"Miss Black? You have a visitor," came a voice, breaking the tranquil silence that the private ward had been maintaining for the past week.
Lyra stopped counting the squares of the stained glass window next to her for the hundredth time and cursed her fragile heart for its weak skips. Oh God, not yet… I'm not ready.
She knew immediately who the visitor was. He hadn't come to see her yet so it had to be him… Lyra had been dreading their inevitable chat since the moment she first woke up in the private ward after passing out in the chamber, mentally and physically reeling from the brutal revelation that turned her already shattered world upside down.
At first, she swore it was all one big, horrible nightmare.
It had to have been because it was demented.
The boy she had been talking to, no, spilling her heart out to was one of the darkest wizards ever? The same guy who was merely a parasite when she met him last year?! Him?! No fucking way! Lyra couldn't help but laugh out loud at the incredulous idea as she lay in the hospital bed, but the twinges from her now bandaged shoulder and the coarseness of her bruised throat forced her to settle down and dwell on it some more.
Tom may have been psychotic, sure, but he couldn't have been him! Ron was just joking! It was a terrible, ill-timed, insensitive joke that didn't land at all, that's it!
That's not it. You saw that scar on his head. You know what that means.
And Harry knew who he was, sweetheart, so the sooner you come to terms with all this the better…
The jutting voices in her head were harsh but fair, and they tore her flimsy defence into shreds. Tom grew up to be Voldemort, there was no disputing this cold, hard fact — and the world started to close in again.
Everything she knew was a lie. Every time she daydreamed about being with Tom, every sentence she wrote expressing her deepening feelings towards him, every time her stomach fluttered at the mere thought of his lips on hers… her first kiss… and his hands—
Lyra swore she felt them on her again and bile forced its way up her torn throat. She threw her head over the side of her bed and retched, her skin glazed in sickly sweat from her sudden heat flush of shame. Violated was an understatement of how she was feeling. No potion or enchantment could ever rid her of the guttural self-hatred birthing from her pain, the pain that she brought on herself. I knew there was something wrong with me.
"Lyra!"
Lyra didn't notice that there were other people in the private room until the curtains shielding her ripped open, but the staggering amount of faces seemingly appearing out of nowhere was too overwhelming. The hospital wing had never been so busy.
Parents of the petrified students were crowding around each child's bed, clutching their revived loved ones to their chests as though they had almost lost them for good. The house ghosts collected in the far left corner, all four faces thoroughly shaken as they savoured the vapours pouring from a large bubbling cauldron. A freshly-awoken Madam Pomfrey cried out in relief as she treated her final patient whose extensive redheaded family cheered as the patient spluttered back into consciousness. Everyone was safe, and Lyra almost cried again at the sight of them. No thanks to her.
You attacked your friends… your family… they'll never forgive you for this. They don't want to see you, they don't care about you—
"Lyra?"
Their presence at the end of the bed hit her like a punch in the gut. Lyra didn't notice they were there until a manicured hand waved in front of her, and the mounting sadness within her exploded when she met Danielle's brown eyes. Andromeda stood next to her, looking equally as exasperated at her niece's appearance, but the sight of the tears running down her cheeks hammered the feeling of guilt into Lyra's chest like an ice pick. Their lips were moving but a dull ringing plugged her ears, she knew they were talking but she couldn't understand a word they were saying.
Time was slowing down, more faces were crowding her bed now but they were too blurry to make out. The intense shock had finally settled in, and it gripped her so tightly that she couldn't catch her breath.
Evil! You disgusting freak! They're all pretending, you know. They don't actually care about you, they're only here to take a look at the monster that almost murdered their precious children! Phineas was right— you're just like your father.
Guilt and trauma robbed Lyra of her voice, and she reverted into herself like a snail retreating into its shell to shelter from the pain. Jane the Freak was back again, and Lyra disappeared into the darkness.
Concerned that she wasn't responding, Andromeda shouted for the matron but was soon escorted from the ward along with the rest of the room when Madam Pomfrey decided that Lyra needed to be left alone. Many of the revived students were moved to the main wing, and despite two of the students' adamant claims that they needed to be with their friend, the private ward was cordoned off indefinitely.
The next thing Lyra remembered was her brief conversation with Dumbledore, which was harder to forget.
He came to her late one evening, or possibly early in the morning — time didn't exist inside of the infirmary —with a steaming mug of Earl Grey and an expression that held more sympathy than she felt she deserved. But he looked as exhausted as she was, so Lyra shuffled into an awkward sitting position and thanked him for the tea with a feeble nod. Her eye contact was weak, how could she ever dare to look at him? He was dismissed because of her.
Great… I'm about to be expelled…
Dumbledore took the armchair nearest her bed, and the silence between them was stifling. So much needed to be said. Until—
"I'm not expecting you to talk while I'm here, Lyra. Danielle has informed me of the condition she found you in when she first started working with you, and in time your voice will return. You are in a safe space, take your time healing. I am not here to scold you, nor to inflict any more harm onto you as you've been through more than most of the adults around you," said Dumbledore softly, admiring the decadent brass tassels hanging off his sleeve as she continued to stare at her lap.
Lyra clutched the mug with her free hand, but she couldn't bring it to her lips before the negative voice came back.
It's poisoned. It's a truth serum. Don't trust it.
"I want to start by telling you that Lucius Malfoy visited Hogwarts this afternoon," began Dumbledore again, sounding much more professional as he sat up straight, and Lyra cringed hard.
SHIT! Yup, I'm definitely expelled!
"He turned up in utter hysterics as a matter of fact" he continued, the corner of his whiskery lips twitching, "completely inconsolable over the news that his darling niece was dead and preaching that I had some nerve showing my face around the school again."
Lyra looked up immediately and couldn't help but let her face drop in incredulity, and the headmaster chuckled lightly in agreement.
"My sentiments exactly, especially after hearing about your luncheon over the summer, it was quite a shock to myself and Danielle, to say the least," he explained spryly, "but once I explained to Mr Malfoy that you were alive and healing in here, he then decided to accuse you of theft… and as I understand, that is how you came across Tom's diary?"
Lyra hung her head in humiliation. There was nothing to say.
"I won't tell you what you've already learned the hard way, that won't do you any good as I can see you're punishing yourself enough as it is, but I do want to reiterate the seriousness of the situation by saying only this. Evil craves power, and the most powerful force in this world is love, so please be careful who you trust with your love, Miss Black. We do not place our most valuable asset into the hands of strangers we meet in books. I can only imagine what Tom said to you to gain such love and devotion from you, he was, after all, a very charismatic student…"
Shaking slightly, Lyra placed her untouched tea on the bedside and dried her face, hating every moment of this one-sided conversation.
Hearing him say Tom's name out loud further highlighted the harsh reality she needed to accept, and the corroboration from Lucius only emphasised how dark she actually was. She didn't even bother to question whether Lucius knew who the diary belonged to, or if Tom was telling the truth. The voices she knew as her conscience told her that, and she didn't listen. Brainless freak! Naive, ignorant, useless piece of shit!
Dumbledore slowly removed his half-moon spectacles and leant on his hand, bereaved by Lyra's silence as he gazed at her. Lyra tried to force some words out, hoping a small statement would be enough for him to leave her be, but his twinkling crystallised in his sapphire eyes gave her the flicker of an idea. She didn't need her wand, her intentions were desperate enough.
I'm so, so sorry, Professor, please don't expel me—
The ebb of her Legilimency entering Dumbledore's thoughts threw him off for a moment, but her prowess invigorated him and he latched onto the hope that he could somehow extract information from her. He replaced his spectacles and sat forwards, soaking up her weak thoughts.
—I didn't know what I was doing, he possessed me! I didn't know who he was, and he told me that you were going to kill him, and I-I didn't even think twice that you weren't the bad guy in all of this, which I know doesn't make me look good. I should have taken your side in all of this! I'm so, so sorry!
The flood of her desperate thoughts subsided as she dropped her head again, giving in to her tears, but Dumbledore simmered in the stormy water.
