Compared to the disastrous start to her first year, Lyra found her stride with a lot more confidence this time round and she flourished during her first weeks as a second year student.
She felt more than prepared to deal with the increase in difficulty of her classes. She bypassed the expectations her professors had set in private and she thrived with her ever-expanding rolodex of charms; she had been waiting to cover the Freezing Charm in class all last year. Whenever Flitwick told them to open their Standard Book of Spells: Grade 2 — not that she needed it, she had memorised half its pages already — she demonstrated Tom's advice within her spells and she was able to gain back the house points she lost whenever she went toe-to-toe with Snape. Her method in keeping her housemates off her back and maintaining her duty as a resident mischief maker was difficult to balance, but with Tom at her side she reaped her high scoring rewards from her teachers whenever she could.
Sadly Lyra's and Harry's display during their first Potions lesson back had secured them the joint title as Snape's least favourite people ever for the second year in a row. His tolerance for their idiocy was practically non-existent, losing house points became a common occurrence once again, but knowing that she got under Snape's pasty skin gave Lyra life and she continued to drive the vampire batty despite her losses. If she simply gave up with taunting the grown adult who seemed to hate her for no reason then sure, Gryffindor would be in first place with a comfortable lead, but where was the fun in that scenario? Lyra enjoyed the simple things in life, and seeing their Potions Master physically seethe whenever she was in the room was definitely one of them.
"I don't know anyone else who returns from detention with a smile on their face, and I don't know whether that means we should be worried or not," announced Hermione as an observation when Lyra found her, Ron, and Harry at their table amongst the magical beasts section of the busy library.
Their intended evening of doing homework was spoiled when Lyra couldn't keep her mouth shut in Potions earlier that day, the fourth chair at the table had been collecting dust for almost two hours at this point. She didn't particularly mind her detention this time though, Snape forced her to sit in silence and she spent the entirety of her punishment bitching about him to Tom who laughed at her insults and encouraged her wicked behaviour.
"What did you do?" asked Harry, wary of her smile, "how many house points do we have left?"
"Did Snape die? Please tell me Snape died," prayed Ron, crossing his fingers.
"Wow, a girl smiles once and suddenly shes accused of murder," sighed Lyra as she pulled her homework out, getting ready to join the study session, "our house points are fine, I simply had a great time in detention, that's all."
That wasn't a lie, her stomach was still jittery after speaking to Tom. The face of the boy she had never met was clearer in her mind than ever and the remnants of an old dream started to filter back through into her everyday thoughts, tantalised by her interest in Tom outside of his constraints. She had seen him before, but where?
Trying to picture a dream she wasn't even sure was real was almost an impossible task, it was like the world's hardest game of Where's Wally in which she had no clue what Wally looked like. During her detention in the dungeons, however, she managed to extract enough details from her hazy memory to draw an accurate picture of Tom's face.
"I think I saw you in my dreams," she had told him, captioning her sketch of his handsome face in the hopes of getting confirmation that the mystery boy was him, and the picture never vanished once she took her pencil away.
It was him. The first page was now forever stained with the charcoal inscription of the boy trapped between its pages, even now as she sat in the library she could just feel the picture's presence inside her backpack. The words he wrote in response was pounding at the front of her brain, chiselled into her brain forever.
"I envy this version of me in your head, how lucky he was to meet you. I knew you were the one…"
Lyra couldn't deny it, Tom was constantly on her mind. She wanted to see him again.
When she realised that her friends still looked unconvinced, Lyra rolled her eyes and changed the subject as she shoved Riddle's enigmatic dark eyes out of her head, evading suspicion without inducing a blush. Holding her nerve was beginning to become second nature to her, she hated how telling a flushed face could be.
"Honest, nothing happened in detention and I hate to disappoint you but Snape is unharmed," she insisted, dropping her usual snarky tone to act serious.
"Then why are you smiling?" countered Harry, not believing her, and Lyra smirked again.
"Because I behaved myself and Snape thought I was plotting against him the entire time so he wasted his energy for no reason," she shrugged, "I gotta keep the ol' Count on his toes, it's less fun when I do the same schtick at the time, but enough about our biggest fan, what have I missed?" Lyra noticed that there were a few copies of The Evening Prophet on the table which wasn't a normal circumstance for them.
"Someone told the Prophet that we were the ones who drove the 'mysterious' flying car that was spotted near Leicester," explained Harry in a dull tone, and he shoved one of the front pages towards her, "and we made the front page again."
"This is my first time," corrected Ron, picking up his own copy with an unashamed grin, "I don't look too bad, but I dunno how they got that picture though."
Lyra unfolded the newspaper in front of her and had to bite her tongue to stop the instinctive bark of laughter when she took in the photograph of the boys looking lost and extremely panicked outside Kings Cross station. The flashing headline 'Potter and Pal's Lucky Escape' sat above them.
The article wasn't as harsh as Lyra expected it to be considering the pair threatened the secrecy of the entire Wizarding world. They were described as being 'two naive and waggish schoolboys who knew no better' which wasn't so bad (although she almost pulled a muscle rolling her eyes when the author used the phrase 'boys will be boys!') and they even praised Molly and Arthur for dealing with the incident in such a dignified manner. What piqued her interest the most, however, and what Lyra guessed was the reason behind Harry's sulky pout, was the countless quotes in the article from their newest professor.
"'When it comes to our young Harry, the resolution is abundantly clear — he lacks a father-figure in his life,' says Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, newest acclaimed resident of Hogwarts school," Lyra read out loud, her jaw dropping lower with every word, "'which is why I have been helping Mr Potter here during my tenure. He needs a strong, fearless role model to show him how to deal with the pressures of being the Boy-Who-Lived. As your readers can imagine, being thrusted into the public eye at such a young age takes a toll on the ego and without the proper guidance… well, I suppose this headline would be the first of many!' Bullshit!"
"Lyra!" exclaimed Hermione, whipping her head around to check for a lurking Madam Pince.
"It gets worse," grumbled Harry, pointing further down the page, "here he says that I told him that Ron and I stole the car in some elaborate ploy to make us look cool, and because of that I've been receiving these!"
