POP!
Lyra tuned out the aftershock of her house elf's disappearance as she peered around the neglected boxwood shrub she was using for cover. Her palms were moist from both loaded anxiety and the humid air suffocating her in the semi-shaded, empty playground she was lurking in, but once she realised she was the only person present she wiped her hands clean and strolled over to the nearest park bench. Nonchalant, the epitome of calm.
Don't panic, everything will be fine. The lie rolled around her head like a trickster's marble, triggering her anxious stomach flutters with each knock against her skull. Of course everything wasn't fine, she was currently sitting in a random park in Little Whinging waiting for her best friend to arrive with what she could only assume to be more bad news. His scar was aching, when was that ever a positive sign?
Not to mention the upcoming phone call with Hermione. The hands on her slim silver watch twitched closer to the numbers twelve and seven and Lyra bounced her knees in forlorn anticipation. She wouldn't have scheduled a call if her vision was unimportant, and considering this was Hermione's first brush with Fate away from them all she knew whatever she saw would be relevant to whatever the fuck was happening in their lives.
Place your bets, ladies. What do you reckon is going on? Lyra posed the question as she watched a trio of pigeons peck at the remnants of a crisp packet caught on the metal climbing frame. Her heart skipped at every car speeding past and she checked her watch once more.
Harry's scar pains mean trouble is brewing. Maybe Pettigrew has found Tom.
And Crouch is up to something fishy, I hate to say it but thank Time and Fate for Hermione's new abilities.
Lyra chewed on her already sore bottom lip and cursed herself for not swiping her lip balm from her desk before she left. The voices were correct, her gut twisted in confirmation but she tried not to dwell on the implications their predictions brought.
The sudden appearance of a smartly-dressed pedestrian and their pedigree black labrador entering her peripheral induced a minor heart attack but Lyra hid her disappointment as she sat back down on the cold metal slats and crossed her gooseprickled legs. How far was this park from Harry's house? She didn't recognise the newer, stylish brick housing estate across the road from her visit last year but she trusted Kreacher more than she trusted herself. He knew this area better than her, probably better than Harry too knowing her elf's desirable tendency to snoop around.
Before Lyra considered the allure of potentially scoping out the area taking root in her already busy mind, another figure jogged into frame and she leapt to her feet to greet him.
Shit, he's bleeding.
All sense of joy from seeing Harry vanished the second she noticed the streak of dark crimson he had awkwardly wiped down his face. He hopped the metal fence circling the playground in an effortless sweep of his leg, one hand glued to his scar to cover the mess that dripped from his glasses and onto his black t-shirt, but his expression of terror flickered with relieved appreciation when he realised she was searching her pockets for a tissue.
"I wasn't expecting you to come tonight," he said, thanking her for the folded piece of gold cloth she managed to scavenge, but he tutted and handed it back when he realised what it was. "I'm not using your bandana as a tissue, I'll ruin it."
"I can wash the blood out, relax," she shoved it back toward him, forcing him to accept her offering with a pat. Though his eye roll was taunting, Harry clamped the bandana to his weeping scar and joined her on the bench, twitching with every dab.
"When did it start bleeding? It hasn't before, right?" muttered Lyra, hating how quickly tension built in her chest. For some reason the idea of his Voldemort-inflicted scar ripping open and bleeding unnerved her, it felt icky. Unnatural. Sinister.
And dreadfully familiar.
"No, I don't think so," Harry vowed in a hiss, continuing to prod his forehead to his detriment, "and it's really painful, it feels like someone has stuck a dozen pins into it and they keep pushing them in deeper. It's not an ache, it's—," Harry tensed, closing his eyes until the next wave of pain had subsided. "It hasn't hurt like this since the chamber. It's because of him. I know it is."
Well, fuck.
"You think he's close?" She murmured, fighting the urge to scan the park.
"God, I hope not," Harry shivered, "it's hard to describe but it feels more like a warning, a sign that something is happening. I think my original theory is wrong."
"And the bleeding?" Lyra reminded him, trying to keep him talking so he wouldn't spiral.
"Started maybe ten minutes ago?" He admitted, gently peeling the material away to see if he slowed the bleeding. "Does it look normal to you?"
Lyra smirked. "I mean—,"
"I meant different, less normal than usual," he cut across her oncoming joke with a hint of frustration though she didn't take his snap to heart. Harry was clearly afraid, his eyes were emboldened with emerald panic, he looked at her as though his life depended on her.
Technically, it does.
Shush!
"Move your hand, then, let me see," she encouraged, eyes trained on her bandana as he gently removed it and turned to her, revealing his scar in all its glory.
"Ah," Lyra pouted as she knelt on the bench so she was level with his head. She instructed him to remove his glasses and with the softest touch possible she gently angled his face into the correct position. Harry's eyes locked onto hers, his alarmed expression deepened but he never pushed her delicate hands away. Her buttery smooth fingertips always took him by surprise.
"What?"
"It's…" Lyra clicked her tongue, wondering how best to phrase the fact that his lightning scar looked as though it was being lit from beneath his skin. Like someone was holding a match behind it, shining with the type of orangey red glow that shone through a person's eyelids on a blindingly sunny day. The lightning forks were glowing with blood. "Yeah, so it's sort of glowing?"
"Glowing?!" His deep voice cracked as it shot up an octave and she tried not to pull a face that would scare him further.
"Glowing," she repeated, "but not in a noticeable way, more like a Halloween pumpkin." She let go of his chin and dared to move her fingers toward his eyebrow—
ZAP!
"Motherfucker! Ow?!" Lyra squeaked as she jolted away from Harry and flexed her electrified fingers, glaring at him and his static scar. It shocked her to her very core, the zap was powerful. Dangerous.
