Lyra was certain that she was dead by now.

She had to have been. It was the only explanation.

She couldn't feel anything, she only saw a blackness that was never ending and omnipotent.

Her memories, gone.

Emotions? Never heard of them.

She was nothing but a shell, an empty husk of the girl she once was. She wasn't a person anymore. Everything that led her to this point was all her fault…

I caused this. I'm dead because of me.

It was a simple fact, and strangely one she felt at peace with. Death didn't scare her, why would it? She had brushed shoulders with Death so many times that it felt like a pastime at this point. She had come to know Death as a dear friend. Nothing matters when you're dead, you don't have any responsibilities anymore, or any consequences. Lyra was content with her death because death guaranteed unrequited bliss, the absence of pain, and the possibility of her reuniting with her mother. What more could a girl want?

But the bliss didn't come, and neither did Giselle. The pain was returning in dull waves, and she couldn't do anything but exist within each crash. She was alone, cold, and entirely empty. Was she dead? Or something far worse? She deserved worse, she deserved Hell for eternity.

Fuck, was this Hell?

Shackled by Riddle's unwavering dark magic, Lyra gazed up at the chiselled stone face of the creator of the ancient Chamber of Secrets, extraordinarily unbothered that the Slytherin monster was chasing down her best friend behind her.

She wasn't dead, but she should have been after the night of terror Riddle put her through. A night she would always be thankful that she didn't remember. She didn't deserve the memories of her dances with the devil, her bruised body had suffered enough. She didn't need any more scars.

Neither the snaps of the basilisk's powerful jaw nor Riddle's offensive jeers broke the curse strangling around Lyra, but neither did Harry's desperate cries. He tried calling out to her but it never worked, she couldn't hear anything. She wasn't here in the chamber anymore.

He refused to accept that she was gone and fought on. Exhausted and badly injured, he was doing everything he could to stay alive. His main goal was to somehow reach the pair lurking in the Slytherin statue's shadow, but the basilisk was making it impossible for him to get within a few metres of them before issuing another attack.

It seemed like a hopeless task, but he was made from nothing but hope… and sweat, blood, tears and whatever the hell was caked on the floor.

Riddle was gasping to take action and kill the boy himself, but the amount of concentration he needed to keep Lyra subdued meant he couldn't get involved. He couldn't take his eyes off her, if he was distracted for any longer than five seconds then she would break free of the incapacitating spell he had bound her with all night. He needed her out of the way and safe from harm, he couldn't let the boy steal her back. Not when he was on the precipice of unlocking the final constraint that was guarding the girl's soul. The forbidden ambrosial morsel of flesh he tasted last night had him addicted after his first hit.

Black wasn't going anywhere.

"You can't possibly think you're going to win this, Potter," taunted Riddle. He spared two whole seconds to find the boy amongst the fallen rubble from yet another one of the basilisk's head bashes that took out multiple carved serpents embossed onto the chamber walls. His new scar was tingling with anticipation and he gently grazed it as though comforting a nervous pet.

"I know you inside and out, I can sense your fears, I know your weaknesses… I know your dreams… She's just some girl you barely know, you should have just let her go."

Harry clawed his way out from the pile of dust, heaving as he recovered from nearly suffocating to death, but he instinctively dove into one of the many twisted nooks that snaked off the main chamber before the basilisk could spot him.

"Then I guess you don't know me or her very well," Harry retorted, shrugging off the shreds of what were his school robes and rolling up his grubby shirt sleeves. His glasses were cracked, and warm liquid was oozing down his cheek but he didn't bother wiping it away. His gruff voice echoed around the pipe chamber, smacking against the slippery tiles, "You mess with Lyra, then you mess with me. I'm not leaving this chamber without her."

Riddle's chuckle chilled Harry to the bone and he squeezed his eyes shut as the basilisk slithered past. It was becoming awfully confused by the ricocheting echoes, and Harry used the few seconds of cover to catch his jagged breath.

"You possess a lot of nerve, I bet Dumbledore simply adores you," drawled Riddle, and Harry despised the obvious loathing dripping into his tone, "did he praise you like a good little puppy when you ran to him with your tail tucked between your legs? Had to get a decrepit old man to fight your battles for you, ey? Pathetic! You're the famous Boy-Who-Lived, Harry! I thought you were strong enough to fight the greatest wizard who ever lived. You've done it once before, or was that time just pure luck?"

