free now

CHAPTER SEVEN

do you know what trust is?

1995

fifth year, pt. two

ORIGINAL UNIVERSE, MULTIPLE POVS

-I-

SAYING GOODBYE TO EVIL

She tried to steady her breathing, her fingers gripping the armrest of the chair. She could hear her mother's footsteps in the corridor, approaching alongside Bellatrix. The familiar jingle of chains from her aunt's robes—like some strange remnant from Azkaban—sent shivers down her spine.

And then, Bellatrix appeared.

"Lyra, won't you bid your favourite aunt goodbye?" Bellatrix's voice was a sickly-sweet mockery of affection, her lips curling into a smile that didn't quite reach her wild, gleaming eyes.

Lyra forced herself to stand, her throat dry. Bellatrix was even more intimidating up close, her gaunt face a twisted mirror of the madness and cruelty that clung to her like a second skin. Though they shared the same blood, Lyra felt an overwhelming sense of alienation in her presence.

"Aunt Bellatrix," Lyra said, her voice as steady as she could manage. "Goodbye."

Bellatrix laughed, a high, manic sound that made Lyra's heart pound faster. "Such a good little girl. So obedient." Her eyes narrowed, and she leaned in closer, her dark hair cascading like a curtain. "You know, little niece, you remind me so much of myself when I was your age."

Lyra fought the urge to recoil as her aunt's cold, bony fingers grazed her cheek. "I sincerely hope not," she said, unable to keep the edge out of her voice.

Bellatrix's smile widened, as though she found Lyra's defiance amusing. "Oh, but you have so much potential," she whispered, her voice dripping with menace. "The blood that runs through your veins is powerful, dear Lyra. One day, you'll understand that the world is not kind to the weak. Only those who embrace power survive."

Lyra held her gaze, refusing to be intimidated, but the fear still gnawed at her insides. Her mother had warned her, told her to be careful, and now she understood why. Bellatrix wasn't just crazy—she was dangerous.

"I'm not like you, Aunt Bella," Lyra said firmly, stepping back and straightening her spine. "I won't be."

Bellatrix's eyes flared with something wild, but then she laughed again. "Ah, such fire. Let's hope that spark doesn't get snuffed out." She turned to Narcissa, who had been standing quietly by the door, her face a mask of composure. "Cissy, your little girl is growing up to be quite the rebel."

Narcissa's voice was cold, a protective edge to it. "Leave her alone, Bella."

Bellatrix chuckled, twirling a strand of her dark hair around her finger. "As you wish, dear sister. But Lyra and I—we'll see each other again soon enough. And when we do... well, let's hope she's on the right side." She winked at Lyra, her expression almost predatory.

As Bellatrix swept out of the room, her laughter lingering like an ominous echo, Lyra felt the tension in her body finally release. Her mother came over, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Are you all right?" Narcissa asked softly, concern etched in her features.

Lyra nodded, but deep down, the fear still simmered. She knew exactly what her aunt was concerned with, and it wasn't going to be anything good.

"She's not done with us, is she?" Lyra asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Narcissa sighed, her eyes shadowed with worry. "No. She's not. She won't be till we pledge ourselves to the Dark Lord."

-II-

EVERYTHING'S OKAY WHEN WE ARE TOGETHER

The rest of Lyra's Christmas had gone by like that—an undercurrent of fear, living so close to someone who was, in the kindest of words, a maniac. Bellatrix Lestrange was every bit as unhinged as the stories painted her, if not worse. Her Aunt had a way of making even the quiet moments feel suffocating, like the air around them was too thick with dark intentions.

Letters from Harry had been few, and though she understood he was busy enjoying Christmas with Sirius, the silence only added to her unease. Her moments of peace were rare. Her father had joined them for dinner every night, his discussions with Bellatrix undoubtedly filled with something diabolical. Lyra's mother, Narcissa, had tried to distract her, but Lyra could feel the tension that threaded through every meal, every glance between her parents and her Aunt.

But now, here she was—away from that darkness. The Astronomy Tower was their sanctuary. Being with Harry, knowing that he loved her and that she loved him too, brought her the peace she'd been longing for. The stars above seemed to watch over them.

Lyra was curled up beside Harry, their fingers intertwined, her head resting against his shoulder. The warmth between them was a stark contrast to the bitter cold night, and for a moment, she allowed herself to forget everything except this—this sense of safety, of belonging.

But then, the words of her father echoed in her mind, dark and unsettling, breaking the peace.

"Harry," she said quietly, leaning back just enough to meet his gaze. There was hesitation in her eyes, a shadow of something that had been gnawing at her since that conversation. "Umbridge is forming some sort of Inquisitorial Squad... and my father has requested that I join it."

"What?" he scoffed, "You can't do that! That's like making a deal with the devil."

Lyra nodded, biting her lip. "I don't want to... but it's complicated. He's—he's expecting me to keep an eye on things for him. I think he believes it will put me in a... stronger position." Her voice was tight, laced with frustration and the feeling of being trapped between what she wanted and what was expected of her.

Harry's jaw clenched. "They'll be targeting people like me. People like Hermione and Ron and Neville. Lyra, you can't—" He stopped himself, running a hand through his messy hair. "I mean, I know you wouldn't, but being part of that..."

"I know." Lyra sighed, pulling her knees up to her chest. "It's just that my father... he doesn't ask for a lot. But when he does, it's—he's insistent. He thinks it'll keep me out of danger, like if I'm involved, then no one will suspect us of anything." 

"Why would they suspect you of anything?" Harry questioned, his tone sharp with confusion.

