free now

CHAPTER SIX

maybe love has a different name

1995

fifth year, pt. one

ORIGINAL UNIVERSE, LYRA'S POV

-I-

BLAISE THE WISE MAKES FEARS DIE

The rest of the summer went by in a blur. Lyra and Harry met up a few more times, sneaking away to spend hours walking around the hidden corners of Diagon Alley, or simply talking in quiet spots under the starry sky. One of their meetups was a birthday celebration in advance for Lyra. Harry surprised her with a delicate snowflake necklace, one that looked strikingly similar to the necklace his mother once wore in a photograph he had shown her. It was simple yet beautiful, and when Lyra saw it, her breath caught in her throat.

"You really didn't have to," she said, her fingers brushing against the cool metal.

"I wanted to," Harry replied, smiling shyly. "I thought it would suit you."

And it did. The necklace glistened softly against her pale skin, a small piece of warmth in a world that often felt too cold.

Things at home were the same, as usual. On her birthday, her father had managed to make it home, though only briefly, stepping away from his work and his other, unnamed activities. Lucius joined Lyra and her mother for dinner, trying to play the part of the dutiful father, but it wasn't long before the evening took a sour turn. The conversation started well enough, but soon her parents were bickering again—this time about you-know-who, about politics, about anything and everything they could think of. Lyra barely touched her food, choosing instead to retreat to her room with her plate, trying to block out the noise. She spent the rest of her birthday alone, holding the necklace Harry had given her and wondering how much longer she could tolerate this.

Sometime before Harry's birthday, he sent her a frantic letter explaining how he had been caught using magic outside of school. His cousin Dudley had been the unwitting witness to the whole thing—his idiotic cousin, as Harry called him, though Lyra was sure "idiotic" was putting it mildly. She would have given anything to hex that boy just once, if only to wipe the smug look off his face.

In his letter, Harry explained how the Ministry of Magic had demanded he appear in court for breaking the underage magic law. It had been a nightmare, but thankfully Dumbledore had spoken on his behalf, and Harry's name was cleared. He wouldn't be expelled from Hogwarts. Still, Lyra could feel the anxiety laced between his words, and it made her wish she could have been there for him, even if only to lend some moral support.

Unfortunately, Harry had been whisked away to Sirius's safe house not long after. The Weasleys were staying there too, which meant Lyra and Harry couldn't meet up before school started again. She wasn't particularly fond of the Weasleys, not just because of the family rivalry now, but also because it forced her and Harry– who was keeping their relationship a secret from his closest friends for the time being– to never meet up. They exchanged letters as much as possible, but it wasn't the same as seeing each other in person.

At least now, they were on the train back to Hogwarts, and soon, Lyra would be able to see Harry again.

But despite the anticipation of being together, Lyra couldn't help the twist of unease that churned inside her. The secrecy of their relationship was starting to wear on her, even though she knew it was necessary. Especially now that she had a more concrete understanding of her father's involvement with Voldemort's plans. She wasn't entirely sure what Lucius was doing or what he was planning, but it was dark—too dark for her to ignore.

The guilt weighed heavily on her shoulders. As much as she wanted to be honest with Harry, to tell him everything, this was her father. Lucius was far from perfect, but he was still her family. And as much as she resented him for the things he had done, for the way he treated her and her mother, betraying him would feel like cutting off a piece of herself.

Lyra leaned her head against the cool glass of the train window, watching the landscape blur by. She hated that she was keeping this secret from Harry. She hated that she had to pretend, to play the role of his enemy when all she wanted was to hold his hand and talk to him freely. But what choice did she have? If she exposed her father's ties to Voldemort, it would destroy her family, especially her mother. And as much as she loved Harry, as much as she wanted to believe they could be together without consequences, she wasn't ready to choose him over her family. Not yet.

All these worries swirled in her head as she tried to push them aside, telling herself that they were problems for another day. Today, they were on the train to Hogwarts. Today, things would be okay. They had survived another summer, and soon they'd be together again—even if they had to keep it hidden from the world.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a gentle nudge from Blaise Zabini, who was sitting across from her in the compartment. He raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking up in that knowing smirk of his.

"You're thinking too hard," Blaise said, leaning back in his seat. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Lyra snapped out of her thoughts, blinking. "What do you mean?"

"You've been staring out the window for the last five minutes like you're plotting someone's demise," Blaise teased. "Is it Goyle this time? Crabbe? You can admit it, I won't tell."

Lyra rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Honestly, sometimes I wonder how I haven't killed them yet, perhaps poison, I am quite fond of poison."

Blaise chuckled. "You and me both. They're both useful when I need someone to blame for something, but Merlin, the conversations we have with them..."

"They don't even deserve to be called conversations," Lyra said, shaking her head. "More like... grunts and grumbles."

"I'm amazed you put up with them at all," Blaise said, leaning in closer. "But then again, I suppose your father insists on keeping them around, doesn't he?"