"Lyra, none of this is your fault," he said gently, allowing her to grieve, "you're not being expelled, but I'm afraid we do need to talk about Tom."
The news that she was still allowed to attend Hogwarts brought more agony than relief, and Lyra buried her face into her bent knees, kneading away the tension headache. More unwarranted kindness, it was a different kind of torture.
I don't know, sir…
"I know the pain is unbearable while the wounds are still fresh, but it is better to discuss this now than to reopen healed wounds later," assured Dumbledore, his age showing as his wise word resonated with her, "your well-being is all that matters to me, and I can promise you that you will feel like yourself again soon. Don't give up, Lyra, you mustn't. Don't let him destroy you."
Dumbledore waited patiently when Lyra remained unmoved in her shrouded position in the bed, fighting against herself to persevere, but his heart began to sink when seconds turned into minutes of nothing.
He went to leave his seat, thinking about trying again tomorrow, but then he heard her.
I don't want to let him win… I don't want to give up.
"Then don't," urged Dumbledore, clutching the arms of his chair as he sat back down, and he smiled when Lyra finally lifted her head, "fight back. You possess more power than Tom could ever dream of obtaining, but you must find the strength to use it even when you're at your lowest. That's what defines us. I told you once before that the line between good and evil is a fragile one, but it's up to us which side of the line we end up on."
The echo of her first meeting with the headmaster whispered at the back of Lyra's mind, and the depression cloud lingering over her rumbled, affronted by his wisdom. It was a little annoying how much sense he was making, her prior stupidity was astonishing. Lyra felt as though she had aged a whole decade.
He didn't pull me over the line, I crossed freely… She wasn't sure why exactly she was confessing to her crimes but she couldn't stop her thoughts from bleeding into his. What if… if I'm supposed to be on the dark side like it's coded into my blood? What if I am just like my dad?
"You are not your father. Evil isn't hereditary," answered Dumbledore simply, as though she had asked him the time, "evil is taught—,"
But Tom taught me, Lyra spat back, irked he was batting her genuine concerns away, he taught me a lot.
"What did he teach you? What was he like? I can't deny that your Legilimency abilities are astounding, especially for your age, but you haven't done anything to warrant all this hatred you're projecting onto yourself. You're just as much of a victim than the rest of my students who were petrified," Dumbledore leapt at his chance to worm his way into her secrets, and Lyra took a deep breath, collecting together the wisps of memories she managed to recover.
Madam Pomfrey warned her that her past year may come back in bits and pieces — or possibly never come back at all — and she chewed on her lip, squirming from embarrassment. The dark magic… the Necromancy that Lockhart mentioned… Was that his work?
NO!
Tell him about everything else except that! I'm sorry but it's a secret, and we sense something within him… he has a past with it and we do not make deals with Thieves…
Lyra jolted when the voices shouted at her to shut up, desperately hoping Dumbledore didn't hear them too, but the softness of his patient expression never flickered. He didn't.
He, uh, taught me a few spells that, now I'm reflecting, might be illegal, I'm not sure… He swore those curses were strictly to be used against enemies but now I'm doubting everything he's ever said. His enemies aren't mine. Lyra turned away slightly to hide the heat in her cheeks when she remembered his countless teachings on which spells worked best against anyone who wanted to hurt her, but Dumbledore happily nodded along.
"I can only assume that I was on his list of foes," Dumbledore commented as though in jest, and Lyra didn't need to nod to confirm.
"As well as Rubeus?"
Lyra's eyes pricked again when she thought of Hagrid and the awful attitude she harboured towards him. He didn't deserve any of it.
Hagrid's going to hate me—
"If there is anyone here that will empathise with what you've been through then it will be Hagrid," the headmaster interjected quickly to calm another one of her waves of emotion, "he will be returning to school this week once he's feeling better and I have no doubt whatsoever that his heart will be full of forgiveness whenever you are ready to visit him… If you want to, of course. He may not have told you but Hagrid adores you, Lyra."
…Ok, but only if he wants to see me, Lyra still could not quite believe him, but Dumbledore marked that down as a win regardless of her pout.
"Apart from Hagrid and myself, what else was Tom interested in? Harry mentioned that he had an identical scar to his on his forehead," Dumbledore pressed on, but he slowed when Lyra crumbled once more at the sound of Harry's name.
Harry knew who Tom was.
"He knew because I told him," He clarified, assuming Lyra meant for him to hear that, and his honesty swept away her urge to shy away in embarrassment. She surprisingly maintained eye contact this time.
WHAT!? When?!
"Just before he came to your rescue," Dumbledore explained, interlinking his fingers and resting back into the chair as though getting cosy, but his subtle tone switch was too familiar and Lyra braced for impact. Danielle always used this nonchalant tactic whenever she had to ask her some sensitive, safe-guarding questions, and suddenly she noticed the parchment and quill in his lap. Her stomach knotted like thorned wire, and she waited in fear for what he was going to unearth within her.
"Harry confided in Professor McGonagall and me that he found a letter you wrote addressed to Tom, and he expressed some concerns regarding the contents of that letter… Contents that, unfortunately, I must discuss with you," Dumbledore eluded, assuming his position as main caretaker to the children at Hogwarts, "I understand if you don't wish to answer but if you don't then I must implore you to speak to Danielle. None of this is your fault."
The repetition of her innocence helped keep her from the edge of insanity, and Lyra swallowed hard before nodding back.
Just say it.
"From what I've gathered from Madam Pomfrey's report and from talking to Harry, I know that Tom has hurt you both physically and mentally, but I need to know if he ever touched you in a way that didn't make you feel good," stated Dumbledore, lines wrinkling around his bright eyes that looked on with such care, and Lyra fought the urge to vomit again. The hands…
…I don't know… I don't remember…
It wasn't the answer Dumbledore wanted to hear, that much was obvious as he drew a heavy sigh that held a thousand words, and Lyra couldn't help but copy him. The initial dread she held slowly melted away, and she summoned the courage to spew as more oxygen filled her lungs.
He told me he loved me, I didn't know he was lying. He was so nice to me at first, he made me feel truly special so, of course, I started fancying him and then he kissed me on Christmas Day but I don't know how many times we've kissed or if anything w-worse happened because he's been possessing me all year but he also had his own body so I guess—
"What do you mean, he had his own body?" Dumbledore spat out, zooming in on key details, and Lyra took another deep breath. The more details that came out of her, the lighter she felt. She was starting to feel determined again and she relished the trait she thought she lost forever.
From what I gathered, and obviously bear with me on this because I'm trying to untangle his lies as I go, but I think I helped him gain back a body for the part of his spirit or whatever was trapped in his diary to transfer into. Riddle didn't know about Voldemort, so… Lyra cursed herself again for her idiocy, so I told him everything.
"You helped him conjure a body? How? It worked?"
POTION!
SAY IT WAS A POTION YOU MADE!
I think there was a potion involved, I can't quite remember, Lyra instinctively lied, and she watched in trepidation as Dumbledore ate it up. Combing his glistening beard with an absent hand, Dumbledore nodded along but his eyes were glassy, his mind was elsewhere. Lost in a sea of spinning thoughts that were forming before him.
"Most intriguing… of course I do not hold you responsible for any of this," he assured, "but I do have a couple more questions if you don't mind?"
Ask away. Lyra couldn't deny she wanted to know what was going on inside his unfathomable mind.
"When you first saw Tom face to face, did he have the scar on his head?"
No, he didn't.
"When did he receive it? Do you know?"
No! You have no clue!
Lie, Lyra. We can't afford to have him on our case.
I don't know, sir, I'm sorry.
"What was his end goal? What did he want?"
He wanted you and Hagrid gone… Lyra shivered as she came to terms with it all. And I think he wanted to kill Harry… because I told Riddle all about him — God, I'm so dumb!
"You are not dumb, Lyra. You were groomed, and that is not something you can consent to no matter how mature you think you are," Dumbledore reiterated as he jotted something down on his parchment, away from her eyes, "Tom planted a part of himself in his diary for a reason, and he was beyond lucky that someone like you found it."
Someone like me?
