"Lyra…"
The voice calling for her was vaguely familiar, she had heard this person before but she couldn't quite place them in her past. It wasn't from a memory, it came from somewhere deeper.
Lyra was sitting at the Gryffindor table alone in the Great Hall, the empty silverware was sparkling and the hour was late. Her only company was the twinkling stars of the darkening evening sky above her but she didn't mind the silence or the solitude… only, it wasn't silent anymore, someone else was here.
"Lyra, over here…"
She didn't remember how she ended up in the Great Hall, all recollection of her night had vanished from her brain in a blink but her forgetfulness didn't worry her. She didn't feel scared nor was she apprehensive about tracking down the face that matched the voice. Whoever was calling her from beyond the Great Hall doors didn't sound threatening, their voice was deep and gentle, it was soothing like running water and it brought a sense of serenity over her. She wanted them to speak again, she knew they were someone she needed to meet.
Lyra's heart sank when she reached the door and found no one waiting for her, the Entrance Hall was just as deserted. Shadows danced in the corner of her eye, playing tricks on the girl who was searching for a friend, but the darkness lingering around the entrance to the dungeons moved in the most peculiar way — like it was alive. Lyra was transfixed as billowing tendrils made of black smoke slithered out of the shadows and across the floor towards her like ravenous snakes looking for their next meal. She didn't know what they were but she wasn't afraid of them.
"Black… Look at me."
The shadows encasing the dungeon entrance called for her, the brain controlling the tendrils finally emerged from the safety of the darkness and she saw a pair of piercing eyes watching her, desperate for her contact. Their gaze evoked an unusual feeling within Lyra and she couldn't tear her own eyes away from them. But the churning in her gut erupted into butterflies when the tendrils brushed her ankles and the boy stepped out of the writhing shadows, longing for her to see him.
Lyra couldn't quite comprehend what was going on around her, the Entrance Hall was fading fast as though someone was fiddling with reality like a radio dial, but the boy in the dark remained.
And she couldn't take her eyes off him, he was gorgeous.
He was a couple years older than her; she could tell by the sharpness of his facial features and broadness of his chest that he was more mature (no boy her age looked like that!) and even with the distance between them she could see he was tall for his age. His eyes were as dark as the circles under them and Lyra found herself staring without shame, his beauty was haunting. He reminded her of a gothic protagonist of a Victorian romance novel, the classic wave and formality of his uniform submerged her into another era. Bathed in the moonlight streaming through the Entrance Hall arched windows his skin was practically glowing and Lyra heard herself sigh.
Is he real? Who is that? Suddenly she became very aware of her own appearance and rushed to smooth her hair out of her pink flushed face, hoping she looked remotely pretty in comparison.
"Help…" the boy whispered, the crease between his brows deepening with each plea, "please… Lyra, help me."
Something about him reminded her of Harry, she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Was it the same hurt in the boy's pained expression that she recognised in Harry, or was it simply because they were both dark haired with a pale complexion? Whatever it was, it drew Lyra to him as though he exuded an attractive fragrance that only she could smell. He intrigued her, if not for his looks but for the mystery surrounding him.
"How can I help? Are you ok? Who are you?" She asked in what she hoped was a confident tone, but she knew he heard her quake. At the sound of her voice the boy's shoulders sagged in relief and his hurt expression softened.
"I think you already know who I am…" he hissed, pleased with her response, and Lyra noticed the flashes of emerald woven into his embroidered school badge. Wait, that can't be—?
She thought her heart was going to shatter her ribs like glass, it was beating so fast.
"T-Tom?" breathed Lyra, and she yearned for him to recognise the name with every fibre of her being. The boy trapped in her book, the boy that had been on her mind for weeks, was that really him? Please be him, please be Tom.
Riddle's smile stretched across his face, silently confirming her heart's desire and Lyra swooned.
"Help me, Lyra… you're my only hope…"
The smoky tendrils wrapped around Lyra's ankles like metal clamps and suddenly yanked them, pulling her feet from beneath her, but she didn't fall — instead, everything around her cracked.
"WAIT?!" screamed Riddle.
A light brighter than rays from the sun blinded Lyra and she went to shield her eyes from imminent damage. Reality moved too fast for her to keep up and an overwhelming pressure captured her chest, seizing her lungs and paralysing her limbs.
Her surroundings glitched, like a stuck video tape the Entrance Hall scenery sizzled and Lyra was suddenly transported somewhere entirely different.
She was in a forest clearing, surrounded by skyscraping pine trees and evergreens that made her feel infinitely insignificant in comparison. It was much warmer here than in the foyer of Hogwarts castle and she enjoyed the heat on her skin, she could taste something deliciously sweet like honey in the air.
