free now

CHAPTER FOUR

somewhere in the crowd, there's you

1994

fourth year, pt. one

ORIGINAL UNIVERSE, LYRA'S POV

-I-

LETTERS TO 'FRIENDS'

Dear Lyra,

I hope you're doing alright. I wanted to write to you because, well, I really do not know why. I just wanted to. After our talk in the astronomy tower, well, I see you differently now. You are my friend. Funny, because I hated your guts three years ago.

First of all, thank you again for everything. I know it wasn't easy for you, and I'm sorry for what happened in the Astronomy Tower. I didn't mean to take my frustration out on you, and I'm glad we got to talk things through. It's strange how things turned out, isn't it? I'm still trying to wrap my head around everything, especially about Sirius.

Speaking of which, I just wanted to reassure you again—Sirius and Buckbeak are safe. I can't explain everything right now, but trust me when I say that they're both free. I know it must have been tough for you, especially with your father being involved, but you should be proud of trying to do the right thing.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to hearing from you this summer. Take care of that arm of yours, and don't worry, "'yer not dyin'" as Hagrid says.

Take care of yourself, Lyra. Write back when you can.

your secret new friend,

Harry

Dear Harry,

I hope this letter finds you well. It was such a surprise to hear from you so soon, but nevertheless, it was a good one. I still can't believe everything that happened last year. I've been thinking a lot about it, but it's comforting to know that Sirius and Buckbeak are safe.

The World Cup is coming up, and I'm so excited! Father managed to get us tickets in the Top Box, of course. He's been going on and on about how Bulgaria will crush Ireland, but I'm not so sure. Viktor Krum is incredible, but I think Ireland's Chasers are going to give them a tough time. Who are you rooting for? I'm just hoping it's a good match, something to take our minds off everything.

Have you been practicing your Quidditch? I haven't been flying as much, but I'm planning to get back to it. Maybe I'll be able to pick up some new moves after watching the professionals. Next year, I am definitely getting the snitch before you do. I wonder if you'll be at the World Cup too? It would be nice to run into you there.

Anyway, I'm trying to enjoy the rest of the summer. Father's been in a better mood lately, especially with the World Cup coming up. I'm looking forward to hearing from you soon. Can't wait to hear about your summer!

Take care, Harry. Write back soon.

yours–

Lyra sat at her desk, the soft light of the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow over the parchment in front of her. She dipped her quill into the inkpot, pausing for a moment as she considered her words. Just as she was about to start writing, there was a gentle knock on her door.

"Come in," Lyra called.

Narcissa Malfoy stepped into the room, her graceful presence filling the space. She smiled as she approached her daughter. "Writing again, dear? You've been quite busy with your letters lately."

Lyra's heart skipped a beat. She tried to keep her voice steady as she replied, "Just keeping in touch with a few friends."

Narcissa arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Oh? And who might these friends be?"

Lyra hesitated, her mind racing for a believable answer. Saying it's Harry might cause some questions to arise, especially considering all the insults she had thrown around using his name last summer. "Oh, you know, just Blaise and Pansy... catching up on things."

Narcissa's gaze remained fixed on her daughter, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Is that so? You seem awfully invested in these letters. Are you sure there isn't someone else you're writing to?"

Lyra could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. "It's nothing, really. Just some school friends. We were talking about the Quidditch World Cup."

Narcissa's smile widened, her tone becoming teasing. "You know, Lyra, you sound like you might be hiding a boyfriend from me."

Lyra's eyes widened, and she quickly shook her head. "Mother! It's not like that at all."

Narcissa let out a light laugh, moving closer to sit on the edge of Lyra's bed. "Oh, don't be embarrassed, darling. It's perfectly normal. But you do seem particularly flustered about this 'friend' of yours."

Lyra looked away, trying to maintain her composure. "It's really nothing, Mother. Just someone I've been writing to over the summer."

"Hmm," Narcissa murmured, her expression softening. "Well, whoever this mysterious friend is, I hope they know how lucky they are to have you writing to them."

Lyra managed a small smile, grateful that her mother wasn't pressing further. "Thanks, Mum."

Narcissa reached out, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind Lyra's ear. "Just promise me one thing, dear. If this friend of yours becomes something more, be careful with your heart."

Lyra nodded, her heart still racing but feeling a bit more at ease. "I will."

Narcissa rose gracefully from the bed, giving Lyra one last affectionate look before heading towards the door. "Dinner will be ready soon. Don't be late."

As the door closed behind her mother, Lyra let out a slow breath, her fingers lightly tracing the edges of the hidden letter. She glanced down at it, a mix of emotions swirling within her. Oh, it was supposed to feel horrible to think of Harry Potter as her boyfriend but really, instead, Lyra felt a warm feeling in her chest.

Shaking her head, Lyra pushed the thought aside and focused back on her letter.

-II-

THE WORLD CUP DISASTER

Lyra was finally at the World Cup and it had been amazing! Now, if you ask her, she wouldn't be able to tell you what she was more excited about– seeing Victor Krum in action or her plan to sneak out of her tent to meet Harry after the game. For friendship reasons, of course.

The bustling chaos of the Quidditch World Cup was beginning to fade as Harry too slipped away from the crowd. He ducked into a quieter part of the forest, knowing Lyra would meet him there. 