With another frustrated huff, he pulled out a handful of envelopes from his school bag and dumped them on top of the newspapers. Without hesitating Lyra swiped the nearest crumpled letter and inspected it with caution, it felt a little too heavy for a simple piece of parchment, but the haphazard handwriting on its cover was a clear sign that the writer was fuelled with some kind of passion when they wrote this.
"Fan mail?" drawled Lyra, her smile growing. Cha-ching!
"More like hate mail," he corrected, still scowling at the pile, "everyone who read the paper thinks I'm some kind of egotistical, snotty kid who doesn't care about getting expelled because I," Harry picked a quote at random from Gilderoy's monologue of lies, "'crave some sort of approval from a world I've yet to understand'! He called me needy and dumb!"
"I'm sure that's not what he was inferring," chimed in Hermione, defending the professor who wasn't present to explain himself, "journalists are known to dance around verbatim from time to time, maybe the author was exaggerating his quotes to gain more reactions out of the readers?"
"Well they certainly achieved that goal," said Harry spitefully, "but I don't doubt that Lockhart said every single one of these quotes, he seems really touchy whenever someone," Lyra smiled when side-eyed her, "brings up my fame in front of him."
"And I'll do it again! Why I oughta!" said Lyra without shame, punching the air.
Her initial impression of Gilderoy Lockhart turned sour after their meeting in the dungeons; she didn't like him. Her wishful thinking had been a total waste, Lockhart displayed none of the qualities that his books claimed he possessed. That fact became pitifully apparent during their first Defence lesson when he decided to release a pair of Hinkypunks into the classroom and the lesson ended with his desk in flames and Hermione screaming out proper defence instructions to anyone who would listen. His teaching style was hollow and sloppy, it wasn't at all engaging, and the fact that Tom had taught her more in a single sentence than Lockhart had in three weeks spoke volumes.
Their Defence lessons had become a joke, taking Lockhart seriously was asking a lot of the student body and faculty of Hogwarts.
At least he's not Quirrell!
The mere thought of her ex-professor's name made her recoil, she didn't want to think about that.
"Have you actually opened one of the letters, though?" wondered Ron, fascinated by the letters as his blue eyes darted about, as though searching for his own name amongst the sea of 'To Mr Potter's, "you never know, some of these might be from fans?"
"Fans who are willing to pay up to ten sickles for a photograph?" added Lyra, coming up with a plan of action in case the opportunity arose. She had successfully duplicated the original autograph like planned and sweet-talked Harry into signing his Quidditch shots for any sports fans that made themselves known amongst his admirers. The success of Susan's purchase had drawn more students looking to buy Harry's autographs for themselves or their family outside of Hogwarts, and their genuine interest was gently lowering Harry's perfunctory guard towards his legacy. The more casual the fan interaction was, the more enthusiastic Harry seemed to be with his hyphenated title and more willing he was to discuss his notoriety.
Harry stared at the letters for a moment, taking his friends' questions seriously for the first time, and he eventually shrugged.
"Be my guest, open them if you want to," he told them, returning to his copy of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, "I doubt anyone will want to buy an autograph from a reckless, stupid child anymore though."
"I think you're being a little hard on yourself," interjected Hermione, frowning at him, "any hate mail stems from a false fact, they've based their judgement on something that's not true. You flew that car because you had little to no other choice, you didn't purposely crash into the greenhouses and the people writing to you don't know that so don't worry about it. That's not a true reflection of you."
"Yeah, Dobby did that, not you," reminded Lyra, joining in with Hermione's attempt to cheer Harry up, "and you know there's a very simple way to solve this whole thing, right?"
Harry arched a brow. "How?"
"By writing to the editor of the Prophetand requesting a retraction, duh! They can't print a bunch of lies and expect to get away with it! The public need to know the truth about their golden Boy-Who-Didn't-Die-That-One-Time," answered Lyra with a pretty smile, and she plucked a fresh piece of parchment from her backpack, uncapped her glittery punch pink gel pen, and searched the back page of the Prophet for a contact address.
"You can do that?" questioned Harry, glancing at Hermione who nodded, pleasantly surprised with Lyra's idea.
"They may ask for evidence though," she commented, scooting towards Lyra to help, "if you mention the Malfoys then they may write in and complain, or worse — sue you for slander."
"What if we trick Malfoy into confessing to being the mastermind behind our crash?" suggested Ron, happily procrastinating his Charms essay by tearing open Harry's correspondences, "maybe that could lead to the Prophet writing an exposé on his whole family, that would be the best front page story ever."
"Thinking of framing that particular headline already?" asked Lyra, and Ron sighed, sadly nodding as he daydreamed about ruining Draco's life.
"I'd hang it above my fireplace."
"But how would we trick him? Malfoy will never confess to being the one who asked Dobby to mess with us, and how would we send the confession to the papers?" Harry's questions poked holes in Ron's fantasy and he shrugged, failing to come up with a realistic plan.
"Stupid Hogwarts with its stupid no electricity rule," muttered Lyra under her breath, "a functioning video camera would solve all of our problems."
Her present from the Weasleys lay at the foot of her bed in the tower, any spare time she would have spent reading up on Magical Technological Theory was spent with Tom. Her plans of experimenting with her Muggle electronic devices had been temporarily postponed and she cursed herself for getting sidetracked.
"Hang on, what if…?"
Hermione's new unfinished thought hung in the air as she jumped to her feet and disappeared into the towering aisles of the library, her mind set on finding a particular book, and the remaining trio watched her go, wondering what she was thinking about.
"Are you going to mention Dobby in your letter?" wondered Harry when he noticed that Lyra started writing again, and she rolled her lips together, concentrating on her penmanship.
If she brought the Malfoys into this incident then they might try to discredit her. They could frame her as an untrustworthy thief who's known to spin a few lies, and then that would be a whole new story in itself… but it wasn't fair, her friends were in the right and nobody believed them.
Deep down she knew Dobby was the reason for Harry's troubles, the four of them had come to an agreement that Draco or his father were the true culprits after their letter troubles over the summer, and she needed to find out why they were insisting on ruining Harry's life. Are they really this hateful?
You said so yourself, Lucius is a dark wizard. He was a follower of Voldemort.
And Harry isn't just anybody…
"I think Dobby deserves a mention or two in this rework," Lyra decided, looping her Bs in the same fashion as the writing in her diary, "we'll come up with a way to get a confession out of Draco, and that's a Black guarantee. I'm merely doing my job as your manager, and don't worry Ron I'll make sure your name stays in this version too," she added when she noticed her cousin fidgeting nervously in his seat.
