"Mmmpfh, you three again. Shouldn't you be in class?" clucked Madam Pomfrey, brows peaking as she observed the trio's faces in the crack of the hospital wing's doors. She should have known they would be back so soon, she had a difficult time persuading them to leave yesterday. The girl had barely been awake for a few hours by the time her friends turned up, they might as well have set up camp in her ward overnight.
"Our Charms lesson doesn't start for another fifteen minutes, it's still lunchtime," bargained Hermione first, taking the lead with what she supposed was a convincing smile, "we won't stay long, we promise."
She was the visibly reliable one, her school textbooks were tucked in her arms and Madam Pomfrey eyed them approvingly.
"As long as Mr Weasley promises to abide by the ward's rules this time," she told them, her sharp eyes lingering on Ron who did a terrible job at hiding his flushed cheeks, "I can't have you disrupting my work, I know your sister is in there but you mustn't interfere in case you compromise the progress I've made with the petrified students, it's for their own good."
"I won't, I swear," Ron mumbled more to his shoes than back to her but he eventually gave the matron a trusting smile when Hermione jabbed him in the ribs to be more convincing. "I'm just worried about her, that's all… I didn't mean to knock your potions over last time."
"Which is completely understandable, Mr Weasley, but if I catch you or your meddlesome brothers sneaking into the private ward again I won't hesitate to ban your entire family from the infirmary," warned the matron, and she loosened her vulture grip on the door in a moment of sympathy. Ron gulped and nodded furiously, agreeing to her terms.
"I'll make sure to pass on the message," he swore, "so, does that mean we can visit Lyra?"
"Is she awake?" Harry asked, growing restless from Pomfrey's slow responses, but once realising he may have given the matron a way out he added, "even if she's not, we still want to see her."
Madam Pomfrey considered Harry's perseverance to be quite formidable as she observed his innocent-looking smile. But as she suddenly remembered whose offspring she was dealing with, her hope fizzled into despair and she let out an increasing sigh.
"Why bother saying no, you will only find a way in yourself Potter," she said, and so the matron straightened her apron and escorted the children inside the ward. Exchanging a look of satisfaction, the trio kept close to her but had to skid to a hasty stop when she suddenly turned to them as they reached the curtain separating Lyra. That was new, and all of them feared for its reason with three matching grimaces.
"Miss Black is awake, but she is incredibly tender at the moment so please be considerate when talking to her," Madam Pomfrey explained in a low voice, cautious of her patient's ears, "she is suffering with a mild case of amnesia so do not be alarmed if she is acting… well, different would be the appropriate word to use here. Her concussion is severe, so be patient please."
"We will," answered Harry on behalf of the group, his eyes darting to the curtain as though nervous to see her, "you don't have to worry about us, we'll behave."
Taking his word for granted, Madam Pomfrey left them with a nod and bustled off towards the private ward to continue her work on the petrified students, and the three Gryffindors edged around the cotton shield, anticipating the worst. The word 'different' had a multitude of meanings, and when it came to Lyra it was rather impossible to envisage her acting more peculiar than she already was, so naturally they were anxious.
But the trio heaved a collective sigh of relief when they were greeted with an exceedingly pleasant smile on Lyra's freckled albeit bandaged face. She was sitting with her legs crossed and her back supported by a pair of plump pillows on the bed, using her hands as a ledge for her discombobulated head, but she snapped up straight and beamed when she heard them. If it wasn't for the lopsided wrappings protecting her head or the glassy sheen in her eyes they wouldn't have known she was ill, they expected her to look way worse by the expression the solemn nurse gave them.
She was ok, more than ok, she was smiling properly for the first time in months.
Although the three Gryffindors never discussed their individual observations of their friend with each other, they all noticed that Lyra had been acting less cheerful since their Christmas break.
Whether it was the noticeable lack of her snarky comments that were missing from their usual chitchat, or the disappearance of her impish smirk that accompanied an unpredictable idea that would make them question her sanity, the three of them knew something about her had changed. There was a brief moment on Valentine's Day where she seemed like she was back to her old self, but then the fleeting glimmer of her light was gone again the next morning and she was more serious than ever, and they were stuck wondering in solitude what was wrong.
Muscles relaxed and smiles returned as they crowded around her bed, and Hermione smothered Lyra with a tight embrace, unable to hold back. She was one of the unlucky few who witnessed her crash.
"Pomfrey said you have amnesia," Ron spoke first, settling back in his chair as he smirked at his injured friend, "do you know who we are?"
"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, gormless from his lack of tact, and Lyra unhelpfully played along.
"Not a clue, I've never seen your face before," she said deadpanned, screwing her face up as though she didn't know, "Rob, was it? Pleasure to meet you."
"Good to hear that your sense of humour wasn't knocked out of you," Harry mused, choosing the chair furthest from her bed, and Lyra went to brag that nothing would ever strip her of her ability to entertain when she realised Harry was refusing to meet her earnest eye.
He was looking everywhere except for her. At his rolled up sleeves, at the patterns in the curtain, even at the domed ceiling — it was hard for her not to take his avoidance personally. Her brow puckered and she attempted to brush his chilly attitude away when she remembered he was probably resenting her for losing the match, or he was just teasing her. I guess that's fair.
