The Tales of Lyra Black

by lumosmancer

Long ago, a bard named Beedle made a remarkably grievous mistake. Centuries later, his mistake fell into the hands of 2 exceptionally bright wizards & history repeated itself. 5 decades later, a cunning young wizard discovered this mistake & gave his entire life for a single drop of this power. But Death wanted revenge. And so revenge was born on All Hallows Eve, 1979...

39. Yay Valentine's Day!

"Lyra? Are you feeling ok? You've not said one word which is very unlike you?"

Lyra wasn't sure.

Her brain was rushing to catch up but it was going too fast, like a videotape racing to reach the credits of the film, and she couldn't quite string her words together and form a coherent sentence. Her knuckles were white from a grip she didn't realise she was holding. Where was she? What was she doing? What was going on? I'm so confused…

"Miss Black?"

Her chin hit her chest and she jolted back into reality, it was like waking up from a nap Lyra never meant to take.

She was sitting in between Penelope and her friend Willow Spratt in Professor Lockhart's office, a pile of parchment in her lap and a quill in her concrete hand. By the looks of the sky beyond the window it was late evening, yet the time of day didn't feel right. Had she dozed off and screwed her internal clock? She had no clue how she got here, or why she was here. She didn't remember leaving the common room, she didn't remember agreeing to this meeting…

As a matter of fact, she couldn't remember anything at all! Just a blank space, a fuzzy memory of blackness filling up her brain like static from a television… Something was wrong.

What the hell…?

Professor Lockhart chuckled and stared at her strangely from behind his overflowing desk, cocking a brow in jest at her peculiar expression. By the looks of the work in front of him this wasn't a regular 'I need your help creating a practical exam for the third years' type of meeting.

"You're not falling asleep on us now, are you Black? You were the one who insisted on helping out with the Duelling Club after all?" he asked, the corners of his mouth twitching, and Lyra pouted.

Oh! Well, that's nice at least, but I don't remember asking?

Since their inaugural Duelling Club meetup Lyra decided to distance herself from the club for a while, she didn't know if Snape was still involved but by the looks of things he wasn't which brightened her up somewhat. Her dream of becoming the school's number one dueller wasn't abandoned yet.

"Ha ha, yeah," she murmured, frowning at the duelling diagrams in her lap to cover up her desperate attempts to search her mind for an explanation, "I guess all my begging has tired me out, what can I say!"

That wasn't exactly a lie. Fatigue wreaked havoc on her body like a constant ache she couldn't shift, but how exactly did she become so exhausted? Frazzled was an understatement of how she was feeling, she didn't feel real. Like she was made out of play dough— soft and extremely malleable. I must have dozed off? Did I take too much of Tom's energy potion? I distinctly remember something about a potion, but what? Lyra had no recollection of anything to do with potions besides the one Tom taught her to make.

Like a subconscious prick in the neck a chill suddenly ran down her back, but she couldn't work out what it was telling her so her interpretation was off by a long shot. Her memory loss being the works of the boy she adored? The one who wanted to look after her and protect her? Yeah right! Ugh, and I don't even remember taking any… this morning? Last night?! Crap! I must've taken too much!

"It's fine, we're finished with the club part of our meeting anyways," Penelope reassured Lyra, smiling softly at her when she spotted her falling expression, "you don't need to stay for this next bit, I'm sure you're already bored of us discussing tomorrow."

"What's tomorrow?" asked Lyra, sinking in her chair a little. By the smirks on their faces she figured she should have already known and she tried not to blush too brashly. Tom warned her against drinking too much of his draught, the side effects were really screwing with her.

"Very funny, Miss Black, I know I must have gone on one too many tangents over these past weeks about my lucrative holiday plans but must you wound me like this?" Lockhart winked at her, interpreting her confusion as a joke, "how about you head back to your dormitory? Leave the rest of the club planning to our actual president and vice, ey? Get some rest, you look like you need it."

"No doubt you'll want to look your best for tomorrow," giggled Willow, wiggling her thin brows at her, "I just know you'll be inundated with cherubs so you better go and prepare!"

"P-Prepare? Cherubs?" Lyra repeated, making sure she heard her correctly, and the three of them laughed again, rolling their eyes. Their dismissal of her questions was starting to get on her nerves but her fuzzy head wasn't helping the situation, she couldn't argue back.

"The cherubs who are delivering everyone's Valentine's Day cards?" said Penelope slowly, trying to spark Lyra's memory, "the same cherubs we've been talking about all week? You know, the dwarves Professor Lockhart hired?"

Lyra's stomach dropped and the quill slipped from her fingers.

Valentine's Day is tomorrow?! It's February?! Double crap! Fuck! How much potion did I take?

She didn't believe them, were they playing a prank on her? Lockhart sensed the panic in Lyra and was quick to settle the situation. Working closely with the second year taught him the right way to phrase things when he spoke to her so he didn't trigger her rule-breaking side.

"You're clearly exhausted Lyra, we've kept you up long enough and as your teacher I'm exercising my right to demand that you go to bed. Go on, off you pop, time to catch up on your beauty sleep!" he said cheerfully, encouraging her to leave with a wavy-browed smile as he brandished his arm towards the door.

Lyra climbed to her feet, picked up her quill and wandered off, dazed from the mixture of her exhaustion and the realisation that she had messed up big time. The dullness pooling in her stomach wasn't helping, its resonating rhythm reminding her that she only had herself to blame. She didn't have the energy to ask all of the questions piling up inside of her about everything she had forgotten so she left the trio to their planning and headed off to bed. It was all a bit too much for her.

"It's February," Lyra muttered to herself as she walked back to the tower, scuffing her shoes like usual, "it's freaking February?! How?!"

She could have sworn January had only just begun, classes were barely in session, Christmas was only a couple of weeks ago? How could she have missed a month and a half of her life! She was never going to recover from this, how could she? What if she told the most hilarious joke that ever existed in that time? She didn't get to hear it! Has she been working on autopilot? Or walking around like a personality-intolerant zombie? Tom never fully explained the extent of the side effects if she overdosed on the energy draught due to the fact he insisted she would never go against his words so there was no need… and apparently the effects were too horrific to say out loud which only added to her anxiety.

Well clearly the effects are more than terrible! I've blacked out for weeks! Aw man, you idiot!

Lyra knew she couldn't exactly go around and ask everyone what she missed, they'd interpret it as some new bit she was working on. The closer she got to her common room the more tired she felt and she struggled to focus on her thoughts, her bones were heavier than usual and she could barely keep her head up. The panic sitting in her chest wasn't budging, it had to be the only explanation…

Unless…?

"No," Lyra scolded herself out loud, suddenly fired up by her cynical momentary lapse of judgement with a scowl at her reflection in a passing window for good measure, "there's no way."

She thought of the boy stuck in her diary and shook her head despite its prickly fuzziness that threatened her vision. How could her memory loss be Tom's fault? Impossible. She had only seen him once, on Christmas night, and she could vaguely picture the start of her new term so obviously it had nothing to do with their encounter.

As time slipped by she began to remember small snippets of the past month, but her memory of writing to him last was the most vivid and by far their deepest conversation yet. The vision of the book in her hands was glimmering like a dream, and it had felt just as wonderful as the deepest wishes of her heart.

Tom told Lyra that he may love her… she could see his writing right in front of her eyes as though she were back in bed reading his cursive, and she swore she was floating again. It was like she had unlocked a new part of her life here as a human being, she was blessed to be given access to these concepts she had only read about.

Love was a crazy thing, or so she had heard, because it certainly made her feel slightly demented — but like a jab in the ribcage the instructive thoughts snuck in while her guard was down.

She couldn't rid the photograph of the enamoured couple in Harry's photo album from her head. Love could be deceiving, and complicated? Ok so she didn't know exactly what love looked like, and of course love had many forms, as in she loved Apollo and her friends in a vastly different way to how she felt about Riddle. She was obsessed— there was Tom and only him, he was her future and her present, and she knew that his love was what was best for her. She was his, and now all she could think of how he'd feel if she told him she went against his word.

Lying isn't love, and Lyra was afraid of screwing love up… the ghost of her mother's memory creeped back, forcing her to physically wince. She thought she knew what happened when love went wrong. Love was an adult's game and she was prematurely thrusting her player token into the action.

Tom's going to kill me if I tell him…

None of Lyra's friends were awake, the girls' dormitory was draped in darkness when she crept in so she couldn't relay her confusion to Hermione, and the boys would freak if she snuck into their room unannounced in the middle of the night so she was left to her own devices to figure out the mystery. Talking to Tom was realistically her best bet, although she didn't want to admit she may have gone against his instructions she knew he'd give her at least a more accurate indicator as to what the hell was going on. She found a pair of empty phials stuffed under the blankets shoved at the end of her bed and she felt more trickles of shame roll down her spine.