Both boys were chuffed with Lyra's result, Harry seemed particularly happy with the many mentions of Lockhart's abysmal teaching. He even suggested they include Lyra's photograph of the Hinkypunk fiasco for evidence, and she basked in Ron's laughter when he repeated her cruel descriptions of the Malfoys. Hermione eventually reappeared with two new books in her arms as Lyra signed her name at the very bottom and she caught the very end of her dramatic reading of her letter.
"—In summary, I want to reiterate that Mr Potter and Mr Weasley were not at fault for the incident that you reported on, the fault lies with Misters Malfoy and their house elf Dobby. Mr Lockhart is not a reliable source of information, as seen in the evidence in paragraph three. If the inaccurate article is not retracted then you will be hearing from myself on Mr Potter's behalf in the very near future. I look forward to your reply and I hope you have a pleasant evening, yours truly, Harry Potter's manager — Lyra Adelaide Black," she read out, finishing with a confident smile as the group looked moderately impressed.
"Change 'yours truly' to 'warmest regards'," advised Hermione smartly, "it's a little more passive aggressive."
"I like your style," Lyra giggled, replacing the glittery sign-off with a simple wand tap, and she popped the neatly folded letter into its envelope, "all we need is the actual evidence of Draco being a conniving little prick and it's good to go. Any ideas, gang?"
"I have a couple," revealed Hermione, flicking open the first of her new books, an advanced Transfiguration theory guide, "one of them requires me transfiguring your camera—,"
Lyra choked and clutched her chest, worried for her camera's livelihood. "What are you going to do to my baby?!"
"It'll still function like a regular camera, don't fret," Hermione assured her, smirking at her dramatics, "but I think you'll like this adjustment. Due to the way your camera works, the shutter opens and exposes the negative to a very specific light pattern thus creating a picture, but in theory if light is travelling through the shutter then sound is too? The shutter can't prevent vibrations from passing through when the photo is being taken." Lyra gasped, and Hermione's theory clicked into place in her brain like a missing puzzle piece.
"Have you found a charm that records sound and stores it in an object?" she asked, but her own voice echoed in her head and her mind drifted back to her own theories surrounding Tom.
He still hadn't told her explicitly how he ended up in his diary yet. All she knew was that the magic involved was performed by a phenomenally powerful wizard. At first she assumed he meant himself, but the way he phrased his explanations made it sound as though someone else had trapped him in his own diary against his will. Tom told her that he wasn't ready to be caged at the state he was in, he hinted that he was surrounded by enemies who wished for his disappearance while he was at Hogwarts, the fact he had unfinished business was a huge indicator that he was wronged in the past. The conditions of Tom's tormented life weren't easy to absorb and Lyra's own conspiracies were strengthened by his silence whenever she asked for more personal information. She believed wholeheartedly in Hermione's theory, you definitely can store more than just sound in an everyday object.
"I believe I have," said Hermione, trying not to look too proud of herself, and she politely asked for Lyra's camera as she mumbled many incantations under her breath. After a few light flickers of electric blues and scorching oranges, the camera shuddered and whirled in Hermione's palm as though it enjoyed the magical sensations. Lyra hissed out a quiet encouraging cheer when the plastic ring encasing the lens shimmered. It looked like it had been coated with a thin layer of glitter nail polish.
"That should do it," sighed Hermione, watching with bated breath as Lyra checked her camera for any damage before giving it a test-run. She had complete faith that Hermione had achieved the feat on her first attempt but she needed to be sure before she confronted Draco. Lyra turned to Ron and readied the camera, smiling at him in encouragement.
"Say 'I love Draco but I'm too afraid to admit it!'"
"I don't—?! What the—? Lyra! I don't fancy Malfoy!" Ron snapped back, his face burning up at the very thought, and Lyra hesitated, refusing to press the button.
"Your blush says otherwise!" she sang, "go on Ron, we're all friends here, just admit that you like him a teeny tiny bit."
"Piss off!" he exclaimed, forgetting momentarily that they were in the library and ducking down when a few heads turned towards him.
"You do talk about him a lot though," Harry piped up, double-crossing Ron who stared at him in betrayal, "especially at night when we're trying to go to sleep—,"
"I do not!" spluttered Ron, befuddled by Harry's decision to take Lyra's side, "that's so rich coming from you as well, you talk about him just as much as I do!"
"That doesn't mean anything, Harry obviously has a crush on Draco too," teased Lyra, switching the focus onto Potter as he looked far too smug beside his flaming friend. Harry's face froze mid-chuckle, stunned by the sudden whiplash from becoming the target.
"No I don't, Ron fancies Malfoy!"
"No, Harry fancies Malfoy!"
CLICK!
"You guys are so cute, maybe I'll hang the front page news coverage of your three-way wedding above my fireplace," cackled Lyra, wiping away a tear as she admired their effervescent faces. Fighting her own fits of laughter, Hermione shuffled over to wait for the developing Polaroid, and the pair of girls gasped as the photo came to life before their very eyes. It worked!
"No I don't, Ron fancies Malfoy! You love him!" said Harry as he shoved Ron.
"No, Harry fancies Malfoy! You want to marry him!" replied the spluttering image of Ron, pushing him back. The scene was a tad more dramatic and the constant loop of the audio could become grating if they were forced to listen to it for more than five minutes. Overall it was more than Lyra could have wished for, it was perfect!
"Hermione, you are a genius! I don't need the development potion anymore!" she squealed, smothering Hermione's face and subsequently her hair with many thankful kisses for being the logistical thinker that she was, "this is exactly what I need, thank you."
"You're gonna get rid of that, right?" interjected Ron who was scowling at the low-level squabble exuding from the Polaroid in Hermione's hands. It wasn't too loud nor was it too quiet, it sounded as though Harry and Ron had accumulated two softly spoken shadows that were blending in with the ambience of the library. Lyra had the chaotic urge to amplify the argument to its maximum volume for a laugh but she shook the urge away and shrugged instead.
"It's technically a historic artefact, if you think about it," she said with a pout, "this could be the first ever talking animated photograph in existence and you want to destroy it? Shame on you, Weasley."
