"No! PLEASE!" Lyra begged, tears streaming down her face as she lashed at the shackles welding her to the cold stone. "LET ME GO!"
She had been fighting for hours.
Her wrists were red raw and weeping, her chest cramped from exertion. She was choking on her empty screams of mercy at this point, her own body was turning against her now and prevented her from drawing any air. She was destined to die here, chained to this plinth she was lying on, surrounded by darkness and hatred that took the form of the family she never knew.
"She's all yours, my Lord," hissed Walburga, the same vile woman she recognised from the painting, and her sharp black nails dug into Lyra's arms as she held them down. She was much stronger than she looked, her grip was vicious.
"Use her how you wish, we don't want her," growled the man beside her, he looked like an older version of her father. Her grandfather? They had the same bright eyes, sharp cheeks, and charming smiles that made her skin crawl.
She didn't know where she was. More faces bled out from the blackness around Lyra, more of her ancestors who voiced their detest for her while they kept her down in the stone plinth.
Another woman around Walburga's age with Narcissa's pale blonde hair was tightening the chain clamps on the table. A younger woman with the same hooded eyes as Andromeda came to the blonde's aid and fastened them even tighter around her arms, her beautiful smile turning wicked in a blink. Lyra cried out as she felt her shoulder joints crack under the intense pressure.
More aunts, uncles, and cousins she never knew spawned and flocked to her like maggots on rotting flesh, the crowds of Blacks yearned to take part in the ritual.
Escape was never possible, it was a fool's dream at this point. She tried, for countless nightmares she had tried every plan imaginable to squeeze out of her shackles and flee into the shadows. But this time was the last time, and she couldn't do it.
Even if the chains weren't snaking around her limbs, Lyra couldn't move. Fear iced her veins and her body was empty, non-responsive. She was the prey, she was the black sheep, not one of the faces around her was an ally. They were blood-hungry surgeons looking to experiment on the freak and she had no choice but to let them. She was born for this, it was her only purpose.
But for the first time, Lyra realised she was stark naked and the dark feeling in her stomach manifested into terror. It was a sickly hot terror that she had felt once, no, twice before and tears stung as they fell down her flaming cheeks.
Not this… anything but this…
Her goosebumps betrayed her and her legs squirmed as she tried to spare some of her decency, but more sadist smiles flashed around her, enjoying her humiliation. She hated this so much, she couldn't bear it anymore.
This is disgusting, I can't watch this — this is her worst nightmare yet.
Poor thing, we need to wake her up.
"Perfect… just perfect…"
His gaze was by far the most invasive and Lyra stared at the towering shadow concealed by darkness so thick he wore it as a royal cloak. She couldn't see his face but she knew his cold purr by heart, it had scarred her every night since she heard it in person. He was standing by her thrashing feet and she tried to scream at him to let her go but her voice had left her long ago. Had he been there the whole time? She didn't want to know.
Lyra found the last of her strength to try and yank her arms free from the coiled metal guards, begging to cover her exposed body. She wanted to rip her skin off, the urge was torturous — he wasn't allowed to see her like this.
"Blood, bathe her in blood… it is the most ancient conductor of magic, blood is the language of Death and we must speak it fluently so They will be persuaded to join me…"
"Yes, my Lord."
Lyra's panic morphed into a primal rage when Sirius emerged from the tall shadows' right-hand side, looking more like the attractive man from the wedding photos than the skeleton in the wanted posters. He was enlivened by this nightmare that had brought him, he was back in his prime looking fresh and strong with a new haircut just like hers. Bile hurled up Lyra's throat as he stepped towards her but she tensed her neck muscles, refusing to let go.
With a flick of his wand, Lyra's legs froze and all she could see was scarlet.
Suffocating, oozing hot blood that smelt of acid smacked onto her skin as Sirius doused her. She screwed her eyes shut and fought against her restraints with the rest of her might. More hands found her arms and pinned her down, faceless hands wrestled her greased limbs until she fell limp, and runes were drawn on her skin. She couldn't breathe, the blood was an iron blanket. Her spine was on fire, was the iced table ripping her skin off?
"Don't touch me!" Lyra rasped, tears rolling down into the stone beneath her head. "Don't…"
"We told you, you can have her…" Sirius told the looming presence overseeing their work, surrendering her to him like she was a ribbon-wrapped pet. "She was promised to you, my Lord."
"Then it should have worked the first time we performed this, Black."
All of the air was sucked out of Lyra, the world was crushing her from all sides as though the galaxy was collapsing into a black hole. It was more than her brain could handle. She didn't want to see his face.
But he always came for her in the end.
Knock knock knock!
Lyra jerked and fell out of the creaky four-poster bed, still convulsing in fear from possibly her worst nightmare yet. It still had its claws in her, she couldn't move her legs, but once she calmed down and caught her breath she realised it was her duvet that was wrapped around her, not Tom's hands.
Knock knock!
"Miss Black?"
Lyra jumped and stared at the door, alarmed that her nightmare had followed her into the waking world and this was some trap.
"W-Who is it?" She called out shakily, approaching the door after she scrambled around for her wand.
"It's Tom—,"
Lyra panicked.
"—the landlord, Miss. I apologise if I woke you but I have some post here for you," he called back through the door, making her feel at ease. She slumped against the door to catch her breath and she scolded herself for getting so upset over nothing.
That wasn't nothing, that was rough.
Somewhere deep down she knows what happened that night… the memory is somewhere in here… that wasn't just a nightmare.
Lyra ignored her dark thoughts, rearranged her expression and opened the door, smiling timidly at Tom the landlord who was waiting for her with a stack of varying-sized envelopes and a steaming cup of tea in his hands. The dim hallway was still cast in shadows from the steel sky outside, the rain pounding on the windows was much harder this morning and Lyra couldn't tell what time it was. The second her door swung open, however, the crooked oil lamps on the wall flickered on, signalling the start of a new business day.
"What time is it?"
"Six am," informed Tom, "I would've let you sleep in but, urm, due to the contents of these letters I thought it best I get them to you as soon as possible." He handed over the parchment stack and his smile faded a little. "I took the liberty of getting rid of the Howlers—,"
"Howlers?" She gulped, her heart beginning to race, and she eyed the letters apprehensively. "What are these?"
"My guess is correspondence from the British public," Tom said truthfully, and he charmed the cup of tea to find its place on her bedside. "Stay safe, Miss Black, and breakfast will be ready by eight."