"Alright, I'm ready to hear the final match scores, how badly did I screw up?" Lyra sighed, burrowing under her duvet to hide from the poor results, "does Wood hate me? Tell him I hate me too so we're even, he doesn't need to drop by and relay how I've disappointed him and let Gryffindor down. At least it was only against Hufflepuff."
"We only lost by forty points, it could've been a lot worse," Ron explained, trying to be optimistic as Harry had suddenly gone mute, "if Slytherin scores less than two hundred and fifty points next month then we're in the final, we still have a chance."
"And you'll be healed way before then, you'll be in fighting condition again," assured Hermione, "and Oliver isn't angry, he keeps asking us if you're okay. He's more concerned with your head than the score so you don't need to grovel when you see him."
Lyra knew for a fact that was a lie but she swallowed it regardless, it helped her guilt a little. "Thanks, I suppose that's good to know," she muttered, emerging from the covers again.
"What happened? What made you crash?" Harry spat, and Lyra finally caught his eye, still startled by his passive aggressive tone. His question rolled around in the fog of her brain, getting lost amongst the hundred and one other snippets she was struggling to remember. Hermione and Ron fell silent, waiting for her to answer, and Lyra rushed to wipe away a bead of sweat from her neck using her pyjama collar.
"I… don't know," she admitted slowly, working through the accident at a snail's pace to see if her mind would give her a break. Nope, nothing. "It's fuzzy, I must've gotten distracted or something, I couldn't have lost control for long though."
"But you never lose control, even in stormy conditions and it was a sunny day when we played so you can't blame it on the weather," Harry countered, sitting forwards in his chair as though ready to defend himself from some vicious claim that didn't exist. The frosty edge to his voice was much more evident that time. Ron, whose passion for Quidditch fuelled his ignorance, didn't catch his irrational bitterness at first as he assumed he was simply annoyed by their loss, but Hermione certainly did and she arched a brow, side-eyeing Harry.
"The rest of the team were saying the same thing," Ron chipped in, backing Harry up, "Katie said you were acting off during the game as well—," but he cut off with a grunt when Hermione batted his shin with her book bag, silently telling him not to get involved.
Lyra blinked, unsure whether to take Harry seriously.
She thought he would automatically be on her side for this one, considering the crash was a genuine accident. Did he think she intended to throw the game by injuring herself? "Do you think I'm lying, Potter? I'm sorry I can't remember what happened dude, and as someone who's been hospitalised as a result of multiple Quidditch accidents I thought you would be a bit more sympathetic towards me?"
"Harry, she has amnesia," Hermione reiterated, jumping to Lyra's defence, and Lyra's stomach fluttered from her loyalty, "it's not her fault she doesn't remember."
"I'm not saying it is, and of course I don't blame you for giving yourself a concussion," Harry backtracked, rolling his eyes as he explained himself, but Lyra chewed on her lip as his crossed arms tightened across his chest, "but this is the second time you've conveniently lost your memory so forgive me for wondering whether you're just messing with us."
Lyra's tongue shrivelled up from instant dryness and she felt every throb of her racing heart in her throat. She didn't know that.
The fear of them discovering her secrets shone on her like a bright stage light hung up above her, and it was blistering hot to the point where she could feel her blood boil. She felt trapped, all eyes were on her and she panicked that the hands would return and throttle her again. Suddenly she wished she was alone again.
Lyra didn't know why, or even how, but somehow she knew Harry was indirectly talking about Tom. That's where his coldness was coming from. He knew she was hiding something, but how? The last time I forgot…? Her stomach was in knots, and the familiar jitters of anxiety were here to stay. Lunch would be over soon, but it wasn't soon enough.
She couldn't reply.
"Moving swiftly on!" Ron interrupted loudly, coughing to ease the tension a little when Lyra looked extremely uncomfortable, "I managed to sneak into the private ward to see Ginny yesterday, thanks for giving me the perfect alibi."
Lyra couldn't believe it when she tiptoed into the private ward after Madam Pomfrey left the door unlocked that morning and saw Ginny lying there, and Ron's mention of her brought back strong feelings of guilt. She didn't remember her cousin being attacked either, but she didn't dare repeat that.
"Any time," Lyra said instead, physically turning to face her cousin and blocking off her view from Harry completely. He was still watching her strangely, suspicion heavy in his furrowed brow, and the knots in her stomach squeezed as she anticipated his interjection at any moment. "I snuck in there earlier, and I'm glad to see she's managed to nab one of the comfier beds. And I noticed that Luna has been revived, have you seen her around school?"
Hermione had to cover her mouth so Lyra couldn't catch her irreverent smirk, but she didn't meet Ron's confused side eye. The knots were pulsating now, churning Lyra's insides as though trying to incite a riot amongst her organs. Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut? I don't know what to say anymore.
"Yes, why?" wondered Hermione, and Lyra huffed, pouting in self-pity.
"Let me guess, I've already seen her and she has no juicy details about the monster that attacked her?"
"Don't be hard on yourself for forgetting," Hermione rushed to comfort Lyra, but she pursed her lips and fell back helplessly in her chair when Harry erupted again.
"Luna told us what she's been telling everybody," He explained, riddled with impatience, "that she saw the monster which is most definitely a basilisk, and that she heard the heir in the bathroom, and then you argued with her— Do you seriously not remember this? This happened ages ago."