"Someone with direct connections to him. Someone who tries to see the good in people, someone who is willing to do anything to help those in need. He took advantage of your purity and led you astray," he explained sadly, "Miss Black I cannot apologise enough for what Tom has done, and I promise you that the darkness you feel right now will pass. You are an extraordinary witch, but you must make smarter decisions."
Lyra let his words soak in before she dared to think about the elephant in the room. An elephant that, she guessed, was only visible to her as she noticed Dumbledore was getting ready to leave.
Sir…? Is Harry ok?
Dumbledore hovered above the rigid hospital seat for a moment, catching the gentle prods of her thoughts before they evaporated, and he lowered back down.
"Yes, he's fine, and he's hopefully asleep in the Gryffindor Tower as we speak, although recently I have discovered that Mr Potter isn't very proficient at following my direct orders," he informed her, and Lyra's heart lurched.
I don't know what to do, Professor, how am I ever going to look him in the eye after this? After everything between me and… Lyra switched her mind off and crumpled again, succumbing to the root of her agonising guilt.
Riddle just had to be him… Of all people…
Expecting silence at least, Lyra whipped her head up when she heard her headmaster laugh ever so faintly to himself, as though reminiscing an amusing joke he once heard. It took a lot of strength for her not to lash out at him because her genuine worry was far from funny.
"My dear, it took almost three members of staff to drag him out of here this morning when you were admitted," he confessed, eyes twinkling once more in endearment, "Harry was distraught that he didn't tell you about Tom himself, so I do not think you need to worry about losing your friendship over this. You are very lucky that you have a friend like him, and once you're feeling better I don't doubt that you two will talk and come out of the other side together stronger than ever."
Dumbledore took to his feet and gave Lyra a small yet meaningful bow. She wasn't sure she deserved it. He paused at the door once more before he left, and his words hadn't yet left her mind.
"Not many people would slay a basilisk to save an enemy, Miss Black… do try to remember that while you heal."
And now here she lay an entire week and a few hours later, still riddled with anxiety that there was a chance that she and Harry were through. She tried to remember Dumbledore's words of comfort as she healed during the day, but the dark voices returned once the sun set and she was left alone with her thoughts.
How could he?
She remembered what she wrote in that God-forsaken letter to Riddle, and the fact that it was Harry who found it cut the deepest. How could he ever talk to her again knowing what she wrote to the man that murdered his family and stole his life? That she loved him, that she wanted to be with him for eternity and she would do whatever it took to make that happen… and that no one ever made her feel truly loved until he came along.
Deep down she knew that wasn't true, but Harry wouldn't forget that. It would always be there, in the back of his mind where it would taint any opinion of her he held, and the anticipation of him coming to confront her grew stronger as days passed without his visit.
But Harry was here now, and she was still not ready.
His footsteps were gradual, and Lyra bit down hard on her bottom lip as she studied the dimpled fabric of her pillow. She was laying on her good side facing the stained arch window, basking in the warm sunlight casting patterns on her bed. Her heart was pounding so loud she knew he could've heard it from the main wing, and she tried not to tense up when she sensed him come to a stop behind her.
"Lyra?"
I can't… Lyra squeezed her eyes shut, frustrated that she was being pathetic. She still hadn't spoken since it all went down, and for the first time all week, she truly resented her own silence. He deserved a thousand words and more.
"It's ok, I know you're not talking at the moment, which is a sentence I never thought I'd say," Harry said dryly, hoping it would at least make her turn around, but he carried on in a more sombre tone when she didn't move, "and I hope it's not one I have to get used to saying because I don't think I can handle you never talking to me again over what happened with Riddle."
Lyra hated how quickly she flinched hearing Harry say his name out loud, and she cursed herself when she heard him sigh. She didn't mean to do that.
"And I told myself that I wouldn't bring it up yet here I am, the second sentence in and already I messed up — ok, forget I said anything. See? This is why you do all of the talking, I can't do this without you," he rambled as he grew flustered.
"You always know the right thing to say, I'm not good at this sort of thing like you, which is why I came up with a plan to prove to you that I don't hate you. That's why it's taken me so long to come and see you. You have no idea how hard I searched for this, and I hope that you will accept this as a token of our friendship and a reminder that you're still my favourite person, Black."
Lyra couldn't deny she was curious as to what Harry was referring to, and after hearing him stutter through his little speech she had to disagree that he was doing a terrible job. He wasn't much of a talker, but the fact he was trying to use made all the difference. His words were as warm as the sunshine on her face, and she let her body relax in its glow as she mulled it all over.
But then Harry did something Lyra never expected. He reached over the bed and slipped a pair of headphones over her ears without warning, and her heart almost stopped.
What the—?
The opening drums to her favourite Fleetwood Mac song sent goosebumps along her arms and legs. Like muscle memory her soul sang along with Stevie Nicks, enlivened by the music she hadn't heard in what felt like forever.
"Now here you go again, you say you want your freedom… well who am I to keep you down…"
Like drops from an elixir of life, Lyra embraced the warmth radiating from the music in her ears and let it blow the dark clouds away for good. The specific song choice was no coincidence, she told Harry over the summer how she adored this particular Fleetwood Mac song ever since she heard it playing on the radio during her and Danielle's first-ever car ride. How it was the first time she experienced the spark of true happiness in her life. She couldn't believe he remembered that, and the same happiness she felt that day returned like an old friend she hadn't seen in forever.
Using her good arm for support, Lyra slowly pried her head from the pillow and turned over, finally ready to face Harry.
He looked stronger than she remembered, or he was holding himself differently she couldn't tell, and his smile lit up his usually dark green eyes. She had never seen him look so relieved before, and his contagious grin was starting to affect her. Her lips twitched as she bobbed along with the song, letting the rhythm course through her, but she finally smiled when he wriggled his brows, smug that his plan was working.
Lyra was so engrossed in the song that she didn't notice him fiddling with the Walkman—
"IF YOU SEE A FADED SIGN AT THE SIDE OF THE ROAD THAT SAYS FIFTEEN MILES TO THE LOOOOOOVE SHACK!"
Lyra let out the loudest belly laugh as The B-52sblew out her eardrums, and she yanked the headphones off to prevent her imminent ringing. She never thought she would laugh again, it felt so right!
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry I think I nudged the volume when I changed songs!" Harry exclaimed in a panic, scrambling to fix the shiny red Walkman, but Lyra shook her head, trying to breathe through her laughter.
"I knew you loved The B-52s!" She croaked roughly, breaking her silent streak for good, and Harry smirked, shrugging.
"They remind me of you, they're really stupid."
"Ahhh, biggest compliment ever," Lyra sighed, getting used to her vocal cords again, but she quickly diverted the obvious topic by nodding at the CD player and plastic albums in his lap, "I thought Muggle devices didn't work at Hogwarts? How did you…?
"It took me a while to find someone here that owns an enchanted one, I bought it off of one of the seventh years," explained Harry, scooting his armchair until it was shoved up against her bed so she could see it, "It's payback for last year."
"You didn't need to do that," pouted Lyra, incredibly touched. She shoved her hair into a wonky ponytail and shuffled closer, feeling a little ashamed that she had been wearing the same worn pyjamas she'd been sporting all week, but Harry didn't seem to care.
"But I did though, look at you — you're talking, so I win," he teased, but he settled down and caught her eye. "How are you feeling?"
Lyra didn't even think about lying to him.
"I feel like shit," she nudged the CD player with her knee, "but I'm definitely on the mend now, thanks to you. What about you?"
Lyra noticed the virtually healed cut running from his cheek down towards his jaw and hoped that was the worst of it. She forced herself not to look up at his scar, which to her dismay looked sorer than usual. The eye that sat under scar was blackened by a healing bruise, but it brightened when Lyra made the effort not to flinch.
"I've been better," Harry said slowly, taking his time to truly reflect on his mental state, "but that's not because of you, I swear. It turns out plunging a sword into a basilisk's skull and stabbing someone to death isn't something you can just forget about, my sleeping pattern is pretty messed up at the moment."