"Thank you," croaked Lyra, a bit tongue-tied as she was left in her bedroom doorway with an armful of (what she assumed was) hate mail. Her mind was racing with a thousand possibilities as to what each person wrote and she chucked them onto her dishevelled bed before stripping her curtains open and letting the cool spray of the downpour freshen up her room.
Lyra jumped back onto her bed and started to tear her mail open, chewing her lip in preparation for the worst. What could be the worst in this scenario?
"Kreacher!"
Pop!
"It is only six, Mistress," greeted her house elf once he appeared, dressed in another one of Lyra's creations. This time it was an olive green robe made from soft fleece that made him look a lot gentler than he was, and Lyra waved one of the letters in the air as she read another, too distracted to even look at him.
"Bad nightmare, I'm not tired," Lyra murmured as an afterthought. She tore open a few more letters and she pouted at the common phrases that were littered throughout, genuinely offended by the implications. These people need to get a hobby!
"Listen to this," she scoffed, and picked one of the letters up to show Kreacher, "'STAY AWAY FROM HARRY — YOU ARE BAD NEWS JUST LIKE YOUR DADDY AND I HOPE BOTH OF YOU ROT IN HELL!' I mean really, what a waste of a perfectly good piece of parchment!"
"Who wrote that?! Mistress, don't listen to them!" Kreacher gasped, hobbling over to snatch the hate mail away and set fire to them, but Lyra stole them back, rolling her eyes.
"Chill, these don't bother me," Lyra assured him, "it's kinda funny. Look at this one.""
Lyra held up one that read 'DANGER TO SOCIETY!' in bold green ink. "I think I might put that on a t-shirt, what do you think?"
Kreacher's pale face soon matched the coloured ink and he shook his head as he attended to the mess that was her room, busying himself. "If Mistress isn't bothered then Kreacher isn't bothered… even if it does bring Kreacher much anger."
"You and me both bud," Lyra sighed, and stuffed the pile of hate into her backpack, out of sight out of mind. "It's not what I needed today of all days but hey, can't please everyone."
"Is Mistress excited to be returning to school?" He asked, his ears perking up as though prompting her to join him in smiling, but Lyra couldn't move the muscles in her cheek to return the gesture.
She wasn't too sure…
"Yeah, it's going to be great," Lyra said more to herself than her elf, trying to snap her out of her anxious mood. "I can't wait to start my new classes."
That part was true and Lyra instinctively thought of one of her new professors — she needed to write back to Hagrid.
"Can you pack for me pretty please? I've got some stuff to do," Lyra commanded her house elf sweetly, and Kreacher responded with a slow and steady bow.
"I'm gonna be at school later tonight so you might as well stay after you deliver this," Lyra told Apollo once she finished Hagrid's letter. He had been waiting for her opinion on the new class activities he had planned as the newly-appointed Care for Magical Creatures teacher ('DON'T TELL ANYONE! I want it to be a surprise,' was what he wrote to her at the start of summer and so far she had valiantly kept his promise).
Apollo pecked her cheek in acceptance of his task and took off onto the opaque blanket of rain dwelling over London before disappearing completely within seconds.
Lyra sipped her tea as she stared out into the mist, hypnotised by the gurgling of the guttering as it overflowed into the busy morning streets. The sounds of the traders getting ready to unload their vans faded out and a compelling tension seized her chest. A dark chill forced a shiver and Lyra grimaced, she assumed it was related to her late-night shop run and thought nothing more of it.
She was very wrong.
Something new lingered in the air today. Or rather, something unprecedentedly old was hovering closer to her than it had been in years and they tainted the air she was struggling to breathe. They were just as anxious as she was to meet her, and their magic was slowly but surely starting to affect her.
Lyra tried to compartmentalise her anxiety from the rest of her day ahead of her, she couldn't let one bad dream ruin what was supposed to be a happy day. In a matter of hours, I'll be able to use magic again, what's wrong with me?! She was annoyed with herself for letting her nightmare influence her so much and she tried extra hard to be peppy and optimistic to cover it all up. She needed positivity today, she was fine.
Once dressed and groomed to perfection, Lyra wished Kreacher a good day by kissing him on the top of his wrinkled head and she skipped down to breakfast. She perfected her smile with Tom the landlord and thanked him graciously for delivering her post as she helped herself to some cereal.
Her stomach churned in protest when she tried to take a bite but she pretended to chew and enjoy her choice of food as other early risers side-eyed her. She didn't know if the authors of the hate mail were secretly the other guests at the inn and she wanted to let them know that their dumb letters didn't faze her. She even dared to wave to a few of them and her smile grew wider when most of them turned their noses up at her.
Once the clock hit eight, Lyra heard her aunt's warm voice enter her vicinity and she snapped her head up from TheDailyProphet to see Molly and Arthur slowly descend into the bar, whispering to each other. Arthur nudged his wife when he spotted Lyra and the pair joined her at their designated breakfast table. It was quite daunting sitting at the huge empty table all by herself, Lyra was thankful for the company.
"You're up early," greeted Arthur as he summoned himself a cup of tea, and Lyra played coy.
"It's an incredibly important day, why wouldn't I be up early?" She smiled over the rim of her own teacup, making Arthur laugh.
"Where was this attitude last year?" Molly pursed her lips and rolled her eyes, "nevermind! I'm glad to see some positive changes, well done."
"Well, it helps that I don't have—,"
Lyra decided to hold back on the parasite jokes as the crease between Molly's brows began to appear, and instead she chose to say, "I mean, it's hard to sleep when all anyone can talk about is him."
She dropped TheDailyProphetonto the table so they could see which article she was reading, and Molly's gaze suddenly had trouble sticking to hers when Sirius' bored mugshot stared out from the centrefold.
Their casual act failed when the Weasley heads swapped a look of guilt, but it reappeared as soon as Molly began to fuss over her.
"You have been sleeping, haven't you? Don't let him interfere with your happiness or your studies, your health and your grades are far more important than your father," she rambled, scooting over to fix Lyra's crumpled jersey collar, straighten her amulet peeking out from it, and iron her tartan skirt with a silent spell or two. "Remember what I told you last year, focus on yourself. Self-care is extremely precious and must be practised every now and then."
"Honestly, Molly, I swear I'm ok," Lyra lied smoothly, edging out of her reach and displaying her brightest smile. "I've been through worse, I can handle this."
