyra's arm and dragged her from the classroom.
"Goodnight Professor, see you tomorrow!" he exclaimed as they left, daring to slam the door close behind them as they ran, but Lyra still felt his eyes on her back.
"You really don't know when to stop talking, do you?" Harry chuckled as they slowed at the end of the hallway, a safe distance away from the dreaded chamber. It was much cooler in the shadowy corridor, the cold water trickling down the slimy stone walls chilled the air on Lyra's flaming cheeks and she shrugged, her eyebrows wobbling anxiously. She didn't mean to get carried away and her building guilt must have slipped onto her face as Harry immediately back-pedalled, rushing to correct himself.
"That's not a bad thing!" he stammered, "I mean, it's bad news for our house point total but that's it. I like that you have the guts to say all the stuff I wouldn't dream of saying out loud, and watching Snape burst a blood vessel is always satisfying. We wouldn't get to see that if you didn't keep talking… and all those horrible things he said about you aren't true," he added, but he hid his lopsided smile when he muttered, "although you are a little annoying."
His earnest corrections were endearing and Lyra couldn't help but laugh, her mood skyrocketing. "I know! Thanks Potter, I needed that," she smiled.
"Anytime," he brushed away her thanks with a glance over his shoulder as they finally left the dungeons for dinner. "Do you reckon he was telling the truth back there? I know he wouldn't actually tell us if he was a vampire but I think he knows something."
"He was totally lying!" said Lyra with conviction, "he knew what that thing was, whether it's actually him or not. He knows that we're telling the truth and he doesn't want to help us whatsoever."
Harry sighed and kicked the step as they emerged from the gloomy basement of the castle, shaking away the heaviness their horrible day had given them. "I was so sure I had those ten galleons in the bag but now I'm not so confident. Maybe it's Quirrel after all? This is a nightmare, we're going in circles," he mumbled, and Lyra beamed at the sound of his defeat.
"Wow, today has suddenly gotten a whole lot better!" she giggled, tapping her chin as she pondered, "I wonder what I'll spend my ten galleons on…?"
The summer months at Hogwarts were just as fascinating and troublesome as the winter ones, Lyra couldn't believe that the Scottish highlands obtained so much sun. She was impressed by the high temperatures and happily embraced the sweltering weather for almost a week before she realised that it was impossible to concentrate in a hot, stuffy classroom. The castle clearly wasn't built with the summer months in mind and the stone walls contained the heat perfectly, roasting the students alive.
Sadly the heat didn't help Lyra with her revision and exam season had swiftly arrived, looming over her and providing no additional shade from the sun. Hermione insisted that the library was the best place for them to study and she forced Lyra, Harry, and Ron to join her at every possible opportunity and they spent most of their evenings preparing for their upcoming tests, frantically going over topics they had no memory of. The pressure of performing well had pushed the mystery of the red-eyed vampire slash mysterious creature slash murderous Professor to the back of their minds and they tried to forget all about the Philosopher's Stone on the third floor. Getting into their second year was more important right now.
However, on the first day of their exams, Lyra's curiosity came creeping back like a cold shiver when she noticed that Harry kept twitching and scratching his forehead more than usual. At first she thought nothing of it, writing it off as a nervous tick, but something punched her in the gut when she saw him cradle his head during their Charms written exam, his agitated feet tapping against the dusty floorboards. Ron noticed as well and mouthed at Lyra asking what was wrong, his freckled face equally as concerned as hers, and she shrugged.
"What's up with you?" interrogated Ron the moment they were dismissed, and Harry huffed, rubbing the scar on his head. The rush of students coming out of Flitwick's classroom carried them onwards to their next lesson and the four slowed their pace to give themselves some privacy.
"My scar, it keeps stinging and I can't focus," he sighed, "I know I got most of Flitwicks' questions wrong."
"That's not good," tutted Hermione, trying to downplay her smile as she felt incredibly confident with her own results.
"Yeah, this isn't the first time my scars stung me but now it's constant, it won't go away," explained Harry, using a passing window to inspect his forehead, "does it look any different?"