"I didn't do anything?" Harry blinked, unaffected by the vicious current that emitted from his scar, "did it hurt you?"
"Oh yeah, like sticking your fingers in a plug socket. Bastard," Lyra exhaled, trying not to take the shock to heart as she carefully approached him again, "you really didn't feel that electric shock? It almost blew my nails off."
"No," Harry gritted his teeth, expecting another wave of stabs at any second as he replaced his spectacles, but he sat up straight and nearly cracked a smile as he brushed his scar as though checking to see if it was still there. "But it's not hurting anymore. What the hell did you do to it?"
"Nothing!" She exclaimed, perplexed by the oddity staring back at her.
Hmm…
That's worrying.
I think it's defending itself. That felt like defensive magic.
"And the voices don't know what happened either but they think your scar is protecting itself from harm, so don't look at me like that. That was all you," she said, tilting her head as she continued to examine his forehead. The bleeding had slowed significantly but the jagged forks pulsed with colour, oscillating like a flickering candle being teased by the breeze. Is it… alive?
"How comforting, maybe it can smell Death on you?" he said, forever baffled by his affliction, and Lyra frowned.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
He might have a point, you know.
"What were you doing before it started hurting you?" Lyra swiftly moved on, ignoring the subconscious input.
"I was having a nap, I was so bored that I went for a long run this morning and I conked out when I got home," he recounted with a subtle shrug, scratching his head, "the pain woke me up."
"Did you have a dream?" She pushed, covering all of her bases, but that particular thread of an idea frayed when he shook his head.
"No, not one that I remember," he sighed, and she huffed, glancing off toward a distant group of kids squealing down the road. She hoped they weren't heading to their park but judging by their intended path she was wrong.
"Shit, hang on."
Lyra snapped back to Harry as he slumped forwards on his knees, cupping his face to hide the fierce blush colouring his pale face.
"What?"
"It has bled before," he admitted, muffled by his palms, "in the chamber... and Tom's scar bled too."
Shit was, indeed, the perfect description of the surge of emotion that swelled in her chest, restricting her breathing with each pulse. What on earth did his scar mean anyways? Was it simply a symbol of Tom's power, the same power that was passed onto Harry the day he tried to murder him? It couldn't have been. Dumbledore was spooked by the news that Tom was marked in the same infamous fashion, so that must've meant Voldemort wasn't walking around with a lightning bolt on his forehead when he was in his prime. It wasn't a signature look that told a story of his dark blood, his Parselmouth heritage. She should've asked her headmaster more questions about Tom.
Lyra's brows piqued, Albus did suggest that she write to him with any questions she had, he didn't specify what those questions needed to be about.
"Do you know how Tom got that scar?" Harry asked once he sat back and locked eyes with her. Wishful, but not begging. Not yet.
He wants to talk about it. Let him in.
"How? No, I haven't a clue. But I know it appeared that night he attacked everyone in the hospital wing and killed Lockhart. When he finally broke free of the diary, I conjured him a body. He didn't have it whenever we… you know. Hung out before then," Lyra stumbled over every word, slick from the shame that oozed from those memories like a poisonous secretion. They rarely lingered on the intimate details of her and Tom's encounters, whenever they verged on sensitive territory she tended to steer the conversation back toward Tom's version of magical theory and his useful tidbits instead. She hated reminding Harry, and in turn herself, about how frustratingly stupid she had been.
Except one night during their stay on the cruise ship when Harry persisted until she broke. They snuck onto the top deck once everyone was asleep and drafted a rough timeline of everything she could remember at that point of her healing journey, to work out just how long Tom had spent existing as the fourth member of their gang. They distinguished and established some snippets from her vague recollection of her hijacking, but they never touched on what actually occurred when he existed outside of his possessions. When he had a form of his own.
But now, sitting beside Harry in this playground, listening to the chirps of the sparrows playing in the trees and the habitual drone of a passing airplane in the clear summer sky, Lyra understood that it was time she ruminated on the dark spots of the past she'd recovered during her counselling sessions, the murky patches and inklings of scattered sense. She was strong, she wasn't afraid of Harry knowing how deeply intertwined with Tom she had been.
Because there wasn't anyone else who understood her like he did. She knew this for a fact now, Harry cared about her, he loved her—
As a friend. As a godsister. Lyra snipped the wandering thought trail and took a deep breath, summoning the courage to get over herself.
"We tried to recreate his body template using a horrible flesh harvesting potion around Christmas time, I didn't know we'd actually followed through with it until the memory came back during Potions, you know that day Snape taught us about plasma contamination and the dangers behind mixing DNA? I succeeded creating that potion and Tom made me drink it… and I was so fucking willing, so weak and malleable. I didn't even think of researching those ingredients since his bloody regeneration potion appeared perfectly harmless on the surface," she confessed, averting her gaze to the gang of kids creeping closer. They were heading straight for the park gate, they had to leave.
"I'm so lucky that it didn't work, the voices protected me that night. They gave away their presence in order to stop him. The prick had me robbing graves and giving up my own flesh for him, how could I have been so stupid?"
"You're a bit of a people pleaser, you'd rob a thousand graves if someone in need asked you to. I mean just look at all of the traffic laws you broke breaking me out of my aunt's house, flying a car without a license must be a chargeable offence at the very least," Harry replied as casually as though they were swapping flying tips. He noticed the park invaders and rushed to clean the blood staining his skin before they decided to point it out.
"Yeah but it's not a good enough excuse for what I did," Lyra muttered as the pair made their exit from the playground in a quick hop of the fence, and Harry shook his head as he made a split decision on where they could go to speak in private.
