"They must be nearly finished, Dumbledore's been in there for ages!" complained Ron, watching the double doors in front of him for signs of life.
Lyra, Hermione, Ron, and Neville were sitting patiently on the benches designated for visitors in the small foyer guarding the hospital wing, waiting to visit Harry as they heard through whispers between the staff that he was finally awake.
Five days had passed since the events in the basement of the school and Harry was still in the hospital, his encounter with Quirrell had completely drained him and he had been lying in the ward ever since. Lyra was forced to stay the night with the rest of her rescue party who joined them under the trapdoor but they were shooed from the hospital the following morning by a rather tired Madam Pomfrey who had spent half her night scolding the talkative first years for being too loud. They hadn't been allowed to see Harry until today and Lyra was dying to talk to him about everything that went down. She needed to make sure he was ok after meeting Voldemort, she knew it was a sensitive subject but his welfare was more important than her trying to be would understand where she was coming from.
"I'm sure they'll be out soon, we have Defence Against the Dark Arts this morning so Professor Dumbledore has to come out eventually," reminded Hermione, swinging her feet as she shuffled in her seat. Ron deflated, rather miffed that their time with Harry would be cut short, but the four Gryffindor started to swap theories on what Dumbledore will teach them today to pass the time.
With exams now fully underway, Lyra wondered what would happen to their Dark Arts lessons now their professor was a convicted criminal and currently on his way to Azkaban. Her questions were answered the second she followed the rest of the Gryffindors into their Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom and saw the headmaster perched on the edge of the teacher's desk, smiling pleasantly at the confused and somewhat intimidated first years. They had never spoken to the famed wizard before and Lyra noticed the looks of awe on everyone's faces as they took their seats.
"As you can see, Professor Quirrell is no longer an employee here at Hogwarts," Dumbledore addressed the class once they settled down, "I'm sure you have all heard the rumours floating through the school by now but I am here to tell you that there is nothing to worry about as I will be filling in as your professor until the end of term, your upcoming exam this week will go ahead as planned."
"What happened to Professor Quirrell, sir?" chirped up Zacharius boldly from the back of the classroom and he flushed bright red when Dumbledore chuckled at his outburst.
"Well, Mr Smith, thanks to some of our brave albeit meddlesome students," Dumbledore subtly nodded towards the four Gryffindors nearby who were trying not to blush too horrendously as everyone turned to stare, "we managed to uncover the truth concerning Professor Quirrell's true nature. It appears that he had contracted a very nasty parasite whilst on his travels during his sabbatical last year and, unbeknownst to us, this parasite had corrupted him from the inside out. Due to his newfound interest in dark magic and his attempts to murder Mr Potter, Professor Quirrell has been sent to Azkaban prison."
The first years' jaws dropped simultaneously and Lyra couldn't help but admire their expressions, savouring their glorious reaction to the horrifying truth… Well, half truth — they didn't need to know that the parasite was actually Lord Voldemort — but having witnessed the truth with her own eyes she felt a small sense of victory and she rather enjoyed being ahead of the gossip for once.
"One of us has to tell Harry about his exams," voiced Ron to the trio waiting beside him, concluding the classroom discussion, "I vote Hermione."
Hermione scoffed. "Why me?"
"Because it'll sound kind of normal coming from you, it'll lessen the blow," suggested Ron in his friendliest voice, not wanting to offend her in any way, "if me or Lyra start talking about exams then he'll know something is up straight away."
"But there's nothing wrong with Harry having to take the exams he's missed, if anything he'll be relieved that he can take the test without everyone else around him and he has the chance to prove himself instead of being given his predicted grade which isn't that accurate anyway!" countered Hermione smartly, but Ron looked unconvinced and he rolled his eyes, turning back to the closed doors.
"You amaze me sometimes, Hermione, I dunno how your brain works and I don't think I'll ever understand," he muttered.
Hermione hid her blush behind her hair and returned to the book in her lap, fighting a smirk. "Fine, I'll tell him," she eventually agreed.
"Great! What about the Quidditch Final? Who wants that responsibility?" piped up Lyra, nervous about the outcome of that particular conversation.
With their acclaimed Seeker out of action, the Gryffindor Quidditch team were forced to pick a substitute to take Harry's place and the final Cup results were abysmal. Wood's friend Gordan Pickering stood in for Harry as he had prior experience as a Seeker but he didn't stand a chance against Ravenclaw, they lost by a huge margin and Lyra had never seen the Gryffindor team look so depressed. She tried to inspire some sort of second place celebration amongst the lions in the stand with an impromptu singsong about how great they were but it never took off, the Ravenclaw supporters' cheers drowned her out.
"I vote you do it," suggested Neville, "you talk a lot so he might not realise straight away, you can distract him with your usual nonsense."
"But I've already got loads of stuff to talk about, why can't Ron?" deflected Lyra, pointing at the redhead who looked rather queasy at the prospect of breaking the news.
"Because I don't want to! He's gonna be so upset and he'll react better if it came from you," said Ron as though it were the perfect reason. Before Lyra could point out that he was simply making an excuse, the hospital wing doors finally swung open and Professor Dumbledore strolled out, a delicate smile playing at his lips as he spotted the first years. The warm sunshine that flooded the corridor from the open doors brought a stronger aura of serenity into the room and they felt comforted that the headmaster seemed content. Harry must be feeling much better and Lyra let go of a breath she didn't know she was holding.
"I had a feeling I wasn't the only one who wanted to visit Harry," chuckled Dumbledore, smiling at them as he wandered over, "my apologies for keeping you waiting."
"You didn't, sir," Ron rushed to say, trying his best not to blush.
"Can we go in and see him now?" asked Lyra, dying to run into the wing behind him.
"Of course," said Dumbledore, gesturing towards the door with a sweeping arm, "but I was wondering if I could have a quick word with you first, Miss Black."
Oh no… Lyra gulped and nodded, watching her friends rush off to see Harry as she sat back down on the bench, pouting at her scuffed shoes. She had been dreading this, she expected an invitation to visit Dumbledore's office the day after her run-in with Voldemort but he never asked to see her. She tried not to take it to heart but it was tough, she assumed the headmaster would at least check on her but she never heard from him.
Lyra's experience down under the trapdoor haunted her, she couldn't stop thinking about the scarlet eyes of the parasitic Voldemort and his chilling questions concerning her life replayed every time she tried to fall asleep, she couldn't get rid of them. They meant something, Voldemort knew something. No one except her and Quirrell knew what happened between them and the Dark Lord and a tiny part of her wanted it to stay that way. She really didn't want Dumbledore to know that Voldemort inferred she was attracted to dark magic because she didn't know if that was true or not… What if he was right? Would the headmaster send her to Azkaban too? And what was considered dark magic? She never studied anything particularly evil nor did she express any interest in diving into the darker side of magic, she didn't know where these insinuations were coming from.
A violent shiver rolled down Lyra's back and she blanked out the negative thoughts, rejecting the oncoming intrusive images of her father. I'm not like him! Stop thinking about that! I'm nothing like my family. I'm not bad.
Professor Dumbledore watched the hospital wing doors close as he took his seat, his silver beard brushing the tops of his shins and his spectacles glinting in the warm light giving him a comforting glow that was supposed to make her feel better. He sensed her dip in mood and offered her a sympathetic smile.
"Harry told me all about your investigation work," started the professor softly, admiring the sun patterns on the floor to give Lyra a moment to hide her sour expression, "and I cannot deny that I'm very impressed."
Lyra couldn't help her smirk and she started to brighten up. "Oh… thank you sir, it was nothing," she muttered, trying to be humble for once.
"On the contrary, it sounds like it was far from nothing. I also heard that you have quite the photo collection?" asked Dumbledore, his moustache twitching as he watched her shuffle through her crammed backpack to retrieve her album. Lyra loved to show her pictures off and she didn't shy away from passing him the leather tome so he could take a look.
"I used to take pictures all the time," she explained, anxiously nibbling her lip as she watched Dumbledore flick through the pages, "but my camera broke that day at Poor Man's Point and Danielle bought me a new one for my birthday, I wanted to show her what Hogwarts was like because she never had the chance to come here." Something flashed in Dumbledore's bright eyes and his smile stretched, moved by her sweet intentions.
