free now

CHAPTER EIGHT

the end is what you make it

1996

sixth year, pt. one

ORIGINAL UNIVERSE, MULTIPLE POVS

-I-

EVIL FOUND ITS WAY TO MY HOME (NOW IT WON'T LET GO)

Lyra was used to the eerie silence of the manor, but today, it felt different. The heavy air carried the tension of something dark—something dangerous. She had been trying to stay out of her aunt’s way for most of the day, a lesson she’d quickly learned since Bellatrix had come into their lives.

Her mother was out, leaving her alone with Bellatrix, who was unpredictable at best and utterly terrifying at worst.

Lyra had been sitting at her desk, quill in hand, composing a letter to Blaise when the door slammed open with a force that made the entire room tremble. She didn’t even have time to react before Bellatrix swept in, her black robes trailing behind her like shadows ready to swallow everything.

Lyra's heart sank as she saw her aunt’s wild eyes fixed on the parchment in front of her.

“What’s this, niece?” Bellatrix’s voice was dripping with venom, her fingers twitching toward her wand. “Another letter to your precious Blaise?”

Lyra froze, the half-written letter still resting on the desk in front of her. She swallowed hard. “He’s just a friend, Aunt Bellatrix. That’s all.”

“A friend?” Bellatrix’s voice rose to a screech, her expression twisting into something dark and maniacal. “A friend? You waste your time writing to boys when you have more important things to focus on? Your father is in Azkaban! You have to step up now. Do you think the Dark Lord will care about your pathetic schoolyard friendships when the time comes?”

Lyra stood slowly, keeping her hands steady though her heart pounded wildly. “Blaise has nothing to do with this. I don’t see why—”

Bellatrix was in front of her in an instant, wand drawn, her face inches from Lyra’s. “Silence!” she hissed. “You think you’re clever, sneaking around, writing love notes like some foolish schoolgirl?”

“They’re not love notes,” Lyra shot back, her anger flaring despite the fear curling inside her. “Blaise is my friend. That’s it.”

“Your friend?” Bellatrix mocked, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You should have no time for friends. No time for boys. Do you think I ever had time for such frivolities when I was at your age?”

Lyra stood her ground. “I’m not you.”

Bellatrix’s eyes flared with fury, and before Lyra could even register the movement, her aunt’s wand was pointed at her chest.

“Crucio!”

The world exploded into pain. Lyra’s body convulsed as the curse wracked through her, the agony twisting her insides, burning her nerves until all she could do was scream. The quill slipped from her hand as she collapsed to the floor, her fingers digging into the cold stone as if that could somehow anchor her to reality, to sanity.

“You think you’re better than me?” Bellatrix’s voice echoed through the fog of pain. “You think you can defy the Dark Lord’s purpose by wasting your time with boys?”

Lyra’s screams filled the room, tears streaming down her face as she writhed on the floor. Every inch of her body was on fire, her muscles locking in place as the curse tore through her. Bellatrix’s laughter cut through the pain, high and cold and utterly mad.

“Not so tough now, are we?” Bellatrix sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. She crouched down, her face level with Lyra’s, her wild eyes glinting with delight. “Do you think he will save you? Your precious Blaise or that wretched Harry Potter?”

Lyra’s chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath, every muscle in her body trembling from the aftermath of the curse. She didn’t answer, knowing that anything she said would only provoke more pain. For a second, she was scared that Bellatrix knew about her relationship with Harry.

Bellatrix’s lips twisted into a sneer. “He’ll die, you know. They both will. The Dark Lord will see to that. And when they do, you’ll have no one left. No one to cry for you. No one to save you.” She giggled, a sound that sent a shiver down Lyra’s spine. “But don’t worry, my dear niece. I’ll make sure you stay very alive to see it all.”

Lyra felt the sting of tears in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She would not cry in front of Bellatrix. She would not give her the satisfaction.

Bellatrix stood, towering over her, her wand still pointed at Lyra’s trembling form. “You will learn, Lyra,” she said softly, almost sweetly. “You will learn what true loyalty means. You will learn how to suffer for it.”

Another flash of pain tore through Lyra’s body as Bellatrix cast the Cruciatus Curse again. Lyra’s scream ripped through the room, her body convulsing on the floor as the curse wracked her with agony. Her thoughts scattered, her mind unable to hold on to anything but the endless, searing torment.

She wished she knew why her aunt hated her so much. Was it because she was not a boy? Neither was she! Sure the Black household had Sirius and Regulus to uphold the name of the family but they were both gone now, dead. Was it her crime that she was not born as a proper male heir?

The curse lifted, and Lyra gasped for breath, her body shaking uncontrollably. But her aunt wasn’t done.

Bellatrix crouched beside her, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “I’m doing this for your own good, Lyra. You’re not meant for friendships. Not with that boy. Not with anyone.”

Lyra coughed, her voice hoarse. “I... wasn’t... doing anything wrong. He’s my friend.”

Bellatrix’s face twisted into a cruel smile. “You poor, foolish girl.” She gripped Lyra’s chin roughly, forcing her to look into her eyes. “Friendship will get you killed. Loyalty to the Dark Lord is all that matters. He is all that matters.”

Lyra’s chest heaved, the pain still radiating through her, but she held Bellatrix’s gaze. “I know what matters. But Blaise is not a distraction.”

The mad glint in Bellatrix’s eyes flickered, her expression turning colder. “You’ll learn, Lyra. Sooner or later, you’ll learn the hard way.”

With one last twist of her lips, Bellatrix stood, her wand still gripped tightly in her hand as she turned toward the door. “Stay away from distractions, or I’ll make sure you never forget this lesson.”

Lyra didn’t move until the door closed behind her aunt. Her body ached with the aftershocks of the Cruciatus Curse, but it was the weight of Bellatrix’s words that lingered the most.

She curled up on the floor, gasping for breath, her mind racing. She had known that Bellatrix was insane—ruthless. But this had been a warning, a cruel reminder of what her life had become. She wasn’t just under scrutiny by the Dark Lord. Her aunt was watching her every move, waiting for her to falter.

As the pain slowly ebbed away, Lyra lay there, breathing heavily, the half-finished letter to Blaise now crumpled on the floor beside her.

Friendships. Love. They had no place in the world she was being pulled into.

-II-

EVERYTHING IS NOT WHAT IT SEEMS

Meanwhile at the Burrow, the warm sounds of laughter and chatter filled the house as the Weasleys gathered around the dinner table, but Harry couldn’t focus. He sat in his chair, pushing his food around on his plate. His mind was elsewhere—on someone who wasn’t at the table.

Lyra.

His heart twisted painfully as he thought of their last encounter, the look on her face, the tears in her eyes, and the way he had walked away.

As he glanced up, he noticed Hermione watching him closely from across the table. She had been quiet throughout dinner, which wasn’t like her. When she caught his eye, she nodded subtly toward the door.

Harry sighed. He knew what was coming.

After dinner, Harry tried to slip away to the yard, but Hermione intercepted him before he could escape.

"Harry, we need to talk," Hermione said firmly, pulling him aside into the kitchen. Her eyes were full of concern, but there was also a sharpness there, as if she had been holding back questions for far too long. "I’m tired of you avoiding me. You’ve been dodging my questions for months now."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of her gaze on him. "Hermione, I—"

"No more excuses," she interrupted. "You’re going to tell me the truth, right now, about what’s going on with Lyra."

Harry froze. His stomach clenched as the familiar guilt churned inside him. Hermione didn't even know half of it, didn't know that he and Lyra had been... together. How could she? They had kept their relationship secret from almost everyone.

Hermione sighed and crossed her arms, stepping closer. "You've been acting off for weeks now. You don’t talk about her, and every time someone brings up the Malfoys, you go quiet. Something happened, Harry. You can’t keep avoiding this."

