Delinquents
Harry:
A few months before...
The day of Lyra’s eleventh birthday wasn’t a grand celebration like Harry had expected, judging by what Draco and Ron said about how it was in their families, but it was still different from the usual. Not in a good way.
The day had been fairly normal until his friends left after an exhausting day full of lessons, and his father called him to the lab. He had never been to the lab before.
"It’s just that, with Lyra going to Hogwarts, your turn will come soon, and there are some things we need to explain to you," his father said hesitantly. "These are things you need to know, but we didn’t tell you earlier because you were too young and didn’t know the magical world well enough to understand what we were going to tell you. I just want to say that we didn’t hide things from you out of malice, Harry."
Harry couldn’t think of anything his sister and father might be hiding from him that would justify Sirius Black walking on eggshells like this around him. The only thing it could possibly be...
"Is it about my parents?" Harry guessed.
"Sort of," Sirius seemed uncertain. "It’s connected to the event that led to their deaths, though. They’re tangentially involved."
Harry knew everything the public did about his parents’ deaths and a bit more. When he first came to live with his family and discovered he was famous, he became somewhat obsessed with learning everything about his parents and how they had died. Moving in with his godfather and sister ensured that he had insider information about that night, but now he knew they had likely censored some details.
He felt anger stir in his chest, but he forced himself not to direct it at Sirius. He’d been young, naïve, and traumatized when he arrived; it made sense that his father had felt the need to protect him from whatever truth he was about to share now. That didn’t mean Harry had to like it.
"So, what do you need to tell me?"
"In the lab. The fewer people know, the better."
And didn’t that say something? That was another reason not to tell a young boy with no knowledge of magic a delicate and dangerous piece of information. He probably wouldn’t even notice, back then, if someone tried to invade his mind and steal it from him. An interrogation wouldn’t even be necessary.
Maybe he still couldn’t create a strong enough Occlumency shield to stop a truly determined wizard, but he could at least recognize an intrusion when it happened. He knew when someone was trying to mess with his thoughts or memories. His sister (paranoid, he thought) had made sure he and his friends knew how to detect it.
That’s what led him to the lab.
Usually, the place was firmly sealed with magic. It was the most inaccessible room in the house; even Grandpa Arthurus couldn’t enter. No one except Sirius and Lyra. The two had claimed it was for safety reasons since they were conducting delicate magical experiments, and anyone entering could be permanently harmed.
Considering Lyra had her own workshop where she spent much of her time with the twins inventing prank toys and games, it wasn’t so far-fetched. That was likely Lyra and her father’s second lab. The two would work there on more serious experiments.
Harry had been only vaguely curious about what was in the lab, but he thought he already knew and never had any reason to believe otherwise. He even overheard the two discussing complicated technical terms about the effects of their experiments.
When Sirius opened the door and let Harry inside for the first time, he had his first glimpse of the mysterious room.
The place was both like and unlike what he imagined as his sister’s workspace. She certainly fit the trope of the mad scientist Muggles loved, though thankfully without bodies floating in tanks. Small mercies. It was a large room with a section dedicated to potions, equipped with its own ventilation and light controlled by runes that kept everything stable and predictable. Another isolated area, separated by rune-covered glass, seemed to be a testing zone for dangerous spells, with runes likely preventing effects from spreading. Hundreds of books were scattered around, most marked with colorful tabs like Muggles used to highlight important information. At least three tables were piled with papers and official-looking files. There were dozens of glassboards on wheels covered with multicolored writing, displaying both Sirius and Lyra’s handwriting. Finally, one massive pinboard took up an entire wall, covered with photos, documents, and strings connecting everything.
It looked like the kind of place conspiracy theorists would love.
Harry didn’t have the best eyesight—magical potions had helped a bit, so he no longer needed glasses for everything, but he wasn’t blind without them anymore—but he could see a pattern on the pinboard: Dumbledore. Strings connected him to many people Harry recognized as First Generation Death Eaters, Voldemort’s original followers.
