Lyra wasn't sure what was worse.
The fact that her father did, in fact, break into the school, trash the only entrance into the Gryffindor Tower, and threaten to destroy the Fat Lady as well as the sanctity of Hogwarts, or the fact that Harry hadn't spoken to her since it happened.
On one hand, obviously yes, Sirius being sighted inside of Hogwarts castle was devastating. Not only were her nightmares getting worse —she had just completed a week straight of dreamless sleep for the first time since the end of her second year — but her terrors were now back with extra bite. Not to mention the unsolicited input of the opinionated student body she mixed with every day, she couldn't escape any mention of Sirius no matter how quickly she walked in between classes. The only saving grace were those who remained in high spirits from the party, occasionally she would hear her fellow school council members yell back at their classmates in protest.
Sirius had gotten too close, way too close. He had desecrated their safe space, Hogwarts wasn't nearly as secure as everyone claimed it to be. Lyra knew that for sure now, the proof was there for all to see. She wasn't safe, none of them were.
But on the other hand… Harry choosing to ignore her, and so persistently too, was unbearable. He knew exactly how to punish her and she had to commend his commitment. It was driving her insane. She didn't realise how much she relied on their constant mindless chats to get her through the school day, he didn't laugh at a single joke and she refused to let him know how deeply that cut her.
Lyra started her first week of being fourteen years old in perpetual agony and she could only blame herself. Both issues would have been easily solved if she hadn't been so selfish. If she had only just used her fucking brain that night…
"You could have gotten them killed."
Lyra shied away from Harry's deathly glare, it was like staring into the sun. Too blinding, too damaging. She fucked up, she hated disappointing her friends.
"We had already left the tower by the time Lyra plunged the place in darkness," Hermione was hasty with her defence on Lyra's behalf.
The four Gryffindors were cosied up in the furthest corner of the Great Hall where they were expected to spend the night with the rest of the school. A mass school sleepover was instantly sanctioned while half of the staff and a sprinkling of Aurors were sent out to search the entire grounds for the culprit. Despite the curfew put into place, the Great Hall was buzzing with gossip.
The Dementors were malicious tonight, ashamed that they let Sirius slip away from right under their bony finger tips, and the hall shivered from their bitter chill as it frosted its high windows. How was he doing it? How was he getting away so easily?
"Honestly, we were fine," Ron tried to assure his irate friend and clear up any confusion, "Hermione was in the library when it happened—,"
"—and you were out in the open, you missed him by seconds," Harry reiterated, staring at his best friend as though he had been attacked, "you could've been hurt."
"But I wasn't," Ron lowered his voice and grabbed his shoulder, "Harry, mate, I'm ok."
"We both are," Hermione grabbed Lyra's hand and squeezed it, hoping her affection would soothe the pain written on Lyra's face. "In fact, your shadows helped. I didn't feel frightened at all when they appeared, they were comforting."
"Yeah, it was like having you there, it was pretty cool actually," Ron agreed, "they felt more human than actual darkness, like I could feel you looking over me from within them, if that makes sense."
"Are you sure it was this Black looking out for you and not the other?" Harry questioned, still doubting their defences with a vicious sting to his sentence. The force with which he was interrogating them made Lyra feel a thousand times worse and she snuggled further into her squashy purple sleeping bag, wishing that this was just another one of her horrible nightmares. She didn't blame him for confronting her about it.
"No, Lyra was looking out for us," Ron was firm in his beliefs and he continued to bat Harry's accusations away. "We know it was her."
"Although I didn't see any, Ron swore he saw he saw a few packs of spectral hounds in the corridors too, we promise we felt protected," Hermione interjected, and Lyra's heart lightened. She kept her friends and the better part of the school in her thoughts when she conjured the darkness, and it seemed it showed in her actions. Her guilt lessened somewhat but the hurt on Harry's face kept a large chunk in its place.
"But he escaped again," Lyra muttered, fiddling with the bag zip rather than looking up at him, "I put everyone in danger. I'm sorry."
"You don't have to apologise," Hermione tutted and shot Harry a look, asking him to knock it off, but he refused. Lyra had definitely hit a nerve. "Let's talk about something else, we can't mope about this all night."
"Let's go and get some water," Ron suggested but he had already nudged Harry into joining him on his feet, "we'll be right back."
Lyra tried to inspire some excitement as Hermione pulled a small, well-loved, brown leather book out from her pocket but she couldn't tear her gaze away from the boys walking away, their heads dipped as they whispered to each other. She hated feeling like this, fucking hated it. Why did she summon those bloody shadows? Why?! If Ron had stopped to tie his shoelaces, or if he had forgotten something and doubled back… she couldn't even think about it.
"He's really upset," Hermione spotted her pout and closed her book again, watching the pair navigate the busy hall without stepping on anyone, "did anything else happen while Ron and I were upstairs? Before all of this?"
Lyra's stomach knotted and she huffed. Surely not? Was he still hung up on what Theodore said?
She emerged from her sleeping bag like a nervous kitten and shuffled closer so none of the lounging groups nearby could eavesdrop. "Something always happens when we're together, and because we hang out apparently that means that we must be more than friends, according to various sources," she said spitefully, and she let out a small growl, "why did he have to make things awkward between us?! Gah, I hate boys!"
Hermione's eyes bulged and she gasped, anticipating an entirely different answer. "Wait, what? Who? Harry made things awkward? What did he do…?"
"No, Theodore and Draco did," Lyra whinged, her brows furrowing as she absently searched the hall for their stupid faces, "they ran into us and started shit for no reason, claiming Harry has a crush on me and that's the only reason we're friends."
" Oh," Hermione pursed her lips and waited for Lyra to continue. Her own opinion was sitting on the tip of her tongue but she didn't dare voice it, not when Lyra wasn't finished. She didn't want to embarrass herself too.
"Yeah, and that's not even the awkward bit," Lyra lowered her voice and waited for the heart palpitations to pass. "Harry took a minute to deny it, but he swore to me afterwards that he doesn't fancy me. I dunno if he's just still embarrassed because I had to ask him again and he's taking it out on me or… I don't know."
"He's definitely still embarrassed," Hermione agreed without hesitating, smirking at the hilarity of the situation, "don't take it to heart, you know what boys are like."
"Yeah, annoying," Lyra grouched, shuffling back so she could lean against the frigid hall walls. It was somewhat comforting and she exhaled all of her frustration out. "And totally emotional. Sure, I perhaps aided in Sirius' escape and put your guys' lives in a little bit of danger, but Dad seems to be an evil, modern-day Houdini so he would have escaped anyways and you guys were fine!"
"I think it's an amalgamation of everything, he's angry that your father was in the castle, scared that he was so close to all of us, especially you, and embarrassed by what Theodore said," Hermione reasoned with her, "he'll calm down in a day or two, don't worry about it."
But worry was all Lyra knew. She bit the last of the skin off her lips and shook the anxiety away, it wasn't doing her any good. It was just hormones driving them crazy, it wasn't deep.
"I'll try," she attempted to lighten up by nodding at the book in her lap, "is that Beedle's famous fairy tales by any chance?"
"Not quite, it's one of his many unofficial biographies," Hermione was quick to divert the subject onto one of much greater importance than their best friend's moody attitude. She passed it over so Lyra could admire the basic cover. "Most of his works have been checked out already."
Lyra believed that, judging by the Purebloods costumes she saw tonight.
"Let's see what all the fuss is about," Lyra flicked the book open and the pair snuggled together, taking turns to read sections to each other under their breaths.
When the boys returned, she forced herself to look at Harry as she thanked him for her water, but he failed to connect their gaze. He didn't even acknowledge their new book, he sat beside Ron and avoided the girls altogether, his shoulders hunched and a smouldering pout on his face to match.
Lyra's heart broke a little.