"That's very thoughtful of you," he mused, chuckling faintly at a photograph of Ron tripping over Hermione's bag in the library, "you care a lot about Danielle." It wasn't a question but Lyra knew she should answer him.
"She saved my life," she mumbled, watching the photograph of her teaching Harry a complicated clapping game instead of studying rather than meeting the headmaster's gaze, "of course I care about her. She's the only good thing in Weymouth, I dunno where I'd be without her." Lyra's stomach cramped as she thought about her social worker, she couldn't wait to see her again.
Dumbledore nodded slowly and muttered his thanks as he passed the album back, but his eyes never left hers. He allowed his face to display his intrigue this time and Lyra stayed quiet, wishing that he would hurry up and spit out whatever it was he wanted to talk about.
Dumbledore felt her desperation and he cleared his throat before continuing. "I've been meaning to talk to you about what happened underneath the school, I'm sorry I haven't come to you already," he started, and Lyra shrugged, accepting his apology with a meek smile.
"It's ok, you were busy dealing with Quirrell, I understand," she told him, but her heart thudded when she said the professor's name. She didn't want to talk about him, she shouldn't have said that.
"I spoke to Professor Quirrell before he was escorted off school grounds by the Ministry," said Dumbledore as though he were commenting on the weather, "I wanted to find out the intricacies of his master plan involving Lord Voldemort, I needed to see how far he had gotten before you and Harry bested him, but sadly he was reluctant. He didn't want to talk about himself, he refused to divulge what he did under the trapdoor and he never explained how he was seduced by Voldemort. He only spoke about one thing…"
Heat filled Lyra's face and she swallowed the lump in her throat that strangled her voice, stopping her from playing it cool. She had a hunch and she didn't want to be right, but she had to answer. He was treating her as an equal, the conversation was far more mature than she was used to and she wanted to use Dumbledore's trust to her advantage.
"What was that thing, Professor?" She asked, forcing her voice to stay steady.
"You," admitted Dumbledore, searching her freckled face for his own answers. She wasn't giving anything away.
"What happened down there?" he pressed, keeping his voice as light and airy as the atmosphere around them. "You can trust me, Lyra."
Don't trust him.
The voice in the back of her mind was fiercer and firmer than ever. She never heard her subconscious sound so determined before and the prickles of mistrust tickled her skin like a puff of hot air, urging her to listen. Her chest grew strangely heavy but she ignored it and rushed to think of the right thing to say. She remembered how furious the headmaster looked when Quirrell accused her of doing something abnormal and she didn't want to see that side of Dumbledore again, the idea of her angering him terrified her.
She had to lie… but only a little.
"Not much to be honest, I was unconscious for most of it but I woke up just before Professor Snape arrived," she told him, faking the scene in her head to support her fable, and she locked eyes with the headmaster to fortify her claim. "I don't know what Quirrell was talking about, this weird obsession has come out of nowhere."
"You woke up just before Professor Snape arrived? Did you speak to Lord Voldemort during those few minutes?" countered Dumbledore, trusting her word. Her lungs dropped like sandbags in her chest as the pressure inside of her got even heavier.
Don't lie to him. You can trust him.
We don't know that! Lie to him, you have to protect yourself!
Her thoughts were all over the place, she didn't know what to do. Her subconscious was split, fighting with itself to find a resolution, but she didn't have time to dwell. She needed to give him an answer and the familiar urge to spew out her every thought threatened her facade.
"I did," Lyra decided to say but she didn't elaborate.
"What did you talk about?" Dumbledore prompted, more determined than her.
"I didn't believe he was Voldemort," she said slowly, focusing on that particular exchange more than his strange questions, "he was trying to prove to me that he was but I kept saying he wasn't so he tied me up and then Snape came—,"
"Professor Snape," corrected Dumbledore, not hiding his slight smile.
"—yeah, he came and Quirrell, or Voldemort I'm not really sure, attacked him and then Harry arrived… it was all a bit of a blur really, it happened so fast," she said quietly, afraid of being overheard, and Dumbledore finally sat back to absorb the information she unleashed.
"I see," murmured Dumbledore, scratching his beard as he watched a flock of birds soar past the arched windows in front of them, and Lyra prayed that he was done. She could hear the muffled chatter of her friends float through the crack under the doors and she silently urged Dumbledore to leave her with the power of her thoughts — but he wasn't finished.
"Are you absolutely sure that's all that happened?" he wondered, his luminous blue eyes boring into hers, and Lyra's bottom lip wobbled. He knew she was lying.
"I'm certain," she lied again, "that's all I can remember."
"Do you have any idea why Professor Quirrell believes you used dark magic down there?" asked Dumbledore seriously, the harsh line on his brow deepening with his gaze.
Lyra's eyes ballooned and she hurried to defend herself, horrified that her teacher would accuse her of such a thing.
"No! What?! I never—? I don't know how—!" She couldn't spit her words out quick enough and a hot wave of nausea hit her harder than a stunning spell. She couldn't breathe. What did Quirrell tell him?! What was his problem with her?! Did he tell him everything Voldemort said too?
Her dramatic reaction resonated with the headmaster and he rushed to comfort her with a gentle pat on the shoulder when he noticed she had difficulty catching her breath. A cool tickle of ease trickled through her body and her lungs expanded, allowing Lyra to settle her nerves and focus on her breathing.
"It's ok, Lyra," Dumbledore assured her, bending down to meet her teary eyes, "I have an endless list of reasons that discredit Professor Quirrell's claim so please, my dear, do not worry. I don't believe that you used dark magic nor do I believe you would have any reason to study the Dark Arts but I did need to ask. Professor Quirrell never gave me an explanation as to what dark magic he was referring to and he has been consumed by Lord Voldemort for so long that he may have simply lost touch with his mind."
Dumbledore's unforeseen logic was refreshing, she envisaged him interrogating her until she sobbed or diminishing her point of view with proof that she was lying but instead he gave her a yielding smile and a friendly tap on the hand. This was good, this was a positive sign.
"Thank you, sir…" she croaked, wiping away the tears before they formed, "I dunno why Quirrell said all of that, he's really strange." A grown adult man obsessing over a twelve year old girl wasn't normal, living in an orphanage had exposed her to a lot of adult topics and Danielle made sure to educate her on the type of adults she should avoid. Her stomach whined again, she had so much to tell Danielle when she saw her.
Dumbledore couldn't help but chuckle heartily at her comment. "Yes, Quirinus is quite the odd fellow, I couldn't have put that better myself," he sighed, twiddling his thumbs as he gave Lyra a moment to compose herself, "but you do not have to worry about him anymore, you'll never see him again."
"How long is his sentence?" she asked, reflecting on Dumbledore's promise.
"He is in Azkaban for life, attempted murder and the use of dark magic is taken very seriously by the Ministry," assured the headmaster, "his trial took place two days ago, it had quite the turnout but thankfully Madam Bones and I managed to intervene before The Daily Prophet reported on the matter. After your case was leaked to the press last year I thought it was best to keep Mr Potter out of the papers."
"Good thinking," complimented Lyra, knowing Harry would hate the idea of the newspapers printing the story, but she couldn't help but add, "but it's a shame no one knows about Harry defeating Voldemort again, that could have boosted my autographs sales…"
Dumbledore blinked, utterly entertained at the thought. "You're selling Harry's autograph?"
"Yeah!" Lyra perked up and flicked through the album until she found the emerald ink stained picture of Harry and Ron fighting the troll, "he said he would only sign this one but little does he know that I'm currently trying to master the duplicating spell, I'll have hundreds of these soon."
"Is Harry aware of your business venture?" he wondered.
"Yup! He gets a cut so it's all legit, don't worry," she assured him with her brightest smile, "three sickles and this could be yours, professor. What do you say? I'm taking pre-orders?"
The gleam in the headmaster's eye grew and he laughed once more, readjusting his spectacles. "I'll take three," he decided, and Lyra offered her hand out to him, delighted that she had just made her first sale.
"It's been a pleasure doing business with you, sir," she said, and she noticed how surprisingly soft his palms were as he shook it.
"Likewise, Miss Black," he smiled, and finally climbed to his feet, "I've kept you from your friends for too long, I won't keep you any longer, no doubt you have a lot of catching up to do?"