Lyra nodded, her smile fading slightly. "Yeah. It's all about appearances. Keeping the family ties strong. They're part of the whole 'pureblood elite' thing, so I don't really have much of a choice."

As the train chugged along, Lyra leaned closer to Blaise, a smile creeping onto her face. "So, you won't believe how my summer went."

Blaise raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Did you spend the entire time mooning over Potter?"

Lyra rolled her eyes playfully. "Not entirely, but he did surprise me for my birthday. He got me this gorgeous snowflake necklace, like the one his mum had." She glanced down at the necklace, feeling a warm glow at the memory.

Blaise grinned. "That's actually sweet. I didn't take you for the sentimental type."

"Shut up," she replied, laughing. "It was nice. We had a late celebration since my dad was around for once." Her expression faltered slightly, but she quickly brushed it off. "Anyway, we spent a lot of time together, sneaking out, just talking, you know? It was really nice to just... be."

Blaise smirked, leaning back in his seat. "How very romantic. And did you two have any more 'astronomy lessons'?"

Lyra blushed, a grin spreading across her face. "Maybe a few. But it's not all roses, Blaise. There's so much going on. I hate hiding our relationship. It's stressful."

"Yeah, I get that. But you're doing it for a reason, right? Your dad and all that?"

"Exactly. I can't let him find out about us. Not when he's tangled up with... And the worst part is whatever is involved in is bound to end up hurting Harry and I can't even tell him that." She trailed off, her mind racing. "I just wish it didn't have to be this way."

Blaise nodded, understanding her struggle. "But it makes the time you do get to spend together even more special, doesn't it?"

"It does," she admitted, her expression softening. "When we're together, it feels... normal. And I like that. I can be just me."

"Just you, the girl who has a secret boyfriend and is keeping a potential Dark Lord's secrets," he teased, nudging her playfully. "Normal as pie."

"Shut up! You know what I mean!" she laughed, shaking her head. "We talked about everything—his time at the Dursleys, Sirius, how it was living with the Weasleys... I even asked him about Cedric and what happened at the graveyard. He opened up a lot."

Blaise's expression shifted to one of concern. "That must have been tough for him."

"Yeah, it was. He still can't wrap his head around it, and it's hard to see him like that. But we talked about good things too, like how we'd love to have a real date without having to worry about who's watching."

Blaise's eyes sparkled with mischief. "And are you planning on making that happen?"

"Oh, definitely. Just not here, not where my father could find out." She glanced around the train compartment, lowering her voice. "And I told him about my crush on him even before we met."

"Aww," Then he looked outside their apartment window, just to find Crabbe and Goyle leering. Blaise joked. "You could always just pretend those two are Harry in these kind of moments. Just imagine their faces!"

Lyra burst into laughter. "That would be worth it to see! Just imagine Goyle's face when he thinks I'm being all lovey-dovey with him!"

"Goyle would probably faint," Blaise said, shaking his head in amusement.

Lyra's laughter faded into a soft smile. "I just wish things could be easier. But for now, I'm just happy I have Harry. I don't want to lose him, not now."

"Then don't. You two are good for each other," Blaise replied, sincerity replacing his teasing tone. "And hey, if you ever need someone to help with those two goons, you know I've got your back."

"Thanks, Blaiseyt," she said, feeling a warmth in her chest.

She had Harry, and she had Blaise. For now, that was enough.

-II-

LIKE TELLING A DOG NOT TO SHIT INSIDE THE HOUSE

The cool evening air swirled around the Astronomy Tower as the sun dipped below the horizon. The soft glow of twilight painted the sky in shades of orange and pink, casting long shadows across the grounds of Hogwarts. Lyra leaned against the stone railing, her fingers tapping lightly as she waited, a small smile playing on her lips.

She didn't have to wait long. A familiar figure slipped through the door and closed it behind him. Harry Potter, with his messy hair and ever-bright green eyes, approached her, grinning.

"You took your time, Potter," Lyra teased, turning to face him fully. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me. Or gotten lost"

"Never." Harry chuckled softly, "And well, I didn't want to risk anyone seeing me sneaking up here."

She rolled her eyes dramatically before stepping closer, her arms sliding around his neck.

"Sneaking around is half the fun, Potter."

Harry wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into a kiss. It was slow and gentle. After a while, though, Harry pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against hers. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," Lyra replied, her voice quiet but sincere.

They kissed again, this time with a little more urgency. Lyra's fingers tangled in Harry's hair, pulling him closer as if she wanted to drown out everything that wasn't him.

They kissed for what felt like forever, wrapped up in each other, until Harry suddenly pulled back, breathless but with a thoughtful expression. "Lyra, I forgot to tell you something."

She blinked, still catching her breath. "You're stopping to talk now? Seriously?"

He laughed softly. "It's important... Umbridge–"

Lyra's playful expression immediately shifted to one of irritation "You're really going to bring up Umbridge right now?"