"I'm sure you can, but that doesn't mean everything you're dealing with is easy," Arthur chimed in, and he reached over to pat her hand. "You're doing remarkably well, focus on that instead of anything you may hear about Sirius."
"What would I hear? Something like he's the one responsible for my best friend's parents dying? Or the fact that he was secretly Vol—," Lyra corrected herself when she felt more eyes dart her way, "You-Know-Who's second in command? He's the reason why Harry and I are orphans? Something like that?"
Colour drained from Molly's face and the favourable sparkle left Arthur's eyes. Lyra's heart thudded.
I knew it
"How do you know about that?!"
"It's kinda obvious, how did Dad go from being best buddies with the Potters to being the head follower? Besides, Dumbledore told me Dad wants to kill Harry so—,"
"Shhhh! Not so loud!" Her aunt gasped again and flashed her an expression of warning. "It's not common knowledge, it's not our place to talk about these things."
"Sure, in public you mean? Because you could've told me about this private," Lyra pointed out sourly, feeling the soft sting of mistrust. "This kinda feels like something I should've been aware of before now!"
"The situation between your parents and Harry's is complicated," Arthur explained the best he could, he looked like he was allergic to the very topic. "No one truly knows what happened except your father, we may never know what he did."
"But it's likely that he betrayed the Potters, right? You can tell me," Lyra said persuasively, leaning in her hands and batting her lashes, "for my own peace of mind, I need to know so I can heal from it all."
"You have enough on your plate as it is, sweetheart, this won't help you," Molly insisted, imploring Lyra to see her side, but Lyra knew she had to push another button. She was close to unravelling whatever it was ailing them, she couldn't give up.
"But it will help all of us, not just me," Lyra shot back under her breath, wary of eavesdroppers. "She was your cousin, your favourite cousin you once told me. You owe it to Giselle to tell her daughter what you know about her death. I know you know something, I just don't understand why you won't share whatever it is with me. If Ginny is ever killed in a traumatic way and I knew some details about it, and her daughter came to me asking for the truth then I would tell her. I would owe her that truth."
Judging by the sudden moisture sparkling in Molly's buttery brown eyes, Lyra realised she may have gone one step too far — but it worked.
"Better it comes from us than from a stranger," Arthur reasoned and he looked to his wife for confirmation.
"It shouldn't be like this," Molly sniffed, letting go of her rigid opinion for the first time in years, "it was never supposed to work out like this, we thought it would harm both of you more if you knew. It wouldn't hurt if you didn't know what you'd lost."
"Work out like what? What happened?" Lyra pleaded once more, her voice no higher than the early morning pub ambience around them, and the Weasleys exchanged one last look.
"Giselle would've wanted her to know," Arthur's kind words pushed Molly over the edge and she heaved a sigh full of past sorrows.
"If anything were to happen to your parents during the war, then you were supposed to go to your godparents — Harry's parents," Molly shuffled so close to Lyra that she could smell her spearmint toothpaste and floral perfume, "and vice versa. It was the worst-kept secret at the time that Giselle and Sirius were inseparable from James and Lily, and the arrival of both you and Harry only cemented their bond further… or, so it seemed. I still can remember the way your mother used to talk about them, she adored them with all her heart and—,"
It was then that Molly burst into tears and planted her red face in her hands, leaving Lyra feeling rather faint and dry-mouthed. She clenched her fists and tried to look unfazed. Her heart was about to explode from the concentrated emotion pumping through her. She had never hated Sirius more than she did right now.
"—and it's just so tragically sweet that you and Harry found each other again, and you've got such a great group of friends around you," Molly wept, "I couldn't have been happier!"
She didn't sound it whatsoever.
"Oh…" Lyra swallowed the stone in her throat and tried her best to smile. "So the truth is that my dad is the biggest piece of shit ever? He really is a traitor? Wonderful! And I thought Kreacher was just being racist when he said that!"
Arthur choked on his tea and tried not to stare at her as he cleaned his horn-rimmed glasses.
"I'm sorry, you thought who was just being racist?"
Lyra's mouth formed a tiny o-shape and her stomach fell out of her arse.
UH OH! ABORT! ABORT! FUCK.
"Er—,"
"Morning!" Ginny exclaimed as she popped out of nowhere, and the sounds of chairs scraping against the floor sounded off around the table as Harry, the Grangers, the Tonkses and the rest of their children arrived for their final breakfast together. It was the ultimate distraction.
Lyra immediately leapt into the furthest seat away from Molly and Arthur and rushed to jumpstart a Gryffindor Quidditch team-related discussion with her teammates. She was still reeling from the discovery that Harry was, in fact, her freaking god brother that the screwup she may have made was shoved to the back of her mind and she tried her best to avoid her aunt and uncle for the rest of the morning.
Two years… no one thought to mention this ONCE over the past TWO YEARS?!
"You ok?" Harry whispered to her during their meal, and Lyra glared at her untouched cereal, the feeling of hunger evaporating for good. Her anxiety was getting worse.
"I've got something to tell you, but we can't talk here," she uttered behind the shield of her hand, pretending to comb her hair. Harry's frown was brief but he subtly nodded his head before returning to the conversations around them, leaving Lyra to her scattered thoughts and tightening chest.
The large group departed the Leaky Cauldron with more than enough time to spare, and Lyra was pleasantly surprised to find a fleet of sleek grey estate cars waiting for them on the street outside. The tiny purple flags on the dashboard adorned with a golden M stood out to her immediately, but Tonks quickly shoved Lyra inside before she could bother the driver with a million and one questions about their job.
Kings Cross train station soon came into view as they bypassed traffic and everyone rushed out of the vehicles as fast as they could to evade the hammering of rain against their coats. Lyra fell into line with the rest of the teenagers as they were escorted through the busy terminal but she could barely keep her eyes off the floor.
Everywhere she looked she spotted yet another poster of Sirius, this time his movements were frozen in place to appease the Muggles, but it still felt as though his silver eyes were glued to her back. The closer they got to the hidden platform, the more posters Lyra came into contact with and the faster her nightmare replayed in her head. The chains… their words… all that blood!
Stop it! Stop thinking about that!
You're ok, Lyra, he won't get to you.
Breathe, sweetheart, focus on your breathing like Danielle taught you.
