15. A Riddikulus day
Harry had to admit that Professor Lupin was already a far better teacher than the last two he’d had in his first and second years. During their first practical lesson, they’d witnessed Lupin, with impressive ease, shoot a piece of gum straight up Peeves' nose, scaring the mischievous poltergeist off-a feat Harry had thought was outright impossible.
But the initial thrill of watching the teacher banish Peeves evaporated when Lupin led the class to a large, ornate cupboard. The unsettling sight of Snape slinking away, casting them all a venomous glare, only intensified Harry’s unease. He couldn’t quite place it, but he felt a strange sense of foreboding-he wasn’t sure whether it was his own or if it was coming from the other students.
“Intriguing, isn’t it?” Lupin asked, his voice a mixture of calm professionalism and an undercurrent of excitement. He paced in front of them, the energy radiating off him almost palpable. Harry’s own emotions were in a whirlwind, amplified by his ever-growing sensitivity to the feelings of others. He couldn’t help but wish he had the books on empathy Lyra had promised to get him-he needed a way to block out these overwhelming sensations. “Anyone care to guess what’s inside?” Lupin called out, his eyes twinkling as he paused near a window.
“That’s a boggart, isn’t it?” Dean Thomas piped up, his voice thick with anxiety as he eyed the cupboard with a nervous glare. His palpable fear seemed to hang in the air, making it clear that whatever was inside wasn’t anything good.
“Very good, Mr. Thomas. Two points to Gryffindor,” Lupin acknowledged, but the cupboard rattled once more, a sound that seemed to draw all their attention. “This particular boggart has taken residence in the staff room cupboard. We’ll use it for our demonstration today. Now, who can tell me what a boggart looks like?” Lupin asked, his eyes scanning the class.
“No one really knows,” Hermione answered from the back, surprising both Harry and Ron. They hadn’t even noticed her slip in; she must’ve come in after forgetting something in the library.
“When did she get here?” Ron muttered, glancing at Harry, but Harry just shrugged, distracted by Hermione’s unexpected entrance.
“Boggarts are shape-shifters,” Hermione continued with the calm certainty that always amazed Harry. “They transform into whatever a person fears the most.”
“That’s what makes them so terrifying,” Lupin finished for her with a knowing smile. “Two points for the answer, Miss Granger.” He turned his attention back to the cupboard, which rattled once again. “Luckily, there’s a simple charm to repel a boggart.” Lupin moved closer to the cupboard as it shook again. “Let’s practice it now. No wands, please. Repeat after me: ‘Riddikulus!’”
“Riddikulus!” the class echoed, and Lupin nodded, his voice growing louder, more encouraging.
“Very good! A little louder, please! Riddikulus!” His enthusiasm grew as the students followed his lead, and Harry could just barely hear Draco’s muttered words-something not entirely fitting the incantation-but he couldn’t catch it from his spot at the front.
“Excellent. Now, here’s the tricky part,” Lupin said, his tone turning more serious. “The incantation alone won’t defeat the boggart. What truly banishes it is laughter.”
“Laughter?” Harry muttered to himself, confusion etched on his face, only to grunt as Hermione elbowed him sharply in the ribs. He winced but shot her a glare, silently annoyed by the jab.
“You’ll need to force it to take a form that’s so ridiculous you can’t help but laugh at it,” Lupin continued. He looked over the students, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Neville, would you be so kind as to join me?”
Neville moved forward, his steps hesitant and shaky. Harry couldn’t help but wonder what his own personal boggart might look like. Would it take the form of Vernon Dursley? The basilisk? Or those dreadful dementors? He couldn’t quite figure out what frightened him the most.
“Snape?” Ron muttered under his breath, his voice thick with amusement, catching Harry’s attention once again. Harry looked back at Neville, who was standing nervously at the front. It seemed that Neville’s boggart was none other than their potions professor. A few of the other students chuckled, but Harry could feel an unexpected pang of sympathy for Neville.
“Professor Snape, eh?” Lupin said with a playful chuckle. “That frightens many, I’m sure.” He glanced at Neville, who appeared mortified. “And I believe you live with your grandmother?”
“I don’t want it to turn into her, either!” Neville said quickly, his voice rising in shock, drawing more laughter from the class.
“No, no,” Lupin said, shaking his head. “It won’t turn into your grandmother. I want you to focus only on her clothes. Visualize them clearly in your mind, Neville. Just the clothes. Let’s see what we can do, eh?” Neville nodded, though he looked slightly less certain.