"You're not the greatest wizard that ever lived, you died fighting a one-year-old. Dumbledore is the greatest, you called me down here because you're too afraid to face him… Everyone knows your greatest fear, Tom," Harry spat, sounding far beyond his twelve years, and he dared to sneak a peek around the nook's corner, needing to ensure that Lyra was still here.

She hadn't moved.

But Tom had.

They locked eyes across the chamber and Harry almost fell slack when he finally noticed the identical lightning scar slashed across his enemy's forehead. From afar Harry swore it was just a trick of the light, but by the way Riddle was glaring at him it felt as though they were standing face to face, he could see that his scar was just as real as his own.

"So you know who I am… The past doesn't matter anymore," Riddle whispered, and Harry caught every word perfectly. He wasn't peeved that his secret was out, of anything he seemed more intrigued, "Nothing matters anymore, not when I have Black by my side. Dumbledore will be dead before the sun rises again, as will you be… Kill the boy, devour him whole for all I care… just get rid of him."

Harry subconsciously translated Riddle's Parseltongue and frowned as he thought Riddle was still talking to him, but the humongous basilisk suddenly slithered into view and Harry snapped his eyes shut again, panicked. The nook he was stuck in had only one way out, and it was now blocked by a wall of tough, swampy scales.

But out of nowhere, the most beautiful bird song Harry had ever heard pierced the fatal tension hanging in the chamber and its melody breathed light back into the darkness surrounding them.

To the basilisk, the song sounded like grating metal and she roared in aggravation, viciously shaking her head and doubling back so she could snatch the mythical firebird circling the room. Harry fought the urge to tear up over the phoenix's heartfelt caws and seized the chance to escape by leaping over the distracted snake's tail. This was his only chance, and his sharp reflexes came to his rescue.

Fawkes cried again, purposely damaging the girl on the floor further and forcing her out of Tom's grip. Tom couldn't believe his eyes when the bird dive-bombed the basilisk, doing all that he could to aid Harry in his quest, but he ultimately lost control when he recognised the ratty piece of clothing that fell from the bird's claws into Harry's direct path.

"NO!"

Finally, with his back to her and his concentration set on Harry, Lyra broke free from Tom's Unforgivable curse for the last time.

OW! I hate Phoenixes!

Lyra, plug your ears! They're eternal creatures, we are extremely susceptible to their magic! Quickly!

WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!

Battered and bruised from her dark magic imprisonment, Lyra barely had the strength to cover her ears without keeling over and knocking herself out. The motivational if not slightly threatening yells inside her head fed her fuel to stay awake.

That's it, girl! Fuck that bird.

That bird is the reason that Harry is still alive, I think we can go easy on the phoenix this one time!

No…

The mere thought of her best friend lifted Lyra from the floor and back into reality where the fight had only just begun.

Tom, completely unaware that his slave was awake, was on tenterhooks as the basilisk played with its dinner, but the flashes of pristine silver and the grunts of exhaustion caught Lyra's eye from between Tom's legs.

What in the Merlin is that?

Lyra was floored, her jaw swinging as she watched Harry fight back against the mythical beast as though he knew what he was doing. Wait, he knew what he was doing? MAGIC SWORD?! SINCE WHEN WAS THERE A MAGIC SWORD?

Once the snake's eyes were sufficiently gouged, Fawkes let out another excruciating cry as he switched his focus to Tom, circling like a vulture figuring out how to pick at its food. Lyra desperately tried to figure out a way for her to slip away unnoticed but with her hands over her ears and her wand in Riddle's possession, it was seeming more impossible by the second.

What if I crawl over to that statue, and then—

"Enough!" Riddle screamed, exploding with rage as the bird's singing grew louder, and in an effortless swipe of his arm he blasted a sharp curse at the phoenix.

Lyra's heart lurched out of her chest and she gasped, tears welling in her eyes as the blistering red spell tore across the phoenix's flaming wings. Fawkes' gargled caw got lost in the sounds of metal clashing on monster hide, and the crimson blood pouring from the phoenix's wounds rained down on Riddle who embraced it with open arms.