Lyra arrived shortly after, her platinum blonde hair gleaming in the dim light. "Potter," she greeted, her voice teasing. "Enjoying the festivities?"

"Just trying to get some air," Harry replied, grinning. "Nice to see you, Malfoy. How's your father been treating the house-elves?"

She rolled her eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Same as always. Though I'm sure he's more concerned with what the Weasleys are doing here."

"Did you enjoy the game?" Harry asked, stepping closer.

"It was brilliant," Lyra replied. "But I think I'm more interested in hearing how you've been. You never mentioned you were going to be in the Top Box."

Harry grinned. "It was a surprise for us too. Mr. Weasley got the tickets last minute."

They chatted for a while, enjoying the peaceful moment away from the crowds. But as the conversation lulled, a strange sound reached their ears—loud jeering and laughter, followed by the unmistakable sound of spells being cast.

"What's that?" Lyra asked, her expression turning to concern.

Harry's heart sank as he realized something was very wrong. "We need to get back. Something's happening."

They hurried back toward the campsite, but before they could reach it, they were confronted by a horrific sight. A crowd of masked wizards was marching across the field, their wands pointed upward, and above them, four struggling figures were being twisted into grotesque shapes in midair.

"It's them, The Death Eaters!" Lyra whispered, her voice trembling.

Harry grabbed her hand, pulling her behind a nearby tree as they watched in horror. The floating figures were illuminated by the eerie green light of curses being cast, and Harry recognized the campsite manager, Mr. Roberts, and his family.

"We have to help them," Harry said, his voice filled with determination.

But before they could move, a group of Ministry wizards appeared, trying to break through the crowd. The scene was chaotic, with tents being blasted apart and people screaming in terror.

Lyra looked at Harry, her eyes wide with fear. "Harry, we can't stay here. It's too dangerous."

By the light of the few fires still burning, Lyra could see people running away into the woods, fleeing something that was moving across the field toward them, something that was emitting odd flashes of light and noises like gunfire. Loud jeering, roars of laughter, and drunken yells drifted toward them; then came a burst of strong green light, which illuminated the scene.

A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward, was marching slowly across the field. Lyra squinted at them. They didn't seem to have faces. Then she realized their heads were hooded and their faces masked. High above them, floating along in midair, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. It was as though the masked wizards on the ground were puppeteers, and the people above them were marionettes operated by invisible strings that rose from the wands into the air. Two of the figures were very small.

More wizards joined the marching group, laughing and pointing up at the floating bodies. Tents crumpled and fell as the marching crowd swelled. Once or twice Lyra saw one of the marchers blast a tent out of his way with his wand. Several caught fire. The screaming grew louder.

Suddenly, the pair, who were still trying to get to their tent nearly collided with Ron and Hermione, who had been running in the opposite direction. Ron's eyes widened in shock. "Harry? Merlin! Finally. We have been looking for you," he then noticed the blonde girl, whose hand Harry was still holding. "What is she doing over here?"

"Nice to see you too, Weasel," Lyra shot back, not missing a beat. "But we really don't have time for this."

Hermione stepped between them. "She's right. We need to get to safety."

"Fine, but I'm not going to be happy if I have to keep taking orders from a Malfoy," Ron grumbled, though he followed the group as they hurried through the forest.

"And I'm not thrilled about spending more time with a Weasley than necessary, but here we are," Lyra retorted, her tone light despite the gravity of the situation.

"Can we save the banter for when we're not about to get cursed?" Harry interjected, trying to keep them focused as they continued running.

All around, the commotion continued, horror surrounding them.

"That's sick," Ron muttered, watching the smallest Muggle child, who had begun to spin like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side. "That is really sick..."

"We're going to help the Ministry!" Lyra found Mr. Weasley, his voice still loud over the screams. "You lot—get into the woods and stick together. I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!"

The other Weasley's, probably all the older ones were already sprinting away toward the oncoming marchers; Mr. Weasley tore after them. Ministry wizards were dashing from every direction toward the source of the trouble. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was coming ever closer.

"C'mon," Harry said as he grabbed them and sprinted after the crowd. They all looked back as they reached the trees. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was larger than ever; they could see the Ministry wizards trying to get through it to the hooded wizards in the center, but they were having great difficulty. It looked as though they were scared to perform any spell that might make the Roberts family fall.

The colored lanterns that had lit the path to the stadium had been extinguished. Dark figures were blundering through the trees; children were crying; anxious shouts and panicked voices reverberated around them in the cold night air. When Lyra thought she couldn't possibly feel more fear, she heard Ron yell with pain.

"What happened?" Hermione asked anxiously, stopping so abruptly that Lyra and Harry almost walked into her. "Ron, where are you? Oh, this is stupid—Lumos!"

She illuminated her wand and directed its narrow beam across the path. Ron was lying sprawled on the ground.

Lyra's heart was pounding as she made her way through the chaos, her wand clutched tightly in her hand. She had been caught off guard by the sudden attack and the terrifying sight of the floating figures. Her mind was racing, trying to piece together the events. The night had gone from exhilarating to nightmarish in the blink of an eye.

As she stumbled through the dark, she suddenly saw Harry and Ron ahead of her, along with Hermione and Ginny. She was relieved to see them but couldn't shake the unease settling in her stomach. Harry's presence was a small comfort amidst the fear.

"We need to get to safety!" she called out, trying to keep her voice steady. "The Ministry will handle it. We should stick together and find a safer spot."