The only time she stopped worrying about Harry and his newfound disgust of her was when the majority of the hall had passed out and she was left alone to stare at the ceiling. It was then that she realised how loud the miserable guards outside were crying and she winced, clamping her pillow to her head in the hopes of drowning out their grating howls.
The Dementors were being so needy and it drove her insane. They didn't let up once, a constant throaty whine like a symphony of dying cars parked outside of the Great Hall, she was honestly amazed that no one else complained.
PLEASE… COME TO US…
WE NEED YOU…
WE SEE YOU IN THERE, COME ON OUT, YOUNG ONE…
COME AND PLAY…
Over and over again. Begging. Dripping with a type of yearning she didn't want to satisfy. They failed to capture him, that was their only job and they were failing! Why would she answer them?
DO BETTER! FIND SIRIUS AND THEN MAYBE WE'LL TALK?!
You tell 'em, girl.
Honestly, they're worse than needy puppies.
Lyra resigned to the fact that the voices were right and tried her best to ignore the pestering dark creatures during the next week, but it appeared that the week leading up to the first Quidditch game of the season was destined to be nasty. Nothing seemed to go right.
"I'm sorry, Miss Black, but I don't think these are real runes," Professor Babbling let Lyra down softly as she slid her fluffy notebook back across her teaching desk, her wrinkled purple lips pursed awkwardly, "may I ask where you saw them? They're… unique."
Lyra hung her head and collected her book, disappointed that she actually got her hopes up. Of course why would her Ancient Runes Professor recognise the ancient runes that haunted her sleepless nightmares? It was a long shot, Hermione told her that multiple times at breakfast, and as she predicted it was a straight miss.
"Oh, well I'm making my own language you see, and I wanted to make sure that I'm not stealing another wizard's work," she sighed, slapping a charming smile over her pout, "I'd hate to run into copyright issues."
Although she was staring at her student as though she were questioning her sanity, Professor Babbling promptly returned to the pile of homework she was collecting and held out her hand for Lyra's submission. "Creating new runes is a skill far beyond your reach yet, you have plenty of time to perfect them in the future, but for now — your essay?"
Lyra solemnly handed over her scrolls and kept her mouth shut in order to not raise any more suspicions, but once she left the classroom she scooped her notebook out from her backpack again to dwell in more of her self-pity. The gushing of rain pouring down the pipes and spurting from the mouths of gargoyles served as the melody of the sixth floor as everyone made their way to their next lesson of the day.
She watched the everlasting thunderstorm drown the grounds as she slumped, feeling awfully stuck in the mud. She didn't know what her next step was, too many thoughts were vying for her attention in her busy mind and they were starting to fight with each other for first pickings. She was so consumed by it all that she almost walked straight past Hermione who had been waiting for her.
"Any luck?"
"Of course not, what's luck? Never heard of it," she grumbled, looking down at the runes Death gave them in disdain. "She said they're unique."
"Damn," Hermione offered her a crestfallen smile as they began their descent to Defence Against the Dark Arts, backed by the usual whistling of the wind. "I really thought for a second she might know, but I suppose your burn is truly unique."
"Mhm, lucky me. How was Arithmancy? And the second half of double Charms?" Lyra smoothly changed the subject to avoid inducing a migraine. Halfway through Ancient Runes she remembered she had Quidditch practice tonight and dreaded the impending tension that had been haunting her all week. The team noticed the frosty atmosphere between their Seeker and Chaser but they didn't dare point it out.
"Arithmancy was fine, but Charms…" Hermione yawned and emitted a small huff, "I overshot my turns and had to wait for me to leave halfway through to correct my mistake. There goes an hour I'll never get back."
Lyra tried not to ask but the question was already out. "Did he say anything?"
Hermione shook her head and pulled her moping friend in for a side-hug, gently dragging Lyra toward the third floor. "At least we have Defence Against the Dark Arts to look forward to! Remus might be feeling better today?"
Of course, she was wrong.
"Remus is definitely not feeling better," Lyra groaned as they pulled up to their third floor classroom and peaked through the crack in the door. "Fancy skipping this lesson and heading to the—?"
But she then realised who she was speaking to and hung her head. "Nevermind."
"Oi! You were—? But we left you downstairs with Flitwick? How did you get up here so fast?"
The girls turned to see their counterparts jogging over to them, both of them perplexed by Hermione's top speed. Lyra didn't even bother attempting to look at Harry, she continued to study her notebook as though the runes had suddenly changed.
"There are other stairwells in this castle," Hermione was quick to diminish his worries, "we should go in before Professor Snape yells at you two for us being late." She glanced at Lyra and Harry who reluctantly shrugged in agreement.
"Remus isn't back yet?" Harry swore as he poked his head inside the busy room, and Lyra winced as they heard Snape call him out.
"Don't even think about it, Potter— in, now!"
Another crash of thunder rolled through the corridor and Lyra resonated with the storm as she dragged her feet and followed her friends inside. Maybe I should summon the shadows now…?
But in a surprising turn of events, Harry sent his gaze her way and caught her eye, as though he heard whispers of the devious plan forming in her head. He knew what the appearance of her dimples meant. Her heart thumped, unsure how to react.
"Do it."
She didn't realise he had said it until she was already in her seat beside Hermione, and she rolled her eyes, reflecting the same attitude he'd been serving her for days as she glanced over her shoulder.
"I thought my shadows were too dangerous?" She drawled, ensuring that he caught every slick syllable, and she finally smirked again when Harry sat back in a huff, fighting the turning corners of his mouth.
"Please use them," Ron caught onto their inference and leant forward toward the girls' desk, crouching slightly to avoid Snape's mean stare, "we've already had him for Potions this morning, we deserve a free period."
Lyra was happy to fulfil his wish as she settled into her seat, but the very idea slipped from her mind as she took notice of what their lesson was about today. Her face fell and Snape relished in the horror pooling in her eyes as he crossed his arms and barked at them to follow his instructions.
"Wands away, we will be reading chapter eighteen together as a group," he flicked his wand and the old projector sitting on his teaching desk came to life.
"Introduction to: Werewolves."
Moving images of werewolves of all shapes and sizes appeared before the third years, half-scaring them into a sudden silence. Gnarly, unkempt, feral wolves terrorising villages, dangerous beasts that couldn't be reasoned with tearing witches and wizards from limb to limb—
But the animated diagrams of a werewolf pre- transformation horrified her the most. The drawing of a simple man, a werewolf during a new moon, willingly assaulting a child… Lyra knew what she was staring at and bile rose in her throat. Anti-werewolf propaganda, a meticulous, hand-picked selection of pictures that would systematically turn them against the idea of accepting werewolves into society. It was so obvious it made her feel violently nauseous, this most definitely was not Remus' lesson plan.
After the collective groans from her classmates — Michael and Anthony sitting in the front row physically had to turn in their seats to avoid staring at the repulsive images — Lyra went to raise her hand when her friends beat her to the draw.
"Sir, I don't think this is very appropriate to show—,"
"Werewolves are a part of your studies this year, this module was approved by the school board long before you were born, Miss Granger," Snape rebutted Hermione's claim and gestured at her to put her hand down.
They weren't finished.
"Yeah but this is a bit much," Ron piped up next, "I don't think all werewolves are, you know," he half-heartedly gestured to the gory scene depicted before them, "child eaters. Do we really have to see this?"
"There are first years out there with stronger stomachs than you, Weasley, this is nothing," Snape bit back, his greasy brow deepening with each remark, and he surveyed the rest of the room, daring them to speak up, "does anyone else have any more objections or opinions on how I should teach my class? Or can I continue?"
Snape's crude scowl landed on Lyra as he walked past their desk, and she happily blinked up at him. She wanted to remind him that this was Remus' class, not his, but as she opened her mouth to speak—
"And where do you think you're going?" Snape snarled as Harry took to his feet and got ready to leave the classroom, sucking Snape's attention from Lyra at breakneck speed. The other Gryffindors watched the scene in suspense, thoroughly enjoying the free entertainment the four known loud-mouths supplied whenever Snape was near. The Ravenclaws were stunned by their audacity; they had never shared a Potions class with them before.