But Lyra never found out what Tom's input was to her predicament.

The second her head hit the pillow she was lost to the world, totally enthralled by the aches and pains plundering her body like rays of heat. Her body was finally resting, after weeks of torment she slept alone tonight. Her diary was left unopened at her feet, its leather cover virtually pulsating from their close contact and desperate for her warmth as though it was the fire keeping it alive.

Lyra didn't find out once she woke up either, she didn't have time.

"Morning!" sang Hermione, pulling Lyra's curtains open to the jaunty tune of their roommates giggling and sharing their excitement for the day of love, "you're late again. What happened to your early bird schedule? You were doing so well!"

"As if," groaned Lyra, shielding her face from the harsh morning light as her head started to pound again, "Ow! Close the curtains dude, it's too bright!"

"Stop moaning, we're going to miss breakfast and I want to hand in my card before the deadline," instructed Hermione, disregarding Lyra's dramatised show of discontempt as she shooed her out of bed, "let's go!"

Lyra had never seen Hermione so animated before. She was grinning ear to ear as though she had just been told she scored the highest school grade in Hogwarts' history as she admired her handmade Valentine's Day card in her hands. Lyra spotted the neatly-written professor's name on the envelope and decided not to bring it up but her own smirk was instant.

Whenever she poked fun at Hermione's crush on their teacher it always ended badly so she chose to enjoy the irony by herself, teasing her wasn't as fun as teasing the boys. If Hermione truly knew how simple-minded Lockhart was it would be the ultimate nail in the coffin dedicated to her crush and she couldn't possibly do that to her best friend on the day of love now, could she? Besides she rather liked being ahead of all of her classes, she would never pass on the opportunity to beat the system and be handed an easy top grade.

Despite her thumping headache, Lyra got dressed in record timing and the pair traipsed down to breakfast as they discussed their upcoming day. It took a great deal of her dwindling energy to focus on what Hermione was saying, she phased in and out of their conversation multiple times absently trying to figure out the best strategy to act like her normal self. After the fifth time of Hermione asking if she was ok she fixed a false grin on her face and promised her that she was fine. Apparently she was doing a terrible job.

"I'm just a little tired," she lied, swatting away her questions. If she received another lecture from Hermione on how the effects of staying up all night will cause irreversible damage on her psyche she knew she would burst into flames. Plus it was likely that Hermione was right this time and she didn't want to give her the satisfaction, Lyra was surprised she hadn't already given her a personal curfew to adhere to and she didn't want to give her an excuse.

"You don't look good," was the first thing Lyra heard as she collapsed beside Harry when they arrived in the Great Hall and she tried her best not to take his comment to heart. Was she going to have to deal with this all day? Note to self: find a mirror.

"And a Happy Valentine's Day to you too," she grumbled back, focusing more on pouring herself tea than her best friend's opinion, but she softened her frown when he rushed to correct himself.

"That's not what I meant," spluttered Harry, tripping over his words, "you always look, uh, you know— it's not that you don't look good— what I'm trying to say is that you—,"

"I'm joking," Lyra snorted, entertained by his reaction, "I've got a bit of a headache, that's all."

Admitting that she was struggling to remember what happened yesterday let alone last month was something she did not want to do, she knew her friends would either bombard her with questions she couldn't answer or urge her to visit the hospital wing where even more questions would be asked. This was her problem and it was going to stay as such, Tom told her never to mention her energy potion as it may be against school rules.

"I told you that staying up all night isn't good for you," came Hermione's inevitable comment with a smug side-eye, but Lyra pretended as though she hadn't heard her and turned to chat to Ron who was openly snickering at the parade of uniformed dwarves that Professor Lockhart was ushering into the Great Hall, drawing the students' gazes. Thankfully the topic of her ill-health was dropped when the Dark Arts professor announced that it was everyone's last chance to hand in their cards before they were dished out during lessons and Hermione rushed off with a bounce in her step and her card in her hands.

Wanting to avoid drawing more attention to herself, Lyra decided to be difficult this morning.

"So I take it you two have already given the dwarves your cards since you're not running off too?" She wondered, glancing at the boys with an inquisitive arched brow, and she couldn't stop her snort when they answered way too quickly.

"Pffft! What?!" stammered Ron, gawking at her like she was insane.

"No way!" spat Harry, offended at the very thought, "what makes you think that we've given them cards?!"

"Ah, I see, so you're planning on giving out your cards in person! That's so sweet, awww!" She teased again. Their looks of abhorrence at the thought of embarrassing themselves in front of the class to hand out their hypothetical Valentine's Day cards brought joy to Lyra's heart, even more so when a shower of miniature pink and red heart confetti rained down on them and ruined their breakfast.

"You know, for someone who claimed they were on team 'let's not talk about Valentine's Day', you're being very loud today," scowled Ron, his upper lip snarling as he ate around the paper love hearts, "I thought you said you were against this holiday?"

Oh crap, what have I said to them? I need to write this down.

Trying not to bring attention to her hands, Lyra slipped a piece of parchment out of her robes and sneakily jotted down 'Claimed I hated Valentine's Day' in an attempt to regain her lost month before returning to their conversation.

"Maybe I changed my mind," she countered, "but you know, just so we're clear, what exactly did I say that I hated about the holiday?"

"You didn't specifically say you hate it, to be fair, you just agreed that we weren't going to take any notice of today which we are now doing so we're all breaking our promises apparently," Harry pointed out in frustration. Valentine's Day must've been a sore spot amongst them, and Lyra made another note.

"Interesting," she mused. Lyra never really acknowledged Valentine's Day before, she wouldn't say she was particularly for or against the concept as a whole, but since it was a big deal this year she guessed she decided to choose a side. Now she was of sound mind again though she had to say that the idea of receiving a Valentine's card was quite alluring, "but I'm not totally against the idea of giving out cards," she clarified as an afterthought.

"Traitor!" exclaimed Ron, outraged by her change of heart, "I knew you would turn! Girls always get all funny around Valentine's Day!"

Although Lyra wanted to call him out on his idiocy, she couldn't deny that she was feeling, as he so nicely put it, all funny inside.

Of course she couldn't use Lockharts delivery service to send out a love letter to the boy on her mind, but she did wonder whether she could write one and try to persuade Tom to visit tonight for an in-person delivery. He needn't stay long, she didn't want to push him beyond his means and damage him, but if he could just appear for a few minutes so she could reciprocate his declaration of love then that would be enough. She wanted to take part in the festivities now she had someone special in her life.

Lyra finished her tea with a hearty gulp and nodded at her cousin.

"Sorry Ron, I forgot for a moment there that you're just a boy. You wouldn't understand all those funny feelings until your balls have dropped which they clearly haven't so let's come back to this when they do, yeah?" she drawled, rolling her eyes.

So taken aback by her quip, Ron practically glowed from his intense blush and returned to his breakfast, refusing to acknowledge Lyra or Harry who clamped his mouth shut trying not to laugh. Glad with her results, Lyra happily helped herself to some more cereal with an extra sprinkle of love hearts just to spite her cousin and busied herself with drafting her Valentine's love letter to Tom in her head. It didn't last long as the bell soon rang and the student body was now at the mercy of the costumed dwarves who had been given a hefty tip to terrorise as many lessons as possible.

Keeping to her theme of embracing Valentine's Day, Lyra's initial indifference towards the cherubs grew into love and they became a sort of blessing in disguise. They were the perfect distraction, it was hard not to laugh and jeer as they bombarded her lessons throughout the day chortling limericks about secret admirers or strong proclamations of love directed towards her classmates and professors, and she found her mood improving with Cupid's every visit. Her headache and poor memory was shoved to the back of her mind, they were more of a nuisance than an urgent problem to deal with. The expressive dances the dwarves were co-ordinating in the corridors were way more important right now.

But it wasn't until their first appearance during Transfiguration with an abundance of cards for Harry that Lyra officially switched to team Yay Valentine's Day.

He was mortified that three cherubs had banded together to dish out the cards from his many admirers in front of everyone and she couldn't stop laughing as the trio burst out into a song that was written by the not-so-secret Harry Potter Fan Club. Luckily her camera was in her backpack and she captured at least one verse and a chorus, their lyrics were quite good and she needed to make sure he never forgot them. Harry, however, almost started a physical fight with her when she gave the cherubs a huge handful of sickles and pleaded for an encore whilst ignoring McGonagall's demands that they needed to leave immediately. Her scowl stayed for the rest of the lesson and Lyra tried her very best not to repeat the catchy tune out of fear of catching her professor during one of her bad moods.