"Ain't that the truth, and I am still sorry, that's rough," Lyra sighed, clicking her tongue at the thought of him suffering too, but she couldn't help but add, "buuut—,"
"Here we go," Harry forced out a huff of annoyance but his smile was very telling, "maybe you not talking was the better scenario."
"Oh, come on! Don't be humble, dude, you literally killed a basilisk AND," Lyra fought very hard to not flinch and failed that time, "Voldemort at the same time! You can't deny that you're incredibly awesome, you simply can't. I won't let you."
"When you put it like that then yeah, I sound pretty unbelievable, but I didn't plan any of it," Harry explained himself, fidgeting with his rolled-up sleeves to suspend their locked gaze, "You weren't conscious for half of the fight… For most of the fight I was losing, and when he conjured that rope I honestly thought that was it. I don't know how I managed to escape and push him off you…"
The details of what went down under the school remained unmentioned. Just the taste of it on their lips told them it would only lead to poison. Harry trailed off and hung his head.
"He was right, it was just pure luck."
"No he wasn't," Lyra's response came before she was even ready. She didn't hesitate to argue back, and she scowled at him until he looked up at her again, "seriously, it wasn't luck, it was pure strength. And power."
Harry's bent brow rose. "…what do you mean?"
The heat rushed into her cheeks faster than she hoped, but she pushed on through her blush to confide in him the lessons Tom gave her. Riddle may have been an evil reincarnate, but he certainly understood magic on a deeper level than most. A level she needed to share with his main opponent. She had to make it up to Harry in some form or another, so why not feed him the enemy's intel?
"Ugh, so this is going to make me look terrible but it would also be very stupid of me not to use the knowledge he passed on. Essentially, magic and intention are heavily intertwined, they're practically the same thing. It's what determines your magic's intensity — or how he phrased it's 'level of power' — but intention relies a lot on, and can be manipulated, by your emotions."
"Emotions are usually what hold people back from strengthening their magic, some of the greatest wizards have completely separated themselves from their emotions so it doesn't interfere with their magic. The complexities of being human are what holds us back from accessing all branches of the magical arts that there could possibly be, but personally I think the parts that make us human is how we can create some extraordinary magic," she advised, keeping her voice light, but her anxiety vanished when Harry looked enlightened. The same spark of hope Lyra saw in the chamber was back, and she cursed Tom again for extinguishing it.
"So, if magic equals intention, then magic also equals emotion, which if you think about it makes total sense because of all the accidental magic we've done before we came to Hogwarts. Like you and your cousin at the zoo, and me with Rachel on the cliff — we didn't consciously intend on using magic to defend ourselves, but our emotions subconsciously did. With me so far?" asked Lyra, and Harry nodded, his gaze shifting as he focused on her train of thought.
"I think so?"
"Basically the general rule is 'the stronger the emotion, the stronger the intention, the more powerful the magic'. You showed greater strength in both emotion and intention down there than he did, which is why you were able to break free from him. You're stronger than him — fact," she simplified, easing Harry into the complex theory instead of shoving him into the deep end, and Harry looked remarkably comforted by the idea.
He leaned back in his chair and smirked as he got lost in his thoughts, leaving Lyra to count how long she should wait until she bombarded him with a tirade of questions. Now she was speaking again, all of her built-up thoughts were due to explode out of her.
She managed all of two seconds.
"Ok, pay attention Potter because this is a week's worth of questions coming at you all at once and I need answers to every single one. Does everyone know what happened? What's the story I need to stick to?" She adjusted her crossed legs so she faced him straight on like a budding reporter anxiously awaiting some tragic news.
"No, the school doesn't know what happened, everyone thinks that the basilisk did everything by itself but they do know it came from the Chamber of Secrets thanks to Fred and George, and Lockhart. Everyone just thinks we went on a basilisk bashing mission," Harry sighed, sitting up again with a pained look behind his glasses, and Lyra's mouth fell open.
Fucking Lockhart!
"Oh no," she squeaked, still mortified about what he had said, "he hasn't repeated what he said in the chamber, has he?"
"Nope," assured Harry, though Lyra noticed his clenched jaw and she pouted, assuming the worst, "but he's still doing my head in. He won't shut up about how I stabbed the basilisk, but on the upside, he's now admitted that he's a fraud!"
"He did?!"
"Yeah, you've missed some really interesting Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons, he's been going through his books and debunking all of his stories claiming he's seen the errors of his ways. He's promised he's not coming back next year too, so all in all you don't need to worry about him," he said brightly, and Lyra tried not to become too envious.
"Awesome, so I haven't been ostracised for being evil?" She clarified, and Harry couldn't help but laugh again.
"No, no one thinks you're evil, everyone automatically assumes you went looking for the basilisk too so we've been running with that rumour," he teased, and Lyra took a genuine breath of relief, finally feeling calm.
She'd happily take that!
"Ahh thank goodness, that's something I would do, good thinking. I didn't tell Dumbledore what Lockhart said, did you?" Even though she knew he hadn't she had to ask, and Harry shook his head.
"I haven't told him, but Ron and Hermione know everything," he confessed, and Lyra was surprisingly thrilled that he took the responsibility off her plate.
"Great work, Potter, you're once again proving why you're the best," she sighed, absently exercising her mended albeit stiff shoulder like Madam Pomfrey instructed her, "and you know, as your manager, I'm obligated to say well done because you've probably just tripled all of our end of years autograph sales."
"Mhmm," Harry paled significantly and moped, "Yeah, I hate to say it but it's been pretty bad thanks to Lockhart, you need to hurry up and get better."
"What? So I can act as your bodyguard or something?"
"Obviously! It's way less embarrassing giving out autographs and pictures when you're there, and I can't keep defending you against Malfoy anymore because he keeps—," Harry bit his tongue for a moment and mentally rephrased, "he keeps talking about you and it's only fair that I give you a turn at annoying him in person."
Lyra thought a lot about the Malfoys during her week of silence, specifically Lucius than his try-hard son, so she came to expect this. Thanks to his malicious father, Draco would eventually find out the truth about Tom and his diary, and Lyra knew she had to be ready when that time came. Because he will spread it around school, and she was going to have to beat his arse for it.
"That's so considerate of you, thanks," she groaned, scowling as she pictured Draco's smug face, and Harry gave a half-hearted bow.
"I try."
The subject surrounding Tom and Lyra's relationship never came up, it hung in the air between them like a poignant smell. Lyra didn't want to talk about him at all at the moment, and she could see that it was on Harry's mind by the way he looked at her, but out of kindness he never asked.
Harry caught Lyra up on everything else that she'd missed, from their upcoming exam timetables that had just been published, to general school gossip, to which albums Lyra wanted him to fetch for her. The pair were engrossed in deep conversation until the lunchtime bell rang and their intimate party of two became a raucous party of eight when Hermione and the Weasleys came running in.
"She lives!" cried George triumphantly, and Lyra collapsed in a fit of giggles as Fred launched onto the hospital bed and immediately broke three of its springs.
"Try not to kill her then!" scolded Ginny, yanking her older brother off of Lyra so she could have her turn at hugging her. "We've missed you!"
"I've missed you guys too," Lyra smiled, overwhelmed by her friends' spirit, but she couldn't not bring it up, "I'm so, so sorry—,"
"No," Hermione interjected kindly, tucking her wand away after casting the mending charm on the bed, "please, Lyra, don't apologise. That's all in the past, we're just glad you're ok."
"It's not your fault you got possessed," Ron added bluntly, smiling at her, and Lyra chuckled at the awkward sting that followed. "What? It's not!"
"That's beside the point, Mum and Madam Pomfrey both said not to bring it up," tutted another voice coming from behind George, and Lyra jolted in shock when she realised Percy had tagged along too.
He looked quite out of place as he dawdled by the gap in the curtains, fiddling with his prefect badge and maintaining the most awkward eye contact with her, but she grinned regardless. Aww, he hates me but he still cares!
"Hi Percy!" She said cheerfully, and the tops of his ears blended in with his curly red hair.
"Hello Lyra, good to see you," he grumbled, lying through his teeth. Well, it's the thought that counts.