"Well, yeah." Harry looked apologetic, but there was a seriousness in his eyes. "It's important."

Lyra sighed, stepping back a bit and crossing her arms. "Alright, go on."

"I know you already know she's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, but there's something else," Harry said, his tone dropping. "She was at my hearing this summer. She practically wanted to have me expelled on the spot."

Lyra's eyes widened. "Wait—she was at your hearing?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "She works for Fudge. She was acting like it was her mission to get me thrown out of Hogwarts."

Lyra's mouth twisted into a frown. "That woman... she's worse than I thought." She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. "I already knew she was horrible, but trying to get you expelled? She really is the worst."

Harry gave a small, humorless laugh. "Yeah, I'm starting to get that impression."

"Yeah, her. It's... It's almost horrible to believe," Harry said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, realizing the total mood-killer that his news was.

Lyra groaned, taking a step back and running a hand through her blonde hair. "Well, that definitely killed the mood, Potter."

Harry winced. "Sorry."

"No, no, it's fine," she sighed, crossing her arms as her brows furrowed. "But Umbridge? Really? Even my father hates her, and that's saying something. He calls her 'the Ministry's biggest mistake.'"

Harry leaned back against the railing, raising an eyebrow. "Lucius Malfoy doesn't like her?"

Lyra let out a soft, exasperated laugh. "Oh, he despises her. Thinks she's the worst of the worst. And you know how selective he is about that kind of thing. He only puts up with her because of her ties to the Ministry. But he's always warned me to avoid her if I could. She's dangerous, Harry, in her own... twisted way."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Your father doesn't usually give warnings like that."

"Not true, told me to stand ten feet away from Lupin at all times," Lyra said, her tone getting serious now. "She's all about control, and she'll use the rules to destroy people. She's not going to be like the other Defense Against the Dark Arts professors—she won't be just another incompetent joke, though admittedly Lupin was a good professor, I won't lie."

"I'm already getting that vibe," Harry muttered.

Lyra sighed, stepping closer again and placing a hand on his chest. "You need to be careful around her, Harry. I mean it. Don't get into trouble with her, because if anyone's going to make your life hell, it's going to be her. I've heard stories."

"I'll try," Harry said, though his eyes reflected the defiance he always carried.

"You always say that," Lyra smirked, her fingers tracing the collar of his shirt.

"Well, I do try, it's just—"

"You're Harry Potter, trouble just finds you," she finished for him, teasing.

He grinned. "Exactly."

She sighed, but smiled back, her hands still lingering on him. "Just promise me you'll keep your head down as much as you can. She's the kind of person who'll push and push until you break. And then she'll win."

Harry looked into her eyes and nodded. "I'll be careful. For you."

"Good," Lyra said softly, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "I've had enough of worrying about you."

"Guess I'll just have to behave myself, then," Harry said, his grin widening.

"Oh, I doubt that'll happen," she teased, kissing him again, this time slower, savoring the moment before the reality of Umbridge and everything else hit them once more.

-III-

LETS CALL HER UMBITCH FROM NOW

Lyra slouched in her seat, idly spinning her quill as Professor Umbridge's grating voice filled the room. Defense Against the Dark Arts—her favorite subject, or at least, it used to be. Now, Umbridge's voice droned on about Ministry-approved nonsense that was as dry as parchment left out in the sun for too long.

Her eyes slid over to Harry, who was doing the same as everyone else, pretending to read while clearly plotting something. He always had that look when he was about to cause a scene, and Lyra knew the signs well enough by now. Her grip tightened on the quill as she glanced back at the board, staring at the so-called "Course Aims."

Theory. Theory, theory, theory. The Ministry was more interested in them being obedient little puppets than in teaching them to defend themselves. She felt a flicker of irritation.

This is useless.

Lyra sat in her seat, feeling her eyes glaze over as she half-heartedly skimmed through the pages of Basics for Beginners. It was mind-numbing drivel, completely useless when it came to actually defending oneself. She shifted in her chair, glancing at Harry, who was equally disengaged, though his frustration was more obvious. His hands clenched the edges of his book, and Lyra could see the flicker of anger in his eyes.

Across the room, Hermione was trying—unsuccessfully—to catch Professor Umbridge's attention. It was almost comical how obvious her hand was raised, yet Umbridge seemed determined to ignore her. The tension in the room was thick, and more and more students had given up reading altogether, opting instead to watch Hermione's silent attempts.

Lyra crossed her arms, knowing what was coming. Granger was nothing if not persistent.

Finally, after what felt like hours of passive-aggressive avoidance, Umbridge turned to face her, her saccharine smile firmly in place.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" she asked, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

Hermione, never one to mince words, responded immediately. "Not about the chapter, no."

Lyra arched an eyebrow. This is going to get interesting.

"We're reading just now," Umbridge continued, still smiling like a painted doll. "If you have other queries, we can deal with them at the end of class."