"Oh, I'm going to file a complaint with Professor Dumbledore, sir, don't mind me," Harry gladly informed him as he sauntered toward the door. "By all means keep teaching—,"
"SIT . DOWN. Thirty points from Gryffindor, Potter, you do not own this school and you cannot do as you please as though us mere mortals are beneath you!" Snape opted for physical violence instead of magic, he dug his fingers deep into Harry's shoulder as he forced him back into his seat and screamed in his face. " Be-have."
Lyra was impressed by how straight Harry managed to keep his face and she couldn't help but commend him with a silent round of applause while Snape's back was still turnt. Sensing movement behind him, he spun at a vicious speed and Lyra dropped the act instantly, suddenly invested in her textbook.
" Now…" Snape brushed down his robes with extra force and stormed to the front of the class once more, the shadows cast on his bitter features exaggerating his loathing,"As I was saying… Werewolves are a part of the Ministry's level five X beast category and—,"
"Professor, preventing a student from filing a complaint goes against school policy—,"
The forces above that controlled Lyra's luck must have been listening to her today, that was the only explanation as to how she managed to get front row seats to a one-of-a-kind event such as this. Usually it was her job to drive Snape insane, but it appeared that her friends were filling in for her today so she sat back and took her break. She hadn't said a word to Snape and he was already a sickly grey aubergine colour.
"Granger…" he uttered, deadly calm, "for once, zip it… No one wants to hear what you have to say. Do you not find it exhausting being an unbearable braggart all of the time? Do you not get bored of listening to your insufferable whining? No one wants to hear it!"
And now he's hitting back below the belt, fantastic!
Lyra's jaw dropped along with the rest of the class but by the time she recovered enough to yell back, Ron was already on his feet defending Hermione and cussing him out with language that would have shocked even the naughtiest teenager back at Coles. It was magnificent and she made sure to enjoy every second of Snape's unravelling dumbfounded expression before this glorious moment ended.
"DETENTION, WEASLEY! HOW DARE YOU!"
It ended far too soon.
" Now can I go and file my complaint? You're technically bullying your students as well as spreading biassed information."
Nope, I was wrong.
Harry bravely raised his hand and hit the final nail into the coffin when Snape took a moment to catch his breath, and Lyra bowed her head, fighting the tears that wanted to escape. Her whole body was tingling, she hadn't been this giddy since her birthday! Why was I upset again?
"OUT!" Snape reached his breaking point and the classroom door flew open as though the storm had finally broken through. The wailing wind covered the raging professor's outburst nicely, no one on the third floor could've known he was losing his shit. "GET OUT, ALL FOUR OF YOU— NOW! Detention for the entire month!"
Lyra couldn't believe it. Actually no, who was she kidding? She definitely could!
"Now I want everyone in this room to note that I did not utter a single word during all of that," Lyra addressed her classmates, locking eyes with a few of them as she dragged out collecting her things, "and yet, here I am, being discriminated against simply because I associate with the culprits. I literally did nothing! I'm innocent, I tell you! Innocent!"
"FORTY POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR!"
"So totally worth it," Lyra sighed as the door slammed behind them, and she turned to her friends as they settled in the aftermath of getting kicked out of a lesson."Who needs shadows when I've got you three? Bravo!"
"I'm not ashamed of that whatsoever, if any other teachers ask why we're out of class I'm telling them we're protesting," Hermione asserted first, her head held high, "we are absolutely filing a complaint against him."
"I think we all should, four against one," Harry suggested, adding fuel to Hermione's fire, but Lyra jumped in with a better idea before they ran off to the headmaster's office.
"How about we visit Remus first? It's been a few days since the full moon, he can't be in that bad of a condition now," she asked with her charming smile to sweeten the deal, "and I want to give him a heads up that Snape is trying to sabotage him, he deserves to know."
"I second that idea," Harry's agreement threw Lyra for a moment but she widened her smile when he matched her hopeful gaze and added, "he's ok, I'm sure he is."
Was her worry that obvious to him? She thought she was hiding it well.
"Let's go now before Snape decides to come for us again, the further we are from this place, the better I'll feel," Ron shivered, strategically shuffling away from the door before checking on the snoozing ball in his shirt pocket.
"You did call him a — what was it? A 'slimy, shit-breathed nonce'? I wouldn't be surprised if we never see you again after today," Hermione repeated in all seriousness, but they nearly cracked a rib trying to keep their laughter at a reasonable volume. Ron looked way too proud of himself. They quickly fled the scene once they heard Snape's approaching foot stomps on the other side of the door as they valued their lives far more than their love of terrorising their Potions Master.
Before they arrived at Remus' office, Lyra hoped to exchange some pleasant words with her moody friend for the first time but Harry still kept his distance from her. The spark of his warmth was fading again, a fleeting flash of light before more missed glances and one word answers. She walked behind him in silence.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!
Remus answered their call with a stream of confused mutters and sleepy eye contact, but once he grew accustomed to the light of his deserted classroom they had broken into he opened the door wider with a heavy, knowing smile and shook his head.
"And why aren't you four in class?"
"Why aren't you?" Lyra countered, emphasising her judgeful look up and down. For someone who was a terrifying dangerous beast a few days ago, he looked quite healthy! Granted, the bloody gauzes sticking out of his creased shirt collar wasn't a great sign, and he looked like he hadn't slept in weeks, but he had no new scars! "You look great! Did you shave?"
"Unintentionally," he answered, forgetting who he was speaking to, but he rolled his eyes and welcomed them into his messy office. "Come on then, tell me, how much does Professor Snape want to kill you?"
"On a scale of one to ten? I'd say an eight," Lyra wagered, making herself at home like usual. She lit his candles to block out the storm's glum grey cast and searched the many dishevelled surfaces around the office for clean mugs. "Maybe eight and a half considering he's covering your class."
"An eight? I would've thought that was a ten," Ron debated, "he was literally purple."
"Nah, that's not a ten. You don't ever want to see him at a ten," Harry agreed, "I would say nine at a stretch."
"We've definitely seen him at a ten," Hermione disproved his statement, "remember when he caught us under the trapdoor? That was a ten."
Remus' mild apprehension rapidly became disturbed regret and he busied himself with summoning them tea instead of pondering on what Hermione was referring to. Nothing good ever lurked beneath a trapdoor.
"And may I ask what caused you four to stage a coup against him?" He blew the steam from his own cup and waited patiently as he sipped. He had the disappointing fatherly stare down to a tee and for once, Lyra welcomed it with an open heart.
"I know you won't believe me but I didn't do anything this time," she told him, "I mean, don't get me wrong, I would have joined in but I couldn't ruin the magic that was being made."
"She's right," Hermione fortified her claim with a sufficient argument that sadly broke Remus' spirit like a dry twig. She explained the kind of content they were being taught and the light faded in his eyes once again. He aged before their eyes, bruising shadows melted his already worn face at the news that his colleague was doing everything he could to get him sacked.
"Ah."
"We don't know if he's using this lesson plan for every year group he's covering so we wanted to give you a heads up in cases he starts giving out werewolf identifier pamphlets or something,"said Harry, visibly irked that Snape was winning, "and we're gonna file a complaint against him too. We're going straight to Dumbledore after here."
Remus twitched. "Were you—?"
"We're not going to tell him we know about you," Lyra read his mind and took the weight from his shoulders. It wasn't even a question. "Seriously, Snape is one degree away from sanctioning werewolf hunts as homework tasks. Dumbledore knows it won't take much for us to complain about him but his lesson really is out of order. He's being gross and we're uncomfortable."