Before realising her mistake, Lyra launched herself forwards and caught the fallen bird in her arms before he pummelled the floor and shattered all of his hollow bones. Fawkes' feeble croak of thanks made the pain shooting through her front bearable, but her sudden heroic decision cost Lyra her chance of escaping Tom undetected.

"Look who's awake," Tom's wicked smile shone from above. Lyra recoiled, repulsed by the blood oozing down his alabaster cheeks, "Let's watch Potter die together, I want you to remember this moment for the rest of your life, my girl."

"You sick bastard… How could you?" Lyra growled, trying to crawl away without damaging the phoenix further, but Riddle wasn't afraid to show his true colours anymore. Especially now they had an audience.

"How could I? What, you don't remember? You're the one who lured him down here," Riddle sneered, kicking the bird out of her arms and dragging her inches above the ground by her slim neck. Her windpipe was cut in half beneath his fingers and Lyra rasped, pawing at her throat. The fresh wounds from the previous night opened in an instant and the blood stung like acid, she hadn't realised how tender her torso was until her feet left the floor. What did he do to her?

"You're the one who's been attacking their friends, their family all year… You think I'm sick? You haven't seen half of what I can do, but I've seen what you've done. You're just as sick as I am."

"LET GO OF HER!"

Lyra wasn't sure if it was the pressure from Tom's fist that burst her eardrums or if it was the rattling screech of death coming out of the basilisk's mouth, but she gladly suffered through the ringing in her ears as she fell back onto the floor. The earth shook beneath her as the monstrous snake collapsed from its fatal head trauma, but her growing concussion doubled her vision.

Trying to work out whether Harry was still alive was virtually impossible since she could see two of him fumbling for his wand, as well as two Toms and two basilisk corpses with two blinding silver swords embedded in their skulls.

"You're too late, killing my basilisk doesn't change anything, your luck has run out. I will be far less merciful than she was," threatened the two Riddles, raising two of her wands in preparation to kill both Harrys and Lyra willed herself to intervene. Her chest was pounding, and she staggered towards the two Tom's backs and pictured ripping his glossy locks out.

"You don't scare me."

"Is that so? Do you think I'm going to honour you with a quick and painless death? After all I've done this year? Come now Harry, you of all people should know that's not who I am… I've enjoyed your company over these past months, your full undivided attention… Let me at least grant you the honour to show you how you're going to die…"

Teeth gritted and fists at the ready, Lyra focused hard to merge the two Toms so her aim was at least accurate. She wasn't sure what her plan was exactly, but she needed to do something to save Harry. It was the very least she could do.

"Expelli—,"

"Incarcerous!" Riddle beat Harry by a second. Thick ropes knotted around his body and wound around his neck, holding him down so he couldn't interrupt the show that was about to begin. Lyra held her ragged breath so she wouldn't give her position away, and lunged at Tom—,

But in one swoop he spun around and seized her wrists, his reflexes sharper than his ears. Lyra froze, and her heart stopped too when she saw his eyes flash with malicious intent. He looked so unlike the boy she grew to love. He was a stranger, a real predator that had been feasting on her all year. She didn't know him at all.

"Atta girl, Lyra, I knew I could rely on you to give one hundred percent, even when you know you're powerless against me," Riddle purred, and he forced Lyra into Harry's eyesight, ensuring that he couldn't look away even if he tried, "she's a fighter like you, Potter. She's very feisty… Very naughty… I can see why you're so fond of her…"

"Why are you doing this?!" Lyra spat out, trying to yank her wrists free. She didn't want to say this in front of Harry but the pressure was building inside her and she felt the need to lash out, "Why did you lie to me?! I thought you loved me!"

"I do love you, I love you more than anyone, but I also told you who I was the very first time we spoke, Lyra. Everyone lies," Riddle told her, solely disappointed in her, and he glanced down at Harry as though he was amused by their circumstances.

"I think it's high time we tell Harry what we've been doing all year, don't you? We need to set the scene for his death and I can't think of a better way to start the show than this… Watch very closely as I break your little friend, Potter. I want you to die knowing that she has to live with this…"

Lyra couldn't look down, no matter how hard Harry tried to writhe around and beg for Riddle to stop she couldn't face her best friend in his last moments of his life. The shame was eating her alive. She caused this. This psycho was trying to kill them because of her. Stupid stupid STUPID GIRL! HARRYS GOING TO DIE BECAUSE OF YOU! LET'S HOPE HE KILLS YOU FOR GOOD THIS TIME!

