Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
The next morning, Percy arrived at breakfast armed with a revised schedule.
If Lyra wasn't going to do her job properly, then he would simply have to force her to.
He strode toward the Slytherin table with purpose, ignoring the lingering stares from students who weren't used to seeing a Weasley near their ranks.
Lyra was exactly where he expected her to be, sitting among a group of fellow Slytherins.
She was lounging.
Again.
As if she had not a single care in the world.
As if she wasn't completely disregarding her responsibilities.
The sight made Percy's blood boil.
"Malfoy."
She didn't even look up right away.
Instead, she took a slow sip of her tea before lazily flicking her gaze toward him.
"Well," she said, lips curling slightly. "If it isn't my favorite bureaucrat."
Percy's jaw clenched.
"I'm here to discuss the Prefect schedule." He dropped the revised copy onto the table in front of her. "Since you've been incapable of following protocol, I've made adjustments to ensure accountability."
Lyra raised a brow, unimpressed.
"Oh? You made me a personalized schedule? How precious."
Percy bristled.
"This is not a joke, Malfoy."
"No, of course not," she said smoothly. "You're never a joke, Weasley." She picked up the parchment between her fingers, inspecting it with mild curiosity.
Her eyes scanned the schedule.
Then, she laughed.
Not a loud, mocking laugh.
Something softer. Lazier.
And somehow, so much worse.
"You assigned me to double patrols?" she mused, amusement dancing in her voice. "That's adorable."
Percy straightened his shoulders. "Since you have refused to log your previous rounds, this ensures that—"
"—that you get to babysit me," Lyra finished for him, smirking. "Merlin, Weasley, if you wanted to spend time with me, you could've just asked."
Percy's ears burned. "That is not—" He exhaled sharply. "You will follow this schedule, Malfoy."
Lyra hummed, tapping her fingers against the parchment. "And if I don't?"
Percy's nostrils flared.
"Then I will report this to McGonagall."
She just smiled.
Not a real smile.
A calculated one.
As if she had already won this argument before it even started.
"Oh, Weasley," she said, voice almost mockingly fond.
She folded the parchment neatly, sliding it into her robe pocket without even looking at it.
"I guess we'll just have to see, won't we?"
And with that, she turned back to her breakfast—
Dismissing him.
Like he wasn't even worth her time.
Percy seethed.
He turned sharply on his heel and stormed off, fists clenched at his sides.
He hated her.
He hated her smugness, her arrogance, her complete disregard for rules and order.
But more than anything—
He hated that she wasn't afraid of him.
Because everyone was supposed to take him seriously.
Everyone was supposed to respect his authority.
But her?
She wasn't just ignoring him.
She was playing with him.
He had spent years perfecting his presence. His ability to command a room. His status as the one person no one dared to challenge when it came to structure and discipline.
But her?
She didn't just challenge him—she mocked him.
And Percy hated being mocked.
So, when the next meeting rolled around that Friday, he sat at the head of the long table in the empty classroom, arms crossed, waiting.
He had no doubt that she wouldn't show up.
And when she didn't, he was ready.
----
At exactly 7:15 PM—the official start of the first meeting of the new term—Percy began.
"As usual, we'll be reviewing our reports from the past week," he announced, his quill poised over his clipboard. "Let's start with patrol logs—"
The door creaked open.
And in walked her.
Late.
By fifteen minutes.
Lyra Malfoy strolled inside with all the urgency of someone attending a casual brunch, not an official Prefect meeting.
Her expression was unreadable, her posture relaxed as she took a seat at the far end of the table. She didn't apologize. Didn't explain her tardiness.
She just... sat.
And smirked.
Percy's quill snapped in his hand.
Every Prefect in the room went completely silent.
Even the usually chatty Hufflepuff Prefect, Mary Abbott, darted her eyes nervously between Percy and Lyra.
Percy inhaled slowly, setting his broken quill aside. "Malfoy," he said, his voice like steel, "so nice of you to join us."
Lyra rested her chin on her hand, utterly unbothered. "I do try to make an entrance."
Percy clenched his jaw so tightly it ached.
"This meeting started fifteen minutes ago."
She tilted her head, eyes glinting. "And yet, here I am."
A muscle in Percy's cheek twitched. "Do you make it a habit to be late to things, or is this just a personal insult?"
Lyra exhaled dramatically. "Relax, Weasley. I'm here, aren't I? You should be grateful."
Grateful.
Percy almost saw red.
The Gryffindor Prefect, Thomas Belby, coughed awkwardly. "Uh, should we... continue?"
Percy forced himself to regain control.
"Yes," he said through gritted teeth. "Let's continue."
He spent the next twenty minutes reviewing patrol logs, trying to ignore the fact that Lyra was lounging back in her chair like this was entertainment.
She barely even pretended to take notes.
She just sat there, eyes half-lidded, twirling a quill between her fingers.
Percy knew she wasn't listening.
And it infuriated him.
Finally, he reached the part of the meeting he had been waiting for.
"Now," he said, voice sharp, "let's move on to disciplinary reports."
He flicked through his notes, deliberately not looking at Lyra. "This week, we've had multiple incidents of students being caught in restricted areas, as well as an increase in unauthorized trips to the kitchens—"
"Oh?" Lyra cut in. "Would that be the same second-years you wrote up on Monday?"
Percy's head snapped up. "How do you know about that?"
She smirked. "Because I caught them first."
Percy froze.
"...Excuse me?"
Lyra waved a lazy hand. "They were sneaking out of the dungeons after curfew. I told them to go back to bed. Problem solved."
Percy stared at her. "That's not how it works."
Lyra raised a brow. "Really? Because I haven't seen them sneaking around since, which means my method was far more effective than wasting time writing their names down."
Percy felt his pulse spike.
"That's not your decision to make," he snapped. "There are rules, Malfoy. You can't just—just handle things your own way without reporting them!"
Lyra just blinked at him, slow and deliberate.
Then she smiled.
And Merlin help him, Percy wanted to throw something.
She lived to irritate him. He was convinced of it.
Before he could say another word, she leaned forward, her voice deceptively soft.
"You know what I think, Weasley?"
He didn't want to know.
But she told him anyway.
"I think it drives you insane that I don't need your rules to keep things under control."
Percy's hands curled into fists beneath the table.
"I think," she continued, eyes glinting, "that you hate the fact that I don't need to write everything down on your little clipboard to get results."
The entire room was dead silent.
All eyes flicked between Percy and Lyra, waiting.
Percy's voice was dangerously low when he finally spoke.
"You will follow the system, Malfoy."
She held his gaze, tilting her head ever so slightly.
"And what if I don't?"
His jaw tightened. "Then I will report you."
Lyra exhaled slowly, like this was so exhausting for her.
Then she leaned back, stretching her arms lazily.
"Alright, then," she said. "Go ahead."
Percy narrowed his eyes. "What?"
"Go. Report me." She shrugged. "I don't care."
Percy's breathing stilled.
She wasn't bluffing.
She was actually daring him to go to McGonagall.
Like it wouldn't affect her at all.
Like she already knew she wouldn't get in trouble.
And suddenly—horribly—Percy realized something.
McGonagall did know.
And she hadn't done anything.
Because she didn't mind Lyra's methods.
Because they worked.
And that—more than anything else—made Percy's stomach twist.
Because it meant he had no control over her.
And Lyra knew it.
She smiled.
"Meeting over?" she asked sweetly.
Percy hated her.
He hated her.
He hated—
"Fine," he bit out. "Go."