Lyra wasn't sure whether it was the stomach full of butterflies or the gentle tapping of rain on the windows that woke her up in the early hours of the morning. Once she realised that it was too dark to officially start the day, she didn't turn over and attempt to doze off again like she would have before. Instead, she smiled.
"Lumos," she whispered, her voice still weak from her short sleep. The soft light from her wand illuminated her pillow and she sighed, basking in the milky glow as she blindly searched for her most treasured belongings underneath her head. Wary of disturbing the sleeping girls outside of her bed, Lyra used her duvet as a shield and snuggled down, her glittery gel pen in hand and Tom's face on her mind.
Waking up before dawn was Lyra's new strategy, she needed more time to speak to Tom and officially start his plans so she asked Tom for some suggestions on how she could minimise her sleep without damaging her body. Staying awake at night wasn't a problem, waking up before anyone else was the real challenge she had to overcome, mornings just weren't her cup of tea.
As suspected, Tom was keen on her idea and he taught her how to brew a simple regeneration potion, another one of his secret recipes that could be achieved outside of Hogwarts if necessary, and Lyra thanked him with a tirade of sweet compliments and many happy faces. She even dared to sneak in a couple of love hearts too and her heart swelled with affection when he darkened them, as though emphasising a hidden meaning with his own black ink.
"Promise me that you will be careful with this particular potion, Lyra," he wrote underneath the black heart that had captivated her, "I do not recommend that you drink this more than three times a week, you cannot survive on this alone and I don't want you to get hurt. Please, for me."
She didn't hesitate and promised to follow his instructions. An ever-growing part of her hoped that he truly cared about her wellbeing, that he felt something more for her than the simplicities of friendship, but regardless of her own feelings she knew it would be dumb to go against her mentor's word. The potion worked perfectly and so far she deemed her demo week of drinking the delightfully sour orange elixir a success, Lyra had never been prouder of herself.
"Did you actually sleep, Miss Black? It feels as though I had just finished wishing you the sweetest of dreams," greeted Tom before her pen touched the page, and Lyra scoffed.
"I did dream, but I'm done dreaming. I know it must be hard for you to remember since you haven't had a body for so long but that's usually how sleep works."
"If I had a body then your words would cut my skin deep, Lyra. Why must you hurt me so?"
"I'm sorry," she bit her lip, hindering her grin, "it's wrong to discriminate against the bodiless, you're right… but speaking of being bodiless—," Lyra tried to segway into figuring out the first step of Tom's grand plan but he sought to stop her with his own sentences.
"Never have I met a girl so small with so much determination," he complimented her, "you've barely been awake for five minutes and you're already galvanised to take on the world."
"You can flatter me all you want, Riddle, I'm not changing the subject. It doesn't work when I know what you're doing."
"There goes that determination again," he added after own words, trailing with his own flecks of stray ink.
"And I want to use this determination so you should totally tell me what you're thinking regarding your marvellous schemes so pretty, pretty please…" Lyra habitually fluttered her lashes at the book as though he could see her, "before I get bored and toss you out."
"You'd never throw me away. You'd miss me too much."
Lyra felt her face heat up as she continuously re-read his claim, he was right. "Yeah, yeah… only because you've earned me almost a hundred house points already."
"Liar," he underlined her fable, "I know you've been dreaming about me, Black. I can sense your emotions in your writing, I can feel your wishes and your wants whenever you bless me with your soft presence, and I know that you can sense the connection between us. I know because I saw it in your eyes, I felt it when I touched you."
It took a moment for Lyra to compose herself and soften her effervescent smile cramping her cheeks.
"And what exactly did you feel?"
"You tell me," challenged Tom, and her heart almost burst out of her chest, it was beating so fast she could see her pyjama shirt pulse. Rushing to think of something witty, Lyra wiggled into a straighter position with her pen between her teeth and took her time with her reply.
"I'll tell you when we meet properly," she decided, saving herself for another day.
She didn't want to say the thing she was thinking in case she was wrong and she humiliated herself in front of him, what if Tom didn't like her back? She was younger than him, he could easily dump her the second he escaped the diary, she might not live up to his expectations in the real world? The list of her negative expectations was endless but she tried not to spiral too much. Was she overthinking this too much? Or should she be thinking more about it?
Having a crush was beyond frustrating, let alone on a boy that was stuck in a book.
"You're a quick learner, Lyra, I think I may have underestimated you. You're more mature than you let on," admitted Tom, "we will meet very soon, I promise you."
"How soon?" she asked, not bothering to act coy.
"The task I am asking of you isn't easy, you must understand this," he confessed, "extracting a soul from a diary isn't—,"
"Ah, so it's your soul that's trapped!"
Lyra jumped at the slice of new information, devouring it in one bite. The mystery surrounding Tom's condition was always gnawing at the back of her mind, she hungered for the tiniest detail in their conversations in the hopes of unlocking another section of the entire tale and finally he had let a secret slip. It wasn't a single body part, or a body at all — it was his soul. Her whole body tingled at the revelation, it inspired something within her.
"Fascinating! So, we have to figure out a way to syphon your soul from the book and into…?" she trailed off, hoping he would fill in the blank yet crucial details.
But Tom didn't write back for a couple of minutes, and the longer the silence grew the faster her smirk faded. Had she said the wrong thing? She cringed at the thought of her accidentally scaring him off but her anxious bubble popped with a sigh of relief when he finally scribbled back.
"...Into my own body. I believe there is a way that I can be fully restored to the state I was in when I was trapped."
Lyra's jaw dropped, the image on the diary's front page flashed before her eyes, and she squirmed at the idea of seeing that version of Tom again.
"How do we do that?" She continued to press for information, fuelled by her desire to see the hauntingly handsome boy outside of her dreams.
"It involves a type of magic that many do not understand, that most are too weak to perform," he wrote, "but I believe you have what it takes to master this particular aspect of magic, and with that determination of yours I know you will exceed all of my expectations. I cannot begin to envisage all of the beautiful creations you will produce once I am able to mentor you from outside of this diary. It won't be simple, the intricacy of this magic requires a lot of might. You need to be open-minded and inclined to accept whatever challenges will be thrown your way, but most of all, it will force you to break all the limitations of your power and it is of utmost importance that you stand your ground and fight."
Lyra re-read his paragraph a couple of times before fully absorbing his words, and her smirk doubled in size. Trying not to look smug, Lyra flicked her wild bed hair out of her eyes and agreed to his terms. She was a smart girl with an attraction to unconventional and dangerous things, pushing herself to her limit wasn't something she was scared of, and she loved a challenge. She was the epitome of the perfect candidate.
"You're right to trust me with your soul, I can handle anything," Lyra made sure to emphasise her courage with bolder letters, "What type of magic is it?"
"The closest description would be Necromancy," explained Tom, and Lyra froze, a little taken aback.