Luna has been awake for ages? A strand of Lyra's brain power snapped like an elastic band and her shoulders sagged in defeat. Her concept of time was off-kilter. She was damaged, she would forever be stuck figuring out what day it was, never being able to return to the present. What was the point anymore? She was broken.
"No, I don't," said Lyra, sounding more robotic, resisting the internal pull of getting lost in her own monologue, "and I know you're most likely sick of repeating yourself at this point but can you remember what I said to her?"
"You're not a being a nuisance, this isn't your fault," Hermione stressed, upset by Lyra's hopelessness. She didn't want to lose her friend to the sadness surrounding her, she could almost see it trying to swallow her now and she kicked into gear, actively trying to help by refluffing Lyra's pillows.
"You told her that she had been tricked, that there was no such thing as an Heir of Slytherin and," she told her, occasionally glancing at Harry as though expecting him to cut her off again, but he was too busy watching Lyra for a reaction to notice her eye rolls, "and when she asked for your theories on the situation you just… walked away."
"Which was the right thing to do, mind you, since other people were listening in and you can't exactly tell them the truth," Ron added for extra clarification, smirking at the memory, "if you said anything back then people would call you Loony instead of her."
The truth.
They know?! I told them?!
No way! No no no no no no—!
"Ha ha, yeah," Lyra blurted out, agreeing to whatever Ron had said with a forced laugh all the while trying not to scream in hysteria.
This was bad. This was really bad.
Harry's eyes on the side of her face were red hot lasers, heating her freckled cheeks until they resembled ripe cherries, and she couldn't stop herself from zoning out. Had she told them about Hagrid? Or Dumbledore? Did they know who's really behind the attacks, or had she fed them lies to cover for the boy in her book? Did they know about Tom?
Tom.
She needed to talk to him.
No!
Another elastic band in her brain pinged, and a second wave of defeat came crashing over her, but the wave was endless this time. It bashed her around, throwing her against rocks made of shards of her past mixing with the sea of nightmares she never remembered. If this has happened before… If I've been losing my memories for a while now… then I would have thought about speaking to Tom too? I would have spoken to him about this, and he would have figured out a way to stop this? Unless…?
His phantom hands almost claimed her again when it hit her like lightning.
Unless he's the reason why—?
"Hellooo? Lyra!"
Lyra snapped out of her frenzied daydream and blinked at the three faces gawking back at her, obviously trying to catch her attention as Ron was waving his hand mere inches from her nose. More blood filled her cheeks and she hid her blush in humiliation.
"Yikes, sorry," Lyra stuttered, taking a few deep breaths to tether her to reality outside of her head, and she tried to laugh it off, "it's the, er, concussion, I'm so sorry my attention span was horrible before but it's worse now, I swear I was listening."
"Where do you keep going?"
Lyra wasn't sure whether Harry meant for her to hear him.
His soft mutters under his breath were practically white noise against their friends' chatter, but she pushed through the increasingly discomforting stomach knots he induced and concentrated on Ron who apparently asked her a question. She didn't know why but Harry's presence was bothering her, like his aura was growing stronger in her company and she knew eventually it would detonate and rip her apart. He was an imminent threat, she could feel sharp corners and jagged edges around him, and they intended to inflict harm. She had never felt like this before with anyone… let alone—
"I said," Ron repeated, catching Lyra before she left them again, "I still think we should ask Hagrid about his old pet, you never know, he might decide to tell us all about it since we technically already know. What do you think?"
Ok, so they know about that part.
"By all means try, but good luck to you. He won't talk about it, he won't stop lying to even consider trusting us with the truth," Lyra replied, shoving her messy hair out of her way before massaging her delicate temples in the hopes of finding sweet relief.
"I still don't believe he has anything to do with these attacks though," Harry voiced his suspicions to the group, hoping to spark discourse so Lyra would look at him, and he smirked when she fell into his trap, "What? What's to say the Heir of Slytherin hasn't tamed his old pet and is happily letting Hagrid take the fall for everything, since he's supposedly done this before so of course he could do it again? This goes further than 'Hagrid's pet is attacking people at random'."
Lyra instinctively pouted at him, and Harry couldn't have looked more smug if he tried.
…Damn it! He's got a point. She didn't want to think about the alternative side to Tom's story, that wasn't possible and every fibre in her being screamed out for her to stop. Don't go there. Forbidden. Restricted content only, danger: turn back!
But sadly that only made her heart heavier and her anxiety a hell of a lot worse.
Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think—
"Your theory certainly gives Luna some credibility considering she described the Heir's voice as someone young. Hagrid would never attack anyone on purpose and I really doubt he would hang out in the girls bathroom," said Hermione, succumbing to her urge to point out seemingly mundane details as something of importance, and Lyra squirmed as she heard the facts. She couldn't stand the feeling of her own skin anymore, and she tried to hide her nervous itching with her duvet.
"There's definitely something missing here," Ron stated the obvious and nudged Lyra, "I know this is a long shot but do you remember what else was said when you overheard Hagrid and Dumbledore? Are you sure they don't know what's going on?"
Lyra wasn't sure what inspired her to ask the question but she knew the combination of every conflicting emotion inside of her didn't help whatsoever. She knew she shouldn't, every one of her instincts were hollering at her to stay silent, but she never learned to shut up.
"Have I ever… Have I ever mentioned anyone else?" She asked with a wobble in her voice, and she immediately regretted every word when their faces fell. That was a big, fat no.