"You can't keep punishing yourself for your mistakes, Ly. You've atoned, you need to move on," he said, keeping his side glances to a minimum as they walked toward the centre of Little Whinging, elbows barely brushing and trainers scuffing against the potholes in the pavement. "Remember what Danielle said, you didn't know how vulnerable you were back then. And to be completely honest with you, I don't think Death's soul helped you either, it's turning you into a dark wizard magnet. Tom did everything he could to keep you under his control."
"Ugh, what a horrible thought. Thanks a lot," Lyra turned her nose up at the description but her smile came much easier.
"Any time," Harry relaxed into his confident pace and paid more attention to their surroundings as they reached a busier crossroads decorated with vintage brown signage and nearly-clip topiary. His throat bobbed but Lyra never noticed.
"What do you mean by 'grave robbing'?"
"Um," Lyra caught her foot before she tripped over the zebra crossing, he didn't notice either. "I snuck out of Hogwarts and… kinda stole his father's bones from his grave."
"Oh," Harry blinked, unable to dilute his horror as they ventured down a small side road, avoiding any stray members of the public that were out for an evening walk. Lyra noticed the drunken rabble coming from an overflowing pub at the end of the road but they steered clear from any stray blurry eyes by slipping down another side road.
"What's 'oh'?"
"Have you visited that graveyard more than once? Did you ever go there with him?" He continued.
"No? I went only once, with Kreacher," she frowned, afraid of the reason why he looked solemn.
Harry lost some of his fear that gripped him like a vice and ran a hand through his hair. "Thank God. I think I had a dream about that same graveyard, about you and him and—," he caught himself from diving too deep into his psyche and swallowed, "for a second there I was worried it had actually happened."
Lyra slowed to a shuffle and pouted at him. Was this going to unearth another lost memory? She prayed for mercy. "That what happened? You dreamt about us?"
"I dreamt that he attacked you," he kept his wording vague to lessen the pressure as he slowed too, looking back at her in a silent plea asking her to speed up, "I didn't know it was him at first but Ron helped me figure it out. It happened the night Hermione was petrified, you begged me to save you."
"And you did," Lyra came to a full stop and sighed, existing within the sticky, claustrophobic feeling it induced. "I've gotta say, it's still the coolest thing someone has ever done for me."
Harry doubled back to slip an arm around her shoulders and encouraged her to keep moving, and Lyra appreciated the sudden whiff of what she suspected was a surprisingly pricey aftershave. Since when did he own aftershave? And a really nice one too, he smelled like a posh farmer's market and Lyra relished the citrus undertone most of all. "Voldemort stole my parents, he's not stealing my friends too. Also it's kinda what I'm famous for, I couldn't not help my manager of all people."
"Where are we going, anyways? Did you have somewhere special in mind?" she asked once they reached the end of the identical serpentine back roads, intrigued by the strange route he was taking.
"There's a cafe that stays open late down here that I've always wanted to try, now that my scar's calmed down I thought we could grab a drink and hang out?" he suggested, withdrawing his arm in disappointment when he realised she was biting her lip. "You're not busy this evening, are you?"
Shit, Hermione!
"Is there a pay phone near this cafe?" Lyra wondered, checking her watch. Ten past seven, she was late.
"I think so, why?" Harry directed her across another road and pointed at the striped green awning poking out at the end of the amber terrace houses lining the busy street. Lyra grinned at the sight of a graffitied phone booth peeking around the corner where the road blended with what she assumed must have been a high street, Saturday night had just begun and the air was alive with clashing music from multiple bars and passing cars as well as the smell of sizzling doner kebabs and hot tarmac.
"I need to call our resident Seer, she had a vision about Crouch that she wants to analyse," she revealed as she struggled to pull her fiddly coin purse from her shorts' shallow pocket. "Stupid misogynistic excuse of a pocket!"
Harry nearly stumbled but he caught himself with a smooth hop, eyebrows furrowed as he tried to process her unexpected reveal. "Eh?"
"I know right, and what's even weirder is that you will never guess who I saw today at Coles. Not in a million years would you ever guess that this person would turn up, out of the blue, and ask to adopt me. Talk about freaky timing," she guffawed, amused by the cosmos inner workings and their catastrophic effects on her life.
"You're pulling my leg," Harry snorted, shaking his head. "No. No way. Crouch wants to adopt you? But, that makes no sense."
"Tell me about it," Lyra pouted as they reached the delightfully kitschy cafe door where they were greeted by the coolest neon sign she had ever seen — it was shaped like a fuschia cat who was drinking out of the milk bowl labelled 'open'. "I already like this place, fantastic choice Potter."
"What happened at Coles? What did Crouch say to you?" asked Harry as he held the door open for her.
"A whole lot of bullshit, that's what he said. I'll catch you up with Hermione," she promised him with a grateful wink and followed him up to the counter where a bubbly older woman with dreadlocks welcomed them with an overly enthusiastic grin.
The pair took their hot beverages to go and made their way to the phone booth where they groaned in unison, the faint smell of urine wafted over them once they opened the creaky plastic door and swapped looks of exasperation. What was it with pay phones and drunkards in need of a toilet? What was it about a public pay phone that screamed 'piss on me!'. It wasn't exactly a private spot, the bloody booth was transparent!
"I'd offer you your bandana back but I don't think it's any cleaner," said Harry, chuckling to himself as Lyra attempted to slip her coins in with as little physical contact with the booth as possible, and he laughed harder when she dropped her fifty pence in the suspicious dark patch beneath them. "Don't pick that up!"
Lyra's second payment attempt succeeded and she quickly dialled the Granger's landline number as she used her trainer to scoot the coin toward him. "What's wrong? It's only some homeless guy's piss, Harry, pick it up," she scoffed. teasing him as she waited for the line to connect.