She knew what Necromancy meant, she had dreamt about communicating with the dead many times in her sadder moments, but never in her wildest dreams did she think that Necromancy was real?! The logical part of her brain reminded her that Muggle fiction wasn't accurate, she knew it was impossible to raise the dead but she couldn't help but think of her mother. Could there be a way…? Lyra waited for some sort of defence to trigger in her mind, the voices in the back of her head always spoke some sense into her but her usually busy train of thought had been silent recently. Today was no different, there were no negative counter-arguments to be heard.
"I didn't know Necromancy was real," she admitted, using her innocence to gain more intel, "I thought that was used on the dead? Also isn't it supposed to be impossible to bring someone back from the dead? And you're not dead so how is this relevant to this situation?"
"But what is the true definition of 'dead'? Is it a soulless corpse rotting in the earth, or is it the soul of a being with no body? Is it a ghost? Or an intangible form?" countered Tom, opening Lyra's mind up to broader possibilities, "the theories of life and death are complicated but they are navigable, especially to those who are searching for the truth. But again, what we shall be experimenting with isn't Necromancy in its fullest form, some would call it a subservient branch that extends from the tree of Necromancy. I am not dead, and we do not need Death's interference."
Lyra immediately jumped to the worst case scenario. "What if we accidentally kill you? What if I screw up?"
"Then I suppose you will have to master the true art of Necromancy, so maybe try not to screw this up," he joked, "it'll be harder to master without me here to guide you."
"But what if—,"
"Listen to me, Lyra — we won't fail," he rushed to tell her, his handwriting a little rough from his speed, "you won't kill me in the process, I believe in you. I promise you that everything will work out if you follow my instructions."
"Good!" she scribbled with an easier smile, believing every word, "I'll hold you to that promise, Riddle."
A sudden hankering for a hot cup of tea brought Lyra out of her diary and she peeked behind her bed curtains to check the time.
The sky beyond the Gryffindor Tower was still gloomy and miserable, the splatters of water barely visible against the panes, but the soothing hammering of rain drew her out from her bed and she decided to move her conversation downstairs. Calling Kreacher while she was in her dorm wasn't a smart idea, she knew he would cause a scene if it meant ruining everyone's morning, so she slipped on her dressing gown and tiptoed out of the room with her diary clutched to her chest.
As expected the common room was dark and deserted, the sound of heavy rain was much louder in here compared to her dorm. It hung in the rafters of the tower and she enjoyed its calming melody. As though sensing her presence, candles flickered to life and the low burning coals in the fireplace crackled until they tripled in size to accommodate the early bird who flopped onto the squishy loveseat by the window.
"Kreacher!" called Lyra, admiring the threatening splatters on the glass beside her. She didn't mind the rain, there was always something so exciting about venturing out into a downpour.
Pop!
"Mistress is up… early?" croaked Kreacher in confusion, appearing by the fireplace with a hesitant bow.
"Or maybe I'm up really late, maybe I haven't slept," she countered, greeting him with a friendly smile, "can you fetch me a cup of tea please?"
"Kreacher knows when Mistress stays up all night," he disregarded her attempt to mislead him, and she cocked a brow. A black steaming mug of citrusy tea appeared in Kreacher's hands as though he had been holding it the entire time, and she thanked him profusely when he passed it to her.
"How can you tell?" she wondered, blowing on her drink before testing it with her lips, and Kreacher's bloodshot eyes zoned in on the bird's nest on top of her head.
"Mistress always looks tangled when she wakes up."
Lyra automatically attempted to comb through her messy hair. As though proving his point, her nails got stuck within her long locks and she pouted at Kreacher, asking for his sympathy without making a sound. To her surprise, Kreacher cracked the smallest of smiles and hobbled over to help her.
"But I'm still cute though? You can't deny that," she asked him as he freed her, and she smirked when he rolled his eyes at her snarky attitude. Not wanting to push anymore of his buttons, Lyra thanked Kreacher with a shoulder squeeze and sent him back to London, and she gave herself a small pat on the back when he disappeared without a pessimistic grumble. Wow! Actual progress!
Feeling significantly more invigorated from the forever comforting scent of bergamot, Lyra returned to her diary and prepared herself for another intense conversation with Tom. The butterflies in her stomach were always so eager to return to him, they were just as addicted to him as her head and her heart, she could feel her increased heart rate in the tips of her fingers and her tongue.
"I was beginning to think you had abandoned me again," scrawled Tom, sensing her rare delicate touch, "good girl."
Lyra's entire head flushed bright bubblegum pink and she sunk into the sofa's cushions, immensely gratified by his praise. "You know that I keep you on me at all times, right? Technically I've never abandoned you," she admitted.
"I know."
Another surprise. "How?"
"I can feel you," he confessed, "whenever you are near, I've never felt warmth like you before. Ever since I've been confined to spending the rest of my days in this book I've never been able to feel anything for myself, let alone another person… but somehow I can feel you. It's like varying degrees of sunshine depending on how close you are, your light is sun on my skin and I savour the heat until it fades and you disappear again. No one else can do that, Lyra, not everyone is as powerful and as exceptional as you."
"I think my head just grew two inches," she encouraged him, too flustered to actually process his inky affirmation, "what can I, your treasured handler and quote 'powerful and exceptional' witch, do for you, sir? What's our first step? Please, Riddle…"
"Let's see…" Tom didn't finish his thought on purpose, Lyra could tell he was in the mood to tease her. Before he managed to flesh out the first stage of his plan on the page, she heard a set of footsteps coming from the boys dormitories and she shoved her diary into her dressing gown just as the door creaked open.
"I thought I heard something," greeted Harry through his yawn, poking his head out of the door. His initial frown melted and he smiled when he realised Lyra was the culprit of the mysterious popping sound, "have you actually gone to bed?"
Her frustration at being interrupted vanished and she perked up, smirking at his light jab.
"Wow, why does everyone always assume that I don't sleep?" she guffawed, "yes, Potter, I promise that I went to bed."
Harry pointed at the darkness beyond the windows, "and you know that it's still dark out? Are you feeling ok?"
"Yes!" laughed Lyra, shuffling up on the sofa to free up some space beside her, "I'm trying this new thing called 'waking up early', you should be encouraging me not teasing me."
"But on a Saturday?" continued Harry, unable to stop himself from winding her up, and Lyra blinked.
Wait, it's Saturday? One of the downsides to taking Tom's energy potion was her new inclination to forget the date, it was difficult to keep track of the darkening autumn days while running on so little sleep. She tended to go with the flow once everyone woke up.
"I don't want to break my streak," Lyra answered back, happy with her own explanation, "why are you up anyways?"
"Couldn't sleep," he muttered, shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets and revealing a bitter frown, "I've been having these weird vivid dreams lately and they keep waking me up really early," he admitted after a moment of silent debate, "I've been trying to get back to sleep for the past hour."