Hermione blushed. "Oh sorry, I was talking about the exam."
"It looks exactly the same," assured Ron, cutting off Lyra who had opened her mouth to tease Harry, "I wonder why it's hurting, when was the last time it did this?"
The grimace on Harry's face wasn't what they expected and Lyra froze, thinking back to the forest incident. She remembered him mentioning his scar just before—
"I felt something when we ran into Quirrell in the corridor, and again in…" but Harry's jaw dropped and he slapped himself in the face, mortified by his slow thought process. Hermione and Ron glanced at each other, piecing it together while he groaned in embarrassment, but Lyra couldn't stop her gasp. Her face lit up and she didn't stop her backpack from tumbling from her shoulder and onto the floor with a bang.
"...in the forest," Harry finished.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" she yelled, staring at him as though he confessed to being a vampire as well. "You kept this from us on purpose, you knew it was Quirrell but you didn't want to lose our bet!"
"If I knew it was Quirrell then I would have bet on him, wouldn't I? And I didn't keep this from you, I've only just figured it out!" he defended in earnest and Hermione looked unusually queasy.
"What do you think it means?" whispered Ron, "Maybe your scar is warning you that Quirrell is a vampire? Or it could be a special power, like in that comic Lyra gave me. There was something about a guy being bitten by a bat and he gained special bat hearing that could sense danger?"
"You're mixing franchises, I knew this would happen," sighed Lyra, scolding herself for overwhelming Ron.
"I don't remember being bitten by a scar though," said Harry deadpanned, and only Lyra laughed as she imagined Harry being chased by a piece of wounded skin with fangs.
"I don't know much about scars but I do know that they're not supposed to hurt. They can itch though, but that only tends to happen to new scar tissue. Do you…" Hermione struggled to continue her sentence but the quizzical look from Harry forced her to spit it out, "do you think it has anything to do with, well, the person who gave it to you?"
"Who, Voldemort?" asked Harry innocently, and Ron almost jumped out of his skin, blindsided by the forbidden name. Hermione's eyes flew open, taken aback by his bluntness, and Lyra grinned at him, admiring his nerve. They hadn't spoken about the dark wizard who inspired a war in the Wizarding world yet. She had been dying to ask him whether he remembered anything about the famous incident but from the way Ron and Hermione spoke about Lord Voldemort she assumed it was a dangerously sensitive topic that she shouldn't ask Harry about. His casual namedrop, however, was an exuberant sign that she had the go-ahead.
"Merlin's beard Harry!" Ron puffed, clutching his chest as he caught his breath, "next time, give us a warning!" Harry offered him a sympathetic smile, nervously brushing his dishevelled curls out of his eyes as he muttered that he had forgotten about the taboo, but Lyra saw something shift in his eyes. A light had gone out. Her stomach plummeted.
"Wait," said Lyra softly, trying to be mindful, "I thought Voldemort was dead?"
Ron spluttered again. "Lyra!"
"Sorry!"
"Apparently he's dead but not everyone believes that he's gone. When I met Hagrid we spoke about Vol- uh, You-Know-Who and he believes that he's out there somewhere, not quite alive but not dead either," muttered Harry, pulling them to the side of the corridor as they had reached the first floor for their pre-exam Transfiguration lesson. The chatter of their classmates faded as they stumbled into the classroom, signalling their shrinking time gap.
"And what do you think? Do you think he's alive? Do you think he has something to do with your scar pains?" wondered Lyra in a whisper, gauging his reaction. She could see the lines connecting in his head, forming his final opinion before their professor shouted at them and stole their moment together, and he locked eyes with Lyra one last time.
"...No, I think it's a coincidence," said Harry firmly, "I don't think it means anything and I don't think we should worry about it. This has nothing to do with You-Know-Who, but it might be about Quirrell." He sounded confident, like he was more sure on this than any subject they've spoken about before. Hermione loosened up, her worried grimace melting as she sighed in relief.
"Good, I can't imagine how we'd be able to concentrate on our exams with the prospect of You-Know-Who possibly lurking around the corner," she shuddered, sharing Ron's apprehensive expression as they envisaged the worst case scenario.