Lyra stiffened. His gaze was piercing, but she couldn't bring herself to answer. How could she? How could she tell him about what was going on at home—about her Aunt Bellatrix, freshly out of Azkaban and now a constant presence, a reminder of the growing darkness? About her father, Lucius, acting more like Voldemort's right hand every day?

Lyra's silence hung heavy between them. She could feel Harry's worry growing as he watched her, waiting for an answer she couldn't give. She wanted to tell him, she wanted to open up, but how could she drag him into this nightmare?

"Lyra?" Harry's voice softened. "What's going on?"

Her chest tightened, and she shook her head slightly. "I can't, Harry... I just can't," she whispered, barely able to meet his eyes.

Harry's expression softened, though the concern remained. He shifted closer, gently cupping her face with his hands. "You don't have to tell me everything... but whatever's going on, you don't have to face it alone."

She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, feeling the warmth of his skin against hers. It was comforting, but it didn't ease the weight that was slowly crushing her.

"I don't want you to get hurt," she finally said, her voice trembling. "I just don't want anyone to get hurt."

Harry shook his head, his green eyes full of determination. "I hope you know that there is nothing on earth that could change how I feel about you, Lyra. I promise. But I just don't want them to force you into something you'll regret."

She could hear the sincerity in his voice, but the fear of dragging him deeper into her family's world still lingered. "This is the only way I can keep my father off my back," she whispered. Her heart pounded in her chest as she studied his face, the lines of worry etched into his features. Something didn't sit right. She knew Harry too well by now to miss the tension that rippled through him.

"Why are you so scared, anyway?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "Are you doing something you shouldn't be doing?"

Harry went quiet, too quiet. The silence between them grew heavy. He broke eye contact, looking past her, his jaw tight as if he were holding back something he didn't want her to know.

"Harry?" she prompted, her voice laced with concern.

But he didn't answer, and that only made her more certain. Whatever was going on with Umbridge, her Inquisitorial Squad, or whatever dark plan was stirring behind the scenes—Harry was keeping something from her. 

"Harry," she pressed, her tone more insistent this time, "are you doing something you shouldn't be doing?"

For a moment, he hesitated, then a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. But it didn't quite reach his eyes, where the tension still lingered like a shadow. "When am I not?" he said, trying to sound lighthearted. "Don't worry, Lyra, everything will be okay."

Her brow furrowed. "That's not exactly comforting."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly struggling with something. "Look, I just... don't want you caught up in it, okay? I can handle it."

She studied him closely, searching for the truth in his words. "I don't want you keeping things from me, Harry. We're in this together, remember?"

"I know," he whispered, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "And I swear, it's not that I don't trust you. It's just... things are getting more complicated. I just need you to trust me."

"I do," she murmured, leaning into his touch. "But don't shut me out. Whatever this is, we'll figure it out together."

We'll figure it out together. 

Lyra should know by now that it's no worth making promises that they will never be able to keep.

Harry sat in the Astronomy Tower, leaning against the cold stone wall, his mind swirling with conflicting thoughts. The quiet night air barely seemed to calm him, and he glanced over at Lyra, sitting beside him, looking out over the grounds. She looked peaceful, but he wasn't. Not when so much had been piling up between them.

Dumbledore's Army, Umbridge's watchful eye, and, most of all, the secret he'd been keeping from her—the one that was eating away at him.

Lyra trusted him, he knew that much. But how could he tell her about everything that had happened over Christmas break and even before that? The meetings with Sirius, the growing tension between the Order and the Ministry, and... the kiss. Cho.

He'd been careful not to mention it to Lyra, skirting around the subject whenever she'd asked how their time apart had gone. It wasn't that he'd meant for it to happen. Things had just spiraled. One moment, they'd been talking about Cedric, about how unfair everything felt, and the next... well, Cho had kissed him.

His stomach knotted every time he thought about it. He'd wanted to forget it, move past it, but it wasn't that simple. The guilt gnawed at him, especially now, sitting so close to Lyra, who had no idea. She'd been dealing with her own problems, with her father's demands, and now the Inquisitorial Squad business. And here he was, keeping something like this from her.

He stared down at his hands, still red from the detentions with Umbridge, the scars faint but present. As much as he wanted to tell Lyra everything, part of him was terrified. What if she thought he didn't care about her? What if she believed this changed things between them?

The truth was, it didn't. Lyra was the one he wanted. She was the one he thought about, the one he worried for every time she was dragged into something dangerous or dark because of her family. He couldn't risk hurting her by telling her about Cho. But every time he looked at her, he felt that guilt rise.

There was more, though—more than just the kiss. Over the holidays, he'd overheard things he probably wasn't meant to, whispered conversations between the adults in Grimmauld Place, mentions of something brewing. Voldemort wasn't just after power; he was looking for something, something Dumbledore was trying to keep hidden. He wasn't supposed to know about it, but Harry had a knack for finding out things he shouldn't.

That was why he'd started Dumbledore's Army, why he was teaching his friends how to defend themselves. He couldn't just sit back and do nothing, not with everything that was happening. But he hadn't told Lyra about the DA yet. He wasn't sure how she'd react. Would she want to join? Would she be angry that he hadn't told her from the start?

He could already imagine her reaction, a mix of frustration and concern, demanding to know why he hadn't trusted her with this sooner. But the truth was, he wanted to protect her. Her family was so tangled up in Voldemort's world, and as much as he trusted Lyra, he didn't want to put her in more danger than she already was.

"Harry?" Lyra's voice broke through his thoughts.

He glanced at her, trying to smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. She was watching him, concern etched into her expression.

"You seem... off," she said, her voice soft but probing.