But Dumbledore wasn’t the only focus of the strings. No, that dubious honor belonged to a young man, a photo of a dark-haired, dark-eyed youth. A handsome boy with aristocratic features, and beneath his picture was the name Tom Riddle.
It seemed the handsome boy had gotten involved with the wrong crowd to end up in such an incredibly suspicious web.
"It’s a good thing you keep this place locked up, or Grandpa Art would’ve had you two committed to St. Mungo’s by now," Harry commented, continuing to study the lab’s eccentricities.
"Oh, thanks for the vote of confidence," Sirius huffed.
"Your concern for our well-being is touching," Lyra said dryly.
The two of them were seated. Sirius sat backward on a chair, his arms crossed over the backrest, chin resting on his arms, while Lyra perched atop one of the tables, surrounded by papers she must have been reading before Harry arrived—if he knew his sister well. She could be even worse than Hermione but far better at forcing people to study or train when she wanted.
His father gestured to an empty chair, and Harry sat down, feeling anxiety tighten in his chest. It had been a while since he felt this insecure, but all that pureblood heir education was good for keeping his face neutral.
"So?"
" I want you to see my memory of the night your parents died..." Lyra was the one who broke the silence filled with expectation and nervousness. This, of course, made her father sit up straight in his chair and crack his knuckles.
"We’ve already discussed that he doesn’t need to see—"
"—but we thought it could be unnecessarily traumatic," she continued, rolling her eyes at her father for interrupting. "We can just explain what you need to know, but if you want to see it with your own eyes, the option is there. You don’t have to decide now."
See his sister’s memory of the night his parents died? She was older and had been there, she survived, and Lyra always remembered. Everything. He should have known she’d remember that night, but he had never thought to ask about it.
But what had happened that night, after all?
"Explain it to me first," he decided. He could see the memory later, armed with the information they’d give him, so he could focus on something beyond the murder of his parents.
It was strange how his heir training had made him more rational. He was certain normal nine-year-olds didn’t know they were about to experience something traumatic and plan a distraction to focus their minds. He wasn’t sure if this wasn’t a result of the Occlumency lessons, though. Maybe it was.
"The first thing you need to know is that your parents went into hiding during the war because of a prophecy," Sirius revealed.
"What did the prophecy say?" Harry frowned.
"I don’t know. Only Dumbledore knows, and he thought it safer not to tell us," his father scoffed. "He only told us two things: that you would play a crucial role in Voldemort’s downfall and that Voldemort had somehow learned at least part of the prophecy. It was because your parents knew the danger you were in that you all hid under the Fidelius Charm."
"The Fidelius Charm allows you to hide something from everyone except one person. When you hide a location, the person keeping the Secret can’t stay inside for long periods without weakening the charm," Lyra explained.
"Yes, you see, I was the obvious choice to be the Secret Keeper," his father averted his eyes when he continued speaking, and Harry knew whatever he was about to say was going to be bad. "That’s why I convinced your parents to make Peter Pettigrew, our friend since our first year at Hogwarts, the Keeper instead. No one would expect it. I was supposed to be the decoy; everyone was supposed to believe I was the Keeper. And everyone did."
"That’s why Dad was imprisoned and why everyone was so sure he was guilty," Lyra said, and Harry remembered he’d already heard about Pettigrew during his father’s trial. "Peter was a traitor, but he faked his own death, and there was no proof of his actions. There couldn’t be, for the plan to use Dad as the decoy to work."
"Pettigrew is still… he’s still alive?"
"Yes." Lyra was always direct, and Harry liked that about her most of the time. The rest of the time, it was disturbing. Perhaps he’d never noticed how people tended to soften blows unconsciously until his sister threw painfully direct answers in his face without even realizing it was something that needed to be handled delicately. "But we don’t know where."
"So, there’s a prophecy about how I defeated Voldemort and an old friend of my parents who was the cause of their deaths."