"Here we are," Andromeda broke Lyra's daze by coming up to her left and hooking her arm through hers. Suddenly she realised she was standing in front of the bricked platform barrier with her trunk and empty owl cage in tow. How did I get here so fast? Jeez, pay attention, Black! Stop getting lost inside your own head!
Lyra watched as Arthur beckoned Ron and Harry through the barrier a few steps ahead of her, and she physically shook off her poisonous anxiety as though it was only rain, preparing herself for the tidal wave of attention that was waiting for her on the other side. She needed to leave her weaknesses on this side of the brick wall, they couldn't come with her to Scotland.
"You've got this," Andromeda encouraged Lyra under her breath, and she squeezed her arm as though letting her know she was there, "just remember that you are your own person, you are not your father, and whatever anyone says to you is a reflection of themselves, you must ignore it."
"If anyone says anything, tell them to fuck off — I hear you loud and clear auntie," Lyra muttered back, and the sight of Andromeda's lopsided smile helped her hold her head a little higher.
"Preferably not in front of any of your professors, or the prefects, or Molly," she clarified as she readied Lyra's trolley for their run, "but yes, that's the energy I like to hear."
Lyra tightened her grip on Andromeda and braced as the pair whisked straight through the brick wall and onto the steam-filled Platform Nine and Three Quarters.
The resonating tapping of rain hitting the arched glass ceilings of King's Cross was much louder on this side of the station as there weren't as many bodies to soften the echo, but Lyra hardly noticed the sound. Her irregular heartbeat booming out of her chest was all she could hear as heads began to turn and the contagious spread of gossip picked up amongst the crowds on the platform.
Friends and strangers alike, Lyra saw them all wearing the same expression, a mixture between morbid curiosity and irrational fear. Andromeda's arm tensed around hers as they reached the train's open doors where the rest of their party were dishing out their goodbyes, but Lyra never noticed the cause of Andy's sudden torment until she boarded the Express.
Through the open window of the train door, standing tall and proud near the front of the families gathered on the platform, Lyra accidentally made direct eye contact with Narcissa and Lucius and her blood instantly began to boil.
They hadn't changed one bit, they hadn't even aged a day and Lyra found herself frowning back at their polished, spiteful faces. She hadn't seen them in person since last year and the multitude of insults she had stacked up during their estrangement was starting to flood her mind. The bottle cap on her emotions was slowly slipping off and she didn't know whether she possessed the restraint to stop it in time.
Uh oh.
"I want all of you to stick together, make sure you focus on your studies," Molly began to lecture the children through the window as they all piled inside, and she pointed at her twin boys in warning before they snuck off. "Especially you two, take your OWLs seriously this year. I mean it."
"We're taking what now?" Fred repeated, staring blankly at their mother while George scratched his head, looking stumped.
"Don't worry, I'll make sure they stay focused," Percy assured his parents before strutting off ahead of his family, chest puffed out in front of him like a peacock. Fred and George immediately took this as an opportunity to embarrass him by running ahead and screaming that his liege, the King Head Boy was coming through.
Lyra refused to budge from the window, she didn't notice her family slowly slipping off to find their friends nor did she hear the ear-splitting whistle signalling that the train was about to pull away.
Her gaze never broke from the Malfoys, she was consumed by their startlingly icy stare and she yearned her mind to invade theirs, even if it was just for a split second. They were just as transfixed by her festering glower as she was by theirs, as though they were waiting for her to do something.
For one moment, no one else on the platform existed except the three of them and Lyra swore she heard Lucius whisper as he dipped his head towards his wife's ear.
"Her father will take care of her for us."
YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!
The yells from the crowds intensified as the chugging of the engine picked up and the train began to drift along the platform, gathering speed at a snail's pace. It didn't take Lyra long to decide whether she was going to react, she had at least five seconds before she brushed past the Malfoys, but it was the alarm on her aunts' faces that solidified her choice.
"Lyra — don't!"
"HEY!" Lyra shoved her head out of the window and whistled at the slimy, pale pair, making sure they knew she was speaking only to them, "YEAH, YOU TWO!"
She stuck her arms through the window when they were mere inches away from Lucius and Narcissa and flicked both of her middle fingers up at them.
"FUCK BOTH OF YOU! I HOPE DAD KILLS YOU TWO FIRST!"
She heard the satisfying sharp intake of breath from the families surrounding them and her grin grew wider when she heard Tonks' distinctive laugh reverberate in the stretching distance. Lyra barely managed to capture the Malfoys' abhorrent reaction to her vulgarity before she was yanked back through the window by a speechless Hermione.
"Come on, you can't tell me that wasn't warranted!" Lyra defended herself before Hermione could even open her mouth, but the roars of laughter from Harry and Ron were enough of an indication that she did the right thing.
"Sure, they deserved it, but I don't think swearing at them and mentioning Sirius in front of the whole platform was the best course of action! If you're worried about drawing attention to yourself then that is literally the opposite of what you should be doing!"
"Lyra? Avoiding attention?" Harry wiped his tears away and slapped her on the shoulder in an attempt to help, "You know that's never gonna happen."
"A girl can dream," Hermione shrugged.
"That was without a doubt your best work, bravo," Ron sniffed, beaming at his cousin with pride before comforting his caged rat who had already begun squeaking for his own attention. "Yeah, yeah mate I'm still here, chill out!"
As the train emerged from the cover of the city, the miserable landscape hidden behind rain-splattered windows darkened as the sky rumbled with the arrival of yet another thunderstorm. It was impossible to tell if it was midday or midnight, the dusty lamps lining the carriages flickered brighter as everyone settled down for the dark and somewhat dangerous journey ahead of them.
"Crikey, is it jam-packed this year or is it just me?" Ron conceded when the four Gryffindors failed spectacularly to find a place to sit, "since when was it ever this busy?"
They reached the second to last carriage without passing a single empty compartment.
The search was torture and Lyra endured each awkward staring contest with a painful smile, but once they reached the third carriage she decided to at least make her torture entertaining. Anytime someone decided to pipe up unprompted with a comment about her father she asked for their name and started to collect them on a piece of spare paper in her backpack. Whenever someone asked her what she was doing she gave them only one response — "I'm creating Dad's next hit list, duh!"
"We must've missed one when we were too busy running away from those scary Ravenclaws Lyra threatened," Harry said snidely, scowling at Lyra who was smiling proudly to herself.
"They were not scary, they were asking for it," she corrected him, "I could've taken them on!"