Ron grumbled something under his breath, wincing as he rubbed his side. "Yeah, if you'd just stop bumping into me..."

"Blame the mob of panicking wizards," Lyra replied.

The forest was chaos—people running in every direction, cries and shouts echoing around them. Lyra kept close to Harry, her heart pounding in her chest. But just as she thought they were clear, a strong hand grabbed her arm, yanking her backward.

"Lyra!"

She froze, recognizing the voice instantly. Her father's voice. Lucius Malfoy appeared out of the darkness, his face twisted in fury. He pulled her close, his grip tight on her arm. Lyra's eyes darted to his robes, and she caught a glimpse of something familiar—a mask, barely hidden within the folds of his cloak. A Death Eater's mask.

Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck–

"Father—" she started, but Lucius cut her off.

"We're leaving. Now."

Lyra didn't argue. She didn't have the strength to. As her father dragged her away from Harry and the others, she cast one last glance back at the boy, fear and guilt swirling inside her. She couldn't ignore what she had seen, and she knew it would haunt her. It wasn't as if she could tell anyone either– Lucius was her father! Her dad. He wasn't perfect but she loved him. Oh, Lyra was fucked, and she had no idea what would happen next.

For now though, all she could do was follow her father, knowing that the world she lived in had just become far more dangerous.

-III-

ENCHANTING HUFFLEPUFFS AND JEALOUS GRYFFINDORS

Lyra stood on Platform 9¾, her trunk beside her and her owl, Athena's cage resting on top. The Hogwarts Express loomed ahead, its scarlet engine billowing steam as students rushed to say their farewells and board the train. Lyra's heart was heavy as she turned to face her mother.

Narcissa Malfoy's cool blue eyes softened as she looked at her daughter. "You'll write to us, won't you, darling?" Narcissa's voice was calm, but Lyra could hear the underlying concern.

"Of course, Mother," Lyra replied, forcing a smile. "Every week."

Narcissa reached out and tucked a loose strand of Lyra's blonde hair behind her ear. Lucius Malfoy's presence was not really missed at the moment. "Remember what we've taught you. And stay close to Blaise, dear. You know how important it is to keep the right company."

Lyra nodded, her thoughts flickering to Harry. She hadn't told her mother or father about their friendship; she knew it wouldn't be well-received. When her father had found her with Harry at the forest after the World Cup, she had just chalked it down to a 'horrible coincidence'. "I will, Mother. I promise."

Narcissa smiled faintly, a mix of pride and worry in her expression. "Take care, Lyra. And remember who you are."

"I will," Lyra whispered, stepping forward to give her mother a brief hug.

As she pulled away, she spotted Blaise Zabini lounging against a pillar nearby, his usual smirk firmly in place. He gave her a casual wave, and Lyra felt a wave of relief.

"I have to go, Mother," she said, picking up Athena's cage.

"Go on then," Narcissa urged, her voice soft. "And Dru... be careful."

With one last nod, Lyra turned and made her way towards Blaise. The familiar sights and sounds of the platform buzzed around her, but her mind was still preoccupied with everything that had happened over the summer.

"Ready for another year of fun?" Blaise drawled as she approached.

Lyra rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile. "As ready as I'll ever be."

They boarded the train together, maneuvering through the crowded corridor in search of an empty compartment. As they walked, Lyra's thoughts drifted back to the last time she saw Harry, his worried face as her father pulled her away. She pushed the memory aside.

"So," Blaise began, breaking the silence as they found a compartment and settled in. "Any summer adventures you haven't told me about?"

Lyra hesitated, but then decided that if there was any person on Earth that she could trust, it was Blaise Zabini.

As the Hogwarts Express sped through the countryside, the rhythmic clatter of the train wheels against the tracks filled the compartment. Blaise was lounging opposite her, flipping lazily through a copy of The Daily Prophet as he waited for Lyra to answer him.

"Blaise," Lyra began, her voice tentative.

He looked up from his paper, his dark eyes curious. "What is it?"

She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "Something happened at the World Cup. Something I can't get out of my head."

Blaise closed the paper, his full attention now on her. "Go on."

Lyra hesitated, then plunged ahead. "It was when the Dark Mark appeared in the sky. I was with Harry and we were running towards the forest when... When my father... he grabbed me, pulled me away. But before that, I saw something."

Blaise leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued. "What did you see?"

Lyra lowered her voice, even though they were alone in the compartment. "A mask... the kind the Death Eaters wear. It was sticking out of my father's robe."

Blaise's expression didn't change, but Lyra could see the gears turning in his mind. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly.

Lyra nodded, her stomach tightening at the memory. "Positive. I know what I saw, Blaise. And it wasn't just any mask—it was the same one I've seen before, hidden away in our manor."

Blaise's eyes darkened slightly, but his tone remained calm. "You don't think—"

"I don't know what to think," Lyra cut him off, her voice tinged with frustration. "But it worries me. If my father's involved in something like that again... I don't know what it means for our family."

Blaise was silent for a moment, processing her words. Finally, he spoke, his voice steady. "Lyra, your father has always been influential. You know that. But if he's involved in something dangerous, you have to be careful. We both do."

Lyra nodded, her heart heavy. "I know. But it's hard, Blaise. I don't know who to trust anymore."

Blaise gave her a reassuring look. "You can trust me. We'll figure this out, together."