"Your pal Hagrid is in Azkaban because of Lyra, that was her doing," Riddle revealed softly, tracing the freckle patterns on her cheeks with the delicacy of a romantic lover. Lyra clamped her mouth shut, trying not to vomit, "Not that she's aware, of course, she's been nothing more than a vessel these past few months. It's been eye-opening, pretending to be our darling girl here."

Lyra recoiled as Tom dragged his thumb across her chin, inching toward her wobbling bottom lip. He was hypnotised by her, his dark eyes unmoving from her mouth.

"You're not a very observant boy, are you? Were you too scared to say something to her? I know you're intimidated by her. I know what you think about when you stare at her..."

"You've… You…" Lyra breathed, silver eyes startling as she teared up. She couldn't say it. Ever. Her skin was too hot to touch, it was too heavy. Too dirty. She couldn't stomach the feeling, suffocating, decaying. Dirty. Tainted.

"You're not as smart as you think you are, darling," taunted Tom, using his false velvety tones that once had her weak at the knees, and he risked letting go of one of her wrists to stroke her chin like a loving partner, "but that won't be an issue for long. I'll teach you everything soon. You'll be a beast once I'm done with you. Once Potter is dead, I will be dedicating all of my time to mentoring you and bending you into shape… You're still my good girl, Black—,"

THWACK!

"YOU LITTLE CUNT!"

Lyra knew punching Tom in the eye was a risky move but my God was it worth it. His face looked so bloody punchable as he attempted to lean in for a forced kiss she couldn't resist, but it was ultimately the wrong move as he took her strike as the initiation of their torture.

Before she could turn and run, Tom caged her in a bear hug and dragged her into him, needing her as close as physically possible. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pressed his cold lips to her ear, making sure she heard every syllable.

"I'm going to fucking tear you apart…" he snarled, "remember these words, Lyra, because this isn't over — I'm going to destroy you in ways you never thought were possible, ways your innocent little mind can't comprehend right now, ways that will haunt you for years to come… I'll be there when you're trying to fall asleep, I'll be there in your every waking thought… And even when you're begging for me to kill you… Even when you think it's all over and you're waiting for Death's kiss to save you from my grasp, I'm going to tear you open just that little… bit… harder…"

Lyra's pathetic whimper slipped from her lips as he thrusted into her, but violent icy shame pummelled her courage to a pulp when she felt it. That was one hundred percent what she thought it was, it wasn't her wand. She couldn't act naive anymore. She felt him burying it into her with such purpose that her face burned.

Tom was fierce, hot, and dangerously hard.

Tom jerked her locked arm back against its natural joint before using his body weight to her detriment, and a sickening crunch could be heard through Lyra's shriek of agony. Blistering spasms of pain exploded from her shoulder, stealing all of her remaining strength like a gunshot, and her knees finally buckled. Her shoulder must've been broken, her arm flailed uselessly against her back when she tried to move. She had never felt more like a helpless, stupid, little girl, that was who she truly was.

If she hadn't snuck into Lucius' study that day. If she only had just kept her greedy little fingers to herself…

I deserve this.

Lyra turned mute, Harry's stifled cries as he failed to free himself were too painful to stomach. If he died too, she would never ever forgive herself. She wouldn't survive, she'd make sure of it. If Harry died then she was dying too.

You're a shit friend, how could you do this to him? After all he's been through?

Lyra, stop that.

Don't blame yourself. This is what he does.

"You can't have given up already, Lyra? No, no, no," Tom laughed in disapproval as he threw her to the ground. He smoothed his dark curls that became dishevelled during their tussle and tutted down at her. Unabashed in his stature, he flexed his shoulders and leered over her with every intention of making his arousal clear. She forced herself to look at him, all of him. "This isn't how it's supposed to go. Where has your fire gone? You're supposed to fight back, they said you were going to destroy me and I want to watch you try. I want to feel your bones break beneath my fingers..."

Lyra gritted her teeth and tried to stand, but she only moved an inch when pain paralysed her body. He had won. Giving up was her only option, she couldn't move.