"What did you just say?" came Hermione's befuddled voice through the crackly speaker, and Lyra cackled, enjoying the heat of her blushing cheeks as she cupped her forehead.
"Christ, I didn't even hear it ring," she replied, "sorry, ignore that!"
"I take it you're with Harry?"
"Yep, his scar was hurting," she explained, shuffling further into the booth so Harry could join her. She extended the handheld so it sat between their shoulders and beckoned him to come closer. "He can hear you."
"Evening," Harry said wryly.
Hermione couldn't help herself. "What were you doing with some stranger's urine, Harry?"
"Nothing," Harry flushed, glaring at Lyra who was still giggling to herself. "Are you ok? Lyra said you had a vision about Crouch, did you know he came to visit her today?"
"No?" gasped Hermione, her voice breaking over the poor connection, "why on earth did he do that? Tell me he's not considering adopting you?"
"He's not considering adopting me," obeyed Lyra. Maybe if she spoke it into existence then it would come true.
Hermione's tiny echo sounded surprised. "That's a relief —,"
"Of course he's considering adopting her," Harry interrupted before Hermione began her tirade of unneeded assurance. "What happened in your vision?"
Hermione's sigh was shrill through no fault of her own and the pair braced for the bad news. I knew it!
"I saw a man who matched your description of Crouch lurking around a derelict manor, and I mean derelict. The windows were boarded up, it looked like no one had been there in years, but it must've been a grand old place once upon a time judging by its decor. It reminded me of the pictures you took of Malfoy's house," she recounted her flash of what Lyra assumed was the future. "Could it have been his own home? What was your grandfather's manor like when you visited?"
"It was cold, but well-maintained from what we saw from the doorway," Lyra answered diligently. "Clean, some would say too clean."
"The windows weren't boarded, from the outside it looked like your standard if not slightly scary English manor," Harry backed her up, but Lyra noticed the glassy sheen to his stare and the hunching of his shoulders.
"You know something," she called him out and her heart spasmed when Harry gritted his teeth, not bothering to hide his initial thought. What now?
"Who knows something? Harry?" asked Hermione, unable to see their silent exchange.
Harry took over control of the mouthpiece and let Lyra sip her tea as he considered the coincidence with a tapping finger against the phone's spine. "Did you get a look at the manor's front garden? Was there a graveyard?"
"I'm not sure, I was mainly focused on Mr Crouch creeping around inside. I think he was looking for someone, but he seemed off. Like he wasn't in his right mind," said Hermione. She lowered her voice and the pair had to huddle closer to catch her whispers grained by the phone speaker. "He kept repeating something under his breath."
Lyra persevered through the instant wave of nausea. "What?"
"Lyra, I'm sorry," she prefaced, emotion creeping into her tinny voice, she really didn't want to say it, "he kept saying your family's names over and over again — Adelaide, Giselle, Barty, and yours too. That's how I knew it was him. It was as though he was searching the house for you all."
She recoiled from the image her words painted in her mind. The sympathy it roused from the patched shards of her love, was this a sign that her grandad truly felt some type of regret toward his family's tragic demise? He really did consider her as part of his family? "Is Fate trying to blackmail me into making amends with Crouch or something? This feels strangely targeted, I don't care for any of this."
"You may have a case there, this vision feels rather artificial. And it came to me at the oddest moment too, I was in the middle of Flourish and Blotts with Mum looking for the latest edition of the Animaguide when I felt light-headed all of a sudden and I collapsed in the Transfiguration aisle—," Hermione realised she'd hijacked the conversation and gasped, "oh I'm sorry Harry, what were you saying about the manor's front garden?"
Looking very much like he was over hanging out with the talkative pair without his red-headed companion, he took a long sip from his mocha and re-examined his approach, "It's fine, it wasn't like I was about to suggest you might've seen inside of Voldemort's family's house or anything, carry on."
Lyra nearly dropped her Earl Grey, reeling from the memory of the creepy manor on the misted hill looming over the Riddle family's graves. Harry really did see her in that graveyard, she didn't know what to make of that. "Surely not, why on earth would he be in there looking for us?" She refuted.
"Why did I have a vision in the first place? Why did Harry's scar burn? Why is Crouch suddenly so invested in your life? None of this makes a lick of sense, so maybe it's all linked. Ly, you told me to start listening to my gut and it's currently screaming at me to connect the dots. I think Crouch is up to something, something that concerns you and your family, and the universe is telling me to keep an eye on him," said Hermione, cementing Lyra's anxiety as something of real substance.
"I know you're going to shout at me for this suggestion but what if you let Crouch adopt you? Just to see what his deal is, you know he's hiding something," said Harry, instinctively flinching as he expected a shove, but Lyra simply pouted.
See?
It's not a bad plan.
"It might be Tom's family home, it might just be some random haunted manor," Lyra huffed, disgruntled with the way everything was pointing her toward her estranged grandfather. Sirius was going to go apeshit. "The voices agree with you by the way, they want me to snoop around Barty's old room to see if we can find anything related to Death and his evil doings, but I disagree. I don't like this plan at all. You should have heard the crap he was spouting, I don't doubt for one second that he thinks I'm heading down the same Death Eater path as my uncle and this isn't some ploy to keep me locked up. Not to mention the fact he knows I'm in contact with Dad, maybe he'll chuck us in the same cell."
Harry's expression softened. "You think he might be after Sirius?"
"What else did he say?" asked Hermione, and Lyra held the phone closer as Harry rushed to slip another coin into the slot as a cool, eloquent lady's voice interrupted them to say that they had thirty seconds left. She broke down her afternoon visit into a short spiel that ate into their precious minutes but she got her point across as plainly as possible. Living with Crouch was a ridiculous, dangerous idea that she shouldn't be considering. Sirius will kill her, Crouch will harm her, and yet she hadn't actually said the word no. The innate pull of having a man that has accumulated an endless pool of information about the war and its players increased like a ribbon of magnets every time she dared to imagine what would happen if she chose him.