Lyra bit back the urge to point out that Ron was wrong, it technically was her fault and that they were all being too sensitive by not acknowledging it, but she instead answered their questions with short and sweet answers. She wasn't up for an in-depth discussion about her and Voldemort, and soon any prior tension amongst them melted away.
"I forgot to say," Harry piped up once the group settled down, and Lyra's stomach flipped from nerves, "Hagrid came back yesterday, we visited him last night."
Oh shit.
Hagrid was her next hurdle, and it was a giant one at that. Was she ready?
"How was he?"
"He's good, he asked after you," Harry informed her, acting enthusiastic so she wouldn't turn down his suggestion, "we can go with you to visit him if you want?"
"Thank you, but I think I better go by myself," Lyra decided confidently despite her initial grimace.
Hagrid was good, and he spoke about her. She needed to trust Dumbledore's word, she didn't need to be scared of Hagrid hating her. Everyone else was accepting of her and her mistakes, and she knew he would be too, right?
I mean, he did end up in Azkaban because of what I did… This isn't going to be easy.
KNOCK KNOCK… KNOCK!
Lyra smoothed back the stray hairs from her French braids and double-checked the bunch of spotted orchids and dittany flowers she gathered that morning, panicking that they weren't enough of a gift for her giant friend.
She was standing on the doorstep of the groundskeeper's hut, listening for footsteps through the loud thudding of her heart as the late summer morning sun scorched the back of her legs and neck. She was due to return to her classes this afternoon and assimilate back into school life, fully healed and groomed to perfection to make up for her nerves, but her free morning meant only one thing. She'd put it off for way too long now.
"Please be in," She muttered to herself, subconsciously chewing on her lip as she pressed her ear to the door, but her heart raced faster when she heard nothing, "aw I knew I should've done this last night!"
The soft breeze rustled the leaves of the Forbidden Forest nearby, and the hushed symphony snatched Lyra's attention. She hopped off the doorstep and peered into the thicket of trees, her hope rising as she began to wonder whether Hagrid had the same idea. It was a beautiful sunny day after all, the highland flowers were in bloom and Lyra justified her intrigue to herself as she walked around the hut and strolled along the forest's edge.
The blunt thumps of metal hitting wood came first, floating through a particularly wide gap between the thick roots of two enormous pines, and Lyra followed her hunch. Nerves came streaming back into her veins when she spotted Hagrid's huge silhouette in a small clearing only a few dozen feet into the dark woods, hacking at a fallen tree with a handcrafted axe. Fang lay in the wild grass nearby, watching his owner at work, and Lyra naturally turned her attention to the boarhound when he spotted her first and came bounding over, excited to see a familiar face.
The walk over to Hagrid seemed to take years, and every step caused her heart to jump up until it throbbed in her mouth. At the sound of Fang's deep barks, Hagrid stopped chopping and watched Lyra in silence, quite startled to see her, but he didn't turn her away. That was a positive omen, and Lyra held her head a little higher.
"Lyra," he said softly, wiping the sweat from his fuzzy brow before dropping his axe. He wasn't wearing his usual warm leather vestments today, and the green of his coarse shirt brought out the joy in his usually black eyes. Lyra swallowed hard and stuck the flowers out in front of her, bravely meeting his gaze despite the shame that illuminated her face like dew.
"I got you these," she stuttered, chomping on her wobbling swollen lip to hide her guilt, but she made an agreement, to be honest from now on and it came gushing out, "and I know they're not much but I wanted to give you something to say sorry for everything I've done, it's the least I could do."
The touching gesture caused Hagrid to break into a wide grin, and he graciously took them before bending down and offering her a hug, a gesture even more endearing than her own. Lyra collapsed in his arms and hid her sniffles well enough in his mane of grizzly hair, but she smiled up at him when he eventually pulled himself together.
"I owe you an apology too, Lyra, I shoulda done something when I saw you two— I should have done more," said Hagrid first, his gruff voice low but gentle, "I shoulda told all four of you why I was expelled, then you would've known what you were dealin' with."
"You don't owe me anything, Hagrid, I understand why you didn't say anything, after everything you've been through I'm sure seeing him again was quite traumatising," Lyra assured him, hating his sympathy. Hagrid nodded towards a pair of tree stumps and pulled out a family-sized flask from behind one, indicating that they needed a hot remedy to aid their difficult chat. Lyra thankfully agreed and accepted the breakfast brew without complaint, normal tea had nothing of her usual citrus blend of choice.
"Of course it was, but that shouldn'ta mattered. I was supposed ter protect you, and all I did was stand by like a coward and let him—…" Hagrid sighed and chugged down all of his tea in one go, disregarding the end of his former statement, "…Riddle was a nasty piece of work at school. More so afterwards too, that goes without saying, but it's my responsibility ter guard the school from dark forces and without a wand, I couldn't do anything ter stop him…"
Lyra pouted down at her lap, cursing Tom over and over again for being the root of Hagrid's lack of magical competency and self-doubt. He had to relive all of the horrors he faced in the past because of her silly little crush on Tom, and sitting there opposite him she knew it wasn't a good enough excuse. The sunlight streaming through the canopy of leaves felt cold as a chill rushed down her spine, but Lyra tried to do everything to make it warm again.
"Yeah, Tom is certainly talented at ruining people's lives and making you feel like shit," Lyra said bluntly before sipping her tea, "…charming dickhead…"
Hagrid chuckled and refilled their cups, unfazed by her language. "Couldn'ta said it better myself."
"Did Harry tell you what happened?"
"He did," Hagrid looked disheartened but he gave her another sympathetic smile, "and I already had a go at him fer hunting the basilisk down, but I don't think I've ever bin more proud, to be honest."
Lyra smirked, enjoying the pride that lit up his tired demeanour. "Yeah, he's already sick of the extra attention it's caused, bless him."
"Can't say I'm surprised, but since you brought it up — there was one thing that Harry mentioned that I wanted ter speak ter you about," Hagrid eluded, assuming a very fatherly tone as he gazed down at her, and Lyra froze.
"He told me that you met Riddle through a diary yeh found at Malfoy's old place," he began, and Lyra immediately crossed her arms and sulked, bracing for the lecture. She knew she was going to have to listen to a few of them over the summer, but she didn't think they would start now.
"Don't mess with dark objects you're not familiar with, especially if you can't see where it keeps its brain, and if it belongs ter the Malfoys," he barked, and Lyra rolled her eyes.
"Trust me when I say I've learnt my lesson," she grumbled bitterly, "no more kissing strange boys from evil diaries, got it!"
The dark joke left her lips before she realised what she had said, and she hung her head in shame, scarlet red cheeks flourishing for Hagrid to see. Birdsong filled the heavy silence since Hagrid didn't know how to respond to that, and Lyra made a mental note to kill herself in embarrassment.
God damn it!
"Maybe I should go," she spluttered, jumping to her feet and grabbing her backpack from the floor.
"There's nothing ter be ashamed of, Lyra, it's ok," Hagrid told her, watching her sadly as he tried to get her to stay, "we've all done stupid things in our lives, but what's important is that we learn from them. I promise you that I don't hold anything you've done against yeh. You're young, this is when yeh supposed to make mistakes."
"Yeah, but not attempted mass genocide," Lyra sniffled, "that's kinda a huge mistake! Whoops, I almost killed everyone and set Voldemort free, my bad? Hell no! That was a mistake that should've ended with my arrest!"
Hagrid rolled his eyes this time.
"You are ridiculous," he chortled, "this is You-Know-Who we're talkin' about, and you're only thirteen-years-old despite that attitude yeh've got. Many great wizards and witches have lost against him, and yeh beat him twice. No one is holding this against yeh — not the Ministry, not Dumbledore nor the governors, not Harry and not me, ok?"
"…For the record, Harry beat him twice," Lyra corrected him, feeling a bit better as his words sank in, "and, on a totally unrelated note, he's selling signed news articles about him killing the famous Slytherin monster at the moment, limited offer only… but lucky for you I know a gal who can get you one for free."
She sat back down on the stump as Hagrid laughed heartily, shaking his head at her stupidity.