The smoke tendrils were gone but Tom remained, the universe tethered him to Lyra but he wasn't totally unaffected by the glitch. He looked older, maybe around Danielle's age, and he was sobbing, unabashed by his broken demeanour. He was wearing a set of shabby grey robes that were once elegant and fitted, the natural curl in his black hair had grown unruly in his madness but his five o'clock shadow enhanced his natural beauty. Lyra never thought she would see a grown man look so vulnerable and she couldn't bear to look away, guilt infested her like a contagious rash and wriggled under her skin until she physically trembled. What the hell is going on? How do I help him?!
Riddle fell to his knees, succumbing to his tears, and Lyra winced. She couldn't stand it any longer, she wanted to cry too.
"PLEASE!" he wailed, "DON'T—!"
Time to end this.
Oh my…
"Lyra! Come on! We should have left five minutes ago!"
Hermione's irate voice cracked Lyra's fever dream as she tore her bed curtains open. Lyra bolted upright, blindly fighting the air as though she were being attacked. The forest was no more, the sobbing man before her existed only as a mere fleeting thought at the back of her mind and Lyra flashed Hermione a discombobulated smile as she scrambled out of bed. Her other roommates were long gone and Hermione was waiting for her sleepy friend with an impatient foot tap, struggling to hold her over-crammed school bag.
"I've been trying to wake you for ages," huffed Hermione, helpfully throwing Lyra's uniform in the direction of the bathroom as she sprinted into action, "what time did you go to bed?"
"Uhhh," Lyra spat out her toothpaste and struggled to brush her hair with one hand, "maybe around three?"
"I should have guessed, this is you after all," said Hermione with a pointed eye roll, and Lyra pouted as she hopped into her boots, lacing them with a tap of her wand. Oh how I've missed you, magic!
"Three o'clock is witching hour, Hermione, as a witch I was merely exercising my right to do witchy stuff at the appropriately designated hour of the day," she babbled on, purposely leaving out any mention of her late night diary writing to evade suspicion. She knew Hermione would question her method, who spends hours writing a diary entry? She shook her head, knocking her silly worries away, and dosed herself in her new spray to brighten her mood.
"Nice try Black, in some cultures witching hour is the hour immediately after midnight, and we're witches in attendance at a magic school so technically every hour is witching hour," countered Hermione, urging Lyra to move faster with a flap of her hands, and Lyra stuck her tongue out at quick-thinking friend as she snuck her diary into her robe pocket.
Finally ready for their first day as second years, Lyra and Hermione left the girls tower discussing the slim chance of them having Defence Against the Dark Arts for their first period. They found the other half of their gang dawdling around the portrait hole, their faces suggesting they were seconds away from ditching them.
"Let me guess, did someone oversleep?" wondered Harry, noticing Hermione's already irritated expression, and Lyra simply smiled.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she yawned.
On their way to breakfast, Lyra noticed that every Gryffindor they passed gave Harry and Ron a high-five, praising them for the stunt they pulled the previous evening, and she tried her best not to froth with envy. She knew she personally chose to keep herself out of their drama but a small part of her was deeply disappointed that she had been left out of the marvellous display that was Harry and Ron crashing the car into the greenhouses. Mostly because she despised Herbology but also because the majority of Gryffindor and a handful from the other houses thought the pair were undoubtedly cool for achieving such a feat and getting away with only a slap on the wrist and a handful of detentions. It was pretty obvious that Harry's notoriety was the main reason they weren't expelled and Lyra half-wished she stayed with them to utilise Harry's 'get out of jail free' card for all it was worth.
"I can't believe people are actually commending you for what you did," scoffed Hermione, staring after the two fourth-years who had whooped in their direction with contempt. After hearing about the state of the greenhouses Hermione was being less than warm towards them, causing mass damage to school property wasn't part of their original plan and she couldn't believe they had messed up so badly.
"Again, we didn't mean to crash into the greenhouses, we lost control of the car," sighed Ron for the dozenth time, aggravated that she wasn't letting it go, "besides you've got to admit, no one has ever flown to school before, it's one for the record books." The attention had rushed straight to his head, he loved the new spotlight that had been cast on him.
Lyra continued to grumble to herself, annoyed that Ron was right.
"It's not like we got away with it, we've got detention for at least two months," Harry reminded her, scowling at his shoes as they descended through the castle, "And Professor Sprout can't even look at us without swearing."
"For a little old lady she knows a lot of cuss words, some I've never even heard before," said Ron, looking nauseous.
"Meh, I for one am glad to hear that the greenhouses are out of service," sighed Lyra with a shrug, "sadly it won't take long for the teachers to repair the damage you caused—,"
"By accident," interjected Harry.
"—so let's just savour this glorious moment while we can, maybe we won't have Herbology this week," she finished, wishing for a miracle. Professor Sprout was going to punish her for her atrocious attempt at her summer homework, prolonging their eventual encounter was her best case scenario at this point. Maybe I can bug Neville into helping me again?