"That song is going to be stuck in my head for days, wow!" She exclaimed as they left their lesson and began their descent down to Potions, "you can't say your fans aren't talented, if I knew how the Wizarding music charts work then I'd submit that for number one!"

"Now you're just being mean," Harry frowned, his cheeks still pink from his hour long blush, "If you look up bullying in the dictionary I'm pretty sure you would see one of your pictures of this very moment."

"You call it bullying, I call it being your manager," she corrected him, before sighing to herself in realisation, "wow, I suddenly understand how dark the showbiz industry is…"

"All I will say on the matter is that I thought the lyrics were very creative, your fans are talented," Hermione interjected, trying to say something nice, "I wasn't aware that there were so many words rhymed with Potter."

"I wouldn't say so many words, Heartstopper came up an awful amount," Ron pointed out, really trying not to laugh openly about it in front of Harry, "not as much as hotter though."

"My personal favourite was squatter, bold choice, big pay off when paired with shot her!" Lyra snorted, jabbing Ron in the ribs. The fact that any mention of the song drove Harry up the wall made it funnier and Ron really tried to keep it in — but he couldn't. Since his little sister had a hand in crafting the smash hit he had even more reason to pick it apart.

"How could we forget the best line? He's the bravest of us all, and he's cuter than an otter! He's the one, the only, our saviour Harry—," Ron swiftly shut his mouth and Lyra tried to appear very solemn when Harry glared at them and stormed ahead with Hermione.

"Who's the traitor now?" He shouted at Ron over his shoulder, shunning him for breaking their 'don't talk about Valentine's Day' promise all over again, and Lyra hooked her arm through Ron's, still humming the melody of the fan song as they skipped after their friends.

Having experienced the highs of the cherubs' visits, Lyra and Ron were blissfully unaware that they would have to live through the lows themselves until they were in the last quarter of their double Potions lesson.

The classroom door swung open halfway through their brewing task, disrupting several students' counts of how many times clockwise they stirred their Swelling Potions while the dwarves announced their arrival with a sprinkling of rose petals around the room. Professor Snape snapped his head up from the blackboard and crushed the chalk in his sharp hands, looking as though he was ready to fist-fight them.

"I specifically told Professor Lockhart not to include me in this ridiculous stunt, get out," Snape spat, rounding his desk to interrupt the cherubs performance but they brushed past him as though he wasn't there and hunted down their victims, er, customers.

Lyra stopped humming Harry's Valentine song for the hundredth time as her face lit up watching the two dwarves prance around before splitting off and waddling over to Ron and Draco simultaneously. A curtain of dread dawned on Ron's face and he lost all colour as he stared down at the dwarf in horror. Whatever this was, it was gonna be good! Thank God, because I can't get that song out of my head, I need something fresh.

"You Ron Weasley?" The dwarf croaked, his white feathered wings flapping as he scrambled for the appropriate card in the stack strapped to his hip. Ron went to deny ever hearing that name in his life when Harry answered for him, dying for payback.

"The one and only," he said forcefully, slapping Ron's arm across the table despite his friend's subtle death stare.

The cherub assumed his position with a beard scratch and presented his Valentine's card with a crackly, rather bassy rendition of his secret admirer's poem for the whole class to hear. Lyra dove towards her bag, getting ready to capture whatever was to come.

"I wish to kiss you a thousand times like the freckles on your face,

To run my hands through your head like fingers in flames that will never burn—,"

"What is this? What's going on?" Ron stuttered, looking everywhere but at the winged dwarf dancing in front of him, but everyone was ensnared by his jaunty song.

"But I cannot have him, I will not say despite my heart's increased pace, held back by my father's disgrace,

The Gryffindor heartthrob who drives me crazy and I cannot help but yearn,

He brings me joy,

My Weasley toy-boy,

Love from your not-so-secret admirer, Draco Malfoy."

The grizzly cherub finished with a bow and he gave Ron one last dose of petals that ended up mostly in his cauldron, ruining his potion in a puff of smoke. Lyra swore she had just descended into heaven — that was incredible!

"I didn't write that! This is clearly a joke, and a rubbish one at that!" screeched a red-faced Draco, rushing to deflect any involvement in the poem as the room erupted with laughter, and Ron could only stare at the card hoping that it was just an illusion and wishing he could disappear like his hope of earning a decent Potions grade today. No one looked particularly sympathetic towards the subjects of the dwarves' torments, and by the murderous look on Snape's face they were more than glad they weren't in their shoes.

"Please tell me you caught that?" Harry hissed at Lyra through his chuckles, enjoying his best friend's misery a little too much, and she flashed him her freshly taken Polaroids.

"Duh!"

The second dwarf positioned beside the startled Draco and cleared his throat, signaling it was his turn now but Snape tried again to put an end to the foolishness interrupting his lesson.

"Enough! We do not need another tone-deaf performance taking up our valuable time, remove yourselves from this classroom at once!" He barked at the cherubs, using his extra feet in height to his advantage as he loomed over them, "this is your final warning, you are officially trespassing."

It took everything in Lyra's power not to heckle the dwarves to an encore for a generous tip. Before she plucked up the courage just to see Draco whine, the dwarves paused on their way out as though suddenly remembering they were there for another reason entirely.

"Just one more delivery before you kick us out, Professor, shan't be longer than a mo'," one of them spun on their heels and addressed the classroom of lively students who were still giggling from the high that was Draco's love poem.

"Make it quick," Snape spat out before returning to his blackboard, summoning fresh chalk from thin air, "when I turn around you better pray that you are already gone."

Muttering to themselves about Snape's attitude, the dwarves dug into their sacks once more and produced a healthy stack of cards all addressed to one person.

"Where's Lyra Black?"

Every head in the room turned to look at her as she debated putting her hand up to signal to the cherubs that she was here, but clearly by everyone's blatant reaction she didn't need to. She could feel her friends' eyes on the side of her slowly reddening face but she straightened her spine and acted as though this was a perfectly normal scenario. Oh my God?

"Here you are," the dwarves waddled over and stopped in front of her before chucking envelopes on her desk, "Happy Valentine's Day."

"We would stay and fulfil one of yeh admirer's requests for a song," one of the dwarves blatantly side-eyed the professor, "but I think yeh Potions Master is looking a bit bloodthirsty so we better leave it."

Lyra giggled awkwardly, wishing everyone would stop staring. There were more cards than she ever expected and she didn't really know what to say.

"Yeah, I think that's for the best," she agreed.

"Get. Out!" roared Snape, finally hitting his rage quota for the day as he pointed at the door. "Now!"

Lyra used her teacher's spontaneous mental breakdown as her chance to sweep the Valentine's Day cards into her backpack to distract herself from indulging in them. Of course she was dying to know who they were from but she wanted the privilege of privacy, her friends were trying to catch her eye and she purposely dipped her head and concentrated on finishing her potion instead. She didn't want to get her hopes up, they were probably jokes from her cousins and she didn't want the shame of getting too invested. Imagine if Riddle somehow sent me one…? I dunno how exactly, but still…?

Lyra managed to neglect talking about her love day correspondents until break time which she counted as a win since she shared a table with her nosy friends. She kept her backpack closed and tried to deflect the attention onto Ron straight away when they left the classroom. There was no way they weren't going to acknowledge Draco's poem before her own delivery, and luckily her bait was snatched up by Harry and Hermione who were enthralled with pinning down the true author's identity.

"You wrote that, didn't you?" Harry questioned Lyra first, "of course you did, who else teases Malfoy about being in a relationship with Ron?" They were lounging in the ground floor courtyards, wasting time in one of the many benched alcoves before their impending Herbology lesson and using the warmth from one of Hermione's bluebell fire charms to stay toasty against the howling wind.

"Firstly, thank you for accusing me first, I take that as the highest compliment," Lyra answered back, faking a blush as she took a small bow, "I wish I could take credit for that but I can't, it wasn't me."

Considering her circumstances, there was a slight chance that she was responsible for the prank and she simply didn't remember coming up with the poem, but she couldn't say yes for certain. It could have been a Weasley twin special. God damn it, I knew I missed something funny!

"I know it was you," Ron fought back, still tender from being the centre of the joke, "have you ever thought about not using me to taunt Malfoy for once? Especially in front of all the other Slytherins? Zabini was laughing a little too hard for my liking and it got on my nerves, so please stop using me as a way to tease Malfoy."

"I'm not teasing Draco, I'm merely supporting him in his lifestyle," Lyra shrugged, "it's not my fault he fancies you!"

"He does not!" Ron groaned, "besides I'm far too good for him!"