Lyra offered him a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Blaise-y."

Blaise leaned back, his expression thoughtful before his face lit up with a mischievous smile, "So, you were with Harry."

"Shut up."

Just then, she saw the sweets trolley outside her compartment. Lyra stepped out of her compartment, the coins her mother had given her clutched in her hand, ready to buy some sweets from the trolley. As she turned, her eyes landed on Harry, standing just outside the compartment next to hers. She was about to call out to him when she noticed something strange—his cheeks were tinted red. Blushing! But her joy at catching him in such a state quickly vanished when she realized the blush wasn't for her. Harry's gaze was fixed on Cho Chang, who was standing nearby, and he was smiling shyly at her.

A strange, uncomfortable feeling began to rise in Lyra's chest, something unfamiliar and unwelcome. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but it was unsettling. Before she could dwell on it any longer, she was interrupted by a voice.

"Are you getting something from the trolley?" a boy asked. Lyra turned to see a Hufflepuff student she recognized as Justin Finch-Fletchley. He had a pleasant, polite smile. He wasn't a bad looker.

"Oh, yes," Lyra replied, trying to shake off the odd sensation in her chest. She exchanged a few words with Justin, noticing that he seemed genuinely friendly, and they both bought some sweets.

As she made her way back to her compartment, her thoughts wandered back to Harry. She expected to find him still gazing at Cho, but to her surprise, when she glanced over, Harry's eyes were on her and Justin. A fleeting look of something—was it curiosity, or perhaps something more—crossed his face. Cho seemed forgotten, at least for the moment.

Lyra thought of it as a win.

-IV-

THE TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT

Lyra leaned against the cold stone wall of the Astronomy Tower, the night air cool against her skin as she gazed out at the dark grounds below. The stars twinkled above, but her mind was far from the peaceful night sky. She couldn't stop thinking about the announcement Dumbledore had made earlier that evening: the return of the Triwizard Tournament.

She was so lost in thought that she didn't notice Harry approaching until he was right beside her. He slid into his usual spot, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. 

"So, how's Justin?" Harry finally said, breaking the silence.

"How Cho?" Lyra smiled at him.

"Touché," Harry laughed lightly. "What do you think about this Tournament?"

Lyra turned to look at him, her brow slightly furrowed. "It's dangerous, isn't it? I mean, people have died in the past."

Harry nodded, his expression serious. "Yeah, but Dumbledore said they've put in safeguards. Still, it feels... big. Like something more is going on."

Lyra sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I don't know. It just feels like there's so much happening this year. The Quidditch World Cup, the Dark Mark... now this?"

Harry glanced at her, his green eyes searching her face. "Are you worried?"

Lyra hesitated. She wasn't sure how to put it into words—the unease that had been growing inside her ever since that night at the World Cup. Seeing the Dark Mark, the familiar mask in her father's robe, and now this tournament. It all felt connected somehow, but she didn't know how.

"A little," she admitted finally. "I just... have a bad feeling about this year. Like something's going to happen."

Harry nodded, as if he understood exactly what she meant. "Yeah, me too."

They fell silent again, both lost in their thoughts. The night stretched on around them, the distant hoot of an owl the only sound breaking the stillness.

After a while, Lyra sighed. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens. But I am glad you are not allowed to enter into the tournament Harry, with your luck, you would be the first to get chosen."

Harry gave her a small laugh, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I know."

-V-

THE FIRST DADA CLASS

Lyra settled into her seat, feeling the usual thrill of anticipation she always felt at the start of a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. This year was different, though. Professor Moody wasn't just any teacher—he was an ex-Auror, someone who had seen and fought the worst of the Dark Arts. And, as she watched him stump into the room, she couldn't help but feel a mixture of dread and excitement.

The Gryffindors and Slytherins were all sitting in their separate corners, Lyra seated right next to her friend Pansy.

"You can put those away," Moody growled as he took his seat at the desk. "Those books. You won't need them."

Lyra exchanged a glance with Harry, who was seated a few rows ahead of her. She could see the excitement in his friend Ron's eyes as they slid their copies of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection back into their bags. Moody shook his long mane of grizzled gray hair out of his scarred face and began to call out the roll, his magical eye spinning around the room as he checked off each name.

"Right then," Moody said when he finished, "I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you've had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures—boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?"

There was a murmur of agreement from the class.

"But you're behind—very behind—on dealing with curses," Moody continued. "So I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark—"

"What, aren't you staying?" Weasley blurted out.

Moody's magical eye swiveled to fix on Ron, and Lyra saw him flinch. But then, to her surprise, Moody smiled—a twisted, contorted grin that made his scarred face look even more frightening.

"You'll be Arthur Weasley's son, eh? Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago. Yeah, I'm staying just the one year. Special favor to Dumbledore. One year, and then back to my quiet retirement."

He gave a harsh laugh and then clapped his hands together. "So—straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. I'm not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you're in the sixth year. You're not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore's got a higher opinion of your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen? A wizard who's about to put an illegal curse on you isn't going to tell you what he's about to do. He's not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I'm talking."

Lavender Brown, a Gryffindor that Lyra recognized from other classes jumped, blushing furiously as she stuffed her horoscope back into her bag. Lyra barely registered it; her focus was entirely on Moody and the lesson ahead. Curses. Real curses. Not the kind of jinxes they practiced in Charms class, but the dark, dangerous spells that had shaped the world she was born into.