"I've got a query about your course aims," Hermione pressed, her voice blunt and to the point.

Umbridge's smile faltered slightly as she raised her eyebrows, clearly not expecting such directness. "And your name is?"

"Hermione Granger," she replied confidently.

Lyra couldn't help but smirk. Leave it to Granger to dive headfirst into a confrontation with Umbridge. It was bold, even if a little reckless. But then again, Hermione had a point—the course aims were complete nonsense.

"Well, Miss Granger," Umbridge said, her voice hardening just a fraction, "I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully."

"Clear?" Lyra thought bitterly. There wasn't a single mention of actual defensive magic anywhere in those useless 'aims' Umbridge had written on the board.

"Well, I don't," Hermione retorted bluntly. "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."

There was a collective murmur as students glanced up at the board, frowning. Lyra could feel the ripple of agreement spread through the room. Everyone knew Hermione was right, even if most were too scared to say it out loud.

"Using defensive spells?" Umbridge repeated, letting out a little laugh that made Lyra's skin crawl. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

Lyra clenched her jaw. The patronizing tone in Umbridge's voice grated on her nerves. What did she think this was?  Defense Against the Dark Arts wasn't supposed to be about sitting around reading theory all day. This was supposed to be practical. It had always been practical– that was the only reason she liked it so much.

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron's voice rang out, loud and incredulous.

Lyra couldn't help but smirk as Ron's voice cut through the silence, but Umbridge's sugary smile didn't falter for even a second.

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr...?" she said, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"Weasley," Ron shot back, his hand thrust into the air defiantly.

Umbridge didn't even acknowledge him. Instead, she turned back to Hermione, her eyes glittering with malicious glee.

Lyra caught Harry's eyes from across the room. He was seething, barely holding it together. His hand shot into the air alongside Hermione's, and Lyra felt her pulse quicken. She knew Harry well enough by now—he was about to snap, and she had a feeling Umbridge was counting on it.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Umbridge said, her voice still laced with that horrible false sweetness. "You wanted to ask something else?"

Hermione didn't hesitate. "Yes," she said firmly. "Surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"

Lyra's eyes flickered toward Umbridge, waiting for her response. She could practically feel the tension radiating off Harry beside her. Hermione had hit the nail on the head, and Umbridge knew it.

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" Umbridge asked, her voice now condescending.

Lyra rolled her eyes, stifling a scoff. It was like watching a cat play with a mouse, except the cat had no idea it was about to get bitten.

"No, but—" Hermione began.

"Well then," Umbridge cut her off, "I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new programme of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way—"

Before Harry could speak up– and Lyra was sure he was going to– she interrupted the woman herself. "What use is that? If we're going to be attacked, it won't be in a—"

"Hand, Miss Malfoy!" Umbridge sang out, cutting him off.

Harry sat up straighter, She paid no attention to that and continued. "This is school, Miss Malfoy, not the real world," The old toad replied, her voice as soft as ever. "There is nothing waiting out there. Wizards much older and more knowledgeable than you have made sure of that."

Lyra could almost feel Harry's temper snapping. She glanced sideways at him, knowing he was seconds away from boiling over. The tension in the room thickened as Umbridge added, "Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?"

"Hmm, let's think," Harry finally spoke up sarcastically, his voice mocking as he glared at her. "Maybe... Lord Voldemort?"

Gasps echoed around the room—Lavender Brown let out a little scream, and Neville nearly toppled off his stool. But Umbridge didn't flinch. Instead, her eyes glinted with triumph, and she stared at Harry with a sick satisfaction. "Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter."

"And now, let me make a few things quite plain." Umbridge rose from her seat, her stubby fingers splaying across the desk as she leaned forward, looming like a toad ready to pounce. "You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead—"

"He wasn't dead!" Harry cut in furiously, his voice shaking. "But yeah, he's returned!"

"Though I hate Potter," Lyra spoke again, her tone a little sharper than she intended, "he wouldn't lie about seeing You-Know-Who—Voldemort—back."

The room froze, as if her words hung in the air like a bomb ready to explode. Her heart was racing, and she hated it, hated that she had drawn attention to herself, but she couldn't stand the idiocy anymore. Defensive theory? When the Dark Lord's out there?

Umbridge's eyes, those hideous pouchy eyes, fixed on her with that same sickly sweet smile. "Miss Malfoy, dear, I suggest you leave the thinking to the experts at the Ministry, rather than parroting Mr. Potter's lies. I do want you to be the reason why your house loses points."

A hot wave of anger surged through her. Lies? She had seen the way Harry had come back from that night—shaken to his core. He wasn't lying.

"Lies?" Lyra repeated, her voice cold. "Right. So Cedric Diggory just dropped dead for no reason, then?" Her arms crossed over her chest. "What happened wasn't an 'accident,' and I think we all know that."