"They were over six feet tall," Harry countered but his shoulders sagged and he looked back in the direction of the scary Ravenclaws. "Damn it, I would've loved to have seen that though. We shouldn't have pulled her away."
"You're on your own on that one Harry, I'm knackered, I'm not running anymore today," Ron yawned and leant his head against the flimsy train window, "maybe we should head back down that way though, to double-check just in case we did miss one."
"It would be better than risking our lives in the Slytherin carriage," Hermione reasoned, refusing to even glance through the blinds that separated them from the snake-infested end cabin. "The further Lyra is away from Malfoy, the better."
"Or we could just sit here?" Harry suggested, gesturing at the compact section of the corridor they were stuck in, but Lyra noticed that they had forgotten to check the last compartment.
They walked straight past without realising it was there as its blinds were shut, contrasting the rest of the cabins. The lack of lamplight around the edge of the shutters was enough of an indication that no one was inside.
"Or what about in there?" Lyra prompted, pointing out their blatant mistake, "I think we might need our eyes tested."
"Oh?" Hermione shuffled over and tried peering in the small gaps between the blinds, cupping her hands around the glass to shield out the corridor light, "the lamp might be broken but we can use magic now, I can fix that."
"Great! Because I've already got a headache, I need to sit down," Ron groaned and slid the door open. He strolled inside without looking and continued to complain, "I dunno what Scabbers is gonna be like at school but— uh… guys?!"
Lyra dropped her trunk handle at the tremor in Ron's voice and scrambled for her wand, jumping to the worst conclusion, but Hermione beat her to the punch and lit her wand with a small squeak, "Lumos!"
Her wand light bathed the unexpectedly spacious compartment in warm light and the trio found Ron inside staring wide-eyed at what looked like a bundle of blankets on one of the benches that shoved up against the window.
At first, Lyra thought it might be a body bag by the way it was slumped, it was way too human-shaped to be a blanket, her heart began to thump painfully, but after she stepped inside she realised it was just someone sleeping underneath their cloak. A rather worn, patched cloak that needed some serious TLC, but a wizard cloak nonetheless.
Lyra shrugged and turned to the others with an optimistic smile.
"I'll take the potentially dead guy over venturing into Slytherin territory? It's pretty big here, we'll all fit comfortably without bugging whoever that is."
Hermione didn't need convincing and she shuffled inside next. "Good, I need some room to let Crookshanks out—,"
"Nuh uh — no way," Ron frowned, protesting with a pout. "Please, he has to stay in his box because I'm letting Scabbers out, he doesn't want to be put away."
Hermione dumped her trunk beside Ron's with a look of sheer determination on her golden face. She wasn't backing down and she stared up at him with her lips pursed as she unbuckled her cat's basket latches.
"Then they'll just have to learn how to get along, won't they?"
"Awww, it'll be like an enemies to lovers story, my favourite kind," Lyra sighed airily as she reached into Crookshanks' basket to help him out and ruin their oncoming argument, "they'll hate each other at first, their feline and rodent differences will set them apart, they'll fight, they'll bicker — but then they'll slowly fall in love after one of them saves the other from a near-death experience and then they'll be forced to set aside their differences in the name of love."
"You read too much," Harry side-eyed her as he joined them inside and admired the extensive luggage rack under their spacious seats. "I've never seen any compartments like this before, these can't have always been here?"
"I heard that some compartments are better than others but it's pretty rare to find a big one like this though," Ron informed him as he tried to extract Scabbers without causing a fuss. He slipped him into his jacket pocket and watched Crookshanks like a hawk, not buying his innocent purring cat routine.
"The Express can grow and adapt to suit the current student population. According to Hogwarts: A History, the population fluctuates massively if a generation is born during years of conflict. The train size depends on that," Hermione explained as she set Crookshanks on her lap and stroked him. "See? They're fine so please try to relax, Ron."
Ron grumbled under his breath and shuffled away from her regardless of her cat's seemingly calm nature as he hadn't spotted the wriggling in his pocket yet.
Since nobody wanted to take the seat nearest to the sleeping stranger, Lyra happily settled in beside them and stretched out, enjoying the ample leg room.
"It makes sense if you think about it, the first years were born around the same time Harry killed Voldemort for the first time," she concluded, debating putting her feet up on the table.
"Wow, time sure flies when you're having fun," Harry whistled, making light of the dark subject, "I remember it as though it were only yesterday."
"You remember it?" asked Hermione, alarmed.
"No, it's more like a bad nightmare than a memory. Just a lot of green light and someone screaming," admitted Harry, making his friends' expressions of horror worse.
"Aw, isn't trauma just the best!" Lyra giggled.
Since they were all trying their hardest not to make too much noise, it took them a while to get comfortable. Lyra held her breath and crouched down onto the floor to shimmy her trunk into the under-seat holdings without accidentally nudging their compartment buddy. Considering how loud Ron's natural voice was anyway she was stunned to see they hadn't woken up to tell them to shut up yet.
"Do you think they're ok?" Hermione wondered as an afterthought, watching the dozing stranger with a faint pout, "Should we check to see if they're alive?"
The four Gryffindors paused what they were doing and listened to see if they could hear breathing, and Lyra's stomach fluttered in relief when they heard the soft drone of their snores. It would totally be their luck to stumble across a dead body on the train!
"Who do reckon that is?" asked Ron in a rough whisper as he leant over to them, trying to sneak a peek at their shrouded face. "New Dark Arts teacher?"
"Must be," Harry shrugged, thoroughly entertained by watching Lyra wrestle with her trunk on the floor. "What are you doing?"
"Oh, you know, fighting with my luggage, the usual," she huffed, scowling at the rack as though it had personally offended her, "why isn't it going in? It must be stuck on— oooft!"
A loud thud came from the underside of the bench below the unconscious stranger as Lyra unintentionally slipped and smacked into the rack. The compartment held their breath, waiting to see if the mysterious snoozer woke up but luckily they barely moved a muscle and their snores carried on.
Phew!
"Be careful!" hissed Hermione.
Lyra reached down to see what was preventing her trunk from sliding with ease into position, and her fingers found the edge of what appeared to be the battered suitcase of the new professor. Without thinking, Lyra yanked it out to rework the luggage arrangement for easier access and she noticed the black ink scrawled across the old leather suitcase's lip.
Property of Professor R.J. Lupin.