"Oooh what weird dreams?" pried Lyra, interested in taking a peek inside her best friend's head. You can tell a lot about a person by their dreams, and a tiny part of Lyra wondered if his scar affected the way he saw the world while he was asleep.
"They're not really about anything, that's what's so weird about them," explained Harry, crumpling his brow as he strained his memory, "I don't remember how they start, I don't know where I am when I'm in them, and then my heart starts pounding like I'm about to have a panic attack which then wakes me up. It's more annoying if anything, I can't seem to stop them."
"How long has this been going on?" she wondered, wanting to pinpoint the source of his anxiety in the hopes of helping him. Lyra knew an anxiety dream when she heard one.
"A couple of weeks, but it's fine, don't worry about them I'm sure it's nothing," Harry waved away her fixing attempts by changing the subject, "how are you feeling about today?"
Duh, it's Saturday! The tryouts! Lyra's stomach somersaulted, churning her tea round and round until she felt nauseous and her palms started to sweat. In the thrill of chatting to Tom she had completely forgotten that the Quidditch Tryouts were happening today!
"Yeah, great! I can't wait!" Lyra assured Harry, flashing him a false grin. She didn't feel entirely ready to perform today, especially in the pouring rain, but Harry matched her forced energy and encouraged her to think positively.
Ever since she signed up, Harry became her biggest supporter. He really wanted her to join the team and he was first to swap handy flying tips or to offer last minute practice whenever she had a free hour to spare, and Lyra felt awfully guilty for not being as prepared as she should have been. If she screwed this tryout up then she didn't know whether she could look Harry in the eye ever again, she had to show off and prove that she wasn't all bark and no bite.
"You can totally say no if you want to because, well, just look at it out there," Lyra gestured to the rain cascading down the drizzly grey window beside them, making the slowly lightening sky look more dismal than it was, "but pretty, pretty please can we go flying one last time? I don't want to slip off during the tryouts, I need rain training." She batted her eyelashes extra hard, desperately trying to persuade him to say yes as the dissuading pounds of rain filled the silence between them, and Harry narrowed his eyes in consideration.
"...Ask Kreacher to fetch us some bacon sandwiches and a cup of tea and we have a deal, Black," he offered, stretching his hand out towards her, and she shook it with a lot of enthusiasm, proving her gratitude. My hero!
"You've got yourself a deal, Potter! Aw man you're the best," she agreed, giving him a quick side hug before bouncing onto her feet, but the weight of the diary in her pocket was a reminder that she was blowing Tom off again and guilt hit her like a punch in the throat. He'll understand… Tom cares about me, he values my interests.
When Lyra retreated to her dorm to get ready, she snuck into the bathroom with her diary and summoned the courage to admit to Tom that she had a change of plan. The throbbing in her throat got worse when she re-read her sentence — "I swear I'm not abandoning you but I need to practise with Harry before tryouts this morning, I'll write back as soon as I can," — and she couldn't help but feel guilty.
She expected to read that she had let him down, that playing Quidditch was a waste of time and his situation was vastly more important, but instead Tom simply wrote, "As much as it hurts to know you have other matters to attend to, I understand. Although…"
He never finished his thought and Lyra couldn't let him go just yet.
"Although?"
"No, it's nothing, just a stray thought," Tom's attempt at deflecting the issue was weak and Lyra swatted it away.
"Please tell me," she asked, "I like hearing all of your thoughts."
"You often spend lots of your time with Potter," he commented, "and as ridiculous as this sounds, I can't help but feel rather green that he is allowed the pleasure of being in your company."
Lyra clamped her mouth shut to stifle her squeals and she embraced her blush without shame. Was Tom jealous?! That must mean he likes me… right?
"What can I say? I'm a delight," she joked, automatically deflecting most of his inference, "if you were here in person then I'm sure Harry wouldn't mind you hanging out with us too, you guys would get along great! Don't be jealous, Riddle."
Lyra had thought about that already. Once Tom eventually escaped his diary and exacted revenge against those who trapped him he would need to assimilate back into society and Lyra was already thinking of ways to help him. Introducing him to Harry seemed like a logical idea considering their similarities, and who knows — maybe Tom could become Harry's mentor? Screw Lockhart, Tom is the person he needs to speak to.
"I would really like that, Harry's story is fascinating and I would love to meet him," Tom seemed positively charmed by her suggestion, "I think he may learn a thing or two from me as well."
"You read my mind," she signed, and with another bold love heart she wished Tom farewell but she made sure to slip the diary into her pocket, reminding him that she was always close. Luckily Lyra managed to scrub her smitten smile from her freckled face as she got dressed and she hoped she seemed somewhat casual when she rejoined Harry in the common room, the pair of them wrapped up warm in thick jerseys and waterproofs ready to brave the elements. Harry's lack of comment at her high spirits settled her nerves and she happily took his arm and traipsed off to the Quidditch pitch.
Flying in the rain, Lyra found out, was equal parts hilarious and tiring. The vicious highland winds were no joke, she didn't expect to be whipped about like a plastic bag in a storm when she took off but once she got a handle on navigating the strong currents she embraced the comedy of being thrown around like a ragdoll and continued to make Harry cry with laughter whenever the Quaffle splashed her with mud. Once she perfected the art of throwing curve balls to counteract the wind Lyra managed to persuade Harry to play as Chaser to try and hinder her scoring efforts. After constantly reminding her that he wasn't very good at throwing Harry gave in to her idea and they spent the rest of their wet morning trying to score against each other.
"That was amazing!" sighed Lyra, collapsing on the benches in the changing rooms after their strenuous play, "you're really good at playing Chaser. I mean, you're not as good as me but—,"
"—but I'm also a terrible Keeper," backtracked Harry, attempting to scrape mud from his face in the mirror, but he caught Lyra's eye through the reflection and smirked, "you wouldn't have scored half those goals if a real Keeper was in position."
"Pffft, lies! claimed Lyra, staring at him with incredulity, "that's not true!"
"It's so true."
"Nuh uh, you can't prove that," she said smartly, turning to focus on cleaning the broom she had stolen from the cupboards. She wasn't too sure whose Cleansweep she borrowed, but with the right cleaning spell the broom was back to its prior condition and she sneakily slotted it back in the rack, praying that she remembered its original position correctly.
"That doesn't look too suspicious, does it? I think that's where I found it," Lyra asked, motioning at Harry to help her, and he leant the spare Shooting Star beside it, making the scene seem more inconspicuous.
"Even if it's in the wrong spot it looks like it's been accidentally knocked," he assured her, "you can use my broom for the actual tryout so don't worry about having to steal one again."
Lyra's confidence was genuine this time when she thanked him. Their quick training session gave her the boost she sorely needed to keep herself focused, and the pair continued to discuss her upcoming trial as they rushed to get ready for the day. After rinsing the mud off and changing into a drier set of clothes, they parked themselves on one of the cleaner benches and settled the deal that was made earlier that morning.