Several heads in the classroom swiveled toward Umbridge, who merely kept smiling. Harry's hand shot back up, but Umbridge blatantly ignored him again, speaking instead in that saccharine tone. "I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school," she began, "but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class—irresponsible and dangerous half-breeds."

Lyra's stomach twisted at the words, and before she could say anything, Dean spoke up angrily, "If you mean Professor Lupin, he was the best we ever had!"

Harry's fist shot into the air, and this time he couldn't hold back. "What use is theory going to be in the real world?" he shouted. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be in a—"

"Hand, Mr. Potter," Umbridge sang in a falsely sweet voice.

Harry's fist remained high, and now others, like Hermione and Ron, raised their hands too. The class's attention shifted toward the growing tension, but Umbridge kept her focus on maintaining control.

"He's right!" Lyra spoke again, "What use is theory to us?"

"This is school, I repeat Miss Malfoy, not the real world," Umbridge replied, her voice as soft as ever.

"As I was saying," Umbridge continued, "you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."

"It is NOT a lie!" Harry bellowed. "I saw him, I fought him!"

"I am pretty sure he wouldn't lie about something like this!" she glared at the woman, despite the looks of shock from the rest of the class– she couldn't figure out if it was because she was siding with Harry for once or if it was because the older witch looked like she was ready to combust into flames.

"Twenty points from Slytherin. Detention, Miss Malfoy, Mr Potter," Umbridge purred triumphantly. "Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office."

Lyra's breath caught. She's doing this on purpose.

"And I repeat," Umbridge said, savoring every word, "this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard."

-IV-

HOW TO STAY OUT A TROUBLE: A CLASS NOT TAUGHT BY LYRA AND HARRY

The room was just as revolting as Lyra remembered from Gilderoy's days—though it was now adorned with those garish kittens on plates and lacy doilies, like some bizarre parody of a dollhouse. She was certain that had she been in a better mood, she'd have found it hilarious. But not today.

And yet, despite everything, the moment Harry stepped in beside her, an almost incredulous grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. She had been the one warning, repeatedly, not to get into trouble. But now? Here they were. Together.

"Well, well," Harry muttered under his breath, eyes glinting with a trace of amusement as Umbridge began her sweetly sinister introduction. "Remind me who told me to not get into trouble again?" He obviously found the situation a little funny– of all the people who had lectured him about keeping his head down, Lyra had been the loudest. But now? Here she was, side by side with him, caught in the same mess.

Lyra shot him a sharp look, though her lips twitched at the edge of a smile. "Shut up, Potter," she whispered, feigning annoyance. "This is your fault."

"My fault? You were the one who—"

"Mr. Potter, Miss Malfoy," Umbridge's saccharine voice cut through their exchange like a cold blade. "If you've both finished your little chat, perhaps we could begin. There are lines to be written."

Harry leaned closer, a spark of amusement in his eyes, but it quickly turned to concern. "Lyra, I didn't want you dragged into this," he murmured, his voice low and serious. "You were supposed to keep me out of trouble."

She met his gaze, fierce and unyielding despite the tension tightening her chest. "I can handle it, Harry," she insisted.

"Er, Professor Umbridge," Harry began, his voice shaky, "I was hoping to ask you a favor..."

The moment was almost comical as she saw Umbridge's bulging eyes narrow. "Oh, yes?"

He fumbled through his words, trying to explain his Quidditch tryouts, but Lyra could see it was futile. Umbridge's smile widened, revealing a predatory satisfaction that made Lyra's skin crawl.

"Oh, no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr. Potter," Umbridge said, emphasizing the words like a mantra. "You will come here at five o'clock tomorrow, and the next day, and on Friday too, and you will do your detentions as planned. Miss Malfoy can leave after today."

As Harry dropped his bag with a frustrated huff, Lyra shot him a reassuring look. "It's okay, Harry. We'll get through this," she whispered, though she was starting to doubt that herself.

Harry's brow furrowed, and she could see his concern etched on his face. "Lyra, I don't want you to—"

"I'll be fine," she insisted, attempting to sound more confident than she felt. "We both will. It's just detention."

Lyra spoke too soon because just then Umbridge smiled again, though this time it felt more sinister. "You will each be writing lines, and you'll be using a rather special quill of mine. Here you are."

She handed them each a thin, black quill with an unusually sharp point. Harry turned it over in his hand, frowning at it. Something didn't feel right about it.

"No ink?" Lyra asked, her voice calm but laced with suspicion.

"Oh, you won't need ink," Umbridge replied with a soft, almost gleeful laugh.

Harry glanced at Lyra, who was already staring at the quill like it might bite her. There was no backing out now. He took a breath and pressed the quill to the parchment, writing the words Umbridge had dictated: I must not tell lies.

The moment the quill touched the paper, a searing pain shot through Lyra's hand. She gasped, looking down to see the words she had just written carved into the back of her hand, leaving a faint scar.