Harry took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. His heart pounded as he realized that there was no avoiding this anymore. Hermione was too perceptive, too sharp. She knew something had changed between him and Lyra, but the truth? She had no idea.

"Alright," Harry muttered, voice barely above a whisper. "You want the truth? I'll tell you."

Hermione nodded, waiting expectantly.

"Fine," he said, leaning against the counter. His voice was barely above a whisper. "But you can’t tell anyone, Hermione. Not Ron. Especially not Ron."

Hermione raised an eyebrow but nodded, folding her arms. "I won’t. But you have to tell me everything."

Harry took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. How could he explain the mess of emotions inside him? How could he justify what he had done?

Harry bit his lip, wondering where to even begin. "You know... it started back in third year, actually."

"Third year?" Hermione raised an eyebrow, confused. "But you and Lyra barely even spoke then."

Harry shook his head, smiling faintly at the memory. "Yeah, that’s what everyone thought. But we did. It wasn’t much at first—just small things. She helped me out with something in Potions once. I remember being surprised that a Malfoy would bother with me, but she wasn’t like the others."

Hermione’s eyes softened as Harry continued, his voice growing more nostalgic.

"Lyra was different from the other Slytherins. She wasn’t cruel. She wasn’t stuck up. We just... started talking more. Sometimes it was just passing comments in the corridors or the library. We didn’t agree on everything, obviously—she still had a certain pride about her family. But there was this... kindness in her, you know? Something honest. Then when Sirius was in Hogwarts and we all believed he was dangerous, she talked to me. Told me to not judge him from what I've heard. She told me about how worried she was about Buckbeak and how she blamed herself for what her father was doing."

Hermione listened intently, her arms still folded, but the sharpness in her expression had softened. "I never knew that."

Harry shook his head. "I didn't either, at first. But by fourth year, we were writing to each other over the summer, and she was... different. She listened, Hermione. She didn’t judge me for everything the way other people did. And then, after the Yule Ball..."

His voice trailed off as the memories flooded back. He could still picture Lyra in that stunning gown, her hair cascading down her shoulders as she talked to someone else. He’d been distracted the entire night, stealing glances at her, wondering why he cared so much about what she was doing or if she was dancing with someone. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but those feelings had grown into something much deeper.

"After the Yule Ball," Harry continued, "I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I was with Parvati, and she was fine, but it wasn’t the same. Lyra and I found each other later that night up in the Astronomy Tower. We always talked up there for hours about everything—about our families, about Hogwarts, about how strange it all felt."

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. "Wait, you have been up in the Astronomy Tower with Lyra Malfoy  all those nights? And no one knew?"

Harry chuckled sheepishly. "Yeah, well, we were pretty good at keeping it quiet. I think it was around then that I realized I liked her. But I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know how. We were from two different worlds—her family, her Slytherin friends, it all felt so... complicated. But then, just before we left, I—"

He stopped, feeling the familiar heat rise in his cheeks as he remembered that moment. The way the stars had reflected in her eyes, the way she had looked at him with that same softness he had come to know so well.

"You what?" Hermione pressed.

"I kissed her," Harry admitted, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Right there in the tower. I didn’t even plan it. It just happened. She kissed me back."

Hermione’s mouth fell open. "Harry! You and Lyra... kissed? After the Yule Ball? And you never told us?!"

Harry laughed a little, embarrassed. "Yeah. We started seeing each other after that, but we kept it secret. Only a few people knew—Blaise Zabini, because he’s her best friend, and... well, eventually Ron and you figured something was off. But we didn’t want to make it public. Her family wouldn’t have approved. My life was complicated enough without adding that to the mix."

Hermione blinked, still processing everything. "So you and Lyra... you’ve been together this whole time? For over a year?"

"Yeah," Harry said, his voice turning quieter. "I fell in love with her, Hermione. She wasn’t like anyone else. She was good, honest, and so kind. She understood me in ways I didn’t think anyone else could. I told her things I could barely tell you or Ron. She became... everything to me."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Hermione stared at him, clearly shocked, as she took in everything he had just revealed. But then, her expression shifted, and her eyes filled with sympathy.

"So what happened?" Hermione asked softly, stepping closer. "I know you aren't together any more. Why did you break up with her? If you loved her so much, Harry, why would you– It can't possibly be because her aunt is Bellatrix and she–"

"It’s not what you think," he started, staring at the floor. "I didn’t break up with Lyra because of some fight or because I stopped caring about her. I broke up with her because... I had to."

Hermione’s brow furrowed, confusion clear on her face. "What do you mean, had to? Harry, that doesn’t make any sense. You love her. Why would you—?"

"Because I was trying to protect her!" Harry burst out, his voice rising, surprising both of them. He immediately lowered his tone, glancing toward the door to make sure no one else was listening. "I was trying to protect her, Hermione. You’ve seen what happens to the people I love."

He paused, his throat tightening. "My parents. Sirius. Even Cedric. Everyone around me... they die, Hermione. I can’t... I can’t let that happen to her."

Hermione shook her head, clearly not understanding. "But Harry, you can’t protect everyone. You can’t just push people away because you’re scared. You can't blame yourself for what happened to them."

"But I do!" Harry clenched his fists, feeling the familiar guilt rise up inside him. "I can’t stop blaming myself. You don’t get it, Hermione!" he said, running a hand through his messy hair in frustration. "Lyra’s already in danger because of who her family is. If people found out we were together, Voldemort would go after her. He’d see her as a threat, or worse, as leverage to get to me. I couldn’t let that happen."

His voice grew quieter, almost a whisper. "I love her too much to let that happen."

Hermione was silent for a moment, absorbing his words. Then, slowly, she nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. "Harry, I get it. I really do. But Lyra’s not like the others. She’s strong. And pushing her away like this... it’s only going to hurt you both."

"I know," Harry whispered, his throat tight. "But what choice do I have? How can I keep her safe when I can’t even keep the people I love alive? If people found out we were together, she’d have a target on her back, just like you and Ron."

Hermione took a step closer, her voice gentle but firm. "But hiding your feelings doesn’t make the danger go away, Harry. You and Lyra—"

"That’s different," Harry cut her off, shaking his head. "You and Ron, people already know we’re close. They know you’re my best friends, and I know I can’t protect you from everything, but I still try. Believe me, I really try. But Lyra... our relationship was a secret. No one knew about it except a few people. That secrecy—it can keep her safe. If we stay apart, Voldemort might not see her as a threat. He won’t come after her."

Harry walked away from Hermione, refusing to listen anything else she might have had to add– Voldemort cannot go after Lyra. Harry wouldn't let him.

-III-

SLYTHERIN GIRL WITH SECRETS

Lyra entered Borgin and Burkes alone, her mind whirling with the instructions her aunt Bellatrix had drilled into her. She had been told to secure a Vanishing Cabinet, but her eyes kept wandering to a beautiful necklace on display. It glistened in the dusty light of the shop, and a twisted plan formed in her head—one that might help her secure her position and perhaps even please her family. But first, she knew she had to consult Dumbledore.

Swallowing, Lyra approached the counter where Borgin stood. The man barely looked up from the strange relic he was polishing, his eyes flicking toward her lazily as if she were just another customer.

“I need a Vanishing Cabinet,” Lyra said softly, her voice steady despite the nerves coiling in her stomach.

Borgin's hands paused for a fraction of a second, but he quickly resumed his work, looking altogether unimpressed. "Do you now?" he muttered, not bothering to meet her gaze. "And why would you be needing one of those?"

Lyra lifted her chin, letting her Malfoy pride show. She had learned a lot about confidence from her father. “I’m here on my aunt’s behalf, Bellatrix Lastrange” she replied coolly. "She told me you'd have what I need."