"So... do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?" Moody asked, his voice low and intense.

Several hands rose tentatively into the air, including hers and Hermione's. Moody pointed at Ron though, though his magical eye remained fixed on Lavender.

"Er," Ron began, "my dad told me about one... Is it called the Imperius Curse, or something?"

"Ah, yes," said Moody appreciatively. "Your father would know that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse."

Moody got heavily to his mismatched feet, reached into his desk drawer, and pulled out a glass jar containing three large black spiders. Lyra saw Ron recoil slightly but she kept her gaze fixed on Moody, her stomach churning.

Moody caught one of the spiders and held it in the palm of his hand so everyone could see it. Then he pointed his wand at it and muttered, "Imperio!"

The spider leapt from Moody's hand on a fine thread of silk and began to swing backward and forward like a pendulum. It stretched out its legs rigidly, then did a backflip, breaking the thread and landing on the desk, where it began to cartwheel in circles. Moody jerked his wand again, and the spider rose onto its hind legs and began to tap dance.

Lyra could hear laughter rippling through the room, but she didn't join in. How could they laugh? The power to control someone, to take away their free will, was terrifying. She knew that people like her parents had used this curse—maybe even relished in it. The thought made her feel cold inside.

"Think it's funny, do you?" Moody growled, and the laughter died away. "You'd like it, would you, if I did it to you?"

Lyra's breath caught in her throat as she imagined herself—or worse, Blaise or even Harry—under the influence of that curse, forced to dance and prance against their will. The idea was horrifying.

"Total control," Moody said quietly as the spider balled itself up and began to roll over and over. "I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats..."

Lyra shuddered. She knew all too well how easy it was for someone to lose control of their life when under the power of dark magic. Moody picked up the spider and threw it back into the jar.

"Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?"

Hermione's hand shot up, but what surprised Lyra was that Neville's hand also went into the air. Neville rarely volunteered in class, and Lyra's heart ached as she saw the determined look on his face. She knew what was coming.

"Yes?" said Moody, his magical eye rolling over to fix on Neville.

"There's one—the Cruciatus Curse," Neville said, his voice small but steady.

Moody's gaze sharpened as he looked at Neville, both of his eyes now focused on him. "Your name's Longbottom?"

Neville nodded, looking nervous but resolute. Lyra felt a deep pang of guilt and shame. She knew exactly why Neville was so familiar with that curse, and it made her sick. Her Aunt Bellatrix had been the one to torture Neville's parents into madness. The thought that her family was responsible for such horror made her feel tainted, as if she was complicit in their crimes.

Moody reached into the jar for the next spider and placed it on the desk. "The Cruciatus Curse," he said. "Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea. Engorgio!"

The spider swelled until it was larger than a tarantula. Lyra felt her heart race as she watched Moody raise his wand again.

"Crucio!" Moody muttered.

The spider's legs curled in on itself as it began to twitch and convulse, rocking back and forth in agony. There was no sound, but Lyra could almost hear its silent screams in her mind. She glanced at Neville, who was staring at the spider with wide, horrified eyes, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the desk.

"Stop it!" Hermione's voice rang out, shrill and panicked.

Lyra looked at her, then back at Neville. He looked like he was on the verge of breaking, and Lyra felt a wave of shame and disgust wash over her once again. How could she sit here, knowing that her aunt had done this to real people, to Neville's parents? How could she ever make up for that?

Moody finally lifted his wand, and the spider's legs relaxed, though it continued to twitch weakly. "Reducio," he muttered, shrinking the spider back to its original size before tossing it into the jar.

"Pain," Moody said softly, his voice filled with a quiet menace. "You don't need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse. That one was very popular once too."

Lyra's stomach churned as she imagined her aunt casting that curse, her face twisted with sadistic glee. She wanted to scream, to shout that she wasn't like them, that she would never be like them.

"Right... anyone know any others?" Moody's voice broke through her dark thoughts, and she forced herself to focus on the lesson.

Lyra was the one to speak out this time, trembling slightly. "Avada Kedavra," she whispered.

Lyra's heart skipped a beat. The Killing Curse. The curse that had taken Harry's parents, the curse that had left him with a lightning-shaped scar and a life full of pain. She watched as Moody reached into the jar for the final spider, which scuttled frantically, trying to avoid his grasp. But Moody trapped it and placed it on the desk.

"Avada Kedavra!" Moody roared.

There was a flash of blinding green light, and the spider collapsed, lifeless. The class erupted with shouts of fear and some sadistic excitement from some.

"Not nice," Moody said calmly, breaking the silence. "Not pleasant. And there's no countercurse. There's no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and he's sitting right in front of me."

All eyes turned to Harry, and Lyra's gaze followed. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched into fists on the desk.

"Avada Kedavra's a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it," Moody continued, "You could all get your wands out now and point them at me and say the words, and I doubt I'd get so much as a nosebleed. But that doesn't matter. I'm not here to teach you how to kill. I'm here to teach you how to stay alive."

He paused, looking around at them, and for a moment, his gaze rested on Lyra. She felt as if he could see straight through her, into the dark corners of her mind where her fears and doubts lurked.

"You need to be prepared. You need to be ready for anything. Constant vigilance!" he barked, making several students jump in their seats.