"Voldemort’s body was never found," Sirius reminded him grimly. "Everyone assumed he was dead because all the Death Eaters surrendered that night—at least those like the Malfoys who claimed they’d been under the Imperius Curse the whole time. Surrendering gave them favorable trials in a war they thought they’d already lost after Voldemort’s disappearance. It was only a matter of time before many other Death Eaters were caught, now that they didn’t have a leader to keep them united and direct them with a strategy. It was through the Death Eaters’ accounts that, with Voldemort’s sudden disappearance, he was presumed dead."
Harry’s palms were sweating. Voldemort was alive and believed in a prophecy that said Harry would be the one to kill him? The events of Halloween eight years ago certainly hadn’t weakened that belief.
If he was alive, he’d come back to kill Harry. A chill of fear and foreboding ran down his spine, making the hairs on his arms stand on end.
"If that’s true, then why do you insist on going to Hogwarts?" he directed the question at Lyra. His father had tried to convince her they should study at another school to stay away from Dumbledore and, now he knew, from Voldemort too. Why stay?
"If we go abroad, we’ll have a peaceful life and won’t even hear anything about Death Eaters," she said, but her closed expression indicated that wasn’t as good a thing as Harry thought it was. "Harry, Voldemort went after you through a Fidelius Charm, which isn’t easy. He went out of his way to kill a baby because he thought you were a potential threat. How determined do you think he’ll be to kill you now? Our family worked hard to make people stop thinking you defeated the Dark Lord, but even we can’t change everyone’s minds. Even if there aren’t books singing your glories anymore, people still whisper, and Death Eaters listen."
Harry clenched his fists at his sides, trying to stop himself from trembling. His magic stirred in the pit of his stomach, and he had to hold it tightly to stop himself from destroying the entire lab.
"Voldemort will come after you, whether to eliminate the danger the prophecy warned him about, to show his followers you didn’t defeat him—that he’s still the most powerful—or just to eliminate the symbol of the Light that Dumbledore made you into. One way or another, he’ll come. If we’re abroad, we won’t know he’s coming until he’s already there, and we won’t have support or allies. The war isn’t theirs, and they won’t risk their countries for us," Lyra looked away, annoyed. "At least here, Aurors wouldn’t hesitate to fight a Death Eater; at least here, we know where the threat comes from. Abroad, we’d be blind, vulnerable. Ignoring the problem won’t make it go away or stop it from blowing up in our faces later."
Voldemort was alive. He’d come after Harry. His father and sister spoke as if it was a certainty, just a matter of when, not if.
Harry wouldn’t run, no matter how tempting it was. Well… couldn’t he actually run? He was sure, judging by his father’s expression, that if he asked, Sirius would be more than willing to flee to a mountain in the middle of nowhere to live as hermits, regardless of Lyra’s plans.
Knowing he could make a decision right then put him at ease. He didn’t have to ask if he had a choice. He knew he did. That was one of the things everyone had made a point of teaching him over the past few years. Harry would one day be the head of the Potter House and should know how to impose his will, take a stand, and maintain his decision, even against opposition.
Neither his father nor his sister would force him to do anything, though Lyra wasn’t above blackmail and other more questionable strategies. As much as he loved her, he wasn’t blind to her unhealthy protective tendencies.
"Was that it?" Harry asked because he wasn’t sure he could handle more shocking revelations right now, but he wouldn’t back down either.
Sirius and Lyra exchanged a look, and Harry knew they weren’t done. He wanted to know and didn’t want to know. Ignorance had never seemed so tempting now that his life was so good and easy, that he was protected and loved. He was secretly glad they had hidden these things from him until now because it meant he hadn’t had to worry about any of it until then.
"There’s more," Sirius took a deep breath before continuing. "The ritual your mother used to protect you from the Killing Curse made it ricochet back at Voldemort and caused a piece of his soul to latch onto you."
"The... what?" Harry felt the air leave his lungs. "The soul... soul..."
He couldn’t breathe.
A sad pair of gray eyes were in front of him before he could do anything else. Sirius was holding the sides of his face gently, and he was saying something. His father was breathing deeply and slowly, and Harry found himself mirroring the rhythm after a few moments.
"That’s it, Harry, deep breaths," his father said softly.