Hermione and Ron were perplexed, both equally surprised and intrigued by the arrival of possibly new information, but it was Harry's angsty, lopsided scowl that unnerved her the most. It was the confirmation she needed, but definitely never wanted.
"No," said Harry, his voice thicker than he intended, but he cleared his throat and dropped his chin to find something else to concentrate on, "You haven't... Is there someone else?"
That meant yes. She had told him something.
FUCK!
"No," Lyra spat, cringing at how quickly that fell from her mouth, "no, I just— I can't remember what I said to you yesterday let alone all those months ago… I just wanted to clarify."
And just like that, Lyra felt the spikes around Harry sharpen and pierce her defence. He didn't believe her and he never combated her answer, and a large part of Lyra didn't want to know what was really going on behind his dark green eyes.
The unmissable tolls of the clock tower echoed beyond the hospital wing doors, and Lyra knew the universe listened in on her frantic heart and granted her wish of escaping this conversation. She needed to be alone now more than ever, the sting of tears was realer than before and she refused to cry in front of them.
"Damn, I thought we still had time," Hermione complained first, rising from her chair and grimacing at her bed-bound friend, "I wanted to go over our third year choices again, the deadline for our submissions is coming up and we still haven't discussed the Muggle Studies syllabus yet."
Lyra wanted more than anything to feel excited about her prospects of finally diving into the studies of Muggles from a wizarding point of view — she had been waiting for this day for almost two years at this point — but she felt nothing. She didn't care about her third year right now. With the rapid pace of her heart she wouldn't be surprised if she didn't make it to her third year, she was bound to have a heart attack.
Tom.
His hands…
"Yeah, Muggle Studies… maybe," Lyra mumbled, fading from reality before the trio's eyes, and she managed to give them what she considered to be a polite smile but was in actuality a painfully forced grin, "I'll see you later."
Disturbed by their friend's sudden mood dip, the trio promised Lyra that they would drop by before dinner and left her quarters without another word before Madam Pomfrey chased them out. The silence between the three of them didn't last long though, the second their feet touched down in the hospital wing's foyer they turned to each other to discuss her weird behaviour.
"She's not telling us something—," Harry started strong, but Hermione's sudden gasp of incredulity at her own forgetfulness cut his impending rant off.
It completely slipped her mind, but now she felt even more confident in her decision, it couldn't wait. She wanted to put a smile back on her friend's face.
"I'll be one minute tops, wait a second," Hermione chirped at the boys before darting back inside the ward, a spring in her step from her own clever idea. The second she saw Lyra's most treasured item on top of her bed earlier that morning, practically blinking at her to notice it, she knew what she had to do.
"Now really, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey started to tut once she looked up from her desk at the sound of her hurried footsteps, but Hermione squeaked "I'm sorry! I'll be gone within the minute!" as she rushed back towards Lyra's curtain.
Just as she expected, Hermione found Lyra cradling her head and gently weeping, half hidden by her duvet. Her heart plummeted at the sight of her and she sniffed, feeling somewhat tearful herself. She had never seen her confident friend look so weak before, it disturbed her to see her like this.
"Oh," Lyra croaked once she realised she wasn't alone, "sorry, I thought you'd gone." She struggled to sit up again, her silver eyes startling bright and puffy, but Hermione shook her head and perched on the end of her bed.
"You don't ever have to hide your feelings from me," she told her, "and for the record, I thought Harry was way out of line back there."
"You noticed that too?" said Lyra, heaving a sigh, "I thought it was just me. Have I done anything to piss him off lately? I mean, more than usual?"
"Not that I can recall, but don't worry about him, he's probably a bit sensitive about losing, that's all. He hasn't lost a game yet and you know what both of them are like when it comes to competitive house spirit," Hermione explained, pretty content with the reasoning itself, but something prodded her in the back of her mind as she reevaluated Harry's attitude over the past few weeks…
He had been a little more moody than usual.
"I know this is a ridiculous question with all things considered, but do you remember arguing with him over anything?" Hermione wondered, trying her best to sound casual as she traced the threads of the duvet edge.
Lyra's pout grew more prominent as she shook her head, looking more and more hopeless by the second.
"No idea… whatever, I physically do not have the brain capacity to think about him anymore," she sighed, and she smiled meekly at her empathetic friend, "did you come back to specifically bitch about Harry or was there something else? Because while you're here I might as well give you this."
Lyra scrambled down the side of the bed where her school backpack sat, its contents spilling onto the floor, and pulled out a messy pile of parchment. "It looks like I've already chosen my third year subjects but they're all wrong, Muggle Studies isn't on my chart."
Hermione, who had been itching to see Lyra's choices for a while now so she could compare notes, gratefully took the paper and flashed her another smile.
"Leave it to me, I'll sort it out while you're healing," she vowed, filing the parchment into a more sensible pile before slipping them into her bag, and her grin stretched wider when she plucked the diary waiting within.
"I really should be going, but here," Hermione said kindly as she laid Lyra's leather diary at the end of her bed, and Lyra froze, "I thought you might want something to keep you entertained until later, I assume you've got quite a lot to write about and I also thought it may help jog your memory."
The joy that she expected to bloom across Lyra's shell-shocked face never came, and the seconds between the book reveal and Lyra's stuttering exclamation of thanks stretched on at an awkward pace. Her freckled skin paled considerably as though an electric shock zapped her at her most tender point, and Hermione noticed how tightly she was grasping the covers. Her knuckles were snow white.