"Then by all means, if you feel unsafe then talk to Professor Dumbledore," Remus encouraged her mindset, although he wished it was for any other reason than this. "And for your peace of mind, I will be returning to school life tomorrow so todays lesson will be a one-off. I won't be assigning any essays on how to identify a werewolf, don't worry."
Relief rolled through the four students and they relaxed into their chairs, free from the weight of worry for their favourite teacher. A new favourite adult in her life. Lyra grinned back at him.
"Great, because our first Quidditch match is this weekend and I don't have space in my schedule for pretend essays," she sighed, calmly switching one anxiety for another. The flapping of the draping curtain failing to hide the rain was rather distracting, the ragged ends reminded her of a Dementor's cloak—
COME TO US…
WE NEED YOU… COME AND JOIN US…
Lyra changed the frequency to her private mental radio channel the second she heard them cry out to her and she focused on finishing her tea instead. They were still in her bad books and they knew it.
"Are you coming to watch us?" Harry asked, trying not to seem too eager, and Lyra's stomach fluttered when Remus barked out a laugh. The sun rose in his dark gaze again, and he smirked into his cup.
"Do you really think I'm going to miss the chance to see you both fly? I wouldn't miss it for the world."
"Did you used to play?" Hermione wondered, and Remus wore his blush without shame.
"Merlin, no, I was awful," his hand absently reached for his lower back, "but that doesn't mean I haven't seen my fair share of matches since James and Giselle played. Match days in that house were… intense and messy."
Lyra's mind went directly to a place that caused more trauma and she shuddered. She really didn't want to know what that meant.
But her mouth had other ideas.
"Remus, ew?"
" Lyra?!" If looks could kill, she should've been thankful that Death had her back because he was murderous. " Not like that?! There's a reason I didn't want you to know about your parents and I— stop being inappropriate, I'm your professor now!"
"You can't use words like 'intense' and 'messy' in that context and not expect me to cringe, sir," she held her hands up, "your poor choice of words, not mine."
Clearly Remus didn't want to but he let that slide.
"As much as I would love for you all to stay and embarrass me some more, I can't allow you to waste this hour of study time skiving," Remus broke up their little gathering when the caffeine from their tea break hit his system and jump started him back into responsible adult life. With a simple wand wave his office lightened as though the furniture had awoken from a group nap. Curtains straightened, the discarded fireplace embers fizzled to life, and the disorganised chaos of parchment and abandoned books on his desk jumped to their rightful places. The four unwilling Gryffindors jumped from their chairs as their pillows began to fluff themselves.
"Its not skiving, it's called 'We had an emotional response to seeing traumatic images of dead kids set up by an unprofessional member of staff and we are coping in a very healthy way by removing ourselves from said trauma'. Ask Madam Pomfrey, she'll tell you we have every right to do so," Lyra corrected him, deciding to use her 'my dad is a mass murderer' trump card. She needed to use it more before it expired, it was useless once she was dead.
Although he knew she was humouring him, Remus didn't like that answer.
"I'm not sure Professor Snape will agree to that version of events, but you have my permission to use this hour to revise in the library. As for the reason why you have said permission… What happened on Halloween…" Lyra paused at the door to listen, not expecting him to even mention Sirius' break-in, "please promise me that you are making sensible decisions? I know it might seem pointless because he's been sighted inside the castle but putting yourself in danger's way is a very quick way for danger to find you. Don't tempt fate."
She could practically feel Harry's scorching gaze on her back as she turned to face Remus, and the gnawing guilt came tumbling back. The idea of Remus losing her again wounded him worse than any self-inflicted injury and she couldn't stand to see him in so much pain.
They care about you, so much.
Your father is a dark man, you need to protect yourself.
"I won't," Lyra vowed. And this time, she meant it. Danger will find her, she just had to wait for it to come. She didn't need to scout it out. "I wanted to… on my birthday, I wanted to find him but… surely you understand where I'm coming from? I understand it was dumb but he knows what happened that night, all of that happened for a reason and I deserve to know what that reason was. We both do," she gestured at Harry who was less keen to join the conversation.
However he nodded and found his voice. "As much as we want to know why he betrayed my parents and killed Giselle though, we're not going out of our way to find him. We're not hunting him down, we swear."
He was still on her side, Lyra nearly teared up.
"We're being sensible, no matter how much being sensible is killing be," She carried on, trying to conceive a decent argument while wanting to tell him the truth. Why hide it? Remus had nothing left to hide from her. "I know that the most mature thing for me to do is to ensure that he doesn't get what he wants, which is us dead. I won't go looking for my father, Remus. I promise. I'm done with chasing guys who want to kill me."
"Has that got anything to do with last year?" Remus pried, and Lyra gave a half-shrug, half-nod. The attraction of Harry's magnetic gaze drew hers and she blushed at his expression. He was practically screaming 'I've been trying to tell you this!' at her.
"I don't think we have enough time to cover that tale today," Harry joked, "but we've learnt our lesson."
"We will tell you soon," Lyra swore.
"Good, good," Remus sounded surprised, if not a little winded from their honesty, "I'll keep you to that. Now you really must go, Professor Dumbledore isn't the type of man to stay in his office all day. I'll see you both at the Quidditch game tomorrow."
The four Gryffindors left Remus to his business and wandered toward the headmaster's office. Lyra tried to think of a way to break the ice between her and Harry, he couldn't still be mad at her after that, but luckily she didn't have to.
"For the record, I didn't not want to speak to you," it began as a ramble, he wanted to get his words out fast and pain-free, and the trio slowed down to listen, "but it was the only thing I could think of doing that would force you to understand how dumb you were acting."
"You were right to do so, I was being stubborn," Lyra pouted at him, sheepishly as she laid her cards out, "I promised I wouldn't put myself in danger and I broke that promise by putting others in harm's way too. I shouldn't have used my shadows."
"Your shadows stopped Harry from running off and putting himself in danger too, let's not forget that," Hermione failed to hold back her opinion.
"But they definitely helped Sirius escape, to be fair," Ron was quick to add. it was clear whose side they were on.
Lyra rolled her eyes and cut in."Look, the point is that I'm sorry for being dramatic, Harry's sorry for being too hard on me—,"
"I never said that, but sure," he scoffed, no longer frowning.
"—and you two are sorry because you had witnessed all of this," Lyra finished, putting the issue to bed for good, "now let's all stop moping because this complaint isn't going to file itself and I want to beat Snape before he tells on us first."
"We weren't the ones moping," Hermione laughed under her breath but ignored it for the sake of civility.
"Ahhh there's nothing that says friendship like coming together to defeat a common enemy," Ron sighed as he hooked his arms around his friends' necks and pulled them together, forcing them to hug it out. And like a good friend well-versed in Lyra's creative habits, Hermione stole the camera from her backpack and captured their first-ever reconciliation on film.
"I couldn't stay mad at you forever, I really am sorry," Harry said compassionately, and Lyra batted her eyelashes.
"Awww I know, how could anyone stay mad at this cute face?" She beamed.
"I meant because Oliver might physically assault us if we turned up to training tonight in silence but if it makes you feel better then yes, your looks are the reason why," Harry corrected her and laughed heartily as he earned himself a decent shoulder shove.
When it came to Quidditch, Lyra knew that Oliver could be a bit overstrung and fervent when it came to their strict regime, but that was due to the pressure he retained as captain. She imagined she would act the same too if she were captain, so she didn't dwell on Harry's comment much. Oliver wouldn't physically harm them, he was just exaggerating.
That was until Oliver hunted them down in a fourth floor study wing and made Lyra jump so high that the lanterns illuminating the entire wing jittered as they danced with her shadows.
" Have you made up yet?!" Oliver slammed his hands on the desk Lyra and Harry were sharing, and thankfully Harry caught her inkwell before it tipped and ruined her Transfiguration essay.
"You were just that close to falling out with me too," Lyra scowled at her team captain, swiftly moving her work out of his destructive path before thanking Harry for his reflexes.