"It's fine, she won't show anyone," assured Harry, glaring at Lyra who accepted it with another smile, "as my manager, she wouldn't want me publicly linked to the ghoul that's trying to ruin my life."
"Duh, did you not listen to my letter? Your secret crushes are safe with me," she scoffed, and Ron finally settled down and complimented Hermione on her work.
"What now?" prompted Harry, eager to continue the plan, "when are you confronting him?"
"Right now," said Lyra with certainty, double-checking the camera's film before packing up, "I want to send this letter off tonight."
"But we don't know where Malfoy is? Curfew will commence by the time we've hunted him down," Hermione, being the voice of reason, tried to suggest that they search for him before class tomorrow, but as an avid night owl Lyra shot her idea down instantly and plucked the suspiciously aged piece of parchment from her backpack. She had been dying for an excuse to show off her latest prize, and finally the perfect opportunity had presented itself on a newspaper-shaped platter.
"Get ready to have your minds blown," she proclaimed, dropping her voice for a theatrical effect, "watch as I transform this measly scrap of paper into the greatest map that Hogwarts has ever seen…" she cleared her throat and tapped it only once, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"
"Where did you get this? Did you draw this?!" whispered Hermione, her nose inches from the parchment as the ink continued to bleed onto the newly forming folds of paper, and Lyra repeated the tale the twins had told her. Ron was most upset that his brothers didn't trust him with such a prestigious item whereas Harry couldn't stop his onslaught of questions concerning the mysterious authors' note on its title page. Eventually their awe faded and they returned to their main issue as they searched its many folds for Draco's name. Ron, who became very distracted finding his own name on the map, found the Slytherin first when he checked the labels in the study rooms trailing off the library.
"Ugh, he's with his little gang," he pointed out, sneering at the footsteps pacing around the busy room, "maybe we should try and lure him away from them?"
"Nah, he might be more willing to admit to his crimes if he has an audience," concluded Lyra, slinging her backpack on and tousling her messy hair until she looked more professional, and the group set off towards the study rooms where the snakes were hiding.
As usual, they heard Draco before they saw him, his distinct whiny tone drifted out from the archways that led into the adjoining study wing and lured the group towards their target. Lyra crossed her arms and kept her camera snugly hidden in her robes, she didn't want to give Draco any indication that this was a set-up.
"What do you want?" spat Draco, interjecting his own story to snarl at the new arrivals who were hovering by the door. The harsh crease between his brows deepend when he locked eyes with Ron who matched his nasty grimace, "whatever it is, make it fast, Black. The stench coming off the weasel is already making my stomach turn."
"Jesus Christ, Draco, we've been here for less than ten seconds and you're already flirting with Ron, please control yourself," Lyra groaned, hoping to steer the conversation away from the inevitable argument between the proud pair, "stop eyeing him up and look at me for a moment."
"If you've come here to berate me then we can settle this outside," offered Draco as he reached for his wand and he glanced at his lounging friends on the sofa to secure his backup, but Lyra wasn't in the mood to fight tonight.
"Actually I came to see what you thought about the news. Have you read the paper this evening?" she asked cheerfully, keeping the mood light and her smile sweet as she caught the rest of the Slytherins' gazes. They seemingly weren't in the mood to involve themselves, Vincent was trying his best not to yawn and Blaise couldn't have looked more disinterested if he tried, so she crossed her fingers and hoped for a swift confession. "Don't suppose you saw it?"
"Really? You've come to gloat about that old news?" scoffed Draco, spying the newspaper in Hermione's arms, but Harry found his voice first and tried to bait him out.
"And weirdly you've not said a lot about it, that's very unlike you Malfoy," observed Harry, absently pushing his fringe out of his eyes and flashing his eye-catching scar at the group. Their eyes darted to his scar and Draco stifled his snicker with a discontented scoff.
"Not everyones' lives revolves around you, Potter, unlike the rest of the idiots at this school I really don't care about you or that unsightly deformity on your forehead," he said, his hands finding his hips as he straightened his spine, but Lyra spotted Thedore and Blaise swapping looks behind Draco's back that suggested otherwise. She wondered if Draco kept his roommates up at night bitching about Harry and Ron too. Gosh, they need to hurry up and kiss already!
"Funny you say that actually," replied Harry coolly, "wasn't it your house elf that was caught stealing my letters over the summer? If you're not a fan of mine then why the hell did you ask Dobby to do that? If you want an autograph then all you need to do is ask nicely."
"I didn't ask Dobby to do that but now I wish I told him to burn them instead of giving them back," shouted Draco, irked that his friends were exchanging more looks of confusion when he didn't deny Harry's claims, "just because he had them doesn't mean I'm some obsessed fan."
"If you're not Harry's biggest fan then why did Dobby have his letters? I saw them with my own two eyes, Draco, you can't keep avoiding the question," Lyra blurted out, growing more impatient with her stubborn cousin. They were drawing more gazes from around the study wing, Lyra noticed that Daphne and Millicent Bulstrode had paused their gossiping to watch, and she wasn't sure if the DailyProphet had a deadline for breaking news stories.
Draco slicked back a strand of white hair that had fallen into his eyes and concentrated on his answer with extreme caution. Lyra could see how much he was sweating on the inside by the quiver in upper lip, and she desperately wanted to slap some sense into him. Come on dude! Did he really know and was sworn to secrecy, or was he just being a wet blanket?
"I don't know, and I don't care," answered Draco through gritted teeth, showing the Gryffindors how much he despised their existence with his frown, "now go away!"
"Draco!" whined Lyra, stomping her foot and refusing to budge, "come on! Just tell the truth! Prove that you don't know!"
"And how the hell am I supposed to do that?!" he spat, more exasperated that he was being called a liar than with his rivals' inability to leave him alone.
"Call Dobby here and ask him why he stole Harry's letters," dared Lyra, her fingers tracing the delicate capture button of the camera in her robes. If Draco won't say it then Dobby certainly will, the truth will out eventually.
"Fine!" sassed Draco, meeting Lyra's sulky attitude with his own. "Dobby!"
Pop!
Draco didn't wait for his poor house elf to adjust to being surrounded by a dozen second years who were seeking out answers only he knew. Treating Dobby with kindness and civility was something Draco would never do. The cowering elf at his waist whimpered and craned his neck, daring to meet his master's cold eyes with a frightened smile.