FIGHT HIM!

DON'T GIVE UP!

…

Her silence wasn't enough, but the tears pouring down the boy's face was more than gratifying. Tom casted Harry one final look of triumph as he dropped to his knees and threw aside Lyra's wand, letting it slowly roll away as ran his hands up her body and pinned her to the ground. He was a real boy now, and he felt everything real boys felt when accosted in a situation like this one.

The slime covering their clothes didn't help, and neither did the temptation of her warm blood pumping through her veins clamped beneath his fingers. He could feel the adrenaline forcing it to pulse faster, like troops marching to their battle stations and turning their weapons on him, but the chemical alone wasn't enough. She didn't thrash beneath him like he wanted her to, and no more tears poured down her cheeks. She was on the verge of breaking.

"Cry for me, baby. I like it when you cry," he hissed, enjoying how easily he dominated her, "fight back."

"P-Please, Tom, don't d-do this," Lyra whispered, despising how pathetic she sounded as she begged. Her voice was her only defence, but even that was breaking, "I'll do a-anything..."

"Anything?"

Riddle reinforced his hold on her with such strength that she knew she was done for, she was losing feeling in her limbs entirely. The hot, dirty waves of shame were back. She could feel more of him against her than ever before, and his lewd repositioning induced a near physical heart attack.

This was it. She would never forget the sensation of his dead weight on top of her, she could never forget how strong he was as he ripped her legs apart.

ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT! KILL HIM!

Death was kinder than this. She couldn't fight, she couldn't flee.

So with her dying breath, Lyra screamed.

"HARRY!"

And finally, pure lightning struck for the first time in decades.

Harry didn't know how he did it, but he knew it came from within. Unmatched power birthed from the animalistic pressure in his chest, and it exploded when she cried out for him. The ropes pinged from his body like frying elastic, and he leapt to his feet. Without thinking, Harry dove towards the basilisk, ripped one of its loose fangs from its open jaws with a yell and gave in to the dark voice that was telling him to kill.

He saw only red, and he couldn't deny that he liked its violent hue.

"GET THE FUCK OFF OF HER!"

Harry dove at the pair on the floor and the skin of Tom's neck popped as the fang plunged deep into the side of his throat. He couldn't seem to stop his momentum as he ripped out and stabbed him once more for good measure, and he used the last of his strength to drag him off of Lyra and into the swelling pools of blood around them.

"You're g-going to regret this," spluttered Tom through mouthfuls of his own blood as he lay beneath Harry. He could hardly move, the poison was just as merciful as its victim. Ruthless black veins started to convulse along his neck and worm into his face as the basilisk's venom coursed through him, but Harry couldn't look away. Tom's lightning scar was bleeding, and his own began to weep.

"This isn't over, Harry… These marks on our heads aren't our only similarity…"

"I'm nothing like you," Harry growled, unknowingly grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and dragging him closer so he could see he meant every word. The anger rushing through him was extraordinary, "Voldemort is dead, and now so are you. You're never coming back."

Tom choked on his laughter and the blood pouring from the two fizzling punctures on his neck flowed faster, trickling over Harry's hands. The light was fading from his haunting eyes but he couldn't leave without giving him a small parting present.

Something that would haunt his nightmares for years to come, or so he hoped.

"She's going to kill you before I do…"

The dark magic lingering in the chamber died with Tom's last breath, and Harry collapsed backwards as relief came rushing over him — but any happiness he felt was short-lived when he heard her behind him.

"I'm so sorry Harry…"

Lyra regretted saying his name almost immediately.

She didn't even know if he was still here but she needed to tell him.

She was still flat on her back, stuck in a staring competition with a particularly gruesome gargoyle on the ceiling, immobilised by the fear that Tom's weight would return at any second. Her brain was mush, and the entire right side of her body felt as though it had been dipped in molten lava, so she lay there and prayed that Harry would be spared.

She needed to die, and fast.

Kill me instead, please. Take me…

Then she felt them, his hands—

"NOOO!"

"I'm sorry!"

Harry jumped back and retracted his hand from her arm, a subconscious gesture he didn't even consider, as Lyra bolted upright and crawled away from him despite her broken shoulder. The sudden movement robbed her of her strength and she soon collapsed, giving Harry the chance to calm her down.