Harry swallowed hard. He couldn't lie to her, not forever. "It's just... things have been complicated," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to figure out how much to say.

"Complicated how?" Lyra asked, turning toward him fully now. Her gaze was sharp, as if she could see right through him.

He hesitated, his heart pounding. This was it—the moment where he could come clean. About everything. About the DA, about the kiss with Cho, about the things he'd overheard during Christmas.

But as he looked into her eyes, the weight of it all crashed down on him. How could he risk losing her? How could he hurt her like that?

"It's just... Umbridge. And the way things are going at school," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm trying to stay ahead of it all. I don't want you caught in the middle."

Lyra's eyes softened, but there was still that edge of suspicion. "Harry, you don't have to protect me from everything. We're supposed to be in this together."

"I know," he said quickly. "I just... I don't want to see you get hurt."

"Is that really it?" she pressed, sensing there was more.

Harry bit his lip. "There's more, but it's... nothing bad. I'll explain it when the time's right. I promise."

He hated himself for dodging the truth, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her. Not yet. Not when everything was already so fragile between them.

Lyra studied him for a long moment, then sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Alright. Just... don't shut me out, okay?"

Harry nodded, though the guilt still twisted in his chest. "I won't," he whispered, even though he already had.

-III-

SOMETHING EVIL THIS WAY COMES

Blaise and Lyra were sitting at the top of the Astronomy tower, their conversation light but tinged with the usual sarcasm. Lyra had her arms folded, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as Blaise recounted his latest run-in with a couple of overconfident Ravenclaws during Quidditch practice.

“I’m telling you,” Blaise said, shaking his head with exaggerated disbelief, “they actually thought they could outmaneuver me. I let them think they had a chance for a full ten minutes before sending a Bludger their way. I’ve never seen anyone drop so fast.”

Lyra chuckled. “Poor souls. You must’ve crushed their spirits.”

“That’s the thing about Quidditch,” Blaise replied, leaning back in his chair, “it’s more mental than physical. Most people don’t get that.”

Just as Lyra was about to make a snarky retort, the sounds of footsteps appeared, and Harry stepped in, his presence drawing both their attention. He looked tired, his usual messy hair even more disheveled than normal, and there was a tension in his expression that Lyra immediately noticed.

“You alright?” Lyra asked, raising an eyebrow as Harry approached them.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair, making it even worse. “Snape. He’s giving me Occlumency lessons.”

Lyra blinked, the smirk fading from her face. “Wait—what?”

Blaise, who had been watching the exchange with mild curiosity, raised an eyebrow. “Snape, teaching you Occlumency? Isn’t that like... giving a troll a violin?”

Harry shot him a look, but there wasn’t much heat behind it. “Yeah, well, Dumbledore thinks it’ll help. Something about blocking out—” He paused, as if weighing how much to say, before continuing, “—blocking out certain things. You-Know-Who.”

Blaise let out a low whistle. “Well, aren’t you in for a treat? Snape’s not exactly the nurturing type. You know, just breathe and all that.”

Lyra, however, didn’t find it funny. “Occlumency? Harry, that’s... that’s intense.” She leaned forward, her eyes searching his. “What aren’t you telling us?”

Harry sighed, clearly not wanting to go into too much detail. “It’s Dumbledore’s idea. He thinks that with... everything going on, I need to protect my mind from... invasion.”

Lyra’s expression shifted, concern clouding her features. “Invasion? Harry, if he’s worried about that, then things must be—”

“—serious?” Harry finished, nodding. “Yeah, they are.”

Blaise crossed his arms, his usual smug demeanor momentarily replaced by something more thoughtful. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot more on your plate than Quidditch and dodging Umbridge’s detentions.”

Harry nodded, glancing between the two of them. “It’s... complicated. But I thought you should know, Lyra. You know... just in case.”

Lyra’s eyes softened, understanding dawning on her. “Just in case something happens to you.”

Harry didn’t confirm it, but the silence spoke for him. Blaise watched the two of them, his expression unreadable, but he eventually broke the tension with a sigh. “Well, Potter, sounds like your mind’s going to be a battlefield soon enough. Let’s just hope you’re a better Occlumens than you are at keeping secrets.”

Harry shot him a tired look. “I’m not exactly thrilled about the idea, Zabini.”

Blaise shrugged. “No, but you’ve got Lyra to back you up. Even if Snape doesn’t.”

-IV-

HEARTBREAK AND THE ROLE UMBRIDGE PLAYS IN IT

"Miss Malfoy, have you given any thought to my proposal?"  Professor Umbridge's shrill voice rang through the empty corridor and Lyra swore at herself for not taking a different staircase back to the dungeons. 

"No, Professor," Lyra admitted honestly, "I have been busy studying for O.W.L.S."

The shorter woman nodded understandingly, though a creepy smile still remained on her face. "Well, dear," she dragged out dear as if it was a wretched word and not one people used to portray affection, "You do know that the High Inquisitorial Squad will help you achieve more points!"

"P-Professor," Lyra looked down at her shoes, "Why do you need a squad anyways? Professor Dumbledore is taking care of everything here already! I am sure if there is anything not going as it should, he would have put a stop to it already."

"Well, Professor Dumbledore might not be here for too long, Miss Malfoy."

Confusion washed over Lyra. What did she mean by that? But she knew better than to ask, especially not if it would prolong this conversation. As much as she detested her aunt, she couldn’t decide if she hated Umbridge more at this point.

"I’d have to decline, Professor," Lyra said, shrugging slightly. "I’m just too busy with my studies."

Umbridge didn’t seem fazed by her answer, her grotesque smile unwavering. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

"Of course, Professor," Lyra forced a smile, trying to hide her relief at escaping the conversation. "Please excuse me, I need to use the ladies’ room."