"You kept telling yourself that," Hermione mumbled, being smart enough to keep her comments to herself, but she abruptly changed the subject when she sensed Harry go to recite his poem out of spite. Now he had ammo on Ron it was a free-for-all, a true battle of who had the more humiliating love song.

"So! Lyra! Have you opened your cards yet?" she chirped loudly, smiling at her to continue the subject to stop the boys from arguing, but Lyra seized up and prayed the rush of blood pumping through her tense body wouldn't fill her face.

"Uh, um no I haven't," she explained, "I probably won't open them, I'm sure they're just pranks."

"How do you know that? You'll never know if they're authentic until you open them," Hermione stated, trying to encourage her to think positively, but Lyra wasn't giving up. The smirk on Ron's face was more than enough to trigger her defences.

"Uh uh! This embarrassing moment will be mine and mine alone! I managed to avoid having a singing dwarf in my face, which is more than I can say for some of us," she wiggled her brows at the boys, reminding them all over again of their humiliations, "so I'll be opening up these prank cards in bed tonight thank you!"

"But you'll show me if any of them turn out real, right?" Hermione asked again, and Lyra nodded with a small smirk.

"Duh, of course I will."

"Then I'm happy with that, I won't bring it up again," decided Hermione, snuggling down further into her cloak to shield from the cold, "the wind isn't calming down, you two are going to have a hard time tonight."

Huh? Lyra noticed she was directing her comment at her and Harry, but by Harry's instinctual glance towards the paths that led to the Quidditch pitch she figured she had practice tonight and her stomach plummeted. Surely there wasn't another Gryffindor game for a while yet? She must still have plenty of time to practise, she wasn't feeling particularly prepared to perform again so soon. This memory loss thing is turning into a proper pain in my arse!

"I doubt the wind will bother us too much, not with the way Oliver is training us," Harry assured her, nudging Lyra as though she knew exactly what he was on about, "you don't think he's going to make us do another hundred laps of Bludger avoidance training? Because I've only just recovered from last time and if we have to visit the hospital wing again Madam Pomfrey will actually label a bed with my name on it."

"Mhmm totally," Lyra mumbled, trying to picture her last training session. Nope, nothing! "Remember how when we did that thing, that really specific thing happened? And then— then there was—uh, but that last thing? Aw man, talk about… yeah."

Words were coming out of her mouth and she couldn't stop them, the nonsense was endless and she started to sweat when she noticed how narrowed Harry's eyes had become.

Lyra added 'something to do with bludgers during Quidditch training' to her list of missing activities and dove into the first book she found in her backpack, but the vibrant envelopes of her Valentine's Day cards gave her an extra fright and suddenly she had butter sticks for fingers. The contents of her bag threatened to spill but she clumsily caught it and buckled it shut, pretending that she totally meant to do that.

She couldn't shake the peculiar stare from the spectacled boy next to her when Ron and Hermione dismissed Lyra's aimless ramblings to start their own bickering match over the true origin of St Valentine. She expected him to poke her again and whisper pestering questions about her fables or her delicate state of mind out of earshot of their friends, but they never came.

Not until after dinner, anyways.

"What excuse have you got cooked up today then?" Harry asked Lyra as the four Gryffindors traipsed back up to the common room, walking off their second helpings of cherry pie. Lyra instinctively laughed, hazarding a guess as to what he was on about now.

"To be honest I have been suffering with a migraine all day, so there's that," she sighed, cradling her head more for effect than for practicality, but she lightened up and shrugged, "excuse for what?"

"Visiting Hagrid, we promised to stop in before practice?" He reminded her, his brow only faintly crinkled in worry, "you've been avoiding him for a while now—,"

"I have not!" Lyra objected, but the three of them all scoffed.

"Yes you have," Ron said bluntly, laughing at her, "every time we talk about stopping by for a cuppa you make up that you need to do something and run off."

"And we've been to the library more than usual, even I think our trips have been a bit excessive lately," Hermione so helpfully highlighted, "you achieved an E in Herbology last week so I think it's time we took a break from studying, you should go and speak to Hagrid."

Lyra couldn't believe her ears.

"I received a what in Herbology?!" She exclaimed, totally freaking out now. There was simply no way! They were kidding, they had to be. "Good one!"

"And before you start harping on about researching the history of ghost petrifications again, we all know we've hit a dead end and there's no point. There's nothing in the library on the subject so let's just go and ask someone about it instead? Like Hagrid?" Harry justified, but a painful buzz filled Lyra's ears as she repeated his bewildering statement over in her head. She had been feeling sleepy from the pie but now she was wide awake and agitated.

She had just spent most of her day wandering around the castle without the knowledge that there had been another attack, just completely oblivious that the basilisk had been released again?! And they attacked a ghost?! Her stomach knotted until she felt nauseous but she didn't know how to react. And the day isn't even over yet, ugh! I want to go to bed… and see Tom.

Lyra knew her list of things to ask Tom had just tripled, she needed him to stay longer than a few minutes this time and she was scared he would say no. She had finished her love letter to him during her last period and the butterflies that appeared during its creation came flooding back, soothing the anxiety festering in her chest. She'd feel much better once they saw each other, she was sure of it, so she pulled herself together and pouted at her friends. The sooner she got through the rest of today, the better.

"Sure, let's go and visit Hagrid before practice, I doubt he knows anything but it's worth asking," Lyra agreed, forcing a smile on her lips, "and for the record I have not been avoiding him… I've just been busy."

"Great! Now he might stop asking us when you're going to see him. He's missed you, he has more Norbert pictures to show you," sighed Harry, looking a lot more relieved by her strained acceptance, and Lyra gave her friends one extra smile of reassurance that they were overthinking her every little move.

"I've missed him too, I've just been focusing more on my studies recently," she claimed, but she dropped her gaze a little too quickly as she began to psyche herself up. She had to keep her mouth shut when she saw him, it was the only way.

Lyra swore she did a brilliant job at playing it cool as she headed up to her dorm to get changed for practice, wanting to skip the fuss of using the changing rooms. As she rushed out of the bathroom with her sports robes stuck over her head, Hermione caught her off guard and pushed her back into the elegant wet room, a stern glint in her usually warm stare.

"Dude!" Lyra scoffed, pointing at her very visibly wet fluffy sock in frustration, "I just put these on!"

"Lyra, be serious with me for a second," Hermione asked her firmly, double-checking the door for eavesdroppers, "we don't have long, Harry is expecting you downstairs in a minute."

Lyra cringed but hid it well, turning away to straighten her sports leggings as she rearranged her face. What have I forgotten now?! Are we pranking the boys? Are Hermione and I starting a coup? She couldn't remember what she had agreed to and huffed.

"What now?" She sighed, her hands on her hips from exhaustion.

"What's the real reason you're avoiding Hagrid? I know there is one, I can see in your eyes… please tell me," Hermione begged, searching her best friend's face for some sign of trust.

She was a truly loyal friend and Lyra hesitated to weigh up her options. She had wanted to tell her friends the real reason Hagrid was expelled for ages, and logistically if she had to choose anyone to know first, Hermione was the best choice out of the three. She needed her opinion, she was intelligent and just, she'd know what to do.

Tom wouldn't mind..?

"Ok," Lyra squared her shoulders and met Hermione in the centre of the bathroom with her pinky out in front of her, assuming the position for the international initiation of trust, "Ooh ok yes there is a reason but you have to swear to me that you won't tell anyone. Not yet anyways, this must stay between the two of us! Oh man, I've been dying to tell you! You wouldn't believe how hard it's been keeping this to myself!"

Lyra's growing anticipation of relieving some of the stress that had been weighing on her sent her into a giddy state and Hermione tried to calm her down by linking her pinky and meeting her demands.

"Of course I won't tell anyone, calm down! What is it? What do you know?" She pleaded, bouncing on her tiptoes matching her energy, and Lyra took a deep, sober breath.

"I know why Hagrid was expelled from Hogwarts," she whispered, still afraid of actually saying it out loud, "he let a basilisk loose in Hogwarts while he was a student and he got Myrtle killed, and I don't know what to do with his information but you have to keep it to yourself, Hermione! Please, if anyone found out I—," Lyra choked and stopped herself from taking it too far, and she flinched when Hermione looked practically petrified.

"What?! H-How do you know this?"

There it was, the question she knew she would have to answer. Lyra knew she had to lie, to cover for Tom.

"I overheard Hagrid and Dumbledore talking about it, and yeah, Dumbledore knows all about this by the way," she spat saltily, "can you believe that?! He doesn't care whatsoever that it's happening again! Neither of them do!"