"Kreacher!"
Pop!
"Kreacher has brought Mistress her requests," he announced as he appeared, his crackly voice just as low as the pitter patter of the torrential weather, but his cloudy dark eyes sharpened when he realised Harry was present and he jerked his head in his direction, "...Potter."
"Hello Kreacher," said Harry, offering him a friendly smile, "I hope you're well."
Kreacher simply stared back at Harry as though he had said something abhorrent and the muscles in his wrinkly face spasmed. Answering his casual statement seemed like an impossible task and Lyra rolled her eyes at his dramatics as she took her order of breakfast sandwiches and tea from his slender arms. Telling him off was pointless, her commands seemed to dissipate every time he went back to London, back to the bloody painting! What's the point, he'll always likes her more than me…
Noticing his mistress' disappointment at his attitude, the house elf cleared his tender throat and tried again, offering Harry the decency of looking him in the eye.
"...Kreacher is sufficient," he admitted, still sounding slightly sour, "Kreacher hasn't seen you in the papers recently, has Potter grown tired of being a menace?"
"Actually yes, I'm thinking about retiring my daredevil ways, why? Do you miss reading about me?" said Harry with a poker face, playing along with Kreacher's games, and Lyra hid her laughter by chomping into her sandwich. Her elf shot Harry a resentful sneer and ignored his sass.
"Speaking of the papers, have you heard from Lucius yet?" asked Harry, turning his attention to the food, and Lyra slowed her chews as she mulled over her current predicament concerning the Malfoys.
The article depicting the proud Malfoy family as a threat to Harry hit them hard and, as expected, they fought back against the claims with class and great tactics. They fired Dobby and assured the public in an exclusive DailyProphet interview that they played no part in their disobedient house elf's schemes. She didn't receive any letters from either Lucius or Narcissa, they hardly mentioned her in their own interview, and Draco was keeping well away from her and refused to acknowledge her whenever they passed in the halls. Overall, it was the best case scenario but it just didn't sit right with Lyra, it was too seamless and anticlimactic. Maybe house elves can, in fact, lie to their masters…?
"Nope, not a peep," admitted Lyra, looking up at the serendipitous sheet of rain in the tent's entrance, almost entranced by its velocity, "which is good, I guess…"
"You guess?" scoffed Harry, not believing his ears, "really? You want the Malfoys to contact you?"
"No! Of course not!" clarified Lyra, disgusted at the thought, "but don't you think it's a bit odd that I publicly exposed them and they haven't written me one threatening letter? They had to get rid of their servant because of me, which is a very big deal in the Pureblood community or so I've heard, so I expected them to make a huge show out of this."
"I see your point, it's very unlike Malfoy not to cause a scene," agreed Harry, readjusting his glasses as he pondered, but the shuffling and muttering of Kreacher who was exploring the Gryffindor changing rooms at his own volition caught his attention, "and I'm worried about Dobby, I can't stop thinking about him. You should have seen how scared he was when he visited me. I can't imagine how bad it must have been when they received the Prophet that morning, not to mention the fact Dobby was literally abusing himself when he spoke badly about the Malfoys in front of me. If he really was lying about messing with me, which personally I don't think he was, then who knows what the Malfoys could have done to him… "
Lyra stared at Harry in horror, coming to the same conclusions.
"Jesus Christ… you don't reckon they… you know… literally got rid of him, do you?"
Harry shuddered, startled by her sudden jump to the darkest scenario.
"I wasn't before but now you mention it, I don't know? We need to find him and make sure he's alive, we need to help him," he insisted, riled up by his own passion, and Lyra wholeheartedly agreed. Harry clearly cared for the elf that was making his life a misery but it wasn't his fault. Dobby was another house elf that was suffering in a system that was created to trap him for life, and she couldn't help but look over at her own elf with a huge sense of guilt. Was she inflicting the same pain onto Kreacher?
"Maybe Kreacher could find him?" suggested Harry, noticing Lyra's straying gaze, and she praised him on his forward-thinking.
"I think he knows who Dobby is, he seemed to know the Malfoys," she acceded, and she called Kreacher over with a new request on her mind, "hey buddy? I've got a new job for you!"
"What does Mistress need?" croaked Kreacher as he hobbled over, his movements stiff from the cold morning.
"Do you know who Dobby is?" asked Lyra, and she had to cover her snort when Kreacher's face dropped in disdain.
"Unfortunately," he confessed, sounding deeply put off by his new task.
"He's not that bad," defended Harry on Dobby's behalf, "you could learn a couple of things from him."
"Dobby is a nuisance, an oddball — no house elf with dignity wishes to be free, he is a disgrace to elf kind," voiced Kreacher, explaining his traditionalist point of view, and Lyra arched a brow.
"Wait, Dobby wants to be free?" she double-checked she heard him correctly, and Harry nodded. Aw, good for him!
"Can you find Dobby for us, please? We want to make sure he's ok," requested Lyra, but Kreacher looked uncomfortable.
"If Dobby doesn't want to be found then Kreacher will have a hard time tracking him down," he divulged, drooping his long ears in ignominy, but Lyra didn't accept his demoralising perspective and cheered him on. With both hands on his shoulders she forced him to look her in the eye and offered him an inspiring grin.
"Listen to me, you are Kreacher — the most badass, fearless, stubborn house elf in the world, and most importantly you are mine which means that you don't give up," she proclaimed in her best theatrical voice, hoping to hammer her point into his skull. "You are powerful, I know that you can find him, and even if you don't straight away I know you will keep trying. You're a part of this family so you need to act like it and I'm telling you that you've got this, buddy! You've. Got. This."
Something shifted in Kreacher's pessimistic gaze, he opened his puckered lips a few times, struggling to string together his response to words he never expected to hear. He straightened his crooked spine and absorbed her speech with open ears.
"Kreacher understands, Mistress, and he will do everything he can to find Dobby," he muttered, extending his bow until his whiskers brushed the canvas floor. Pop!
"I think he's starting to like you," commented Harry, pleasantly entertained as he watched the Black family head act accordingly, and she grimaced, hanging her head in defeat.
"I dunno…" Lyra muttered, tired of battling with Kreacher, "part of me is tempted to just give him to Narcissa. The last time I suggested setting him free he cried for hours and begged me not to, and if I leave him in that hell house forever then he's going to revert back to the condition I found him in."
"But he was much nicer today, maybe he's changing for the better," Harry pointed out, but Lyra shook her head.
"Today is just a fluke, I can feel it."
"I don't think so, and anyways he'd be stupid to want Narcissa over you," he continued to counter argue her points, "compared to other house elf owners you are by far the nicest and kindest choice so stop being so negative and be happy that your racist elf likes you."