"He's gone! You're safe!" He assured her, spooked by her strong reaction, "He's dead, he can't hurt you anymore."

"He's… he's not…" Lyra focused on her blurred vision instead of her shoulder and tried to process the news, but she couldn't handle it.

Everything she knew was a lie, Tom was a truly evil person and she couldn't believe she fell for his act. He was the true Heir, he got trapped in that wretched book for a reason. Dumbledore did the world a favour by getting rid of him. And now Harry was here kneeling in front of her, injured and soaked in something or someone's blood, staring at her like she was a bomb that was about to detonate.

Tom was lying face down beside him like a fallen mannequin, also drenched in miscellaneous blood. Why all the blood? The wounded phoenix was whimpering nearby. Her skin felt too tight, and the smell of death stung her nose like acid — the world was going too fast, and her senses were overloaded. Too much blood.

"Just leave me," Lyra breathed, using her good arm to cradle her head and block out the cruel world, "please… go."

"What? No," said Harry, frowning at her, "Lyra, look at me—,"

"I can't, you almost died because of me, I can't look at you ever again," she whispered, using her wild long hair to physically block him out, but Harry shuffled closer. She flinched and shook her head. He had to understand, he needed to know that it was pointless.

"Both of us almost died because of Riddle, this isn't your fault," he urged, his stained hands flinching in debate, "please, look at me—,"

"You don't understand, I've ruined everything…" Lyra's voice broke and the tears were blatant in her whispers. She was about to blow. "I'm evil, I'm a stupid, evil fucking idiot! Please, leave me to die here… Please, you should've let him kill me—,"

"No! That's not true!"

"Yes it is! JUST LEAVE! LEAVE ME TO DIE!"

"NO! LYRA–?!"

"GO!" She exploded, she couldn't take it anymore. The agony, it was more than enough to finish the job. "I WANT TO DIE! I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE ANYMORE, HARRY! JUST GO!"

"NO! STOP IT! DON'T SAY THAT!" Harry fired back just as loud, triggered by her statement, and he finally hooked his arms around her neck and forced her into his arms. He refused to let go.

Lyra didn't fight it, and her defences crumbled at his touch.

"You're not bad, your heart's too big and you have too much love to give to ever be evil. Don't ever think that I hate you because I don't — I could never, Lyra, you're my favourite person in the world and nothing will change that," Harry croaked through his tears, grasping onto the tethers that were keeping his person here with him, "I mean it, don't ever say that again… Promise me you won't, you promise me right now. You deserve to live, ok?"

Lyra was stunned into silence and she blinked up at him.

Harry wiped his eyes and grabbed her face with both hands, determined to see the spark of life in her bright gaze again. He would never leave her. Ever.

"Say it," he ordered her. "Say you deserve to live. Say you don't want to die, Lyra."

The pounding of his heart resonated between them as a silence settled until—

"…I w-won't… You're my favourite person too," whispered Lyra in a timid, strangled voice so unlike her own, "…I deserve to live."

"Yes, you do," he breathed, quaking head to toe from the rush of having her so close yet so far, "please hold on… for me."

Hot tears pooled on her bottom lashes again, finally tipping over the edge and unleashing a heavy stream down her face. The frayed threads keeping her together were dissolving and she fell apart in Harry's arms.

He didn't hate her, but she couldn't help but feel so unworthy of his kindness. The strength with which he hugged her back only made Lyra cry harder and she buried her face into his chest, begging the universe to stop her from feeling like this. She felt so heavy, like the ocean was crashing over her again, pulling her down to her death.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry…" Lyra pleaded against his shoulder, repeating herself over and over again, "So so sorry…"

"It's not your fault he—," Harry couldn't quite finish that thought, he didn't want to know what he had done to her, "all of this, this isn't you. It's not your fault he tricked you and lied to you. You were possessed, and now looking back I feel like a complete idiot because he's right, you haven't been yourself this year — this isn't you. I know the real you and that girl would never ever try to purge the school and murder me."

Lyra sniffled, peeking through her hair up at him. "…You're not wrong, as your manager it's probably the worst business move on my behalf."

Harry laughed out loud, exuberantly relieved that she was responding. There she was.