“She carries a red handbag-” he began, but Lupin cut him off with a gentle wave.
“We don’t need to hear the details. Just picture it clearly. Let’s leave it to the imagination.” Lupin smiled reassuringly at Neville before bending down to whisper something in his ear. Harry felt a surge of amusement emanate from Neville, almost as if the moment had lightened the tension he’d been carrying. The boy’s nervousness mixed with a strange, sudden joy.
“Can you do that?” Lupin asked, and when Neville nodded, Lupin pulled out his wand. “Wand at the ready!” he called. Neville quickly followed suit, his wand held firm. “One… two… three,” Lupin said, and with a swift wave, the cupboard door creaked open, Lupin moved behind Neville.
A pale, bony hand gripped the side of the cupboard door, and a sneering, all-too-familiar face of Professor Snape slid into view through the crack. His lips curled in utter disdain as he peered at Neville. The Boggart, now fully formed, began to shuffle toward Neville with an ominous air, and Harry could just make out Lupin’s soft voice offering words of encouragement to Neville in the midst of the tension.
“Riddikulus!” Neville squeaked out, his voice trembling with fear. He pointed his wand with shaky determination at the advancing figure.
In an instant, Snape’s black robes contorted and morphed into something entirely absurd. The once intimidating figure of the potions master was now draped in a garish, hideous green dress robe, trimmed with the matted fur of a dead fox. A red handbag dangled awkwardly from his arm, and a ridiculous hat, mounted with what appeared to be a stuffed bird, sat atop his greasy hair. Even more comically, Snape's feet were now encased in high-heeled shoes, and he wobbled uncertainly in them, adding a layer of absurdity to his formerly imposing presence.
Laughter erupted instantly from the class, and Harry could see Lupin’s joy radiate as his own delighted chuckles joined the chorus.
“Wonderful, Neville! Wonderful! Incredible!” Lupin praised, clapping his hands with genuine admiration. “You’ve done it! Now, to the back, Neville, to the back.” He turned to the class, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Everyone, form a line! I want each of you to face your greatest fear and turn it into something laughable!”
The class, still chuckling from Neville's triumph, began to shuffle into line. Harry could already feel the anticipation in the air as they all prepared for their own turn, the room humming with excitement.
Poor Ron, predictably, found himself at the front of the line. A ripple of laughter passed through the class as Lupin, with a grin, moved to an old record player. The needle dropped with a crackle, and soon upbeat music filled the room, its lively tempo contrasting sharply with the tension of the moment. “Concentrate! Face your fear! Be brave!” Lupin called out, his voice rising above the music, egging the students on with a wide grin on his face.
The Boggart shifted once again, this time taking the shape of a large, horrifying spider. Ron recoiled, his face pale as the creature skittered toward him, all eight legs moving in a terrifying rhythm. But before the spider could reach him, Ron, with a swift flick of his wand, turned the creature’s legs into roller-blades. The spider teetered and wobbled, its once-menacing appearance now hilariously absurd. The entire class erupted into laughter, the sound ringing through the room as the spider clumsily tried to regain balance on its new, slick wheels.
Parvati’s turn came next. The Boggart morphed into a gruesome sight-a bloodstained mummy, its wrapped, tattered bandages barely holding together. Its sightless eyes locked on Parvati, its stiff arms reaching toward her with eerie intent. But Parvati, determined, flicked her wand and transformed the mummy into a terrifying jack-in-the-box clown-its exaggerated, painted face twisted into a wide, manic grin, and its oversized red nose bobbed with each movement. The others found it more funny than frightening, and the room filled with hearty laughter, even as Parvati shot a slightly nervous grin at the now-dancing clown.
Seamus stepped forward, his jaw set with a mix of concentration and nervousness. His fear manifested as the Boggart quickly morphed into something far worse-a woman with floor-length black hair, her face skeletal and green-tinged, eyes hollow, mouth open in a chilling scream. It was a banshee. The scream echoed around the room, sending a ripple of unease through the class. But Seamus was ready. With a flick of his wand, the banshee’s face shifted into a comically oversized goose, honking loudly and flapping its wings. Laughter once again erupted, drowning out the ghostly wail, as the banshee flapped awkwardly, now nothing more than a ridiculous, honking bird.