"That's just horrifying! I can't believe — I mean, it must have been an accident? Hagrid would never do something like this on purpose?" stammered Hermione, coming to terms of the truth. She latched on just as fast as Lyra, it was a believable fable after all, especially after their encounters with Hagrid's pet last year, "where on earth did he obtain a basilisk egg?"

"Well, I suppose he could potentially be an Heir of Slytherin that can access their monster? The more likely tale is that he bought an egg off some random stranger at the pub like he normally does though, we both know what he's like, and coincidentally it happens to be a monster snake. I bet he managed to get served in pubs when he was ten — he's huge and he can handle himself, no illegal beast dealer would suspect a thing if he went up to them and challenged them to a drinking competition! The point is that they know the truth but they're letting everyone run away with the gossip that this mystical Heir of Slytherin is behind the attacks," Lyra ended with a deep exhale and took a perch on the edge of one of the claw-footed tubs to observe Hermione for her own take. Her wobbly brow and exasperated sighs were rather telling, she was just as shocked as she was.

"Oh God, I hate how well this fits together! I didn't want it to be true but I did suspect Hagrid knew something more than he was letting on. We all know he's been acting strange," sniffed Hermione, shaking her head, "Lyra, we can't tell the boys, they won't want to hear it, they won't believe us."

"I hear you sister, but what are we going to do? We can't tell the teachers because they — or at least the freaking headmaster — already know! There's nothing we can do except cross our fingers and pray that his snake doesn't find us!" Lyra exclaimed, growling at the prospect of cowering in her dorm for the rest of her school life, "and even if we do die and end up as ghosts forever haunting this castle, apparently we're still not safe because ghosts can be petrified all of a sudden? What's up with that?!"

"Thank God the mandrakes will be ready in the next couple of days. We'll be able to get those who were petrified to give witness statements and hopefully the Ministry will see the truth behind their claims and do something?" Hermione vocalised her train of thought but she froze and backtracked when she realised what she had said, "what am I saying? This is Hagrid and Dumbledore we're talking about — of course we don't want them to be taken away from the school or anything, this is just one big mistake! The Ministry can't punish them, we can't let that happen either!"

Lyra could only think of poor, innocent Tom when she voiced her response, she had to fight for the defenceless in this situation.

"That's just it though, Hermione… What if it's not a mistake? What if they're just letting this happen? Why aren't they putting a stop to this? I don't think I can say with confidence that I trust Professor Dumbledore anymore, I'm sorry but I can't," She murmured, deep lines forming on her face, "there's more to this mystery, I'm sure of it."

Planting the seed of doubt surrounding the famous headmaster in Hermione's head was her best strategy in the long game that was convincing her friends to accept Tom when they inevitably met. Lyra knew once the time came and they had to take a stand against Dumbledore that they would have to rely heavily on Tom and his enviable plethora of knowledge to lead them. They needed to trust him so she started to build his case now. Voicing her true feelings towards the headmaster aloud was quite validating, she was perfectly well within her right not to trust him if she didn't want to.

Looking more mature than her thirteen years, Hermione pursed her lips and reverted into her whirring mind, working on this new information. She didn't, as Lyra expected, immediately jump to Dumbledore's defence. She accepted Lyra's view and considered it as her own.

"I need to do some research on Professor Dumbledore, something isn't right here and I think I have an idea where to start. He hasn't always been a teacher his whole life, there must be some indication somewhere of what he was like before school and his subsequent fame. I'm sure it's nothing, he displays loyal characteristics and strong morals but choosing his alliance with the groundskeeper over his duty in protecting the entire school goes against all of his codes as the headmaster," Hermione tried to backtrack, clinging onto her instincts as she strung out her theories and abundance of questions, "I simply can't see Hagrid being the heir of a Pureblood racist who tried to purge the school of Muggleborns so it must have been an accident, but why can't Dumbledore put a stop to this? Why lie about there being a mysterious culprit coordinating the attacks if he knows Hagrid's estranged pet has returned? What is he hiding? Do you think something happened last time that they're trying to prevent?"

Covering up Tom's existence! That's what they're bloody hiding!

"Your guess is as good as mine, I'm just trying to avoid the subject altogether right now before I screw up and accidentally say something I'll regret," Lyra illustrated her current plan of action and commended Hermione on her ambition, "if you find anything suspicious in your research then please share. I'm just as baffled by this as you are."

She hadn't had the time to go snooping into Dumbledore's backstory yet but she knew Hermione would come up with something juicy. And if she did manage to track down some mention of Tom, then maybe now was the time to get her friends involved with helping him prepare for his escape from the pages of his prison?

Tom wouldn't mind. Lyra was unperturbed in saying that now, entrusting Hermione truly felt like the right decision to make.

"Absolutely," Hermione nodded firmly and clicked her fingers, getting ready for an evening of intense research after her shower, "I suppose you better go before Harry starts asking questions…"

Lyra caught her hesitation in the air between them and matched her look of concern.

"I know, I know," she groaned pre-emptively. It was on her mind too, gnawing at her gut until she acknowledged it.

"He's going to be so upset if we don't tell him," Hermione already started to say as they left the bathroom, dropping their volume in case they caught their roommates' attention, "you have to."

"But how? And when? What should I say?! Hey Harry, you know that one guy that you love— no, adore and trust more than any other adult? Yeah, him! So, he's committed a few crimes including manslaughter and is the reason you keep hearing voices in the walls! Something like that?" Lyra rehearsed as she finished getting ready for Quidditch practice which included a stroppy sock drying spell, and Hermione offered her a sheepish smile.

"Maybe with a little less sass, but yeah, something like that?"

"Fine — I'll tell Harry if you promise to tell Ron," Lyra said, "I'm not dealing with both of them."

"…Ok, deal," Hermione agreed, knowing full well she had the better end of the stick. Lyra tightened her fallen ponytail and muttered a bitter goodbye before rushing off to meet Harry, trying not to grind her teeth too much.

"I was starting to think you had changed your mind," Harry teased Lyra once she found him in the common room. He was standing by the portrait entrance with his Quidditch gear under his arm, making his watch glances very obvious as she strutted over, but Lyra simply smiled and linked her arm through his.

"Have you ever known me to stick to a time schedule?" She reminded him, and he rolled his eyes.

"Then I guess you being late is on me," he muttered and Lyra nodded.

"It always is, how you've not worked that out yet is also not on me."

During the entirety of their walk down to Hagrid's, Lyra was mentally preparing herself to feign ignorance if the groundskeeper started pestering her as to why she had been avoiding him. All of her preconceived ideas of how this visit would turn out was, gratefully, pushed out of her mind the second Hagrid greeted her with a rib-cracking hug and a piping hot cup of Earl Grey. He was wary about opening the door at first when they arrived, the distinctive noise of a metal chain rattling against the wooden door was hard to miss, but once they confirmed their identities he ripped the door open and shook fear into the hinges that were barely holding on.

"What a lovely surprise! Lyra!" He greeted, pulling the second years out of the cold and into his sweltering hut, "I wasn't sure if yeh were comin'!" He gave the coast a quick once over before locking up again, an unnecessary facade considering.

"I told you I'd get her here eventually," said Harry snarkily, making himself at home on the sofa, and Lyra bit her tongue before she said something she regretted. Harry spread out of the longest sofa and made a point of recognising Hagrid's change in seasonal decoration to further emphasise her absence and all she could do was aim a kick at him when Hagrid's back was turned.

"Oh, you know me, I've been busy with school work and being an exemplary student like always," Lyra laughed nervously once she accepted her cup of tea, "sorry if I haven't been around much."

She knew if she made it seem like she was sacrificing her precious time by stopping by then Hagrid may drop his questions altogether, but if anything the groundskeeper was mildly amused by her claim and took a seat in his armchair. The part of his face that was showing beneath his tangled beard indicated that he believed she was teasing, but all Lyra knew was the sinking feeling in her gut wasn't there by accident. What now?!

"So yeh haven't spent the last three weekends serving detention with Professor Snape?" He chuckled, and Lyra had to gulp down more of her tea to give her time to reconfigure her cover story. Yay, more pieces of the puzzle?

"Mm you got me there," she feigned defeat, and pulled out her mental notebook from the back pocket in her brain. Detention with Snape? That seems like a normal thing I would do, but three weekends in a row? It must've been something serious. "The floors down in the dungeons have never been cleaner, and I've been trying to order a couple of new toothbrushes since mine are mysteriously matted with dirt so as you can see I've been swamped."

"That's what yeh get fer messing with him all the time, yeh never gonna leave him alone, eh?" Hagrid didn't hide his eye roll particularly well and she heard his tuts as he went to fetch the infamous Norbert pictures she had been eager to see. It was a welcomed distraction for all parties.

