Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
"You're in a mood today," Oliver remarked casually as they sat together in Transfiguration, the last class of the day.
Percy didn't even look at him. His eyes were fixed on the front of the classroom, watching McGonagall as she explained the day's lesson.
"I'm fine," Percy muttered through clenched teeth.
Oliver, of course, wasn't having it. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "Don't give me that. You've been in a mood for weeks."
"I'm not—"
"You are," Oliver said, cutting him off. "You've been avoiding us, brooding in the corner of the common room, and snapping at Fred and George. You're practically simmering in here."
Percy shot him a glare. "I'm not simmering."
Oliver just raised an eyebrow. "You sure? You've been tense as hell lately. Something on your mind?"
Percy's stomach tied itself in knots. It wasn't just that Oliver was right—it was the fact that he couldn't seem to get away from Lyra.
Every class, every hall they walked down, she was there—effortlessly annoying him with that cool, composed smirk of hers.
And it wasn't even that she was doing anything wrong—it was just...
Her.
Her entire existence was like a puzzle he couldn't solve. Her refusal to play by his rules, her laid-back, confident way of walking through the halls, the way she just let him stew in his frustration without acknowledging it.
It was maddening.
But of course, Percy wasn't going to tell Oliver that. He wasn't going to admit that the source of all his anger—his infuriating anger—was some Slytherin girl who had the nerve to be perfectly calm while he fumed.
"It's just school stuff," Percy muttered, turning his attention back to the front. "I've got a lot to deal with. A lot of Prefect business to run."
Oliver wasn't buying it. "Uh-huh. And what else?"
"I'm not talking about this," Percy snapped, eyes darting back to the board. "I'm fine. Really."
Oliver grinned, clearly enjoying Percy's discomfort. "Alright, alright. But you do know that avoiding it won't make it go away, right?"
Percy exhaled sharply, finally glancing over at his friend. "I'm not avoiding anything. I'm just... tired."
"You've been 'tired' for weeks." Oliver leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. "If you ask me, it's that Slytherin Head Girl. Lyra Malfoy, right?"
Percy froze.
"How do you—"
"Oh, please." Oliver chuckled. "You're practically radiating 'I hate her' energy. And you've been doing it for weeks."
Percy's ears turned red. "I do not hate her."
"Really? Because it looks like you're trying to ignore the fact that she gets under your skin. You're completely fixated on her, mate."
Percy opened his mouth to argue—but the words wouldn't come.
Because deep down, he knew Oliver was right.
He had been obsessing over her.
Lyra Malfoy—the Head Girl who didn't play by the rules, who had made it her mission to mess with his sense of order.
Why was it so hard to let it go?
"I'm fine," Percy said again, his voice quiet this time, but his shoulders tense.
Oliver eyed him for a long moment, clearly unconvinced. Finally, he shrugged. "Alright, mate. Keep pretending it's nothing."
"I am fine," Percy insisted, his voice rising a little too sharply.
Oliver didn't respond at first, just sitting there and letting the silence stretch.
Finally, after a long pause, he leaned in again. "Look, I know you, Percy. You're all about keeping the peace. But if you want to keep from snapping, you've got to find a way to deal with this."
"I am dealing with it," Percy grumbled.
Oliver chuckled softly, shaking his head. "If you say so."
--
It was another one of those days—just before dinner, when everyone was packed into the corridors, heading to the Great Hall. Percy had been caught up in a conversation with Oliver, trying to pretend like he wasn't constantly thinking about Lyra. He was determined not to let her consume his thoughts.
But then, of course, he saw her.
Lyra was standing in the middle of the corridor, talking to a couple of Slytherin second-years, her back turned to him as he walked by. She was laughing, a soft, melodic sound that seemed to draw everyone's attention, even as students walked past. She was just... too much.
It was like she knew how to make everyone look at her.
It made his blood boil.
As he walked by, he tried to ignore the flare of annoyance burning in his chest. He would not let her get to him.
But of course, she saw him.
"Weasley." Her voice was soft, teasing, and when she looked up, her eyes locked with his.
And just like that, everything inside Percy froze.
"Malfoy." He gritted his teeth, forcing the words out. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"
Lyra took a step closer, her eyes glinting with that mischievous spark he hated so much. "I'm just enjoying the peace, Weasley. Unlike you, I don't need to be rushing around with your clipboard every second of the day."
His fists clenched, and he had to force himself not to snap back. She was baiting him again, trying to get him to react.
But Percy wasn't going to fall for it. He wasn't.
"Maybe you should try it sometime," he muttered, more to himself than her. "Peace. Order. Just... following the rules."
Lyra tilted her head slightly, that infuriating little smile playing at her lips. "I follow my rules, Weasley. Not yours."
"I'm not trying to force you to follow my rules," Percy shot back. "I'm just trying to get you to understand that there are consequences to not following them."
"Oh, I understand," she said, her voice casual, like she was talking about the weather. "But the thing is, I don't care."
That made Percy's blood boil. He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth hurt.
"You should care," he said through gritted teeth. "If you don't, there's going to be problems."
Lyra's smile widened, and for a brief moment, Percy felt like she was actually enjoying the tension between them.
But then, to his surprise, she didn't respond immediately.
Instead, she took a slow, deliberate step closer, until she was standing just a few inches away. Percy could feel her presence—the calm, composed way she held herself, the air of someone who knew they had the upper hand. It was like she was inviting him to lose his temper.
And for a moment, Percy almost did.
But he kept it together, keeping his gaze locked on hers.
"I don't care what you think of me, Weasley," she said quietly, almost in a whisper, so only he could hear. "But you should really stop pretending you don't care about me. It's exhausting."
Percy's stomach twisted.
"I don't care about you," he said, his voice sharper than he intended.
Lyra tilted her head, watching him closely, as though she were searching for something. "That's funny," she said, her tone light. "Because it looks like you do."
And just like that, she turned away, walking down the hall with the same carefree, effortless confidence she always carried.
Percy stood there, seething, his breath coming in short bursts.
She had done it again.
She had pushed every button he had, made him doubt himself, made him question whether he was lying to himself.
And he hated it.