She winced, feeling the sting deep in her bones. Beside her, Harry's quill had just touched his parchment, and she saw her flinch. Her face remained steady, but his eyes flicked toward her, a moment of vulnerability flashing there before he looked away.

"Just keep writing," Umbridge called from her desk, her voice far too pleased.

Lyra could see the pain etched on his face, and it twisted her stomach in knots. As they continued to write, the quill cut into their skin again and again, leaving behind angry red welts that healed almost instantly. She wanted to scream at Umbridge for doing this to them, but she knew it would only make things worse.

"I must not tell lies," the letters cruelly etched into their hands, glowed faintly on the parchment. Lyra's throat tightened. How many more of these sessions could Harry endure? She wasn't worried about herself. But Harry—seeing him go through it, after everything he had already been through—it was unbearable.

Meanwhile, Harry was equally worried about her, if not even more. He knew Lyra had only gotten herself involved in this mess to defend Harry.

"You alright?" he asked, barely louder than a breath.

Lyra didn't look up. "I'm fine," she said, her voice steely. Too steely. Her hand shook slightly as she wrote, though she fought to keep it steady.

Harry knew that look—the same one she wore during their arguments, when she refused to back down even if she knew he was right. Stubborn as always.

As the hours dragged on, the darkness outside thickened, and the sound of their quills scratching against parchment echoed in the otherwise silent room. Lyra felt the sting of her own hand as she continued to write her own lines, the pain almost numbing after a while. She stole glances at Harry, who also seemed to be fighting through the pain.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Umbridge called Harry to the front. He stood up slowly, his hand trembling as he extended it toward her. Lyra couldn't take it any longer. "Let me help him!" she demanded, stepping forward.

"Malfoy, it's fine," Harry said, though she could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

"Hand," Umbridge said, ignoring her completely. She took Harry's hand, inspecting the angry welts with a smile that sent chills down Lyra's spine.

"Well, we'll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won't we?" she said sweetly. "You may go."

As Harry walked out, the relief washed over him, but it was quickly replaced by concern as he turned to Lyra. "You okay?" he asked, looking at her with a mix of worry and care.

"Not as okay as you," she replied, trying to maintain a brave face, but she could feel the pain in her hand echoing his.

"Let me fix it," he said, stepping closer.

"No, I can do it," she insisted, reaching for her wand. She focused her magic, channeling it into the cuts on his hand. The blood washed away and the pain seemed to diminish as the spell worked. It's magic, but the ugliest scar was left behind. "There, better," she said, relief flooding through her.

Harry looked at his hand in disbelief. "How did you do that?"

"Just a little trick I learned," she replied, her tone lightening the mood. "Now let's get out of here before she decides to keep us for another round."

He smiled, the warmth returning to his expression. "Yeah, I'm all for that."

As they walked down the dim corridor together, she couldn't shake the feeling that they were both stronger for facingHarry hesitated, looking at her with a mix of gratitude and reluctance. "I don't want you to get in trouble for me," he said softly.

"Too late for that, remember?" she shot back with a hint of a smirk, and they both shared a brief, understanding smile. "Now, don't you dare get into more trouble."

He smiled, the warmth returning to his expression. "I'll try, but with you around, it's hard not to."

Lyra rolled her eyes, but she couldn't hide her smile. "Well, we'll just have to keep each other out of it, then."

ORIGINAL UNIVERSE, HARRY'S POV

-V-

HARRY REALIZES WHY LYRA CALLS HER BEST FRIEND 'BLAISE THE WISE'

The castle was eerily quiet as Harry made his way down the dimly lit corridor after yet another grueling detention, a few weeks after their first one. He could still feel the sting of the quill on the back of his hand, the memory of writing lines echoing in his mind. As he rounded a corner, he nearly collided with Blaise Zabini, who was leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

"Potter," Blaise said, his tone light but his gaze piercing. "Out of detention already? Or did you finally get sent to the dungeons for good?"

Harry forced a chuckle, but it came out hollow. "Not quite. Just finished up with Umbridge." He paused, glancing down at his hand, where the scar still pulsed faintly beneath the skin. "It was—intense."

Blaise's eyes flicked to Harry's hand, then back up to his face, his expression shifting slightly to something more serious. "You alright? I know that witch can be a right pain."

Harry forced a laugh, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, well, I'm pretty much a regular now. What about you? Avoiding trouble, I hope?"

Blaise chuckled, shaking his head. "You know me. Trouble finds me, and I can't help but flirt with it. But hey, now that I saw Lyra's little blow up in Umbridge's class, I know I am not the only one. Seems like she's just as good at getting in trouble as you are."

"Oh, yeah" Harry's heart raced at the mention of her name. "And all this while she was worried about me."

Blaise raised an eyebrow, studying Harry. "Well, she got off easy that time. Not like you, with your bloody detention marathon. Umbridge must have really riled her up for her to get so reckless."

Harry frowned, a sense of unease creeping in. "She's fine now though, right?"