The anxiety of being bombarded by daunting questions had long faded but she still had one question lingering on her tongue and now was her only chance to ask it. She felt a lot more relieved now that she knew she would never see Quirrell again but she was terrified that he would meet another Black whilst he served his time in Azkaban. The idea of her father and her ex-professor somehow working together to break out and come after her plagued her sleepless nights.
"Uh, yeah," Lyra jumped to her feet, catching the professor's attention before he walked away, "sir, before you go — is there any chance that Quirrell will meet my dad in prison?"
As though he had been expecting this question, Dumbledore took no time in answering.
"No, they will not cross paths in Azkaban, your father is still oblivious to your existence and he won't find out through Quirrell," he said softly, and Lyra let out another huge breath, releasing the nervous butterflies out into the world. Phew!
"Ok, great! Thanks again, professor!" she chirped, smoothing all of her hair out of her face as she prepared to enter the wing, "I'll see you in class!"
"Until then," Dumbledore bowed and he left Lyra to her excitement as she rushed over and burst through the doors.
"Finally!" exclaimed Ron immediately as he stuck his head around the cream curtain, waving from the far end of the room where Harry had been cordoned off, "you took your time!"
The hospital wing looked much fresher than Lyra's last visit, dust particles danced in the light beaming through the tall windows, freshly picked daisies and tulips sat in pretty vases beside neatly-made hospital cots, and the calming lavender aroma that seemed to be rolling out from a small glowing cauldron on the matron's desk hit her in the face as soon as she walked in.
"I wasn't that long, we still have time!" puffed Lyra, running through the wing towards the curtains, but Ron pulled a face and shook his head.
"Uh about that—," he started to explain, walking around the curtain to meet her, but the slam of a door behind Lyra cut him off perfectly.
"I'm afraid time's up," announced Madam Pomfrey, casting a charm on her office door before walking over to check on her patient, "Mr Potter needs rest before his afternoon classes."
Lyra's jaw dropped and she spun around to object."What?! But I just got here!"
The matron's sigh was weary, her face almost ageing before Lyra's eyes as she met her sad gaze, and she politely squeezed past the first years to fortify the curtain. She hadn't even seen Harry yet and she was already getting kicked out!
"I'm sorry, Miss Black, but—,"
"Professor Dumbledore kept me, it's his fault I'm late! I'm really sorry if I'm screwing up your routine but I just need five minutes! Pretty please?!" she pleaded, clasping her hands together to beg. She mustered her best pout, wobbling her bottom lip for extra effect as Hermione and Neville emerged from the curtains and joined Ron's side. Purposely blocking her path, Madam Pomfrey stood before Lyra and pursed her lips as though weighing up the pros and cons of giving into the first year's pleas.
"Please!" Lyra blinked her eyes, hoping she looked cute enough for her to feel guilty.
"Please!" called out Harry from behind the curtain, sounding just as desperate. "I feel much better! I can manage ten minutes!"
"Fine — but you have five minutes, Mr Potter, don't push your luck!" Pomfrey eventually huffed, shaking her head in defeat, "and you three need to leave, it's loud enough in here as it is."
"Thank you!" screamed Lyra in joy and she gave the departing group a quick smile before running behind the curtain to see her injured friend.
Whenever Lyra thought about Harry over the past few days all she could picture was him passed out on the floor surrounded by the broken magical mirror, drenched in blood from the horrendous gash on his face and covered in all kinds of scratches. She hoped he healed quickly, it hurt her to see him in that condition especially since she escaped with only a few light grazes, and her heart skipped when she found a practically healed Harry sitting in his bed.
"Hi," he grinned, delighted to have gotten away with having another visitor, and Lyra jumped into the seat nearest his bed with a matching grin on her face. He looked so much better but her eyes were drawn to his bandaged hand that seemed to be stuck to his forehead. At first she thought he was scratching his scar but as she settled into her seat she realised he was holding it there on purpose, his hand was covering something.
"What are you doing?" she blurted out, amused by his strange behaviour, and he froze.
"What?" Harry stuttered, pretending to have misheard her.
"Why are you holding your head? What's wrong?" she clarified, narrowing her eyes as she inspected him. "Are you ok?"
"Er, well," Harry fidgeted in his seat and dropped his gaze to his lap, blood rushing to his cheeks, "something's happened and I'm still keeping used to it."
Lyra's stomach plummeted and she sat forwards in her chair, dying to know. Did he have another scar? Was his injury worse than she thought? "What happened? You can show me," she rushed to assure him.
Harry finally looked up, his hand still attached to his face as though it had been glued into position, and she saw how embarrassed he was by his new affliction.
"Promise you'll tell me if it looks bad?" he asked shakily, and Lyra nodded with great determination.
"I promise not to scream," she teased, unable to help herself, and the corners of his lips twitched.
"Appreciate it," sighed Harry, and he finally dropped his hand, smoothing back his curls so she could see his scar in all its new glory.
"Woah…"
"Is it bad?"
"What do you mean, is it bad?! Potter, it's so cool!"
In Lyra's opinion, the scar on Harry's head wasn't that eye-catching before. It was a small jagged line across his forehead, she had seen way worse face scars before, so his scar wasn't a big deal — until now.
The simple line had transformed into what Lyra thought was a real bolt of lightning and it stretched from the centre of his head down towards his left eyebrow. Tiny spiky branches bled from the scar like the veins under his skin and she couldn't stop admiring its natural beauty. This was so much more eye-catching and she felt a wave of sympathy for Harry. No wonder he hated it, people were going to want to take a look at it even more now.
"Wow," scoffed Lyra, finally meeting his eyes again as she slumped back in her chair, in shock. Harry immediately dropped his fringe, desperate to cover it up.
"You don't need to cover it up, it looks really awesome," she reassured him, fighting the urge to look again. Even with his unruly curls she could still see the red forked end of his new scar above his brow, he couldn't hide from it now.
Harry hesitated, dropping his hand from his hair, "are you sure?"
"One thousand percent sure, you look so badass! You've officially got the coolest scar ever and I'd even dare to say it suits you," she hyped him up and his grin was finally back.
"It is kinda cool…" he agreed, seemingly more confident with his new disfigurement, "I dunno why or how it happened, I don't remember it hurting anymore than it did before and I only noticed it had changed when I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, but I think it has something to do with Voldemort—,"
But Lyra didn't let him finish. She was glad he brought the Dark Lord up first, she had been dying to talk about him.
"Oh yeah!" she interrupted, turning on Harry with a scowl, and he froze, "you've got some explaining to do, Mr Potter!"
"...what did I do?"
"You knew Quirrell was Voldemort!" she recalled in a huff, vehemently upset with his secret-keeping, "you told me that you didn't think it was him but you lied!"
Harry looked crushed. "You heard that?"
"With my own two ears," she sighed, shaking her head in disappointment, "I couldn't believe it."
"I'm really sorry, I didn't want you guys to worry," Harry admitted guiltily, fiddling with the cuff of his nightshirt to stop himself from blushing, "especially you, I knew you wouldn't drop it. It was only a hunch anyways, I wasn't certain."
"Well, guess what? You were right," muttered Lyra, annoyed that he had assumed correctly, "I wouldn't have dropped it, but that's not the point."
"Yeah, you ended up finding out anyway so me keeping it from you was pointless," he reminded her with a scrutinising smile, "I can't believe you cornered Quirrell! Why didn't you wait for me?"
"I got overexcited!" moaned Lyra, covering her face, "and how would I have brought that up in conversation? 'Hi Harry, it turns out Voldemort is inside Quirrell so do want to come with me and confront the guy that murdered your parents?' You would have totally freaked out!"
Realising she might have been a little too blunt with her outburst, Lyra looked up from her hands to apologise but her stomach fluttered when she realised he was still smiling.
"I would have said yes!" Harry admitted with a shrug.
"Then… I guess…" her blush faded as she realised she misjudged him, "sorry, the next time I figure out our teacher is Lord Voldemort I'll come and get you straight away."
"You promise?" Harry encouraged, holding out his good hand and extending his little finger.
"I pinky promise," she agreed, sealing the deal with her own pinky finger and he looked satisfied.
"Good, because Dumbledore hinted that he might try and come back a different way," he divulged, reaching towards the table full of confectionery gifts from well wishers to offer her a box of buttercup coloured jelly beans, "he wasn't really clear but it sounded like he still isn't dead."
