Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
As he walked back to the common room, Percy tried to ignore the way his heart was beating a little too fast, the way his breath came a little too quickly.
It's nothing.
It's nothing.
But he couldn't shake the feeling that he was lying to himself.
He didn't care about her.
He didn't.
--
The moment he stepped out of the castle, the cold air biting at his skin, he caught sight of her—standing near the entrance to the village, talking with a group of Slytherins. Her laughter carried on the wind, light and melodic, and it made Percy's chest tighten.
He didn't want to see her. He didn't want to be near her.
But she saw him, of course.
"Weasley!" Lyra called out, her voice carrying over the crowd. "Fancy running into you here."
Percy's stomach dropped.
"Malfoy," he greeted stiffly, trying to mask his irritation, but it didn't work. Not with the way she was looking at him.
He took a step forward, hoping to escape without further interaction. But of course, Lyra was too good at this. She always knew exactly how to get under his skin.
"You know," she said casually, twirling her wand in her hand, "it's a shame you're spending your weekend so seriously. You should try enjoying yourself for once."
Percy bristled. "I'm enjoying myself just fine."
Lyra raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "Are you? Because it looks like you're about to explode from frustration any second now."
Percy clenched his jaw. "I'm fine."
"You sure?" Lyra smiled sweetly. "Because you look like you want to yell at me."
"I don't want to yell at you," Percy snapped, glaring at her. "I just want to go to Hogsmeade without you mocking me every step of the way."
Lyra tilted her head. "Mocking? I'm not mocking you. I'm just... observing."
"I don't need to be observed." Percy's voice was tight with annoyance.
"Clearly," she said with a teasing smile, "because you've been avoiding me all week."
"I have not," Percy gritted out. "You've been avoiding me."
She chuckled. "If you say so. But you can't seem to stay away, can you?"
Percy didn't answer immediately. He was avoiding her—he was—but he couldn't help but feel like she was playing some sort of game with him. A game he didn't want to be a part of but somehow kept getting dragged into.
Before he could say anything else, Lyra stepped closer, her voice dropping just slightly. "What if I told you I could make your Saturday much more interesting?"
Percy's pulse quickened, a mix of curiosity and frustration boiling beneath the surface. "What do you mean by that?"
Lyra smirked, leaning in a bit closer. "I mean, if you don't want to be all serious and boring, maybe you should try letting go of your little obsession with rules for once. You might find it... refreshing."
"I don't need your advice, Malfoy," Percy said quickly, stepping back. "I'm fine with my way of doing things."
Lyra studied him for a moment, her smirk widening. "Fine. But if you change your mind," she said, too casually, "I'll be here. Waiting."
Then, without another word, she turned on her heel and walked away, her group of Slytherins following her like she was leading a parade.
Percy stood there for a moment, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts.
Why did she do that?
Why did she always get to him?
After a few minutes of trying (and failing) to clear his mind, Percy finally made his way toward the Three Broomsticks, hoping that a drink would settle his nerves.
Inside, the warm air and the smell of butterbeer made him feel a little more at ease. He spotted a couple of Gryffindor students near the back and went to join them, thankful for some semblance of normalcy.
But no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the conversation, his mind kept drifting back to Lyra.
"Did you see that?" Fred Weasley's voice broke through Percy's haze.
Percy blinked, finally dragging himself out of his thoughts. "What?"
"Lyra Malfoy," George added, pointing toward the door. "She practically flirted with you right in front of us."
Percy's face flushed. "What? I—I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, don't pretend, Percy," Fred said, grinning. "You were practically melting when she walked away."
Percy's hand twitched around his glass, trying to suppress the overwhelming rush of annoyance. "I was not melting. She just... knows how to get to me."
"You're not the only one," George said, his eyes glinting. "She does that to a lot of people. But you? You're a special case."
Percy scowled. "I don't care what you think. I'm not—"
"You're obsessed," Fred interrupted, leaning in closer. "We've seen it for weeks. It's obvious. And it's hilarious watching you pretend you don't care."
Percy slammed his glass down on the table, feeling the blood rush to his face. "I don't care about her!"
Fred and George exchanged an amused look, and Percy realized, too late, that he had just proven their point.
"Right, Percy. Sure you don't."
After leaving the Three Broomsticks, Percy couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. He had tried to escape it, tried to distance himself from the chaos Lyra had brought into his life, but no matter how much he hated it, she lingered in his thoughts.
And he wasn't sure what to do with that.
--
It was a Wednesday afternoon, and Percy was trudging through the hallways of the castle after class. He was heading toward the library to get some work done, determined to tackle his overflowing list of tasks before the weekend.
He had almost made it there when—
"Weasley."
That voice.
Percy stiffened at the sound of it, his heart rate quickening without his permission. He didn't turn around right away, hoping, praying that maybe she was just passing by, and he wouldn't have to deal with her today.
But no such luck.
He heard the click of boots behind him, the unmistakable sound of her approach.
"I thought we could have a little chat." Her voice was smoother this time, almost teasing.
He finally turned around, putting on his best neutral expression. "What do you want, Malfoy?"
She was standing there, a smirk on her face, arms crossed casually over her chest. The posture was so relaxed, so confident, that it made Percy want to snap at her.
"What do I want?" Lyra echoed, as though the very question was beneath her. "I want to know why you've been avoiding me all week."
"I haven't been avoiding you," Percy shot back, his voice firm. "I've just been busy."
She stepped closer, eyes narrowing just slightly. "Busy? Really? Or is it because you can't handle the fact that I've got you so wound up?"
Percy's stomach dropped. "That's not—"
"Oh, but it is," she interrupted smoothly, her gaze catching his with an intensity that made his chest tighten. "It's adorable, actually. Watching you try to pretend you don't care when you're practically seething every time I talk to you."
He could feel the heat rise in his face, but he refused to back down. "I'm not seething."
She took another step closer, closing the distance between them. The air felt thick now, and Percy's breath caught in his throat. "You are, though. You don't like me, but you can't stop thinking about me. You know, it's almost cute how much you try to convince yourself otherwise."
Percy's fingers tightened around the strap of his bag. "You don't know anything about me."
Lyra smiled, and there was something dangerously sharp about it. "I know enough to see that you're lying to yourself."
Before Percy could retort, she stepped back, tilting her head like she was studying him.
"Well," she said, almost too casually, "if you won't admit it, then I guess there's no point in continuing this conversation."
And just like that, she turned and walked away again, her steps slow and deliberate, as if she were leaving him with something to think about.
She always does this, leaving him hanging.. and everytime he falls for it.