"T-Thank you, that's a great idea," Lyra choked out, visibly upset by the appearance of her diary, but she never broke her cracked facade. She was still pretending she was fine, even though it wasn't working.
Hermione knew she should've point blank asked her what was wrong, but she never had the chance as Madam Pomfrey stormed over to kick Hermione out. The moment she saw Lyra's disturbed expression she chased Hermione from the ward, vehemently disappointed that Lyra was spiralling.
"I can't have you unsettling my patient, Miss Granger, so I'm not accepting any more visitors for Miss Black today or this evening," Pomfrey announced as she escorted Hermione from the ward, and she raised her voice for the benefit of the two boys dawdling at the end of the foyer, their hands shoved in their pockets. "let her rest, please, and go to class."
Blushing from her subliminal scolding, Hermione apologised in a squeak and shuffled off to join Ron and Harry who were trying not to smirk at her.
"What did you do?" Ron snickered, enjoying seeing Hermione be labelled as the delinquent for once, but she stood up taller and glanced back at the hospital wing doors, dwelling on her strange friend's reaction.
"I gave Lyra her diary, I thought she might want it since she's been glued to the thing all year, but she kind of freaked out when she saw it," Hermione murmured as she encouraged the pair to start their ascent to Charms, "I think you're right, Harry, somethings not right."
Desperately trying not to make his success known, Harry fought against his smile and nodded, staring straight ahead. "I know, and I'm worried."
"But why freak out over a diary?" Ron snorted, not quite taking it as seriously as his friends, "and how do you know somethings wrong with her? You heard Pomfrey, Lyra's bound to act a bit odd with a bump as big as hers on her head."
"This has nothing to do with her accident, she's been acting weird since Christmas and I know you've noticed it too," said Harry, not bothering to be subtle with combating Ron's opposing points, "but I dunno… it's… it's complicated."
He couldn't say it, not in front of Hermione.
"What's complicated?" urged Hermione, noticing the extra lines on his furrowed brow, "did you and Lyra disagree on something?"
The redness rose in Harry's cheeks quicker than he anticipated, but he continued to stare at the door marking the end of the corridor they were ambling down.
"What? No," he dismissed, but he accidentally added, "it's probably nothing."
"Tell us," Ron urged, slowing down with intrigue lighting up his face, and he exchanged a quick look with the equally curious Hermione. "What do you reckon is up with her? What do you know?"
It took Harry a matter of minutes to end his own internal debate as to whether he should say this or not. Half of him was adamantly trying to keep Lyra's secret while the other half was whimpering in pain — but his heart won against his head. His own pain hurt too much.
As they reached the second floor where the Charms classroom was waiting for them, he huffed in frustration and came to the conclusion that he needed their help. He couldn't figure this out alone, this was what they did best.
"What I'm about to say can't get back to Lyra, promise me you won't tell her about this," he muttered under his breath, cautious of the open classroom door they were fast approaching, and they both agreed, hesitating so they wouldn't be overheard. Harry took a deep breath and focused on keeping his expression straight.
"What is it?"
"Have either of you ever heard of someone called Riddle before?" He asked them, hating how the name sounded out loud. "I don't know their first name, but I'm guessing they're a guy."
"Riddle… Riddle…" Ron repeated under his breath, but he could only stare back blankly, "doesn't ring a bell, why? Who is that?"
"I don't know, but I accidentally found a letter Lyra wrote and it was addressed to someone with that name. I think it's their last name," Harry extrapolated, scowling as he pictured her curly writing before his eyes, but he glanced at Hermione who hadn't answered yet. His heart skipped.
"…It's vaguely familiar," Hermione admitted, and she jolted a little when Harry turned to her suddenly, face lit up in anticipation, "but I haven't a clue where I've seen that name before, I'm sorry."
The gleam of familiarity shone around the name in her head, almost as though soaked in gold, but she couldn't place it quite yet.
"But you've seen it before? This Riddle guy exists?" Harry tried again, clinging onto the shimmer of hope Hermione presented him with, and she frowned back at him with an arched brow.
"Harry, what does this have to do with Lyra? What did her letter say?" She interrogated him, but he never gave her an answer as they were ushered into their lesson by Professor Flitwick.
Once they found their seats, both Hermione and Ron shuffled closer to Harry, intending on spending most of their lesson figuring out who this mysterious Riddle guy was that Harry was concerned with, but he batted away their pestering questions and urged Hermione to remember instead. Out of courtesy, and because Harry was growing more frustrated the more they asked, the pair decided to drop the matter… or so it seemed.
Riddle… The name never left Hermione's mind for the rest of the day, it had dug its claws into her brain and refused to budge.
Once she finished whatever class work she was assigned, she sat at her desk and mulled the name over and over in total silence, ignoring the boys' constant whispers between each other. It couldn't have been from a book, searching for specific names in texts was her speciality after all and she prided herself on her photographic memory, but she knew the name was related to Lyra in some way. Had she mentioned Riddle in a past conversation she had forgotten? What was the name of the Muggles she lived with again? No, that couldn't have been it…
Since the trio were banned from the hospital wing for the night, they returned to the Gryffindor Tower at the end of their exhausting day feeling rather useless. Neither of the boys were being particularly chatty, between Ron's constant yawns and Harry's grumpiness stemming from the Riddle mystery Hermione knew she wasn't going to get anything productive done in their company, so she bid them a goodnight and retired to bed alone.