Luck seemed to be on their side, Lyra's sleepy start didn't delay the Gryffindors' first day. They arrived down to breakfast just as Professor McGonagall began dishing out timetables, and they snuck into the empty spaces beside their classmates, reverting back into the pattern they had crafted last year.
As tempting as it was to crash the gang of dewy-faced first years and embarrass Ginny in front of her classmates, Lyra decided to leave the youngest redhead to her morning and only offered Ginny a cheerful wave when they caught sight of each other. Lyra also caught Fred and George's dismayed gazes a few seats down and she sent them a sympathetic smile too. They were equally as pissed off with being left out of the latest scandal and were currently shunning both Harry and Ron despite their insistence that their hands were tied.
"You better not have shown them the map," mouthed George saltily, shooting death glares at his little brother, and Lyra subtly shook her head. The Marauder's Map that was stuffed in her copy of Voyages with Vampires remained a secret between her and the fourth years; she hadn't figured out the most dramatic way to reveal her prize yet and it certainly deserved some theatrics.
"Potter, Weasley, your first detention is this evening, come to my office after dinner," stated Professor McGonagall, coming up to their portion of the table with a fresh stack of parchment clutched in her hands. Lyra swallowed her mouthful of granola and grinned up at her head of house as she thanked her for her shiny new timetable, feeling exceedingly smug with herself. She expected to hear at least one snide comment muttered under her breath about her lack of involvement being shocking, but she barely looked at Lyra.
"Honestly, it's disgraceful isn't it, Professor?" sighed Lyra, pushing her luck with an exaggerated disappointed head shake and smirking at the boys opposite her whose face dropped, both of them silently asking her to shut up, "flying a car to school? I would never do such a thing—,"
"I don't doubt that you were somehow involved, Miss Black, so I would advise that you quit while you're ahead," said McGonagall without hesitating, clicking her tongue in chagrin, but she moved down the table before Lyra had a chance to take offence.
"Er, have you seen what class we have for our first period?" asked Harry to their group, bringing the attention back onto their second year schedules, and Lyra's stomach churned as she rushed to find the appropriate box. Period One — Herbology; Professor P. Sprout.
"Of course! Of course it's bloody Herbology!" groaned Lyra, angrily shoving her timetable away to avoid finding any more disappointing clashes, "so far second year sucks."
"Hear, hear," grumbled Ron, sulking into his bowl of cereal.
"I, on the other hand, am thrilled with our new timetable. We have Defence Against the Dark Arts for our last period so if you'll excuse me, I have some reading to do," said Hermione, the only cheerful one of the group, and she propped her book up and disappeared into the works of Lockhart once again.
Aiming to utilise the shrinking gap between breakfast and first period, Lyra spotted Neville a few seats along and shuffled towards him, the tatters of her homework hugged to her chest. With a sweet hello and her prettiest smile, she successfully charmed a few answers to Sprout's dreadfully long quiz out of Neville and hurried to copy them down. Her dash to save her Herbology grade stumbled to a stop when the owls arrived to deliver the post.
Lyra had heard about Howlers before, the twins described in great detail how loud the scarlet notes were able to scream over the summer and she was overcome with ideas of how she could incorporate them into her pranks, but she never thought she would see one so soon when Ron opened the letter from his mother. Once the entire hall erupted with laughter at Mrs Weasley's humiliating hollers and she saw how quickly Ron shrivelled in mortification, Lyra scooted back over to her friends and suggested they leave early to get a head start on Professor Sprout's impending lecture. She noticed that they had drawn curious looks from the Slytherin table and the idea of Ron versus Draco so early in the morning didn't sound appealing.
As they predicted, Professor Sprout was less than amused when she addressed her second years outside of the glittering wreckage that was once Hogwarts' highly regarded greenhouses.
The evidence of the previous night's crash littered the gravelled paths into the walled gardens, broken glass and shreds of dead vines lay amongst the rubble like fallen warriors, and Lyra had to stifle her laugh with her hand when she pointed out the muddy tyre marks leading into the Forbidden Forest behind them. Harry and Ron mentioned that the car went haywire but she didn't actually believe them, the idea of a motor vehicle zooming around like a wild animal in the woods was too bizarre.
"As you can see," announced Sprout through her false smile, "the greenhouses are out of bounds thanks to Mr Potter and Mr Weasley's stunt last night," Harry and Ron recoiled under their professor's scrutinising glares and ducked down behind their friends as the class turned to stare, "so I'm afraid we won't be able to go ahead with what I originally had planned for you all as the majority of plants that were living in Greenhouse Two, Three, and Five have been squashed."
"We're never going to live this down," muttered Harry, downtrodden by Sprout's spiteful tone, but Lyra nudged him, urging him to cheer up.
"As your manager I need you not to publicly doubt yourself, you need to own this or else people will start to think that you're not as cool as they originally thought," she hissed, relaying her thoughts as though they were facts, but Harry stopped listening after the first three words.