I just got Dad back though, he'll take this to heart. He's already jealous of my relationship with Remus.
We're not saying you never have to see Sirius again. Convince him that it's a smart idea, get him involved to a certain extent.
Just for a summer, a single holiday term break, think about it. We need to see if there's anything left in that house that will aid you. There's still so much you need to discover. It's undercover work, be your own spy.
Her own spy. The new silver threaded thought found its needle eye and poked a fresh hole in the black map of her mind, dancing through everything trying to catch Lyra's attention. but she omitted to tell them that.
"So you are considering staying with him for a bit?" Harry clarified.
"Also I don't think he'd be allowed to ground you to his manor, you have Kreacher," Hermione pointed out the loophole, putting her at ease. "He's bound to you, not Crouch. You can escape whenever you like."
"Yeah, Crouch has his own house elf," Lyra dwelled on the soft brown eyes of the elf she met only briefly. "Lord knows what she knows, I'd love to properly meet her. I'll think about it, you know I love an investigation."
"Great, but of course I do understand your concerns and think you should go about this in a safe and controlled manner, for your own safety. Tell your dad and Dumbledore about this plan, and also about Harry's scar hurting," Hermione challenged Lyra to be sensible, a task she was willing to dismiss at first, but then she had an even newer thought.
"Only if you tell Dumbledore about your vision too."
The line went quiet and Harry silently oohed, pulling a face as they waited for her answer. "I don't think she liked that," he mouthed.
"Lyra, I can't tell anyone about Time and Fate's gifts," she eventually murmured. Lyra couldn't tell whether it was the phone line or actual fear in her voice.
"And you think I want to tell him about mine? He knows more about the universe than we do, we might have to consider blowing our covers in exchange for vital information about what these Forces truly are," she said in a calming voice, listening to her father's voice in the background of her skull.
"Especially if Voldemort is planning on becoming one, I need to know what I'm up against here," Harry chipped in. "I need to figure out what my scar is, what it means. And why I obtained it in the first place, I'm sick of us not knowing basic information. We all need to speak to Dumbledore, we'll do it together."
"I don't know…" the speaker crackled but Lyra latched onto the glimmer of hope shining through the phone. She was considering it.
"C'mooon, you love taking extra lessons, you'd love studying the Theory of Ancient Magic with me! Maybe Dumbledore can equate it to an extra qualification, just think of how that'll look on your CV!" She pleaded. "Pretty please!"
"You're only going to ask Lyra all about it anyways, you might as well hear it directly from Professor Dumbledore," Harry tried to be helpful and Lyra thanked him with her prettiest smile when Hermione agreed to think about it.
"Let's all take a breath and mull everything over, we'll discuss this again when we meet up at Ron's," she concluded, "I bought the Animaguide by the way, and Ron said Charlie has a contact for Mandrake leaves who can ship them to us discreetly, so all that's left is for you to find is a reliable moth distributor. Hopefully by September we'll have everything for you to brew the potion, Lyra."
"That's a prime lightning storm month too, we have to be ready by then or else we'll miss our chance," said Harry, adding to Lyra's nerves. No pressure then.
"Great, at least we have one of our many problems handled then, do you know when you're going to Ron's yet?"
"My parents are dropping me at his the day we come back from my grandmother's house, I presume I'll beat you both there," Hermione listed her dates and ended their conversation before the pay phone could cut them off with second request for more coins. Lyra hung the phone on its holster and they finally escaped the stale musk they'd begrudgingly grown to accept.
"Don't stay with Crouch if you don't want to," said Harry the moment they fell into a drawn silence. Lyra massaged the nape of her neck and shrugged, aimlessly following him without much concern for the buzzing high street around her. Her head was a mess.
"I thought you said it was a good idea," she frowned up at him, and he shrugged back.
"It is in terms of investigating, yeah. but the more I think about him creeping around that manor, the less I like the thought of him having you," he said.
"Having me?" Lyra scoffed at the inferred purpose of that phrase but she couldn't laugh him off entirely. Her grandfather was a traditionalist, who knew what he expected from her, or what subservient role he was preparing for her to assume once she crossed the threshold of his ghastly manor. She finished the rest of her Earl Grey to wash away the returning wave of nausea. "Actually, let's not talk about that, I won't be around him long enough for him to exercise his right to restrict mine. Do you honestly think that house was the same house on the hill by the graveyard? That might not even be Tom's dads house, you know. He didn't know his parents, his family."
"It is, I know it is. My gut is telling me it's the same house as that dream. It's all related to him," he uttered under his breath, leading her away from the small gatherings of people crowding outside of pubs or popping in and out of the off-licences along the high street. They came across a break in the metal railings marking a church garden and cut through the miniature graveyard that was miles prettier than the cursed ones stuck in their mind's eye.
Lyra didn't want to say it but who was she if not a lighthouse flashing out into the darkness, ensuring every twist Fate had sent her way was reaching its intended destination. "Then your scar is trying to warn you that danger is coming, like the electric shock, I think it's trying to protect you. What if Crouch has switched sides in his old age?" She proposed but even hearing it aloud felt wrong. Her grandfather despised Voldemort and the fear he inflicted, Tom was a poison in the veins of the Wizarding world and Crouch would always be a brutal antidote.
"It's certainly something we should keep in mind, but I doubt it since he was saying your names. Maybe he was searching for Voldemort too, though I can't imagine why," Harry answered, trying not to make eye contact with any of the moss-covered tombstones they were passing. "Sorry, this graveyard is larger than I remember."