"Yeah, we're cool, no need to panic," Harry assured Oliver whose face had turned a burnt pink colour as he assumed the worst. "We were going to wait until training to break the good news."
Oliver deflated in numbing relief and nudged Ron to move his bag from the spare chair before he collapsed.
"Thank fuck for that. I mean you've both been playing brilliantly considering, but a broken team is a losing team. If we want to knock this first game out of the park then I need all of us on speaking terms at the very least. Also," he caught his breath and gestured at them to pack up, "training has moved to before dinner so, come on, follow me."
"It's still technically last period," Hermione checked her watch, "are you sure you're allowed to go down to the pitch now?"
"Doesn't matter, I know how to break into the stadium," Oliver chuckled away her concerns with a smile suggesting she was being cute, "also the others are free now so hop to it! We're wasting valuable time!"
"Good luck," wished Ron as he made a point to nod towards the darkening sky, "you're gonna need it."
"Psssh, it'll lighten up by tomorrow, relax!" The tense chuckle following Oliver's statement didn't land as yet another bolt of lightning lit up the study wing's windows. The rain was harder than hail against the glass panes, Lyra could hardly hear herself think.
" It's fine!" Oliver stressed, his eyes wide in stern belief, "Training. Now."
CLOSE… SO CLOSE…
DON'T BE SCARED… YOU MADE US…
COME, PLEASE… COME JOIN US…
Lyra tussled with her duvet and huffed, once again listening to the droning of the Dementors during the early hours of the morning. Saturday had just reared its head and yet she was already wide awake and driven senseless by their needy caws. Of all mornings for them to act up, the morning of her first Quidditch match of the season was possibly the worst choice. Especially since she had to recover what was left of her reputation today.
From what she heard, Riddle wasn't exactly a talented flyer.
Lighthouse, I'm a freaking lighthouse.
BRING YOUR LIGHT TO US… WE SENSE LIFE, WE KNOW LIGHT IS HERE…
Thunder and lightning battled amongst the black morning clouds and Lyra threw her duvet from her and drew back her bed curtains, resigning to the fact that she was awake now.
It wasn't until she left her dorm and sulked down to the common room that she felt some sense of anticipation for the day. The fireplaces were already roaring, and she smiled when Harry, Fred and George emerged from their hooded sweaters in their slouched sofa positions to greet her. She wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep.
"Brilliant timing," George sighed, heavy-eyed, and rubbed his hands, "we were meaning to call Kreacher for a cuppa for a while now."
"By all means," Lyra warmed to the idea immediately and settled into the armchair opposite them, " Kreacher!"
Pop!
"Kreacher baked these fresh this morning," her uncommonly cheerful house elf served the group his sparkling silver platter of steaming, crisp breakfast pastries and issued a low bow toward his mistress, "Kreacher sensed Lyra's nerves, tea?"
"Oooh Kreacher, have I ever told you that I love you?" She smiled sleepily and tried to pull him into a hug to the amusement of the boys, who were helping themselves to the vaguely lion-shaped chocolate croissants as though they had never seen food before.
"Many times," Kreacher pretended to fend her off but his drooping ears were very telling as he accepted his forehead kisses, "is everyone ready for the game today?"
"Yes," Fred said confidently.
"Sure," George sounded less convinced through his mouthful of chocolate pastry.
"No, I had a really strange dream last night about the game," Harry said too casually, "long story short we all died, so, I don't think that bodes well."
"At least if you play poorly you can blame the weather, if I fuck up then everyone's gonna wonder why I'm still on the team," Lyra thanked Kreacher for her Earl Grey and scowled into it, "was Voldemort really that bad last year?"
None of the boys looked particularly eager to soothe her concerns which in itself said a million words, so Lyra groaned and buried her head into the armchair cushions. I'm ruined! So much for living up to the family name!
"You're incredible when we train though, the team knows how great you are," Fred fought to keep her from disappearing into her sweater, "after we explained why you were acting weird last year, that is. They didn't believe us at first, but we got there in the end."
Lyra already knew her teammates were aware of last year, it was the only way she managed to keep her position. But still, remembering that Oliver, Katie, and Angelina knew about Tom… not good for the nerves whatsoever.
The quartet chatted amongst themselves as they waited for the teammates to appear, and slowly one by one they joined their breakfast club, all equally as nervous for the upcoming match. In an effort to remain calm, Katie and Angelina resorted to putting on creamy face masks and Lyra soon joined them, enjoying the chamomile white clay Angelina slathered her with.
By the time Oliver eventually arrived, his entire Quidditch team were gleaming from the mud coating their faces and he begrudgingly let Katie apply his own mask in the name of team building.
"It's part of our good luck ritual," Angelina defended Katie's action before Oliver could protest, "we need all the luck we can get, guys, this storm is fucking insane. None of us have flown in conditions as bad as these."
"I can guarantee that the Hufflepuffs are having this exact conversation down in their burrow right now, at least both teams are at a disadvantage," said Fred brightly, being the surprise voice of reason that even Oliver couldn't conjure, "Come on guys! This is Wood's last year being a part of the team and I for one am not going to let a little bit of wind and rain stop us from making sure he goes out with a show-stopping bang!"
"Awww," Oliver nearly welled up but he refused to smudge his face mask, "mate, that really means a lot," he took a deep breath and sat forward, looking them all lovingly in the eye, "I know I can be a little bit of a pain in the arse—,"
"More like a bloody Fwooper bite to the balls," George muttered under his breath.
"—but I mean this when I say that I couldn't be more proud of the team we have here," Oliver finished, ignoring him. "Despite the unforeseen issue of the storm, I know that we are going to play the best game of Quidditch Hogwarts has ever seen. I believe in each and every one of you, I know you guys are gonna make me proud 'cus I already am."
"Again, I'm so sorry I got possessed last year," Lyra undercut the nice moment with the innate urge to double down on her apology, "we so totally would have won the Cup if it was actually me controlling my body."
"Honestly I don't care," Oliver resonated with the hard loss and offered her a kind smile, "I'm simply happy you're back with us and on fire."
Lyra smirked into her tea, physically feeling her ego absorb his words. She couldn't wait to show off today.
"I'll hold off catching the Snitch for as long as you want," Harry nobly offered, but at the behest of the whole team yelling at him he quickly retracted it. "Ok, woah, I hear you — catch it as quickly as possible, got it."
Slowly the lions rose from their dens and wished the team good luck as they passed through. Those who lingered to give extra encouragement were quick to bring up the grey elephant in the room, and Lyra swore the storm grew more unruly the more they spoke about it. Was the universe fucking with her today or something?
COME AND PLAY…
WE'RE GETTING HUNGRY…
PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEEEEASE—
"Argh!" Lyra jumped up from her armchair under the guise of nerves and excused herself from the crowds. Too many people, too loud. Dementors, too close. "The anticipation is killing me, I'm going for another shower."
Half the team rushed to copy and they agreed to meet down at the pitch in order to reassess the plays. Once she promised Harry she'd wait for him, she jogged up the stairs and whined dramatically to her slow rising dorm mates about how badly she needed the lavatory.
"Merlin, the match should be called off," Lavender yawned as she stared out of the window, watching debris brush past, "it looks lethal out there."
"You want us to give up? Us? The house of the brave? The house of the mighty lion?! it's just a bit of water!" Lyra shouted from her cubicle, making the girls laugh.
"How are the others feeling?" Hermione called out as she wetted her toothbrush, and Lyra let out a delirious laugh.
"Yeah, fine! Juuuust fine!"
"Mhm, sounds it," Parvati swapped smirks with Hermione, and Lyra listened to the girls wind her up as she attempted to calm her sensitive stomach. Not helping!
Once she recovered enough to feel somewhat confident to ride a broom, Lyra gave herself an impromptu pep-talk in the mirror until only Hermione remained.