"My manager?" he guffawed, fighting the urge to stare at her as he pretended to listen to Sprout, "since when were you my manager? Wait, I don't need a manager… do I?"
"Clearly you do," Lyra subtly jerked her head at their frustrated professor, "don't worry, I've got your headshots already sorted, and as a prime witness of your acclaimed work I can vouch for your badassery so all you need to do is upkeep your end of the deal and do whatever I say, Boy-Whose-Not-Dead."
"You were so close," Harry snickered under his breath, and after a few moments of silence he rolled his eyes and gave her a half-hearted shrug.
"...Hypothetically if you were my manager, what would you propose I do?"
"Be confident," she repeated, echoing some of the wise words Tom had told her, "if you look like you believe what you're saying then others will too, you'll be surprised what you can obtain if you look like you know what you're doing. You crashed into the greenhouses, so what? People will love you and hate you no matter what you do so just own it, Potter, be proud that you're still here."
Lyra's advice seemed to resonate with Harry and she left him to his thoughts as Sprout instructed the class to find a partner from outside of their house. Most of the class looked horrified at the instruction, everyone tended to keep to their houses whenever there was a group task, but Lyra was pleasantly excited with the mixup and she scanned the Hufflepuff cluster and plastered her friendliest smile on her lips when she locked eyes with Susan Bones. She noticed that Zacharius was debating coming over to her and she cut him off without a second thought — she knew it wasn't entirely fair but his first impression still stuck with her.
"Fancy pairing up?" asked Lyra, sneaking over to the strawberry blonde Hufflepuff who looked genuinely surprised that Lyra chose her. For a second Lyra dreaded being rejected as it wasn't a secret she was abysmal at Herbology, but Susan nodded and shuffled closer, offering her a shy smile.
"That would be lovely, talking makes me nervous so thank you for making the first move," Susan smiled awkwardly, and Lyra let out a small soft laugh.
"Stick with your partner, and stay close together, I don't want any of you wandering off," called out Sprout, and Lyra fought her blush as her professor's gaze landed on her, "and have your quills at the ready. I want everyone taking notes at every opportunity, you can learn a lot from what you find on your doorstep."
Tightening her muddy apron with an extra knot, Professor Sprout led the second years out of the walled gardens and into the expansive grounds for a tour of the rural magical plants of the highlands. Hogwarts grounds was infamous for its unruly plantlife, Lyra had both first-hand experience and second-hand knowledge about which corners of the grounds to avoid. She knew there could be a spiky poisonous surprise waiting to be discovered behind every tree stump and she took note of Professor Sprout's warnings as they ambled along.
"I wish every Herbology lesson was like this," mused Lyra out loud, admiring the enchanting view of the Forbidden Forest in the distance as they reached the Black Lake's shore.
"It sure beats being in those stuffy greenhouses, I hate how hot and sweaty it is in there," complained Susan, agreeing with her sentiment as she scribbled down Sprout's descriptions of the slimy white tubers bobbing underneath the inky lake surface.
"Right? Surely there's a spell out there that can recreate a hot climate without forcing us to experience it too?" theorised Lyra, her eyes clouding over as she began to daydream about inventing her own spells to solve her Herbology woes, and Susan shrugged.
"If there is then I'll be the first to use it, I can't stand hot weather," Susan pointed to her freckled cheeks, "as you can imagine I turn into a salamander if I'm out in the sun for too long."
"I feel your pain, sister," said Lyra sadly, gesturing to her own blemished skin, "and I can't stand the smell of sunscreen so it always ends in tears."
"It's so annoying, when I went on holiday to Spain last year I burnt to a crisp on the first day and I had to stay indoors for most of the trip," scoffed Susan, frowning at the sour memory, "my dad teased me about it for days, I can only take so many dad jokes about my resembling a lobster."
"Ah yes," it was Lyra's turn to laugh awkwardly, and she furiously told herself not to make a self-deprecating joke in front of someone she barely knew whilst trying to relate to her, but her uncomfortable giggle sparked a lightbulb in Susan's head. As the class moved on from the lake she kept close to Lyra and continued their quiet conversation.
"I don't know whether you know this or not," she said under her breath, her eyes darting behind to check for eavesdroppers, "but my parents knew your mum. And my aunt, they were at school together."
"Oh!" That wasn't what Lyra expected at all, but instead of the usual thud of dread that pooled in her stomach when her parents were mentioned she felt surprisingly hopeful. She tried not to appear too eager for information. "Really?"
"Yeah, my dad told me to look out for you when we read about you in the papers," she said casually, catching Lyra's positive tone and she gladly babbled on about her own family when Lyra inquired into Susan's personal life. She found out that Susan's parents, Oswald and Emily, owned a pub in the country, and her aunt Amelia worked at the Ministry in the Magical Law department. It turns out that Amelia was the Madam Bones Dumbledore had been referring to and Lyra couldn't help but gossip back, complimenting Susan on having a cool aunt. When the topic switched back to Giselle, Lyra kept her cool and casually asked her what she knew, and Susan happily shared the gossip.
