Accidentally deleted a chapter while editing, my bad!
"I can't do it."
"Yes you can! Just relax your grip a bit, your pronunciation is spot on but you need to loosen up," Lyra explained patiently as she brandished her wand and spiralled her wrist in a fluid motion, drawing a curly fish hook in the air, "see how easily my wand moves when I hold it like this. Charms are all about fluidity, you barely have to direct the spell because the motion is all flowy and light and it carries through. It's like a dance, feel the rhythm of the charm as it moves you. Lead with your wrist, not your elbow."
Hagrid scratched his beard and watched Lyra closely as she exaggerated her wrist movement and pointed at the Monster Book of Monsters snoozing on his kitchen table. She had been dying to try this spell out since she spotted it on Hagrid's to-do list.
"Accio!"
The hairy book growled itself awake as it flew into Lyra's hand, and Hagrid no longer looked as perplexed as he mimicked her.
"Ah, like this?" He asked, rolling his wrist with much more confidence. He pointed at the heavy Charms textbook Hermione was using.
"Accio!"
The girls gasped and cheered as the book shot out of Hermione's arms flawlessly and Hagrid caught it with a slight bow and a reddening face. He couldn't believe he had finally summoned something, he couldn't speak for a moment.
"Exactly like that! That was perfect, Hagrid," Hermione complimented as she marked a neat tick in the final box on Hagrid's core spells list, "if you perform it like that on the day of your exam then you'll have hit each module criteria, you've officially completed fifth year Charms!"
"And that calls for a celebratory cup of tea, I think we deserve it," Lyra offered Hagrid a high-five, drawing away from stroking her beastly textbook to congratulate him but she regretted it immediately when he almost pushed her bad shoulder out of its socket from his powerful hand slap.
"Smashing! I baked some biscuits last night too, lemme summon them for yeh," Hagrid beamed as he pointed his wand at one of his many kitchen cupboards, "Accio biscuit tin!"
"Now you're just showing off," Lyra teased as she and Hermione sorted out the teapot, smiling as the metal tin container zoomed out of the cupboard above their heads. Hagrid was beside himself, flushing even brighter as he eventually pocketed his wand and fished out his fresh goods without using magic.
"I've highlighted the main sections you'll need to memorise in these two books. It should be simple enough to follow, but the written exam criteria is very vague so be cautious that they might throw a trick question at you," Hermione scooted closer to the table as she sipped her breakfast blend and walked Hagrid through all of the extra resources she prepared, but Lyra was too shattered to pay any attention and she sleepily nursed her cup of Earl Grey in silence. Hermione was in charge of exam theory, she only needed to be there for the practical bits.
After discovering that tutoring wasn't so bad, Lyra thought it would be a fantastic idea for her and Hermione to offer Hagrid their own tutoring services ahead of his OWLs. Of course they weren't studying at OWL-level themselves but they were more than capable to try their hand at it and Lyra was thrilled to read ahead and learn more spells for herself. Hagrid was beyond grateful for their support and he accepted their offer, but to Lyra's disappointment, his only free period was at the crack of dawn now he was a Professor.
The groggy morning sun was barely shining through Hagrid's kitchen window and they had already been there for half an hour, she could still see mist rolling down the hills as though it was before sunrise. Why do old people insist on getting up before the sun?
"Charms was one of me favourite subjects but I'm glad teh have gotten the hard spells outta the way first," Hagrid confessed, still riding his high as he chomped down another gingernut biscuit, "I might need yeh help with Transfiguration next time though, that's still a bit of a muddle in me mind."
"I would have thought you're an expert at Transfiguration from what I've heard," Lyra yawned, tickled by the memory of Harry divulging what happened the day he found out he was a wizard. Hagrid diverted his sheepish gaze, pretending he hadn't heard her. Lyra smirked to herself as she dunked her biscuit into her tea, loosening the brittle edges.
Hermione resorted to Hagrid's messily scribbled objectives list and began to schedule them a brand new timetable for their tutoring sessions. Lyra scoffed at the sight of it and stretched in her chair. She was never going to see her bed again!
At least it's keeping you busy.
Focus on your studies and yourself, this is good for you sweetheart.
"I think I'm gonna have to invest in a larger planner," Lyra commented with a pout, comparing her copy of their tutoring breakfast meet-ups with Percy's school council meetings as well as her regular class timetable and the spaces she made for Oliver's impending Quidditch mandate. Not to mention the Duelling Club — fuuuck…
Penelope hadn't uttered a single word about the Duelling Club yet but Lyra knew her schedule would be just as ruthless as the others. Was she taking on too much?
It's not enough, I can't be left alone.
"If it does clash with any of your other commitments then don't worry, we can rearrange," Hermione assured her, and Hagrid let out a deep whistle when he noticed the pairs' hectic parchment sheets, his raised brows indicating his surprise.
"Are both of yer sure about this? I don't want to distract you from yer studies if yer this busy, 'specially if yeh having teh use yer Time-Turner," he told them but the girls vehemently shook their heads and dismissed his worries.
"It's no bother, honest, studying at OWL-level will help us with our own studies if anything," Lyra assured him as she reorganised her timetables and stuck her most obnoxious glitter stickers in the right places.
"Most of our commitments are in the evening anyways, although some of us more than others," Hermione said pointedly, catching Lyra's eye as Lyra stuck her prettiest stickers onto her Herbology tutoring boxes. They were multicoloured fireworks printed on the tackiest glitter plastic possible and with her added animation spell they were even more heinous. She valued them most of all.
"I dunno what you're talking about," Lyra bit down her smirk to stifle it as she thought of her Herbology tutor, but unfortunately Hagrid noticed.
"Don't feel embarrassed about taking Remedial Herbology, yeh've had a tough couple years and it's only natural that yeh grades slip here and there," he tried to encourage her when he misinterpreted her rare blush.
"I'm not! As a matter of fact I happen to like my Herbology tutoring session, the first one went very well," Lyra said with her head held high, and Hermione couldn't help her small titter.
"I wonder why!" She sang to herself, making Lyra's blush much worse.
Lyra told her friends all about her tutoring session the second she found them in the Gryffindor Tower afterwards. She wasn't sure if it was a part of the tutoring agreement but Cedric concluded their meeting by summoning two plates of food and insisted she stay for dinner. They ran over by an hour and her friends were convinced it was because she did something terrible so to defend her name she had to tell them everything.
Well, almost everything.
She waited until Hermione was alone to elaborate on the totally unimportant detail that was Cedric's appearance. The boys wouldn't have cared and she knew they'd tease her relentlessly if she brought it up. She didn't admit that she may be developing a tiny, unrealistic crush on Cedric though, the stomach flutters were quite triggering and she didn't know how to feel about them yet. Hermione didn't seem to care, she could read Lyra's face as though the words 'I fancy him' were written in her freckles and she teased her as often as she could.
Don't think about that! It's not a crush! We don't do that anymore!
"That's fantastic, Lyra, keep at it," Hagrid broke into a smile that made her eyes prickle, he was genuinely proud of her, "I'll admit I was a bit worried how you were gonna act considering—,"
"We all promised not to talk about last year," Lyra warned him, not bothering to look up from her schedules, but he carried on anyway.
"—considering the news about yer dad was what I was going ter say," Hagrid finished, and Lyra had to meet his eye that time.