"Do you remember what happened?" wondered Lyra, popping a few beans into her mouth, and he nodded.
"It's a bit fuzzy but I remember Quirrell trying to attack me but he couldn't touch me, and then I remember seeing Voldemort's eyes just before I passed out," he confessed, straining his memory for flashes of the basement, "did anything else happen? Dumbledore said he got there just after he attacked me."
Lyra licked her lips and shuffled forwards in her chair, debating how much of the truth to tell Harry. She needed to tell someone about her worries concerning Quirrell's claims but she couldn't tell him everything because she didn't want him to look at her differently, the idea of Harry avoiding her… or worse, if he stopped being her friend because she had been accused of being a dark witch…
Lyra refused to acknowledge that train of thought, she couldn't focus on the darkness anymore than she already had. The few seconds of nothingness that happened down under the school felt like a hallucination, it didn't feel real and a huge part of her hoped she had made it up. She told herself it had been a very lucid dream and that she had simply imagined the darkness that consumed the room during the single moment of silence. The cloaked figures weren't real but they stayed in her mind, burrowing into the corners as though she had her very own parasite.
Was that the dark magic Quirrell was referring to? It couldn't have been, he was unconscious, he didn't see the figures.
"Lyra, what happened?" repeated Harry, noticing the facial crack in her demeanour as she got lost in her own thoughts, "you can trust me. Whatever it is, you can tell me."
"Promise you won't tell anyone else? This stays between us?" Lyra mumbled meekly, and Harry offered his pinky finger again.
"I promise," he vowed, linking their fingers before she could reject him. His gesture helped her spit the truth out and the voices in the back of her head applauded her for her wise decision.
Harry won't judge you, it's ok. You can trust him.
He might be able to help?
"Before you got there, Voldemort was asking me questions about the Dark Arts," Lyra admitted, hating how awful it sounded out loud, "and for some reason Quirrell seems to think that I've been practising dark magic and I don't know why and I'm freaking out about it a little."
Harry looked stunned, he clearly hadn't expected that but he frowned and shook his nevertheless, wanting to comfort his friend. "That doesn't make sense," he concluded, and Lyra sighed in relief when he continued, "how can you perform dark magic? You can barely perform regular magic!"
"Thanks mate," she snorted, playfully nudging him in the ribs, "if anything you're the one who performed dark magic, how did you stop him? It was crazy, one second Quirrell was trying to strangle you and the next he was lying on the floor looking like a fried tomato!"
Harry rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced, ashamed of the reasoning, and Lyra waited patiently for him to explain. Holding her tongue was a lot easier when she knew she was going to get juicy pieces of information.
"Apparently when my mum sacrificed herself for me she cast a protection charm to stop Voldemort from hurting me, it's something to do with blood magic," he lazily glossed over the matter, his face violently fuschia, and Lyra let out a low whistle. Blood magic? What the hell was blood magic? What's next, sweat magic? A new wave of questions filled her brain but she pushed them away when she noticed Harry wanted to move on. Her five minutes with him were ticking away faster than she realised.
"Do you have any idea what Quirrell was referring to?" he questioned, wanting to know more, but Lyra sadly shook her head.
"Nope, I don't know what to do about it and it's really bugging me, it's not like I can write to him and ask him to elaborate since he's in prison… Wait, can I write to him?"
"I doubt it, I read that the prisoners never leave their cells let alone receive post so the chances of them having contact with the outside world is zero. It's not like a Muggle prison, it's so much worse," said Harry, shuddering at the thought of Azkaban.
"When did you read about Azkaban?" she asked, impressed by his prowess.
"After we spoke at Christmas," he mumbled, hastily changing the subject as the pink in his cheeks came flooding back, but Lyra pretended not to notice. "Have you told Dumbledore about this? He seems to know a lot about the Dark Arts and Voldemort."
"He knows but he told me not to worry," she explained, "he said that Quirrell kept talking about me and only me when he spoke to him. That's weird, right?"
"Very weird," agreed Harry, rather disturbed, "but he's a weird guy."
"Yeah he is," Lyra started to smile and she wiggled her eyebrows as she politely held a hand out in front of her, "but I was right about him! I believe you owe me ten galleons, Potter. The weirdo was the forest vampire."
"I guess so, congratulations," Harry gave in, smirking at her, "but remind me again when I'm not stuck in a hospital bed with no money to hand."
"Don't worry, I will!" she giggled, mentally preparing to be as overbearing and annoying as possible until she got her winnings, and Harry sensed her mischief by twinkle in her eye.
"I shouldn't have said that."
"Time's up, Black!" Madam Pomfrey cried suddenly from the other side of the wing, her voice echoing around the high ceiling above them, and Lyra tried not to groan too loudly in case she upset the matron. Pouting at Harry who looked just as annoyed as she felt, Lyra gradually climbed out of the comfortable visitors chair and turned to leave when she realised that she hadn't actually thanked Harry for saving her yet. That was her main reason for visiting him.
When she spoke to Ron, Hermione, and Neville the night they stayed in the wing together, she discovered how her friends figured out she was in trouble. They told her that it was all Harry's doing.
"When you didn't show up to class we knew something bad had happened and Harry suggested we go talk to Hagrid to see if he had seen you," whispered Ron when the three bruised Gryffindors crowded around his bed since his ankle was still swollen. "He told us that you got your pictures back but they were ruined, then Hagrid started rambling on about you promising him that you wouldn't go into the forest but he didn't believe you so he marched us back up to the castle and ordered us not to go looking for you."
"The teachers told us all to stay in our common rooms while they went off to search the forest for you," continued Hermione in a rush when she sensed Lyra's imminent interruption to complain about Hagrid's lack of trust, "but, of course, we didn't listen and we decided to go and snoop around for clues in Quirrell's office while he was in the forest with the other teachers."
"But he wasn't in the forest," corrected Lyra knowingly, and Hermione nodded as she turned to Neville with a proud smile.
"Ah, we found that out pretty quickly thanks to Neville," she explained.
"I forgot the password to the tower again so I went to go and find McGonagall when I overheard her and Snape talking about Quirrell's absence, he didn't show up to help search for you and that's when I realised something was wrong. Luckily I ran into the three of them outside the tower," he told Lyra, absently rubbing his shoulder as he thought back, and Ron copied with a sour expression.
"Yeah, he literally ran into us, we were under the cloak," he muttered, and Neville frowned at his lap, a faint blush in his round cheeks. He clearly didn't like Harry's cloak.
"When Neville told us what he heard, Harry realised that Quirrell had taken you under the trapdoor and he admitted that he thought Quirrell was actually You-Who-Who in disguise," concluded Hermione, unnerved by the truth. "We headed straight to the third floor after that and we had to go through some nasty obstacles to get to you."
"What about Snape? He showed up just before Harry," Lyra threw one last question at them as they all began to yawn, and Neville shuddered at the sound of the professor's name, growing pale as he remembered his involvement.
"He arrived before I could leave to get help, he must of only been a few minutes behind us," Hermione estimated, her dark eyes heavy with fatigue as curled up at the end of Ron's bed, "I don't know how he knew we were down there but he was furious, he barely spoke to us he was so angry."
Neville winced. "It was horrible…"
Lyra turned back to face Harry on his bed and she bit her lip, struggling to come up with the perfect way to say thank you when she heard Madam Pomfrey's clacking footsteps heading their way to physically drag her from the hospital wing. Panicking that she had run out of time, Lyra did the first thing that came to mind and jumped on Harry, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into a tight hug. She didn't realise how badly she needed a hug until now and she tried to prolong it as much as possible.
"Thanks for saving me, Potter," she muttered into his shoulder quietly, feeling foolish for being serious for once, but it vanished the second she felt him hug her back just as hard. He needed it too.
"Thanks for breaking that mirror, you saved me too," he mumbled back, trying not to choke on her hair as it smothered his face, and Lyra faked a blush as they drew apart.
"That was nothing, I'm really good at breaking things," she teased, but Madam Pomfrey interrupted their moment by storming through the curtains and glaring at the pair with her hands firmly on her hips and her eyebrows raised in disbelief.
"Visiting hours are over! Black, out! Now!"