Lyra stared at the dead spider, feeling a deep, gnawing fear in the pit of her stomach. The curse was untraceable, unblockable, unstoppable. And she couldn't help but wonder how many times her parents had cast it, how many lives had been snuffed out by that very same flash of green light. The thought made her sick with fear and loathing—not just for what her family had done, but for what it meant about her. Could she ever escape that darkness? Could she ever be something more than what her family had made her?

She didn't know. But as she sat there, surrounded by her classmates, she made a silent vow to herself. She would never be like them. She would never let that darkness consume her.

-VI-

THE IDIOT-WHO-LIVED-AND-THEN-BECAME-THE-FOURTH-CHAMPION

As Lyra stormed up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower, she could barely contain her frustration. Harry's silhouette was already visible against the night sky, and she didn't bother to hold back.

"Are you fucking stupid?" she bellowed, her voice echoing through the cold stone walls of the tower.

Harry turned around, startled, his face half-hidden in the shadows. He had expected Lyra to be upset, but not this furious.

"Lyra, I—"

"Don't 'Lyra' me, Potter," she snapped, advancing toward him. "What were you thinking, getting yourself mixed up in this fucking mess? The Triwizard Tournament? We talked about this a week ago! Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?"

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair, his green eyes desperate. "I didn't put my name in the Goblet, Lyra. You have to believe me. I don't even want to be in this tournament."

Lyra crossed her arms, glaring at him. "And yet here you are, The Idiot-Who-Lived who is now the fourth champion. You don't mean to tell me it happened because of magic now, do you?" she muttered, her voice laced with a mix of anger and worry.

"We do study in a magic school," Harry shrugged but winced when he saw the blue eyes glaring at him.

Harry's expression softened. "I know it looks bad, but I swear, I didn't do it. I have no idea how my name got in there."

Lyra studied him for a moment, her anger slowly ebbing away, replaced by a gnawing sense of dread. She believed him—she could see it in his eyes—but that didn't make the situation any less terrifying.

"Harry," she said quietly, her voice trembling slightly, "you don't understand what you're up against. This isn't just a game. People have died in this tournament. And with everything that's happening... with You-Know-Who..." She trailed off, the words hanging heavily in the air, laden with the fear she couldn't shake.

"I know," Harry replied, his voice equally soft, tinged with the weight of his burden. "But what choice do I have? I can't back out now."

Lyra hesitated, the words stuck in her throat. She had never been this vulnerable, this open with anyone, not even Blaise. But Harry... Harry had become someone she trusted, someone who mattered to her in a way she hadn't expected.

"I know, I know that we just recently became friends but... but I care about you," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. The admission felt like laying her soul bare, exposing the soft underbelly of her emotions.

Harry's eyes widened, and for a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. The tension in the air shifted, something unspoken hanging between them.

"I care about you too, Lyra," Harry finally said, his tone sincere, almost solemn. "I have to do this."

Lyra hesitated for a moment, then, before she could second-guess herself, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Harry in a tight hug. It was sudden and unexpected, but she needed it—to feel that he was real, that he was here, and that, despite everything, he was still Harry.

Harry seemed surprised at first, but then he returned the embrace, his arms encircling her in a way that felt protective and comforting. They stood there in the quiet of the Astronomy Tower, holding onto each other as if the weight of the world could be kept at bay for just a little while longer.

Lyra nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Just promise me you'll be careful," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Promise me you won't do anything reckless."

Harry managed a small, reassuring smile. "I promise, Lyra."

But as they stood there in the dim light of the tower, both of them knew that staying out of harm's way might be a promise too difficult to keep.

When they finally pulled apart, Lyra looked into his eyes, trying to memorize this moment, this feeling, in case things went wrong. If things went wrong, Lyra didn't want to regret the fact that she had never even held him.

-VII-

WHEN DID BLAISE BECOME SMART?

The first task of the Triwizard Tournament had left the entire school buzzing. Harry Potter's dragon encounter had been nothing short of spectacular. The roar of the Hungarian Horntail, the daring flight over the Quidditch pitch, and Harry's triumphant retrieval of the Golden Egg were still fresh in Lyra's mind. She had watched the entire event with a mix of awe and anxiety, knowing how close Harry had come to disaster.

After the excitement had died down and the students were allowed to mingle, Lyra and Blaise found a quiet corner of the common room. Lyra was still reeling from the day's events, her emotions a tangled mess of exhilaration and concern.

"Blaise, there's something I need to tell you," Lyra began, her voice carrying a mix of determination and apprehension. She looked around to make sure no one else was close by, then continued, "Harry and I, we're friends. I've been meaning to tell you for a while, but I wasn't sure how."

Blaise raised an eyebrow, his expression one of mild surprise mixed with a touch of amusement. "Oh, really? I kind of figured that out already."

Lyra blinked, taken aback. "You knew?"

Blaise nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's not hard to see."

Lyra looked down, feeling a bit vulnerable. "I didn't want to keep it from you. I just... I didn't know how to bring it up. I mean, it's Harry Potter. It's not exactly something you discuss lightly."

Blaise chuckled softly. "Fair enough. I had my suspicions, but hearing it from you makes it more real. It's good to know you have someone you can trust and lean on, even if it's Potter. Anyways, you've been rather... enthusiastic about him lately."