The urge, it was undeniable. She couldn't stop it.
"Speaking of my dad, do you have any tips on how I can get Remus— sorry, Professor Lupin to look at me let alone talk to me? Like, sure, I completely understand that it must be hard for him because they were his best friends and all, I'm sorry that happened, but like come on dude. What Sirius did isn't my fault, I can't be bothered to have yet another Dark Arts professor that hates my guts!" She spewed.
"Gilderoy likes you," Hermione objected and Lyra scoffed at her.
"Don't tell me you're still writing to him?" She sighed, but Hermione shrugged.
"I feel sorry for him, he's harmless, and you know why I'm keeping in contact with him," she defended as though they had been through this countless times before and she shifted her hair over her shoulder so she could write without interference.
Lyra discovered over the course of their holiday that Hermione had, in fact, kept in touch with their arrogant ex-teacher turned saint when she caught her sending Lockhart a postcard about their time in the tombs.
Hermione reiterated that his confession to his fraudulent ways was admirable and that he deserved a second chance to become a better man. Especially considering his specific situation that brought him to said realisation. They weren't just swapping letters, Hermione had her reasons.
Lyra softened her pout when she remembered that she was keeping tabs on Gilderoy because he claimed that Lyra raised him from the dead and Hermione couldn't let that preposterous claim go, her intelligence wouldn't let her. She thought it would be a good idea to maintain a relationship with Lockhart so he wouldn't snitch on her and Lyra shivered every time she thought of that particular secret getting out. Of all of her friends, Hermione was the most resolute when it came to Lyra's experiences with dark magic. She took the allegations seriously and put it upon herself to investigate Lockhart's claims that she was the one who saved him from death. If not for Lyra's sake but for the sake of her own innate curiosity.
"It's categorically and metaphysically impossible to bring someone back to life, there is not a shred of research anywhere that suggests it can be done. Not to Gilderoy's standards at least, there's plenty of nasty books detailing reanimated corpses and Inferi but that's it," Hermione repeated time and time again over the summer when the four friends found a moment to themselves, "Gilderoy says he hasn't felt this alive in years, it doesn't make any sense! Maybe I'm looking in the wrong area… it might be worth searching the Restricted Section at school?"
Although she came up empty-handed, Lyra appreciated Hermione's efforts in searching for an answer to this mysterious dark magic she was supposedly producing. Her regret in not involving Hermione in her spooky secret sooner spurred her to bite her tongue whenever Lockhart was mentioned and she plastered a wide smile on her face.
Hermione rolled her eyes and shot her a look that said she was being ridiculous and Lyra courteously accepted it. She guessed she was.
Chill girl, Hermione is doing us a favour.
She's a valuable friend, don't antagonise her. You're the one who's supposed to be conducting research!
Hagrid, who was still reeling over the realisation that Lyra already knew who Remus was, resigned to the fact that he truly couldn't keep anything a secret from the children and slumped on one of his hands, looking defeated.
"'Suppose it was stupid of me ter assume that yer wouldn't find out, wasn't it?" He muttered, and Lyra sat back in her chair comfortably with a satisfying smile.
"Andromeda answers my questions without protest, everyone should take pointers from her. Even Molly tells me bits and pieces when she feels guilty enough. If anyone deserves to know about my past, it's me," she reminded him, "come on then — spill the tea. What's his deal? What should I say to Remus?"
"I would tell yeh, hand on heart I would, but I don't know the full picture m'self," Hagrid admitted, sipping his tea and smacking his lips, "yer parents and Professor Lupin were inseparable, I can't be certain but from what I heard he used ter live with yeh in yer parents' house—"
Lyra's throat swelled with emotion as she choked the squeak that wanted to escape. HE WHAAA—?
"—and just for that, I don' feel right talking on his behalf. It's not up ter me to talk about his business 'cus it's his business, but I will say that I don't see him shooting yeh down if yeh brought it up. He's a good lad, always has bin, and deep down I know he'd want ter talk ter you about yer parents but only when he's ready," Hagrid told her, and Lyra could only hang her head as a response. She was afraid he would say that but she was grateful for his openness regardless.
"What if he's never ready? He's fled every encounter we've had," Lyra exaggerated, crossing her arms and pouting, "he flinches every time he looks at me, and the last time I saw him I—," she hesitated, wondering whether she should snitch on herself, "I was in the middle of winding Snape up so—,"
"Oh fer—! Lyra, please!" Hagrid sobered up from his amusement and frowned at her, turning so he faced her straight on, "You need ter listen ter me when I say that you need ter leave Professor Snape alone this year, it's fer your own good."
"Pfft, as if! I'm thirteen, he's at least in his thirties and I'm being generous there, he should know better than to pick on me first!" Lyra countered, practically laughing at his request, but Hagrid was through with dodging the point.
"He hates yeh because he hated yer father," he explained, causing the girls to gasp, "he hated Harry's dad, he hated their whole friendship group and, yes I can see yer gonna shout back and say it's not an excuse," Lyra had jumped up and opened her mouth to do exactly that in a fit of displaced rage, "but I want yeh ter be the bigger person and ignore him, fer everyone's sake. And I already know you will but make sure yeh pass that onto Harry too. Please."
Lyra and Hermione swapped the same incredulous expression, and Lyra simmered more on the long-awaited explanation as she sunk into her chair again. Remus was a part of the group he hated, did Snape despise him too? He must've. Ugh, he's such a child!
"I think you've just solved my problem with Remus, I've found my conversation opener," Lyra decided to say instead of her original thought to cuss Snape out. "Maybe we can bond over our shared animosity of our beloved Potions Master, surely that will get him talking."
"I wouldn't if I were you, but I know anything I say won't stop yeh," Hagrid sighed and Lyra scoffed at his conclusion.
Duh!
"Our first lesson with Professor Lupin is after the weekend so we can properly prepare what you and Harry are going to say to him without pressuring him. We can try and speak to him after class," Hermione pointed to her schedule, "I do have Arithmancy at the same time so I won't be able to stay behind, but if you could distract the boys so they don't notice I'm gone then I'll be forever in your debt."
"I suppose some prep won't hurt, I need time to think of my Snape anecdotes, and you don't need to keep asking me to help, I've got you," Lyra promised her again as she began rifling through her backpack, "I'm the Queen of diverting attention, Fred and George gave me a few things over the summer that'll cause enough chaos, I'm sure I put the fireworks in here somewhere."
"I can't listen ter this," Hagrid climbed up from the table and pottered around his kitchen, pretending that she was joking so he wouldn't have to punish her, but at the sight of the time on his hand-whittled mantelpiece clock he realised that the school day had officially had started.
"Right, I'm taking yeh back ter the castle, come on."
"Why? We have your class first this morning, we might as well stay here until the bell rings," Lyra rebutted, plonking herself back in one of Hagrid's kitchen chairs and helping herself to more Earl Grey.
"Yeh need breakfast," Hagrid reminded her, but Lyra shrugged her shoulders and cleared her throat. Her early rise this morning had taken the wind out of her sails and she couldn't be bothered to traipse up the hills only to come back down again within the hour.
"Then breakfast you shall receive - Kreacher!"
Pop!
"Errrr," Hagrid's jaw fell open as the Black house elf appeared into existence before him, astounded and quite frankly rather impressed, and he scratched his shaggy head as he looked back at Lyra, "since when did yeh have a blooming house elf?"