"This isn’t something that happens normally," Lyra was speaking when Harry finally managed to control his breathing and make his mind start working again. "So we’ve been investigating what could have made a piece of someone else’s soul attach itself to you..."
"Lyra, hold on a second..."
"He’s panicking because he has the soul of a psychotic serial killer stuck inside him. Pretending it didn’t happen isn’t going to solve anything! For him to calm down, he needs to understand what happened. Ignorance will help as much as fleeing the country," Lyra spoke in a hard voice, and at moments like this, it was easy to forget she was just two years older than Harry. "We discovered that Voldemort, in his quest for immortality, created several Horcruxes. That is, a vessel where he can store a piece of his soul as a sort of insurance policy in case he ends up dying. Which explains how he survived that night. The problem is that splitting the soul is an incredibly delicate process, and the ritual Voldemort used practically tore his soul into pieces, making what was left fragile. That’s why a piece ended up attaching itself to you, making you an accidental Horcrux. Voldemort doesn’t know what you are."
Harry felt the panic attack threatening to return, but he focused on the touch of his father’s hands on his face and kept his eyes carefully closed. He had a piece of the soul of the man who had tried to kill him stuck inside him.
What am I? Just a vessel for his soul? Is my existence keeping a monster alive?
"How do we destroy it?" Harry forced out.
"We're working on it," Harry recalled all the books scattered around the lab and the information on advanced spells written on glass boards as Sirius continued speaking. "We got another Horcrux years ago and have been using it for tests. We're also working on creating a tracking system using Voldemort's magical signature to locate the other pieces of his soul, which is difficult because we have to isolate the tracking to his soul specifically, not just any lingering spells from the old snake, which include the Dark Marks and other curses he might have cast during the last war. It'll take some time to complete."
"You still haven't figured out how to destroy a Horcrux?" Harry felt small as he spoke. Voldemort was still alive, and a piece of him was inside Harry. The murderer of his parents was kept alive within their own son...
He felt his father tense beneath him, Sirius's arms wrapping around Harry in an attempt to calm and reassure him about his less-than-ideal situation.
"You know," Harry realized, lifting his head to look at his father, who was far more likely to crack and speak.
"It's not that simple," Sirius seemed to shrink, as if he wanted to escape the conversation. "Destroying the piece of soul that belongs to Voldemort would also destroy the... container."
Destroying the Horcrux inside him would also kill him, Sirius left unsaid. That was why they were studying the ritual Voldemort had used. They were trying to find another way, but they hadn’t succeeded yet. How long had they been trying? How much longer would Harry have to wait for a miracle while putting everyone’s lives at risk? As long as he lived, Voldemort could return. It was only a matter of time.
Sirius. Lyra. Draco. Ron. Fred. George. Ginny. Hermione.
His family. His friends.
Would they die because of him, just like his parents?
"Destroy the Horcruxes, all of them," Harry said with determination. He didn’t want to be alone again.
"Harry, if we do that, you’ll..." Sirius shook his head, his brow furrowed.
"Die," Harry finished, teeth clenched and hands sweaty. "One life for thousands—it’s not a hard calculation."
"Is that the message you want to send? Are you sure?" Lyra asked, and for the first time since his panic attack, Harry looked at his sister only to see those blue eyes glaring at him with anger. A coldness he’d never seen directed at him. She had only ever looked at Dumbledore that way, and Lyra hated him.
"W-what?" Harry stammered, hesitant.
"You’re going to send the message to all the magical children in the world that they should live and die for the greater good," she said, her voice sharp, as Harry saw so much anger in her that it was hard to believe she was the same person who cast Patronuses at night so he wouldn’t have nightmares. "You’re going to tell all the adults that they can murder children if they have a good enough excuse to justify their actions? Is that going to be your legacy?"
Harry looked away, feeling Lyra’s magic crackling around him. His sister was always calm, direct, and maybe a little insensitive, but calm. It was hard to reconcile the image he had of her with this creature of static fury. She didn’t move or shout, but not even Uncle Vernon’s yelling made Harry want to shrink as much. This, he imagined, was what it felt like to face a predator and know you couldn’t beat it in strength or speed. Neither fight nor flight was an option.