"Exactly! You're not a bad person, Black, you could never be…" he murmured, locking eyes with her when she re-emerged from his chest, feeling a tiny bit more human.

"Thank you for saving me… again," Lyra whispered, feeling incredibly stupid that this has happened twice now, and Harry's entire face bloomed bright red as though humiliated by an impulsive thought. He looked so overwhelmed that Lyra began to wonder whether he was seriously wounded.

"Are you ok? Are you hurt?"

"I…" Harry bit back his confession and tried again. He had to say it now, his heart was bursting out of his chest. "See, the thing is—,"

The haunting sound of a single person clapping interrupted their intense intimacy and Lyra panicked, assuming that Riddle was back on his feet still very much alive. As Harry went to grab his wand and defend the pair, Gilderoy emerged from the shadows on the far side of the chamber, enthralled at the show.

He looked like shit. His golden hair was now a dark brown and matted with filth, his expensive robes ruined by grime and various other substances she'd rather not know, but his face was lit up like a firework as he skipped over, totally unfazed by his unkempt appearance as he celebrated their magnificent win.

"Bravo! Excellent show! My my, not the ending I was expecting nevertheless I couldn't be happier with how it all turned out! Harry, oh Harry! You're a hero, my boy, that was marvellous! A modern-day Hercules if I do say so myself, I can see the adoring fans already lining up to congratulate you on destroying the infamous Slytherin beast," He rambled, beaming at the startled boy on the floor before helping the pair to their feet and dusting them down despite their obvious disbelief.

"Have you been in here the entire time?" Harry rasped, "What the hell? You could've given me a hand?"

Gilderoy ignored him and turned to Lyra, unintentionally ripping her from Harry with his hands on her good shoulder.

"And you! Please, forgive me for not addressing you properly!" Lyra's jaw dropped as her Dark Arts professor knelt before her as though praying to an ancient deity. Her heart plummeted, triggered by his ominous behaviour.

"My saviour, to the name of which we are not worthy to speak, I can never repay you for you have opened my eyes and finally allowed me to seek out my true purpose here in the land of the living," he spoke softly, his crinkled eyes closed out of respect, "I will dedicate my life to serving you for there is no greater love than the love you have shown me—,"

"Gilderoy?" Lyra jerked out of her stupor when she half-processed the nonsense he was spurting, "what the hell are you talking about?" He was starting to scare her and she wasn't in any state to deal with this right now.

"You saved me," he elaborated, raising his head so he could smile at her, "You returned me here to the world of the living, the magic you performed… no other mortal alive can do what you do, Lyra, and I feel like a changed man. I feel blessed to be worthy of your time, this is a brand new Gilderoy from here on out," he trailed into a fanatic hiss as though hypnotised by her gaze, and Lyra tried not to look too horrified.

Play it cool, Lyra, I've dealt with these types before in my time and they are compliant if you know what to say.

He's indebted to you, Followers do not mean any harm. He will stay quiet if you tell him to.

"What is he talking about?" Harry asked, severely baffled at this point.

"I honestly have no idea," Lyra muttered, wishing she was anywhere but here, and she considered the advice percolating at the back of her mind, "Gilderoy? Hi, um, so can you do me a favour and never talk about any of this to anyone ever?" She tried to smile at her professor and her chest lightened when he nodded at her terrible attempt.

"If that is what you wish, then it shall be done," he obeyed, putting up no fight whatsoever, "I won't utter a single word."

"Great," Lyra smiled weakly, but at Harry's confused pout, she added, "But just so we're clear, what exactly did I do? I need specific details."

"You brought me back to life," Gilderoy explained in plain English, "you can perform ancient Necromancy, dark magic we as wizards have never been able to possess, that no mythical being has ever seen. You can perform miracles, and I will strive to serve you in the world of the living as best I can, my saviour!"

Lyra couldn't feel her feet. There was no way.

Not dark magic again!

Lyra, seriously - no one can know about this.

Tell him to stay quiet. This must stay a secret.

What about the boy?

He won't say anything… There's something about him… but not now…

"Oh, great," Lyra forced a laugh, feeling way more nauseous now she understood, "right… yeah, don't do that. Pretend that this didn't happen, you can't just go around telling people about this, because they will call you crazy and throw you in a mental asylum."