"I'm not too bothered about exams but the sentiment still stands, I don't even want to think about what that would be like," agreed Ron.
But Lyra's shoulders sagged and she pouted, a little put out. For a split second she thought they had found the ultimate clue, the puzzle piece that connected everything together and completed the full picture. She thought she was about to discover the truth for once in her life, but she was wrong. If Harry thought it was nothing then it was nothing, she depended on his judgement more than she thought she would. The idea of Lord Voldemort being alive was beyond anything she could have imagined, she never thought that the subject of the famous dark wizard coming back from the dead to terrorise the world would be a typical discussion in her life and yet here she was, mulling over the odds of Harry's headaches being the works of an evil dictator.
At least she still had Quirrell to worry about.
"If you say so," sighed Lyra, giving him a small, encouraging smile, "but I still think your scar is trying to tell us that Quirrell is the vampire."
"Maybe your scar is some sort of vampire detector?" suggested Ron, and Lyra agreed enthusiastically.
"That's not a terrible suggestion," considered Hermione, narrowing her soft eyes in thought, "if magic was involved in its creation then I don't see why your scar wouldn't be sensitive to the supernatural? Logically it doesn't make sense but theoretically…?"
"Theoretically I might be a walking vampire detector?" asked Harry, and Hermione smiled sheepishly.
"Potentially?"
"For heaven's sake! You four!" snapped Professor McGonagall suddenly, snapping them from their conversation and they froze under her spectacled gaze as she stood tall in her doorway. "Inside! Quickly!"
The rest of the day passed in a blur and Lyra hardly noticed, she was too busy thinking about how she could capitalise on Harry's supernatural ability but her train of thought soon merged back into the familiar pattern of nitpicking the details surrounding the mysterious vampire who wanted Harry dead. The enigma was too enchanting, she caught herself wondering what Fluffy was up to twice during class and she wasted the entirety of lunch reminiscing about the red eyes in the forest. She didn't want to admit it but it started to consume her again. Her need to know the truth was festering inside of her like a virus and her stomach cramps were getting worse, she needed to know. They were so close, she could taste it.
"Harry! There you are!" Oliver Wood exclaimed, jogging towards the first years who were heading to Herbology early, "this won't take long but I'm throwing a last-minute team meeting and I need you there."
Harry tried not to look too disappointed. "I thought we had practice tonight?"
"We do," assured Oliver, smiling awkwardly, "but this is an emergency meeting, I'll explain when we're together."
"If you're heading back to the castle then I'll come with you, I need to speak to Professor McGonagall about tomorrow," said Hermione, pulling out her hefty Transfiguration book from her bag.
"Really? You asked roughly a hundred questions about our exam already!" teased Ron, and Hermione's lips twitched, fighting a smile.
"Then one more question won't hurt," she told him, making him grumble. Slightly apprehensive, Harry muttered goodbye and followed Hermione and Oliver back up to the castle, leaving Ron and Lyra behind in the radiant sunshine.
"Oliver's very proactive with his team," commented Lyra, and Ron snorted, laughing at the three dots further up the gravel path.
"Yeah, George told me he's always throwing emergency team meetings," he told her, "they're never about anything important, he panics over nothing."
"When did your brothers join the team?" wondered Lyra, joining Ron as they sat down on the grass by the walled gardens that held the greenhouses, stretching their legs out and soaking up the sun.
"Last year, apparently Wood loved them and put them on the team straight away," he explained but Lyra noticed the buzz of envy in his voice. He was picking at the blades of grass a little too harshly and she couldn't help but pout at him. He constantly compared himself to his older brothers and it did him no favours.
"That's probably because Oliver and the twins are friends," she assured him, leaning back on her elbows and lifting her chin towards the sun, "I'm sure if you ever tried out for the team then you'd be just as good as them, you won't need the captain's favour."
"Who says I want to join the team?" asked Ron defensively, and Lyra burst out laughing. Who was he kidding? He was practically jade with jealousy!
"You don't fool me, Weasley! Just admit it, you wanna play Quidditch just as much as I do!" she giggled, giving him her perfect 'come on!' face, and he cracked a faint smile.