"Of course, she's fine," Blaise replied, a playful tone in his voice. "But she can handle herself. Just like you think you can handle all this if all the stories that Lyra has told me are true," he gestured vaguely, hinting at Harry's constant battles with authority. "But listen, Harry... um, you better be good to her."

"Good to her?" Harry echoed, confused. "What do you mean?"

Blaise's expression turned serious, the humor slipping away. "Lyra may act tough, but she's sensitive. Don't break her heart, or I'll have to deal with you. And trust me, I won't be as nice as you've been."

Harry felt a rush of warmth at the idea of Blaise looking out for Lyra. "I— I wouldn't hurt her, Blaise. I care about her."

"Do you?" Blaise's tone was teasing, but there was an edge of sincerity beneath it. "Because it's one thing to fancy someone, but it's another to really love them. And that's a big deal. You're not just dating, you're... well, you're Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. You can't just treat this lightly."

A wave of realization washed over Harry. He thought of the way his chest tightened when he saw Lyra, how her laughter could light up the darkest corners of his mind. "You're right," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I– I think I'm in love with her."

Blaise's expression softened, and he nodded, as if Harry had just passed some unspoken test. "Good. Just make sure you're ready for it, because it's a wild ride."

Harry swallowed hard, the weight of those words pressing down on him. "Yeah, I guess I just... I didn't want to scare her off. It's all so new."

"Trust me, if you tell her how you really feel, she'll appreciate it. Just be real, Potter."

Suddenly, Harry felt a spark of determination. He didn't want to waste another moment. "Thanks, Blaise," he said, gratitude lacing his voice. "I need to find her."

"Good luck, mate. Just don't take too long, or I'll think you've gone running off to Umbridge's office again." Blaise smirked as Harry took off down the corridor, heading straight for the library.

As he entered, the familiar scent of parchment and old books enveloped him. He scanned the room until his eyes landed on Lyra, perched at a table, her brow furrowed in concentration over a stack of texts. She looked beautiful, even amidst the chaos of her studying.

"Lyra," he called softly, trying not to startle her.

She looked up, her eyes lighting up when they met his though confused why he was talking to her in public like this. "Harry!" She quickly closed her book, her expression shifting to curiosity. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he assured her, stepping closer. The library felt intimidatingly quiet, the air thick with unspoken words. "Can we talk? Just for a moment?"

"Sure," she replied, glancing around to ensure no one was eavesdropping. "What's on your mind?"

Without another thought, Harry reached for her hand, leading her to a nearby closet tucked away behind a shelf. The space was cramped, filled with dusty boxes and forgotten supplies, but it felt like their own little world.

"What are we doing in here?" Lyra asked, her voice a mix of laughter and confusion.

"Just... wait," Harry breathed, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions inside him. "I just wanted to say something."

He looked deeply into her eyes, searching for the right words, his heart racing. "I've been thinking a lot about us, about what we mean to each other. And... I really like you, Lyra. No, it's more than that, I know it's much more than that. I love you."

Lyra's eyes widened in surprise, the playful energy in the room shifting to something deeper. "Harry, I—"

"No, let me finish," he interrupted, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on him. "I've been scared to admit it. I didn't want to rush things, but every time I see you, it feels right. You're strong, and I admire that, but I also see how sensitive you are. You are beautiful in a way that should be illegal and makes want to beat every person that look back to catch another glimpse of you, I can look at you forever and I want to and I know we are young but I just– I love you."

Her expression softened, and a smile broke across her face, lighting up the cramped closet. "I love you too, Harry."

ORIGINAL UNIVERSE, LYRA'S POV

-VI-

FAMILY REUNITES DURING CHRISTMAS NOW

The atmosphere in the Malfoy mansion felt heavier than usual, and Lyra sensed that something was off as she descended the grand staircase. The ornate walls, usually adorned with the family's accolades, seemed to loom ominously, as if echoing her mother's unspoken worries.

In the drawing room, Narcissa Malfoy stood by the window, her back turned to Lyra. She was gazing out at the garden, but there was a tension in her posture that suggested she was lost in troubling thoughts. As Lyra approached, her mother turned, the light catching the worry lines on her brow.

"Lyra," Narcissa said softly, her voice tinged with an undercurrent of anxiety. "We need to talk."

Lyra's stomach twisted at the seriousness in her mother's tone. "What is it, Mum?"

Narcissa took a deep breath, her elegant fingers nervously smoothing the fabric of her dress. "Your aunt Bellatrix is no longer in Azkaban," she finally revealed, the words hanging in the air like a dark cloud. "And she will be staying with us for the foreseeable future."

Lyra felt her heart drop. Bellatrix. The name sent a chill down her spine, conjuring images of madness and chaos. "But... why?" she stammered, unable to mask her disbelief. "I thought she was supposed to be in there forever."