To Lyra's surprise, she passed her first year exams with flying colours and she couldn't have ended the year on a higher note… Well, her Herbology grade was terrible but she didn't care much about that subject anyways, she simply folded the parchment over and pretended that the bold letter 'T' didn't exist. Her Transfiguration result was the one that shocked her the most. She swore she messed up her practical test when she noticed that her snuff box still had a mouse tail but it seemed as though her constant babbling throughout had distracted Professor McGonagall enough for her to give Lyra an impressive score.
The biggest and most exciting revelation, however, came when she found out her Potions grade.
"Guess who is officially the best at potions in our yeaaar!" Lyra sang, fanning her perfect score card at her friends as they swapped results after their final class of the year History of Magic. Binns took an agonisingly long time dishing out the first years papers, he was notorious for taking a whole week to mark a single class worth of homework and he proved those rumours true when he finally announced he was ready to give out their results during the last few minutes of their class.
"No way!" scoffed Harry, stealing Lyra's parchment to double check her proclamation, and his brows disappeared under his fringe when he saw the one hundred percent mark on her sheet, "how on earth did you manage that?!"
"I'm really talented," said Lyra humbly, shrugging as she stole Harry's test results, "and apparently so are you — you beat everyone in Defence Against the Dark Arts! That's more impressive if you ask me, considering our teacher tried to kill you all year."
"What, and Snape hasn't been trying to murder you?" countered Harry, making Lyra pause. She couldn't deny that he had a point, it must have killed Snape to give her the best mark possible but she knew he couldn't mark her poorly for her perfectly brewed Forgetfulness Potion. The spiteful curling of his lip when he peered into her cauldron during their exam was a vibrant indicator that she had blown his expectations out of the water and she couldn't help but feel extraordinarily proud of herself for succeeding at her favourite subject despite Snape's existence.
"Not openly, no, but it's nice to know that he recognises raw talent," she defended, tucking her scorecard into her robes pocket before turning to Ron, "how did you do?"
Ron was staring suspiciously at the top of the card, studying the grades as though he couldn't read them. "I don't want to get my hopes up but I think I did alright?"
Hermione immediately snatched his report out of his hands, dying to know what he had achieved. She had been very strict with her revision sessions and Lyra could tell by her urgency that she wanted to see if her hard work had paid off. Her eyes doubled in size and she gasped, dazzling Ron with her biggest grin yet.
"Alright?! Ron, you did amazing! Look at your Charms score, you're definitely in the top percentile! Your History of Magic one isn't so great but your Astronomy and Theory of Magic scores brings your total up to above average," she rushed to explain, comparing her perfect set of grades to his with the intention of cheering him up, but Ron awkwardly tried to change the subject and praise her instead.
"It's nothing compared to yours, you're officially the smartest person in our year," he tapped her parchment and smiled smugly, "maybe we should stroll past the Slytherin table at dinner and—,"
"No," Hermione instinctively shoved her report away to hinder Ron's ideas, "I don't need to show off in front of Malfoy, by the look on his face he already knows I beat him in everything."
"But reminding him of that fact would be so sweet?" encouraged Lyra, never turning down an excuse to mock her second cousin, "go on Hermione, you can show him what a real wizard looks like."
"She doesn't need to, Malfoy wouldn't know what a real wizard looked like even if they slapped him in the face," stated Harry as though it were a fact, and Hermione blushed as his kind words but her faint smile dropped when he added, "but it would be really fun to watch."
"Harry!" Her blush got worse.
"Fine, no showing our genius Muggle-born friend off in front of that blood purist ghoul, we hear you loud and clear," sighed Lyra in defeat, dragging her feet in a sulk as they traipsed back up to the Gryffindor tower to relax and enjoy their last night as first year students.
After an evening full of wizards chess, countless card games, and a chaotic round of hide and seek that ended with Neville getting stuck behind a tapestry for two hours and Fred and George somehow managing to sneak up on the Gryffindor Tower's roof, Lyra retired to her dorm with a sleepy smile on her face. Her intentions of sleeping were pushed from her mind when she found Apollo hopping around on her bed, ruffling her duvet as he struggled with the package tied to his leg.
Lyra gasped, delighted that her owl had travelled back to her in time, and she hurried to help him with the difficult twine.
"Hey bud! Perfect timing!" she cooed, accepting his affectionate nips as she ripped the brown paper off her latest purchase courtesy of the ever-helpful Danielle. Lyra prayed that the item would arrive before she left Hogwarts and her stomach fluttered at the prospect of Harry's reaction. It was perfect!
"What is it?" yawned Hermione, adjusting her silk head scarf as she wandered over to see what all the fuss was about, and Lyra held up the brand new Walkman and its glistening silver headphones in the palm of her hands, presenting it to her as though it were a gift from the gods.
"I won ten galleons off Harry for betting that Quirrell wanted him dead," she said and Hermione rolled her eyes.
"I remember," she muttered, not wanting to linger on the ghastly bet.
"And, being the awesome friend that I am, I bought him this so he has something to distract himself with over the summer. Can you believe that he's never heard of The B-52s?!" Lyra choked a little, still startled by Harry's lack of pop culture knowledge, and she started to search through her CDs, picking out the best introductory albums.
Hermione nosed through her selection and paused on her small collection of powerful divas records, smirking at her copy of Whitney Houston's self-titled album. She suggested adding it to Harry's pile and Lyra giggled at her choice in agreement, admiring her taste in music. Once she had curated what she thought was the perfect distraction kit, Lyra wrapped her present up in more brown wrappings ("It's boring but it'll do," grumbled Lyra to herself as she pouted at the bland finished product) and she scampered off to find Harry before he disappeared for the night.
Luckily she spotted the hem of Ron's dressing gown whip through the door guarding the boys tower and she dashed after him, catching the door with her foot before it slammed into her face.
"Pssst!" she hissed, relieved to see Harry amongst the group of boys heading up to bed, and she waved at him to join her, "Potter!"
"Oh no, what's that?" blurted out Neville, instantly wary of the suspicious package in her possession, and she smirked at his faith in her.
"A bomb, duh," Lyra joked, but Ron and Dean's laughter drowned out his worried splutters and they left Harry on the steps, not wanting to get involved in case it was something mischievous.
"Seriously, what is that?" Harry said cautiously, trying not to laugh at the poorly wrapped gift, and Lyra scoffed. She knew she should have gotten a box instead.
"Ignore the wrapping, I wanted to show you what I spent my winnings on," she confessed, proudly holding out the misshapen package, "I think you're gonna like it."
Lyra perched on the bottom step and gave the gift to Harry once he sat down beside her, staring at the present in bewilderment.
"It's yours, open it," she prompted him, forcing the present into his lap when he refused to take it, but he started to protest.
"You shouldn't have got me anything," he sighed, annoyed with her sudden generosity, "you should have spent your galleons on yourself."
"Just open the bloody package, Harry," snapped Lyra, shoving her hands into her hoodie pocket to cross her arms, and he begrudgingly tore the paper off. His frown melted from his face when he admired the mess of items in his lap, speechless at the wide selection of shiny CD albums and the unused music player. Lyra couldn't stop herself from diving into a deep explanation of which records were her favourites as Harry caught his breath.
"I've given you a few different genres to start with so you can figure out what you like best. Fleetwood Mac is a personal favourite of mine, but I have a feeling you'll like The Cure more," she tapped the colourful artwork to show him which ones to try first, but Harry zoned in on the tiny coin pouch and poured the Muggle money onto his hand, confused at this particular addition.
"And these are for…?" he wondered, arching a brow, and Lyra pointed to the folded piece of lined paper wedged in between two Queen albums. Harry carefully opened the letter and his shoulders sagged. As he read the first few lines he tried covering the welling of tears in his eyes with a few blinks but Lyra didn't want to shy away from talking about the elephant in the room. Her distraction kit contained more than musical diversions. She wanted to make sure Harry had the resources to get out of his aunt's house if he was in danger so she asked Danielle to construct a list of helpline numbers as well Coles landline and Danielle's. Lyra knew he'd struggle to find a phone so she added the handful of fifty pence coins for a local payphone in case of emergencies.
"I'm going to try and visit you as soon as possible," Lyra mumbled, breaking the soft silence as Harry continued to stare at the letter, "I dunno when exactly but I'll write to you once I've figured it out. I know it's not the best distraction in the world but music helps me get away from it all, especially when I'm feeling down, so I hope it helps you too. You won't be there for long, we'll be at Ron's together soon."