At the mention of Bellatrix, Borgin’s posture stiffened slightly. He set down the relic, now giving her his full attention. "Your aunt," he echoed, his tone cautious. "And what exactly did she tell you?"

“She said I’d need to collect something from here," Lyra replied, keeping her voice low but firm. "The Vanishing Cabinet."

Borgin frowned, looking at her carefully. “That Cabinet’s not easy to use, especially for someone without the proper experience. Dangerous, even, if mishandled.”

"I’ll manage," Lyra said confidently, though in truth, she wasn’t entirely sure. The Cabinet had a reputation, one that even her father had mentioned in passing. But if Bellatrix believed she could handle it, then she would try.

The shopkeeper eyed her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Follow me,” he muttered, leading her to the back of the shop, weaving through the various cursed and dark objects that littered the place.

As they approached the Cabinet, Lyra felt a strange sensation—a pull, like the one she’d felt in front of the cursed necklace. It looked old, battered even, but something about it whispered potential. She stepped closer, reaching out tentatively, her fingers brushing against its surface.

“This is it,” Borgin said, his voice low and heavy with meaning. “You’re sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

Lyra hesitated only for a second before she nodded. “Yes.”

Borgin grunted, clearly unconvinced but not in the mood to argue. “Very well. But you’ll need to be careful. It’s been damaged before, and without the right spells, you might not like where it takes you—or what it brings back.”

Lyra glanced at him, frowning slightly. She hadn’t expected the Cabinet to be damaged. Bellatrix hadn’t mentioned that. But then again, her aunt was always more focused on the endgame than the details.

"I’ll need to consult with someone," she admitted reluctantly. "Just to be sure I can handle it."

Borgin looked at her curiously. "Consult with whom?"

"None of your business," Lyra snapped, turning her back on him and eyeing the necklace again, still sitting proudly in its glass case. She couldn’t afford to buy it now, not with the Cabinet being her main focus, but she couldn’t help but feel drawn to it. It wasn’t just beautiful—it was powerful, cursed, and dangerous, exactly what she might need if things went south with Bellatrix’s plans.

"You’re looking at that necklace again," Borgin said, his voice suddenly quieter, more cautious. "That one’s been kept here for a reason. It’s killed before."

Lyra looked at him, narrowing her eyes. “I know. I just... I have an idea for it. But that’s not why I’m here.”

Borgin chuckled darkly. "You Malfoys are always full of ideas. Just be careful those ideas don’t get you killed."

Lyra bristled at the comment but didn’t respond. Instead, she turned her attention back to the Cabinet, running her fingers over its surface one more time. This was her task. She would figure out how to use it—after she had spoken to Dumbledore, of course. He was the only one who could give her the answers she needed without reporting back to her aunt. And right now, she wasn’t sure if she could trust anyone else.

As she stood near the counter, Lyra felt a sense of unease as she glanced at Borgin, who was watching her like a hawk. His nervousness was obvious, and she could practically see the sweat beading on his forehead. Before he could say a word, she spoke up.

"I already have the other side of that cabinet, but it's damaged. Can you fix it?"

“Possibly,” said Borgin, in a tone that suggested he was unwilling to commit himself. “I’ll need to see it, though. Why don’t you bring it into the shop?”

“I can’t,” Lyra said sharply. “It’s got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it.”

She watched as Borgin licked his lips nervously.

“Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn’t guarantee anything.”

“No?” Lyra sneered, knowing full well the intimidation her name carried. “Perhaps this will make you more confident.”

She moved towards him, ensuring he did not see the scared look in her eyes, sliding a bag of galleons towards him. She blocked his view with the Vanishing Cabinet, not letting him get a clear look at her face. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, hidden under the Invisibility Cloak, shuffled sideways outside, trying to keep her in sight, though Lyra had no idea they were there.

Borgin grew even more nervous, his eyes darting around as if he expected someone to appear at any moment.

“Tell anyone,” Lyra said darkly, “and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He’s a family friend. He’ll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you’re giving the problem your full attention.”

“There will be no need for—” Borgin began, only to be cut off.

“I’ll decide that,” she hissed. “Well, I’d better be off. And don’t forget to keep that one safe. I’ll need it.”

“Perhaps you’d like to take it now?”

“No, of course I wouldn’t, you stupid little man,” she snapped. “How would I look carrying that down the street? Just don’t sell it.”

“Of course not… miss.”

Borgin made a bow as deep as the one she had once seen people give her father, and Lyra felt a strange sense of pride at that.

“Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?”

“Naturally, naturally,” murmured Borgin, bowing again.

As the bell over the door tinkled loudly, Lyra stalked out of the shop, her heart pounding. She didn’t feel pleased, not really. She felt trapped, but for now, she had done what was necessary. As she passed close to where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were hidden under the Invisibility Cloak, the edges of the cloak fluttered around her knees, but she didn’t notice.

She was doing everything she could to save Harry but little did she know, she had just brought a target on her back– one from Harry himself.

-IV-

TO BE GOOD FRIEND OR TO BE A TERROR

As Lyra boarded the Hogwarts Express, she felt a heavy tension in her chest that she couldn't shake off. The weight of everything she had been asked to do—by her aunt, by her family—pressed down on her like an invisible chain. She found a compartment and sat by the window, staring blankly at the passing scenery. The usual excitement she felt returning to Hogwarts was absent. Instead, she was burdened by the looming darkness of her new reality.

Not long after the train began to move, Blaise Zabini slid in to the seat next to her, his usual carefree smirk in place. He sat across from her without invitation, studying her carefully as she refused to meet his eyes.

"Thought I'd find you here," Blaise said casually, kicking his feet up onto the seat in front of them. "You’ve been quiet all summer, Malfoy. Letters stopped. What’s up with that?"

Lyra didn’t respond immediately. She could feel his gaze burning into her, waiting for a response. But her mind was elsewhere—her thoughts filled with Bellatrix, Voldemort’s command, and the unbearable weight of the Dark Mark that now tainted her arm, hidden beneath her sleeve. Blaise’s voice became background noise, something distant and irrelevant compared to the turmoil inside her.

“Lyra?” he repeated, his voice sharper now, pulling her back to the present.

She blinked, finally looking at him, but her expression was cold and distant, something Blaise wasn’t used to seeing. “What?”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk faltering slightly. “What’s with you? You’ve been acting strange lately.”

Lyra let out a breath through her nose, her hands gripping the edge of the seat. “I’ve just been busy.”

“With what? You’re acting like I’ve done something wrong,” Blaise pushed, leaning forward now, the playful tone in his voice replaced with genuine concern.

“Busy with things you wouldn’t understand,” she snapped, her voice icy, cutting through the air between them.

Blaise paused, taken aback by her sudden harshness. "Wouldn't understand? Is that really what you think of me?"

Lyra’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t meant to lash out at him, not really. But how could she possibly explain everything she was going through? How could she tell him about the gnawing guilt that followed her every action?

"I don’t have time for... for this," Lyra said flatly, turning her gaze back to the window, her throat tight. "For stupid letters. For—"

“For friends?” Blaise finished, his voice quieter now, the usual humor completely drained from it.

She clenched her jaw, feeling the sting of his words. Friends. Blaise had always been her closest friend– Her best friend, the one person who could see through her cold exterior. But now, it felt like everything was slipping away, and Lyra was too afraid to pull him back in. She couldn’t risk it. Not with what she was now.

“Maybe,” she muttered, her tone flat and void of emotion. “Maybe I don’t.”

Blaise didn’t say anything for a long moment, his dark eyes studying her, trying to find some crack in her armor. But all he found was the solid wall she’d built around herself.

“Well,” he said finally, his voice quiet but steady, “whenever you decide that you do, you know where to find me.”