Lyra pouted at his bluntness but she couldn't stop her appreciative smile.
"Ok, I'll take that, thank you Potter," she said softly, clanging her mug against his at her success, but her Earl Grey splashed into his breakfast blend and she burst out laughing when Harry scowled at her for ruining his drink.
"Brilliant, now it's undrinkable! Thanks Black!" he complained, pouring it out into the rain to over exaggerate his disgust for her favourite hot beverage, and she only laughed harder.
The piercing sound of Oliver's whistle brought Lyra out of her daze and she automatically clapped along with her fellow competitors who were congratulating the first group of potential Chasers.
She was standing on the sidelines of the Quidditch pitch waiting for her name to be called from Oliver's sheet, bouncing on her heels from the anticipation of putting on a show. Due to the unexpected large turnout she had been put in the final trial group with a lanky blonde fifth year boy whose name had already escaped her mind, and a curly haired third year called Cormac who was shouting way too many critics from his amuteur position. To everyone's dismay the rain hadn't lessened when midday arrived but it didn't dampen their spirits, most of Gryffindor house had come to watch the tryouts as it was a rarity. Once house had a strong team it was difficult to replace the existing players, nobody was holding back their abilities today — Lyra included.
"Feeling nervous, Black?" The blonde fifth year piped up, purposely looking down at her as though trying to intimidate her, but Lyra fluttered her lashes and shook her head, ignoring the rain running down her rosy cheeks. After her morning of flying she was used to the numbing rain, she scraped her hair into a smooth ponytail and embraced the icy whips of water on her face to keep herself refreshed and vigilant.
"Nope! You should be though," she sighed, dramatically rolling Harry's Nimbus 2000 in her hands so the gold glint would catch their eyes, but Cormac's face soured when he noticed the broom model.
"Oh please, that's so unfair! That broom is statistically faster than ours, you should be docked points," he spat, shooting her a scowl from the other side of the blonde, and Lyra shrugged.
"If you want to talk about statistics then you're flying on a remastered Cleansweep Seven which is very close in standards to this broom, and poor," Lyra bit her lip and glanced at the nameless blonde for help but he looked just as blank, "this guy here is flying on a bloody Comet 360 so if you want to get technical about docking points then you should be relegated too!"
"My name is Tim and for the record it's a Comet 390, it's fast if you know how to use it," the blonde mumbled, polishing the silver ink on its handle with his sleeve, and Lyra sent Cormac a smug smile.
"It's still not fair," reminded Cormac, sideying her, "but I doubt you can even ride that thing. I heard you were banned from your flying lessons so I'm not worried."
Ignoring Tim and Cormac's snickers, Lyra stood a little taller and tightened her ponytail.
"Then I suppose that means you'll be super embarrassed when I crush you guys," she said simply, and the rush of the other Chasers leaving the pitch swarmed the trio and Lyra never heard Cormac's snarky retort.
"Crane, McLaggen, Black — you're up!" shouted Oliver, waving at them from the centre of the water-clogged pitch with his clipboard in the air, and the remaining three potentials marched over to him to the sounds of the scattered crowds' cheers.
Lyra shielded her eyes from the rain and scanned the stands for her friends, and her heart swelled when she saw her cluster of supporters clapping and shouting her name up ahead. She noticed that Ginny and her friends had joined them and Ron was already getting annoyed, but their extra loud screams gave her an extra boost to her confidence. I've got this!
"The tryout is very simple, as I'm sure you've already noticed," explained Oliver in his usual strong tone as he inspected the trio, "all you need to do is score as many goals as you can against our lovely three Chasers up there in twenty minutes," he gestured to Angelina, Katie, and Alicia who were circling them a few metres above their heads, discussing the other competitors between themselves. "I will be switching sides of the pitch throughout the entire twenty minute time limit so you also need to stay aware as some of your goals may not count. Understood?"
The three chimed out their agreement and Oliver beamed, his tawny hair sticking to the sides of his face from the constant battering of rain.
"Fantastic! I have my Beaters and Seeker watching and taking notes so do remember that every second counts," he nodded towards the cosy, dry commentators box where Harry, Fred, George, and Lee were having the time of their lives staying out of the rain, and Lyra hid her giggles when they hijacked the microphones to wish her luck. Her competitors paled at her surge of popularity but she brushed their looks of derision away and paid close attention to the team captain.
"You can go once you hear my whistle," Oliver instructed them, jumping back onto his broom and signalling for them to join him, and Lyra whooped.
"Let's go!"
As soon as she was in the air the gentle shivers of nerves vanished and blew away with the wind. She didn't feel at all threatened by her competition and she dared to circle them, itching for the whistle to blow so she could begin. The trio on the opposite team sized their potential new teammates up and Lyra cackled when Angelina took in Tim's presence and scoffed, already annoyed by him.
"Don't dick about this time, Crane!" she shouted at him, shooting him a very specific look, "I'm warning you!"
"He tried to ruin her own tryout, don't ask," added Alicia when she noticed the looks of confusion, and Tim's face burst with colour at the memory.
"I've matured since then, don't hold that against me Johnson," he said without pausing, holding his head high despite his flushing cheeks, but Angelia promptly ignored him and gestured at Oliver to hurry up.
The second the whistle blew Lyra took off towards the Quaffle that was mere metres away, but Cormac knocked her hands out of the way and swiped it first. The force of his shove knocked Lyra off-balance and she wobbled, blindsided by his strange approach, but she had no time to process as her teammates had already jetted off towards the posts Oliver were currently guarding. Refusing to blush at her blunder, Lyra gritted her teeth and zoomed off after them, but even with her broom's premium speed she couldn't get involved in the game.
Cormac and Tim refused to pass her the ball, they were blocking her out.
At first she thought it was her skill, or lack thereof, that was preventing her from holding possession and advancing the game in their favour, but from the crowd's reaction and the entertained expressions on her oppositions' faces she knew she was doing a great job. She had successfully duped both Katie and Angelina into flying in the opposite direction and opened up the field to a clear shot but the boys never gave her a chance, they didn't want her to win.
"Are you kidding me?! Pass the bloody ball!" shrieked Lyra, her face bright red from rage as she once again was in the perfect position to gain ten points, but she watched in disbelief as Tim looped back and tossed the Quaffle to Cormac who was nowhere near the goal instead of giving her a chance. She swore she felt her blood pressure rise but instead of throwing a tantrum or giving up — she took a huge deep breath, tightened her grip on the broom and studied the boys carefully. If she found the right moment she would be able to steal the ball and strike when they least expected it.
The moment came when the two boys dared to fly adjacent to each other, using a few seconds of their time to reconfigure their method without her, and she bulleted towards them without a care in the world.