Her heart started to race when Harry finally met her anxious gaze and he exhaled slowly, tongue-tied over what to say. She could tell how appreciative he was by his astonished expression and she shuffled over to give his arm a squeeze, understanding how he was feeling and she didn't pressure him to reply, she enjoyed his reaction far more than she let on. Gift-giving was fun! I wonder if I can really make him cry next time…?
"You better not get me anything for my birthday," Harry eventually croaked, clearing his throat and wrapping up his gifts, and Lyra held in her gasp, remembering that his birthday fell during the summer. Oooh challenge accepted!
"We'll see, Potter, we'll see…" she muttered inconspicuously, side-eyeing him as she fought her impish smirk, but she sobered up when he brightened and summoned up the courage to thank her with another hug. She noticed that he wasn't a physical contact type of person but after their talk in the hospital he seemed more open to accepting her affection and she felt quite pleased that she had broken down that specific barrier. It was nice being the receiver of the hug and not the giver for once.
"Really, Lyra, thank you… you didn't need to do this," said Harry under his breath, still a little stunned by the gifts, but Lyra guffawed, pulling away from his embrace so she could smirk at him.
"I kinda do," she informed him, "your music knowledge is awful and if you want to keep up with me then you've got a lot of discovering to do."
"I know a few artists, I'm not completely unaware," he mumbled back, flushing brightly as he chewed the corner of his smile but he held up the vivid David Bowie album and couldn't stop himself from adding, "this is Prince, right?"
Lyra's jaw swung open as she went to berate him for not knowing the utmost basics but instead Harry erupted in laughter and shoved her, ecstatic that he had successfully duped her.
"Of course I know that's Bowie, I'm not that sheltered! You should see your face!"
"You were very believable," she sighed, feeling extremely proud of the success of the distraction kit, and the fretful worries of leaving her friend all alone gradually began to wither away. She couldn't have let Harry leave Hogwarts without giving him everything he needed to survive their time apart and she knew she did the right thing when he wished her goodnight with one last remark.
"I was dreading the summer holidays but now I can't wait, you'll be seeing Hedwig a lot," he warned her, climbing to his feet with his new gift under his arm, and Lyra beamed, buzzing at the prospect of sending out lots of letters.
"I can't wait either, prepare to be suffocated with paper! Apollo can fly really fast so you better be ready!"
The End-of-Year feast was, just as Lyra expected, marvellously grand but exhaustingly long. She never paid much attention to her first feast at school, the magnificence of being in Hogwarts for the first time took her mind off of the lengthy meal so she didn't really mind sitting down for a long time, but with the bubbles of anxiety festering in the pit of her stomach growing more restless as time ticked on, she began to detest the formal feast. The House Cup had yet to be announced and she silently prayed as she scoffed down her apple crumble that Professor Dumbledore would simply call out the winning house and end the ceremony. He didn't need to elaborate on the other placeholders, the whole school didn't need to know why Gryffindor mysteriously dropped into second place just before breakfast…
But, as though Lyra had put a curse on herself, the headmaster made a spectacle out of awarding the House Cup and she buried her head into her folded arms as the Great Hall cheered for the Ravenclaw house, congratulating them on their sudden win.
"But… but…?!" Ron, sitting opposite her, was in pieces, utterly distraught at the news. "We were in first place this morning! How did they win by twenty points?! We won loads of points for catching Quirrell!"
Lyra heard the disgruntled Gryffindors around her and she snuck a peek through her arms to see Fred, George, and Lee looking surprisingly less guilty then her. Their rosy blushed faces betrayed some of their shame but they held their heads high and acted as though Ravenclaw thoroughly deserved their win. She admired their commitment in keeping their spontaneous morning mischief a secret and she tried to channel some of their spirit by sitting up straight and clapping along with the others, acting as though she was just as clueless as her friends.
The mystery of the vanishing house points plagued the Gryffindors up until they boarded the Hogwarts Express. Various discussions were held as the students tried to work out which of their housemates were responsible for snatching the Cup and Lyra tried her best to keep the truth in, she couldn't bare the thought of being shunned again by a quarter of the school and she knew Ron and Hermione would make a big deal out of it. She had been so good, her house point losses were few and far apart — she didn't mean to get into a water balloon fight with Peeves, Fred, George, and Lee that morning! How was she supposed to know that Snape loved to take a morning stroll directly past the first floor's staircase precisely at the same time as their battle?
"I reckon it was the twins," decided Ron as he flopped into his seat in the train compartment, shoving Scabbers' cage onto the racks above him, "they were suspiciously quiet during the feast."
"It most likely was them, but it's happened now and there's nothing we can do about it," assured Hermione as she neatly slid her trunk into its appropriate place before sitting down. She glanced out of the window and watched the white billowing rolls of steam fill the glass with a sad smile, "there's always next year. It feels really strange knowing we won't be back here for a couple of months, doesn't it?"
Lyra nodded in agreement and unlocked Apollo's cage, letting him hop out and stretch his wings. He had given her the cutest wide-eyed stare on their way to the station and she couldn't resist his begs, he looked too adorable. "Yeah, it's a shame they don't do a summer programme," she sighed, and Hermione looked mildly thrilled at her suggestion.
"That would be wonderful! I'd sign up," she said dreamily.
Ron looked aghast. "Count me out! School during the summer? No thank you."
"As if we'd do any studying," snickered Lyra, imagining all of the secrets she could discover if she had the whole castle to herself, and Ron eventually agreed.
"That would be pretty cool," he murmured, joining Hermione in gazing out of the window to admire the distant outline of Hogwarts castle beyond the little village station. The train's shrill whistle sounded and the sounds of slapping doors reverberated through the train, signalling their departure from Hogsmeade, but Lyra jumped up in a panic as Harry hadn't joined them yet. Was he still on the platform? She went to dash out of the compartment when the door slid open and he staggered in, struggling with his heavy trunk.
"Where have you been?" Lyra tutted, and Harry breathlessly pointed to the unfamiliar leather-bound book under his arm as he shoved his things away. The train jolted and pulled away from Hogsmeade station, beginning its long awaited journey back to London, but Lyra ignored the awestruck view and joined Harry as he showed his newest gift. It seemed like she wasn't the only one who had been dwelling on his well being.
"Hagrid gave me this," he explained, flicking through the thick pages with a delicate smile playing at his lips, "it's my own photo album, he managed to track down some old pictures of my parents."
Harry landed on a heavier page and a glorious black and white headshot of a very attractive, young James Potter dressed in his Gryffindor Quidditch robes stared back at them, grinning and striking a confident pose. Lyra noticed the scrawls of James' signature in the corner and she stifled her giggle, vastly entertained by his whole presentation.
"Wow," she scoffed, nodding approvingly, "your dad's so cool!"
Rushing to calm the blush in his cheeks, Harry hurriedly flipped a few pages forward and tried to cover his embarrassing father up as quickly as possible, but he paused when he found a group picture in the centre of what looked like a collection of wedding photographs. Not wanting to encroach too much, Lyra tried not to peek over his shoulder in case he wanted to keep those photos private, but he didn't hesitate to share the book when he noticed her interest.
Lyra had never seen wedding pictures before and they looked just as fancy as how she imagined, but the added movement brought the scenes to life and Lyra felt as though she was at the wedding herself when she studied them. She watched the beautiful bride and groom exchange vows as they stared lovingly at each other, she witnessed their first dance together, and she even giggled when she watched Harry's mother Lily smear creamy wedding cake frosting over James' face as she laughed soundlessly up at them. They looked so happy and in love it was almost hard to watch, but she felt her smile drop from her lips when she finally reached the centrepiece that had caught Harry's attention.
It never occurred to Lyra that she might one day see a photograph of her parents. The idea of the man who murdered her mother posing with her as though everything was perfect seemed too foreign to comprehend, but she never thought it would come so soon. If Fred and George had never shown her that photo in the trophy room then she would never have known that the young woman posing with the bride and groom was Giselle and she never would have guessed that the charismatic young man laughing with them was her father. That's him… he's right there…
Bile rose in Lyra's throat as she stared at Sirius and Giselle Black, the pair forever immortalised in the flashy, colourful picture in front of her, but she swallowed it down when she remembered she wasn't alone. Their happiness wounded her, they looked so perfect together. Her mother glowed in her mint green dress and a white lily flower pinned in her dark curls, her father looking handsome in a charming set of black fitted robes as he toasted to the pair in between them — she could see herself in both of them and her heart pounded against her ribcage. She didn't know how to feel about that.