"Very topical. I don't mind, this is my domain, remember? I feel right at home," She grinned, skimming her fingertips along the edges of the oblong limestone like a duck taking to water. After such a balmy day she appreciated the icy breeze and breathed in the chill that seeped around their ankles. "It's colder here than out on the road, can you feel it?"
"No, that must be a you thing," Harry sounded relieved but he increased his brisk pace regardless of his indifference to the unknowing cold breath tickling his neck.
Lyra zoned in on his scar once more and wetted her lips, masking her fascination with a casual side-glance. It was still glowing like a candle, though it was dimmer than before, a candle on the brink of extinction. Like the last wink of a red sun as it dipped beneath the horizon. "And you look like a pumpkin, must be a you thing. Aw I like it, pumpkin, it suits you! I'm gonna start calling you that from now on."
Harry whipped his head around to check no one could hear them before covering his forehead with a hand slap, lips pulled into a tight smile as he came to terms with the unnecessary term of endearment. "Oh no, Princess, two can play that game, don't try me," he said, his growl challenging.
Hearing her father's favoured phrase coming out of Harry's mouth threw Lyra's head deeper into disarray and she shot daggers at him, poking her spear at him until he crossed back over the line of friendship. They exited into another labyrinth of side roads and followed the beams of evening sun west until the houses thinned out and daisy speckled fields rolled into view.
"Uh uh, you can't steal Dad's nickname, I'm not your princess," she called out his attempt to plagiarise with a pitiful shake of the head. "You have to come up with your own name, pumpkin."
"You know I'm not creative."
"Irrelevant."
"Then you'll just have to wait, it'll come to me eventually, probably when you least expect it."
"Excuses, excuses, that's all I hear."
"The nickname 'bitch' keeps coming to mind actually, what about that?" Harry said dryly.
"I've been called worse," Lyra mused, warming to the idea if not for the entertainment it would provide. "But perhaps not, we don't want everyone thinking you're a chauvinistic dickhead. Oh! Speaking of your wonderfully-curated public image," she turned to grin at him as he led her into the white and yellow dotted stretch of grass through a hole in the wired fence, "I think I can blag our way into meeting the Irish and either Bulgarian or Japanese Quidditch teams at the Final by abusing your status — thoughts?"
"I think Ron might wet himself when he hears this," he voiced the first thought that came to mind and weighed up the pros and cons of her potentially embarrassing proposition. "What do you mean by abusing my status? I'm not doing any public speaking, Lyra, there's going to be thousands of people at this Final, you know how bad I am at giving speeches."
"Not public speaking, gosh no, I'm not cruel" she tutted, "maybe some public waving, a public statement to the press, and possibly a public photograph or…" she quickly totalled the numbers, "Fifteen? I'm sure the ref will want their photo with you too, let's say fifteen."
"If you can promise me that I don't have to speak in front of a large stadium of people then yes, abuse my celebrity status for all its worth. I hope Bulgaria makes it through, Krum's gonna give Ireland a rough go of it and I'd love to say I shook the hand that caught the winning Snitch," sighed Harry, looking off into the forested distance as they found a particularly springy patch of grass to sprawl out on, foolishly wishing the time away.
"I dunno, Lynch can bring it when he wants to, and Mullet's a hat trick girl, she'll make sure Ireland win by a lofty margin. And I promise I'll do all of the talking for you," she offered, subconsciously falling into her comfort mode of helping her friends when they were in need. "Watch, this summer will fly by, we'll be at the Final in no time at all."
"I'm banking on it," he glanced at Lyra as she began plucking the petals off the nearest cluster of flowers. "Let's hope my scar stops lighting up by then. How bad is it now?"
"Practically back to normal, I think it's fizzled out," Lyra scooted over and cupped her hands around his scar without physically touching him out of fear of electrocuting herself again. In the shadows of her palms his scar gave one last flicker before extinguishing completely. "Yup, looks like you're out of fuel, pumpkin. Panic over."
"I don't think I'd ever live it down if my scar started sparking out of nowhere," he muttered, shuddering as he imagined the delight on Draco's face as he discovered a new way of tormenting him. "What a weird day."
Lyra leant back on her elbows and admired the ever-changing colours of summertime dusk, her favourite time of day. Maybe she should dig out her paints tonight, she owned the exact hazy lilac shade that was peeking over the treetops. "I have an awful feeling that this is the first of many, many weird days still yet to come, just our luck, ey."
Harry didn't need to respond, he simply joined her on his back, his arms folded nearly behind his head, and watched the puffy wisps of clouds waste away above them. They laid blissfully in their silence for a while, listening to nothing but the melody of the birds and the barking of a neighbour's dog that became their entertainment. The seed of what Lyra hoped might be another enlightening Tom-centric conversation began to take root in her mind and she used the silence to plan accordingly. She wanted to talk to Harry about the actual chamber itself, the elaborate yet plain to the naked eye design of the main room, there were secret passageways and vestibules that lurked behind certain enchanted statues that led its user to Salazar Slytherin's… office? No, not office, Tom used a fancier word than that for his ancestor's elusive private study. Parlour?
Chancery?
Sanctum?
"Lyra?"
But Harry beat her to the punch with his own chaotic mind process and racing heartbeat.
"Mhmm?"
Her head fell to the side so she could catch Harry's lingering gaze. In the sunshine bathing his face she swore she could see flecks of gold sparkling amongst the emeralds, they weren't as dark as they first appeared. It must have been the sun reflecting through his lens but she couldn't deny that they were piercing. Captivating. She found herself getting lost in the sea of green.