Narcissa's expression softened, but the worry remained in her eyes. "It seems the Dark Lord has need of her again. You know how he values loyalty—particularly from our family." She paused, the weight of her sister's unpredictability hanging heavily between them. "Bellatrix... she can be quite sinister. Her mind works in ways that are unfathomable. You must understand, though I love her, I cannot predict her next move. I do not want you to get mixed up in this Death Eater business, you must stay safe."

Lyra's thoughts raced, a mixture of fear and uncertainty swirling within her. "What if she—what if she tries to involve us, me in whatever madness she's part of?"

Narcissa stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "That is exactly what I fear, my darling. She is unpredictable, and though I've tried to help her, there's a darkness within her that I can't control. Promise me you'll be careful. Do not underestimate her."

Lyra nodded, swallowing hard. "I promise."

"Good," Narcissa said, her voice trembling slightly. "I will do my best to shield you from her. But I need you to be vigilant. Bellatrix has her own agenda, and it may not align with both of ours."

"What about father? What's his agenda?"

"Your father..." Narcissa trailed off for a second before regaining her composure, "He thinks he is just doing whatever is best for our family."

"Even if he's wrong? Mother–"

"That is your father's business, my job is to keep you alive."

The gravity of her mother's words pressed down on Lyra, leaving her feeling small and vulnerable. "What if she– Aunt Bellatrix tries to manipulate me?"

"Then you must stand your ground," Narcissa urged, her eyes fierce with determination. "You are a Malfoy, Lyra. You must be strong and remember your worth. I have raised you to make up your own mind, and follow your own heart. Please do not stray away from that."

Lyra took a deep breath, the resolve in her mother's voice offering a flicker of comfort in the encroaching shadows. "I'll do my best, Mum. I just... I don't want to end up like her."

Narcissa pulled her daughter into a gentle embrace. "You won't. You're not her, and you will never be."

As she entered the dimly lit foyer, a figure emerged from the shadows, her presence as unsettling as the dark corners of the room. Lyra's heart raced; she was face to face with her aunt Bellatrix Lestrange for the first time in her memory.

"Ah, Lyra," Bellatrix purred, her voice dripping with a twisted affection. "Look at you. Such a lovely little thing." Her eyes glinted with madness, as if she were sizing Lyra up, and Lyra couldn't shake the feeling that in the future, she would note this moment down to when everything in her life went wrong.

"Hello, Aunt Bella," Lyra managed to reply, forcing the words out through a throat constricted with fear. She recalled the whispers in the hallways at Hogwarts—the stories of her aunt's insanity, the tales of her dark deeds. But hearing about it was one thing; potentially experiencing it was entirely another.

Bellatrix stepped closer, her expression a mixture of delight and madness. "Oh, how I've waited for this moment! The Dark Lord has such plans, you know." The mention of Voldemort sent a shiver down Lyra's spine. She had heard enough to understand that his return meant chaos, and that her family would be embroiled in it once more. "And he's been rather pleased with me since I got out of that dreadful place. Can you imagine? Azkaban was so... dull."

Lyra swallowed hard, trying to keep her composure. "I—uh, I'm glad you're back?" It was a weak attempt at civility, but it was all she could manage. The truth was, she felt a swirling storm of emotions—fear, anger, and a strange, gnawing disappointment that her family was so deeply entwined with darkness. How was she supposed to keep Harry safe from the darkness when that darkness may lurk somewhere inside her too?

"Glad? Oh, darling, you have no idea what a wonderful gift it is to be free." Bellatrix stepped even closer, her breath hot against Lyra's cheek, and Lyra recoiled, instinctively wanting to escape the suffocating aura of her aunt's madness. "You'll learn soon enough that my loyalty lies with the Dark Lord. And you should consider yours as well."

Lyra's mind raced. She had never been involved in her family's darker dealings, but now, standing before Bellatrix, she felt the weight of expectation pressing down on her. "What does he want from me?" she asked, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to sound brave.

Bellatrix's smile widened, revealing the manic glee dancing in her eyes. "Oh, sweet Lyra, it's not about what he wants from you. It's about what you can offer him. You're a Malfoy and a Black, after all. Though you may get a lot of stupidity from Lucius I'm sure your mother straightened you out. After all, you have a name to uphold."

Lyra's stomach twisted at the implications. She had always been aware of her family's legacy, but this was different. The hunger for power that enveloped Bellatrix was suffocating, and Lyra felt a desperate need to escape.

But she was trapped, her aunt's gaze piercing through her defenses. "Remember, dear, family is everything. You don't want to disappoint me—or the Dark Lord."

Lyra nodded mechanically, fear gripping her heart. She couldn't help but think that whatever Bellatrix had in store, it would not end well.

"Come! We have much to discuss," Bellatrix exclaimed, her manic energy sparking a chill in the air. "Now, tell your dear aunt if you are seeing someone. I'm sure a pretty girl like you has some idiot wrapped around her finger."

As Lyra followed her aunt deeper into the house, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was stepping into a world from which she might never return.