Lyra blinked hard and re-read it. Was she hallucinating?
Property of Professor R.J. Lupin.
That's definitely still the same name.
Her entire world felt as though it had been sucked through a vacuum and spat out again all jumbled together. A high-pitched ringing replaced the sounds of rain against the window and her friends' unimportant conversation, she couldn't quite feel her legs. That can't be…?
Suddenly Lyra couldn't look anywhere in the sleeping professor's direction. An unspeakable chill ran down her back and she tried to clear the lump in her throat before her friends noticed her strange reaction.
"What?" Harry was faster than she gave him credit for.
"I… I think…" Lyra stumbled over her words and looked back at the sloped handwriting on the suitcase again. She was truly speechless.
"Do you remember what I told you about our parents' friend? Remus?"
Hermione spotted the name label first and gasped, jumping to her feet to get a proper look up close.
"Oh my God? Is that him?!"
"Unless Lupin is a common last name, and the first initials are just a coincidence," Lyra began to ramble when the boys jumped off their seats to read it for themselves. She backed away to give them some space and strategically hid her face from them, hoping the urge to cry would vanish as she pressed her fingers into her eyelids.
The revelation was overwhelming, her mind fogged up as a whirlwind of emotions hit her like a smack across the face. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever think she would meet Remus?!
Andromeda and Ted were more than adamant that her parents' ex-best friend was a recluse who had no intention of ever coming anywhere near her. Now there was an exceedingly high chance that the only person who may know what truly went down on that infamous night was right there! He was within physical reaching distance, within talking distance from her…
But what if he freaks out when he sees me? Or Harry? Surely he knows that Harry and I go to Hogwarts? He wouldn't have taken the job unless he was willing to talk about it? Does he know that we know who he is?
"I can't believe it…" The sound of Harry panicking pulled Lyra away from her internal crisis and she masked her anxiety with her original expression of bewilderment as she turned back to them. None of them noticed her fleeting panic attack.
Harry looked just as astonished as she felt as he collapsed back into his seat and raked his hands through his hair in distress.
"That's got to be him! Shall we—? Do we—?"
"I don't know!" Lyra whined as quietly as she could, trying her darndest to act casual as she sat back down beside the elusive Remus. She had forgotten how humans were supposed to sit. "Aw fuck, shall we act like we don't know him?"
"You can't do that, you're bound to slip up in the future and say something to him about your parents," Hermione reasoned nervously, "it might benefit you to talk to him about it, I'm sure he'll understand where you're coming from?"
"What if he doesn't?" Harry asked, afraid of that outcome.
"Uh, guys?!" Ron shout-whispered from his corner opposite Remus, and Lyra only then realised how terrified he looked. He was recoiling away from the defenceless sleeping man as though he was a bag of rotting trash that had been left over the summer, his lips wrinkled in disgust.
"In case you've forgotten, Lyra told us that he's also a… a—,"
Oh shit, yeah!
Lyra immediately relaxed and warmed up to Remus, getting comfortable in her seat once more. How did she forget that unforgettable piece of information?
"A werewolf? Psssh, chill out dude! It's not like he's gonna go full werewolf on us! The full moon was yesterday-,"
But Lyra cut herself off and looked at the exhausted man with a pout.
"Oh… that explains why he's taken the train, he's too weak to Apparate so he certainly won't have the energy to pounce on us."
She made a mental note to buy him something tasty from the trolley witch to help raise his dopamine levels. It took most of her willpower not to scavenge around for her book on werewolves, vampires and other ostracised supernatural beings to jog her memory on what food groups helped transformation recovery the best.
Ron settled down a bit when Hermione rolled her eyes at his attitude and cleared his throat. "I knew that… I'm just being cautious, that doesn't harm anyone."
"If he does attack though, I nominate Ron as our sacrifice," Lyra raised her hand in the air as though passing an official notion.
"What? Why me?!"
"Don't worry, you'll die a hero and I'll make sure everyone knows that you didn't go down without a fight. The whole world will talk about your legacy for years to come, I swear," Lyra assured him.
"That doesn't sound like a good enough excuse to me," he shot back.
"What, so you'd rather save yourself than protect the girls from being attacked?" teased Harry, smirking at Ron as though he had made a great point but it fell fast when Lyra and Hermione turned to him with matching expressions of feminine rage.
"What did you just say?"
"Dude!?"
"Are you inferring that Lyra and I wouldn't be able to protect ourselves in a fight? Because we can," retorted Hermione with a salty tone, and Lyra scoffed.
"How about we have a little duel to test that theory out?" She suggested, and Harry blushed through his shame while Ron stifled his laughter at his misphrasing.
"I'm not saying that at all, I just wanted to point out that it's pretty selfish of Ron to let his friends die instead of trying to save them — something I would never do and I have the receipts to prove it," he justified as he pointed at Lyra with a smug smile.
"You're off the hook," Lyra and Hermione dismissed Harry and redirected their scrutiny towards Ron.
He froze mid-laugh.
"I never said that I wouldn't sacrifice myself, I just said that being the protagonist of some tale no one will care about is not a good excuse," he reiterated hotly, and Lyra narrowed her eyes.
"So you wouldn't mind if we use you as bait if Remus tries to attack us then?" She questioned, and Ron heaved a sigh that signalled he gave up.
"Fine. I wouldn't mind if you use me as bait but only if you all promise that you'll run and get help."
Lyra and Hermione nodded in unison, agreeing to his deal and settling the matter for good.
The rain was pouring significantly harder now as the train blew through the rolling black fields against the stormy purple sky, they could hardly hear each other over the dull splatters on the glass pane. The trolley witch soon came by to bless them with snacks and Lyra jumped at the chance to purchase a hot cup of Earl Grey for herself and a fresh coffee and pastries for Remus. According to her book, coffee and sugar were the quickest albeit a temporary fix for a werewolf who was suffering from a recent transformation, and the trolley witch kindly offered to put it aside for when he eventually woke up.
"What was it you wanted to tell me?" Harry piped up out of nowhere when he closed the compartment door again, shutting the trolley witch out from their conversation, and Lyra paused mid-sip to stare at him. Her head was feeling a little fuzzy like someone had shoved cotton balls into her ears and plugged her thoughts inside her head.
"Huh?"
"Earlier, at the Leaky Cauldron, you said you had something to tell me but you couldn't say there," he jolted her memory as he sat back down between Ron and Hermione and defended his sandwich from a nosy Crookshanks.