"...Possibly," he murmured, fighting his smirk, "but you've never seen me play, how do you know if I'm any good or not?"
"Duh," Lyra rolled her eyes, "you're related to me."
"I don't think that's how it works," Ron started to say but he was swiftly interrupted by the sound of someone screaming his name. Lyra sat up straight and struggled not to snicker when she spotted Filch hobbling down the gravel path towards them, his wrinkled face taut with rage. Ron looked like he was about to faint.
"What the—?"
"You! WEASLEY!" grunted Filch, gleaming with sweat from his exertion, "where is she?!"
"Huh?!" Ron scrambled to his feet, distraught at the sight of the ferocious janitor.
"Sally," growled Filch, coming closer to the pair to interrogate the innocent first year, "what have you done to her?"
"I put her back! I swear!" exclaimed Ron, automatically putting his hands up to defend himself.
"Who's Sally?" Lyra whispered loudly but Ron didn't dare address her. His eyes were fixated on Filch, refusing to move.
"She's not in her cupboard!"
"Then I dunno! I put your stupid broom back in it's—," Ron spat, frustrated that he was being cornered for no reason, but Filch erupted at the sheer disrespect tumbling from Ron's mouth. Cursing and swearing, Filch refused to leave Ron alone until he promised to help him look for his lost broom, and Lyra watched in awe. The caretaker named his brooms? She felt a pang of sympathy for the lonely man but it soon vanished when she realised her only company was begrudgingly walking away from her, leaving her to her own devices.
"Good luck finding Sally!" she shouted after the retreating pair and Ron shot daggers at her, mouthing at her to help but she faked a yawn and laid down, her arms neatly folded behind her head.
Lyra tried to spend the rest of her lunch break savouring the hot sun rays but after only two minutes her mind floated back to the red-eyed beast in the Forbidden Forest and she started to feel a tad antsy. Now she knew it was Quirrell (she was adamant those ten galleons were hers) she needed to come up with a way to prove it and she started to think of a plan to dupe the Dark Arts professor into confessing. The breeze that tickled her sun-kissed skin rustled the leaves of the nearby forest and Lyra shot up at the sound of it. The evidence she needed already existed.
She had twenty minutes left until she was due in Herbology and she was right next to the Forbidden Forest. It was now or never.
Without thinking, Lyra jumped to her feet, swung her backpack onto her shoulders and sprinted away from the walled gardens, adrenaline hitting her like the wind against her cheeks. She hadn't felt this invigorated since her last forest trip and she didn't want to slow down in case her motivation dissipated. The threat of being caught yet again seeped into her mind but she shoved it away, refusing to even acknowledge the amount of trouble she would be in if someone found her in there. It wasn't an option anymore, the photos were vastly more important.
Lyra stopped before she breached the hill that tumbled down to Hagrid's hut and she took a deep breath, tugging on her bag straps as she stared at the forest, psyching herself up. She had to do this, Harry's life depended on it. She took her first step into the woods and braced for the frosty atmosphere to roll over her, inviting her inside to search its floors for her photographs, but she swore her spirit left her body when she heard her name.
"Lyra! Whaddya doin'?!" exclaimed Hagrid in horror, storming over to the tongue-tied first year. She stared up at him as he reached her and she gulped. Crap!
"I can explain!" she squealed, chewing on her bottom lip as she braced for his screams of disappointment, but they never came. Hagrid mustered his heaviest sigh and gazed down at her in trepidation, his eyes twinkling through the forest's misted light.
"Come and have a cuppa with me," he said softly, jerking his head in the direction of his hut, and Lyra blinked in suspicion. Was he about to bombard her? Was this a ruse?
"Uh, I don't—,"
"I'm not gonna tell yer off," reassured Hagrid, chuckling at something far off in his mind as he led her away from the trees with a hand on her shoulder, "I promise."
"Well…" Lyra clicked her tongue and huffed, feeling rather sorry for herself. "I don't have a choice, do I?"
"No yer don't," he agreed, "let's go."