As she pulled on her pyjamas, Hermione couldn't help but glance at her friend's empty bed.
It looked so cold without Lyra there, so dark and almost dank that the bed's mere presence sent shivers up Hermione's spine. It didn't feel like a safe place that was soft and comforting, it wasn't a sanctuary like her own bed and the unsettling aura surrounding Lyra's quarters was hard to shift once she noticed. Hermione poked her head through the curtains and inspected Lyra's space, hoping that something would stick out, that maybe she had another letter written to this Riddle person somewhere — but no, Hermione withdrew empty handed. She was certain she had seen that name somewhere, she could see it written down, not spoken out loud.
Riddle… Eventually Hermione's roommates came to bed and snuffed out the candles illuminating her schoolwork sprawled out in front of her, but she drew her curtains and lit her wand, intending to stay up for another hour.
She tried to distract herself by completing her Herbology essay that was nowhere near its due date yet. It was the only thing that stopped her from dwelling on Lyra for the time being, but once she triple-checked her spelling she signed her name at the top, rolled the parchment up, and slipped it carefully into her bag. Fighting the urge to yawn, Hermione suddenly brightened up with anticipation when her fingers brushed Lyra's pile of paper from earlier and she hurried to pull them out.
But her face fell when she noticed Lyra's handwriting, its lack of curls and unnatural neatness threw her off. She didn't write this. There were no scribbled comments besides the subject descriptions, no quirky doodles, no stars dotting her i's and no curly tails to her y's.
Riddle…? Pursing her lips, Hermione took out her highlighter and got to work analysing the text as though this was a homework task for an investigation class. Once the pages were covered in neon yellow ink, Hermione delicately flicked through the rest of the paper in search of some other clues to indicate who the true author was. Nothing looked noticeably out of place, the pile consisted of a few scraps of old lesson plans and the occasional duelling diagram — but her eyes bulged when she recognised the aged, tatty blank parchment folded at the very back.
Her map, the one the twins loaned her.
Lyra would never willingly give her map away. It must have been a mistake…
But that didn't mean Hermione couldn't take advantage of her slip up. Her hunch was growing fiercer in her abdomen like a cramp, and she couldn't settle it without trying first.
Hermione unravelled the magical map and strained her memory for the exact phrase Lyra used when interacting with it. Wary of her snoozing roommates, Hermione cleared her throat and tapped lightly on the parchment.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," she whispered, and her heart began to pound as the familiar black ink bled from her wand, revealing the entirety of Hogwarts and its grounds.
The blueprints appeared faster than Hermione could process and she chewed on her lip to deter her nervous butterflies as she scanned the busy crowds of students' names for the word 'Riddle'. He wasn't in the house common rooms where the majority of names were, nor was he patrolling the corridors with the prefects. Riddle's footsteps were nowhere to be seen. Hermione's stomach sank, feeling even more useless than before.
Deciding that a good night's sleep would help clear her mind, she went to wipe the map with another tap of her wand — when she found Lyra's name in the infirmary.
She was out of bed, pacing around the empty room by herself?
Cocking a brow, Hermione peeked through her curtains and spotted her alarm clock. It was just after midnight, there was no reason for her to be up.
Hermione watched Lyra's footsteps for a few moments, racing to come up with a legitimate theory that sounded realistic besides the fact that her friend was naturally a little strange, but as though Lyra knew she was watching her, her paces grew erratic. She must've been running now, her name was whizzing around the room like a panicked pixie, moving in between the beds as though they weren't an obstacle for her.
"What on earth is she doing?" Hermione breathed, glued to the map as though it were a compelling novel. She shuffled to the edge of her bed and swung her legs down, her feet absently finding her fluffy slippers as she continued to track Lyra. As she drew back her curtains the hairs on the back of her neck stood straight and her head snapped up to Lyra's bed.
Something was watching her. It was the same sensation she felt this morning when she spotted the—
"Oh my God! Riddle!"
Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth. She heard Parvati roll over in her bed and the sounds of Sally-Ann stirring, but after a minute of silence she deemed her night thankfully undisturbed.
She had seen Riddle's name before… on the back of Lyra's diary.
When she grabbed it that morning she glazed over the cover and spotted the gold ink at the bottom, the name T.M Riddle. Was it actually his diary? Hermione cursed herself for respecting Lyra's boundaries earlier that day by refusing to read it, now she wished she had. Harry said she wrote a letter to this T.M Riddle person, but that didn't make any sense unless she knew the diary's old owner.
Hermione was frozen in thought when she noticed movement on the map, and her heart leapt into her throat. Lyra was leaving the hospital wing, and she wasn't alone. She couldn't believe her eyes… it was impossible.
The labels 'Lyra Black' and 'Thomas Riddle' were moving with haste as they stormed out of the infirmary wing on the first floor, their footsteps suspiciously close to one another's, and Hermione could barely keep up. It was like he appeared from thin air, she couldn't fathom where he had come from, surely not from her diary? She didn't know what to do, adrenaline was surging through her and she knew she couldn't just sit there and let this unfold. She needed to find Lyra, and finally find out what was wrong.
This Thomas boy was trouble, she could sense that a mile off.