It was suffocating.
"Lyra, that’s not how—" Sirius began, his voice hard in reprimand. He could feel the magical pressure in the air rising higher and higher.
But Lyra was never one to hold back her fury. In the rare moments it surfaced, it never went unnoticed.
"Look at me, Hadrian James Potter!" Lyra hissed angrily. "Look at me and tell me you’d kill Draco if he were in your place."
Harry felt his body freeze as he looked at his sister.
She was furious, yes, but also very sad and disappointed. Her anger was so violently intense it could mask all her other emotions.
"If you truly believed this nonsense, then you wouldn’t hesitate to kill Draco, would you? This is just the Dursleys’ influence making you think your life is worth less than everyone else’s," she said, disdain dripping from her tone at the mention of his aunt and uncle, but her expression remained cold otherwise. "A society that needs to sacrifice a child to survive is not a society I would defend."
"But it’s different if I choose to sacrifice myself," Harry defended. "I don’t want all those deaths on my conscience!"
"What are you, some kind of martyr?" Lyra pointed a finger at him threateningly as she spoke. "Stop being so arrogant. Wars don’t start or end because of one single person!"
"Lyra! That’s enough!" Sirius said sharply. "This isn’t how you’re going to convince him to change his mind. You’re not responsible for him! One day, he’ll be Head of the House of Potter, and neither you nor I will have the power to stop him, so stop fighting like this will solve everything!"
Sirius hadn’t let go of Harry the entire time, and he hadn’t raised his voice to reprimand his daughter either. He couldn’t help but think their tempers were alike in their fury.
Lyra, on the other hand, looked as if she’d been slapped. Her eyes were wide and frantic, one hand rubbing her forearm beneath her long-sleeved shirt as if there were something there itching, and her breathing grew erratic.
"Lia?" Sirius called, but she began pacing, seemingly not hearing a word he said. "I don’t want Harry hurt either, but this isn’t the way to—"
Lyra stopped abruptly, her spine straightening as her gaze locked onto Harry like a magnet, with an intensity that was terrifying. He had never wanted to hide so badly in his life.
"I swear by magic, Hadrian James Potter..." she began.
"Lyra, stop it..." Sirius stood, releasing Harry and trying to reach her, but the magical pressure around them was suffocating, keeping everyone frozen.
"...that if you die to destroy the Horcrux inside you, I will kill every single person whose life was saved by your death."
The magic around them was alive, swirling and pressing, and Harry just knew the oath had been accepted. His wide eyes couldn’t look away from Lyra for even a second as she stared at him, a victorious smile spreading across her face. Such a strange expression for the moment.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Sirius roared, approaching Lyra, his face red with anger, his hands tugging at his hair as if he wanted to tear it out. "Are you insane? Do you have any idea of the implications of what you’ve done?"
"I know that if Harry truly wants to sacrifice himself to save people, he’ll have to kill me first, or it’ll all be for nothing," she said with a mad grin, her eyes still locked on Harry. "So, Hadrian, if you’re really set on this plan, I suggest you train harder because I’m not an easy person to kill."
Yet Lyra had tears in her eyes that contrasted with her smile. When Lyra stormed out of the room, her steps hurried, both her father and Harry were left behind, stunned.
"I... I’m sorry, Harry. I’ll talk to her, I..." Sirius seemed on the verge of collapse as well, his breathing labored and his attention flitting between Harry and the door Lyra had left through, unsure of which child he should go after first. "I’ll talk to her in a bit, I... Harry, we’ll figure this out..."
While his father rambled, Harry stared at the floor, processing the new information. He wasn’t sure what to think about it.
***
Nowadays...
After that, Lyra spent some time calling Harry "Hadrian," which was strange, to say the least. It made the atmosphere at home tense, even though everyone's daily routines hadn’t changed. Harry wasn’t sure why that memory replayed in his head when he saw Luna being surrounded by other children. As a former victim of Dudley’s 'games,' Harry knew very well how uncomfortable that situation was—how helpless it made him feel.