Hagrid's hut was a lot cooler than Lyra was expecting and she was thankful for the shade, it was a nice change from having the scorching sun on the back of her neck but she appreciated the heat of her cup of tea regardless. Her insides had turned to jelly and she trembled, eyeing Hagrid warily as he took his seat in his usual squashy armchair.
"So," he sighed, taking a large gulp of tea before locking eyes with Lyra, "am I gonna have ter build a fence around the forest?"
"Of course not, that's not fair on the creatures," she mumbled back, fiddling with the handle of her mug to calm her twitchy fingers.
"But constantly going into the forest when we've told yer not ter is fair on Gryffindor?" challenged Hagrid, using his years maturity to his advantage, "did yer think about that before yer wandered off?"
"...yes," lied Lyra, hating how quickly her face flushed.
"Really?"
"...no," she grumbled after a moment's silence, dropping her gaze to her weak knees. The all too familiar waves of humiliation were back, like an unexpected visit from an estranged friend, and she started to doubt herself. She wasn't being fair, her house's reputation was suffering because of her but she couldn't stop thinking about the vampire. It wasn't fair that no one believed her!
"I thought as much," said Hagrid knowingly, peering at her over his mug's brim, "yer're a nightmare."
"So I've been told," she mumbled under her breath, the spiteful visage of Snape popping up in her mind.
"Then why do yer keep breaking the rules?" asked Hagrid earnestly. His urgent need to help was written plainly on his face and his tone was far less scrutinising this time, it was a nice change. "I'm only tryin' ter help yeh, Lyra. I just don't understand where all of this is comin' from."
"I'm not intentionally breaking the rules," Lyra tried to explain, abandoning her now empty cup, "it just so happens that there are certain rules in the school code that sometimes get in the way of my investigation work."
Hagrid frowned. "Investigation work…?"
"The whole Snape and Quirrell—," she prompted him but the mention of the professors' names sent Hagrid into a downward spiral of huffs, exasperated by her stubbornness.
"I thought I told yer to drop that!" he scolded, growing defensive, but Lyra laughed at his optimism.
"Never!" she smiled, holding her chin up high.
"Is that why yeh were heading back into the forest? Ter do some more investigating?" sighed Hagrid, sounding almost defeated by Lyra's determination, and she wobbled her hand in uncertainty.
"Not exactly, I've done all of the investigation work and now I just need my evidence back," she said truthfully. "I wasn't going to stay there for hours, all I wanted was my pictures."
Even through the nest of dark hair Lyra could see his twitching smirk. "Yer photographs?"
"Yup! That's it! I wasn't heading off to track down the vampire, I promise," she urged, maintaining his eye contact to prove her innocence. "Besides, I have Herbology soon and someone would notice that I was missing."
Hagrid looked incredibly torn, his internal struggle flashed in his black eyes, but he made his mind up quickly as he ambled over to his kitchen cupboard and retrieved something from within. Keeping whatever it was close to his chest, he returned to his seat and sat forward, captivating Lyra's attention. He licked his dry lips and cleared his throat, coming to terms with his decision. Lyra froze.
"I really hope I'm not making a mistake by giving these back ter yer," he said sternly, using his most authoritative voice, "so I want yeh to promise me that yeh'll never enter that forest without either me or another teacher wat yeh side. Understood?"
Her jellied insides solidified and exploded with anxious jitters, flooding her entire body with anticipation. Could it be…?
"Sure! Whatever you say! I promise," she spat out, her eyes glued to his dustbin lid hands.
Her rushed oath was sufficient and Hagrid nodded, passing her two battered polaroids. Lyra's jaw dropped, speechless.
"No way…" she whispered, gawking at her long lost photographs as though he had just given her the master key to Hogwarts, "you found them?!" Quaking slightly, Lyra began to inspect her pictures but her heart sank when she realised that the film holding the incriminating evidence was destroyed. The mud from the forest floor must have been rich with nutrients as it had eroded the ink and she stared at the soul-crushing white splotches in defeat. The photographs were useless. She had let Harry down.
"Oh…" she whispered, hanging her head in shame. "Thanks anyway…."