A tiny part of her hoped they would end the game with a broken bone or a few loose teeth, the disrespect she felt was almost sickening and she swallowed the lump in her throat when she got closer. Crane and McLaggen jolted in the air when they realised she intended to crash into them, and she used their panic to her advantage. The Quaffle slipped through Cormac's fingers and she dipped into a steep dive to catch it. Before anyone else could react to the dip Lyra urged herself upwards and rocketed towards the goal, confusing her opposition.
Oliver, who had been watching in glee that finally something exciting was happening, misjudged her timing and dove too quickly, his hit of adrenaline threw him off.
"YES!" Lyra hooted in celebration, basking in her glory as everyone congratulated her for the first goal, and she made sure to send her mortified teammates' two fake blown kisses as though proving her point.
Her first goal set off a chain reaction and she dominated the competition by herself, giving the boys a taste of their own medicine paid off in the best way and she racked up the points with ease. Her unique tactic of varying dangerous speeds and risky loops took the Gryffindor team by surprise and they upped their efforts and played along as she toyed with them. Katie even copied her sneaky style and tried to dupe her at her own game but the pair almost collided in the air causing the crowds to 'ooh' and 'aww', but they were laughing too much to notice.
The time limit flew by and before Lyra knew it she was waiting in the overcrowded changing rooms with, what felt like, most of Gryffindor house since the crowds had retreated with them to escape the rain. The Quidditch team were huddled in the corner together, rapidly discussing their choice for Alicia's replacement amongst themselves, and Lyra busied herself by tracking down her friends to calm her nerves. The pounding in her gut told her she had secured her place on the team but she still needed confirmation from Oliver, the anticipation was killing her!
"How was I? Did you like the game? Was it entertaining?" rambled Lyra the instant she found Ron and Hermione, and they furiously agreed.
"I can't believe your teammates behaved like that!" exclaimed Hermione, wringing out her sodden bobble hat as she searched the changing rooms for Crane and McLaggen, "it was so sexist, there's no way Wood will pick them for the team!"
"But that doesn't matter, you pummelled them! They looked like a couple of slapped arses once you were done with them, I'm so proud of you!" cheered Ron, thumping Lyra on the back before flinching at the excess water that sprayed his face.
"Thank you! I really tried to humiliate them as much as possible, that'll teach them to mess with me!" She beamed, happy with their reviews, but she caught sight of the first years and beckoned them over to hear their point of views. She rather enjoyed hearing critics, Tom had taught her there was always room for improvement.
"That was wicked! They're totally going to choose you for the team," proclaimed Ginny, squeezing Lyra tight, and the pair rushed to discuss the chances of the pair of them playing together once she bought her own broom. Considering the ages of the current Gryffindor Chasers it was extremely likely that they would be given the opportunity of playing on the team together in the future, and Ginny nodded with more vigour than her brother expected.
"Is that Harry's broom?" gasped the dark haired girl with braces beside Ginny, gawking at the Nimbus 2000as though it were made of gold, and Lyra suddenly realised that the first years around Ginny were staring.
"The one and only," announced Lyra, showing off the sporting equipment to the group, "but no touching, that'll cost you."
A boy with sandy hair and wide blue eyes pulled a camera from his pocket and stole a quick snap of the broom as though it were an incredibly rare artefact, and Lyra admired his methods.
"Ah, a fellow photographer! Nice camera! If you need any development potion then I'm your gal, I've got tons of it at a very fair price," greeted Lyra, shoving the broom at Ron so she could shake the young photographer's hand, and he smiled through his blush.
"That's Colin," introduced Ginny, helping her nervous friend out as he struggled to spit out his name, "and this is Alice, they're the only cool ones in my class." The dark haired girl nodded at the acknowledgement but she didn't take her eyes off of Harry's broom.
"Yeah, you only think that because they're also members of your little 'Harry Potter Fan Club'," added Ron snidely, winding his little sister up, and the three first years flushed horrendously.
"Shut up, no they're not!" argued Ginny, glaring at her brother, but Alice and Colin didn't look as offended by the title.
"We thought about creating a club but apparently we're not old enough. Maybe next year," disclosed Alice quietly, hiding from Ron's questioning looks.
"And the club doesn't have a proper name yet, it's not official or anything," added Colin, but Lyra took their interest in Harry as another opportunity to make some money. She snatched her backpack from the girls changing area and gladly gathered a crowd of Gryffindors who were intrigued by her wares, but before her sales really took off Oliver called for the tent's attention.
"After some tough deliberation, we've made a decision," he announced, creating an electrified buzz throughout the bursting changing rooms, and Lyra crossed her fingers, squeezing her eyes shut. Please, please, please—!
"Everyone who took part today performed wonderfully, but what impressed me the most was a certain someone's determination to overcome obstacles put in place by her own teammates as well as achieving one of the top scores of the day. Ladies and gentlefolk, we have an all-girls Chaser trio once again! Lyra, you made the team!" he proclaimed, and the tent cheersed their newest Quidditch team representative as they turned to watch her reaction.
Lyra screamed and launched herself at Ron and Hermione, forcing them to dance with her as she revelled in her new found glory.
"Thank you, thank you," she drawled, addressing the applauding crowd with a charismatic smile as she made her way to the front, "wow, I don't know what to say! I want to first thank Oliver for giving me the chance to show you how hard I can kick peoples arses, I want to thank Potter for letting me borrow his broom so I could kick said arses, and finally I want to say a big thank you to Crane and McLaggen for valiantly offering their arsecheeks up as my first victims."
She finished with a tearful sniff as she blew Cormac and Tim another kiss and the tent laughed at her speech, but eventually they dropped their sulks and complimented her on her well-deserved win.
The rain finally weakened to a light drizzle and the rest of Gryffindor trekked back to the castle, discussing the entertaining tryouts and their desired lunch menu as they went, leaving the rest of the Quidditch team to induct Lyra in peace.
"We definitely have the strongest team at Hogwarts now," praised Fred, smothering Lyra with a dozen high-fives, "no offence, Alicia."
"None taken, I feel confident leaving position number four in Lyra's hands," smiled Alicia, revealing the brand new Quidditch jersey from behind her back and presenting it to her predecessor, "besides, I'm kinda excited to watch a game from the stands again, I'm still your number one fan guys!"
Lyra squealed as she held the freshly embroidered shirt up to the weak sunlight and her heart tingled when she noticed the shimmery gold thread outlining her name. It was meant to be, her jersey looked perfect.
"I'm never taking this off!" she vowed, rubbing her face against the softness of the material.
The team finished welcoming Lyra to the group and left the four second years to themselves, but before Harry could open his mouth to congratulate Lyra on her feat, Fred and George poked their heads back into the changing rooms with matching grimaces.
"Just a heads up, Snape and a bunch of Slytherins are slithering down towards us," they warned them, "and Snape doesn't look like he's coming down to celebrate the good news, if you catch my drift."
"What did you do?" interrogated Hermione immediately, turning to Lyra and Harry who looked equally as stunned.