"Since like forever, technically I've always had a house elf. Kreacher has always been here, didn't you notice him?" Lyra answered without an ounce of worry that she had misplaced her trust in her professor friend, and she offered Kreacher her closed fist. For the first time, Kreacher didn't leave her hanging — he bumped his knuckles against hers and Lyra's heart burst.
"Technically Mistress Lyra took lawful ownership of Kreacher when Mistress' death was disavowed, when Mistress was instated as head of the Black family," Kreacher recited in a grizzly mutter as he closely inspected the living quarters of the groundskeeper. Today he was sporting a dusty light blue toga wrapped with dark brown leather tassels and a set of hard black sandals, and Lyra began having doubts about his look. Pale blue wasn't his colour, he looked awfully washed out against the bright fabric.
"We reconnected last year, and we've been best buddies ever since," Lyra cheesed her smile and nudged Kreacher, drawing him away from openly turning his nose up at Hagrid's mismatched furniture, "isn't that right?"
Kreacher neglected to answer.
Hagrid was lost for words but he soon found them again once Hermione let slip that Kreacher was the Black family elf. He rambled on and on about how dangerous it was having him around when he was closely linked to her escaped father, but Lyra brushed off his worries and continuously assured him that Kreacher wouldn't betray them to Sirius. Kreacher doubled down on that promise by going off on a rather vulgar tangent about what he wanted to do if he ever saw Sirius again and Lyra smiled to herself when Hagrid gawped at him, stunned that he knew so many swear words.
The remainder of their morning together was nothing short of a battle of hypothetical scenarios, Hagrid only let go of the issue once the bell tolled but Lyra knew if it hadn't he would've marched her and her elf up to the castle and into the headmaster's office.
She knew the only reason Hagrid dropped it was because of the pained look on her face at the thought of losing Kreacher and she parted herself on her back for her dramatics.
"Well that was a rather interesting morning," Hermione exhaled once Hagrid left them in his hut so he could rush off and prepare their lesson, and Lyra dismissed Kreacher before he was spotted.
They left Hagrid's quarters and tried to savour the pale slivers of sunlight straining through the splitting grey clouds. The rain finally decided to lessen but the chill of the ever-present Dementors in the highlands remained. Their whispers blended with the rustling of the trees, it was faint but Lyra swore she could hear the guards calling her name.
"Mhmm, and one I've been waiting for quite frankly. I freaking knew Snape had it out for me the second I gatecrashed his lesson in first year, I knew it!" Lyra puffed out her frustration and growled at the long grass lining Hagrid's front path as she aimed a kick at them. "Dickhead!"
"It does explain a lot, and Hagrid's right, you should be the bigger person," Hermione ignored her swear and repeated the reasonable request, giving Lyra the benefit of reevaluating her actions before she did anything. "Seeing you rise above it all may make him rethink his opinion of you."
"It won't, he won't change his mind about me no matter what I do or how I treat him. I've given Snape enough of a reason to hate me of my own merit now. And I don't want to make amends with him or anything either. Why should I? He's not my head of house, he has nothing to do with me," Lyra scoffed as she took a perch on Hagrid's gate, watching the dots of students emerging from the courtyard and smiling when she recognised the black and ginger figures up ahead. "And you know I won't be alone in thinking that."
"Honestly do whatever you want, you and Harry will regardless, but I personally think it would wind Snape up more if you act like you know why he's berating you and you're better than him. Play to his pride, and think about our house points when doing so please. It would be nice to win the House Cup for once," Hermione suggested, juggling with her textbooks as she tried to find her own copy of Monsters Book of Monsters in her bag.
Lyra recited the spell she learnt earlier that morning and the fuzzy book shot out of her bursting bag, purring and stretching its feelers. Hermione thanked her with a promising smile.
"Sure, I'll think about it," Lyra promised, "I suppose the thirteen-year-olds will have to be the mature ones."
It didn't take long for Lyra to relay their arduous morning when Harry and Ron found them, and as she expected the pair were confounded by the news of Snape's grudge.
Harry was quick to flare up and he almost turned on his heel to march back up to the castle to confront Snape out of sheer disbelief, but once Hermione repeated her stance on how they should properly deal with the revelation and swiftly changed the subject, Harry quickly simmered down.
"You told Hagrid about Kreacher? Are you mad?!" Ron exclaimed, annoyed that their secret snack summoner had been foiled, "what if he tells on you?"
"He won't, and even if he does that won't change anything," Lyra assured him, "no one can stop me from using Kreacher."
"I'm sure they'll find a way," Harry warned her, "especially if Kreacher also happens to belong to the mass murderer that's after us. What if he can find a way to use him without alerting you?"
"He can't, I've disowned Sirius. Kreacher cannot be commanded by him anymore. Don't worry Ron, your midnight snacks are safe," Lyra justified her thinking, and her friends commended her on her smart idea.
Lyra then made a mental note to disown Sirius as soon as possible. Why haven't I done that already?
A few more of their classmates arrived shortly after, the pairs and trios of third years bounded down the slippery hill trying not to land face first at the bottom. The four Gryffindors hurried to follow their housemates towards the paddocks nearby as they continued to mutter between themselves about their expectations for their lesson.
Cast in shade under an old pine tree, the wooden blockades marked three enclosures of varying sides, and judging by the overturned dirt at the posts' feet, they hadn't been there long. The backs of the paddocks were lost to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and Lyra hazarded a guess that Hagrid had purposely hidden them from view. An acute tingling began in the tips of her fingers and she bit her growing smile before she became too giddy. She had been waiting for this class since her first day at Hogwarts, what fabulous beast had Hagrid picked for them to study first? Please be Mooncalfs, pleaaase! I've been good!
The casual chatter amongst their classmates drew the four Gryffindors closer, and Lyra immediately caught eyes with Susan across the paddock. The Hufflepuff brightened at the contact and she politely shuffled over with her friends in tow to say hello to the Gryffindors. Lyra hadn't seen Susan in any of her classes yet and the effort she made to offer Lyra her sympathy was appreciated greatly.
"I couldn't believe it when my aunt told me, I thought about writing you a letter but I didn't want to overwhelm you," she admitted shyly, and Lyra couldn't help but laugh.
It was such a sweet consideration that she didn't mind her curiosity, the concern in the other Hufflepuffs faces surrounding Susan was enough to let her know they were being genuine. Plus, with Susan's connections to her aunt, it was possible she knew about the secret riot Tonks mentioned or maybe something more. Do I dare…?
"I'm really sorry, you must be scared out of your wit," said Hannah, playing with her blonde braid to keep her hands from shaking.
"I think you should sue The Daily Prophet for defamation personally, you could get them on that public advice column dedicated to trashing your dad and your family they've started," Ernie added in a hush as though wary that journalists could be listening in somehow, and Lyra had to blink a few times to process that tidbit of information. She hadn't paid much attention to anything further than the first three pages, anything of importance would've shown up at the front.
Ahhh, that explains the hate mail.
"Thanks for the advice," Lyra said in earnest, hoping they were used to her dry tone to know she meant it, "but it's fine, I don't really care about the Prophet or what anyone else has been saying about it all."