They didn't speak much after that as the rest of their friends filled in the seats. Pansy was in a great mood and she chatted away at Crabbe and Blaise for the rest of the ride. Soon Professor Slughorn came in and grabbed Blaise away with him.

"What? Are we not fancy enough for this new professor?" Pancy muttered.

Lyra snorted, "I think not but if Blaise is fancy then the world has gone to shambles." The rest laughed but Lyra didn't care enough for it. Just the conversation she had with Blaise ate away at her. She was cruel towards him. But as soon as she thought of that, she remembered how aunt had tortured her writing a letter to him. It was not Blaise's fault, but the wound was too fresh. Perhaps this way, she could even keep him safe, away from her. Away from her problems.

Her thoughts were so prominent in her head, she barely noticed Blaise walk back in, struggling to close the sliding door of the carriage. 

The lanterns swinging from the carriage ceiling cast a bright light over the scene as Crabbe shut his comic book with interest.

 "What did Slughorn want?" she asked him, only to be met with a glare.

Pansy’s hand was stroking her hair lazily, as if she didn’t notice anything off with Blaise. Lyra wished she could enjoy the moment and be as nonchalant as Pansy, but Blaise’s obvious coldness was starting to get under her skin. She couldn’t let it show, though—she had more pressing matters on her mind. What if Borgin couldn’t help her?

Pansy broke the silence first, her voice dripping with gossip as she glanced at Blaise. “Just trying to make up to well-connected people, are we?” she asked, her tone teasing, though Blaise’s response was sharp and unamused.

“Not that he managed to find many,” Blaise said, glowering at Goyle.

Lyra shifted uncomfortably. She wasn’t entirely sure what Blaise was upset about, but his words were getting more pointed.

“Who else had he invited?” she questioned, noticing how Blaise's usual smoothness was replaced with a sharp edge.

"McLaggen from Gryffindor," said Blaise.

"Oh yeah, his uncle’s big in the Ministry,"she replied, nodding.

"– someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw and Longbottom, Potter and that Weasley girl," finished Blaise, questionably looking at Lyra as he said Harry's name.

The girl sat up very suddenly, knocking Pansy’s hand aside.

"He invited Longbottom?" Pansy was unbothered, checking her nails out.

"Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there," said Zabini indifferently.

"What’s Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?" Goyle laughed.

But Blaise’s next words grabbed her attention. “Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at the Chosen One,” he sneered.

Lyra’s heart skipped a beat, though she kept her expression neutral. She was used to hearing Harry’s name in these circles, used to the sneers and the jabs. But now, after everything, it felt different. Especially, coming from Blaise, who had become friends with the boy. She wanted to defend him—tell them they didn’t know anything—but she bit her tongue. Instead, she kept silent, letting Pansy and Blaise talk around her.

“Not that Weasley girl,” Blaise added coldly. “A lot of boys like her.”

Lyra rolled her eyes. Of course they’d bring up Ginny Weasley. She had noticed the way boys ogled her, but Lyra never found the appeal. The fact that Harry had shared a few glances with Ginny over the past year didn’t bother her—or at least, she pretended it didn’t.

“I wouldn’t be with a Weasley whatever she looked like,” Blaise said icily, and Pansy smiled approvingly.

"Well, I pity Slughorn’s taste," Lyra muttered distastefully. She was a powerful witch– it was not a secret. She received O's in most of her subjects and the other two, divination and transfiguration, both had E's. "Maybe he’s going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favourite of his. Slughorn probably hasn’t heard I’m on the train, or –"

"I wouldn’t bank on an invitation," Blaise cut her off sharply. "He asked me about Nott’s father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he’d been caught at the Ministry he didn’t look happy, and Nott didn’t get an invitation, did he? I don’t think Slughorn’s interested in Death Eaters."

Lyra's eyes widened at that. After the way she had spoken to him earlier, his distaste was expected but it still hurt all the same. She let out a humorless laugh. "Well, who cares what he’s interested in? What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher." she yawned ostentatiously. "I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what’s it matter to me if some old has-been likes me or not?"

"What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?" said Pansy indignantly and Lyra realized her slip-up.

"Well, you never know," she smiled lightly, "I might have – er – moved on to bigger and better things."

"Do you mean – Him?" Blaise was the one to ask this, glancing at Lyra with surprise and worry.

"Mum wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don’t see it as that important these days. I mean, think about it... when the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s anyone’s got? Of course he isn’t ... it’ll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown."

Yes, these friends of hers will now tell their parents what they have heard. Maybe when Voldemort catches word of this he will see her as a more valuable asset, allowing her to more secrets– secrets that can probably save the entire wizarding world.

"And you think you’ll be able to do something for him, Lyra?" Blaise snapped, scathingly. "Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?"

"I’ve just said, haven’t I?" she crossed her arms around her body, "Maybe he doesn’t care if I’m not qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn’t something that you need to be qualified for."

Blaise's cold exterior softened as he just looked at her with worry etched in his eyes. Crabbe and Goyle were gawking at her as Pancy looked around nervously.

"I can see Hogwarts," she exclaimed, happy to be able to change the topic. "We’d better get our robes on."

Goyle reached up for his trunk and as he swung it down, a strange yelp let out and Lyra looked up at the luggage rack, frowning. A strange feeling passed through her. It was possible that Harry had been listening in, with his invisibility cloak on.

"You go on," she told Pansy, who was waiting for her with her after the carriage had almost cleared up. "I just want to check something."

As Pansy left, Lyra moved over to the compartment door and let down the blinds, so that people in the corridor beyond could not peer in. She then bent down over his trunk and opened it again. Then, in a flash, she had turned and pointed her wand towards the luggage compartment.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Lyra’s heart pounded in her chest as she flicked her wand with a practiced motion. There was no hesitation. No pause for remorse. The spell hit Harry with a jolt of electricity, and his body froze in mid-movement, dropping to the floor in an agonising, bone-shaking crash. The Invisibility Cloak tangled beneath him, revealing his entire form in an awkward, crouched position. His limbs were frozen in place—his legs still curled unnaturally under him as though caught in the act of kneeling.

Lyra stood there, her breath shallow as she took in the sight. She had been expecting this, to see Harry again, of course, but to see it happen was another thing entirely. And in this way too... Her stomach twisted in a way that was both familiar and new.

Harry lay there, motionless, his wide, frozen eyes staring up at her. And she could see the flicker of shock in his expression—the surprise of having been caught. Of being seen. Of being exposed.

She smiled, but it was a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

"I thought so," she said softly, her voice light, almost triumphant, though there was an edge to it—something darker. "I heard Goyle’s trunk hit you. And I thought I saw something white flash through the air after Zabini came back ..." Her gaze swept over Harry’s trainers, lingering on them for a second too long. The sight of him there, lying helpless, was eating her up in a way she couldn’t deny. It was what she had never wanted. 

Her eyes narrowed as she crouched closer to him, studying the helpless boy on the floor. He was completely immobile, not even a flicker of movement. He couldn’t fight back.

"That was you blocking the door when Zabini came back in, I suppose," Lyra’s voice was low, casual, but with a sharp bite beneath it. She wasn’t really asking; it was just a statement, as though Harry had always been the fool, walking into the trap she’d set for him.

She looked down at him, really looked at him. And then, as if she were discussing an insignificant detail, she mused, "You didn’t hear anything I care about, Potter." She spat his name out. She hadn't called him Potter in years. "But while I’ve got you here..."

The words felt strange in her mouth. There was a part of her that wanted to stop, wanted to apologize, to take it all back. But the deeper, the part that had to make this facade look real—told her to keep going.

And she did.

Her boot pressed down near Harry’s face.

"This is for breaking my heart. I told you it would not be good if you broke my heart," she whispered. She wasn’t sure if she meant it for Harry or for herself. The feeling of power that surged through her veins was intoxicating, and the rage that had been building in her chest finally had an outlet.