Lyra's cheeks flushed slightly. "Well, he's done an amazing job. I mean, did you see him today? Facing a dragon and still managing to get the egg. He's incredible!"

Blaise leaned back, studying her with an almost thoughtful expression. "Incredible, huh?"

Lyra's eyes lit up as she spoke. "It's not just admiration. Harry is so much more than just a great Quidditch player or a champion. He's kind and brave, and he's been there for me. I've never met anyone like him before."

Blaise raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "I take it you're quite impressed?"

"Impressed?" Lyra echoed, her voice rising. "He was brilliant! I've never seen anyone fly like that. He's not just good; he's extraordinary. I've seen him practice, and he's always been great, but today—today was something else."

Blaise's smirk widened as he crossed his arms. "I can tell you're really passionate about this. You sound like you're talking about him like... well, you know."

Lyra looked at him, slightly confused. "Like what?"

Blaise chuckled softly. "Like you've got a bit of a crush on him... or a huge one."

Lyra's cheeks flushed a bright red, and she immediately shook her head. "No, it's not like that! I just—he's my friend. Like you are my friend. I'm proud of him like I would have been proud of you. That's all."

"Sure," Blaise said with a grin. "You keep telling yourself that."

Lyra's eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to protest, but before she could say anything, a loud, high-pitched scream cut through the air.

"Oh my God, you guys!" Pansy Parkinson burst into the common room, her face flushed with excitement. "The Yule Ball is coming up, and we need to start planning! Dresses, dates, and everything in between!"

Lyra and Blaise exchanged amused glances as Pansy launched into an enthusiastic tirade about the upcoming event. Lyra felt a rush of relief at the distraction, though her thoughts kept drifting back to Harry and the complicated emotions she had just laid bare to Blaise.

-IX-

THE NIGHT BEFORE THE BALL

The night before the Yule Ball, the Astronomy Tower was cloaked in a serene silence. The stars twinkled brightly overhead, casting a gentle glow over the two figures who had once again found their way to the tower: Lyra and Harry.

Lyra leaned against the stone railing, her thoughts a whirlwind of anticipation and nerves about the upcoming event. She glanced over at Harry, who stood beside her, looking equally pensive. The night air was crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of pine from the grounds below.

"Hey," Lyra said softly, breaking the silence. "I'm glad you came up here. I've been thinking a lot about tomorrow night."

Harry turned to her, a small, appreciative smile on his face. "Yeah, me too. It's a big deal, isn't it? The Yule Ball, I mean."

Lyra nodded, her fingers playing with the hem of her cloak. "Definitely. I feel like there's so much pressure to make it perfect. It's supposed to be this magical night, but it's also... well, a bit overwhelming."

Harry chuckled softly, a hint of unease in his eyes. "Tell me about it. I've been getting a lot of questions about who I'm going with. I guess people are really interested in who the 'Fourth Champion' is bringing to the ball."

Lyra's curiosity was piqued. "So, who are you going with?"

Harry hesitated for a moment, then replied, "I'm going with Parvati Patil. Ron managed to ask both the twins for both of us. The person I wanted to go with would have probably laughed at my face." Cho.

Lyra felt a small pang of disappointment but quickly masked it with a smile. "Parvati, huh? I heard she's lovely. I'm sure you two will have a great time."

Harry looked at her, sensing the hint of forced cheerfulness in her voice. "What about you? Who's your date?"

Lyra hesitated for a moment before answering. "I'm probably going to go with Blaise. We're, well, we're best friends, and he asked me to 'stag along' a while ago. It'll be nice to go with someone I'm comfortable with."

Harry nodded in understanding, looking more like he was relieved than anything. "That sounds like a good plan. It's always nice to go with someone you get along with."

Lyra's expression grew more somber. "Yeah, but there was someone I was really hoping would ask me. Someone I thought might... see me differently. But it didn't happen. I guess I was just hoping for something that wasn't meant to be."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Harry whispered.

"I am sorry too."

-X-

THE NIGHT OF OUR LIVES

The Great Hall was transformed for the Yule Ball, the enchanted ceiling reflecting a starry winter night, while the room itself was adorned with silver and blue decorations. Large crystal chandeliers hung from above, casting a soft, warm light over the space. Students in elegant attire moved about, laughter and music filling the air as couples and groups began to assemble.

In her dormitory, Lyra was preparing for the ball with Pansy Parkinson. The two of them had spent the better part of the afternoon getting ready. Pansy was wearing a deep emerald-green gown that complemented her pale complexion, and her dark hair was styled in loose curls. Lyra, meanwhile, had opted for a sapphire-blue dress that brought out the color of her eyes. Her hair was pinned up with delicate silver clips, and a touch of shimmer had been added to her makeup, giving her a radiant glow.

As Lyra finished adjusting her dress in front of the mirror, Pansy gave her an approving nod. "You look stunning, Lyra. I'm sure everyone will be talking about you tonight."

"Thanks, Pansy," Lyra replied, smiling. "You look amazing too."

They made their way down to the Great Hall together, their footsteps echoing in the grand corridors. Blaise Zabini met them at the entrance to the hall, looking dashing in his dark suit. He offered Lyra a charming smile as he extended his arm for her to take. She looped her arm through his, feeling a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation.

As they approached the entrance to the hall, Lyra was greeted by a flurry of activity. Students were mingling, dancing, and enjoying themselves. The strains of a classical waltz filled the air, accompanied by the occasional burst of laughter. The atmosphere was magical, a stark contrast to the chilly weather outside.