"Yeah I wouldn't if I were you, we had Transfiguration with the Slytherins yesterday and Malfoy wouldn't shut up about your dad, or you, or even Harry like usual. It's exhausting, I feel like we know more about you guys than I do myself," Ernie told her as further confirmation, and she tried not to laugh when Ron's ears perked up as though he were a beagle hound, catching onto Draco's scent.
"By the way, how have you been feeling, Harry?" Susan asked Harry kindly, her eyes shining with worry as she and the other Hufflepuffs turned to him as though he were a patient sequestered inside a hospital, eyes gleaming with the sort of sympathy that Lyra hated. At least when they looked at her she saw flickers of fear, Harry received flickers of pity.
Lyra fought the urge to cackle as Harry's cheeks heated up from the continued mention of his fainting fit, but the threat of his elbow jabbing her ribs kept her lips glued shut.
"I promise I'm fine, I would've thought you guys knew by now not to listen to a word Malfoy says. I wasn't convulsing on the floor having a fit, I just fainted a little," he said, hoping he wasn't being too abrasive but the Hufflepuffs took no offence to his deep-set frown.
"I think I passed out for a few seconds too, the Dementors are on another level. They're bloody terrifying," Justin shivered, but Susan blushed as she interjected.
"I wasn't talking about the Dementors, I was talking about the Grim," she clarified, and the badgers' faces— except Justin who looked as stumped as Lyra — paled significantly. Hermione let out a harsh laugh and shook her head, already disagreeing with whatever had spooked them all. Even Ron looked ghastly and Lyra began to ponder.
"The what?" asked Justin.
"Let's see, Grim… the Grim… is it an animal?" Lyra asked to lighten the mood.
"Kinda," Hannah answered, wanting to play her game.
"Is it a mythical creature, is it actually real? Like a Boogeyman? It sounds like it could be fae," Lyra tried once more before anyone could cut her off. In the stubbornness of wanting to win the guessing game she neglected to notice that the rest of their classmates were ambling towards them, their leader hunched slightly as he took larger strides. As always, she heard him before she saw him.
"Oi!"
"Is the Grim worse than Draco?" Lyra guessed, ignoring the blonde stalking towards her.
"I would say they both cause me the same level of anxiety," Susan answered honestly, looking over Lyra's shoulder with her bushy brows narrowed.
"It's just some stupid dog that appeared in my tea leaves, let's drop this," Harry panicked before Draco could get within earshot of their conversation, but Lyra shot him a quick look as though silently asking him if he was ok. Harry never mentioned anything bad happening in their Divination class, none of them did.
"Black! I wanna talk to you!" Draco bellowed despite him being within a couple feet of her now, and Lyra turned on her heel to face the wrath of the ghoul. She had let him stew for a few days, he couldn't be any worse.
"Listen, your parents deserved every word I shouted at them," she prefaced, raising her hands innocently, "that has nothing to do with you, although if you were standing there with them you would've applied to you too."
Draco stopped snarling and tilted his head, baffled by her defence.
"What? What did you say to my parents?"
Lyra's heart sank and she wished everyone watching them would turn away, feeling suddenly shy.
Uh oh.
"Nothing!" She smiled and added a nervous laugh without meaning to. "Nothing whatsoever! What, er, what did you want to talk about, dearest cousin?"
The menacing delight returned to Draco's pointed face and his cold eyes darted to Harry for a fraction of a second before his lips started to curl. It was like he heard the wobbles of fear in the gaps of her words and Lyra rushed to wipe the sweat from her hands.
Oh no… oh no oh no oh no oh no—! HE KNOWS!
"I'm talking about last year—,"
FUCK!
"Eh-hem! Class!"
The booming of Hagrid's voice tore across the limited tension Draco had built up and the class turned to see Hagrid strolling out of the Forbidden Forest away from the paddocks, anticipation glittering his pink face like stars as he began their first Care for Magical Creatures lesson.
Lyra whimpered a little at the relief of having everyone's attention pushed off of her so she snatched Draco's wrist and dragged him to the back of their class so they could argue in peace. She expected him to rip his arm out of her grip and exclaim for her to get off— but he accepted her grasp without a fight, without a single word or an offensive whisper.
That somehow made her feel worse.
"I need yer teh grab yeh Monster Book of Monsters, yer wands, and that's all — leave yeh bags here, and robes if necessary, I don't want any of yeh tripping over or getting tangled in the shrubs on the way," Hagrid called out, discarding his own cloak and rolling up his now-wrinkled shirt sleeves. "The sun'll be out at any second and I don't want yeh teh miss it, come on."
The only eyes that remained on the pair at the very back were her friends and Draco's usual gang — Lyra felt the weight of them but she fiercely ignored them to focus on Draco.
If he knew about what really went down last year, if Lucius actually told his son that Lyra was the reason half the school almost died and Lord Voldemort was resurrected at her hand… Then the whole of Hogwarts would know by their last period.
Kreacher said they don't know about Tom, chill out.
"What do you want?" Lyra hissed under her breath. She tugged on his arm and forced him to duck before Hagrid noticed them together. She knew she would be ripped apart from him in seconds and Draco surprisingly copied her motion.
His smirk was distasteful, smug was nowhere near the correct word to describe his slimy features.
"So it's true, then?"
"What's true? Don't be cryptic, dickhead, spit it out," Lyra snarled out the side of her mouth, silver eyes pinned on Hagrid's turnt back. Half of the class slowly began to amble off past the paddocks after their professor but a handful remained, awfully aware of the dangerousness of leaving Draco and Lyra alone. A fight would break out and no one wanted to miss the explosion.
"You know what I'm talking about," Draco said, watching her face for any tells that she was playing dumb. "You know that I know what really happened last year."
Lyra cocked a brow. She didn't believe him. If he knew about Tom, he would've said so by now.
"Then tell me, what happened last year Draco?"
Draco's gaze flicked to those watching them as though wondering whether Harry was going to storm over and intervene, but Draco shrugged and turned slightly as if he were protective of their quiet conversation. His voice dropped to a light whisper, a mere wisp of wind that blended in with the morning breeze playing with the hems of their robes.
"The book you stole from my father, it wasn't an ordinary reading book, was it?" He breathed, and Lyra fought the whining filling her chest. "That book led to you attempting murder on everyone here. You set Hagrid up, you're the reason he was sent to Azkaban." His icy eyes glowed. He was loving this. "Why you decided to confess to it all, I don't know, because if I were you I wouldn't have stopped. You fumbled possibly the greatest opportunity ever to make this school decent — what happened? Why did you change your mind?"
Lyra recoiled and dropped her tentative pout. She could feel the anger rising in her veins, pumping faster after every word.
Draco was impressed by what she had done — he was physically starting to grin as he carried on accusing her of enjoying the terror she unleashed onto Hogwarts.
"Father was right — you," Draco allowed his grin to stretch, "are just like us."
Lyra pocketed her fist to stop herself from breaking his nose and she focused on the one positive note. Tom remained unmentioned. He didn't know what kind of book was in her possession all year, none of them did. He must've guessed it was just a Dark Arts book that instructed her how to tame a basilisk or directions to where the infamous Chamber of Secrets was located, not a container of the Dark Lord's soul.
"First of all, that's not what happened," Lyra began, remaining as calm as her tight chest would allow, "your Daddy lied to you."
"No he didn't," Draco spat, his top lip rippling, "I heard what I heard, I know you're responsible for the basilisk. Was it all just a stunt to put Potter in the papers again? Or are you two up to something that you don't want anyone else to know?"