"Glad ter see yer keeping yourself busy," he praised, stroking Fang who was now drooling all over his clean gardening trousers, "I was thinking about using that ticket yeh gave me ter go and visit Norbert in a couple o' weeks. Once terms over, of course."
Lyra's brows peaked and she nodded vigorously. "You deserve the holiday, and I need new pictures for my album," she requested, dreaming about seeing Norbert again, "there's nothing like petting a dragon to cheer you up."
"I think I need all the cheer I can get, especially after coming back from Azkaban," shivered Hagrid, but the mention of the legendary wizarding prison caught Lyra off guard and she dropped her mug, tea splashing her knee socks.
She couldn't believe she had forgotten he was sentenced… he was there, with him…
Oh, and Quirrell too.
Lyra cringed. "H-How was it?"
She stumbled over her words and struggled to look at him. She didn't want to know, but she didn't know what else to say.
"Hell, and I was only in there fer a couple of days," Hagrid muttered thickly, and the tears in his voice forced Lyra to match his gaze, "but, uh… I dunno how ter tell yeh this but something happened while I was in Azkaban and I think yer oughta know… Lyra, I'm sorry, I never meant fer it ter happen but I was still under You-Know-You's spell…"
Lyra's stomach knotted, and she blinked, terrified that all of her worst nightmares were about to become true. This was about her father, her gut feeling was concrete. Hagrid's face changed for the worse as he thought about his imprisonment; he was haunted by the misery that stayed with him even after he was freed and Lyra hoped she would never find out what that felt like.
"What?"
"When I was being escorted ter my cell, I passed Quirrell's holdings and…" Hagrid sounded strangled, and he massaged his neck, "and Quirrell started shouting your name, demanding that I tell him what yeh'd been up ter and what dark magic yeh'd been using, and stupidly I yelled back at him ter stay away from you. I dunno if yer father heard everything he was screaming but he mighta done… He might know you're alive, and that you're here at Hogwarts."
Lyra felt faint.
"Fucking Quirrell, man! Why?!" She exclaimed, more furious than scared, "What the hell is this guy's problem?! Don't be silly, I don't blame you — it's all on him, arsehole!"
Quirrell knew exactly what he was doing, announcing her existence for the entire prison to hear. Fury fuelled the flames inside her, she couldn't dwell on her sorrow anymore.
"Don't listen to him, and don't worry about yeh dad. Azkaban is impenetrable, it is just as impossible to break out of there as it is to break out of Hogwarts. You're safe," Hagrid told her firmly, and Lyra nodded along despite her alarmed expression. She didn't want to tell him that it was technically pretty easy to break out of Hogwarts, and she barely had a month left of school. She couldn't scare him let alone herself with this information because she didn't need the extra stress in her life right now.
"Yeah, sure," she mumbled, physically shaken, "if you say so."
"I know so, the Dementors would get him before he could even attempt ter leave the island, no one has ever done it before," he claimed, frowning as he reimagined the fortress of misery that plagued his dreams, but Lyra's ears pricked.
"What are they like?" she said in a tiny voice, fascinated by the beings torturing her father.
"Dementors?" Hagrid shivered, "I hope yeh never have to meet one, they are the darkest creatures that this world has created. Born from darkness and painful magic, they make yeh relive the worst moments in your life over and over, and most go mad just by being near 'em — foul creatures, they are. They make yer soul feel dirty and empty," he described, and Lyra lingered on each word.
She could almost picture them as vividly as the tall grass clearing they were sitting in, with shrouds darker than death and a rattling howl to match. They feasted on people's emotions… a wizard's emotions are their magic, and they kissed their victims to extract their souls… Where does it go? Do they harvest for sustenance, or do they wield it? Lyra's mind raced faster than she could keep up with, and for a split second, Hagrid swore he felt an unnatural cold whisper brush the nape of his neck.
Nope! Now is not the time to focus on that because —Ow! Just let me say this one thing, Merlin's sake! She just got back on everyone's good side, can we discover this at a later date?!
She'll be ok, they won't come unless she calls for them. Just relax, Lyra… let's think about something else.
"Let's forget all about Dementors, I think we've had enough of dreary topics at the moment," Hagrid said cheerfully, trying to press through the depressing subject with a smile as Lyra was looking particularly gaunt stuck listening to the voices in her head, "yeh've got a lot of exams coming up that yer need to be worrying about so yeh better run along to class."
"Um, you said no more dreary topics! Why are you being responsible now?" Lyra scoffed, arching a brow.
"Because I've got more wood ter chop and I don't need yeh sneaking off into the Forest instead of going ter class," he tutted, collecting their mugs before returning to his axe.
Lyra procrastinated her leaving by using Fang as an excuse, claiming she didn't give him enough cuddles. After five minutes of her wrestling the boarhound around in the dust, she eventually composed herself and begrudgingly obeyed Hagrid's stern look.
"Ok, ok, you're right," she sighed, using her puppy eyes on him, "but studying the plants that grow naturally in the forest will help in both my Herbology and Potions exams so why not get some hands-on experience while I'm here? That's just my style of learning, I can't help that."
Lyra honestly didn't want to go to her History of Magic lesson, she knew Draco would be ready to embarrass her in some snotty, pestering manner.
"If yeh planning on sneaking off to see if yeh can find Aragog, don't even bother," Hagrid sighed, "he's off rebuilding his nest after the boys set fire ter it so he's not up fer visitors at the moment, me included."
Lyra blinked. The boys did what?
"And who is this Aragog I've never heard about before?" She asked, offended that she was left out of this, and Hagrid chuckled at her expression.
"Acromantula," he replied, and Lyra felt sick.
Oh!
"On second thoughts, History of Magic sounds like it's the place to be so I better be going," she laughed nervously, extra sensitive to the stray hairs tickling her neck that suspiciously felt like spider legs, and with an extra hop in her step, Lyra bade Hagrid goodbye and set off up to the castle with a considerably lighter heart.
It wasn't until she was clambering up the grand staircases that Lyra jolted out of her daydream, alerted by a rush of goosebumps that told her she wasn't alone.
Behind you, by the Murtlap tapestry.
The rest of them don't want to talk to you, but he does.
The imminent dread of walking into her History of Magic lesson vanished when Lyra stole a glance over her shoulder and instantly locked eyes with the Gryffindor house ghost whose head was sticking out of an animated tapestry of a group of Murtlaps wrestling in mud puddles. The shadows of the alcove around him only highlighted his ethereal, icy gleam, but he didn't retreat into the wall when Lyra diverted her path to reach him. He didn't look surprised that she was heading his way, but he didn't look particularly comfortable either.
"Good afternoon Nick," she said politely, hooking her thumbs around her backpack straps and rocking on her heels, "you're, er, looking well."
"As are you, Miss Black, it's good to have you back," he responded quietly, his age showing through his soft rasp, and Lyra snickered. Laughing through the pain seemed to be the best medicine. That's one way of putting it, I suppose.
"Likewise," she sighed, the remnants of a blush in her cheeks, "I… God, this is awkward so I'm just going to say it and get it over with — I don't quite remember all of what happened that night you were petrified but I do remember that you tried to help me, and for that, I don't think I can ever say sorry enough. Sir, truly I'm so sorry."
"Your kindness is enough proof of your atonement, I know it was not personal nor an intended attack," assured Nick, slowly emerging from the wall so he could match her level out of respect, "although the rest of the school does not know, the community of spirits here are aware of Mr Riddle and his wrongdoings. You have my word that we have not so much as uttered a whisper to anyone about your involvement or your particular set of skills."
PHEW!
"What do you know about my special skill set? What is it that I can do?" Lyra tried to question him again, yearning for the knowledge that would help her understand the darkness inside of her. Nicholas seemed to be the only one who— no, that's a lie!
"Nick, where's Myrtle? Why doesn't she like me? She knew about me as well, didn't she?" Lyra switched to her more desperate train of thought before it was fully formed, and her heart ached in warning when Nick grimaced and wrung his hands anxiously, as though his sleeves were cutting off his non-existent circulation.