"Woah! We haven't done anything!" scoffed Lyra, holding her hands up in innocence, but she pouted and caught Harry's eye, "...wait, have we done anything?"
She wouldn't have been surprised if she had in fact pulled a prank on Snape in her potion-fuelled state.
"No!" protested Harry, rolling his eyes, "I certainly haven't done anything."
"But in your defence you never really do anything, he just hates you," said Ron logically, but he offered Harry a sheepish smile when his comment only highlighted Snape's irrationality.
"Let's do what we always do — behave and say nothing," muttered Lyra, jumping into a somewhat natural pose as they heard the emerald party reach the tent's entrance.
Ron stifled his laugh and shuffled away with Hermione as Professor Snape threw the canvas door aside and stormed inside, his favoured students at his heels with identical smarmy grins on their faces. Draco plus smug smile equals trouble, Lyra knew this equation like the back of her hand and she waited for her Potions Master to snap. His lour was already at seventy-five percent, it was the same look he expressed whenever Lyra breathed in his direction.
"Who do you reckon is his main target today?" muttered Harry under his breath, and Lyra spotted the throbbing vein in Snape's forehead. That was reserved usually for her.
"Me, he spits more when it's you," she mused, before clearing her throat and addressing her enraged professor. "Good afternoon sir, have you heard the good news?"
"I will not tolerate any idiocy from you today, Black," he snapped at her, batting the folds of his cloak away to physically beckon her forward with a single finger, "here, now."
"I haven't done anything!" she moaned, dragging her feet forward to meet him at the entrance. The irate prods from Draco's gaze was starting to bug her but she refused to meet his eye and pretended that he didn't exist which, naturally, drove him crazy.
"You know exactly what you've done, we all saw you," chirped Draco, nodding at his friends for supportive remarks, and the other Slytherins complied to his wishes like obedient little puppies.
"With our own two eyes," said Vincent.
"It was definitely Black," voiced Greg, and Theodore nodded in support from his left.
"You can't trust anything she says, you know we're telling the truth," stated Blaise, wiggling his brows at Lyra as though trying to provoke her into snapping back, but she was totally lost. What the heck are they talking about?
"What have I done?" she repeated, looking up at Snape for an answer, but he didn't dignify her with an answer.
"Follow me," he spat, and with a flourish of his cloak he stalked off, instructing his students to keep up. Balling her fists to suppress some of her anger, Lyra stomped harder than usual and rushed to match his long strides.
"Surely I'm allowed to know what this is about? Is this a punishment?" she panted, clutching at the stitch in her side, but Snape stared straight ahead, his teeth bared as though daring her to continue.
"Don't play dumb, Black, it doesn't suit you," jeered Draco from behind, hanging back with his friends to laugh at his misendeavours, but their steady speed slowed once they reached the castle thresholds unintentionally giving Harry, Hermione, and Ron the chance to catch up.
"Is your life so boring that you have to frame us every other week? Why won't you leave us alone?" taunted Harry, hoping his jab would stop them in their tracks, and luckily it worked. Draco spun around to face him and revealed his wand, itching to use it against his Gryffindor rival.
"You're one to talk, poor Potter wasn't receiving enough attention so he had to badmouth me to the papers," he snarled, smoothing his hair out of his eyes. Ignoring Snape who was calling her name from across the Entrance Hall, Lyra lingered in the threshold to watch the unfurling argument in the hopes of figuring out what Draco had done this time.
"It's about time someone badmouthed you to the press," interjected Ron, raring at the chance to attack Draco, "you and your family are rotten to the core, the whole world needs to remember where your parents came from—,"
"Don't you dare bring my parents into this!" yelled Draco, triggered by the mention of his family, and he took a step towards Ron with his friends at his side, "you, of all people, proclaiming that you know what decent parents look like, don't make me laugh Weasley! At least my parent's dignity doesn't rely on handouts from twelve-year-olds, your family had nothing before Black came along and gave to charity so don't lecture me about morals!"
Lyra felt as though someone had snatched all of the air from her lungs and she watched Ron shrink in humiliation. That was never her intention, that wasn't true.
She could physically feel the heat rolling from Ron and she leapt into the action to stop him from pouncing at the ghoul. Thankfully Harry caught onto Ron's imminent outburst too and the pair wrapped their arms around his and held him back before he exploded.
"Get off! I can take him!" insisted Ron with his gritted teeth, his eyes never leaving the howling Draco. Lyra noticed that Snape was barreling back to them to interfere and she knew better than to let the scene unfold, no matter how much Draco deserved it.
"Not… worth… it!" huffed Harry, taking the majority of Ron's brute force to the chest.
"Like Weasley could take me on, no pathetic blood traitor could stop me," drawled Draco, jabbing his sword in deeper and twisting, but Hermione had reached her own limit and sidestepped into the centre of the circle to shut Draco down. With her hands on her hips she stared down at him, never cracking under the pressure of his icy malicious glare.
"You've got some nerve using your blood purity as an excuse for your ugly behaviour, Malfoy. Ron and his family are the epitome of what a proud Pureblooded wizard should be. You're the pathetic one, you should be embarrassed that you're stuck living in the past," she told him, her voice never wavering, and Draco looked as though he had been hit with a stinging hex. His pale face screwed up and he rolled his tongue around his mouth, as though trying to displace a bitter taste, but he snapped when Hermione added, "and I'm glad you lost your house elf, I pray that karma bites you hard."
"Filthy Mudblood, who the hell do you think you're talking to?!" growled Draco, daring to shove Hermione out of his personal space, but Hermione didn't have a chance to react as the group around them exploded.
Lyra saw red, instantly dropped Ron's arm, and acted as she saw fit. Draco had it coming.
"AH!"
Lyra beat the boys to the punch and dove at her ghoulish cousin's knees, knocking him to the ground in one swift movement. She had done this countless times before, he may have been taller than her but she had taken on many teenagers much larger than him before. He was nothing compared to Rachel.
"If you ever dare say that word again I will rip your tongue out!" shrieked Lyra. Her fury bubbled to the surface and the heat came naturally, Tom taught her how to channel her more powerful emotions to aid her magic and she knew she didn't need her wand for this. SMACK!
Her slap made a very satisfying sound and she savoured Draco's whiney yelp of pain.
"BLACK!"
A hand latched onto her collar and ripped her off of the cowering Slytherin on the floor, and Lyra fought against her professor's surprising strength to admire the scene she had caused.
Hermione was speechless, torn between tears and delight as Draco continued to cry on the floor as he clutched the scorching, blistered crimson handprint on his cheek, while Harry and Ron were clapping and saluting Lyra for her performance as Snape forcefully dragged her away. Three out of four of Draco's friends tried to help their injured friend whilst throwing a few more jabs at the Gryffindors, but Lyra noticed that Blaise froze on the spot, fighting with his face to stop his traitorous smile. Draco's cries were very childish, she didn't blame him — it was hilarious!