Conscious of keeping their presence invisible, they slowly joined the line leading into the Forbidden Forest, their friends only a few steps ahead as though watching over them. Lyra tried to yank her hand away from him but he caught her just in time, forcing her to his side as though she was his walking partner.
"You heard what you heard?" Lyra repeated with a soft cackle, "so they didn't even tell you? What, was naughty little Draco eavesdropping?"
His cheeks burned pink.
"No!"
That was a yes.
"You're not as sly as you think you are, seriously," Lyra tutted, almost feeling sorry for his abysmal sleuth skills, "it's kinda sad that your parents don't trust or value your input in any way, I guess you dismissing your house-elf was the last straw that broke their trust. What exactly did you hear for you to jump to these wild conclusions?"
Her sharpness seemed to nip at Draco as he forced them to stop for a second and glowered, sensitive to the truth that she was jabbing his way. This wasn't how he envisioned their discussion going and his resentment towards her detection was vibrant in his eyes. The more she wound him up, the more information he would accidentally spill.
"They know it was your fault that Dobby was dismissed," he seethed, accidentally raising his voice, but he rectified his volume and continued to walk alongside her, "I can tell by the fact you haven't sulked off yet that I'm close to the truth so stop trying to act all innocent, it's not working. Father said you were extraordinarily lucky that you weren't expelled, that Dumbledore turned a blind eye to the dark magic you produced…" Draco's eyes narrowed into slits, like a calculating feline eyeing up his next meal.
"…I know who you really are, Black, and I think it's time you give up this annoying facade you've been putting on. At least in front of me because it's not working, not anymore. We're more alike than you want to admit and it would do you some good if you stop acting like you're above everyone else."
Lyra wanted to laugh. Truly, that was the dumbest thing he could've said to her, but her gut wrung itself when he carried on.
"Are you pretending to be Potter's friend? At least, that's what the ghosts have been saying but I'm not sure they're right about that. I know you're close to him, but for what reason… I don't know."
Lyra's face was drained of all colour. She could feel every drop of Earl Grey in her stomach bubbling as though she was going to be sick.
The ghosts? Which ghosts? Surely not Nick…
Draco's eyes lit up at the sight of her haunted lour and he tightened his grip, forcing her to stop on the forest path.
"Is that true?" He whispered, "you're not denying it."
"It's not true. Why are you doing this?" Lyra whispered, trying not to let her lip wobble. Her mind was racing to come up with an answer that didn't make her feel like collapsing. Nick promised the other ghosts wouldn't talk about her, about what happened. He promised…
"Because if my father, the Bloody Baron, and The Daily Prophet's public forum all believe that you are not what you seem — that you're just as manipulative and twisted as your father — then I believe it is in your best interest to be civil with me. I want you to consider me as an ally when the time comes, and if you even think about attacking me again I won't hesitate to let the whole school know the daughter of a killer has been caught dabbling in some very suspicious dark magic," he hissed between lips that refused to move, and Lyra knew that her friends eavesdropping ahead wouldn't have picked up on his soft tone. She lost all feeling in her legs, if Draco hadn't been gripping her arm so hard she would've fallen for sure.
Lyra knew that if she were to extract her fists from her pocket then she would likely end up losing Gryffindor a hell of a lot of house points as well as confirming Draco's preposterous statements. But she couldn't open her mouth to object either, her voice had died in her throat.
The ghosts have been talking about me — to fucking Draco of all people?! What had been said? Nick never went into detail about the extent of the other ghosts' dislike of her, he didn't think it was important, but now she wished she hounded him for every piece of intel he had. He swore that her secret was safe, and he was wrong!
Yes! GO AND INTERROGATE HIM! Why won't you acknowledge your gifts, girl? Hermione's doing more work than you!
You need to find out why, Lyra, please… you need to start now. Ask questions. Research ba—
A sting as sharp as a hex blinded her but she blinked hard and rearranged her face, pretending her heart wasn't pounding. Her Magical Creatures class could wait, Hagrid would understand.
"I knew it," sighed Draco, slipping his hands into his pocket with a more familiar smarmy smirk as realised he had won, "ah, cuz, you really thought you could hide your true self from me. Seriously, how are you not in Slytherin?"
That remark stung the most.
"Stop talking shit, Draco, you don't know anything. You're just as delusional as your parents," Lyra snarled and took a menacing step towards him, begging for him to make the first move as she forced his arm away, "I suggest you keep that load of bullshit to yourself before you make a huge mistake. You don't know what or who you're dealing with here and I don't want you to hurt yourself, cuz. Do not play with fire, because you will get burned."
The flash of worry in his eyes gave her the smallest of satisfaction but she knew it wouldn't last. Draco wasn't smart, he was going to tell everyone about her dark magic for sure. The truth would be out by their first break time now, but she needed to speak to the spirits that despised her before she could do any damage control amongst her peers. She hoped her friends would try and rectify any of the rumours while she was gone, but somehow she knew their efforts would be futile.
Ghosts, Lyra! Go and speak to the ghosts!
NOW!
"Fuck this, I've got more important stuff to do – thanks a lot Draco," she spat at him, turning on her heel and storming out of the Forbidden Forest before Hagrid noticed her disappearance. She heard her name being called and she yelled that she'd catch up with them later, refusing to make eye contact in case Draco saw her trembling bottom lip as a sign of weakness.
The first ghost she found was a silent monk who looked petrified as she marched towards him, fighting the stitch in her side. He was lingering in the staircase hall, looking downtrodden at the muttering portraits on the wall, but he froze when she waved at him to stop.
"Hi, um, sorry I don't know your name, but do you know where Nicholas is?" She asked out of breath, but the monk vanished into the wall behind him before she finished her sentence. Lyra blinked at his abruptness and scoffed, her anger rising faster than she could control. She didn't have time for this.
"You called, Miss Black?"
His crackling voice caused her to jump and Lyra turned to see Headless Nick emerge from a nearby closed doorway at the peak of her staircase, his bushy brows piqued. How did he—?
"I thought you said the other ghosts here weren't going to talk about last year?" Lyra demanded as she stormed up to him, forgetting her manners, "I just spoke to Draco and he said the Bloody Baron told him I'm a threat to the school! He said I've been playing with the Dark Arts?!"
All whimsy dropped from Nick's face and he floated closer, visibly tongue-tied.
"Mr Malfoy said this?" He murmured, moustache twitching. "Hmm…"
"Yes! He's threatening to tell the whole school! What the hell, Nick?!" Lyra whined, "you've got to help me!"
"Have you done any research over the summer about what occurred last term? About your special… talent?" Nicholas wondered, his tone indicating his nervous disposition towards the matter, and Lyra couldn't hide her blush.
"I don't know where to start? And Hermione's reached a dead end — it's impossible to raise the dead and no one has ever so much as touched a ghost before let alone killed one, there's nothing to research." She defended her actions, but Nicholas looked sorely disappointed as he played with the ruffled collar keeping his head stable.
"Miss Black, I can't say anything. I told you it's against the rules, you need to work it out for yourself," he repeated, casting an anxious look around the hall in case someone was listening. "What do you know of your gifts already?"