"Oh yeah!" Lyra fought a subconscious shiver and took a large gulp of her tea. "So apparently you're my god brother?"
Harry dropped his sandwich and lost it to a Crookshanks within seconds.
"…oh," he mumbled, not quite knowing how to react, and Lyra matched his energy.
To her, that further confirmed their fears that their theory on Sirius was undoubtedly and unequivocally correct. He carried out the ultimate betrayal and destroyed their family. Harry could've been a part of her life from the start, but he wasn't. They could've escaped a childhood of abuse, but they didn't.
Lyra knew it must've been true because she knew there was a reason she clicked with Harry so well. And because she knew him so well she knew he was thinking the exact same thing she was at that second. She could see it reflect in his sad green eyes.
But then — Lyra heard it.
Oh no…
It was bound to happen any day now, she was destined to fall into their path since her father is on the loose…
Let's hope she can handle it then. Lyra — remain calm. Whatever you do, do NOT give the game away.
The whispers in the back of her mind were on high alert and every hair on her body roused from an unconscious state of vigilance. Was it her anxiety? What was this new feeling? Something in the air had spooked her and she seized up in her curled-up position on the bench, straining her ears for signs of danger. Her chest was getting tighter like someone was sitting on her back. Not another panic attack, give me a break!
It wasn't a panic attack.
Lyra figured she was imagining it at first when she heard something that sounded like a bunch of keys being dragged across a chalkboard, but a really, really distant chalkboard. A chalkboard that was sitting in the train driver's cabin, or maybe even one they passed by on the rails minutes ago. It wasn't close, but it certainly was real.
"Can you hear that?" Lyra wondered, wiggling her finger in her ear to see if it was her heavy head playing tricks on her, "Or am I going crazy?"
"You're going crazy," Ron answered simply as he concentrated on sneaking Scabbers scraps of his chocolate pastry.
"Probably," Lyra shrugged. She regretted her movement as her lungs cramped from the added pressure, "ugh, actually, ignore me. I don't feel too great so Ron might be right, I'm just hearing things."
She knew she wasn't, the spine-chilling sound was constant and unfortunately growing louder by the minute, but she wasn't up to explaining her fragile mental state to them.
The fatal screech could've been coming from a few carriages away now, the owner of the metallic death rattle was creeping closer and she was starting to hear rasps of a foreign tongue amidst its violent chimes. Has someone brought a broken television to school? What the hell is that?
"Why don't you change into your robes, a fresh set of clothes might make you feel better," advised Hermione, the only one of her friends to show genuine concern. Harry was too busy shooting her pointed looks that screamed 'I told you that you shouldn't have snuck out last night!' to say anything.
Lyra snatched her uniform from her trunk and staggered off, attempting to look normal as her chest muscles began to convulse and stretch around a bubble sitting in the very centre of her body. Everything was churning, she didn't know how she was standing. Was she going to be sick?
The bubble must've been carved from granite, it refused to budge when Lyra caved to the feeling and retched in the train's bathroom sink.
Don't fight it, let it happen.
She's not used to them, it's quite a peculiar feeling the first time, remember?
The sensation of relief was fleeting, Lyra whimpered as she struggled to get dressed before it came storming back. Although her new robes and uniform were softer than her last outfit, she felt even worse and moped at her reflection in the mirror for a while, disdained by her shorter hair in the awful overhead lighting. The death rattle continued to grow, it sounded as though it was closing in on all sides of the train now. Whatever beast was calling out to her reached the invisible edge of her proximity and was prodding her, asking her for permission to come closer.
PLEASE… LET US IN…
"What are you!?" Lyra yelled out to the empty bathroom, her voice bouncing off the slim walls. She was alone but she definitely knew she could hear someone or something."Am I going crazy?!"
Just say yes.
The teachers will be suspicious if they don't come aboard — it's literally their only job.
Lyra gasped, awestruck by the realisation, and the pressure seeping through her engulfed her. She felt as light as a feather as the power of knowledge nulled the foreign feeling in her chest. She felt almost brand-new, her anxiety vanished on the spot.
… Dementors? Hell yeah you can come aboard!
The harrowing groan of the train gears cranking to a sudden halt travelled through the train and Lyra had to latch onto the wall to stop herself from falling over.
The Express lost speed instantaneously and Lyra rushed out into the corridor to see if her hunch was correct. Although she couldn't physically feel it, she knew the temperature was starting to plummet as she could see people's breath forming in the compartments she brushed past. The general murmur of confusion increased as the lamps lining the walls began to flicker.
They're here!
Don't be afraid, I think you're gonna like them.
Lyra couldn't deny it — she was pretty excited to see a Dementor in person.
"What's going on?" was Hermione's first question when Lyra managed to find her way back to their compartment through the partial darkness. The lamplights flickered once more before extinguishing fully and both Hermione and Lyra were the first to light their wands.
"Now, don't quote me on this, but I believe our train is being invaded by Dementors," she revealed as she flopped down beside Remus who, she couldn't believe, was still fast asleep.
"What?!" Ron croaked, looking the most petrified.
"How do you know?" asked Harry, his eyes darting towards the window that was beginning to freeze up like a spider's web of ice, and Lyra emphasised her exhaled breaths to show off the forming fog.
"A significant drop in temperature is commonly the first sign that they're close," Hermione relayed, her face crumpling in distress, "does anyone else feel… weird?"
"I feel awful," Harry agreed and leant on his knees, cupping his face as though he was trying to ward off an impending headache. Ron only managed a stiff nod as he was staring at the compartment door, haunted by the arrival of the darkest creatures known to wizardkind.
The compartment fell silent as they announced themselves with a rasp so deep Lyra felt it in her gut, and she followed Ron's gaze with a small gasp, utterly transfixed and a little taken aback that they were real.
HERE YOU ARE…
Lyra knew they were different from all of the other magical beasts she had met before just by looking at them.
The Dementors stood, well, floated at almost triple her height like the most terrifying gang of scarecrows she had ever come across — they were huge! Way bigger than she originally thought.
Draped in a ripped black cloak and their heads covered by a hood so dark she thought she was staring into the depths of Hell, Lyra instantly thought of the Nazgul from her cherished Muggle tales; it was uncanny. She spotted the decaying, flaked skin of their dead hands poking through the wispy cuffs of the rags… Do they have a body?
