Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
If there was one thing Percy Weasley prided himself on, it was his sense of discipline. Rules existed for a reason. Order was meant to be maintained. Distractions were meant to be avoided at all cost.
The castle was different at night, he had walked these corridors thousands of times, but something abut the stillness after curfew always made them feel unfamiliar. The torches burned slower, casting familiar shadows against stone walls. The usual hum of voices and hurried footsteps had faded, leaving only the soft echo of his own measured pace.
As head boy, late-night patrols were part of his duty. He didn't mind them, he always felt a certain satisfaction in ensuring everything was in order, in knowing the rest of the castle slept, he was keeping everything running as they should.
Order. Structure. Discipline.
These were the things Percy can control, his mantra, his whole personality.
His grip tightened around the clipboard tucked under his arm. He had already written-up three second-years for sneaking into the kitchens, which was exactly the kind of responsibility that needed to be kept in check. Not that anyone else seemed to care--Merlin knew the new Prefects of the Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw houses weren't as diligent as they should be. And as for the Slytherin Head Girl? he still had no idea who they were.
Professor Mcgonagall had mentioned it in passing but he had been preoccupied with reviewing and revising prefect schedules to pay much attention. He had simply assumed—no, expected—that whoever it was would introduce themselves properly. That they would attend the meetings. That they would, at the very least, act like a Prefect.
But whoever they were, they had been remarkably absent. Not a single patrol logged. No reports filed. No complaints brought forward—not that Percy imagined a Slytherin would be particularly eager to uphold the rules in the first place.
That was the thing about Slytherins, wasn't it? They weren't like him. They didn't believe in discipline, in fairness. They played by their own rules.
He sighed, adjusting the clipboard under his arm. Whoever they were, it didn't matter. If they refused to do their job, he would simply have to take up the extra work himself. Order had to be maintained, after all.
---
The distant sound of voices interrupted his thoughts.
Percy frowned. It was late—too late for any students to be lingering in the halls. He adjusted his grip on his clipboard and quickened his pace.
As he turned the corner, the voices became clearer, punctuated by laughter. But it was the next words that made Percy stop in his tracks.
"Oh, please," a voice drawled, sharp as a blade. "Tell me you're not actually this stupid."
Percy blinked. That was not a voice he recognized from his usual list of troublemakers.
Carefully, he stepped forward, peering around the corner just enough to take in the scene before him.
Fred and George stood in the center of the corridor, hands held up in exaggerated surrender, matching grins spread across their faces. They looked utterly delighted, though it wasn't Percy they were taunting this time.
Standing in front of them, blocking their path with an air of effortless authority, was her.
The platinum blonde hair, sleek and untouched by any sign of disorder. The sharp, aristocratic features. The faint curl of her lip as she regarded the twins like they were something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of her shoe.
Lyra Malfoy...
"Honestly, it's almost painful to watch," Lyra continued, tilting her head slightly. "The two of you, running around like the circus act you are, making a mockery of your family name."
Fred let out a low whistle. "Ouch. That one actually hurt."
"Right in the bloodline," George agreed solemnly.
Lyra's smirk didn't waver. "Spare me your pathetic attempts at humor, Weasleys. You're not funny. You're predictable."
Fred gasped, mock-offended. "Predictable?"
George shook his head. "She doesn't mean that, Freddie."
"Oh, but I do," Lyra said, stepping forward. "Is there even a single functioning brain cell between the two of you, or do you just share one and take turns using it? A prank here, a dungbomb there—such pedestrian tactics. Honestly, if you weren't so insufferable, I might even pity you."
"Harsh," Fred muttered, though his grin never faltered.
"Accurate, though," George quipped.
Lyra stood in front of them, arms crossed over her chest, blonde hair falling in sleek waves past her shoulders. The torchlight caught on the silver trim of her robes, giving her an almost regal appearance—though her sneer ruined any chance of mistaking her for anything other than a Malfoy.
"You blood traitors never learn, do you?" she drawled, her voice filled with cool amusement. "You Weasleys are already an embarrassment to wizarding society, and yet you insist on proving it over and over again."
People should be ruffled when confronted with his brothers. People should be exasperated, rolling their eyes, throwing their hands up in frustration.
But not her.
She was—Enjoying this.
Not in the way Fred and George were, thriving off chaos, but in a calculated way.
Like she was toying with them.
Like they were beneath her.
Percy's patience thinned.
"If you're quite finished," he said, stepping forward, "I'd like to know exactly what's going on here."
The reaction was immediate.
Fred and George turned first, their grins unfaltering.
But Lyra—Lyra simply looked at him.
Not startled. Not flustered. Just... assessing.
Her expression barely shifted, save for the slight arch of one perfectly sculpted brow.
"Well, well," she murmured, folding her arms. "Look who finally decided to show up."
Percy's brow twitched. "Excuse me?"
"You're awfully late to this little party," she continued smoothly. "Your brothers have been so entertaining. Almost makes up for the fact that they have the collective intelligence of a toadstool."
Fred beamed. "That's generous."
"Flattering, even," George added.
Percy shot them a glare before turning back to her. "And who, exactly, do you think you are?"
Something flickered in Lyra's expression—something brief, something unreadable.
Then—
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
Percy bristled.
This was not the answer he had expected.