The class buzzed with energy, the tension that had hung so thickly in the air now replaced with uproarious laughter. Lupin’s face glowed with pride as each student faced their fear and transformed it into something laughable.
It was finally Harry’s turn. He moved slowly, unease settling deep in his stomach as he walked to the front of the room. His gaze flickered nervously to the honking goose, which seemed to regard him with some curiosity, its comical appearance a stark contrast to the gnawing dread crawling back into Harry’s chest.
He felt the familiar flutter of worry stir within him, and his mind raced. What would his Boggart be? Would it be Uncle Vernon, bearing down on him with that familiar sneer? Or perhaps the monstrous basilisk, it's cold eyes locked on him? Maybe it would take the form of a Dementor, draining him of hope. He didn’t know what to expect, but whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be easy.
But nothing could have prepared Harry for what happened next.
The Boggart flopped to the ground, twisting and writhing as it morphed into something far worse than he could have ever imagined.
The air seemed to freeze as a chilling scene unfolded before him. The creature now took the shape of his younger sister, Lyra, but there was nothing even remotely familiar about the sight. Her once-vibrant green eyes were now dull, staring up at him with an unearthly emptiness, her brown skin now sickly pale, as if drained of life. Blood pooled around her, staining the floor beneath her as she dragged herself toward Harry, her movements slow and unnatural.
“H-Harry…” Her voice was faint, weak, as it trembled out in a breathless whisper, more a plea than a call.
Harry’s breath hitched in his throat as he stood frozen, unable to move, as the Boggart-Lyra-looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes, her arms shaking with effort as she crawled closer, desperate.
“Harry...” The word wavered again, raw with fear.
Every part of Harry wanted to react, to do something-anything-but he couldn’t. The image before him was too much. His sister, his sister, begging for help, the blood pooling around her, the look of pain in her eyes. This wasn’t something he could turn into something funny. His mind went blank, his feet rooted to the floor, and his heart pounded in his chest like a drum.
Just as the grip of panic started to tighten around him, a voice broke through the fog in his mind.
“Riddikulus!”
The sharp, commanding voice of Lupin sliced through the moment, and before Harry could even register what had happened, he saw Lupin step in front of him, his wand raised high. In the blink of an eye, the nightmare that had taken Lyra’s form was gone. Harry barely saw the flash of the full moon Lupin conjured before the Boggart deflated like a balloon, crumpling to the ground with a deflating hiss and crashing back into the cupboard.
The room fell into an awkward silence, the laughter and cheers of earlier forgotten in an instant.
Lupin cleared his throat, his voice softer now, as if trying to ease the tension in the room. “Right, er… Sorry about that. That’s enough for today, everyone. If you’d like to collect your books from the back…” His words drifted off as he ushered the other students away, but Harry barely heard him.
He stood still, his eyes locked on the empty space where the Boggart-Lyra-had been only moments before. His heart hammered in his chest, and he felt a cold sweat prickling at his skin. His mind raced, but all he could see was her face, her pale eyes, and the blood… so much blood.
It had been a nightmare. And yet it felt so real. He couldn’t shake the image of her crawling toward him, helpless, the horror of it still fresh in his mind.
A hand gently touched Harry’s elbow, and he allowed himself to be guided away from the spot, his mind still reeling. He half-expected it to be Ron or Hermione, but instead, he looked up to find Neville and Parvati standing there, their faces filled with concern. Harry felt numb, like he was floating above himself, detached from the reality of the moment. Parvati silently pressed a warm cup into his hand, and Harry numbly wrapped his fingers around it, still unsure of how to react.
“My sister had him yesterday morning and warned me about what we’d be doing,” Parvati said softly, her voice almost apologetic. “So I made some of my Masala Chai in case it was needed.” She wrapped his hands around the cup, the warmth of it feeling oddly grounding. She passed another cup to Neville before sitting down beside him.
Harry took a slow sip, his thoughts still tangled in the aftermath of the Boggart. “Ron went after Hermione,” Neville added, his tone gentle. “She rushed off pretty quickly, and he just wanted to make sure she was okay.”
Harry barely acknowledged the information, his mind still on what had just happened. He sipped the tea mechanically, but the taste of ginger and cardamom cut through the fog of his thoughts. The warmth spread through him, but a knot twisted in his stomach. He couldn’t help but feel a flicker of resentment-Ron had gone to check on Hermione, when it was Harry’s own fear that had caused the panic. His thoughts raced, but he forced himself to focus on the tea.