Although she was undoubtedly the smartest person of her age, Hermione did suffer from temporary bouts of stupidity from time to time when she was under pressure of the non-academic variety. She wasn't as impulsive as Harry, or self-confident like Ron when faced with a decision that required her to react impulsively. She needed time to think of a responsible plan, she was the logical one and she knew her plans were more immaculate than the boys when she was given even the smallest amount of time to think of the best available option. But she didn't have that advantage. Lyra needed her now, she would come after her without a plan if it was the other way around.
And so Hermione tightened the belt of her dressing gown, slipped her wand into her pocket, threw her silk hair wrap onto her bed and tiptoed out of the girls dormitory, holding both her breath and the magical map. On the spiral stairs, however, Hermione's intelligence shone through momentarily and she doubled back to swipe her handheld mirror from her dresser. She prayed she wouldn't need to use it, but her fluttering stomach wasn't as sure.
It took only a split second for Hermione to make up her mind as to whether she should sneak into the boy's tower and wake Harry and Ron up. She paused at the entrance portrait guarding the common room and glimpsed at the dormitory doors, her heart hammering from trepidation for her best friend's safety, but she knew they would only slow her down. Lyra and Riddle's labels kept slipping out of view and Hermione struggled to unfold the parchment in time; she could barely keep up with their mysterious, winding path through the castle as it was, so she pressed on alone. It wasn't very smart, but it was notably chivalrous.
The castle at night was an entirely different world to its daytime counterpart, and Hermione shrunk in her own shadow as she braved her first solo trip out. Every flicker of moonlight looked like a professor's wandlight out of the corner of her eye, and every shadow seemed to mimic Professor McGonagall's towering silhouette, but Hermione repeatedly whispered that she was simply psyching herself out. It was a gigantic basilisk that she needed to be on the lookout for, not her scary head of house, but she couldn't deny that she'd rather be caught by the snake than McGonagall.
The daunting staircase hall was so much worse, and Hermione had to pause on every staircase to whip her head around in case she was being stalked. Every doorway was a threat, the attacker could easily hide themselves behind the countless corners surrounding her, but Hermione kept her head down and her eyes focused on the pair of names she was tracking down. They were on the third floor, lurking near the boys bathrooms nearest Professor Lockhart's classroom. They were close, and Hermione's heart rate tripled in speed but she cautiously pocketed the map and forced her feet to follow the main pathway down to the third floor.
It wasn't until she made it through the first deserted corridor that Hermione remembered that she should probably arm herself, so she withdrew both her wand and the mirror and tried to keep her tremors to a minimum.
Suddenly she wished she had woken the boys up.
The air wasn't silent anymore, over her own anxious panting she could pick out the sounds of something in the near distance, but it didn't resemble footsteps. It was too consistent, a constant vibration of noise rather than intermittent clacks of shoes hitting the floor. Hermione strained her ears and approached the bend in the corridor that would lead her towards the bathroom, her dark eyes squinting to combat the shadows on the walls, but fear struck her directly in the chest when her ears grew accustomed to their voices.
"You're enjoying this, Black. Tell me that you're enjoying every second, I want to hear it from your lips," hissed an unfamiliar voice, and Hermione flinched at their malicious twang. It was crystal clear and cold, like pure ice trickling down her back, and she wished she was back in her warm bed. She didn't want to meet the face that accompanied that voice.
"This is all I've ever wanted," Lyra said breathlessly, and Hermione had to clasp her mouth shut to silence her shock, "I'm enjoying every second of this, I'll do anything to please you, Tom."
"Good girl, Lyra," purred Riddle, "I know you adore the chase just as much as I do. The suspense leading up to the main event can bring just as much pleasure as the grand act itself and I don't want to take this away from you… away from us…"
The conversation trailed off and Hermione's eyes ballooned when she recognised the gentle smacking sounds of two people kissing, it had to be. She couldn't quite believe it, and her own cheeks flushed from simply being in close quarters of the pair. At first Hermione doubted whether Lyra even knew Riddle but evidently she knew him a little too well. The letter Harry found… Ooooh…
It was all starting to make too much sense, but clarity came with an incredibly heavy price.
"I never cared for distractions but you're too good to resist, Black, you're trouble," growled Riddle, his voice growing deeper.
Hermione tried to wipe her sweaty palms without dropping her defences, but it was proving to be a hard task as she couldn't stop shaking. This wasn't possible, surely this wasn't actually happening? Lyra would've told her about Riddle, she couldn't possibly be involved with someone? He sounded older… Her skin crawled and she was beginning to feel nauseous. She had never felt so afraid for her friend's life before.
"You're prolonging your plan on purpose, this isn't my fault," Lyra replied, slightly muffled as though something was obstructing her mouth, and Hermione couldn't fight it any longer. She needed to see the scene with her own two eyes to truly believe it. She shuffled closer to the corner and held her breath, her wand arm shaking ever so slightly as she kept it raised.
"It is your fault, but I now understand that I'm doing all of this for us, for you," uttered Riddle into the night, his words echoing faintly. Hermione pressed against the stone wall and urged herself to act, sweat rolling down her shiny face. Come on! Just look!
"I used to think following in my ancestors footsteps was my destiny. To rid the Wizarding world of those with lesser blood, to purge Hogwarts of the Muggle scum that taint our way of life, that have poisoned your Pureblooded brain — but since meeting you, I now know that my future holds so much more than I ever desired… We will kill Potter together, and I will resume my position as the greatest sorcerer on earth, with you at my side…"
Hermione peeked around the corner and fell slack at the sight of the pair.