"Why are you so weird?" a mocking voice reached his ears, followed by laughter.
Why are you so weird, Harry? Is that why your parents didn’t want you?
He shook his head to push away the unpleasant memory. The boys surrounding Luna were a year older than Harry. Ten years old then, and they were in a group of three. Why were they going after Luna? It was likely someone from her class had deliberately gotten her into trouble.
Harry looked around, wondering where the teachers were when you needed them. The few students still in the yard either avoided looking at the scene or moved away to avoid getting involved. No one tried to help.
This is familiar too.
"We just see things differently," Luna replied, her voice calm but firm in its softness.
"We just see things differently," the tallest boy mocked, imitating her voice in an exaggerated tone. He snatched the flower crown off Luna’s head and threw it to the ground, stomping on it. "That’s ridiculous, just like you."
The others laughed, encouraging him. Luna only tilted her head, observing the crushed pieces of her crown with regret, but Harry saw how she hid her trembling hands.
"Daisies have feelings, you know?" she said, looking at him as if it were obvious.
"Oh, sure, why don’t you ask the flowers how they feel when a dog pees on them?" the boy retorted, shoving her hard enough to make her stumble and fall to her knees. The children in his group laughed.
Harry didn’t quite know what happened next. He didn’t think before acting, and when he realized it, he was on top of the boy who had pushed Luna, punching his face. The boy’s two friends were shoving him and hitting his back, but Harry barely noticed another body joining the fight.
Ron had jumped on one of the boys, knocking them both to the ground, while Draco threw books at the third boy and dodged all the bully’s attempts to hit him. Hermione ran to help Ron, who was struggling to deal with an older boy, and threw dirt in his face so Ron could land a hit.
"Draco, don’t throw books!" Hermione shouted, though she hesitated to defend the books' integrity in such a situation. Draco did stop throwing books, but only because he had no more left in his bag than out of respect for literature.
A blur of red revealed Ginny, delivering a flying kick to the boy Draco was distracting and irritating. The Weasley girl had an absolutely furious expression. Meanwhile, Harry and his opponent had pulled apart. The older boy had a broken, bleeding nose, and Harry felt satisfied seeing the result of all the training he’d done with his sister over the years.
Ginny stepped away from the fight and stood beside Luna, her chin held high.
"Cowards! Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?" she shouted at the boys. "You’re just bullies who attack younger girls!"
Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Draco heard her and stepped away from their opponents, who had varying degrees of injuries, from scratches and bruises to a bit of blood and a broken nose. They heard an angry teacher’s voice yelling from the other side of the yard.
"You, children, are in trouble!" the teacher called. "I’m calling all your parents!"
Harry and his friends immediately tensed, exchanging loaded looks.
When the teacher turned and ordered them to follow her, Luna hugged Harry, burrowing under his arm and pressing her face against his side.
"Thank you," she murmured.
Harry didn’t know what to say, so he just returned the hug as best as he could in that position. For some reason, memories of the day he learned about the Horcruxes were vivid in his mind.
You need to learn how hard it is to protect someone, his sister’s words echoed in his head.
If you’re really willing to sacrifice yourself, you’ll have to kill me first. And yet, she continued teaching him how to fight.
A life against many. It’s not hard to do the math, is it?
Harry would probably be expelled from school for fighting. They’d say his violent behavior was unacceptable and see the older boys as poor victims.
You need to learn how hard it is to protect someone.
It was so much easier to judge Lyra when he was the one being protected, but standing in the protector's shoes was much harder. Where does he draw the line? When is too far?
Lyra, at three years old, had Harry’s life—who was only one at the time—in her hands, with James and Lily dead and their father in Azkaban. Who could she count on? Who could she trust if no one was there? Then Dumbledore appeared and took Harry away, leaving her alone, but the feeling that she needed to protect Harry didn’t go away.
Because she was the older sister. Because when my parents died, she was the only person left.
What does that do to someone’s mind?
So when Harry talked about sacrifice, Lyra raised the stakes and cornered him. Any sacrifice would be pointless unless he killed Lyra first, the same person who always protected him. The sister that neither he, nor their father, nor anyone he knew had ever been able to beat in training.