“This is really good,” he muttered after a moment, the comforting warmth filling him more than he’d expected.
“Have you not had it before?” Parvati asked, her voice laced with surprise as she turned to him. She was clearly trying to distract him from the heaviness still lingering in the air.
“No,” Harry replied softly. “Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon refuse to have anything that’s ‘ethnic’ in their home.” The words felt strange to say, even though they were true. He hadn’t spoken about his aunt and uncle like that before, but in the aftermath of the Boggart’s vision, it felt like nothing mattered as much as the raw honesty he was suddenly allowing himself.
Parvati’s expression shifted, and she glanced up at him sharply, her voice taking on a scolding edge.
“They do?” she asked, disbelief in her tone. “Your father’s side is Indian-don’t they at least let you or Lyra learn about your culture?” Harry blinked, his mind scrambling to process her words.
“We’re Indian?” he asked in surprise, the numbness from before beginning to lift. “I thought Dad was raised in England…” Neville, who had been quietly sipping his tea, glanced at Harry as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Well, yeah. The last eight generations have been born and bred in England,” he explained. “But six of those generations married someone from India. Your dad was the first in the English branch to marry another English witch.” Neville’s voice carried a gentle confusion, like it was strange to him that Harry didn’t know this. “Did no one tell you?” Harry shook his head slowly, his mind swirling with questions.
“I didn’t know it was common knowledge,” he whispered, staring down at the cup of tea in his hands as if it held the answers to everything. Parvati, ever the optimist, gave a soft laugh and nudged him playfully.
“Well, it’s time you and Lyra learned a bit more about it. I’ll speak to Padma. We’ll teach you some things about our culture-make sure you’re not just seasoning your food with salt and pepper!” She winked at him, her tone light and teasing. Harry couldn’t help but chuckle, the warmth of her words sinking in.
The tension in his chest loosened a little, and he felt a bit more at ease as he allowed himself to relax into the conversation. The three of them continued to talk, sipping the comforting tea, their laughter and easy chatter a welcome balm after the intensity of the Boggart. Harry hadn’t realised just how much he needed this-something simple, something calming, something that felt normal. In that moment, with the heat of the tea in his hands and the steady presence of his friends beside him, he began to feel like he could breathe again.
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
To my dearest Draco,
I hope this letter finds you well. Please be sure to pass along my warmest regards to Miss Potter. Let her know she is always welcome at our home, and both your father and I are very much looking forward to meeting her. We would be absolutely delighted if she could join us for Yule this year.
Additionally, kindly inform her that I have securely kept both her and Harry's legitimisation papers among my personal documents. There is no need for her to worry about her blood-status. Rest assured, I will ensure they are filed with the Ministry and stored safely in Gringotts for future protection.
On another matter, your father is deeply distressed about the recent events during your Quidditch training. He, along with several board members, has attempted to appeal the decisions made, but unfortunately, the Minister has remained unmoved. For now, we are exploring other options to allow students to continue playing. Perhaps, in the meantime, you could focus on your studies or even consider starting a club of your own?
Life here, as always, feels rather empty without you. Your father is consumed with Ministry affairs, and I find myself once again lost in the pages of our library. A small part of me wonders if I should take up charity work or perhaps even write a book myself, as many of these fantasy novels hardly offer any real substance.
Do keep us both updated on your progress, and know that you are always in our thoughts.
With all my love and care,
Your mother.
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
"So, it’s true then? The Potters are both considered Purebloods?" Pansy asked, re-reading Draco’s mother's letter. She glanced up at Draco, who quickly swallowed a pain potion, barely suppressing a grimace at the foul taste. Pansy couldn’t help but feel a flicker of sympathy for him-the taste of that potion was dreadful, even if he had gotten used to it.
"Yeah," Draco muttered, wiping his mouth with a look of distaste. "Even with that Muggle-born mother of theirs." He paused, glancing at the letter again. "From what I can gather, they're agreeing to my request for a favour." He hummed absently.
"I still think it's a bad idea," Daphne’s voice floated over from her spot beside Theo, where she sat with a potion book resting on her lap. "I only wanted to teach her about Slytherin politics, but you and your parents-"
"They’ll teach her what she needs to know," Pansy interrupted with a sniff, her tone dripping with certainty. "Let’s be real. When the Dark Lord returns, he’ll wipe Potter out, and that leaves Pocket Potter as the last member of the Potter line. She’ll inherit the title, and she'll need to know how to handle herself properly." She sniffed again, eyes narrowing slightly as she spoke. Daphne rolled her eyes.