Lyra took a deep breath and cocked her head, trying to find a set of eyes to make direct contact. They smelt familiar, she couldn't quite put her finger on it. It was like the pungent odour that exuded from the seaweed that washed up on the coast in Weymouth, and she knew she had smelt it before. Wow… and I don't even feel sad! I feel fine!
Lyra took a moment to extract herself from fawning over the personification of misery and death to check on her friends, and urgency raced back into her system. Harry had passed out on the floor while Hermione and Ron tried to sink into the walls, whimpering and suffering terribly. They weren't doing as well.
It happened so fast that Lyra didn't realise he was already on his feet until she heard his voice and something deep inside of her cracked.
"None of us are hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks - leave."
She knew that voice…
The memory was buried beneath years of trauma she didn't even realise she possessed until now. It was like finding a childhood toy after years of neglect, the burst of euphoria took her by surprise and flooded her with the feeling of home. It was warm and layered, it was deep and she couldn't help but think of softness when he spoke.
The Dementors blocking the compartment door barely looked at Remus, their attention was glued to Lyra as though awaiting command. She felt Remus' gaze land on the side of her face and she froze like a deer in headlights. Her mind went blank.
ACT LIKE YOU'RE IN PAIN! QUICKLY! DO SOMETHING?!
Lyra winced and recoiled from the Dementors, practising her acting skills with a half-decent moan and a shudder, but when his burning gaze intensified as though he was trying to see her face she resorted to covering her head and shoving it between her legs.
"Expecto Patronum!"
Lyra only saw the bowed legs of a silvery blue beast made from protective magic jet past her ankles and she slowly sat up, a tiny bit sad to see the Dementors leave so soon.
But out of the corner of her eye, basking in the illuminated trail of Remus' patronus she remembered Harry was having a literal fit and jumped down to help him. She needed to keep busy, she didn't want Remus to look at her.
"I-Is he ok?" Hermione stammered, peeling herself from the corner and grabbing ahold of Crookshanks so she could cuddle something, and Ron helped Lyra lift Harry onto the spare bench. She felt Remus move towards her as he charmed the lights to ignite once more but she kept her head down and checked to see if Harry was still alive.
"He's breathing," Lyra announced, but her anxiety pushed her to add, "Wow, Voldemort should've used Dementors, they were super effective, ey!"
"Lyra!" Hermione scolded.
"He'll be ok, he'll wake up soon," assured Remus, soothing the fretful children as he retrieved his suitcase from the floor and plucked out a handful of chocolate bars, "but in the meantime I need all three of you to eat these."
Lyra chewed on her lip as she realised her moment of privacy was over, and she climbed up from Harry's side to face him.
It would've been a lie to say that he wasn't how she imagined him, she could see the boy from the photograph in her backpack straight away.
Since she had the advantage of knowing how old he was, his many stripes of grey in his shaggy tawny hair were unexpected, and he had collected way more scars since the photos but Lyra kinda thought they suited him. They made him look mysterious, it was so cool. He had the same kind deep eyes, although they were lined with bruise-like shadows now, and his facial hair could've used a fresh trim but it still worked. Shabby chic, I like it.
"Thanks, Professor," Ron broke the awkward silence as Lyra seemed to have lost her voice. She was so lost in staring at Remus that she hadn't realised he was offering out a Chocolate Frog.
Lyra winced and made a smooth recovery.
"Sorry, it's just, I don't like Chocolate Frogs. The whole idea of them being semi-sentient freaks me out," she laughed, "thank you, though." She smiled brightly at him, and her heart lurched when he averted his gaze. Something flashed in Remus' eye for a fraction of a second but he never broke his stride.
He reached into his cloak and pulled out a half bar of Honeydukeschocolate, his personal stash, and he placed it in Lyra's hand.
"A professor always comes prepared, there is always a difficult child," he said politely.
Remus shifted her aside, not even a hint of recognition in his demeanour as he jumped into ultimate teacher mode. Lyra could only watch in dismay as he instructed them to feed Harry chocolate when he eventually woke up, and he whisked off to tend to the rest of the train suffering from the aftermath of the new security guards.
He didn't look at her once, it was like she wasn't even there. Like they were strangers.
"Uh, Professor?" Lyra chirped just before Remus could disappear for good, "I bought you some coffee and food from the trolley, just in case you were feeling a bit… ravenous."
From behind her hand, Hermione was furiously mouthing at her to shut up.
"Don't say it! Lyra, I swear to God!"
Remus couldn't take his eyes off the floor but she noticed his hands clench around the sliding door particularly tightly. His knuckles were pure white.
"Thank you, Miss Black," he muttered more to the corridor than to her, "if you would excuse me…"
Lyra pouted and began to chomp on the Honeydukeschocolate as quickly as her cold hands would allow, wallowing in disbelief.
That wasn't how it was supposed to go! He's pretending that he doesn't know her, he was choosing to distance himself from her already, socially and physically, and once again she had no say in the matter. First Crouch, and now Remus?
"Ah!"
Harry jolted back into consciousness and jumped up, whipping his head around as he hunted down the Dementor. "Where is it? Is it gone? What happened? Where are my glasses?"
Lyra dropped into the seat beside him and sulked, half-heartedly chucking the chocolate bar at him as she continued to mope at the door. She really thought he would say something, even if it was just a tiny acknowledgement that he was once in her life. He couldn't stand the sight of her!
"Professor Lupin says eat up," she passed on the message with an extra bite to her tone, and Harry looked to the others to explain her dip in mood, too fatigued to even ask.
"I think Remus might be less willing to talk than you originally thought," Ron dared to answer, still pale-faced and clammy from the dark encounter that stole every once of cheer from him, and he reached into his pocket to retrieve his trembling pet for a reassuring hug.
"There, there, Scabbers, they're gone now."
Crookshanks set his beady orange eyes on the squirming rat and hissed, wiggling his bottom while Hermione tried her best to hold onto him.
"Crookshanks! NO!"
"So, he acted like he didn't know who you were?" Harry asked Lyra while their friends battled with their feuding pets, and Lyra nodded glumly at him.
"I honestly thought he would hint that he knew something at least, after all these years you'd thought he'd be dying to see us," she mumbled, stuffing down the rest of his chocolate to make herself feel better.
"What was he like?" Harry wondered, and Lyra tried not to tear up.
"Pretty damn awesome…"