"Before I say this, I'm only telling you this in the hopes that it inspires you to survive today," Hermione prefaced as she braided her wild hair into two voluminous plaits, and Lyra pouted, interested in what she had to say, "but I think I have another idea for a seance we could try to get some more answers about your extra sensitivities."
It wasn't what she expected to hear this morning and she welcomed it with a gasp. Hermione was right, the very thought supplied her with an extra shot of energy. "I'm listening…?"
"It just came to me last night, I'm almost annoyed that we hadn't thought of it before now," Hermione turned back to her reflection to focus on her tight twists, "I think there might be a way for us to contact Beedle from the other side. We might be able to talk to him through you."
Oooh?
Sounds interesting.
"And how might we do that?" Lyra wondered, warming to the idea.
"Because you're able to do what you can do," Hermione tried not to mention the Death word in case their roommates were still within earshot, "I think we can use you like a conduit for spirits, like you're a key for them to access our realm. Instead of you taking part in the seance, I want to use you as part of the ritual."
"That sounds potentially dangerous," Lyra pursed her lips and considered the risks of overexerting herself in the name of science. "I'm in."
"I knew you would be," Hermione commended her pitching skills and smiled at Lyra's reflection, "I'm still working out the logistics and straightening a few kinks, so I don't know when we'll have time to perform it, but hopefully before Christmas we'll be ready."
"If I survive today," Lyra added, tuning back into the wails of the storm echoing in the tower's tall ceilings. It sounded as though the wind was trying to rip the roof off.
"You'll survive today," Hermione was certain of it, but Lyra couldn't verbalise her agreement. Something in her gut was telling her to be careful, that Death was lingering close today.
The promise of another seance did, however, keep her nerves at bay in the lead up to the match and she rode the wave of hope for as long as it lasted. The only other member of the team who shared her positive mental attitude was Fred, which wasn't entirely a great sign that she was thinking straight. Harry barely said anything beyond the occasional swear word as they trekked down to the stadium, and when they arrived he swiftly joined Oliver and George in their collective fearful silence as they stood in the entranceway, staring at the white sheet of rain swamping the once green pitch. Katie locked herself in the bathroom and Angelina was sitting with her head between her legs, concentrating on her fast breathing.
"Is it bad that I'm kinda excited to see how badly this game turns out?" Fred chirped, happily tying his boot laces as his head bounced to a jaunty tune only he could hear, "fancy placing a bet on which team gets injured first?"
"Do you really need to ask?" Lyra scoffed, tightened her gloves, and rushed over to her belongings to extract a handful of sickles from her purse, "extra points if we guess who goes down first?"
"Of course," Fred took her suggestion seriously and matched her bet, "I'm betting on Diggory, he's absolutely going down within the first few minutes, mark my words."
Lyra ignored the flutters in her stomach at the mention of his name and accepted his terms with a strong handshake. As much as she wanted to win the bet, she prayed Fred would keep his promise as he stroked his Beater's bat lovingly.
"Now, this is totally a guess and not a wish, just want to clarify that first," Lyra announced carefully, glancing over her shoulder towards the trio still watching the rain, "but I think Harry's going down."
"Oooh bold move betting against the team!" Fred snickered and enthusiastically reaffirmed their handshake, and she cackled once Harry processed what she had just said and turned to yell at her. The tension amongst the team cracked and they used their last seconds before they needed to leave sharing a giggle at Harry's expense.
As they walked out toward the pitch, though, Lyra hung back and swung her arm over his shoulders with some difficulty, she realised. Did he grow overnight?
"Oh, come to say goodbye before I die?" Harry teased, pretending to fend her off, but Lyra gave him a squeeze of reassurance. His hardened frown softened.
"As if I'm really gonna let you die," she guffawed, "but if you just fall off your broom at some point I'd be super grateful!"
"Ahh, like father like daughter," he ruffled her hair and pushed her back towards the other Chasers, and she flashed him one more sarcastic grin before they left the dry, warm confines of the tent.
Lyra had never been more thankful that she listened to Hermione's advice this morning. The force of the rain thrashing down against her was verging on painful, but not a single drop of rain soaked her. She held Vivienne tight and assessed the situation as the two teams came head to head before the school. The stands were bursting with people but the storm stole their voices, if she had her eyes closed she never would have known they had an audience. The enchanted flood lights illuminating the stadium tried their hardest to fight the dark clouds and opaque gloom misting the grounds, visibility was at all-time low.
Lyra sensed the shadows, the darkness all around her. They felt malleable, waiting to be manipulated, but she flicked the intrusive thoughts away as Madam Hooch began the game.
Now was not the time to lose focus.
"It's a stormy start to our first game of the year, Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff, welcome ladies and gentlemen!" Lyra caught snippets of Lee's announcements through the whooshing in her ears as she took to the bleak skies. "Hold on to your umbrellas, folks, we're in for a wet one!"
Wet was an understatement, it was like flying through one constant, inescapable cloud. The glow of the rain bouncing from her was becoming noticeably unhelpful, the impervious charm wasn't working as it should have. She noticed she wasn't the only one having trouble with the spell and took solace in the fact she wasn't alone.
"Hecate's tits, this fucking sucks!" screamed Katie as she caught up to Lyra, distracting a wily Hufflepuff Chaser who she last saw dressed up as Prince, "BLACK, LEFT!"
Not a second too soon, Lyra dived toward Angelina who passed the ball her way as she appeared from the steel darkness. Her vicious shot upwards steered the other two yellow and bronze figures on her tail into a direct path of a nasty collusion, and she disappeared into the clouds with another cackle.
"OUCH! For those of you out there that can't see, which is everyone, Preece and Applebee are lucky to be alive after a magnificent feint by Black, Gryffindor are still in possession! Smooth recovery on their crash though, ten points to Hufflepuff for not breaking their brooms!"
With the pressure of the Quaffle in her hands and the potential eyes of the crowd on her, Lyra thrived in the darkness and rode the shadows as though they were one. The determination to prove that she was a valuable asset to the team spurred her to show off — and she certainly did show off.
" TEN MORE POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR! WOW! Fleet didn't see Black coming yet again! What a hat trick!" Lyra soaked in the praise and looped back to search for her girls, eager to signal another preplanned play, when she realised she'd caught the tails of the two desperate Seekers who, so far, had been having the worst luck out of all of them. She'd hardly seen them for most of the game, the Snitch was set on forcing them higher and higher in the indigo and charcoal abyss where the chances of them falling increased tenfold.
Lightning struck like a white ribbon woven through the blackness and she winced as they flew higher as though going toward it.
Come on Harry, end this insanity quickly!
WE CAN END IT FOR YOU…
SO CLOSE WE CAN TASTE YOU IN THE AIR…
COMING…
Lyra's heart lurched as she realised she could see her breath. The rain turned to ice and she finally removed her protective spell. The sudden cold pounding against her skin invigorated her enough to think clearly. She scraped her flyaways from her eyes and turned her attention from the game and onto the oozing, infectious mass of black leaking from the trees surrounding the stadium. Like a disease they were stubborn, they didn't want to listen to her anymore. They were ravenous.
WE'RE HERE…
SHIT! NO! DON'T—!
Lyra swore and bulleted into the air, climbing higher toward anonymity amongst the clouds so she could escape the gaze of the school. The game was long gone from her mind, the Dementors were coming and they were starving. She neglected them for too long and they wanted nothing more than her full attention.
SO MANY SOULS… JUST A FEW WILL DO…
Up here! Come up here instead! Leave everyone alone and follow me!
Choking on the thin air and mouthfuls of icy water, Lyra made her way towards the swarm of Dementors and attempted to draw them to her. They were intent on invading the pitch where the highly emotional collection of souls were calling to them, so she panicked. It was the best idea she had.
COME TO ME…
MOTHER…
The intensity of the Dementors changing paths and taking to the skies was heavy, her veins fizzled from the dark static around her. It felt… kinda good. Potentially addictive, she shuddered and encouraged them to come faster.