"My aunt told me that your mum caused a lot of trouble at school, and that one time she was in the papers for fighting a giant that tried to attack Hogwarts," she divulged, and Lyra spluttered, thrown by the information.
Her admiration for Giselle was incomparable, the idea of who her mother was shifted once again in her head and she couldn't stop grinning. She fought giants?! Man, I hope I can be as cool as her, that's so hardcore!
"It was in the papers?" Lyra repeated, backtracking a little in order to help her process, but Susan's face fell as though realising she had made a mistake. Lyra went to ask her what was wrong but a small nudge at the back of her mind reminded her that her hateful grandfather existed — her hope vanished. He worked at the Ministry, where Susan's aunt worked.
Not wanting to spook Susan and get her into trouble, Lyra swiftly brushed past the comment with a different question.
"Huh, how weird… Does your aunt tell you a lot about what she deals with at work?"
"She told me about you before your story was leaked to the press," Susan carried on, spilling a few secrets of her own as she conspicuously glanced over her shoulder to ogle Harry who was having a very animated chat with his enthusiastic partner Justin, "and she also told me what really happened last year. Is it true Harry fought You-Know-Who again?!"
The glimmer in Susan's eye was becoming increasingly familiar to Lyra as she saw it far too often in Ginny's soppy gaze and Lyra's inner entrepreneur emerged to the surface with a stretch, longing to take advantage of the situation. As Harry's manager, she had to do this, it was a strategic career move and Lord knows Harry needed the help.
"It's true," she whispered back, dramatically blocking off the other pairs around them with her hands, "I saw it happen, he killed him in one punch — instant knockout, I swear to Wizard God."
"Wow…" pined Susan, losing focus as she flagrantly gazed back at Harry once more, "he's dreamy, we're so lucky to have him in our year," but as though suddenly remembering she was talking to one of his best friends, Susan's cheeks burned up as though she caught on fire and rushed to save face, "oh, uh, I mean, I just meant that he's cool—,"
"Relaaax," smirked Lyra, slipping an arm over her shoulders to dismiss her anxieties, "I won't say anything. In fact, you can buy a little memento from one of Potter's fearsome battles for only—," Lyra mentally reevaluated the price according to Susan's desperation, "five sickles, a pretty price for a pretty boy, don't you agree?"
She scrambled around in her backpack and pulled out a spare autograph and flashed it at her newest customer.
"No way," Susan's jaw dropped as she gasped, "everyone keeps saying he refuses to sign anything so I will definitely take one!"
Debating whether to scold Harry for turning down his fans' requests or thank him for not giving out free signatures, Lyra pouted and decided to push her agenda further.
"Also you should totally spread the word that I'm selling signed pictures," she muttered, exchanging a handful of silver coins for a duplicated polaroid, and Susan had to bite her lip to stop her squeals.
"You can count on me, Black, thank you! Maybe I should write to Dad, he might want one," she said with determination, clasping her Potter memorabilia to her chest, and Lyra gladly shook her hand to seal the deal and enjoyed the rest of what she supposed would be her one and only favourable Herbology lesson.
Once the clocktower rang out across the grounds, the Gryffindors exchanged quick goodbyes to their badger counterparts and began their trek down to the dungeons, muttering amongst themselves about their classmates in the other houses. The inter-house shakeup wasn't as terrible as they all had anticipated, everyone seemed to get along nicely with their partner — everyone except Ron.
"I've officially decided that I don't like Smith," declared Ron, scowling at the direction the Hufflepuffs had wandered off, "he wouldn't stop going on about himself, I swore his head was physically growing before my eyes."
"Now you know why we avoided him," snickered Dean, gesturing to himself, Neville, and Lyra who were nodding in agreement, but Hermione chimed in on Zach's behalf since he wasn't there to defend himself.
"I don't think he's as bad as you're all making out," she tried to justify his pompous behaviour, "sure, he tends to be very meticulous when telling a story and yes, he drones on about himself a lot, but that doesn't mean he's a bad person."
"That's fair, but he talks too much and there is only enough room for one annoying chatterbox in these parts," declared Lyra sternly, "and that's me, by the way."
"I wouldn't mind exchanging you for Smith," murmured Harry, cracking a smile when Lyra shoved him.
"Speaking of annoying people who talk too much," Seamus nodded towards the oncoming flock of Slytherins up ahead, "I just can't wait for another year of Potions with them." The rest of the lions shuddered, dreading their two and a half hours of torture with the snakes and their mean-spirited head.
"I wonder if Snape has chilled out at all over the summer? Maybe he had a nice holiday and he's come back with a fresh mindset?" wondered Lavender hopefully, encouraging happy thoughts amongst her classmates but they all looked unconvinced.
"Yeah, and Malfoy has also suddenly had a change of heart, good one Lavender," snorted Ron, slapping her shoulder rather hard as he laughed at her joke.