"Oh. Um yeah, that sounds smart," said Harry in an odd tone, looking equally as white as he dropped his gaze and prepared to leave. Lyra noticed his sudden withdrawal and her heart broke.

It was the mention of dark magic. Again.

Was this second accusation the final straw? Was this the breaking point of their friendship? Would he go back on all of the heartfelt promises he just made? Her bottom lip wobbled as the realisation that she was losing her best friend sunk in, and she hid her silent tears by tending to the phoenix.

Fawkes, who she found out through Gilderoy's unnecessary commentary was Dumbledore's pet, looked worse than he was. The slashes on his body were long but shallow enough to soothe any worries of him dying on them. She had seen much worse on the farm next to Coles back in Weymouth. She cleaned Fawkes as best she could with her only one working arm, but her shoulder was getting worse so she passed her shoddy makeshift bandage made from the tatters of her robes over to her professor to finish.

"Stay close kids," Gilderoy instructed once they had collected themselves enough to leave, "who knows what other dangers could be lurking down here."

"Thanks, but I think we'll be alright," Harry said dryly, flashing the ancient sword at him, and Lyra tried to crack a smile. She tried to ignore his distance from her as they ventured out into the chamber's labyrinthine tunnels, but her delicate state of mind meant she couldn't hold her tongue for long. She had nothing to hide from him now, there was nothing she could say that would shock him.

"Ok, look, I totally understand if you don't want to be my friend anymore because of the whole Necromancy thing but I just think it's fair that I explain to you that I have no freaking idea how I'm doing all of this dark magic but this kinda proves that I might actually be evil and I don't even know it—,"

Lyra momentarily took a breath, but Harry simply laughed over her and walked over to her with an expression that suggested she was being cute. Now it was her turn to blush.

"I'm being serious!" She exclaimed, hugging her broken arm closer to her body and pouting at him, but he continued to smile at her, totally unfazed. "I mean it!"

"I'm sure you do," he said, but then he shrugged and urged her to follow Gilderoy, "but guess what? I don't care."

"You don't care that I might be evil?" Lyra scoffed, doubting her own hearing, and Harry laughed harder that time.

"Oh please! You couldn't even kill me successfully, look at us! You're the worst dark witch ever," he teased, and Lyra almost smiled.

"THERE! I SEE THEM!"

"WAIT! It might be another trap!"

Voices echoed around the dark twist in the tunnel up ahead, and Lyra jumped towards Harry's free arm. Trying not to drop Fawkes, Gilderoy flapped his arms around as though attempting to communicate that they needed to stop, but Lyra's ears pricked up when she recognised their dulcet tones

"I wish we invited Peeves down here, he would have made this trip way more entertaining."

"Fred?!"

Ron arrived first, wide-eyed and dewy from delight in finding his best friends alive, and he pushed past Gilderoy so he could hug them. Lyra squealed, enduring the pain so she could savour her cousin's well-needed affection, but quickly wriggled out of his grip when it started to numb her side again.

"What are you guys doing down here?" Harry sighed, watching Fred and George mess with Lockhart as they were genuinely surprised to find him alive, and Ron shook his head, already annoyed with his own story.

"We've been stuck down here for hours. You were right, the scream wasn't real but luckily I ran into them as they heard it too. We came back to look for you when we found that massive hole in Myrtle's bathroom, but George pushed us in before we could go and get help," he puffed, shooting a scowl over his shoulder at his brothers, "Remind me to never bring them on a school saving mission ever again."

"I'll make a note," smirked Harry, and he lifted the encrusted magical sword towards him, intending to show off the piece of treasure that appeared to him, but his face fell slack.

Ron wasn't finished, and Lyra couldn't have prepared herself for what was about to be the final nail in her coffin. The depressive cloud hanging over her had started to drift away with the breeze thanks to Harry's words of comfort — but it came bouncing back ten times as dark when Ron slipped up.

"So, what happened? Was Riddle You-Know-Who? Is he dead?"

No. That's not funny.

We're so sorry…

We tried, but we couldn't stop him… you wouldn't understand.

Lyra shut down, her body did what it could to protect her. Tom wasn't a stranger at all, but someone far worse. Far worse than she could have ever imagined.

She could never look Harry in the eye ever again.