"She might not. There’s never been a Lady Potter-at least not in the last several centuries. All it would mean is that any child she bears could-"
"Exactly," Pansy cut in with a smug smile. "Any child she has could become the Lord of the line if she doesn’t take the title herself. That's why Draco’s so graciously offering to help her. Either way, she needs to learn to act right." She huffed, folding her arms. Draco let out a quiet sigh.
"Mother will sort her out, and Father will handle the background nonsense. But speaking of Potter..." He shuddered. "Did you all see his Boggart?"
"It was horrific!" Pansy laughed, her eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. "The voice-crying out for him to help!" She grinned at the thought. "He went so pale, and did you see Weasley and the Beaver? They just ran off and left him!"
"Pansy," Daphne scolded, her tone sharp. "I couldn’t imagine being in his shoes, seeing your younger sister like that-even if it was just a Boggart! There was no way for him to make that funny. I would be in the same position as him. Would you laugh at me?" she added, a hint of reproach in her voice.
"Oh, please," Pansy said, dismissing Daphne's comment with a wave. But Draco cut in, shaking his head.
"I might not like Potter, but even I can agree that this is something we shouldn’t bring up, at least not to his face," Draco said, his voice cool. "It would be... rather uncouth and downright indecent." He raised an eyebrow, casting a pointed glance at the group.
"Oh, hang on-Draco’s speaking Pureblood now!" Blaise teased, earning a glare from the blonde.
"I’m just saying-" Draco began, but Blaise interrupted him with a smirk.
"That we should focus on something else instead of this blunder," Blaise said nonchalantly. "Yes, yes, Potter trips going down the stairs and gets ridiculed in Potions. We’ll find something better to talk about, and pretend it’s more interesting than that." He leaned back in his seat, clearly uninterested in continuing the conversation.
"Honestly," Draco muttered with exaggerated exasperation. "You’re all children."
"Coming from the boy who still sleeps with his childhood blanket?" Blaise teased, laughing when Draco’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
Without warning, Draco sent a stinging hex toward Blaise, making him yelp in surprise.
Honestly, Draco wondered for the hundredth time why he bothered being friends with these idiots.
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
‘Take the cauldron off the heat and add five lionfish spines, then heat the potion to 345 degrees. Keep the heat constant until the potion turns yellow.’ Lyra mouthed the words to herself, her finger tracing over the notes she had written. Carefully, she removed her cauldron from the small flame, adding the lionfish spines one by one, watching them closely to ensure the potion didn’t suddenly react violently.
Once again, she was alone at her desk in the potions classroom, but this time it was due to one of the other Slytherin students being absent, sick. The rest of the class moved about, but Lyra was focused on her task, paying little attention to the others. She set the cauldron back onto the heat and placed the thermometer in, her eyes locked on the potion's progress.
The next step, as far as she could tell, was to add another five lionfish spines, a repeat of the earlier procedure. She double-checked her ingredients, verifying everything was in place when an overwhelming stench hit her nose. She instantly covered her mouth and nose, her eyes darting toward the source. A Gryffindor student had made the mistake of adding salamander blood while the potion was still yellow, causing it to react with a sickeningly foul odour.
A chorus of gags rose around her, and Lyra’s stomach churned in sympathy. Professor Snape, ever the picture of calm disdain, swooped in like a hawk. His voice was cold and cutting as he reprimanded the Gryffindor.
“This ineptitude is honestly astounding! Do you not read your notes? Your books? Did you even consider the danger your careless actions have caused?!" Snape's voice dripped with disgust. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for sheer idiocy!"
“I-I-" The Gryffindor boy, clearly mortified, stuttered.
"I-I, what, Mr. Marsh?" Snape cut him off, his tone almost bored as he scolded. "Didn't think? Didn't read? Didn't bother to use that tiny, insignificant thing you call a brain?" His words were clipped and biting. "Take yourself to the back of the classroom. You’ll take a T for the day. Write me five inches on the importance of reading your notes and following instructions properly." The boy, now pale, muttered a quick apology and trudged to the back of the room. Snape didn't even spare him another glance as he turned back to the class, snapping, "Stop looking! Get back to your potions!"