He wants to help but he can't, bless him. Like us, he is bound by them.
Listen to what he's trying to tell you.
"I'm afraid that I cannot say if you do not already know," he started on a low point, and Lyra presumed that it would only go down from here, "That is simply the way it works. This world in which we both exist is a stupendously complicated one. You are a living, breathing mortal, and I am a spirit — a supernatural being that does not abide by the same laws of the universe that living beings must follow. There are certain things that I've — excuse my poor choice in language — lived through, and I cannot tell you about these experiences because of your mortality…"
Lyra stewed in his words and nodded.
"So, because I'm alive, I'm not allowed to know why I can touch ghosts or how I was able to bring Lockhart back to life?" She clarified roughly, a tad irked that he was being secretive, and Nicholas jerked his head awkwardly, indicating she was half right.
"In a manner of speaking," he drawled, his gaze drifting off as he tried to think of a better explanation that would help.
"Everyone else here at Hogwarts — no, here on this earth that possesses a beating heart does not have the power to access my realm… but you do…" he slowed down to emphasise his secret point, but all Lyra could do was stare back blankly.
"…Wait, am I secretly dead or something?" She murmured as though the pair were gossiping, getting ahead of herself, but Nick's widening eyes and cryptic facial twitches indicated that she was at least getting warmer.
"No, you are very much alive," Nick dismissed her absurd theory in a tone that suggested it was a valid question, "but your abilities are not of the living world… yes? You were able to manipulate not only my plane of existence but that of Miss Warren's too. Not to mention Professor Lockhart which, if you don't mind me saying, you've handled incredibly well considering your obliviousness."
Lyra didn't know whether to take that as a sly dig or a heartfelt compliment, but the mention of Myrtle was all she could think about. Fragments of the truth were starting to seep back into the frame, and the picture of what happened on the night of her thirteenth birthday came into view before her.
"I killed her, didn't I? I didn't think that was possible…"
Nicholas reached out his hand and gently patted her on the newly mended shoulder. She expected a wave of cold energy to run down her arms but he was just as toasty as the summer air around them.
"Your cross to bear is possibly the most ancient form of magic that has ever been, or will ever be, and unfortunately Miss Warren was on the receiving end of what happens when that magic finds its way into the wrong pair of hands. That is why you must be vigilant. The other ghosts here wanted to tell Professor Dumbledore about your… sensitivities," Nick chose his words exceptionally carefully, treading the line of what those he is indebted to will allow, "but I talked them out of it."
"Thank you," croaked Lyra, trying not to pout. After everything she'd been through, keeping yet another secret from everyone felt wrong. She began to doubt whether she should talk to Dumbledore about this.
You can't. It's against the rules, you mustn't let this get out!
You'll thank us for this in the future.
"Ugh, my brain can never make up its mind," Lyra huffed, massaging her temples to ease the pain away, "I feel like I should tell Dumbledore but somethings telling me not to."
"Listen to that voice," Nick urged, latching into his theory that the voice Lyra heard was proof of the most ancient One, "if they say you have to keep it a secret, then you must."
"I wouldn't say it's a literal voice I'm hearing," scoffed Lyra instinctively, but all humour vanished when she tried to describe it. "… It's two voices."
"Whether it is one voice or a thousand, they are there for a reason," answered Nick, "just like I am here in spirit for a reason… do take care of yourself, Miss Black."
Nicholas left Lyra to her thoughts as the mighty powers ruling over him reminded him that he was pushing his luck, and Lyra watched him glide back through the tapestries without another word. The once warm alcove felt draughty and dark, and Lyra leant against the railings, her silver eyes glassy as they landed on the second-floor entrance across the way. She couldn't attend her lesson now, not before she dealt with the guilt welling in her chest.
Myrtle deserved a proper memorial, and she was going to get one.
After storming up to the Gryffindor Tower and stealthily avoiding any stray professors thanks to her wonderful magic map, Lyra returned to the once-haunted bathroom for the first time since everything happened, paint bottles and brushes weighing down her already heavy backpack. Gritting her teeth to stop them from chattering, Lyra braced and burst into the bathroom with her eyes closed at first, proving to herself that she wasn't afraid nor damaged by the past.
It looked exactly the same, nothing seemed out of place, and soon Lyra relaxed as she brought her vision to life. Riddle was gone now, she didn't have anything to be afraid of…
Myrtle's favourite toilet at the end of the row soon resembled a beautifully painted paradise, full of vibrant flowers and enchanted fauna that wrapped around the four walls making up the cubicle. The centrepiece of the mural was Lyra's favourite part, even though she had to stand on her tiptoes balanced on top of the toilet so she could perfect Myrtle's soft features and do her image the justice she deserved. It was so worth the strain in her ankles when she finally took a step back and admired her work.
Myrtle was lying in a sunlit, wild meadow, enjoying the rays on her speckled face and smiling for the first time in decades. The guilt gripping her chest eased and soon vanished.
"I'm sorry, Myrtle," Lyra mumbled to herself, pouting at the image of the girl she wronged, and for a split second she swore she saw Myrtle's smile grow.
THUNK!
"Aw, you've gotta be kidding me!"
Lyra glaring down at the broken toilet seat that just snapped beneath her and caused her to plummet through. She shook her soaked foot as she attempted to hop down without breaking the toilet further, but as she took her wand out to clean herself she paused, debating whether she should mend it or not.
"No, it's what Myrtle would've wanted."
The rest of the school year passed without excitement, to Lyra's relief. Considering her fragile mental health and lack of presence throughout her second year, Lyra was surprised to find out that she passed all of her exams with very impressive scores. All except Herbology, however, in which she managed to undo a year's worth of Tom's hard work in less than three weeks, which was pretty damn notable in itself.
The only real positive that stuck out to Lyra at that time was the good news she received from Penelope the prefect and her best friend Willow on the last day of term.
As much as Lyra tried to deny it, she was quite glad to hear that she had attended countless Duelling Club meetings over the year, and it was a resounding success amongst the student body. So much so, that both Penelope and Willow agreed to run the club again next year under Professor Flitwick's guidance, and that there might even be a chance that they could host an official tournament too. Her dream of becoming the president of the club reappeared at the forefront of Lyra's mind, and she appreciated that the two older students valued her opinion on their important club matters. It was a pleasant surprise, to say the least.
"Aww, I hope I kicked everyone's arses at our meetings, it's a shame I don't remember them," sighed Lyra out loud as she waved goodbye to Penelope and Willow as they ran off ahead to find their friends. Everyone was currently collected in the Entrance Courtyard, impatiently waiting for their Thestral-drawn carriages while they struggled to carry their trunks and pet cages.
It was quite hectic compared to last year, but Lyra wasn't sure if she was just projecting her anxieties onto her surroundings. The idea of going back to Weymouth terrified her, she didn't want to be alone with her mind… And she certainly wasn't going to rely on Kreacher to keep her company.
Lyra refused to think about Kreacher yet. She hadn't called him in weeks and he never visited while she was in the infirmary.
"Well, obviously you kicked everyone's arse, You-Know-Who was undefeated, literally everyone loses when they go up against him," said Ron matter-of-factly.
Hermione scoffed and pointed at Harry standing beside him.
"We have actual evidence right here that proves that's factually incorrect," she countered, "some would say it's the most famous evidence in the world."
"If we're strictly talking about duels though, Ron is right. I technically lost to him. The first time was when I was a literal baby, and we duelled twice at a club meeting that one time and Lyra destroyed me in both rounds," corrected Harry, shrugging off his jacket as the sun was climbing higher in the clear blue sky, scorching the students who were stuck waiting without the solace of shade.
"But that's probably because I'm an awesome duellist even though I was, you know," Lyra checked the coast and whispered, "possessed by the guy."
"Then I guess we're gonna have to have a rematch at our first meeting next year so you can prove it. Are you prepared to put your money where your mouth is?" Harry challenged, and Lyra happily smirked back in agreement before slipping on a pair of small square sunglasses.
"Ten galleons?" She suggested, holding out her hand.