"M-Master Draco?" he squeaked.
"Why did you steal Potter's letters?" asked Draco, making no attempt to sound invested in the answer.
A force came over the elf and he had no choice but to answer truthfully.
"...Dobby stole Harry Potter's letter because… Master Draco asked him to."
AH HA!
"WHAT?!" Draco roared, grabbing Dobby by the shoulders to scream in his terrified face, "no I didn't?!"
Both master and servant were whiter than fresh cotton sheets, the elf trembled as though he were standing on a tumble dryer, and Draco couldn't stop cursing and sweating. Lyra had to hand it to her ghoul of a cousin — he was a bloody good actor. If she didn't know any better she would have believed him if Dobby wasn't magically bound to tell his master the truth.
"Just as I thought," sighed Harry, relieved that he finally had an answer to his wretched questions, "so I can only assume that Dobby was also responsible for the barrier at Kings Cross sealing and the car malfunctioning when we got to Hogwarts?" He looked to Dobby with a disappointed smile and Dobby hung his head in shame, physically unable to look Harry in the eye. Holding her breath, Lyra snuck the camera from her robes and waited for the moment of truth.
Draco, flummoxed by his lying elf, turned back to Dobby and crouched down to his level, spitting flames as he looked him directly in his field green bulbous eyes. "Is that true, Dobby? Did you force Potter and Weasel to crash into the greenhouses?"
Dobby broke down and grabbed fistfuls of Draco's robes, wheezing and wailing as he sobbed.
"Dobby had t-to, Master Draco will n-never understand why—,"
CLICK!
"You little—!" shrieked Draco, he was so enraged by his elf's traitorous actions that he swung for him but the flash of Lyra's camera dazzled him momentarily, giving both Dobby and the Gryffindors a chance to get away. The adrenaline rush the four gained from succeeding with their speculative task spurred them on as they ran out of the library and they didn't slow until they reached the Owlery.
"I can't believe… that actually happened," heaved Ron, hanging onto the bannisters leading into the stone tower as he caught his breath, and he held the door open as they dashed in. Lyra spotted Apollo immediately amongst the owl-infested awnings, a thousand beady eyes stared down at the quartet as they waited for the giddy barn owl on the tower's second floor. A tap of Hermione's wand removed the splatters of bird droppings from the podium and they gathered around Apollo on his perch while Lyra duplicated the incriminating evidence as an extra precaution. She wasn't sure the editor would reply to her, let alone print the true version of the flying car incident, so the chances of her seeing Dobby absolutely destroy Draco were terribly slim. His flabbergasted face was picture perfect, it needed its own place amongst the others on the Draco page in her family album.
"Ask Dobby if he was responsible for the car crashing into the greenhouses," the disembodied voice of Harry came from the photograph in Lyra's grip, and the group watched the scene one last time to double-check they had definitely captured the right moment.
"Dobby? Is this true?" spat the furious-looking Draco, ignoring the wrinkles in his robes as he addressed the shaky elf, and Dobby's wail caused them to wince at the sudden increase in volume.
"Dobby had to! Dobby jinxed the flying car and caused Harry Potter's crash!"
"The Malfoys clearly mistreat Dobby," tutted Hermione, pouting as she thought of the fragile elf, "did you notice how violently he was shaking?"
Lyra agreed with a slow nod as she sealed the envelope with a silver star sticker, the polaroid safely tucked inside her retraction letter, and she kissed Apollo on his head as she readied him for his journey.
"He's terrified of the Malfoys, you should have seen him when I visited their manor," she clarified, "but unless he's freed, I don't think there's anything we can do to help, he's technically their property."
"He told me they punish him for speaking ill of them," admitted Harry with a sad sigh, "I know it was necessary to clear my name but I can't help but feel incredibly guilty for bringing attention to what he's done. Is there really no way we could help him?"
"House elves are weird though, it's a lot more complicated than you think," Ron piped up, trying to be the logical one, but the others didn't look convinced. "What? House elves exist to serve, they bloody love it!"
"Mhmm, yeah Dobby looked like he was loving every second back there," countered Hermione, grumbling in the shadows of the Owlery as she tried to keep her cool, but before Ron could defend his point of view Lyra cleared her throat and exaggerated her yawn, using her newfound fatigue as inspiration and suggesting that they retire for the evening. Proving Harry and Ron's innocence had drained her and she used the last of her energy to dish out three well-deserved high-fives.
The tapping of Apollo's beak on the window woke Lyra from her deep sleep the next morning, and she scrambled to let him in before he disrupted the rest of her dozing roommates. The morning sky was a hazy, pink blur, the sun hadn't broken through the clouds yet, and Lyra went to scold her owl for waking her up at dawn when she realised that the latest copy of The DailyProphet was clasped in his talons. Her warm, dense blanket of exhaustion vanished in a heartbeat. Lyra smacked her hand over her mouth, silencing her gasps of anticipation when she spotted a crisp white envelope stamped with the Prophet's logo tucked inside the tightly rolled paper. Oooooh please be good news!
Cautious of her heavy footsteps, Lyra tiptoed into the bathroom and curled up on the wide window ledge, using the groggy morning light as her reading guide. Ignoring her pounding heartbeat in her ears, she unfurled the newspaper and gawked at the headline that met her.
POTTER'S MANAGER BLACK SPILLS ALL: LOCKHART IN HOT WATER AND THE REAL TRUTH BEHIND THE FLYING CAR
Reported by R. Skeeter
Lyra patted herself on the back and cosied into the windowsill, leaning against the cool glass as she read the entertaining albeit highly embellished article. The journalist in charge took everything she said about Lockhart and ran wild with it, describing him as a 'witless phoney who couldn't tell a wand from a Bowtruckle' and she highlighted the direct quote from Ron that labelled him as 'the worst teacher to ever step foot inside Hogwarts' with a sigh of relief. He's be so annoyed if he didn't make the cut.
Sadly the minor counter-argument that Hermione wanted to include under the guise of playing devil's advocate didn't make the final edition but Lyra didn't particularly care for Hermione's crush on Lockhart. She knew she was still trying to convince herself that he was a decent human being at heart.