"This is going to sound so soppy but I don't care, you know there's pretty much nothing you can do that'll dissuade me from being your friend, right? At this point I don't care if you turn into a legitimate dark witch, it's not your fault any of this is happening."
"I know, and it's not soppy," she lied, masking her attempt to blink away her tears as a squint directly into the sun. She wished she could confidently say that there was nothing she could do that would ruin her friendships with her best friends, her third year certainly proved that their bond was approaching unbreakable. And yet Lyra heard her old enemy's rasps in the back of her weary mind, the timeless nasty hiss of archaic depression.
Everyone has their limits, even Potter. You'll betray him like you've done once before but this time he will never forgive you. Never ever forgive you. No friends, no family…
"What are best friends for if not to co-sign every dumb decision I make?" She chuckled, dropping her gaze to her bent knees, but like fated magnets she was drawn back to him.
"Ly…?"
Suddenly Harry was sitting upright beside her, no longer fascinated with the vastness looming above. For some reason his haste roused sharp goosebumps that pricked her exposed freckled skin, did he always sit this close to her? Anticipation, ticking, like a live wire it electrified the air and her brows rose as though silently asking him to spit out whatever was hopping on the tip of his tongue. It wasn't often that she practiced the virtue of patience but something in Harry's unusually shy expression told her to wait.
"Yeah…?"
He fixed his glasses before they slipped down the slope of his nose and opened his mouth to ask a daring question that was eating away at his willpower like a bloodthirsty parasite, but the vastness observing the lazy pair lounging in the airfield determined that their day wasn't over. Now was not the time.
"I—,"
CRACK!
"My deepest apologies to you both, I didn't mean to frighten you," chuckled Professor Dumbledore, both tickled and sympathetic to the looks on Lyra's and Harry's startled pale faces as they gawked up at their headmaster who had appeared out of thin air only a metre from their feet.
"Hello sir," Harry choked, tugging at his collar in the hopes of fanning cool air down his extremely moist back. He climbed to his feet and tried to shake off his slight tremor, "uh, we're not in trouble or anything, are we?"
"Evening, Harry, and no you are not in trouble. What Miss Black does with her house elf is not of my concern, I trust you are both acting responsibly," he answered with a faint wink as he clasped his hands together and inspected the quaint park view. His robes were elderberry and bronze today, around its hem lurked a small badger stitched in shiny thread and a flock of thimble-sized birds fluttered around his cuffs.
Lyra recovered from her shock with a newfound hatred for Apparition and dusted herself off so she could greet Albus properly. Did they jinx themselves? Was this the beginning of the end of her peace? "Hi sir, I assume this spontaneous visit is about Danielle's letter?"
"Yes, and once more I must sincerely apologise for springing my appearance upon you both without a prior warning. No student should be burdened with a visit from their teacher during the summer holidays so forgive me for intruding," he prefaced as he suggested they go for a slow stroll to stretch their legs. "Regrettably my diary has more appointments than pages so I thought it would be wise for us to discuss this in person before my attention is stolen by other less important tasks."
"And here I thought the summer holidays was your quietest time of the year," Lyra pouted, feeling sorry for her elderly professor. Did he ever sleep?
"Then you would be grievously mistaken, my dear. Out of fear of spoiling the surprise, let's move on from my duties and discuss Mr Crouch. How are you feeling after your appointment? What did he say to you?" He asked, peering down at her as the trio followed an unofficial dirt track that ran along the field's edge. Luckily this particular field seemed to be repelling everyone tonight, there wasn't another soul in sight, not even a wild animal.
"I'm mostly confused, I don't understand what his deal is. I think he might be using me to lure Sirius to him, I don't think his intentions are pure. He knows about the Dementor fiasco and believes that he is the only person who can raise me correctly," she said succinctly.
"I agree that it is confusing, Bartemius hasn't dissolved his gag order yet, nor has he mentioned to anyone that he intends to look after you," admitted Dumbledore, smiling sadly, but his melancholy was quickly replaced with excitement as his bright eyes sparkled. "But, I have come here in person tonight to reassure you that you do not need to worry about your grandfather obtaining any rights to you or her assets. That has all been taken care of, at approximately seven thirty this evening your doctor's approval was added to your case-file and Andromeda and Ted received a call from Coles informing them that their new foster child was at long last ready to move out from their establishment. The Tonkses are arriving tomorrow to finalise the handover and to pick you up."
Lyra hadn't realised she had stopped walking until both Harry and Dumbledore were a few feet away, beaming back at her. The world started to spin around her but she adored the violent head rush it induced, just so she knew this was all real.
It happened. The impossible had actually happened.
She wasn't a Coles kid anymore.
"I think you've broken her, sir," guffawed Harry, taking pity on the mute girl blinking back at them. He hooked an arm through hers and once again encouraged her shaky feet to move at a normal human pace.
"I can never resist partaking in such well-deserved moments of happiness such as this, it is my honour to be the bearer of your wonderful news," he bowed his head, "Danielle is currently packing for you in Weymouth, she wished for me to pass on the message that you must be home once the streets are illuminated so you have time to prepare."
Packing. Moving. Actually moving out?!
"I… That's… Uh, yeah!" Lyra tried to nod some sense into her empty head but her cheeks were aching, she was grinning with enormous force that she couldn't feel her face anymore. She tightened her grasp on Harry's arm and limply shook it, struggling to find the right words. This had to have been a dream, something finally went her way?
Or is this a trick?
Not a trick! Maybe Fate is being nice to you for a change.
Congratulations, honey!
"This is incredible! I couldn't be happier for you," Harry gave her his obligatory hug of congratulations and managed to squeeze her back to normalcy as she emerged from his arms with more colour in her loosened cheeks and a dent in her smile. When would it be his turn to escape?