Lyra stepped back, her gaze lingering on Harry’s broken form. She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling, the adrenaline making her heart beat a little faster. She had done this. She had humiliated him. And still, there was no sense of victory. Only the sharp, hollow taste of cruelty.

Reaching down, she grabbed the Invisibility Cloak, yanking it from underneath Harry’s body. The cloth slid free with a soft rustling sound, and she tossed it carelessly over him. It fell in soft folds, covering him completely.

"I don’t reckon they’ll find you till the train’s back in London. I used to care so much about the good side  because of you. I don't anymore." she muttered to herself, her voice quieter now, almost contemplative. None of what she said was true. It was now when she cared about the good side more than ever. A fake smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "See you around, Harry... or not.’

The words were cold, cutting. She had no remorse. No hesitation. Only the knowledge that this was what had to happen.

Lyra stepped away from Harry’s crumpled body, her eyes flicking toward the door. The train was slowing now, the distant sounds of students moving in the corridors getting louder, signaling the end of this moment. It would be over soon. But she would remember this. It will eat up away at her, forever.

She turned her back to him, her heart pounding in her chest as she walked away.

-V-

THE FATE OF GOOD RESTS IN YOUR HANDS

Lyra had never felt so alone in her life.

She walked down the cold stone corridors of Hogwarts, her heart a knot of fear and anger. The weight of the task Voldemort had set for her sat heavy in her chest, and with each step, she felt the icy fingers of dread closing in. She had come to Dumbledore’s office for a reason, though she wasn’t sure whether she would find solace or condemnation there.

She raised her hand to knock on the door, but before her knuckles could make contact, it swung open, as though Dumbledore had been expecting her. The old headmaster stood in his usual robes, his twinkling eyes watching her with a calm, patient gaze.

"Lyra," he said softly, "come in."

She stepped into the room, her breath catching in her throat. She closed the door behind her, the weight of the task pressing down upon her more now than ever.

Dumbledore gestured toward a chair, but she stayed standing, her hands clenching at her sides. She had to say it.

"Voldemort," she began, her voice steady despite the panic rising inside her, "He’s given me a task."

Dumbledore’s expression didn't change, but Lyra could feel his attention sharpening.

"What is the task?" he asked, his voice low, but tinged with concern.

Lyra swallowed hard, feeling the fear choking her. "He wants me to kill someone. He wants me to kill you."

There was a pause as the words settled in the air between them. Dumbledore’s face remained impassive, but she could see the flicker of something behind his eyes. He nodded slowly.

"And you came here to tell me," Dumbledore said, his voice soft and careful. "Because you feel torn."

"Did you not hear what I said? He wants me to murder you," Lyra replied, looking him in the eye. "But that’s not all. I found out something else during the holidays. My mother... she forced Professor Snape to make an Unbreakable Vow to protect me." Her voice cracked a little. "I didn’t even know about it."

Dumbledore’s expression tightened at the mention of the vow, but he said nothing, giving her the space to continue.

"You know," she added quietly, "that it means I can’t refuse the task without putting my family in danger. He said that if I deliver you dead, he might even consider saving Harry's life." She felt the bitter sting of betrayal in her chest as she spoke. "I’m trapped."

Dumbledore’s eyes were filled with something she couldn’t quite read, but his voice was steady as he responded. "You’re not trapped, Lyra. You have choices. But sometimes, the choices are harder than we wish."

Lyra bit her lip, feeling her body tremble with the weight of the truth. She had always thought that the task would be easier if she simply followed through, but the thought of ending someone’s life—it was unthinkable. She had no way of knowing whether Voldemort truly intended to kill her once the task was done, but she knew enough of his cruelty to suspect it.

She met Dumbledore’s eyes again. "You never told me I would have to kill someone," she said, her voice breaking with emotion. "You never told me that was what I would have to do."

Dumbledore’s face softened, but his voice remained calm and firm. "No, Lyra. I did not. But you would not have come to this point if there was no way out. I will guide you through it. Severus will too. You are stronger than you think. And no matter what Voldemort expects from you, you will not be alone."

Lyra shook her head, feeling a storm of confusion and frustration swirl inside her. She had come here, seeking some kind of answer, some kind of way out, but it seemed there was none. She had to go through with the plan.

"Then I have to be certain," she said, her voice low and determined. "If I’m going to do this, I need to send Voldemort proof of my loyalty."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Lyra stepped forward, her eyes fixed on him with a cold, calculating intensity. "I’m going to send him something that will prove I’ve been focused on what he asked. But it won’t be a kill. Not yet. Not ever."

She paused, watching Dumbledore’s face for any reaction. Slowly, he nodded, though his eyes were filled with the weight of understanding. "Go on."

Lyra took a deep breath. "I’ve thought about it. I’ll send you a series of enchanted objects, each more deadly than the last but you will be careful because you know I sent them. Poisonous objects that could kill anyone who touches them. And I’ll send them to Hogwarts—disguised in ways no one will trace back to me."

She could see the concern flicker in Dumbledore’s eyes, but his voice remained steady. "And how does this help you, Lyra?"

"It gives me time," she said simply. "It’ll give me the chance to play both sides. Voldemort will think I’ve already started the killing, and he’ll be pleased. But it won’t be real."

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on her with a kind of weight that made Lyra shift uncomfortably.

"It is a dangerous plan," he finally said, his voice measured. "But it is a plan. It will buy you the time you need to do what must be done. To find another way."

"I have been asked to fix a vanishing cabinet that is in the school, so the death eaters can get in when the year ends." Lyra held her breath, waiting for his verdict. "Will this work to stop me from doing that?"

"It will give you time to fix it and you have to. You have to let them in, as dangerous as that is." Dumbledore’s response was soft, almost as though he was speaking to himself as much as to her. "And yes, Lyra. Your plan will work. It will give you the chance to earn Voldemort’s trust. And trust, as you well know, is a dangerous thing."

At that moment, the door creaked open, and Snape stepped inside, his face still drawn with tension.

Lyra looked at him, unsure of what he would say. His dark eyes met hers, and for a moment, there was an unspoken exchange between them. Finally, Snape spoke, his voice low and hesitant.

"You will need help, Lyra," he said, his tone cautious but sincere. "You can’t do this alone. If you want my protection—if you want to be safe—you’ll need to trust me. I’ll help you."

Lyra’s heart skipped a beat, but the coolness in his voice made her hesitate. "And why would you help me, Professor?" she asked, her voice sharp. "After everything—"

"Because you remind me of someone I used to know, trying hard to keep someone you love safe. It’s the only way," Snape interrupted, his eyes dark and unyielding. "You’re safer with me. You need me, and I need you alive."

Lyra stared at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Fine," she said. "But if anything goes wrong—"

"It won’t," Snape said curtly. "I’ll make sure of it."

With that, he turned and left the room, leaving Lyra standing there, her heart heavier than ever.

Dumbledore’s eyes softened. "You’ve made the right choice, Lyra. The hardest ones are always the ones that test your courage."

Lyra forced herself to nod. "I hope so."

"And when it comes to killing me, be sure that I don't plan to die by your hands." Dumbledore smiled at her lightly, "You might as well be our way to saving the entire Wizarding World."

Lyra stepped out of Dumbledore’s office, her mind a storm of fear and confusion. The weight of the task she had been given pressed heavily on her shoulders. She had to go through with it—there was no other choice. Her heart was heavy with dread.

As she made her way down the corridor, her thoughts kept circling back to Harry. She hadn’t expected to run into him here—not like this, not after what had happened on the train. The moment of him lying helpless in front of her, his eyes wide with confusion, the feel of her own fury as she stomped on his face—it replayed in her head, again and again.

But she couldn’t afford to think about that now.