By the time she reached the section of the article that brought up the Malfoys, Lyra summoned Kreacher to bring her a cup of tea and she slowly slurped it down as she divulged on the dramatisation of Dobby's confession, smirking to herself as she read the proclamation that Harry and Ron were, in fact, in the right all along.
…The cause of Potter's crash was the works of the Malfoy family house elf, Dobby — an abstruse twist in the tale, a twist that no one was expecting… or is it? For those who do not know, the Malfoy family, which is headed by esteemed Pureblood Lucius Malfoy, aged thirty seven, brushed elbows with the wrong side of history and the allegations of Lucius' dark past doesn't fare well against these new claims. Why has the elf of an exonerated Death Eater been causing havoc for the Boy-Who-Lived?
"Because he's a bitter old man, duh," answered Lyra out loud, making herself laugh. The picture of Dobby admitting to his crimes looped in the corner of the page and she admired it for a few moments. The strange reaction Blaise was pulling in the background became funnier each time it played, but her eyes zoned in on her own name in the conclusion of the article and she decided to finish her reading before starting her exciting school day.
...Of course, as an established journalist it is my duty to tell you that all of the facts you read here came from Miss Lyra Black, self-proclaimed manager to Potter and, as you all know, the daughter of deranged mass-murderer Sirius Black. A strange sentence to write and an even stranger one to read, I can assure you that I asked myself whether I was hallucinating when I read her letter late last night, but a fascinating sentiment nevertheless. The daughter of an infamous Death Eater managing the hero that vanquished the very man her family adored? I know eyebrows will be raised across the country this morning as we question whether this odd partnership should continue for the sake of Potter's reputation. Could Black be secretly plotting the downfall of the Boy-Who-Lived, or is this simply a friendship spawned from sheer coincidence?
Overall, it is clear that Black takes her role extremely seriously and the sources of her information have been verified by our teams to be free from tampering, so I must commend Miss Black on her journalistic integrity in wanting to tell the truth. Maybe doubt should be cast for the young Black heir, but only time will tell.
"Aw," Lyra pouted at the newspaper and gave in to her deflating shoulder slump, "that was… nice?"
She wasn't entirely sure whether the author of the article R. Skeeter had just insulted her or complimented her. Her inference that she was somehow planning on ruining Harry's life hurt like a stab in the chest for the most part, but the vague doubling-back made it sound as though they were merely covering all angles of the story. Fair enough, they don't know me personally, but still —ouch! The letter from the editor was painfully generic and she barely glanced at the well-wishes and apologies that were sent her way. She wasn't the one who deserved an apology.
Pleased that her main goal of clearing Harry's name had been achieved, Lyra saved the newspaper clipping in her family photo album and collapsed back in bed, the idea of sleep far from her mind now. Her hand automatically searched under her pillow for the cool leather of her diary and her stomach erupted with Tom-centric butterflies when she flicked to the front page and traced the sketched lines of his smouldering face with the tip of her finger.
"Good morning, Tom," she gently scrawled on the next free page, evoking the spirit of the boy she was always nervous to talk to, and she bit her smile when he replied with haste.
"I thought I sensed a soft presence. Good morning, Lyra, I've missed you," he greeted, his sentence trailing directly underneath hers, "I hope you slept well, if at all."
"It depends how you define well," she told him honestly, still vexed that the sun had barely risen and she was wide rushed to reply before her pen touched the page again.
"I don't care for sleep either, but sleep opens the mind up to the possibility of dreams, and I had hoped that you were dreaming of me…"
Numb, lethargic wriggles of heat devoured Lyra's freckled face like licking tongues of fire, she beamed at his poetry and flicked to the front page once more to enhance her daydream. She used his enticing face as inspiration and scrambled to write her own soppy response before he assumed she had lost interest.
"You're always on my mind, Tom, I don't need to dream to see your face."
"Oh how I envy you, Black…" his words bled a little from his urgency, "if I could just see yours… a second is all I need…"
"Morning!"
Lura jumped, snapped her diary shut, and gave Sally-Ann a dazed smile. Her mind was still with Tom and she was starting to wonder whether it ever left.
The beeping of Parvati's alarm clock synced with the chirping of Hermione's and Lyra shoved her diary under her duvet with a forced stretch, but she succumbed to the pleasurable waves through her body when her joints cracked and Tom was reluctantly swept from her mind for the time being. The innate pull from her diary was getting harder to resist, simply talking to Tom wasn't enough anymore and she began to resent her busy schedule for separating her from him. She was supposed to be focusing her spare time on helping Tom escape the diary, and she was running around managing Harry and writing to the papers instead. She needed to sort out her priorities…
To Lyra's chagrin, however, her priorities resorted themselves later that night when she returned to the common room after a strenuous day of being put in the spotlight alongside Harry and Ron. The article was the number one topic on everyone's lips, everywhere she went she encountered some sort of reference to the Prophet and she endured the taunts from the older students with a false smile and a middle finger. For some reason the implication of her secretly planning to betray Harry struck a chord with them and they praised her for being a sneaky snake. Despite their jabs, the rest of the school were happy to read about her trashing Lockhart and praised her for bringing him down a peg or two. Thankfully she didn't have Defence Against the Dark Arts today and she hardly caught a glimpse of Gilderoy's golden hair at either meal times, she had no a clue how well he took the news.
But The Daily Prophet headline and all of the attention it brought was hastily pushed aside when she spotted the new posters on the Gryffindor noticeboard. Lyra made a conscious effort to check the noticeboard every single day, she hated how oblivious she was last year and the embarrassment she felt when her friends caught her out on a vital piece of information was an experience she would like to forget. Tom wouldn't approve of that behaviour. The second she walked through the portrait she beelined for the noticeboard and squealed in delight when she zoned in on Oliver Wood's poster.
Chaser Tryouts start this Saturday at midday - sign up below.
"Pen?! I need a pen! Help!" cried Lyra, patting her pockets for a spare quill, pen, pencil - hell, she'd even take a lipstick right now. Harry came to her aid when he dropped his quill into her hand.
"It's not a race, you don't need to be the first name on the list," assured Hermione absently, scanning the posters for the other extracurricular clubs that were now available to them, "oooh we have an Astronomy club?"
"But I want to show Wood that I'm very serious about this position," justified Lyra, signing her name at the very top with extraordinary care, "especially if I want to join another club as well."