"I'm sorry Lyra," comforted Hagrid in his warmest whisper, "I knew you were so passionate about yeh pictures, I woulda liked ter have seen what yer'd captured."
"I already told you," she grumbled, suddenly wishing she was alone, "it was the vampire!"
A jagged crease appeared between Hagrid's eyebrows. "But I told yer, we don't have any—,"
"—vampires in the forest, I know," Lyra finished his sentence bitterly, her freckled nose wrinkling. Never had she been more disappointed in herself. "Whatever, it doesn't matter now…"
Hating how sad she had grown, Hagrid scratched his beard and searched his hut for something that would cheer her up and he chuckled when she spotted the letter pinned to his mirror. "Ah ha! Here's summat that'll put a smile on yer face, I got my first update from Romania!"
Suddenly a cheery spark warmed Lyra's delicate stomach and she summoned a fragile smile, appreciating the subject change. They hadn't spoken about his dragon yet and she was glad to see that he wasn't sour or resentful for her involvement. Hagrid seemed to really appreciate her help and she felt a lot better when he thanked her with a rib-crushing hug and promises of sharing all of the photographs sent from overseas. She fawned over the letter Charlie had written and cooed at the pictures that were attached to the back, amazed at how big Norbert had grown over the months. To her dismay she heard the clock tower toll, signalling the end of lunch, and Hagrid's show-and-tell came to a swift end.
"Yer better go straight to yer lesson," encouraged Hagrid, smiling in jest as Lyra rolled her eyes and smiled sweetly at him as she left his hut.
"I don't have any reason to go into the forest now so don't worry, I will!" she reminded him, plucking the photographs from her skirt pocket and waving them at him.
Despite the searing sunshine, Lyra felt unusually chilly as she slowly made her way back to the greenhouses. The revelation that she would never find out who the creature in the forest subdued her spirit, she felt as though someone had crammed her organs full of rocks and she let the heavy weight of ignorance drag her down to the ground. She felt so small and stupid, her chances of unmasking the vampire were gone forever. The pictures felt rough in her fingertips, ruined by the nature of the forest, and she silently cursed herself for her carelessness on that fateful night. If only I knew a spell that—
THUD!
Lyra let go of her backpack and scrambled for her wand, starting to panic. How could she have been so dumb?! Of course! Magic! Her hope came racing back, equally as frantic as her pounding heart, and Lyra tried to calm her breathing as she cleared her throat and tapped her wand on the Polaroids.
"Scourgify!" she chirped, and tiny foaming bubbles oozed over the pictures. The mud melted away before her eyes and she gasped, elated at the sight of Draco, Gregory and Vincent frozen in fright in the clearing, their pale faces lit up in fear. Yes! I'm keeping this one forever!
But the bubbles faded from the second frame and the white blotches remained. She needed to try again.
"Reparo!" Lyra tried, jabbing the Polaroid with the tip of her wand and a flash of cyan light lit up the small photo in her sweaty palm. Her heartbeat jumped into her throat as the light faded and she swore gravity increased tenfold. Something stronger than fear engulfed her when she examined the picture for the first time, she couldn't catch her breath. Oh my God…
Nothing could have prepared Lyra for what she saw. The vampiric man in the centre of the frame was worse than she remembered — it wasn't human and it certainly didn't look like a vampire. The skin of its face was luminous, so dazzlingly white that it glowed on film, and its crimson irises only emphasised its ethereal complexion. Its features were almost reptilian and her toes curled in her boots, disturbed by the lack of nose and absence of hair. Its mouth was agape, guarded by razor sharp teeth and a slithering tongue and she couldn't stop staring as it snarled up at her. She found it so repulsive that it started to become mesmerising and she didn't know how long she stood in the grounds, simply ogling the picture with her jaw swinging. It didn't look like Snape or Quirrell.
But then she noticed their feet.
They were backwards.
"AH HA!" Lyra yelped, the answer hitting her like a brick, "Yes!"
It was Quirrell! The vampire was underneath his turban! The red eyes, the monstrous mouth — it was on the back of his head!