She was barely a few steps down the hall when she saw him. Harry. Bloodied.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she stopped in her tracks. He was leaning against the wall, a sickening sight—his face bruised, his lips cut, and his clothes torn. Blood dripped from his nose, the sight of it making her stomach churn. His eyes were wide, dazed, and he was trying, barely able to stand.

For a second, neither of them moved. The air between them was thick, heavy with the weight of everything that had happened. Everything she had done.

Harry’s gaze met hers, and he stumbled forward, unsteady, his voice hoarse as he tried to make sense of the situation. “Lyra…?” His eyes searched her face, though it was obvious he was struggling to even stay conscious. “Why…?”

She felt like she was suffocating under the pressure. The sight of him, vulnerable and bleeding, made the guilt surge inside her, but she couldn’t show it. Not now. Not after everything. She had to stay cold. Had to stay distant.

“Why… what?” she demanded, her voice sharp and controlled. She couldn’t let him see her weakness. Couldn’t let him know that the sight of him like this was tearing her apart inside.

Harry took a shuddering breath, his hand reaching out toward her, but it shook too much. “Why did you—why did you do this to me?”

The question hit her like a physical blow. It felt like a betrayal, even though she knew it was justified. She was the one who had hurt him, who had broken him down on the train. She had been so furious, so out of control, and the memory of that moment swamped her.

But she couldn’t let him know that. She couldn’t let him see that she regretted it. She had to lie. She had to lie and keep up the facade.

“Because you deserved it,” she said coldly, her words cutting through the air like a knife. “You got in my way. You always do.”

Harry’s eyes were wild now, his expression pained and confused. “Lyra, what happened to you? I thought… I thought you were different. I thought you weren’t like—” His voice broke, but he pushed through. “Why would you hurt me like this?”

For a moment, she nearly faltered. The hurt in his voice—the disbelief—tugged at something deep inside her, but she couldn't let it show. She couldn’t.

“You don’t understand, Harry,” she said, her voice tight and trembling on the edge of anger and pain. “You don’t know what’s going on, and you never will. Just... stay away from me.”

He took a staggering step toward her, his face bloodied and his eyes pleading. “I don’t care about what’s going on! I care about you. I thought we—” He cut himself off, his breath ragged. “I thought you weren’t like this.”

“I’m not the person you thought I was,” Lyra said, the words bitter in her mouth, but they were true. It had to be true. She couldn’t let him close. She couldn’t let him see the cracks in her armor. “You have no idea what is even going on. You were right, maybe I am more like my aunt than anyone thought.”

He looked at her like she had slapped him. His shoulders slumped as he absorbed her words. She saw the pain ripple across his face as the weight of her rejection settled in. His hands balled into fists at his sides, his body trembling from the effort of standing, but still he didn’t leave. His voice was quiet but filled with anguish. “You’re not like this, Lyra. You’re not. You can’t be.”

“I am,” she said, the words feeling like a betrayal, even though she knew it was for the best. “You have to leave me alone, Harry.”

There was a long, agonizing silence between them. Harry stood there, bloodied and battered, staring at her as though he was waiting for something—some sign, some hint that she was still the person he thought she was. But there was nothing. She had nothing left to give him.

“Please…” His voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes pleading with her. “Don’t do this. Don’t walk away. Not like this.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, the ache in her chest unbearable. She wanted to reach out. She wanted to stop this—to make it stop, to make him understand. But she knew she couldn’t. She knew she had no other choice.

"You were the one that walked away first," When she opened her eyes again, her voice was low and cold. “Stay away from me, Harry. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

He opened his mouth as if to argue, but then, instead, he just... let out a broken sigh, his shoulders sinking in defeat. The hurt in his expression was more than she could bear, but she couldn’t let it stop her.

Without another word, she turned and walked away, her heart a leaden stone in her chest, the sound of Harry’s weak, anguished voice trailing behind her.

“Lyra…”

"Go to the infirmary, you look weak."

She didn’t turn back.

-VI-

HARRY IS CHEATING IN POTIONS

Lyra Malfoy sat in her usual seat in the dungeon, eyes tracing the dark, foreboding stone walls as the vapors from the cauldrons lazily filled the room. The odd smells created a thick atmosphere. She found the pungent, sharp scent of brewing potions oddly soothing—until, of course, the door opened and Harry Potter entered the room with his usual lot. Hermione Granger, as ever, at his side, her head in a book, followed by Ron Weasley. Lyra caught herself stiffening, but she quickly looked away, heart beating faster for reasons she didn't want to acknowledge.

Her quill scratched against parchment as she jotted down ingredients, mentally preparing for the class ahead. Potions was one of her strengths, and she wasn't about to let any distractions—Harry Potter included—ruin her focus.

But then, Slughorn's booming voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Now then, now then," he began, "scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don’t forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making..."

Her quill paused for a fraction of a second as Harry raised his hand.

"Sir?" he called out.

"Harry, m’boy?"

"I haven’t got a book or scales or anything—nor’s Ron—we didn’t realize we’d be able to do the N.E.W.T, you see—"

Slughorn waved a hand dismissively, his great outline quivering through the vapors. "Ah yes, Professor McGonagall did mention... not to worry, my dear boy, not to worry at all. You can use ingredients from the store cupboard today, and I’m sure we can lend you some scales..."

Lyra rolled her eyes. Of course, Harry hadn’t prepared, as usual. She sighed, resting her chin on her hand, silently daring herself not to pay attention to him. That plan didn’t last long, though. As Slughorn foraged through a cupboard, she couldn't help but glance over at Harry. His messy hair, those bright green eyes that always seemed lost in thought...

She shook her head. No, she wasn't going to do this today. Today, she was going to focus.

Slughorn continued speaking, pointing out the various cauldrons he had prepared for them. As Hermione answered the professor's questions with ease—starting with Veritaserum and then Polyjuice Potion—Lyra let her eyes wander again.

Then, Slughorn pointed to a shimmering cauldron that filled the room with an intoxicating, alluring scent. Amortentia.

"It’s the most powerful love potion in the world!’ said Hermione.

"Quite right! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?" Professor Slughorn smiled widely.

"And the steam rising in characteristic spirals," replied Hermione enthusiastically, "and it’s supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and–"

Lyra’s breath hitched. The steam was rising in delicate spirals, and a warm, familiar smell hit her senses. At first, she couldn’t place it, but then it filled her entirely: a musky, comforting smell of fresh parchment, broomsticks, and the faintest hint of something else... the fresh air of Privet Drive.

Harry.

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to force herself not to think about that day she had visited him over the summer. The smell of his skin had been etched into her memory, even if she had forced herself not to dwell on it. But now, as Hermione rattled off about how the potion smelled different to everyone based on what attracted them, Lyra found herself sneaking another glance at Harry.

He wasn’t looking at her, though. He was watching Hermione. A twinge of something bitter stirred in her chest, but she swallowed it down.

"Amortentia doesn’t really create love, of course," Slughorn continued, nodding gravely, "It simply causes a powerful infatuation or obsession."

Lyra looked away, her mind racing. Of course, she knew all about love potions. She knew how dangerous they were, how they could twist the heart and mind. But the smell had hit her so unexpectedly... the memories of that day flooded back. Standing there in Privet Drive, Harry looking at her with those same eyes. She hadn’t been ready for the warmth it stirred in her, nor how it lingered.

She needed to focus. But just as she steadied herself, Slughorn clapped his hands.

"And now," Slughorn said brightly, "We’ll be seated with students from other houses. I want to see some collaboration, creativity, and, above all, improvement! You will be doing the brewing of the Draught of Living Death," he announced, his voice booming.

Lyra’s pulse quickened. She prayed silently—prayed to Merlin, to whoever would listen—that she wouldn’t be paired with Harry. It was the last thing she needed today. The last thing she wanted. The tension between them was too fresh, too confusing. As the names started being called out, her dread only grew.