"What club were you thinking of joining?" wondered Ron, eyeing up the names on the Chess club poster without making his intentions too obvious, and Lyra tapped her nails on the board, darting her eyes all over the place in search for, in her opinion, the best club out there. But it wasn't there. Wait, what?!
"Can you see the Duelling club sign up sheet anywhere? Ron, you're taller than me—,"
"And understatement of the year goes to," interjected Harry snidely, making Ron snicker.
"—can you please check the top of the board for me?" she finished as she turned to smack Harry.
"The Duelling club isn't active," piped up one of the sixth years nearby, eavesdropping on the conversation as they signed up to the Hogwarts Green Thumb committee, "it hasn't been for years so good luck finding the poster."
"What? But the Duelling club is by far the superior club!" complained Lyra to anyone who would listen, "what the hell?!"
The disappointing blow of having her dream of becoming the Duelling club champion of Hogwarts crushed before her eyes ruined her vibe immediately. Spending the rest of her evening talking to Tom was the perfect antidote to receiving devastating news so she went to wish her friends a good night when Harry grabbed her arm, forcing her to stay just a moment longer.
"I was thinking, and only if you wanted to, we could head down to the Quidditch pitch and practise for your tryout? I know you don't have a broom right now but you can borrow mine?" he suggested, catching her off guard with a thoughtful idea.
Lyra internally cursed herself for having to make a decision, but the dark twinkling eyes in the book hidden in her robe pocket were too irresistible. She wanted to finish their conversation from earlier, and Harry would understand.
"That sounds awesome but I'm really sorry, can we do that tomorrow night instead? I'm knackered and after all of the excitement today I need some time to myself," she promised him, fluttering her lashes to secure the deal, and Harry seemed content with their change in plans. Squeezing his arm in gratitude, Lyra waved her friends goodnight and retired to her dorm, hiding her girlish giggles behind her thick curtain of hair as she skipped.
After scrubbing off her hard days work in the shower and winding down with some pampering tips from one of Molly's beauty books, Lyra pulled on her pyjama shorts and her Gryffindor jersey sweater before climbing into bed and closing her curtains for extra privacy.
"Lumos," she muttered, illuminating her little scarlet bubble in soft orange light before retrieving Tom from her robes. The anxious flutters came tumbling back when she opened the diary up and flopped onto her stomach, diving head first into Tom's world with a simple doodle of an eye.
"Have you come to tease me again, Black?" asked Tom, starting the conversation before her drawing was complete. Lyra added the final eyelash and smirked, wondering how far she could push him tonight. Teasing Tom was like a game of cat and mouse, she could only go so far before he took offence and ended the game with a swipe of his sharp claws. Luckily for Lyra, she was a sly mouse that had never been caught.
"I never intended to tease you, being here at Hogwarts means I have a timetable to follow," she wrote back, "if I could write to you all day then I would."
"One day soon we'll be able to talk to one another, then you won't have to write to me ever again," he swore to her, and Lyra blushed into the collar of her jumper, shying away from his lovely promises. She had no idea what she was going to say when they eventally meet face to face.
"When will that day be? I need some time to come up with some witty jokes to impress you," she joked, sliding the question under the radar and praying that he would share some insight into the plans he was making.
"I'm still not entirely sure, it's complicated…" His pacing slowed as he edged towards new revelations, and Lyra held her breath, "my coming into existence again will be tough, few will understand. There are people who are still alive that will want me dead, and I fear that they will hurt you if they discover that you're helping me."
"Are these people the same people that imprisoned you in this book?" asked Lyra, daring to ask the question that was at the forefront of her mind, and her heart skipped when Tom answered.
"Yes."
I knew it!
"I won't let them hurt you, Tom," Lyra assured him, with no trace of humour in her writing, "I know this must be hard for you to talk about so thank you for trusting me enough to share. You don't have to tell me who it is if you don't want to. It's completely natural to feel scared, I would be shitting myself if I was trapped in a book for all of eternity by someone who wanted me dead."
Of course she didn't know exactly how he was feeling, to constantly fear for your life despite spending almost half a century inside a book was truly a terrifying predicament she hoped she would never experience. But she understood how it felt to be hated and she knew fear all too well, she saw herself in Tom. Tom deserved her help, he was just as deserving of love and attention as she was, and she laughed at herself when she realised that she was slowly adopting other neglected orphans as friends. Man, if Danielle could see me now... I wonder if she could help Tom too?
"No, thank you for understanding, you have no idea how much it means to me that I have your support," wrote Tom, and his sentence continued in an attempt to brighten the mood, "but enough about me, I want to hear about your day."
"My day was hectic as usual but it was ruined moments ago when I found out the Duelling Club doesn't exist anymore," she confessed, letting out her anger with a few more scrawls, "this school fucking sucks."
"Hogwarts certainly has its bad qualities, I agree," wrote Tom, tracing over Lyra's crude outburst with his own ink, "but I suppose this could be a new challenge for you, Miss Black. Who's to say that you cannot reinstate it yourself?"
Lyra nibbled the end of her sparkly dark purple gel pen and nodded at Tom's proposal. It couldn't be that difficult to spark interest amongst the student body, the inclusion of tournaments and themed club meetings would certainly catch people's attention, and she was in second year now. If she could join the Quidditch team then why couldn't she start a Duelling club? Note to self, check out the Duelling club manual from the library.
"Wise words, Tom… maybe I'll think about it… but only maybe," she teased him, holding back her hasty agreement to his ideas in an act of playing hard to get, and she giggled when he scribbled back.
"You're very lucky that we are not in proximity of each other, your cheek will get you into trouble one day."
"Was there an active Duelling club when you were at school?" wondered Lyra, furthering her teasing by changing the topic.
"There was, but only for one year," admitted Tom, "accidents happen and sadly the faculty deemed the club highly dangerous, but I believe they were waiting for any old excuse to shut the club down. In my time the staff were obnoxiously cautious and hazard-wary, one stray stunning spell would send them into a safety frenzy, it was nauseating."
"That's a shame, I bet you would have won the Duelling tournament if you had the chance," she complimented him, dreaming of watching him perform, and as though he was intune with her thoughts Tom asked her a question of his own.
"Would you like to see me in action?"