"Aww, he's grown horns!" cooed Lyra, her mood instantly boosted by the opal shimmer of the dragon's horn in the photograph. He was at least the size of a small cottage now, and she smiled a little wider when she spotted the ginger stocky young man trying to wrangle the creature into showing off his new wing span for his family back home, "very dashing, I can't believe how big he's gotten! Charlie looks like he can handle him though, look at him not even breaking a sweat taming him!"

"I know, I try not ter get down about missing his early years but it's what's best fer him. I think I might go and visit him soon," Hagrid admitted, his brow crumpling slightly as he admired his dragon once more before popping them aside, "maybe at Easter, dependin' on, well," he stumbled over his words and Lyra's guard spiked back up fiercer than before, "doesn't matter — so, Harry, recovered from yeh bludger injuries yet?"

"They're healing fine, thanks," Harry muttered with a sting of reluctance at the vicious subject switch, and he begrudgingly stretched his leg as though haunted by the memory, "as long as Hufflepuff aren't as accurate as Fred and George then I'll be safe."

"Maybe we should just tell Madam Pomfrey to hang the plaque up in the infirmary anyways, it's inevitable," Lyra answered with a compassionate shrug, "we've still got five years left here, if you don't count the probability of us not surviving past this year with the basilisk on the loose—,"

God freaking damn it! Lyra didn't want to mention Hagrid's feral pet but it just slipped out before she could stop it.

"—but who knows, maybe it'll cease by the end of the year and said creature will be gone and never again spoken about by anyone here at school, or anywhere for that matter — wow, Hagrid! Are those new shoes? They're fabulous!" Lyra continued to spew, and nodded towards a pair of clearly overworn wellies that matched his barrels in size. Totally oblivious to the unspoken tension in the hut, Harry took Lyra's mention of the attacks to persevere with his own investigation and he looked up at Hagrid with a sparkle of ignorant bliss behind his glasses.

"I know you're not supposed to tell us if you know anything but please Hagrid, isn't there some minute detail you could accidentally let slip? Does Dumbledore know anything about who's behind the attacks?" He persuaded, knitting his brows to ensure he looked as trustworthy as he possibly could. Lyra watched the scene behind her mug, using more sips of her tea to prohibit the use of her big mouth.

Hagrid's tremors returned within seconds as though a strong medication had finally worn off and he disputed Harry once again, claiming the less they knew the better they remained. His mighty hands were perfect for hiding behind as Lyra noticed his increased shiftiness to shield much of his reaction, and he flapped around the living room muttering about menial tasks that were much more interesting than answering his question.

But Harry wasn't done, he was too tired to watch someone dance around yet another answer they weren't giving him— Lyra had taught him well. She guessed it was his long lasting frustration from experiencing his first proper Valentine's Day that made him flare up and she happily sat back and watched.

"I know you know I can hear the snake going around attacking people, all I want is reassurance that I won't have to listen to that for the rest of my time here at Hogwarts which I don't think is a big ask," he bit back, "it's not like we're going to track the creature and attempt to kill it or anything—,"

"Yeh'll do no such thing!" Hagrid barked down at them, "absolutely not! If I even catch a whiff that the two of yeh are planning on hunting the attacker down then yeh'll be wasting all of yeh weekends until graduation scrubbing the floors with yeh toothbrushes!" His harsh tone caused the pair to shrink slightly on the sofa, and Lyra fought hard to remain naive and clueless as she was supposed to be.

"By our fifth year we would have cleaned the entire castle, it wouldn't be until we graduate unless you want one third of the castle twice as clean as the rest?" Lyra tried to ease the conversation with a small joke, but she grimaced and backed down again with a more sombre attitude when she saw how haunted Hagrid looked.

"I won't say another word," she vowed and minded, zipping her lips closed.

"It's just since the house ghosts were petrified everyone has been talking about it everywhere we go. It's hard not to linger on it… and just to clarify we're not hunting the basilisk down," Harry confirmed, abandoning the prospect of gaining some insight into the teachers' perspective, and he tried to make amends for his determination. "If you really can't tell us anything then I understand, but you can't blame us for trying."

"You know I can't," sighed Hagrid, and he maintained eye contact with a solemn smile, "yeh too nosy fer yer own good, and considering yeh've got yer ability to talk to snakes I can't help but be a little worried that yer gonna do something yer gonna regret. If yeh truly want ter help solve this then listen ter me and the professors that know what's best — and that's staying out of it. This Heir of Slytherin business will be over soon."

The mood in Hagrid's hut for the rest of their visit mellowed out once the subject of the giant snake was dropped from both Harry and Lyra's minds. Lyra allowed the groundskeeper the benefit of the doubt just this once and played his game. It was a damn lot easier than confronting him on the issue of his lies, and so she laughed in the right places and accepted as many cups of tea as her nervous stomach would allow. She cheered up a bit once Harry recounted some of their lessons over the past couple of weeks, glimmers of memories she had lost slotted into place and she happily chimed in to help finish his tales.

But her headache bounced back with a fierce pound this time when she left the warmth of the toasty hut to attend her Quidditch practice. Lyra hadn't felt this sickly since coming to Hogwarts, where potions that solved most minor ailments were readily available, but she already knew it wasn't a common illness she was suffering even though it felt like she was developing a head cold. It was the start of something horrible, something Tom labelled as unspeakable…

"I know I've insulted you once already today by saying this, so I really am trying to phrase this as nicely as possible, but you don't look well, Lyra… Are you ok?"

Harry broke the silence on their walk down first, and his concern stole Lyra from her tumultuous spiral of thoughts and brought her back to the steep, gravelled path they were following.

She didn't realise how dark the sky had become until Harry lit his wand and disturbed the dense shadows of the thicket of willowy trees bordering their path. Lyra winced at the bright light stemming from the stick between them but she couldn't look away and meet his ardent gaze with an answer he'd accept.

Right now she had two options, either fake it and tell him that she's fine, and then end up overexerting herself during practice and inflict even more damage to her already weakened body — or she could tell the truth.

"I don't… know," Lyra admitted slowly. The light separating them flashed in his glasses and it made looking up at him a little easier. "I'm not sure how I'm feeling."

She had to tell him, it wasn't fair on him anymore. The urge to spew up her secrets arrived with violence, it tore up her throat like acid and she had to let it go.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked innocently.

"Harry I've been meaning to tell you something, and I don't really know how to start so I'm just going to say it. It's like the ripping of the plaster method— get it over quick and the pain will be practically unfelt. It's the best way to confess to a difficult secret when you're feeling nervous, or so I've heard, but emotionally it's kinda pretty terrifying because you have to jump off the cliff of uncertainty and just say it and your stomach gets all tingly and jittery which makes you think twice," Lyra rambled, twitching as she checked the coast around them. The path down to the Quidditch pitch was deserted, their teammates were likely already there and Wood was waiting for them to commence practice, but Lyra didn't want to take any risks. Not with information as insidious as this on the line.

Before Harry could decide whether he should be enthusiastic or anxious, Lyra snatched his wand hand for support and marched into the forest for an extra layer of privacy. Harry's wand light flickered, he lost the battle with the darkness shrouding them the moment Lyra took the lead and dragged him off.

They didn't stop until they came across a fallen tree acting as a temporary bench, and the break in the tree line gave them space to decompress. Lyra dumped her broom on the floor and smoothed her flyaways out of her face, focusing on her breathing. Cautious of the spiky brambles and finally free of her grasp, Harry gingerly leant his broom against the trunk and took a seat, his eyes glued to Lyra as though waiting for something spectacular to happen. The darkness wasn't an obstacle anymore, they had grown accustomed to the shadows — this wasn't the first time they were in the Forbidden Forest after dusk.

"Home sweet home," Harry sighed, breaking the silence with an easy joke as he inspected their small clearing, but his meek smile disappeared when Lyra failed to crack even the smallest of smirks.

"Lyra, seriously, what's up?"

"Hagrid is the reason there's a basilisk loose in the castle," Lyra burst out, exploding from the pressure on her chest, "he's the reason there's innocent students lying in the hospital petrified, the reason why you've been hearing voices in the walls — it's him. He's been lying to us all year, he's not owning up to what his pet is doing and I can barely look at him without unearthing the urge to yell at him."

"That's why you've been avoiding him," Harry said in a weak, monotonous voice, and Lyra swallowed the lump in her throat before nodding.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," she mumbled, and Harry grimaced, slowly absorbing the revelation into his own thought process.

"How do you know this?" He asked, sounding more wounded now.