"Ronald Weasley and Maria Scalpos."

"Hermione Granger and Pansy Parkinson."

"Lavender Brown and Blaise Zabini."

“Lyra Malfoy and Harry Potter.”

Her heart sank.

Of course. Of bloody course.

As he approached, her whole body went rigid. She could feel her blood rushing in her ears. He sat down beside her without a word, and for a moment, they both just stared ahead, avoiding each other's gaze.

She was cold, distant. "Don’t mess this up, Potter," she muttered.

"I could say the same to you," Harry replied, equally distant.

They began brewing the Draught of Living Death in silence. Lyra prided herself on being good at potions, but today, something was off. She felt unfocused, her mind slipping back to Harry too often. She glanced over as he carefully crushed the Sopophorous bean with the flat side of his knife instead of cutting it like the book suggested.

"That’s not what the instructions say," Lyra pointed out coldly, trying to regain control of the situation.

"Just wait," Harry replied calmly.

Lyra huffed. "The book says to cut it. You're doing it wrong."

He obviously didn't listen to her.

Lyra huffed, crossing her arms. “The book says—”

“I know what the book says. Just trust me.”

Lyra glared at him, "I do not trust you, that has already been established, Potter."

But Harry ignored her, stirring his potion with a determined expression. Lyra tried to concentrate on her own, carefully following every step in the instructions. Yet her potion wasn’t turning out as smoothly as usual. The liquid in her cauldron remained an unsettling shade of purple, whereas Harry’s was beginning to turn the pale lilac mentioned in the book.

"How are you doing that?" she muttered, more to herself than him.

Harry looked over, his eyes glinting with a trace of smugness. "I told you to wait."

Her brow furrowed as she watched him stir once clockwise, then seven times counterclockwise. Against all logic, his potion shimmered and turned a perfect shade of clear, pale pink.

“What?” she muttered under her breath, staring at his potion in disbelief. How was his better than hers? It didn’t make sense. She had always been better at Potions than him—always. Lyra shot Harry a sideways glance, feeling her pride stinging.

“You cheated,” she accused, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

Harry just gave her a slight smirk, his eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite place. “Told you I know what I am doing.”

"Impossible," she muttered under her breath.

Harry’s lips twitched slightly, but he said nothing.

Lyra could feel the embarrassment creeping up her neck as her potion remained stubbornly purple. She wanted to blame him, to say that he had distracted her, but that wasn't fair. The truth was, for some reason, she couldn't think straight with him sitting so close.

The dungeons filled with the sounds of bubbling and the scribbling of quills, but to Lyra, it felt like the only sound was the deafening silence between her and Harry.

The silence between them which only grew thicker, the tension palpable. They were close enough to touch, but it felt like a chasm lay between them. Lyra tried to focus on the task at hand, but her thoughts kept wandering back to Harry. To that night at the astronomy. The way he had looked at her, vulnerable and real. Then she started to remember their date when she visited him at his home. The memory of his scent in the Amortentia made her pulse quicken again, though she tried desperately to push the feeling away.

She was Lyra Malfoy, after all. She couldn’t afford to be distracted.

As Slughorn made his rounds, praising Harry’s potion, Lyra felt a pang of frustration. Of all the people to be outdone by, it had to be him. She stole another glance at Harry, but he was still focused on his potion, his expression unreadable. He didn’t seem as affected by their proximity as she was, which only added to her frustration.

They worked in near silence for the remainder of the lesson, both too proud to acknowledge the weight of what lay unspoken between them. When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of class, Harry had won the 'Felix Felicis' and Lyra bitterly quickly packed her things, eager to escape the tension. But as she stood, she felt Harry’s eyes on her.

“Lyra,” he said quietly.

She froze for a moment, her back still to him. Her name on his lips sent a shiver down her spine, but she forced herself to keep moving.

“See you later, Potter,” 

-VII-

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY

Lyra sat at the Slytherin table, poking at her breakfast. Theodore Nott was beside her, speaking about something—what exactly, she wasn’t sure. His words faded into the background as her eyes drifted toward the Gryffindor table. Across the hall, Harry and Ginny were sitting close, talking. Lyra’s stomach twisted as she watched Ginny playfully nudge Harry, a smile lighting up her face. Did she just hear her laugh? Or maybe she imagined it.

Theodore’s voice cut through her daze. “Lyra, are you even listening?”

“Hm?” she muttered, still half-focused on Harry, who, for a brief second, caught her gaze. His green eyes locked onto hers, and the pit in her stomach only deepened.

“Right, you’re not,” Theodore sighed, shaking his head. “I’m spilling my heart out about how rubbish Potions is this year, and you’re off in your own little world. Care to share what’s so fascinating?”

She blinked, finally turning to Theodore. “Nothing. Just tired.”

“Tired?” Theodore raised an eyebrow. “You’re always tired these days. But sure, I’ll let that slide. What, no snarky comment about Snape today?”

But her focus drifted again, this time not to the present, but to the past. Back when things were simpler, when she and Harry were sneaking off to the Astronomy Tower, just to get away from everyone.

“Are you sure you know how to carry all that?”Lyra raised an eyebrow, watching Harry struggle with the picnic basket in one hand and a bunch of Chocolate Frogs in the other.

“Of course I do. I’m not completely hopeless,”Harry retorted with a crooked smile, almost tripping over the stairs as they reached the tower. “I think I deserve some credit for pulling this off without Hermione finding out.”

Lyra laughed, leaning against the railing of the Astronomy Tower as Harry spread out the food between them. “Okay, fine. You get points for effort.” She grinned, reaching for a Chocolate Frog and catching it mid-leap. “But you’re still the Idiot-Who-Lived.”

“I’ll take that.” Harry laughed, sitting beside her. “I’d rather be an idiot than, well, you know—”

“Dead?”she offered with a smirk.

“Exactly.” He leaned in, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Now eat before I decide to take all of this back to Gryffindor Tower.”

She nudged him playfully. “Don’t even think about it, Potter.”

The memory felt so real, she could almost taste the treacle tart they shared that evening, the way Harry smiled like it was the best thing in the world just to be there with her.

But the warmth of the memory didn’t take away the ache in her chest as she glanced back at Harry and Ginny. They were laughing again, and Harry seemed so… carefree. She didn’t know if the laugh she heard was real or imagined, but it stung either way. Even when Harry caught her looking again, her heart sank further.

“Lyra?” Theodore’s voice was more insistent now. “Hello? Earth to Malfoy?”

She snapped back to reality, blinking as she turned to him again. “Sorry, Theo. What were you saying?”

He gave her a long look, his brow furrowed. “Something’s definitely up with you. You’re acting weirder than usual.”

Lyra forced a smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Just tired, like I said.”

Theodore leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Tired, or distracted by someone?”

Her stomach twisted even tighter, and she immediately looked down at her plate, not trusting herself to answer.

-VII-

I TRY DO GOOD (I HAVE FAILED MISERABLY)

Lyra sat at the table in the Three Broomsticks, her fingers running along the smooth wood of the surface. The usual warmth she used to feel from her favorite spots in Hogsmeade had vanished, just like the rest of the light in her life lately. She had been spending all her time fixing the Vanishing Cabinet as Dumbledore had instructed her, constantly tired, drained of any joy.

Her life wasn’t her own anymore. It belonged to the plan—Dumbledore’s plan—and with each passing day, she sank deeper into the weight of what that meant. Quitting Quidditch had been the first visible crack. She’d once loved the rush, the wind whipping through her hair as she sped through the air. But now, nothing thrilled her anymore. Not even the title of prefect held any meaning. It all felt pointless, like hollow accomplishments, mocking her.