Before they were within bickering distance of the Slytherins who were hanging around the entrance to their next lesson, a booming voice caught their attention and Hermione, Lavender, Parvati, and Sally-Ann seized up as they held in their fanatic squeaks. Lyra watched Harry's face whiten before her very eyes as the realisation that the new arrival wanted him specifically dampened his mood.
"My, my," laughed Gilderoy Lockhart as he slowed from a hasty jog to a confident stride, "Harry Potter, I must say that you are one very tricky person to track down. Such is the life of the fortunate, ey?"
Lyra never had the chance to get close to the celebrity do-gooder before now, she was too small to fight the crowds at Flourish and Blotts to get a decent look at the man everyone was so obsessed with so she used the opportunity to study him closely as though trying to spot the key to his success in his appearance. Everything about him seemed perfect, his golden hair sat in effortless waves that brushed the shoulders of his lavish (and so obviously expensive) sparkly peach robes, falling into his piercing blue eyes as though on purpose. He carried himself with such grace and confidence that Lyra felt her own posture straighten as she stood in his presence. Lockhart clasped Harry's shoulder as he showered the students surrounding him with many pearly smiles, but Harry tried to match his laugh, hoping to make the situation less awkward since everyone was staring.
"Oh, well, I've been busy with my classes since this is a school and all," said Harry, but Lockhart wasn't dissuaded by his dismissive comment and pulled him away from the group, wanting to get him alone.
"As you should be," responded Lockhart smoothly, "keeping yourself squeaky clean after the night you've had is certainly the way forward, it looks like you're following in my footsteps already."
"Have you been in loads of public scandals then, Professor?" Lyra piped up with a genuine question, not realising how blunt she was being until Hermione elbowed her in the ribs. Lockhart blinked at her, clearly caught off guard by the sudden interruption.
"Of course I haven't," he answered with a bigger smile, but Lyra knew it was forced, "you must be Lyra Black."
Lyra feigned humility and tucked her hair behind her ear, forcing a blush.
"Wow, maybe I'm the famous one? A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir," she drawled, acting as though she were far too important to address her famous professor properly, but he didn't hesitate to deflate the ego of the confident twelve-year-old.
"Mhmm, Professor McGonagall has told me all about you," he chuckled, refocusing on Harry once more with another shoulder slap, "now, you'll have to excuse us, ladies and gentlemen, as I require Mr Potter here for a few moments. Nothing to worry about, of course, just a friendly chat between equals."
The groaning of the classroom door slowly opening alerted the second years that Professor Snape was waiting for them so they quickly shuffled off, whispering amongst themselves about seeing Lockhart for the first time, but Lyra had an even better idea. As Harry's manager, she needed to know what was conspiring between the pair in case Harry passed on a major opportunity that would boost his popularity… also just to make sure that Lockhart wasn't going to pull a Quirrell and attempt to murder him.
"Miss Black?" prompted Lockhart, turning back with an arched brow when she refused to budge from the gloomy corridor.
"As Potter's manager I feel I should be present for this discussion," asserted Lyra, squaring her shoulders and offering her professor her most charming smile, "you may continue."
"Your manager?" Lockhart looked to Harry for confirmation and he nodded, unable to care too much about what was conspiring as it meant that he didn't have to actively take part in this conversation since Lyra was there to do all the talking.
"I must say I never anticipated you to have a manager, let alone one so…" Lockhart looked Lyra up and down, choosing his words wisely, "young."
"And yet despite my age I'm still successful, I take my job very seriously. My mind is always in business-mode, I've already sold an autograph today and it's not even twelve o'clock yet," she informed him, wanting to prove herself as someone worth taking seriously.
"Really? Who bought it?" scoffed Harry, torn between embarrassment and astonishment that Lyra was actually profiting from his scribbles.
"A Hufflepuff admirer," she revealed, "and from what I gathered from our transaction I should be expecting a few more customers any day now so I was thinking maybe we switch it up and give people options to choose from? I've got some wicked shots from your first Quidditch game?"
The longer Lyra spoke about her intentions with helping Harry curate his fame, the more irritated Lockhart seemed to grow and she couldn't seem to stop herself from hyping her best friend up in front of the clearly jealous wizard.
"Considering you're the most famous wizard in the world, I think it'll be easy to shift them once word travels and soon you'll be plastered on the walls of teenage bedrooms across the land."
"That's not an uncomfortable thought at all," muttered Harry, looking rather queasy at the possibility of Lyra being right.
"Come now, you mustn't get carried away," Lockhart laughed despite his gritted teeth, "I understand that having your picture in the paper is rather gratifying for the old self-esteem but you cannot always expect to make the front page every time. If you have to resort to stealing a car and destroying school property to gain some time in the spotlight then you should really reevaluate your life choices; bad publicity this early in your career isn't a sign of a prosperous path ahead."