"I overheard him and Dumbledore talking about it, because this has all happened before," the lie rolled from her tongue with such ease this time, and she shuffled through the muddy mulch so she could join him on the trunk. A faint sliver of moonlight caught the sides of Harry's face as the canopy of leaves above them fluttered, highlighting the hurt in his expression.

"They lied to us," he verbally concluded a dark thought at the forefront of his mind, and Lyra nodded again. It wasn't a pleasant feeling but Lyra was glad Harry felt as offended by the deception as she did, it reaffirmed her faith in him that they were on the same side in this.

"Dumbledore's covering for Hagrid, and this isn't the first time he's done so. He was expelled from Hogwarts because he got someone killed, Harry, he's the reason Myrtle's here—,"

"—and now Myrtle's disappeared, which is pretty convenient now the basilisk is back so she won't talk," Harry deduced, putting together his own puzzle pieces just as Hermione had, but Lyra was thoroughly more interested in his perspective.

Myrtle's disappeared?

"What do you mean, Myrtle's gone?" Lyra poked. Her gut jerked unnaturally at the mention of her name and the hairs on the back of her neck pricked to life. "What the hell is the matter with the ghosts this year? Are spirits known to be scared of giant snakes? I didn't realise basilisks were so overpowering."

"I dunno, you're Ghost Girl, why don't you figure it out?" Harry jabbed, and Lyra scoffed back.

"But you're Snake Boy, so you also have to figure this out," she chided, absently knocking her leg against his, and he broke his tense lour with a broken brow and a side smile.

"What do you think we've been trying to do? Now his behaviour makes so much more sense — I can't believe this…" he sighed again, still coming to terms with everything, "does anyone else know about this? Surely people remember Myrtle's death? How old is Hagrid? The Ministry would know all about this… what if they arrest Hagrid if this continues? What if they think he's done this again? It must be the same snake, Hermione said they can live for hundreds of years."

Lyra had already thought about this before, during one of her many evenings talking to Tom about the future. The Ministry are fully aware of what happened last time, and it appears that Dumbledore hasn't told them the whole truth this time. Whatever he told the Ministry last time to give Hagrid enough credibility to work as groundskeeper might not work a second time. If the Ministry heard word that the students were actively in danger then they would have no choice but to step in and the governors on the school board would have to intervene as temporary overseers beside the deputy headmistress. Dumbledore would be forced to resign and leave the school grounds, and Hagrid would likely be arrested.

"Then perhaps the Ministry is unaware of what's really going on here, maybe the governors of the school aren't kept up to date with the schools current events," Lyra evaluated, and she shivered viciously. "You know, Dumbledore isn't as great as I thought he was, what kind of headmaster does this?"

"I don't know," Harry huffed, returning to frown at the ground, "but whatever Hagrid did must have been an accident, he would never have done anything like this on purpose."

"True, but don't you think it's a little selfish? And a bit suspicious? They let this happen again? Why isn't the snake dead?" Lyra countered, luring Harry towards the hidden plethora of secrets she possessed. "It's almost like they're hiding something else."

"Yeah, somethings not right about this," Harry sounded much firmer this time, "I could've sworn Malfoy had something to do with this, and the Heir of Slytherin myth is so believable that it could have been that… Is it bad that I'm kinda annoyed it's not the heir that's attacking people?"

"You're annoyed that there's not a descendent of Slytherin terrorising and purging the school?" Lyra repeated so Harry could hear himself, and he rolled his eyes.

"That's not what I meant, that part is awful and I would never wish to petrify anyone — besides Malfoy and Snape — but I just wish there was a real antagonist behind all of this and not…" Harry trailed off with another scowl and he pouted when Lyra finished for him.

"Our good friend Rubeus?"

"Exactly," he sighed and tried to distract himself by thrusting his watch into the shimmers of moonlight around him but it only made his lopsided frown longer, "ah crap — Woods gonna kill us, we're late."

"Ugh, I'm so not in the right mind to fly tonight," Lyra moaned, flopping forwards in a strop and begrudgingly joining Harry on his feet with her now muddy broom back in her arms, "awww and now there's dirt all over Vivienne! Can my day get any worse?!"

"Vivienne?" Harry asked, looking at her strangely, and Lyra waved her trusty Nimbus broom at him and consequently splattering him with flecks of dirt.

"Vivienne Westwood?"

"Is that a singer?" He guessed, cleaning his glasses, "Is she another one I'm supposed to have already known?"

"Oh you sweet summer child, there are so many different aspects of pop culture I still need to teach you," Lyra entertained, endeared by his lack of taste, "sure, she's a singer, why not."

Harry let her comment go with a half-smile, half-sneer, and purposely brandished his sparkling clean broom her way as they got ready to leave, but he couldn't quite bring himself to leave yet. He wasn't finished utilising their moment of complete privacy yet.

"Is that all you had to tell me or are you keeping the rest till tonight?" He wondered, forcing Lyra to hesitate, and she could only stare blankly back at him.

Her headache instantly intensified as though reminding her of her predicament. For crying out loud, what have I forgotten now?!

Lyra cradled her head, cursing the crippling thuds that had moved to her temples, and attempted to look somewhat guilty when she turned back to Harry but her mask slipped and he saw her aura physically dim. The light had left her usually twinkling bright eyes and entire demeanour paled to emphasise the deep purple shadows carving her face, she didn't hide her declining well-being now.

"I'll be honest with you, Harry, I've not been feeling myself for a couple of weeks, and today I feel much worse," Lyra spoke barely above a whisper and fidgeted on the spot as though hidden eyes circling them were tracking her, "I wasn't kidding earlier when I said I had a migraine, I think it might be the flu."

"Or extreme lack of sleep, knowing you," Harry commented, but he was gentle and warm rather than accusatory and impatient, "that'll explain the memory loss — you forgot about tonight, didn't you? You said you wanted to show me something but it had to be after curfew, when everyone was in bed?"

…Eh?

This particular bullet point in Lyra's mental notepad stood out against the rest and she underlined it with extra curiosity. Aw man, have I found some super awesome secret to the castle that I've now forgotten? It was hard for Lyra not to physically kick herself. If she intended to keep it strictly between her and Harry then it must have been inexplicably impressive.

"Was it that obvious?" She laughed sheepishly, keeping it light so he wouldn't worry too much, and Harry tried to not look disappointed, "I'm really, really sorry. I'll admit that I have forgotten what I wanted to show you but we can go and uncover this apparently cool secret hideaway another night?"

"No it's fine," Harry deflected her niceties point blank and escorted her out of the forest, glancing at his watch occasionally so Lyra couldn't see the inflamed redness of his cheeks, "why don't you sit this practice out and catch up on your sleep? I'll tell Wood that you're sick or something, don't worry."

"Just say it's my time of the month, he won't ask any questions then, boys never do," Lyra suggested, and she smirked when Harry's face levelled up from flushed raspberry to boiling lobster, proving her point.

"Yeah, er, I guess so, um," He stammered, avoiding the chance to continue discussing Lyra's hypothetical menstruation as they weaved through the trees.

"I truly am sorry, I do want to hang out after curfew, especially since I haven't really utilised the map as much as I should've so far this year," Lyra reiterated, still dwelling on her fresh guilt for cancelling on Harry as they re-emerged onto the steep gravel path. The night seemed so much brighter compared to the dense forest, they could easily see each other without artificial lighting and Lyra felt considerably lighter now she had decided to skive Quidditch.

Harry took her offer seriously and paused, instinctively dishevelling his already ruffled hair at the anticipation of his own question but she giggled as he dislodged a few leaves that had gotten caught in his tresses and it eased him into asking.

"Actually, there was something I wanted to do while we were together, and I know I keep asking and I'm sorry if I keep bugging you but have you heard back from Kreacher?"

As though he was expecting her to snap at him for pestering her, Harry's reflexes kicked in and he flinched, but Lyra simply shook her head, intrigued.

"No? I can call him now, if you like?" Lyra offered, and Harry looked jubilant, "you're not bugging me by asking, by the way."

"That wasn't what you said last week, but thanks, I'll take it," Harry scoffed, amused by her change of heart, and Lyra's stomach dropped. She desperately needed to go back to her dorm now, her mental notepad was thicker than she liked. This was exceeding worrying now, she needed to take action and get Tom involved.

"Mhm, I guess I'm just feeling pretty indecisive at the moment," Lyra muttered under her breath, but she cleared her throat and spoke up, "Kreacher!"

Pop!

"Mistress," greeted Kreacher in his usual stance, and Lyra was pleasantly surprised to have caught him in a good mood. The smile he gave her upon releasing from his low bow was friendly today, no sign of cynicism anywhere. Ay!