By the time she realised the howling of the wind had been replaced with the screams of the school noticing their near invasion, she felt at one with the creatures. The closer they came, the stronger their connection became, and they bent to her every whim like taffy left out in the sunshine.
YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO HARM ANYONE HERE…
YES… YES… OF COURSE.
PLEASE COME WITH US…
Lyra closed her eyes and dove head first into the swarm, and the electrifying tingle of their cloaks brushing over her tickled her. The strong stench of seaweed hit her square in the nose, a smell she grew to hate over the years, but strangely she didn't mind it. It was familiar, so very familiar…
I'M SORRY BUT YOU NEED TO GO, I CAN'T COME WITH YOU…
The storm was a mere whistle from within the shelter of the dark creatures, she enjoyed the break from the relentless tugs of the wind fighting her and Vivienne. Although it was hard to tell where exactly she was, she managed to draw the majority of the Dementors away from the pitch and into the safety of the Forbidden Forest. Their guttural moans softened with the slowing patter of the rain as they hid amongst the thickest of the monstrous trees.
PLEASE… STAY WITH US…
"I can't, I have to stay here," Lyra bravely spoke to them in person as she dismounted her broom and withdrew from their deathly embrace. She was shivering head to toe but she couldn't feel a single bite from the frost. Her chest heavy from her burden, Lyra fought their siren calls and watched them bleed into the veins of the forest. Mist rolled around her ankles and she aimed a grumpy kick at a nearby innocent fir sapling.
THE SOULS YOU SEEK ARE CLOSE, BE CAREFUL…
Goosebumps accompanied the fleeting sense of dread the Dementors sent her way, and she looked up into the shrouds of the very few who lingered, too stubborn to leave yet.
"What?"
WE ARE TRYING TO CATCH THEM, FOR YOU…
Them?
Stupefied by the cryptic message, Lyra watched them float away in a daze, listening to their moans intertwine with the spooky echoes of the gale and rain trickling through the canopy above her. They said the strangest of things sometimes, who else were they hunting besides her father?
Dementors have always been a mystery to us.
We died before we were able to study them.
Then we'll study them together, I promise.
Maybe not now though, haven't you got a Quidditch match to return to—?
"Ah, fuck!" Lyra slapped herself and mounted Vivienne as fast as her jittery limbs allowed her to. She was still trembling from their contact, like a delayed sugar rush her body was struggling to keep up. She needed to remain calm and blend in, no one could know she was responsible for the near invasion.
Using the cover of the trees, Lyra skirted around the pitch trying to find a decent way to sneak inside. It wasn't until she passed one of the Slytherin stands and noticed a tear in its foundation canvas. It was the best feasible option and she sent a silent prayer into the universe that everything was going to be fine.
She snuck through the tear and shuffled under the wooden beam fixtures underneath one of the many rickety staircases. The loud rumble from the many pairs of feet leaving the stands mixed with the animated gossip that filled the air, and her stomach turned over and over as she slipped her way into the surging crowds.
"Oi? How'd you get here?"
An unfamiliar fourth year Slytherin noticed her straight away, and Lyra flaunted her charming smile as more heads turned her way.
"I don't know whether you noticed or not but it's a teensy bit windy out there today," she purred, making a point to retighten her ponytail before pushing her way through the sea of green and silver, "it's none of your business where I crash land, ok?"
"I hope you hurt yourself!"
"Another one bites the dust!"
The Slytherins jumped at the chance to heckle her as rushed off, and she blushed at the laughter following her middle finger she threw their way. She tried not to linger on the taunts but obviously, something was wrong. Another bites the dust?
Her first point of call was the Gryffindor changing rooms. The game had obviously ended, but how? Who won? Was everyone ok? She hoped she was being overly dramatic but the solemn faces that started to appear amongst the masses dressed in red wasn't inspiring. Fuck, we lost!
"Thank goodness you're ok," Lyra jumped as Hermione bombarded her at the entrance to the changing rooms. A larger crowd than normal was piled inside, she doubted she could even squeeze in. Luckily she didn't need to.
"You are ok, aren't you? You look a little grey," Ron came up to her next and grabbed her shoulders, inspecting her for any wounds.
"I'm a little shaky, but I'm ok," she muttered, pulling them away from the doorway and into the shadows, "the Dementors are cheeky bastards, I tried to stop them from stopping the game but they wouldn't listen."
The pair looked awfully relieved and Ron patted her back before pulling her into a hug.
"That was terrifying and there were only a handful on the pitch," he shivered, but over her shoulder Lyra noticed the tears in Hermione's wide eyes.
"Guys," she withdrew from his hug and blinked, fearing the worst, "where is he? What happened?"
"It happened so fast, we're not entirely sure," Hermione began, wringing her sodden bobble hat, "we were waiting to find you before we headed up there and—,"
"What? Up there? As in—?"
"The hospital wing," Ron clarified, taking the pressured words from the rambling girls' mouths, and he urged them to follow him, "a couple of Dementors found Harry and Diggory in the clouds, we think they got lost and…" he winced, "they both kinda… fell."
THEY BOTH—?
Lyra felt faint and she latched onto her friends before she fell. Was it her fault? Did she almost kill…?
No.
Not your fault, you did an outstanding job.
Lighthouse… Just a lighthouse…
The trio hardly spoke another word until they breached the atrium of the infirmary where they were met with a handful of other desperate visitors. Lyra's blood chilled when she recognised the puffy eyed pair Antony and Gabriel who was currently arguing with Professor McGonagall. Katie and Angelina were comforting the other Hufflepuff team players who were whispering amongst themselves, but Fred and George noticed them first and yanked them into the drama that was unfolding in front of the closed hospital doors.
"You must wait, Mr Rickett," McGonagall droned, unbreakable in the face of her worried students, "Madam Pomfrey will tell us when they'll be ready for you. I understand that you are scared but the best thing you can do for Mr Diggory right now is be patient."
"But—?"
"No ifs, no buts," McGonagall shut him down with a stern look and a fierce brow, and Lyra admired how quickly she forced the Hufflepuffs to back down.
"So they're definitely alive?" Lyra failed to hold her tongue and McGonagall gave them the peace of mind with a simple nod.
"Professor Dumbledore slowed them as much as he could without a moment's notice," she informed them, a visible nerve ticking in her clenched jaw, "we are incredibly lucky that there were only a few Dementors brave enough to challenge him."
Lyra shook Ron's side-eye away and bit her lip, trying not to avoid her professor's gaze too often. Her guilt lessened, at least she prevented a potential catastrophe.
"Who won the game?" Lyra looked to the ashened twins, and the two teams exchanged awkward glances.
"We don't actually know, no one's found the Snitch yet," Fleet, the curly-haired Keeper, admitted first, and Lyra oohed in anticipation. How exciting!
"So, what does this mean for our bet?" Fred muttered, cautious of the professor's feline hearing, and Lyra cringed. She completely forgot.
"Did we accidentally wish this into existence?" She whispered back, and Fred coughed away his urge to laugh.
"Do you reckon we could ask them who fell first?" He suggested, "or is it too soon?"
Lyra went to agree with his sentiment but the sudden albeit mournful arrival of Oliver hushed the nervous crowd waiting at the doors. She turned to smile at him, but her gaze was immediately drawn to the bundle of sticks in his arms. The flash of gold smeared on one of the sharp pieces caught her eye and she gasped.
"So," Oliver croaked and tried to smile at them all, he looked like a broken man, "who wants to tell Harry and Cedric that their brooms got into a fight with the Whomping Willow and lost?"
"Not me!" Gabriel backed away with his hands up, "aw that's gonna kill Ced!"
"You've got to do it," Ron nominated Lyra, shoving her toward the bones of what were two beloved brooms. Oliver was reluctant to hand them over at first, he couldn't bear to part with them, but eventually Lyra gave in to the duty of being the bearer of bad news.