Without waiting for a response, Lyra hurried off down the corridor, feeling her nerves begin to settle as she turned into a washroom at the end of the hall. This is all Father’s doing, she thought bitterly. He must’ve asked Umbridge to recruit her. But she was as stubborn as Lucius Malfoy—if he was adamant about her joining the Inquisitorial Squad, then she was equally determined to refuse.

The washroom was nearly empty, save for two Ravenclaw girls standing by the mirror, giggling. Lyra recognized them as Cho Chang and Marsha Dearborn. She tried to ignore them, moving to a faucet at the far end to splash water on her face. Watching the girls made her chest tighten slightly. She missed having a proper female friend. Blaise was amazing, the best friend a girl could ask for, but he wasn’t a girl, and sometimes she craved that kind of bond. Pansy Parkinson could’ve filled that role if only she weren’t so irritating half the time.

She was lost in her thoughts when she suddenly overheard Marsha speak, her voice loud enough to catch Lyra’s attention.

"...but you kissed Harry Potter!"

Lyra’s world froze. She turned, her heart dropping into her stomach as she saw Cho quickly shush Marsha, glancing around nervously.

"I know," Cho whispered, her voice hushed. "But I’m not ready to date yet... not after Cedric."

Marsha wrapped her arms around Cho in a comforting hug. "But Harry’s quite the rebound, Cho! I mean, he was so scrawny as a kid, but Merlin, Quidditch has really filled him out. And those green eyes!"

Lyra’s breath hitched in her throat. She took a step back, her hands trembling as the weight of what she’d just heard sank in. Harry kissed Cho.

The girl Harry had been blushing over, the one who had always drawn his attention since fourth year. Lyra remembered that look on Harry’s face when Cho had talked to him on the train. How he had smiled at her in a way he never smiled at Lyra—until recently, when he told her he loved her.

But now? He kissed Cho.

Lyra barely registered her own movements as she turned and hurried out of the washroom. She was walking faster and faster, her mind spiraling out of control with each step. Why would he kiss her? He had said he loved Lyra. Why would he do this?

She kept walking, her feet carrying her aimlessly through the castle as the realization continued to crush her. Cho had no reason to lie. She had no idea about Lyra and Harry’s relationship. If she said Harry kissed her, then he did.

Harry had kissed someone else.

"Miss Malfoy, may I help you?"

Lyra’s head snapped up, her eyes locking with Professor Umbridge’s. Tears threatened to spill, but she forced them back. Her heart pounded, but only one thought pushed through her haze of emotions.

"I’d love to join your squad, Professor Umbridge," Lyra said flatly.

The professor’s eyes lit up in triumph. "Well, darling, isn’t that fantastic!"

Lyra barely heard her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything other than the betrayal sinking deeper and deeper into her chest. Without waiting for more, she muttered a vague excuse and walked away.

She walked and walked, not caring where her legs took her, until she found herself in the Slytherin dormitories. Her body moved on autopilot as she slipped into her room, drew the curtains around her bed, and collapsed onto her pillow.

And there, in the silence of her own space, Lyra Malfoy finally let herself cry.

On a Tuesday afternoon she had once thought was beautiful, Lyra Malfoy cried. 

-V-

HOW CAN I LOVE YOU AGAIN?

Harry had been trying to talk to her for days.

Every time he saw Lyra in the corridors, at meals, or during Quidditch practice, he attempted to catch her eye, to get her attention. But she brushed past him as if he didn’t exist. At first, he thought she was busy—maybe OWLs were stressing her out, or maybe her father had written with more demands. But as the days passed, the cold shoulder became impossible to ignore. Something was wrong, and Harry had no idea what it was.

“Lyra!” he called after her one afternoon, seeing her walking briskly toward the library. “Lyra, wait!”

She didn’t even look back. Her pace quickened, and Harry’s heart sank as he watched her disappear down the corridor.

By the time Transfiguration rolled around, he was beyond frustrated. He had barely slept, his mind running in circles trying to figure out what had happened. Did she hear something? Was it about the DA? Had she gotten into trouble with her father?

When he arrived in class and saw her already seated at the far end of the room, he knew he couldn’t let this go on any longer. Ignoring Ron and Hermione’s concerned looks, Harry walked straight over to her desk.

“Hey,” he said softly as he slid into the empty seat next to her, his voice laced with a mix of desperation and confusion. “Can we talk?”

Lyra didn’t respond. She kept her eyes focused on the parchment in front of her, not even acknowledging his presence. Her fingers were gripping her quill so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.

Harry’s heart raced. “Lyra, please. What’s going on? Why are you ignoring me?”

For a moment, he thought she was going to keep silent, but then she turned her head slightly, her icy blue eyes meeting his for the first time in days. There was no warmth in them—just a cold, distant resolve that sent a chill through him.

“We’re over, Harry,” she said flatly, her voice emotionless, as if she were stating a fact rather than breaking his heart.

Harry blinked, his mind reeling from the sudden blow. “What?” He could barely process what she had just said. “Over? What are you talking about?”

Lyra’s gaze shifted back to her parchment, her face set in a stony expression. “You heard me. It’s over. I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

His chest tightened, panic rising within him. “Lyra, what’s going on? Is this about your father? Did he—”

“It’s not about my father!” Lyra snapped, her voice rising slightly, though she quickly reined it in, taking a deep breath. She refused to look at him again, her jaw clenched as she added quietly, “It’s about you, Harry. And Cho.”

The mention of Cho’s name hit Harry like a punch to the gut. He felt the color drain from his face as the realization finally sank in. She knows.