Lyra flinched, refocusing on her own brew. She sighed with relief as her potion finally reached the correct temperature. Gently, she removed the cauldron from the heat and added the next five lionfish spines, repeating the previous step, ensuring everything remained stable. She placed the cauldron back onto the heat, watching carefully for any signs of instability.
By the end of the class, her potion was nearly perfect, the colour a vibrant shade of green as required. She knew she had nailed it, though Snape made no mention of her success. His indifference stung a little, but Lyra kept her face neutral, refusing to show any hint of disappointment. She had grown used to it.
As expected, Sirius was waiting outside the classroom, his tail wagging enthusiastically when she emerged.
"Come on, big guy, let’s get outside for some air," Lyra murmured, reaching down to give the large dog a quick pat. She led him out of the dungeons and into the hallway, her thoughts drifting as the other students scattered in different directions. She had just stepped outside the main doors, into the fresh air of the courtyard, when a pair of voices-identical in every way-called her name.
“Little Lyra!”
Before she could react, two sets of arms swooped under hers, lifting her off the ground and carrying her into a nearby alcove. She blinked in surprise as Sirius followed her, unbothered by the sudden 'kidnapping'. He wagged his tail, almost as if he approved of whatever was happening.
“It’s good to finally see you-” One of the Weasley twins started with a grin.
“-Been a while since that fun little car ride-” The other finished, winking at her.
“-Thought we’d drop by for a quick check-in. Can’t let you go the way of Ginny, can we, Forge?”
“No, we can’t, Gred,” ‘Forge’ responded with a playful smirk. Lyra looked between them, eyebrow raised, clearly sceptical and confused by their words.
“The way of Ginny?” she asked, her confusion evident.
“Not messing with any talking diaries? Losing time?” Gred asked, his voice unexpectedly serious as he scanned her, as if searching for signs of something.
“Not being all moody or anti-social?” Forge added, his expression almost amused. Lyra blinked at the pair for a moment before shaking her head in denial. “Good,” Forge said, booping her on the nose, and for a brief second, Lyra was caught off guard.
“Missed mum going spare over you and Harry vanishing from the Leaky, by the way,” Gred-who she was pretty sure was George-said, his tone light but with a hint of underlying concern.
“Utterly barmy, that woman. Looked ready to tear Diagon Alley apart looking for you both. You were safe, yeah?” Forge-or maybe Fred-asked, his tone softening as he glanced at her.
“Yeah. We… um, we were safe,” Lyra answered, shifting uncomfortably as memories of the event briefly resurfaced. “Got a Grim and everything, so-” She gestured to Sirius, who was happily sitting nearby. The twins immediately turned their attention to the large black dog, their faces lighting up with mischievous excitement.
“Oh, yes. We did hear about your little Grim~,” Fred-she was pretty sure it was Fred now-said with a knowing grin, extending his hand toward Sirius, who sniffed it curiously.
“I hear his name’s Siri?” George asked, raising an eyebrow as he offered a treat to Sirius. But the dog, too busy enjoying head pats from Fred, turned his nose away from the offering.
“I mean… that’s his name for school,” Lyra replied slowly, eyeing George as he studied her with a curious expression, almost as if he were trying to figure her out.
“And his… out of school name?” George asked, his lips twitching, as if holding back a smile.
“Sirius,” Lyra said with a grin of her own, watching as the twins snorted in laughter.
“Oh, how you sorted Slytherin,” Fred muttered, shaking his head. He finished giving Sirius his head pats and turned back to Lyra. “You’re seriously alright, though?” he double-checked, his tone softer now.
“Yeah, they’re kinda just ignoring me at the moment. I don’t mind.” Lyra shrugged casually, her expression nonchalant.
“If you say so,” George hummed thoughtfully. “If they give you any trouble, just-”
“Come to us.” Fred finished for him, ruffling her hair in a friendly gesture.
The twins then turned to leave, and Lyra huffed, trying to fix her curls. Honestly, what a couple of weirdos, she thought, shaking her head with a half-amused smile. She glanced at Sirius, who was trotting ahead, clearly unbothered.
“Thanks for stopping them, oh great familiar of mine.” she said, teasing him with a mock bow.
Sirius responded with a quick bark and trotted toward the courtyard, his tail wagging. Lyra followed, chuckling softly at the absurdity of it all.