"You do know that I didn't just steal a car at random and flew it here by choice," said Harry slowly, not quite understanding Lockhart's tone as he took a step back, shrugging his hand from his shoulder, "crashing into the greenhouses wasn't a publicity stunt, it was the result of someone attempting to stop me from coming to school," but Harry groaned and glanced at Lyra with a commiserating scowl, "and now I've said that out loud I think I realise who's responsible for all of that."
"Huh? Who would—?" but Lyra trailed off with her own frustrated growl when she remembered that her ghoulish second cousin fit the non-description, "oh duh! Of course it was him! Why didn't we think of accusing Slytherin's number one ghoul? He totally asked Dobby to stop you."
"Exactly, that explains why the car suddenly went berserk, Dobby must've enchanted it somehow," he said, glaring at the nearby door that hid the troublesome elf's master. Their Potions lesson had long since started and the pair still didn't feel inclined to hurry, it wasn't as though Snape had varying degrees to his cruelty, he would shout just as loud if they were ten seconds late let alone ten minutes.
"A likely tale, but I'm afraid I don't see anyone believing that someone would want to prevent you from coming to school, Harry. I mean, I could see that happening to me considering my obsessive fan base whom I love very much, but you're nowhere near my level yet, but one day you could be. I admire your optimism, my boy, it's almost inspiring," said Lockhart with another charming smile, brushing over the pair's half-hidden conversation as though he had been a part of their conversation from the very start, and Lyra instinctively snorted at his petty remark.
Who the hell does this guy think he is?!
"I'm so sorry Professor," giggled Lyra, her laughing carrying down the hallways like a chiming bell, "but was it you who defeated Lord Voldemort when you were a baby or was it Harry?"
The confidence in Lockhart's smile vanished and fear draped over his face like a veil when he heard the Dark Lord's name, the mere sound of his name unnerved the great wizard in such a volatile fashion that it was almost concerning, but his messy attempt to keep his brave character intact he cleared the discomfort from his throat and forced out another laugh.
Lyra could tell he had a lot of experience with keeping up appearances when he felt unsettled, he seemed a little too comfortable with lying through his teeth and his inability to look past his own nose wasn't very becoming for a professor that was supposed to teach them how to defend themselves.
"I think I did that," answered Harry when Lockhart failed to reply.
"Mhmm, you're right, you did do that. Twice, in fact," Lyra continued to wind her teacher up, "and according to pretty much every single person at this school and out in the world, defeating a Dark Lord is so much better from whatever it is you do so you should be worried that you'll never achieve Harry's level of recognition. Let's have another pissing contest when you've killed Voldemort, we'll wait."
Although Harry's expression suggested that she went a tad too far, Lyra smiled up at Lockhart who had finally dropped his smile. He pursed her lips and tutted, vehemently disgruntled with Lyra's attitude, and she found that she could take him a bit more seriously when he wasn't acting as though he were constantly being watched by his adoring fans.
"Clearly it seems that Miss Black is taking very good care of you, Harry," he said in a tone unlike his usual boastful rambles, combined with his poised stance he appeared far more approachable and wise, and Lyra wrinkled her nose in contempt — it didn't suit him at all, "but, and forgive me if this seems harsh, you really shouldn't take advice from the daughter of a mass murderer and the heir of the darkest and oldest Pureblooded family this country has produced. That's not the best look, my boy, what would the public think?"
Excuse me?!
And what does that have to do with anything? Where on Earth did that come from?!
"Hey!" Lyra exclaimed, her entire demeanour shifting as she took a step towards the grown man, unthreatened by their vast difference in height, but Lockhart happily explained himself, assuring her that he meant no offence as his winning smile made another appearance.
"I admit that sounded a lot meaner than I intended, but I bet a part of you already knows what I'm talking about. Come on, Lyra, you must admit that you're not exactly in the best position to give Harry tips on how to make it in the world of celebrity, you lack the experience that I possess and I can assure you, my dear, that I will not lead young Potter astray. If anything, I would love to become a sort of mentor, a role model in Harry's life so to speak, so you can drop the attitude and thank me for gifting him with my valuable words of wisdom," confessed Lockhart with softer eyes than before.
Lyra shuffled awkwardly on the spot and avoided Harry's direction altogether, she could feel his gaze and she felt too shy to meet it just yet.
"I suppose you're correct," she mumbled, nibbling her lip, "I was only trying to help."
"As am I," swore Lockhart, "now if you wouldn't mind giving Harry and I a moment to ourselves, Miss Black?"
"Actually," Harry interjected, shoving Lockhart's hand away and joining Lyra's side, "we really need to go to class, Professor, so thank you for the offer but I'm afraid—,"
"—your talk will just have to wait, but it will definitely happen. You have my word," Lyra finished for him, not wanting to lose the opportunity to score Harry a private mentoring session, and she dragged Harry towards their classroom before he protested against the idea. Pleased with the promise to get Harry alone, Lockhart bade them farewell until their upcoming lesson and left to face the wrath of the Potions Master.