“Lyra,” he started, his voice faltering. “It wasn’t—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” she interrupted, her tone final. “I don’t care what you have to say.”

Harry reached out, desperate to explain, to fix whatever had broken between them. “Lyra, please. I didn’t mean for it to happen—”

She stood abruptly, cutting him off. “You kissed her, Harry,” she said, her voice breaking for the first time. “You kissed her, and now... I can’t do this.”

She turned on her heel and walked out of the classroom, leaving Harry sitting there, stunned and heartbroken. He wanted to run after her, to explain everything, to tell her it meant nothing. But as Professor McGonagall strode into the room, he was rooted to the spot, the weight of what had just happened crashing down on him.

It was over.

Harry couldn’t stand it any longer. Lyra had been avoiding him for days, after their break up during transfiguration class, ignoring his attempts to speak with her. Every glance she shot him was filled with icy indifference, and it was driving him mad. He knew she was hurting, but he needed to explain, to make her see it wasn’t what she thought. He hadn’t meant to kiss Cho. It was a mistake, a moment of confusion—but Lyra had shut him out completely.

So, when he spotted her slipping away from the Great Hall after dinner, just a few days before their OWLS, Harry seized the opportunity. Ignoring the looks his best friends have him, he followed her down the corridor, his heart hammering in his chest. Ron and Hermione will catch on to what's happening eventually but that didn't matter. He couldn’t let this go on. Not like this.

“Lyra!” he called after her, but she didn’t slow down, didn’t even turn her head.

Without thinking, Harry hurried forward, grabbing her wrist gently but firmly. “We need to talk.”

She tried to pull away, her face cold and expressionless, but Harry didn’t let go. Instead, he tugged her toward a nearby broom closet, the same one they had sneaked into countless times before. The same one where he had told her he loved her for the first time.

The memory hit him hard as he opened the door and guided her inside, his throat tightening. Once they were both in the cramped, dimly lit space, he closed the door behind them. The familiar scent of broomsticks and old wood filled the air, but now, instead of being a place of secret kisses and whispered words, it felt suffocating.

Lyra crossed her arms, her back pressed against the wall, her eyes hard and unreadable. “What are you doing, Potter?”

“I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “You’ve been ignoring me for days. I can’t—I can’t take it anymore, Lyra. You have to let me explain.”

“Explain what?” she shot back, her voice sharp. “That you kissed Cho? That you went behind my back and—”

“It wasn’t like that!” Harry interrupted, running a hand through his messy hair, his frustration boiling over. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. She kissed me, and I—I didn’t even know what to do. It just happened so fast.”

Lyra let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, so she kissed you, and you just let it happen? That makes it so much better.”

Harry stepped closer, his chest tightening. “I was confused, okay? It wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t feel anything. Not like I do when I’m with you.”

Lyra’s eyes flashed, her voice rising as she pushed back, her emotions spilling out. “But you still kissed her, Harry! You kissed her, and then you didn't even tell me and now you want me to just... forget about it?”

“No, I—” Harry stumbled over his words, trying to find the right thing to say, but nothing felt right. “Lyra, please. I didn’t want it. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

She scoffed, tears glistening in her eyes as she turned away from him. “You told me that in this very closet, Harry. Do you remember that? You told me you loved me here, and now it feels like that meant nothing to you.”

Harry’s heart twisted painfully. He took a shaky breath, stepping forward to reach for her, but she backed away, her voice trembling.

“I trusted you. I trusted you so much. And you...” Her voice cracked, and she blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. “You broke that trust. I never thought you would ever hurt me like this.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Harry said, his voice raw. “I would never hurt you, Lyra. You have to believe me.”

Lyra stared at him, her expression torn between anger and hurt. “How can I believe you, Harry? How can I trust you after this?”

He swallowed hard, his hands trembling at his sides. “Because I’m telling you the truth now. I love you, Lyra. You’re the only one I want. I made a mistake, but it didn’t change how I feel about you. It never could.”

For a moment, silence filled the cramped space. The weight of their words hung between them, heavy and suffocating.

Lyra looked down at the floor, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “You say you love me, but how can I be sure? How do I know you won’t do something like this again? How can I know there's a gazillion other girls you have kissed that I don't about.”

Harry shook his head, stepping closer once more, desperate for her to believe him. “Because I can’t lose you. I won’t. I’ll do anything to make this right, Lyra. Please... just don’t walk away.”

She closed her eyes, leaning her head against the wall, and Harry’s heart raced as he watched her struggle with her emotions. The anger, the hurt—it was all there, and he hated himself for being the cause of it.

When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Harry felt like his world was collapsing around him. He had messed up, and now he was on the verge of losing the most important person in his life. “Please, Lyra... give me another chance. I’ll prove it to you. I’ll make it right.”

Lyra opened her eyes, her gaze softening just a little as she met his. There was still pain there, but also a flicker of something else—hope, maybe.

“I don’t know, Harry,” she said softly. "I don't know."

-VI-

THE BEST WAY FOR THINGS TO GO WRONG COMPLETELY

She hadn’t wanted to be here, standing with the Inquisitorial Squad outside Professor Umbridge’s office, the smug expressions of her fellow squad members grating against her every nerve. But her father had insisted that joining the squad would keep her safe, that it would ensure their family’s standing and keep them from suspicion. So here she was—playing a role she despised.

“The DA… it was Harry. Harry Potter was leading it.”

Umbridge’s eyes gleamed with triumph, her sickly sweet smile stretching across her face as she stood up. “Ah, Mr. Potter… always the troublemaker. And you’ve been such a naughty little girl, haven’t you, Miss Chang?” she purred, circling Cho like a predator closing in on its prey.