"I know that they're a pain in the arse, avoiding ghosts that appear out of nowhere is extremely difficult you know," she huffed, massaging the bridge of her nose in an attempt to calm down. Nick's mysterious way of speaking did absolutely nothing for her nerves. Draco could've told the whole class by now, she was running out of time.
"What else?" urged Nick.
"Um, Thestrals seem to like me more than the average person according to Voldemort, and then there's the Dementors…" she muttered more to herself than to Nick as she combed through her feeble memories.
"Dementors?" Nick didn't like the sound of that and a deep line creased his brow, "What of the Dementors?"
"When they boarded the train, I felt nothing," Lyra explained, "I wasn't affected by them, and when they were right in front of me they sort of… waited for my instruction. It was like I could hear them, like they had always been there in the far corner of my mind — waiting…"
"My word…" Nicholas' voice was grave but he cleared it and tried to wipe the calamity from his face. Lyra regretted saying anything at all as she tried to catch his eye. He was quick to divert, like the coldness she expressed was contagious.
"Nicholas, what's wrong with me? Why don't the other ghosts like me?" Lyra whispered, too afraid to acknowledge the tears stinging her eyes. The crack in her voice broke whatever thought was plaguing Nick and he dared to grasp her shoulders in warning. Ice from his breath rushed to soothe the heat of her cheeks, the temporary chill helped significantly.
"It is simply in the nature of the other spirits to be wary of you. Do not fret, Miss Black, I will try to the best of my ability to point you in the right direction but you must understand that I cannot tell you anything," he told her softly, but the slight bulging of his eyes hinted that she truly needed to listen. "Find the link and work back from there, only then can you discover the extent of your… range. I may know of someone who would be of use to you and your research, but due to the sensitive nature of your predicament you must wait until they approach you."
Lyra closed her mouth and blinked, doubting whether her ears were working.
"You know someone who can help?" She croaked.
"Potentially, it's a stab in the dark… I've heard a whisper or two over my many centuries here," admitted Nicholas, but as though the idea of the person caused him physical pain he flinched and massaged his frayed neck. Something was hurting him too, they didn't want her to receive help.
"Thank you. Seriously, thank you so much," Lyra heaved, her tight chest loosening somewhat, "but I still don't know what to do about Draco, I need him to keep his mouth shut. I don't know what he's going to say to everyone or what details he even knows and if it gets out then—,"
"Ah, no need to panic about Mr Malfoy," Nick lightened up and flashed her a charming smile, "I believe I have the perfect remedy for that little problem, but I will only agree to deal with him only if you promise me that you will at least try to investigate the source of your abnormal abilities, yes? I cannot keep covering for you, this is the last time. The ghosts of Hogwarts are stubborn, I can only do so much. And stay away from the Dementors, I especially do not like the sound of them being drawn to you. If you could please keep them out of the castle and grounds I would be ever so grateful."
"Yeah, deal," Lyra agreed, not caring what she was agreeing to, as long as she had some help she'd gladly agree to anything, "whatever you have to do to silence him — do it now!"
As though her words were the key to unlocking Nicholas's true capabilities, he plucked his head from his shoulders and disappeared into the wall once more without a word, leaving Lyra to her thoughts. She could only wonder what on earth he planned on doing to prevent the inevitable, and it took all of her willpower not to run back down to her lesson to find out.
Skive class, go to the library.
You need to start now, Lyra. Use your head and look in sections you'd least expect to find—
"Ow!" It was the sharpest headache yet, it felt as though someone had stabbed her through the eye.
"Fine! I'm going! Jeeez, if you can't help me then stop hurting me!" She exclaimed to no one in particular but it felt good to fight back against whatever was looming near.
She didn't want to acknowledge the strange feelings or the echoes in her head that came from nowhere but she knew that was a fool's game. Ignoring the problem and hoping it would go away on its own wasn't working, it never worked and she was an idiot for thinking otherwise.
Good, you're learning.
You need to work it out before anyone else does — before Quirrell does. And you need to thank Hermione for using her brain, Lockhart is still a wild card and it would be stupid not to keep tabs on him.
Lyra concentrated on the voices rather than her surroundings, she didn't realise she had reached the library until she heard Madam Pince's pointed cough. The librarian looked her up and down but Lyra flashed her a pretty smile as she held up a scrap of parchment, pretending it was a hall pass. Thankfully a group somewhere deep in the library laughed a little too loudly at the right moment and Lyra ran off the second Pince's back was turned.
She has to work this out for herself, it's how it was written and that's how it must always play out. I couldn't help you, remember? You managed just fine figuring it out by yourself, and not to mention you had people–
Yeah, yeah, alright! Look where that got us!
Her streams of consciousness always said the strangest words, and most of the time they never made sense.
It was like her brain was playing host to two other… things? She didn't know how to describe them. The echoes of something else were trapped inside of her mind, or rather inside her. She couldn't pinpoint exactly where the echoes came from, and she knew they had always been there although she couldn't explain that either. She always assumed her brain was wired differently than everyone else but now she wasn't so sure.
Had it been someone else the whole time?
Who are you?
…
…
Silence.
Lyra had never heard such quietness in her brain before, she could almost hear her neurons communicating between each other, she could hear every pulse of her heart keeping her alive.
She didn't like it. She needed the voices, she craved the chaos. She couldn't be trusted with her innermost thoughts anymore.
Ok, so you can't tell me who you are, yet another mysterious rule. I need to write this down.
Good girl—
Lyra flinched as she took a seat in an empty writing nook and glared at the table, irked by the deep repulsion those two words brought.
Don't say that.
I know, I'm sorry sweetheart.
Lyra ignored the echoes and channelled her determination into her private investigation work. It was daunting without Hermione there next to her but she glanced up from her blank notebook page and took in the vastness of the library around her. The bookshelves stretched for what felt like miles on ancient wooden plinths, there were hundreds of volumes on every subject she could think of — and that didn't even include the Restricted Section or any of the hidden book chambers deep within the school that she imagined only Dumbledore knew about. There were too many, it'll take her decades to read them all.
The mystery surrounding her particular gifts was smoke slipping through her fingers. The clues she had were sparse if not completely useless.
For example the echoes told her to look where she'd least expect… what? Find the link between ghosts, Thestrals, and Dementors — surely it wasn't as simple as death? Voldemort told her once before, Dementors do not deal in death. But was that a lie? Was the link just death? And if it was, what good did that do her? Now what?
Lyra cupped her face and pressed her fingers into her eyelids, hoping the popping stars that appeared would be of use to her.
Death, death, it always leads back to death.
Nicholas told her that those who possessed a beating heart couldn't access his realm… The spiritual realm? Was Purgatory real? Or was their realm something entirely different, something her silly mortal brain couldn't perceive?
Her abilities were old, older than old — they were incomprehensibly ancient. Death was a concept when concepts were first invented, as soon as there was life there was death, stalking close behind and biding their time, and from what Lyra had gathered from her trip to Egypt the concept of magic rivalled life and death in age. The range of her research would have to cover everything that ever was — yet another dead end!
The ambiance of the library evaporated as Lyra fell deeper into her subconscious to desperately search for an inkling of a clue. There must be a trace of this ancient dark magic somewhere in her psyche?
What's the very first thing you remember? What's your first memory?
That's risky… you remember the girl's childhood as well as I do, that will do her no good.
And yet we do not remember what happened the night you were— ow! The incident that caused us both to— Urgh! I'm sorry, I'll stop.