The unlocking of the hospital doors drew them back to the dire situation unravelling behind them, and McGonagall stuck her head inside the small window, whispering with her matron friend. Lyra crossed her fingers and tried not to think of an overtly inappropriate joke to open with.
"You may come in, but be quiet," Madam Pomfrey addressed the group with nothing but strict seriousness on her face. Her wrinkled lips pursed as she eyed Lyra at the front of the queue, and doubled down on the rules. "They are weak so do not push them."
Lyra held her breath and followed the matron inside. The intense darkness of the ward wasn't a great sign, the curtains draped the grey windows, blocking out the reminder of why the patients had been admitted. The soothing lavender incense filled the air and settled the anxieties of the visitors as they rushed to the bedsides of their Seekers.
"Ooof, rough," Ron flinched as he reached Harry first, and Lyra tried not to tear up. He was still out cold, thick bandages around his left left and shoulder, but the harsh violet bruising lighting up half of his face was by far the worst. It was then that she noticed that half of his body was covered in the same bruising patterns. How hard did he hit the ground?!
The same exclaims floated over the curtains on the other side of the room, and Lyra resisted the urge to check on Cedric. Judging by Gabriel's reaction, it sounded just as violent.
"How far do you reckon they fell?" Hermione dared to guess, horrified by Harry's appearance, and the team swapped theories.
"At least two hundred feet."
"I'd say two twenty-five."
"It was a hell of a long drop, I saw the whole thing," Katie sniffed and wiped her eyes, "both of them, they picked up speed quickly and I thought they were goners."
"Dumbledore intervened before most of the crowd noticed," Angelina added, leaning against George who was gently stroking her back, "we never should have flown today, the match should've been cancelled."
"Hang on, we might've won today, we don't know yet?" Fred defended today's drama to the dismay of the rest of the faces around them, "what? It could've been a hell of a lot worse! You all saw the Dementors, there were fucking thousands of them. You heard the teachers when they called off the game, there were way more of them than the Ministry sanctioned. It could've gone very south very quickly."
Lyra dropped her gaze from her friends to the boy in the hospital bed, guilt riddling her nervous system. Did she do the right thing? Were there more Dementors because of her? She traced his inflamed scar with her eyes, resisting the urge to reach out and grab his clenched fist.
"How is he?"
A tiny spark of hope bloomed in her misery as Remus and Professor McGonagall arrived, the former a lot more windswept and wary than the latter.
"Still out," she sighed, taking a step back so they could inspect him. Their haunted expressions reflected the group's mood but their small words of encouragement kept the pessimistic attitude at bay.
"Madam Pomfrey assured us they'll be awake soon," McGonagall told them, relapsing into mothering them as she took turns inspecting them up close. "Any other injuries we should know about? Is everyone well?"
"Regardless of the answer, please," Remus reached into his pockets and began to dish out more bars of chocolate, "all of you, share these."
Grateful it wasn't a Chocolate Frog this time, Lyra thanked him with a weak smirk and meekly nibbled the bar, unfazed by the initial Dementor encounter.
"We're fine," Oliver answered on behalf of the group, "but I don't think our stance in the league is." He pouted at the fragments of Harry's broom at the bottom of his bed and tried not to tear up again. "If you'll excuse me."
"I'll go and make sure he's ok," Katie nominated herself to chase after their emotional captain, and the twins tried not to laugh at his emotional response.
As soon as they left, Antony poked his head around the curtain shielding them and caught Lyra's eye.
"Black, he's awake," he announced, and everyone turned to stare at him, "can you come and break the bad news?"
"Ugh," Lyra scoffed and scooped up Cedric's mahogany wood shrapnel from the pile, "you really don't want to do the honours?"
"Nah, Ced actually likes you so he won't shout at you," he rejected that idea with an eye roll, and Lyra tried not to react too shyly. What did that mean? She fought the tinge of pink in her cheeks and quickly followed him out.
As expected, Cedric was just as busted up as Harry, if not more bloodied and bruised. His usual grey eyes were deep red and veiny, and he couldn't quite shift the left side of his body as fluidly due to the tight bangadges locking his arms in place. Lyra wasn't afraid to show how shocked she was when he noticed her arrival, but her heart thudded painfully when he realised why she was here.
"Black?" He rasped and nodded at her arms, "what's that?"
"Uhhh, so funny story," she laughed nervously and stepped forward to carefully lay his precious broom by his side. "Your broom kinda sorta lost a fight to a big scary tree?"
Any colour that was left in his face drained and he gently closed his eyes, experiencing a different kind of pain than the one coursing through him.
" For fucks sake…" he exhaled deeply, before turning to look at her again, "you'da thought a tree and a broom would be friends."
"They're technically family, and families brutalise each other all the time, trust me on that," Lyra joked, lightening the grave mood, and Cedric finally chuckled.
"Hey, Gabe," he called out, and his friend gingerly stepped toward him. "Thanks for pussying out and using Black to break the bad news."
"You always said that when you die you want to be looking into the face of an angel, I'm just following your dying wish, bro," Gabriel sucked up to her best mate, and Lyra couldn't believe how quickly Cedric blushed. He dared to wink at her, and she happily giggled back.
"Cheers, mate."
"Lyra!" Ron's loud voice broke through their chatter and her heart dropped, "he's awake!"
Forgetting to say goodbye, Lyra dashed back across the wing and slid back into Harry's section. She braced for the worst and joined his side, and her tender heart palpitated at the locking of his agonised stare as he realised she'd arrived. He looked practically dead, exhaustion was nowhere near the right description of the fatigue in his eyes. The Dementors really did drain him.
"Black, I've got some bad news," he rasped, clearing his throat as he got used to speaking again, and the section fell silent. He turned to look up at Fred who had frozen in wonder, and Lyra frowned. Could it be?
"Fred wins your bet, Cedric fell first," he revealed, causing Fred to hoot with glee and shove his winnings in his cousin's sour face.
"Aw c'mon!" She complained, but her exaggerated reaction brought a smile to his weary face. She happily played into the act, "you couldn't have fallen just a little faster?"
"I tried my best," he tried to shrug without further damaging his sore head and shoulder, but the mischief was rife in his eyes as he looked back at her. "I've got some good news too."
"What?" She frowned.
Using the last of his energy, Harry groaned as he forced his shattered arm to move. His clench fist shook, weakened and frail beneath his bandages, but with aid of his working hand he managed to untangle his wrappings and revealed to the group—
Lyra's jaw dropped and the room gasped.
"WE WON!" Screamed George, drawing the attention of the Hufflepuffs who doubted the proud claim, "POTTER YOU LEGEND! Hahah!"
Foggy from his hot palms and tight grip, the Golden Snitch rolled from his hand and into his lap, its gilded casing glittering for all witnesses to see. At the news tbe atmosphere shifted from anxious to jubilant as the Gryffindors cheered, desperate to spread the news.
In an act of pure passion, Lyra reached down and kissed Harry square on the forehead, feeling both terribly guilty for causing his near death and immensely proud of his awesome sporting feat. His searing scar brushed her lips for a split second but she thought nothing of its heat, he was sweltering.
"Thanks for scaring the Dementors away," he whispered, a little dazed from her affection, "we both saw how many there were from where we were."
"And thank you for distracting everyone by almost dying," she whispered back, pretending to admire the winning Snitch so no one else could hear them. Harry stole the Snitch from her fingers and smiled at it, treasuring its sentimental value.
"You're welcome, almost dying is a piece of cake now," he side-eyed her before leaning back with the intention of getting some sort of rest. "And I must admit that I was wrong… Your shadows slowed us down. Thank you."
Lyra basked in the glorious feeling of winning both the game and his opinion of her powers by scoffing the rest of her chocolate and sitting back beside her snoozing friend, listening to her friends celebrate their spectacularly grim day.