“I don’t care about Dumbledore’s excuses,” Umbridge interrupted, her voice suddenly cold. She turned to the Inquisitorial Squad, her beady eyes flickering with dark satisfaction. “We’ll deal with this immediately.”

Her legs moved on their own, following Umbridge as she stormed down the corridors, Crabbe and the others trailing behind with gleeful expressions. Lyra’s stomach twisted with every step they took toward the seventh floor, dread building inside her like a storm waiting to break. She wanted to stop this, to do something, but she was trapped—caught between her role in the Inquisitorial Squad and her already questionable love for Harry.

“Move aside,” Umbridge ordered, her wand already out. Lyra took a step back, her feet feeling like lead.

When the smoke cleared, she saw them—two dozen students spilling out of the room, their faces painted with shock and fear. At the front of the group stood Harry, his eyes wide as he took in the scene before him.

Harry.

Umbridge’s cackle echoed through the hallway as she stepped forward, her wand raised menacingly. “Caught you, Mr. Potter! Leading an illegal organization right under my nose. I’ve got you now.”

Harry’s gaze finally landed on her, his green eyes filled with a mixture of shock, anger, and something else—betrayal, maybe. Lyra’s stomach dropped, and she felt like the world had just been pulled out from under her feet.

Harry’s jaw tightened, and his hand clenched around his wand. He took a step forward, as if to shield the others behind him, his eyes still locked on Lyra’s.

Because in that moment, all she could feel was the crushing weight of the realization that she had been standing on the wrong side all along.

The atmosphere at Hogwarts had been tense for weeks. With O.W.L.s approaching, the pressure had everyone on edge. But for Lyra, it wasn’t just the exams weighing her down—it was Harry. He had been avoiding her for weeks now, ever since that disastrous night when Umbridge had blasted open the door to the Room of Requirement, and all the DA members had been caught. Including Harry.

The guilt had been gnawing at her since that night. She hadn’t known—she couldn’t have known. And yet, every time she tried to talk to Harry, to explain, he’d slipped away. She caught glimpses of him in the corridors, or at meals, but he would always turn and vanish before she could reach him. It was driving her mad.

The Weasley twins had been the only bright spot in the chaos. They had dropped out of school but not before leaving Umbridge a farewell gift—a series of fireworks that exploded through the halls, sending students into fits of laughter and Umbridge into a complete frenzy. Lyra couldn’t help but admire their boldness. But even their antics weren’t enough to lift her spirits for long.

She had to find Harry. She needed to talk to him.

As the fireworks finally began to fade, Lyra made her way down to the castle grounds, searching for any sign of him. And then, by the lake, she spotted him—sitting on the grass, staring out over the water, his back to her.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she approached, her steps slow and hesitant. “Harry?” she called softly, unsure if he’d even want to hear her voice. When he didn’t move, she took a deep breath and came closer, finally standing beside him.

He didn’t look up.

“Harry, I didn’t know,” she blurted out, the words spilling from her before she could stop them. “I had no idea the DA was meeting in the Room of Requirement that night. I didn’t—if I had known, I would’ve done something. I would’ve stopped her.”

Harry stayed silent, his jaw clenched. Lyra felt her throat tighten, her heart aching at his coldness. She knelt down next to him, her hand trembling as she reached out to touch his. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t respond either.

“I swear, Harry. I never would’ve let that happen if I knew you were in there,” she whispered. “You have to believe me.”

For a moment, there was only silence between them. Lyra’s heart raced as she waited, hoping—praying—that he would say something. Then, slowly, Harry’s fingers intertwined with hers, his touch soft but reassuring.

“I believe you,” he said quietly, finally looking at her. His green eyes were clouded with exhaustion, but she could see the relief there too. “I know you wouldn’t do that to us. But you have to believe me too when I say I did not want to kiss Cho.”

Lyra exhaled, the weight on her chest lifting just a little. She squeezed his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin, the closeness that had been missing for weeks.

"I do now."

But before she could say anything more, she noticed something off. Harry’s face had gone pale, and his grip on her hand slackened. His breathing was shallow, and his eyes seemed unfocused.

“Harry?” Lyra’s voice filled with concern as she sat up straighter, gripping his hand tighter. “Harry, are you alright?”

Harry’s eyes fluttered, and his head drooped slightly as if he were about to faint.

Panic surged through Lyra. “Harry? Harry!”

She looked around frantically and spotted Hermione Granger across the grounds, her nose buried in a book. Without hesitation, Lyra shouted, her voice sharp with urgency.

“Granger!” she called out, waving her arm wildly. “Granger, get over here! Now!”

Hermione’s head snapped up, and she immediately sprinted toward them, her eyes wide with alarm when she saw Harry slumped beside Lyra.

“What happened?” Hermione asked breathlessly, kneeling down next to them and checking Harry’s pulse.

“I don’t know,” Lyra replied, her voice shaking. “He just...he just started getting faint.”

Hermione frowned, looking between Harry and Lyra. “We need to get him to the hospital wing. Can you help me carry him?”

Lyra nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. Together, they managed to lift Harry up, his weight sagging between them as they hurried toward the castle, the urgency of the situation pushing away any lingering tension between the two girls.

As they rushed to help Harry, Lyra’s mind raced. She had no idea what was happening to him, but one thing was certain—she wasn’t going to lose him. Not like this.

As they neared the infirmary, struggling under Harry's weight, his eyes suddenly shot open, wild and panicked. His voice was hoarse but urgent as he rasped, "Sirius. He's got Sirius."