"Twenty," Harry wagered, upping the stakes, and Lyra had never felt more confident that she was going to rob him blind as he snatched her hand up.
"You're on, Potter!"
"So if Lyra wins your rematch, then would that technically make her better than You-Know-Who? I'm still confused about how this all works, wouldn't she then have to duel him to prove she's better? Or does Harry have to fight him now it's just him? Or does Riddle count less than Voldemort?" asked Ron, still working out the paradox for himself, and Hermione decided to save herself the effort of working out what he was on about by agreeing.
"Sure, Ron, whatever you say."
"You have got to be joking?!" Harry suddenly choked out when he spotted a commotion taking place near the front of the queue, and the rest of the group craned their necks trying to follow his sullen gaze. Lyra snarled the second she spotted Draco's white blonde hair amongst the group causing a scene, but her jaw dropped significantly when she noticed what was causing Harry to growl menacingly beside her.
"I'm actually going to murder Kreacher! That little shit!"
"Hurry up, elf, we haven't got all day!" Draco complained loudly, sneering down at a shiny-faced, panicked Dobby who was tending to his luggage.
It looked like none of the second-year Slytherins could be bothered to load their trunks and animal sanctuaries onto their carriage, and Draco was having way too much fun flaunting his servant around like a badge of supremacy. Lyra blinked and immediately glanced at Harry, but he was already storming over to the front of the queue, so she grabbed her backpack and dragged the other two along so they could watch the show.
"Dobby? Is that you?"
Harry came to a hasty stop in front of them, looking only at the house elf instead of the glaring Slytherins who couldn't believe that Harry had dared enter their personal space. The house elf froze on the spot, and gazed up at Harry in amazement, tears already forming in his large green eyes. A few bandages were wrapped around his skinny arms, and his already wrinkled face sagged in exhaustion, but all fatigue vanished when he recognised Harry. Dobby's evident adoration plucked at Lyra's heartstrings and she awwed alongside Hermione who was as moved by the display as she was.
"Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby squeaked, fighting against himself to remain obedient under his master's wishes, but he clamped his mouth shut and cowered when Draco decided to interrupt their reunion.
"Piss off, Potter," he huffed, "stay away from my family's elf. He's mine, not yours."
Lyra noticed he barely glanced her way, and her smirk of satisfaction slid right into place. Draco hardly looked at her since the Chamber incident, let alone dared to try and argue with her. She guessed Lucius hadn't told him yet and she was banking on making the most of this advantage while she could.
"I thought you got rid of him," Harry spat, taking a couple of steps forward so he could stand between Dobby and his youngest master. "And I thought Dobby was supposed to be dead?"
"Mhmm, strange? Where did you get that load of dung from? Let me guess…?" Draco's cruel ice stare switched from Harry to Lyra, and she instinctively clenched her hand around her wand in her skirt pocket. Maybe she spoke too soon, was he simply waiting for the right time to embarrass her?
"Finally lost control of your elf, huh Black? Do you know that Kreacher likes my mother far more than he ever liked you? And that she's been telling him to lie to you all year? You're so gullible it's hilarious!" He cackled, driving a knife directly into Lyra's tender spot, and she used all of her strength to keep her face neutral. She even managed a faint brow arch, she couldn't let him see her cry.
Lyra loved Kreacher far more than she ever would admit, but this new heartbreak he caused numbed her through. She already lost the prospect of having the boy she thought Tom was in her life, she couldn't lose Kreacher too…?
Thankfully, Lyra was an expert liar.
"I dunno, why lie about getting rid of your elf if you've got nothing to hide? Why would your bitch of a mother force my house elf to lie to me for no reason? Unless that reason is just to prove what a nasty, mean-spirited, hateful bunch of racists you all are? What's the reason?" She snapped back, and she turned to Draco's friends who were snickering behind their hands.
"Oh grow up! You guys are no better!"
Just like a textbook definition of dodging the question, Draco tensed up and focused on his cousin with fury burning in his eyes. He subtly reached for his wand, and Lyra grinned when she realised she touched a nerve.
"What did you just call my mother?"
"Hey, she's my aunt too! I can call her a manipulative, snotty bitch all I want!" Lyra defended, making her friends laugh as Draco's face flushed with red splotchy patches of hatred.
"Take her down!" heckled Gregory, riling his friend up in the hopes of seeing a fight, but Ron's shouts quickly drowned him out.
"Bitch slap him again!"
"Maybe not in front of the prefects?!" Hermione added, fretfully keeping an eye on the pair of Hufflepuff prefects a few feet away who were quietly observing and mumbling to each other, debating when they should intervene.
"Insult my mother one more time and then see what happens, I dare you," Draco seethed, almost trembling from rage as he stared Lyra down, but before she could even form the most derogatory name she could think of to describe Narcissa, Harry let his intrusive thought win.
"Come on, it's not your mum's fault she's so dysfunctional… it's because of all the inbreeding! That certainly explains you!" He said brightly, and Draco's face almost cracked. Lyra burst out laughing as did many of the onlookers around them, and she swiftly gave Harry a high five just as Draco exploded.
"THAT'S IT!" He yelled, and he struggled to tear his robes off so he could fight Harry without the fear of getting tangled, "YOU'RE DEAD!"
Draco blindly threw his outerwear over his shoulder, revealed his wand and rolled up his sleeves, proving that he meant business, but his tough facade crumbled like a weak dune when his house elf let out a huge gasp of disbelief.
"Master gave Dobby his robes! Dobby is free!"
"HAHAHA!"
Lyra had to grab onto Harry before she collapsed in a fit of laughter as the realisation dawned on Draco's face. Dobby draped the Slytherin robe around his shoulders and hopped around like a hyper bunny rabbit having its first taste of freedom, simply overcome with joy. Draco looked as though his soul had been sucked out of him, and he pounced at Dobby just as he gave chase, panicking to resolve the situation while his friends watched on in awkward silence.
"I didn't—?! You're not free! COME BACK HERE!" screeched Draco, failing to catch the slippery elf as Dobby ran around, his floppy ears waving in the breeze as he relished life once more.
"Oh man, just wait until your father hears about this!" joked Harry, joining in with the roars of laughter, and Lyra had to physically wipe away tears when Draco glowered back.
The high spirits that spawned from the spectacular display lasted almost the entirety of the train journey back to London as Ron couldn't last five minutes without re-enacting Draco's screams for the amusement of the compartment. Lyra tried to hold onto the feelings of happiness as the landscape beyond the train windows transformed from rolling hills to urban housing, but once she felt the brakes squeak beneath the train's floor she realised that her fantasy had to come to an end. Thick clouds of steam blocked the view of the anticipated crowds of families and friends as the train jolted to a stop, and she prayed that time would stop so she didn't have to leave.
Stop panicking.
Everything will be ok.
Nothing bad is going to happen, you're safe.
Lyra's silence didn't go unnoticed, and the trio exchanged fleeting glances of worry, silently working out what they needed to do to help her.
"You know," Ron piped up first, shifting Scabbers' cage from one arm to the other, "Mum was thinking about taking us all to Egypt this summer to visit Bill — I think you guys should come with us."
"Really?" gasped Hermione, intrigued by their choice of destination, "Mum and Dad were talking about going on holiday too, if you're being serious then I think I could be able to persuade them to change our flights."
"Of course, I'm being serious," Ron rolled his eyes, making Hermione blush, "we all deserve a break after everything that's happened, and I honestly don't want to be stuck with just my family for two weeks. Egypt would suck without you guys."
"I don't own a passport," Harry sighed, snatching the words out of Lyra's mouth, "at least, I don't think I do."
"You don't need one," Ron assured them, grinning broadly as they came around to the idea, and he turned to Lyra expectantly, "Black? What do you say?"
Lyra blinked away the tears before they formed and nodded vigorously as she finally found the courage to gather her things. She was sure if Molly and Arthur agreed to the idea of them coming along then they would be able to persuade Danielle to say yes. It was the distraction she desperately needed, and her happiness was determined to stick around.
Suddenly her summer wasn't looking so bad after all.
"I say hell yeah! Let's do it!"