"What did you do that for?" complained Harry, pissed off that the meeting had been set without his consent, "I don't want his bloody advice. I told you he was a dick in real life and he just proved me right, and now I've got to listen to his drivel again? By myself?"
"True, he is a dick," Lyra agreed, still tender from his blunt description of her, "but he has a point. Being your manager started out as a bit but I'm kinda emotionally invested in the role now so I think you should take advantage of having someone like him nearby. Milk him for all he's worth then report back to me, you're the world-renowned Unkillable Kid and I want to help you manage your image."
"I'm really not fussed about all of this fame stuff though. Lockhart actually wants to be famous whereas I have no choice, this life was thrusted upon me and now I have this so-called 'image' to maintain which I couldn't care less about," he exaggerated his air quotes with his hands but Lyra knocked them away and rolled her eyes, disregarding his opinion completely.
"Sure," Lyra smirked, not sounding convinced whatsoever, "but an incredibly wise uncle once said 'with great power comes great responsibility'—,"
"I cannot believe you're using Spider-Man against me, that's not fair!" Harry objected hotly, ready to snap back with a tirade of reasons why she was being unreasonable.
Lyra ended their conversation with a bright smile that screamed 'you know I'm right!' and pushed the classroom door open, bracing herself for the thunderous greeting from their least favourite professor who had been impatiently waiting for a reason to subtract house points from Gryffindor.
"Face it, Potter, I'm your Uncle Ben so suck it up and let me turn you into Spider-Man," she muttered, but Harry looked mournful.
"But Uncle Ben got shot and died... and technically the spider turned Peter into Spider-Man, not Uncle Ben—,"
"AND WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!"
Professor Snape, who had evidently been waiting right beside the door for their inevitable arrival, slammed the door shut behind them and bellowed into their faces, their noses mere inches apart.
Lyra's right eardrum throbbed as though she had jabbed a cotton bud inside and wiggled until it popped, but she didn't betray any of her pain and quaintly smiled up at Snape as though she had missed him during their months' separation. Not a single thing about him had changed over the summer, he looked as vampiric as ever and she couldn't help but admire the commitment to his vibe. Maybe he should just become a vampire to complete the look? No one would be able to tell the difference.
"Sorry sir, Professor Lockhart wanted to talk to us," Harry dared to answer back, but his attempt was futile as his excuse fell on deaf ears.
"I distinctly remember telling you that your fame is meaningless, Potter. I know that you think prancing around with your fellow celebrity," Professor Snape spat with extra derision on his tongue, "is more important than your studies but I will not allow you to waste my time inflating your precious ego."
"But you're also wasting time telling him that," Lyra pointed out, curious to see if she could provoke Snape into changing colour, "and now I'm wasting more time by pointing out that you're wasting time which is in fact, our time."
"And now I'm wasting even more time by agreeing that we are all wasting time together," Harry chimed in, hoping to make the situation worse.
"If you keep saying waste, it starts to sound like a fake word," she added when Snape paused to draw breath, "waste, waste, waste—,"
"Waste, waste, waste, waste," Harry joined in unison, "waste, waste-,"
"Waste," blurted out Blaise from the front row, but he scoffed when Gregory punched his arm, telling him to shut up, "what? It does sound weird though."
"TWENTY FIVE POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR!" exploded Snape, reaching his boiling point and silencing every student in his classroom with his infamous deathly lour, "if one more word comes out of either of your mouths for the rest of the lesson then I will see that you will serve detention for the entirety of your second year, do I make myself clear?"
Deciding that she'd rather use her evening in the company of her diary, Lyra zipped her mouth shut and nodded, complying with his wishes since his face was now a satisfying shade of mouldy bubblegum. She took her allocated seat at the very front of the class between Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson, two girls who would have much preferred that their table remained Gryffindor-less, and fought the urge to turn around and pull a face at Harry who had been stuck with Draco and Blaise.
"Now that we have been blessed with Potter's presence," drawled Snape, returning to his chalkboard where his half-written instructions lay waiting to be completed, "let us refocus on our lesson..."
But his words floated in one ear and out the other, Lyra had no interest in learning about the proper ways to extract venom from different types of reptilian fangs and she subconsciously allowed her eyes to glaze over as she mulled over Lockhart's brash proclamation about her character.
The daughter of a mass murderer and the heir of a dark family... Gilderoy Lockhart knew exactly who she was before they met, he saw her as Sirius' daughter and not as her own being, and she started to feel anxiety build in her chest when she considered that many other people saw her in the same way. He inferred that Harry shouldn't be seen listening to her, that comment hurt the most the more she repeated his words in her head.
The sudden scrap of stools roused Lyra from her spiralling thoughts and she snapped back into action, continuing her first day back to school with an imperceptibly sadder smile on her freckled face.