Lyra and Hermione froze mid-step, exchanging alarmed glances. "Who’s got Sirius?" Hermione asked, her voice trembling.

But Harry’s gaze was distant, fixated on something only he could see. “He’s in the Department of Mysteries,” he muttered, trying to shake himself free of their support. “I’ve got to save him.”

Without waiting for them to respond, Harry struggled to stand on his own. Lyra instinctively tightened her grip on him. “Harry, slow down! You’re in no condition to do anything right now,” she pleaded, worry written all over her face.

But Harry was resolute, a fire blazing in his eyes. “I have to go,” he insisted, voice rising. “Voldemort has him, Lyra. I have to.”

The mention of Voldemort sent a chill through her, but she pushed it down. She could see the determination in Harry’s expression, the sheer will to act—no matter the danger.

“If you’re going, then I’m coming with you,” she declared firmly, stepping in front of him.

“No,” Harry replied, the word immediate and final. He didn’t even hesitate.

“What?” Lyra blinked, disbelief coursing through her. “Harry, I’m not just going to sit around while you run headfirst into danger! If Voldemort really has Sirius—”

“You can’t come, Lyra.” Harry’s tone was sharp, almost pleading. He could see the defiance in her eyes, but he didn’t want to drag her into this. “Please, just wait for me.”

“No!” she snapped, her frustration mounting. “I’m not going to let you face this alone. I’ve already lost you once—don’t make me go through that again.” Her voice trembled, but her resolve didn’t waver.

“Lyra,” Harry said, softer now, “you have to stay behind. It’s too dangerous. I can’t focus if I’m worried about you.”

Lyra’s mouth opened to argue, but Harry cut her off, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Go to our spot,” he said, his voice more urgent. “I’ll come find you when this is over. I promise.”

Hermione, watching the exchange, glanced between them with a confused, wary expression, sensing something deeper at play but not saying anything.

“Harry...” Lyra started again, but the look in his eyes stopped her. He was scared—scared for her.

“Please,” he whispered. “Just wait for me.”

She hated it—hated the idea of waiting on the sidelines while he risked his life—but she could see that he wouldn’t budge. With a reluctant sigh, she nodded. “Fine,” she muttered, her voice tight with emotion. “But you better come back to me, Potter.”

A flicker of relief crossed Harry’s face. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight, his heart pounding against her chest. “I will,” he whispered against her hair.

And then, in a moment of desperation, Lyra leaned up and kissed him. It wasn’t soft or sweet, but urgent, filled with all the fear and love she couldn’t put into words. Harry kissed her back just as fiercely, his hands cupping her face as if this might be their last moment together.

When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathless.

“Find me,” Lyra whispered, her voice barely audible.

“I will,” Harry promised again, before turning away, his mind already racing with plans to rescue Sirius.

"Since when has that been going on?" Lyra heard as she stood there, watching as he and Hermione hurried off to gather the others. Her heart ached with the fear that this might be the last time she saw him, but she forced herself to stay strong. She had to believe he’d come back.

As they disappeared around the corner, she let out a shaky breath and began the long walk to their spot, praying that Harry would keep his promise.

-VII-

SAY GOODBYE TO WHAT'S BAD FOR YOU

Lyra paced back and forth, her footsteps echoing softly in the Astronomy Tower. Hours had passed since Harry had left her with that desperate promise, and each minute that ticked by felt like a stone being added to her chest. She had waited, just like he’d asked, but now it was nearing midnight, and there was no sign of him. Fear and doubt gnawed at her—what if something had happened to him? What if he wasn’t coming back at all?

Tears pricked at her eyes as she finally decided she couldn’t wait any longer. She was just about to leave when she heard hurried footsteps echo down the corridor. Lyra spun around, her heart leaping into her throat, and there he was—Harry.

But he wasn’t the same Harry who had left her earlier. His clothes were torn and dirtied, his hands covered in blood, his face etched with pain and rage. His eyes—those green eyes she loved so much—were wild, haunted.

“Harry!” she gasped, rushing forward to help him, her hands shaking as she reached out. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

But before she could touch him, Harry recoiled, his face twisted in anger and pain. “Don’t,” he said sharply, pulling away from her as if her touch was something he couldn’t bear. His voice was cold, hollow.

Lyra’s heart sank, the relief she’d felt moments before evaporating. “Harry, what’s wrong? What happened?” she asked again, her voice trembling now, unsure of what was happening.

He didn’t meet her eyes at first, his gaze fixed on the ground as though looking at her would only make things worse. Finally, after a long silence, he spoke, his voice rough and broken. “Sirius is dead.”

The world seemed to stop. Lyra’s breath caught in her throat, her chest tightening as the words sank in. “What?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “No... Harry, that can’t—how?”

Harry’s hands balled into fists, and for a moment, Lyra saw the raw grief in his eyes. “Bellatrix Lestrange killed him,” he said, his voice shaking with barely controlled fury. “He’s gone. And it’s because of her. Because of your family.”

The accusation hit her like a physical blow. She stumbled back, staring at him, trying to process the words. “Bellatrix?” she whispered. “But I—Harry, I didn’t know."

Harry cut her off, his voice suddenly sharp, laced with accusation. “Do not dare to lie to me. Did you know?” he demanded, stepping closer, his eyes now locked onto hers. “Did you know your father is a Death Eater?”

Lyra froze, the question piercing through her like a blade. She opened her mouth, but the words stuck in her throat. She had known, of course, but hearing it from Harry—his anger, his pain—it made everything worse. She swallowed hard, her voice weak when she finally spoke. “Yes.”

Harry let out a bitter, humorless laugh, the sound so unlike him that it made Lyra’s stomach turn. “And your aunt?” he continued, relentless. “Did you know she was out of Azkaban?”