Most students would have been scrambling for an excuse by now. Most students would have at least attempted to feign innocence.
But not her.
Instead, she was watching him. Studying him.
And Percy didn't like it.
Not one bit.
His grip tightened on his clipboard. "Are you going to answer me, or shall I assume you're out of bed past curfew without an excuse?"
Lyra hummed, tapping a finger against her chin in mock thought. "Well, that depends," she mused. "Are you going to throw a proper tantrum, or just stand there clutching your clipboard like it's your lifeline?"
Percy's nostrils flared.
Fred and George howled with laughter.
"Oh, I like her," Fred said.
George wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "She's a natural."
Percy ignored them, his eyes narrowing. "I don't believe you answered my question."
Lyra tilted her head, clearly entertained. "And I don't believe I have to."
Percy hated this.
This smugness. This arrogance. This complete disregard for authority. He was about to say something but a glint caught his eye.
No.
That was Percy's first thought.
Followed by—
Absolutely not.
But the badge on her robes said otherwise, glinting under the torchlight like it had been waiting for him to notice.
Head Girl.
Not just a Prefect.
Girl.
His counterpart.
The Slytherin counterpart he had spent weeks searching for. The anomaly in his system. The missing variable. The person who had been utterly absent from meetings, from reports, from everything—
And she was standing right in front of him.
Smirking.
Like she knew exactly what was going through his head.
Percy had never been at a loss for words before. He prided himself on his ability to articulate, to argue, to assert control over a situation.
But at this moment, all he could do was stare.
Lyra Malfoy—the elusive, impossible-to-track-down Head Girl—tilted her head slightly, the corner of her lips curling.
"Oh," she murmured, her voice rich with amusement. "There it is."
Percy's mouth pressed into a thin line. "There what is?"
"That moment," she said, smiling like she was savoring every second of this. "The realization. The horror."
Fred and George, who had been watching this unfold with undisguised delight, turned to each other.
"Oh, this is delicious," Fred said, whispering as if Percy couldn't hear him.
"Better than we could have imagined," George agreed.
Percy ignored them, his focus locked onto Lyra. "You're Head Girl."
A statement, not a question.
She hummed, glancing down at her badge as if she had forgotten it was there. "Oh? So that's what this means." She traced a delicate finger over it, then looked back at him. "And here I thought I just had a particularly fashionable accessory."
Percy bristled. "You knew I didn't realize."
"Of course I did," Lyra said easily. "It was adorable watching you struggle."
His ears burned. "Struggle? I—" He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. "You deliberately avoided me."
Her smirk widened. "And yet, here we are."
Percy clenched his jaw so hard it ached.
This was infuriating.
This was impossible.
The Head Girl was supposed to be responsible. Diligent. Someone he could rely on. Someone who followed the rules.
And instead, he was stuck with her.
A Malfoy.
A smug Malfoy.
One who had let him wander around for weeks thinking she didn't exist, only to reveal herself at the most infuriating moment possible.
Oh, she was going to be a nightmare.
Fred nudged George. "D'you think his brain's broken yet?"
"Getting there," George whispered back.
Percy inhaled slowly, regaining control. This is fine. This is just another challenge.
He could work with anyone. Even her.
He straightened, gripping his clipboard like it was his anchor. "Fine," he said, voice crisp. "Now that I finally know who you are, we have a lot to discuss."
Lyra gave him an amused look. "Do we?"
"Yes," Percy said tightly. "First and foremost—why have you been skipping Prefect meetings?"
She sighed, as if the very question exhausted her. "Because they're boring, Weasley."
Percy's nostrils flared. "They're necessary."
"They're redundant," she corrected. "And a waste of time."
"A waste—" Percy looked like he might combust. "They outline our responsibilities."
Lyra gestured lazily at Fred and George. "Oh? And what exactly do you think I was doing before you showed up?"
Percy's grip on his clipboard tightened. "Your job," he said through gritted teeth, "includes filing reports."
She shrugged. "Why bother? I handle things before they escalate. No paperwork necessary."
Percy gaped at her. "That's not how it works."
"That's how I work."
Percy was seething.
She was undoing everything. Every rule, every structure, every system he had spent years perfecting.
For the first time in his career, Percy wasn't sure what was worse—outright rule-breakers like his brothers, or her.
Someone who didn't break the rules outright.
Someone who twisted them, bent them just enough to suit her needs.
Someone he couldn't reprimand, because technically—technically—she was still doing her job.
She was a loophole in human form.
Fred clapped his hands together. "Well, this has been fun, but we should probably make our exit before our dear brother's head explodes."
George nodded solemnly. "Tragic loss. Would be a shame."
Fred turned to Lyra, giving her an approving nod. "Malfoy, it's been a pleasure."
"Truly," George added. "We must do this again."
Lyra smirked. "Oh, don't worry. I'm sure we will."
Percy glared. "Leave. Now."
Fred and George, still grinning, gave dramatic salutes before disappearing down the corridor.
That left just him.
And Lyra.
She was still watching him, looking thoroughly entertained.
"Well, Weasley," she said smoothly. "This was enlightening."
Percy inhaled sharply through his nose. "We will be having a proper discussion about this."
She raised a brow. "Will we?"
"Yes," he said firmly. "Tomorrow. My office."
Lyra just smiled.
"Looking forward to it."