Harry read her thoughts immediately and rolled his eyes, pulling something pointy and silver from his jeans back pocket, "Don't worry about me, honest. Vernon and Petunia are steering clear of me this summer, they've even given me a copy of the back door key so I don't have to bother them. If I time my days right then we never cross paths, it's a decent deal."
"That is a vast improvement, to be fair," Lyra pouted, accepting his bittersweet news while processing her own. "Oh man there's so much to do before tomorrow! I can't believe I'm leaving Weymouth…"
"Perhaps it would be wise for you to return to Weymouth now in order to properly prepare, it would be a great shame to leave a treasured possession behind, but of course, that is merely a suggestion," suggested Dumbledore, not wanting to insert himself too much into their discussion but his childlike smile hidden beneath reams of white and silver said otherwise.
Lyra's first instinct was to object. "I have plenty of time—,"
"No, it's ok, go," Harry interjected earnestly, shoving his hands in his pockets, "you moving out of that dump is far more important than us hanging out. Go and pack."
"Are you sure?" Lyra's bottom lip swelled but Harry nodded, despite the faded beams his eyes were still swimming with flecks of sunlight as he grinned at her.
"Positive," he insisted.
"Ok then," she sighed, allowing herself a moment to soak in the thumping of her heart and the lethargic tingles of anticipation coursing through her like a long-awaited prescribed medicine. The gentle woody scent from Harry's aftershave lingered on the collar of her t-shirt as she withdrew from their final hug and it ignited the frantic part of her brain that had been whirring non-stop since Hermione's phone call, remembering her to use this auspicious opportunity for all it was worth.
"If I'm leaving then perhaps Professor Dumbledore can walk you home?" She said sweetly, stepping out of the pair's way, "we have a few questions we wanted to ask you, sir, so if you have some extra time to spare Harry would love to share them with you."
Though he looked as though she had shoved him into the deep end of a swimming pool, Harry swallowed his nerves and accepted her suggestion head on by catching Dumbledore's straying curiosity with some of his own.
"It's about my scar, it began to burn out of nowhere today. And then it bled quite a bit," he explained as he extracted Lyra's bandana from his jeans as evidence. "I was wondering if you could help me figure out what's going on, what it all means. I know you said Voldemort gave me my scar but it's gotten worse since then. Frankly I'm worried it'll grow even bigger and ruin half of my face."
Though he hid it extraordinarily well, Albus was taken aback and somewhat unnerved by Harry's revelation. His long brow quivered as he surveyed Harry's forehead and nodded slowly, drawing breath only to exhale out his perplexity in a mellow puff of air. Lyra admired the way he curated his laidback exterior, he was frowning as though this was only a minor hiccup, nothing to worry about, a junior puzzle in the mix.
"I imagine that was quite a shock, but worry not, Harry, we shall discuss your scar in detail on our walk home. I greatly appreciate your decision to inform me of this peculiarity, you have been far too patient with me," Professor Dumbledore accepted his proposal with a regal nod, the bronze tassels on his cap elegantly catching the light.
"Yeah, shock is one word to describe it I guess," Harry said awkwardly, remembering the horrified stares he received when he left the house to find Lyra earlier that evening.
"Maybe I can join you on your walk? I'll call Kreacher afterwards," Lyra realised she'd inadvertently talked her way out of taking part in their deep conservation and tried to worm her way back in but both Harry and her headmaster asserted that her moving out mattered far more than Harry's woes.
"I believe Harry and I should discuss this privately first," proposed Dumbledore as they reached a particular dark spot amongst the shrubbery and wildflower berms that led most path wanderers to a thin canal. Anyone on the main road would've had great difficulty spotting them, Kreacher wouldn't have any trouble appearing here.
"I'll tell you everything later, go and celebrate with Danielle," Harry urged her one last time, laughing at her dramatics as she crossed her arms in a huff. It was technically none of her business.
"Kreacher!"
POP!
"Mistress Lyra," Kreacher purred, issuing his usual bow upon arrival, looking cosy in his fleeced taupe robe and checkered slippers. "Harry Potter, and…" he extended his bow and trailed off in awe when he recognised who the great wizard smiling down at him was. "Professor Dumbledore."
"A pleasure to meet you, Kreacher. Phineas-Nigellus has informed me that you've been taking great care of our Miss Black," he welcomed him like a friend and Kreacher kept his astonished grumbles to a minimum. Lyra only recently discovered that the snobby portrait of her ancestor that lived in the headmasters office had a double somewhere in Grimmauld Place but she neglected to discover which sorry room it hung in while she was there. She wasn't in the mood for any more arguments with her family's moody oil-painted mimics.
"It is Kreacher's purpose in life, to keep Mistress Lyra safe. Kreacher is honoured to make your acquaintance," he eventually responded and offered his mistress his wrinkled hand, "is Mistress wanting to go home?"
"Tonight is my last night at Coles, bud, that shithole — excuse me, Professor — is not my home anymore. I'm moving in with Andy and Ted," Lyra spread the good news and mirrored her house elf's incandescent glimmer of glee as he clasped both of her hands and bleated in celebration.
She clung onto the positive vibes and bade Harry and Dumbledore farewell as she vanished with the turning of Kreacher's heel, leaving her best friend to (hopefully) uncover a ton of valuable information. But in the split second Kreacher's magic enveloped her and catapulted her through the layered fabrics of the universe she heard the timeless cruel voice of the darkness she endured before she recognised her comfort in true darkness. Depression was a relentless monster and it snapped its jaws in opposition to the brightness blooming inside, reminding her that they were just as much a survivor as her.
What if Dumbledore tells Harry something and forbids him from telling you? What if Harry doesn't tell you everything? What if they talk about you…?
POP!