Suddenly Herbology didn't matter, everything clicked into place and she knew the clock started to tick, she needed to act fast. She couldn't let this opportunity escape her, she needed to find Dumbledore and show him the picture. She needed to be smart and take this issue to a qualified, trusted adult who could potentially kill a vampire and she needed them now.
Lyra had never run so fast in her life, the euphoria of securing her evidence gave her a boost of energy as she sprinted up the grounds and back towards Hogwarts castle, ignoring the thumping of her heavy backpack against her spine. The bell tolls had long faded and the corridors were empty, she didn't pass anyone on her way up to the third floor and she thanked the universe for helping her out — now was not the time for a spontaneous detention. She climbed up the countless staircases two steps at a time and she didn't stop running until she spotted the stocky stone gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office.
"Hi!" panted Lyra, clutching the stitch in her ribs as she skidded to a stop, "me again! Look, I don't know the password but—,"
"I'm sorry but I'm afraid Professor Dumbledore isn't here," droned the griffin, abruptly cutting off Lyra's breathless explanation. Her brows dipped and she pouted, wiping the perspiration from her face.
"Oh, where is he?"
"I'm sorry but I cannot say," answered the griffin, sounding almost bored, and it snapped back to its sleeping state before Lyra could ask her follow-up questions. Her hopes were starting to diminish but she physically shook away the bad thoughts and tried again, desperately trying to think of a second plan.
If the headmaster is away then the deputy headmistress is the next best person, her subconscious encouraged her, unafraid of a little challenge, but her heart skipped. McGonagall was going to punish her for skipping class regardless of her reason, it was going to be a struggle to get her to listen.
"M-Miss Black?"
Every nerve in Lyra's body tingled, alerting her to the imminent danger that stood behind her. Assuming a more confident facade, Lyra took a calming deep breath and turned away to greet the very man she intended to snitch on, using all of her might to stop herself from shaking. She couldn't give the game away, not yet.
"Hello sir," said Lyra coolly, "nice day, isn't it?"
"What are you d-doing out of l-lesson?" asked Quirrell, his top lip stiff as he inspected her, and Lyra grinned, tightening her grip on both her wand and the picture.
"I needed to see Professor Dumbledore," she said honestly, fighting against her shakiness with a strained cough. Playing it cool was a lot harder than she thought, his gaze was extremely jarring and she shivered when he narrowed his dark, piercing eyes.
"What a-about?"
"You," she blurted out, unable to stop it. Lyra you idiot!
The muscles in Quirrell's face seemed to lose control momentarily and he took another step closer. She could see the veins in his forehead clearly now and she hated how they began to protrude, betraying his clenched jaw.
"...What about me?"
The mere sound chilled Lyra to her very core. Her chest got tight and she swallowed the dry lump in her throat, hoping she could stand her ground. He didn't stutter that time
"What about me?" Quirrell repeated, dropping his volume so it came out in a hiss. Lyra bit her lip, fighting the urge to spill all of her suspicions. A part of her wanted him to know how smart she was, that she figured out his dark secret, but her gut was pleading with her, screaming at her to stop talking.
"I…" she gritted her teeth in a last ditch attempt to shut up, "I know what you are! I know that you're faking your stutter, I know that you know about the Stone, I know that you're a vampire and I know that you want to kill Harry!"
Lyra thought her heart was going to burst out of her chest, it was beating so hard. Professor Quirrell blinked once and dropped his gaze to the photograph in her trembling hand, rather amused at the sight of it. She instinctively shoved the photo back into her skirt pocket to hide her evidence but her Dark Arts teacher was a few seconds faster. In a flash, his wand was in his hand and he twirled it once, staring directly into her eyes. His demeanour had changed, the fumbling fool was gone and he stood straighter and taller than before.
The strangest sense of serenity washed over Lyra like a warm breeze and she felt like she was floating above their ground, her feet dangling precariously an inch from the floor, and when she tried to move her muscles constricted. She was paralysed.