Each attempt to echo one of the voice's monologues ended with another twinge against Lyra's skull but she batted it away, now used to the pain.
I haven't always heard you, but you've been inside of me my whole life?
The question rolled around in the silent space filling her brain until—
Only since that particular night…The echo paused as though anticipating more stabs but it continued when they remained unscathed. We have been with you every second of every day since. We tried to communicate with you but it wasn't until that day when you were taken through that trapdoor that we finally broke through to you. And when you encountered Riddle's soul in that book we couldn't stop you… we tried to warn you sweetheart, but we were forbidden by an even darker force than us…
Lyra emerged from the darkness of her hands and picked up her gel pen, galvanised by the tidbits that resonated in her mind as she jotted them down. She expected to recoil at the idea of her being a dark force, but strangely she knew it was fitting.
You both knew Riddle? You're… human?
The silence was softer this time, and Lyra's fingers cramped as she scribbled down their answer. The softness meant she was correct.
Since that night… What night? The same night that my mother was murdered? When Harry defeated Riddle for the first time?
Another soft silence greeted her, and Lyra wrote as fast as she could. Her second birthday was more eventful than she first thought, what else occurred on that fateful day?
Lyra tapped her pen against her chin in thought, straining her memory for further intel like dusty corners she had yet to sweep. She didn't like thinking about the incident that set her life on this path of mystery and trauma. Her body physically recoiled anytime she thought about her mother's death but now she knew she had no choice but to face it.
Everyone says I was presumed dead because my body wasn't found at my house, they only found Mum… but both of you were there too? When Sirius…? Lyra didn't dare repeat the atrocities, her brain roommates already knew her question.
We cannot remember specifics, it is a curse. All we know is that Riddle was the cause of all of this.
The process was traumatising… the agony, too much… we're sorry we can't help you.
Her anger was slow to build but she felt it pump through her veins like electricity shooting through wires.
My father did this to us — whatever this is— to appease Riddle.
It didn't take her long to jump to conclusions, and the echoes were keen to agree.
Possibly.
We're not sure, but we do know that Riddle did not work alone. There were more people involved… I can almost feel what we felt that day, the souls that lingered near…
Souls.
That particular word stuck out like red paint on a night sky background, flashing for attention like a lonesome sailor lost at sea. It was a face of familiarity in a space full of foreign bodies and Lyra knew it meant something more. Souls… It was like that word was made specifically for her.
…
…
Souls, Lyra repeated like a mantra, trying to unearth that something more like the word was its undoing. That was her sensitivity, it was her supernatural sense that others didn't possess. Of course! That was how she found him after all, it was Tom's soul she could feel that day in Malfoy Manor calling out for her. And ghosts were supposedly the remainder of a person's soul, the last essence of life that wandered around the mortal plane in search of their final purpose. Souls that lingered in fear of death.
"Souls… and death," Lyra whispered to herself as she scrambled through the gruesome books once more.
Kreacher told her a thing or two about souls, when he taught her about Horcruxes — a blush rose in her cheeks — and she now felt foolish for not connecting the dots before. Soul magic was dangerous, many considered meddling with one's soul as the darkest form of magic found on earth, and Kreacher made it crystal clear that together she and Tom produced some of the darkest magic he had ever witnessed.
Go on baby girl! You're on the right track.
Yes! Keep searching your memories, please keep going.
The echoes gave her a boost of courage she didn't expect, she appreciated the warm words of motivation as she flicked through the worn pages scanning the lines for the word that now meant so much more to her.
All the dark creatures guides failed her. She rushed to find something more substantial than the flimsy two lines on the page dedicated to Dementors – the only mention of souls in the entirety of the creature section — but she couldn't find anything. She already knew Dementors syphoned souls from supernatural beings and left them to rot in their own shell of a body. It was their own unique form of murder, but that was it. No investigation had been conducted to find out where the souls went, no other creature could do what they do, and no one survived long enough in the company of a Dementor to write their findings down.
You could.
None of our kind have survived long enough to draw attention from the Dementors before… those who came before us… they never made it past ten years…
No one except us three and the First…
A warmth so deep that Lyra hardly felt it rippled within. She closed her eyes and saw a room she hadn't thought about in some time.
A room draped in darkness except for the rich golden mirror atop the stone dais miles below the school, its gilded case alive from the flames of torches that weren't there. The nine cloaked figures circled her and the first man she brought back to life.
Lyra choked on her breath and emerged from the blackness of her arms once more. Quirrell wasn't unconscious – Quirrell died.
That's what he was talking about?
The silence was satisfying and her chest hardened at the thought. Quirrell died and she brought him back to life. And he knew what she'd done. Just like Lockhart.
Yes!
Now do you see why you need to keep an eye on Lockhart? He shows signs of being a Follower but—
Lyra gasped along with the echoes as another bolt of pain scorched her head.
What does that mean, a Follower? What else could he be? Is Quirrell a Follower too?
Lyra's new triad of questions pushed the echoes too far and a thick, building silence answered back. They couldn't tell her, but instead of pouting in disappointment Lyra scribbled down her queries in her notebook. She heard the echoes talk of Followers before but her memory was appalling. Her brushes with Tom left her mental health in a piss poor state, Danielle assured her that memory problems were common for people dealing with the issues she had been diagnosed with.
Half an hour had passed by the time Lyra had returned to her table with a whole new topic of books to flick through. She clung onto the word Follower as she stripped the shelves bare of any book that could in any way be related to cults or religions, and the silence that filled her head pointed her in the right direction when she nosed around the international section.
After losing her place for a fifth time in a badly-translated document about a savage Scandinavian blood cult who believed in skinning themselves in service of the God of Death, she shoved her headphones on and loaded up the first CD she found rattling in her bag.
The thudding of Depeche Mode helped keep her focused as she read about the violent rituals the Scandinavians used to perform in the early sixth century, a time when wizards, giants, and fairies alike believed in old gods and all-powerful deities beyond their reach. It was utterly fascinating and she plastered sticky tabs along the pages with Hermione in mind, wondering whether she could stomach the blood-chilling drawings of one of their many rituals.
'The Sjelespisers are an example of the type of death-centric communities that exist all over the world. Unlike the Ükhliin Ür of Mongolia who did not appear until 1699 (see Erlik' Most Faithful, B. Bolormaa, 1836) evidence points to most of the known Death worship groups being established as early as the fifth century. Unfortunately, all information regarding the life and practices of the majority of contemporary Death Cults are prohibited to the public. These Death Cults, a popularised term coined in the 1500s by the Muggles during the age of the famous Witch-Hunts, are strictly forbidden from sharing any details of each cult with non-cult members.
Some historians believe these rules have been enforced out of shame of the rest of the world judging them for their inhumans and unsociable methods of worship (see The Secret Angels of Death: Blood cults and the Dark Underbelly of Muggle influences, D. Slater, 1919), but others believe they are protecting themselves and the valuable knowledge they have been gifted from Death itself (see Custos Mortis, S. Azeri, 1970)—'
Lyra paused on the citation without meaning to and she ran her finger along the ink. Something was purring within her and an acute buzz pricked her fingertip. The silence in her head was practically deafening, they were on the brink of saying something they couldn't.
Custos Mortis, S. Azeri.