Lyra’s heart pounded, her vision blurring with unshed tears. “Yes,” she whispered again, her voice trembling.

Harry’s face twisted in disbelief, his anger flaring. “So you knew?” he repeated, his voice rising. “You knew that Bellatrix, your aunt, was out there, and you didn’t think to tell me? You didn’t think to warn me that the person who is responsible for literally driving Neville's parents mad was walking free? How long, Lyra? How long have you known?”

“I didn’t know she would—” Lyra started, her voice cracking as she tried to explain, tried to make him understand. “I didn’t know she’d do this, Harry! I wanted to tell you, but—”

"How long have you known?"

"Since Christmas." she cried, "Harry, I wanted to tell you everything–"

“But you didn’t,” Harry spat, his eyes blazing with anger. “You kept all of this from me, while I was out there risking my life, Sirius’s life—”

Lyra’s tears spilled over, her chest heaving with sobs. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Harry,” she cried, stepping closer to him, desperate to make him understand. “I was trying to protect you! I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t know what to do. My family—they—”

“Your family, your responsibility.” Harry interrupted, his voice dripping with disgust. “Your responsibility should have been to the people you care about, Lyra. You could have chosen me and something that is not killing people!” His voice cracked with the weight of his grief and fury. “But instead, you chose them. You let me walk into that trap blind, and now Sirius is dead because of it!”

Lyra’s sobs grew louder, her heart breaking with every word. “I love you,” she choked out, her voice thick with emotion. “I love you, Harry, I didn’t want this—”

“Love?” Harry’s voice turned cruel, his face hardening as he glared at her. “You love me? You broke up with me because of a stupid kiss—something I didn’t even want. You couldn’t trust me because another girl kissed me, and now you’re saying you love me? How can I trust you after this, Lyra? After you kept something like this from me?”

Lyra shook her head, her tears blurring her vision. “It wasn’t like that,” she sobbed, reaching out to him again. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I’m trapped, Harry. Between my family and you. I’m being pulled in every direction and I didn’t know what to do!”

Harry stepped back again, his eyes cold and unforgiving. “You could have chosen,” he said, his voice low and filled with finality. “You could have chosen me.”

Lyra’s heart shattered, her world crumbling around her. “Harry, please,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she reached for him one last time. But Harry shook his head, his expression hardened by grief and betrayal.

“I hate you,” he said, his words like a knife to her chest. “I hate you, and I never want anything to do with you again. We’re done.”

Lyra collapsed to the ground as he turned and walked away, her sobs wracking her body. She stayed there for what felt like an eternity, her heart shattered, her mind replaying his words over and over again.

Eventually, she forced herself to stand, her body numb with exhaustion and grief. There was only one place left to go.

Lyra stood before the stone gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore’s office, her heart still heavy with the weight of Harry’s words. The gargoyle moved aside as she approached, as though it had been expecting her, and soon she found herself standing in front of Dumbledore himself.

To her surprise, Snape was there too, his dark eyes scanning her tear-streaked face with a look of disdain.

“Miss Malfoy,” Dumbledore said softly, his blue eyes kind but piercing. “What brings you here at this hour?”

Lyra swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she struggled to find the right words. “I need to help,” she said, her voice hoarse from crying. “I need to do something.”

Snape raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with skepticism. “You?” he said, his tone condescending. “And what exactly do you think you can do, Miss Malfoy?”

“I don’t know yet,” Lyra admitted, her voice wavering, but she looked directly at Dumbledore, her eyes pleading. “I... I want to make things right.”

Snape scoffed, crossing his arms. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “She’s a Malfoy. She couldn’t possibly—”

“Severus,” Dumbledore interrupted, his voice calm but firm. He turned his attention back to Lyra, his gaze thoughtful. “What is it you hope to accomplish, Miss Malfoy?”

Lyra hesitated, her chest tightening with anxiety. She didn’t know how to say it—didn’t know if she had the strength to say it out loud—but she forced herself to speak. “You want Voldemort gone,” she said quietly, her voice trembling but determined. “And... and I want Harry to live.”

There was silence in the room as her words hung in the air. Dumbledore studied her, his expression unreadable, while Snape glared at her, clearly unimpressed.

“I know my family,” Lyra continued, her voice stronger now. “I know things... things that could help. I can’t stand by and do nothing. Not anymore. I can spy on them for you, help you win this.”

Dumbledore’s eyes softened as he regarded her. “This is a dangerous path you are considering, Miss Malfoy,” he said gently. “Are you certain you understand what you are asking?”

Lyra nodded, though the fear gnawed at her insides. “I have to do something,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I can’t lose him. Not like this.”

Snape snorted, his expression filled with disdain. “You think your petty teenage romance is a reason to throw yourself into a war you barely understand?”

Lyra shot him a glare, her voice steely. “It’s not just about Harry,” she snapped. “It’s about doing what’s right. It’s about stopping Voldemort.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “Very well,” he said quietly. “I will consider your request. But know this, Miss Malfoy—once you make this choice, there is no turning back.”

Lyra took a deep, shaky breath and nodded again. “I understand.”

Snape muttered something under his breath, clearly displeased, but Dumbledore merely sighed, his expression weary. “Go and rest now, Miss Malfoy,” he said softly. “We will speak more in the morning.”

Lyra nodded, her heart still heavy, but for the first time in hours, there was a flicker of hope deep inside her. She turned and left the office, her mind spinning with everything that had happened.

But as she made her way back to the Slytherin common room, one thought remained constant—she would do whatever it took to protect Harry, even if it meant betraying her family.