"That's him," Lyra whispered, barely audible over Hermione and Ron's casual chatter, and Harry immediately followed her gaze, sensing her pain. He noticed the best man and maid of honour and froze, spotting the similarities between the couple and the girl beside him straight away.
"I can put this away," he started to backtrack, not wanting to upset her, but Lyra shook her head and grabbed the album, battling against the anger she harboured for her father. She didn't want to ruin his experience, he needed to look at them just as badly as she did.
"No, it's fine, I'm ok," she lied, keeping her voice steady, "it's just a little jarring."
"It looks like our parents were close, I never knew," noticed Harry, pointing out the extra appearances of the Black family in the other photographs, and the pair found a little bit of solace in the fact that they were destined to be friends.
"Neither did I," said Lyra, grabbing her own photo album out of her backpack as an idea popped into her head, "you know, since you've got your own album I guess that means you'll be needing a few pictures of your own?" She searched through the book and picked out the group photograph she took after she earned her first ever house points for knocking out the mountain troll. "Here you go!"
Harry stuck the new addition onto the next empty page and showed his book off to Ron and Hermione, proud to have his own book of family photos. "It fits in perfectly," he concluded, flashing her a cheesy grin.
The train journey flew by and the Hogwarts Express soon arrived at King's Cross station in the late afternoon. Lyra took her time dawdling in the corridors of the train, trying to prolong her extraction from the wizarding world as long as possible with her dramatic goodbyes.
"Goodbye carpet," she sniffled, dragging her feet across the deep plum fibres as though stroking it, "I'll miss the way you caught me after Ron attacked me with that spell."
"I didn't attack you!" Ron called out, a few people ahead of her in the queue out of the door, "that was totally accidental!"
"Goodbye windows," Lyra caressed the glass pane with her free hand, making Harry snicker from behind her, "goodbye curtains, goodbye lamp that always flickers, goodbye mysterious stain on the floor."
"Are you really going to miss the train that much?" teased Hermione, beckoning her to follow as they finally emerged onto the platform. It was much busier than Lyra remembered and she immediately started to scan the crowds for Danielle, butterflies appearing as she took in the unfamiliar faces of those around her, but she spotted the trail of redheads in front of Hermione and instinctively followed the crowd.
"Not as much as I'm going to miss you," cooed Lyra, pouting as though she suddenly realised that she wasn't going to see her friends for a while. The realisation hadn't hit her on the train, being in their little bubble of fun had distracted her from the daunting reality and the once familiar dread that assaulted her every time she was at Coles was starting to return. She had to be Jane while she was there, the other kids would question her if she turned up as Lyra. Aw man this is going to suck!
"Lyra!" Ron's excited face popped out through the crowds of people and he beckoned her to hurry, "c'mon! They all wanna meet you!"
Her stomach twirled and she rushed to follow him, dying to meet her extended family. Ron tried to catch her up on all of his family members while they were on the Express but they got muddled up in her head the more names he added, she needed to see their faces for the information to stick.
The first Weasley that came to greet her was the very one she had been most anxious to meet — Ron's little sister Ginny, a small, slender girl who shared her family's trademark ginger locks and face full of freckles. The idea of having six brothers was too compelling and she couldn't help but feel a little envious that she had grown up surrounded by siblings, but she squealed and rushed over to the youngest Weasley with her arm outstretched and a grin on her face. She really wanted Ginny to like her, she wanted to make a good first impression.
"Hello! I'm Lyra, your new cousin!" she babbled, shaking Ginny's hand rather hard, but Ginny squealed and shook back equally as enthusiastically.
"Fred and George told me all about you," she said brightly, her freckled face rosy red from her excitement, "did you really start a food fight on your first day?"
"Yup! For future reference, the vanilla cream puffs from the train are perfect for throwing," she advised, wanting to relay her good advice already, and Ginny looked inspired.
"I'll remember that," she giggled, and hurried to drag Lyra over to her parents, ignoring Ron entirely as she passed, "Mum says you're gonna stay this summer, I can't wait! It won't be all of us there, Bill and Charlie rarely come home these days, but I'm sure you'll meet them soon enough."
Already overwhelmed by Ginny's kindness, Lyra tried to spit out the right words to share her own excitement for their summer together but she came face to face with the rest of the redheaded clan and immediately locked eyes with the woman Lyra could only guess was Molly.
She looked exactly how she imagined her, shorter than the men by quite a few inches, kind brown eyes that watered easily, the same vivid hair as the boys surrounding her, and Lyra could tell by the way she stood that she was a great hugger. She was worried what Molly thought of her, especially after all the trouble she had dragged Ron into, but her preluding panic disappeared when Molly gasped in delight, startled by her appearance.
"Mum! She's here!" proclaimed Ginny smugly, and the twins scoffed, annoyed that their little sister had beaten them to the punch and found Lyra before them.
"You can't steal her for the whole summer, Ginny," reminded George, tutting at her, "you've got to learn to share."
"I've only just met her! You've had her for a whole year!" she argued back fiercely, and Lyra enjoyed the show. She liked Ginny already.
"Wow I'm so popular," she joked, basking in the positive attention for once, but Molly shushed her children and gave Lyra a warm hug. The instant tingles of affection were tremendously new but she hugged her back, savouring the feeling a moment longer.
"I can't tell you how happy I am to meet you, dear," said Molly Weasley softly, standing back to get a good look at her, "my word, you look so much like your mother."
"Especially around the ears," evaluated the redheaded spectacled man beside Molly and he stretched his hand out with a broad grin, "I'm Arthur, we've heard a lot about you from our boys and by the sound of it you've been acting a lot like her too."
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Lyra giggled at the sentiment and tried to brush over her misbehaviour without sullying her name. What on earth had Ron and the twins told them? Her stomach dropped, Percy definitely snitched on her. Oh god!
"Ah, uh, yeah you mentioned that in your letter," she laughed awkwardly, glancing at Apollo as a momentary distraction, "whatever they've told you they're lying."
Molly pursed her lips and glanced at the twins who whistled innocently, pretending to busy themselves with unloading their trunks from the trolley, but the corners of her pout twitched and she sighed.
"Mhm yes, perhaps we shall talk about your mischief-making another time?" she wondered, and Lyra flashed her a wider, appreciative smile. Phew! I'm off the hook!
Ron rejoined his family again once he had tracked down Hermione and Harry, and Lyra watched Ginny jump out of her skin as though she had been electrocuted. She rushed off to hide behind her father as her brother introduced his best friends to his family.
"What's up with her?" Lyra mumbled to Ron, amused by her bizarre behaviour, and Ron stifled a loud bark of laughter with his hand.
"She fancies Harry, she doesn't shut up about him and it's so annoying," he informed her in a whisper, and Lyra tutted, nudging him for his reaction. No wonder Ginny acted like that, she had no doubt that Ron teased her about her crush constantly.
"That's really sweet," she sighed, spotting her flushing face from under Arthur's arm, "I hope you haven't told Harry, she'd kill you if he finds out." Lyra shuddered as she imagined herself in Ginny's position, she'd be mortified!
"No I haven't but now you've mentioned it…" Ron muttered impishly, smirking at his sister, but Lyra shot him a scowl in an attempt to dissuade him on Ginny's behalf.
"Don't you dare!"
"I'm kidding, I won't," Ron begrudgingly promised, and she patted him on the shoulder proudly.
"Lyra," Molly Weasley interjected politely, "are you meeting your care worker here?"
Oh! Danielle! How could I forget?!
"Uh, yeah she's around here somewhere," she explained, searching the crowds of families greeting their children hoping to see Danielle's smiling face, but she paused her search when she realised that Draco was watching her from afar, seemingly more sour than usual.
He was standing with a trio of adults, all engaged in an animated conversation, and she took in the appearance of Draco's parents for the first time. His father was his spitting image, a sweeping pale blonde man with a sharp jaw and even sharper icy eyes. His mother looked equally as sophisticated and glamorous in her navy silken robes and slick white hair, but Lyra's stomach churned when she recognised the familiar honey coloured dreads of the woman with her back to her.