The same sister who, since that day, trained obsessively at every free moment to ensure that neither Harry nor anyone else could surpass her and that her threat would remain. Because as long as she lived, Harry couldn’t destroy the Horcrux inside him.
Either we both die, or we both live.
It’s not easy to protect someone.
Harry thought of Luna and how different she was, how she spoke in a way that made her stand out. Ideally, she’d receive special teachers and an education tailored to her needs. But what would happen when she got to Hogwarts and had to deal with their standardized education? When her parents wouldn’t be there at the end of the day to help her feel better?
What good would it do to complain to Luna’s parents about the bullying now if it wouldn’t solve the problem? What would they do when she is at Hogwarts?
In two years, Harry would board the train and leave, and Luna would have an entire year alone in the Muggle school before joining him in a place where he could protect her. And even then, Harry had heard enough stories to know that Hogwarts was enormous. He couldn’t maintain the illusion that he and Luna would always be near each other, and he knew bullies took advantage of moments of vulnerability.
What do I do? How can I protect her?
...if you really want to follow through with that plan, I suggest you train more because I’m not an easy person to kill.
It's easy to forget that Lyra's goal was never to defeat Voldemort, but to save Harry. It was Harry who got things mixed up and changed priorities.
Harry couldn’t always be there for her, but he could prepare her to survive even when she was alone. Train more. Train enough not to depend on anyone’s protection.
"Luna?" he called. He and all his friends were waiting outside the headmistress’s office while she made calls to their respective parents...except Draco’s parents, since Sirius was also listed as his school contact. The bullies were in the infirmary because of their injuries, but Harry and his friends came out of it without injuries, except for Harry’s fist, which was starting to gain some interesting colors after punching that boy.
"Yes, Harry?" Luna was sitting beside him, her feet swinging from the chair.
"I’m going to teach you how to fight," he declared, very aware of all his friends listening.
Luna stopped swinging her feet and stared into nothing for a moment of silence.
"I don’t like hurting people," she said finally.
"You don’t need to hurt anyone," Draco unexpectedly added. "Just learn to defend yourself."
Luna considered this for a moment before nodding, to Harry’s great relief. He shot a grateful look at Draco, who smiled in response.
"I think I’d like to learn too," Hermione broke the friendly silence. Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise, and she nudged his shoulder. "Knowing how to defend yourself is always useful."
"Yeah, you handled that boy by yourself," Ginny said, leaning forward to speak over everyone. "I heard he practices some kind of martial arts, which is why no one fights him. Even so, you beat him and made it look easy."
It was easy. Harry couldn’t even remember how he did it, what technique he used. He had just done one of the many moves Lyra had made him repeat exhaustively, over and over again. She said it was to build muscle memory, so he could act without thinking.
He had trained with Lyra countless times and always lost. She had always been an unattainable target, seemingly close enough to see, that if you just tried a little harder, you might reach. But then he saw her dueling their father and realized she wasn’t any closer to him than the stars.
Harry had never stopped to think about how that distorted his sense of strength. He thought he was weak, an easy target, but for the first time, he wondered if perhaps he was stronger than most. That maybe it was just Lyra who was far above people to be used as a benchmark.
"We’ve been training for years," Draco revealed, breaking Harry’s contemplative silence.
"You weren’t very impressive, though," Ron grinned, nudging Draco.
"I prefer to fight with words—it’s much more civilized, thank you," Draco retorted before pointing at Harry’s exposed hands. "Besides, look at his fists. If I went home with hands like that, Father would be furious."
Yes, that was true. Hopefully, Lucius would never learn about his heir’s latest escapade. Convincing the Head of the Malfoy House to allow Draco to study at a Muggle school had already been difficult enough without making it seem like Muggle influence was corrupting the boy.
"Well, it’s settled then," Ron declared to everyone, with a mockingly lofty voice. "We’re all going to learn how to fight."
Well, that would be interesting. Maybe it was time to send a letter to Lyra.