Just as they were about to enter the hall, Lyra noticed Hermione Granger standing nearby, talking with Victor Krum. Hermione looked absolutely stunning in a floor-length pink gown that highlighted her natural beauty. Her hair was elegantly styled, and she radiated a confidence that drew Lyra's attention. Lyra gave her a warm smile and a wave. Hermione responded with a bright smile, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

"Hey, Granger! You look gorgeous!" Lyra whispered.

"Thanks, Lyra!" Hermione beamed. "You look wonderful too. I hope you're having a great time."

"I am, so far," Lyra replied, though her smile faltered slightly as she glanced around, taking in the grandeur of the ball. She could see the decorations, the tables laden with food, and the couples already dancing.

As Lyra and Blaise made their way into the hall, Lyra tried to shake off any lingering apprehension. They found a spot near one of the tables, and Lyra began to enjoy the evening. The music was lively, and she took part in conversations with friends, occasionally laughing and admiring the outfits and the overall atmosphere.

Her mood, however, began to shift as the moment arrived when the champions were introduced. The enchanted staircase revealed the four champions descending in all their glory. Viktor Krum, Fleur Delacour, Cedric Diggory, and Harry Potter were greeted with applause and cheers from the crowd.

Lyra watched as Harry appeared, his smile wide as he stood beside Parvati Patil. They made quite the striking pair, Harry in his elegant dress robes and Parvati in a beautiful pink Indian sari. The two of them moved gracefully across the floor, enjoying the spotlight. Harry was laughing and twirling Parvati around the dance floor with a natural ease, clearly enjoying himself.

Lyra felt a pang of something she couldn't quite place. She tried to ignore it, focusing instead on Blaise, who was chatting animatedly about the latest Quidditch matches. She tried to participate in the conversation, but her gaze kept drifting back to Harry and Parvati.

"Lyra?" Blaise's voice brought her back to the present. "Are you alright? You seem a bit distant."

"Hm? Oh, I'm fine," Lyra said, forcing a smile. "Just... a bit distracted."

Blaise followed her gaze and noticed Harry and Parvati. A knowing look crossed his face. "Ah, I see. You were hoping for something different, weren't you?"

Lyra's cheeks flushed, but she didn't respond. Instead, she watched as Harry and Parvati continued to dance, seemingly oblivious to everything else around them. She tried to push away the disappointment that was creeping in, telling herself that it was just a dance and that she shouldn't let it bother her.

Soon, she had slipped away from the dance, her heart heavy as she ascended the familiar stairs to the Astronomy Tower. The music from the Great Hall faded with each step, replaced by the soft rustling of her gown and the distant sound of her own thoughts. She had been enjoying the Yule Ball until the moment she saw Harry, laughing and dancing with Parvati. It was a sight that made her chest tighten, a feeling she had tried to ignore for weeks but could no longer deny.

The night air was cool against her skin when she finally reached the top of the tower. She leaned against the stone railing, gazing out at the twinkling stars, her mind spinning with everything she hadn't said, everything she hadn't done. She was so lost in thought that she didn't hear the footsteps behind her until a familiar voice broke through the silence.

"Lyra?"

She turned to see Harry standing there, his expression soft and concerned. He looked different tonight, more grown-up, as if he was more aware of the world around him, and it made her heart ache even more.

"You look really beautiful," he said quietly, taking a step closer.

Lyra managed a small smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Thanks," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry moved to stand beside her, leaning against the railing. For a moment, they both stared out into the night, the silence between them comfortable yet charged with unspoken words. Finally, Harry broke the quiet.

"Lyra, I– who was it?" he asked, his voice gentle. "Who were you hoping would ask you to the ball?"

Lyra hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. This was it—the moment she had dreaded and longed for in equal measure. She turned to face him, her eyes searching his for any sign of understanding.

She couldn't like Harry Potter, he was everything she hated before. He was impulsive and rude and an idiot. But he was also smart and caring and kind. Lyra shouldn't like Harry Potter, but somehow, he had managed to make her fall in love with him, little by little.

"It was you, Harry," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "I was hoping you would ask me."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face, a look of realization dawning in his eyes. Soon he was laughing, holding his sides as if Lyra had told the biggest joke of the century.

"It's not funny, Potter."

As Lyra turned to leave, Harry grabbed her hand to stop her. "Lyra, I am sorry. Just listen to me."

The girl turned around, Harry's green eyes staring at her with an intensity she couldn't describe, "What?"

"Remember when I told you that the girl I wanted to go with would probably have laugh in my face if I asked her?"

"Yeah?"

"It was you," Harry took a step closer, "Somehow, despite how hard I have tried to not let it be, it's you."

"What about Cho?" Lyra asked. This was not possible.

"What about Cho?" Harry seemed surprised at her question and then leaned in, their faces just inches apart.

Lyra breathed, "What are you doing, Harry?"

"For once, just shut the hell up."

Without another word, he closed the distance between them, his hand gently cupping her cheek as he leaned in. Their lips met in a soft, tentative kiss, and in that moment, all the uncertainty, all the unspoken things between them, seemed to melt away.

History was changed. A Malfoy and a Potter had fallen in love. It's funny how tragedies usually start so beautifully, isn't it?