A pale, handsome teenage boy with a head full of dark curls and a sinister smile on his lips stood over Lyra like she was his prized possession, but she could see her friend's weary, gaunt face staring dreamily up at him. Her eyes were whiter than ivory, and she held herself so meekly, so unlike herself. Hermione had never seen someone look so cursed before, but she had read about the effects before. She spotted Lyra's wand in the boy's hand, pressed against her neck. This wasn't her!
Hope suddenly returned to Hermione, and warmth revitalised her confidence.
I've got this!
But unfortunately for the first time in her life, Hermione was very, very wrong.
"I smell fresh dirty blood, master…"
It happened within seconds. Although she couldn't understand the reptilian language, the hiss of the mythical basilisk was awfully distinctive compared to Lyra and Riddle's whispers. Hermione's ears pricked and she froze, terror encapsulating her body like an infectious rash and binding her to the floor. It was coming from behind, and she dared to raise her mirror to her eye line, fearing the worst.
The shimmering, muddy scales of the beast flashed back and she immediately squeezed her eyes shut. Its ancient hisses continued to reverberate around her as though she was surrounded, and she couldn't stop her whimpers when she felt its icy breath on her back. Her newly installed confidence vanished — this was it, she was doomed.
"It appears we have a guest…?" Cooed Riddle, almost amused by the interruption, and Hermione squirmed, frantically trying to come up with a plan as he turned the corner where she was hiding. Improvisation wasn't a skill she possessed.
"Ah ha," drawled Riddle. He was standing a mere foot away, but she never saw him. She couldn't look death in the eye.
"It appears your friend has gotten lost, Black."
Hermione didn't really know where the idea came from, she wasn't even sure it would work considering the circumstances of her friend's imprisonment via being cursed, but it seemed insane enough to work. She had to try, her and her best friend's lives were on the line.
"WAKE UP LYRA!" Hermione bellowed, using the last of her strength to power her diaphragm, "WAKE UP! HELP ME!"
"NO?!"
Hermione's heartfelt plea broke through Riddle's curse like shattering glass. Lyra fell through his fingers and collapsed onto the floor like a burlap sack of tubers, her skull missing the stone by a few inches. The dark magic shackling her to Riddle faded and she came back to reality, rasping and choking as she clutched her neck. His fingernails left marks this time, she felt something hot dribble down her neck but there was no time to brush it away. Her head was thumping, her body was weak, and Hermione was standing in front of her, shrouded in the shadow of the—
"RUN HERMIONE!" Lyra yelped, her eyes dropping to the floor as she scrambled to stand up, but suddenly pain paralysed her as Riddle grasped a fistful of her hair and yanked her to her feet again. Minuscule stars popped in her eyes, she tried to claw at the hand holding her but she couldn't reach it in time.
"KILL HER!" Riddle instructed the basilisk, seething at the sight of the Mudblood cowering in front of him, and he ripped Lyra closer, needing to feel his arms wrapped around her so she couldn't escape. Hearing her scream at her friend to run away and presumably snitch on them stung more than he thought it would, and he despised her for it.
No matter how much time he had spent with Lyra, she still wasn't his. He felt so foolish, so weak for falling for his own facade again. She thrashed against him, thumping his chest and kicked at his shins, but he only held her tighter. He could feel all of her, and all of her will soon be his.
"Silencio!"
As Riddle struggled to tame the young warrior in his arms, Hermione fumbled with her handheld mirror and stupidly gave in to temptation. If she could just figure out how many steps were between the basilisk and herself, she may be able to slip away — but she couldn't leave Lyra. Hermione felt the skin of her lip burst as she dug her teeth in deeper, and she stole a look at the enormous monster slithering behind her, its forked tongue poking through its yellow fangs as it sensed the Muggle-born's blood in the air.
"HERMIONE! LEAVE!"
"I can't!" She cried, and her gaze was drawn upwards as though the basilisk had enchanted her, "I'm not leaving you!"
"You must! RUN!"
Riddle could sense danger approaching, their screams were drawing too much attention, so he jabbed Lyra's wand into the softness of her neck and forced her to meet his evil eye. As much as he wanted to force her to watch her friend die — he couldn't risk it.
"Imperio… Nice try, Black, but you're mine forever," he hissed, his eyes dropping to her plump lips as her horrified expression transformed into adoration. He knew if he had a heart it would be thumping, pumping hot blood through his sensitive muscles keeping him alive.
"LYRA!" Hermione hollered one last time, fighting hard against the basilisk's power and failing spectacularly. The luminous orange eyes bore into her chocolate brown pair and her body seized like fast-acting concrete. With her mirror and wand frozen between her fingers, Hermione fell to the floor with a pitiful smack! and Lyra almost laughed at the sight of her.
"That's it, Lyra, look at your Mudblood friend and laugh," jeered Tom before snatching her hand and leading her away from the scene of the crime, their monstrous protector in tow, "laugh at her weakness, celebrate our success. She tried to take you away from me, and we can't let that happen, can we?"
"No," Lyra responded in a whisper, clinging onto Riddle's arm for dear life as she pressed her freckled cheek against him, "I don't care about her… I'm yours…"
"Mine… forever…"