Danielle was talking to the Malfoys.
"What the—?" Lyra scoffed, glaring at Draco who grinned once he realised Lyra had spotted them, "what is she doing?!"
"Who?" Ron craned his neck to follow his gaze, and he scoffed in unison with her when he recognised the cold family. "Ugh, can't he leave already?"
The added eyes of the Weasley clan touched a nerve with the Malfoys and they looked over, unimpressed by the sight that met them, but Danielle finally turned around and found the girl she had been waiting for. She looked as elegant as always, Lyra admired her tartan pantsuit and sleek black heels as she dashed over to greet her but she disregarded the imminent scolding for creasing her outfit when she launched her body at Danielle as she reached them.
"I've missed you so much!" gushed Lyra, squeezing her carer tightly, and Danielle hugged her back even harder, smoothing her wild black hair out of her face.
"I've missed you too," she laughed, habitually smoothing her suit jacket as she took a step back and measured Lyra's height against her shoulder, "you've actually grown a couple of inches!"
"So have you!" Lyra joked, nodding at her shoes.
"Dear Lord, I haven't missed that," sighed Danielle, already rolling her eyes as she turned to address Lyra's company and fixed her professional smile, "I'm Danielle Greene, Lyra's key worker."
After a few minutes swapping details about Lyra's visit in a few weeks time, the Weasleys left the station with extra hugs and well wishes, giving Lyra the chance to properly introduce Danielle to Harry and Hermione. She had been anticipating this meeting all day and she couldn't stop smiling when Hermione burst out with lots of questions about life as a Squib straight away. Danielle looked startled by the girl's maturity and she happily answered all of her queries with as much information as she could verbally muster.
Once they breached the brick wall, however, the Grangers found their daughter and ambled over to meet them so their interaction was brief but cheerful. Hermione promised to write, giving out both her address and home telephone number, and gave them both an extra hug for good luck. As they watched the Grangers leave, Lyra absently searched the Muggle crowds for a family that fit Harry's description and her stomach churned dangerously when she thought of accidentally saying something bad in front of them. Maybe I'll stay away from them, just this once… she really didn't want to get Harry in trouble this time.
"Can you see them?" she wondered, glancing at the boy beside him, and he shrugged, not really bothering to search for them.
"Not yet," sighed Harry, "which is fine by me."
"Do you know, uh, where they might, um, be waiting?" stuttered Danielle, acknowledging Harry for the first time, and Lyra stared at her strangely. Was she… nervous?
"Not really, but trust me when I say they're hard to miss," he said with a slight smirk.
"Ah, well, that's good then, um," Danielle continued, and Lyra realised that she was staring at Harry's forehead. She was nervous!
"Oh my God!" Lyra giggled, gawking at her starstruck care worker, "Danielle! You never said you were a fan of Harry's work!"
Harry laughed at her peculiar phrasing. "My work?"
Lyra smirked impishly. "Yeah, your work — your discography," she went to clarify her point of view but the blushing care worker beside her cut her off.
Danielle spluttered, caught off guard by her bluntness, and she hurried to save face but the sweat on her perfectly groomed brow proved otherwise. "Lyra! I'm not a fan! I just…" she bit her lip and smiled politely at the confused boy, "my dad told me all about your story growing up so it's a little surreal, I must admit."
"Oh!" Harry looked a little shocked but he smiled and accepted the adoration a lot better than Lyra expected, "it's ok, I'm getting used to it too."
"I can't imagine how difficult that must be, and from what I've heard you're a lot braver than you let on," replied Danielle, a lot calmer this time, and Lyra gingerly took a step back to allow them a moment to talk. It's working!
"Thanks," muttered Harry, scratching his neck to hide his blush, "and, er, thanks for that letter by the way, I'm not sure if my aunt and uncle will agree to you visiting but it's always worth a try."
"Sweetheart, your aunt and uncle don't have a say in the matter I'm afraid," assured Danielle, her dulcet Welsh accent deep and soothing, "we're coming to visit you, leave it with us and if it's easier for you for us not to contact them beforehand then that's how we'll do it."
Harry blinked, in awe of Danielle's determination, and agreed with an enthusiastic nod.
"Awesome! See, I told you Danielle was the best," Lyra reminded him.
Sadly their time together came to an end when Harry finally spotted the Dursleys lurking nearby, scrutinising the pair he was standing with, and Lyra couldn't resist staring back. They looked just as horrible as Harry had described and it took all of her concentration not to glare.
"I'm writing to you as soon as I get back to Weymouth," insisted Lyra, smothering him with one last hug, "remember, call us if you need us."
"I better start listening to my CDs straight away then," he teased, almost crushing her ribs as he hugged back, and she giggled. Stealing one last stroke of Hedwig's soft feathers, Lyra waved Harry off and kept her watchful eye on him until he merged with the ever flowing throng of rushing station-goers, and her heart sank at the sudden loneliness that dwelled within her.
Her best friends were gone, it was just her now.
"And then there were two," announced Danielle, sighing sadly at the distance.
Her and Danielle.
"Sooo," purred Lyra, shoving her backpack on top of her trunk and securing Apollo's cage to the handle as awkwardly as possible, "what did you think of my friends?"
"I thought they were wonderful," answered Danielle, tutting as she stole Lyra's trunk from her and began to lead her out of the station, "you've got a good bunch there. I can't say that I'm not a little overwhelmed that you chose to be friends with the Boy-Who-Lived but I think I can manage."
"I can't believe you didn't tell me you were a fan girl," muttered Lyra cheekily, already dying to tease her about it, "you should have told me! I'm selling his autographs!"
Danielle hesitated, casually side-eyeing the girl as though debating asking for a price, but she shook her head and rolled her trunk out of the wide open station doors, stepping out into the burning orange sunlight that soaked the London cobbled streets. Being out in the Muggle world was a little disorientating, Lyra expected to see a flock of owls soaring overhead but instead she pouted at the dishevelled pigeons pecking at the gutter nearby, disappointed. She already missed Hogwarts.
The tapping of Danielle's heels hypnotised Lyra as she followed her towards the nearby car park but she jerked out of her daze when Danielle piped up with an unexpected comment.
"I never thought I'd meet so many of your family members today," she chuckled, amused at the irony, "you must be over the moon!"
"Oh yeah!" Lyra spluttered, scowling at her, "why were you talking to the Malfoys?!" She didn't like the idea of Danielle being close to the awful blood purists and she needed to keep her away from them.
Danielle frowned, glancing back over her shoulder and holding an arm out to stop her from walking out in front of a moving car, "what do you mean? They were lovely! They sang your praises, Lyra, especially Draco. I thought you wouldn't mind me getting to know them. They found me first, they were very eager to get involved with meeting you properly."
She couldn't believe what she was hearing! The Malfoys? Lovely?! Draco sung her praises!? They want to get involved?! Did she step off the Hogwarts Express and into a parallel universe?
"That's a lie, Draco hates me and they definitely aren't lovely. They must have been faking it, I don't know why but they just lied to your face," she spat, stamping over to the rusty silver Ford and waiting with an impatient foot tap for Danielle to unlock her car. "What did they want?"
Danielle popped open the boot and carefully slid Apollo and her trunk into the cramped space, her eyes purposely avoiding Lyra's as she busied around, but once they jumped into the car she realised she had no choice but to be honest.
"They were inquiring into the process of adopting you," confessed Danielle, switching the engine on and the car rumbled to life. Lyra stared blankly at her carer, processing the terrifying revelation, and sunk into the squashy seat with way too many questions buzzing through her head. They WHAT?!
"Please, for the love of God and Merlin, do not let the Malfoys adopt me," demanded Lyra flatly, rejecting the possibility before it came into fruition, and Danielle gave her a knowing look. It wasn't bad but it wasn't particularly good either, Lyra didn't know what she was thinking.
"Ok sweetheart, I'll make a note of that in your case," she assured her before driving away from the busy centre of London.
Lyra settled back and gazed out of the window, singing along with the cheesy pop tune that came on the radio. For the first time in her life she felt a powerful bout of homesickness for the magical castle and the incredible people she had just left behind.