Lyra repeated as she quickly jotted down the title and author, wondering whether the library held a copy. It's by far the most recent reference in this book… I wonder–?
Suddenly a waving shadow encapsulated her table, pulling her out of her research bubble and back into the real world where she had responsibilities and consequences. A sweaty-looking Ron appeared in the archway of her alcove, gangly and pale against the warm light bathing her nook. In his hand was the magical map that she had handed to the twins a few days prior and she nodded at the chair opposite her, not bothering to say a word as she pulled off her headphones.
"You're telling me you skipped class to study?" he questioned as he flopped into the seat and wiped the droplets rolling down his face, but his eyebrows shot towards his hairline when he noticed the book covers, "...what the hell are you reading?"
"Oh nothing, just trying to figure out if I'm the only weirdo in the world who can bring people back from the dead, no big deal," she said as though they were swapping comments on the weather. "Where are the others?"
"Harrys getting told off by Hagrid for arguing with Malfoy, and Hermione is—," but Ron gawked at the alcove archway, thoroughly confused, "what the—? She was literally right behind me!"
Lyra swiped the magical map from Ron's grip before he noticed Hermione's footsteps had miraculously appeared on the other side of the castle and distracted him with more questions.
"How was Hagrid's lesson?"
"Forget Hagrid's lesson – what happened? What did Malfoy say to you?" Ron cut her off, giving her a look that suggested he was up to beating Draco's arse if she asked him to.
"He knows that I'm responsible for what happened last year and he threatened to tell the whole school unless I stop hitting him and consider him as an ally when the time comes... whatever that means," Lyra snorted, amused as she replayed their conversation. "I think he thinks I'm evil."
Ron bit his lip and tried not to smile. "I mean…?" He glanced at the textbooks and pulled a face.
"Hey!" Lyra laughed and threw her pen at him, "you know I'm sensitive about my potential evilness, quit it!"
"You're not evil," he rolled his eyes and continued to poke at her, "but you are pretty scary sometimes."
"I'll take scary over evil any day of the week," she huffed and laid her head on her open book, pouting at the bloody picture a few inches from her nose. "Apparently the ghosts have been gossiping about me too, the Bloody Baron has been spreading a rumour that I'm only friends with Harry for some secret evil plot, like I'm trying to ruin his life or whatever. As if I need them whispering behind my back, someone else is going to overhear them."
"I thought you said that Nick had taken care of the ghosts for you?"
"Yeah I thought so too, I had to go and shout at him a bit so he would actually help me. He promised he'd try and combat the rumour but…" she trailed off, not knowing what to say. It was hopeless, everyone was bound to be talking about it at that very second.
"Oh," Ron stifled his smile and clicked his tongue, "so that's what Malfoy was raving about… ha ha!"
His cackle caught Lyra by surprise and she blinked. Ron looked positively beside himself.
"What?"
"I think Nick kept his promise. You missed a blinder of a lesson," Ron explained, bouncing in his seat as he began to tell her the tale of Draco's incident in the middle of class.
While the third years were being introduced to a herd of Hippogriffs ("Aw man! I missed the Hippogriffs?!" Lyra whined) Draco became unnerved seemingly out of nowhere. He started swearing and yelling about a pack of ghostly hounds that were watching him through the trees as though they were going to attack him. No one else saw the ghost dogs, Ron was adamant that Draco had made it up, but once the class were split into groups to study the Hippogriffs Draco and Harry started bickering amongst themselves. Ron swore that he and Hermione tried their best to stop them before Hagrid overheard – but then Draco froze up as though he had just witnessed something horrifying and went completely mute. He didn't look at any of them, he didn't say a single word for the rest of their class, and he ran off the second the end of class bell rang out.
"I genuinely thought he had a seizure or something, it was totally weird," Ron concluded with a shit-eating grin, "but now I think he was telling the truth about seeing the ghosts. Nice one, Black!"
Lyra accepted his enthusiastic high-five as her mind ran wild with theories. Nicholas had saved her arse, but what did he do? How come no one else saw him? She didn't know ghosts had the power to camouflage themselves from all eyes except one? And ghost hounds? She had never seen them on the grounds before, she didn't know Hogwarts had them.
Well, you did give Nick permission to do whatever he could to silence him…?
I did that? Lyra let out a shallow whistle and slumped back in her chair. Damn… maybe Draco's right? Am I manipulative?
She scrawled down an extra note to take out a book on the various types of ghosts that existed and Ron suddenly took interest in her complicated and heavy notepages. His mouth fell open as Lyra allowed him a chance to read them and catch his breath.
"You can feel the Dementors around us?" He said in a small voice, and Lyra let the feeling of their presence pressing against the invisible bubble around her settled. Even deep in the library in her writing nook, she could still faintly hear them along with the scuffs of shuffling feet and snaps of closing books.
"I can feel them searching for him, and I can hear them whispering my name," she admitted, focusing more on Scabbers that had emerged from Ron's pocket to distract her from the pain. "I don't think I'm ever going to be truly happy again. I'm never going to be normal, am I?"
The look that Ron gave her transformed him into the spitting image of his father. "You can't think like that. The sadness will go away, Lyra, you won't always feel like this."
"This isn't sadness, this is the truth. The truth is that I've been cursed and I have no choice but to deal with it. I'm a… a f-freak and that's just the way it is."
She struggled to get the word out, like saying the name of an old enemy she had vanquished long ago.
"You can't look at it like that," Ron scoffed and scratched Scabbers behind his ears instead of taking her hands like he was going to. The hardened frown on her face made him chicken out. "Look at it this way, I've heard you say to Harry a hundred times that his scar and his Parseltongue abilities are awesome and not in the slightest bit scary even though everyone else may think otherwise. Why can't you apply that to your situation? I've never heard of anyone ever being able to do what you do so set the standard before anyone else can."
"Kreacher thinks it's all dark magic," Lyra protested in a weak voice. Ron's voice on the matter pricked the anxious bubble around her and opened her mind up to his optimism instead of letting her wallow.
"Ha! And Kreacher is the leading expert in what's dark and light?" He eluded. Lyra couldn't fight the wiggle at the corners of her mouth and wrinkled her nose in jest.
"Have I ever told you you're a very talented cheerer-upper?" She complimented him as she absently packed up her books, and Ron stretched back in his chair, savouring his win.
"Well, you know me, King of Empathy," he joked, but as his sleeve fell from his raised arms he noticed the time on his watch and gulped, colour draining from his face immediately.
"Ahhh shit we're late for Potions."
"And the other two are already there, oh no," Lyra tutted, sounding the least bit sorry as she checked the Marauder's Map before folding it away. "By the time we walk down there we'll have missed half our lesson so really it'll be a waste of time."
"You wanna skip Potions too?" Ron had never sounded more excited, and Lyra grinned back with just as much conviction.
"Duh! After Hagrid's little confession this morning I am in no mood to be berated by that grudge-holding, blood-boiling vampire. Besides," Lyra gestured to the convoluted notes in her book, "I need a Pureblood's perspective on all of this. I'm not wasting our time here in the library together, it's rare that you'll willingly give up your time to read so I'm putting you to work.
Ron blinked at her, his joy sliding off his face in an instant.
"You're worse than Hermione."
"And you're the least empathetic person I know," she teased back and she swapped seats to sit beside him so he could see her books properly. "Now, let's start at the very beginning…"