"Thirty points, no, forty points from Gryffindor!" demanded Snape, holding Lyra out in front of him by her collar as though she were a puppy and he had just caught her digging through the rubbish bins, "I was literally right in the middle of punishing you—,"
"But Draco called Hermione the M word! Surely you heard that?" she tried to turn and look at him but his fingers dug deeper into the scruff of her neck and she winced, "Ow! Ok! You tolerate discrimination against Muggle-borns, I get it!"
"Don't be stupid, of course not, but I did not hear your silly spat with Mr Malfoy and considering your track record I don't doubt that you provoked him," spat Snape, and he marched her up through the castle, leading her to a mystery location. Lyra tried to explain her actions but they fell on deaf ears, Snape clearly couldn't care less about students bullying each other and she made a mental note to look up Hogwarts' tolerance policy… Oooh can I get Snape fired?!
The mystery location revealed itself when Snape finally came to a rough stop in one of the corridors leading towards the Charms classrooms. Lyra's jaw dropped open when she took in the scene. Ah…
"Explain yourself," hissed Snape, releasing his vice-like grip on her collar and crossing his arms to emphasise his seriousness. The suits of armour that were supposed to be lining the hallways in formal straight lines were scattered across the floor and absolutely smothered with what looked like vanilla cream pastries and various sweets. Some pieces of the armour were positioned in assorted explicit positions, Lyra had to turn away to hide her laughter when she noticed two knights were getting busy with each other a few feet from her, but the stifled snorts coming from the nosy tapestries on the walls didn't help her case and she exploded into a bad case of giggles.
"THIS ISN'T FUNNY!"
Lyra wiped away her tears. "It is a little—,"
"The Slytherins swore they saw you sneaking around this morning, multiple accounts line up and I have confirmation that you were spotted prancing around the castle at dawn," he interrupted, sick of her laidback attitude to the serious situation, and Lyra let out a series of scoffs at different pitches. Fucking Draco!
"They're obviously lying! I never did this! I was up early because I had tryouts today; I snuck out with Harry to practise Quidditch, not to set up a suit of armour orgy!" she promised, and she pointed at the confectionery muck, "like I would do the same prank twice, I would never waste a perfectly good vanilla cream puff now, that was so last year!"
"Then how do you explain that?" Snape pointed towards the arched windows on the opposite wall and Lyra's stomach plummeted when she read the words 'Black woz ere' written on the glass in royal blue icing.
"I would never use blue icing, I'd use pink or black, duh," she explained as though it was obvious, but when his malicious snarl twitched as though he were about to lecture her she added, "come on sir, it's so obvious that Draco and his sheep have set me up."
"I see no opposing evidence, you are not in the clear just because you claim that you were playing Quidditch with Potter. I don't doubt for a second that he will lie on your behalf," he countered, inspecting the destruction around him once more as though searching for clues, "maybe you have one of your marvellous photographs to prove your point?"
Lyra simply stared back without a retort, cursing herself for securing an alibi with her camera. How was she supposed to know she was being set up when she woke up this morning? She knew Snape hated her camera and his slick smile when she remained silent drove her up the wall. Her nails dug deeper into her palms, she was using every ounce of strength to stay quiet but her anger continued to grow, she couldn't stop it. Her vision was blurry, she could barely stand straight, something heavy was settling in her gut and she hated how hot her face was. I can't take this anymore?!
"Just as I thought, you truly are a disgrace, Black," tutted Snape, finally satisfied with her demeanour.
He instructed her to make a start on cleaning up the mess she made — without her wand of course — and he warned her to behave while he visited her head of house to relay the incident. Lyra chewed on her tender tongue and pretended to clean until Snape disappeared down the corridor, but the second he vanished around the corner she tore her backpack from her shoulders and scrambled around for her diary.
Her emotions weren't calming down, her hands shook violently as she tried to find her gel pen at the very bottom and her lungs felt as though they were too big for her chest. She couldn't breath, the sensation was slowly killing her — she had never felt this angry before, she needed Tom's help now.
"Are you hurt? I can sense something's wrong. Lyra, are you ok?" Tom's words flashed on the page before she could uncap her pen, and her eyes almost stung with tears. She really needed his comfort and he gave it so willingly.
"Draco," she managed to scrawl, containing her rage a second longer, "and Snape. I'm gonna kill them…"
"I can feel your anger…" Tom's handwriting was softer than a whisper, she could practically feel his breath on her neck and she shivered, "I can help you… be a good girl and let me in…"
Lyra succumbed to Tom's will and everything around her faded. Finally, she felt peace.
Tom was extremely lucky that he couldn't hold Lyra's wand, even the faintest of wandlight would have given them away.
Moonlight flooded through the leaves, the glowing patterns on the forest floor were hypnotising but they weren't as captivating as the scene before him. He could never have dreamt up a scenario as perfect as this one. He knew the Forbidden Forest very well, almost too well, and he had no trouble leading Lyra to the quaint animal pen that held most of the school's livestock.
It had been a very long time since his last physical visit. The school had gained a different groundskeeper during his time away and he instinctively smirked as another plan formed in his mind when he spotted his hut, but he brushed away the distractions and concentrated on his main quest at hand. Black was his main priority right now, she deserved his full focus.
The fresh snaps of the roosters' fragile necks continued to fill the air around him, but the echoes never went too far, he would never allow her to be discovered, and he savoured her rich reaction to each murderous act as though it brought her pleasure. She was enjoying this…
Riddle was utterly enchanted at the sight of Lyra ripping the heads off of the slain birds, the sickly squirts of hot blood didn't faze her as it sprayed against her skin, blending in with her delicate freckles and he couldn't stop staring. She was thriving, and so was he… He didn't want the massacre to end.
"Can you feel their life slipping away between your fingers?" he hissed, crouching down so he could see the light in her hazy silver eyes, and she met his gaze with a pout of adoration. The viscera and blood didn't dissuade him whatsoever, it was exactly what he wanted.
"I can see their life fade before my eyes," she whispered back, fascinated by the corpses of the birds she murdered scattered around her, "it's so beautiful, I wish you could see them.
"I doubt it is as breathtaking as this," he corrected her, reaching his hand out and begging the universe to give him the power to graze his fingers against her cheek.
His non-corporal form wasn't strong enough yet, he still needed more. His hand fell through her as though he were made from smoke and the thud of disappointment wounded him more than he would ever admit. He craved her warmth, he longed for her dreams, he needed to feel her again. He was so distracted by the girl at his knees that he didn't notice the circle of Thestrals watching in the shadows, angered by the presence of a dark spirit corrupting their master.
"Keep bathing in their blood, my treasure, we will need more in the future… their sacrifice is vital, drink in their deaths and think only of me…"