Give me the photograph, a hushed voice muttered into her ear, and Lyra found herself wholeheartedly agreeing. Her arm shot out in front of her and she dropped the Polaroid into her professor's hand, surrendering all of her hard work in less than a second. When she tried to protest her voice never came. She was under his spell and she didn't know how to fight him. He was an experienced professor, a dark wizard who could crush her in seconds. She thought shame was the worst emotion she would ever experience but she was sorely mistaken, defeat was so much worse.
"Now, Miss Black" said Quirrell sharply, clearer than ever, "follow me please."
Lyra had no choice. An invisible force pushed her forwards and she shadowed the professor as they headed into a disused classroom, actively trying to rip her tongue from the roof of her mouth so she could scream. She was being kidnapped in broad daylight, if someone were to walk past them they wouldn't have suspected something nefarious was happening to the poor first year.
The door locked with a mechanical click and Lyra kept her eyes glued on Quirrell, too terrified to blink. She didn't trust him, she knew she was going to die, this was the end of her life. She struggled to stay calm as she watched his fidget with his robe sleeves, tracing the silver hem with his wand out of habit while he studied the enchanted girl, and he stood before her with the most peculiar look on his face.
"I applaud your ambition, Black," he admitted, "I never thought a nosy little first year would be the first to figure it out. You've outsmarted your professors and I can't say that I'm not impressed… but I'm no vampire."
"What are you, then? Tell me," Lyra managed to spit out, her curiosity powering through her professor's charms. He arched a single eyebrow, fascinated by her prowess, and he shook his head. His fingers reached up and traced the rich material wrapped around his skull and Lyra's eyes doubled in size, terrified. It's happening! Goodbye cruel world!
"How about I show you instead? My master has been yearning to meet you," he suggested coldly, transforming into a man with more confidence and meaning than the one he claimed to be. Lyra wanted to say no, she wanted to scream at him to let her go, but she couldn't find the right words. Instead, for some innate reason, she found herself saying yes.
"I guess, but who's your master?" she spluttered, bright red in the face from her lack of filter, and Quirrell chuckled. It was cruel and brittle, her blood turned to ice as it trickled into her soul but she still couldn't look away.
The violet fabric fell onto his shoulders as he slowly unravelled his headpiece and Lyra felt her eyes prickle with tears when he finally turned around to reveal the parasite that lived on the back of his head. The photograph had been kind to the face, it was so much worse in person.
"Finally…" rasped the parasite, growing accustomed to the weak light that flooded the empty classroom, and its blood red gaze fixated on Lyra, unwavering and intense, "a face I never thought I'd see again… Lyra Black, a pleasure to meet you."
"I…" Her voice crackled, the curse Quirrell put on her had vanished, "Uh, yeah you too?"
"You do not know who I am," the parasite was amused, its scarred lips stretching into a fearsome smile, "fascinating."
"Should I?" Lyra blurted out, ashamed. She had read her magical creatures book countless times over the year and not a single beast resembled the face in front of her.
"I suppose not," it hissed, narrowing its devilishly thin eyes, "but I would have thought an intelligent girl such as yourself would recognise the Dark Lord?"
Her very bones rattled as she gasped and absorbed the suffocating sense of dread before she worked herself into a panic attack. Her mind worked faster than her heart and the surge of word vomit came rising up out of her like a waterjet, too powerful to stop. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. No fucking way! The red eyes, duh!
"D-Dark Lord?!" she breathed, violently trembling as she stood on the spot. "...S-Sauron?"
"Who? No!" spat the parasite, offended by her assumptions, and Lyra choked. Phew!
"Then who…?" she mumbled.
The parasite laughed and its echo shook Lyra to her core, rattling her as though she were a coin stuck in an old bottle. It hurt her ears and she flinched, struggling to keep the searing eye contact. It was getting harder to look the parasite in the eye, she felt as though her mind was being probed.
"You may know me by another name… a name that many wizards fear, a name that you know and you will never forget," whispered the parasite but its laughter only grew when it watched the girl before them squeak out of fear, savouring her reaction. But Harry was so sure…?
"V-Voldemort?!" stuttered Lyra. The parasite looked pleased.
And then suddenly everything went black.