She glanced over at Blaise, sitting a few tables away. He wasn’t speaking to her, but he kept looking in her direction when he thought she wasn’t watching. Their friendship had felt colder since what had happened on the train. She missed him, missed the way he used to make her laugh. But what could she say? How could she explain what was weighing on her without revealing everything?

No, she couldn’t think about him now. She had a job to do.

Her fingers twitched under the table, feeling the edges of the cursed necklace hidden beneath layers of fabric in her pocket. The necklace felt heavy, as though it pulsed with the dark magic embedded in it. She had bought it from the same shop where she found the Vanishing Cabinet, and it was supposed to be a simple task—deliver the cursed object to Dumbledore. But nothing about it felt simple. It felt like betrayal. Like a step too far.

She stood up from her table, heading toward the back of the pub. Her feet felt like lead as she made her way to the washroom where she knew Katie Bell would be waiting. She had to convince her to take the necklace. It was the only way.

Katie was already there when she walked in, leaning against the sink, smiling brightly as though the world hadn’t fallen apart. She didn’t know what was coming.

"Lyra, hey!" Katie said, oblivious to the weight of the moment. "What’s up? You look a bit...off."

Lyra forced a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I’ve got something for you. I need you to deliver it to Dumbledore. It’s really important." Her voice sounded so calm, detached, as if someone else were speaking through her.

Katie frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion. "To Dumbledore? Why don’t you just give it to him yourself?"

"I can’t," Lyra said quickly, pulling out the cursed necklace wrapped in its thick covering. She held it out to Katie, her hand shaking slightly. "Please, Katie, just do this for me."

Katie hesitated but took the necklace, still wrapped. "What is it?"

Lyra’s heart pounded in her chest. She knew what had to come next, but every fiber of her being screamed against it. With a shaking breath, she raised her wand.

"Imperio."

The words tasted bitter on her tongue, and the moment they left her lips, Lyra felt sick to her core. She watched as Katie’s expression changed, her eyes glazing over as the curse took hold. It was worse than she imagined—controlling someone like this, stripping them of their free will.

"Take this to Dumbledore," Lyra instructed, her voice barely a whisper. "Don’t ask any questions. Just deliver it."

Katie nodded mechanically, her body obeying the command.

Lyra felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She had to end it, quickly. She lifted her wand again and murmured, "Obliviate."

Katie’s expression shifted once more, confusion flickering in her eyes as she blinked, the memory of their interaction wiped away.

"Thanks, Lyra," Katie said with a soft smile, as though nothing had happened. She turned to leave, necklace in hand.

Lyra stood frozen, her wand still outstretched, every part of her trembling. The weight of what she had done was crushing. She barely noticed the footsteps outside the washroom as she walked out, the soft creak of the door.

When she finally looked up, Harry was standing there, his eyes locked on hers.

"Lyra?" His voice was cautious, questioning.

She turned her face away, ignoring him as she quickly brushed past, her heart racing. Harry couldn’t see her like this. He couldn’t know.

Outside, Pansy was waiting for her, arms crossed and a bored expression on her face. "Finally," she huffed. "What took you so long?"

Lyra could barely focus on Pansy’s words. Her head was spinning, her chest tight with fear. She was about to respond when the sound of yelling echoed from somewhere nearby. It pierced through the air, sharp and frantic.

She knew that voice—Katie.

Lyra’s blood ran cold as she turned toward the commotion. No, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Katie had touched the necklace.

Panic clawed at her insides as she fought to stay composed. She could feel Pansy staring at her, but she didn’t dare meet her eyes.

"Lyra... what’s going on?" Pansy asked, her voice suddenly serious, sensing the shift in Lyra’s demeanor.

Lyra didn’t respond. She couldn’t. The fear had gripped her throat, stealing her voice, her thoughts. The weight of the curse she had cast, the necklace, the danger... it was too much. What had she done?

When they returned to Hogwarts, Lyra barely made it through the doors, Pansy running off to find Astoria, as Harry cornered her. His jaw was set, his eyes intense as they bore into hers.

"Malfoy," he called out sharply, blocking her way as she tried to pass. "We need to talk."

Her heart skipped a beat. She had been dreading this moment since Hogsmeade, knowing that Harry had seen too much. Still, she forced herself to stay calm, tilting her chin up defiantly. "What do you want, Potter?"

He moved closer, lowering his voice but not his intensity. "What did you do?"

"I didn’t do anything," she snapped, already defensive. Her mind was racing, but she kept her expression cold.

"I saw you, Lyra." Harry’s voice cracked slightly with frustration. "In the washroom with Katie. And I saw the necklace—you were looking at it at that shop."

Her breath hitched for a moment, panic flaring inside her chest. Of course he had noticed. Harry had always been too observant for his own good. "Were you spying on me?" she shot back, trying to deflect his accusations.

He didn’t back down. "No, but I knew you were up to something. You’ve been acting strange for months. I should’ve stopped you sooner." His words cut deep, his gaze relentless.

Lyra could feel her heart pounding, her carefully constructed walls threatening to crumble. But she refused to give in to him. "Leave me alone, Potter," she said through gritted teeth, turning on her heel to walk away.

Harry stepped in front of her again, blocking her path. "What did you do to Katie?" His voice was low, almost pleading now. "Tell me the truth, Lyra."

She clenched her fists, struggling to keep her emotions in check. Every fiber of her being wanted to scream, to break down and confess everything. But she couldn’t. Not now. Not ever. "I did not do anything to anyone."

Harry’s eyes narrowed, as if he were piecing something together in his head. "Let me see your arms."

Lyra’s eyes widened in shock, panic flashing across her face before she could stop it. "What?" she whispered, backing away instinctively.

He stepped closer, his voice laced with suspicion. "Show me your arms, Lyra. What are you hiding?"

Her breath caught in her throat, fear tightening its grip around her. How had he figured it out? Did he think she was one of them? That she had... No, he couldn’t know.

She took another step back, her entire body tense as she prepared to walk away. But Harry’s next words stopped her cold.

"You’ve changed so much," he said, his voice bitter and disbelieving. "I can’t believe I ever—" He swallowed hard, the emotion choking his words. "I can’t believe I was ever in love with you."

Lyra’s heart shattered at his words. The pain in his voice, the anger and disappointment... it cut deeper than any curse ever could. She could barely breathe as she watched him, his face a mixture of hurt and disgust.

"You said there was nothing on this earth that could change how you feel about me, Harry," she tried to look into his eyes, to hope he was lying. She was doing all this for him. It was all for him. "What was that? Just a lie?"

"I guess it was." Harry didn't look at, his fists clenching.

She was briefly reminded of the times her aunt used the crutiatus curse on over the break. Eighteen times and all of them combined were less painful than this moment.

For a moment, she thought of telling him the truth. Of explaining why she had done it—why she had to do it. That Dumbledore had instructed this for his survival. She had taken these steps to save him, to protect him. But now... had she gone too far? If Katie died... if anything happened to her because of that necklace...

Lyra felt the weight of her choices crashing down on her, suffocating her.

"I didn’t..." she started, her voice barely audible. But the words wouldn’t come. She couldn’t undo what was done. I didn't mean to hurt anyone.

Harry’s gaze hardened, his eyes filled with something she couldn’t bear to see. "I can't even look at you right now," he said coldly, turning his back on her.

"I didn't do anything." she whispered.

"Tell that to someone who still believes your lies."

As he walked away, Lyra stood frozen, the tears burning in her eyes but never falling. She had crossed a line, and now she wasn’t sure if there was any way back. If Katie died because of her, she would never forgive herself.

Dumbledore's words ran through her mind. "You have to understand– the wizarding world might never even learn how much you sacrificed for them. Harry may never learn how much you sacrificed for him."

Could Katie Bell be what she sacrifices to save Harry Potter? She prayed to Merlin that was not the case.