Today he was dressed almost like an elderly man of leisure in a black quilted smoking jacket with yellow gold detailing and a matching velvet cap that cupped his ears snugly. Once Lyra figured out she simply had to command Kreacher to wear his set uniform she found the loophole and was currently cycling through a few ideas. Kreacher was still reluctant to give feedback but she noticed he played with the hat with a fragment of a smile on his wrinkled lips.

"Hey buddy," she said, juggling with her broom before offering Kreacher her fist in the hopes of earning her first successful fist bump, "pound it!"

Kreacher's smug grin fell almost immediately and his bloodshot eyes dropped glumly to her outstretched fist. The disgruntled curl to both his upper lip and fuzzy eyebrows was unmistakable and Harry had to turn away to hide his laughter when Kreacher rejected Lyra's gesture.

"Mistress has been feeling ill again, Kreacher can see," he surmised, inspecting her head to toe like a matron accepting a new patient, and he shot a death glare at Harry as he circled Lyra, "then again, Kreacher should expect nothing less when Mistress keeps company like the brat that banished the Dark Lord." Looking very much like an infuriated garden gnome the way he scrunched his face up, Kreacher bared his gnarled teeth and Harry glanced at Lyra, brows raised in both surprise and in questioning.

"That's an odd way to phrase it," Harry mused, not at all offended, and he considered it with a head tilt, "and considering how last year turned out he's technically not wrong either. If you can call whatever form he's in currently as banishment since he's not dead."

"I imagined him more like a shadow, you know like in Peter Pan, how he loses his shadow and he has to sew it back on? Kinda like that but he has no body to attach back onto so he's just floating around, haunting dark corners around the world," Lyra vocalised her eccentric nightmares and Harry just stared at her for a moment.

"That's probably the one children's film I've actually seen and now you've ruined it for me forever," he blamed her pretty quickly and gave her the cold shoulder, but Lyra enjoyed herself with a smug smile.

"I'm stunned you've actually seen," she teased, but the peculiar glare from her house elf jerked Lyra back on track and she tried to coax him back to being nice before she asked him to obey Harry.

"So, buddy, my good pal, my soldier, my guy Kreacher… Black? Wait, do you share my last name since you're attached to the family? Do you have family names?" Lyra easily sidetracked by Harry's elbow connecting with his ribs nudged her from spiralling.

Tears in his eyes, Kreacher gazed up at Lyra and batted his withered lashes in incredulity at the honour she had bestowed upon him. The angry gnome had disappeared and its kindly, if not slightly erratic twin had replaced him.

"You would see K-Kreacher bear the last name Black?" He snuffled, taking a slow moment to wipe his dribbling nose.

"I don't see why not? You've been a part of the family for decades, right? Longer than me and I'm a Black, so are you buddy," she shrugged. The crisp February evening was starting to chill her to the bone so she hurried Kreacher through his gracious weeping and gestured at Harry to ask away as Kreacher latched onto the hem of her robes to show his respects.

"Kreacher, please, you must know something about what happened to Dobby," Harry began with confidence, he needed to be firm, "you know the Malfoys well enough to find out, you have the power to find him."

Kreacher snapped out of his performative bows and using the sleeves of his elegant jacket he dried his face before giving Harry the honour of answering his request. With the combination of Lyra's display of respect and Harry's directness he was buttered up enough to comply so he licked his lips and nodded, hobbling closer to Harry so he didn't have to raise his voice.

"Kreacher has discovered the truth of Dobby's whereabouts, this is true, but Kreacher is afraid…" he admitted, and Lyra suddenly stood tall, and she matched Harry's jolt of wonder.

"You have?"

"And?!"

"When did you find out? Why didn't you come straight to us?" Lyra spat out urgently, rushing to beat Harry who was about to explode from impatience.

"Because of the nature of the news, Mistress, Kreacher wanted to save any distress for your own benefit," he explained eloquently, and he flashed her a smile of reassurance. "Kreacher always looks out for Mistress."

"What distress? I can handle it, Kreacher, but thank you for considering my well-being," she was kind enough with her gratitude to hook it out of him.

Kreacher cleared his throat, caught Lyra's eye once more with an unusual glint that she couldn't quite read, and relayed the tragic findings of his investigations.

"Kreacher regrets to tell you that Dobby has passed on, he is no longer here. Kreacher cannot track down the deceased so he cannot find him for you," he revealed, and the news stole the air out from them. Lyra clutched her mouth in horror and grabbed Harry's arm for consolation as his face fell and he stared hard at the gravel. Only his clenched fists gave away how he was truly feeling.

"Harry I'm so sorry," Lyra croaked, her voice giving in to grief for the poor, innocent elf that had been badly mistreated, "I didn't think—,"

"Kreacher, what happened? How did you find out?" Harry asked again, snubbing Lyra's comforting words, and Kreacher stayed solemn as he spilled.

"Kreacher snuck into Malfoy Manor and overheard Mister Malfoy and Miss Narcissa's conversing, Kreacher heard it all… they sold him to an old elf breeder who sent Dobby to work for his new family, and the next they heard he was killed by the new family's undocumented Crup in an unfortunate feeding accident," he explained, and Lyra winced. What a sad way to go, Dobby deserved way better.

"The Malfoys are still responsible for his death," Harry vowed, disgusted by it all. He slumped a little, feeling defeated that he couldn't help the elf anymore, and he thanked Kreacher for the information, "thanks anyway."

"Kreacher will take Mistress back up to the castle now," Kreacher urged, unfurling Lyra's free arm from Harry's and beginning to escort her up the path towards the warm, inviting castle where her bed was calling her name. Lyra managed to wrangle out of Kreacher's grasp long enough to suffocate Harry with an impromptu hug to soothe the grief and resentment hanging over him for not reaching Dobby in time, but Kreacher was shockingly quite strong for an elderly elf and he persuaded Lyra to leave.

Unfortunately for the retreating pair, they failed to notice the folded piece of parchment slide from Lyra's unbuttoned pockets during Kreacher's hands-on approach where it fluttered to the ground. It lay there untouched until Harry took a moment to look back at Lyra and it flashed like a speck of snow against the greyish dusty rocks, catching his eye.

Intrigue punched him in the gut like a bludger and he rushed back to steal it, and his fingers trembled slightly as he unravelled the secret note.

Dear Riddle,

You know better than anyone that I struggle with writing down exactly how I feel and what I mean, but it's Valentine's Day and I have something special to tell you so here goes…

"You know you can't come up there with me, you'll be seen," Lyra whispered to Kreacher as they approached the seventh floor where the tower awaited, but Kreacher was tugging on her arms especially hard. He seemed to really want her safely back in her dormitory… way more than usual.

"Mistress isn't well, Kreacher knows what she needs," was all he told her. It was the only answer she was going to get but she was determined enough to keep trying.

"You knew I was feeling sick before I said anything," she pointed out as she climbed the stairs. Her chest started to constrict and her pants got heavier, deep long wheezes that didn't sound healthy. Kreacher only rolled his eyes, not needing to say much.

"Mistress has been sick for a while, but she's going to get better, Kreacher knows that for certain," he assured her, and he used his free arm to shuffle around in his jacket pockets, "that's why Kreacher fetched it for you, Mistress can't keep him waiting."

"Eh?" Lyra croaked, clasping her thighs for support as she breached the top step, and her eyes ballooned when she saw her diary in her elf's hands. Her heart jumped into her mouth and she lurched at it, hiding it from view.

"Why do you have this?! What do you mean by him?!" Lyra hissed, seething at her elf's foolishness to even mention Tom out loud, but the thudding of her head magnified the second her palm grazed the pulsating leather cover.

"Kreacher prefers obeying Mistress when she is with him. Kreacher is only doing what's best for Mistress, for the Black family, for your love," Kreacher proclaimed in a gruff voice, and he tore the book open so his mistress would succumb to the forces within. The vessel seduced Lyra within seconds and she fell for the darkness enclosing on her. Her hand landed on the pages as Tom's hands squeezed her and she fell prey to Riddle's whim once more.

"It's just one day… how much damage could she have possibly inflicted?" Tom wondered as he grew accustomed to his girl, "no matter, I can make more of the placebo potion to play with her mind. Let's see how long you last this time, my good girl, you're taking it so much better this time…"

Riddle gazed down at Kreacher and arched a brow, analysing the elf on his valiant efforts, and he only blinked up at him in awe.

"M-Mistress?"

"I'm feeling much better, Kreacher, thank you for bringing him to me," Lyra's voice sounded like honey when she was calm - deep, buttery, and irresistible. "Let's take a little trip to the greenhouses, and remember — this stays between us…"