Lyra blinked.
"What? How?"
"Just wait…"
In an instant Lyra felt something powerful ooze from the diary. She grasped it with both hands and felt the invisible force wrap around her arms and snake around her neck, like tentacles made of static and atoms invisible to the naked eye. It wasn't heavy or frightening, it was simply magic. Lyra watched as the boxed date marking the corner of the page flashed, purposely catching her eye. As she brought the diary closer to inspect the odd square she felt the force attached to her body yank her forwards and she fell head first into the memory of a fourteen-year-old Tom Riddle.
The second Lyra opened her eyes she felt the stillness of time, or the lack of, she knew the reality around her wasn't real.
She was standing in a dimly lit classroom, she could tell by the moisture dripping down the stone walls and the dankness of the air that she was in the dungeons, but the students milling around the classroom weren't attending a lesson. The tables were piled against the far wall to make way for the extensive stretch of staging that acted as the Dueller's pathways. Lyra recognised the particular positioning of the mats on the floor and shuffled closer towards the focus of the room to witness a real Duelling club meeting with her own two eyes. This… is… awesome!
"The meeting is now in session, I will be residing as the temporary club leader due to the fact that our president Doherty is still lying unconscious in the hospital wing," called out strapping dark-skinned Ravenclaw from the left side of the staging, but a dark mutter directly behind Lyra pricked her ears and her entire body tingled as goosebumps appeared along her bare legs.
"Such a pity, no wonder the club is electing a new leader if he can't stay awake for anything longer than a day," chortled Riddle, stirring up chuckles of agreement from his posse that were positioned around them.
Lyra instinctively spun around and froze on the spot when she came face to face with Tom. He looked younger than the picture she drew, he wasn't as tall as the boy in her dreams but he had the same enigmatic gaze, the same sharpening features, the same haunting aura that made Lyra weak at the knees. She tried not to blush as he smirked at the Ravenclaw on the stage but when he stepped forward to accept the vice-president's challenge to duel she realised that he couldn't see her, he walked straight past her as though she were nothing but air. The sinking feeling of disappointment wasn't pleasant but she ignored it as she watched Tom square up to the boy who was three years his senior.
"Don't test me, Riddle," growled the Ravenclaw, squaring his shoulders as he looked down at his Slytherin opponent, "you're the reason Doherty is in the bloody hospital wing, one more slip up and you're out."
Tom graciously bowed towards the older boy and blessed him with a handsome smile, and Lyra swooned a little from the sidelines.
"Then by all means, give me something to slip on, Fredricks. Perhaps a few drops of your blood?"
Lyra didn't even see Tom's hand move; he was so fast, his vicious red spell ricocheted off of the Ravenclaw's torso like a spiralling firework and he disarmed his opponent with another fancy flick of his wrist. In five seconds flat the boy was on his knees and Tom had barely uttered a word.
"Woooo!" cheered Lyra, cupping her hands around her mouth as she celebrated Tom's clear win, "Tom, that was amazing!"
The moment his name left Lyra's lips, she felt a sudden change all around her, something occurred that wasn't supposed to be.
The memory slowed to a stop, bodies seized in position and the story came to a standstill around her. One of the boys on the stage was free to move and think like never before - the memory was changing, it was becoming something else. Tom caught his breath and searched the room in a panic, desperately trying to figure out what was going on, but he found Lyra's speechless freckled face in the crowd of old classmates and he froze on the spot, transfixed by her presence.
"Lyra," he finally spoke, his voice thick with an unprecedented pressure, "I can see you… finally, I can see you."
From across the room she flashed him a shy smile and waved awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do. She had never felt so self-conscious before, did she look alright?
"Hi!"
Without taking his eyes off of her, Tom jumped down from the stage and stormed over to her, confusion mixed with elation written into the lines of his beautiful face.
"What's happening? Are you doing this?"
"Doing what?" repeated Lyra, arching a brow.
"I shouldn't be able to see you," he said slowly, memorising every freckle on her face while he had the chance, "but I couldn't be happier…"
Lyra felt her heart jump into her mouth, she could barely breathe. The way he was looking at her made her feel infinite, she felt almost worthy.
"Why?" she whispered.
"Because seeing your face makes me feel human for the first time in forever. I feel honoured to be in the capable hands of such a beautiful girl…"
His hypnotic hiss beguiled Lyra's senses and she reached out to touch his hand — but that was a huge mistake and the laws of the universe reacted how they saw fit.
NO!
LYRA, SAVE YOURSELF BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE!
But Lyra couldn't hear the voices in her head, they were a whisper compared to her thumping heartbeat.
Tom reacted to Lyra's gesture and he took her hand, intertwining his long fingers with hers, but he couldn't hold on for too long. Physical contact was strictly against the rules, but the players seemed to have special permission from the person in charge. Everything around them faded into darkness and Lyra could only focus on Tom's unfathomable eyes, they seemed to go on forever.
"I can feel… something else within you," whispered Tom, his bewitching voice slowly surrounding her, "there are more people here… Lyra, what is that—?"
But the diary had reached its limit, it couldn't stand the incredible force any longer and it spat her out, fearing for its own fatality.
Lyra fell from her bed and crashed onto the floor face first, knocking over her bedside table in the process. She collected her bearings and hurriedly rearranged her confounded expression into something more sleepy and startled-looking when Lavender and Hermione poked their heads from behind their curtains. A lot of time had passed, all of her roommates were in their beds.
"I got tangled in my covers," she blurted out, avoiding their faces, "don't ask."
"Only you…" sighed Hermione, pursing her lips at her offbeat friend but Lyra was safe to return to her own dwellings without rousing any suspicion. The diary laid at the foot of her bed, its front page wide open so Tom could absently stare at her canopied crimson ceiling, lying there as though nothing had happened. What curious magic… and he says I'm full of surprises!
As Lyra burrowed under her duvet with the diary resting beside her, the sketch repositioned to face her as she lay, she couldn't stop repeating her interaction with Tom. She was too nervous to write back now, nothing she came up with would exemplify her feelings right now. It was like a dream come true, speaking to him face to face reasserted her fast-growing crush and she couldn't stop repeating Tom's words as she drifted off to sleep smiling to herself.
"I feel honoured to be in the capable hands of such a beautiful girl…"